jack's been eyeing you down since you walked in, swaying hips and bright eyes ready to work. his hair was still wet from the shower, finally setting into the shape his waxy fingers styled it in 2 hours prior. to put it plainly, jack looked absolutely exquisite. tight black scrub top and military cargos, he was the picture of an aged, all american boy. looking at jack was even better than talking to him, sometimes. his clipped answers and deep swallows often got mistaken for disinterest, but he could never be mistaken for anything other than handsome.

he was handsome, by all definitions. handsome, and desperately infatuated with you.

his ring feels heavier on his hand these days, tighter as if it suddenly reappeared after years of being tucked under blue gloves and pushed to the base of his fingers. jack's eyes grew heavier too; what used to be looks of exhaustion have morphed into... essentially... hunger. green eyes hung low as he studied you, waltzing into the ED with an excitement that used to make him ill. he can remember the first day you walked in; fresh out of school and eager to get started; the model, budding , young ingénue.

how much things have changed.

now, jack finds himself perpetually stuck; caught in between scylla and charybdis; a rock and a hard place. if he acts on his desires, pushes your pretty hair out of your eyes and tells you how good your perfume smells, he's jeopardizing the work climate and his own mental wellbeing.

but if he simmers, and lets you talk to crus for even 15 more seconds, he's not responsible for the vile attitude that will slip out and taint your pretty face.

"crus, you're needed in 2. dislocation." jack tuts, swallowing his tongue and shifting his stance. your eyes find his, crus nodding and walking away with a wink.

"looks like you're with me, kid. buck up, i'm not goin' easy on you," he jokes, grabbing the chart and walking awayv with the intrinsic knowledge that you'll follow. and you do, scurrying behind him and desperately trying to keep up with his long strides.

for a man with phantom pains perpetually creasing his face and neck, he's rather fast.

"we've got a busy night tonight, so i'm gonna need you close, yeah? be snappy, make good decisions and you'll do fine, just like you always do. got it?" "yes, yes okay." "good, alright" he agrees, handing you the chart with a warm touch to your arm. he opens the trauma door for you, always ladies first, and his hand flexes with the hot vibrations of your skin. pinky to thumb, ring to thumb, middle to thumb, pointer to thumb, tight fist, go.

and you move flawlessly throughout the room, it's a grace that only the most empathetic people can conjure. a presence demanding and calming, all at once.

he lets you take the lead, always to your right, always. the smell of your vanilla perfume permeates the air around him, a balm to the antiseptic tinge that always lingers in a hospital room and on his scrubs. jack's tongue peeks out to wet his lips and his throat feels dry when he catches a glimpse of the oil behind your ear, slipping to your pulse point. looking at the soft skin of your neck, he almost squints to try and find a spot that he can pray no one's touched before.

no time to linger or stew, because your voice, muffled by a (now) wailing patient brings him back, "jack, i need you!"

he springs into action, a crescendo of perfect movement and precision. it's a perfect pair, the axel you both move on grinding and weaving with the energy of the room. one in the same, equally balanced by your differences.

your hair is sweaty once you leave the crowded trauma room, chest heaving as you come down from the adrenaline. behind you, jack stares at the pull of scrubs across your shoulders.

"jack, i need you!" over and over and over. a gentle touch to the small of your back as he walks past you, "did so good. proud of you." muttered into the small pocket of air circling between you two.

his hand feels hot on your back, a heavy, guiding presence that you know you'd let take you anywhere, "couldn't have done it without you jack," your eyes flutter as you take him in. a bead of sweat on his hair line and a warm flush on his cheeks, his freckles and sunspots glisten under the fluorescent lighting.

to onlookers, it's nauseatingly adoring; the older man swaying left in instability and your hips immediately cocking in the that direction. always in each other's orbit, somehow. "i wouldn't lead you anywhere you couldn't go, sweetheart."

a sly smile envelopes his face, aged skin dimpling with affection as you mirror him. tongue against your bottom row of teeth, jack looks down his nose at the imperceptible movement of your bottom lip, stretching from the press of the wet muscle.

one more deep breath and he's walking away, gaze lingering on your form for as long as he can before he walks down the hallway. giggling to yourself, you shake your head and head to the charting desks, sitting down with a tired plop.

"he has you wrapped around his finger," ellis smiles, taking out one of her airpods to tease you, "that old man is walking you like a dog" she laughs. a wide smile and faux gasp, you turn to your coworker, "that is not true parker!"

