in a cloud of sparkling dust

No hi, hello, how are you. If you were to scroll through your text thread with Dr. Jack Abbot, you would see that the faux pleasantries stopped three months ago. The two of you started sleeping together four months ago; it took four weeks for Jack to discern that he didn't need to use basic human greetings to get you in his truck, in his bed. That's not to say you were easy—god, no—it was just that you two had a mutual understanding for what this was.

Sex. That was all it was. Pure primal, fuck like you're going to die otherwise, sex.

It started after the night of the PittFest mass casualty. You had come in early along with your fellow night shifters to work through what was one of your most gruelling shifts to date. The Pitt only lost six patients, but the weight of that day was going to stay etched into your bones for the rest of your life.

Dr. Abbot came back to the ED around two am, checking in on how Shen was handling things—at least, that's what he used as a guise. The truth was that he had struggled to close his eyes once he got home, tossing and turning with the police scanner on, endless memories of dust and gunshots plaguing his mind.

He stayed until shift change, the act of caring for others quietening the buried memories that were crawling to the surface. He stayed to keep an eye on his staff—noticing how people were a little more quiet, how they were exchanging soft, hesitant smiles with one another instead of their usual jokes. At least, that's what he noticed about you.

You couldn't remember what exactly was said to transition from you two walking towards your cars to you sinking onto his cock in the backseat of his truck. In your memory overridden by lust, you could vaguely hear him saying something vulnerable; a response you weren't expecting after your exhausted tongue let slip how you were struggling with the events of the day.

Mutual words about feeling on edge, needing some kind of release, were whispered into the hazy dawn glow—the fusing saffron skies and coral clouds painting you both in a different light.

Mosaics of amber and olive flaked with gold stared up at you, catching every morsel of pleasure that scrunched your eyebrows and relaxed your mouth. Strong, sure hands moulded the flesh on your hips, keeping you completely at his mercy as he pounded up into you. One of your hands met the condensation slicked window, the wet glass providing no support as his every thrust bruised your cervix.

Your nails dug crescents into his sun-speckled canvas, a crescendo of moans and gasps drowning out the wet mess gushing from your core. Hands you admired while wrist deep in chest cavities clutched your ass, one rearing back to land harsh slaps to the heated and aching skin—setting the fire coursing through your veins ablaze.

Your head flung back with a guttural cry of his name, the warmth of his release coating your walls plunging you into a sea of ecstasy. A groan of your name pushed through the ringing in your ears, the thick chest pressed against yours rapidly rising and falling with pants.

The sex thick air in the truck turned suffocating in the tense aftermath—both your minds spiralling about how bad of a mistake this was. Jack's stomach curdled from his blatant abuse of power, your hands trembled in fear of fucking for special treatment accusations—terrified of tarnishing your reputation.

Jack was the first to break the silence. "This was a one time thing."

You nodded, avoiding his eyes as you straightened your scrub top, pulling your pants up while his seed continued to leak out of you. "Agreed."

Despite his unforgiving mind reminding him how badly he screwed up, Jack fell into a dreamless sleep—the ghosts that permanently resided in the back of his mind staying locked in their rooms, letting him rest alone for once.

He struggled to make eye contact with Dana when he arrived for his next shift—the feeling of betraying one of his dearest friends gripping his chest. The logical side of him reasoned that you weren't her daughter—you were an adult capable of making her own questionable decisions, and letting him manhandle you in the back of his truck was just one of them. Unfortunately, that logical side couldn't silence the guilt that invaded him when he saw her wrap an arm around your shoulder and kiss your temple.

However, that guilt vanished hours later—replaced with a sick sort of admiration, one wrapped in barbed wires of lust. He always knew you were competent—hell, out of all his residents, he would trust you the most with his life in your hands. He always knew you were beautiful—it was a fact he accepted with ease the second you set foot in the Pitt.

But now, he knew how your pussy felt squeezing his cock—knew how your hips moved the closer you got to your release, how you crumbled into a whimpering mess as you reached your precipice. Your competency mixed with this new knowledge created a dangerous concoction, one that infiltrated his bloodstream and made him drunk on the thought of you.

You tried to not let it affect your work—willed your nerves to steady with a scalpel in hand, trying to ignore the empty ache you felt since you left his truck. The ache you tried to soothe on your own but failed every time. Because Jack Abbot had fucked you better than all of your exes combined, and it pissed you off. You refused to be a cliché—the young resident who followed the older, handsome, charming attending around, basking in whatever affection and praise he discarded without a care.

You were better than that. Stronger. Evans women didn't risk their careers for silver foxes who hid behind wry quips and flirty smiles.

Apparently, you weren't as strong as you thought.

One week later, you found yourself back in his truck—your knees pressed into the worn carpet, drool dripping down your chin and neck, the air filled with the sounds of his grunts and your gagging.

He instructed you to slip a hand into your pants, to swipe your fingers through your folds and show him how wet you were from sucking an old man's cock.

"Fucking soaked," he groaned out, the slick on your hand shimmering like liquid gold as the sunrise filtered through the tinted windows. "Knew you'd like being on your knees," a calloused finger tapped your cheek, urging your glistening eyes to meet his, "always so eager to please."

The finger slid down to your jaw, tracing a line until his hand cupped the back of your neck. His grip was tight and strong, keeping your head exactly where he wanted it. His other hand encircled your wrist, yanking your hand coated in your arousal to his mouth. Eyes black with hunger penetrated yours, daring you to look away and disobey his silent command. His tongue slipped out, licking a strip up your fingers. Your responding whine was muffled by his cock thrusting down your throat, resulting in a sinful vibration that had his spine tingling.

In this moment, he wasn't your attending and you weren't his resident, weren't one of his closest friends' nieces. You were two willing adults—a man and woman troubled by their own demons, seeking release and relief.

His hand gripping your neck kept you still as he started to fuck your mouth in earnest, each hit of his tip to the back of your throat earning him a gag. Jack watched as tears breached your waterline, slipping down your cheeks to mix in with the slobbery mess glazing your neck. His eyes drifted down, taking in the sight of your wrinkled black scrubs—committing it to memory, to fuck his fist to later. The shift of your hips didn't go unnoticed, the way you were trying to grind against nothing drawing a mocking laugh from his chest.

"You that desperate, huh? Drooling all over my cock got you so worked up you're tryna fuck nothing."

You nodded your head with another muffled whine, lust overpowering your innate urge to bite back. He eased your head back, leaving his leaking tip resting on your tongue, letting you fill your lungs with oxygen before he continued his efforts to ruin you.

"Touch yourself, pretty girl."

You happily obliged, trying to pull your hand from his grasp.

"Uh-uh," he tutted, tightening his grip—just shy of leaving bruises. "This one's mine. You got another one, don't you?"

Your hand clutching his thigh for support let go in an instant, eager to please Jack and in turn please yourself.

You were so sensitive, your panties already soaked, your clit puffy from arousal and neglect. The first touch had you mewling around him, your hips humping your hand with fervour. Jack chuckled above you, gleaming eyes enraptured by your desperation.

"Fuck your fingers like you wanna fuck my cock." He ordered, heat gathering at the base of his spine when you obeyed immediately. He brought your hand back to his mouth, eagerly licking and sucking your slick off it, all while keeping his eyes locked on your hooded, hazy ones. "Taste so fucking good," he moaned, his hips picking up speed.

He came down your throat minutes later, watching your eyes roll back as you swallowed all of him down. Your own orgasm rushed up behind you, tightening every muscle in your body as you clamped down on your fingers with a moan.

Jack manoeuvred you onto the seat next to him, brows furrowed as his post orgasm clarity soured his gut again.

He kept his eyes locked on where he was twisting his ring around his finger. "That wasn't—I didn't mean to," he cleared his throat. "I didn't intend on being so harsh—mean."

You could feel the stress radiating from him, his words softly spoken and genuine.

"It's okay," you murmured, biting your lip. "I…I liked it." And because you wanted to ease his worries and silently give him permission—"I've begged for worse."

He lifted his head, shocked eyes meeting yours with a disbelieving chuckle and shake of his head.

"This is gonna keep happening, isn't it?"

You answered by pulling your scrubs and panties down your legs, pouting at him with a twinkle in your eyes.

"Need you to help me clean up my mess, Doctor Abbot."

You collapsed into the drivers seat of your car with two orgasms and a mutual agreement under your belt.

Strictly physical, no strings attached. No kissing, no cuddling, definitely no staying the night. Nothing untoward within the Pitt's walls—these two hookups in the parking lot staying as the only ones.

Never speak a word of this to anyone else.

Three nights—technically mornings—a week you found yourself pulling into Jack's driveway, parking your barely road-legal car behind his truck. His black, navy, and white minimalist interior didn't surprise you one bit, neither did the barren walls. The first few times, he led you into the kitchen with the offer of a drink, exchanging idle chatter about the weird cases that came through the Pitt's doors hours before.

The first time your skin touched his soft sheets, he had you on your back with large, calloused hands pushing your legs towards your chest as he devoured your pussy like a man starved. He made your vision dance with stars, made your ears ring from two earth shattering orgasms before he removed his face—his mouth and chin soaked with your release, a cocky smirk deepening the lines carved around his eyes. Your skin was still tender from his stubble when he sunk in deep, reaching spots you didn't even know existed—pulling sounds from your chest you didn't know you could make.

As you floated from his front door to your car, you knew that Jack Abbot had ruined you for any other man. No one had read your body that quickly before, no one else had found the switch to turn off your brain and give in to primal desire.

And you didn't even know what the simple touch of his lips against yours felt like.

By the sixth night you had learnt absolutely nothing new about him. Well, nothing that was outside of bodies and pleasure.

You learnt he was an ass man, needing to land slaps to your cheeks no matter what position you were in. You learnt he liked to talk—liked to mock every pathetic sound he wrung out of you. You learnt that he had a bottle of blue pills in his bedside drawer, learnt that he was unashamed to swallow one down in front of you and fuck you with his tongue and fingers until it took effect.

You knew exactly what Jack liked in bed. Outside of that? Absolutely nothing.

His favourite colour? Fuck knows. How he cared for his leg after a long shift and long night of screwing you senseless? That was between him and his physiotherapist, you guessed.

And he knew nothing about you. Or, at least, he didn't try to get to know you.

You stopped thinking of this arrangement as friends with benefits—friends felt too generous of a word. Coworkers with benefits sounded the closest to the truth. You worked together, spent at least twelve hours a day in the same building, exchanged the occasional witty remark under fluorescent lights. There were no lingering looks, no secret touches, no dropped voices and subtle smirks. And you were fine with it being that way.

Until you weren't.

By month two it had become impossible to ignore the pang that ricocheted behind your ribcage every time you drove away. The pang that grew to an ache every time you went to Dana and Benji's for dinner.

You adored their relationship, admired it. Your parents' messy divorce had left you skeptical of love, had you doubting if it was worth pursuing if it only ended in misery and spite. But your aunt and uncle softened that cynical side of you, reminding you that yes, love could be messy, but it could also be beautiful and fun. It could be coming home to your best friend everyday, hugging each other even after an argument because going to sleep angry never solved anything.

You tried to find what they had in your exes, putting more effort into relationships that drained you by the end. You heard too many times to count that your lives weren't compatible, that they couldn't give their all to someone who was happy to run out the door when the hospital called.

They didn't understand you—didn't understand what it meant to make a difference, to hold someone's life in the palm of your hands and safely return them to their loved ones. They only focused on the days when you couldn't save someone, when the grief held you captive and motionless. They didn't want to continue holding your hand on those hard days.

And so somewhere along the way you stopped trying—convincing yourself that you were fine with casual, that it was the most suitable relationship for your lifestyle. But every time you saw Dana and Benji, you knew that wasn't true.

They reminded you that you wanted, and deserved, more.

Jack had never slept better. Even with that little voice in the back of his head telling him that he had crossed a line—that he was risking not only your career but his friendship with Dana. He managed to silence that voice three times a week; the sounds of the pleasure he was unleashing on you drowning out everything else.

He truly believed he could keep things separate—that the beautiful woman he had in his bed wasn't the same beautiful woman he trusted and found himself proud of every shift. He could totally keep them separate.

So what if his eyes followed your ass when you walked away from the Hub, admiring how the black scrubs clung like a second skin, knowing how they looked discarded on his bedroom floor. Knowing how the globes of your ass felt clutched in his hands, the sound of his palms slapping them reverberating off his walls.

So what if he found himself craving your taste a minimum of three times every shift, the mere thought of your sweet nectar drenching his face leading to inopportune boners.

No one had to know that whenever he saw you biting back at arrogant surgeons that his eyes were glued to your lips, remembering how good they looked—how good they felt—wrapped around his cock. The no kissing clause had been his suggestion—a subconscious part of him knowing that if he felt your lips against his, he wouldn't be able to let go.

The simple act of kissing felt infinitely more intimate than everything else you did. It was a tender act, saved for the person who walked out his door in the morning only to return in the evening. Saved for the person that had left one cold, winter morning and never returned in the frigid evening.

Jack ignored the warmth that spread throughout him in your company, convincing himself it was just lust, just sexual desire. He convinced himself he didn't need to know anything new about you—he already knew what type of student you were, the doctor he had watched you flourish into from the sidelines.

He knew where to touch you, that mouthing at the spot below your ear made you putty in his hands. He knew what positions had you trembling, had your eyes rolling back as you squirted on his dick, on his face. He knew his favourite view was a tie between you above him, suffocating him as you ground your pussy on his mouth, nose, chin, and him behind you, holding you up with a bicep wrapped around your neck in a chokehold, ordering you to keep your eyes on the mirror across from his bed as he stretched your tight pussy with his thick cock over and over again.

He knew that your car was a piece of shit, knew he was worried every time he heard it sputtering out of his driveway—worried enough to demand you stop driving it, to let him drive you to and from work until you could get it fixed, or better yet, buy a new one from this century. (You compromised by getting the bus instead, saying that you two arriving and leaving together would look suspicious.)

