GIGI

You bit your tongue, because whatever words that could’ve possibly tumbled out of your mouth in response would have been wildly impulsive, and probably inappropriate.

You were one of five skaters your coach, Jack Abbot managed, but you were his best. His golden girl. Or so he said. The way he spoke to you at times made you feel like the term’s polar opposite.

You’d been working with Jack for the last three years. In that time, he’d made an absolute star out of you. You’d assisted in a few shows on ice and competed in sporadic competitions before becoming so adored by the public that people wanted to see you perform at your own shows. That upcoming tour was the very thing that had your coach’s panties in a twist.

Jack had always been a little gruff, but he’d been different lately. You couldn’t really blame him. The stress of the tour had you behaving a little out of character, and your die hard figure skating coach was likely interpreting it as indifference. In reality, you were just nervous, and you wanted to exceed the expectations of everyone who was coming to opening night.

While you understood his perspective, would it kill him to sugarcoat anything? You honestly think you’d prefer he lie to you than be so blatantly rude. At least you had somewhere good to put the reassurance, even if it was fabricated. The petty comments only made you feel worse.

“I do want this,” you grumbled, pulling your skates on. “I’m here now, right? So, come on, let’s go.”

Jack looked like he wanted to protest, but he gave in and sighed. “Fine. Let’s.”

He held the door to the chilly ice rink open for you. You stepped out onto the ice and breathed the frosty air in, hoping it’d ease your nerves. With your luck, however, it instantly had the opposite effect.

“Two laps around the rink. I’ll wait here.”

“Okay,” you said. You’d failed to mention the part where you hadn’t stretched before this like usual, and hoped he wasn’t soon to figure that out.

You felt Jack’s eyes boring into you as you made your first lap around the rink. It felt like he’d been scrutinizing your every move lately, even when you were off the ice, and it was futile for your confidence.

“Pointers?” you shed through clenched teeth after your first lap. Jack only grumbled in return.

“No. One more. Backwards.”

You sighed and did as told, turning around to perform the backwards lap. Aside from a slight trip, you remained on your feet until you circled all the way back to him.

“Two foot slalows. Around the rink.”

You nodded and got right to work, moving your body from side to side as you made your way around again. You were starting to feel a little warm despite having not stretched, so you at least had that going for you.

Jack had you do a few more familiar warm ups before you were off the hook. He eyed you with that same look of scrutiny when you returned, putting his hands together. “Good. Let’s see you practice some jumps.”

You nodded and got to work. Tried to, anyway. The first three jumps went by like a breeze, but the fourth had you taking a slight stumble on the ice. Jack was skating near you now and helped you up, less because he wanted to and more because he felt obligated.

“Up. Try again,” Jack said.

He skated with you while you prepared for a fifth jump, this one landing with ease. You breathed a sigh of relief at the small victory, but this practice was still far from over.

“Better,” said Jack plainly. Why were his insults always more decorated than his compliments?

“Thanks,” you returned just as flatly. “S’that enough?”

“For now. You feeling warm?” he asked. You nodded.

“Good. Let’s see your choreo.”

“Just like that? But we haven’t—“

Jack held up a hand. “I want to see what you remember. Surely you should know the routine you’ll have to execute in less than a week before, I don’t know, thousands of people? Right, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. The nickname was typically sugary, but coming from Jack’s lips, it was more bitter than ever. In the time that you’d known him, he hardly uttered it with affection.

“Right, Coach,” you bit annoyedly. “I should.”

“Then, show me.”

“Can I play the music for it?”

“If that’ll improve your performance, sure.”

With an eye roll you hoped Jack didn’t catch, you made your way off the rink and to the soundbooth outside it, using your phone to queue up the music that’d play as you skated on opening night. The choreography required you start off the ice to make an entrance, so the second you started the playlist, you flew out on your skates.

The routine started well. You did two dramatic laps around the rink, swaying your arms and settling back into the rhythm you’d been trying to return to for weeks. You did a few twists here and there to show off, letting the music sweep you into an elegant dance on the ice.

It was elegant, at least, until your first complicated move, a double axel jump into a smooth landing, followed by a traveling camel spin—seriously, what the fuck was Jack thinking?—snuck up on you at the height of the song’s chorus. You braced yourself for the move and took a deep breath before attempting it, silently praying to whatever god there was that you did this right.

Unfortunately for you, if there was one, they were not on your side as you flew into the air and promptly landed on your ass.

“Fuck,” you muttered as Jack skated over to you. He helped you to your feet, but he didn’t look happy to do so.

“Again.”

You went back to the soundbooth to restart the playlist, emerging onto the ice with your same dramatic flare from earlier. Whatever they said about faking it until you made it really needed to prove true for you right now.

You conquered the same move you’d just failed like the universe was purposely playing tricks on you. At least the small win eased your nerves the slightest bit.

It was mostly short lived, however, as you prepared for the following one.

You steeled yourself to go into a toe-loop jump, one of the many moves that’d had people enamored with you from day one. Two large glides and some mental motivation had you pulling the move off with flawlessness.

You could see Jack’s slight nod from the corner of your eye. While it wasn’t much, it was more than he’d given you all morning, and you had to hold onto that.

Subsequently, after another dramatic lap, you had another complicated jump in the finality of the song. The Salchow jump was no easy feat for any skater, but if you wanted eyes on you, it was definitely the way to go.

As the bridge of the song began to play, you readied yourself for the final complicated move of this part of the show. You felt Jack’s eyes burning into you from somewhere in the room, ready to witness your coordination. You sure hoped you could muster that in time for the final move.

You glided once, twice, willing your feet to act like they were attached to a halfway decent skater, and leaped into the air to make your final move. You executed it with confidence, completing it with a decent landing, but you lost your footing towards the end of it, ultimately throwing the elegance of the move off.

“Christ,” Jack said to you when you skated back over to him, the first song having now ended. “I’ve seen far better from you. And I expect it in the next song.”

“Yes, Coach,” you said with a sigh. You were starting to think that the reason Jack’s exasperation irritated you to pieces was because it was mostly justified.

You skated off the rink once again and queued up your second song, this one a little more upbeat than the last. You took your place on the ice to start the routine, but this time, Jack skated over, positioning himself behind you.

You turned to cock an eyebrow at him, your eyes twisted into what was practically a glare.

Jack waved his hand. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

“Easier said than done,” you muttered under your breath.

You started skating again, keeping a quickened pace that matched the faster tempo of the song. The beginning had a few simpler moves than the first, which gave you enough time to hopefully. . . .hopefully. . .find your groove again.

Except you were utterly grooveless as you lost your footing for the umpteenth time, far before your first complicated move. Hell, before the song had really started.

You didn’t even notice that Jack had skated off the rink until the song stopped abruptly, making you pause in your tracks. You skated over to the soundbooth, stepping inside the bleachers area.

“Alright, I can’t watch this anymore,” Jack huffed. “Skates off.”

“What? But, Coach, I—“

“Off. I don’t want to hear it.”

You furrowed your eyebrows but obliged—you owed him that after what was arguably your worst performance of all time—and sat down on the bleachers to take your skates off. You slipped your regular shoes back on and spent far longer than necessary lacing them to avoid Jack’s piercing glare.

“You trying to make a fool of yourself or me?” Jack barked.

“What?” you said.

“If your heart’s not in it, sweetheart, and clearly, it’s elsewhere right now, now’s the time to tell me. My career doesn’t need to go down with yours.”

You scoffed, standing up. “You didn’t even help me out there. Your criticism only made it worse,” you snapped.

“At least it was constructive. Why should I have to hold your hand through this? You know far better than to put on a show like that.”

“I wouldn’t be putting on a show like that if my coach acted like he gave a shit!”

Jack crossed his arms. “I do give a shit. Too many, apparently. You want the big leagues, honey? Those coaches would have ended your contract like that for even half the performance I just saw.”

You crossed your own arms to mirror him, huffing.

Jack took a step closer to you. His face went the slightest bit softer despite his earlier fury. “Look. I’m not saying this to be a hardass. And I’m sorry if it’s coming off that way. Skating’s your passion, and I know you want this,” he said. “But if you can’t act like you want to be here, then I can’t help you. Nod if you understand me.”

Your head seemed to nod of its own accord.

“Great. Now, you going to tell me what’s the matter?”

You looked up at the taller man, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. “I don’t know, Coach. I’m stressed, I guess. Stressed I’m going to royally destroy the opening show this weekend. And I suppose I. . .I’m also scared to disappoint you.”

“You might do both things if you can’t get your head in the game,” Jack deadpanned.

“Coach,” you whined.

“It’s true,” he said. His tone went quieter then as he looked you in the eye. “But you probably won’t do either if you put your heart in it, too.”

You held eye contact for a minute without speaking or moving. As much as you hated to admit it, Jack did have a point. As a matter of fact, you’d hardly known him to ever be wrong since the day you’d fucking met him.

Jack broke the silence. “So, what do you need? More practice? Pointers? Need to stretch again?”

“Well. . .” you said. “About that.”

“What?”

“I didn’t actually stretch before this? Was already late, and—“

“Hold on. You got on the rink without stretching?”

“Yes? No? Which answer will take the look you’ve got on your face right now away?”

“Jesus Christ,” Jack said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You want to get hurt now, too? Fuck, what am I going to do with you?”

“I’m sorry! Again,” you said. “Let’s stretch.”

“You need more than dynamics. Let’s take a walk.”

You cocked an eyebrow as Jack started to split down the hallway that led outside the arena. “More than dynamics?”

“Yeah. I need you back on your A-game, and we need to release any tension in your muscles before you start again,” Jack said. “You coming or what?”

“Yes, Coach,” you said, ever the dutiful skater, following behind him.

You trailed beside him until you reached a room you’d never been in outside the rink. It was mostly empty save for one of those doctoral beds in the corner, as well as a counter with a few random items atop it.

“Never been back here before,” you said. “What is this?”

“There used to be masseuses here for the figure skaters and hockey players that come through. Few other rooms just like this one down the way,” Jack said.

“So you get to play masseuse now. Exciting.”

“Hilarious. Come on, honey. Vest off.”

You took off the puffy vest you’d had on and set it on a chair in the room. You also took your shoes off at Jack’s command.

“Did you want, um. . .should I keep my shirt on? I have a tank top under. And shorts,” you said awkwardly.

“It’d make it easier,” Jack said plainly.

You then made quick work of your longsleeve, revealing a thin tank top underneath, followed by your thermal leggings. The exposure made your cheeks heat up slightly, but Jack thankfully didn’t seem phased. 

“Lay down. You can start on your back.”

You got onto the bed with Jack’s help—and tried not to think too hard about his hand lingering on your waist—and laid down flat. Jack’s warm hands met the flesh of your leg, and you turned away timidly as he started to lift it.

“Let’s loosen those hamstrings, yeah?” Jack said. He lightly thumbed your skin while your leg was positioned above you, working into the knots you hadn’t even known accumulated there. The feeling might have been foreign, but that didn’t mean it felt bad.

“No wonder you can’t skate. You’re tense.”

“Would it kill you to say anything nicely?”

Jack chuckled. “Maybe it would.”

He put your left leg down and moved onto your right, repeating the same routine.

“Just breathe. Relax. You’ll feel better.”

You tried your best to internalize that, but you couldn’t relax with the feel of Jack’s hands on you if you tried.

He lowered your leg and pushed your knees into your chest, holding them there. You completely averted eye contact with him, letting the silence speak for you. Jack hummed like he was amused.

“What?” you said.

“All that fire on the rink but you can’t even look me in the eye in here. It’s funny.”

“Shut up. It’s just awkward.”

“Still funny,” Jack said. “Both legs up. Hold it.”

You lifted both your legs. The stretch did at least feel good in your glutes, and the ones prior had you feeling good in general, so you had to give him credit for that.

“Legs down. Put your foot over your other leg, then switch.”

“You’d make a good doctor,” you teased as you used both arms to hold your leg over the other.

Jack rolled his eyes. “All this shit is Google-able. So as I said earlier, it’s like you want to get hurt.”

“Jesus. Old man can’t take a joke now?”

“Sure I can. Switch legs.”

You followed his instruction, but you weren’t done pushing him yet. “I’m just saying. Doctor Jack Abbot. . .mhm, could totally see it.”

“You’d probably give me a hard time as a patient, too,” Jack said.

“I don’t give you a hard time now,” you hummed. “You just take everything so personally.”

“You trying to piss me off?”

“See? My point is proven.”

