Fics, basically

robby’s phone buzzes on the polished wood of his hotel nightstand. he’s post-shower, mid-beard trim, fixing the edges to have a crisper appearance for the arranged dinner later in the evening. he lets out a heavy sigh, already tired from a full day of meetings and shaking hands with donors and all the sweet talking that comes with it.

he glances over at his screen, seeing your name and the thumbnail of a photo you sent him—blurry curls of hair, a hint of that familiar smirk. he’s quick to dry his hands on a towel, thumb unlocking his phone with a smile.

you: [a high angle photo of you outside, white shirt hugging your curves, your chest on full display, lips just a tad pouty and face glowing]

you: miss u. thought u might like this 💋

he just stands there for a beat, shirtless, jaw slack. he blinks like he’s trying to restart his brain. heart fluttering, stomach tightening, like a silly little kid getting a valentine’s day card by a crush.

then another comes through.

you: [photo in a small little boutique mirror, one of his infamous zip ups slouching sweetly off your shoulders, your pout turned a little cocky]

you: picked u up something… if you’re good.

he has to sit down, leaving the small bathroom and walking towards the bed, towel around his waist, an ache beginning to rise in his chest now. god, why can’t you just be here with him by his side. you would make all of this a little less exhausting.

he adores that thing you do where you pretend to be teasing, knowing full well he will drag his ass home, booking an earlier flight and abandoning gloria just to kiss that exact smirk off your face.

and you know it too. that’s the worst part, you know exactly what you’re doing to him.

and you want him to know exactly how you’re feeling, and just how much you want him.

he types back with slow thumbs.

robby: You really want me distracted during this dinner?

robby: That pout’s gonna get you in trouble when I’m home.

you heart both messages instantly.

you: so come home and teach me a lesson 😇

robby can’t help but shake his head with a smile. what a gorgeous handful you are. he goes back and opens the first picture again and time slows.

he can’t help but stare at the soft pink lips that are pushed into a bratty little smile, one that he’s ruined a hundred times. your hair bouncing in the breeze, that white long sleeve hugging your chest so tight he can practically see which bra you’re wearing through the fabric. and your eyes?

fuck.

it may come across as innocent to anyone else, but robby knows that’s the exact way you look up at him when you want to crawl into his lap and make him forget the world exists. and that angle—the slight playful tilt of your head, the little pop of your hips to expose your jeans. his mouth goes dry and heat coils low in his stomach.

then the second photo, inside one of those shops downtown somewhere—one of the ones you’ve gone in with samira, where you’ve used his card to buy nothing but trouble. the golden lights overhead make your pink-glossed lips glow, curled in the way that makes something tick inside of him. the same tick that made the little set you picked out that one night be ripped right off of you.

you’re wrapped in one of his green hoodies, knowing the pittsburgh wind had gotten to you. he didn’t even have to advise you to grab something to cover yourself up with anymore, it was just instinct to grab one of robby’s. and he never minds, how could he?

his eyes keep drifting to the middle of the picture, the strap of your crossbody bag cutting diagonally through the shirt stretched oh-so-sweetly across your chest, and even that looks sexy to him. like something he wants to pull you out of. god, he just wants to pull everything off of you.

and your phone case? a cute little strawberries pattern with a polaroid of you and robby in the middle of it. the one you always put on when he’s not around so you have an excuse to look at him every second of the day—besides your lockscreen and the photo widgets on your homescreen.

he just breathes for a second. staring, not wanting to blink.

then, quietly, to himself, “…jesus fucking christ, she’s killing me.”

his thumb hovers over the screen, his jaw flexed again. he doesn’t even realize how his legs are spread wide, his hand resting on the inside of his thigh like he’s grounding himself. like his crotch isn't aching for your warmth. he saves both, adding them to a little locked album in his phone labeled trouble ♥️.

–

robby’s dressed in his slacks and dress shirt, top button undone, lanyard badge hanging forgotten around his neck. he’s supposed to be networking but instead he’s standing in the corner of his hotel room, staring at your selfies. his other hand fisting the towel he used to dry off with because he doesn’t know what else to fucking do with himself.

and then he hits call.

you answer like nothing happened, with your bubbly voice and soft tone. “hi baby!”

“god, you’re killing me here, kid.”

you bite your lip, trying so hard not to smile. “what, you don’t like them?”

“no, i’m gonna frame them,” robby replies, his voice that gravelly kind that makes your thighs press together. “put ‘em on my nightstand. look at ‘em every night like a goddamn devotional. what do you mean, did i like them?”

you giggle, soft and smug. “you sounded so bummed out in your texts this morning, i just wanted to remind you of something good to look forward to. you know, since im so cute and all.”

robby groans softly, dragging a hand down his face. “so cute,” he repeats. “you’re lucky i’m not there. i’d take that little smirk right off your mouth, sweetheart.”

you shift under your blanket, practically glowing with elation now. “oh yeah?”

“yeah,” he says, voice low and dragging. “you’d be in that hoodie, legs bare, sittin’ pretty on my lap like you always do when you miss me. and i wouldn’t even say anything. just hold your jaw, tilt your head up, and kiss you until you forget how to play bratty.”

you exhale slowly, a fuzzy feeling fluttering inside you. “…mmm cause it's that easy?”

there’s a pause on his end, and a little scoff. “trust me kid, you want me to keep it that easy.”

you shift the phone better against your cheek. “hmm,” lips curling instinctively, “is that a threat, dr. robinavitch?” you remark, all syrupy.

robby makes a sound so deep it borders on a growl. “no sweetheart, it's a promise. and you should know better than to test it.”

you giggle under your breath, but your body cant help but react to his words. feeling the need to adjust the hoodie you’re wearing—robby’s navy blue zip-up now—tugging the sleeves up around your fingers like you’re trying to curl into the feeling of him.

“i was hoping you’d save them.” you mutter quietly.

“oh, i did,” he says instantly. “don’t worry about that.”

there’s a pause. heavy. intimate. you know he’s staring at one of them again. probably the outside one, you know how he loves the way your hair frames your face like that. the glowy natural light and the way your cheeks shine with your liquid blush. and especially the angle, just as if he’s staring down at you like all the times he has.

you don’t say anything. you just wait.

“are you wearing anything under my hoodie?” his voice is tighter now. controlled but slowly slipping.

you smile so slowly it aches. you can hear the agony in his voice already. “might be… but maybe not.”

“might be?” he repeats. “jesus. you’re gonna be the death of me, kiddo.”

“i just miss you,” you whimper softly, lips brushing the edge of the speaker hoping he could feel it. “miss your hands. your voice. your smell.”

robby exhales hard. his voice drops, gravelly and desperate. “you’re not helping.”

“neither are you by calling me when you should be out at your dinner event.” you murmur.

“ill go,” he says, voice low and hot, “if you go take another one.”

you blink. “what?”

“another picture. for me.” he bites his lip and you can practically hear it through the phone. “just need a little more of a push, sweets”

you suck in a little breath, ideas beginning to scroll through your mind.

“you don’t have to show anything,” robby says softly now, “just give me somethin’ that’s mine. like you—lookin’ how you look right now, that sleepy and soft face you make when you miss me bad. wearin’ my clothes. maybe with your thighs peeking out.” he keeps his rambles at a quiet tone.

you hum pleasingly, sliding the covers off, already angling your camera a little high the way he likes—framing the curve of your thighs, a peek of soft skin of your cleavage with the hoodie not fully zipped up, the look in your eyes shameless and dark with want.

click

you send it without a caption, quickly putting the phone back on your ear to hear his reaction.

you hear him shuffle and let out a little sound trapped from his throat. “you’re not gonna walk right for a week when i get home to you.”

you giggle again, breath still a little shaky from the teasing. “i’ll mark it on my calendar,” you say jokingly, like you didn’t just almost make him groan like an idiot in a five-star hotel room, miles away from you.

a small drop of silence comes between you two again before you check the time. he sighs and you sigh too—not wanting to let go of the call but knowing the man has responsibilities to get to. “you should go, robby. you’ve still got networking to do tonight.”

robby groans like you just told him to go chew glass. “fuck networking.”

“you need funding,” you insist, biting your smile. “and i don’t think you want gloria on your ass more than she already is.”

“jack can cover me tonight.”

“robby!” you warn.

“you think i can just waltz back into that ballroom with a hard-on? it’s hard to sweet talk donors when all i can think about is you.”

“that’s not my fault,” you remark, smirking.

“it is, baby. it definitely is.” he sighs again, like it hurts to even think about hanging up. then his voice softens, gravelly but sweet, like a bedtime threat.

“you better be good while i’m gone.”

you smile. “i’m always good”

“not what i meant” you swallow thickly at his warning tone. “i love you, sweetheart.”

your heart jumps. “i love you too, robby.”

–

robby’s phone buzzes in his suit jacket as he speaks to a cardiologist and his wife. he knows it's from you—of course it's from you—however he assumes it might be a goodnight message, in which he can reply to once the man in front of him completes his telling tale. little does he know he might need to keep that cardiologist in close reach when he does end up opening the message.

you had gotten too confident after your flirtatious phone call earlier, and the desire deep in the pitt of your stomach was too much to push away. you wanted to cause another spark. test the waters a bit more. you wanted to make him scramble to call you again.

robby manages to sneak his phone out of his suit pocket.

video message from you. no caption.

“michael!” a kind businessman calls for his attention, one who he had been making small talk with all night.

robby turns around and forces a smile, tucking his phone into his pants. the man pulled him in for another conversation for a couple minutes, one to which robby’s mind was too preoccupied to care about. the idea of a 5 minute video of you, late this night, sitting pretty on his phone was enough to distract him.

eventually, robby slips out of the last bit of crowd that had been filling up the open bar. he makes it into the elevator, socially drained, and already throwing his jacket over one arm, loosening his tie.

he opens his phone, and stares at the notification until the doors close, no one else stepping in. he taps on it and unlocks the phone—the thumbnail already knocking out a deep sigh from the older man.

the camera begins out a little wobbly, being propped up against a stack of pillows at the foot of the bed. angled slightly from below so your thighs are front and center and robby’s hoodie drapes messily over your upper half.

you sit there for just a second, looking at the reflection in front of you through your screen, watching the way your hair is that pretty kind of messy, curls and strands bounced and stacked and sticking out on top of one another. the perfect hairdo that robby loves to get his hands tangled in, tugging to hear a pretty whine come out of your chest.

you lay on your back against the rest of the pillows, cheeks flushed and breathing already heavy as you spread your thighs open. panties curled around one ankle, soaked and abandoned.

you whisper, breathlessly with a shy smile, “thought you’d wanna see what you’re missing, michael.”

he nearly chokes on a breath, knowing damn well how calling him that makes him feel. his eyes narrow, his jaw flexing so hard, “fuckin’ hell…” low, under his breath. his calloused hand tightening around the phone until his knuckles pale.

you drag two fingers down your folds, gathering and playing with your slick as your breath shudders out of your chest at the mere sensation. your middle finger comes into contact with your sensitive bud and you can't help but let a whimper escape you.

“said i couldn’t come without you, i know… but it hurts, robby. i can’t wait that long…”

the camera catches your hips twitch when your fingers continue to brush against your clit. fingers teasing your entrance and hearing the squelch of your juices, your breath catching into a strangled moan.

he drags his bottom lip between his teeth, breath stuck in his chest. the elevator hums, completely oblivious to the raw vexation and desire pooling deep in his gut.

“oh, baby…” his tone in the low dangerous rasp that only someone who knows him would recognize.

you start rubbing slow circles, whining softly under your breath. hips lifting off the mattress whenever you hit a sensitive spot. the hoodie slips higher, exposing some of your lower belly, something robby noticed you're completely oblivious to with your mind focusing on the need burning between your legs.

that is until your free hand scrapes against your chest, pushing the zipper down and allowing yourself to palm at your breast. thumb brushing over your hard nipple, gasping.

“fuck i miss you so much—” voice cracking in your whispered tone, emotion so raw it almost sounds like a sob.

robby’s pulse slams in his throat, a small twitch of his thighs under his suit pants, need crawling up his spine.

“jesus fuckin’ christ” whispered like a prayer into the air of the elevator. he adjusts himself—palming his cock through the slacks, teeth gritted. not to get off, but because it hurts now. you made it hurt.

you get braver, arch your back, tilting your head until your hair spills behind you, lips parted. your moans begin getting higher, needier. thighs trembling, toes curling.

“be mad at me later, baby…” the pressure deep inside of you reaching its peak “fuck i need it so bad”

the video catches your eyes fluttering closed. robby’s vision blacks at the edges. you know exactly what you’re doing.

he warned you. specifically told you not to. urged you to behave.

and now you’re looking right into the lens—into him—and showing him you’ll do it anyway.

“oh, sweetheart, you don’t fuckin’ know what you’ve done” robby’s voice is low, heavy, rough.

your rhythm gets frantic, little squeaks escaping when you press down harder. the hoodie flapping open and flashing the small bounce of your breasts. your voice is softer now, “please, please, robby… just wanna come. need it—need you so bad…”

robby can see the quiver in your thighs and he can't help but grip the phone so hard it creaks. teeth bared, eyes locked on your soaked and trembling fingers. his free hand flexes uselessly at his side—like it wants to be on your throat, your hips, anywhere to remind you who you belong to.

you’re right there, chest heaving, mouth open, eyes glassy, legs restless that the camera picks up the tremor. you keep murmuring his name, fingers moving in quick continuous motions that your wrist begins to feel tight.

you moan, “oh fuck, ‘m so close—”

but then the recording stops.

video ending and phone taking robby back to the message trail between the two of you.

you deliberately left it unfinished when you went back to edit it before you sent it off. not just as a tease, but because deep down inside there was a curl of guilt that ran through you as you watched it back.

you know you weren’t supposed to cross the line.

robby huffs out a little laugh, hand swiping against his beard. “you’re so fuckin’ done, kid” the rasp of pure possession underneath.

the elevator had stopped on his floor for a while now, doors had opened and closed without robby even noticing. he finally reached to press the button, quickly allowing him the view of his hallway as he made his way towards his room for the night.

jacket still draped over his arm, tie hanging around his neck untied. phone still in his palm, thumb hovering over the call icon and his mind is already building your punishment, piece by piece.

the hotel door thuds shut behind him. robby tosses his blazer on the chair without looking. he doesn’t turn on the light, instead letting his room glow faintly from the city’s skyline outside.

he stands there, phone still in his hand, chest still breathing heavy. he runs one of his large hands through his hair, then drags it down his face like he normally does when he’s about to lose it.

“fuck me” he whispers to himself, shaking his head with a snicker, voice rough. finally, he opens your chat and presses down on the mic icon.

“that was real cute, baby. real fuckin’ cute.” he takes a breath, dark amusement twisting into a warning.

“just remember, the only reason you’re breathing easy right now is ‘cause i’m not there to show you what that cost you.” his voice drops an octave, tone undeniably sharp, “if i was? oh sweets, you’d be crying so pretty it’d break your own fuckin’ heart.”

his eyes peer towards the cityscape in front of him, speaking the last of his caution.

“go on, play innocent. keep wearin’ my clothes and makin’ those sounds for the camera. but when i get home, i promise you, you’re not gonna be able to film a damn thing—too fucked-out to even hold the phone steady. you understand me?”

message sent. and then nothing.

he makes you wait after you listen to his voice message. the words start to sink in now, settling heavy and hot in the pit of your stomach, winding tight around your ribs until your breath turns shaky. four minutes ticking into five… long enough that your stomach flips and your pulse drums loud in your ears. leg bouncing as you stare at your phone.

it isn't until a few more minutes, that a ring lights up your screen.

incoming facetime: robby

you answer quickly, breath caught in your throat and hoodie tugged down, comforter covering all the way up to your thighs. the camera captures the way your hair is still tousled and frizzy from earlier, your cheeks a bright pink.

robby appears on the screen, a low warm light from a table lamp illuminating him. his tie sits abandoned somewhere in the hotel room, top buttons of his shirt open, sleeves rolled to his forearms. hair just a tad messy from dragging his hands through it. eyes dark and blown out.

“prop the phone up. hands behind your head. don’t speak till i say.” voice thick and heavy.

your heart jumps, but you do it—propping the phone on the same stack of pillows like you did earlier. settling back, your lower half still covered by the bedsheets.

he tsks, “take the sheets off sweetheart. seems you didn’t mind earlier today, what changed now?”

you waste little time pushing the sheets down, kicking them off once they reach your feet. the hoodie bunched over your hips, your cotton underwear peaking through, arms raised behind your head like you’re caught.

robby’s stare drags over every inch of you. slow. deliberate. possessive.

“look at you,” he murmurs, dark and low. “glowing like you didn’t just send me a video of you breaking the one rule i fuckin’ gave you.”

your breath hitches, but your mouth starts running before you can catch up. “oops,” you dare, syrup-sweet. you tilt your head, “you didn't like what you saw?”

he gives you a small smirk, turning his gaze away in bafflement of your persistent brattiness. “you don’t stop, do you kid?”

you press your thighs together, fighting a smile. “i would’ve called earlier, but thought you’d be too busy flirting with donors. didn’t wanna interrupt your little schmooze.”

his jaw flexes once, the muscle in his cheek jumping. “keep talking…”

“maybe i will,” you purr, rolling your hips just enough for the hoodie to shift higher. “what’re you gonna do, doc? spank me through the screen?”

he doesn’t blink. “you think i won’t have you crying for real over a fuckin call?” that low, velvety rasp skitters heat straight to your core. you swallow, hard.

“you’re awfully confident from two thousand klicks away,” you whisper, teasingly. “what—gonna jerk off while you watch me again? you poor old man.”

robby’s nostrils flare. a slow, cruel smile appears and a small sigh escapes him. then he leans in, camera tilting slightly. voice as steady as it could be. “every second you keep that little mouth runnin’ is another minute i’m gonna spend edging you till you sob.”

your chest stutters but you can’t stop whatever it is that has possessed you today. “…can i touch myself?”

he laughs. genuine, but not too kindly. “not a fuckin’ chance.”

you whine. “please, robby!”

“no.” simple.

your head snaps up slightly. “w-why?”

“i said no.” his voice is calm. final. commanding. “you don’t get what you want just because you ask nicely. especially not after that stunt you pulled.”

you blink, mouth parted in disbelief. your body aches. pulses. you’re soaked. again.

“robby, please—”

“you think you get to disobey and still get off?” he asks, dark eyes narrowing. “you think i’m gonna reward you for acting up like a desperate little attention whore?”

you flinch. not from the words—god no, those go straight to your core—but from how easy his voice stays. how devastating he is without even raising it.

he leans in closer to the camera. hunching down to level with the phone in his lap.

“you don’t get to come, baby. you get to lie there and take it. the ache. the need. the shame. you’re gonna fall asleep tonight with my name in your mouth and your cunt untouched. that’s your punishment.”

you choke on a whine. a real one.

“but if you don’t listen?” he adds, eyebrows raising and those lines you've kissed a million times appear on his forehead. “you won’t cum for days after i get home. i’ll make sure of it, kid.”

you fidget in your place on the bed. reading just how much truth lies behind his words.

“i’ll lay you out, open and dripping and begging, and just watch. just look at you. all just because you wanted to be a little brat.”

you’re breathing fast now, chest rising and falling like you’ve been running. eyes glassy and your core clenching around nothing. your whole body’s practically vibrating.

“for now, your hands stay up.” he denotes, reaching to his side and sliding on his glasses.

god those fucking glasses. you hate him!!!!!!!!!!

your arms shake a little as you obey, hoodie riding up just a tad again. you bite your lip and wait.

watch the way he watches you. body naturally reacting to his gaze, your legs twitching again. heat rising in your face and chest, your nipples hard under the fabric. but he keeps looking like he’s got all night. cause fuck he would.

“you look pretty when you tremble,” he says, voice softer now, but still dangerous. “like you know just how deep you fucked up.” he can’t help but let out a small smile.

“robby” you whimper.

