Work Text:
It should come as a surprise to no one that Mel loves medical conferences.
There’s something about the rigid schedules and pre approved lectures that provide a comforting level of monotony. The way they’re always held in a mid-to-low level chain hotel so she knows what she’s getting each time-- cookie cutter rooms with an ac that works a little too well, big batch coffee dispensers that always err on the side of burnt, and a new collection of free swag to take back home in the form of notepads and pens that she unironically loves. She has a collection of them, all the branded pens she’s gotten from every single conference she’s attended since med school. They sit in a shoebox in her closet.
Not to mention it’s always great to learn from more experienced members of the medical fraternity. She’s collected a handful of new techniques to add to her arsenal of floor care over the years, and she’s one of the few to actually take the time to read the write ups on all the posters.
So yeah, Mel really, really loves conferences.
Which is why it’s a surprise that she’s not too stoked about attending this particular conference down in Tennessee with Samira and Abbot.
She wasn’t always not excited. Samira had asked her far in advance if she was free that day and wanted to split a room since Abbot was presenting and asked her to come along. Mel, who was lacking a bit in the social life department and desperate to make at least one friend, immediately said yes and set about putting things in place at Becca’s centre for the weekend.
And then a few days after she booked her room and plane ticket, she kissed Frank in the front seat of his jeep in the hospital parking garage after a terrible shift and they’ve been dating ever since.
So yeah, that changes things a bit.
(Mel doesn’t want to be that girl but she does kind of wish that she got to spend her day off fooling around with her super new, super hot boyfriend instead of waking up at an ungodly hour to catch a red eye to Nashville. She knows, she’s a stain on feminists everywhere.)
She’s on her second cup of hotel provided coffee when her phone buzzes with a notification.
How’s it going?
It’s a rather perfunctory text but she still can’t help but bite back the grin that threatens to overtake her face. She feels like she’s back in high school again texting her crush, butterflies flouncing around her stomach.
Pretty good so far. We just started
with Lytes On, Lytes Off.
Hope you learn something for me too.
I hated electrolyte imbalances back
in med school. Still do.
This time she really does grin and sends him a thumbs up before placing her phone face down on the table to keep from getting too distracted. The woman next to her had already shot her a dirty look for being on it and Mel was pretty sure she seemed like the type to scold you in public.
Despite her best efforts, they still do text intermittently throughout the course of the day. She sends Frank a picture of the programme schedule and he makes sure to have several quips on hand as the lectures progress.
How to Fix an Achy, Breaky Heart: bedside
cardiac ultrasound for the EM Physician.
Is Billy Ray Cyrus presenting there? Because
if he is, I want you to get me his autograph.
Who’s Billy Ray Cyrus?
C’mon Mel. That’s Hannah Montana’s dad.
I will do my best to find Mr Montana for you.
Thanks sweetheart. Appreciate it <3
Samira caught her grinning several times throughout the day and was quick to pounce on it.
“Who are you texting?” she asks when they break for lunch. Abbot’s presentation is the second one after the break and he’s disappeared somewhere, last seen talking to an old friend of his on the merits of incorporating resource limited medicine into residents’ curricula.
“No one,” she says, keeping her eyes firmly on her plate as she doles out a spoonful of sad looking green beans.
“Well no one has been making you smile all day,” she says, nudging her lightly with her shoulder. “Is it a boy?”
“Samira,” Mel hisses as they shuffle through the line, her cheeks flaring red.
“I’m taking that as a yes,” she says smugly.
“It’s none of your business,” she maintains, and Samira just snickers.
They finish their lunch quick enough, chatting with a group of residents from the area about the conference so far and for once, Mel finds it easy to engage in small talk. About fifteen minutes before the break is over Samira excuses herself, probably to go find Abbot before it’s his turn to go up on stage, and Mel takes her leave too. She has two new texts: an invitation to a new game of Word Hunt from Becca (they’re currently competing to see who can get to 500 wins first) and a picture from Frank.
She’s plays the game quickly, losing by just one word, before opening the text from Frank. It’s just a simple picture of his patio, a large plastic tablecloth spread on the ground with a pair of cheap easels and small tubs of paint lying next to them. The caption read:
The kids went to the museum this week and
now Tanner wants to be an artist. On a scale
of one to ten, how messy do you think
this is going to be?
Definitely an 11
He replies almost immediately, sending over another picture. This time half of his face is in frame and there’s a smear of blue paint across his cheek as he squints into the camera.
Already off to a great start.
She stares at the photo longer than she intends to, studying the angle of his jaw, the way that his eyes crinkle when he smiles. It makes her skin feel hot and tight and she jumps when someone accidentally bumps into the back of her chair.
