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Like ever since they started dating, Abby has always been accusing him of cheating or flirting with other women, doesn't matter, she'll always find something to accuse him of.
They're out for dinner and Frank smiles politely at the waitress.
"Oh you thought she was pretty? Why don't you sleep on the fucking couch."
He comes home late because the shift ran an hour over.
"Who were you fucking, huh?"
He mentiones one of the women at work, in a very work context.
"Bet you're just so happy to be spending your time with other women, right?"
Frank will always grovel, a full on "Baby you know you're the only one for me, I love you baby, don't be mad." on his knees.
Abby kinda loves it, because she knows that every time she does it, he'll grovel, and she'll get a new designer handbag or jewelry out of it. She loves the power it gives her over him.
She loves that she can use it against him to make sure to remind him how lucky he is that she keeps forgiving him.
So when after he goes back to work, one day he casually says something like:
"Oh Mel and I had lunch together in the cafeteria today."
"Who's Mel, huh?"
"I've mentioned her before, she's an R3."
And Abby's bored, and kinda just wants to argue, and maybe even get a new necklace out of it. She wants to remind him of his place.
"So you're fucking her then?"
And Frank just stops and looks her straight in the eyes. Usually this is the part where he'd start apologizing. Saying it isn't like that, she's just a coworker, beg for her to belive him, start promising nice things.
Instead, he goes:
"Yes."
it used to be fun and sexy and playful for them to do this but eventually it just gets tiring and rote and frank is pulling away more and more the more he gets to know mel. he gets a taste of the sweetest girl on earth who is always so earnest in her happiness to see him and be around him, who’s so supportive of him and unafraid to say things like “i like you a lot and i miss you when you’re not around” and he realizes he would trade everything he has with abby for even a minute with mel. he totally checks out of his marriage, he doesn’t even care to lie or play along when abby asks if he’s fucking mel. that’s his special sweet girl and he loves her and he’s not sorry about it
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actually mel and frank have a weirdo psychosexual connection where she tells him "you're like a brother to me" and he repeats "I'm like a brother to you" but they are two centimeters from each others face trying not to attack each other
Frank posting videos of the elaborate lunch boxes he makes for Mel, including showing what she ate and what she brought home at the end of the day, and everyone in the comments is like aww your daughter is so lucky to have such a caring dad! She’ll grow out of her picky phase soon!
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When Mel mentioned she had a strained relationship with food, Frank took it as a personal challenge. Every Friday after work he'd invite her over to his apartment and prepare a feast just for her.
It made her feel bad, all that food going to waste on her. But he assured her it wasn’t, that he would turn her into a foodie in no time.
As was to be expected, after five months of regular dinners together, she still wasn't a foodie. Unexpectedly, though, she had become fascinated by his cooking abilities. Shamefully, she had also become captivated by his eating habits.
Frank had always been expressive, excessively so at times —he said it was the Italian blood on his mother's side. But when they ate together, under the dim lights above his kitchen table, with the low murmur of an old-fashioned, slow song drifting through the apartment, he seemed to forget the world.
He'd tear into the focaccia with his fingers before dipping it into the red Bolognese sauce, moaning softly as the bread hit his tongue. He'd throw his head back, exposing the long line of his neck, after licking the cream of the tiramisu from his spoon. It made Mel blush, to say the least.
To say the most, it made her pulse race and her whole body ache.
It was shameful and weird how much she wanted to eat directly from his mouth. To feel the gravelly hum that escaped him after the third bite of panna cotta vibrating through her as she bit at the tip of his tongue. To make his palm slam against the cold kitchen counter, the same way it had after he'd tasted the five-chocolate brownies, while she licked melted chocolate from his bicep.
It all blew up in her face when he tasted the peach mousse she'd brought—the only thing she knew how to prepare—and moaned. She echoed the sound.
The solo guitar playing somewhere in the apartment suddenly sounded deafening. Time froze. His pupils were blown wide, his expression unreadable, until his gaze dropped to her untouched plate and then slowly climbed back to her face.
