NSFW Frank Langdon x Male Reader
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
You and Dr. Langdon are coworkers…for now.
Dana stands by the break room sink, stirring her coffee.
“He made a mistake, hun. He’s human.”
“I still don’t get why he isn’t fired. He committed a damn felony!”
Trinity Santos sits at the alone round table in a sad excuse for a chair. A half eaten protein bar crumbles as she takes another bite. Dana takes a sip of her coffee, grimaces, dumps the rest down the drain, then pops nicotine gum in her mouth.
“Look, kid. I’m not your therapist. It’s been ten months and, clearly, you aren’t over it. I can give you recommendations for a shrink, but I don’t get paid enough to be the charge nurse and your mother.”
With that, Dana fakes a smile and heads back to the Hub. Santos swears under her breath before you enter the break room. You’ve been with this hospital as long as Whitaker, Santos, and Javadi—having arrived the same day as them. Stealing the chair across from her, you set your water bottle on the table and look at her distressed state.
“No, it’s not about fucking Garcia.”
“Okay…okay,” you take a moment to digest her upset state. “What’s it about?”
“You wouldn’t understand.” She furiously bounces her leg.
“Fine,” she sighs. “It’s Langdon.”
“See? I knew you wouldn’t get it!”
“He’s getting away with a felony because he’s the hospital’s golden boy! I caught him red-handed and what do I get? Nothing. This would be so different if it was a woman. She
would’ve been fired, sued, and arrested.”
“Maybe it would be different if it was a woman” you state blankly. “But it wasn’t. It sucks that he did that, but have you ever considered why? It’s not always about the what.” She rolls her eyes at you.
“I don’t care why. He shouldn’t have done it.”
“Have you ever been addicted to something?” She avoids eye contact, staring down at the fabric of her pants. “Personally, I know people who have been and at some point I’ve dealt with it myself. Sure, I wasn’t stealing benzos from the ER, but—”
“That’s not the part I care about.”
“Well, what part is it then?”
“The fact that it was my first day as a new doctor and he belittled me in front of everyone, gaslit me, and used his position to demean me.”
She stops bouncing her leg and sighs, crossing her arms on the table and resting her head on them. Empatheticly, you nod and allow for a moment of silence before saying,
“You’re right. No amount of apologizing is going to take back how he made you feel.” She slowly looked up, raising an eyebrow.
“But nothing, Trinity. I’d suggest seeing a counselor since anyone who has gone through what you have—”
“Therapist trauma,” she exasperates the t’s. You nod, taking in the new information.
“Got it. Well, I’m here for you. You have my number.”
With that, you pat her shoulder gently, stand up, and straighten out your scrubs. Reluctantly, you walk out of the break room and into the chaos of Pittsburg Medical Trauma Center. Crying erupts from nearby and you see Whitaker closing the curtain, muffling the crying as effectively as a feather would help one lift off the ground and take flight. Dennis forces a midwestern smile your way and is about to walk past when he stops and faces you.
“Hey, have you seen Dr. Langdon? He had to change scrubs, but it’s been ten minutes.” He checks his watch.
“No, I haven’t. I can go look around if you wanna take West 14 for me. A guy came in with his finger looking a bit—unnatural. I’m just waiting for an x-ray back.”
“Sure. Have Langdon go to Central 7 when you find him.”
As quickly as he arrived, he leaves. You try to think of all the usual hiding spots that nurses and doctors find to sulk in. First, you check outside to see Mel FaceTiming her sister, Becca. She smiles and waves at you so you do the same back. Maybe he’s on the roof? You patiently wait for the elevator to come down and pick you up from the ground floor when you hear the door to the stairs open and close. With that, you abandon the idea of him being on the roof and check the stairs.
Behind the doors, you find Langdon sitting with blood-covered scrubs. Strands of his hair are matted to his forehead with sweat. He looks up to see you with deep bags under his eyes.
“Hey,” you smile softly, walking across the tile and taking a seat next to him. He keeps staring forward.
“Hey.” Silence wafts throughout the room for half a minute before he sighs.
“So…why are you hiding out here?” He bites his lip, debating on saying anything before shaking his head and ultimately giving in.
“My last patient overdosed. He had a wife and kids.”
“Oh…shit. I’m sorry.” He hangs his head low.
“I’m assuming you already know why I was gone for ten months,” he huffs.
“Well, yeah. Trin—Dr. Santos and I live in the same apartment building.” He grimaces.
“So she told you.” It wasn’t a question. Just a solemn statement.
“I asked her if you were on something the first day we were here and she confirmed it.” His bushy eyebrows raise.
“You don’t have to lie. I mean- you have every right to,” he shakes his head. “I lied.”
“You were jittery, lashed out at Santos, and Robby refused to answer any questions about where you were. It’s not that hard to guess,” you admit. He nods slowly.
“All of it. The addiction, lying, lashing out…I’m sorry.”
“Well, you should probably tell that to Santos—”
“I already did.” He presses his thumb and pointer finger against the bridge of his nose.
“Yeah.” Silence injects itself into the atmosphere, burning.
“I’ve only told Robby and—”
“So you haven’t.” He scoffs.
“Well, if you owe anyone an explanation, it’d be her.”
