Some Stories Stay With Us Forever

Sun is the first thing that your brain registers. The soft, warm sun of early morning gracing your bedroom pulls you softly from your slumber. When was the last time you got to wake up with the sun?

The next thing your brain registers is pain. An ache in your body and a throbbing in your head. You try, albeit not very hard, to open your eyes and whimper escapes you. Now the sun is too bright, scorching your retinas. You slowly reposition yourself away from the light. There is a tugging at your waist that you pay no mind. You start slowly. Blinking once, twice, holding your eyes open for longer and longer until you can officially call yourself awake.

The tugging at your waist has becomes firmer, almost persistent. You slap gently at whatever is wrapped around you before turning back around toward the light. There you find the culprit. There is a man beside you. A man. A very naked man. The strong arms that are wrapped around you are connected to broad shoulders, which are connected to a contoured neck, which holds up a head that you have seen almost every day of your life for a year now.

John Shen is in your bed. For a moment all you can do is stare. The look on his face is relatively peaceful, however there is a slight crease between his brows. Probably because of your moving. Your eyes can't help but scan the softness of his face, noting every little beauty mark or blemish his skin holds. His hair is ruffled and mushed, sticking out slightly in every direction. A little bit of drool making its way from his mouth onto his pillow. Your pillow. Fuck.

Your attending is naked in your bed and all you can think about is how cute he is. You really need to get your priorities together. You begin to move out of his grasp but his grip just gets tighter the more you try. In your frenzy you don't notice dark eyes slowly taking in the scene in front of them. It is only when his arms actually tug you that your attention is drawn to the now awake man beside you.

"Hey." Shen's voice is horse, offering you a lopsided smile. You notice how his eyes trail on you and it is at this point that you realize that you are also painfully naked. You pull the duvet high on your chest as fast as your pain-riddled body can manage.

"Hi." Your eyes are saucer like as you stare at him.

He studies your face a little harder before saying, "Do you remember last night?"

Do you? There is defiantly bits and pieces. You had the night off so your friends took you on a, according to them much needed, night out. Your recent breakup has been never far from your mind and your friends were ready to change that. The spot they picked was nice, not a ton of people but still enough to make dancing not awkward. Perfect for you to "get your freak on". Their words, maybe not yours. Drinks and laughs were had and that's really where the the solid memories end. You remember dancing, though you can't put your finger on when you stopped dancing with your friends and started dancing with one specific person. Shen. He was there. Why was he there?

"Why were you there? At the bar."

"Had the day off, went out with some buddies. You called me."

You called him. Shit, you called him. You can remember it now. "Heyyyy Shen, it's meeee. I don't really know what you're doing right now but I'm out dancing and I think it would be soooo cool if you were here. Like you are just so fun and I think your hot face when make the func- funct- the place like ten times hotter. Okay byeeeeee." You hadn't even given him a chance to speak before hanging up and sending him your location.

"And you came?"

"Yeah."

Your breath hitches a little as you take it all in. Shen has leaned his head back, eyes still fixed on you and arms still hold strong around your waist. His voice comes slower then before,"Do you remember anything after that?" If you didn't know any better, if it wasn't Shen, you would think he sounded desperate. You don't really remember, it's just a blur of heat, sweat, and tension.

You shake your head. "Do you?"

Shen heaves a sigh. "A little, not as much as I'd like," Not as much as he'd like? "But I do remember being very insistent about wearing a condom, so that's good at least."

You burry your head in your hands and let out a long breath. That's good. That's really good. Condoms are important. You two don't need any medical issues to come of this on top of all the social issues. Oh god the social issues. How are you supposed to look him in the face after this? Wont be able to hand him a chart without thinking about those hands on your skin. And he's the main attending you present to, for totally professional reasons, the rumor mill is going to go haywire if you start only going to Abbot. Will you have to leave PTMC if people find out? Did you just throw out your entire medical career just by sleeping with your superior?

"Hey," Shen's arms finally remove themselves from around you before a hand comes to guide your hands away and cup your face, "What's going on in that head of yours?"

You almost roll your eyes when he says it. Shen has asked you that a thousand times. When you worked on a particularly hard trauma, when a patients story hits a little too close to home, when your ex showed up unexpectedly during shift change to berate you. When he was being your boss. Two contrasting feelings hit you like fright trains going opposite ways at the same time. There is the calm breath out that usually comes with that question. The recognition that there is someone in your corner, that wants to know how your feeling. Then there is dread, pure dread.

You finally do what your body has been craving to do since you first saw him, flee. You dash out of the bed, grabbing the first clothes your fingers touch on the floor and tugging them onto your person. "I'm so so sorry Dr. Shen. This never should have happened, I'm so embarrassed. I'll let Robby know that I want to be on day shift and we can just pretend this never happened." You don't takes your eyes of what you're doing, finally looking back at him once you've deemed yourself modest.

Crestfallen is the only way you can describe the look on his face. You've never seen him look like that. Your heart aches in your chest.

"Is that what you want?"

"I don't know," Your breath is shaky and your voice cracks a little. You cringe before making your way back to the bed, sitting on top of the covers. "What do you want?"

"I wanna try."

"Try what?"

"To be with you." The bewildered look on your face must have been extreme because he quickly added, "I mean-I've been meaning to ask you out for a while now, just couldn't find the right time. It doesn't need to be anything serious I just think you're great and would love to take you out. Properly."

It feels like you're entire stomach has shriveled up inside you. He likes you. He wants something more than one night neither of you can remember. And you want it too.

"What about work? I don't think HR is going to like a resident being with an attending. Plus you know how the nurses can be sometimes."

"We do whatever you feel comfortable with. In my mind work is work. We don't have to be whatever this is at work if you don't want to."

"That doesn't negate HR needing to know about anything that happens and if we don't tell them then they'll-"

"One date. That's all I ask." For the first time this morning Shen moves from his position on the bed, scooting closer to you and cautiously taking your hands in his. "I don't think HR needs to know about one date. When we get more serious we can go and talk to them together like the professionals we are."

When.

When you get more serious. Not if, when.

"And I'll make sure no nurse gossip floats our way, promise."

You let out a little chuckle. "Oh yeah? How do you plan on doing that?"

"Might need to use those Dunkin rewards points I've been racking up." Shen's tone is light, almost like this was all normal. Like you two were just chatting at the nurses station rather then in your home.

"Really? The great Dr.Shen would resort to bribery? With his own Dunkin no less."

"Please don't call me Shen, I was literally inside you last night." Right, not normal. You groan as heat finds it's way to your cheeks. But you're smiling, you can't seem to stop yourself.

A moment of silence falls on the bedroom. You lean into not only to the soft warmth of the sun, but also the smooth feeling of his skin on yours. His fingers busy themselves by tracing the angles of your hands. His stare is not heated or demanding, it's just a stare. One person persevering another as he waits. What for, neither of you are really sure.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"I would really like to go on a date with you, John."

"Fuck yeah." He says this mostly to himself, fist pumping in triumph.

It's then when your walls finally break fully. It's not even that funny, however the whole situation mixed with how genuinely proud of himself he seemed sent you into a fit of giggles. By the time you've calmed yourself down enough to glance at him it seems as though his been put into some kind of trance. John's face is adorned with the same lazy smile, relaxed shoulders, and eyes that can't seem to get enough of what they are looking at. You.

"Oh my God."

"What?" John tenses a little.

"I don't know how I didn't see it earlier."

"You mean my feelings?"

"Yeah, you're like the most obvious person ever."

"Shut up." It's his turn to laugh, a flush coloring his cheeks. He can't take his eyes off you. Almost without thinking he brings his hands to your cheeks, pulling you closer. He catches himself, a new question lingers in the silent space between you. You probably shouldn't, but you do. The smallest hum and nod from you is all that he needs to place his lips on yours. The union is quick, but still soft with intent. You breath him in, partially rubbed off woodsy cologne mixed with dried sweat from the night before still linger on his skin.

As you pull away your eyes open and find your alarm clock over his shoulder. It reads 9:06 am.

In this moment you hate to think about work, you want to keep whatever hellish things await you both as far away from whatever this is becoming as you can. However, the reality is that time will move forward outside this room and you need to move with it. So in a small voice you ask, "Do you work tonight?"

He gives a small nod, so close you can feel the tips of his hair brush you as he does. You mumble out a little "me too" before sliding your hands to his biceps. You push him away ever so slightly. "You should head home, get some more sleep before tonight. I don't want to mess with your routine."

John hums in agreement, adding a soft "Okay,". His eyes yet again rake down your body before meeting your eyes again. Something in them holds a newfound mischievous. "But I think I might be needing my shirt back."

You look down. Yep, that is definitely not a shirt that you own. If there was a record for the amount of times you can embarrass yourself in an hour, you're sure you've beat it. When you start fumbling to remove the shirt his hands find yours. "I'm kidding, you can keep it. Looks good on you." This guy is going to be the death of you. "But do you have something I could wear?"

The next hour is spent slowly but surely getting John dressed. He never asked for his shirt back, instead taking one of your sleeping T-shirts while saying something about 'an eye for an eye'. It took much longer then it should've because you two just couldn't stop talking. It starts as John teasing you but then becomes about anything. Plans for the rest of the day, what your schedules look like, whatever the last piece of gossip Princess has brought up to you.

Once John is finally ready to venture into the world you find yourselves stood in your front door way. He seems to remember something.

"Do you want me to pick anything up from Dunkin' for you? Y'know, for our shift."

"Oh, yeah sure."

"Awesome, text me what you want." He leans in and steals a quick kiss on your cheek, "Bye!" With that he is walking away from you. You find yourself touch your cheek where he kissed you.

This is so not normal for you two. But he is still him and you are still you. You can only hope that this might become normal, your new normal. Because this, a morning full of softness and what you can only hope is love, sounds like a pretty nice normal to have.

a/n: hi everyone, i’ve literally been so m.i.a lately but I’M BACKK!! so i have this entire story planned out and it will be a total of two or three parts. please let me know your thoughts on the story and i hope you enjoy!

"Where did Scope go?"

After finally being granted a two week long break, the squad decided to kick it off with a night at the Hard Deck.

While everyone was in close proximity to each other — some playing darts, others playing nine-ball — there were a few strays from the group. Hangman was busy trying to get a pretty brunette's number by the bar, and you were heading out to sit with some cute guy on the swing bench beside the entrance.

Bob jerked his head in your direction by the door in response to Phoenix's question.

Following his eye-line, Natasha let out a huff. "Looks like we lost another one."

Before going back to her game with Rooster who was laughing at his friends not making it even halfway through the night before hitting on someone, Mickey nudged Natasha.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that."

The apprehension in his tone caused the four to avert their attention back to you just in time to see you hurl whatever mix of food and alcohol was in your stomach on the boots of the guy you were with. The man was holding your arms to help maintain your balance, but the look of disgust across his features was evident. He looked around in search of someone, anyone, who would be able to take you off his hands.

A bunch of "oohs" and "yikes" escaped from your friends inside. Already knowing he was going to be sent to get you, a grimacing Bob hopped off the stool he was occupying.

"Yeah I know, I'm on it."

Everything felt dizzying. The lines on the floorboards blurred together as you immediately went to apologize to Max (or was it Miles), who you just yacked on. Mortification slipped through the pounding going on in your head. While you couldn't even pick your head up, eyes shut in the direction of the ground, a familiar voice filled the air.

"Hey man, sorry I'll take her off you hands."

The forearms you were gripping didn't hesitate at all to hand you over.

You understand that anyone would have been disgusted with the incident, but damn. Bob could've been a murderer for all Max (Mason?) knew. A string full of cursed grumbles came out of him as he walked off towards his car.

You stumbled into Bob looking for any sort of balance.

Bob's chuckle filled your ears. "Whoa, easy sweetheart. I told you to go light on those shots tonight."

A stabilizing arm wrapped around your waist while the other guided one of yours around his neck. He contemplated taking you straight home or back inside to get some water in you. Bob decided on the latter after hearing you mutter something about not feeling well.

"Bubs we both know I never listen to you."

He shakes his head at your stubbornness, lips quirking slightly at the nickname you've had for him since childhood.

You and him have been best friends ever since the day you met in kindergarten. It was the first week and everyone was playing outside while Bob sat under a secluded tree. Your little heart broke seeing him all alone and decided from then on that you'd never leave his side. This decision turned out great considering years later, you found out Bob wanted to talk to other kids but was just too shy and scared to do anything about it. While your never-ending questions about his glasses that were two sizes to big for his face made him nervous at first, he was always grateful that you gave him attention when no one else seemed to care.

You started calling him bubs after hearing his family called him bubba whenever you went over to his house for play dates. Although he grew out of the nickname with his family, you never found it necessary to shake the habit.

Bob never minded. In fact, he loved the nickname that was reserved only for you. Something to represent the closeness and bond of your friendship to each other.

After hauling you back onto the stool you originally occupied before leaving, Bob waved Phoenix over so that you'd have someone to lean on while he went to grab your water. Phoenix immediately handed the pool stick to Fanboy and sat on the stool beside yours. You slumped into her side, head resting against her shoulder.

"Scope, babe, what were you thinking? The last time you ate was during lunch and you decided to go ham on all the shots?"

You groaned. "Ugh, I know I know. But I wasn't in the mood for anything here. And I was not about to drive to another place for food just to come back here again. "

The pounding was still coursing through your skull and Bob thankfully appeared with the glass of water he promised. You practically ripped it out of his hand and chugged the entire thing in what seemed like two seconds.

Phoenix and Bob shared a look, laughing at your actions.

You were about to say you were going to head home before the southern drawl from the annoying man you've grown to love interrupted you.

"Aw damn! No way I missed it." Hangman, who was yelling at a volume ten times too loud for your liking right now, appeared in front of you wearing a devastating pout like he missed out on the greatest thing ever. "You hurl your lunch on some poor guy and I miss it?! Did anyone record it?"

Jake's amusement quickly came to an end as he bent over to rub the place on his shin you kicked in retaliation.

"Hangman, go be a dick somewhere else. I do not have the patience for you right now." You rubbed your temples at the headache that just wouldn't seem to go away. "I'm gonna head out guys."

"Alright, let's go." Bob offered as you slid from your seat.

Guilt filled your system, not wanting to make Bob turn in early just because you couldn't hold your liquor. But, the two of you did drive together since you shared the same street and Bob wasn't planning on drinking.

You shook your head. "Bob, no it's fine. I'll just get an Uber or something. Stay, have fun."

Ignoring your protests, Bob turned to grab his keys. Knowing that you weren't going to win this battle, you sighed and turned to give Phoenix a goodbye hug.

"Try to make it past the door without throwing up this time." Phoenix winked teasingly, resulting in her earning a poke at her side. She contorted her body away from your hand and you laughed, bidding her and the team a goodnight.

Bob appeared beside you once more and the two of you headed out.

-

Waking up the next morning wasn't nearly as terrible as you thought it would be. Your headache was completely gone but the hunger in your stomach was unbearable. You ate something light before going to bed, but it seems your body didn't get the memo.

Luckily, it was the first Saturday of the month, which meant it was your and Bob's monthly lunch date. You guys have had this ritual for years and only missed it whenever you weren't in proximity of each other. It was meant to give you and Bob one-on-one time whenever weeks got hectic and you two wouldn't get to hang out as much. Although you both loved your squad, it was always nice to spend time alone together just like you did when you were kids.

Pulling into your favorite part of town that was littered with everything you and Bob love—a cozy little cafe with the best waffles and coffee known to man, a bookstore across the street, and a movie theater just down the block—you rushed inside to get those delicious aforementioned waffles in your grumbling stomach as quickly as possible.

Your eyes scanned the cafe for Bob, knowing that he always arrived earlier than you did. After a few seconds, you managed to find him scrolling on his phone at a table tucked away in the corner.

You make your way towards him but just before you take a seat, you stop in your tracks.

"You're actually the best person ever."

Bob's gaze lifts to yours as he lets out an easy chuckle and stuffs his phone away in his pocket.

A smile splits across your face as you take in the stack of steaming waffles covered in whipped cream, fresh fruit, and chocolate drizzle. Right beside it is an iced coffee, which you're sure is made exactly how you like. You immediately reach out for the chair and hurry to grab the utensils to dig in. Once you successfully shovel a perfect bite into your mouth with a little bit of every topping, you let out a satisfied groan.

"Yeah, I figured you'd be starving after yesterday. Didn't feel like you should wait if you didn't have to." Bob began to eat the omelette that you only registered was in front of him after your post waffle clarity.

"I hope you get everything you ever wish for in life Robert Floyd."

The food still being chewed in your mouth made your words almost incoherent. But, after knowing you for so long, Bob was basically fluent in any state you were in.

''Slow down. We don't want you throwing all that up on my shoes this time around. They're new."

You let out another groan. This time out of embarrassment.

"Don't remind me. I actually can't believe I did that. Next time I don't eat and decide to drink the entire bar, I want you to bring that exact moment up."

Bob scoffs. "Yeah right, like you'd listen. Just like you did last night when I told you to eat."

You just shrugged knowing that he had a point.

After some more easy conversation, you decided now was the perfect time to set into motion the plan you've been working on for a few months now.

You set your fork down and reach for a sip of your coffee in order to give yourself a few seconds to prepare the most authentic looking disappointed face known to man.

"Okay bubs, I have some news and you're not going to like it." The middle of Bob's brows furrowed and you mentally applauded your grave tone. "But don't worry, I'll do my very best to make it up to you."

The utensils in his hands get set down immediately, his full attention on you."What is it?"

"I know your birthday is coming up in a few weeks, but I won't be here to celebrate with you."

Bob's concern drops immediately. He shakes his head, averting his attention back to his meal. "Oh my god. I thought you were being serious."

You were prepared for this exact reaction. So, you channeled all of your practice from the school play you did when you were in the seventh grade and pushed on.

"No Bob, I'm telling the truth. My sister sent the date for her college graduation ceremony and it falls on your birthday weekend."

He just nods along, clearly not believing you. "Yeah, yeah. You know, I thought we were past you trying to surprise me with some party. We both know every time you do, you get all pouty when I never fall for it."

You folded your arms and, true to his word, your lips pout. Bob sees this and points his fork at you. "Yes, just like that! I know you want me to feel excited by some big party, but, you know me. I don't need some big elaborate surprise to feel special."

"Okay, first of all, I am not lying. And second of all, everyone deserves to feel special on their birthday-"

"And I do."

"But it's not the same," you exasperate.

You've been trying to throw Bob a surprise party ever since your eighteenth birthday. You were looking forward to it all year and the week before your party was supposed to happen, bam. Your appendix burst. You had to cancel your party and, although you were grateful for spending a small celebration with your parents and sister, you were devastated.

Your parents offered to postpone the party, but you felt guilty making them go through all the trouble of planning again. But then, your lovely best friend decided to step in behind your back and throw you the party of your dreams. He singlehandedly sent out new invitations to your closest friends, called the catering place to reschedule, and rounded up your family at the crack ass of dawn to set up your backyard. All without you noticing.

After a successful day of keeping you in the house until night with a movie marathon, Bob dragged you out to your backyard. You immediatley broke down in tears, heart bursting at the seams. Purple and green streamers lined the fences that surrounded the yard, a double chocolate cake was sat on one of the long tables, and all of your favorite people were there. While you originally thought it was your parents who did this, they just pointed to a bashful Bob staring and awaiting your reaction.

