sunny🐒☀️

In theory, it was a great idea. A home gym made perfect sense. It means Jack no longer has to waste time commuting to and from the gym. After working out he can wash off immediately in the comfort of his own shower equipped with all the amenities he needs. He loves it, and you're happy that he does.

In practice, it has proven to be a severe and continuous test of your will power—a distraction like none other you've had to endure before.

Truly, you brought this upon yourself when you suggested putting the gym in the same room as your office. It was a big enough space that often went under utilized otherwise. What you didn't take into account is the fact that you would have to deal with your incredibly attractive and handsome Jackie using said gym while you work.

Working from home is usually a blessing. With Jack's unordinary work schedule it allows for flexibility you normally wouldn't have. You can't be more grateful for all the extra time you get to spend with him. But you're also human, and there's only so much you can handle when it comes to your husband's hot and sweaty visage.

Your eyes flick up, peering across the room from over the top of your monitor. Jack is finishing his final set, and you seize the opportunity to eye him up for the umpteenth time. His silver curls have gone damp, flattened at the crown. A few strands are plastered at his temples and the springy curls at the nape of his neck cling to his skin. His shirt cleaves to his torso, the fabric darkened at the pits. You swallow hard. A thin sheen of sweat glistens across a his skin, providing a canvas for sunlight to sketch a golden outline around him. He looks heavenly, and he's all yours—or he could be if you hadn't let the deadlines pile up.

A frown tugs the corners of your lips downwards. Your gaze returns to the screen in front of you. It's a little embarrassing that you've let something like this affect your work so much. Just as your hands return to your keyboard, Jack ambles over. You perk up a little as he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, murmuring something about lunch, but it's in one ear and out the other. You can feel the heat radiating off him. His scent floods your senses, and your thighs shift in your chair, pressing together. Fuck. Your body slopes nearer, chasing closeness where he's managed to barely slip away.

"Hon?" You blink and you're dragged back down to this plane of existence. "Everything okay? I asked if you wanted lunch."

"Yeah—yes, just trying to catch up on some deadlines," you nod towards the screen, but as you speak you can practically feel his suspicions growing. He gives you a once over, brows furrowing before smoothing over. A chuckle rumbles from his throat and that's how you know that he's clued into what exactly is afflicting you.

His gaze darkens, lids slanting heavier over his eyes as he regards you with a maddeningly smug look. What a predicament it is to be in—to have Jack Abbot aware that he's got you wrapped around his finger. Though something tells you the depths of your perversions haven't quite been fully realized. How every cell in your body is urging you to submerge yourself in him—in his scent—to burrow under his arm and live there for a little while, or an eternity if the constraints of reality would allow.

"Why don't I go shower then we can pick this back up after?"

"No!" The word bursts from you and you're helpless to stop it. It's followed up by a meek correction. "Don't please." You think over your next words with more care this time around, determined to stop making such a fool of yourself. It's just Jack, your loving husband… who also happens to love poking fun and teasing you endlessly over anything and everything, your brain inopportunely reminds you.

Your voice surfaces even quieter this time. "I like how you are… right now."

Constantly stealing his clothes and wearing his unwashed hoodies is one thing. That is a hurdle you've long since gotten over. Wanting to taste the sweat off his skin and bury yourself into every crevice of his body is something entirely different—definitely not something you're raring to admit to your menace of a husband.

"All gross and sweaty?" He asks with an arched eyebrow.

"S'not gross, you smell…" Divine, delicious, aphrodisiacal, like sinful temptation itself. You settle for something less assuming in an attempt to preserve your image that he seems keen on tarnishing with all his teasing. "Nice."

Jack towers over you for a moment longer—all corded in muscles still pumped from his workout. It makes his shirt look a size too small around his swollen biceps. Then he grabs you and pulls you up from your chair before swapping places with you.

The chair creaks as he settles. It leaves him looking up at you, but somehow you still feel small under the weight of his undivided attention. His thick thighs part until they tap against the arm rests. He's offering himself up to you. You accept eagerly, bringing yourself over one of his thighs. A hand slides along his arm, mapping out the veins that traverse all the way up the freckled length of it. Your fingers skate the edge of his sleeve, and two slip beneath the fabric, inching closer to the summit of their hike.

"Nice?" He tilts his head. The single syllable stops you in your tracks. Your lip quivers, and you chance a look at him. He's leaned back against the back of the chair, relaxed, hazel eyes assessing you. His hands are braced on the armrests, fingers twitching—itching to reach out and lay themselves on you but he doesn't move them. He's lying in wait, watching you dig yourself deeper and deeper until you have no choice but to outright admit what you want. Your every filthy desire.

And dug a hole you have. Fuck it.

"Yes, so nice…" you purr, tipping forward to bring your head to the crook of his neck. You fist at his t-shirt as you leave a smattering of kisses along his skin and over his clothed shoulder.

"Didn't know my wife was such a pervert," he mutters. You should feel mortified by the comment, but it sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. The tip of your nose brushes right over the crease of his armpit. His scent is most potent there but still obscured by cotton. "Yeah, you like daddy's scent? Is that it?"

That makes your eyes shutter closed and roll behind their lids. Your clit pulses between your legs like it's got a heartbeat of its own.

"Mhm…!" You can only manage a stifled sound before he's shuffling beneath you, the muscle of his thigh flexing where you're slotted over him. He loses his shirt quickly, peeling it from his sweaty chest and tossing it somewhere on the floor.

"You aren't very subtle, sweetheart." His arm lifts, and he cups the back of his head baring his armpit to you. You salivate at the sight, wide eyes slashing between his gaze and the current epicenter of your desire. At first, you're hesitant despite the encouragement.

"Go on, you're practically drooling," he says, "bet your cunt's drooling too."

It wouldn't take much to prove his words right. Only a couple of thick fingers tucking themselves into your pants, but there's no need. You're sure he can feel the damp heat of you over his leg. Reluctance falls apart at the seams, and you move closer, inch by inch. Except, you don't start where he expects.

As avid as you are, you begin elsewhere—at his stomach, where a slight pudge pours over the waistband of his shorts. Warm flesh dimples as you knead at it. His skin is tacky from a layer of cooling sweat. Your lips descend as your hands climb up, up, up, racking over his ribs then crawling around to cup his pecs. Languidly, you drag your lips down the wide column of his throat, feeling his Adam's apple bob.

"You smell so good..." you murmur. Along the way, you pepper kisses over his sternum, moving closer and closer to—a small, throaty sound ruptures his bout of silence, pulled from him when your lips close around his nipple, tongue flicking gently. Eventually, your patience begins to wear thin like flame whittles a candle wick.

