hargreeves-duncan

“m’sorry, baby. not single, though,” he’d murmur, entirely unserious and sincere at the same time, hand finding the back of your skull to push your closer to his skin. “get to fixing me now.”

he used to think it was so uncouth when he saw men walking around with bite marks. he couldn’t for the life of him remember why he’d ever cared, not when your lips sweetly sucked on your chosen spot, drawing a deliberate bloom of color into his skin like you were signing your name on it. his breath would catch on the exhale, hand fisting tighter at the back of your head, and by the time you pulled back to admire your work, his chest was already rising too fast, staring up at you like you’d just done something sacred.

there was nothing uncouth about this, he thought.

“how come they come up so fast on you?” you’d ask later into his throat, thumb pressed flat over the one you’d just finished so you could feel the heat under it. and jack would smile at the ceiling because you’d asked him the same question every eight weeks like clockwork. “tell me,” you’d say, tapping the side of his torso lightly.

his hand would find the back of your thigh where you sat over his hips, and he’d say, into the top of your head, “‘cause i’m old, baby.” sighing, he’d add, “skin’s thin – ”

you’d cut him off by pressing a peck against his throat. “skin’s so pretty.”

he’d lose the thread of what he was saying entirely, a nonsensical sound that was meant to be a word leaving his mouth. “is that so?”

“mhm.” you’d press another peck, lower. “the prettiest.”

jack could definitely get used to this. he already had, if he was being honest.

jack had taken off his jacket when he got to your bar, robby sitting beside him. you were making their drinks in front of them when robby’s eyes snagged on jack’s neck, at the scatter of the marks, trailing in an almost intentional-looking line from his jaw down to where his collar cut off the view. some faded into soft, forgiving lilac, days old, while others sat dark and fresh, still tender-looking.

robby’s eyes had widened as he blew out a breath. “jesus, brother.” he’d shake his head slowly, fighting off a laugh. “everything okay?”

jack would just grin, tipping his glass toward you proudly. “never better.”

and you’d pause in the middle of pouring behind the bar, the ice in the shaker suddenly very loud in your ears. you’d never pegged yourself as insecure for how you and jack were, but even you were prone to the occasional intrusive thought – is this too much? are you too much? does everyone look at him and think the same thing robby just said out loud? – and it took embarrassingly little to knock the confidence out of you.

jack would find you a few days later, hunched over the coffee table, sleeves pushed up, a mess of embroidery floss and beads spread out in front of you. you’d startled when he came up behind you and your arms curled over your work like you were caught cheating on a test.

“whatcha doin’?”

“nothing.”

he’d sit behind you on the couch, legs bracketing your figure, and pull you in by the shoulders so you were leaning against the bottom of the couch. “can i help?”

“no.”

“i’m good with my hands. you know this.”

“this has nothing to do with you being a doctor,” you’d grumble fondly, leaning your head back against the couch to look up at him.

he’d smile instantly at the sight of your face, palms coming up to cup your cheeks as you looked at him upside down. “i wasn’t talking about being a doctor.”

“jack – ”

“let me help,” he’d say, words almost a plea. and you let him, to an extent. you’d handed him the spool to hold steady while you worked, let him cut the lengths of the floss when you measured them out, watched him take the task far more seriously than it required.

you’d finish the product two days later in bed (which was a whole mess now that you’d become one with the craft) with him lying beside you, watching. he’d propped himself up on his elbow, head resting in his palm, tracking the movement of your fingers, mesmerized. every so often he’d reach out with his hand to touch your calf, your back, your knee, because he found that he needed a point of contact even while doing nothing but watching.

“almost done,” you’d murmur, more to yourself then him.

“looks cute.”

you’d giggle conspiratorially to yourself as you reached over for the last piece – a tiny metal charm he couldn’t make out – threading it on and tying it off.

you’d reach over, tugging on his wrist – a little insistently – and he let out a small breath. “this for lil ol’ me?”

“what do you think?” you’d drawl sarcastically, tugging on the bracelet now on his wrist.

he’d let out a tiny huff, then turn his wrist over to examine it with a very unmistakeable glint of a smile. his eyes went to the little charm that caught under the lamplight, your initial, small and sitting right over his pulse.

