Archive of Our Own

The fluorescent lights at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center finally hummed back to life. They flickered, like dying fireflies, around 7:45 p.m., but the damage had already been done, and mercifully dealt with. Ungracefully, sure, but handled. The boiling, unrelenting wave turned the city into a pressure cooker, but the massive storm that followed was the real troublemaker. The hospital had gone into a humid, suffocating darkness broken only by the erratic glow of emergency generators and battery-powered lanterns. No power naturally also meant manual everything: charting by flashlight and monitors beeping on dwindling batteries. Air conditioning was nothing but a distant memory.

The ER was filled with storm victims, dehydration cases, and fractures that went from slips on rain-slick streets to serious car accidents. It was definitely the kind of shift that tested and challenged every doctor, and, with that, frayed every nerve in the process. The whole staff had been on edge all day: Dr. Robby barking orders left and right; Dr. Collins and Dr. Santos scrambling to intubate a patient with acute respiratory distress from inhaling floodwater; Dr. Mohan and Dr. Whitaker huddling over a cluster of lacerations in the trauma bay, stitching up gashes from shattered windshields while debating the best antibiotics for infection-prone wounds; Dr. McKay and Dr. Javadi exchanging weary, haunted looks as they triaged patients with the help of the nurses; and even some of the night shift personnel—Dr. Abbot stabilizing a compound fracture in the ortho corner and Dr. Ellis monitoring IV drips for the dehydrated patients—had been called in to keep the chaos from spiraling completely out of control.

Dr. Frank Langdon and Dr. Melissa King had spent that shift working together. They’d had a serious dehydration case—an elderly woman collapsed in the midday heat, her skin clammy and pulse thready—a multi-car crash that left one of its drivers with a shattered femur that went straight to Dr. Garcia’s hands in the OR, and a lightning strike victim who had been working in an open field. All of that in the span of four hours. A fucking lightning strike. Frank couldn’t believe it.

And Frank, knowing Mel like the back of his hand, could tell that she’d been stressed through it all; her usual sharp focus naturally weakening and wearing away. Mel King, of all people. She was still thriving and in the zone, of course, but she looked undone, visibly frustrated, and like she could really, really use a break. Her blond hair, normally pulled into a neat braid at work, had become a mess and was barely still in its shape. It was her favorite hairstyle. When Frank asked about it, because he’d noticed she’d always style her hair like that, she’d said that it was practical, that it worked for her; it wasn’t ever too tight that it’d hurt and add to the sensory overload like buns or ponytails that she’d once tried. Now, though, loose wisps frizzled wildly around her face, sticking to her flushed, sweaty cheeks and neck. 

Frank noticed all the little things she kept on doing to make herself feel less uncomfortable amid all the persistent stimuli. He paid attention to her fingers drumming against her stethoscope when she thought no one was looking. He paid attention to how she’d fan her face with a folded chart in the dim of her lantern, taking a deep, grounding breath before smoothly reassessing the vitals on the dehydration patient, her voice steady as ever. He noticed how she breathed in and refrained from rolling her eyes every time she fixed her glasses or stopped them from sliding down due to the sweat, trying to mask her annoyance and frustration with a forced smile. He spotted her listening to what he knew was certainly one of her ASMR playlists on her earphones while eating a Snickers bar on her break. 

That extra layer of tension that she carried, though, that was what really gnawed at him.  He hadn’t really been bothered by the heat, but then it started bothering her. He hadn’t minded the rain either, but she had, and so, as nonsensical as it sounds, he kept beating himself up for being unable to control the weather. With the way he felt cranky over the smallest things, it seemed like her discomfort was bothering him more than it was bothering her. He hated the feeling of powerlessness, the inability to take care of her properly. Because, whether he liked it or not, there was nothing he could do to help her. Not at that moment, at least.

And so he made sure to let out whispers of “you okay?” during every handover. He made sure his hand lingered a second longer against hers as he passed her new gloves to use. He made sure to keep track of whether she was drinking enough water. He made sure to steal glances at her just for the sake of doing it; he knew she’d be looking at him, too, and that was his selfish way of seeking the steadiness he needed to get through the shift. It was some sort of lifeline throughout the madness. It wasn’t exactly what she needed or what he wanted to do, but it was enough to keep her grounded. Both of them, in fact.

Ten months of dating had strung them together like threads in a suture, but tonight, with the hospital groaning under the strain of it all, it felt like a lifetime.

However, if Frank’s being honest, it felt like a lifetime more often than it didn’t, with Mel. That was just the way things were when she was involved, is all. It doesn’t surprise him, though. Never did. Frank’s a pretty smart guy; he saw this coming. She did kind of become his favorite trainee after knowing her for less than 15 hours, after all.

During his first month away after he left without saying goodbye, Frank had convinced himself that he had hallucinated her existence that fatidic day. He was certain he must have imagined her, nothing that purely good would ever come to him so willingly. When he came back ten months later, he was gladly proven wrong. That magnetic pull between them, that connection was still there, unchanged, as if it had never left. As if both of them, ever each other's mirror, had clung to and tended to it, watered it in their hearts while they were away from each other, all while wondering every day if they'd ever see each other again. It didn't make sense for other people, and it didn't have to. The only ones that needed to get it were Frank and Melissa.

As the shift tailed off, their eyes met again, across the crowded nurses’ station this time. There was no reason to look away. There wasn’t a case to get back to or a patient to help. It was all over; the storm had passed, the power hummed steadily once more, and the ER’s frenzy had been replaced by a way less chaotic patient flow for the night shift doctors to deal with.

She leaned against the counter, then. Frank could see how the day’s sweat beaded on her forehead and trickled down her neck, glistening on her skin, her chest rising and falling with the deep, exhausted breaths she’d been holding all day. And since Frank was merely a man—a very weak man, pathetically obsessed and crazy about the most talented and hard-working doctor he’d ever met, the one whose steady hands, relentless empathy, and incredible drive had saved countless lives, including his own in ways she’d never understand—he couldn’t help but stare.

There was something unguarded and raw in her expression. The vulnerability in her eyes stirred that ache of protectiveness inside Frank. The rawness, though, that filled Frank with desire; all kinds of it. Her cheeks were still flushed, her hair still messy, her glasses still kept awkwardly sliding down the bridge of her nose, and she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. All her sweat had now darkened the collar of her usual go-to gray shirt—it’d become almost uniform at this point, all soft and worn from countless washes. Tonight, though, the heat had turned it wicked, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin, outlining her collarbones and shoulders and breasts just right. Shamelessly checking her out, Frank was reminded of how badly he liked the way her legs looked in those practical black string-banded work sweatpants; they hugged her waist so nicely. When she met his gaze steadily from across the room, her brown eyes welcoming despite the weariness, and smiled at him, totally oblivious to his internal turmoil, he felt his pulse quicken, his scrubs suddenly feeling tighter, hotter. That was all it took, man. Pretty brown eyes with a sweet smile to match, and, poof, he was wrapped around her finger.

In that moment, amid the beeps and murmurs of the ER, it was just them—sweaty, spent, and still utterly connected.

“Shift’s over. My place?” Frank uttered as he held Mel’s smaller figure by her waist from behind in the staff room. He kissed her shoulder softly. Through the small mirror in Mel’s locker, he took a quick peek at himself. His usual hair pomade had worked its magic once again, leaving just a few of his dark strands untidily hovering over his forehead. His skin was red and shiny with sweat, and he definitely smelled better at the beginning of the day. His blue eyes flicked to Mel’s reflection. He adored that little beauty mark she had next to her right eye. Now, it stood out against her rosy and damp skin from all her hard work, which smelled great on her.

Santos’s words from when he overheard her talking to Whitaker after his and Mel’s relationship had become public rang in his head. How did that even come to be? I mean, look at her! She’s beautiful and interesting and charming and incredible and perfect, and he’s…there. It’s just like the Barbie movie I made you watch the other day, you know? She’s everything, and he’s just Ken. Now that his relationship with Santos had, gladly, improved into a friendly workplace acquaintanceship, he just laughed it off. After his return from rehabilitation, and still following The Twelve Steps, he’d written letters to most of the staff, and that included Trinity. His letter to her was long, heartfelt, and quite vulnerable, where he gave her kudos for her achievements and apologized for all the moments he’d been out of line. He wanted to make amends. He really did. He would be lying if he said it didn’t surprise him how understanding and open-hearted she’d been about it; but he was thankful and genuinely glad he faced Step Nine thoroughly. 