“what sweetheart?”

your breath hitches, lashes suddenly damp. “i… i want you inside me. please, robby… want you so bad…”

his gaze stays locked on you. lips momentarily caught between his teeth, head hung a little low. with a shake of his head he speaks, “you could’ve had it, sweetheart.”

you throw your head back in a sign of protest.

“if you had just behaved. if you had kept those pretty hands to yourself like i told you, darling.”

his voice is quiet, heavy with disappointment but tongue sharp enough to tease. “was gonna come home and let you wrap those legs around me, fuck you full till you couldn’t see straight.”

ohhh fuck

his eyes close as he takes his glasses off. he sighs, like it genuinely pains him. “but now? now you get nothing.”

your breath shudders out, thighs pressing together hard. your chest can’t shake off the tight feeling, your core throbbing so sharp it hurts.

robby tilts his head, eyes still dark, voice a notch softer, sharing you some cruel mercy.

“now go on, sweets. try to get some sleep, think about me. but—don't think about disobeying me twice.”

your body can't suppress the gulp that passes through you.

“you should be scared of what i’m gonna do to you,” he rasps. “and you will be.”

he leaves you there, choked on a whimper, eyes hot, chest heaving. hoodie slouched messingly over your figure, thighs trembling, arms aching from staying up.

your phone turns off, but robby’s dark gaze in the back of your mind keeps you pinned in place. you don’t move. you don’t dare.

even from two thousand kilometers away?

he owns you.

–

you go to the bathroom to finish your nighttime routine. air thick and your skin too hot under his zip up. your pulse doesn’t seem to calm down either, no matter how deep you breathe. you keep glancing at your phone, as if his face is still there—like he’s giving you the rope to tie yourself with.

you opt to put on one of robby’s t-shirts instead, with one of your sleeping shorts as you slip into the empty bed. you have two nights to sleep until you can finally welcome robby’s arrival, trying hard to ignore how slow time feels without him.

but god forbid you listen to his words.

you’re still alone. still no one around. no footsteps outside your door. no noise echoing in the unit. you have… freedom.

somewhat.

but the deep, pulsing ache between your legs hurts. real bad.

its not to say you don’t feel guilty. you know you did something that tested the waters. that pushed robby’s patience—and god is that man a saint for how much he has to put up with, whether he can see it or not. and while you also know his words were supposed to submit you into a sense of remorse for your wanton actions, you know you also can't deny just how hot he sounded over the phone. just how attractive he is. how much you need him in any way he's willing to give it to you.

and maybe at first? you obey.

maybe you stay still, try to sigh, to relax your body and let it succumb to the darkness of sleep. maybe you clench your fists in the blankets and bury your face in robby’s pillow and just breathe through it, like you’ve done so many times before.

you try to sleep. you really try to be good.

but you keep picturing his voice. his brown eyes. the way he sweetly called you kid and sweetheart despite scolding your desperate behaviour. or the tone of his voice when he warned of his incoming punishments.

you last… thirty minutes?

forty?

before you’re dragging robby’s pillow down to the ache between your legs. straddling yourself on top of the bunched up fabric and stuffing, hips twitching, clit pulsing. it’s messy, pathetic really, just chasing enough friction to ease the ache. no real finish, and yet you still couldn’t stay still. couldn’t just go to sleep.

–

the door clicks shut quietly. the small clack of dress shoes on the floorboards walking around measured and unhurried—like he has all the time in the world. robby’s luggage settles on the corner chair in the bedroom, as he stands there for a moment, taking the time to look at you. see you in the flesh even though he was only gone for two days.

he admires your soft sleeping figure and your legs peeking in and out of the sheets. your hair is still a frizzy mess with your cheeks warm with sleep. your lips slightly parted, your lashes laying delicately on the tops of your cheeks as your face scrunched just a little in your dreams.

robby walks over, gently sitting down on the edge and letting his weight dip his side of the bed, close to where your hands rest on his pillow.

and then he sees it.

his fingers pull back the fabric enough to identify the sight plain and clear—a wet patch, barely the size of a palm staining the pillowcase. right where your hips were pressed just a few hours ago. back too early for it to have dried, for you to have covered up your little mistake and pretend nothing happened.

robby lets out a low sigh, lightly shaking his head with wrinkles littering his forehead as he turns to look at your sweet face. thumb brushing against your cheekbone ever so softly. your breathing is still so steady and slow.

but fuck did he miss you.

“picture of an angel but nowhere near a saint.” he whispers to himself.

you begin to stir with the weight of him on the bed. warmth begins to radiate towards your body in a recognizable manner. robby slides his hand from your cheek to your thigh, big and warm and fingers curling possessively. your sleepy gaze finds the familiar blurry silhouette of the man in front of you. your heart begins kicking at the sight.

but his voice, quiet and dangerous, reminds you of your future. “want to tell me why my pillow smells like your pretty cunt, sweetheart?”

your tongue suddenly begins to feel too big for your mouth. “r-robby…? y-you’re back? i thought your flight—”

“don’t do that,” he says, thumb still ghosting over your thigh. “don’t play dumb, baby. you know why i’m here.”

his tone remains low and steady. an older-man calm that's soft enough to scare you more than shouting ever could.

you blink, heart stumbling. your gaze flicks up to the pillow your hand is currently fisting, the damp patch unmistakably present. “tell me what this is,” he says, voice so nonchalant it cuts deep into you.

your breath trembles, “i—i couldn’t sleep. i tried, i really did—”

his hand flexes, big and warm on your leg. “careful,” he warns, low and steady. “don’t make me ask twice.”

your voice breaks. “i…i just…i missed you so much, robby. its so hard, and i—i promise i only rubbed a little, over the pillow, i didn’t—didn’t even really finish—”

he doesn’t interrupt your mumbling. just watches patiently. lets your words trip over themselves and fall into silence.

“so you thought about listening,” he murmurs finally, thumb dragging slowly over the curve of your hip. “and you still didn’t.”

you swallow hard, hand reaching for his resting on your side. your lashes go wet. the acknowledgment of your delinquency beginning to send prickles of shame through your skin.

“you know what that means, don’t you?”

your mouth opens, closes, nothing able to come out. the guilt begins to claw up your chest as your thighs tense under his hand.

“look at me,” he says gently, almost bordering on cooing. but it still makes your pulse hammer in your throat. “c’mon, sweetheart. look at me.”

your eyes lift to his, glassy, throat tight and dry. robby’s expression doesn’t soften. it stays heavy, sad in a way that slices you open.

“you knew what i told you.” he says, voice somehow rough and soft at the same time.

a tear slips out and runs down your hot cheek. you try to move closer, to bury your face against his big warm chest, your lips brushing against his collarbone as if asking for permission. asking for forgiveness and mercy.

for a second—just a second—robby lets you. his hand slides to the back of your head, warm fingers curling around your cool skin, thumb brushing your hairline. and he leans down, catches your mouth in a single, slow kiss—not rough, not greedy. just deep, sad, and deliberate.

rather the kind of kiss that says i missed you too. but that doesn’t save you.

your breath hitches, tears threatening again, heart racing so loud you can hear it. then he pulls back. not far, just enough so his forehead touches yours.

“that’s the part that breaks my fuckin’ heart, sweets.” he murmurs, voice catching just a smidge at the end. “that you knew what it’d cost, and you still did it anyway.”

you let out a frustrated whine as robby stands up and walks over to the foot of the bed. he takes off his jacket, setting it aside as he begins to unbutton the cuffs of his dress shirt.

“i just miss you so much, robby. i-i just can’t think straight”

“you missed me?” he begins rolling up his sleeves, as you sit there staring at his wrists. “you didn’t miss me enough to listen, though.”

your breath shudders out. your chest hurts. your thighs squeeze together helplessly.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, voice breaking.

his thumb traces your cheek, wiping the tear—but his eyes remain stern. he’s sticking to his plan.

“you don’t get to cry it away, sweetheart,” he says, soft but final. “you made your bed. now i’m going to show you what it feels like to lie in it. understand?”

your mouth trembles. “…yes, sir.”

robby pulls you gently off the mattress by your waist and stands you in front of him. his voice stays low—an older quality, unable to hide the years of experience. every move, every word, every touch showing he knows exactly what to do.

“listen close, baby. ‘cause i’m only gonna say this once.” he states, lips brushing against your ear. “this isn’t about me being mad that you’re needy. i love that you need me.”

you reach for his hand sitting on your hip. he lets you wrap your fingers tight around his, as he squeezes yours in return. “but when i tell you no, and you still do it? that’s not need, kid. that’s you thinking you know better than me.”

you look down, finding it harder and harder to keep eye contact with him.

“that’s you forgetting who this belongs to.” his palm slides between your legs, warm and firm and possessive. cupping your wet core and your breath hitches, body reacting to his hands finally on you.

finally touching you. finally feeling you. finally feeling him.

“and if i let that slide, sweets? next time you’ll cross another line. and then another. so, i’m gonna make sure you remember. i’m gonna make you so fuckin’ sore you feel it every time you sit down.” your eyes can’t help but go wide as you look back up to him.

“so that when you even think about misbehaving,” his free hand reaches to thumb your cheek. “you’ll remember how it felt to have me teach you to listen.”

he steps closer, voice softer but laced with cruel, heavy promise. “and when you’re crying, legs shaking, beggin’ me to stop? you’ll remember that i warned you, and you still did it. because if you break the rules like a brat? then you get fucked like one. isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

you swallow hard, knowing that’s your cue to nod. “m’sorry” you mumble out, instinctively, frantically. he smiles, grabbing your chin as his figure guides you backwards to the foot of the bed. the edge hitting the back of your knees making you fall down and sit.

slowly and calmly robby watches as you sit there, the whole time you squirm and clench and arch just slightly because your body knows what’s coming.

“no fingers tonight,” he announces. “no mouth. no cuddling. no baby talk. you don’t get that, not after how you acted. so, you’ll take it how i give it.”

you try your best to hush down a complain.

“i’m gonna use my hand. and then my belt.”

you nod frantically. “y-yes—okay”

he holds up a finger. one of his long and thick fingers that you so desperately want inside of you.

“and then i’m gonna fuck you—and maybe, just maybe, ill let you cum. but no promises, kid.” he leans down, kissing your cheek softly. “you touched yourself like a spoiled little girl who thinks i’m not serious.”

you swallow thickly, your underwear sitting haphazardly between your legs, soaking wet. god this isn’t going to be easy.

“trust me darling, i was dead serious.”

–

robby drags your panties down slow—painfully slow—thumbs hooked in the sides like he’s unwrapping a gift he already owns. the cotton peels from your cunt, wet and clinging and he pauses when it sticks. smirks. but doesn’t say a word, just taps your thigh twice.

you lift your hips without thinking.

“good girl,” he murmurs, the words low and instinctive. still too quiet to soothe the guilt swimming inside you. it slips out despite the predicament, a reflex carved deep from nights you’ve obeyed him perfectly.

because even now, even with your thighs trembling under punishment and your cheeks burning with shame, you prove to robby that you are in fact good at listening. quick to act when he taps your hips. still spreading like it’s your job, needy and obedient all at once. 

“like a little slut at the doctor’s office,” he adds, voice darker now, one hand wrapping around the soft underside of your knee. “all trained up to spread on command, hm?” 

he leaves your panties bunched around one ankle. just like in the video you sent last night. just like he saw when he replayed it on the hotel bed with his jaw clenched and his hand wrapped around his cock, muttering “what the fuck am i going to do with you, kid” 

but certainly you don’t know that—and you don’t need to anyways. 

he shifts you further up the bed, palms under your thighs, manhandling you into position until you’re sprawled wide in the center. robby kneels between your legs, hands gripping just above your knees and pushing down, to make sure they don’t budge. 

“m’gonna slap the inside of your thighs until they sting.” robby announces. his voice is almost clinical in the way he states his intentions and impending actions. you love how he can’t shake it off sometimes. 

“not too hard. just enough to remind you what happens when you forget who you belong to.”

you whimper, mentally flipping yourself off for being too needy. too desperate. too bratty. 

“you’ll keep them open the whole time,” he says, matter-of-fact, like he’s stating policy. “or i’ll strap them wide with my belt. you understand, sweets?”

you try to nod, try to stay still, but your thighs are trembling already under his firm grip.

SMACK

a sharp one, not too painful like he promised, just under the curve of your thigh. you jolt but robby doesn’t quite wait for you to settle down. 

“one, for deciding your needs matter more than my rules.”

SMACK. the other thigh, slower this time, punishing in its precision. the sting begins to stick, the kind that doesn’t fade away quick. 

“and another, for touching yourself like i’m not the one who’s supposed to take care of that.”

he lets the words sink in. his hands stay fixed on your legs, keeping them from shutting. you nod, mouth trembling, big glassy eyes looking up at him. 

his hand slides between your legs—not to soothe, but to test how wet you’ve gotten. you try so hard not to whimper. try not to squirm at his touch. so deprived for two days and three nights that your eyes begin to roll back. 

you fail at both.

“look at this,” robby mutters, fingers dragging up your folds. “fuckin’ soaked from getting scolded.”

then—SMACK. his palm lands sharp against your pussy.

you jolt. a noise hauled so deep from your chest escaping you at the sudden feeling. 

he does it again.

SMACK

“put on a show in that video, didn’t you?” he grumbles. “thought it was cute? fuckin’ pathetic.”

another slap. your one thigh closes in on his hand by instinct. he clamps them back open, locking your leg under his own.

“don’t even think about it,” he growls. “keep ‘em spread. you wanna play slut, you take your licks like one.”

you’re crying again before the next one lands. tears blurring your vision, eyes better off closed. 

SMACK

“this little cunt doesn’t even know what real discipline feels like.”

he lands one more. cruel. hot. mean. your legs shake, and you breathe in to calm your tears. then robby spits, slow and deliberate, directly onto your pussy. the wet sound of it lands hot, filthy. you let out a moan, his eyes looking up at you at the sound. he lets it drip, heavy and obscene, down the seam of you.

“robby” you whine, head lulling back. a thick-fingered swipe followed right after, spreading it messily over your already soaked folds, rubbing rough over your bud. you’re aching and overstimulated at the same time and it's driving you nuts.

then—and only then—he leans in and presses a single, soft kiss to your clit. it’s barely even pressure, like he’s mocking you. but he sees the way you gasp and your eyes roll back and he can’t help but enjoy your desperation. his breath fans across your folds when he speaks, “that’s the only mercy you get tonight, kid.”

he looks up at you, his stare unwavering. “don’t ask again.”

robby falls back on his heels before getting up from the bed. cold air hitting your core once the warmth and shield of his body leaves you. he grabs your wrists, pulling you up like you’re weightless. like you’re nothing but trouble to be handled.

“up,” robby states, already settling you upright in front of him.

you blink through your tears, waiting for his explanation. he reaches for the hem of your sleep shirt—his shirt—and pulls it over your head. you’re bare underneath, you always are, and now you’re naked in front of him. knees bucking with your shivering figure and shame-faced. you peek up at him, eyes red, nose stuffy, lips in a slight pout. his gaze flickers across your face, lingers.

robby brushes your hair back gently—thumb skating along your temple, down the wet streak on your cheek, to trace along your jaw.

its not an apology and not quite forgiveness. just something wordless and old. a kind of reverence he can’t help.

“you keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs, “and i won’t be able to do this.” 

you sniffle, hands reaching out to rest on his stomach. but he doesn’t stop. 

he undoes a few buttons from the top of shirt before unfastening his belt slowly. he lets it slide through the loops with a warning whip. then he sits down on the edge of the bed, the dark leather beginning to wrap around his hand, “over.”

you hesitate—only a second. but robby isn’t having it. you know the rules and you can't avoid them anymore. he manhandles you over his lap, positioning your thighs on top of his own, face down, ass up, one of his heavy legs caging you in.

your body’s bare, vulnerable and defenseless, laid out for robby to correct and all you can do is try to take deep breaths and take it. he settles you tighter across him. one palm at the back of your neck—holding you, not hurting you.

“gonna keep your head down, okay?”

you nod and reach for the sheets, bracing yourself for impact by holding onto the corner of the bed. but you hear shuffling before robby’s grey tie dangles in front of your face. 

it smells like him. like his woodsy cologne you crave when he’s gone. 

“open your mouth, kid.” 

you follow the order, jaw trembling as your tongue soon tastes the silk and cotton of his tie. he rolls it into a good enough ball to chew down on, a small tail of the material sticking out of your mouth. 

it’s comforting. 

robby leans in close to your ear, “five with the belt.” his hand coasts down your spine—steadying you, grounding you. you make a noise of acceptance through the ball in your mouth, pressing your cheek to the edge of the bed. 

the first crack of leather rings through the room. the belt landing hot across your ass, and you bite down hard, a whimpered jolt escaping you. 

it had been a while since you were last bent over his lap, skin bared to welcome soon-to-form welts. the second slap lands firm, doubling the sting already aching through the layers of your flesh. which only helps you remember why you had chosen to be on your best behaviour prior to yesterday:

being horny always makes you forget how bad it actually hurts to be a brat. 

three more slaps come before your eyes burn red and your drool wets over robby’s tie. his hands rub over your cheek, the skin burning and you flinch at the touch. “now, you’re gonna count, sweets. okay? and i want you to tell me what lesson you’ve learned, and a promise after each.”

robby fishes out the tie from your mouth, allowing you to respond to him. you gasp when he takes it out, swallowing the pool of saliva in your mouth. robby’s thumb rubbing the slick over your puffy lips. you sniffle, throat rough and your face hot. “okay.”

“and you’ll mean it. or we keep going until you do.”

you nod again. his eyes linger on yours more softly than his actions. hand loosening on the belt wrapped around him. “hold still” he warns.

the sound echoes in your ears, one arm braced around robby’s leg, the other hand clutching tightly at the sheets. “one,” you gasp. you try hard not to stutter on your words, “i-i’m yours. a-and i won’t show off again. i s-swear.”

“good start,” he grunts.

WHAP

“two—! i-i’ll be patient next time. i won’t tease ‘n i won’t beg like that again.”

“bullshit,” he grumbles. “but keep going.”

the stinging almost begins to numb your skin. almost. “three! i’ll ask first, robby—i’ll wait for you.”

“you’ll earn it,” he corrects, voice steady, “or you won’t get it at all.”

WHAP

“four” you whine out, chest tight. tears drip down your face, soaking the sheets of the bed. “i’ll be good. i’ll–i’ll do what you tell me. no q-questions, no protests, n-no attitude.”

robby hums like he’s testing the truth of it, “we’ll see,” the belt is still loose in his grip. “i hope so.”

your body jolts on the last whip of the leather. “five—!” a sob finally breaks free, “i’ll remember who i belong to, i-i won’t forget again—ever ‘cause i love you—i love you s’much.”

there’s a pause, just the dingle of the belt buckle being tossed to the chair at the corner. his big hand begins rubbing slow circles over the marked heat of your ass, his palm spread wide and warm and soothing with its movements. when he speaks, he’s soft, “that’s the one i believe, sweetheart.” 

robby sees the belt marks starting to lift. angry little welts that’ll bruise come the morning. he sees the tremble of your thighs, your knees trying hard not to buck. not to mention, the wet mess between them. you’re vibrating with pain and need and robby can't help but shake his head with a smirk.

he exhales, low and controlled, helping you up from his legs and sitting you in his lap. one hand sits on your hip and the other pushes your hair out of your face as he leans down, so close his voice ghosts warm across your cheek.

“you don’t make this easy, kid,” he murmurs. there’s no venom in it. just a rough kind of honesty.

you bite down on your lip so hard you make yourself whine. his thumb drags down your mouth, freeing it from your teeth. he rubs against the skin, soothing the red. 