And once it's all burnt up, you're moving fast, advancing on the place you've been pining after this whole time. Your face comes to rest against the shallow divot of his armpit. All it takes is one deep inhale and you're already lightheaded—drunk off his scent. There's a subtly sweet undertone. Musk and honey and sandalwood and him. Maybe you're so out of it that you are hallucinating it all. Either way, it is intoxicating, it is addicting, and it makes you fucking feral.

You nose at him. The thatch of hair there tickles your skin. It's as if this little hollow was carved into your mountain of a man for the express purpose of being the perfect cradle for your face. Sweat has gathered there in excess. Dewdrops beaded along warm skin. Your tongue rolls out and you run it flat over the curve of his underarm. Salt and tang bursts on your taste buds.

Underneath you, his knee jumps. It jolts you and rattles a muffled moan from your lips. Nipping lightly, you draw a muttered curse from him, low and raspy. In response, he grabs a handful of your ass and hauls you closer, dragging your clothed cunt over his leg. You slide back and he pulls you close again. It starts as a sluggish back and forth motion, like the ebb and flow of the tide coming in and out, but it escalates.

Sensation is dulled by the layers between you and your movements turn frantic—a desperate, stuttered rutting as you bring your clit up and down his meaty thigh, mewling open mouthed into his sweaty armpit each time the swollen bud catches on the fabric of his shorts.

"Shit—you close, baby?" He rasps above you, your frenzied movements giving you away. You nod against him and he helps as best he can, grappling at your waist and guiding your movements again. Up. You're closer. Down. Nearly there just—up again. You shudder.

It's pure ecstasy. Stars erupt behind your eyelids. Every nerve from the top of your head down to the tips of your toes igniting all at once. Your movements falter and your mouth falls open, face nesting further into the concave of his underarm. You drown yourself in his scent as your cunt clenches around nothing, throbbing helplessly as you come to a standstill over his thigh.

His large hand smoothes over your side, stopping to pinch at your hip. "You're fuckin' filthy," he huffs. It's completely hypocritical.

"You're one to talk," you say, reluctantly pulling your face away just to speak. You can bet good money he's hard as a rock right now. In fact—your hand slithers between you, and sure enough. A groan threatens to bubble up but he bites it back.

"Yeah? How long have you been fantasizing about this?" He grinds out while you continue to palm him through his shorts. The answer to that question is far more incriminating than you'd like it to be, but before you can even attempt to save face, he's interrogating you further. "This why you moved me in here, for your own personal show?"

"You are much, much more attractive when you aren't talking."

Jack laughs at that. He doesn't believe you for a second, but he takes the hint and doesn't press further on that front. Smart man. "You had your fill, dirty girl, or have I yet to earn your permission to go shower?"

"Hm… " you hum, pretending to think it over, "only if you extend an invite."

"That was the plan," he remarks, jutting his hips up and pressing his erection into your touch for emphasis.

In theory, it was a great idea. A home gym made perfect sense. It means Jack no longer has to waste time commuting to and from the gym. After working out he can wash off immediately in the comfort of his own shower equipped with all the amenities he needs. He loves it, and you're happy that he does.

In practice, it has proven to be a severe and continuous test of your will power—a distraction like none other you've had to endure before.

Truly, you brought this upon yourself when you suggested putting the gym in the same room as your office. It was a big enough space that often went under utilized otherwise. What you didn't take into account is the fact that you would have to deal with your incredibly attractive and handsome Jackie using said gym while you work.

Working from home is usually a blessing. With Jack's unordinary work schedule it allows for flexibility you normally wouldn't have. You can't be more grateful for all the extra time you get to spend with him. But you're also human, and there's only so much you can handle when it comes to your husband's hot and sweaty visage.

Your eyes flick up, peering across the room from over the top of your monitor. Jack is finishing his final set, and you seize the opportunity to eye him up for the umpteenth time. His silver curls have gone damp, flattened at the crown. A few strands are plastered at his temples and the springy curls at the nape of his neck cling to his skin. His shirt cleaves to his torso, the fabric darkened at the pits. You swallow hard. A thin sheen of sweat glistens across a his skin, providing a canvas for sunlight to sketch a golden outline around him. He looks heavenly, and he's all yours—or he could be if you hadn't let the deadlines pile up.

A frown tugs the corners of your lips downwards. Your gaze returns to the screen in front of you. It's a little embarrassing that you've let something like this affect your work so much. Just as your hands return to your keyboard, Jack ambles over. You perk up a little as he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, murmuring something about lunch, but it's in one ear and out the other. You can feel the heat radiating off him. His scent floods your senses, and your thighs shift in your chair, pressing together. Fuck. Your body slopes nearer, chasing closeness where he's managed to barely slip away.

"Hon?" You blink and you're dragged back down to this plane of existence. "Everything okay? I asked if you wanted lunch."

"Yeah—yes, just trying to catch up on some deadlines," you nod towards the screen, but as you speak you can practically feel his suspicions growing. He gives you a once over, brows furrowing before smoothing over. A chuckle rumbles from his throat and that's how you know that he's clued into what exactly is afflicting you.

His gaze darkens, lids slanting heavier over his eyes as he regards you with a maddeningly smug look. What a predicament it is to be in—to have Jack Abbot aware that he's got you wrapped around his finger. Though something tells you the depths of your perversions haven't quite been fully realized. How every cell in your body is urging you to submerge yourself in him—in his scent—to burrow under his arm and live there for a little while, or an eternity if the constraints of reality would allow.

"Why don't I go shower then we can pick this back up after?"

"No!" The word bursts from you and you're helpless to stop it. It's followed up by a meek correction. "Don't please." You think over your next words with more care this time around, determined to stop making such a fool of yourself. It's just Jack, your loving husband… who also happens to love poking fun and teasing you endlessly over anything and everything, your brain inopportunely reminds you.

Your voice surfaces even quieter this time. "I like how you are… right now."

Constantly stealing his clothes and wearing his unwashed hoodies is one thing. That is a hurdle you've long since gotten over. Wanting to taste the sweat off his skin and bury yourself into every crevice of his body is something entirely different—definitely not something you're raring to admit to your menace of a husband.

"All gross and sweaty?" He asks with an arched eyebrow.

"S'not gross, you smell…" Divine, delicious, aphrodisiacal, like sinful temptation itself. You settle for something less assuming in an attempt to preserve your image that he seems keen on tarnishing with all his teasing. "Nice."

Jack towers over you for a moment longer—all corded in muscles still pumped from his workout. It makes his shirt look a size too small around his swollen biceps. Then he grabs you and pulls you up from your chair before swapping places with you.