It wasn't just the fact that he took the time and spent the effort to do all this for you, it was that he wasn't looking for any recognition at all. He just offered a shrug when you asked if he did all this and, when he nodded, you tackled him while in a fit of pure joy.

From that moment on, you've devoted your life to trying to give Bob the same feeling he did to you on that day. However, that obviously has never come to fruition since he always manages to figure out when you're lying. And while there is never a doubt in your mind that he enjoys the events you plan for him, it is a very surreal feeling to have someone do something for you exactly how you wished without being asked. The moment made you feel completely seen and you want Bob to know that you've always seen him, too.

While your past attempts have failed, this time you are sure you're going to succeed.

"Okay, prove it."

"I literally have the email that got sent to Becca. I'll show you right now." You pulled your phone out and opened the messages app. Turning it to show Bob, he reads the screenshotted email and examines the date stamp of the message. It was sent a week ago.

So, obviously the email wasn't real. You roped your sister into this and went as far as to create a fake email that looked exactly like her school's. With some research and careful editing, it looked legit. You called Becca and told her when to send it. Following the screenshot were messages about how you were oh so sad that you'd have to break it to Bob that you'd be missing his party.

Bob handed the phone back to you before saying, "Okay…this could still be fake. I don't believe you."

Sighing, you scrolled through your phone and opened up the messages with your Mom. There was a reused screenshot of flight information sent by an airline that you had from the past years with the date edited. It was followed by messages regarding pickup details.

Bob's shoulders slumped ever so slightly and you knew you got him. You had to keep yourself from smirking in victory. Who has a terrible poker face now Bob?

"Oh." His voice was small and guilt started to creep into your system at his obvious effort to not appear too disappointed. But you shoved those feelings down knowing that it was all going to be worth it in the end. "That's okay. Like you said, we can celebrate another time. Not a big deal. It's not like it's our first birthday we've had to make up."

You nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah exactly. I'll make sure you have the best time when I get back."

After finishing your meals and browsing the nearby bookstore, you two went your separate ways. Once you were in your car and one hundred and ten percent sure that Bob left the parking lot, you broke out in a happy dance.

Everything is going to be perfect.

-

"Thanks for letting me crash here Hangman. I owe you one."

Weeks had passed since you first broke the news to Bob that you "wouldn't" be here for his birthday. He originally offered you a ride to the airport, but obviously without a flight, that would just be a waste of gas and time. So, you made up some excuse about Jake owing you a favor and you wanting to be as annoying to him as possible.

Bob laughed at that and gave no protests since it meant Jake would be inconvenienced.

In reality, the two of you weren't going to the airport. Instead, you were going to camp out at Jake's apartment because Bob would never unexpectedly visit like he would Natasha's or Mickey's place.

It would only be for a day. Plus, Jake just moved into his apartment, making Bob the most unfamiliar with it, which is perfect for your facetime with him tonight.

"No problem Scope. But I got to hand it to you. I think this is the year you successfully surprise Baby on Board."

You beamed at Jake. "You think so?"

He nodded and guided you to the guest room.

"Definitely. As long as Fanboy doesn't open his big mouth and accidentally lets it slip at dinner tomorrow night."

You groaned, "Ugh. Please make sure he limits his alcohol consumption. You know how chatty he gets when he's wine drunk."

"Will do," Hangman promised. "What time is everyone getting here?"

With Bob's birthday being a day away, you wanted to go over the plan with the squad one more time just to ensure everything went perfectly. You bribed them all with free pizzas and beers that you and Jake picked up.

You settled down onto the very comfortable queen size bed before saying, "In an hour so I'll order the pizza in a bit. Can you put the beers in the fridge till they come?"

Jake hummed before walking out the door.

Flopping back onto the bed, you open up your phone and order a few boxes of pizza from the nearby place you know everyone loves. After all the food has been ordered, you decide to take a little nap before everyone arrives. But just as you're getting comfy and two seconds away from knocking out, your phone decides to ruin your peace with a ding!

Your eyes shoot open and immediately reach for the phone. Because, while you know that you aren't on a plane, it slipped your mind that Bob doesn't. What also slipped your mind was that you needed to text or call Bob before your flight, something you both always did out of habit to give each other peace of mind before boarding. You tap your phone on and open up the messages app.

From Bubs: Hey just wanted to check in. Are you about to board?

From You: Yep, boarding right now! Sorry it's really hectic here, slipped my mind to text you.

As soon as you sent your message, Bob responded with a Have a safe flight :) and you tossed your phone aside before knocking out cold.

You wake up around an hour later to someone jumping you and disrupting your peaceful slumber.

"WAKE UP SLEEPY HEAD!"

A muffled groan comes out of you, courtesy of the sleeve of Mickey's hoodie covering your face.

"Fanboy if you don't get up right now, I will start biting."

He rolls off with all the urgency of a man who knows you're bluffing.

With your face hoodie-free, you're able to blink awake to see Phoenix leaning on the entrance of the door with an amused grin. "Come on Scope, get up. Everyone's here and so is the food. Be quick before the guys get distracted by some game on the tv."

"Okay okay, I'm coming," you mumble while rubbing the sleepiness out of your eyes.

Phoenix kicks off the frame to head back to the living room and Fanboy follows, but not before shoving you back on the bed when you stand up and running away giggling like a five year old.

"Mickey!" You huff and get back up to follow after them.

Reaching the living room, you see the group already cozy in their spots. Boxes of pizza are spread open across the coffee table, everyone has food and a beer in hand, and Hangman is already scrolling through channels to find something interesting. Rooster, Hangman, and Coyote occupy the L-shaped couch while Phoenix is crisscrossed on the nearby armchair.

You grab some pizza and a beer from the fridge before settling down behind the coffee table on the plush carpet beside Fanboy—but not before grabbing a hold of his head and giving him a noogie.

Once you're all comfy, you grab everyone's attention. "Okay people, big day tomorrow night. I need everything to run smoothly."

Even though you've run this plan with them a couple of times before, all of their eyes and attention is locked on you. They understand how important this is to you so, even if they don't need to hear the plan again, they humor you.

"You all know what you're doing?" Nods are given all around, but you still feel the need to double check.

"Nat, what time are you picking Bob up?"

"Seven-thirty, and we're going to that fancy italian place we go to every year," she responds.

"Perfect. And what time is everyone heading out?"

"Ten p.m sharp." Everyone says in unison.

A smile spreads across your face. "Yes, and most importantly, what are you guys supposed to do when giving your keys to the valet?"

Rooster swallows his bite of pizza before answering. "Find Jordan and give her Phoenix's keys."

When planning for tomrrow, you stopped by the restaurant last week to ask if anyone would be working that could pretend to have a "little misshap" and say that there is some sort of confusion with finding Phoenix's keys. This way, everyone else will have time to rush to Bob's house for the surprise without him seeing. That's when you met Jordan, the sweetest girl who agreed to do it after hearing the reason behind Bob's surprise party and who said she'd be working that night.

You let out a sigh, trying to let go of all the nerves and trust that your friends were going to do everything perfectly.

Seeing the anxiety written all over your face, Fanboy spoke. "Scope relax, we got this."

His shrug of confidence actually helped a lot to ease your worries, but you still decided to egg on him.

"Yeah as long as you, Mr. Chatterbox, are able to keep your lips sealed."

Fanboy put a hand to his chest in mock offense before getting distracted by whatever channel Hangman flicked to.

You relaxed against the couch behind you feeling hopeful that everything would go according to plan. A small smile was permanently etched on your face the rest of the night in ancitipation of Bob's reaction.

-

Is it considered breaking and entering into someone's house if said someone is your best friend who gave you a key to his apartment years ago for emergencies? Well, you constitute needing to surprise him as an emergency so, it's fine.

After Hangman dropped you back home, you were finally able to use your car without Bob noticing that it was gone from its place on the side street. You were going to have to do multiple trips from your place to his because of all the bean bag chairs and other decorations you bought, but at least it was only down the street.

You facetimed Bob at exactly midnight. Fanboy and Coyote decided to stick around a little longer so you asked everyone to quiet down before you headed to the guest bathroom, a place Bob definitely wouldn't recognize. You called wishing him a happy birthday, always needing to be the first to greet each other on birthdays. He wanted to say hi to your sister whose apartment you said you were crashing at, but you just told him she was sleeping. Another perk of being dedicated to calling at such a late hour.

Although he tried to hide it, you could hear the disappointment in his voice, the edge in his tone when talking about how excited he was to go out with the group. Your heart cracked a little at his sadness but you reminded yourself once again that it would all be worth it.

Now, it's up to you to get everything set up and you have around two hours to do it.

You work as fast as you could and had the layers of sweat to prove it. Bob's backyard was perfect. He lived in the coziest craftsman bungalow you've ever seen. Warm colors, the comfiest furniture known to man, and photos of his family and friends scattered everywhere. But most importantly, his backyard had a good amount of space. Just the right amount for the outdoor plan you had.

You clicked on your phone and had exactly twenty minutes to spare. The perfect amount of time for you to get ready before Bob got here.

You took the quickest shower ever, did some skincare, and put on your pajamas that you packed. The wide leg sweatpants and one of Bob's old t-shirts were a wonderful reprieve from the sweaty jeans you had been confined in.

By the time you finished up, you heard a couple knocks on the door and rushed to open it. Behind it was the squad, aside from Bob and Phoenix of course.

"Okay everyone, Phoenix texted me saying that she was eight minutes away so hurry up and get changed."

The men all filed into the house carrying a spare change of clothes you told them to bring for the night. Once everyone was dressed, you shuffled them into the backyard to hide knowing that Phoenix would be arriving with Bob at any minute. As soon as everyone stepped outside, their eyes widened in awe.

"Woah Scope, you did all this in the span of two hours?!" Payback gawked.

Bob's backyard was just how you imagined it would turn out to be. The grass covered area was filled with blankets spread across the floor, throw pillows littered everywhere, and eight bean bag chairs. Along the perimeter of the wooden fence and hung on some trees were fairy lights illuminating a warm glow that softly filled the space. In front of everything was a plastic backdrop stand holding a sheet. Off to the side was a table full of Bob's favorite snacks and drinks that surrounded the elevated projector you ordered online. And the cherry on top was the vintage popcorn machine you in a corner that you which was currently churning out some kernels.

When you two were younger, Bob always thought they were the coolest thing. So, you decided now was a good time to fulfill that childhood dream.

Coyote's jaw was practically touching the floor before saying, "No, seriously, you're insane. I don't know how you pulled this off, but you did it."

Before you could bask in anymore compliments, you heard the loud lock on a car go off. Phoenix and Bob are here.

You rushed to turn off the fairy lights so that they wouldn't draw Bob's attention through the windows.

"Quick everyone, hide!" you whisper-shouted.

All of them were quick to duck below the eye-line of any windows and you moved to hide behind a tree to serve as a final surprise. It was barely covering you but you knew the rest of the guys would draw Bob's attention away before he noticed.

After a minute, the door clicks open followed by Bob's voice. Peering around the tree, you see Bob semi-distracted by Phoenix as he steps outside, keeping his focus away from the entire set-up.

"Phoenix, are you sure we're even able to see the shooting stars with all the light pollu- What the?"

"SURPRISE!" Before Bob could even comprehend what was going on, you turned the fairy lights on with the remote control you grabbed before hiding and the guys popped up from their squatted positions.

If eyes could pop out of their sockets, they'd definitely be rolling out of Bob's head right now. He was a stuttering mess. "You guys- how did you- when did you-…what's happening right now?"

Phoenix jumped in with an amused grin asking, "You like it?"

Bob let out a surprised huff as he took everything in. "Of course! This is literally the coolest thing ever, but how were you all able to do this? You were with me the entire night. And I think I would have noticed you guys carrying all this stuff here."

Everyone let out a collective chuckle before Bob just turned to Natasha looking for answers. She just shrugged before spotting you from behind the tree and nodding her head in your direction.

You walked out from behind your spot with a shy smile. "Surprise Bob! Happy birthday."

Understanding seemed to wash over his features, the furrow in his brow immediately relaxing. You knew he realized that this was all some elaborate scheme you pulled off, yet the shock was still coursing through him. He shook his head in disbelief. "You did all of this? How did you do all this?"

You nodded. Before you could even get an explanation out, a squeal ripped through you Bob raced at you. He picked you up into the biggest hug ever and spun you around. You immediately wrapped your arms around his shoulders, giggling like a child.

After a few seconds he put you down, hands settled on your waist while yours slid to rest on his shoulders. His eyes gleamed under the fairy lights and you wished you could take a picture of the pure joy on his face. You had no doubt that your expression matched his.

"You liar," he accused, but there was not even a single ounce of betrayal on his face.

"Guilty. But be honest, did I finally get you?"

"How could you not? You had so much proof and, like, planned everything so ahead of time that I couldn't even convince myself that you were lying. How were you even able to answer from your sister's place?"

"I didn't. I crashed at Hangman's."

At the mention of your friend, the two of you finally separated from each other's grasp and turned to the group. You rolled your eyes at Fanboy who had his phone out recording the entire interaction.

Bob continued to look around, still taking it all in.

You clapped your hands and rubbed them together in anticipation. "Anddd, we're having a movie marathon. So, let's get this party started!"

Excited energy polluted the air as everyone took the time to grab snacks and popcorn.

Finally noticing the popcorn machine, Bob whipped his head in your direction. "No way. You actually got one of these?!"

"Mhm," you proudly nodded,"I thought of everything."

Shaking his head in awe he let out a breathy, "You really did."

Once everyone settled down onto beanbags that surrounded around the makeshift screen, you turned on the projector.

"NO WAY! STARWARS?!"

A laugh bellowed out of you from Bob's realization.

"Duh, what else would we watch for your birthday you nerd?" You ruffled his hair before plopping down on the seat right next to him.

Fanboy let out a dramatic, "SHHHHHH. It's starting," which left you with no other choice but to throw a handful of popcorn at him in retaliation.

The conversations and jokes didn't entirely settle, but they quieted down to just a murmur.

You were focused on the beginning scenes before feeling a pair of eyes on you. You turned to Bob and found him looking at you carrying a small smile that hadn't disappeared from his face since you saw him. He looked utterly contented.

Your face immediately mirrored his as you let out a quiet, "What?"

Bob leaned in to not bother your friends.

"I told you that you didn't have to go through all this trouble to make me have a good birthday. I love all of this though, thank you, but I would have been just as happy with you at dinner."

"I know, but I wanted you to experience at least half of what I did."

His eyebrows furrow.

"You know…for what you did for me at my eighteenth party." Realization hits Bob and he seems to finally see what the fuss was all about.

"Scope, is that why you've been scheming all these years?"

You nod.

"You seriously didn't have to go through all this trouble. You don't owe me anything because of that party."

A pink hue painted your cheeks. "I know, I just wanted you to know how special you are to me Bob. You don't know what that night meant to me."

He shook his head dismissively and breaks eye contact. "It wasn't all that. Anyone would have done that for you."

To bring his attention back on you, you gently place a hand on his arm.

"Bob. Not just anyone would have done that for me. And it's not just about the party. It's about the effort and thought that you put into all of it. I've never felt as cared about as that night and it was all thanks to you. And if tonight made you feel even the slightest bit similar, then I am satisfied."

The sparkle in his eyes caused by the light seem to only amplify. There's an indescrible look on Bob's face, and, for the second time that night, you wish you could take a picture to keep the memory forever.

Seemingly at a loss for words, he pulls you to him and wraps his arm around you.

Into your hair beside your ear, he breathes your name out like its a sacred thing that he has the privledge to know. "Thank you. This is the best birthday ever."

If the tightness of his hug is anything to go by, you think that everything was a success.

Before the two of you can pull apart, a pillow is thrown at the back of your head.

Whipping your head towards the direction it came from, you see all of your friend's eyes locked on the screen — completely unbothered — before pointing to Mickey.

"Oh really? Thanks guys."

"Fanboy! What the heck?"

"What? You guys were being too mushy. It's cute, but like, you're distracting."

And that's all it took for you to start a pillow fight with Mickey.

Easy laughter and jokes spilled out of everyone the rest of the night. After finishing the second movie, almost everyone was either snoring or drooling on themselves. The only survivors of the night were you, Bob, and Phoenix.

"Okay birthday boy, I think its time to wrap this up. Let's round everyone up and clean this mess up tomorrow, yeah?"

Bob responded with a nod before stretching his limbs out like a cat, prompting a sleepy giggle to fall from your lips.

Natasha, noticing that you and Bob were getting up, followed and started shaking some of the guys awake.

Once everyone was awake, they dragged their feet heavily inside Bob's house.

"Okay, Nat and Mickey, you're crashing at my place. Here's the keys. Go ahead, I'm just going to help set up the air mattresses here."

After a few minutes of setting up some air mattresses in the living and the boys playing a game of rock paper scissors over the spare room Bob had, everyone was settled in. They practically knocked out as soon as their head hit the pillows.

While Bob walked you to the door, not worrying about needing to be quiet since the guys were out cold, you told him to give you a second to grab something you forgot. A quizzical expression fell over Bob's features when he saw you walking out of the kitchen towards him with a glow in your hands. That is, until you began to sing happy birthday quietly.

"…happy birthday bubs. And many more."

The single candle topped on the small vanilla cupcake in your hands was raised enough to illuminate Bob's face in the darkness that enveloped the rest of the room. It reflected off of his glasses, but there was no doubt that the warmth exerted from Bob was caused by the flicker of the candle alone.

He stared into your eyes before you nudged him to make a wish. Shutting his eyes, he took a few seconds before blowing out the candle.

"You really thought of everything, didn't you?"

"I know they gave you a cake at the restaurant, but I wasn't there. And I didn't want to subject you to another moment in the spotlight, I know how much you hate it."

Taking a hold of the small plate in one hand, Bob wrapped his free arm around your shoulder and placed a kiss on the side of your forehead. Warmth filled your chest for what felt like the thousandth time that night and you couldn't be happier with how everything turned out.

"Goodnight Bub, I hope today was everything you wished for and more." You greeted him goodbye as you pushed the door open.

"Trust me, you outdid yourself. Can't believe you finally got me. Goodnight, Scope"

You were grateful to have basically done your entire nighttime routine at Bob's house because that meant you just needed to brush your teeth before knocking out. Once you entered your house, your ears filled with the sound of Fanboy's snoring coming from the couch. Unlike Bob, your apartment only had one bedroom which meant you were sharing a bed with Nat.

The door to your bedroom creaked, much to your dismay, causing Natasha to stir in her sleep.

"Scope, is that you?" she mumbled.

You pulled the covers on your side before apologizing. "Yeah, sorry babe, didn't mean to wake you."

She only hummed before going back to bed. After you were all snug under the blanket, you allowed yourself to fully relax and sink into the bed. All of the stress and worrying paid off and you couldn't be happier. You took a minute to replay the night before falling asleep.

It was still dark when you woke up to the feeling of being absolutely dehydrated and overheated. Kicking off the blanket you were encased in, you looked to the clock on your beside table that read four a.m.

You stumbled into the kitchen, still half asleep, before pulling a glass of water from the cupboard above the sink. Footsteps echoed behind you, but you were too busy trying to quench your thirst. After filling the glass with water and taking the largest gulp known to man, you startled at the strong arms that enclosed your waist before relaxing into the hold. Your head leaned back against the shoulders, eyes closing in comfort.

