𝜗𝜚 ⋆.˚

You walk through the door of your shared home with Jack and hung your keys on its designated hook. You slip off your work shoes and toss them to the side out of the way when you call out.

“Babe, you home?”

You hear a rustling coming from the bedroom before you get a response.

"Yeah, in here."

Jack lets out a few grunts as he calls out to you, and you follow the sound of him to your bedroom. When you finally lay your eyes on him, you stop in your tracks in the doorframe. When you see Jack, he's stood in the center of the room dressed head to toe in his camo patterned uniform, combat boots strapped on, and struggling to tighten his vest around his torso. Youre only brought out of your daze when he speaks again.

"Hey, you'll help me out with this? Cant get this fucking strap right."

You blink a few times before replying with a small 'yeah' and making your way over to him. He explains that he just needs you to pull a strap on the side of his vest tighter and lets his hands fall to his sides as you take over. Once you adjust the strap to his liking you take a small step and stand in front of him, his hands reaching for your hips on instinct- like hes magnetized to you. You let your hands splay across his covered chest and snake up to the back of his neck.

"Wheres the war at, soldier?" You playfully ask, your eyes still raking up and down his form.

He scoffs out a laugh.

"Fourth of July is coming up. Might need to suit up, just wanted to make sure it still fit in all the right places." He responds, shooting a quick wink at you.

You nod before speaking again.

"Cant believe I've never seen you in uniform before. I mean I've seen your old pictures from your service, but never in the flesh. You just look so.." Your words trail off as you look at how his biceps stretch out the sleeves on his shirt, his freckles peeking from the collar of his vest, and how his pants hug his waist.

"Yeah? I look so what, baby?" Jack gently pulls you closer to him as he encourages you to continue where you left off.

Jack loved being praised by you, you knew this. He was already a confident man, always has been; but it was such a confidence booster whenever you gushed over him. Your praise always made him get a bit cocky as well, you could always hear it in his tone whenever he spoke; just like you can now.

"You look so handsome, Jack." Your eyes meet his and your hands move to cup his face as you respond with adoration dripping from your voice.

Jack lets a small smirk crack on his face when he leans down and captures you lips in a deep kiss, humming as his lips move against yours. He pulls away and leans his forehead against yours.

"You like seeing me in my gear, baby, hm?" He asks, already knowing the answer but his ego still wanting to hear you say it aloud.

"Absolutely. Makes you look so in charge."

The last part of your sentence makes his ears perk up. In charge. One of his hands travels up your body and manages to tangle itself in your hair, grabbing a fistful before speaking again.

"You like me in charge? Want me giving orders?"

You look at him as he speaks, his narrow eyes staring straight into you and wetness already starting to dampen your panties. All you can do is nod in response. Suddenly Jack is tightening his previously loose grip on your hair, making you gasp and tilt your head back to fully face him.

"You gonna do as youre told?"

"Y-yes." You stutter, still focused on the sensation of Jacks grip on your hair.

"Yes, what?"

You pause before repeating yourself.

"Yes, sir."

Jack groans and immediately crashes his lips onto yours, gradually kissing his way down to your neck and leaving love bites that are surely to leave a mark or two. Your body is flush against his now as he still attacks your neck and you press your thighs together, trying to create any friction you can where you crave it the most. Jack moves up to your ear, gently biting the shell of it before whispering,

"Get on your knees, pretty girl."

You scramble down to your knees wordlessly, your hands trailing down Jacks body as you lower yourself. Once on your knees you immediately reach for the button and zipper but, before you can undo his pants, his hand grabs your wrists and stops you.

"Did I say for you to do that?" He asks, his free hand moving to your hair again.

"No, but I-" You start to respond when you feel the familiar sting of your hair being pulled.

"What happened to following orders, huh, sweetheart?" He asks as he releases your wrists and starts to undo the button and zipper on his camo pants, the pattern of his boxers starting to peek out.

He maintains the strong hold he has on your hair when he fishes his already hard member from the window in his boxers. When you look up at him, you cant help but feel heat pool between your legs. He's looking down at you, his uniform hugging his body, and his worn hand is slowly pumping himself. You think you're gonna start drooling when Jack speaks.

"Be good an' open up for me, baby."

You part your lips and Jack slowly pushes himself into your mouth, letting out a shaky sigh as he does so. You gently brace yourself by putting your hands on his thighs and moan when you feel the strong muscles under the fabric; his thighs flexing as he quickens his pace. Jack cant help but let moans fly out of his mouth as he fucks your mouth and admires the view. Jack wasn't the kind to use you- he respects you and truly sees you as his partner and someone to dote on and care for. But, when it came to seeing you like this- eyes watering, thighs pressed together, and moaning around his dick; he couldn't help but use you for his own pleasure. Just the sight of you was bringing him close to losing it.

Between Jack rapidly thrusting in and out of your mouth and his continuous handle on your hair, you cant ignore the wetness gathering in the soft cotton of your panties. One of your hands lets go of Jacks thigh, and makes it's way to the waistband of your pants. You discreetly sneak your hand into your underwear and start massaging your little bundle of nerves that was aching for any kind of attention. You're finally feeling the friction you've been desperately craving when Jack speaks through broken grunts, still managing to form a sentence.

"I say you could touch yourself?"

Your hand quickly pulls away from yourself as Jack pulls out of your mouth with a pop and gazes down at you breathlessly.

"N-no." You say, lips sore and fingers still shining from your own wetness.

Jacks hand leaves your hair and comes to tilt your chin up, your flushed face on display for him.

"Say that again for me, sweetheart?"

"No, sir." You repeat, adding the honorific to the end.

Jack smiles down at you, still catching his breath.

"Good girl. Now get on the bed for me, angel."

You quickly scramble to your feet and walk towards the bed. When you meet the edge of the bed, Jack is already behind you. His hands are snaking around your waist, and you can feel his stubble grazing your skin as he buries his face in your neck. He places small and delicate kisses on the length of your neck; still finding ways to be gentle with you even now. Without saying a word he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants and underwear, tugging them down your legs and letting them fall to the floor. He guides you to be on your knees on the bed, still facing away from him when he whispers 'bend over for me, baby'.

You bend down, the side of your face pressed against the plush of the comforter. You feel Jacks rough hands grip the soft flesh of your hips, and the tip of his member tease your entrance. You hear Jack breathe out a laugh.

"Haven't even touched you yet and you're fuckin' soaked."

You barely have time to register his words when you feel him fully push into you. You choke out a moan, tears pricking your eyes again as you feel him stretch you out from this angle. Jack doesn't waste any time and starts thrusting into you, quickly finding his rhythm as your moans encourage him. The feeling of him hitting your sweet spot perfectly and the sound of skin slapping skin has you feeling dizzy. You're almost too dazed to hear Jack continuously mumbling from his position behind you.

'Feel so fuckin' good, baby'

'Always so good for me'

'My girl's always s'good for me'

Your fists ball up in the comforter beneath you and you swear you see stars when Jack reaches one hand around to rub rapid circles on your clit. Jack lets out a low groan as he feels you tighten around him.

"Know you're close, baby, just hold on a little longer for me." Jack says as the grip he has on your hip tightens and his pace quickens.

"Jack, please, please I'm-" You can barely form a coherent sentence as Jack continues to drill into, his thrusts becoming sloppy.

"Let go for me, baby." He says the gentle command, him seconds away from spilling inside of you.

You feel his strokes sputter as he bottoms out inside of you, and you cant help but moan his name as your orgasm rips through you. You whine when you feel Jack pull out, still sensitive to the touch. You slump over onto your side, closing your eyes as you focus on catching your breath while your chest continues rising and falling. You feel Jacks touch on you again only this time it's with a towel from the bathroom as he carefully cleans you up, making sure to be as gentle as possible with you when he helps you slide into a fresh pair of underwear. When he's done, he's pulling you to sit up, whispering 'arms up' before he removes your old shirt and puts one of his old ones over you.

"C'mon, scoot up here for me, sweetheart." He whispers as he leads you to put your head on the pillows at the head of the bed.

You're not resting in bed by yourself for too long when you feel the mattress dip beside you, and Jacks fingers are moving stray strands of hair from your face. You slowly open your eyes and are met with Jack looking over the features of your face, no longer in his uniform but in his boxers and a tee shirt.

"You okay?" He asks, his hand now cupping your face and his thumb rubbing your cheekbone.

You loved when Jack took control in the bedroom; always loved the rare occurrence of the more dominant side of him coming out. But, your heart always beamed whenever Jack was like this. The setting sun was cutting through the curtains on the window and dancing across his face. Never afraid to hold eye contact, he was looking at you with nothing but love and admiration written on his expression. Just two little words had you smiling up at him.

the fact that jack didn’t plan on this happening tonight does mean he can’t enjoy this. but you showed up with a pout on your face and questions about why he was so short with everyone two nights ago blurred into him pretending to feel worse than he did so you’d kiss him.

him. instead of frank.

langdon is nothing. langdon means nothing and everything when it comes to you—langdon has a wide and children yet has a stare that likes to wander right onto you and your quiet that only makes people want to see if they can be the one to succeed in cracking you open.

too bad.

jack was here first.

jack kissed you first.

jack will come inside you first.

the feeling of your lips enveloping him as he stuffs you mouth half full almost causes him to collapse. he tightens his grip on you and keeps spilling, uncaring of how pathetic he knows he sounds. he’s whining at every other spurt of cum and holding your face with his other hand to make sure you stay exactly where he wants you.

“jesus, kid,” he sighs, watching you gulp around him, tongue eager and lapping the underside of his cock. he drags a palm down the side of your face and holds it there. just to see what it feels like when he nudges himself against the inside of your cheek. “…i taste okay?”

better than everyone else?

jack holds his breath until you nod, cheeks hollowing with a stronger suckle to prove to him you aren’t lying.

shit, he knew you’d like this. his fat sack knocking against your chin and barely able to breathe through your nose while trying to swallow him down.

he loves randomly shoving his fingers into your panties and rubbing little circles on your clit while you're doing mundane things, like making food or watching a tv show. he lets you moan into his chest as he keeps you up straight.

you're bent over the counter, chopping up some vegetables to add to lunch, when jack attacks you from behind. you feel him press up against you, and you groan when you know what's going to happen. his rough, calloused fingers slip into your clothes, and he starts rubbing your clit in little circles through the cloth of your panties while peppering little kisses to your neck. "jack, you cannot be serious- i'm trying to cook!" you sigh exasperatingly, although you make no move to push him off, mainly because you actually enjoy it, and secondly, you didn't really need those vegetables right that moment, did you? "if we get food poisoning because you can't keep your hands off of me during lunch-time, i'm so going to- ah!" you moan, getting caught off guard as he pushed the underwear to the side, and slipped a single digit inside of you. "mhm, you can lecture me later. just trying to give my lady some loving." he grins into your neck, now sucking a hickey into it that you know will be visible by tomorrow.

absolutely loves when you ride him, mainly because he gets to see all of you as his cock disappears into your pussy, your tits bounce, and your mouth wide open as you moan and drool over him. another reason is because it's also easier on his leg, but don't let this fool you - he's thrusting up into you so hard, with his hands bruising your hips, it feels all the same either way.

"fuck yeah, that's it, baby- you can do it." he groans out, hands holding onto your body tightly as you soon become sloppy with your movements, closer to orgasm. jack is now controlling most of the thrusts, but you can't say you mind as his cock spears you from the inside, making you see stars.

dirty talks 24/7, will whisper shit in your ear at work just to leave you needing him throughout the entire shift, props if it's so busy that you can't even sneak away with him for five minutes (which is, let's be honest, most days).

"you looked so good in there, sweetheart. do know how sexy it is when a woman knows how to use her hands?" and then he walks off, onto the next patient while you're standing there wondering whether to scowl and hit him, or do the exact same thing to him.

dividers by @ strangergraphics

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you rolled your eyes, "he just doesn't want me to pass out on the floor. liability for the hospital and all that.”

trinity nodded but seemed entirely unconvinced, "you think he's paying attention to when and what the rest of us are eating?"

a fair point, you supposed. you couldn't recall robby ever suggesting the rest of them eat something.

once again, trinity was correct in her evaluation of the situation. robby was obsessed with you, though he was having a difficult time admitting it to himself, never mind to you.

what he was fighting with was the idea of keeping you a secret, already a lost cause before you had even started. when he had brought up this concern with jack just a few days after taking you home that first night, jack had snorted.

"what?" robby asked.

jack shook his head, "i'm sorry to say you lost that battle long before you ever touched her, brother. anyone with eyes could see the way you watched her."

and then, once he moved past that, realizing he wasn't willing to give you up for some arbitrary unspoken rules about attendings not getting romantically involved with their residents, there was the issue of just how much your attitude had changed since the first time you slept together.

at first, it threw him off so much he wasn't sure what to make of it. you weren't shy around him anymore, you were no longer afraid to speak your mind, and you had started back talking him. for the most part, only ever in service of patient care, but the 180 was fucking with him.

it fucked with him mostly because of how hot he’d found it. you easily flustered by him, doing everything he’d asked without question had also been very sexy to him. but the fact that he seemingly had fucked some confidence into you, encouraged you to stand up for yourself and your patients. well it made him positively whipped.

but when you went toe to toe with garcia, then didn’t listen when he told you to back off, he wasn’t sure you’d realized just how much you’d fucked up.

"go find something else to do," robby ground through his teeth as a nurse tied his trauma gown behind his neck.

you had scoffed, "but i'm--"

"i said get out." he practically shouted, causing even garcia to wince.

you had blinked a few times and then stumbled out of the room. and he almost felt badly about it.

you were doing an impressive job of avoiding him most of the rest of that shift, and he supposed he should have let it lie until you had a chance to talk after shift, when you'd both cooled off. but he was still your attending, it was a conversation you should have in the workplace. surely he could handle that without letting the conversation devolve into something... else.

he knocked on the glass of the room you were in, watched as everyone turned their head to him, including you. he pointed at you with his finger and then crooked it towards himself, come here.

your jaw ticked, but you followed him out of the room nonetheless.

as soon as a door was closed, you launched into defending yourself, how garcia was out of line and he should’ve defended you.

“do you know how to diagnose preeclampsia?” he cut in loudly.

you frowned, taken aback, “of course i do.”

“then explain to me how you missed it.”

you were silent for a moment, “no—i—i—“

“you what?” he bit back, more harshly than was probably necessary, but he was pissed. if he hadn’t stepped in when he had, that mother and her baby would have died at your insistence that they go ahead with vaginal delivery.

"she didn't have any preexisting conditions, there was no reason to think--"

"that's right, you didn't fucking think."

your eyes grew glassy, the anger slowly draining from you, "is she--is she okay?" you asked quietly.

"yes. and so is the baby. because we got her into surgery in time, no thanks to you."

you rubbed at your eyes and robby felt his own anger softening, just slightly, "you're still a resident and i'm still your attending--"

"i know--"

"--don't interrupt me." your lower lip wobbled a bit at that, but you quickly stiffened your jaw, blinked away the tears, "when i tell you to do something, you fucking do it. you think you know better than me about patient care?"

you looked down at your feet, "no," you said quietly.

robby knew by now that you had gotten the message, that you were more than remorseful about the patient. he knew later, when you inevitably came over to his place for the night, you'd ask him to walk you through it. and he would, of course, gently and sweetly explain to you what you missed. what you could do better next time (besides fucking listen to him).

but right now he was frustrated and you were frustrated and he wanted, needed, to relieve the tension.

"look at me," he said quietly, "i didn't hear you. i said, do you think you know better than me?"

you looked up at him then and this time there was a glint in your eye. you had picked up on his shift in tone and you swallowed hard as you looked him over, unable to disguise your desire, "no sir." you said, clearly enunciating each word.

"good," he said, tongue darting out to wet his lips, "then turn around and show me how well you can listen."

he watched your pupils dilate and then you slowly turned, leaned yourself against the wall. in a moment, you heard the jangle of robby's belt buckle, and then he was pulling down your scrub pants.

roughly, he stuck his fingers between your legs and when you gasped at the intrusion, he leaned in close to your ear, "you have to be quiet. can't have anyone hearing you, can you do that?"

he slid his fingers down your wet folds before separating them and thrusting his fingers up into you. he covered your mouth with his free hand, felt himself go hard against your leg, "i asked you a question."

when he pulled his hand away, you panted, "i can be quiet." you whispered.

he smirked, "good girl," he kissed just below your ear, "such a good listener, hm?"

he pulled his fingers from you and immediately replaced them with his cock. knowing you would cry out, he covered your mouth again and licked up the column of your throat. he felt you whimper against his hand, knew you were desperate for his tongue in your mouth, but you wouldn't be getting that until you got home.

and with just a minute or two of this, there you were again, his sweet, fucked out angel. babbling incoherently against his hand as he thrust in and out of you. tears were collecting at the corners of your eyes and you were bucking your hips back into his so that each thrust hit harder and deeper.

as he rocketed towards his climax, he was struck dumb by the smell of you, the feel of you around him, overwhelming every sense. so overwhelming in fact, that when his climax hit, he couldn't stop those three words from tumbling, breathless, into your ear. the three words he had been holding tight to his chest for weeks now. afraid it would come out when he was drunk or half asleep.

but he hadn't anticipated saying it now. after he had just yelled at you and fucked you in the on call room. it hadn't even crossed his mind that he should be on guard. he felt your body stiffen in front of him when he said it and he regretfully pulled out of you. pulled up his pants and looked down at his feet as he heard you shuffling in front of him, pulling up your own pants.

"um... did you... you didn't mean that, did you?"

he sighed, squeezed his eyes shut tight as he ran a hand over the back of his head. he could lie, he supposed, but he found he didn't want to do that. he'd been trying to find a way to tell you for weeks now that this was more than just sleeping together to him. but you were so young and still in your residency. he knew what he was like at that time in his life, and he hadn't wanted a long term relationship. and so he hadn't been honest with himself or with you about what he wanted now. but he realized that wasn't fair to you. you should get to decide.

"i did, mean it." he nodded and looked up at you, "you don't have to say it back and... and we can talk about it later. but i do. i love you."

you gave him a slow, tender smile that made his chest ache, "i love you, too."

he felt relief and hope and wonder bloom in his chest and a laugh tore out of him as he shook his head, "really?"

you nodded, fisted your hands in his shirt and raised yourself on your tiptoes to kiss him on the mouth, "really."

he sighed and kissed you back for just a moment before pulling away, "we should get back. before someone comes looking for us."

