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Their name was Frankie.
They had a close-shaved head and chestnut-pale skin, heavy brown eyes framed by short, masculine lashes. Their face was angular and androgynous, brows shaped and thickened with subtle pencil strokes. Their mouth was broad and thin-lipped, chin sturdy and sharp.
Gazes lingered upon their features, scrutinising the contours of their skin in pursuit of an apparent gender. As it was, they moved through the world with apparent apathy and ease, led by a steadfast confidence in their own identity. They treasured their truth and disregarded the anxieties of others, uncaring that their very presence disrupted the binary balance that society was founded upon.
In this dimly lit bedroom, that world fell away.
They reached forward, spreading the flat of their hand over the broad expanse of their boyfriend’s back, fingertips tracing the knots of his spine. He was sprawled on his knees, shoulders dipped down, the wings of his shoulder blades prominent, forehead pressed against the mattress.
He groaned, voice catching in his throat, rumbling thickly in his chest. His fingers were bunched in the sheets, fibres strained by the force of his grip.
His cheeks were flushed, waves of dark hair hanging in his eyes, strands sticking to his sweat-slick forehead. A rug of thick curls blanketed his chest, and even his arms were furred, the backs of his fingers and hands fuzzy with curled hair. He wore a pair of glasses, and the lenses were fogged, glass turned cloudy by gasping breaths and pulsing body heat.
His name was Elliot.
Like Frankie, he defied the rules that so many others enforced, but he was more invisible in the crowds. A man who had earned that invisibility, been gifted access to the treatments which would transform him so magnificently. He didn’t want the same things that many other men did; as he bowed forward, whimpering at the sensation of being fucked, his chest swayed and pillowed against the mattress. He loved his body hair, loved the way it covered his entire chest. He found his figure sexy, and the effects of Testosterone had negated any need he’d previously held for surgery. He was finished with his transition. He bound when he needed to, but mostly, he just lived as a guy with a little extra chest fat.
His non-binary partner reached down with one hand, not pausing the motions of their hips, taking one of his breasts in hand. They squeezed and massaged his chest, rubbing their thumb over his hardened nipple, wiry hair thick against their skin. Elliot hummed appreciatively, rolling his body backward, onto the silicone cock which penetrated him.
“Feels so good,” he slurred happily, “Feels so good inside me, Frank.”
Frankie smiled, the corners of their eyes crinkling in a genuine expression of adoration. They gave Elliot’s chest one last squeeze, then moved both their hands to his hips, gripping his waist as they started to thrust their hips faster. They loved wearing a strap-on. They loved being intimate with him like this.
“Oh,” Elliot breathed, being rocked back and forth, knees denting the mattress, “Oh, yeah, yeah,”
Frankie grinned wider, sinking their teeth into their bottom lip, delight humming through them as Elliot moaned helplessly.
“You’re such a good little boy,” Frankie cooed, “Such a pretty little slut.”
Elliot chuckled breathlessly. “Yeah? You like fucking me?”
“Yeah, yeah, I fucking do. Love being inside you.”
“Ah, fuck- fuck yeah, I love it, I love it,”
Skin was slapping rapidly, slickness spilling from Elliot’s body, overflowing in thick droplets that sluiced their way down the insides of his thighs, a moist puddle forming on the bed. They’d been fucking for nearly an hour, and he felt exhausted, overwhelmed, horny, helpless, and sore all at once.
He knew Frankie would stop if he asked, but he wanted this. He wanted to be rubbed raw, wanted to be pushed to his limit. He’d already cum once. He knew he would again, before tonight was over.
Frankie yanked him backwards, hard, onto their cock. Elliot cried out, the hard tip slamming deep inside him, colliding with a sensitive wall of flesh within his body.
“You okay?” The question was hushed and genuine, and Elliot smiled happily, so thrilled to be relentlessly fucked by someone who actually cared for him.
“Yeah,” he gasped, “Yeah, sweetheart, I’m good, I’m good- Do it again, c’mon,”
Frankie tugged him harshly backward once more, his ass pressing flush against their pelvis, thrust slamming deep inside him once more.
“Fuck!”
“God, you do love it, don’t you,” Frankie groaned, “You really do, you slut, you wonderful slut,”
“Yeah, I’m a slut,” Elliot whispered, “Yeah, tell me I’m filthy, tell me I’m the dirtiest bitch you’ve ever seen-”
“You’re the sluttiest, you’re the fucking prettiest slut,”
“Yeah, baby, baby,”
“You goddamn whore, you sexy slut, you love my dick-”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Frankie grabbed their scarf, which had been draped over the bed’s headboard. They stuffed it in Elliot’s mouth.
“Mmmph…!”
“Shut the fuck up,” Frankie said, fucking him harder, “Take it, you slut.”
Elliot let himself be thoroughly ruined, let himself lay there and just take it, senseless with pleasure, lashes dipping down over his eyes as his mind drifted. His glasses were lopsided on his face, falling almost off as his cheek was smushed against the mattress. He was such a pretty picture of debauchery. Simultaneously detached and helplessly anchored in this moment, overcome by everything he was feeling.
