19. Chapter 19
Sam’s eyes fluttered open, and he inhaled the bitter aroma of fresh coffee and something sweet.
Smiling, feeling utterly silly, he rubbed his face into Frankie’s pillow, taking in his scent and sighing.
Last night was incredible. Every night—day—time he had been with Frankie had been incredible.
But this time, being here, in his home, after spending years sleeping on his couch, crashing after a long day at the hospital and not having the energy to drive to Papi’s, he finally woke up in Frankie's bed, in his sheets.
It felt surreal and perfect.
It was by far the best birthday ever, and the day hadn’t even begun yet.
He climbed out of the rumpled bed, glanced at his bag on the chair in the corner, and instead of grabbing something of his—he grabbed something of Frankie’s.
It was an old boxing club T-shirt he used to fight in, the yellow lettering worn down on a faded black T-shirt.
He slipped it on and, feeling a bit mischievous, pulled out gray sweatpants from Frankie’s dresser drawer.
Excitement bubbled in his stomach as he wondered how Frankie would react to him wearing his clothes. He hesitated at the doorway, eyes landing on the bed in the corner.
Nona’s old dog bed. Her favorite torn, green turtle stuffie resting on top of a folded, fluffy beige blanket.
His heart twisted and he bent down, thumbing the turtle’s missing eye, thinking of all the times she would carry around this tattered old thing.
He missed her, and clearly so did Frankie, who didn’t have the heart to donate her bed or things to the local animal shelter yet.
Exhaling the wave of emotion, Sam headed down the hallway and found Frankie—shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs that hugged his ass like lingerie.
Sam came to an abrupt halt at the sudden image of Frankie, all coiled, hard, rippling muscle, wearing nothing but a soft, silky black thong that he could peel off with his teeth.
That would have to be for much, much later.
Frankie was new to the gay world, and he needed to take it slow. Slow was something neither of them was very good at, but still, he’d try for Frankie’s sake.
Frankie turned, as if sensing him. His dark brown eyes warmed, and his smile was broad and beaming.
“Good mornin’, birthday boy,” he drawled, flipping pancakes on the stove.
“Mornin’,” he replied, feeling oddly self-conscious seeing Frankie once again in the kitchen cooking for him.
“Feel older?” He teased.
“More like helpless.”
“Helpless?”
“You keep cooking for me—taking care of me. It’s starting to make me feel weird.”
Frankie pursed his lips, considering this, while simultaneously plucking a coffee mug from his cabinet and pouring Sam a fresh cup.
“Weird because you feel like you should be helpin’? Or weird cause someone is actually wantin’ to take care of you?” He asked, handing him the thick ceramic mug and kissing his lips firmly, then giving him a wink and strolling back to the stove.
“Both.”
“You do realize I’m like this all the time, right?” Frankie replied smoothly.
“I know, I know,” he sighed. “It’s just starting to make me feel like an asshole.”
Frankie smirked, glancing over his shoulder, eyebrows arched. “Because?”
“Because things are different between us now.”
Frankie turned, the full weight of his gaze on him. “That just makes me wanna take care of you more, baby, not less.”
He exhaled a long breath, a restless energy clenching at his insides.
“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.
He scrubbed a hand through his hair, shaking his head. He didn’t want to bring up the topic of ‘them’ today. It was his birthday. A big one, too, and he planned to have fun, make love, eat horribly all day, and be delusionally happy. Not talk about serious shit.
“Nothin’.”
Frankie hummed, surveying him closely before returning to the stove and finishing up. “I’ve decided, since you don’t like cake, that we would still have dessert all day. Starting with my cinnamon vanilla pancakes, and finishing the evening with Tony’s Donuts.”
Sam laughed, “You got me Tony’s?”
“Joel’s pickin’ up two dozen donuts on the way to the bar tonight to celebrate. Donuts and beer is totally a thing.”
Frankie, gorgeous and sexy with his charming smile, strolled over to the dining table, carrying two plates of food.
He took a seat across from him, and they ate their pancakes, talking about the bar and the people coming to celebrate Sam’s birthday. Once finished, Frankie stood to clear the plates, but Sam beat him to it.
“It’s your birthday,” Frankie whined in protest as Sam pushed him back down into his seat and snatched his plate away.
“Yeah, well, I gotta do somethin’, or you’ll make me feel like I need a housewife to survive.”
Frankie chuckled, tossing his arm onto the empty chair beside him, “I’d make a good fuckin’ housewife.”
“You would put the 1950’s ones to shame.”