And unfortunately, due to his close friendship with Dana, he knew other things about you. What your childhood nickname was, that you once found an abandoned kitten and tried to hide it from your parents—the kitten that was now an old cat, spending it's days curled up on the couch in Dana's sunroom. He knew your parents had an ugly divorce, one they threw you in the middle of—forcing you to choose a side, which subsequently left you in the care of Dana and Benji for a few years.

He knew more about you than he ever wanted to.

"Strip."

Oh, you fucked up.

The drive to Jack's had been dead silent, his anger rolling off of him in waves—sitting in between you two like a physical being. It had your muscles tensing, and more shamefully, had a fire brewing in your core. Because you liked when he got mad—when he barely spoke a word to you, choosing to get his frustrations out by relentlessly drilling you into his mattress. You liked when he got mean—because at least then you knew he was feeling something towards you other than indifference.

You did as you were told, stripping out of your black scrubs, leaving you in your mismatched bra and panties. From his spot leaning against the wall, Jack could already see the damp patch spreading on your underwear. He let out a humourless chuckle, a thrill running through him seeing how desperate you were already.

"Take your bra off. Lie on the bed."

Again, you followed his instructions with no complaint, no backtalk. Which was the complete opposite to how you had been three hours before—questioning his treatment plan in front of everyone in Trauma One, implying that his orders would cause the patient unnecessary problems later on.

You had a good argument, but he was not going to let your attitude go unchecked. He was not going to let you think the way you spoke to him was something you could do again.

He pushed off the wall, ignoring the pain in his leg—he would deal with it later, once you were in an uber on your way home. He sat down next to you on the bed, trailing light fingers from your ankle up your leg, avoiding the area you wanted him the most. He revelled in the sight of your breasts heaving up and down—you were so responsive, nothing more than his teasing touches starting to unravel you. His fingers continued their journey up your body, skimming over your trembling stomach and resting in the valley between your breasts.

The light touches distracted you enough that you weren't expecting his other hand coming up, slapping your tit before pinching the pebbled nipple. Hard.

"Ah—Jack!" You shrieked, your back arching away—or towards, you weren't sure—from the pain. Whimpers slipped from you as his touch eased up, his head dropping to place soft kisses around the tender skin. The fingers between your breasts trailed to the neglected nipple, tweaking it gently.

He pulled back, smirking when you whined at the loss of his touch. "Anything you want to say before we get started?" He drawled, raising his eyebrows pointedly.

You pouted, pretending to think. "Your curls looked really good today."

A rough hand dropped to your thigh, spreading them apart and pinching the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. "Flattery will get you nowhere, not in this room."

"So there are other rooms where it will get me somewhere?"

"You need to learn when to keep your mouth shut." He didn't give you time to talk back, raising his hand and landing a harsh slap to your clothed pussy. Your hips shot off the bed with a gasp, chasing the friction—needy for it. He openly laughed at you, his free hand pushing your thigh down as he delivered another slap.

He moved back to sit on the edge of the bed, patting his thigh with a warning look. He watched with sick pleasure as you crawled towards him on all fours, grabbing your upper arm once you were close enough and pulling you over his lap with force. You let out a yelp, muffled by the sheets as you failed to catch yourself on your arms.

His hands gripped your ass cheeks, squeezing and kneading them. "Love this ass, sweetheart. Distracts me a bit too much at work, though. Somethin' else you need to be punished for."

You huffed, pushing up on your arms. "How is that my fau—" you cut off with a gasp, a hard slap to your left cheek stealing your breath and jolting you forward. The heat travelled the short distance to your core, adding fuel to the flames already blazing. Your panties were embarrassingly soaked from his rough treatment, sticking to your skin and his scrub pants.

"What did I say about keeping your mouth shut, huh?" His hand rubbed over the tender spot, tsking.

"Technically," you started, voice light and breathy, "you didn't tell me to shut my mouth."

You were rewarded with three slaps in quick succession, pulling a loud moan from you. You ground your hips the best you could, trying to get the right angle for your aching clit to rub against the growing bulge under you.

"Fucking brat," Jack spat, faux malice lacing his tone. "Running your mouth in my ED, and now you're trying to get off without my permission?" He pulled the ruined cloth between your legs to the side, a light finger ghosting along the slick covering your folds. He groaned, pulling his finger back to suck it clean. "You're dripping—not much of a punishment if you're enjoying yourself, is it?"

Any response you had is stolen from your mouth, whines falling out instead as he plunged two thick fingers into you. He didn't start slow—he never did when he was like this—pistoning them in and out at a force that was bordering on inhuman, making sinful wet sounds fill his room. His other hand forced your head into the sheets, muffling your whimpers—the sheets growing damp underneath you from your drool.

He hit your sweet spot with every thrust, your clit rubbing against his leg from the force. You could feel your high rapidly approaching, the spankings leaving your nerve ends feeling raw and exposed. Jack could feel it—how your walls were fluttering and clenching around his fingers, your muffled whines and moans turning high-pitched. He inserted a third finger, stopping the thrusting and leaving them still—the pads of them rubbing oh so slowly against the textured spot.

He knew it felt like torture to you, how slow he was going—keeping you right on the edge, suspended in the air, looking down at the waves of pleasure he was denying you. Your hips moved back and forth, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers. His hand left your head, delivering another harsh slap to your aching ass—making you sob from the unbearable mix of pain and pleasure swirling in your core. "Who said you're allowed to do that, sweetheart?" He asked, mockingly sweet.

"Please," you whimpered, turning your head to look at him with glazed eyes. "Please, Jack."

"Begging isn't gonna do you any favours tonight, pretty girl."

He pulled his fingers out, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. "Up you get," he said, helping you move until you were straddling him—your naked thighs bracketing his clothed ones. One large hand was clutching your ass, keeping your hips from meeting his—prolonging your search for sweet relief. His other hand came up to your mouth, a wet finger tapping your bottom lip. "Clean up your mess," he muttered, hooded eyes focused on your lips parting for him.

You licked the tip of his finger teasingly, moaning at the taste of yourself on his skin. Something low rumbled in his chest, and he pushed all three fingers into your mouth—watching intently as you licked and sucked your slick off of them. Your dazed eyes met his and it struck him—not for the first time—how beautiful you were, how you allowed him to see you like this. It made that annoying thing in his chest happen—the thing that felt like his heart was aching in longing, yearning.

He thrust his fingers in deeper, making you gag around them—watching in sick delight as tears slipped down your cheeks. Your hips started to rock in his hold, seeking friction that you weren't going to find. His cock was painfully hard and tenting his scrubs, making it impossible to ignore—especially not when you looked so fucking ruined.

He removed his fingers from your mouth, a string of saliva keeping them connected to your lips. He felt the overwhelming urge to kiss you—again, not for the first time—and knew that the only way to stop himself from doing so was to fuck you from behind—a position he had been favouring lately, for this very reason.

He unceremoniously shifted you onto the bed next to him—a small, surprised squeak escaping you. His lips twitched at the cute sound, and he briefly forgot what he was doing, what he was mad about. Your hand sneaking onto his lap to squeeze his cock reminded him.

Jack abruptly stood up, placing himself between your open thighs. He gripped your chin, tilting it up so you couldn't look anywhere except his eyes—his desire painting them black, amber flames surrounding the dilated pupils. "You're just making this harder for yourself, sweetheart. You sure there's nothing you wanna say?"

Your eyes dropped down to the tent inches from your face, your fingers twitching with the need to start palming him. "You sure you're not the one making it harder for yourself?" You met his eyes again, watching them narrow menacingly as your innocent smile morphed into a cheeky smirk.

His hand moved from your chin, gripping your cheeks hard and squishing them 'til your lips puckered. "Still haven't learnt your lesson." He pushed your head back, encouraging you to lie back.

He grabbed the sides of your soiled underwear and yanked them down your legs, leaving you completely bare while he was still fully dressed. His hands found your waist, flipping you onto your stomach with ease and pulling you back so your legs were hanging off the bed with your ass in the air.

Your cheeks received one more slap each—Jack really was obsessed with your ass—before you felt his tip prodding at your entrance, slipping down to nudge your clit. You whined at the teasing, pushing your ass back against him. A large hand splayed between your shoulder blades, pressing you into the mattress with force.

"Stay. Still." He ordered through gritted teeth.

Then he plunged in, sinking to the hilt in one thrust. A choked moan lodged in your throat, his size still a shock no matter how many times he stretched you open. He gave you no time to adjust, setting a harsh rhythm, making your hands scramble around on the sheets looking for support.

"So big," you gasped out.

A deep laugh rumbled from him. "So big," he mocked you. "You say that every time."

Skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with his grunts and your mewling. You could feel the fabric of his scrubs on the back of your thighs—the fact he was fucking you while fully clothed sending a shiver down your spine.

Jack picked up on the signs of your impending orgasm straight away, feeling his own tightening his balls. "Hold it," he demanded, slipping a hand under your hips and easily finding your clit. You sobbed into the sheets as he rubbed tight circles, your body locking up in effort to keep your release at bay.

"S'not fair," you whined, high and wrecked. The fire in your core was raging, threatening to set you aflame—Jack's orders be damned.

"Y'know what's not fair?" Jack grunted. "When pretty residents walk around like they own the place." His hand moved from your back, his palm resting on the sheets next to your head. He dropped forward, dragging his lips up your spine, biting down on the curve where your shoulder met your neck. Your eyes rolled back, the pain adding to the dizzying pleasure that was making your whole body ache from holding back. "S'not fair," he mocked you again, "when you make me walk around hard. All. Fucking. Shift." He punctuated the last words with hard thrusts, the force knocking breaths out of you.

"Come in me, Jack, please." You whined, delirious and in need of whatever he'll give you. "Need it s'bad, I'll be good f'you—promise!"

He groaned at your begging, pulling out at the last second to deny you what you were so prettily asking for. Even if he wanted nothing more than to fill you to the brim, this was part of your punishment. He spilled over your ass and lower back, painting your skin in white streaks.

You sobbed at the loss of him, at his hand leaving your burning clit and giving you no relief. He leaned back over you, his mouth hovering right next to your ear. "Aw, you wanna come, sweetheart?" You nodded fervently, tears soaking the sheets below you. He gripped your chin tight, turning your face until your lips were inches from his—your breaths mingling together. "Be a good girl and apologise."

"But I didn't do anything wrong." You whimpered out.

He tutted. "Try again."

His hand returned to your clit, fingers rubbing agonisingly slow figure eights—the fire blooming at full force beneath his touch. He watched the sweat beading at your hairline, the tremors running through your body making his bed shake; you were so determined to not give in, and it only made him inevitably breaking you that much sweeter.

He moved his head, nuzzling into the side of your neck—breathing in your intoxicating scent before he started nipping and sucking at the spot below your ear. And just as he predicted, that was your breaking point. Your body shook harder underneath him, a debauched moan slipping from you lips.

"M'sorry, Jack! I'm so sorry—won't do it again." You whimpered, hips rolling back and forth, trying to hump his hand. "Please—it hurts so bad!"

Satisfied that you finally said you were sorry, he moved off of you—flopping onto his back next to you and not wasting a second to grasp your waist and pull you on top of him. He positioned you so you were hovering over his face, giving you a moment to get your bearings before yanking you down and absolutely devouring you.

Your hands were quick to thread into his curls, tugging hard as you rode his face. Three fingers thrust into you again, this time curling and hitting your g-spot perfectly. The most sinful sounds he'd ever heard fell from your mouth, a sharp cry jolting out of you when his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked hard. You were so close already, the teasing and edging for what felt like hours leaving a painful knot that was ready to unravel violently.

"Jack—oh, fuck!" You shook above him, your body glistening with sweat as you climbed higher. He groaned, marvelling at the sight of you—yeah, he was never going to forget this. It sent vibrations through your pussy and your vision started to blur at the edges. "I'm gonna come—please let me come!"

He doubled his efforts, silently telling you to let go. You threw your head back with a scream, an all-consuming orgasm tearing through your core—ripping every single one of your nerves apart, a new galaxy bursting behind your eyes. You squirted all over Jack's face, his eyes never once leaving your heaving body as he eagerly drank every drop you offered him. He continued fucking his fingers into you, mouthing at your clit as you came down. You tried to lift your hips off his face but he refused, not letting up until overstimulated sobs left you and you begged him to stop.

He sat you on his chest, rubbing his hands along your thighs and hips. "That wasn't so hard now, was it?"

You returned home feeling both light and heavy—your head light from the brief sub space Jack put you in, your heart heavy because you couldn't do this anymore.

You couldn't do casual, you deserved more. And you knew Jack could never offer you what you truly needed, not when he was so adamant on being alone—which, honestly, was bullshit. He was never alone—choosing to either strap his SWAT vest on or pick up an extra shift in the ED, calling you up when he wanted company sex, refusing to sit in the silence by himself.

You didn't re-download the dating apps right away, content with accepting the fact that you were ready to start looking again. You continued your routine with Jack, albeit with a little less enthusiasm than usual. If he picked up on it, he didn't say anything—it wasn't like you two talked much anyways.

A few weeks later, you were at the Northside Farmers Market with your mom, browsing the stalls before you had to leave for your night shift. It was something the two of you tried to do every other week when your schedules lined up—an old tradition you had as a kid, every Friday going to the market to buy fresh, local ingredients for your family dinner the following Sunday. It stopped when your parents' tumultuous arguments in front of the vendors, the public, tainted something you once held so dear. Now that you were an adult, you were determined to replace those memories with good ones again.

You were at the baker's stall, exchanging idle chit-chat with Billie—the vendor—when a tall man approached the stall. Billie's face lit up at the sight of him, the older woman rounding the counter to pull him into a hug.

"Ollie," she said, pulling back and swatting his arm lightly. "I should be mad at you, y'know. You work how many blocks away, and you're only visiting your Ma now?"

You turned to the man in surprise, watching his cheeks flush red. He was older than you—most likely in his forties, if you were to guess from the few grey hairs streaking his dark beard. He was ruggedly handsome but tamed—his clothes looking like he would fit in on a farm, but the stitching on his jacket told you he would've paid at least a couple hundred for it.