"that's not true parker!" she mocks, all in loving jest before turning back to her own charts. it doesn't take long for shen to saddle up to your side, biting at the orange straw of his nightly coffee and asking, "where's your other half, giggles?" your shoulders drop as you look at the ceiling, finding the cracks of a government-run facility quite interesting as ellis pulls her lips in and tilts her head against her shoulder in suppression.

to your friends, your dearest coworkers, you and jack are peas in a pod, fire and ice, sweet and sour, and all of the other 3rd grade level comparisons they could mention at your last night-shift happy hour. not platonic, not yet romantic, but a secret, third type of yearning that seems divinely placed.

when the breath of life was put into jack abbot, the lingering whispers of "where you go, i go" were solidified. and some 25 years later, when that same ghost of life created you, the echoing response of "when you find me, you'll know" called back.

jack has been practicing "endurance" all night. enduring your friendly smiles and understanding nods. enduring your posture flexing straight when he comes around, eager to please. enduring your teasing and squinting eyes that seem to see right through his paternal facade, and lead him directly to right now.

with your legs spread on his bed, knees slowly moving to show him the center of your love. cotton panties schlacked to your core with wet warmth, clit gently rubbing against the fabric. jack's chest heaves with want, his hands flex again. pinky to thumb, ring to thumb, a slow rub of his middle against the calloused pad of his thumb. his wrist cracks with the twirling grip he has on his cock.

"endurance" that even shen could've hardly predicted.

manicured toes rub up his thigh, his hairy knee pressing into the soft green linen of his bed sheets. the second he got you through the doors, he was on you. you lead him up the stairs, soft hands grabbing at his chubby wrist to make him follow you. his leg ached, his cock throbbed, his brain was slowly turning to mush as he trailed behind you.

"you wanna touch me, jackie?" you coo, back arched as you look through your lashes at the older man. shoulders pressed back in a tight hold, you lean on your hands for support. and jack's only a man, a very desperate, lustful man.

he surges down, squeezing at the base of his pulsing cock, swooping down for a kiss, but you lean back. jack speaks against your mouth, hand working at his cock again, moving knuckles dragging against your core as he jerks himself. tugging raw, raw, raw; the sweet schlick of want leads him right to your pretty clit.

a small, strangled noise escapes you both; jack's louder and more guttural. his thick knuckles press against you and his tummy clenches as you press your nails at it, momentarily stopping him.

"one kiss please, god, one fucking kiss" he begs, speaking against your mouth as his standing leg shakes from his weight. you lick against his lips and he stutters as he looks up at your ceiling. desperate, humiliatingly so, he thinks, but i couldn't care less. she has me wherever she wants me.

raising your manicured finger to his mouth, you press your thumb on his tongue, and jack's good knee trembles with the relief. crowding your space, both knees planted on the mattress between your parted legs, jack can't help the shuddering "yeah, yeah, good" that tumbles out of his mouth.

once again, a vascular hand reaches up to squeeze his tip, a mock pillow for his swollen crown. he sucks at your thumb, swirling his muscle across the salty skin and bucking his hips forward, knuckles once again dragging across your cunt.

you wish they could see it now, your night shift attending and secret lover kissing at your thumb and making himself cum over top of you. slick joints nudging at your fluttery clit as his hand pumps roughly against himself.

"let me touch you," he pants, a growl rising, "gotta have you." "you can't wait any longer jackie?" "can't fucking wait, open up, please. take me in, let me in baby. oh fuuck, oh my god."

and as your back arches, his resounding groan surrounding in the air as he feeds his cock into you, your head hangs back. in the midst of your movement, you see the furrow of jack's brow, jaw hanging open and quick breath moving through him as he presses in, in, in.

a sight for sore eyes, his alabaster skin is warm as he bites at his lip. wrapping your hand around the back of his neck, your fingers press into his flesh as you pull him forward. he stumbles a bit, a small grunt leaving his mouth as you fuck forehead to forehead. he keeps his eyes on you, a wet pop as he finally bottoms out inside of you.

the pace picks up almost immediately, a smacking headboard and unsteady noises surrounding you. sultry, decadent, you ask him "you gonna do whatever i want?" with the same sweet doe eyes you know drive him wild on the clock. "i'll fucking do anything, i'm yours, all yours" he gasped, panting, fingertips pressing into your hips as he ruts against you belly to belly.

he's exactly where you want him, taught muscles and sweaty skin. the look of complete adoration crosses his face as he huffs a gritty, debauched "ah ah ah."

