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People were fuckwads who shouldn't be allowed to ride in cars, let alone drive them, Frank thought. And people on bicycles were fair game and it should be totally legal to run them over. It had been a long-ass fucking week and what should have been a twenty-minute ride home from work after picking Jamia up took nearly an hour. And then he couldn't find a spot any fucking where near the liquor store on the corner and had to give the fuck up – he'd just park the goddamn car at home and walk up, because this was the way his fucking life was going tonight. By the time they turned onto their street, Jamia had turned up the ipod loud enough to drown out Frank's cursing and was actively ignoring him, drumming her fingers to the beat of the music against her thighs.
When they pulled onto their street, there was a car parked at the head of the driveway they shared with the neighbors, blocking the whole fucking thing. For no fucking reason at all. Just – parked there, where it shouldn't be, and it was the last fucking straw in the whole fucking universe.
"Fucking fuck you," he snarled, slamming the car to a grinding halt in front of their house. "Fucking goddamn –"
"Do you want to pop the trunk, so I can grab our bags?" Jamia asked evenly.
"No." Frank was gripping the steering wheel so tight, his hands hurt. "Just – get out. Go in."
"Are you going to –"
"I’m going to do this," Frank said, swinging roughly into the very head of the driveway, the ass-end of the car half-hanging out into the street. "And then I’m going to go have a fucking conversation with our fucking neighbors."
"Awesome," she said, getting out of the car and letting the door slam shut behind her. "Let me know how that goes."
"I fucking will!" he yelled at the closed door, before pounding his hands uselessly against the steering wheel three times in a row, then slamming the car into park and wrenching the door open.
Jamia had already disappeared into the house, but she'd left the foyer door unlocked, so Frank could storm his way upstairs without fucking around with their shitty-ass locks. He banged his fist against the neighbor's door twice, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth in that way that never, ever calmed him down in the slightest no matter what anybody said.
"Hi!" said the skinny-assed blonde bimbo upstairs, who thought she was hot even though she had no curves to speak of and basically resembled an ironing board.
"Is that your car blocking the driveway?" Frank gritted out, trying for friendly, because Jamia would fucking kill him if he was the one who started a feud with the neighbors. Again.
"Uhm." Blonde girl, whose name Jamia knew, and had told to Frank, but fuck if he remembered, blinked. "I don't think so?"
Frank fisted his hands tight enough that his nails dug into his palms. He breathed out through his nose, but the blonde girl didn't think it was calming either, from the way she stepped back a little bit. "So it's not?"
"No?" she said, like she still didn't know for sure, and Frank just said, "Fine," because otherwise he really, really was going to do something here that he might not regret, but Jamia definitely would break his balls over.
Blondie closed the door, eyeing him nervously as she did so, and Frank stormed his way up to the third floor. He banged the side of his fist against the door hard, and then stood very, very still, because if he let himself go an inch, he was going to kick the fucking thing down, he really, really was. After a minute (or ten seconds, whatever), when no one came, he hit the door again with his fist, hard, and a moment later, Hippie Granola Lady who lived up there opened the door. "Hi!" she said brightly.
"Is that your car," Frank asked tightly. "Blocking the driveway?"
"Yes!" The door opened further, Hippie Granola Lady's even more Hippie Granola husband stepped into the picture, and Frank was accosted with the scent of patchouli. Like his blood pressure wasn't through the fucking roof already. "We were just packing up for our weekend trip!"
Frank literally couldn’t even blink for a handful of seconds. Due to the pure rage that was boiling through his bloodstream. "Move it," he said. He tried to make it sound like a suggestion, but it maybe didn't come out that way, considering how many times in a row Hippie Granola dude blinked before saying, "Yes."
Frank stormed his way downstairs and burst into his apartment. Jamia came out of the bedroom, already in her comfy pajama pants, zipping up her skeleton hoodie over her tank top. She looked at Frank silently.
"The fucking neighbors are fucking packing up for their fucking trip and have to, apparently, block our entire fucking driveway," Frank said. Rage. Rage, was what he was feeling here.
"That sucks," Jamia said sympathetically, but not especially helpfully.
"I fucking know that," Frank snarled and went to grab their fucking bags out of the car. He dumped them inside the apartment, as Hippie Granola dude edged past him nervously and went to go start his car. Frank paced around their living room and lit a cigarette and smoked half of it before heading outside to let the fucker out of the driveway. Fuck him. Fuck him.
He gunned the engine as the guy cleared the driveway and then he slammed the car into the curve, letting himself careen down the narrow driveway way too fast. He shoved the car into park, trudged back up the fucking driveway, and stomped his way back to the front door. A-fucking-gain.
