“perhaps,” you smile.

he grabs your ankle and drags you down to him in one pull. leans over you until his chest presses against yours, hard and warm, dusted with greying hair. his mouth finds yours and a hum bleeds out of him into your kiss. relief and hunger all at once. you smile against his lips, fingers lacing into his dark grey hair.

your mouth opens for him and he takes. teeth catching your lip, spit-slick and shameless, tongue and the wet drag of his mouth until you’re gripping his hair just to hold on.

he pulls your hand away from your boob and replaces it with his mouth.

he suckles your nipple until it peaks hard against his tongue, groaning low against your skin like the sound was pulled out of him.

he switches to the other, mouthing at it deep and greedy, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room, until it’s just as red and pulls off with a soft pop that makes your breath hitch.

your thighs start to closes and he smacks the inside of your thigh.

"keep them open."

you do.

he settles between them, grey boxers against your panties. he rolls his hips into yours. the cotton friction makes you gasp, feeling every ridge of him through the thin fabric. he does it again, watching your face.

“brett一”

the corner of his lips tilt up in satisfaction. he hums against your skin and mouths at your chest again like he's feasting. muffled groans bleeding into your skin, stubble dragging rough where his mouth is soft, hips keeping that same grinding rhythm.

you pull at his hair and a deep grunt spills out of him. he finally lifts his head, eyes gone almost all black, mouth wet. he looks at you like he’s deciding something.

“nine days,” you say. recounting the days it had been since your last escapade in your apartment.

“nine days,” he repeats, voice rough. his hips press into yours harder and you inhale sharp.

he pulls back just enough and you take the opportunity. hands planting on his chest, you push him down onto the bed and swing your leg over him.

you settle onto his lap and feel it immediately. the damp patch on the front of his boxers, dark grey fabric clinging where he’s been leaking for you. your hips sink down against it and a groan tears out of you before you can stop it.

brett’s jaw tightens. his hands find your hips.

“yeah,” he says quietly. the corners of his eyes crinkle, satisfaction written into every line of his face.

you roll your hips and feel the wet cotton drag against your panties, the outline of him thick and obvious beneath you. your head tips back.

“god,” you breathe.

his thumbs dig into the soft of your hips, watching you work yourself against him with that infuriating face of his. grey threading through his hair, lines carved deep around his mouth, and still he looks at you like you’re the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.

he flips you before you can catch your breath. back hitting the mattress, his weight settling over you. he pulls your panties down and off in one motion and tosses them in the background.

he settles between your thighs, and instead of pushing in he just pauses. looking at you spread open for him, wet and wanting.

his thumb finds your clit.

“oh–“ the sound jumps out of you.

he rubs slow, easy circles, watching your face with that same dark patience. "need t'get you ready to take me, baby." his voice is low, a little rough around the edges.

"been a while."

"i can take it," you breathe.

"mm." unconvinced. his thumb keeps moving, and he dips two fingers in without warning, feeling how you clench around them. he groans quietly at that. "yeah? feel how tight you are?"

your hips roll up into his hand. he lets you.

"there she goes," he murmurs. "good girl. jus' like that."

he works you open slow, fingers curling, thumb never stopping, until you're slipping wet around him and whining with it. until you're so soft and swollen and desperate that when he finally lines himself up and pushes in, thick and veined and achingly warm, it makes your breath leave your body all at once.

he stills. jaw tight, chest heaving.

“fuck,” he exhales. “so warm. so fuckin’ perfect.”

he starts to move. slow, deep strokes that have you feeling every ridge of him, the thick drag along your walls, your body gripping him like it’s trying to pull him back every time he pulls out.

“brett—“

“i got you,” he murmurs. “i got you.”

he grips your jaw and tips your head back, kissing you messy and unhurried. all tongue and heat, spit slick at the corner of your mouth. you groan into it and he swallows the sound greedily.

his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing lazy circles while he moves, and the combination makes your vision blur. you grab at his forearm, his shoulder, anything to hold on to.

he pulls back from the kiss just enough to look at you. lips glistening, pupils blown. “mhmm,” he hums. “you like that?”

“yes—yes—“

“good.” his pace stays frustratingly measured. his hand slides up to grip your face, fingers pressing into your cheeks, holding you still. and then he licks into your mouth. slow and filthy, tongue dragging against your teeth, taking his sweet time. you try to kiss back but he doesn’t let you. just holds you there and takes.

he pulls back with a wet sound and pushes his thumb past your lips.

you close around it without thinking. sucking obediently, tongue pressing up against the pad of it, and the sound he makes low in his throat tells you exactly what that does to him.

“good fuckin girl,” he murmurs.

he leaves his thumb there and drops his mouth to your cheek. your jaw. the soft skin beneath your ear. trails down your throat, sucking a bruise into the pulse point without apology. lower, mouthing at your collarbone, your chest, until he’s got your nipple between his teeth again and you’re moaning around his thumb like you’ve lost your mind.

his hips keep that same devastating pace the whole time. never speeding up. just deep and measured and relentless, feeling you get slicker and softer around him with every stroke.

“brett,” you whine. “please.”

he looks up at you from your chest. the lines of his face cast in shadow, grey hair mussed, mouth swollen. he looks absolutely ruinous.

"there it is," he says quietly.

and then he gives it to you.

his hips snap forward and you gasp, hands flying to grip the sheets. he sets a pace that's immediately relentless, deep and punishing, the wet sounds filling the room obscenely. your thighs are trembling. your eyes are burning.

"oh. oh fuck—"

"yeah," he grunts out, eyes locked on your face.

"there you go."

his thumb presses down harder on your clit and whatever sentence you were forming dissolves completely. just a broken sound spilling out of you instead.

“brett i—i–“ you lose your train of thought halfway through. you try again. “please, ’m—”

“you’re what.” he asks low and amused.

you have no idea. you genuinely cannot remember.

his thumb’s relentless on you. “don’t need you thinkin’ right now anyway.”

“f—fuck, brett—” your hips jerk up uselessly. “‘s too—i can’t—i don’t—”

“i know.” he coos. “i know, baby.” he doesn’t stop.

your eyes roll back. mouth slack, sounds coming out of you that you’d be embarrassed about if you could think straight. but you can’t. there’s nothing left up there. just him and the drag of him and the filthy wet heat of it all.

“jus’ take it,” he murmurs. “there’s my girl.”

it hits you like a wave you didn’t see coming.

your whole body locks up, thighs clamping around him, a broken sound tearing out of your throat as you clench around him and fall apart. vision whiting out at the edges, toes curling, fingers twisting helplessly in the sheets.

he works you through it. slowing down.

“brett—” your voice comes out sweet and wrecked. you’re oversensitive and shaking. “i just—”

“i know.” he tuts, unbothered. “not done with you.”

“i can’t—”

“you can.”

he reaches over without a word and grabs the pillow, sliding it under your hips. the angle shifts and you immediately feel the difference, hips tilted up, legs spreading open just a little more.

he drives into it. again and again, deep and focused, hitting that soft mushy place inside you that makes your whole body seize up and your thoughts go completely white. the sounds coming out of you are barely coherent. you’re saying his name like a prayer.

you think you might be seeing stars. the edges of the room going soft and swimmy.

and then you feel his lips press to your forehead. grounding you.

“stay with me,” he mumbles. you exhale shakily. he keeps moving, chasing that high, his breathing gone ragged against your skin, hips driving deeper, harder against that soft spot.

“come with me,” he grits out.

and your body listens.

you cum with a full body shudder, thighs jerking, a broken sound tearing out of you as you clench around him and your vision goes completely white. your hands fly to his back, nails dragging down and leaving red marks in their wake, something between a sob and a moan spilling out of you.

he follows seconds later with a low curse, pulling out and fisting himself, spilling hot and white across your stomach and your thighs. his whole body shudders through it, head dropping to your chest, a long ragged groan punched out of his chest.

the room is quiet except for the sounds of you both trying to catch your breath.

he lifts his head and takes you in. your hair splayed out and tangled against the pillow, chest heaving, lips swollen and parted. eyes glassy and far away.

he cups your cheek in his palm. thumb stroking slow beneath your eye.

“hey,” he says quietly. the lines around his mouth softening.

you blink up at him. barely there.

he leans down and kisses you. soft this time, nothing like before. just his mouth, pressing once, twice, against your lips gently.

“you did so good for me,” he murmurs against your mouth. another kiss to the corner of your lips. your cheek. “so good.” his thumb keeps caressing your cheek until a tear slips from the corner of your eye.

“too much for you, wasn’t it.” his voice is low and rough at the edges, a little undone himself. his thumb sweeps the wet from your cheek.

you nod slowly.

he makes a quiet sound. almost a laugh under his breath.

“made me so proud, baby.” he presses his lips to where the tear was. then your cheekbone. your temple. working across your face. “so fucking proud.”

another tear slips and he catches that one too.

“Hey, have you seen my lip gloss?”

Just being with Andrew has been nothing but utter bliss. After you so helplessly accepted any alarming bits– his aggressive need to protect, the insane amount of cash he had, the secrets he buried–, you’d gone on multiple real dates with him. No more late night walks, holing up together at home, or staying close by campus in a preference for saving gas. Not that you didn’t enjoy the simplicity of staying in or a late night burger, but it was now dinners by the sea, driving out and exploring another town, and even a day at the zoo. 

It was like you got an adult relationship, one you so desperately wanted after the emotional, financial, and physical confusion of adolescent flings. He took care of you, even started paying your part of the rent in full, and gave you a sense of maturity, regardless of his own occupational and familial secrets. Albeit, you still had a month of classes left and a-whole-nother year before you graduated. You were still undeniably naive, especially with the way you blindly trusted him. 

In your bedroom, you had been getting ready for class, running back and forth from your closet to your bathroom. The morning started late, trading an hour or so of gathering yourself for extra time wrapped around Andrew. He was still in bed with barely any intention to start his morning, a rotten habit he gained from you.

“The red one?” He rolled over, peeking his head above the comforter to see you standing by your dresser, “It’s on your desk.”

“No, the one in the fat circular tube? It’s got cherries on it.” It was a little stupid how dire you treated this situation, but you had some consistent particularity in your appearance. 

Your room was a bit messy, clothes discarded on the floor from the night before. By his own volition, Andrew usually straightened things up in the morning anyway. As your last hope before scattering off to class, you reached for your jeans from yesterday, which were crumpled by the foot of the bed.

Reaching into the front pocket, you felt around and pulled out a wad of hundreds wrapped in a rubber band rather than a plastic tube. There were even more further inside, so much so that you had no clue your pockets even went that deep.

“Andy, what’s this?” You dropped your jeans, eyes sifting through and trying to guess the amount in one. You knew it was his; what it was doing in your pants was beyond you.

“Financial aid.” He sat up, leaning his back against your headboard. 

You looked at him, then looked back at the cash in your hand, “I… I can’t take this.”

Not only did you mean that out of humility, you had no clue where it came from. It was fine if he was dealing with shady money, but you? It didn’t feel good getting involved.

“You have to,” he nodded, “It’s a scholarship.”

You wanted to smile, almost. All of this, for you… The only thing you had done was keep him company, bring him to do things you wanted to do, use him to your heart’s content, and run his wallet. Then again, he was in jail for a bank robbery, and his family laundered money and committed a number of crimes you couldn’t count on your fingers and toes.

“Where did you get this much?” 

He dodged your question, “I figured you could quit your shitty job if I helped you pay for college, and you could come live with me after you graduate.”

“My job’s not that shitty.” You managed to mutter with a shrug.

“I don’t want you to worry about anything anymore.”

“Well, how did you even get this?”

“Don’t worry about it.” He stared at you in that piercing way, telling you to stop asking.

“Okay,” You sighed, managing not to press. You gingerly tucked the money back in your discarded jeans like it was a crime scene. “I gotta go now. Will you be home later?”

He nodded slowly. Before leaving, you came by his side and surfaced a hand over his cheek, resting under his jaw. The way his eyes looked at you made you want to forget everything, but you couldn’t. You caught his lips in yours and pressed a kiss to them like it had been any other day. Pressing your thumb on his cheekbone and squeezing your eyes tight, you wanted to forget.

“See you later, Andy.”

“Bye, sweetheart."

Part of you was relieved your parents wouldn’t have to pay for anything, and you didn’t have to spend the entirety of your career paying off student debt. The other part of you felt uneasy. Did taking the money make you an accomplice in his family business? What were you going to tell your parents when the next payment comes? Is it bad you condone his behaviour without question? Was this a slippery slope waiting to happen?

You were Andrew’s girlfriend, though. You willingly took an ex-convict into your home and loved him like he was the man of your dreams. You also set aside the bad feeling in your gut, the legally reported red flags, and the concern from your friends. Who were you to have a moral compass all of a sudden? You didn’t mind his money for other expenses, why was this a problem? Why now?

That night, you and Andrew sat on the couch, scrolling through Zillow after dinner. Among bites of his rigatoni, it began unseriously, Andrew mentioning that he wanted to see what houses were on sale nearby. On the couch, he had a bowl of chocolate ice cream in his hands with you leaning on his shoulder as he spoonfed you.

He watched as you contorted the map to look at different areas in San Diego county. Your fingers swiped over the mousepad, nails clicking on the surface while you scrolled. The ice cream was cold on his own tongue, his head pressed against yours, but he couldn’t feel more warm inside. 

Andrew offered almost every house you swept by, but you always had some concession. Too modern, too grandma, I couldn’t see myself there, it looked kinda freaky, too bright, tourist area. No matter how lightheartedly you treated this, you were very particular. He knew he didn’t really care what house would be his, as long as you were in it. 

“Why don’t you look near the beach?” He suggested, putting the now-empty bowl on the side table. 

“Too expensive.” You scrunched your nose, turning to him. 

“Nothing’s too expensive for my girl.” He pulled you on his lap, laptop following your knees. Your cheek pressed against his forehead as his hand ran up and down your back. 

“Well, I always dreamed of having a beachfront house.” You spoke, mostly to yourself, scrolling towards the sea on the little map. You clicked through pins while Andrew explored your collar region.

Tucked into the crook of your neck, his head nuzzled closer to your skin, lips nipping at the open space. Andrew’s hair had been growing out from his prison cut, smoothing and grazing over you as he pushed in closer. His hands squeezed you tight, one on your hip and other over your knee, as you tried showing him the next few houses.

“Whatever’s fine.” He mumbled, mouthing over your collarbone then resuming back up your throat.

“Andy,” you hummed, moving your head down to catch his eye, “this will be yours, you have to pick a good one.”

You had grabbed his chin in your hand, ripping him off your neck. His eyes bore into you, eyebrows heavily resting over them like you ruined his party. You kissed the bridge of his nose and ran your fingers through his hair.

“What do you want in your house, honey?” You asked, sending a mocking pout that mirrored his.

With a huff, he took your laptop and shut it, placing it along with the discarded bowl. His hand returned back on you, running up your thigh as you placed your hands on the sides of his head. Your legs moved over his spread thighs as you scooted closer up his lap.

“What do you want?” He asked, face tilted up at yours. “I know you’ve thought about it. Tell me.”

“Well…” You thought as his head dipped back towards your chest, pushing kisses up to your shoulder and down again. “Mmm, I like a breakfast nook and…” He pressed his mouth rougher on your chest, creating a trail up. Your fingers found his hair again, gently scraping through. “And a bay window maybe. A lot of cozy sitting spaces.” You yelped as his hand, cold from holding the bowl, slipped under your shirt, running over your warm skin. 

“Uh, huh,” he breathed into your chest, repeating, “Tell me, sweetheart.”

“M-Maybe a nice bathtub.” You sighed, melting into his touch. He squeezed at your chest, causing you to flinch in his lap. “And an open living space? Like you can,” a gasp escaped your mouth as his lips kneaded under your jaw, “You can see the kitchen from the living room.”

“Anything else?”

“Uh,” Your legs squeezed together, “Maybe a garden? I’m not good with,” you huffed while he continued pressing soft kisses over and over on your neck, “M’not good with that stuff, but… Um, colours… are… uh, huh.” His head dipped further into your neck.

Impatiently, you shifted, pulling his face up from your neck. A grin was plastered on his lips as his eyes softened at the sight of you. Lips trembling, you grasped onto him as you brought your face to his. You took his mouth into a kiss, desperate to latch onto something.

His fingers found your hair, caressing your scalp as his mouth worked over yours. You pushed in closer to him, squirming and trying to get a grip. As your hips pressed into him, he made a noise into your mouth, heavy and guttural. 

Hooked under your knees and around you, his arms found your legs and back again. Mouth still on yours, he picked up the bowl from the table before he pulled you up as he stood. You pulled away when you realized he was bringing you to the kitchen. 

Light still dim, he set you down on the counter beside the sink as he moved away from you. You looked around the room like you missed something. Eyebrows furrowed and a little bit frustrated, you watched as he turned on the faucet and let water run through the bowl.

“Andrew, what—”

“Gotta wash the bowl.” He said, taking the sponge from the dish.

With a sigh, you crossed your legs, waiting impatiently for him to finish. You saw the smirk creep on his face while he scrubbed, taking longer than necessary for one bowl and one spoon. You checked your nails once, twice, then let out a preposterous sigh, watching as he rinsed out the bowl.

He placed the bowl and spoon on the drying rack, then grabbed the towel to wipe his hands.

“Is that necessary?” You stared at him with your chin tilted down, eyes annoyed and attempting to be threatening.

“What?” He went over his hands thoroughly, just to piss you off. 

“Your hands are gonna get wet anyway,” You said, reaching your leg out to tap his side with your foot.

He softly exhaled as a chuckle, “You don’t like when I don’t dry my hands.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh again, mostly because he was right. He looked at you as the towel ran over his knuckles a third time. You showed your bare wrist to him, tapping it as if there had been a watch there. 

Putting the towel back on its hook, Andrew approached you. His hands found your sides and you were suddenly in his arms again with a yelp. As he whisked you off to your bedroom, you squeezed your arms around him.

Back hitting the mattress, you pursed your lips when he kneeled between your legs. His hands ran under your shirt, tugging the fabric up as he pressed on your skin. You hummed while his head dug into your torso. 

He kissed your stomach and up to your sternum tenderly, following the edge of your shirt. Hair brushing on your skin, he dug his head into you like he couldn’t get enough. You let out shaky breaths as your fingers danced over the back of his head. He pulled himself over you, taking your lips back to his. 

You wasted no time in hooking your leg around his waist, urging him closer. Andrew groaned as you pushed your hips up, finding him growing in his pants. You sighed when he pulled away, his mouth hovered over yours. 

A smile grew on his face as he pulled your shirt over your head. You leaned forward and put your hands on his chest, surfacing over before reaching your fingers to the buttons on his shirt. It was like any other night with him— your bodies have grown so accustomed to each other that you knew exactly where to put your hands without second thought.

“Remind me again?” He said, nodding his head at you while you worked the buttons open. ”Beachside, bay window, open living space.” 

You rolled your eyes, peeling back the cotton of his button-up, “Don’t tease me.” 

“I wasn’t going to.” He exhaled, reaching for the hem of your lounge shorts.

Sighing, you pressed your hands over his chest, feeling the smooth, toned surface as he pulled your shorts down. You pushed the shirt off his arms before he could latch onto you again. Fingers curling into your lower back, he urged you to arch your back as his other hand moved between your legs. 

“You never told me what you wanted.” You said, breath heavy as his fingers just ghosted above your entrance. Propped up on your pillow, you stared up at him, who was far more interested in the space between your thighs than anything else.

His fingers shallowly pressed into you, feeling the wetness at your entrance as you inhaled. Failing to fill the ache in your belly, you squirmed towards him, clenching at nothing. His eyes watched the desperation coat your face while his bottom lip sunk beneath his teeth. 

“Mmm,” Andrew thought to himself, letting his fingers slowly work you open as his left hand bore into the indent of your back. You whined at the stalling pace. “I want to come home,” he leaned his head towards yours, forehead pressing, “And I want you to be there.” 

He pressed his index and middle into you, down to the knuckle as he muffled your moan against a kiss. Your eyebrows knit as you ground yourself against his fingers, pulsing as he moved only slightly. Breathy sounds fell from your lips as his forehead propped against yours.