The chair creaks as he settles. It leaves him looking up at you, but somehow you still feel small under the weight of his undivided attention. His thick thighs part until they tap against the arm rests. He's offering himself up to you. You accept eagerly, bringing yourself over one of his thighs. A hand slides along his arm, mapping out the veins that traverse all the way up the freckled length of it. Your fingers skate the edge of his sleeve, and two slip beneath the fabric, inching closer to the summit of their hike.

"Nice?" He tilts his head. The single syllable stops you in your tracks. Your lip quivers, and you chance a look at him. He's leaned back against the back of the chair, relaxed, hazel eyes assessing you. His hands are braced on the armrests, fingers twitching—itching to reach out and lay themselves on you but he doesn't move them. He's lying in wait, watching you dig yourself deeper and deeper until you have no choice but to outright admit what you want. Your every filthy desire.

And dug a hole you have. Fuck it.

"Yes, so nice…" you purr, tipping forward to bring your head to the crook of his neck. You fist at his t-shirt as you leave a smattering of kisses along his skin and over his clothed shoulder.

"Didn't know my wife was such a pervert," he mutters. You should feel mortified by the comment, but it sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. The tip of your nose brushes right over the crease of his armpit. His scent is most potent there but still obscured by cotton. "Yeah, you like daddy's scent? Is that it?"

That makes your eyes shutter closed and roll behind their lids. Your clit pulses between your legs like it's got a heartbeat of its own.

"Mhm…!" You can only manage a stifled sound before he's shuffling beneath you, the muscle of his thigh flexing where you're slotted over him. He loses his shirt quickly, peeling it from his sweaty chest and tossing it somewhere on the floor.

"You aren't very subtle, sweetheart." His arm lifts, and he cups the back of his head baring his armpit to you. You salivate at the sight, wide eyes slashing between his gaze and the current epicenter of your desire. At first, you're hesitant despite the encouragement.

"Go on, you're practically drooling," he says, "bet your cunt's drooling too."

It wouldn't take much to prove his words right. Only a couple of thick fingers tucking themselves into your pants, but there's no need. You're sure he can feel the damp heat of you over his leg. Reluctance falls apart at the seams, and you move closer, inch by inch. Except, you don't start where he expects.

As avid as you are, you begin elsewhere—at his stomach, where a slight pudge pours over the waistband of his shorts. Warm flesh dimples as you knead at it. His skin is tacky from a layer of cooling sweat. Your lips descend as your hands climb up, up, up, racking over his ribs then crawling around to cup his pecs. Languidly, you drag your lips down the wide column of his throat, feeling his Adam's apple bob.

"You smell so good..." you murmur. Along the way, you pepper kisses over his sternum, moving closer and closer to—a small, throaty sound ruptures his bout of silence, pulled from him when your lips close around his nipple, tongue flicking gently. Eventually, your patience begins to wear thin like flame whittles a candle wick.

And once it's all burnt up, you're moving fast, advancing on the place you've been pining after this whole time. Your face comes to rest against the shallow divot of his armpit. All it takes is one deep inhale and you're already lightheaded—drunk off his scent. There's a subtly sweet undertone. Musk and honey and sandalwood and him. Maybe you're so out of it that you are hallucinating it all. Either way, it is intoxicating, it is addicting, and it makes you fucking feral.

You nose at him. The thatch of hair there tickles your skin. It's as if this little hollow was carved into your mountain of a man for the express purpose of being the perfect cradle for your face. Sweat has gathered there in excess. Dewdrops beaded along warm skin. Your tongue rolls out and you run it flat over the curve of his underarm. Salt and tang bursts on your taste buds.

Underneath you, his knee jumps. It jolts you and rattles a muffled moan from your lips. Nipping lightly, you draw a muttered curse from him, low and raspy. In response, he grabs a handful of your ass and hauls you closer, dragging your clothed cunt over his leg. You slide back and he pulls you close again. It starts as a sluggish back and forth motion, like the ebb and flow of the tide coming in and out, but it escalates.

Sensation is dulled by the layers between you and your movements turn frantic—a desperate, stuttered rutting as you bring your clit up and down his meaty thigh, mewling open mouthed into his sweaty armpit each time the swollen bud catches on the fabric of his shorts.

"Shit—you close, baby?" He rasps above you, your frenzied movements giving you away. You nod against him and he helps as best he can, grappling at your waist and guiding your movements again. Up. You're closer. Down. Nearly there just—up again. You shudder.

It's pure ecstasy. Stars erupt behind your eyelids. Every nerve from the top of your head down to the tips of your toes igniting all at once. Your movements falter and your mouth falls open, face nesting further into the concave of his underarm. You drown yourself in his scent as your cunt clenches around nothing, throbbing helplessly as you come to a standstill over his thigh.

His large hand smoothes over your side, stopping to pinch at your hip. "You're fuckin' filthy," he huffs. It's completely hypocritical.

"You're one to talk," you say, reluctantly pulling your face away just to speak. You can bet good money he's hard as a rock right now. In fact—your hand slithers between you, and sure enough. A groan threatens to bubble up but he bites it back.

"Yeah? How long have you been fantasizing about this?" He grinds out while you continue to palm him through his shorts. The answer to that question is far more incriminating than you'd like it to be, but before you can even attempt to save face, he's interrogating you further. "This why you moved me in here, for your own personal show?"

"You are much, much more attractive when you aren't talking."

Jack laughs at that. He doesn't believe you for a second, but he takes the hint and doesn't press further on that front. Smart man. "You had your fill, dirty girl, or have I yet to earn your permission to go shower?"

"Hm… " you hum, pretending to think it over, "only if you extend an invite."

