Curiouser and Curiouser

Throughout Andrew’s life, many people have come and gone through the doors of Smurf’s house. It would take another lifetime just to count them all. 

The parties started when he was young and never ended. The faces blurred together for Andrew now, not that he could really bring himself to care all that much in the first place. Just like Craig’s girlfriends or Smurf’s boyfriends, nobody was ever really a permanent fixture in Andrew’s life. Not if they weren’t family.

He knows that everyone thinks that he’s different. That he’s weird. He notices their looks when he lingers around the pool, in the kitchen, when he’s just sitting on the couch. His own brothers even, a lot of the time. Everyone eyes him like a ticking time bomb, just waiting for him to go off.

Andrew doesn’t really mind, though. Or, if he did, he'd become numb to the feeling a long time ago. In fact, he’s probably become numb to a lot of feelings. But Andrew doesn’t know any other way to be. He’s just Pope and he has been for a very long time.

This party in the Cody household wasn’t different from any other. Booze, drugs, and a big mess Andrew would definitely have to clean up later. The music is loud, bass turned up too high, and Craig is attempting to jump off the roof into the pool again. Amidst the cheers, Andrew thinks about the rest of his brothers and wonders for a moment where exactly it went so differently for him, or if he was just simply born that way.

His brothers seem okay with being in the spotlight. Even his nephew seemed to fare better than him, assimilating perfectly into every situation that arose, especially when people were involved. Andrew was never like that.

J must have gotten it from Julia.

Andrew was never a people person. He was always out of place, like the Cody that just didn’t quite belong, all jagged edges. The parties always send him into the corners of his mind that he didn’t really like venturing into.

The pounding of the bass is getting to him.

He pulls open the door to his bedroom hoping for a moment of silence, when he’s greeted with a pair of bare feet hanging off the edge of his bed. The figure doesn’t stir when he enters, so he creeps in further and shuts the door quietly. He turns his head, scanning now that he has a better view of who exactly is in his room.

You’re laid on his bed, eyes shut, hugging your phone to your chest like a stuffed animal. You’ve clearly come to escape the crowds of the party, same as him. Andrew can’t help as his eyes drag up your legs all the way up to where your short dress shows just a little too much of your thighs. He notices your heels as well, placed nice and neat beside the bed.

“Who are you?” It comes out a bit more gruff than Andrew anticipated and your eyes finally flutter open. It takes you a minute to notice him but when you do you’re shooting up to your feet, spine rigid. It’s cute, he thinks, the way you panic. You startle like a small puppy.

“Oh my god,” you squeak, clearly embarrassed. Your hands fall to adjust the hem of your short dress, much to Andrew’s disappointment. He gives you a once over; it’s half assessing what exactly you’re doing in his room and half just taking you and your skimpy outfit. “I’m so sorry. Is this your room?”

Andrew gives a small nod and you wring your hands nervously. You’re taking him in now, a Cody brother here in front of you, live and in the flesh.

“So which one are you?” you ask, head cocked. Now that you know this is his room, he notices you assessing him in a different light. People always do —it didn’t bother Andrew much anymore but with you he feels a twinge of shame in his stomach. “Deran? Or, um…”

Andrew knows that you’re searching for his name. His nickname. It had to be since there was a short list of people who called him by his real name. Pope Cody is known by everyone in Oceanside. Andrew Cody, on the other hand, is not.

“Andrew.” he supplies, voice softer than before. Now you’ve been added to that very exclusive list. You repeat his name back to him, voice a little warm, no doubt from one of the many drinks that the Cody’s provided. Then you introduce yourself and Andrew attempts to burn your name into his memory.

“Okay, Andrew. Are you hiding too?” Now that he hasn’t kicked you out, you take a seat on the edge of his bed. He notices the compression of where your body laid just a few minutes before on his neatly made and pressed sheets but doesn’t say anything. He likes the sound of your voice too much to interrupt you. “Or just making sure nobody is defiling your room.”

“I’m not hiding,” he replies, crossing his arm over his chest. The strap of your dress falls and Andrew tries not to get distracted. “This is my house. I’m free to go where I please.”

“Fair enough. I’m hiding,” you shrug. A beat of silence passes and you pat the spot next to you, inviting him to sit on his own bed. Andrew is curious enough to oblige, sitting on the other end of the bed, putting distance between you. He doesn’t miss how your shoulders drop slightly in disappointment. “My friend is here with Craig and they’ve conveniently disappeared... I don’t even want to know what they’re doing.”

“I have a few guesses.” Another one of Craig’s girlfriends. The giggle of a girl coming from Craig’s room that Andrew had heard when he was walking by suddenly made a lot more sense. 

He wills himself not to flinch when you scoot closer to him, closing the distance he deliberately put between the two of you. Andrew was interested, too interested, and that worried him.

Pope Cody wasn’t allowed to want.

“Is it okay if I stay here with you?” you ask, and Andrew’s heart flips. He clears his throat, hoping that you don’t see the blush that’s creeping it’s way up his neck. “I’m just not really sure how long it’s going to take and I would much rather be in here.”

With you, hangs unspoken in the air.

“Sure.” Andrew likes the way you smile when he answers, a small flash of teeth. You scoot even closer and tuck your bare feet under you. You’re so close now that your knee is nudging his thigh. He can smell your perfume from here and it’s heavenly compared to the sweat and chlorine laced air outside. “I don’t really want to be out there either.”

“So, Andrew,” His name sounds like honey when it’s falling from your lips and he wonders how often he can make you say it. The feeling that settles in his chest when you say it is too addicting for him to live without it now. “Not really a party person?”

“No. But my brothers are.” He gestures vaguely to the door, the music pounding on the other side of the wall and then his hands retreat back to his lap. He can feel your eyes on him, but not in the usual way he always tends to notice. You scan him with a kind of curiosity that he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“I’m not really a party person either,” you agree, glancing at the door he had just gestured towards. You look a little sad, even. It makes Andrew’s fingers twitch.“My friend said she needed some moral support coming to meet this guy. So I came, and then she ditched me like an hour ago.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a shitty friend.” Andrew says plainly and he’s caught off guard when you let out a laugh. 

“Yeah, I guess,” You shrug, shoulders still shaking with remnants of laughter. Andrew has turned his head fully now to look at you but he doesn’t really understand why you’re laughing. “But maybe it’s like fate, or something.”

“Fate?” Andrew echoes, even more confused than before. You lock eyes with him and he has to resist the urge to break it, enthralled enough by your gaze to ignore the awkward feeling settling in his chest.

“Yeah. Like maybe it’s fate that she left? Because then I wouldn’t have hidden in a cute guy’s room and got to talk to him.” He can tell that your mind is elsewhere, but his eyes are still on you. There’s a dreamy look painted on your face and he’s so distracted he almost misses the fact that you called him cute. Almost.

He opens his mouth to respond but your phone beats him to it, the shrill sound of your ringer filling the empty room. You look at him sheepishly and turn your head to answer as if that would give you the privacy you were looking for. It doesn’t work because as soon as you hit accept, he can hear what he assumes is your friend’s voice on the other side of the line. 

You get up and he watches you nod along to the conversation. You’re not doing a lot of talking, but your friend definitely is; he can tell by the murmur of her drunken chatter and the sound of the music pulsing on the other side of the line. You’re kind enough to let her continue on for a bit longer before you let her know that you’re coming, don’t move! 

Then you’ve turned back to Andrew, tapping your phone on your palm as you try to find the right words to say. You look genuinely apologetic —for what, Andrew doesn’t know. The silence stretches long, and Andrew is the first one to break it.

“You don’t have to stay,” he says plainly. You don’t really owe him anything, although the look on your face makes him feel otherwise. You take a step closer, poised like you want to take a seat next to him again. Andrew wants you to, but he won’t admit that part out loud.

“I know. I want to-” you start, but your phone starts buzzing like it’s possessed, cutting you off. A quick glance is all it gets; you’re quickly scanning the messages before returning your attention to him. Your phone doesn’t stop vibrating. “It’s hard to leave when you’re looking at me like a lost puppy.”

Andrew chooses to ignore that comment, instead turning to grab your shoes from the side of the bed next to him. He offers your heels to you, arms outstretched, closing the distance between you just like you had before. You give him a small smile as you take them from him, fingers brushing his just a beat too long. The way it sets his nerves alight is also something that he chooses to ignore.

“Thank you,” you say, slipping your strappy heels back on. Andrew looks everywhere but you as you bend down to tie them up, feeling the blush creeping up once again. Once you’re straightened up he gives you a small smile in return, watching as you pull your phone back out again. “Sorry for messing up your bed. I’ll make it up to you next time.”

You say it so definitively, like you somehow know there will be a next time. Before he can reply, you’re giving him a shy wave goodbye, sliding out the door. The music leaks in for a moment when you open it, blending in with the cheers of partygoers outside. When you close it he’s back to the silence of his room, alone. He had come in there looking for a moment to himself but now that you’re gone, he can’t help but want the opposite.

Andrew really hopes that there will be.

—

The next time Andrew met you, it was in Deran’s bar.

He could count on one hand the amount of times he actually sat at Deran’s bar for any other reason besides work. It was rare that he ever got to enjoy a beer, much less have a moment of free time. But between Deran’s insistence and Craig’s staggering frame, Andrew agreed to stay for one drink.

He’s on the dregs of his beer when he notices Craig straighten up in his seat and saunter over to the front door of the bar. Andrew’s head turns and suddenly he’s glad he came, perking up the same way his brother had just moments ago. A girl comes out to greet Craig, looking like his usual type, and he slings an arm over her shoulders, steering her towards the bar with a sly smile.

Then you walk in and Andrew almost falls off his stool in surprise. You’re dressed differently than when he first met you, softer and more casual. Both of you look like you’ve just come from the beach, donned in shorts and tanks, hair curled from the salt water in the air. It makes his heart skip a beat.

You walk in far more hesitantly than your friend, like you’re not too sure if you belong or where to put yourself. Andrew can empathize with the feeling. He watches as you scan the bar; maybe for your friend, or maybe for another place to hide. You lock eyes with him once you finally notice his presence at the bar and you begin to make your way over. Andrew isn’t sure if he should break eye contact but he can’t help it, eyes darting away before they make their way back to yours.

“Fancy meeting you here,” You take the seat next to him, flashing him a grin. Andrew mumbles something under his breath, but you’re not deterred. In fact, you scoot your stool closer to his. You’re laying it on real thick, but he has to admit that he kind of likes it. “You come here often?”

“You know Pope?” The moment is interrupted by Deran, who sets down a full glass of beer in front of you. He’s got a bemused look on his face, eyes darting between you and his brother. Andrew tries his best not to frown, especially at the use of his nickname when you only know him by Andrew. From the expression on your face, he can tell that he’s failing. Your eyes flicker with some kind of recognition, like you were suddenly recalling the name that you had forgotten the last time you met.

“Yeah, I do,” you nod, not even acknowledging the fact that his own brother had just called him by a completely different name. You gesture to his empty glass, the one that he had set aside to fully focus on you when you approached. “And I think I owe him a drink.”

“You do?” It slips out of both Deran and Andrew’s mouths, disbelief on both their faces. It comes out a bit rougher for Andrew, while Deran inquires like you just told him that unicorns were real. You handle both questions with grace.

“Well, I said I’d make it up to you next time,” You smile, pulling the glass that Deran set down closer to you. His brother leans in closer, clearly interested in what exactly was going on between the two of you. Andrew tries to shoot his brother a glare before you look back at him but he doesn’t have enough time. “So, are you going to have a drink with me, or what?”

“Yeah.” Andrew says, perhaps a bit too eagerly as Deran snickers under his breath. He slides him a beer as well, a knowing look painted all over his features. Andrew takes it with a scowl, but his expression softens when he looks back at you. You bring the beer to your lips with a smile and Andrew can’t help but smile back. 

Two and a half beers later, Andrew’s face is a lot warmer and you are a lot closer. You’re so close that he can feel your shoes scuffing the edge of his newly polished boots, but he can’t bring himself to care. He likes when you giggle at his jokes; the way that your eyes shine. Andrew can feel his brothers’ eyes on the two of you; he even catches his nephew looking his way a few times. 

But for the first time in a while, Andrew doesn’t really want to shrink away. He’s tuned out the background noise, even your friend’s obnoxious drunk laughter at Craig’s pretty mediocre jokes. Because, in reality, Andrew is not the type of guy that a lot of girls like. And Pope especially, is not. But here with you, he lets himself believe that maybe just this once, he’s allowed to have something just for him.

“I like your smile,” You break the silence the two of you were sharing once the conversation you were having earlier came to an end. Andrew hadn’t even realized that he was smiling. He had really just been using the silence to soak in your presence; you still smell the same as you did when you met the first time. Wearing the same perfume that you left on his sheets and pillows just a few weeks ago. He didn’t want to admit how many times he shoved his face into them, chasing your scent before it faded. “It’s cute. I like your teeth.”

There it was again. That word. Cute. It’s not a word anyone used to describe Andrew, probably not since childhood. Or possibly maybe never. He almost wants to swing his head around to see if the rest of his family had heard.

“You really think I’m cute?” He can’t help but ask. It might be the beers or the way you look at him or the fact that he can feel your body heat, but his brain is a bit fuzzy. You look over at him, eyes a bit glazed over from the alcohol. Now he can feel you examining him again, looking him up and down.

“I guess cute isn’t really the word for a guy like you.” His heart sinks at that, wondering what you really think about him now that you know Pope and not just Andrew. He knows the stories that circle around Oceanside about him and he’s not sure if he’s ready to hear the ones that you’ve heard.

“A guy like me?” Andrew echoes, trying his best not to sound so sad. His mood perks up when he feels the heat of your gaze taking him in, seemingly a bit unguarded, presumably from all the alcohol.

“Yeah. You’re all built and…” You look around, trying to place a word to describe him. Then you lay a hand on his arm and Andrew stiffens for a moment but he softens quickly, leaning into your touch. You look pleased that he allowed you to do that, smiling like you’re ready to take a bite of him right then and there. “I don’t know. Strong. Thick. Handsome.”

Andrew is sure that he’s red all the way up to the tips of his ears. He’s also pretty sure that he saw Craig choke on his drink at your comment a few stools down from you, but he decides that’s a later problem. 

“Thanks,” he says gruffly and it’s really the only word that he can get out of his mouth, embarrassingly. You shoot him a smile, and it’s all sweet and a little too enticing. Andrew wouldn’t be surprised if he was leaning into you, ass halfway off his stool.

“Sorry, I’m being a bit forward, aren’t I?” you say, swirling whatever was left of your beer. He tries to shrug nonchalantly but it doesn’t really work. “I just get flirty when I’m tipsy.”

“So you don’t think us meeting again is fate?” He’s teasing, half smile tugging on the edge of lips. You giggle and Andrew basks in the sound. He can’t remember the last time someone made him feel like this. The last time he wanted to be so close to someone.

“I never said that,” You’re hiding a cheeky grin behind your glass and Andrew desperately wishes that he could see it. “You do believe in fate then?” 

Andrew has to think about it for a moment. He’s not sure, really. Lots of fucked up shit has happened in his life and it would be cruel world if that was the fate that the universe had in store for him. Then again, he’s done some terrible things as well, so maybe it was what he deserved.

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. Andrew stares into his drink and reflects on all of the things he’s done, the crimes he committed. Julia. Cath. They swirl around in his mind, weighing on his conscience. Then he looks at you and they all seem to float away. “Maybe.”

“Well, let me know when you decide.” He thinks that you can probably sense his hesitancy or the spiral that it sends him down when he thinks about it too hard, so you pump the breaks. He almost can’t stand the way you’re looking at him, eyes wide open and curious. Andrew is unsure of which version of him that you’re seeing or what exactly is going through your head. He doesn’t have the courage to ask.

“Okay.” he says, a bit too distracted by the pieces of hair that have fallen in front of your face as you turned to take another sip, shielding his view. His hand flexes as he resists the urge to push them away.

Then, like you could read his mind, you tuck them behind your ear and shoot him another look. You open your mouth to say something, but you’re interrupted by Craig, who is steering your friend in your direction. Andrew’s hand flexes again as this time he suppresses the urge to hit Craig for cutting in.

“She just puked in the plant over there, and I’m pretty fucked up, so…” Craig isn’t subtle in what he’s asking and Andrew notices the worry flicker across your face as you take in your friend, who can barely stand up on her own without his brother gripping her shoulders. You mutter under your breath and he thinks he hears you basically cursing out Craig.

“Okay, just… take her outside. I’ll be out in two minutes.” you say, and Craig stumbles off, your friend in tow. Then you turn to Andrew, an apologetic look on your face that’s becoming all too familiar to him now.

“Is she going to be okay?” His gaze wanders to the door swinging shut behind the pair. You wring your hands nervously, standing up from the stool. Gathering your things a little frantically, you shrug. Andrew deflates a bit as he watches.

“Yeah, I think so. She’ll probably just puke into her purse on the way home or something,” Once you’ve gathered everything in your arms you give a deep sigh, turning your full attention towards him. He notes that you seem a little deflated too, but he’s not sure if it’s because you’re leaving him or because your friend and Craig seem to be deeply irresponsible individuals. “I’m sorry. Again.”

“It’s okay.” Your lips curl with a small smile, still tinged with a bit of anxiety. It’s cute when you lift your free hand up in a small wave, the same way you did last time, and then you’re gone. Your perfume is still lingering in the air when Andrew turns back around and it’s his turn to smile. It melts when he sees Deran standing behind the bar, a smug look on his face.

“You got it bad, man.”

—

After that, Andrew sees you a lot more often.

Your friend and Craig seemed to have made things very exclusive, because now she’s basically living at Smurf’s house. Which means that, since you’re her best friend, she invites you over quite frequently.

You two haven’t been able to have a moment alone since that night at the bar, much to Andrew’s disappointment. The brothers have been busy planning a job, which meant that he was in and out pretty often. His mind was elsewhere though, distracted by the way you brushed arms in the hallway on his way out or when your eye contact lingered longer than usual.

So, maybe that was why the job went a little awry.

They got what they needed to, but not without a fight. The boys trail into the backyard one after the other, everyone bruised and cut up. It always annoyed Andrew when his brothers were impulsive; he was the one that was always suffering the consequences.

He quickly notes that you’re laid out next to the pool in your swimsuit, your body shimmering with sweat under the sweltering sun. Andrew watches a bead of sweat drip from your neck to the valley between your breasts. Time slows as he watches, licking his lips. He barely has time to drag his gaze away before Deran is wheeling on Craig. 

“Why are you always pulling this crap?” Deran almost has a finger in his face, gesturing angrily. Craig just rolls his eyes in response, pushing past him and giving him a glare. Andrew can see the tension tight in their shoulders as they both seethe.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude.” Craig shoots back, making his way back to the house. Tension has been high between the two lately, just like always, trapped in a toxic cycle.

It seems to snap for Deran, especially after the job, and he jumps on Craig’s back, knocking him over. The commotion is loud, Craig hitting the ground with a loud thud. Deran throws the first punch and Craig’s skull cracks hard against the pavement. Craig is quick to recover though, probably due to his size, and it’s a full blown fist fight in seconds.

The two exchange blows for a minute before Andrew and J rush forward to pull the two of them apart. They don’t put up much of a fight and the two of them stalk off in different directions; Craig into the house and Deran out of the yard. J shakes his head and follows after Craig, hands shoved into his pockets.

A quick glance proves that the pool chair you were on just moments ago is left empty, your drink still sitting on the ground next to it. He assumes that you snuck out once his brother hit the floor, probably wise enough to know how the situation was going to unfold. He can see your figure in the window padding around the kitchen, blurred from the distance.

Andrew closes the sliding door behind him when he enters the kitchen and he finds you there, skimpy bikini and all. You’re rummaging through the fridge and he takes the opportunity to take in the view before you shut the door.  

You’re holding the carton of orange juice when you turn, finally taking in Andrew’s state. The cut on his eyebrow, the bruise beginning to bloom on his cheek and his torn up knuckles. You make your way towards him, your brow furrowed in concern.

“Are you okay?” He hides his hand instinctively when you ask, which you definitely notice. You rub the back of your neck with your free hand, a bit sheepish. “I heard, uh, your brothers fighting.”

“Oh.” Andrew frowns as embarrassment clouds his thoughts. Will this deter you from coming back? He really hopes not. He’s silent as his eyes follow you as you grab yourself a glass and begin pouring.

“Yeah, oh.” You shoot a glance in the direction of J and Craig’s rooms, eyebrows raised. “So, back to my question. Is everything okay?” 

Andrew contemplates his answer for a second, not sure how much detail to go into. You eye him in the same way that you always do and he is suddenly keenly aware that this is the first moment alone you’ve had together in ages. Pushing that thought aside, he settles on two words: “It’s complicated.”

“Right,” you scoff, making your way around the kitchen island. Andrew can’t help but watch you move, all bare shimmering skin and he shifts a little as all his blood flows downwards. He sucks in a sharp breath as you settle in beside him, resting your arm on the counter. Your sweat and tanning oil smears all over the stone island but he’s too focused on how close you are to be bothered by it. “That’s why you guys all look like shit. Did you guys get in a fight or did you guys do that to each other?”

“Like I said, it’s complicated,” he repeats and you set your glass down, a serious look on your face.

“Andrew, I know who you guys are,” you say and now he’s shifting uncomfortably instead, the sentence shattering any sort of lust filled haze he was just on the precipice of falling into. “I can keep a secret, don’t worry. I just… want you to be careful, okay? That’s all.”

“I’m always careful,” he replies and you huff in disbelief, but it also seems like you can’t help but smile. It’s a nice sight and it even makes him brave enough to take a step closer to you, finally being the first to lessen the gap between you two.

The proximity and the way you look up at him has the haze settling in once more. Andrew wants to reach out and toy with the strings of your bikini bottoms but he thinks better of it. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and he almost has to physically shake his head to rid himself of the thought.

“I’m sure you are,” You scan him up and down, examining his cuts and bruises. Though, Andrew swears that he can feel your gaze linger on his arms and his chest. It makes a shiver run down his spine. “But if this is you careful, I’d hate to see when it gets messy.”

“I don’t do messy,” he emphasises, his mind wandering back to the oily smudge you’ve left on the counter. You give a familiar giggle and your hand comes to rest on his arm, and he immediately forgets all about it again. This is the first time you’ve broken the touch barrier between the two of you on purpose and Andrew’s stomach flips at the thought. The heat of your hand is searing through his shirt and he’s glad you can’t feel the goosebumps that are rising under your palm.

“I know, Andrew. I’ve watched you clean,” you joke. Andrew loves hearing you say his name, his lips parting as you do so. He tries to pull his mind away from all the different things he would do to you to keep hearing it slip from your lips. 

“Where’s your friend?” he asks, desperate to change the topic to anything but him and his family’s line of work. You let out a sigh, making your way back to the fridge. The door swings open and you start rummaging through the freezer like you lived at the house. Really, at this point, you kind of do.

“I’m not sure,” you say, voice a bit muffled from behind the freezer door. “Her and Craig are probably doing lines off each other’s chests or something.” 

You pull out a bag of frozen vegetables, shutting the door behind you and approaching Andrew once more. You hold it out to him and he cocks his head in confusion. Rolling your eyes, you grab his bad hand and place the bag on top of his knuckles, still bloody. The cold dulls the stinging that Andrew had learned to ignore too early on in life.

“Why do you hang out with her?” He all but blurts out, but he can't help it. There was plenty of time for Andrew to watch you two interact when you were over, and you seemed more like a tired mother than a best friend. Plus, Andrew figured that if he could keep you distracted with conversation, you wouldn’t let go of his hand just yet.

“She’s been my best friend since, well, forever…” Pressing the bag into his knuckles further, your hand grips his gently and he can’t help but look at you while you fiddle with the frozen bag. “And if I don’t take care of her, who will?” 

“I know the feeling.” Andrew says sincerely. He can’t remember a time in his life when he wasn’t a protector, an enforcer, a guard dog. You look up at him now, eyes soft. He feels his gaze soften in return, lips parting.

“I can see that,” you hum like you’re contemplating his words. “Is there someone taking care of you?” The question catches him off guard and he almost jerks his hand back reflexively.

“I don't need anyone to take care of me.” It's a statement that doesn't fully ring true; he thinks about the people who have tried and what he’s lost. It's better off this way, perhaps. But he also thinks you probably wouldn't like that answer.

“Everyone needs someone, Andrew.” Coming from anyone else, he thinks he would refuse. But from you, he feels a bit more inclined to agree. You sound sincere, he feels. Or he just likes you too much to think about disagreeing.

Maybe he does need someone, but no one was ever up for the job. At least no one that knew him —all of him.

A door slams in the distance and you flinch at the loud noise. Not a moment later your friend is rushing past the pair of you, clad in a similar bikini to yours. She’s crying though, mascara streaking as she pushes her way into the backyard. Andrew watches as your head turns to follow her, eyebrows pinching in concern. She sits down on one of the lounge chairs outside, shoulders shaking as she cries silently. You look back at Andrew with a frown and just like always, he knows you have to go.

Maybe his fate is that the universe just wants to cockblock him forever?

“She and Craig probably got into another fight,” you sigh, chewing your lip. You take his uninjured hand and place it on top of the bag, looking up at him. Your face is stern as you speak, like he’s a dog that got caught chewing on the couch legs. “Keep it iced, okay? I’ll talk to you soon.”

You pat his hand gently, soft smile on your lips. You always say that. Soon. Like you know that you're going to cross paths again. That he’s a permanent fixture in your life.

He watches you walk away, eyes on your swaying hips in your cheeky swimsuit bottoms. He’s still staring when you sit down next to your friend, rubbing her back comfortingly. 

Andrew stands alone in the kitchen, half hard, frozen bag of vegetables still pressed to his torn knuckles. The worst part is, he’s not even sure what exactly had made him hard; the sight of your body in your tiny swimsuit and the feeling of your hand in his or watching you take care of your friend so tenderly.

Yeah, Deran was right. He is so fucked.

—

If Andrew thought that he couldn't get you off his mind before that afternoon, now you were all he thought about. 

When he was making lunch, when he was cleaning his guns, when he was fisting his cock in the shower, trying to keep quiet. All he could think about was you. Your perfume, your smile, your body. Your touch. He wanted to feel it all over his body, soft skin against the raised bumps of all his scars. 

So the fact that you weren’t around as often anymore made things more difficult for him. Your friend and Craig seemed to be on the rocks, which means she was around less and less. Which means that you were barely around.

You said you’d talk to him soon and then promptly stopped being invited around, and the thought of how exactly he would get to see you again had him pacing. He didn’t want to scare you off, so he had to pivot towards more conventional methods. Which meant waiting around until Craig had finally got bored enough to start texting your friend back again. 

Weeks passed and he rarely saw you, just in flashes; by the pool, walking through the front door, lounging on the couch. He barely had the chance to look in your direction lately, much less have any type of conversation with you. The distance made him hungry, desperate enough to try to flip the odds in his favour.

“What about a party?” He suggests to his family one afternoon, all of the Cody’s crowded in the living room. All three of them turn their heads, looking at him like he’s grown an extra limb. The room is silent as they all try to process the words that came out of his mouth. “What?”

“Pope wants to throw a party.” Deran states, like saying the words out loud may help him truly understand them. “Why?”

“Don’t worry about it,” He crosses his arms over his chest, aware that he’s become a bit too defensive just a beat too late. All pairs of eyes are still on him and he shifts on his feet uncomfortable. “Just do it.”

“You won’t hear me complaining, man.” Craig says on his way out, clapping a hand on Andrew’s shoulder before he goes. The remaining Cody’s watch him go, and then eyes are back on him. He doesn’t want to answer any other questions, so he turns on his heels before they can ask any and follows his brother out.

So that’s how he ended up here.

This party was the same as the rest. Andrew wasn’t around for most of it; he had some loose ends to tie up for his family and he always elected to be out of the house whenever there was something going on, especially now that he had the choice. When he returns, he sees the same damage as always; trash in the pool, people passed out on the lawn, empty solo cups and wet footprints littered across the hardwood floors.

And Andrew does what he always does. Starts cleaning up. He wasn't really sure what his plan was, if he's being honest. He knew you always liked to linger once the parties were done, to make sure your friend was okay. Andrew was hoping that you were a creature of habit with this idea. Seems like right now, it's just delegated him to the role of janitor with no reward.

He starts out by the pool; toeing the stragglers to wake up and get off his property, sifting the garbage out of the pool and throwing the random discarded bikini tops into the trash bag right after it. It’s already the late hours of the morning when he finishes up outside. The neighbourhood is silent besides the sound of the chlorine water softly lapping at the tiles of the pool. Then he makes his way inside and starts tossing out everything in the kitchen, trying not to think about exactly what was occurring when he was gone to make this sort of mess.

“Do you need some help?” A small voice asks and he whirls around on instinct. He turns to face you and he almost wants to drop the black trash bag he’s holding out of shock. Andrew gives you a once over and you look so similar to the first night that he met you that it makes his heart skip a beat in his chest. A short dress and barefoot, except this time your heels are nowhere to be seen. You seem a bit groggy, dark make up smudged around your eyes. He oscillates between dwelling on how beautiful you are and wanting to get on his knees to see exactly what you got on under your dress.

“It’s late.” Is what he says instead, continuing his job of cleaning up. There’s a thousand unsaid things with those two words and it seems like you somehow know him well enough to answer all of them.

“Craig said I could crash on the couch,” you say, beginning to collect some of the empty cans off the kitchen counter. Andrew tries to level a look at you, to let him do it, but you give him a look straight back and continue. “And I want to help you. Doesn't seem like anyone else is.”

He accepts that and you two clean in silence for a few moments, working alongside each other. His eyes can’t help but follow you as you flounce around the kitchen, picking things up and tossing them into the bag into his hand. And then you speak. “So, why am I the only one helping you?”

He furrows his brows, pausing for a second as your words catch him off guard. Andrew glances over at you once more and you’re looking at him expectantly. He can’t help but feel compelled to answer, although your big fluttery eyes may play a small part in that. Trying to ignore the blood rushing downwards, he answers. “What do you mean?”

“Um, I mean there’s like, at least two or three other people who live in this house,” He can basically hear your frown as you speak, unceremoniously throwing another piece of trash into the bag. “Why am I the only one helping you clean up? The mess of a party that they threw?”

Andrew has never really thought about it before. He supposes this has always been his role, cleaning up after his family. Solving their problems. Making the bad things go away. Doing the messy work.

“I don’t need any help,” he says simply, voice gruff. He tries to ignore the heat of your disappointed eyes on him as he turns around, but he can still hear your loud sigh. You notice that he’s trying to avoid your gaze, so you catch his forearm in your hand. His muscles twitch under your touch, warmth seeping through your skin. Andrew slowly drags his gaze up from your hand on his arm to your face and he can’t help but soften. “I got it.”

“I just meant that you’re always taking care of everyone else, Andrew,” you explain, hand still on his arm. Your voice is soft in the way that he likes; a tone that seems to be reserved just for him. “Cleaning up after everyone. Making sure they don’t kill each other. Craig’s told me that you’ve bailed him out plenty of times.”

Andrew frowns. He doesn’t like the idea of his brothers talking about him when he’s not around, especially to you. He scowls at the thought, tying off the full garbage bag and placing it aside. He tries to pull away to grab another bag and continue, but your grip tightens on his arm.

“I’m serious. Just leave it for them to deal with for once,” You pull him back towards you, but he feels conflicted. He doubts anyone would actually do it if he left it for them to do —he’s seen the state the house gets into when he’s gone. Andrew hesitates for a moment, but all thoughts fade from his mind when your hand slips from his forearm into his palm, fingers twining with his. All he can do is stare while his brain tries to catch up to what’s happening. “Come on.”

You pull him along and it doesn’t take much effort to have him following. Continuing to stare, he’s got half a mind to hope that his mouth isn’t hanging open. He realizes where you’ve taken him in Smurf’s just a beat too slow as he enters the room.

His room.

He turns to face you slowly and the expression on your face is unreadable as you shut the door behind you. It reminds me of the first time that he saw you all that time ago. The room is silent for a moment as you two take each other in. Andrew hopes that you can’t hear the shaky breath that he lets out from across the room.

“Sit,” you command, gesturing to the bed. Andrew doesn’t waste any time obeying, sitting on the edge of the bed, feet planted firmly on the floor. His hands rest on his thighs, clenching and unclenching anxiously. You approach him slowly, closing the distance until he’s face level with your torso. The position has him blushing —he’s sure his face must be red. He tilts his head up to look at you and you take one step closer. His legs part naturally to accommodate you, bracketing your figure.

“Will you let me take care of you, Andrew?” you ask, hand sliding into his hair. He struggles to not let out a groan, blood rushing straight to his dick. He’s so distracted by the feeling of your nails scratching along his scalp as he leans into your touch that he barely even registers the question.

“Okay.” It comes out quiet and breathy, but it feels loud in the silent room. He watches the ends of your lips curl up into a smile, his eyes fluttering. You take the hands that were settled on his thighs and place them on your hips. Taking the opportunity to appreciate your body, his hands run over your curves slowly as he sucks in a sharp breath. He doesn’t break eye contact with you as he does so, too enraptured to take his eyes off you. It makes him twitch in his jeans when you lean a little closer, breath fanning over his face.

A few moments pass as you let him feel your body; he’s practically drooling at the feeling. Once you’ve decided he’s had his fill you climb into his lap, straddling him. He’s sure you can feel how much he wants you, the heat of your clothed pussy on his jeans making him all the more hard.

You barely give him a second to breathe before you’re catching your lips in his, your mouth parting instantly. The kiss is slow and sensual and it has him letting out a broken whimper into your mouth. That seems to spur you on, fingers gripping the front of his shirt to kiss him even deeper. 

Andrew doesn’t even know how many times he imagined doing this with you. At this point he’s lost count, but this was beyond anything that his mind could ever put together. The smell of your perfume envelopes him and your body is so warm under your thin dress that it sets his nerves alight.

He can’t help just taking a bit more, big hands gripping your hips and grinding you against him. The small moan you let out as he does so has his hips bucking. Hands still roaming, he instinctively slips his tongue into the kiss. The fact that you continue to rock your hips against his once he lets go of your waist makes him dizzy. The kiss is wet and desperate and all Andrew wants is to get closer, greedy hands grabbing.

Then he feels your fingers drift to the hem of his shirt and he lifts his arms, allowing you to pull it off. The sensation of your nails dragging across his chest sends a shiver down his spine. His hands had settled on your thighs, gripping so tight that he’s sure he’s leaving marks. He feels bad, but then he decides that he’ll kiss them as an apology later, if you’ll let him.

You stop grinding and scoot backwards a little, moving further down his lap. He opens his mouth to ask why, but then your hands are at his belt buckle and the words die in his throat. You’re quick to undo his jeans, wasting no time in pulling him out and taking him into your hands. Your hands are much softer than his rough and calloused ones, warm against the hot flesh of his length. His head tips back as you begin to stroke him slowly, eyes to the ceiling as he lets out another shaky breath.

He had always imagined what your touch would feel like wrapped around him like this, letting himself imagine it was you touching him instead of himself when he was alone. The way you twist your wrist languidly, like you know exactly just how to get him going, has his mind going blank.

“Do you like that?” You mutter, tucking your face into his neck now that he’s made the space. The way you kiss slowly up the sensitive skin of his neck makes his mind fuzzy. He can’t seem to get the words out, so he gives a slow nod instead. “Good.”

The praise makes his hips stutter, fucking into your fist. You let out a small laugh, presumably at how desperate he is for you. A low moan escapes his mouth as you swipe your thumb over the head of his cock, swiping away the precome leaking from the tip. Your touch disappears for a moment and he tips his head back forwards to you, looking at you through hooded lids. He watches as you spit into your palm and resume your actions, his jaw dropping open ever so slightly. Andrew feels drunk, the slick shlick of you stroking him filling the room.

He thinks you can tell that he’s getting close. He knows that his hips won’t stop rising to meet your touch: a dead giveaway. It’s almost embarrassing how fast you get him there, cock leaking in desperation as he whines. Your hand slips away and he groans out loud at the loss of sensation. His mind is still fuzzy and he almost misses your fingers wrapping around his wrist, guiding his hand across your body and under your dress. Looking down at where your hands meet, his breathing almost stops when you dip his fingertips past the waistband of your lacy panties.

“Don’t you want to feel how wet I am for you, Andrew?” you breathe into his ear. The words affect him deeply and he lets out a strangled noise, but he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed with you on top of him like this.

“Yes,” he says, voice hoarse. He sounds absolutely wrecked as he swipes a finger along your wetness, sickly slow, brows furrowing as he watches your lips part at his touch. You’re dripping for him; he can feel the wet patch you’ve left on your panties against his knuckles as he slides a finger into you. It’s your turn to moan, and he swears at the sound, “Fuck.”

He pumps his finger in and out slowly, basking in the feeling of you sucking him right in. You surge forward and capture his lips in yours, kissing him breathlessly. You let out a whimper into his mouth as he slips another finger alongside the first. His breath catches in his throat as he feels you flutter around his digits, velvet walls pulling him in even deeper.

Andrew loves having you like this, your dress bunched around your hips, giving him a full view of your pussy covered in lace as you grind your clit into the palm of his hand. It’s all too much for him; he drops his head to your shoulder, breathing in the scent of your perfume. He thinks of all the times he’s touched himself to the scent of you; whether that be from the sheets from the first time he met you or the way that it lingered in his room after a conversation with you, long after you’ve gone.

His pace quickens and he can feel your legs shaking against his while your hips buck, practically riding his hand. You’re mewling now, coming apart on his fingers the same way you do in his dreams. He feels you clamp down around him and he can tell you’re going to cum seconds before you tell him. He can barely hear it, words lost in your soft whimpers. A rush of wetness is slick against his palm as you let out a moan so loud that Andrew remembers there are other people in the house.

Eyes never leaving yours, he pulls his fingers out from your panties and brings them to his mouth. The way you taste has his eyes almost rolling back into his head, licking up the cum that had dripped down his fingers. He wants to get his head between your legs real fucking bad and eat you until the sun comes back up or until you’re begging him to stop. His cock aches with the desperate need to fuck you, eyes trailing down to your chest as you pull off your dress and toss it aside. He decides to save it until later. Maybe round two?

He’s appreciated your body countless times as you tanned by the pool, but the view of you on top of him, being able to touch you the way he wants, has his blood running hot in his veins. He could die under you right now and he’d die a happy man.

You push him down onto the bed with a soft push and his back lands against his freshly pressed sheets. Lifting your hips, you pull his jeans and boxers down, leaving them to pool at his ankles where his feet are still planting firmly on the floor. He kicks them off and moves further up the bed, loving how you giggle as he jostles you.

Your tongue swipes across your lips and you settle yourself into position, the lace of your panties scratching intoxicatingly against his cock. Mesmerized, he watches as you hook your fingers into your panties and pull them aside, not even bothering to remove them before lowering himself down onto his length.

