Ser Freakums Of Freaksburg!

Warnings: Death mentioned, crying, SMUTTT holy fuck this is a lot of dirty shit, handjob, semi-public handjob, oral sex (both male and female receiving), riding, names, the word 'pathetic' used to degrade, dacryphilia, degradation, praise, pet names used (baby), ma'am kink, no use of a condom (they just raw dog this shit bruh). MINORS DNI WITH THIS, THIS IS STRICTLY 18+ !!

a/n: guys, I'm sorry to admit, but I am in fact horny for this man. It's most definitely ovulation, but I don't care. I need him NEOW. So yes, I wrote this on Easter Sunday, and I'm sure that's a sin somewhere, but I genuinely don't care. It's 11 at night where I live, I'm watching Caseoh, and I'm listening to old Rihanna, so I'm basically in heaven right now. Also, no, I haven't watched the most recent episode where Ogilvie cries after losing the patient and is found by Whitaker in the Ambuance bay, but I've seen clips on TikTok so this is based off of that. wc. 10,159 (holy shit guys this was so long)

James Ogilvie loves to follow you around. 

You noticed it on the second or third hour he was there. 

He was always behind you, even though you weren’t his assigned R2. He asked you multiple questions over multiple minutes, kept looking towards you to see if you caught him correcting dosages and calling out the right names for things, etc. 

You knew he liked being smarter than most people. That was more than apparent on multiple occasions. So, when he started coming up to you, asking questions once again, to try and show off his knowledge, you had just had about enough. 

“Should I start fluids?”

You don’t even look up at first, you’re halfway through a chart, pen moving quickly, mentally juggling three different patients and a lab result you’re still waiting on.

“Yeah,” you say, distracted. “Go ahead.”

“Okay.”

It happens again, not ten minutes later. “Do you want me in room three or five?”

That makes you glance up. Ogilvie’s already standing there, chart in hand, eyes on you. He’s focused on your face in a way that feels just a little too intent for such a simple question.

“Do whatever you want, Ogilvie. Three is fine,” you answer.

“Got it.” He turns immediately, like the decision unlocked something, and disappears down the hall. You frown faintly, but it doesn’t stick; there’s too much going on to think anything about it.

By mid-shift, it’s constant. Not annoying, not yet exactly, but noticeable in a way that starts to itch at the back of your brain.

“Is this okay?”, “Should I call for labs?”, “Do you want me to page cardio?”, “Should I—”

“Yes, Ogilvie,” you say, cutting him off gently but firmly. “That’s fine.”

“Okay.”

Always okay.

He always responds with okay. An immediate response. ‘And soon enough, he’ll be waiting for permission to breathe’, Cassie told you. 

“You realize he’d let you ruin his life if you asked nicely, right?” The voice slides in from your left, dry and amused.

You don’t need to look to know it’s Trinity Santos. Still, you do. She’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching Ogilvie move between rooms with a kind of lazy curiosity. Like she’s observing something mildly entertaining.

You exhale through your nose. “That’s dramatic.”

“Is it?” she tilts her head. “Watch him.”

You don’t respond right away, but you do watch. 

“I dare you to call him over here. Say his name and watch him come running.” Trinity tells you, poking your arm. 

“That’s mean, Trinity.” You say, continuing to watch as Ogilvie looks over at where you two are standing for a moment before looking back at the patient, smiling. “Come onnnn.” Trinity practically whines. “The day is almost over, night shift is coming in soon. I want to have some fun before the day is over.” 

You roll your eyes. “You owe me a white-claw.” You tell her before calling him over. “Ogilvie.” You barely even raise your voice as he appears almost instantly.

“Yeah?” he asks, a little breathless, as he got there faster than he expected to.

And then he just… waits expectantly. Eyes on you. His shoulders were slightly squared. Hands still. So ready. The realization settles slowly.

You hand him a chart. “Take this one. Initial workup.”

“Okay,” he says quickly, already reaching for it. “Yeah, I’ve got it.”

He’s not incompetent. Not even close. Maybe a little apathetic, but he’s good, careful, and attentive. He notices things other people miss. Which is why what happens next shouldn’t have happened.

A patient comes in just before you’re all supposed to clock out. He complains of having chest pain. Being mid-fifties, you have a fear of it being a heart attack. He looks pale, and he’s sweating buckets, but when he clutches his side like he’s trying to hold something in his body together, your mind shifts to maybe appendicitis.

His vitals aren’t great, but not immediately catastrophic. They’re somewhat manageable, and you’ve definitely seen worse.

“Ogilvie, take point,” you say, passing him the chart. “Run the initial workup. I’ll check in.”

“Okay,” he says again, quick and certain. “Yeah.” There’s no hesitation from him and no uncertainty. At first, everything goes exactly as it should. EKG. Labs. Monitoring.

He moves efficiently, calmly, voice steady as he talks the patient through everything. You pass by once, glance in, and see everything under control, so you keep moving. He’s got this. He’s not alone either, he has Trinity and Robby. 

But even with all the help, the patient still crashes. 

While the patient was quick to get here, the appendicitis had gone too long untreated, and he had succumbed to it. Everyone held a moment of silence for the patient, then tried to clean the room for another. 

It wasn’t until about 30 minutes later that a few of you realized the obnoxious intern was not…here. 

“Where’s Ogilvie?” Robby asked, looking around the room. All of you shrugged, you included. “Go find him.” He says, pointing to you. 

You nod, and as soon as Robby turns his back, you look at Trinity, Cassie, and Perlah, raising your arms in a ‘what?’ gesture and giving them a ‘wtf why me’ before going off to find wherever the overachiever went. 

It was warmer outside than in, and you let out a breath as you looked around the ambulance bay. 

“Ogilvie?” But there’s no answer. You shrug, figuring, “Hey, good enough”, and turn to walk back inside. But over the potted plants near the sliding doors, you see a head of blond curls peeking through the greenery. “Ogilvie?” You say again. 

But he’s quiet. He looks like he’s trying to shrink away. Like, if he stays small enough, he won’t exist at all.