Silence spreads through the cracks in the tile and buries itself there. You look over to see him wearing a Narcotics Anonymous bracelet. To most, it’s just a black beaded piece of jewelry. To you? Well, you know better. “I know I can’t possibly understand since I’m not you, but just know I don’t think less of you, Dr. Langdon. I’m here if you ever wanna talk. Now,” you stand up. “Whitaker needs you in Central 7.”
With that, you smile softly, stand up, and walk back out into the chaos of the ER, allowing the man a moment of reflection. You run into Whitaker and give him a thumbs up to let him know Langdon is on his way. He smiles and nods, giving a pointed look for you to return to your patient. You do as his eyes suggest and make your way back to Central 14.
The x-ray is back and it turns out he has a “transverse mid-shaft fracture, Mr. Smith. Right here.” you point to the x-ray where one would typically be wearing a wedding ring. “Luckily, it’s stable so you won’t need surgery. We’ll just send you off with some supplies so you can keep a splint on for 6 weeks. I’m gonna splint the fingers next to it for additional support as well. How does that sound?”
After a fairly normal shift, you clock out and go to your locker. You see Langdon groan as he stands up from having to bend over to access his.
“You okay?” He turns, surprised to see anyone there.
“Yeah, I’m fine…thanks for earlier.”
You nod, sneaking a glance at his outfit since he’s out of uniform. He’s wearing black sneakers with mismatched socks, dark blue jeans, a vintage Aerosmith shirt, and a red and black flannel. His hair was messy from the day and his eyes—oh shit. His eyes are curiously looking at you.
“Well, my locker’s right above yours so—”
“Oh, right.” He steps out of the way and gestures for you to stand where he was and access your locker. You huff out a slight chuckle and move to open it. With the universe’s humor, your assigned code was 6699. It clicks open after you enter it. “No way. You won the locker combo lottery,” he smirked. Awkwardly trying to stay out of your way, he bends over to shut his locker and swears under his breath.
“Me? Yeah, I'm fine,” he grunts as he uses his knees to push himself back to standing upright as he was before. You notice his posture is a tad worse than the moment prior.
“You don’t have to lie to me, Langdon.” He sighs in defeat.
“My back issues aren’t letting up.”
“Uh, yeah. That’s what I just said.”
“God, you really are old.”
“Yeah. I can still remember when I had to ride my dinosaur to school,” he retorts.
“What do you do for the pain?”
“Pray,” he chuckles. “I take Advil.”
“Have you considered a massage therapist?” He avoids eye contact, muttering,
“I can’t afford that right now. With the divorce and all the lawyers and rehab bills-”
“You got divorced?” You unintentionally slam your locker shut out of shock. He bites his lip and leans back against the locker so the right side of his body faces you. Yet, his eyes stare straight ahead, transfixed on the wall.
“Yeah.” He fidgets with his wedding ring then takes it off, putting it in his pocket. “I’m wearing it so nobody asks questions. I can’t be seen as a divorced drug addict.”
You nod slowly, taking in the new information. You still had a question, but didn’t want to push him too hard since he’s already shared more with you than anyone else. However, you couldn’t help it.
“What about your kids?” He looks completely defeated, his eyes dropping to the floor.
“Weekends.” You pause for a moment, thinking of what to say.
“Do you want some advice, for me to relate, or just to listen?” He finally looks at you, his monotone voice breaking as he answers,
“Whatever you’ll give me.”
“Well, if Abby can’t be with you through this then you two aren’t meant to be. Sure, you fucked up, but that shouldn’t erase everything you are. I’ve heard from Dana that you’re a good dad and I know you’re a great doctor, okay? I can’t speak on you being a good husband, but—”
“Thanks,” he interrupts, saving you from possibly embarrassing yourself. He turns to face you, his blue eyes piercing through you thanks to the incandescent hospital lights. He tilts his head and asks, “So…do you have any masseuse recommendations?” He smiles subtly.
“Oh- um…no, I don’t. I mainly just suggested it since my ex said his back pain lessened when I massaged him.”
“And it would definitely be unprofessional for me to ask you for…that.” He clicks his tongue then looks away. “Rumors spread like measles here.” You chuckle at his attempt to ask you for a massage, definitely seeing the implications that come with it.
“Yeah, Perlah and Princess would have a field day with that one,” you add. He smiles and playfully rolls his eyes. “If nobody found out then maybe—”
“Are you free on Friday?” He immediately looks anxious, fidgeting with his bracelet. You tilt your head like a confused puppy.
“Sorry, what?” Immediately, he backtracks.
“Shit- sorry. Just forget I said anything. Have a good night!” He whips around and tries to make his way to the door when you ask,
“What time on Friday?” He halts his pace and turns around with a smile capable of advertising teeth-whitening strips.
“Only if it’s pm,” you smile smugly then make your way to walk by his side.
“Great.” The two of you walk to your cars, ironically parked only a space away from one another. You go to open your door the turn back, prodding,
“Don’t you have your kids on weekends?” He shakes his head.
“Mostly. She gets them this weekend since it’s a holiday weekend. Just another reason to hate the 4th of July,” he answers. You nod, feeling bad for bringing it up. “You’re a nice silver lining, though.”