The two of you let out a needy noise as you sink down, taking him to the hilt. You look absolutely beautiful, the sight of you absolutely fucked out for him making his cock impossibly harder. His hands fly to your hips as you begin to grind again, much like you were earlier.

He lets out a sharp inhale through his nose, eyes hungry. You’ve spread your cum across the short hairs at the base of his dick, whining as you chase your high. You get tired of the grinding and lift your hips, bending forward and resting your forehead against his. His eyes are on yours as you slam your hips back down, eyes fluttering shut.

The pace you set is brutal, hips pistoning as you ride him. The force of it has the frame of his bed swaying, headboard making impact with the wall every time you drop your hips. That combined with the volume of both the noises you two make as you ride him is more than enough to hear through the wall or the door. 

“So good, baby. Feels so fucking good,” he coos, lost in the way you fuck him. The wet slap of skin on skin is absolutely sinful, echoing in the room and mingling with the heavy breaths you let out. He’s got one hand on your ass and the other on your breast, overwhelmed with the need to memorize every part of your body. “Been fucking dreaming about your pussy.”

“Oh my god, Andrew,” you whine, hips moving fast. He can feel you clenching around him, trapping him in your cunt like a vice. He can barely keep his eyes open, lids low from the pleasure. You’re squeezing him so fucking tight that he swears his vision is going white. You straighten up and place a hand on his broad chest, using it as leverage to hit a whole new angle.

Andrew feels himself brush against your walls and it has his jaw dropping open as his entire body shaking at the feeling. He’s close but you’re closer, nails digging into his flesh and your moans grow more high pitched, picking up the pace. You don’t stop moving your hips when you cum around him, barely able to keep yourself upright. The feeling of you tightening around him and the sight he catches of your cum glistening around the base of his dick has him moments away from falling over the edge.

“M’gonna cum,” he slurs, hands around your waist to hold you in place as he fucks up into you now. Still sensitive from your second orgasm you squeal, falling even farther forward into his chest. Soft grunts are punched from his chest every time his hips meet yours, taking what he needs from you.

“I want it so bad,” you babble mindlessly, voice dripping with pleasure. He’s never heard you like this before, but now he can’t imagine ever living without it. His thrusts are messy now, determined to hear you beg some more. “Please, I need it.”

“Yeah?” He barely even notices himself speak, too busy fucking into your pussy to think of anything else. He’s so close that his arms are shaking, thick muscles twitching in anticipation. He almost wants to cry, overwhelmed by the way he’s buried so deep inside you. “You want me to pump you full of my cum, baby?”

“Please,” you whine, voice cracking with need. The sound of it has Andrew’s hips faltering as he does exactly that, swearing sharply as he does so. His entire body jerks from the feeling, so wracked in pleasure that he can’t control it. You let out a moan alongside his as he fucks him cum back into you, nice and slow. Once the overstimulation gets to him his hips come to a stop, sweat beading on his forehead.

You fall limp on top of him, the deep rise and fall of your chest matching his. He wraps his two big arms around you instinctively, pulling you closer against him. Andrew basks in the quiet, punctuated by nothing other than your quiet breathing, closing his eyes.

“You okay?” Your voice is muffled against his chest, warm breath fanning over his skin. He’s got a hand running absentmindedly up and down the bare skin of your back, still sticky with sweat. “That wasn’t too much?”

“No,” he rumbles, voice soft. His fingers are still skimming as allows himself to take in the moment for just a beat longer. Then he’s got you under him, flat on your back. He loves the way you look up at him, legs still wrapped around his waist. He noses his way into your neck, noticing that his scent is intermingling with yours the more time you spend with him. His hands begin to roam once more and he can feel his blood rush downwards when you look at him with your big curious eyes. “Not enough.”

If Andrew had any say in it, you two were in for a long night.

—

In the morning, Andrew is the first to wake up. He always had trouble getting to sleep, sometimes staring at his ceiling for hours in the night, but the warmth you brought to his bed had pulled him under within minutes.

He turned his head to face you, eyes flicking over your face as the amber light of the sun painted your face. You were clad in one of his shirts, the plain black looking much better on you than it ever did on him. Andrew shifts slowly so as to not wake you and slides out of bed.

The walk to the kitchen is quiet, like it usually is in the morning considering the fact that the rest of his family regularly kept late hours, so he was surprised to find Craig, already seated at the bar, tucking into a bowl of cereal. He looks up and sees who it is, his face twisting into something much more smug as he takes another bite. 

Andrew is quick to pull a face back, not interested in hashing out his night with Craig, who clearly wants to hear all the details. Instead, he starts to clear the mess that his brother had left out while he assembled his breakfast. Craig waits a beat, like he expects him to change his mind, but Andrew stays silent.

“Pope, man-” he starts, but a door creaks shut in down the hall that distracts him, leaving the unfinished sentence in the air. Then you turn the corner, still only in his shirt, and Andrew realizes that it wasn’t the noise that caught Craig’s attention. Your hair is still mussed and you’re rubbing the sleep out of your eyes when you approach him. You wrap your arms around his wide torso and his arm settles at your waist. Natural as if you’ve done it a million times before. Andrew allows himself to smile at the feeling, not even caring that his brother is watching with a shit eating grin on his face.

“Just stay,” Deran said, handing you a beer that you declined with a shake to your head. “At least for a few weeks until you get settled.”

“Deran—”

“Smurf won’t care,” he interjected with a shrug. “You can even stay in my room.”

“So, what? I stay here without you? How weird is that!” 

“Weirder things have happened here,” Deran laughed, leaning back against the couch in the living room. He had a cigarette between his lips as he looked over at you. “I’ll let Smurf know, how about that?” 

“Why can’t I just stay with you?”

“Because,” he said. “I’m—I’m trying to make things right with Adrian.” 

You sighed. “Fine, okay.”

“If I didn’t tell you yet,” Deran continued, exhaling the smoke. “You deserved better. Can’t believe you wasted five years of your life on that douchebag.”

You grabbed one of the pillows and tossed it in his direction, seeing him catch it with a quiet chuckle. “Whatever. I was young. He was my first love.”

“You ever been with anyone else?” 

“You know I haven’t,” you answered. 

“Guess now’s a good time as any then,” Deran grinned. 

“Yeah? Is Pope available?” You teased, a small smile curling your lips. You always did have a crush on Deran’s older brother. He was quiet, reserved, liked to keep to himself, but his loyalty and protectiveness over his family shone through in the worst ways possible. 

You’d been around the Cody family ever since you were younger—being Deran’s best friend meant being around Smurf and the rest of his brothers. Craig and even Baz tried to hit on you as you got older, but Pope was a different story. He’d stare at you, but would never make a move. He’d give you a simple hello before walking the other way. 

He had always been mysterious. 

Now, it was Deran’s turn to toss the pillow at you. You didn’t catch it though and it hit you square in the face. “Stay away from Pope.”

“I won’t do anything,” you said. “Besides, what kind of man would want to be with a woman who doesn’t really have any experience?”

“I’m serious,” Deran said. “He’s off limits.” 

“Okay, okay,” you answered. “Besides, it’s not like he’s staying here. Last you said, he had his own place now.”

“He does.”

“Good. Then, you and I have nothing to worry about.”

Deran’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And if he does come by?”

“Then, I’ll look the other way. He’s never paid me any attention anyway, Deran. Relax.” 

“I don’t know,” he said. “You let it slip once that you had a crush on him.” 

“I was young! He had this… strong, yet mysterious vibe going on. Who wouldn’t be attracted to that?”

“Okay,” Deran shook his head and put out his cigarette, standing up from the couch and extending your hand. “Let me show you to where you’ll be staying.”

“I’ve been here before,” you scoffed. “And I’ve been in your room too.”

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to be a great host.”

“Technically, Smurf’s the host—”

“What about me?” Smurf entered the living room. She had that same grin you had been so used to and immediately, you stood from the couch and walked over to stand next to Deran. 

“Hey, Smurf,” he said. “She’s gonna crash here for a bit, that okay?”

“Of course, baby,” she smiled, walking casually over to the both of you. Her eyes lingered on you briefly before she turned to Deran. “How long?”

“Few weeks,” he answered. “She—Uh, she—”

“Caught my boyfriend cheating on me, so… I just had to get out there and leave,” you interrupted. “If it’s not okay with you, Smurf, that’s fine. I’m sure I can figure something out.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Smurf answered, turning her eyes over to you. “The house is a bit lonely without my boys.”

“You have J,” Deran said. 

“And he’s barely around.”

“Few weeks max,” you chimed in. “Then, I’ll be out of our hair, Smurf… and if you need me to do anything, so that I can earn my keep, just let me know.”

Smurf chuckled. She glanced over at Deran who just shook his head before she turned back to you. “I’ll let you know, baby.” 

“Right, okay, to your room,” Deran said. “Come on.”

“Thank you, Smurf,” you smiled, looking at the older woman with soft eyes. “I really do appreciate it.”

Later that week, you finally managed to get the rest of your things from the apartment you shared with your ex-boyfriend. He tried to plead with you to give him a second chance, that he just wasn’t in the right state of mind, that it wouldn’t ever happen again.

But you still left. 

Even if he admitted that he was going to propose to you. 

And now, you were sitting on the edge of the bed with tears trickling down your cheeks. Smurf was away for the day, something about getting things prepared for a party tonight, so you assumed that you had the entire house to yourself. You wiped your eyes, took a deep breath, and walked towards the bathroom to take a bath. Maybe that would get your mind off the fact that Deran was right—you did waste five years of your life with someone who never did deserve you in the first place. 

As you opened the door, your eyes widened at the sight of a naked man stepping out of the shower. You cleared your throat, watched his eyes widen too, before he reached for a towel immediately to cover himself. 

You diverted your gaze to the ground, staring at your feet, as your mind raced. Deran said that he had his own place. Even Smurf said that the house was empty except for J, who you barely saw come and go. 

So, you were surprised. 

So fucking surprised to see Andrew “Pope” Cody—naked and dripping wet.

The man you always had a crush on.

“Fuck, I am so sorry, I didn’t know anyone was here. I didn’t hear the water running and—”

He didn’t even respond. All Andrew did was tie the towel around his waist and retreat to the bedroom on the other side, the sound of the door closing was enough to pull you out of whatever was lingering in your mind. 

The first thing you did was call Deran, who answered after the third ring.

“Hey, a bit busy right now at the bar and—”

“You didn’t fucking tell me that Andrew was staying here!” You whispered into the phone, shutting the bathroom door on the other side and locking it. “I just—Goddamnit, can this day get any worse?”

“What?”

“I just walked in on your brother stepping out of the shower, Deran. He was—”

You heard him sigh on the other end of the phone. 

“Smurf didn’t say anything to me,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I think I should probably pack up and leave,” you sighed. “I’ll get a hotel or something.”

“What? No, stop, you’re fine,” Deran said. “Just—don’t go anywhere. I’ll be there tonight.”

“I really don’t feel like partying it up with a bunch of strangers, Deran.”

“Who said you have to be with a bunch of strangers?”

“We all know how these parties are,” you sighed. 

“Fine, then just stay in the room, but don’t go anywhere, okay?” 

“What am I supposed to do until then?”

“Figure it out. Surely, that’s not the first time you’ve seen a—”

“Deran!” 

He laughed. “I’ll see you tonight. Just relax.”

You hung up the phone and looked up to stare at yourself in the mirror. You let out a quiet sigh and leaned down to splash some water on your face before leaving the bathroom and making your way into the kitchen. 

Then, you saw him. His back facing you and the fabric of this shirt stretching over the back of him. His hair was still wet and you noticed some droplets of water trickling down the side of his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of you entering the kitchen and said, “You’re Deran’s friend.”

“Yeah, look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you were here. I’ve only be here myself a few days and—”

“Why are you here?” 

“What?”

“Why are you here?” Andrew repeated, turning to face you now.

“I’m staying here for a few weeks,” you whispered, biting your lower lip as you held his gaze. 

“Why?”

You sighed and finally looked away and down at your feet, noticing that he was barefoot in front of you too. “Moved out of my ex-boyfriend’s. Needed a place to stay.”

“What happened?”

“With my ex?” 

Andrew nodded.

“Just didn’t work out.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“Physically? No,” you answered. “But as Deran likes to say, he wasted five years of my life, so lots of emotional damage there.”

He quietly huffed. Andrew looked over at you and watched you move your eyes back to his. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you sighed. “Anyway, if there’s going to be a problem with me staying here, I can find—”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted. “If Deran said that you should stay here, then… you should stay here.”

You nodded. “Can we—Can we forget about what happened earlier? I didn’t see anything.”

“Okay,” he said quietly. Andrew looked around the kitchen and sighed. The kitchen was a mess and he always did like things neat and tidy. “Smurf’s having a party later,” he whispered. 

“Yeah, I heard,” you answered. “Not really my style,” you continued, walking over to the sink and putting on the yellow rubber gloves. “You?”

Andrew shook his head and let his eyes reluctantly take in you frame from behind, gaze lingering on your ass from the leggings that you were wearing. “No,” he said. “Too many people.” When he heard you turn the water on from the sink, Andrew stepped closer to you. “Hey, I can clean up—”

You looked over your shoulder at him and smiled. “It’s okay, Andrew.”

His eyes softened over at you then nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll—Uh, I’ll be back later then.” 

“And we’re okay, right?” You asked.

He nodded. “Nothing happened,” he answered. 

You let out a breath of relief and smiled. “Thanks, Andrew.”

He nodded again and then walked around the corner, eyes lingering on you once more before he faced forward. Andrew would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t notice you whenever you would come around; the age gap and the fact that you were Deran’s best friend prevented him from making any moves on you anyway. 

But you were older now… and vulnerable. 

It was already bad enough that he had to be in the same vicinity as Smurf and now, he didn’t know how he would be able to live under the same roof as you. 

“There’s a party going on, you know,” Deran said, leaning against the doorframe to see you sitting on the bed with a book on your lap. “You could—I don’t know, mingle?” 

“I don’t want to mingle, Deran,” you sighed, setting the book on the nightstand. “I just don’t want to be around people I don’t know… and I really don’t want to be around people coked out of their minds either.”

“Oh, come on,” he chuckled. “This isn’t your first Cody party.”

“I know, but you know that shit never appealed to me,” you answered. “Besides, I just—I want to be alone, okay?”

“What did you find out?” Deran asked, walking over to you and sitting at the edge of the bed. He set down an unopened bottle of beer on the nightstand and watched you look over at him. “In case you want it for later.”

“He was going to propose to me,” you blurted out. “Begged me to take him back, said that it was a mistake.”

“Shit,” he sighed. “Do you believe him?”

“I don’t know anymore.”

“Well, I’m proud of you.” Deran said, gently tapping your knee with the end of his beer lightly. “You could’ve given him another chance, but you didn’t.”

“Wanted to, though,” you said honestly. “You don’t just… forget five years of memories that you shared with someone you love.”

“Yeah, but it’s also not a good reason to stay in a relationship where you’re not valued, you know?”

“I know,” you whispered. 

“You really not gonna come out?” Deran asked, staring up at you with his deep blue eyes. 

“No,” you laughed. “And trust me, those eyes don’t work on me.”

Deran smiled. “Will you be okay?”

“Yeah, Deran,” you answered. “I’ll probably head to bed soon anyway.”

“Okay,” he said. “If you need me—”

“I know how to reach you,” you finished for him. “Now go, have fun. I’m fine, Deran.”

“Lock the door,” he said. “So no one knows to come in here.”

You nodded and stood from the bed, watching him step out of the bedroom. He raised his beer in the air before turning on his heel to walk down the hallway. Just like he said, you shut the door and locked it behind you, sighing quietly to yourself as you walked back towards the bed. 

Until you noticed Andrew stepping into the shared bathroom. His eyes met yours before they deviated to your exposed legs briefly. You cleared your throat and raised your hand to wave at him. He just gave you a curt nod before he shut the bathroom door on your side. 

You sighed quietly, shaking your head to yourself. “Did I really just fucking wave?” You muttered under your breath, falling back onto the mattress and staring up at the ceiling. 

The toilet flushed. 

You heard the water from the sink running.

Then, after a few minutes, the door opened again. 

Andrew stood there, staring at you with his hands to his side and his posture perfectly straight as always. 

You sat up on your forearms and looked over at him, biting your lower lip when you noticed his eyes move back to your legs. 

“Andrew?”

“You really meant it,” he said quietly, stepping closer to your side of the room but not quite stepping inside. 

“About what?”

“The party,” he answered.

You stood from the bed this time, walking over to him slowly. “Oh,” you said. “Yeah, getting drunk and doing coke with a bunch of people doesn’t sound fun to me.” 

“No? What is your definition of fun, then?” Andrew asked.

“Dancing,” you smiled. “What about you?”

“Nothing,” he answered. 

“Really? Nothing at all?” 

The corner of his lips lifted just slightly. “Swimming,” he corrected. “I used to love swimming when I was a kid.”

“Well, we can’t go swimming,” you said. “Too many people out there.”

“Why would we go swimming now?”

“Because it’s your definition of fun.”

He lowered his gaze. “And what about dancing?”

You let out a quiet laugh. “No offense, Andrew, but you don’t seem like the dancing type.”

“I’m not,” he answered. “But doesn’t mean you can’t go dancing.”

“What? By myself?” 

He shrugged. “Do you always need someone to dance with?”

“It’s more fun that way.”

“Hm,” Andrew whispered. 

“You know,” you said quietly, feeling a sudden surge of confidence. You stepped closer to him and noticed him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Deran said you’re off limits.”

“Off limits?”

“Yeah,” you answered. “We were talking about how… well, how my ex-boyfriend was the only person I’ve ever been with and he said now’s a good time as any to get out there,” you shrugged. “Then, I asked if you were available.”

“Me?”

You nodded. “He said to leave you alone.”

“He gave you some good advice,” he said. “You’re—well, you’re young.”

“I’m Deran’s age,” you said.

“Yeah, he’s also young,” Andrew replied. He reached up hesitantly and touched the ends of your hair, eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes. “I don’t think I’m the person you should… gain experience with.”

“Why not?” You asked. “I trust you. Would you suggest I go out there instead and find the first man I see and bring him back here?”

His jaw tightened. Andrew stepped closer—this time, crossing the threshold from the bathroom and into the room you had been staying at. “No,” he answered.

“Are you sure? Because I think I can do that.”

“No,” he repeated with narrowed eyes. 

“Andrew,” you whispered. “Did you know that I always had a crush on you?” 

His lips parted and he took another step closer to you; he could feel your body heat radiating against his. “You can’t—you can’t say things like that.”

“You know, Craig and Baz would hit on me all the time,” you continued. “But all I wanted was their older brother.” 

Andrew let out a shaky breath. He felt your fingers hook through the belt loop on his jeans to tug you closer, causing him to collide against you as you fell back onto the bed with him. His eyes widened just slightly at the sudden position he was in—on top of you and settled between your legs. 

His hands moved to rest on your mattress as he looked down at you. “Deran can’t know about this.”

“Well, yeah,” you smiled. “He’d kill me.”

“And me,” Andrew said. 

“Then, it’s our little secret,” you replied, finally moving your hands to his chest and feeling the muscle beneath your fingertips. 

He nodded and lowered himself just enough to brush his nose with yours. Andrew heard you inhale sharply as one hand above your head gripped the sheets on the mattress. His other hand moved to your hip before lowering it to hook your leg around his waist, brushing his fingertips along the side of your leg slowly. “And when you’re here… You can’t be wearing these shorts around me.” 

“But I sleep in them,” you said quietly, feeling his lips brush across your cheek and down your jawline. 

“And yet, you wear ‘em during the day and walk around like it’s nothing.” 

“Didn’t think you noticed.”

Andrew pulled back to look down at you. “Oh, I notice everything.”

You felt his fingers move from the outside of your leg to the inside, brushing against your inner thigh. “Andrew…” you whimpered.

“Tell me what you want,” he said. 

“What?”

“Tell me what you want,” Andrew repeated, voice a bit louder now. 

You smiled, moving your hands to the end of his shirt and slowly lifting it over his head. Once the shirt was completely off, you set it aside and took in his bare chest, clearing your throat quietly. “You, Andrew,” you answered. “I want you.”

A low growl escaped his lips. He felt your fingers run lightly down his chest and abdomen and back up, causing his muscles to flex. 

“What do you want?” 

“Doesn’t matter what I want,” he whispered.

You sat up on your forearms and looked up at him, lightly pecking his lips. “Yes, it does,” you said. “What you want matters to me.”

Andrew’s eyes narrowed. It shouldn’t have had that much of an effect on him—the words you said—but it did. He leaned in and pressed his lips firmly against your own as your hands moved from his chest to his thick arms, squeezing his biceps. You eagerly moved your lips with his, feeling him press his lower half against you. 

One of his hands moved from your leg to your hip and further up your body underneath your shirt. His rough hand brushed over every inch of your soft skin until it covered your breast, squeezing it into his palm. Andrew parted his lips, feeling your tongue slide with his own, his hips rolling against yours again.

You gripped his arms and slowly moved him onto his back, straddling his waist instantly. You pulled back to look down at him, biting your lower lip as he moved (with you still on top of him) to sit against the headboard. 

“You’re here for a few more weeks?” He asked.

You nodded, reaching down to pull the shirt over your head. “Until I get my own place.”

“Maybe,” he whispered, eyes moving to your bare chest now. “Maybe stay as long as you need.”

You smiled and moved your hands to his jeans, undoing the button and lowering the zipper as you lifted yourself just enough for him to push it down his legs until he was seated only in his briefs. “Do you want me to stay, Andrew?”

He nodded, feeling you firmly sit back down on top of him. His hands moved to your hips now, head leaning forward to press his lips on your collarbone. “Yes,” he whispered. 

“Then, okay,” you said, hands moving through his hair until you locked them together at the nape of his neck. “I’ll stay.”

That made his lips curl into a smile.

“Oh, look at that,” you said quietly. “You can smile.”

His eyes narrowed as the grip around your hips tightened, guiding you along his lap slowly. You felt his hardened length between your legs, firmly pressing against your clothed sex. You were both half naked, the only parts covering your bodies were his boxer briefs and your shorts. 

“Don’t go telling anybody,” Andrew said teasingly, though a quiet grunt escaped him. “Because I’ll only smile for you.”

You smiled to yourself and leaned down to kiss him once more. His hands moved from your hips and up your bare back before they came around to cover your breasts. You continued to roll your hips against his, chasing the friction, as your lips expertly moved with his. You could feel how hard he was too, the thin fabric of your shorts and his briefs only fueling you further.

Andrew pulled back to nip at your lower lip, thumbs brushing against your nipples before they began massaging your breasts into his palms. He looked up at you, watching you intently as you let out a quiet whimper at the feel of him. 

“Yeah, you fucking like that, don’t you?” Andrew said, lifting you just slightly to pull your shorts and panties down your legs. He looked at you now, tongue darting out to lick his lower lip. “Did you get all wet seeing me come out of the bathroom? Been thinking about that image all day, huh?”

You nodded, feeling his lips wrap around one of your nipples. He flicked his tongue against you as the other hand continued to massage your breast. “Andrew,” you moaned quietly, reaching up to cover your mouth. 

“You can be as loud as you want,” he demanded. “No one can hear us, I promise you.”

“Unless they walk by our rooms and—”

“Want me to cover your mouth, then? That what you want?” He asked.

Your eyes widened.

His lips curled into a smirk.

“Oh, you do want me to cover your mouth.” Andrew pulled back and reached down with one hand to lower his briefs, his length bobbing against his lower half. You gasped at the sight of him before settling yourself onto him, the lips between your legs sliding along the underside of his manhood—skin to skin, no clothes interfering with it now. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, looking down between your bodies. 

You continued to move your hips forward and backwards, your slickness now coating his length. He was hot and so fucking hard, so you reached down to grab a hold of his base, your hips lifting just slightly as you notched him at your entrance. 

“Condom?” He asked.

You smiled. “Who said you were going in me?”

Andrew furrowed a brow. “Well, you’re holding me like you’re about to sit on it,” he answered. 

You leaned forward, forehead resting against his, as you whispered, “I don’t think I’ll want to do this with anyone else.”

“You better not,” he growled, feeling you stroke his base slowly. “We do this and you’re mine.”

“I think I like the sound of that,” you smiled, lowering yourself just enough to feel the tip of him slide into you. 

Andrew’s lips parted.

Your eyes fluttered.

You lifted your hips again and slowly climbed off his lap. You didn’t know if Deran kept any condoms, but you were hoping that he did as you opened the drawer of the nightstand. With a relieved sigh, you grabbed the condom and handed it over to Andrew.

You watched him roll the condom over his length before you felt him reach for your ankle to tug you back to him. You laid back and felt him hover above you as he reached down to grab a hold of himself, running the head of his manhood along the length of your sex. 

As he slid into you for the first time, his free hand came up to cover your mouth as a loud moan left your lips. His hand muffled the sound until he filled you to the hilt. 

Instead, he held his hand out, the one still wearing his wedding ring. It took you only a moment to slip your smaller fingers into his warm, waiting palm. 

So gently it felt like he was tugging on your heart at the same time as your hand, Jack pulled you into a hug. He tucked your head against his shoulder, your face pressed to his neck. You inhaled the familiar scent of his soap—something earthy and fresh and so comforting it was like a blanket wrapped around your soul.

“Give it time,” came Jack’s gruff reply, his voice soft as the summer breeze swirling through Pittsburgh. “It’ll pass.” 

Your heart thudded a protest, but when you opened your mouth to give it voice, Jack’s arms tightened securely around your body. He hugged you harder, one of his hands skimming up your spine to settle against the back of your head. He held you close—so close that the words died on your lips and all you could do was soak up the feeling of being in his arms.

“You’ll find someone better,” Jack went on, the low rumble of his voice sending a shiver down your spine and threatening to distract you with thoughts of what he’d sound like in bed, his thick, sturdy body between your thighs, his bare skin against yours… “You’ll find someone who can give you the world—someone who can take care of you, who isn’t old and broken.”

“You’re not broken.” The words were ripped out of you with the force of your vehemence and you pushed against Jack’s hold until you could bring your hands up to his grizzled jaw, tugging on his face until he looked at you. “You take care of me—better than anyone in my life.”

You let the words hang in the air between you, letting Jack read between the lines of your confession—that he cared for you better than your family. That you wanted him to take care of you and give you the world. 

Jack tore his gaze from yours, staring off into the streets of Pittsburgh. You could tell his inner war had resumed raging, even as he pulled you closer, your feet tripping between his, until your body was flush against his.

“Why on earth would you want to be with an old man like me?” His voice was softer, barely a rasp on the breeze, and his eyes were desperately sad when his gaze met yours again. “What kind of a man would I be if I let you throw your life away on me?”

“Jack.” His name came out on a sob, your heart cracking open at the gut-wrenching vulnerability in his words. You couldn’t suffer another moment of being so close to him and not kiss him. 

Gathering all the courage that had led to you confessing your feelings for your father’s friend, you pushed up onto your toes and pressed your lips to his. Jack’s mouth was soft and warm, the gray stubble on his jaw tickling your cheeks as your fingers tangled in the short, curly hair at the nape of his neck. 

For a moment, the two of you hung suspended in your reckless decision. Then, with a soft, rumbling growl deep in his chest, Jack snapped. 

He gathered you tight in his arms, his lips parting, moving against yours in a deep, devouring kiss. Your fingers sank further into his soft, silvery hair, clinging to him as you kissed him back with all the pent-up desire you felt.

Jack kissed you so ferociously, you felt your spine curving. One of his hands pressed firmly to your lower back, holding you anchored to his body as you tugged him closer, knowing he’d never let you fall. 

He was ravenous, and you were insatiable. In that moment, you knew that if you and Jack lived for a thousand years, you’d never get enough of kissing him. You’d never get enough of him. 

It wasn’t until your lungs were burning for air that you pulled away, gasping for breath while Jack pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your throat. The scratch of his scruff against your neck had you mewling and rubbing your soft body against the hard lines of his, feeling the thick weight of him against your belly.

“Let me love you, Jack,” you murmured urgently in his ear, fingers curled tight in his hair so he couldn’t pull away. “Give me time to show you how much I want this—want you. Please.”

Jack shuddered in your arms, and you could feel his resolve crumbling around your tangled legs. He lifted his head, meeting your gaze with his darkened eyes, his expression serious. 

“You want time, sweetheart?” Jack asked, his eyes softening, his palm cupping your cheek in his hand like you were something infinitely precious. “I’ll give you all the time I have left on this planet.” 

Dr. Jack Abbot kissed you then, soft and sweet, sealing his promise, and marking the start of your new life together.

Whitaker's hand hesitated in the air like they were in class. “Well I think by casual she means-”

“I know what casual means, Fuckle-berry,” said Santos quickly. “But it was casual now it's just weird.”

You nodded along, humming.

She groaned, hands running through her hair in frustration. “I don't get it!”

You took a long gulp of your wine.

“How do you handle it?” Trinity asked, arms wide in question at you.

“Me?”

“Yeah, how do you and Robby do casual?”

“Oh- we... it's- um-” you stumbled over your words, hoping that if you let it up long enough she'd take it back and start on her problems again. She didn't and she stood in front of you and Whitaker, waiting for an explanation.

The whole thing between you and Robby had started about the same time Santos and Garcia started. In an awkward confrontation that was you and Trinity bumping into each other in your shared bathroom, both your hairs messed up and both supporting bruises suspiciously in the shape of lips on your necks.

When you returned to your room you and Robby waited eagerly to see who would flee Santos's room. Neither too shocked to find Garcia.

“It's um?” Trinity asked.

“It's going,” you said into your wine glass, finishing it and pouring in more. The truth was for a while things had been odd, on your end more so.

Casual was a label you thought you could do, that when Robby said to you a week after sleeping together, his sheets over the both of your bodies that he liked keeping it simple. Sex. Release. You thought you could do it.

Almost three months since then and you were regretting it because every time you saw doctors eyes lingering over Robby, every time you heard his 'seven-week rule' and every time you saw happy couples fawning over each other in the ED your stomach twisted.

You didn't realise you wanted that until it was dangled in front of you and snatched away all in the same minute.

Trinity's brows rose. “Oh?”

You looked to where Whitaker was next to you, hoping for sympathy. You only found curious eyes. “It's just different than before.”

“Different how?” asked Dennis.

“Is it still casual?”

You scoffed, mumbling under your breath. “Yeah to him.”

“You want to be more?”

You didn't know if she was accusing but your room-mates expecting eyes on you heated your body in shame and embarrassment. “And you don't with Garcia?"

“Ok, enough!” suddenly Whitaker stood up. “The two of you, we need to sort this out.”

With a vacant seat next to you Trinity plopped herself down and you gave her your wine. You just decided to take the bottle.

“I cannot stand it anymore, okay! The two of you, we're gonna change this,” he said. “Trin- no more pining and waiting for Garcia to call at like one am.”

She was wanting to retort but only folded her arms over her chest as he carried on.

“And you-” he focused on you. “Need to stop crying over Robby. You guys can do better.”

“Yeah in a world where we're not working twelve hour shifts five days a week,” you said. The idea of casual hook ups wasn't anything new to the ED, not even the hospital. It was easy way of escape without the pressure of dating when all their time was spent saving lives or charting about saving lives or studying how to save lives.

On the coffee table in front of you Trinity's phone pinged and she reached for it like it was seconds away from self-destructing.

She tucked her phone into her chest to read the text before slamming it back down.

You caught a glance at the words and the contact. Can't make it tonight, I'll hit you up tomorrow- G

“You're gonna leave them,” he said.

You and Trinity sat up. “What?”

“No!”

There was a flicker of fear in his eyes.

“Okay- I take it back,” he said, surrendering. “Then how about give them a taste of their own medicine.”

“Their medicine?” you asked.

Whitaker gently nudged the empty glasses and cans of beer aside, perching on the edge of the coffee table, appealing to the two of you. “How many times have they cancelled plans, or said you couldn't come over to ask you to come over two hours later?”

You hadn't realised how perceptive he was.

“Now, make it so you guys call the shots. They want to come round, you say no.”

The idea was new to you. You'd always wanted Robby. You spent half your spare time wanting him and the other half having sex with him. You'd never even wanted to say no.

“So then we what, don't have sex?” asked Santos.

“You will,” he said. “You create distance, get them wanting and crying or what-whatever and then they'll realise they've messed up.”

You thought we was giving them too much credit.

Santos chuckled. “Huckleberry, are you telling us to play hard to get?”

He thought about it, eyes moving as if he was calculating it. “Yes!”

That's how plan 'hard to get' started. It was agreed you and Santos, the next time Garcia and Robby asked you to come over you'd say no.

Easier in practise when you work with them.

The next day was a slower day, un-usual in that sense. It meant everyone had more time to linger around each other.

“And so I said to him- officer-” said Myrna, lying on the bed between you and Robby. She'd seizure, hurt her leg and needed it disinfected and cleaned- not for the first time in her life. There was a mix of glass and gravel that needed plucking out and apparently the attending of the ED had nothing better to do that join you in the task. “What would you have done if you caught your third husband eating out another woman?”

“And did he say shoot him?” asked Robby. He was bent over the same leg as you, your heads so close you were either gonna head butt or kiss. Not likely over the state of her leg.

“No, he didn't say anything, he just arrested me!”

Robby hummed, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. “Imagine that.”

“You know Myrna sometimes I can't tell if all these stories are true,” you said, taking a small bit of glass and adding it to the pile you'd already created.

“Oh they're all true, honey, I never lie. Unlike Mark that two faced bastard.”

“Which one was Mark?” you asked.

“The fourth husband. Good body and shit everything else!” she said with a wheeze. Abruptly she grabbed your hand. “Are you single?”

Robby glanced up at you, creases of amusement at the corner of his eyes.

You looked away first. “Why, you asking me out?”

“If you're single, stay single!” she said. “Men, all they are are liars! Lying bastards! And babies! I hardly even shot the guy!”

“Am I so bad, Doctor?” asked Robby looking over the frames of his glasses at you.

Was he so bad? No. He was short-tempered sometimes, moody, didn't accept help from anyone. But you knew he could be gentle, you knew his true belly laugh and the smile he gave at mornings when you were still in bed. You just wish you knew if he ever saw himself staying in that bed a little longer, if he ever wanted to make breakfast and take the day together, stealing moments throughout.

“No,” you said, looking back down to her leg that was almost clean. “You're not.”

Myrna was oddly silent but you could see her head moving between the two of you. “Don't go there sweetheart,” she said, a word of warning. “This one might look fun but he's all danger and heartbreak.”

“Me? No,” said Robby with an air of un-care. “I'm a teddy bear.”

Five minutes later you and Robby were instructing Perlah wrapping her leg before throwing off your gloves and leaving her to it.

“How many husbands you think Myrna had?” he asked.

“Oh there's no telling,” you replied, fetching her chart to finish off the notes. At some point someone had put a star next to her name, as if she was VIP.

Robby leant next to you, scanning around the ED. “Any plans tonight?”

“On a Wednesday? Nop.”

“Wanna come over?”

There was an abrupt and loud clear of a throat.

You hadn't realised Whitaker was there but he was watching the two of you, closely. When you met his eyes he gave a small subtle shake of his head.

Robby looked. “You got a cough, Whitaker?”

He cleared his throat, sliding down in his chair. “No.”

The agreement. It was all fine in practise but how were you supposed to say no when you just said you had no plans and you really wanted to have sex with him! It was the glasses, you were sure that was what did it. The way he pulled them on and pulled them off, the focus it gave him and the way they slipped down his nose.

“So, tonight?” he asked again, voice low.

Only a few people knew, like your room-mates and you were sure others had guessed. Robby wanted to keep it private. Or a secret, you'd never asked for clarification.

You caught Whitakers gaze on yours, watchful. He didn't say anything but you wondered if he'd be disappointed. Would you even be disappointed in yourself? “I can't tonight.”

“Oh,” he said, nodding. “Okay.”

He didn't sound annoyed. He didn't sound anything. It was impossible to tell.

“Yeah, we just- there's this thing-”

“Thought you had no plans?” he asked, an almost amused rise in his brows.

Ah. “It's like- not a plan- just a- a room mate thing. You know?”

Robby looked to Whitaker as if to confirm.

He nodded. “Yeah! Every Wednesday. We watch films.”

“Films,” you confirm.

“And talk.”

“We talk.”

Robby nodded. “Sounds thrilling.”

“Robby!” Dana called. “Got a trauma, woman in her thirties. Five minutes.”

“Got it," he said but he was still slumping over the counter. He took his time moving, stretching up till his shirt rode up enough to expose that slither of skin that held so many promises. “Some other time then.” His hand ghosted the small of your back before he disappeared.

You watched him go, realising you wouldn't spend the night buried in his bored but sleepless and restless.

Whitaker replaced Robby at your side. “See? Doesn't that feel good?”

You answered truthfully. “No.”

That night you, Santos and Whitaker sulked on the sofa, face masks over your faces with a bowl of popcorn left on the table and a shitty movie filling the silence.

Your phone lay face up with nothing from Robby and from Trinity's expression you figured she'd had nothing either.

You'd been to the bathroom once, took your phone with you and debated texting him but you never got that far. You only flicked through texts, casual one's at first. Small 'Are you coming over?' or 'You left your shirt at mine.' There were some dotted from him, on times you were both too busy to meet where things got more... riskier. His texts started simple but you could always catch on to his wants, leading his want.

Things like 'Thought about you today,' or 'you looked good today,' but he never just complimented you for the sake of it.

The texts didn't help so you turned your phone off and re-joined the two all the while your head and heart were in bed with Robby.

The next day passed like another dry spell.

It was busy- too make up for the quiet day beforehand. You didn't have time to greet Robby before being thrown into the chaos from a pile up on the highway. All day your bodies shuffled past each other, his hands lingering on your arms when he passed or always standing next to you in trauma.

It felt something like punishment.

Or a test.

By Friday you were crawling out of your skin, still dealing with the ramifications of the last two days. You hadn't even seen that Robby had text you the night before, so exhausted from work you crashed only spotting his name on your phone the morning you woke from the blare of your alarm.

“You're avoiding me,” he said, kneeling at the computer you typed furiously at to get your charting down. It was a casual move he used, usually un-tying and re-tying his shoes. This time, he simply knelt, seemingly done with pretence.

“What? No.”

“I've barely seen you the last few days," he said, wetting his lips. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, no, I've just been super busy,” you said, tapping on the computer.

Robby shuffled next to you. His hand laid next to yours. He didn't take your hand or stop you but his fingers fidgeted like he didn't know what else to do with himself. “Did I do something?”

You looked down at him, spotting the crease between his brows. “No.”

It was the closest you'd got to seeing him vulnerable.

“So tonight?” he asked. “Feel like I'm losing my damn mind.” His finger was light as it traced your hand, slowly drawing circles.

Tasting Robby was like the first sip of alcohol. It always left you wanting me. Sweet. Bitter. Whatever. You were just left wanting and nothing else, which was why you went crawling back every time. Why saying no had never crosse your mind before. Why the smallest touch from his hand was leaving you in shivers.

You squeezed your eyes shut. “I can't tonight-”

Robby smirked, breathing out a puff of air.