You step closer now. “James?” He finally looks up at you, and you realize that he’s been…crying. He’s been crying. Why has he been crying? “What’s wrong? Why are you out here? And why are you crying?” you ask, softer now. 

He doesn’t answer, he just keeps looking at you. It looks like he doesn’t even know why he’s crying. He doesn’t even know what crying is. He seems as though he’s waiting for you to tell him what this is, whatever he’s feeling. What to do with it, how to fix it.

You hesitate, just for a second, before you decide to sit down beside him. You notice the surgical gown that he hasn’t taken off yet is covered in blood. The concrete is cold through your scrubs, and somewhere behind you, ambulance doors slam.

Neither of you speaks for a long moment; there’s just the sound of his uneven breathing. 

“You can’t save everyone, y’know? I learned that the hard way.” 

“I didn’t know what to do.” His voice is quiet. It sounds like it took too much from him to even say that.

You sigh. “You did,” you say gently. “You handled it. It was a tough case—”

“I thought if I just—” he exhales shakily. “If I did everything Robby said, it would be fine.” He swallows hard. His hands curl slightly against each other. “Can you just…” he starts, voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me what I should’ve done?”

The question lands right in your hands. Your instinct is immediate. Answer him. Fix it. Fix how he’s feeling, give him something solid to hold onto. But you stop. Because now you see it. The way he’s been leaning on you all day without you even realizing it.

He likes you. A lot. Probably more than just an intern and an R2, whatever an R2 can mean to someone like him. You already know he wants any attention he can get, to be praised and told he did a great job. But you can’t give that to him, you don’t want to give in. You want him to figure this out for himself this time. As you said, you can’t save everyone who comes through those doors. 

You shake your head. “No.”

He flinches at your answer. Confusion replaces the sadness, just for a second. “What? Why?”

You take a breath. “Because you do know what to do, James.”

He shakes his head and laughs ruefully. “I didn’t—”

“You did,” you interrupt, softer this time. “You followed Robby’s orders, right? Sometimes that’s all we can do.”

He shakes his head, frustration creeping in. “If you had been there—”

“No.” This time, your voice is more firm. “You can’t keep doing this,” you say quietly. “You can’t wait for someone else to tell you how to do your job. Most of the time, you’re figuring it out as you go.” His shoulders tense, and his gaze drops again. “I’m not always going to be there. And as I said, we can’t promise everyone we will save them.”

For a second, you think he’s going to shut down again. Retreat back into that quiet, unreachable place of his. But thankfully, he doesn’t. “I just didn’t want to mess it up. It….” He exhales before continuing. “It sucks to mess up.” 

“Hey,” you say, softer now. He doesn’t look at you, so you nudge his shoulder, gently. “Hey. Look at me.” He does, but he’s reluctant. “You’re allowed to mess up,” you tell him. “It’s your first day still, mind you.” 

He frowns immediately, like the concept is foreign to him. “Not like that.”

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Even like that.” He shakes his head; he doesn’t believe you. You exhale slowly. “James… you don’t have to get everything right just to be good at this.” You soften your voice even more. “You don’t have to earn anything.”

That’s all you say. You two both go back to staying silent, listening to the sounds of the city. The far-off police sirens howling, car horns honking, people on break chatting away as they walk by, coffee in hand. 

You debate asking your next question, but you had always appreciated it when Dana or Mateo asked. You suck in a breath, looking at Ogilvie, who is still staring at the ground. You do have to admit to yourself that he’s kind of cute. “Do you want to get a drink after shift? I mean,” you add, a little quieter now, “you don’t have to. I just thought it might help. It always helps me.” 

He studies your face. You watch his eyes move around as you look back at him. You look at his own eyes before dropping down to his lips and then back up again. He seems like he’s trying to figure out what the right answer is, so you add: “You can say no.”

That seems to snap him out of whatever hypnosis he’s in because he replies, “…Why would I?” he asks, genuinely.

A small, breathy laugh escapes you. “Just…think about it,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “Slow down before answering right away.” 

You grab your bag from the locker room, rolling your shoulders as you step out into the cool evening air.

The sky is dim, washed in a muted blue-gray that sits just before full dark. The world doesn’t know what just happened inside those walls, and you like it. You always try to separate your home and work life, but now it’s sort of blending as you see Ogilvie. 

You spot him a few feet away. He’s standing near the edge of the parking lot, hands shoved awkwardly into his jacket pockets, shoulders slightly hunched like he’s not entirely sure what to do with himself. He looks… out of place. Not in scrubs anymore, not actively working, just standing there, waiting.

For you.

“You still up for that drink?” you ask as you approach.

He straightens almost immediately, as the sound of your voice pulls him back into reality. 

“Yeah,” he says quickly. Then, softer, like he’s correcting himself, “—yeah. If you are.”

You nod toward the street. “There’s a place a couple blocks down. Nothing fancy.”

“That’s fine,” he says, falling into step beside you without another question.

The walk is quiet, but it’s not uncomfortable. He asks a question every now and then, and you, being you, answer every time. The city hums around you in low, distant sounds—cars passing, the murmur of people further down the street, the occasional flicker of neon from half-lit storefronts.

Ogilvie keeps his hands in his pockets the whole time.

His shoulders brush yours once, just barely, and he shifts immediately, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to take up that much space.

You obviously notice, but you don’t say anything. You’re testing the waters as well, doing this. 

The bar you arrive at is small. A dimly lit interior spills out onto the sidewalk, warm yellow light cutting through the cool evening air. The sign above the door flickers faintly, and inside, the noises are low. There are soft conversations all around, the clink of glasses, muted music humming somewhere beneath it all.

It’s not crowded, but there are certainly a lot of people here. 

“This okay?” you ask, glancing at him.

He nods. “Yeah. It’s good.” There’s something almost relieved in his voice. Inside, the air is warmer. It smells faintly of alcohol and wood polish. The lighting is low enough that you can see, but it takes your eyes a few seconds to adjust. You catch a booth in the far corner that’s free, so you motion towards it. 

You slide into it, your back to the wall behind you, as James slides into the other that’s facing you. “What do you want?” you ask, glancing over at him.

He blinks, the question catching him off guard. “Uh…whatever you’re getting is fine.”