“fuck,” he breathed out, heart seizing at your handiwork and the thought of you working yourself to the bone over him.

“i don’t care if you hate it,” you’d say immediately, crossing your arms over your chest as you thumped down against the mattress – all that hardwork of little beads had truly taken it out of you! “you’re never allowed to take it off.” you’d fix him with a pointed glare. “ever.”

he’d click his tongue, arm reaching out to gather you against him as you bashfully turned your face into his chest.

“i’m tired an’ my fingers hurt,” you’d murmur into his chest. “if you make fun of me i’ll actually cry.”

jack’d frown, briefly wondering what would’ve given you the impression that he’d ever find something so sickly sweet as this from you funny, when the truth was closer to the fact that you had, somehow, managed to undo something in him once again.

“not gonna make fun of you.” his hand would find the back of your head, slowly threading his fingers through your hair. he’d press his lips to the top of your skull, feeling himself smile at the idea.

“good. ‘cause there’s two.” you’d shove up off his chest and hold your wrist directly in front of his face, and his eyes caught on the same beads, floss, tied off on you. a little ‘J’ sat over your pulse. “obviously did mine first.”

“obviously.”

he’d take your hand and hold it up in the lamp, turning it a few degrees.

“no. do them together.” you’d grab his wrist, too, hauling it up beside yours, holding both of them very close to his face. “see?”

his hand would turn in yours until his palm was flat against your palm, the bracelets moving at an angle to sit by the bones of your wrists, both charms hanging side by side.

“that’s a good way to look at it,” he’d say, reverent. his fingers would slot through yours and close, and he’d bring the whole knot of it to his mouth, kissing your knuckle first, then the charm, then the inside of your wrist.

after the bracelet, you’d get more comfortable, especially after catching jack turning over his wrist randomly at red lights, before he went to bed. when you weren’t around, too. he’d look at it mid-conversation with one of the nurses like he’d forgotten they were talking, just tracing the little charm with his thumb. he’d pause mid-chart, tongue slightly sticking out, the corners of his eyes crinkled, as he looked at your initial on his wrist and waited out the hours before he could go home to you.

nobody’d noticed it until a patient’s mother pointed at it, aw’ing, as she asked, “your kid make that for you?”

ellis would look down at his wrist from beside him, brows shooting up. when jack didn’t respond, she did for him, saying, “he’s got a really committed girlfriend, actually. pretty sure that’s her handiwork.”

“it is,” jack’d say, puffing out his chest as he squared his shoulders. “she’s the best. i love her.”

ellis shared a look with the mother, shrugging, as though communicating that yeah, he’s like that all the time. he did – there’d be random moments in-between conversation where he’d just drop it in, entirely unrelated to the conversation. discussing someone’s discharge, he’d say you didn’t like the smell of scrubs after his doubles. while reviewing a resident’s chart, he’d casually mention you made the best grilled cheese he’d ever had, completely apropos of nothing, then go back to discussing whatever he was like he hadn’t just changed the topic.

jack wasn’t sure where you’d started getting the ideas from. but he’d never not loved seeing you committed. he’d act as if it was completely normal when you dressed him head-to-toe before he started his shift, eyes raking over him, then clicking your tongue as your eyes snagged on his wrist. jack would cock his head to the side, not bothering to hide the amusement at how he could practically see the lightbulb go off in your head.

you’d tug your hair out of your ponytail, then looped the scrunchie onto his instead, right above the bracelet.

he’d put his hand down by his side, doing a small motion of walking, watching his hand move with the pink silk, testing it out. then, he’d nod at you. “suits me.”

and you’d grin, all teeth showing, then wrap your arms around his neck as you pulled him down to press a peck against his lips. “obviously. it’s mine.”

jack felt, yet again, that heated rush. “the hair tie?”

you pressed a quick peck against his lips, patting his pecs twice as if to send him off. he immediately felt the loss of you, now wanting nothing more than to pull you back. he tried, arms coming up loosely at his sides, fingers curling to the memorized shape of your waist, but you’d walked away to grab his bag off the counter

“and the man wearing it.”

