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Jamia wakes up hard. It takes her about thirty seconds to figure things out, and that long only because she'd been really deeply involved in a dream about trying to walk down stairs that weren't there. She turns over onto her back, while Frank mumbles beside her in his sleep, and, taking a breath, she lifts up the covers and peeks underneath them.
"Oh my fucking god," she breathes, and then she's up on her knees, shaking Frank. "Wake up wake up wake up wake UP," she chants.
He moans in his sleep and then reaches up to grab her, trying to drag her back down to the bed beside him. "Gimme five more minutes," he says.
"Wake UP," she says, grabbing onto his hair and tugging fiercely until his eyes open the whole way. "Frank. FRANK."
"What?" he says finally, crankily, dragging the covers all the way up his chin, his eyes sliding closed again.
"You remember that thing that happened to Gerard last year?" Her voice sounds funny, high-pitched with excitement, but deeper than usual.
He just stares at her sleepily. Frank's useless when he just wakes up.
"The thing," she says again. "The really weird – oh, for Christ's sake." She grabs Frank's hand out from under the covers and drags it down to wrap around her cock.
"Wait." Frank blinks at her for a handful of seconds, his hand wrapped around the cock she should in no way have and yet, somehow, impossibly, does.
"Dude, the same thing happened to me," Jamia says, breathlessly.
"Wait," he says again, and sits up.
"Oh my god," Jamia says, staring. Frank had gone to sleep naked, and without tits. And now he's still naked, and he has – "You have tits," she breathes. "Actual, honest to god – oh my god, hang on." She scrambles to pull the covers away from him as he just stares dumbly down at himself. "Holy crap. It happened to you, too."
"Jamia." Frank pushes himself up all the way. "Oh my god, Jamia."
The thing is, he's just – she doesn't even know. He's definitely a girl, but he's also still Frank, and just – "Frank," she says, and she can't help it, she's cupping his breasts in her hands, because it's just so bizarre. "Frank, you look –" Different, but the same, she doesn't know. He's got hips now, a curve to them that was never there before, and clearly there are a whole hell of a lot of changes below the waist, but he's still got the same face, still pretty and a little soft, he's always been a little bit girly around the face. His breasts are smallish, but a definite handful, and when she runs her thumbs over the nipples, they get hard right away.
"Wow," he says, still looking down at himself. "It's so weird, it's so fucking weird, this is – fuck, it's temporary, right?" He runs one hand through his hair, biting his lip for a second, then shakes his head hard. "It's gotta be. This is weird. Hey, come here, let me see you."
She grins and gets up on her knees, and yes, fuck yes, this is weird, but they have been through so much weird stuff since Gerard's been in their lives, that, while this is a more than just a blip on the radar, she sort of can't get too freaked out by it. It's fucking exciting, is what it is, and the way Frank's looking at her, getting up on his knees and just outright staring at her, is exciting her even more.
"Fuck, just - look at you," he says. His mouth is slack, and his eyes are hot, and he's got his hands on her, running them down over her chest (and it's so fucking odd, not having breasts, she can't even quite figure out how to move herself without having to be at least aware of them). "It's fucking bizarre," he says, looking up at her. "You're you but - not."
"I know," she says. She's less curvy, or something, she feels it herself, and her chest is a little bit hairy, and she knows, she knows this is all fucking strange, but most of what she is feeling is that – well – she has a cock, and she wants to use it.
Frank looks up at her, kneeling up over him on the bed, as he runs his hands down over her stomach and then he bites his lip again, hard, and circles one hand around her cock.
"Jamia," he says, looking up at her. "I –"
"Frank," and her voice sounds rough and breathless. "Frank, just – suck my cock?" She grins at him helplessly, amused and turned on in equal measure. "Because I have one."
And this is why she loves Frank, this is really and truly one of the many reasons why – his face lights up when she says that, and he's grinning so wide as he says, "Oh yeah. Yeah, come here, come here."
He pushes her down the bed. Frank's strong and he knows what he wants. And yes, yeah, he's a girl, however temporary it is (and Jamia doesn't know, she doesn't know. With Gerard it had only lasted a few hours and it had never happened again), and she wants to see that, she wants to map every change in his body with her tongue, but Frank is intent on her, Frank has a goal, and that goal is sucking her cock, and Jamia is all over that.
