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lunarfuneral · 10 days ago

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Kingdon + things you said when you were drunk :))

read on ao3 or below :)

Mel didn’t love Lawrenceville.

Especially not on a Friday night. The streets swell with people and noise bubbles over from every bar and restaurant along Butler. From the river, the breeze sweeps through, at least helping to cool the late summer air.

But Trinity had asked, and asked, and then pleaded. “But it’s emo night,” she’d whined, paired with her best puppy dog eyes. “We need more people! Samira’s going, Huckleberry … we still have to celebrate when I held a heart in my hands on our first day, remember?”

That was only two weeks ago, and she felt like Trinity had been playing a game even in the short amount of time that had passed—who could get Mel out to the bars? But she does want to make friends, so she’d agreed, much to Trinity’s delight.

“Yes! Mel’s coming to Belvedere’s! Oh my god, Melvedere's,” she’d cheered, laughter loud in the break room.

Belvedere’s is packed. She’s only been there a few times before, a music night here and there, karaoke once with some girls from college. Trinity heads straight for the bar, taking everyone’s order and insisting the first round’s on her. Mel holds off on drinks until they’ve already found a good spot in the room with the pool tables and danced to a few songs. Samira lets Trinity twirl her around to Fall Out Boy while Mel heads to the bar and orders one of the only things she didn’t hate the taste of.

She's only the one green tea shot in when she spots him at a table near the end of the bar, head hung low.

He's wearing a white shirt and dark pants. She can't believe he's here. She'd looked for him again at the end of their first shift together to say goodbye, but he was nowhere to be found. Just like the next shift. Then the next. When she asked, all they'd tell her was that he'd be taking an extended leave of absence. Everyone around her was tight-lipped, no matter who—or how many times—she asked.

She guesses it's true what they say: Pittsburgh's a small city, even if it doesn't seem like it. You never know who you'll run into.

"Oh! Dr. Langdon!" She makes her way through the throng, brushing against the people waiting in line for the bar. There's two empty chairs next to him at the table, each with a beer standing unattended. He's facing away from her, looking down into his half empty glass.

"Dr. Langdon?" she tries to repeat gently, but he still can't hear her over the DJ and drunken crowd singing along. She gets closer, taps on his shoulder lightly, and can't help the way her stomach flips when she feels his warm skin under his shirt.

Startled, he turns to her, before breaking into a smile. "Mel!" She goes red at just her name. She likes the way he says it, like he'd been waiting all night to see her. So bright.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, looking around, like he’s shocked she's in a bar.

Mel tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She'd worn it down, and she's suddenly very glad she did. She watches him watch her, following her hand until it rests back at her side. The same one she tapped his shoulder with, still tingling.

"Oh, uh." She doesn't want to tell him other people from work are here. She wants to keep talking to him, just them. "It's emo night."

"You like emo night," he says disbelievingly and straightens up. The light catches him, and Mel can see his face clearly now. Under the purple lights, he looks pallid, red-eyed and disheveled. His movements are slow, sluggish—she realizes that can't be his first beer. Or second.

“Are you feeling okay, Dr. Langdon?” Mel frowns. Something is different about him. He looks flushed, and while it is warm in the bar, his hand shakes slightly around his glass, indicating another cause. His fingers tap, tap, tap on the rim, a strange contrast to how steady they’d been, how competently he curled them, setting the Le Fort III fracture. Every few moments, his eyes flit somewhere else, unsteady.

“Yeah, yeah, just out with some—” he shrugs, sloppy, “uh, friends of mine. Some guys I know from undergrad.” He’s leaning heavily against the table.

“Okay,” she says, locking her hands together to squeeze her own fingers. Mel’s never been one to be able to hold something in, not something that’s been bothering her every day for the past two weeks, so she has to ask, especially when he seems so excited to see her now, “Why haven’t you been back to work?” Why didn’t you say goodbye? Why did you say you needed me if you weren’t going to come back?

He groans and leans forward. The table sways, threatening to spill the beers.