"okay... we're, um... we're okay?" you cleared your throat, "you know, about earlier?"

he nodded, tilted his head just slightly as he looked at you, "i wasn't kidding though, about you needing to listen to me."

"i know, i'm sorry--"

"and we'll go over the case later. at home. so it doesn't happen again."

you blinked slowly and then smiled again, "at home?"

You can’t pinpoint exactly when he stopped being Uncle Robby and started being just Robby to you. But you can pinpoint the exact moment he stopped being Robby and became Michael, oh god, fuck, don’t stop. Your dad, Jack, had been planning to take you on a week-long trip to California for your 25th birthday, hating your best friend’s idea of a drunken singles cruise from Cancun and promising to think up something better if you didn’t go.

Then he’d come down with the worst case of food poisoning in his life the day before you were supposed to leave. You suggested going by yourself, but that idea made his protective instincts roil. Then you suggested canceling the trip altogether, but that made him feel so guilty he threw up again. Finally, you wracked your brain for someone your dad trusted as much as himself and pitched, “How about I ask Robby to come? He’s got tons of vacation time saved up since he, y’know, never relaxes.”

Your dad groaned into the toilet bowl, “He’ll never go for that on short notice.”

Jack, of course, was unaware that your friendship with Robby had turned into something different since you moved back to Pittsburgh after your undergrad and master’s across the country. Not crossing any lines yet because you both knew how wrong it was and how much it would get under Jack’s skin, but there was definitely flirting. Touching. Smiling and laughing. Late night phone calls and casually bringing him a second lunch at the Pitt when you stopped by to see your dad.

So, when Robby agreed to ‘chaperone’ you through Malibu, Jack was too sick to question his motives. But the two of you didn’t even make it through the first night after watching the moon rise up over the white sand beach.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he murmured as he fiddled with the tie at the side of your bikini bottoms in your shared hotel room, trying so hard to muster the conviction of character not to give in. But he kept coming up empty. Weak. “I really, really shouldn’t do this.”

“Then you should probably stop me from taking my top off,” you teasedsoftly, reaching behind your back and slowly pulling the string behind your neck. “Last chance, Michael.”

His resolve shattered.

And he didn’t regret it. Not by a mile.

Now it’s been nearly a year of being together. At first it was mostly sex, both of you promising that this would be the last time into the other’s mouth each and every trip to his apartment or yours. But, slowly, it became a lot more than that. He started holding you closer. You called him more often. When he tugged you into a supply closet, half the time he just wanted to talk to you. Your clothes migrated into his dresser and you slept in his bed even on nights when you didn’t fuck.

Then you got laid off from your job. The unspoken tension of your two choices had created an untenable situation: You could move in with Robby, admitting your relationship out in the open with a hard launch, or you could move back in with your dad and try to keep it a secret as long as you could. As much as Robby assured you that he was ready to deal with Jack’s wrath and call you his, you weren’t sure you were ready. And he respected that.

It finally reaches the moment you’ve both been dreading when Robby’s apartment needs to be fumigated. Jack, of course, offers to let him crash on the couch for the 72 hours it’s going to take, thinking nothing of it. Robby knows he won’t be able to resist fucking you if it’s just the two of you and your skimpy pajamas, so he says he’ll get a hotel only to be met with a jovial ‘come on, let me do something for you, you’ll be happier eating her cooking anyway.’

Robby and you both swear you won’t fuck while he’s there. You’ll be perfect angels and then have a total fuck fest once his apartment is ready.

That lasts all of about ten seconds.

You answer the door in the tiniest sleep shorts he’s ever seen and an old camisole that’s basically see-through, your nipples perking up as the cool spring air breezes into the house. Then there’s that sappy, starry-eyed smile you always give him when you haven’t seen each other in a couple days.

“Fuck, baby.” He pushes you back by your waist, drops his back on the floor, slams the door, and pulls you into a bruising kiss. You giggle into it, knowing he must’ve already seen your dad at work on his way out if he’s being so brazen. “Missed you so much. So fucking stupid thinking I could resist you for even a minute,” he mutters as he kisses down your neck, pushing you toward the staircase and then just hiking you up into his arms when your step falters.

You loose a laugh as his hands cup your ass and the small of your back. “Carefully, Michael, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“I go to the gym with my girlfriend five times a week,” he reminds you as he ascends the stairs confidently, beelining toward the bedroom he helped you paint yellow when you were sixteen. As he flops you down on the bed, “She keeps me young. I’ve gotta be able to throw her around like she needs.”

You raise your eyebrows and cheekily tug your top over your head before leaning back on the pillows. “What else does she need?”

“She needs to stop teasing me,” he chuckles, dropping down to push his arms on either side of you and kissing you hard. One hand goes up to pinch and roll your nipples until you arch your back and greedily moan for more. “God, you’re gorgeous when you’re needy.”

“Haven’t seen you in three days,” you groan as he gives up on being patient and pulls down your little shorts. He kisses down your torso and thighs. You hiss in a sharp breath and whimper, “Missed you so much. Need you.”

“Yeah? You need me?” He stands up once he has you naked and strips himself hastily. His cock is throbbing and his pulse is pounding and his ears are whooshing, all with the lust and desire to have you, his perfect girl, again. Every second without you is agonizing. It really does make him feel like he’s a teenager again, not just horny all the time but heart-skipping, cheek-reddening, all-consuming crushing on you. It’s love now, for sure, but it still feels fluttery and sweet. Fisting his cock as he grins possessively down at you, he orders, “Show me how much you need me, baby.”

Eyes roving all over his exposed body – his wiry chest hair, his muscular thighs, his ridiculously big hands – you spread your legs for him. You watch with unbridled delight as his pupils dilate and he starts to stroke himself faster as he realizes you’re already soaked. For him. Always just for him. “I’m ready, Michael, don’t make me wait any longer.”

He sighs and tugs you to the end of the bed, lining himself up with your entrance. “You knew I was gonna walk in that door and fuck you right away, didn’t you?”

“And you knew I was gonna beg for it,” you whine back and roll your hips to encourage him.

He toys the head of his cock through your wetness a while first, playing with you just so he can see you squirming and whimpering. “You’re pretty when you beg.”

You bat your eyelashes innocently at him, lock your legs around his hips, and almost force him to thrust into you with your thighs. “Please, babe, need your cock already. It’s all I think about when I’m turned on. Give it to your girl.”

That makes him growl under his breath. He shoves inside of you in one sharp thrust that steals your breath away. Then he bends down, threads his fingers with yours, and kisses you deeply. His free hand goes right to your clit; you’ve been together long enough now that he knows exactly how to get you off, his fingers finding that perfect pressure and pace to match the pushes of his cock. He noses up your neck, gradually kissing and sucking and scraping his teeth until he feels your pussy walls fluttering from the added attention. “My girl. Mine. Love you so much.”

All you can do is whimper in response. You nod into the crook of his neck and shoulder as your chest and cheeks turn bright pink. He squeezes your hand to ground you and you open up your eyes to meet his at the protectiveness and intimacy of the gesture. Your free fingers twine in the hair at the base of his neck and you murmur, half-gasping from the force of his thrusts, “Love you, too.” Then you tug his lower lip with your teeth and moan, “Deeper. Harder.”

“Good girl,” he praises, pulling out only long enough to flip you over. With you on your knees, he shoves down the small of your back, gets your ass high in the air, and smacks your flesh. The sting is enough to make you gasp and it shoots pleasure straight through your cunt. He watches your pussy clench around nothing and smacks you again. His voice is rough and gravelly as he says, “That’s my baby. Taking it all so well.”

You plead out, “More, Robby. Gimme more.”

Robby laughs sharply at your eagerness that makes precum drip from his dick. He thrusts back inside your cunt and pounds you once more as his hands rain down on your ass, the slaps loud and painful and fucking perfect.

Neither of you hear the front door opening, too lost in shared ecstasy. Jack doesn’t even close it, just popping home to grab something he left on his bedside table, but the sounds coming from your room stop him in his tracks.

The blood drains from his face.

Robby’s car is out front.

Jack shoves the door open and sees a horror movie playing out. His baby girl, tears streaming down her pink face. His best friend smacking her ass hard as he drives into her. His vision goes white. Jack yanks Robby away from your bed and shoves him against the nearest wall. As you frantically tug on clothes, you hear the thud of Robby’s head, followed by your dad’s fist colliding with your boyfriend’s jaw over and over. “What the fuck are you doing? That’s my goddamn daughter and- Fuck, I’m gonna kill you.”

“Jesus Christ, dad, stop!”

But Jack doesn’t relent. His hand around Robby’s neck pushes in harder and panic rises up in your throat. His other fist drills into Robby’s gut. “Can’t believe you’d take advantage of her like this. Fucking disgusting old man might as well be-”

“Stop it!” You lunge toward them and scramble for your dad’s strong shoulders, shrieking out, “Don’t hurt him! God, he’s not just fucking me; we’re- we’re together. We’ve been together for a year already and you’d better stop or I’m gonna jump out that window right now!”

“Wait, what?!” Jack whips around to you and Robby takes in a deep, wheezing breath now that he’s out of Jack’s grip. “You think you love him? That man changed your diapers, princess, you can’t- he can’t-” He looks over at Robby in disgust and rage and growls, “Mind getting the fuck out of my house now?”

Robby croaks, rubbing his bruising neck and wondering how he’s going to explain these particular marks at work, “Can I at least put on my clothes first?”

Through the red haze of his anger, Jack remembers Robby’s naked and stares at the ceiling lights while his insides twist. It’s like he’s in a nightmare. At the next horrific realization, he retches, “Fucking hell, you’re not even wearing a condom.” Jack doubles over like he might throw up, sounding panicky and pissed. “Please tell me you’re on birth control, sweetheart. God, when did you get on birth control? I’m a doctor; why wouldn’t you tell me that-”

“Dad, try to take a deep breath” you murmur, reaching out to touch his back. “You’re gonna have a panic attack. Or a heart attack. Try to calm down.”

“Calm down?” On the verge of hysterics, he gestures between you and Robby. “I just found out that my best friend, a man I’ve trusted to watch you since you were an infant, is a fucking pedophile.”

“Woah, dad, Jesus! Way too far!”

“What else do you call a-”

“Man who is in a serious relationship with an adult who has a fully developed frontal lobe? I’d call him a perfectly normal person.” You tap your chin sarcastically and prod, “Hm, I wonder if there are any other men in their forties here dating girls in their twenties.”

Robby flinches at that. It was an inevitable weapon in the arsenal, but still.

Jack scoffs at the accusation and replies, “Samira is a doctor and-”

“And your subordinate,” you push back, “and only two years older than me.”

“I never babysat her.” Pale and sweating, he demands, “When the hell did this start, anyway?”

“It wasn’t like that, dad, I swear to god.” You cross your arms over your chest and sigh, “We got close when I moved back to Pittsburgh two years ago. And then we actually started, y’know, seeing each other during the trip last summer.”

He rubs his hands over his face. “Should’ve sent you to Cancun. At least then you’d be fucking some drunk asshole instead of-”

“A kind, respectful, successful doctor?” You poke him in the chest and say, “I could do a hell of a lot worse. Already have, in case you forgot.”

Finally, Jack turns to face Robby. With a deathly quiet voice and unreadable military features, he orders, “Your turn. She says it wasn’t like that, so you’d better tell me what it was like. Timeline. Now.”

Robby still seems like he might pass out or puke at any second, but then he looks over at you. So fast Jack doesn’t even notice, you give him an encouraging smile. It’s time for him to fight for you, not shrink back. “Try to think about it, Jack. She avoided me like the plague during high school because I was too lame for her, obviously, and then I never even saw her until she finished her master’s and moved back here. I mean, I hit on her at a bar before I even knew she was back in town. I thought she was a total stranger. Didn’t even recognize her since she switched to contacts out in California.” He rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “We just…we just got to talking. Neither of us thought it would be serious. But she’s brilliant, she’s funny, she’s beautiful, she’s every-”

Jack finishes his beer and grunts, “Of course she’s beautiful; she looks like my dead fucking wife, who would be horrified by this.”

You mutter, “Mom would’ve understand. Or at least she wouldn’t have hit him.”

Robby cringes and says, “Might not be the best time to bring up Rachel, baby.”

“You call her baby?” Jack scoffs and rubs his hands over his face. “That’s messed up.”

Robby rolls his eyes, which makes you smile just a bit. “She’s my girlfriend, Abbot, I call her all kinds of things.”

“Your girlfriend,” Jack repeats. “Christ.”

Despite the response, he seems calmer now. Not necessarily satisfied or accepting of the situation but no longer so worked up you’re worried about his cardiac health.

He takes a few deep breaths, still avoiding eye contact with either of you, just trying to calm his heartrate. As he pinches his brow, he scowls and says, “Okay, I- I have to get back to the hospital. There’s an multiple MVC coming in and I only came back to get my fucking badge reel.”

Robby tentatively says, “Sure you’re good to practice when you’re so-”

Jack snaps toward him. “I am one millisecond from shoving my titanium foot up your ass, Robinavitch, so you’d better stay fucking quiet.”

Robby hangs his head. “That’s fair.”

“We’ll all…wel’ll talk about this when my shift’s over.” Then he shakes his head and adds. “Just, fuck, please don’t do anything like that in my house again.”

Then, like the soldier he is, he turns out of the room, snatches up his badge, and heads out, cursing and muttering under his breath the whole way.

You and Robby don’t look at each other until you hear Jack’s car peeling down the street.

You’re the first to break the silence, standing up and trying to keep your tone neutral. “You’re bleeding; come to the bathroom so I can clean you up.”

With a reluctant nod, Robby follows you to your en suite. Jack had given you the primary bedroom when you’d moved into this house as a teenager because, as the minimalist single dad of a teenage girl, he didn’t want to deal with the guest bathroom being full of all your soaps and potions. Robby leans against the countertop, now, and you dab at the wound on his cheek with cotton and antiseptic like your dad had taught you as a kid. There’s more pain in your eyes than his as you carefully place a bandage over the small but deep cut. “He must’ve caught you with his wedding ring. I’m so sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” he says with a shrug. “I think most dads would hit a guy if they walked in on him fucking their daughter raw. Especially considering the, ah, the spanking.”

“Good point.” You bite your lip and look up at him with teary eyes. He hates how scared and alone your voice sounds as you ask, “Are you gonna break up with me now?”

Robby sighs and guides you back to the bed, sitting down and patting the space next to him so the two of you can talk. “No, baby, I’m not. Do you want me to?”

“Definitely not.” You crawl into his lap and plant gentle kisses along the base of his neck, each one an apology for Jack’s harsh grip on his throat. “You’re it for me, Michael. Dad’ll come around.”

Carefully, Robby asks, “And if he doesn’t?”

You give him a gentle kiss, testing the waters, and whimper with relief when he returns it, hands going to your hips. When you pull back, you cup his unbruised cheek and offer up, “Well, I’ll make a really good roommate. I’m neat and I’m good at cooking. And I put out in exchange for rent money.”

Robby rolls his eyes and laughs, “You could be a total slob and I’d still want you to live with me. I love you. That doesn’t change now.”

The moment your lunch break starts, Trinity yanks you into an on-call room, where Mel, Victoria, Samira, and Whitaker have all also been dragged during a rare moment during the day when you can all leave the floor at once. It’s dark inside and it feels suspiciously like a gathering of cult members. Ever since you found out the six of you lived in the same building (which, yes, half the staff lives in because it’s the cheapest spot close to the hospital), you’ve been a group, even now that Samira’s off living with her knight in shining scrubs.

Trinity looks between you seriously, her phone screen illuminating her face from below like a horror movie villain about to give you the rules for a torture game. She announces seriously, “Guys, I have crucial intel.”

“Alright, get on with it,” Samira sighs. “Some of us have work to do and waiting in here has already taken up half my break.”

Trinity draws a deep breath and holds up her phone, showing off the screen in an arc to let everyone get a good look. “Dennis’ and my other roommate sent us these screenshots last night. I guess Robby has his settings so nobody who has his number can see it, but she did.”

You huddle around the phone as she swipes through a series of pictures, each one of your attending (and your best friend), Robby. A Tinder profile. As her thumb swipes across the screen, all of you ask questions over each other: He owns a motorcycle? And a real suit? Oh my god, is he shirtless there? Wait, he plays basketball?

While they gawk and laugh, you’re stuck on the bio that makes you smile: I’m a doctor. Not in a hot way. In an ‘I’m in therapy and you probably should be too if you want to date me’ way. Soft spot for puppies, babies, and good beer. My best friend forced me to make this when he got a girlfriend so that I wouldn’t be a third wheel. Guess I’m looking for my fourth wheel. Someone to stabilize me.

Victoria’s been standing there slack-jawed for the longest. As the baby of the group, she’s always surprised by everything. “I just can’t believe Dr. Robby is on dating apps.”

Trying not to get pathetically jealous at the idea, you reason, “I mean, he’s single. He’s attractive.”

Samira snickers, “Don’t they have an age limit on that app to protect seniors or something?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s not that old.”

“And you’re one to talk,” Dennis points out. “Dr. Abbot isn’t exactly young.”

“He’s a decade younger than Robby,” she replies. “Robby’s so old I didn’t think he could even download an app without help. He asked me to convert something to a PDF for him the other day. I find the idea that he’d meet someone from an app…charming. The way a cat trapped in a tree is cute.”

Mel crosses her arms over her chest and physically turns away from Trinity’s phone. She huffs out, “Guys, this is so inappropriate.”

Trinity glares. “You’re no fun.”

“That’s sort of my whole thing,” she cuts back. Then she nudges you and asks for backup, “C’mon, you know this is wrong.”

But you’re way too intrigued to agree with your roommate. You shrug and say, “It’s a public profile. Someone was bound to find it eventually, right?”

Mel scoffs and shakes her head. “Et tu?”

Trinity groans and makes Mel turn back around with a pointed look. She goes on, “Guys, the intel isn’t that he has a Tinder.” She zooms in on the picture of him with Dr. Abbot on a basketball court, Robby jumping to dunk the ball. You want to lick the sweat from his hairy chest. Trinity shoves her finger at the screen. “Look at this hog he’s packing. Dr. Robby has a giant dick.”

You take a closer look at the outline visible in his slinky athletic shorts. No way. You scoff and shake your head; the idea that a human man could have a dick that big seems outright ridiculous. In years of practicing medicine and being a sexually active adult, you’ve never seen one that would compare. So you shrug your shoulders up and awkwardly rush out, “That could be a water bottle or something.”

