❥ ּ֯ ┆𝙁𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙄𝙚𝙧𝙤 ᵎᵎ

ᴍᴀᴅʀɪᴅ, ꜱᴘᴀɪɴ 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟲

───── .✦

Frankie had just gotten back to his hotel room after performing in front of an endless amount of people, abusing the chords of his bass and pushing his more frail body to its limit. Seriously, his hip and ankles ached like hell. His hair was dampened with sweat, strands sticking to his forehead and the fabric of his clothing clung to his skin uncomfortably. With a heavy sigh, he collapsed down onto the edge of the bed, the mattress emitting a low groan under his weight. For a moment, Frankie simply sat there, adrenaline slowly ebbing out his system as he quietly processed the whole wild evening. But his exhaustion was worth it, the concert ended up fucking awesome—as always. He rubbed his hands over his still flushed face before eventually standing up; he desperately needed a shower, he was a greasy mess. He headed into the en-suite. Turned on the water. Slipped out of his clothes and finally stepped under the frigid stream, skin prickling with goosebumps as it washed away his sticky swelter. It was the most satisfying feeling.

After refreshing himself—slipping into different clothes, brushing his teeth—Frankie plopped straight back onto the bed, spine propped against the soft pillows and phone in hand. Only then did he realise he’d received a message from you. Naturally, his thoughts began to drift toward you. God, he missed you horribly. Being thousands of miles away in Spain, obviously, he wasn’t able to see you for a while and the lack of your presence was killing him. Frankie stared at your text for longer than necessary, he wandered what you were doing—all alone, probably missing him… craving his company. His hands all over you, touching your tender skin. He’d do absolutely anything just to kiss those delicious lips of yours. Fuck, your body… them perfect tits and that ass. He bit his bottom lip as his pulse spiked, a sudden surge of arousal rolling through him which made his own skin feel too tight. His chest heaved and almost absently, his hand glided down his stomach and lingered just above the waistband of his pants. He wanted you so badly. You made him greedy in a way that was dangerous, unpredictable.

In one hand, Frankie was typing out his response to you, asking if you were free to FaceTime. Meanwhile, the other had already pulled the barrier of his pants down until they were bunched at his thighs and his hand found the warm cotton of his boxers. He was already solid, stiff. His breath came in shallow, uneven puffs of air and his chest heaved at the sensation of his own touch—he imagined it was yours instead. As he’d anticipated, you accepted to call him. And he was just so delighted to see your pretty face again, the thought of you was turning him on so much it made him damn near disoriented. Just before clicking the answer button, Frankie palmed himself over his underwear and beginning to slowly tug at his clothed erection. His jaw tightened, suppressing a moan while he picked up your FaceTime. The moment you popped onto his phone screen, simply laying in your bed but somehow looking so angelic, the corners of his lips curled into a pleased, crooked grin.

"Hey, honey bun…" Frankie spoke in a hoarse, fractured whisper, his gaze roaming over your features as if he were drinking in the sight of you. His thumb teased the tip of his cock firmly pressing against his boxers, a soft hum escaping him. He then went on to the flip the camera, pointing it directly at his crotch. You could perfectly see his hand as he stroked himself, his sighs and groans coming through the phone speaker. "Seein' that? Daddy's a lil worked up… been thinkin' 'bout you, babydoll. Ya wanna take yer' shirt off for me, yeah?" His tone sounded almost pleading, his huge hand moving up and down his concealed length in a consistent, steady motion.