“Turn over. On your stomach.”

You did as told and laid on your front now, feeling even more vulnerable like this. Jack rubbed your inner thighs with the pads of his fingertips. You let out a shaky sigh in return.

“Feel good?”

“Mhm. It’s. . .nice.”

“Good,” he said. He lifted your leg again, pushing it towards you until you felt a stretch in your quad. “Hold it.”

After doing the same to your other leg, putting you in child’s pose, and lastly, into a cobra position, Jack finally let up. You sat up and faced him, your legs hanging off the edge of the bed.

“How was that?” Jack asked.

“Way better than dynamics. I feel great.”

“Of course you do. The longer you neglect your muscles, the better it feels when you finally release the tension in them.”

You rolled your eyes. “And here I was, about to tell you how good of a masseuse you are.”

“You’re full of jokes today, aren’t you?” Jack said with a small chuckle. But he tried, no surprise to you, to hide his amusement beneath his usual stoicism. “I’m still not too happy with you.”

You let out an exaggerated groan. “Come on, Coach. I already said I was sorry! What else do you want from me?”

“What do I want?” Jack said, taking a step closer to you. You parted your legs without thinking so he could stand between them, all before you could really process what you were doing. What he was doing. 

“I want my golden girl back.”

You swallowed nervously as you looked up at him. Apart from celebratory hugs and pats on the back, you didn’t think you’d ever stood so close to him; close enough to make out every gorgeous feature on the older man’s face, every gray in his stubble. Every rise and fall of breath, the freckles that started at his neck and slowly descended beneath his shirt. . .

Your breath hitched at the proximity, leaving you stupidly tongue tied, until you managed a small, “I can be her. I promise.”

Jack rested a hand beside you on the bed. “Yeah, honey? You promise?”

“Yes, Coach.”

Like two magnets with an impenetrable force, you both found yourselves leaning into what was more than a kiss, but a whole new side of your relationship you hadn’t known existed until now. You weren’t exactly sure who sealed the deal, only that Jack cupped your cheek with a tenderness contrasted deeply by his previous gruffness, and started to work his lips against yours similarly.

The kiss was soft and sweet, tentative, like Jack was trying to figure out what you liked. Luckily for him, you had no problem disclosing just that. You pushed your tongue past his lips and wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

Jack grunted against your mouth, possibly the hottest sound you’d ever heard, and slipped his fingers into your hair. His hold wasn’t to control you but more to possess, and the thought had you soaked.

You weren’t the only one worked up, however, because there was a bulge in Jack’s pants that was already hard and insistent against you.

The kiss became frantic as the sounds of both your noises filled the room. You desperately guided his hand down to your shorts, right above your clothed core. Jack chuckled against your mouth.

“My God, honey. You’re so fucking needy,” he said, but he didn’t pull his hand away. He laid his palm flat over your center, and though fabric prevented him from fully doing so, you still rutted your hips against his hand.

“You expected me to stay sane after I had your hands all over me, Coach?” you rasped.

Jack shook his head. He looked you in the eyes while he kept his palm against your core, letting you take your pleasure. “Skip the formalities, sweetheart. You can call me Jack.”

“Okay,” you said with a swallow.

“Say it to me.”

“Jack.”

“Again.”

“Jack.”

“That’s it. Get used to it. S’exactly what you’re gonna say when I fuck you stupid on my cock,” Jack said with so much nonchalance, you could barely register the implication. “Hips up. I want your shorts off.”

“So bossy,” you teased, but you did as told. You lifted your hips so Jack could slide your shorts off your body, revealing your pitifully soaked underwear. 

“Should have expected that from you of all people,” you said.

Jack helped you take them off, discarding them on the chair you’d put your vest on. “Girls like you need it. Always acting up until someone puts you in your place,” he tutted.

Jack audibly groaned at the prominent wet spot on your panties. He rubbed his thumb over your clit through the cloth, finding the spot easily, a breathy chuckle leaving his lips.

“Fuck, look at you. S’this why you were fucking up out there, honey? Too wet to think straight?” he cooed.

Unable to argue with that, you bit your lip. “Can you b- blame me? You can be really hot when you’re mad.”

“Which, according to you, I’m always mad.”

“Then you’re always hot.”

“Have you always thought that, honey?” Jack said, his pace against your clit quickening.

“It’s kind of hard not to notice,” you admitted unabashedly. “Especially when you—fuck—talk to me like that. Makes me think all kinds of dirty things about you.”

“Oh, yeah? And just what kind of things d’you want this dirty old man doing to you, doll?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you teased. You pulled him in by his curls, twisting them in your fingers and pulling him in for a heated kiss. “Let’s start with your fingers inside me.”

“Demanding girl, aren’t you?” Jack scoffed, but he still obliged. He instructed you to lift your hips and slipped your panties off your legs, shamelessly putting them in his pocket.

“Perv.”

“You like it,” Jack said. He wasn’t wrong.

Jack slipped two fingers between your folds to find you wet and pliant for him, your hole practically crying to be filled. He used his free hand to drag you to the edge of the bed, keeping his arm around your waist and his eyes on yours while he teased your slit. Your breath picked up speed at the teasing gesture while your body begged for more.

“Come on, Jack,” you breathed, tasting his name on your lips. You found its flavor as sultry as the scene before you. “Don’t make me beg.”

“I don’t know, honey. After your little tantrum today? I think you deserve it.”

“Jack.”

“What?” Jack said nonchalantly, still teasing you between your folds. You thought you might implode if he didn’t fuck you already. “I told you what I want. So come on, doll. Ask me nicely.”

“Please, Jack. Please, fuck me.”

“Good girl,” Jack said, and with that, he slipped two fingers inside you, thrusting them in deep. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Fuck, n- no,” you squeaked as he began to thrust in and out of your tight walls, your own wetness the only thing allowing him to breach it at all. “Jesus, Jack,” you whined, scratching your nails into his bicep.

“Fuck, love when you say my name, baby,” Jack grunted. He pulled you impossibly closer, gripping your waist with a possessiveness that was making you feel dizzy. “Can you take a third?”

“Already? Shit, you’re insatiable.”

“Guilty,” Jack smirked.

“For you, I can.”

“Aren’t you a sweetheart,” Jack cooed to make it sound sugary, but you knew it was anything but. He slipped a third finger inside you, groaning as you clenched around the digits. He began to pump them in and out of you with vigor, eyes never leaving yours.

“Mmm, so good,” you whimpered. Fuck, if you were this stupid on his fingers, you had no idea how you’d handle his cock.

“You’re cute when you can’t think,” Jack said. He flicked his thumb against your clit, implementing the same circular motion he had previously. “No bratting, no back-talk. S’like my version of heaven.”

“You’re so. . .mean. . .”

“Oh, but you like it, huh? Look how hard you’re clenching around me,” Jack tutted. “Now I know the trick. Give this pussy a bit of attention and you’re a stupid little slut for me.”

“Fuckfuckfuck,” you whined as he spoke. “Don’t stop, Jack, please, m’gonna cum.”

“Don’t stop what? This?” Jack said with a particularly sharp thrust into your cunt. “Or did you mean treating you like a whore, honey? Yeah, that’s it. You need a filthy old man putting you in your place.”

“God, y- yes,” you nodded your agreement. “Need you to fuck me so dumb, Jack.” 

“Gonna give you everything you want, sugar. Just need to be good f’me. . .you are capable of that, aren’t you?” Jack cooed, taking your face in his free hand. He pinched your cheeks between his fingers, making you look at him.

“Yes, sir. So, so good.”

“There’s my precious slut. Cum for me, baby. Cum all over your old man’s hand.”

That did you in. A wave of pleasure crashed over you as you came with a shudder, holding onto Jack’s arm while he fucked you through your release. His fingers didn’t leave until you were basking in the aftershocks, and only then did he pull them out, sucking his fingers clean.

You pulled Jack in for another kiss, moaning when your tongue met his. He kept a hand on your waist, the other on your neck, gently squeezing down. You moaned into the rough touch in approval.

Jack pulled away to help you get your shirt off, then unclasped your bra with scary ease. He groaned at the sight of your hardened peaks, taking both breasts into his hands.

“Shit. Your tits are perfect,” Jack said as he squeezed them both, circling your nipples with his thumbs.

“Fuck,” you whined. You watched him trail kisses from your neck to your collarbone until his tongue swiped over your chest. He sucked one of your breasts into his mouth, swirling the length of it over your nipple, while one of his hands continued to knead your other tit.

“Beautiful girl,” Jack hummed more to himself than to you, all while his mouth continued working. His filthy words and flick of his tongue against your chest, paired with the incessant hard-on pressing against you from below, was about to make you fucking explode.

“This is some. .  .stress relief,” you whined, still trying to joke despite your vulnerable position. “You really would be a good doctor.”

“Back to that, are we?” Jack hummed against your nipple. “What are you trying to say?

You laced your fingers through Jack’s hair again, playing with it as you spoke. “Just. . .saying. This feels like a check-up, that’s all.”

“What’s that make you, then?” Jack hummed. “My pretty little patient?”

Caught off guard by his words, you let out an involuntary whimper. “I suppose it does.”

“Well, don’t worry, doll,” Jack said. He squeezed your nipple even harder, pinching it between his fingers. “Doctor Abbot’s gonna get you all fixed up.”

With that, he latched his mouth onto your nipple again, swirling the bud with his tongue. It was evident what kind of man he was as he took a liking to your pretty tits, hardly coming up for air and grunting like he was the one being pleasured.

“That feel good, baby?” Jack hummed after switching to your other nipple, giving it as much attention as the other.

“So good. Doctor,” you teased without thinking. “But I want more.”

“Oh, s’that right? You’re gonna have to use your words, sugar.”

“I want your cock, doctor. Think that’d really fix me.”

Jack chuckled and stood upright. You didn’t have to tell him twice. “Lay back.”

You did as told and laid down on the bed he’d been stretching you on previously. Well, you supposed this still counted as. . .stretching. . .right?

As Jack started to remove his pants, you realized you’d been completely naked while he was fully clothed. He almost stopped at his bottoms and climbed atop you, until you shook your head.

“Shirt, too, Doctor.”

“Bossy,” Jack said, but he didn’t deprive you. He removed his shirt and discarded it on the growing pile of clothes across the room. The sight of his bare chest had you impossibly wetter, even more so as he settled between your legs on the bed.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” you said as he hovered over you.

“Look at that. You do know how to be nice,” he returned.

“You should be the last person talking.”

“I’m as nice as they come,” Jack hummed like he actually believed it. He started to free his cock from his boxers, and the girth of him surprised you. You sat up on your elbows to get a better look, swallowing at the size.

Jack’s face went a little softer. “You okay, baby? Sure you can take it?”

You nodded quickly. In fact, you might have been a little too excited to take him, not so much the converse. “S’this gonna help me, Doctor? Relieve my stress?”

Jack smirked at you. “Sure is, doll.”

“Then, yeah, I can take it.”

“That’s a good girl. See? You can be smart,” he said.

“Oh, fuck you,” you retorted.

“Gladly,” Jack said. He slotted his already leaking tip between your folds, putting a hand beside your head to keep himself steady. “Ready?”

You nodded.

“Words, sugar.”

“Yes, Coach.”

Caught off guard by your words, Jack sunk into you shakily, the name in a moment like this working him right up. “Fuck. You’re trouble.”

You gasped at the utter stretch of him inside you, and felt even more shocked when you looked down and realized that was only half of him. Jesus. You were already sweating and he hadn’t even fully breached your hole yet.

“Oh, s’that too much, love?” Jack cooed at your little whimpers. He pressed a kiss to your lips to silence you, humming as his mouth swallowed your noises. “Shhh, shhh, you can take it. Big stretch, sweetheart.”

With that, he pushed even further into you, watching your face for your reaction. His equally cocky and attentive demeanor was making your head spin with complete and utter lust.

When he was all the way inside, he started to thrust into your pussy, picking up speed the faster your moans got. Your body was gradually accommodating his size, but the longer he fucked you, the better it felt.

“Jack, f- fuck, you’re so big,” you moaned as he rocked his hips against you. Jack was so deep that his heavy balls were slapping against you with every thrust, adding to the erotic nature of the moment.

“You like that, sugar? How much I fill you?”

“So, so much. Please, don’t stop,” you whined.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Jack grunted into your ear, his thrusts already getting sloppier. For how uptight he was on the ice, it was jarring in all the right ways to see him lose a bit of control.