“Mel, I fucked up. I—I hurt my back, right? And it’s not like I’m an addict, I just was trying to manage my pain, you know?” The music is so loud and people keep streaming through the door. She has to step forward, crossing over into Langdon’s space. He looks her up and down as she does with his bloodshot eyes.

“It was just a few pills. Overprescribe some benzos, take a couple … just to manage my own symptoms. I swear, Mel, you have to believe me.”

Oh, she immediately understands, this is withdrawal. That’s what she sees under the inebriation—the panic setting in, nausea soon to come, tremors and palpitations and headache. He’s in an active medical emergency.

“We need to go to the hospital,” she says automatically. He needs help, now.

“No, no, Mel, I don’t want to detox there—I only stopped a day ago, it’s going to get so much worse, oh my god. I still haven’t told Abby, I haven’t told anyone. I thought getting hammered was a—” he laughs, and Mel doesn’t know why, “a good idea. I’m a fucking doctor and I don’t know what to do.” He’s practically leaning off the table into her by now. She can smell him, nicotine and sweat and beer, but also something she recognizes from her first day, and she wants to bend down and breathe him in deep. “Please,” he says, looking up at her.

She hasn’t heard him beg before.

There’s never been a time in her life where she didn’t at least try to do the right thing. She shouldn’t listen to him. She should take him to the hospital to get the proper care. She should call his wife, maybe even Dr. Robby. She doesn’t want to imagine what would happen if she doesn’t help. He’s in crisis, spiraling, desperate and scared.

She’ll take him home.

That’s still close enough to the right thing, she reasons. She’s a doctor, she can help. She’ll monitor his symptoms. Better her than his absent friends, than any of their coworkers or superiors. Better than his wife.

His friends choose then to return, loudly talking as they come to the table. Mel flinches at all the noise, heat spreading out from her chest, feeling like everything is closing in. Before they leave, she needs a minute. She’s going to take Frank Langdon home and she suddenly feels that green tea shot in her stomach and the past few nights where she thought of him come rushing up and she needs a fucking minute.

“Hey, Frank, who’s your friend?” one asks, smiling at Mel.

She doesn’t let Langdon answer.

“Can you watch him for a minute, please?”

His friend frowns but acquiesces. Mel rounds the bar and heads to the bathroom. She doesn’t bother telling Trinity she’s leaving—she doesn’t want to explain it and she doesn’t want to lie, not right now. She figures she’ll text them later once she can come up with something to say other than I’m going to take Dr. Langdon home because he’s about to start benzodiazepine withdrawal.

When Mel comes back from the bathroom, Langdon isn't with his friends, and the rest of his beer is gone.

"Where did Dr. Langdon go?" Mel asks, alarmed to find his seat empty.

One of his friends—she can't remember his name—shrugs and looks around the room. "He probably went to get some air. Or a cigarette."

Mel wasn't sure what kind of friends Langdon had, but she knows he needs better ones than these. She doesn't try to find their coworkers, just heads out the door into the crisp night air. There are a few people near the front door smoking, but Langdon isn't one of them.

Her nerves get the best of her and she jogs down the street towards the gas station. She doesn’t see his white shirt among the people walking, not in any direction on the corner. When she goes back the other way, she turns down the block and thankfully finds him there against the building, eyes closed, trying to take deep breaths with a hand to his chest and the other holding him up off the ground where he’d knelt.

He’s in bad shape. She can’t believe they were both at Belvedere’s, what were the odds? She also can’t believe she’s seeing him like this, and that he needs her again, begging her in his weakest moment.

She bends down and says his name in a low, quiet voice. He reaches for her out of nowhere, wrapping her wrist in his big hand.

"Mel, please," he gasps, holding onto her wrist hard. "Don't make me go home, please. I think I’m going to be sick. I came out here—I don’t—I don’t know where to go. I don't want to see her—" he stops himself and groans. "I don't want my kids to see this."

She doesn't want his kids to see him like this, either. She doesn't want anyone to see him like this. She wants to be the only one. He won't let his wife see, won't let his friends—but she's here with him, crouching in front of him on the corner of Butler and Fisk, and he's letting her see.

