It’s My Blog And I Repost What I WANT

It’s my blog and I repost what I WANT

He laughs, the cocky fucker actually laughs as he gets the upper hand over Frank, almost knocking all the air from his lungs in shock as he shoves the bigger man hard up against the hallway wall.

The taste of those smirking lips is still riotously fresh on his own as Frank grabs a brief breath, his brain still trying to catch up and comprehend what was happening. The Devil of goddamn Hell's Kitchen is pushing him around, spreading him open, touching and feeling with ungloved hands and a hungry mouth and Frank is letting him, because- because...

"Red, Red..." Frank's strained voice is a surprise even to himself, the way it sounds so desperate in his confusion as the other man has fingers gripping firmly around his jaw as his tongue flicks up the side of his neck, following the line of Frank's jugular vein. He's never felt so weak.

Their bodies couldn't be any closer, even when they were kicking lumps out of each other before, Frank could never have imagined how welcome the pressure and friction of this particular pain in the ass of an altar boy could be. Frank hisses as Red shifts slightly to get his teeth involved, the thick crimson Kevlar of that perfectly fitting suit not preventing him from feeling the heat of his body through it. The Devil leans in, as if reading Frank's very thoughts, forcing his thick thigh between Frank's already spread legs.

"Fuck!" Frank grits out, and Red actually has the gall to shh-shh-shh him before raking the edge of his teeth along the skin of his neck. He can feel that wicked smile seeping into bones. Frank's head snaps back against the wall in submission, the only fight left in him is to make sure this is happening, to reach out his arms and not let him stop.

The broken light down the hall flickers, silhouetting the sharp, curved points of the helmet Red's still wearing. Frank grabs hold of it, he wants that taste again, he needs to feel that sure way Red slips his tongue against his like it's nothing, like there was never any line crossed, like it didn't matter if they couldn't go back to the way it was before.

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