"That was the plan," he remarks, jutting his hips up and pressing his erection into your touch for emphasis.

you lean down to place a kiss to the head of him, then another. then another and another while giggling as you think about how cute his pink tip is. you hear him sigh impatiently and you blink up at him through bleary eyes. "s-sorry *hic* soryy jackie- 's jus sooo pretty."

he runs a hand through his silver curls before reaching down to try and haul you off your knees. his arms grip under your armpits like how a parent picks up a toddler. " 's alright baby you don't have to. lets just go to sleep alright?"

but you squirm out of his hold and firmly plant yourself on your knees. pouting all serious now. "no! i can do it *hic* promise!" after a second of scanning your face for doubt, jack nods and settles back into the couch when all he finds is determination.

you wrap your manicured hand around his pretty cock, a lopsided grin forms on your face when you hears jack's breath catch. you prop your elbow on one of his spread knees and rest your cheek against your fist as you stroke him way too slowly due to time meaning nothing to you in your buzzed state of mind.

you don't even realize you're eye lids drooping until jack thrusts up into your hand with a rough, "cmon baby." you jolt upright instantly, swallowing down a drunken yawn before forcing yourself to focus on the task at hand. sweetly saying "sorry jackie."

you bend forward to lick him, a long stripe from base to tip that has you smacking your lips with a "mmmm tastes good." jack huffs a laugh thats snuffed out by a groan when you take him in your mouth.

one languid suck of his length has you feeling dizzy. but not the usual kind of dizziness that blooms from pleasure, the intoxicated kind. when you bob back up the world spins, you mumble jacks name weakly before your hands shoot out to grab at his thick thighs.

he straightens instantly, cursing as he grips your biceps, hard cock still standing at attention inches from your face. "no more." he grunts with a grimace on his wrinkled face, looking like he's about to try and move you from your spot again.

but he's so hard! and you told him you wanted to do this. and you still do. you love making him feel good and getting drunk was not going to stop you from doing so. you start to whine and shimmy out of his hold. " 'm jus too dizzy. *hic* help me please?" your lower lip wobbles and tears brim at your waterline. jack gives you a doting smile and strokes your hair, not being able to say no to you. "course i can sweetheart."

thinking he's gonna fuck your face, you form an 'o' and go to take him back in your mouth. you squeak in surprise when jack grips your hair and gently tugs you back to look up at him. he chides "nuh uh baby. dont wan't you gettin' nauseous." before you can even argue he lays his thumb on your tongue and drags it outwards. "lemme do all the work. stick that tongue out. good girl- just like that."

you giggle at the praise, shifting on your knees so he has a better view of you all glossy eyed and pliant for him. jack takes himself in his vein covered hand and starts to leisurely stroke. watching him touch himself has your cheeks heating and thighs squirming. "jackiee" you whine, for nothing in particular.

but he just shakes his head as his movements speed up, grunting as he twists his wrist at the tip. "don't worry baby. just sit there and look pretty- fuck- y'so pretty sweetheart." after however long -you're so wasted you couldn't say- his jaw clenches and his thighs tense and you can tell he's getting close.

you see his aged face pinch as he squeezes the thick base with his hand while staring at you wide eyed for him. your hands start to feel real useless. so you reach out to grip his balls to help! he groans loudly as you start to massage them in your soft palm.

"fuck- just like that- doin so good-" his praises have you sober the tiniest bit, enough to lean forward and dribble some spit onto his glistening tip. jack throws his head back in a broken moan before gluing his blown out eyes back to yours. "gonna cum- tongue out f'me. now."

you obey him, instantly rewarded by the sound of jack cumming, groaning your name along with a string of lewd praises. "oooh fuck- fuck baby- so good. you're so good-" he tilts his hips forward as his hand jerks himself rapidly, his salty release spraying you from your extended tongue, to your smudged mascara covered cheeks, to the tip of your nose. he only collapses when you're entirely painted in his cum, slowly blinking down at you. his chuckle at your huge grin and sticky face is weak and satisfied.

you stick your tongue out to start to lick up his release but he stops you by successfully picking you up and dropping you on the couch. "leave it." he demands as he makes his way down your body to spread your legs with his large palms.

Tonight you'd walked in on him by accident. You'd forgotten your phone in the bedroom and swung the door open without thinking, and there he was. Standing in front of the mirror. Shirtless. Staring at his own reflection like he was looking at a stranger.

He'd moved fast. Grabbed a pillow off the bed and held it against his chest, eyes wide and wild. "Get out," he'd snapped, but his voice cracked on the second word.

"I'm sorry," you'd said, backing away, heart pounding. "Katsuki, I didn't mean to—"

"Just get out!"

So you did. You stood on the other side of the closed door and listened to him moving around, frantic, pulling on clothes, and then silence. Heavy silence.

That was two hours ago.

Now you were sitting outside the bathroom again. He'd gone in twenty minutes ago to "brush his teeth" and hadn't come out. The light was still on. You could hear him breathing in there, slow and measured, like he was trying to calm himself down.

You knocked softly. "Hey."

No answer.

"Can I come in?"

"Go to bed," he called back, but he sounded tired. Not angry. Just tired.

"I'm not going to bed while you're in here hiding from me."

"I'm not hiding."

"You've been brushing your teeth for twenty minutes."

Silence.

You pressed your forehead against the door. "Please. Let me in. Or come out. Something."

A long pause. Then: "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because." His voice got small. "Because you'll look at me."

"Katsuki." Your throat felt tight. "I always look at you. I love looking at you."

"Not anymore," he said. "Not… not this."

You tried the handle. Locked. "Open the door."

"No."

"Katsuki, open the door or I'm sleeping out here."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

A minute passed. Two. You heard him moving, then the lock clicked.

You pushed the door open slowly.

He was standing by the sink in his sweatpants, no shirt, arms crossed tight over his chest. He wouldn't meet your eyes in the mirror. He looked younger somehow. Smaller.

"Hi," you said softly.

"Don't," he said. "Don't be nice to me. I can't… I can't do this if you're nice."

"Do what?"

He finally looked at you. His eyes were red. "Pretend like it's okay. Pretend like you don't see it. Like you're not disgusted."

Your breath caught. "I'm not disgusted. Why would you think—"

"Because I am!" He uncrossed his arms and gestured at his chest, at the scar that twisted pink and raised across his skin. "Look at it! It's fucking gross! It's all… it's wrong. It's not supposed to be there."

You looked. You let yourself look, really look, for the first time since the bandages came off. It was jagged, pulling the skin tight in places, disrupting the smooth muscle underneath. It was new. It was a mark of survival.

"It's not gross," you said quietly.

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

He laughed, but it was bitter. Broken. "I used to be… I worked so hard. Every day, my whole life, making myself strong. Making myself perfect. And now…" He touched the scar with two fingers, tracing it like he was still trying to understand how it got there. "Now I look like this. And you have to pretend like you still want me. Like you don't mind having to look at it."

"Katsuki." You stepped into the bathroom, close enough to touch him. "I don't have to pretend anything."

"Bullshit."

"It's not bullshit." You reached out slowly, giving him time to pull away, and rested your hand on his waist. He didn't move. Just watched you with wary eyes. "I don't want you despite the scar. I just… want you. All of you. Even the parts you're angry about."

"I'm not angry," he said, and then his face crumpled. "I'm scared. I'm scared you're going to stop wanting me. I'm scared every time you look at me you're going to see this instead of… instead of me."

Your heart cracked right open. You stepped closer, sliding your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek to his shoulder. "Never," you whispered. "I'll never stop wanting you. You're still you. You're still the man I fell in love with. You're still strong and brave and annoying and perfect."

