t1erradelfuego - Tumblr blog

t1erradelfuego · 9 hours ago

Text

Daddy

Drabble that turned into 7,900 words

Title: Daddy

Summary: Written for #callhimdaddaddyandfather

Millie gets hurt. Mel makes choices.

Explicit. Mel/Langdon.

William, Mel’s silver fox ex-boyfriend swung by the Pitt on a Thursday, dropping off two huge boxes of Steelers merch for her to share with Pediatrics. He lingered before he left, touching Mel’s elbow, a reminder, hey, I’m here, and Mel didn’t think anyone noticed, but that night at the bar, Santos liquored her up and demanded to know the whole story.

“Are you sleeping with Steelers guy?” Santos asked, somewhat demurely, after a single drink.

“No,” Mel said. Frank sat next to her in the bar and touched her knee with his hand, and then drew it back like he’d been stung. She took a sip of her cosmo. “Nope,” she shook her head. No sleeping.

Santos twisted her mouth, and dropped it, until the second round, when she got more bold. “You fucking him, I mean?” Santos asked, voice raised over the hum of the bar. Frank touched her leg again, this time her thigh and Mel glanced at him, confused.

Was she fucking him? “No.” Mel said. “None of that.”

Santos nearly exploded at her, her mouth twisting open in a huge smile, like she’d cracked Mel’s code. “He’s fucking you.”

“Sometimes,” Mel said. Frank choked on her non alcoholic beer. “You okay?” Mel asked as he coughed. She patted his back so he could clear it.

“Mel King. Didn’t know you had it in you,” Santos said, and Mel shrugged and took another long sip of her drink. “He’s what, fifty?”

“Fifty five, I think.” Mel said. She couldn’t remember. Still hot, though. Uncut dick, felt great in her mouth. She sipped her drink again, distracted. She really wished she had the social skills to pick up a cute boy to bring home. She hadn’t had sex in ages. Maybe that’s what William picked up on, her wound a little too tight.

“And you’re not seeing each other.” Santos said. “Not regularly.”

“He’s got a long term girlfriend,” Mel explained. Also, totally mismatched on kinks. He wanted to tie her up, she got waves of claustrophobia from her too-tight jeans. Didn’t work, long term. At Santos’s shocked expression, she continued. “Oh, no it’s not—they have to be in the mood for that.”

Frank pulled at her, “Okay, okay, enough,” he said. “You’re drunk, let’s get you home.”

“No I’m not,” Mel said, pushing him off. “I’ve had two drinks.” She studied his face, totally red. “Was it something I said?”

“Yes, Mel, Jesus Christ can you please not?” Frank said, wiping his face with his hands.

“No–let her go,” Santos said. “I need to hear more about these threesomes.”

“She tells us everything,” Mel said, because Santos really did get into excruciating detail about her sex life with Garcia. “It’s only fair.” Besides, who really cared about it, anyway.

“You said–” He huffed out, totally flustered. “You said you have very high sensory needs.” He glanced at Santos, and then back to Mel, like they were hitting some kind of secret code.

“Oh. Yes,” Mel said. “His are even higher, so–” she glanced at Santos. “Doesn’t really work for me.”

“But he’s like, normal?” Santos said.

That caused Mel to clam up, a lightning strike of embarrassment cresting over her. “Actually, can you drive me home?” She asked Frank.

“Oh come on,” Santos said. “I’m being nice, I mean it.”

Frank grabbed her by the hip. “Yeah, let’s go.”

“Don’t be such a sourpuss,” Santos called. “You’re absolutely no fun. Unless there’s two of us? You wanna have a go with me and Garcia?”

“No,” Mel said, “definitely not.”

Frank paid their tab at the bar, which Mel didn’t even pretend to object to this time. It made her insides melt like warm butter, and she glanced at his strong forearms as he rested on the bar, and thought about what it would be like to have him holding her down, fucking into her perfect– and then the bartender handed back his receipt and Mel shook the thought off. She really just needed to get back out there, and that would solve everything.

Frank drove her home in silence, quieter than usual.

“You okay?” Mel asked as they pulled up to her building. “You can come up, if you want.” Becca would be there, a movie would already be playing, popcorn popped.

“Here I was thinking you didn’t date,” Frank said. He glanced up to watch the light in her apartment, Becca’s shadow moving back and forth.

“I don’t. I don’t have time,” Mel said. She’d met William at a Country Club while playing a round with her former Sugar Daddy, who’d moved back to New York during her R1 year at the VA. William had always come up to her, said hello, drew her in with stories of his work with the Steelers. And when he’d found out she very much wasn’t the daughter of her golf partner, he’d gotten her number, subtle, from the proshop. They’d fucked after the very first date, where he took her to a Micihlin standard place and offered to pay her electricity bill ($250/month). He upped it to rent after she blew him ($1550/month), and off they’d gone, on a twisty, six month fling until it became very clear that the rope and bondage thing would very much be a dealbreaker.

“But you have time to go to the Superbowl.”