The heat of his breath grazing your cheek, he opened his eyes to watch you needily pant and push your body up to his. Your eyes were squinting shut, like you were concentrating on goading him to go harder on you. Lips agape, it was the only part of your face that wasn’t frustrated.

“Andy,” you exhaled, “that’s not—” 

You let out an uneven high-pitched noise as his thumb met your clit. Arching your back even more, you became putty in his hand, which was kneading at the skin on your side. He curled his fingers into you as he drew a steady pace, grazing the sweet spot he knew too well.

“S’not what, sweetheart?” His voice, husky and low, wafted over your lips.

“Not what I mean.” You groaned at his controlled movement. 

Trembling at the barely-there contact, your mouth shut, pressing together if he wouldn’t help it. Hands went to grab his shoulders as pressure built inside of you. Thumb working just as steady as his fingers, he drew you close to the edge but stroked too leisurely to bring you there. You squirmed as his palm attempted to stabilize your hips.

“Fuck— Can you just be inside me already?” Your hips jerked up, which was only met with the harsh squeeze of his hand. 

“I thought I was the needy one.” He teased, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he pulled his fingers out of you.

Leaning back, Andrew reached for his belt buckle. You watched eagerly, leaning over your elbows. The sound of the metal clinking was music to your ears. His eyes caught your face for a second, watching your eyes glisten and your mouth fall into a grin. Biting your lip, you watched him pull down his pants like it was the greatest show of all time. 

He sprung up like he always did, enthusiastic and craving, tip leaking over you like he had finished in his pants already. You laid back again as Andrew crawled over your body, slowly and surely while he pressed against you. A grin only grew wider on your lips as your fingers threaded in his hair.

Involuntarily, your hips moved over him, taunting him with your entrance. His arms bracketed around your head as his mouth found yours again, open and heavy.

“You know I don’t need anything, right?” He asked gruffly, letting himself hang over you. You nodded restlessly, antsy for him. “It doesn’t matter to me, I just want you.”

“Andy—” You let that thought be replaced with a shaky breath as he slipped in, slowly making space for himself inside your warmth. 

Back arching, your stomach met his abdomen as your thighs fell wide open. He let out a soft moan before taking your mouth into a deep kiss. Tongue tugging onto yours, he moved slowly, letting you gravitate towards him and sink your fingers into his shoulders. 

He pulled away from your lips, chin on yours, “It’s all I need, sweetheart.”

Panting, you moved your hips in sync with his, skin rolling over the sheets like your bodies became one. Into your mouth, he released little groans while his hands moved down your body to pinch at your hips. As you sunk yourself onto him harsher, he struck deeper and pulled a heavy moan from your mouth. 

Andrew reached for your hand, peeling it off his shoulder and intertwining it in his. Reaching your arm above your head, he kept one hand on your hip, controlling the movement of you against him. His fingers clutched your hand, pushing shallowly as he whimpered into your mouth.

Drawn nearly closed, his eyes bore into yours, watching as you slowly blinked. You took him perfectly, rutting yourself on him as he pumped somewhere between achingly slow and ruinously deep. Eyes rolling back, you tried to meet him in the middle when his hand met the surface of your thigh.

He tilted his head down to find that sweet spot with his thumb, coated just from the leak at your entrance. Biting down on your lip, you stopped yourself from squealing as his nose drew over your cheekbone. Tighter around him, you pulled him in closer, hips squirming and stuttering like you never felt this needy before, which was entirely untrue since you met Andrew.

Hips stalling against you and voice unsteady, he groaned into your mouth, “I’m gonna buy you that house.”

Your hips bucked against his as you whined in response, letting the pressure build as much as it could. Huffing, he pressed his lips against yours as he let himself drive faster into you, chasing his own release. Your fingers grasped at the back of his hand, restrained above your head, as your other hand scratched the top of his shoulder.

“Feels so good, honey.” You mumbled, pushing your stomach even further towards his. 

“Does it, pretty girl?” His eyes met yours again as you nodded.

“Uh, huh. You feel so good, Andy.” You sunk your hips down on the mattress, letting him drill further into you, thumb kneading you right there. You whispered, falling into a moan, “Keep going. So perfect.”

You fluttered around him, your own hips tensing as you contracted and clenched. Eyes threatening to shut, your mouth fell open with a stupefied sigh as you reached your peak. Your hands clutched on what they could as you furrowed your eyebrows in frustration, eliciting a long moan. You shuddered with overstimulation as he continued to his own. Back spasming up to him, your hand fell from his shoulder and squeezed on his bicep, tugging his arm away from between you.

“Can’t handle it, honey?” He asked softly, slowing his thumb but nonetheless keeping it there. His hips continued frantically while he swelled inside of you. His eyes shut as you bucked again, “Hm?”

“Fuck,” you squeezed his hand above you, which was heavy on yours as he dove deeper. “Too much, Andy.”

“You can handle it. Feels good, doesn’t it?” His eyebrows tightened as his hips began to stutter. You let out a drawn-out mhmm noise of agreement as you contracted around him. “Fuck, I love you.” He whined over your skin before releasing with a grand thrust. 

Sweat on his forehead, his face tumbled over yours as you grew warm inside, squeezing around him while his hand fell out of sync. You sighed, senses prickly as his head tucked beside your neck. His hand fell over your thigh as his other kept your fingers threaded together.

You stroked your free hand through his hair as he panted into your neck, sticky with sweat. Eyebrows furrowed, he pressed kisses into your jaw while you massaged his scalp. Reaching your lips, he gave you a wet kiss, body still pressed against yours.

Your eyes fell wide as he pulled away. Blissed out, his face was relaxed, tan and freckled with his mouth hanging open. His hand rubbed up and down your thigh soothingly as his golden eyes glazed your own softened face.

You whispered, “I love you, Andy.”

With the curl of his lips, he pressed in another kiss, slow and steady, like he knew you wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. You smiled as your lips moved with his, hands still pressed against him.

Pulling away, he looked at you and repeated seriously, “I’m gonna buy you that house.”

After the last big job, Andrew wanted to get his money and calm down. He’d come around the house a few times and check on things, suss out J, collect his check. He didn’t mind spending time with his brothers, though still keeping his cards close to his chest, but Smurf was always on him about something. 

She summoned him to the kitchen, where she was fixing herself an afternoon drink, her umpteenth of the day. Looking a mess, she was grabbing the Vodka bottle from the top shelf when Andrew entered. Already feeling unsure about the atmosphere, he stood a distance away from the counter by the sliding door.

“You know, I have been seeing less and less of you.” She said almost immediately, no greeting, no concern. “Where have you been spending your nights?” 

“Hotels.” He grunted, folding his arms.

She nodded, “And when are you going to buy that house you needed money for?”

“Haven’t found the right place yet.”

Smurf’s hand clasped around the bottle as she twisted it open. She poured it straight into her glass, not bothering with a shaker or ice. Andrew watched as she moved to the fridge, pulling the door open.

“What did you need me for?” He asked impatiently.

Closing the door, she turned to him as she placed a jug of cranberry juice on the counter, “What were you doing on a college campus?” 

Furrowing his eyebrows deeply, he leaned his head towards her like he misheard, “What?”

“Nicky said she saw you when her parents took her to tour schools in San Diego.” She spoke sternly, pouring the juice in her glass, “What were you doing on a college campus in San Diego?”

“I don’t even know this girl.” He looked over his shoulder, where she and J were sitting by the pool. Nicky was watching them talk through the glass as she sat on the sunbed. “She must’ve been confused.”

“She said you were with a girl.” Smurf looked up at him, eyes narrowing as her grip on the juice bottle tightened. She clenched her jaw, “You know there are no secrets in this family, baby.”

“Why would I be in San Diego?” He shrugged his shoulders up, eyes vacant as he glared at her.

“Fine.” Smurf bit. With a tired sigh and a sip of her drink, she continued, “I need you to do something for me.”

He raised his head in intrigue, watching her gulp down the alcohol.

“Lena tells me Cath’s been talking to the cops…”

Meanwhile, you were hanging out in Mila and Angela’s apartment. Feet kicked up on their coffee table, you and Mila mindlessly watched some sitcom while she tried to convince you to go to some house party. It was off campus and a 40-minute drive north, making it less appealing from the fact that you didn’t even know who was throwing.

“We can crash at my mom’s house this weekend!” She reasoned, phone in hand, likely opened on her Snapchat messages, “You love the pool there!”

“Where’d you even hear about this?” You sunk further into the couch.

“This girl from my poli-sci group told me about it. They do it like every week, supposedly it’s crazy as hell.” She exaggerated, fingers swiping through her phone. “You can even bring that creepy boyfriend of yours.”

“Andrew is not creepy.” You furrowed your eyebrows, glaring over at her.

“Ok, well,” she looked up at you with a grimace, “he never says hi to me and Ang. He just… stares.”

“He’s just not a people person.” You defended. “Besides, I don’t think he likes parties, and I’m not driving to fucking Oceanside during rush hour.”

“Bro,” She sat up, hands moving like she was laying out a plan, “Free drinks, free weed, probably fucking molly if we’re being honest, and that beautiful guest bathtub you like so much.”

“I’m not doing molly.” You shook your head with scoff.

“You’ve been so uptight since you started dating that criminal.” Mila sighed, flopping back on the couch. She wasn’t serious about her supposed disdain for Andrew, but she was right about your lack of adventure when you got with him.

“Why don’t you ask Angela to go?” You crossed your legs. 

“Please, that girl is perpetually retired from going out.” She shook her head. “She’s studying for the LSATs like she’s gonna die if she doesn’t pass, and you’re playing house like you’ve been married for ten years. You need to come with me. When was the last time we partied?”

After a missed call then a text that was met with a thumbs up, you and Mila plotted your route. Within the next few hours, you were packed up and headed north to her mom’s house. 

“I’m surprised Andrew let you go.” She said as your car waited in the drive thru line for coffee.

“He didn’t let me. I don’t need permission,” you sneered, pushing your sunglasses above your head. “He’s working tonight anyway.”

“Working? I didn’t know he had a job.” She said as you shrugged. “Wait, what does he do?”

“Fuck if I know,” you chuckled, pulling up towards the window.

The party was already loud when you arrived. You had walked up the driveway through the side gate, where there were people smoking and talking, all in their bathing suits. You wore a short denim skirt that rode up if you sat and a shimmery bikini that had been stowed away at the bottom of your drawer. Mila dragged you over to the little tiki makeshift-bar in the corner to grab a drink. 

There were a few people in the pool, splashing around with beer bottles in hand. Music bumped from speakers by the patio door, and the backyard was lit by the house lights. You could smell weed coming from everywhere. 

Mila handed you a cup, full of something and urged it against your lips. Unsurely, you drank, eyes shifting around the party. The people there seemed older, not middle-aged but definitely not your age. She smiled and nodded at you as she drank from her own.

Leaning towards her, you said into her ear, “Is it just me or are we the youngest people here?” 

She hissed from the burn in her throat and shrugged, tossing the empty cup behind her. 

You followed Mila around the party, letting her talk to people and find out where the weed was as you downed various drinks. Taking hits of other people’s joints in passing, you didn’t linger long, as their dialogue only affirmed your suspicion. You hadn’t smoked weed in awhile, not since Andrew has been with you, so each hit felt extra compelling.

Mila had latched onto this one guy, tall and brawny with a beard and that long surfer cut you’d see around the shore— definitely her type. He had been drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette when you approached. Mind already cloudy, you stayed eons behind Mila as she talked him up.

You couldn’t help but think about Andrew, what he was doing, why he spent time away. You missed him in a heartaching way that could only be induced by this state of mind. Eyes trailed to the water, watching pairs happily talk to each other and splash around, fingers grazing each other’s wet hair and lips pressing against soaked cheeks. 

Not that what you had was undesirable, but you wanted to know him, through and through. You were fine with obscurity for his sake, though the seriosity he treated you with meant you needed to know everything to fully slip in. You wanted every inch of his life memorized up to the hilt, no matter how deeply wounded he was or how dark he suggested his past was. 

In the den, your legs were sticky against the leather cushion of the chair as you watched Mila do lines on the glass table with two big guys who claimed to own the house, one being the guy Craig she clung to earlier. You weren’t sure how you ended up here, but following Mila around could get you to odd places. 

“You want a bump?” Craig asked, rubbing his nose.

You shook your head, taking a hit from the joint you had been sharing with his brother Deran instead. Craig and Deran were sitting on the couch beside Mila. You were a ways away in a standalone chair, legs tucked over one another like you were in church. Craig had his arm around her like they’d known each other.

“Why’s your friend so uptight?” Deran gestured to you while talking to Mila. His voice was raised above the noise of the speakers, so you could very obviously hear him.

You tilted your head down, staring through your brows.

“She has a boyfriend.” Mila spoke for you, taking a swig of her beer.

“What boyfriend? I don’t see him anywhere.” Craig joked, scooting closer to Mila. With a cough, you handed the joint back to Deran.

“He can beat your ass.” You slurred slightly, but tried to convince yourself you weren’t that fucked up yet. Words spilled from your mouth like you couldn’t control it, “He’s, like, big and strong and beautiful... He can definitely beat your ass.”

Craig and Deran looked at each other and laughed.

Deran shook his head, “This chick can’t be serious.”

“No, seriously,” Mila leaned forward and warned in her overly-expressive voice, “he’s, like, a criminal. Got out of jail recently for some heinous shit.”

“Mila…” You groaned, sitting back in the chair. “You can’t just tell people that.”

“What?” She shrugged, hands flopping mid-air. “You can look him up online.”

“I wanna meet this guy,” Craig chuckled, taking a swig from his beer.

“He’s like forty or some shit.”

“Um, he’s thirty-eight,” you corrected, waving a finger at her, “And it’s not that old.”

“It is if you’re twenty.” She argued without genuine bite.

“Girl, drink your beer and shut up.” You groaned again, flitting your hand at her, while you dragged out the “u” in up. She giggled, as you’ve been through this fake argument before.

Mila thought it was funny that you were seeing an older man and that he was living in your apartment— she always had opinions. Ultimately, she didn’t care what you did with your time and romantic life. Anyway, she was doing lines with these random guys, so who was she to judge?

“So, he’s a middle aged felon… who could beat my ass?” Craig raised an eyebrow at you. “Am I getting that right?”

You nodded once, “Yup.”

“What, he’s got an eleven-inch dick or something?” Deran scoffed, sitting back and taking a swig of his beer.

You smiled with a shrug, placing your empty beer on the table.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t fuckin’ buy it.” He shook his head.

“You don’t have to,” you chuckled.

Craig laughed, shaking his head before taking another line. Mila had been staring out the window, watching people jump into the pool. 

Gasping, she beamed and sang your name, “I have to go swimming.”

“Mila, you’re gonna drown.” You joked, but she was already up, grabbing your hand and forcing you up.

Dragging you outside, she quickly discarded her sneakers and skirt over on a chair before jumping in. Craig and Deran had followed the two of you out, new drinks in hand and one for you. Bumming a cigarette, you clinked your beer against Deran’s, watching Mila swim around. 

You had been chatting about surf and Oceanside with the two of them, since you weren’t really accustomed to this side of the county, while Mila played mermaids by herself. You got along fairly well with the two of them, not without little jokes of your middle aged felon. Another beer and another joint, you were best friends.

When you looked over again, Mila was talking to someone by the diving board, waving her arm at you and yelling your name. Her head was sticking out of the water and the guy was sitting on the board, leaning down to hear her.

“One sec,” you said as Craig was about to finish a thought about something he called “Water BMX.” You scampered over to Mila and the boy who looked barely old enough to drive. 

As you approached, she pointed at him aggressively with a giggle, “This kid is like fifteen! We’re not the youngest here.”

“I’m seventeen.” He said meekly with a chuckle, like he didn’t really mind if you got it wrong.

“He’s in high school.” Mila pointed to him, which made you give a lightheaded laugh. “Wait, what the fuck’s your name again?”

“Uh, J.” He nodded.

Clenching his fists open and closed, Andrew walked into the backyard with a shaky breath and wide eyes. The drive back from the desert was a blur, so was everything that happened in the past few hours. Cath was gone— technically, missing— and Lena was all alone. He hadn’t even registered what he’d done, as if his body was working all on its own. HIs hands wouldn’t stop shaking and it only got worse the more he tensed. 

You. He couldn’t stop thinking about you. Protecting his family at all costs had been ingrained in his bloodstream. Calloused hands and tough arms, he’d become the devil as long as Smurf had him in her grip, as long as he had to prove his loyalty. You, though, you fell between the cracks, reaching out to him like an angel. Genuine warmth and arms that he could fall into told him otherwise. 

Andrew didn’t know if he could possibly ever be truly loved before. He came to you like a blank slate, still wholly himself yet you didn’t actually know anything about him— Pope Cody, that is. You loved him in spite of himself, maybe it could be attributed to your lonely heart or your trusting innocence. A bank robbery, you’d excuse— it was virtually harmless. What would the angel say now?

The music from the speakers pierced his ears, far too loud and coming in with a penetrating shriek, though he couldn’t feel more underwater. Swaths of strangers around him looked faceless, blurred together and meaningless, like Cath did before… He needed to wake up, catch his breath. He needed a beer or something. 

Body on complete autopilot, he floated towards Craig and Deran without even realizing. They were mid-conversation, sounds that barely formed to Andrew. Deran raised an eyebrow at him as Craig wordlessly handed him a beer.

Across the way, you were helping Mila out of the pool, holding out a towel you found on a shelf for her. You had been talking to J about college and his SAT score and whatever he had questions about. Mind still loopy, you and Mila didn’t give him proper answers, lining the conversation with giggles and jokes targeted at him. She climbed out of the pool and wrapped herself in the towel.

“Fuck, I need a cigarette.” She shivered, looking around for Craig.

Giving J a slight wave, you headed back towards the house, keeping your eye peeled for the brothers. Mila trailed behind, toeing along the concrete. You nearly tripped over yourself when you saw your Andrew by Craig and Deran. Just as beautiful as he had been in the morning, he stood rigidly beside them, muscles accentuated in his dark clothes. He was straight-faced with a beer bottle in hand, jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowed and eyes scattered.

“Andy!” You beamed, jumping on your toes to run at him, abandoning Mila in the process. He’d been materializing in your mind all night, you worried you might be hallucinating, but the look towards you was confirmation. Arms wide, you lunged at him, squeezing yourself flush against his body. “You’re here!”

Andrew tensed at the contact, but his arms instinctively wrapped around your waist. Your skin dug into his shirt, attempting to feel him closer than possible. His eyes darting to his brothers, they nearly laughed.

“Andy?” Deran smirked. 

Andrew scowled at him, then sent a confused look at you as he said your name, “What are you doing here?”

“I missed you,” You dragged out, keeping your arms around his neck and your head pressed to his shoulder. 

“This is your…” Craig almost completed but stopped when Deran shook his head at him.

Mila approached, nudging her head at Craig for a cigarette. He obliged, lighting one of her before turning his attention back to Andrew. His eyebrow raised when he watched you place a kiss on his cheek, whispering something to him.

“Pope’s screwing a college chick.” Craig chucked to himself, then to Deran, “Can’t believe that’s who she was talking about.”

“Pope?” It was Mila’s turn to raise an eyebrow. She sucked in the smoke, turning to you, scratching the back of Andrew’s head with your nails. 

You had forgotten all about them, gazing up at him like he was the only person in existence. Andrew had just been looking at you concernedly, asking how and when questions only to be met with loopy answers and your hands on him.

“Wait, how do you know him?” Mila pointed a finger at Andrew.

“He’s our brother,” Craig said, causing her to perk up. Her eyebrows furrowed, looking at the two of them. Undoubtedly, she was trying to place them with the search results on your computer from weeks ago. She thought she had been too high to form a cohesive thought, but nothing was clearer to her than now. The Codys. Of course. 

Deran laughed, “Wait till Smurf hears about this.” 

The mention of her name made Andrew snap out of whatever trance you brought him under. His head snapped to them and his eyebrows furrowed, face darting back to his protective nature. 

“Hold on,” he mumbled into your hairline.

Making you stand on your own, he let go of you and stepped to the two of them. You watched helplessly, arms at your sides and curious.

“Do not tell Smurf.” He grit his teeth, fists clenched.

“She’s gonna find out anyway.” 