"I'm not perfect anymore," he said into your hair, his arms finally coming up to hold you back.

"You never were," you said, and felt him huff a wet laugh. "You were always a disaster. Now you're just a disaster with a cool scar."

"Cool?"

"Very cool. Very battle-worn. Very 'I saved the world and all I got was this lousy scar.'"

He pulled back to look at you, and there was the tiniest smile trying to form. "You're an idiot."

"Your idiot," you corrected. "Now come to bed. Let me show you how much I still want you. Let me prove it."

He hesitated, biting his lip, looking down at himself like he was trying to decide if he could bear it.

"Trust me," you whispered.

He nodded, small and uncertain. "Okay."

Here’s the extended scene you can drop right in where Part Two starts:

You led him to the bedroom with your hand in his, walking slow, giving him every chance to change his mind. He didn’t. He followed, breathing a little fast, his fingers tight around yours.

At the edge of the bed, you stopped and turned to face him. You kept the lights on. You wanted him to see that you weren't afraid of seeing him.

"Can I take these off?" you asked, tugging at his sweatpants.

He nodded, throat working.

You pushed them down and he stepped out of them, standing naked in front of you for the first time in months. His hands twitched at his sides like he wanted to cover himself but was stopping himself. You could see his chest rising and falling fast, the scar pulling slightly with each breath.

"You're beautiful," you said, meaning it.

"Stop," he said, but there was no heat in it.

"Make me." You stepped close and put your hands on his waist, then slid them up, slow, giving him time. You felt him tense when your palms got to his ribs, to the bottom edge of the scar. You didn't rush. Just kept moving upward until your hands were on his chest, right over the raised skin, your thumbs brushing over it.

He shuddered. Closed his eyes.

"Feel that?" you whispered. "That's your heart. Still beating. Still here. Still mine."

"Yours," he repeated, voice rough.

You leaned in and kissed his shoulder, then the top of the scar. He flinched, just barely, but didn't pull away. You kissed again, lower, following the jagged line down across his pec. You kissed every inch of it, soft presses of your lips, letting him feel that you weren't avoiding it. That you weren't disgusted.

When you got to the end of it, near his ribs, you looked up. He was watching you with dark, wet eyes, his mouth slightly open.

"Still okay?" you asked.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, don't stop."

You kissed lower, down his stomach, feeling the muscle jump under your lips. You went to your knees in front of him and looked up, waiting for permission.

"Please," he whispered.

You started with your hands first, wrapping your fingers around him, feeling the heat and weight of him. He was already hard, flushed dark, and he groaned when you touched him, his hips jerking forward instinctively before he caught himself.

"Sorry," he panted. "Sorry, I just—"

"Don't apologize," you murmured, and leaned in to press a kiss to the tip.

He made a sound like he'd been punched, his hand flying down to grip your hair. Not pulling, just holding on. You licked a stripe up the underside, slow, tasting the salt of him, and he groaned again, louder this time.

You took him into your mouth slowly, inch by inch, letting yourself adjust to the stretch. He was thick, heavy on your tongue, and you could feel his pulse beating against your lips. You pulled back, hollowing your cheeks, then sank down again, taking more of him.

"Fuck," he gasped, his thighs trembling. "Fuck, baby, your mouth—"

You moaned around him, the vibration making him curse, and started a rhythm. Hand working what you couldn't fit, mouth sliding wet and tight over the rest. You looked up at him, wanting him to see you, wanting him to watch you love him like this.

His eyes were blown wide, dark with want, his mouth hanging open as he panted. He looked wrecked already, and you'd barely started.

"So good," he breathed. "So fucking good, you're so—fuck—"

You swirled your tongue around the head, catching the bead of precum there, and he jerked, his grip in your hair tightening.

"Gonna come," he warned, his voice strained. "Baby, I'm gonna—"

You didn't pull off. You kept sucking, kept working him with your hand, and he came with a shout, his hips bucking up into your mouth, his whole body going rigid. You swallowed around him, taking it all, milking him through it until he was whimpering, oversensitive, tugging gently at your hair to get you to stop.

You pulled off with a wet sound, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, and looked up at him. He was staring down at you like you'd hung the moon, his chest heaving, his skin flushed pink.

"Come here," he rasped, reaching down to pull you up.

You stood and he immediately started undressing you, his hands clumsy with urgency. He pushed your shirt up and you lifted your arms, letting him strip it off. Then your pants, your underwear, until you were naked too, pressed skin to skin against him.

He groaned at the contact, pulling you flush against him, his hands roaming everywhere. Down your back, over your hips, up to cup your breasts. He ducked his head to capture a nipple in his mouth, sucking hard, and you gasped, your hands flying to his hair.

"Katsuki—"

He switched to the other side, laving attention on you until you were squirming against him, feeling how he was already getting hard again, pressed against your stomach.

"Bed," he mumbled against your skin. "Now. Need you."

You let him guide you back onto the mattress, let him settle between your thighs. He hovered over you, looking down at your body with reverence, his hands tracing patterns on your skin like he was memorizing you.

"You're perfect," he whispered. "So fucking perfect."

"So are you," you said, reaching up to touch his scar again, light, letting him see that you weren't avoiding it even now.

He caught your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing your palm. Then he was kissing down your body, your throat, your collarbones, your breasts. He took his time, worshipping you, making you feel every brush of his lips.

When he got to your hips, he paused, looking up at you with a question in his eyes.

"Yes," you breathed, knowing what he was asking.

He spread your thighs wider and settled between them, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, then higher. He licked a slow stripe up your center and you cried out, your back arching off the bed.

"Easy," he soothed, his breath hot against you. "I've got you."

He set in with his mouth, his tongue working you with skill that came from knowing your body, from years of learning exactly what you liked. He sucked on your clit, two fingers sliding into you, curling to hit that spot that made you see stars.

"Oh god," you gasped, your hands gripping the sheets. "Katsuki, please—"

He didn't let up. He kept the pressure steady, relentless, driving you higher and higher until you were trembling on the edge. He added a third finger, stretching you, his tongue flicking fast and tight over your clit, and you came with a scream, your whole body shaking, your vision going white at the edges.

He didn't stop until you were pushing at his shoulders, oversensitive and whimpering, and then he crawled up your body, kissing you deep so you could taste yourself on his tongue.

"Want to be inside you," he panted against your lips. "Want to feel you around me. Can I?"

"Yes," you breathed. "Yes, please, I need you."

He lined himself up, the head of him pressing against your entrance, and pushed in slowly. Inch by inch, filling you up, stretching you perfectly. You both moaned, the sound tangling together, and when he was fully seated he stopped, resting his forehead against yours, breathing hard.