“My good girl. My golden girl. Taking her coach’s cock so well,” Jack cooed.

“Wanna be your good girl, Coach. Only yours.”

“That’s what I like to hear, sugar,” Jack grunted.

He picked up the pace and fucked you into the bed quicker now. Your back arched off the surface, the man so deep it was like you could feel him in your throat, as you took every punishing thrust of his hips into your gummy walls.

Jack withdrew momentarily, the loss pulling a whimper from your lips. “Lift your legs, doll.”

You didn’t question him and raised your legs the same way you’d been earlier when you were stretching. Jack took them over his shoulders and lined his head up with your hole again, before thrusting back into you.

“You’re so pretty when you listen to me,” Jack hummed as he started rutting into you again.

You let out a breathy laugh, though it proved hard with the feeling of being so full. “I’m not all brat, as you’d put it.”

“I like when you behave. Should try it more often.”

“I’ll think about it,” you said, thought you both knew full well you wouldn’t.

Not if it ended in sex like this.

Jack pulled out of you, and for a second, you thought he was going to make you beg for his cock again. That is, until he was slamming back into you, getting lost in the feel of your pussy wrapped around his dick.

“Fuck, baby. You’re squeezing me so tight.”

“Jack,” you whimpered in return, your body ready to give into another orgasm. “I’m close again.”

“Yeah? Want me to—“

“No,”  you said instantly. Paired with him subtly shifting his hips back, you knew where this was going. And, quite frankly, the thought of him pulling out wasn’t a good one. “Cum inside me. Please? I want you to.”

Jack chuckled, thrusting back into you. “Jesus, sugar. Who knew you were such a dirty girl?” he said. He pushed in impossibly deeper, the tip of his dick hitting that sweet spot inside you. “You want this old man filling your pretty little pussy, huh? Fuck the consequences?”

“Fuck the consequences,” you repeated. “I want it.”

Jack didn’t deny you. He fucked into you like an animal, gripping your legs tightly as he slammed into your cunt. A familiar pleasure started to build in your lower belly, and you knew it wouldn’t be long now.

“Jack, fuck, faster!” you moaned. “Gonna cum for you, gonna cum, holyshit.”

“I’m right there with you, baby. I gotcha,” Jack groaned. You clenched around him hard at the reassurance, and before you knew it, you couldn’t hold back.

You came with a loud cry after a particularly harsh thrust into your pussy, soaking Jack’s dick with your juices. He wasn’t far behind you, cumming deep inside you only seconds later with what could only be described as a feral grunt.

“There’s my girl,” he cooed as he fucked you through it. “Take it like a good little slut.”

When you finally caught your breath—or enough to get a few words out, anyway—you looked up at Jack with a fucked-out expression. Sweat was sticking his gray curls to his forehead, and he looked just as dizzy as you.

“That was—“ you started, but you didn’t get to finish before Jack was suddenly flipping you over, pulling a surprised “Oh!” from your mouth. Without further warning, he bent you over with your ass up, running his hands over the flesh of your bottom.

“Jesus, Coach,” you said at the sudden action. “This another one of your stretches?”

“Always a fucking minx, aren’t you?” Jack tutted. He pushed your face down into the bed and pressed up behind you, his cock prodding and insistent between your cheeks.

“I’m not a—holyshit,” you moaned. You didn’t finish that sentence either, not before Jack was thrusting back into your oversensitive hole, setting a lethal pace.

Jack chuckled. “Yeah, not loud-mouthing now, are you, sugar?”

“T- Too s- soon!” you managed through a whimper, the overstimulation making you dizzy. You had said you liked him meaner, but you hadn’t expected this.

“Poor baby. Just a little more now, love, almost done,” Jack cooed like his fingers weren’t now gripping your hair, and the room wasn’t filled with the wet squelch made from him pounding into your poor pussy.

“Jack,” you whined, the sound muffled by the pillow he had your face in. “Feels. . .feels like. . .”

“Use your words, doll,” Jack commanded. “Feels like what?”

“L- Like I’m gonna pee,” you admitted embarrassingly.

Jack chuckled and didn’t let up, already knowing where this one was going. “Ain’t anything to be embarrassed about, sweetheart. S’gonna feel so good, promise.”

“What’s. . .what’s gonna. . .mmph!” you said with a final moan before you felt exactly what Jack was being so smug about.

The second Jack withdrew from your pussy, a stream of fluid involuntarily escaped you, promptly soaking the already ruined bed below you as well as Jack himself. He patted your bottom condescendingly as he watched you do it, muttering a satisfied, “There it is, doll. Let it out.”

“You’re so evil,” you muttered when all was said and done. You turned around to find a smiling Jack, who pulled you to rest flush against his front, his arms wrapped around your waist from behind.

You tried to ignore the feeling of his still-hard cock behind you as he returned, “Still got my golden girl back, didn’t I?”

You giggled and conceded, nodding in agreement. “Told you I could be her. Or whatever you want me to be,” you said. You laced your fingers through his curls, pulling him in for a sensual kiss.

Jack returned it eagerly, the gesture a sweet contrast to his rough treatment from before. “Yeah? ‘Cause after this sugar, you might have to be mine.”

You smiled at him. “I think I could live with that.”

A heavy sigh released from your chest; another goddamn bill settled in your hands. The harsh red ink of the 'past due' stamp nearly made your eyes go crossed. You threw the bill on the stack that seemed to go on for miles. You shook your head, muttering curses under your breath in your empty apartment. You felt just shy of pathetic; you were a fucking doctor for Christ's sake! Well…almost.

You entered the ambulance bay with your head held low, the sun sinking below the horizon. Dana took a drag of her cigarette, noticing how cowardly your body seemed. "It wasn't that bad of a shift, y'know?"

"Not worried about that right now, Dana."

Dana clicked her tongue, sighing as she put out her cigarette. You walked to your desk, a lone, condensing coffee standing next to the computer monitor. "Shen, you shouldn't have!"

"Anything to get you to make it through your shift!" Shen remarked, patting the counter before returning to a patient.

"I second that," Ellis said, striding from room to room.

Jack stood in the background, his presence ever infiltrating. A longing gaze as he watched you sip the coffee your fellow attending physician got for you. The slight jealousy bubbled in his tummy when you took a sip from the orange straw. His hands grasped his stethoscope, tight and wound.

It wasn't unusual for him to be like this, always jealous, always tense about how you interacted with your coworkers.

Your short time at PTMC was something to be proud of. You adored your colleagues, especially your fellow doctors, quickly becoming attached to their witty comments and easygoing presence.

However, Jack was something else entirely.

You two were…something, especially after that one night after a grueling shift.

You kept pumping your palms into your patient's chest, the coarse sound of ribs breaking. It made you wince between choked-down sobs, your lungs running ragged. You noticed how Jack shed his gloves, accepting defeat.

"Abbot!" you wailed. "You can't give up, please!"

"I'm calling it," his voice was rough, his heart tight in his chest at seeing you grieve your patient. "We did everything we could, you did everything you could."

"Dr. Abbot, please," you begged, staring down at the patient who could be a doppelganger for your sister; if you hadn't triple-checked her ID band, you would've been sure it was her. Same hair, same eyes, same stature, all of it was identical. Your pleading words made him pause before he shook his head again, crossing his arms along his chest. He twisted his wrist, locking onto the hands of his watch.

"Time of death 14:16," you cut him off with a howling cry, everyone in the ED whipping their heads at the sound. "Lena, get someone to clean the patient up as soon as you can so we can free up this room."

You dropped to your knees then, your face pressed into your forearm, shielding everyone from seeing your puffy, red-eyed look. Jack met you there, his prosthetic making him slightly unsteady. His strong hand smoothed gentle circles over your backside.

"Sweetheart, hey," you were frozen, not even meeting his saddened expression with your pretty eyes. "Hey, this is your first; it's okay. It happens." He lifted you by your shoulders, you leaning into him for support. He sat you down in the staff room, reaching for a bottle of water before feeding the rim of the bottle to your lips. "Drink this for me, okay?"

You wrapped your hands around his, accepting the bottle and swallowing the cold liquid; your breaths slowing down to a steady rhythm. You met Jack's hazel eyes, gradually grounding yourself under his intense stare.

"You okay?" he asked, his hoarse voice bouncing off the empty walls. "Just tell me everything on your mind."

"It all happened so fast," your chest started to heave again, Jack carefully placing his hands on your shoulders. "Y-You gave up."

"There was nothing we could do," he reminded, his fingers digging into your shoulder blades, trying to bring you back from the brink. "You did everything you possibly could to help that patient; it's not your fault."

"But it is!" you cried, tears starting to swell. "You didn't do anything!"

Jack looked at the floor, shame and guilt rising to the surface. He knew the truth; you just weren't willing to admit it.

"Abbot, got a patient in Trauma 2 waiting for you!" Lena called, peeking at the closeness between the two of you. Jack sighed, raking his hand through his hair. "Yeah, be there in a minute."

"Tell you what," he began, grabbing his lunch from the fridge and grabbing the Ziploc from his bag, setting down a sandwich in front of you. "Why don't you eat something and take some time to recoup?" You nodded before he exited the staff room.

A couple of hours passed, the sandwich staying untouched, glancing at his kind gift on the table while you stared at the wall before you. Jack sneaked in, subtly closing the door, the sound of the latch drawing your attention to his steadfast figure.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Just thought I'd check on you." He glanced down at the table, noticing how the sandwich was intact. "You haven't eaten."

"I can't," you whispered. "It keeps replaying in my mind."

"Why don't I take you home after our shift is over?" he asked. "Maybe we can grab something to eat on the way, might make you feel better being away from this place?"

You shook your head, standing weakly. "No, I need to be out there helping you guys."

His hands slightly shoved you back down, sitting you in the seat.

"We got it," he reassured. "You just worry about yourself, alright?"

You remained there for the rest of your shift, your fingers shook as you grasped your thighs. The minute the shift was over, he made his way to the staff room and wrapped his bicep around your arm, your hand steadying along his strong shoulder. Jack held onto your arm, stabilizing you further. He walked you through the ambulance bay and then the parking lot, sitting you in his passenger seat before tugging the seatbelt over you, your skin becoming covered in goosebumps at the slight brush.

He took you to his favorite diner, picking up the fresh burgers he scheduled for pickup hours ago. He dropped the tailgate to his truck, setting the greasy bag on the metal. He opened the passenger door, unbuckling your seatbelt. Even though you had calmed down, you were still tense, grasping onto any part of his arm that you could.

"Hey, it's okay," he murmured. "I get it, I know how it feels. I'm here."

He lifted your hips onto the tailgate, a deep sigh releasing from your lips while he fetched a burger from the bag, even unwrapping it for you before he handed it to you. You uttered a kind 'thanks', him nodding in response to your gratitude before he sat himself on the tailgate. You had always felt something for Jack, and the fact that his movements and words weren't doing anything for you was showing how deep in the dark you were. You both sat there silent for a while, waiting for one another to speak.

"I know I did all I could," Jack paused mid-chew, focusing on your knitted brows, studying your wavering expression. "I just can't accept it because she looked just like my sister."

You were the oldest, always feeling protective and maternal over your sister. It was hard, constantly worrying about her even though she's an adult now. Jack nodded along as you recalled the events from earlier, hearing every word.

"Hey," he started, his palm strong and squeezing along your shoulder. "This is your first, and it won't be your last."

Jack told you a story then, about how he had tried to save his friend on the battlefield. His words made your heart ache, tensing with every sentence that poured from his mouth. You were fascinated by how he could be resilient in the field and in the ED. It almost made you sick, his situation being much worse than your own.

"It doesn't end," he whispered. "Death always finds a way."

You twiddled your thumbs, lost in his words, curling inwards as your insecurities continued to grow. You still felt unstable, like you could crumble any minute. You turned to him, watching his prosthetic sit still while his other leg swayed.

"Is that how you lost your leg?" you asked, unsure if you should even ask the question. "Yes," his lips pressed into a thin line. "My own mistake, thinking I could save someone who was already stepping up to the pearly gates." You both sat there in silence, the cicadas' hum drowning in the background.

"Can you take me home?"

"Of course," he said, putting the wrappers back in the bag. "Yeah, no problem."

The car ride was silent, only the gentle rumbles of the engine filling the cabin of the vehicle, only interrupting him to give directions to your apartment. When he pulled up to your building, he pressed a gentle touch to your knee.

"Hey," his raspy voice pulled you back into reality. "It's gonna be okay."

