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And on a good day, my mind is like the country... green, wide open, a breath of zen
The day's been a long one, scheduled so tight that Frank's just committed himself to following the guys everywhere they go so he doesn't have to remember meeting places and times, always being handed microphones or guitars or sharpies, turning around and finding himself in a new conversation.
Lot parties are the way to deal with hectic days on tour: messy nights spent chasing down two-fours, tossing lighters, telling stories and doing stupid shit that'll make for good ones tomorrow night. It's a chaos that Frank knows well. From the sweat and the unpredictable lurch of the pit to back-slapping and hotboxing bathrooms at house parties, this is what he's grown up on and he fucking loves it. Things are always moving a step ahead of you and you just barrel right on through, finding your footing as you go.
The parking lot is lit up with trash can bonfires, fold-up lawn chairs scattered around them, as Frank laughs with Cortez and a few of his friends. Someone taps an unopened bottle of beer against Frank’s sternum and he takes it with an appreciative eyebrow raise. He's still talking while he rucks his hoodie up, intending to pop the bottle top off with his belt buckle when a hand folds over his exposed side, squeezing hard.
"Jesus, your fucking nails!" Frank laughs, hunching sideways protectively and elbowing Jamia hard as he turns to face her.
"Deal with it." She smiles sweetly, eyes crinkling at the corners. "I need you for a minute," she adds, pulling the beer bottle out of Frank's grasp and handing it to Cortez, "consolation prize?" He takes it with a nod.
Frank feels restless, used to conversation-hopping, and works his fingers under the hem of Jamia's t-shirt to tickle her belly. She grabs his hands, digging her nails in with another smile before pulling him off towards the buses at the distant edge of the lot, eyes glinting in the light of nearby fire when she looks back at him.
"Oh really?" Frank follows her with a skip, gets out ahead, jogging backwards and grinning at her, his hair bouncing in his face. "You got that look like you want on my dick."
Jamia smirks, but her hips sway and she makes a kissy face. "Well I was going to give you my bags and schedule for tomorrow, but you make such a strong case."
On the bus, Jamia heads into the bunk area and Frank follows. She reaches up to grab her bag, stowed in Frank’s bunk, and her shirt sags down one freckled shoulder. Frank can't really help it, he's been moving on impulse all night: he grabs her hips hard, digging fingers into the soft give of flesh and the fabric of her skirt, pulling her back against him and closing his mouth over her shoulder, his hair falling down around his face. Jamia stills, one hand in her backpack.
"No business right now,” Frank says into her skin, smelling bonfire smoke and cigarettes, “you gotta stop looking so fuckin' good, okay?" He feels her breathe deep, pushing slightly back against him as he grinds his hips forward, half-hard and trailing sloppy kisses up and down from her ear to the edge of her collar. The heat of her body feels good against his, like all the other bodies he's been bumping into all day; but hers is the only one that's his, that he knows every inch of, that he's allowed to touch.
"Shit," Jamia mutters, slapping a hand out against the edge of the bunk to hold herself up because Frank's rolling his hips hard against her ass, fingers splayed across the front of her hips. He’s bunching the black cotton of her skirt up her thighs and the feel of her against him like this is so good, he doesn't want to ruin it by getting undressed.
Frank grunts as she rubs her ass back, using the resistance from the bunk, and his cock's pushing hard against his fly already. He’s going commando because it's laundry day--it's been laundry day all week--and it's painful but overwhelming, which is exactly what Frank needs right now.
"J, I want. Christ…" he swallows thick around his own spit and closes his eyes, biting hard into the meat of her shoulder as she shifts against him in perfect rhythm. "You move like a fucking dancer, you know that?"
"Trained in the Jersey pits, baby, you know me." Jamia huffs a laugh, and her voice has dropped the way it always does when she's turned on. Frank has to feel her too now, wants to see just how she's doing. He gathers the hem of her skirt up higher in his fingers and cups his hand over her underwear, warm and soft and wet, that spot right where the calloused pads of his middle and forefinger rest, between her thighs. He pushes in slightly, rubs little circles, feels the fabric get even more damp.
"Fuck, yeah," Jamia groans, loud just like Frank loves her to be, no fucking princess in the bedroom.
"Sorry J, but I am so fucking done with foreplay tonight," Frank says, rushed and laughing, against the flushed skin of her neck. The feel of her cunt, wet and soft under cotton, the fragile curve of her shoulder, the strength in her arm, flexing as she pushes herself back against his cock... he's feeling too much at once right now to make any sort of game plan other than: "You wanna get fucked?"