Before he could respond, Billie looked between the both of you—the smile of a cunning mother overtaking her face. She placed a hand on his bicep, turning to you. "This is my son Oliver, he works at Westbridge as an anesthesiologist. If I remember correctly, you work at a hospital, don't you?" Oliver turned to you fully then, kind green eyes looking you up and down in pleasant surprise.

You smiled bashfully. "Yes, you remember correctly. I'm a third year resident at PTMC, specialising in Emergency Medicine." Oliver held out a hand and you shook it, offering him your name.

Billie returned to the other side of her stall, helping out with another customer. You and Oliver stepped to the side, falling into easy conversation about your jobs. Time passed quickly, and before you knew it your warning alarm to leave for your shift was going off. Oliver politely asked if he could get your number—saying that it's been really nice talking to you, and that he would love to get to know you more over a coffee or dinner sometime. You happily gave it to him with the smallest flutter in your chest—something in the shape of hope.

You found your mom at the books & records stall, gushing to her about the handsome man you just met.

"People hardly meet organically anymore!" She exclaimed, looping her arm through yours, the two of you practically squealing as you left the market.

Not even an hour later, you were standing at the Hub, talking to Lena about the parents in North Three with a degree in medicine from Google University, when your phone vibrated in your pocket. You pulled it out to see a text from an unknown number.

7:15pm

(412) 858-5725: It was really great meeting you today, I would love to take you out for dinner one night soon if you're interested (412) 858-5725: I completely understand if our schedules don't match up, no pressure at all :) (412) 858-5725: This is Oliver, by the way. If that wasn't obvious already haha

"I know that look," Lena singsonged, pointing an accusatory finger at your face. You looked up from your phone to see a sly smirk on her face. "Who's the guy?"

You looked away, biting your lip to suppress the smile you didn't realise had bloomed across your face. "It's no one, really. We only met, like, an hour ago."

"Ah, young love," the older nurse swooned. "Let me know how it goes, hon." Then she was throwing you a wink and calling after Vivi who was rushing past.

Luckily, you and Oliver figured out you both had the following Friday off and made plans to go to a family-owned Italian restaurant—not too intimate, not too casual. You kept the date to yourself—not even telling your mom—in fear of jinxing it. The two of you exchanged a handful of texts before your date, each one making you feel more giddy about your upcoming date.

You went to Jack's once in the week before your date with Oliver—cutting your usual three nights a week down to one, claiming that you were feeling too unwell the other nights. Which technically wasn't a lie, the guilt was starting to make you feel uneasy. You reminded yourself that you had no reason to feel guilty—you and Jack weren't dating, weren't exclusive, and you hadn't even been on a date with Oliver yet. But even with your reasoning, there was something clenching your chest and curdling your gut. You reminded yourself that you and Jack were just coworkers who used each other for stress relief; you didn't tell Shen about your date, so why would you tell Abbot?

The guilt stayed with you as you got ready for the date—feeling like you were trying to cover a cold secret with someone else's warmth. Your thoughts were briefly distracted when your phone pinged with a text.

7:03pm

Abbot: Come over to mine tonight. 9pm.

You: Sorry, can't tonight. I have plans.

Abbot: 👍

You scoffed at his response, your previous guilt evaporating in an instant. This was what you needed—the reminder that you deserved more than what Jack could give you.

You walked into the restaurant just before seven thirty, feeling like you had something to prove—to yourself or to someone else, you weren't sure.

The date went well—great, even. Oliver was charming, but also humble—mentioning his less than glamorous upbringing, how he got into med school on a scholarship, that the first thing he did with his first big paycheck was pay off part of his parent's mortgage.

You bonded over the struggle that was med school, the failing healthcare system, the weirdest cases you've worked on. Dinner continued into dessert, then another bottle of wine, but there was still a tension in the back of your head. It had you turning your head when he leaned in to kiss you, his lips brushing your cheek instead of your lips. It had you comparing the hand on your bare shoulder to another hand, one that wore a dark ring and knew exactly how to touch you.

You parted ways with tentative plans for a second date; the next time your nights off aligned wasn't for another two weeks, and you both didn't want to put too much pressure on a set date just yet.

You visited your mom the next day for lunch, filling her in on all the details about your date. She was ecstatic for you, claiming that she always knew the market was going to pay you back somehow.

Monday rolled around quickly, and you walked into your shift ten minutes early like you always did—allowing yourself a few minutes to catch up with your aunt before she went home. Dana was at the Hub as usual, complaining to Robby about the nurse shortage and the pressure it was putting on her people.

She looked over as you approached the counter, her face morphing into a smirk that you knew meant she had been talking to your mom.

"Hey, doll. How was your weekend?" She emphasised the question with a small wink. "Your mom told me you had a handsome date on Friday."

You rolled your eyes at her fondly. "I should've known she'd tell you as soon as I left on Saturday."

Dana rounded the counter and slung an arm around your shoulder. "It wasn't straight away, she waited until we had dinner that night." You laughed with a small shake of your head. "Don't leave me hanging, how was it?"

Robby was still stood behind the counter with his arms crossed, partially paying attention to you and your aunt. His face was pulled into a puzzled expression as he observed Jack standing not far behind you—clearly eavesdropping on your conversation with Dana, a small frown furrowing his brows and setting his mouth in a straight line. It wasn't really eavesdropping since you were both talking at a normal volume, any of your colleagues passing by would've heard your conversation.

What Robby found odd was that Jack had stopped walking on his way to the lockers to listen, one hand frozen on his bag strap and the other curled into a tight fist at his side. His cheek twitched in the way that meant something was bothering him, and Robby came to the chilling realisation that Jack was jealous. Over you—Dana's niece.

You started recounting the date to Dana, a giddy smile stretching your lips. It felt good to be openly wanted by someone, to not be a secret kept in the dark—to be something other than a stress relief booty call.

Robby watched in unease as Jack continued to stand as still as a statue, the vein in his forehead starting to bulge as a dark red crept up his neck.

Robby grabbed a tablet and casually rounded the Hub's counter, trying not to draw your attention. He started towards the North rooms, grabbing Jack's bicep in an iron grip and forcing him through the North Bay doors.

Once safely out of your earshot, he turned to his friend with a scolding glare.

"What the fuck did you do?"

Jack was pretty damn proud of himself. He managed to get to the end of his shift without blowing up at you once. It was due to Robby's threat ringing in his ears for the most part—having your best friend threaten to castrate you with a dead serious face tends to lower your anger to a simmer.

Jack hadn't uttered a word to Robby, the guilt and jealously written all over his face told him enough. Robby kindly reminded him that he was the least of Jack's worries—if Dana found out he so much as touched a hair on your head, losing his dick would be sweet relief compared to what she'd do.

So, Jack treated you as normal—ignoring the stabbing in his chest, the beast in his gut demanding to be let out.

There were less than ten minutes left of his shift when he caught sight of you talking to Lena at the north nurse's station.

Keep walking, he told himself. His feet didn't seem to get the memo.

"I meant to ask," Lena said, leaning her arms on the counter. "Any update on Market Guy?"

Robby had dragged Jack away before he heard the full recount of your date to Dana, which he had been both grateful for and disappointed by. He needed to know like he needed air to breathe—which was a terrifying realisation to him.

"We went out for dinner on Friday," you replied, biting your lip to hold back yet another smile. "It was really nice. He was a total gentleman, very charming, pretty down to earth." Lena nodded along, hanging off of every word. "We're planning a second date for when our schedules next align."

That was it for Jack. His vision clouded with a red fog, the beast in his gut rearing its head and breaking out. He stormed over to the two of you, gripping your upper arm.

"We need to talk," he bit out, ignoring the shocked look Lena gave him.

He didn't wait for your response, pulling you towards the only empty Central room. Once the door was closed, you struggled in his hold, trying to rip your arm free.

"Let go of me, Dr. Abbot." You demanded as calmly as you could, your heart beat quickening at the storm rolling over his face. He let go but stepped closer, crowding your personal space.

"That's why you couldn't see me on Friday? Because you had a date?" He seethed through clenched teeth.

You stepped back, anger starting to grip your chest. "I'm sorry—what?"

He followed you, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Did you sleep with him?"

"How the fuck is that any of your business?"

Unbeknownst to the both of you, the day shift had started filtering in—Robby and Dana finding their command posts at the Hub. Dana was the first to notice the two of you in Central Seven, her eyebrows drawing together at the furious look on your face.

"Hey," she said to Robby, getting his attention. She nodded towards where you and Jack looked like you were having a heated discussion. "You know what's going on with them?"

Robby followed her eyeline, tensing as he saw what he prayed wouldn't happen within the walls of his ED. He rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head. "Uh, no, not a clue."

Dana eyed him suspiciously. "Well, do you mind telling them we have patients who could use that room?"

"I'd rather not go in there."

Dana slowly turned to him, levelling him with a glare. "Michael Robinavitch, what aren't you telling me?"

Back in the room, your hands were starting to shake from anger, and Jack's head was throbbing from holding back the full wrath of his jealousy.

"I have the right to know if you're screwing other people."

You let out a humourless laugh. "Are you kidding me right now? You don't have the right to know shit!"

Jack's cheek twitched. "Yes I do. You said no to me to see some other guy."

"Oh, what—so I'm meant to come running at your beck and call?"

His jaw flexed and he opened his mouth, but your anger and disbelief at the situation had taken over.

"This has just been one big waste of time! I don't want casual anymore—not with you, not with anyone."

Jack opened his mouth before he could think better of it. "I didn't hear you complaining when you opened your legs for me."

A crack echoed throughout the room, the sound of your palm slapping Jack's cheek filling the tension riddled air. "You're a fucking asshole, Jack Abbot."

You shoulder checked him as you rushed out the door, refusing to let him see the tears streaming down your cheeks. You hurried past the Hub, not noticing Dana and Robby watching you with shock painting their faces. Your hand was tingling from the impact, your vision blurring as you made your way out the ambulance bay doors.

Dana didn't stop to think, storming into Central Seven where Jack was staring at the ground—his hand rubbing his tender cheek.

"What the fuck did you do to my baby?" She demanded, her voice dangerously low.

Shit.

The cold morning air made the tears staining your cheeks sting slightly, the sensation grounding and stopping you from completely falling apart. You never cried over a man—it was a rule you made for yourself when you were young, after seeing how your dad would make your mom fall apart at least once a week. They weren't worth your tears.

You wanted to charge back into the ED and slap Jack again for making you cry.

You stayed sitting on the ground with your back against the brick wall until your tears dried, until your breaths evened out and didn't hurt on their way out your lungs. You tensed when you heard uneven steps approach you—there was only one person whose steps sounded like that.

Your head shot up as he sat down opposite you, glaring daggers at him. He raised his hands placatingly.

"Please don't hit me, I'm here to apologise." When you didn't make a move to leave or attack him, he slowly lowered his hands. "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean what I said—to imply that you were easy."

"Then why did you say it?" Fuck, you hated how small your voice sounded.

He let out a long breath, looking up at the sky. "Because I was mad—upset." He looked back at you, his eyes softer than you'd ever seen them. "I didn't know that's how you felt…you never said anything to me."

"How could I when you barely speak to me? You just fuck me and then push me into an uber. Really makes a girl feel special," you shook your head, wrapping your arms around your chest—starting to feel exposed. "I can't read your mind, Jack. You can't tell me you want casual one day and the next get mad because I went on a date."

He had the decency to look ashamed, wincing and squeezing his eyes shut. "That's fair. I don't really have any excuses, no good ones at least."

You sighed, your head feeling heavy and starting to throb. "I don't need excuses; I just want to know why. Why you act like you don't know me, why you won't—" your voice dropped, wobbling slightly. "Why you won't kiss or hug me. I mean," you let out a bitter chuckle, "do you even know what aftercare is?"

He started to twist his ring around his finger, his mouth moving side to side as he struggled to find the right words to say. "Kissing and hugging felt too intimate—felt like things I couldn't take back." He looked up at you again, his eyes glassy. "I didn't want to admit to myself that I had—have—feelings for you, and the thought of kissing you…I mean I've thought about it a lot—to the point it's been driving me insane." He rubbed a hand along his jaw, a huffed laugh leaving him. "I was worried that by kissing you I wouldn't be able to let go, and that terrified me. It meant you could become another photo I keep in my nightstand."

You knew what he was talking about—you had opened it while looking for tissues, finding a collection of photographs in the drawer. You tried not to snoop, but you were fairly certain one of them was his wife and a couple others were his old army buddies.

"I get that, I do. The universe has handed you more than enough grief and hardship for one lifetime." You stood up, closing the distance between you and sitting next to him. "But that isn't solely your decision to make, Jack. You've been hurting us both by keeping your feelings to yourself." You brought your knees up, hugging them to your chest and resting your cheek on them. "And, honestly? A girl needs kisses and cuddles after coming four times in one night; a sub drop can be pretty brutal."

Jack's guilt multiplied tenfold. "Shit. Fuck, I'm sorry—I didn't even think about that." He shifted slightly, turning to look at you fully. "I would like to try again, if you'll let me. No casual bullshit, no pretending like I don't think about you all the time. Lots of kissing and cuddling—and orgasms, so many orgasms."

It was then that you noticed the ice pack in Jack's hands, resting over his groin. You couldn't stop the snort that slipped out. "I see you had a chat with Dana."

"Don't know if I would call it a chat. She's got a harder kick than I was expecting."

You hummed. "Just be glad you didn't get to experience her right hook—she gave my dad a black eye when she found out he was cheating on my mom. And she won't hesitate to give you one if you hurt me again."

His eyes were shining, hope swirling around the honey gold and sunlit green. "Does that mean you'll give me another chance?"

"Yes," you replied, letting the small smile break through. "But no sex until I think you deserve it."

Jack nodded, his own megawatt smile putting the sun to shame. "You're in charge here, sweetheart." He leaned in slowly, his eyes flicking between yours and your lips. "Can I kiss you, at least?"

You barely managed a nod before his mouth descended on yours, his lips achingly tender. He moved slowly, basking in the warmth he had been denying himself of for so long. A cold hand came up to cup your cheek and you jerked away in surprise, making him laugh and apologise before diving back in, settling the hand on your back to pull you in closer.