You tilt your head slightly. “That’s not how this works.” There’s the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of your mouth. “Pick something.”

He looks at the menu like it’s more complicated than it should be, like there’s a right answer hidden somewhere between the lines. “…Tequila?” he says finally, uncertain.

“That works,” you nod, standing up and stepping out of the booth. “I’ll go get us a bottle of Tequila and two shot glasses. Maybe some limes while we’re at it. I’ll be back.” You give him a small smile and a squeeze on his shoulder. 

You ask the bartender for two glasses and a full bottle, giving him the money and making your way back over to your quaint little booth. You pour some for Ogilvie and then yourself, counting down the first shot as you knock it back. 

It goes down easier for you, not as easily for James. The burning sensation crawls down your throat, and it’s just enough to make you feel a little better about today. Across from you, James coughs slightly after his, his shoulders tensing before he exhales, a little surprised.

“Okay?” you ask, amused.

“Yeah,” he says quickly, clearing his throat. “Yeah, that’s—yeah.”

You huff a quiet laugh before pouring more liquid into the two shot glasses and knocking it back again. James handles it a little better this time around. “So,” you say, resting your elbow on the table, your chin propped lightly in your hand. “Do you always do that?”

He blinks. “Do what?”

“Look at me like you’re waiting for something.”

His face flushes almost immediately. It creeps up from his collar to his cheeks, quick and unmistakable. “I don’t—” he starts, then stops. “I mean—I didn’t realize I was—”

“You were,” you say, not unkindly. “All day.” 

He looks down at the bar, fingers brushing lightly against the rim of his glass. “Sorry.”

You reach out without really thinking about it, and your hand lands lightly on his forearm. Warm and solid. It makes him still instantly. “Hey,” you say, softer now. “Don’t apologize. It’s fine.”

He glances up at you, clearly thrown off—not just by the words, but by the contact. You can feel it under your hand, the way his muscles tense, the way he seems to freeze for a second, like he doesn’t know what to do with it. “You don’t have to apologize for everything,” you add.

He swallows. His gaze flickers—not away, but down, just briefly, like he’s aware of how close you are now. Of your hand still resting on him.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “No more apologizing.” 

You don’t move your hand right away, and you don’t really want to. There’s something about him like this—flustered, a little overwhelmed, trying so hard to get it right even now—that pulls at you in a way you weren’t expecting.

You pull your hand back eventually, letting it drop to the table, fingers brushing against your own glass. “Another?” you ask.

He nods. By the third shot, there’s a looseness to him now, a slight delay in his reactions, like he’s not filtering himself as carefully. His shoulders aren’t as tight. His posture isn’t as rigid.

And when he looks at you, it lingers, just a little longer than before. You notice. Of course you do.

“You’re staring,” you say lightly, a hint of a smile tugging at your mouth. His eyes widen slightly.

“I—no, I wasn’t—I mean—”

“You were,” you interrupt, softer this time.

He huffs out a small, nervous breath. Then, after a second, he responds with “…Sorry. You’re just…really pretty.” 

You laugh. You actually laugh this time. And without thinking, you reach out again, your hand brushing his arm this time. “James.” You tilt your head slightly, studying him. “You know,” you say, voice dipping just a little, “you’re allowed to look at me.” Your gaze drops briefly to his mouth.

When you look back up, he’s already looking at you, and there’s something new in it. Something that wasn’t there before. You lean in, just a fraction. It’s not enough to cross the line, but it’s certainly enough to make heat start to curl in your stomach and between your thighs.

Your hand lifts again, this time settling more deliberately against his shoulder, your fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt. And the best part of all of this is that he lets you do it. He’s so willing in this situation. Always so willing. 

Your heart kicks a little harder in your chest because suddenly, it’s not about whether you can, it’s more about whether you should.

“James,” you murmur.

His name sounds different like this. You like the name, James. It suits him. “Yeah?” he breathes. He’s looking at you as if you asked—

But you stop the thought before it can continue as your mind remembers Trinity’s voice echoing in your head. You realize he’d let you ruin his life if you asked nicely, right? Your grip on his shoulder softens. You don’t pull away, but you don’t close the distance either. Instead, your thumb brushes lightly against him, against the collar of his throat, and you watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in response. 

You smile—just a little. “Slow down,” you say quietly.

He blinks, clearly not expecting that. “What?” he asks, a little dazed. 

You chuckle. “Nothing,” you say, leaning back just slightly, enough to give him space. “Just… don’t let me make all your decisions tonight, okay?”

“‘M’not.” He says, shaking his head. “I promise.” 

“If you say so.” You release his shirt, and he slumps back against the booth. 

The night stretches as you keep pouring the Tequila. You’ve moved from sitting across from him to sitting next to him now. You look at him while he talks, your face resting in your hand that leans on the table. 

Every time he tries to make eye contact with you, he sees you’re already looking at him, so his eyes go back to the wall or the window or just something else that’s not you. You clearly make him nervous. 

And he’s cute when he’s nervous. Really cute. It’s not just the alcohol talking. 

Your foot finds his leg under the table, and you begin to move it up and down, slowly. You watch as he stumbles over his words, his hand going to your thigh. But then you’re quick to pull your shoe away, and he looks more sad than he was in the ambulance bay. 

He leans in to kiss you, but you stop him, shaking your head. “Mmm. Keep talking. I like listening.” You tell him, and he nods, continuing with his story about something stupid he did as a teenager that was a dare from his friends. 

Your hand goes to his thigh, and you look up at him. He’s biting his lower lip and looking up towards the ceiling. He won’t look at you. 

“Tell me if this is not okay, okay?” You tell him, reaching your free hand up to grab his chin, forcing him to look down at you. 

“Mhm.” He nods vigorously. 

“Words.” You reply. 

“O-okay.” He tells you. 

You smile, nodding. “Good. Keep going.” You lean into him as he begins to talk once more, and you press your lips against the side of his throat. At the same time, your hand slides higher, and you hear him choke. Your lips curl into another smile against his skin, and you go even higher, reaching the top of his jeans. 

