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Frank had a shot glass in each hand as he weaved through the crowd of students. A smug grin was plastered on his face as he placed the glasses gently in front of Mel.
“Absolutely not.”
“Mel,” He whined, sliding into the vinyl booth next to her. Her body lit up where he touched her, thigh to thigh, arm to arm. “You only turn 21 once. Let me buy you your first legal shot.”
She squinted at the pale, cloudy drink. She already knew what her answer would be—but she at least had to pretend to consider the options.
After a moment, Mel rolled her eyes with a smile. “This better not be something disgusting.”
“I’d never do that to you, Mel.”
With a cheers they threw back their shots. As the vodka burned down her throat, Mel let herself stare at her best friend in the dim light, admiring the way his throat bobbed, a sheen of sweat already clinging to his skin.
“Another?”
And what else was she supposed to do, except allow him to take her hand and pull her to the bar.
@kingdonmicrofic july 3, gala (wc: 407/467)
cw: emotional infidelity (+ possible implied physical infidelity. choose your own adventure infidelity.)
Abby rented her dress off of an app. It’s solid black, trendy and form-fitting, and it’ll go back in the mail on Monday. She looks incredible. All the women at the gala say so, and Frank says so too.
Mel's dress is a shiny emerald green. It puffs at the sleeves. It sags at the waist, hanging off her frame in an admittedly unflattering way. The skirt is a strange length, hitting somewhere between her mid and lower calves. He still has a hard time looking anywhere else.
"God love her," Abby mutters. "That wouldn’t have even been cute in the eighties."
Frank knows she’s not being deliberately cruel. It’s just one of those inside thoughts that she feels comfortable voicing to him privately because they’re married and he knows her well enough.
And if it wasn’t Mel she was talking about, he might indulge her with a laugh or a yeah, it’s pretty awful. But it is Mel, so he doesn’t react at all - except for a brief, involuntary tightening of his lips. Abby looks at him and then away again. “Huh,” she says.
So he waits until Abby is in the bathroom and Mel is on her own, far from the crowd, gently swaying to the music.
"You look beautiful," he says.
Mel flushes, smiles and then shrugs, looking down at the dress.
"Well. This was my mother's," she says.
She picks at the skirt - maybe there’s a bit of dust there he can’t see, or maybe she’s just feeling uncomfortable. One of her sleeves slips off the shoulder, and she pulls it back up with a little awkwardness.
"It doesn't fit right," she says apologetically. "She was taller."
"It fits fine."
"It doesn't."
"It fits fine, Mel."
She looks up at him then - she has to crook her neck back because he's standing too close. Somewhere nearby, his wife is wearing a dress that she’ll have for a weekend, and Mel is standing in front of him in a dress that has been hanging in a closet for maybe thirty-five years.
"Thank you, Frank," she says. “I’m really happy you said that.”
He knows he should keep an eye out for his wife. But - fuck it - she always takes ages in the bathroom anyway, and Mel looks like she could use a breather.
He asks her if she wants to get some air, and follows the shine of her green dress out the door.
The voice is soft, distant, but she knows instantly who it belongs to. As she rouses from sleep, Mel wills herself to remain loose-limbed and unassuming, even as a large hand places itself in the middle of her back.
“C’mon, honey, wake up.”
Langdon’s palm skims all across her, pressing into her spine. She can feel the heat of it through her scrubs. It’s all she wants in the world: his hands on her. Practically all she thinks about is being at the center of his attention. When she’s particularly lonely, she will fantasize about being his patient, completely at his mercy, no choice but to let him slice her open and fix whatever is broken inside.
Mel takes a shaky breath and stretches her legs out, making it obvious she is awake. When his hand doesn’t move, her stomach does a swooping thing. The bed creaks as she turns to face him, the sound startling both of them.
“M’sorry,” she sniffles, her face burning. The room is so dark that she can only make out Langdon’s silhouette, broad-shouldered, perched on the side of the bed. “What time is it?”
“Midnight. We’ve got an MVC that’s 10-minutes out. Just came in to grab ya.”
“Right. Thank you.” She’s half sitting up now, but cannot move from the bed, as Langdon is blocking her completely.
“Did you get some rest?”
“A little.”
“That’s good.”
The conversation dies very quickly. He’s so close to her that she can feel his breath on her face as he exhales. Mel blinks rapidly in the dark, waiting for him to move, trying not to let her heart soar when he doesn’t.
“Tell me–” his voice cuts through the white noise in the room. “Tell me to go, Mel.”
All she can manage is a brisk shake of her head, and she cannot even feel guilty about moving in to kiss him, because he is closing the space between them simultaneously. They’ve always been on the same page, since that first day.
