forever is the sweetest con

it was a warm summer night and you were sitting at your kitchen island beside jack, your dad’s longtime best friend. your dad had a few friends over that evening for a barbecue and drinks, but everyone else had gone home aside from jack, who was spending the night in the guest room as he often did.

it was late and even your dad had already gone to bed, but you were still nursing a canned cocktail, one of several you had already had that night.

sure, drinking with your dad’s friends wasn’t your ideal way to spend a friday night, but you were back home from college and didn’t have a ton of people to hang out with in the town where you grew up.

besides, you liked having an excuse to spend some time alone with jack, you had a schoolgirl crush on him since you could remember. he was very good looking, funny in a corny 50 year old man way, intelligent and perceptive; much more than you could say about the guys that you had met at school.

not that you had done all that much with said guys, you were still a virgin, something you were rather embarrassed about. at that thought you groaned out loud and crossed your arms against the island, letting your head fall against them dramatically.

jack chuckled, finishing his beer with one more sip before setting it down and asking, “what’s wrong sweetheart?” at that you just groaned again. why did he need to say things in that way that made your stomach flip?

you lifted your head to look at him, “i was jus’ thinking about how i’m still a virgin,” it came out whinier than you intended, “‘s just embarrassing. at my big age, why am i still a virgin?” you wouldn’t have said this sort of thing if you were sober, but you were tipsy and your inhibitions were lowered.

you looked at him as he processed what you just said and began to instantly regret it, “why did i even just tell you that?” you groaned, lifting up one of your hands so you could rest your forehead against it and stare at the counter, avoiding further eye contact.

jack just laughed and you turned your head to glare at him, “‘s not funny,” you said with a pout.

“i’m sorry,” he smiled, rubbing his hand against the stubble on his chin, “it’s not funny, you’re right, but it’s not embarrassing either. you shouldn’t do anything until you feel comfortable. i’m sure the issue isn’t that you can’t find anyone, right? i mean, you’re a beautiful girl.”

your cheeks heated up at that and you turned away again, looking around at anything other than him while you spoke, “yeah, i mean all the guys i’ve met just suck. they’re selfish dickheads and i don’t want to ‘give’ my virginity to one of those types.”

jack cleared his throat and spun his empty beer bottle around in his hands, “well i’d venture to say that you’re right to wait in that case, young guys like that are stupid. they don’t deserve you anyways.”

when you turned your head back to look at him he was already staring at you intently, making heat pool between your legs. god, was he doing this on purpose? why was your dad’s friend turning you on so much more than any of the guys your age ever did?

“mm,” you hummed, trying to feign nonchalance, “you’re right, maybe i just need someone older; someone who knows what they’re doing.” you let your words sit in the air for a moment, hoping that he’d be on the same page as you and not immediately shoot you down.

jack looked into your eyes and you could see the gears turning in his head, “you mean…?” he trailed off, and you nodded, biting your lip.

he sucked in air between his teeth and leaned back in his chair, “listen kid, as much as i’d like to… i mean you’re beautiful and i… but i’m too old for you. plus your dad? if he found out… you don’t want this, trust me.”

that just settled it for you, he wanted you too, that’s all that mattered. you twisted in your seat so that you were facing him, your knees bumping into his thigh, and leaned in to kiss him.

he was still against your lips for a moment and you were beginning to regret your bold decision when he shifted towards you and grabbed your face in his hands, kissing you back.

you could taste the beer on his breath, feel the scratch of his stubble against your face, and the tenderness of his big fingers caressing your cheek made you melt into his touch. the way he kissed you was so unlike anything you had experienced before, it was hungry but not in a young and hasty way, it was passionate.

jack groaned, moving his hands to gently push you back by your shoulders, as if he couldn’t trust himself to pull away. you were annoyed that he broke the kiss but when you saw how he looked, his lips flushed and eyes hazy with lust, you couldn’t even think straight.

“you’re serious about this then? i need you to tell me if you aren’t, because if we keep going like this i don’t think i’ll be able to stop myself.” he said it like he was going to turn into some uncontrollable beast, but that just spurred you on even further.

“yes jack, i need you. i want you to be the one to take my virginity. please?” you put your hands against his thighs and looked at him with pleading eyes.

“christ—” jack stood and extended a hand to you.

as soon as you were up he wrapped his hands around your torso and hoisted you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, carrying you to the guest room down the hall.

“jack!” you giggled, having him pick you up like it was nothing just added to your arousal; those muscles you had been sneaking peaks at over the years clearly weren’t just for show.

when you entered the room jack closed the door behind you, taking you down from his shoulder and gently placing you onto the bed. you rolled onto your side and watched as he sat down on the edge of the mattress to remove his prosthesis.

“take off your clothes sweetheart,” he instructed, and you listened, stripping until you were left only in your bra and panties.

jack followed suit, taking off his clothes and tossing them to the floor. his back was to you as he sat there removing his layers but he looked so good clad only in his boxer briefs, the thick muscles of his back and arms flexing as they moved.

he turned onto the bed to lay on his side beside you, one arm against the mattress for support. jack looked at you with adoration as he brought his free hand up to your cheek, caressing it. “you’re beautiful,” he bit his lip, “you really want your first time to be with an old man, huh?”

you smiled, nodding your head, god he looked so sexy. “it’ll be our little secret,” you teased.

“tch. dirty girl,” he pulled you in towards him, kissing you with fervour. he placed his hand atop your thigh, directing it onto his hip so he could grind himself against you.

only the thin layers of your undergarments separated you, and you could feel that he was rock hard. the stimulation of his length rubbing against your clit was delicious, and you couldn’t help but to press yourself against him further, trying to seek more of it.

jack let his hand wander over your body while he continued to kiss you, down the expanse of your thigh, squeezing your ass, then caressing your waist. he slowly brought his palm up your back, popping open the clasp of your bra with one hand. he pushed the straps down your shoulders and you took it the rest of the way off, throwing it somewhere across the room.

he cupped your breasts, squeezing them in his large hand for a moment before breaking the kiss and ducking his head down to take a nipple in his mouth. the feeling of him licking and sucking at your nipple just made you rut against him harder, you could feel your wetness soaking into your underwear.

he released your nipple and rose back up, giving you a sly smile before returning his lips to yours. he let his hand trail downwards between your bodies, rubbing your clit over your panties for just a moment before dipping inside.

his fingers glided through you like it was nothing, you were soaked. “all this for me kid?” he asked into your mouth, you could feel him smirking against you.

“mhm,” you hummed, rubbing yourself against his fingers.

jack removed his hand to push your panties off and down your thighs, and you once again completed the task for him by pulling them off fully and throwing them wherever your bra went.

he returned your leg to where it was and continued his ministrations, circling your clit and making you buck your hips, “want you inside,” you whined.

“i’ll give you my fingers sweetheart,” he reassured you, slowly pressing one thick finger to your entrance and pushing inside. you were already so well lubricated that it really didn’t stretch much at all. he barely had thrust it in and out once before you were demanding another.

with two fingers it was a bit of an initial sting but it quickly faded into pleasure, his fingers felt so much better than yours ever did. you whined into the kiss as he fucked his fingers into you, and you couldn’t help wanting even more.

“i- i’m ready,” you said, breathing heavily, “want your cock jack.” you cupped him through his boxer briefs, and just from that you could tell he was big.

“mm,” jack grunted, taking his fingers out of you, “don’t have a condom.”

“it’s okay i’m on the pill,” you replied, “and i trust that you’re clean,” you said with a smile.

“you really shouldn’t, the doctor in me should be reprimanding you for even saying that,” he sighed, “but i do really just want to fuck you.”

jack pushed off his underwear, taking his length in his hand and giving it a few pumps before lining it up with your entrance, “maybe you should be doing the classic missionary for your first time, but with my leg it’ll be easier for me to get deeper in you on my side like this. wanna make this good for you.”

you hummed in affirmation, “just want you inside jack,” you whined.

“so needy,” he whispered before kissing you and simultaneously pushing himself in.

you whimpered at the initial sting as he stretched you out, slowly pushing deeper, “‘m sorry” he mumbled into your lips, “jus’ relax for me sweetheart.”

once he was fully sheathed inside of you he gave you a moment to adjust before beginning to thrust in and out. with the movement the painful stretching sensation quickly turned into pleasure, something that was only heightened when he began rubbing your clit in tandem with his thrusts.

you hooked your leg further over his hip, trying to somehow pull him even deeper inside of you. “feels so good jack,” you cried, letting your head fall back.

“yeah?” he breathed out, “doing so good baby, taking my cock so well.”

you moaned, his words combined with the deep thrusts and his fingers circling your clit, it was all too good. your whole body tensed and your thighs shook as you came on his cock, the only coherent word out of your mouth were your cries of his name.

“just like that sweetheart, good girl,” he praised, removing his fingers from your clit after you rode out your high.

he kissed you, his thrusts becoming shallower and more desperate, “shit,” he whispered into your mouth, “‘m gonna come.”

you latched onto him again, pulling him into you as if you were trying to make your bodies become one, “come inside me jack, please,” you begged.

jack gripped your waist tightly as he pushed himself deep inside you once more, groaning into your lips before stilling, his cock twitching inside of you as he came.

he stayed there for a moment, still kissing you slowly, before reluctantly pulling out.

he rolled over onto his back, patting his chest as an invitation for you to lay your head on it. you snuggled up to him, revelling in the warmth of his skin.

“you’re something else kid, making me feel young again,” he said with a smile, rubbing your back gently, “was that a satisfactory first time?”

you smiled against his chest, “satisfactory… yeah that’s one word for it.”

he looks up and catches you staring.                                      

you give him a small smile. he holds it for a beat, returns it, quiet and unreadable, and then turns back to the conversation like nothing happened.

“there you are, darling.” your mom finds you before you can register what just happened, pulling you into the huddle. “come meet jack. this is dr. jack abbot, remember? i told you about him. he’s the one who was at the gym with your father when he had that small stroke. kept him stable until the ambulance came.”

you did remember. vaguely. your mom had mentioned him a few times over the phone during those scary first few days, always with this tone like she wanted you to know he was one of the good ones. she’d also, at some point, let slip that he was quite handsome for his age which had made you curious enough to look him up.

you’d found almost nothing. a blurry photo from some hospital gala where he was younger, dark haired, barely recognizable. another from an award ceremony, grainy and poorly lit, his face half turned from the camera. you’d closed the tab and thought nothing more of it.

the man standing in front of you now had not been adequately prepared for.

you reach your hand out. his is warm, large, engulfing your palm easily. the touch moves through you faster than it should.

“nice to meet you,” you say, and you mean it more than is appropriate.

he looks at you the way men his age sometimes do when they’re trying very hard not to. “you as well.”

your dad says something about jack being a veteran, about it being a meaningful weekend for him too. jack doesn’t smile at that. just something solemn moving behind his eyes, confirming that whatever he’d seen hadn’t left him clean.

you think about that look for the rest of the evening.

---

you run into him at the farmer’s market three days later.

you’re standing at a stall debating between two bunches of peonies when you feel someone stop beside you. you glance over and there he is, in a grey henley and dark jeans, looking entirely too good for a saturday morning farmer’s market in suburban new york.

“dr. abbot,” you say, a little surprised.

“just jack,” he says, eyes moving to the flowers and then back to you. “visiting your parents for the weekend?”

“for a little longer than that,” you say. “you live around here?”

“ten minutes that way.” he nods vaguely in a direction. noncommittal. like he’s already deciding how much to give you.

you buy both bunches of peonies just to have something to do with your hands.

he walks with you for a bit, not quite on purpose, or at least that’s how he plays it. the conversation is easy in a way that feels unfair. he asks about your masters, what you studied, what you’re doing now. he listens like he’s genuinely curious about you, takes his time without interruption. you learn he’s been in suburban new york for a few years, that he left his practice in the city after his wife passed, that he has his own little clinic now because apparently that’s what you do when you’re trying to build a quieter life.

he says it nonchalantly and you don’t press for more.

when you reach the end of the market he stops and you stop with him.

“i’ll see you around,” he says. not a question exactly. more like something he’s hoping for.

“probably,” you say.

he almost smiles. almost.

---

you see him twice more before the dinner.

once at your parents’ house when he stops by to drop something off for your dad, catching you in the kitchen in an oversized tee and sleep shorts, hair still messy from bed. he looks at you for exactly one second longer than he should before fixing his expression back to neutral and asking if your father is home.

and then once at the pharmacy, where he’s picking up a prescription and you’re buying face wash, and he ends up standing in line behind you and making a quiet comment about the brand you picked that makes you laugh, and then looks almost annoyed at himself for making you laugh.

he’s trying. you can see it clearly. the deliberate neutrality of him, the way he keeps his eyes from lingering, the way he keeps things brief and polite.

it makes you want to push.

---

the dinner is your mother’s idea. a small thank you, she says, for everything jack did for your father. nothing formal, just the four of you on a friday evening.

you wear a dress that you’d packed for no real reason. silky, short, the kind that sits just high enough on your thigh to be a problem. you tell yourself it’s because you felt like it.

you know that’s not entirely true.

jack arrives at seven. you watch him from the top of the stairs as your dad lets him in, see the moment he looks up and finds you coming down, see him look away just as quickly. his jaw goes tight, a muscle flickering there briefly before he smooths it over.

dinner is pleasant. your mom talks too much, your dad laughs too loud, and jack sits across from you being perfectly polite and perfectly composed and absolutely not looking at you any more than is necessary.

which somehow makes it worse.

you excuse yourself after the main course, slipping down the hall toward the bathroom. you’re washing your hands when you hear him in the hallway.

you step out and find him already there in the narrow hall, and neither of you move. the dinner sounds feel far away. the space between you is close enough to feel the warmth of him, and his cologne reaches you before anything else, something quiet and warm, and he’s looking at you the way he’s been carefully not looking at you all evening.

your pulse does something it has no business doing.

you reach into your pocket slowly, pull out the folded slip of paper you’d put there before dinner, hold it out between two fingers. your eyes stay on his.

he looks down at it. back up at you. and for a second, just one, his gaze drops to your mouth and stays there long enough to make your breath catch.

“i’m your father’s friend,” he says. his voice comes out lower than intended.

“i know,” you say softly.

he should walk away. you can see him thinking it. the war behind his eyes.

he reaches out and takes the paper instead, fingers brushing yours, and then he steps back and clears his throat and goes back down the hall without another word.

you lean against the wall for a moment before you follow.

---

you go back to the table and finish dinner and make conversation and laugh at your dad’s jokes and do not think about the hallway.

you do not think about the way he’d looked at your mouth.

you do not think about the way his fingers had felt brushing yours when he took the paper.

jack stays another hour, polite and easy and perfectly composed, and when he leaves he shakes your dad’s hand and thanks your mom for dinner. he glances at you once on his way out, brief and unreadable, the kind of look that gives nothing and takes everything.

“lovely to meet you properly,” he says.

“you too,” you say.

the door closes and you help your mom clear the table and go to bed and do not think about it at all.

---

a week passes.

you work. that’s the honest answer for what you do with the silence of your phone. you open your laptop early and close it late and fill the hours in between with emails and decks and calls that run long, the familiar rhythm of it steadying in a way you hadn’t expected to need.

it helps, mostly. you’d taken this break to breathe and somehow you’d gone and complicated it spectacularly within the first two weeks, so throwing yourself back into spreadsheets feels like a reasonable correction.

your mom keeps finding reasons to bring him up at dinner. jack mentioned he might come to the farmers market this weekend. jack was asking after your thesis topic, isn’t that sweet. you nod and eat your food and say nothing.

your phone stays quiet.

you start to feel that particular kind of silly that you really hate feeling. the kind that makes you want to be annoyed at yourself more than at anyone else. you’re not a girl who waits around. you’d handed him your number because you’d wanted to, not because you were expecting anything, and it had meant nothing, and you are completely fine.

your phone buzzes on thursday morning and you pick it up embarrassingly fast.

it’s your landlord about a leaking pipe in your city apartment.

you put the phone face down and open another email.

---

you go for a walk thursday afternoon because you need air and because staring at a laptop in your childhood bedroom is making you feel sixteen in a way you don’t appreciate.

the neighborhood is quiet and warm, someone’s sprinkler ticking in a front yard, birds doing their thing in the trees. you have your earbuds in and you’re almost feeling like yourself again when you turn a corner and nearly walk into him.

he’s coming back from a run, slowing to a stop, a little breathless. grey tee, dark shorts, the outline of his prosthetic visible below the hem, silver hair slightly damp. looking entirely too good on a thursday afternoon.

you look straight ahead and keep walking.

you hear him pause then fall into step beside you.

“hey,” he tries.

nothing.

“you’re ignoring me,” he says. there’s a quiet amusement to it that makes it significantly harder to maintain your expression.

you pull one earbud out and look at him with the most neutral expression you own. “can i help you?”

“you walked right past me.”

“i didn’t see you.”

“you saw me,” he says simply.

you stop. turn to face him fully on the pavement, squinting a little in the afternoon sun. “you didn’t text.”

he holds your gaze. “i know.”

“okay,” you say pleasantly, and put your earbud back in.

he reaches out and touches your elbow, gently, and you stop again.

“it’s not right,” he says, when you look at him. his voice is low and even, like he’s explained this to himself many times already. “your father is one of my closest friends. you’re his daughter. there’s an age gap that—”

“i’m aware of my own age,” you say.

“i know that.”

“and i’m aware of yours.”

“that’s not what i—”

“jack.” you say it quietly but clearly. “i have a masters degree. i have a career. i pay my own rent in one of the most expensive cities in the country.” you hold his gaze without flinching. “i don’t need you to decide what i can and can’t handle. i don’t like being put in a box, especially not by someone who looked at me the way you did in that hallway.”

something shifts in his expression. he looks away briefly, jaw working.

“one drink,” he says finally, still not looking at you. “there’s a place on 4th avenue. friday night.”

you look at him.

“no,” you say.

he blinks. looks back at you. “no?”

“dinner,” you say. “and then a drink.”

a beat.

“you’re negotiating.”

“i’m clarifying,” you say pleasantly.

he looks at you for a long moment. you watch him try very hard not to smile and almost succeed.

“dinner,” he says. “and a drink.”

“and you’re paying,” you add.

he exhales through his nose. “obviously.”

you put your earbud back in and start walking. “friday works,” you call back.

you don’t turn around but you’re fairly certain he’s standing there watching you go and doing that almost-smile again.

good.

---

he texts friday morning.

jack: should i pick you up or are you meeting me there.

you stare at your phone for an embarrassing amount of time.

he confirmed. he actually texted to confirm, which means he’d been thinking about it, which means he hadn’t spent the week being perfectly unbothered the way you’d assumed he had. and he’d offered to pick you up. like it was a real date. like he was going to come to your parents’ front door and walk you to his car and—

you put your phone face down on the bed.

get it together, you tell yourself.

you pick it up again.

but he’d offered to pick you up. that’s a thing a gentleman does. a thoughtful person. and he’s thoughtful, you’ve noticed that about him, the way he listens, the way he remembers small things you’ve said, the way he—

and he’s so annoyingly attractive. how does that happen. how does someone get to be that age and look like that and also be like that. it should be one or the other. it’s unfair is what it is.

you realize you’ve been staring at the ceiling for five minutes.

you: i’ll meet you there.

you put the phone down and go get ready and absolutely do not smile at yourself in the mirror.

you smile at yourself in the mirror a little bit.

---

the place on 4th avenue is small and warm, the kind of bar that moonlights as a restaurant. dark wood and low lighting and a chalkboard menu above the bar. he pulls out your chair and you sit and pretend that doesn’t do anything to you.

he orders without looking at the menu. you notice that but don’t say anything.

it starts careful. he already knows the broad strokes of your masters from the farmer’s market, so he asks something different tonight. what you actually want to do next, now that it’s done. where you see yourself going. you tell him honestly, more honestly than you expected to, about the job you’re good at but aren’t sure you love, about the version of your career you’re still trying to build toward. he listens with his glass resting in his hand and his eyes on you and doesn’t once look at his phone.

“and now you’re here,” he says.

“now i’m here,” you agree. “taking a break. or trying to. i’m still working remotely so it’s not quite a break.”

“doesn’t sound like much of a rest.”

you think about it honestly. “it’s getting there.”

he nods like he understands that specific kind of tired. you get the feeling he does.

you ask about medicine, what made him choose it, whether he ever wanted something different. he thinks before he answers, which you like about him, the absence of automatic responses.

“lost a close friend when i was young,” he says simply. “couldn’t do anything. felt like i should have been able to.” he turns his glass once. “so i decided i’d learn how.”

“and the army?”

“enlisted after my first year of pre-med. served as a combat medic for two tours.” a brief pause. “finished my degree when i came back.”

he says it with the flatness of someone who has made peace with something that didn’t deserve it. you don’t push. just let it settle between you the way it needs to.

you talk about other things after that. easier things. he asks about the city, whether you miss it yet, and you tell him honestly that you miss the noise more than you expected to. he tells you he grew up in boston, that new york had always felt like someone else’s city even after years of living there. you ask what suburban new york feels like and he thinks about it for a moment.

“quieter,” he says. “in a way i needed.”

you ask him what he does with the quiet and he says he reads, mostly. medical journals, some fiction. runs in the mornings. you tell him that sounds very disciplined and he looks at you with something dry.

“you say that like it’s an insult.”

“i say it like it’s very you,” you say, and he looks at you for a moment like he’s trying to decide what to do with that.

the conversation moves like that all evening, one thing leading naturally into the next, barely any effort. you forget to check your phone. you forget to be nervous. you just talk, and he talks, and at some point you realize you’re leaning forward with your chin in your hand and he’s leaning forward too and the space between you has gotten smaller without either of you deciding it.

at some point the bar fills in around you. the dinner crowd thinning and the drinks crowd arriving, louder, livelier, music turned up a notch. someone laughs too hard at the bar. a group spills in through the door bringing the warm night air with them.

you and jack don’t notice any of it.

it’s only when he glances around and then back at you that you realize how late it’s gotten.

“i’ll just use the bathroom,” he says, pushing his chair back. “be right back.”

you watch him stop at the bar on the way back. a quiet word with the bartender, something slipped across the counter without a word to you about it.

he comes back and picks up his jacket.

“ready?” he says simply.

you smile a little without meaning to. “yeah,” you say. “let’s go.”

---

the night air is warm with a slight breeze when you step outside. you pull your jacket loosely around your shoulders and say “i had a really good time” and mean it completely and then immediately start wondering if it sounded too eager. you fall into step beside him on the pavement and the silence is comfortable but your brain is doing that thing where it replays the whole evening looking for something to be anxious about and finding too many candidates.

did it go well. it felt like it went well. he paid without making it a thing which was. god that was sweet. but he hasn’t said anything since we left and maybe that means—

“you’ve gone somewhere,” he says.

you blink. look up at him. “what?”

“just now.” he glances at you, steady. “where’d you go?”

your mouth opens. closes. “nowhere,” you say.

he looks at you for a moment in that way he has, like he can see straight through the word, and almost smiles and says nothing and you feel your face go warm.

“do you want to take a walk,” he says instead. “there’s a park just around the corner.”

“yes,” you say, maybe a little too quickly.

he definitely notices. doesn’t say anything.