“Frank,” she assures, “it’s okay. I won’t make you go home.”

He opens his eyes and meets her gaze. He looks incredible, sweating through his shirt and swaying, all gaunt and afraid, on the verge of spilling over onto the sidewalk.

“We can go to my place. I can take care of you there.”

The look he gives her is full of gratitude and swollen blood vessels.

She orders the Uber and waits with him on the ground while people pass by, zig zagging along the sidewalks drunkenly. He mostly just tries not to be sick on the concrete while she keeps watch, checking for the car. When it comes, she pulls him up bodily, relishing the way he feels against her, grabbing him greedily, delighting in the way his cool skin feels against her warm palm.

Mel sits with him in the backseat and lets him lean into her, head lolling against her chest, while he mumbles and clutches at her side. The however-many beers he had, and god knows what else, must be really hitting him. He’s all loose, curled into her. "I just ... I wanted to see you," he slurs, spitting along her jean jacket as he moves. "Couldn’t stop thinking about you. I wanted—"

It's all he gets out before the Uber pulls up to her place. Mel wants so badly to ask what he means—she thought about him too, lots of times, especially at work, wondering where he was, or in her bedroom, late at night—and she goes warm imagining that he did too.

Langdon can barely keep his eyes open and head up as they stumble to her door. She doesn’t have time to let it sink in that Langdon is in her house. Her living room, then kitchen, then bathroom. That’s three rooms already that she’s going to walk through, remembering that he’d been there, and there, and there.

He scrambles out of her grasp when she opens the bathroom door. Moonlight streams in through the small window by her sink and illuminates him as he falls to the floor and reaches for the toilet bowl. The pale light catches off his ring when he grips the porcelain tight. Violently, he shakes and pitches forward.

Mel should leave him be. She wouldn't want anyone seeing her in that state, let alone a coworker, let alone someone she barely knew. He wasn’t in the right state of mind. She should turn around and close the door and check on him once he quiets.

But he's so frenzied, everything tense, fingers like claws, back arched and head bent, making sounds he can't help, fighting against something he can't control. Slowly, she steps up behind him to place a gentle, cool hand on his hot back, a touch he rises to meet. His back is damp with sweat as she rubs it, soothing circles while she coos, tells him it's okay, it's okay, mapping out his straining muscles as he falls sick over and over.

This is what he’d look like straining, panting, thrusting forward, chasing it, oh—

"I'm sorry, Mel," he whimpers, "oh, god." It takes him again, and again, and again. She wants to slide down behind him and press herself to his back; he wouldn't be able to throw her off. He'd probably lean back into her, grateful for the comfort, and she'd let him rest there against her chest for as long as he needed. She could gather him up, keep him, right there on her bathroom floor.

Her face flushes and she straightens. Pulling her hand away, already missing the feel of him, she says, "I'll be back," and rushes for her hall closet.

She grabs a washcloth for him, a cold compress would help, she thinks, but all she can hear is the sound of his retching interspersed with pained moans. The back of her neck is hot. Her jean jacket feels too tight, so she strips down to her t-shirt, light purple, like their first day.

She stops short of going back into the bathroom, deciding rather to stand with her back up against the wall next to the door. She can hear him so well. She just wants to listen, just for a moment.

Unable to help herself, she slides her hand down the front of her pants and grinds the heel of her palm against her clit, biting her lip to stay quiet. Hungry, starving—she listens to the way he breathes, so heavily in her silent house, quiet enough she can hear the clink of his wedding ring hitting the bowl.

Devouring each long, drawn out gag, she grinds down again in a circle, imagining how it would sound if she were underneath him, if maybe he were inside—

She dips the tip of her fingers between her lips, feeling how wet it makes her just to listen to him.

Shaking, she tries to go deeper, when she hears him say her name.

“Mel?” he calls with a hoarse voice. He sounds like a child, lost somewhere unfamiliar. “Mel, please come back, I’m sorry, please—I need—” He whines so high it sounds like a cry.