“i love you too, sweetheart. so fucking much.” he whispers. 

he kisses your forehead as his two hands warm your cheeks, squeezing you tight to his lips. you hover over his mouth once he lets you go, silently begging for permission, for some more mercy. he lets you, enveloping you in a comforting wet kiss and you feel the tension in your body slowly dissolving. 

one second longer and he might have climbed into the sheets with you and called it a day. might undo all of it. pull you against him, press your face to his chest, stroking your hair and say, “it’s alright, baby. i got you. i’m here.”

but he doesn’t.

because he meant what he said. no comfort. no release. not yet.

“you make it hard to be cruel,” he says under his breath, barely loud enough for you to hear. “you’re so fucking sweet when you’re like this.”

he shifts you so you can lay on your back against the bed. slow and careful with the way he lifts you, not wanting to inflict any more discomfort to your bottom. he sheds himself of his shirt, pants unbuttoned and boxers tossed to the chair. he slots himself between your thighs, spreading them apart like he belongs there. his eyes roam down, watching the shine of your slick coat the inside of your legs, your pussy flushed and swollen from the slaps. all frustrated from his negligence.

you whimper, soft and instinctive, at the way he stares down at you and his jaw tightens. something unspoken sparkling in his eyes. 

“still fucking dripping, hm?” he mutters, shaking his head once like you’ve disappointed him and baffled him all at once. “this—” he swipes his fingers through your folds, presses down hard on your clit until you twitch and gasp, “—is why you’re not done being punished.”

you moan. you can’t help it. none of it. 

robby flips you over with a single steady motion. his palms running against the sensitive skin of your ass. his arm snakes around your waist, dragging you up just enough for him to sink into you. 

no warning. no prepping.

just one long, slow thrust to the hilt that punches the air from your lungs, stretching you so full that it makes your toes curl into the sheets. the exact perfect ache that you go mad for. and he doesn’t let you move, doesn’t let you even think about grinding back towards him, forearms brace your hips in place, caging you there. 

his other hand catches both of yours and pins them down to the mattress above your head, his grip ironclad. robby’s voice sounds in your ear, soft and seething, “you don’t get to fuck me tonight, baby.” he states, like its obvious. “you just get used. gotta humble that needy little cunt before she starts thinking she’s in charge.”

then he moves—slow, punishing strokes. every time he withdraws it's so deliberate you swear you feel every possible ridge of him, just to push back in so deep it borders on cruel. your walls can’t help but constrict around him, chasing him, trying to keep him stuffed inside you for as long as possible. 

his hand tightens around your wrists and you hear the last thread of tenderness in his voice break. “all mine” mouthed to the side of your tear-stained cheek before robby lets out a low and ragged groan. his pace remains steady, unhurried, like your frustration is part of his reward. “m’gonna fill you up… and you’re gonna lay here and take it. ‘cause that’s all you get.”

you whine into the sheets. ass pulsing with the way his hips slam against your cheeks. the all too familiar feeling of your wet walls stretching around robby’s thick length driving him crazy. the pressure in your stomach begins to muster up into a storm but you can feel the way robby pulses inside of you and you know he won't wait for you. you still bite the sheets at the feeling of his cock driving into your tight little cunt, eyes squeezing shut as you feel him chasing his own edge, every thrust a reminder that this isn’t about you.

his free hand runs up from your hip to the side of your chest. palm flat as it presses down on your shoulder blades until he grips a handful of your hair. he tugs it when you let out a strangled moan, his pink fat tip hitting a part deep in your cervix that you feel a shiver pass over you. 

“is this what you were pretending your fingers were last night?” he teases into your skin, teeth grazing your sweaty shoulder. he tugs at your hair again, yanking your face up and close to robby’s hot breath. he bites your earlobe, “not even close, sweetheart. not even fucking close.”

you let whiny sounds escape you, any words mumbled into the air with a hoarse voice. your nails dig into the sheets above your head, wrists still locked in robby’s grip, as you fight to keep your hips still. the burn in your ass throbs in time with the ache between your legs, and you slowly realize the worst part of the punishment is knowing how easily he could make you come—and how determined he is not to.

even so, the heat deep in your belly keeps coiling tighter and tighter until it’s an aching pressure that makes your thighs shake and you so desperately want to feed it. you try to breathe through it, try to think of anything other than the way he’s balls deep splitting you open, but every slow drag of his hips follows up with a mean thrust back into you and it just keeps winding you up. you clench around him—once, twice—so hard that you earn a hearty groan from robby. 

a tug to your hair, “mm–don’t.” he warns low, voice as rough as yours it borders on a growl, “don’t you even think about it.”

you bite down on your lip, hard, the taste of iron coating the tip of your tongue but it's useless. you can’t stop the gnawing feeling overcoming you. your body is desperate, greedy, tightening around him like you can lock him there forever and wring every possible drop out of him without having to try hard enough. you can hear how wet you are every time his hips roll forward and the humiliation of it only makes the ache worse. 

“sweetheart” his voice sharpens, grip on your wrists tightening to the point your fingers begin to tingle. his other hand most likely bruises your hip as he drags your ass snug against him. “you come without my say-so and i’ll flip you over and start all over again. make you cry real this time, baby. don’t test me. 

your whole body jerks when he selfishly thrusts in deep, so deep it feels like you can’t breathe. your toes curl, your eyes roll back, your mouth agape and the sound that leaves you is half sob, half moan. “robby—” you choke out, but he cuts you off with a slow drag of his hips that slams back into you hard enough to jolt you forward on the bed. 

a test. mocking you.  

“don’t.” he repeats, voice steady now, in that dangerous calm that makes your stomach twist. “you’re here to be used, baby. not to be pleased. so you hold it.” 

but you can’t. you’re trembling, hairs sticking up, goosebumps tracking your skin. you keep clenching down like your body is making the decision for you. the sensitivity presents itself in sharp, unbearable throbs. you try to reason with him, say you can’t help it, apologize for the fiftieth time, but all that comes out is a muffled, desperate sound into the sheets.

your thighs quake, every nerve in your body begging, yelling, screaming at you to just let go. to give in, and take the blissful release that's dangling just out of reach. but robby’s warnings ring in your head like a threat you know full well he’d make good on. your mind races at the burn, the fullness, the way you can feel his pulsing, his strained huffs of breath he lets out through his nose, and the way he's squeezing your flesh like it's all his, because it is.

oh god it is.

it's all too much. you're starting to see white at the edges of your vision, jaw slack, breath hitching like you’re about to tumble over the edge…

and then you feel it. the hot, insistent pulse inside of you as his hip drives absolutely flush to yours. his groan is low, gutteral, breaking on the inhale as he spills into you. warm, thick, and oh so familiar. comforting, almost. the weight of him leaning against you, cock buried to the hilt with spurts of cum still coating your walls, makes your chest tighten. 

you fall apart—but not the way you wanted.

a sob tears itself from your throat, raw and ugly, as your body embarrassingly clenches around him, chasing a release that never comes. “n-no, robby—please—” you babble, voice cracking, but he’s already holding you there, the head of his cock leaking his seed into the pool of your own juices. all while your own pleasure is ripped right out from under you. 

you can’t stop crying. hot, messy sobs shake your whole frame, your wrists straining uselessly in his grip. “i-i–i was so—so close” you whine, tears soaking into the bed, strands of your hair sticking to your cheeks. 

“yeah i know,” he murmurs in your ear, maddeningly calm as he finally lets your hands go to stroke his palm down your back, soothingly. “that’s the point, kid. you don’t get it tonight.”

the words make you cry harder, shoulders jerking with every cry and hiccup. your pussy throbs around him, aching and swollen, milking him in pathetic aftershocks you can’t help, and robby just keeps you there—stuffed full, pussy oozing of him. denied and quivering. 

“there you go,” he coos, like you’re a child he’s putting to bed. “let it out, sweetheart. cry for me. cry ‘til you remember your place.”

and you do—face buried in the sheets, body uncontrollably shaking, your weeping filling the room while he keeps stroking you, hand petting your hair, the sides of your ribs, your marked ass. his cock softens inside of you, but still pulsing in time with your heartbeat. he lightly kisses your shoulder as he leans down against you, keeping you caged in until your fight is gone. 

only then does he move, slowly pulling out of your bright pink pussy. his hands are gentle as he lifts you, shifting so you can lay on your back, your red, watery eyes meeting his soft, tired brown ones. both of his hands envelope each of yours, fingers interlacing and he squeezes you reassuringly. proud of you, for enduring your consequences like the good girl he knows you are. even when you try to fight against it. 

you smile, small and spent. but a smile he reciprocates nonetheless.

your thighs still quiver when he leaves the room, but he’s back before you can truly miss him. jar of cream in one hand and a warm washcloth in the other, and your heart warms—he would never leave you unattended after something like this. nothing is ever that serious. 

he nudges open your legs first with his hand. squeezing water droplets from the cloth to run down your folds. although you hiss at the feeling, it's tender and easing. he swipes, runs the soft material against your thighs for anything that might’ve spread. gently pats you dry with another corner of the cloth. you sniffle, your nose still runny after all your crying. chest still feeling a bit heavy, body still sore although robby’s comforting touch over you is enough for it all to feel worth it. 

his eyes look up at you, to assess your expressions, to see the small tremble of your muscles that you can’t control. he cleans the dried trail of salt tears from your cheeks with his moist hand, like he's erasing the evidence. you hold his hand to your cheek a few beats longer—eager for his warmth. knowing this, he tugs your head to his lips, planting a kiss on your forehead. 

robby then shifts you to flip back onto your stomach. a pillow dragged down from the top of the bed, so you can lay your head to the side while he opens the jar of cream. he’s quiet as he works. fingers light and easy as he dabs the ointment onto your belt marks, bumps and lines beginning to sink good into your skin. you can’t help the little sounds you make when the cool cream meets your hot spots. each one earning you a soft “i know, baby. i know…” 

he watches the way your skin bubbles with goosebumps at his intimate touch. the way you hold your breath when his hands run against the small of your back. he loves how sensitive you are to him. how reactive. it intrigues him. 

once he's done his fingers brush away the hair that's fallen to your face. hates the idea of not seeing your face, tugging a few strands behind your ear as you close your eyes. he keeps his hand on your back, silently asking you to stay still while he gets up to search for a pair of sweatpants you can wear, and a fresh pair of underwear—one of his boxers for comfort. 

he helps you up off the bed, careful to not smudge the cream onto the sheets. you slip into your new pyjamas for the night, robby handing you an old t-shirt of his—your favourite to be specific—to finish you off. after he gets himself into his own house clothes, he stands before you, as you watch him watching you. his palms run over you gently, like he wants you to feel the difference. he fixes the hem of your shirt, palms your thighs one last time, like he’s double checking that the clothes fit you in that slouchy cozy way you love. 

then he looks at you, eyes running all over your face. thumbs rubbing over your cheeks, eyes making sure they meet yours even if you lower your gaze. “thats it. you’re done now. nothing left hanging over you.”

you nod, leaning up on your tippytoes, testing the waters to see if it's okay. and he kisses you before you can twist your mind up on whether or not he’s still mad at you, or if you’re still in trouble. “you’re okay, sweetness. i promise.”

“im sorry. im sorry. i love you.”

“i love you, more. always have, always will, kid.”

–

it’s late afternoon now, the low lights of the early evening creeping over the sky. robby heads over to the kitchen almost immediately once you two head out of the bedroom. he knows you haven’t eaten anything, and although he’s also standing there stomach pit empty, he’s more determined to cook something up for you. he’ll just eat the leftovers of whatever he musters up. 

you follow him through the apartment, leaning against a wall that corners in the kitchen. watching the way his hands move, grabbing things from the cabinets and fridge. he doesn’t ask what you want, knowing exactly what your comfort food is, warm and filling and nothing too fancy. just a good old meal. and you know exactly that, and you can’t help but smile. 

“sit down, angel. don’t want you standin’ around.” he speaks, eyes watching you as he points to the free space on the counter. you hop up, robby’s hands close by if your legs were too limp. you scrunch your nose at the ache in your skin and he sees. hands on you to sooth, “you okay?”

“i’m okay. i deserve it,” you reply, lips curving into a small smile at the end, “trust me. i know” you add on.

he lets out a quiet chuckle, “took it like a good girl, that’s all i care about.”

he continues to work, pots and pans heating on the stovetop as he cuts and measures what he needs. you watch him, like he’s more interesting than any possible tv program you could sit down and watch instead. and he knows, impossible to not be hyper-aware of your gaze. but he loves it. there's a quiet pride in the way he tosses around the ingredients, or the way he flexes his forearm just a little unconsciously because he adores the sound of a giggle escaping past your lips. 

next thing you know, he's resting the plate in front of you. warm food settling a peace through you, finally quieting the grumble that haunted your stomach while robby cooked. robby was pleased with the way your shoulders loosened and your cheeks heated up at the steam from the plate. it wasn’t until you were a couple of bites in that he finally began to feed himself. something you’ve always pleaded for him to prioritise while he commanded the chaos of the ER. and he would always listen eventually, because he hated when you would worry about him.

you go to bed that night still slick and sore. the consequences still sunk heavy in your bones, every shift of your body reminding you of where his hands held you firm. the ache isn’t just on the surface, it falls deeper, a throbbing low in your core, a hunger that makes your muscles twitch with his figure against you. robby feels it. knows it. but you don't ask. you don’t beg. not after what you’ve done. you only tuck yourself tighter against his chest, face pressed into the cotton of his shirt, body humming with need you won’t voice. not tonight. 

and robby? he doesn’t miss a thing. not the restless way your thighs shift between his before sleep drags you under. not the shallow hitch of your breath when his arm passes over the curve of your hip, hand soothing where the leather struck. he knows exactly what you’re aching for, and exactly why he won’t give it to you. 

not yet. 

and when you finally let your eyes close, he keeps one hand curved at the back of your head, the other at your waist. holding you in place so you won’t curl away in your sleep. he does it on purpose, that weight—his weight—because he knows you’ll be reaching back for his comfort when you accidentally drift away. 

he thinks about that while you twitch in his arms, your body still chasing what he refused. and robby breaths through it, warm air out his nose that falls against your hairline, staying quiet and steady as you sleep. 

it kills him not to fold—always does. loving you the way he does, too much even, more than a man like him should, makes restraint feel damn near impossible. but he holds the line anyway, because that ache, he reminds himself, is part of it.

the punishment is still written in your body, but tomorrow is different. it will be different. 

robby’s trip is still booked for four days. at least that’s where gloria thinks he is, and that’s what jack is covering him for. but robby came home a day early, and he intends to make every hour of it count. no scrubs, no pager, no excuse to rush. 

just you and him. 

–

sunlight spills over your face like it wants you awake, but you don’t stir right away. your body aches—hips sore from how deep he kept himself, thighs still trembling here and there, skin damp with the ghost of his touch. the sheets cling to you messily, robby’s old shirt bunched at your ribs. your hand reaches out for his side, only finding the faint feel of his warmth. 

when your eyes finally blink open, groggy and raw, robby’s already up. forest green t-shirt. grey sweats. showered and dark coffee in hand. he sits in the corner chair like he’s got the whole world under control. his legs crossed and his gaze fixed on you.

and you?

well, you’re a mess. cheeks flushed. hair tangled. eyes sticky with the tears that had cried hours ago. ass still marked. your legs parted just slightly, comforter bunched up and tucked in between—needy even in sleep.

he tilts his head, raising a brow. “is my girl awake?”

you swallow hard, nodding, and your face burns at the way he looks at you, like he can read every thought you’re too ashamed to say. like he can smell the desperation off of you. he can certainly feel it if he touches between your thighs. 

“too sore?” his voice is quiet, a careful test.

your head shakes pathetically too fast. “no. no—please. please, robby.” your voice cracks in your mumbled reply, voice laced with sleep and raw desire.

he crosses the room, setting his mug aside on the night stand, slow, steady. calm where you’re frantic. he leans down, kisses your forehead, then your nose, cheek and then your mouth—gentle, patient. like he has all the time in the world. like he has all of his life to love you. 

“you’re so desperate for me, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. “can’t even open your eyes all the way before you’re begging.”

“please,” you breathe. you don’t care how it sounds and you don’t care if it’s toxic. that when he’s not inside you, you feel sick, hollow, like your chest caves in without him filling it. that when he’s away you don't know how to act or what to do. he occupies every single space in your mind and you wouldn’t want it any other way. “please, robby. i’ll be good. i’ll be so good.”

he smiles, like you’re breaking him apart piece by piece. like he enjoys submitting to your needs when you’re this undone for him. “you are already good, baby. took everything i gave you last night. made me so proud.” his thumb brushes your lower lip. “i’m not mad anymore, sweetheart. you hear me?”

you whine, arms reaching for him as your eyes begin to wet. “i’m your good girl.”

that gets him. his composure cracking just a little, as he huffs out in that old man way that you secretly love. he climbs onto the bed pushing the sheets down and slotting himself between your thighs. he tugs off the boxers he gave you last night and your pants, along with his own.  “yeah, sweets,” he begins, yanking your legs up over his arms to hook onto his shoulders, spreading you wide and bending you in half. you lay helpless beneath him, the position forcing you open, and making you whimper before he’s even touched you. “you are.”

when robby finally presses in, it’s so slow—gentle enough to make your throat tighten but oh so deep you can’t help but gasp. your whole body shudders, breath snagging into sobs. you pulsate around him like your life depends on it. 

after three days and four nights you finally get what you wanted. 

“shhhh,” he soothes, hand cupping the side of your face as he kisses your temple. “i’ve got you. my girl’s okay.”

but you’re not. i mean, not really. tears slip down your cheeks, not from pain but from the relief—relief so intense it borders on spirituality. your arms fly around his shoulders, grasping like he might vanish. like he might leave you alone again with that barbaric need for him, one that eats you from the inside out, it’s honestly disgusting and pathetic. 

“i’m sorry,” you babble, chest heaving. “i missed you—i don’t want to be bad, i just—i needed you so bad, robby—”

he shushes you again, “i know.” his voice is low and cooing. his hips move in slow, grounding thrusts that keep you tethered to him. “i know, baby. you were desperate and lonely. but you’re not anymore. you’re right here. i’m right here.”

it kills him to leave you, he knows how you get. and fuck if he doesn’t feel the same. tight fist around his length in a hotel bedroom or the ED bathroom is nothing compared to you. he craves you all the same. 

your sob turns into a broken moan, your body clenching around him like you want to fuse together. your arms clutching him so tight, you stick to his body like gum on a shoe.

“that’s it,” he whispers, kissing your tears away. “my darling. so sweet. so desperate.” his thrusts angle deeper, enough to make your back arch and your legs quiver in his firm hold. “you’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?”

“yes,” you gasp. “anything. anything you want.”

his mouth finds yours, stealing a wet, messy kiss that tastes like salt and forgiveness. when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. one hand smoothes over the curve of your stomach, your hips, your bruised thighs. “you don’t have to beg anymore. you took your punishment. took my cock. took it all so pretty.” he mumbles into your lips, hooded brown eyes loving on you. “i forgive you, angel. you’re perfect and you’re mine, always mine.”

the words crack something open in you, and you cum so violently it nearly knocks the breath out of you. a full-body sob breaks from your chest, your nails digging into his back, every nerve and muscle in your anatomy shivering around the bulk of the man above you. as you clamp down like you’ll never let him go.

he holds you through it, like you’re something fragile he needs to protect. he lets you fall apart beneath him, praising every second. his lips meet your cheek as he leaves kisses on your jaw and neck. you let all the whimpers and whines escape your parted lips, your body melting into his figure. robby often joked that your body was made for him specifically, with the way you fit against him so perfectly. “that’s my good girl. my perfect girl. i’ve got you, let it out.”

it's only a few strokes later when he spills inside you, thrusted into the depths of your core, settling a warmth over you—solace, the final seal to his forgiveness.

robby’s body goes heavy on yours, his cock still twitching with his last few drops. it's not crushing, instead the perfect weight to keep you grounded, pinned in the nirvana that you belong to. his lips brush your cheek, your nose, the lashes that sit against your cheeks when your eyes close, your forehead. “i love you, baby,” he whispers, and it feels like the quietest, purest prayer.

when he finally pulls out, he cleans you gently, trembling a little himself if you really pay attention. his big arms wrap around your waist, before tucking you into his chest, naked and snug. robby kisses you until you melt against him again. soon after, you fall asleep for the rest of the morning to the sound of his heartbeat. 

safe. forgiven. his.

and you don’t dare touch yourself again without his permission—not just because you’re afraid of the consequences, but because nothing will ever compare to this.