---

the park is quiet, just the sound of your footsteps and the distant hum of the street. the trees are full and dark against the sky and the path is lit by old iron lampposts and the air smells like cut grass and something floral.

you spot the ice cream stand before he does. a small cart tucked near the park entrance, fairy lights strung around the awning.

you stop walking.

he follows your gaze. looks back at you. that almost smile already happening.

“come on,” you say, already heading over.

he shakes his head slightly and follows.

you get strawberry cheesecake in a cup. he gets dark chocolate pecan, which somehow suits him completely. you both stand under the fairy lights eating ice cream while the warm night moves around you.

“here,” you say, holding your spoon out toward him.

he looks at it. then takes the taste, and his expression does something reluctant and impressed at the same time.

“that’s actually good,” he says.

“i know,” you say smugly.

he holds his own spoon out without a word. you lean in and try it and the dark chocolate hits first and then the pecan and it’s rich and warm and very him somehow.

“okay,” you admit. “that’s also good.”

“i know,” he says, and you laugh, and this time he actually smiles. quiet and real and just for a moment.

you look at him in the lamplight and feel something settle warm in your chest and think. oh. okay. this is a problem.

---

you start walking again when the cups are empty, slower now, no particular direction. the park is mostly yours at this hour, just the occasional dog walker passing with a nod.

you’re not in your head anymore. somewhere between the ice cream and the smiling you’d stopped replaying the evening and landed back in it.

he’s walking close enough that your shoulders brush every few steps and neither of you moves away.

you stop near a lamppost where the path curves and turn to look at him and he’s already looking at you, that careful composure doing very little at this particular moment.

you lean up and kiss him.

he goes still. one second. two. then his hand comes up slow and cups your jaw and he kisses you back, deep and sure, and you forget about the warm night and the lamplight and everything else.

he pulls back first. steps back slightly. shakes his head.

you groan softly. “i’ve never had to ask for things, you know.”

that flicker at the corner of his mouth. “so you’re a spoiled brat.”

“what will it take,” you say, looking up at him. “for you to just give in.”

“i’m not—” he stops. jaw tight. “i’m not relationship material. you should know that going in.”

you hold his gaze. “i’m not looking for a relationship either. it doesn’t have to be more than what it is.” a beat. “we’re adults, jack.”

he looks at you for a long moment. the last argument behind his eyes going quiet.

then he kisses you again. different this time. his hand gripping your face, consuming, and you grip the front of his jacket and let him.

he pulls back just enough to speak, voice low.

“the townhouse is two minutes from here,” he says.

you didn’t know that. you file it away for later.

“okay,” you say.

he takes your hand and you go.

---

the door barely shuts behind you.

his hands find your waist before you’ve taken a step inside, walking you back against the entryway wall, mouth on yours, and the kiss is nothing like the one in the park. that one had been careful, him dipping his toe in. this one is hungry, open mouthed, his tongue sliding against yours slowly, like he’s tasting something he’s been thinking about for a long time. you make a sound against his mouth and feel him exhale hard through his nose like it costs him something.

your fingers find his shirt buttons. his hands push your jacket off your shoulders and it hits the floor somewhere. something knocks off the entryway table, neither of you flinches.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, chest rising and falling, hair slightly messed from your hands, and the composed dr. jack abbot of dinner and parks and careful measured distance is completely gone. what’s left is just him, looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room he’s done being good about.

he takes your hand and walks you backward through the darkened living room and sits down on the couch, pulling you down onto his lap in one smooth motion, hands settling on your hips.

“jack—”

“here,” he murmurs, guiding your hips forward, then back, slow. “like that.”

your breath catches. his jaw is tight, eyes dark, watching your face with an intensity that makes it hard to think straight. his hands grip your hips and move them again, that same slow roll, and a soft sound escapes you before you can stop it.

“you have no idea,” he says, low, almost to himself. his forehead drops to your shoulder for just a moment. “how long i’ve wanted this.” his mouth finds your jaw, your neck. “wanted you.”

you pull back just enough to look at him, chest heaving, lips swollen. his eyes meet yours, dark, pupils blown.

“fuck me,” you breathe against his mouth. “please.”

a groan tears out of him.

he flips you in one smooth motion, your back meeting the couch cushions, him over you, and his hands find the zipper of your skirt, fumbling with it in a way that is deeply satisfying coming from someone so usually composed. you reach down to help and he bats your hands away gently.

“i’ve got it,” he mutters, jaw tight, and you bite your lip to keep from smiling.

he does.

---

you wake up to the smell of coffee.

for a moment you just lie there, ceiling unfamiliar, sheets softer than yours, the morning light coming in through curtains you don’t recognize. then it lands. right. jack’s townhouse. you sit up slowly and push your hair back and look around the room.

it’s neat in the way of someone who lives alone and likes order. dark furniture, minimal, a small stack of books on the nightstand. a glass of water on your side that wasn’t there when you fell asleep.

you stare at the glass of water for a moment.

you find his shirt at the foot of the bed and pull it on and pad downstairs.

he’s in the kitchen. grey tee, dark pants, barefoot. you can hear the faint clink of his prosthetic foot as he moves around the stove with that same leisured pace as always. coffee already poured, two cups. eggs in the pan. toast just popped.

he glances over when you appear in the doorway.

“morning,” he says simply. like this is normal. like you wake up in his house all the time.

“you made breakfast,” you say.

he just smiles in return.

you slide onto the stool at the kitchen island and wrap both hands around the mug he pushes toward you and watch him cook and try not to feel too much about any of this.

you mostly fail.

he plates the eggs without ceremony and sets it in front of you and sits across with his own and you eat together in the quiet morning, the kind of quiet that doesn’t need filling. outside birds are doing their thing in the backyard. somewhere a lawnmower starts up distantly.

“did you sleep okay?” he asks at some point.

“really well actually,” you say, and mean it. the peaceful dreamless kind you’d been craving for months.

---

you leave just after nine. he walks you to the door, and just before you step out he cups the back of your head gently and presses his lips to your forehead.

your insides melt.

“i’ll see you later,” he says.

you look up at him. “yeah,” you say softly. “you will.”

you walk to your car with his shirt smell still on your skin and the ghost of his mouth on your forehead and think. oh you are in so much trouble.

---

it becomes a pattern after that.

stolen minutes, mostly. a look across the room that lasts a beat too long. his hand finding the small of your back when he passes you in the hallway at your parents’, gone before anyone could notice. a text at odd hours that starts as nothing and becomes something by the time you put your phone down.

---

it was gathering at your parents’. a few neighbors gathered in the living room, some rosé for the women, beers for the men, your mom moving between guests with a platter of something she’d spent the morning making. it fills up fast the way your parents’ house always does, loud and warm, someone’s kid running through the hallway.

you’re in a sundress, yellow, the kind that sits light on your shoulders. jack is there when you arrive, talking to one of your dad’s colleagues, and his eyes find you once across the yard, darkening just a fraction.

you go inside for ice an hour in.

the kitchen is quiet after the noise of the backyard, just the hum of the fridge and the distant sound of someone laughing outside. you’re pulling the ice tray when you hear the door behind you.

you don’t turn around. you already know.

his hands find your hips from behind, turning you, and then his mouth is on yours and it’s nothing like the usual careful composed kisses. one hand slides into your hair, the other flat against the small of your back pulling you in, and he kisses you the way he does when he’s been watching you from across a yard for an hour and has run out of patience for it. open mouthed, his tongue sliding slow against yours until your fingers curl into his shirt and you forget what you came in here for.

his hand moves under the hem of your dress, palm dragging slow up the inside of your thigh, and he pulls back just enough to look at you.

“is my girl wet for me?” he murmurs, low, meant only for you.

your breath stutters. you don’t answer. he finds out anyway, fingers pressing against the thin fabric of your underwear, and the quiet sound he makes against your temple is deeply unfair.

“jack,” you warn softly.

“shhh,” he says, and drops to his knees.

he pushes your dress up and hooks your underwear down in one smooth motion, tucks it into his pocket, and then his mouth is on you and the world narrows to the warm press of his tongue. your hand flies to your mouth. the other grips the counter behind you hard enough to whiten your knuckles, the noise of the party bleeding through the walls while he takes you apart quietly on the kitchen floor.

he doesn’t rush. that’s the thing about jack. he never rushes.

by the time you come you’re biting down on your own fist, eyes squeezed shut, shaking.

he stands up and fixes the hem of your dress back down like nothing happened. looks at you once, the corner of his lips tilted up in a smirk, while you’re still trying to remember how to breathe.

“i’ll give those back later,” he says, patting his pocket.

“you’re unbelievable,” you manage.

he reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. presses a single kiss to your cheek and walks back outside.

you stand in the kitchen for a full minute before you follow.

---

he keeps his eyes on you for the rest of the day. not obviously. just enough that you feel it every time, that quiet heat from across the yard. enough to know he hasn’t forgotten.

you don’t get the underwear back.

what you get instead, after the last guests trickle out and your parents call it a night, is his hand finding yours in the dark hallway and him walking you to the downstairs bathroom and clicking the lock behind you both.

you’re quiet about it. mostly.

---

the dinner is a few of your dad’s colleagues and their wives, jack included, the type of evening that involves good wine and stories you’ve heard versions of before. you sit at the far end of the table and catch him looking at you twice, both times immediately looking away.

you wear something simple. nothing risky. you’re behaving.

mostly.

you say your goodbyes at the door, your coat already on. “i’m heading out to meet a friend,” you tell your dad, kissing his cheek. “i’ll stay over hers. i’ll be back in the morning.”

“i can drop you off,” jack says from behind you, already reaching for his keys. “i’m heading that way.” you were going to meet him anyway.

your dad claps him on the shoulder. “perfect, save her the uber.”

you smile. “thanks, jack.”

the drive starts quiet. lights bleeding past the windows, jack’s hand loose on the wheel, the low hum of the radio filling the space between you. comfortable on the surface. charged underneath.

you watch the road for a while.

then you reach across the console.

“don’t,” he says immediately, his hand closing over yours.

you do it anyway.

he exhales hard. pulls off at the next quiet stretch, a side road that’s dark and empty. he clicks the lock and reaches for the lever at the side of his seat and lets it fall back. then his hands find you and he hauls you over the console and onto his lap before you’ve fully registered the movement.

you land against him and his mouth finds yours, urgent in a way that pulls low in your stomach. you’re both pulling at things, his shirt buttons, your top, the zip of his pants, the graceless urgency of too much want in too small a space.

when he finally pushes inside you, both of you stilling for just a moment at the stretch of it, thick and familiar and so so good, your forehead drops to his shoulder and you exhale shakily.

“okay?” he murmurs.

“yeah,” you breathe. “yeah, move—”

you start to roll your hips and his hands grip your waist, steadying, guiding, letting you find the rhythm. the windows fog at the edges. his jaw is tight, eyes dark, watching your face with that focused intensity that makes you feel like the only thing in the room.

then his feet find the floor and he starts thrusting up to meet you, slow and hard, and your head falls back.

“jack—”

“i’ve got you, darlin’,” he says low, one hand splayed across your lower back holding you close, the other pulling your top aside, unhooking your bra, his mouth replacing it, warm against your hardened peak. you dig your fingers into his shoulders and stop thinking about anything at all.

the radio plays on softly. outside the road stays empty.

neither of you are in any hurry.

---

you end up staying the night.

you hadn’t planned to. but the radio plays on softly and neither of you move and at some point the quiet of the car becomes the quiet of his townhouse and then it’s late and he’s pulling his shirt over your head in the dark and saying stay against your temple like it’s nothing.

so you do.

---

a few days later you answer the door at your parents’ when the doorbell goes.

you’re in sleep shorts and an oversized tee, hair up, not having expected anyone. jack stands on the other side of the door in dark slacks and a polo, his glasses hanging from the collar, looking entirely too put together for a tuesday morning.

you lean against the doorframe. “where are you going dressed like that?”

he looks at you. then very deliberately looks at your shorts. “golf. your father suggested i develop a normal hobby.”

“and you listened?”

“he’s very persuasive.”

you open your mouth to say something else when your dad’s voice carries from inside. “jack! give me five minutes, i’m almost ready!”

jack raises an eyebrow at you. you raise one back.

and then he steps into the foyer, glances once over your shoulder toward the stairs, and kisses you quickly. you feel his hand caress your jaw and then it’s gone just as fast when he pulls back.

“i’ll see you later,” he murmurs.

he steps back and straightens his collar. looks completely poised.

you are not completely poised.

your dad comes thundering down the stairs two minutes later, clapping jack on the shoulder, steering him out the door. jack follows, and just before he reaches the car he glances back once.

you’re still in the doorframe.

he smiles. that small smile, only for you, and turns away.

you stay there a moment longer than you need to before going back inside.

---

the phone starts buzzing an hour later.

it’s sitting on the kitchen counter where your dad left it, lighting up with a number you recognize from his office. you grab your keys.

you find them on the sixth hole. your dad spots you first, face confused, and you hold up the phone. his expression shifts immediately into the particular look he gets when something’s gone sideways at work.

he steps away to take the call and you’re left standing on the green in your tiny shorts while jack abbot turns around and takes you in with a slow once over.

“my dad forgot his phone,” you say innocently.

“i can see that,” he says.

“interesting shorts,” he says.

“thank you.”

“that wasn’t a compliment.”

“i know,” you say, and smile.

your dad reappears, phone pressed to his chest, apology already on his face. “jack, i’m so sorry, there’s something with the mcvoy merger, i have to go. i’ll make it up to you, we’ll reschedule—”

“go,” jack says easily. “don’t worry about it.”

your dad looks between you both. “she can drive you back—”

“go sort your merger,” jack says.

your dad squeezes his shoulder gratefully and strides off toward the car park, already back on the phone. and then it’s just you and jack and the open green and the warm afternoon stretching out around you.

he looks at you.

you look back.

“get a hole in one,” you say.

he stares at you. “i’m sorry?”

“hole in one, old man,” you say. “and i’ll make it worth your while.”

a long pause. he looks out at the green. looks back at you. the corner of his mouth pulling in a way he doesn’t quite manage to hide. he shakes his head with a chuckle under his breath. 

he lines up his shot with the confidence of someone who is very good at things he pretends not to care about.

it drops clean.

he turns and looks at you over the top of his glasses.

you burst out laughing.

he’s still giving you that look, warm and steady and just slightly wolfish, and something flips over in your chest.

“hole in one,” he says simply.

---

things fall in his entryway.

his keys missing the hook. your sandals somewhere near the door. his phone clattering off the console table that neither of you stops for because he has you against the wall with his hands under your thighs before the door is fully shut, your legs wrapping around him, laughing into his mouth until you’re not laughing anymore.

“you wore those shorts on purpose,” he says against your jaw.

“i have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” you manage.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, hair messed, chest rising and falling, and shakes his head slowly, a quiet laugh in his expression.

“what am i gonna do with you,” he says, low and gravelly, shaking his head in faux disappointment.

“i have a few ideas,” you say.

he carries you upstairs with your legs still around him, mouth finding your neck, the curve of your shoulder. he sets you down on the edge of the bed and steps back, reaching behind him to pull his polo off in one smooth motion.

you take a moment to just. look at him.

toned shoulders in the way of someone who has been active his whole life, with a softness at his middle. freckles scattered across his arms and chest, concentrated at the shoulders, the kind that come from years in the sun. a slight roundness to his stomach that makes him look exactly his age in the best possible way. silver hair dusted across his chest, catching the afternoon light. you bite your lip as you take him in.

his eyes are already on you.

his hands find the waistband of your shorts and drag them down slowly, dropping them somewhere on the floor. he straightens up and looks at you for a moment.

“touch yourself for me,” he says quietly.

you hold his gaze for a beat. then you lean back on your palms and slide a hand down between your thighs, fingers tracing down your folds, finding the growing wetness there.

he stands there watching, breathing a little heavily, before his hands find his belt buckle, unhooking it slow, shoving his pants down without looking away from you. his cock is thick and already hard and his hand wraps around it, stroking, eyes tracking every movement of your fingers, and the whole thing is so intense and quiet that your breath has gone completely unsteady.

then he steps forward.

he takes your wrist and brings your hand up and closes his mouth around your fingers, sucking them clean without breaking eye contact, and your brain short circuits completely.

he pushes you back onto the bed.

he buries his face between your thighs, mouth finding your clit with no warning, and your back arches clean off the bed. he works you open, tongue fucking into you obscenely, and you’re loud about it, louder than you mean to be, one hand twisting in his silver hair while your hips roll down against his mouth chasing more.

you soak him and he doesn’t pull back. just makes a quiet satisfied sound against you and keeps going like he has nowhere else to be, like this is exactly where he wants to be, until you’re shaking and your brain has turned completely to mush and your whole body is pulling tight.

“jack— jack i need—”

he pulls back just enough to look up at you, mouth slick, eyes dark, expression perfectly composed.

“hm?” he says. “can’t quite hear you. old man ears.”

you groan. “jack.”

“sorry?” the corner of his mouth twitches.

“you know what i need—”

he tuts softly. “you’re going to have to be more specific, sweet girl.”

you huff, thighs squeezing around his shoulders, and he raises an eyebrow at you like he has all the time in the world and fully intends to use it.

“please,” you breathe. “please please just fuck me, jack, please—”

you keep saying it, broken and shameless, until he pulls back, rolls a condom on with steady hands, and finally fills you in one slow push that knocks the air clean out of your lungs.

---

the bed creaks.

he has your legs pushed up, knees to your chest, ankles hooked over his shoulders, and you are folded so completely beneath him that the only thing you can do is hold on and take it. his hands brace either side of your head, eyes on your face, and he moves with a focus that makes it impossible to think about anything else.

the headboard finds the wall. once. twice. and then it just. stays there, a constant rhythmic clatter that fades into the background because there are other sounds now too — the slap of skin, your moans climbing higher with every stroke, the low sounds he makes when he’s trying to stay controlled and losing the battle. the room is loud with all of it and neither of you are doing anything to stop it.

“you’re doing so well for me,” he murmurs. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow circles over the swollen bud, and you make a sound that you feel in your whole body. “killin’ me, baby,” he grunts. your puffy lips stretched around him, taking everything he gives, and he looks down at where you’re joined and his breathing is shaky. 

his hips are losing that careful rhythm, thrusts getting shorter and more urgent, and you can feel him everywhere, the relentless drag and push of him, your whole body pulled taut around him.

“jack—”

“yeah baby,” he breathes. “yeah yeah, come for me. fuck—” his thumb keeps those merciless circles over your needy clit. “this pretty pussy’s squeezing me so good, can you feel that—”

and that’s it. you come with his name on your lips and your whole body arching up into him, thighs shaking against his shoulders. he follows right behind you, a low groan pressed into the curve of your neck, hips stuttering to a stop.

for a moment neither of you move.

---

then he carefully lowers your legs, pressing a brief kiss to the inside of your knee before he pulls back. you hear him in the bathroom, water running, and then he’s back with a warm towel and he cleans you up quietly, thorough and gentle, and you lie there and let him and try not to think too hard about what that means.

he tosses the towel aside and settles on the edge of the bed. reaches down and unstraps his prosthetic, setting it carefully against the nightstand. the room is quiet while he does it, a routine for him.

you watch him from where you’re curled on your side, still soft and sleepy.

“does it hurt?” you ask, voice still a little wrecked.

“not hurt,” he says. “just gets uncomfortable after a while.”

you reach out without thinking, fingers finding the end of his residual limb, and you massage there gently. he goes very still for a moment. then his hand comes up and squeezes your shoulder.

neither of you say anything. you don’t need to.

he settles back against the headboard and pulls you into his side, your cheek finding his chest, his hand moving through your hair in long slow strokes. he presses his lips to the top of your head and you close your eyes and breathe him in and think that this is a very dangerous thing to have gotten used to.

“i’m ordering thai,” he says after a while.

“okay,” you say, not moving.

he reaches for his phone with his free hand, the other still in your hair, and places the order without asking what you want because he already knows. you smile at that a little where he can’t see it.

the food arrives forty minutes later and you eat together in his bed, containers spread between you on the duvet, casablanca pulled up on the tv.

you groan when you see the title screen.

“you haven’t seen it,” he says, already settling back.

“i’ve seen enough of it.”

“that’s not the same thing.” he hands you a container of pad thai. “watch the movie.”

you watch the movie.

it’s good. you’re not going to tell him that.

halfway through you’re completely invested and stealing bites off his plate and he lets you, which is how you know he’s in a good mood. the lamp is on low, the room warm, the sound of old hollywood filling the quiet between you. he makes a comment about the cinematography at some point and you make a comment back and it turns into a whole thing and by the time you look up the scene has moved on entirely.

“we missed it,” you say.

“i’ve seen it forty times,” he says. “it’s fine.”

you laugh softly and settle back into his side.

you’re asleep before the ending. you don’t even realize it’s happening, just the warmth of him and the low sound of the television and then nothing at all.

you wake up to a dark room and credits rolling softly on the screen.

jack is asleep beside you, breathing slow and even, one arm still loosely around you. you lie there for a moment in the quiet of his townhouse, the distant sound of a car outside, the low hum of the television.

then you slip carefully out from under his arm.

you find your clothes in the low light, dress quietly, check your phone. 12:43am.

you lean over him. “jack,” you whisper.

he stirs. opens one eye.

“i’m heading home,” you say softly.

he reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, still half asleep. “text me when you’re in.”

“okay,” you say.

you let yourself out.

---

the house is quiet when you slip through the front door, just the lamp on low in the living room. you’re halfway up the stairs when your dad’s voice comes from the kitchen.

“that you?”

you pause. “yeah, it’s me.”

he appears in the doorway in his robe, mug in hand, looking more tired than suspicious. “where were you?”

“out,” you say.

“with?”

you open your mouth. close it. look somewhere past his shoulder.

your dad watches you for a moment, something shifting in his expression, gentle rather than pressing.

“hey,” he says quietly. “i’m not going to push. you’re an adult, i know that.” he sets his mug down and comes to the foot of the stairs, looking up at you with that look he’s had your whole life. “i just worry about you, kiddo. that’s all. just want you to be careful.”

you feel it in your chest, that particular warmth that only he can put there.

“i know,” you say softly. “i am.”

he reaches up and presses a kiss to your forehead. “get some sleep.”

you watch him shuffle back toward the kitchen. then you go upstairs.

---

you’re in bed, lamp off, staring at the ceiling when you pick up your phone.

you’re in bed, lamp off, staring at the ceiling when you pick up your phone.

you: i think dad knows

jack: how?

you type out the whole interaction. 

jack: okay. let’s lay low for a bit.

you stare at the screen.

you: :(

jack: be good and i’ll reward you.

you smile at your phone in the dark.

you: tie me up?

jack: i just said be good.

you laugh to yourself, quietly. 

you: fine. deal.

you put your phone face down and close your eyes and fall asleep smiling like an idiot.

---

it’s been a few days since the golf course.

you text. not constantly, not in the way that would mean something you’ve both agreed not to name. just enough. a voice memo here, a late night exchange there, him sending you a dry one liner about a patient that makes you laugh out loud at your laptop and your mom asking what’s so funny from the other room.

you missed him. more than made sense for something that wasn’t supposed to be more than what it was.

you wondered if he missed you just as much. you didn’t ask.

---

it was game day. a few of the neighbors had gathered in your parents’ living room, beers cracked, the big tv loud with commentary. it fills up fast the way your parents’ house always does, loud and warm, someone’s kid running through the hallway, the smell of something good coming from the kitchen.

you’re on the back porch when you hear your name.