She wants him so badly. He needs her, he’s begging for her. She takes her hand from her pants, cunt still throbbing, and goes back into the room.

She gets down on the floor with him, letting him know she’s there. He’s leaning his head against his arm, resting. His back rises and falls with his rapid, fearful breaths, and she moves in close on her knees, nearly whining when his back finally meets her chest. Sweat soaks through immediately and she can feel the dampness on her breasts.

“I’m scared, Mel,” Langdon admits, voice muffled by his arm. She has no idea what he’s been doing since his last shift. Apparently, lying to his wife and going on benders, but otherwise she can’t begin to guess. Something tells her, though, that he doesn't have many people in his corner. She’s the one that caught him running scared, trying to hide from the hard part.

“I won’t let anything happen,” she soothes. She watches his pulse jump in his neck and tucks her face against it. She is still so wet and warm between her legs. His breathing picks up, each inhale shorter and shorter, while it builds in him. This is just the beginning. Five or so more days of this lay ahead of him. Mel’s not sure what’s going to happen, but she’d like to be there for it. Her heart races thinking about it, so covetous. “Frank, I’m here.”

When he tenses again, she’s right there. His neck stresses and bows. She follows him when he goes forward again, staying close, and she feels it come up his throat, feels the way his esophagus clenches and releases right against her cheeks, and he spasms and bucks like some wild animal, so Mel slides her hand around to his stomach, trying to ease him. He jumps and twitches at her touch, in a different way than before. He’s still pitched over the toilet, but he doesn’t shy away from her hand, rather moving his hips forward like he’s searching for her touch.

As a doctor, Mel’s seen countless people on the worst day of their lives. She wonders if this is Langdon’s. While he throws up with her writhing in tandem with him on the floor, following his movements, not shying away, showing him I’m here, I’m as close as I can be, I won’t look away, she wonders if his wife would. Had he tried to show her, and she looked away?

The thought nearly makes her whimper. She might be the only one.

Langdon calms again, sagging back against her. She still has the washcloth she grabbed from the closet. She doesn’t want to, but she gently peels herself from him, cool rushing in and prickling her chest. She moves him slowly, easing him back against the wall, sitting him up. Quickly, Mel wets the cloth in the sink, squeezing out the excess and folding it nicely.

She wipes his face softly, brushes the hairs sticking to his cheeks out of the way. He’s so out of it, puke on his lips and letting her move him like a rag doll. Mel takes him in, looking at him over her glasses, thinking—he’s the most beautiful he’s ever been, she knows. She wants to kiss him, she wants to devour him fucking whole. She puts the rag down and she picks at his soaked shirt, skitters her fingers down to his pants and doesn’t think as she undoes the button. Then the zipper, loud even under Langdon’s breathing. Mel’s heart pounds in her chest. She’s never done anything like this before, ever. She’s never wanted to. Frank Langdon makes her want to.

He lets her slide his pants and underwear down to the middle of his thighs, trapping him there.

He’s sick. She’s a doctor. She’s going to take care of him.

She leans down and takes him in hand and she’s surprised to find him already getting hard, growing in her palm. He’s slumped against the wall, eyes nearly closed, but he’s looking at her, a pinched look on his face while he tries not to get sick again, and he doesn’t stop her.

He’s big, but it’s not like Mel could compare it to anything. She’d thought it would be, though, and her mouth waters knowing she’d been right. It was the way his voice was deep and gentle in the break room, the way he spun around to talk to her, how he’d looked at her when she noticed he’d come back, all confidence, all ease, riding the ER like it was nothing. She’d known.

In the pale light, she can see how red he is, so swollen. She lowers herself until her chin bumps the tip of him and she makes note of every detail, unwilling to let any of this go. She’s going to remember everything about him. There’s a thick trail of hair leading from under his shirt to surround his cock, dark and full. He has a mole on his left thigh, far up where the hair thins out over his delicate skin.

She leans down and kisses it and his legs jump a little, just so. Sweat salty on her lips, she opens up and slips his cock into her mouth, closing around his head right away.