Mel beamed. So fun. William did all the PR and communications for the team. She got to go to the private staff box and eat canapes and then be scissored by William’s beautiful girlfriend in the hotel suite afterward. She’d met Aaron Rogers at breakfast the next morning, a catered victory party where half the team trickled in hungover.

“I could take you to the Superbowl,” Frank said, eyes searching her face.

Mel patted his knee. “It’s very, very expensive for people who don’t have connections.” Plus, no matter the tickets, he probably wouldn’t be able to take her on a locker room tour. “You want to come up?”

“No,” Frank said. He leaned back in his chair. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” Mel said. “Thanks for the ride.” She had the wild urge to lean over and kiss his cheek, but held herself back. “And thank you for the drinks.”

“Anytime,” Frank said, throwing up his hand. “Any fucking time.”

“Okay?” Mel said, confused, but she got out of his car and headed up.

Two weeks later, Mel waited in the ambulance bay, arms swinging, waiting on an unidentified little girl who’d fallen at the Zoo. Millie and her school group had gone to the Zoo that day, she thought absentmindedly. Or maybe that had already happened, on Tuesday. She couldn’t remember. But Millie loved lemurs, and she’d told Mel all about them when she stopped by Frank’s to babysit for his and Abby’s ongoing co-parenting therapy session.

Millie had a big coloring book, and she’d been working on the pages with the giraffes. Frank wasn’t really comfortable having non-medical personnel watching Millie, and Mel never minded, because he paid her an absurd hourly rate, plus tips, plus dinner, and when she arrived at his house in joggers and a tank top, his eyes would flit over her shoulders, her breasts, and for the half second before Abby’s car pulled into the driveway, she could pretend that he wanted her too. And then his eyes would snap back up, and he’d grind his teeth, jaw clenching, and Millie would tackle her and rat on whatever Tanner had melted in the microwave (that day: her favorite crayons).

It had been that Tuesday, Mel decided. Millie wasn’t there. And she wasn’t five, she was four. She was big for her age, but not that big. Not something an EMT would get wrong. And she didn’t like heights, and so she wouldn’t have fallen off a railing. She’d be with her school group, holding a colored rope. Millie always, always followed the rules.

Millie, Millie, she’d been thinking as the ambulance came in, and then she saw the girl’s socks first, coming out of the ambulance, pink, lettuce trim, and her shoes, Stride Rite, lite up, and before she saw her face her chest was already constricting, because it was her, her.

“Five year old girl, head trauma after fall of 15 feet–”

“Type one diabetic,” Mel said, switching gears, listening to the EMT but panicking, because Millie’s face was bloody, her jawbone sticking out. “Check blood sugar,” she said as they ran back into the bay, and Mel got one good look at Millie’s injuries and said, “We’re cricing,” as her oxygen level dropped, already thready, already weak, and she needed Millie to breathe like it were her own lungs struggling to open, her own jawbone blocking the airway.

She didn’t even fucking try to intubate, she went in with the scalpel, and made the cut, and flew through the cric thinking, this is what Frank taught me.

“OR stat. VIP. VIP.” Mel said. VIP, meaning, this is one of ours. “Page Dr. Forrest.” Dr. Forrest, one of the facial reconstruction plastic surgeons with privileges. She flew through the stabilization, pulse in her ears the whole time, and thought, this is why we don’t operate on family because she was fucking crazy, all adrenaline, moving so fast, barking orders, calculating Millie’s insulin dosage, because her levels were so low, the kind that could’ve caused the fall in the first place, her passing out and slipping off the colored rope. Maybe unnoticed until an adult peered over and saw her.

“I can’t get Forrest. Sanderson’s on the line,” Princess said, cradling the phone in her hand. “When would we need him?”

“Now,” Mel said. “Now.” Immediately, urgently. Princess relayed it to him and winced, and Mel flew around the side of Millie, checking her intracranial pressure, and asked for a drill, and did the burr hole while Princess relayed Sanderson’s bitching about it.

“It’s a VIP,” Mel said as she cracked the skull and saw the gush of blood, and Millie’s bp stabilized. Perfect. “Tell him it’s a VIP.”

Then Santos came in to help, a second set of hands, and Mel relayed the basics as Millie’s vital sounds evened out, and her glucose levels recovered. Then Walsh jogged in and Mel could finally relax, Millie now stable and supervised by two far stronger doctors than her so she took the phone from Princess, heart pounding in her chest. “You have to get over here,” Mel said.

“I’ll do cleanup,” Sanderson said. “Walsh does the smashing, I do the polishing.”

Mel’s gut twisted with nausea. “You won’t have a job here anymore if you don’t come right now,” she said, and hung up the phone, and walked three steps to a trash can and threw up.

“VIP, let’s go,” Walsh said behind her, and they took Millie’s bed away, and Mel felt like she could finally breathe again, without her in there, her being taken care of by someone else. Princess took off her gloves and rubbed the center of Mel’s back.

“Who’s kid is it?” Princess asked.