“I would,” you said quickly, turning in your chair to face him. “Believe me, I would, it's just... Trinity is going through some stuff and I just- I don't want to leave her alone, you know.”

It was the truth. Trinity was taking Garcia's silence worse than you or Dennis had anticipated. You knew there was more going on, you only wanted to be there to help her.

Robby perked. “You need me to speak to her?”

“No, no, it's just stuff. She'll be okay I just, want to be safe.”

He nodded but his finger fell from your hand. “Okay.”

“Doctor Robinavitch!” his name was called by the familiar dread of Gloria.

He sighed under his breath as he pushed himself up. “Oh so help me, God.”

By Saturday you were sure Robby thought you were lying and sort out to punish you. He was practically glued at your side all day long. He didn't ask to see you, didn't put his lips near you. But he lingered.

“Okay we don't have a lot of time, there's a lot of bleeding,” said Robby in the face of a trauma, looming over you. “We'll do a Hilar flip.”

“A Hilar flip, are you serious?” said Trinity.

“No other choice.”

You gulped, staring down at the bleeding and misplaced lung. “I've never done one of them before.”

“I'll talk you through it, we'll go easy,” he said, coming at your side. “You're gonna rotate the lung one-eighty, very slow. Very gentle.”

Perhaps it shouldn't have been as erotic as it was. The way his chest heaved against your back, his arm stretching along yours to hold your hand and guide it through the blood to his lung. His face was concentrated next to yours but his breath was hot on your cheek and breathless.

“Go slow.... go slow. Easy.... gentle.... just like that, there we go,” he uttered against your ear.

“Blood loss is slowing down.”

“There we go, you got it,” he mumbled as you slotted it back into its place. “Okay-” Robby moved on like your whole body wasn't trembling. You had to carry on trying to save the guys life after it, like you weren't picturing his entire body draped over yours, whispering filthy things in your ears.

“Thought I was watching a porno there,” said Santos as you all fled the room when the guy was stable.

“Jesus-” you caught your breath, throwing off the gloves and running your hands through your hair, trying to get some air to your neck that sweat.

Santos chuckled to herself. “So does Doctor Robby talk you through it?”

“Trin-” you snap.

“Does he praise you? Is that the kind of thing you're into.”

You didn't respond, hiding in the bathroom to throw cold water onto your face and calm the rush of blood but you could hear Santos outside the door. 'This is a teaching hospital!' she teased.

It became a thing you had to do, get away from him. You couldn't be distracted when dealing with patients. It was bad enough working with him when all you could think about was fucking him!

But Robby seemed to insist in helping you.

“Gaping wounds like this, under the skin we use sub-Q to bring it together,” he instructed as started the stitching for a mans wound on his leg. It was just like anything else, hardly a teaching wound when you knew how to do it. As it was under tissue and there was just no other nurse around Robby insisted.

“Five-O under skin, three-O after that,” he said.

“You think you could show me?”

You both knew you didn't need to be shown but Robby still gave you a small smile and sat on the stall, coming close to you till his meaty thigh was against your own. His hands- though gloved as yours were- still grazed yours as he took the instruments to do it.

“Guide it through... it's finer so you want to extra gentle... lotta care...”

You hummed but you couldn't say you were watching it with keen eyes. You weren't watching the way the stitches came together just the way his hands flexed, his fingers moved.

“Start deep... all the way in... bury the knot in... yeah, see how it comes together just like that?”

You nodded with an absent mind.

Robby held the equipment out to you. “Go ahead.”

You hesitated. Maybe you should have paid more attention.

He all but shoved them into your hand. “You're a big girl, you got it.”

Santos's voice played it your head. Were you into this?

With a breath you steadied yourself and went in. As he had before Robby leant over you, his body practically weighing you down.

You took the thread under the skin, pulling together just like he had.

“Bit deeper-” Robby's hands guided your arms. They were as light as a feather at your elbows before slowly sliding down your arms with a firmer hold, leading the threads.

You remembered his tight hold on you when he wanted you in place on the bed, when he was was dragging clothes off your body or wrapping a hand around your neck-

Robby called your name, watching you expectantly. His eyes were softened at the edges but they grew darker, the smallest bit of a smirk at the corner of his lips. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Right... sorry-” you went as deep as he instructed, knowing his face was concentrated on you and your hands.

“Do you want me to leave?” asked the patient.

If he could leave his leg and leave it would've been great.

“We'll get you out of here in no time,” said Robby.

You'd thought that maybe the stitching at taken so long it was almost time to leave. Maybe you could talk to Whitaker and Santos about this hard to get thing. It was only eleven and you had more than six hours left with situations that constantly brought you and Robby together. Even when it didn't, there he was, whispering words of encouragement.

“You got this... nice and easy.... doing really good there...”

Or the simple phrase that had you hiding in the bathroom for five minutes.

“Good girl.”

When the end of the day came you ran out of there, gasping in air and rushing back back to your place.

“Hey,” you greeted walking through the door.

Trinity was already there, looking like she was ready to leave, jacket thrown over her scrubs she hadn't changed out of even though she finished an hour before you. “Hey.”

“Where's Huckleberry?”

“Oh he's at Amy's tonight.”

You scoffed. “Woah. What a speech about doing better and playing hard to get but as soon as the chance comes to play farm. So, movie tonight? I can order pizza?”

“Actually, I'm just on my way out too,” she said. “Garcia called.”

You slumped. Your entire body slumped. Your heart gave up. “What? I thought we all made a deal?”

“We did, I played hard to get now she wants to see me,” she said.

“I haven't seen Robby in three days!”

“So go to his, get dicked down, girl,” she said, moving past you with a breeze. “I'm sorry, we can talk about how much of a bitch I am when I'm back from having the best sex yet! Later!”

She was out the door before you could chastise her. You shut it after her, falling upon it.

You'd ran from the ED to stay strong, to avoid another interaction with Robby that would have you climbing his bones in an empty room. You'd happily have done it with the teasing he'd subjected you to all day. For your friends and the promise you'd made you remained strong.

You'd never do that again.

Saturday night after the longest shift of your life and you had the place to yourself. It was rare. Either Denis or Trinity were home or you were spending the night at Robby's.

Your phone was heavy in your pocket.

Call him.

But the problem still lied un-answered. You were still at Robby's beck and call, begging for his attention. Begging him to be hard thinking about you so he could fuck you into the mattress to be professional the net day and treat you like you were just another MR.

You didn't want special treatment so to say, didn't want him to give you the easy patients or get you into the traumas more. You just wanted a smile, or a glimpse of .... love.

Maybe your friends were okay with what they had. You weren't.

You turned your phone off for the night and stripped from your scrubs, changing into a large shirt and blasting music Trin hated and Denis claimed to hate (but you'd heard him playing your playlist in the shower). For a crazy night alone you caught up on washing several pairs of scrubs and anything else, cleaned out the freezer leaving you barren of anything to eat. Maybe you'd even iron some normal clothes-

That's at least what you were thinking when there was a knock at the door.

You'd hoped it was Denis or Trin coming back, tails between their legs, keys forgotten.

Robby stood on the other side of the door.

You stood, frozen, shocked to see him there. He was just as still, waiting with raised brows. “Doctor Robby. Is everything okay?”

His backpack was slung over his shoulder, his scrubs only slightly dirtied from the day. But his eyes were alive and his body didn't sag with exhaustion like usual. His eyes darted back behind you. “Can I come in?”

You held open the door, closing it slowly behind you.

Robby had only been to your place once before. He looked the open living space open with interest. Typically your meet ups were at his, on account he lived alone and his bed was much nicer to be down on than yours.

“Er- Whitaker and Santos aren't home, if- if this is a hospital thing.”

“It's not,” he said, lowering his bag at the sofa.

“Oh?”

He turned, leaning against the back of it. “It's a me and you thing.”

“Oh.”

His arms flexed as he folded them over his chest, the green of his top under his scrub bunched at the forearms. His head ducked, trying to get a read on you. “So?”

You rocked on your heels, realising the shortened of the shirt you wore. Not that it wasn't anything he had seen before. “So...”

“What's going on?” he asked. There was still nothing in his voice to give away his true thoughts, only a slight edge of urgency.

“What-what-what do you mean?”

Robby listed off what he saw was wrong like symptoms. “You've been avoiding me, you never answered my texts, you didn't want to see me the other night nor tonight though you have the place to yourself-”

“I didn't realise they were gone,” you said.

“Okay so every other time?” he asked. “If I did something you can tell me. I'm a big guy, I can take it.”

It was a chance to voice up every ill thought you'd had but all you could think about was how big he was. Standing there, jutted on the back of the couch with his scrubs around his arms and thighs.

“You didn't do anything,” you said, though you weren't looking at his eyes more his arms.

They flexed again like he knew what he was doing. His voice dropped, finally to something you could name. “So tell me. what's going on.”

If you threw yourself at him you knew the chances of him taking you to bed were high, but the chances of you regretting it in the morning when he had rolled out of bed, dressed and left you were higher.

“I just-” you blew out a breath, readying yourself for the dismiss. “I don't think I can do this anymore.”

Robby waited like he was listening to the words re-play. His head lowered as he nodded, taking it in. “May I ask why?”

“It's the casual thing,” you rushed out before you could take it back. “I don't think I can do casual. I thought I could, but I-I can't.”

He nodded, chin tucked into his chest and for a moment you thought you really had upset him. But then he straightened up, pushed himself from the sofa and shrugged. His boots thudded heavy as he stepped to you slow. “Okay then.”

Was this the moment when you got the door for him on the way out?

“Okay, so... um.... I guess I'll see you-”

Robby's hands grasped your cheeks and he kissed you quick, hard. His lips tasted as they always did with a hint of mint-freshness. They were rough as always as they worked against yours, opening you up to him as always-

You brushed away, shaking your head. “I um- Robby I can't-”

He took a deep, shuddering breath. He stepped closer to you, the heat of his body waving over you. “We don't have to be casual anymore, I don't want to be casual- not anymore.”

Everyone knew Robby only knew casual. Only selected few ever got past seven weeks. Heck you hadn't counted how long this had been going on for, maybe ten weeks but that could be nothing. You were good sex, that was all.

“Robby-”

“Listen, listen-” he said, arms waving around you before settling on your forearms. “You don't want casual, neither do I. You want me to ask? You want me to ask you to be my girlfriend, I'll ask.”

“Robby you don't date,” you tried to tell him.

He scoffed. “I date. But not anymore, not if I have you.”

Had word of the deal got out? Was Robby just tired after his shift? Delusional?

“Hey, hey-" his hands ran through your hair, cradling your cheeks. “I should've said it earlier, I know but I want this. I want serious.”

His eyes crinkled as he looked at you, the edges of his gaze soft. “You don't just have to say this. You can have anyone else-”

Robby's head ducked into the crook of your neck, brushing your hair back and pressing light kisses to the expanse of your neck. “I don't want anyone else, I want you.”

Your body awakened in shivers that he elicited.

His fingers wound to the front of your body, slowly peeling away the buttons of the shirt till it pooled at your ankles. He didn't move to ravage you, his lips remained light as they kissed down your neck, finding your collarbone and working a mark there.

Your hands wound up his arms, clutching at his shoulders. “Robby-”

“Not this time,” he uttered against your collarbone.

You knew what you called him when it was you and him. “Michael-”

“Good girl.”

You moaned out at the words, the moan you'd held all day revibrating around your flat.

He slowly kicked odd his boots and helped you throw off his scrub top before he kissed you again.

You only got a short glimpse at the body you craved before his tongue, hot and heavy, slid into you mouth, bathing in the warmth. His hands were rough as they studied every inch of your body, fingertips digging into skin.

“I want you, sweet girl,” he mumbled against your lips as you scaled your hands under his shirt and along his stomach till your fingers skimmed under his waistband.

His mouth opened against yours, groaning at this slightest touch. “Oh-”

His arms scooped you up, bringing your body up and flush against him as his arms were strong on your back, kissing you. It was all wet tongue and soft lips as he stumbled back on the edge of your couch.

“Santos will kill me if we have sex on our couch,” you gasped.

Robby rose a brow. “Oh, we're having sex?” he teased.

“I should hope so.”

You kissed you hard again, wetting the both of your mouths in delectable smacks of your lips. The two of you stumbled away to your room and his body caged you in as the two of you fell atop your sheets.

You crawled up the bed as Robby's face fell between your chest. His tongue made wet paths from each breast, taking a nipple in his mouth and his hand groping at the other one till you withered against his body.

“Michael-”

He moaned into your breast and shoved a meaty thigh between your legs. “Grind on me,” he demanded.

Your body did against him as if it only listened to his command.

He mouthed your other breast, groping where his tongue had pressed before. All the while you body moved against his thigh, dragging your pussy against him.

“Yeah.... jus' like that... god.... can feel you.... so good,” he uttered as he jutted his thigh against you.

Your hands went to his shoulders, messaging the skin there until he came back up your body and shoved his tongue down your throat again. Your arm wrapped around his neck, keeping him into you.

All the while you wet down his scrubs.

“You want serious?” he uttered against you, pulling back enough to see you.

You nodded, hair splayed over your pillow.

Robby nodded along, eyes hooded. His hand slid down between your bodies. “I can do serious.”

His finger slid into you, working in and out in slow thrusts. But even the meassured curl of his finger had you holding him, back arching from the bed.

“Mmph-”

“Don't be quiet,” he said, nuzzling his head in you neck, biting the skin there. “Don't do that.”

Another finger curled in and you moaned on. You weren't quiet usually, there was nothing more than Robby liked than being loud. Everything was measured in the ED, out of it, buried inside of you or hot mouths on each other had Robby groaning, moaning and wanting you to do the same.

His fingers thrusted knuckle deep in and out again, the soft moving of skin moving around the room as your breaths covered the sound.

His fingers moved quick as your breaths grew laboured. He sucked the skin of your neck, thrusting and curling as his hips sort some sort of friction.

You withered against him. “I'm gonna- Michael I'm gonna-”

He released your skin with a small bite and laid his mouth open on yours. “Cum,” he uttered.

“Michael-”

His voice turned harder, the hand that wasn't inside of you wrapping around your neck, pushing you into your bed. “Cum.”

With just the right curl Robby had your pussy in the palm of his hand, slick with your release as he worked you through it, rubbing his hand along your clit with jolts of your body.

“God so good,” he said, looking up at you as a thin sheen of sweat glistened on your bodies. “And all mine?”

You nodded, cheeks flushed. You could feel the heat of your body as strong as it was when he walked in.

“All mine, huh?”

“Yes,” you said, breathless.

Robby slowly took out his fingers from you, putting his fingers in his mouth and licking them clean like it was nothing. He fell back on his feet, fingers working on the ties of his scrubs. “That why you were avoiding me?”

“I wasn't-” your words died in your throat as he dropped his scrubs and boxers in one.

You'd seen his cock enough to know it by memory but the size and fullness of him always rendered you speechless.

Robby knew it to. He stood there with a smirk. “You weren't avoiding me?”

Slowly, he sank to his knees.

“No,” you said, mesmerised by the sight of him going down.

Robby's hands grabbed your thighs, spreading them. He tapped your ankles, getting them on the bed as he got closer to your heat, still leaking from the last orgasm. “Promise?”

The words had hardly left your lips before his tongue pressed into you.

Your entire body moved into his but his arms wrapped around your hips, keeping you pressed into the bed. He moved further up, burying himself in you.

“Aw- fuck-” your hands waved for purchase before curling into the sheets.

He licked a stripe up and down before nudging your lips open and finding himself in there. It wasn't the slow drag of fingers but the desperate kisses and licks of a man hungry. He pulled back, spitting against you. “You won't avoid me again, will you baby?”

You shook your head.

Robby's eyes remained on yours until he buried himself in your pussy. You watched his eyes roll into the back of his head as he moaned into you.

His hands kept you spread open every time they quivered but it didn't take long for his hand to wind down to his cock. You prepped yourself up onto your elbows to watch as he pumped his cock agonizingly slow.

“Want your cock, Robby-”

He halted his movements and you but down on your lip.

“What did you just call me?” he asked, slowly moving up your body.

You knew you were supposed to call him Michael but watching the full swing of his cock stand to attention as he made his way over you was far too distracting.

“Hey-v his hand cupped your chin, forcing you to look up. “Michael.”

You nodded. Your hands reached for his cock, straining to wrap around him.

The only notice of the effect you had was the clench of his jaw.

“Michael,” he repeated, voice almost a growl.

“Michael.”

He nodded.

“Condom?” he asked, jutting back on his heels.

Your hand slowly worked his cock, the pre-cum beading at the tip. You shook your head. You were both clean, you were on the pill but tonight you wanted to feel everything, wanted him to even fill you-

Robby bent his head, spitting down on his cock and your hand. For a moment that's all it was, you hand moving on his cock as your other circled your clit. “God... your hand.... missed you...”

When your strokes got heavier, faster Robby's head fell back and he groaned. His cock was pink, heavy in your hand-

Quickly he grabbed your wrist and threw it off before grabbing the hilt of his own cock and slowly pushing into you.

His throat strained as he groaned at the push in and your back arched into him. “Fuck!” he fell atop you, arms braced at either side. “Shit- ah-”

Your arm wrapped around his shoulders, keeping you in.

“God, you make me crazy,” he uttered, searching for your lips.

The two of you collided in a mess of salvia, tongue, lips as he pushed into you, catching your gasps.

Eventually the rock of his hips grew steady. The creak of your old bed echoed the moves of him against you.

“Shit- ah-” he groaned, shaking off the sweat and the tension.

“Michael,” you said, holding him in closer. “I want you to... go hard.”

Hard he could do. Soft he could do. He would do anything you asked.

His tongue darted out, swiping your lips. “You missed me?”

“So much, so much, so much,” you pulled him down till his weight tested yours, cock deep. “On me.”

“Okay, okay,” he mumbled to himself. He put all his weight down, crashing your body into his bed. He wasn't as young as he once was. By no means but if you wanted it, he'd give it.

Pressed into you his cock went far and deep and he couldn't fully withdraw so it was small, maddening movements.

“Oh god,” he uttered.

You moaned, loud, as he wanted and he was breathless, groaning.

The dull thump of your headboard banged on the wall and something on your bedside table fell off.

Robby's arm stretched out, grabbing your hand and stretching your arms to the headboard, trying to steady it. With the stretch of the bodies he reached that spot in you.

“Aw fuck!” You yelled out, louder than anticipated. “Michael I'm gonna- I'm gonna-”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” he grunted with you. His other hand threw to your hip, holding your pelvis flush into you. “Fuck!”

In seconds he let go inside of you and the gush of his cum and the sound of the wet bodies threw you over the edge. His clutch on your hand grew tighter as his body trembled with yours, the spurts of your releases cooling down.

If this was casual Robby wouldn't have lingered, he'd have pulled out, flashed you a smile before using the bathroom.

He moved slower, staying till the both of you were spent. He kissed you, soft and sweet, lips moving around to remember the taste. “I'll move out,” he whispered as he took out his cock.

You stole a glance of both of your release leaking from you and around him before Robby moved aside.

He didn't flee, he didn't go to the bathroom. He pulled the sheets from under your bodies and got the both of you into bed. He laid beside you.

Robby tucked you under his arm, sweat on both your bodies cooling as you laid together. “Feels better when we're serious.” His fingers moved slow on your shoulder, delicate touches like a feather.

If he woke with a new thought, woke with regret you'd deal with it. For the moment you allowed yourself to feel the thump of his heart as the two of you slowly lulled to sleep.

Your alarm was the first thing you picked up in the morning. It's beeping ringing in your ear as you moved to turn the thing off or throw it at the wall-

A weight over your stomach made the effort harder but you got it.

Last night came back to you in the spill of scrubs on the floor and the ache between your legs.

Robby stirred next to you. Last night.

He stayed.

“You on today?” he asked, morning voice rough. You got a look at him, it was a rare sight you got to see him in morning light. His eyes were still shut, his face without the stress the day job gave him. He asked so casual, as if this was a morning routine you'd slipped into years ago.

You hummed, nodding and readying to move-

His arm tightened, drawing you in. “Call in sick.”

You chuckled, but your eyes closed. You promised yourself five more minutes. “My attending might have something to say about that.”

Robby grumbled. “Have a word with him, I'm sure you can be very persuasive.”

Somewhere in you apartment you heard the front door open and close, voices moving around the place.

You hadn't closed the door.

“Hey! We brought coffee and bagels!” called Santos.

“We're sorry for leaving you- we- huh?” you heard Whitaker. “What the?”

The clothes on the floor. The scrub top that would have his doctors badge on it.

You groaned and suddenly Whitaker and Santos were passing the doorway, one smirking, the other shocked.

Robby beside you didn't even stir.

“Good morning, Doctor Robby!” called Santos.

He only lifted a hand in greeting before making sure the covers were over the two of you.

You reached for something heavy, landing on a cushion and aiming at the door. It closed in front of your laughing friends.

You were dragging your feet but you were relieved - the shift was nearing the end. You’d handed over your patients and finished charting. 

You had your satchel over one shoulder when Robby found you walking out. Midstep, he turned, hand up.

“I need to talk for two minutes.”

“I was so close,” you whispered, and he gave a crooked, knowing smile.

“Please.”

At least he was asking nicely. Sometimes you were lucky if he even gave you eye contact, depending on his shift. Lately, you’d been passing ships, you doing nights while he did the days. 

“Okay, but is it going to be like when you’ve asked to see me before and then you get caught up in something and I end up in the breakroom, forgotten about?”

Robby made a face. “When did that happen?”

“Like, twice. At least,” you retorted. You flapped a hand at him. “Go. Two minutes.”

“No, it’s important,” he said. “I’ll come by in ten minutes, I promise.”

He left you standing there, your shoulders slumping. Abbot walked past, brows hiked.

“Should’ve ran while you could…”

“The fuck are you still doing here, then?” you said, lacking venom due to your low energy. 

You rolled your eyes and shuffled off toward the breakroom. You considered the coffee pot and left it, knowing you’d only make your headache worse. You longed for your bed, sitting at the empty table while doomscrolling while you waited.

It was forty-five minutes later when Robby came in, apologetic but not exactly regretful. It was always such a frustrating combination. You knew there was little he could do about it, you just wished he meant what he said when he said it. 

“Robby,” you sighed. 

“Okay, I need to ask you something and it’s not an easy request, but I know you’re up for it…”

You wait for him to spit it out, rubbing your eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“The Baltimore conference, end of next week. I want you to come with me.”

You freeze, awakened. “What. That’s… really short notice. And… why me?”

You were good, some ordinary people would call you brilliant. But in medicine, brilliant was pretty common. You had to be exceptional. 

“Admittedly… you weren’t my first choice,” he muttered. 

“So your number one fell through?” you said, frowning. 

He blinked, rubbing the back of his head. “Something like that.”

“I’m not your second choice?” 

You narrowed your eyes. 

“How many people have you asked?”

He hesitated, closing his eyes for a second. “Four.”

You were his fifth choice. You tried not to show how that hurt by the look on your face. He wasn’t dumb enough to lie, instead attempting to smooth it over with placating hands.

“I know you’ll be good,” he said. 

You glanced away, tired again, though now your mind was turning this over and over, this new problem to solve. You anticipated little sleep for the next several nights, thinking about this bizarre situation. A conference with Robby. You knew it was four days of presentations, training sessions, intensive learning. You knew you would rise to the occasion.

You just wished it hadn’t been him you went with. Anybody but Robby.

“Sure I would,” you said eventually. 

You made a show of checking the time on your phone.

“I need to go.”

“So is that a ‘yes’?” he asked, moving towards the door. 

“Is that the best you can do?” you threw back. 

Never mind that he was the Chief Attending. He assumed you had nothing else better to do.

“Please,” he said. “Please would you come to Baltimore with me?”

You nodded, looking down at your phone. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoed. “Good. Go home.”

You rolled your eyes at his retreating back. 

-

You didn’t have a problem with Robby. It was hard to explain. Whenever there was any kind of dispute with other staff, it tended to be a big thing. Not so much with you. 

To him, you had to be unremarkable by how little he’d tried to get to know you since you started at the Pitt. You shared enough shifts for you to know his style of working, and he knew yours. He barely ever let you get personal with him, though. From what you knew about him, you got by eavesdropping when he spoke to patients, or by what you could learn from other staff.

Arms length felt like a generous assessment. He wanted nothing to do with you at times, shutting you out completely often enough for you to get the impression that the guy simply didn’t like you.

Working night shifts had been better that way. You got along with Shen really well, and Abbot, too. So it didn’t make much sense that he was so close with Robby, but Robby wasn’t a fan of yours. You tried to not let it get to you - you were actually good at your job and didn’t need that kind of validation - but you knew from a professional viewpoint, having one Chief Attending avoid you didn’t look good. 

You often enough would shrug and move on, but knowing you had to be with him for a few days, just the two of you (plus a few hundred strangers at the convention), a kind of dread began to settle in your stomach. 

Whatever wisdom Abbot could impart about the situation, you didn’t hear about it in the coming days. The convention took a backseat while dealing with your schedule. Three days out, you handed him a coffee while he stood at a computer. 

“You carpooling or what?”

“What?” you muttered, scrunching your nose. 

“It’s three hours. I guess you could drive separately, but you’re going to the same place,” he murmured, keys tapping. “You and Robby, I mean.”

“Baltimore? I hadn’t thought about it.”

That unease came flooding back. You bit your lip. 

“You have his number, right? I should probably text him.”

“He’s gonna be here in two hours,” Abbot murmured. “Talk to him then.”

“He’s never in the mood to see me,” you said, and he smirked. 

“Well…” 

You honestly didn’t take that part personally, but if Robby couldn’t push that shit aside for four days, you’d be in hell. It didn’t matter how good it looked on a resume if you’d gone to a convention with him.

When Robby did arrive, earpods in, you took the long way back to one of your patients, pretending you hadn’t seen him. Instead of being mature about it, you waited for him to come to you, and he didn’t seem super pleased about it. 

“I’ll need your number,” you said, instead of a hello.

A beat. 

“For Friday,” you added, and he nodded. 

“Uh, yeah.”

It was so awkward, sounding off your information, watching him type it into his phone under a new contact. He lifted his gaze to yours when he was done, expectant.

“You wanna go together, or separate?”

“Save on gas?” he said, and you nodded. “I’ve got my bike.”

“Right,” you said. You’d never spoken to him about his motorcycle in your entire life. “Never mind, then.”

You glanced over your shoulder, feeling the embarrassment grow inside you, the warmth spreading across your face and neck.

“I need to check on an ultrasound,” you muttered, deflecting. “I’ll text you if I don’t see you before Friday.”

“Thanks,” he said, and you nodded. “Y’know, for… this.”

For a guy who was usually great with speeches, he sucked right now.

“No problem.”

-

You definitely overpacked, but it didn’t hurt to have backup underwear. And socks. And more than two shoe options.

It was so, so stupid - but you wanted to look good. Robby never saw you out of scrubs, so it would be the first time you could make a different impression on him. When you prepared all of Thursday for the trip, you found yourself trying a new tactic. 

Optimism.

The convention would be good for you. Seeing people outside of the hospital that shared your passion, your profession. You could find new inspiration. You’d been feeling burnt out too easily lately, finding yourself wanting to pull back more and more. After Baltimore, you’d want to make changes, use the knowledge you gained. Implement new strategies. 

You sat on your suitcase, managing to only shut it that way by the time you were done. Your laptop was charged, your makeup was ready for the morning. You had an outfit option for every possible scenario, including the dinners in Baltimore.

You hadn’t done a lot of research on where to go in the short amount of free time you’d have, but there was bound to be somewhere nice to go, even if you were alone. You didn’t see Robby wanting to hang out much if he didn’t have to.

The drive was okay. Traffic was good. The music was better. You had it at an obnoxious volume, making good time. The first event of the convention was mere hours away, and you hadn’t heard from Robby yet. 

You fired off a text that morning, wishing him well, but he’d left it on read. 

You didn’t take it to heart. Your sense of self was stronger than his expectations. 

You parked your car beneath the hotel lobby and took the elevator up, hand resting on your suitcase, your phone messages open. Still nothing from Robby, but you remained detached. That was until you spotted him with his backpack hanging off of his shoulder, his brows lifting at you in recognition.

“Hey,” he said, and you gave a polite smile.

“Hey. You make it okay?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Let’s check in, and they’ll give us our lanyards.”

You noted that he didn’t ask about you, but that wasn’t anything unusual. You let him talk as you approached the front desk, a clerk asking for your names and where you were based.

You kept glancing around, assessing the groups of people loitering with their bags and lanyards. A mixture of folk, no-one you knew so far. 

“We’ve got another hour before the opening keynote,” Robby said, once he gave you a lanyard and badge.

There was your name with PTMC beneath it. You turned it over, feeling kind of special if you were honest. This was your first convention, and you’d keep this lanyard, whether the next few days were rewarding or not. Whether Robby was nice or not.

“Okay,” you said.

“Your room is ready if you want to rest up until then,” the clerk said, and you glanced their way, frowning.

“We’re not–”

“We’re fully booked,” they added. “There’s a shared bathroom, two bedrooms.” 

You didn’t dare look at Robby.

“Right,” you heard him say, and you nodded.

It wasn’t a big deal, you told yourself, but your stomach was doing crazy flips. Was it too late to back out? 

“Okay,” you said again. 

The elevator ride up to your room could have been awkward, had there been only you two in it. Thankfully, since it was a full hotel, other visitors crammed together with you and your suitcase. 

Your arm pressed into Robby’s and you felt hyper aware of him in proximity to you. You took a few steadying breaths, telling yourself to get a grip. You’d been in worse situations than this before. 

It wasn’t… fucking bunkbeds or something like that.

When you got to the hotel room, Robby opened it with a keycard, having pressed your own copy into your hand when you left the elevator. 

He walked in, straight into one of the bedrooms, flipped on the light, threw his backpack onto the bed, and then walked back out. 

He took out his phone, eyes slipping up to yours. 

“I’ll see you in an hour.” 

He left you there, slamming the door behind him. You reeled, blinking. Another few seconds passed before you scoffed, shaking your head as if to clear it.

-

You changed into a nicer outfit, brushed your hair. You did little things, not too extravagant, that you didn’t tend to do with your appearance before each shift. 

You tried not to think of what Robby saw when you came over to him in the lobby, but you noticed his eyes dip ever so slightly, his face otherwise neutral. His arms were folded, and he nodded at you.

“Ready to go in?”

“Yeah.”

On your way into the hall filled with row after row of chairs, you were handed a totebag with the convention title across it. 

“These things are totally useless,” Robby muttered, and you smirked. 

“Yeah?”

“Just landfill.”

He was grumpy, but sort of endearing despite how shitty he made you feel earlier. You followed him, looking for a seat. A man let you pass, gesturing. 

“You guys can go here,” he said. 

Robby nodded his thanks. You had no choice but to sit beside him, a unit, before the rest of the seats filled around you. 

You quickly understood that this wasn’t the lively occasion your imagination had made this out to be. The keynote, though sincere, was particularly stale.

You didn’t open your laptop, only took out a notebook to write anything down that you found particularly crucial. You didn’t record much at all, it seemed, by how your pen began to make patterns in the margin, your attention drifting. 

“Glad this thrills you,” you heard Robby whisper. 

You glanced his way, eyes meeting. He seemed warmer. There was no denying it - whenever you managed to let yourself look at him long enough, you noticed how handsome he was. You liked those crooked smiles, the way he’d snark. 

“Hmm,” you replied. 

The speaker cleared their throat, interrupting you.

“Turn to the person next to you-”

Everyone was murmuring around you. Robby made a show of turning his torso toward you, drawing in a breath. You felt watched, something shifting. You wanted to know where this was going. 

“What’s something you wished your colleagues understood about your role?”

That burst your bubble. The near flirting - if that’s what that teasing look in his eye meant to become - stripped away like flesh from the bone. 

The reality was that he hadn’t wanted it to be you there with him. He went out of his way to tell you as well. 

You spoke before he could, shrugging:

“That we’re not just extra hands.”

“Of course you’re not,” he said, automatic.

He meant it as reassurance, but you felt it was dismissive. You frowned, arms folding.

“Right. But it feels like that sometimes.”

You looked away as you said that part. He paused, then:

“That’s not how it’s supposed to work.”

You were brought back by the speaker again, and the distance grew between you and Robby once more. 

You kept your eyes forward, listening so intently that you were no longer present. Once the keynote finished, you stood up, taking your things with you, only to find yourself in a bottle neck in your attempt to retreat from Robby.

He was right behind you, you heard him sigh as you waited to get out. You bristled when someone stopped ahead of you, Robby bumping into your back.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you muttered, taking out your phone.

-

You glanced at the itinerary and felt a sense of relief - a simulation with yourself, Robby and a slew of other medical staff from other visiting hospitals. This was your element. 

Granted, you hadn’t worked with Robby as much lately since you’d been doing the night shift, only occasionally treating alongside him when you did doubles. However, he’d never seen you have a bad day. 

If anything, maybe you should have known that he’d see you slip eventually with how the exercise turned out. 

After the keynote, you broke off into your groups. You said nothing to Robby, ignoring him as best you could given the lack of physical space between you. You introduced yourself to the other people in the scenario, a handful of doctors from around the East Coast. 

Robby was quieter, seeming lost in thought, but once the action kicked off, he set himself into his usual place. 

He was controlled, authoritative. Unperturbed by your last exchange. You kept replaying it in your mind, how you’d let it slip how defensive you were. 

Everyone got a laminated card with the scenario description on it. Patient: male, early 30s. Single stab wound to left lower abdomen. 

That was it for you. The coordinator had the rest of the information, what would follow. He stood by as the team began to work, the actor lying there with a fake bloodstained shirt. 

“Patient is a walk in and rapidly deteriorating,” the coordinator announced. “This sim is designed to test prioritisation under pressure as well as team communication.”

Ah, yes. Exactly what you lacked with Robby. You didn’t look at him, feeling watched, your skin itching. 

The actor began groaning, murmuring: “It’s not that bad… ahhh….”

You pressed your lips together to not laugh, appreciating the realism as he put a hand to his pretend wound. 

You managed to get him onto the bed – the yoga mat on the floor. You knelt beside him, gloves on. 

“He’s talking,” you said. “Airway’s clear.”

“Get him oxygen,” Robby replied with a nod. 

The coordinator cut in, reading off their clipboard again:

“BP is 88 systolic. Heart rate 128.”

You fitted the oxygen mask, which wasn’t attached to anything for the exercise. 

“Circulation, we need access,” Robby said, and you feel everything sharpen. “Two large-bore IVs.” 

Your hand went to the tray between you on the floor. If it was anyone else, you wouldn’t have hesitated. But because it was Robby, you almost reached for the wrong kit. You didn’t stop exactly, just paused for a microsecond. 

Only detectable under the scrutinising eyes of your Attending. You picked the right kit, and began the next step.

Your face burned for the remainder of the simulation, long after it ended and you stood up, peeling off the gloves. It seemed like a waste, but for realism’s sake you supposed it was necessary. 

Robby came up next to you, your shoulders tensing. 

“Focus,” he said, and you swallowed. 

He saw everything, and now he knew you weren’t unshakeable. If you could have, you’d have stormed off, but you remained still, watching as the actor playing the patient got up, bashful and bowing as everyone gave a good-natured round of applause.

“Excellent. We’ll debrief now. Michael, what went well?”

You spaced out as Robby spoke at length about how oftentimes in emergency medicine it’s out the fast-paced decision making, and that without a good team an ER cannot function. You knew this to be true, but you didn’t appreciate his words.

He said you - meaning the team - did well. You felt like he was glossing over something. The coordinator said your name and you blinked a couple times, coming back to Earth.

“Uh, yeah. No, I don’t have much to add. Except I stalled.”

“Yeah,” you heard Robby add, and you turned to him fully. 

“Really?”

You couldn’t hide your flare of anger.

“This is just friendly feedback,” the coordinator said. 

“It was a slowing down. That’s all,” Robby went on. His eyes finally met yours and you stared him down. He folded his arms. “It’s a fast-paced exercise.”

Your prickliness began to dissipate once everyone moved on. You didn’t speak again until you were dismissed. Someone mentioned going for drinks after dinner and you said you’d go, meaning it. You needed a fucking drink. You needed some fun.

“Will do,” Robby said, shaking a hand or several. 

He walked out with you, and everything he did was irritating you. Especially when he wasn’t even doing anything wrong, he was just hanging around with his stupid backpack and crooked smile. 

“You don’t have to come with us to drinks,” you said, with a short wave of your hand. “I figured you were just being polite.”

“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not.”

“I just mean it doesn’t matter,” you said. 

A pause, your heart beating a little faster.

“I know you don’t like me very much.”

It sounded so childish and stupid, and yet there was no other way to describe this feeling. Of how unwanted you felt around him, being his sixth choice, being a random person he managed to wrangle. You swore you didn’t say it to start another argument, only to let him off the hook. 

“Is that… what you think?” he said, and you glanced at him, making your way to the elevator.

You shrugged. He seemed completely floored by your confrontation. His face twisted with something as you stepped inside together, other folks joining you. 

No words spoken when you got back to your room. He did his disappearing act again a couple minutes later, the door slamming shut as you scrolled on your phone on your bed. 

You tried not to care. But you may have just ruined your career at PTMC.

-

You stayed in your room, scrolling through junk emails and generally avoiding Robby. He made it easy for you. 

As predicted, he left around dinner time. You ordered room service, nothing particularly fancy. You didn't have much of an appetite, and you blamed Robby for that, too. 

You didn't have to wait your turn for the bathroom later when you got ready for drinks. You put on makeup, perfume and a new dress. 

It was snug, lower cut than your scrubs of course. It wasn't anything ostentatious, though. But certainly a fancier step up from your usual outfits. 

The bar was crowded with people from the conference. You spotted a couple familiar faces from your simulation and wandered over. 

“You drinking?” one of them asked, and you said: 

“God, yes.” 

Everyone laughed. Alcohol was an excellent icebreaker. A new face, a tall man with high cheekbones and thin glasses walked off to get you a drink while you chatted with the others. 

He returned with something orange, handing it to you. 

“You said ‘surprise me'”, he said, smirking. 

He watched as you lifted the drink to your lips, taking a sip. A burst of citrus and vodka. 

“It's like a screwdriver,” he said. “But there's triple sec and lemon-lime soda.” 

“It's nice, uh…” 

“Riley,” Riley replied, offering a firm handshake. 

You smiled at him, saying your name. He nodded, like he knew it already. 

You spent the next hour drinking and chatting, sharing some of the grossest and most bizarre stories. Riley and a few others were all listening to you tell a story from your internship days. 

“...and then I realized I read the chart upside down!” 

“Oh, my God,” one woman, Annie, said with a groan. “I’ve done that, too.”

The laughter died down and you looked around, back towards the bar. You paused, noticing Robby there with some other men laughing about something. 

He cleaned up well. He wore a dark t-shirt under a simple leather jacket with slacks. For once, he wasn’t in his beaten up Merrells, but a pair of smart casual sneakers. 