"Okay?" he asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.

"More than okay," you whispered, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Move, baby. Please."

He started slow, rolling his hips in deep, deliberate thrusts that hit you just right. You held onto his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, and he groaned, picking up the pace.

"Fuck," he gritted out. "You feel so good. So tight. So perfect for me."

"Harder," you begged, and he obliged, snapping his hips into yours, the sound of skin on skin filling the room.

He shifted his angle slightly and you gasped, your head falling back. "There," you panted. "Right there, don't stop—"

"I've got you," he promised, keeping that angle, driving into you again and again. "I've got you, I'm right here."

You were climbing fast, the pressure building low in your belly, coiling tighter with every thrust. He was panting above you, his hair falling into his eyes, his chest slick with sweat. You reached up to touch his scar again, and this time he leaned into it, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Love you," he gasped. "Love you so fucking much. All of you. Every part."

"Love you too," you cried out, feeling the edge approaching. "Katsuki, I'm close—"

"Come for me," he urged, his hand sliding between you to press against your clit. "Come on my cock, sweetheart. Let me feel you."

His fingers worked you in tight circles, his thrusts getting harder, deeper, and you fell over the edge with his name tearing from your throat, your body clamping down around him, your vision going spotty. He followed right after, burying himself deep and coming with a groan that sounded like your name, his whole body shuddering above you.

After, he collapsed next to you, pulling you against his chest immediately, tucking you under his chin. You could feel his heart hammering against your cheek, right there under the scar, and you pressed a kiss to it.

"Okay?" you asked softly.

"Yeah," he breathed, his voice wrecked. "Yeah, I'm okay. Better than okay."

You smiled against his skin, tracing lazy patterns on his chest, right over the raised line of the scar. He didn't flinch this time. Just held you tighter.

"Love you," he mumbled, already half asleep.

"Love you too," you whispered back. "Scar and all."

The wind howled outside the tower, rattling shutters and setting the fire to crackle and spit as Robb fed it another log.

Behind him, the bed creaked softly as you shifted, burrowed deep beneath the furs with a book balanced on your knees and Grey Wind curled heavy and warm at your side. His tail flicked once with lazy contentment, thumping softly against the mattress.

Robb turned, brushing ash from his hands. "It’s freezing. Move over."

He crossed the room, tugging off his tunic with chilled fingers, but the moment he lifted the covers to slide in beside you, Grey Wind’s head snapped up.

A low whine. Then a growl, he wasn't angry, just... possessive.

"Don’t start," Robb warned, already half in the bed.

Grey Wind stood.

Robb froze as the stubborn beast stepped right into the spot Robb had been aiming for and promptly sat.

You snorted behind your book.

"Oh, you think this is funny?"

"A little," you murmured, eyes still on the page.

Robb glowered. He wasn't about to share his wife tonight, and especially not with his damn wolf. He gently pushed Grey Wind out of the way and crawled into the bed.

You giggled as Robb pulled the book out of your hands and tossed it across the room. He leaned down and nuzzled into your neck, trailing kisses over your bare shoulder.

"Robb," you gasped, "Your hands are freezing."

He hummed in response, pushing the covers down, so he could slip his hands beneath your nightgown. He kissed his way up your neck, his fingers tickling up your thigh.

You arched toward him with a breathy sigh, and Robb smiled against your skin, his voice low and thick with want.

"I’ve been waiting all day to have you like this," he murmured, lips brushing your jaw. "Warm and soft and all mine."

Your hands found his hair as leaned over you, the weight of him delicious, grounding. His mouth found your collarbone, your throat, your lips…and just as his fingers slipped beneath your nightdress, brushing over your soaked heat-

Whump.

Grey Wind jumped back onto the bed.

Pushing himself right between the two of you.

Robb groaned loudly, dropping his head to your chest as the direwolf circled once, then flopped down directly across your hips.

You let out a startled laugh, half breathless, half annoyed. "He’s so dramatic."

Robb sat up, shoving at the direwolf’s massive shoulder. "Off, Grey Wind."

The wolf blinked. Didn’t move.

"Down," Robb repeated, sterner this time. "Go lie by the fire."

With an exaggerated sigh, Grey Wind heaved himself off your legs and padded a few steps away... only to sit again at the end of the bed, watching. Judging.

Robb gave you a look that said ignore him, and you tried…really tried…as he lowered his head between your thighs and drew a slow, deliberate lick up your center.

You moaned, hand flying to his curls, hips canting toward his mouth. "Oh…Robb-"

Before either of you could register the sudden shift in weight on the mattress, all eighty pounds of fur and misguided concern landed directly on Robb’s back.

"Seven hells!" Robb sputtered, dragging himself up off you with an exasperated huff as Grey Wind walked over him, sniffing at your face, licking your cheek like you were the wounded party.

You couldn’t help it, you burst into helpless laughter.

Robb looked murderously betrayed.

"That’s it."

He stood, hoisting Grey Wind from the bed. The wolf let out a startled huff, clearly offended as Robb stomped to the chamber door, flung it open, and deposited the menace into the hall.

"No more interruptions. No more chaperones. You are banished."

Grey Wind sat outside the door and howled.

Robb slammed it shut and locked it, turning back to you with hair tousled, chest rising and falling, and a look in his eyes that made your thighs press together.

"Where were we?" he breathed, already climbing back over you, hands sliding up your sides.

"Hmmm," you hummed, grinning as you wrapped your legs around his waist. "I think you were about to make me forget my own name."

Robb smiled, a real, proper smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "My favorite thing to do."

He reclaimed your lips, one arm braced by your head, the other pushing your nightdress up, helping you pull it over over your head. Your skin tingled in the firelight, the cold air a shock before the heat of him returned.

He kissed down your stomach, and your hands tangled in his curls as he settled between your thighs again. His gaze met yours over the plane of your body, dark and adoring, and then he lowered his head, and the world narrowed to the point of his mouth on you.

His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he worked you with his tongue, slow, languid strokes that built a tight, aching knot deep inside you. Every flick, every suck, every breath against your slick heat was deliberate, practiced. He knew exactly what you liked, exactly what made your breath hitch, exactly what made you arch off the bed.

He murmured something against your skin, a low, satisfied sound that vibrated through you. Your whole body tensed as he sped up, a relentless rhythm that made your toes curl, that made your own moans sound distant, unfamiliar. His name was a prayer on your lips as he pushed you over the edge, your entire body shattering in a wave of blinding, perfect release.

He stayed with you through it, gentling his touch as you came down, pressing soft kisses to your stomach until you were trembling and pliant, blinking back stars.