"Do it," she says, grabbing onto his hair and dragging his head between her legs. He groans, loving it, and fuck, fuck, Jamia isn't even one hundred percent awake herself, but she knows they (maybe, probably) have a limited window of opportunity here and she's determined they're going to try everything they possibly can.
And Frank – fucking hell, she loves his fucking mouth - Frank's between her legs with just as much enthusiasm as always, but this is fucking special, more special than when they buy themselves a new toy, or give each other a by with someone else they really, really want to fuck. This is just them, but Jamia isn't wearing a strap-on, this is her dick and oh god, she can feel this, it’s the best thing that ever happened. She has always, always wanted to have Frank actually suck her cock and now she can.
God fucking bless Frank, because he knows exactly what she wants. She knows he wants this just as badly as she does, but he holds himself there over her on the bed and lets her drag his head forward, lets her rub the head of her cock over his lips, holding back, holding on, wanting it, but wanting to take her time.
He's whining in his throat, and she's sure he's getting wet by now – fuck, knowing Frank, she's sure he's dripping by now - and she wants that, she wants her face in that, she – oh god, she wants her cock in that. But – Jesus Christ, she wants Frank's mouth on her more than anything, and he's sucking her in, groaning deep in his throat like he does when he's really, really into whatever guy he's sucking, and just – god, he's good at this. He's good, he's so fucking good, and she'd known he would be.
Frank's just good with his mouth. He can get her off, every time. Every time – the nights when she needs it hard and fast, the tip of his tongue against her clit, quick and rough and getting her off in minutes – or the nights when she needs more, when she needs him to settle in down there and use the flat of his tongue, licking her, slow and steady and never losing pace, never slowing down, always staying right there when she tightens her fingers in his hair and tells him to. He'll stay there for twenty minutes if she asks him too; he'll stay there for much, much longer if she doesn’t pull him away. He loves it, and he's good at it, he can get her off over and over again. He knows just when to back off, let her come down from it, and when to start again.
Turns out, he's got the same skill at cocksucking. He has the prettiest fucking mouth, and she'd tell him that if she could figure out a way to say it without sounding like a backwoods hillbilly.
"Frank, fuck, yeah, just like that." He doesn't need direction – he's going at it like a pro, and she's seen him do this, she's seen him, but she's never felt it, she's never felt his mouth around her cock. Christ, she has no way to even categorize this, she doesn't even know what she's supposed to do with the hotness of his mouth, his tongue rolling around her cock while it's still in his mouth, just like she does with him (just like he likes it), so fucking hot she feels like her head is going to blow off.
Jamia's not in control here, at all. She's thrusting hard into Frank's mouth and she's going to come, soon, that's all she knows. She's so fucking close, and Frank's dragging himself forward on the sheets, using his hands on her hips to bring himself closer, take her down deeper. She's making so much noise, her throat hurts. She doesn't even realize how tight her hands are in his hair until she's coming, until she's fucking losing her mind, coming, oh Christ, she can feel it coming out of her. He's swallowing around her, loving this, his hands so fucking tight on her hips, keeping her deep in his mouth.
"Fuck, Frank, I can't – I don't –" She pulls back, slipping out, and he groans, like he'd been wanting more.
Which. Fuck. Jamia wants more. She wants to do a dozen different filthy things to him. She wants to come all over his face. She wants to have him stroke her off, hard and fast. She wants to tit fuck him, god, she does, and she never really one hundred percent understood the appeal of that, but now she does, looking down at his tits and thinking about her cock sliding slickly between them. Seeing herself fuck his tits, watch herself come there all over his neck. Yeah, she wants that.
"Jamia." Frank is breathless, hot, close. She watches as he slides his hand between his own legs, looking adorably perplexed at the challenge of finding his own clit. She's giggling before she can control it, and then so is he, and he pulls her closer, dragging her hand down between his thighs. "Show me," he demands, his face in her hair. "Fuck, just, get me off, I need – I just –"
And she gets it, she does, that need, and she gets how Frank can't quite get there on his own. Fuck, she knows what he wants, she knows exactly what he wants. "Yeah, just – god, let me." She nudges his hand away, her thigh between his legs, her cock soft against his hip. She pushes her fingers up against him, right between his thighs where he's wet (he's fucking soaked). She pushes two fingers into him, and he hisses – his head is thrown back against the sheets, and he can't seem to catch his breath. Jamia wants to get him off, she wants to fuck him, she wants to do every dirty and desperate thing they've ever whispered to each other, Jesus Christ. She hopes this lasts long enough that they'll get the chance.
