9. Chapter 9 #2
Caz’s golden-brown eyes sparkled with an almost predatory excitement as he slipped his rough, large hand over his chin and drew him in for a kiss, right there at the bar, in front of hundreds of people who were all too busy watching the fight to give a shit.
Caz’s lips were hot and searching, and oddly tender for a professional fighter.
Sam waited for the heat to reach his chest—the tingle around his balls—anything.
But nothing happened. All he could think about was Frankie’s uncertain kiss after he brutalized his mouth with his sex.
How his hand had wrapped around his throat and squeezed so good it made the steam in his blood spark into a fire.
Fuck.
Frankie ruined him. Ruined him for anyone else.
No. No. No.
Caz was abruptly yanked off him, and Frankie, flushed with a fury Sam had rarely ever seen, grabbed the young fighter by the back of the neck and slammed his face into the bar, holding him down in a tight grip. The pick in Caz’s mouth spurted out, followed by a surprised whoosh of breath.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Frankie’s voice was low and lethal, and directed right at Sam.
He jumped to his feet, “Me? What the fuck are you doing?”
“He’s a fuckin’ kid!”
“He’s a consenting adult! Let him go.”
Frankie continued to hold him down, snarling and looking absolutely insane.
Sam shoved him back, hard. Frankie stumbled, eyes black.
People scattered and turned around to look at the commotion.
Before Frankie could release him, Caz pushed off the bar and slipped easily out of Frankie’s hold, squaring up with him, a wild, feral smile tugging on his lips.
Caz carefully wiped the club soda off his black suit jacket and glanced between them.
“Clearly, I slipped,” Caz drawled, and Sam could’ve sworn he heard a slight accent in his tone that hadn’t been there before.
He stared incredulously at the young man who didn’t seem offended at all by Frankie's assault. Caz glanced between them. “Ryan said y'all were best friends.” He hummed, lines crinkling in a knowing smile. “It was a pleasure, Sam. Maybe I’ll see you around.” His mischievous eyes danced to Frankie. “Maybe I won’t.”
Caz clamped a firm hand on Frankie’s shoulder before striding off and back into the crowd.
“Where the fuck do you get off?” Sam hissed angrily at Frankie.
Five seconds ago, he didn’t even exist to him.
Frankie’s wild eyes caught his and he shook his head. “What are you doin’, huh? What are you doin’ with him?”
The fury in his tone was laced with something else—something vulnerable.
He stilled, surprised, but he couldn’t care about that. He wasn’t a yo-yo to be tossed and turned and spun out, only to be yanked back whenever Frankie pleased. “Whatever I want. Does that bother you, Frank?”
Frankie huffed out a snort, hands raking through his thick jet-black hair. “You… You can’t be here. You need to go.”
His stupid, aching heart felt like it was being shot like a bird from the sky. Yeah, he probably should go. There was nothing left for him here anyway. Sam nodded and left.
Fuck this night.
Fuck Frankie for attacking Caz for no goddamned reason.
Pulse thundering in his temple and feelings swirling, Sam stormed out.
The front entrance to the arena was crowded, and he had no desire to fight his way through the throng gathering for the main event.
So instead, he went to the employee-only stairwell, knowing it led to the underground parking garage.
Shoving the door open, it slammed into the concrete wall of the stairwell, echoing down the empty metal stairs.
He hadn’t realized he was shaking until he reached the landing, unsure whether he wanted to run or collapse.
“Sammy!”
He turned and saw that Frankie had followed him.
He ignored him, making his way down the vacant stairwell.
“Stop!” Frankie ordered.
But he couldn’t. He had nothing left to give.
Nothing left but anger and a pathetic, broken heart that he needed to heal.
And the only way that could ever happen is if he finally came to terms with this mess.
Frankie wasn’t going to get over his toxic masculinity shit and rewire his brain to unlearn nearly forty years' worth of homophobic bullshit.
He would never choose Sam in public.
He would never want a life together.
He would never want just him…
That meant only one thing: he had to buck the fuck up and face reality. What they shared the last few days had been nothing short of spectacular, but that was all he was ever going to get.
Frankie jumped the last barrier, cursing as his knee sagged slightly before straightening and shoving him roughly against the wall. Air escaped his lungs as his back slammed into the unyielding concrete wall.
“Shit.” Frankie’s hands descended on his chest, searching. “You okay?”
No, he wasn’t okay. He was far from okay.
“What the fuck do you want from me, Frankie?”
He stood back, releasing him, his throat working up and down. “I dunno.”