“Not if you keep your mouth shut.” Andrew neared them, face dangerously close, trailing Deran’s. “Understand?”

“Yeah, man, whatever.” Deran shrugged, taking another sip of his beer. 

Infinite questions in her mind, Mila stood behind Craig as he simply watched the exchange, stuck on his inactivity. She watched as Andrew turned back to you, grabbing your hand and leading you out. Your feet dragged behind you, as his arm tugged you.

“Let’s go.”

Turning and catching Mila’s wide eyes, you whined, “Wait, but Mila—”

“Let’s go.” He said to you more harshly, a voice you hadn’t heard from him before. 

Something flashed in your eyes, not fear but concern, like a drill command that jolted your spine forward. The protective and maddened look on his face told you everything. His stare suggested your only option was to follow, letting your curiosity wither away. You nodded sheepishly, glancing back at Mila, Deran, and Craig before following Andrew to the gate.

From the side of the patio, J had watched the whole scene. Still sitting on the diving board, he was watching Andrew, Craig, and Deran. He immediately caught interest when you called out a nickname he hadn’t heard before. Watching you trail to Andrew, jump on him like you knew him well, then the intimidation exchange among the brothers. Completely sober, he took note.

1: Respectfully, Yours 2: Halo of the Highest Grade 3: Devil's in the Details 4: Wasting Your Honor

crossposted to ao3

There’s that tone. The one he uses with residents when they’re dancing around something obvious. Not unkind. Just… direct. Your breath catches for half a second. Not nerves exactly—more the weight of being looked at like that. Seen through, a little.

Jack glances at you, something softer there now. A small nod. Go on.

You shift in your seat, tucking one leg under you slightly, grounding yourself before you speak.

“It’s not… open,” you start, careful. “We’re not looking to—change anything. Not really.”

Robby watches you the whole time. Doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t fill the silence for you.

“It’s just—” you exhale, a small, almost embarrassed huff of a laugh, “—we trust you. Both of us do. And you’ve been… there. With us. For a while.”

“Unfortunately,” he mutters.

Jack snorts. “Speak for yourself.”

But Robby doesn’t look away from you.

You hold his gaze. “It’s not random. It’s not… about finding some person to fool around with. It’s you.”

That lands. You see it in the way his jaw shifts, just slightly. The humour doesn’t disappear, but it tightens around the edges.

“…Right,” he says, slower now.

Jack leans forward, elbows on the table, finally stepping back in. “It’s not a free-for-all,” he adds, dry. “We’re not pitching some kind of ER orgy.”

“Shame,” Robby says flatly.

You almost laugh, tension breaking for a second.

Jack shoots him a look. “Be serious for one second in your life.”

“I am serious,” Robby says. Then, to you—“I’m just making sure I understand what the hell you’re asking me.”

His gaze drops briefly—to your hands, the way they’re curled loosely around your glass—then back up again.

“What are you actually offering here?” he asks.

You hesitate—not because you don’t know, but because saying it out loud makes it real. Jack shifts beside you. You feel his knee press into yours, steady, grounding.

“It’s not just sex,” you say, quieter now.

Robby’s brow lifts. “No?”

You shake your head. “It’s… us. Still us. Just—” you glance at Jack, then back at Robby, “—with you in it. Sometimes. If you wanted that.”

There’s a long beat.

Robby leans back again, dragging his hand over his mouth, thinking. Really thinking.

“You two have been together, what,” he says, glancing at Jack, “two years now?”

“Nearly three,” Jack corrects.

“Nearly three,” Robby repeats. “You know, you… you live together. Don’t kill each other. That’s impressive.”

“Thank you,” you say, dry.

His gaze shifts back to you again, softer this time—but heavier, too.

“And you’re both telling me this doesn’t… complicate things.”

Jack answers this time, steady. “Everything’s already complicated. This wouldn’t change what we’ve got. We’ve talked, we trust each other, we trust you.”

Robby studies him for a second longer than necessary. There’s history in that look. Long-standing, unspoken understanding. The kind you only get after decades of knowing someone.

“…You’re serious,” he says finally.

“Yeah,” Jack says.

Robby exhales, a quiet, disbelieving laugh under his breath. He tips his head back for a second, staring at the ceiling like he’s trying to reset his brain.

“Jesus Christ.”

You don’t rush him. Neither does Jack. When he looks back at you, it’s different now. Less amused. More… considering.

“You’re asking about the three of us…” he tries, trailing off.

You nod. “Yeah.”

His eyes flick, just briefly, to where your leg is still angled toward Jack’s, the easy closeness of it. Then back to your face.

“And you’re both just- you’re… good with it,” he says.

Your voice is quieter when you answer. “Wouldn’t be sitting here if we weren’t. You’re attractive, smart, funny. And I think you’ve always secretly had a thing for at least one of us. Maybe both, but, one way to find out, I guess.”

Robby drums his fingers once against the table, then stills them.

“...Christ,” he mutters again, but there’s a hint of something else in it now. Not just disbelief.

Interest. He looks at you properly then. Not the quick, passing glances from before. This is slower. Measuring.

“You always this persuasive?” He wonders.

You tilt your head, a small smile pulling at your mouth. “Only when it matters.”

That earns the faintest huff of a laugh.

“Yeah,” he says. “I can see that.”

Jack shifts beside you, not tense—but alert. Watching the shift happen in real time. Robby notices that too. His mouth quirks, just slightly.

Your phone buzzes—once, twice, then a string of messages lighting up your screen.

You glance down, already half-standing. “I’ve gotta go. Park needs me—Isla called in sick.”

Jack doesn’t even hesitate. He’s already reaching into his pocket, keys in hand. “Take the car. I’ll ride back with him.”

You take them, brushing his fingers briefly. “Thanks, baby.”

You lean down—meant to be quick, but it doesn’t quite stay that way. Your mouth presses to his, warm, familiar. He lets you, hand coming up to your cheek, thumb catching just under your jaw, holding you there for half a second longer than necessary before you pull back.

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes when you do. You straighten, turning— Robby’s already looking at you. Not subtle about it. Rarely is.

“Michael,” you say, softer, a small nod.

He repeats your name—flatter, rougher, like he’s testing how it sits in his mouth.

You don’t linger. You head out.

The door swings shut behind you.

Jack watches it a beat too long. Then exhales, leaning back into the booth, dragging a hand over his mouth like he’s resetting.

Robby doesn’t look at the door. He looks at Jack. There’s a slow, almost amused curve to his mouth. Not mocking. Just… processing.

“Alright,” he says. “Who’s idea is it?”

Jack doesn’t bother pretending. “Mine.”

Robby lets out a short, disbelieving breath. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“When?”

Jack shrugs, reaching for his beer. “Remember that detox sexless cult thing she did a few months back?”

Robby snorts. “Yeah. You turned into the most unbearable version of yourself I’ve seen in twenty years. Which is saying something.”

“Appreciate that.”

“Walking around like—” Robby gestures vaguely, “—like a cat in heat.”

Jack huffs a laugh despite himself. “Yeah, well. After you left that morning, we had our… you know, usual great sex - not adding as part of the pitch, you already know how good the sex is -”

“-get to the point,” Robby says, with a slight snicker.

“Some point, I mention… I don’t know, marriage, foreplay, a third. We finish up, and… we’re just talking.”

“Talking,” Robby repeats, deadpan.

“Yeah. Try it sometime. With a professional, even, they do that.”

“Hard pass.”

Jack ignores him, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “It came up. Not seriously at first. Hypotheticals. What we’d be into, what we wouldn’t.”

“And you landed on me,” Robby says.

“Yeah.”

Robby watches him for a second. Longer than usual. “…Both of you.”

“Both of us.”

That lands differently.

Robby leans back, dragging a hand over his jaw, thinking. Really thinking now—not just reacting.

“That’s your girl,” he says finally. “You’ve built something there. I’m not—” he shakes his head slightly, “—I’m not interested in screwing that up.”

Jack’s expression doesn’t change much, but something in it settles. He nods once.

“I wouldn’t be asking if I thought you would.”

Robby glances at him, sharper now. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

“No,” Jack agrees easily. “But I do know you.”

A beat.

“And I trust you,” he adds.

it hangs there. Robby exhales slowly, gaze dropping to the table for a second before coming back up.

“…Yeah,” he mutters. “That’s the problem.”

Jack’s brow lifts, faintly amused. “That I trust you?”

“That I don’t take that lightly,” Robby shoots back.

Silence stretches for a second. Then Robby leans forward slightly, forearms braced on the table, voice dropping a notch.

“And you’re fine with it,” he says. Not a question. “Me and her.”

Jack doesn’t flinch. “Yeah.”

“Really.”

“Yeah.”

Robby studies him—searching for cracks, for ego, for something careless. Doesn’t find much. Jack kept his pride in check. He wasn’t a jealous person, not really. He was secure in himself. Something Robby envied, sometimes.

“…She’s—” he starts, then cuts himself off, jaw tightening slightly. “You know what she is.”

Jack huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I do.”

“Twenty-something,” Robby continues. “Smart. Looks like—” he gestures vaguely, then shakes his head. “You’ve seen her.”

Jack smirks faintly. “I have, yeah. A lot of her. It’s great.”

Robby’s mouth twitches despite himself.

“And she looks at you like you hung the moon half the time,” he adds.

Jack’s expression softens just a fraction. “Sometimes.”

Robby nods once, slow. Then—

“…You really telling me you’ve never thought about it? About her” Jack asks, casual—but not careless.

Robby lets out a quiet breath through his nose, leaning back again.

“That’s not a fair question.”

Jack tilts his head at his friend. An insistence in his eyes to go on.

Robby tips his head back slightly, staring at the ceiling for a second like he’s debating how honest he wants to be.

Then he looks back at Jack.

“…Well I’m not blind,” he says.

Jack doesn’t react much. Just watches him.

“She’s—” Robby exhales, searching for a word, then gives up and settles for, “—she’s a lot. Sweet.”

Jack’s mouth ticks. “She is… You ever think about her while jerking off?”

Robby lets out a low breath at that, clicking his tongue at his friend's bluntness. Fuck it, they’re being honest. “Yes.”

Robby’s a little surprised when he sees the slow blink from Jack, a nod. Maybe irritable. 

“What?” Robby scoffs. “You’re cool with the prospect of me fucking your girl? But what I do with my hand in my spare time is… what, some sort of line being crossed?”

“I didn’t say anything, alright. I’m all good here. Just didn’t think you’d admit it,” Jack nods with insistence. “What about during sex? Thought about her then?”

“...On occasion, yes, I’ve- she’s popped up there, yeah.” Robby admits with brief hesitance. 

That’s as far as he pushes it—but it’s enough. Jack nods once, like this one he expected. Like it doesn’t threaten anything.

“Fair,” he says.

Robby glances at him, something like disbelief creeping back in. “You’re taking that a lot better than I thought you would.”

Jack shrugs. “She’s hot. You’re not dead. Tells me you’ve got a working dick, at least.”

Robby lets out a short laugh at that, shaking his head.

Jack took a sip of his beer, then—because he wasn’t finished, because he never really was with Robby—tilts his head slightly.

“What about me?”

Robby scoffs immediately, too quick. “Oh, come on.”

“No, seriously,” Jack says, glancing at him sideways. Casual on the surface, not casual underneath. “No shame, total honesty here. Twenty years, no secrets, all that bullshit.”

Robby drags a hand over his beard, already feeling the trap closing. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Have you?” Jack asks, like he was asking about the weather.

A pause.

Robby stares at the table, jaw working once.

“…You first,” he mutters.

Jack doesn’t even blink. “Yeah.”

Robby let out a slow breath through his nose, eyes dropping, like he was doing the math on how much of himself he was willing to hand over tonight.

“Man, it’s not even—” Jack went on, shrugging a shoulder. “Half the time that shit doesn’t mean anything. Brain just throws things at you. Doesn’t make you anything.”

Robby let out a short, humourless huff. “Right.”

“What,” Jack presses lightly, “you worried about the gay implications?”

Robby shot him a look. “Don’t—”

“—What? Say ‘gay’?” Jack says, not unkind, but not backing off either.

Robby glances up as a couple walks past, waits them out, then leans back in his seat, voice lower.

“We’re talking about whether I’ve jacked off thinking about another guy,” he says, flat. “Yeah, the… ‘gay’ of it all crossed my mind. Excuse me.”

Jack just nods, like that was fair.

“I just… I guess, I didn’t realise—” Robby starts, then stops, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I mean, you know, are you—”

Jack shrugs, easy. “I’ve been with a few. Never made a whole thing out of it. Don’t really care to.”

Robby gives a small, disbelieving shake of his head. “Figrues. Army man.”

“Yeah, well,” Jack mutters. “You don’t have to slap a label on it, Rob. Doesn’t have to mean anything bigger than it is.”

“I’m aware,” Robby says, maybe a little sharper than he meant to. Then, quieter—like it cost him something— “…It’s crossed my mind.”

Jack’s mouth pulled into something faintly smug. Not cruel—just… satisfied.

“Crossed your mind,” he repeated. “Interesting wording.”

“Don’t start,” Robby warns, but there was less heat in it now.

Jack huffs a quiet laugh. “It was easier getting you to admit you think about fucking my girlfriend half our age than it was getting that out of you. That’s saying something.”

“Fuck you,” Robby mutters, rolling his eyes—but there was a reluctant grin there now, breaking through whether he liked it or not.

Jack shrugs, taking another sip. “Options apparently on the table.”

Robby shakes his head, but didn’t argue. Didn’t fully look away, either.

Something in the air had shifted—subtle, but real. Not a line crossed, exactly. More like one finally acknowledged.

Robby studied him for a second, longer than necessary. There was history there—years of it, unspoken things sitting just under the surface, things neither of them had ever had to name.

Jack didn’t push. Just leaned back, easy.

“Think about it,” he tries. “Or don’t. Nothing changes.”

Robby nods once, short. “Yeah.” A few seconds of quiet. “…You still need that ride home?” he asks.

Jack snorts. “Oh, a ride home? Wow. Subtle.”

“Shut up.”

“Flirting now, are we?”

“You are not a funny man, Jack Abbot, don’t think otherwise,” Robby says, but he was already smiling, just a little.

★★★

2 WEEKS EARLIER

threesomenoun — three·some — ˈthrē-səm

1: a group of three persons or things : trio

2: a golf match in which one person plays their ball against the ball of two others playing each stroke alternately

3: a sexual encounter involving three people

“Are you trying to say you wanna play golf?” Jack says from the stove, not even turning around as he stirs the pan like it personally offended him.

The kitchen smells like garlic and butter—onions already softened down, carrots and capsicum still holding a bit too much bite. He’s got one hand on the wooden spoon, the other braced on the counter, solid and steady in that way he always is.

You’re perched up on the counter, one leg swinging lazily, phone in hand.

“Yes,” you say dryly, scrolling. “I’m deeply passionate about golf. The balls. The stroking of the balls—”

“—I get it,” Jack cuts in. “You want a threesome.”

You look up at him, unimpressed. “I don’t want a threesome. I love twosomes. Specifically with you.” A beat. “But I’m not opposed to… expanding the sample size.”

Jack snorts, finally glancing over to you. “Expanding the—Jesus. That’s how you pitch wanting to fuck my best friend?”

“You brought it up,” you shoot back, pointing your phone at him like evidence. “Don’t act like this wasn’t your idea. ‘Oh baby, we should add a third, Robby would give me notes’—”

“I did not sound like that.”

“—If anything,” you continue over him, “I think you wanna fuck your best friend.”

“Alright,” Jack mutters, turning back to the pan. “Not what I sound like. And c’mon—you know you’re all I wanna fuck.” He nudges the vegetables again, frowning. “I think these are done.”

“They’re not.” You don’t even look up when you say it. “Anyway… I doubt he’d even be down for it,” you say. “I barely think he likes me as a friend.”

Jack lets out a quiet scoff at that.

You narrow your eyes. “What?”

“I think he’d fuck you in a heartbeat if I said I was okay with it,” Jack says, like it’s obvious. Then, distracted again—“I really think these are done, hon.”

“Test the carrot,” you say, still scrolling. “If it’s soft enough, it’ll break with pressure.”

He presses the spoon into one. It doesn’t budge.

“…Needs longer,” he admits.

“How do you know that?”

“I just did what you said, I—”

“No,” you interrupt, looking at him properly now. “How do you know Robby would fuck me?”

That slows him down.

Jack exhales through his nose, shoulders shifting as he leans back slightly against the counter, thinking.

“I know him,” he says. “Twenty years of it. And I know you.” A beat. “There’s something there. A thing. You’ve always had good chemistry.”

You huff lightly. “A vague… thing, maybe.”

You hesitate, then—because you don’t really do half-truths—

“I did have a bit of a crush on him,” you admit. “Before I met you.”

Jack stills. Not dramatically. Just enough.

“I don’t anymore,” you add quickly. “It faded. Pretty fast, actually. It was early—before I started coming down to ED properly. He’d come up sometimes, consults, whatever. I think it was just…” you shrug, searching, “…older. Authority. Bit of an asshole.”

Jack’s mouth pulls slightly at that, something between amused and unimpressed.

“Glad to know you don’t have a type,” he mutters.

You lean in closer from the counter, nudging his shoulder lightly with your knee.

“Hey,” you murmur. He glances up at you. “I like them a little shorter,” you say softly.

Jack blinks.

Then rolls his eyes, a huff of laughter slipping out despite himself as you grin and go back to your phone.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters, turning the heat down, a small smile at the corner of his lips. 

★★★

The thing about a third—about this third—was that it… kind of just felt natural. Like there was so little reason to not do it, to not try it, invite it.

It wasn’t sudden. It was something that had been sitting under the skin of things for so long it stopped feeling foreign the second it was named.

Robby had never been separate from Jack. 

Not really. People liked to pretend friendships had clean edges—this is where I end, this is where you begin—but that had never been the case with them. 

Too many years. Too many nights that blurred into mornings, too many arguments that never quite resolved but never quite broke them either. 

They’d dragged each other through their twenties, stumbled into their thirties, and settled—somehow—into their forties without ever untangling.

They knew each other in ways that made distance feel artificial.

And Robby had always lived in that tension.

He didn’t soften easily. Didn’t trust softness when it showed up uninvited. Jack had always been the exception to that rule—steady enough to withstand it, patient enough not to demand more than Robby could give. But patience didn’t mean absence.

There were things between them that had never been said out loud. Not because they didn’t exist, but because saying them would’ve required a kind of clarity Robby had spent most of his life avoiding. 

It was easier to file it under something else—loyalty, history, proximity. Easier to laugh it off, to redirect, to let it sit in that grey space where it didn’t have to be examined too closely.

Then you came along. And you didn’t disrupt that balance. You just seemed to understand it. 

You didn’t wedge yourself between them, didn’t ask Jack to choose, didn’t look at Robby like he was something to tolerate or compete with. You moved through it like it already made sense to you. Like there was room.

And God—there was something about you.

Not just that you were beautiful—though you were, in a way that made people look twice without meaning to. Not just that you were younger, brighter, sharper at the edges in a way that made everything feel a little more alive. It was the way you saw people.

The way you saw Jack—fully, without flinching, without trying to fix him or soften him into something more palatable. The way you leaned into him like you trusted him to hold the weight of that. The way you touched him without hesitation, like affection was a language you spoke fluently.

And worse—

The way you looked at Robby sometimes, like you were trying to figure him out and already had.

He’d noticed it long before anyone said anything. Of course he had. The small things. The way your attention lingered just a second longer than necessary. The way you didn’t pull back when he got too close, didn’t flinch at the edge in him that made other people cautious.

You met it. Sometimes you even matched it. And that—more than anything—was what made him careful. Because wanting you was one thing.

That was easy enough to dismiss, tuck away under instinct, under biology, under the thousand other justifications people used to avoid looking too closely at themselves.

But wanting you like this—in the context of Jack, with Jack, because of Jack. That was something else entirely. It brushed up against things he didn’t have neat categories for. Things that felt uncomfortably close to lines he’d spent years pretending weren’t there.

And Jack…

Jack, who didn’t do anything halfway, who didn’t offer things he wasn’t sure about—was sitting across from him like this was just another extension of something already solid. Like this wasn’t a risk so much as… an opening.