"I'm going to get BEER," he bellowed, leaning in their front door.
"'kay!" Jamia yelled from the kitchen.
Frank stomped up the block to the fancy-ass fucking liquor store that had fucking wine-tastings on Friday nights. The fucking guys in suits and girls in ugly skirts were blocking the fucking beer case, and he had to shove past them to get to the fucking PBR. He slammed the case onto the counter, glaring at the dude who agreeably scanned the beer in, took Frank's bank card, and handed him his beer with a smile.
"Have a nice night," he said brightly, and Frank growled as he pushed out the door.
He banged into some dude at the corner, who said, "Hey, fuck you," and it was the first fucking thing that had gone right all night.
"Fuck your mom," Frank snarled back and sure, it wasn't his best line, but it was good enough for the guy to wheel around and shove him up against the wall.
Frank spat at him and threw a punch a second behind that, connecting with a really satisfying thud against the guy's face. The guy rocked back on his feet a little bit, looking surprised, then came back at Frank full force, punching him in the face right back, then slamming into him with one shoulder hard enough to knock the breath out of him.
Frank wheezed, and gave the guy his motherfucking scariest grin and went for his stomach head-first. Things got awesome and a little messy from there, but hey, no one called the cops, so Frank called that a win. By the time he stumbled back to the apartment, he was bleeding from his nose a little and his mouth was bruised and sore, and so were both his fists. He went to the kitchen, dropping his case of beer onto the counter, and Jamia looked up from where she was leaning into the open fridge, taking him in.
"You get the car parked?" was all she asked, and he said, "Fucking asshole neighbors aside, yeah."
"Cool," she said, turning back to studying the contents of the fridge.
Frank went to the bedroom and unlaced his boots. He'd just kicked them off into the corner when Jamia came in. She put an opened beer down onto the dresser, eyed his bruised face, and left.
He sighed, shoved his pants off, and pulled his t-shirt over his head, leaving them both where they fell. He picked up the beer, took a long swallow, and made his way to the kitchen wearing just his boxer-briefs.
"Hi," he said gloomily, clutching his beer. He leaned against the counter near the sink, where Jamia was now doing the dishes from the night before.
"Who'd you fight?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at his face.
"No one," he said, picking at the label on his beer. "Some dude."
Jamia raised an eyebrow at him, and he said, "Not the neighbor, okay? Fuck."
"Whatever," she said.
He finished his beer in one long swallow, left the empty on the counter, and grabbed another one from the fridge. He headed back to the bedroom to find some sweatpants.
He heard the water shut off and Jamia came in the bedroom door a few seconds later. She had her hair messily pulled back off her head with a wide black headband with a skull on it, and her sweatpants were snug around her ass, her tank top low on her tits. "Hi," she said, leaning against the door as he looked in the mirror over their dresser, pressing the back of his hand against his nose gingerly to make sure it had stopped bleeding.
"Hi," he said back grimly. He was still ragey. He had some rage. The fight had helped, but he still felt clenched tight, fucking anger still rolling inside him.
"Hi," she said again, pushing off the doorjamb, but her tone was different, and her expression was, too. He eyed her warily as she moved towards him, but she just moved smoothly around him, and pressed up against his back in that way he really, really liked. She pressed her soft tits against his back, her hands sliding around his hips, her whole body a warm weight against him in a way that made him feel more grounded or some fucking touchy-feely bullshit like that.
He pushed back against her, and he felt her lips curve against the back of his neck, and then she shoved him forward, hard enough that he fell onto his hands against the bed.
"What the fuck," he said, but she was up close against him, and he pushed back against her. He could feel how warm she was against his hips, against his ass, and he closed his eyes, rocking back harder. "Fuck," he said again, low. "Fuck, yeah."
"Yeah?" she said, but she said it sort of fierce, not teasing, and fuck yeah, his cock had been half-hard since the fight and was pretty much all the way there just from how she was digging her fingers into his hips.
"Yes," he gritted out, his head hanging down between his arms as he braced himself against the bed. "Fucking yeah."
"Hmmm," she said behind him, shoving against him again with her hips, pushing his legs apart and letting one hand run down his back while she kept the other one firm on his hip. She let a finger get caught in the waistband of his underwear, tugging them down his hips a little, before running the same finger down over his ass, sliding between his cheeks in a way that made him hitch in a breath.
"Whatever," he said, breathing down against the bed. "Just fucking – "
"Mm," she said, and pushed both hands into the sides of his briefs, shoving them all the way down, Frank lifting his feet unsteadily to get them off all the way. "Mm," she said again, her hands hot against his skin as he vaguely heard the bedside table door slide open a few seconds before he felt her fingers sliding slickly against him. Not teasing – she went directly for his ass, and went in with two fingers right away, just this side of rough, just this side of perfect.