He looked really good, actually. You stared a little too long, before Riley spoke up.

“What’s it like, working in the ER?”

You glanced at him, brows lifting. “Challenging.”

“Rewarding?”

“Uh,” you replied. “Sometimes, I guess. I work nights.”

“So… really challenging.”

“Sure.”

You looked over again at Robby, distracted.

He was staring back at you.

You swallowed, frozen. Riley was talking, something about pediatrics and how his sister was a nurse in the field, and how he considered what she did even more challenging than his line of work - neurosurgery. 

You were only half listening, lips parting as you felt the heat rise in your cheeks. Robby started talking again, as distracted as you were, eyes flitting back to your person every so often. 

“You with me?”

“Uh, yeah,” you mumbled. “No. Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

“Tell me about it,” someone else said. “The sim sucked. Pulmonary embolism. Our guy didn’t make it.”

“Does that mean you guys have to do it again? What was your debrief like?” you asked, sipping your drink. 

It was the same one you were nursing from earlier. It wasn’t your habit to drink at night, since being nocturnal most weeks of the month. 

“I’ve been chewed out before. It wasn’t as intense...”

You couldn’t exactly relate. Every time Robby had been critical of someone within your vicinity, it was always so personal, so intense. But you - it was almost ambivalent. Today was the worst he’d ever been with you.

You got the impression he just didn’t care about you doing well, so it made even less sense that he invited you to Baltimore.

It was all the more confusing that he was looking at you like that now. You looked at him, waiting. He didn’t disappoint, glancing over at you with a beer to his lips. 

Your skin prickled. 

“You want another drink?” Riley asked, bringing you back once more.

“Uh, no. I’ll switch to soda, I think…”

It felt like Robby was just constantly taking you in. Was it the dress? Did he disapprove? You went into your active listening mode instead of trying to charm as much, blaming your tiredness. 

Someone talked about an afterparty in a bar across the city and you faltered, calling it an early night. Bailing was easier.

You left for the elevator, nearly walking into Robby in the process. 

You both went still at the sight of one another now close up. You fiddled with your purse, taking out your phone, being the antisocial one again.

“Leaving?”

“Yeah, guess so,” you said. You scrolled as you waited for the elevator. 

It finally opened and you slipped inside, the two of you. The silence stretched, Robby moving to press the button for your floor. 

“You seemed to be having a good night,” he said finally, and you looked up at him. 

His voice was low, leading somewhere. Implying something, you felt.

“Yeah,” you said. “So did you.”

“Who was the guy talking to you?” 

You frowned. “Why do you care?”

He kept looking at you the whole time, and you couldn’t stop staring at him, either. You felt poised for a fight, hackles rising like when he noticed your mistake during the simulation. 

“He seemed friendly.”

“I don’t… I don’t want to talk about that,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

You didn’t care anymore if he thought you were ungrateful for this opportunity. The way he was acting was so weird, so hot and cold. He stared at you across the room for what felt like an age, after he froze you out before? The audacity.

“And you don’t get to look at me like that,” you went on, your voice a little clearer.

“Like what?”

Was he sneering? No. Challenging. He was trying to goad you. 

“Why were you looking at me?” he added. 

Your face flushed further. 

“I…”

You couldn’t think of what to say. At that moment, the elevator halted, the doors opening to a small group. You stepped closer to Robby to make room, bumping him in the process. 

He leaned against the railing, and you settled beside him, the strangers surrounding you filling the silence. They were off to their floor for their own party.

They were here for a good time, and all you had was your confusion and your angst. 

Robby’s finger brushed yours. You froze, glancing down at his hand beside yours, gripping the railing. 

“Say it again,” he murmured, right by your ear. 

The hair stood up at the back of your neck. 

“What?”

The elevator stopped again, the other passengers getting off. You whirled around when you were alone again.

“Say it again. What you said earlier. About how I feel,” he said.

His eyes bore into yours. You didn’t dare blink.

“You don’t like me.”

Of all the people to be stuck with, it had to be Robby. Your stomach flipped as you stared one another down. You tore your eyes away when the elevator mercifully came to a stop, opening its doors to your floor.

You exited, trying to fish your key out when Robby was ready, slipping in beside you.

“I’ve got it.”

“Thanks,” you muttered. 

You felt restless, pacing when you got to your room. You threw down your bag, bit your lip. You heard Robby sit on his bed. You glanced through the doorway to the bathroom, seeing him facing you. 

Instead of staring at him again, you shut the door and turned on the shower. 

The water was too hot, but you felt like you needed it. You exited, towel wrapped around your chest.

You waited, sitting on your bed. Your suitcase lay open beside you, clothes ready to slip into. 

You felt itchy again. You took a deep breath and got up once more. It was like you were possessed that night with only bad decisions. You went back into the bathroom, opening the door to his room. 

He was still sitting on the end of his bed, and looked up at you.

“I wasn’t your first choice. I wasn’t even your third choice, Robby,” you snapped. You gripped the doorknob as if to steady yourself. 

“I know,” he murmured. His voice was soft, a little sad. 

This was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him.

“I regret telling you that, I’m sorry,” he went on. “But I thought if you didn’t feel…”

He looked away, sighing. 

“Feel… important then maybe this would be easier. But it hasn’t been. Instead you’ve felt shitty.”

The moment stretched and your throat felt tight. 

“But you don’t even– you never talked to me,” you mumbled. “You don’t ask how I’m doing…”

“I know,” he whispered. “I know.”

You took a step closer. You were only in your towel because you knew, had suspected for the last couple hours at least, that he hadn’t been truthful on purpose. He’d been keeping a distance from you not out of dislike, but something more. Something heavy and scary, but equally thrilling.

“Robby,” you began, unsure of what you meant to say. 

He was looking at you so differently, so… open and strange. Hopeful, even. You moved again, closer still. 

“You…”

Invading his space, you stood in front of him, hands reaching for his shoulders. You leaned down and kissed him. 

He sighed, eyes closing as it deepened, your mouth opening to his tongue. You moaned, his arms wrapping firmly around you. When you broke away, you searched his face, Robby leaning up for more.

“Tell me to stop.”

“No,” you whispered. “Don’t stop.” 

He moved backwards, pulling you with him so that you lay on top of him, and then he rolled you onto your back. He settled between your thighs and you stared up at him, heart pounding. 

The kisses turned greedy, messy. His lips moved down your throat, beard scratching delightfully as he made his descent, hands unfolding your towel. 

His gaze fell to your chest, your nakedness, and then he latched onto your nipple with a grunt, pinning you against the mattress.

You hissed, hips rolling. He moved further down, trailing kisses to your bare hips…

“Is this okay?”

“More than okay,” you babbled, watching as his face neared your cunt. 

He dove in and you moaned together. He wasn’t shy about it, lapping at you, kissing your folds, alternating sucks to figure you out. Your hand found the back of his head, your thighs beginning to quiver with each passing stroke of his broad tongue.

“Oh, fuck… fuck…”

He kept you wide open for him, the perfect kind of helplessness. Tongue fucking you into oblivion, he only stopped when you lost your grip on his head, your shaking hand slipping down. Having lost your vision, you blinked back his room, panting, sweating as he kissed your inner thigh.

He wiped the stickiness away haphazardly on his shoulder, and you motioned for him to come up, momentarily speechless.

You were still twitching deep inside from how hard he made you come, and he watched you with a small smile beginning to form on his face.

You climbed on top of him when he reached you, starting to undress him. He whispered your first name, nuzzling your cheek. 

“What?” you murmured. 

“I like you a lot.”

You began to unbuckle his pants, starting to smile, too. You reached inside to feel his cock straining against the cotton of his boxer briefs, and he blinked at you, mouth falling open. 

“Shit…”

“It wasn’t just the dress that did it for you, Robby?” you murmured. 

It was a hint of your insecurity showing. The dress was great, but he’d only seen you in it tonight. He shook his head.

“It’s everything,” he whispered. He grunted when you squeezed him again. “You light up the room.”

No-one had said that to you before. His words were dizzying, so earnest. You kissed him hard, hand slipping into his underwear to reach his skin.

The blunt tip of him was sticky with precum. He was so excited for you, the thought making you needy, jerking him slow at first and then faster.  

“I did really like the dress, though,” he murmured. 

You smiled into another kiss, feeling every ridge of him, your tongues tangling. He pulled back soon after, gasping. 

“Slow down,” he warned. 

You obliged, pulling back to look him in the eye. His hand slipped down, managing to reach your cunt, making you hiss at the contact. He circled your clit with eyes blown with lust, his lips parting at how wet you were for him.

You shuffled up, spreading your legs wider, hovering as he pushed down his pants. Your hand brushed the Star of David necklace he’d always hidden, then withdrew to aim his cock upwards.

Making your descent, your eyes locked, was possibly the most intense moment between you and a man thus far. It blew your mind that it was Robby to do it with you. 

You both moaned when he pushed inside, and you sat in his lap, grinding a little as you adjusted to the stretch. Your face tingled as he wrapped his arms around you.

It was a naked, tight embrace, your head on his shoulder. He stroked your back.

“You okay?”

“We could’ve been doing this the whole time,” you mumbled. “Why did it have to be so difficult?”

His fingers stopped stroking your skin momentarily as he thought it over. He sighed, voice quiet.

“Because I was trying to create a boundary, and instead I hurt you.”

“It’s okay,” you whispered back.

You fell silent, face still tingling. You gave him a slow kiss, beginning to rock. A groan fell from his lips and you persisted, sucking his tongue. 

Everything turned filthy in that instance, and you wanted him everywhere at once, tightening around him. You pushed him onto his back and rode him, his hands on your hips, your hands on his chest.

“Yes,” you whispered, getting closer and closer to your end. 

He was deep enough to reach every edge of you, his thumb slipping down to press against your clit. You sucked in a breath, eyes meeting his.

“I’m on the pill,” you panted. 

“Can I-?”

You nodded. 

“I can come inside you?” he asked, as if to clarify, his voice getting tighter, like there was pressure on his chest.

He held tighter, knees drawing up for better purchase. The push and pull of your bodies was loud and wet, your cunt sucking him in, his cock hitting you just so.

“Fuck, I’m gonna-”

“Do it,” you whispered, and Robby went still.

He shuddered, eyes slamming shut. He came with long, hard pulses inside you, and you found yourself smiling down at him, dizzy with it all.

You watched him relax completely, sighing as he rubbed your arms, your bare thighs. You hovered above him, before reaching down for a slow, sloppy kiss.

“You do like me, huh?” you murmured, and he started to laugh, so tired.

You kissed his crow’s feet and then clambered off him, his come trailing down the inside of your thighs. 

-

Some hours later, you lay next to him, leaning on your elbow as you stroked his face with the back of your hand. 

Whatever you felt right now was so strong, almost like how he made you feel before he ever touched you. You knew now it had always been this way, you just hadn’t known well enough.

It was like a calculation that was wrong except for one number, and now it all suddenly made sense with the tiniest change. It was all solved.

“Do I transfer?” you murmured.

“What?” he said, blinking up at you. “You’re talking logistics right now?”

“You must have thought about it,” you retorted. “Talking about boundaries…”

“Yeah, but… I never got that far. I never thought… never planned for this to happen,” he admitted. 

Your hand went still and you nodded. You hadn’t, either. You hadn’t realized you’d hoped for this.

“Do you wanna transfer?” 

“No,” you said. “But this changes things, right? Unless…?”

“I want to keep doing this,” he said, grabbing your hand. “Badly.”

Your stomach flipped. “Okay.”

You nestled in beside him, his arms wrapping around you. His lips brushed your temple as he spoke. 

“You keep doing nights, if that’s what you want,” he said. “We’ll figure this out.”

“Yeah, we will,” you said.

It was as simple as that. He kissed your cheek. Then your neck. Then your shoulder. Then he rolled you onto your back and kissed you everywhere else, again and again and again.

-

The following month, your headache in full force, your backpack on one shoulder, you walked towards him with Abbot at your side.

“Hey,” you murmured. “I’ll see you later?”

“Sure,” Robby said. 

You discussed the rules, and you didn’t want to kiss in front of anyone at work. Hugging was allowed. Robby pulled you into an embrace, his hand barely above your ass. 

Abbot frowned. “Y’know, I never stopped talking about you to him.”

Your brows lifted. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Robby said. “But he doesn’t take any credit for anything.”

“Well, you never stopped yapping about her,” Abbot muttered with a smirk. 

“She… doesn’t have to know that.”

“Yes, she does,” you said, grinning. Robby looked like he might blush. “Yes, she does!”

“Okay, I’ll see you two after,” he muttered, turning away. 

You fell into step with Abbot once again, talking about the shift. You glanced back over your shoulder, seeing Robby in the distance, his hands in his pockets. 

He smiled at you, unadulterated. 

It’s hard not to feel like you had something to do with it personally - since you were the moron to utter the words “Today’s been pretty good so far”. 

At the time, Jesse or someone else gave you a sideways glance and you shrugged. It wasn’t like when someone said it was a quiet morning and then the ER was swamped with a MVA. You didn’t think you had it in you to curse your day with such a stupid, flippant remark. 

But there you were, in the line of fire. In the fourth hour of your twelve hour shift, a patient took a swing at you. Fist connected to skull. They wore a ring, the metal tearing into just above your eyebrow. The surprise took you out more than the pain. 

You tumbled back, head connecting to the floor. The fall wasn’t hard, but the blood was already dripping down into your eye, the shouting surrounding you drowned out by the ringing in your ears. A beat later, as you clutched your eye, hands lifted you to your feet. 

You could hear Dana yelling, security already swarming as Robby burst in, and then he was on you a second later, steering you away by the elbow with Dana to a separate room. Your senses began to dull as you settled down on a bed. 

You followed each direction of Robby’s brief concussion assessment, voice flat. Dana turned to leave.

“I’ll make sure you’ve got privacy.”

“Thanks, Dana,” Robby murmured. You felt his eyes on you. “I’ll be out shortly.”

You were rarely alone with Robby like this, and it was hardly ever good. His hands reached for you with a gentleness that floored you, tilting your face under the light. 

“You’re okay,” he said, and there was a lump in your throat so you nodded instead of speaking. 

You were shaking, you realized. Your body was not yours, sluggish now as you waited for him to start. He settled in a swivel chair and put on his glasses. You swallowed, so self-conscious as he scrutinized your injury. 

You closed your eyes, surrendering. You were sure you’re flushing from how close he sat to you. You listen to him work. 

“Little sting.”

Needle, and you sucked in a breath. 

“I don’t know what I did-”

“I don’t think it’s going to serve you, trying to figure out why a patient was violent,” Robby cut in, and you blink at him. “But most likely, he was pissed that he was given Narcan.”

“So I wasn’t just running my mouth?”

“For once, no,” he replied softly, a smirk forming as he reached for the dish beside you. “You’re gonna need stitches.”

“Awesome,” you muttered. 

You were suddenly so tired you closed your eyes again, making Robby pause his careful hands. You bite your lip, slumping a little.

“You need a minute?” he murmured, and you nodded. 

You leaned forward, the mortification sudden. You didn’t want your attending to see you this way, so rattled by something so common in your line of work. It just never escalated like this before. You sucked in another breath, the emotion hitting you on the nose, eyes stinging. 

“Fuck,” you croaked, and you covered your eyes with your shaking hand.

Robby squeezed your shoulder and your stomach flipped, feelings that always lingered beneath the surface, a nagging pull. Yes, you always wanted him, that was a given. This felt different, somehow. Heavy and a little too intimate. 

“I’m sorry…”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he whispered, and you glance at him, eyes welling with tears. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

You’ve masturbated to thoughts of Robby before, you know that. Compared to this very real moment now, those fantasies felt dirty and cheap. The way he looked at you, his throat bobbing with his hand still warm against your scrubs, felt charged. 

“Oh, God,” you whispered, and closed your eyes again, waiting. 

His hands were quick and precise, like when you’ve seen him intubate patients a thousand times before. You’re in good hands, literally. 

He didn't say what to do with your wound care. Of course you knew to keep it dry and get them removed in a couple of days. He moved back, peeling off his gloves to toss them aside. His hands then settled on his knees and he levelled your gaze. 

He looked like he meant to say something but there was a knock on the door, Dana appearing. 

“Robby-”

“Yeah,” he interjected. 

You wondered what you looked like, because when Robby made to leave, Dana was looking at you differently, brows shifting upward. 

“Take a minute and then we'll do a CT,” he said. “And then you can head home.” 

You blinked. “I'm fine, I know what year it is-”

“You were assaulted,” he said, firm. “I need you at your best tomorrow.” 

He left you and Dana there, and she gave a little smile. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” 

You deflected. “He's sending me home? Really? We’re swamped.” 

Dana came over, offering her arm. You took it, sighing as you let her walk you back out. 

“We'll be fine. Have a nap. Watch a movie or somethin’...” 

“Maybe if I'm cleared for concussion he won't have a choice-” 

Dana gave you a nudge with her hip. 

“He's not gonna let you stay. He's feelin’ protective, and you've gotta respect that. And at the end of the day, we can't afford to lose you because you decided to stay against medical advice.”

“I'm sure it's not that dire,” you muttered, even though you were nearly sobbing five minutes ago. 

You're cleared for concussion and Robby came to find you at your locker. You shot him a look, pulling your backpack over one shoulder. 

His arms folded. Okay. 

“Guess I'm headed home.” 

“Good, see you tomorrow,” he retorted. 

You dragged your feet, sighing. He walked beside you, as if to escort you out of the building. 

“I'm gonna need you to follow up with Kiara about today.”

“Goddamn it, Robby,” you whispered, and you paused, turning to him.

“It's protocol, you know that.” 

The sounds of the ER filled the silence between you, as you looked away, still irritated. It felt like the bigger of a deal it was, the weaker you'd look. You couldn't afford that, especially not with Robby. 

You knew that you'd spend the rest of your day in your head, and the dread must have shown on your face, because Robby's voice dropped again. 

“Hey, if you wanna talk-” 

“It's fine,” you blurted. You cleared your throat. “I'm fine.” 

You left without another word, feeling Robby's eyes burning into the back of your head. 

-

It all felt like a mistake, especially when you got out of the shower and fell onto your bed in only your towel. As the exhaustion settled into your marrow, you couldn't fight it anymore.

You woke up to a darkened room, realizing it was after dusk. You shot up, still in your towel, agitation prickling your skin. 

Your apartment was too quiet, and the fact was you'd struggle to get back to sleep when you meant to later. You picked up your phone to see a missed call from the hospital, your heart in your throat. 

You were about to call back when you saw a text from an unknown number: 

Be kind to yourself. 

It wasn't Dana. It had to be Dr. Robby. Your stomach flipped again, and any distance you thought you had from your feelings earlier was long gone. No longer irritated by his concern, you curled into a ball and stared at your screen until it went black. 

You spent the night watching a movie while being perpetually distracted with thoughts of work. You thought about texting the unknown number, to ask how the rest of the shift had been. You knew he'd just rebuff you, chide you for not having time to yourself like you were instructed to. 

It had been a weird day. Emotional. That's what you told yourself once you switched on your lamp, fumbling for your vibrator. 

More than once, you thought of his eyes, his soft touch. The way he swept in and put you back together again. 

“Oh, fuck,” you mumbled, picturing his fingers slipping down your front to reach your clit. 

You wouldn't want him to be gentle. Maybe at first, to test the waters. You'd want him to be thorough. You'd beg him, you weren't above that, to ruin you.

Coming with a stifled grunt, you figured this method wasn't what Dr. Robby ordered, self-care wise.

-

You slept like shit. Waking every couple hours when you managed to doze off. 

You were ripped from your final leg of the night by your alarm. You stumbled groggily to your kitchen and grabbed your first coffee. You stifled several yawns as you got dressed and then made your way to the Pitt. 

Shoving your keys away once you locked your car, a vague memory of one of your dreams from last night came back. 

Your dreams were never nice, only annoying or repetitive. Luckily, you hadn't had many nightmares since medical school. However, last night you'd woken up sometime between 2 and 4 AM feeling sick to your stomach, your heart racing as you remembered where you were. 

It was a man grabbing you that made you wake up. Not the same man that hit you yesterday but a faceless yet equally damaging one. You were just happy to have awoken before impact. 

You were so in your own head it took a couple calls of your name before you actually heard Dr Abbot coming up beside you. 

“Oh, hey, sorry,” you said, forcing a smile. “How was your night?” 

“Better than your day yesterday, I heard,” he said, and you rolled your eyes. 

“Well…” 

“We've all been there.” 

“I was hoping it wouldn't be gossip-” 

“I heard about it only from one source last night,” Abbot interjected. “And then the same one this morning. He beat you in.” 

Your face warmed and you felt the urge to bury yourself further into your jacket until you disappeared completely. 

“Awesome.”

Kiara found you debriefing with Abbot by Dana's desk ten minutes later, her mug steaming like yours.

“I’m on my third,” you announced. 

You sensed Abbot making himself scarce and sure enough, he had managed to slip away without another word, brushing your arm on the way. 

“How are you feeling?” Kiara asked, searching your face. Her eyes lingered on the bandage that covered your stitches and then she met your eyes again. “I’m here to talk if you want.”

“Not much to say,” you murmured, sipping your mug. 

You weren’t happy, you never were, weirdly. Maybe there was something fundamentally wrong with you, but you weren’t sad, either. You could say that, but you didn’t. You didn’t want to talk at all. Moving on was best. Wasn’t it better to stay with your head above water, in these kinds of places? You cared. You’d be a sociopath, otherwise. And sure, maybe you’d met a few people like that in medicine, but you weren’t like that. 

If anything, you only cared more, the more you tried not to. 

“I think I need to read what Dana wrote and then approve it. I’m not pressing charges or suing anyone.” 

You gave a short laugh that sounded more bitter than you intended. 

“Are we done?” you added, and Kiara nodded. “Thanks.”

You left her there, eager to find something to do other than stand around feeling sorry for yourself. 

-

Robby found you a while later, looking straight at your forehead.

“Your handiwork is feeling good, if it helps,” you said instead of a hello. “Did you text me?”

He paused, as if surprised you brought it up so soon. You wanted to beat him to it, so it didn’t come across as such a big deal to you. If you were truthful, you would have said you hadn’t stopped thinking about it since you got it. But you were too good of a liar.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “Was that not welcome?”

You sensed Dana and true enough, she was in the foreground, no longer pretending she wasn’t watching this play out. You shrugged, looking at Dana.

“Did you give him my number?”

“The alternative was he call you until you picked up.” 

“I fell asleep,” you said, watching Robby go to his computer, sinking into his chair. 

He put on his glasses and you tried not to stare, like always. It was one of your favorite things he did, wear those stupid glasses.

“He was worried,” Dana added. 

“Concerned,” he amended, not looking away from his screen. 

“I just don’t want to become a self-fulfilling prophecy,” you said, draining the rest of your coffee. “Thinking that I’m gonna implode every time I get a shitty patient.”

“Didn’t the guy call you a ‘stupid fucking cunt’ before he suckerpunched you?” Robby read off his screen, finally looking your way, glasses off.

“Language, Dr. Robinavitch…”

You pretended it didn’t shock you to hear him repeat the story aloud. You took a deep breath. 

“Are we done?” you said, looking at Dana and then him. “Can we get back to work, please?” 

You wanted to add something about people literally dying but you really had enough of talking to them both, at least for a while. 

You couldn’t help noticing Robby deflate a little, as if he sensed he’d crossed the line, too. He only nodded, while Dana handed you a Clif from behind the desk.

-

Whittaker was sweet about it. Santos couldn’t help herself and asked too many questions. Most other people didn’t mention yesterday at all, as if it was all too raw, which sucked. 

It made the topic seem forbidden and dangerous, so whenever a patient asked about it, you were happy to oblige.

“Oh, just a little altercation with a patient yesterday,” you said, beaming at an older woman whose nosiness got the better of her. 

Her grown up son beside her looked mortified but you waved him off. 

“I’m fine, really,” you added. 

“Should you be working today, honey?” your patient asked, voice hushed. 

“Probably not,”  you admitted. “But we’re all needed here. I mean, the wait times are bad enough as it is.”

Robby appeared, of course he did, just as you said that, and he frowned. 

“You wanna go home?”

“Didn’t say that,” you said, not looking him in the eye. 

You explained your case. Elderly woman with a sore wrist from a fall. She wore her emergency alert necklace but hadn’t been using her walker at the time. 

“I know I’m lucky to be here,” she said.

“Yes, Mrs. Casey. If you don’t use your walker properly in the future, you might not be so lucky next time,” you said, Robby nodding. 

“You’re in good hands,” he added, and you felt a burst of pride beneath your self-consciousness. 

He lowered his voice, asking to see you. You stepped out, Robby pulling the curtain back into place behind you. 

“How’s your day going?”

“It’s okay,” you said, truthful. 

“If you need to tap out, just say the word, I can move things around.”

He folded his arms, peering at with that familiar intensity. It took until now for you to realize - and how hadn’t you before? Maybe you had your head up your ass too long - that he wasn’t doing this to undermine you, or because he was annoyed by you. He did genuinely care, perhaps a little too much. You thought back to yesterday and how he took care of you, without handing you off to an intern as a teachable moment. 

“Are you okay?” you asked, and his lips parted. “I mean, seeing me like that?”

He was worried, Dana said. 

“Not really,” he admitted. “It fucked me up a bit.”

You didn’t know what else to say, except now you wanted the shift to be over sooner than ever. You felt stripped to the bone. 

“Okay,” you whispered. 

“Okay,” he said back, and then departed. 

-

You couldn't avoid Robby but you could give him short answers to questions and keep language strictly professional. 

The rest of your shift, there was no indication that anything was off from the outside, but internally you were reeling from his admission. 

Some days, you lived only to speak to him, but now all you wanted to do was keep your head down. He stopped checking in, as if he too wanted to play this avoidance game. And you were fine with that. 

Except you couldn't stop thinking about him on your days off. You weren't exactly living for the weekend; your heart wasn't in it.

Multiple times you went to your messages, trying to think of an excuse to text Robby. You thought maybe - briefly, so goddamn briefly - that you could meet him for coffee. You had no idea what his plans were, but he wasn’t scheduled that weekend, and perhaps he’d say yes. Just to appease you, smooth things over for the following work week. 

And then you came to your senses. There was no way he’d agree to that without it getting embarrassing and messy, and you’d have to lie endlessly about what it meant to you. 

The answer was everything. He meant everything, and you weren’t going to jeopardize any of it because of your stupid crush. 

Monday morning came swiftly, and before you’d even started your shift, you saw Kiara’s followup email regarding the incident. 

“Fuck my life,” you mumbled. You were more than ready to move on from this, tapping furiously into your phone that you’d schedule to see her later that day, if there was time. 

You stepped back from the computer and saw familiar figures of Abbot and Robby together in the hallway, talking. Abbott looked like he was about to leave, and from what you could gauge from his body language, he seemed relaxed enough. So maybe not a bad night.

Robby rubbed the back of his head, glancing around. Your eyes met and you froze, then scurried back towards the nurses station. Princess and Perlah were seated, chatting. 

“Hey, ladies,” you murmured. “Have a nice weekend?”

Princess, whose stories were some of your favorites to hear, smirked. “You look like you’ve had a good weekend.”

You were flushed and pretending you weren’t, deflecting. “Yeah, got to rest for once.”

Bored out of your fucking skull, to be honest. To tensed as you felt Robby’s presence, which was a little ridiculous considering you’d known one another for years, and nothing should have changed how you behaved around him. 

“Morning, Dr. Robby,” you said. You looked him in the eye, trying to mimic nonchalance. “What-”

“Can we talk?” he said, and you paused. “I need to ask you something.”

You followed him, aware of being watched. The butterflies in your stomach had you folding your arms, trying to fix your face into something neutral. Had he been reflecting too much, like you, and wanted to ask if -?

“How are you?” he asked, voice hushed. 

You stood next to a supply shelf, trying to read him. You gaped. 

“Uh, fine. What were you gonna ask me?”

“Just that,” he retorted. His voice went even lower. “How are you? Because you haven’t signed off on that incident report and Gloria has already asked about it this morning again.”

You didn’t know what to say. 

“Because I’m glad you’re feeling better, I really am. I want my Residents to feel safe at work, though. So be honest with me if you need more time. I need my team to be at their best, or it  doesn’t work.”

You forced back a sigh. “Ye of little faith.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” he said, the ghost of a smirk forming. “But-”

“Is it really so painful to look at me?” you snapped, gesturing to the plaster on your forehead. “I was gonna get Dana to take out the stitches today.”

“It’s not about what it looks like,” he said. 

He softened, drawing in a breath. He folded his arms like yours. Sometimes you wished you could feel his hoodie properly, because you knew it had to be soft as hell from wear. 

“I don’t want Kiara to talk to me about it, okay?” you said, and he frowned. “I don’t want Gloria on your ass, either. But I don’t want anyone to mention it again, including Abbot.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shared that with him, but to be fair, it wasn’t about you.”

You stared at him. “How is it not about me?” 

“Never mind,” he added quickly. “Listen, I won’t mention it again, but promise me you won’t let it get too bad before you need anything.”

You nodded. 

“Okay, briefing’s in five. Go get yourself some coffee, you’re gonna need your rocketfuel today.”

He left quite abruptly, making your head spin. You did as you were told.

-

There were donuts in the breakroom. That was the last good thing that day before you got absolutely slammed.

“Is it a full moon or somethin’?” Dana muttered. 

It was the afternoon and it was your third set of scrubs. People seemed edgy, angrier somehow. You shrugged, glancing up at the screen. 

“Bad fucking day,” you whispered. 

It didn’t help that Robby seemed to be sidelining you, even though your emotions hadn’t affected your work. 

Perlah was the one to take out your stitches, not Dana, and every time you saw a person notice and then look away from the ugly mark on your forehead, you had to settle yourself in a microsecond before moving on.

You thought about buying heavy duty makeup to cover it, but maybe that wouldn't constitute moving on. 

And Robby. God, Robby was his usual self, if a bit snippy at times. Whatever was going on between you, Dr. Mohan spoke to you about it first. 

“He seems more critical of you today.”

“He's concerned about my performance since getting clocked on Thursday,” you answered. 

You replaced an iPad beside the others and turned to give her your full attention. 

“He should know already that your abilities aren't affected by anything personal-”

“Well, it was a professional moment. Technically.” 

You sighed for the umpteenth time that day. You dragged a hand over your face for good measure. 

“Maybe he thinks it'll change things around here if Gloria hears enough about it. If it wasn't going to be me, it was probably going to be a paramedic or a nurse that got hit. Since I'm a Resident, I could make a bigger impact.” 

Mohan stared at you, looking like she meant to say something, but you didn't let her. 

“I'm over it, Samira.” 

There was no room for argument, since a gurney burst in, you and Mohan turning toward it. 

“17 year-old female, MVA…” 

The teenager was streaked with blood on her face. She looked soft with youth, serene in her unconscious state. While multiple hands swarmed her in Trauma 1, what stuck out most was how small she looked, bloodied and broken. It was too unfair, but you had to work as fast as possible. 

At this point, it was muscle memory. Each step taken as it escalated. 

“BP dropping-”

A cacophony of voices, and then one that grounded you immediately. 

Robby. 

“Pulse?” 

He'd slipped in beside you, the heat of his body enveloping you. His familiar scent made you want him to stay as long as possible. 

“Thready,” you replied. 

“Mommy?” 

The girl was in and out, somehow forming the words. Her frail voice cut through you, your chest aching. 

“Did we get a name?” Robby asked, and Princess shook her head. 

“No ID at the scene. The male driver ditched her.” 

“Sweetheart, what's your name?” you asked the girl, and she looked right at you, frowning. 

“Rozanne. Rozanne… Baker…”

“Rozanne, you're at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center,” Robby spoke up, but Rozanne kept staring at you. 

“I wore my seatbelt, Mommy, I'm sorry.” 

“Delirium,” someone noted, and you knew it was either from her being jostled or bloodloss. 

Either way, she thought you were her mother. You heard her BP was plummeting further. 

“Rozanne, we're going to take care of you, try not to move-” 

“Mommy…” 

She wept, and you took her hand, squeezing it. You knew it wasn't the done thing, but you needed her to know you were there. 

“I'm here, Rozanne. It's okay, sweetheart.”

“She's crashing-” 

Rozanne's wide eyes turned glassy as she began to fade, monitors beeping, voices overlapping. The thought of not bringing her back gripped your heart with panic. 

You tried to keep yourself outwardly neutral, though you swore your hands were going to shake. 

Rozanne’s pulse was gone. The team tried everything but it didn't come back. You persisted with chest compressions, swapping in and out with Robby. 

You could see it on his face, that he was only entertaining this for your sake. He murmured: 

“Stop chest compressions…” 

Still no pulse. You closed your eyes. You weren’t praying exactly, but wishing. Hoping against everything you knew to be true - Rozanne was gone, and you were delaying accepting it for as long as you could. To avoid any indignity, you stepped back, nodding.

You called the time of breath, then heard a shriek coming from behind you. A woman that looked more or less like Rozanne but a couple decades over, had burst in. 

“Rozanne! Oh, God! My baby! My baby girl…”

She collapsed beside Rozanne’s body, wailing. Robby crouched beside her, murmuring his deepest sympathies. You were surprised you were still in your body by how you felt yourself floating away, seeing it all from above. 

Robby was ignored, Rozanne’s mother drowning him out, and you could see the pain on his face. He sighed a little, moving back. 

You whispered an apology. This was your fault, your patient. It felt like Robby was taking the fall, so you had to say something. It wasn’t acknowledged. 

You departed, not waiting to be dismissed. Fuck getting punched by a patient, it never beat the feeling of losing one, no matter how briefly you knew them. Rozanne’s future snuffed out, for what? What was the lesson here? What were you doing here?

You burst into the stairwell and slumped to the ground, back against the far wall. You ran the scenario back over and over. Rozanne’s face was all you could see. In the end, she’d been afraid, and you hadn’t been good enough. 

A few minutes later, you heard the exit door open and you glanced up, seeing Robby standing there, his hands by his sides.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you croaked. “How’s the mom?”

“We’re giving her some time in the family room with Kiara,” Robby said, walking over to you. 

You watched him the entire time, the gentle way he approached you, like when he patched you up. That felt like such a long time ago. He sat beside you. 

“I fucked up,” you said, and he shook his head automatically.

“I shouldn’t have spent so long talking to her instead of trying to treat her. I could’ve-”

“No, you didn’t.”

You bit your lip, cutting yourself off. You blew a hard breath out of your mouth, jiggling your knee. Anything to distract you-

“Goddamn it,” you whispered, and then dissolved into sobs.

You let it all out, unlike when you were assaulted. The frustration had built up and up and up. There was nowhere else to put it now. You couldn’t decide whether you were glad it was Robby that saw you this way and not someone else.

He slipped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into him, and you kept on crying, knowing you were a goner in more ways than one. It was unfair that he was this caring. 

“Robby,” you whispered, and you pulled back a little, looking into his eyes. 

The heat of his body still holding you, your cheek against his hoodie left tear stains… you parted your lips to apologize, to say anything, seeing his eyes fall to your mouth. 

You moved before you could let yourself think, planting a peck on his lips, and you ached for more. Your chest physically hurt, as if this was worse than a punch to the face. He pulled back, shock on his face, and then-

He dove back in, slanting his mouth over yours. He kissed the life out of you, the first nudge of his tongue against the seam of your lips causing you to gasp, and he took the opportunity like a man starved, possessing your mouth, his hand coming up to capture your jaw. 

It went like that for a bit, tongues tangling, gasps and huffs of breath. You throbbed with want, arching into him, hands in his hair. He finally pulled you away from him, panting a little.

“I shouldn’t be doing this, you’re upset,” he hissed, mouth pink and wet. 

You leaned in, nose brushing his. “I’m always upset.”

“I mean it,” he whispered, hands on your wrists to keep you apart from him.

You deflated, nodding, understanding he regretted this. He wasn’t like you, this was a momentary thing. For you, he meant the world. 

You were wrong. He pulled you against him again a second later, burying his face in your neck, taking a deep breath. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered. 

His arms were wrapped around you so tight you couldn’t move even if you tried with every ounce of your strength. You stayed there, eyes slipping shut as he settled against you. 

“We can’t have sex here,” you heard him murmur. He could have been talking to himself.

“Okay,” you managed to reply. You wanted to replay his words in your mind forever. 

He let you go, and you remained still, worried something could break the spell. You stared at one another, breathing still faster than usual. 

“I’ll head back,” you said. 

“Yeah, I’ll be a sec,” he replied. 

He closed his eyes finally, passing a hand over his face. He readjusted himself, clearing his throat. You stared at his crotch, hoping you wouldn’t be suddenly possessed with giggles.

“Oh…”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. 

You were smiling at one another, and then he took your hand, squeezing it. “Go.”

You obeyed, trying to wrap your head around what had just happened. Emotions were high, but that felt like something you’d been heading towards for years. Another dimension to such an intense relationship to begin with. 

If it was like that just kissing him, what would the rest be like?

-

Your mind never slowed down after being in the stairwell with Robby, so you had to ride that out for the rest of the shift, mind reeling every time you remembered what had transpired. 

You didn’t know how to feel, because you had failed Rozanne and her family, but you also couldn’t stop remembering how fucking soft Robby’s beard had been when you kissed. 

At one point, when you were walking past him on your way to another patient, he murmured: 

“Come find me after.”

The thrill of knowing he was your little secret spurred you on - only for him to be missing when you managed to finish relatively on time for once. When the handovers concluded, you didn’t see him in the usual places, and eventually gave up, not wanting to draw too much attention to it. 

You opened up your messages on your phone and wondered about finally replying to his from the other day, but then Santos caught your eye, offering to walk you out. You nodded, and fell into step with her, more than a little disappointed. 

“Did they find the driver?” Santos asked, referring to Rozanne’s accident. 

“Yeah, he went to his parents,” you muttered, dragging a hand over your face. 

Once you left the hospital, you felt your body begin to shut down. Soon, you wouldn’t be able to talk. Any conversation would be limited. 

Rozanne’s boyfriend was the reason she ended up in the Pitt. He fled the scene after dumping Rozanne on the side of the road, but then confessed to his parents that his girlfriend was in an accident with him. It was a miracle no-one else was hurt. 

“Piece of shit,” Santos snarled, and you nodded for the sake of finishing the conversation. “How’s your head, anyway?”

“No complaints so far,” you muttered, and Santos grinned at you.

You stopped at your car but she kept walking with a little salute. 

“Godspeed.”

-

You knew a dull weekend was necessary for recovering, but since everything changed with Robby, you only wanted to see him sooner. It was too much power in your hands, having his cell number with the dynamics shifted between you. 

You opened your messages, thumb hovering, predawn Saturday. You didn’t even know what you wanted to say, you only knew that you wanted him there in bed, holding you as tight as he did earlier. 

Grey dots appeared. He was staring down at the same messages you were, in his own bed, you assumed. You stared, waiting for his message to appear.

It was another minute, but nothing happened. The typing stopped, and you scoffed. 

“Jesus, Robby,” you whispered. 