“Is this okay?” You ask him, breaking away from him for a moment. “Shit. I should’ve asked before this but are you clean?” 

“Yes and yes.” He says, looking as though he’s in bliss and you’ve barely touched him. One of his hands finds yours and slowly begins to guide it between his thighs. He’s breathing fast, his chest moving up and down quickly as he continues to slowly move your hand along. 

When you finally make contact with the bump of his jeans, he lets out an audible sigh and a ‘fuck’. His shoulders shake as he lets out a small, humorless laugh. It’s more like a breath of relief as he pulls down his fly, and you sneak your hand underneath the fabric of his boxers. 

He’s heavy in your hand as you grasp him, and above you, James gasps as your stomach twists with butterflies. “Good. I am too. Shhhh.” You have to tell him, trying to remind him that you are both still in a bar. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He apologizes. Your thumb comes up to swipe over his tip, and his knee makes contact with the table, and it makes you laugh, burying your face into his neck. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he apologized again, and you shook your head. 

“It’s okay. But if you want me to keep going, I think we should leave here.” 

He just nods, scrambling to re-button his pants and make sure you two both look like you didn’t just give the start of a hand job, before you guys walk out of the small bar. 

The walk back to your apartment feels like the slowest thing in the world. You’re both walking side by side, obviously, on the sidewalk as you reach for his hand. He lets you take it, but he’s hesitant about it still. 

He doesn’t touch you in any way besides that. He still has a hard-on in his pants, and you’re trying your best to quickly get back home to finish this up, but you’re both still slightly stumbling and bumping into each other. 

Which is why you’re so incredibly grateful when you finally reach the front door of your brownstone. 

You pull him inside, immediately connecting his lips with yours, and kicking the door shut. “Jesus Christ.” You sigh into his mouth, grabbing at his clothes. His hands are still by his side, even though you know he wants this too. “What’s wrong?” You ask, pulling away. You wipe the spit from your lips, your chest heaving. 

“What? Nothing’s wrong.” He pants, moving in to kiss you again, but you stop him with a hand to his chest. 

“You’re not touching me.” You state, plain as day. 

He looks down at his hands. “Oh, I.. ‘cause I didn’t know if you wanted me to. O-or not.” 

“Of course I want you to.” 

“Okay. Okay.” He says, leaning in to try and kiss you again, and this time you let him. You grab his hands too, putting them on your hips. You can feel him shaking and hear his shaky breathing as he exhales. 

“Why’re you so nervous, hm?” You ask him and he honestly doesn’t know. James Ogilvie is not a nervous person. But by god as soon as he gets a pretty girl in front of him…it all goes to shit. He can’t think of any other words except for ‘okay’ and ‘yes’ and ‘fuck’. He thinks about if you would like it if he called you ‘ma’am’ but he doesn’t voice that out loud. 

“Don’t know.” he replies. 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to be nervous with me.” You smile, trying to make him feel a little more at ease. “Or are you nervous because…you’ve never…are you a virgin?” 

He bites his bottom lip, looking down at you. “Um…I mean, I’ve never…I’ve gotten like…ha-hand jobs before but never…” 

“Oh.” You say, understanding. “Okay, that’s okay. Do you want me to fix that, or would you rather just take it slow?” 

“I want you to fix it. Please?” He begs. And he just begs so nicely that you can’t say no, really. So, you grab him by the hand and lead him to the living room, gently pushing his shoulders, urging him to sit down on the couch. 

You kiss him again, and he whines against your lips as your tongue glides with his. He’s still so hesitant to touch you, and you have to grab his hands again to tell him it’s okay to touch you. 

“James, you can touch me whenever you want. It’s okay.” You reassure him. 

“I know, I know. I-I just…” 

“Do you like it when I tell you what to do?” You ask the question that’s been on your mind all day, even though you absolutely, with no doubt in your mind, know he does. He likes it when anyone tells him what to do. He likes it when he’s praised for doing a good job, he likes it when he’s asked questions he can easily answer, and he even likes it when Trinity says some sort of sarcastic comment towards him because it means at least someone is paying attention to him. 

He nods, looking up at you. His hands rest on your hips, too scared to move them away from where you placed them. 

“Can I tell you something?” You swallow, leaning back. “I think you’re pathetic-”

“So pathetic,” He whispers, his head coming forward to bury itself in your stomach.

“Take your pants off for me, yeah?” You ask him, and you watch as he unbuttons his jeans and pulls down his fly, his thumbs catching the hem of his pants and ever so slowly pulling the fabric downwards. Your breath stutters as his skin and blond, coarse hair are gradually revealed right in front of your eyes, the hemline making a mouthwatering triangle shape that runs alongside the lines of his Adonis belt. 

“Jesus, Ogilvie.” You whisper, watching the show. You figured he was at least somewhat lean, as he had a tenancy, whether intentional or not, to show off his biceps as he hauled a patient off a stretcher onto an actual bed, or helped Robby restrain someone, etc. But you didn’t know he was this…well…jacked. 

When he stops just at the very base of his cock, it takes you a second to realize he’s waiting for you to tell him to keep going. Your eyes flick down to look at him, slowly running his thumb along the slope of flesh peeking out of the blond curls. 

Oh fuck, how did you even get to this point right now? And why are you so wet already? 

“Keep going.” 

He’s immediately using his other hand to reach inside and shift up just a bit before he eases his cock out of his pants by cupping his balls and letting the fabric hooked in his thumb rest under them before he shuffles the fabric all the way down his legs, resting at his feet. 

He’s already half hard for you, already thick as he carefully lowers himself back down again onto the cushions. He’s pretty. He looks…good. His cock looks really nice. 

God, you want him in your mouth. You have no idea why that’s your first thought. Okay, well, no, that’s not exactly true- you know exactly why that’s your first thought, especially when you can physically see him getting harder and harder right in front of you, watching her trace his fingers down his shaft and lazily brush them over the head. 

“I…do you not want to…do this…anymore?” He asks, out of breath. The head of his cock lies against his stomach. His hands go back to your hips and tighten on them, his breathing subtly picking up.