"I was right," he mumbled against your lips. "There's no way I'm letting go now."

Jack hated when his shifts never lined up with your schedule. Summer’s were easier, so were those few breaks you’d get during the year, but most weeks it felt like you were ships passing in the night.

You were his wife, not a “sometimes companion” depending on the day. So, when he had off, there was nothing he loved more than being at your side. Watching mindless television, going to the grocery store, listening to you complain about your job, and everything in between. He loved it. Jack never thought that chance would come again and when it did, he promised himself that the time he gave to you would be nothing short of devotion.

And, when the time to “love” became a little more intimate, Jack gave you everything you could ask for. You’d never had a more generous lover, in all sense of the word.

He cared so deeply about you that he was too easily forgetful about his own needs. Jack never liked when you tried to make it all about him—he’d had enough attention in the last twenty years to last him a lifetime in solitude. In return, Jack’s altar was beside you, on top of you, under you, and anywhere near you.

Therefore, when he sacrificed his time away from you to save the lives of strangers, it was only right for him to recompense through the most natural form of intimacy.

But it had been five days. Five days of back to back night shifts where he left you sleeping in bed and you left him walking out the door with your work bag in hand. There had been a light in the distance, Saturday, when his schedule finally broke and you were both off to enjoy each other’s company.

He cooked, you cleaned, and then you’d both retired to the sofa where your feet landed in his lap and a movie you’d seen a thousand times played quietly as days-long lodged conversations started to flow.

Then, you shuffled into his lap and Jack knew something was wrong before even started.

His lips met yours and you melted. You’d been so quick to fall into him, wrapping your arms around him, and pressing down into his lap that it felt needy. Tilting his head back, your fingers pulled at his curls to open him up to you. His kiss deepened and you couldn’t fight the smile on your face.

You laughed, breaking apart.

“What?” Jack asked incredulously. His eyes darted between yours as your hand brushed back his hair.

“Nothing.” You shook your head. “I just love you.”

Jack’s hands ran up and down your sides gently. “Well now it’s cheesy if I say it back.”

“No.” Your nose bumped into his. “You could never make it cheesy.”

“I’m pretty sure I could,” Jack admitted with a peck. He let his hands wander down your sides, feeling the skin of your ass before smoothing down your legs and holding them down on himself. “I love you.”

“How much?”

“Eh. ” He shrugged, leading you to lean back and swat at his chest immediately before pressing into his pecs with your palms.

“Cruel,” you gasped. “You’re just evil.”

“I don’t know about that.” He removed his hands from your body and placed them on top of yours. “But I don’t think a measurement exists for how much I really do.”

Not cruel. Just utterly adoring beyond comprehension.

You leaned in, kissing him again and again and each one ended longer than the last. He brought your hands back to his hair and encouraged a rougher grip. Jack’s tongue was the first to ask for silent permission to which you welcomed it with your own.

You couldn’t remember the last time you made out like teenagers on the couch.

And for ten minutes, you did only that.

Lips swollen and blood rushing in your body, there was something exhilarating about having waited so long to have sex this week. Five days wasn’t a world record for either of you but it felt like a necessary end to it.

Only you were expecting to feel something after ten minutes.

One of your hands slipped from his shoulders and entered the few inches of space between your bodies to grope him above his sweats. You had felt that simply being on top wasn’t enough—you would have felt his erection if you did—but this was the second time in three weeks that grinding on him didn’t work in getting him aroused.

Jack’s attention broke away from your lips and to your neck. His stubble grazed your skin with a roughness you’d only accept from his face. He lathered and sucked, teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you feel his desire through his lips.

As you met his groin, you felt the outline of his cock still limp between his spread legs. Gently trailing to the head, you molded your hand around it and rubbed to the base. Jack’s forehead fell to your shoulder and you couldn’t help but be satisfied, leaning your own into him.

Jack. Your Jack.

Your hand never stopped going. Slowly, you felt the minutes pass and you put more pressure in your grip and the air around Jack began to change. His kisses stopped, your fingers intertwined with his curls at the base of his head weren’t met with the same sighs, and his own hands loosened their grasp.

On the inside, Jack was having an existential crisis.

He knew it was going to happen.

It was the same goddamn thing from three weeks ago and he’d wrote it off as some kind of fluke. He was tired. He’d worn himself thin from a bad night and three weeks ago, sex wasn’t in the cards he’d been dealt. But now? Again?

Jack dug his forehead further into your shoulder to think—which was practically impossible for him to do in this state. Yet he tried. He thought back on any changes to his body and any signs he might have missed but the only possibilities he could think about were his age and his meds.

If it was his age, he was just about ready to croak off now. 50. Jack was only 50 fucking years old and he never imagined what the hell life would be like with erectile dysfunction at this age. He’d take it to his grave, he swore to God, but there was one other problem that he just couldn’t shake.

Those meds.

A switch from his therapist a few appointments ago to Zoloft, which was what he was supposed to be taking for years. But just like good medicine, sometimes finding the right balance was hard and it took time.

His therapist had warned him, right?

He was a doctor—of course he read the side effects of his pills. Right?

Right?

God. Jack could barely think for himself let alone think what the fuck was on the prescription label. He especially couldn’t think straight when you were on top of him, fingers carding through his curls and your chest pressed against his own.

Everything would be fine. Everything is fine.

It wasn’t fine. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him and when Jack Abbot’s internal alarm bells went off, anyone in a ten mile radius could hear them. All it took was one look, a not fully present kiss, and you knew something was amiss.

“Jack?” You murmured softly in his ear. He loved the feel of your breath; the warmth your body brought to his.

He swallowed hard. His jaw tensed as his chest shuddered in immediate nerves and your hands moved to cradle his face instead. Jack’s eyes avoided you like the plague, sticking to a spot over your shoulder in the direction of the tv.

“Yeah?” He barely whispered.

“Are you okay?”

Oh, goddamnit. Shit.

Everything was really not fucking fine.

He was falling apart. Jack couldn’t even look you in the eye because now he couldn’t have sex with his beautiful fucking wife and the world was basically ending.

“Yeah,” he barely squeaked out.

You saw through him and he could feel the pity in the way your thumbs rubbed softly on his cheeks.

“I think I need to use the bathroom,” he blurted out and discarded you to the side of the couch.

In his first attempt to stand, Jack struggled to gain momentum off the couch and the redness of embarrassment from another one of his problems inched up the back of his neck like a rash.

Holy shit, he thought. This is the worst day of my life.

He tried harder the second time to avoid your helping hands and rushed off to the bedroom, shutting the door so hard it reverberated throughout the house. Beelining for the sink, Jack’s hands strained the edges of it until his knuckles were white.

“What the fuck!” He scolded himself in a brash whisper. “What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

This wasn’t happening to him. This was all a dream. A really, god awful, terrible, no good dream that would be over in a matter of minutes. He’d wake up, sun shining, and never deal with this again.

He slapped a hand across his face. It was not a fucking dream.

“Holy shit,” Jack’s words were now nothing but saddened, pathetic whimpering. “This is not fucking happening to me right now.”

From outside the door, you leaned against the frame and let him wallow. Those little blue pills in the back of the cabinet had been pushed away out of spite and this time, you knew he just needed to face the reality of his situation. But that reality was hard to fathom after a lifetime of one activity never having been a problem. He couldn’t have just this one thing?

Jack opened the cabinet and pulled out his Zoloft bottle. Unraveling the prescription label, his eyes raced down to side effects and right there “Erectile Dysfunction” laughed at him. He tossed the bottle in the sink.

“Jack?” You knuckles rapped against the door. “Are you alright in there?”

“Fine!” He replied too quickly.

“Can I come in?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’d rather you not.”

“You’re not gonna dump your meds are you?”

“No,” his tone was still sad. “That’s probably a bad idea.”

Jack could hear your hum. He imagined the look on your face and how you’d probably kick him to the curb now that he was completely defective.

“Jack, I think you need to talk to me about this.”

“No,” he drug out the word. “I don’t think so.”

“Honey.”

He said your name firmly in return.

“I’m coming in.” You didn’t give him any time because as soon as he got a syllable out, the door was open.

Jack’s eyes caught yours in the mirror.

“It’s okay, Jack.”

He shook his head. “It’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Well that’s easy for you to say,” he couldn’t help the attitude that slipped out. “You don’t have a broken fucking dick.”

“I don’t have a dick but I do have a libido.”

“It’s not that, baby,” Jack sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to have sex. I do. Very badly, might I add. But it’s like this—” he pointed to his brain “—just doesn’t want to work and tell the other parts of my body to do their jobs.”

Your brows furrowed in concern. “Is it the nightmares again?”

“No.” He shook his head and realized that you didn’t fully grasp it because of two things: you weren’t in healthcare and you didn’t have PTSD like he did. “They’re fine. They’ve been fine.”

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me, Jack.”

You approached him, settling for resting your hand along his back and feeling his tense muscles underneath the fabric of his tee.

“A side effect of the meds,” he gestured weakly to the bottle in the sink. “I can’t get it up.”

“That’s one way to put it,” you mumbled and picked up the bottle.

“My doctor gave me—“ Jack didn’t want the words to form.

Your rubbed soothingly on his back. He loved you so much.

“What did he give you?”

Jack reopened the cabinet and shuffled items to the side before landing on a small white bottle with VIAGRA plastered in blue on the front. His stomach lurched at the thought of needing to take one. Jack held it tightly in his fist in a refusal to show you.

You saw the bottle immediately when he brought it home. Jack was never as sly as he thought he was. He tried hiding your engagement ring for six weeks before proposing but you found it the day after the purchase because he stuffed it the garage where he kept all the spare keys.

He just hadn’t thought that maybe you’d lock your keys inside of the house one day.

Still, he clutched onto the white bottle as though if he dropped it, his problem wasn’t real. He could keep trying. Maybe it would just take a little bit longer than normal but eventually, he’d get hard and you could sail smoothly into the night.

“Are you gonna show me?” You asked patiently.

“I don’t really want to.”

“I’m not embarrassed if you need to use one, you know?”

His eyes pinched closed. “I feel like a fucking failure.”

You exhaled deeply, placing your hand over his fist, and dipping your head to better look at him.

“Look at me, Jack.”

He couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

“Jack,” you pressed once more. “Look at me.”

“This has never been a problem,” he said lowly. Jack’s tone lingered on disappointment but aired a frustration that sounded sexier than he meant it. “I don’t know why I can’t be normal in this one fucking way but of course not! Of course not. No… the goddamn leg just wasn’t enough. The stupid fucking depression and the nightmares and my joint pain isn’t enough!”

Jack rarely yelled. He bottled everything inside until it was ready to explode and it was just leaking out of him like a dam bursting.

“None of that is your fault,” you assured.

“What does it matter if it was?” He loosened the grip on the bottle and it rolled into the sink beside the Zoloft.

“Jack. I don’t care if we have sex tonight, okay? It’s not the end of the world for me.”

“It sure fucking feels like it for me.”

“I know it does,” you empathized. “But if you’re not ready to try the pills, then we don’t have to do anything. I can wait for you.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Jack whispered. “This is so inconvenient.”

“What would life be without them?”

He breathed in as your hand continued to rub his back and calm him down. Jack glanced down at the bottle, cursing the elephant in the room. He mumbled underneath his breath and even though you were standing beside him, you didn’t catch it.

“What?”

“It takes…” his words were muffled again.

“Are you having a stroke?” You asked honestly.

“No,” he heaved. “If I take one… it would take around an hour to work.”

“Okay,” you replied cautiously. It was his choice, you made that clear.

“And it’s not like… magical. Plus we had a whole bottle of wine with dinner and that might make it worse.”

“Trying to get hard or the erection?”

“Both?” He said like it was a question. He’s the doctor. He should know.

“If you wanted to try it, and it doesn’t work out, then you never have to use one again.”

Jack hummed. “I might have to eat you out for awhile.”

“Jesus,” you laughed. “Don’t try to be sly about it.”

His lips quirked into a small smile, one you’d missed seeing in his despair. Jack picked up the bottle and unscrewed the cap.

“I swear to God that if anything goes wrong, I will jump off the fucking roof.”

“You can’t say that,” you lamented. “You’re literally the last person who should joke about that.”

“I’m kidding.” He popped a pill into his mouth. “I can’t let you fall in love with someone else.”

“How kind of you to think about me.”

Jack flipped on the sink, cupped his hands under the faucet, and swallowed the pill in one gulp. There was no turning back now.

“Well?” You asked him as he wiped his mouth dry.

“Well what?”

“You want to finish what you started?”

He locked eyes with you in the mirror and opened his mouth to object to the statement. You climbed into his lap. You kissed him first. But he saw a glimmer of hope that maybe the little blue pill would be a good thing for the both of you tonight and forgot about it. Jack nodded instead.

“Get on the bed.”

Whatever the little blue pill did, it gave Jack an ounce of courage back and fuck, could you feel it.

Jack had been on you from the moment you laid down on the bed. In silence, he stripped off your clothes one by one and settled between your thighs ready to give. And for the past thirty minutes, you’d been close twice before he drew back and smiled at you as his cheek rested against your leg.

Every time he did, you had to look away.

He was so sweet. Jack, the man who does anything for anyone, looked at you like you held the moon.

You fought a grin by biting down on your lip and had your arm flying over your eyes to shield his own impenetrable stare from reaching you. And then his mouth was on you again, tongue lightly flicking your clit as he slipped two fingers inside.

You writhed, body shaking lightly in pleasure as his hands grew more firm around your thighs and minimized any distance between you. Jack figured if he could lay atop the mattress and grind into it that it would replace the need for you to jerk him off for five minutes, and he was right.

The combination of periodically rutting against the mattress, listening to your sweet sounds, and feeling you squeeze his fingers was sheer poison.

He curled his fingers up inside of you, sliding them in and out in the same direction until your moans turned into a whine that spelled out his name.

“Jack,” you breathed in heavily.

