CHAPTER ONE ,
death happens and life continues

THEN!
( September 27, 2003 ——–
Gloucester, Massachusetts )

          The rock dropped with a loud thud!

The dripping, thick blood splattered on the blades of grass, tainting the lush green with remnants of Juliette and Ian, connecting them in a way neither of them knew would end up being their fate.

Francesca's ribcage heaved, wracked with sobs that sounded and felt it would crush under such violent velocity a child's body wasn't made to endure. Juliette's face was gone and in its place was a mess of brain matter, shattered sickly white bone, and gelatinous clots of blood her daughter now wore on the freshly washed pajamas she had pulled out of the dryer for her to wear this evening. The little girl tasted the sharp metallic sting of her mother's blood on her tongue and felt the heaviness of her eyelashes coated by the same thick substance.

Her unstable legs felt heavy as they dragged across the grass and down to the edge of the dock. She curled herself into a ball, her knees pressed so tightly against her chest that it hurt as the wooden slabs underneath her rocked back and forth with the water's current.

She whimpered and clawed at her eyes to tear the images out of her head, but they had already rooted themselves there, just like the fungus had done with Ian; where they would grow and grow until all she could see and think about was the brutal act her small hands were capable of. The broken muttering cries of "mommy!" so tiny, so fragile, only the waves of the dark water lapping below her feet could hear.

The crescent shaped moon shone down bright onto Francesca, keeping her safe from the darkness. Her legs began to cramp and tense from the still position she couldn't gain courage to leave from. Tonight didn't feel real; she didn't understand any of it, but she knew it wasn't her mom and Ian. The quick instinct to pick up the rock and pound it down over and over again with both hands until her arms felt like they were going to fall off and her throat was raw seemed to crawl into her ear to unlock the natural will to survive that the human body had instilled in them. Her mother's words that told her to always trust her body echoed in her ringing ears as she kept lifting her head and looking back to make sure neither of them moved from where they lay mutilated.

"Is there someone there on the dock..?" A deep southern accent called out from behind her. The man's voice was shaky, unsure if he should make himself known as he'd been successfully undetected as of late but his gut was screaming at him to take that risk.

Frannie hadn't heard the splashing of wooden rows breaking through the ocean, the cries and screams that erupted from Gloucester and Rocky Neck echoed off the harbor waters, drowning it out completely. Her head was slow in its turn, her body ached and wailed and she was worried that if she moved too fast she would end up just like her mom.

His white bushy eyebrows that matched his scraggly beard and tied back hair pulled together in worry, his aged and worn face crumbled in heartbreak at the scene in front of him as he grew closer with each struggled row. The back porch light of Francesca's house giving him a vague shadowed view. — A little girl with a face drained of any color other than a ghastly white and shivering lips even in the rather warm air. There was no light, no sign of a child living in the body crouched in a small ball covered in blood, her butterfly pajamas stained dark, and grass and leaves stuck in her french braided hair.

"Oh, sweet girl, where's your mama?" His tone held a clear heavy concern, exuding such warmth and safety that his voice alone got her to unravel her arms from around her body, her single finger pointed to the grass above the small slopping hill that led down to where they were; showing where Juliette's face was unrecognizable by her own daughter's hands.

Those very hands that Mickey Brown took and lead into his small row boat. He was just simply vacationing in their area — a lonely older man with no family left wanting to feel joy again and hoping that traveling the East Coast would give it to him, something his late wife always wanted to do. —— How ironic it only took the world caving in for him to find it. To find her.

He had brought her to Boston a few days later. With his jacket hung on her trembling shoulders and a firm arm wrapped around her tiny fragile body, holding her up so she wouldn't drop from exhaustion. — He had brought her to safety.

A girl he had hardly known. A girl who had only spoken once on their travels south to tell him her name. A girl he raised as his own for twenty three years, until he took his last hollow breath and his heart beat for the final time after a sickness had raged his body for the better part of a year, gripping weakly onto her hand. A hand he watched grow into a beautiful woman. A hand he had hoped he would get to see grow even older.

His mind swarmed with the same unbearable worry her mother had that September night —— what would happen to her when he was gone?

NOW!
( late summer, 2023
Boston, MA —— )

          Francesca's eyes started to scan the crowded street below her as she rested her chin against her hands placed flatly on the chair's armrest. Her heart dropped to her gut and twisted when she realized who she was searching for after a moment of not finding him on his weekly early morning walk to see her (or that was once his routine, before the sickness had left him bed ridden).

