Colibri's Observatorium

Jack Abbot stares a lot. I mean, it’s part of his job… to observe, to monitor, to make sure the hellhole that is the PTMC runs the way it should. But mostly, Jack stares at you. His gaze always catching on your frame across the nurses’ hub as he takes in the way you work, oblivious to the way his keen eyes glaze over with something that could not be described as anything else but want. You catch him sometimes as he guides you through a procedure, wearing an unreadable look on his face that to any passer by, just looks like a concentrated mentor focusing on guiding a resident through a difficult task. It’s clinical, efficient, unattached. 

Only he knows, that there is nothing clinical or unattached running through his mind as he watches you. The mind that can’t help but think about brushing the loose piece of hair that covers your face behind your ear, or how your hands that always move so gently and skillfully would feel touching the stubble of his jaw, or the ripples of his back. He thinks about how they would feel wrapped around his cock, with the same gentle reverence that he sees you display in everything you do.

Would you touch him so softly that he couldn’t help but buck his hips into your hand just to feel a little more while you innocently stare back at him? Would you squirm and clench your thighs at the sounds he makes as he leaks all over you? Would you shut your eyes tight with a little wrinkle between your brows or tearily look up at his face when he finally gets to fuck you, as you uncontrollably flutter around him, your breath hitching and your jaw hanging open as he grinds his hips up after each thrust so that he hits the spot that makes you whine and gush around him as he whispers how good you are in your ear.

His thoughts are interrupted when you call out for him with a gentle “Doctor Abbot?” as you await his instructions. The expectant, wide-eyed look donned on your face makes the remaining blood in his head rush to his already aching cock. After quickly guiding you through the remainder of the procedure, Jack rushes to the bathroom for the nth time this month to wash his flushed face with cold water, hoping that it’ll will his hard on away, and praying that it takes his guilt away with it.

When he returns to the bustle of the ED, his focus is renewed, and the Jack Abbot he wants to be returns, focused, steady, and not plagued by thoughts of you. But that doesn’t last long—it never does—because the next time he sees you, the all too familiar stir in his pants returns, and he has nobody to blame but himself.

Getting home after a shift doesn’t ease his mind off you either. He just can’t help but think of your pretty face while he palms his wet cock under the cool spray of the shower and imagine it was you touching him instead, watching every shake of his breath, staring coyly at him as you make him watch what you do to him with your bottom lip teasingly tucked between your teeth.

He cums with the image of your face flashing behind his eyes and a desperate whimper of your name, almost like he’s afraid you’ll hear him. As he watches the proof of his depravity swirl down the drain, the guilt returns, but Jack knows that he is a weak man, and he knows that come tomorrow, he’ll do the same as he fantasizes about you again, and he also knows that he’ll do nothing to stop it.