“What? God, no. I just want to look at you. You’re so pretty.” You settle into his lap, feeling his cock brush against your cunt through your pants. His hands are now on your sides. “Did you know that? And I want to help you forget about today.” You catch the fabric of his shirt near his neck. 

“I’ve been told once or twice.” He says, trying to be funny, but he stops trying when you yank his collar to the side and lick a slow, hot, wet line up his throat. “I…I-fuck- that…you feel good…and…and…I want you to help me forget-” 

His breath catches when you bite down on the thick cord of muscle that connects his neck to his shoulder. He murmurs your name when you reach between the two of you and wrap your hand around his hard cock. 

“I really want to fuck you,” you whisper against his skin, feeling him shudder under your lips as you slowly pull your hand up nd down the thick length of him. “But right now, I think you should lie back and let me suck your cock for a little bit. What do you think?” 

He doesn’t answer with words, but he throbs under your hand, and his body is surprisingly malleable as you urge him to move back more, just enough for you to slip between his already spread enough legs. You keep stroking him the entire time, sucking marks down his neck. 

At one point or another, you decide that his not having his shirt off isn’t sufficient enough, so you reach down and pull it up from the bottom, lifting up up up- up until he does the rest, pulling it over his head and letting it fall somewhere on the floor. 

Your free hand rests gently on his soft abs, and you lean your head up to whisper against his lips, “Will you let me suck your cock, James?” 

“No one’s ever…how do you even know you’ll-” 

“Like it? That’s up for me to decide. You just lean back and take it, okay? I know you like to be told what to do, so shut up and listen, okay?” 

“Okay.” He nods; his back is now right up against the sofa cushions. “Is it- h-how do you- does it always feel this good?” 

“You’re a doctor intern. You tell me. You’re smart enough to figure it out.” You tell him, beginning to slide down his body. 

“I-yeah, yeah, you’re right.” 

The warmth that settles in the pit of your stomach is intensified by the clear drop of precum shining at the tip of his cock, which is now achingly swollen and a shade darker in color than a few seconds ago. “Keep talking,” you whisper. “I like hearing you stutter over your words.” 

And then you slide his head into your mouth and let your tongue flutter gently along his frenulum. Ogilvie instantly goes rigid and grabs a fistful of the couch’s armrest, his back arching a little and his head peering up towards the ceiling. You hum as you taste his precum, slowly brushing your tongue over his tip to see if you can get any more out of him like this without going deeper. 

“Fuck-” he whines while lifting his hips, every muscle in his body tensing under you. “Y-your mouth is- fuck-” he gasps when you gently swirl circles around the pulsing head, his open palm circles around the pulsing head, his open palm coming down hard on the cushion beside him with a dull thud. “-fuck, your mouth is s-so, fe-feels so good.” 

You pop off of him, and he whimpers. He actually whimpers, and that just makes you more delirious with pleasure as you look up at him. He looks down at you at the same time, stomach pushing up and down as he breathes heavily. 

“I’ve barely touched you.” You smile, sliding your hands down to take off his shoes and then his jeans, throwing them somewhere you couldn’t care less about at this moment. You take him back into your mouth, and he moans, jerking forward as you open your jaw and take him down a few inches so he can really feel your throat. You’re satisfied when his head falls back, and his hands go to your hair. 

He’s gentle, so so gentle. As much as you don’t want to admit it, you do get why he’s only had a hand job. He’s not the most friendly person, but he grows on you. Takes a while, but he does. 

You slowly begin bobbing up and down, dragging the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft and getting him nice and wet. His thighs almost feel like stones he’s strained so hard. You can only get around half of him in your mouth without straining for it, so you soon lift off him and start coating your palm and fingers in spit. His head rears immediately, exposed chest heaving as he watches. You never knew he was this big.

“You’re so tense, James,” you murmur, reaching down and starting to jerk him with your slick hand. He doesn’t relax into it; instead, he straightens his back even more, his hips starting to thrust into your grip. “Do you want me to stop?” 

“Fuck, no. Please don’t do that. Don’t stop. I just…I want to ple-please you so bad.” He moans, the exact opposite of relaxed. “You-” 

“This is all about you, James.” 

“But I read once that-” he cuts himself off with a groan when you take him back down again, only deeper this time. And then he relents and starts slowly fucking into your mouth, gradually rolling his hips further and further with every thrust. One hand fists itself into the blanket while the other holds your hair back as you open your throat and work the rest of his length. 

When you take him down as far as you can, and you drop your free hand to cradle his balls, Ogilvie just about loses his mind. 

“C-can I fuck you? At some point? Pl-please?” He starts rasping at the ceiling. “Please, l-let me please you too? I-I want to make you feel go-good too, like you’re doing to me…” 

You hold there and swallow around his thick cock, letting your other hand slither down between your own legs and start rubbing your clit. Thank god you were wearing an easy pair of pants that you could slip your hand into. He probably can’t see you do it from this angle, but it feels so much better this way, regardless, having him as far down as your throat as possible and listening to him babble while you touch yourself. 

The sound you make pulling off him to breathe isn’t necessarily the most attractive thing in the world, but with the way he groans and tugs your hair gently in response, you’d think it was the sexiest thing he’s ever heard. You keep jerking this throbbing cock and rubbing circles around your lit, before moving down to take one of his balls into your mouth. 

His grip tightens, along with the soft skin under your tongue. “W-wait, wait, wait, stop, st-stop I don’t-” 

You look up at him. He’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and everything about him is unbearably stiff, even with the way his body is sprawled out, and his chest rocks up and down with exertion. You obviously pull off of him again, not wanting to go against his wishes and continue. 

It might be too much for him, seeing as this is his first time getting head, and he might need a break. That or he doesn’t want to continue anymore. Which in that case, you’ll help him clean up and make sure he’s okay. 

“S-sorry, I just- I was-” he gasps, “I wa-I was about to cum-” 

“I want you to cum,” you murmur, blinking up at him and dragging your tongue up the length of his swollen, throbbing cock. “That’s why I’m doing this.” 

“I didn’t know if I- if I was allowed to.” 

“You what?” You ask, spitting on him. 

“If I ha-had to ask. I know some girls don’t like it.” 