She shot her head up, the shuddering breath that crawled up her throat moving the glass butterfly hanging in front of her in circles, the thin rusted chain twisting until it couldn't no more and had to go back in the opposite direction. The wobbly motion making the still streaks of rainbow that painted the walls start to get up and dance again.

The tightness in her chest erasing any of the bleary, rough night's sleep in her eyes, 'Mickey is dead.' She reminded herself, the constant ache in her heart and mind growing into a deadly wave of indescribable sadness, 'You watched them burn his body two weeks ago. He's dead, Francesca. He's gone.'

There was a hesitant fluttering touch on her bare shoulder. Then, a second more sharp and firm poke that forced her from her own thoughts that often swallowed her whole.

"You're up early."

"Hey." She smiled, her dimples deep, "Joel."

Frannie sat up and uncrossed her legs. They were sticky with sweat from being tangled in a leather chair. She was only in underwear and a camisole but still, with the uncomfortably thick humid heat of the late Boston summer, it was not aiding in the attempt to keep herself somewhat cool in the old, low ventilated building.

However, she was happy and relieved to see him. The pressure in her chest slowly deteriorating to nothing now that she wasn't alone, now that there was a steady, calm heartbeat she could match her own to. The sadness numbed, even if just for a moment.

Joel let out somewhat of a gruff in response. His back facing her as he trudged to the couch, sitting down with a sigh and a roll of his shoulders, wincing at a bulging ache that was throbbing there. His graying hair was tousled and his brown eyes drooped with exhaustion, his blinks slow and almost pained.

He was gone all night doing a deal. He had to travel a little bit further than usual for a drop-off with a newer customer down in one of the unused rundown warehouses FEDRA used to occupy over a decade ago along the harbor, and decided to just camp out for the night in an abandoned car way too small for him to get any sort of comfortable sleep, so he was up all night straining his eyes and ears for any threat and endlessly worrying about Francesca being left alone in the apartment. He started his trek back to the apartment on the other side of the North End right before dawn, where FEDRA's security sweep was at its sloppiest.

He started to reach down to take his boots off but stilled halfway at the stiffness that shot through him. A groan hit the back of his throat at the way his body screamed at him.

"Oh—" Frannie's face dropped, her lips shifting into a frown, "Let me help you."

She jumped up and sank to her knees in front of him. Her toes dug into the scuffed and splintering wood floor, still not wearing socks even after the several stern warnings of an annoyed Joel; who was always the one that had to hold her leg down to dig another deep splinter out of the thin skin of the bottom of her foot whilst she tried to kick him away with loud protests.

"No—" Joel tried to stop her, lunging foward faster than he should've, his fatigued muscles resisting against him as he grabbed at her, his fingers skimming the exposed skin sat between the two pieces of clothing.

"Let me help you," She repeated somberly, "Please." Sighing as she pushed back his hands and placed them gently on his knees, "You're hurting and I don't do anything."

He scowled but leant back, letting her continue to tug at the laces, "We talked about that." His eyes stared up at the ceiling, following the cracks that seemed to have been getting worse — another fucking thing he had to worry about.

"I'll get better, I promise." Her voice was small, weak; guilt poured out of her words.

He lifted his head, watching her start to shimmy off his boots with a squeak of exertion, noting the way the baby hairs along her hairline curled in small ringlets at the mugginess in the air, "I know. I believe you — you always do." Raising his eyebrows with an earnest nod.

She knew he meant it; but she saw how drained he was and having to work even more strenuous labor for ration cards to feed and care for two people wasn't helping. It was embarrassing for her to be having this conversation once again in the only three years she'd known him.

"I'm sorry." Francesca murmured meekly, raising her head up at him, placing the second boot aside. Their irises locked onto each other, both brown but two completely different shades, "I'll get back to it. I promise." Her face was crumpled into a sorrow that seemed to have its claws sunk in her differently; that its piercing hold might never leave this time around.

"Can you stop– fucking apologizing—" Joel clipped but quickly reverted his tone, "I told you, you don't have to worry about it." He paused, his eyes darting behind her for a moments hesitation, his lips twitched as he tried to find words to say, "I'll take care of us —, just– just focus on getting better. Deal?"

Frannie began to nod her head but Joel responded with a quick disapproved shake of his own, "Repeat it." He bit, more harshly than he intended but she didn't seem affected by it, "Say deal."