She slides her phone into her pocket as she heads across to the restroom to splash some cold water on her face and maybe touch up her makeup. She isn’t wearing much-- Mel doesn’t really like the feel of all the products layered on her skin-- just a dab of concealer under her eyes and a pink sheer lipstick. Her hair is also out of its usual braid, instead clipped back into a neat half up-half down, the ends of it just brushing over her shoulders.
The bathroom is mercifully empty and she dabs a damp paper towel across her cheeks. Her skin is slightly flushed, eyes bright behind her glasses, and she studies her reflection for a moment. Mel has long come to terms with her appearance, neither ugly nor pretty but simply what many might consider to be plain. Forgettable even. And she’s fine with it, really. In all aspects of her life, physical appearance is one that she chooses not to dwell on.
Still, she can’t help but stare at herself a moment longer, taking in the light makeup and blazer thrown over a plain baby blue button up that reminded her of a certain someone’s eyes. It was a far cry from how she appeared at work, everything perfectly utilitarian and comfortable, and she finds herself fishing her phone out of her pocket and snapping a singular picture.
She opens their text thread and attaches the photo, finger hovering over the send button for a second before she taps it. She follows it up with a quick text.
Ask Tanner if he has any tips for me.
I’m a blank canvas over here.
Her phone buzzes as she’s reapplying her lipstick.
You’re beautiful.
The blush it leaves on her cheeks follows her for the rest of the day.
The rest of the day flies by, including Abbot’s presentation on the role of combat medicine in the ED, which she filmed as covertly as possible as per Samira’s wishes (who was sitting up front and clapped the loudest in the room at the end. Mel has never seen the attending’s ears turn that red.)
The three of them grab dinner once the day is over, Abbot taking them downtown to try some authentic Nashville hot chicken. She has absolutely zero spice tolerance but manages to keep the tears at bay as she finishes it and something like respect gleams in his eyes. They go to a wine bar after, and Mel stays just long enough to have one glass of chardonnay before making an excuse to leave. Samira is on her second glass but she’s been making eyes at Abbot all night and Mel has certainly spent enough time being their third wheel tonight.
The bar is just a block away from the hotel and she brushes off their offer to walk her back. The fall air is just starting to get a bit of a bite to it but the wine warms her veins as she makes the short trek back.
Her phone buzzes in the pocket of her coat as she climbs the few steps into the hotel lobby and she smiles when she sees that it’s Langdon.
How was dinner?
I’ll probably need a PPI infusion thanks to Abbot.
Lol. The guy’s crazy
I just finished cleaning up the patio.
Remind me to never let them have access
to paint ever again. This shit is everywhere
It gets a snort out of her as she nods goodnight to the concierge and stalks over to the elevators, punching the button to her floor.
Are you discouraging them from
a career in art? Typical doctor
They can have a career in art when they
can afford to pay to clean up after it.
My patio floor is GREEN. I AM GREEN.
I took a shower and it’s still there.
Water soluble paint my ass.
She laughs again, swiping her key card against the door to her room. She shrugs her coat off and hangs it in the closet, sitting in the armchair in the corner as opposed to the bed. Mel has a strict no outside clothes in bed rule that she enforces wherever she goes.
She’s undoing her boots when her phone buzzes again and this time she almost drops it onto the carpeted floor when she sees the picture he’s sent.
It’s slightly blurry, but without a doubt that’s an image of his bare chest, towel looped loosely around his waist. The mirror is frosted with steam and it’s clear that he probably hastily wiped part of it seconds prior to taking this picture. His hair is wet, dripping onto his shoulders and even though the phone blocks half of his face, she can see the way he quirks an eyebrow in a laissez-faire, what can you do about it, expression. She can see the problem he pointed out, the smudges of blue and green paint blended into his skin but what she really was focusing on was the purple bruise on his collarbone. If she squints, she could just make out the imprint of her teeth.
Her body, already warm from the wine earlier, burns even brighter.
Contrary to popular belief, Mel isn’t the inexperienced virgin that everyone thinks she is. She’s had sex before, in college and med school, and now with Langdon. It’s still something new and exploratory between them, but it gives her a thrill each time she learns something new about him.
And even more so when she learns something new about herself.
Like the sudden flood of want that heats through her as she stares at the mark on his chest. The mark she gave to him.
(It was two days ago, the last time she saw him. They went out for dinner and he couldn’t stop staring at her legs in that dress. Frank had his hands on her the minute they got back to his car and Mel remembers biting down on his collarbone as he made her come hard on his fingers.)