Robby’s had a lot of shitty shifts in his time as a practicing MD. Too many to count. 

He never could’ve imagined that anything would even begin to compare to what he and every other healthcare worker went through during the pandemic, but the MCI really and truly broke something inside of him. 

He felt it when Whitaker found him on the floor of the makeshift morgue, and he feels it now as he sits in the park with a beer in his hand, borderline hysterical laughter bubbling up from his chest. 

It’s fucking ridiculous. All of it. The world at large, Jesus Christ, why did he ever think he could handle this? Why did he think he’d be able to move on after Adamson—that he could be even half the doctor his mentor had been? 

After finishing his beer, Robby stands and waves to everyone else, the other survivors of that hellish shift, then turns and fits his AirPods into his ears. The song playing when he’d first walked into work 15 fucking hours ago picks up where it left off, and Robby has to snort. His playlist may be able to move forward like nothing happened, but there’s no way he’ll be able to. 

Yeah, this one’s gonna fuck him up. 

He makes his way toward his house, exhausted and wired at the same time. His stomach grumbles, and Robby knows he should be starving, but he has no desire to eat. Anything he manages to choke down will just come right back up, he’s sure of it. 

As he approaches the bus stop he passes every day, Robby catches sight of a familiar jacket, familiar braids, familiar antsy tapping that followed him for much of the shift. 

You turn at the sound of his footsteps, eyebrows shooting up when you see him. “Dr. Robby!” like it’s been a year since you last saw him rather than an hour. 

Robby forces a tired but cordial smile as he nears, no teeth, no shine, really an acknowledgment more than anything. 

Fuck, he’s beat. All he wants to do is collapse into bed and not leave for… ever. 

He knows himself, though, knows he likely won’t get a wink of sleep tonight. His brain will keep him up, whirring with all the what if’s, all the mistakes, all the people he couldn’t save. 

And still, you stare at him as if he saved every last one of them. It’s the same way you’ve been staring at him all day, eyes wide with misplaced admiration, though now there’s a shadow of sympathy. 

“I was hoping to see you before I left the hospital, but…” you trail off, shake your head, pick back up, “doesn’t matter ‘cause here you are."

“Here I am,” he replies like he wishes he wasn’t. “Did you need something, or—”

“No, no, nothing like,” you shake your head, and Robby doesn’t miss the way your fingers tighten around the strap of your corduroy backpack. 

“I just, um…” you swallow and rock on your feet, hands sliding into your jacket pockets. 

Robby takes another few steps forward, ducks his head a little to be able to look you in the eye as he pushes, “you…?” then straightens back up when he realizes that you can see his eyes too—bloodshot and puffy and still red-rimmed from earlier. 

Tossing your head to the side, you scrunch your face up when you suddenly ask, “are you okay?”

Robby blinks at you. 

It’s probably the 50th time he’s been asked this today, and he’s just about fucking had it, but… you look so fucking sincere, it kills him a little. 

He’s known you for less than 24 hours, but Christ, were those hours long. You spent the majority of them right at his heels, following and helping where you could then working independently where you had to. Honestly, if Robby had to have had a resident shadow him so closely, he’s glad it was you. You’d watched his every move and ended up putting most of them into practice yourself. If Robby said jump, you asked “how high?” then hurdled over every bar he set. 

Adept and in-tune, and not just with your patients, it seems, because you’re looking at him the way you looked at all of them, real concern playing over your features, wrinkling your forehead and tightening your mouth, and for the first time all day, Robby feels like telling the truth. 

Grinning in dark disbelief, Robby gazes at the night sky for a few seconds before letting his head drop forward again. 

Are you okay? 

“Not even a little,” he laughs. 

Your returning smile is unsure, but you nod, mumble, “today was pretty fucked up.”

“It really was.” 

Some of that worry melts away, right to the back of your throat as you swallow it down. 

“If it’s any consolation, I learned a lot.”

“Yeah, about how you should reconsider your fucking career choice.”

“No,” you shake your head, “no, more about how to handle the tough cases. How to toe the line between…hope and reality, I guess."

Something in his chest starts to ache and the space behind his eyes begins to burn again and Robby is suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude toward you and white hot fury toward everything else. 

Tucking his chin to his chest, Robby squeezes his eyes shut, mutters quietly, “fucking hell,” then redirects, “you headin’ home?”

He watches your shoulders rise with a heavy sigh, apparently already aware that prying won’t help. 

“Yeah, just waiting for the bus,” you answer absentmindedly, “unless you need me for something else.”

Something else. 

~

This might be the most fucked up thing he’s ever done, and that’s including showing that father the pedi morgue a few hours ago. 

That, Robby can blame on anger and stress. 

This, though, this is just irrational, and he knows it. It’s like a panic response that he's fully aware he’s having but isn’t trying to fight. He doesn’t give a fuck about grounding exercises or breathing techniques or any of that shit. He just wants some semblance of fucking control. 

After the way you’d followed him around all goddamn day, at his beck and call and wide-eyed with awe, Robby knows that he can control this. He can control you. 

And, he does, his hands curling around the back of your head to manipulate you however he needs, tilting you in ways that are comfortable for him while probably putting a strain on your tendons. 

Mouths molded against one another, Robby presses too hard and bites too mean, and when your pained groan vibrates against his lips, all he does is sink his teeth a little deeper into already kiss-swollen flesh. 

Without any lights on in the house, it’s nearly pitch black. He’s stumbled to his couch too many times to count, though, has no problem guiding you to it in a series of clumsy steps. 

Robby tears his jacket off and drops it to the floor followed by both of his shirts. He doesn’t bother with his pants, far more interested in his brand new resident as you strip down to your underwear. 

He’s drunk with fatigue and sorrow, and now, with a heavy pour of lust pooling in his stomach, he’s close to blacking out entirely, one step away from delirium.

When you’d introduced yourself 16 hours ago, Robby never would’ve thought you’d end up underneath him. He’d looked at you just long enough to think, cute, then shrugged it away to make room for every fucking responsibility he had to shoulder throughout the day. 

A day that was spent with the parents of a braindead son, with adult children coming to terms with the fact that their father was dying. He spent the day watching Heather and screaming at Langdon. Spent the day trying his fucking hardest to save a single girl, and when he couldn’t, he ended up on the floor of the makeshift morgue. 

You were there for most of it, which is strange and unfamiliar because he hasn’t had a resident shadow him in years. 

But, every other student seemed to latch onto someone, leaving you a little lost until Robby decided, what the hell, and nodded you over to his side. Maybe teaching would distract him from the date on the calendar. 

And, it wasn’t terrible. The day as a whole was, but you weren’t. Once you’d gotten the confidence boost you needed, you were able to fall into step beside him. You made yourself scarce when he needed you to, and the only questions you asked were about medicine, about the things you didn’t know that you hoped he could teach you. 

For all 15 hours you’d worked together, you were just there, ready and willing to take whatever Robby wanted you to. 

Just like you are now.

Clutching onto him like a lifeline, you writhe for him, every breath punched out of you when he kisses too rough, sucks too hard, bites too deep. You're gonna be marked to hell and back, Robby's internal bruises displayed all over your skin. 

His back to the armrest, he's got you on top of him, supported by his thighs as you grind against his hard cock. The only barrier between the two of you now is the material of his boxer-briefs, damp with your arousal as Robby ruts up into you. 

"Knew you'd be good," he grunts out, urging you to lift your hips enough for him to be able to snake a hand beneath you, thrust a finger inside of your quivering hole a few times before adding a second. "Did everything I fuckin' asked you to, perfect little resident."

You moan around your bottom lip, thighs shaking as you start to ride his fingers. 

"Just—hn—I just w-wanted to help you…" you whimper, sounding so painfully sincere that Robby is reminded once again how wrong he is for doing this. 

He curls his fingers inward, massages your soft walls for a few seconds before finding the spot that makes you cry out, pulls you by the neck so that he can drink down every whine that tumbles from your lips as he does his absolute best to tear you apart. 

"Helped me so much—you were so smart n' sweet all day. You gonna keep being sweet for me?"

You nod as best you can as he sucks on your lower lip, shaking on top of him with his fingers moving inside of you. 

"Hm? You're gonna what?" he teases because all he really knows right now is how to fuck and how to be an asshole. "Remember to close the loop."

You keen, take in a deep breath, then repeat, "'m'gonna be s-sweet for you, Dr. Robby," and Christ, he can feel himself leaking through his boxers. 

Heartrate picking up and vision fogging over, Robby swears at the sensation of your little pussy clenching tight around his fingers, so hungry and greedy.

"You gonna cum for me, angel?"

Again, you only nod at first, but you show how smart you are for the nth time today, quickly stutter, "gonna—mmfuck, gonna cum for you, wanna cum for you—"

And, you do, nails digging into his shoulders, cunt spasming and dripping messily, tears springing up in your rolling eyes. 

Fuck, you're stunning, ambitious, dedicated little doctor. So good, so desperate to help, to lend Robby a helping hand during the day then lend him your body at night—he wants to ruin you. Wants to bathe in those bright, hopeful eyes until he remembers what it was like to have that spark of light himself. 

He could just take it from you, stomp out any of that optimism, show you that your faith in him is useless. He's not good—not a good doctor, not a good man, and he wants to prove that to you, live up to the self-fulfilling prophecy he's been trying to deny for the last five years. 

The only reason Robby gives you a break is so that he can free his cock, sticky with precum, hot and pulsing in his hand as he lines himself up. 

He should offer a condom. Lube. A chance to get acclimated to his size. 

But, Robby is impatient and in the middle of a goddamn crisis, so all he does is warn you, "deep breath in," like he's about to pop your shoulder back into place. 

He doesn't push in all at once, but he doesn't go particularly slow, and that inhale you just took is forced right back out of you as you whine at the way his cock stretches you. If the lights were on, Robby would have a better view of your pussy spreading open for him, making room for his thickness and creaming all over it. 

"That's a good girl," he groans, voice strangled and wet from the saliva that's pooled in his mouth, and fuck, you feel so good, so good.

You're already sensitive from your last orgasm, and knowing that makes Robby's head spin when he starts fucking you, making you squeal for him. 

"Oh—o-oh god, it's—s'too much, nng—"

He doesn't see or feel you trying to stop him, though, just let your jaw drop, hips rolling automatically as tears start to stream down your face. 

"Am I hurting you, babydoll?" 

Truthfully, that’s what you are right now. Young, beautiful resident, letting her senior attending use her how he wants. You bounce and moan and whisper, "n-no, Dr. Robby, doesn't hurt," with fluttering eyelids and twitching fingers. 

Pretty little baby. Pretty little doll. 

And, you feel so perfect, your sopping cunt sucking him deep, squelching and clinging to every inch he gives you then takes away. 

His fingertips are bruising your hips, nails digging crescent moons into supple flesh. He wraps his lips around one of your nipples, sucks and sucks and sucks until you start to shy away, and then he sucks a little more before moving to the next. 

He wants you raw and exposed, wants you shivering, wants you unable to fucking look at him whenever you work again. 

Because you will work, will see each other after this. Maybe you'll go to HR, say Robby coerced you into this, and he wouldn't fight it. It's not incorrect. There's a clear imbalance here, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't getting off on it. 

He really could do whatever he wanted. With your drive and your obvious need to please, you'd probably let him get away with just about anything. 

Robby has complete fucking control of you, and that idea is so satisfying and soothing and terrible, it lights him up from the inside. 

Wrapping a hand around your throat, Robby brings you close to him again, his other hand working between your splayed legs so he can swipe his fingers over your slick and swelling clit. 

"Such a sweet girl," he growls, thrusting deep, fast, and rough, stirring your insides, basking in the lewd noises and neverending stream of slick that leaks out around his cock— "who knew you could be so fucking messy?"

Even in the poor lighting you must be able to see something dangerous in his face—the dark glint in his eyes or maybe the way he's bearing his teeth. Whatever it is, it makes you sniffle, like you know he's gonna hurt you. 

"Is it 'cause I'm making you feel good?" Robby baits, "you like the way my cock stretches your little pussy?"

"Yes," you sob, "yes, yes, feels so good."

"Fuck—gonna fill you up so good, baby, you ready?"

He's not giving you the choice, further proving his point that he is a bad man. So, so bad. 

But, you are so, so good, so you nod and beg, "please, Dr. Robby—please, please, want you to… wanna feel… oh, god—oh, fuck—"

"You cumming again?" he grins for the first time in hours, feeling like he's finally doing something right despite how wrong it is. "Yeah, you are, good girl, gonna—goddamn—gonna milk it out of me clenching like that…"

You're wailing at this point, cunt pulsing and stuffed so full as Robby ruts up into you. He's relentless, chasing his building orgasm as you shatter on top of him, shaking like a leaf and trying to suck in the air that just won't make it all the way to your lungs. 

Teardrops are hitting his chest, and you're wincing with every thrust, but you're still not stopping him. Even as he bites into your throat, even as he claws down your ribs with blunted nails, even as he fucks his cockhead right up against your cervix, you don't fucking stop him. 

Robby cums with a wounded moan, hips stuttering as he pins you tight against him. He makes sure to spill into your deepest parts, saturating every bit of you until his thick seed slowly begins to seep out of your abused hole. 

You lean against his legs, still bent at the knee, and Robby watches through half-lidded eyes the way your chest expands and contracts with every uneven breath you take. 

He lets you rest for a couple minutes, both of you silent as the gravity of the situation sinks in, the oppressive weight of everything that's happened. 

From the first death of the day all the way to now. 

Jesus Christ, this is fucked up. This is all so fucked up. Robby feels himself start to crack right down the middle, his throat getting tight, hands beginning to shake against your waist, and oh fuck, oh fuck, what is happeni—

"Hey," your voice pierces through his racing thoughts, your eyes level and unwavering when they meet his, and Robby doesn't know how—can't even begin to make sense of it—but you manage to say exactly what he needs to hear: "I'm okay."

The first time he's heard it said clearly and honestly all fucking day.

He spent 15 hours talking to and treating and losing people who were not okay, so finally hearing someone, hearing you, tell him that you are…

Robby's chest caves in, and he quickly shoves his palms to his eyes, tries to breathe through his teeth while you anchor him with a steady mantra of, "I'm okay. I'm okay. I've got you. I promise."

I've got you. I promise. 

You don't move aside from smoothing a hand over his chest, a gentle grounding scratch through the hair over his sternum. It's slow, it's soothing, and it's the perfect rate of respiration. 

His cock—Robby's literal cock—has gone soft inside of you, and the ridiculousness of it all is not lost on him. You both just had possibly the most traumatic day of your lives, then proceeded to try to fuck it out of your systems only for Robby, the seasoned attending, to lose his shit. Or, start to, anyway.

"Fuck," he whispers, finally dropping his hands and blinking sandpaper eyes at you. "Sorry."

Your returning smile is soft, sympathetic, tired. "Don't be. I just hope I didn't make it worse."

Robby lets out an incredulous laugh. Scared of making it worse. No. He is absolutely a worse human now than he was this morning, but that's not your fault. Not even a little. 

"All you did today," he starts, pushing up and bracing himself on an arm to be closer to you, "was make things bearable for me. You didn't do anything fucking wrong."

You hang your head, either bashful or ashamed, Robby doesn't know, but he makes you meet his gaze again when he pushes hair out of your face. 

"Everything you did helped me. And, if you wanna report me for this—" he makes a nebulous gesture between the two of you, "I won't blame you. Fuck, you probably should—"

"I'm not going to. I don't feel like you took advantage of me or anything."

Robby gives you a pitying look, head tilted, mouth pulled into a sad sort of smile, "oh, but I did. I absolutely fucking did."

He's not gonna forgive himself for this one for a long time. 

You stare at him as if letting his admission wash over you, accepting the night for what it is, but in the end you just sigh and tell him, "then, make it up to me." 

Robby lifts an eyebrow in question, doesn't shy away when you run a hand through his messy hair. 

"Help me shower, then let me sleep with you," and like you're afraid he's going to argue, you explain in a much less assured tone, "I don't… I'm not ready to be alone yet."

He nods. Absolutely. Yes, he can do that. He can definitely do that for you. 

And, he does. Robby helps you to his shower, helps get rid of the grime and the tragedy and his cum, and when you both feel a little cleaner—because there's no such thing purity in emergency medicine—Robby finds you some clothes then goes through the motions of pouring and microwaving chicken noodle soup. Eating it isn't easy for either of you, but it's necessary (especially after that workout).

Bowls in the sink, stomachs no longer empty, Robby leads you to his bedroom. He turns the TV on at a low volume, knows that he won't be able to fall asleep to utter silence and thinks you might be the same way, then pulls you tight against him. 

It doesn't take long for you to start crying. It's quiet but impossible to miss as your shoulders tense and your tears stream down your cheeks and onto his chest. 

Robby doesn't say anything, just rests his cheek against your head and gently strokes up and down your arm. 

I've got you, he thinks, the same words you'd said to him earlier. 

Which was why he disengaged from the conversation and went home without asking for your number. There were a few moments he thought about asking Samira for it, but he knew he’d never hear the end of that. Then, he thought about asking Jack to ask Samira and by the time that thought popped into his head he realized he was being insane.

You had been sitting on the porch swing by yourself, beer in hand and the blue glow of your phone lighting up your face. He had told himself he would only come for a single beer, mostly because Jack had asked him to.

Samira was having—not a party, exactly—but she had invited anyone who was available for a few drinks and pizza at the house she was renting. He guessed it was more of a way for her to spend time with Jack without having to ask him directly. They were both still dancing around whatever thing was going on between them, pretending it was more casual than it was.

And you were sitting alone on the porch swing, the only face Robby didn’t recognize from the Pitt. Thinking maybe you were a new hire he had missed, he made his way over to you, “This seat taken?” He asked, gesturing to the empty spot on the swing next to you.

Slowly, you raised your eyes from your phone to look up at him, and then you peered around him, as if you were wondering if it were possible he was speaking to someone else.

Finally, you shrugged, “Nope.”

A smirk tugged at his lips, “I don’t want to bother you, I can sit somewhere else if you want to be alone—“

“No, sorry—“ You sighed and shook your head, “Sit, please. I should really stop being an unapproachable loner.”

He huffed a laugh as he sat down, “This is going to sound terrible, probably, but, uh… Are you… Did you start recently? At the Pitt? I don’t recognize you, so—“

“Oh—No,” You laughed, “No, I don’t work at the hospital. Samira and I did our undergrad together, we used to be roommates. I’m just visiting.”

“Ah,” He said and hung his head, “Well, that would explain it. Where are you visiting from?”

“Los Angeles.”

He let out a low whistle, “You from there?”

“Born and raised.”

“And you went to undergrad here?”

You nodded, “Yeah,” You looked up at the moon, “I miss the east coast.”

“Why’d you go back to California?”

You sighed, “Um, things just didn’t pan out here. The pandemic. Ran out of money. Had to go back to live with my parents.”

He nodded, “I’m sure you’ll end up back here. If it’s what you really want.”

He felt your eyes on him, the way they paved a path down his face to his hands, that were lazily tearing at the label on his beer bottle, “You must be Robby.”

He raised his eyebrows as he looked back up at you, “How’d you figure that out?”

You gave him a lopsided smirk and took a sip from your beer, “Samira talks about you a lot. It’s not hard to put the pieces together.”

He looked back down at his beer bottle. Fighting the disappointment that coursed through him, he rubbed at his beard, “Well, I imagine your perception of me isn’t all that favorable, then.”

