Page 31 of Give Me What You Will

Frankie let out a shaking breath, and Sam drew his hand up, once more guiding him. Frankie stilled, sucking in a breath as his fingers slipped beneath his jeans and boxers, and Sam, unable to fit both hands in his jeans, withdrew and waited. Frankie waited, too.

It was the longest moment of his life.

“Please touch me,” Sam whispered, unable to keep the need from his voice.

Frankie’s fingers reached out and curled around the base of his cock, nearly causing him to lose it right there, and instead he let out a weak moan.

“Frank… fuck… yes…” Incapable of controlling his mouth or his body, he arched back so his cock would move beneath his touch. It was limited by the tight fit of his jeans. Frankie seemed to hold his breath above him as he slowly wrapped his calloused, warm palm around his stiff cock.

Sam dropped his head between his shoulders, focused solely on the hand around him, scared that at any moment Frankie would wake up from whatever spell he was under and break the magic between them. He was so aroused, so painfully hard even in the tight confines of his jeans, that the orgasm was tingling at the base of his spine, all the way down to his toes, and gripping his balls.

He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against the need to climax so quickly. “Fuck… I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum…”

Frankie stiffened in that instant and suddenly yanked out his hand from his jeans and violently shoved Sam’s face into the hardwood. Pain erupted against his eyebrow, and he felt something warm and liquid coat his face.

Frankie’s large hands were on him again, this time quickly and carefully turning him over.

“Shit, Sammy.” Frankie yanked off his flamingo shirt, holding it to the side of his face.

“Fuck,” Sam released a breath, the sting of the cut now real as he felt the press of Frankie’s hand over his bleeding eyebrow.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Fuck, I’m an idiot.”

He pushed his hand away, touching the wound to gauge how bad it was.

“It’s just a scratch,” Frankie reassured. “But cuts there bleed like a son of a bitch.”

Sam sighed, resigned to Frankie, who resumed pressing on it with his shirt. “I’m gonna ruin your shirt.”

“I don’t fucking care,” he replied tightly, a darkness brewing in his eyes. But it wasn’t anger. It was something else.

“Frankie…”

“Stop talking,” he snapped. “Every time you open your goddamned mouth, you make me think things… Want things… Things I didn’t know I—”

Sam sucked in a breath, heart pounding.

“I shouldn’t have hurt you,” Frankie said, emotion welling in his expression. “I would never hurt you.”

“I know. I know.”

“No,” he shook his head, remorse lining his lips.

Sam grabbed his face, framing it with both hands. “I know you’d never hurt me. This was an accident. I’m okay.”

“What are you doin’ to me, Sammy?” Frankie asked in a cracked voice. “What are you doin’?”

The fortress around Sam’s heart trembled, his defenses weakening in that instant, hands cradling Frankie's face, needing to somehow make this right—make this better.

“I won’t anymore. I’ll stop. You’re right, it’s not fair to you,” he reassured, continuing to hold him, needing to soothe him. “I won’t come back. I won’t interrupt your life. I won’t—”

“Shut up,” Frankie growled.

Sam did, swallowing his words as Frankie dropped the shirt and checked the wound. “The bleeding stopped.”

A tense silence fell over them, both men breathing hard, Frankie still straddling him and Sam still achingly close to his face, looking at each other… waiting.

He wasn’t sure how it happened. He wasn’t sure if he leaned back or if Frankie pushed him back. All he knew was that he was on his back, pinned beneath his best friend, whose dark brown eyes were almost black as he held himself over him, eyes raking up and down over his body.