The sleepiness was evident in the deep rasp you usually heard in his morning voice.

"Sweetheart, what are you doing up?" He began peppering soft kisses along your neck, eliciting a hum from you.

"Was thirsty," you mumbled.

His aviator glasses bumped the side of your face, but you didn't mind. Turning in his grasp, you buried your face in his chest to breathe in his scent. The usual jetfuel smell that accompanied him after a long day of flying was replaced by clean cedarwood.

His large palm rubbed comforting circles up and down your back. You pulled back just enough to stare into the man's face.

Bob is just the cutest when he's sleepy.

The two of you shared a smile before both your eyes went to eachother's lips. You leaned in, your lips about to touch and-

You couldn't sit up fast enough. A sheen of sweat covered your forehead as you gasped for air. You looked around your surroundings, trying to grasp where you were.

Natasha was sound asleep beside you and the sunlight was just barely beginning to peak through your curtains. The noise of the birds chirping did little to ease the beating in your ears.

Did I just have a dream about dating Bob?

- You have never dreaded the thought of coming into work more than you did now. You loved your job, you really did. But you didn't know what to do with the confusion that plagued your mind.

After the dream, you were totally out of it. You tried to act as normal as possible, but kept zoning out whenever you talked to Mickey and Natasha. You blamed it on being spent from all the planning and they thought nothing of it. The rest of the weekend, you did your best to avoid Bob at all cost, which proved to be a challenge, but you managed to do it.

However, now it was Monday morning and you can't exactly avoid Bob when you're both pilots in the same squadron.

Usually, Bob and you would carpool, but the thought of being confined in a vehicle with him for fifteen minutes made you feel even more sick than any g-force ever could. So, you sent him a text the night before saying that you and Nat were going to grab a bite to eat before work and would be up earlier than usual. You made sure to send it when you knew he was asleep, which was easy since he was basically a grandpa and slept at nine p.m. on work nights.

In the locker room, you were thankful that Natasha wasn't a chatty morning person because you were so lost in your thoughts that you don't think you could've held a conversation. As you pulled on your flight suit, you couldn't get the dream out of your head.

It didn't mean anything, it was just a dream. You aren't held liable for the things your subconscious pulls. Plus you've known Bob your whole life, if something was there it would have happened already. You're gonna see him right now and see that you're being ridiculous. It meant nothing. It meant-

"Scope. Scope, hellooo?"

The sound of Nat's voice pulled you back to reality. "Oh sorry Phoenix."

"Where the heck is your head at? It's time to go to the briefing room, we have five minutes."

"Right, yeah. Just super tired this morning. Let's go."

Too tired to consider question anything, Nat just shut her locker before the two of you headed out.

The closer you got to the double doors of the briefing room, the more you felt like your heart was going to explode. You haven't felt this nauseous since your first day at the academy. Nerves coursed through your system and you just thanked your lucky stars that you haven't fainted yet.

Your worries eased just the slightest bit when you realized that the guys weren't in the room yet. You were tempted to force Natasha to sit beside you, but you decided against it, needing to prove to yourself that your feelings for Bob were as normal as ever.

Taking your usual seat in the front row, you shut your eyes and tried to focus on your breathing. Its effects were just starting to kick in before Hangman and Coyote's loud voices echoed outside the room. Although you couldn't hear Bob, you were sure he was with them. Within two seconds, the doors burst open and the rambunctious group strolled in.

You forced your eyes open as you registered the all too familiar light footsteps approaching. The pounding of your heart felt like it was going at one beat per minute, each breath you took feeling more labored than the last. And then, you saw him.

Bob, as normal as ever, entered your peripheral vision and you refused to look at him head on. He was occupied flipping through a notebook he always brought, facing you while he stood in front of his seat.

With all of the courage you could muster, you finally stared up at him.

And, oh no.

It felt as though the air was sucked out of your lungs by some imaginary force. Your heart stuttered.

The position of the early morning sun shone perfectly on Bob through the window beside you. You often teased Bob for having the brownest blue eyes you've ever seen, but now they were brightened in a way you didn't have the pleasure of usually witnessing. His short hair that was usually gelled to the side was falling ever so slightly over his forehead. And you wanted nothing more than to satisfy the urge of pushing it back into place, just to be able to touch it. His green flight suit was partially unzipped at the collar, revealing the silver chain around his neck. Your features relaxed, drinking in the sight of him.

That's when he must have noticed you staring and raised his head. The soft curve of his lips deepened as your gazes met, nothing you haven't seen before. But the feeling of your heart plummeting to the floor was definetly a new sensation. Yes, Bob has always been cute to you, but in an adorable, puppy way. Definetely not in the way that made you want to pull him down by his dog tags to kiss him.

Stop. Oh dear god please stop. What are you thinking?!

His soft voice broke the trance you found yourself in. "Morning Scope. How was your breakfast?"

It was an effort to find your voice."Um, fine? It wasn't anything special, just a bagel."

He matched your confused expression.

"A bagel? I thought you went somewhere with Phoenix?"

Oh. That's right, you did tell him that.

Feigning realization, you quickly responded, "Ohhh, right yeah. Um, the place was actually closed so we just grabbed bagels on the way."

"Huh, that sucks sorry about that."

Before he could continue conversation with you, Mav's voice boomed through the room. He was going over the schedule for the day, but for the life of you, you just couldn't sit still. Your leg bounced the entire time and you were very aware of Bob's arm next to yours that rested in the middle arm rest. While you weren't touching, the close proximity was enough to make you fold your arms together.

This is going to be a long week.

- And a long week it was.

Pretending like your entire world wasn't just flipped upside down drained the absolute life out of you. Thankfully, you and Bob didn't have many run-ins at work. Any time you were in the air, Bob was reviewing his past flights, and vice versa.

The only time you were forced to act normal was during lunch. While you two usually sat next to each other, you began to progressively make subtle excuses throughout the week to sit with the others. You spoke with Phoenix about the latest book you were reading, caught up with Coyote about the newest album your favorite band released, and even suffered through whatever Hangman was yapping about. And no one suspected a thing.

Then came Saturday. You were looking forward to the beach day the squad had planned, but, the universe had different ideas about that. As if it couldn't make your week any more difficult, you were hit with the worst food poisioning.

You started to feel it after lunch on Friday and became especially queasy when thinking about dinner that evening. Late into the night, you were awoken by the violent urge to hurl and ended up falling asleep on the bathroom floor.

After forcing a few pieces of toast down your stomach in the morning, you found yourself curled into the fetal position on your couch. Just wanting to sleep it off, you quickly sent a text about not being able to make it to the beach to the group chat. The heaviness and constant pain in your stomach made the thought of any notification feel too much, prompting you to shut it off for the rest of the day.

You successfully managed to sleep until heavy knocks annoyingly struck your front door. You tried to ignore it until Bob's voice carried through the door.

"Scope? It's me. Are you in there?"

Oh poor, sweet, caring Bob.

You wanted him instantly annihilated.

You forcefully grunted, "Bob. Use your key."

"Oh right," he quietly mumbled.

He had a spare you gave him as soon as you got the place in case of emergencies. He never cared to use it, often forgetting he even had it at all.

The jingle of his keys and the turn of the knob turning signaled his entrance.

"Aw, Scope." His husky voice was laced with concern. It would have melted your heart if the food poisoning didn't make you already feel like everything inside was disintegrated.

He immediately approached you, letting the door shut on its own before crouching in front of you.

This was your worst nightmare. Bob has seen you at your worst, worse than how you looked now. But that didn't prevent insecurity from flooding your system.

Your folded arms shielded your face, originally to keep the light out, but now to hide away from Bob. You felt disgusting. Sweat covered your entire body from the makeshift cocoon of blankets you wrapped yourself in and felt too lazy to unravel from. You hadn't managed to brush your teeth so you knew it could only smell horrendous. You wished for nothing more than to be swallowed by the earth right now.

And you just about wanted to implode when Bob ran a comforting hand up and down your side. The weight of his palm did quite literally the opposite of soothe you.

"Mm, what time is it?"

"It's two sweetheart."

Without opening your eyes, you began to push Bob away as you sunk further into the couch.

"Bob what? You're supposed to be at the beach right now," you whined.

"And so are you miss M.I.A," he replied, swiping your arms away. "What's going on? Got the flu?

"Food poisoning."

Bob hummed in response before taking a seat in the space beside your legs.

"Bob. Out. Beach."

He huffed out a pitiful laugh. "Scope, you went ghost on us. Everyone's worried about you."

"Okay well I'm alive."

"Barely"

"And you should be having fun."

At this, he brought his hand up to your face, brushing away the hair sticking across your forehead. Despite your embarrassment, you relaxed into the touch.

As if you couldn't fall for Bob any more, the look of care you were greeted with when you opened your eyes sent your mind spiraling. He was scanning your face, analyzing every sign of discomfort.

"Scope, there is no way I'm leaving you alone. We can go to the beach at any time. Someone has to make sure you're not dying."

Before you could protest, Bob just tsked at you. "Don't even bother. Let's get some water in you, yeah? Then you can go back to sleep."

Begrudgingly you agreed.

A few hours later, you woke up to the feeling of Bob's comforting hand rubbing up and down your calves. After he grabbed a glass of water for you and cooked up some oatmeal — which you promptly threw back up five minutes after eating — he gave you some medicine from your cabinet before letting you knock out. Thankfully, the pain in your stomach began to dull into a faint, barely there ache.

Somehow in your sleep Bob managed to rest your legs on top of his lap and turned on a show the both of you had been watching.

"Heyyy, you traitor." At your whine Bob turned to face you. "You're not supposed to be watching that without me you bum."

"I'm not. I'm re-watching the episodes we already saw."

"Oh. I think you're still a bum."

Now that your symptoms were more manageable, it left space for your feelings to return at full force. The easy smile Bob wore made you feel guilty for relishing in his presence, but you didn't have it in your to care. He was here, not at the beach. Of course Bob would be here, it's him. You just wish it didn't make you realize that one thing you've been trying to convince yourself of otherwise.

"You didn't have to stay here you know," your voice came out small. "You should have gone with the rest of them, I'm fine."

His head tilted, like you should know better than to say that to him. "Scope, I'd pick being with you over anything. Even if it means holding your hair up when you're puking your guts out." At your unconvinced expression he continued. "Seriously. We always go to the beach together anyways. Plus I was in no mood to get another sunburn."

Once he finally elicited a small smile from your face, he felt satisfied enough to turn his attention back to the screen. Your heart felt like it skipped a thousand beats just by looking at him. The dim lights, glow from the T.V. that illuminated his side profile so perfectly, and his obvious state of being at ease just did something to you.

It was time to call it.

You had a crush on Bob. Not some sort of weird after effect from your dream. No. You had true feelings for your best friend who you spend all your work and free time with.

Steve had never imagined himself having to live with a roommate, especially a woman that wasn’t his significant other, but coaching and teaching sex-ed to a bunch of middle schoolers didn’t pay shit, and he couldn’t stand living with his parents anymore. So when one of the few people besides him out of the rag-tag group of people he called friends that had stayed in Hawkins mentions something about getting a place together he figures– why not? 

He’d known you for years, had experienced too many near death experiences with you, and he also knew you were looking for any excuse to get out of the damn near slum of an apartment you were living in then. So, on a bright sunny Saturday morning in April the two of you sign the lease for what has now been your home for a little over a year. 

Living with each other was a lot easier than either of you thought it was going to be. Shared chore lists, weekly movie nights, eating dinner together, learning each other’s little quirks– it was all very domestic.

So domestic that sometimes your lines of reality and fantasy blurred and sometimes you’d have to remind yourself that Steve was not your boyfriend and just your best friend. Which usually happened a couple times a month when he’d casually mention that he had a date and so you’d be the good roommate you are and let him have his alone time and then the following week you’d just so happen to have a date also. 

Which is how you’ve ended up with Eric breathing heavily into your ear as he pounds into you with such a hurry that you think maybe he wants this to be over with faster than you do. Your bedframe repeatedly hits the wall as you count the ceiling tiles above you and it’s not until you hear him groan something along the lines of i’m cumming that you let out a fake gasp and then he’s rolling off of you without as much as a second glance. 

He says he’ll call you tomorrow. 

You know he more than likely won’t and that’s more than fine with you. 

Steve strolls through the door near midnight, figuring thats plenty enough time for you two to do whatever, and for the guy to leave without there being any awkward introductions. Thankfully he’s right and he’s greeted with you sitting on the couch, freshly showered and in your pajamas, with what he can only assume is your leftovers from dinner in your lap. 

He plops down onto the couch beside you with a sigh and you immediately shove the styrofoam container of lasagna towards him. “Want some? It’s from Enzo’s.” 

“Enzo’s?” Steve questions, eyebrows raised in surprise. “He must have really wanted to impress you,” he states, grabbing the fork and shoving a piece in his mouth without a second thought. “Did it work?” 

“No,” you reply, taking the fork back from him and splitting what’s left down the middle for the two of you to share. “Should have ended the date after dinner was over.” 

Steve doesn’t say anything, but he knows what you’re alluding to, and he just nods understandingly at you as he takes his turn with the fork. The two of you didn’t necessarily talk about your sex lives, it was implied when either of you had mentioned going on a date and that you needed the apartment to yourself, but neither of you sat here and talked in detail about the latest orgasm you’d had, but if Steve had any inkling, he was pretty sure the guys you brought home weren’t giving you any. 

The thing about your unspoken agreement with Steve about dates and bringing people home was that it wasn’t fool proof. Sometimes the two of you would go out without any expectations of bringing someone home. Then one thing leads to another and suddenly there’s someone trailing in behind either of you and the sound of a bedroom door slamming. It didn’t happen often enough to where it would be an issue, but it happened enough that Steve, while he wasn’t trying to be a creep, was being observant and had seemed to notice the lack of noise from you. 

He’d quickly put on music when he’d hear the sound of your drunken giggles echoing down the hall and then a much deeper voice accompanying yours, but the times when you come home long after he’d gone to bed and you end up waking him up with your loud footsteps and hushes to the mystery man– those times he shamelessly listens.

It seems to be the same variation of sounds and actions every time– the guy trying to be all suave with you, your headboard hitting the wall in rapid succession for a short amount of time, some curses from the guy, and then the sound of the front door slamming shut. Not a single peep out of you the whole time and at first Steve thinks you’re just being considerate, that you’d made the decision to bring someone home while he was here so you’re just being extra quiet, but he also knows that sometimes no matter how hard you try, staying quiet during sex is sometimes impossible.

He figures you’re bound to slip up after a while and he’ll hear a moan or a little dirty talk bleed through the walls, but it never does, except for that one guy you brought home that would not stop with the dirty talk and kept asking you who’s pussy this was. Needless to say Steve ended up putting on music that night. 

And not to toot his own horn, but he knew what it sounded like when a woman was experiencing pleasure, and from what he could tell those guys weren’t getting you off. While he can’t account for the times he isn’t in the apartment, he can tell from your demeanor when he comes home that those times aren’t particularly stellar either. 

Your less than blissed out state as you sit next to him on the couch, sharing your leftover lasagna with him, it proves his point. 

But Steve doesn’t say anything about your lack of post sex glow and how these guys should make it their priority to make you feel good. He doesn’t want to overstep, doesn’t want to cross any lines and potentially make things weird between the two of you, even if he’s a little more concerned with how other guys are treating you in bed than he should be. 

Instead he takes the last bite of his portion of the lasagna and extends an olive branch, an out if you ever needed it, because again he cares about you more than he should. 

“You know if you’re on a date and he’s weird or making you uncomfortable or even if you just want to come home– you can call me. No questions asked, I'll come get you. I’m almost always at Eddie’s or at Slinky’s having a beer.” 

You give him a soft smile, trying to ignore the way his words make your heart do a traitorous thing, like the idea of him being willing to drive across town to come and take you home doesn’t make whatever you feel towards him that much more complicated. 

“Thanks Steve,” you reply, eyes focused on the little bit of lasagna left instead of him. 

“Of course,” he responds, slowly standing up from the couch. “Think I’m gonna go to bed,” his eyes traipse over you, waiting for you to look up at him, and when you finally do he smiles in that endearing way that makes your chest ache. “Goodnight.” 

“Night.” 

You hear his bedroom door close and you’re left sitting on the couch with the now empty takeout container in your lap wondering how much longer you can go on with this act. How much longer can you continue to bring home these guys that don’t know your clit from your nipple and act like the man you actually want isn’t thirty feet away. 

You always get in your head like this afterwards, especially when Steve comes home and you’re absolutely buzzing on the inside with want, but the one thing you want– you can’t have. 

The couch creaks under you as you get up and make the decision to leave the takeout container on the coffee table, claiming you’ll take care of it in the morning. As you pad down the hall and past Steve’s room you hear his muffled voice behind his door and you’re not meaning to eavesdrop, but the sickeningly sweet tone that bleeds out under the door has you frozen in place. 

“Yeah, yeah– I know it’s late and I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t get you out of my mind.” 

“Your number was burning a hole in my pocket from the moment you gave it to me tonight. I couldn't wait to hear your voice again.” 

“I had a really good time tonight and I’d like to see you again if you’re up for it?” 

“Yeah? Great. How about dinner next Friday?” 

“Can’t wait. I’ll call you later with the details.” 

That all too familiar sinking sensation settles deep in your gut and before Steve can figure out you were listening you dart across the hall and into your room. The door slams shut behind you with no regard for the pictures on your wall and before you know it you’re burying your face into your pillow. He’d met someone while he was out tonight and you know you have absolutely no room to talk, no leg to stand on when it came to however you were feeling, you’d been on a date tonight, brought a guy home and had sex, if you could call it that. 

Steve was allowed to do whatever he wanted to, and you knew that, it’s just that you don’t think you can handle another failed date on your end to fill that ache in your heart. 

The next morning you take the initiative to call Eric before he doesn’t and the second date is set for Saturday. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A couple weeks later you manage to score a day off during the week, which meant you had the apartment to yourself.

Steve had thought it was weird how eager you were to send him off to work this morning, in fact majority of the time when you manage to get a day off during the week you’re begging him to play hooky and spend the day with you, but this morning you were nearly pushing him out the door.

He tried not to think too much of it, maybe you just wanted some alone time, or maybe you were inviting Eric over. He had spent the night the last time you went out, which Steve thought was strange, considering you never let guys sleep over, but the mid breakfast meeting between the two men had been interesting to say the least. 

As you walked into the kitchen that morning you found Steve sitting at the little table eating his food with your plate across from him– eggs made just how you like, orange juice in your favorite cup, and toast still hot to the touch. It wasn’t an unusual sight by any means, but what was unusual was you having company in the morning. So he doesn’t even think to make sure you’re alone when he hears you enter the kitchen, eyes not even looking up from his plate, before he blurts out – was he any better this time?

Eric awkwardly clears his throat from behind you and Steve looks up wide-eyed and slightly embarrassed. Before Steve can even begin to spit out an apology Eric mumbles I should get going and it’s an awkward thirty seconds as he gathers his jacket from your room and walks out the front door, because you don’t even try to get him to stay and Steve continues eating his eggs, now content with the departure of the man from your shared apartment. 

Steve figured after that debacle there was no way Eric would be back around, but if he knew Steve wasn’t going to be there today, well there was a chance, and it bothers Steve more than he’d like to admit. Either way though, Steve was going to find out what was going on back at home, because by the time second period rolled around he realized he’d forgotten his change of clothes for baseball practice tonight. There was no way he was going to be out there on that field in slacks and tie, especially when in true Indiana fashion, summer had arrived early and it was sweltering already in May. He’d just run home on his lunch break and grab some clothes and be right back– no big deal. 