Victoria, wide eyes locked to the screen, chimes in, “Or- or just a shadow. The lighting.”

“Yeah, sure, or a massive fucking cock.”

Dennis, the reddest of everyone (he once told you about an absolutely mortifying sex dream he had about topping Robby), hisses, “Trinity, he’s our boss!”

“So?”

You step in, too. “So what are we even supposed to do with this information?”

“Well we all know what you’re going to do with it,” she says to you with a knowing, wicked grin. “You’re going to fantasize about how it would feel to take such a-”

“Trinity!” You slap your hand over her mouth. “If you bring up my crush on him one more time, I’m going to start paging you on every single bowel disimpaction that comes into the ER for the next six months. I’m working on getting over it!”

“Here’s what I’m proposing,” Trinity says seriously. She’s such a ringleader it’s not even funny. This is her circus and the rest of you are definitely her monkeys. “I say we all put in some money and the first person to get definitive proof that Dr. Robby’s packing gets the whole pool.”

“Absolutely not,” Mel says right away. She’s so serious that she shoves out of the on-call room and back to work. She never wants to play in the circus.

The rest of you stay put, though. Dennis mutters, “How much money?”

“This is high stakes,” Samira reasons. “A hundred each.”

“You’re only saying that because you have the best chances,” Victoria cuts in. “Dr. Abbot probably sees his dick every time they go to the gym together.”

“No outside interference,” Trinity adds immediately. “I like the sound of $100 each. That’s a pool of $500. Sounds pretty fair for the task at hand.”

Dennis wrinkles his eyebrows. “What if nobody does it?”

“Then we all lose out on $500.”

To a group of poor twenty-somethings, that’s pretty damn convincing.

“I’m definitely in,” Samira starts. If Trinity is the ringleader, Mohan’s the strongman. “Even if Jack can’t help, I’m smarter than the rest of you.”

Dennis punches her on the arm; he’s the group’s contortionist, always able to bend himself into ridiculous situations somehow. “Me too. I’m the only one with access to the men’s showers.”

You argue, “Then you should put up $150. That’s an unfair home field advantage.”

There’s a murmur of agreement from the other girls that makes Whitaker balk.

“Okay, yeah, I may also have a penis, but I have the distinct disadvantage of being scared shitless of Robby, unlike Samira and Santos.” Then he shoves an accusatory finger in your direction. “If anything, you have an advantage because Robby already wants to fuck you.”

You shove him in the chest. “He does not!”

“Ow, first of all.” He shakes his head and says, “How about we go no-holds-barred? Samira can use Abbot, I can use my Y chromosome, you can use your powers of seduction. Whatever.”

Victoria pouts. She’s the tightrope walker, always trying to balance the line of appropriate and otherwise. “And what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Psychological warfare,” Trinity suggests. “That’s what I’m planning.”

Samira offers, “Maybe just beg?”

“Jesus, fine,” Victoria sighs. “I’m in, I guess.”

All eyes turn in your direction. “How about you, Mrs. Robinavitch?”

And your role in this circus of idiot doctors? Well, you’re just the clown who’s been nursing a big fat crush on her attending for two years. The idea of seeing Dr. Robby naked is too appealing for you to resist. So you present your hand to the center of the circle and sigh, “I’m in.”

The bet gets out of hand right away, not that this sort of thing could ever be under control. The six of you – Mel’s invited mostly because she’s your roommate and already knows, though she’s made her disapproval patently clear – meet for beers after a long shift the following Friday. Samira clears her throat and breaks the silence, “Do any of you sure-to-be losers have anything to announce to the group?”

Trinity pulls out her phone and dramatically sighs. “Well, I really thought I had it. I made a Tinder profile of a very respectable, almost-age-appropriate lady and matched with him. Paid for the goddamn Super Like and everything.”

Victoria’s jaw detaches from her maxilla. “You catfished him?”

Trinity looks honestly offended. “Only a little!”

Dennis gawks. “Whose pictures did you use?”

“My mom’s.”

“Seriously?!” Even Samira’s in disbelief over that. “Did you at least tell her?”

“It’s not like she’ll ever find out,” Trinity reasons. “Her and my dad have been together since the Dark Ages. They’d never be on Tinder. And I used a fake name. She’s just the prettiest woman over 40 I know.”

“You’re fucked up for that,” Dennis says with an admonishing shake of his head. Then he sips his beer and presses, “So how did it go between Robby and your not mom? No luck?”

“Obvioulsy not,” she explains. “He told me in, like, the third message that he’s looking for something serious and would only have sex with someone he loves. Like, apropos of nothing. Old people are weird; I don’t get him at all.”

You swallow hard. “That’s sweet, though.”

She scrunches her nose. “Is it?”

Victoria giggles, about one cocktail too deep, “Would you rather find out our boss is a total man whore?”

“Actually, yeah,” Trinity laughs. “It’s kind of sad someone his age is still looking to settle down.”

“Hey,” you stop her, “that’s actually mean, Trin. Robby’s a good man and he deserves to be happy.”

“Sorry, forgot it’s rude to insult someone’s boyfriend right in front of them.”

Samira shakes her head and tuts then, feeling merciful on your behalf, “Poor showing, Santos. I expected better from our leader.”

“Give me another week.”

“Not if I beat you to it,” she replies with a grin. Then she nudges you with her elbow and says, “C’mon, Jack wants us to go to dinner with Robby.”

It’s not an unusual invitation – the four of you get dinner a few times a month – but tonight it catches the attention of everyone else. 

Dennis protests, only half joking, “Woah, woah, you can’t bring her if it’s going to turn into an orgy thing where she gets a quick shot at the win.”

As your cheeks turn pink, you argue, “I thought it was a no-holds-barred game, Whitaker. Your idea, remember?”

Samira gives you a conspiratorial look. “What do you say, babe, wanna go ask our boys to drop their pants in the middle of the restaurant?”

Pretending not to be as embarrassed as you are, you giggle, “I wouldn’t be opposed.”

“This is so unfair,” Dennis pouts.

“Start following him into the shower, then.” Samira smiles and links her arm with yours as you get ready to walk away. “Calm down; she’s always our go-to fourth wheel. No special advantage tonight.”

“Tonight, he did that thing where he touched my lower back when he opened the door for me,” you bemoan to Mel late that night, both sitting on her bed as you stare at your laptops. “Have you ever noticed how big his hands are?”

“Can’t say I have.”

You shut your laptop dramatically. “Seriously, how am I supposed to recover from that?”

Mel shrugs like she always does. “Ask him out.”

“I can’t. He’s my boss.”

“He’s probably waiting for you to do it,” she reasons. “It would be inappropriate for him to ask you, but not necessarily the other way around. Provided you aren’t asking in exchange for any benefits in the workplace.” Then she gives you a little mischievous grin that only you and Langon are ever privy to. “Benefits besides making out in on-call rooms, of course.”

The next series of attempts comes from Samira. She decides to use her one trump card, enlisting Jack’s help. He finds the whole thing hysterical because he’s a feral child just like his girlfriend, so he agrees. Trinity insists on adding a caveat to the rules: The picture has to be on the better’s phone, taken by the better, explicitly ruling out Jack’s involvement beyond being a co-conspirator. Samira agrees and insists it’ll be no problem.

So, for two weeks, every time Robby and Jack hang out, Samira comes up with excuses to tag along and shoot her shots. She goes to the gym with them and ‘accidentally’ walks into the men’s locker room on two separate occasions, both times catching Robby after the shower but with his towel already on.

On a Thursday night all have off, you’re unfortunate enough to witness one of the efforts firsthand. Samira invited you over to watch the Penguins game with her and Robby (since the two of you hate sports and she’ll be bored out of her mind otherwise).

After three beers, Robby excuses himself to the bathroom. Only fifteen seconds later, Samira stands up, gives a salute to you both, and whispers, “Wish me luck.”

Jack grins like the dumbass he is. “Good luck, honey.”

As she walks away, you shake your head and turn to him. “It doesn’t bother you that your girlfriend is obsessed with taking a picture of your best friend’s dick?”

“Nope,” he replies confidently. There’s a cool, clear ‘she knows what she has at home’ energy to the reply. Then he puts on a meddling smirk and akss, “Does it bother you that she’s going to see Robby’s dick before you get to when she wins?”

“Jack!” You toss a pillow at him hard, causing him to spill his beer slightly as he laughs. “Y’know, it’s hard enough dealing with the teasing from the other residents. I don’t need it from you.”

“Hey, I have to listen to Robby going on and on about you all the time; it’s not easy for me, either.”

Your eyes widen into planets, but before you can ask the million clarifying questions you need to, Samira’s back, wearing a disappointed grimace. Looking solemn, she glances between you and Jack and shakes her head. “No dice.”

She tucks under Jack’s arm and he kisses her forehead. “You’ll get him next time, slugger.”

Robby emerges from the bathroom two minutes later with his face tomato red, unable to look Samira in the eyes as he takes his spot next to you once more. He mutters, “I miss anything important?”

“I wouldn’t know,” you reply honestly. Pitying his blush, you touch his thigh and ask, “Can I get you another beer?”

“Please.”

Trinity shakes her head in disappointment once Samira recounts her latest attempt in a line of failures. The three of you and Javadi are at the nurse’s station during shift change, making sure charts are in order as the night shift begins to filter in. Trinity sighs, “Maybe I should just pants him. Say it’s a prank or something.”

You snicker, “That would definitely get you sent straight to HR.”

Victoria puts her head in her hands; she hasn’t even come up with a plan yet and it’s getting to her. “This whole thing is going to get us all sent to HR.”

“Not if you never try anything,” Trinity replies.

Victoria glares. “You’re just trying to get me to back down so you get the money.”

Trinity raises her hands and laughs. “Guilty.”

Out of the corner of your eye, Robby’s tugging off his trauma gown with a frown on his lips. He’s splatterned in blood, enough that it’s gone between his mask and gloves and gown. He’ll need a shower. From across the ED, the four of you watch as Dennis rushes through a patient handover and hustles down the hall. Shooting a knowing look over his shoulder at the four of you, Dennis follows Robby into the showers.

You whisper, “Oh, god.”

“I’m gonna miss the little guy,” Trinity says seriously, shaking her head, “especially his share of the rent.”

Victoria sighs, “He made the best coffee.”

When you’re all finished and ready to leave, you and the other girls wait for Dennis by the Pitt’s doors, trying to be inconspicuous as you await his status report.

Dennis emerges, walking fast, expecting you all to meet his brisk pace. You have to practically jog to keep up until you’re a block from the hospital, well out of ear shot of anyone else. Finally, he stops abruptly and swings around to scan his periphery. His eyes are trained on his shoes. He hisses, “Rumor confirmed. Huge.”

Your cheeks burn; blush is becoming a constant state for you thanks to this stupid bet. Trinity’s mouth falls open and she shoves his shoulder hard. “Show us!”

“I didn’t get a picture.”

The whole group groans in disappointment (besides Mel, who sounds relieved). Victoria puts her hand on her hips. “Then you didn’t confirm anything. You could be lying.”

“No way I went through that mortification for nothing. I saw it.”

“Doesn’t count, Dennis,” Trinity replies with an unsympathetic shrug. “We’re talking about $500 here. Hard proof you can share with the class or nothing.”

He frowns and offers, “I can tell you that it’s the size of my goddamn forearm and he has a birthmark the size of a quarter on his hip; that doesn’t count for anything?”

Samira claps him on the back and suppresses her laugh. “You’ll have to try again, Whitaker.”

You aren’t really planning on participating. No matter how much you get annoyed at the amount of crap you get for it, you really do like Robby. In fact, it’s a lot past ‘like.’ It’s love. He’s the person you go to for advice, for jokes, for reassurance. For silence. He’s the first person you text in the morning and the last at night. You don’t know exactly how or when it happened, but you gradually went from ‘Robby’s favorite resident’ to ‘Robby’s favorite person’ over the last few years. And that relationship, whatever it is, matters a hell of a lot to you. You don’t want to damage it, even over that much money.

And then your bank account goes into the negative.

You’d run the numbers wrong on your budget for the month, a handful of bills come through at once, and suddenly you’re staring back at a deficit of more than a hundred dollars. All of a sudden, the $500 your stupid-ass friends have been dangling like a carrot in front of your nose has some real appeal.

You know that, for you, there’s really only one option. You could never, in a million years, get away with any of the sneakiness the rest of them are trying. And, yeah, sure, maybe you could go for seduction the way that everyone is prodding for you to. But you’re way too ashamed to do that for a whole host of reasons.

All you can possibly do is beg.

So you spend the whole day screwing up your courage to nut up and ask. You can’t even look at Robby while you work, terrified of the possible outcomes that could roll out in front of you. Of course, there’s the obvious: A visit to HR, fired, tarred and feathered, stripped of your medical future. Most likely, he’ll be mortified and your friendship will be ruined. Possibly, he’ll be flustered and embarrassed and never speak to you again.

Then, worst of all, there’s the idea that this might start something between the two of you. Something you’ve been dancing around for a very, very long time. Something hot and true and real.

What the hell would you do then?

Robby notices. Because of course he notices. He leaves you alone at first, hoping you’ll just corner him and ask whatever it is you’re stewing on. Then he starts avoiding you, too, because he’s wracking his brain for what he must’ve done wrong for you to be like this. He’d made a joke about pandas that hadn’t landed yesterday, but that couldn’t be it. Could it? Maybe it was how he corrected you when you set that broken nose first thing this morning. He hadn’t had his coffee yet. No. You never made a thing about work stuff.

Finally, when he sees you slip into the locker room at the end of your shift, he can’t take it anymore. After a deep breath, he closes the space between you, touches your lower back, and leans in close. “Can we talk for a second?”

You jolt back from him and stare up into his eyes. Shit, you always forget how tall he is when he isn’t doing that thing where he shrinks down to make others more comfortable. “Um, yeah. Is- What’s, ah, what’s up, Robinavitch?”

Robby scowls. “‘Robinavitch’? I don’t think you’ve ever called me that before.”

“First time for everything.” You grimace, shifting from foot to foot, and snatch your backpack from your locker. “Can we, ah, go somewhere else?”

There are a ton of emotions flashing through his eyes. Concern, curiosity, nerves. But all he says is, “Yeah, of course.”

Robby leads you across the Pitt to his office, which is totally barren except for a stack of paperwork on the desk that he clearly has no intention of doing. He flips on the light, draws the blinds, and turns to you seriously. “Alright, sweetheart, what the hell is going on? You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

You stick close to the door and stare up at the ceiling tiles, wringing your hands. “Look. Okay. This is gonna be so horrifying, alright? So just…just don’t make fun of me too much. You can make fun of me a little, but not that much, because if you make too much of a thing of it I’m never gonna be able to look you in the eye again and-”

“Woah, hey, it’s alright.” Robby reaches out and touches your elbow, stepping closer to you until you look up at him. He cups your face with one of his agonizingly large hands and you’re so embarrassed it’s unbelievable. “Whatever it is, you can trust me.”

“God, please don’t be sincere,” you whine. “You can’t be sweet, sincere, cow-eyed, gorgeous Robby right now, okay? Because I’ll have to go jump off the roof if you look like you care about me when I’m about to say something as stupid as what I’m about to say.”

Carefully, he replies, “But I do care about you.”

“Okay. Fuck. Here goes.” You duck your head, lower your voice, and absolutely ramble out, “Trinity found your Tinder profile a few weeks ago and in one of the pictures it sort of looks like we can see the outline of your dick and she said it looked really big so then we all made a bet to see who could get a picture of it to prove that you’re, um, well-endowed, and we all put in a hundred dollars as a pool for the winner and I know- I know it’s so stupid and so, so wrong, but I could really use that kind of money but more importantly I definitely can’t afford to lose a hundred dollars right now because my bank account is overdrafted which is also mortifying in and of itself to tell you because you really shouldn’t be concerned with my financial wellbeing but the fact of the matter is that I-”

“Wait, wait,” he cuts you off, “you’re telling me that’s what’s been going on the past few weeks? My subordinates have been conspiring to see my dick?”

Reaching a new shade of effervescent pink as yet undiscovered by man, you squeak out, “Yes.”

And then he starts laughing. As you blush so hard that your entire body is burning, he absolutely cracks up – to the point that he’s hiccuping, tears falling, grabbing his stomach. Doubled over, Robby wheezes, “Christ, I was starting to worry I’d have to give Whitaker a talk about how nobody will judge him if he’s gay because he keeps ending up in the shower the same time as me and then running away when he realizes I’m naked. And I’ve been terrified that Jack and Mohan might be planning to invite me for a threesome the way she’s been loitering around me. Thank god.”

Shaky relief floods your body and you mutter. “That…wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I actually don’t know.”

After wiping an amused tear from his cheek, Robby reaches out his hand and commands, “Alright, slugger, give me your phone.”

Shocked out of your mind, you reach into your pocket and present it wordlessly. When you see that he’s going for his waistband, you turn around and cover your eyes like his dick might bite you.

Robby laughs again, this time at your obvious nerves. Not discomfort, though. Nerves. He chuckles, “You don’t get extra money for seeing it in person?”

Gnawing off your lower lip, you whimper, forgetting about the rules in the heat of the moment, “Nope.”

“I’m decent now.” When you turn back, he hands off the phone, screen still open. “Go get your money. Buy me a drink or something as my share of the spoils.”

Then you look at your phone. The syllable falls out before you can stop it. Shocked, breathless. Undeniably turned on. “Oh.”

You stare down at the picture with wide eyes. Your pupils dilate, your throat goes dry, and you can’t deny that heat and wetness collecting between your legs. Yeah, that’s a big fucking cock. Even soft, it has to be eight inches – but, like, real inches, not fantasy porn inches. And thick. Dennis may not have been far off base with his forearm comparison, given that he’s beanbole skinny. That whole ‘thick as a beer can’ thing you’ve read in tons of smut suddenly seems possible if Robby can get even thicker than that when he’s hard.

Jesus Christ.

Yeah, your dildo definitely doesn’t compare to the real thing, no matter how much you’ve fantasized about it while using your toys.

Robby’s amused voice is a little rougher when he asks, “What was that, sweetheart?”

Your head snaps upward hard enough that you hope your neck will break and kill you. “Please don’t tell me I just said that out loud.”