You hummed, “She really looks up to you, you know?” You leaned a bit closer to him, close enough that he could smell the beer on your breath as it tangled with your cherry perfume in a way that made him dizzy. You whispered conspiratorily, “But as her friend, you think you could ease up on her?”

He turned his head to look at you and found that you looked almost surprised at how close your faces were, although it was you that had closed the distance. You bit your lip and in the moonlight he saw the way your pupils dilated as you looked at him. And then quickly, your eyes darted away from his and he knew he was fucked.

He cleared his throat, “I’m hard on her because she’s so good. I want her to be the best.”

“You ever hear of this thing called positive reinforcement?” 

He chuckled, “Yeah, okay, if it’s that important to you, I’ll try to be nicer to her.”

You raised your eyebrows, “Damn, it was that easy?” You shook your head, “She didn’t say you were such a softie.”

Robby sighed, “I’m not, normally.” He turned his head to look at you, “You must bring it out of me.”

You blinked a few times and then quickly broke eye contact, looking down at your hands. The movement got him a whiff of your shampoo and fuck if he wasn’t like a moth to a goddamn flame. It took all of his self control not to lean into you, not to push his knee against yours, just to see what you would do. 

But you were Samira’s friend. And you were far, far, too young for him. It would create mess and he hated mess. So he cleared his throat and stood, “Thank you for the conversation, I should be going.”

You opened your mouth as if to say something else, but he was already gone, disappeared into the house, leaving you dumbfounded.

“‘Thank you for the conversation…?’” You repeated and then laughed to yourself.

Later that night as you were relaying the interaction to Samira, she informed you that he had been flirting.

You raised your eyebrows and scoffed, “Right, yeah. He didn’t even ask for my name.”

Jack came up behind Samira and twined an arm around her waist and you watched as she flushed. It was sweet, seeing her like this. In the ten years you had been friends, you had never seen a man so casually fluster her.

“He was flirting.” Jack confirmed as he scooped Cheez Itz out of the plastic bowl between you, “He’s just a little rusty.”

Samira shrugged, “Doesn’t matter, you’re going back to LA soon anyway. But, it would have been nice to get Robby laid.” She sighed mournfully, “I bet he’s much nicer after a good fuck.”

Jack began to choke on a Cheez It and you chuckled as Samira banged on his back until it came back up, “Please… don’t talk about him like that in front of me, alright?” He said, rubbing at his throat.

Samira gave him a half hearted apology and then turned back to you, smirking once he had left, “He’s not really your type anyway, is he?”

He wasn’t. Not the usual guy you went for. You were into older, but usually not that much older. You were also into unstable and mean and heavily tattooed, which Robby appeared to be none of the above. But there had been a moment, fleeting, where you had wanted to kiss him. Where you had thought he wanted to kiss you. 

“Nope,” You sighed, “Not my type.”

Samira scrutinized you for a few moments and then sighed, “A shame. So I can’t give him your number if he asks?”

You laughed, “He won’t ask, but sure, you can give it to him.”

You were right. He didn’t ask. But not because he didn’t want to, because he didn’t think he should. He did, at least, manage to get your name from Samira. It ran laps around his brain for weeks after, and then it slowed, only reappearing every so often. And even though he knew you had gone back to LA, he found himself looking for you occasionally throughout the next year.

Until Jack told him you were back in Pittsburgh as a way to convince him to go to the Poconos getaway Samira was planning.

“She’s going?” Robby asked, eyebrows raised. They were on the roof, genuinely just getting some air. Robby hadn’t found Jack on the wrong side of the railing since he had started seeing Samira. The shifts were still hard, but he had someone to go home to after. And that seemed to make the difference.

Jack turned to him and smirked, “Oh, so now you wanna come, huh?”

Robby shook his head, “I didn’t say that.”

Almost all of his residents and Jack were going to the Poconos in August at Mohan’s invitation and Robby felt he had no business there. Jack was only going because of Samira. What excuse did he have? He would just make them all uncomfortable by being there. Who wanted their boss on their vacation?

“Samira said she asked if you were coming.”

Robby turned his head at that and then scoffed, “Don’t fuck with me.”

“I’m not.” Jack said, but had a self satisfied smirk on his face, “Honest to God.”

“And she lives here now.”

Jack nodded, “Started a new job here a month ago.”

Robby leaned over the railing on his forearms. He still wondered about you, still thought about whatever magnetism that existed between you that night. If it was just alcohol induced or if it really was something. And yes, you were way too fucking young for him. But Samira and Jack seemed to be happy. Maybe… Maybe he could at least try. You had asked after him, that had to mean something. That you still thought of him, too. 

And so that was how Robby ended up pulling into the driveway of the house on the edge of the lake a few weeks later.

After Samira had informed him of what room was his and he had set all his things down, he followed her and Jack out to the patio overlooking the lake, “Is she here yet?”

Samira smirked and looked down at her phone, “Should be pulling up any minute according to her location.” Just then, the distant roar of a car in distress grew louder and louder and Samira’s grin widened, “Yeah, that’s her.”

Robby raised his eyebrows, “Does she drive a fucking Ferrari?”

Samira frowned, “I don’t know what that means to you, but no, she drives a Yaris.”

He laughed, “A Yaris? Making all that racket? Jesus Christ.” And with that, he was heading to the driveway.

Sure enough, a bright red, ancient looking Yaris was idling in the driveway. You pushed your sunglasses onto the top of your head as you turned your car off and then looked up to see Robby standing a few feet away from your car. Frowning, you opened the door and stepped out, “...Hi.”

“Are you aware that your car sounds like the engine is about to explode?”

Your frown deepened, “I don’t know, sounds fine to me.” 

Robby circled your car, looking for other sources of the noise, until he got to the back of your car. Bending down, he saw your muffler was badly corroded, and was that… Chicken wire securing it to your car? He laughed softly to himself and stood again, “Do you know your muffler’s completely rusted out?”

You stared at him for a moment, pulling your bags out of the backseat of the car, “Uhh, no? Is that bad?”

He scratched the back of his head, “Someone wrapped some wire around it to try to keep it on, but it mostly fell off.”

“Oh,” You said slowly, “Yeah, I think my roommate did that for me.”

“You think?” Finally, he approached you to help with your bags, slinging one of your duffels over his shoulder.

You shrugged, “I don’t know, I know he said something was wrong with the car and that he fixed it temporarily. I can’t afford a mechanic right now. It’s okay to drive, though?”

“Well, yes.” They began walking towards the house, “It’ll just be… loud.”

“Okay,” You smiled at him, “I can handle loud.” 

He held the door of the house open awkwardly with one arm, which you ducked under to get in.

“I could, um,” He sighed, “I could fix it for you. Order you a new muffler and attach it when we’re back in Pittsburgh.”

“Oh, I—That’s really nice, but I couldn’t pay you—“

“For free, I meant.”

You paused in the entryway and took off your backpack, “Why would you do that?”

He shrugged and lowered your duffel to the floor, “Why not?”

You stared at him a moment longer, perplexed, before you turned to see Samira in the entryway, smirking.

Within seconds, you were both squealing and your arms were wrapped tightly around each other, “This place is insane,” You said to her, “How did you afford this?”

Samira opened and closed her mouth and then blushed, “Um… Jack and Robby split it, actually.”

When you spun to look at Robby, he smiled in confirmation, a hand on the back of his neck, “Oh. Cool. Thanks.” You turned back to Samira, “Where should I put my things…?”

“Yeah, about that, so… I ran into Trevor last week…”

You tilted your head to the side in question. Trevor, your ex roommate from when you and Samira were in undergrad, Trevor? Your years-long situationship, Trevor? The same Trevor whom you had ghosted once you moved back to LA?

“And…” You could read the fear on Samira’s face as she continued, “Jack may have, not knowing the situation, invited Trevor to come?”

“Mira,” You whined, “Seriously?”

“I know, I know,” She said quickly, “And unfortunately, Jack also invited him without considering that we were already out of rooms… So…”

She allowed you to fill in the blanks and your brain was beginning to short circuit, “Okay,” You laughed, “This is a joke, right? Are you saying I’m sharing a bed with him?”

“No, no. Separate beds, same room.”

You covered your face with your hands, “I think…” You sighed, “I think I might just drive home.”

“What? No, come on. It’ll be fine, I thought you and Trevor were good? You don’t even have to be in the room that much, just to sleep–”

“You could stay in my room.” You both started at Robby’s voice behind you, having forgotten he was still there. He cleared his throat, “I could stay in the room with… Trevor, is it?”

You sighed, “That’s… sweet of you, but Trevor snores. And besides, you paid for this place, I’m not going to kick you out of your own room–”

“Really, I don’t mind. Besides, it’ll be dark soon anyway and it’s a long drive back to Pittsburgh.”

He was looking at you almost a little desperately and you started to wonder if the only reason he had come in the first place was to see you. But that was insane, right? You didn’t even know each other.

And yeah, maybe the only reason you had come was because Samira assured you Robby would be here. Maybe that one interaction had played on a loop in your mind for the whole year until you started wondering if he had really looked at you with lust and awe that night or if it was just a trick of the light.

You bit your lip and then turned back to Samira, “I’m mad at you.” You said as you bent to pick up your backpack.

“But… You’re staying?”

Samira knew you could never stay mad at her. And she had never been able to stay mad at you, either. The few times you had had disagreements you had always been able to resolve them peacefully. It was part of the reason you adored being her friend, there was never any drama and always a shoulder to cry on if you needed it.

So you bit your lip and gave her a knowing look, “Yes, under duress.”

Robby slung your duffel back over his shoulder, “C’mon, I’ll show you the room.”

You trailed after him and up the stairs, still a bit apprehensive about this whole set up. He led you to a room with a king sized bed. The room was large with big windows on one wall and a long, brown leather couch that took up almost the entire wall opposite the bed. 

You stood in the threshold of the door, stunned, but Robby didn’t seem to notice. He placed your duffel on the floor and moved his bags from where he had put them on the bed.

“There’s an en suite bathroom over there,” He gestured to the door next to the couch, “So you don’t need to share with anyone.” 

“Robby,” You said breathlessly and then started shaking your head, “This is too much. You paid for this and it’s your vacation too, you shouldn’t have to share a room with Trevor—“

“What’s your deal with this guy? Trevor?”

You smirked and tilted your head a bit. Was that jealousy? “I don’t know if that’s your business.”

He shrugged, “Well, I just thought, since you’re feeling so guilty about taking my room this could be my payment.” He said lightly, the corners of his lips beginning to tug up into a grin.

“Ah,” You laughed, “Well, if you must know, he was mine and Samira’s roommate for about three years and then we slept together on and off for a few years afterward. Until I moved back to Los Angeles.”

He stared at you for a few moments, “Okay, so you occasionally slept together, but he’s not an ex boyfriend or anything?”

You shook your head, “Nope. But not for lack of trying on his end.”

He raised his eyebrows, “Oh? So you were the heartbreaker then?”

You smirked, “Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m sure he was just fine.”

“Why wasn’t he good enough for you?” Oh, so it was jealousy.

Good. You liked playing. Maybe this vacation wouldn’t be a total wash. “You worried you might make the same mistakes?”

His grin widened, and then he shook his head, “That wasn’t an answer.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “I think I’ve answered enough of your questions for today.” You picked up his duffel from where it sat in front of him and pushed it into his arms.

“Are you kicking me out of my room?” He asked, still with that teasing lilt in his voice.

You moved close enough to him that he finally caught a whiff of your perfume. Still cherries. He thought his knees might buckle. “I thought it wasn’t your room anymore?” You said softly.

You pushed gently on his chest until he was out of the doorway and closed the door.

Robby stood out in the hallway for a moment, staring at the door with a stupid grin on his face. He had just given up his room to share one with some loser kid who had made the catastrophic mistake of fumbling you, and he had the toothiest smile on his face.

Maybe he’d end this vacation sleeping in that king sized bed with you.

***

Robby was trying very hard not to seem too desperate, but Trevor had arrived hours ago and you were still in your room.

The rest of his residents wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow, most of them having had to work a shift today, so it would just be you, Trevor, him, Mohan, and Abbot.

He had sized Trevor up immediately when he got here and, well, Robby was confused to say the least. The kid was scrawny, almost every inch of skin tatted up, and was a tattoo artist. He had long and dark hair that curled around his ears. He had a nose ring and a mustache.

It was mind boggling. If this is what you were into, why had you been flirting with him? You had been flirting with him, right? There’s no way that was your fucking baseline.

Samira was across the patio with Trevor and Robby sat with Abbot in front of the fire pit. One of Robby’s hands stroked his beard absently while he watched Trevor.

“Why’re you looking at that guy like you wish he’d give you a reason?”

Robby dragged his gaze away from Trevor and back to Jack who was fucking smirking, “This is your fault.”

He shrugged, “I didn’t know they had history, okay? Samira never mentioned.”

Before, Robby had been confident he’d win you over by the end of this week. Now, there was a roughly 5’10 problem that you were avoiding so diligently you were spending your first night of vacation hiding away.

“I’m gonna go talk to her.” He said finally, standing.

And that’s how he ended up back at your bedroom door, knuckles rapping gently against the wood.

A moment or two passed and then he heard the sound of feet padding across the floor. Then the door began to crack open, “Mira, I told you already, I don’t feel like seeing him ton–” You froze when you saw Robby standing there, “Oh. You’re not Mira.”

Robby’s mouth was slightly agape and he was, unfortunately staring at your bare legs and then back up to the skimpy sleep set you were wearing. A flowy pastel flowered camisole that fluttered just above your belly button and matching shorts that were so tiny, they may as well have been panties.

By some miracle between him and God himself, he managed to tear his eyes back up to yours. And you looked very smug right about now. He felt a flush begin to work his way up his neck and he cleared his throat, as if to push it back down, “Is it me you’re avoiding or Trevor?”

You hummed, “Why would I be avoiding you?”

He shrugged his shoulders up to his ears, “My irresistible charm and rogueish good looks?”

You choked out a laugh, “No, no, it’s Trevor I’m avoiding.”

“That’s a shame,” He sighed, “It’s really beautiful outside.”

You crossed your arms and smirked, “It’s the first night and you’re already trying to guilt me into having a drink with you?”

He scoffed, affronted, “I’m doing no such thing–”

“Fine, fine,” You said dramatically, “Twist my arm, why don’t you? Just let me change into something more… appropriate.”

A tragedy, really. He could stare at you for hours in that sleep set and never get tired of the view. Luckily, you closed the door before he said something stupid.

Five minutes later you were following him out onto the patio, a spiked seltzer in your hand.

Trevor immediately stood and made a big show of greeting you. Robby watched with some apprehension as his arms slid lower and lower down your back as he hugged you— Until you slapped his hands away, scowling at him.

Robby ran a hand over his mouth and beard to cover his smirk.

“What?” Trevor asked, laughing, “I can’t touch you now, either? I can’t text or call you? Had to find out from Mira’s boyfriend that you were back in town. Are we even friends anymore?”

“Trevor,” Samira inserted herself between you both, “You said you wouldn’t do this.”

“We were never friends,” You sneered, “You were always just biding your time until you could fuck me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jack muttered softly from next to Robby.

“Really? And who led on who in the end?” 

“That’s enough!” Samira said sharply, looking back and forth between her friends, “Look,” She said, softer now, “We’re all adults here, okay? We used to have fun, the three of us. Can’t we just… put all that shit aside for one week so we can have fun? Like old times?”

You sighed heavily and looked at Trevor, “I have no problem with you as long as you keep it platonic.” 

He huffed a laugh and ran a hand over his jaw, “Don’t worry, message was received loud and clear when you ghosted me when you left.”

“Guys…” Samira said lowly in warning, still between them.

But you couldn’t stop the incredulous laugh that burst from your throat, “You waited until I flew across the country to text me—text! Not even call!—that you were in love with me and you think that warranted a response?”

Robby and Jack shared a look, attempted to hide their faces behind their respective drinks, and Samira blanched before turning to Trevor, “Seriously? That’s kinda embarrassing.” She said softly.

You shook your head and started to walk over to sit near Robby.

“You don’t exactly make it easy for people to tell you what they’re feeling.” Trevor said, flushed.

“Yeah,” You took a sip from your drink as you settled next to Robby, “Or maybe you’re just a pussy.”

Samira sighed and looked at you, “Really?” 

But you only shrugged your shoulders. 

“Whatever, I don’t have to listen to this,” Trevor grumbled, “I’m going to bed.”

He muttered a goodnight to Samira and you waited for him to close the sliding door behind him before you gestured after him, “See? Pussy behavior.”

Jack and Robby were both fighting grins, but Samira frowned at you, “Can’t you try to be nicer?”

“That was me being nice. And he’s the one who started it, trying to fucking grab my ass like it hasn’t been, like, three years since we last spoke.”

Samira raised her eyebrows, “He tried to grab you?”

“He did,” Robby affirmed, “I saw it.”

“Well that’s not acceptable,” Samira looked towards the door that Trevor had disappeared into, “I’m gonna ask him to leave—“

“No,” You said immediately, “No, it’ll just create more of a mess. It’s fine.”

Samira stared at you for a moment longer, “Are you sure? Look, I’m sorry we invited him I didn’t realize— You’ll always come first for me. I will kick him out.”

The smile you gave Samira was adoring and tender. “I know,” You said softly, “It’s alright, I promise.”

Finally, she nodded, and went to sit next to Jack, sighing as she did. 

“The two of you ever fight like that?” Jack nodded to you and Samira.

You met Samira’s eyes over your drink and you both broke out into smiles, “No,” You said, “I think our biggest fight was when she took the last spot in the orgo class we were both trying to take sophomore year.”

Samira grinned at you, “Yeah and to make it up to you, you made me give you all my study materials the next semester, so I think it worked out for you.”

“What about you two,” You nodded towards Jack and Robby, “You guys seem like you’ve been friends for a long time. Any brawls?”

Robby chuckled, “No, definitely not.”

“Yeah, because he knows he’d lose.” Jack teased.

“Yeah, right,” Robby said and shook his head as he tossed back the rest of his beer, “Love you  brother, but I don’t think so.”

“Oh, really?” Jack chuckled and turned to Samira, “What d’you think? Who’d win?”

“Oh, come on,” Robby bemoaned, “Of course she’s gonna pick you.”

Samira looked affronted, “I resent the fact that you think I’m incapable of being objective just because we’re together.”

Robby raised his eyebrows, “Alright then, what’s the verdict?”

Samira’s eyes traveled back and forth between Jack’s wide pleading ones and Robby’s expecting ones until she sighed, “Jack. But only because he was in the military.”

“He was a medic.” Robby complained as Jack kissed on Samira’s neck in victory, causing her to squeal.

“Still went through basic training, brother.” Jack managed, adoring eyes still on Samira.

“And what about you?” Robby asked, turning to you.

“What about me?” 

“Who do you think would win, me or Jack?”

“Oh,” You laughed, “I don’t want to get in the middle of whatever weird hypermasculine competition you’ve got going on here.”

“That’s code for she doesn’t wanna hurt your feelings, Robby.” Jack said.

You scoffed, “That is not true,” Your eyes darted to Robby’s, “I have no problem hurting his feelings.”

A lie. You looked at the crinkles by his eyes, the flush in his cheeks when he smiled at you, and those big brown eyes that looked as warm as tree bark that had baked in the summer heat all day and your immediate thought was you’d rather drown yourself in this lake than hurt his feelings. 

Alternatively, you’d also rather drown in this lake than admit that that was true.

So where did that leave you?

You swallowed and looked at Samira, “I think Jack would win.”

Jack laughed loudly and Robby eyed you with disappointment as he shook his head.

It was teasing disappointment, but you were surprised by how much it bothered you. You were realizing quickly how desperately you wanted him to like you. 

“What?” You said to Robby, “He was in the military and he carries around a knife for fun. What’re you gonna do, hm? Blink your pretty doe eyes up at him and hope it distracts him long enough for you to run away?”