and god was he yours. he was sure that if you saw him throughout his days at work, even you’d reconsider him.

but maybe you wouldn’t, he supposed. you’d tucked a reusable coffee tumbler into the side of his work bag one morning (baristas being your biggest fear considering how good you knew he looked post-shift grabbing a coffee, all rumpled up in scrubs and bone-tired charm; read: the exact thing that had gotten a heart doodled on his cup and never would again if you had any say in it).

he hadn’t noticed it until he’d gotten to the cafe, taking it out absentmindedly thinking it was the same matte green thing he’d started using recently, and almost choked on air when he saw around a dozen of your kiss stains (from the lipstick that you loved to leave behind on the collars of one too many shirts already).

he smiled as he took the first sip of his coffee, snapping a selfie from a low angle to show the bottom that very clearly said whose property he was!

your reply came in under a minute. so cute! drink up.

he’d continue smiling like an idiot all the way to work, proudly holding his girl’s work in his hand all while robby assigned the leftover cases, eyes distracted by all the thorough kisses jack was gripping between his palm, the wrist above gleaming with your scrunchie and the bracelet.

“gonna start wearing scrubs with her name on ‘em next?” he’d say after walking him through everything.

jack shrugged, lips pursed in thought. then, he said, “if she wants.”

dana passed by, letting out a chuckle at the conversation. “jealousy’s showin’, robby.”

jack looked entirely too pleased with himself, and also eternally grateful, fully believing he got the better end of this deal and wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve you. he glanced down at the tumbler again, thumb finding one of the darker kiss marks near the base, and let himself sit in the unglamorous luck of being the one you spent your time on.

on a random wednesday night, jack would find himself digging through his wallet at the vending machine, hunting for exact change. shen and the new nurse behind him would be waiting, and shen would click his tongue behind jack impatiently.

“need your readers, old man?” shen would say.

“shut it,” jack would keep rifling through card slots.

the nurse leaned a shoulder against the machine, watching him work. “here, i can spot you, dr. abbot – ”

“nah. m’good for it,” jack would murmur, barely sparing a glance.

“you sure? i really don’t mind,” she’d say, leaning over in his direction slightly to peek down as his hands fumbled with the cash. “consider it a bribe. they told me at orientation to find the attending that answers questions. i think it’s you.”

shen made a sound from behind, clearly offended.

“don’t need bribing,” jack would say. “ask anyone whatever you want while you’re working. that’s the job.” he shrugged, pressing his lips together. “teaching hospital, after all.”

“sure, but not everybody teaches the same.” she’d tilt her gaze, eyes lingering on his jaw. “i’m on every wednesday for the forseeable future. so if you ever wanna grab coffee later, outside the teaching hospital.” she shrugged.

jack felt something fire in his brain, this felt off. he shifted back, brows rising, and his hands went to his collar without thinking. his fingers searched for the heart-shaped locket that usually sat right at the dip between his collarbones.

he made a sound low in his throat when he only found the smoothness of his scrub’s fabric. he patted again, finding it under his collar, invisible.

he yanked it free in one motion, holding it up against his chest like evidence, and shot shen a look of pure, wounded confusion. he didn’t like this! he only felt slightly satisfied when the charm caught the light again. this was probably how people felt when they found their keys, he supposed.

but this still didn’t feel right. which was why he turned his wallet around, thumb grazing over the picture you’d taken of yourself in a little photobooth in a bookstore. he held it up, forcing an awkward smile on his face.

“isn’t she pretty?” he’d say, bottom lip catching between his teeth as he tilted his neck to the side to look at it, too. couldn’t help it. whenever it came to you, there was a completely helpless pull in his eyes every single time he laid eyes on you, photograph or otherwise. he’d click his tongue, smiling properly now. “she can show you all the good spots in pittsburgh.”

because for jack, every new person was just a new person to talk about you with! it felt like the correct use of his mouth in any given moment where you weren’t the topic. the nurse said something polite in response that jack didn’t catch, too busy noticing the little crease in the photo where he’d folded the wallet shut too many times, thinking he really ought to get it laminated, or maybe a second copy for the car. he cut himself off there, aware he was spiraling, and just tucked the wallet back into his pocket, forgetting he even needed something from the vending machine.

a few minutes later, when shen would find jack scrolling on his phone, lips pursed, he’d ask jack, “whatcha doing there?”