When he finally moved back over you, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. You could feel him, hot and hard and insistent against your thigh, but he made no move to hurry, content to just kiss you slow and deep, stroking your hair back from your damp forehead.

You pressed your hands against his chest, a gentle push that he answered easily.

You rolled with him, settling on top, straddling him. He looked up at you, firelight catching in his hair, his blue eyes soft in the dim light. He watched you as you positioned him, watched you as you slowly sank down, taking him inch by inch.

You both groaned at the connection, the familiar, perfect stretch of him. You began to move, a slow, rolling rhythm that had him fisting the furs, his breath coming in ragged bursts.

His hands came up to grip your waist, guiding you, encouraging you.

"There you go," he rasped, his head thrown back. "Just like that, my love. You're perfect."

You leaned forward, changing the angle, and the friction shot straight through you, pulling another moan from your lips. He sat up then, wrapping an arm around your back, pulling you flush against his chest. The new position left you breathless, every thrust deeper, more deliberate. His face was buried in your neck, his hands gripping your ass, moving you against him.

"Robb," you gasped, your own hands fisted in his hair.

"I know," he breathed, his voice ragged. "I know. Come with me. Come with me now, love."

And you did. It was a slower, deeper wave this time, a crest that broke again and again as you continued to move together, your bodies slick with sweat, your breath mingling in the frigid air. He followed you over, a choked groan against your skin as he pulsed inside you, filling you with his warmth.

After, you stayed tangled, a mess of limbs and heavy breaths. He kissed your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, small, soft kisses that made your chest ache.

Then, from the hallway, came a loud, mournful howl.

And then another.

Robb stilled, then started to chuckle, a low, rumbling laugh that vibrated through your chest. You couldn't help but join in, burying your face in his shoulder, your body shaking with laughter.

"I'm going to skin that wolf," Robb said, but there was no heat in it. "Make a lovely rug for our chambers."

"He's just protective," you mumbled against him.

"He's a menace," he corrected, but he was smiling. He rolled, pulling you with him so you were curled against his side, your head on his chest. The fire crackled, the only other sound in the room besides the occasional, pathetic whine from the other side of the door.

He drew patterns on your back, a slow, lazy path up and down your spine. "Maybe we should just leave him out there. A night in the cold might teach him a lesson."

"Now you are being cruel," you chided, sitting up to look at him. "He'll think we're angry with him."

"I am angry with him," he said, though he pulled you back down for another kiss, this one slow and sweet. "He interrupted his king."

You laughed, a soft, happy sound. "Well his queen has granted him mercy."

You slipped from the bed, pulling your discarded nightgown over your head. You padded to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open just a crack.

A huge, furry head pushed its way in immediately, a wet nose nudging your hand and a low whine rumbling in Grey Wind's chest. You knelt, scratching him behind the ears. "You are a troublemaker," you whispered.

He wagged his tail, thumping it against the stone floor and began to lick your face.You laughed, shoving gently at the wet nose now pressing insistently against your cheek. "Stop, stop-"

Grey Wind did not stop.

Behind you, the bed creaked. When you glanced back, Robb had pushed himself up on one elbow, watching you both with an expression caught somewhere between exasperation and something unbearably soft. The furs had slipped to his waist. Firelight painted warm lines across his chest.

"You're too soft on him," he said, but his voice had gone quiet. Tired. The good kind of tired.

"You're too hard on him." You crawled back onto the mattress, and Grey Wind followed immediately, settling his considerable weight at the end of the bed like he'd never been banished at all.

Robb opened his mouth. You raised an eyebrow.

He closed it.

You smiled and curled into his side, your head finding its place on his chest like it had a thousand times before. His arm came around you immediately, hand finding your hip beneath the furs.

Grey Wind sighed. A great, rumbling sound, and then flopped down across your feet.

Robb huffed a laugh against your hair, his hand tracing slow patterns on your skin. His breathing evened out first. Then Grey Wind's, a low rumble you felt through your toes.

You were almost there yourself when Robb's lips brushed your forehead.

"Love you," he whispered. Half asleep already.

You smiled into his chest. "Love you too. Both of you."

Grey Wind's tail thumped once against the mattress.

And the three of you slept.

You should’ve just gone home, but here you were, the last person from the day shift still catching up on your charting.

You were seated at one of the make-shift desks, staring at the computer when both Robby and Jack approached you. 

“You’re still here,” Robby said. 

“Yes,” you muttered. 

“Everyone’s gone home.” 

“Not everyone. You’re still here,” you finally looked up at them both. Jack caught your eye immediately, gaze lingering just for a second longer before you turned your attention to Robby. 

“You’re picking up my bad habits.” 

“Guess you should lead by example then,” you said with a sigh. 

Robby chuckled. 

Jack looked at you, amused, with his lips curled into a small smile. 

“I’m almost finished,” you continued. “Just want to make sure it’s accurate and detailed, that’s all.” 

“That’s never an issue,” Robby pointed out. 

“Good to know.” 

Jack crossed his arms over his chest and your eyes flickered over to him, immediately glancing down at his arms. “Your notes are always very detailed. Makes it easy for continuity of care,” he finally chimed in. 

“I’m on my last two patients,” you sighed. “I’ll try to get it done in the next hour.” 

Robby sighed and glanced over at Jack. “Right then. I’ll see you in a couple of days.” 

“Night, Dr. Robby,” you called out, turning your attention back to the computer screen. The other man turned on his heel, leaving you alone with Jack. 

You could still feel his presence, so you sat back in the chair and looked over at him. “Yes, Dr. Abbot?” 

“Nothing,” he answered. 

“You’re staring.” 

“I’m… observing.” 

“And I’m trying to get this done,” you ran a hand over your face. “Trust me, I’d rather be home right now.” 

“There’s gotta be another way to be more efficient,” he pointed out. 

You scoffed. “Efficiency is not my issue.” 

“Sure seems like it.” 

You shook your head. “I’m fine.” 

“You’re exhausted.” 

“Aren’t we all?”

He chuckled. “Suppose we are, but I’d rather not have a straggler from the day shift bleed into my nights.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“It becomes my responsibility.” 

“I’m just charting,” you said. 

“And it’s the second time this week that you’re staying later than everyone else,” he pointed out. 

“I’m fine.” 

“You’re distracted.” 

“I’m not your patient, Dr. Abbot.” 

“No,” he shook his head. “Because my patients actually listen.” 

Your lips parted in surprise. 

He leaned against the edge of the desk. 

“Finish your charts, then head home.” He said, softer this time. “You need rest.” 