It’s not something she’s ever really put a lot of thought into before, but there was just something about the way he shamelessly flaunted the bruise she left on him, the mark that branded him as hers, that made her brain short circuit.
There’s a slight tremor in her hands as she types out her response.
Looks like you missed a spot.
Maybe you could use some help
She watches the ellipses appear a few seconds before his response comes through.
Are you offering sweetheart?
I could be persuaded
Mel almost jumps out of her skin when her phone starts to ring. The screen lights up with Langdon’s name and picture and she stares at it for a brief moment before swiping to accept.
“Hi,” she says, sounding only a little breathless.
“Hi,” says Frank. A pause, and then, “I don’t really know how to text like that.”
She laughs, feeling the tension slowly melt away. “Oh thank god, I thought it was just me.”
“It’s the curse of being old, I’m afraid.”
“We’re not that old,” she grumbles, stripping her socks off.
“No, you’re right, we’re still young at heart.” She hears the rustling of fabric on the other end of the speaker and imagines that he’s probably settling into bed right about now. “Are you back at the hotel?”
She hums the affirmative. “Just got back in. I left Samira alone with Abbot.”
“I bet you twenty bucks she doesn’t come back tonight,” he snorts.
“You’re so rude.”
“Thirty.”
“I am not taking that bet.”
“Because you know you’ll lose.” He’s not wrong but Mel isn’t going to tell him that. “So you’re just all alone in that big old hotel room, huh.”
“The room isn’t that big, we got a double.”
“Mel,” he says patiently, “I’m trying to build up to something here.”
“Oh,” she laughs to herself before stopping abruptly, the weight of his words finally hitting her. “Oh.” She licks her lips, mouth suddenly dry. “I’ve never done that before.”
“Me either,” he says easily, and she finds that quite hard to believe. Frank’s a talker. She likes it. (Something else she learnt about herself since this thing had begun between them.) “Guess that makes this a learning experience for us both, isn’t that right, Dr King?”
She nods before remembering that he can’t see her. “Does this count as peer reviewed or double blind?”
She hears his snort of laughter on the line. “I forget how funny you are sometimes,” he says, affection colouring his tone. “Lock the door for me, honey.”
Mel crosses the room in several quick steps, sliding the chain in place. Samira has a copy of the keycard, but at least this offers some modicum of privacy. If she even returns tonight. The more time that passes, the less likely that seems.
She stands in the middle of the room now, staring at her bed. It’s almost as if Frank can sense her, because he says, “Take off that pretty little outfit for me and lie down on the bed, Mel.”
“Everything?” she asks. Her hands shake as she rests the phone down on the desk, switching over to speaker.
“No. Just the outer layer. Leave your underwear and bra on. No outside clothes on the bed, right?”
It gets a smile out of her, softening the want that flows her just a bit at the edges. She strips out of her slacks and shirt with quick ease and ditches the soft camisole she wears underneath as well. It leaves her in a pair of plain black cotton underwear and t-shirt bra she probably bought at Target years ago.
“Okay, I’m done,” she says. The cool air brushes against her newly exposed skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. She feels the way her nipples tighten in the cups, both from the cold and the lust in her veins.
“Good. Lie down for me sweetheart.”
Her legs are shaky as she moves to the edge of the bed, taking her time and sinking down into the mattress. “Are you in bed too?”
“Mhmm. How are you feeling? Okay?”
“Okay,” she confirms, the blush on her cheeks darkening as an idea pops into her head. She fumbles with her phone before swiping open the camera and taking a quick photo before the nerves can get to her.
It’s fairly tame, all things considered. Only the slight swell of her breasts are visible at the bottom of the image. Her hair is splayed across the pillowcase and her pupils are blown wide, complementing the pink flush that graces her skin. By all accounts she looks positively wrecked and they’ve barely done anything as yet.
She taps open the text thread and hits send on the picture before nerves could get the better of her.
She hears his phone buzz, his sharp intake of breath followed by a low fuck, and yeah, she needs him, badly.
“Are you touching yourself?” he asks, voice gruff.
Her hand has just barely started to graze her sides, soft teasing touches across her stomach and thighs. She brushes her fingers against the flimsy fabric of her panties and her breath hitches. “A little.”
“Good. Take your time with it, I want you all nice and wet.”
She wants to tell him that she’s been wet since she saw the stupid mark on his shoulder but the words get stuck in her throat. Instead she just does as she told, letting her hands caress her body. Her bra is starting to feel uncomfortable and she unclasps it, tossing it blindly in the direction of her suitcase. Her fingers find her nipples, tweaking them lightly and she sighs, hips shifting in search of friction.