Jamia doesn't turn around, just gets her hand in between their bodies to flip the back of her skirt up and bends over, both hands bracing on the lower bunk.
"Oh god," Frank groans, palming the pale soft of her ass. "You leaving these on?" he asks, snapping the elastic of her bright red panties.
"Are you gonna do me or what?" Jamia asks, one knee buckling as she cocks her hips out to the side, and Frank has to—-fuck. He wants to just stand back and appreciate her, all these curves and this strength and attitude bent over and waiting for him, but he can't stop touching her, running his hand up the length of her back, bending his body over hers to cup her tits over her shirt, swaying in his palms.
"Okay, okay. Fuck." Frank has to stand back up, popping the button and getting his jeans down over his knees to pull his dick out, red and curving up in his palm. "Just like this?" he asks, because yeah, they don't have anything with them right now and they don’t bareback a lot, they know they’re running a risk. But Frank likes the way his cock looks, hard and bare against Jamia's skin, and things feel pretty fucking immediate.
Jamia reaches back, grabs one of Frank's hands and pulls it forwards so he has to brace a hand on her hip and lean over her. He feels the wet of her spitting into his palm, a hot twist in his belly at something that should be gross but only feels sexy.
"Just put your fucking dick in me," she says, low and dangerous, when she passes his hand back.
"Right on," Frank grins, slicking himself up and using his dry hand to pull her underwear out of the way, hooking his thumb into the elastic that runs across her ass cheek and holding it off to the side, cutting into her skin. Her pussy looks so good like that, dark and damp in the curve between the tops of her thighs.
"Okay, okay," and he's saying that more to himself at this point as he swipes his wet palm across her cunt, tips of two fingers dipping inside and fuck, fuck, they slide in so easily and her breath hitches--he has to do this now or it’s gonna be over.
He lines up and pushes inside her partway, hot and wet around the head of his cock. He pulls out a bit before pushing back in, sliding until he's slicked and all the way inside her. Frank's hands are on her ass, holding her underwear aside as she takes a deep breath in and out. His fingers dig in, spreading her apart so he can see himself slide out slowly and fuck, it's like all the noise, all the sensation, narrows to one point of focus: just right there.
"You feel so good, J. Damn."
"No shit," she says, pushing herself back so he slides in again. He laughs and groans at the same time.
"Fuck, alright, okay." And then Frank's fucking her, hips shifting back when he slides out, pulling her hard against him as he pushes in. God it feels good, and Jamia's moaning and swearing as he pushes deep inside her, as he grinds hard when he's all the way in. Frank tosses his head, trying to shake stringy hair out of his face.
He takes in how she looks like this, elbows locked to hold herself up off the edge of the bunk, skirt up around her lower back, hair swinging forward with each thrust, the long line of her neck and shoulder as she shifts. Fuck, he has to be able to touch, to know what every inch of her feels like as he pushes inside her, wet heat like fucking silk against his dick--and the feeling of going bareback is so rare, so good, the idea of it just being them, skin on skin.
Frank pushes Jamia's t-shirt up in the back, runs his palm up the smooth freckled line of her shifting spine, over the strap of her bra and back down, sliding around to her belly. He feels her jiggle with the impact of his thrusts and he groans, "Shit, J," because he loves feeling her move with him.
Jamia grunts and starts pushing back to match his thrusts, only slightly off his rhythm, and his hips slam her ass hard when they meet. The edge of her underwear is slipping back into place, dry cotton dragging against the side of Frank's dick but he doesn't care, likes the idea of it too much to be anything but into it.
"Touch my fucking tits already," she says, and Frank will never hesitate when she asks like that, just slaps one hand on the upper bunk and leans over to push her t-shirt up over her swaying breasts with the other. He palms one and then the other over her bra, squeezing hard, kneading, as his hair falls into his face and brushes along Jamia’s back, getting damp with his sweat. He holds on tight for a minute and just feels the impact as he fucks her, the way her tits move with it--everything moving, all from that one point of contact, sliding inside her.
Jamia's legs have gotten closer together and when Frank slides forward he's smearing wet around the backs of her inner thighs, he can feel them against his dick whenever he pulls out, loves the idea of her with her clothes pushed up and aside, well-fucked and messy.
"You doing good?" he asks, pinching her nipple tight between his thumb and the side of his forefinger, fingers digging hard into flesh. He's hot as hell inside his hoodie, the strings swinging forward and back, sweat beading across his back and his hairline.
"Yeah," she says on an exhale, catching her breath, and then: "you wanna help me do better?"