I see you, you sent before you could think too much about it. You waited. 

No, you didn’t.

You laughed, groaning. You wanted him badly. You tried to think of something clever, when to your horror your phone began to ring. Or delight. You weren’t sure. It felt dangerous, but you wanted it, wanted to curl your hand around this feeling and squeeze and squeeze–

“Hey,” you breathed, answering. “What’s up?”

“Why are you awake right now?” 

Robby’s voice all low and pointed made the skin on the back of your neck prickle. You swallowed, closing your eyes. 

“Uh, I could ask you the same question, Doc. It’s past your bedtime.”

Not your best work, but not awful. You waited, breath held.

“Robby?”

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your stomach flipped. “Oh…”

You could hear his breathing, a rustle of bedsheets. You tried to picture him, and wondered what he was wearing. Could you ask? Could you imagine aloud and he’d fill in the blanks, possibly while you slipped your hand into your underwear?

“What are we going to do about it?” he asked, and you swallowed. 

“We?”

“Yeah. We. Us,” he said. “It’s a very specific situation.”

Was he… regretting it? You paused, trying to decipher his tone. You couldn’t see his face, couldn’t know for sure if he was smirking. 

He said your name, prompting you. 

“Sorry, I was spacing out-”

“I should let you go, it’s been a long day,” he said, and you sat up a little. 

“No, don’t, I mean - yeah, it has been,” you babbled. 

You weren’t smooth at all, suddenly. His tone had changed from conspiratorial to a gentle dismissal. You wished you could start this again and get it right. 

“I didn’t kiss you because I was sad,” you admitted. “It felt like a long time coming.”

He went quiet again and you wondered if he was there anymore. 

“Robby.”

“I know,” he said, and you felt relieved. “I… I should go. See you Monday.”

He hung up and you sighed. 

What did he mean? He knew that you had a crush? How long had he known? Jesus, if he’d always known, had he been preparing for this moment for years? 

You buried yourself in your blankets, wanting to disappear. 

-

You were beside yourself for most of the weekend, and then by Monday you wanted to believe you were over it. Once Robby got you to yourself, you felt downright giddy. 

It was back to square one. 

“Hey,” you said, lighting up. He didn’t return your smile. “Are you mad at me?”

Robby crossed his arms, a dead giveaway something was amiss. 

“Did you… not press charges?”

You froze, and then had to remember the incident all over again. Robby’s gentle hands that followed, the way your chest felt like it’d been kicked in–

“I didn’t want to.”

You wanted to close yourself off, run away. Get the fuck out of this hallway with Robby. Go to Triage and find some belligerent jerk to patch up instead of having to deal with anything close to emotional intimacy with this guy.

“Why the fuck not?” he snapped, sounding exasperated. “An addict assaulted you. It could be his wakeup call. It sets a precedent - when this shit happens, it’s never okay.”

“I don’t want to keep talking about this,” you hissed. “And I don’t know if that’s gonna happen. I just want to get through the damn shift…”

Out of the corner of your eye, you spied a teal blazer that could only be Gloria. You glanced at Robby, who sighed loudly through his nose. 

“Good morning,” she began, and he shook his head. 

“Really not a good time, if I’m honest,” he said, and she looked at you, giving a smile to smooth it all over. 

“If this has anything to do with workplace harassment,” you said, hand up. “We were discussing it and the answer is no.”

“For the love of God-” Robby began. 

“It is important for staff to be part of implementing optimal outcomes,” Gloria said to you, and you side-eyed her. “This is a collaborative relationship, always. And your safety is always the most important-”

You walked away, not before hearing Gloria say to Robby something along the lines of:

“Why is it always you and your team I’m worried about, Robby?”

You felt the urge to cry but pushed it away, taking yourself to the breakroom for a cup of coffee. There was no one inside, and you stalked over to the machine, seeing it empty. 

“Fuck me,” you muttered. 

You started preparing the pot when Robby came in, looking livid. 

“It’s your job to report and press charges,” he snapped. “If you don’t, other healthcare workers are at risk.”

You ignored him, shoulders up to your ears. You huffed, waiting for the coffee to dribble out. You shoved a clean cup on the counter and filled it.

“You want some?” you murmured. 

“I’d rather a fucking beer,” he retorted. 

“Fresh out,” you said, then glanced his way. 

He was standing closer, hands by his sides. He looked tired. 

You poured him a cup, handing it to him. You sipped in silence, the tension dissipating. Of course, Dana came in, glancing at both of you. 

“Interrupting somethin’?”

“No,” you said, as Robby said:

“Yeah.”

He sighed and left you there with her, the door shutting behind him. 

“Somethin’ happen between you guys?” she asked, and you drained your cup. 

“What makes you think that?” you retorted. “Was it the murderous glint in my eye, or the fact that his hands were ready to strangle me?”

“Did you guys… hook up?” Dana asked, and you stared at her. 

“No.”

You refused to elaborate, Dana’s brows hiking. 

“I’m just sayin’, somethin’ changed. Miaow.” 

You let her hang there for a beat. You couldn’t even begin to explain Robby to anyone. Dana was one of the few people who could understand, but she wasn’t making it easy to open up, despite it all. 

“If you’re lonely, you get a cat,” she went on. “You don’t fuck your Attending.”

“That is not what happened,” you said. 

“Okay.”

You walked away, not before slamming your cup down. It wasn’t as satisfying as you hoped. You fumed, wondering how Dana could be both right and wrong at the same time. It felt like all you needed was to get away from Robby, and yet he was wound around your chest. You couldn’t tear him away, even though he could be a giant prick.

You ended up pressing charges, not to appease Robby exactly. You knew it was the right thing to do. It was more about closure.

-

You convinced yourself to get over Robby. 

He had the ball in his court, his number in his phone, and he hadn’t done anything about it. You could be just as stubborn, head down as you moved past one another each shift you shared. Everything was strictly professional, almost cold. 

You perused websites for deals on vacations to faraway, tropical places you’d never seen before. You watched nostalgic TV when you could keep your eyes open for long enough. You opened books and even read a few pages before putting them back down again. 

It wasn’t as simple as wishing for something to change. Reality always came back. Your feelings were real, and so was what had happened to you. 

Robby found you while you were updating a chart late into your shift. You expected a terse comment about efficiency but instead you got those concerned eyes that bore into you. You glanced at him, frowning. 

“Got a sec?”

“What’d I do?” you muttered, and he shook his head.

You followed him once you logged off. You fell into step with him, trying not to fill with dread and failing to do so. 

You went all the way to the family room, pausing as Robby shut the door behind you. 

“If it’s okay, we need to talk about David Westbrook.”

It was the name of the patient that attacked you. Your face flushed at the memories coming back to you. 

“Right.”

“He came in, dropped off by a friend,” Robby went on. He was watching you intently. “He was unconscious, a heroin overdose.”

You nodded, wondering why you were so sad you could cry.

“He died.”

Your throat was tight. “Yeah. Okay…”

Robby’s hand slipped into yours, and you squeezed it. 

“I thought if you pressed charges he’d be on the right path,” he murmured. “I was wrong and I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I’m sorry.”

“You did the right thing,” you said. “We both did, we’re just trying to help people…”

He nodded. He looked down at your hands, your entwined fingers. 

“I’m not sorry about us, though.”

You believed him, despite him never calling you again, never asking you out. He had his reasons, perfectly good ones, for steering clear. 

“You make me a better doctor, Robby,” you said. 

He stared at you, touched. You pulled back, wiping your face with the back of your hand. 

“I’ve got more to say,” he said. 

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” you murmured, seeing that ghost of a smirk on his face. “But it’s nothing that can’t wait until later, right?” 

He conceded with a nod and a small smile. That had to be enough for now.

-

“Hey,” you whispered, rubbing your eyes. 

Abbot came into view, smirking with his backpack slung over one shoulder. 

“Thank God I’m here, right?” 

You nodded, genuinely grateful. It was a long shift. Though whatever was going on with Robby felt immediate, work replaced any good feelings. The day shift was stressful and intense work, and you wanted nothing more than to leave. 

Robby appeared, giving Abbot a half-hug. 

“You kids done for the day?” 

“Sure,” Robby said, and then glanced your way. He cocked his head towards the exit. “See you out there.”

The men exchanged a glance and you ignored them, walking past them to get to your locker to gather your things. The transfer of patients was drama-free, considering. You patients were mostly sleeping, or waiting on results. 

“‘Night, Abbot!” you called in their general direction, and he winked at you over Robby’s shoulder. 

You walked to the park, finding yourself alone. You managed to beat everyone else out there. There was a wailing siren in the distance and you instinctively looked for it. The ambulance tore down the street and you watched it pull into the Pitt. 

Robby was coming over, watching you.

“Sometimes I have to stop myself from running after them,” you admitted. 

He always made you honest, in the end. He nodded knowingly. 

“Yeah, we should go.”

You met his gaze. 

“Unless you want to stay for beer?”

You considered it, but it was good timing to leave with him now instead of having to make excuses and then meet up later. There was an undeniable inevitability to the evening. It brought warmth to your guts. 

“Nah, let’s go.”

You walked with him in silence for a while, until he slung an arm around you, pulling you next to him. 

“Are you coming to my place finally?”

“What do you mean, ‘finally’?” you retorted. You watched the side of his face crease with amusement. “You’re the one ignoring me. And then you said you’ve got other things to say…”

He snorted. “Okay…”

You couldn’t get over how right it felt, to be this close to him, without the context of a patient between you or beside you. The open air brought you closer somehow, too. 

“What’s the big speech?” you teased. 

He stopped, and so you stopped, too, turning into him. He cupped your cheek, thumb grazing you. 

“I’m in love with you.”

You hadn’t expected he would be so direct, and yet - when had Robby ever lied to you? He omitted things, sure, but that was different. He was usually painfully honest in every way. 

He kissed you, soft and thorough. When you pulled back, you were clutching at his hoodie with both hands. 

“Good speech?” he said, and you nodded.

You kept walking, holding hands, stopping every so often to kiss. When you finally reached his apartment, the reality of it set in, and you wanted to keep touching him, as if stopping anything would break the spell. You couldn’t let him go, not now. 

“You good?” he asked, unlocking the door. 

You nodded, then squeezed in after him, looking around. 

It was Robby’s smell, amplified. Slightly sweet, the surroundings kind of modest. Low maintenance, you supposed. Everything had its well-worn place, including a hook for his keys and bag, a spot on the floor for his shoes by the door. 

There were shelves upon shelves of books, little ornaments that didn’t scream Robby. They distinctly belonged to another time, to someone else. 

“From my grandmother,” he murmured, when you paused, gawking at a menorah that was older than anything you’d seen in your entire life. 

“That’s incredible…”

You copied him, taking off your shoes and bag. You watched you take it all in.

“You want a beer?”

You nodded, then followed him into the kitchen. He got out two bottles from the fridge and handed you one. He looked looser already, the version of Robby you liked best. Or second-best to kissing, cuddly Robby.

“Hey-”

You stepped into his space, putting aside your beer. He’d taken a swig of his and swallowed, throat bobbing. You circled your arms around him and held tight, burying your face in his chest. 

“You okay?” he murmured, and you heard him put down his own beer. 

His arms came up to envelop you. 

“Yeah, I just needed this, thank you…”

“You’re welcome,” he replied. 

You pulled back a little, feeling daring. “But if we don’t fuck right now, I might explode.”

His brows hiked. “Really?”

You kissed him, a little harder than probably necessary to get the message across. He matched your enthusiasm, his tongue sweeping greedily into your mouth. You moaned, unadulterated. He pulled you against his hips, and there he was - hard and real.  

He backed you into the counter and you tussled, before breaking apart to pant, his lips trailing down the side of your face, then your jaw and neck. He sucked at the flesh that met your shoulder and throat and you moaned again. 

“Robby…”

You throbbed, and he pressed his thigh between your legs, keeping you trapped. Caging you in emphasised his bulk, which only made you want to get under his skin, have him bury himself inside you as far as he could go, too – the possibilities felt endless, the fantasies coming to life…

He kissed your lips again, and you managed to get to his skin under his shirt, for the first time trailing your fingers up his back, nails digging in. 

“Fuck, c’mon-”

He tugged you away from the kitchen and you giggled with delight, because he was barely keeping his impatience inside, grabbing you like that. 

In his bedroom, he went to the bedside lamp after letting you go, the room flooding with warm, soft light. So much better than any ER lighting he’d see you under, you thought. 

He pulled you to him, helping you take off your scrubs. Each garment was punctuated with kisses, gasps from you, Robby’s eyes blown wide with lust. 

He kissed your bare shoulders, cuddling you as you went for his belt, backing him towards the mattress. As you unbuckled him, he turned his head towards his bedside table again.  

“I have condoms-”

“Yeah?” you panted, and he nodded, capturing you in another kiss. 

Distracting you momentarily, he managed to turn the tables, slipping away to get you backed into the mattress instead of him. He lowered himself, tugging down your scrubs bottoms, exposing you to the air. 

“I have to do this first,” he whispered. 

He pushed you back, and you consented with a rapid nod, breath already coming in gasps before he spread your legs and clambered between them, diving in to taste you. He dragged his tongue up from the bottom to the top of your cunt where your clit throbbed for him. 

You jumped at the contact, legs beginning to shake as he got acquainted with your parts, relishing in the taste, the way you couldn’t catch your breath. You whimpered when he speared his tongue inside, eyes meeting yours as you gripped his scalp. 

“Oh, fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck…”

You undulated against his mouth, shameless in your need for him to be as close as possible to you. He built you up and up and up, so good with his mouth, his hands. Of course he was, you should have known it would be like this.

“You taste so fucking good,” he whispered, and you whimpered again, a little helpless. 

You were close, but you wanted him inside you, you needed him, now. You said as much with your eyes as you yanked him up by the shoulders, meeting his mouth with a sloppy kiss. 

He was barely coherent when you broke apart. 

“Hold on…”

He pulled back and you attacked his throat, writhing under him as he managed to get his pants off. His shirt went next, when you finally let him get far enough away from you. 

His chest, the muscles, the hair, the glint of his necklace, the glow of his skin in the light. He fisted his cock, your eyes dipping to see it. Thick enough to make your mouth water, and all for you. God, he was touching himself because of you.

“I’ve gotta get in you…”

You curled your arms around him, legs spread, and you both groaned when he pushed inside you. The perfect fit, warm and stretching you like a fucking dream. He lay on top of you, chest to chest, and held you as he bottomed out with a groan.

“Fuck…”

You lay there a second, breathing together. It was the most honest thing you’d ever done, this with Robby. Nothing between you. Nothing to hide. 

He pulled back to look you in the eye, then your noses brushed again as he hovered above. He gave a short thrust, unintentional with how he shifted, and you moaned. 

“C-condom,” you whispered. 

“Yeah,” he replied with a breathy moan. 

He pulled out and you waited, watching as he retrieved a condom and rolled it on. His precise doctor’s hands. He returned to the cradle of your hips, brushing up against you. 

Sliding home again, you sighed. 

“Welcome back,” you whispered, and he grinned. 

“You’re adorable…”

He buried in the tight heat of you, a shuddery moan slipping from his lips. He nuzzled your face with that soft as fuck beard again, and you clutched his shoulders tighter. He pushed the hair back from your face, staring down at you as he began to move.

He pulled his cock way, way back until he was nearly falling out of you, then pushed back in with a long, deep stroke that pulled a moan from you. 

“You like that?”

You nodded. “Again. But- harder. Harder.”

He obliged, filling you to the brim with a harder stroke, hitting a spot that made you cry out. He watched your cunt swallow him again and again, and he committed, thrusts speeding up as you began to beg, pleading with his name a gasp on your lips. 

“Fuck, Robby, fuck - fuck- Oh, my God…”

You couldn’t keep your cool if your life depended on it. Nothing on Earth would make you stop, your pleasure climbing further and further. Then you started to whimper and squirm when his thumb rubbed your clit, his cock still splitting you open with each hard stroke. 

“Baby,” he whispered, and that undid you completely. 

You arched your back and came, Robby impossibly deep, your eyes squeezing shut as you clenched around him, nails digging into his back. You went still and he held you through it, chest to chest again, your toes curling. 

“I’m in love with you, too,” you slurred, and he began to laugh, your limbs now limp and useless. “And not because you did that to me…”

He kissed you over and over, and you could barely do it back for a good minute. You felt his thumb on your forehead, tracing the space where he’d stitched you up. 

“You didn’t leave a scar,” you whispered. “Sometimes… I wish you did.”

He gave you a second, and then he started to move again. Before too long, you were both rutting, kisses missing mouths as you pushed and pulled at one another. 

You quivered, overwhelmed by it all, how much he was putting into this, and how much you’d  given him, too. You watched his face, how it pinched from the effort, how close he was.

You pushed up against him and he moved back, letting you throw a leg over him, making a quick, slippery descent. 

“Fuck,” he moaned, emboldening you.

You rode him, only his end was on your mind. You were drunk with power, bouncing for as long as your knees allowed, and then he was helping to hold you up, fucking you back. 

“Baby, baby…” 

He pulled you to his chest and came, a long sigh in your ear as he shattered. You felt him twitch inside you, both of you sweaty and exhausted. Adrenaline gone, work over, spent and naked in each other’s arms.

“Jesus, what a day,” he muttered, and you laughed into his skin. 

It wasn't supposed to be like this. 

Although, the location seemed perfect. Pristine beaches, the clearest water you'd ever seen. The friendliest greeters when you arrived at the hotel placing leis around your neck. Everyone seemed to smile and absorb all those good feelings. There was literal laughter in the air. 

It was all that you planned it to be, except you weren't alone when you first talked about coming to Hawaii. All that vacation time you saved up together, and then your life went to shit. 

That was a month ago. You debated for weeks about cancelling everything, since your partner cancelled your life together - but then over time you felt like it was worse to be sitting around at home feeling sorry for yourself instead of being here anyway. 

You could grieve your old life here instead, where everything looked like a scene on a postcard.

You went to your hotel room, opened up your suitcase and fished out your first swimsuit. It was a low cut one-piece that hugged your body. You wrapped a sarong around your middle and swapped your sneakers for flip-flops and walked down to the beach with your towel and a book. 

You'd been doing the same thing at home, except instead of the ocean you'd had your messy apartment surrounding you. If this was all you did for the rest of the day, fine. 

You fell asleep in one of the sunbeds in the long line covered with umbrellas on the shore, only to be awoken by the shrieks of a young family whose children tore down to the beach with their gear. The father gave you a sheepish look as you stared after them, picking up your book from the spot it fell beside you.

Sand was already in it, great. And you managed to lose your spot. You couldn’t be upset at the kids, though. They were in literal paradise. You probably should have stayed home…

You trudged back to your room to shower. As you got out your key, elevator doors shutting behind you, you spotted a man whose back was to you opening the room opposite yours in the hallway. 

You ducked into your room without a word, not before having brief, awkward eye contact with him. He was older than you, but handsome all the more for it. His brows hiked ever so slightly as you disappeared, and you hoped he wasn’t offended. 

You weren’t in the mood to talk just yet. 

-

Hours later, you couldn’t sleep. You ordered room service instead of attending the lūʻau, hoping that by tomorrow you would have the courage to show your face to random strangers. 

Now, with the blankets twisting around you each time you moved, there was no way you were getting to sleep anytime soon. 

You took a deep breath and left your bed, throwing your cardigan over your sleep clothes. Heading downstairs, you could hear there were still a few people around, but it was nothing like earlier that evening. 

No-one was at the bar, save the guy behind it, and another figure nursing a beer. You recognized him immediately as your neighbor from across the hall, and sat nearby him, an empty stool between you.

As you waited, you scanned the wide dining area behind you. There was one other man at the far wall, staring into his phone with a large whiskey by his elbow. 

“What would you like, ma’am?” 

The bartender approached with a wide smile, unbothered by the hour. 

“Uh… vodka soda, please.”

“Of course,” he said, and departed. 

You felt watched and looked at your neighbor. 

“I’m not interrupting?” you asked, and he shook his head. 

“Stay.”

You told him your name and offered your hand. 

“I think we’re on the same floor,” you added, and he shook your hand. 

“Yeah. I’m Michael.”

You nodded, taking a short sip of your drink when it arrived a beat later. You remembered your clothes. Michael was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. 

“I… can’t sleep.”

“Sorry to hear it,” he said. “You’re here by yourself? Where’re you from?”

You nodded. “Pittsburgh.”

He burst into a real smile and you felt your face flush. He was very, very handsome. Never mind your first impression. He was cute as hell.

“Me, too.”

“Oh, no shit?” you said, and he laughed. “What are the odds?”

You talked a bit about the journey there, and Michael said he’d got there yesterday. He was on a long vacation, nothing fixed.

You snorted. “Jesus. Mine was nothing but planned. So much of it went to shit already-”

It was like you couldn’t help yourself, cringing. You hadn’t meant to already get into it, but it was bound to come up, why you were alone. 

“I mean, I had these big plans but the person I was supposed to come with decided not to in the end.”

“Sorry, again,” Michael said, taking a swig of beer. 

You shook your head. “Don’t be. Turns out he wasn’t the guy I thought he was.”

Michael went quiet for a second, tilting his head, narrowing his eyes. “Was this… a break-up?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. 

There was a pause and you added quickly:

“Not that I’m losing sleep over him! I’m way past that. I just… had these plans…”

You should have already been drinking long ago if you were going to bring this up with a complete stranger, but fuck it. You were on vacation, things were different. This wasn’t like being at your local dive, or telling people you work with.

“I had a laparoscopy,” you said. “It’s when-”

“Do you have endometriosis?” he asked.

“How did you know that?”

“I’m a doctor,” he said.

You looked away, suddenly very aware of him looking straight at you. You wondered what else he knew about you, even if it was just by looking at you. 

“I wanted to start IVF, after this trip,” you went on. “This was meant to be our last big one before - hopefully - a baby.”

It wasn’t like you, to disclose so much. You didn’t feel judged, though you could sense the cogs were turning when you looked back at him. 

“Must be something about you, for me to get so personal so fast,” you mumbled. “And I guess that happens a lot, when people find out you’re a doctor. But I’m guessing you’re not a psychiatrist?”

He shook his head, with an almost sad kind of smile. “Emergency.” 

“So you work in a hospital?” you asked, and he nodded.

“Yeah.”

The silence between you that followed felt less strange, somehow. You didn’t want to avoid him like you had before, at least. 

“I really am sorry if I gatecrashed your downtime,” you said, and he shook his head, draining his beer. 

“Nah, I couldn’t sleep, either.”

He got up and you considered doing the same, but left your glass instead of finishing it.

“You wanna go for a walk?” 

You thought about it, and then wondered why it mattered. It didn’t hurt. You nodded, rising from your seat. You gathered your cardigan around yourself and walked out, down the short footpath to the beach. 

Tiki torches still burned, lining the sand well enough to see his face in the halflight. The moonlight did the rest. The tide came and went in a steady rhythm, the night otherwise blissfully quiet. 

“It’s so… peaceful out here,” you murmured, and Michael nodded. 

It was romantic. It was supposed to be, that’s why you chose to take your ex here. If he hadn’t run away from you, you’d be rolling around in the sand together, trying to make a baby. The regret crested over you again and you sighed, moving on, not waiting. 

“Has the treatment been… effective?” he asked, and you glanced his way, for a moment too lost in your thoughts to understand.

Oftentimes, when someone learned you had endometriosis, their response was pitying, or worse, falsely trying to relate to your emotional and physical agonies. No, it wasn’t like ordinary period pain. Yes, it had derailed work and school, it had made life harder in a lot of ways. 

Yes, you hoped to have children. Past tense - hoped. You didn’t know anymore. It meant doing it alone, if you were doing it now. 

“I thought you were supposed to be on vacation,” you retorted, folding your arms. 

He copied you, and you could make out a smirk on his face. 

“I’ll send you the bill.”

Your welcomed laughter followed, before you rolled your eyes. “I guess it has been. Symptoms aren’t as bad. For now.”

There wasn’t a cure. You just had to wait it out, hope that each cycle didn’t render you bedridden like usual. 

“That’s good to hear,” he said. “Sorry, that’s personal…”

“Hey, I’m the one who told you,” you said, shrugging. You glanced towards the water. “Jesus.”

You sidestepped the tide as it came rushing in, faster than you expected. Michael did the same, but he’d been paying attention, guiding you back with a hand that hovered the small of your back. He wasn’t quite touching, but you felt that spark of sudden proximity. 

You kept walking in silence, a little further away from the shore. 

“How long were you planning on staying here?” you asked, and he shook his head.

“I’m undecided,” he said.

“Is that why you can’t sleep?” you asked. 

You may as well try more honesty with him. He knew what felt like too much already. You looked at one another. 

“It’s probably related.”

You smirked back at him, then suppressed a sudden yawn. It was probably time to head back. Michael nodded toward the hotel and you walked back together. The elevator ride was silent, too. You went to your door, and then glanced back his way, shoving the keycard in.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he echoed softly. 

Something about that made you feel warm inside. 

-

You approached him the next afternoon, among a group of other tourists waiting on the pier. You couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses but he smiled back at you.

“Hey, I know you,” you said, face shielding your eyes. 

You hadn’t seen him all morning, though admittedly you’d hoped to. You slept okay once you got back to bed, and spent the beginning of the day looking for him at breakfast before you went back to your room to laze around. 

This afternoon trip was booked well in advance. It was supposed to be a late lunch on the ocean, with a tour guide included. A few families, couples and a bachelorette party gathered to board the yacht. 

You and Michael stood together like two kids pairing up on a field trip. 

“I can’t get over how clear the water is out here,” he said, and you beamed. 

“I know, right?”

You hadn’t expected him here. In fact, neither of you had said anything about what you planned to do while in Hawaii. You packed too much, as you were prone to, so you were glad to have brought at least a couple nice dresses and skirts. 

Today’s outfit was brand new, tags popped off that morning. Linen dress that cinched at the waist with a broad sun hat. 

Michael’s Birkenstocks looked well-worn, his shorts were the same from yesterday. He wore a navy polo shirt that hid little of his broad frame. His… bulk attracted you. You wanted to stare at his forearms but tried not to. He was fun to look at, but he was a person, too. 

Also, you’d just gone through a breakup. 

You put on your sunglasses and ascended with the others, Michael behind you. He stayed by your side as the tour guide from the hotel began his introduction, and then everyone took a seat as the yacht began to move away from the dock. 

“This is insane,” you murmured. 

For the next half an hour, you listened with Michael beside you as the tour went on. Describing  the flora and fauna of the islands, you wish you could see it for yourself, not have someone only describe it to you.

There was a loud gurgle and you looked at Michael. 

“Was that your stomach?”

“...yes,” he whispered. 

You covered your mouth with your hand, pressing your lips together for good measure. As the trip went on, you too felt hunger begin to pull your focus.

When they finally docked on the other side of the island, wait staff approached with heaping trays of fresh fruit and seafood. There were collective sighs of relief all around. 

“Get in there,” Michael encouraged, and you laughed openly, tucking in. 

-

“Did that feel… weird to you?” you asked, twirling your hat absently. 

You walked back up to the hotel with Michael, and he nodded. 

“Yeah, it felt… commercial,” he muttered. “Inauthentic.”

“Not a waste of money, though, surely?” 

“I’m not your accountant.”

“I’m just saying - I don’t totally regret it,” you retorted. “It wasn’t what I expected, though.”

His sunglasses were tucked into his neckline, his arms bearing a healthy glow from the sun. You looked at his skin when he kept the elevator door open for you, allowing you in beside him. 

He pressed the button for your floor. 

“It’s not gonna help my Yelp review, I’ll tell you that much...”

You smiled again, looking away. “Obviously.”

It felt so good to be on the same page. It was different to what you were used to. With your ex, it never felt like you were truly in sync. It was your downfall, in the end. All the time you were together it felt like you’d manage to get over that eventually. 

“Are you gonna grab some dinner downstairs later?” he asked, and you met his gaze.

He wasn’t saying that just to make conversation. You believed that with how he was looking at you now, although maybe you weren’t the best judge of character when it came to men.

“Yeah, maybe after a nap,” you said. 

“Sounds good,” he said. 

“Were you… were you hoping to see me?” you asked. 

“Sure.”

He made it sound so simple. Why wouldn’t he hope to see you? Your face flushed and you looked away. 

“Okay, cool,” you said. 

“Okay, I’ll see you after,” he said. 

He let you out first, and you felt butterflies in your stomach for the first time in years. You smiled shyly and walked away to your door, letting yourself in before you embarrassed yourself. 

-

Something shifted inside you and wanted to enjoy yourself for the sake of it. You showered, after you didn’t nap - your brain kept thinking about Michael and his warm eyes peering at you - and dressed in one of your sundresses.

You found him at the bar and he nodded towards the dining area, where the host led you to a table overlooking the beach outside. Handed a menu, you peruse, unsure of where to begin.

Michael ordered beer, looking your way. 

“I’ll get a cocktail,” you beamed. “Sex on the beach.”

If it landed anywhere, you tried not to read it too much on his face as you were left alone. He hadn’t said this was a date - but he hadn’t said it wasn’t either. 

Conversation came easily, like you’d never stopped talking earlier. 

“What’s it like being an ER doctor?” you asked, as you picked up some bread from the basket between you. 

You offered it to him and he took a piece, breaking it in half on his plate.

“Chaotic,” he said. “Sometimes heartbreaking.”

“I can’t imagine how challenging it is,” you said, chewing. “I would never stay calm.”

“It’s not easy.”

You felt like he was skirting around the reality he faced, and your brows furrowed. 

“I feel like you’re trying to not sound as impressive as you are.”

He laughed at that, passing a hand over his face wearily. 

“I mean…”

“You’d constantly have to be flexible, right? No day is the same, you deal with anything and everyone…”

“Yeah,” he said. “But someone has to.”

You swallowed. The waiter returned with your drinks, and you took yours with a brief smile of acknowledgment. You took a sip, and put the towering glass aside, picking out a piece of pineapple stuck to its rim. 

“So why you, then? Why not do something other than emergency healthcare?”

You shoved the fruit in your mouth, watching him. He drank from his glass of beer as you asked this. He sighed. 

“I don’t… want to. But I probably should.”

You appreciated his honesty. You sucked the juice from your thumb, nodding. The silence felt taut with more questions, from both sides of the table.

“Why’d you break up with your ex?” he asked. 

You smiled bitterly. “He didn’t want to have babies with me.”

The heaviness of your conversation only just hit you. You were both alone here, out of choice, but now you’d decided to create this bond, however fleeting it may be. 

“I’m sorry,” he added. 

“You didn’t upset me,” you said, because he hadn’t. “It’s the truth. He left me. I thought he wanted to have kids. We talked about it enough.”

You sighed, not unlike him. 

“We started dating just before lockdown, and then we moved in together pretty fast. I was already diagnosed with endo then - and whenever we talked about the future it felt like hypotheticals. I mean, the world had fallen apart, and we weren’t going anywhere. We were forced to know one another really well. And we did, I thought. I thought we were close.”

You rolled your eyes at yourself, at how wrong you were.

“I think maybe he thought I’d never be serious about it, because I knew it  would be hard to conceive, but then I started cutting back on drinking-”

You glanced at your drink briefly and gave a short laugh.

“I was trying to get my body healthy for trying, and I finally had my surgery…”

“And he flaked,” Michael said, not unkindly.

“Yeah,” you said. “And I feel like an idiot that I spent all this time with him, and I never really knew him. I think he meant  more to me than I ever did to him.”

You picked up your drink again to stop talking, to stop yourself from becoming too sad again. You were only repeating the same thoughts you’d had for weeks.

“He’s an idiot,” Michael said, and you met his gaze. “He should have known sooner, anyway. Let you down better.”

You rolled your eyes again, trying not to notice how his eyes bore into you. Your skin began to feel hot.

Mercifully, the night’s entertainment began. Dancers twirling flames drew all attention away from your sad life, and with it your perspective. You were here, and not at home feeling sorry for yourself. 

The night was warm, beautiful. The scenery and culture was spectacular, and this man was sitting with you out of choice. Things could be a thousand times worse. You were lucky.

“Hey, if anyone gets hurt, at least I know where to find a doctor,” you said, clapping with the rest of the dinner crowd. 

Michael’s eyes were bright with mirth. 

Some time later, full of good food, carrying your purse under your arm, your shoes in one hand and a water glass in your other, you and Michael walked along the beach together once more.

“Do you have kids?” you asked, and Michael took a second to reply.

“I had a stepson, sort of,” he said. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

He didn’t explain, but added:

“Answer’s no.”

“Do you want them?” you asked. “I mean, did you ever?”

“Sometimes,” he said. “Other times…”

Again, he didn’t elaborate, his words hanging there. You decided to fill the silence.

“I guess I always wanted to try, to… y’know, give it a shot. Try to fight my infertility.” 

He nodded, wincing. “I guess it would be hard if I was working like I do.”

“People make it work.”

“Sorry, I guess I’m just naturally morbid from time to time,” he said. 

The sand was oddly comforting as you strolled, the sounds of life around you mere background noise. You drew in a breath, deciding to be your most direct.

“You weren’t just being nice, about my ex being a moron?” you asked.

His brows hiked. “No.”

“It can be hard for guys to be with-”

“With women with chronic illnesses?” he cut in. 

You glanced towards the sea, the darkness beyond. 

“Yeah, I guess that makes him sound like an asshole.” You sighed. “I’m going to stop mentioning him. I promise.”

Michael stopped, and you turned back, looking down at his hand he had poised beneath your nose.

“Pinky promise?”

You smirked, indulging him. You clasped his pinky with your own, shaking. For a beat too long, you noticed. He pulled away first, only to step closer to you, watching your face.

The heat between you was undeniable. He lifted his hand once again, thumb and forefinger catching your chin. 

“Walk you back?”

“Sure,” you said, heart hammering. 

-

It took a little while to fall asleep, since he was a gentleman and did as he said - walked you back to your room and then said goodnight. 

No kiss, not even a hug. You simply parted ways and then you throbbed for hours after, feeling like you should have just gone for it. Unless somehow you were misreading it. 

Those thoughts were pushed aside the second your landline rang beside you, around eight the next morning. You rolled over, confused, picking up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Hey, did I wake you?” 

Michael’s voice early in the morning made a thrill stir in your guts, a smile already playing on your lips. He was all soft and friendly, and you felt like you could hear him smiling on the other end of the line, across the hallway. 

“No. Who is this?”

“It’s the guy that’s gonna get you to see some real nature today, if you let him,” he replied.

You grinned, rolling onto your back. “What did you have in mind?”

“A hike, if you’re up for it.”

You knew you didn’t look your best when you were huffing and puffing up a hill. 

“I’ll take it easy on you,” he added.

“Gee, thanks,” you muttered.

When were you ever going to do this again?

“Alright, fuck it.”

You agreed to meet one another in the lobby in half an hour and you hung up, leaping out of bed and into the shower. 

You threw on some shorts and your new hat, tried to figure out a way to look both cute and not totally ridiculous, and then headed downstairs. You grabbed a banana from the breakfast buffet and a coffee and scoffed them down, before making your way to the lobby. 

He was waiting for you, backpack over one shoulder. 

“Don’t have one of those,” you said, gesturing. 

“I can carry everything.”

“Where’re we going?” you asked, following him out the door and into the street. 

“It’s a tourist trap, technically,” he said, and you punched the air. “But the biodiversity is up there, compared to yacht tours-”

“Man, that Yelp review just writes itself, huh?”

You suspected he could walk faster if he wanted to, but he was doing the nice thing and making sure you weren’t left behind. He offered you bottled water that you took, uncapping it as you climbed a footpath up a steep hill. 

“There’s a cliff view,” he explained. 

“That’s the reward?”

“No, the journey is the reward,” he said, and you snorted. “Yeah, I know how I sound.”

He sounded like someone who could call out his own bullshit, which you appreciated. It was refreshing, in a way. In this place with him, there was no room for a facade.

You made sure to walk beside him until the path was too narrow, and then you took the lead, in the hope of seeming up for anything. Also, you knew the shorts you wore did great things for your butt.

Nearly half an hour later, you reached the top, passing another couple that nodded and smiled at you. 

“Enjoy.”

“Thanks,” you called after them, as Michael let them pass. 

The view took your breath away. Rocks below as waves crashed into them. Lush greenery all around. Birdcalls echoing as Michael rested beside you against a tree. 

“You did it,” he murmured, taking out his water. 

You tapped his bottle with yours and drank. You felt a little out of breath, but otherwise good. There was a sense of achievement.

When you got back to the hotel, Michael jerked his thumb towards the concierge desk. 

“Gimme a sec.” 

“What are you up to?” 

He had a conspiratorial glint in his eye as he walked over, you hurrying after him. As he approached the desk, a worker smiled at you.

“Afternoon, Dr. Robinavich.” 

“I was wondering if anyone was available at short notice, we were out hiking…” 

The worker's uniform reminded you to buy a Hawaiian shirt while you were here in the next few days, the thought distracting you momentarily. 

“Unfortunately, we only have a couple's massage session available, it's a longer one. Our regular masseuse Amy is away, she does our shorter sessions…”

“Couple's massage?” you blurted, and Michael looked at you. 

“Would you mind?” 

Uh, fuck no. You shook your head. The worker smiled. 

“Alright. We'll see you in twenty minutes.” 

-

You quickly realized that you were in over your head. The massage rooms were low lit with the kind of ambient lighting you associated with softcore porn.

The tiny candles that dotted the room, along with the soothing New Age music coming from the small speaker in the corner only added to the highly sensual atmosphere.

“Uh…” you said, as you walked in with Michael. 

The masseuses stood by with towels in hand, two smiling young women with matching frangipani in their hairdos, their skin glowing, looking soft to the touch. You envied their calm, feeling your face burn.

“Good afternoon,” one of them said, beaming. “I’m Naomi, and this is Mia…”

Mia gave a little wave. 

“Afternoon,” Michael said, nodding.

He was also weirdly at ease. Then again, as a doctor, wouldn’t he deal with embarrassing situations all the time? You pressed your lips together, listening. 

“We will give you a few minutes to undress to your liking. Are there any concerns before we continue?”

You cleared your throat. “I - uh, I can have a tender abdomen sometimes, I have endometriosis…”

Naomi nodded, understanding. “Yes, of course. We can avoid certain areas. Anything you want us to focus on?”

“My neck and shoulders,” you said. “I think I probably look down at my phone too much.”

“My back,” Michael added. “I’m on my feet a lot, generally.”

“He’s a doctor,” you said, and he looked at the floor. 

“Oh, wonderful,” Mia said. “Thank you.”

They departed, Michael staring after them. 

“‘Thank you’? I’m not a veteran.”

“You worked through the height of the pandemic though, right?” you said, and he met your gaze, his face changing. 

Dread or something close to it flashed across his face and you immediately regretted your question, realizing far too late how invasive and awful it was.

“I’m sorry, that was crass,” you babbled, and he shook his head.

“It’s fine.”

He moved away, towards one of the massage tables, fingers going to his buttons. 