"Jesus," she says, low in his ear, "You're so fucking wet."
Frank gulps, like there's not enough air in the room, like there's not enough air in the world. "Jamia, fuck, just –" He looks frantic, he's staring at her like he's losing his mind, clutching at her arm as she just sinks her fingers deeper inside him. "Fuck, please, do it, get me off, I can't –"
He can't take it, is what he was going to say, and she knows that. He's so close, he's stupidly close, he's right on the edge, but he doesn't know how to get himself off like this. She's seen him like this before, hot and wild and not able to hold himself back, thrusting himself against her thigh, her hip, again and again until he comes without even getting inside her.
She loves that. She loves that.
Now, Frank is frantic under her, looking for friction, when he's got the wrong tilt to his hips. He's not bringing her closer, and her fingers are going to be in the right spot only when she decides to move them.
Jamia pushes them into him again, deep, rough, and he gasps, and scratches his fingernails down her back, so fucking good. "Fuck," he says. "Stop teasing, stop teasing."
She does, dragging her fingers out of him and sliding them slowly up and oh, yeah, there's his clit, hard and obvious. The thing is, she wants to tease. She wants to stay away from it, build it up until he's begging for it, beyond begging for it, beyond words, but god, she also wants to fuck him, like, now. She's getting hard against his hip already, and that's an awesome feeling, that cocked-and-ready feeling of build-up. She's having a hard time holding back, not just pulling her hand away and going for it. But - god. Yeah. Okay. She's doing what he wants.
She slides two fingers up and over Frank's clit, and he groans, pushing up against her hand. He's so wet she's having problems controlling her stroking, but he's guiding her, one hand light on the back of her wrist, showing her how he likes it as his hips thrust up, and up.
"Fuck," he gasps, his face turned sideways into the sheets. "Fuck, Jamia, fuck, how do you know when you're gonna - fuck." His eyes are shut, his fingers tight on her wrist, flexing like he's trying to let go, but can't. "I think I'm – " He screws his eyes shut tight, and his hips are unbelievably tense, and he's gasping, way more quiet than he usually is when he comes, and then he's – god, his thighs tense up even more, and then her hand is soaked, and he's shaking so hard, she thinks he's going to come apart.
It's so hot. It's so hot. Jamia's completely hard again already, and she doesn't care if it's because this is the hottest thing ever or if it's some awesome side-effect of this gender-change thing, because, fuck, she wants this so bad. "I'm going to fuck you now," she pants in Frank's ear, her fingers still pressed against his clit.
"Yeah, yes," he says, his eyes still closed tight, his breath coming in gasps. "Fuck me." And - this isn't anything different from ever before, they do this all the time, only usually before this is the point where she has to get up, get the harness on, the dildo strapped in, everything lubed up. And that's its own kind of fun, its own kind of hot, but this -
"You - " Frank's eyes are open now, and his cheeks are red, and he's still half-dazed from coming when she pushes his legs apart. "Oh my fucking - Jamia, Jamia -" He cuts himself off with a gasp as she pushes against him, and oh god, this is totally fucking different that it is with the strap-on. She can feel it as she pushes in, and feeling that, while watching Frank's eyes, dark and hot as he stares up at her, watching her, studying her, wanting to see how it feels to her – she has to close her eyes for a second, breathe in through her nose, so she won't come right here before she's even all the way in.
"God, Frank," she says. Her voice is shaking.
He's just looking at her, his legs spread wide. She's halfway into him, and he's slick, and hot, so fucking tight around her, she can't even take it. His tattoos are fucking – she doesn't even know, from this angle looking down at him, he looks like her Frank, still, the flame tattoo over his heart, her name immediately above his nipple, makes her want to bite it, she doesn't even know why. His hips are tilted up, and the swallows on them are just – god, the differences aren't huge. He is kind of a delicate guy; he's always been small; he's always been pretty. It's just that everything is softer now, that everything curves a little bit more, and something about that makes her want to just dig in to him, hold on, push herself closer.
"Jamia," he says, sounding desperate, and he's pushing his hips up now, so she sinks into him. Both of them gasp, and fuck, fucking hell, she has no idea how he holds back, if this is what it feels like, this incredibly tight, wet slide surrounding her, driving her forward, telling her to fuck her way into him hard.
