#selfishly bc its the easiest one to spell

[shedelulululu]

omg 33!!!

33. things you said from across the room (full list here)

light smut | M | mel is a bit tipsy! | 2.1k also on ao3

Mel liked to party. Unfortunately life had other plans for her. Halfway through undergrad she lost both her parents in a matter of 6 months, unrelated causes. Overnight she became a Real Adult, she had a sister to take care of, bills to pay, tests to study for.

She didn’t resent Becca for the invites rejected, and rejected, until they just stopped coming. She could never feel that way towards her. But, she still felt like she was missing out — on friends, potential boyfriends or situationships, beer pong tournaments, getting high and watching Nathan For You surrounded by giggling friends. She wished she got more sleep, that she ate better, that she had more room to try things — more room to make mistakes. It’s not the life she dreamed of — would anyone dream of losing their parents? — but it’s still good, she’s grateful despite it all, because Becca is her best friend, and how could she not feel full when she makes her happy.

So when Becca gets invited to a sleepover with one of her new friends at the centre, Mel jumps at the chance to say yes.

“Are you free Saturday night?” Santos flicks her head to Mel who approached her left. An open mouthed smile pulling at her lips.

“Why Melodrama? You finally ready to switch teams and admit the big fat crush you have on me?”

An aggressively fond smile forces itself on Mel, powerless to suppress it. “I do have a healthy respect of your girlfriend” — “ you mean fear” — “and I’m quite happy with my ‘team’ thank you.”

Santos gave her a disbelieving look, questioning the mere notion that any straight woman is happy with her options. She shot back one of her unimpressed frowns.

“Ugh you’re no fun…just one kiss?” the frown deepens “yes I’m free, you need help moving or something? I’m great with a u-haul” she shoots finger guns in what Mel has decided in some sort of disarming technique.

“No… Becca has a sleepover —” Santos eyes light up, unable to resist interrupting.

“Did you give her the Talk?”

“It’s not that kind of sleepover—” Mel implores.

“I’m just saying she’s an adult too and she’s not disinterested, you’ve seen her romance novel collection”

Mel blinks a couple times “you really think…? I guess it couldn’t hurt to refresh.” She shakes her head, refocusing the conversation to her initial plan “I’d like to take you up on your offer to go out. I’m inviting Samira and Langdon — no complaints.” A beat “invite whoever you want, just not the new med students, I don’t think they like me.”

Santos salutes her with a puzzled look “Aye Aye King!”

Mel glances at the board, thankful Dana is not at the central hub or else she’d realize was Mel was not actually finding a patient to pick up. She was calculating, given a set of symptoms, the time admitted, the nurse on the case, she could figure out with near certainty which room Langdon was in at any given moment.

Central 11. Kid with a rash.

She stands just outside, pretends to review a chart but the screen was off.

He emerges from the room, med student in tow, going over the differential diagnosis. He notices Mel as they’re discussing the treatment plans. He flashes her a smile. Quickly schooling his face, he gives instructions to the med student, sending them on their way. She should really learn their names.

“Need something, Mel?” he asks, leaning against the wall, “got an interesting case?”

Seeing the light in his eye as he imagines what kind of complicated case would have her seeking his advice as a PGY3, almost makes her feel bad that she she has nothing of the sort to offer.

“I do have a request, but it’s not work related”

His brow furrows “is it something with Becca?”

“Yes!” she replies on instinct “oh but not like that” she cringes a bit “Trinity found out Becca has a sleepover on Saturday—”

“Did you give her the talk?” he waggles his eyebrows, gleeful at the idea of Becca doing something about her myriad of Centre crushes.

“Why does everyo— I have Becca handled, thank you. As I was saying, she forced me into agreeing to go out with her and I’d really appreciate the back up.” She gives him a small smile, looking up at him through her lashes — Samira had told her that he wouldn’t be able to say no to her if she gave him this look.

He runs a hand down his face, an aggrieved sigh escaping his lips “yeah Mel, I got your back.”

She beams up at him, “I’ll text you the details!” She rushes away to catch up on patients before Robby catches on to her lacklustre performance today and starts asking questions.

Mel loves the music. She loves that it is dark. And she loves the way she feels after 2 gin and tonics and 1.5 tequila shots.

Parts of her mind feel quiet for once. The voice telling her that bodies jostling around her burned like a brand, instead feel comforted by the union of a crowd brought together to dance as individuals, all together. Which is perhaps a generous description for what was occurring in a club, on a random Saturday, in Pittsburgh — but she felt good, and a little romantic about life.

She really missed this.

Well, not this part.

Mel invited Langdon for a reason, between a little liquid courage on her part, and an aspirationally enticing outfit — Samira helped her get dressed, she selected a white a-line mini skirt with two small slits over her thighs, and a powder blue one shoulder crop top — surely one of them would finally crack. Mel is tired of them dancing around each other, every day at work, most days off work, for nearly a year now.

Mel did not anticipate her outfit attracting the attention of people other than Langdon. Yet here she is, cornered by a strange man while the rest of her friends were off to god knows where.