“You don’t have to ask me, Ogilvie.” But suddenly it comes clearer to you. He loves asking. He wants to ask if he has permission to cum for you. You look at his face, and your lips spread into a smile. “Ohhhh. You like asking, don’t you?” And he nods in response. “What did I say about words?” 

“Yes. Yes, I like asking.” 

You get another idea too and decide to push him. “Yes, what?” 

“Y-yes…ma’am?” 

“There you go.” You kiss his thighs, and it makes him whine. “I want you to cum for me, okay?” 

“Okay.” He whines, nodding as you start to gently suck on his tip and look up at him innocently after telling him you want to swallow his load. Maybe he could’ve stopped the way his balls suddenly pull up tight, the way his grip on your hair turns to steel, and his head rolls to the side. 

There’s a subtle shift of his head too, and you finally know that he can see your hand moving between your legs. You can tell because he makes a sort of sob/choking sound and his stomach flexes. 

“O-oh fuck. I’m cumming, I-I’m gonna cum.” He warns you, and then he’s cumming down your throat exactly like you wanted. There’s a second between the moment of detonation and the explosive result of it. It’s just enough time for him to slowly tilt his chin up and let out the smallest, quietest moan you’ve heard from him this whole night before his cock starts throbbing on your tongue, his balls working to steadily pump cum up his shaft. 

You pull up a little bit, swirling circles around his head as the first spurt hits your tongue, moaning at the taste of him, which makes him hoarsely whine your name. You swallow everything he gives you until he’s trembling on your couch. 

You suck on him a little longer after that, and just look at how stunning his body is exposed and spread out for you on the couch like this. “If-if you keep doing that, I’m go-gonna get hard again,” he eventually tells you, his voice coming out sounding like sandpaper in his throat. 

You hum and finally pull off of him. “You like overstimulation too, huh?” You lean down and bite at his hipbone, which has him jerking in response. 

“Is it that obvious?” He asks you, smiling a little as you crawl back up his frame into his lap. 

“Can I test it?” 

“Can I eat you out first?” 

“You still want to? I figured you’d be a little too tired.” You push some of his curls out of his face. 

“God no,” he shakes his head, looking at you still in your clothes. “Please, can I eat you out? Please? Please, please, please,” he begs you, kissing your neck. 

“Yeah, baby.” You nod, your hands tangling into his hair before he’s standing both of you up. 

“Can we go to your bedroom…or is that off limits?” he jokes, and you laugh a little. 

“No, it’s not off limits. Come on.” 

You hear yourself take one shaky breath as you stand, grabbing his hand and guiding him behind you to the last door in the hallway to the right. You don’t get too far into the room before he’s closing the door and pushing you up against it. He kisses you and moans when he tastes himself on your tongue. 

“Could you take off your shirt?” He whispers, his hands coming down to the hem of it. He’s gotten bolder with his handling. You nod, and he slowly lifts your shirt, his fingertips grazing your skin, which makes you shudder in response. “Pants too?” He asks, and you nod. 

Once your shirt is thrown off, he drops to his knees and begins to take off your pants along with your underwear. He presses his lips to your hipbone, and you groan. He looks up at you with his brown eyes, and you have to bite your lip to suppress a moan. 

“Don’t tease me. I didn’t tease you.” 

“I’m not teasing,” he says, kissing the tops of your thighs. “I would never tease you.” 

That’s when he finally makes contact with your cunt, and you hiss. You look down at him, your hand tangled in his curls, as a soft, dexterous heat slowly envelopes your clit. It nearly hurts with how good it feels. You were so focused on giving Ogilvie pleasure that you didn’t realize just how pent up you were. The noise you make is indescribable in its obscenity. His mouth is a furnace, a slick furnace between your folds, and his tongue comes out like velvet to flutter gently over your clit, humming low in his throat as he tastes you for the first time. 

This feels amazing. It feels like heaven, having him on his knees like this for you. He knows as much about you as you do about him, which is absolutely nothing, as this is his first month in the ER as an intern. But you both now know the taste of each other’s pleasure, which has to count for something. 

“James…oh, fuck-” Your words are barely discernible. His fingers curl against your thighs, his tongue starting to swirl gentle circles around your swollen clit. Your hips almost feel like they’re doing too much to seek out more pleasure, rutting against his mouth. But he seems to like it, moaning each time it happens. And he keeps his eyes on you the entire time. “I thought you said you were a virgin.” You ask him, but it’s not really a question, more of a statement. 

Part of you doesn’t want him to answer, because that means he’ll have to stop whatever he’s doing with his mouth to give you this much pleasure. “I am,” he says, licking his lips. “Doesn’t mean I haven’t read a book or two to know what most women like. Can I use my fingers?” 

You nod, out of breath. “Yeah. Use your fingers.” And you nearly combust as he sinks two of his fingers deep inside your cunt. “Oh-f-fuck-” You can’t tell if the short, rough little growl he makes into your warmth is from the way your fingers feel tugging on his hair or the way you feel clamped around his own, but it still rocks down your spine and sparks lightning deep inside nonetheless. It doesn’t matter, because he pulls them out and then pushes them back in again, doing it steadily over and over, until you’re sweating, hips arching in presentation. 

He continues to lick his hot tongue through your folds and finger fuck you, so utterly slow and steadfast that you’re so close to just completely pulling him back up to his feet and riding him until he’s past the point of tears. 

You feel something wicked beginning to burn in your core, spreading along the muscles in your pelvis. It rises up through your abdomen like high tide, seeps down into your knees, and wraps around them. Your breathing gets more shallow.

“I’m gonna cum,” you breathe, everything inside you quickly pulling up fierce and tight, your chest heaving, and your grip in his hair turning to iron. “-oh fuck, James, I’m g-gonna cum- I-” 

But then his mouth leaves you at the same time his fingers do, and there’s a split-second delay in his rhythm before both his mouth and his fingers come back- only his fingers feel a bit slicker than they did moments before. 

Something about it hits you just right, settles down low, and locks your hips in position. “Yes, fuck right there, right there!” 