“Right,” you muttered. “Uh. I’ll just…”

You went to the other table, taking your shoes off, hands going to your shirt to remove it as fast as possible. 

“Don’t turn around,” you said.

“You good?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” you lied. 

“Because we don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable.”

You thought about it for longer than a second and then slipped under the towel, the table firm and unyielding under your weight. You tried to ground yourself, your nipples hardening under your towel as you spared a glance at him. 

His back was to you, but he was under his own towel, no shirt. He had some scars, a couple moles you found endearing. Freckles and marks of age that only flattered him more. He was broad, too, of course. 

You thought of that strength hidden under his clothes. 

“Can I roll over?” he asked, and you whispered:

“Yeah.”

He turned, pulling in a breath. 

“You with me?” he asked. “Are you in any pain today?”

You shook your head, and you were touched by his concern. You buried yourself further under the towel, barely peeking out. 

He murmured your name a couple times and your eyes snapped to his. 

“My liver spots and wrinkles are really that hard to look at?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you retorted, laughing uncomfortably. “You’re cute and you know it.”

He began to laugh, rolling onto his back, hand passing over his face. You wanted him so badly then, wishing he was under the towel with you. Now you had ninety minutes of this a few feet away from you.

“This is supposed to be relaxing,” he said. “So try to relax.”

“A man telling me to relax,” you muttered. “My favorite.”

“Yes, and a male healthcare professional, too, no less,” he retorted. 

Your eyes met again and you shuffled up a little, until your arms were free, the towel still covering your naked torso. 

“After this, we should-”

Whatever bold thing you were about to propose was interrupted by a short knock on the door, Naomi’s voice floating in. 

“Are you ready?”

A beat, and Michael closed his eyes. 

“Yeah,” he called. “Thank you.”

The massage itself was divine. It felt far shorter than its ninety minutes, and after a while all you could do was melt into a pile of goo. You were surprised you didn’t nod off, and Michael admitted the same in the elevator back up to your floor. 

Whatever momentum you had earlier was lost, but you didn’t mind. You weren’t in any hurry to get back there, by how liquid you felt. You were rubbed all over with lavender oil and felt your clothes sticking to your skin. You craved a hot shower and a bed to nap on. 

You gave him a dreamy little wave as you went your separate ways.

-

You woke hours later, hearing a knocking at the front door drifting in as you fought off the remainder of your sleep. You lifted your head from your pillow and walked out to answer it.

Michael stood before you.

“I definitely woke you this time,” he said, looking at your bathrobe that matched his. 

He looked apologetic but cuddly in the fluffy white robe, his feet bare. He had nice toes, you noted vaguely.

“It’s fine,” you said, not bothering to lie. “It’s better I don’t sleep through dinner.”

“I’m actually wondering if you wanna…”

He gestured behind him, toward the elevator down the hall.

“I was gonna order room service,” you said. 

You were too lazy to dress in something nice, to walk all the way down. You were spoiled by the massage. All you wanted was creature comforts. 

“You can order it at mine.”

He really, really wanted to see you, that was clear. You softened, rubbing your eye. 

“Okay…”

You took your phone and your keys and followed him out. His TV set was on, his window was open with the curtains moving with the soft night breeze, and the moon was out. The sounds of the hotel floated up from below, but you liked it here best, in this little space of his.

His suitcase was open against the wall, its contents far more economical than yours. From your brief glance, you saw a small bottle of cologne resting on his bedside table. On the yacht you’d smelt a fresh, slightly sweet scent on him.

His room itself had his own scent, amplified. You could chase it if you wanted to. It was vaguely earthy, welcoming. You perched on the end of his bed beside him, your knees touching.

He was so close.

“Good day?” you asked, and he nodded. 

Then he took your hand like you were his and you stared down at him.

“Your hand is crazy soft,” you whispered, just to break the tension. 

“It’s probably from all the hand sanitizer at work,” he murmured, threading your fingers together. “Aloe in it.”

You looked up into his eyes, your stomach full of butterflies. 

“Michael…”

You took his free hand and slipped it into your robe, under your bra cup, his fingers finding your nipple. He stared down at your skin, thumb flicking over you as he rolled your breast, the moan tumbling out of you. 

He leaned in to kiss you, your noses brushing. Light teasing, lips passing over one another until he pushed into your mouth with his tongue, your breaths already turning to panting. You were  molten, wet without being touched anywhere near your pussy, and you knew it. 

Your hands went up to his hair and you pulled him towards you, the TV playing in the background as you kissed and kissed, both of his hands on your chest now. You pulled back once your lips began to numb, relishing in how soft his beard was, noting the grey hairs you could make out. 

“Can I take this off?” he murmured, nuzzling your skin as you nodded. 

He pushed down your robe and then the straps of your bra. Freed of them both, you threw a leg over him and straddled his lap, feeling how hard he was beneath you. You gave a grind of your hips against his and he groaned into your mouth, the sound reverberating through you.

You slotted in together, rocking as you kissed, clumsy but not ever rushed. It was so thorough, and you throbbed for him, scratching his scalp. 

“Sex can hurt sometimes,” you warned. 

You were telling him what you knew he’d already know.

“I just don’t want to disappoint you,” you whispered. 

Michael promptly planted his foot and spun you around so you were pinned underneath him. 

“That’s not gonna happen,” he said, and you kissed him hard for that alone, his cock rubbing against your thigh insistantly.

He broke away with a soft smack of your lips, and you gazed up at him with a shy smile.

“Can you get a condom?” you whispered.

He nodded, moving back quick enough to make you laugh at his enthusiasm. You watched as he went to his suitcase, retrieving a box.

“Wow, how many is in there?” you teased, resting on your elbows. 

“I’m on sabbatical for three months,” he said, and you smirked again. “And I’m a doctor.”

“I’m not complaining,” you said. 

“Good.”

You took hold of your underwear and lifted your hips, pulling them off. You tossed them aside as he watched with a quiet awe. 

“I was hoping to do that,” he said, returning to the bed. 

The clear outline of his erection made your heart hammer with anticipation. A Pavlovian-like response, your mouth watered as he went to take off his own robe and pants underneath. 

When he stood naked by the bed, you crawled over for a closer look, and to touch, of course. You couldn’t help it. You reached for his cock, wrapping your hand around it, his hand finding your shoulder and squeezing. 

“Shit,” he whispered, as you jerked him slowly, tenderly. 

His eyes closed, distracted. He still held the unopened box, and you took the opportunity to dip down and take him into your mouth without warning. 

You went all the way down, until you were hitting your gag reflex, careful to not trigger it too hard, dragging your tongue along the underside. He tasted nice, that musky saltiness that was never quite enough. The precum that rewarded you made you moan around his cock, pulling back, swirling your tongue around the blunt tip.

He was so warm, and so hard. You bobbed your head, pushing yourself further, foregoing breathing to make him lose his own. He panted as you worked him over in hard sucks, his hand moving up to grab your hair. Just hard enough to be known, but not painful.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Fuck…”

You missed this, feeling wanted. Feeling cherished, even if this was fleeting. You could believe it just enough. You pulled back, eyes watering from the effort. 

“You…”

He pushed you back, until he lay on top of you, caging you in with his arms. His wet cock slipped between you, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, your nails digging into his back. 

“You’re a menace,” he murmured, peppering your face with kisses. 

You made out again, until you were certain you were dripping onto the sheets, your naked chests and stomachs pressed together. You panted, sweat already beading on your forehead and his. 

“Condom,” he said, and you nodded. 

He broke open the box, took out the sleeve of them and tore one off. You watched as he pulled it on efficiently, expertly.

“When’s the last time you fucked someone?” you panted.

“Feels like too long ago, now,” he said, his eyes blown with lust. 

He pulled you under him again and kissed you, lining you up.

“I’ll go slowly,” he whispered, and you nodded. “We can stop if…”

“No, don’t stop,” you whispered back. “Please don’t stop.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he sunk into you, your cunt gripping him already, a whimper falling from your lips as he filled every inch of you to the brim.

You gasped, adjusting. You felt all tingly, right down to your toes. He groaned as he shifted, not moving as you accommodated for him.

“You’re a fucking dream,” he breathed, and you moaned.

“Keep… going.”

“I can’t get too worked up or it’ll be over too soon,” he said, and you laughed breathily.

“You’re so sweet,” you whispered.

“I mean it…”

He finally began to move, his nose bumping yours with each thrust. Things quickly dissolved into sweat and moans, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge. He moved in for another swift kiss, teeth clacking, and you gripped him harder, digging into his flesh.

Your bodies slapped together, foreheads pressed to one another’s. He slowed, breathing heavily, kissing you deep as he tried to recalibrate.

You watched him pull back, to preserve himself a little longer. You squeezed him deep inside and he blinked down at you, narrowing his eyes. 

He shifted, moving your legs up to rest your ankles on his shoulders. The stretch was exquisite, his cock feeling impossibly deep inside you. His retaliation was rewarded with your shuddering moan.

As he pounded into you, it blurred between too much and just enough, your trembling hand slipping down between you, desperate to reach your clit. 

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he whispered, and you nodded, suddenly overwhelmed by it all.

Your pleasure crested and you came, crying out right by his ear, his face buried into your neck as he showed you no mercy. Bending you in half like this, your legs in the air, your wailing by his handsome face - it all would usually mortify you but it felt too fucking perfect to diminish. 

He kept going for several seconds after you crashed back to earth, huffing and nearing his own end. You clung to him as he spilled inside the condom, going rigid above you. You pressed a kiss to his arm, panting with him. 

In the gentle afterglow, he settled against you, a happy kind of hum in your hair. He held you against him, and it didn’t feel like he let go for a long, long time, but things were blurry at best by the end. 

It was a good fuck. Legendary, even. He peeled away reluctantly and flopped beside you with a sigh. You rested in the wet patch for all of one minute before you too decided you had to move away. 

-

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but you woke much later. You drew in a breath, surrounded by Michael’s heat and scent. You shared a pillow, you remembered, as you blinked and took in the surroundings in the early morning light. 

The TV was still on, though its volume was too low to make out the majority of the dialogue, you could see it was a black and white Italian movie. 

Michael’s arm was across your middle, as if he had flung it across you during the night. You watched the side of his face. His blissed out face filled your stomach with butterflies. 

You rolled over, and then he stirred at your movement. You waited until he was waking up to finally move again, slipping out of bed and walking to the bathroom. 

“Get back here,” you heard him call, and you smirked, glancing at the mirror. 

Once you flushed the toilet and washed your hands, you went back, seeing him waiting for you. 

You picked up your robe and threw it on. Michael's brows hiked. 

“I really don't want you doing that.” 

“I'm gonna go,” you said. You sat on the end of the bed. “Sorry to burst your bubble.” 

You moved to grab your slides but he stopped you, suddenly behind you and pulling you back into his arms.

“You want me to stay?”

“Don’t be so surprised,” he murmured, lips already ghosting your neck. 

You hadn’t slept with someone new in literally years, so you were rusty, you figured. But he seemed serious about how much he wanted to repeat this. After all the buildup, he wanted more? You weren’t about to argue with him when his hand opened your robe again, exposing your skin once more.

And you certainly weren’t going to stop him when he lay you down, your head half off the bed, diving between your spread thighs with all eager lips and tongue.

He had a confidence with a woman’s body that you knew didn’t just come with age, though you suspected it helped immensely for some men. He had a greater understanding of experience, plus his regular ‘touching strangers’ thing. You could never. Michael seemed born for this.

Your hands found the back of his head as he ruined you, spearing his tongue inside you, fucking you relentlessly with it once you started to whine and shiver with pleasure. Your thighs quivered, fighting to keep themselves open as he stroked deep inside your cunt.

“Oh, fuck…”

You back bowed as you came, and he didn’t let up, working your clit with his thumb at a steady rhythm. He only stopped when you tried to pull away, his kisses landing on your inner thigh, wet and sticky. He kept kissing you, cherishing you. 

It was so intimate and intense you had to look away, your hand over your face. 

“You okay?” he panted, and you nodded. 

He pulled you up and rolled you over so your face was in his pillow, the spare under your hips a second later. In no time at all, he lined himself up, the blunt tip of him teasing your folds.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, and you believed him. The reverence was undeniable. 

When he pushed inside, bottoming out with a grunt, you gripped him in earnest. He bent down, kissing your neck, your shoulders. You were still recovering from before, still in that floaty stage, when he began to move. 

“Fuck, look at you,” he whispered, never missing a stroke. 

He didn’t last long, and you didn’t mind. You honestly didn’t notice, with how full and wanted you felt. He was rougher than last night, taking from you, all the while whispering encouragement as you gave him all. 

He came with a groan, fingers biting into your ass as he went still. You sighed, content as he pulled away. 

Once you showered in your room and returned, he ate you out again after breakfast. It was a lot. But it felt like the closest thing to perfect. Too bad it wasn’t going to last longer than a few more days of your vacation.

“What are you doing after this?” you murmured, popping a grape into your mouth. 

“Well…”

He glanced down at you beside him, lifting the sheet, as if to examine your naked body. 

“I meant after vacation,” you said. 

He was engrossed in your lower half. You moved your free hand across your lower stomach where your scars were. As if detecting your self-consciousness, he switched back. 

“I’m still not sure.”

“Haven’t given it more thought?” you said. “You’ve got a passport, right?” 

He nodded. 

“You could always, y’know - disappear…”

He swallowed, looking away. The immediate shift in him had you wanting to take it back, like usual.

“I don’t have to know,” you added. “I’d just hope you enjoy it. You deserve it.”

He rubbed his eyes. “I dunno about that.”

He went quiet then and you finished eating, moving closer. He let you under his arm, pulling you into his side. Your legs tangled. 

“What have you ever done that was so awful, Michael?” you whispered. 

He gave a pained smile. You were starting to know it well.

“The stepson I had,” he began. “Jake.” 

“What happened?”

He closed his eyes. “Pittfest.”

Of course. The entire event had slipped your mind as something he’d be part of. You remember donating blood in the days that followed, and you were lucky to not know anyone who’d been there. The whole city had been affected though, for months after. 

“He was there, I gave him my ticket for his girlfriend,” he mumbled. He bit his lip. “Leah. She… she was shot, and I… I… couldn’t save her.”

You pulled him into a tight hug before he could resist it, kissing his head, clinging to him. Your chest squeezed when he hugged you back, and you heard him sniffle. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered.

“Yeah, me too,” he mumbled. 

You stayed like that for a while, and he began to relax against you, your lips still brushing his brow when you spoke.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Don’t,” he said. 

“Michael, it’s not- it’s not your fault. Don’t do that to yourself. I know we’ve only known each other a few days but…”

You pulled back to look him in the eye. 

“I feel like I… fucking skipped time or something. I know you well enough that you tried everything you could to save her, and… I’m sorry. I’m just so fucking sorry you have to live with that-”

He broke you off with a crushing kiss. In seconds you were tussling again, rearranging yourselves for him to push inside you. It was rushed and desperate, like you hadn’t been fucking for hours. 

“We fucking skipped time,” he whispered, pounding into you like it was his mission to do so. “C’mon, I’ve got you…”

When he played with your clit, everything shrunk to a pinpoint and you tensed up, clenching around him. 

“Attagirl,” he whispered, watching you fall apart. 

He didn’t relent until he had his fill, your mind going blank.

-

Robby’s back and shoulders were beginning to ache, as they always did this late into the shift. He hadn’t sat down in over eight hours, except to tell a patient’s relative some bad news in the family room. 

That didn’t count. 

He hung his neck, tugging on his stethoscope with both hands, taking a deep breath through his nose. It wasn’t chaotic, but a steady hum of constant beeps, voices and movement around him. He was waiting for several beds to be available upstairs.

“Six still waiting on labs?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Dana said without looking up. “And trauma two’s CT just came back.”

“Great,” Robby muttered.

Everything was normal, the tunnel-vision type of end to his day. Dana answered the phone, taking off her glasses as she stood up from her chair.

“Robby. Incoming severe vaginal bleeding.”

He nodded, looking around. Whittaker went into eight with a brave look set on his face. He watched as Mel walked with Mohan, deep in conversation. He knew Santos was trying to chart nearby. 

McKay came out to grab another computer, logging in. 

“Severe bleeding incoming,” he murmured. “Look alive.”

Not three minutes later, the paramedics burst in with the stretcher, a sheet thrown over the lower half of the woman whose eyes were closed, her face twisted in pain.

“Severe vaginal bleeding,” one of the paramedics rattled off. “History of endometriosis per patient. Syncope at home.”

Robby’s mind clicked into gear.

“How long?”

“Couple hours of heavy bleeding.”

“Any pregnancy—”

He stopped. The patient’s head rolled slightly to the side on the stretcher, just enough for the overhead light to fall across her face.

Robby’s brain registered it before the rest of him caught up.

The ER disappeared. The smell of the antiseptic, the fluorescent lights. All of it was replaced with sun, the ocean - Hawaii. 

You.

He stopped walking, McKay bumping into him. 

“Robby?”

“Trauma One,” he said, coming back to life. Years of practice kept his voice steady.

He stepped forward, grabbing the gurney to help steer it. 

“BP is eighty over fifty.”

“Jesus,” he hissed. 

“Heartrate is 130.”

Of all the places to see you again, his ER. 

Of all the hospitals in all of Pittsburgh, she rolls into mine.

Like something out of fucking Casablanca.

You were transferred to the hospital bed, Robby slipping gloves on as he approached your side, his voice calm:

“Let’s get two large-bore IVs. CBC, type and cross, CMP.”

Your head lolled to the side, your eyelids fluttering.

“...Michael?”

He ignored McKay’s eyes burning into the side of his face. He began to check your pupils. Your skin was cold.

“You’re in the ER at PTMC. You’ve lost some blood, but we’re taking care of you.”

You blinked, still hazy. But you managed to focus on his face, his gentle tone. You nodded, closing your eyes again. 

Monitors clipped into place with soft, rapid clicks. The familiar choreography of a patient circling instability.

“Fluids and a transfuse,” he said to the room. He glanced back at you, grabbing your hand.

“Pressure’s dropping,” Princess at your left said. “Seventy-eight systolic.” 

He adjusted your arm for the IV, the sting of it nothing compared to the pain you felt elsewhere. Someone hung a bag of fluids behind him. 

“Blood’s on the way, we’ll start a transfusion the second it gets here.”

“Excellent,” he said. 

You struggled, eyes fluttering shut. He leaned in closer to you. 

“Hey - stay with me.”

“Robby, should we page OB now or wait for labs?” McKay asked, and he shook his head.

“Given the history, I don’t want to wait.”

“The… history?” she asked, sharing a look with Princess.

Robby tried to not visibly react to the highly likely scenario that this incident would be circling in the days to come.

Robby ignored them, giving your wrist a small squeeze. 

“You’re going to be okay.”

“BP’s responding,” someone called. “Up to ninety-two systolic.”

“Good,” Robby said immediately. “Keep it going.”

Your breathing had steadied slightly, though your eyelids still fluttered with the effort of staying conscious. The first unit of blood arrived moments later.

“Type O negative.”

“Perfect,” Robby replied. “Let’s start it.”

The bag was spiked, the line flushed, the transfusion beginning in practiced, efficient movements.

Robby didn’t step away, nor did he hand you over or delegate. He lingered by your side, hand resting beside yours as he watched your vitals. 

-

On the last day of your vacation, you woke up in his arms. You could hear the crashing of the waves below the open windows, the sea breeze on your bare skin. 

You rolled over, facing him, your noses brushing. 

“I wish I could go with you,” you whispered for the first time. 

You meant it, but knew neither of you would actually follow through with it. 

“I should kidnap you,” he whispered back, and then he kissed you. 

-

“Robby.”

It was Santos, rushed but remaining calm. Practically fearless, but looking for help. Robby glanced over his shoulder, then back at you in the bed.

“Yeah,” he sighed. He took off his gloves, stood up and tossed them in the trash. 

He went by Dana at her desk and nodded over at your room. 

“Come and find me when she wakes up.”

“Will do, Chief.”

Dana stared him down but he refused to engage. He wasn’t in the right headspace. Seeing you like that, so vulnerable, had too great of an impact.

He pushed off the desk and left to follow Santos. 

-

You rest for an hour before you manage to open your eyes again. You glance around, seeing a nurse wearing a hijab checking your vitals.

Among the sea of pain is a shame so sudden you gasp, remembering Michael all over again. What were the chances you ended up here?

“I’ll go get Dr. Robby,” the nurse said. 

You sat up on your elbows, nodding. You hadn’t prepared yourself for this. You only had to wait another ten minutes before the resident with a ponytail from before came in with Michael in tow.

“How are you feeling?” the resident asked, and you glanced over at Michael, feeling scrutinised.

“Okay, uh-”

“I’m Dr. McKay, and this is- well, you seemed to know each other,” McKay said. 

Michael crossed his arms. “Yes, uh…”

“We’re friends,” you said, though that didn’t feel right. 

You hadn’t spoken in months. On that last day, no promises were made. You exchanged numbers, but you hadn’t wanted to ruin his time off, and you left him in Hawaii. 

Sure, you’d thought about him constantly since, but not all for good reasons.

Michael didn’t say anything about that, looking at your monitors.

“You’re definitely improving,” he murmured. “And the glow is back in your skin.”

“It might be sweat,” you muttered.

“How’s your pain?” McKay asked. “If you can give it a number-”

You always thought this was one of the more frustrating ways of dealing with endometriosis. Having to self report.

“Like a seven to eight,” you interjected. “I wouldn’t say it’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt. I can kind of sleep with it. Or pass out.”

That wasn’t funny, not even remotely, but you saw Michael smirk in the corner of your eye.

“You called the ambulance?” McKay asked, and you nodded.

“After I came to,” you said. “The bleeding was getting worse, and then I realized it wasn’t slowing down, and my towel was soaked through.”

“How was your last menstrual cycle?”

“Fine,” you said. “Not like this. Not exactly easy, but not like this…”

You pulled in a breath. You knew where this was going.

“Any surgeries?”

“I had a laparoscopy six months ago,” you murmured. You looked at your hands. 

“Any other complications?”

Your eyes stung. You picked at a cuticle. 

“I had an ectopic pregnancy a few months ago.”

-

Robby rubbed his eyes under his glasses, staring at his screen. He had left you and McKay, dragged away by another patient.

Santos came up to the charge desk, glancing up at the list of patients. 

“Ectopic?” 

He heard McKay beside her. 

“Left tube,” she said. “Treated with methotrexate. When detected early, we can avoid rupture and surgery.”

It was a teaching moment, but only then did it hit Robby squarely in the chest. He’d been distracted. 

Ectopic, a few months ago. 

Hawaii?

He looked at McKay, whose conversation with Santos changed to something about the weekend. 

“Hey, Santos?” he called. “Are you any closer to sending your guy home?”

“Sure,” she said, hands in her scrubs pockets. “Once I get back a clear drug test.”

McKay met his gaze. 

“I ordered an ultrasound for your friend,” she said. 

He nodded. He looked at his watch. 

“You think you’re leaving any time soon?” Dana snapped. 

He put away his glasses with a sigh. He felt several pairs of female eyes on him as he made his way back to your room. 

He slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. You swallowed hard, a lump already there.

“Hey, so… you lied to me,” you said. 

“About what?” 

He came over to your bed and sat on the chair beside it, scooting closer. It was too close for a doctor-patient relationship, you felt. You didn’t mind.

You lifted your hand and reached over, tapping his name tag.

“It was easier to be Michael.”

“‘Robby’ does suit you,” you murmured. “It’s cute.”

“Cute?” he repeated, leaning on one elbow. 

You stared at one another for what felt like an age, a story unravelling between the two of you. 

“Don’t be sorry you came here,” he whispered. 

“I’m not, it’s just - I didn’t want this to be the way I saw you for a second time,” you mumbled. “I mean, if I ever saw you a second time. I didn’t… I didn’t call.”

“Neither did I,” he said. He sighed. “I could’ve.”

“But I didn’t, like you’d hoped.”

“No,” he said. “You did not.”

Everything felt heavy. You sniffled.

“Jesus, sorry,” you said, with a roll of your eyes. You wiped your nose with your hand. “To be fair, I am on my period.”

“It’s okay.”

“It doesn’t feel like it’s okay,” you whispered, your voice so small you could barely hear it yourself.

He was the one to take your hand, your fingers twining. He squeezed.

“I didn’t get back with my ex,” you said, and he nodded. 

“Good.”

You snorted, but then instantly sobered by the look on his face. He stared intently at your fingers before looking back at you. 

“Was it mine?”

You nodded. You knew what he meant. The moment passed between you and you let out a shuddering breath.

“It wasn’t even a real pregnancy,” you said. “No possibility of it… happening. But I just had this feeling before - and I tested positive, so…”

You rolled your eyes again.

“For two days it was like…”

You couldn’t get the words out. He squeezed your hand again. 

“For two days it was like it was ours.”

-

Robby had been taking a lot of deep breaths in the last half an hour. On the rooftop, the air was fresh, the nighttime sharpness coming in. 

“So,” he heard someone say, and he turned, seeing Jack.

“So,” he echoed.

“Who’s the girl?”

He smirked, shaking his head. Unbelievable. He hadn’t even seen him yet and he knew about you. He could accuse Dana, but if he was honest, most everyone at the Pitt was a gossip.

“She’s the one I met in Hawaii,” he murmured.

Jack’s mouth fell open. “Holy shit.”

“Mm.”

“You’re up here because you’re trying to figure out a way to get out of this?” he teased.

He joined Robby, glancing down. 

“Not exactly,” Robby replied. He grit his jaw for a beat. “She was pregnant. Ectopic. Then today she came in after she couldn’t stop bleeding.”

“Endometriosis? What stage?”

“One.”

Jack shook his head. “Y’know, there are women whose biopsies confirm it, because surgeons can’t find it. They can be microscopic.”

“It’s brutal,” Robby muttered. “I can’t stand it, Jack. Seeing her like that. She might’ve…”

He didn’t dare say it. 

“What’re you doing up here, brother?” Jack murmured. 

“Thinking,” Robby muttered. “Thinking too much.”

As they began their walk back, he said:

“She’s waiting to be transferred to OB.”

He wasn’t going to let it go until he said it out loud, so he did it, feeling heavy.

“I got her pregnant. It was me.”

Jack didn’t seem surprised, giving him an understanding, soft sort of look.

“It’s okay, it happens. Is she okay?”

“I guess. No?”

He needed to focus back to work, to finally finish his shift. He started to make the rounds. 

-

He came back to your room. You put down your magazine Dana got you. 

“Hey,” you said. “You’re gonna leave?”

He nodded, going to the computer, swiping his card. He typed, glasses on. You remembered the first time you saw him use them, when he read the menu on your first not-date on vacation.

“I can feel you watching me,” he said, not looking up.

“What’re you doing, then?” you asked.

He typed, then scratched his head. Typed some more.

“Recommending you have an iron transfusion after your follow-up blood test. Your gynecologist will get a letter from the hospital. And then… it’s on me.”

“Robby,” you said, a little alarmed. You knew the cost of those. “That’s too much. What the fuck?”

He smirked, giving a definitive tap.

“Because, baby, you are anemic.”

You felt a burst of something - a warm affection that made your eyes water. You watched as he came over, sitting on the edge of your bed. He held your hands.

“A girl walks into a hotel bar, and she happens to be from Pittsburgh, and I pass that up? What a fucking…”

He pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

“...moron.”

You gave a tearful little laugh, and leaned toward him, kissing him. It was rushed and clumsy, but the mixture of trust and danger - it was everything to you. 

He was everything. You pressed your foreheads together. 

He exhaled against your skin. 

“Robby,” you said. 

“Hmm.”

“Don’t disappear again.”

His grip tightened ever so slightly.

“I promise.”

tagging: @that-wimpy-cowboy-doll @thesandbeneathmytoes

A phrase that had deflected unwanted attraction from many men, putting them effectively in their place, it left them with the choice to stay friends with the person who’d rejected his romantic advances or leave with a clean break to move on from them.

You weren’t rejecting Andrew when you said it. Andrew doubted you knew about his feelings towards you since he could barely define them himself. When delivering the line, you were smiling at him whilst you slid from the passenger seat.

“Do they know?” He had inquired about your guardians before you could leave him, hankering for every extra second around you.

“Not yet. You’re the first.” Your smile grew conspiratorially at Andrew’s frown.

“Why?”

You shrugged as if it was the most natural thing in the world for the inaugural ear of your great news to belong to the eldest Cody.

“I just wanted to tell you. You’re like a brother to me.”

Then you slammed the car door shut behind you, alternating between heading to the front door and waving at Andrew who stayed parked at the pathway until you had disappeared into your home.

His gaze drift slowly to his erection straining in his jeans. A hand released the steering wheel to reach down and squeeze it with tentative curiosity. It’d been years since he’d gotten one and one that quickly too.

In his car with the non-tinted windows, Andrew freed his cock from his clothes and stroked himself without tearing his gaze away from your bedroom window, curtains drawn, light softly glowing from within as your words echoed about his skull. His chin tilted up with a grunt as he spilled across his lap and steering wheel within minutes. His hips twitched as he let out a deep exhale, riding out the waves of his orgasm until your bedroom light snapped off. Then he cleaned the mess with unscented wipes from the glove compartment and drove back to Smurf’s home.

The first in a long line of incidents where Andrew pushed the boundary behind your back. He couldn’t help it. He never could and he couldn’t learn with you, not when you were so attached to him in a way that he’d been missing most of his life. It’d only worsened after prison as you insisted on having him around and keeping a hand on him most of the time.

“Too much to catch up on,” you explained with your arm looped into his. Andrew agreed despite each touch prickling across his skin.

Which is why he watched from the car as you traipsed through the low tide, ignoring the drowned rat essence on Deran in favour of how you jumped at his heels like a puppy.

“You said ‘one more’; you got one more,” Deran called back to you without looking.

“You’re evil!”

“At least I can balance.”

Deran stumbled on the path after you whacked him lightly across the back with your board before lugging it into his truck. Yet he remained in good spirits, watching you pout whilst he loaded your board into the back of his truck. His playful bullying didn’t often dissuade you from reacting in kind do him.

However, with a quick stretch, you conceded defeat, “Whatever, I need a quick rinse. Got sand up my ass.”

You didn’t even need to wave Andrew over at that point. He was already following behind with your bag in tow to the outdoor showers. There, he stood guard, far enough away to not catch the spray of water but close enough that any idiot with a board who didn’t recognise him could make the connection between his bulky folded arms and the beautiful creature washing off the dregs of the tide they got tossed under. He didn’t try to understand how you felt so okay showering with others around, much less in public.

“Hurry up,” Andrew said firmly after scowling a father of two away from the showers.

“Just a bit longer,” you replied behind him,

“You’ll do a better job at home.”

“Relax,” you laughed, the notes ringing clear as crystal as was Andrew’s real intention behind rushing you out of here, “I’ve got you looking out for me.”

Rather than acknowledge that truth, Andrew bit the inside of his cheek and waited for your next comment.

It arrived two minutes later, “Towel?”

Fishing it from the top of the bag, Andrew pivoted to hand it over and was rewarded well. You’d rolled off your wetsuit, just down to your navel, but when you accepted the towel, you slung it over your shoulder and stripped down the rest of the suit until it was a sad little pile by your feet. Patting yourself dry left the towel sticking occasionally to your body, but a harmless gust of wind away from falling to the concrete.

Then Andrew saw another surfer waiting for the shower watching you a little too closely. Stalking around you, Andrew’s presence, with your bag in the crook of his elbow, your clothes in his hands, your body hidden behind his, ushered away those prying eyes.

“Pass me my shirt?” Your hand reached out to Andrew again. Your smile was small but gracious.

Andrew paused to count the missed water droplets still running down your chest before handing over your clothes, one piece at a time and offering his hand so that you didn’t wobble over. The entire time, he stared.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” you commented before pulling your shorts on under the towel, somewhat sheepish at the general public around.

That was true at least – nothing he hadn’t imagined either. All those times he’d been caught watching you change through a crack in the door or a gap in the blinds, he’d managed to play it off with you, act like he was checking in or calling you to lunch. Meanwhile, his mind was logging away each angle and piecing together a jigsaw of you.

Andrew wrung out the wetsuit before you slung it into the back of his truck (in a plastic bag, of course, you weren’t about to ruin the interior of his meticulously cleaned car). He held the car door for you and closed the trunk for you

Basking in the breeze through the open car window, your eyes drifted closed behind your sunglasses. This let Andrew glance at you during every stoplight and sign all the way home.

As per your politeness, you said when he pulled into the Cody driveway, “Thanks for the ride.”

Andrew reached down and unbuckled you from your seat, “You don’t have to thank me.”

“And you don’t have to drive me.” Your chin lifted in defiance for the entire route Andrew took around the hood of the car to open your door for you.

When you did that first, the little chin thing, months before he even trusted you, Andrew had grabbed your wrist and pulled you close to see if the invasion of your space would make you back down. It only made you fidget but you were locked in his stare – right where he liked you. Today, Andrew only gave one of his imperceptible smiles that lasted a few seconds in reply.

“There you are! Our favourite wipeout,” Craig raised his beer bottle to you as you entered the compound, Andrew shutting the gate behind you.

You swerved around to his sunbed and shoved him playfully before you sauntered back towards the house. But there was no way you’d win against Craig or that he’d let you get the last word, push, drink, anything. With silence surprising for a man his size, Craig rose to his feet and dashed up behind you before you could reach the relative safety of indoors. He latched you into a headlock and had you squirming around to break free, squawking and trying to drop your weight to get out. And Pope was left sat on the sidelines wishing your neck was crushed in the crook of his elbow.

“Uncle!” You pleaded between wheezed giggles, smacking on his arm, “Uncle! Let me go!”

But Craig kept moving with you in his grasp. Like usual, Deran did the bare minimum to intervene – calling out a pathetic “dude, stop” whilst busy with his own beer – and Baz merely watched the unfair brawl unfold without a care for anyone but himself.

Huffing like a bull against a matador, Andrew surged forward and wrenched his brother’s fingers back away – the hand on the arm that was suffocating you.

“Jesus!” Craig yelped, releasing you immediately and bending after Andrew’s fierce strength. Ducking a swing at his head, Andrew dragged his bigger baby brother across the

“Enough,” Smurf called from the kitchen, not even looking over at her sons, “Craig, set the table.”

With an extra twist for good measure, Andrew released his brother to massage the feeling back into his fingers. You righted yourself – a hint of dizziness remaining.

“Thanks, Mom,” you said sarcastically, still giggling giddily as you passed her, clarifying that you’d be back after freshening up.

“Dude, chill out,” Craig muttered as he headed in after you.

Andrew followed him in, stalling in line with the glass door whilst Craig set about collecting cutlery. Then, satisfied he wouldn’t be followed, Andrew stalked after where he’d seen you disappear.

Your survival instincts were atrocious if you didn’t hear him approaching, certainly after the roughhousing. Or maybe you just recognised the thud of bowlegs and boots on the hardwood flooring approaching from around the corner. You were already looking at the space he appeared in by the time he arrived at the bathroom. Palms occupied with a towel Andrew knew to be Baz’, he disliked that you were about to use it and accepted temporary reprieve when you placed it down on the side.

“That was unnecessary.” Your voice was steady, not scolding or scalding. Andrew didn’t wither under it. In fact, he stepped into the room to hear your voice that fragment of time faster.

You took his hand, the hand that fought, and kissed across its scarred knuckles. “But it’s nice to know you’re always looking out for me, my big brother. Can I use your body wash please?”

The vision of you smelling like him and going to him for protection drove Andrew closer. His size had you up against the sink. Another game to see if you’d shy away from him, he watched as you met his steely gaze just inches in front of your face. He couldn’t end the game here though; he always let you win then walked away from the possibility of rejection. Not today.

At a stunted pace, Andrew reached down and plucked free the button at the top of your shorts. He stayed focused on your reaction, unable to look away from his hand plucking that button out and peeling back the edge of your trousers to reveal the absence of underwear and frizz of your pubic hair. His fingers delved down and found the wetness he was hoping for. How long had you been like this for him?

“Andrew…” Your mouth parted and caught on the precipice of voicing your thoughts. Those pupils, once wide with innocence, now blown with something completely different, they begged Andrew to release them from the same cage he was within. His name on your lips was not a warning as it was with everyone else who spoke it. No, it was a plea for his help, a twin flame yearning to burn together.

Why shouldn’t he have this? Everything else, Smurf had wrenched and snapped and ruined. She was in the other room, close enough to destroy one more thing that brought a semblance of joy in his life. Andrew’s blinking and breathing sped up at the thought and swiftly locked the bathroom doors.

Smurf wouldn’t take another sister from him.     

Andrew braced his hand on your hip, screwing up the slack of your t-shirt, and observed how you wobbled on the spot before landing back against the counter. His trawl into your shorts with his eyes fixated on your mouth left your mouth dry. You tried to look down but he trapped your chin in the V of his thumb and forefinger, guiding you back to face him as he stepped impossibly closer.

Somehow, you and Andrew got you lifted onto the countertop, your shorts catching on the lip and rolling down your legs.As soon as the shorts were on the floor, you opened for him. His hands roved greedily up and down your thighs.

You couldn’t look away, even when he took one hand off you to unzip his pants, even when he spread his arousal across your hole before he locked your knees under his elbows. The expression on your face when he pushed into you, blanketing him with your arms around his neck, he would covet it forever. He could only bear to cover it for a split second – the length of time it took to take your shirt off.

Against his strength and stubbornness, you stood no chance. As if you wanted to get away. Steadied against the mirror, you accepted everything Andrew gave you. He was a lot gentler than imagined even after your little games. His eyes were fixed on watching where his cock disappeared inside of you and the fat of your thighs ripple with each collision against them. No resistance despite knowing you shouldn’t want this, you were so willing to let him care for you - just liked he’d desired all those years. You were like him.

Your face was as close as you could get, a hand locked in his hair. Whines heaved from your chest as Andrew’s hips bumped back and forth. All your cares were focused on keeping him close so none could be spared for the fact that your family was a few walls away.Urgently, you stroked yourself, watching how Andrew’s gaze fixated on your rubbing motion, knuckles brushing against his happy trail. Fighting to stop your eyes rolling back left you slumping into him. Yet your heels kept clicking together behind him, kissing messily as they both failed and succeeded in keeping him close. Your hands explored under his shirt, over the cuts and grooves of fat and muscle.

You couldn’t lie to him like this. Going against everything that he’d been made to believe, he made you feel good.

He made you feel good.

Gasping out as hot tears started seeping down his face, his orgasm tore through him faster than any without you. You always had that effect on him even after years in prison tore his libido down to its foundations. His bulky shoulders tremored under the weight of the revelation you gifted him. Avariciously, he pushed himself further than he deserved until you were rigid and breathless with pleasure and he was almost blinded in his pursuit of having you, his strength a force for something noble at last.

Andrew stayed plugged inside as he sagged against you. Your eyelashes brushed his wet ones whilst you blinked at each other, breath shared between parted mouths, lips mismatched. He nuzzled his forehead to yours. You let his tongue toy with yours, teaching you the ways he liked to play with you whilst you clasped your palms over his tears’ tracks.