She didn’t know his name, honestly she couldn’t tell you if he had introduced himself. She could only hear her mind screaming how wrong he was. He is just a bit taller than her, sandy blond hair, dull grey eyes, and a very clammy hand that just wouldn’t leave her shoulder no matter how many times she pointedly shrugs.

She is searching over his shoulder, really how did he think she was at all interested in talking to him, looking for Samira (outside, texting someone), or Santos (making out with someone to bring home to her girlfriend) — she isn’t confident Whitaker could help, no offense, Which left one person.

He isn’t close, but there is a direct line of sight from where she stands to where he leans up against the bar — chatting with the bartender who happened to have been a frat brother of his.

He is staring at her. A problem, usually, but right now she couldn’t find it in herself to complain, because she really needs him.

She widens her eyes at him, mouthing a brief “help me” before returning to a conversation she did not ask for.

“Sarah!” she hears his voice and is confused by the name, shooting him a look.

He waves his hand, gesturing for her to play along. “Sarah, I haven’t seen you in what 5 years? I can’t believe that’s really you!”

She looks up in awe as he uses his body to push out what’s-his-name, positioning himself in front of her, and it doesn’t even read as aggressive. She envied him for this; she always felt flustered, or shut down in the face of conflict, and he was always so cool about it, unflappable. On top of all that, it was unbelievably hot to her whenever she was witness to him telling off patients.

“Um, yeah just in town visiting family and friends” she keeps glancing to their right, where who-cares-who has not yet gotten the hint to leave.

He sniggers to himself, turning towards the nameless man “hey man, can you leave.” It is phrased like a question but Frank’s voice leaves no room for interpretation, it’s an order.

She laughs to herself, watching him walk away, disappearing into the crowd sheepishly.

“Y’know we could’ve been the ones to leave?” she says, laughter still lacing her voice.

“Maybe, I like this corner” he says with a smirk.

She’s smiling still, but she squints at him, searching for an answer. She feels like he is trying to flirt with her, but she couldn’t be sure.

“Thank you for getting rid of him, by the way.”

“Anytime Mel. I’m surprised he didn’t pick up on you not being interested—” she could feel his eyes skating over her legs, her chest, her lips, “maybe he just didn’t care.”

Mel hates being dishonest, with herself and with others. She has never been good at hiding her feelings anyways and holding this in, pretending whatever this is wasn’t happening, is eating her alive.

“Why aren’t we dating?” she blurts. The additional half tequila shot doing it’s job.

“Jesus, Mel.” A helpful response. He would regret it later, but right now his brain is frozen.

She pouts “I really like you Frank, and I know I’m really not the best at reading people — I’ve been informed of at least 4 people I didn’t realize were flirting with me. But I like to think I’m pretty good with you, and I think you like me too” she takes a breath, shoulders sagging, “and I’m really tired of almost having something. So — is there a reason?”

His gaze darkens, moving into her space, a sharp ledge digs into her back, his leg slotting between hers. His hand skims across her waist, the other cupping the nape of her neck.

“I guess not” he whispered, closing the distance between them. She hikes her right leg around his waist, arms looping around his neck, pushing herself even closer to him.

It is like everything clicks into place having him like this. Lips that were always made to slot against hers, finally finding their way home. His body sliding into place with hers, engulfing her in a way that she never knew could be so addicting.

He moves his attention to her neck, nipping, sucking, kissing. It feels like her body is on fire. His hand travels to grip her bottom, a faux move to readjust her position.

It’s involuntary when she whines as he detaches himself to look her in the eyes.

He squeezes her cheek twice, a confused and cautiously excited look on his face.

She bites her bottom lip, her face heats up, but her eyes never stray from his “I—uhm, I’m not wearing underwear.” She rocks against his thigh, chasing any sort of relief as her pleasure builds.

His jaw is hanging open, if Santos could see him she’d call out the ‘stupid’ expression on his face. He moves his hand just a bit further, just under the short hem of her skirt.

“Oh, you hate me” he groans.

She grabs his wrist, pushing his long fingers towards her entrance.

“I think you’ll find evidence to the — ah! — contrary” she struggles to maintain her composure as he easily pushes two digits into her, soaking and relaxed for him.

She can’t remember now why she was ever so afraid, it seemed like with everything else, nothing was difficult when it was with him. She could never lose her confidence in his hands.

“You — you are something else sweetheart,” he nudges her down onto his denim clad thigh, encouraging her to grind. He grins when he sees the dark line forming on the fabric. “I can’t believe I denied myself this for so long” he kisses her again, briefly, peppering kisses up to her temple, “didn’t think I was right, like I deserved you.”

“Mm—! Don’t, ever” she’s panting lightly between words “make a decision like that for me ever again.” She bites his earlobe, kissing down his jaw to work on his neck.

“Mel, baby, I will do anything you want for the rest of our lives, IF you leave with me right now because I’m not giving you an orgasm with Whitaker 30 feet away.”

She laughs brightly, smiling up at him as she disentangles their limbs.

“My apartment is empty, and I could really use someone to fill it.”

He shakes his head, smiling at the ground as he processes her double meaning.

“Lead the way Melibu Barbie” he lays one hand over her shoulder.

She rests her hand over his, chuckling, “oh that’s a good one!”