“no way.”

you turn. marcus is standing at the sliding door grinning at you, older than you remember but the same eyes, the same easy smile. you went to high school together, lost touch the way people do.

“marcus,” you say, and he pulls you into a hug that lifts you slightly off the ground.

you spend the next hour catching up in the corner of the living room, half watching the game, laughing at old memories and terrible teachers and that one party junior year that neither of you should probably talk about. he’s easy to be around. always was.

you don’t notice jack until you feel it.

that particular awareness. like a change in the room’s temperature. you glance over marcus’s shoulder mid laugh and find jack across the living room, standing with your dad and two other men, drink in hand, eyes on you.

he looks away the second you catch him.

but you felt it. the weight of it. a different kind of watching than his usual.

you let it go and laugh at something marcus says and don’t look over again.

your phone buzzes at 9:43 pm, twenty minutes after the last guests have trickled out.

come over.

two words. no context.

you say goodnight to your parents, grab your keys, and go.

---

he opens the door before you’ve knocked.

he’s still in what he wore to the game, shirt untucked now, sleeves rolled to the elbow. you can see the definition in his forearms, a vein running through the muscle there, fit in the way of someone who keeps at it without making a show of it. he steps aside to let you in and you cross the threshold and turn to look at him and know. something is sitting differently about him tonight.

“jack,” you start.

“bedroom,” he says. “strip and get on the bed.”

you hold his gaze for a moment. he holds yours back, jaw set, unblinking.

you go upstairs.

you hear him follow a minute later. you’re sitting on the edge of the bed when he comes in, jaw set, eyes darker than usual.

“i said strip,” he says quietly.

“i know what you said,” you say. “i’m trying to figure out what’s going on with you first.”

a beat.

“nothing’s going on,” he says.

“jack.”

he looks at you for a long moment. then he crosses the room, tips your chin up with two fingers, and looks down at you.

“who was he,” he says. low and even, not quite a question.

oh.

you feel the smile start before you can stop it. “marcus?”

his jaw tightens. “is that his name.”

“he’s an old friend,” you say. “we went to high school together.”

his face stays still. but his eyes shift.

“strip,” he says again. “and get on the bed.”

this time you do.

---

the lamp on the nightstand casts the room in dark golden hues. he stands at the foot of the bed and watches you undress, unhooking your bra, sliding fabric off your shoulders, letting things fall. his eyes track every inch of you as it’s revealed, quiet and intent, taking his time with it.

you feel every second of his gaze like a physical thing.

he strips himself without looking away from you. shirt first, then his belt, his pants. the freckles scattered across his body, heavy on his arms, the slight roundness of him. you bite your lip as you take him in.

he looks at you for a long moment in the warm quiet of the room.

“did anything ever happen,” he says. “between you and marcus.”

you look up at him. “we kissed once. at a party junior year.” a pause. “that’s it.”

his jaw ticks.

“once,” he repeats.

“once,” you confirm. “it was nothing.”

he looks at you for another long moment. then he reaches forward and turns you, guiding you onto your hands and knees, one hand pressing firm between your shoulder blades.

you hear him behind you, the tear of a wrapper, and then his hands find your hips and he tilts your chin gently to the right.

there’s a mirror.

long, leaning against the wall, angled just enough that you can see everything. him behind you, broad shoulders, the curve of his body, hands gripping your hips. you, flushed and waiting. the two of you together.

“look,” he says quietly. “look at how good you look with me.”

you look. and then he pushes inside and your mouth falls open.

he sets a pace that’s different from his usual. not cruel, never cruel, but insistent. purposeful. his grip on your hips tighter than normal, fingers pressing into the flesh of you in a way that’ll leave marks and you both know it. every thrust driving you forward, the headboard finding the wall, that familiar clatter filling the room.

“fuck,” he groans, almost to himself, eyes on the mirror meeting yours. “such a good girl, takin me so well.”

you whimper. his hand moves from your hip to your jaw, thumb pressing at the seam of your lips, and your mouth opens for it without thinking. you suck on it lazily, eyes fluttering shut, clenching around him, and the sound he makes behind you is low and barely contained.

then he pulls back, flips you, hauling you up the bed in one smooth motion so your back meets the mattress. he hoists your leg up over his shoulder, the other hooking around the back of his thigh, and pushes back inside and the angle is different, deeper, and you make a sound that comes from somewhere embarrassingly desperate.

he looks down at you.

his eyes are darker than usual. not angry exactly. something more complicated than that. like there’s a purpose behind them, something he’s working through that has nothing to do with you and everything to do with you, and he’s groaning low with every thrust but his jaw is carrying something heavier than exertion.

he wants to imprint himself on you. you can feel it. the want of it radiating off him in waves.

and somewhere underneath all of it, buried where you can’t quite see it, he knows he needs to stop. that this isn’t — it isn’t — it isn’t supposed to be—

his thumb pressing down, rubbing tight circles against your clit, and your back arches clean off the mattress.

“jack—”

“yeah, baby,” he grits out. “come on. come for me.”

you do. hard and shaking, his name breaking apart in your mouth.

he stills. pulls out before he can get there, jaw tight, sits back on his heels. too far in his own head to follow you over the edge. he deals with the condom quietly, efficiently, like if he moves fast enough you won’t notice.

you’re too far gone to notice.

silence settles over the room.

---

he cleans you up without a word, warm towel, the same quiet efficiency as always. then he sits back against the headboard and you roll onto your side, cheek on the pillow, looking up at him.

you’re smiling. you can’t help it.

he looks down at you. reaches out and tucks a strand of hair back from your face.

“what,” he says.

“i like this side of you,” you say.

he looks at you for a long moment, the corner of his mouth doing a slow losing battle.

“go to sleep,” he says.

you keep smiling.

“goodnight jack,” you hum.

---

he doesn’t sleep.

you’re curled against his side, breathing slow and even, and he lies there in the dark with the ceiling above him and his thoughts going in circles he can’t stop.

marcus. the way you’d laughed with him. easy and bright, the kind of laugh that comes from somewhere comfortable, somewhere with no history of grief or war or bad decisions made in the dark.

he’s a good guy probably. your age. no baggage. no prosthetic leaning against a nightstand. no dead wife he still talks to sometimes in his head when things get quiet enough.

these past two months have been — he stops himself. doesn’t finish the thought.

it was supposed to be simple. he’d told himself that from the beginning. told you too. not a relationship. not more than what it is. just two adults who understood the terms.

but then breakfast happened. and the ice cream in the park. and you falling asleep against him during casablanca and him not moving for two hours because he didn’t want to wake you.

he’d said he wouldn’t give in. he’d said it to himself in that hallway at your parents’ house the night you slipped him your number. he’d said it on the walk when you’d called him out. he’d said it outside the restaurant.

and then he’d stopped saying it entirely.

he looks at you in the dark. the soft rise and fall of you. something clenching in his chest that he doesn’t have a name for and doesn’t want one.

he should put some space between them. before it becomes something it can’t come back from. before you wake up one day and realize you’ve wasted the best years of your life on a man who is held together with old stitches and careful habits.

he thinks about the sabbatical he’s been putting off for two years. three months. scotland, maybe. somewhere far enough that the distance does the work he can’t seem to do himself.

he makes the decision somewhere around four in the morning.

he lies there until six feeling terrible about it.

he’s careful getting up. detaches his prosthetic in the dim light, reattaches it quietly, presses a kiss so soft to your cheek you don’t stir.

then he goes to the kitchen and makes breakfast.

you appear in the doorway twenty minutes later, hair loose, wearing his shirt again, and something about the sight of you does exactly what he knew it would. you pad over and wrap your arms around him from behind, cheek pressed between his shoulder blades, and he goes very still.

“morning,” you say, muffled against his back.

“morning,” he says.

he keeps his voice even. keeps his hands moving. eggs in the pan. toast just popped. coffee already poured.

you don’t notice anything. you’re too warm, too soft with sleep, too happy. you steal a piece of toast and sit at the island and talk about something you’d dreamed about and he listens and nods and says the right things and thinks about scotland.

you leave after breakfast with a kiss to his jaw and a smile that does something complicated to his chest.

“i’ll see you later,” you say.

“yeah,” he says.

he watches you go.

---

you drive home giddy in a way you haven’t been in a long time.

you spend the morning working from your childhood bedroom, laptop open, but your mind keeps drifting. to the mirror. to his hands. to the way he’d looked at you in the warm lamp light like you were the only thing in the room worth looking at.

he likes you. he has to. people don’t look at people like that unless they mean it.

maybe next time you see him you’ll tell him. quietly. simply. just — i really like you, jack. and see what happens.

you’re smiling at your laptop when your phone lights up on the desk beside you. four consecutive buzzes.

5:04 pm.

you pick it up still smiling when you see it's from the man who won't leave your head.

the smile fades before you’ve finished reading.

jack: hey.

jack: i’ve been thinking about us. what we had these past few months has been really good. more than i anticipated, if i’m honest. but i think we both knew this wasn’t built to last.

jack: the sneaking around, your father, the gap between us. it isn’t fair to either of us to keep going. i’m taking a sabbatical i’ve been putting off for some time. leaving tomorrow. a few months away feels like the right call. i'm sorry i couldn't say goodbye.

jack: take care of yourself.

you read it twice. then a third time like the words might rearrange themselves into something different if you give them enough chances.

they don’t.

you put your phone face down on the desk and sit very still. outside the neighborhood kids laugh. a car passes. the world just keeps going.

you’d been planning to tell him you liked him. you’d been rehearsing it in your head all morning.

you think you heard it. the moment your heart shattered into a million pieces.

This isn't the first time that Jack has watched you go on a date. No, far from it. It is the first time since he knows how sweet you sound when you cum.

He's spent years watching you try out different boys for size. The college quarterback who got too handsy on the first date that Jack had to save you from. The pretty barista who lasted almost a year. Both Robby and Jack hated him. The musician...the other musician...and the Soundcloud rapper. What the fuck was a Soundcloud rapper?

And all the disastrous dates ended with you sitting on Jack's couch, bemoaning the fact that you would never find love. You had no clue that Jack was secretly praying for their downfall. He wanted you so bad for so long.

Jack has no idea that pretty barista broke up with you because you moaned Jack's name when he went down on you... Jack has no idea that after every single one of those failed dates you went home and made yourself reach your peak by imagining the filthy things your dad's best friend would do to you.

You had been circling each other for years. But you wouldn't step back, not after Jack called you a mistake!

It's only been about fifteen minutes since you left for your date but Jack is antsy. And Robby is noticing how his leg is bouncing.

"I should go home, I'm back on tomorrow night and I don't wanna completely fuck up my sleep schedule," Jack tells Robby. Any excuse to get out of his best friend's hair when all he can think about is bending his daughter over and making her cream over his cock.

Instead, he gets home and pulls his phone out.

He won't know how to make you feel good, baby girl, let daddy make your pussy feel good.

It's only a few seconds before Jack's phone lights up with a response.

oh daddy missed his chance and now this pussy needs to be filled by someone else x

Jack shouldn't be turned on by this. By the way you're making him suffer.

He doesn't know how you like it, baby girl. I'd be so sweet, let you ride my face all night if you want to. Play with that perfect little clit.

And Jesus, you're going to make him suffer. Because you don't respond.

It's supposed to be your third date with Brian. He's a nice guy, your age, works in finance, has just put a down payment on a house in the suburbs, wants kids, has a pension.

You say supposed to be your third date because you're sitting in a cocktail bar, all dolled up and Brian is nowhere to be seen. You check your phone over and over. But there's nothing.

After an hour, you realise that you've been stood up. You have no idea what to do. Looking at your phone you dial the number you know that will answer.

You're sitting on the curb trying not to cry as Jack's truck pulls up. He immediately jumps out, parking laws be damned.

"Baby girl, what's wrong? Did he hurt you? Make you do something you didn't wanna do?" he asks as he cups your face in his hands.

And Jack being so sweet is the final straw for you. You burst into tears as you shake your head. He cradles you in his arms.

"He stood me up," you confess, embarrassed.

Jack tuts and leads you to his truck.

"What a fuckin' idiot," he tells you as he drives you back to his house.

He guides you inside and upstairs to the bathroom where he starts to run the bath.

"Look at my sweet girl, all prettied up for some idiot. He has no idea what he's missing," Jack purrs as he massages your thighs before taking off your heels.

"Why don't you have a bath here, huh, pretty girl?" he breathes.

You nod your head trying to stop crying. But Jack doesn't care. He grabs a washcloth and cleans off your ruined makeup. Then he begins to undress you, willing his cock down when he sees the lingerie you picked out.

"Oh that fuckin' idiot," he repeats. "You picked this all out for him, huh? Thought he deserved to see you like this?"

You shake your head.

"I don't know. I just wanted to have the option but I...I don't think I was gonna sleep with him," you confess.

You haven't been able to get Jack out of your head. As much as you've tried. He kisses over the soft flesh of your thighs.

"C'mon baby, let daddy get you into the bath," he hums as he removes your underwear.

You sink into the water as you let Jack run soap over you. It's not needed but his hands feel so fuckin' good. And finally he presses his large hand between your thighs, his fingers trailing to your throbbing cunt. He teases your clit first, taking his time getting you worked up before sinking two thick fingers inside you.

"That's it, baby. Let daddy make you feel good," he groans as he pumps his fingers lazily in and out of you.

You can't help but pull him in for a kiss. You need to taste him. But Jack doesn't like how his mouth his muffling your moans so he pulls away so he can hear you get loud, louder and louder until your voice all but breaks. Your orgasm tumbles over you and you expect him to pull away.

But Jack isn't finished with you. You're so stressed, he thinks. So he continues pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you, until you're jelly in the bath.

"My pretty girl ready for bed?" he finally asks.

You nod your head, unable to form thoughts or words. He hums in appreciation. Jack picks you up, carrying you out of the bath and towels you off. He brings you to his bed, taking his time massaging moisturiser you left at his place into your body.

You settle into his bed then, tired from the overstimulation in the bath. You watch Jack through heavy lids as he undresses, shoes, then shirt, then pants, then boxers. He takes off his prosthetic leg finally before getting into bed beside you.

"Need to feel my angel around me," he breathes as he kisses you.

His lips start on yours before trailing down your neck and then to your breasts. You're a squirming mess when he finally presses the weeping head of his cock against your folds.

"So wet for daddy. You wouldn't be this wet for anyone else, huh?" he asks.

You just shake your head, his cock nudging against your clit.

"Need daddy's cock," you beg, dragging your nails down his back.

"Atta girl, use your nails on my back," he gruffs before pressing into you.

Jack isn't usually a patient man. But tonight, he takes his time with you, slowly rocking his hips into you. He wants to make this last. He wants to see you squirm under him, wants to make you cum over and over. He wants you to forget that anyone other than him exists.

"Fuck, daddy!" you cry out, tangling your fingers in his silver curls and pulling him in for a kiss.

He can feel your pussy tighten around his cock as he wrings another orgasm from you. He wants to feel this all night.

But Jack is also aware that he is a middle aged man and his own orgasm is fast approaching. The rhythm of his hips speeds up as he chases his own release.

"Fuck, daddy's gonna cum. Daddy's gonna cum in his little girl's pussy," he grunts against your neck.

You nod, letting him know it's okay. This is what you want.

As you come down from your highs together, Jack wraps you in his arms.

"You're not a mistake," he breathes into your hair. "Never a mistake."

a/n: thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

taglist: @sweetashhh @orangecheescakeleftover @elenamoncadaibarra

jack exhales through his nose, bringing you into his en-suite bathroom and locking the door just in case. he has you sit up on the counter, asks you to peel your panties off while he puts on some gloves.

a black lace thong? okay, he guesses that must be what the youngsters are wearing these days...

he spreads your pussy lips open with two chubby fingers, peering down at your fluttering cunt. one look at your egg-white cervical fluid and it's clear to him, nothing's wrong, you're just ovulating.

"s okay?" you murmur breathily.

"she's perfect," he replies, his eyes roaming over your dripping pussy, at the way your clit twitches under his gaze. "still, dad has to check inside. just to be safe."

soon he's got you leaking all over those blue nitrile gloves as he curls the thick digits against your g-spot, making you whimper. jack just grins at you, loving how your eyes can't leave his. "theeere we go. that's it. dad's hitting it, isn't he? i'm a doctor, baby. i know where all your precious spots are."

his fingers massage at your spongy insides, coaxing more slick out of your swollen pussy. "mmmhm. so responsive. dad's girl is perfectly healthy, nothin' to worry that pretty little head about."

and when he starts fucking his digits in and out of you, your hands gripping tight against the countertop, he says, "i wish i coulda taught you how your body worked, kiddo. y'shouldn't be getting scared about things like this, not when i'm right here. you know dad's got his good girl, always."

his free hand presses over your lower stomach and steadies you when you start to shake and your walls begin to clench, rubbing almost clinical circles over where you'd complained about it hurting earlier. "shhh... that's it, almost there, honeygirl. you're trembling, baby, dad's fingers really feel that good?"

when you nod, he coos, thumbing at your clit tenderly. "i got you. don't fight it, 's gonna feel even better now. all tingly, isn't it? lotta nerve endings there, kiddo. touchin' here makes you come real hard." and you do, tight around his fingers while he watches your sweet face, how you look while you whimper for him.

"oh, baby, you look so pretty..." he pulls his gloved fingers out of you with a pop, your juices stringing messily off of the nitrile. he brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean, humming greedily at your taste before he pulls the gloves off with practiced ease and tosses them into the trashcan.

“who’s pussy is this?” jack taunts, punctuating each word with a thrust of his hips.

“my fianc–”

he tsks softly, his free hand removing briefly from your hip to slap your ass. “try again.”

“yo-fuck-you do,” you moan out, hands scrambling the sheets for purchase as he reaches around to rub your clit.

“got to be quiet for me, kiddo. don’t you worry that flashy guy of yours might learn his fiancee is a whore for her dad’s friend?”

as soon as the words leave his lips, a whimper is pulled out of you, and jack raises his eyebrows and shakes his head. “or maybe you want that, huh?” jack mocks. “maybe you want him to walk in on us fucking. oh, baby, then you’ll be mine forever, huh?”

he chuckles at the weak nod you try to give him, head turned slightly so he can see your face – jaw slack as drool collects on the corner of your mouth, eyes glassed over as you try to look at him.

prettiest bride-to-be he’s ever seen.

“are you going to cum for the camera?” he zooms the camera in on the sight of your face contorting in pleasure. “smile for the camera, baby. you’re going to hollywood.”

jack fucks you hard and rough through your release, his thrusts not relenting as he braces a hand on the headboard as his cock hits your g-spot over and over again. you looked so pretty below – squirming on his cock, fighting the urge to run away, and just accepted what he was giving you over and over again.

he cums inside you with a grunt, hips stuttering as he momentarily loses balance. when he pulls out with a groan, he grabs your wrist as you try to reach for the tissues on the nightstand.

“no, no leave it in,” he rasps, leaning back slightly. his eyes glint as he sees the trail of cum pool on the bed. “i look the same to him anyways.”

“seriously?” you croak out, body going limp in his hold. he hums in return, gently releasing your wrist.

when you finally face him, a faint smirk plays on his lips as he tosses his phone onto the nightstand. a beat passes as he watches with faint amusement as your eyes keep darting between him and the phone.

“don’t worry, darling; that’s for my eyes only.” he leans in to give a kiss on your forehead, hands brushing your damp hair behind your ear. “all you've got to do is look pretty on your big day, hm?”

taglist: @shawtsy @tempestfawn @iramagnus @artsymaddie @esmeraldalopez0 @rabbotism @supernovaandthestars

he just took you riding his cock in your living room as payment.

“god, she doesn’t even put out like this anymore,” jack breathes out, his hips thrusting up to meet your bounces. “fucking tight, college pussy waiting for me–”

his eyes squeeze shut as he’s cut off by a moan, head falling to the back of the couch. his hands hover awkwardly around your waist – the slaps of your ass hitting his groin echoing throughout the room.

“hnng, jackie,” you whimper, your hands falling to meet his chest. “‘s too much for me.”

jack opens his eyes at the sound of your voice, and he’s greeted with the most beautiful sight.

you.

your jaw slack as you bounce tirelessly up and down on his cock, tits bouncing in his face as you drew pleasure from him, your face contorting in that tell-tale sign he knows all too well.

“i know, baby, i know,” jack coos, brushing a damp piece of hair from your forehead, before pinning it behind your ear. “jackie’s sooo big for you, but you don’t want him fucking someone else, do you?”

he bites back a smile at your very insistent nod.

“jackie was saving his cum for you, did you know that?”

“really?” you sniffle, eyes searching his.

“really,” jack hums, thrusting up harder now.

you collapse into his chest, his arms stabilising you as he continues to drive his cock deeper into your pussy, hitting your g-spot repeatedly. he buries his face into your face, sighing when he smells the scent he told you to use - before placing a tender kiss to your temple.

“didn’t fuck my wife because i wanted to fuck you, kiddo. lied to her,” jack starts, his voice muffled by your hair. “maybe one day i let her watch, huh?”

as soon as those words leave jack’s mouth, you let out an involuntary moan, pussy clenching around his cock. grinding your hips desperately against him, you tighten the hold you have on his chest.

“would she touch?” you whine, burying your head deeper into his neck.

he lets out a low grunt, string of curses under his breath as he feels you fuck yourself back onto him. “my girl would like that? she’d like jackie’s wife watching them fuck? good idea kiddo, maybe she’d learn how to take dick from a pro.”

you nod frantically before he hooks two fingers gently under your chin, forcing to meet his fucked out gaze.

“whatever jackie’s girl wants, is what she gets.”

“sure, robby wanted to know how his girl was doing, he was very worried about you, sweetheart” jack comes to sit beside you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pulling robby’s phone from your hand.

robby follows suit, sitting on your other side, nodding to what jack had said.

“really?” you ask, your eyebrows turned up in the middle, your eyes all big and wide, you didn’t want robby to be worried about you now, did you?

“yeah, very worried about my sweet girl, wanted to know jack was treating you good” robby nods, his hand creeping up your thigh.

“and did you…uh–did you like the pictures?”

robby smirks, his bottom lip tugged between his teeth, “very much”

“hey” jack taps your other thigh, making you turn your head towards him, his other hand already working his cock over his pants.

“why don’t you show dad what i taught you, huh?”

you nod and tentatively reach your hand to undo the button on jacks pants but he stops you.

“no, sweetheart, on him” he corrects you and you swallow down a nervous gulp before turning to face robby again, he lets out a soft gasp as your small fingers work on undoing his pants.

“such a good girl” robby groans as you pull his cock out and wrap your lips around him, giving his tip a few licks before taking him down all the way…

“mmm, such a good girl” jack nods in agreement as his hand slips between your legs, rubbing you over your shorts as your mouth works around robby’s cock, spluttering around the size of him.

You open your apartment door, confused at the sight of your attending, your boss, standing there. Before you could ever ask what he's doing here, he makes his way in, slamming the door behind him. 

You stand still as he makes his way towards you, a concentrated look in his eyes, the same he has when you are both working on a patient in a critical state. 

“Can I kiss you?” His voice is deep, barely above a whisper; somehow, his hands have made their way around your hips. He gets closer, you can feel how the air that makes its way out of his nose makes it right into yours. 