He laughed it off because she’d had a point, after all, and he was learning how to recognize when other people, other than him or Mel, were right. He didn’t know how it had happened, either. He had no idea why Mel had chosen him—the ex-drug addict; the divorced father of two; the guy whose reputation was as fragile as his own personality. But their friendship was so easy. It had deepened over time, and while it began innocently enough, he’d been the one clinging to it harder than he should have—seeking out her company in stolen moments, confiding vulnerabilities he kept hidden from everyone else, letting those quiet connections bloom into an emotional infidelity entirely of his own making. That gave him even more reasons to go through with the divorce. It wasn’t fair to his wife, you know. To go home to her and think about another woman the entire time. To sleep next to her and dream about someone else. It wasn’t fair to him, either, because it was slowly and torturously killing him. 

A year after the divorce, his friendship with Mel had deepened even more, and he’d finally mustered up the courage to ask her out on a date. He remembers it to this day; it was on one quiet evening after a surprisingly smooth shift, but his heart was pounding like a rookie on his first call, nerves twisting because he was really laying himself bare in a way he rarely let himself do. He knew Mel was too good, too kind to ever laugh at him for it. At the same time he was half-expecting her to let him down gently, he was half-hoping she would say yes. He’d only decided to ask because he was driving himself insane trying to come to terms with the fact that, maybe, this really had been all in his head. He needed an answer; any kind of answer. After he put himself out there, she looked up at him with those sweet brown eyes, a small, shy smile tugging at her lips, and accepted. Yes. Yes, of course. I’d love that. It wasn’t in his head alone; she felt it too, at least to some degree; saw something in them that was worth treading into, too; saw something in him that was deserving of her, for whatever reason. 

Silently, he'd spent a great portion of his life dwelling on the same questions. Do I deserve this? Am I worthy of it? Frank was terrified of frustration, of not being good enough. He felt like a bad person, so he always tried to act like he was the best. By asking himself those irrelevant questions, he'd always prepare himself for the blow. He'd even deceive himself with a "I didn't even want this anyway" mindset when things didn't work out his way. This time, though, it had been different. He'd been learning how to accept the vulnerable parts of him. After all, it was a brave thing to be vulnerable. He'd embraced that and turned all those other questions around. Do I want it? And, when it came to Melissa King, the answer would always be yes.

It felt as though the universe was giving him another shot at life, as cliché as it sounds. A life where his choices would be his own; where his feelings mattered because, for the first time, he felt truly seen and understood. Frank knew that, to some people, he and Mel would be put in that “opposites attract” box. It was true, to some degree. But what those people didn’t know, and Frank and Mel did, was that not only did they complement each other in the best way, but they were also more similar than people thought. It'd only been ten months, but, in truth, it had been much more than that and they both knew it. He made sure she knew he was in this relationship for the long haul. He was never afraid to show it, and he loved how she would always, in her own way, share his eagerness and make efforts, too. His mind wondered to what Whitaker said in response to Santos's comment back when Frank overheard them, then. She looks happier than we've ever seen her, though. Santos's reply was the softest he'd ever heard come out of her mouth. She really does.

Melissa King was the one for him. There would never be another. He knew he was one lucky guy, and he’d spend every day making damn sure he never, ever took that second chance for granted. 

“Yes, please,” her voice was soft as she put on her cross-body bag and fiddled with its strap. 

The drive to Frank’s apartment was long, with him living on the other side of town, as opposed to when he was still married and lived relatively close to the hospital. It was tense, too: city streets were still quite wet from the storm; it was still raining, so visibility and traffic weren’t too great. The AC in the car was blowing, but it did little to bring any real relief. Mel was also being unusually quiet, even for him, after a shift when they had a lot to talk about because much of what happened could have gone wrong, but they handled things way better than expected; they’d only lost two patients, after all.

“You okay?” Frank asked his signature directed-at-Mel phrase, placing a comforting hand on her thigh and looking at her at a red light.

“It’s Becca. I’m worried the storm might’ve freaked her out, even at the facility,” Mel said, rubbing her temples a little clumsily since she didn’t take off her glasses. “I texted the staff during my break, but I still haven’t heard from them.”

“Becca’s tough, Mel. I’m sure she got through it okay,” Frank said, a little bit unsure of how to show support. Mel had shown him the importance of really listening and trying different approaches, and the first time she complimented him on how much better he’d gotten at those things they hadn’t even been dating yet. Still, it didn’t come as easily to him as it did to her. But Mel made Frank want to become a better person, not only so he could deserve her every day, but so he could become a better father and even treat himself with more patience and kindness, too. He had learned to be willing to make efforts and go out of his way, and try. He was good when he wanted to be. “Plus, the facility’s got protocols for these kinds of things, right? Backup everything, generators, quiet rooms, the works.”

“I know, I just…What if she had a meltdown and I wasn’t there? She hates storms. She really does. They stress her a lot, and we haven’t had one like this in forever. I can see her now, eyes shut, hands over her ears, waiting for me to make it stop like she used to do when we were younger. I just want to hear from them,” she finished, her voice disappearing into a shaky breath, the usual undercurrent of guilt in her tone. That deep-seated ache had been born from years of being Becca's only protector, her caretaker, her everything. It only got bigger now that Becca was staying at a facility that offered full-time care without much of a hitch. It was still a challenge for Mel to grasp that she could loosen her grip on that role, even a little—that Becca’s world would keep on turning without Mel at its center holding back every tempest.

“How ‘bout this, if they don’t get back to you in an hour or so, we can drive there. This way, there’s time for traffic to ease,” Frank suggested, trying his best to calm her down. Her leg kept bouncing up and down; she was anxious. “You haven’t eaten anything all day, either, so there’s time for that, too.”

“I did eat, though,” Mel retorted quietly.

“A Snickers bar doesn’t count, Mel, we’ve talked about this,” he replied tenderly, his expression and tone free of any anger or disappointment, just a gentle tilt of his head that spoke of affection and care.

Before Mel could defend herself, Frank’s phone rang. He glanced at the dashboard display light up with the call information—former Abigail Langdon, now Abigail Faulkner—then answered and put it on the car’s speaker.

“Hey, Abby,” Frank said, his tone adjusting to the friendly, co-parenting rhythm he’d learned over the course of two years. As it turns out, Abby and Frank worked much better as friends.

“Frank, hi. The kids want to say goodnight before we tuck them in. It’s been a crazy day with the heat and that storm. The rain, it’s not letting go easy, huh?”

“Tell me about it,” Frank responded, his eyes scanning the wet windshield as the wipers thumped steadily. “Did the kids get through it all okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. All smooth sailing over here. I’ll go get them, one sec.”

“Daddy!” came a high-pitched squeal from the other end. It was Tanner, his six-year-old, whose voice bubbled with energy despite the late hour. 

“There’s my guy!” Frank greeted him. Mel’s leg stilled for a moment as she tuned in; her expression softening. “What have you been up to today, buddy?” 

“Mommy said I had to drink a lot of water today, and I did,” Tanner said. Frank could picture his little head nodding along, proud. “I drew pictures after school, too! Dinosaurs fighting spaceships! The dinosaurs won, ‘cause they’re tough.”

“Good, buddy—always listen to mom,” Frank said, leaning into the conversation. At another red light, Frank turned his head to the side and smiled at Mel, who was gladly paying attention to the conversation. “Now, tell me: did the spaceships have lasers? Are there any drawings for me?”

“Yeah, red ones! Pew pew!” Tanner exclaimed cheerfully, mimicking the sound effects and drawing a quiet chuckle from Mel. “Yeah, daddy. There’s so many. I’ll even let you choose.”

At that, Frank looked at Mel, their expressions mirroring each other’s: eyebrows shot up in delighted surprise, mouths pressing into a soft, downward curve as if holding back a smile. 

“Thanks, Tan-Man, you’re the best,” Frank’s voice was warm in his reply.

“Gotta go, daddy. Em’s here now, she’s squishing me. Love you,” Tanner whined quickly, and playfully, as if tumbling the words out as he wriggled away from some invisible tackle. In the background, a defensive “I’m not squishing you!” could be faintly heard. Frank laughed.

“Love you, too, Tanner. Hi, princess. How was your day?”

“Hi, daddy,” Emily’s voice followed, her freshly turned seven-year-old tone filled with that big-sister poise. “Today at school, my friend Mandy fainted during recess. It was because of the hot, sticky air before the storm, the teacher said. The teacher helped her, and I did too, but it was scary. Do you and Mel help people like that at work? Like when they fall down or feel yucky?