With that, he smoothly gets into his vehicle. The engine comes to life, he waves goodbye, and then he drives out onto the road. You climb into your car and take a minute to process what just happened. It was his first day back and you managed to have him ask you out? Well, maybe it wasn’t like that. He could just have bad back pain and need relief. However, having you come over on a Friday night at 6pm seems awfully date-like.
Miraculously, nobody managed to die in the ER today. It was a somewhat peaceful shift…well, as peaceful as working in emergency medicine can be. There was a woman who you thought looked familiar, but couldn’t place. Dr. Langdon seemed to avoid the room she was assigned to like the plague. (Honestly, he probably would have been far less careful around the plague.) Despite Santos telling you to forget about it and mentioning something about him possibly stealing drugs again, you stay an extra hour past your shift just so you can ask him. Waiting across from your locker, you scroll TikTok and find it hard to stand upright. The day wasn’t nearly as bad as others, but you still worked a 12-hour shift.
Dr. Langdon’s concerned voice appears. He’s standing a few feet away from you in a Penguins hockey cap, charcoal gray hoodie, and clearly worn-in navy blue jeans. His mismatched shoelaces (one black, one pink) stand out against his black sneakers.
“Yeah, I wanted to ask you something.” He raises his eyebrow.
“Am I in trouble?” He taunts.
“No,” you chuckle. “I’m just wondering if you know that woman who came in with—”
“Yeah, I do,” he interrupts. You cross your arms, waiting for him to continue. “That’s Abby. My wi—ex-wife.” He bends over and opens up his locker, grabbing his keys and shutting it.
“Oh—okay. That makes sense then.”
“What?” He grunts as he stands up straight.
“Well, you were avoiding her room.”
“Oh…I guess I was.” He admits. “I didn’t notice.” He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. A strand of it gets plucked from his scalp and sticks to his wedding ring.
“She already changed her last name back? Her chart didn’t say Abigail Langdon.”
“Yeah, she practically kicked me out the second I told her everything.”
“Yeah. Well, good shift today. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turns and takes a few steps before stopping and pivoting to face you. “We’re probably going out the same way, huh?” He looks to you then to the door. Quickly, you grab your bag off the tile and walk over to him. Footsteps echo through the empty hallway as you both exit the hospital.
“I’m assuming you’re a Penguins fan?” You look up at his cap.
“Yeah, are you?” You tilt your head a little and shrug.
“Sports are impressive, but they’re not really my thing,” you admit. He nods, looking at you.
“So, what is your thing then?” Taking a moment to think, you look up at the sky where stars should be, but the light pollution infected the sky, draining it of otherworldly wonders.
“Well, I like checking out interactive museums, but I haven’t gotten the chance to since I’ve moved here.”
“No shit, so you’re a secret nerd?” You raise an eyebrow.
“I don’t know about secret—but yeah.” He nods, smiling.
“History is pretty cool. I probably would’ve been a history teacher if I wasn’t a doctor.” You look him up and down, imagining him in a classic old-fashioned tweed suit that a stereotypical college professor would wear.
“That would suit you, actually.” He looks over to you.
“Yeah, I don’t know how good of a teacher you would be—” you tease. “—But the aesthetic definitely suits you.” Being creatures of habit, the two of you parked your cars in the same spots as the previous day.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he raises an eyebrow and smiles. You nod, waving to him as you get into your car. He mirrors you, playfully revving his engine. Faintly, you can hear him listening to “We’re Not Gonna Take It” by Twisted Sister, singing and drumming along on the steering wheel. Smiling to yourself, you watch for a minute before heading home.
You splash freezing water on your face, hoping it will combat the desire to climb back into bed. Momentarily, it works. However, the desire immediately resurfaces when,
“All hands on deck in Trauma 1! We have a 12-year-old girl with a failed suicide attempt,” Dana informs.
As fast as the backbone of the hospital appears, she vanishes. Without missing a beat, you run as fast as you safely can in an emergency room. Swerving around the Hub, you manage to make it to Trauma 1 within a minute. A young woman, no older than 25, hovers near the room. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a messy bun with a claw clip. Tears cling to the bottom of her eyelashes as she sobs on the phone.
“Please…please cover for me,” she begs. “Thank you…thank you.”
She hangs up and wipes the tears from her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater. You hurry past her into the room and are met with Dr. Robby, Whitaker, Santos, Javadi, Garcia, Langdon, and a few miscellaneous nurses.
“We have a six-inch laceration on the right arm that's half an inch deep,” Javadi catches you up to speed, taking a step back as Whitaker replaces her. “There's a three-inch cut that's ¼ of an inch on the left arm as well.”
“Fuck this. She needs surgery,” Garcia grumbles as she picks up the phone and calls upstairs. Dr. Robby nods solemnly as he watches Whitaker grab a blood pressure gauge and put it on the
preteen girl, mirroring what Langdon did on the other side.
“Where do you need me?” You chime, wanting to help in any way possible. Suddenly, her vitals became unstable, dropping significantly.
“Go let the mother know we’re taking her to surgery,” Dr. Robby instructs. You nod and watch as the team manages to stabilize her. He glances at Javadi then glares at Langdon. “Dr. Langdon, accompany him.” Javadi hops in and takes over where he was. Huffing, Dr. Langdon takes off his gloves and disposable surgical gown then throws them in the bin as he follows behind you.