He’d even called you before he left to give you a heads up that he was coming home soon, but there was no answer, and so he thinks that maybe his little spiral over Eric potentially being there was for nothing and you probably were out shopping. 

When his pickup truck pulls into his unofficially assigned parking spot at home and your black sedan is in its usual spot next to his– his mind conjures up a million different reasons as to why you hadn’t answered the phone earlier. None of them are good and frankly majority of them involve Eric and he chooses to ignore the alarms going off in his head about how he shouldn’t care this much about you fucking another guy. 

His eyes do a quick sweep of the parking lot, he doesn’t know what Eric drives, so he really doesn’t even know what he’s looking for, but Steve feels like he has crazy intuition and he’s expecting the vehicle to glow like a fucking beacon the second his eyes land on it. 

The search is of course futile. 

His wristwatch lets him know he only has twenty minutes left until he needs to be back at the school and with the hope of not walking through the front door to find Eric balls deep in you– Steve reluctantly gets out of the truck and walks towards apartment 4B. 

For the first time ever in his life– Steve knocks on his own front door. Not because he’s forgotten his key, but because he’s afraid of what might be going down on the other side of this couple inches of wood.. He gives it a minute and when there’s no response or the sound of two people scrambling to get dressed, he shoves his key in the lock and slowly opens the door. 

The living room comes into view as the door fully swings open and to Steve’s surprise it’s exactly as he remembers it when he left this morning– your favorite blanket draped over the back of the couch, his glasses that he claims he doesn’t need on the coffee table, and some of the various VHS tapes that Steve had nabbed back from his Family Video days in a pile on the side table. 

The apartment is eerily quiet save for the hum of the refrigerator and Steve comes to the conclusion that one of your friends has come and picked you up, because when you’re home it’s obvious. There’s always music playing or the TV is loudly playing some show you aren’t even watching– your presence is always known and right now all that lingers is reminders of you. 

He doesn’t think much more of it as he wanders down the hall and towards his room, but the sound that bounces off your four walls and through your door has Steve stunned and his feet cemented to the floor. 

“Oh my god!” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

From the moment you woke up this morning you’d been buzzing with anticipation, finally having the apartment to yourself in god knows how long, the new toy you’d picked up the other day burning a hole in your bedside drawer, and the fact that you haven’t had a good orgasm in ages– it had you wound tighter than a drum. 

It didn’t help that you’d slightly been edging yourself all morning, refusing to touch yourself, but constantly thinking about how good it was going to feel once you did. You could have jumped right into your bed and shoved your hand down your pants as soon as Steve left this morning, but this was more fun, and you knew the payoff for waiting would be worth it. 

It’s not until you find yourself squeezing your thighs together as you fold laundry that you finally cave. 

You grab your new vibrator from the drawer and get comfy on your bed as your heart nearly beats out of your chest from how worked up you are without even touching yourself yet. You’re still in your pajamas, a big t-shirt and shorts, but you keep them on to tease yourself just a little longer. The feeling of your fingertips tracing antagonizingly slow circles around your nipples through your thin t-shirt has a steady warmth spreading through your body and the ache between your plush thighs that much stronger. 

While your left hand still gives your nipples the attention they so desperately crave, your right travels down past your navel and in between your thighs. Your sleep shorts are thin and perhaps you hadn’t put any underwear on last night when you went to bed and maybe the ragged seam had been rubbing up against your clit all morning and maybe you did it on purpose so that when you finally caved just the slightest touch to yourself would have you gasping. 

Which is exactly what happens when your index and middle finger press down against your clothed core and the seam of your shorts rubs against that sensitive bundle of nerves. It feels so good and god you want nothing more than to just go crazy and bring yourself over the edge, but you’ve been so patient, and you’ve got all day to play with yourself. 

So why ruin the fun so prematurely? 

You start slow, the pads of your fingers rubbing small circles over the fabric while your other hand, that is now slipped under your shirt, pinches and gently tugs at your nipples, the both of them working in tandem. The warmth that radiates through you is intoxicating and it doesn’t shock you to feel the cotton of your shorts dampening in record time. You’d been working yourself up all morning and when your hand finally trails under the waistband of your shorts it’s a little obscene just how wet you are. 

Your shorts quickly get discarded, haphazardly thrown onto your floor, and then your shirt gets bunched up just enough to expose your tits to the cool air. The anticipation is burning through you like a wildfire and the only way to smother it is to make yourself come. 

Which is something you planned on doing– multiple times. 

Soft moans slip past your lips as your fingers rub tight little circles on your clit and as your eyes flutter closed your mind wanders to the one thing that you know will only amplify your pleasure.

Steve. 

You’d imagined one too many times, what it would be like to be the girl moaning underneath him, how it would feel to have his big warm hands caressing your body, to have him showering you in compliments and praises. 

Your fingers trail through your folds and down to your sopping wet cunt, circling the sensitive skin around your entrance with such a slow tortuous pace that it tears a whimper from you, hips bucking forward for something more. You know your fingers aren’t going to give you what you need, but you sink your index and middle finger in anyways, searching for that pleasure that you’ve never been able to give yourself. 

If only you had Steve’s long and thick fingers inside you right now, he’d surely have you grabbing at the sheets as he curled them just right, reaching that spot inside you that had you seeing stars. It wasn’t like you had much experience when it came to getting pleasure from your g-spot, considering the only person to ever find it was the girl you hooked up with last October, but you had confidence that Steve would have no issue. 

Just the idea of Steve pumping his fingers inside your tight cunt, stretching you out as he adds a third, it has you mewling. The squelching sounds of your own fingers pistoning into you fills the room and you could only imagine the dirty comment Steve would make about it. You knew he had a way with his words in the bedroom, you’d shamelessly listen through the walls on those nights when he’d bring home a girl on a whim, and you’d stored away those words for times like these. 

God, you’re so wet for me, aren’t you pretty girl?

You’re soaking my cock baby. 

Gonna make a mess all over my sheets aren’t you? 

But even with Steve’s dirty talk echoing around in your head, your fingers of course aren’t enough to bring you over the edge, and you’re hurriedly reaching for your vibrator, slick fingers fumbling with the button before it comes to life in your palm. 

The second you press it to your swollen clit it seems as if electricity shoots through you, pleasure coursing through every vein in your body, and you’ve never been more thankful to be home alone as you lose all composure. 

“Oh my god!” 

Your eyes are screwed shut, head thrown back against your pillow, and the prettiest sounds continue to slip past your lips as you increase the intensity level on the toy. 

It doesn’t take long at all for that all too familiar feeling to creep up on you, for the warmth that’s started low in your belly to spread throughout your body. When you take your vibrator off your clit and slowly trail it up your body all the way to your nipples and circle each of them with it you swear you lose all ability to breath for a second. 

Your chest heaves as you trail it back down your body and back to the sensitive pearl between your spread legs, increasing the intensity once again, which makes your chest heave even more. You’re teetering on the edge, the coil in your tummy on the verge of snapping, and all you can think about is Steve. 

How it sounded when he’d brought home Amanda a couple weeks ago– which is what had caused Eric to happen– how she’d moaned out his name laced with such pleasure that it made you squeeze your thighs together while you laid in bed. How she’d told him don’t stop and how she unapologetically let everyone know how good she was feeling. There was clearly no need for her to fake it. 

God you wanted to know what it was like to be pleased like that, to be taken care of in such a way by someone else that it had you practically incoherent. 

The bad thing was, you wanted that someone to be Steve, who was unfortunately your roommate and best friend. So, having unholy thoughts about him while you masturbated was just going to have to suffice. 

You click the intensity button once again and that is what finally brings you over the edge and turns you into a babbling mess, legs trembling, free hand clutching so tightly onto the sheets that your fingers cramp. 

“Oh my fucking god. Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you holler, pressing the toy harder against your clit as you ride out your orgasm, wishing it was Steve giving you it instead of this vibrator. “Please don’t stop, please, please.” 

Something mixed with greed and insanity takes over you and you press the intensity button again causing your leg to twitch and your hips to buck upwards, all while the vibrator is still glued to your clit. Your second orgasm crashes in fast, riding on the coattails of your first one, and it hits hard. 

“Oh fuck. Oh my god. Please Ste-”

You bite down on your fist, eyes rolling to the back of your head, all while muffled sobs fill your room. The vibrator gets tossed somewhere, on your bed or floor you aren’t sure, but your legs collapse out from under you and you lay flat on your bed, ears ringing with aftershocks coursing through you. 

On the other side of the door Steve is beside himself, his cheeks are flushed, and the semi he’s sporting is damn near a full erection at this point. He knew he should have swiftly turned around and left the second he realized what was happening, but he couldn’t, not when he’s imagined what you sounded like for some time now. What it sounded like when you were experiencing pleasure, what it sounded like when you came, and what it sounded like when you said his name. 

Alright so maybe he was getting ahead of himself, but Steve swears it sounded like you were about ready to moan his name, and you very well may have been getting ready to stay stop again, but he shamelessly hopes it was his name, because then he wouldn’t feel as dirty knowing you think about him when you touch yourself just like he does with you. 

God, you sounded so pretty though, and Steve can’t believe that those sounds came out of you. The girl who he wouldn’t even know was having sex unless he heard your headboard and the sound of the guy or you in a nonchalant way mentioning that the sex with whoever was shit. 

His heart is nearly beating out of his chest and his dick is achingly hard as he hears you coming down from what he could tell was two back to back orgasms. The way he can still hear little whimpers coming from you as you probably lay there spent, your inner thighs slick with your arousal, nipples still so sensitive and sore from you tugging on them. 

There were a million dirty thoughts swirling around in his head and he should feel ashamed, should feel like a creep for what he’s thinking, what he listened in on, but he doesn’t. He hasn’t for a long time when it came to you and he isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel about that either. 

Steve’s startled out of his horny moral dilemma by the sound of your bed creaking and before he can get caught he’s swiftly darting into his room, grabbing what might be a dirty cut off t-shirt and shorts, and tip-toeing back down the hall and out the door. 

As soon as the driver’s side door of Steve’s truck slams shut (which is the only way to guarantee it’s actually shut after Dustin fucked around with it by swinging on it like he was five and now it’s never been the same since) he let’s out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in as his hands grip the steering wheel with such vigor that his knuckles are stark white. 

He quickly adjusts himself in his slacks, tucking his erection into the waistband of his boxers, and tries to think of anything other than the sound of your pretty little whimpers. His head smacks against the headrest as his cheeks puff up, blowing out yet another deep breath combined with an explicit of some sort. 

Steve takes one last look at the apartment, shoves the key in the ignition, and backs out of his parking space like his whole world hasn’t just flipped upside down. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It’s nearing seven-thirty by the time Steve trudges in through the front door in his cut off tee and shorts, sweaty and hot, and still thinking about what took place in this said apartment hours earlier. The remainder of the school day had been a slow type of torture he’d not wish upon his worst enemy and then he had to go coach baseball in the sweltering sun like his whole body wasn’t already on fire. 

You had occupied every square inch on his brain since he left the apartment earlier and at times it wasn’t even anything inherently sexual– it was just you. How he loved coming home everyday to you, how you knew what was wrong with him before he did sometimes, how you deserved to be with someone that could take care of you in a multitude of ways. 

And the sight that greets him as he enters your shared home does nothing to eradicate the overwhelming infiltration of you in his mind. You’re standing at the stove, comfy clothes already on, humming along to whatever Fleetwood Mac song is playing on the radio, and the unmistakable smell of his favorite meal wafts towards him. 

You turn around and the sight of Steve standing there startles you, causing you to jump slightly, then let out the prettiest laugh he thinks he’s ever heard, and it makes Steve’s heart do a traitorous thing.

He figured he’d make it all awkward seeing you for the first time after hearing and listening to what you were doing earlier, but it wasn’t the least bit awkward. It was like any other evening, except you were glowing more than usual, smiling at him like he’d personally given you those orgasms earlier and god as unhinged as it sounded he could only imagine what you looked like directly after sex. 

Which now has his dick doing a traitorous thing instead of his heart. 

“Hard practice?” you ask, eyeing how his biceps glisten with sweat and how he’s got his baseball cap on backwards to keep his hair out of his face. 

“Yeah, hot as hell out there today,” Steve replies, trying not to notice how you don’t have a bra on, how the window AC unit that you insist on running on full blast has your nipples poking through the thin cotton. 

“Well,” you start, before turning back to the stove to stir the boiling spaghetti noodles. “You’re in luck because dinner is almost ready and I’ve made your favorite. Should be done in a few, the chicken is broiling in the oven. I’m trying to get the cheese a little crispy just how you like.” 

“I’m gonna go take a shower real quick then.” 

You nod, not bothering to turn back to face him as you stir the sauce. “Alright, I’ll holler when it’s done.” 

Steve hurries down the hall towards the bathroom and quickly strips out of his sweaty practice clothes, making sure to put them in the hamper because he’s not a slob, and then gets in the shower before he loses his mind.

The cold water does nothing to smother the fire that’s ignited low in his gut and he can’t believe you making him god damn chicken parmesan has got his dick hard again. 

He really is a simple guy and the domesticality of it all does more for him than he’d like to admit. 

Steve knows he’s got to do something about his not so little problem and so he lets his mind focus solely on you as he wraps his hand around his aching cock. His fingers gently squeeze around his shaft and on the first upstroke his hips embarrassingly buck into his fist with no control as his head tips back against the shower wall. 

He fucks his fist with no abandon and when his thumb glides over his throbbing tip a broken moan slips out of him, bouncing off the tile and hopefully not out to the kitchen. His head is swarming with you and all he can think about is how pretty you sounded earlier, how he’d never expected you to be so loud, and it only makes him want to see how much louder you can get. 

He thinks about how he’d love nothing more than to thank you for making him his favorite dinner later by going down on you. To thank you for taking such good care of him, because you do without even realizing it, and as much as Steve is a provider, the kind of person that takes care of others because it’s who he is. Sometimes he needs to be taken care of too, and you do it so well that Steve doesn’t even realize he’s being taken care of, and to him that deserves a mind blowing orgasm or two. 

His chest heaves and he has to brace himself against the wall with his other hand as he continues to stroke himself, imagining it was your soft hands wrapped around him right now, and not his callused ones. 

You consume him entirely and he finds himself having to bite down on the bicep of his extended arm to muffle the moans and whimpers that want to come alive and live within the four walls of this tiny bathroom. 

He’s close, he can feel that sweet release sneaking up on him fast, and with one last stroke Steve comes so hard that he nearly draws blood from how hard he’s biting down on his arm, your name and profanities muffled against the tanned muscle. He paints the shower wall with his cum, stroking himself to damn near overstimulation, until he finally slumps against the wall behind him.

Exhaustion creeps in fast and he’s still trying to catch his breath when he hears a knock on the door. 

“Steve! Hurry up! Dinner is getting cold.” 

He swallows hard, heart nearly leaping out of his chest at the idea of you listening in on him like he had you, but he can’t let his mind go any further than that, can’t let you wait any longer. So, he rinses his cum off the tile wall and quickly finishes his shower. 

When he joins you a few minutes later at the tiny table in the kitchen, his hair still dripping wet onto the old Hawkins High Phys Ed shirt he threw on, and you immediately tease him about having to reheat his own food, but then grab the plate anyways and toss it into the microwave for thirty seconds. 

“Why?” You question slowly. Your eyes briefly fly to Ben who’s scribbling on the coffee table, he looks up curiously when he sees the familiar face.

“Uncle Scott,” he beams in greeting.

Scott matches that expression, the sweetest he’s ever looked, as he comes over and ruffles his hair. “Hey, big man, what’re you working on?”

“Me, mom, and dog.”

“Dog, huh?” he chuckles, “I’m sure we can arrange that.”

Ben brightens, hopeful eyes turning to you. You’re going to strangle this man. “Let’s talk about it after dinner, bud.” Your narrowed eyes switch over to Scott. “A word?”

He confidently strolls back over to you, disregarding your glare as he begins to pull out all sorts of things. Mushrooms, vegetables, packs and packs of meat. USDA Prime. Jesus Christ— “What are you doing?”

“Unpacking groceries.”

You pinch his side. He’s built like a brick wall, he doesn’t even flinch. “Scott.”

He says your name in response. A teasing lilt hanging to each letter.

“Why are you here? What is all this?”

“Groceries.”

“Don’t be an ass. Why did you extend your trip?”

“To spend time with you.” He begins to organize your fridge. Worst part? He knows exactly how you like your fridge arranged so he’s putting all the things in all the right places.

“I’m serious,” you hiss.

“What makes you think I’m not?”

You swallow, gaze flying to Ben again who’s back to drawing out his dream dog. It looks more like a deformed puppy but you get the gist of it. “We can’t—” you take a deep breath, “Listen, Ben is young. He’s going to latch onto you if you keep coming around.”

“Would that be so bad?”

The question infuriates you. You scowl, “Are you fucking kidding me? That would be a nightmare. What happens when you leave? He’s going to be asking around for Uncle Scott who will never come around again. There’s a reason why I don’t bring around just anyone to meet him.”

Scott’s eyes tighten almost imperceptibly, but you know him better than that. “You bring others around to meet him?”

“I— no, that’s not what I meant. Jenna’s really the only person who comes over other than my mom. The staff at the hospital know because he pops by time to time. I don’t— I’m careful about who I expose him to. I don’t want to have to answer questions about where someone went or pick up the pieces of a boy who shouldn’t have his heart broken because people disappear on him.”

He seems to mull over this for a moment. His next question sends a shock through your system.

“Who says I’m leaving again?”

Your heart slams against your ribs. Traitorous little thing is getting excited for nothing. “What’re you talking about?”

“Storm Par is set up and running. We have a good team down in Oklahoma always collecting data. I’ve been managing mostly strategy and investor relations.” He looks a little too pleased when he says, “I need to be closer to potential funders anyway, a lot of them are in the northeast.”

“You’re not—” Your breath hitches in your throat, “you’re not considering moving back, are you?”

A proud look settles on his face. “Just signed for a sublet for the next couple of months while I look for a more permanent apartment. How’s this neighborhood? I don’t remember it being particularly nice, but it seems good. How do you feel about moving?”

“Scott,” you snap. “That’s insane. You can’t just— that’s crazy. You were literally supposed to leave today. Suddenly, you’re deciding to stay here? On a whim? What’s wrong with you?”

“Not a whim, I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve… just decided it’s the right move.”

“In one night?”

“I don’t need more time than that.”

You give him a look. “That’s stupid.”

“It’s efficient decision-making.”

“Scott.”

“What’s for dinner? Does he have any allergies?”

“Scott.”

He takes a deep breath, sapphire eyes dulled out as he looks up at the ceiling, praying for some lord almighty to save him. “We can spend all night arguing about this but it’s a done deal. I like Boston, I’ve decided to come back. Is that so hard to believe?” Before you can say yes, absolutely, Scott continues, “I’ve thought about this for a while. Trust me when I say I am not doing this impulsively and I’m not just going to change my mind.”

The two of you are locked in a stare-down, neither budging. Two stupidly stubborn fools.

Scott’s eyes are jagged when they first land on yours, sharp in a way that could cut. But the longer he looks at you, the more they thaw, like ice melting in the changing of seasons. It’s a soft transition that warms your frozen heart.