Frank’s chest puffed with pride. From the corner of his eye, he could see the sparkle in Mel's eyes and the blush in her cheeks as she reacted to the casual yet special mention of her name. 

“Oh, no, poor Amanda. I hope she’s feeling better now, sweetie. Yeah, we do help folks like that all the time at the hospital. Today was busy. The storm kicked up lots of trouble; in the end, we were able to help everyone. And you, Em, are such a good friend for noticing and caring. Tell me, what did you do to help?”

“I told the teacher right away. I held her hand after, too. She said thank you,” Emily replied, a hint of shy pride in her voice.

“That’s exactly right—Quick thinking there, Mills. I’m proud of you.”

“Oh, oh, I almost forgot, daddy! I made you a new bracelet today. It’s all blue this time and it says ‘Best Dad Ever’, but one of the E’s in ever is a three because there weren’t any other letter beads left.” Frank’s face brightened at that. He made a mental note to buy her letter beads.

“I'm sure it looks great, sweetie. Can’t wait to rock it at work next week. Love you, Millie. Could you go get Mom?”

“Yes! Love you, too, daddy!”

Abby’s voice cut back in, amused. “They’ve got endless energy tonight. Couldn’t stop asking about what you and Mel were up to. Gotta wrangle them into bed somehow. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck with that,” Frank tittered, adding quickly as the call wrapped up, “Hey, kids—Mel’s here with me in the car. You wanna say a quick hi before you go?”

“Hi, Mel!” the kids said in unison. Mel smiled and replied just as enthusiastically before the line clicked off. She was great with kids, and with Langdon’s, it wasn’t any different: they were obsessed with her. Frank likes to tease her sometimes and say they like her better than they like him.

Frank parked his car in the apartment complex’s dimly lit parking lot, the rain a soft drizzle now, pattering against the windshield like a reluctant good-bye. He killed the engine, pulled his backpack from the back seat, and just sat there for a beat. He took Mel’s hand in his, lifted it and gave it a kiss. He grabbed his jacket and, after leaving the car and getting to her side, opened the door for her and put his jacket over her head so that she wouldn’t get wet. Modern chivalry, ladies and gentlemen.

“Home sweet home,” Frank murmured. From where he stood behind her, he could see her phone screen glowing with her lava lamp app. It was a swirling cascade of virtual bubbles that always seemed to steady her whenever she needed it. Mel’s favorite bubbles were the orange ones. A smile played on his lips as his heart skipped a beat in his chest, like he was paging himself for a code blue. So endearing. Frank laid his hand on the small of Mel’s back, urging her inside with a gentle touch that spoke of quiet reassurance that she could still focus on her phone, even as she took of her sneakers. He took the bag off her shoulder for her, put it on the entryway rack, then took off his shoes.

The place smelled very homely: like Frank’s cologne mixed with the faint scent of fresh laundry from the hamper in the corner of the tiny laundry room and the smell of his breakfast coffee. It was worlds away from the sterile chaos that was the hospital, which, in Mel’s words, “was very comforting and pleasing.” There were pictures of Emily and Tanner everywhere, as well as pictures of Mel on her own and of the two of them together.

Because this was also a place that Frank had allowed Mel to claim as she saw fit, although she was doing so very slowly, at her own pace. At first, she wouldn’t even leave a toothbrush there. She’d say she didn’t feel comfortable with the possibility of his kids seeing it and asking about it. She didn’t like to spend the night either—too much of a routine change at the beginning. 

Now, besides leaving a toothbrush, going out with Frank and his kids, and spending the night, Mel had a space for her clothes in his wardrobe. Her favorite mug sat on his cupboard; he had spare hair ties in his bathroom for her, and the strands of blond hair scattered everywhere were definitely not his.

Frank wouldn’t have it any other way.

The sound of a notification buzzed from Mel’s phone, then, cutting sharply through the quiet. She startled, fumbling the device as her eyes widened, the lava lamp momentarily forgotten. Frank could see the exact moment relief washed all over her face as she read the message out loud:

“Sorry, we’re just updating you now, Ms. King. The day was hectic around here. Becca had a good day, actually. They did her routine sensory activities in the morning. She handled the heat well. She did have to use her noise-canceling headphones more than usual due to the noisy storm. She drew for hours on end, both during and after all the rain. Here’s some pictures. I read you’d’ve liked to talk to her. I can call first thing tomorrow morning. She’s sleeping now. Would that work for you?”

Mel typed her response and scrolled through the attached photos, her shoulders dropping with the solace she needed. Becca’s colorful sketches that captured the storm quite nicely lit up her screen.

“That’s a relief,” Frank said softly, stepping behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist in a gentle hold. She showed him the photos. With his voice low and soft, he added, “Sounds like she’s got a solid team there. She’s okay. But what about you? You’ve been carrying that worry all day, haven’t you?” 

“A little, yeah,” Mel nodded as she turned herself in his arms. By holding her face gently with his hands, he could see the worry lines around her eyes softening behind her glasses, but Frank could also see the day’s tension coiled in her frame like a spring wound too tight from all that chaos in the ER and her worries about Becca. “I just miss being there for her sometimes. But she’s okay. She’s safe.”

“I understand. You’re an amazing sister, Mel. And now you get to share the responsibility, which is fair and what both you and Becca need and deserve.” Frank’s words were tender, the empathy she’d taught him spilling out. He brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, tucked it behind her ear. As his thumb took its time caressing her cheek, he said, “Let’s unwind now, okay?”

“Okay, yeah,” Mel replied with a determined nod of her head and a small smile on her lips.

“Food first, and then we can shower. Can’t have you crashing on me,” Sporting a playful smile, Frank suggested in a twirl as he headed to the kitchen. Mel followed. They were used to this dance, as they often did that in the ER. “Let’s make something quick. What are we thinking? Eggs and toast?”

“Sounds good. I could help,” she said, her voice steadier now as she busied herself pulling bread from the pantry, slicing it in quick, precise motions, and popping it into the toaster with a soft click.

Frank grabbed the dishes and the cutlery from the cupboard and the drawers, then opened the fridge to get the eggs. He cracked them into a bowl, whisked them while stealing glances at Mel. The simple task she was doing seemed to ground her; her fingers all methodical, just as they would be in the ER. 

A couple of minutes passed, and she finally leaned against the counter, letting the bread toast behind her. She picked her phone up from the island counter to check it one last time, her braid swaying over her shoulder. The small light that hung underneath the windowsill framed her body perfectly and set off the warmth in her eyes and the remnant glow of sweat from the night air that seeped through the window. 

Ten months in, and these moments still felt like a gift, lovely and hard-won. Frank feels it deep inside that these moments, for him, will never be over. 

Doctors like them, they needed to really de-stress after a shift. It was helpful and essential to shed the adrenaline before it crushed them. Frank used to chase ephemeral relief with the staff at the hospital parking lot. Talking to Abby didn’t help either because most times, she wasn’t willing to listen or simply not interested enough to keep the conversation going. Frank really liked to talk. They didn’t do the trick, those surface-level vents. Not with those people, anyway. They were replacements for the real thing he only got when Mel came into his life.

When she first started at PTMC, she couldn’t stay after a shift; her world was too tightly wound around Becca’s needs for that. She confided in Frank that before him, she didn’t have many chances at really talking to other people there because they never seemed interested enough to listen to her. She didn’t have anybody to lean on during those raw hours. Sure, she’d talk to Becca about her job, but she could only vent about the light stuff, bottling up the heavy toll so as not to freak her sister out, stress her unnecessarily, or frustrate herself with the lack of befitting feedback she’d most likely get. So the moment Frank got back, they started going through most of the daily cases almost every day. That was just another bonding moment for them. If this had been any other day, Frank and Mel would have been going through their third case by now.

“You’re still so tense, sweetheart,” Frank whispered, setting the whisk down and observing how her shoulders stayed knotted, even as she slathered some cream cheese on the toast that had just popped up. He stepped closer to her, his hand brushing her arm. “Hey, it’s okay. You can relax now. You carried the shift on your back today, with everyone leaning on you, and you didn’t even break a sweat. Well, except for the actual sweat.”

She laughed at that terrible joke, as she often did when it came to him and his gags.  She looked down at the toasts she’d put on the plate, picking up a slice and taking a tentative bite.

“Sorry, I guess I’m still wired. There was so much on my mind. Didn’t mean to drag it home with me.”

His heart did a funny thing in his chest when she called his apartment home. 