“Lunch in five!”

Always encroaching on everything he ever had, Smurf. Maybe he could go back to yours after this charade of a family meal. This couldn’t be it, his only taste and touch of you. No time at all, barely a fuck worth fucking and only worth it because it was you.

Sighing, you reluctantly said, “I still need a shower.”

Swallowing his complaints as usual, Andrew pulled out and stepped back whilst he buttoned up his jeans. Whilst you tested out the water temperature, Andrew collected his shower gel and one of his towels.

If what he had before was a staring problem, turning to find you completely nude with a silver string of his mess sliding down your legs encased him in stone so that he could watch that dribble for all eternity.

“You want to join?” You asked over your shoulder. When Andrew simply blinked at your suggestion, you shook your hand dry then pulled on the hem of his t-shirt, “I might need you again.”

Andrew pulled off his shirt instantly, struggling against the buckle of his belt, and held his breath as you pulled him under the water.

The glass cove felt claustrophobic, even with his eyes closed, and logic dictated that you would make it worse with how you overwhelmed him with every point of contact. Yet he let you wash him, squeezing, scratching, scrubbing all the skin you could feast on in your allotted pre-lunch shower time. Andrew found the tension of the day wash down the drain with the soap suds. He offered to wash your back, which you delightfully took him up on.

It was the first time he saw the appeal of shower sex – not enough to actually risk it though. Slippery surfaces, head injuries, blood washing down the plughole, he wouldn’t endanger you for that. He was content to follow where his nose nuzzled into your trap, his lips tracing over your beautiful skin, his cock slotted in between your cheeks with a hint of regret that there was not the time to account for his refraction period. Placating you, he basked in your sensitive whimpers and left squeezes as promises to return to you when he had more time.

As he stepped onto the bathmat, he wrapped his towel around you. Your stare was still wide-eyed to take him in as you accepted his offering. Paired with a smile, you were quick to dry off.

“Can I borrow this please?” Oh, you could’ve chosen any clean shirt. But you held up the one Andrew had been wearing before claiming you. He nodded, of course.

“Thanks,” you kissed his cheek before pulling the t-shirt over your head. Andrew wished it would leave a mark alongside his freckles, that he would have enough

Dutifully, Andrew followed you out of the bathroom having checked your appearance more than his own before leaving. It was often he brought up the rear. Overprotective, some might say. On this occasion, his possessiveness was exacerbated by the vision of you in his clothes – not for the first time but the first time his smell had completely accompanied you, leading him like a path.  

Out on the spotless patio, your other siblings were already at the table, Smurf dishing up from her throne, all of whom seemed none the wiser. Andrew maintained his usual position as your guard dog though, pulling your chair out for you before he took his spot beside you. He let you dish up first before taking the bowl next.

Then, as you passed over the bowl, you placed your hand delicately on his arm and whispered into his ear, only his to hear:

deep down, pope knew he should have kept his mouth shut when his nosy ass brothers started prying for information about his relationship with you. everyone knew that you two were officially together, and had been for a little while. but what some, namely craig, were dying to know was what went on between you two in the bedroom... or wherever you chose to have sex.

"you do her in the kitchen, too?"

craig is wearing that same stupid smirk that he always does, watching pope squirm in his seat as he struggles to answer. deran's trying his hardest not to laugh, but he couldn't deny how funny it was to see his eldest brother getting flustered over this conversation.

"shut the fuck up."

pope muttered, looking away from him. his cheeks and the tips of ears were turning a light shade of red as he desperately tried not to think of how pretty you would look bent over the kitchen counter in your cozy apartment. obviously, he'd already had you like that before, but why the hell would he ever admit that to his little brothers of all people?

"what do you call her in bed? probably something stupid like sugar or honey bun, i bet."

craig's comment had deran spitting out his beer, almost tumbling to the ground with laughter. pope cringed at the words, not even wanting to imagine how they would sound coming out of anyone's mouth, let alone his. he should've let it go, knowing that craig was just trying to get under his skin, but his pride was getting in the way.

"i don't call her any of that. she likes being called by her name."

pope spoke defensively, earning himself another chuckle from deran. deran shuts up immediately when pope's deadpan glare snaps toward him. pope takes a long swig of his beer, hoping like hell it would somehow get him out of this conversation.

"jesus, man- you're even worse than vanilla. you probably fuck in silence too. do you even talk her through it?"

that made pope pause for a moment. craig was right, pope really didn't talk much when you guys were having sex. he just thought it would make it awkward because fuck knows he's the worst smooth talker on the planet. but did you want him to at least try? would that make you feel good, hearing him praise you and guide you through whatever you were trying to do?

craig can see how restless pope is getting, so he decides to continue.

"i bet she would like it if you pushed your hand down on her stomach while you fuck her-"

"just shut the fuck up, craig!"

pope finally loses his temper, jumping out of his chair. meanwhile, you come running toward the backyard. you were originally in pope's room, packing up some of his clothes to take to your apartment for him. you heard pope's voice get louder, and you knew something was wrong. you step outside, seeing your boyfriend look about half a second from snapping and tackling his brother to the ground.

"andrew, what's going on?"

your voice seems to snap pope right out of his trance, he whirls around to face you. his shoulders drop instantly, his defenses deflating at the sight of your concerned look. of course, without fail, craig and deran are now both laughing at the way you so easily disarm the most intimidating man in the city of oceanside.

he tunes them out, his entire focus on you. the sunlight always made you look ten times as radiant as usual. he could stare at you for hours, which he usually did, regardless of if you realized it or not. you stood right next to him, giving his younger brothers a withering glare before looking back at pope.

"we should probably head back soon, i got your things packed."

pope is instantly cured of his irritation when he hears that you want to go back to your apartment. deran and craig shrug and make their way back inside. they exchange more polite goodbyes with you, but still tease pope.

"don't forget those tips i gave you, popey."

craig winks at him before heading out to the living room. deran walks off elsewhere in the house, leaving you and pope standing in the kitchen. you grab his bag off the counter, taking his hand in your free one and interlacing your fingers. he takes the bag from your other hand, not waiting for your protests as he pulls you out the door.

"what kind of tips did craig give you?"

you pipe up out of curiousity as pope opens the passenger door for you.

"don't worry about it. he's just being a dick like always."

you frown at his response, giving him a knowing look as he gets into the driver's seat.

"you were pretty riled up back there, i'm a little worried about it."

your frown did him in, unable to keep anything from you. that was one of your only qualities pope felt unsure of, at times. the way you just made the secrets and information spill out of him like air from his lungs.

"i'm good at sex, right?"

he looks over at you, gaze hopeful but wary at the same time.

"i mean- yeah, of course you are but... why would you question that? is that what craig was talking about? you asked him for sex tips?"

you couldn't hold back the chuckle at your last question. that chuckle makes pope falter a little bit. he didn't find any of this a bit funny, if he was honest. the thought of not doing everything humanly possible to make you feel good caused him physical pain.

"andrew, sex with you is great. if it weren't, we wouldn't be doing it like every single day."

you sigh softly, leaning in and gently cupping his face in your hands. he seemed to feel better the more you spoke, but there was still that lingering worry in the back of his head.

"but... the longer we sit here and don't head back home, the less time we have to get to that great sex."

you smirk, feeling a bit confident all of a sudden. pope doesn't need to be told twice, already reaching over to buckle your seatbelt for you (because you were never meant to do anything on your own). he then buckles his own, starting the engine of his truck, and peeling out of the driveway toward your apartment.

later, once you two have finally settled down in your cozy apartment. he's sitting on the edge of your bed with that rod-straight posture, as per usual. you admire him from the doorway of your cloest, taking in his muscular frame that's slightly defined by his dark shirt. as if sensing your gaze, he turns over his shoulder to look at you. you stand there, blushing slightly at being caught ogling, even though he was your boyfriend and you had every right to.

he turns back toward the front, desperately thinking of some sexy way to beckon you over to him. he's cut short when you appear in front of him, sitting down next to him. his mind was moving way too slow, he seriously needed to up his game. he wasn't used to dirty talk, not exactly sure how to even go about it, so he tries the next best thing... cutting straight to the chase.

"i want to eat you out."

you flinch slight at his direct words, looking over at him. he was dead serious, his eyes never leaving yours.

"o-okay... i'm not gonna stop you."

he watches as you scoot back fully on the bed, resting up against the headboard. he moves in front of you, sitting back on his heels as he awkwardly starts to slide your pants down your legs. he's getting frustrated with himself, paranoid that you're not even slightly damp in your panties right now.

"something's bothering you."

you gently catch his hands before they can reach the hem of your underwear. he freezes, as if being caught doing something embarrassing. you gently pull him toward you and he doesn't resist. you lean forward, pressing your lips against his. he melts instantly, hands finding your hips and yanking you toward him. you gasp slightly into his mouth, and suddenly, things are starting to feel like normal again.

where he was normally timid with his tongue, he was devouring your mouth now. pouring his frustration from his brother's earlier teasing into his movements now. he's holding you against him tightly as his lips trail down your jawline and toward your neck. you're breathing heavily, hands grabbing at the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head. then, they're roamng over the expanse of his freckled skin, feeling every curve and contour of his muscles.

"what if we tried something new...?"

you hesitantly ask, pulling back slightly to look him in the eye. he nods slowly, listening intently to whatever you going to say next.

"we could try um- the... 69... thing... or whatever you call it."

pope blinks a few times, racking his brain to remember what the fuck that even meant. then, he finally remembers, and his cock is now straining painfully against the zipper of his jeans. you notice immediately, feeling the bulge against your thigh.

"i'll take that as a yes."

you chuckle softly, kissing him again. you were about to ask who should be on top, but pope has already found the answer. he lays back on the bed, grabbing at your thighs to get you to straddle his face.

"but wait, i need to take these off-"

he didn't care, he was already yanking you down onto him. a sharp whine escapes your lips as you already feel his tongue prodding at your clothed pussy. he feels like heaven right now, seeing the damp spot up close and personal, smelling your arousal, it was all making him feel lightheaded. he was eagerly tracing circles around your clit with his tongue, then flattening it against your folds. he was getting hints of your taste through the fabric, like an appetizer of sorts.

unwilling to waste any more time, you lean forward, unzipping his jeans and freeing his cock from the confines of his boxers. you lick one long stripe along the top side of his length before taking all of him in your mouth at once. he whines loudly against your ruined panties, his hips bucking slightly into your mouth. he mutters a little apology, afraid of being too rough, but you were already enjoying yourself too much. your head is bobbing eagerly on him, your moans reverberating throughout his entire body.

he needed to focus on you before he came way too early. he reaches up toward the hem of your panties, a loud rip sounds through the room. you gasp against his cock, choking slightly as you pull back.

"what the fuck?! those were-"

your words were cut off by a loud moan as his tongue delved back into your now completely bare and soaked folds. his hands grab handfuls of your ass, pressing you down harder onto his face. you resume sucking his cock, tongue swirling over the tip just enough to make his thighs twitch. all of a sudden, thick warmth spreads through your mouth. you jump at the sudden flood of his cum in your mouth, but make sure not to spill a single drop.

he's whining against your cunt, but his tongue and lips don't slow down in the slightest. he reaches down, managing to grab your arms and yank you back so all of your weight was now on his face. your head falls back in pure bliss as his energy is renewed, licking and sucking eagerly at you once again. before long, your thighs are trembling as you come all over his face.

you roll over onto the bed next to him, trying to catch your breath.

"ready for more, princess?"

you freeze at the sound of his gravelly voice. that nickname, that confidence in his tone... this was definitely going to be your undoing.

"craig teach you that one?"

you try to tease, but it's hard to when he's already folding you up like a pretzel. he hooks your legs over his shoulders, lining his cock up with your entrance and shoving it right in. you choked on a moan, feeling overwhelmed by the stretch of his fat cock inside of you. he's already pounding into you, the concept of going slow completely foreign to him in this moment.

"look at you- taking that dick so fucking good."

who was this man and what did he do with your awkward ass boyfriend? you weren't allowed much time to think on it when you feel a sudden pressure on your lower belly. that pressure seemed to amplify the feeling of just how deep he was in your guts. you look down and see his hand pressing against you, he's watching in awe as he can the feel the bulge of himself in your belly.

he wasn't going to last much longer, not with the way you were taking him so perfectly, like your body was made for him and only him. he leans down for a moment, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss that was the exact opposite of how roughly his hips were plowing into yours.

"fucking love you."

he grunts into your mouth before pulling back just enough to take in your fucked out expression. you were hardly able to get out a coherent sentence, feeling him hit that perfect spot over and over again. he reaches down between you, rubbing furious circles into your aching clit. he gently grabs your legs, letting them slide down to his hips. he leans more of his weight into you, resting your forehead against his. the added weight behind his thrusts had you seeing stars.

"you want my cum, huh? tell me you want it."

his dirty words were enough to send you over the edge, your entire body convulsed as you orgasm. he held you tightly to him, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks as he fucked you through the high.

"i still need to hear you say it."

"fuck- i... i want- i want your cum. pleaseee..."

you whine incoherently, clinging onto him. the overstimulation was quickly catching up to you as pope speeds up his thrusts. he keeps your legs wrapped around his waist as he buries himself deep inside of you with one final thrusts. the lewdest squelching noises come from where your bodies connect, pope collapsing against you as his seed spills inside you.

you run your hand through his auburn curls, pressing a kiss to his sweaty hairline as he slowly comes down from his high. he doesn't pull out for a while, opting to keep your bodies as close as possible. with your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, his hands running gently up and down your back, he felt content. he knew you'd be restless in a few minutes, wanting to get cleaned up so you could cuddle comfortably without being sticky, sweaty messes.

"andrew...?"

"yeah, princess?"

"if you fuck me like that ever again... i'm putting a ring on your finger."

"why wait, hm?"