Robby cages you against the door between his forearms. “You definitely did.”

Your eyes fall to his lips. “Robby, I-”

He presses your bodies together. Your chest on his chest. Your thigh slotted between his. The smirk he’s wearing is so hot you start to melt underneath it. You might have a picture of his dick, but he’s holding all the cards. Shit, you can feel his cock through his scrubs against your thigh. He’s not even hard and you can feel how big he is. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You’re done. You’re through. Stop the timer, pull the plug, call in the guard.

He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to make eye contact. With you unable to speak, Robby teases, “You what? C’mon, gorgeous, use your words.”

All you can do is whimper.

The sound you make is downright pathetic, but it only encourages Robby. His breath brushes your lips and it feels like he can see your heart beating in your neck. Then he presses his lips to the curve of your ear and murmurs, “God, I’m gonna have so much fun wrecking you.”

It takes you forty five seconds to breathe again. Finally, with Robby pulling back enough to allow you to think, you mutter, “Mel’s outside waiting for me to walk home with her.”

“Of course.” He pulls back the rest of the way, taking a deep breath. When he shakes his head, it’s almost in disbelief – and you realize he wants you. He presses a soft, knowing kiss to your forehead, strokes your cheek with his thumb, and says, “I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

And he unlocks the door behind you with his arm still around you, the sound shaking you from the stupor of his presence.

After practically sprinting to the hospital exit, you find Mel waiting in your usual spot under an overgrown oak. Gripping her arm hard, you whisper, “I’ve got the picture.”

Her eyes pop out of her head. “What?! Seriously?”

“Yes.”

You start walking, harsh and fast, toward your neighborhood, needing to do something to get this crazy energy out of your body.

She hustles to keep up with your pace. “How?!”

“I told him the truth.”

She squeals like a gossipping cheerleader. “And he took his…manhood out for you?”

“I turned around. He took the picture.”

“Wow. He must really be into you.” Then, catching your elbow to slow your walking, she lowers her voice and asks, “Are you going to send it to everyone?”

“I- I’m not sure.” You roll your eyes and groan, “He was going to kiss me. After I told him. After he took the picture. He said- he basically said that he thinks about me, y’know, like that. So now sending it to the group chat feels like sending  – god dammit – it feels like sending my boyfriend’s nudes, okay? You were right.”

She gives a self-satisfied smirk. “I usually am.”

“But I really need that money, Mel. Like ‘won’t be able to pay my share of the rent’ need it.”

“Ask Dr. Robby for it.” She needles with a cute grin, “Clearly he’ll do anything for you.” At the entrance to your building, she pauses. “Seriously, though, you shouldn’t.”

“He told me I could.”

“Still.”

“I have to think about it.”

“Okay, I guess.”

The six of you sit side-by-side like kids in the principal’s office, cramped into the small office high up in the hospital’s tower. There’s an HR rep across the desk. Robby and Jack are standing behind her, trying really hard not to laugh at your dejected expressions. You can’t blame Mel for snitching about the bet, not when you’d ended up mortified and crying and confused in her arms after the whatever the hell that was with Robby last night. The moment you’d reached your apartment, it all washed over you and turned into a full breakdown of ‘what the fuck.’

When the rep finishes going through what feels like a prosecutorial rundown of charges, she asks over her shoulder, “Dr. Robinavitch, do you feel safe continuing to work with them?”

He outright laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. To him, this whole thing is a ridiculous inconvenience. “Yes. God knows I’ve participated in my fair share of similar betting pools downstairs.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” she groans, already having nightmares about an avalanche of paperwork. She turns back to look at the rest of you. “Doctors, do you understand this was a massive violation of Dr. Robinavitch’s privacy?”

You nod solemnly, tears biting at your eyes. You’ve never been in trouble like this before and you absolutely hate the feeling of it in your gut. “I completely understand. I’m so, so sorry.”

Everyone echoes something similar – except Trinity.

The HR rep picks up on it. She presses, “Dr. Santos?”

It’s not her first time getting a talking to about a bet placed with colleagues. So she scoffs. “Yeah, I guess. But it’s not like Robby hasn’t done the same kind of shit.”

“Again, pretending we didn’t say that.” The rep pinches the bridge of her nose and shuts her eyes, breathing deeply for a minute. “Obviously, there will have to be consequences. We can’t send the message that this hospital doesn’t care about sexual harassment.”

Dr. Abbot lets out a harsh laugh. “Sexual harassment?”

She turns around and glares. “How else would you describe coworkers trying to take naked pictures of someone?”

“Well, yeah, I guess, but the ED always has this kind of thing happ-”

She cuts him off with a raised hand. “I am begging you all to stop talking before I have to call in Gloria to deal with this mess.”

That shuts everyone up.

For organizing the whole thing, Trinity gets placed on administrative leave without pay for a week, which she grumbles about before realizing she can go on an impromptu vacation. Because of the whole locker room incident, Dennis gets three days without pay. After the gym situation, Samira and Jack earn the same, which doesn’t really seem like a punishment considering they’re shacked up together. Since you at least asked for his consent, you have two days without pay. Because Victoria was too scared to even try, she gets sent home early with a warning. Mel, of course, gets off home free – although she gets put on night shift since they’ll be down Dr. Abbot.

“Are you mad at me?”

After shoving another handful of chocolate into your mouth, you shush Mel and turn up the volume on Bridget Jones Diary. “For the last time, no.”

Not convinced, she reminds you, “The only reason I told HR is because I didn’t want you showing your future boyfriend’s dick off to everyone in the hospital. You’d regret it.”

“I know, Mel,” you reply. It’s been 24 hours and you’ve had sufficient time to fight with her about the whole situation. “Seriously, I’m not mad. I get you, okay? I know you were trying to protect me in your own way. But I will be mad if you talk over the tarts and vicars party. We need to finish this before you leave for your shift.”

Accepting it (you know she’ll ask again soon), Mel reaches into your shared snack bowl and relents, “Okay, okay.”

Right when Colin Firth is about to announce that he likes Renée Zellweger just as she is, there’s a knock on your apartment door. You both ignore it, assuming it’s a package delivery, but a second knock a minute later takes you by surprise. Cutting a look over to Mel, you ask, “Did you get food or something?”

Her eyebrows knit together. “I figured you did.”

“I’ll check it,” you say, unfurling from the blankets and setting the snacks on the coffee table. In your knee-high socks, skimpy pajama shorts, and bralette, you joke, “Hopefully it’s the Mormons again and seeing my exposed skin will send them into a crisis of faith.”

Mel’s laughing until you open the door. Then she mutters something like ‘please Jesus no’ and looks like she’s debating taking the fire escape.

Robby looks really good in casual clothes. The jeans make his thighs look gigantic and, fuck, have his shoulders always been that goddamn broad? The white tee and – Jesus Christ, really? – leather jacket have him looking like a greaser, like one curl should be on his forehead, like you should be dropping to your knees and-

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You try to return your eye contact to an appropriate area and can’t find it in you. You’re obsessed with his arms. The way he’s leaning in your door frame, one hand above his head, elbow against the wood, has his trap bulging into his bicep and then down toward his veiny forearm and- Fuck. And his chest. His chest. Christ alive. His pecs. It’s only when you shut your eyes that you’re able to stammer out, “What are you- I’m, ah- Hi, Robby.”

He touches your cheek to get you to open your eyes. “I’d like it if you started calling me Michael.”

You try out the taste of that on your tongue. “Michael. Alright.”

He smiles at that. You love the way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. “Mind if I come in? Or did you want to keep ogling my tits for a while?”

You startle backwards a few steps and awkwardly gesture to the apartment. “Sorry, ah, yes, of course, come on in.”

When he sees Mel on the couch, he bristles. It’s comforting to see his ridiculous confidence waver for even a second. “You live with Dr. King.”

“I do.”

“Right. I knew that.” He puts on an almost-professional smile and waves, “Hi, Mel.”

She holds the blanket tight around her neck like she’s naked underneath. “Hello, Dr. Robinavitch.”

You give her a wide-eyed, impatient look at her to break her bewilderment and hiss, “Mel, don’t you need to get ready for your shift?”

She scrambles upward, still clinging to the blanket. “Yes, yeah, ah, right, yeah. I’ll, um, I’ll leave you two alone. Out here. And then I’ll be leaving. For the night. Yup.”

Mel disappears into her bedroom, careful to cover her body every step of the way as if Robby would be phased by seeing her in sweats and a sports bra. As if his attention isn’t fixed squarely on you.

Robby’s eyes skate over your body and you’re suddenly agonizingly aware of how little you’re wearing. He smirks again. Fuck that smirk. “I’m a big fan of your outfit.”

You cross your arms over your chest and then stretch your arms out to cover your stomach and then realize that makes your cleavage worse and cross your arms again. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

Robby takes your hands in his to stop you trying to hide from him. He kisses your hand and you’re swooning. You didn’t even know what that felt like until now. “I told you I’d see you, didn’t I?”

“That was before our collective scolding.”

“Well, I’m a man of my word.” His hand goes to your neck, holding the back of your head and pressing his thumb over your pulse at once. His hands are so big. Your brain is cloudy with desire and then he makes it so much worse by saying, “I said I wanted to wreck you. I’m here to make good on that.”

Mel emerges from her bedroom in her scrubs and fleece jacket, eyes trained on the floor and cheeks red. She rushes past Robby, who takes half a step back from you. Snatching her keys from the hall table, she announces in an unnaturally high pitch, “Well, it’s time for my shift. See you both, um, later!”

Then she’s gone – forty five minutes early. And there’s a locked door between you, Robby, and the rest of the world.

You’re frozen and Robby thinks it’s too adorable not to take advantage of. He jumps right in, stepping close to put his hands on the slope of your waist, thumb on ribcage and pinkies on your hips, and asks, “So, what’d all your friends think about my dick pic? Sufficiently impressed?”

You bite your lower lip, not yet able to look at him, and admit in a hushed tone, “I didn’t send it to them.”

Robby tilts your chin up and searches your face. “Why not?”

“You know already.”

He leans in close, breath mixing with yours, foreheads touching, and replies, “I need to hear you say it.”

Your lip twitches up into a smirk. He’s as desperate for you as you are for him. That feels fucking good. Finally, you make eye contact – and he’s shocked by the intensity in your expression. He’s never seen you looking possessive. Blood rushes to his cock. You press a hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat drum against your palm, and say, “I didn’t send it because you’re mine, Michael. And I don’t want anyone else seeing what’s mine.”

The grin that spreads over Robby’s features is heart-fluttering, slow and certain and reaching the corners of his eyes. “I’m yours, huh?”

A tiny bit tentative, you whisper, “If you want me.”

Robby laughs, “If I want you?”

You’d expected your first kiss with Robby to be hungry. For your mutual, long-suffering want to explode over each other and turn into shedding clothes and falling into something frantic and intense, chasing pleasure and needing like nothing else.

But it’s not.

Robby takes a deep breath first, like he needs to gather up his courage to actually press his lips to yours despite all his bravado. Then he gives his head a little shake, laughs softly, and leans in. Both of you are gentle, even as you step up onto your toes to deepen it, even as his slightly shaking hand presses up into the curve of your spine to pull you up closer, even as you let out a breathy moan. It’s a caress more than a claim, an exploration more than an ecstasy, a feather more than a fire.

“I want you the way I want oxygen,” Robby breathes into the wide quiet space after your lips part. He kisses you so softly again and, like he might cry, whispers, “I love you.”

It’s your turn to smile – slow, disbelieving, adoring. “You love me? Really?”

He scoffs and holds you close, eye contact so sweet, “I love you so much I can’t think straight when you’re not on shift with me. I love you so much it makes me outright stupid. It would embarrass me, how much I love you, but it doesn’t because every once in a while you look at me like you might love me too and those moments make my whole life worth living.”

Knees weak and heart thudding, you whimper, “Michael.”

This time, the kiss is what you’d expected. You’re biting his lip and rucking up his shirt and shoving him toward your bedroom while he’s chuckling into your mouth at your obvious and unashamed desire, keeping you balanced, matching your energy as he opens up the door and lets himself be shoved back onto your bed. You situate yourself in his lap and practically rip his jacket off so you can finally sink your teeth into his ridiculously gorgeous arms.

Robby pulls in a sharp breath when you suck a harsh mark into the sensitive hollow of his collarbone, dragging the bruise up his neck with unrelenting suction. “Planning on getting me sent to HR our first day back as a couple?”

You pull off of him and catch your breath. Carefully, you run your thumb over his hand and reply, “Yeah, actually. I wanna do this right. HR, paperwork, the whole thing.”

Robby, smiling a tiny bit, asks, “You’re not worried about what everyone’s going to think?”

“Who cares?” You shrug and tell him, “All the other residents have been telling me to ask you out since we started. Even Jack wants us to get together. We’ve been working together while eye-fucking for two years; I don’t think much’ll change.”

“Except how close the administration’s gonna be watching you,” he replies. “I don’t want you to regret-”

You cross your arms over your chest and say, “Michael David Robinavitch, if you’re seriously interrupting our first time together to talk about the boring logistical details of our relationship, I’m going to break up with you.”

“Right, priorities,” he agrees, hands travelling up to your bralette. “Let’s focus on getting you naked.”

“That’s more like it, cap.”

“First, though,” he says softly, pleading, “I want you to say it back.”

It’s as easy as a heartbeat. You kiss him again and murmur against his lips, “I love you.” You drag your bralette up and over your body, leaving you bare-chested and blushing. As Michael’s black eyes devour the sight, you repeat, “I love you.” Then you slip off his lap, lay back on the bed, and coax him to come with, caging you between his strong arms. Before he can descend and devour, you tilt your face upward, kiss him gently, and say one more time, “I love you.”

Robby shoves his hand into your pajama shorts with no hesitation or pretense, wanting to feel you so bad he doesn’t even bother taking the clothes off first. As his fingers part your lips, dragging slickness up to your clit, he groans delightedly, “Fuck, you’re soaked.”

With a soft moan, you explain, “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

You shimmy to push your shorts off, kicking them away. Robby roughly shoves your legs apart right away. He’s reluctant to remove his fingers, but he’s devastatingly hungry for your pussy on his tongue. He moves to the end of your bed and, just to make you shriek out a laugh, grabs you by the ankles and yanks you down, the fabric of your comforter turning into a sled toward his body. Then he smiles wide, shakes his head in disbelief, and praises, “You’re so gorgeous it’s almost offensive.”

You roll your eyes and fail to suppress a sweet, shy smile. “Thank you.”

Then he drops to his knees, muttering something about getting down to business. Reverently, he kisses and licks your inner thighs, going between sucking marks on your skin and soothing them with his tongue. Once he’s got you squirming and silently begging, he inhales your scent deeply, hovers close to your drenched sex, and groans, “I’ve been wondering how you taste for years. Can’t believe I finally get to find out.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

He grins and ghosts the breath of his words across your clit, “And I bet you taste like heaven.”

The moment his tongue makes contact, you both moan. His vibrates up your spine, turning yours into more of a breathy gasp. He latches onto your clit, then, refusing to tease when he finally has exactly what he wants. Propped up on your elbows, you watch as he greedily devours you, eyes closed and face relaxed with rapture. You’ve never seen him look so stress-free. Like your pussy’s the one thing in the world that can silence his racing mind.

He might not admit it out loud, but that’s the truth. Your tartness on his tongue has his cock leaking through his boxers. He’s rutting against your mattress like a horny dog, imagining how ridiculously good it’s going to be to finally slip his cock inside of you. That dizzying goal combined with the perfection of your taste has him dialed in, focused on your pleasure more than he focuses on most procedures.

He curls one finger slowly inside of you, thrilled out of his fucking mind when you groan louder and buck your hips against his mouth for more. His hands are huge and they’ve always been an object of your secret lust. When he adds a second finger, there’s a slight sting, but it’s quickly eased by his tongue lapping at your clit, flat and confident and accompanied by rhythmic gentle sucking. The pace he sets is indulgent, the first course in a long meal he wants to savor every morsel of.

When Robby feels your orgasm starting to tighten, he slows down. Teases it out. His fingers turn from curling to massaging, firm and insistent against your G-spot like only a doctor could. He makes sure to spread them wide, scissoring them, letting your muscles clamp and stretch. When your wetness soaks into his beard, he finally pulls off, just lightly kissing your inner thighs and breathing you in.

Orgasm-hazy and needy, you manage to stammer out, “I have an IUD, by the way.”

He looks up from between your legs with a mischievously raised eyebrow. Fuck, hes so handsome with his lips all shiny from spit and wetness. “Are you trying to tell me to fuck you raw?”

After a second, you nod bashfully.

“That’s very good to know, kitten,” he praises warmly. Then he pushes his fingers back inside you and moves his mouth down toward your clit again.

Sounding whinier than you’ve ever heard yourself, you demand, “Michael, please, just fuck me. Need you.”

He kisses your clit tenderly, like he’s greeting an old friend, and tells you, sternly and with no room for debate, “I’ll fuck you when I’ve got you taking three of my fingers. You’ve gotta cum one more time.”

You thrash against his hand and groan, “Christ, I want you so bad. I can take it. I swear I can.”

Still curling his first two fingers back toward himself, he gives you a look so perfectly condescending it makes you clench around him. “Trust me, baby, I love your enthusiasm, and it’s taking a hell of a lot of effort to resist you, but I’ve had this dick long enough to know you need to be good and ready.” He kisses your inner thigh and presses his thumb to your clit, which starts to make your thoughts evaporate again. Then he assures you, “I promise I’m gonna fuck you so hard and so deep that you’re gonna forget anyone else has ever fucked you before. Got it?”

You stretch your arms up behind your head and sigh dreamily, “I guess I shouldn’t complain about having a boyfriend who insists on making me cum twice before he puts his dick in me.”

“Twice when I’m feeling selfish,” he corrects seriously. “This is me rushing to get inside of you. When I’m taking my time, I’ll get four or five out of you first – bring out some toys when my fingers get tired – so you’ll be gushing wet and making the dumbest little noises for me. Turn off that big beautiful brain of yours.”

“You say that like it’s a promise.”

“It is.”

And then he’s back to eating your pussy. You’re still so sensitive from your last orgasm that he goes agonizingly gently, just using the tip of his tongue light as a feather to tease you. He holds you tight to his face by the hips so you can’t squirm away, no matter how much the overwhelming pleasure makes you thrash against the mattress. It’s his fingers that keep you grounded to reality, sloppy wet and firm and knowing. It’s like the beginning of your residency when he guided you through everything slow and steady, paying special attention to you and your potential. He holds your pleasure in his hands with expert precision.