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” Frank said, his tone warm as he plated the scrambled eggs. He extended the single plate toward her with a soft smile. They stood at the kitchen island, bodies close in the narrow space, sharing the plate as he handed her the fork first. The domestic rhythm felt easy, because they’d done this a hundred times; both of them taking turns with the fork. “You were amazing today, you know that? That dehydration case that turned into sepsis. You caught the subtle fever spike, pushed for the labs when everyone else was slammed. If it weren’t for you, that lady would’ve crashed.”

“It was nothing,” Mel replied, not a braggy bone in her body, as she shook her head. Her voice, however, showed a shy gratitude. She snagged a piece of toast from the plate, offering it to him first. He took a bite of it, crumbs smearing on the corner of his mouth. She brushed them away with her fingers. “That car accident at 2 p.m. was a lot. There were people everywhere, charts were piling up, those guys that came in and almost caused a fight—you kept everyone calm. I felt safer because of you. Like, I could focus better knowing you had the big picture.” 

“Robby does say we make the best team,” Frank said with a boastful huff, pausing to spear a piece of egg, blowing it before holding it out for her. He nudged her shoulder affectionately. 

“You navigate the ER with so much confidence and assurance. You’re getting better at improving your interpersonal skills, handling your frustration better—you’re learning while you teach. It’s just…really nice to see that in action.”

He turned to face her fully, the plate still in his hand as they shared another forkful, his bites slower now as he watched her. He offered her the last piece of toast, his fingers lingering on hers as they shared it.

“Me getting better at those things, it’s all because of you, you know. And don’t think I forgot about the man with the lightning strike. You spotted the arrhythmia before the monitors even stabilized—saved his heart. You’re clever, quick on your feet, and always think outside the box. I learn from you every shift.”

“A lightning strike! I still can’t believe it,” Mel exclaimed, all excited. Frank grinned at the eagerness they shared about it. “You’re exaggerating…but we do bring out the best in each other, I suppose.”

“Uh-uh, no exaggeration. You’re brilliant, Mel. I’m lucky to have you in my corner in the ER and…in here,” the words came out haltingly because of how Mel was staring back at him, looking up her glasses a little, cheeks flushing, making Frank lose track of what he wanted to say. He’s been showering her with compliments since the day they met, and she’s still not used to it. It was as frustrating as it was adorable. God, this woman. He set the empty plate down on the sink, the fork clinking softly. He swallowed hard, then, and murmured, voice a little hoarse. “C'mere.”

Frank leaned in first, closing the distance with a gentle pull. Every single time he kissed her, it felt like the very first time. No joke, it was actually a little wild. It was a jolt of electricity surging through him, his body alive, humming, as if he’d been the one struck by lightning. He felt like a teenager all over again, raw and on fire, desperate and whipped, his mind an obsessive whirlwind of Mel, Mel, Mel, Mel, Mel, Mel, Mel, Mel, Mel.

Easily, Frank slid his hands around Mel’s waist and lifted her onto the counter, where she sat for a moment with her legs dangling before he settled between them. For a second, he savored the way it felt to have her pressed against him after what seemed like forever. They’d spent the whole day together, mind you. 

Frank has loved Mel since the day he met her, he likes to think. It took him a while to get his shit together and call it what it was, but, deep down, he’s always known. He’s always known that infatuation he had never felt for anyone before—not even Abby, who was his wife of almost a decade, the mother of his children, for fuck’s sake—, that the spark that kept igniting into bigger and wilder fires in his heart that he could or would never want to put out had to mean something.

He knows he’s sharp around the edges, but Mel softens him in a way he never thought possible. He welcomed it with open arms. Just like he quickly learned that understanding her was like second nature to him, she had that in her too. She just knew how to bring out the best in him at all times. Frank's whole thing was that he was desperate to be needed by someone. And Mel, after being the one who took care of everything for so long, just wanted to need instead of being needed. They've worked so well since the beginning because both their needs had been met since then, too. It was crazy to think about it, how it seemed written in the stars. Before Mel, Frank wasn’t ever one to believe there was someone made for him out there. But the moment she stepped foot into his life, she kept proving him wrong day after day. She changed everything. He feels as though they’re kindred spirits, as if he were born to take care of her and love her.

“I’ve missed you today,” he whispered against her lips, his voice full of quiet longing. His hands rested on her hips, his forehead dropping onto her shoulder after leaving a kiss there.

“But I was with you the whole time,” she said, ever the voice of reason. With her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt, she pulled back far enough to meet his eyes with a cute, confused look on her face. As if she couldn’t believe he could miss her. Little did she know he had missed her his entire life. He misses her the entire time, even when she’s right next to him. He wants to be around her at all times.He’s deranged, he knows. And he doesn't care.

“Not like this, though,” he explained, his voice teasing, flirtatious, but his words were earnest because he realized she hadn’t caught on to his meaning just yet. He fixed her glasses on her face. And because Mel made him all silly and stupid, a loser boy of sorts, he gave her his best puppy eyes and a pout, then nuzzled her neck. She can’t turn away a wet dog, can she? “Did you not miss me?”

“Oh, you’re flirting with me,” she said, eyes lighting up with the realization, lips sporting a knowing smile. Frank nodded, head still down near her neck, he felt her giggle on his cheek. He lifted his head up, eyed her down, and gave her his best smirk. With no malice and a fond look in her eyes, she continued, “I look like this, and you’re flirting with me. You’re unbelievable.”

“What do you mean you ‘look like this’?” he queried, indignant. Mel looked at him with that face she made whenever she was opposed, then down at herself as if saying you can't be serious right now. Frank continued, “Hey, that’s my girl you’re talking about!” 

“I look like a mess,” she stated, as if that should make her self-criticism obvious and justified to him. As if that was enough reason for him not to flirt with her or feel attracted to her. As if that would ever happen.

“I beg to differ,” Frank said, peppering pecks all over her face. “You look perfect to me.”

“I’m all sweaty and I sm—”

“Agree to disagree, Dr. King,” he replied, exaggerating the fake sternness in his voice, his eyes zigzagging her face before settling on her lips. She rolled her eyes at him, tittered in embarrassment. And because he knew he was good at it, at taking care of her every need at all times, he continued in a whisper, “You’re beautiful. All the time. Lemme take care of you now.”

“You always do,” she returned,  her hands rising to caress him. He watched as her hands trailed his biceps down to the veins in his forearms. With the way the air thickened between them and the look in her eyes, it felt as though she was casting a spell on him.

He leaned in again for slow, soft kisses that lingered on her mouth and on her skin through the fabric of her clothes, fulfilling whatever incantation she’d thrown his way, at the complete mercy of her magic.

Their bodies angled toward each other, hips pressing near, their shared heat building and becoming palpable in the air. Frank’s hands drifted lower, his fingers grazing the soft curve of her thighs in a light, a guiding touch that invited, yet did not dare to demand. She responded instinctively, hooking her legs around his waist, her hold on his shoulders tightening.

He cupped her face with one hand, his thumb tracing along her jaw while he pressed soft, light kisses to hers over and over again. Each kiss deepened just a little more until their tongues tangled and their teeth grazed lightly. Mel’s breath hitched; a soft whine escaped against his cheek the second his lips landed with an open-mouthed kiss on the pulse point in her neck.

He put some of the messy strands of her hair behind her ear with feather-light touches, his eyes locked on her, who had closed hers, allowing herself to let go. She turned her head slightly and pressed a tender kiss to the palm of his hand, her lips delaying against the warmth of his skin. His knees almost gave out on him.

“Jesus, Mel,” he whimpered, curious hands roaming her sides. His thumbs brushed the underside of her bra through her shirt that was riding up and teasing her stomach as she squirmed. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

She gasped at his touch, head tilting back against the cabinet as her hands fumbled at his back, pulling him closer, and drawing a low moan out of him. He felt his cock twitch inside his pants. He moved her braid back to her nape to expose more neck for licks and bites.

Minutes blurred, the space alive with even more heat and shared sounds. The stress of the day and the whispers of each other’s names were boiling over into raw need and desperation.

“The heat’s still…um, bad,” Mel whispered against his mouth, voice barely audible. “We could…ice. For cooling down.”

Or so he thought.

Frank paused immediately, his lips hanging near her collarbone, hands stilling at the hem of her shirt. She must still be bothered by the humidity, he thought. Maybe the way their sweat-slicked skin stuck together, that warmth was making everything feel too intense, too sticky. What he perceived in her words was a shy way of voicing discomfort. The last thing he wanted was to keep pushing if it made her uneasy.