“Do you think she’s gonna make it?” You ask abruptly, stopping short of the door.
“I don't know,” he sighs. You take a deep breath then open the door to see the woman from earlier, the girl's mother, pacing. Immediately, she approaches you two.
“Is she gonna be okay?” Langdon saves you from having to say the commonly used pre-packaged response by putting his hands in his pockets and neutrally stating,
“We’re doing everything we can.” She seems to catch on to the meaning behind the statement and her eyes start to tear up.
“She’s being brought to surgery right now. You won't be able to stay in the room while they're operating, but you can sit in the private waiting room upstairs or I could show you to the cafeteria—” Swinging doors and squeaky wheels interrupt you as her daughter is brought out. Without hesitation, she follows the team of doctors to the elevator for surgery. You turn to Langdon and see him fidgeting with his bracelet. Having a daughter, this must be brutal for him to witness. “Hey,” you carefully place a hand on his shoulder. “She’s gonna be okay. I can feel it.” Immediately trying to hide his worry, he jokes,
“Are you some sort of psychic?” Without skipping a beat, you retort,
“Yeah, I minored in fortune-telling.” He laughs and you can tell that he appreciates the humor as a distraction from the gruelling reality of possibly not being able to save a kid’s life. “If you wanna talk—”
“I appreciate that,” he interrupts. “But my therapist needs to get his kids through college somehow.” It’s your turn to laugh. Sure, it’s a common phrase, but it lands differently when he says it. You sigh and walk over to the Hub. Your gaze pierced through the different patients’ names and symptoms needing to be seen. Dr. Langdon follows behind you like a loyal puppy.
“There’s a man in his forties with chest pain and difficulty breathing. That could easily take a turn for the worse,” you explain. He nods and makes his way to North 1 where the man should be. You intend to follow behind, but are snagged by Dr. Robby.
“We need you in Trauma 1.” Robby doesn't wait up, expecting you to follow. You push back the disappointment of not getting to work on a patient with Langdon and head to where you're needed.
Speedwalking to your locker, you dodge the hallways lined with people waiting to be seen (sorry, night shift <\3). When rounding the corner, you duck, managing to narrowly miss a boy in North 5 using his IV pole as a lightsaber. Immediately, Dana shuts that down so you can rest easy. However, ducking made it hard to see the sleeping woman in a portable stretcher right in front of you. At the speed of a soccer mom rushing to her kid after bruising his knee, you run headfirst into the metal. Since you’re right by the Hub, Dana sends a doctor your way without missing a beat. You feel a gentle hand on your shoulder and come face to face with Dr. Langdon.
“Do you know what day it is?” He asks.
“I don't have a concussion,” you huff, trying to stand up. His grip on your shoulder stabilizes you and he raises an eyebrow.
“It’s Wednesday and I just got off my 12-hour shift so I'd love to get home,” you sigh. He nods slowly.
“Do you want some help standing up?” You decline and start to stand, but fall forward—right into Langdon’s arms. He helps get you to your feet then holds your shoulders, steadying you in front of him. “I don't think you should be driving,” he frowns. You roll your eyes and try to walk past him. “Wait—you couldn't tell me the date. I need to give you a full evaluation.” You stop dead in your tracks and turn to face him.
“Really?” He nods, looking dead serious. Shit. Maybe you do have a concussion.
“Fine. Lead the way.” He stays within an arm's length as you two make your way to South 20. When inside the room, he closes the door and gestures for you to sit on the sad excuse for a bed. You take a seat and he stands in front of you, bending over to stay at your eye level. He leads you through some questions and looks a tad solemn at your answers.
“Well, I have your diagnosis.” He takes a beat. “You have a moderate concussion which means you shouldn't drive for at least two days. However, I'd advise against driving for five days since this isn't a mild concussion.” He sits down next to you on the portable stretcher and looks down at his lap.
“Shit. I guess I can get a ride from—”
“I can take you home,” he blurts. You can see his face lightly flushing, yet he continues to hold eye contact.
“Well, I really appreciate that, but I'll still need someone to drive my car back to my place so it isn't towed.”
“Why not have Whitaker do it?”
“Because he drives a car like a tractor,” you mock. Langdon smiles then admits,
“Well, the owner of a towing company said I can call in a favour since I saved his kid a few years ago…”
“You don't have to do that for me.”
“I know.” He smiles. “But I want to.” His hand inches towards yours. The electricity had the hairs on the back of your neck standing upright. The golden band on his left ring finger cuts through the electricity like glass, insulating it. He sees you staring at it and sighs, standing up.
“I'm off in less than half an hour then I can bring you home, alright?” He fidgets with his wedding ring, taking it on and off repeatedly.
“Yes, sir,” you salute. Instantly, he stops fiddling with his ring, freezing in place. Robotically, he puts the ring back on, waves without looking back, and walks back to finish his shift. Trying to ignore his abnormal reaction, you head to the break room to kill time. You enter the room to see Dr. Santos. Immediately, she stares you down.
“Isn’t your shift over?” She snides. Reluctantly, you sit across from her and nod. Yeah, but Dr. Langdon said I have a moderate concussion so—”
“Shut up,” she smirks. “You’ve gotta be joking.” Assuming she’s heard about your concussion from Princess and Perlah, you correctly assume that she is not surprised about that.