Your orgasm slams through you as soon as he adds the third finger, stretching you comfortably open and pushing you forward. He’s holding you up now, your legs on his shoulders as your back arches away from him and your hands try to find anywhere they can get purchase, tugging his hair and beard and scratching his shoulders as your thighs spasm and ache. Your moans are high and stupid, thoughtless as ecstasy spreads out in front of you.

But Robby doesn’t let up, fingers branding into your hips as his other hand keeps working you open through the brutal aftershocks. The brush of his beard against your sensitive flesh has you seeing stars. Tears sting at your waterline and his lips wrap around your clit harder than ever, refusing to give you any relief from the lingering orgasm that’s bordering on painful now. It’s only when your moans turn to gasps and your tears actually crest over onto your cheeks that he detaches.

Robby blows cool air on your pussy and rubs his thumbs tenderly over your outer thigh as he slowly withdraws his fingers. Your whole body shudders from the stimulation and you feel so fucking good it’s like you’re high on the drug of your newly minted boyfriend.

He gradually kisses up your hip, over your stomach, between your breasts, and then finally along your neck to your lips, where he softly sucks your lower lip and praises, “Good job, angel. You ready or can I bring you water or something?”

You kiss him back for a minute, lapping up the taste of yourself on his mouth. He still has his pants on but you can feel that his cock is agonizingly hard and straining against them. So you press your forehead to his, take a deep breath, and nod seriously. “I need you to fuck me.”

Robby grins, pupils dilating and heart slamming. “You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined you saying that.”

“Probably about as many times as I’ve used a dildo and been disappointed it’s not your cock.” At your response, Robby laughs as he steps off the bed, rummaging through his discarded jacket. He pulls a small bottle of lube from one of the pockets and it makes you snicker. “You were that certain I’d fuck you?”

“Yeah, pretty damn sure.” Then he ditches the small talk, moving back to the edge of the bed like a lion and shoving your legs apart again. He uncaps the bottle and trains his gaze between your thighs. “There’s my greedy pussy. So pretty for me clenching around nothing. Fucking begging.” He squirts cold lube on your hot, overstimulated cunt and you hiss in a sharp breath that makes him chuckle darkly with arousal. “So sensitive, too. Fuck, you’re perfect. Need my cock, don’t you?”

You’re such a sniveling mess that you can’t even respond, just chasing your hips toward his cock to silently beg.

“Shh, shh,” he soothes, stilling your hip with his hand and spreading your legs as wide as they can possibly go. He lines up the head of his cock with your weeping entrance, taking a second to memorize the image as he murmurs,  “Gonna take care of you, sweet girl. Don’t you worry. Just breathe for me.”

No amount of preparation could prepare you for the size of his cock. It doesn’t hurt because you’re ridiculously wet and he took his damn time, but the stretch is immense. Like sinking deeper into a yoga pose that makes you groan and curl your toes. A release. Your head snaps backwards and sweat beads on your forehead as he slowly, carefully, lovingly thrusts inside.

Robby touches your cheek and makes sure, “Is this okay? Not too much?”

You gaze up at him with eyes so full of love and lust Robby’s half-sheathed cock twitches inside the heat of your body. Unable to come up with anything else, you just whisper, “Perfect.”

Robby smirks and nods. He’d tell you how you fit him like a glove, how your wetness and tightness has him on the edge already, how you’re everything, but if he opened his mouth right now the string of high-pitched moans would be absolutely pathetic. So he leans down to kiss you, pushing your legs further back and up so he can fit himself between your hips. As his lips meet yours, you moan into the kiss, toes curling as his cock finally reaches into you as deep as he can, maybe three quarters of him piercing you.

Robby gradually draws his cock back and pushes forward again. With a trembling breath and a burning kiss, he groans, “God, you feel fucking incredible.”

Breathing hard, you grip his hair and nestle into the crook of his neck and cry, “So good, Michael. Your cock’s amazing. Like you were made for me. Feels incredible.”

His whole body shudders with pleasure and delight. “You can’t say things like that, baby.”

“Why not?”

He scoffs, one hand going down to play with your pebbled nipple. “I’d like to fuck you more than thirty seconds before I cum prematurely.”

That makes you bite your lower lip and eye him carefully. You file away ‘Robby totally has a praise kink’ for another day because you can’t put any coherent thoughts together as he manages to get deeper and deeper inside of you with every thrust. You didn’t even know your body could feel like this – loose, warm, brilliantly full. If he pulled out, you’d feel incomplete somehow. He’s christening a new version of you to the point that you’re starting to understand that whole ‘ruining you for other men’ thing. His cock is everything. It’s divine and electric at once, a symphony strumming from your cunt up your abdomen, rooted by his greedy hands on your tits and his mouth worshipping along your neck and collarbones.

Then he drops his thumb down to your clit.

You’re sparking toward another orgasm before you can even process the gesture. He grins into your neck as your back arches and your cunt clamps down. With your walls stretched so taut, each pulse of your pussy is sharp as a rubber band snapping, intense and vibrant. When you cum, you lose any control over your body, becoming something primal and raw and animal. Fingers digging into his flesh. Teeth sharp and violent over his shoulders. Legs locked around his ass. There aren’t any thoughts but the drunkenness of his touch, his body pressing down on yours, his claiming grasp everywhere. 

As you shatter into aftershocks, overstimulating and delicious, you’re being so loud, moans and slapping skin and gushing cunt, that Robby probably should slow his fucking or muffle your mouth, but he’s addicted to the sounds. It’s the litany of music from your body that has his balls tightening and him grunting, “Where do you want it?”

All you can do is tighten your thighs around him and stare up with lust-ridden eyes, whining almost constantly, a silent plea for what you want.

Robby holds your face by the jaw, keeping you trained forward to look right at him despite how glassy and dazed your expression is. “If you want me to cum inside of you, you’re gonna have to ask nicely.”

You nod slowly, trying to come up with words when your thoughts are sex-fueled molasses. It takes another few seconds for you to come up with one idea that rings true enough to break through the fog: “I’m yours, Michael. Please.”

“That’s right,” he growls, hands around your ankles to keep you in the mating press as he shoves deep inside of you, cum bursting forward. You watch, rapt, as his mouth falls open into a precious little O and his eyes pinch tight and his right hand smashes back onto the wall to keep him upright. “Fuck. Fuck.” He falls forward and kisses you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance: Desperate and owning. His voice is broken and raspy. “God, I love you. I can’t believe you’re finally mine.”

You just whimper into his neck, wrapping your arms around him and easing your legs down as much as they can with his body still between them. Not so subtly kissing and licking his sweat, you murmur sweetly, “Love you, Michael. Will you stay the night?”

“Of course,” he replies easily. “Stay here; let me get you cleaned up and comfortable. Is it alright if I rummage around to get you something to drink too?”

You nod and hum happily, “You’re an angel.”

After pressing a few more kisses to your lips and cheeks and forehead, Robby stands up, stretches out his arms, chuckles to himself, and disappears into your kitchen and then your adjacent bathroom. You drift contentedly in the blissed-out cloud of your brain, eyes gently closed and limbs heavy, until he returns. You barely notice his presence until you feel a cool washcloth wiping the beading sweat from your forehead and chest and then trailing down between your legs. Robby listens to your heavy, even, satisfied breaths as he works, switching to massaging the bruises his rough hands have left over your hips and his greedy mouth left along your thighs.

Finally, he sits next to you on the bed and softly rubs your shoulder. “Drink some of this for me.”

“Mmm.”

You barely open your eyes as you take the chilled blue Gatorade from him, chugging down half of it before offering it back so that he can drink it too. Then he gives you a tangy bright kiss and says, “C’mon, I’m pretty sure it’s bedtime.”

With a big stretch of your arms over your head, you swing your legs off the bed, kiss him hard, and stand. He slips back into the bathroom as you grab a pair of shorts and tank top to put on after you’ve showered or at least cleaned up some.

“Jesus, sweetheart, you’ve got me looking like I went ten rounds with a boxer,” he whistles low from the bathroom. “You’re awfully cute for a vampire, you know that?”

“I’m sure the marks aren’t that bad,” you reply with an eye roll, joining him through the doorway. Under the real lights, though, you realize with horror that you’ve not only given him hickeys and bruises but you’ve broken his skin in more than one place – both with your teeth and with your nails. There are mean bites all around his neck and down his shoulders, scratches over his arms and upper back, beads of blood mingling among the marks. Tears spring up into your eyes when you realize you’ve caused him pain that he’s going to be carrying around for a week or more. “Oh my god, Michael, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Sorry?” He turns toward you with an adorably furrowed brow. “What in the ever living fuck are you sorry about?”

You rummage around the bathroom drawers for your first aid kit and sniffle, “I really hurt you.”

“Baby, baby, stop.” Robby snatches you back by the hips and pulls you up. “I’m gonna wear these as a badge of honor. You have any idea how good it feels to fuck a good girl so well she turns feral?”

You pout your lip as you try to suppress your smile. “At least let me look them over. Apply some topical antibiotics and bandaids.”

“I can take care of myself, sweetheart, they gave me a whole degree in topical antibiotics and bandaids,” he chuckles. “And you’re gonna have to get used to it. Now that I know how crazy you get, I fully expect to get these marks touched up more nights than not.”

“Michael,” you protest half-heartedly as he kisses you deeply, “the human mouth is a hotbed for for infections.”

He doesn’t stop smiling, though, tugging you into his body by the waist, his cock debating coming to light against your thigh. “Yeah, baby, I noticed your mouth is fucking filthy.”

“Robby, I’m serious, we need to clean the wound sites or-”

“Ohohoh,” he teases, “if you wanted to shower together, you could’ve just said that.”

You hum as you flip pancakes, pajamas hanging loosely from your body, Robby standing behind you lavishing kisses along the tops of your shoulder. The warmth of his shirtless body has kept you feeling so safe and cozy all night. When the door handle turns nearby, you startle slightly from the intrusion to your peace but don’t move.

Robby doesn’t either. He just shifts his weight so he can look over his shoulder at your roommate coming home. No point in pretending this won’t be a regular occurrence. He offers, trying sound kind and nonthreatening so she won’t get spooked like a rabbit again? “Morning, Dr. King, how was your shift?”

Mel stares at the two of you for about thirty seconds, computing and calibrating, before she just shrugs off her jacket, hangs it on the small coat rack, and replies, “Um, hi, Dr. Robby, it- it was good; finally checked off an emergent birth.”

“Good work,” he tells her earnestly; the first time delivering a baby on the ED floor is nothing short of terrifying. “Congratulations, kid.”

“Looks like I have some congratulating to do, too.” She beams and joins you both in the kitchen. “You two are finally happening? For real?”

“For real,” he confirms with a laugh as he realizes how much you must’ve vented to Mel over the years. “Took us long enough, I’d say.”

With Robby blocking the coffee maker, Mel just presents a mug to him. He fills it with a surprised nod, pleased to see her slightly more comfortable with his presence. She sighs out like she’s getting a massage, “God, this is such a relief for me. You have no clue how annoying she is about you, like, every night. Robby breathed on my neck and I almost passed out. Robby reached for the same suture kit as me. I had that sex dream about Robby again. It’ll be nice to go to bed earlier.”

You glare at Mel over your shoulder as you plate up a stack of pancakes. “You don’t have to make me look bad in front of my brand new boyfriend.”

“Trust me, baby,” he replies, turning to catch you in a quick kiss, “I’m twice as bad. I’m pretty sure Jack was getting ready to file a cease and desist because of how often I complained about not having you. Him and Samira are going to have to come up with a new couple to meddle with; I almost feel bad for them.”

Mel nervously asks, “Dr. Robinavitch, would you grab me the French vanilla creamer?”

“You can call me Michael, if you want.” He opens up the fridge, searches a second, and hands over the half-empty bottle. “Figure I should be on a first-name basis with my future wife’s maid of honor.”

You pour your own mug of coffee and give him a smirk. “Future wife, huh?”

“Mohan shared your ring Pinterest board with me when I left Jack’s to come here last night.” He kisses your cheek, beard scratchy and lovely, and murmurs, “The title being ‘Mrs. Robinavitch’ didn’t leave much to the imagination in terms of your intentions with me.”

Mel, absolutely grinning now as her happiness for her best friend bubbles over, giggles,  “Maybe I’ll start a betting pool for how long it’ll take.”

Robby gives her a conspiratorial wink that makes your heart sing. “Cut me in for half and I’ll help you cheat.”

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you and samira don’t just go out, you arrive.

tight little dresses, perfume clouding the air, your lipstick matching her nails. you didn’t need to hunt for attention, but you liked making it look like you were.

your respective boyfriends grumbled about picking a “safe enough” place and one “not crawling with creeps.” jokes on them—the minute you and samira stepped inside, heads turned. 

the bar had been samira’s idea. she liked the energy of it, along with the mix of dimmed lights and too-loud music, and the fact that she could lug her digi camera out and take pictures of you both in the glowy haze. cute pictures. chaotic pictures. pictures that would end up on your instagram stories within seconds. 

ironic considering samira never used to go out after work—not even on her free days. she’d go home, shower, and collapse in bed, telling herself she’d “make plans next weekend”. that was before you came into the picture at PTMC. now, somehow, she was the one sending you links to bars, picking neighborhoods to visit, and texting you to “get dressed i’m outside” before you’d even stepped out of the shower.

and you? you’d been shy for so long. med school had left no time for close friends, and no energy for the kind of chaos that came with them. not to mention the incredible lack of sex, but that's a conversation for another day. yet since meeting samira, things have equally changed for you as well. suddenly, you were out in skirts shorter than you would’ve normally sported, sipping cocktails you didn’t even know the names of two years ago, letting yourself glow pretty under neon lights and let eyes drink you in without a care in the world.

that is until samira got with jack and you got with robby. who could blame the two of you, when they looked like that. since then, the two men had been hanging out more outside of work too. beer nights have increased the off-day schedules, post-shift takeout, even the occasional game or two that robby managed to score tickets to. hell, you looked good in a penguins jersey, and that was enough of a reason for him. 

it was refreshing, sure. but never totally relaxing. not when they knew the two of you were off plotting your next round of shenanigans, turning nights into something they’d inevitably have to keep a close eye on.

and when they caught sight of your dresses before you left tonight, both men already knew they’d regret letting you out of the house.

within twenty minutes, both of your insta stories are full: pouty shots in the bathroom mirror, flash photography of tequila shots, samira laughing into your shoulder while you scrunch your face with a smile at the camera, a closeup of the pool balls on the table beside you, a picture of the cool rings decorating both of you guys’ hands, with quick middle fingers to the camera of course!

mel’s already liked all of them, the sweet soul she is. trinity commented “obsessed <3”. dana and perlah left emojis that made you grin, while princess, without surprise, wrote: “don’t do anything i wouldn’t do in a bathroom stall 😉” 

which if anyone knows princess, essentially means: do everything. 

“noted.” seemed like the appropriate response. 

then frank, of all people, had the audacity to reply to your story as well: “pretty sure i could sink that blindfolded. but hey, posting your own humiliation is one way to go. at least you’re better than samira.”

you giggled, shoving your screen toward her. “why’s frank always in my business?”

“because he loves you, and he hates me.” samira grinned, before quickly pulling you by the wrist towards the pool table at the back of the bar. which also happened to be in the same direction of two boys with a new round of beers in hand. 

you type up a quick reply: “bold talk for someone who can’t even beat me sober. i think the $500 in my bank account is enough said on that!”

meanwhile, your boyfriends sit at the far end of the bar. robby with his beer half-finished, jack with his jaw tight as ever. they’re not interfering, just watching. because they know you both are a little tipsy. because they know you’ve got sharp tongues. and because they know they’ll have to step in—eventually.

for now, they let you play.

that’s how the two guys entered the picture. they were your age—maybe a little younger—and definitely interested. 

they aren’t even that cute. it’s just the principle of the thing. leaning too close in order to be heard over the music, laughing too hard at bad jokes, tossing hair over shoulders like you’re in a commercial. a little whine or some unnecessary bending-over here and there doesn’t hurt too. 

one of them racks up a game of pool and you’re instantly dragging samira over after drowning another round of shots—“for good luck!” 

“you two sure you wanna play us?” one of them said, chalking his cue. “we won’t go easy on you guys, even if you’re cute.” 

“we wouldn’t expect you to.” you state, grabbing a stick and mimicking his actions. “what are we playing for?” samira adds, further accepting the challenge. 

“losers gotta do a dare.” 

you and samira looked at each other, already tipsy enough to be bold. “name it.” she challenged. 

“if we win, you two kiss,” the other one grinned, “like, full-on. none of that fake shit.”

samira arched her brow, deadpan. you burst into laughter. “that’s what you want?” you teased, leaning on your cue stick. “bit cliché, don’t you think?”

“cliché, but worth it,” he shot back. “double dog dare. you can’t say no to that”

you snorted into your drink at the table, “what are we, twelve?” you joked. but the glimmer in your eyes gave you away, this was going to work, hell it was a perfect idea. 

samira glanced at you, lips twitching into a smile and you both delved into a fit of giggles. you turned around, leaning into samira and pretending to think about it, whispering like schoolgirls out at the yard. “we can kick their ass,” she muttered, that was all you needed to hear.

“done.” you say, fixing your hair before leaning down against the table and breaking the triangle with ease. you sink in both a solid and stripe, “i call stripes.” you say, batting your eyes towards the boys. they smile. 

robby and jack continued to sit in the booth, half-empty bottles sitting in front of their hands. their minds too preoccupied, gazes fixed on the pool table across the room. samira stood bent over the cue, your figure copying the position right beside her, laughing loud enough to draw attention from the younger guys you’d roped into a game.

jack shook his head, though there was a flicker of something softer behind his usual tight jaw. “tell me how i ended up chasing someone ten years younger than me.” he took a long sip from his beer, but his eyes lingered on samira’s wide smile, her wavy curls framing her face, noting how her shoulders were loose in a way they rarely were at work.

robby’s low chuckle rumbled into his glass. “try fifteen.”

they clinked bottles in mock salute.

“brats,” jack muttered, though it came out gentler than he meant it.