However, then his gaze trails to your mouth, the way they’re parted, teeth peeking out in aggravation, tongue pressing against your teeth as your jaw is clenched. His eyes go molten, scorching as they sear into your skin, tracing your bare shoulders, the length of your neck, exposed collarbones.

“Should put more on you,” he mutters.

“What?” You jerk back, confused.

“Nothing. Dinner? I don’t know how to cook.”

“Then get your own damn dinner, I’m not cooking for you.”

He challenges you with a raise of his eyebrow. “But I bought groceries.”

“That I didn’t ask for.”

“I fuckin’ forgot how bull-headed you are sometimes. Arguing for the sake of arguing.” He huffs a laugh through his nose, hip leaning against your counter, eyes sparkling. “If you wanted to fuck, just say so.”

His voice is low, low enough that you know Ben doesn’t catch it over the sound of the television, but it still puts you on high alert. “Can you not say insane things when my son is around?”

“Always picked a fight when you wanted a fuck,” he smirks.

Your lips part, ready to tell him off, but he turns to the sink instead, beginning to wash his hands.

“Now, what do you need help with?”

Scott’s reappearance has thrown your life for a loop, adding this new, uncontrolled variable that you’re not sure how to handle. He drops you off and picks you up from work. The moment he heard that you’ve been taking the train an hour each way to work, he made that call with no room for argument. He refuses to even drop you off a block away from the hospital so you end up with your coworkers’ curious eyes on you when you’re pulling up every morning in Scott’s stupidly shiny car.

“Have a good day at work, honey,” he would call out obnoxiously through the open window.

The furious glare you throw his way does nothing to deter this behavior. Now, you’re bombarded with questions about him every time you have a moment to yourself, which means you no longer have a shred of peace at work.

He comes by nearly every evening; you say nearly because you had to cut him off, tell him that he cannot show up every single day.

“Why not?”

“Scott. You can’t just come here everyday, he’s going to get confused. You are not family.”

“Yet.”

“What?”

“Fine. Every other day, but full weekends.”

It’s a compromise that you tried to negotiate down, but he refuses to budge on.

The worst part is that Scott is terrific with Ben.

He’s smart and answers all of Ben’s questions with tact. The moment your son learns that Scott works with tornadoes, chasing after them and being smack dab in the middle of the action, he’s absolutely enthralled. You have to emphasize to Scott that you will murder him if Ben ever tells him that he wants to be a tornado chaser.

“I’ll protect him, don’t worry,” is all he says.

You still worry.

Beyond that, Ben seems to enjoy his company, has started asking when Uncle Scott would be coming around again so he could show him the progress he’s made on the massive Superman LEGO set that Scott had gotten him.

“You can’t spoil him too much,” you frown when he pops by on his assigned day, a gift box in hand. It’s the fourth in two weeks.

“He’s a kid. He likes toys.”

“You can’t spoil him,” you mutter.

Your worry is partially rooted in the fact that you can’t just give Ben whatever he wants, whenever he wants, but it also stems from your guilt for not being able to provide all this. It’s not as if you’re not making money; you save enough from your salary, but Boston is an expensive city.

Scott seems to understand this. He dials it back, but you know that he’s itching every time Ben mentions something new he’s curious about. He just picks and prioritizes what he gets him.

Otherwise, he’s good. Too good even. That seems to be a pattern when it comes to him.

You tell yourself it’s because he doesn’t know he’s the father. It’s less commitment, less pressure. He plays the role of a cool uncle who showers Ben with gifts and attention.

Scott has pressed again, of course — who’s the father, when did this happen, do I need to have a conversation, you could fight for child support — to which you answer no repeatedly. An easy denial to give him none of the answers he’s looking for. It never stops him from asking again; he thinks he’ll wear you down eventually.

Truth be told, you think that Scott will bore himself soon. He can’t possibly be serious about permanently moving back to Boston. You’re convinced that in the next couple of weeks, he’ll realize that this pretend domesticity isn’t the life he wants, and he’ll pack up his bags again and leave. When that day comes, you won’t be disappointed.

As long as he never finds out Ben is his son, you’ll be fine.

(Maybe if you repeat it enough times, you’ll actually believe your own words.)

However, you seem to have a knack for putting your foot in your mouth and speaking too soon, because your worst nightmare comes to fruition one day when you let your guard down. Usually, you do a pretty good job of keeping track of their conversations, making sure they stay on safe territory that gives away nothing. Ben has zero clue about his father anyway, so there’s nothing really to give away.

Or so you think.

You’re caught up trying to balance sending work emails and batting away your mother’s efforts to inquire more about Scott. She’s been badgering you nonstop to learn more about your history, prodding Scott whenever she’s here to share more, even going as far as to drop the most obvious hints.

“You know, she is very single. Incredibly single.”

“Mother!”

“I’m aware,” Scott smirks. “Refuses to let me change that.”

You don’t appreciate the way he’s looking at you now, how your body is tingling all over from the memories. The press of his fingers on your hip, how his mouth feels mapping out the curve of your breasts, the burn between your legs when he pushes himself in with a hungry groan.

Heat unfurls across your face and you’re quick to turn away, missing how your mother and Scott share knowing looks.

But now that she’s not here, she’s still torturing you with incessant, inane questions about him. The only thing you manage to catch in the midst of your stress is Scott saying, “Your birthday’s in Decem—”

You don’t think much of it. Not for a moment. Until it hits you.

By the time you look up, Scott’s already directing his eyes towards you. Your blood runs cold.

It’s not a question. He knows. He’s not a fool.

Born the December in the year that you graduated college, it’s not difficult to do the math on when Ben was conceived. If you retrace your steps, it’s not difficult to know who had done the conceiving.

The two of you don’t address it, not out loud. Not yet. Your brain is short-circuiting, trying to configure an excuse or a lie that would work in this instance. You’re running on empty, especially when your heart is beating straight out of your chest. Everything feels hot, your body can’t seem to handle this stress very well.

You have maybe an hour left before Ben’s due for bed and you’re half tempted to keep him awake because that means keeping Scott’s anger at bay. You can feel it roll off him in waves, crackling energy that zaps you even from this distance.

The minutes tick down much too quickly and, before you know it, Ben is yawning on cue and you’re getting him ready for bed. You spend a little longer than necessary tucking him in, reading him his story, all the while Scott is standing in the doorway watching the two of you.

He’s being considerate of Ben, maintaining his distance before he probably rips you a new one. You appreciate it, but you press an extra kiss or two onto your son’s face before you exit the room — for good luck.

When the two of you are back in the living room, Ben completely out cold to the world, Scott doesn’t ask. He simply states the irrefutable truth.

“He’s mine.”

You clear your throat. “Technically, he’s mine.”

“Don’t fucking act cute with me right now,” he snarls, jabbing his finger in the direction of the hallway both of you just left. “That’s my kid in there. Are you fucking kidding me?”

Wincing, you take a step away from him. “Can we not do this?”

“Like hell I’m letting this slide. You’ve got to be shittin’ me. That’s my kid. Ben is mine.”

The pulsing in your head only worsens the harder he glares, the more he seethes. “You’re the father. Doesn’t make him yours.”

You hear the sharp intake of breath. The confirmation landing firm in his chest. “Why the fuck wouldn’t you tell me?”

“Why does it matter?” You snap, throwing his irritated look right back at him.

“You’ve got to be on another fucking level of insane to think it doesn’t matter.”

“I was going to,” you begin, “tell you, I mean, but the timing never felt right.”

Scott looks at you, completely aghast. “Timing never felt right? You knew. You knew before I left, before we graduated. All those times you didn’t want to drink, didn’t want to eat sushi, this was why. You had all the fucking time in the world to tell me.”

“Would it have changed anything?”

“It would’ve changed everything!”

Your lungs feel devoid of oxygen as you look at Scott, his frustration palpable. Fury is carved into the lines of his face, eyes blazing with the sort of anger you’ve never seen on him. However, in between the twist of his lips and the fire in his gaze, you see a flicker of something warmer. Softer.

Hurt.

The kind of hurt that comes with a betrayal that you cannot take back.

Scott breathes out. “I would’ve been here for you.”

“I never asked you to.”

“You never asked,” he spits out, “you never let me make that decision for myself. Instead, you let me believe that I had fucked up something between us. You cut me off and I didn’t even know why.”

“It would’ve been selfish,” you argue.

“It would’ve been fair,” he insists. “You should’ve trusted me to make my own judgment call.”

Your fingers wring together in front of you. Is this it then? The point of no return. You can’t seem to find the words to say to remedy the situation.

“I didn’t want you to have to choose,” you murmur. “Between me and your dream.” The unsaid words being I didn’t want to watch you choose your dream over me.

Scott has always been larger than life. He is meant for greater things, to innovate and create. He has gone so far since you first met him. He’s become an even bigger person than you could’ve imagined.

What right did you have to hold him back from all that?

“Again, that’s not for you to decide,” he sighs, “Have you ever considered they’re one and the same?” Your gaze flies up to meet his weary one. “You’re an idiot,” Scott mutters. “So fuckin’ stupid.”

You press your lips together into a thin line. “Thanks a lot, asshole.”

“Does he know?”

With a shake of your head, you lean back. “No, he’s been… pretty good at not asking too many questions about who his dad is. It’s only a matter of time before that curiosity grows though, especially once he starts school and the other kids will undoubtedly ask him.”

“I can help you with all that, you know. I am his father after all.”

Wincing, you swallow thickly. “You don’t have to, Scott. It was my decision to go through with the pregnancy. You don’t have to feel like you have to participate.”

“Why do you keep saying it like that?” He lets out an exasperated sound. You frown in question. “Like I don’t want to be here. For him. For you.”

“I— I just don’t want you to feel pressured to—”

“Sweetheart,” he begins and your heart feels like it’s been dipped in syrup, “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. I’ve been present, haven’t I? And that was before I even knew he was mine. What makes you think I’m going to change my mind?”

“It’s different! Being here to support me as a friend and being here as— as his dad! As a parent.”

Scott looks up to the ceiling again, inhaling deep through his nostrils. “Tell me how it’s different.”

“A fun uncle is not a co-parent.”

“So I want to co-parent.”

“You don’t know what that means.”

“It means being here for you, for him. It means having equal responsibility and stakes in raising him. It means you’re not doing this alone.”

A lump grows in your throat as you look at him. His determination is evident.

“So I’m going to need you to get it through that thick skull of yours that I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to piss you off, you’re going to piss me off, but we’ll make it work.”

You laugh, tears pricking the corner of your eye. “Maybe if we don’t kill each other first.”

His lips curve into a smirk. “You can’t kill me. I’m your baby daddy after all. Fucked you so hard that your birth control didn’t work.”

You almost choke on your own spit. “You’re such a piece of shit.”

He laughs. “Don’t forget the father of your child.”

Your fingers are itching to make contact with his cheek. He really can be such an asshole sometimes. He knows exactly which buttons to push. Repeating the fact that he’s Ben’s father, reminding you again that he knows your big secret now. The worst part is you know that he’s doing it intentionally; the more irritated he gets you, the better the sex. He likes it when you fight back, when you push him.

He likes it when he can put you in your place.

“Some friend you are,” you grunt.

Scott’s rising to his feet, moving towards you. With every step he takes forward, he backs you up until your lower spine lands against the kitchen counter.

“Let’s get one thing clear,” Scott says low, coming up to press you against the solid surface. With both hands planted on either side of you, he leans towards you. Your breath catches. “We’re not friends. We haven’t been for a while.”

“That’s… mean,” you whimper.

“The things I want to do with you — to you — they’re not things friends do.”

There’s a promise in his gaze that has your heart fluttering, your stomach curling with desire as heat builds between your legs.

It’s hard to breathe when he’s this close. Hard to even think. Your palm flattens against his firm, broad chest, applying pressure in a feeble attempt to put some distance. Except now you can’t help but feel the way his pecs feel underneath your fingers and you can picture yourself on top of him, sinking down on his cock while your hands are planted on his skin.

Heaven have mercy.

“Things are different now,” you gulp.

“You think I still can’t make you cum three times in a night?”

Your lips part. “That’s not—” Heat climbs up your throat. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Scott chuckles. “I hope you know that this only makes me want you even more. You’re stupid if you think I’m ever letting you out of my sight again.”

“Just because you want to be here and be a father does not mean that it changes anything between us.”

His joy quickly morphs into irritation again. “Why not?”

“Because Ben will always come first and we can’t… just keep fucking.”

“Again, why not?”

Because I’m in love with you. Because I’m going to get my heart broken again.

“I want to maintain some boundaries. It’ll be better for us that way.”

Scott is quiet, thoughtful as he regards you, before he straightens. “Okay then. You do that. You maintain your boundaries.”

“Thank you.”

“Doesn’t mean I’ll be helpin’ you do that,” he laughs, bitter as he smiles at you. A threat laced into his expression. “Better prepare yourself, sweetheart. I’m not here to protect your walls. I’m here to break them down.”

“We should go out.”

Your gaze lifts from your laptop, eyes instinctively wandering down the hall to Ben’s room where he’s safe and sound asleep, then back to Scott who’s on his own laptop on the dining table. “Like to get groceries?”

“No, for dinner.”

You look over your shoulder, to the take-out menus stuck to the fridge with a mismatched set of magnets. “There’s a pizza place Ben likes down the street. We could go tomorrow.”

“Finally letting me in two days in a row?” Scott cocks an eyebrow.

A glare is all he gets in return.

“I meant us. Just the two of us.”

Your fingers stop, hovering over the keyboard. “Why?”

“So I can take you out.”

“Why?”

“To spend some time together. You know, outside of parenting.”

Parenting still sounds foreign on his tongue, at least to you. Scott seems to have settled in comfortably with the title, taking on the mantle even without the official acknowledgment. The two of you agreed to ease Ben into it; he seems to have taken a liking towards Scott so at least telling him may be easier than you initially anticipated.

However, considering the situation at hand, you can only ask, “Why?”

“How old are you?” Scott snaps.

“I don’t think we need to do anything together outside of parenting.”

“Why not?”

It’s your turn to give him a look. “We are two people who happen to be raising a child together. Somewhat.”

“But we’re friends first.”

“I think co-parenting supersedes the friend label now, which means I can’t be doing that with you. Not alone.” 

He knows you’re being obstinate for the sake of it, pissing him off just because you can. However, he doesn’t take the bait. 

“You know what, you’re right, sweetheart. Let me rethink this.”

Scott was never one to give up easily. On the contrary, when presented with a challenge, he rises to the occasion. He goes above and beyond.

It starts off innocuous enough, subtle that you nearly think that all of it is accidental. When he’s trying to help around the kitchen and he reaches across you, arm brushing your breasts. Your nipples perk up on instinct, seeking the familiar warmth of his touch like you’ve been trained. He doesn’t say a thing so you brush it off as inconsequential. His hand on your hip when he’s excusing himself behind you. His eyes on you when he licks his thumb clean off the brownie batter you’re making.

It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. These tiny touches, interactions that shouldn’t mean anything. You shouldn’t be reacting this way. You tell yourself it’s because it’s been a while since you got laid last — unfortunately, by none other than the source of your frustrations.

But then the touches become firmer, intentional in a way that you can’t miss. He’s slipping an arm around your waist when he picks you up at the hospital, head ducking to press a kiss to the side of your head, all the while you’re mid-conversation with a coworker who then scurries away under Scott’s glare. In the car, he’s sliding a possessive hand over your thigh, squeezing when he asks you about your day. He has a hand pressed against your lower back at all times, practically manhandling you when you move around different spaces.

And god do you fucking love it. Maybe it’s because you’ve been deprived of physical touch for so long, you haven’t had anyone in your corner reminding you that they’re there. But you also know yourself better than that and the only reason all of this works is because it’s Scott and you were in love with Scott.

You tell yourself it’s all in the past. This is the remnants of your feelings long forgotten from your more youthful self.

But then it all disappears. The touches. The fleeting glances. The flirty smiles. The difference is jarring and you can’t help but notice the extra space he puts between the two of you when you’re walking with Ben, keeping him in between you two. Or how he moves away from the kitchen when you enter it, and again when you move into the living room. Or how his question actually sounds polite when he asks you how work went.

How he doesn’t even blink twice when you tell him a colleague — that same one that he had scared away — had asked you out to dinner.

The frustration builds inside of you, like he’s crafting a wall with the distance brick by brick. You find yourself leaning towards him only for him to shift in his seat and away from you. The inches between you on the couch feel like they stretch for miles, his arm extended on the other side instead of behind your back.

You feel like an addict seeking a fix, constantly chasing after him — subtly, not enough for it to be obvious, but certainly enough for him to notice.

So, by the time he suggests it again, he’s Pavlov’d you to seek his attention. Fucker.

“Do you want to spend the day together?”

You grit your teeth. Somehow, Scott has conspired with your mother that she whisked Ben away early this morning for a trip to the zoo and you end up with this asshole at your front door with a smirk on his face, shoulders squared, chin tilted up like he’s done something good.

“You did this on purpose.”

“What did I do?”

He knows exactly what he did. “All of it.”

“Come on. Get dressed.”

“You haven’t even told me where we’re going,” you snap.

“Nowhere you need anything fancy,” he says before steering you by the elbow out the door.

You allow yourself to be pushed into the car, he even straps your seatbelt in for you, before he’s driving. Destination still unknown. You try to ask and Scott tells you to just relax, tells you that you’re wrung up too tight.

Then he stops and you look quizzically out the window.

“I got you a massage appointment.”

You nearly break your neck at the speed you whip around to look at him. “What? Why?”

“Thought it would be a nice thing to do. You used to gather knots like you were starting a collection and I had to press all of that out for you. Figured, with all the years of build up and I highly doubt you’ve been smoothing those out, a professional could do a better job.”

At a loss, you find yourself only staring at him. He looks cocky, so damn proud that he’s done something right — that he knew exactly what you needed.

“Now get going, they’re not gonna find another timeslot for you.”

With your mind in a blur, you exit the vehicle. The spa is nice, a mix of lavender and eucalyptus in the air that has you relaxing almost instantly. The experience is… divine to say the least. For once, you have not a single thought in your mind and you find yourself melting into the table during your two-hour long session.

By the time you step back outside, after the people inside tell you that it’s been paid for, Scott is waiting out front. In a daze, you slip back into the car.

“Good?” is all he asks.

You nod slowly.

“Good,” he smiles, “now, let’s get you ready for dinner.”

Scott tells you that he’s taking you somewhere casual, but nice. Nice enough that you end up spending a bit of time washing your hair, doing your makeup, even fixing your hair a little bit. When you spritz on perfume, you tell yourself that it’s for your sake.

But you can’t deny that when you see Scott drink you in — how his blue eyes go ten shades darker, how his lips part when he gets a whiff of the florals clinging onto your skin — that it might’ve been for him too.

You would think a man like Scott would take you somewhere nice, somewhere you’re going to be gawking at the prices all night, wondering if you should even be in a place like that. But when he pulls up to a quiet corner in Cambridge, an Italian restaurant that seems all too familiar, you find yourself caught off guard.

“What? You would’ve preferred steak and fries at Del Frisco’s?” He’s chuckling quietly to himself, knowing full well what your answer would be.

Before you can reach for your door, Scott’s rounding the car and pulling it open, even going as far as to offer a hand.