He could pull the scarf out of his mouth if he wanted, they both knew that. This wasn’t hardcore play. This was safe, and unbelievably arousing, light kink.
There was something about Frankie. Something in their words and their actions hypnotised him, drove him crazy, had him rutting like a dog in heat. He wanted to be bent to their will. Pressed facedown, fucked within an inch of his life, molested and fondled.
They gave him everything he wanted, and more. He was safe, here. Safe in the knowledge that his partner saw him as a man, safe to surrender to pleasure. And Frankie was safe, too; safe to be themselves, safe to have sex with their body, exist beyond the binary as their sexy, complex, horny self. The cock that was pounding Elliot was Frankie’s cock, flesh or not.
Sex had never, ever been this good before. For either of them.
“You feel so good,” Frankie grunted, “You bitch.”
“Mm, mm, mm,” Elliot hummed senselessly, heat roiling in his gut as he heard himself being so wordlessly powerless, “Mmm!”
“You wanted this, you wanted this cock inside you.”
“Mm-“
“Don’t deny it, you whore. You dirty little slut.”
“Mm, mm, mmm!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Frankie growled, excitement hastening their words, “Yeah, you love it. You love it.”
They seized a handful of Elliot’s hair, their knuckles pale from the pressure of their grip. Elliot yelled loudly, exclamation muffled by fabric, head yanked backward, throat exposed. His glasses fell from his face, clattering onto the bed. He blinked blearily, gaze unfocussed, huffing desperate breaths through the gag.
Frankie continued to fuck him. Harder. Harder. Elliot could tell they were close, and he was too.
He snuck a hand beneath his body, still being violently rocked by Frankie’s thrusts. He touched himself, swirling unsteady fingers against the wet front of his hole, the growth he’d achieved on Testosterone. His chest swayed and bounced, and he loved it, loved the promiscuity of it all, the sexiness of his unique body.
“Fuck yeah, touch yourself, get off on being fucked, you filthy slut. Yeah, yeah-”
Elliot felt his world teetering, imploding, and swelling all at once, his body convulsing and shuddering, and then he was falling over the edge, sensations finally driving him to orgasm. He yelled, voice muffled, no words to be found even if fabric were to be removed. He was senseless, mindless, broken. A slave to pleasure.
He collapsed down onto the bed, gasping. Behind him, he heard Frankie groaning, unbuckling the strap-on, and touching their body directly. He thought he should get them off, return the favour, but couldn't even lift his head off the mattress to reciprocate. It was a redundant thought, though, because Frankie was soon laying against him, panting as they found their own satisfaction.
The pair breathed together, still quivering.
***
They went to the bathroom when they could be bothered moving, sweaty and slick, bodies aching in unique and delightful ways. They drew a bath together, bubbles crowning the surface of the gently steaming water, the smell of strawberry and vanilla floating through the air. Elliot leaned backward against the porcelain curve of the bath, and Frankie folded themselves against him, back flush against his chest. Thick hair was darkened by water, his body even more masculine in these moments, dripping waves of hair brushed free from his face, glasses dotted by moisture.
Frankie tilted their head up and backward, seeking his lips. They kissed, wet and warm, happy and safe.
"I love you," Frankie whispered.
Elliot grinned, wrapping his arms around their body, fingers interlocking. "I love you, too."
"No, I mean it."
"I know you do."
"No, really."
"Yes, really."
"No," Frankie giggled, "No, really. Really. I'm serious. I'm trying to make a statement here. C'mon. Just let me talk for a second."
"Okay," Elliot laughed, resting his chin on their head, mirth not helped by the ticklish scratch of their buzzed hair against his skin, "Okay, okay."
Frankie fell silent. They sat there for a moment, dragging their fingers through the water, watching bubbles swirl in the wake of their hand.
"Nobody else makes me feel happy, like you do. Nobody else makes me feel safe. I know it's not a big deal. I know you've transitioned, I have too, and I'm... We've got a lot in common, even if we're... completely different. Like, it doesn't- It just doesn't matter with you. What I am. What I do with my body. My pronouns. All the things that... with my exes, there was so much fucking drama, and it was... it was so tiring. With you, it's..."
The bathroom lapsed into quietness. Frankie was very aware of Elliot's every breath and movement.
"I love being with you. I love you. I... I want you to... be there, always, I want you to... I want you to be with me. Forever. I want... I want to have a house with you, I want... I want to be with you for the rest of my life, I..."
They couldn't think of another word which could possibly encapsulate the way they were feeling, and they were frustrated by their inability to communicate the sheer enormity of their feelings. But it was all okay, when Elliot pulled them tighter against him, holding them so lovingly, so carefully. He nuzzled against their face, kissing their cheek.
"I know," he told them, voice catching with emotion, "I know."
"Do you...?"
"I'd marry you," Elliot whispered, "I'll marry you. I want it, too."