A short, airy chuckle escaped Jack’s lips as his head dipped. He was exhausted—you could see it in the frame of his body and the way his shoulders drooped like a person who had given up on the day when you turned around. With the mug to your mouth, you blew on the steaming coffee carefully.

“Rough night?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah.”

“Do you,” you began to breach slowly, “want to talk about it?”

Your eyes fluttered around his face for an answer before he gave it. He chewed on the inside of his lip before hovering, his right fingers twisted his ring on the left. Probably a female patient stuck on his conscious, you imagined.

Jack only ever got in a funk about patients that reminded him of himself, the men he served with, children, or women who reminded him of you.

He'd argue that the ones "like you" were the worst. For you, it all looked relatively the same.

“Robby came in early and this woman…” he trailed. A shake of his head followed the click of his teeth. “He really fucking pissed me off about her care.”

“Oh?”

“He’s been such an asshole lately.”

“I’ve heard.” Your eyebrows raised in acknowledgement. “He’s been an asshole for months, apparently.”

“Try a fucking year,” Jack scoffed. He lifted from the wall and ran his hands over his face. “He stalled too long and by the time Neuro came down, they berated me for waiting so long to page. It’s not my fucking fault. I told Robby what the course of action was and all he did was argue about it.”

The steam began to roll.

“He’s just—” Jack huffed “—is so dense sometimes it makes my blood boil.”

“Sounds like you need to go to couples therapy,” you replied lightly and his shoulders dropped further at the retort. “They must have a platonic co-worker, bestie session somewhere.”

“Funny,” he panned. “Robby needs fucking therapy. He’s gonna get me into a lawsuit that I have no reason to be apart of.”

“You’re gonna need more therapy for Robby’s lack of it.”

“And you know what?” Jack exasperated. He held up a pointer finger and wagged it around to make a point. “He’s a know-it-all too.”

“Aren’t you all?” You looked at him seriously. “Isn’t the whole point of your job to be the biggest know-it-all for your staff?”

“He’s an ass about it though. I’m not. I’m like… cool. Like a coach or something… he’s… he's just an asshole.”

“Then don’t ask for his opinion, Jack. Rely on your residents, your seniors, before falling back to him. Robby isn’t the chosen one, you know.”

“I know.”

“Then why act like it?”

Jack shook his head. “Maybe because he does. He’s a fucking… wolf in sheep’s clothing and every time it pops out, I wonder why the hell I listen to him in the first place sometimes.”

“He can be a bully,” you agreed from what you knew of Robby and what Jack debriefed to you in confidence.

He loved his friend, truly, but even friends can be a larger stressors of life. In Jack’s line of work, it was more probable than not that Robby and Jack’s friendship would ebb and flow over time. Robby was hitting a low—and everyone always suffered when the great Michael Robinavitch hit rock bottom.

“I just wish he’d just knock it off.”

“You know that it’s not that easy.”

Jack concurred. “Doesn’t mean it’s not frustrating when other people don’t accept it.”

“Why won’t he?”

“I really don’t have a clue, honey.”

Your mouth quirked a smile to one side. “Then fuck ‘em right now. As much as I care about Michael’s well being, I really don’t want to talk about him when you’re home.”

“I know you don’t.” Jack breathed in. He shook off Robby and the patients and looked at you truthfully. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you returned.

He paused, gazing at you with a refreshed appreciation. Jack’s eyes softened easily. You’d been home alone without him for an entire night and while he knew you didn’t mind his deflation of work drama, it really wasn’t what you wanted to hear this early.

Let alone when you’re in his presence again, on an off day, with a whole day to waste.

“How was your night?”

“Fine,” you gave a vague, noncommittal motion. “Didn’t do much. Watched the news, I told you I didn’t want to make dinner so I had a bowl of cereal… went to bed, but I don’t like sleeping without you.”

Neither did he. Jack hummed. He nodded in listening and his eyes trailed down your body shamelessly. The shorts you wore to sleep always bunched weird—your own reasoning—when you walked. A shape he could only identify as an upside down heart narrowed his attention to the apex of your thighs. It targeted Jack’s mind with a reminder that he was home.

There was nothing more to worry about at work.

He was at ease under a roof to share with you.

