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stethosc0pe · 8 days ago

Text

like a stone

frank langdon x goth!reader

wc: 6k

content/warnings: MDNI/18+ NSFW, sub!langdon, canon typical gore, smut, PUSSY EATING PUSSY EATING, GET YOUR MESSY PUSSY EATING HERE, oral (f receiving), masturbating (m), possible seed planted for marking kink, landgon being desperate for that thang, eating it thru the panties, excruciatingly dialogue heavy with smut at the end, fluff, yearning, angst?, early established relationship, divorce, Frank has no kids, rehab, alcohol mention, reader is PGY-5, reader has a Buick LeSabre, reader wears all black, reader has black hair, hopefully no exclusionary language (no mention of hair texture, skin color, weight or height) except that reader has a vagina!

a/n: frank langdon is a smug little man and i feel he needs to be humbled by an intimidating woman! that woman just happens to be you, y/n Harker. named after Mina Harker (nee murray) from dracula. all of my previous fics have been about down bad men. i cannot write a dominant man. i just can’t. that is disgusting. #ToMe . reader in this fic is the boss !!!!! and he loves it !!!!

i am a goth so i made this character a goth cuz there’s not enough goth readers inserts! when u click the link to a y/n’s outfit and its like.. i would never wear that baby blue dress you have projected onto me! and i would never stutter and get flustered in front of a man!

though it is mentioned reader has black hair and a vagina, there is no specific image for her in my mind, like, no mention of size, height, or race. goths come in all different forms! oh, and all of my readers are bisexual even if not explicitly stated in the fic.

i was thinking about making a series of this, like harker x langdon. if you guys have any requests for that maybe….. haha…… idk…. bye

7:45 am

Frank Langdon watches you float through the hallways. Around central. In and out of doorways. You peek in on the cases the still-green doctors have asked you for help on. This time, it’s Whitaker. Langdon can’t hear what you say to him, he can only see the back of you and Whitaker’s perpetual, helpless, orphan-like gaze. When you back out of the room you’re leaning in on, you smile at both the patient and Whitaker reassuringly. And once you turn around and they can’t see your face anymore, your smile relaxes and fades, and the familiar furrow to your brow returns.

You have a resting bitch face. It’s chronic. You don’t frown, per se. Your eyes frown for you, slanting and squinting and making perfunctory eye contact when needed. Your eyebrows come over your eyes like rainy clouds, the left one arching up when you’re listening.

You have a darker disposition. You’ve always been that way. A loner in high school. Harder to get close to. It keeps the creeps away, you learned in your youth, so you leaned into it harder. Headphones in and angry looking. It’s habit now.

But for your patients… for the families, for the bright eyed, scared student doctors… you brighten. It’s kind. It’s conscious.

It’s so fucking… sexy.

Langdon should be helping a sickly individual, but god, he’s been distracted lately. The black hair doesnt help. The clean laundry slash faded perfume smell doesn’t help. The fitted black long-sleeve under your scrubs does not help.

He realized some time ago that he wants, so feverishly, to see that brow unfurl when he makes you laugh. To be the one you like more than anybody else.

It wasn’t romantic then. And then he was sent to rehab. He did a lot of begrudging introspection during his stay. And with your semi-frequent visits, he realized things he’d been refusing. He also got a divorce, so. That made things a little easier in some places, a little more painful in others.

You and Langdon had just gotten together. Just put a label on it. A desperate confession from him, not even six months after his divorce was finalized. He was overly tired and wearing thin. Composure lost to the wind. You took him home. Since then, he hasn’t really left your apartment. It’s been five weeks. He’s obsessed.

And now… he wants to see that brow crease again in focus when he’s got his mouth at your core.

He’s going to let the lease on his own shitty apartment run out.

You head to a computer to type something up. He’s uninterested in what. He follows you, and when you crash down into the chair, he drags another one over to you so he can be level with you. You don’t look at him. He loves it when you don’t look at him. He feels like he has to work for it.

‘I wanna fuck you.’ Frank Langdon whispers to you, front completely facing your profile, basically speaking into your ear as you type. Your head jerks, angles towards him at the abruptly vulgarity in your very sophisticated workplace. But your eyes say on the computer. You recover quickly, and that killer poker face comes back.

‘No.’

‘I want to eat you out.’

‘No.’ You don’t spare him a glance. You barely dignify him with a response. You know he’s a smooth talker, and you’ve fallen into bed at many inopportune times because of it.

