The Last Great American Rock Star (Part 5)

Part 4 | Series Masterlist

@kingdonmicrofic

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. 

Finally, she had a feast. 

@kingdonmicrofic • Day 15: Silk • 498/498 • Rated: E

CW: Alternate universe - father's best friend, age difference (Mel is 17 and Frank is in his 40s), grooming, throat fucking, blow job, dubious consent, daddy kink, dead dove: do not eat

Sequel to Day 2 but they are both standalones

•••

“Everything is fine, baby,” Uncle Frank groaned. He massaged her throat to ease her into it but Mel only thought of how he palmed her entire neck with one hand. Her pulse rang under his fingers. Then he pulled the tip from between her lips. “Keep your tongue flat and relax your throat. That's it.”

Mel took pride in being an easy pupil. Teachable, curious, malleable. He asked her to lie back for him, with her head on the edge of the bed, surrounded by the walls that saw her at every stage of her life. Now, he surrounded her. One hand on her throat and the other under her bra cup as he filled her mouth.

A warning would’ve been nice, she thought every time he hit her soft palate, this could be nice too. Everything with him was pleasant. She only knew his sweeter side. How he admired her father since their college days, how he adored her since the dawn of her existence, how he loved her even after her first college rejection last week.

(Yale’s not for you anyway, he whispered as he wiped the tears away, ‘sides, you still have senior year. You, Melliebear, are far from hopeless. That was when he cradled her face, let her tears pool in his palm, pressed his lips to her forehead.)

In times of discomfort, all she wanted was Uncle Frank’s lips on her hairline. Mel prayed for a kiss after this. She already coughed twice.

“Wider, Melliebear, relax for me—fuck—there we go.”

Her own curiosity led her here. Every time she looked at the bulge in his sweatpants, or asked him to kiss under her collarbone again, or pretended to be asleep in his front seat so he’d place his arm over her as a second seatbelt. If she were honest, she’d say it was at her father’s wedding reception where she rubbed his cock until it sprayed down her hand.

She couldn’t smile at the memory if she wanted to. The shaft pushed deeper and harsher than expected.

Only the tip, I swear, he promised after he already stuck it in her mouth, it’ll take your mind off things, Mellie. You want that, don’t you?

She so did.

Besides, she wanted anything Uncle Frank said she wanted. Their interests always aligned. Mel never knew a life before him, she hated to think there would be a life after him. Whenever her new stepmother insisted Uncle Frank had his hands full with his own kids, Mel knew that wasn’t true. Even Aunty Abby wasn't as important as Mel, he always reminded her.

My brilliant girl, you’re how I know everything’ll be all right.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he shivered and grunted again. He finally pulled away, leaving a string of white remnants on her tongue. Mel savoured the taste and counted herself lucky to let somebody so sweet slip something so salty down her throat like silk. "Let's, uh... keep this off your dad's radar." 

@kingdonmicrofic | july 15 | prompt: silk | 498 words

cw: explicit sexual content

Now

“Mmm, Frank.” Mel stretched, arching her back as Frank kissed down her body. He stopped to tongue at her belly button and Mel gasped at the ticklish feeling. “We’re going to be late.”

Moving lower, Frank nipped at her hip. “Nuh-uh. We have plenty of time. Especially if you let me buy you breakfast from that cafè you like.”

Mel comes back from a shift

and walks into her boyfriends bedroom and climbs into bed next to her. He doesn’t even need to be awake to immediately wrap his arms around her and have his stubble tickle her as she lays sleepy kisses on her forehead. She’s happy she can’t believe this is her life. She’s so in love and he is as well.

Do I even really need to say anything?

You’re gonna love this art from @ohyka !!!!

Do I even really need to say anything?

A mimir 🧸

my name under your breath

day fourteen: cake, 496 words (and a little nsfw!) @kingdonmicrofic

There’s a cake from his favourite bakery in the break room, and he blushes when Dr. King says that she’s looking forward to working with him during his residency, that she’s glad this isn’t goodbye.

It’s not just that it’s an attending saying all of this, it’s that it’s Dr. King, it’s Mel.

He can’t help the crush he’s had on her since the first day of his ER rotation.

And now that he matched at PTMC for his residency, he doesn’t know how he’s going to make it through the next four years.

He doesn’t eat the slice of cake someone hands to him, stomach in knots, so she makes him take the leftovers at the end of their shift.

As they walk to her car, he lets her ramble about patients and hospital politics and journal articles she’s read like he usually does.

But he doesn’t go around to the passenger side, and it makes her pause.

Then he reaches for her, grabbing at her waist, and gets caught in her orbit. He’s been half hard all day with her attention and praise, and he can’t take it anymore.

The Last Great American Rock Star (part 3)

Part 2

Twitter got the first half of this last night, so you guys get the full thing hours before them :)

frank and mel are ready for the cold

@kingdonmicrofic Day 13: Smoke

Exact word count.

Inspired by my own childhood.

I was an evil child.

-------------

Frank had been in a mood all day. Veering from grumpy to downright mean. Admittedly one patient had been screaming racist abuse at Perlah and Frank had used his size and overall... maleness to get the patient to shut up. But he was moody. She had seen Dr McKay pull him to one side. The eye roll had been visible from clear across the room. Worried.

Loud. Not light of foot. Very little in the way of his usual humour. Just not very Frank. At least the Frank Mel had grown accustomed to. He wasn’t very, gentle, today.

