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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!
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.
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@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.
samira’s opinion of langdon going to rehab is basically “good for you or sorry that happened. can you help me with my cases again it’s annoying when you’re not here”
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samira and langdon entering a fwb situation because langdon is falling in love with mel and he really feels like he’s going to ruin her life if he acts on it, so he needs to fuck out the frustration somewhere and he asks samira honestly because it would just be convenient for him and he knows that she has a thing for abbot so there definitely won’t be any feelings involved.
samira says yes because hashtag antisocial queen isn’t getting it from anyone else and yknow what it IS a convenient set up. and her avoidant attachment style is telling her to stay away from jack.
anyways it all culminates in one very awkward night shift where langdon accidentally calls samira ‘kitten’ in front of abbot and mel and god and everyone and then has to quit his job and change his identity because abbot is going to hunt him for sport and mel thinks he’s not attracted to her and samira is pissed he exposed her daddy kink
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@francislangdon also wants to know about this one too :)
this is their first time!!!! underage dubcon ice cream verse. frank has a girl over when their parents aren’t home and mel freaks the fuckkkkk out
She’s stopped sobbing, but doesn’t budge from where she’s curled into Frank’s chest. He’s rubbing her back and his hand is so warm through her thin cotton top. Before this happened, she hadn’t even had a chance to do her braid. Some of her hair was wet from her tears and snot.
“What were you going to do with that girl?” She says that girl with as close to vitriol she ever gets, which is flat and short, tension wrought into her words.
She’s so jealous and she knows he can tell. She doesn’t know why, but she felt like her heart was breaking clean in half watching that girl hold her brother’s face from underneath him, pushing aside his sweaty hair, seeing him like that, just the two of them—it wasn’t right. He knew that.
“Francis,” she whines, anxious. “Tell me.”
Frank looks down at her and pulls her head back by her hair. They make eye contact and he smiles, like he’s had an idea.
“I could show you, Mels,” he whispers to her, suddenly nose to nose, hand sliding down her back to her hips, holding her in a way he hasn’t before.
Her stomach flips, something inside her clicking into place, a missing piece finally found.
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