“gotta check in on her,” jack would say simply, still feeling unbelievably rattled.

shen would hum, and jack could sense the slight hesitation in the man. when he snapped a short, what is it, shen would say, “maybe don’t mention the nurse.”

“why?” jack would drawl.

“‘cause we’re short-staffed and could use some nurses.”

“the hell’s that supposed to mean?” jack’d grumble, rolling his eyes as he clicked on your contact.

“means i think she’d scare off the new hire if she knew that she may have flirted with you.”

“she’s not scaring anyone off. she’s just gonna have something to say about this.” jack tutted his lips, eyes crinkling at the corners at the thought – already picturing the exact face you’d make and how you’d make sure to let him know he was in big trouble. he felt like a kid before the night before a field trip, already rifling through what he’d wear, what he’d say, and how he’d let you fuss over him the entire time and (hopefully) come out with even more bits and bobs to show off on him tomorrow! “i can’t wait.”

it was the only way he could get through the shift, knowing that you’d be just as mad at him as he was at himself for being flirted with.

he’d tell you later during the afternoon about it. the hours after, the rest of the shift, may have made him a little nervous. the excitement had worn off and now he felt a little (actually, a lot) uneasy about the simple fact that someone may have thought of him as available.

you’d notice it as your head lay against his chest, catching his wrist to stop his fidgeting with the corner of the pillow.

“what’s wrong – ”

“i’m sorry,” he’d say before you could even finish asking.

you’d turn your neck slightly to look up at him, eyes narrowing as you gripped the bottom of his face with your fingers. he found himself leaning into the touch immediately, the tight anxiousness in his body loosening the second your hands made contact, despite said contact being closer to scruffing than a caress. it made no difference to him; jack had been rung like a bell too many times to have a say in the matter now.

“what’d you do?”

“nothing,” he’d immediately. “just – i think a new nurse flirted with me today – ”

“what?” you practically squeaked out. “you think?”

“asked me for coffee.” his jaw shifted under your fingers. “outside the hospital – yeah. that’s flirting.”

“no shit, jack.” your hand dropped from his face.

“i showed her your picture in my wallet and told her – ” he dared to take a peek down at you, watching the way your nose had scrunched up, and your lips had curved into a frown. his fingers found the corner of your mouth, brushing the pads over. he was sure he was mirroring the same expression as you.

you’d huff out a breath after looking at him for a long time in silence. you knew that jack would never do anything, obviously. but that possessive itch you simply couldn’t ever kick perked up at the thought of some stranger whose attention he’d caught. hadn’t you branded him enough?

“i hated it,” jack would say, tipping his head down slightly to get closer to your face.

you’d groan, bringing your palm up to cover his face. “well, i hate it, too!”

“then do somethin’ about it,” he’d say, words muffled against your palm.

your palm would slide over his face – you really couldn’t ever push it out of view, especially when it was right there in front of you – and settle against his cheek, giving it a light tap as you scowled. “what more can i do?”

he’d tut softly, eyes glinting with something mischievous. the gall on him! you could practically see his pupils get blown out in real time from this angle, all the pretty hazel being shadowed over, the darkness swallowing the color at the edges like ink bleeding through paper.

“i mean.” he’d tap his finger against your lip, listing them off. “we’ve got the bracelet. the tumbler. the scrunchie. the pen. the lighter – which, thank you for, by the way, because i quit – ”

“could light a candle for once,” you mumbled.

“yeah, used it to light up dana’s cigarette instead. you scandalized her.” his eyes would go up to the ceiling in faux-thought as he continued, “the keychain with our picture on it. my stethoscope.” he sounded so fond, and you felt the words rumble up through his ribs and into your cheek where it lay flat against his chest.

the pad of his finger dragged down your bottom lip a little on every name he counted, tacky and warm.