Mel took off her bloody gloves and threw them on top of her vomit and crouched down on the floor and covered her face with her hands.

Then another trauma came in, and before Mel could even answer, Princess flitted away, so she got up and walked out to the parking lot. The sun hit her face and she cried, because holy shit, she’d just circ’d Millie, skipping all the steps of the standard of care. She should’ve said something, right away, a frantic cry: this is her! Millie! Here! Anything.

She sat down on the concrete and put her head in her hands and proceeded to have a twenty five minute panic attack. Eventually, Whitaker came out and gave her a juice box, and patted her shoulder, and said, “We all have bad days sometimes.”

“Thanks,” Mel said, wiping her face. “How’s she doing?”

“Surgery,” Whitaker said. He shrugged, and then smiled at Mel, face lighting up with it. “You got Sanderson out here. He came in five over the speed limit and said he’d thought he’d come in to see the Pope, or something.”

Mel hugged him, swinging with him for a second. “Thanks.” Mel said. She finished her juice box and came inside, and spotted Frank at the chairs. He saw her expression and drifted over to her.

“What are you doing here?” Mel said. He should be up in the waiting room. “Where’s Abby?”

“Why would Abby be here?” Frank asked.

“Millie?” Mel said, now thunderstruck with confusion. Wasn’t it her? Had she hallucinated the whole thing? Had another dark-haired type 1 diabetic come in? Had she imagined everything? “She was at the zoo today–?”

“Oh fuck,” Frank said, and pushed past her.

Mel spun around, where was Princess? She pulled out her phone, and found one of Frank and Millie from the family photostream. She found a good one, of Millie and Frank playing with play doh, and walked up to Princess.

“Oh shit,” Princess said as she saw it. “Go sit down.” She told Mel, and parked her at the nurses’s station. “Dana–” she called. “Dana– got a situation here.”

Mel sat in the seat, mind whirring. She heard Frank’s voice in the distance, but Dana came, and brought her another juice box, and shoved her phone in her face and told her to play Tetris. She played for what felt like forever, turning and twisting the rainbow colored shapes, until all the sugar kicked in and she came back online.

“Oh my God,” Mel said, putting the phone down. She covered her hands with her mouth, everything sinking in all at once. She had to call Abby.

She had Abby’s number and dialed, and Abby picked up on the first ring.

“Do you have any updates?” Abby asked.

Mel turned in her rolling stool, surveying the floor. “No, sorry– I thought– maybe you needed to know.”

“Frank called. I’m on the way. Frank’s parents are coming down from Jersey. They’ll be here by six.”

“Okay,” Mel said, unsure of why she needed to know all that. “I’ll–” she glanced around, looking for Robby. “I’ll see if they’ll let me off shift and I’ll go get an update.”

She had four hours to go, so that seemed unlikely, but she had to try.

“How was she?” Abby asked, her voice breaking. “Frank said it was bad.”

Mel took in a shaky breath. Oh, it was bad. “Hard to say, without a CT scan.”

“Go get an update,” Abby said. “Frank’s not answering.”

Mel agreed, and spotted Robby on the other side of the floor. She wiped her face again, like that would help anything, and pushed her glasses up on her nose, and braced herself to be yelled at, because she absolutely, one-hundred percent should’ve given Millie to someone else, immediately.

“Uh– Robby,” Mel said, coming up to him. “Can I– uh… Maybe if I find someone to cover the rest of my shift?”

“Shen’s coming in early,” Robby said. “You can go. Who’s driving you home?”

“Oh,” Mel blinked, because the only person who would ever offer to drive her home was Frank. “I was just going to go up to surgery for an update.”

Robby nodded at her, and clapped her on the shoulder. “Go. We’ll talk about this later.”

Later, because she was in trouble, for not following procedure. “Actually– I’m very sorry– I should’ve–” Mel struggled to articulate the depth and completeness of her mortification over it. “I just– it all happened so fast.”

“Okay,” Robby said, eyes kind, and that’s all Mel could take, so she nodded and headed to the locker room, and grabbed her things, and brushed her teeth hoping that might clear her head, but it didn’t, so she headed up to the OR waiting room and found Frank and Tony (short for Antonia), his twin, engaged in very intense conversation in the chairs.

Tony grabbed Mel and hugged her, squeezing so tight. “You really are an angel, aren’t you?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Mel said, guilt crashing over her. Frank pushed Tony aside and hugged her next, and that made Mel fall apart a little, crying for the first time since the panic attack, all the emotion leaking out, like it was endless, her regret. “I’m so sorry. I had to get the airway.”

Frank directed her to an empty chair and she sat, and Tony gave her a tissue, and they filled her in–no update for Abby. Still in surgery. Sanderson present, but bitching about it. But he was being marginally helpful, according to Walsh, which meant he was masterfully directing all the cuts for the jawbone repair, and working on very very tiny stitches along her hairline. She’d be out of surgery soon. Millie’s pump failed, and that caused her to crash, and that caused the fall, her toppling over the railing without her teacher noticing, her herding eight other kids.