You nod, unable to form a word, unable to even form a thought. 

His lips crash into yours, chapped like you had dreamt they would be. There’s no fight, he quickly takes control, pushing his tongue in your mouth. Your hands make their way to his head, a hand holding his neck, holding him close to you, the other one pulling his short curls. 

He pulls away, barely, only enough to be able to ask you: 

“Where’s the bedroom?”

Somehow, not letting go of each other, not stopping kissing, you make it to your bedroom. Gently, gentle in a way he hadn’t been since he walked through your door, he lays you down on the bed. 

As he breaks the kiss he starts taking off his shirt. All you can do is stare, taking your time to admire his freckles, his defined chest and thick biceps. His voice pulls you out of your thoughts. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen, doll. I’ve been holding back for a long while, so we’re going to make it last.” He lays on top of you again, making his way between your legs. One of his hands softly grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him; the other one is beginning to pull your t-shirt. 

“First, I’m going to get my hands on you, explore you just as I always wanted, make you come on my fingers while I see how beautiful you are when you cum.” The hand that was under your shirt makes its way to your crotch, cupping your pussy over your pants, you moan while nodding your head. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Jack,” you speak for the first time in the evening, he gives you a little peck on the lips as a reward. 

“Then, once you are relaxed and wet,” he says as he gets closer to you, but instead of going for your mouth he presses his lips to your ear, “I get my mouth on you, finally tasting your pussy, baby, finally having you right where I’ve wanted for so long.” He licks the shell of your ear, shivers make their way through your body. He then pulls away to look you in the eyes again. 

“And finally, when I finally get you impossibly wet, I’m going to fuck you. Do you understand, doll?” 

You nod quickly, the hand copping your pussy presses down quickly then pulls away. 

“I need words,” he says as he sits back, completely pulling away from you. As fast as you can, you sit up, trying to get closer to him. 

“Yes, yes, Jack, please,” you mumble, you grab him by his shoulders, pulling him down with you. “I need you so bad, Jack. Need you inside me.”

He laughs, dry, even a little mean. “You’ve gotta come twice before we get there, kid. Think you can do that for me?”

You answer in a mix of hurried yeahs and fast nods. Both of his hands are on your shirt now, talking it off. You aren’t even wearing a bra, why would you in the comfort of your own house? Your nipples harden quickly at the cold air, Jack’s eyes go from yours to your chest. 

“Fuck.” He says before giving you a quick kiss to your lips before beginning to make his way down. He kisses your jaw, your neck, your collarbones; when he’s finally eye-to-eye with your boobs, his tongue makes its way out of his mouth, holding eye contact with you he licks your left nipple, tongue flat against the little bud, he licks it the same way a couple of times before sucking on it. When his lips are around it, he brings his other hand to your right boob, pointer and thumb pulling on your nipple. 

“Jack, Jack, Jack.” That’s all you can say, but he gets you, just like he always does. 

He pulls away to give you a short kiss, then says:

”I know, kid. But we’re going slow, I’m an old man, I need my time to get there.” Somehow, him saying that gets you wetter than anything he’s done so far. 

When his attention is back on your chest, he brings his mouth to your right nipple, his hand taking care of the other one. His unoccupied one is on the elastic band of your pants, pulling them down, when they are barely under your ass his hand makes its way to your cunt, lightly touching your folds over the cotton of your underwear. 

“Fucking hell, doll,” he says as he pulls away, looking down to where his right hand was, “You’re so wet, I can feel it through your panties.” He runs his thumb from your entrance to your clit, slowly and lightly circling it around the bundle of nerves. 

“Just for you, Jack,” your voice is barely above a whisper, your breaths are heavy and loaded with want. 

His eyes are back on yours, his thumb presses against your clit. 

“Of course it’s just for me, silly,” his tone is condescending but you don’t mind, you like it, his hands abandons your cunt to get your pants and underwear completely out of the way. When you are completely naked, he somehow gets your legs even further apart, giving him a view of your dripping wet pussy, a glistening mess. He brings both of his hands to it, touching just your outer lips to pull them apart and showing your needy hole, clenching around nothing. He blows straight into it before making his way up to your face. Your eyes are closed, tears burning behind your eyelids. “It’s just for me because this pussy is mine.” His thumb lightly touches your clit, then teases your entrance. “Nobody has touched you here, right sweetheart?”

You open your eyes to look at him and nod. Somehow, between graduating High School, then college, MED School, and now interning, you hadn’t had time to date, not even get laid.  

“Fucking christ, doll. You were saving this for me, weren’t you?” His thumb was pressing harder now, making its way up and down your cunt, never touching your clit long enough, never making its way into your cunt. 

“Please, Jack, please.” You beg and all he does is grin at you, finding your neediness charming. 

“I know, baby, but I’m old, remember? We gotta take it slow.” His grin turns into a smile when he feels your clit twitch at his words. “Fuck, baby, that gets you going? Knowing you’re gonna get fucked by an old man?”

Both of your hands grab his forearm, trying to get his one finger in your entrance as you push down on his hand, trying to fuck yourself on his short digit. 

“Please, please, please, Jack,” you beg between soft cries, “please, daddy, I need you inside.” The teasing was becoming too much. 

His eyes soften at the nickname, he kisses you before asking, “You want daddy to take care of you?” You nod, tears running down your cheeks already. 

“Alright, doll. Ready to give me the first one of the night?" Before you could formulate any sort of answer his thumb is joined by his middle finger, it slowly makes its way inside while the shorter digit circles your clit. “You’re so tight baby, we’ll need a while before I get my cock inside you.” You let out a needy moan at that, you haven’t seen it, but you had felt it pressed against your stomach earlier and even limp it felt big. 

He gets his ringer finger inside you, the stretch is nothing like what you’ve felt before. You’ve had fun on your own, but his fingers are thicker than yours and the one vibrator you own. 

He finds the spot inside you, and the inner pressure alongside his thumb rubbing your clit get you to that familiar feeling in your gut. 

“Fuck, I can feel you getting tighter somehow. You’re sucking me in, doll. What a fucking greedy pussy you’ve got.” His tone is condescending again, his unoccupied hand makes its way to your mouth, two of his fingers press down on your tongue, forcing their way into yout mouth. 

“That’s it, baby, suck them,” he says as he closes his eyes before taking a deep breath, “your cunt is dripping wet, you’re making a mess of my hand, of your bed. Are you close, doll?” You give me a short nod and his hand on your cunt starts moving faster, finally getting you there. 

You cum in his fingers, your moans escaping around the ones on your mouth. His fingers fuck you trhough it; once your body relaxes he pulls his fingers out of you mouth, and as he tries to get fingers out of your cunt you bring both of your hands to his wrist, stopping him from pulling out.  

“Keep them,” you say in between short breaths, “I like it, being full.”

He curses at your words and rests his forehead on your shoulder. 

“God, kid. You like being stuffed?” You nod even though he can’t see it. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You lay in comfortable silence, enjoying the afterglow and the heat of his fingers inside you. After a while, you connect your lips with his; keeping your hands on his wrist you start fucking yourself on his fingers. He pulls away from your lips to enjoy the show. 

“Fuck, you’re so greedy, baby, fucking yourself on my fingers after I’ve already given you a hell of an orgasm.” There’s a tone of teasing, but his voice is mainly tinted with warmth, with love.

“Need you, Jack, please,” you ask him, looking into his eyes, one of your hands is back on his curls, pushing him down to get him face to face with your cunt. “Please?” 

Without breaking eye contact, he slowly pulls his fingers out, then presses his tongue flat against your cunt, giving it a long lick from your entrance to your clit, then circling it. You let out a high moan and he gives you a wink before focusing on your pussy and pushing his tongue inside you as his nose presses down on your clit. 

He fucks you with his tongue, moving faster than he did before. He pulls away and says “I’m so hard for you, doll. You’re gonna give this one to your daddy faster so he can fuck, alright?” 

“Yes, yes, yes, daddy, please, please, please.”

His tongue is back circling your clit and his fingers are making their way inside again, one at the time, just like before.

The second orgasm doesn’t slowly build up like the first one, it crashes over you hard and fast. You don’t even realize it’s happening until it washes over you, your whole body tenses for a second, you close your eyes so hard you see white. You hear yourself cry Jack, Jack, daddy, Jack but you don’t seem to have control over your mouth. 

Once you gain control over your body, you feel Jack laying on top of you, leaving a trial of kisses on your neck.

“You’re back with me, baby?” He asks as he pulls away from your neck, sweat is pooling on his forehead, his lips are red due to all the kissing and licking. 

You nod, putting your hands around his neck and shoulders to bring him face-to-face to you. You kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue. He pulls away from the kiss to tell you:

the evening light seeped between the cracks of the blackout curtains, spilling onto the floor. the room was painted in the familiar shades of lilac and oranges; the entire space was cast in a heavenly glow.   

room 707 had become your and jack's regular hideout.  

neither of you two came in together; you always entered separately. jack would drive off the interstate, taking the less-travelled route to the seedy motel room, always paid in full in cash, never by credit. after he was settled in, you’d wander in after approximately 20 minutes, discarding the overnight bag somewhere between the empty minibar and the queen bed.  

and jack was always there on time.  

sat on the bed with a glass of something amber and cold in a plastic cup. you would always be greeted with a familiar sight – blinds closed tight over the window, the only light threatening to come in being the flickering neon light advertising the strip club across the way – a place that killed hopes before they killed dreams.   

he’d pat the bed in a silent invitation, and you would climb into his arms, the world folding on itself for a few blissful nights. the room a constant witness to stolen kisses and fantasies.  

but today was different.  

today, you’re pinned flush to jack’s front; the solid weight of his chest pressing into your back with every breath he takes.  

the room flickers with the glow of the television – static noise filling the room as a filthy loop plays in front of you. jack had brought a duffel bag full of vhs tapes – the reels marked in illegible permanent marker scrawl. last time both of you were there, he noticed the vcr hooked up to the television, which was when he brought up the idea of him showing you ‘home videos’ he watched religiously as a teenager.  

and there he was, chest heaving beneath you as the sounds of moans and grunts filled the motel room. the woman on the screen sinks to her knees, baring her throat to the masked intruder in front of her. a smile twitches at the corner of jack's mouth, as he buries his face in your hair when you squirm beneath him.  

“you know,” jack starts, clearing his throat slightly against your neck. “i used to touch myself to these when i was your age. whenever i felt so lonely.”  

“you used to–”  

“yep.” jack rasps. his hand creeps up from your shin to your inner thigh as he shifts beneath you, the denim of his pants brushing your bare ass. “you want jackie to do that to you? you want jackie to touch you, kiddo?”  

you could only whine at the question in response, your head falling back to meet his shoulder, eyes transfixed on the video playing in front of you.  

when you don’t relent to meet his gaze, he hooks two fingers underneath your chin, calloused knuckles skimming your jaw. “tell jackie what you want,” he murmurs. you tear your stare away at the sound of his voice, breath quickening as he slides his other hand between your thighs.  

“i…” you swallow hard, the bitter taste of fear staining your tongue. you couldn’t meet his eyes. there was something unusual about saying what you wanted. as if wanting was a selfish act you couldn’t bring yourself to do.

your mouth feels dry, the sudden feeling of bile creeping up the back of your throat. heat creeping up from the column of your neck as you try to meet his stare – the stuffy motel air sucking out any defiance you had building inside of you.  

“you what?” jack coaxes, hand stroking your chin – slow, reverent. his thumb swipes across your lower lip, then dips inside your mouth. “use your big girl words.”  

you look up at him – eyes flushed, lips parted around his thumb; jack’s stare focused on your mouth.

“so tight for me…” he mutters, the pad of his thumb skimming the front of your teeth. jack lets out a big exhale from his mouth when you bite down slightly, feeling your tongue swirling around the ridges on his finger. “answer me.”  

your eyes flicker down to his lips momentarily before going back to his face. “i …” you muffle around his thumb, looking at him through half-lidded eyes. “i want you to do that to me.”  

“want what? i can’t know what you want if you don’t tell me, baby girl.”  

the sound of the ipad blares between your legs – feminine cries mixing with the sound of leather hitting flesh hard and rough; the buzz of cicadas outside interweaving with the sounds of pleasure emitting from the device, drowning the room with monotonous racket.  

you hesitate for a moment, eyes searching his. faintly under your breath, you respond.  

 “i want jackie to play with me.”  

“play with what?”  

you whine, head falling into the crook of his neck to hide.   

“no, no look at me,” jack chuckles, tilting your face upward. “what do you want jackie to play with?”  

“want you to play with my princess parts,” you whisper, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.  

“attagirl,” he rumbles, letting go of your chin. he pulls his thumb out of your mouth with a wet pop before smearing the spit across your cheek.  

jack cups your jaw, tilting your face slightly upward. “see? was it that hard?”

he smiles at your insistent nod, eyes crinkling at the corners as he shuffles you so that you are lying back properly against his chest.  

your eyes go back to the tv, still playing the video, and the scene changes. this time, the woman is lying on the bed – mirroring the exact position you are in – playing with herself whilst the man sits in a corner, watching her. 

“do you think she’s beautiful?” his chin falls to the top of your head. “kinda looks like you in a way, doesn’t she? my beautiful, pretty girl.” 

jack kisses your temple, lips lingering. “she’s got your tits, you know?” his hand makes a slow descent from your abdomen. “maybe we can make a video like that someday. just you and me.”

“a video?” you gulp.

“just for jackie. you trust me, don’t you?” 

groaning, his hand settle on top of your pussy, fingers ghosting your folds – a sharp gasp leaving his lips when he realises just how wet you are.

“this all for me, baby? did jackie do this to you?” 

you whimper, hands reaching blindly for his as you writhe underneath his grip. his free hand shoots for your wrist, pinning it down to the mattress beside you. he tsks softly before languidly moving his finger up and down, his breath hot on your ear.

“it’s okay, kiddo,” he coos, biting the lobe of your ear. “jackie’s here.”

jack pulls out his body from under you, setting your body aside with a pat of your thigh. you whimper at the loss of contact – eyes tracking as he makes his way to the foot of the bed.  

“what are you doing?” you frown, sitting up on your elbows, head straining upwards to meet him. you watch with a bated breath as he looks down on you, a small smirk forming on his lips as you stare up at him, brows furrowed in confusion.

jack ignores your sounds of protest and pushes down on your shoulder, laying you flat against the mattress, arms straining under the weight of dragging you down to the edge of the bed by your thighs. 

chaste kisses are planted on your ankle, forcing a giggle out of you. jack smiles softly at the sound, lips trailing their way from the inside all the way up to your inner thigh – mouth memorising the taste of salt sweat on your skin and the smell of something strawberry mixed with a flower too far back in his mind to name. 

he exhales, hot air on your warm cunt.  

“is this okay, sweetheart?” he asks, his hand parting your thighs a fraction.

“jac–” 

he tsks, cutting you off softly. he nudges your chin, forcing your eyes back on the woman on the screen. “you trust me, don’t you, kiddo?”  

“yeah,” you whisper, words scratching your throat as you look back to the screen. “i trust you, jackie.” 

on the screen, the intruder approaches the woman – the man slicing her zip-tied bound hands free. your breath hitches for a moment. a moment passes when she takes the mask off to reveal that the man who hunted her down – stalked her like prey in a sea of targets – was the man she trusted and loved. 

just how jack picked you. 

he feels you arch your back slightly at the revelation. he instantly pins a forearm over your lower abdomen, pinning you in place. leaning his head back slightly, he gathers saliva in his mouth before flooding your pussy with the wet slick. you jolt, hips bucking towards his face. 

“you said you trusted me, didn’t you?” 

you nod. 

“then let me do my job, okay?” he pats your thigh with a smile, exhaling when your eyes return to the television in the corner. 

you gasp as he drags the flat of his tongue from your entrance to your clit in one soft, sweep motion – hands flying to card your fingers through jack’s curls.

he groans as you tug on the grey ends, his nails digging crescent shapes into your inner thigh. “baby,” jack warns, his voice muffled in between your legs.

you hum in response, breath shaking as you bite back a moan. your eyes are squeezed shut – the porn on the television is fading into background noise.

“let me hear those moans for me,” he groans into your thigh, his tongue poking at your entrance.  

“tell jackie just how much you love it. want to hear all of those beautiful sounds you make, kiddo.” 

“yo–fuck–” you let out a broken moan, legs closing in on his head as he continues his relentless licks. “fuck, jackie, you are! you’re making me feel too good.”  

jack forcefully separates your thighs without looking up – mouth licking lazily over your clit; hand disappearing briefly to his pants before grazing the back of your knees.

“she tastes so good, sweetheart,” he mumbles against you, planting a wet kiss on your clit. 

grinding your hips unconsciously against his face, jack lets out a low moan at the desperate attempt for friction, his nails digging in deeper into the side of your thighs. 

tears prick at the corner of your eyes. “‘s too much ja–” 

“no, it’s not,” jack purrs against your pussy, the vibration causing your toes to curl inwards. “you’re my big girl, remember?” 

“i’m your big girl,” you sniffle. 

“‘m going to have to keep her all to myself,” he rasps, his tongue dragging lazily over you. “scare away all the boys for her. would you like that, baby? me having this pussy all by myself?” 

you whimper and writhe weakly at his words, hands straining to card through his hair, as he moves his head deeper, his tongue relentlessly lapping your juices at your entrance. then, jack pulls back, a whine escaping your throat at the sudden loss of stimulation – the coil in your stomach that was steadily building dissipating in seconds.

you look down, a grunt escaping your lips as you shift for a better look at him. in the glow of the bedside lamp, you can make out his heaving; the light highlighting the sheen on his stubble, biting his slowing lips as his eyes rake over yours.

he runs two fingers slowly through your juices. smiling into your thigh as he feels you shudder under his touch. 

“kiddo,” jack starts, his voice hoarse. “two fingers, okay, that’s it.” he kisses the inner of your thigh before clearing his throat. “you remember the safe word?” 

jack smiles at your frantic nod, pressing another kiss to your thigh. “knew you’d be a good girl for me.”

he gently slips the fingers into your entrance, wet enough to accept it without any resistance. his eyes flicker over your face for any hints of discomfort.

you let out a moan as jack’s mouth latches to your clit again, his finger curling to find the sweet spot.

“right there, baby?” jack muffles against you, moaning with reckless abandon.

“yes! fuck jack-” you wail, hands scrambling to find purchase on the stained sheets beneath you. “yeah, jesus, right there.”

your legs shake, quivering violently as jack continues his rhythmic thrusts – hips grinding against his face as jack’s tongue keeps flicking over your clit. “that’s it, kiddo. cum for jackie.”

shattering, chest heaving, your hips buck against jack’s face; his fingers ruthlessly maintaining the pace as he keeps eating you straight through – forcing your body to ride every single wave of release. 

leaving you on the bed, still high on adrenaline, jack taps your knee before disappearing into the bathroom, leaving you alone with your thoughts; the ticking of the clock matches the beat of the sound of the blood rushing to your ears.

heavy breaths from the television pulls you out of your reverie. 

without looking, your hands glide over the mattress, hands wandering blind in the dark as you try to find the remote. when they stumble onto something hard and rough, shaking fingers plunge the room into darkness and silence.

your eyes flutter shut as you hear the tap turning on. smiling into the pillow as you hear jack string a curse, the water drowning out the rest of his voice. 

jack returns a few moments later, a soaked towel in his hands. your eyes open to a tender smile playing on his lips as he sits his body right next to you, lying down – the bed creaking softly under his familiar weight. he passes the towel slowly, reverently, over your sweat-slicked thighs before leaning down to press featherlight kisses to the fat of your stomach. 

“go to sleep, kiddo,” he whispers in the dark. “i got you.”

you curl against his body as he strokes the length of your spine – your ear pressed to his chest, your own heartbeat matching the rhythm of his. 

in room 707 of the motel that sat off the interstate, shades of blue and white scattered light throughout the room – jack's frame enveloping yours as the night pulled you both under a dreamless sleep.

jack abbot who swears he was just trying to find a new hobby. after having the world’s most unstable man — more commonly referred to as doctor robby — call him out on his not-so peaceful hobby of getting shot at, he decides to go back to the drawing board. calls his therapist, asks for an honest opinion, and is met with the worst possible answer a man like him could receive: maybe something less physically demanding and endangering would do you good. have you tried golf?

jack abbot who has tried golf, actually... he almost sent a young caddie to the pitt, golf club swinging out his grip and crashing against the golf cart. second time is never the charm, so he skips golf and goes straight to padel. old man tennis, as doctor ellis so kindly puts it. after launching the ball out of the court one too many times, he gives up, declares the game is not fast-paced enough* for him (*read as: jack is too heavy handed).

jack abbot who goes through a whole list of hobbies. he’s too skilled for paint-ball. he’s too stiff for dancing. he’s too impatient for cooking. sports are not his forte, and he’s already dedicated way too many years of his life to education to fully toy with the thought of getting another degree — even if holding another masters over robby’s head does sound like fun. but he finds something easier, something quicker. his hand, his voice, and a microphone… that’s all he really needs to become an audio pornstar.

jack abbot who swears it was an accident. all he had done was google hobbies for a middle-aged man that won’t bore me to death but won’t tweak my back… and somehow, someway, he had landed on a reddit thread. men his own age, shouting out their hobbies in the hopes of helping a fellow bored soul like his own find a new calling outside of the gruelling hours he spends covered in guts and gore. some men recommended forming bike groups. others spoke of table-top games. but only one of them really caught his eye. a single comment, no thread beneath it, with a total of eight upvotes: i record erotic audios. it’s fun, easy, and the feedback has done wonders to my self-esteem. the best part is i don’t even have to show my face, all my audience wants is to hear me.

jack abbot who soon finds out it’s lot harder than he expected. and, no, he’s not talking about his dick. recording is his first challenge. the first few attempts are a technical nightmare. this attempt too muffled, that attempt too awkward, more than a few where he loses focus and drops his phone (aka his acting microphone) as he sinks into the sweet relief of his hand working over his aching cock, completely missing out on recording the part where breathy groans divulge into full-blown, pathetic whimpers, and soon one of pittsburgh’s most respected emergency medicine doctors is painting his knuckles and lower abdomen in the sticky residue of his pleasure.

jack abbot who’s second hurdle is making an account and, worse, figuring out how to use it. asking for help is out of the question because, while jack abbot is far from shy, he doesn’t want to invite that level of gossip into his workplace. shen would give him shitty nicknames like doctor jacking-off abbot, dana wouldn’t say anything but the side-eye would be loud enough to speak for her. robby would no doubt find a way to criticise even this hobby. and god forbid the pittlings hear about it… any ounce of respect they have for him would fly right out the window. worst of all, jack thinks, ahmad would start a betting pool… how long until doctor abbot leaks his identity?

jack abbot who nearly doxxes himself immediately, accidentally attaching a picture — one of those low-angled selfies javadi is forever teasing him about — alongside the audio file. a file that captures him in a moment of pure vulnerability, head thrown back against the couch, knees bent, feet on the ground; all the while last night’s scrubs stick to his sweaty thighs, shoved far enough down for him to free his cock. he doesn’t listen to the audio fully, afraid that if he listens too long, he’ll back out and delete it once again. with barely any recollection of the things he said nor the sounds he made, he takes a deep breath and finally hits post.