"Jesus, Frank," she says, biting her lip hard and pushing forward, until she's all the fucking way in. "Fuck, I don't – I can't – " She feels dizzy with it; she just wants to fuck him.
"I know," he says, and his hands are around her hips, hanging on, dragging her closer. His legs are wrapped up around her waist, high, pulling her down so he can kiss her. His tongue in her mouth is something she knows, this sort of hot, melting kissing that makes her arms shake, makes her thrust her hips forward without even meaning to. They both gasp at that. "Jesus," he says, his eyes out of focus. "Fuck me, come on, let's do this."
"Fuck, yes, okay," she says against his mouth, pulling back almost all the way and then sliding back in, this long slow glide that feels better than she has ever imagined. She didn't know – this whole thing is just –
"Faster," Frank demands, hooking his feet further up against her back, dragging against her. "Harder," and now he's grinning up at her, and god, it's just – he's Frank, he's always going to be Frank, he gets her, he knows he, he loves her, and he wants her.
"Yeah," she says, bracing her hands against the bed so she can drive into him. "Yeah," and she does it again, and then there's a rhythm to it. She's fucking him hard; she's fucking him through the mattress. His legs are so fucking tight around her waist, and his cunt is hot and wet and he's making these noises, these faces, she can't even take it, it's turning her on so fucking much she doesn't even know if she can make this last.
"God," she says, driving into him, and he's moaning so damn loud. His hands fly up to hold onto the headboard, so tight his tendons are standing out. He keeps squeezing his eyes shut and then flicking them open, like he can't stand to not be looking at her, but he can't take it either.
"Frank," she says, shoving in hard. "Frank, is this – are you- "
"Harder," he says again, his voice tight, and yeah, yes, he's always liked it a little rough, a little hard, and she can do that. She lets herself go and fucks him hard, god, so fucking hard, and she's not going to last, she's so fucking close, she can – fuck, she can feel it building again. It's so different, she can feel her fucking balls draw up this time, she wasn't paying attention before. It's such a startling sensation, that she's fucking surprised when she comes. She's got her face down against his shoulder, and she's all the way inside him, holding herself there as she shakes her way through it, digging her teeth into his shoulder and practically sobbing with it.
"Jamia," she hears him say in a shaky voice, and it sounds like it's coming from far away, even though she's inside him. "Fuck, I don't even know –."
She manages to drag her head off his shoulder, and he's still holding onto the headboard, his arms slack now, and he's staring at her when she lifts her head. "That was fucking amazing," she mumbles, and pushes herself up to kiss him, pressing her tongue into his mouth. "I didn’t know," she said. Because strap-ons were all well and good, but – "I didn't know."
They both gasp a little as she slides out of him. She's feels fucking spent, but he's wired, she can see it in the tension of his body. He needs to get off, and she knows that feeling, too. And – who knows how long this will last? She wriggles down his body to sprawl between his legs, and he says, breathlessly, "Yes, yeah, please, I fucking love you, just –"
She shuts him up, or at least takes away his words, when she presses her tongue against him, licking at the come - her come, holy fuck – coming out of him, then tracing her way back up to his clit. His hips come all the way off the bed at that, and one of his hands comes down to clutch at the back of her head. She likes it – god, she loves it. He's not shoving at her, he's just holding on, letting her find her way, and she does. She licks up over his clit, and he hisses his breath in through his teeth. "Fuck, Jamia, please – I need – "
She knows, and she licks him right where he guides her, and remembers the pace he liked from earlier. Though even if she didn't, she'd just have to hold herself there – the rhythm of his hips against her tongue is something almost mesmerizing, she could get lost in this. She loves it, loves him. She knows he's close when, after a while, he takes in a sharp breath and holds still, his hand tense in her hair, and she just keeps on licking, exactly where she is, steady rhythm with her tongue, her eyes closed, her face fucking soaked with his wetness. She doesn't push the rhythm, doesn't ease up, just keeps on licking steadily, his thighs tense around her ears. She's rewarded when he gasps, and then cries out, and then her tongue is flooded with flavor, something different from the taste of him before, sweeter, fucking amazing.