Frank grins at her back. He loves her lines, she sounds like a porn star but when they're fucking it's never cheesy, she always makes it work--he loves that.
"Always," he grunts, prying one of Jamia’s hands from its grip on the lower bunk ledge and pulling it back to her abdomen.
He just means to guide her own fingers into her underwear but he remembers how he pulled it aside, and he can feel how it's stretched tight to cut a line across the soft folds of her cunt, pressed hard up against her as she moves. It's hot--Frank wishes he could see. He settles for picturing it instead, knows the deep pink colouring there, the smell, the shade of darker hair.
"C'mon, what d'you have those strong fingers for, J?" he murmurs in encouragement, guiding her fingers under the elastic of her underwear to find her clit. She moans and rubs in tight circles, the way she always does to herself, jolted slightly back-and-forth as Frank’s hips work behind her.
The way he's leaning over her now, he can barely pull out but he pushes hard to make up for it, knows that this angle gets her g-spot dead on. He can tell in the way her knees keep drawing together, her ass pushing back against him, hitching higher onto the balls of her feet to get him deeper inside.
"Yeah?" he asks, locking his elbow to keep himself steady on the upper bunk as he twists her underwear in his other hand and pulls slightly, elastic cutting tighter into her flesh, over her fast-moving fingertips.
"Fuck," she chokes out, and Frank moans immediately in response--he's such a fucking slut for this girl, seriously--as he pulls the fabric tighter, feels the edge of the elastic against the side of his dick, a dry rub that only makes the wet heat inside Jamia feel that much better. "Frank," she says, "Frank--can you do that… ungh. Higher."
"Yeah, yeah," he answers before he even knows what he's doing, the clarity only coming from the fact that everything is focused on a two-foot radius of his dick right now. He twists the elastic edge of the underwear higher, nearer her clit, her hips jerking with his.
"Oh shit," she breathes, and he feels her thighs shake, knows exactly what it means, "oh shit Frank, come on," and he barks a short laugh at her because she bullies him when she’s about to come and he loves it. “Fuck off, I mean it,” she mutters, groaning through the words, “fuck, oh--oh. Fuck. Please--"
When she comes, Frank had nearly stopped fucking her, focused instead on holding tight and letting her grind her hips against him, letting her fingers circle tight under fabric. But at the feeling of her clenching hard down on his cock, the sight of the sag of her head and the long, low moan she lets out, Frank is fucking buzzing. He stands up, shaking hair out of his face, and curls his hands over her hips--inked skin against the black of her flipped-up skirt--as he fucks her hard and fast.
"Jesus christ," she moans, thighs still clenching and unclenching, because she loves riding it out like this, and fuck, Frank feels so--
"Yeah. J, you don't even know--you feel so fucking tight and wet, God," he wants to keep his eyes open but he's focused so hard, holding his breath, eyebrows drawn together and jaw locked, mouth open. He slams into her and feels the impact through her hips and her body. He's so fucking close, knows what it means and hates it, but—
Frank pulls out, sweaty hand clamped tight around the base of his dick and he jacks it hard and fast, chasing it down. His dick is sticky from Jamia's cunt, shiny with it, and he knows exactly what it must taste like.
"Your fucking canvas, babe," Jamia says from where her head’s hanging below her shoulders and Frank laughs, squeezes her ass in response. His breathing is so loud, the slap-slap of his fist working his cock, and it's happening and oh shit it hits him hard, the sparking of nerve endings down his spine and out across his shoulders and prickling the hairs at the nape of his neck, "Fuck, fuck..." He's dimly aware of holding Jamia flush against him as he grinds his dick--wet from her cunt and his come--against her ass, smearing her underwear and her soft, soft skin.
One of Jamia's elbows buckle and they both lurch forward, Frank just catching himself in time. He drops hard to the bus floor, legs and feet tangled awkwardly underneath him in his jeans. Jamia follows quickly, nearly-bare ass on the floor, leaning back against the bunk on the opposite wall. She's got a shit-eating grin going, eyes bright under her bangs and her cheeks flushed red. "Nice."
"Hey," Frank says, shoving at one of her bent bare knees, "a fucking masterpiece."
Jamia laughs that loud, pretty laugh that Frank loves, her tits shaking with her t-shirt still pushed up above them. "D'you need to go back out there and run a few laps or are you good now?"
"No fucking clue what you're talking about," Frank says, head falling back against the edge of the lower bunk behind him, eyes sliding shut, and he feels--for once today--like he doesn't need to move.
END