“and she still flirted,” you’d mumble around his finger, almost sadly. dramatic, you knew you were, but you couldn’t help it. jack was like your little diorama and sometimes you wished you could lock him up in a glass case. you hmf’ed, teeth impulsively catching at the top of his finger to bite it slightly.

he’d sigh, letting his index stay there, letting you have it. the rest of his fingers awkwardly maneuvered down to cradle your jaw, eyes raking over you. “fuck, you’re pretty,” he’d say, tapping his fingers slightly under your chin to punctuate it.

you breathed out against finger, letting it leave the grip of your teeth. “don’t try to get out of it,” you’d murmur, very obviously moved by him.

he tapped your chin once more, tipping your face up so he could keep looking. “i’m on your side. i’ve been on your side.” when you playfully rolled your eyes, he’d click his tongue, shaking his head. “i think it’s your fault, actually.”

you’d blink at him, thrown off. “excuse me?”

he tipped his chin up, free palm gliding across the expanse of his neck as he hummed.

“if i recall, my best girl would have said i’m lookin’ like a single man.” he’d let the words do their work on you, so very fishing and unashamed, while his palm kept moving over his throat, tracking the tendon down to where the locket lay tipped on its side in the hollow of it.

you made a small, nonsensical noise, eyes fixed on the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “you don’t look single. i put so much on you,” you’d say, the words coming out of you with no weight.

“and i love ‘em all,” he’d say. “but they’re so sweet, angel.”

“oh, i’m sorry,” you’d say through a laugh, eyes narrowing, as you moved your arm up to curl your fingers around his wrist by his throat. “is my hard work too nice for you?”

“i just think you could be a little meaner to go along with it,” he’d say casually, musing. he’d shake your fingers off his wrist, only to grab your own and guide it to his neck. “c’mon. gonna leave me like this?”

your fingers would spread over his throat, and his hand pressed yours in a little further. you could feel the corner of his jaw working under your littlest finger as his pulse thudded against your palms.

your lips would curve into a smile off your own accord, the familiarity of what you wanted to do settling over you after you’d forgotten how good it felt. you’d gotten so good at this and it’d been a long three weeks without doing it. what a stupid three weeks.

then you’d turn your body around, maneuvering yourself so your legs would bracket his. jack would immediately settle into a better position to accomodate you, shoving himself up on one elbow, then another, and his hands would find your hips to steer you down onto him.

it didn’t take long for your mouth to latch onto his neck, and jack let out the biggest sigh of relief at the pressure, so embarrassing, the nature of it, but he’d hardly care. he wasn’t sure what had happened to his girl, because whatever had happened to you had very clearly affected him, too. it’d be evident in how he would go so loose-limbed under your mouth like he was a dog being scratched in the right place.

“you’re so weird,” you’d say against his neck after a small ‘pop’ as you unlatched. “i think you like this more than me.”

“not really a competition, baby,” he’d say, eyes shut. “but yeah.” he’d find the back of your head again, tracing the shell of your ear. “why’d you stop anyway?”

“didn’t stop,” you’d murmur, softly biting at the soft of the skin beside his adam’s apple before your head would drop to his shoulder, nuzzling into the curve of his neck. “wasn’t a decision.”

he’d snort, knowing you were lying and also about the fact that you thought you could get away with it. “liar.”

you’d stay there a while, tucked, breathing him in as you fiddled with the short curls at the nape of his neck. “i don’t know,” you’d say eventually. “didn’t want people making fun of you. or – i don’t know. people thinking you’re the guy whose girlfriend does that to him.”

jack’d feel his features twist. “pretty sure i am the guy whose girlfriend does that to him.” at your groan, he’d add, with a small, chuckle (even though he’d felt his entire mind race at the idea that there’d been a part of you you’d tried to take away for his sake, a part he loved to no bounds, too), “i like being the guy. y’know this.”

“i know.”

“then what’re we doing here?” he’d pull you in by the hips.

“i don’t know,” you’d say through a groan, suddenly feeling silly for ever taking it so seriously. “never listen to robby again?”

jack huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “robby?” he’d tap your hips twice. “seriously? pretty sure just wanted one. of his own.”

and jack believed it! though he’d never, ever want to know if his best friend is truly jealous because that’d mean you’d been running around in some other man’s mind. jack found he had no interest whatsoever in that thought. for all he knew, you simply were his: to think about, to know, to picture. if that made him a small man about it, well, he’d been called worse by better.

when he’d feel you ease under his hold, he’d grab the soft of your hips with his whole palm. “now that we’ve got that out of the way,” he’d murmur. “you’ve got some backlog to make up for.”