"Deal."

"Good."

She squeezed his feet, her thumbs digging into the muscle trying to relive the ache that settled in hours ago but he waved her off, signaling with his hands and an incoherent mutter to sit next to him. She obliged and relaxed into his side, drawing her legs up to her chest. He wrapped an arm around her and took a deep breath, nudging his nose against her jaw, tilting it to allow room for him in the crook of her neck. He placed a kiss there and then a nip with his teeth, his lips lingering on her skin. His breath and unkept stubble tickling her, raising goosebumps. Her check rested against the top of his head, setting into his touch with a quiet content hum on her upturned lips.

The silence they both carried between each other were their own secret language, wave lengths that traveled through the air in unspoken ways. The way they would stay like that for hours during the nights they were both too scared to sleep, both trying to run from their own separate demons that stalked them, waiting for the darkness to come settle around the two of them where it could finally attack.

Joel gave her another kiss, to her temple this time, before unwrapping his arm from around her. He adjusted his hips to get more comfortable, his sweaty palms rubbing up and down the denim of his worn and stained jeans and Francesca noticed the cuts adorned with bruises underneath them that started to sprout on his knuckles, "Those look nasty."

"So does the guy's face." Joel added bluntly, his head falling against the back of the couch, using his palms to rub at his stinging bloodshot eyes.

She grabbed his wrist and he flinched on instinct, his body tensing. She could see the way the muscles under his solid army green flannel contracted when his breath pulled but composed himself almost instantly. He relaxed back into the couch, his heavy eyelids fluttering close.

Joel didn't really let Frannie touch him early in their "relationship" or whatever he would've called it before he finally admitted to himself it was more than just him showing up to her place uninvited to fuck. He wanted it all about her, deferring his own gratification for her own pleasure was more than enough for him, but he slowly opened up to the intimate action of her dragging her fingers across his skin and through his hair outside of sex.

He didn't think he deserved it but he welcomed it, craved it. He would never tell her that but he figured she already knew. Why he let her continue to do it, the way he looked at her when she did. Her tender touch and the pure light that he felt always surrounded her no matter what she was going through. The patience she had for him; a bad man who'd done awful and cruel things, some things she didn't even know about, how closed off and distant he was despite her desperate attempts for him to open up where she would scream at him for hours to let her fucking in! — but he knew he was a selfish man and only Death himself had the capability to take Francesca away from him —— Joel fucking dared him to.

"The deal went bad?" She inquired with a worried concentration on her features, her bottom lip taken into her mouth.

It took him a moment longer than usual to answer, somewhat shocked she asked. There was a hesitance on his lips to let her in, "Just needed some sense knocked into him." He gruffed, keeping it short and sweet.

Frannie didn't often ask Joel about smuggling. She didn't like the violence and risk it came with it; that he might not come home after agreeing to a deal he shouldn't have or angering the wrong people, that she might see him hanging in the square. Leaving her utterly alone.

She gave an affirmative hum, not ignoring the fact that he actually answered her question. He let her take her time examining the wounds, her delicate and cautious, feather-like touch was some sort of pain relief to him. The inner corners of her brows upturned as she wrapped her fingers around his busted ones and balled them into a fist to get a better look, a quiet hiss cut through his teeth at the sting of sliced flesh being pulled apart but it subsided quickly.

Frannie tried not to pay attention to the dried blood caked between his fingers but her face twisted in panic against her will. Heat rose to her skin, the small amount of the crimson substance already making her queasy. Flashes of what her own hands looked like that night violated her mind. Her temperature switched back and forth from hot and cold, thinking about how her mom's decayed body has been all alone in their backyard for twenty three years just only thirty miles away.

Joel lifted his head when he felt her pause and stiffen. His eyes following where hers were intensely fixated on, "Ah shit-, I thought I got it all before I walked in." He grumbled, his usual scowl drew deeper, angry with himself.

Several rambling curses passed his lips as he pulled away, standing up and rushing to the sink, ignoring the way his body twinged in pain.

"I'm good — I'm good." She exhaled breathlessly, folding forwards with her head hanging between her thighs as she heard the sponge dragging rough and fast against his skin under the running water.

Any remnants of blood now long gone down the dark, rusty, and twisty pipes as he leant against the counter drying his hands, the hard edge nipping the bottom of his spine, "Go get dressed. Let's take a walk."