“Ice? Yeah, that’s smart,” he said as he pressed a soft, quick kiss to her jaw. His next move was to ease his hands from her thighs, his touch turning gentle and withdrawing. “I’ll grab some. Sorry, I got carried away.”

“What? Frank,” Mel tittered, her blush deepening to scarlet, her thighs squeezing his waist nervously, as if afraid he’d turn around completely and pull away for good. Blue eyes lifted to meet hers with puzzled affection, no hint of anything beyond practicality registering in his mind. She was biting her lip. Frank did a double-take, because of course he did.

“Y-Yeah?” Frank stammered, a four-letter word tripping him up just like the beauty of the woman in front of him.

“Um, I meant…ice for us? For me, if you don’t want to. While we…feel it that way?” The words tumbled out of her mouth, but she sounded like a siren, luring him in completely. Even though she kept fidgeting with her hands, she held his gaze with timid determination. “You didn’t get carried away. Or do anything wrong. I don’t want to stop.”

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

“You mean…ice play?” Frank asked, all hot and bothered as he swallowed hard.

“I didn’t know there was a name for that,” Mel brought her index finger to her closed mouth, her endearing way of pondering information. Frank kept his eyes on her, followed her smallest of movements. She blushed harder at the undivided attention and at the vulnerability of it all, hiding her face in the sweaty crook of his neck and giggling. Frank was about to lose his fucking mind, and she was giggling. God, he was crazy for this woman. “Um, this is embarrassing. Is that weird? Did I just kill the mood, ruin the moment? Ugh, forget I said any—”

It was her babbling questions that made him realize she’d left him speechless. Eyebrows raised and mouth agape, completely stunned. He still hadn’t reacted to what she’d said, and if he didn’t do that in the next second or so, she might give up.

“No, no, no, you didn’t ruin anything, sweetheart, you just made things better, cooler,” Frank assured, his voice roughening with desire, stepping back just enough to look her in the eye again. Once, she told him that she appreciated it whenever he made his jokes more obvious. He doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon, not when it grants him the sweetest, most disarming smile he has ever seen. “If you’re cool with it, I’m cool too. Pun very much intended.”

“Okay,” Mel whispered, unable to restrain her lips from blooming into a smirk across her face, her eyes lighting up, all beautiful and victorious.

It was her turn to lean in first, her lips leaving a trail of tiny kisses—across his cheeks, the sharpness of his jaw, and finally settling on the dimple on his chin, where she lingered, as she often did. Her fingers threaded into his hair to expose his forehead, her fingers slightly brushing his ears, giving them a fond caress.  She tugged his hair back gently, exposing his Adam’s apple this time. Frank was melting into her, his body going pliant under her touch, hands going possessive on her thighs again.

Mel ground softly against him, her hips rolling in a slow, yet insistent rhythm as she sought friction, her quiet whimpers and moans filling the kitchen alongside his wet kisses. The kitchen counter dug into Frank’s palms behind her, but he didn’t care. He was much too busy with the press of her body, the way she was arching into him like she couldn’t get enough.

Frank’s hands were now moving even more deliberately. In one smooth motion, he pulled her shirt up and off, revealing her black sports bra. Damp and stretched, the fabric clung deliciously to her curves. There was a constellation of moles scattered across Mel’s collarbone and the swell of her breasts. She had moles everywhere, and Frank loved them. He dipped his head, lips kissing each one reverently—slow, open-mouthed, hot presses that made her shiver in that damn hot weather.

With eager hands, Mel reached for the hem of his shirt, grabbing it and pulling it up until he shrugged it off. She pressed closer, her palms moving over his bare shoulders and down the wide length of his back as he turned slightly toward the refrigerator to get the ice tray. Her feet provided the ideal amount of torturous, delicious friction his crotch needed. She leaned forward so that she could scatter kisses along his spine. Lewd delight raced through Frank as he closed his eyes to regain the little composure that was left in him and focus on what he had to do.

Melissa King was going to be the death of him.

Frank popped the ice cubes into a waiting bowl from the dish drainer with a clink, then grabbed a fresh dishtowel from the drawer. With one strong arm around her waist, he pulled her from the counter, her arms around his neck. She giggled softly as Frank manhandled her the way she enjoyed in order to take the action to the couch in the living room.

Their bodies tangled again as they collapsed onto the cushions, skin flushed and slick. Mel straddled Frank’s lap. With the way she ground against him, he could tell that she knew he was getting hard; that she’d done it on purpose. He cursed under his breath. With a hand holding her chin, he tipped her head just right to nibble and lick at her ear. The way she whispered his name was like music to his ears, soft and pleading, with a hunger that mirrored his own. 

Frank’s gaze followed as she pulled back for a moment, her chest heaving,her glasses foggged up from the steam radiating off their bodies. It was cute and disarming, and it made him want her even more. Mel noticed his stare, letting out a breathy laugh as she swiped at them ineffectually. As she drifted her fingers lower, she quickly forgot about her issue. She played idly with his chest hair, her touch light and exploratory.

“How do we do this?” Mel asked, ever the curious one; the one who tended to the littlest details; the one who strived for excellence at all times. There was definitely a mix of excitement and nerves in her eyes—it kind of reminded him of when she did a perfect crike on her first shift at PTMC—and he wanted nothing more than to ease her into it, make sure she felt safe, desired, and utterly comfortable every step of the way.

“We should talk about it first,” Frank pointed out, soft but firm. One of his hands rested on her hip, where his thumb traced lazy circles over the fabric of her pants. His mind flashed briefly to the cold plunges he’d made a regular part of his routine over the years—both for the confidence in knowing he’d enjoy this and handle it with no issue, but also for how it could feel for her. "You know, ice can burn if it's on too long, then there'll be cold, melting water trailing everywhere. Might be a bit much sensory-wise, sweetheart. You sure about this?"

“I know,” she said with a nod of her head. “Actually, I was wondering about this, I’ve never tried. I don’t know if I’ll like it, but I want to learn. All this heat’s been suffocating. I don’t want to be hot anymore; it’s driving me crazy.”

“Well, then we have a problem, ‘cause I don’t think you’ll ever stop being hot,” Frank said, his terrible—oh, so terrible—joke granting him a dramatic roll of her eyes, fondness sparkling in them. “Total smokeshow. I’m losing my mind over here.”

“You know what I meant! Feel hot!” she complained, prodding him on the chest with her fist, not a drop of annoyance in her tone. They shared a laugh. His hands reached hers after trailing down her arms. He intertwined their fingers.

“If it gets uncomfortable, or if you hate it—”

“I’ll let you know right away, you know I will. I trust you,” Mel cut him off sweetly, because she could read his mind, she knew he was way more in his own head about this than she was. He was just gentle with her, that’s all. He cared about her well-being, and her comfort was his biggest priority. He cared about her and about them. He wanted to remind her he was patient and that he would always do what was best for her.

“How about you do it to me first?” Frank asked, and the question piqued Mel’s interest in no time. “Watching it do its thing and feeling it on your hands might help.”

Frank shifted at her approval. He reached for the bowl on the side table—the faint sound of the ice cubes clinking being the only sound in the room for a second. He held it out to her, eyes meeting hers with a soft, encouraging nod.

A flicker of nerves danced in Mel’s gaze, her breath catching as she reached for it wordlessly, her fingers brushing his in the exchange. She selected a single cube from the bowl, its slick surface already dripping with promise, and wrapped it loosely in the towel, the fabric dampening under her grip. That was enough to make her hands tremble, not from fear, but from the thrill of taking the lead. She met his eyes again, a determined smile curving her lips as she prepared to trace that first cool path across his hot skin. Frank felt electric.

She pressed it to his collarbone, where sweat beaded hottest, and she’d left a love bite back when they were in the kitchen. Cold met hot, a sharp jolt zapped through him as he sucked in a breath, and water trickled down. Worry took over her face, her eyebrows and her eyes doing the talking. He shook his head, mouthed a breathless “it’s okay” as goosebumps rose across his arms. He had just realized he might have been more tense than he thought. The moment he felt his body relaxing under her hands, a low hum of pleasure escaped his throat, his body quickly accommodating to the chill relief amid the building fire—familiar from the cold plunges he used to take, and completely new with her warm touch guiding it, her curiosity igniting a deeper thrill as she made it all happen underneath her hands.

“Does it feel like your ice baths?”