"I know," you answered flatly, tugging your backpack over your shoulder. You were about to push the door closed before you met his troubled expression. You stood there, solid and rigid in the intimate space, the dawn casting your skin in a violet glow. "Do you mind coming inside for a while?"

Jack immediately shut off the vehicle and unbuckled his seatbelt. "Not one bit, I'm here as long as you need me."

He followed you up the levels to your door. You swiftly unlocked the door before stepping into a bunch of bills that had fallen through the mail slot. "Shit," you hissed, plucking the bills up one by one, the red ink making your eyes blur once again. "I'm sorry, fuck. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," Jack comforted.

You set down the bills on the counter before dropping your backpack in the foyer. You tugged on your scrubs, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. Jack was here, in your apartment; he saw the bills. Fuck.

"I-I'm just gonna change," you stuttered. "If that's okay."

"Yeah, no worries. I'll be here."

Jack draped himself along your couch, massaging his residual limb before you came out in your sleep shorts and t-shirt. He couldn't help but notice how you weren't wearing a bra, your nipples peeking from the fabric of your thin shirt.

"Sorry, I just couldn't take being in my scrubs anymore," you stated, sitting yourself next to him on the couch. The early morning sun beamed on your restful figure, a halo shaping around your body. Jack licked his lips, suddenly uneasy in front of you.

"I can pay those, y'know," his head gesturing to the envelopes that sat on the counter. "The bills."

"You don't have to," you gnawed on your thumbnail, the anxious feeling coursing through your stomach while you blushed in front of your attending.

"I can," he mumbled.

"I think I can handle myself, Dr. Abbot."

"Jack," he corrected. "You can call me Jack."

"Okay, Jack."

You offered him a drink, grabbing a beer from the fridge and pouring yourself a glass of wine, analyzing him closely as his arms flexed as he readjusted himself. He shared stories of his early years in the ED and in the military. Your mouth was somewhat agape at the trauma he was confessing to you. You felt a slight twist in your chest; maybe it was because he was no longer your attending, but someone who was on your level. You both sat there in silence after he finished.

Your admiration for Jack grew, watching the older man as he stared back at you. The aged lines along his

It was slow at first, small pecks before his tongue swiped along your bottom lip, your mouth open and welcoming. His hands lingered at your sides before one hand grasped your shoulder and the other gripped your waist. He drew you in, his hands moving your hips to where they settled on top of his, your thighs nestled along his.

You both traded kisses like this for a while, tongues swirling along each other, Jack's fingertips digging into the plush of your hips. He yanked your center to meet his clothed cock, your movements coming to a halt. You pulled away suddenly.

"What am I doing?" you muttered to yourself. "Fuck, what the fuck am I doing?"

"Sweetheart?" Jack asked, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, trying everything to bring you back down. His hand held steady at your hip, messing with the hem of your sleep shorts. "What's wrong? Did I do something?"

"We can't do this," you told yourself, standing between his thighs. "You're my attending! You're my fucking attending." You started sobbing uncontrollably, your whole body aching, yet wrenching away from him. "You need to leave!"

"Hey, no one has to know about this," he stated, his palm on your waist now. He tried to pull you into his arms, wrapping you in a tight hug. You tugged his arms off, him dropping his limbs at his sides while you gave him a wild look.

"Exactly," your thoughts became solidified. Jack hesitated, awaiting your final command, his knee shifting under his weight, creeping towards the door. "Can you just leave, please?"

Since then, your relationship with Jack was rocky: flirty remarks from him and nothing in response from you. Every time you saw him, you recalled that night. It was sickening, your mind dancing around the encounter that happened three weeks ago.

He was damn near haunting, always looming in the background. Always a watchful eye on you as you worked from afar, lingering behind the glass doors of the countless rooms. When he was in the room, it felt like your mind was more caught up in him than the patient lying before you. The white lines along his neck, in contrast to his tanned, freckled skin; how the gray curls seemed to shift colors beneath the lights; even the way his biceps tensed as he made a cut with the scalpel. However, the interactions you two had were anything but teasing or lighthearted; they were always instructive and to the point.

Jack still felt a mutual attraction towards you, despite the encounter that happened what felt like days ago. His skin would prickle at the minimal contact of his hand with yours, guiding you along an incision, inhaling your scent so deeply that it burned in his nostrils for days. You were addicting, his drug of choice. He'd find himself staring at how your ponytail bobbed and waved at him before briefly looking at the curve of your ass.

"Hey!" Lena shouted, pulling Jack out of his trance. "You gonna stare at your resident all night or treat the patient in South 14?"

Fuck, you were so distracting.

On occasion, when Dana's shifts ran long, you'd confide in her, seeing her as a sort of maternal figure in your life. Your hand toyed with the damp strands along the nape of your neck, your own words making anxiety bubble in your stomach.

"Yeah, rent is due next week," you began, a loaded breath flying free from your chest. "Dunno how I'm gonna pay it with the auto repair I had to pay, not to mention the other loans I've got."

"Pays to be an adult, doesn't it, sweetheart?" Dana said, her mouth twitching as she peeped up at you from her clipboard.

"Sure does."

Jack's ears picked up at your words, him remembering the bills piled high on your kitchen counter, how you frantically picked up the pieces of mail as if you were picking up the broken pieces of your life, gathering the remnants left from that night. Your breath shuddered as you briefly met his gaze, his hands in his pockets while he stood still, taking in every part of your exhausted figure.

He clocked every single movement of yours, you pinching the bridge of your nose between charts, the bead of sweat dripping down your temple. You were sitting over your desk, your head buried into your crossed arms, soft snores snaking from your lips. Jack carefully prodded at your backside, awakening you from your slumber.

"Hm?" you hummed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, your vision finally focusing on your attending. "Oh, hey, Dr. Abbot. What's up?"

"Could ask you the same thing," he rasped, his hands steady in his pockets. "What's going on with you? Didn't take you for the type to sleep on the job." Your eyes combed over his body, strong and solid. It made your mouth dry, your tongue sweeping across your lips, his raised eyebrows making his forehead crinkle.

Your heart thrummed in your chest, the unsteady rhythm only pulling you further out of sleep. You hadn't confronted Jack since that night, always avoiding and dodging him at every corner. This was the first time since then that he had spoken to you, face to face, man to woman.

Jack had noticed your constant deflection, how you brushed off his routine check-ins, always drawing up some excuse to avoid working with him on a patient. In his mind, you just weren't ready. You weren't ready to face that night- was it what transpired in the trauma room, or was it him? Upon reminiscing that evening, he remembered the amount of wine you had, how your eyes were still puffy from your breakdown from hours before. You were probably just tipsy and needing someone to lose yourself in, something casual. Jack was by no means casual. When something had his attention, especially a pretty young thing like you, he became fully captivated. He hadn't stopped thinking about you since he left your apartment, even being sick enough to picture you while he touched himself the morning after a challenging shift.

"I-uh," you shook your head, trying to focus on your boss. "S-Sorry, I haven't gotten much sleep the last few days."

"Why is that?"

"I can't afford to live," you admitted. "I had car troubles last week and had to pay the bill; it took away from the amount I had set aside for my rent."

"You didn't call me."

"W-What?" you garbled out.

"You didn't call me," he repeated, the slight click of his tongue pulling you further into reality. "I could've picked you up for your shift."

"Too much to ask," you stated, that tightness settling in your chest again. "You wouldn't have done that for me, especially after what happened." You watched as Jack smirked, damn near chuckling at your comment. He raked his palm along his white stubble, dissecting the words. "What's so funny?"

"You know I don't care about that, right?" Your eyes narrowed to slits, wondering if what he was saying was true. "It never mattered to me; I know you were going through it, we didn't have to do anything."

"Can I pull you for a minute, Dr. Abbot?" Al-Hashimi interrupted, her eyes holding steadily with yours before glaring at Jack. You watched across the room at Al-Hashimi and Jack, exchanging cautious glances at you, your eyes bouncing between them like a tennis match. You clicked your tongue as he laid a tender hold on her shoulder, as if he was dismissing everything he mentioned before. You knew her and Jack had a history, but so did you. Jealousy flowed through you, your face contorting. A sigh released from your chest, your hands smoothing over your hair as you stepped out to get some air, Jack's eyes following your every move.

You felt your phone buzz as you walked into the ambulance bay; a notification popped up on your phone from your apartment complex. Your payment has been processed, the message said. You looked at your banking app, scrolling through your recent transactions; nothing new besides the tank of gas you got this morning. You dialed the number to your apartment complex, your foot tapping along the concrete.

"Monarch Apartments, how can I help you?" the operator asked.

"Hey, I just got a notification that my rent has been paid?" Your brows tensed, pacing back and forth in the alleyway beside the bay. "Did that come out of my account or—"

"No, ma'am," the operator stated. "Looks like someone by the name 'Jack Abbot' paid the balance; you're all covered for this month." "What? When did this happen?" You questioned, embarrassed at the fact that he felt the need to cover your goddamn rent. "Let me check." You could hear the subtle clicks of the keyboard in the background. "Looks like it was a couple of hours ago." Ah, yes, when he conveniently took his "break". "Do I need to reverse the payment?"

"N-No!" you shouted into the phone, earning some glances from some stray nurses and EMT's. "I mean, no, let me talk to him first, and I'll call you back." You hung up the phone, dropping the device into your pocket.

Jack limped into the ambulance bay, worry all over his face as he searched for you. He felt a tight hand wrap around his wrist, pulling him around the corner. A relieving breath fell from his lips, thankful that you were okay. "You okay?"

"What the fuck, Jack?" you interrogated, Jack's expression morphing into confusion. "You just paid my bill without asking me first?"

"How did you even-" Jack wondered before you cut him off with a hiss. "What? How did I find out? Maybe it was the fact that my complex notified me of that sneaky swipe of your credit card." Jack's silver brows furrowed, his look suddenly shifting into something darker. "You were struggling," he reminded, his head low as he met your fierce stare. "I mean, you told the whole department, everyone, besides me."

"It's none of your business!" you shouted in the vacant room.

"Everything you discuss with your colleagues is my business," he hissed, his hazel eyes piercing into yours. "You think I didn't hear all of that shit you spewed to Dana? Or maybe you're just angry at me because you can't face what happened three weeks ago."

"Listen, Jack," you barked, your finger shoving into his chest. "I like you, I do, but I can't help but associate you with tragedy. My patient that resembled my sister, your leg, your meaningless wedding band, all of it makes me feel sick."

"I don't care!" Jack admitted, his voice loud and proud as he poured out his feelings in the bustling bay. "Can't you see I fucking care about you regardless of my situation? None of it matters! None of this matters. You know what does? You. You fucking matter to me."

You remained there, almost a statue in front of him. Your furious face met his own wounded look, his fists taut at his sides. The tension was thick enough to be suffocating.

"We're done here," you grumbled out, storming back into the hospital.

In the span of a few days, you called in sick for your next four shifts, spending your days in a pile of tissues and some cheesy reality show displayed on your television. Your phone had blown up with messages from Ellis and Shen, even some of the nurses. Yet, no texts or calls from Jack. You knew your words ate at him. On the surface, you hoped you knocked his confidence; still deep down, you prayed there was still a part of him that cared for you. No mail fell through the slot at the door for the coming days; you didn't know how, but you didn't care. You felt somewhat relaxed that you had something else off your plate.

Jack lost his mind those days you were absent.

"She's not here again?" Jack asked, his mouth going dry.

"Dunno, Abbot," Lena shrugged, interpreting his concerned expression. "Said she's having a really bad bout of food poisoning."

"Shouldn't have lasted this long," Jack muttered under his breath. "Maybe you should check on her? She really likes you, y'know? Maybe you could get through to her."

"Highly doubt that at this point."

You had finally showered, the first time in three days. You patted at your hair with your towel, wringing out the remaining drops from the strands, the reality show still droning on in the background. Rain drummed along the glass panes, the peaceful setting putting your mind further at ease. You even felt well enough to make yourself a cup of tea. You were starting to feel grounded, reverting to a state of normalcy. No patients, no hospital, no Jack. Your tea was growing cold on the side table as you dozed on the couch, finally getting a restful sleep.

A knock rapped at your door, the sound jerking you awake. Your one hand swiped at your eyes while the other tamed your hair. Shit, you thought. Debt collectors strike again.

You unlocked and swung open the door, your gaze landing on a soaking-wet Jack Abbot on your doorstep. His scrubs were drenched and hugging the tight muscles along his torso. Drips fell from his curls as his chest heaved, already exhausted from his shift in addition to the staircases to your floor. Your mouth parted before he interrupted you.