She lifts her wet face from between his thighs to see him staring down at her, looking dazed and fucked out and fucking glowing. He's a mess, too – it's so funny, their hair hasn't changed, she guesses because hair is not a gendered thing, it's fluid, just ask Gerard if you have an extra hour or three to spare – he has total sex hair, standing up at odd angles and sweaty. "Frankie," she says, and licks her lips. She knows what she must look like. He groans, low in his throat, and drags her up, saying, "Come here, come fucking here." He kisses her, messy and sweet and making noises in his throat, like even lying there limp against the bed, he can't get enough of her.
It hasn't changed - that hasn't changed. He's like this, almost always, after he's fucked her, after he's sated and spent and made her come, too, or watched her get herself off .
"God," he says, pulling back, his eyes sleepy and hooded. "How long do you think this will last?"
"I don't know," she says, distracted, because she's half-hard again already – fuck, she loves this - pressing against Frank's thigh a little.
"With Gee, it lasted only one night." Frank's hand is running over her hip, then up her back. He's limp against the covers, relaxed and happy and not even complaining over what has to be one hell of a wet spot he's lying in.
"That's too bad," Jamia says. "He didn't even get a chance to really explore the gender differential."
"Well," Frank says, his mouth twisting into a small smile. "He did some exploring."
Jamia grins at him and bites his lower lip. "You did some exploring," she says, and moves against him a little more. "Of Gerard's vagina," she clarifies.
Frank bursts into giggles, and rolls her over onto her back. "Of Gerard's temporary vagina," he says. "What, I wasn’t supposed to take advantage of that?"
"No, you totally were," she says grinning up at him. She loves him so much. She hitches her hips up, pressing her cock against him, and he looks down between their bodies thoughtfully. "Again?" he says, raising an eyebrow.
"Again," she says, running a hand down his back. "Yes."
"I'm going to be so sore tomorrow," he says happily, and kisses her, all messy tongue and moaning, until she's panting in his arms and humping up against his hip. She feels fucking lit up by this – not spent anymore, but like she's turned the corner and just wants to fuck him for hours, until they're both fucked out. "God, Frankie, I just want – I want – " She wants something more, she loves this, but she's craving, she's needing –
He goes, "Huh," in his smug tone, that I know something you don't know tone.
He ignores her when she demands, "What? What?" just shakes his head, this totally ridiculous smile playing across his lips, and he just – he looks so pretty that he takes her fucking breath away. Then he smirks and he's Frank again, and she bites at his shoulder, his arms, saying, "Tell me, you fucker." She rolls him over, pins him to the bed, thrusts up against him, till he's gasping, "Ah, ah, ah," as her cock slides up and over his clit again and again.
"Wait," he says finally, panting. "Just – wait a second, I'll tell you, I'll tell you."
"Tell," she demands, and he nods, but by tell, he means show, because what he does is slide one hand down her back, sending shivers down her spine, and then over the curve of her ass, and then down in between the cheeks, and – "Oh," she says, gasping, as he presses just the tip of one finger in. "Oh god, you're so fucking smart."
"I know, right?" he says smugly, and then he's using his hips to buck her off of him, and she rolls to the side as he hops up, completely naked, and starts rummaging in the bedside table. He finds their best harness, and lets it dangle from one hand while he spends some time perusing their toys. He literally has one finger pressed thoughtfully to his lip, like he's a fucking scholar or something. A scholar of dildos.
"I will kill you, you know," she offers conversationally from the bed.
"I’m just deciding," he says distractedly.
"Decide faster." She has one hand wrapped around her cock, and that is such a cool thing, she thinks. She's a good size, and hard like that, standing up over her belly, she doesn't even know. She feels powerful; she feels unstoppable; she feels this sort of potential to just – she doesn't even know, fuck anyone that comes into her field of vision. She wants to fuck; she's primed, she's ready, and she strokes herself, letting her hips push her cock up into her fist, and moans.
"Don't," Frank says from beside the bed, where he's struggling with the harness. "Wait for me, I'm just – fucking fuck you," he says, apparently to the harness. He's half into it and it's always ridiculous for her, too, after all this time, getting into it. She loves that he doesn't care, that half the trouble he's having is that he can't stop giggling, and the dildo he picked – the slim electric blue one that tilts up a little at the end – is sort of flopping everywhere because he can't get the straps tightened enough to keep it in place.
"Shut up," he says, glancing up at her, grinning. His face is flushed, his hair is sweaty, and he looks gorgeous.