"Fuck," he gasped, his knees going out a little bit.
"Right?" Her voice was low, hot, and she pushed in further, twisting her fingers and opening him up. "Fucking –" She pulled them out, and he gasped, cursed, before she dribbled more lube onto them, some of it spilling onto his back, before shoving them back in – fuck, three this time, so fucking good, so fucking good.
He couldn't even gather the breath to speak – he just groaned, loud, and pushed his hips back against her. "More," he said, harshly. "Harder."
"Fucking pushy," she said, pulling out, what the fuck, what the fuck, and he felt like he was going to fucking cry or something. But it was only a few seconds later when she came back, one hand anchored against his hip, hot and tight, as she – oh fuck, he fucking loved Jamia, he fucking loved her – used her other hand to press a dildo against him. "Hold on," she ordered, and pushed it in, slow and steady and not teasing, not holding back. Just the right angle, just the right pressure, just what he needed fucking most.
"Yeah," he breathed out. "Fucking – fuck, Jamia, fuck." She palmed it in all the way, and his arms gave out and he fell forward onto his elbows on the bed. It was so good. It was so good.
"Harder?" she said against his ear, pulling it almost all the way out before pushing it back in, hard, at the shaky nod of his head. "Faster?" she asked, hot against his ear.
"Fuck," he gasped. "Fucking just – yes, yes, fucking yes."
She said, "You got it," and bit his ear hard, and pressed one hand to the small of his back, pinning him down, forcing his face against the bed as she worked the dildo in and out of him, hard and fast and perfect. He was so fucking hard and so fucking ready and he loved her so fucking much.
"Fucking just – do it," he said, his mouth against the comforter. "Fucking, just – Jamia, please, please, I fucking –"
She didn't say anything, just fucked him with it, hard, shoving it all the way in again, the angle or something different that it was when she was wearing the harness, but still fucking awesome. The head of his cock was just barely brushing against the comforter, and he wanted her to jack him off, he wanted to do it himself, but she wasn't reaching around, and he couldn't work his arms. And suddenly it didn’t matter, because oh my fucking God, that was the angle that drove him crazy, and his cock was rubbing against the bed, and then Jamia licked his neck and bit his ear again and he was coming with a strangled yell, all over the fucking bed.
His knees completely gave out a second later, and he collapsed as Jamia pulled the dildo out of him.
"Fuck," he said finally, muffled against the covers. "Fucking – yeah." He rolled over onto his back, wincing.
Jamia was standing right behind him, a cocky smile on her face, a slick dildo in her hand. "Do you feel better?"
He couldn’t do anything but nod. Fuck. Godammit. He'd needed this - a fight, and a beer, and a fuck - and she'd fucking known that. She knew him really fucking well. How the fuck did she know him inside and out like that? Fuck. He just - "Come here," he said, reaching out for her. "I'll do you."
"Mm," she said, waggling the dildo around in her hand for a second before depositing it on the bedside table. "Maybe later. That was pretty good for me."
"Fuck." He gazed up at her, from where he was lying in the wet spot on their fucking dry-clean-only bedspread, which he'd told her it wasn't a good idea, but if she wanted to have stupid pretty crap around her, she'd have to deal with the fucking consequences, and thought about how she'd fuck him just as hard as he'd needed and not even want anything in return. "I fucking love you."
"You should," she said, leaning up and over him and brushing a kiss over his lips.
"You're the best," he said. His voice came out rough and shredded and he meant it with every fiber of his being. He couldn't even fucking front.
"I am." She straightened up. "I ordered pizza. It'll be here soon."
"Seriously?" He thought his heart might burst out of his chest
"Seroiusly." She grinned down at him, then kicked at him where his legs were still dangling off the edge of the bed. "So get the fuck up so you aren't naked when the guy gets here."
"Fuck that, I'm getting the door like this, I don't fucking care." Frank pushed himself up. He was fucking fucked out. His face was throbbing from the fight, and his ass was sore in the best way.
"Fuck you," Jamia said, but when he reached up, she let him pull her down onto the bed, pushing her down beside him so he could kiss her.
"I love you," he said again, unable to stop himself, his chest was tight with it, with this fucking need to make sure she knew.
"You can show me later. With your tongue," she said against his lips. "In my pussy."
"Yeah," he said, feeling overwhelmed with happiness again. "Yeah." He pressed her to the bed, and palmed her tit, and he just fucking loved her.
the end