That was what threw him. It wasn’t the sex or the implication, it was how Jack totally trusted him. With you, with this, with Jack himself.

And Robby didn’t trust himself nearly that much.

That was the problem. Beneath all the deflection, all the dryness and sarcasm, the sharp edges, there was something undeniably real threading through all three of you. Not clean, not simple—but real in a way that resisted being dismissed.

Jack had never been particularly private about you. Not with Robby.

Not in the way people usually were about relationships—careful, curated, keeping the good parts polished and the rest tucked away. Jack wasn’t built like that. He didn’t gush, didn’t sentimentalise—but if he’d had a couple drinks in him and it’d been a long week, you came up. Inevitably.

Not in a soft-focus, hearts-and-flowers way.

In details. In fragments. In the way you got under his skin and stayed there. 

The way you kissed him, made him feel every ounce of his own flesh and blood, grounded, and above at once. In how much he adored your figure, or some ridiculous position, some ridiculous story of stamina and libido, your mouth, his mouth, your hand, his hand.

Robby had learned, over the years, to let it wash over him. Half-listening, half-not. It wasn’t discomfort exactly—more like… he didn’t know where to put it. There was something about hearing your name in Jack’s mouth like that that sat strange in his chest. 

“What the fuck do you mean six times?” Robby had said once, a laugh breaking through despite himself as he tipped his beer back.

They were sprawled out on the grass like they hadn’t aged out of it—backs damp against the ground, shirts sticking, the heat of the day still rising up through the dirt. The city hummed around them, distant enough to ignore. It felt like being twenty something again, except their knees ached when they stood and everything they didn’t talk about sat heavier.

It was one of those nothing nights, sometime back in Spring. End of a shift. A few beers. Waiting for you to finish upstairs while Jack pretended he wasn’t being watched over by the hospital.

Jack didn’t even open his eyes. “I mean she came six times,” he said, easy. “Working up to eight.”

Robby snorted. “You’re talking like it’s a personal best.”

“It is,” Jack said. “You don’t set goals, you stagnate. That’s what my therapist says.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Jack grinned faintly, still flat on his back, arms folded behind his head like he had nowhere else to be. “What’s your number?”

Robby shrugged, taking another sip. “I don’t know. I don’t have a number.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Nope.”

“Bull.”

Robby dragged a hand over his mouth, already regretting engaging. “…Four. Maybe.”

Jack turned his head slightly, considering that like it mattered more than it should. His fingers tapped absently against the neck of the bottle.

“Four,” he repeated.

“Some of us aren’t treating it like a competitive sport,” Robby muttered.

Jack huffed. “It’s not me,” he said. “It’s her. She’s a natural.”

“She really that good?” Robby had slipped as a question. Maybe for his own curiosity, maybe because he knew Jack would’ve gotten to it at some point. Both, likely.

There was a beat.

Robby stared up at the sky like it didn’t matter either way. Jack shifted slightly, something quieter settling into him now.

“She’s—” he paused, like he was trying to find a word that didn’t sound ridiculous and failing. “She pays attention. Like she’s studying you. Figures out what works and then—just… doesn’t let up. Like I’m constantly high around her. And man, she-” Jack cleared his throat. “She does this thing with her tongue.”

Robby exhaled through his nose, slow.

He didn’t say anything.

“She swirls it, right around the underside, traces it—the entire thing with the flat part. Goes between, you know, broad strokes, little ones, then she’ll—fuck,” Jack had mused. “…She’ll use the space beneath her tongue, suck, and still use her tongue at the same time. I can’t describe how good it feels,” Jack had explained, his words slurring slightly but still carrying a strange clarity. “Fucking… incredible.”

Robby couldn’t have helped but picture it. The image of you, on your knees, long lashes batting at him, as you brought him to the edge. He sipped his beer, fingers a bit tighter around the neck of the glass.

“She makes the prettiest noises, like a… I don’t even know,” Jack added, quieter now, almost to himself. “Moans and screams, and so… Christ. Like she doesn’t even realise she’s doing it, possessed.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Robby cut in, not sharply, but firm.

Jack just smirked, eyes still shut. “You asked.”

“I didn’t ask for a breakdown.”

“Semantics.”

Robby shook his head, but there was a faint smile tugging at his mouth despite it. He finished the last of his beer, letting the cold settle something in his chest that had nothing to do with the heat.

A pause stretched between them. Jack sipped his beer. Then—

“What’s the deal with you and Noelle?” Jack asked, casual in that way that wasn’t casual at all.

Robby’s jaw shifted.

“She’s… fine,” he said.

Jack cracked one eye open. “That sounds promising.”

Robby huffed. “It’s not—” he cut himself off, shook his head. “Don’t think it’s going anywhere.”

Jack watched him for a second. Then nodded, like he’d expected that. He handed Robby his own beer, watching as Robby took it after a moment, sipping from it himself

“Yeah,” he said. “Bummer.”

Another beat. Robby sat up, bracing his forearms on his knees, their shared beer dangling loose between his fingers.

“Don’t think I’m built for it,” he said finally.

Jack didn’t move. “For what?”

“This,” Robby gestured vaguely. “Relationships. The staying. The… showing up part.”

Jack was quiet for a second.

Then—

“Now that’s bull,” he said, not unkindly.

Robby glanced at him, a faint, tired smirk pulling at his mouth. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “We’ve known each other, what—twenty years? You’ve stuck around that long.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

Robby didn’t answer that. Jack pushed himself up onto his elbows now, looking at him properly.

“You don’t get to pretend you can’t do something just because you haven’t done it right yet,” he said.

Robby scoffed lightly. “Didn’t realise you were gonna get philosophical on me.”

“Yeah, well,” Jack muttered, reaching for his beer. “Hate to break it to you, man, but you’re not some unfixable case.”

Robby laughed at that—short, real.

“Garcia said I’d make a good ex-husband,” he said.

Jack snorted. “See? Even she thinks you can commit.”

“That’s not what that means.”

“Close enough,” Jack sighed. “Lie down, will you. You’re so damn tense.”

Robby let out a low groan but did it anyway, dropping back into the grass beside him, one arm flung over his eyes like he could shut the world out for a second. 

The ground was still a little damp from the morning rain, cool through his shirt, the air thick and warm in that late-night way where everything feels slower, looser.

They went quiet after that. Easy quiet. The kind that only comes after years—no need to fill it, no need to perform.

“Aw, you two are so cute.”

Jack sat up immediately.

You stood a few feet off the path, lit half by a flickering streetlamp—scrubs wrinkled, hair a mess like you’d been running your hands through it all day, hoodie tied loose around your hips. One of Jack’s old military backpacks hung off your shoulder like it belonged there. 

For a while there, Robby had forgotten the whole reason they’d been in the park to begin with was to wait for you.

“Hey, baby,” Jack said, voice softening without him meaning it to. “You finish alright?”

You just nodded, already moving toward him.

You didn’t hesitate—never did. Leaned down, pressed a quick kiss to his cheek that turned, halfway through, into something closer to his mouth. Warm. Familiar. You lingered just long enough that he had to chase it a second.

“Miss me?” you murmured, barely pulling back.

“Always,” he said, easy. A little drunk, a little honest.

Robby watched it happen from the ground, not even pretending not to.

You dropped down in front of Jack, cross-legged, close enough your knees brushed his thighs. His hands came up immediately—instinct, habit—sliding over your arms, grounding, checking. 

Then his mouth found your neck, a soft press just under your jaw, before his hands settled at your shoulders, working slow circles into muscle that had no business being that tight at your age.

You exhaled like you’d been holding it all day.

“Jesus,” you muttered. “Keep doing that.”

“Yeah?” Jack hummed against your skin, a little smug.

“Mhm.”

You tipped your head slightly, giving him better access without thinking. He took it.

Across from you, Robby shifted, propping himself up on his elbows now, watching the two of you with that same look he always got—half amused, half something else he never quite named.

“Robby,” you said, glancing over at him, “how the hell are you drinking after that shift? You guys were slammed.”

“Sometimes a drink’s all you get,” he said. His voice was steady, but his eyes flicked—brief, involuntary—to where Jack’s hands were still working into your shoulders. Then back to your face. “Ortho must’ve been a dream, though.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Oh yeah. Absolute paradise. Park was being a complete asshole to one of the R1s. Kid looked like he was gonna cry.”

“Sounds about right,” Robby muttered.

Jack’s hands slowed, thumbs pressing deeper into a knot that made you suck in a breath.

“Careful,” he said. “You’re gonna fall asleep right here.”

“Honestly?” you said, eyes half-lidded now, “tempting.”

There was a beat. Quiet again—but different this time. Fuller.

You shifted slightly, leaning back into Jack without thinking. Your hand found his knee, resting there, absent, like it belonged.

Robby noticed that too. Of course he did.

You glanced up at Jack then, studying him for a second longer than necessary.

“…You been talking about me?” you asked.

Jack snorted, immediate. “What?”

“You’ve got that look,” you said, squinting at him. “And he’s looking at me weird.”

“I always look at people weird,” Robby said, flat, from the grass.

You didn’t even look at him. “Yeah, but this is a different weird.”

Jack huffed a laugh under his breath, shaking his head like you were ridiculous, even as his mouth betrayed him. “We were just talking about your—what was it—immense beauty. Your sex appeal. Your many talents.”

His mouth brushed your neck again as he said it, like he couldn’t quite help himself.

Robby let out a quiet breath through his nose. Not quite a laugh. Something drier. “It’s not far off.”

You stilled. Then slowly turned your head, looking at Jack properly now.

“What did you say to him,” you murmured, low, dangerous in a way that wasn’t entirely serious—but not entirely not.

Jack leaned in, said something under his breath—too quiet for Robby to catch. Your reaction was immediate.

You smacked his leg—right on the prosthetic—with a sharp thwack.

“Jack.”

He barely flinched, just grinned, caught your wrist before you could do it again.

“If you actually told him that,” you said, pointing at him, “I swear to god I’ll take this thing off and beat you with it.”

“That’s dramatic,” Jack murmured, still holding your hand. “And also physically unlikely.”

“It’s true, though,” he added, softer now, mouth near your ear again. “You’re very good at it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your shoulders had loosened, leaning back into him again despite yourself.

Robby watched the whole thing like it was a film he hadn’t agreed to sit through, but couldn’t quite look away from either.

“So the tongue thing’s real then?” he asked, almost idly.

Jack groaned. “Alright. We’re done here.”

You laughed—bright, cutting through the heaviness of the day shift still clinging to all three of you—and turned into Jack properly this time.

It wasn’t quick. Not really. Soft at first, then deeper, your hand coming up to his jaw, holding him there. He responded without thinking, one hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer, grounding himself in something he knew.

Robby looked away. Not fast enough.

You pulled back eventually, brushing your nose against Jack’s.

“I’ll drive,” you said quietly. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” he said automatically.

“You’re pretty drunk,” you corrected.

A beat.

“…Alright. Could be a little drunk,” he conceded.

You smiled, already reaching into his pocket for the keys like it was second nature. He let you. Fingers brushing yours as you took them, just for a second longer than necessary.

“Don’t lose the car,” he muttered.

“No promises.”

You stood, stretching slightly, then glanced down at Robby.

“You good?” you asked, softer now.

He met your eyes, something unreadable passing through his expression before it settled back into something easier.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m good.”

You nodded like you believed him.

“Night, Michael.”

There was a flicker at that—something small but real.

“Night,” he said.

Jack let you haul him up, weight shifting automatically to his left as he got his balance, your hand steady at his arm without making a thing of it. He adjusted, rolled his shoulders like he always did, then followed your lead without argument.

“Text me when you get home,” he called back to Robby.

“Sure. Have fun with your girl.’ Robby had said, lying back down.

“I definitely will,” Jack nodded.

You were already walking, his shoulder brushing yours, easy. He leaned down slightly as you hit the path, murmuring something low against your hair that made you let out a quiet, breathy laugh—something private, something just for him.

Robby watched you both go.

Didn’t move.

The grass was still damp under his back when he lay down again, staring up at a sky that refused to give him anything clear.

He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over his mouth.

So, when you and Jack finally put it to him—cornered him in that quiet, deliberate way the two of you had—Robby wasn’t as hung up on the logistics of it as he probably should’ve been. The dynamic, the risk, the aftermath—those were the things a smarter man might’ve led with. But that wasn’t where his mind went first.

It went somewhere simpler. Sharper.

Just how pretty were the noises you made? How soft was your tongue? Would you like it if Robby was cruel—if he held your head down and made you choke on him?

And Jack… steady Jack. What did he look like when he finally came? Did he like being teased, kept right on that edge until it snapped? Would he grip Robby’s hair, or would he stay controlled even then, taking it without losing that composure?

It wasn't an abstract curiosity. It wasn’t even entirely sexual, not at its core. It was about access.

About seeing something of both of you that no one else did. About being let into a space that already existed—intimate, closed, complete—and being told there was room for him inside it.

And that—more than anything else—was what made it difficult to dismiss.

★★★

Ortho is down for a consultation when you get called in.

The patient is already under—intubated and sedated, leg secured in traction. The CT is up on PACS, the fracture obvious even before you zoom in: a displaced mid-shaft femur, clear shortening, classic muscle pull deformity.

“Yeah, that’s a transverse mid-shaft femoral fracture,” you say, pen tapping the screen. “You can see the displacement here, and the overlap—this is why the leg looks shortened clinically.”

Santos leans in, her eyes slightly wide. “Fuck.”

You shake your head. “It looks dramatic, but it’s stable from what we’ve got. No obvious vascular compromise on imaging. Ortho will likely take her for an intramedullary nail.”

Santos lets out a breath.

You scroll through the scan again, adjusting the windowing. “We’ll just want to repeat neurovascular checks pre-op and post-reduction. But she’s straightforward.”

“Thank god,” Santos mutters. “I was so not bothered to call for another consult.

A knock on the glass interrupts you. You glance up.

Robby.

He’s already halfway through sanitising his hands when he steps in, eyes flicking once to the screen before landing on you.

“Ortho’s down in ED?” he says.

“Yeah,” you answer, a little too aware of him in the doorway. “Santos messaged me. Femur fracture.”

He leans in beside you to look at the CT, close enough that the space shifts—clinical, but not entirely neutral. He’s tired in the way only long shifts make you, sleeves pushed up, forearms marked faintly by pressure lines from his undershirt.

“Looks like a clean nail,” he says.

“Assuming ortho behaves,” you reply.

He huffs something like a laugh. “They won’t.”

“No,” you agree. “We never do.”

Santos clears her throat. “While I’ve got you—Huckleberry and I are having a Parisian party next Friday. At our place. You should come. You and Abbott, of course.”

You pause slightly.

“A Parisian party?” you repeat.

“Yeah,” Santos says, warming to it. “Paris-themed. Like… French food, wine, decorations. The Eiffel Tower and shit.”

Robby makes a quiet sound behind you—almost a laugh, quickly disguised.

You glance at him, but he’s still looking at the scan like nothing happened.

Santos continues, mildly confused. “Have either of you been to Paris?”

“No,” you say.

Robby: “Nope.”

Santos nods like that still tracks logically. “Yeah, me neither. Barely even been to Canada.”

There’s a beat.

“Anyway,” She adds, already backing toward the door, “You’re invited too, Robby. Maybe the three of you come together or something. You’re all close”

“...Sounds good, Santos, we’ll let you know,” Robby says with a nod. “North Twelve?”

“Consider it done.” Santos says dry, nodding.

The door shuts behind her. Silence settles back in—clean, clinical, familiar. Except Robby is still standing close enough that you’re aware of him in a way you shouldn’t be during a trauma consult.

He glances at the CT again. “Paris-themed party,” he repeats flatly.

“Don’t even,” you say immediately, because you can hear it in his tone already, trying to hide your own smile.

“What?” he says innocently.

You turn slightly toward him. “I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

He finally looks at you properly now, mouth twitching. “I’m not thinking anything.”

“You’re absolutely thinking something and at work nonetheless? Inappropriate.”

“I’m thinking Santos should never be allowed to plan anything,” he says.

“Liar.”

That earns you a brief, quiet exhale of amusement. You finish with the scans and walk out, Robby hot on your heels as you head to the nurses station.

“You think you’ll go?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “Jack and I have the night off. We’ll be busy.”

“Right,” he nods.

A beat.

“You?” you ask.

“I’d rather not spend my night around a bunch of drunk residents,” Robby says with a quiet exhale. “So, no.”

“Come over then,” you offer, stopping at the nurses’ station.

Robby gives you a look. “Thought you said you two were busy.”

“You can be busy with us,” you say, looking up at him, pen tapping lightly against the chart. “Or just Jack. Or just me. He told me you’ve thought about it either way.”

A faint sigh leaves him. “Right. I forgot he can’t keep anything to himself.”

He leans against the counter, lowering his voice slightly as his eyes flick briefly across the station—Dana watching from a few bays away, already narrowing her gaze like she’s clocking something she hasn’t labelled yet.

“Have you?” he asks softly.

“Thought about you? In that way?” you clarify.

He nods, a slight tilt to his head, curious.

You hesitate just long enough to make it honest.

“Yes,” you admit. “You’re tall. Kind. Your beard’s nice. You’re probably a little meaner than Jack, which interests me.”

That earns the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Something deeper in him satisfied.

“Abbot’s a lover boy at heart,” Robby says. “Gives in easily. ‘Specially for you.”

You nod, like that tracks. “Most of the time, yeah.”

That earns a quieter look from him. A pause that sits just slightly longer than professional. Then, more carefully, “Is it true you had a crush on me?”

You tilt your head. “God, he really just— Doesn’t keep anything to himself.”

Robby exhales through his nose. “Not at all. I’ve been subjected to that man and his inner workings for too long.”

You bump his shoulder lightly with yours, just enough contact to make the space between you feel intentional.

“Was it a yes?”

“To the crush?” You consider it. “Yeah.”

That makes his eyebrows lift slightly.

“Before Jack,” you add, like it matters in a technical sense. “Older, authority figure, slightly emotionally unavailable… I think I might just have a pattern.”

Robby hums, low. “Tracks.”

There’s a beat where neither of you moves away. Then he says, quieter, “And now?”

You don’t look away when you answer. “Now, it’s just… different.”

That hangs there. From somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeps sharply, breaking the moment just enough for it not to tip into anything else.

You glance back down at the chart, already half-moving on.

“I’ll let you know when we get a room open for the femur nail lady.”

And then you’re gone—already walking toward the elevator, the conversation left hanging in the air behind you. Robby watches you go.

A quiet breath leaves him through his nose. He taps his fingers once against the counter, then pushes off it, turning back to the screens like he needs something solid to land on.

Dana appears beside him a second later, sliding into the space like she’s been waiting for exactly this moment.

“What’s with that?” she asks.

“...What’s with what?” he replies, arms folding loosely, eyes still on the monitor bank.

“I mean,” she says slowly, “what’s with flirtin’ with Abbott’s girl in front of everybody?”

He doesn’t look at her when he answers.

“That’s not flirting,” he says evenly. “We were just talking.”

Dana hums, unconvinced. “Talkin’ real close.”

Robby exhales, already shifting focus. “New patient?”

“Yeah,” she says, nodding toward the bay. “Just rolled in. Need you over there.”

“Alright,” he says.

And he follows her down the hall, expression already reset.

★★★

“—Hey. Hold on a second,” Jack says, breath a little uneven.

“No, don’t—don’t hold on,” you protest, already moving, frustrated at the interruption. Your hips roll, trying to sink deeper, but his hands clamp down on your waist—firm, grounding, stopping you.

“Hey. Easy.” A breath. “Just—gimme a second, alright?”

You huff, but you stop. Barely. Your thighs tremble, hovering just above his cock, the tip brushing against your wet slit.  “This better be good.”

He lets out something like a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. “Yeah, I’ll try not to waste your time.”

A beat. He looks at you properly now—focused, a little too clear-headed for the situation. His thumb traces a slow circle on your hipbone, soothing, but his eyes are sharp.

“Just… wanna get this straight,” he says.

Your hands shift on his chest, nails dragging lightly. “Okay. Then say it.”

He nods once. “He can be there. He can watch, he can fuck you.” A pause. “But there are lines.”

You tilt your head, watching him. “Such as?”