"Do you want a hand?" She pushes herself up onto her hands and knees, reaching for the buckle, but he gets it, right then.
"Got it!" he says, triumphantly, and then wiggles his hips a little, apparently making sure it's settled in place. It's fucking hysterical, and they're both laughing as he climbs onto the bed. She starts to turn over onto her back, but he's giving her that look again, long and hot, like he wants to eat her alive.
"Actually," he says, putting one hand on the small of her back where she's poised on her hands and knees. "Stay there?" It's a question, but his voice is so serious, she couldn't say no if she wanted to. She stays there, her head hanging down between her arms, and she feels – exposed, weirdly. Like, way more than when he fucks her like this with his cock. They've done this before, and it's not her favorite, or his, but it's fun sometimes; it's different.
This, right here, now? Is very different. Her cock is still heavy and hard between her legs, and looking down between her arms, she's caught between thinking it's totally ridiculous and totally hot. She can hear Frank's breath coming heavy – she knows that feeling, that feeling right before this happens. "Jamia," he says, and his hands are tracing her sides restlessly for a second before he reaches over to grab the lube from the bedside table. "Okay, just – is this okay?"
She can't even speak, but she nods shakily, bracing herself against the bed. This is – she doesn’t even know, this is role-reversal, which, duh. But she has been back there herself so many times, with Frank on his knees in front of her, waiting for it, for her fingers to press inside him, get him wet and ready, get him to beg for it, beg her to press the dildo against him and push it in, slow, and steady. Listening to him keen, his head hanging down between his arms, his body shaking as she fucks her way inside him.
Now it's her, waiting, biting her lip and breathing too fast. Frank doesn't hesitate – his slick fingers are slipping into her surely and smoothly – they've done this part before, and she takes deep breaths, pushing back onto his fingers as he rocks them inside of her. She can feel him crook his fingers inside of her, and that feels – interesting, but – "Fuck," he hisses, "I can't quite – "
"Frank," she says, and her voice comes out rough. "C'mon, more. I want you to put it in."
He giggles wildly behind her. "Put it in?" he says, pulling his fingers out. "So sexy." But his hands are clenching and releasing on her hips and when she pushes back, the strap-on slides up between her cheeks, and he draws in a quick breath. "Yeah, okay, I – yeah," he says, and then he's pressing it up against her. "Okay. God, this is weird, not feeling it."
"I know," she says. "It's – I know." There's the inevitable moment of it feeling strange, and wrong, and backwards, and then the head of the dildo is inside her. She groans a little, and she feels his fingers tighten on her hips.
"Okay?" he says, sounding a little anxious.
"Yeah, just – keep going," she grits out, and he does, very slowly, inching his way into her. She's braced on the bed, but her arms are shaking, and she's sweating, and this feels like so much more, and she's not sure why. It's not that different from everything they've done before, but she can feel him looking for the angle, and she knows how hard that is, when you can't feel it – the strap-on isn't a part of you, there is always that disconnect, and she wonders how badly Frank is missing his cock right now, and hopes he's okay with this.
"Okay," he says again, in this tight little voice, when he's all the way in her. "Okay?"
It sort of takes everything she has to nod her head, and then he moves his hips, and he's fucking her.
"Oh," she says. "I – "
He makes a humming, thoughtful sound and changes the angle in some way, and she says, "Oh. Oh my fucking –"
He does it again, stroking over some spot inside her, and she knew, she knew, but she didn't fucking know. Her arms can't hold her up anymore – she goes down on her elbows, her face against the sheets, and Frank immediately adjusts to the new angle, and fuck her, fuck her, he is so fucking good at this.
"Yeah," she hears him say from behind her, sounding like he's very far away. "Oh Christ, Jamia, I know, I know, right?"
She can't talk, she can't stop moaning, and she's fucking losing it. He pushes into her again, again, and she wants to shove back against him, she wants it more, and harder, and faster, but she can't even move, all she can do is lie here and take it. Fuck, she never knew what this did to him, what it felt like. She's seen him, felt him, come apart in her arms as she fucked him, but this is – this is – "Frank," she tries to say, but she's lost her words, as well, she's just groaning against the sheets.
"God," he says, as he thrusts into her again. "You see? You get it? I don't even – fuck, Jamia, you're so fucking - fuck - "
He pushes into her hard and fast and she's coming without even being able to take a breath. She's fucking losing it, coming all over the sheets, like she's being turned inside out, dizzy and shaking and making so much noise her throat hurts.