jack abbot who is officially, by technicality, an audio pornstar. the attention isn’t instant. for the first few days, he tells himself to not bother checking, to not interest himself in how many silly upvotes a collective of strangers might have deemed his moans worthy of. that doesn’t stop him from pulling out his phone during bathroom breaks, swiping through the apps list until he finds a familiar orange, and checking the engagement. five upvotes. no comments. oh well, he thinks (with a little more disappointment than he’s willing to admit). maybe this hobby is just not for him, either. back to the drawing board he’ll go, right?

jack abbot who learns the hard way just how far a little praise can go. it’s another mindless check, shift over and finally standing under the rejuvenating burn of a warm shower. two days off ahead of him, a whole load of sleep to catch up on. a song comes on that he’s sick of hearing, so, despite the soap suds in his hands, he grabs for his phone and changes the track. muscle memory forces his thumb to swipe, fingerprint searching for the familiar glow of that orange app. he barely recognises what he’s done, until the post — his post — is staring at him in the face. seventeen upvotes. one comment. u/dilfhunter pretty sure this violates some sacred feminist rule with how wet it made me. dear god sir, what a voice.

jack abbot who records his second official audio right then and there, the sound of a running shower caught faintly in the background of his grunts and groans. they echo off the bathroom tiles, accompanied by the wet shlick of his hand stroking over his length. he’s still a little unsteady, a little unsure of what to do while one hand is busy touching himself and the other is gripping his phone, making sure the microphone is still recording his every move. to make matters, and his dick, harder this time, he’s caught in a trance, pupils blown wide and jaw hanging loose while he reads the comment over and over. it’s instinct, really, that has him muttering under his breath, brain too far gone to even fully register what he’s saying. d’you like my voice, yeah? is it getting you wet, baby? my dirty girl, touching herself to the sound of me. you gonna cum, hmm? think you should. go on. or d’you need me to show you how?

jack abbot who is starting to gain a following, a community of faceless individuals who are never short on praise and are quick to make him feel desired. every comment is an ego-boost, a reason to record another audio. after a month, he invests in a proper microphone, one that frees up both his hands. another month and he’s ordering toys from some lewd website. it’s for realism, he tells himself, something to make it sound a little more immersive, a little more real for his followers. the fact that the fleshlight grips around his cock in a way that has him curling his toes is just a welcomed bonus, really.

jack abbot who keeps his recordings fairly simple. straightforward, nothing more than the ramblings of a man in dire need of release. groans, moans, whimpers. there’s times where he slips a little deeper than usual into the fantasy, picturing someone sweet and vulnerable, writhing beneath him and echoing out all the wilder comments he receives. dilfhunter becomes a name he searches for, a user who’s feedback he awaits with bated breath. if he uploads and there’s no comment within the first 24 hours, his shoulders sag, his energy is off, and even the other busy-bodies in the pitt notice something off about him. then, ding! dilfhunter has commented on your post! and suddenly everything is back to sunshine and rainbows and boners for mister abbot, who more or less races home on those mornings, ready to capture another intimate moment he’ll share with an audience of thousands.

jack abbot who keeps it simple, until he doesn’t. a comment, not from dilfhunter, is all it takes. u/armpitts god what i wouldn’t pay to have you act out one of my scripts. it captures his attention. and while jack is not the best at replying to his comments — he’s sometimes afraid the things he wants to say may come off too strong… or that he’ll accidentally reveal personal details — he finds himself answering this time. no payment necessary, i’m open to anything :) he feels like an idiot sending a smiley face. fuck. he should have made it a wink. oh well, too late, his notifications are blowing up and there’s an inbox waiting for him. that very same commenter, kind and appreciative, drops the link to one of her scripts and thanks him. he feels silly the first time he reads through it, cheeks warm as he tries out the words on his lips. one would think he hasn’t spent the past few months whoring himself out vocally for a little gratification. but, can you really blame him for being so shy? there he is, a fully qualified doctor, reciting some fantasy where he’s examining a patient. one thing leads to another, an imaginary hand drifts up the expanse of a hypothetical thigh, and he’s acting out something that would get his medical license revoked… that doesn’t stop him from cumming louder than ever before, and swallowing down the name of his favourite patient: you.

jack abbot who swears you’re the sweetest sight for sore eyes. frequent fliers are rarely a celebrated thing in the pitt. unhoused, endangered, unwell; they are usually the kind who find themselves in his care on a regular basis. and then there is you. beautiful, smart, and polite. you never complain about the wait times, you never berate any of the staff for having other patients to attend to, you never show up without a smile. a med student, well into your final year and looking to secure a residency at presby. the catch? you’re a hypochondriac — more recently known as someone who suffers from illness anxiety disorder — diagnosed and all. those who study medicine are already predisposed to convince themselves they have every new illness they learn off. but throw in a disorder that’s merciless in making your brain spiral and, well, you become weekly visitor of the pitt, always showing up with enough self-awareness to recognise you’re probably fine, but still in dire need of a professional who can confirm it for you.

jack abbot who is happy to be said professional. it’s basically an unspoken rule amongst the nightcrawlers: your name is on the board, jack will be attending to you. no matter how big or small your most recent health worry might be, he’s happy to sit by your bedside and go through your vitals, listen to your heartbeat, check your breathing. as many times as you need him to. he knows how hard it can be to sleep, which is why he never berates you for wasting away your hours in the bright lights of the pitt. why would he berate you, when it means he gets to spend a few hours keeping his eye on you?

jack abbot who knows his fascination borders on unprofessional. while you may not be his student, you are still a student somewhere. your career relies on the guidance of those who have graduated before you, those who have already made a career out of caring for patients. he tries his best to make your frequent visits useful to you, talking you through what the signs would truly be for whatever your newest possible diagnosis might be and what the treatment plan would look like. it’s the only thing he can do to distract himself from the thoughts of talking you through something far more selfish.

jack abbot who swears he’s not thinking of you each time he hits record. when a script comes through, casting him the role of an older man who helps his new neighbour fix a leak under her sink, just to bend her over the counter and let his cum leak into her, there’s absolutely no way that jack is picturing you, doe-eyed and looking up at him with eyes that are practically begging him to fix you. and when he plays out the fantasy of a man coming home to find his wife naked in bed, riding out a heat wave, and spreading her thighs as she welcomes his tongue between them even in her sleep, he definitely does not nearly whine your name. and when the comments role in, begging him to add a new audio to his most popular series — the doctor will feel you now — he is doing anything but imagining you in the patient’s place, throwing your head back while you let you doctor cure you with his hands, his mouth, his cock. hey! all those times he’s had to cut the audio, edit out a little stutter of your name? those were nothing but accidents. pure and utter coincidences.

jack abbot who begins to miss you after not seeing you for more than a week. what could have happened? have you started visiting the day shift instead, relying on doctor robby to comfort your worries instead of him? it shouldn’t affect him. he shouldn’t care. he has enough on his plate to worry about, between the ER and the next audio he needs to post. he doesn’t have time to find himself lingering by the boards, willing your name to suddenly appear. what kind of doctor wants to see someone show up in the emergency ward? him, apparently, because there is no denying the way he feels his heart swell as he catches a glimpse of you from across the nurses’ station, being guided into a room by lena and told to sit while you wait for doctor abbot to see you. and see you he does, practically racing through the instructions on how to intubate a patient who’s throat is full of blood, just so he can rip of his gloves, sanitise his hands, and pull back the curtain that reveals you.

jack abbot who finds every way to make you stay a little longer, using every reason to talk to you. he asks about your exams. he asks about your future goals. he asks if you’re 100% sure that presby is the hospital for you. y’know we’re always looking for a new night shift resident in the pitt. just saying. the way you giggle at his wink is enough to sink the pathetic feeling that comes with almost begging you to join the ptmc. don’t think a trauma centre is the best place for me, doctor abbot. it’s actually cruel how effortless that sounds on your tongue. doctor abbot… would you still call him that if he had you arching your back, hips rolling to meet the thrust of his gloved fingers?

jack abbot who can barely hide the shake in his hand when you ask him to examine you. it’s just this mark i’ve got… on my upper thigh. i know it’s probably just a mosquito bite or something but- you’re worried. you don’t have to explain it to jack, he can practically feel the fear rolling off of you in waves. it shouldn’t send a shiver down his spine to know those waves meet an unmovable force when it comes to him, crashing and sinking away with every reassuring word he finds to help ease your worries. you listen to him so well, not needing to be told twice when he instructs you to bend your legs at the knee and plant your feet on the bed. just gonna give you an exam, okay? i’ll start just above the knee, then work my way up the length of your thigh, get a good feel of anything that’s going on there. that sound good to you?

jack abbot who feels himself harden at how eagerly you nod. then his hands are on you and there’s nowhere his thoughts can wander but to those damn audios. your thigh is soft, warm, full beneath his fingertips. what a shame there’s a layer of latex in the way. he tries not to linger on the way your legs fall open a little wider the further he slides his palm up your thigh. he tries not to notice the way the muscle clenches beneath his touch. he tries not to think about how you haven’t breathed properly since he started examining you. if this were one of his filthy audios, now would be the time when the doctor gives into his desires and let’s his fingers brush over the seam of his patient’s clothed cunt. he’d pretend it was an accident, an unintentional bump of his fingertips. he’d hum with a twinge of approval when he realises how wet the fabric is. he’d let his eyes meet hers as he peels her underwear to the side and watches her choke on a gasp, forefinger teasing up the length of the slit, pressing over her throbbing clit. he’d ruin her with nothing but his fingers, his spare hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her delectable moans so no ears but his own can hear them. and if she was good for him, really good, he’d reward her with the stretch of his cock plugging her full, making her stain her cheeks with tears as she bites down on his palm and let’s him whisper in her ear. ‘s this what you really needed, baby? someone to fix you? come on, there we go, breathe nice and deep for me. i know, i know, he’s so big. it’s so much but you’re taking him so well, sweetheart. my perfect little patient, letting me make us both feel better.

jack abbot who is painfully aware of the fact this is not one of his audios and that he needs to pull his hand out from between your thighs. he does so with a cough, swallowing back a mouthful of saliva only to find himself near-drooling again. god, what a relief that the scrubs he’s wearing today sit loose on him, otherwise he’d surely have an hr case on his hands. that doesn’t make the throb of his hardened dick any easier to stomach. especially not when he notices you’re in an almost equally frazzled state, chest heaving as you stare ahead in a trance, legs slowly sinking back down onto the gurney. he starts his medical spiel, but he’s not sure you’re really listening. all feels good, he says, knowing damn well you feel better than good.

jack abbot who doesn’t mean to invade your privacy. when a phone buzzes from somewhere behind him, he swears it’s his own and, with a quick check to see if it’s alright with you, he turns around to grab it. he’s just going to put it on silent, that’s all, to ensure it doesn’t interrupt him during any other patient examination. but then the screensaver is different. a pretty face, pressed right up to a dog. bright, girly, youthful. there’s notifications for apps he barely recognises, names he’s never heard. and then, the most recent one. a notification from 1 minute ago. an email. reddit.

jack abbot who feels himself freeze, right then and there, speechless for the first time in his life.

congratulations u/dilfhunter, you just hit 1,000 upvotes!

+ extra hyde!

· i'm working on a full jack abbot fic. this is a threat. consider yourself warned. · anyway don't forget to smash that like button and tell me if this made you horny. full disclosure i am more than willing to write more of these two. · i was waiting to finish a full, proper fic to post again but i've been frothing at the mouth at this thought all day and i had to get it out.

Having a best friend is totally normal. Having a best friend that's older than you--also normal. Having an opposite gender best friend that's technically old enough to be your father--perhaps a little out of the ordinary.

But that didn't stop you from befriending Jack Abbot the second you met him on your first day as an intern at PTMC. Technically, you befriended nearly every single person you met--something about that bubbly personality of yours made it impossible to resist.

Jack would know better than most. After all, he tried to resist your charms. He lasted about an hour and a half before you'd managed to pull him into your orbit on a permanent basis.

Fast forward four years and he was now your closest confidant, your staunchest supporter, and your absolute all-time favorite human being. If someone asked him what he thought of you, he'd spend 20 minutes talking about how brilliant, competent, kind, beautiful--every positive adjective under the sun--you were.

You'd been asked countless times why you'd selected a man almost 20 years your senior as your best friend and your response never changed, "He sees my flaws and doesn't run". To be fair, Jack would never acknowledge you had any flaws to begin with, but the deeper meaning remained true--he loved the darkest parts of you no matter what. That's what friends do.

As far as you were concerned, your friendship with Jack was just like any other--the only difference was his age. Neither of you gave a damn, so it was never really a topic of conversation or concern.

Other people, however, loved to comment on it. Especially when you went out together. The initial assumption was always that he was your dad, but once that was dispelled the automatic next conclusion was that he was a creepy old sugar daddy. While he did often pay when you went out, there was certainly no arrangement--caring for people was simply Jack's love language.

He'd buy you drinks without a second thought, pay for meals regardless of how expensive, and buy you gifts when he saw something that made him think of you--it was just his way.

There was obviously nothing going on romantically between the two of you, as evidenced by the number of suitors you managed to date in all the free time you definitely didn't have.

You were more likely to swipe right than left these days, as you were convinced there had to be someone for you out there. You'd told Jack you had to take a chance on some of these guys or you'd end up dying alone. He'd been hilariously offended at the implication--as if he would ever allow you to die alone. You were best friends, after all.

It wasn't uncommon for you to waltz into the Pitt still wearing whatever outfit you'd chosen for a date, but it was extremely uncommon for you to have anything positive to say about the date itself. Everyone wanted to hear the updates as if they were living vicariously through you. Even some of the day shift staff would hang around to get the latest scoop.

"He spent an hour talking about his sneaker collection. An entire hour," you whined to Trinity as you tossed your bag into your locker.

"And you wonder why I like women..."

You rolled your eyes. "Because you were born that way?"

She laughed as she tugged her backpack over her shoulders. "That and men are so weird."

"All men?" Jack joked as he appeared beside you.

"All the ones I've gone on dates with in the past month," you confirmed with a wry chuckle.

"Honey, you've got the worst taste in men I've ever seen." He shot you a playful wink. "You can do way better than those apps."

"You try meeting someone these days outside of an app," you grumbled. "It's literally the only option."

Jack laughed and leaned forward conspiratorially. "You know I'm single too right? I've gotta suffer those apps just like you do."

"Jack Abbot you're about as likely to be on a dating app as Robby is to get married."

Jack laughed even harder, shaking his head ruefully. "You've got me there. I didn't even really know how it worked until you showed me."

"Well you are 140 years old," Trinity mumbled under her breath.

"But I'm not deaf," he sassed with a wink.

"If you're gonna flirt at least do it in front of Garcia. Maybe you'll make her jealous."

They both glared at you, but the expressions held no real malice.

You grinned ear to ear and grabbed your scrubs. "I'm gonna go change, then we can revel in the brilliant chaos of the nightshift, my beloved comrade in arms."

Jack matched your grin and Trinity just shook her head. "You guys are so weird."

"That's why we're on the nightshift, kid."

"Yeah, yeah. The rest of us want some semblance of a normal life."

"Why do that when you could experience the wilds of the night?" Jack joked, stretching his arms out to gesture around him. "This is where the fun's at." He backed up towards the nurse's station, grin never faltering.

Trinity just shook her head again with a chuckle. "Weirdos."

When you came back out dressed in your scrubs, you found Jack leaning against the nurse's station chatting with Lena.

"So how bad was this one, sweetheart?" Lena asked sweetly as you approached.

"I think I said a grand total of six words the entire date. The rest was him talking about the merits of Nike versus Adidas sneakers."

Jack wrinkled his nose and Lena chuckled with a shake of her head. "How do you manage to find so many strange men?"

"Honestly, I think it's a gift," you grumbled with a shrug.

"Or a curse," Jack muttered under his breath.

You smacked his chest affectionately. "Hey!"

"Ow. Rude."

Lena rolled her eyes at your antics. "Okay, both of you get to work before Shen comes over here and regales us with his latest story."

"Aren't you in charge?" you joked, elbowing Jack in the side.

"Yeah--you can't tell me what to do."

Lena raised a brow, a small smirk on her lips.

Jack stood up straight and saluted her. "Yes, ma'am."

You shot Lena a wink and she shook her head at you, but her smile widened. God you loved the nightshift.

A few hours later, you and Ellis were chatting instead of catching up on your charting.

"Maybe we should go out on our next night off," Ellis suggested.

"To a bar?"

"Yes, a bar."

You groaned. "I hate picking up men in bars."

She shrugged. "Pick up a woman instead."

"I'm starting to think you and Trinity are trying to convert me."

Her lips spread into a grin. "I'm just saying, if you ever wanna try something new..."

You laughed loudly enough to draw Jack's attention from the other side of the room. He smiled when his gaze landed on you, affectionate evident to anyone who cared to look.

"I promise you'll be the first to know." You shot her a wink as you stood up. "And maybe we should go out. We can drag Jack with us. I'm sure he needs to get laid too."

"Ew. I so do not need to think about our boss getting laid."

"Why not? He's a human man, Parker. He's got needs." Your teasing voice didn't stop the look of disgust from crossing Ellis's face.

"And I repeat: ew."

"What're we 'ew-ing'?" Jack asked from behind you.

"Parker suggested we go out to a bar--have a little fun, pick up some guys or gals." You shrugged. "I simply said you should come too because you need to get laid."

A look of pure shock crossed Jack's face for a split second before he burst out laughing. "Jesus, sweetheart."

"What? I'm just saying. It's been ages."

"I don't think Ellis wanted to know that."

"I truly did not."

"There's nothing to be ashamed of! We all have needs," you insisted.

"I'm not ashamed."

"You're just so...old fashioned about it. We can talk about sex without it being awkward."

Jack groaned loudly and ran his hand through his hair. "Just because you're comfortable talking about your escapades doesn't mean we are."

"Escapades?" You gave a mock gasp. "You're making it sound like I'm out whoring around."

"I so did not say that!"

You grinned and gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. "I'm kidding. You've heard all my failed date stories. I haven't even seen a man's penis outside of a medical context or an unsolicited dick pick in over a year."

Ellis's jaw dropped. "A year?!"

You shot her a glare. "Yes, Parker. A year. I'm a celibate monk. It's my new thing."

"Girl. You need to get properly dicked down."

"Jesus," Jack muttered, a light dusting of pink gracing his cheeks.

"You know," you leaned forward conspiratorially. "I've never even come during sex. Not once."

"Okaaaaaay," Jack muttered. "And that's my cue."

"You're no fun!" you called after him.

Laughter echoed from behind him as he walked away, a strange feeling settling in his chest. You'd talked about your dates, your exes, even sex with Jack a hundred times, but lately he's begun to feel differently about it.

He couldn't identify exactly when the shift started to happen, but the last month or two had been different for him. Two months ago, after a night out with you, he'd come home and stared at himself in the mirror for a long time. Longer than he'd done in years.

He'd made a realization that night. One he hadn't been sure he'd ever reach. It had been weeks since he'd thought about his wife, months since he'd missed her so much it hurt. He would always love her, but it no longer hurt to think about her. He didn't feel lost. He didn't feel broken. He didn't fall apart on her birthday or their anniversary. Somehow, some way, his heart had healed.

He'd looked down at the wedding band on his finger--the one he'd never taken off. For the first time since she passed away, he slid the ring from his finger. He stared at his left hand in silence, processing what it meant. He'd placed the ring in a box in his safe and locked it. It felt like he was closing one chapter of his life and finally allowing himself to step into a new one.

You'd noticed the very next day.

"Jackie, where's your ring?"

He glanced down at his hand. "I took it off."

"Yes...I can see that. But why?"

"I think it's time for me to move forward with my life."

You'd wrapped him in a tight hug and pulled him close, somehow knowing he needed that hug--needed to feel the closeness of another human being. Neither of you had really discussed it since, but he finally felt like he was ready to date--to meet someone new.

Sometimes, when he laid awake unable to sleep, he'd let his mind wander. Let it explore possibilities he'd never acknowledge outside the four walls of his bedroom.

He'd imagine building a life with someone new. He'd picture meeting someone, letting himself fall in love all over again. What he would never admit, never acknowledge, was in those moments, in the darkness of his room, he always pictured you.

You were the woman he imagined building a life with. The one he wanted to fall asleep wrapped around, the one he sometimes dreamed of marrying. On his worst days, he'd even let himself picture having a family--kids--with you.

He would never tell you. Never even admit it to himself in his waking hours. You were his best friend--he couldn't break your trust by falling in love with you.

But it was getting harder and harder to ignore. Like today. When you made jokes about your love life and Jack couldn't help but think to himself that he would treat you right. Or when you joked about not getting laid and all he could think about was worshipping your body--pulling orgasm after orgasm from you until you were a satiated mess beneath him.

He hated himself for thinking those things. Each time the thought crossed his mind, he felt like he was betraying you. You were friends and that's why you shared things with him. He had no right to imagine anything with you, but he couldn't bring himself to create distance between you either. You were his best friend as much as he was yours.

He let out a groan as he sunk into a chair beside Lena.

"Leg bothering you?" she asked gently.

"Just tired."

The look on her face made it clear she didn't believe him, but she made no further comment. If he wanted to open up, he would.

"Maybe I'm just getting old," he muttered.

She chuckled dryly. "You and me both."

And there it was. The other thing he hated himself for. He was old enough to be your father, yet here he was fantasizing about you. He wasn't sure if it was better or worse that it wasn't just sex he dreamed about--but of actually being with you. It was enough to make him wanna put his head through a wall.

Being friends was perfectly acceptable. Perfectly normal. Perfectly reasonable. Wanting you, on the other hand--loving you--was not. He didn't wanna be one of those creepy men that liked younger women for whatever pervy reason their deranged brains came up with. He sure as shit didn't want you to be uncomfortable and he would rather die than lose your friendship.

The first four years had been easy. The thought of crossing a line had never occurred to him. Friendship was all he wanted from you--and it's all you wanted from him. The last two months, however, had been hell. He spent every waking moment wishing you were his, and every sleepless day dreaming of you.

So if you told him you wanted to go to a bar and find some random dude to hook up with, he'd go with you. He'd make sure whoever you went home with wasn't a total creep and he'd support you in whatever way you needed--even if it killed him.

"Jackie, can I borrow you for a second?"

He looked up, meeting your slightly nervous expression. "Sure, sweetheart. Everything okay?"

"I need your opinion on this patient, please."

He suppressed another groan as he stood up and followed after you, listening as you described the patient's symptoms. Back to work he went.

**********

"Okay, how 'bout this one?" You came out of your closet in yet another dress option you were modeling for Ellis and Santos.

"Maybe something a little sluttier?" Ellis suggested. "We are trying to attract a man here."

"What's wrong with this one?" you whined, looking down at the black dress.

"It's boring," Trinity groaned. "Let me look."

She jumped up and dove into your closet, digging through the dress options until she found one she liked. "Put this one on."

You paled slightly at the dress she held up. You'd bought it on a whim, but never wore it. It was short--like whole ass gonna hang out if you bend over short--and extremely low cut. It was a deep burgundy color that looked gorgeous on you, but it made you insanely nervous to wear it in public.

"I can't wear that."

She frowned. "Why'd you buy it then?"

"I thought it looked hot in the store!"

"It looks hot from here too," Parker commented with a grin.

You shot her a glare over your shoulder.

"Just try it on. If you hate it, you don't have to wear it," Trinity insisted.