Your hand fell from your eyes and trailed over one of your breasts, squeezing it, pinching the nipple just hard enough before fanning out on the comforter. Jack removed his fingers to let his tongue sink lower, pushing into you softer and wetter than before. His mouth devoured you; a sickening slurp of his saliva and your wetness had your mouth falling open, silent in disbelief that not an hour ago, you didn’t think this was going to happen.

“S-shit, Jack.”

He slowed down, sparing a glance at your face before deciding to back off. His pointer finger replaced where his nose was grazing your clit. Jack pressed down there, moving in small circles as your hips moved with him.

“That feel good?” He asked softly.

“I think that fucking pill gave you superpowers,” you spat out fast. “Holy shit.”

“Magical” his ass. It was certifiably otherworldly.

“Might just have been a long time since we’ve done this.”

You agreed, moaning a “yeah” in reply.

“Sweetheart,” Jack said like a question. “I hate to do this to you…”

“What?” You sat up so quickly that you got a little dizzy. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Jack couldn’t hide his blush. There was no easy way to say “I’m hard now, let me fuck you” after having a meltdown.

His throat bobbed and you caught it.

“You ready?”

Jack nodded and you retuned it with a nod of your own. “Okay, yeah. Alright—”

“Why does this feel like I’m losing my virginity again?” He joked. His laugh barely sounded like one because the second he sat up on his knees, his erection was all he could look at.

Jack had never been embarrassed by his cock before.

“If this is how you lost your virginity, I’d be a little nervous,” you scoffed. “Sit back against the headboard.”

He didn’t argue with you which was a rarity it terms of control. Nothing was really in his control right now and it was making his anxiety shoot through the roof.

Jack shuffled back to the headboard and slipped off his shirt. He helped you pull down his sweats carefully and even though he didn’t feel like you had to be, he was grateful for your gentleness. At the sight of his prosthetic, you tipped your head knowingly at him.

“Why didn’t you take this off yet?”

“I forgot,” he feigned innocence.

“Mhm,” you judged and took it off for him. “Sure you did.”

With his prosthetic resting on the floor against the bedside table, you resumed your position in his lap and wrapped an arm around his shoulder while your free hand wrapped around him. You’d never been with someone who needed to take a Viagra before. Jack felt different and you knew how he felt in your hands.

His dick felt firmer—less like his own and more like one that was being controlled.

Your hand went from tip to base and back and he jolted.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “It’s like my nerves are on fire.”

“Does it feel bad?”

His nose brushed yours as he shook his head. Jack didn’t tell you to stop so you kept pumping him mildly.

“It feels really fucking good, actually.”

“Yeah?” You smiled.

“Yeah.”

Jack kissed you with everything he could muster. He gripped your bare hips tightly, sinking his fingers into your skin until he felt like you weren’t going to disappear. You put more tension in your fist and he groaned, precum escaping him and making your job easier.

“Do you feel like you’re ready?” You kissed him lazily, pulling on his bottom lip enough for it to bounce back.

He chased your lips. “What if—”

“Honey,” you soothed. “We’ll get there, okay?”

“Okay,” he accepted. He nodded, looking you in the eye and giving you the reassurance he also needed.

Lifting up in his lap, you guided him to your entrance and sunk down slowly. The feeling was overwhelming and you both needed time to adjust. Jack’s head fell back against the bed frame as far as he could go, clenching his jaw enough where the muscles strained on his face.

“You’re fine, Jack,” you cooed in his ear. Soft pants met his cheek as his hardness was unlike anything you’d experienced. “Breathe, baby.”

Your nails raked the base of his skull.

“Keep going,” he bit out. “You’re squeezing me so tight.”

“I guess we’ve both been ‘rejuvenated,’ huh?”

Jack wasn’t overly appreciative of your humor but you moved anyway, testing the waters of your bounces and grinds before settling into a rhythm that suited you. His cock stretched you wide and every time you sank back down, it was as though he never filled you in the first place. A spark of exhilaration bloomed. This was so different, so minutely different, that it felt new.

Jack’s hands groped your ass to help ease the strain on your thighs the longer you went. His lips swapped duties between connecting with yours and finding the skin of your neck, collarbone, and chest peppered with affection. Jack listened to your soft mewls. He soaked in the whispers of sweet nothings and the shaky gasps you couldn’t help.

He wanted you close.

Jack needed you to mold into him like he was showered in rain. He pulled you close; arms wrapped up around you so tight there was no escaping his embrace.

He nipped at your chin. Low and rough, Jack spoke to you. “I love you so much.”

Jack’s nose trailed up your cheek, bumping into yours and seeking your lips again.

“You have no idea how much I love you.”

“Jack,” you whined with a grin. A shake in your legs had him running his hands over your back, soothing you now instead.

“I know you’re ready, baby.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I’m close.”

“What do you need from me?” He asked willingly.

You shook your head. “I-fuck, nothing. I just—”

Jack bent his knees the best he could and the angle his cock was hitting changed on a thrust. Deep and unforgiving, your fingernails dug into his skin hard. Jack murmured appreciation, egging you on to the finish line and neglecting himself.

You were too wrapped up in the feeling. The building of a week, the racing of your heart, to think for a second that he was nowhere near close to his orgasm.

“Come on, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

He felt the falter in your hips.

Your orgasm shook you from Heaven to Hell and back—even if believing it was hard to fathom. Jack’s hand flew to the back of your head, holding you into him as the aftershocks of muscle spasms lingered seconds after your breathing began to settle. You returned his kisses with your own against his neck and shoulder. The freckles on his body were reminders of all the places he had ever been kissed and you were adding to that—on top of ones that already existed, beside them, and in the spaces that laid empty of any.

He wouldn’t remember them in every lifetime but you liked to imagine that all of his freckles were kisses from you.

As your brain recovered from the fuzzy glow and you realized that Jack was still rock hard inside of you.

“Do you want me to—”

“No,” Jack cut you off. “No, it’s fine. It’s just… I think it takes time.”

“But now you haven’t even…” you trailed your response with a flick of your eyes downwards. “I can’t leave you like that.”

“Baby, it could take an hour.”

You glanced at the alarm clock on his side of the bed. The time read 11:47.

“We’ve got time.”

Jack shook his head. “I’m not gonna let you give me a handy for an hour.”

“Hey,” you tugged on his earlobe lightly. “I’ve got a mouth too.”

“It’s fine,” he reassured but you weren’t buying it. His mouth quirked to the side in thought. “Would you hate me if I asked you to clean up alone?”

You ran your thumb along his jawline.

“I could never hate you, Jack. I’ve lived this long, I think I can handle one less aftercare shower.”

“It makes me feel like an asshole.”

“You’re not. I promise you.”

Carefully, you lifted up from his lap and let him slip out. You avoided looking at him so he didn’t find another reason to be embarrassed about something that impacted millions of men—especially those who were on medication for concerns far more important than simply erectile dysfunction.

He watched you disappear into the bathroom and shut the door with a click before he put his pillow to his face and yelled into it.

The prescription tag read as follows:

Prolonged erection greater than 4 hours and priapism (painful erections greater than 6 hours in duration) have been reported infrequently since market approval of VIAGRA. In the event of an erection that persists longer than 4 hours, the patient should seek immediate medical assistance. If priapism is not treated immediately, penile tissue damage and permanent loss of potency could result.

Jack had to put his readers on to even see the label.

“… if priapism is not treated immediately, penile tissue damage and permanent loss…” he repeated the label back to himself to make sure he read it correctly.

His eyes flitted to his phone, touching the screen to light up a big 7:30 AM and a picture of both of your smiling faces beaming back at him.

This might not have been the actual worst day of his life but it was second.

His crutches clicked against the floor as he approached your side of the bed. He hated waking you up when you were clearly dead to the world. Laid face first into your pillow, he rested a hand on your back and shook you gently.

“Baby?”

You barely bristled. He repeated the action, calling out your name louder.

“Hm?” You grumbled in slight annoyance.

Jack shifted uncomfortably on the bed, wincing as he turned wrong and made his sweatpants tighter than they already were.

“Don’t be alarmed,” he started and realized how quickly those were the wrong words. You sat up abruptly, face twisted in concern as he tried not to cry from the pain his fucking dick won’t stop causing.

“What!?” You searched his face for an answer. “What happened!?”

“You gotta calm down.” Jack moved his arm to block your view.

“About what? What’s wrong?”

“I seem to be having a little… complication.”

Your brows furrowed. “A complication?”

Jack clicked his tongue with a nod. Your eyes darted down too obviously to his pants and back to his face. His erection was blatant. It practically waved at you from behind his arm.

“Does it have anything to do with that?” You said above a whisper. “Why do you have such bad morning wood?”

Jack groaned, again, completely at odds with himself.

“Remember when we had that bottle of red with dinner?” You nodded. “Well it turns out that sometimes while meds can cause the problem, mixing alcohol with the little blue pill causes… other problems.”

“And this can’t be solved with an orgasm?”

“Not after more than six hours.”

Your eyes bugged out of your head. “Six hours!? Jack, what the fuck!”

“I thought it was going to go away!”

You swiftly moved out of bed and shrugged on a sweatshirt. Jack watched you pilfer the room for socks and shoes and leggings and just sat there helplessly on the edge of the bed with his crutches one inch from sliding off of it. You didn’t say anything and that made it worse for him.

“I’m sorry,” Jack spoke up.

“What are you sorry for?” You opened his drawer and pulled out a fresh tee. “It’s not your fault.”

“It feels like it is.”

“Well it’s not, Jack. So stop apologizing and get your leg on.”

“I can’t bend over.”

You tossed the shirt to him. “We’re going in.”

“Where?”

“The ED.”

“No,” he said with a nervous laugh. “No the fuck we are not.”

“You say that like you have a choice, Mr. Abbot.” Oh. He didn’t like that. “Turns out that doctors are truly the worst patients. Your night shift is gone, Robby’s gotta be—”

“I am not letting Robby see me like this.” The thought repulsed him so badly that it made his skin crawl.

“Then someone else will help us,” you clarified. “The longer we wait the worse I’ll assume it will be for you. I’m not driving you to Presby or Mercy when I know the ones that can help you the best.”

“I’ll never live this down.” His eyes filled with ashamed tears and every now and then, you’d seen Jack down on his luck.

A terrible shift, a long week, anniversaries he’d rather not have… but he stared at you from the bed and he looked so small. His salt and pepper hair was flat from restless sleep and the scruff on his face couldn’t hide the jumble of thoughts pouring out of him. You moved to stand in front of him, grasping his face between two hands, and forcing him to look you in the eye.

“You are the strongest, most resilient man I have ever met. You’ve taken care of me more times than I can count and now, it’s my turn to help you the best way I know how. This is bad now, yeah… it is,” you nodded in agreement, “but it’s not forever. After this, you’ll call your therapist and tell him what happened and we will try again when things are better.”

A tear steamed down his cheek and you wiped it away with your finger.

“It’s okay to be embarrassed, honey.”

“I’m gonna make this up to you,” Jack settled. “I promise.”

“Okay.” You didn’t need him to. However, if it made him feel better, sure. Your hands tapped his face twice before letting go. “Let’s go, Soldier.”

The PTMC Emergency Room wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, but it wasn’t one you frequented.

It bustled with far too much chaos and while your own career had its fair share, there was something about Jack’s place of work that made you feel ill just looking at it. Death, hurt, pain, and suffering wrapped up in four walls, some windows, and doors.

And now Jack sat outside of it in a wheelchair because he refused to go in on his crutches.

“Just go in and tell Dana I’m out here.”

“Someone is going to have to come and get you anyway, so just come with me.”

Jack begged, “please.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Luckily, Dana was talking with a young nurse at the hub when the ambulance bay doors opened wide. You kept in a straight line to her, not distracted by the sounds and the yelling coming from one of the many rooms. Dana was halfway through a sentence when she glanced over her shoulder and did a double take.

“Hey stranger,” she beamed. “I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

The young nurse beside her, Emma, smiled at you in the awkward way you did when you didn’t know someone’s friend.

“Hi Dana,” you greeted.

“Jack’s not here,” her eyes questioned you. Jack had been scheduled off for the next couple days so there was no telling where he’d be other than at his house.

“Well,” you let out a loose, barely amused chuckle, “funny you should say that.”

“Is he okay?”

“Not really… I just—we just—need this on the down low, alright? He really doesn’t want anyone to know he’s here.”

She nodded understandingly and grabbed an iPad from the counter. “Where is he?”

“Out in the ambulance bay. I put him in a wheelchair.”

“Should I get Robb—”

“No!” You said loudly and shook your head. “God, no. Sorry.”

Emma jumped at the sound and her eyes darted to the bay. “Can I help?”

Your face scrunched. Jack would rather not traumatize a new nurse so early in the shift.

“Is Donnie around? Or Dr. Al-Hashimi?”

“Yeah.” Dana patted Emma on the shoulder. “Go get ‘em and we’ll put Dr. Abbot in Room 7.”

Dana rounded the hub and put a hand on your shoulder. As she stepped further away, she pressed about the situation.

“You know, you two aren’t getting any younger. You can’t go at it like rabbits.”

“Dana,” you scolded with a smile. “That’s—that’s not it.”

“What happened?”

All that was needed to be said were three little words:

“Little blue pill.”

Jack heard the hiss of the ambulance bay open and Dana walked up to him with a laugh buried in her throat. Jack was wearing a hat and glasses like a superhero in disguise and his backpack flipped over so no one could see the name angled in his lap.

“Don’t fucking say it, Evans. Don’t.”

“I’m not!” She held up her hands in defense.

“Dana said she’s gonna help. No one needs to know.”

You grabbed his crutches off the wall and followed closely as Dana wheeled him into Room 7 and pulled the curtains. She left still fighting amusement as Donnie entered with Baran.

“Dr. Abbot,” she said fondly. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

“I think we both had different ideas about how today would go.”

Jack took off his glasses and hat, passing them off to you. The bag stayed lumped in his lap.

“So, what brings you in today?”

There was a second of silence and then:

“I seem to have a bit of a… priapism problem.”

Baran’s eyes widened and Donnie hesitated putting on his second glove.