He knows you a little too well by this point. He’s been with you nonstop; going from work to your apartment, from the apartment to your Buick LaSabre— which you won’t even let him drive once because you’ve seen him make a turn without slowing down— and back to work.

You were friends before, too.

You started working at Pittsburg Medical Trauma Center five years ago when Frank was still an intern and you were a second year resident transfer from a different hospital. Technically, you were his senior, being a year ahead of him. That made him competitive at first. He’d been in this ER since med school and now you show up, what– with your near perfect success rate with patients and your… arresting energy. Pfft.

Quickly, the insecurity wore off, and he stopped trying to deny that you were magnetic, like nobody else he’d ever met. It took some time to get you to friendship status. But he did. And it really, really stuck.

All there was to learn about you that he didn’t already know was how you looked naked, and how you liked your eggs in the morning.

And now, when you go home together, he follows your lead. When you get up to start getting ready for bed, he falls beside you at the sink, brushing his teeth while you pee. You pull your bedding over both of you and ensure it covers his shoulders because you like it colder in your apartment. You ask him if he’s warm enough. You don’t change the temperature for anyone, but you’ll make warm accommodations just for him.

You wake up to a clean set of scrubs set on the counter for you in the bathroom. When you come out, freshly showered, you find him already ready, pouring you both cereal. Walking up close behind him, you press your front to his back and snake your freezing hands up his scrub shirt. He jumps a little.

Getting up from your chair, you beeline for your next case. And of course, Frank bounds behind you, unable to give up. Ambition, after all, is a virtue in this industry.

‘Honey-!’ He stops in front of you so you can’t advance any further. ‘You’re killin’ me.’

Frank puts his hands out before him, palms up, in a pleading gesture. He knows he’s being unreasonable.

‘What do you want me to do? Tell me. I’ll do it.’

‘We’re at work. Your job.’ You cross your arms over your chest. It doesn’t deter him any.

‘There’s empty rooms. We could go upstairs.’ He follows your eyes with his whole head as you look around to make sure nobody has heard him and wave him a be quiet motion.

‘Don’t you have patients?’ You poke him square in the chest and start walking again. He walks backwards with you.

‘No, I have absolutely no patience when it comes to you. You smell so good.’ He says the last part as you walk past him. You hear him and break a smile he can’t see. He hopes nobody heard that. He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed once you’re around the corner and he’s thrust back into the sterile white of work again, glancing about and trying to seem busy.

You linger around him. It must be your pheromones. You think you’re ovulating.

But maybe he’s just in love.

8:30 am

‘Can you tell your guy to stop moping around like someone took his lunch money? He’s bringing down staff morale.’ Says Dana with a pitying look, peering at you over her glasses. It seems she’s dealt with men like this before.

‘Our staff doesn’t have morale.’ You raise an eyebrow. She chuckles her raspy Dana chuckle. ‘And are you sure that’s not just his face?’

‘Rich comin’ from you, Wednesday.’

9:01 am

You stare up at the screen full of patients and ailments, deciding on which one to take. Really you’re just resting a little, leaning against the counter. Frank is next to you, of course, mirroring you, watching the board all the same.

Placing your glasses on top of your head, you rub at your eyes and sigh a little. You’re nursing a migraine, and the hideaway from the fluorescents behind your eyelids is a brief respite.

‘What’s the matter?’ Frank asks from beside you, your arms touching.

‘Just… headache.’

‘I can help with that. I know a remedy for headaches.’

‘Yeah? So do I. You know I’m a doctor too, right?’

‘An orgasm. Multiple, if possible.’ You gawk at him. Your mouth opens in honest shock with the corners of your mouth upturned. You’re thoroughly amused but… he’s getting bold. To be honest, you thought he’d dropped this after the first mention.

‘Relieves migraines, better sleep, helps with cramps, and helps to satiate excited boyfriends, too.’ He goes on… and on…

‘Oh, my god.’ You shake your head in disbelief and huff a single wry laugh.

‘Let’s-’ You cover his mouth with your hand. Well, if there wasn’t enough blood pooling in his dick before…

‘If Dana hears you, I’m never gonna live it down, you caveman.’ He smiles under your hand at the name-calling. You let him go, a little bit of Langdon spit on your palm.

‘I love it when you call me that.’

You point to the board. And he follows your finger.