You groaned as you grabbed it from her. "Fine."

You stepped into the closet and pulled the dress on. It was just as short as you remembered, but you'd forgotten how perfectly it hugged your curves. You stared at yourself in the mirror for a moment, admiring how good your body looked in the dress.

"You coming out or did you get lost in there?" Parker called.

You rolled your eyes before stepping out. Both women fell completely silent as they stared at you. You chewed on your bottom lip nervously as you waited for one of them to speak.

"Fucking christ," Trinity swore under her breath.

"You're good," Parker commented, sticking out her fist for Trinity to bump.

"Damn right I am."

"So...this is the one?" you asked.

"Obviously."

"Clearly."

"It's not too much?"

"I'd argue it's too little," Parker teased.

Trinity smacked her arm. "She's self-conscious."

Parker stood up and crossed the room. "You look gorgeous, okay?" She gave you a hug. "Now let's go find you a man."

"Is Jack meeting us there?" Trinity asked.

You shook your head. "He's picking us up. He's the DD tonight."

"Bless him," she muttered.

You grabbed your phone to see if he'd texted you. Unsurprisingly, you had an alert for a text from him.

Jackie: I'll be there in 10 minutes, sweetheart.

You: See you soon! <3

The three of you were waiting in the lobby when you heard the rumble of Jack's truck as he pulled up in front of the apartment complex. You straightened your dress, suddenly feeling incredibly nervous for Jack to see you. What if he thought the dress was too slutty? Would he judge you? Say something about it?

You couldn't quite put your finger on why the thought of him hating the dress bothered you so much, but you tried to push the concern away.

"You alright?" Parker asked.

"Mhmm."

"Hey." She turned you toward her. "You look beautiful, okay? Take a deep breath."

You breathed with her, relaxing as you did.

"Excellent. Now let's go give Jack a heart attack."

You groaned, but both girls laughed. You shook your head at their antics as you followed them into the parking lot.

Unsurprisingly, Jack was standing outside his truck, waiting on the three of you. He was always such a gentleman--he never let you (or any woman for that matter) open the car door.

He opened the rear passenger door for Santos and Ellis to climb in before turning back in your direction. As soon as he did, his entire body went rigid.

You swallowed thickly as you watched him take in your appearance. His gaze traced down and back up your body, but he didn't make you feel uncomfortable. Instead you felt a surprising heat settle low in your abdomen--a heat you hadn't felt in a long time.

"You look..."

You bit your lip as you waited for him to find the adjective he wanted.

"Stunning," he breathed.

A dark blush crept into your cheeks. "Thanks, Jackie. You look handsome as always."

He rolled his eyes fondly, opened the passenger door, and helped you inside.

You hadn't been lying. He did look good. He always looked good, but you especially liked him dressed down. He was wearing dark jeans, a slightly too-tight black t-shirt, and boots. A simple outfit, but on him it might as well have been couture.

You sometimes joked about the woes of having a hot best friend. You always told him you'd have to beat the ladies back with a stick, even when he was still wearing his wedding ring.

"How much trouble are you three planning on getting into tonight?" Jack asked as he started the truck.

"That depends," Trinity answered.

"On?"

"How quickly we find (Y/N) a suitable lover for the night."

"Oh my god," you muttered under your breath.

Jack laughed loudly. "Jesus, Santos."

"What? We established that was the goal for tonight!"

"Maybe we don't word it quite like that in front of Jack," Ellis chided with a small grin.

"Thank you, Ellis. Decorum." Jack's voice was light and teasing, but you swore you heard a little undercurrent of strain.

"Decorum? Really? Sounds like we need to get you laid too."

"Fucking hell," he muttered with a laugh. "Were you pregaming, kid?"

Santos grinned wickedly. "You bet your ass I was."

"I'm so glad you're not on the nightshift." He shot you a wink and you smiled in return.

That smile stole his heart for the thousandth time. It was his all-time favorite look of yours. He'd kill to see it every day for the rest of his life.

When you arrived, the four of you immediately gathered at the bar, ready to get some liquid courage--or maybe that was just for you. You ordered a drink and dug into your small bag for your credit card to open a tab.

Before you could even get it out, Jack was sliding his card across the bar. "I've got it, sweetheart."

"I was gonna start a tab."

"And?"

"Well, I don't know how much I'm going to drink."

He gave you an odd look then turned back to the bartender. "Put all her drinks on my card for the night."

"Jack--"

"Don't complain about free drinks," Trinity muttered from your other side.

You sighed. "Fine, but I'm only having two drinks."

"Suit yourself," Ellis said with a smile. "I plan on having at least four."

Jack got himself a water and leaned back against the bar so he could look around. You were holding your small bag in front of you, hands fiddling with the strap nervously. "Gimme your bag, sweetheart. I'll hold onto it for you."

"You sure?"

He held out his hand in response and you handed him the bag. Neither Ellis or Santos had brought one, but Santos did slip off her jacket and hand it to Jack.

"Go dance and have fun, ladies. I'll be over here if you need me."

Ellis and Santos made their way to the dance floor without argument. You, however, turned to face him, concern etched on your pretty face. "Is your leg hurting?"

Jack hated how well you knew him sometimes. "It's a little sore, but I'm alright." Just one more thing he wished were different. One more reason he wasn't good enough for you.

You stepped toward him, hand coming to rest on his forearm. "Jackie..."

"I'm fine, sweetheart," he assured you softly, placing a hand on top of yours and squeezing it. "Go have fun."

"I want you to have fun too."

"I'm here with you. What could be more fun than that?"

You huffed a laugh and rolled your eyes. "Cheesy as hell."

He merely grinned and waved you off. "Go on. Santos looks like she's two seconds from stomping over here to get you."

You looked over your shoulder and both women waved at you enthusiastically. "Alright...if you're sure?"

"Very. Go."

You gave him one last look, expression soft but unreadable. Then you were walking away and it took all of his self-control to not stare at the sway of your hips as you crossed the room.

The same could not be said for most of the other men in the bar. Several were eyeing you like you were prey--and they were apex predators. Jack didn't like the way their eyes on you made him feel, but he pushed the feeling down deep.

He told himself you were a big girl and you could take care of yourself, even if all he wanted to do was take care of you himself. His protective instincts had always flared up when you were around, but lately they'd risen to a new level of intensity.

It drove him crazy watching one guy after another approach you, but you turned each one away. Some of them took it well, others looked more than a little annoyed. Ellis and Santos never strayed too far from you, and Jack felt confident they would defend you if you needed it.

About 30 minutes later, you made your way back toward the bar, assumedly to get another drink, but to Jack's surprise, you eased your way to him.

"Having fun, sweetheart?"

You shrugged. "It's not as fun without you."

He chuckled in an attempt to cover the tightening in his chest. "I'm not a very good dancer on the best of days anyway."

"Maybe not, but your presence is always a welcome one."

"You've had plenty of potential dance partners come up to you," he teased softly.

"Yeah, but none of them are--" You bit your lip, stopping yourself mid-sentence. You'd been about to say 'none of them are you' when your brain caught up with your damn mouth. You'd had one drink--what the hell had gotten into you?

Jack raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but you waved him off. "I'm gonna get another drink."

"Use my card!" he called as you stalked off toward the bartender.

Jack wondered what you'd been about to say when you cut yourself off. He knew what he wanted you to say, but odds were not in his favor. You were probably just not interested in any of the men who'd approached you thus far, and that was just fine. Hell, a big part of him hoped none of them interested you. Ever.

As the night went on, you had a couple more drinks, but you were still mostly sober. Certainly too tipsy to drive, but not too intoxicated to make decisions.

At some point, you'd lost track of Ellis, but you weren't worried. If anyone could take care of themselves, it was her. Trinity was still close by, but you could tell she was a little off.

"Trin? You okay?"

"I texted Garcia."

You groaned. "We talked about this--"

"I know! I know. I just--I miss her."

Before you could say anything, her phone lit up. You knew by her facial expression exactly who it was.

"She's asking me to come over."

"Trinity..."

"I won't go if you don't want me to leave."

Honestly, you didn't want her to go, but that was more for her own heart than any needs of yours. But you couldn't bring yourself to tell her to stay. "Do you wanna go?"

She shifted on her feet--an answer in and of itself.

"Alright, fine. Go."

"Are you sure?"

"Go before I change my mind." You gave her a tight hug. "Be safe and text me when you get there."

"I will."

You watched her make her way through the growing crowd. You still had no idea where Parker was and you could no longer see Jack sitting at the bar. You decided to start in the direction you'd last seen him when someone bumped into you from the side.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry!"

You looked up at the man who'd run into you, jaw slackening slightly as you took him in. He was tall, incredibly handsome, and quite fit. You were sure your body should be responding to his attractiveness, but you felt nothing. No heat. No desire. Nada.

"That's alright," you said with a smile. "It's crowded."

He smiled back at you. "Yeah, a bit." He stuck out his hand for you to shake. "I'm Tyler."

You took it and offered your name.

"Could I buy you a drink?"

You debated it for a moment before deciding it couldn't hurt. "Sure."

His smile widened and he gestured for you to walk with him to the bar. He ordered himself a drink and then one for you. While the bartender made them, he turned his body toward you and began asking questions.

"You here with anyone?"

"Yeah, a couple of my friends." You glanced around. "They're somewhere in here."

He nodded. "Celebrating anything or just out for fun?"

"Just fun."

"It's my friend's birthday, but he's making out in a booth with some chick he met, so we've all kind of dispersed."

You chuckled, feeling slightly annoyed with yourself. The whole point of tonight was to get laid, and a perfectly attractive man was buying you a drink and chatting you up, but you felt absolutely nothing. Not even the hint of attraction.

"I saw you dancing earlier," he commented. "You've got moves."

You let out a genuine laugh. "Now you're just full of shit."

He laughed too. "I'm serious!"

You rolled your eyes with a smile. Your lips parted to make another joke, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw a flash of gray curls across the room. You felt your chest tighten as your head swung in that direction, instinctively drawn to him.

Your eyes landed on Jack as he was leaving the bathroom, weaving his way through the crowd back to his spot at the bar. You noted the slight limp in his step and your whole body ached for him. You hated seeing him in pain--you'd do anything to ease it. Anything.

Unbeknownst to you, your drink had arrived behind you, and Tyler was still chattering away. But from across the room, Jack's hazel eyes met yours and you felt your body awaken for the second time tonight. You inhaled sharply as his keen gaze swept over your face before he offered you a tight smile. You returned the expression, silently confirming you were okay.

"Your drink, madam."

You turned your attention back to Tyler and smiled as you took the drink from his hand. "Thank you."

You lifted the glass toward your lips, only to stop when you heard a sharp voice yell, "Don't drink that!"

A girl you didn't know appeared beside you and snatched the drink right out of your hand. You gasped in surprise. "Sorry?"

"He put something in your drink," she said with absolute certainty. "I saw him."

You looked up at Tyler and knew without a doubt the girl was correct. He looked angry, but beneath it was a shred of guilt you could just barely make out.

You took the drink back from the girl's hand and splashed it directly into Tyler's face. "Sick fuck," you snapped.

Tyler lunged at you, but a guy behind him pulled him back. The commotion got the bouncer's attention as well as Jack's, both of which moved toward your location with surprising haste.

The bouncer grabbed ahold of Tyler and pulled him away just as Jack reached your side. "Sweetheart--you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." You looked toward the girl who'd saved you. "Thanks for that. Seriously."

She gave you a small smile. "Happy to help." She eyed Jack warily. "You know him?"

For the first time in a while, a genuine smile spread across your lips. "Yeah. I'm safe with him."

She nodded and gave you a squeeze on the arm. "Stay safe."

"Thanks. You too." You watched as she walked off to rejoin her friends.

"What the hell happened?" Jack asked, bringing your attention back to him.

"Can you take me home?"

He looked slightly startled. "Of course." He flagged down the bartender. "Let me close out and we can go. Grab the girls, okay?"

"Trin left to go meet up with Garcia. I don't know where Parker is."

"She's over there." He gestured off to the left past the dance floor. "She was making out with some girl the last I saw."

"Okay, let me see if she's still over there."

Jack nodded and watched you weave through the crowd. His adrenaline had spiked when he heard the girl yell and again when he saw you splash your drink in some guy's face. He knew you were okay--but he still couldn't quite get his heart rate to return to normal.

You saw Ellis sitting in a booth, chatting with a very pretty woman. "Hey, Parker, Jackie and I are gonna head out. Do you wanna come?"

She turned to you and offered a warm smile. "I'm alright, (Y/N/N)."

You nodded. "Text me when you get home. Trin went to Garcia's."

She groaned and shook her head. "Of course she did." She stood up and gave you a tight hug. "Love you, be safe."

"I'll be with Jack." As you said it, you realized it was true--Jack was safe. More than that, Jack was your safe space, the place you went when the world felt unbearable. He'd protect you with his life--you wouldn't even have to ask. No one had ever made you feel as protected as Jack did.

A surge of heat blossomed in your stomach and you finally acknowledged the feeling for what it was--desire. You wanted Jack Abbot. Badly.

Parker was watching your face as realization sunk into you. "If you're done being an idiot, I suggest you go and get your man."

Your jaw dropped. "What?"

"Oh please. The two of you have been running circles around each other for months. It's high time one of you makes a damn move."

"How the hell did you know I wanted him before I even knew?!" you asked incredulously.

She shrugged. "It was obvious to everyone but the two of you. Shen and I talk about it all the time. We both noticed when you two stopped being best friends and became something more--even if neither of you knew it."

You were shocked straight down to your core. Absolutely floored. How did you have no idea you wanted him when everyone else could see it? "I-I have to go."

She laughed and gave you another hug. "Yeah I know. Get moving."

You squeezed her tightly before turning and practically bolting back in Jack's direction. How could you have been so stupid? So blind? Everything you'd ever wanted had been right in front of you.

You were so in your head you didn't even notice he was physically in front of you until you ran directly into his strong chest.

"Woah, easy there sweetheart." His hands gripped your arms to steady you.

"Can we go? Please?"

"Yeah, c'mon." He edged his body ahead of you to make a pathway to the door.

You followed along behind him, thinking about how incredible this man was. All the small things he'd done for you over the years, all the ways he made you feel understood, all the times he'd been there when you needed him.

You couldn't identify the exact moment things had changed for you, but tonight had been eye-opening. You didn't even know when you'd fallen in love with him--all you knew was that you had.

"Sweetheart, are you sure you're alright?" Jack asked softly as he held the passenger door open for you.

You hadn't even realized you'd made it outside--too lost in your thoughts to register anything in the real world. "I'm good, Jackie. Really good."

He eyed you for a moment before nodding his acceptance. "C'mon pretty lady, get your behind in the truck."

You laughed, taking his outstretched hand as he helped you in. You inhaled deeply when he shut the door, taking in the scent that permeated the truck--his scent.

Jack climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. "Seatbelt," he prodded gently.

"Oh!" You fastened it quickly, and he stared at you for a long moment before pulling out of the parking spot.

"Did you have too much to drink?"

"I had four drinks."

"You sure that's all?"

You shot him an amused glare. "Yes, Jack. I'm sure."

He chuckled, throwing his hands in the air in mock surrender. "You're acting strangely, that's all."

"Well I did almost get drugged."

"What?!"

"Yeah, the dude I tossed my drink on--he put something in it."

"Jesus Christ." He ran a hand over his face. "That's why that girl told you not to drink it."

"Yeah."

"Fuck." Jack's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "I shoulda been there."

"It's okay. Nothing actually happened."

"But it could've. If you'd gotten hurt--if that son of a bitch had done something to you..." he trailed off. "I-I don't know what I would've done."

Jack did know what he would have done. He knew exactly what he would have done. He would've broken his oath to do no harm, but he could guarantee that guy would've never hurt another girl again.

You reached out and placed a gentle hand on his arm, trying to soothe him. "I'm alright, Jackie. Nothing happened."

He glanced over at you and his heart ached with the need to hold you. He needed to feel it for himself--to know for sure you were okay. You were unharmed. You were safe.

"I'd do anything to protect you, you know," he murmured softly.

"I know."

The rest of the short ride to your apartment was silent. When he pulled into the parking lot, you decided to take the leap.

"Will you come up?"

Jack turned to you in surprise. "It's late--you sure you don't wanna go to bed?"

You shook your head. "Please?"

"'Course, sweetheart." He pulled into a parking spot and hopped out.

You knew better than to even try to get out before he opened your door. You'd made that mistake a grand total of one time early on in your friendship and you'd gotten an earful for it.

When the door opened, you slid out and adjusted your dress. "Thanks, Jackie."

He merely grunted quietly and shut the door. He walked beside you in silence, mind running a mile a minute as he tried to figure out what was happening in that pretty head of yours. He knew something was up, he just couldn't figure out what.

The moment the two of you crossed the threshold of your apartment, you turned to face him, eyes filled with an unreadable emotion. "I need to tell you something."

"Okay."

"Do-do you wanna sit down?"

He shook his head. "Just tell me, sweetheart."

For a long moment, you said nothing. A moment so long, he began to feel real fear. Did you somehow figure out how he felt about you? Were you mad at him? Was the friendship over? Was he about to lose the only thing in his life that truly mattered to him?

You had no idea he was panicking as you tried to find the right words to say. Everything that came into your mind sounded wrong. At some point, you realized it didn't matter what you said--you needed to just say something.

"I'm in love with you," you blurted, shocking Jack to his very core.

"You-you, uh-you're what?"

Panic settled deep in your chest and you wondered if you'd just made a terrible mistake. Had Ellis been wrong? Did Jack not feel the same way you did? Did you just blow up four years of friendship?

"I, um-I--"

Jack's body moved of its own volition, taking a step toward you. His brain caught up and the most intense surge of desire he'd ever felt swept through him. "Say it again."

Your lips parted in surprise, but you complied. "I'm in love with you."

Jack took another step, leaving less than six inches between you. He reached out and placed a steady hand on your hip, tugging you closer. "Say it again, baby," he whispered, sounding absolutely wrecked.

Your heart skipped a beat as your panic subsided. You reached up and cupped his face as you leaned into his toned body. "I'm crazy, madly, deeply in love with you."

There was no fanfare. No cheering. No fireworks. Just the purest of emotions easing something inside both of you--and tying you together forever.

He was the first to move, yanking you so close your body was flush against his. His lips dropped to yours in a hungry kiss, filled with years of affection turned to love. He kissed you like his very life depended on it--like he would cease to exist without the feeling of your lips on his.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as you leaned into the kiss, allowing him to deepen it with the softest groan. His hands were hot against your hip and back as he held you--it was a feeling you'd never stop craving.

Eventually, he was forced to break the kiss to breathe, but he didn't move away. "It's wrong. It's quite possibly insane. But I don't give a damn anymore. I'm fucking crazy about you, (Y/N/N). I'm so in love with you it hurts."

You lifted one hand to brush through his curls. "Jackie..."

"I couldn't tell you, baby. I couldn't--" He exhaled heavily. "It felt so wrong to love you like this, to need you the way I do."

"There's nothing wrong with this," you whispered.

"People will talk."

"Let them."

"You're still a resident."

"I don't give a damn. I've only got four months left."

"I'm old and broken--"

"You're not broken," you insisted. "And just because you're older than me doesn't mean you're old."

He rested his forehead against yours. "Are you sure you want this?"

"I've never been more certain of anything in my life."

"Baby, I need you to be a thousand percent sure. If we do this, I'm in it for the long haul. I don't do casual. I don't do no strings. I'm all in. If you want this, you get all of me."

You lowered your right hand to rest against his chest, feeling his heart thump beneath your palm. "I want everything with you, Jack."

He exhaled a shaky breath before pressing his lips to yours a second time. He loved kissing you. He loved feeling your body against his. He loved the soft sounds you made. He loved everything about you.

His hands slipped lower, cupping your ass slightly. "Jump f'me."

"Jackie--"

"I said jump."

His tone left no room for discussion, so you did as he asked. He caught you with surprising ease and you wrapped your legs around his waist. He carried you to your bedroom, ignoring the pain pulsing from his prosthetic. He'd be damned if he couldn't at least carry his girl to bed.

When he lowered you to your bed, you pulled him in with your legs, wedging him between them as you kissed him.

He groaned lowly as his hands traveled over your soft curves. "I fucking love your body."

You whimpered softly as your hands drifted under his shirt. "Wanna see yours."

He obligingly tugged his shirt off, allowing you an unobstructed view of his toned chest.

"Fucking hell, you're hot," you whispered.

He couldn't help but laugh at the awe in your voice. "So are you."

"Shhh. This is about you." You placed your hands on his chest and slowly caressed him, feeling every ridge, muscle, and divot on his torso. "I love your freckles. They're so pretty."

He was quiet as he let you explore, but he couldn't take his eyes off yours. You were observing his body with a reverence he hadn't experienced in a very long time. He was proud of the shape he was in, but when you looked at him like that? He felt like the sexiest man alive.

Your hands brushed against his shoulders before starting down his biceps, a soft sound of need escaping your lips. "I've always liked your arms," you admitted. "You're so strong."

He felt his cheeks darken as a wave of embarrassment hit him. "Well I don't know about all that--"

"You carried me. So shush."

He couldn't help the low chuckle that rumbled through his chest. "I love you."

You looked up at his face and smiled. "I love you too."

"Any chance I could see you now, pretty girl?"

You shifted slightly, head cocking to the side as you thought about it. "No. I haven't seen enough of you yet."

Your gaze immediately dropped to his pants, eyes widening when they landed on his very hard and very large erection straining against his jeans.

"Ho-ly fuuuuck..."

He laughed softly. "See something you like, sweetheart?"

"I'm about to," you muttered as you quickly undid his jeans and tugged them down. "Off. Take it all off."

He chuckled. "Yes ma'am."

He tugged his pants off first, then his boxer briefs. The moment his cock sprung up against his abdomen, your mouth began to water. It was the only thing you saw--the only thing that mattered to you in the moment.

It wasn't until you looked up to meet his heavy gaze that you realized he was nervous. "Baby? You okay?"

He nodded, but you weren't convinced.

"What's wrong?" He shifted slightly and you realized what it was. "Your leg?"

His cheeks darkened further, the red blush spreading down his neck. "I-I know it's not exactly attractive--"

"I love every part of you, Jack Abbot. Every part."

"I can't do as much as someone with both legs," he choked out. "I can't-I can't fuck you the way I want to."

You stood up then, bringing yourself a little closer to eye level with him. "I'm a doctor, Jack. You think I don't know that you come with some restrictions? Don't you dare think for one second I give a damn. I love you. I want you. I don't need tricks or theatrics. I just need you."

He melted against you, lips pressing up against yours in a desperate kiss of love and appreciation. He hadn't been with more than a couple women since his wife's death, and all of them had been one-night-stands. He didn't really care what they thought of him, not the way he cared about your opinion.

He didn't really know how badly he needed your affirmations until he heard them. His obsession with you only deepened in that moment, and his need for you increased tenfold. "Sweetheart, we gotta get this dress off. I need to see you."

You gripped the bottom hem of your dress and pulled it off over your head in one quick motion. You were incredibly thankful you'd worn a cute lace set--you had been hoping to get laid tonight after all.

Jack's eyes swept over the black lace covering your breasts with a barely concealed hunger. His eyes drifted lower, taking in the black lace covering your core and not much else. "Spin around f'me, baby."