Mel hated herself just a little. Hesitating at the sight of his tense frame out in the ambulance bay. Tapping the box of cigarettes against his leg with no small measure of force. Mel could practically feel the impact against her own leg.

‘I’m sorry for being such a dick today.’ He didn’t turn his head. But he just knew that it was her.

‘We all have bad days.’

Frank chuckled a little hollowly. ‘You’d think I’d be good at quitting shit by now.’ Mel frowned. His angular face scrunched a before he threw the pack in a graceful arch. Making a shot Mel could never hope to dream of.

‘You’re giving up smoking?’ Mel did hate smoking, always had. But she never minded watching Frank smoke. There was something in it that she tried not to think about.

‘Under duress.’ Mel despite herself let out a confused squeak. His laugh warmed. ‘Penny. My four year daughter’s refusing to hug me because “Daddy smells terrible.”’

Mel snorted. Loudly.

‘Hey! You’re supposed to be my friend!!’ Mock affronted. ‘Soon you’ll be teaming up with her. I am fucked.’

If only.

Luckily Mel kept that thought to herself. Barely.

smoke | @kingdonmicrofic july 13 | 489

sexually explicit content 🚨😋😋

Mel used to be one of those kids, the annoying ones who would dramatically cough when someone smoking a cigarette passed by, to make them rethink their choices. She didn’t realize until later in life how black and white she saw the world back then, everything fitting neatly into the categories of good or bad.

Frank Langdon, she’d realized, was one of life’s many gray areas. He was smart, empathetic, strong; she watched him excel through the end of his residency, land a job as an attending at PTMC, and that didn’t even come close to the way he loved her. He braided her hair when she was too tired, made sure she took her medicine every morning, and had given her orgasms so mind-melting she couldn’t describe them.

He was also brash, self-doubting, and, since rehab, a smoker. He asked her out a few months after coming back, and when he picked her up for the first time, she struggled with the lingering scent of stale tobacco in his car.

“Sorry. I can quit smoking in here,” he said, rolling down the windows and blasting the AC.

“No, don’t worry,” she said, a daring hand moving to his thigh. “I’ll get used to it.”

The first time he’d kissed her, she tasted the smoke on his tongue, light and sweet. She liked the newness of it, the unfamiliarity. The first time he took her home, her face buried in his sheets, she smelled it, faint and mixed with the clean scent of his detergent, and she let out a moan.

The problem was that now, every cigarette she smelled reminded her of him. A patient came in after smoking three packs in a night, hyperventilating from nicotine overdose, and she zoned out, thinking only of his tongue against hers. When her neighbor smoked his pipe in the morning her stomach would flutter, remembering the fogged windows of his car, the pack of American Spirits that she saw in the center console when she leaned over to suck his cock.

In the ambulance bay one day, after a particularly devastating case, he lit one up while she held onto him, grounding each other until both of their breathing had returned to normal. The smell of the smoke took her brain elsewhere, watching the way it drifted from his perfect lips. She couldn’t help but lean in, kissing sloppily at his jaw when he moved to ash it.

“Woah, slow down,” he said with a smirk.

“I’m sorry,” she whined, “I can’t help it. I think the smell just drive me crazy now because it reminds me of you.”

He laughed and shook his head, taking another long drag as he stared at her.

“You can’t really be telling me that the smell of cigarettes makes you horny.”

She blushed, burying her face into the scrubs on his shoulder.

“Mel, angel,” he said, lifting up her chin, “you Pavlov’d yourself.”

“Dad, stay right there the light is hitting you perfectly.” Penny calls out, reaching for her phone to take pictures of her dad in the orange hue of the sunset. Of course, when she calls out for him, he immediately turns around and ruins the natural pose he’d been in.

“What was that Pen?” He says and starts walking towards her, destroying her shot.

“No, go back!” Penny says, pushing at him to return to where he’d been. But the moment was lost and her father’s awkward relationship with the camera immediately set in as he faced forward and gave a random thumbs up.

@kingdonmicrofic day thirteen: smoke | 295/295 | rating: g

“Are you sleeping with Mel?”

He chokes on his drink.

“Jesus, Cassie. What a way to start a conversation.”

He checks the time on his phone, sees they have five minutes until their NA meeting starts.

“Why do you think I'm sleeping with Mel?”

Cassie rolls her eyes

“What, Cass?”

“You have been all over her since that ring left your finger.”

“I have not,” he mutters.

"Every time I see the two of you together – which is pretty much all the time – you have your hand on the small of her back, or are leaning into her side, or tugging on her braid. You’re always in her personal space, which is weird as shit, because Mel flinches away from everyone else. But when you do it, she just stares at you like you hung the moon.”

“She's my friend, Cassie.”

“Okay. Like…a friend with benefits, or?”

He rubs a hand over his face. 

“Do you really think this is an appropriate conversation to have at NA?”

“I'm just saying, where there's smoke, there's usually fire. And there's a lot of smoke with you and Mel.”

“Whatever,” he mumbles, and motions to the front of the room. “The meeting's starting.”

“That's not a denial,” Cassie observes.

“Cassie,” he hisses, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “The meeting.”

Finally, Cassie holds up her hands in surrender. He starts to move his fingers across the phone screen.

Cassie is on to us.

Mel replies almost immediately.

People were bound to figure it out eventually. Are you still coming over after your meeting?

He grins.

There's no place I'd rather be.

“Yeah, you're definitely sleeping together.”

He turns to find Cassie glancing at his phone. He rolls his eyes, but can't wipe the smile off his face.