"Jack, what the hell are you doing here?"

"You're not sick," he rasped.

A deep breath released from you, your expression softening. "No, no, I'm not sick."

"Why haven't you been coming into work?"

"I think you know why, Jack."

Jack briefly looked away, his lips pursed, closing his eyes before facing you.

"I'm sorry," his voice hoarse. "I'm sorry I didn't ask you about paying your rent first. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable that night. The truth is that I am totally infatuated with you. I want to make you happy in any way I can; I want to take care of you. It's fine if you won't let me, reject me if you want. I'm used to it."

"Jack," your words came out more hoarse than you expected. "You don't have to apologize. I'm sorry for overreacting. You don't have to worry about me. I mean, yes, I'm a mess, but that doesn't mean you have to take care of me."

"Let me," he begged. "Please." His hazel eyes were pleading, his body so close that your breath made him shiver. You looked up at him, your expression almost as imploring as his was. His pupils fixated on your own, watching as the dark circles grew. "Can I kiss you?"

Your lips crashed into his, his hands sought refuge in the fat of your hips, a low growl rising from his throat. Your fingers carded through his pewter curls, yanking him closer. He guided you through the threshold, the apartment feeling like a distant memory. His forearms circled your thighs, heaving your hips onto the counter. You gasped at the contact with the cold marble, Jack chuckling between kisses. His hands snaked below the hem of your shorts, his nails digging into your flesh. His mouth danced along your jaw before tracing down to the hollow of your throat. His mouth was warm and entrancing, hot sweeps of his tongue raking along the surface.

His hand palmed around your clothed mound, the slow draw of your hips extending the movement. Your tongue swirled with his, gentle moans flowing between the two of you. His free hand held your chin. You whimpered, a slow breath releasing from your lips. You felt his palms tense, angling your hips into his half-hard crotch. Jack shifted his weight, releasing the tension in his residual limb, his grasp tight on your chin while his movements were constant on your lips. You wrapped your hand along his wrist, shielding yourself from his touch.

"Jack—" your husky voice brought him back to reality. "We can't-"

"We can," he interrupted, his mouth hovering over yours. "I won't tell anyone, I promise, okay?" he rasped. "We're done here, understand?" Your grasp loosened, releasing him, your eyes never leaving his. "There you go, good girl."

His free hand kneaded up your side, pooling your shirt under the swell of your breasts. His breath hovered over your lips, a shiver spreading throughout your spine. His scruff scraped across your fingertips as you placed your hand along his angular jaw. His hazel eyes bored into you as he continued to toy with your covered pussy, little moans unleashing from your throat. Jack felt your slickness start to soak into the fabric, a smirk spreading across his lips.

"Like it when I touch you like this?" his gruff voice filled your ears, a mewl raking out of you. He let out a low, dark chuckle, amused by your speechlessness. "Your body is telling me yes."

"Jack—," you panted, squeezing at his shoulder. "Just take me to bed, please?"

"No need to beg, sweetheart. Your wish is my command."

His calloused hands placed your thighs around his hips, a little squeal leaving your body as the soggy fabric of his scrubs met your bare skin. He grunted as he lifted you into his arms, the added weight intensifying the pain in his leg. Despite the red-hot flashes of pain, his mouth was still on yours, never breaking the kiss as he limped to your bedroom.

"Jack, you don't have to carry me," you whispered between kisses.

"Nonsense," he replied before pecking your lips again. "I got you, baby."

Jack shoved open the bedroom door, lurching towards the bed. He pressed your back into the mattress, desperate and wanting. He stepped back from you, shedding off his drenched scrub top and undershirt. He returned to you, his frigid body rubbing against your torso, making your skin prickle with goosebumps. He groaned at how your warm hands snaked across his naked chest, your fervent touches allowing his body temperature to regulate.

He buried his head in the crook of your neck, his cold nose tickling along your pulse point. His tongue dipped into the hollow above your collarbone, his teeth grazing the delicate flesh. Your nails clawed along his scalp, a shaky breath seeping from your lips. Jack's fingers slipped below the waistband of your thin sleep shorts, his icy touch making your hips jerk.

"Shh," he hushed. "Let me touch you like this."

His fingers swept gentle rotations around your clit, his touch precise and meticulous. Your spine bowed, your nipples grazing against his cool chest. Jack's eyes grew darker, the lust consuming him. He watched as your chest rose and fell with little sounds, you becoming malleable under a slight brush of his fingertips. He felt your desire coat the roughness of his fingers, your pleasure becoming even more evident.

He slid a digit into your weeping hole, a throaty growl vibrating against the corner of your jaw. You clenched around him, desperate for more. His thumb continued to move against your clit, his mouth curving in satisfaction. Your nails clawed in response at his backside, decorating his strong muscles with long, harsh scratches. He pumped another finger into you, stretching out your insides, your hips quivering in response. Jack's arm wrapped around your trembling self while he worked his fingers deeper into you, trying to keep you stable. He felt his fingertips start to prune, releasing his digits from your beckoning center.

Your brows pulled together, your begging expression enough for him to cum in his pants then. He reached for the elastic of your shorts, hauling the fabric along with your panties down the length of your legs in one go. Your folds were practically sparkling in the dim light, making his mouth water. He lowered himself down, a rough groan as he settled between your thighs. He spread your thighs open with his rugged hands, your glittering center bare for him.

"God, sweetheart. She's so beautiful, all wet for me."

He pecked the stretchmarks that adorned your thighs, occasionally suckling on the soft flesh. He placed gentle kisses on your clit before dragging his tongue across your sweetness. You tilted your hips towards his mouth, your fingers yanking at his silver curls. Jack's eyes met yours, watching him as he continued to make out with your heat.

"Jack—, fuck!" you howled, writhing underneath him. His nails burrowed into your thighs, opening you further.

His tongue dug into you, combing through your barriers, sweet and succulent. His biceps pressed into your thighs, encircling your legs while he consumed you, lapping at your sex. His tongue danced along your pearl, worshiping you at every movement of his tongue while he played with your nipple. He pulled away, tugging down the band of his boxers and pumping his cock with his fist. Your entrance pulsed around his absence, your hole flexing at the emptiness.

"Condom?" he asked, his voice hoarse,

"Don't have to," Your fingers trailing down to your nub. "I'm on the pill."

It took him no time to press his length into you, your walls pulsating around him. Slow draws of his cock met the forefront of your center, his inches accommodating to your tightness.

"Shit, you're so tight," he rasped. "Feel so good around me, sweetheart."

His dick crammed into you, ransacking every bit of your insides, searching and seeking. The tip of his cock permeated your cervix, the constant pounding making you grow persistent. The drives of his hips met yours, making a translucent mess between you, both of your liquids spilling. His warmth continued to cultivate below, spreading through his freckled skin. The restless drives made your orgasm grow further and further to the surface. He felt how your insides massed around him, his own release becoming apparent. Your digging hands built walls around him.

Jack's hips were persistent, railing into your expansive center. Consistent drilling of his hips met your folds, the slick strings connecting you two. His cock fitting oh so nicely into you, like he was made for you. You took him in, tightening as he plowed into your wetness. Low groans flowed from his lips while he drawled between your hips, your pussy squeezing like a vice, succumbing to his motions.

"You can cum for me, sweetheart," he cooed, his voice dark and lingering. "I can feel you, fuck— you're wound tight."

Your cunt tensed around him, releasing your juices along the expanse of his raging cock. His hot spurts laced your insides; the mixture the only thing connecting the two of you. He lugged out of you; his cock rested above your pussy, feeding between your saturated sex.

"I can't get enough of you," his voice low and husky. "Can we go again?"

You thought that you were one of the easier residents to work with. 

Each harder case to come through the front doors went right over to your eager hands without any arguments, you taking the tablet with a nod and steeled nerves. Robby knew you could handle anything that got thrown at you, and his trust meant a lot, his nods and compliments healing something deep in your chest. 

With you, patient satisfaction scores came up, much to the appeal of your seniors. And again, that little twanging flutter made you push to feel it more often. It made you want to be someone that everyone could count on to be there. 

In the Pitt, friendships and comradery were two things that got everyone through shifts; whether they were easy going ones where the worst case through the doors happened to be a broken leg, or they ended with death and loss over and over in a seemingly never-ending cycle. Everyone needed someone, and you always wanted to be the person that others could come to when they needed a hug or a shoulder to cry on. A smile always seemed to be on your face, and even through the worst traumas, you rarely cried, needing to at least be one strong person in a room full of broken souls. 

However, that meant that sometimes, people forgot that you were able to break too. 

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop after what seemed like the longest 4th of July shift you’ve ever experienced while working at PTMC. The hours were filled with an abandoned baby, two new med students, obnoxious assholes, your boyfriend coming in with a bullet wound to the back, a brand-new attending and her AI charting system, the cyber-attack taking away said AI charting system, and probably most draining, Robby acting like he wasn’t going to come back after his three-month sabbatical, putting everyone on edge and making it seem like they had to walk on egg shells. Even you, after many suggestions of trying to talk him into staying local from multiple different people, weren’t able to get a clear answer from him, and that made it all worse somehow. 

Since dating Jack, you’d weirdly been able to form a closer friendship with the older chief attending that ran farther than a normal boss-coworker relationship. Trying to count the times he came over to Jack’s for dinner or a late-night Steeler’s game would be impossible. You got to see another friendlier and more open version of the man that had only ever been reserved for his closest confidant. So, to not be able to know if he’d come back safely, had your heart racing the entire day. 

Add on everything else (still backtracking to Jack getting shot at—he made sure to tell you that there was indeed a difference), you were closer to a breaking point than you’d been in a long while. 

“Here you go, hun. I think this is the last one before you can get outta here,” Dana sighed as she handed over a paper chart. “To think that we started out the day with robots taking over the chart, and we end it with writing each one individually.”

Your hand cramped at the thought of writing another chart, but you took it from her anyway. “Remind me to keep a hand brace in my locker at all times,” you groaned. “I think my fingers are withering away.” 

“Shocking Abbot doesn’t have on in that go-bag of his.” 

“He has an emergency trach kit but not a measly brace.” You rolled your shoulders, the muscles tight and thickened with nerves and tension. “I’m taking his card after this and booking us both massages.” 

“Amen, sista,” Dana muttered, eyes transfixed on her hand-written nurses board. “At least he’s good for something.” 

You snorted, the sound unfamiliar for the day. “Don’t tell him that, or he’ll want to come with us. I made a monster the last time I brought him with me for a facial, and now he insists to join me every single time.” 

“Uh, Dr. (L/n)?” Dennis asked, his voice carrying over your shoulder in a nervous tone. 

Your neck twisted, and you winced slightly at the pop it gave. “Yes, Whitaker? Still haven’t found your badge?” 

His lips pursed. “No; still haven’t found it, but I actually had a question for you.” 

“Shoot.” 

“Not to throw her under the bus, but Trinity might have mentioned you had an extra energy drink?” he said as more of a question than a statement, and it made your lips curve at his nervous nature. “A-and I was maybe wondering if—” 

“If you could have it?” you finished. “Sure. It’s in the fridge with my name on a sticky note.” 

Dennis smiled largely, and his chest fell with a big exhale. “Thank you so much. I swear I’ll pay you back.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” You waved a hand through the air. “Can’t have you falling asleep here during the last leg.” 

When you turned back to Dana after Dennis left in the direction of the breakroom, she already had a knowing look on her face, eyebrows cocked and grey eyes trained on you over her glasses. Heat rushed to your cheeks. 

“What?” you asked, doing your best not to meet her gaze. “I wasn’t going to drink it anyway.” 

“Sure you weren’t. It’s not like I heard you tell Abbot earlier about how much you were looking forward to drinking it.” 

You glanced over your shoulder. “He obviously needs it more than I do. Plus, he has other things like his bills to worry about. If a can of Monster gets him through the evening, then I’ll let him take mine.” 

Because your eyes had gone back down to the chart midway, you missed the downcast of Dana’s expression. “You still have to worry about bills too, hun. Until you’re Jack’s age, they’re going to forever be a pain in your ass.” 

You huffed. “One Monster isn’t going to make me go broke.” You paused. “Plus, Jack bought it, so his loss really.” 

She tapped her pen on the counter twice. “Then you can take it up with him after you finish that chart. But don’t go too hard, Lord knows you’re one of the hardest working ones here. Abbot better get you the nicest Uber home.” 

