Page 75 of Give Me What You Will

“You don’t gotta be nervous,” Frankie murmured, slipping his fingers through Sam’s hair. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

Excitement and a dangerous sliver of hope flared in his chest.

“You keep sayin’ that,” Sam said quietly, tonguing the inside of Frankie’s sweet mouth. He didn’t like the implications of Frankie having come here to rescue him, even though he knew this conversation was about sex and not his occasional panic attacks. “I’m a grown-ass man, Frankie. I can take care of myself.”

Frankie’s eyes narrowed, hand fisting in his hair. “There you fuckin’ go being difficult again.” He shook his head. “I know you can take care of yourself. I’ve watched you do it for years. But I...” Frankie’s expression softened. “I like takin’ care of you. I like it when you need me. You’ve got your whole fuckin’ life together while mine is…” he trailed off, sighing. “I love that my best friend is some hotshot ED doctor that I can brag about ‘til I’m blue in the face, but I still get to be the one you call when you can’t be Superman anymore.”

Sam blushed, inhaling the light scent of beer and Frankie. His lips curled into a smile. “If I’m Superman, you gotta be my Batman?”

“Damn straight I’m your fuckin’ Batman, none of that Robin shit.” Frankie grinned affectionately before kissing him, hard and… lovingly. Sam chased that feeling, hands shaking.

Fuck, it was good to have him like this.

Just like this.

In his arms, his lips pressed against his.

I will never recover from him.

The thought slammed into him like an iron mallet: if he had to live the rest of his life without him, he would always come back to this moment. He just hoped it would be enough to last a lifetime. Because Frankie wasn’t his, no matter what he said. Because he wasn’t gay, and couldn’t—wouldn’t—be with Sam the way he needed. So, this was it. This was all Sam would ever get.

I’ve already become Papi.

He swallowed the grief, refusing to settle for anything less than extraordinary right fucking now. Sam’s heart swooped painfully hard and he gritted his teeth, fighting down the emotion.

Frankie pulled back from the kiss, sensing it. He could always read him like an open book. He stared, cradling his cheek, his gaze searching him, trying to find him under all his fear.

“You’re my fuckin’ Superman, Sammy. You’re my hero. You… you’re just incredible, and I knew from day one—with you just sittin’ at that back booth at the bar, your fuckin’ hoodie over your head, your textbooks strewn out in front of ya like you were studyin’ for the biggest test of your life.” Frankie admitted, taking him off guard. “I thought I had drive until I met you. Then I realized I didn’t have shit. You had a rocket strapped to your back, and I wanted that. I wanted to be like you.”

Christ, this man. This affectionate, emotional, wonderful man.

I’m so gone for him.

I’m never going to find this again.

“The last time you let me touch you—kiss you—you told me I was a good man. Yeah, sure. But that only happened because of you.”

Love welled in his body like a dam, bursting from him and breaking down every single defense.

“Frankie…” Sam whispered, heart brimming with a love he couldn’t say. Maybe ever.

It felt like he was catching a fluttering butterfly, its wings flapping against his hand as Sam slowly led it to his bed. Frankie, already breathing hard, his dark eyes piercing and wanting, glanced at the bed and back at him.

Fuck.

His nervous vulnerability was incredible and endearing and so fucking sexy. Sam took it with both hands, slipping his hands around his face and framing him before descending over his lips and kissing him softly, gently, slowly. Frankie exhaled, relaxing against him the second their lips touched.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Sam confessed, their eyes never once looking away as he laid out his heart. “I miss you—all the time.”

Frankie shuddered, his hands finally lifting to touch him, wrapping around his neck and grasping his hips, drawing him closer. “Fuck, I thought it was just me.”

His heart flopped in his chest and he sucked in a breath, kissing him again, deepening it. This wasn’t like their other kisses, crushing and urgent, that somehow felt stolen and wrong. This felt affectionate, vulnerable. So achingly sweet he could cry.

“I wanna…” Frankie broke the kiss, nervous again, but more determined. “I wanna—fuck, I can’t even say it.”

Sam waited, desperate, like a man stranded on a desert island, so damned needy for a drop of water that only he could give.

“I wanna feel you—I wanna fuck you.”