“And how long has the erection lasted?” Jack hated how she pronounced the word loud and clear. He looked at you, shrugging for a loose approximation of time.

“Maybe around… since 11 or so?” You informed.

“So somewhere around 8 hours?” She asked and motioned for Donnie to put the bed rails down. “Does that seem accurate?”

You both nodded. Donnie wheeled Jack over to the bed and he hesitated, looking at you to help him instead. You handed Jack his crutches and as he stood, both Donnie and Baran tried to be respectful and looked away from Jack’s body.

“Dr. Abbot, I’m going to have to ask you some questions about your medical history, medications, and so forth. Is that okay with you?”

“I think you can just call me Jack now,” he grunted as he shuffled onto the bed.

“Can you tell me what medications you take?”

“I-uh, take um, 100 mg of Zoloft, 3 mg of Prazosin for sleeping, and Cyclobenzaprine as needed, 5 mg three times a day, but I haven’t needed it lately.”

“And for the priapism problem?” She slipped on her own gloves.

“I took one Viagra.”

“Have you taken one before?”

“No,” Jack admitted. “My therapist changed one of my medications to Zoloft two months ago and ordered it as a precaution.”

Baran nodded in understanding and as she sat down on a stool and rolled closer, Jack’s hand shot out to yours and squeezed tightly.

“Did he explain the side effects of taking those medications together?”

“Yes,” Jack recalled. “But we must have had… three glasses of wine last night and I’m pretty certain that’s the reason it won’t go away. A reaction, if you will.”

“You’re not wrong.” She smiled at him kindly, then to you.

“How long have you been married? I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

“Six years,” you told her. “And it seems we’re always finding something new to experience together.”

“It’s a good thing,” Baran assured. “Imagine living a life where it’s normal and boring all the time. At least you’ll be able to laugh about it later.”

Her eyes found Jack’s and he knew she needed to look at him more closely.

“What happens in this room, Dr. Abbot, stays in this room. Got it?”

He nodded and focused on a spot across the wall as Donnie hovered behind Baran. Your hand covered his, rubbing gentle circles to ease the discomfort.

“Was this a special occasion or something?” Donnie asked Jack. “Or just a regular Saturday night for you two?”

“Just a Saturday night,” he said shyly. Jack, being bashful? You relished it.

“I gotta say Doc, your wife’s a lucky woman. Who knew Dr. Abbot hit the genetic lottery.”

The blush that overtook his body was a deeper red than his penis. Your hand flew to your mouth, covering the choked laugh before it could escape but Donnie was grinning like the Cheshire Cat and keeping it in was practically impossible. Baran bit down on her tongue.

But Jack knew how to bite back too. “If your idea of the genetic lottery is a guy with 1.75 legs, then sure. Whatever floats your boat.”

“Okay.” Baran finished her inspection.

“I have a feeling this isn’t a cold compress kind of procedure,” Jack wished.

Baran shook her head.

“We’re going to need to aspirate.”

Jack was back on his crutches after an hour with a soreness that would last hours.

“I don’t think I need to tell you what you can and cannot do in the next 24 hours,” Baran opened up the curtain and immediately Jack locked eyes with Dana.

“No, you don’t.”

“Maybe also speak to your therapist about the prescription the next time you go?”

Jack gave you a closed mouth smile. “I already heard that from this one.”

“She knows what she’s talking about it seems,” Baran nodded in approval.

The door opened up and Donnie held it for Jack to escape from. The RN held out his fist, asking Jack wordlessly to bump it.

Jack obliged.

“My man,” Donnie grinned. He slapped a hand on Jack’s shoulder before walking to a computer.

“I’m never filling in for day shift again, ever,” Jack told you over his shoulder.

“All good, Jack?” Dana asked from the hub as you both passed by.

“Never better.” Jack kept going towards the door.

“Thanks Dana for your help,” you said appreciatively. “If he never tells you, he’s thankful too. And I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

The doors to Trauma Bay 2 opened with a whoosh. Jack, still on the slow run on his crutches out of the ED never looked back, but Robby caught sight of him as he sanitized his hands.

“Woah!” He exaggerated. “What’s Jack doing here?”

“He’s going home,” Dana informed and you gave a small wave to Jack’s work wife. He hated when you called Robby that but it didn’t make it any less true.

“Just a little accident.”

“Jack!” Robby called after him but Jack didn’t care.

“Adios! Goodbye!” He said your name loudly followed by a “hurry up!”

You tapped the counter. “Sorry. The princess needs a ride home.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to call him that,” Robby laughed.

“It’s the least of his problems right now.”

They watched you trail behind your husband who, once through the second door, turned and waited for you patiently. You kissed him gently before walking out of view and inside of the PTMC, the world continued to turn.

Robby looked at Dana with a question and Baran walked away before he could ask her anything remotely related to Jack. But Donnie… Donnie just can’t keep anything to himself.

He turned to Robby in his swivel chair.

“Did you know Abbot’s packin’ heat down there?”

A/N: i wrote this straight over three days after not writing for about a year. crazy how that works, huh?

i hope the twitter divas find this.

comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated! it keeps us writing!

Jack hated when his shifts never lined up with your schedule. Summer’s were easier, so were those few breaks you’d get during the year, but most weeks it felt like you were ships passing in the night.

You were his wife, not a “sometimes companion” depending on the day. So, when he had off, there was nothing he loved more than being at your side. Watching mindless television, going to the grocery store, listening to you complain about your job, and everything in between. He loved it. Jack never thought that chance would come again and when it did, he promised himself that the time he gave to you would be nothing short of devotion.

And, when the time to “love” became a little more intimate, Jack gave you everything you could ask for. You’d never had a more generous lover, in all sense of the word.

He cared so deeply about you that he was too easily forgetful about his own needs. Jack never liked when you tried to make it all about him—he’d had enough attention in the last twenty years to last him a lifetime in solitude. In return, Jack’s altar was beside you, on top of you, under you, and anywhere near you.

Therefore, when he sacrificed his time away from you to save the lives of strangers, it was only right for him to recompense through the most natural form of intimacy.

But it had been five days. Five days of back to back night shifts where he left you sleeping in bed and you left him walking out the door with your work bag in hand. There had been a light in the distance, Saturday, when his schedule finally broke and you were both off to enjoy each other’s company.

He cooked, you cleaned, and then you’d both retired to the sofa where your feet landed in his lap and a movie you’d seen a thousand times played quietly as days-long lodged conversations started to flow.

Then, you shuffled into his lap and Jack knew something was wrong before even started.

His lips met yours and you melted. You’d been so quick to fall into him, wrapping your arms around him, and pressing down into his lap that it felt needy. Tilting his head back, your fingers pulled at his curls to open him up to you. His kiss deepened and you couldn’t fight the smile on your face.

You laughed, breaking apart.

“What?” Jack asked incredulously. His eyes darted between yours as your hand brushed back his hair.

“Nothing.” You shook your head. “I just love you.”

Jack’s hands ran up and down your sides gently. “Well now it’s cheesy if I say it back.”

“No.” Your nose bumped into his. “You could never make it cheesy.”

“I’m pretty sure I could,” Jack admitted with a peck. He let his hands wander down your sides, feeling the skin of your ass before smoothing down your legs and holding them down on himself. “I love you.”

“How much?”

“Eh. ” He shrugged, leading you to lean back and swat at his chest immediately before pressing into his pecs with your palms.

“Cruel,” you gasped. “You’re just evil.”

“I don’t know about that.” He removed his hands from your body and placed them on top of yours. “But I don’t think a measurement exists for how much I really do.”

Not cruel. Just utterly adoring beyond comprehension.

You leaned in, kissing him again and again and each one ended longer than the last. He brought your hands back to his hair and encouraged a rougher grip. Jack’s tongue was the first to ask for silent permission to which you welcomed it with your own.

You couldn’t remember the last time you made out like teenagers on the couch.

And for ten minutes, you did only that.

Lips swollen and blood rushing in your body, there was something exhilarating about having waited so long to have sex this week. Five days wasn’t a world record for either of you but it felt like a necessary end to it.

Only you were expecting to feel something after ten minutes.

One of your hands slipped from his shoulders and entered the few inches of space between your bodies to grope him above his sweats. You had felt that simply being on top wasn’t enough—you would have felt his erection if you did—but this was the second time in three weeks that grinding on him didn’t work in getting him aroused.

Jack’s attention broke away from your lips and to your neck. His stubble grazed your skin with a roughness you’d only accept from his face. He lathered and sucked, teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you feel his desire through his lips.

As you met his groin, you felt the outline of his cock still limp between his spread legs. Gently trailing to the head, you molded your hand around it and rubbed to the base. Jack’s forehead fell to your shoulder and you couldn’t help but be satisfied, leaning your own into him.

Jack. Your Jack.

Your hand never stopped going. Slowly, you felt the minutes pass and you put more pressure in your grip and the air around Jack began to change. His kisses stopped, your fingers intertwined with his curls at the base of his head weren’t met with the same sighs, and his own hands loosened their grasp.

On the inside, Jack was having an existential crisis.

He knew it was going to happen.

It was the same goddamn thing from three weeks ago and he’d wrote it off as some kind of fluke. He was tired. He’d worn himself thin from a bad night and three weeks ago, sex wasn’t in the cards he’d been dealt. But now? Again?

Jack dug his forehead further into your shoulder to think—which was practically impossible for him to do in this state. Yet he tried. He thought back on any changes to his body and any signs he might have missed but the only possibilities he could think about were his age and his meds.

If it was his age, he was just about ready to croak off now. 50. Jack was only 50 fucking years old and he never imagined what the hell life would be like with erectile dysfunction at this age. He’d take it to his grave, he swore to God, but there was one other problem that he just couldn’t shake.

Those meds.

A switch from his therapist a few appointments ago to Zoloft, which was what he was supposed to be taking for years. But just like good medicine, sometimes finding the right balance was hard and it took time.

His therapist had warned him, right?

He was a doctor—of course he read the side effects of his pills. Right?

Right?

God. Jack could barely think for himself let alone think what the fuck was on the prescription label. He especially couldn’t think straight when you were on top of him, fingers carding through his curls and your chest pressed against his own.

Everything would be fine. Everything is fine.

It wasn’t fine. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him and when Jack Abbot’s internal alarm bells went off, anyone in a ten mile radius could hear them. All it took was one look, a not fully present kiss, and you knew something was amiss.

“Jack?” You murmured softly in his ear. He loved the feel of your breath; the warmth your body brought to his.

He swallowed hard. His jaw tensed as his chest shuddered in immediate nerves and your hands moved to cradle his face instead. Jack’s eyes avoided you like the plague, sticking to a spot over your shoulder in the direction of the tv.

“Yeah?” He barely whispered.

“Are you okay?”

Oh, goddamnit. Shit.

Everything was really not fucking fine.

He was falling apart. Jack couldn’t even look you in the eye because now he couldn’t have sex with his beautiful fucking wife and the world was basically ending.

“Yeah,” he barely squeaked out.

You saw through him and he could feel the pity in the way your thumbs rubbed softly on his cheeks.

“I think I need to use the bathroom,” he blurted out and discarded you to the side of the couch.

In his first attempt to stand, Jack struggled to gain momentum off the couch and the redness of embarrassment from another one of his problems inched up the back of his neck like a rash.

Holy shit, he thought. This is the worst day of my life.

He tried harder the second time to avoid your helping hands and rushed off to the bedroom, shutting the door so hard it reverberated throughout the house. Beelining for the sink, Jack’s hands strained the edges of it until his knuckles were white.

“What the fuck!” He scolded himself in a brash whisper. “What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

This wasn’t happening to him. This was all a dream. A really, god awful, terrible, no good dream that would be over in a matter of minutes. He’d wake up, sun shining, and never deal with this again.

He slapped a hand across his face. It was not a fucking dream.

“Holy shit,” Jack’s words were now nothing but saddened, pathetic whimpering. “This is not fucking happening to me right now.”

From outside the door, you leaned against the frame and let him wallow. Those little blue pills in the back of the cabinet had been pushed away out of spite and this time, you knew he just needed to face the reality of his situation. But that reality was hard to fathom after a lifetime of one activity never having been a problem. He couldn’t have just this one thing?

Jack opened the cabinet and pulled out his Zoloft bottle. Unraveling the prescription label, his eyes raced down to side effects and right there “Erectile Dysfunction” laughed at him. He tossed the bottle in the sink.

“Jack?” You knuckles rapped against the door. “Are you alright in there?”

“Fine!” He replied too quickly.

“Can I come in?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’d rather you not.”

“You’re not gonna dump your meds are you?”

“No,” his tone was still sad. “That’s probably a bad idea.”

Jack could hear your hum. He imagined the look on your face and how you’d probably kick him to the curb now that he was completely defective.

“Jack, I think you need to talk to me about this.”

“No,” he drug out the word. “I don’t think so.”

“Honey.”

He said your name firmly in return.

“I’m coming in.” You didn’t give him any time because as soon as he got a syllable out, the door was open.

Jack’s eyes caught yours in the mirror.

“It’s okay, Jack.”

He shook his head. “It’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Well that’s easy for you to say,” he couldn’t help the attitude that slipped out. “You don’t have a broken fucking dick.”

“I don’t have a dick but I do have a libido.”

“It’s not that, baby,” Jack sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to have sex. I do. Very badly, might I add. But it’s like this—” he pointed to his brain “—just doesn’t want to work and tell the other parts of my body to do their jobs.”

Your brows furrowed in concern. “Is it the nightmares again?”

“No.” He shook his head and realized that you didn’t fully grasp it because of two things: you weren’t in healthcare and you didn’t have PTSD like he did. “They’re fine. They’ve been fine.”

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me, Jack.”

You approached him, settling for resting your hand along his back and feeling his tense muscles underneath the fabric of his tee.

“A side effect of the meds,” he gestured weakly to the bottle in the sink. “I can’t get it up.”

“That’s one way to put it,” you mumbled and picked up the bottle.

“My doctor gave me—“ Jack didn’t want the words to form.

Your rubbed soothingly on his back. He loved you so much.

“What did he give you?”