“Did he offer you a ride home?”
“Well, yeah. I’m not supposed to drive so—”
“You seriously can’t be this dense,” she chuckles.
“You two aren’t close enough where he would offer that.”
“Well, he did so…we are.” She shakes her head, clicking her tongue.
“You really don’t see it?” With a sigh, you indulge her by responding,
“See what?” Santos takes a beat for dramatic effect.
“The way he looks at you.” The way your cheeks heat up and heartbeat quickens reveals your response to her revelation. Santos curses under her breath then allows her eyes to soften.
“Just…be careful, okay? If he does anything to hurt you—”
“He wouldn’t do anything to hurt me,” you respond without thinking. Immediately, her eyebrows skyrocket and her elbows bury themselves in the table as she leans forward.
“Are you really thinking about getting with a married man who is ten months sober AND your attending?” Of course, she doesn’t know that he got divorced. However, telling her that would completely break his trust—especially considering the fact that Santos and Langdon aren’t known for their loving friendship.
“But you’re thinking it. I can tell, Dr. Tachycardia.”
“Yeah. He makes your little heart speed up, doesn’t he?” She teases. “I think I’ll call you Tach for short.”
“I haven’t even told you if I like him like that,” you exasperate. Santos rolls her eyes in response.
“Are you really gonna lie to me? To yourself?”
“I haven’t really thought about it—” The door to the break room swings open and Whitaker enters with a sandwich. Against his own wishes, he is immediately in the middle of this conversation.
“Huckleberry, do you think Tach here likes Langdon?” Realizing it’s too late to escape, he pulls up a chair and nods.
“Does he have a reason not to?”
“See? Langdon totally wants to fuck you and—”
“Woah, woah, woah! I thought you were asking if he likes Langdon as a person…like, in general,” Whitaker backtracks. Santos shoots him a death glare then looks back to you.
“Well, ignore Whitaker. He wouldn’t know a signal if it stole and ate all of his avocados.”
“Are you really still mad about that?” He scoffs.
“Well, ask my avocados. Oh wait, you ate them.” Before you have to mediate this roommate argument, Dr. Langdon acts as a knight in shining armor. He swoops in and carries you to his carriage. Well, more accurately speaking, he comes in and informs you that he clocked out. You practically jump out of your seat, giving a haphazard wave to Santos and Whitaker before walking out with him.
“Nope.” He nods in response. The two of you walk out side by side to his car. You take a moment to glance at his outfit. Out of his scrubs, he’s dressed in a dark gray Fraggle Rock shirt, cuffed dark blue jeans, and black sneakers. “How was the rest of your shift?” The doctor breathes out and shakes his head, smiling.
“Honestly, it went way better than I expected,” he smiles softly. “That girl from earlier– it turns out her name is Chloe–ended up making it.” Your face lights up at the good news.
“Maybe you really are a fortune-teller.”
“Your first reading's free,” you joke. He chuckles and walks beside you. The two of you make it out to Langdon’s car. He opens the door for you and you raise an eyebrow. “Did I hit my head so hard I died? What’s all this?” He shakes his head and smiles, shutting the door for you then entering on the driver’s side. He pulls the door shut then starts the car.
“You’ve had a tough day. The least I can do is open the door for you.”
“Well, you are giving me a ride and calling in a favor from a tow truck company for my car already.” He clicks his tongue in response.
“Alright, what’s your address?” You relay the information and he nods, putting it into his GPS. “I hope you’re fine listening to 80’s rock.” You nod and smile in response.
He pulls out of the parking spot, passing the scattered cars and turning onto the street. Streetlights struggle to illuminate the city as presumed college students bar-hop using their fake ID’s that bouncers gave up on checking. Pour Some Sugar On Me by Def Leppard plays through the speakers. Langdon drums along on the steering wheel, quietly singing along.
“You gotta please a little, squeeze a little / Tease a little more / Easy operator come knockin' on my door”
“Is this an innuendo, Dr. Langdon?” He immediately stops singing along.
“Well, the meaning of the song is far from hidden if that’s what you mean.”
“Okay, I know that. I’m asking if you turned on this specific song for any reason.” He holds his breath and quickly shakes his head. “Really? Alright, what song is next then? Rock You Like A Hurricane by Scorpions?”
“Well, now I don’t wanna say.”
“You Shook Me All Night Long. It’s a good song,” he shrugs, lightly blushing.
“AC/DC has a lot of other good songs.”
“So why the one that’s explicitly about sex?”
“To be fair, a lot of their songs are about sex.”
“You gonna answer the question, Langdon?” He bites his lip in response and shakes his head slowly in defeat. “Well, maybe it’s the concussion talking, but if anyone else played that song purposefully then I’d think they wanted to—”
“And we’re here.” The two of you arrive at your house. Dr. Langdon looks like he was just saved by the bell. Reluctantly, you sigh and nod.
“Of course. Anytime.” He seems to think for a moment then looks back over to you. “Actually, you do probably need a ride to work for the next few days, right?”
“Well, we work the same hours, right?”