Millie came out of surgery with flying colors six hours later, and Walsh glared at Mel when she gave the post Op update, but Sanderson seemed so pleased with himself, strutting around the waiting room. Which really was the worst thing about the asshole, but goddamn, did he do good work. Millie might need a more extensive jaw reconstruction later, but they’d moved everything back into place and stabilized the area, and she’d be on an all-liquid diet (such a nightmare for a diabetic), but they didn’t think it would cause any other, long-term damage.

“Good thing you got the airway,” Walsh said, and Mel wanted to throw her hands around her and hug her, so she did, and Walsh tolerated it, which meant it was really, really bad, and then Walsh patted her on the shoulder and said, “Okay, go back to your boyfriend, it’s fine.”

But Frank wasn’t her boyfriend, not even a little. Frank and Tony didn’t seem phased, and they talked amongst themselves and decided Tony would take Mel home while Frank waited for Millie to wake up. Tony drove Mel back to Frank’s house, the huge, three story, sprawling mansion, and Mel looked at her in bewilderment. She hadn’t stayed the night a single time since the ice storm last year, when she and Becca lost power and they camped out at Frank’s.

“I don’t live here,” she said.

Tony gestured upstairs. “Pick a guest room,” she said. “Or take the master. I don’t care. Frank said to keep an eye on you.”

Mel thought it was weird, but went upstairs anyway. When her hand hit the bannister, she remembered all the times she’d fantisized about being fucked on the stairs, cold marble under her knees, propped up, perfect height, and felt sick again. She picked the first guest room she found, and there wasn’t anything in the attached bath but towels and a bar of dove soap. So she padded into the master bedroom, where she’d been exactly one time, to fetch one of Millie’s toys, and took off all her clothes in his bathroom and took a long, hot shower, using all Frank’s fancy Sephora shampoos.

She couldn’t stand the idea of putting back on her dirty clothes, so she grabbed one of Frank’s t shirts that went to her knees and threw her stuff in the wash with some of Tanner’s laundry. When she checked her phone, she’d been added to “Langdon Family” groupchat, so she took a picture of the washer with the time remaining and said, “can someone flip this?”

Then she walked back to the guest room, and crawled under the covers, and fell asleep.

She woke up thirteen hours later to a dead phone and the sound of clanging downstairs. She sat up, rubbed her eyes and saw someone had left her clothes on the dresser by the door, folded nicely. She took off Frank’s shirt and put her old clothes on, wincing a little, because she’d worn a pink cotton thong, and she really hoped whoever flipped it hadn’t been Frank. Or Abby. Or Tony. Or really any of them, to be honest.

When she came downstairs, Frank’s mom greeted her with a hot cup of coffee. “You want eggs?” She asked. “I can do any kind. Scrambled, over easy, you name it.”

“Uh— scrambled, thanks,” Mel said, and saw a phone charger, so she plugged her phone in.

Is Millie OK? Becca had texted her. She had about ten missed calls from Becca, and forty unread text messages, mostly the Langdon Family Group chat popping off with chatter. But there were some nice messages from Princess, and Perlah, and Shen, all saying she did a great job with Millie.

Frank’s mom popped the eggs on her plate. “We’re going over later, if you want to come with us to visit.”

“Oh,” Mel said, because she did. “I don’t want to intrude.”

Frank’s mom shot her a look. “You’re not intruding. You’re family.”

Which was patently, very much not true. She was Frank’s friend. Occasional babysitter. Outlet sale buddy to Abby. Tony’s recipe tester. But very little else. Not, very pointedly, Frank’s girlfriend.

“Let me stop by my place, first,” Mel said, because she really needed to wash the smell of Frank’s soaps off her, as if by cleansing, she could wash away her feelings for him too.

Frank’s mom piled up her plate high, and they talked about Frank’s family’s summer vacation plans - Martha’s Vineyard, beautiful in the spring - and his mom kept talking about all the room they’d have. Rooms upon rooms, she said, because they booked this whole big place that slept 20 but they only had twelve, so that meant Millie and Tanner could sleep separately, and even Abby too, but she wouldn’t come because of her new boyfriend, some bigshot in banking.

William texted her, hey wanna meet up?

And that caused Mel’s brain to short circuit, because yes, she very very much wanted to blank out and avoid thinking all these thoughts in her head, so she told him yes, but after she had time to go to her place, and then swing by the hospital, and then Becca’s center, but then she’d be free.

Millie was awake at the hospital, alert, no sign of long-term brain damage from the hypoxia. Mel brought her crayons from home (Frank’s mom’s suggestion) and sat with her for four two hours. Frank stared at her the whole time, like he had something to say to her, but Mel knew it could wait, because he’d surely critique the treatment later, every step she missed when Millie came in. But– but Mel had done all the important stuff. Blood sugar. Airway. Burr hole. So when her eyes met his, and then he slid his gaze away, she thought– maybe it would be okay, with everything, in the end.