“Feels better,” Frank said, head fuzzy, trying to wrap his head around the thought of what was happening to him. He might as well have been having yet another wet dream about Melissa King. He considered pinching himself, but decided against it. Mel’s gaze was curious and hungry, locked on the way his skin pebbled. To see her like that, fuck, it fueled him. He leaned up, kissed her jaw, and the curve of her shoulder. “Didn’t have you back then.”

A little embarrassed, she averted her gaze. There was a smug smile on her lips, though. She slid the cube lower, circling one nipple until it hardened under the chill, then the other. Frank’s head fell back against the couch, a ragged breath escaping him, his hands gripping her waist possessively, thumbs stroking the soft skin of her stomach on each side in encouragement. Her dominance incredibly flipped the script, making his pulse race and his arousal stir beneath her. Her hands, her heat blending with the cold—it was intoxicating, a little dirty rush he hadn’t anticipated.

“It looks fun,” she said quietly, more to herself than to him, really. “Looks like it feels good.”

“Y-Yeah,” he rasped, gulping hard. Mel was unraveling him, piece by piece, and he was loving every second of it. “It does.”

“Good,” Mel murmured, her voice an approving rumble that vibrated with satisfaction and control while her eyes gleamed, watching him squirm under her touch.

"Wanna try it bare now?" Frank suggested, and to make himself more clear, he continued, "Just the cube? You'll see how it feels without the barrier. I can take it."

She hesitated only a second before plucking a fresh cube from the bowl, the water already dripping from it onto her fingers. She started up his neck, tracing his jaw, his chin, then landed on the corner of his mouth. She slid the cube over his lips, and a whine escaped him. She leaned in and gave him a quick peck after noticing the transfixed look he had on his face.

She took her hand to the ridges of his abs, the direct cold biting sharper this time, but melting quickly against his heated skin and sending icy trails snaking downward. Dragging it lower, she slid it teasingly over the waistband of his boxer briefs that was peeking out of his pants, the fabric darkening as the melt soaked in. Her eyes darkened in tandem just at the sight of his reaction. The sensation hovered over the edge of too much, making his hips buck involuntarily toward her.

“Ow, that stings already,” she complained through a soft hiss, pulling back with a wince, letting go of the cube, and shaking her hand out.

A fond chuckle rumbled from Frank’s chest as he caught her wrist gently, drawing her chilled hand to his lips. He kissed her palm with affectionate warmth, then the tips of her numb fingers, his mouth lingering and his head going places. He opened his mouth, enveloping those two fingers in the wet heat of his mouth, his tongue swirling around them like his life depended on it. The warmth spread instantly, of course. He pulled back just enough to grin up at her, who had gasped and was now fighting the blush creeping across her cheeks, her body shifting on his lap; a part of his body definitely shifting at that, too. Gone, completely gone.

“Here, let me get that,” he said, reaching for the ice cube that had slipped through her fingers. Positioning her hand above his so that she wouldn’t have direct contact with it anymore, he guided the cube against his abs and downward again with a deliberate slowness. She watched it all unfold attentively. “Look at me, Mel,” he commanded gently. Without breaking eye contact, their hands now hovered against his growing bulge straining under his pants. He moaned at the sensation. He angled it carefully toward her, too, since she was now straddling his thighs, the cube brushing near her clothed core—not quite there, but close enough to leave her breathing raggedly and squirming against him.

As the ice melted away and the heat between them grew, Frank moved beneath her, his hands going to his waistband. To assist, Mel raised herself from his lap. In a single motion, he slid his pants down his thighs and kicked them off to the side a little desperately. As she watched him, the fire in her eyes was far more intense than the cool air hitting his skin. The barrier was thinner but still taunting as he sat back, wearing only his boxer briefs now. 

Mel leaned in and pressed a kiss to the chilled path on his chest, her tongue warm against the cold. But Frank’s hands were already moving. With deft fingers, he unhooked her bra up her back and slowly pulled it off, exposing her freckled skin completely. Mel’s hands caressed his upper arms, squeezing them gently. His fingers brushed over the braid at the nape of her neck. His eyes met hers in a tender, questioning gaze. Can I undo this? Mel shook her head yes, and, very carefully, Frank pulled her hair tie free with slow, deliberate tugs so as not to cause any pull or tangles, his fingers combing through the blond waves as they fell. It was intimate; there was a quiet reverence to it, as if he were unveiling some long-awaited gift. She threw her head back a little, her eyes closed, and swayed her hair aside. Frank could only stare, hypnotized.

“Your turn, baby,” he said as he lay her down gently on the sofa, tugging her pants off next, leaving her in nothing but her black underwear, and glistening under the faint light from the kitchen. She was gorgeous, all flushed and open. Propping herself on her elbows, Mel pulled him down by the neck into a fierce kiss—eager, her glasses bumping his nose with a light clink that made Frank smirk before they adjusted into the kiss. Gorgeous and impatient. His hands traced her ribs before squeezing her breasts just right, thumbs circling her nipples until they peaked. Nipping at her bottom lip, he whispered, “Tell me what you want.”

“I don’t really have anything specific in mind,” Mel said, adjusting her glasses, her eyes hazy behind the lenses. She held Frank’s face in her hands, as sweet as sweet could be. “I just want to feel it. Want you to touch me with it.”

“You feel weird or anything doesn’t go the way you want, you tell me and we stop, ‘kay?” Frank checked, his voice serious as a heart attack amid the heat, his lips pampering kisses on her shoulders and arms.

“Okay,” she agreed eagerly, breathing deeply, licking her lips, and swallowing hard with expectation.“Use the towel, though.”

There was a muttered “‘course” against her skin, then, as he nodded and pulled the dishtowel closer—still damp from their fun a short time before—and unwrapped it, putting two fresh cubes inside, and wrapping it tight again. The fabric seemed perfect; not so thin as to make it unbearable for her, but thin enough to let the cold seep through nicely.

It would be good to start with her hands, Frank thought, tracing the ice-wrapped towel up along her palm. He watched as her fingers curled instinctively at the biting chill. He moved up her arm, the damp cloth gliding over her pink, perspiring skin, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake. She spasmed at the contrast, a tiny gasp escaping her lips.

“Too much?” he asked, halting and bringing his hand up so that the ice wouldn’t touch her, his eyes searching hers for distress.

“No, no, it’s—It feels good. Keep going,” she panted, her voice husky and breathless.

Frank pulled the towel up to her shoulder, following the line where her neck met her collarbone. He placed the ice on her pulse point there, tenderly, as her heartbeat quickened beneath his hand. Water dripped down into the hollow of her throat, driving him crazy. He followed it with his mouth, his tongue lapping up the cold, sucking on her skin. She shuddered, one hand flying to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair.

“Oh—nngh—my God,” she moaned, luscious and pretty from under him. It sent a thrill through him, the way she tilted her head back, her fingers digging into the flesh of his back.

He took advantage of her lifting her upper body, reaching up and brushing her damp hair aside, spreading it carefully onto the sofa pillow beneath her head so it wouldn’t bother her in any way and add to the sensory overload now that she was fully on her back again. It’s like he said, he knew her. He knew her well.

“Is it helping with the heat?” Frank whispered against her neck, his breath warm against the chill he’d just soothed, voice low and teasing.

“Yes,” she replied. Nodding, she put her hands on her forehead as the sensations took over, her body shaking at his touch. She looked perfectly disheveled.

Gently moving the towel to her other arm, he ran the ice from wrist to elbow while watching the chill raise new goosebumps and draw new sighs. Her hands cupped his face in an attempt to reestablish contact, her thumbs grazing his jawline. He paused and turned his head to kiss the soft skin of her palms, first one and then the other.

“Tell me how it feels, Mel,” he begged, his voice a low growl rumbling against her left collarbone. Unable to hold back, he mouthed at one of her breasts, his lips and tongue exploring with ravenous reverence.

“Feels so different…so good,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering closed as the words left her mouth.

He slid the towel down with a knowing smile, then traced it between her breasts and pressed them into the freckled valley there. The cold contrasted sharply with the heat emanating from her body, causing a gasp from her that made him ache for more. He circled the ice teasingly, his free hand cupping one breast as he leaned in to kiss and suck the damp bath down her sternum with slow drags. It all left Mel trembling, breath coming in needy pants. She jerked, letting out a lewd moan, the moment he circled her breast with the ice—the one he’d just warmed with his mouth. 

“You’re taking it so well, baby,” Frank murmured, sending shivers down her spine.