He’s a perfect gentleman the entire night. When you hesitate on ordering because of the prices, Scott — the condescending prick that he is — orders for you, except he orders right. You’ve been eyeing that dish but you couldn’t do the math fast enough to figure out your budget for the month. He orders a bottle of red, your favorite — it’s nothing fancy, but it had been a step up when you felt like splurging in college. The food is delicious, reminiscent of the old days when he would treat you to a meal to make you feel better, right after he fucked you seven ways to Sunday.

You’re warm, body buzzing with your fill of food and wine. For the first time in a while, you feel a little lighter, like the world isn’t weighing down on your shoulders. Scott drives you back home and he stops right in front of your apartment building.

You know what’s coming. A proposition — as always. You’re going to say yes — as always. He’s always been a snake charmer, saying and doing all the right things to get one into bed with him. It worked on you for months. It used to work on all the ladies before he stopped using it on them.

It still works on you, considering you’re feeling that warmth between your legs. That anticipation humming in your veins. You can practically taste his mouth on you, the tartness from the wine mixed with the gelato you ordered for dessert. You take a breath in eager hopefulness.

However, when he walks you to the apartment entrance, he only kisses the back of your hand. “Have a good night, sweetheart.” Then he’s slowly making his way down the steps, leaving you completely gobsmacked.

You find yourself saying, “Wait,” before you can even think twice.

Scott halts, turns, a knowing smile dancing on his lips.

You should have more self-restraint. But when he’s looking at you with those bright blue eyes and an expression that promises you a good time, you’re only human.

“What is it?”

You fidget with the handle of your purse. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” he drawls, tilting his head like he’s waiting to see your next move.

“You’re not gonna stay?”

Scott’s lips quirk up, shfiting into a look too cocky for your liking. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Don’t be a dick.”

“Doesn’t sound like you do,” he makes a face, raising his shoulders in a shrug as he pretends to slowly turn back around.

You should let him go. You hope he has fucking blue balls tonight. However, that also means you’ll be left alone with your thoughts in an empty apartment and your vibrator on a Saturday night, and that sounds a heck of a lot less fun than getting your brains scrambled by the one man who knows exactly how to do that.

“Do you want to come up?”

It’s comical how quickly he whirls around to say, “Don’t mind if I do.”

The ride up the elevator is weighed down by tense silence. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears in time with the numbers that climb, a beep in rhythm to each floor. Scott stands next to you, hands planted on the railing casually, but you hear the impatient tapping of his shoe. When the elevator finally dings, he lets you leave first and you feel the burn of his gaze on your back, trailing the length of you down to the curve of your ass where the silk of your dress rests.

Your fingers are barely functional as you clumsily dig through your purse to open the door. It’s one thing to have someone watching you, it’s another to have Scott staring at you. The hungry look in his eyes, the way you can practically feel the heat radiate off him.

You don’t even get a chance to properly set aside your bag before Scott is pressing you up against the wall. He drinks in your surprised little gasp, your instinct to move away from him only has him backing you up against your kitchen counter. With you half-seated on it, Scott’s hands slide around your neck, cupping your cheeks so he can lick into your mouth. He takes the chance to slip his tongue in between your little gasps, tasting that sugar on your tongue.

“Fuck, sweetheart, been waiting to do that all night,” he groans as his mouth travels towards your neck instead, sucking on the delicate skin until you feel the sting spark every nerve inside your body. He does it over again, like he’s zapping you with electricity every time he leaves a new mark on your body.

You’re no better, your hands immediately crawling up his chest to find his buttons and fumble with them, slipping them out one at a time until you can shove his shirt off his shoulders. God, how is it possible that he seems even broader than before? Your palms explore his biceps, feeling the way they flex beneath your fingertips, muscles tensing into a firm surface for you to hold onto.

“You got… bigger,” you note in a daze. It’s ridiculous how drunk you feel right now and it’s certainly not from the wine. It’s his scent — masculine and clean. Like rain on freshly mowed grass, earthy in a way that grounds you. You can’t help but breathe him in, making a mental note that he still uses the same shampoo.

“A lot of time lugging around equipment out there,” he mutters. As if to prove a point, he lifts you up to the counter and wraps your legs around his waist. “Always getting drenched in the storms.”

Fuck. Terrible visual. You imagine him in a white short-sleeve shirt, the fabric soaking up all that rain and clinging to every inch of his muscles and leaving nothing to the imagination. His dusky nipples poking through the fabric. Curly brunette hair with droplets, that one stray hair on his forehead whenever it gets too humid. You can practically see the light smattering of hair on his chest, a path leading down to his navel.

God forbid that the women in Oklahoma have seen him like that. That’s a visual you’d rather keep to yourself.

Scott distracts you again when he brings his face back to kiss you. He kisses like he’s inhaling you, stealing every hitched breath from your lungs. His mouth is ravenous as it moves against you, teeth grazing your bottom lip lightly in a tantalizing threat. He finally nips and you let out a little whine that he laughs lightly at as he kisses you harder. Firmer. Soft lips, only slightly chapped, as they relearn what it is exactly that makes you moan down his throat.

“Love kissing you,” he mutters, “missed doing this. I want to do this everyday.”

You’re about to tell him why that would be a bad idea but you sigh dreamily instead, tipping your head back when he begins trailing wet kisses along your jawline again.

His hands wander to your back, dragging the zipper down quietly until your dress pools on the floor. His thumb brushes over your nipples peaking through the lace. “Missed these pretty tits too. Couldn’t get enough of them last time.” He ducks his head and tugs one free from your bra, lips closing in around your nipple in a wet heat. His groan reverberates straight through you, tongue laving around your pert nipple like he’s trying to coax it out.

As he does so, his other hand reaches for the clasp of your bra until you hear the little sound before it slides down your shoulders.

“Hands on the counter.”

“Bossy,” you murmur, but do so anyway.

Scott looks mildly surprised at your obedience and you can’t even bring yourself to care. You lean back slightly and spread your legs wider to let him step in between them, his mouth warm and sweet on your tits. He mouths hungrily at your breasts, biting, squeezing, until you’re a moaning mess arching into his touch. One of his hand slides down to your lower spine to yank you closer to him, pressing your core against the thickness in his pants.

“I’ve been hard all night lookin’ at you in that pretty dress,” Scott growls, “knew exactly what you looked like underneath it, couldn’t wait to take it off you.”

You appear to have lost your entire vocabulary when he slips that hand from your back to the space between you, two fingers against the panties that’s quickly gathering moisture. The whine that is pulled from your lips is instinctual. Pure primal need.

“Imagining you stretched out on that massage bed, naked, slicked up in oil. Fuck, I had to drive around and keep myself busy for two hours so I didn’t go back and do the job myself,” he huffs a laugh as he begins rubbing your clit over the material, arousal easing the slick of his fingers even with one layer between the two of you.

A gasp is wrenched from your throat as you stare at him, wide-eyed. “That’s— that’s ridiculous.”

Scott hums, shaking his head, pressing harder, pulling out another needy sound. “Stop bein’ so tense. You’re undoing all of that woman’s hard work.” Your eyes light up briefly. “I wasn’t going to let some other man touch you. I’m not an idiot.”

“You’re such a possessive asshole,” you let out a breathless laugh, “it’s just a massage.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m going to be the only one that gets to touch these pretty tits. Not to mention, this—” he slides his fingers under your panties, gathering up the arousal from you slick folds on his fingertips and listening to the lewd squelch as he dips his fingers in just a tad. “You’re so goddamn wet.”

Instead of clamping your legs shut, embarrassed like you always have been, you can’t help but let your thighs fall apart further, giving him room to give you the pleasure that you so badly needed.

“You’re so much easier when you’re not stressed.”

That snaps you awake. “Oh, fuck you.”

Scott pushes two fingers in, the slide is swift and wet. “Just like that,” he grins as he slowly drags his fingers out only to shove them back in. He’s rough and he’s messy, you can hear how wet you are as he watches you come undone, thumb against your clit like he has something to prove. “Shit, sweetheart, you’re dripping all over the counter. You’re so messy, pretty girl.”

“S-Scott,” you moan, fingers wrapping around his wrist. “I c-can’t, mmm, please.”

“I know, I know, still so tight, aren’t you? I don’t want to hurt you,” he says as he slowly sinks to his knees. You look down to find him with his starry eyes looking right up at you as he sticks his fingers in his mouth. You can see the moment his eyes flutter shut as he tastes you, tongue lecherously poking out to lick his fingers clean. “Better than dessert.”

“You’re so corny—” your words split off into a choked gasp when Scott dives in between your legs. His tongue drags all the way up to your clit until you’re bucking against his mouth. He licks and devours, the roughness of his tongue sliding up your slick folds, lips closing in around your core, your clit, to suck until you’re shuddering against him. “Fuck, Scott, wait, slow down.”

Scott leans away, giving you a brief moment of reprieve — except, when you look down at him, his bottom half is glistening in the moonlight that spills across your floors. His eyes return to your pussy, just beneath your stomach that’s rising and falling with your labored breaths.

His index and middle fingers rest on each of your lips as he slowly pries them apart, your pussy pulses and there’s no doubt that he catches that movement. The slight tensing, squeezing, inside of you. “Look at this pussy spreading so wet and easy for me. She’s droolin’, sweetheart.”

As if he can sense another argument on your lips, Scott leans forward again to press kisses onto your inner thigh, blooming warmth with every spot he touches. He kisses up and up until he’s back with his face between your legs, your thighs closing in around his head until he’s practically suffocating in your cunt.

It’s the way he likes it though. His hands on your ass to drag you forward so he can tongue-fuck you faster, knowing full well you’re enjoying it when you’re grinding against his face with tears leaking from your eyes and his name said in prayer.

That pleasure coils humiliatingly fast in your stomach. You can feel your climax, long abandoned, surfacing quickly. God, it feels so good, his mouth — it’s only gotten better. You hate to think if he fucked anyone else while he was away, because — of course he did, he was a hot young bachelor in bumfuck Oklahoma. He was probably the hottest shit down there.

Scott scowls up at you, “You’re tensing up again, what are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” you blurt out, pressing your lips together.

He rises to his feet, fingers catching your chin. “Tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” you snap irritably. Great, now you’re thinking about some cute girl in a cowboy hat he’s probably fucked the same way he did you.

“You just stiffened up again. Either you tell me, or I won’t fuck you.”

You roll your eyes, “Holding sex hostage? Real mature.” Well, two can play that game. “If you won’t fuck me, I’m sure I’ve got a few people on my dating apps that have been begging to.”

Scott’s eyes flash, your heart palpitates a little too aggressively. “Yeah? You wanna try that again with me?” Your mouth dries. “Sweetheart, you’re cute if you think I’m letting anyone else near this pretty pussy of yours. You think anyone can get you off?”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“You’re mine,” he breathes out, catching your lips again. You can taste yourself on him, his moan vibrating against your mouth.

But you can’t deny his words. Instead, you let him pick you up and carry you all the way to the bedroom. He doesn’t stop kissing you the entire way, stealing your breath every chance he gets. Your back lands on the mattress, Scott climbing over you and pressing your legs into your chest.

“Love fucking you just like this,” he murmurs, applying just a little more pressure. “Maybe I can put another baby in you.”

“Scott!” You gasp.

“Fuck, I wasn’t even around when you were pregnant. I’d do it right this time. Make sure you’re taken care of — however that may be. Heard the first trimester’s roughest, probably needed a cock to fill you up, hm? Fill you up and get you so stupidly cockdrunk you won’t have the mouth to talk back to me.”

Another protest sits on your tongue but then Scott’s unzipping his pants and his cock, thick and throbbing, is in his hands, tip sitting at your entrance. You can feel your pussy dripping onto him, a trail of slick that slides down the length of him.

“I could fuck you, cum in you as much as I want — not like I didn’t already,” he chuckles, “no more risk of getting you pregnant twice. God, I could do that to you, sweetheart. Want another kid with me?”

“You’re— fuck, you’re insane.”

Scott only grunts as he begins pushing into you. “So fuckin’ tight. I need to teach your pussy how to take me again. You were so sweet and loose for me back then, we fucked so much, your cunt was shaped to my cock. Can’t wait to do that again.”

The ache burns between your legs as Scott stretches you out, your pussy opening up painfully slowly for him. You hold your breath, tensing up as he whispers for you to relax, to just keep your legs open and let him take what he needs. Your eyes roll when he finally buries himself all the way, the head kissing the deepest parts of you.

“S-shit, fuck, that feels so good. You feel like heaven.”

“Please, please just move,” you whine.

“I know, baby, but I can’t fuck you too fast, gonna hurt you. My cock barely fits in this tight pussy of yours,” Scott coos, dragging back his hips and slowly coaxing you open with a push of his cock. “I gotta go easy on her. She’s not used to being filled up, is she?”

You call him an asshole in your head, because you don’t trust your voice not to break in the haze of your pleasure.

“Pretty girl hasn’t had anyone taking care of her in a while.”

“I can take care of myself just fine,” you defend with a snap.

“Yeah? What? Those vibrators I see you hiding? Doesn’t feel the same, does it? You needed someone to fuck you properly.” Scott smirks, “Maybe I should’ve given you a dildo shaped to my cock. That way you could fuck yourself on it whenever you missed me. I’d make you call me when you do that, wanna hear you beg for my cock while you push it inside you. Better yet, I want to see you while you ride it and realize it ain’t the same as the real thing.”

“You’re so fucking gross,” you hiss and, sure enough, it melts into a moan when Scott drives into you again, and again, and again.

“What does it say about you when I can feel you chokin’ out my cock at the thought of it?” He laughs, taunting. “You’re as fucked up as I am, sweetheart. How do you think we made a baby in the first place?”

Oh fuck, Scott feels you open up to him, mold around him. That pain dulls into a throb that only serves to weave desire between your legs. You clench around him, pussy pulsing with his every word, as he fucks deep inside of you. He pushes you back into this mating press, groaning when he feels himself reach deeper inside you.

“Shit, baby, this pussy is fucking unbelievable. I can’t believe I gave this up for years. Missed fucking this gorgeous cunt so bad,” he swallows. That vein on his neck goes taut as he tries to stop himself. “You still on the pill?”

You nod weakly, fingers digging into his biceps as he pounds into you, his hips jerking faster and harder.

Then he laughs and it sounds mean and your stomach twists. “Didn’t do us much good last time though, huh? It’s alright, sweetheart. If you get knocked up again, I’ll be here. I’ll be here to fuck all that stress out of you, give you all the massages that’ll end with my head between your legs. Get you all your cravings so you can show your appreciation with your mouth on my cock.”

It’s disgusting, The thought of returning favors when he’s the one who gets you pregnant, but something about it has you tightening, punched in the stomach with a level of arousal that you can’t seem to contain.

“Don’t need to use this pretty brain of yours, baby. Just gonna have you barefooted waddling around and you can let me take real good care of you,” he pants, sweat beading his forehead as he fucks into you faster, holding himself back harder. “Make sure you and our baby are good. Don’t you worry.”

“F-fuck you,” you stutter as he drives back into you.

The bed creaks under the pressure of his thrusts, you’re getting fucked into the mattress that you can feel your body imprinting onto the bed. “That’s right. Good girl. Gonna make you a mommy again, sweetheart. Gonna put another baby into you. You’re already so cockdrunk, you won’t even know. I’m not letting you out of here until it takes.”

That knocks all the oxygen from your chest. “Shit, Scott— hold on.”

“Can’t do that,” he grunts, “pussy feels too good. Can’t get enough of this hole. I’m going to fill you up, baby. You’re gonna be leakin’ my cum for days. Maybe I’ll send you to get another massage and they’ll see you dripping my cream.”

Scott pounds into you, each word filthier than the next. He’s driving himself and you into a frenzy as his thrusts get sloppier, wetter, squelching bouncing off your four walls.

“I’m gonna print my cock in your pussy so nobody else can touch you.”

“Breed this pussy so good, keep you plugged up with my cum for days.”

“This pussy was meant to be fucked, sweetheart. You don’t need princess treatment, just need to be fucked like you need another baby in you.”

It’s filthy. It’s demeaning. It’s a fucking turn-on.

“‘M gonna— shit, Scott, hnnng, please, gonna cum.”

“Yeah, you wanna cum, pretty girl? You wanna cum around my cock?”

You can only nod in your haze, desperate, eager.

“Cum around me, sweetheart. I wanna feel that cream coating my cock. I wanna feel that stickiness, feel what it’s like to have my girl feel so good because of me.”

Scott pounds into you faster, deeper as he fucks you harder into the mattress. He presses you further in this position, tilting your hips up until you’re climbing and climbing and falling apart around him with a loud whine. Your body trembles with the force of your orgasm, legs quaking around him as he drags out your climax with every thrust until he himself is spilling warmth inside you. You can feel the mess in your insides, feel it slosh around, feel it leak from where you two are joined.

“Fuck,” he groans, “cumming so much, sweetheart. Fillin’ her right up.”

Your heart slams against your chest as you feel exactly that.

Scott’s hips are still jerking with his cum spurting right into you. He refuses to budge, staying there until he’s sure everything’s out. Even then, he nudges his hips a little deeper, like he’s making sure his cum stays in there.

He eases out of you slowly, but he doesn’t let go of the pressure on your legs, keeping your hips up as he watches his cum ooze out of you. His brows pucker in annoyance as he uses two fingers to push it back into you.

You wince, pussy sensitive from the friction earlier. “Gross.”

“You like it.”

You do. It’s stupid but you do. Something about him staking his claim, leaving a part of him inside you, it’s just the kind of thing that has you squeezing around his fingers again.

Scott smirks. “Do you want me to clean you up?”

Your stupid, traitorous, dysfunctional brain says no. For some reason, you really like feeling his cum inside you. But you know that the correct answer is— “Yes.” It’s the only reason Scott asks – because he knows.

His eyes scan you for a moment, as if he’s trying to decide whether you’re telling the truth. Then he sighs and lets your legs down gently as he disappears, coming back only when he has a damp cloth in hand. It’s so strange for him to be so familiar with your place to know where things are.

At the same time — so right.

He wipes you clean, murmuring to himself about how pretty you look with his cum inside you. You try not to let your lips stretch too wide with the heat rolling across your face.

When he’s done, Scott slides himself in next to you, pulling you close.

That’s when you freeze because — what is this? What are you? The panic sinks in fast and you feel fear claw at your chest. You have a son. You can’t be doing — whatever the fuck this is — with his dad, who he doesn’t even know is his dad.

“Scott—”

“Sleep.”

“Go home.”

“No.”

“Are you shitting me?” You hiss, “You can’t be here when Ben comes home tomorrow morning.”

Scott exhales long and hard, like he’s had enough of your shit. “Why not? I get full weekends, don’t I? That includes mornings. Now sleep.”

“Sleep in your own home! You can come back tomorrow.”

Before you know it, you’re back on your back and Scott’s on top of you, pinning you down with a glare. “Sweetheart, it seems like I didn’t fuck you hard enough. If I did, then you wouldn’t be thinkin’ whatever the fuck is going through that big head of yours right now. So, I’m going to fuck you again, and I’m going to keep fucking you until you stop treatin’ me like I’m some shameful one-night stand. I’m the father of your child — our child. So take your pick — do you want me to fuck you again until your head’s too full of cock to argue, or do you want to sleep?”

You open your mouth. Sleep is on the tip of your tongue, but then you feel him and his gaze warm on you and your legs press together on instinct.