She dragged her head up, blowing air through her shaky lips, pushing her hair behind her ears. She was grateful he wasn't making a big deal, knowing to distract her with an unrelated conversation but she didn't allow herself to not be wary of the exhaustion clear in his voice.

"You need to sleep." She dug the bottom of her palms into her eyes until she saw flashes of white, waiting for the dizziness, panic, and overwhelming sadness to subside.

"Fuck that." He replied with a grunt, "I'll still feel like shit when I wake up."

All she could was sigh in agreement, a shrug on her shoulders. Vision was starting to come back to the rounded corners of her eyes, her mind clearing with the help of the bright rainbow reflection flickering on her legs.

He threw the towel back on the counter behind him, taking slow strides towards her with his face pinched. His eyes focused elsewhere, beyond the dull walls surrounding them. She could tell he was fighting with himself if he wanted to say what was lingering on his tongue or not.

"I want to hang with you." He cleared his throat, seeming tentative. His eye squinted, the outer corners creasing. His jaw ticked as he finally wrestled his thoughts into words, "Get you out of here." Joel moved his hands around in front of him, gesturing towards the apartment, the floorboards creaked under his shifting weight, he almost always looked awkward, maybe even a little shy, when having difficulty trying to articulate something that came so easy for her.

There was a long, delicate silence before the corners of Frannie's mouth quirked up, "That was really hard for you, wasn't it?" She teased.

"Shut up."

          Francesca's old sun dress matched the buildings and people crowded together as her and Joel walked silently through the streets — faded and tattered.

Her head hung low, focused on the way her boots kicked up the crumbling decades old asphalt into clouds of dark dust. However, the sound of a joyful squeal of a toddler tore her eyes away from the ground and towards the small family of three across the street ahead of her at an old intersection. Joel stayed staring straight ahead, seemingly unfazed, but if Frannie had been watching him she would've seen the muscle in his jaw jump at the sound.

The warm amber of her irises gleamed but her heart twinged with a deep sadness at the little boy she recognized that had just started attending the daycare she used to work at before Mickey's death, before she stopped showing up and locked herself inside. The glimmer started to crack at the thought (a daydream that she kept buried deep and dark, but nestled safely) that she would never be able to make a reality before ultimately shattering at her feet when the father looked right past her, as if she wasn't even there, like she hadn't taken care of his only child with an unconditional warmth and love, and straight at Joel who stalked closely by her side. His eyes filled with fear and a vague amount of contempt as he grabbed his wife by the arm and scrambled to pick up his son before the three of them hastily disappeared into the building behind them.

"This doesn't make me feel better." She uttered, trying to push away the brokenness that threatened to crawl up her throat and make itself known.

"Jesus." He muttered, "Just keep fucking walking. We've been outside for five minutes." His voice was firm but not harsh.

She gave him a sidelong glance but stayed silent, leaning slightly into him, her shoulder brushing against his upper arm. The action was small enough that she wasn't even aware she had done it. His hand instinctively came up to hover over her lower back, his fingers twitching to touch her.

The talk of torture and murder always followed the mention of Joel Miller's name; how he always appeared unnaturally calm, muted, tired — hiding the rage and the horrors that tormented him, which simmered undetected beneath the surface of deceptive placidness —— until of course it finally boiled over leaving irreversible affects.

The stories of what he did before he made it to Boston whispered throughout the QZ often left people wondering how he ended up with her. They were downright afraid of Joel Miller but indescribably adored Francesca Zwicker.

She wore torment on her face and absolutely craved the destruction she got from falling in love, but there was a softness to her. A urge to protect her. From the world, from herself. From people like Joel.

What was it about him that made her stay for three years instead of the usual fleeing after only a couple months? Once she got what she needed out of the suffering her body itched for that would only keep her satiated for a short time before the fever came back and she inevitably went out seeking for more, from someone different. Why the people of the Boston QZ saw the bounce of her cinnamon brown curls and grew to know that he was always not far behind.

Maybe it was more than the suffering?

That they didn't see him the way she saw him. (He didn't see the way she saw him.)

"Oh, Francesca! I've been trying to get ahold of you, dear." A frail voice cut through the silence, guiding Frannie's attention to Mickey's old neighbor, an elderly lady who was only a few years younger than he was and went by the name, Prue. The lady seemed relieved to see her, there was a sense of joy in her greeting.