His grip tightens just a fraction—not enough to bruise, enough to mean something. “Such as—you don’t forget who you’re with.”

You raise a brow, a smirk pulling at your lips. “Hard to forget when you’ve got your dick in me half the time I’m not at work.”

“Smartass,” he mutters. Then, quieter—“I’m serious. He doesn’t get to know how you taste. That’s mine.”

“Uh-huh…” You roll your hips lazily, not sinking down, just letting the head of his cock nudge against your clit, making him hiss. “So this is allowed?” You lift up, then lower just an inch, teasing the tip against your entrance.

“Yeah, allowed,” Jack nods, his jaw tight.

“Mm. This?” You lean down and kiss him—sweet, slow, your tongue brushing his lower lip before you pull back with a soft pop.

He nods into the kiss, groaning when you start to move again, lifting your pussy off him completely. The air hits his wet shaft and he shudders.

“Yeah? What about this?” You wrap your hand around his cock, giving it a slow, deliberate stroke from base to tip, slick with your own arousal. You squeeze just a little, watching his eyes flutter.

“All allowed,” he grates out, “but his mouth isn’t getting near this, alright, that’s all—” He cuts off as he grabs you by the hips, guiding your pussy back down, lining you up and shoving it back in with a single, brutal thrust. Your moan rips out of you—loud, breathy, grateful. His cock fills you so deep you feel it in your throat.

“Yeah? That good with you?” he asks, voice rough.

You nod, already starting to ride him—slow at first, just a rock of your hips, teasing the angle. “What about you and ’im?” you ask, breath hitching as you grind down.

Jack shrugs—or tries to. “What don’t you want?”

“No blowjobs either, then,” you say, voice a little strained as you lift up and drop back down, feeling every ridge. “’S for me.”

“Sounds good to me.” His hands find your hips again, but he doesn’t guide—he just holds, letting you set the pace. Letting you take.

You pick up speed, thighs burning, your clit grinding against his pubic bone with each roll. The room fills with the wet sound of your pussy gripping his cock, and you tilt your head back, letting him see the arch of your throat.

His hand comes up, thumb brushing along your jaw, pulling your focus back to him when you drift.

“Right here,” he murmurs.

You meet his gaze. That same look—steady, a little rough around the edges, but sure. His.

“Good,” he says, softer now. His thumb drags across your lower lip, and you part your mouth, just enough to suck the tip of it in. His eyes darken.

And when you move again, it’s slower. You rock forward, letting his cock hit that deep, sweet spot, and you moan against his thumb. You pull off it with a wet sound, then lean down to kiss him again—dirtier this time, tongue and teeth, whimpering into him.

“Yeah,” he breathes against your lips. “That’s better.”

★★​​★

It’s late into the evening on Friday when you hear Jack on the phone.

“No, can’t,” Jack says, pacing your living room, phone tucked to his ear while he half-heartedly folds laundry and gives up halfway through. “I’m home. She’s cooking. Smells like I’m about to get fat and happy.”

“Baby, can you come try this?” you call from the kitchen.

“One sec,” he says, then quieter, back into the phone—“What’d you wanna do?”

“Nothing,” Robby mutters. “I… I don’t know, man. I don’t feel like crashing Santos and Whitaker’s… house party. We could go for a drive. Hike.”

Jack stops mid-step. “A hike,” he repeats. “At nine-thirty at night.”

A beat.

“Yeah, not happening,” he decides, dropping the laundry basket and heading into the kitchen.

You’re at the counter in that barely-there nightgown—soft, short, riding up your thighs as you lean forward, aggressively chopping an onion like it personally offended you. Eyes glossy, blinking through it.

Jack pauses in the doorway for half a second longer than necessary.

Then—business as usual.

“Alright,” he says, stepping in behind you, close enough that his hand brushes your hip on the way past. “What am I trying?”

You nod at the stove. “Carbonara.”

He leans over, tastes it, hums—low, approving.

“Yeah,” he says into the phone. “She’s showing off.”

You bump his arm lightly. “I am not.”

“You are,” he says, kissing you quick, easy, like he’s done it a thousand times. “It’s working.”

You smile despite yourself, wiping at your eyes.

On the phone, Robby exhales. Rough. Tired.

“Hike’s dumb,” Jack says, shifting tone without making it obvious. “What’s actually going on.”

“Nothing,” Robby says. “Just… can’t sit still. Garcia was on my ass all day, Al-Hashimi wouldn’t shut the fuck up—”

“—Hey,” Jack cuts in, calm, steady. “Take a breath.”

You glance over at him. He’s not looking at you anymore—focused now, locked into that mode.

“You’re good,” he says. “You’re not thinking anything dumb, right?”

A pause.

“…No,” Robby says. “Just need to… get out of my head, I don’t know.”

Jack hears it. You do too. That edge. That restless, pissed-off with nowhere to put it thing.

“He can come here,” you say, like it’s obvious.

Jack looks at you—quick, assessing—but there’s no resistance there. Just a flicker of something else.

“Yeah,” he says into the phone. “Come over. Food’s ready soon.”

“I don’t know, man—” Robby starts.

You reach over and take the phone straight out of Jack’s hand.

“Hey, Michael.”

There’s a beat.

Jack watches you now, not even pretending to focus on the onions anymore.

“…Hey,” Robby says, slower. “Heard you were cooking.”

“Mhm,” you hum, leaning back against the counter, bare leg brushing against Jack’s where he stands beside you. “Plenty to go around.”

Jack’s hand settles at your hip automatically. Not possessive—just there.

Robby hears the shift anyway.

“This a setup?” he asks.

You smile slightly. “You always this suspicious, or just with me?”

A quiet scoff from him.

“You should come,” you add, softer—but not innocent. “You sound like you need it.”

A beat. Jack’s thumb presses lightly into your hip. Grounding. Present.

Robby exhales. “Yeah. Guess I can make it.”

“Guess you can,” you say easily.

Silence again—but it’s different now.

You glance at Jack.

He nods once.

“Door’s unlocked,” you say. “Twenty minutes.”

You hand the phone back.

Jack takes it, fingers brushing yours briefly, then brings it back to his ear. “You heard her. No pressure.”

A pause.

“…Alright,” Robby says.

The line clicks dead.

Jack sets the phone down on the counter, then looks at you properly. A slow once-over. Not subtle.

“What?” You raise a brow.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. I’ll finish the laundry.” He gives you a deep kiss to your neck, hands trailing over your figure as he mumbles into your skin, fingers gently pushing aside the light material. “You gonna stay in this?” He asks.

“‘S that alright?” You wonder, leaning into his touch.

He inhales sharply against your skin, lips leaving your skin. “Sure.”

★★★

You’re out on the balcony when it comes up.

Jack’s place sits high enough that the city feels almost staged—Pittsburgh stretched out in warm light, bridges lit up in clean lines, traffic moving steady below like it never really stops. It’s one of those late summer nights where the air sticks just slightly to your skin, warm but not suffocating. There’s music drifting from somewhere down the block, a party you can’t see but can feel in the background.

The balcony’s not small—wide enough for a proper table, a few chairs, space to lean without feeling cramped. Jack had insisted on that when he bought the place. Said if he was going to spend money, it’d be on something worth standing still for.

Your plates are mostly cleared, carbonara half-finished, wine and beer sweating into the wood.

“Have either of you done this before?” Robby asks.

Jack shakes his head immediately. “No.”

You don’t answer.

You’re thinking—actually thinking, head tilted slightly, finger lifting to tap against Jack’s arm like you need him to hold on a second. That’s when it hits him, belated and faintly incredulous, that this apparently hadn’t come up when the idea itself had.

“…Have you?” Jack asks, turning to you, already suspicious.

“I am thinking,” you murmur, brows pulling together like this is a serious recall exercise.

Robby raises a brow, watching you now, something amused creeping in despite himself.

“What do you mean you’re thinking?” Jack presses. “That’s not… I don’t know, something you half do or something. You’d know.”

“Or something,” Robby mutters under his breath.

You shoot him a look, then roll your eyes. “Okay—no. I don’t think I’ve had a threesome.”

“How can you not think you’ve had a threesome?” Jack wonders.

You lean back slightly, folding one leg under you, the fabric of your nightgown shifting higher on your thigh without you bothering to fix it. You don’t notice how both men’s gaze drop there.

You exhale, already regretting engaging. “Because—technically—no one actually got fucked, there was no penetration by anybody, so, grey area?”

There’s a beat.

Robby’s mouth twitches.

Jack blinks. “...Right.”

“Okay?” you continue, defensive now. “It was—hands. That’s it. Group situation, but not… full commitment.”

Robby huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Group situation,” he repeats.

“Shut up,” you mutter.

“Another guy or girl?” Jack asks, too quickly.

You hesitate just long enough to make it interesting. “…Both.”

Jack leans back like you’ve just told him something deeply inconvenient. “...Huh.”

Robby lets out a low whistle through his nose. “So not a threesome. Just… poor project management.”

You laugh despite yourself. “Oh my god.”

“That’s a foursome that lost direction,” he adds, dry.

“Whatever,” you shrug. “Med school was fun for me. Sorry I had range.”

Jack eyes you, something between amused and slightly thrown. “I’m just saying, that’s a hell of a thing to casually drop over dinner.”

You smirk faintly. “I’m surprised you haven’t.”

Jack scoffs. “I’ve had opportunities.”

“Mm,” you hum, unconvinced.

Robby glances at him sideways. “That sounds like a lie.”

“It’s not a lie,” Jack says, defensive now. “I just—never felt the need.”

“Right,” Robby says. “Till now.”

Jack gives him a look. “Till now.”

Something passes there—quick, familiar, not entirely friendly as Robby sips his beer.

After, you step out to the edge of the balcony, forearms resting against the railing. The city hums below you, the air warmer now, carrying the smell of food and distant smoke.

Inside, you hear Jack moving—plates, running water. Robby’s voice low, asking something, already familiar with the space.

“Thanks, baby,” you say when Jack comes back out, taking your plate.

You lean in, press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, hand coming up to your hair, messing it slightly with a small, easy smile.

You push him away lightly. “Don’t start.”

Robby watches it for a second before picking up the empty bottles, holding them loosely by the necks.

“Next to the fridge?” he asks, like he hasn’t been here a hundred times already—like tonight isn’t slightly different.

“Yeah,” you nod. “Recycling. Thank you.”

He gives a short nod and turns— You catch his wrist. It’s not forceful. Just enough.

“Hey,” you say, softer.

He looks down at you.

There’s a pause—his eyes dragging, just briefly, lower before coming back up. You’re close enough now to feel the heat off him, the faint roughness of his breath after a drink, after a long day.

You use his forearm to pull yourself up just slightly— and kiss him. It’s not rushed. It’s far from tentative either. Close. Testing.

His beard scratches lightly against your skin, rough in a way that makes you more aware of it, not less. He stills for half a second—then responds, mouth softer than you expected, hand hovering like he hasn’t decided where it’s allowed to land. 

Your teeth catch his bottom lip briefly. That’s what does it.

“Starting without me?” Jack’s voice cuts in, dry. “Bit mean.”

Robby pulls back instinctively, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t—even though—

Even though.

You smile a little, letting go of his wrist as he clears his throat.

“Next to the fridge,” Jack adds, nodding toward the bottles.

Robby nods once, wordless, moving past him.

Their shoulders brush as he goes. Not accidental. Jack doesn’t move out of the way.

He watches Robby for a second longer than necessary, then looks back at you.

You end up on the couch.

It happens naturally—plates abandoned in the sink, TV flicked on for noise more than anything else. Some late-night rerun playing low in the background, colours shifting across the room, low lamps lighting the room.

Jack’s in the middle, halfway through some story from work—one of those cases that stuck with him. Complicated, strange, the kind he can’t quite let go of.

You’re tucked into his side, knees curled under you, your hand idly playing at the back of his neck—fingers brushing through his hair, absent, familiar. You nod along, half-listening, more focused on the rhythm of his voice, the warmth of him.

Robby’s behind you. Close enough that you can feel the heat of him through your back, even before his hand settles on your thigh—slow, absent movement, like he’s not even fully aware he’s doing it.

Up. Down. Not pushing. Not asking. Just there.

Jack keeps talking.

You lean in without really thinking about it—your lips brushing along his jaw, then just below it. Light. Familiar. Not rushed.

Jack’s hand comes up to your lower back automatically, pulling you in a fraction closer, steadying you there.

Robby’s hand doesn’t stop. If anything, it shifts—just slightly higher, fingers brushing warmer skin now where the fabric gives way.

Jack feels it. His hand stills for a second at your back—then relaxes again.

He doesn’t pull you away. Doesn’t say anything. You exhale softly against his neck, your breath warm there, your fingers tightening slightly where they rest behind him.

And for a second—just a second—you’re aware of both of them at once.

Jack in front of you, steady, grounding. Robby behind you, quieter, heavier—watching more than speaking.

Jack’s gaze lifts. Meets Robby’s. There’s a beat. Not long. But long enough. Something passes between them—wordless, measured. Something you can’t read.

Jack gives the smallest nod. Barely there. Robby’s jaw shifts slight. Then Jack looks back at you.

Your hand slides from his neck to his jaw, turning him slightly, and you kiss him properly this time—slow, deliberate. He leans into it without hesitation, one hand firm at your waist.

When you pull back, it’s not far. Just enough. Just long enough to turn.

Robby’s already looking at you. Not surprised. Not really. Just watching. You close the distance like it’s nothing—like it’s always been this simple—and kiss him too.

Different. Not softer, not harder—just new. Testing. His hand stills on your thigh for half a second before it shifts, coming up to steady at your side, like he’s grounding himself in it.

There’s a quiet breath from him—almost a huff, almost disbelief.

“This is fun,” You murmur.

You don’t give him time to overthink it.

You lean back between them again, tipping your head slightly, and they follow without being told.

Jack’s mouth finds one side of your neck, familiar, certain.

Robby hesitates for a fraction of a second— then doesn’t.

The other side. Slower. More deliberate. Like he’s learning something he’s not used to having.

You exhale, a soft sound you don’t quite hold back this time, and your hands come up instinctively—one finding Jack’s hair, the other Robby’s, fingers threading through both, holding them there.

For a second, it stays like that. Balanced.

Then you shift, just slightly—hands tightening, guiding as you move the two of them, their lips almost naturally coming to find one anothers, moving them like ken dolls, before you drop your hands, watching with a small smile, as Robby's immediacy for control goes against Jack's. Robby’s hand deepening into your thigh, grip tight as he kisses Jack.

Jack pulls back first, breath uneven but still controlled, his eyes flicking to yours like he’s checking in—like he always does.

His hand slides up your spine, slower now, deliberate where it had been absent before. His palm is cool against your overheated skin, the contrast making you shiver as it traces upward, then back down again, lingering just enough to feel intentional.

You lean back into him, lips finding his neck again—dragging slowly over the roughness of his skin, the faint scrape grounding, familiar. You press a little firmer this time, less thought, more instinct.

When you pull back, it’s only barely. Your breath catches—not dramatic, just… aware. Of him. Of Robby. Of both.

Jack’s hand presses more firmly into your back, keeping you close, steadying you like he can feel the shift too.

“Baby,” he murmurs, voice low, softer than before. “Feeling needy?”

You nod against him, answering with your mouth instead—kissing along his jaw now, slower, more deliberate.

“Yeah,” he exhales, a quiet sort of understanding in it. “I know, hon.” A beat. Then, quieter—“You want me, or him?”

You hesitate. Not long—but long enough to matter.

Robby’s hand shifts on your thigh, moving from the outside to your inner thigh, firm but unhurried, easing you open just slightly—testing, not taking. Waiting to see what you’ll do with it.

“It’s alright,” Jack starts, voice still calm, like he’s talking you through something he already trusts. “Go ahead. She likes it when you—”

“—I’ll ask you for help if I need it, alright?” Robby cuts in, low and even.

They exchange a look—brief, sharp, understood.

You lean over, pressing a quick, soft kiss to Jack’s cheek—something sweet, grounding—before shifting your weight and climbing into Robby’s lap.

He stiffens for a second. Just a second.

Robby’s always been hard to read. Time’s etched itself into his face, but there’s still that wall there—something held back, something controlled. Maybe it’s nerves. Maybe it’s you. His best friend’s girl, sitting on him like this—close, warm, curious.

“You okay there, Sasquatch?” you tease, tilting your head up at him.

His hands find your thighs again almost immediately, like muscle memory kicking in. His gaze flicks—down, over you, then back to your eyes. Briefly to Jack. Then back again.

“Sasquatch? Really?” he murmurs, one hand moving up to cup your breast through your top. His palm is warm against you, sending a shiver down your spine. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“Beard, tall… same thing, no?” you shrug lightly.

That earns the faintest hint of a smirk.

“She always cracking jokes before getting fucked?” Robby asks, giving your breast a firm squeeze. His other hand slides lower, ghosting over your stomach before cupping your mound through your panties

“Depends,” Jack admits. “One time I got G.I Joe for an hour.”

“He was in uniform, in my defense,” You defend, brief before you try moving your hips over Robby’s fingers, eager. “Come on, Michael.” 

Robby's fingers press harder against your core, rubbing slow, firm circles that have you arching into him, a sweet whine escaping your lips, his eyes enamoured with how your mouth parts, breath warm against him. 

“What a cute noise you make, sweetheart,” Robby murmurs. “Ask me nicely now.”

You hesitate, desperate as his fingers continue to move achingly slow over your wetness.

“Ask or I give Jack my hand right now instead and you can wait your turn for another hour,” Robby tells, voice low and soft, not looking away from where his fingers glide over your seeping core.

“Please,” you murmur, voice breathy and desperate. “Please fuck me with your fingers.”

You crash your lips to his—harsh, messy, tongues thrusting quick and slick, his beard scraping rough red trails across your cheeks and chin. He growls low into your mouth, yanking your panties aside with brutal force, calloused fingertips dragging through your dripping folds, parting your lips wide before ramming two thick fingers knuckle-deep into your clenching pussy—no mercy, no prep.

You gasp ragged into the kiss, a high-pitched moan ripping free as your lips break away, saliva trailing shiny strings from his mouth to yours. You latch onto his neck, teeth grazing the salty skin, sucking hard as you grind down fierce onto his invading digits—walls squeezing tight around the stretch, juices flooding hot over his palm.

“Move your fingers toward her ventral,” Jack instructs from the side, voice calm but edged with that teasing know-it-all tone, his hand sliding warm along your spine.

Robby exhales sharp through his nose—mild irritation flashing in his eyes at the unasked advice, jaw clenching as he shoots Jack a quick, heated glare. But he curls his fingers obediently upward inside you, knuckles grinding rough along your front wall to hammer your g-spot precise and relentless. Your moan swells louder, body jolting as fresh gushes of slick coat his hand, pussy slurping obscenely around each pump.

“Christ, you’re making a mess on me, aren’t you, kid? Huh?” Robby rasps, voice gravel-thick with mean delight, eyes locked on the filthy sight—your swollen pussy lips gliding and sucking greedily over his plunging fingers, riding them frantic. 

He twists his wrist sharp, scissoring the digits wide to pry your hole open, thumb mashing down hard on your throbbing clit with every brutal thrust—wet schlicks echoing loud, your thighs trembling slick against his forearm, arousal trickling warm down to soak his jeans.

He adds a third finger suddenly, forcing the burn deeper, stretching your cunt taut as he moves, hooking mercilessly on that spongy spot. 

“You getting close?” He asks, low and rough, listening closely to your moans, how they become pitchier, breathier, as sweet as Jack described. You nod, a loose yes, focused only on how your core winds up to the edge. “That right?”

Your cries pitch wilder, back arching as he pinches your clit between thumb and knuckle, rolling it rough while his fingers churn your insides, coil tight in your core.

“What else she like?” Robby asks Jack, glancing over at his friend now, fingers never slowing their rhythm inside you.

Jack taps his index and middle digit to his lips, nodding toward you. Robby nods back, hums at the sight of you, curious.

Robby yanks his fingers free abrupt—your pussy clenching empty, a whine tearing from your throat at the aching void, hips bucking needy for more. He brings those soaked digits up to your face, gripping your chin firm to still you, watching hungry as you part your lips instinctively. 