‘There’s sudden vomiting, diarrhea, and body aches in south sixteen. Why don’t you take that? Could be norovirus. That’s fun!’ You turn to face him and lean on the counter with your hip instead, ‘Have at it, big guy.’ You slap his shoulder with facetious encouragement.

‘It’s gastroenteritis and you know it. Y’know-‘ He huffs, ‘Why are you torturing me? Do you take pleasure in torturing me?’

‘What a stupid question.’ You say as you exhale, ‘Of course I do.’

‘Where’s Harker?’ You hear in the distance, sounding all too similar to a grumpy attending you know.

‘You’re a sadist.’ You stand up to leave and press a smooch to his lips right as he finishes talking, barely giving him time to react.

Langdon makes decisions all day.

Where to cut, when to cut.

Dosage. Pressure. Time of death. Second opinion. Hold compressions. Pull, stitch, cauterize.

How to break a less than hopeful diagnosis to the parents of a toddler.

He notices the way you operate. He trusts it. A lot of times, at home, he wants you to make the decisions. He wants to fold like tissue and collapse in your hands. He’s been an unwavering champion of the ER all day, and he wants to know that when he goes home, or is simply in your presence, he can falter, and it’ll be okay. It feels— you feel— like the safety on a pistol that’s loaded. With one in the chamber.

And, of course, you don’t mind. Because… as a woman, the world as you know it is full of men who want you to be pliant and subservient to them. Just a little dumber so they feel a little smarter.

Not him. You are wanted, badly, just as you are. And that’s offputting and ready and jaded and wry and… oftentimes the most capable person in the room.

‘Makes you a masochist, I guess. I gotta go, baby.’

11:31 am

‘Doctor Harker?’ Mel King holds the tablet, looking at your patients chart curiously. You’re palpating a gym bro’s dislocated shoulder. Feeling at the knotted and tense muscles and the misplaced joint.

‘It’s Y/N for you, Mel.’ You smile quickly at her and go back to your task, tongue peeking out the right side of your mouth in fixation on the shoulder. She smiles quickly back. She still hasn’t been able to bring herself to call anyone by their first name, although she insists on it herself. Honestly, you find it nice to know someone who defaults to being respectful. You and Mel have become fast friends, but at work she still gets a little formal sometimes.

‘Right… are you aware that Doctor Langdon has been staring at you for…’ She checks her watch. ‘Four minutes?’

‘Relax at the elbow. Good.’ You guide the patient through. You steal a glance to the outside world for a second and scan for Frank. You see him across the way at central in a swivel chair looking like he’s got nothing better to do. His elbow rests on the desk in front of him and he clicks a pen in his hand. When you meet his eyes, he doesn’t falter. You can’t really tell what’s going on in his head. Maybe he’s zoned out on you, thinking of something wildly different. He could feel threatened by the Skarsgard-looking man you’re working on. Maybe he’s ogling you. But no, it doesn’t feel like a lustful gaze at this very moment. Although, knowing him, it could turn at any second.

You think maybe he just looks for you when you’re not there. And when he finds you, he makes your visage his home. It’s comfortable.

You’ve been independent a long time now. And you haven’t been in a relationship for a long time, either. You hope to settle back into this. Being needed. Wanted. Looked for. It feels good for once.

‘Let him. He’s not bothering me.’ You brace both your hands on the guy’s wrist and shoulder. ‘Deep breath in– and… out.’ You rotate the arm up until the ball pops back into place. Your patient grunts as expected, and you’re sweating a little after holding this dude’s buff arm up for so long. Otherwise, another satisfied customer.

Mel starts to wrap up the affected shoulder to stabilize it for a little while. She realizes that this whole time she’s never actually fully fleshed out your relationship with Frank. She’s been busy. And he was at rehab for a long time. ‘Is he…? Are you guys like… enemies?’

‘While I think he’s a little upset at me right now, unfortunately he is my lover.’

You flash back to this morning. You woke up slowly together for once. You snoozed your alarm, but woke again to Frank pulling you against him and smushing his mouth lovingly to your neck and shoulder. He was steady at half-mast, his hand skated across your skin until it danced its way into your underwear and fell between your lips, pressing and circling with the precision of an ER doctor. And then… your second alarm started to buzz, vibrating the bed.

You bounded out of the bed and away from his attentive fingers. You got ready for work with some urgency now, breaking out of your momentary sex trance.