You. You. You.

And his body sure knew it.

“Is that all you did? Sleep?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. The time on the microwave read 8:36 and for anyone else, maybe it would be too early for this. But for Jack, time was an illusion of practice.

He slept for four hours a day and devoted himself to a million different tasks to escape the quiet. However, when you were home together on a Saturday, Jack couldn’t help the way his brain immediately shifted into one mode. He missed you. He missed being close to you on nights where he imagined you tossing and turning because he wasn’t around to hold you.

“Why?” You said warily. “What did you imagine me doing other than sleeping?”

Jack’s tongue wet his lips; it ran over his bottom lip before he bit down to stop himself from blurting out the first thing that came to mind. He wasn’t seeking to be so fucking dirty minded at the break of goddamn dawn, but one look at you and he was always on the brink of exploding.

He thought you were the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on. The kind where sailors of old were bewitched by sirens in the water... empires surely fought over you in another life. You looked so simple and refreshed in your pajamas and robe as you stood in front of the window that looked out into the backyard. The sun had risen, painting a swirl of Valentine’s colors in place of its generic blue.

He loved you. Immensely. And all of that love often transpired in every room of the house.

Jack’s mouth frowned in dismissal. “Nothing…” he scoffed. “Just like… did you read a book? Watch a… movie… or something? An audiobook?”

“Jack.”

“Maybe you watched a couple of episodes of—”

“I didn’t!” You were quick to defend. “I told you I’d wait for you to be off!”

He waited for seconds to pass. “So… nothing then?”

“Jack.” You set the mug down beside the sink. “Are you trying to ask me if I did something dirty?”

“Well that makes me feel and sound like I’m 10.”

“You’re kind of acting like you’re 10.”

“Rude,” he joked. “I… I guess so.” He answered your question.

“You wanna know what I do in bed without you when you’re ten minutes away and so frustrated about your job and all you can think about is fucking me?”

“Now you’re just being lewd.”

Jack stepped toward you and caged you with his hands stretched onto the counter beside you. Your hands landed on his stomach, smelling the antiseptic that always traveled home with him.

“Don’t you want to shower?” You inquired as his chin tutted out in observance of you.

“Don’t you wanna tell me what you did?”

“You have an imagination, Dr. Abbot,” you breathed. “Maybe you can use it to figure it out.”

Your hands smoothed over his sides. His breathing leveled out from his ire against Robby. Building the walls of his home around his heart, Jack hands gripped onto the counter hard. The strain of his muscles pulled on the veins of his arms that made you weak in the knees. Every bit of the man was attractive to you—everything.

“I think you were a little… cold,” he suggested. Your eyes lingered on his lips before meeting his own that seemed to pin you to the counter. “And you needed something to warm you up.”

“Oh,” you frowned, “so very cold.”

Your hands drifted higher. In a break from their internal memorization of Jack’s body, your hands traced his biceps and forearms, bumping over the shallow ridges of veins.

Jack rumbled. “Was it your hands? Or our friend in the drawer?”

Your eyes flickered back to his lips. Jack’s dick twitched in his scrub pants. Fuck. You were just perfect.

“A little bit of both, I guess.”

“You guess?” His face inched closer, noses brushing against one another. “Need a reminder?”

“Why would I?” You mumbled quietly. “You’re here now.”

“Hasn’t stopped you before.”

Jack’s nose danced across your cheek and to the side of your face where he sucked in the scent of you. Your hands brushed up to his pecks and back down, threatening to go lower at the bottom of his top. His breath hit your ear and your head lulled away from him playfully.

“That’s not what I want. It’s not what I wanted, either.”

“I was thinkin’ bout you last night,” Jack rasped against your ear, “how much I wanted to be here. All the things I wanted to do you.”

“Oh yeah?” You smiled as he placed a kiss on the side of your face. It was barely a kiss, a brush of his lips, but it was there. “You gonna tell me about it or do I have to guess.”

“Well you know how I feel about these shorts, honey.”

Jack backed away from your face and looked down between your bodies. He could see your nipples peaking at the fabric and the way your legs pressed together as he gazed. He wet his lips hungrily.

“Who knew sunflowers could be so fuckin’ sexy, huh?”

You laughed. He grinned like a schoolboy at the sound.

“I might only wear them just for you,” you said with a lazy smile. “They’re like my ‘Jack Trap’ I suppose.”

“Jack Trap?”