He chuckles, dipping his head to press a chaste kiss onto your lips. “Good answer.”

Sure enough, he keeps his promise and you only find yourself falling asleep when he gives you your third orgasm of the night.

There is no monumental shift. Scott acts the same way he always has — at least around Ben.

He tries to maintain some level of distance but you can tell that he’s getting a little antsy about his own son not knowing who he is. Every time he asks you, you have to shoot it down, mainly for Ben’s sake.

But you also know that you raised a good, smart kid, which means it’s not surprising when Ben asks, “Who’s Uncle Scott really?”

“He is—” you pause, “—a friend.”

“Boyfriend?”

Fuck.

“No, he’s just a friend — like the kind you’ll meet in school.”

Ben looks at the television where there’s an interview of Scott playing, the one from a local station talking about his startup. “You love him?”

Your heart slams against your ribs. Warmth creeps up on you and Ben must notice it because he’s smiling softly, patting your hand.

“I like him,” Ben gives his nod of approval before turning back to the LEGOs in front of him.

A four-year-old just reassured you that he likes his dad. His dad that he still doesn’t know about. You know it isn’t fair and you will tell him at some point, you’re just not sure how to have that conversation yet — not when Scott’s time here is uncertain, despite what he says.

Still, while Scott keeps things steady with Ben, he switches tactics with you. His hand is always touching you — your hip, your back, your shoulders. Subtle touches like a reminder that he’s here. It’s oddly comforting and you find yourself seeking his touch more than before.

Around your son, he still maintains some distance, even when you can tell he’s itching to get closer. The two of you are at the grocery store, you’re driving the cart while Ben runs ahead, giggling and pointing at everything he wants — which is really anything with at least twenty grams of added sugar.

Scott has an amused smile on his lips as he watches him.

“Think he could be a runner someday. Has the makings of an athlete. Maybe football,” he says, almost proudly with his chest puffed up.

You roll your eyes, “I’d rather avoid my son getting his head knocked around.”

“Or entrepreneur, he has a way with making you do things, you know. Smart. Manipulative.”

“Where do you think he got that from?”

Scott only smirks.

You’re scanning through your list when you realize, “Shit, I forgot to grab butter and it’s up the aisle.”

“I’ll grab it,” he says, squeezing your hip, “just get what you need here.”

Ben insists on getting chocolate milk, mainly because he’s convinced the chocolate cow on the box is real. You tell him that you could get the smaller version and that you’ll take him to a farm one day and realize that there are no cows that produce chocolate milk.

“With Uncle Scott? In Oka— Okla—” He struggles, frowning when he can’t remember.

Oh. “Oklahoma,” you add, “maybe. I’m sure there are closer farms.”

His mouth opens in a bright grin.

When you finally cave and put both the chocolate milk and the regular milk in the cart, you look back down the aisle to see Scott standing there.

Talking to a woman.

A woman who was very much his type before he met you.

Your chest pinches with an unfamiliar feeling. It’s understandable that Scott has seen and is probably still seeing other women. The two of you don’t have a label on things, nothing you can tape to his forehead that says off limits.

She looks young, sweet, dressed like she has a life. She’s smiling up at him, giggling at something he’s saying in a way where you know it’s not because he’s funny. She reaches up to touch his arm and he takes a step back, a polite smile in place, then he’s saying something and looking at you. And then she’s looking at you too, face souring.

Alright then.

You turn away again, continuing to push the cart as Ben sets his mind on cereal next. He’s been on a Lucky Charms kick and you desperately need to move him off it. It’s all sugar and food coloring.

Scott appears next to you, a hand on your lower back as he puts the butter box in the cart. He peeks at your list. “Cereal next?”

“Um, yeah,” you say, eyes going over your shoulder to catch another glimpse of that woman. “She was cute.”

“Yeah, she was.”

Your lips immediately curl and Scott catches it before you can school your expression. “Didn’t get her number?”

“Told her I’m with my wife and kid,” he smirks.

Wife and kid— you’re not even sure how to respond to that, so you resort to clearing your throat with a deadpan look. “Glad to hear we can be used to avoid women you don’t like.”

“Well, I was only half lying, wasn’t I?” He huffs as the two of you turn the corner, finding Ben already with a box of Lucky Charms in hand. You sigh as Scott mutters under his breath, “Not too late to make it all completely true though.”

You try to convince Ben that cornflakes are much more fun, which is the least convincing argument you can make, until Scott steps in and says that cornflakes make him super strong like the rooster on the cover. So Ben swaps out his pick for a box of Froot Loops and declares that he wants to be strong like this bird instead.

It isn’t until the two of you are unloading groceries into his car that it hits you, and the bag nearly slips from his fingers.

Make it all completely true. Wife and kid.

“Took you long enough,” Scott chuckles smugly. “Give it some thought. Maybe we can stop by the jewelers on the way back.”

Scott is relentless to say the least. He has increased the frequency of touching, has made it all the more obvious in front of everyone. Your coworkers all know him by name, chatting with him when you wrap up work late. Sometimes, he’s the one who picks Ben up from your mom’s and brings him to meet you at the hospital.

Your mom, of course, is over the moon. She can’t stop gushing over him, telling you how he helped her fix her leaky faucet, how he’s always on time to pick up Ben even when he’s still in the middle of work, and “Did you know he was featured in Forbes?”

He finally invites you and Ben over for dinner in his new apartment. It’s much more spacious, a two-bedroom that’s twice the size of yours — one of which he has set up for Ben. So Ben is also over the moon when he sees how massive his bedroom is. He asks if the two of you can stay and you only manage a tight-lipped smile before you redirect your glare towards Scott.

“Your place too,” Scott says casually, handing you an extra set of keys. “In case you ever need some more space.”

Later, he also shows you that he’s left most of the closet empty in the master bedroom. “In case you need to stay over.”

It’s sweet. It’s thoughtful.

It’s too much.

You don’t even know where you stand with him. He takes you out again and then another time; you tell yourself that this is just friends hanging out, but you know it’s different when you end up in his bed at the end of the evening. The first time you slept with him at his and tried to leave after, you realize that your shoes are nowhere to be found.

“Where are my shoes?”

“I knew you were going to pull some stupid shit like this. So I hid them.”

“What the fuck? Are you four?”

“No, but our son is. Now get your ass back into bed.” You cross your arms over your chest, planting your foot down in protest. Scott regards you coolly. “You either come here on your own accord or I’m throwing you over my shoulder.”

He doesn’t make threats lightly, so you stomp all the way back to his bedroom where Scott proceeds to fuck you over again and makes sure that you have no energy left to move.

Things are… good.

For the first time in years, you feel almost at peace. Ben’s a good kid, raised right, adored by all around him. He’ll start school next year with a stronger support system, what with Scott vowing to attend every parent-teacher conference and other events that require his presence. The two of you agree to tell Ben in a month — a month to prepare for the conversation.

You can’t even imagine what it’s like — living four years of your life never seeing your father and then suddenly dropping one in his lap. Well, you suppose it isn’t very sudden considering Scott’s been around more often than not. Part of you hopes that Ben is hopeful about Scott, it’ll make the conversation easier.

That being said, your work schedule has been atrocious which means you haven’t had the chance to really sit down with him and have a conversation on how to broach the topic with your son. The one time you finally manage to get off work early, you decide to swing by Scott’s; he works from home and you figured all three of you could do dinner together at that pizza place.

The key rests between your fingers, pinched tight as you stare at it.

You should just ring the doorbell. Right? It isn’t your home. But Scott gave you a key and what if he’s still in the middle of something? What if he has someone else in there? No, you shouldn’t use the key. Then again, he shouldn’t have given you a key if he would be doing anything he wouldn’t want you to see.

The internal debate persists until you decide fuck it and push the key into the lock. You open the door slowly, quietly, nothing like your own creaky one. Scott’s nowhere to be found in his giant living room with his giant television. You look at that giant screen with envy, thinking about how wonderful movie nights would be with that setup. Scott has already insisted on doing movie nights at his instead, stocking up on popcorn and sugar, and you’re tempted to agree.

Muffled voices carry down the hall. He’s probably in the bedroom so you silently make your way over in case he’s on a call.

“Yeah, I’ll be back next week, alright,” Scott says, sounding agitated. You get a peek through the bedroom door and find him pacing.

An open suitcase in front of him.

Your heart drops. The scene is all too familiar. It’s like you’re twenty-two again, left behind in this town while he goes off to chase his dreams — only this time, he had promised you he would stay. Only this time, it won’t only be your heart he’ll break.

“I know it’s takin’ me a while,” he grunts, scrounging his hand through his hair, “no, I still need to pick up my shit.”

You can’t hear the person on the other end of the line but it’s clear that he doesn’t seem very pleased. A sigh heaves from his chest as he looks out the window, a mournful expression painted onto his face.

“I have to tie up some loose ends.”

Loose ends? You swallow thickly. That’s— is he talking about you? About Ben? He’s supposed to be back in Oklahoma next week. No doubt whoever is on the other side is someone at work. But he had promised you he would stay — right? He had said that he would be sticking around. Why else would he get an apartment? Why would he set the bedroom up for Ben otherwise?

But your mind has spiraled beyond the point of reason. Your survival instincts kick in again; you never want to be the person left behind. Not again. Not after that first time. So you should leave first. It’ll make it easier for the both of you.

Scott won’t have to break the news and you — you can let that hope quietly slip away.

All you can do now is… leave.

So you do. You take one step back then another and another until you’re in his kitchen. You open one of the drawers and tuck the extra set of keys he gave you inside; after all, you won’t be needing those anymore. Then you’re out the door.

You’re functioning numb as you get home. Ben greets you with a big smile and so does your mom. You force yourself to smile too and ask if the two of them want pizza for dinner. Your mom looks at you with a silent question asking where Scott is. You only shake your head.

When Scott calls you as you’re getting ready to leave for the restaurant, you don’t pick up.

Not feeling so hot.

His face appears on your screen as your phone vibrates with the incoming call. You curse yourself for texting so quickly.

“Hey,” you try to rasp.

“What is it? A cold? A fever? I can grab medicine and dinner on the way there. Maybe that wonton noodle soup from—”

“No, don’t,” you blurt out, “I, uh, don’t want to get you sick.”

“I don’t give a shit about that.” You can practically imagine his annoyed scowl. He’s probably shrugging on his jacket, you can hear the jingle of his keys as he heads to the door. “What do you want to eat? You like that wonton soup right? It’s on the way to yours.”

“Scott, please.”

“Sweetheart,” he sighs.

“I’ll be fine,” you insist, “just give me a few days to recover and I’ll text you, okay.”

Silence on the other end means that he’s giving it actual thought. Then you hear the long exhale. “Fine. Call or text me if you need anything. Seriously.” He clears his throat, “You know, your mom could also take Ben for a few days. I’ll come take care of you.”

You bite your tongue, blinking away the tears as you stare up at the ceiling. You can’t get used to this, can’t get used to someone checking in on you, putting you first. This isn’t the kind of thing that lasts.

“No, I promise I’ll be okay.”

You call in sick for work, which shocks your entire team because you’re the type to drag yourself out of your deathbed to make sure you don’t miss a day. You’re not sure you like this reputation.

Jenna calls your bullshit out immediately. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you mutter, picking on the lint on your pajama pants. You’re waiting for Ben to wake up so the two of you can spend the day together. He’s a little confused why you’re at home for a few days, but he certainly isn’t complaining.

“Does it have something to do with hottie Scottie?”

You wince, “That’s a gross nickname. Never say that again.”

“So it does, what did he do?”

It’s not what he did. It’s what he’s about to do. “It’s not a big deal. I just needed a break. Gonna spend some time with Ben.”

“Well, Ben loves her cool Aunt Jenna so I’ll swing by after with fried chicken?”

Your lips twitch. She always knows the right things to say. “Sounds good.”

On the other hand, you spend the rest of the week dodging Scott’s every attempt to come visit. You tell him that your cold has only gotten worse (you’re fresher than a spring chicken), that your mom is taking Ben for a few days (he’s sitting at the dining table), and that you are doing fine otherwise (your heart is splintering in your chest).

He sounds frustrated over the phone and, when he does visit, you pretend that you’re too sick to see him, refusing to let him through the door.

“This is fucking ridiculous. You have a cold. I’ll be fine,” he snaps through the front door. “Will you just let me in?”

Once again, you emphasize that that’s not good practice and colds are highly contagious. You can hear Scott’s feet shuffling outside, his annoyed grunts.

“Can you just let me in?” He breathes out deeply, “Please. I haven’t seen you in days and I really want to. I just want to make sure you’re good.”

Your forehead presses against the cool door. You tell yourself to stay strong. Don’t give in so easily. So again, you deny him entry and he finally leaves.

On Sunday, he calls and you at least pick that up. “I have to fly out to Oklahoma for a few days,” he mutters, “I’ll be back. Call me, text me, fucking email me if you need to — if you need anything at all, alright.”

“I’ll be fine,” you whisper.

You’re tying up those loose ends for him.

Scott goes radio silent for the first half of the week. You think this is finally it. He’s finally cutting you loose and maybe he’s simply going to fade into a distant memory. You’re back at work when he leaves Boston, your coworkers peppering you with questions about your absence. Jenna keeps the wolves at bay, telling all of them to give you some space.

“You need to talk to me at some point,” she gives you a look.

You lick your lips, mouth trembling as you finally say the words you’ve been too afraid to say. Because it’s one thing to think it, it’s another to admit it aloud. “Scott’s gone.”

“What?” She jerks back, “What do you mean he’s gone?”

Pushing around your peas, you sigh. “He’s in Oklahoma.”

“Temporarily right?”

You shrug. “Feel like it might be for good.”

“Did he tell you that?”

No, but you heard his conversation and it’s all about the words that are said behind your back that matter, right?

“Hon, listen to me. I’ve never seen a man more obsessed in my life. That guy’s in love with you.”

To that, you laugh, heart a little lighter for some odd reason. “He’s just being a good friend. He probably felt guilty after — you know — finding out that he knocked me up.”

She gives you a look. “If you seriously believe that, I’m going to have to take you up to neuro to get your head checked.”

On Thursday, you’re finally settling with the possibility that this really is it. You’ll be okay; you survived once without him, you can do it again. Instead, you focus strictly on work, drowning in the mountains of paperwork and unfinished studies. While you’re doing all that, your phone lights up with Scott’s name.

You don’t pick up. The last thing you need while you’re stressed out of your mind is to hear him apologize, hear him tell you that he’s changed in his mind. You can have your heart ripped out of your chest later.

Blissful ignorance is better than blatant rejection, that’s always been your motto.

You’re ready for a night of full decompression, which means you’re going to cuddle up with your baby and maybe fall asleep on the couch after a filling dinner of grease. “I’m home,” you call out.

The sight before you has you freezing. Scott’s on the couch — your couch — with Ben on his lap. They’re reading one of Ben’s favorite books and your son is giggling uncontrollably. Now, he is facing the front which means he can’t see Scott’s expression.

And that is a look that has your entire body stiffening in the doorway. You’re almost tempted to run again, but how could you abandon your son? So you try to ignore your buzzing nerves.

“Mom!”

“Hey, buddy,” you smile weakly, closing the door behind you. “Where’s, uh, my mom?”

“She left earlier, said I should spend some time with Ben and you,” he smiles. It’s sweet. It’s a sickeningly sweet smile, which means you know better than to trust it. “Ben here was just telling me about all the fun you had last week. All week in fact. Said you weren’t going to work so you two could spend all day together. Outside.”

Well.

“We watched a baseball game and then got ice cream!” Ben announces cheerily. Then he begins to list down everything you did last week — everything — and he is completely unaware that he’s digging a deeper grave for his own mother.

“That so?” Scott chuckles, patting his head. “Your mom’s a real miracle worker, isn’t she? Real healthy and spry to be doing all those things.”

The evening is tense, mostly for you. Your back is ramrod straight as Scott insists on cooking dinner and you have to keep a close eye to make sure he doesn’t add anything to your food. There are smarter ways to take you out, none of them ideal for you. Ben seems to sense the thickness of the air, eyes darting between the two of you.

Of course, neither of you show a thing but the anger that rolls off Scott is nothing short of obvious. So Ben then proceeds to declare that he wants to sleep early.

He never sleeps early. He’s just hit you with a second strike.

You busy yourself with getting him ready for bed, staying for as long as you can. You’re glued at the hip while he brushes his teeth, while he picks out his pajamas at an alarmingly fast speed. He doesn’t even want a bedtime story, telling you that he’s knackered from the long day.

And he goes straight to sleep. Traitor.

You were hoping Ben could buy you more time to come up with some sort of explanation for your behavior, or at least figure out a way to turn the conversation back to him because — what’s he doing back here? Isn’t he supposed to be in Oklahoma?

When you finally step out of Ben’s room, Scott looks noticeably ticked off.

His jaw is squared tight, dimples that are usually so endearing appearing more menacing in this light. “You wanna tell me why you lied about bein’ sick?”

You shift back on the heels of your feet. “I just needed some me time.”

“Bullshit,” he spits out, “you know I would’ve given you that if that’s what you wanted. Try again.”

While you’re usually better at thinking on your feet, the glare he’s pinned you with has your brain completely scrambled. You’re coming up with nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nothing even remotely close to being sufficient for your lie.

“Can’t think of anything, can you? Now that I’ve caught you.”

“Scott…”

“What was it?” He grunts, “What fucking spooked you?”

You press your lips together. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve never been good at commitment, sweetheart. Been runnin’ since the day I met you. So tell me, what fucking scared you?”

A protest sits on the tip of your tongue, ready to fall from your lips. Defensive. But Scott’s looking at you wearily, a five o’clock shadow that’s rarely ever there dusted across his face.

“You were going to leave,” you murmur.

He frowns at that. “When the hell did I say I was gonna do that?”

“You didn’t have to tell me,” you sigh, “I heard you on the phone.”

His eyebrows jump, surprise coloring his expression. If that isn’t confirmation, you don’t know what is. “What’re you talking about?”

It’s your turn to look irritated. How is he going to play dumb when he’s been caught red-handed?

“I heard you — you were going to head back Oklahoma, that you needed to pack your stuff and—” the last part has your throat constricting, you’re blinking back tears as you look at him. “—that you needed to tie up loose ends.”

Scott looks far from appeased from your explanation. “Yeah, and?”

“Are you shitting me?” You hiss, “If you were going to leave again, were you ever going to tell me? Were you just going to disappear? Leave me here alone again.”

“That’s not fucking fair,” he snaps right back, “I reached out to you. Multiple times. I called and texted and you disappeared. So don’t turn this shit around on me like I intentionally left you.”

“How was I ever supposed to tell you, Scott? I’m pregnant, can you stay here with me instead?”

“Yes! Exactly like that,” he snarls, “it’s as simple as that. But instead, you stopped responding to me. You left me.” That shuts you up, your breath catching in your throat. “So don’t be a hypocrite.”

“It would’ve been selfish of me — to tell you,” you gulp, chest tight, “you would’ve stayed because that’s who you are. That stupid sense of responsibility despite you being irresponsible enough to go out there and chase goddamn tornadoes. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“I know, because that’s who you are,” he mutters, “you think you gotta do everything on your own. You think I don’t hear things? Your mom and Jenna told me plenty about how tough things were for you. How do you think that makes me feel? I’m the asshole that left you.”