"Fuck," Frank says, sounding completely and totally turned on.
She collapses onto the bed as soon as he pulls out of her.
"Jamia," she hears him say again but she's still seeing stars, she can't even get her eyes to open. "Fuck, fuck, I –" She hears the clink of the buckles over his cursing, and she forces her eyes open just in time to see him shove the harness off and to the side. He's on his back right next to her with his head thrown back, his fingers working frantically between his thighs. "Jesus, that was so fucking hot, I'm so – " He's panting, and he turns his head towards her, his brow furrowed in concentration as he strokes himself.
She's so fucked out, she feels like she's underwater, everything hazy and slow, but watching him get himself off, she feels this slow heat uncurling low in her belly. She rolls toward him, presses up against his side, as he bites his lip hard and works his fingers against himself harder, faster.
His thighs tense, and his eyes close, and he says, "I – yeah, I think I –" like he's warning himself, and then he comes, his whole body strung tight, his fingers buried between his legs.
"Fuck, Frank," she says, running a shaky hand up over his sweaty hair, pushing it off of his forehead.
He rocks his head from side to side a little, his eyes still closed, his face slack. "Mmph."
She grins, and pushes herself against him, and he brings his arm up over her shoulder, drawing her close to him. Her face rests against his chest, her cheek right over the flame, right over her name. They're sweaty, gross, filthy; she loves it. His hand is running up and down over her arm, like he doesn't even know he's doing it, and when she closes her eyes, he smells just like he usually does after they've fucked – like sweat and come and happiness.
She sighs, after a while. "Let me up – I gotta pee."
"Mmph," he says again, letting her go after squeezing her close for another second.
She sits up, and then – oh. Oh. "Frank," she says, nudging his side. "I have to pee."
He cracks open one eye. "Yeah?"
"With this," she says, pointing down, and he cracks the fuck up, his giggle loud and hysterical, and she's giggling with him, uncontrollably. "Fuck," she says, wriggling out of bed. "I gotta go, I'm gonna pee myself."
He's dying on the bed there, hiccupping with giggles. "Good luck," he calls as she scurries, naked, towards the bathroom. "Have fun."
She half-pushes the door shut behind her and poises herself uncertainly in front of the toilet, lifting up both seats. She takes a hold of herself, and it's so fucking ridiculous that she's snorting giggles out her nose.
"Careful with the aim!" Frank calls from the other room, and she's laughing so hard, she can't pee.
"Shut the fuck up, I'm concentrating," she yells back.
He's quiet for a handful of seconds, while she's aiming, and concentrating, then he calls out, "Well?" and she starts to lose it all over again.
"I hate you," she yells, and she hears him snickering.
Finally, she manages to pee, and it's fucking funny and cool and bizarre. It's like using a water gun or something. Aiming is, actually, not that hard, and she reminds herself to point that out to Frank the next time it's her turn to clean the bathroom.
"This is awesome," she calls over her shoulder, because, wow, she's peeing for a while.
"I know, right?" he yells back gleefully, and she can't help the grin that spreads across her face, because it is awesome, her life is awesome.
She finishes up, flushes, and goes to look at herself in the mirror. And oh, that's weird. Same hair. Same eyes. Same general shape, but – less curvy. More boxy. No tits. The dick is ridiculous, in the way that all dicks are, and it's maybe freaking her out a little bit, this whole thing of being her but not her. She doesn’t even know; she heads back out to Frank, and everything eases up a bit when she sees him doing the same thing, up on his knees in the bed, studying himself in the mirror over the dresser.
"I'm hot," he informs her, watching in the mirror as she crosses the room towards him. His hands are resting on his thighs, and he is hot, in this slightly different way than he is when he's a guy. When he's a guy, it's this thing where it pushes the gender line, where he's small; he's delicate; he's got a pretty face, and he's just - girly, except for all the ways he's not. Here, now, he's got the same small, delicate thing, accentuated by the curves of his hips, his breasts, his cheekbones, but when she climbs up onto the bed behind him, hooks her face over his shoulder to study him in the mirror, too, he's still Frank. It's in his eyes, and the way he holds himself – the cock of his chin, the squareness of his shoulders, the way he sinks back into her. He's Frank; he's who she knows.