“You’ve ignored me all evening, and then, when someone else shows interest in me, you act like a fucking lunatic.” Anger flooded him, pushing his finger hard into Frankie’s solid chest. “I’m not yours. I’m not your anything. I don’t matter.”
“Don’t say that.” Frankie’s eyes narrowed, shifting. “Don’t fuckin’ say that.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Why’d you let him kiss you?”
Surprised by the question, Sam pinched the brim of his nose. “I dunno—maybe because I was tired of thinking about you. Tired of waiting for you to fuckin’ acknowledge me.”
“So, you did it to piss me off?”
“No!”
“You fuckin’ did!”
“I did it to feel anything other than your cock down my throat, Frankie! I did it to forget how much I want to do it all the fucking time.”
Frankie’s eyes burned with such intensity that Sam had to look away.
“I’m tired, Frank,” Sam murmured. “I’m tired of being hung up on a straight man who doesn’t want me. Not the way I want him, at least.”
Frankie’s eyes were nearly black in the dim, yellowish glow of the stairwell. “You seduced me, remember?”
He tilted his head back against the concrete. “Not last night, I didn’t.”
Frankie’s steel jaw clenched.
“I have no interest in telling you how to live your life,” Sam drawled heavily. “And I have no intention of being in anyone’s closet with them.”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t fucking act like this then,” Sam shot back. “Don’t act like some possessive lover, ‘cause we’re not. We fucked around a little. That’s normal, right? You said that to me not too long ago. So, the experiment’s over. You’re not gay, and don’t believe in being bi. So, we’re done.”
“Done?” Frankie asked in a quiet tone, all anger draining from his face.
“Done,” he stated with the utmost contempt. “I told you before I can’t be your friend. And now, after all the lines we’ve crossed, there’s no going back. I’m done. I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want. I tried for years to do just that. But I will not be anyone’s shame. Not even yours.”
“You’re not.”
“Then why didn’t you look at me all night?” Sam asked breathlessly, pain hitching his tone. “Why did you act as if nothing happened?”
“Because…” Frankie sucked in a breath, chest heaving. “Fuck. Sammy. I…”
Disappointed and hurt, he pushed away from the concrete wall and headed for the exit. Frankie grabbed his wrist, stopping him. Their eyes collided and held.
His voice dropped, eyes intent. “Is this—is this it, Sammy?”
He nodded, a hard lump forming in his throat. “Yeah. I ain’t comin’ back—I can’t keep coming back to you. I have to...”
Protect what’s left of my heart.
Grief, anger, and regret pushed past his common sense, so when Frankie reached for him, cradling his face in his hands and dropping his forehead onto his, he bit back the urge to whimper—or maybe weep.
“Don’t do this…” Frankie pleaded gruffly. “I can’t lose you again.”
“I have to,” he managed out, heart shattering. “I have to go.”
“No. No…”
He closed his eyes against the anguish in Frankie’s expression. “You gotta let me go.”
“I fuckin’ can’t,” Frankie hissed. “I can’t.”
“You’re a lot stronger than me,” he replied softly. “You always have been. Things end, Frank. It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” he rasped. “What do I gotta do, Sammy? What—what? Let me fix this.”
Sam’s heart shredded in his chest. “We can’t fix this.”
“Fuck, don’t say that. Give me another chance.”
“It’s not you. You’re perfect, Frank. You always have been. You always will be. You made me a better man, and I will always love you for that.”
Frankie trembled, the wall of his chest brushing against his and his unwavering dark eyes suspending him.
“But I don’t want just pieces of you,” Sam whispered, lips inches from his. “I want everything. That’s why this has to end, because it’s impossible for me to say no to you.”
Frankie’s breath was fast against him, body inching closer, crowding him, overwhelming him.
“So, if I touched you right now, you wouldn’t stop me?” Frankie murmured.
Fuck.
“Don’t,” he heard the plea in his tone, and so did Frankie, who led him back against the wall.
“I don’t want you to end our friendship—and you don’t want me to touch you,” Frankie drawled, both hands sliding down his chest, gripping fiercely as he went, hips pushing against his.
His strong, firm hands were on his waist, pushing himself between his stance, widening it so that he could feel the full, heavy pressure between his legs.
Sam groaned, “No…”
Frankie was hard. So aroused and so big that he felt it rub against his own cock through the thin material of his slacks.
“Please, fucking don’t do this to me,” he whispered.
“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Frankie challenged. “Being told no—when all we want to do is get what we want.” His hands fisted his hips, undulating roughly against him, pinning him to the wall like a helpless butterfly. “I ain’t perfect, Sammy. I’m selfish and greedy, and I ain’t lettin’ you go.”