"Ever since Mickey, you've just disappeared.." Prue continued, trailing off with a crestfallen expression, reaching out to grab ahold of her hands before Frannie had the opportunity to inconspicuously pull it away and bring them tightly to her sides.

Francesca tensed at the mention of his name, her body pulled back faintly from the sweet old lady who only wanted to know she was safe and okay but not enough where she'd notice, but Joel did — Joel noticed everything when it came to Francesca, and she quickly felt his palm press flatly against her lower back before his fingernails hooked into her skin, even through the burgundy fabric she felt the bite of the pressure. He was telling her in his own silent way that he was right there. Always.

"Oh— I've just been— I've just been at home." She sputtered out awkwardly. Her lips pursed as she swallowed hard, her throat growing taut.

"I see.." Prue and her vibrant voice growing muted and tense under Joel's intense glowering state, her bony and withered fingers that were caressing the back of Francesca's hands pausing whenever her gaze flickered over the young woman's shoulder, "How-how have you been these last few weeks?"

Frannie didn't have to look at Joel leering behind her to know he was giving the old woman unnecessary death glares so she subtly took one step back to dig her heel into his boot to tell him to stop.

"Hanging in there — I guess." She answered quietly, giving her a small but fake lipped smile that sadness still seeped through from, herself not even believing the words falling out of her own mouth.

She did not want to think or talk about it — that she was never going to see him again. That the pain hurt so fucking bad she didn't even cry anymore; but in return, worst thoughts entered her head. Thoughts that would end the pain; at least for her.

"Please continue doing so, sweetheart." Prue spoke softly like she only wanted Francesca to hear. A comforting smile adorned her face — like a mother's, "This place is much brighter with you in it." She patted her gently on the cheek with a tremored hand, her thumb brushing the tip of her nose. A doleful look clouded Frannie's features as her heart sank deep with a searing burn at the distant childhood memory of a familiar touch.

Prue jerked her hand back to herself when she glimpsed Joel snap a sharp look at the contact before politely but charily dismissing herself. She glanced back once with a worried expression but neither Joel or Frannie caught it.

"People are fucking nosy." Joel grumbled quietly.

His grip still firmly splayed against her back whilst he watched her attentively, studying her, his brown eyes scrunching from squinting through the hazy but still intense morning sunlight, as she stared aimlessly ahead dragging in a shaky breath.

"She was being nice, Joel."

"She was being nosy." He echoed, flexing his fingers off of her spine and shoving them in his front pockets, shifting his weight.

"Okay-", She crinkled her nose, turning to him with a small smile playing on her face after a moment of rare unpleasant silence as she reeled from the interaction that left her out of place and uncomfortable, "Maybe just a little bit."

His lips twitched, the corners of them pulling up just slightly, like he was trying not to smile. There was a brief warmth that spread through his eyes and a spark of something else that she couldn't read fast enough before it dimmed out.

There was no urgency to keep talking so they just slipped back into that safe tranquility they both knew so well between each other, but something had been tugging at Joel's tongue. He managed to keep it at bay as he lead her, with his fingers back dancing on her spine, through the part of the city with the cramped cobblestone roads, deliberately ignoring North Square where the gallows hung.

His mouth became too dry as the minutes dragged by and his attempt to clear his throat inconspicuously failed as her attention trailed onto his face. He gave her a quick glance before situating his eyesight back in front of him, swallowing hard.

"You haven't really talked about him, y'know?"

"No." She confirmed bluntly, "I haven't." The words came out hollow, sharp. The tone causing him to drag his head towards her as he gauged her bitter reaction. Her eyes darted from his stare and her demeanor shifted into hostility.

Francesca didn't want to talk about it and Joel knew that.

What she didn't know was that —— he was scared sick she was going to do something if he took his eyes off her; last night's deal had him plagued with awful images of her as he blinked slowly with glossy eyes at the car roof for hours, but he didn't know how to fucking tell her. To get her to let him in on the only thing she'd ever shut him out from.

He grabbed her arm to stop her from walking, rough but not to the point where it hurt, then dragged it down to brush his fingers against her own before placing them back by his sides, the tips of his fingers fidgeting against one another.

"You can." His breath snagged. His brown eyes pleading with her to tell him what he needed to hear, but she wasn't looking at him.

"Well, I don't want to." She snipped, finally tilting her chin up at him with a hardened glare, though pain cracked at the edges.