A warmth bloomed in your chest, matching the heat rising in your cheeks, always one to get a reaction out of the simplest of words. Dana could tell you that you did a good job tying your shoelaces, and her praise would mean more than anything else. 

In response, you only shook your head before clicking a pen open to start writing in the chart. The words came easily enough, your fingers actually cooperating with you to make the lettering legible enough that someone could easily transfer your notes once the systems were fully back on. To your right, you heard a crisp crack and chuckled. 

Dennis certainly wasn’t one to wait when a cold Monster dropped right into his hands. 

Almost to the halfway point in the chart was when you heard both Dennis’s and Victoria’s voices carry over the loud ED. You tried your best to concentrate; once you were finished, you got to kiss Jack goodbye and then go back to your shared home where you knew your bed and dinner were waiting for you. You could almost imagine it: the post-work bath, the warmed up left overs, then drifting right off to sleep only to wake up twelve hours later in Jack’s arms, something that only happened when you both had the day off, and July 5th happened to be just that. 

“Did you ever find your ID badge?” Victoria asked Dennis, and you couldn’t help but frown; the poor kid had been looking for it all day. 

“Uh, no,” Dennis answered after taking a sip from the can. “So, you any closer to deciding what’s next for you?” 

“Uh, yeah. I’m seriously considering law school.” 

Your brow quirked. Law school? Well, she was young enough to switch everything if she wanted to. 

Dennis choked on a swallow. “What? What are you talking about? You’re going to be a great doctor.” 

She scoffed lowly. “I mean, no offense, but look what this place does to you.” 

Your pen stopped against the page, and your stomach tightened. By now, you were listening with purpose, unable to quit even if you knew better than to eavesdrop in on their conversation. Yet, they were talking rather loudly in the middle of the hub, so you probably weren’t the only one who caught their words. 

Victoria continued. “Langdon’s an addict.” 

You blanched. What? 

Dennis was quick to correct her. “Is a person with substance use disorder.” 

“McKay was on house arrest,” she continued, not heading his words at all. “Dana’s a time bomb.” 

A frown took over your mouth, and an ugly feeling roared its head in your center. If there was one person who wasn’t a time bomb, they’d be Dana, the charge nurse who had seemingly never-ending patience, a caregiver who rushed into danger moments after hearing Hula Hoop!, a woman who pushed herself up and worked through a mass casualty after a man abused her in the ambulance bay. Through it all, Dana had persevered, and Victoria had the audacity to call her a time bomb. Your fingers curled white-knuckled around the pen, and you had half a mind to turn around and speak up, but you stayed silent, wanting to hear what she had to say about your coworkers. 

“Santos is one of the angriest people you are ever going to meet.” 

“Woah. Sarcastic, yes. Cynical, definitely. I don’t know if she’s, you know—” 

“Mel?” she interrupted before pausing like she couldn’t come up with something vicious for a the most innocent of your colleges. “Samira has no life. Abbot’s an adrenaline junkie who gets shot at for fun.” 

Now, anger roared its head and bubbled under your skin. What does she fucking know about Jack’s need to keep going because he feels like if he stops, he’ll quit living. You’d been there to hold him through the bad days, through all of his deepest darkest fears and doubts that if he didn’t have a purpose, no one would want him. You swallowed thickly, and when you blinked, the chart suddenly became blurry through glossy eyes. 

“Robby’s got, like PTSD or something way fucking worse.” 

Your breath hitched high in your throat. For more years than Victoria had even been alive, Robby had seen the worst of the world. You knew he’d been abandoned at a young age, but everyone else knew he had to make the decision to take his mentor off life support in hopes to give a younger life a fighting chance, only for them both to end up six feet under. He carried the responsibility of every single employee on his shoulders even if they didn’t want him to. He was tired, he was scared, he was angry, and all she could say was that he is basically fucked mentally. You shifted your weight, ready to turn around and speak your mind, but like self-torture, your name was next on her list, and this time, the ER went silent to hear it all.  

“And don’t get me started on Dr. (L/n). The poor girl has an obvious case of validation addiction and depression, plus, dating a senior attending? Talk about daddy issues.” 

It was as if all the breath was stolen from your lungs, and inhaling became immensely difficult. You tried your best to take in deep inhales, but your chest refused to cooperate with your brain’s need for oxygen. A high-pitched ringing overtook your hearing, fogging up and overpowering anything that followed. Slowly, you looked up from where your eyes had stayed glued to the chart, and your stomach dropped even further when you met not only Dana’s eyes, but what felt like the whole departments’ including Jack’s, who had just managed to make it in before Victoria had even said your name. 

He had been there for all of it. He'd heard her.

Your jaw dropped, and your shoulders hunched in jerky motions as you tried to say something—anything, but she had managed to rendered you speechless in three measly sentences and make you feel the most vulnerable you’d ever been. Everyone who was looking at you now knew something you’d tried to hide through consistent smiles and a small dosage of Lexapro to get you through the day. But now, with your soul bared wide open by someone who didn’t understand what loving an ER did to a person, nothing seemed to make it all feel better. 

You shakily looked around the room, pen dropping from your hand as you began to back up from the counter. For a split second, you met Victoria’s dark eyes and guilt-ridden expression, but it was too late for her to take anything back. In a shuddering breath, you turned and hastily walked in the direction of the stairwell, failing to meet Jack’s eyes after brushing right past him and Robby, taking two steps at a time to get somewhere with air once you got to the stairs. 

And you had only one place in mind with enough air to last a lifetime: the roof. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Jack’s jaw clenched to the point his teeth hurt as the med student’s words rang through his head. 

He could probably piece together that you weren’t the only one she talked loudly about, but in that moment, you were the only one that mattered. His hand tightened around the strap of his bag. He left Robby standing there with his arms crossed against his chest and walked over to where she and Whitaker were standing. 

By the time he reached her, the Pitt had delved back into quiet motion, however, that didn't mean a few had stuck around to possibly hear what Jack was about to say or see what he was about to do.

Loudly placing his bag down in a thunk that echoed through the hub, the room still reeling with the too-loud ill-thought words thrown at you, one of their most trustworthy residents they’d ever had. Jack made sure to square his shoulders to be as intimidating as he hoped he could come across. His hazel eyes burned with an unfiltered rage as he looked down.

“I don’t know what led you to this little . . . gossip name-calling session at the end of your shift, but what you have just said is completely inappropriate and absolutely disrespectful to one of your superiors,” he stated lowly, voice close to a growl. “And frankly, I don’t care if you’re tired, or if this is a slip up of not thinking straight. You have just made a very strong accusation about my partner. And once her name came out of your mouth, all bets of me reprimanding you as an attending flew off the table.”

Javadi felt the blood drain from her face. “Dr. Abbot, I didn’t mean—” 

“But you did,” he cut her off. “You’re only backtracking now because we all heard you—she heard you. Do you know exactly what you’ve done?”

When she failed to answer, Jack scoffed. 

“Fine, I will tell you what you’ve done so that it can sit with you for the rest of your weekend. Dr. (L/n) works her ass off to be approachable. She never complains, never staggers under pressure, and is one of the best fucking people within these walls, and you have just belittled everything she does for this damn hospital. She gets praised because she’s great, not because she’s a little attention seeking med student,” he cracked, not holding back at all. “You should know a bit about that. You graduated and went to college at what? Sixteen?” 

Jack knew he lowballed it just for her to quietly correct him with a meek thirteen. He clicked his tongue loudly against his cheek. 

“What do they call you kids these days too? Nepo-babies? Your mom works upstairs, and you’re down here desperately trying to hide away from her and make a name for yourself. Well, let me tell you something, kid, this—” He gestured to her and then around the hub with a flick of his wrist. “—this is not the way to go about things. You don’t get to loudly judge others and expect there to not be reprimand and get away with it.” 

He leaned against the counter and tilted his chin back. “You’re studying to be a doctor, for fucks sake. What if you’d been saying this shit about a patient, and their family overheard you? Your scores would tank, and then you might have to repeat a whole year because you couldn’t find the dignity to keep your thoughts to yourself. This is not the standard of care we’d give to patients and certainly not one we give to coworkers who have never given us, and especially you, grief for anything.” 

Taking a deep breath, Jack tried to relax, but just remembering the devastation on your face kept the fire rolling. 

“My relationship with Dr. (L/n) is and will always be no one’s business. If she wants to date an older guy, one who happens to be me, it doesn’t automatically mean someone has daddy issues,” he spat, the words curdling in his mouth. “It means that she was comfortable enough to go for someone who knows the right way to treat a woman, and I will not stand here and let you think for one more second that she is not capable of carrying for herself.”

Jack pushed off the counter and really looked into her eyes one more time, making sure everything really stuck. “Most of the superiors in here have been working in medicine longer than you’ve been alive. I’ve had to live with the repercussions of war far longer than you’ve been alive. Once you’ve gotten a true taste of what this world can do to a person, come find me, and we’ll have a real discussion about how adults find ways to cope with it all without killing ourselves every night.” 

He turned around without a second thought, leaving behind a more than embarrassed med student and a hub full of coworkers who understood every word he had said deeper than they’d like to admit. But he couldn’t think of any of them now, not with you and the roof on his mind. He hated the way his stomach flipped and twisted as he rode the elevator upwards, leg not able to handle the stairs so early into putting his prosthesis back on after working the few hours after the SWAT raid he manage to do plus little sleep in time to kiss you goodbye after your shift. 

Jack was never one for religion, but he prayed that he’d find you behind the railing instead of in front of it. Hell, he’d rather you be on the other side than not even on the roof anymore. His fingers curled into fists at his sides as he willed the machine to go faster. He didn’t dare breathe even when it finally dinged open, body rushing forward through the familiar motion of the journey to the roof, one he’d taken way too many times to count. 

When he pushed open the heavy door to reveal the roof being swallowed in the setting sun, the tension in his body bled out only slightly at the sight of you standing there, closer to the edge than he first hoped. His steps crunched into the gravel, and he guessed that you knew he was there even if you refused to turn around. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said carefully but not like talking to a spooked animal. Jack knew better than to treat you like that, or he’d be going against everything he just said downstairs. “Mind if I stand here with you?” 

You sniffed loudly, and Jack watched the way your one hand rose to rub a hand at your face, indicating that you were crying. Your neck bent as you looked down at the road below and all the glowing ant-sized cars and people, mind running with the thought of how long it’d take to get down to the bottom. 

“I don’t know exactly what you’re thinking,” Jack started again, taking a full step forward to be closer to you. “But I know you, and I can take big guess that you’re telling yourself that she’s right.” 

The smallest nod of your head sent Jack’s heart down to his toes. 

“Cause she is,” you warbled, voice thick with emotions too big to keep inside. “She is right. I-I thought I did a better job at hiding, but she read me like a damn book.” 

“No,” he responded. “No, she didn’t. She’s far from right, and I hate that you think she is, because how she described you is nothing like how I or anyone else sees you, baby. You’re strong; you don’t have a validation addiction. Fucking everyone loves a compliment, and in our line of work those are few and far between. So, when you get one, it’s special.” 

You sobbed a bit harder at his attempt to make you seem normal . . . at least what normal meant in your mind. 

“And who gives a shit if you do like them more than others; just means you’re more in-tuned with what you know you like. I, for one, am grateful for that because instead of telling me to fuck off, old man—” He spoke in a higher pitch that wasn’t anywhere near your voice to speak. 

You gave him a small giggle as a reward, and Jack smiled. 

“You let me take you to dinner; you let me, a tired, grumpy old man who’s still wears his wedding ring because he’s scared of forgetting and being forgotten, love you.” 

That finally got you to turn around, and the glare you tried to send his way was a bit more pitiful than you were probably trying for, but his heart fluttered as your personality slowly peaked through the sadness. 

“You’re not that old . . . or grumpy,” you muttered before holding your hand out. 

Jack took it without hesitation, fingers curling around yours, arm holding up your weight while you stepped over the railing. He wasted no time in tugging your hand once your two feet were planted to wrap you in a hug. He felt you sigh heavily against him, body dropping into his chest as everything drained out of you. Jack pressed a small kiss to your temple. 

“Baby, I’m fifty. If that’s not old, I’m scared of what old feels like in twenty years.” 

You laughed softly before going quiet. “I don’t know why I came up here. I shouldn’t have run away like that.” 

Jack huffed. “You needed to get out and get some air; that’s not running away. I’m actually proud that you came up here.” 