“Mhm,” you bit down on your lower lip. “Guaranteed romance with them on.”

“Guaranteed?” He joked and pretended to pull away. You tugged him back without resistance.

“Honey,” he lamented casually. “There is no trapping me. Ever. You got me. On my knee or not. Prisoner of your heart for life—honestly.”

“A prisoner?” You gagged. “In the world’s most cozy prison then.”

“Well I’ve never been to any so I wouldn’t know.”

You pushed against his stomach and he shook his head smiling before returning to blocking you in.

“I think about you every minute of the day,” he brought back. “Even if I know you’re working or reading or just making a sandwich, I’m thinking about you.”

The sincerity in his eyes killed you. He was certain death. Your certificate would read: CAUSE OF DEATH—HUSBAND’S LOVE, and it would be correct.

“Why don’t we put all that thinking to good use now?” You proposed.

You pushed up to him and planted a quick, easy kiss to his lips.

“For all the time I missed you at work,” another kiss, “and for all the time you missed me while you were at work.”

You kissed him again, longer.

“I think you have really good ideas.”

“That’s why you married me.”

“No,” he shook his head but his lips landed on yours. “I married you because you’re my best friend. And that you put up with all of my shit and still somehow love me.”

“Eh,” you shrugged, “that too.”

Jack kissed you deeply in return.

You sunk into a warm place because of it. His mouth commanded you to fall into him every time. A routine of adoration, his tongue was fast to escalate the scene to one of cuteness to one of craving. Chasing an itch that could never be fully scratched, Jack’s mouth devoured yours.

Shallow, hushed shaky breaths filled your ears when he chose to let them go. His left hand left the counter to cup your face gently. In a stark difference from his kiss, his thumb traced over your bottom lip, then top, resting in the center where your lips parted.

You locked eyes with him. Jack’s thumb breached your lips and your warm mouth accepted it. A mixture of your combined saliva coated his thumb and as he retracted, your teeth grazed his skin. Jack used his wet thumb to coat your lips before pulling your face back to his and kissing you once more.

It was thoughtless. A mindless warping of his body into yours and no one needed to think about anything except where hands went and how lips moved. Jack pushed his body into yours to lessen any possible space. Your back dug into the counter, quick to remind you that you weren’t 25 and sex outside of soft spaces wasn’t always easy.

But it was exciting and different and new.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had sex with Jack that wasn’t in bed. As much as your imaginations sought spaces that seemed sexy or exhilarating, the reality of it was that sex was a bodily maneuver that over time, became prisoner to age. It didn’t only matter if someone’s sexual prowess was dimmed by time. Knees ached, a back’s soreness frequented, and the longevity of the act became sporadic with hormone imbalances.

Jack’s twelve hour shifts and leg also didn’t always allow for more adventurous loving. But you were both satisfied with what you could do. You didn’t need to have pornographic levels of acrobatic flexibility to enjoy having sex with each other. Simple lust and attraction did all the heavy lifting where kinesthetics just didn’t work out.

Yet he kissed you like all of it was possible every time. His mouth moved against yours with fervor. Devoted to one task only: Jack wanted you to feel him. To sense one’s intent through only a kiss seemed useless—Jack gave every ounce of himself in it. Your lips nearly puckered with a grin, hands moved to cling to his scrub top as his hand tipped your head back.

His right leg wedged itself between yours. Jack’s hand that had lodged itself stiff against the counter slid between the opening of your robe and smoothed over your back before grasping your ass so hard you moved to grind against his leg. Your lips never released his, alternating between chasing his dominance and giving into it.

Jack’s hand prompted you to move. Switching to hold onto your bare thigh and sinking his fingers into your flesh, he asked your hips to roll without words. Heat rose to your cheeks when he let out a sound of appreciation.

It was something “new” he offered during times like these.

He’d always been vocal about praising you during sex—it was a non-negotiable for you when you first met so many years ago. This wasn’t a silent game. It wasn’t an unimportant encounter that could be quietly passed over until the next. Sex was sex. It was vulnerability in a bottle and fuck, if you were gonna let him see all of you, he better show that appreciation audibly.

So, when he followed up with a quick and low: “just like that baby,” your heart picked up a few extra beats.

However, Jack had become more aware of it over the last year. When he wasn’t able to give all of himself during intimacy because of his meds, he resorted to focusing on your pleasure alone and doubled down on the vocal praise. It added onto a long list of things that made Jack irresistible for you. He moaned more, let himself feel more openly, and sometimes, he talked you through it.