“mm,” robby agreed. “brats with no fear. act like they can run circles around us.” he leaned back, letting the corner of his mouth quirk up as his gaze caught on you—that sly grin you got when you thought you had the upper hand. 

god, you were too much sometimes. too much and yet too sweet. “but we both know it doesn’t take much to catch ’em.”

jack smirked. “yeah. they forget we’ve been doing this longer.”

robby’s eyes softened a fraction, following the line of your dress as you leaned over the pool table once again, eyes shamelessly running down the cleavage on display—for him, for the boys, for the bar. his tongue swept the inside of his cheek, an old tell that he’s trying not to lose it. 

“let ’em have their fun. sooner or later they’ll come crashing back down. and we’ll be right there to pick ‘em up.”

“lucky bastards, aren’t we?” jack said, turning to look at the man sitting beside him.

“yeah,” robby answered without hesitation.

if only they knew half of it. how much you and samira get off on pushing them so far.

the two of you were brats for sport. half of the thrill of nights like this was knowing exactly how to wind your men up. how to flirt just enough, touch just far enough, test their control and risk their patience to snap. to get their jaws tight, and a stare so sharp it crawls up your spine and haunts your every move. to feel his breathing heavy against your cheek and his hand around your neck. 

you joked all the time that it was your personal mission to give them high blood pressure. and sure, they grumbled about it, but you both knew the truth: they liked it. they liked having to step in, to remind you who you belonged to, to reel you back in with rough hands and sharp words. and you liked it just as much, because underneath the fire there was never any doubt. their control was laced with care, their punishment with love.

it’s all for him. always him. you’d practice abstinence before you’d let anyone else between your legs, because what would be the point? no one fucks you like robby does. drag orgasm after orgasm out of your humming body, until you see stars, until you don't know where you are or what your name is, just the undeniable pleasure of his cock bulging through your core, hands pressed down your tummy to feel himself. 

so why not have fun? 

you’re in love for fuck’s sake!!!

so that's what you did. you played, and you played well. or at least, you thought you did—enough to lean over the table like you owned it, cue balanced in your hand, a smirk tugging your lip when one of the younger guys whistled low. samira always egged you on, clapping when you sank a stripe, while laughing too loud when you missed the simplest shots. 

maybe frank’s chirp wasn’t so far off. 

but distraction is distraction. the tequila buzz had your body loose, every movement exaggerated, hips swaying when you circled the table. half the time you aimed more for show than accuracy, your dress riding high over your thighs as you bent over. samira snapping pictures with her digi camera and flashing the screen in your face once the ball clinked away. 

a little too much showboating, and a glance towards jack’s stern gaze, also made samira sink the eight ball before she could get to the last stripe. “aw, no way” she groaned.

the guys whooped, high-fiving like they’d just won a championship. you couldn’t wipe the smirks plastered on their faces even if you wanted to. “rules are rules.”

“bold of you for thinking we haven’t done this already.” 

it’s ridiculous, juvenile, but maybe that’s why it makes your stomach twist with mischief. you glance at her. she glances at you. and before anyone can blink, you grab her face and kiss her—really kiss her, lips sliding, tongue teasing, the whole bar catcalling. your body flushed at the sudden and overwhelming attention given to the both of you, even feeling the way samira squeals against you. 

if you told her she’d be making out with the first-year resident—the girl it was so obvious her boss had been eyeing from the start, showing a kind of fondness no one had ever seen in him before—at a bar, with everyone watching, she would’ve laughed in your face. but then again, if you told her a year ago she’d be dating jack fucking abbot, she wouldn’t have believed that either. life had a funny way of turning the unthinkable into fact, and right now, the fact was that her lipstick was smudged on your mouth, and every man in the room was wishing they were in either one of your shoes.

the whole place roared, people whistling, slamming hands against the tables, the kind of chaotic cheer usually reserved for a game-winning goal. the two guys you’d been playing with looked like they’d just hit the jackpot—grinning wide, puffing their chests like they’d orchestrated the whole thing, like they didn’t fall into a perfectly curated trap set up by two girls who love to push the buttons of their old men. one of them even muttered something about “calling dibs” under his breath, smug in the way only a drunk twenty-something could be.

and that’s when it happens. 

the crowd gets split like the red sea, two shadows cutting through the neon haze, heavy steps and heavier stares. robby’s broad frame, jack’s squared shoulders, both moving with the kind of calm that made the air drop ten degrees. they didn’t have to say a word for the whole bar to know the show is over.

the smug grins on the two younger guys’ faces falter fast, one choking on his beer as the realization hit. you could almost hear the “oh, fuck” leave their mouths as jack’s hand closed around samira’s wrist and robby’s bear paw of a hand wrapped at the back of your neck, forcefully guiding you to the back of the bar. 

half-finished drinks left on the table. eyes black as sin. and when you dared to peek away from the grip robby also had on your waist, the look on his face was everything you imagined—plus some. 

you almost giggle. almost.

until you see the way his jaw ticks, and a huff of air exits roughly through his nose. 

“fun’s over.” his voice is low, clipped, meant only for you once he stalks across the room with big steps, forcing you to move more quickly than comfortable on your heels. 

jack’s already got samira by the door, muttering something in her ear that makes her giggle like a girl caught sneaking out. 

you smirk up at robby. “what’s wrong, grandpa? can’t keep up?” that earns you the gracious view of the dingy bar bathroom.

he doesn’t even check if anyone’s inside, just drags you through the door, flips the lock, and pins you up against the sink so hard the cold porcelain counter digs into the front of your hips.

“you think you’re funny?” he speaks to you through the mirror, his voice is quiet, almost steady, but you hear the grit. the control it takes him not to snap.

“samira thought it was hilarious,” you shoot back, lipstick smeared, hair wild, pupils wide with a delicious mix of confidence and anticipation.

that’s when the first smack lands—sharp across your ass, stinging enough to make you bite your lip. your body jerks into his hold, however quickly arching your back, letting your ass grind against him teasingly. your breath catches at the way his palm lingers there, hot and heavy, before sliding up to your hip and gripping a handful into his palm, hard enough to bruise. you moan through your teeth, “that all you got, hot shot?”

robby laughs, but it’s not kind. it’s that dark sound he makes when he’s five seconds from wrecking you. his hand slides into your hair and he hauls your head back so you have no choice but to look at him in the filthy mirror, his pupils blown equally as wide as yours, his mouth set into a grin, but it lingered more like a warning.

“you’re mine,” he says, deep enough that you feel it in your chest. his free hand squeezes at your throat just enough to make your pulse hammer against his thumb, lips instinctively falling agape. 

you grin, sweaty, shameless. “we’ll see about that.”

it spirals fast after that. you're clenching around nothing at the jingle of his belt buckle, making sure it gets undone at lightning speed while your dress is shoved up haphazardly over the hump of your ass. your underwear simply ripped off of your humming body as robby tucks the useless fabric into his back pocket. one of his hands wraps back around your throat to keep you still while his cock rams into you like a bullet. no prep, no fingers. he already knew you were getting off on your little game, and the squelch your walls make when you take him in is the cherry on top.  

the stretch, the sting, the raw drag of him splitting you open, it’s all feeding you, each feeling a reminder that pain and pleasure are one and the same with him. that’s what the two of you have built together: a language where trust presents itself in every dark touch shared, and every gasp that borders on a sob is proof you can take him, want to take him, fucking dying to take him. robby thrives on it—on the way your body walks the fine line of ache and bliss—because it mirrors back at himself, at the way he sees himself that is. rough edges and all, only here they’re wanted. they’re kissed in all their glory.  

and maybe he isn’t so bad after all.

maybe he is capable of having a relationship. keeping it, deserving it. 

so robby fucks you against the counter, another lesson to teach his rebellious resident. every thrust is rough, punishing, matched with a pace that’s deliberate and meant to teach. his palm squeezes your throat, air slowly struggling to make its way back in. but he doesn’t give you the silence you want to melt into. he makes you talk, with every word he drawls only a means to bait you. and you can’t just let them pass, not when each thrust drags a half-moan, half-cry, your voice breaking right where he wants it.

your nails dig into his forearms—half-moon crescents that pierce sharply through his skin—the only thing holding yourself from bucking down to the sticky tiled floor below you. he loves when you make him bleed, when you give him something to remind him about you days later. when they’re criking a patient and the sleeves of his hoodie rise up. it almost feels like trading, to carry around new scars while leaving the old ones behind. 

except these ones sting sweet, memories of you pressed into him rather than the ones that haunt his sleep. 

“say it.”

“no!”

“say you’re mine.”

“mm, not sure yet,” you pant, before robby drags you up against him, cock slipping out of you momentarily, before spinning and pushing you against the graffitied wall. you whine before jumping up, letting his big paws wrap your legs around his hips. he aligns himself back into your entrance, driving into your dripping cunt. your moans bouncing off the stalls with a series of “m’fuck” ’s and “shit” ’s. 

robby groans in your ear, making your walls tighten around him. “yet she’s such a fucking cockslut” he mutters into your streaky lips. your nails claw down his shoulders, leaving angry red tracks that make him moan instead of flinch. he likes it, leans into the sharp burn, grinds harder into your pelvis like the sting drives him on, because it does. 

another smack—this time on your thigh, loud enough to echo off the tiles. you whimper, but the sound cracks into a giggle, and you catch the twitch of his mouth like he’s fighting not to smile too. it’s give and take, he bruises your hips, you bite his neck. he slaps until your skin is hot, and you scratch his until it's raw. neither one of you stops. neither one of you wants to. call it devotion. worship. 

you whisper it against his jaw, teeth grazing hard enough to leave a mark: “best dick i ever had—don’t get cocky about it.”

he growls into your ear, teeth catching your earring, biting just enough to make you gasp. “unfortunately, i already am, sweetpea.” 

his voice breaks, not from weakness but from pleasure, from the way you shudder against the ache. the way his thrusts pin you against the cold tile, his hands digging into the soft flesh of your breasts, moving down to hold you by the rips, clutching so hard your skin will bear the map of his fingerprints for days. the same ones he delicately traces when you two lay in bed, heartbeats slow and eyes hooded with sleep. 

you tighten around him when it aches, holding onto him impossibly tighter, seeking his protection and comfort, while you try to swallow down the little whimpers like they don’t exist. but he presses deeper, grinding into you until you quiver like a fawn without its mother, as he laughs breathlessly, waiting for the comeback that's itching your tongue.

“go on,” he taunts, palm squeezing the back of your neck, forcing your shut eyes to meet his own. “give me one of your smart little remarks while i split you open. tell me how much you don’t need me.”

you manage a shaky smirk, breath catching between gasps. “mm—p-pretty sure i could… f-find someone who—fuck—” the words dissolve into a pitchy moan, your nails carving desperate marks at the back of his neck, yanking grey hairs from their rooted place on his freckled skin. robby just grins, cruel and hungry, because it’s always the same, your mouth says one thing, your body confesses the truth.

the stretch of his cock burns through your core but blooms a sense of peace all at once, because he knows you’d never let anyone else take you to this edge. 

it’s pain, it’s trust. 

it’s yours and his alone.

the rush in your lower half waves in faster than you have time to mumble another remark, so you let your hand do the talking. one of your palms drops low to cup robby’s balls, rolling them in your hands, before gently kneading them, tugging oh just a bit! 

the sound that hits your ears is anything but the push you needed, and by the way that his knees buck and the throbbing inside of your warmth, its only another squeeze before he’s fucking his thick spurts of his seed inside of you like an animal. 

before you can feel it being pushed to the depths of your cervix, you’re equally as undone, legs shaking and throat raw from crying his name. robby is inches away from practically forcing a you-shaped-hole through the ceramic-lined wall with the way he's pushing you against it. you let your head lay heavy against his shoulder, quivering arms wrapping around his neck allowing you to lazily kiss his jaw. 

his hands sting as equally as your skin from how hard he’s smacked you, eyes finally settling on the blossoming marks painted around your body, quite like your masterpiece over his own. his back burning with a reminder, yet neither of you cares.

and when you finally look up at the mirror in front of your eyeline, you see it: the way his huge frame swallows you whole, and you realise just how far you’ve let him in. how you’ve given yourself over completely to the only soul who can manhandle you with reverence, who knows how to break you down without ever breaking your trust. his eyes soften, a fleeting crack in the armor you two love to dress in, and you feel love fill in your bones. you’ve given him your body to ruin and he’s given you the one thing no other man has: the solace of knowing you’ll always get caught by the same hands that rip the most obscene sounds and feelings out of you. 

always there. always patient. always present. 

the world may just see it as sex, but what's pressed into your buzzing skin isn’t only bruises but secrets, and what’s etched into his are not only scratches but proof. only the two of you know what it means to be held this hard and still feel safe. 

satisfaction with robby is never in question, but neither is the fact that you both are unconditionally and irrevocably in love with each other.

consider it the candid truth to your double dog dare. 

–

out in the parking lot, samira’s back was pressed to the fogged-up window of jack’s car, her laugh cutting off into a sharp moan as he hauled her into his lap with rugged hands. his palms were everywhere—groping her ass, squeezing her thigh, shoving her skirt higher so his fingers could dip into the bare skin underneath.

“you drive me insane,” he muttered against her throat, teeth grazing before he bit down hard enough to make her squeal.

“good,” she breathed, tugging his hair stiffly until his jaw flexed, grinning even as he growled at the sting. “you deserve it.”

jack’s laugh was low, dangerous. his palm slid between her legs, pressing hard over the thin fabric of her barely-protective panties, and her breath hitched. “yeah? and what do you deserve, huh?”

“to watch you lose it over me.” she giggled through her gasp, writhing when his thumb dragged over her clit, the friction maddening.

“you’re not far off” he rasped, dragging her hips down against the bulge begging to be let out of his unbuttoned jeans, grinding her against him until the car creaked. she clutched his shoulders viciously tight, thighs trembling.

“and you like it” she shot back, smug through her whimper, though voice shaking when he shoved the fabric aside and slid his cock through her drenched folds.

“like it?” jack’s voice was a growl now, his free hand locked on her hip to keep her still while his length fucked her open, fast and filthy. “i’m fucking addicted.”

her laughter spilled out again, breathless and broken around her pitchy moans, until he swallowed them in a bruising kiss. his tongue just as relentless as his hand forcing circles against her sensitive bud. when he curled his hips just right, she cried out, scratching at the glass of the window beside her, nails any sharper and they would’ve left more evidence than the slick that ruined jack’s pants. 

the car rocked harder with every thrust of his hips beneath her, full well knowing neither of you girls would be walking straight tomorrow—and that was exactly the point.

–

when you and robby finally push out of the bathroom, you look like sin itself crawled out with you. his shirt untucked, hair mussed, jaw sharp with the kind of tension that makes people get out of the way. you—lipstick smeared, dress tugged halfway down, thighs still pressed together hiding the cum that's dripping down your legs, but a drop reached your ankle and your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head at the feel of it. the whole bar goes quiet for a beat before the wolf whistles start, a round of half-drunken applause chasing you as robby drags you through the crowd with his hand heavy on your waist. someone mutters “lucky bastard”, another shouts “get a room” like you hadn’t just destroyed one. you keep your chin high, smirking, because the truth is you won.

outside, jack and samira are posted by the car, trying—and failing—to look put together. jack straightens his crudely stained jeans with one hand, the other smoothing down samira’s skirt while she swats him away with a grin. lipstick wiped at the back of her hand, hair pinned haphazardly behind her ears, she still looks flushed and smug as ever. the muscle in jack’s cheek jumps once, ears pink, and you don’t miss the way his shirt buttons are mismatched in his rush.

robby slides into the driver’s seat without a word, knuckles tight around the wheel. jack takes shotgun, scrubbing a hand over his mouth like he can erase what just happened. not like any of them would want to. god forbid if you both didn’t occupate their respective minds. 

you and samira sink into the backseat together, hemlines wrinkled, legs brushing, both of you smiling as if this wasn’t the plan from the start. every coy glance, every bratty giggle, every move made with one goal in mind: to wind them up and get what you want. 

and when you catch the look the men trade in the rearview—exasperated, hungry, already plotting how they’ll handle you next time—you can’t help it. the two of you whisper it at the same time, grinning at each other like you’ve just pulled off the best heist of the century.

“worth it.”

You don’t even care anymore. You’re home alone, your boyfriend has been busy lately- too busy for the last few weeks to even try and fuck you anymore. He’s probably cheating on you- and maybe the only reason you cared was because if you both broke up then you’d have to leave, have to move out and you wouldn’t be able to see Charlie again. But you don’t care, that’s a problem for another day because you cum with a loud whine, heavy moan echoing throughout the tiles of the bathroom- the shower head in your hand had the perfect water pressure against your needy clit and you don’t even pull away, cumming once more and only stopping because your legs shook and you were nearly slipping against the shower tiles. You were needy again, thinking about the way Charlie kissed you, how his heavy hands touched you when you rode his thigh and came from that alone- maybe you really only took a shower to use the shower head but you fucking had needs dammit. But those needs clouded your mind and made you too horny to think logically or even remember a fucking towel. You were home alone- you can go to the laundry room to grab a towel- it’s fine, right? But you’re all too distracted from the orgasms that you don’t see the sinister smirk on Charlie’s face- leaning against the wall of the hallway, having heard your pretty moans bounce off the tiles and he knows his idiot son wasn’t home to make you sound like that. 

You’re so sure you’re home alone that you don’t even look behind you- maybe if you did then you would have made eye contact with Charlie but you near fucking strut to the laundry room, a little cold but as you turn and dry your hair with that towel you scream- drop the towel and run into the nearest room to lock yourself in. Your heart is racing, pounding in your chest because you swore you were fucking home alone but there’s no denying Charlie’s amused tone when he says ‘hi’ as you finally looked up and lock eyes with him. But you locked yourself in his room- you’re stuck in his room and the only thing you can do is either grab something of his to wear or walk out naked and you’re panicking with both options. 

“Forget something sweetheart?” Charlie asks with a knock, humoring your little panic because this was his room- he absolutely could barge in if he wanted but he smirked while he asked, because he couldn't wait to touch you. As soon as he saw your body his mouth fucking watered and hands twitched with the idea of ravaging you- you were perfect and his idiot fucking son didn’t deserve you. “Here, take it,” he almost sounded sweet- sincere even because his voice was soft and low and you open the door with a hesitant creak to peek out and see the plush black towel just inches away from you. Cautiously sticking a hand out, opening the door barely wide enough for your forearm but Charlie is so much fucking faster. Dropping the towel and wrapping a strong hand around your wrist to yank you out of his room and pull you flush against his chest after you stumble a bit- struggling against him but he keeps a strong arm around your waist to hold you closer, pressing your wet, naked body into him and wetting his shirt in the process. 