“you’re so greedy.”

“and i’d like you to keep making me things,” he’d add, almost sheepishly, trying to force his voice to casual.

“greedy,” you’d repeat, letting out a chuckle.

if you could know what it felt like with you, you, too, would be greedy. and you’d spend the entirety of the next few hours letting your mouth go over his skin, fidgeting with the little things you’d accessorized him with. you’d turn over the bracelet around his wrist so the charm sat just right, thumb the scrunchie down then back up, untwist the knot that’d gotten on his chain he hadn’t noticed.

he would deal with the questions later, which meant he wouldn’t deal with them at all. it was nobody else’s business but yours, anyway. he wanted to be nobody else’s business but yours; he was sure he’d been conditioned in some way. god, all these years and he’d gone and turned himself into a dog that hears a leash, completely content with it, with the idea of spending the rest of his life at your mercy, at your beck and call for whatever else you decided to put on him next.

somewhere in the middle of it all, you’d get an idea. you’d crawl further up his body as he lay horizontal, spent completely, and prop up your elbow over his bare chest. he’d crack an eye open at the feel of your gaze.

“uh oh,” he’d say, eyeing the mischievous curl of your mouth. “what is it?”

“you should get a tattoo,” you’d say.

“oh? of?”

“me.”

“okay,” he’d say, eye falling back shut again. that was all he had left. you’d taken it out of him and now he was down to short words, arms heavy at his sides, palms open on the sheet, and mouth slightly parted.

“will you?”

he’d hum in response.

“okay.” you’d drum your fingers against the side of your cheek, thinking. “you can get a qr code to my instagram right here.” you’d tap the flat pane beneath his collarbone twice.

he clicked his teeth, letting out a short laugh. “no.”

“why not?”

“‘cause.” he’d open his eyes then, furrowing his brows. “don’t need some random guy scanning me and finding your pictures.” his hand would come up off the sheet and press down at your back, forcing your elbows to give out so you’d land flat against his chest. “you wanna become famous, you build your own fanbase.”

he’d move his hands between your shoulder blades to keep you tucked there against him.

“what about,” you’d start, words muffled against his chest, “do not flirt.” you’d maneuver one hand out from between you, finding the one he lay on the mattress as you traced your fingertip down the top of his index finger. “here.”

he’d sigh. “no.” then, he’d move his hand up from your back to your hair, fingers disappearing underneath it, to lift your head up slightly from his chest, then pull it down to his face, mouth capturing your lips. making a satisfied sound when you sank into it, his fingers would fingers yours where they still lay slumped against the top of his palm, intertwine them, and pull them up between your faces.

he’d break the kiss just enough to speak against your mouth. “i think i got one.” he caught your top lip between his teeth for a second, pulling for barely a second, then settled his head back against the pillow, turning over to look at your hands. “think you’ll like it.”

“okay,” you’d say a little dumbly because your mouth was still stinging where he’d caught it.

his thumb would move slowly across the back of yours, brows faintly furrowed. he’d take long enough that you’d start to shift against him, and he’d have to curl his palm around your shoulder to still you.

after a moment, he’d turn your joined hands over to let go, and spread his fingers wide beside his head on the pillow, nudging your attention onto it with his eyes.

he knew it was lots of big things wrapped in a small one, and he knew you’d know it, too.

“here.” he’d tap the base of his fourth finger with his thumb. “your name, right here.”

he’d hear your breath hitch, and then you’d promptly duck down to nuzzle your face against the crook of his neck. letting out a short, amused laugh, he’d bring up the palm to the back of your skull again, murmuring, “would you like that?”

you’d nod, face still hidden.

“s’that a yes?”

you’d nod again, and his hands would tap your head lightly twice. “words, baby.”

“i’d want to pick the font,” you’d mumble eventually.

“gotcha,” he’d say, pressing his lips to your hairline.