Jack reopened the cabinet and shuffled items to the side before landing on a small white bottle with VIAGRA plastered in blue on the front. His stomach lurched at the thought of needing to take one. Jack held it tightly in his fist in a refusal to show you.

You saw the bottle immediately when he brought it home. Jack was never as sly as he thought he was. He tried hiding your engagement ring for six weeks before proposing but you found it the day after the purchase because he stuffed it the garage where he kept all the spare keys.

He just hadn’t thought that maybe you’d lock your keys inside of the house one day.

Still, he clutched onto the white bottle as though if he dropped it, his problem wasn’t real. He could keep trying. Maybe it would just take a little bit longer than normal but eventually, he’d get hard and you could sail smoothly into the night.

“Are you gonna show me?” You asked patiently.

“I don’t really want to.”

“I’m not embarrassed if you need to use one, you know?”

His eyes pinched closed. “I feel like a fucking failure.”

You exhaled deeply, placing your hand over his fist, and dipping your head to better look at him.

“Look at me, Jack.”

He couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

“Jack,” you pressed once more. “Look at me.”

“This has never been a problem,” he said lowly. Jack’s tone lingered on disappointment but aired a frustration that sounded sexier than he meant it. “I don’t know why I can’t be normal in this one fucking way but of course not! Of course not. No… the goddamn leg just wasn’t enough. The stupid fucking depression and the nightmares and my joint pain isn’t enough!”

Jack rarely yelled. He bottled everything inside until it was ready to explode and it was just leaking out of him like a dam bursting.

“None of that is your fault,” you assured.

“What does it matter if it was?” He loosened the grip on the bottle and it rolled into the sink beside the Zoloft.

“Jack. I don’t care if we have sex tonight, okay? It’s not the end of the world for me.”

“It sure fucking feels like it for me.”

“I know it does,” you empathized. “But if you’re not ready to try the pills, then we don’t have to do anything. I can wait for you.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Jack whispered. “This is so inconvenient.”

“What would life be without them?”

He breathed in as your hand continued to rub his back and calm him down. Jack glanced down at the bottle, cursing the elephant in the room. He mumbled underneath his breath and even though you were standing beside him, you didn’t catch it.

“What?”

“It takes…” his words were muffled again.

“Are you having a stroke?” You asked honestly.

“No,” he heaved. “If I take one… it would take around an hour to work.”

“Okay,” you replied cautiously. It was his choice, you made that clear.

“And it’s not like… magical. Plus we had a whole bottle of wine with dinner and that might make it worse.”

“Trying to get hard or the erection?”

“Both?” He said like it was a question. He’s the doctor. He should know.

“If you wanted to try it, and it doesn’t work out, then you never have to use one again.”

Jack hummed. “I might have to eat you out for awhile.”

“Jesus,” you laughed. “Don’t try to be sly about it.”

His lips quirked into a small smile, one you’d missed seeing in his despair. Jack picked up the bottle and unscrewed the cap.

“I swear to God that if anything goes wrong, I will jump off the fucking roof.”

“You can’t say that,” you lamented. “You’re literally the last person who should joke about that.”

“I’m kidding.” He popped a pill into his mouth. “I can’t let you fall in love with someone else.”

“How kind of you to think about me.”

Jack flipped on the sink, cupped his hands under the faucet, and swallowed the pill in one gulp. There was no turning back now.

“Well?” You asked him as he wiped his mouth dry.

“Well what?”

“You want to finish what you started?”

He locked eyes with you in the mirror and opened his mouth to object to the statement. You climbed into his lap. You kissed him first. But he saw a glimmer of hope that maybe the little blue pill would be a good thing for the both of you tonight and forgot about it. Jack nodded instead.

“Get on the bed.”

Whatever the little blue pill did, it gave Jack an ounce of courage back and fuck, could you feel it.

Jack had been on you from the moment you laid down on the bed. In silence, he stripped off your clothes one by one and settled between your thighs ready to give. And for the past thirty minutes, you’d been close twice before he drew back and smiled at you as his cheek rested against your leg.

Every time he did, you had to look away.

He was so sweet. Jack, the man who does anything for anyone, looked at you like you held the moon.

You fought a grin by biting down on your lip and had your arm flying over your eyes to shield his own impenetrable stare from reaching you. And then his mouth was on you again, tongue lightly flicking your clit as he slipped two fingers inside.

You writhed, body shaking lightly in pleasure as his hands grew more firm around your thighs and minimized any distance between you. Jack figured if he could lay atop the mattress and grind into it that it would replace the need for you to jerk him off for five minutes, and he was right.

The combination of periodically rutting against the mattress, listening to your sweet sounds, and feeling you squeeze his fingers was sheer poison.

He curled his fingers up inside of you, sliding them in and out in the same direction until your moans turned into a whine that spelled out his name.

“Jack,” you breathed in heavily.

Your hand fell from your eyes and trailed over one of your breasts, squeezing it, pinching the nipple just hard enough before fanning out on the comforter. Jack removed his fingers to let his tongue sink lower, pushing into you softer and wetter than before. His mouth devoured you; a sickening slurp of his saliva and your wetness had your mouth falling open, silent in disbelief that not an hour ago, you didn’t think this was going to happen.

“S-shit, Jack.”

He slowed down, sparing a glance at your face before deciding to back off. His pointer finger replaced where his nose was grazing your clit. Jack pressed down there, moving in small circles as your hips moved with him.

“That feel good?” He asked softly.

“I think that fucking pill gave you superpowers,” you spat out fast. “Holy shit.”

“Magical” his ass. It was certifiably otherworldly.

“Might just have been a long time since we’ve done this.”

You agreed, moaning a “yeah” in reply.

“Sweetheart,” Jack said like a question. “I hate to do this to you…”

“What?” You sat up so quickly that you got a little dizzy. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Jack couldn’t hide his blush. There was no easy way to say “I’m hard now, let me fuck you” after having a meltdown.

His throat bobbed and you caught it.

“You ready?”

Jack nodded and you retuned it with a nod of your own. “Okay, yeah. Alright—”

“Why does this feel like I’m losing my virginity again?” He joked. His laugh barely sounded like one because the second he sat up on his knees, his erection was all he could look at.

Jack had never been embarrassed by his cock before.

“If this is how you lost your virginity, I’d be a little nervous,” you scoffed. “Sit back against the headboard.”

He didn’t argue with you which was a rarity it terms of control. Nothing was really in his control right now and it was making his anxiety shoot through the roof.

Jack shuffled back to the headboard and slipped off his shirt. He helped you pull down his sweats carefully and even though he didn’t feel like you had to be, he was grateful for your gentleness. At the sight of his prosthetic, you tipped your head knowingly at him.

“Why didn’t you take this off yet?”

“I forgot,” he feigned innocence.

“Mhm,” you judged and took it off for him. “Sure you did.”

With his prosthetic resting on the floor against the bedside table, you resumed your position in his lap and wrapped an arm around his shoulder while your free hand wrapped around him. You’d never been with someone who needed to take a Viagra before. Jack felt different and you knew how he felt in your hands.

His dick felt firmer—less like his own and more like one that was being controlled.

Your hand went from tip to base and back and he jolted.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “It’s like my nerves are on fire.”

“Does it feel bad?”

His nose brushed yours as he shook his head. Jack didn’t tell you to stop so you kept pumping him mildly.

“It feels really fucking good, actually.”

“Yeah?” You smiled.

“Yeah.”

Jack kissed you with everything he could muster. He gripped your bare hips tightly, sinking his fingers into your skin until he felt like you weren’t going to disappear. You put more tension in your fist and he groaned, precum escaping him and making your job easier.

“Do you feel like you’re ready?” You kissed him lazily, pulling on his bottom lip enough for it to bounce back.

He chased your lips. “What if—”

“Honey,” you soothed. “We’ll get there, okay?”

“Okay,” he accepted. He nodded, looking you in the eye and giving you the reassurance he also needed.

Lifting up in his lap, you guided him to your entrance and sunk down slowly. The feeling was overwhelming and you both needed time to adjust. Jack’s head fell back against the bed frame as far as he could go, clenching his jaw enough where the muscles strained on his face.

“You’re fine, Jack,” you cooed in his ear. Soft pants met his cheek as his hardness was unlike anything you’d experienced. “Breathe, baby.”

Your nails raked the base of his skull.

“Keep going,” he bit out. “You’re squeezing me so tight.”

“I guess we’ve both been ‘rejuvenated,’ huh?”

Jack wasn’t overly appreciative of your humor but you moved anyway, testing the waters of your bounces and grinds before settling into a rhythm that suited you. His cock stretched you wide and every time you sank back down, it was as though he never filled you in the first place. A spark of exhilaration bloomed. This was so different, so minutely different, that it felt new.

Jack’s hands groped your ass to help ease the strain on your thighs the longer you went. His lips swapped duties between connecting with yours and finding the skin of your neck, collarbone, and chest peppered with affection. Jack listened to your soft mewls. He soaked in the whispers of sweet nothings and the shaky gasps you couldn’t help.

He wanted you close.

Jack needed you to mold into him like he was showered in rain. He pulled you close; arms wrapped up around you so tight there was no escaping his embrace.

He nipped at your chin. Low and rough, Jack spoke to you. “I love you so much.”

Jack’s nose trailed up your cheek, bumping into yours and seeking your lips again.

“You have no idea how much I love you.”

“Jack,” you whined with a grin. A shake in your legs had him running his hands over your back, soothing you now instead.

“I know you’re ready, baby.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I’m close.”

“What do you need from me?” He asked willingly.

You shook your head. “I-fuck, nothing. I just—”

Jack bent his knees the best he could and the angle his cock was hitting changed on a thrust. Deep and unforgiving, your fingernails dug into his skin hard. Jack murmured appreciation, egging you on to the finish line and neglecting himself.

You were too wrapped up in the feeling. The building of a week, the racing of your heart, to think for a second that he was nowhere near close to his orgasm.

“Come on, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

He felt the falter in your hips.

Your orgasm shook you from Heaven to Hell and back—even if believing it was hard to fathom. Jack’s hand flew to the back of your head, holding you into him as the aftershocks of muscle spasms lingered seconds after your breathing began to settle. You returned his kisses with your own against his neck and shoulder. The freckles on his body were reminders of all the places he had ever been kissed and you were adding to that—on top of ones that already existed, beside them, and in the spaces that laid empty of any.

He wouldn’t remember them in every lifetime but you liked to imagine that all of his freckles were kisses from you.

As your brain recovered from the fuzzy glow and you realized that Jack was still rock hard inside of you.

“Do you want me to—”

“No,” Jack cut you off. “No, it’s fine. It’s just… I think it takes time.”

“But now you haven’t even…” you trailed your response with a flick of your eyes downwards. “I can’t leave you like that.”

“Baby, it could take an hour.”

You glanced at the alarm clock on his side of the bed. The time read 11:47.

“We’ve got time.”

Jack shook his head. “I’m not gonna let you give me a handy for an hour.”

“Hey,” you tugged on his earlobe lightly. “I’ve got a mouth too.”

“It’s fine,” he reassured but you weren’t buying it. His mouth quirked to the side in thought. “Would you hate me if I asked you to clean up alone?”

You ran your thumb along his jawline.

“I could never hate you, Jack. I’ve lived this long, I think I can handle one less aftercare shower.”

“It makes me feel like an asshole.”

“You’re not. I promise you.”

Carefully, you lifted up from his lap and let him slip out. You avoided looking at him so he didn’t find another reason to be embarrassed about something that impacted millions of men—especially those who were on medication for concerns far more important than simply erectile dysfunction.

He watched you disappear into the bathroom and shut the door with a click before he put his pillow to his face and yelled into it.

The prescription tag read as follows:

Prolonged erection greater than 4 hours and priapism (painful erections greater than 6 hours in duration) have been reported infrequently since market approval of VIAGRA. In the event of an erection that persists longer than 4 hours, the patient should seek immediate medical assistance. If priapism is not treated immediately, penile tissue damage and permanent loss of potency could result.

Jack had to put his readers on to even see the label.

“… if priapism is not treated immediately, penile tissue damage and permanent loss…” he repeated the label back to himself to make sure he read it correctly.

His eyes flitted to his phone, touching the screen to light up a big 7:30 AM and a picture of both of your smiling faces beaming back at him.

This might not have been the actual worst day of his life but it was second.

His crutches clicked against the floor as he approached your side of the bed. He hated waking you up when you were clearly dead to the world. Laid face first into your pillow, he rested a hand on your back and shook you gently.

“Baby?”

You barely bristled. He repeated the action, calling out your name louder.

“Hm?” You grumbled in slight annoyance.

Jack shifted uncomfortably on the bed, wincing as he turned wrong and made his sweatpants tighter than they already were.

“Don’t be alarmed,” he started and realized how quickly those were the wrong words. You sat up abruptly, face twisted in concern as he tried not to cry from the pain his fucking dick won’t stop causing.

“What!?” You searched his face for an answer. “What happened!?”

“You gotta calm down.” Jack moved his arm to block your view.

“About what? What’s wrong?”

“I seem to be having a little… complication.”

Your brows furrowed. “A complication?”

Jack clicked his tongue with a nod. Your eyes darted down too obviously to his pants and back to his face. His erection was blatant. It practically waved at you from behind his arm.

“Does it have anything to do with that?” You said above a whisper. “Why do you have such bad morning wood?”

Jack groaned, again, completely at odds with himself.

“Remember when we had that bottle of red with dinner?” You nodded. “Well it turns out that sometimes while meds can cause the problem, mixing alcohol with the little blue pill causes… other problems.”

“And this can’t be solved with an orgasm?”

“Not after more than six hours.”

Your eyes bugged out of your head. “Six hours!? Jack, what the fuck!”

“I thought it was going to go away!”

You swiftly moved out of bed and shrugged on a sweatshirt. Jack watched you pilfer the room for socks and shoes and leggings and just sat there helplessly on the edge of the bed with his crutches one inch from sliding off of it. You didn’t say anything and that made it worse for him.

“I’m sorry,” Jack spoke up.

“What are you sorry for?” You opened his drawer and pulled out a fresh tee. “It’s not your fault.”