Unfortunately, Frank never left it.

‘Okay, good. Because I was getting nervous.’ Mel utters to you, a glimmer in her eyes, like she’s able to find it funny now, ‘And… unfortunately?’

“Yeah, have you met him?’

12:58 pm

Frank finds you again after you've just led a procedure that had been particularly bloody. You're washing you're hands alone, room cleaned up and ready for another case. You’re the last one out, and you seem to have forgotten to take off your viscera-splattered glasses in your absorption.

You sense the tall, warm presence behind you.

‘Sometimes I wonder how you find the time to always be exactly where I am.’ You don't turn around yet.

’Are you mad at me?’

‘Why would I be mad at you, House?’

‘You’re ignoring me.’

‘I’m not. We just can’t have sex at work. And you know that.' Now you're drying your hands off with the noisy, crinkly paper towels. 'You know, when I started working here, they told me you would blow me away with your big doctor brain.’ You chuck the paper towels in the trash.

He notices that you always seem to be doing something when he's bothering you at work. Being productive in some way. And he can't help himself but be temporarily, fully occupied by your company. You two becoming intertwined has been detrimental to his time management.

‘Oh, I’ll blow ya.’ He nods once and impishly smiles like a little-shit kid. You start making your way over to him from the sink. He has your full attention right now. It feels like a rare occurrence here so, he really feels it. Physically.

In reality, it's not a rare occurrence. He's just spoiled.

‘Is this your first time talking to a girl?’

He ignores you, nipping at your heels to get his next verbal chess move in.

‘I just like to check in. You could be the happiest woman alive and we’d never know.’

‘I am happy!’ You mock offense, hands on your hips.

‘Did you tell your face?’

‘No.’ Your hands drop from your hips in forfeit. You stalk even closer to him. You like to get up close with him. See everything. ‘And you’ll be able to detect when I’m angry.’

‘How?’ He pulls the glasses off your face and chucks them in a bin to be washed.

‘Mmm… for one, I’ll start calling you Langdon again. Like the olden days. And someone once told me that when I’m pissed off, thunder booms in the distance.’

‘Oh, yeah? I’m takin’ notes, see?’ He mimes jotting down your tips on his hand (notepad).

1:30 pm

It slows down midday, so while you’re not needed, you decide to take lunch in the staff lounge. You set out two very big red apples in front of you.

Frank saunters in, stripping off his gloves and basketball-ing them into the trash can. He slides into the chair next to you.

‘Can you start this for me?’ You gesture with the first apple.

‘Mhm.’ He bites it while it’s still in your hand, making it easier to bite on the new edges for you. You have sensitive teeth. He takes the other apple and bites it for himself, taking a big chunk.

‘I’m guessing… five-hundred IV with Zofran and sent home with Imodium? For south sixteen?’

‘I didn't take south sixteen. I took fifty-three year old acute arrhythmia and lethargy.’

‘Oh… cardioversion?’

‘…Yeah.’

Pulling out your phone, you open the New York Times app and pull your chair closer to him so he can see. You click on Connections. It’s Frank’s favorite. You personally like Strands, but you like doing Connections more if he’s there. You eat your apples together with noisy crunches and mumble ideas for the possible categories to each other.

While you hold the phone, Langdon pokes at the screen with his index, the rest of his fingers holding his apple. He solves the yellow line with ease. Starting off strong.

answer, fix, remedy, solution (ways of solving a problem)

As you think about the puzzle, you chew on the inside of your cheek and… those brows come down. He loves to watch you. You’re his favorite show. There’s something so… animalistic about you. You’re wholly yourself around him. Free of tension for the moment and elbow propped up on your knee– the respective leg of which is propped up on the seat of your chair.

You don’t fake smiles for him. You rest your face. You’re relaxed. Though you’re happy to do it for others, you don’t have to manufacture a grin around him because he’s always liked you and your angry face. And when he makes you smile, he knows it’s real. Because it’s big and toothy and accompanied by other expressions. When you don’t want to laugh at what he said because it’s so stupid, but you do, and your eyebrows draw together and peak up in disbelief as if to say you’re lucky you’re pretty. When he compliments you and the smile rises to your face slowly like you’re fighting it.

He likes making you break a smile. But he likes the rest too. He loves that furrowed brow. That’s what makes this— you, together— so easy.

You solve the blue line: eraser, eyedropper, lasso, magic wand (photoshop tools)

‘D’you… still have a headache?’