“Alright. I’ll pick you up at 6:30am tomorrow morning then. Make sure to get some sleep and refrain from using any screens as much as possible.”
“I’m a doctor, too. I know.” He nods and flushes.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I guess I’m just—yeah.”
“Right. Well, thanks for everything. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you then,” he smiles. You hop out of his car and walk up to the door, unlocking it. He waves goodbye when he sees you’re safely inside then drives off.
Dr. Langdon takes a step closer to you, closing the gap. The smell of sandalwood and cedar fills the air.
“Is this okay?” He whispers. You nod in response. “Use your words.” He cups your jaw and guides you to look him in the eyes.
“Yeah, it’s more than okay,” you rasp, finding it harder to breathe. He glances down at your lips and—
RIIIIIING RIIIIING RIIIIIIIIING
You grumble and roll out of bed, grumpily putting on some sweatpants and a plain t-shirt you can wear under your scrubs. Quickly, you make breakfast and prepare a lunch to take with you to work. After finishing the lazily put-together breakfast, you brush your teeth and put on a sweatshirt before tying your sneakers and grabbing your lunch. In truly perfect timing, Dr. Langdon is seen with his fist up about to knock when you open the door. He smiles and unclenches his fist, using it to wave.
“Good morning,” he smirks. His baseball cap and sweatshirt combo are being sported along with black sweatpants.
“Good morning,” you echo. He gestures for you to follow him to his car, taking the lead. Looking to your left, you notice your car back in the driveway. Langdon really did call in that favor from the tow company for you. You get in the passenger’s seat of his vehicle and buckle up as he plops down behind the wheel, yawning.
“Thanks for calling in that favor.”
“Of course. Let me know whenever you need anything and I’ll be there, yeah?” His blue eyes pierce yours, waiting for your response. All you can do is nod and change the subject by asking,
“Yeah.” Absentmindedly, you think back to the dream you were having before reality fucked you like Langdon’s dream-self would have. He seems to notice your thoughts straying and asks,
“Any good dreams?” Immediately, your face betrays you. Your eyes dart away and he definitely notices. “Earth to–”
“I was having a good dream, but my alarm cut it short,” you answer vaguely. He nods and sucks in a breath.
“Um– well, I’d rather not say…” He accepts your explanation and takes one of his hands off the wheel momentarily to give a thumbs-up. You chuckle at the gesture and shake your head. “No 80’s rock this morning?” He smiles and explains,
“I usually use this time to prepare myself for the emotional gymnastics of the day.” You smile softly and look at him.
“That’s fair,” you chuckle.
The curb is slightly hit as Langdon pulls the car into the hospital parking lot. You smirk and he looks in your direction, checking to see if you noticed the obvious bump exposing his less-than perfect driving.
“You didn’t have to.” He crookedly parks into his usual spot and stops the engine. “Ready?”
“No, but the patients don’t care.” He smirks at that and nods.
The two of you groggily walk into the hospital and are bombarded with bright fluorescent lighting, monitors beeping, gurneys being rushed to different rooms, and doctors on their last legs. Slowly, Frank turns to you and looks you in the eyes.
“Try to take it easy today, okay?”
“Aww, are you worried about me?”
“You have a concussion. Legally, you shouldn’t be working in this condition. However, we’re severely understaffed and Dana said it would be alright as long as I keep an eye on you.”
“Yeah, sorry. You’re stuck with me for the next two weeks.”
“Oh, c’mon. Maybe you can learn a thing or two from your very own senior resident,” he gently elbows you. You sigh and nod. “It could be worse,” he shrugs.
“Yeah, at least I’m not stuck with Robby all day. Some psychologist would have a field day picking apart his story.” Langdon agrees, adding,
“That man needs some serious help. He just won’t admit it to himself, let alone other people.” Taking a moment, you look around and find Dr. Robby in the middle of a surgery in Trauma 1. Undoubtedly, he’s using work as an excuse to avoid his own problems. Rolling your eyes, you look back to Langdon.
“Well, where to, Dr. Langdon?” He gestures with his head for you to follow him to The Hub. Both of you scan the lineup of patients. Immediately, he clocks a woman in her mid-forties who has,
“Weight loss, sweating, change in menstrual cycle, and trouble sleeping. Any other symptoms, Ms. Hernandez?”
“Nope,” she sighs. “That’s it.”
“Well, that’s plenty,” Dr. Langdon chimes. He presses a button for a nurse then explains, “We’re gonna run some blood tests to rule out some causes.”
Ms. Hernandez nods and takes off her sweatshirt, preparing for her blood to be drawn. Nurse Emma Nolan kindly enters the room wearing a smile. She introduces herself to the patient and starts the process. Dr. Langdon makes eye contact with you then looks toward the door. You get the memo and follow him outside the room.
“What do you think it is?”
“Well, it could be Hyperthyroidism due to the symptoms. I’ll have them run a few blood tests for it since that aligns the most with what we have so far.”
You bite your lip and try to think of other possible diagnoses.
“Hormonal imbalance? It could be Preimenopause.” He looks impressed and meets your gaze.
“Shit. Maybe I’m the one with a moderate concussion. That should’ve been the first thing I thought of. Good work,” he praises. Turning to face the patient’s room, he walks in to update Nurse Emma on the situation. You listen from the hallway, taking a moment to bask in the compliment. He steps out after relaying the information to Nurse Emma and is back by your side.