Her response caused him to stiffen. His jaw ticked and his brows snapped together, blinking hard as he bared down at her through narrowed, dark eyes.

Joel Miller is fucking scared of being scared.

He placed all of his personal self worth on whether or not he could provide and protect his family, and watching his child be murdered reduced the safely he thought he could bring to the first person he loved since Sarah. He knew what it felt like to have someone take their last breath in his arms — how destructive it was and never wanted to feel it again ...

... so he resorted to an unhelpful tendency him and Frannie had frequently used as a way to cope since the night they met —— snatching the back of her dress in a forceful fist and yanking her in the tight, vacant alleyway they were standing in front of before she could even register his reaction.

Francesca gasped in shock at the sudden and swift action, the brick wall biting the back of her skull as he pressed his body firmly into hers; their rapidly growing heartbeats bouncing off each other.

"What's up with you and alleyways, Joel." She taunted.

Her eyes flickered from the pain and sourness they held to a sultry playfulness with a smile dancing on her lips but his face was cold and stern, slow blinks in her direction and the muscle in the set of his jaw visibly clenching from the amount of pressure he was biting down on, not indulging in her comment in the slightest.

"If you don't wanna talk, then we won't fucking talk." His low snarling breath nipped at her ear, sending goosebumps down the entirety of her body even in the early September heat.

The commanding edge in his rough voice shut her up like it usually did, her breath coming to a hitch in her throat. Joel's hands came up to splay on either side of her head, completely caging her in with his arms.

He rolled his hips into hers, the erection already straining the zipper of his jeans nudged the spot between her thighs earning the smallest of whines from her, her arms coming up to grasp her fingers around his forearms, her knuckles turning white. Joel glanced at them and for a moment looked like he was going to say something, his eyes narrowed and lips parted slightly, but his eyesight bounced back to her and continued to let her fingernails dig crescent shaped indents into his skin.

He used his knee to kick her legs apart, a short shallow gasp pushed through her lips, the somewhat short dress riding up her thighs. His palms left the brick wall behind her and landed on her sides, his fingers kneading into her hips.

He captured her mouth with his fervently, his tongue thrusting past her parted lips immediately. Frannie's hands grabbed onto the sides of his face, tangling into his hair and tugging at the roots. Her thumbs pressed into his cheeks, thumbing the patchy stubble. Joel's hands wandered off her hips to rake them hungrily up and down, and across any part of her body he could touch, swallowing her whimpers and groaning in response at the way she always melted pliantly into his touch.

Only the obscene sounds of breaths and moans messily huffing into each other mouths, as the desperation and desire started to fully bubble over, filled the tight space of the alleyway.

Joel grabbed the fraying hem of her dress and snaked his hands underneath, splayed hands trailing up her stomach with eager fingers, the fabric bunching around his wrists as he cupped her breasts and squeezed the tender flesh, causing her hands to fly down from his face to grasp onto the curve of his shoulders. He took no time to roll her nipples between his two fingers, pinching the sensitive nerves and only pressing harder when she squealed into his mouth at the contact, her grip on his shoulders growing tighter.

His hands finally situated on her face, his palms pressed to her cheeks, the pressure from his fingers pinching the thin skin and the ghost of a throb still lingered on her nipples from where his ravenous hands just were.

He pulled back, disconnecting their lips when his fingers above her jaw slackened and slipped lower, finding their favorite place wrapped loosely around her throat, squeezing the sides gently but enough that her blood started to rush, rapid and warm, throughout her veins. They both blinked at the lose of contact, his half-lidded brown eyes glazed over in a drunken haze. Francesca's lips tried to chase his but Joel's hand kept her steady in place, his fingers tapping against the skin — a silent warning.

"You needed fresh air." He gritted. His voice hoarse, strained, "It's so stuffy in that damn apartment." He was rambling. His pupils blown, and parted lips already swollen and glistening from the aggressive and sloppy contact with her own.

Frannie's cheeks flushed with blooms of pink and red, as did Joel's collarbones. Both of their bodies slick with a thin sheen of sweat. She watched him with a bated breath before leaning foward, thumb and index grabbing his stubbled chin, "Uh-huh." She hummed sweetly.