Her blush deepened. Without breaking eye contact, he scooped a bit of cream onto his fingertip and licked it clean. Her jaw dropped and another sound escaped her throat. His smile turned into a smirk.
He repeated the motion, but this time he smeared it on his bottom lip and chin.
“Want some?” he asked, not a trace of teasing in his tone.
@kingdonmicrofic july 10, feast (wc: 470/301)
(dedicated to noah wyle)
Privately, Robby likes to keep a pretty close score. It’s for the best. If his sabbatical taught him anything, it’s that he can’t handle the loneliness and the disappointment anymore, so he has to do this, for his own sake, he has to keep count, a mental tally on who he can trust and who he can’t.
Frank Langdon, he’s learned, he can’t trust. Not by quite a large margin.
Which is maybe why he gets so annoyed when Langdon turns up at the Friendsgiving thing. He wasn’t even in the groupchat, the one Shen had started and called feastie boys🍗- it was just supposed to be the fuck-ups with nowhere better to be. Robby certainly qualifies, single and childless. But Langdon has a wife. Two kids, a dog, medical debt, a long recovery road ahead of him. It’s the holiday weekend and Langdon is supposed to be at home. He shouldn’t be here, and he really shouldn’t be all pressed up against Dr. King as if there’s not plenty of room around the table at this shitty all-you-can-eat homestyle buffet place.
He can’t stand it: Langdon keeps leaning in and King just smiles at him, probably doesn’t even realize he’s flirting. It’s egregious.
He should pull Langdon aside. Be careful, he should say, You've got enough on your plate. Don't blow everything up over a woman who sees you as a brother at best. But then Langdon would snap at him, make some snarky comment about his extended sabbatical. Because, as much as he wishes otherwise, people don't really change. Not at their core, even when they try.
By the time they all go around and say what they’re thankful for, Robby has to take a second to swallow down all the bitterness before he can say he’s grateful to be sleeping in his own bed again without sounding like a psycho.
Langdon says he's grateful for his support system. He says he’s lucky to have his friendships. He's looking at King when he says his life has been “greatly, greatly enriched” these past few months. That he's learning to be a better father. A better man.
No better husband. Robby notices, adds it to the tally.
It’s ridiculous, and no one else seems bothered, which makes him wonder if this is just the new normal since he’s been gone. This is why he shouldn’t have left, he should have been here to make sure Langdon was staying the course.
The fucker is just so - relaxed. It’s like he doesn’t care, or like he’s not struggling, which is absurd. When he smiles his face looks completely different, like he’s a whole new person.
Robby keeps his mouth shut and eats his food. He doesn't know what to make of any of it.
@kingdonmicrofic Day 10: Feast (282) WARNING: smut
His eyes are so light, most of the time. Blue and clear, sparkling even under the horrendous lighting in the hospital. Mel’s never met anyone who looked good under fluorescents before him.
There are times, though, when his eyes go a little dark. She noticed it her second time working with him, when he looked up at her from under his eyelashes and interrupted her. He’d apologized later for snapping, but Mel didn’t think of it that way. She didn’t think it was a bad thing at all, just something that gave her butterflies in her stomach.
His eyes would go dark other times, too. Once when Donnie was showing him a picture of some running gear that Frank had been lusting over, but mostly—
Mostly, it happens when Frank eats. When he rips the flesh from a peach and the juice floods his mouth. When he bites down on a particularly good cookie.
Now, between her legs, looking up at her as his tongue moves in and out of her.
He’s feasting, hungry and desperate if the rutting against her shin is any indication, and she is his meal. He’s a fox, stalking in the night, and she’s the jackrabbit that isn’t quite quick enough.
He turns his mouth upon her thigh when she comes, giving her a small reprieve before diving in again. His teeth mark her, bruising her, and she loves that the claim is there for everyone to see.
Then he’s eating her out again, eyes rolling back when Mel grips his hair harshly, his hips only gaining momentum when she starts crying from overstimulation.
A rabbit in the jaws of the fox, but content to be there.
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