A quiet whine rumbles low in his throat, and then he takes a second to softly suck on your clit as if he could pull it out of you that way. His fingers curl, press up hard against something that almost makes your knees buckle, and you have to stifle a yelp when your body suddenly erupts in searing hot pleasure above him. 

Your back arches away from the door, and a white light flashes, your thighs going rigid and your pussy flooding itself between your legs. You shatter, cumming in his mouth, wailing his name while he moans and whines raggedly and drags you through it. It’s hot and wet, and everything feels like it’s not important, just you and everything he’s giving to you. 

Things slowly return to you one by one; his tongue still fluttering against your clit, the angle of his fingers still touching that spot within you. The solid weight of him between your knees helps to somewhat ground you, and you realize that your fingers are clamped tight in his hair. 

You loosen up your grip on his scalp, and he slowly pulls out of your swollen heat and holds your thighs open with wet fingers, pausing to give your sensitive clit a few more gentle sucks, and only lets go once you tap on his head to stop. 

You’re still trying to calm your breathing when he stands and kisses your face all over before pressing his lips to yours. You can taste yourself on him as you feel his fingers fumble with your bra clip. 

He takes it off successfully and drops it to the ground. You notice that he’s moving his hips against your thigh, groaning quietly to himself. You watch him rub his hardening cock against your skin, and his head slowly tips back at the sensation. 

“Wi-will you let me- ju-just for a second, let me put it in? Ngh- righ-right now?” His breathing stutters, hips beginning to rock against yours. “Let me-f-feel you?” 

For being such an asshole, he becomes such a pleaser when he’s rubbing his hard cock against you, doesn’t he? You don’t even respond, just desperately start moving off and away from the door towards your bed. His exhale is shaky as he follows, his hands grasping at your hips. 

God dammit, you never thought sex with Ogilvie could feel this good. You and Trinity, as well as Victoria, a little bit, all made bets on who is the best in bed. Of course, it was just between the three of you; it never went any further than that. Occasionally, Dennis would join in, but that was it. 

You had told them all that you know for an absolute fact that Jack Abbott and Cassie McKay were the best in bed. Parker Ellis, too, and Emery Walsh. Trinity said there was no way Dr. McKay was good in bed, as she hadn’t had any tail since Chad. Trinity voted for Yolanda and, against her better judgment, Langdon. But you told her Yolanda doesn’t count, as she knows Yolanda is good in bed. 

Dennis said Dana looks like she’d be good, and Robby, too. Victoria said Langdon as well as Cassie. 

But all four of you agreed strongly that there’s no way with that attitude and know-it-all behavior, Ogilvie was good in bed. God, were you so wrong. 

The bed is soft underneath you, and it doesn’t take long for Ogilvie to follow suit. “Shit,” he huffs, breaking away from you. “I-I don’t know..” 

“What to do? Yeah, I know.” You said before switching positions, so you’re now on top. “I’ll show you. That’s what good R2’s do, right?” You bury your face into his neck and reach your hand down between you two, stroking his cock again. He sucks in a deep breath, his body jerking when you grab onto his cock and downright purr into the crook of his neck when you find him rock hard and throbbing. 

“R-right ma’am.” He whines. 

You move so you’re hovering slightly above him, your legs on either side of him. Your hips move forward, engulfing the hard underside of him between your slick, swollen lips. His entire body shudders at the blazing heat of you, and he grits a curse when you gradually begin to move back and forth along the thick length of him.

“Such a good boy.” You whisper, your hands coming to press down on his shoulders as your hips drag against his, sliding his cock through your drenched slit, pressing a gentle kiss to his neck. “You still okay? I’m on birth control, so I’m just going to-” 

“Ye-yes. I’m still okay-” He gasps, tilting his head to give you more room and hands coming down to clamp tight over your hips, “fuck, I’m- I’m so good. Please do it. I do-don’t care.” 

“Good,” you breathe into the crook of his neck, grinding your pussy against his throbbing cock. You gasp, tightening your hold around him as your clit drags over his thick erection. “Such a good listener, too. When you want to be.” 

“Fuck, thank you,” he whines, slowly tipping his head back. “Please, please don’t tease me. I’ve been go-good, lik-like you said.” 

“I know,” you whine too, rolling your hips along his body. 

“You-” James cuts himself off abruptly with a groan, his grip turning to steel on your hips. “I’ll always listen to you.” His fingers dig into your hips so hard, you’re forced to immediately stop gliding your pussy over him. One of your hands moves to clamp down over his shoulder while the other threads through the thick locks at the base of his neck. You pull your hips up and tilt them just a bit, just enough to position the tip of his cock at your entrance. 

You bite his neck and slowly start to sink onto him. He lets out a choked cry as you shove your cunt the rest of the way down his thick cock and then further, pressing him up so far inside you with such a chaotic movement that he lets out a sob next to your ear. 

Fuck, he hits amazingly sweet from this angle. He stretches you and fills you spectacularly, forces you to yield to him while you breathe heavy through your nose, wondering how dark a bruise he’ll have on his neck from your bites and kisses. 

Ogilvie likes it, though. You can tell. His hand comes up to the back of your neck, silently asking you to lean down and kiss him while you gradually begin to pull your hips up, clamp down around him as hard as you can, and slowly drag his thick cock out of your cunt. He likes this. He likes feeling your teeth in his neck while you start to fuck yourself on him. 

“Oh my god,” he nearly spits, his hand squeezing your thigh hard enough to leave a mark. You honestly should’ve given him a moment to adjust to you, to feel you, but you had completely forgotten this was his first time from the way he had made you cum seconds earlier. “F-fuck this is- god this feels amazing- ho-holy fuck.” 

You whimper, also thinking how good it feels. How the head of his cock is pushed up tight against your G-spot, spreading wildfire in your lower belly and seeping through your pelvis and into your upper thighs. You just started, and it’s already becoming a hassle for you. But fuck, you grind the head of his cock slowly and hard inside you and try not to dig your nails into his arms where your fingers are clutching tight. 

“Is this what you think about wh-when you look at me at work like that?” You whisper, already half out of your mind with the aching bliss, saying whatever the fuck comes into your head first and not thinking anything past it. “When I guide your hands on a patient or when I praise you for getting a diagnosis right, hm?” 