"You are hot," she says lightly against his ear. "You're so fucking hot." She licks his earlobe, bites it a little. He grins at her in the mirror. She says, "If I could get it up again, I'd do you again right now."
He pushes back against her again, and she lets her hands run down over his breasts, sliding her palms over the nipples. His hips are just fucking gorgeous, the swallows resting on the curves, and she strokes her hands down over the softness of his stomach, watching in the mirror as her hands come to rest over the birds she knows so well. She's feeling weirdly homesick for the Frank she knows completely, for the Jamia she knows completely. It's been fun, but.
He leans his head back, brushes a kiss against her cheek, with his eyes closes, and she thinks he feels it, too.
She tugs him back down to the bed with her, and he drags the covers up over both of them, his eyes blinking a little in that tired way he has. "Jamia," he says, his face half-hidden in the shadow of their comforter. "Come here, I just –"
His hand traces up the side of her face, and she leans into him for a kiss, soft and them. He pulls her close under the covers, and she rests her face against his chest again, their legs tangled together comfortably, his arm warm and firm over her shoulders.
"We should – " she says, her voice tired. "I mean, what if we wake up and –" She'd been worried earlier about not having time to do enough. Now she's worried about what if they don't change back.
"Whatever," he says, and presses a kiss to her head. "This was so fucking fun." He breathes in deep. "We'll be good."
"I love you," she says, and it feels sudden and important. Like she hasn't said it, and meant it, ten thousand times before, but god, she fucking loves him.
"Me too," he says. He's tired; he's shot. He's about fifteen seconds from sleep. "God, me too, Jamia. Come here."
He pulls her even closer, and they're wrapped together in the warm cocoon of the blankets. She's sinking down into sleep, and she's pretty sure he's already gone. "Frankie," she says almost silently, pressing her fingers against his side.
"So much," he says, three-quarters asleep. "So fucking much."
* * *
"Oh wow," Gerard breathes. "Jamia. That must have been so cool."
"I know," she says, in the exact same smug tone that Frank gets. She leans back in the booth, grinning. When they'd finished brunch, Frank had ducked out for a smoke, and Gerard had shockingly – or, okay, it was Gerard, so maybe not so shockingly – been mesmerized enough by the discussion of gender differential to forgo nicotine. "And when we woke up again, we had just – " She waved one hand in the air. "Changed back. Weird, right?"
"Man." Gerard runs a hand through his messy hair, looking at her admiringly. "I love that you're so cool with it. That you took advantage of it. You know. The situation."
"Who wouldn't," she asks incredulously.
"You'd be surprised," Gerard says. "Some people – hell, most people – take gender roles really fucking seriously."
"Not me," she says, grinning at him. "Not Frank."
"No," Gerard agrees, smiling a tiny bit, his cheeks going pink as she arches a knowing eyebrow at him. "Not Frank."
They're both quiet for a handful of seconds, thinking about Frank's lack of concern with regard to gender roles.
"Uh, anyway," he says, finally, clearing his throat and not meeting her eyes. "So you woke up the next morning and - ?"
"And everything was back to normal." She shrugs, and takes a sip of her smoothie. "It was so weird. I can't even think of anything different we ate, or did, or whatever, but it just – happened, and then went away."
Gerard scrunches his face up for a second, thinking, before giving up. "I don't know," he says, accepting her smoothie when she offers it over to him for a sip. "Honestly?" He scratches a hand through his greasy hair. "I've pretty much come to terms with just accepting these sort of things." He takes a sip of the smoothie, and makes a happy face. "Yum. Strawberry's my favorite." He shrugs. "Weird things just happen to us."
"I'm okay with that," Jamia says, taking back her drink.
Gerard gives her one of those way too open and loving and happy looks that just steal her heart. "That's why you're so cool, Jamia," he says in this completely fucking heartfelt tone.
"You, too, Gee," she says, and she means it.
He gets really pink in the face, and his lips curve up in this stupidly happy smile, and she just fucking loves this guy, who loves her husband, and who loves her.
"Yeah," he says, shyly, fiddling with the napkin on the table in front of him. "Frank is so fucking lucky. He doesn't even know."
"He knows," she says softly, watching him till he meets her eyes. "He totally knows."
"Yeah," he says, quietly, seriously. "He totally does."
She grins at him till he blushes again, hard, and she slurps her smoothie till he's cracking the fuck up. Jamia can't lie: she loves her fucking life.
the end