You blushed slightly, but you obeyed, turning away from him.

"Slower."

Your body heeded the order immediately, even before your brain processed it fully. You could feel his heated gaze on you, even if you couldn't see him, and it made your skin prickle--you felt so incredibly alive.

"Can't believe you were hiding all this," he muttered to himself. "It's a shame to hide such perfection under clothes."

You couldn't help the little giggle that escaped at his compliment, a small smile firmly planted on your face as you turned back to face him again.

"Can I take this off?" he asked softly, running a calloused hand over the lace shielding you from his gaze.

You took your bottom lip into your mouth as you nodded, feeling slightly nervous for him to see all of you--completely and utterly bare.

He brushed his thumbs over your nipples through the lace, feeling them harden for him. "Use your words, pretty girl."

"Yes, Jack."

"Good girl," he murmured as he dipped his head down to mouth your nipples through the lace. His hands slipped behind your back to unhook your bra, letting your heavy breasts spill out as he dropped the garment to the floor.

"Christ have mercy." He cupped your breasts in his large hands, groaning at the feeling of their weight in his palms.

A soft gasp met his ears as he spun you around and pulled you firmly against him. His hands settled right back on your breasts as his lips pressed wet kisses into the curve of your neck.

"Jack--"

"What is it, baby?" he murmured against your skin, fingers rolling your nipples between them in an attempt to pull more of those sweet sounds from your lips. "What'dya need?"

You wiggled your ass back against him, feeling his cock press up against you--so close to where you wanted him, yet so far away. "More."

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm gonna give you more," he promised, lips never leaving your sensitive skin. "Just gotta be patient f'me."

You whined desperately, reaching behind you to thread your fingers into his hair. "Please Jackie."

"Patience, sweet girl. Let me take my time."

Every brush of his lips against your skin, every squeeze of his hands, and every subtle shift of his hips felt incredible--but it wasn't enough. The ache between your thighs, the pulsing need, was becoming unbearable.

"Jack, need you to touch me," you pleaded.

He chuckled lowly as his teeth grazed your shoulder. "I am touching you."

You whined again and gripped his hand in yours, trying to pull it down to where your soaked core yearned for his touch.

"Didn't I just tell you to be patient, sweetheart?"

"I can't," you whimpered. "Need you, Jackie. Waited so long. Please."

"Hmm," he hummed. "You have waited a long time...and you've been so good...maybe you do deserve a reward."

"I've been so good, Jack--so good. Please."

He chuckled. "Alright sweet thing. I've got you."

He nipped at your pulse point before laving his tongue over it to soothe the bite. His hand trailed lower, sliding down over the soaked lace.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned in your ear. "You're soaked."

You shifted your hips, desperately seeking friction against his hand.

"Uh-uh, don't move. Let me do the work."

His fingers pressed down on the lace, pushing it between your folds as he deftly sought your clit. The second he brushed against it, a jolt of pleasure shot through you, pulling a moan from deep in your throat.

Jack's cock throbbed painfully when he was pressed against you, that sweet little sound you made shooting right through him. "Shit."

His fingers dipped beneath the lace, pushing it to the side so he could feel your perfect pussy. He dragged his fingers through your wetness before slowly circling your clit--the pressure was too soft, too light. You tried to grind down on his hand, but he pulled it away with a soft 'tsk'.

"I promise I'll make you feel good, baby. Just let me." He kissed your neck as he dipped two of his fingers inside of you. "Jesus, you're tight."

You gasped at the intrusion, pulsating around his fingers as he stretched you out. "Jackieeeee. More."

"You want more? Hmm?"

You nodded rapidly.

"Tell me what you want."

"Faster."

He obliged, speeding up the thrusts of his fingers as he pressed firmly against your g-spot. Your legs began to shake, but he held you upright, keeping you pressed against his chest.

Jack placed open-mouth kisses everywhere he could reach, no longer able to keep his own need under control. "You gonna come for me? Gonna come all over my fingers?"

You squirmed in his hold, breathless moans and gasps the only sounds you could manage. Your nails dug into his forearm as you held on tightly, using him as support to remain standing.

"Go on," he murmured, thumb rubbing against your clit just the way you liked. "Let go f'me."

Your jaw dropped into an 'O' as the first pulse of your orgasm hit you. Your head fell back against his shoulder as he worked you through it, whispering sweetly into your ear.

"That's it, baby. I've got you."

His fingers only slowed as you started to come down from your high. You clawed at his arm and tried to squirm out of his grip, so he relented, pulling his fingers out of you and directly into his mouth.

You turned your head so you could watch him suck them clean, a little moan of enjoyment breaking from him as he licked them.

"Oh now I need more of that," he murmured. "C'mere."

He turned you around to face him and maneuvered you to sit on the edge of the bed. He gripped your underwear and tugged them off before dropping to his knees between your legs.

"Wait, Jack--no, your leg--"

The look he gave you silenced you instantly. "I'm fine, baby. I'm right where I wanna be."

"But--"

He silenced you by licking a fat stripe from the bottom of your pussy up to your clit. A moan escaped you as you tilted your head back in pleasure.

The position was uncomfortable for him, but it wasn't painful, so he pushed it aside and got to work eating your pussy like it was the one thing on earth he lived for.

"Oh my god, Jack." Your fingers tangled in his curls as your hips surged forward to meet his mouth.

He gave your hip a swat before laying a strong arm low across your lap to keep you in place.

The room filled with the sounds of him feasting on you--slurps, sucks, and muffled moans--mixed with the sounds of pure unadulterated pleasure escaping your open mouth.

Jack wanted to hear those sweet sounds for the rest of his life--he wanted to be the only one who ever heard them again. Those were his sounds, coming from his girl, from pleasure only he could give.

"Jack, please please--don't stop."

He groaned into you as he continued his ministrations. He had no intentions of stopping, certainly not now that he knew what you tasted like.

Your nails scraped against his scalp as your moans became louder and more frantic. He knew you were close, could feel it as certainly as if it were his own.

He wanted to beg you to come for him, to let him feel you, but he didn't dare stop.

"Oh god, oh god, ohh-ohh, Jack!"

His name was the last thing he heard before you tipped over the edge, pussy gushing juices into his waiting mouth, thick thighs wrapping around his head as he continued to lap up every drop you gave him.

"'s too much--" you whined, tugging on his hair as you tried to wriggle away from his mouth. "Jackieeeee."

He moaned into you, not wanting to leave his new favorite place. He only relented when you tugged so hard on his hair he worried you'd pull some out. He lifted his head and gazed up at you, a smug smirk settled firmly on his face.

"You taste fucking amazing, baby."

You released a breathy chuckle and shook your head.

"I would like to spend a few hours trapped between these pretty legs--but that can wait for another day."

Your eyes widened. "A few hours?"

He grinned wolfishly. "Sweetheart, I'd let you smother me with those perfect fucking thighs. I don't need oxygen--I just need you."

"You're insane," you whispered incredulously.

He pulled himself up with a groan of discomfort he tried to suppress. "Maybe a bit."

The pained sound had your expression softening instantly. "Baby--come up here and relax." You patted the bed beside you, urging him to join you.

He knew you were right and he was more than a little embarrassed by how quickly he collapsed onto the bed beside you. He watched in shock as you slid off the bed and placed a soft hand to his leg just above the prosthetic.

"Honey, what're you doing?"

"Let me take this off," you murmured sweetly. "Want you to be comfortable."

He felt the familiar embarrassment creeping up and filling his chest. No, no, no--you shouldn't have to do this--you shouldn't have to see him like this.

He reached down and grabbed your hand, stilling it before you could unfasten the socket. "Let's-let's just leave it on."

You cocked your head to the side, concern evident in your gaze. You knew it was uncomfortable, perhaps even painful, and he most certainly shouldn't be wearing it during sex.

You opened your mouth to say as much, but closed it when you caught the pained emotion in his hazel eyes. You realized there might not be anything you could say to convince him you didn't care--but you could show him.

You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the hand covering yours before lifting it and giving it a firm squeeze. You held his hand in your non-dominant one and used the other to unfasten his prosthetic.

His entire body tensed and his breathing became labored as you slowly removed the prosthetic. You released his hand and took the residual limb into both of yours, leaning down to press a kiss just above the liner.

Tears filled his eyes as he watched you, unable to fully grasp what was happening.

You slowly removed the sock, followed by the liner, soft hands massaging his irritated skin as you went. You knew residual limbs could be extremely sensitive, so you were incredibly gentle. Each touch was feather light and achingly sweet.

It filled his heart with an unnamable emotion, making his chest ache with each gentle pass of your hands.

To his utter surprise, you lowered your head again and began to place the gentlest of kisses to what remained of his lower leg. You were so incredibly reverent, so gentle, it hurt to witness.

"Baby," he whispered hoarsely. "Baby, come up here."

You looked up at him, chest tightening at the sight of tears staining his cheeks. "Jackie..."

"Please," he begged. "I need to kiss you."

Your heart hammered in your chest as you ran your hands up his strong thighs, using them as leverage to stand up.

"C'mere." He pulled you into him and kissed you deeply.

This kiss was different from all the ones that had come before. He poured every ounce of love he had for you into the kiss, along with gratitude and appreciation for what you had just done.

For the first time in a long time, Jack Abbot felt whole.

"I need you," he murmured against your lips.

"You have me."

He knew it was true--knew it always would be--but right now, he needed the physical manifestation of your love. Needed it like he needed air to breathe.

He pulled away from you so he could move himself back onto the bed. Once he was comfortably situated against the headboard, he beckoned you toward him.

"C'mere sweet girl. Let me make love to you."

The smile that crossed your face was painfully soft, but he could see the hunger hidden beneath it.

You crawled across the bed before climbing onto his lap, straddling his hips and leaning down to kiss him.

He moaned into the kiss when you slid your wet folds up the length of his cock, mixing with the soft needy sound you made.

He felt your hand wrap around his cock, gripping it tightly as you lined him up with your entrance. He gasped into your mouth as you began to slowly lower yourself onto him, soft whimpers escaping your lips as your body stretched to accommodate his size.

"Holy fuck, you're tight," he groaned lowly once you were fully seated.

You shifted your hips, preparing to ride him, but his grip on you tightened.

"Wait--wait. Just-just give me a second."

"Are you okay?" you asked worriedly.

"I'm about to embarrass myself by coming too fast," he admitted. He groaned when your pussy clenched around him as you stifled a laugh. "It's not funny. You just feel so goddamn incredible."

"It's kinda funny," you teased.

He smacked your ass affectionately, but with a little bit of a warning. "For that, I'm getting two more out of you."

Your eyes widened dramatically, the look almost comical. "Jack, I-I've never--"

"Come during sex? Yeah, baby I know."

"I don't really think I can," you admitted quietly.

"Bullshit. You've just never had someone willing to try."

The dark blush that crept up your cheeks solidified his resolve.

"I'll fuck this pretty pussy until I pass out if that's what it takes to make you come," he growled.

"Jack," you gasped, eyes wide once more.

"It might take me a little time, but I'm gonna learn this perfect little body inside and out--I wanna know everything you like, and I'll give you everything you need."

You bit your lip as your heart skipped a beat. "I love you."

He grinned warmly. "I love you too, pretty girl. Now why don't you move those hips, hmm? Let's see how quickly I can make my girl come."

He tapped your hip affectionately for emphasis and you started to move. You lifted yourself up and down, finding the right rhythm for both of you.

Jack's head leaned back against the headboard, but he kept his eyes locked on you. He was gauging your enjoyment, learning what made you whimper and what made you cry out. He was determined to prove to you there was nothing wrong with you.

He pulled your torso forward slightly, changing the angle his cock entered you with each downward motion. Your face changed instantly, mouth dropping open in a gasp.

Your hands grasped for purchase on his chest as the most intense wave of pleasure you'd ever felt crashed through you. "Oh, fuck--Jack!"

"Yeah? Right there?"

"There--there, there, there," you cried out. "Pleasepleasepleaseplease."

He did what he could to thrust up and meet each of your downward thrusts, gritting his teeth at how tightly your pussy squeezed him and pulsed around him.

"I've got you, baby. Just let go, okay?"

"Feels s'good, Jackie," you whimpered.

"I know. You're doing so good f'me. Just breathe. Let it happen."

Your body started to shake and you began to lose your rhythm. Jack gripped your hips tightly and helped you keep up the pace.

"Oh god-oh god-oh god--Jack!" Your head dropped back in a silent cry as your pussy spasmed around him.

He kept the pace as steady as he could, prolonging your orgasm as long as possible.

"Jack--I-I can't--"

"You're alright, baby. I've got you."

You collapsed on his chest and he wrapped his arms tightly around you to hold you in place.

"Did so well for me." He rolled his hips. "So, so good."

You breathed heavily against his chest as you placed open-mouthed kisses to the column of his throat.

Jack's own orgasm was steadily approaching, but he was desperate to feel you come on his cock one more time. It very well may have been his favorite feeling in the world.

He rolled his hips up into you in a steady rhythm. He couldn't pound up into you the way he wanted, but he'd be damned if he didn't make you feel as good as he could.

"Can I try something, honey?" he whispered.

"Mhmm. Anything."

He chuckled softly, your trust in him warming something deep in his chest. He kissed the side of your head and rolled you over as best he could.

You giggled sweetly as you arranged yourself beneath him, allowing him to properly hover over you. He grabbed a pillow and wedged it under his leg, hoping to give himself some more stability.

He thrust back inside you and your legs wrapped around him instinctively, pulling him even farther into you.

"Fuck," he groaned, dropping his forehead to yours. "How're you even tighter like this?"

You blushed and tried to duck your head into his arm.

"Uh-uh, nope. Lemme see that beautiful face."

You turned back to him and he grinned, leaning in to kiss you sweetly.

"There she is."

He started to thrust into you properly, the pillow beneath his leg giving him the extra leverage he needed to keep up a proper pace.

"Tell me how it feels, baby," he begged softly.

"So good, Jack," you moaned. "You're so big."

His chest puffed out with pride, hips snapping forward with more speed and force. "Yeah? Filling up your perfect pussy better than anyone else, huh?"

"Yes!" Your back arched up into him, a desperate moan clawing its way out from deep in your chest.

"Yeah, you were made for me. Made to take my cock."

He glanced down to where your bodies met and his eyes widened slightly. He could see his cock bulging out in your lower belly with each thrust.

"Holy fuck, baby," he groaned. "You see that? My cock is so fuckin' deep."

He pressed down on your lower abdomen and you cried out as the feeling of fullness increased.

"Please, Jack!"

"Please, what baby? Tell me what you need."

"Touch me-touch me."

"Where, honey? Tell me where."

You whined, barely able to form a complete thought in your head, let alone a sentence. You grabbed his hand and shoved it between your thighs. "Please!"

Jack was so desperate to feel you come again he didn't make you say what you needed. He started to massage your clit rapidly as he continued to thrust into you.

"Don't-don't stop."

"Wouldn't dream of it, baby."

He was true to his word, hips never faltering, thumb moving against your clit with precision just the way you needed.

You felt the familiar tightening low in your belly, but it felt different this time--more intensity, more pressure. You suddenly weren't sure if you could have another orgasm--it felt wrong, like it was just too much.

"Jackie, I-I don't--"

"Don't what, sweetheart?"

"I-I can't."

"Come on baby, you can do it," he urged. "Just relax f'me. Let go."

"It's too-too much!"

"Shh, I've got you. Let me feel it, baby. C'mon."

Something about the way Jack coaxed you had you falling apart beneath him with a strangled cry of his name. He felt the warm gush of liquid splash against his abdomen and he realized with smug satisfaction that you'd just squirted.

"Oh fuck, yes, baby. That's it. So fucking good f'me," he praised as he chased his own high. "God, you're so fucking perfect. Gonna fill you up, baby. Make you mine."

"Yours," you whimpered breathlessly.

"Fuck," he groaned as his pace faltered and his hips began to stutter. "Gonna come--fuuuuuck."

One, two, three more thrusts was all it took for him to fall apart. Hot spurts of his cum painted your walls as he continued thrusting, desperate to keep as much of it inside you as possible.

As his high began to fade, he collapsed on top of you, whispering your name like a prayer into your bare chest.

Your brain took several minutes to fully process the intensity of the last several minutes, slowly coming back to yourself as his weight grounded you.

You felt warmer than usual between your legs--significantly wetter too. In fact, you were fairly certain you were lying in a puddle of liquid. That had certainly never happened before.

"Jackie."

"Hmmm?" he hummed against your skin.

"I--why am I so wet?"

Jack's responding chuckle reverberated through his chest and into yours. "That'd be because you squirted, my love."

"I-I what?!" Mortification slammed into you as your brain processed his words.

He could sense your embarrassment so he lifted himself up just enough to see your face. Your cheeks were burning and your head was tilted away from him. You looked like you were about ready to crawl into a hole and never come out.

"Hey. Hey, sweetheart. C'mon. Look at me."

You turned your head toward him, but your eyes didn't quite meet his.

"You went from never coming during sex, to having two orgasms and fucking squirting. Do you know how fucking proud that makes me feel? I did that. I made my girl squirt."

"Really?"

"Fuck yeah, baby. Now I've gotta make it my mission to get you to do it again."

Your blush deepened, but a little smile had softened your features. "You really think it's hot?"

"It's the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen."

"Now you're just full of shit."

"Nope. I'd chop off my other leg to see it again."

"Jack Abbot!" You smacked his chest, but the laughter that bubbled up was undeniable.

"Not even kidding. This body of yours was made for me."

Your expression softened. "The feeling's mutual, Jackie."

He brushed the hair off your forehead and offered you the sweetest smile you'd ever seen. "I love you, baby."

"I love you too, Jack."

"What'dya say we get cleaned up, hmm? Take a nice shower and maybe get a snack?"

"That sounds nice."

"I'll help you change the sheets too."

You smacked him affectionately. "I hate you."

He grinned. "No you don't."

"You're right. Not even close."

He kissed you again and you lost yourself in the feeling of his lips against yours. You still had plenty of things to discuss, but they could wait. For now, all you needed was his arms around you and the knowledge that no matter what happened, you had each other.

The friends from high school– ones you had never seen since, much to your mother’s delight, since heading for different colleges– had shown you how to smoke, had cut class with you to sneak off to the strip mall, had laughed at you when you told them that you’d never been kissed. What would they say now that you were pressed close on a bench with a silver fox, all alone out the side door of a hard-to-navigate wedding venue?

For a little while you both sat there, slowly smoking and enjoying the quiet moment after the utter chaos of the day so far.

“Your mom told me that you were a good girl, you know,” Jack said as he looked you over again, and his eyes definitely rested on the bust of your green sundress that pushed your cleavage up. Before you could even formulate a response to that he shook his head. “Can’t be that good if you’re bumming a smoke from a perfect stranger.”

“You’re not a stranger,” you protested. “Robby always calls you his brother. Doesn’t that make you my, uh. Uncle?”

He laughed, tipping his head back, and it was almost a cruel sound. Like you’d fucked up, and you started to shrink into yourself, pulling away from where your bare leg brushed against him.

“Hey, no,” he said quickly, as soon as he noticed, and put his hand on your knee, rubbing his thumb in a reassuring motion. “Sorry. You’re just gonna kill me, kid.”

Your phone buzzed loudly in the little clutch next to you, but you didn’t move a muscle to grab it. Probably the wedding planner, asking where the hell you’d gotten off to. You ignored it, not wanting to break the spell of Jack next to you and touching you and looking at you with those dark eyes.

But then his phone rang, too, and the spell was broken. He reached into his pocket with his free hand to check his messages and he frowned. 

“Duty calls,” he said, and used his hand on your knee to help himself push up from the bench. Once he’s standing he wasn’t touching you anymore and you frowned, looking down at your leg. “I know, but we can catch up later,” he said, as if he could read your mind, and when you look up he’s got a hand still outstretched like he wanted to put his hand under your chin.

The door to the venue opened and someone yelled looking for you.

“On my way,” you called back.

His hand redirected itself to help you up, his touch lingering for a touch longer than it needed to once you’re on your feet. 

“Come on,” he said, and then you both quickly stubbed out your cigarettes and hustled back inside.

With the chaos, you never had a second alone with him again that night, and even though you didn’t dare look at him for too long, you could feel him watching you. Right in front of your step dad like it was nothing, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You didn’t even have his phone number or his email or anything. But with Robby moving into your house, and them being close as brothers, you figured it wouldn’t be too long until you saw him again.

⊹ ⊹

Robby’s note popped into your inbox halfway through fall semester, when reading something from him was actually kind of nice for once, since it was anything else besides studying for midterms.

Jack’s deployed– I think I mentioned that? It would mean alot to him if you’d drop him a line, he put in the email, after a picture of the bathroom that was getting remodeled and a reminder to get some sleep and practice safer sex. God, he emailed like such an old person.

His email address was the first and only direct line you had to Jack: he wasn’t on facebook, and after the wedding you’d seen him once at a seafood place when your mom and Robby invited a few of their friends out for dinner. The group was too small for you to make any move, to try to lean in close and ask for his number or anything of the sort. He smiled at you, but when you didn’t approach him he seemed to accept that and kept his distance.

You drafted the email on your phone without really knowing what to say– hi, hope you’re okay, see any good movies lately? It sounded so awkward and stilted, because you didn’t know this guy: you just had one almost flirty moment together and you’d just sometimes thought about his fingers on your thigh, his eyes tracking you across the room, his deep voice right in your ear while your hand was down your underwear in your dorm room all alone.

A new notification popped up from Kyle that just made you sigh with annoyance. 

I want to see you

please? one picture? maybe 2?

we’re both stressed out, yeah? It’ll help :)

The texts came one after another, all time stamped 2:01, and it was honestly as good as a you up text since you’d been hooking up with him on and off all semester since that Kappa party during syllabus week.

But he was right: you were stressed, and you wouldn’t be opposed to going over to his place later that week. Might as well.

You took two pictures– tasteful, your face but no nudity in one and your bare body but no face in the second. You answered the door for your drunk roommate who forgot her key again, and then refilled her water from the fountain downstairs, and then remembered to finish off your email to Jack and send it, and then cleared away all the books on your desk, and then finally texted the pictures to Kyle.

Midterms could not end soon enough, your brain was fried. You collapse into bed, your alarm set for not enough hours of sleep.

Hot, Kyle texted back with a dick pic. You rolled your eyes and put your phone down for the night, not thinking twice about the email.

How could you know that Jack got back to his bunk after a long shift, pulled out his laptop to check his emails, and saw a letter from you that made him smile before he even opened it.

Hi Uncle Jack, you’d written at the top, and he knew already that he was going to repeat himself in the email, call you kid and say you’re killing me. 

How could you know that the two attachments took their sweet time to download on his shitty internet access? He finished reading what you wrote– boring, mostly, aside from mentioning a party which made him want to ask what was in the punch– and you hadn’t mentioned the two jpegs. Probably pictures from before the party, or of your dorm room since you’d talked about that, too.

How could you know that he’d just taken a sip of water when the first one finally loaded, you in a full length mirror wearing just lace panties and an arm covering your nipples, pressing your boobs up to emphasize your cleavage. He sputtered and coughed, and leaned in to check to make sure it was really your face, smiling in the selfie. Looking a little coy, a little mischievous.