“Yes, yes god yes!” He sobs, his hips jerking up into yours almost unintentionally with the sentiment. “Oh, my god.” 

“And will you be thinking of this?” you moan, starting to move as best you can with his thrusts. His fingers are scraping down your back, the pleasure obviously being too much for him. It just adds to the slowly building pleasure inside you until it’s simmering and burning under your skin. “The next time I tell you ‘good save’ or when I guide your hands again? I bet you will. You really are that pathetic, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He cries, but it’s way too breathless. “I-I’m not gonna last- I ca-an’t-” 

You can hear how wet you are. Your pussy is nearly drowning him now, slick and hot and drenched as you roll your hips up and down on top of him. “Does me talking like that turn you on?” You murmur, breathing hot air onto his neck and riding his cock slow and steady. 

He can’t make any sounds anymore. No more words come from his mouth as your hand comes up to dig into his cheeks, forcefully opening his mouth. Only moans and whines grace your ears. 

You watch as his stomach tenses up again, and you know he’s about to cum. You lift off of him and delight in his confused reaction. “Wha-what? Why’d you do that? I was so close, please! Are you kidding me-”

He cuts himself off with a grunt as you slowly sink back onto him. Your cunt tightens around him, and the power trip you’re experiencing from this is starting to get to your head, you fear. You feel brash. Reckless and bold, and it translates into a quicker pace of your hips, shoving down onto him at the apex of his thrusts upwards and hitting a spot inside you that he had somehow found with his fingers as well. 

“Answer my question,” you pant, still holding his jaw. 

“What que-question?” God, he’s so drunk on you, he can’t even remember what you had asked of him. 

“Does it turn you on? To hear me talking like that? Calling you pathetic for following me around all day like a little lost puppy? Do you rub one out in the bathroom after each shift with me?” 

“You’re- fuck-” He drags his nails down your arms, leaving marks. “You’re asking if it…if it tu-turns me on to hear you tell me what a good job I did?” 

“I us-used to think about it,” You gasp, your eyes squeezing shut and just trying to breathe through it. “Some-sometimes. I knew it got to you in a different way than it would just from being praised normally. Used to get off thinking about it. Used to think about you, like this, and touch myself and make myself cum on the floor of my apartment.” 

The sound he makes is one you haven’t heard yet. You watch as his face contorts into pleasure and he begins to tell you he’s about to cum again. You slip off of him once more, and he fully whines this time. It turns into a string of curse words as he nearly sobs into the air and desperately claws at you. 

You finally decide to let him cum once you know he won’t automatically do it as you slip him back inside you. Your hips don’t give his cock time to realize that he’s back inside of you as you just begin moving at a rapid pace. Your thighs hurt, they’re on fire, but the sounds coming from him make your motivation skyrocket. 

He full-on fucking sobs now, his chest heaving as he cries. You look down at him, and he looks beautiful, really. He looks so fucking good as he cries for you, whining and whimpering and sobbing your name as you move on him. 

It’s fucking debilitating. It’s madness. The pleasure flowing through both of you feels like you’re about to explode. You just dig your nails into his shoulders and listen as he cries brokenly for you at the ceiling, letting his hips collide roughly with yours as you fuck him down hard into the mattress of your bed. 

Your mouth is at his neck as you grit the words darkly against his throat. “Fuck, you’re amazing. You’re so good. Such a good boy, listening to me, doing exactly what I tell you to do.” 

“I’m-” He gasps, eyes screwed up so tight you don’t notice the tear slipping down his cheek. You lean down to lick it. “It’s ca-cause I like you.” 

“Fuck- of course you do. All those longing looks from across the nurse’s station while I talk to Trinity. You think I didn’t notice those? You’re not as bright as you say you are, are you? Hm?” Fuck, he’s hard and throbbing, and he probably can barely hear you over the sound of his crying, so fucking close to the edge and begging for you. “If you want me that bad, next time take me to the bathroom and beg me to get on my knees for you.” 

You shift your weight so you can use one of your hands to grab his and lead it down between your legs. “Come on, Ogilvie. Come on. I know you can do it. Make me cum, and I’ll let you cum too, m'promise.” You feel like you can’t even breathe anymore. “Does that sound good?” 

“Ye-yes.” He wails, beginning to rub tight circles over your clit and pounding directly into your G-spot with such precision and force, your eyes roll back, and white-hot pleasure licks its way up your spine. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, James,” you whisper, your voice frantic and rushed and breathless as your hands plant themselves on either side of his head. Everything inside you suddenly pulls up sharp and burning, and you’re already starting to bear down on him, starting to slowly squeeze his cock and tighten down hard in preparation for it. “I’m gonna cum, James, you-you’re gonna make me cum-” 

He begins to babble, but you don’t hear him. Everything is suddenly drowned out by the roaring of blood rushing through your ears, your body locking down so fucking tight around him. Ogilvie keeps going as your orgasm slams through you with such force that your voice cracks. He rubs at your clit and makes sure with the right amount of pressure for you, which forces you even higher through the explosive pleasure and muttering filth about how gorgeous you are, how he’ll never stop looking at you across the Nurse’s station, how he wants to make you cum so many more times, but he can’t hold it back- 

“I’m gonna cum, fuck, please can I cum?! Please? Please, I’ve been good this who-whole time, please,” he cries and whimpers, stuttering to a halt inside you. You can feel him swollen and throbbing hard inside you now that he’s still. Can I- can I cu-cum inside you? Please? Oh fuck, please? I can’t, I can’t hold it anymore, I can-” 

“Yes,” you gasp, not needing anything else. “Please.” He can cum wherever the fuck he wants to. His body jolts with pleasure beneath you, and a sob tears itself from his throat as he immediately does as he’s told. He cums, spurting thick ropes of his warmth inside you and gasping out curses and thank you’s. 

His entire body is spasming as it happens, and you hear him whimper your name as he lets go. When Ogilvie’s body finally stops shaking, and he slows down your movements with his hands on your hips, you wait a few seconds before asking.

“What the fuck have we just done?”