He was always willing to learn.

If someone asked him what makes his marriage to you work, Jack would say it was that he never stopped learning about you. People change. All the time. And just because you think you know someone in and out, it doesn’t mean that things become stagnant.

He never stopped dating you just because he married you. Jack learned, listened, and adapted when he needed to because that’s what good people did.

So, he knew when something needed to change and he knew when something clicked.

The kitchen? It’s doing it for him. It clicked.

It’s where he hoped he’d find you when he walked through the door and it was a magnificent feeling mixed with his anger to witness.

The gentle roll of your hips against his thigh was sending shockwaves throughout his body. His hand gripped your thigh harder, the other firmly grasping the back of your head as if to tell you telepathically to keep going. You leant your body on a diagonal away from him, pushing your hips down where the seam of your shorts began to press into your clit just right.

Shit. He really did love those fucking shorts.

Jack’s lips deserted yours. He looked down between your bodies, letting your face fall forward and down too, to watch you grind down on his scrub pants like a fucking machine. All you could feel, however, was the thickness of his thigh underneath it.

He loved that it being his right leg didn’t bother you.

And he thanked fucking God that he was a stronger goddamn soldier than the thought because he wasn’t sore, shaking, or ready to collapse under the pressure.

“Oh fuck,” he said your name breathlessly. “That’s so…”

“Mhm,” you hummed with a huff. “I knew you had a thing for these fucking pajamas.”

Both his hands landed on your waist, just above your hips.

“Is it bothering you?” You asked a bit softer. Still, your breath was catching.

Jack shook his head. “Think you can get off like this?”

“You’re not gonna fuck me?” Your hips faltered.

“Oh,” Jack’s voice dragged out like a cautious warning. “I’m gonna fuck you.”

Jack moved his hands underneath your pajama shirt and to your breasts. He palmed over your nipples before kneading them in his hands.

“You’re gonna come like this first.”

“You think I can?” You knew you could.

The seam of the shorts outlined your pussy perfectly. You “forgot” underwear whenever you wore these but under the guise of “she needs to breathe.” Jack didn’t argue. He didn’t argue as Dr. Abbot and he sure as hell didn’t argue as Mr. Abbot. The friction it gave felt better after every grind made them tighter. Soon, they were barely considered shorts and you hoped that the wetness building on his pants wasn’t going to wear down the fibers of it.

But Jack didn’t give a shit.

He’d buy a thousand pairs of pants if it meant you orgasmed on them.

“Yeah,” he murmured and your breath hitched. “You can, baby. I know you fucking can. You feel this?”

Jack left one of your breasts to guide your hand over his cock. He was hard, fully, without any assistance from the little blue pill.

“If you can do this to me?” He placed your hand along his covered shaft and your hand molded quickly. “Then yeah, you can fucking come on my thigh.”

You rubbed his length slower than you humped him. Nevertheless, you encouraged your bones to keep going. Jack watched your chest rise and fall more rapidly every minute that passed. It used to take no time for him to get you to the finish line but with time, that changed.

Your needs changed. He’d been rough, gentle, and everything in between but it varied from day to day what was needed.

This… this was working wonders.

“You feel so good,” you whined. “F-fuck me.”

“I will, be patient.” Jack’s head dipped to your neck where he nipped at your skin. He pressed kisses into the column of your neck and moved his hands back to the counter for support.

“Tell me if it’s too much Jack,” you said shakily. “I’m not going to leave you hurting.”

“You could take my other leg and it would hurt less than you stopping.”

“Jack,” you said seriously and hesitated moving again.

“Did I say you could stop?”

Jack lifted his head to look you in the eyes. You were taken aback by the boldness—you aren’t sure he’s ever said that before. Your mouth, against your heaving breaths, fell open into a small O.

“Did I,” he repeated, “tell you that you could stop?”

“N-no,” you sputtered.

“I know you’re close.”

“So? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not,” he assured. “But if you don’t get moving, my fucking erection is gonna hurt from not blowing my load into you.”

“Romantic,” you muttered dryly. “You’re not gonna fuck me if I stop? What happened to thinking about me all day?”

Jack moved his thigh instead and your chest stuttered.

“I told you that you need to finish first,” he nearly demanded. He said your name resolutely. “You gotta move, baby. Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen if you’re not moving.”