“Oops-,” with a tilt of his head and a condescending smile. Poor baby- a shame you had to fucking take care of yourself, resorting to the fucking shower head when you could have just asked him to take care of you. Because he’s been thinking about the way you rode his thigh a few weeks ago, how pretty you looked and clearly were desperate to cum- he’d make you cum as many fucking times as you wanted, on his thigh, tongue, fingers, cock- whatever you wanted he’d give you. Because you’re so smart and beautiful and deserve better and he’ll fucking give you whatever you wanted if you just bat those pretty lashes at him and asked with a sweet smile. He loved the way you flush, swallowing hard as you try to look anywhere but at his handsome face because you're too tempted to kiss him again- to feel his lips against yours and you’re fucking naked of course. Trembling just a bit from pure adrenaline because you’ve been avoiding Charlie since you came on his thigh- locking yourself in your room or even staying out of the house because you had to have more. He can’t see anything but your pretty face, you’re completely pressed against him but he needs to see those eyes- how they soften when you would blink up at him because he would sit across from you at the dinner table and ask about your classes or how work was going like no one else took an interest in you but him. 

He needed to see those eyes again, you’ve been actively fucking avoiding him for weeks and he couldn’t take it anymore- Charlie needed you. Had to fucking have you so with a soft hand he grabs your jaw, forcing you to look up into his eyes and he sees them soften just how he likes- like you’re begging him to treat you better than his fucking son does and Charlie wastes no fucking time forcing his lips against yours, a deep groan rumbling from his chest because you immediately responded with a sigh and move your lips with his. He has your arms pinned at your side from the way he held you, not able to wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him closer as your body betrays you- legs nearly giving out because those pathetic orgasms from the shower head weren’t fucking enough for you. You know how Charlie tastes and how he sounds and you need more- not caring what happens, letting him walk you back into his room, shaking with nerves and not saying no because this is what you fucking wanted. 

“Look at you angel,” facing you towards the mirror in the corner of his room, wide chest pressed against your back to remind you that he’s not going anywhere. But you can’t look- you don’t want to. Because, yes, you’re a little insecure of how you look- your boyfriend has taken to criticizing you whenever he can, comparing you to girls he sees in public and tells you that you should try a little more for him. It doesn’t matter what you looked like or how you tried to fix yourself, to your boyfriend you were too thin, too fat, too much makeup, not enough makeup- you weren’t what he wanted anymore and it started to hurt. So why would Charlie be any different? Even when he runs those strong, calloused hands all over you- starting at your waist, a soft squeeze before he drags them up to your chest so he can cup and palm at the soft flesh. Each pass of his hands is followed with words of praise, sincere comments of how smart you were as he kissed and nipped at your jaw while sliding his hands back down to your hips- pulling you back into his own to let you feel how fucking hard he was. Mumbling how perfect and beautiful you were, grabbing your jaw so he can lick along the seam of your lips when you gasp from the cold metal of his watch against your skin. 

Gently, he pulls you to sit at the corner of the bed with him, smirking and giving a soft tsk when you try to face him- turning you to face the mirror instead and smiling back at you once you’re perched on his lap. You should feel awkward, should feel uncomfortable because Charlie was completely clothed and all you have was a layer of water drying off your skin from your shower- but he kisses your neck, dragging his warm lips slowly along your skin to taste with a smile because you’re already fucking melting for him. Sighing and tilting your head for him, needing his touch as much as he needs to taste you. All he has is a strong arm around your waist- pressing you into his chest with the other firmly placed on your thigh to drag his thumb back and forth as if he’s soothing you, relaxing you to enjoy his attention. But your body is on fucking fire- your pussy aches, throbs, clenching around nothing and you can’t stop yourself when you grab at his hand, needing him so bad that you drag his hand to your core with a sigh of relief when he finally does touch you. 

“Feel good angel?” Mumbling into your neck, smirking a little because of how fucking wet you were already and all he’s done is kiss you, run his hands over you. But Charlie lets you lead him, lets you guide his hand to your clit so he can rub those desperate circles that you’re craving. You don’t answer- too needy and horny to form a coherent thought but that won’t do for Charlie because when you don’t answer him he pulls his hand away to bring his fingers down on your weeping cunt to slap. You jolt but can’t go anywhere from how tightly he holds you against him- “I asked if it felt good.” This time he grits out his words, grabbing your jaw with one hand while the other goes back to collect the leaking slick between your folds so he can rub your clit with faster movement. Charlie makes you look at him in the mirror, wanting you to watch him make you whine his name and spread your creamy wetness all over your cunt with fast, thick fingers- nodding, whining out a ‘yes’ because of course it fucking felt good and he’s a bastard for making you say it. You don’t even stop him when he sucks angry dark marks along your neck, your collarbone, your jaw even- tilting your head so he can get a better angle because at this point you want you boyfriend to see how good his dad fucked you. He was probably with someone right now anyway but you didn’t care- you feel Charlie’s thick fingers tease lower at your entrance and when you tense, when you try to shy away he slaps your pussy again. 

“No- hey,” the hand on your jaw grips harder, turning you to face him so you can look into his eyes and watch him smile and moan along with you when he sinks two thick fingers deep between your creamy tight walls. “That’s it, let me touch you sweetheart. Your pussy is begging for it,” it was only his fucking fingers, thicker than your boyfriend’s cock- stretching you more than you had been in years and all you could do is take them, shaking from how good it felt already. His cock strained underneath you, feeling him pressed against your ass had you clench at the thought of how thick and fat his dick must be if his fingers felt this good. “Look baby, look at your pretty pussy,” he nudges your face towards the mirror with his nose, letting his other hand drop to pull your nipples between his fingers so he can feel how tight you get in his fingers when he does. Maybe you were just drunk off the orgasm that was bubbling up in your gut but you couldn’t stop watching Charlie’s hand, how his fingers disappeared inside your cunt over and over again- how you looked sat on his lap, legs spread apart and open for him. With expert movements Charlie finds that little soft spot along the top of your walls, rubbing back and forth with so much pressure that you try to close your thighs around his hands because it feels like too much but not enough- whining when he slaps your thigh before holding one open so you don’t close those pretty legs on him. 

“Please- Charlie, f-fuck- please,” you couldn’t speak but you still tried, babbling into the air while grabbing his wrist to keep his fingers steadily thrusting in and out of you over and over again- desperate for that fucking orgasm that you’ve been craving from him since you came on his thigh. So desperate that you rub your clit, shaky hands and erratic circles but you feel your release brewing- you just needed more. “Need to cum, n-need to- need to cum,” like a prayer, repeating the phrase over and over again as if it would persuade Charlie to give you just a bit more. Another finger, faster, harder- anything but he’s drunk off your pussy now. Eyes glued to the mirror and the way you suck him in with each stroke of his fingers- watching your body shake and how you writhe in his lap to chase the orgasm you deserve. He knew you were close, he feels your pussy tighten around his fingers, hears the high pitched whines like the ones you made weeks ago- he needs to see you cum again because it was so fucking satisfying to know that he’s the only one who’s made you feel this fucking good. 

  It is a dynamic not many can handle or understand, even, you’re lucky you do, very, very lucky to have your men pine over you from a distance at work and fuck you into their bed at home.

  But sometimes they get a bit… possessive when an idiot flirts with you. And the idiot being Jack’s new intern on night shift does not help your case; it actually makes it worse, because you constantly see him when you are on nights and when you join Robby on days.

  And he is really fucking oblivious to your heart eyes at the attendings, and given that, yesterday he officially asked you out in front of both of them, thinking they are no one special to you, just your bosses.

  Wrong. Very wrong.

  This is how you’ve ended up with a vibrator inside you that both of your men can control from a distance. All they need is their phone and an installed app — which is already opened and tried.

  You try not to make a sound when you notice Jack rolling into the day shift an hour earlier with a smug smile and a cocky attitude. As if he knows Robby has been torturing you the entire day for the past eleven hours during your charting or finding new cases — never during a trauma, he needed you alert but that doesn’t mean he didn’t go full force on you until you had to rush to the bathroom and get denied of two crazy good orgasm before he tuned the vibration down entirely.

  “Hey,” Jack stands in front of your station, smirking when you shoot him a glare, “How’re you feeling?”

  “Like you don’t fuck know,” you snap at him, typing away on the chart with your brows twisted in a deep frown. “How do you expect me to be?”

  “Don’t be like that,” he huffs out a little laugh, resting his hip against the table and crossing his arms over his chest, and you have to look away from the way his navy blue t-shirt is nearly ripping in half with how his muscles are pushing against the fabric, “You know… I did it a few times too, from home.”

  “What?!” You hiss at him, eyes moving so fast you might think they are about to pop out of your head, “What the fuck, Jack?”

  “Uh uh,” Robby tuts from behind you, walking towards another computer after he pats Jack on the shoulder, “Tell him how you’re feeling without being fussy.”

  “I’m not being fu–uhssy…” You squeeze your eyes shut when you feel the vibration again, it’s not on the highest level, you know, ‘cause Robby made sure you felt the difference earlier. 

  You find Jack smiling down at his phone, moving his thumb up and down, changing the level like he is scrolling on TikTok, but in reality, he just wants to add to the torture you have been experiencing since early morning.

  “Fuck you,” you whisper, doubling over your station before sitting on the rolling chair behind you, trying to relieve some pressure by pushing your thighs together, but you are awfully overstimulated already, and you haven’t even come once. “Please…”

  “Please, what?” He asks, glancing back at Robby, who just shakes his head and stares at you from on top of his glasses, watching as you bite your fist and give both of them your best puppy eyes, “Oh, come on, you are better than that.”

  “I need to… I need it, please. I haven’t– since morning, please, I’m so…” you hiccup and lean back on the chair, trying to act cool, only to panic when the said intern walks directly in your way, “For fuck sake.”

  “Hi!”

  “He-ey…” you try to force out the words, but Jack is quick to raise the pressure, watching as you try to keep your composure but fail miserably. “What’s up?”

  “Just wanted to ask if you… thought about going out with me?” The intern asks, rubbing the back of his neck while Jack keeps his finger on top of the screen, smirking as you cross a leg over your knee, lips trembling, and fingers clenching and unclenching as you try not to moan out loud in front of this poor guy.

  “Yeah!” You squeak, thinking he is going to let you come this time, finally letting you take pleasure even if it means it happens in front of this guy, but Robby chimes in just before you come and squeezes your shoulder.

  “Come on, let’s go find Shen,” Robby pulls you up easily by grabbing the back of your scrubs. To the poor intern, it feels as if he is dragging you around, but it’s not; he is being as gentle as he can when someone — a lousy-looking student of his at that — is hitting on his girl.

  “Lemme join you,” Jack lets go of his phone and pushes it in his pocket, noticing the throaty whine you let out when your knees nearly buckle, “How are you feeling now?”

  “I’m pretty sure my panties and pants are ruined,” you confess quietly, walking between them with glassy eyes, “Please make me come…”

  “Not until Robby takes you home, sweetheart.”

  “I hate you.”

“Bad day?” you call out, voice more tentative.

But you are met with only the sound of boots thudding against the floor and keys jingling.

“Robby?” you try again, a little louder.

Still nothing.

“Michael?” you call a third time, finally standing and moving toward the entryway, but he’s already rounding the corner, hands on your waist, pulling you close.

“Shit. Today was shit,” he mutters.

You reach down instinctively, fingers brushing his hands in a silent attempt to ground him, pull him from the tension he’s carrying — but he’s already guiding you back toward the couch. “Michael… what — what are you doing?” you ask, a mix of confusion and concern in your voice. There’s intensity in his eyes you’ve never seen before, a determination to get you naked — especially after a grueling 12 hour shift.

And he does. Stripping every last bit of clothing from you and discarding them to the floor. You both have had sex plenty of times but this feels different.

“Condoms are in the bedro—“ you start to say, but he interrupts with a sudden intensity that makes your heart still.

“No condoms.” his response is dry, clear with intentions. He wants you, completely.

Your eyes widen, his rough hands squeezing one of your now bare tits before leaning down to pull the nipple between his lips, sucking it till it’s pebbled into a hard peak.

His work pants come off next, belt sliding free from the loops and landing somewhere across the living room. He moves with a focused intensity. His briefs left tented as his work pants make it around his ankles. You can even see pre-cum puddling at the very center.

Robby wastes no time. Spitting into his hand and stroking the length of his cock until it’s covered from tip to base.

“Michael, I’m not on the pill.. I—” you start, a mix of protest and denial, you can already feel yourself dripping wet with the thought of him raw inside you, but you’ve only been together for a few months. Was that enough time for this?

But your thoughts disappear the second he slides in, and God it feels fucking amazing.

You nearly throw your head back from the sheer sensation of it and he’s already lifting your wrists up above you, pinning them to the cushion of the couch.

“Everyone just wants to bother me, everyone just constantly needs me,” he rambles, as he thrusts inside you again and again, the force of his frustration radiating through every movement.

The feeling of his bare cock sliding through the mess of your obscenely wet pussy is a sensation you could get used to. You are already feeling yourself slip, becoming obsessed.

“And yet when they bother me, when they constantly need me… they never listen!”

He slams into you hard at the last word of his sentence, it makes you yelp into a deep moan, your eyelids grow heavy as you stare up at him, his expression tight, every line of his face set with fierce determination.

This is the most he’s ever stared at you during sex. Missionary never stretches this long — by now, he'd have you flipped onto your knees, claiming you from behind, ensuring you feel every relentless inch of him. 

But tonight something is shifting as Robby moves inside you, each thrust hard and deliberate, your pussy welcoming him deeper, while a quiet storm brews behind his eyes. The way he looks at you like he’s mustering up something achingly profound.

“What?” you gasp, your voice trembling through soft, desperate moans, certain he hasn’t blinked once. 

Silence hangs for a moment, broken only by his ragged breaths and the rhythmic slap of his balls against your ass, filling the room with echoes of it. 

Then he speaks, “Look at me. Really look at me.” 

A whimper escapes you, and you nod, swearing your eyes are locked on his, but his hand releases your wrist, fingers seizing your face with fierce tenderness, anchoring you so not even a flicker of movement breaks the connection. 

“Full eye contact,” he commands, “don’t you dare blink.”

His hand continues to cradle your face with a fierce grip, his lips hovering small hot breaths over yours, brushing them with fleeting, tender kisses before a deep, guttural groan escapes him.

“Robby, you’re gonna come…” you whimper to him, as yet another, even louder groan reverberates through you. You feel his cock pulse inside you, a telltale sign of what’s next.

“Fuck, I need you to lock eyes with me,” he growls, his voice full of desperation, “look at me while I come inside you.” His hand jerks your face upward, the urgency igniting a moan that spills from your lips, drenched in longing. Both of your eyes are pinned into a deep stare.

You feel it — the moment tears through you as he thrusts one final time, deep so that both of your hips begin locking together. His soft, rounded belly presses warmly against you, keeping you leveled into the couch as he pulses inside, filling you with wave after wave of his hot cum, his body shuddering with each surge of it.

“Michael!” you cry, and still he holds your gaze captive, refusing to let your eyes stray even a fraction from his. Sweat beads on his brow, his groans raw and unrestraining, as he claims your trembling lips with a desperate kiss. “Been wanting to do this for so long,” he murmurs, voice thick with lust, “to come inside you and keep pushing it deeper…” His cock nearly gliding out, then sinking back in, slow and deliberate, sealing his wishes with every movement. The feeling starts to settle into a hypnotic rhythm, soothing you… calming. His cock, still buried inside, drives his cum deeper with each thrust — the wet, intimate sounds weaving a pornographic lullaby that lulls you into a trance you never want to end. Your eyes remain locked, an unbroken tether of raw vulnerability, even as his hand snakes between your bodies, finger finding your clit. He rubs with fervent intent, coaxing your walls to clench around his unyielding cock, amplifying the warm, pulsing sensation of his cum inside you. When it’s all over, when you finally stand, he guides you to move right in front of him as he lounges back on the couch, his gaze heavy with satisfaction. His lips part, a soft, reverent whine escaping as he watches his cum spill from your swollen lips, trickling a glistening path down your thigh. “I’m never using a condom again,” he says, gently nudging your thighs wider to savor the view. You begin to flush, heat rising to your cheeks, as his cum trails nearly half down your calf.

“I’m okay with that,” you mumble back, meeting his awe-like gaze. The once taut tension from his long day seems to be gone completely, replaced by a serene ease, even as his eyes lift from the glistening mess between your legs to reconnect with yours. 

Who knew you’d love this much eye contact. You’ll be sure he does it again, and much more often.

Thank you so much for taking time to read. Likes and comments are appreciated as always but reblogging is the best way to support my work as well as fellow creators.

  But one of the places you write down was just to close off the list; you didn’t think you’d actually do anything in there, nor did Jack. Apparently, you both thought wrong.

  It’s hard to bounce on his dick in this position; you are leaning back on his hard chest while he spreads you open with one hand holding your thigh and the other on your hips. 

  You try to move by pushing on the toilet seat with your foot and a hand on the bathroom wall. It’s a rough position to be in; you could have made it much simpler if Jack had let you put your feet down.

  But it’s the men’s restroom, and you are both gone from the ED. You will be gone for at least ten more minutes, so it is safe to say you need to be careful.

  “Ugh, Jack–” you gasp when his cock nudges your sweet spot, sending shockwaves through your body, “You feel incredible.”

  “Yeah, but you gotta keep quiet for me,” he presses a sweet kiss on your shoulder, groaning into your neck as you finally manage to find an angle that helps you bounce on him faster, “Don’t wanna get caught like this.”

  “I know, I know–” you whine, biting down on your lip as you pick up your pace, slamming yourself down on Jack’s cock, while he tries his best to muffle his groans by hiding his face in your neck, “But you feel so good–”

  “I–”

  “Jack?” You stop dead in your tracks when you hear Robby’s voice, dropping your arm from the wall, turning around when Jack lightly slaps your thigh, changing your position to the normal cowgirl with your knees on each side of his hips on the toilet lid, “Are you here, brother?”

  “Ye-es?” The second Jack begins to respond, you grind down on him, and his voice breaks, making Robby even more curious.

  “You okay? You’ve been gone for fifteen minutes, I thought you were on top.” Robby’s voice grows closer, probably standing outside the stall, “You missed the rounds.”