Slowly, a smile stretched across Robby’s face and he nudged his knee playfully against yours as he leaned his face down close to you. Your breath hitched in your throat at his closeness and he casually reached out to push a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

When he spoke, lowly enough for just you to hear, his voice was husky and it sent chills across your arms, “You think my eyes are pretty?”

The laugh that escaped you was breathless and nervous and you quickly tore your eyes from his and looked down at your hands, trying not to think about the way his fingers, cold and wet from his beer bottle, felt against the shell of your ear or the way they dragged against the sensitive skin of your neck before he pulled away.

What the fuck was this guy doing to you? A man had never made you a giggly mess like this. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

“As if you didn’t know.” You said finally, as casually as you could manage, avoiding looking at him.

“You’re pretty hard to read, actually.”

Normally, that would be true. But with him, it felt different. It felt like you were shouting it at him with every lilt of your voice, every smile, every laugh. Every time he looked at you, you felt your skin heat. 

You looked over at Samira and Jack for a moment, thought about your friendship with Samira. Everything seemed to tumble forward, all the moments you were so painfully proud of her, but also envious. How you had both wanted the same things, once. She had gotten everything and you had tripped four hundred meters out from the finish line. She was incredible, intelligent, beautiful, ambitious. The whole package. It was no wonder Jack was so obsessed with her. 

Your eyes flitted back to Robby, who was no longer looking at you, but silently staring ahead. His knee was still touching yours. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d wanted someone this badly. Someone smart and capable, someone who seemed like he could take care of you if the conversation about your dumb muffler was any indicator, someone who would be good for you.

He deserved better than you, though, he deserved someone like Samira. And even if you just slept with him, you had the faintest inclination that he might ruin you for other men for good.

You cleared your throat, “I, um, I should go to bed.”

When you stood, he followed, “Are you okay?” He asked softly, blocking your exit with his broad chest.

Christ, you were going to fold so quickly if he kept this up, “I’m fine,” You forced a smile, “Just tired.”

You stepped around him, but still he followed, steps soft and careful as he traced your path up the stairs, “Did I say something wrong?” He asked once you were at the bedroom door.

“No,” You said and almost laughed as you turned to him, “No, it’s not you.”

“Then what?” His eyes carefully searched your face, “Because I can be patient if you’re just not ready, but–”

You shook your head, “I can’t. It’s not a good idea.”

He scoffed, “You see what I mean about being hard to read?” He tilted his head as he narrowed his eyes at you, “Is it… because I’m old?”

You smiled and bit your lip, “No, I think I actually really like that bit.”

He shook his head, “Can you just tell me what it is that’s bothering you? I’m pretty good at problem solving.”

You laughed again, “I don’t think I’m a problem that’s solvable, unfortunately.”

He watched you for a while longer before sighing heavily, “Okay, just to be clear, we’re not done with this conversation. But I’ll let you get some sleep. Goodnight.” He said softly and began to walk away, down the hall to where you assumed Trevor was.

You watched after him, fought an internal battle with yourself, and then sighed, “Robby, wait.”

He froze and turned back towards you. The look of hope on his face absolutely wrecked you, “I wasn’t kidding about Trevor,” You said, “He really does snore. Very loudly. You should stay in here. I’ll sleep on the couch,” You added quickly.

He shook his head, “I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”

You threw up your hands in exasperation, “Fine. You sleep on the couch, then. You’ll get more sleep than sleeping in the same room as Trevor.”

And so that’s how the two of you ended up awkwardly dancing around each other as you got ready for bed.

You were unable to tear your eyes away as he pulled his shirt over his head and you were granted a full view of his chest. Your mouth dried out as you stared. He was so large, but everything about him was soft, the tufts of hair that grew on his chest and by his belly button, the gentle curve of his stomach. All of this turned your yearning from a gentle smolder to a raging inferno.

But what your eyes snagged on were the two tattoos over the planes of his chest. On the right side of his chest read MEMENTO MORI and on the left side AMORI FATI.

When your eyes traveled back up, Robby was looking at you with a smug look on his face.

You cleared your throat and looked away, conscious of the way heat burned in your cheeks, “Your tattoos,” You gestured to your own chest, “You’re a fan of Stoicism?”

A slow smile stretched across his face, “You know what they mean?”

You nodded, “Memento mori: remember that you will die and amor fati: love thy fate.” You were a bit ashamed by how pleased with yourself you were when an impressed smile flitted across his face, “I took a few philosophy classes in undergrad.”

“And what did you think?”

You shrugged, embarrassed now and not wanting to seem like you were showing off, “I liked them. Once, I took an ancient Greek literature class at the same time and they tended to overlap a lot.” You nodded towards his tattoos, “Memento mori and amori fati always reminded me of my favorite line from the Iliad.”

“Which is?”

You hesitated, and then, shyly, you lifted your shirt just slightly so he could see the tattoo that decorated the side of your ribcage. 

An intricate tracing of Icarus and his infamous fall, a hand still stretching out towards the sun. On either side of his falling form, in delicate scrawl read:

Everything is more beautiful 

because we are doomed

Robby was close to you now, so he could better see your ink, and when he reached out his fingers and ghosted them over the skin of your ribcage. Your breath stuttered as goosebumps rose across your flesh.

Noting the way your breathing faltered he looked up at you and pulled his hand away, straightening. He cleared his throat, “It’s beautiful.”

You dropped your shirt, covering up the tattoo again, “Thank you.”

“What was your major in college anyway?”

“Biology.”

He frowned at that, “And you took classes for philosophy and ancient Greek lit?”

You dug through your duffel, looking for your toiletry bag, “At first, they were just electives, but then I took enough of them to grab a minor. My counselor said it would diversify me for med school or whatever,” You sighed, “Fat load of good that did me.”

Finally locating your toiletry bag, you pulled it out and turned back around to see Robby eyeing you curiously, “What?” 

“I—“ He scratched the back of his head, “Samira didn’t mention you went to med school.”

You hummed, “That’s because I didn’t.” You dug your toothbrush out of the bag, “I didn’t get in.”

When you looked up at him again, he was still staring at you, frowning. You could almost hear the glass breaking in his head. Whatever shiny impression he had of you shattering on impact. You weren’t good enough for med school, why would you be good enough for him?

“Well—“

“I’d really rather not talk about this right now, or ever, if you don’t mind.” You said softly and brushed past him to get into the bathroom.

Or, you meant to just brush past him. But he tried to brush past you at the same time, you assumed to allow you space to get into the bathroom. You both tried to shimmy sideways through the bathroom doorway and ended up chest to chest, stuck for a moment too long.

He had, in the time you had been talking, put a shirt back on. Still, as your breasts slid across his chest, you felt your nipples peak in response. 

Through the thin fabric of your shirt, it wasn’t hard to notice, even if he hadn’t already been hardwired to notice everything about you since he first saw you alone on that porch swing a year ago. You let out a sound that was halfway between a gasp and a moan as you desperately tried to sidle past him. 

Used to this sort of thing happening at work, he instinctually settled a firm hand on your hip to try to help you get by, but this only seemed to panic you further. In your rush to move away from him, you inadvertently pushed yourself harder against him, your other hip gliding over his crotch and causing him to hiss.

“Sorry, fuck–” You cursed and finally slid by him, breathing hard as if you had been running for miles instead of having just moved through a doorway. 

The moment passed. You were at the sink, putting toothpaste on your toothbrush with the focus of a surgeon. If there hadn’t been a flush to your cheeks, he might have assumed you weren’t affected at all.

And fuck him if his brain wasn’t immediately rushing to calculate all the ways he could get your body to react like that again. He thought of your pupils dilating in the moonlight the first time you met, the way you shivered whenever his fingers brushed across your skin earlier, the way you got flustered sometimes just when he looked at you intently enough, and now this. He wondered what sort of touches would make you writhe beneath him, cry out his name, rake your nails across his skin, beg him to go faster, harder.

Oh, he had been thinking for too long if the aching sensation in his pants was any indication. He cleared his throat and with a hand on the back of his neck he left the bathroom.

***

Robby was tracing the tattoo on your ribcage again, this time with his tongue. Your back arched up off the mattress and you were moaning his name. He kissed up until he reached your breasts, first taking a sensitive nipple between his fingers and pinching lightly until you gasped. He took it in his mouth, then, swirling the bud around his tongue.

His hard cock was pressed to your slick folds, sliding back and forth against you, his tip nudging your entrance, but never fully sinking in. You were begging now, a single tear escaped from your eye as you looked up at him. The only reason he was able to stop himself from fully sinking inside you was because he loved the sight of you like this, absolutely drenched and fucking ruined, at his mercy. No more coy looks, no more avoiding his gaze so you could pretend not to want him, no more pulling away from his touch in fear it would give you away.

No, you were completely, fully, his now and he needed to make sure you knew it. You would only cum if he decided you could. If you asked nicely, if you did what he asked, if you were the good girl he told you to be.

He slipped his fingers between your thighs and sank two of his digits into your hole, watched as you bit down on your lip to stop the moan from crawling out. Just as quickly as he started, he pulled out his fingers and ignored your whine at their absence, sliding his cock against you again.

He brought his fingers, now drenched in your juices, up to your face and gently pressed his thumb to your chin, “Open.” He commanded. You hesitated for just a moment before obeying, taking his fingers into your mouth. You looked up at him as you sucked the way he imagined you’d take his cock. He hadn’t even had you fully yet, but he thought he might cum just like this, with you humming against his fingers. He rutted his hips faster, barely registering it when you reached a hand between you to hold your folds tighter around him, creating more friction and Jesus fucking Christ he was going to cum–

Robby awoke to the sound of the box fan in the window. The sun hadn’t yet fully risen and he could hear your soft snores from the bed, less than ten feet away from him. As consciousness returned to him and he shifted on the couch, he registered the sticky dampness between his legs and his eyes flew open.

No fucking way. There was no fucking way he had– He pulled the blanket he had been using off and was confronted with an absolute mess in his boxers. He ran a hand down his face in frustration. What sort of fucking grown man came in their pants like that and over a woman sleeping not ten feet away that was at least two decades younger than him? 

He tried to quietly get up from the couch and escape to the bathroom, but the couch was leather and creaked loudly with his movement. He froze and waited, eyes closed, and sure enough, you stirred.

“Robby?” Your voice was heavy and rough with sleep and he tried to ignore how much he liked the sound of it, “S’that you?”

“Just going to the bathroom,” He said softly, “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

The endearment slipped from him without his permission and he hung his head when his brain caught up with his mouth. But you hadn’t seemed to register it, or perhaps didn’t mind, as you silently settled back against your pillow. He sighed quietly in relief and then headed to the bathroom to clean up.

If this was how it was going to be, if just seeing an inch of your skin and brushing up against you on the way to the bathroom was going to prompt wet dreams that had him coming in his pants, he had no idea how he was going to make it through this week without convincing you to let him in your bed.

And now his residents would be getting here today, would be witnessing him desperately trying to get laid by a girl who they’d played beer pong with once. Humiliating.

But as he stood in the bathroom and rolled that dream over in his head again, he thought it’d probably be worth it. If he could have you even once, just a taste, maybe it would satiate him long enough to move on when they got back to Pittsburgh. Maybe. 

Or maybe it would never be enough. Maybe there was something about you that would keep him coming back, keep trying to find new ways to make you laugh so you’d let him in, like a stray at the door looking for scraps.

There was only one way to find out.

***

“You slept with Robby last night?” Samira’s voice had you turning your head from the paperback in your hand.

The two of you were laying on the dock, sunbathing, along with Trevor. You and Trevor had called a truce that morning and so far, he had been abiding by the conditions. Of which, there was really only one: not to touch you in a way that wasn’t strictly platonic. 

Jack had gotten a new prosthetic extension that allowed him to swim properly (thoroughly researched and recommended by Samira) and was in the lake with Robby.

Trinity, Dennis, Victoria, and Parker had all arrived a couple of hours ago. Parker had set up a volleyball net nearby and the four of them were attempting to play a match.

“No,” You scoffed, “He slept on the couch because I knew this one would keep him up with all his snoring.” You playfully shoved Trevor’s shoulder next to you.

“Ow,” Trevor murmured, rubbing at his shoulder. Then he turned on his side to face you, “Mira, are you trying to set her up with your boss?”

Samira scoffed, “Didn’t have to try, they’ve been obsessed with each other since they met, but neither of them will admit it.”

You felt your cheeks heat up again and attempted to cover your face with your paperback, “I am not obsessed with him, I just think that… he’s kinda cool… and we… vibe.”

Samira and Trevor both looked at you blankly, “You are hearing yourself, right?” Samira said eventually.

You groaned, “Whatever! I’m not gonna sleep with him, it’s a bad idea.”

“And, pray tell, why is that?”

“I–” You quickly looked to see if anyone else was around, but Jack and Robby were still in the water and the other residents still preoccupied, “Because I’m not good with relationships, Trevor can attest.”

Trevor pursed his lips, “This feels like a trap,” He looked at Samira, “No comment.”

“Look, you don’t even know if he wants a relationship. At least sleep with him, just once. I know you’re dying to.” You rolled your eyes and didn’t respond. But you were dying to, especially after accidentally rubbing up against him like that last night and seeing him shirtless. “I don’t know what you said to him that first night you met him, but he was so nice to me, for like, weeks after. And you spoke to him for what? Five minutes? If you won’t do it for yourself, think of me! Do you know how nice he would be if he got to actually sleep with you?”

You sighed, “I will… consider it.”

Samira smiled, “Excellent.”

Just then, Jack swam up to the dock, to Samira, and rested his arms on the edge as he floated, “Samira, come swim with me.”

Samira wrinkled her nose as she considered, “It’s cold in there.”

“I’ll keep you warm,” He said lowly, leaning up to kiss her. Samira smiled against his mouth, laughed when he wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her down into the water with him. They continued kissing, Samira’s legs wrapped around Jack’s waist.

You sighed and turned back to your book, “Gross.” You muttered to Trevor.

“You know, we could make out in the lake.” He said in a voice you knew to mean he was trying to be seductive. It used to work on you, but now it only grossed you out, “Give your new boyfriend something to worry about.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” You said, voice bored, “And I’m not interested.”

You heard splashes coming from the ladder and looked up in time to see Robby pulling himself out of the water and onto the dock. Your stomach flipped again, seeing him shirtless. The water had weighed down his bathing suit so that it hung dangerously low on his hips. You were shocked when the first thought that came into your mind was that you longed to bite his hips and you cleared your throat as if it would cleanse your impure thoughts. You turned back to your book.

A moment later, a giant shadow in the shape of a man was blocking your sun and you felt the cold lake water dripping all over your body, “You’re getting my book wet.” You said, trying to sound bored as you looked up at him.

He had a boyish grin on his face as he ran a hand through his hair, shaking it like a wet dog and causing more droplets to splatter all over you, “Sorry,” He said, sounding anything but.

It was such a childish thing to do, but he looked stupid handsome as he smirked at you and you wondered if this was the type of thing he used to pull when he was your age. How many girls had he gotten into bed with that gorgeous smile and big brown eyes?

“You can swim, right?”

You watched him for a moment before looking back down at your book, “Of course I can swim, I grew up in Los Angeles.”

“Come in the water with me.” He said, still blocking your sun.

“No thanks,” You turned the page of your book, “It’s too cold.”

“Oh, come on,” He whined, “It’s not so bad once you’re in. It’s not the Pacific Ocean, I’ll give you, that, but it’s still nice. Have some fun.”

It was certainly not the Pacific Ocean, but you were more so worried about being able to keep your hands to yourself once you were in the water with him. Once no one would be able to see your hands on his waist, or better yet, in his shorts–

You were determined to keep your eyes on your book, “No thank you.”

He let the silence hang there for a moment, then finally he sighed, “Fine. Could you hand me my towel, then?”

You placed your book down on your towel and leaned over Samira’s now empty one to grab one of the dry towels meant for Robby and Jack. 

In retrospect, you probably should’ve realized what he was about to do. It was the oldest trick in the book. But you also hadn’t been a teenager in many years and so hadn’t had to worry about boys pulling goofy shit to flirt with a girl.

So for half a second, when you reached out the towel to him and his hand clamped around your wrist rather than the towel, you were just confused. But then in the next moment, he had pulled the towel from your hand, and dropped it back down to the dock and it was then that you realized how you had fucked up.

You tried to wrench your wrist back, “Robby–”

Smirking, he pulled you by the wrist and with a bend of his knees, had thrown you over his shoulder and began walking.

You squealed, “Put me down.”

He stopped walking, “Okay,” You heard the smirk in his voice, and again realized your fatal error too late.

“Don’t you dare–”

You were suspended in the air for a moment, before you hit the water, cold and unforgiving. Your head plunged beneath the surface for a second before you got your bearings and broke the surface again. The water was shallow enough that you could stand and while you gasped for air, you saw that Robby had jumped back in and was wading over to you, smirk still on his face.

“See? Not so bad.” He said smugly.

You scowled at him, “I’m very upset with you.”

Even as you said it, you had to fight a smile. Jesus fucking Christ, it was pathetic the levels of infatuated you had achieved because if this were any other man, if it was, say, Trevor who had pulled this shit, you wouldn’t have spoken to him for the rest of the night. Maybe not even for the rest of the vacation.

But Robby had thrown you in the lake and with just a smile, you were on the verge of giggling again. Oh, you were so fucked. 

“Really?” He was close to you now, close enough to touch, “You don’t seem that upset.”

“Yeah, well, I’m furious.” You said mildly. It was dangerous to be this close, so you moved to take a step back, but your foot landed on a particularly slimy rock and you slipped—

“Woah—“ Robby secured an arm around your waist before you could slip under the water and pulled you flush to his chest, “Careful, it’s slippery right there.” He said, teasing.

You huffed and looked up at him, conscious of every place your bodies touched. He had draped your arms around his neck and was now looking at you innocently, like he hadn’t fully manufactured this.

Your tongue darted between your lips and you ran your hands through his wet hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, “You can let me go, now,” You said softly, “I won’t slip again.”

His eyes were heady with desire, “I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.” He lowered his hands until they gripped the back of your thighs and then hiked you up until you were straddling his waist, ankles tangled behind his back. Like this, your face was level with his, and his jaw was clenched as he watched you. As if he was restraining himself from something. From you.

“What’re you doing?”

He smirked and nudged his nose into yours, your breaths intertwined in the minimal space between you. Even drenched in lake water, you still smelled faintly of cherries.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He whispered.

He leaned towards you, mouth searching for yours, and you pulled back slightly, “C’mon sweetheart,” He said softly, “Enough of the games. Let me in.”

It wasn’t a game, not to you. And that’s what was so scary. Because it had always been a game to you. There had never been anyone you had wanted more seriously than that. With Trevor he only wanted something more when he realized you didn’t want him like that. He didn’t really love you and you had never loved him. But now you were staring at Robby, shivering in the frigid water and you thought maybe you could love him.

Nearly thirty, you had started to wonder if maybe you just weren’t capable of feeling that deeply for someone else. And still, you didn’t know if you were. But Robby was the first man that made you curious to find out.

“You might not like what you find.” Your voice wavered.

He tilted his head slightly, “Why don’t you let me worry about that?”

Let me worry about that. You thought about his offer yesterday to fix your car. Thought about his willingness to swap beds with you so you could be comfortable. Let me worry about that. What would it be like to have someone else to help take care of things? To lighten the load, even just a little?

So when he leaned in to kiss you again, this time you didn’t stop him. It felt like relief, with his mouth finally on yours. When you sighed into him, he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth and your nails dug into his shoulders in response.

You felt his hands tighten their grip on your legs under the water. He seemed torn between keeping you wrapped around his waist like this or dropping you so his hands could wander.

Before he could make a decision, a wolf whistle split the air and the both of you froze. Robby broke his mouth away from yours, turning his head to follow the sound and saw Jack smirking at the two of you, Samira also looking smug from behind him with her arms draped over his shoulders. A moment later, there was whooping coming from the rest of the residents who were playing volleyball near the shore.

Feeling your cheeks heat, you buried your face in Robby’s shoulder.