"I'll make sure not to take your spot." Your cheek shifted until the top of your head tucked beneath his chin. “I want to go home, but I don’t want to face any of them.” 

“Can always sneak you down the outside stairs.” 

“But then I won’t get to say goodbye to Robby.” You inhaled sharply. “God, I hope he didn’t hear what she said about him,” you whimpered, suddenly overwhelmed with the weight of Victoria’s words. 

"Mike's a big boy. If he couldn't take a few harsh words, he would have quit a long time ago." Jack squeezed you a bit tighter. “But, I talked to him, and he’s going to stay in the area for a bit longer. Still needs that vacation, but he owes us at least one more movie night. We’ll walk down together and get you home.” 

You pulled back enough to look him in the face. “Your shift?” 

“I don’t care about my shift right now. Plus, with the fireworks, I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate as well as I could. John’ll cover if I bribe him with free Dunkin' for a month.”  

"Maybe I'll add in to make it two," you muttered, sighing at the end. "Let's go back down the normal way." 

Jack's brows pinched tightly together. "Sweetheart, we don't have to—" 

"It'll be better for me to rip the Band-Aid off than worry about this for the rest of the weekend." Your eyes cast downward to your feet. "It's not like she can say anything worse." 

"If she even tries—" 

"Which she probably won't," you gently said in attempts to placate him, hand rubbing gently rubbing at his chest. "I just want to go home . . . please." 

His heart melted just at bit, the please resonating in his soul, quenching the fire to replace it with the need to provide for you. So, instead of fighting, he nodded. 

"We'll get you home, sweetheart." 

Without waiting, you pulled on his hand, leading him back toward the door. Unlike the first elevator ride up, Jack was less anxious, however, he disliked the way you seemed to be moving with nerves, hand shaking, body swaying. Confrontation had never been your strong suit, and he never hesitated to step in if you needed. 

He heard the shaky breath you sucked in right as the elevator doors opened. His hand kept a tight hold on yours while he led you back through to the lockers, keeping a watchful eye out for anyone. Thankfully though, the hallway was empty, and it took you no time to put your code in, grab your stuff, and slide your hand back into his. 

You were almost home free, the side door in sight that led to the employee parking, when a shout of your name behind had you freezing, eyes widened as the voice computed in your brain, the one that would now be etched forever with venom dripping from her lips. 

"You don't have to turn around," Jack muttered, but you had already started twisting. 

"Yes, Javadi?" you asked softly, not being able to ignore her even if you tried. 

Her hands wrung together as she looked at you with big eyes. She looked like she was about to say something before she halted. 

"I just . . ." she trailed, obviously not ready to say what she wanted. "I want to apologize for what I said in there. I have no excuse, and I wanted to say sorry before you left. So, I'm sorry." 

Your tongue ran across your lips, but your mouth was left dry. Your mind ran with so many things to respond with, but nothing would form enough for you to actually speak them. 

"It's fine," you settled on the familiar excuse. 

Jack tensed at your side. "It's not fine—" He stopped when your hand squeezed his a bit tighter, silently telling him to drop it. 

You pursed your lips. "Have a nice rest of your weekend." 

Jack finally took that moment to turn you back around and lead you out the door, leaving Victoria in the empty hallway. The sight of Jack's truck felt like heaven opening up with an angel chorus. 

One small trip, and then you'd be home, and Jack had a whole evening to prove that you were more than demeaning gossip. And he'd make sure by the end of the night, you'd be nothing but mindless enough to agree with everything he told you.

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

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

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

how much things have changed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were the only one who remained in Oceanside once your siblings moved away. You had always felt at home here, the waves crashing on the shore, the scalding summers followed by mild winters. You liked spending your days off lounging on the beach, getting your tan on, or sipping an espresso at a nearby café. However, most days you’d spend hanging out with your grandmother at the laundromat.

The laundromat had been in your family for over fifty years, your grandparents opening up the business shortly after they got married. Once your grandpa passed and your grandmother grew older, it became harder for her to run the only place she knew. At her age, you watched her struggle, dropping the broom or stumbling along the linoleum. It was something you couldn't make peace with, this place existing without your grandmother.

You decided to help out a couple of days a week when you were off from your office job, mopping the floors, helping her retrieve coins from the countless machines. It felt like you were becoming her caretaker in addition to being an office worker. You hated this; you didn't want any of this. Why couldn't she just be immortal, go back to the grandma you once knew? You’d even go to her home every Sunday for dinner, the only time you’d have a home-cooked meal, the only thing you allowed her to do herself. You sat there in front of her, eating a fresh slice of pie while she sipped her steaming mug of coffee.

“Honey, there’s something I need to tell you.” Her hand settled on your wrist, and you paused mid-chew to look up at her saddened expression. “I can’t run the laundromat anymore.”

“What?” You were spiraling, coming face-to -face with the suppressed feelings. “But why?”

That was the place you spent growing up. You and your siblings were raised by your grandparents. You remember playing tag in the storefront with your siblings, running up and down the aisles as clothes swirled in the machines. Your grandma would even take you all to the nearby ice cream parlor after she finished up for the day.

“I just can’t do it anymore, I’m getting tired. You know it hasn’t been the same since your grandfather died,” she took another swig of her coffee. “I’m going to put it up for sale.”

You knew this was coming; you just couldn't bear it. The concept became forefront in your mind; it broke your heart, knowing she wouldn't be here forever. The thought of her dying in that place, her tirelessly working for over fifty years, you didn't want that. Most of all, you didn't want her to give up the place where you spent your childhood.

The fork clatters down on the plate, your head in your hands, while you try to hold back tears. Finally, a light bulb went off in your mind.

“What if I just take over?”

“Oh, honey, you can’t do that. That would be too much for you with your other job and all.”

“I’ll quit my job,” you said confidently, excitement bubbling in your stomach. “I hate it there anyway. You know I can run it, I’ve been helping you all these years.”

“Y’know what,” your grandma began, a smirk adorning her lips. “It’s a deal.”

Unlike your grandma, who thrived in the early mornings, you loved the night. The business was open 24/7, and the place basically ran itself. Yet, you always people-watched, the stragglers that wandered into the mat with their full hampers after getting off a late shift.

You were mopping the floor the minute a gentleman walked in, short auburn hair peaking from the hood of his sweatshirt, carrying a duffel bag in tow. A dark stain snaking around his sleeve, maybe blood? He looked skittish, a concerned look on his face.

Pope brought in his clothes, knowing he just couldn’t be seen at Smurf’s right now, especially after a bad job. After all, she was paying for his hotel room, where he rarely earned a good night's sleep, which explained why he was here in your laundromat at two o’clock in the morning.

You peeped at the little basket in his free hand, carrying a multitude of different stain removers along with other laundry products. You stared at him while he loaded his clothes in the machine, even watching when he tugged off his sweatshirt. His sharp abdomen briefly peaking below the hem.

It was enough to distract you to where you shook your head, returning to pushing the mop across the dirty floors. Pope sat straight on the bench across from the spinning window, mindlessly fiddling with his phone.

It wasn’t like he didn't notice you: he studied how diligently you swiped the fibers across the floor, ensuring every stain was scrubbed clean. It subtly turned him on, slightly standing to readjust his jeans before he sat back down.

He was the only one in here. While you loved the late hours, they also brought in some strange characters, including the man sitting before you. You dunk the mop head in the water before sweeping the tool in front of him.

“Hey, how are you?” you kindly greeted.

“Fine.”

A one-word response.

You were still learning how to interact with customers, not really being used to the interaction when you used to be a paper pusher. The response sort of took you aback. Your grandma always had a loyal clientele. Did you sound insincere?

“Let me know if you need anything.”

“Alright,” Pope rasped, watching as you passed him, his eyes glancing at your ass.

He wasn’t used to this sort of space, especially because his mom did his laundry for him, not to mention the clothes provided while he was in prison. He scrolled through his phone, skimming articles about recent fossil discoveries and animals that were at risk of extinction, his fixation.

The low rhythm of the music played in the background while you collected change from the drawers of the laundry machines, the clatter of the coins ringing in the metal bucket. It was quiet, yet somewhat comfortable. You’d be doing your usual tasks while the man sat there silent.

This went on like this for a while, every other week with him either coming in with a stereotypical hamper or a sneaky duffel bag full of stained clothes, shoving them in the washer. One day, he came up to you, mentioning that the quarter machine was out, needing to resupply his basket.

“You’re out of quarters,” his head slightly tilting while he spoke.

“Shit, sorry,” you said as you made your way to the locked storage closet where you kept the neatly rolled coins, fumbling with the little cardboard tubes. “Day got away from me.”

“S’okay,” he said, his fingers slightly brushing yours when he took the change. “Thanks.”

“Y-yeah,” you stuttered. “No problem.”

Y

You started taking notes of his schedule. On days he came in, he noticed how you were wearing tighter jeans than usual, maybe even a crop top or a lighter shirt that would show off your bralette.

You were working on one of the dryers one night when Pope sauntered in. A deep sigh leaves your chest while you screwed around on the bare bones of the machine. As usual, he tossed his clothes in before making his way over.

“What’s wrong with it?” Pope asked.

“Dunno,” a heavy breath escaping your chest. “I’m trying to figure it out, and our service guy is on vacation with his kid till Monday.”

“I could fix it, y’know?” Pope mentioned, his hands tucked in his pockets. “Kinda have a knack for these things.”

“Really?” your big eyes looking up at him. “You’d be doing a huge favor for me.”

“Yeah, no problem,” his gruff voice filled the empty space between you two. “I’m Andrew, by the way, sorry I’ve never introduced myself.”

“It’s alright,” you smirked, heat creeping into your cheeks. “Nice to meet you.”

You stepped away while he squatted down beside the toolbox, you filling the vending machines with products while he worked. It was almost domestic, the way he was servicing the machine while he was alone with you. He packed up the tools before swiping the debris from his hands.

“It’s fixed.”

His rough voice made you look over the row of machines. You bounced over, turning on the machine, nodding with approval at his handiwork. You pulled him into a hug suddenly, his hands freezing, hovering at your sides.

“Andrew! You’re amazing.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He started to linger well after the buzz from the dryer rang throughout the mat. Pope always troubleshooting multiple projects around the place, changing light bulbs, clearing the jam in the vending machine, and even taking care of the leaky faucet in the bathroom.

He would stare at you while you worked, constantly shaking your ass to the music that came from the speakers. He'd slightly smirk, slowly getting used to the homely feeling, a deep want forming in the bottom of his belly.

He imagined how it would be, how he could get away from Smurf's jobs forever and live this quiet life with you. He pictured himself coming in at ten o'clock at night, two coffees in hand, setting them down on top of the counter while his hand snaked around your hip and pressed a kiss to your temple. It would always end with him taking you out to breakfast while the sun peeked from beyond the horizon.

He shook his head from the daydreams, snapping the panel back onto the frame of the fluorescent light.

"Thanks, Andy," you smiled up at him while he stood strong on the ladder. "I really appreciate it."

"Yeah," his mouth twitched, hiding a smile. "No problem."

He tucked the ladder away in the closet, shutting the door and staring at the wall for a moment, contemplating the next words that tumbled out of his mouth.

"H-Hey," his hoarse voice making your ears prick up. "Do you wanna get coffee? Like after you're done here."

"Oh, um," you stood there briefly as you checked the clock on the wall, chuckling lightly in disbelief. "Yeah, I would like that."

He folded his clothes neatly while you finished cleaning up for the day. Once you locked up the janitor closet, you turned to Pope, the laundry basket resting against his hip.

"Ready?" Pope asked, a smug smile on his face.

"I'm ready," you said, beaming up at him while you walked beside him.

He loaded the backseat of his truck with the basket before opening the passenger door for you, his eyes briefly glancing at the swell of your ass while you stepped into the cab. Once Pope ensured you were comfortable, he hopped into the driver's side, turning over the engine before shifting the gear into reverse, his strong arm stretching along the back of your headrest. You could feel your pulse pick up speed, his heat and cologne overwhelming your senses. It was enough to make your cheeks flush and clench your thighs together.

He drives you to a coffee shop that's along the beach. It was beautiful, hearing the seagulls sing their song while the billows danced along the shore. He put his truck in park, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before treading to your side of the vehicle.

Pope offered his hand to you as you stepped out of the truck, and you kindly placed your hand in his. Once you were on solid ground, he released your hand, unsure of the contact. You peeped up at him, his face and ears turning crimson. You interlaced your fingers with his once again, and he glanced at the connection, then you, trying to interpret the intention behind the movement. You slightly tilted your head, chuckling at how he was looking at you in utter shock.