Your mouth cracks open into a big laugh, dying down into little giggles after a few seconds, shoulders shaking. It’s funny to you because it feels like a stand-up comedy call back. It feels like he’s been sitting on that one, waiting for the right time. You took a migraine pill hours ago and it’s since been forgotten, but he doesn’t know that. You sigh with a Hmmmm in the afterglow of the laughter. Your eyes crease hard and your cheeks dust pink, raised higher by your grin. You’re leaning into the moment and its warmth. You rest your head in your hand and look at him for what feels like a long time. You pin him with your gaze like you’re thinking hard. He feels paralyzed.

Looking at him is nice. Usually, on busy days, the majority of the times you see each other are blurry shapes you think are Frank. He’s still and steadfast in front of you now. It helps that he’s pretty. You’ve never been one for blue eyes, but… they don’t look empty on him. It helps that without the obvious sex appeal, you really do love being with him. He was a good friend. He’s a good boyfriend. He’s a great doctor.

It helps that there’s nothing sexier in the whole wide world than a funny man.

It helps that you like him more than anyone else.

‘Go…’ He readies himself for another no, and prepares to pout. ‘…find a room. I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?’

‘Really?’

‘Go.’

He walks out of the room with his fist held high like Bender at the end of The Breakfast Club.

1:38 pm

Coming out of the stairwell, you enter the hospitals empty wing. It’s quiet, you knew it’d be quiet, but it shocks you every time. One or two of the lights in the long hallway flickers. It’s kinda setting the mood for you.

You continue on, trying to figure out where Frank could be, and he appears in the doorway to your right.

‘Well, hello.’ He says, leaning against the doorway with an endearing, faux-debonair voice. He can barely contain his excitement, a big smile peeking out. You approach him with your arms crossed over your chest, all guarded from the neck down, but your eyes are soft and you’re definitely, visibly in love. You take your hair down.

Once you’re within a foot of him he grabs your hands and pulls you backwards into the room with him. He crashes his lips down to yours in a kiss that you would expect mid-make out session. Not the appetizer. But he's already there. He's been there.

‘You’re so annoying. But I really do love you.’ You say, and he's got his hands cradling your face with barely any pressure at all, but enough to tilt your head up a bit to expose your neck and shoulder. He drags his mouth all along your jaw, and you smile and out comes a broken laugh because it's such a wet, tickly kiss. Your hands cover his where he holds you, squeezing.

‘Mm- love you.’ Says he, with his hands under both of your shirts and his voice dampened by your neck. ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about you.’

‘Couldn’t stop thinking about me or her?’ You pointed straight down to your vagina, weeping a little already at the thought of what’s to come.

‘Yes.’ He rushes out, cupping the her you speak of. He feels the warmth of your core and he can’t believe it’s real, that he convinced you finally to fuck him at work.

Langdon drops down to his knees and his hands slide around to the back of your thighs. He opens his mouth and bites the loose end of the bow of your pants drawstrings. He looks up at you like he's being knighted by a monarch.

‘Jesus Christ, Frank.’

He pulls it apart with his teeth until it gives, and when it does he hooks one finger into each side of your scrub pants and drags them down slowly. He looks at you the whole while, your idle hands becoming ambulatory by carding them through his hair. His eyelashes only flutter then.

‘Call me Langdon.’ He’s stopped his ministrations, looking at you expectantly. You stay silent, smiling down at him, and he thinks you aren’t gonna throw him this bone.

‘Fuck, you’re mean.’

‘Langdon.’ You give in, calling to him adoringly. There’s only so much you can deny to a man like this.

Langdon lets out a Mmh, muffling as he presses his mouth and nose over your panties. Those grey, cotton, brief-cut panties. You have a cutesy black lace pair. He’s seen them in your laundry. And even though you’ve been having sex nearly everyday, you still don’t feel the need to put them on. You know he just wants you like this. Comfortable.

Or maybe you don’t care at all. The panties are going to come off anyways.

He licks you through your briefs, making the grey material darker with his wet tongue. He moves against your pussy like he’s kissing your mouth.

‘Lay down.’ Frank says when he can pull himself away, and you find yourself on the forgotten-about hospital bed that comes with the room. You sit midway on the bed, and he tugs you down to the edge by your thighs, leaving you laying half diagonal across the bed. You let an Oof!