You tested the waters and realized that it only jolted you back into place.

“You’re kind of mean, do you know that?”

“Something new.” He kissed your cheek. “Does it work?”

“A little.”

“Good.” He helped you pick the pace back up.

Not thirty seconds later, his hands left yours and pinched the back of his scrub top. He lifted it up and over his head before taking his tee off too.

“Does seeing these help?” He asked honestly about his pecks and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“What?” Jack’s eyes matched the furrow in his brow. “I’m serious.”

“I know,” you chuckled. He was so sweet.

You placed a hand on his cheek and rubbed your thumb over his skin softly. “You’re just so damn charming.”

“And you’re everything,” he replied.

“Yeah?”

He nodded and brought your hand from his face to the dip where his abs started.

“What’s everything?” You asked.

He didn’t even have to think. “You’re beautiful,” he started, “and kind. You’re always the most pleasant person in the room even when you’re a little bit bitchy. You take care of me when I need it the most and even when I don’t, you’re always there.”

Your head shook in agreement but Jack knew that’s not what it was. You were close. Hearing what he loved about you was sending your body into overdrive and the hand that was still on his cock loosened from distraction.

“You’re so good at your job and everyone loves you. But I love you the most, I think. Pretty sure on that one. And you’re so sexy. So, so, so fucking sexy that I can barely keep my hands to myself every time we’re in the same room. Your body is magnificent. Just a fucking smoke show of a wife.”

Your lips fought a smile.

“And I think you really want to come on me. I can see it, baby. I know you want to. You can do it. I’ve got you.”

“Yeah?” It sounded near pathetic coming out of your mouth.

“Yeah,” he affirmed. “Don’t stop, baby. Don’t fucking stop. I wanna watch you.”

Jack’s hand grasped your chin tightly. He locked eyes with you, never letting you out of his sight. His head nodded up and down as you whined and then shook once, twice, and wrapped your hands onto his arm as tight as a vice.

The lights seemed to flash brightly inside of you and your hips jolted against him.

“There you go,” Jack tutted. “There you go. Good fucking girl.”

“Oh what the fuck, Jack.” You stated. Your head dipped into his chest. “Good girl? Shit.”

“You like that one?” You could hear the smile in his tone.

“You know I fucking do.”

“Do you know what I like?” Jack asked you and helped lift your head. “Hm?”

“The idea that you’re gonna fuck me into the counter now?”

“No,” he shook his head. “You.”

“You’re so cheesy. You’re the cheesiest person I think I know.”

Jack scrunched his nose and ran his hands up your sides as your leg fell to the floor and you slumped against the counter.

“It’s a cute cheesy, right?”

“A hot cheesy. Like a Philly Cheesesteak kind of hot.”

“Disrespectful to Pittsburgh, but okay.”

Jack guided you to turn around. He helped slip off your robe before discarding it onto the counter so it didn’t get dirty on the floor. His hands went to the waist band of your shorts before sliding them down and palming your ass for the sake of it.

“Are you ready to go?” He asked softly. He guided his body to slot against yours.

He was as hard as rock from just watching you dry hump his goddamn thigh.

“Yeah,” you sighed in. “I’m ready.”

“Good.” Jack’s hand lightly slapped one cheek.

You backed up, leant forward onto the counter and having spread your legs enough to where he whistled at the view.

“Honey,” he swooned. “Why haven’t we done this sooner?”

“We usually don’t have sex when you walk through the door.”

“We might have to from now on.”

Jack lowered his scrub pants and pumped himself from balls to head as he zoned in on your glistening pussy from behind. One hand glided to your hips to position you right, his good foot nudging you closed just enough.

“I don’t know if I’m gonna be nice, baby.” Jack huffed low. “I’m still pretty fuckin’ pissed inside.”

You pushed closer to him. “And I’ll tell you if I don’t like it.”

“Such a good girl,” he praised. His cock lined up nicely. Jack guided his tip along your folds and closed his eyes at the sensation of it mixing with you. “I think I told you that? Right?” He suddenly couldn’t remember.

“Drunk on it already?” Jack’s hand ran up your back as he began to sink in.

Both of you lost words at the feeling. It was always like this—and you’re relieved that never changed. Jack fit inside of you like a hand in a glove. He was made for you, if that was a possible thing to manifest. Enveloped in your warmth, Jack let out a loud reset sigh with a satisfactory moan.