For something she’s never done before, she immediately knows she wants to do it again. He twitches then, still moving like molasses, but he thrusts up with a little groan, and Mel sinks down further, thrilled, wishing she could touch herself, too. He fills up her entire mouth, curving with her tongue down her throat, and she gags around him, spit slipping down the length of him. She grips him at the base, getting a better handle on him.

“Mel,” he moans, alert enough now that he’s fully opened his eyes, still bloodshot, still blue. “What are you—that feels so good,” he pants. She lights up at his voice, curling her toes and flexing her hands. “Please, fuck.”

He’s said please for her so many times tonight. Langdon may be starting his withdrawal, but Mel’s only starting her addiction, she thinks. She’s never going to stop chasing the way that word sounds in his voice, directed at her, needing her.

With buzzing ears, cotton-filled, hazy, she starts a rhythm, up and down, slow but sure. She likes the flutter of her throat when she chokes, and so does he, pressing his back into the wall to push closer into her, arching up. His hand messily tangles in her hair, holding her head, wedding ring cool on her scalp, and moves his thumb back and forth sweetly. So grateful, all in the palm of her hand.

“Baby,” he slurs, the word dripping out like honey.

Mel moans around him, so pleased, so happy to be the one with him, the one he’s calling baby, the one he’s surrendering himself to, limbs pliant and cock hard. He shakes when she does. She swallows around him, trying to put him all in her mouth, because he really seems to like it.

She slides her legs out underneath her, laying on her stomach in front of him, the cold tile giving her goosebumps across her skin. It’s easier this way to go deeper, press down as far as she can go until she can’t breathe. She can’t take it all just yet, but she tries her best, and she thinks she’ll be able to work up to it. He doesn’t seem to mind at all, torn between his pleasure and being sick, stuck somewhere in between.

He moves his hand down to cup her neck as she moves quicker, getting messier and messier, spit wetting her knuckles and leaking down her chin.

“Baby,” he says again, more of a warning. She doesn’t move away. She doesn’t know what it’ll be like, but she doesn’t care, she just wants him.

Everything pulses, and she feels him come in her mouth, so warm. She keeps her hand on him as she swallows, drinking him down, until he’s whimpering.

When she looks up and wipes her chin, he’s smiling at her. She likes his smile. She likes everything about him, even if she doesn’t really know anything. Other than how kind he was to her, how he found her across the ER, how quickly he understood her.

“Mel,” he muses, mystified. The moonlight cuts across his face, glimmering like little stars over the sheen of sweat on his cheeks.

This isn’t over, not by a long shot. They’ve barely crossed the startling line. He’s going to be sick again, probably soon. It’s going to get so much worse before it gets better.

“Can I stay with you? Mel, I can’t go home. I really can’t.”

His voice is so ragged and tired. She can’t get enough. It doesn’t matter why he can’t go home. Nothing matters except he’s here with her, sick all down his shirt, splayed out, all hers. She has never wanted something more in her entire life. She would never say no to him.

She doesn’t know how any of this is going to work. She doesn’t know what will happen in the morning when his wife starts to wonder where he is. Or what she’ll do about Becca for the weekend, or what she’ll tell Trinity. But none of that really matters. Not when Langdon asks her so sweetly, so weakly, on her floor, just looking for some mercy, for her gentle hand, her eager mouth.

“Yes, as long as you need,” she says, heart breaking open, “I’m here.”

Especially when no one else is.

She’ll be there.

#this is for me and milky straight up. so anon im sorry if you arent freaked out in this manner lmfao #dubcon warning btw. AND VOMIT #the pitt #kingdon #langdonmel #ask #anon #ask meme #THANK YOU!#im famously very bad at dialogue sorryyyyy :)#also i was rly impatient i wanted to get to the puking ok #whoever was complaining about how certain people hc mel well you better not click on this babe you wont like it whoever you are #mutual manipulation believer here so i do think langdon would def play it up so mel takes care of him Like That again #ok. im gna go get stoned and try not to check this 800 times #my fic

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