His fingertips tease your bottom lip, smearing your own cream glossy, before you suck them in deep—tongue swirling eager around the thick lengths, lapping every tangy drop, hollowing cheeks as saliva drips messy down your chin.

“Atta girl, you’re a fuckin’ mess now aren’t you?” Robby murmurs, gaze glued ravenous to your bobbing mouth, cock throbbing harder under you. “You wanna cum?”

You nod, frantic around his fingers, eyes pleading.

“Not yet,” Robby denies, voice almost gentle, yet harsh at once. “Barely seen what you can do.”

You exhale shaky as he pulls his fingers out with a wet pop, trailing spit from your chin before cupping your whole face possessive, holding you locked on him.

“Go over to him. Make him feel good,” Robby orders, jerking his chin at Jack.

You nod, movements sluggish from the edge he left you on.

“On the floor, knees, now,” Robby snaps, voice brooking no argument.

You slide off his lap reluctant, crawling back to Jack beside him on the couch. He smiles soft at you, fingers threading gentle through your hair, cupping your cheek as he brushes strands aside, gaze roaming tender over your flushed skin.

“You alright there?” he asks nicely, thumb stroking your jaw.

You nod eager, hands diving straight to his sweatpants, palming the rigid bulge straining there—heat pulsing under your touch. 

You tug the waistband down, freeing his cock—thick shaft springing up heavy, veins bulging, head slick with pre-cum. Your fist wraps tight around the base, pumping slow firm strokes up to the tip, twisting slick over the crown to spread his leak.

Jack inhales sharp, but you drop fully to your knees between his spread thighs on the rug, the rough weave biting into your skin. You lean in, lips parting wide to swallow his cockhead first—tongue flicking the slit to lap salty pre, then sliding down inch by veiny inch, throat relaxing to take him deeper.

“Look pretty down there,” Jack murmurs with a small smile, hand light in your hair, just cradling.

“You’re so soft with her,” Robby remarks from beside, voice mixed with mocking and earnestness as he watches you work, his own tenting obvious.

Jack shrugs, a quiet groan escaping as you hollow your cheeks, sucking vacuum-tight while bobbing steady—saliva pooling at the corners of your stretched lips, dribbling down his balls. Your hand strokes what your mouth can't reach, twisting wet on the upstroke, tongue pressing flat along the underside to trace every ridge.

Robby's gaze burns hot—flicking over your arched back, your drool-slick chin, eyes that dart between Jack's tense face, Robby's hungry stare, then flutter shut as you deepthroat him full, nose burying in his pubes. He fixates on Jack's cock vanishing slick between your lips, throat bulging visible. Then up to Jack, whose fingers grip tighter into your scalp—not shoving, just anchoring as his neck cords tense.

“Good job, sweetheart,” Jack praises breathy, hips twitching minimal into your rhythm. 

Your moan vibrates around his length, humming deep to make him shudder, spit bubbling messy as you pop off to lick sloppy stripes up his shaft, sucking each ball into your mouth turn before plunging back down.

He groans low, head lolling back, “Fucking… perfect. So perfect, always.”

Tension crackles thicker between them—Jack's free hand drifts casual at first, then deliberate, palming Robby's thigh before cupping the massive bulge in his jeans, squeezing firm through denim. Robby stiffens, eyes meeting with Jack's, breath hitching as Jack rubs slow circles over the thick outline, thumb pressing the zipper ridge where pre darkens the fabric.

“You alright there, man?” Jack scoffs, a light smile. “Can’t handle it?”

It’s a challenge. It always is with them. Has been since they were twenty something.

Jack knows exactly what he’s doing—knows the tells. The slight tilt of Robby’s head, the way his weight shifts more onto one side, the flicker of something sharper behind his eyes. He’s seen that look in bars, in fights, in operating rooms when things went sideways.

Robby doesn’t back down from anything. Least of all him.

Then Robby exhales slowly, something almost like a laugh under it, eyes locking onto Jack’s—steady, unflinching.

“Oh, I can handle it just fine,” Robby agrees with his own smile. “Go ‘head.”

Jack groans at your relentless mouth—fast and wet, then slowing perfect against him—his hand stroking over Robby’s clothed cock, deliberate and slow, denim rasping under his palm. He leans in first, crashing his mouth to Robby's—sloppy, urgent, tongues battling fierce right above you, beards grinding rough, wet sucks and grunts filling the air. Jack's fingers knead Robby's bulge harder, unzipping halfway to delve inside, wrapping firm around the hot shaft through boxers.

You pull off Jack with a gasp, spit stringing from your lips to his glistening tip, replacing your mouth with your fist—pumping slick and steady along his veiny length, thumb swirling over the slit to smear pre-cum. Your eyes lock on their kiss, Jack's hand slowing on Robby as your thumb teases tentative over his own sensitive crown, tongue darting out to lap the edge of his slit.

“Oh fuck,” Jack moans into Robby’s mouth, breaking away to watch you lick him sweetly, hips bucking light into your grip.

Your free hand joins Jack’s on Robby’s cock, fingers overlapping his as Robby undoes his belt buckle with a metallic clink, shoving jeans and boxers down his thighs. His thick cock springs free. You spit thick into your palm, slicking it hot before gripping him base to tip, stroking in tandem with Jack—your hand twisting wet on the upstroke while his squeezes the root, veins pulsing under your combined pressure. 

Robby hisses through clenched teeth, thighs tensing as you both jerk him off rough, pre dribbling over knuckles, your mouth still working on Jack’s cock.

Jack's strokes on you falter to lazy pumps, his fist gliding easy over your saliva-lubed skin as he watches Robby swell thicker in your shared hold. “Fuck, feel that grip? She’s got hands made for this,” he rasps, voice husky, eyes dark on Robby's face.

Robby grunts approval, thrusting shallow into the double stroke. Jack pulls back suddenly, nodding down at you. “Let him feel how good your pretty mouth is, baby.”

You release Jack reluctant, his cock twitching angry-red in the cool air as he takes over—fist flying fast over his shaft, slick echoing. You shift on your knees, turning to Robby, who grips his base and taps the fat head heavy against your cheek—wet smacks on flushed skin, taunting drip of pre-painting streaks.

“Dreamt about this once,” he admits, voice low. “The way Jack described it, you’d think you have the mouth of an angel. That right? You an angel?” He wonders.

You lick your lips in anticipation, hand between your legs, fingers gliding over your folds.

“Oh, baby, you’re touchin’ yourself too?” Robby notices. “God, so desperate.”

“Seemed pretty desperate for my boyfriend there too,” You remark, not looking away from Robby’s gaze.

His jaw tightens. “He’s pretty good with his hand, but I think you can do better with your tongue.”

You part lips wide, tongue out flat as he slaps his cock deliberately across it, underside dragging salty over your tastebuds before shoving in brutal—half his length in one thrust, stretching your jaw. 

You gag wet but suck hollow, cheeks caving as you bob frantic, hand pumping the rest in sync. Saliva floods fast, bubbling down his sack as you swirl tongue under the ridge, hollowing deep to milk him. Your fingers are quick against your wetness, dripping between your thighs, your other hand planted at Robby’s thigh.

“Shit—yeah, like that,” Robby growls, free hand fisting your hair to guide rough, not forcing but controlling the pace—pulling you off to tap his cock on your tongue again, smearing spit and pre glossy before ramming back in. 

He fucks your face shallow, hips snapping precise, balls swinging to nudge your chin while Jack jerks himself faster beside, groans syncing with yours muffled around Robby's girth.

You sweep the underside of your tongue around Robby’s cock, soft wetness coating him, slow, then fast, hearing how Robby’s hand tightens harder in your scalp.

Jack leans close, breath ragged as his fist blurs over his cock, tip weeping steady. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Fuck off,” Robby mutters, focused on your mouth, your eyes as they look up at him, wide, watery.

Your fingers slip between your thighs, dipping into your soaked pussy, rutting slow circles over your clit as you kneel between them, mouth stuffed full on Robby's cock. Spit drips messy down your chin, mixing with the slick from your own folds as you finger yourself deeper, chasing that tight coil building low in your belly.

“I’m good,” Jack rasps, eyes locked on your hand working your cunt, his fist pumping steady over his own cock. “Slow down, sweetheart.”

Your fingers comply, easing to lazy drags through your wetness, eyes flicking up to watch Jack slow his palm in sync, thumb circling his flushed tip. His free hand drifts back to Robby's thigh, squeezing hard muscle as he watches you deepthroat—throat bulging obscene with each plunge, gags turning wet and rhythmic.

Robby's taunts rumble gravel-deep: “Fucking hell, you gonna let me cum in that mouth, honey?” He pops free with a gasp, cock throbbing inches from your face, tapping insistent on your cheek—left, right, smearing sticky pre over flushed skin—before you dive back voluntary, nose grinding into his pubes as you swallow him full, humming vibration to wrench a guttural curse from his chest.

“She can take it,” Jack murmurs, voice thick. “Can you, baby? Come on, speak now.”

You moan muffled around Robby's girth, pulling off with a slick pop, resting your head against his still-clothed thigh as your fingers plunge back into your pussy, rutting frantic. “Mhm.” You kiss alongside his shaft, tongue tracing veins lazy, lips brushing hot skin.

“So damn sweet now,” Robby murmurs, hand loosening from your scalp to pet gentle through your hair, watching your fingers disappear knuckle-deep. “That feel good?”

You nod against his thigh, licking slow stripes up his cock, pumping your pussy deliberate—thumb flicking your clit, hips rocking into your hand, edge creeping close, breath hitching sharp.

“No more of that, alright?” Robby nods down, eyes sharp on your body. “Yeah? You listening?”

You groan, fingers curling harder inside yourself. “Fuck you—you wanna cum, I get to cum too.”

Robby tilts his head, that piercing look—the one Jack knows spells trouble, before ripping into a resident. Jack nearly laughs, slowing his strokes to a tease. “Not how it works,” Robby says flat, voice dropping steel.

You glance at Jack, pleading.

“Don’t look at him,” Robby orders, tone snapping stricter, hand fisting your hair tight to force your gaze back. You gulp, thighs clenching empty as you pull your fingers free, pussy clenching needy on nothing. “Put both hands behind your back if you’re gonna act like a fuckin’ brat.”

Reluctant, you clasp your hands behind you, knees aching on the floor, tits heaving with each breath. Robby nods approval, gripping his base to feed his cock back past your lips—slow at first, letting you savor the stretch, then thrusting deeper as you hollow cheeks vacuum-tight.

Your tongue flattens under his shaft to lap the frenulum relentlessly, swirling wet around the head on every upstroke before slamming down throat-deep, gag reflex crushed to nothing. Saliva floods obscenely, bubbling at the corners of your mouth, dripping strings to his balls as you bob frantic—suction pulling groans from his gut, nose buried in coarse hair, throat milking him like a fist. 

You hum constant vibration, eyes watering up at him, popping off to spit thick on his length before sucking one ball then the other into your mouth, rolling tongue heavy before plunging back down full.

“Jesus Christ—yeah, there we go…” Robby snarls, hips snapping erratic, free hand clamping your nape to hold you buried as his cock swells impossibly thicker, balls drawing tight. 

He floods your mouth suddenly—hot spurts painting your tongue thick and salty, cock pulsing ropes down your throat as you swallow greedily around him, not spilling a drop. He rides it out shallow thrusts, groaning ragged until spent, pulling free with a wet schlick.

“Fuck,” he pants, watching your tongue swipe clean over his softening head, lapping the last beads from his slit.

You fall back onto your heels, knees throbbing, core dripping wet and aching empty down your thighs. Swallowing his load thick, you stand shaky, and lean down to Robby, core exposed from your barely there nightgown. You grab him by his jaw, fingers at his chin, watching as his hand catches your wrist.

You smile at that. “Go on,” Your fingers linger near his mouth, covered with your wetness. “Jack prefers the real deal. You shy all of a sudden, Mikey?”

Robby reluctantly opens his mouth, trying and tasting your wetness, sucking your fingers clean.

“Atta boy,” You say sarcastically, moving them out of his mouth. “You think you can still fuck me, old man?” You whisper.

“Watch it,” Robby murmurs.

“You can, in the corner, while Jack finally makes me cum.” You whisper. “Jack,” you grab Jack’s hand, walking away with him as Jack follows suit behind you.

“Up and at it,” Jack tells Robby over his shoulder as he follows you.

“Fucking hell,” Robby mutters, taking a second before following after.

You hum satisfied, leading them stumbling to the bedroom, the air electric behind you.

In the dim glow, you strip your nightgown overhead, leaving ruined panties—crotch soaked dark—and a lacey bra barely containing your tits. Their eyes burn hot as you climb onto yours and Jack's bed, kneeling center.

Jack follows instant, standing at the edge, hands cupping your jaw rough-tender, leaning down to crash his mouth to yours—passionate and devouring, tongue fucking deep to taste Robby's cum lingering salty. You moan into it, hand snaking to grip his cock again, stroking firm base-to-tip.

Behind Jack, Robby's hands roam his back, trailing firm over shirt fabric before gripping the hem, yanking it up and off in one pull. Jack moans muffled into your kiss when your fist pumps faster, hips bucking into your grip, but he breaks away gasping as cool air hits his bare chest.

Robby presses close from behind, chest flush to Jack's back, beard scraping his shoulder as lips latch onto Jack's neck—sucking a mark deliberate.

“Baby, lie down for me,” Jack instructs.

You nod, lying down on your back, knees spread apart like second nature. He tilts his head, as Robby’s lips trail over his skin.

“Enjoying yourself?” Robby echoes Jack's earlier words, hand meeting at his cock briefly, feeling Jack stiffen and inhale sharply at that. “You gonna make your girl cum, or do I have to do that?”

“Fuck off,” Jack murmurs. “Go sit in a corner and wait, or somethin’,” Jack mutters, hands dragging you by the underside of your knee, gently towards the edge as he kneels on the bed, as Robby steps back with a chuckle.

“Think I got her ready, though, so, shouldn't take long,” Robby says. “Unless you’re not as skilled as you’ve been bragging to be.”

“Oh, my god, one of you make me cum or else I’m doing it myself, Jesus,” you whine.

“Oh, baby,” Jack murmurs, kissing at your inner thighs. “I’m leaving you waiting here.”

“She’s being a brat. Have some patience, honey,” Robby insists, tilting his head at you in mock. “But she’s right, hurry up, Abbot, Christ.”

Jack swipes his tongue along your core, and you moan, your wetness ready and eager from Robby's fingering and your own arousal. He licks slow and firm, teasing your sensitive flesh. 

Robby watches from the side, his cock still tucked away in his jeans, as he observes you writhing under Jack's talented tongue. His expression is heated, hungry, clearly enjoying the show. 

"Mmm...you look like a-" you moan, too lost in sensation to finish the thought. "A fucking nun, Michael," you finally manage, nodding towards his henley. "You aren't hot in that? Take it off already, fuck," 

Robby clicks his tongue, a light roll of his eyes. "You could ask me nicely. Here I thought you were so polite and sweet," he chides.

Jack’s tongue is a relentless, wet invasion, fucking into you with a rhythm that steals your breath. You clench around him, a tight, pulsing grip, your fingers tangled in his silver curls, thighs locked around his head like a vise. 

Your eyes stay fixed on Robby’s as he discards his shirt, the fabric whispering to the floor. The snick of his belt sliding free from the loops makes you tighten your legs around Jack even more, a shiver of anticipation racing up your spine, as Jack laps at your pussy.

“Wider,” Jack grunts, his voice muffled against your pussy. He pushes your thighs apart with his hard biceps, one big hand splayed over your hipbone, pinning you down. “Stop squirming. Take it.”

From the foot of the bed, Robby watches, arms folded over his bare chest. He looks like a professor observing a dissection—calm, analytical, utterly in control. “How close are you?” he asks, his tone clinical.

“Mm, close,” you manage, the words breaking on a moan as Jack’s tongue flicks hard over your clit.

“You make such pretty sounds. He was right about that,” Robby hums, stepping closer. He sits on the edge of the mattress, his calloused hand coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb strokes your skin, sweetly, but his brow is furrowed, his gaze intense. “Callin’ me a nun, and you still got this thing on, honey.” He hooks a finger under the strap of your bra and flicks it sharply against your skin, a sting of sensation.

Jack’s tongue plunges deep again, and you arch off the bed, a choked cry leaving your lips. Your eyes don’t leave Robby’s as his hand slides down, cupping your breast through the lace. He admires the weight, the shape, his fingers tracing the curve.

“Want me to fuck you first, or GI Joe there?” Robby recalls, a smirk playing on his lips. 

He doesn’t miss the way your mouth curves in a smile, even as your eyelids flutter shut. Jack quickens his pace, his hands now gripping your thighs like he’s holding you together.

You’re too close, teetering on that blinding edge. Words are impossible.

“Answer me,” Robby instructs, his voice dropping low and stern. His hand kneads your breast, then slips inside the cup of your bra, his fingers finding your nipple. He rolls it, pinches it just shy of pain. “Who do you want first?”

“You,” you gasp, the answer torn from you instinctively, desperately.

Robby’s smirk widens. “You hear that, Abbot? I get to break her in first.” He doesn’t look away from you as he says it.

He leans down, his hand sliding between your legs. Jack pulls back without a word, letting Robby’s fingers trail through your soaked folds, delivering a slap to your clit. You shiver violently, a string of high, needy moans escaping as he collects your wetness on his fingertips. He brings them back to your mouth, his other hand still working your nipple.

“I was right,” you murmur, breathless. “Knew you’d be mean.”

“Yeah? You like it?” Robby wonders, though he already knows.

You bite your lip, refusing to answer.

He pushes his wet fingers past your lips, pulling your jaw open with a firm pressure. The look he gives you is pure command—dark, expectant. Obey.

“I like it,” you moan around his fingers, the admission almost reluctant. Your grip tightens in Jack’s hair. “Fuck—I’m gonna—oh fuck—”

“Yeah?” Robby hums, petting your hair now, his other hand still at your breast. He watches your mouth hang open, watches the pleasure wreck you. “Eyes on me. Come on. No, no. No closing them. You keep ’em right here.” His gaze holds yours captive. “Good girl… good girl, aren’t you? Bratty, but you just needed to cum a little, isn’t that right?”

You whimper as Jack’s tongue sweeps over your oversensitive clit one last time, lapping up your juices as you shatter. Your orgasm crashes through you, white-hot and convulsing, your body bowing off the bed as you cry out.

“Good job, baby. Fucking hell,” Jack mutters against your thigh, his voice rough with praise. 

He comes up your body, his hand replacing Robby’s on your breast, kneading possessively. His lips find yours in a messy, wet kiss, tasting of you. Tongues swiping, teeth clashing briefly as you chuckle into the kiss, wet and sloppy as he moves to your neck, sucking hard around your jaw, yoru neck, hand trailing over your figure, squeezing, gentle, rough all at once.

“My favourite girl in the world, you know that,” he murmurs against your skin, kissing at your collarbone.

You grin, feeling as Robby captures your mouth with his own, a brief pause as he watches Jack worship your figure. Jack slides a finger over your core, feeling as your back arches, how you gasp into Robby’s mouth.

“You aren’t a brat, are you baby?” Jack murmurs, rubbing tight circles at your clit, hearing how you whimper at the feeling, fresh from your orgasm. “No, honey, not for me, isn’t that right? Yeah, I know, I know… my sweet girl,” He replaces Robby’s mouth with his own, dragging over yours as you nod into the kiss. 

“Told you. Lover boy,” Robby remarks to you.

You grin into the kiss, before Jack pulls away and naturally seems to find Robby’s lips.

You watch, a strange heat pooling in your belly, watching as Jack immediately leans in and kisses Robby. It’s harsh and sweet all at once—a clash of teeth and soft sighs. You thought you might feel a spike of jealousy, but instead, a warm, possessive pride swells in your chest. 

Robby stands, briefly cupping Jack’s jaw in a gesture that’s both dismissal and affection before pushing him gently aside. Jack moves from between your legs, sprawling onto his back on the bed. Robby’s hands are on your waist, and you yelp in surprise as he manhandles you with effortless strength, flipping you onto your stomach.

He drags your ruined panties down over your ass, off your legs, and sends them flying to a corner of the room with a flick of his wrist. Your bra is next; he unclips it with one practiced hand, and the lace joins the panties.