“Ignore them,” Robby said softly, “Do you want to go inside?”

You pulled your head back from his shoulder so you could see his face. He looked like he was seconds away from devouring you here, in the lake, with everyone watching. Seemingly so desperate for you, he didn’t mind all of his coworkers and subordinates watching. 

“Is that what you want?”

He gave you a knowing look, “I want you in whatever capacity you’ll allow. So, do you want to go inside?”

He had to know that now, having tasted him, you wouldn’t be able to deny yourself any longer. The dam you had built between you had sprung a leak. Several, in fact. It was only a matter of time before it was completely eviscerated.

“Yes.” You said eventually.

A giddy smile transformed Robby’s face and he leaned in to give you another quick kiss, “Get on my back.” He murmured against your mouth.

You laughed, “What?”

Rather than explain further, he shifted your weight, spinning you until you understood he wanted you on piggyback.

“You know,” You laughed, pressing kisses up the side of his neck, “I told you I can swim.”

“I know,” He said as he began wading to the shore, “But isn’t this more fun?”

It was a bit embarrassing, if you were honest, drawing more stares and attention from the others. Once close enough to the shore, Robby seemed to give the residents a look you couldn’t see, but must have been scathing as they all abruptly returned their attention back to their volleyball game.

Robby let you off his back and grabbed a dry towel for you, wrapping it around your shoulders and rubbing his hands over it to help dry you before grabbing his own towel.

“You kids be safe now,” Jack was leaning on the edge of the dock, Samira doing the same next to him, both of them smirking at you, “Wrap it before you tap it and all that.”

Robby sighed heavily, “She’s gonna change her mind if you don’t be quiet.”

“No she won’t.” Samira said, “I’ve never seen her this obsessed with anyone. Not even Trevor, whom she slept with for years.”

“Mira!” You hissed indignantly.

“Heard that,” Trevor called, “Hurtful and unnecessary.”

“Let’s go,” Robby draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side and beginning to walk towards the house, “You’re obsessed with me, huh?” He said quietly.

You rolled your eyes, “Whatever. As if you’re not obsessed with me.”

“Of course I am,” He opened the back door of the house for you, waited for you to walk inside before following, “But I’m not ashamed of it.”

He blew past you as his words stopped you in your tracks. For the first time, it struck you what it all must’ve looked like to him. How you had been flirting with him, but then pushing him away, over and over. 

You trailed after him up the stairs, “I’m not—I’m not ashamed.”

At the top of the stairs, he turned to face you, “I don’t particularly want to have this conversation right now, when I’m finally about to have you naked in my bed—“

“My bed,” You teased, smirking, “Remember?”

He huffed a short laugh and shook his head, “You’re impossible.”

You pressed your lips together firmly, your eyes transfixed by his mouth, “Do you think you’ll still want me?” You asked quietly, your voice small, “After you’ve had me?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, “Is that what this is about? You’re worried I won’t like you after?”

It hadn’t been something you had thought about before, with other partners, because usually you didn’t care enough. You liked being desired, of course, who didn’t? But more often than not if partners disappeared afterwards, you shrugged it off and moved on to the next one. 

But with Robby… You had only really known each other for a day or so, but there was something that seemed to pull you to him. The chemistry was easy, effortless as it seemingly flowed back and forth, infinite. With him, you also had a desire to impress, to prove yourself. Like with the tattoos last night. You wanted him to think you were more than just someone to fuck. Another new feeling, one you weren’t used to. You wondered how badly it would hurt if he carelessly let you slip through his fingers and crash back to earth. 

He was looking at you now with the patience of a saint, never mind the fact that he had finally convinced you to let him touch you and you were making him wait again. It made you feel stupid, so you quickly shook your head. 

“Nothing, forget it. Forget I said anything. Kiss me, please.”

For a second, you thought he might refuse, might make you talk to him, but then he was kissing you again, hard and sloppy as he pushed you through the doorway of your shared room. Never taking his mouth off yours, he half carried, half pushed you towards the bathroom.

With his tongue in your mouth, you were desperate to feel him, to see how needy he was so you ran your hands down his chest and past his waist. When you palmed him over his bathing suit, he groaned and took your lip between his teeth, biting hard enough that you thought maybe he had drawn blood. He was big in your hand. You had thought he was probably packing just from the size of him, but he was bigger than you had imagined.

You swallowed hard as he reached behind you to turn on the shower with one hand and pulled your other hand off his cock, “You can’t be touching me like that yet,” He said, voice gravelly.

You smirked, “Worried you might… ejaculate prematurely?” You teased.

He stared at the warm spray from the shower as he temperature checked it with one hand, “Yeah, actually. And I plan to make you come at least twice before I even consider fucking you properly. I want you crying and begging me to stop because you’re too sensitive before I fill you up.” His eyes slowly looked back at yours, “Is that what you want? Because if not, you should probably tell me now. So we can stop.”

Your breathing faltered hearing him talk like that. Your stomach flipped and you felt yourself beginning to drip into your bathing suit. You swallowed and then nodded, “That’s what I want.”

He offered you a slow smile and then his gaze travelled down your body. He was just looking at you, but it felt filthy. Like he was already thinking about all the compromising positions he could put you in. 

You started to take off your bikini, but he stopped you, “Wait.” He said, and his voice dipped, “Haven’t gotten a proper look at you in it yet. Seems like a waste.”

You smirked, “You want me to do a quick spin for you?”

You had mostly been teasing, but he nodded, and so you obliged. Once your back was facing him, his hands came up to touch you. Warm and calloused, they ran down your waist to your ass, which he squeezed appreciatively before giving it a firm smack.

It didn’t hurt, but you gasped and he ran a soothing hand over the skin, “Sorry, I should’ve asked first. S’that okay?”

“Yes,” You said breathlessly.

He brushed the hair off the back of your neck and you automatically tilted your head to allow him access to kiss and suck on it, letting out a soft moan at the scratch of his beard against your skin. As he kissed you, he untied the top of your bathing suit and you felt him sigh as he peered over your shoulder at your bare tits.

“Fuck,” He cursed so softly, you didn’t know if it was even meant for you to hear. He brought his hands up to feel them, his rough palms immediately causing your nipples to harden. He pinched and pulled at them lightly and you moaned in earnest, pushing yourself further into his body behind you.

Your skin felt like it was on fire. Every touch and every kiss had you wondering what you wouldn’t do to keep his attention on you like this. To keep this burning low in your belly. He was so attentive, soft and rough at the same time, watching your reactions to everything so carefully. Just having his eyes on you alone felt like you were a supernova, on the edge of self destruction. You thought you would likely damn yourself to Hell if it meant he would keep touching you like this.

He guided you into the shower and you stepped out of your bottoms. It was a large walk in shower and easily fit the two of you without much effort. Immediately, he got on his knees in front of you. He gripped the backs of your thighs and kissed your stomach, and then made a path down. The way your hips pushed up into him was an involuntary reaction, really, but then he suddenly pulled his mouth away and you pouted.

When you looked down at him, he was grinning, “What’s this?” 

He ran a finger over a small tattoo on your upper hip that you tended to forget about a lot. It was almost always completely covered by panties or, in today’s case, a bathing suit. 

In messy, loopy cursive, it read bon appétit. 

You sighed, embarrassed, “It’s stupid, I got it when I was, like, twenty.”

He looked down at it again, ran his thumb over it, “Did… Did Trevor give you this?”

It felt like the wrong time to talk about this, which was why you hadn’t mentioned, but now that he was asking… “Yeah. He was practicing,” You gulped, “Do you hate it?”

“Hm?” He looked back up at you and then frowned, “Oh, no. No, of course not. I was just…” He sighed, “The juvenile answer is just that I hate that he’s seen you like this.”

You ran a hand over his hair, “If it makes you feel any better, the irony of him giving me this tattoo is that he never really liked eating me out anyway. I almost always had to ask for it, and even then he’d get frustrated if I didn’t come within a couple of minutes.”

He gave a short laugh, “Makes it worse, actually. That you slept with someone like that for years. You didn’t think you deserved better than that?”

You were shocked when you felt the beginning pinpricks of tears at the backs of your eyes. No, you didn’t, actually. It was why the more time you spent with Robby you realized it was him who was out of your league and not the other way around. Why you suspected he’d probably bolt after he slept with you. You thought you probably didn’t deserve someone better than Trevor and so you had resigned yourself to being alone instead.

You swallowed, “Can we stop talking about Trevor, please?”

He must’ve heard the tears in your voice because he looked up and immediately rose back up to standing, “Hey,” He cradled your face in his hands, tenderly kissed your cheeks and forehead, before pressing a long kiss to your mouth, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He kept kissing you, deepened it again until you couldn’t think about anything other than the man in front of you, drunk on the taste of him. He kissed his way down your body until he was on his knees again, kissing and biting at your hips.

He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder and kissed your inner thigh, up until you felt him lapping at your folds. He was being so gentle and slow, avoiding your throbbing clit where you wanted him most, teasing on purpose you suspected. Deciding to take matters into your own hands, you grabbed at his hair and rutted your hips into him. He groaned into you and his nose rubbed against your clit exactly where you needed, but he was pulling away, securing his arms around your thighs to keep you still.

“Be good for me,” He said, looking up at you, “Let me take my time, taste you properly first, hm? Can you do that for me, baby?”

It didn’t seem like much of a choice, but you nodded eagerly anyway. He didn’t waste time beginning his assault on you again. It felt like minutes were passing and still, he purposely seemed to neglect the one place you were most needy for him. Tears were collecting at the corners of your eyes, “Please, Robby.” You whined, “Please, please, I’ve been so good, please.”

He took his mouth off you for a moment and looked up at you. When he saw the tears beginning to fall from your eyes, the smugness emanated from him in waves. “What do you want, sweetheart? You wanna cum on my tongue?” 

You nodded desperately, “Please.” It was the only word you seemed capable of saying.

He turned his attention back to your pussy, pushed a finger inside you and curled it upwards, slowly stroking that spongy spot that had your knees going weak. You thought your legs may have given out if it wasn’t for Robby holding you up. He added a finger and you were dizzy, the muscles tightening in your abdomen. Finally, he began swirling his tongue around your sensitive bud until you cried out, grinded yourself against him, let the sensation of his beard and mouth push you through your orgasm.

He left his fingers inside you as he rose to standing again, slowly pushing them in and out of you even as you came down. “You taste even better than I thought you would.” He said in your ear as his fingers kept slowly fucking you, pushing you into the wall behind you.

“Robby, I don’t,” You paused, wetting your lips. The slow movement of his fingers inside you was stirring that sensation inside you again, coiling like a spring, “I’m gonna cum again,” You said, shocked you were still able to string full sentences together, “If you keep going I’m gonna–”

He pressed a thumb to your clit and kissed up your neck to your earlobe, which he lightly took between his teeth. All coherent thought ceased, there was just the feeling of his mouth on your skin, his fingers inside you, his rough voice asking you to cum, “Go on then, cum all over my fingers like a good girl, you can do it.” The whine you let out sounded pathetic to your own ears as he moved his hand marginally faster until you were coming apart in his arms again, tears streaming down your cheeks in earnest now, “There you go,” He cooed, bringing his face back so he could see your flushed face and tearstained cheeks.

Still, his fingers kept moving inside you and you whimpered, using your hands to push at his wrist uselessly. He stayed anchored inside you. You were so sensitive now, the pleasure was almost painful. “Oh, come on, baby,” He said, “You can give me one more, can’t you? You said this is what you wanted. You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you?”

You hiccupped and shook your head, no. He brought his other hand up to play with your nipples and the broken moan you let out sounded like a sob as you again felt yourself being pushed incrementally towards the edge of a cliff. “Kiss me,” You sighed desperately, “Kiss me, please.”

He hesitated for a moment before he kissed you and you wondered idly if maybe he knew you better, if this wasn’t the first time you were together like this, if he would’ve denied the request. If he was enjoying being a little mean and denying you what you wanted. The thought had you longing for more. You couldn’t take it now, you didn’t think, but the idea of doing this again with him was enough to get you to the precipice again. Your walls tightened around his fingers and he moaned into your mouth, “Go on, sweetheart. Can feel you’re there, give me one more.”

You thought you might black out when your orgasm ripped through you again. You shook in his arms, nails digging deep into the skin of his arms in a desperate attempt to anchor yourself. He murmured praises in your ear as you came down, gently pulled his fingers out of you and wiped away your tears.

He turned the shower off, dried you off, and in your fucked out haze he had to guide you to the bed. 

“You okay?” He asked gently, crawling over you, “We can stop.”

You shook your head slowly, a silent command, don’t stop. You looked down to see him putting a condom on himself as he watched you.

He swallowed, “You’re sure?” You nodded, and he chuckled, “Think you can use your words for me?”

You slid your tongue over your lips, “Yes,” You said slowly, “I’m sure.”

He lined up his tip with your soaked entrance and pushed in just an inch, “You’ll tell me if it’s too much?” He asked.

“Robby,” You laughed, “Are you gonna fuck me, or what?”

He fought a smirk and nodded before slowly easing himself inside you. You both sighed in relief when he filled you, “Jesus fucking Christ,” He moaned.

At first he was slow, gentle. He watched you carefully, as if he thought you were in danger of breaking. It would’ve made you laugh if it wasn’t so fucking sweet. When it was clear you were okay, were enjoying yourself even, he seemed to lose a bit of the careful restraint he’d been showing. 

He brought one of your legs up to his shoulder, pressed a kiss to your ankle before pressing into you again. His pace became relentless as he gripped your hips and he was so, so deep, you could feel him everywhere. Obscene, wet slapping sounds filled the space along with his pants and moans. 

“Harder,” You breathed and his eyes snapped to yours, surprised, “Please, I won’t break.”

“Oh, fuck,” He groaned and let your ankle fall back down, opting to fold himself over you instead to be closer. He kissed you sloppily, sucking your tongue into his mouth as he pounded into you, sucking up your moans like water. “Gonna cum,” He panted into your mouth.

You clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into skin. He was beautiful like this, you thought, on the verge of coming apart. If he hadn’t absolutely ruined you earlier, you would’ve liked to ride him yourself or make him come with your mouth. But this was a dream, more than you could have asked for, being able to see him like this. It felt like a gift, being allowed this peek into who he was when he was vulnerable. 

He buried his face in your neck when he came, groaning and breathless. His hips moved sporadically as his orgasm stuttered through him. You stroked a hand down the back of his head and kissed his cheek.

Still out of breath, he pulled his face back enough to kiss you again and you sighed contentedly into his mouth. 

“Still okay?” He asked.

You nodded, “Never better. You?”

He nodded and swallowed, “Yeah.”

After a moment, he pulled out of you and stood to rid himself of the condom. When he came back, he rolled back into bed and pulled you to him, pressing kisses on whatever bare skin he could reach.

He pressed a finger lightly into your cheek furthest from him to turn your head back to him. His eyes searched yours for just a moment before he kissed you on the mouth, long and slow. It made your toes curl. 

“I was thinking,” He said, “That we could shower again and then go watch the sunset on the shore. Share a bottle of wine. How does that sound?”

You smiled sleepily, “That sounds lovely.”

***

A little while later, you were sitting between Robby’s legs, your back pressed to his chest. It had cooled considerably since you had last been out here and Robby let you use one of his hoodies. 

You were still sleepy from the sex and the wine only made your limbs feel more languid and heavy as you passed the bottle back and forth.

“I’m going to ask you something,” Robby said eventually, “And I don’t want you to get mad when I do.”

You frowned, “Okay…?”

“You were premed? In undergrad?”

You sighed, “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you go to med school?”

You could feel yourself growing prickly and defensive, jaw clenching, “I applied twice within a couple of years. I didn’t get in. The pandemic hit, I lost my job, I ran out of money, I moved back home with my parents.” You shrugged, “I don’t know, I just… I didn’t see the point in trying again.”

It was more than that. The second time you didn’t get in, the failure had felt so visceral, you didn’t tell anyone for weeks. When you were forced into moving back to Los Angeles in the middle of the pandemic, the next year or so had felt unbearable with your failure seeming to loom above you, inescapable. Thinking back on it, you felt it was a wonder you had survived it at all.

“Do you still want to be a doctor?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. It doesn’t matter though, it’s too late.”

“Too late?” You felt Robby’s chest rumble with a laugh behind you, “How old are you? Twenty seven? Twenty eight?”

“Twenty nine.” 

He laughed again, “You’re a baby. It’s not too late for anything.”

Annoyed, you pushed off his chest and rose on your knees to face him, “I’m not doing it again, okay? So just drop it.”

He shook his head, “Why? Because you’re scared? I didn’t take you for a coward.”

You nodded and rubbed at your eyes, tried not to feel the punch to the gut his words were, “Yeah, well, you don’t really know me, do you?”

For a moment, there’s just his breathing and the gentle lap of the lake on the shore.

“I feel like I do.” He said softly, “And the girl who tattooed an Iliad quote on her body about how life is both beautiful and fragile strikes me as brave.”

Your eyes wandered back up to his and he had a tender look in his eyes as he met your gaze. 

You didn’t believe in love at first sight. You didn’t believe in love at first fuck, either. Whatever this was, whatever was causing your pulse to thrum erratically under your skin when he looked at you like that had to just be simple infatuation. It would pass. And Robby should have known better because he was in his damn fifties. You tore your gaze from his and stared at the tree line stubbornly. 

“I think,” Robby said after a few moments of silence, “That it’s never too late to do anything. And the worst that could happen is you try again and it doesn’t work out. You’re no worse off than when you started. What’s the harm?”

Your ego, for one. Not to mention the couple of thousands of dollars it would cost to retake the MCATs, order your transcripts, pay for each school’s application fee. Money you didn’t have. 

You shook your head slightly and crawled back over to him, placing a hand on the back of his neck to pull his face to yours. You kissed him hungrily and the surprised moan he let out sent chills down your spine.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” You murmured and slipped your free hand underneath the waist band of his shorts.

You watched as his eyes rolled back into his head when you touched him, felt him begin to swell against your palm, “You can’t–” He let out a pained groan, “There’s only so many times… I’ll let you fuck me to get out of a difficult conversation…”

You hummed, “What I’m hearing,” You said, leaning close to his ear, “is that it’s working.”

He cursed and slipped a hand behind your back before deftly flipping you so that you laid flat on the blanket you had been sitting on just moments earlier. 

“I’ll fuck you as many times as you need,” He said roughly, “But we will be finishing this conversation later.”

You were smirking up at him smugly and you could tell it was pissing him off with the way his jaw clenched and he tilted his head above you. 

“Now, open your mouth,” He said, and pressed his thumb to your chin.

***

It went like that for a couple of days. Robby would try discussing med school, where did you apply, where would you want to go now, did you have a specialty in mind, you should volunteer at the Pitt, he could write you a letter of recommendation, he could help you study for the MCATS, and on and on and on. 

Every time you would get increasingly more agitated and your attempts to distract him with sex were becoming less and less effective which only served to piss you off more.

You had spent the day on a boat outing, drinking in the sun, Robby’s hands all over you whenever he thought nobody was looking. Filthy mouth in your ear whispering all the things he was going to do to you once you got back to the house. 

He had fulfilled those promises and now you were fucked out and tired from being in the sun all day. Also you were a little grumpy that the group had planned to go out for drinks that night at a local bar. All you really wanted was to curl back up into Robby in bed and listen to the lull of the AC and Robby’s voice as he read aloud from the novel he had brought with him.

But you were here to be with friends, not just Robby. And you really enjoyed the company of the others as well, having met them a couple of times after moving back to Pittsburgh. They were always so sweet and welcoming to you, never making you feel like an outsider, even when the envy seemed to overtake you when they began telling stories about med school rotations or their latest shift.

So now you and Robby were in the shower, about to begin the task of getting ready for a night out when he brought it up again.

“You know, I know one of the professors at UPitt, I could get you an introduction, maybe a coffee even–”

“Robby,” You said sharply, “I don’t know how many fucking times I have to tell you, I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not going to apply to med school again. I’ve moved on.”