“Oh, Frank,” she whimpered, her words a pretty broken cry. The chill bit into her heated skin, a cascade of goosebumps prickling across her chest and arms. Dissolving quickly against her skin, the ice left a glistening trail that cooled and warmed in equal measure. Her whole body was begging for more of him. “You’re so good to me,” she gasped, her eyes, filled with a mix of surrender and desire, fluttered open to meet his gaze.

“That’s all you, sweetheart,” Frank kissed the praise against her ribcage, feeling her heart beating faster and faster underneath each peck. “My good girl.”

Mel loved a compliment. She might not know how to take one, but Frank knew she reveled in it. Quietly, most times. She’d become bolder, more vocal about it when it was just the two of them, though. At that, she cursed under her breath, eyes rolling back as she squeezed her own breasts. For the first time in what felt like forever, Frank allowed himself to pay attention to his body for a short second. He adjusted himself in his tented briefs.

He watched as Mel pressed her thighs together, squirming a little desperately for some friction, all whiny. Cute. As he threw away the leftover cubes, his smile grew wider and his gaze strayed to her untouched breast, flushed and inviting. He cupped it in his hand, and his lips pressed down, hot and demanding. His fingers, wet from the ice, pinched and rolled the other nipple while his tongue flicked as he sucked the first one between his lips. Her body was a live wire to his touch, her fists bunched in his hair, drawing him impossibly closer.

He stayed there just long enough to get another moan, then eased back with a satisfied hum. His hands stroked down her sides to part her legs, then he knelt between them, taking a moment to blatantly stare—her chest heaving, skin glistening with a mix of meltwater and sweat, thighs trembling slightly from the torturous ache. His gaze raked over her like an unhurried, hungry caress. He reached for the bowl, selecting another cube.

“You have no idea how good you look right now,” he croaked, voice rasping with need, his eyes never leaving hers as he held the cube up, letting it catch the light. The threat hung between them, her legs shifting awkwardly as she wondered what he was going to do next.

“T-Tell me,” Mel said, eyes squeezed shut, teeth biting into her lip, nearly drawing blood.

His eyes traced the thin line of blond hair down from her navel, a warm, inviting path that always seemed to draw his eye, leaving a more intense hunger within him. “Always look beautiful, but there’s something ‘bout today, Mel,” Frank murmured, putting the cube aside for a fresh one and pressing it flat against her stomach. Her abs contracted at the icy shock, hips buckling shyly as her hands fisted in his hair. “All sweaty at work, glasses falling, hair messy. So in the zone, you didn’t notice me checking you out, losing my mind every time. Wanted to lick the sweat off your skin. Glad I can do it now.” 

He acted out his words with his tongue, then, licking her stomach as the ice melted.

“Been thinking about this—ssss, ah—since the outage started,” Mel hissed, the confession leaving her lips in a shaky whisper as she wriggled sinfully beneath him, her body bending into the cold of the ice he teased her with, just beyond her grasp. “I was so hot and…tense and frustrated, but you were there all the time, and my mind—nngh—kept going places."

“Fuck. Is that so, sweet girl?” Frank’s eyes glinted with dark amusement, his free hand tracing slow, languid circles on her inner thigh as she nodded fervently. The thought of her mind wandering to them like that at work went straight to his cock; it hardened fully against her hip as he shifted closer, pressing into her with unambiguous intent. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was open-mouthed and filthy, all tongue and heat. He murmured another praise against her, “God, you’re incredible, Mel. You always know exactly what we need.”

At another praise—because those, to Frank, were like scarves to a magician—, Mel gasped, gripping his shoulders tighter. She melted at it. With a gentle but firm push, he lifted her legs, guiding them to rest on his shoulders. He grabbed another cube and stroked it along the outer skin first, watching water dampen and drip down her shins and calves in shining rivulets. He kissed and licked, his lips and tongue chasing the icy paths.

He leaned in further, unable to resist the magnetic pull of her. His fingers traced the edge of her underwear before pressing against her through the thin fabric. He felt her arousal radiating through the material, wet and enticing, as cold water from the cube mingled with her own slickness. It created a tantalizing blend that soaked the fabric and heightened every single sensation of his. His lips followed, kissing her through the barrier, tasting the salty sweetness on his tongue as he pressed warmly against her most sensitive spot, feeling her throb and quiver. He pulled the fabric aside just enough to watch the water trickle down, pooling and glistening. The sight—and the feel of her, so responsive and yielding—roused a burning hunger in him, his breath coming in short, heated gasps.

When the cold bit at her there, Mel flinched suddenly, her hand shooting up to hold Frank’s wrist gently, pausing his movement. “Wait—sorry, that was…a lot.”

“We can stop if you want,” Frank said immediately, his tone calm and comforting, prying the ice away without hesitation. His eyes ran to hers to make sure she was okay. He started blowing his warm breath where the ice had just stung.

“No, we don’t have to,” Mel replied softly, her breathing slowing as she smiled at him. “I want this, I do. I just wanna wait a little, okay? Give me a second.”

Frank nodded while pressing kisses on her stomach and waist and thighs, waiting patiently until she relaxed again. Her grip on his wrist was being replaced by minimal patterns there. She signaled with a small nod, and he continued, taking the same cube and slipping it into his mouth, letting it soften a little against his tongue before leaning in once more. He trailed the coldness on his lips along her stomach, the chill from his mouth contrasting with the warmth of his breath. He moved lower, leaving kisses on her thighs, sucking gently on the sensitive skin there, his tongue rubbing in coaxing circles. Mel liked it when he used his nose to caress her skin, so he did that, also—he nuzzled softly along the curve of her inner thigh, his warm breath ghosting over the chilled trails, the bridge of his nose gliding smoothly against the goosebumps on her skin, deliberate motions. Mel was gasping at his every movement, her body prickling with anticipation.

Frank couldn’t help but gleam with satisfaction at her reactions, his free hand steadying her hip as he intensified the kisses, the melting ice in his mouth adding a thrilling edge to every touch. He swirled his tongue around the cool area, sucking gently the way she liked, inching closer to her core. He used his free hand to touch her through her underwear, fingers brushing and applying just the right amount of pressure to make her curse under her breath again. With a hungry growl, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her underwear, tugging it down agonizingly slowly, both for her and for himself. She lifted her hips to help him slide it off, her legs parting instinctively. He paused to press soft kisses to her knees, his eyes locked on hers with wild desire as he watched her aid him in uncovering her.

“Talk to me, Mel,” he commanded, softness adorning his gruff voice as he stroked his fingers along her inner thigh. “How d'you feel?”

“Perfect,” she breathed out, her voice trembling with lust, her fingers threading through his hair, guiding him closer. “You make it feel so nice.”

Opening her legs wider, he accommodated himself better on the couch for the view he craved. Frank spread her a little wider, tracing the melt rim along the bareness of where thigh and hip met. He twirled his tongue along the icy area, sucking gently and leaving subtle love marks, all while inching the remains of the ice closer to her center. She was so hot with want between her legs that the contrast must have been jarring. Mel’s breath hitched, hips lifting of their own volition, but Frank held her fast with one firm hand on her thigh—grounding, patient.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Frank muttered against her skin, his voice vibrating through her. “I’ve got you. I’ll give you what you want. Just feel this—let me make you feel good.” His blue eyes flicked up, dark with intent, but softening as he watched her nodding like the good—so good—girl she was. This was about unraveling her tension, loving her until all the chaos vanished. Knowing he was the one easing her—seeing her like this, pretty and undone beneath him—lit a fire in his brain. It was the ultimate turn-on for him, his boxers sporting a wet spot of precum, his cock throbbing at the knowledge of being a good, dedicated lover to the woman he was made for, all from the sheer satisfaction of her pleasure.

Mel whimpered when the ice dissolved into a cool trickle down her folds, a delicious shiver racing up her spine. Her fingers twisted into the cushions beneath her, knuckles whitening. 

He set the remnants aside along with the bowl, a low hum of approval in his throat, his hands warm and sure as they parted her thighs gently. The sudden vulnerability made her breath hitch, a flush creeping from her chest to her cheeks, but his eyes—dark and adoring—kept her grounded. He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over her. He pressed a soft, open kiss to her inner thigh, his tongue darting out to taste the salty sweetness of her skin and the melting water again. It was as though all that water had become wine on her body, and Frank was getting drunk on it, drunk on her.

“So beautiful here,” he whispered, voice rougher with hunger, his lips trailing higher in light-as-air grazes that build the ache higher and higher. He watched as she clenched around nothing. Frank was drooling at the sight of her. “You’re begging for me.”