Her lips first found his cheek with delicate open-mouthed kisses. Her movements were slower than what his had been but he idly lingered in them, rounding his shoulders and folding over her slightly. She trailed down to his jaw, the muscle jumping under her touch, and then to his neck, before moving tenderly back up to the curved slope of his nose. His ragged breath hit her bare shoulder as the tip of his finger circled the faint and almost blurred bruises on her skin where the scrape of his teeth left their mark the night before, right before he left for the deal down at the warehouse. His lips twitched with a crooked smirk of smug satisfaction, hiking the dress over her hips and kneading the bare skin there again, fingers digging into the muscles under the waistband of her underwear, leaving a sharp tenderness, a good form of pain in their wake.

He pulled back with a guttural growl, his fingers fumbling with the unclasping of his belt. She went to help, both of their bellies moving in heaving breaths, but stilled when his one hand had wrapped around both of her wrists with ease, her fingers flexing to try to reach out but his tight grip had them stuck in place, his dark eyes snapped up to her, shadowed by his brow bone.

Joel's hardened stare sat on Francesca like stone.

"Put your hands on the wall." He bit, accent rough. The faded Texan accent from two decades of being away coming to the forefront.

She quickly placed her open palms flush against the brick wall when he released her — pushing firmly in an attempt for the rough material to prick her skin to try to counteract the sweet burn accumulating between her clamped legs and the butterflies swarming erratically in her stomach.

She traced his face, widened doe eyes pulling back and forth as she watched him successfully undo his worn leather belt littered with permanent imprints of her teeth, not able to tell if he's pissed, or amused. Both, or neither. —— But either way she liked it. Always had, in a way no other man in Boston could give to her.

Joel's haphazardly pulled his jeans and boxers to just right below his hips, not bothering with dragging them down any further as he hooked his finger around the fabric of her underwear nestled between her upper thighs. His knuckles brushed against her and she bucked her hips, a gasp leaving her as he pushed the already damp fabric aside.

Joel's jaw ticked, his disheveled hair sticking to his furrowed forehead from the muggy air, "Jesus christ." He muttered with a stuttering breath. His free fist wrapped around the base of his cock, taking no time to line himself up and bottoming out in her instantly with a rough snap of his hips and a throaty groan.

She took a sharp intake of breath through her mouth, followed by an exhale containing his name whilst she stretched around him with a vague sting. Frannie's eyelashes fluttering closed as she sunk into the feeling, "Fuck."

Her head tipped back against the wall, hands grasping at nothing by her side, fighting the urge to bring them up to wrap around him, unsure if that was what he wanted yet.

Joel wasn't stingy with foreplay usually, and the sex wasn't always this rough, this messy, or feverish, but something was bothering him. He was frustrated beyond belief. And she had an idea on what it was — it was the same thought that also wouldn't leave her, but if she told him, it would make it real. It would make it real for the both of them, so she just focused on what they did best —— ignoring the ruined and fucked up world and trying to fix their problems with sex. Getting lost in the way their bodies slot seemlessly together, like there was never meant to be any space between them.

A low moan crawled up and out of his throat in response to her reaction of him, "Look." He grunted, "Look at me." He ordered her firmly in a gruff voice and her eyes obediently snapped open.

His pace was already unrelenting. Sloppy. Desperate. As he gripped the sides of her face, where the jaw connected with the neck, his hands tangling in her short curls to hold her in place perfectly inline with his eyesight. Her restless hands moving from their spot beside her and snaking up underneath the hem of his rather fitted button up and staying still on the bare skin of his lower stomach, where they pressed into him with each thrust he took.

There was a time where he didn't want to look her in the eyes, or cared to, or was too scared to. She was honestly shocked the first time he had told her to. She'd gone to turn over like always, but he stopped her with a firm "no" and planted steady hands on her bare body to halt her from moving, telling her he wanted to see her. To watch her.

He kept snapping his hips up into her with a growl in an untethered but skillful rhythm. Frannie hooked one of her legs around his upper thigh, her heeled boot digging into the flesh above his knee to give him better access and a different position that felt even more intense than before, arching her back as she already started to feel herself unreel with small, quiet grunts. Joel pulled out almost entirely before pounding back in. Over and over, and over again.

Beads of sweat pooled on their clavicles and sternum. Their unshedded clothing the only barrier from stopping the harsh slapping of skin. They kept their eyes locked together, two shades of brown focused on each other, and only each other.

Breathy whimpers crumblling from her throat, jagged and broken, with strangled pleas of his name mixed with his ragged less tamed moans echoed off the close proximity of the two buildings they were sandwiched in between of as a pleasant tugging started to grow more noticeably in Francesca's lower belly.