He looked ridiculously pleased by this statement and, for the first time, eyed his wardrobe. “So, what, you didn’t bring an extra T-shirt or sweatpants?”
“I did. But yours smell like you.”
Frankie sighed, jaw clenching and heat flaring in his dark eyes. “You’ll have to leave me yours, then, so I can smell like you when you’re gone.”
He liked the idea of leaving his things here and taking Frankie's things. It was what boyfriends did. But they weren’t boyfriends.
The restless energy returned, so he focused on scrubbing the plates and placing them in the dishwasher. Sam returned to the table, filling up their coffee mugs. “You seem to have this whole day planned out. So, what happens after breakfast?”
“Sex.”
He smiled, slipping the coffee pot back in the cradle.
“Or…” Frankie said. “I can give you your birthday present.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“Shut up,” he snapped, but there was little venom there. “Of course, I fuckin’ did. It’s your 40th.”
Without waiting for his reply, Frankie got to his feet and vanished down the hallway, returning a moment later with a slender black velvet box. Sam stared in mute astonishment as Frankie set the case before him and then sat beside him at the table, looking bashful yet eager.
“This is for me?” He asked incredulously.
Frankie made a show of glancing around the house. “Yeah? Who else?”
Feeling a slight tremor in his hands, Sam carefully opened the box, revealing a beautiful silver bracelet.
He gaped. “Frankie!”
“You like it?” he asked, shifting in his seat, his eyes flicking back and forth between him and the bracelet.
“Yeah, of course I do. But this is too much.”
“It’s not.”
“It is. I can’t take this—”
“You fuckin’ will,” Frankie pressed, a challenging glint in his gaze. “I always wanted to get you somethin’ nice when you graduated med school, and then especially when you became a doctor. I was—I am proud of you. I just finally had the means to do it, that’s all.”
He wasn’t sure what to say. No one had ever gotten him anything this lavish before.
“You gonna put it on, or what? I wanna see it on you.” Frankie unbuckled the bracelet from the velvet box and took his wrist, his warm fingers brushing the thrumming pulse as he clasped it on.
Frankie sat back admiringly. “Looks fuckin’ good. I knew it would.”
“Thank you,” he said gruffly, marveling at the way the silver caught the sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows. “I’ll think of you every time I wear it.”
Frankie nodded, shifting, “Yeah, I—uh, hoped you would.”
He wanted Sam to think about him. Which he did, all the damned time. But this was different. He suddenly realized that during their time apart, something had shifted within Frankie—something had opened, and it was for him.
“I wanna kiss you,” Sam murmured, their eyes locked and held.
“Yeah.” His chest visibly inhaled, “I’d like that.”
The kiss was soft and affectionate and full of…
Love.
His heart squeezed painfully in his chest, and without any resistance, he pulled Frankie to his feet and led him back into the bedroom.
Frankie made quick work of removing his boxers, and he pushed him back onto the bed, watching his massive body bounce. He grinned up at him, that handsome, charming smile that made Sam weak. So fucking weak.
He loved him.
He loved everything about him. His stubbornness, his resistance to change, his stupid jokes.
The way he looked at the people he loved with such affection and lightness.
His generous heart, which he gave effortlessly.
He loved him down to his bones and hoped to God that someday Frankie would feel half as much as he did for him.
He peeled off his shirt and sweatpants, straddling Frankie’s hips on the bed, heart racing and blood pumping, wearing only the bracelet that seemed to burn and mold to his wrist the way Frankie had done to his soul.
Frankie’s cock was already hard for him, his eyes heated and intense, watching his every move while his hands gripped his waist, propelling Sam forward, letting him grind against him.
They both shuddered and moaned. He didn’t want to wait.
Not anymore. Foreplay wasn’t wanted. He wanted Frankie.
He wanted his fucking heart so bad it killed him.
Sam spat on Frankie’s cock, slickening it with a hurried pace.
“Baby…” Frankie whispered, eyes searching his taut expression. “Slow down.”
“No. No…”
“Sam.”
“No.”
He moved, arching up and over Frankie’s towering cock and lowered himself. He whimpered at the sensation, tears burning behind his eyes as he pressed against him like a fucking brick wall, demanding to be released.
“Sam,” Frankie’s voice was tight with concern, and he gasped as Sam impaled himself on top of him, riding hard, bearing down his full weight. Frankie cursed, arching and tensing, head thrown back in utter rapture as he rode him hard.
It was all too much.
Seeing him like this. So beautiful. So… his.
The days and nights getting to experience an impossible wish. Finally, truly knowing what it felt like to be his. To be more than a best friend—to belong to Frankie.