“Please, baby,” Mel pleaded, then added in a whine that got a groan out of Frank, “Want you.”

Frank Langdon would be damned if he ever denied Melissa King of anything.

Plus, she asked so nicely. She called him baby, knowing damn well it did things to him. She knew exactly what she was doing; she was no innocent woman.

When he finally reached her center, he paused to inhale her scent—musky and sweet and perfect—before finally giving her what she deserved and what he was eager, dying to give her.

Going down on her was his favorite thing to do. He reveled in it—the way her body responded to his touch, the rush of pleasure that it provided to him just by making her feel such ecstasy. He loved everything about it: her tangy taste, her musky smell, the way her body hair felt against his face. She once said in a shy whisper that he looked good doing it; called him her pretty boy. Needless to say, that did it for him. He’d come untouched that day.

And because he enjoyed it that badly, he always did things very slowly and with absolute focus, attuned to her every preference or order. Her pleasure was the only rhythm that guided him in times like those. His tongue flicked out, warm and deliberate, licking at her folds. He circled her clit with slow, languid strokes that ignited a hot heat from within, chasing away the sting of the ice. Mel’s back arched off the couch cushions, a low, needy moan escaping her lips as the sensation increased. She ran her fingers through his hair. 

“You taste like heaven, Mel, all of you,” Frank cooed, watching proudly as her toes curled. He delved deeper then, lapping at her folds with reverent hunger—broad, flat licks that covered her fully, savoring every drop of what was his and his only. His tongue explored her with focused flicks and gentle sucks against her swollen clit, alternating rhythms the way she’d taught him to draw out her every reaction: her hips rolling in silent plea, chasing more. His nose added in a nice helping hand; the sharp inhales when he teased her entrance with the tip of his tongue; the full-body shivers as he occasionally dragged it along her outer lips and over her clit for that teasing chill, making her gasp. “Like you’re made for my mouth.”

The words sent a fresh wave of heat through her, Mel whispering back in a voice thick with need, “Right the—ah—there,” her fingers tightening in his hair as she surrendered further to the praise and the pleasure it amplified. “Frank—nngh—fuck.”

As the pleasure coiled tighter, Mel’s control disappeared—her eyes fluttered and her thighs instinctively pressed together, squishing his head in a warm, trembling vise that trapped him against her. Pressure was frantic, her body yearning for more even as it enveloped her senses. Frank hummed further, the sound vibrating through her like a live current, utterly turned on by the way she was giving herself to him that he could feel his cock twitch in his underwear. It was the kind of dream he never wanted to end—and if he perished right there, smothered in her ecstasy between her thighs, he'd go out grinning, the happiest, most fulfilled man who'd ever lived.

“Fuck, Mel,” he grunted, the words muffled but laced with raw awe and desperation, before his hands slid up to gently pry her thighs apart again, thumbs tracing slow circles of soft pressure in the contracted flesh to ease her and keep her open, utterly at his mercy. He was eating her out like a man starved. “I could spend the rest of my life doing this for you.”

“Oh, God,” she sighed, her voice breaking on a whine. Her thighs trembled, muscles quivering with pleasure, but he coaxed them wider with gentle pressure. “Make me feel so good, so special—All the time.”

“Yeah, baby?” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble vibrating against her sensitive flesh, sending fresh shivers racing up her spine. “Love knowing I get to make you feel like this.” His eyes flicked up to meet hers, dark with possessive pride, before he dove back in with renewed fervor, his tongue swirling in tight, insistent circles around her clit, alternating with soft, sucking pulls that made her vision blur at the edges. He pressed his nose firmly against her mound, inhaling deeply her intoxicating scent as he nuzzled closer, the added pressure and warmth from his breath teasing her folds and heightening every sensation, making her hips jerk involuntarily in response.

“Frank, I’m—I’m close,” she whimpered, her fingers digging into the sofa cushions beside her, knuckles white as her body tensed, the coil of pleasure tightening to an almost unbearable point. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her breath short and erratic, matching the frantic rhythm of her heart pounding in her ears. Sensing her impending release, he gripped her thighs firmly, pulling her closer to him with a possessive urgency that spoke of untameable cosmic connection.

Desperate for something to cling to, she strained back with one hand, her white-knuckled hold on to the pillow behind her head, pulling it closer as if it might ground her.

“You’re doing so good, Mel—just like this, yeah,”he praised between kisses. His tongue worked tirelessly at swirling, sucking, lapping, absolutely devoted to her release, the mental high of her unraveling pushing him closer to his own edge, his hardness straining and throbbing painfully now. “Come for me. I got you, sweetheart.”

Mel’s moans crested into a cry, her body tensing and shattering around him in waves of bliss. She melted under him like the ice, boneless and spent. Frank didn’t stop until the aftershocks died down, soothing with soft licks that eased rather than overwhelmed. Sensing her settle in cute, small spasms, he kissed his way up her stomach and chest.

He looked at her, then, inebriated. Her eyes were heavy-lidded with bliss, and there was a lazy, victorious smile curving her lips as she caught her breath. She looked down, taking in the sight of him—his chin dimple glistening with her slickness. A breathy laugh escaped through her nose, and he laughed along with her, the sound bubbling up from the sheer intimacy of it all. He then glanced down and took a look at himself. Mel’s eyes fluttered lower, tracing his tented, stained boxer briefs. Frank caught her look and smirked, opening his mouth to make an attempt at a sexy remark that would only show his desperation, really, but she beat him to it.

Pulling him fully into her space, she captured his mouth in a deep, unhurried kiss that tasted of her. The kiss was slow and obscene, and, as their flavor intertwined, they reached down his body at the same time, both their hands wrapping around Frank’s cock through the thin fabric of his underwear. It was sloppy and clumsy and uncoordinated, yet it felt so fucking good. When Mel pulled his waistband down just enough to wrap her hand around him, Frank groaned into her touch, his hips thrusting into their hands involuntarily, the friction building fast.

“Mmm, Frank,” she whispered, lips brushing and tongue licking the shell of his ear, her voice a gentle hum as she traced lazy patterns on his back and shoulders with her free hand. He nestled closer, and, with her tender words, she coaxed the last tremors from him. Their breaths synced. “It’s so sweet that you get like this for me.”

He brought his hand up, now both of them on each side of Mel’s head, his hair strands hovering over her face, his breathing fogging up her glasses even more. He went in for another kiss, deepened it as her strokes quickened. She bit his lip, then shared another praise with him, “You always take such good care of me.”

"Mmm, Mel," Frank managed to say in between whimpers. His whole body was shaking.

And because the brain is also a sexual organ, it didn’t take much for Frank to get his release, too. His mind clung to the thrill of succeeding at making Mel feel better, taking her there, and treating her right; it clung to her praise and her touch, and before he knew it, his breathing was snagging in her lips, and his vision was getting blurry. Frank was so over the edge that he could have been hallucinating the way she was drawling out the words, "Give it to me. Come on, baby."

He came with a muffled moan, spilling into his briefs—like a teenager with a crush on his best friend who has no idea she’s the girl of his dreams—, desperate and pathetic, in quick, shuddering waves. The damp heat soaked through as he grunted against her skin, his body trembling with the swift, overwhelming rush. She brought her hand up, some of his cum slicking her fingers. She licked one of her fingers clean. He held her wrist gently and brought the other dirty finger to his own mouth, cheeks going hollow around her index finger.

“D’you feel better? Still hot?” Frank whispered against her bare shoulder, his voice a mushy rasp. 

Mel nodded in reply to his first question, then shook her head slowly to his second one. There was a sweetness to the way he was able to distinguish her answers just by the way her body moved under his.

“You okay?” Frank asked, lifting his head just enough to look into her eyes. He kissed her cheek, lingering there. He brushed a damp strand of hair from her forehead and neck. She looked at him through her lashes. Her face relaxed in a sultry, satisfied smile of pleasure, elated he'd let her have this. This woman. As though he wouldn't find a way to make the world spin backwards in case she told him she'd prefer it that way. He rested his head and body on top of hers, carefully balancing himself on his arms so as not to crush her.

“Mm-hmm, more than,” the words were soft, but they carried away the burden of the day shed, their bodies entwined in the quiet afterglow—the chaotic shift long forgotten, as well as the unbearable heat or any remnant tension. It was just them, tethered and whole, and the unspoken promise of a shower, air conditioning, and sleep. Oh, and, thankfully, a day off the next day.