“Ass up, sweetheart,” Robby instructs, his voice thick. He lands a sharp, stinging tap on your bare ass cheek. He has one knee on the bed, the other foot planted on the floor.

You obey, pushing yourself up onto your knees and elbows. Jack is lying in front of you now, his gaze heated. You reach for his prosthetic leg, helping him with the quick-release mechanism. Robby hands you the second one without a word—a seamless, understood exchange. Jack kisses you, sweet and grateful, as he sets the limb aside.

"That's it," Robby mutters, positioning himself behind you. You feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against your slick entrance, teasing, and then he thrusts forward in one brutal, seamless motion.

Filling you so completely the air leaves your lungs in a whoosh. He sets a punishing pace immediately, each thrust driving you forward toward Jack.

Robby inhales sharply at the feeling of you. You adjust to him, moan loud and silent all at once at the feeling.

“Shit,” Robby mutters. “Fuckin’ hell, you know much Jack’s raved about this pussy? Callin’ it the treasure of the fucking ocean.”

His hands grip your hips like anchors, fingernails digging into your soft flesh as he sets a merciless rhythm—pounding into you with a force that drives your body forward with each impact, making the headboard knock rhythmically against the wall. “Perfect fucking pussy, sweetheart, you know that?”

You moan at his words, clenching even tighter around him. 

“How the fuck do you leave home, Jack— Jesus Christ,” Robby says as he quickens his pace slightly, watching as your ass moves from the harsh contact of his hips against you.

“Life or death, and that’s it,” Jack says. 

“Come on, give him some love, kid,” Robby tells.

Jack’s cock is hard and leaking against his stomach. You lean down, taking him into your mouth, swallowing him deep. He groans, his hands coming up to cradle your head. “Fuck, just like that,” he rasps.

You’re split between them—Robby fucking into you from behind with deep, possessive strokes, and Jack’s length hitting the back of your throat. The dual sensation is overwhelming. Robby’s hips slap against your ass, the sound filthy and wet. 

“You like being used like this baby?” Jack wonders, your moans vibrating against him. 

You don’t answer, focused on the sensation of Robby’s cock harsh within you.

“He asked you a question,” Robby pants, moving his hand to your hair, tight as you look up at Jack, watery eyed.

“Uh-huh,” you nod. 

“See? Not so hard,” Robby groans.

Jack smiles a bit at that, caressing your face as you occupy your mouth with Jack’s cock. He groans. The taste of salt and heat floods your tongue as you take him deep, your lips stretching around his girth. You hollow your cheeks, sucking hard as you bob your head, letting him feel every ridge of your throat as you swallow him down. Your nose presses against his pelvis, and he groans, his fingers threading through your hair.

"Just like that… Just like that," Jack chokes out, his head falling back as his hips buck up involuntarily, his hand tightening on your jaw. His thumb presses against your cheek, forcing your mouth wider, and you feel every ridge and vein of his cock sliding deeper down your throat. "Come on now, so close."

The words vibrate through you, but before you can double down, Robby leans over your arched back, his chest sweaty and hot against your spine, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Make him wait."

You pull off Jack's cock with a wet pop, a thick strand of saliva and pre-cum stretching between your lips and his glistening tip before breaking. Jack's frustrated groan cuts through the room, his hips twitching in empty air.

"Fuck off, Mike," Jack growls, but his hand remains gentle in your hair, fingers stroking through the sweat-damp strands as you whimper from the brutal pace behind you. 

Robby's cock is driving into you with relentless accuracy, the head of him hitting that deep, spongy spot inside you with every thrust, sending electric jolts through your core. Your inner walls flutter and clench around him, helpless against the assault.

"You gonna be a brat too, then?" Robby says, shooting a lighthearted glare at Jack over your shoulder. 

Before Jack can retort, you clench down hard around Robby's shaft, a desperate whine escaping your throat. Robby's rhythm stutters for half a second, a low curse spilling from his lips. "Fucking—hell, god, doll. You are so goddamn tight, y'know that?"

His pace becomes brutal, each thrust driving deeper, harder, the angle punishing. His balls slap wetly against your clit with every impact, the sound filthy and rhythmic. You feel the slick heat of your own arousal coating his shaft, dripping down your thighs with every punishing stroke. 

"She's close," Jack murmurs, his voice softer now, almost reverent. 

You shift forward, pressing open-mouthed kisses across his stomach, your tongue tracing the soft lines of his abs, tasting salt and skin, over the light freckles. You moan into his flesh, the vibration making his muscles jump, and then his palm cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, holding you warmly.

"Look at you," Jack whispers, his eyes dark and soft at once. "So beautiful like this. Taking us both. You're doing so well, baby."

“Go ahead, cum,” Robby growls into your ear, his hand snakes around your hip, his fingers finding your clit. He rubs tight circles against the swollen nub while he continues to pound into you, and the sensation is electric—each thrust driving his fingers harder against that sensitive bundle of nerves. “Now.”

You moan around Jack’s cock as you break, your pussy clenching wildly around Robby’s thrusts. The convulsions milk him, and with a low groan, he buries himself to the hilt and pulses inside you, hot and deep.

"Fuck," he breathes, his forehead pressing against your shoulder blade, his body shuddering through the aftershocks.

He pulls out slowly, and you feel his cum begin to seep from you. 

“Goddamnit,” Robby murmurs, a pant. 

Before you can even catch your breath, he spits into his palm, the sound crude and purposeful. He reaches down, slicking up Jack’s cock, which is already hard again and straining against his stomach. Jack groans, a deep, ragged sound at the touch.

“Your turn,” Robby tells him, his voice rough with use.

But instead of letting you face Jack, Robby guides you. His strong hands on your hips turn you, maneuvering your spent body until you’re straddling Jack, but facing away from him. Your back is to Jack’s chest, your ass pressed against his hips. You can feel Robby’s cum, warm and wet, slicking the way as you settle over Jack’s length.

Jack’s hands come to your hips, steadying you. “Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, but his voice is tight with need.

From the foot of the bed, Robby watches. He’s kneeling there now, his eyes dark and hungry, fixed on the place where your bodies move against one another, well practiced. Jack’s fingers slide between your legs, through the slick mess Robby left behind. He gathers it on his fingertips, his touch making you shiver, he brings those wet fingers to your lips.

You open for him, tasting Robby’s salty tang on Jack’s skin as he slips his fingers into your mouth. You moan around them, your tongue swirling. Jack’s eyes never leave Robby’s as he then pulls his fingers free, back to your cunt, a slight shudder once more, and brings them to his own lips, sucking them clean, tasting his best friend.

Robby watches this whole exchange, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Atta girl,” Jack pants against your ear, his hands tightening on your hips.

Then he guides you down, and you sink onto him with a broken cry. He fills you completely, the stretch delicious, the sensation of being stuffed so soon after your last climax making your head spin. You’re so sensitive it’s almost painful, a sweet, overwhelming ache.

You begin to move, rising and falling on his cock, finding a slow, grinding rhythm. Your hands brace on Jack’s thighs behind you for leverage. The angle is deep, each descent hitting a spot that makes you see stars.

“That’s it,” Jack encourages, his voice a rasp in your ear. His hands roam your body—gripping your waist, palming your breasts, thumbing your nipples.

You increase your pace, bouncing on him, the wet sounds of your joining filling the room. Your head falls back against his shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut.

“Eyes open, sweetheart.”

Robby’s command cuts through the haze. Your eyes snap open. He’s moved closer, kneeling right beside the bed now, his face level with where you’re joined with Jack. He’s watching every slide, every glide, his expression one of rapt fascination.

“Look at you,” Robby murmurs, his voice thick. “Takin’ him so well."

His praise fuels you. You lean more back, hands coming up behind you to Jack, angle pushing him even deeper, as you whimper, sharp gasps, teetering on the edge again.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” Your moan, soft.

“Fucking- shit, go ahead, honey, cum f’me,” he moans. 

Your orgasm crests, a silent scream trapped in your throat as your body tightens. You clench around Jack, a series of violent, fluttering spasms that milk his length.

Jack curses, his hips bucking up into you. “Fucking—just like that—”

As you’re pulsing around him, Robby leans in. He captures Jack’s mouth in a sudden, fierce kiss over your shoulder. You can hear the wet slide of their lips, the soft grunts and sighs. It’s raw and intimate, and it sends another shockwave of pleasure through your oversensitive nerves.

Robby breaks the kiss. “Lift up for a second, kid,” he breathes against your skin.

Dazed and pliant, you raise yourself up, Jack’s slick cock sliding almost all the way out of you. Robby’s hand replaces you, wrapping around Jack’s shaft. He gives him a few rough, efficient strokes, his thumb smearing the pre-cum beaded at the tip.

“Missed the taste of you,” Robby mutters to Jack, his eyes locked on his friend’s face as he works him.

Jack just groans, his head thrown back, his hands gripping your thighs. Then Robby guides you back down, easing you onto Jack’s cock until you’re fully seated once more, stuffed to the brim.

“Go ahead, finish,” Robby growls, his command for both of you.

You begin to move again, a slow, rolling grind now, utterly spent but driven by the need to feel Jack lose control. He’s close—you can feel the tension in his body, the way his breath hitches.

“Come on, Jack,” Robby urges softly, his hand returning to your clit, applying just enough pressure to make you whimper. “Fill her up. Give her what she needs.”

That does it. With a shattered cry, Jack’s hips piston up once, twice, and then he stills, buried deep inside you as he comes. You feel the hot pulses of his release joining Robby’s already there, flooding you.

Jack kisses at your shoulder blades, near your neck, as you relax your body entirely, shaky breaths with your back against his chest. His arm coming around you automatically, instinctive, like it always does. His hand slides up your arm, slow, grounding, fingers brushing your shoulder, your collarbone—checking, not asking out loud but asking anyway. 

Robby puts a hand to your jaw, tapping your cheeks lightly with his fingers, watching as your eyes lazily find his.

“You alright?” he murmurs, voice rough, softer than it’s been all night.

“Mhm,” You nod, catching your breath.

“There she is,” Jack murmurs against you, pressing a kiss into your hair, lingering there a second longer than usual.

Robby doesn’t move right away.

He’s sitting beside you both, elbows on his knees, head tipped slightly forward, breathing steadier now—but there’s something in his posture, something looser than before. The edge is gone. Or at least… dialed down.

You shift, peeling yourself gently from Jack, turning toward Robby. For a second, there’s that flicker—uncertainty, maybe. Not doubt. Just… recalibration.

Then you lean in and kiss him. It’s different now. Slower. Softer. No urgency behind it.

Robby’s hand comes up to the back of your head, not guiding, not demanding—just holding you there, thumb brushing lightly at your hairline. He exhales through his nose, a quiet thing, like he didn’t realize he’d been holding onto something.

When you pull back, you stay close.

“Hey,” you say, softer.

“Hey,” he echoes.

Jack watches the two of you. His hand still rests low on your back, thumb moving in slow, absent circles like it always does when he’s settling you.

Jack kisses gently at your bare back, “Be right back,” he murmurs against you, before you hear him leave the bed, putting on his temporary prosthetic. 

You hear him leave, pulling away from Robby who watches Jack as he leaves the room, headed for the hall.

You groan and flop onto the bed, Robby moving the blanket over you, maybe suddenly prudeish as he picks up presumably Jack’s shirt and hands it to you. You hum, put it on.

“Jesus,” you murmur, voice soft, wrecked. “I think my legs might actually fall off.”

That gets a quiet huff out of Robby.

He’s sitting up at the edge of the bed now, dragging a hand down his face, then through his hair. He looks… different, a little. Looser. The usual edge sanded down.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Think you’ll live.”

You glance over at him, managing a small smile.

He’s already reaching for his boxers, pulling them back on, movements unhurried. The gold chain at his neck catches the low light—the Star of David resting against his chest, rising and falling with his breathing. There’s something grounding about it. Familiar. Normal.

There’s a beat.

Then, softer—

“…You good?” You ask.

He turns your head toward you. “Yeah.” He thinks for a moment, a shake of his head as he lets himself admit– “Needed that. Needed to be… not alone, I think.”

You watch him for a second—something thoughtful in your expression.

“That something you’d wanna do again or is this a one and done situation?” You wonder earnestly, rolling onto your side as you look up at him. “

Robby doesn’t answer straight away. He looks at you—really looks, like he’s trying to figure out what the question actually means underneath what you asked.

Your hair’s a mess, Jack’s shirt slipping off one shoulder, eyes soft but steady on him. Hickies across your neck. Not fragile. Not asking for reassurance. Just… asking.

His jaw shifts slightly.

“…You always this direct after something like that?” he mutters.

You huff a quiet laugh. “I’m an ortho resident. I don’t have time for interpretive dance.”

That almost gets a smile out of him. He exhales, leaning back more fully, one hand rubbing absently at his chest like he’s trying to settle something under the surface.

“It’s not—” he starts, then stops. Tries again. “It’s not really a ‘one and done’ kind of question.”

You tilt your head slightly. “Why not?”

He glances at the door—where Jack disappeared—then back at you.

Because Jack’s not just some guy. Because this isn’t just sex. Because there’s history here that predates you by decades and still manages to feel unfinished. Because he already feels it sitting somewhere in his chest, heavy.

You seem to pick up where his head is at, a nod. “Do you have… like, real feelings for him? Or me?”

Robby scoffs a chuckle. “I don’t have time to think about that.”

“Just time to fuck us though. Well, not Jack, sure he’ll give me a complaint about that later.” You murmur.

Robby smiles a bit. “You two are… perfect for each other. I still don’t get how he found you.”

“I don’t know either, to be honest,” You admit. “But he cares about you. Like a lot. And so do I. And it’s not just because your dick is great, promise. You’re always welcome with us, whether its sex, comfort, food, all three. We aren’t picky people.”

“Picked up on that,” Robby nods, quieter now. “What are your plans? With him, I mean. He mentioned something about marriage.”

You smile a little—more to yourself than anything—your hand drifting, almost unconsciously, to your left ring finger.

“No idea,” you admit. “However long he wants me around, I guess.”

Robby huffs a soft breath, leaning back against the headboard. “Well, if age’s anything to go by, you’ve got a good couple of years.”

You smack his arm lightly. “You’re literally older than him.”

“I’m not marrying you,” Robby shoots back, deadpan.

“You’re an ass,” you sigh.

That earns you a small smile.

The door opens.

Jack steps back in, towel slung over his shoulder, a glass of water already in hand. He pauses just inside, taking in the room in one sweep—quick, practiced. You, curled on your side in his shirt. Robby at the edge of the bed, quieter than usual.

“My leg’s killing me,” Jack mutters, like it’s an afterthought, already moving back toward the bed.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, frowning. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says, dismissive in that way he gets, like pain’s just background noise. He hands you the glass. “Drink.”

You take it, still watching him. “You say that about everything.”

“Because everything’s fine.”

Robby snorts under his breath. “Yeah. That’s a healthy coping mechanism.”

Jack shoots him a look as he sits down, stretching his leg out carefully. “Oh, I’m sorry—did you want to compare notes?”

Robby raises his brows. “Not particularly.”

Then Jack exhales, leaning back into the headboard. His hand finds your thigh automatically—absent, grounding, like he needs the contact without thinking about it.

His gaze flicks between the two of you, lingering on Robby for half a second longer than necessary.

“What’d I miss?” he asks.

You shift, settling back into him, your cheek brushing his shoulder. “Marriage.”

Jack huffs. “One night with my girl and you’re already trying to steal her? Alright. Good to know.”

Robby lets out a quiet chuckle.

“With you, idiot,” you correct.

Jack glances down at you. “Oh, him and I are getting married now?”

You roll your eyes and, just to be difficult, shift toward Robby instead—curling lightly into his side.

It lasts all of two seconds.

Jack’s arm hooks around you and pulls you straight back against him.

“Relax,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, holding you there against his chest.

Robby watches that, something unreadable flickering across his face before it settles again.

Robby stays the night.

Not in the same way—there’s a natural rhythm to it. He gives you and Jack space without being asked, drifting out into the living room, the quiet murmur of the TV carrying faintly down the hall. At one point you hear the balcony door slide open, then shut again.

He’s not intrusive. Never has been.

But he doesn’t leave, either.

if u havent read it, i'd recommend reading my (wo)man on willpower! this is a spin off of that, i suppose. focuses more on jack x reader, though. :D

a/n: girls i have another like 700 words i had that as a short scene of santos speculating why u didnt make it to her paris party (oh my god im so funny paris because threesome haha i know right, please dont click off this), and i might post that later, but my ao3 will get the full thing if u wanna just see what it was. the 1000 block limit on tumblr genuinely my opp fr.

Week One, Part One

Week One, Part Two

Week Two

Week Three

Week Four *

Week Five

Week Six *

Week Seven

Week Eight, Part One

Week Eight, Part Two

Week Nine

Week Ten, Part One

Week Ten, Part Two

Week Eleven, Part One

Week Eleven, Part Two

Week Twelve

Jack didn't know he was territorial about his bar. But he found himself sliding into another bar stool with a sulk. “Usual please, Terry,” he said, letting his backpack drop with a heavy thud.

“You got it, boss!”

A whiskey would soon be slid over the counter, chased by another and maybe another till a small fuzz clouded the edges of his mind and he could sleep easier. He forgot just how gruelling days could be.

But then he spotted you.

You were still smiling with the remnants of a laugh. One finger on your right hand was chasing the condensation down your emptying glass. He did a double take at you, looking past the hair falling to the smooth skin, doted with a mole or two.

You were young. The sort of young you didn't find in a bar- at least not alone. But this bar also wasn't the busiest, exactly why he liked it.

You didn't look like you belonged there. At the same time, you looked like there was nowhere else you wanted to be. Your chin rested in your other hand, your jacket was slung over the back of the stool and you weren't shying away from anything around you.

Jack's whiskey was dropped off in front of him and finally Jack got a look at you. Beautiful. There was no other way around it. He wasn't going to judge a book from its cover but he had a feeling your beauty wasn't the last thing to surprise him.

“Can I get you another drink?” he asked you once he held your attention for more than a second.

Your eyes widened, as if you hadn't expected him to talk to you. “Oh no, thanks, I shouldn't drink too much tonight.”

“What?” said Terry, pretending to wipe over a 'dirty' spot on the counter. “I thought you were celebrating, huh?”

Jack's brows rose. “A celebration?”

“She just moved to the city,” said Terry.

You smiled, bashfully. “I got a new job.”

“Congratulations,” said Jack. “And welcome, this is Pittsburgh's finest.”

“Thanks,” you said.

There was a moment passed in silence where the both of you seemed to understand the two ways the night could go. If you mutually decided to keep it there, a polite congratulations and a kind offer of a drink maybe you'd just remember him as the kind, older stranger.

You turned to him. “If the offer of that drink still stands I think I'd like to take it.”

Jack moved his body to face yours. He glanced at Terry, who waited happily. “Another one for-”

You told him your name and it chimed a bell in Jack's head, as if he'd been waiting his whole life to hear your name from your lips. He introduced himself and his fate was sealed.

“So, are you a native to Pittsburgh?” you asked, twirling a bit of hair between your fingers.

Jack lifted his shoulders. “Came her to settle down after some things.” He didn't want to get into the whole collage and tours and losing his leg and moving here after losing his wife. He didn't want to watch that pretty face of yours contort with worry or sympathy. “Are you new here, or?”

“Kinda. My dad's around her, parents divorced so I only see him sometimes,” you explained, flippantly.

“And now you got a job here?”

“Now I'm here.”

You told him where abouts you were living which had him worrying if he was any other random guy at a bar that you'd be telling him, putting yourself in (potential) danger. Or maybe Jack was special. It wasn't a very good area, the sort he never even looked at when he was moving, but he knew it was cheap.

“I passed this place driving in, looked good,” you said.

Jack chuckled and leaned in to avoid Terry's ears as he'd gone off to change the channels and some other guys requests. “Clearly your new around here. When I said it was Pittsburgh's finest.... it might have been an exaggeration.”

You laughed and Jack wondered what other stupid jokes he could make to have you laughing again. “Well, nobody's offered me the grand tour yet.” You took a swig of your beer.

There was an opening.

Jack didn't know why he was looking for one but it was out of his lips before he really understood what he was doing. “If you ever need a tour guide,” he said, gesturing to himself. Did he look dumb doing so?