“It feels like it is.”

“Well it’s not, Jack. So stop apologizing and get your leg on.”

“I can’t bend over.”

You tossed the shirt to him. “We’re going in.”

“Where?”

“The ED.”

“No,” he said with a nervous laugh. “No the fuck we are not.”

“You say that like you have a choice, Mr. Abbot.” Oh. He didn’t like that. “Turns out that doctors are truly the worst patients. Your night shift is gone, Robby’s gotta be—”

“I am not letting Robby see me like this.” The thought repulsed him so badly that it made his skin crawl.

“Then someone else will help us,” you clarified. “The longer we wait the worse I’ll assume it will be for you. I’m not driving you to Presby or Mercy when I know the ones that can help you the best.”

“I’ll never live this down.” His eyes filled with ashamed tears and every now and then, you’d seen Jack down on his luck.

A terrible shift, a long week, anniversaries he’d rather not have… but he stared at you from the bed and he looked so small. His salt and pepper hair was flat from restless sleep and the scruff on his face couldn’t hide the jumble of thoughts pouring out of him. You moved to stand in front of him, grasping his face between two hands, and forcing him to look you in the eye.

“You are the strongest, most resilient man I have ever met. You’ve taken care of me more times than I can count and now, it’s my turn to help you the best way I know how. This is bad now, yeah… it is,” you nodded in agreement, “but it’s not forever. After this, you’ll call your therapist and tell him what happened and we will try again when things are better.”

A tear steamed down his cheek and you wiped it away with your finger.

“It’s okay to be embarrassed, honey.”

“I’m gonna make this up to you,” Jack settled. “I promise.”

“Okay.” You didn’t need him to. However, if it made him feel better, sure. Your hands tapped his face twice before letting go. “Let’s go, Soldier.”

The PTMC Emergency Room wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, but it wasn’t one you frequented.

It bustled with far too much chaos and while your own career had its fair share, there was something about Jack’s place of work that made you feel ill just looking at it. Death, hurt, pain, and suffering wrapped up in four walls, some windows, and doors.

And now Jack sat outside of it in a wheelchair because he refused to go in on his crutches.

“Just go in and tell Dana I’m out here.”

“Someone is going to have to come and get you anyway, so just come with me.”

Jack begged, “please.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Luckily, Dana was talking with a young nurse at the hub when the ambulance bay doors opened wide. You kept in a straight line to her, not distracted by the sounds and the yelling coming from one of the many rooms. Dana was halfway through a sentence when she glanced over her shoulder and did a double take.

“Hey stranger,” she beamed. “I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

The young nurse beside her, Emma, smiled at you in the awkward way you did when you didn’t know someone’s friend.

“Hi Dana,” you greeted.

“Jack’s not here,” her eyes questioned you. Jack had been scheduled off for the next couple days so there was no telling where he’d be other than at his house.

“Well,” you let out a loose, barely amused chuckle, “funny you should say that.”

“Is he okay?”

“Not really… I just—we just—need this on the down low, alright? He really doesn’t want anyone to know he’s here.”

She nodded understandingly and grabbed an iPad from the counter. “Where is he?”

“Out in the ambulance bay. I put him in a wheelchair.”

“Should I get Robb—”

“No!” You said loudly and shook your head. “God, no. Sorry.”

Emma jumped at the sound and her eyes darted to the bay. “Can I help?”

Your face scrunched. Jack would rather not traumatize a new nurse so early in the shift.

“Is Donnie around? Or Dr. Al-Hashimi?”

“Yeah.” Dana patted Emma on the shoulder. “Go get ‘em and we’ll put Dr. Abbot in Room 7.”

Dana rounded the hub and put a hand on your shoulder. As she stepped further away, she pressed about the situation.

“You know, you two aren’t getting any younger. You can’t go at it like rabbits.”

“Dana,” you scolded with a smile. “That’s—that’s not it.”

“What happened?”

All that was needed to be said were three little words:

“Little blue pill.”

Jack heard the hiss of the ambulance bay open and Dana walked up to him with a laugh buried in her throat. Jack was wearing a hat and glasses like a superhero in disguise and his backpack flipped over so no one could see the name angled in his lap.

“Don’t fucking say it, Evans. Don’t.”

“I’m not!” She held up her hands in defense.

“Dana said she’s gonna help. No one needs to know.”

You grabbed his crutches off the wall and followed closely as Dana wheeled him into Room 7 and pulled the curtains. She left still fighting amusement as Donnie entered with Baran.

“Dr. Abbot,” she said fondly. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

“I think we both had different ideas about how today would go.”

Jack took off his glasses and hat, passing them off to you. The bag stayed lumped in his lap.

“So, what brings you in today?”

There was a second of silence and then:

“I seem to have a bit of a… priapism problem.”

Baran’s eyes widened and Donnie hesitated putting on his second glove.

“And how long has the erection lasted?” Jack hated how she pronounced the word loud and clear. He looked at you, shrugging for a loose approximation of time.

“Maybe around… since 11 or so?” You informed.

“So somewhere around 8 hours?” She asked and motioned for Donnie to put the bed rails down. “Does that seem accurate?”

You both nodded. Donnie wheeled Jack over to the bed and he hesitated, looking at you to help him instead. You handed Jack his crutches and as he stood, both Donnie and Baran tried to be respectful and looked away from Jack’s body.

“Dr. Abbot, I’m going to have to ask you some questions about your medical history, medications, and so forth. Is that okay with you?”

“I think you can just call me Jack now,” he grunted as he shuffled onto the bed.

“Can you tell me what medications you take?”

“I-uh, take um, 100 mg of Zoloft, 3 mg of Prazosin for sleeping, and Cyclobenzaprine as needed, 5 mg three times a day, but I haven’t needed it lately.”

“And for the priapism problem?” She slipped on her own gloves.

“I took one Viagra.”

“Have you taken one before?”

“No,” Jack admitted. “My therapist changed one of my medications to Zoloft two months ago and ordered it as a precaution.”

Baran nodded in understanding and as she sat down on a stool and rolled closer, Jack’s hand shot out to yours and squeezed tightly.

“Did he explain the side effects of taking those medications together?”

“Yes,” Jack recalled. “But we must have had… three glasses of wine last night and I’m pretty certain that’s the reason it won’t go away. A reaction, if you will.”

“You’re not wrong.” She smiled at him kindly, then to you.

“How long have you been married? I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

“Six years,” you told her. “And it seems we’re always finding something new to experience together.”

“It’s a good thing,” Baran assured. “Imagine living a life where it’s normal and boring all the time. At least you’ll be able to laugh about it later.”

Her eyes found Jack’s and he knew she needed to look at him more closely.

“What happens in this room, Dr. Abbot, stays in this room. Got it?”

He nodded and focused on a spot across the wall as Donnie hovered behind Baran. Your hand covered his, rubbing gentle circles to ease the discomfort.

“Was this a special occasion or something?” Donnie asked Jack. “Or just a regular Saturday night for you two?”

“Just a Saturday night,” he said shyly. Jack, being bashful? You relished it.

“I gotta say Doc, your wife’s a lucky woman. Who knew Dr. Abbot hit the genetic lottery.”

The blush that overtook his body was a deeper red than his penis. Your hand flew to your mouth, covering the choked laugh before it could escape but Donnie was grinning like the Cheshire Cat and keeping it in was practically impossible. Baran bit down on her tongue.

But Jack knew how to bite back too. “If your idea of the genetic lottery is a guy with 1.75 legs, then sure. Whatever floats your boat.”

“Okay.” Baran finished her inspection.

“I have a feeling this isn’t a cold compress kind of procedure,” Jack wished.

Baran shook her head.

“We’re going to need to aspirate.”

Jack was back on his crutches after an hour with a soreness that would last hours.

“I don’t think I need to tell you what you can and cannot do in the next 24 hours,” Baran opened up the curtain and immediately Jack locked eyes with Dana.

“No, you don’t.”

“Maybe also speak to your therapist about the prescription the next time you go?”

Jack gave you a closed mouth smile. “I already heard that from this one.”

“She knows what she’s talking about it seems,” Baran nodded in approval.

The door opened up and Donnie held it for Jack to escape from. The RN held out his fist, asking Jack wordlessly to bump it.

Jack obliged.

“My man,” Donnie grinned. He slapped a hand on Jack’s shoulder before walking to a computer.

“I’m never filling in for day shift again, ever,” Jack told you over his shoulder.

“All good, Jack?” Dana asked from the hub as you both passed by.

“Never better.” Jack kept going towards the door.

“Thanks Dana for your help,” you said appreciatively. “If he never tells you, he’s thankful too. And I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

The doors to Trauma Bay 2 opened with a whoosh. Jack, still on the slow run on his crutches out of the ED never looked back, but Robby caught sight of him as he sanitized his hands.

“Woah!” He exaggerated. “What’s Jack doing here?”

“He’s going home,” Dana informed and you gave a small wave to Jack’s work wife. He hated when you called Robby that but it didn’t make it any less true.

“Just a little accident.”

“Jack!” Robby called after him but Jack didn’t care.

“Adios! Goodbye!” He said your name loudly followed by a “hurry up!”

You tapped the counter. “Sorry. The princess needs a ride home.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to call him that,” Robby laughed.

“It’s the least of his problems right now.”

They watched you trail behind your husband who, once through the second door, turned and waited for you patiently. You kissed him gently before walking out of view and inside of the PTMC, the world continued to turn.

Robby looked at Dana with a question and Baran walked away before he could ask her anything remotely related to Jack. But Donnie… Donnie just can’t keep anything to himself.

He turned to Robby in his swivel chair.

“Did you know Abbot’s packin’ heat down there?”

A/N: i wrote this straight over three days after not writing for about a year. crazy how that works, huh?

i hope the twitter divas find this.

comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated! it keeps us writing!

Steddie

selfish @eddiernunson

steddie x babysitter! reader @lonelysatellites

two can play but threes more fun @wonderlanderings

lessons in anatomy (ao3)

to know youre mine (ao3)

Eddie Munson

and i need you to know @the-unforgivenn

hoping i'll find [a glimpse of us] @inknopewetrust

june baby @luveline

roll for rebellion @wonderlanderings

living after midnight @munson-blurbs

as above, so below @beasbrain

for the record @hamilhansen

one hit wonder @gem-writes

is it that sweet? I guess so! @5lutforeddie

the do's and don'ts of fake dating @mummyxdust

secrets I have held in my heart (are harder to hide than I thought) @andvys

sit next to me please @ghost-proofbaby

extra credit: house calls @moontannedmunson

liquid courage @hellfirexhoe

ringing pavlovs bell @elegantpaperoperatormaker

twenty four hours (ao3)

ink (ao3)

I was made for loving you (ao3)

Steve Harrington

the basement @tinfoileddd

a dream with a baseball coach @barnesonfilm

always ready to be left out in the cold @thecreelhouse

if you're too shy, let me know @loveshotzz

knock on wood @calmcal

never leave you @whispersoflost

sweet, wonderful you @levanswrites

summer, 1992 (ao3)

the rust that grew between telephones (ao3)

Dean Winchester

babylon the great @godmadeaterribleerror

waiting for you (all my life) @godmadeaterribleerror

all the nights (and all the days too) @lunexiax

hard knocks @lunexiax

green light @godmadeaterribleerror

Ben (Solider Boy)

no love lost @godmadeaterribleerror

braids @hopelessbrain

mouth like that @notmeolive

Daryl Dixon

making sure it takes @morutelolita

blood ties @angelwings-crossbowstrings

the archer & the arbalist (ao3)

Rickyl

friendly competition @twd-bee3

and there was only one bed @heathermason6060

Peter Parker

friends helping friends @uhhhj13iguess

bed chem @californ1asnow

Stay A Little While Longer | @panic-in-the-multiverse | Jack Abbot

Wanna be looked after:

@pixie-000 - I can’t choose a specific one! Their blog is about age regression/ care giver. sfw.

Insecure / Self-conscious:

This | @zivistardust | tummy | Andrew Cody

Fluff:

This | @astarlinggirl | Hair curl routine | Andrew Cody

Cuddle Buddies | @spookypeachpitt13 | platonic | Michael Robinavitch

Angst:

LOVE IN A BOTTLE | @eufezco | Jack Abbot

Parent:

Girl!dad pope | @icutw-writing | Andrew Cody

Kiss the monsters away | @shadeofpeach | Andrew Cody

A Necessary Evil | @/whiskey-thorns | Andrew Cody

Sleepy tantrums | @shadeofpeach | Jack Abbot

New dad doing skin to skin | @vividxpages | Jack Abbot

soft and sweet | @taknbythewind | Jack Abbot

take your kid to work day | @satellite-evans | Jack Abbot

Colleagues to more/ Pining:

Tell me your secrets, Trust me with your secrets , 2/2 | @lunarayletters | Jack Abbot Anxiety, depression, DV trauma, fluff, angest, mild smut and comfort

the shape of wanting | @p1stach-io | Jack Abbot Sad, fluff, and emotional.

People Will Talk | @whiskey-thorns | Jack Abbot Fluff, flirting, protective and caring Jack

A Chance in Hell | @rr-after-dark | Brendon Park Brendon being a persistent yearner. Nothing getting in his way to get a date.

Trauma/ Traumatic Event/ Protective:

This | SA | @promotional-dvd | Jack Abbot

Illness/ Chronic illness/ Sickness:

time after time | Migraines, phobia of needles | @.docrobinavitch | Michael Robinavitch

Lighthearted:

me & you together song | @wildflowerluver | Michael Robinavitch Pittlings slowly find out Robby is married and has a kid.

𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✦ | Instagram | @kisscoabbot | Jack Abbot

Miscellaneous:

the heart skips a beat | @inknopewetrust | Jack Abbot

The way I loved you | @/mytearsricochetm | Jack Abbot, Andrew Cody I HIGHLY recommend you NOT reading the warnings - ONLY if you don't mind that. Best decision I've made.

15 Minutes | @/youleftmenochoicebut | Jack Abbot

bring me a dream | @/general-rose | Jack Abbot