Your legs have nowhere to sit until he’s kneeling and plants himself between your thighs. He puts them on either side of his head. He’s been activated, the moment snapped open, and he’s like a dog off his leash.

He's dragging his tongue and teeth up one thigh and down the other, leaving wet trails. You take the opportunity to sit up a little and pull his shirt up his back until he shrugs it off. When he returns to his ministrations on your thighs, he uses his unoccupied hand that's not holding your thigh to his mouth to thumb your cleft, still clothed, top to bottom.

He's had a smile since you took his shirt off. You admire the long, still red scratches that go all the way down to mid-spine. You really did a number on him last night. The thought is abandoned as he starts dragging your panties down your legs, watching them stick to your wet core. Once they're not touching your center anymore, he pulls them off quickly. They are thrown over his shoulder, discarded somewhere in the dusty room.

You thank your past self for always packing extra underwear everywhere you go.

‘How could you just leave me in bed like that? Don’t you have any idea what you do to me?’ He looks up at you from his station, pupils blown wide with lust, ‘How fucked up I am about you?’

‘M’sorry. Didn’t know it was so bad.’

He licks a wide, deep, pressing stripe up your cunt. You sigh in pleasure, a little sound catching in your vocal chords. He lavishes you freely in this. With others, Frank had been known to be a teasing lover, but with you, he wanted it now. He wanted to do it now.

‘It’s really bad.’ He moans out.

One of your hands is stable at the back of his head, one keeping your shirt up above your navel. He takes the latter and places it on his naked shoulder.

‘Touch me.’ He asks of you. He is so fucking horny, cracked wide open and all apart, unable to hold anything in. You start to move. Hands carding through that hair you love so much. Fingers scraping at all the skin you can reach, letting him know you’re there. You have what he needs, and you’ll give it when he truly, wantonly needs it. And when you deem it right. You let your nails drag along him, but you make sure your fingers fall to their pads when you reach his back, dancing with attentive pressure. He’s hurt there. In a good way. Red lines decorate him. Up and down and diagonal and horizontal. They’re only superficial. You won’t leave any scars.

He’ll heal, and he’ll ask for it again.

But for now, you will relent. You will put your claws away.

‘So pretty… oh, my god.’ You purr in pure admiration, unable to resist telling him. He loves, loves, loves it. Keep talking, his actions say. He gathers a good amount of your slick from the depths of your pussy with his tongue and sends it back down his throat, and he looks up at you through his eyebrows, eyes flitting back and forth, looking at you like you're doing something equally vulgar. And he's got a trail of your slick down his chin. You try not to let your eyes close.

The sight of him, the sight of that…

'You're demented.' You whisper. You love it. You love him more for it.

You tug his hair to pull him up and let your legs fall off his shoulders so you can kiss him stupid. Your hands cradle his face, and he braces himself on the bed. You can taste yourself on him. Skin and sweat and salt and highly recognizable sweet.

He gives a clipped moan at your mouth against his. It feels like a reward. And it is, you’re pulling him away from where you need him most just to show him pure and altruistic affection. His tongue goes into your mouth and your spit is mixing. His mouth tastes like pussy. You’ve eaten pussy before, it’s a specific thing, but you can almost see yourself from his point of view right now.

He really is good to you. Like syrup, sweet and stuck to you.

‘More.’ You lay back down and your fingers wrap into his hair and you place him back where he fits perfectly as you arch your back in anticipation. Your heartbeat thrums warmly. He returns dutifully.

There is no complaint from him, only a Fuck, Y/N and pussy-drunk whimpers. Your thighs go back around his head— to where they belong. He lowers back down and gestures back and forth with his head, burying his face and tongue back in where they were before, like he’s making up for the lost time spent kissing you. He licks and licks and licks you. Mouth going deep and then tending to your clit, sucking and circling and covering it fully with his tongue and then nudging it lovingly with his nose when he’s gone back lower.

It’s almost already over for him, really. He’s been strangely tolerant of the straining fabric over his bulge. For a while now, he’s been humping at the air, desperate for friction from his pants. But he dives deeper into the black, chases you there. One of Frank’s hands leaves your thigh and you let it. Because he’s being so thorough and good.

He touches himself rough and harsh. He fucks his fist over and over again. He tears his tongue out of you just to drop spit and slick on his cock and hand. He goes right back to you.

This is a wet, disgusting, sex-addled display of together and us and make me feel good, please.