"You can hold my hand," you grinned. "I don't bite, you should know that."

"I-I know," he garbled out, rattled by the unexpected affection. "Just surprised is all."

"Don't be," you reassured.

Hand in hand, you both walked towards the coffee shop, only breaking apart for him to open the door for you. His palm hovered over the small of your back while you waltzed in, the warmth from your body radiating across his calloused fingers.

"What can I get you both?" the barista asked.

"I'll just take a latte, thanks."

Pope glanced at you, then back to the barista. His mind totally blanked at the fact that he was here, with you, on a date he presumed was a date. His eyes dropped to how your fingers were intertwined with his own.

"Uh," he paused. "I'll do the same."

You were in the middle of pulling your wallet out of your purse when he swiped his card. Your brows pulling together, giving him a look.

"It's on me."

Pope waited at the counter for the drinks while you found a table by the window, cars passing by on their early morning commutes. His eyes were set on you, watching as your eyes flicked as the cars drove by while you twiddled your thumbs. He picked up the two piping hot cups, not even reacting to the burn that was spreading into the skin of his palms. He set the cup in front of you before settling into his seat, silent for a minute until you spoke up.

"This is nice," you said casually. Pope just stared at you; this feeling was totally normal to you, yet a completely new experience for him. His multi-colored eyes bored into you, his head somewhat tipping to the side.

"Yeah," his response came out rough. "I just thought, y'know."

His mouth twitched to the side, briefly looking out the window before his eyes returned to yours.

"You deserve this, something nice."

You felt your cheeks flush, taking a moment to take a sip from your coffee, trying to hide how flustered you were. Your embarrassed expression made Pope smirk, his tense figure physically relaxing, knowing he could get a reaction like that out of you.

You chatted, giving him the history of your family and the storefront. He was an active listener, always leaning into your words, his steady eye contact almost making you feel overwhelmed.

When you asked about his family, Pope shifted in his seat, fidgeting as he contemplated the question. Your words sank into the background, constant conversations filling the café among the silence between the two of you.

"You don't wanna know," he answered.

Your brows knitted together, losing yourself in thought. You found yourself thinking about the multiple nights he came in with his duffel bag, blood dotting his sleeves. You came to a conclusion then, deciding not to proceed any further. You reached across the table and held his hand.

"I don't want you to share anything you're not comfortable telling me, yeah?" you said as your thumb stroked along his fingers. "Can I know some of your hobbies at least?"

"I like skateboarding," he began, his hand squeezing yours out of instinct, looking down at his cold coffee. "I also like watching animal documentaries, I dunno. I find them interesting."

"Hey," your voice making Pope look up at you. "I like animals, I love going to the zoo. Maybe that can be our next date?"

You studied Pope as he processed the idea, his mind racing at the proposition. This was a date, an actual date. He was used to rejection, never earning someone's trust or love. It hurt, yet he was all too familiar with the feeling. Your admiration was something totally foreign to him.

His hands squeezed into a fist, so anxious about fucking this up. He wanted to keep you distant, away from his mom, his brothers, even his nephew. He knew it would be difficult to protect you, yet he wanted to do everything he could to shield you from the trauma, the unchanging bullshit. He stood up, uncomfortable at the swelling feeling in his tummy.

"I'll take you back," he gritted out, jingling his car keys.

"Did I say something wrong?" you asked, the concerned expression making Pope's heart tighten at your words. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"It's fine."

You hurt him, you must've. It made you sick to your stomach, the unsettling feelings bubbling deep within you. You didn't want to cause harm; you never did. Pope reassured you with a gentle press of his palm to your thigh, a short look shared between you two. He analyzed your wound expression, your face tight in thought. It made his own heart ache.

"You didn't do anything wrong," Pope comforted. "Okay?"

"You sure?" you questioned, your large eyes holding onto his. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable—"

"You didn't do anything."

Your gaze bounced between him and his hand on your thigh, his fingers barely digging into the flesh. It was pure consolation; you never did anything wrong. It was him, scared to be bare and vulnerable before you.

He pulled up to the storefront, his hand once again helping you step out of the cab of his truck, and he was even so bold as to place a kiss on your knuckles. The store was empty when you both marched up to the double doors, you drawing his hands onto your hips, his palms a little sweaty. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, your face cast in a pink hue at the early dawn.

"I had a good time, maybe we can do this again," your pupils dilated, your lips curving into a smile.

"Sure," Pope nodded. "Yeah."

He was terrified, afraid that Smurf would somehow swindle you into selling the laundromat to her just so she could clean her dirty cash. Pope knew that as long as he was alive, he would never let that happen; he was like a damn guard dog.

When he didn't need to do laundry, he wouldn't even step foot into the building, afraid to freak you out with his obsession for you. His truck would be parked across the street, windows down, his attentive gaze being placed on the storefront. His gun dug into his lower back, uncomfortable, yet a constant reminder that he was there to defend you the minute something went wrong.

It continued like this for a while, when Pope came in, he always brought you coffee from the same café where you shared your first date. It didn't matter if he was running late from a job, or sitting there with you till the shop opened, he usually had two coffees in tow. Even though you knew nothing about his family, you became well acquainted with Pope and his consistent routine.

You'd be sitting on the washing machine, the place completely empty as he loaded his clothes into the dryer. Once he started the machine, he'd pat your thigh, shifting over to allow him to put in another load into the washer. He'd stand between your legs, his palms settling along the muscle of your thighs. His rough hands mashed into your flesh as you laid your hands on his cheeks, yanking him into a deep kiss.

This was typical, him making out with you on top of the bobbing machines. No words being exchanged, just hot swirls of salvia running back and forth along your tongues. It was adorable how he didn't talk much, just intimate sounds balancing with the concealed noises of traffic.

It felt comfortable to Pope; he was never good with words. If he could talk less, the better. You assumed enough about his life, his background; no more questions needed. You didn't care either, if he was a felon or worse, you'd take him as he was.

Which you did, making him all the more vulnerable in front of you. He didn't like being interrogated; he just wanted to focus on the girl before him. You were his everything; he would do anything to preserve you from his tainted lifestyle.

So when you held his hand as you trailed through the zoo, or even took him to the aquarium. His eyes were all big while he took in the large creatures before him, while your heart squeezed at the beautiful sight, the wrinkles around his eyes unwinding. The dates were quiet, no talk of any stresses that were plaguing your lives, just concentrated on each other.

He felt at home here, in the laundromat, while fixing things around the building for you. It was steady, something he always longed for. You smiled into his mouth, his lips dancing across yours, his hands digging into the plush of your hips.

You hadn't been fully intimate with Pope yet; he was always hesitant, especially when diving into something new and fresh. Something that could easily fail and be ruined. His fat cock drove into the vibrating machine, making him all the more pent up for you, his hands gripping onto you. The unbalanced load shook at the back of your thighs, your hands lingering along his strong shoulders.

It got hot, you hopping off the lid of the washer, his lips loitering along the expanse of your neck. His breath raked over your prickled neck, him awaiting your next move. Your hands slid below the hem of his shirt when your lips met his again, scratching your nails along his solid middle. The abrupt pauses made Pope falter, trying to follow your lips for another kiss.

"Just a minute," you panted, twisting the lock on the door and flicking off the lights.

"I thought this was a twenty-four-hour business," Pope griped.

"When you're here, it's not."

Your mouth reverted to his own, your hands unbuttoning the lavender fabric that decorated his torso, shrugging the garment off his shoulders, and throwing it to the floor. He did the same, undressing you of your top before fumbling with the clasps at your bra, him so caught up in how your mouth moved that he couldn't remove the undergarment. You giggled as you brought your hands to meet his, undoing the clasps to where your breasts were set free.

The moment your chest was bare, he palmed the soft flesh, groaning as he squeezed your tits. A sigh released from your lips, moaning at his touch as he placed you back onto the unsteady machine. He laced kisses along the stretch of your sternum, him starting to feel confident at how you bent at every touch. Your back arched into his rough palm, showing off your chest even more. You scratched at the nape of his neck, a suppressed groan quivering through the center of your breasts.

He was completely intoxicated at the sight of you, how your perfume consumed his nostrils while your touch teased him even more. His length struggled against the coarseness of his jeans, the inches of his hard-on lying against your inner thigh. You drag his bare chest closer to you, enough for his rigid member to scrape your center. The wetness pooled into your underwear, the slickness between your folds almost becoming unbearable.

You took his wrist into your grasp, sneaking his fingers below the band of your jeans. He was reluctant at first, his digits resting on the slight curve of your abdomen. You pulled his hand further into your pants, his fingers finally finding the drenched spot among the fabric of your underwear. His fingers encircled your clothed clit, his movements somewhat reluctant.

"It's okay," you whispered, your breath spreading across his cheeks. "S'okay."

"Okay," Pope agreed. "This feels good?"

"Yeah," you whimpered.

"Yeah," he muttered. "Okay."

He continued, his fingers toying with your bud, examining every subtle change in your expression. He tugged down the zipper of your jeans, his one hand undoing the button, allowing for more motion from his fingers.

"Andrew," you mewled. "I need you inside of me."

"How do you mean?" he asked, unsure of how to approach you like this.

"I need you in any way, please," you mumbled. "Touch me in any way you can."

His digits hauled the fabric to the side, sliding between your slick folds before one finger shoved into the tight barriers. Your moans bouncing off the abandoned walls, your hips grinding into his hand. The moves of his fingers were incessant, curling into your sweet spot.

"Andrew," you groaned.

"Yeah?"

"I need more," you breathed. "Need another finger."

"You mean it?"

"Just do it already," you hushed.

His middle finger rammed into your soaked walls at your demand, your sopping center meeting his hand. The machine trembled below you, working the movements even deeper into your center. It felt good, so good that you whined against Pope's lips. The sound was so pretty that he couldn't take it anymore, his hands frantically unbuttoning the button of his jeans.

His cock sprang free, his hand palming along the inches while he held you steady on the quivering machine. He combed his member, the milky liquid seeping from the head. He kept watching you, your brows tensing as your pupils grew large. You held onto his tense shoulder, meeting his eyes. Your jaw hung slack, him watching how your hand circled below the hem of your jeans. You had found yourself in this position countless times before, masturbating in front of him to where you both got off. However, you wanted him tonight.

"Andy?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?" his voice wavering at the pet name.

"I need you inside of me," you whispered along the hollow of his throat.

"Fuck," he hissed, his hand still fisting the hardened inches. "You sure?"

"More," you moaned. "More than sure."

Your hips lifted as he pulled off your jeans and underwear, leaving you naked in front of him. He fiddled with his wallet that was kept in the pocket of his jeans, releasing the condom from the pocket. He encased his length in the latex, pressing the head inside of you. Your tightness made him grunt, pulsing the tip in and out of you. Your barriers relinquished, drawing him further into you.

Tears spewed along his eyelids, him never feeling this way before about someone. The rumbling feeling inside of him was unbearable, his hips sluggishly rutting into you. It felt good, his length twitching along your insides while the laundry machine wavered.

His member continued to beat into you, your knees clenching together as his hips grind into you. He took his calloused palm and opened your legs, watching how his length drove into you, your velvety folds fluttering against his movements.

He was muted, memorizing every bend of your spine, every graze of your clit along his cock. Sickening as it was, he loved seeing your seeping silk around his member. The delicate thrums of the machine hummed in your ears all while he thrust into you, his fingertips pressed against your clit. The pulsing metal against your ass drew you closer to your orgasm, making the stirring movements of his hand harder to control.

"Andy," you murmured. "M'gonna cum."

"Shit, " Pope's motions slightly halted, suddenly becoming overwhelmed.

"What are you doing?" you questioned. "Keep going."

"M'sorry."

His hips persisted into you, steadily stirring into your insides. Your walls gripped onto his inches, the veins of his cock pulsating while you wagged on top of the machine. You tightened around him, damn near bringing him to the edge.

"Andrew, let go for me, please."

When you fell apart, he couldn't help but meet you on your level. His body physically shook at the sensation of your cunt seizing around him. It brought him to his climax, thick ropes adorning the lining of the latex. Pope continued to pump his hips into you, his balls tensing at your grasping walls.

His forehead rested against yours, both of you panting as he stilled inside of you. His softening cock remained inside of you, terrified to go back to what it was like without you around him.

"I need you like this," he whispered. "Forever."