You watched him walk away, sighing quietly to yourself as your eyes lingered. Your crush on the older man was the reason why this was the second time you had stayed later than everyone else and you weren’t sure how it made you feel that he noticed it too. 

Because he was right. 

You were distracted.

And it was because of him. 

“At this point, you should just join the night crew,” Ellis said, resting her elbows on the counter as she looked down at you. 

“I don’t know if I can function,” you answered. 

“Well, you’re here later than everyone else. I’d say you’ll be able to adapt.” 

“I’d be distracted.” 

“Aren’t you already?” She grinned. 

You looked up at her and narrowed your eyes. “Trinity told you.” 

“No,” she said. “I just have eyes and you… well, you don’t try to hide it.” 

You gasped. “Do you think he notices it too?”

“He’s an observant man,” Ellis answered. “I’d be surprised if he doesn’t.” 

“Great,” you sighed, finishing the last chart of your patient and standing from your seat. “And with that, I’m going home.” 

“You know,” she said. “He likes you too.” 

You furrowed a brow. “Doubt that.” 

Ellis chuckled. “In denial… both of you.” 

“He’s an attending,” you muttered. 

“Doesn’t stop you from staring at him like you want to jump him though, does it?” 

You rolled your eyes and stood from the computer. You hadn’t seen Jack since he told you to go home, but there was a small part of you that hoped you would get to see him before you left. 

“I don’t stare at him like—”

“Stare at who?” Jack appeared behind you. It seemed like he appeared out of thin air. 

Your eyes widened. You still hadn’t turned around. Ellis was smirking, glancing over your shoulder at Jack. 

“Oh, gotta go!” She said. 

“Ellis—” 

“Duty calls!” She interrupted. When Jack moved his gaze towards you, Ellis gave you a quick wink and turned on her heel, leaving you with Jack. 

“Stare at who?” Jack repeated. He felt closer now. His voice hovered near your ear. 

Slowly, you turned around to face him. “No one.” 

His eyes narrowed. “Uh huh.” 

You were tired. Exhausted, really, and standing in front of him like this, so close that you could see the different shade of color in his eyes, the freckles along his face, the stubble on his chin, wasn’t helping. 

“I finished charting,” you said, changing the subject. 

Then, he crossed his arms over his chest. Your eyes flickered to his arms, trailing his forearms up to his biceps that seem to bulge out from beneath the fabric of his shirt. 

He cleared his throat. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” You asked, staring up at him now. 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“Right.” 

Jack tilted his head. When you glanced back down at his arms, he let a faint smile line his lips. It gave him the chance to look you over once too. 

“So, will I be seeing you again tomorrow night?” 

“What?” You asked. 

“When I come in for my shift, will I be seeing you again?” 

“No,” you answered too quickly. “I don’t know.” 

He let out a quiet chuckle. Took another step closer. “Hm.” 

“What? What hm?” 

“Nothing.” 

“That wasn’t nothing.” 

“You ever think about moving to nights?” Jack asked. He was closer now. 

“No,” you said. “I don’t think I’d survive.” 

“I think you’d fit right in.” 

Your lips parted in surprise. Was Jack flirting with you? “Nights aren’t for me.”

“Well,” he shrugged. “I know that nights would be more fun with you around.” 

You felt your cheeks flush. Maybe you were tired and just hallucinating that the man you had a crush on was standing so close to you and saying things that you were sure you’d think about over and over again later. 

“You think so? You wouldn’t tease me about my charting?”

Jack grinned. “Oh, no, that’s a given.” 

“I’m just… detailed.”

“Sure.” 

“I am.” 

“Uh huh,” he said, eyes glinting with amusement. 

Your eyes moved from his down to his lips, lingering for a moment before you moved your gaze to his arms. You were exhausted. You weren’t thinking straight. The fact that he was standing there flirting with you caused your brain to short circuit… or at least it felt like it. 

Because you wanted to reach out and touch his arms. Squeeze those biceps that always seemed to press against the fabric of his shirt whenever he crossed his arms over his chest. You’d want to trace the veins along his strong forearms, wondering what else would be—

“Um…” he mumbled, looking down at you. 

Your eyes widened. 

Your hands were already on his biceps. 

“Oh my god,” you said, pulling your hands from him quickly. “Shit. I—I’m so fucking sorry, Dr. Abbot.” 

You needed to slip back into some sense of professionalism. He was an attending. You didn’t work directly under him, but he was still a superior at the Pitt. Your mind had drifted to the point that your intrusive thoughts about touching him won.

Jack gently wrapped a hand around your arm and pulled you into one the empty rooms. The door shut behind him, giving you both the much needed space away from prying eyes. 

“That was…”

“Uncalled for,” you finished for him. “I’m sorry. I’m just—I’m tired.” 

“You touch Robby like that when you’re tired?” 

“No… Robby doesn’t have your arms,” you blurted out. “God, I need to go home.” 

Jack smirked. “Oh, so it’s just me?” 

“Can we just forget about it?”

“It’s going to be very difficult for me,” he teased. “You were practically… feeling me up.”

“I was not!” You shook your head. 

Jack crossed his arms over his chest again. 

Your eyes flickered to his arms. Almost like you had been conditioned to watch his muscles flex at the motion. 

“You want to do it again, don’t you?” Jack smirked. 

“No,” you answered, looking back up at him. “You’re teasing me.” 

“So what if I am?” 

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you muttered. 

“And what if… what if I said I liked having your hands on me?” Jack admitted. “Then, what?” 

“I’d say you’re lying.”

He cleared his throat. Dropped his hands back to his sides. 

You bit your lower lip as you kept your eyes on him. 

He took a step closer to you. 

You opened your mouth to say something before the door opened abruptly. Shen looked between the two of you with a furrowed brow. 

“Jack, we got incoming. Multiple injuries from an MVA.” 

“Got it,” he said. Jack stepped back and away from you. “I’ll be right there, Shen.” 

The other man nodded and gave you a knowing look before he shut the door once more. 

“I should head home and get some rest,” you said. 

Jack sighed. “Can I take you out for dinner?” 

“What?” 

“Dinner. You and me.” 

You bit back a smile. “Okay.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nodded. “Yeah, Jack.” 

He let out a relieved breath and nodded. Then, his own intrusive thoughts won because Jack leaned forward to kiss your cheek. When he pulled away, you noticed the redness in his cheeks. 

“Have a good night,” he said. 

“Good night, Jack.” You reached out and touched his arm, biting your lower lip as you squeezed his arm before he smiled down at you. 

Then, he turned around and left the room. 

You couldn’t help the large smile that lined your lips. 

Jack liked you too. 

And he asked you out on a date.