“Because you have a moderate concussion and are in a room so bright that it’s void of shadows.” Now that he mentions it, your head does hurt. A headache is starting to build up.
“Yeah, I could use some—”
“Advil?” He pulls out a small travel size bottle of Advil out of his pocket and offers it to you. You look him up and down in amusement and take it with a smile.
“You’re welcome.” He turns toward the water fountain and fills a paper cup full of water for you. “I know you won’t need all of that to swallow the medication, but you should keep on top of your water intake. If you faint on me—”
“I won’t faint on you,” you cut in, popping the medication in your mouth and taking the water cup from him. He puts his hands up in mock defeat.
“Alright, alright. Just let me know when you need a break, okay?”
“Yes, Doctor,” you scoff, chasing the pill with the water. He watches you take it then nods to himself. “Next patient?” He looks to The Hub and nods, walking over to see possible patients.
“Chris Elmer. 36. Trouble sleeping, snoring, drowsiness, and tiredness throughout the day.”
“Isn’t that just sleep apnea?”
“Probably,” he shrugs, walking to Mr. Elmer’s room. You follow suit and fall in step with Dr. Langdon.
“Are you feeling alright?” Dr. Langdon is dressed back in what he wore this morning. However, he shed his sweatshirt and is now wearing a Joan Jett and the Blackhearts shirt. Your eyes fixate on how the shirt seems a size too small. It accentuates his muscles every time he moves.
“Yep,” you answer automatically. “Do you only listen to 80’s rock?” He raises an eyebrow at how quickly you change the subject, but takes the bait.
“No, I listen to other music.”
“I can show you in the car,” he prompts, starting to walk to the parking lot. You follow beside him. “What do you listen to?”
“My music taste is a bit all over the place.”
“Do you listen to underground French rap or something?”
“Would you judge me if it was Kidz Bop?” You joke.
“I would stop talking to you entirely," he grimaces. “So, if that’s true then keep it to yourself.”
“What did Kidz Bop do to you?”
“Tanner and Penny are fucking obsessed with it and it drives me insane.”
“Well, how did they find out about it in the first place?”
“Their mother,” he scoffs. “She introduced them to it right before they were dropped off at my place for the weekend and I know she did it on purpose.” You can’t help but smile at the idea of his kids singing along to Kidz Bop as Frank bears the torture for hours.
“Damn. That’s sadistic on her part.”
“I can handle sadistic. This was worse. Pure torture with no reward.”
“You can handle sadistic?”
“I can deal with people who are sadistic, yes.”
“I’m a doctor. A few of our peers are sadistic.”
The two of you arrive at his car and he opens the car door for you, just as he did yesterday. You hop in and put your seatbelt on as he closes the door for you. When he gets in he takes a moment to connect his phone to the auxiliary and scroll through his favorite songs.
“Alright. Prepare for perfection.” He hits play and The Hand That Feeds by Nine Inch Nails starts to rumble throughout the car’s speakers. Similar to last night, the music threatens to set the tone as something past the line of friendship.
“Good song,” you prompt, nodding along to the beat. He takes a moment to look you up and down through the corner of his eye before pulling out of the parking lot. The song’s lyrics speak volumes.
Just how deep do you believe?
Will you bite the hand that feeds?
Will you chew until it bleeds?
Can you get up off your knees?
Suddenly, he turns the volume down and checks in on you.
“Let me know if the music is too much for your head, okay?” You smile and nod in response and he seems satisfied with your voiceless answer. After jamming out to the song, he switches the atmosphere to something less harsh. A male tenor voice intimately whisper-sings the opening lines as only a drum kit, bass, and occasional synth play in the background. The lack of instruments strips away all the worries of today and leaves you feeling naked. Past reservations are quickly discarded as you command,
“What? Why?” He looks over to you, clearly concerned. You keep staring forward. “Are you okay?”
“Frank. Pull over.” He gives up on trying to get answers from you and pulls into a desolate parking lot near a small park and woods to block off the street. As soon as he puts the car in park, he turns to you. Deciding to act now or never, you pull him into a kiss. He seems utterly shocked and freezes. Scared of crossing the line, you pull away. Within a second, he has his right hand cupping your jaw and the left in your hair, pulling you back in. His lips meet yours more aggressively than you planned for. He notices your hesitance and kisses you gently, reassuring you. You smile into the kiss, leaning into his touch. He only resumes the intensity when your right hand makes its way to the nape of his neck. He groans into the kiss, moving a hand to your waist. You both pull away to catch your breath. Langdon’s other hand adjusts from your jaw so he can run his thumb against your bottom lip. Your pupils dilate and he definitely notices.
“What was that for? Not that I’m complaining—”
“So you don’t regret it or anything?”
“…no. I don’t. Do you?” He answers by kissing you gently then pulling away and leaving a peck on your forehead. He holds your hands in his and looks you in the eyes.
“Well, I don’t think I wanna fuck in your car, Frank.” He instantly blushes and shakes his head, covering his face with his hands. He slowly sighs and lets them drop onto his lap.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I’m flattered you’re already picturing me like that, though.” Before you can talk back, he leans in and trails kisses down your neck.
