Prompt: Jealous Frank


Frank never pictured himself as the jealous type. Girls had been gushing over him since high school, so he was never short of attention, and he wasn't a commitment guy. He much preferred casual sex and no future in a relationship. So when his stomach started twitching as he read the text from Laurel, it felt foreign.

'At Wes'. Won't be back until late. x'

This was the first girl he was serious about. Sure, he thought Laurel was just going to be an easy lay when he first saw her, but now he knew she was so much more than that. And he liked it. He liked the quite nights in drinking on the couch, he liked the feeling of running his fingers through the same silky hair, he liked that this relationship had real depth and passion. Mostly, he liked having a girl that was his. He'd spent too long being the thing Laurel had going on the side, and now she had dumped Legal Aid Guy, he got all of her.

It was clear that, of all the kids, Laurel was closest to The Puppy. Doucheface would infuriate her too much every time he opened his mouth, Hair Gel was constantly with his boyfriend and The Princess rubbed her the wrong way at the best of times. Before now, Frank hadn't worried about their relationship. Wes was caught up in Rebecca and Laurel was caught up trying to pick between him and Khan. But now Wes didn't have the distraction, and Frank noticed how often they would study together, sit together, pair up on Annalise's assignments.

It irked him, to say the least.

By the time Laurel got home, Frank had overthought a lot of moments since Rebecca's death, aided by half a bottle of scotch. Laurel unlocked his door and came in to see him pitifully spread on the couch, glass in hand.

"Everything okay? I thought you'd be asleep," she said, hanging up her purse on the chair at the kitchen island.

Frank stood and nodded, "I'm good." He had tension in his shoulders just thinking about what she and Wes had done. No doubt it was something innocuous like case outlines or quizzes, but part of him couldn't help but wonder. He hated to even think it, but Laurel had cheated on her last boyfriend. What's to say she wouldn't do it again? "Good night with The Puppy?"

Laurel smiled a little and walked up to him, "Great. Got all the work we needed to done, had take out and we polished off the last of the wine I took last time. Win win."

"So he wined and dined you? Should I be worried?" he asked, half teasing. A small part of him craved an answer. He was being so irrational. Laurel wouldn't cheat - she'd been so pissed when she found out about his antics behind her back, so she wouldn't do it herself.

"Very. He's quite the charmer," she said, sarcastically. Laurel slipped her arms up to rest on his shoulders and got up for a quick kiss.

Frank held her there, deepening the kiss she had initiated. She was his and she was damn sure going to know it when he was done. The little touches she loved followed, pulling them closer and making her moan. Music to Frank's ears. Frank dipped her ever so slightly, letting her know he had control now.

The woman pulled back a little and looked up at Frank. "Wow," she said breathlessly, "I think I'll go out and eat take out with Wes more often."

"Don't," he responded quickly, pushing her hair back so he could see her face. Frank ran his thumb over her lips in the pause, "I mean… Whatever."

Laurel couldn't believe his hesitation. "Are you jealous?" she asked incredulously, a slight laugh escaping. Frank couldn't exactly cover his reaction around her (freakin' woman making him lose his cool), so it was pretty obvious what his answer was. Laurel laughed again and lifted onto her toes to kiss him again, "Don't worry about Wes." She slipped past him and took off her cardigan on the way and then went for the zip on her skirt. Boy, was he lucky.

"It's Asher I'm sleeping with on the side anyway," she called. Frank could only run. Joke or not, he was pretty sure what they were about to do would make her forget Doucheface, The Puppy and every one of her ex's. He wouldn't have to be jealous again.