And then she headed over to William’s house, a big, sprawling mansion on the other side of town, and had very vigorous sex with him and his girlfriend. He sucked a hickey into her neck, and that made her mind blank out with pleasure, a sigh of release, and by the time she’d gotten back to her apartment, she felt like everything were so much more manageable now, in the daylight.

The Langdon Family group chat bullied her into bringing Becca over for dinner the next day, and she agreed only because they said they’d use the special plates that Frank had ordered for her, which kept each food item separate. Mel pulled up in a t-shirt and jeans and didn’t know if she should go through the garage like always or the front door, but then Becca decided for her and bounded into the garage, so Mel followed her.

She hadn’t worn her tank top, so she didn’t expect Frank’s eyes on her, but he zeroed in right on her neck, and did the jaw-clenching thing, and Mel turned and decided to help his mom in the kitchen, wishing she’d had the foresight to wear her hair down to hide it better. After some time, she excused herself to the powder room and examined her neck in the bright light. It was maybe 12mm in length, 6 in diameter. Red, but not bruised. Likely a hickey, but could be some other kind of contusion. She touched it. Not a rash. No raised skin. Not a hive. But whatever, she was allowed to have a life outside of pining for Frank.

Dinner went well, and Frank’s parents cleared out to put Tanner to bed, and Becca went out back to try and catch fireflies.

“What’s with the—�� Frank gestured to her neck as they loaded the dishwasher.

Mel slapped her hand over it, like she’d been caught. “It’s nothing.”

“Are you seeing anybody?” He said.

Mel shook her head and rearranged the plates, because Frank always put them in wrong.

“I think you should be seeing me,” he said. And that caused Mel to snap up and stare at him.

“What?” She said.

“I think we should go on a date, see what happens.”

Mel shook her head, no, because that wasn’t going to work for her. Not with a boy scout, someone good and pure and totally not fucked up like her. She’d tried once in college, some cute frat boy that liked her smile and walked her to class. She made it three months before she snapped, dumping him out of the blue, even though the sex had been good and he’d paid for their pizza dates. Not enough.

“I don’t think we’re going to be compatible,” Mel said, as gently as she could. “Not like that.”

Frank crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s the addict thing, isn’t it?”

“No,” Mel said, and suddenly felt so badly for him, like she’d kicked a puppy, or left him all out in the rain, so she stepped closer to him and touched his elbow. “I’m proud of you.”

Oh, that was the wrong thing to say, because he closed his eyes. Like this hurt him, like she was hurting him. “The kids?”

“No,” Mel said. “I just think–”

His eyes snapped open, and he took a step, into her, and palmed at her jaw and tipped her head and kissed her, and Mel melted into it, his touch, his tongue, the feel of his lips, and oh, she got to grip his bicep, dig in with her nails and imagine she could call him daddy, that he’d push her down onto the floor right then, take whatever he wanted from her. It made her heartbeat thrum in her ears, so hopelessly turned on.

Mel heard a noise, the creak of a door upstairs and she broke away. Her eyes followed the sound, but Frank’s hand still cupped her jaw. She stepped back and put a hand to her mouth. “I just don’t think we’re going to be compatible, Frank.”

She didn’t look at him as she stepped over to the open patio door and called for Becca, who came bounding in. “Are you guys boyfriend girlfriend?” She asked, vibrating with excitement.

“No,” Mel said. “Come on, let’s get your stuff.”

“Thanks for inviting us over, Frank,” Mel said, and ushered Becca out. “I can, uh– I can still pick up Tanner if you want. Tomorrow, I mean.” At his very serious, very focused expression, Mel hesitated. “Or– or not. You let me know.”

She led Becca out, and as she turned to enter the driver’s side door, she spotted Frank’s mom, peering out of the front window at her, and then backing away as soon as they made eye contact. Great, Mel thought, another witness to the absolute tragedy of her sex life.

Three days after the incident, Mel started to feel antsy after not being on the floor for so long. She couldn’t remember the last three day stretch she’d had off. Not counting the norovirus that swept the floor, she thought… med school? Maybe?

In order to come back, Mel had to go through Robby, so she printed out AEJM articles about cricing due to facial trauma, and an article from the AAP on pediatric insulin dosing, and a study on long-term patient outcomes with and without plastic surgeons present at initial facial reconstruction attempts (sample size of 15, so not conclusive, but positive evidence that it improved overall patient satisfaction of results by 40%).

“Why didn’t you alert anyone that you knew the patient?” Robby asked her as he circled the floor, checking in on the critical patients. Mel blinked. She thought this would be in a conference room. She’d printed the articles and clutched them with both hands.

“I was the primary provider available and finding an alternative would have taken time away from the patient care.”

She’d practiced that answer, out loud, in front of her mirror, fifteen times. It was the ChatGPT “how do I not get sued for this” answer.

“And why did you cric before an intubation attempt?”

“Given the nature of the facial trauma, including the dislodged mandible, I did not see sufficient evidence that the patient could structurally support an intubation without further damaging the area.”