he chuckles, the sound soft and genuine, as he presses a soft kiss to your lips. he admires the way you bask in the afterglow of sex, especially since he'll be the only one to ever see you this way again. after a couple more minutes of comfortable silence, he finally remembers to pull out and help you get cleaned up. later on, he cooks you dinner and shamelessly stares at you devouring his food like you haven't had a meal in ages. fuck, if he wasn't the luckiest man in the universe to have a woman like you to call home.

~~~~~ THE END <3 ~~~~~

a/n: this literally came to me in a (wet) daydream so... it's a little out there- but so is our little sad sunshine princess and we love him for it. anyway, hope you cutie patooties enjoyed!!! thank you sm for reading, LOVE YOU ALL SM AND STAY SEXAAAYYY!!!!!!! <3333

Y/n - who had been known as Angel to the family since she was a teen usually did too. But the pool had finally been cleaned for summer, and she'd promised herself she'd use it at least once. Their bedroom was warm despite the air conditioner humming in the window. Angel stood in front of the mirror in her new black one-piece swimsuit, turning slightly. Then turning again - and again. Her fingers tugged at the fabric near her stomach.

Outside, she could already hear the girls Craig brought around - pretty, tanned, loud, effortless. In her mind - nothing like her. She knew Andrew never cared. Hell, sometimes he was almost annoyingly blunt about it. He liked holding her. Said she was soft. Comfortable - warm.

But looking at her reflection now, all she could see was the softness that spilled over the swimwear's edge, the way the fabric strained slightly across her stomach. The girls outside probably wore bikinis that showed off lean muscles and flat stomachs. She didn't have that. She had curves. And Andrew fucking loved it. Andrew would probably live between those thighs if she let him.

She couldn't help the insecurity that lingered - the one that made her wonder if he ever wished she was different. Her fingers fiddled with the hem of her swimsuit again - tugging it down slightly. Then back up. Her brow furrowed as she stared at her reflection.

After another long look in the mirror, her confidence cracked. Without thinking she reached into their closet for one of Andrew's flannels hanging and pulled it on. By the time she buttoned it halfway, the swimsuit underneath might as well not have existed. The pool could wait. She curled up on the perfectly made bed instead.

Andrew come home from a long day of dealing with his brothers' shit to find the house louder than usual. He muttered to himself as he walked past the backyard, taking in the scene. Lots of half-naked girls, lots of beer and drugs, lots of loud music. It was what guys like Craig and Daren lived for. Andrew? Not so much. And amongst the chaos he didn't see her outside like she talked about. The only thing that wouldn't have disgusted him about this party would be her.

He headed straight for their bedroom, needing to escape the noise before he started throwing people over the fence. He pushed the door open, the air conditioning hitting him like a relief. He needed the quiet of their bedroom - their sanctuary away from the chaotic Cody energy that permeated the rest of the house. She was just about to doze off - her eyes feeling heavy from staying still too long. Andrew pushed the door open, expecting to find her maybe changing, or perhaps waiting by the window to join the circus outside.

Instead, he found the bed occupied. His angel - his fucking weakness. He stopped and his gaze dropped to the flannel. Then to her face. “You didn't go out”

She looked over her shoulder. “I didn’t feel like it”

He stepped closer, the noise from the backyard fading into background static compared to the sight of her curled up in his flannel, hair piled on top of her head, looking all sorts of cute and vulnerable. He sat on the edge of the bed.

The sounds of the party filtered through the window. Andrew wasn't good at this part - never had been. He studied her for a long moment with those intense, unsettling eyes that always felt like they saw too much. Then he said, plain and simple. “You're beautiful”

She looked down. “Andrew -”

His hand found her bare thigh, calloused fingers pressing into the skin exposed beneath his flannel. He didn't ask what was wrong. Didn't need to. He already knew. Knew the way she got when things got too loud, too crowded, too many eyes.

“no,” His voice was steady and intensely calm. He leaned over, kissing her temple, then the corner of her mouth. “You are”

“It's not that -”

“You think I say things I don't mean?” That made her pause. Because no. Andrew Cody lied about plenty of things when survival called for it, but not this - not with her.

He reached over and touched the sleeve of the flannel. “You're gonna burn up in this”

She laughed weakly. “I'm fine”

“Take it off. It's ninety degrees out” He said firmly. His gaze drifted up to her face, expecting an argument. But he didn't want one - not tonight.

Then something softened in his expression. “You don't gotta go out there,” He looked toward the backyard before his eyes came back to hers. “I don't wanna be out there either, but don't hide from me”

The words hit harder than she expected.

Not because they were poetic - Andrew didn't do poetic. He did honest and sometimes that mattered more. He watched the realization sink in, his thumb brushing gently over her knee. He wasn't a man of grand speeches or flowery declarations, but his loyalty was absolute. If he said she didn't need to hide, he meant it.

“Come on” He nudged her leg gently, his voice low but commanding. “flannel off. Show me the swimsuit”

“you've seen it”

“Not on you” He replied simply. He leaned back, watching her expectantly. His gaze was intense, challenging. It dared her to cover up when he'd seen every inch of her.

The flannel slipped from her shoulders easily under his scrutiny. Then it was gone, pooling around her waist. And there she was. The black one-piece swimsuit hugged her curves, the way it was supposed to. The way Andrew loved it. His eyes traveled down then back up, slow and appreciative. No judgment. Just pure, unfiltered wanting. “You're perfect”

The black swimsuit hugged her curves perfectly, accentuating every dip and swell. He could see the way it kissed her hips, how it accentuated her waist. He swallowed hard. He reached out suddenly, pulling her close by the waist possessively.

His hands settled on her hips, thumbs digging into the soft flesh just above where the swimsuit ended. He looked her over again, his gaze hot and approving. “You're so fucking pretty” He murmured, leaning down to press his face into the valley of her breasts. He inhaled deeply. She always smelled good.

He nuzzled into her cleavage, lips pressing soft kisses to the swell of her breasts. His hands slid down to grip her ass, pulling her flush against him. He loved the way she felt - all softness and warmth. He growled softly against her skin before leaning back, taking in the full view again. “I won't make you go out,” His eyes lingered on her hips, her thighs. He knew exactly what those curves felt like under his hands, the way they fit perfectly against him. “Okay?”

“Okay” she says softly, her fingers brushing through the curls at the neap of his neck.

He shivered at the gentle touch, his eyes closing briefly before meeting hers again. He loved these quiet moments - the softness in her gaze, the way her fingers played with his hair. It was a stark contrast to the harsh world outside their door.

~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~

By nighttime, the party had finally died down and the house settled, but sleep wouldn't come. She slipped outside and sat near the pool, feet dangling in the water. Moonlight reflected across the surface.

She barely heard Andrew approach. He stood behind her for a second then sat beside her. Neither of them spoke - he wasn't good at filling silence. Mostly because he didn't think silence needed fixing. After a while he looked at the water and then, without warning, stood and she blinked up at him confused.

Without a word, he slipped off his shirt and tossed it aside, revealing the hard lines of his torso. His hands went to his belt next, unbuckling it slowly. He pushed his jeans down his legs, stepping out of them. His black boxers were next - they were plain, straight to the point. Just like him.

“what are you doing?”

He looked at her, his face illuminated by the moonlight. “You wanted to swim,” he said simply before diving into the pool. The water splashed around him as he surfaced a few feet away.

He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back. “So get in” it was simple to him - she wanted something, so she should have it.

“Andy, someone could see” She glanced toward the house automatically. Most of the lights had been turned off inside. Only a couple lamps glowed through the still windows. No movement. No voices. Just quiet.

“They're all passed out drunk or high. No one's coming out here” He assured her. his arms moving slowly as he tread water. He drifted closer through the water until he was right in front of her. Andrew reached up and rested his hands on the edge beside her thighs, steadying himself between her legs.

He looked up at her, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. He was so close now, his jaw clenching as he kept eye contact. He hips his head down, pressing a kiss to her knee. His lips lingered there for a moment before he kissed his way up her leg. He didn't ask permission - he didn't have to. He knew she'd let him kiss her like this. And he knew she liked it. So he kept going, pressing soft kisses to her inner knee, to the inside of her thighs. She gasped softly as his head slipped under the sundress she had changed into a few hours prior.

“Andrew” her hands went to his damp hair as he positioned her legs over his shoulders.

He hummed against her skin, his hands gripping her thighs possessively. He loved when she said his name like that - all soft and surprised. He kissed higher, his face burying between her legs. He nuzzled into her, inhaling her scent deeply. Fuck, she smelled good.

He tugged her panties off and threw them towards the pile of clothes. Then his tongue darted out, licking a slow stripe up her center. She tasted even better than she smelled. He groaned against her, the vibration making her shudder. He hooked his arms under her thighs, pulling her legs further over his shoulders and spreading them wider.

He loved how she had full thighs, a round ass, and soft hips. He liked that she wasn't skinny - that she had a real woman's body. He spread her legs wider, his tongue flat against her clit this time. He pressed hard, dragging his tongue slow and firm.

“Andrew, please” she gasped.

He loved when she begged. Loved that he was the only one who got to hear that needy little voice of hers. Those little voices that could keep Craig and Daren up some nights.

He did it again, pressing his tongue flat against her and dragging it slow, applying just the right amount of pressure. She whimpered and he smiled against her, the corners of his mouth lifting. The slow drags of his tongue that had her gripping his hair tighter and tighter. He didn't mind. It only made him want to keep going. He pushed his tongue inside her instead of continuing the slow drag. She cried out softly, biting her bottom lip to stifle the sound.

He pushed his tongue deeper, fucking her with it. It was messy and wet and he was completely unashamed. He could feel her clenching around his tongue, her thighs trembling against his shoulders. He pulled back only to lick a circle around her clit before sucking it into his mouth.

His hand gripped her waist now, fingers digging into her soft flesh as his free hand palmed himself in the pool. “Andrew... Andy I need to come. P-please” she said softly and breathlessly.

He groaned against her. He loved how polite she was about her pleasure. Like she was asking for a favor instead of demanding like most women he'd been with. He spread her legs wider, his shoulders pushing them apart. He sucked her clit hard, his tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive nub.

“shit, there it is,” he muttered against her, feeling her tighten and squirm. He stroked himself faster watching her come undone - her thighs trembling, breasts bouncing slightly underneath her bunched up sundress. “come on, Angel”

He kept sucking and licking, drawing out her orgasm. He could feel her juices coating his tongue and chin, but he didn't care. He loved the taste of her. As she came down from her high, he gave her clit one last soft kiss before pulling back slightly. “Take the dress off and get your ass in the water” Andrew's voice always had an edge to it, but it always seemed softer when it came to her.

She lifted the dress over her head quickly, revealing her naked body to him completely. He bit his lip, watching her breasts bounce as she climbed into the pool. Her body was fucking gorgeous - all soft curves and womanly shapes that made his mouth water.

She moved over to him, water swirling around her thighs. When she reached him, he grabbed her hips and pulled her against him, their bodies pressing together. His hardness pressed against her stomach, the tip dragging along her skin with the water.

“I've been hard since you put on that swimsuit earlier” he admitted quietly, his mouth near her ear, making her shiver.

He kissed along her jaw, his hands sliding from her hips to her ass, gripping the soft flesh possessively. He pulled her even closer, grinding his cock against her stomach. The water around them made everything feel weightless, but his touch was solid and real. It anchored her.

He pushed against her, turning them so she was pressed against the pool's edge now. His eyes held hers captive as he lifted her slightly, positioning himself at her entrance. The water helped ease the way as he slowly pushed inside her. They both groaned in sync and her nails nipped into his broad shoulders. His forehead rested against hers as he filled her completely. Their breaths mingled, their bodies connected intimately under the moonlight reflecting off the pool water.

He swallowed hard, watching her tits bounce slightly with the movement. He pulled out slowly before snapping his hips forward again, making her breasts bounce more. His hands went to her waist, holding her still as he set a slow, deep pace. He wasn't in a hurry. He wanted to enjoy this.

“A-Andy,” her breath hitched as her fingers gripped his soaking curls. “D-don't stop. You feel so good”

He leaned in, capturing her lips in a slow, deep kiss as he continued to move inside her. His tongue pushed into her mouth, mimicking the slow thrusts of his hips. He loved the way she tasted, the way she felt against him. He loved that it was just them out here, no one else existed. Just Andrew and his Angel.

He pulled back from the kiss to look at her face as he kept thrusting slowly. He wanted to see the look on her face as he filled her completely. He reached between them, finding her clit and circling it with his thumb in time with his thrusts. Her mouth fell open in a silent O as he hit a particularly deep spot inside her. “You're so fucking pretty, angel. You know that?”

He watched her face as he continued his slow, deep thrusts. Her eyes were half-lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed. She was absolutely beautiful. He kept circling her clit with his thumb, feeling her getting closer and closer to another orgasm.

“Andy, I need to come” she whined, nails scratching at his back as her hips rutted uncontrollably.

He nodded, pressing his thumb down harder on her clit as he picked up the pace slightly, still keeping it deep and slow. He wanted to feel her come all over his cock. His other hand gripped her hip tightly as he watched her face contort with pleasure. “Come for me, angel”

She came with a soft cry, her head falling back, wet hair sticking to her neck and cheeks. Her walls clamped down around him and he groaned loudly, his pace faltering for a moment. She was so fucking tight. He kissed her exposed throat as he continued thrusting through her orgasm, milking every last wave out of her body. He could feel her legs trembling around him, hear her soft whimpers and cries. It was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. He kept kissing her neck, her jaw, her cheeks as he continued to move inside her.

“I need you,” she shuddered, catching her breath. “Come Inside me. Please, baby”

That soft plea was the only permission he needed. His hips snapped forward harder, losing that careful rhythm as his own climax took over. He buried his face in her neck, groaning her name against her wet skin as he spilled inside her. His hips jerked shallowly, filling her completely as he held her tight against the pool edge.

After a moment, he pulled back enough to look at her face. Her cheeks were flushed, lips swollen, eyes bright. She looked thoroughly fucked and he loved it. He leaned in and kissed her softly, slowly, savoring the taste of her mouth. When he pulled back, he smiled against her lips. “Don't ever change, angel,” he murmured. “love you just like this”

“love you too” she smiled softly with exhaustion in her eyes as she pushed some of his wet curls back.

He smiled back slightly, leaning into her touch. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close as he slowly pulled out of her. He groaned softly at the loss, but just held her tighter. He rested his chin on top of her head, listening to the sound of the pool water lapping against the sides of the pool as he held her.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, just holding each other. The moonlight reflected off the water, casting a soft glow over them. He could feel her breathing even out, her body relaxing against his. She was exhausted, and he didn't blame her. He'd worn her out good.

“Let's get you inside” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

He lifted her effortlessly, water dripping off them both as he climbed out of the pool. He grabbed her towel, wrapping it around her shivering form before grabbing one for himself. He kept an arm securely around her waist, guiding her back toward the house, the night air cool against their heated skin.

Once inside, he dried her off gently, taking extra care with her curves. He knew she was exhausted, so he simply threw on a pair of low-slung sweatpants while she pulled on one of his oversized shirts that barely covered her thighs. He guided her to the bed, pulling her close. He spooned her from behind, pulling her close as he draped the blanket over her hip. He nuzzled his face into her neck, inhaling deeply before pressing a soft kiss there. His arm wrapped around her waist possessively, pulling her even closer.

“Sleep, angel” His voice was warm and comforting, filled with affection. He knew she was completely spent and he loved it. He loved knowing he'd worn her out, that he'd made her legs shake and her voice hoarse.

We already talked about Jack but imma do it some more- because he’s enamored. Obsessed. When you ask to join him at the gym he’s a little sad but he’ll support you in anything you want- he knows you have some insecurities, he gets them too. He thinks you’re fucking beautiful now but if you want to tone up or lose some weight he’ll be supportive- and it also looks so fucking good to watch you running. The first few times he watches you get on the treadmill and see how your soft body jiggles a little with each step- the tight leggings your threw on doing nothing but enhancing your ass and thick thighs for him. Jack doesn’t even let you shower after- no he’s a fucking nasty freak because the second you’re both back home he’s pulling you into the bedroom and stripping you both of your sweaty clothes. He’s throwing you in the bed and sliding inside your walls with a groan- “looked so fucking good- did it on purpose right?” He also tries to convince you that sex is amazing cardio.

Your weight wasn’t the first thing Charlie noticed about you, no it was your laugh. Some beautiful laugh that lured him into your space like a siren and ever since then he was hooked. It was hard- because you knew Charlie was a man who did everything for show. Everything he did was for display and to be perceived as something to be feared and someone to be envious of and yet- he never hid you. Charlie would walk through the crowds of a gala or political event with his hand on your waist where you knew he could feel one specific roll of your body but he still held you tightly against him and a soft smile on his face. He watched you get ready- his fucking favorite past time was laying in bed to watch you putting make up on, doing your hair, dressing in whatever gown he bought for you and would take note of every single part of your body that he was going to taste later tonight. But for right now? He sneers at the detective who asked if you’re his sister or assistant or- “she’s mine.” Short. Simple. Honest. His.

Brett loves a soft girl with thick thighs and soft rolls for him to come home to. He’s gone for so long sometimes- gone to other stations where stress and frustrations get to him and all he needs is your soft body in his arms an apt metaphor for your sweet personality- something to calm him and remind him that he has a soft place to come home to. You’ll be asleep one of the nights he comes home- wrapped up in your sheets with the cats at the foot of the bed and all Brett sees is you soft figure for him to slide in behind. You’re wearing one of his Cal Fire shirts and it’s riding up over your stomach and Brett immediately wraps his heavy arms around you- feeling you not wearing anything underneath but panties and his mind goes blank. It’s been weeks since he’s touched you- his hands wandering and have a mind of their own when he reaches down between your thick thighs to pull them to the side and feel that you’re already fucking wet for him. He needs to remember how good you feel- your warmth and softness for what? To turn him the fuck on.

Maybe this is me just being a self indulgent whore but Sammy? Sammy fucking loves a thick baddie bonus points if you’re Latina but that’s being too self indulgent so- loves a girl with weight on her and don’t understand how fucking in love with you he is. He loves when you ride him, when you’re facing away from him and your ass is perfectly on display for him- where he can see every soft part of your body move over him and pretty rolls that he can grab. But most importantly? Sammy wants you to specifically ride his face. Doesn’t care what you say, doesn’t care when you protest that you’ll suffocate him- “baby if I die eating your pussy then I die doing what I love.” It takes some gentle coaxing- his rough hands pulling you up to his face and when you hover? You forget how strong Sammy is- arms locking around your thick thighs to force you onto his face with a needy groan. Your hands reaching down to grab at his hair and use to grind into his face- his own hands reaching up to grab at your heavy tits, tongue sliding through your walls until eventually you feel hot spurts at your back because he absolutely will cum from eating your warm cunt.

Andrew is the one person that truly does not give a fuck what someone looks like- he’s tired of being judged for how he looks or is perceived and it’s him who’s shocked that you want him. You, who is so soft and kind and accepts him for whatever he’s done- you don’t ask him for anything or ask him to do anything for you. You don’t judge him for what he’s done- you love him. You let him rest his head on your soft chest or your plush thighs- playing with his hair and humming softly for him to relax. Nothing matters to Andrew other than how you love him- your softness contrasting to his rough exterior? It drives him insane- and you’re so fucking in love with him. His body? Well that’s just an added bonus really- because his protective personality and sweet smile are really all you need.

God- Titus? Titus treats you like the fucking goddess you are- worships your body with his tongue. When you feel uncomfortable or self conscious Titus brings you to the gallery where you can see the expensive renaissance paintings they have depicting women with softer bodies- with soft rolls and a stomach that isn’t flat. Your clothes are handmade- designers brought in to fit them to your body and not the other way around. And if they sneer? If they look at you with anything less than respect? Titus asks if you’d fancy a hint- you mentioned something about wanting a workout and what better way to burn of some calories than running around the estate hunting some insipid little designer that doesn’t know true beauty and elegance? And you- covered in blood? God the most perfect sight he’s ever seen- can’t control himself long enough to lay you in the middle of the grass and fuck you hard enough to remind you that you’re his and nothing will change that.

➽─❥ taglist (click to join!):

⬩ Pope Cody who first meets you when you're working at your dad's hardware store. He was just stopping by to pick up something for a project, and there you were, stood behind the till. You weren't much help. No, you knew hardly anything about the supplies the store sold. You were just there to pick up a couple shifts, probably didn't know a phillips from a flathead. But you were kind and sweet and when you smiled at him it was like the whole world stopped around him. Maybe it wasn't love at first sight, but after that first meeting he couldn't get you off his mind.

⬩ Pope Cody who inadvertently memorizes your work schedule. It wasn't something he set out to do, but he picked up on your shifts, noted them down in the back of his mind. Usually the weekends from opening to close at six. So that's when he'd stop by, hoping to see you. And when he ran out of reasons to come back, he'd make some up—buy something he didn't really need in exchange for a few precious moments talking to you.

⬩ Pope Cody who fumbles one day when you ask him what he needs all the supplies for. It's a fair question—he visits so often, always grabbing something random off the shelves—but it catches him off guard and the truth spills from him, stuttered and poorly worded as he scratches the back of his neck. At first, you let out a gentle laugh, and he's never felt so conflicted. Caught halfway between the embarrassment that tints his cheeks pink and the way such a beautiful sound makes his heart flutter.

"I'm off at six," you say, "there's a diner down the road that makes a great milkshake."

⬩ Pope Cody who was never a huge fan of touch or PDA until he started dating you. Soon after though, he discovers that he has an innate need to be around you, close to you, touching you. There isn't a moment that passes where he isn't seeking out a point of contact. A hand at the small of your back, or resting on your thigh while he's driving, or slipping into yours. An arm curled around your waist, tugging you close, pressing a kiss to your temple.

⬩ Pope Cody who is not the least bit ashamed of you. You've dated your fair share of guys who act incredibly affectionate in private, but switch up the moment you're around their friends. Pope couldn't be more different. His affection doesn't waver, no matter who you're around. He's proud of you—feels lucky that you even give him the time of day—and he loves to show you off every chance he's given. You're his girl and he'd never try to hide it.

⬩ Pope Cody who is absolutely whipped for you. He's at your beck and call. You tell him to jump and he asks how high. Your back or feet are sore after standing all day, he's on standby with a bottle of lotion and some newly learned massage techniques. Something is broken, he's ready to dedicate hours to repairing it, whether it be the kitchen faucet or engine troubles.

⬩ Pope Cody who spares no dime on whatever you want. New clothes, a pedicure, reservations and dinner at a restaurant you'd offhandedly mentioned last week. He loves to spoil you, and he is well within his means to do so. He sees no reason not to, even though you still try to deny him sometimes. As far as he's concerned you deserve the world and then some.

⬩ Pope Cody who goes crazy for you in low-rise jeans. The way your love handles pour over the waistband. The swell of your stomach barely contained. He finds it so fucking hot. Wearing them is a surefire way to get him all riled up, especially when he catches onto the fact that you've started wearing them more often for that express purpose. So as much as he loves them on you, they rarely last long before he's trying to get them off you.

⬩ Pope Cody who is obsessed with your tummy. It's his favourite place to rest his head when you're cuddling. He could spend hours tracing the stretchmarks spider-webbed across the skin there. It's also his favourite place grab while you're fucking. He just can't help himself after watching the soft rolls of your tummy jiggle with each thrust. He can't resist grabbing up handfuls.

⬩ Pope Cody who appreciates all the differences between you. You're soft and supple where he is rough and jagged around the edges. To him, your body is the height of femininity. It's something to be worshipped, pampered, and treated with absolute respect. He's not normally one for many words, but he never misses an opportunity to compliment you.

⬩ Pope Cody who loves to have you on top of him. It gives him the perfect vantage point of all your curves and rolls. On a couple occasions he's had to beg you to sit on his face. You looked doubtful, but he's strong and he can handle all of you. He could spend hours between your legs if you'd allow him, smothering himself in your cunt until he runs out of air.

“Your spacing’s off,” you say finally, voice calm but carrying easily over the noise. “You’re crowding the protein. Let it breathe. It’s the star of the show, the sauce is the supporting act.”

The woman startles, eyes snapping up to you, then immediately over your shoulder like she’s checking if she’s about to get in trouble.

“What,” he starts, turning sharply, already halfway into irritation, “did I just say about-”

His eyes land on you, a flicker of confusion on his face about the stranger who was relaxing against his station, as if she belonged there. 

“Who are you and why are you standing around like you own the place?” He asks gruffly, his hands leaning against the table now. His arm veins protruded as his body weight rested on the limbs. 

“The person who does own the place gave me a key,” You hold up the silver key between your fingers, “And I’m Y/n Y/l/n, the new sous-chef.” 

“The one from France?” he asks, stepping closer, wiping his hands on a towel but not breaking eye contact. 

You give a curt nod, a smirk still gracing your lips. It made it very hard for Jack not to stare at your pursed lips as he sized you up.

”Ah, yes,” Ellis chimes in, grinning as she leans against her station, clearly enjoying this far too much. It wasn’t often that many people gave Jack shit.  “The prodigal daughter back from studying abroad in France. Here to give this old guy a run for his money?”

”Old?” His voice echoed in the kitchen, making Ellis put her tattooed arms up. 

“Respectfully.” She whistled, holding her hand out for you to shake. 

Her grip was firm as she gave you her name, “Ellis Parker, Chef de Partie for the French girl.” 

You nearly flushed at her warm gaze, dropping her hand as she grabbed her plate, giving you and your new boss time to talk. 

“Alright,” he says. “Let’s see what Robby thought was worth importing.”

He holds his hand out in front of him, guiding you through the massive kitchen. 

“Careful,” you murmur. “You might like it.”

Something in his gaze darkens at that, interest threading through the challenge, but it’s gone just as fast as it appears. Your stuff is put up in a locker, while you throw an apron over your head. 

The tour is less formal than most restaurants you’ve worked in. That’s the first thing you’ve noticed, just how close-knit everyone seems to be. Which was a stark contrast to most other posh workplaces you’ve spent the last few years in. 

“Head of house, Frank Langdon with his assistant Mel King.” He points through the glass window into the dining room where the tall brunette was wildly explaining something to do with menus to the eager blonde. 

You’re on his heels as he walks, keeping up behind him like you were in a moving current. 

“Dana, house manager. She keeps this place running, don’t ever piss her off.” He grumbles, and you hear the blonde put the phone down to yell loudly at the man. 

“-I heard that!” 

“Anyways,” he continues, his shoulder pushing open another door for you two to glide through. “Santos and Garcia, our resident bartender and sommelier.” 

The younger girl is shoulder to shoulder with the older girl, polishing wine glasses with expert precision. You wave softly to them, trying your best to be polite while Jack is all but dragging you through the restaurant at lightning speed. 

You’re back in the kitchen, a guy is on his knees scrubbing at a spot on the floor while the other is rinsing the sink. 

“Whittaker, our busboy, and Ogilvie his assistant of sorts. I don’t really know what he does, he cleans.” Jack pauses watching the boy squint at him before you’re off in the kitchen again. 

The smell of sugar and vanilla hits your nose as you walk through the pastry kitchen. “Samira Mohan, our Pastry Chef. I don’t care what bullshit you saw in France, she’s better.” He boasts, and you barely catch a glance of the girl as she’s pulling another rack of pastries out of the oven. 

“There are some people I’m missing,” He huffs, “You met Ellis, then we have Shen and Crus our other chefs. We have our prep cooks Princess and Perlah, don’t tell them anything they gossip.” 

He lets out a short laugh as you’re suddenly right back where you started, “McKay and Javardi are our hosts, Joy and Emma are our veteran waitresses. We love them, Emma does our social media. So if she asks you to make a TikTok, you’ll do it because she’s too sweet to say no to.” 

“Understood,” You let out a breath, still trying your best to remember all of the names. 

”You met Robby and Heather, they’re hardly here since their daughter was born so that leaves me.” He smiles, rocking on his feet. “Jack Abbot.” 

“Nice to officially meet you,” You nearly laugh, sticking out your hand to shake his. You nearly shiver at the way his large warm hand encompasses yours. 

He switches in and out of Head Chef mode easily, immediately going into a deep explanation of how they work here. Their processes, what makes it work, and how under no circumstances are you to deviate from the plan. He was a stickler for order, that much was obvious, but you had to be in this line of work. 

“Did you memorize the menu?” 

“Of course.” You nod, thinking back to Robby shoving a binder in your hand upon hiring and telling you to study up. You didn’t think you’d actually be tested until Jack started throwing questions at you. 

“Miso cod,” he says. “What finishes it?”

“White miso glaze, reduced until it clings,” you answer without hesitation. “Caramelized under high heat, served over a bed of jasmine rice with a ginger-scallion emulsion and pickled shiitake for contrast.”

His eyes flick toward you briefly.

“Citrus?”

You don’t miss a beat. “Yuzu zest in the emulsion. Bright, but not overpowering.”

He hums, not quite approval, not quite dismissal.

“Filet.”

“Dry-aged,” you reply. “Pan-seared, basted in brown butter, garlic, and thyme. Rested properly. Served with pommes purée that’s more butter than potato and a red wine bordelaise reduced to almost syrup.”

“Temperature.”

“Mid-rare,” you scoff. “Obviously, anything higher is a crime.”

That earns the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

He stops suddenly at the pass, picking up a plate, holding it between you like a test you’re meant to fail. It’s still steaming, but there’s not much cooking happening besides prep. 

A smile quirks up at your lips, thinking of him preparing a dish just to quiz you on. You take the challenge. 

It’s a roasted chicken, split and pressed, the skin blistered and golden, glistening under a brush of jus. It sits over a bed of truffle-laced pommes anna, layered thin and crisp at the edges, soft and buttery at the center. There’s a swipe of charred leek purée, dark and smoky, and a scattering of pearl onions lacquered in something sweet and reduced.

He holds it out slightly toward you, pulling a fork out from his pocket.

“Roast chicken,” he says. “Walk me through it.”

You step in closer without hesitation, close enough that your shoulder nearly brushes his as you lean in.

“Air-dried for at least twenty-four hours,” you start, eyes scanning, picking it apart piece by piece. “High heat to render the skin, then finish slower so it stays juicy. Basted in butter, thyme, maybe a little garlic toward the end so it doesn’t burn.”

Your finger hovers just above the pommes anna, not touching, just tracing the shape with the fork. You bring it up to your lips, unaware of Jack’s sudden interest in the counter after your tongue swipes against it.

“Potatoes layered with clarified butter, pressed, cooked low and slow, then crisped. Truffle folded in at the end, not during, or it disappears.”

“Sauce,” he prompts.

“Chicken jus, mounted with butter,” you reply. “Reduced enough to coat the back of a spoon, not so much that it turns sticky.”

He nods once, then tilts the plate slightly.

“What doesn’t belong?”

You hum, twirling the fork around. 

You lean in just a little more, close enough now that if you shifted even an inch you’d touch him, your voice lowering without you meaning to. The fork stabs one of the pearl onions, you shove it into your mouth, and grimace a little. 

“They’re glazed in balsamic,” you say.

“And.”

“It’s too heavy,” you continue, straightening slightly, meeting his eyes again. “You’ve already got richness from the chicken, the butter, the potatoes. The balsamic makes it sweet and acidic in the wrong way. It pulls focus instead of balancing.”

He watches you carefully.

“Sweetness is bad?”

“Not if it’s intentional,” you counter. “But this isn’t. It’s competing, not complementing.”

Then you tilt your head just slightly, a hint of something playful slipping in.

“You’d be better off with something brighter. Maybe a preserved lemon glaze, or even a light cider reduction. Something that cuts through instead of sitting on top.”

He makes a noise of satisfaction, “Most people would’ve said the truffle,” he admits.

“The truffle isn’t overdone, it’s a good addition. If it’s in the budget, I’d put it on the menu, minus the onions.” You smiled crookedly. 

He’s trying to hide how impressed he is, as he shuffles around. “Well, try not to slow us down tonight.” 

“Oh, I don’t like it slow.” You purse your lips, “Don’t worry about me.” 

He has an amused look on his face, “You are gonna give me a run for my money huh?” 

You shrug, “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see.” 

And you don’t make him wait long.

Service hits like a wave and you step into it without hesitation, sliding onto his line as if you’ve always belonged there, like the rhythm of this kitchen is something your body already understands. This is where you belong, even when the tickets start stacking. Jack glides through the kitchen like he could do it blindfolded.

You match him without thinking, your hands moving before the words even fully land, reaching for pans, adjusting heat, finishing sauces before he even has the chance to bark out orders. 

“Two scallops, one duck, one filet,” he calls.

“Scallops walking,” you answer just as quickly, already flipping them, butter foaming, the edges caramelizing into that perfect golden crust. You tilt the pan, baste once, twice, then pull them at exactly the right second, sliding them onto the plate like it’s elementary. 

Jack tries not to stare, tries to focus on his own job but he finds the way you move mesmerizing. Even when you reach for the wrong item, still gaining your footing here, you’re majestic. 

“Duck?” he presses.

You’re already slicing it, the blade gliding clean through, juices held exactly where they should be. “Rested,” you say, fanning it out, dragging the cherry reduction into a sharper line, tightening the plating just enough to elevate it without losing its soul.

“You’re moving fast,” he mutters, more to himself than you.

You don’t look up. “I told you, I don’t like it slow.”

There’s something in the way you say it that makes him pause for half a second too long before snapping back into motion.

The longer the service goes, the clearer it becomes. You’re not just keeping up with him, you’re anticipating him. Adjusting before he asks, finishing thoughts he hasn’t spoken yet, stepping into the exact spaces he leaves open without ever colliding. It isn’t chaotic, it isn’t competitive in a loud way. You’re not working against him, you’re not showing out. It’s a dance. 

At one point your hands brush when you both reach for the same pan, and neither of you pulls back immediately. He lingers, and you let your fingers dance over his before pulling the pan out from him. 

When service is over, the place takes a deep breath. Jack pretends he can’t smell the sweat clinging to your neck, and the soft scent of your shampoo when you pass him. 

“Is every night like that?” You ask, your skin still vibrating from the adrenaline rush. successful service. 

“If we’re so lucky,” Shen smiles, patting you on the back, “You were on fire back there.” 

“Thank you.” You smiled, listening to their compliments while your eyes were on Jack. He gave you a simple nod of encouragement, before he leaned back down to scrub at the oven. You took that to heart, ignoring the weird flutter in your chest at his approval. 

You roll your shoulders back, trying to shake the adrenaline loose, but it’s still there, buzzing under your ribs, settling somewhere deeper instead of fading.

“Careful,” Ellis calls from across the line, flicking water from a rag in your direction. “You keep that up, you’re gonna make the rest of us look bad.”

“You already do that on your own,” you shoot back, not missing a beat.

A few laughs ripple through the room.

”Yeah,” She whistles, tossing you a sponge, “You’re right where you belong.” 

You move through cleanup as you worked here for years, not a single night, falling into rhythm beside them, trading small comments, quiet jokes, letting yourself settle into something that feels dangerously close to belonging already. 

Princess is already whispering something to Perlah that makes them both glance at you and grin, Dana’s voice carries faintly from the front, still managing something even this late, and Shen is already halfway to the espresso machine without needing to ask. He brings you a coffee in a shot glass, a wide smile on his face. “To surviving your first shift at The Pitt.”

By the end of your first week, the kitchen stops watching you like you’re a baby deer on new legs, and starts moving with you as if you’ve always been there. By the end of your second, they start trusting you. And by the end of your first month, there isn’t a single person on the line who doesn’t adjust when you step in, who doesn’t listen when you speak, who doesn’t look for you the same way they look for him when something matters.

Service becomes something electric between you and Jack.

You learn his tells, the slight shift in his posture when something is about to go wrong, the way his voice drops when he’s focused, the exact second he expects a plate to land in the pass. And he learns yours too, whether he wants to admit it or not. The way you move faster when you’re challenged, the way you don’t wait to be told, the way you fix things before they ever reach him. 

“Too much salt,” he mutters one night, barely glancing at a pan.

You’re already beside him, tasting, adjusting, adding a splash of stock and a knob of butter, bringing it back into balance like it was never off.

“Better,” you say, sliding it back.

He watches you for a second longer than necessary, before you’re already back at your station.

“You don’t miss,” he says.

“Neither do you,” you reply, and he pretends it doesn’t make his knuckles shake. He’s too old for a crush, he tells himself. But it doesn’t stop the way he looks at you with stars in his eyes every night. 

There’s a push and pull to it, something unspoken but constant. You challenge him in small ways, tightening a plate here, swapping an element there, offering suggestions that are just bold enough to make him pause but never reckless enough to break the integrity of what he’s built.

“Lose the microgreens,” you murmur one night, adjusting a dish before it goes out. “They’re filler.”

“They add color.”

“They add nothing,” you counter, meeting his eyes. “If you need color, fix the dish, not the garnish. Microgreens are shipped in by the pound to every wanna be Michelin star restaurant in the US. We don’t need it.”

He wants to argue, you can see it on his face. Then his brows furrow, and he watches the plate so intensely you’d almost believe it was speaking to him.

Then he pulls them off himself.

“Send it,” he says.

You don’t smile, but you feel the way your cheeks burn. 

You find your place in the quieter moments too.

Samira’s kitchen is the first space that feels different. Warmer, softer, but no less precise. The scent of caramelizing sugar wraps around you the second you step inside, vanilla and citrus layered over butter and heat. She hands you a spoon without looking.

“Try that.” She orders. 

You do. A dark chocolate crémeux, smooth and rich, finished with a hint of sea salt that lingers at the back of your tongue.

”Respectfully,” You start, the spoon still in your mouth, “I think I’d do anything you asked me to do if you keep making things like that.” 

She laughs, a loud one that comes from her throat. “Jack was right, I like you.” 

You don’t press on what she means, because the idea of Jack boasting about you makes something coil in your stomach. 

It’s easy to fall into rhythm with the staff. You’d bum a cigarette off of Santos after long nights, the two of you chain-smoking with Dana in the freezing Pittsburgh weather. Samira would sneak you pastries in exchange for tips you had picked up in France. You brought her in some cookbooks from your time there, and she nearly cried. The next day there’s a container waiting for you in the breakroom fridge, your name written across the lid in careful script. Chai tiramisu, layered perfectly, the spice warm and unexpected against the bitterness of espresso. 

Frank and Mel were a joy to be around, you sat with them one day learning the inner workings of the magic they create out front. Your first outing with the crew was one weekend Javardi had convinced all the girls, barring Dana who was always busy, to go out and get drinks one night. Despite the girl's only memo, Shen showed up an hour in and got so drunk that Ellis had to carry him two blocks home. 

Somewhere in all of it, you find your place.

Not just in the kitchen, not just on the line, but here, in the middle of this strange, chaotic, loyal little family that somehow makes space for you without question. 

That’s why, you think, the first time it cracks makes it hurt a little more than if this were any other job posting. 

The kitchen is running hot, faster than usual, the kind of night where everything is just slightly off and everyone feels it. Tickets pile, timing tightens, and Jack is sharper than usual, voice cutting a little cleaner, a little colder.

A braised short rib, rich and heavy, sitting over a parsnip purée with a red wine reduction that leans deep, almost too deep, into itself. It’s Jack Abbot on a plate, almost. 

You taste it as it comes up, quick, instinctive, and your brow pulls just slightly. It’s good, actually, it’s fantastic, but it’s missing something vital to him. 

A splash of sherry vinegar, just enough to lift it. A touch of orange zest, subtle, brightening the edges without changing the core. You swirl, taste again, and it opens up immediately, the richness balanced, the flavor sharper, more alive.

You plate it and send it without thinking. 

Jack catches it at the pass, because of course he does. 

“What is this,” he asks, not loud, but dangerous in how controlled it is. Everyone seems to tense, knowing exactly what the inflection in his voice means. 

You don’t hesitate. “Short rib.”

His eyes flick to yours, then back to the plate. He then narrows his eyes at the sauce you have sitting on your station.

“You changed the sauce.” 

It’s not a question, but you answer anyway. “Yes.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” he says, voice tightening, the edge finally showing. “You don’t touch my dishes without clearing them first.”

”It needed it,” you reply, your voice steadier than you feel.

“That’s not your call,” he snaps, sharper now. “You think because you worked in France and have all these fancy restaurants under your belt that you get to walk in here and rewrite my menu? You’ve been here a little over a month, don’t think you’re more important than you are because Robby wanted a new shiny chef to look good in the media.”

There it is. 

The version of him everyone else warned you about. The version of him you have yet to see. The one no one had seen since you arrived. Because, Robby thought you’d mellow him out. Inspire him again, lighten the kitchen up. 

For a second, the kitchen holds its breath. Waiting to see if you crumble, or if you start yelling back. 

If anything, something in you sharpens right back, your eyes catching the light in amusement. 

The anger simmering in his chest only burns hotter when he sees your plush lips fighting off a stupid grin. 

“Taste it,” you say simply.

He scoffs. “That’s not the point.”

“Then make it the point,” you counter, stepping closer, lowering your voice just enough that it’s not for everyone else anymore. “Because if you’re going to be mad, you should at least be right.” 

His warm eyes are dark, with something you can’t quite place. 

“You come into my kitchen, and say my dish needs fixing?” He scoffs, both of your faces inching towards each other. The chaos of service still bustles around you, but both of you tune it out. Too fixated on each other 

“I mean no offense,” You start, “But that dish was supposed to be you on a plate right? It was wrong, it needed a boost, a light in it if you will.” 

“Don’t try to sound like my therapist,” His voice raises, “The sauce was fine-“ 

“I never said it wasn’t.” You stressed, “I just made it better. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, won’t happen again Chef.”

His jaw tightens at that, like the words themselves are a physical thing he has to chew through. For a second it looks like he’s going to refuse just to prove a point, to keep the argument alive on principle alone.

But he doesn’t, because he’s a chef first. And much to his chagrin and anger, he trusts you.

Jack snatches the spoon from the pot with more force than necessary, then drags it through the sauce you changed. The motion is sharp, almost aggressive, and when he brings it to his mouth, the entire kitchen somehow gets even quieter.

“It’s good,” he says finally, his voice not coming out as flat as he’d like. 

Your lips curve before you can stop them.

“Chef,” you correct softly, just to press him a little more.

His eyes snap to yours immediately, the irritation running back up his broad shoulders. “It’s good, Chef.” 

Jack leans in just slightly, not enough to touch, but enough that the space between you stops feeling safe. His hand grabs your upper arm, to pull you closer or just as an excuse to touch you. He isn’t sure which one it is. 

“You pull something like that again,” he says quietly, voice rougher now, “and it will be your last day in my kitchen.”

”Yes, Chef.” You whisper to him, a little too close to his ear. Your warm breath on his neck makes him shiver, his fingers dropping the grip he had on you. 

It occurs to you in that moment, that this is foreplay. For both of you. 

Both of your chests are panting, eyes dark with something neither of you dared to name. This is what every challenge in this kitchen has been. You push him, he pushes back, and you enjoy the rush. 

He steps back like your presence burns, turning his attention back to the tickets that were piling up. 

“Back on the line,” he calls, voice louder now, reestablishing control, forcing the kitchen back into motion.

As the rhythm picks back up, Crus passes behind you and bumps your shoulder lightly with his elbow, a grin tugging at his mouth.

“You poked the beast,” he murmurs, shaking his head like he can’t decide if he’s impressed or terrified for you.

You glance at him, calm as ever. “He survived.”

Crus snorts under his breath. “Barely.”

Across the line, Jack doesn’t look back at you again for the rest of the service, but you know he feels it. The coil wound tight between the two of you. What was once just longing stares and brushes of skin, was now a pressure cooker ready to explode all over the kitchen he spent the last few decades building from the ground up.

After that night, nothing really goes back to how it was before.

It doesn’t get worse, not exactly, but it changes shape. The kitchen doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t lose its rhythm, but there’s something threaded through it now that wasn’t there before. A pressure. A quiet awareness that sits under every callout, every pass, every brush of shoulders in tight spaces. People feel it even if they don’t say it out loud, even if they pretend they don’t see it. 

Princess and Perlah catch it immediately, and it spreads all the way to the front of the house.  Frank catches it in the way Jack’s eyes flick toward the kitchen door whenever you’re not on the line. Mel notices it in how quickly the tickets start moving when you’re working beside him, like the pace shifts just slightly to match the two of you instead of the system. Dana, of course, clocks it immediately and says nothing, which somehow makes it worse.

Santos says it out back one night, smoke curling between her fingers as she watches you lean against the brick wall after service.

”What’s going on between you and Jack?” She asks. 

“What’s going on with you and Garcia?” You pirate back, dangling the cigarette between your lips. 

She ignores your comment, continuing on. 

“You two are going to burn this place down with the passion between you two,” she says mildly, like she’s commenting on the weather.

You just take a drag of your cigarette and exhale slowly.

“We just both love food, passion makes us run hot, s’all,” you reply.

She hums like he doesn’t believe you.

Inside, Jack doesn’t say anything either, but he starts noticing everything. The way you stand a little closer than necessary when you’re correcting a dish. The way your hand lingers for half a second too long when you pass him a pan. The way you don’t look away first anymore.

Someone texted Robby about it, because of course they did. He gets a call one morning, asking if he’s running off the new chef or if he’s trying to commit an HR violation. Jack hangs up before he gets the chance to start making jokes anymore. 

It’s a random Thursday when you slip through the back door like normal, a little earlier, and a lot more dolled up. Your makeup is done, hair is down, and you have on a sweater as compared to your normal work attire. Samira whistles playfully as she walks into the breakroom, complimenting you as you begin to talk between yourselves. 

Jack hears you but doesn’t look up right away.

“You’re early,” he says, voice low, still facing the stove.

“Emma needs a headshot of me for the website,” you reply, shrugging off your coat and hanging it without slowing down. “She said she likes to take them in front of the sign. I’m also filming a few videos with her.”

He hums in acknowledgment, but his attention stays on the braise for the beef, on the way the liquid moves when he tilts the pot slightly, checking consistency, tasting with a spoon without thinking. He looks up at you, and that’s when everything goes wrong. 

You look beautiful. You’ve always been beautiful, even bare-faced with a dirty bandana tied around your head, but this? This was different, it was seeing you in another light. The Y/n you were outside of these walls, outside of being the best chef he’d ever met. 

Jack shifts slightly closer to the burner, adjusting the heat under the pot mindlessly, and that’s when it happens. He pulls back immediately, a sharp hiss escaping through his teeth before he even fully processes it. The side of his hand sizzles against the heat, and everyone’s heads turn. 

“You good, boss?” Crus asks, and you see Shen and Ellis falling into each other hiding their amusement. 

This is the first time in his career he had burned himself, and it suddenly feels like his world is falling apart in front of him. The clicking of your heels against the floor makes his brow furrow as he wraps his hand in a rag. 

“Jack,” you say, already moving.

He likes the way his name sounds coming from your lips. 

“I’m fine,” he answers automatically, but it’s too quick, too tight.

You don’t argue, just step in beside him, gently but firmly taking his wrist and turning it under the cooler sink before he can insist otherwise. The skin is already red, irritated, not serious but enough to sting, but enough to make him finally go quiet and let you work.

“I said I’m fine,” he mutters again, though softer now.

“And I didn’t ask,” you reply, adjusting the water slightly, your touch steady and unhurried as you check the burn properly.

You reach for ointment in the first aid kit without asking, careful as you apply it, your fingers light but precise as you wrap the gauze around his hand. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t interrupt, just stands there letting you take control. Something he normally doesn't let happen. 

“You distracted me,” he says after a beat, quieter now, like he’s admitting something he doesn’t fully like saying out loud.

You glance up at him briefly while tying off the bandage. 

“I wasn’t even doing anything,” you laugh.

That earns a faint exhale from him that almost, almost sounds like a laugh he’s holding back. “Exactly,” he replies.

There’s a pause then, as your head tilts to the side watching him carefully. “Is it the heels? Because I know they’re not kitchen standard, but I have an outfit change before service.” 

“It’s not the heels,” He breathes out, but then his eyes do rake down your body for a fleeting moment before he meets your eyes again, “Maybe it’s the heels.” 

You chuckle again, patting his now bandaged hand softly. “You’re all set to go.” 

“You must have been a doctor in another life,” He smiles, “I feel better already.” 

“Healing hands.” You wiggle your fingers at him playfully, taking a short step back. You go to turn away, but you pause leaning back into his space. “Be careful, I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself again watching me walk away.” 

With those words you’re off, spinning on your heel and walking into the dining room with an unnecessary added sway in your steps. 

“Jesus,” He grumbles, feeling a flush run up the back of his neck as he indeed did watch you walk away. Ignoring all the alarm bells that were ringing in his head, as he tried his best not to get hard in the middle of prep. 

He’s not subtle at all with the way his eyes keep finding yours that night. At one point there was no shame as he stood in front of the pass window, watching Emma direct you and pose while Joy stood there following Emma’s every polite command. 

“You are not slick brother.” Robby’s voice bellows through the kitchen.

Jack barely reacts, just exhales through his nose like he’s been caught doing something mildly inconvenient rather than completely transparent. He turns his head slightly, watching Robby step into the kitchen like he still owns part of the air in it.

“You’re here,” Jack says flatly. “Almost forgot you worked here.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He takes the tease, hugging him gently. “I’m observant,” Robby adds, glancing past him straight to you, then back to Jack with a faint smirk. “And I’ve been hearing things.”

Jack’s jaw tightens just a fraction. “From who?”

“Little birdies,” Robby says casually, leaning against the edge of the pass like he’s got all the time in the world. “Mostly the kind that tells me my head chef’s been acting like he forgot how to breathe around his new sous chef.”

Jack scoffs, immediately turning back to the line like that’s the end of it. “People talk too much.”

“People always talk,” Robby replies, watching him carefully now. “What’s interesting is that I’ve been here two minutes and I already see it.”

Then, lighter, almost teasing, but not quite. “They’re saying she’s changed you.”

Jack doesn’t answer right away, just focuses a little too hard on the clock.

“She hasn’t changed anything,” he says finally.

Robby hums like he doesn’t believe him for a second. “Sure.”

Service pulls them both back in before anything else can be said, and the kitchen does what it always does, it swallows everything that isn’t immediately necessary. Orders fire, pans heat, voices cut across each other in practiced rhythm. You’re back on the line fully now, moving like you’ve always belonged there, correcting, plating, adjusting without hesitation, and Jack tries to stay locked in the way he always does.

But he keeps looking.

He catches himself doing it twice, maybe three times, eyes flicking up without permission, drawn to you like it’s reflex now. You’re leaning over a station explaining something to Ellis, hair slightly loosened from earlier, even as it’s pulled back, your expression focused and animated in a way that makes the whole room feel a fraction warmer. It annoys him more than it should that he notices how easily people orbit you now.

By the time service winds down, the kitchen is in that slow collapse, energy draining out of it in waves. The clatter softens, the urgency fades, and what’s left is exhaustion and the quiet satisfaction of getting through it.

Shen is already at the back counter when you finish cleaning your station, pulling shots of espresso with practiced ease, humming under his breath like he’s done this a thousand times and will do it a thousand more.

“You look like you need this,” he says, sliding a small glass toward you.

Ice cream first, espresso second, the classic affogato, simple and perfect in a way that feels like a reward for surviving the night.

You take it gratefully, leaning against the counter beside him.

“Saved my life,” you murmur after the first bite.

Shen shrugs like it’s nothing. “You say that every time.”

“Because it’s true every time.”

Across the room, Jack is wiping down his station, slower now, watching the kitchen settle back into itself. Or at least pretending to. His eyes flick toward you before he can stop them, landing on the two of you draped across the bar as you belong. The way your faded lipstick still clings to your lips that are wrapped around the spoon. 

Shen leaves before you do, bidding you a goodnight. No doubt stealing yet another glass bowl from the restaurant. You tell him not to eat and drive, and he flips you off as the door shuts behind him.

You finish your affogato and set the glass down, turning slightly like you feel Jack watching from behind you. 

“You two are close,” Jack says, voice level, neutral on the surface but just tight enough underneath to give it away.

It’s then you realise that you are the only two left. The lights are dim and the room smells of cleaning supplies and that slight metallic smell of polished stainless steel permeates through the air. 

“He’s a mess,” You comment, placing the bowl into the sink slowly. 

He makes a noise of agreement, tossing his rag around his neck. 

“Not as close as we are, chef,” you say lightly, almost teasing, but steady enough that it lands exactly where you intend it to. “Don’t worry, you’re still my favorite.” 

“Am I?” He asks, running his hand through his tousled salt and pepper curls. 

Your teeth bite down on your bottom lip, mischief in your eyes as the only thing that separated you two was the kitchen island. You lean your palms against the cold metal, leaning forward. 

“Of course you are.” 

He pretends he can’t see down your thin undershirt now, he finds his fingers itching to touch the exposed skin of your collarbones. 

“You’re my sous chef,” he says after a beat, like he needs to remind himself of something solid.

“Mm,” you murmur, stepping closer to the island, palms pressing lightly against the edge as you lean in more. “And?”

“And,” he repeats, but it comes out quieter than he intended, like the word itself has lost some of its authority.

You tilt your head, watching him carefully now, the teasing still there but softened by something more focused, more aware.

“White pinot goes best with cod,” you say casually, like you’re talking about nothing important at all.

His brow furrows slightly, thrown off for a second. “What?”

You shrug, eyes flicking briefly to his mouth before returning to his gaze like you didn’t just do that. “I thought we were just naming the obvious.”

His breath shifts slightly, like he’s trying to steady it without making it obvious, and he pushes off the counter, stepping closer without fully thinking about it until suddenly there isn’t really any space left between you and the island doesn’t feel like an obstacle anymore, just something your bodies are pressing against from opposite sides.

“That’s not,” he starts, then stops, jaw tightening as if he’s actively trying to regain control of the situation, of himself. “We can’t just-”

“Can’t just what,” you interrupt softly, not moving back, not giving him an inch. “Talk?”

His eyes drop for half a second, as they betray him before he can stop them, and when he realises just how close you both are. Even with the counter digging into both of your hips, it feels like there’s no space between you two at all. 

“You’re pushing it,” he says, but there’s no real force behind it anymore.

“I think you like it when I do,” you reply, and this time your voice drops with it, something slower threading through the words as you shift just slightly, your nose brushing against his. Your lips hovering over his warm skin, “Don’t you?”

He moves, nearly stumbling backwards as he does. Like your touch burned him just as bad as the burner did earlier. 

You follow him like it’s instinct, like the space he creates is just something you’re meant to fill. He doesn’t back up once, he just lets you step across from him 

“Listen, if I’m reading this wrong you can tell me.” You say softly, “I won’t be offended.”

His eyes flick to yours, sharp, guarded, but it’s slipping at the edges now.

“You’re not- fuck,” he replies, but it comes out lower than he intends, less certain than it should be. “That’s not it.”

You hum faintly, stepping just close enough that the air between you changes again, warmer, tighter, charged in a way that makes the quiet hum of the kitchen feel miles away. The towel around his neck catches your attention, and without asking, you reach for it.

He doesn’t stop you,if anything his body shivers anticipating your touch. 

Your fingers curl around the fabric, not pulling hard just enough to feel the tension in him as you draw him a fraction closer, enough that his breath shifts slightly when you do it. You pull his neck down to your height, meeting his eyes. 

“Then what is it?” You ask, that teasing jilt in your tone again. The same one you throw out during service that makes his cock twitch in his pants. 

His hand comes up, hesitates for half a second like he’s still trying to decide whether he should stop this or not, and then it settles at your waist, firm but controlled, pulling you just slightly closer until the space is gone between you two entirely. 

“You’re my sous chef,” He repeats, his mouth dry. “You work under me, it’s a- I don’t wanna- take advantage of you-“ 

“Jack,” You coo softly, “I’m a big girl, if anything I wish you’d take advantage of me-“ 

That’s all that it takes for that coil to snap. He leans forward, his hands pulling your hips flesh against his as your lips meet. 

It’s frantic, hot, and wet. Your lips are warm against his, teeth nearly gnashing together at the intensity of it. Before you know it, he’s pressing you against the edge of the counter, cornering you there. His hands on your hips grip tighter, before they lift you as if you weigh nothing. 

You plop down on the metal slab, your lips still chasing each other as his knee knocks your legs open wide for him. You oblige, pliant in his hands as yours are tugging against his curls. He pulls your shirt over your head as if it personally offended him, the fabric falling somewhere near the glasses. 

You nearly whine when his lips part from yours, but it’s soothed over with a moan when he kisses down your jawline to your neck.

”Tell me what you want.”

Your back arches, the ache between your legs growing stronger with each touch. 

“Just, f-fuck-“ You can barely get the words out when his canines bite down into your skin. 

“Do you like that?” He panted against your neck, his lips alternating between sucking and licking at the supple flesh. He moved down to your tits, kissing the exposed skin. 

“I want you to tell me how you want it,” He demanded, “Boss me around just like you do every fucking day in this kitchen. Tell me how to touch you, where you want my lips, how slow, how fast, how you like to be fucked..” 

Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head at his words, your hands gripping his biceps like a lifeline. 

“Get these pants off,” You manage to bark out, lifting your hips to give him space to pull your pants to your ankles. The thin fabric separating you from him was damp, a dark patch that had been there since the start of your verbal foreplay earlier during service. 

“You are so fucking beautiful.” He whispers, his eyes never once leaving yours even as his lips trail down your body. “I’ve thought that from the moment you walked in here, correcting my chefs like you owned the place.” 

“Yeah?” You panted out, watching his fingers slide your underwear to the side. 

“And this….” He breathed out, staring at your wet heat. He used his fingers to spread you open wider for him, a guttural moan leaving his lips. “This is gonna be the best fucking meal I’ve ever had. Isn’t it?” 

You can’t speak, you’re breathing too hard, anticipation making your skin crawl. But you see the glint in his eyes, the smirk on his face. 

“You’re so mouthy during service, what’s wrong? Hmm?” 

“Fuck,” You nearly whine, feeling his fingers ghost around everywhere but where you need him the most. “It is gonna be the last meal if you don’t do something-oh.” 

Your head falls back against the wall as soon as his tongue makes contact with your clit. It’s an experimental swipe through your folds, enough to have your fingernails digging into his arms. 

“I was right,” He moans into you, "Delicious." 

Jack Abbot was not lying when he said this would be the best meal he’d ever had, because the way his mouth was moving against you you’d think the man had never eaten in his life. It’s messy, his tongue teasing in and out of your aching hole in between frantic sucks of your clit into his mouth. 

You were moaning his name like a prayer, jutting your hips up into his nose without even meaning to. 

“Fingers,” You gasped out in need. 

“Yeah?” he hummed, slipping an arm between your legs so he could slip a finger inside of your soaking entrance. “You’re so wet, baby. What got you like this?” 

His finger stretches you out with a delicious burn, you’re already aching for more by the time he curls the digit just right. It’s like he can read your mind, slipping another deep inside. They’re so thick it takes you a moment, before you’re clenching around him. 

“You, just you.” Your hands are now gripping the side of the counter, watching him through half-lidded eyes. “Been thinking of those fingers of yours, every time you’d- oh my god- stick your fucking finger into a sauce. Sucking on it like you knew I was watching.” 

“Same way you’d suck on those spoons while looking at me,” He whispered, bringing his mouth back down to your throbbing clit. 

The sound was just as disgusting as it was the hottest thing you’ve ever heard in the world. With each loud squelch of his fingers prying you apart, he was moaning desperately into you. His cock was hard and straining against his slacks. 

“S’good,” You praised, shifting your hips a little in his hold, “A little faster, wait- right there- yes, yes,” 

He listened intently, waiting to hear that sharp intake of breath and to feel your legs tremble around his head. He wouldn’t admit how many nights he went home, fisting his cock in the shower imagining just how you’d sound when you came. How you’d taste, how you’d feel wrapped around him. 

You could feel your orgasm approaching, and it almost pissed you off how fast you were coming apart around him. No other man had made you feel this way, but with his tongue lapping against you and his fingers curling deep inside right against your g-spot you were cumming with a loud moan. 

“There it is,” His voice was slurred and muffled against you.

Your shoulders dropped back, back arching and legs trembling as he didn’t change his rhythm once. Your head fell back, mouth parted as his fingers slid through your folds drawing out your orgasm until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

His head was pulled back up by your fingers in his curls, your release was dripping down his chin. His eyes were sparkling as he looked up at you. 

He brings his fingers up to his mouth and licks them clean like he made a mess eating the most expensive chocolate in the world. Not a drop is wasted, and you’re already clenching around nothing. 

“Remember,” You start, still trying to catch your breath, “How you wanted me to tell you how I wanted to be fucked?” 

He nods eagerly, slowly rising back up to your eye level. 

“I told you I don’t like it slow.” 

He smirks, the crinkles by his eyes deepening as you pull him closer towards you by his belt loops. 

“Get this off-“

”Eager?” He teases, his boxers falling to the floor. 

“Fuck.” You almost laugh, watching his heavy cock fall between his legs. He was veiny, and his tip was red and leaking. 

”I don’t have any condoms-“ 

You cut him off, eyes still locked on the massive cock that was twitching with neglect. “I’m clean, and I have an IUD.” 

He’s about to ask you another question before you bring your hand down, wrapping gently around his length. He hisses at the touch, warning you to go slow. 

“Sorry, this is just- god the biggest cock I’ve ever seen.” 

His chest puffs in pride, watching your thumb swipe a bead of his pre-cum around his sensitive tip. He can barely take it, he needs to be inside of you so bad his legs are practically shaking. 

“Think you can take it?” He asks, grabbing your thighs to push them up on the counter, as he settles between them. 

“Yes, chef.” You say jokingly, but you feel the way he tenses you see the way his eyes darken. You tilt your head at him, while he’s lining up at your entrance. 

“You like that don’t you?” 

He’s silent, but huffs as he rubs his tip against your soaked slit. 

“You gonna fuck me?” You ask, “Please Chef-“ 

You’re barely able to finish your teasing when he slips inside of you slowly, a gasp gets lodged in your throat. His palm is heavy on your stomach, thumb rubbing small circles into your clit as he inches in. 

“You’re okay,” He cooed, “Bigggg stretch, almost in baby. You’re doing so fucking good. F-fitting like a glove, so wet for me.” 

You feel so full, almost impossibly full. Each time you think he’s done, he keeps pushing more into your greedy velvety walls. With one final roll of his hips, he bottoms out. His hips meet yours. 

“Fuck.” He moans, leaning his forehead against yours to kiss you gently. “Need. This. Off.”

Your bra is unclasped with one of his hands, and pushed to the side. His head lowers to catch a nipple into his mouth, he swirls his tongue around the bud before pulling off with a pop. 

“You okay, honey?” He asks softly, doing his best to keep you relaxed as your body adjusts to him. 

You nod lazily, the dull ache turning into searing pleasure after a minute of his tongue expertly sucking at every sensitive spot he could reach. 

The first thrust has you nearly crying out in bliss, his tip is nudging so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. He’s slow at first, steady enough to make sure he’s not hurting you and that your cunt is still dripping around him. 

As soon as he feels your hips rocking against his, he braces his hands on your hips. 

“M’member what you said, baby? How you don’t like it slow?” 

Your jaw goes slack, the moment he thrusts harder, pulling his cock all the way out before slamming back in with fever. 

Then, he’s everywhere. His lips mouthing at your neck, his cock rearranging your guts, his thumb flicking your clit. It’s overwhelming, in the best way possible. 

“I’ve been thinking about this ever since you walked in here in those fucking heels,” He admitted in a gasp, already lost in the warm wet of your cunt wrapped around him. “Hell, since the first day I met you.”

It was one thing to have a massive cock, it was a completely other thing to know exactly how to use it. And god, did he know how to use it. 

All control you held onto slipped through your hands, cockdrunk already on him. 

The lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin echoed through the quiet kitchen, alongside the pathetic moans you couldn’t stop from slipping through your lips. 

“S’ fucking big.” 

“You’re taking it so well,” He praises, “Feels s’good doesn't it baby?”

The moment your nails scratch down his shoulders so hard he winces, he knows he’s angled his hips just right. “There it is,” he says, under his breath. “That’s the spot isn’t it?”

When you don’t answer in coherent words he speaks up again, “Come on, talk to me. Tell me that’s the spot baby.”