"Joel—"

"I know," He panted, "I know."

She hastily wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing him and dragging him closer. Her mouth was slacked against his shoulder but her face held a blissful pleasure and his nose pressed into the side of her head, his eyes squeezed shut — they both weren't going to last long.

He gripped tightly onto her outer thighs, hoisting her up slightly, the one foot she still had planted on the ground going up on her tiptoes, ignoring the increased throb in his lower spine at the extra weight on his bones.

All it took was three more rough, full thrusts for the tense coil in her belly to snap. Frannie rang out shallow, muffled moans into Joel's shoulder as he fucked her through her orgasm, himself groaning and hips flexing at the sensation of her squeezing around him.

He was close behind her, heavy breaths and tight grunts, his expression was tense along with his body, his stomach taut with pressure. She dragged her fingers down the sides of his face as she watched him with hooded and blissed out eyes, swiping her thumb across his parted bottom lip and pushing the tip past his lips slightly. He almost looked pained with his brows scrunched together and his eyes still squeezed shut as he pulled himself over the edge buried inside her with a low, heavy groan and "Francesca" on his lips.

Joel didn't sit in the comedown, letting go of her hips and slipping out of her immediately, her body jolting involuntarily at the sensitivity. He pulled his pants and underwear up past his hips, tucked himself in, and redid his belt to its usual notches, as her dress and underwear fell back into their natural place with a little maneuvering from her.

He patted his back pockets, looking for something, "I don't have a towel." He scanned the ground below him, "I could've sworn I had a towel on me." He muttered, mostly talking to himself, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth in disappointment, visibly disgruntled. His chest rising and falling like he had just run a marathon.

"It's fine." She let out a breathy chuckle, still trying to steady her own heartbeat and calm her breathing. Her throat was completely dry and each labored breath she took scratched as it crawled up to the surface.

She threaded her fingers through her hair to pull at the roots before swiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, then doing the same for him with her palm. He leaned into the action slightly, his eyelashes tickling her as they fluttered against the grooves of her skin, pushing back the strands of hair that stuck to his forehead, scratching his scalp as she slicked them back.

"You're a mess." She joked as he continued to look for the tattered and dusty rag she knew wasn't there, remembering where it lay on the couch where he got up in a hurry to wash the crusted blood off the creases between his fingers.

"I think you're the one that's the mess." He gestured with the tilt of his chin towards her lower abdomen with a cocky crooked smirk that made his eyes crinkle.

"You're a real comedian, Joel Miller."

They were both in a euphoric state that they knew would soon wear off to their stale reality but they soaked in it. Frannie rested her head onto his shoulder, her heartbeat still pattering harsh against her rib cage and thumping in her ears. Joel leant down to give her a firm kiss on the top of her head.

He pulled away without saying anything but Frannie didn't protest, falling back into the wall with her legs feeling like jelly. She was unsure of herself to stand without support so she gave herself a minute as she watched him turn on his footing and begin to saunter towards the street, his body still stiff and throbbing from the long night before.

"Hey–" She called out, but her voice remained soft, stopping him from leaving the alleyway.

"Mhmm?" He turned back towards her, pushing his rolled up sleeves back to just above his elbows and waited patiently for her to continue.

"I'll talk when I'm ready. I'll talk to you — always. About anything, before doing anything." She confided, staring at him earnestly.

Joel's eyes softened, giving Francesca a firm single nod.

It was all she could give to him, but that was all he needed.

author's note,

stop it's finally here, this and white noise are probably
gonna be the most devastating books i'm gonna write
but i'm so excited to write and share what i have planned,
i'm really proud of it 🤭🤍

joel's love language is acts of service 😘 nothing like holding down your screaming girlfriend to dig out a
splinter (amongst other things 💦)

little side note but; i hope it makes sense with me having what frannie thinks of herself in her pov in the last
chapter as sinful and tainted and joel in this chapter
sees her a gentle and pure (he doesn't judge her for what
she had to do whilst she does judge herself) the more i
think about it, the more i worry that looks like a plot
hole or something so i hope i got the point across idk
i'm just an insecure writer lmao

also i missed writing sex scenes, and i love writing them with broken unhinged men so i'm happy (i'm also a little rusty so be nice 🫠)

with love ,
sloane

(posted —— aug. twenty eighth, 2023)