Author's Note: This was requested by someone on twitter and most likely against my better judgment I decided to comply lol It is….well…turn on the cheesiest gay porn music you can find bow chicka bow wow!

Post Up

Frankie glanced out of the corner of his eye as Frost and the members of his team entered the gym. There were a few other detectives from Homicide, a couple of guys from Robbery and some younger Woody Harrelson-looking geek that Frost had been friends with since the Academy. Frankie chuckled to himself, they should have asked Janie play with them…if they wanted to win.

He walked over to the opponents and gave a nod of whassup, "Frost."

"Frankie," Frost nodded back. "Oh, some new kicks my man! Hoping those will give you an extra edge? Cause your vertical…" He snickered to himself, totally true, white men can't jump.

"Hey, hey!" Frankie threw his arms out, "Just wait, I'll be taking it to your house all day."

Frost laughed and turned to fully face Frankie, "Is that so?"

"Yeah, that's so." Frankie crossed his arms.

"Whaddya say we make a little wager on it. Whoever scores the most points between us, wins," Frost crossed his arms to mimic Frankie and raised an eyebrow.

Frankie paused, staring into chocolate brown eyes and down to full, pouty lips. Frost was stone faced. He was a formidable opponent at a poker table, but basketball was a different game. "You're on. If I win…I get my Guardian Chogokin back."

Frost sucked his cheeks in as he contemplated his terms, "Ok. If I win…You bring me breakfast to work everyday for a week…with coffee. Good coffee." He accentuated the last two words.

His jaw clenched. It was on. "My…action figure better be in pristine condition," Frankie pointed at Frost as he turned to rejoin his team.

Frankie knew he should care more about the game score. But, the only numerical duel scrolling through his brain was the tally between himself and Frost. The detective had moves and he was certainly making Frankie work for it. Sweat. He could feel it everywhere. He was soaked, but the enemy was too. That's how he had to think of him for the moment. The enemy. There were great stakes involved: the preservation of his wallet, and of course, the return of Chogokin. It was difficult though, to concentrate, what with the intense look on Frost's face, the sheen of perspiration accentuating the definition in his arms…

If the dull thud of a body against his chest hadn't snapped him out of it the harsh slam of his back on the gym floor surely would have. His drenched clothes aided his slide across the hardwood until the rubber soles of his shoes slapped the floor and brought him to a halt.

"That's a charge!" Frankie shouted as Frost's short jumper swished through the net. Davis, his partner extended a hand and pulled him to his feet.

"Bullshit," Frost lobbed back, "Your feet weren't set, if anything you were blocking."

The minutes ticked down towards the end of the second half. Victory on both counts was within grasp, the team was up by ten and he was tied with Frost. Frankie caught the pass on the wing from Davis and dribbled down. Frost posted up. He could clench it, Connors was signaling the lapsing time from the bench. A strong hand planted firmly in the middle of his back, all Frankie could hear was the sound of breath over his shoulder and the rhythm of the ball connecting with the court. Inch by inch he used his body to push Frost closer to the basket and with one final move he felt Frost nearly flush against his back. All of him…against his back and lower. All of him. Frankie smirked. Gotcha. A well-timed and discreet elbow to the ribs, he turned and popped the shot for two right as the clock ran out.

"Dammit." Frost muttered, rubbing his side.

Frankie extended his hand, "Good game, bro." He held the shake just a little too long.

Frost cleared his throat and pulled his hand away, "Yeah, congrats. You can, uh, get Chogokin tomorrow."

They took up on completely separate ends of the locker room. Frankie pretended to rifle through his bag looking for something, glancing over his shoulder as members of both teams straggled piecemeal to the showers. He stole a glance at Frost who appeared to be painstakingly rearranging his locker. Frost could feel the eyes on him and shot Frankie a look forcing him to awkwardly continue searching for the non-object in his gym bag.

The plan was simple enough, wait for Frost to hit the showers first, and hope none of the guys pulled an Angela Rizzoli thirty-five minute shower. Frankie toyed around with some games on his phone, sent a few texts and counted the players that exited the showers, packed their bags and left.