You raised your brows. “You might regret that. I ask a lot of questions. I'm really into my history.”

“Good thing I know a lot about this place.” He did not, but he could read some stuff up.

“You know, you're quite the charmer, Jack,” you said, seizing him up.

He nodded his head side to side. “You've caught me on a good day. Any other day I'm an asshole,” he said, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth. What was he doing? “I- that was a bad joke. I'm not an asshole. At least I don't think so.”

“I don't think so,” you said. “After all you're keeping a lonely girl like me company.”

“You moved alone?”

You smirked. “Are you asking me if I have a boyfriend?”

Jack usually came to this bar for a quiet one after work. At 6 am he'd nurse a whiskey, an un healthy habit he knew. Sometimes he was called in early and only had a couple hours to spare before his actual shift started he'd hang around, have a glass of water of a crappy cup of black coffee. He didn't come here to flirt with girls. Young girls who would probably attract some stares if he walked around with you on his arm.

Yet the idea of doing just that thrilled him.

“I guess so, yeah.”

A small dusting or blush rose to your cheeks. “Well, I'm alone. There was this guy back where I used to live but.... meh, he was stupid.”

Jack nodded, listening as if you were one of his patients. “He dump you?”

“He cheated on me.”

“Then he's the stupidest guy around.”

You smiled, laughing off your blush. “You know, you don't know me yet. I could be a massive asshole.”

“Well that's up for me to decide,” he said, as if he hadn't decided you were anything but.

It didn't take long for the place to fill up after that, people finishing work or deciding to end their nights of drinking there. It wasn't usual for Jack to be around at that sort of time, so the in flood of people surprised him, crowding the two of you at the bar.

That's how he ended up in a booth with you, an arm slung over the back of the cushioned seat as you sat in the ghost of his touch. You were almost leaning into him but keeping a conscious decision not to fall into his arm. The both of you were still nursing the same drink an hour later, sharing stories from each others lives.

Jack didn't ask about your new job and you didn't tell him.

“How long's your dad been out here?” Jack asked.

“Practically all his life,” you said. “But he moved when he met my mom, they separated when I was like five? He came back here so usually I'm just visiting.”

Jack nodded, briefly eyeing how close his hand was to touching you. So far he'd kept it polite. A hand helping you off from the bar stool (you did not need his help), a gentle hand on the small of your back as he led you to the booth, a finger brushing away lint that wasn't on your shoulder. He just wanted to touch you again.

“You close with him?”

You smiled, un-easy. “Well I'm about to be. I'm working with him.”

Jack made a wince and an O face.

Soon enough you were shuffling out of the booth, saying you needed to use the restroom. Jack knew stories about girls who went to the bathroom and didn't come back out, climbing through the window and leaving the guy to wonder what he'd done wrong.

He tried not to let his mind wonder. He checked himself, kept an eye on any guy wondering closely and tugged your drink closer to him, though the bottle was practically empty as well as his glass. He chucked a mint from his pocket into his mouth and chewed it down quickly.

He checked his phone once and then sat and waited.

When you got back to the table, you weren't alone.

Jack frowned as he saw the guy at your side, big enough to swallow you up and shirt so tight on him Jack had a suspicion he brought a size too small on purpose. He straightened at the pinch in your brows and purse of your lips.

The guy at your side was equally studying Jack.

The both of you stopped in front of him and you gestured down to Jack.

“Told you,” you said in answer to a conversation he wasn't apart of.

Jack didn't know what was going on and he wasn't picking up on any social cues. He lifted up a hand, grey hairs rising along his arms in a shiver. “Hi.”

“Oh,” said the guy. “That's cool, I guess. Maybe I'll see you around.”

You shrugged and took your seat next to Jack, this time tight into his side. He let his arm drape around your shoulder.

The guy took his cue and dismissed himself, wandering back to his buddies at the bar, looking back to you once.

“What was that about?” Jack asked, checking the guy one more time.

You didn't move from his side, only turned into him and he didn't move his arm. “Sorry, the guy was waiting for me to come out the bathroom. I told him I was here with... my dad.”

Jack had expected a lie you'd told the guy. Maybe you said you were already here with someone, a boyfriend maybe? “Your dad?” he chocked on his breath. Was he old enough to be your dad? Probably.

“I'm sorry, I panicked!” you said with a laugh.

It was infectious. Jack couldn't help but chuckle to, rubbing away at a wrinkle in his forehead. “I couldn't have been your partner? Or something.”

“C'mon, you think me saying I have a boyfriend will change him hitting one me?” you asked. “A guy like that?”

“You weren't interested in him?” Jack asked, looking over your shoulder to pass a small glare over to the guys. “Buff. Blonde. Young.”

You shook your head, pushing yourself further into his arm. “Nah. I like mine with meat on their bones. Darker... maybe greyer hair,” your eyes looked all over him, lingering at the lower part of his face. “Older.”

You were a treat dangling in front of him and Jack was starved.

He licked at his lips. “Well, I don't think dads do this-”

Before you could question him, Jack took a risk and kissed you.

You welcomed him warmly, your lips soft and eager against his. Where he tried to take it slow, you let him. His hand spread across your back, drawing you in as his head tilted, nudging you to be closer, closer, closer. His tongue traced the bottom of your lip and you opened obedient, tongue hot as you fought his, gasping into his mouth.

He felt the twitch of himself in his trousers, the tightening around his crotch.

Your mouth was warm, tinged with the bitter beer you'd sipped and something sweet on your lip-gloss.

He dragged himself away to catch a breath that his whole body burned for. Your lips chased his, body leaning into his.

Your lip-gloss was smeared down your chin and Jack was all too happy to swipe his thumb and wipe it off, savouring the sticky-ness of it and slight shine on his thumb.

Jack dared take a look at the bar where the guy and his pals stood. His mouth was slightly agape at witnessing the kiss and Jack was all to keen to keep his eyes on him as he kissed you again.

Jack couldn't tell which one of you was more ravenous. If his hands were fumbling with your jean buttons with more need than your own was trailing under his shirt and tugging it over his head.

He thinks it might be him but if you wanted the title he'd give it to you gladly, eager to please.

He had you leant back on the sofa left only in your pretty pink bra, your legs thighs thrown over his shoulders as he feasted upon you, boxes you hadn't un-packed building your own kingdom around you. He was a devout solider upon his queen, if anything.

Your chest heaved in a breath you just couldn't catch, gasping in the pleassure he was drawing out. “J-Jack-”

If he thought your lip-gloss smeared down your chin was a sight your arousal slowly making a mess of his face as he licked into you was a new delight entirety.

He wanted your slick mess to slide down his chin, down the greying hairs of his chest and all the way down to where his cock stood at attention under his trousers.

Jack's hips were bucking, chasing any small friction in his denim. “You like that?” he asked, flicking the tip of his tongue into you.

“Yes, yes, I do.”

He puckers his lips and slurps up your arousal, fingers digging into your thighs and keeping them open, supporting you as your hips bucked up helplessly.

He looks up, the bliss on your face a small indicator of your end coming soon. Jack lets you come, coaxes it out of you with avid sucks and licks.

You came on his tongue on gasps of his name. He'd heard his name yelled before, heard it whispered in dying urgency. Heard it snapped in anger but nothing was better than the sweet call of his name from your lips, drunk on your first orgasm.

He crawled back up you once your body had started to calm. Jack pressed his mouth into your own, sharing the taste of yourself as his hands were skilful in sneaking around your back and un-clasping your bra.

You sighed into him at the freeing feeling and his hands cupped you at once, messaging your breasts.

Jack kissed at you, moaning at the softness he felt in the palm of his hands. “You're so-mmph- so fucking beautiful.”

You toss your hair over your shoulder and look down to him, bringing him back up with your hands on his cheeks, his stubble rubbing into the palm of your hands.

He licked into you, groaning at the taste of your mouth. At every taste of you it was new, like he'd forgotten what you tasted like before and it was the first time.

“Wanna-” he said, breathless pulling away. “Wanna kiss you all the time from now on.”

“Is that a promise?” you said, grinning and pecking his lips.

Jack smiled too, your teeth clashing as he nodded.

He let himself be led like a dog to your room. There was a mattress on the floor, a suitcase or two pressed up against the wall and a box left open. Jack wanted to peak inside, wanted to see what else was about you. He wanted to know everything.

Your lips promised more, more, more.

Jack's hands fell useless at his sides as he felt the brush of your knuckles go to his belt. He closed his eyes, letting you work. He heard the clatter of the belt whipped off and thrown aside carelessly. He bit down on his lip with a smile.

He only opened his eyes as he felt you tug off his jeans, the fabric catching at his prophetic.

You looked at it for a second before looking up at him.

He hadn't felt insecure about his leg in years. It knocked on his consciousness then, keen to enter. He couldn't think of what to say. “Urm- yeah-”

He was calmed when you slowly sank to your knees and kissed over the lingering scars there, your nails scraping down his thighs. His cock twitched happily in his boxers and you could see the excitement leaking from him early.

“Come here,” he said with a rumble of his voice.

You were up on your feet and he was kissing you again, holding your mouth open to just taste you. He pulled off his boxers, kicking them away before his hands traced up the sides of you.

“I have- I have condoms,” you said, hands pushing him away lightly. “Make yourself comfortable, soldier.”

Jack was glad you'd turned your back to fetch condoms you'd packed luckily in the easy and already open box in the corner of your room. It gave him time to ease himself down on the mattress and watch as you bent over to find the condoms.

He was shocked he wasn't tasting blood as he bit hard down on his lip. If he wasn't so desperate to feel your warmth around him he'd have given himself a little tug, but he was too scared he'd come too soon.

Settling comfortable on your mattress on the floor, Jack tugged on the condom and sat himself up to brush your hair back.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

You nodded and leant into kiss him.

Jack wrapped a light hand around you neck and urged you back, looking in your eyes. You knew what he wanted.

“Yes, Jack. I'm very, very sure.”

He smiled and was ready to move when you stopped him with hands on his thighs.

“Can I... I want to be on top.”

Was Jack supposed to say no to you? You may as well have asked him to build your mattress, un-back all your boxes, re-paint your walls. If you'd asked, he would have done anything for you at that moment.

When you gripped the base of his cock he held his breath. When his tip was pushed into you he exhaled with a loud groan.

“Ssh,” you laughed. “I don't want to get noise complaints from the neighbours already.”

Jack held onto your hips, supporting you. “Fuck your neighbours.”

He focused on the feel of you as you lowered yourself all the way, his cock stretching you open.

“Oh shhiiiit... god,” Jack gasped, seeing where you sat flush on his lap, the head of his cock twitching inside of you.

Your head was leant back, eyes screwed shut in pleasure.

“No- look at me, look at me,” he said, lifting his hand to pinch your chin and drag your gaze back down. You opened your eyes that had turned dark with desire. “Yeah, just like that. Keep your eyes on me.”

And you did as you leant back onto your hands, slowly dragging yourself from him and then back down, setting a pace you were comfortable with.

Jack let you take the lead, lying there and taking it with mutters of encouragement and groans of disbelief. He laid his hand upon the bottom of your stomach, almost being able to feel him inside you. That- or you were driving him crazy.

When the sound of skin on skin sounds you switch your tactic, leaning over him and grinding down.

Your eyes were fluttering in pleasure, your mouth left open. You were still trying so hard to keep your eyes on him just as he'd told you to. “Oh fuck, Jack, it's-it's too much.”

“No it's not, honey,” he coaxed, brushing back your hair and holding your cheek in hand. “You're being so good for me. Just a- just a little longer.”

You whined, walls fluttering around him and sucking him in.

Jack didn't know where he was finding the restraint not to come from. It had been a while for him, since he'd talked to someone as pretty as you, since he'd been in a bed that wasn't his. Since he'd had something other than his own hand to come onto.

Your grinding became un-stable, your thighs squeezing around him. “Jack, I think- I'm gonna come.”

He wrapped an arm around you and drew you in till you were held against his chest. The sweat against your bodies rubbed and mixed with the saliva shared between your mouths in kisses where you both fought for dominance.

At the angle of you pushed down on top of him his cock was deeper. He was so close to you, so close in more ways than one.

Jack groaned out your name, his cock twitching inside of you, begging to be released. “Come for me, honey... come for me-”

With a loud moan into his neck you let go around him, walls clamping down on him.

Jack let go of his restraint, planting his good foot on the mattress and thrusting up into you at an odd but delicious angle, once- twice! Before he came, slumping down on the mattress.

The both of you laid there, his hands brushing down your back and bringing out shivers.

“I have never come like that in my life,” he panted, catch his breath.

You looked at him. “What? On your back, on a mattress on the floor with boxes piled up. Or was I just that good?”

He hummed and pretended to think about it. “How about all the above?”

The both of you laughed.

Once you'd both used the bathroom and had returned to your room Jack was still naked while you'd thrown on his shirt, drowning in the smell and feel of him. He'd never wished he was younger and could get it up quicker than in that moment.

You fell back down on your mattress, nodding and inviting Jack to lie down next to you. To stay the night. So, it wasn't that kind of one night stand. Good. He wanted it to be an every night stand.

Jack got down on your mattress but resigned himself to the bottom, slowly pulling apart your legs, taking his time like he hadn't been able to bring himself to do out in your living room.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking down at him. “Jack, what are you doing?”

“Ssh,” he said, finding himself between your legs again. “We don't want noise complaints from the neighbours, already.”

Jack woke with his body like soup. His body was drifting in bliss, the sort one got after swimming all day, leaving limbs sleepy with exhaustion and the activities still sat in your bones.

His body ached with you. With the feel of your hands tugging at his hair as he had you coming on his tongue a second time, your hands on his chest as you moved on top of him.

He reached for you, finding an emptiness with nothing but the smell of you left on your pillows.

Jack inhaled sharply before he heard the shower turn off and door thrown open. A cloud of hot condensation and the scent of your shampoo hit him as you stepped out, wrapped in a towel.

Jack rolled over, peering at you through sleep. “Morning.”

“Hey. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, I was hoping to let you sleep in for... like, ten minutes,” you said.

“Don't worry about it. I'm an early riser,” he said, checking his phone for the time. Half six in the morning. It wasn't technically a lie. He was up at this hour, finishing his shift. “First day at the job today?”

“Yes, and I'm working with my dad so I cannot be late.”

Jack pushed himself up, finding his boxers. “You get ready. You want me to make some coffee? Providing you've un-packed it.”

You rose a brow, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “You trying to make a wife out of me, Jack?” you teased.

He smiled down at you when he stood, almost challenging.

“Coffee pots on the side, it was one of the first things I un-packed.”

Jack kissed your cheek before sleepily making his way through your place, manoeuvring with far less grace than lust had him moving the night before. He flicked on lights, started the coffee and took the extra couple minutes to peer into boxes that had been ripped open. There wasn't much, clothes, a couple trinkets and such. Text books that were so large and piled up he couldn't make one from the other.

He'd just caught a glimpse of you as a kid, hands in between two other people. One, a woman he assumed was your mother and the other he didn't get to see before he heard your trainers squeak on the floor and was backing up from the boxes.

He poured you a coffee and handed it to you, watching you take large gulps.

“Thanks. I'm sorry, I wouldn't usually do this but I really got to run,” you apologised.

“That's fine, I'll dress and I could give you a lift in?” he offered. “I'd really like to see you again.”

You smiled, cheeks popping. “Well, I'd really like that too. But you don't have to give me a lift in, I'll drive myself, otherwise I'd have no way of getting back.”

Jack was seconds away from offering to pick you up too. Any excuse to see you before he realised he was back on nights tonight. Would it even be plausible? To be able to spend more time with you?

He'd move heaven and earth to make it possible. He'd got his first sip of you and was addicted.

“Take your time,” you added. “Shower. Eat left over takeaway in my fridge. You can steal from me if you want but I warn you I have very little worth taking.”

Jack sighed playfully. “I'm sure I can think of something you'll miss. You have your phone?” he asked, holding out his hand.

You handed it to him, un-locking it first.

Jack typed in his number, adding his name as a contact and in brackets added- guy from bar/a good lay. Just in case you forgot. “You can call me when you want that tour of the place,” he said, as nonchalant as possible, wishing at once he'd slid his jeans on just to be able to slide his hands in the pockets.

You read what he saved himself as and laughed. “A good lay, you were a bit more than that, solider.” You slid your phone into your jacket pocket, hiding your inform or something underneath.

Jack smirked, leaning in. “Really?”

“Really.”

He leant in and kissed you. He wasn't forcing your mouth open, he wasn't grabbing at you although he wanted to do both. He knew, maybe more than most, the importance of getting to work on time. But he could almost imagine this was his life. Waking early to make you coffee and food, kissing you and sending you on the way to work. Coming home to find you waiting for him, his name laced on your lips.

“I really have to go,” you mumbled against his lips.

“Then go,” he said, kissing you again.

He walked you to the doors, quick kisses being shared, small touches he dared tempt himself with before you were fleeing, practically running away to not regret leaving.

Jack did take you up on your offer and had a very cold shower.

The rest of the day Jack thought about you, teased himself with you. He'd never felt so infatuated before. He returned to his place in the late afternoon after spending time just breathing your things in. His apartment felt shockingly empty, too neat even though Jack hadn't cleaned in a while. It didn't feel lived in, loved in. It was probably painfully obvious it was a bachelor pad.

However he didn't have to linger long. He showered again and dressed in scrubs, checking his phone once and finding a text from you.

I've been thinking, a good lay really doesn't cover it, a solid nine out of ten.

He smirked down at his phone, tutting.

Only a nine?

Your reply came almost instantly.

Well, there's always room for improvement.

I'll show you improvement. Maybe a nice dinner would get me to an 11/10?

Already got yourself a 9.5 solider :)

The smile that wasn't an emoji tugged at his heart strings.

Jack didn't know how he was supposed to take you to a dinner when he worked nights and your job was a day thing apparently but he'd work it out. You wouldn't have to worry a thing.

By the time he was clocking into work that evening he was so distracted in checking the best restaurants around (what had the best food, or the best views, which played nice music, which were expensive...) he was so distracted he didn't even notice he was in early.

“Brother!” Robby called, greeting him with a wide grin and hug.

Jack was slow in hugging him back. Hiding his phone in his back pocket from your texts before hugging him back, worry pulsing in his veins. A happy Robby always worried him. “Hey, you're cheerful.”

Robby pulled away, shrugging. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Nobody die today?”

“No, two people dead.”

Jack frowned. “And we're happy about that?”

Dana called his name from the nurses station, urging him over.

Robby's hand was steady with a firm grip as he led Jack over. “Glad you could make it in early, there's actually someone I want you to meet.”

“Someone, huh?” Jack wondered if Robby had finally decided to ditch his seven week itch thing and maybe try seven months, maybe even get to a famous seven years. Had he been waiting till it was serious to introduce him to the special woman?

“Picked them up from the airport yesterday while you covered my day, thank you.”

Jack had only just dropped his back at the counter when your name was called.

And suddenly there you were- glancing up at Robby in a way that gave no shock to hear him call you.

You looked at Robby then found Jack.

Scrubs. You were in black scrubs just like him, a navy top underneath. Your hair was scraped back from this morning, showing the expanse of your neck that he remembered nipping and licking the night before. Your eyes were plain, expression dropped as you stared at him, feet carrying you over to Robby on autopilot.

Jack watched as Robby's hand laid on your shoulder like it was always meant to be there.

And I'm working with my dad so I cannot be late.

Oh, god no.

“Jack, this is my daughter,” said Robby, saying your name with practised ease and a proud grin. “This is Jack Abbot, night attending. My best friend.”

Oh fuck, no.

Jack Abbot

you shaved your bush (18+) – In an attempt to seduce a past hookup, you accidentally send your attending, Jack Abbot, a lewd photo. (9.5k)

sexy to someone (18+) – you finally put yourself back out there and set up a date for your night off. to your utter humiliation, you get stood up. the night takes a turn when you see your attending, Jack Abbot, who suggests you have dinner together since you're already all dressed up. (10k)

don't fear the reaper – working at the hospital morgue didn't exactly endear you to the emergency room staff, especially when you're always cracking jokes. you think Jack might be warming up to you, but are quickly proven wrong when he berates you in front of the department after an ill-timed joke.