In the dark, it is difficult to perfectly align their mouths at first, but Langdon is quickly adjusting her and deepening the kiss, breath hitching when she opens for him easily. Immediately, Mel is pliable beneath him, panting into his mouth and spreading her legs so he can clamber in between them on the bed. The heat of his tongue sends a shudder down her body, head to toe.
“I like you so fuckin’ much,” he mumbles against her. “It makes me feel crazy.”
She wants to ask him what they are going to do now. She wants to scamper out of his arms and back into the ED, to safety. She wants to beg him to take her clothes off and fuck her right here in the on-call room.
Instead, Mel gives him a final messy kiss and pushes him off. There is one question that matters right now – the rest will have to wait.
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Mel’s life became choosing the path of least resistance… except for when it came to Frank Langdon.
It was just so easy with him. Everything was. So when Frank called her from the hospital and told her that Abby left, Mel went to him to help. And she stayed.
June 26th: Oops, Accidental Pregnancy for @kingdonweek
Frank doesn't remember the last time his bedroom heard laughter.
He and Abby used to laugh together all the time, everywhere, but especially in bed. It wasn't always during sex, but Frank liked that laughter best. He loved the feel of her body shaking against his, the rasp of her voice in the dark. It was when he felt most connected to her.
Of course, they don't laugh together anymore at all. Not when the kids do something funny, not when whatever random sitcom that's drowning out their silence actually lands a good joke.
And, well, they'd need to be having sex to laugh through it.
He might miss the laughter the most, of all the ways their marriage has changed.
It's why, when he tells a horribly corny joke at work on a random Thursday, and Mel laughs like it's the funniest thing she's ever heard, he feels a little drunk with power.
And he absolutely gets a little hard. He's careful not to make her laugh too much for the rest of the day, but that doesn't mean he stops thinking about it for a second.
He thinks about the way Mel laughed while he showers later, for just a moment too long, and ends up frantically jerking off while Abby sleeps just outside the bathroom.
It's surprising, but it shouldn't be. Making Mel laugh has always brightened his day. And clearly he's missing intimacy at home. So if he amps up the silly jokes, so be it.
Frank starts cataloguing what makes Mel really laugh, ranks how immediately his mind turns to sex each time.
When he starts imagining her laughter in his bedroom at night, he knows he needs to stop.
But he can't. He doesn't.
He doesn't stop for months. Not until Mel is laughing underneath him, breathless and gloriously naked.
Abby will be home in twenty minutes. He knows Mel needs to go, but he already misses her laughter.
The guy's right eye had caught the blast of a confetti cannon at a gender reveal party. One particularly aggressive piece of plastic had become lodged under his eyelid, leaving a nasty corneal laceration behind. He was, comically, still covered in pink and gold shrapnel, and Frank struggled not to make jokes about the pieces fluttering to the hospital floor as he became more and more agitated.
"Am I going to go blind?" he kept asking, jerking his head away from Frank's hands. "Jesus Christ, you're going to make me go blind!"
Frank tried to assure him that he was “probably not going to go blind,” and the guy swore at him for it.
By the time he was able to make some initial assessments and pass him off to an ophthalmologist, Frank had a headache and a persistent itch at the top of his spine. He needed a minute to breathe. He needed an aspirin, or a coffee, or maybe just-
"Hey, Dr. Langdon," Mel said, appearing suddenly beside him, a shot of adrenaline. (She didn’t usually startle him like this - he’d always had a pretty good radar for where she was in relation to him.) "Are you okay?"
Frank groaned theatrically, ready to embellish his story about the confetti cannon asshole for her, when she reached up and placed a gentle hand on the back of his neck.
It was out of body. He didn’t understand it - he wasn’t used to her touch. Sometimes, recently, it felt like they were both going out of their way to not touch.
Her fingers curled under his collar, and every last one of his arm hairs stood on end. Her knuckles brushed the top of his spine and he felt it in his knees. She was digging around under his scrubs, under his undershirt, skin on skin.
What the fuck is happening right now?
She'd asked him a question, hadn’t she? He couldn’t bring himself to remember.
"Got it," Mel said, sliding some foreign thing out from under his shirt.
She held it up between her middle and index fingers: a single piece of confetti, soft pink and delicate.
Frank faintly realized the itch was gone.
"Sorry. I noticed it slipping down and it was going to drive me nuts," she said. Then she looked away from him, down at the floor, like she was embarrassed.
Frank shoved his hands in his pockets before she could notice them shaking.
"Yeah, me too." He said. "Thanks."
Mel was already walking away. "Mmhmm, no problem,” she mumbled back, without turning around.
He watched as, a few steps down the hall, she absentmindedly slipped the piece of pink plastic into her pocket.
He shivered and clasped a hand to the back of his neck, gripping hard. Maybe if he pinched the skin enough he’d leave a mark. Maybe he’d feel it for the rest of the day.
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