“Burr hole?”

“The BP and intracranial pressure tests indicated immediate action was necessary to stabilize the patient.”

Robby clapped her on the shoulder. “Okay, all good.”

Mel glanced down at her articles. “I printed these out–” She flipped through them. “This is for the cric–” and then the insulin dosage, “and then the–Sanderson–”

Robby brightened. “Oh that asshole. How’d you get him down here so fast?”

“I said it was the Pope,” Mel joked, because she finally felt her chest releasing from all the pent up anxiety. She’d done the right thing. Or at least, the mostly right thing. The things that wouldn’t get her sued, or make her lose her license.

“No kidding,” Robby said. “You know, new one’s from Chicago.”

Mel nodded with a little bob of her head. “Yes, but not a Cubs fan.”

“Go figure,” Robby said, and studied her. “You provided a high standard of care under very stressful circumstances.” He said. “I know that’s not what we’re here for, but you should feel accomplished in that.”

High standard of care, oh, Mel wanted to tattoo that on her chest, right above her heart, so Robby’s gold star would never ever wear off.

“Thank you,” she said. She bobbed again, and then realized Robby was staring at her, and she’d probably said the wrong answer, so she said: “I’ll– I’ll get back on the floor.”

“How’s Langdon holding up?” Robby asked to her retreating form.

Mel turned. “Oh, okay? I think? It’s very stressful.”

“He’s taking leave.” Robby said.

Mel nodded, she knew that. Twelve weeks, FMLA.

“You can take time too, if you want.”

Mel blinked. She wouldn’t qualify. She didn’t have a spouse. She didn’t have any major life event that could trigger it, but she knew it was best not to question Robby about such things. “Okay, thanks,” she said instead.

Are you a lesbian? Frank’s mom texted her later in her shift.

No, Mel sent back. Bisexual, yes. Lesbian, no.

You and Frank seem very happy together, his mom sent.

Mel screengrabbed it and sent it to Frank with a question mark.

I’ll hande it, Frank said, and oh, if only– if only he could just take charge, right how she wanted. But she was on the middle of the floor, and everyone’s eyes tracked her as she moved from chairs to trauma back to chairs, like she might shatter if another little girl came in. So she tucked the phone away, and ignored its buzz, and tried very hard not to think about Frank anymore.

Millie was discharged two weeks later and Mel attended her welcome home party, a very small affair consisting of all of the kids from her daycare class running around the living room making animal noises at Millie, as if they were still trapped in the zoo, having never left since she toppled overboard.

Delighted, Millie clapped and told Mel to make an animal sound, so she bellowed like a hippopotamus (the first thing she could think of), and that made Millie smile. Mel then retreated back to the adults, the small conclave of stay at home moms and Frank, and poured herself more punch.

“Oh so you’re the girlfriend,” one of them said, gesturing between her and Frank and Millie. “It’s so great you all get along so well.”

“Very,” Frank said, grabbing Mel’s hand and squeezing hard. “Very great.”

Mel glanced at him, and understood because they weren’t a couple, and nodded. “I’ll be right back,” she said. She went upstairs, and selected the first guest room on the right, and laid down on the bed. She put both her hands over her eyes, and tried to give herself a mental pep talk:

Yes, she could go out on a single date with Frank. And yes, they could have totally bland sex afterwards, probably in his master bedroom, just down the hall. And yes, she could pause seeing William, which would only mean missing out on a maximum of two hookups in the next year. And yes, maybe she could finally act like an adult about things, and not a child who needed an allowance. Maybe she’d magically grown as a person since undergrad. Maybe all the therapy she’d done had finally stuck.

Mel decided she absolutely could not face the stay at home moms, so she texted Frank. I’m upstairs if you need me and climbed under the covers and took a nap. She meant to sleep for only 15 minutes, but when Frank gently shook her awake, she realized she’d missed the end of the party and dinner.

“Sorry,” Mel said, and rubbed her eyes. She glanced up and saw Frank had a baby monitor for Millie. “Oh I missed bathtime too.” She checked her phone: 8:32pm.

“They’re down, it’s fine,” Frank said, not moving from his perch next to her. “What– what about this isn’t compatible?”

“It’s fine,” Mel said, because she’s already decided she’d endure a very fun date with him, and then climb him like a tree afterward, and then be disappointed many months from now, down the line. “We can go on that date. See what happens.”

A flicker of dismay passed across Frank’s features. “What– what aren’t you telling me?”

“It’ll ruin the friendship,” Mel said. She made a cutting motion with her hands. “Like, done. I won’t blame you.”

“I think the friendship is already over,” Frank said, and that sent a dagger through Mel’s heart, because she knew it too– her, the interloper. Her, in the family groupchat. Her, the burrow under his skin. Too close to his kids. Too close to him, on the periphery looking in.