“Tell me what you’re doing,” he urges her.
“I’m just-- playing with my breasts,” she stutters, blushing. He makes a sound low in his throat.
“God, I love your tits. I can’t wait to get my mouth on them again,” he tells her and she moans, squeezing the soft globe.
Mel bruises easy and she remembers the last time he did that he left several marks littered across her chest in his excitement. She wants him to do it again, this time with purpose. Maybe they could match. It’s that thought that makes her clit throb and she finally gives in to the need building between her thighs.
“Fuck,” she hisses as she allows herself to slide her hand down into her underwear. She’s slick with want and her fingers slip against her clit sending frissons down her spine.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he tells her, breathing heavily. “Are you wet sweetheart?”
Almost embarrassingly so. “Yeah,” she sighs, “Can I--”
“You can do anything you want,” he says, cutting her off, and she laughs. “Ride your hand for me, the way you like to use mine. Pretend it’s me.”
She groans out loud, fumbling to pull her panties all the way off and slipping a finger inside. She’s so wet that it goes in easily and she adds a second one, the sweet fullness of it making her body shake.
“It’s not the same,” she whines, vaguely aware that she sounds just a little bratty and Langdon chuckles at her, but she can’t be bothered.
“I know, baby,” he coos, “Just pretend for me, okay? Think of my hands. I’m thinking of yours.”
She pictures it, his hand slowly pumping the length of his cock, and whines again, thumbing at her clit as she fucks two fingers in and out. Her cunt is practically dripping, her thighs sticky with it. “But I want you.”
“And you’ll get me as soon as you come back home,” he soothes her.
“Promise?”
“Promise. Now come on, make yourself feel good, sweet girl.”
She moans at his words and redoubles her efforts, one hand on her breast and the other buried inside her cunt. Mel tries to pictures him, the way he’s so much bigger than her, how his body folds around hers when they’re together. She thinks of his cock too, how perfect it is, thick and long and fills her up just right. She whines again, grinding the pad of her thumb against her clit just so and seeing stars.
“You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart,” Frank tells her, and she can hear the way his breath is coming in short pants, practically see the muscle in his jaw jumping as he refrains from giving in too quick.
“Are you going to--”
“I’ll come after I see about you,” he says. “I can’t leave my sweet girl hanging like that now can I?”
His words get another moan out of her and the praise feels like honey on her skin, sweet and sticky. Her orgasm builds deep in her core, and she feels the tension coiling. She redoubles her efforts, hands moving faster, with more purpose.
“Come on Mel,” he says, and if she keeps her eyes closed she can pretend that he’s actually here with her, whispering how much he wants her, just how badly he needs her, in her ear. “Come on, baby. Let me hear how sweet you sound when you come for me.”
She ruts against her hand, grinding it against her clit and her fingers crook deep inside of her, finding that spot and-- there it is.
The orgasm feels like it’s being wrenched out of her, her entire body going taut as lightning shoots through her. Her hips stutter, and her back arches, and she’s making so much noise that she’s almost certain someone is going to call about a noise complaint. Frank talks her through it, telling her how pretty she is, and how good she sounds and fuck if he isn’t disappointed that he’s not there to clean up her mess with his tongue.
She’s not sure how long it goes on for, the force of her orgasm possibly bending all of space and time with how strong it is. She feels it ebb and flow in waves crashing down on her skin, ears ringing and stars blazing behind her eyes.
When Mel finally does get a hold of herself, she can hear him panting as he comes down, the soft rustling of the sheets on the other end as he cleans himself up.
“Oh my god.”
He chuckles. “Yeah.”
“That was…”
“Yeah.”
Her heart is still thundering in her chest, her breath still coming hard. Mel takes a moment to reorient herself, flushing when she realises she’s still spread naked on the bed. She straightens out her glasses, snorting a little at how ridiculous it was that they managed to stay on.
“I need a shower,” she says, throwing her legs over the side of the bed and slowly standing up. They were still slightly jello-like in consistency but she’ll power through it.
On the line she hears him yawn. “Want me to stay with you?”
She can’t help but smile as she grabs her pyjamas from the suitcase. “Sure.”
This is the part that she misses the most, the way he would always hold her afterwards as they talk about the inconsequential things that happened during their day. It’s the one time she doesn’t mind being all sticky and hot and borderline overstimulated.
The phone is a poor replacement but she still keeps it on speaker as she quickly showers and gets ready for bed, and when Mel finally does lie back down and drift off, it’s to the sound of his voice.