  “I’m okay, trust me–” he thrust his hips up into you, pressing the heel of his palm to your mouth when your lips part in a moan, glaring at you with a shake of his head, making sure your legs aren’t visible from under the stool, “I’ll be out in a few minutes. The egg sandwich a patient bought us must be the reason I’m here.”

  Your eyes roll to the back of your head when Jack reaches between your bodies with his free hand to rub your clit, making you shudder and bite down on his hand. You start rocking your hips back and forth, trying not to gasp in pleasure when he circles the bundle of nerves faster, pushing you closer to your high while his best friend is on the other side of the stall.

  “You sure you okay, brother? You sound weird…” Robby moves, but you don’t know where. “Also, have you seen your senior resident? Collins has been looking around for her; she also missed the rounds.”

  “Nope, I know nothing,” Jack smirks at you, nodding when he notices how your thighs begin to shake, “Give me some privacy, would you, Robby? I’ll be out there before you know it.”

  “Okaay, see you out there.”

robbys not sure how he got here, throbbing cock buried deep inside the sweet sunshiny nurse hed been dreaming about fucking for years, but hes not gonna complain. his eyes bore into the flesh of your ass as it ripples from each of his forceful thrusts making a slapping sound echo through the room along with your sinful moans. he bites into his lip as he wills himself not to cum to fast and have this be over before it even truly begun.

“robby!” you wail out as you grip the bedsheets desperately and move your hips back to meet his.

“yeah, that feel good?” he asks focusing on giving you everything hes got.

“ro- uh, robby!” you cant get any words out other than his name and god it makes his cock pulse. he watches as your hand moves behind you blindly trying to find something, or trying to push him away, so his hips slow.

“you okay baby?”

“robby, just-“ your hand finds his lower stomach and push him away, looking over your shoulder as you clumsily try to do something. he pulls himself out of your sopping wet hole and furrows his brow, are you okay? he thinks. eventually your hand finds what it was looking for, his dick.

“fuck, baby, what-“

“take it off.” your voice more bratty than hed ever heard previously.

“what?”

“ugh- the condom robby. take it off.” your hand strokes over his latex covered dick as you begin to take the condom off.

“what? are you sure?” he doesnt think his brain is functioning anymore as he watches you pull away the stretchy material and throw it haphazardly onto the floor of his bedroom.

“yes! cmon robby please, need you inside me.” he watches as you wiggle your hips in an attempt to entice him back into your needy cunt. “wanna feel you. want you to fill me up robby. wanna go to work tomorrow and feel you still dripping out of me. please, please!” you beg as though you need him to survive.

robby thinks he could cum right now without even sticking his dick back inside you.

“you want that?” he checks, making sure you mean what you are saying.

“yes! i think about it all the time robby, please, ill be good.”

robby smirks as he rubs his dick over the length of your cunt causing you to moan out and bury your head into the sheets. as he pushes in he teases you, “fuck, who would have known you would be such a needy thing.” he slaps your ass hard enough to leave a mark. “you walk around that hospital like a sweet little angel and here you are begging me to fill you up with my cum, youre such a whore sweetheart.”

He said it simply. He pretended not to feel the burning wave crashing against his muscles at the way that lightened look in your eyes dropped against your smile. He'll always love getting you nervous, and nothing's stopping him from having the rest of his life to do that.

Jack shifted up to rest his back on the headboard, and you could've scoffed at his casual audacity, but you would have nothing less. He picks up his phone.

"I mean, I guess it could be more dependent on the overall aesthetic rather than the size or expense. The thing about the rings that are over ten carats—hell, five, they look sorta...trashy. But you have good style."

"...Wouldn't anything over three be, like, insanely expensive?"

He shrugs before turning his screen toward you, stock image of rings on display. He smiled a little. 

"You can get an idea of what kind of size you'd like. And it depends on the type of diamond."

You blinked, realizing he was for you to swipe through the photos. You don't laugh as you do, because you know what would happen if you didn't take it as seriously as Jack.

But he's serious about you. Always.

You bit your lips as you leaned into his thick bicep, watching him scroll through more options, waiting for your word with his own opinions to give.

"See what I mean by trashy? A large ring isn't always a pretty one." Jack took a breath, eyes flickering from you to the phone. "But if the ring you get is smaller, don't worry. It doesn't mean I skimped on it. You'll know. I–” 

You began to place kisses on his pale skin. You wanted to sink your teeth in, but coming on so forward might’ve scared him more than aroused him. Maybe. You were too grateful to have him to think on it. 

“What are you doing?”

“Just realizing how lucky I am.” You threw your legs over his, straddling his lap–sinking into his body as his brow furrowed. You can’t handle the way he loves you sometimes. Neither can he, but you’ll never know how bad it is, God help him. “I think I need to show how thankful I am for your genuine nature by giving you a striptease, or…” 

You let your breath go on his cheek, kissing the strong of his jaw in the seconds after. Everything rolled right through your body then. You felt his chest against yours when he exhaled with a heavy breath. Always warmer than yours. Beautiful man.

“...Or–or…something.” 

A smile curved just above where you were kissing him, and you were ready to strip and to burn and to have Jack steep himself inside you, with mean teases along his lips or grunting when he took a grip on your biceps, pushing you away from where you could kiss, or shudder. Or lick. How dare he? 

That’s because you thought that push meant that Jack was gonna push you all the way under him, and you’ll do whatever he wants if it means the sacrifice of the affections you can give him whenever you want. 

You let your weight grow heavier on his lap when his thickened hands slipped up your shirt. His head leaned forward when he pressed his thumb into your belly button. You watched him gazing at his touch before his hands moved north–squeezing. 

His thumbs pressed into your nipples the same way, and you were all too purposefully slow in the way you took off your shirt. 

Or tried to. 

“Why don’t you want to talk about your ring?”

Jack pulled the hem of your top before you could. Well. You had to stop wanting him to the point of near-death in that moment. 

You slouched. 

“No one is going to stop me from bothering you for the rest of your life. No one. Not even you, cowboy. I’m not against bothering you for the rest of your life with a ring on my finger. I'd better have one within three years. But…I’m not picky. As long as it’s pretty, and as long as you don’t find it from those gumball toy machines, I’ll be happy with whatever you give me, Jack.”

You pecked him on the cheek. He leaned his head back on the headboard and circled his fingers on his hips. 

“And the woman who tries her hardest to make her scrubs as sparkly as she can within the rights of healthcare management doesn’t care for what kind of diamond I’m gonna get her. Don’t buy it.” 

You laughed. “It can sparkle a little. Or a lot. You know what I'd prefer. It's more fun when I'm not picking out my present.” 

Jack laughed too, just until you realized you weren’t going to be stuffed with him in the next five minutes when his smile lessened by an inch. It was torture. 

“Seriously, with what I showed you–how many carats would you like?”

You tilted your head forward, feigning thought for the sake of a tease you thought was hilarious. 

“Well, how close do you want another man getting before he sees I’m taken?”

And whatever chance you had of being a stand-up comedian died when the light in Jack’s face died. His hands dropped from your hips.

But, after a long night of thinking, he realized your stupid answer was an answer nonetheless. That’s more than enough for him to work with.

Jack and Robby wander into the jewelry store with two very different demeanors. Robby’s wearing a hoodie with his work sneakers, looking like he’s come in here by mistake. Jack’s pressed shirted and clean-shaven, and everything about the way he walks tells you he’s very much decided on his future.

“You know, man, when you asked me to do this with you, I was honored as much as I was uncomfortable, and I was also trying hard not to be an asshole in how I was disappointed in spending my day off. Even not, being here…I don’t think I’m the person suited to help you with this.” 

Robby would’ve been fine with the surprise of Jack asking him to go see…a movie. Jack watches movies, right? Maybe beer. Hell, he knows the guy has a Costco membership. He would’ve been fine with Costco. But he’s here, blinding himself with diamonds. 

…Yeah. He still couldn’t be more honored. And Jack couldn’t be luckier. You too. 

“It smells kinda cold in here.” 

“That’s not a scent, Robby.” 

“You know what I mean.”

Yeah, Jack does. The cold smell here is different than the cold smell in the Pitt, but Jack ignores him, leaning over the jewelry case. He studies. Robby looks to, and his eyes flicker to the other attending when he realizes that his sights aren’t on the smaller, cheaper rings. 

They were on the massive ones. The elaborate ones. 

“Ma’am? Do you have anything similar to these in terms of size but less…showy?” 

The saleslady’s a bit younger than they are, and Robby really should just leave and get something to eat because she looks like she knows more than the two of them combined. 

“Of course! Plenty if you mean you’re asking for something with a bit more elegance. Do you have any specifics in mind?” 

Jack thinks about it because apparently, he knows enough to have specifics in mind? Jeez. Well, with you, that’s not surprising. Is that because this is Jack Abbot in love with you, or is this what happens when anyone falls in love with you? Robby wouldn’t know. It’s funny to watch. 

“I don’t think I’d prefer a ring with a thicker band, I think that’s what makes it look too flashy for her. For the diamond, I don’t have specifics on the color, but I think I’m leaning towards an emerald cut. When I gave her a few options, I think she preferred the three-stone and cathedral cuts. All three do well in taking up space on the finger without looking gaudy. Oval’s nice too.”

…Okay. Yeah. Jack’s done his research. It’s not like he has a jewelry fanatic in mind, but he’s not gonna play this like he doesn’t care–that as long as he throws a good chunk of money at a jewelry store, he’s safe in not giving a shit about what you wear on your finger. You don’t propose with nonchalance. 

“We can do three-stones with cathedral or emerald cuts. Do you know what carat size you’re looking for?”

Jack nods. Lifts his head. 

“Four to eight’s ideal. You, here, are the expert. I was against anything more than five when doing research–it all looks fake, but I know the shapes and the cuts and all that change the size of the diamond, so…I have no problem asking for help.” 

Robby eyes the way the saleslady’s mouth parts before eyeing Jack. 

“I am more than happy that you already have an idea of what you want for the soon-to-be Mrs. She’s lucky. Six to ten carats.” 

Robby crosses his arms. 

“...How much is six to ten carats? Is that–that’s a lot in terms of…money, right?” 

The saleslady merely laughs at his very genuine question, but he hasn’t had the chance to worry himself with how much a single ring could cost. “The price of a carat can be dependent on various factors, but yes. Speaking of which, what’s your price range, sir?”

“I can go up to a hundred and fifty thousand.”

Robby stills. He doesn’t blink. 

“Well, sir, you have all the options in the world.”

“...Jack. That’s just our salary cut in half–” 

“I’d rather not find myself at the maximum end of the spectrum, if I find something I like for her–something I know she’ll love…I’ll be more than okay with it being on the cheaper end.” 

“And the cheaper end is what, Abbot? What I pay for my life insurance–” 

“Robby.” Jack turns to Robby, eyes not asking for a fight, but definitely asking him to shut the fuck up. “I know you annoyingly have the mind to be highly supportive and encouraging, and I hope the satisfaction of getting me to ask to do that for me right now is enough for you to…well. Do it.”

…Okay. Robby nods. It’s not his money, and he guesses you deserve nothing less.

He knows that he wouldn’t be able to convince Jack otherwise, even if he tells his brother that your little peppy heart might give out at the sight of a ring as big as these. 

“Okay. Yeah. Just…didn’t know rings could even cost that much.” 

The saleslady butts in, smile server-perfect. 

“I’ll keep what you said about your price range preference in mind.”

It’s ring after ring being shown, and Robby’s more useful as a spectator to Jack’s ability to focus on finding the perfect ring than everything else. That one perfect ring must have one thing that apparently hasn’t been found in the others, yet. Robby doesn’t know how to name it; it’s better if he doesn’t, because then this day goes from something that’s financially wasteful and relatively sweet to something Robby would just rather not think about. 

These rings scream flash. Money. But none of them scream possession. And maybe it’s not precisely a look, maybe it’s whatever catches whatever’s in Jack when it comes to you. 

“Alright, now. I know this isn’t a cut you had in mind, but at 6.9 carats, emeralds and cathedrals definitely can look, as you said, gaudy for some. Radiant cuts work well when it’s this size. The band is thin–made of platinum, so you wouldn’t just be paying for the diamond. It’s three-stoned. I’m also aware you’re afraid that the size of a ring like this, especially with the two other stones, may appear fake, but look at the way it shines in the light. Nobody will think it isn’t real.” 

The saleslady holds up the ring to the light, and yeah…it sparkles, but Robby doesn’t watch it for long, because the way Jack’s just gazing…it’s something else. 

“Can I hold it?” 

Nobody’s gonna miss that on your finger. Nobody will try to take you from him anymore. And it’s pretty.

The jeweler obliges, lays the ring out on Jack’s palm. Robby whistles. 

“Jesus, Abbot. You’re not buying her a ring, you’re buying her a satellite dish. She’ll blind anyone on the street if it’s sunny.” 

His smile nearly drops when Jack doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even smirk. He simply takes the ring, this heavy, large thing of white diamond, and stares at it with an intensity that makes the jeweler fidget with a still smile. 

Then, abruptly, Jack turns. 

He presses the ring into Robby’s palm and steps back a few feet. Little steps—increments, like he’s gauging something. Robby’s mouth parts. 

Is this part of the ring buying process? 

“Hold it up, like you’re showing it off. I just wanna see something.” 

…Robby stares at him. This can’t be a part of the ring buying process. 

“You serious?”

“Just—do it, please.” 

Robby raises his hand with reluctance almost as heavy as the ring, and the diamond flashes under the lights. He watches Jack study him—no. Not him. The ring he guesses, and he’ll also guess he’ll be a dedicated a groom as he is a customer. 

Jack thinks of it. You with this ring on your finger, and how people would see you—that imagined, claimed with sparkles. You and your sparkles. His breathing slows at that, someone, anyone walking towards you, and they’ll see you’re taken before anything else. Bound to him and how he can’t breathe sometimes because of how much he loves you. 

“Jack? I think this is it. There’s no way you’re not picking this one.” 

Robby drops his hand, breaking the spell. 

“Okay, I think you’re scaring me, and very nice saleslady.” 

“No, no–I’m happy that I can tell you, sir, like this one very much. I hope the price doesn’t turn you away.” 

“How much is it?” 

“...It’s on the further end of your budget.” 

The words come through without much reaction from Jack. He nods. 

“It’ll hurt like a bitch, but it won’t buy me out of house and home. And besides…she deserves it.” Jack takes the ring from Robby and slides it back onto the counter with deliberate care. He turns to his friend, eyes casual. Focused. Focused in the same way they are when they’re working side by side. 

“Right, Robby?”

“...Yeah.”

No. Robby knows things, like he knows that he's not sure if he'd just witnessed a proposal in the making or a claim being staked. But it's on him for knowing both of you long enough to only think to ask one question. Nothing about morals, nothing about toxicity.

Just...why, Jack? Why do you think you need to claim her like you haven't already?

It started with the other nurses first, guys and girls alike, all clustering around you and laughing or gasping when the light caught your finger. 

“If Abby sees that on you, she’s gonna ask me for a do-over.” 

And Langdon, too. And Dana. 

“Holy shit, sunshine—you could blind something with that thing.” She laughs, grabbing your hand. “Jack didn’t mess around, huh?” 

You duck your head, cheeks high on your face. “It’s too much, really. But I’m…I’m in love.” 

“You’re lucky as shit. You know how much he spent?” 

“He won’t tell me.” 

Even under the fluorescent bulbs, your diamond flashes—if someone had an astigmatism, they’d think you were trying to strike a match. It catches Robby one hall down, as it did in the jewelry store. He sees it. What Jack had been after in that jewelry store. 

Every. Single. Person. Knew you were taken. 

Even before you smiled brightly to show it off to the others, even before your complete joy screamed the word “engaged”, the rock alone screamed it for you. Anyone would have to be suicidal to so much as look at you for more than three seconds. 

Robby turned away, nearly shaking his head. He's just glad it was you to turn his best friend into an absolute fool.

In bed, lying sleepily in the arms of Jack, you wiggle your finger. You can’t believe you could own something so beautiful, and you can’t believe Jack would think you deserve it. You know you said you weren’t picky, and you aren’t. You would’ve been happy with nearly everything, but to see something this sparkly and huge and radiant on your hand? You feel wild. You can’t lie about the pride that seeps through you at the idea that this diamond ring was expensive, but with the way Jack won’t tell you, with the way he doesn’t tease about spending so much money on you, and instead avoids talking about how he bought it entirely?

You’re just a little afraid that it might’ve been too expensive. 

You twirl a curl of his. 

“You still haven’t told me how much the ring cost.” 

Jack doesn’t open his eyes. “Told you. Don’t worry about it. Go to bed.” 

“But I am worried about it. Jack—seriously. Did you…” Your voice drops, conspiratorial in humor. “Take out a loan or something?” 

You stifle a grin when Jack finally jolts his head towards you, brow arched. “Loan? Please.” He rubs a finger along your forehead. “Why do you keep asking? Are you afraid it’s fake–”

“No! What–I’d never think that. I’m just wondering how much a ring like the one I have would cost.” You nuzzle into his chest. “What kind of cash would you have to drop? Because it’s just a little too beautiful, Abbot–” 

“It was half a year's salary. Go to bed.”

He says it casually, almost bored, and it hits you harder than a siren. 

“Half a–Jack!”

When Jack just shrugs against you, your mouth falls open wider. His salary? With what he makes? He spent that on you? That’s someone’s mortgage–that’s years worth of rent money. That’s insane!

“Don’t try to turn this into an argument. With the way you’ve been showing it off, what? You wanna return it? Not happening. It’s already bought. You squeaking about it while I’m trying to sleep won’t change anything.” He merely shifts with you in his eyes, eyes closing. 

You want to push him off the bed for his dry, flat tone. You want to scream every thank you a thousand times over at him, for being crazy enough to love you like that. You need to beat him for his paradoxical abilities. 

You only gape, pressing your thumb against the diamond. 

“Jack. This is insane! You can’t just spend a hundred and fifty thousand dollars for a ring–” 

You don’t shut up willingly, no. It’s just too easy for Jack to shove your face into his chest. He squeezes. Just…in general. Thick, beautiful arms around you, he squeezes and suffocates you in between his pecs. 

The audacity of your fiancé. And because of it, you can see his mouth tug upward. Not in humor, exactly, but in satisfaction. 

“It was a hundred and fifteen thousand.”

“Mmhphh–”