Mel took a breath. Probably best to just be honest about it, and then get the hell out of his guest room. “It’s– it’s the money thing. I’ve been in a lot of therapy, and I equate how much my partner is taking care of me financially with how much they love me.” She held up a finger to his surprise. “Wait– wait! I know. I know– it’s– eventually I’ll probably outgrow it, what with the attending salary, but for now…” She couldn’t look at him, she couldn’t, so she chewed on her thumbnail. “So it’s… I meet up with guys that are already into that, and they like it, and I like it, and it’s consensual, and it’s…” she gave up.

“So your big plan was to visit me in rehab and then be my friend for two years and then get to know my kids all so you could refuse to date me and–” he gestured around the guest room, “not spend any time here, and… what… meet up with other guys online?”

“No, not online,” Mel said, because that was all far too risky. “Friends of friends, you know, it’s a very close knit community.”

“Of sugar babies,” Frank guessed.

“Well–” Mel hedged. “Maybe?” She’d been invited to a WhatsApp group, and then a private discord, and then learned that the best way to meet real sugar daddies (not creeps, not weirdos) was through referral only, at some of the higher end clubs and hotels downtown. So she’d taken off after a night shift and came in scrubs and asked for Janet, the manager of the Tanton, the only 5-star hotel in town, and she’d looked Mel up and down and said, “oh yes, I’ve got someone in mind for you.”

“So that’s the whole Steelers thing.”

“Oh! William! Yes.” Mel nodded. “But he’s really into bondage and I get super claustrophobic and it was just too much.”

Frank was giving her the very tight, controlled expression he saved for when patients told him the most fucking wild off the wall shit (like, “I don’t know how that got in my butthole” or “I thought I could take all the pills at once because it said ‘as needed’ and I needed them” or “it’s been out of its socket for like, a week, but I don’t have health insurance and halloween is coming up and I thought I could win the office costume contest like this”)

“Okay, so there’s like… layers. Sexually?”

Open ended questions, neutral expression, not judging. Mel scowled at him. “You don’t have to make fun of me,” she said. “I would—” well the friendship was really ruined here, wasn’t it? “I would want to call you daddy, and I would like to be dominated and have my rent paid.” She held up a finger. “So– that’s– that’s it. But! I am excellent at oral sex. I have no gag reflex.”

“How much is your rent?” Frank asked.

Mel winced. “$1650.” She screwed one eye shut. He was standing very tense, right next to her, arms folded tight. In the Pitt, the patient would be in real big trouble right about now, him thinking through the differential diagnosis, or maybe a polite way to say, what the fuck is wrong with you?

“That’s less than one of the kid’s daycares.” Frank said. “That’s less than our housekeeper.”

“Flora?” Mel said. Oh, she loved Flora. Hopefully Flora was the one to find her thong.

“And the threesome thing,” he continued, still tight, still focused. “That’s–?”

Mel shrugged. “It’s fine.” She liked William, liked his girlfriend. If she had a steady sugar daddy, she probably wouldn’t be as interested. His girlfriend touched him mostly, outside of William’s penetration, very soft touches, like she were a cat, something delicate and precious. Cute, younger, soft. She liked that too.

“So that’s not a dealbreaker,” He said. “Becuase I wouldn’t want to share.”

That made Mel’s snap up, because oh, that was such a daddy thing to say, no sharing, no others, strictness, because she had to be a good girl for him. It lit her up inside, a beacon, right here, she wanted to say. Just like that, maybe. Perfect.

“No, not a dealbreaker,” Mel said.

“And you’d want this, all the time?”

She considered it. She’d fucked William sweetly on a boat once because he’d been half drunk and she’d already been a little seasick from the waves. She told him that. It was fine. “But I don’t really know,” because normally she had to go out of her way to seek this kind of thing out, it wasn’t everywhere, at her work, in her home, in her heart. A drumbeat that never left her. “Probably not,” she decided. “I think that would be too intense. Full time.”

“Mel, baby,” he said, and kissed her, and pulled back and said. “This has to be full time, for me. I can’t share you,” and Mel didn’t know what he meant, full time, full time, but he kissed her so good, so deep, and she couldn’t help but open her mouth and moan into it, and run her fingers through his hair, scraping the scalp, like she’d wanted to all the time on the floor, when a hair would go astray, put it back, put it back, she’d always thought, watching him move through the space.

“I– Um,” Mel said, breaking away. “I don’t think this’ll work,” she said, because she really didn’t.

“I’ll cover whatever you want,” Frank said. “It’s less than daycare.” He moved back in to kiss her and Mel, turned her head.

“You have to want it,” Mel said. “You have to— you have to want to take care of me. Or I’ll feel like I’m just a line item on your credit card bill.” Her eyes searched his face. His eyes were so blue, bright, focused all on her. “You’ve never had a sugar baby before?”

“I had a stay at home wife,” he said.

“No, that’s not the same,” Mel said, pushing herself off the bed. “That’s not even close, that’s– she was your partner, and she did everything with the kids, and that’s not the same.”

“Mel, baby, I got married at 26. I went to med school. Who’s– where am I finding all these sugar babies?”

Hotels, discords. Friends of friends.