“Fuck. You feel so good.”

“Give me a minute,” you told him as your forehead fell against your arms on the counter.

Even if Jack fit you well, he was still big. You didn’t engage in this position much. It wasn’t practical 90% of the time with how much you’re both on your feet, plus it wasn’t the most comfortable setting. No one wants marble countertops digging into their stomach and arms. No one wants to be standing for however long it takes to come.

But when lust overtakes the both of you, it’s impossible to think of the consequences down the line.

“You’re good, baby,” he encouraged. Jack’s palms cupped your hips and sides.

“Okay,” you were ready. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah?” Jack tested it by pulling out a fraction and slowly going back in. “Sure?”

“Positive.”

Jack thrusted in and out carefully the first few times before gradually snapping his hips harder. The grasp on your waist tightened, fingers telling you that his upset hadn’t disappeared completely and it was rapidly creating a mask of attention diverting from you.

You felt his cock deeper every time. He was hitting you in the spot that made you see stars; head lulling back to your arms and up to the window, the early morning blues and greens meaning nothing when all you could focus on was Jack’s thrusts impairing your senses.

“Baby,” he said out of breath. “Give me your hand.”

You wordlessly obeyed and slid one of your hands back where he grabbed it fast. His hand entwined with yours and now pulling your shoulder back too, he picked up his pace further. Harder, all consuming where the thoughts were truly lost. Jack’s hips slammed into your ass and the sound of his cock pushing into your ecstasy made your eyes roll. His growls came at a close second.

“Shit.”

The words came spewing out of Jack’s mouth the closer he became.

“Fuck.”

“You feel so fucking good, baby,” he gasped when your walls squeezed uncontrollably. “Oh, just like that. Yeah… you’re taking me so well. Your pussy feels so fucking good.”

You let out a meek sound of disbelief.

“Oh my God, Jack.”

“I know,” he hissed. He repeated your name like a prayer.

His cock was immensely hard and he pounded into you just as much. You’d surely have a bruise or two on your arms, but it wasn’t something you were peeved about. Jack wasn’t hurting you. He would never hurt you.

“Fuck,” he gritted through his teeth. “I’m not gonna last long baby.”

“Neither am I,” you replied just as lost.

A follow up orgasm was on your horizon. Jack’s cock clipped your clit, sliding out of you for a moment of reprieve before he recorrected and pushed on. He never let go of your hand.

“I love you so much.”

You bit your cheek. “I love you, Jack.”

“I don’t think you know how much I love you,” he grunted. His hips shuddered. “I love you so goddamn much. You’re just fuckin’ perfect. My perfect fucking wife—that’s right, my fucking wife.”

The hand he held onto was your left. He would never get over the feeling of your ring on his skin.

“Oh you have no idea.” He sighed loudly.

“Come with me, Jack,” you begged him.

You were so close again. You squeezed your muscles around him, relishing the way it made his effort slow just enough for a moan to escape his lips.

“I’m right there.” Jack was starting to lose the rhythm.

“Oh fuck,” you groaned, feeling the precipice hit you again and making your legs quake in the process. You were suddenly overstimulated by the feeling and whined loudly as he chased his high.

“I’m there,” Jack repeated like a mantra. “I’m there, I’m there, baby—shit. F-fuck baby—”

Jack’s hand slipped from your grip and his hands planted themselves on your back as he rutted to stillness. His finish pushed into you with every thrust after it was over and he began to calm down his racing heart. The rush of his hands on your back soothed the overstimulation that continued to shake your legs.

Jack shushed you sweetly as he stayed buried inside.

“What the hell, Jack,” you mumbled almost incoherently into your arms.

He laughed but continued to rub your back. Around where his cock was softening, he felt a slow release of his ejaculation coming back and drip onto the floor between your feet.

He’d clean it up later.

“You okay?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah,” you were still catching your breath. “I just don’t think I need my coffee anymore.”

“No?” Jack asked amused.

“Wake me up fully like this everyday and maybe I won’t ever need it again.”

His hands gave one more appreciative swipe at your body before he gently removed himself for you and you could stand up straight again. Jack tucked himself back into his scrubs and then helped you back into your shorts and robe.

Your dazed eyes met his.

Christ. You simply loved him… maybe a little too much.

A/N: shawn doing a quinn app story maybe MAYBE inspired the fact this takes place in the kitchen. MAYBE. like probably greater than 99%.