“Yeah, to some dead end job at a biotech company that some giant corporation will probably buy out in a couple of years.” He said it offhandedly, like he genuinely didn’t think it would hurt you. He didn’t even look up as he said it, just continued lathering his legs up with soap.

“Wow,” You scoffed, “Didn’t realize you thought I was such a loser. Thanks for clearing that up.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, you thought perhaps realizing his mistake too late, “That’s not what I meant–”

“Well what the fuck did you mean, then, hm?” You stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around yourself, desperate to create space and distance, “Why don’t you just fucking admit it?”

He stared at you through the glass, perplexed, “Admit what?”

“That you won’t fucking want me when we get back to Pittsburgh and I continue to be some loser who works at a ‘dead end’ job?”

He shook his head, “That’s not what I’m saying at all. I don’t care what you do, what I care about is that you feel happy and fulfilled and I’ve seen enough doctors in my life to recognize the… hunger, the drive. The need to be needed, the desire to fix and heal. And I see it in you and you’re fucking wasting it.”

You scoffed and turned away, “You’re still talking like you know me, but we only really met a few days ago.”

“Okay, so, fuck, the last few days count for nothing then? I’ve spent nearly every goddamn minute with you since we got here. You think I don’t know you because you won’t talk to me, but you don’t have to say anything. I see the way you look at Samira. You love her, but there’s a sadness behind it, like you’re mourning something. I see the way you deflate around my residents when they talk shop in front of you, like a fucking kid left out at the lunch table. You’re not that fucking difficult to understand.”

You braced your hands on the bathroom sink, “It seems like all you’ve found out is that I’m insecure, not exactly the discovery of the century.”

You heard him scoff, “No, what I found out is that you’re so fucking scared of maybe being a little uncomfortable that you’d rather be miserable your whole life than try.”

“I’m not scared.” 

The shower turned off and you heard him get out, wrap a towel around his waist, “You are, kid, and it’s making a coward out of you.”

You shook your head and started throwing your products back into your makeup bag, “Fuck you.” You said quietly and stormed out of the bathroom.

“And now you’re acting like a child,” he said, following you into the bedroom, “instead of having an adult conversation.”

“You’re not trying to have a conversation, you’re just being a condescending asshole.” You grabbed the outfit you planned on wearing tonight and all your makeup, “I’m going to get ready elsewhere.”

He ran a hand over the back of his head in frustration, “Yeah, keep running from it,” He murmured, “I’m sure that’ll solve it.”

You bit the inside of your cheek and walked out of the room, towel wrapped around you and all your makeup and clothes clutched to your chest.

When you knocked on Samira’s door, Jack answered, frowning down at you, “Are you… okay?”

“Who is it, Jack?”

Jack let the door open fully and you saw Samira sitting on the ground in front of a floor to ceiling mirror, makeup brush in hand, “Oh. Hi.”

You took a deep breath, “Can I get ready in here?”

Samira smiled and scooted to the side to make room for you in front of the mirror and you brushed past Jack to sit with her.

“What happened?” Samira asked as you got settled next to her.

You frowned, “Nothing, I just wanted to get ready with you. Like we used to.” You inhaled sharply and clapped your hands together, “You know, maybe we should do shots.”

She was still smiling at you, but watching you carefully, “Come on, I know you.” She said softly, “It’s always been easy to see when you’re upset.”

You swallowed and glanced at her out of the corner of your eye, starting to dot your tinted moisturizer onto your face with fingers.

“Robby and I had a fight.” You said finally.

Samira nodded, “About?”

Slowly, you both turned to look at Jack who was seated at the edge of the bed on his phone, pretending not to eavesdrop.

He looked up when he felt you both staring at him, “What?” You both raised your eyebrows and he sighed, standing, “Fine, I’ll go, but I’m hurt that you don’t consider me one of the girls.”

Samira smirked, “If Robby wasn’t your best friend, I’d let you stay.”

Jack shook his head as he left the room, “That guy’s always ruining things for me.” 

You and Samira both turned back to the mirror, “Continue.” Samira said.

You sighed as you blended out the moisturizer with your beauty blender, “He kept pushing and pushing about med school and I told him I wasn’t going to apply again and he basically implied that I was a loser at a dead end job and wasting my life.”

Samira frowned, “Surely he didn’t say it like that?”

You blinked and watched her face in the mirror, “Does it matter how he said it?”

She didn’t say anything for a few moments and you scoffed, “Oh my God,” You said slowly, “You agree with him.”

Samira shook her head, “No, it’s not—“ She sighed, “I definitely don’t think that you’re a loser. And I don’t think that you’re wasting your life… If you’re happy, but you’re not. I know you’re not.”

You didn’t say anything, picked up your concealer and did your best to blink away the burning in your eyes. It was annoying and hurtful to hear from Robby, but from Samira, your best friend of almost ten years, it made you nauseous.

“I just, I remember how badly you wanted it once. It was all we talked about. And now it’s like you’ve convinced yourself you never actually wanted it because you don’t want to get hurt again.” Samira said gently, “But you could still do it. You can do anything.”

She sounded so earnest, you wanted to believe her.

You sniffled and blended out your concealer, “I’m really proud of you, you know. I know sometimes I seem jealous, but—“

“I know that,” Samira said quickly, smiling at you in the mirror, “If the roles were reversed I’d be the same way. It doesn’t make you a bad friend.”

You gave her a watery smile, “You’re a really great friend for putting up with me all these years.”

Samira laughed and gently tugged at her waterline to apply eyeliner, “Please, I wouldn’t have survived med school without you.” She stopped smudging the eyeliner and met your eyes, “And when you get into med school, I’ll do the same for you.”

You inhaled slowly and purposefully, “When,” You murmured softly.

And for the first time in a long time, you allowed the hope to bloom in your chest.

***

The bar was crowded and loud. The back of your hand was sticky from the lime and salt you had put there when you, Samira, Parker, and Trinity had done tequila shots. Javadi and Whitaker had had to drive back to Pittsburgh the day before, not able to get as many days off as the rest of you. Trevor had also headed out once you got back from the boating trip. He said he had work, but Samira had suspected he was just tired of watching you make out with Robby, which had gratified you a little bit.

“Another round?” Trinity asked, eyebrows raised.

“Slow your roll, Santos,” Parker put a hand on her shoulder, “I think we could do with a little break.”

“Robby’s been staring at you for the last twenty minutes.” Samira said, smirking. Robby was across the room behind you, you knew. Samira stood in front of you and could see him over your shoulder, “Why don’t you go talk to him?”

You had done about three or four tequila shots since arriving (you’d already lost count) and to say you were feeling it would be putting it mildly. You were starting to feel mildly apologetic for how you’d been handling your conversations with Robby the last couple of days, especially after talking to Samira earlier. But you weren’t ready to admit that yet. And, besides, you were having fun hanging out with the girls.

You shrugged your shoulders, “I’m having fun over here.”

Just then, the opening chords of Earth, Wind & Fire’s September started blaring through the speakers and you and Samira locked eyes.

“No way.” Samira giggled, shaking her head.

This song was very intrinsic to your friendship. It had played at a freshman orientation mixer and the two of you had been the only ones to sing along, embarrassingly loud and off key. It had bonded you. And from then on, it had become a siren song of sorts. Whenever you had been bickering (it was only natural after years of living together) one of you would play the song over the house speakers when you were ready to apologize. You had both been very studious in undergrad, but every so often after you turned twenty one, you could both be convinced to go out dancing and September was always requested of the DJ. So many of your happiest moments with Samira could be traced back to this song.

So you grabbed her hand, “Let’s go,” and dragged her to the dance floor.

Laughing, hands on each other’s shoulders, you danced badly and sang the lyrics loudly and ignored everyone else. You were often happiest when you were with Samira and the last couple of years back in California, you had forgotten that. She was your person, your lighthouse, the sister you never had, but always wanted. 

When the song was over, breathlessly and arms wrapped around each other still, you walked back over to Trinity and Parker. In your absence, Jack had joined them, sipping a whiskey and looked at both you and Samira with amusement on his face.

Samira detached from you as you got closer and slid into Jack’s arms instead. You watched as he pressed his mouth to her ear, whispering something only she could hear and the smile on her face widened.

With Jack here, you couldn’t help but wonder what Robby was up to now and turned your head towards the direction you last saw him. He was still there, leaning against the bar and sipping a drink–

But there was a woman next to him, now, smiling at him with her hand on his forearm. You were drunk, and so there was a part of your brain that registered whatever you were feeling watching another woman touching him was overblown. But it didn’t soothe the twisting feeling you felt in your chest when you saw him laugh at something she had said. And he hadn’t removed his arm from her touch. 

She was older than you, you could see that much. Probably around forty or so, someone more acceptable for him. Someone people wouldn’t look at and wonder if he was her father or not. She was gorgeous in a red dress that hugged her curves tightly and curly hair that fell past her shoulders. It was likely she had her life together, knew what she wanted to do with it and didn’t let childish insecurities get in the way. She probably knew how to be vulnerable with someone else without feeling like they were attacking her.

You couldn’t say how long you were staring before you heard Jack call your name. When you turned, he had a sympathetic look on his face, “Don’t let that get to you, alright?” He said, eyes following your gaze, “If you just go talk to him, he’s yours, I promise.”

Samira was still in his arms, her brow furrowed with worry as she watched you.

You looked back at Robby and the older woman and saw he had covered her hand on his forearm with his own, thumb stroking back and forth over her skin.

There was a roaring in your ears when you turned back to the table, “Mira, I think I’m gonna throw up.” You said as you braced your hands on the high top table you were all gathered around.

Immediately, you felt her hand on your back and she lowered her head until she met your gaze, “Do you want some ice?” You shook your head, no.

“You know what I would do if I were you?” Trinity said, tossing the ice from her now empty drink into her mouth.

“She’s about to give the most unhinged advice you’ve ever heard.” Samira said, sighing.

Trinity seemed unfazed by Samira’s criticism and barrelled ahead anyway, “I would go in the bathroom, take an awesome picture of my tits, and text it to him. He goes to check his phone: boom, breasts. Instant boner.” She shrugged, “It works on sapphic women, anyway.”

Parker nodded behind her, “Yeah, that would work on me.”

You blinked blankly at them and looked at Samira, who, frighteningly, was not shooting down the idea.

Jack sighed, “If you just talk to him instead of playing these games–”

“Girls,” You said, standing up straight, “Let’s take a trip to the bathroom.”

***

Robby was trying to make you jealous. He realized the immaturity of it, that he was resorting to tactics he suspected you would employ yourself, but he couldn’t help it. Something about you made him feel like a college kid again, pining after the prettiest sorority girl who wouldn’t give him the time of day. 

He just wanted to talk to you. He had pushed too hard, like he tended to do. Giving tough love for a situation that maybe required gentler hands and a more receptive headspace. He didn’t think what he said had been wrong, exactly, but maybe it had been a bit harsher than he intended. And he would apologize for that. Once you admitted he was right.

But in the meantime, he couldn’t stand by any longer watching you dance around drunk in a too short dress that cupped your breasts just right and left your bare back exposed to the humid August air.

The fact that the woman was older, more age appropriate perhaps, truly hadn’t even crossed his mind. He hadn't intended to hurt you when he indulged her flirting, just maybe make you a little territorial so that you’d finally stop pretending like he wasn’t in the same room as you.

When he felt his phone buzz in his pocket and pulled it out, he honestly thought it was probably someone at the Pitt, asking some obscure admin related question.

It was a number outside of his contacts and he frowned at that before swiping it open–

And being absolutely blown away by the sight of your tits on his screen. It looked like you had taken it in the bathroom, the straps from your dress pushed down your shoulders so the fabric pooled at your waist. Your nipples were hardened, likely from the cold air of the AC in the bathroom.

Underneath the picture you had typed: do you wanna lick them? also open to some light nibbling if ur in the mood

He barked out a laugh and locked his phone, cracking his neck from side to side as he turned his attention back to the woman in front of him, apologizing for the interruption. He would not be won over so easily, despite the way he felt the blood rushing south and between his legs at the thought of your tits in his mouth. 

He was tired of you using sex to avoid deep conversation. He hadn’t been sure what he wanted from you when he got here, but he had decided since that it was more than just fucking. He wouldn’t settle for just easing the ache between your legs whenever you felt like it.

A few moments later, his phone buzzed again. Robby wanted to ignore it. If you wanted him, you could come over here and say so. But in the end, you won, and he picked up his phone again.

I’m not wearing any panties.

He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed deeply as he locked his phone.

“Is everything alright?”

He opened his eyes and looked at the woman in front of him, “Yeah, sorry, I, uh–” He lifted his phone, “I just have to take care of something, would you excuse me?”

Robby was already walking towards where he last saw you before the woman could reply. You were still there, looking smug as you bit on the straw of a long empty drink and stared at him. When he got to you, he wordlessly took the drink from your hand, dropped it on the table, and then secured a hand around your wrist before he began walking again, you trailing behind.

Once outside the bar, he checked for people before backing you against the wall, relishing in your little gasp when your back hit the brick. He kissed you hard and with all the annoyance he felt, sucking your lower lip into his mouth and biting down until you yelped. He began to pull away, to see if he had actually hurt you, but before he could get more than a few centimeters away, you crashed your mouth back into his.

He palmed your breast through the fabric of your dress and sighed when he felt the peak of your nipple. He needed to know if you had been serious about not wearing panties. The dress was fairly short, and it was loose and flowy from your waist down, so it would have been quite the risk. 

Robby spread your legs with his knee before reaching one of his hands between your thighs and up your dress. You were soaked and there was not a scrap of fabric to be found. He groaned into your mouth as he ran a finger down your folds, sucking your whimpers into his mouth like oxygen. 

He was so enamored, he nearly forgot that he was absolutely under no circumstances supposed to be doing this until the two of you could have a real conversation–

It was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. That’s right, he wasn’t supposed to be doing this.

He pulled away from you so abruptly, that when your mouth moved to chase his, you leaned over so far you lost your balance and he had to steady you.

“Too much to drink?” He asked, hands on your arms to keep you upright.

“What the fuck?” You whined.

When he thought there was no longer any danger of you falling over, he leaned away and shoved his hands in his pockets, “I told you, there are only so many times I’ll allow you to use sex to avoid having an actual conversation.”

You pouted, “Then why did you come out here?”

He shrugged, “Temporary breach of sanity,” His eyes wandered down to your chest and he swallowed, “Provoked by a perfect pair of tits.”

You poked your tongue out between your teeth, “You think they’re perfect?”

He shook his head and rolled his eyes, “Is this all you want from me? Because if it is, I need to know now.”

You frowned, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Is this just fucking to you?” He gestured to the space between you, “Is that all I am, just a good fuck?”

You reddened, “I–I don’t know, isn’t that what you want?”

“No,” He shook his head, “No, I–” He ran a hand over the back of his head, “I think I want more than that. I want–I want you. All of you. Not just a piece.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and shook your head slightly, “What about that woman at the bar?”

“I was just trying to make you jealous.”

You worried your lower lip between your teeth, “But she’s older and probably better at this whole thing and won’t send you a picture of her tits instead of apologizing.” 

You said it all in a rush and he gave you a small smile, “There are worse ways to apologize.”

“It’s not funny, Robby, I’m not good at this,” You threw up your hands in exasperation, “You’re right, I avoid anything that’s difficult, anything I’m worried I’ll fail at and–” You blinked rapidly, your eyes glinting wet with unshed tears, “And I’m terrified of disappointing you.”

He tilted his head and took a step to you, reaching a hand out to gently cradle your cheek in his palm, “Sweetheart, as long as you’re actually trying, you’re never going to disappoint me.”

Your breathing wavered slightly and you turned your head to kiss his palm, “I want to go to med school.” You said softly. It was a small concession, not quite an apology, but close enough.

“I know.” He pulled you to his chest and kissed the top of your head. His hands slid to either side of your neck and he tilted your head up so he could kiss you properly, the taste of tequila still on your tongue, “You ready to go back inside?”

You nodded and let him lead you back by the hand, smiling to yourself when his thumb stroked reassuring circles on the back of your hand. He kept a hand on you, whether it was on your hand, arm, hip, or thigh, for the rest of the night. The woman at the bar looked a bit miffed when she finally left, but Robby didn’t notice. He was too busy watching you.

***

The humidity was suffocating as you packed your bags in the back of your Yaris. You were dripping with sweat just from the walk from the house to the car. It was likely even hotter in Pittsburgh, a thought that had you second guessing why you had left Los Angeles in the first place. It may have been a desert, but at least it didn’t feel like you were drowning when you were outside.

“You got everything?” Robby came up behind you as you were closing your trunk, hands settling on your hips.

“Yep,” You spun in his arms once the trunk was shut. His face was red from the heat as well, skin damp with sweat, “You?”

“Think I’m just missing my… What do the kids call it? Passenger princess?” He leaned into you and pressed kisses to the side of your neck, making you giggle and push him away when he playfully bit the sensitive skin there.

“I told you,” You laughed, “I’m driving my own car.”

“Baby, it’s gonna be so loud with that useless muffler. You’re gonna hate it. Just let me call someone to tow it–”

“No,” You shook your head adamantly, “Thank you for offering, but no thank you.”

He sighed, “What if I said I just don’t want to drive back to Pittsburgh by myself?”

You smiled and kissed him. You didn’t think you’d ever tire of the taste of him, the feel of his beard against your skin, “We have plans to see each other two days from now. Aren’t you sick of me?”

He shook his head, “Not even close.” He kissed your forehead, “But, fine. Enjoy your drive, don’t come crying to me for an ENT referral when you rupture your eardrums.”

You laughed as he turned away from you, “That’s a bit dramatic, I think.”

He only shrugged as he headed to his own car and you headed to your driver’s side. Sliding into the hot seat, you put your key in the ignition and turned– There was a whine from the car, but no turnover. Frowning, you tried again. And again. And–

“Oh no,” Robby opened your driver’s side, “Looks like your car won’t start.”

You turned to scowl at him, “Did you do this?”

He laughed, “Of course not. But I can’t say I’m not a little pleased.”

You leaned your head against the steering wheel, “I can’t afford this.” You murmured. And it was true. Even after working at the new job for a while, you were still regaining your footing from all the moving costs.

“It’s probably just a dead battery or bad alternator. I’ll fix it when we get back.”

You looked up at him, “That’s too much.”

But he was already shaking his head, “I like doing it. Both working with cars and helping you. Now get in my car, please, so we can go home.”

It was strange, this feeling you got now when looking at him. When he was kind and generous with you, but had no ulterior motive. You had never met anyone like him. It had only been a week, and you had never been in love before, but you thought this must be what it felt like. When you were just on the precipice of it.

You got out of your car and rose on your toes to kiss him, “Thank you,” You whispered in his mouth.

“Get a room,” Jack teased as he walked outside, Samira in tow.

When you saw her you broke from Robby and went to wrap her up in a hug instead, “Thank you for inviting me, Mira.” You said into her shoulder.

Her arms tightened around you, “I’m just glad to have you back on the east coast.” She looked over your shoulder towards Robby, “And I’m glad that I’m such a good matchmaker.”

You laughed, “Yeah, if he’s ever mean to you again, you let me know.” 

“Oh, don’t worry,” She pulled away, “You’re on speed dial.”

Robby kept a hand on your thigh for most of the ride back to Pittsburgh, stroking a soothing pattern with his thumb until you were half asleep. The subtle smell of cherries was in his nose the entire drive back and when he occasionally looked back over at you, asleep in his passenger seat, he thought he finally understood what Jack had said to him when he started dating Samira.

It’s like I’ve been asleep at the wheel and she took it from my hands. I don’t wonder why I keep going anymore, I know it’s because she’s keeping me from veering off the road.

He certainly was no expert at relationships, but you made him want to try if it meant it would extend this feeling in his chest when he looked at you. Like everything would be okay as long as you were happy and breathing next to him.