You call to him, Langdon, quiet but loud enough so you know he can hear it over the wet eating of you. Those brows are coming down hard over squeezed shut, dark eyes, and it’s the nail in his coffin.

‘Langdon.’ Your hips start to move of their own accord and you grip his hair, putting him in the exact right place. Over and over. Nose pressing against your clit and his entire mouth covering the rest of you, lapping and vicious.

Holy fuck, yes. Hold me here. Let me die. Wear those cotton underwear to my funeral.

Touch yourself on my grave.

In between blinks and closed eyes, you try to steal glances of him when you can. And it’s almost too much. He’s started fucking you with his tongue so, he’s buried in there. You can only see that hair you love so much, and those eyes.

‘Oh, god.’ You utter to yourself.

And of course, he's been watching you too. More than you have him. It's what he's been asking for this whole time. He hopes and half-knows that he's the only one to ever make you feel this good. Your hair is splayed out on the bed beneath you and it'll be a fuckin' mess when he's done. He reaches out with one hand and paws at your abdomen, the side of your boob, your sternum, the plush of your belly.

‘Yeah… M’yeah, mmph-‘ He croons against your cunt, voice muddled and dripping in you as he's currently fucking you with his tongue. Under your hands, to can feel his jaw contracting and releasing to swallow you whole.

You feel like you’re being swallowed whole.

‘You gonna come?’ He manages to moan out when he feels your cunt start to flutter like rain. Hoping the answer is yes, yes, yes.

‘You’re so smart, baby.’ You poke at him breathlessly as best you can, voice raspy with pleasure. It only spurs him on.

‘Yeah?’

After that, you can’t make out his words anymore. Some seem to be yes’s and fuck’s and some are just guttural sounds, but they’re in the tone and volume that you’re sure he’s about to make a mess of himself.

You think to yourself that this really feels like love. He’s so deep in your most vulnerable, sensitive parts right now. And you’re not even halfway through a twelve hour shift, rings around your eyes from your sleepless profession. Your hair has been up all day until now and it’s been years since you could be bothered to put on makeup. And he’s in there. It feels like love.

Everyone’s greatest fear, at the end of the day, is that they won’t be deemed adequate. And when you get like this, it’s glaringly obvious that you’re both so far beyond adequate to each other.

‘Stay there- right there-‘

Frank Langdon hopes to a god he doesn't believe in that you'll say his name again.

‘Langdon-‘ Frank comes then and there, aligning your cry with a final thrust into his fist. He moans and raves and grunts into you, the vibrations of his voice sending you over the edge. And you can hear him down there enjoying himself thoroughly, loudly. Which only gets you there faster. You rock yourself over his face one last time, and then you’re finally there, sent swimming into the deep dark behind your eyes, twitching and tensing in bodily elation as you always do. As he always brings upon you.

Frank paints his hand and lower abs in come. Aforementioned abs are stuttering and clenching. Your collective sweat and your slick and his come. Just everywhere.

His face stays stationary as you fuck yourself through your own orgasm, but it’s not like he could easily move away with your climax-induced iron grip on his hair. And he’s still got a hold of his cock, barely stroking now but wanting to eke out the last licks of pleasure he can.

You're both panting and wracked with aftershocks. Becoming still after an orgasm tears through you while your heart still pounds hard is a hell of a feeling.

He stays on his knees, not wanting to move yet. He rests the side of his face against your knee, back hunched in relaxation, tension gone and forgotten.

There’s a close, warm moment. Like you’re bound together by a heavy blanket that covers you both. There’s heat from bodies and cool air from the vents. You both feel like you could fall asleep right now. And that makes it all the more intimate, knowing that when you go home, you will fall asleep together.

‘I’ve never had anybody go down on me so much.’ You speak into the quiet, caressing the back of his neck.

‘Anything to say about the quality, or just the quantity?’

‘You’re the Pitt’s leading cunnilinguist.’

‘Thanks.’

You straighten yourselves up to go back to work, a little hazy but satisfied. You look over to find him wet from nose to chin.

‘You’ve got pussy all over your face.’ You try to wipe the bottom half of his face off with your hand, fussing over him, and you barely get to his bottom lip.

‘Stop! That’s mine, I earned that!’ He protests, shooing you away.

In your house, I long to be

Room by room, patiently

I'll wait for you there like a stone

I'll wait for you there alone, alone

my requests are open!

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