“If you leave anything visible—” your gasp cuts off the threat as he gently bites down then begins marking you. He gently sucks in multiple separate spots just below the neckline of your shirt. He traces them with his tongue then trails kisses back up to your lips and traps you in a deep kiss. All composure is lost as your tongues meet and saliva mixes. When he pulls away, Langdon looks into your eyes then slowly moves his hands to caress what he left along your collar bones.
“It’s taking a lot for me to- um. Yeah,” he mumbles. You can very well see the number you have on him when your eyes make their way from his (now messy) hair down to his lap. His hard imprint is struggling against the fabric of his pants. Of course, he notices yours as well. A devilish smile appears on his face as he starts the car and pulls it back out into the road.
“What’s your plan, Dr. Langdon?” You flirt. He bites a fraction of his bottom lip then replies,
“I’ll show you when we get to your place.” His eyes never leave the road as the music is paused and silence allows the tension to thicken. After five minutes, he pulls into your driveway. He parks, stops the car, and is opening the door for you in mere seconds. You get out of the car and look down to see both of you are definitely aroused.
Dr. Langdon glances between your eyes and mouth then guides you to the front door of your house by your waist. Quickly, you unlock and open the door to your home and he wastes no time in pushing you against the wall as soon as the door is shut and locked. His body is pressed into yours and you can see he’s fighting the urge to grind against you.
“Where do you wanna do this?”
“Do what?” He answers by tracing the waistband of your pants and boxers, stretching it slightly, and then allowing it to snap back to your skin. “Oh.”
“Just to be clear, are you saying you want to—”
“Yes, I wanna suck your dick. Now, are you gonna let me or do I need to go home and only dream about getting to taste you?” You nod frantically and take off your shoes before grabbing his hand and leading him to your bedroom. He practically kicks off his shoes as you lead him away. When he shuts the door behind you, he finds you sitting in the middle of the bed waiting for him. The only thing lighting your room is a warm lamp to help set the atmosphere. “Hey.”
“How do you want me to do this?”
“Slow, fast, soft, hard, romantic, hungry?”
“Maybe a mix of all.” You gesture for him to climb onto the bed with you and he obeys. He climbs on top of you and kisses you harshly. His hands leave marks along your back as he slips them under your shirt and you arch wherever his hands travel. His hair falls forward, covering his forehead. You tug at his shirt and he pulls away to take it off for you. Immediately, your hands move across his hairy chest and follow the line of hair leading from his stomach down to his waistband. He sees you eyeing it and raises an eyebrow.
“Are you gonna get undressed for me?” Now it’s your turn to cock an eyebrow. The shock turns into desire as you take off your shirt and go in to kiss him again. Instead of letting you kiss him, he places his hand on your cheek then slowly looks down to your pants. “Take them off.”
“Or you can leave them on and just suck me off with nothing in return,” he threatens.
“Can I still suck your dick if I do as you say?”
“Take off your pants and we’ll see.” Admittedly hardening in your pants, you take them off to reveal your boxers. A small wet spot gathers at the fabric near your tip. He eyes it hungrily and slowly kisses down your chest, leaving bite marks and hickeys. At an agonizing pace, he takes off your boxers and finally allows your hard dick to spring free. “Fuck,” he rasps. “You’re perfect.” With that, he takes the tip of your cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip. Your head falls back onto the pillow. Your hands go to grasp at his hair when he completely pulls off of you and pins your hands to your sides. “Can you keep your hands to yourself for me? I know it’s hard.” Your dick twitches at the mock sympathy and you nod in response. “Good.” He takes you fully into his mouth and it takes everything in you not to touch him. Composure fails and you begin moaning as his mouth encompasses you. Your legs begin to close together and he uses his hands to hold your thighs apart. Groans rip from your mouth as he continues to take you in and out at an accelerated pace.
“Oh, fuck. Fuck- I’m close. I’m so close,” you whimper as he continues. He takes his mouth off of you and replaces it with his hand.
“That’s it, baby. Be a good boy and come for me, yeah?” He then switches back to using his mouth on you as the pace quickens. You feel the pleasure building within you as your back arches and your shoulders tense. He can tell you’re practically undone and deepthroats your hard cock. Cum flies to the back of Langdon’s throat. He swallows it around you then slowly removes his mouth from your dick. You catch your breath as he climbs back on top of you and captures you in a kiss. Traces of cum transfers from his mouth to yours as he deepens the kiss. You moan into it and allow your hands to press over his clothed dick. To your surprise, his boxers were wet. He noticed your observation and looked embarrassed. “The sounds you made were so hot. I just—“
“You came in your boxers from sucking me off?” He looks away.
“Yeah. Yeah, I did.” To soothe his worries, you trap him in a kiss. He happily hums in response and kisses you back. When you pull away to catch your breath he asks, “So you aren’t upset at all?”
“Frank. You cumming untouched just from giving me head is genuinely so hot that I might have to get you hard again so I can show you how I really feel about it.” He blushes at your honesty and sheepishly looks at you.
“Well, we did both work a 12-hour shift so I don’t know if I’ll be able to again tonight.” You kiss his forehead and whisper,
“Then I guess there’ll have to be a next time.”
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