How could you know that he clicked over to the next picture, still just a buffering sign, and waited with his eyes wide to see what the fuck that one could be? He was almost prepared for it when it loaded, your smile at the top corner of the frame and your fully naked body in the mirror. 

How could you know that he thought about deleting them, for one single heartbeat. It would be the right thing to do, since you probably hadn’t meant to send them. But he wanted to hold onto these, and with everything else in his life being kind of shit– who was he to deny himself that?

You didn’t check your personal email again til the next night, too busy before that with a full day of studying as well as a midday trip to Kyle’s dorm that was thoroughly fine but not what you’d been looking for. 

Jack had replied, and you read over it quickly– he answered with info about his own room he was sleeping in (a single with no roommate, unlike you) and what movies he’d seen recently and at the end, a paragraph you didn’t expect.

You’re so gorgeous. The people around you are so fuckin’ lucky, do they know that? Thanks for the photos, I’ll keep them in a safe place.

There’s a photo at the end of the email, a selfie of Jack on the weight bench at the gym in one of those tank tops that’s barely there, and you have to read his note again to try to make sense of it. Photos?

You felt your cheeks flush with heat when you look back at what you’d sent him.

But when you replied, an hour later, you added two more photos– older ones, since you’re too tired to pose in the mirror again, one from when you were tipsy after a party and smiling so wide in the skimpiest dress you’d ever worn and another nude picture you’d sent to Kyle some weeks back.

If you like them, I have more, you wrote at the end of your otherwise boring email.

⊹ ⊹

“Did you ever email Jack?” Robby asked a week into your winter break as you’re cleaning up after breakfast on his day off. 

You were so glad that your back was to him because you knew you made the stupidest expression for a moment, your eyes widening and a little grin before you bit it back and shrugged like it was no big deal. 

“I did,” you answered. “You were right, he is easy to talk to.”

You didn’t mention that the last two months, ever since midterms, you’d been emailing him, calling sometimes when your schedules lined up, and sending pictures and videos that he always replied so nicely to, always along the lines of gorgeous and just what I needed, goddamn.

“Do you know how long he’ll be gone?” You hadn’t wanted to ask, had wanted to keep your messages positive. 

“Spring, probably,” Robby answered, looking up from his newspaper. “Why?”

“Just wondering how long I’ll be emailing for,” you answered, and with a clean kitchen you bounded up to your bedroom.

Unlike your dorm room, this one was private, so you could actually take your time. You’d even looked up some tips on editing, downloaded some software that you hoped hadn’t given your laptop any viruses, so that you could do more than just hurriedly record yourself getting off while your roommate was at a party or in class.

“I got this for myself yesterday,” you said into your camera once it’s propped up against your bookshelf. You held up a dildo, sort of a ridiculous blue color, but you’d been flustered at the sex shop and had wanted to get out quickly so you’d just grabbed something.

You skimmed your hands over your body and moaned and put on a bit of a show for Jack, and cried out his name during your second climax without even planning to. When you were panting and idly playing with your nipple, you looked right into the camera and smiled for him. “Hope you liked that, Jack,” you said before getting up to turn off the camera.

When you came down for lunch, Robby was still in the living room, flipping through some medical journal. He looked up at you and raised his eyebrows.

“Studying?”

“Just a project for myself,” you replied with a smile.

So perfect for me, he wrote back the next day and had a photo of himself, naked in his bed. He was splayed out, his arm holding the phone out to try to get all of him from his strong shoulders and abs all the way down to where he’d taken off his leg for the night. His selfie skills had improved since the time he first asked if you wanted a dick pic, rather than just shirtless ones. You were pretty sure that he was doing his own research, just like you were.

⊹ ⊹

For spring semester you settled into school again, classes that you mentioned in your emails along with the photos and hurried videos. 

Are you having fun at school? I’m not distracting you? Jack asked once, as if he was worried that he was holding you back from some part of college. You got drunk that weekend at a party and got your friend to record you shotgunning a beer, and sent that along with a picture with your glassy-eyed smile to him on Saturday night. 

I’m doing everything I want, you told him. You wondered if he was worried about you sleeping with someone else– you hadn’t talked about it, but you’d quit talking to that guy Kyle after you realized that thinking about Jack, thousands of miles away, made you come way harder than he’d ever been able to do. I just want to be talking with you.

He called you my sweet girl the next time in a recording he sent, the repetitive sounds of jacking himself off quiet as he groaned and said all mine before he came. You saved the track onto your phone and listened to it again as you walked back from class.

Robby emailed again two weeks before spring break, double checking that you would be driving home and hadn’t made some other plans.

I wish you were here, you wrote to Jack the next day. Then I’d just lie and tell him that I was going to see my boyfriend. 

You laughed aloud when he didn’t seem to mind that. The idea of his best friend– your mom’s new husband who sent you amazon gift cards and reminded you to eat vegetables from the cafeteria– finding out about your relationship was so wild that you didn’t clock his exact wording until the second time you read through it. 

I would tell him myself that I’m your boyfriend and that I wanted all your time, no lies needed.

Your boyfriend. It sounded so juvenile, but you hadn’t had one before. You tell your friend after class about your boyfriend with a dreamy lilt in your voice. 

He can not know, you clarified to Jack. If he knew– if your mom knew– you’d be mortified. Your mom had still called you her little girl when she posted about your twenty-first birthday on her facebook wall.

Whatever you say, cutie.

As it was, you didn’t really have spring break plans. You were going to study some, and make another backlog of the louder, better videos for Jack. Maybe go see a baseball game with Robby, since you’d first met him a year ago the last time you'd come home for spring break when he took you and your mom to a Pirates game. It could be the start of a sweet tradition even if your mom was going to be out of town for work. 

Robby’s email the last day before you were supposed to drive back to Pittsburgh left you utterly speechless. Heads up, Saturday afternoon I’m picking Jack up from the airport– did he tell you? If you get in early you can go with but you might still be driving. He’ll be with us for dinner either way.

He had not told you, and you were tempted to email Jack to demand answers. But if he was supposed to be back in Pittsburgh by the afternoon, you couldn’t even begin to guess where he was now or what time zone he was dealing with.

You had planned to sleep in on Saturday, get home whenever, but if seeing Jack is on the line, you set your alarm for five and went to bed early without an email. It was only the second time you’d skipped sending something, even just a line or two or a topless photo, since you’d sent the pictures during midterms. Even if he didn’t answer everyday, busy as he was, you made sure that you were on top of it.

Been thinking about you, Jack’s email read when you woke up, and he still hadn’t mentioned that he was coming back so you just ignored it. 

You made good time on the road, already in your car by the time the sun was rising, because you’d be damned if you missed seeing him the second you were able. Even if it meant being in front of your step dad and having to keep your hands to yourself, giving him just a polite hug reserved for a family friend you had supposedly been emailing only occasionally and barely knew. 

Robby’s head poked out of the main bedroom when you walked in and dropped your duffle bag by the door, just before noon.

“Oh, you’re an angel,” he said with relief in his voice, and you frowned in confusion as he looked at you like you were exactly what he needed. “The attending on shift got injured and they’re calling me in– can you pick Jack up? I was about to text you, if not I’ll be telling him to grab a taxi.”

You smiled wider than you should have before you could contain it. You really were going to have to practice being normal about Jack, and quickly. “Not a problem,” you nodded.

A minute later he came out in his scrubs and with his work backpack over one shoulder, and he pulled you into a hug and kissed the top of your hair. “Thanks, kiddo,” he said, breathing in for a second like he was getting ready for the work ahead of him. 

⊹ ⊹

The moment you were both in the front seat of your car, you climbed over the console to get on top of Jack. The kiss in bag claim that made someone wolf-whistle at how long the two of you were together hadn’t been nearly enough. Neither was the way his arm had wrapped around your waist on the walk back to the parking garage, pulling him into his side like you might wander off if he let go for a second.

And it’s not like you were willing to wait until you got home to get your hands on this man. That could be half an hour in the traffic.

You settled over him, your hands pushed up under his shirt to feel the muscles you’d only ever seen on your screen so far, and he tipped his head back to look up at you with hunger in his eyes.

“Didn’t want to get your hopes up,” he said softly, again, when you feigned a stern expression again at him not telling you, because it was sort of fun to make him wait even though you were over him, your hips slowly rocking back and forth over his hardening length.

“A heads-up would have been nice,” you pouted. “If Robby had told me in person about you coming back it would have been so obvious.”

“Let ‘im find out,” he nearly growled, and put his hand behind your neck to pull you in for a proper kiss, his tongue against the seam of your lips and pressing in like he had every right to be there. And he did, your boyfriend, finally here, and just thinking about it made you whimper against his touch and sink further into his lap, earning some low possessive sound from him as his other hand gripped your ass.

By the time you were rubbing off against him in earnest, you wondered if you should have made him get a taxi home. You’d parked in the back of the garage, though, and it’s not like anyone would see what was going on, so you didn’t put up more than a feeble protest when he pulled your shirt off you and he kissed his way down your neck to suck hickeys on your chest, right up to your bra line.

“Can’t,” you murmured when one of his hands started making valiant progress at undoing the hooks on the one piece of clothing left between you and your nipples being out in public.

He exhaled loudly in disappointment but didn’t stop, and one of the hooks popped loose.

“Ja-ack,” you whined, and reached around to awkwardly try to swat his hand away. 

He shook his head but did let himself be pulled away from the bra. He leaned his head back against the headrest, eyes closed and his breath heavy as the moment– however long it had been– starts to fade between you two. The reality of being in a car, almost topless and splayed out on Jack’s lap, crashed into you.

“I should drive us home,” you said softly, and he nodded. He put a hand on your side to help you navigate back to the driver’s side and handed you back your shirt.

You didn’t comment on how he had to adjust himself with a little wince in the passenger seat a few times on the way home, because you were pretty sure that if you looked over for more than a glance, you’d never be able to tear your eyes off him.

“How was your flight?” You asked once you were at least halfway home and mostly in control of yourself again, like you really were just the friendly daughter of his best friend there to pick him up.

His hand reached over to grab your leg, just like it had that first day at the wedding. “Long. Glad to be back.”

You kept up pleasant conversation, small talk to keep your mind off the way his hand was inching its way higher, his thumb rubbing circles against the thin fabric of your leggings. It was your early emails all over again, boring whatever messages with nudes and videos attached that you barely mentioned for the first few weeks.

You parked the car out front of the house and you looked over at him with a serious little tilt of your head. “No kissing me outside, alright? Robby knows the neighbors.”

He winked at you and gave a sideways grin. “If you insist.”

The moment the door closed behind you, Jack dropped his bags on the floor and pushed you against the door, trapping you in a kiss that picked up exactly where you’d left off. 

“Bedroom?” He asked, when he pulled back from you just enough to get the words out with his lips still brushing against yours.

“Upstairs,” you squeaked out.

You led the way, your hand gripping tightly to his as you pulled him with you.

⊹ ⊹

You knew that you’d be telling your roommate about the welcome home dinner once you got back to college– how Robby had met you both at the restaurant after his shift, had hugged Jack and called him brother and then hugged you and thanked you for being so flexible.

The look that Jack gave you, mouthing the word flexible where Robby couldn’t see, made your cheeks heat again as you nodded and called it no big deal. Under the table, Jack’s boot kept bumping against your shoe, and you cautiously returned the touch.

The week was heaven. Jack had the time off before his normal civilian job put him back on the schedule, you had barely any responsibilities, and Robby was at work before you woke up most of the time. In the mornings you’d head over to Jack’s house, or he came to yours, and between getting very acquainted with each other's beds you almost played house– helping him restock his kitchen or cooking together or watching tv with his head in your lap as you idly combed your fingers through his hair. 

You insisted that you not go to any of the closer restaurants, in case someone Robby knew recognized you, so he had you dress up and took you to a nice lunch in the suburbs, and afterwards you thanked him by showing him the vibrator you’d bought a week earlier, planning to film with it when you had the privacy of your own room.

“That good, baby?” he asked, holding the toy against your clit as you squirmed and panted. You’d just come twice, it was nearing in on too much but when he looked at you like that, his other hand intertwined in yours, you wanted to be good for him and keep going as long as he wanted.

“Yes– fuck, please, Jack, please–” you said, not sure what you were even asking for anymore. For it to stop? For him to finally touch you with more than just his fingers? 

He turned the vibrator off and cast it aside, and you thought you were in for a reprieve so you closed your eyes, relaxing as you waited for his next move.

The bed shifted as he laid between your legs, and you looked down just as his breath hit your overstimulated nerves. 

“Is this alright?” He asked, eyebrows raised, and maybe this was exactly what you had been begging for earlier, because as soon as you nodded he set his tongue to work and you saw stars.

Another two orgasms later, when you pushed him off with a whimper, he shimmied up in the bed so you could curl against him, your head resting on his chest as he wrapped his arm around you and held you close. 

“Want me to–” you started to offer, but he kissed your forehead and snorted softly.

“No, you catch your breath. Doing so good for me, you know that?”

His rumbling voice was so soothing, and you were so damn spent from the day, that you fell asleep on him. When you roused from your nap, he did take you up on your offer and you crawled down the bed to return the favor.

⊹ ⊹

On Friday the tv was playing one of his shows, some silly first responder thing where the fire fighters seem to have more deep conversations than emergencies to handle, so you gently turned his head and kissed him to keep yourself entertained.

“I was watchin’ that,” he protested, but his hands were on the elastic waistband of his shorts before he even finished the sentence.

After the week you’d had, it was the most natural thing in the world to take a second and pull your clothes off while he did the same, and pull out a blanket from the basket to sit on top of. You straddled him, your slick folds rubbing over his length, back and forth lazily.

“Am I just your little toy, then?” He asked, voice right in your ear as you kept your head out of his way so he could keep an eye on whatever crap unfolded on screen.

“You don't want me to feel good?” You said, pouting for dramatic effect. The way you were moving had the head of his cock gently rubbing over your clit in a way that made you sigh.

His hands run up and down your bare back, pausing occasionally to grab at your ass or gently graze his blunt fingernails over your skin in a way that makes you jolt with pleasure. “No, I like it. Maybe we oughta set up your camera later, get this pretty sight on tape so when you’re-”

The deadbolt softly clicked, and you turned your head, trying to tell if you heard the door or if it was just part of the show.

And then the front door opened, Robby’s voice ringing out. “Kiddo? It’s just me,” he called, loud enough that you’d hear it from your room, so you wouldn’t wonder who the hell just barged in.

The couch was just out of sight of the front door, the living room a little off center, but you knew that once he took three steps- maybe two- you’d be fucked. There was nowhere to hide, and even if you could, you were naked and Jack was naked and his leg was off and leaning against the couch, so what would his story be?

Jack’s hands came down to your hips, holding you steady since really, that was the only option. “It’ll be fine,” he reassured you, quietly, before raising his voice. “Hey, Robby,” he called.

“Jack? What are you-” your step dad’s voice asked, and without turning you knew exactly when he stepped far enough into the house to see, his question cut off.

For a moment, you were utterly frozen, looking at Jack’s face, who seemed too calm for this whole thing, smiling over at his friend. You turn to take a peek, and that movement jolted Robby out of his own momentary pause from taking in the scene.

“Don’t let me interrupt, sorry,” Robby said with a chuckle, a hand coming up to rub at his beard as he looked over the two of you. “I guess I’ll grab lunch.”

You shoved your face into Jack’s neck, wanting to hide entirely. Your ass was out, and from the view Robby had you don’t know if he can see Jack’s balls, or how wet you’ve made him just rutting over him.

“Sorry,” you called weakly, and you’d bet that Jack can feel the heat of your cheeks against his neck from how much you’re blushing. 

The door opened again. “Is she being good for you?” Robby asked, his sensible shoes squeaking as if he turned back in a oh, one more thing kind of move. 

You couldn’t see, and you didn’t want to, but you felt Jack’s hands tighten on your waist. 

“Oh, the best, brother,” Jack purred, almost directly in your ear, and the whole confusing thing made you shiver and you clenched against Jack in a way you knew he could feel.

Robby made an amused sound back. “Ah, I figured as much. I’ll leave you to it.” After another beat, the door slammed shut and then the deadbolt clicked into place.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” Jack murmured, kissing at your exposed neck. Not trying to get to you to peek out, giving you a second to hide away as you processed what the fuck just happened.

“No,” you whispered, and he laughed at how it sounded like a lie, even to you.

⊹ ⊹

A/N: it seems like Jack could? have? still deployed with the military after losing a limb, from my quick googling.

the ceiling fan hums in the background – the odour of the weed sticking in the air.

“yeah well,” jack starts, flopping his arm on the sheets beneath him before sitting up with a low groan. he turns his face to see yours, his hair unruly as the light catches the silver at his temples. he glances down at your lips as you take another puff of the joint. 

“you make me feel years younger, kiddo.” 

he leans over, his calloused hand falling onto your knee where your shirt meets your thigh. rubbing small, lazy circles onto your kneecap as jack looks up to you through half-lidded eyes. 

“come sit on daddy’s lap,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep and heat. 

you raise an eyebrow, the joint hanging out of your lips. jack settles back on the bed, patting his thigh with a relaxed smile. 

“don’t complain when your back hurts, old man," you giggle, swinging your legs over his lap, straddling his thighs with a slow, practised movement.  

once you're settled, jack reaches up and plucks the blunt off your lip, the pad of his thumb pulling down your lower lip. he takes a puff; the cherry end burns orange when he exhales. a plume of smoke escaping his parted lips.

he looks up, taking you in.   

the shirt has ridden up – the white of his stolen boxer briefs peeking out. your chest falls and rises in short bursts, nipples hard under the thin fabric. your hips grind instinctively against his clothed bulge as he pinches them through the shirt, his index finger and thumb tugging your nipples as you watch jack swallow around a moan. 

his head hits the headboard. “oh, you’re trouble,” jack says, his hand sneaking up the hem of your shirt. his eyes search your bloodshot ones; in a silent agreement, he takes it off in one swoop, fingers deftly unclasping the bra.  

he doesn’t take his eyes off the sight. not even to throw the clothes somewhere on the floor.   

you, half-naked on his lap, wearing his boxers.   

his pretty girl.   

“you going to take those boxers off? or are you going to let jackie do everything?”   

you hum in faux thought, dragging his free hand down to the waistband, leaning back on the heels of your feet. his fingers skim over the logo before slipping in and tugging them down halfway.   

your hands make quick work of his belt, discarding it on the floor whilst he sets the joint on the glass ashtray beside him on the nightstand, hands stumbling when you palm him through his pants again. 

with a moan, jack makes quick work of the rest of his clothes. he pushes the rest of the pants with his boxers off his legs in one frantic motion until his cock springs free and his stomach.   

“look at what you did to me, kiddo,” he says, his voice hoarse and rough. 

he spits in his hand before stroking the length of his cock in long, slow strokes. you bite your lip, beads of blood breaking skin at the intrusion. 

“need you so badly, jackie,” you crawl up to his chest, hovering your cunt above him making work of his cock. you whine, your nails digging crescent shapes into his freckled shoulders. “god, jackie, please, fuck me.”

jack stops the pumps of his hand to dip two fingers in your folds, groaning at your wetness – you don’t even know whether it’s from the pot you’ve been smoking for the past ten minutes or sitting on jack’s lap, bare, laid out for him, but that doesn't matter. 

not when he's fucking you with reckless abandon. not w

the only thing that crossed your mind was him, tunnel vision and the haze of smoke fogging any rational thinking – the world minimising to jack, your jackie, relieving the coil in your stomach. 

“this all for me, kiddo?” he breathes out, bringing his fingers to his mouth. his tongue swirls over the ridges on his fingers, humming lowly under his breath. he smacks his lips, darting his tongue out to catch a stray drop. “god, she’s soaked for me. you want my cock that badly?” 

you nod frantically, pawing at his dick helplessly. jack chuckles, his voice dropping with a hint of condescension. “oh, my girl is needy. but that’s okay. that’s what she has me for, doesn’t she?” 

he rubs his cock slowly through your folds, his hand catching your body as you collapse further into him. 

“jackie, its-” 

“i know, jackie’s here,” jack hushes you, rubbing his thumb in circles against your hip bone. 

he finally pushes into your entrance with a groan; his eyes squeezing shut as he nudges into you inch by inch. you let out a cry as he bottoms out – jack's lips smash against yours, swallowing your moans as he thrusts his hip up languidly. 

you gasp as he moves beneath you, jack using this opportunity to slip his tongue past your mouth; the sticky heat and the faint tangy taste of your pussy on his mouth making your head spin. 

you pull back from his lips for a breath of fresh air, leaning your forehead on his.

“god, you feel so fucking good for me, baby,” jack says, his voice husky from desire. with another roll of your hips, he lets out a low, strangled moan as his fingers leave small indents in the flesh of your hip. 

“jackie, it feels so good,” you mewl, looking at him through glassy eyes; your jaw is slack as drool collects at the corner of your mouth, dripping down your chin. 

“i know, baby, i know.” his calloused hands grab your waist, his grip sure and firm as he stalls your hips, movement coming all down to a halt. 

reaching out blindly, jack’s hands feel out for the discarded blunt. once he’s got it, he sits up properly, his cock shifting inside you, causing you to whimper again. 

“jackie,” you plead, sniffling. “please don’t stop.” 

“shhh,” jack coos, biting your earlobe with a sharp tug; his other hand rubs your back up and down in a soothing motion. “i got you. you trust me don’t you?” 

jack takes a massive toke, his chest heaving in as he stubs out the remaining embers into the glass tray. roughly carding through the hair from the nape of your neck, jack pulls you in to meet your lips, blowing the smoke into your lips as he keeps pressing into you. 

the room quickly fills up again with moans and grunts, sounds of flesh hitting flesh as jack continues his half-hearted thrusts, chasing the pleasure as if it continues to slip out of his grasp repeatedly. 

he lets out another groan at the feeling of your cunt clenching up on him. through the thin veil of smoke, he looks up at your fucked-up gaze, bouncing up and down on your knees as you take pleasure from him.

“baby, i’m going to cum-fuck—" he manages to choke out as you fuck yourself onto him harder. “shit, i’m going to fucking cum in you.” 

you moan at his words, nothing he’s saying even registering in your brain. the only thing, at this moment, worth remembering is the feeling of his cock twitching inside you as he hits your g-spot. 

“jackie, please i fucking want it!” you babble, the unrelenting heat in your lower back pooling. 

“kiddo wants my cum?” 

so unfortunate he didn’t record this one, he could listen to that on loop for hours.

“kiddo wants jackie to cum in her?” jack groans, continuing the bucking up of his hips. “jackie will make her all nice and round with his cum, yeah? and then she’ll have to explain to her father why his best friend got her all barefoot and pregnant?”

“you want that, kiddo?”

“god, jesus, fuck my father. shut up and just fucking cum in me.”

at those words, jack hips stutter as he fucks his load into you, feeling the walls of your pussy tightening on his cock – both of you cumming at the same time. once you ride out your wave, you lean fully into him, his softening dick still inside you as he flutters his eyes shut. 

a moment passes, the room plunging into silence – the only noise coming from the faint zooming of the cars outside and the heavy inhales and exhales coming from both of you, a tangled mess of limbs, on your bed.

“jesus,” you groan, burrowing your face into his neck as jack puts his face into your hair. “you going to move?” 

“well,” he starts, his voice lilted as he takes a large exhale, “you wanted my cum in you so...now we just have to wait until your daddy comes home.”