@kingdonmicrofic day 15: silk | 498/498 | rating: m (stripper!mel)
A low whistle sounded beside Frank, followed by a firm tap under his chin to shut his mouth. “Uh-oh, looks like someone fell in love.”
Shit.
That’s the rule, right? Don’t fall in love with the stripper. Does it still count if he was already in love before discovering she was the stripper?
Because the stripper was Melissa King.
Quiet, perfect, genius Melissa King.
The captain of the debate team and his brilliant high school lab partner Melissa King, who had hands he wanted to hold in the hallways and twin braids he wanted to pull on and blue braces he wanted to lick in the back of his car after prom, just before they took each other’s virginities.
The last he heard, she moved to Ohio for college, but he completely lost touch with her during sophomore year and hadn’t heard anything since. (Not for lack of trying, but there’s only so many times you can hear a robotic voice tell you a number is unavailable before the message is received.) That didn’t stop him from thinking about her over the years. After her graduation, after him starting med school, recalling all those years of doctoral dreams they shared over dissection frogs.
And strangely enough, here she was, right in front of him, finally in the same city, upside down and covered in glitter and silk, displaying more skin than he’d ever thought possible while still technically being dressed — holy shit, he might be dead.
There was an effortlessness to the way she moved, absorbed in her performance with the tip of her tongue peeking out from between her lips in concentration. So completely unchanged, yet so different.
From the stage, she turned her head in his direction, gaze falling on his group. Her eyes narrowed then widened slightly in recognition, a giddy smile growing. There’s no way that she also… no, right?
His buddies erupted in cheers, clapping his shoulders as she slinked over, but he sat frozen, pulse buzzing in his ears, eyes glued to the freckles dusting across her cheeks.
After a moment of hesitation, she braced her hands on his shoulders, smiling coyly at the tension in his body, her perfectly straight teeth shining in the dim light. Before he knew it, she had deposited herself in his lap like she belonged there, and his brain short-circuited, feeling like a teenager again.
(Hands. Where do hands go? Oh my god, her tits are right there, be normal, Frank. Were her eyes always green? Could’ve sworn they were more hazel. Do you think she still has her glasses? Can she go get them? God, please don’t be able to feel how hard I am.)
The song faded out, though he didn’t really register there was a song playing, and Mel pulled back, hands still looped around his neck. “We’ll talk later,” she promised, catching his eyes deliberately, cheeks pink. She stood up then, giving one last polite smile. “It’s good to see you too, Frank.”