"Still here Frankie?" Davis asked as he dressed and headed towards the door.

"Yeah, yeah uh," Frankie stammered, "just had some urgent messages I needed to answer. Family stuff…you know Ma."

"Later man."

With everyone finally gone and only Frost remaining in the shower, he poked his head out of the locker room, grabbed the closed for cleaning sign leaning up against the wall and put it in front of the door, locking it behind him. The steam billowed through the open shower room and Frankie stopped to admire the cut form only ten feet away. Soapy water trickled in white tributaries down dark skin and Frankie felt the flush of arousal as he followed its path from top to bottom.

"You know," he said, announcing his presence as Frost looked over his shoulder, "there might be something else I'd take instead of Chogokin."

Frost cleared his throat, "Oh?"

Frankie's hands gripped Frost by the hips, digging in to the tensing muscles as he kissed him gruffly on the neck.

"Dude!" Frost spun around, hand flying up to place a light, but nonetheless serious choke hold on Frankie's neck. "What…the fuck…are you doing!"

"My sister's not the only Rizzoli that plays for both teams," Frankie tightened his grip on Frost's wrist and pulled it away catching his other hand as it moved to take the place of the first he backed Frost into the wall under the shower head.

Brown eyes were nearly black, Frost's jaw was clench and his chest heaved with labored breaths as he stared back at Frankie, "Look, I ain't gay, man."

Frankie nodded, inching his face closer, his eyes dropped to a slightly trembling lip and then lower, to what he had felt on that last post up on the court, to what he was still feeling pressed nearly completely front to front with the man he had pinned to the wall. "Uh huh," he looked in Frost's eyes again before going in for the kiss, a brutal assaulting kiss, tinged with power and struggle, a sensation kissing most women didn't afford. As his tongue slipped into Frost's mouth he was pushed away.

Frost glanced around the empty room and then past Frankie to the doorway, the look on his face was no longer shock, but rather concern.

"I put up the closed for cleaning sign and locked the door," Frankie assured him

The tension in his arms relaxed as Frost stopped straining against Frankie's grasp. The rookie Rizzoli was surprisingly strong…not to mention well sculpted and…Frost's eyes finally wandered down.

"This doesn't mean anything," he admired the contrast of his hands against Frankie's lighter, though red-streaked skin. The touch was effortless; fingertips sliding down sweat and water slick skin, over defined ribs and abdomen. Frost wrapped his hands as much as he could around Frankie's ass and pulled him closer, "You got me? This…doesn't mean anything."

Frankie nodded, "Not a thing."

He spread his legs a little further as Frost's hand reached between them, gripping the shaft of his cock at the base and stroking it. Sometimes he craved the touch of a man, the strength and rawness of the sex, the sensation of being the one being fucked. Even if it was just like this, the simplest of ways, Frost's hand working back and forth on his cock, it was different than with a woman: harder, stronger, just barely on the good side of the edge between pleasure and pain.

Frankie plastered his hands to the perspiring tile wall behind them and rolled his hips to Frost's continued ministrations, "Fuck." He closed his eyes and went rigid as he came, the strokes easing him down but still working to ensure his full release.

His breath rolled across Frost's neck and shoulder as he panted, each inhalation bringing with it the remnants of sweat and a subtle soap.

"On your knees," Frost said quietly, but confidently, closing his eyes as he felt Frankie's body drag down his own.

He wasn't sure how it would feel, the actual touch versus the fantasy of it. But, with little delay Frankie had his balls in one hand and the shaft of his cock in the other, his thumb applying the perfect pressure to its underside with each stroke. Then there were lips and tongue and warmth. Frost looked down as he grabbed what handful he could of Frankie's close-cropped hair in order to encourage him on.

"Jesus," he gasped, fingers curling into a wet scalp as he came with an intensity he hadn't felt since Anna. "That was…" Frost tried to regain his composure.

Frankie chuckled, wiping at the corner of his mouth as he shrugged, "Not a thing, remember?"