She stood a few feet from him. She really wished the whole, “go on a date” thing had worked out. She wished she were different, less weird, less what the fuck. She wished she did not have very high sensory needs, and required very firm touches and direct communication, orders barked at her, because that’s how she could relax. She wished she did not require constant praise, because that kept all the self doubt at bay.

“I’m going home,” Mel said. “I’ll see you around.” In eleven weeks, at the end of his FMLA leave.

“I think we should try,” Frank said, very carefully. “I think– how do you evaluate? If you’re going to pick someone new.”

Mel sighed, she hovered by the door. “Date, discussion of boundaries, then usually I give head and I can get a good sense from that.”

“What other boundaries do you have?”

Mel told him the abbreviated version and the color system, green, yellow, red.

“If I’m daddy what are you?” he reached out and placed her thumb on her lips.

“A good girl,” Mel said, blushing absurdly under his gaze. God, how could she ever work with him without combusting?

He slipped his thumb in her mouth and it hit her tongue and Mel’s eyes shut, to have him warm, right there, the slight tang of soap from bathtime, his gaze, focused right on her, on his good girl, who’d do anything daddy wanted, anything at all.

“I’ll take you out later,” Frank said. “I want my girl to show me what she can do.”

Oh, Mel didn’t need to be told twice, to show him how good she could be, so she sunk to her knees, right there, and undid his fly and took out his cock. Thank God, already hard, she thought, and slipped him into her mouth. No gag reflex, all the way back, the uncomfortable strain, but then she eased off, getting a good feel for him. Her knees hurt, on the hardwood, but she focused on all the fantasies she’d had, the way he looked at her on the floor, gaze pointed, and him barking orders at nurses, them calling him asshole, and all the times she’d wanted to do this.

“Holy shit,” Frank said as she eased off, then licked him from root to tip.

Mel wanted to ask, what do you mean? That’s how people did blowjobs. She’d watched instructional videos online. She’d trained her gag reflex to go away. Such things were mandatory, for sugar babies. She ignored the flicker of, is this right, and tried to focus back on the feel of him, the taste of him, right there, but her knees hurt, and she shifted a little, trying to find some relief by sitting back father on her ankles, relieving some of the pressure.

“Baby– get up,” Frank said. That snapped her attention back, and she released his cock.

“What did I do wrong?” She asked.

“You’re not comfortable,” he said, pulling her up. “How can you be comfortable?”

“Oh,” Mel said. She glanced around. “Pillow?”

Frank handed her one, and she put it under her knees, and oh, that was so much better, and she licked at his cock again, around the base. “You can– my hair, daddy,” she said, because she needed him to guide her, figure out what he liked. He tugged at it, and it made Mel sigh in satisfaction, getting back into it, sucking him down deep, holding him, releasing, coming up again, everything she wanted, an obscene drip of saliva running down her chin.

Her jaw ached by the time he came, but she didn’t care, swallowing him down. God, he was so hot, hotter than William by a mile, and his strong forearm was right by her face, with him still gripping her head, and when Mel pulled back, she put a little kiss, there, on his forearm. Oh, I could be so good for you, she thought, shutting her eyes.

“Up here, baby,” Frank said, and hauled her up off the floor and kissed her, and hauled her back on the bed. She toppled onto him, limbs going everywhere until he flipped them. “I need to taste you,” he said. “Green?”

“Green,” Mel said, and he pulled down her pants and licked into her, and Mel threw her head back.

“I have to take care of my girl,” Frank said, pulling her thighs apart. “You’re less than daycare, baby. We’ll have to fix that. I love all my kids the same.”

Oh, the love part, she could imagine it hitting her bank account, rent paid. And so many of her problems could be solved by money, with freedom to fix her car the right way, not little patches, and enough to send Becca to the center in a uber versus the bus, and ripe, organic blueberries in season, fresh eggs. Butter made from happy cows on her toast. Laundry from the wash and fold, already done for her, so she’d have more time for blowjobs and Batchelor in Paradise marathons.

“Open up for me, baby,” he said, pulling her legs even farther open, obscenely open, and that made Mel flush, because he pushed his fingers in, rubbing her open, fingertips flexing on her g-spot. God, she’d never fucked a physicain before, who knew the path of the clitoral nerve system, extending far back into her, forked, snaking back through her anatomy.

“Show me what you like,” he said, and pulled away, and that made Mel nearly sob.

“I like whatever you do to me, daddy,” she said, and grabbed his hand and put it back. “Please, daddy.”

He rewarded her with two fingers, thrusting in deep. “Okay, baby,” he said, “I’ll take care of you.”

That caused her to shudder, because she couldn’t imagine anything better. Frank, fucking her with his fingers, slow and deep, and then faster, encouraging her, oh sweet girl, he said, and Mel wanted to warn daddy, say, I’m about to–but she toppled over so fast for him, coming in a low moan, a wave of pleasure, totally helpless to it, exactly how she liked.

#IM BREAKDANCING!???

92 notes · View notes