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I'd like to know if you'd be open to starting over from scratch..

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Mar. 8th, 2007 | 10:00 pm
music: Keren Ann ;; Not Going Anywhere

So I like this. It makes me go "Oh Frank!". Frank, for anyone that doesn't know, is Francesca Duffy of Bellezza Scura coolness.

Some mature content implied. I own Frankie and Darren. But not Casey. Just his heart (Buahahahahahahaaaaaaa XD Iloveyoupleasedon'tkillme!)


She was laughing as she stumbled down the narrow corridor, his arm around her waist to try and steady her on the stacked heels that she wore. She had taken time and effort to style her hair as best she knew into loose ringlets - most of which had fallen into brief waves in her blonde locks - and those that knew her were amazed to see Francesca Duffy looking like a real and true woman.
With lips painted red, she accepted a kiss from the man towering above her. With skin scrubbed and polished until every blemish was eradicated, she allowed his hands to touch her - on her bare arms, bare legs, his hand cradling her head as his mouth sought the warmth of hers.
He whispered "Frank," And she urged him to call her Francesca, correcting him even as she found her fingers coiling into his hair.

In forcing herself to move on and away from Newcastle, taking Fate at Her word and forgetting all that she had left behind, Francesca was transforming. She was becoming the girl that Frank would sneer at in the street. Pressed against the wall, one heand searching for the doorhandle behind her as their kisses became frantic and heated, Frank would have recoiled in horror. Francesca dived in head first, giggling as he lifted her and spun them into the dreary little flat.
Stumbling in the dark, laughing and swearing as toes were stubbed and shoes tugged off, they found the couch with little effort. He had her pinned under his weight, a hand pushing under the black taffeta and tulle of her skirt in search of his prize, and she wriggled in anticipation.

He teased her, and she bit back her discontent with teeth clamped around her lower lip thinking Casey never did this.

The sex was good with Darren, that much she would admit. But conversation was limited to work and the people they saw. Darren was a muggle, unaware of the other world in which Frank lived, unaware of the full extent of her. They both had secrets, both had to keep one another at arm's length when it came to daily life. He would read the paper in the morning and she would pick at a bowl of cereal, uncomfortably covered in whichever silken strip of underwear he had bought her this time.
And then Darren would leave, and Francesca would shower and change, go to work and argue as passionately with Travers as she would fuck him in the small office that they were forced to share, a chair wedged up under the door handle and a vicious growl rumbling constantly in his throat.

Frank was forcing herself to move on, and finding herself tangled and lost.

Casey Never Did This.

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