“You didn’t know,” you breathe in shakily.

“Doesn’t change the circumstances, does it?” He snips. His face softens then, melting slightly as he sees you curling into yourself. “But I really need you to get your head checked. Something ain’t right up there if you think for a second I could really ever leave you again.”

You look up at him and he’s already taken a step towards you. His hand slides up your neck to cup your cheek, his warm blue eyes on you.

“I was wrapping things up in Oklahoma so I can move here for good. I needed to deal with some paperwork and all the transition for the fieldwork. We’re not short-handed but, you know how it is with leadership.” He pauses, searching your face for any reaction. “I couldn’t just leave my team hanging out to dry so I had to finalize everything before I officially moved here.”

Well. Your voice is quiet when you ask, “So you weren’t going back to Oklahoma for good?”

The aggravation returns to his face. “You’re shittin’ me right? Have I not been telling you for weeks that I’m here to stay?”

“I just thought you meant temporarily,” you sputter, “who picks up their entire life on a fucking whim?”

“It’s not a whim! I was planning to move back here, focus more on raising funds with investors. That was, if I managed to find you!” That has you jolting back in surprise. “I came here to look for you. Properly this time. Fuck, and I told myself that, if I found you, I wasn’t gonna get you walk away from me again.”

“You— really?”

He rolls his eyes, lips tugging up. “Yeah, really. Let go the love of my life once, ain’t doin’ that again.”

“Love of your life?” You squeak.

Scott looks up at the ceiling, praying to some almighty up there to lend him some patience. “Thought that was fuckin’ obvious,” he mutters, “for someone so fuckin’ smart, you can be real stupid.”

“That’s so rude,” you frown.

“Apparently, I have to be if I need you to get your head out of your ass.”

You lick your lips, face flushing with heat. “So, uh, love of your life? Can I get some clarity on that?”

“How can I be any clearer?” He snaps, “If you’re gonna ask me since when, you really think I’d keep fucking you back then if I wasn’t in love with you?” Your jaw practically drops. “You’re the idiot that didn’t want anything real.”

“You were fucking everything that moved!”

“Until I met you!” He shakes his head. “Jesus, you really— I don’t know how you got me wrapped around your finger all this time.”

You huff, “Are you gonna keep insulting me all night?”

“Are you not gonna tell me you love me?”

A laugh bubbles up your throat. “What makes you think I love you?”

“I don’t think, I know, sweetheart,” Scott grins, arm stretching to pull you towards him. He tucks you in close, your breasts against his chest as your palms land on his shoulders, fingers scratching the hair at the nape of his neck. He lets out a quiet little moan. “Come on, say it. I know you’ve been dyin’ to for years now.”

With a roll of your eyes, you puff out, “I love you.”

He grunts, leaning down to tease you. “Don’t think I heard you.”

“I love you, Scott Miller. Now will you shut up and kiss me?”

“Never could say no to you, sweetheart.” 

+ sam: thank you so much if you've made it this far!!! you've finally seen the inner workings of my mind when i'm truly hyperfixating. please know that i appreciate every single piece of engagement but i especially love to hear what you think of the story, your fave parts, etc.!!! <3

scott is yearning for (taglist): @unabashedlyinlovewithyou @eiaf4uwn @thebabykashmere @nbhrhn @w1nchesterfiles @ae1szn @pinksplace @stanmarvelous @coffinlolz @chloluvsdilfs @athenxt @xreader1989 @theonlyaphrodite @wowitsafemale @yagurlannastasia @lettucel0ver @velvetnightmoonsandbows @tushy4toot @hoodharlow @lichi-dunkera @mansaaay @yagurlannastasia @fruitypebsworld @solynoche @thedarkseidofthemoon @burrowedinmyheart @annabethboleyn @lil-mann @magicwithaknife @kissmekissme5 @moonlightspencie @shoutingcardinal @youotterbekiddingme @potter-solomons @victoriuhmm @effyssky

story taglist: @reepicheeps-blog @coolvoidfire @lmaolmaos @garfieldsladybird

the first was that everyone else already had.

patients adored him. nurses laughed a little harder when he walked by. med students followed him around like ducklings.

even on the worst shifts, when the er smelled like antiseptic and stale coffee and exhaustion, frank somehow managed to make everyone breathe easier.

you were no different, and that was the problem, you only learned him in small pieces.

you learned that he would always rub the bridge of his nose right before opening difficult charts.

how he’d steal a few pieces of your chips without asking, only to replace them with a granola bar from the vending machine.

how he’d absentmindedly reach for your wrist whenever the department became too crowded, holding you with just enough pressure to guide you through the sea of gurneys before letting go like he’d never touched you at all.

it meant nothing, and you told yourself that every single time, because you always knew frank was like that with everyone.

“you’re staring.” someone said and you blinked.

jack didn’t even bother looking up from his computer.

“i’m reading.” “you’ve been reading the same sentence for three minutes.”

“…” “he’s talking to the new resident.” jack muttered.

even with your mind screaming at you not to look, you did anyway.

frank stood across the station, smiling at someone who was laughing so hard she nearly dropped her clipboard.

he leaned against the counter with his head tilted, eyes soft, and he looked happy. something unpleasant settled in your chest.

“stop doing that,” jack muttered as he finished up his chart.

“doing what?”

“breaking your own heart.” he finally said as he stood up, ready to take another case.

you swallowed, you heart aching as you felt a lump forming in your throat.

people assumed the two of you were together, they always had and it made sense. you spent every shift together, you knew each other’s coffee orders, you’d memorized each other’s handwriting.

he texted you when he’d get home after pulling doubles.

you’d remind him to eat, and maybe it looked like love from the outside, maybe that’s why no one ever asked, maybe that’s why neither of you ever said anything.

⋆˚꩜｡

“movie tonight?”

frank asked the question so casually that your heart betrayed you all over again. “sure.” you said, “my place?” he asked as he wrote on his chart, “okay.” you agreed.

“you pick.” he said with a smile “that’s dangerous.” you replied back

“i trust you.” he muttered, and you almost laughed, because trusting someone and loving someone were apparently two completely different things.

halfway through the movie, frank fell asleep, his head rested against your shoulder, his breathing slowed.

the apartment was quiet except for the television neither of you had been watching. and yet, you stared straight ahead.

if you moved, he’d wake up, if you stayed still you’d remember this forever. so you stayed, your shoulder went numb but you didn’t care.

you wondered if this counted as loving someone, getting hurt by things they never intended.

“why don’t you ever date anyone?”

samira asked during a lull in the shift.

you shrugged. “i dunno, i guess im too busy.”you said and she looked unconvinced.

“that’s a lie.” she scoffed, “it’s not?” you retorted. “is it langdon?”

you laughed too quickly. “what?” “is it him?”

across the department, frank looked up and your eyes met for exactly one second.

he smiled, the same smile he gave everyone. and yet, you smiled back anyway. “no.”

samira sighed. “you’re an awful liar.” she chuckled. “shut up, what about abbot, huh?” you said playfully as you accentuated jack’s last name.

her eyes widened, “oh my god- don’t say it out loud!” she shouted, whispering and you simple laughed as she slapped her hand on your arm playfully.

⋆˚꩜｡

there was a party after one particularly brutal week.

everyone drank, laughed, and pretended they weren’t carrying the weight of every patient they couldn’t save.

frank found you standing on the balcony, scrolling on your phone. “too loud?” he said, startling you a bit. “a little.” he nodded and stood beside you.

shoulders almost touching. close enough to feel warm, not close enough to be held.

“you okay?” “yeah.” another lie, he looked at you for a long time. long enough that you thought— “good.” then he looked away.

there were always moments that almost became something, the ways his fingers lingering around yours after handing over a chart.

late-night drives home where the silence felt too comfortable to ruin, the way he’d say your name like it meant more than everyone else’s.

and you called yourself pathetic for it, but you collected those moments, held them carefully, turned them over in your mind whenever you couldn’t sleep.

they were all you had.

you heard about her from robby “langdon’s seeing someone.” you smiled before your brain had time to react.

“is he?” ”yeah.” “…that’s nice.” “i think so.” the rest of the conversation disappeared into static.

that night, frank texted you.

coffee tomorrow? you stared at the message until the screen dimmed.

you typed. deleted. typed again.

can’t. family stuff.

a lie. another one. he replied almost immediately.

okay. next time.

there wasn’t a next time, since you kept finding excuses. different shifts. busy weekends. headaches. anything.

because loving him had always hurt, but watching him love someone else would’ve destroyed you.

weeks later, he caught you leaving after your shift.

“did i do something?” your hand froze on the locker. “…what?”

“you’ve been avoiding me.” you chuckled awkwardly and said,“i haven’t.” “you have.” he sounded…hurt. you hated that.

“frank—” you started, “just tell me.” you looked at him. really looked, tired eyes, messy hair, concern written all over his face.

you wanted to tell him everything, that you loved him, that every almost had become unbearable, that you were tired of wondering if maybe he’d reached for your hand because he wanted to or because it was convenient.

instead you smiled, small— the kind that didn’t crack.

“you didn’t do anything.” you paused, not knowing what else to say “i’m just tired.”

he nodded slowly, like he knew you were lying, like he was too kind to make you admit it. “get some rest.” “i will.”

he waited. maybe expecting you to say something else, but you didn’t. he walked away first.

months later, life looked exactly the same, except now there was a distance neither of you knew how to cross.

sometimes you’d catch him looking at you. sometimes he’d catch you first.

neither of you smiled anymore. just looked away. there were still moments though, always moments. they simply belonged to no one now. and maybe that was the cruelest part.

not that you loved him, not that he might never love you back.

but that somewhere between silence and timing and fear, there had been something waiting to happen. and the two of you had let it become another thing neither of you would ever say out loud.

it wasn’t intentional at first, distance never is. it started with little things. you’d switch shifts with no hesitation if someone asked. you took your breaks five minutes later than usual.

leave through the ambulance entrance instead of the staff exit. none of it was obvious and none of it should’ve mattered.

except somehow frank always noticed, “you already ate?” he’d ask. “yeah.”you hadn’t.

“heading home?” “just remembered i have somewhere to be.” you didn’t.

he’d nod every time, accepting every excuse with a smile that grew smaller each week. it would’ve been easier if he’d gotten angry.

instead, he shrugged it off. that was always the problem.

“you two fight?” robby asked while stocking the trauma room. you glanced up. “what?” “you and langdon.” “no.”

“then why’s he walking around looking like someone kicked his dog?” you laughed despite how you felt. “that’s dramatic.”

“i’m serious.” robby lowered his voice.“he asked me if i’d said something to you.” “…” “i told him no.”

you swallowed. “good.” “you wanna tell me what’s going on?” “nothing.”

robby sighed. “everyone in this ED is terrible at feelings.”

three weeks passed before the universe trapped you together. power outage.

half the hospital running on backup generators, the elevators shut down, patients everywhere, everyone scrambling.

you were reorganizing medications when frank appeared beside you, holding two flashlights.

“here.” he handed you one, your fingers brushed yet he pulled away too quickly.

“…thanks.” you expected him to leave, but he didn’t. for a few seconds, the only sound was the humming generator somewhere below your feet.

“i miss you.” the words were so quiet you almost thought you’d imagined them.

you looked at him. he wasn’t smiling. his eyes stayed on the floor.

“we see each other every day,” you managed. “that’s not what i mean.”

your chest tightened. “frank…” “did i do something?” again. the same question.

only this time there wasn’t anywhere to hide. you wanted to answer. instead a trauma alert echoed through the hall.

every doctor around you started moving. frank looked toward the doors. then back at you. “later?”

your mouth was already saying yes before your brain could stop it. “…later.”

later never came. a six-car collision flooded the emergency department. two surgeries. one code blue. a family that needed someone to tell them their son wasn’t coming home.

by the time the shift ended, the sun was rising. frank had already left.

samira found you crying in the supply closet. not sobbing. just reorganizing stuff in the storage room.

she didn’t ask why, she simply sat beside you after a minute she offered you half a granola bar, you took it.

“he loves you.” your head snapped up.

“…don’t.” “i’m serious.” “don’t do that.”

“i’ve watched him look for you every single shift.” “he doesn’t—” “he does.”

your laugh sounded more like a broken breath. “if he loved me…” you couldn’t finish that sentence, because if he loved you… he would’ve said something, wouldn’t he?

sam looked at you for a long time “maybe he’s just as scared.” that night you couldn’t sleep. instead, you opened your phone.

your conversation with frank stretched back years. pictures of terrible vending machine dinners. memes sent at three in the morning. complaints about impossible attendings. birthday messages. inside jokes no one else would understand. thousands of words.

none of the ones you actually wanted. your thumb hovered over the keyboard.

i miss you too. you typed it. read it. deleted it. and locked your phone.

frank stood outside your apartment for almost ten minutes.

he’d bought your favorite takeout after remembering you hadn’t eaten lunch. it was getting cold. he almost knocked. almost. instead he left the bag outside your door with a sticky note.

eat something. no name. he didn’t need one.

you knew his handwriting better than your own. you opened the door just as he stepped into the elevator. for one impossible second, your eyes met across the hallway.

you wanted to call his name. you wanted to tell him to stay. the elevator doors slid shut before you made a sound. by the time you found your voice… he was already gone.

the next day was painful, body aching, hands hurting, and the hospital lights were making your head spin.

the patient was twenty-two, gunshot wound, BP dropping, and everyone moved on instinct.

“i need another unit of o-neg!” “coming!” “where’s anesthesia?” “two minutes out!”

frank’s voice cut through the room “compressions.” you hesitated. “we still have a pulse.” “barely.” “frank—”

“compressions.” “you’re going to lose what pressure he has left.” he looked at you. “do it.” “no.”

the room went still. not completely. monitors still screamed. people still moved. but everyone heard it.

you had never said no to frank. not like that. he stepped closer.

“i’m running this trauma.” “and i’m telling you that’s the wrong call.”

his jaw tightened. “do your job, Dr.” something inside you snapped. “i am doing my job!”

silence. the kind that only exists for a heartbeat before chaos returns.

jack stepped between the two of you “enough. langdon, reassess. now.” frank didn’t move.

his eyes never left yours. for the first time since you’d met him… they were angry. real anger.

“fine.” he turned away. “prepare for thoracotomy.” the room came back to life. everyone moved again. no one looked at either of you.

the patient survived. barely. the adrenaline faded. the exhaustion settled in. you washed your hands three times before realizing there wasn’t any blood left on them.

the sink shut off. someone cleared their throat behind you. frank.

“what the hell was that?” you kept staring at your hands. “i disagreed.”

“you challenged me in front of everyone.” “because you were wrong.”

“you don’t get to undermine me—” “i don’t get to undermine you?” you laughed. it sounded ugly.

“that’s funny.” “what’s that supposed to mean?” “nothing.”

“don’t.”

his voice cracked. “don’t do that.” “do what?” “say ‘nothing’ when it obviously isn’t.” you finally looked at him.

months. months of swallowed words. months of pretending. months of walking past each other like strangers. they all rushed up your throat at once.

“why do you care?” he blinked. “…what?” he asked, “why do you care if i’m avoiding you?” you blurted out, “because we’re friends.” friends. there it was. the word that had haunted you for years.

you smiled. small. tired. “right.” he frowned. “don’t.” “don’t what?” you muttered, “look at me like that.” he said persistently, “like what?” “like you’ve already decided i’m leaving.”

you laughed again. “you already did.”“what are you talking about?” “you chose someone else.”

confusion flashed across his face. “…who?” you stared at him. “the resident.”

he was surprised, “…what resident? “the one everyone said you were dating.” he was quiet for exactly two seconds.

then— “…audrey?” you didn’t answer. frank let out one disbelieving breath.

“what?- no. no no. i don’t like her—”

“thats no what i see.”

“hey, no i swear. shes not— shes married.”

“…what?” “she’s married.”

your mouth opened. closed. opened again.

“robby told me—” “robby assumed.” “…”

“he assumed.” the room suddenly felt too small.

too warm. too bright. “i…” you couldn’t breathe. months. you’d wasted months.

frank rubbed a hand over his face. “i kept asking myself what i’d done.” your eyes filled before you could stop them.

“i thought…” “i know.” “no, you don’t.” his voice broke. “i do.” you shook your head. “no, frank. you don’t.”

“then tell me.” the tears came anyway. “ i loved you.” the words echoed through the walls.

“i loved you so much that I couldn’t stand watching you love somebody else.” frank stared.

“you idiot.” you laughed through the tears. “yeah, okay i deserved that.”

“what? no, no. i was- so do i” he stepped closer. “…frank.” “i’ve loved you since your second week here.”

your breath caught.

“you kept stealing my chips.” “i was flirting.” “i thought you were hungry.” “i was terrified.” he laughed once. a wet, shaky laugh.

“i kept waiting for you to notice.” “i thought the movies meant something.”

“they did.” “I thought you fell asleep on my shoulder because you were tired.” “i stayed awake for almost an hour.” you blinked.

“are you kidding me? my shoulders went numb.” “my neck did too.” despite everything, a laugh escaped you.

frank laughed too. it lasted all of three seconds before the weight of what had happened settled over both of you.

“we lost so much time,” you whispered. his smile disappeared. “i know.” another silence. this one heavier.

filled with every shift you’d spent apart. every unanswered text. every almost.

“i don’t want to keep wondering anymore,” you said quietly. “i don’t either.” “you’ll have to tell me when you’re scared.”

“i will.” “you’ll have to let me argue with you in trauma.” he snorted. “you were right.” frank muttered.

“i know.” you said proudly, “i’m never admitting that again.” you smiled for the first time in months. “i’ll take today.”

frank looked at you like he was memorizing your face. slowly, carefully, he reached for your hand.

“you know,” he murmured fiddling with your hand gently, “for two people who spend every day telling strangers the truth…”

“…we were pretty terrible at telling each other.” his thumb brushed across your knuckles. “yeah.”

outside the room, another trauma pager blared. the ED was calling them back. people were still getting hurt. lives still needed saving.

the world, stubborn as it was, refused to pause. frank squeezed your hand once before letting go. “after shift?” you smiled. “no almosts this time.”

he smiled back. “no almosts.” and for the first time since the two of you met— neither of you walked away first.

AN: This is hands down the dirties fic I've written. But I'm tired of the evil superman harem fis so here's one that still has a see Clark or Kal-El.

****

Tonight is the night. Nearly a year in the making; first the vetting then the social meet and the learning, getting yourself ready for this night. You had taken the day off and the following for recovery. You had your wax appointment moved to earlier this week, you did an everything shower this morning, you even went to the salon to get your hair just right. He had sent you a package a couple weeks ago, the first sign that it would finally happen. The package had come with instructions, what to expect and two options for tonight.

Option one. A bright red sexy silk teddy. It fit perfectly stopping at mid thigh and an equally sexy matching robe. It flatters your curves in a way that shocks you, you had only met him four times prior and he found something that matched you so well.

Option two. A risque two piece lingerie. The whole thing much more visual stimulation then anything else. A perfect blue, cup less and crotchless. A couple straps connecting the top to the bottom and a pair of matching blue stockings. You owned exactly one pair of sexy clothes and it was amateur hour compared to this. Everything about you is exposed in this, and something about your ass and cunt hanging out but your legs clothed felt embarrassingly hot. Late in the evening after getting the delivery you had turned your lights down low and posed with it on in front of your mirror. Feeling yourself and getting so excited that you pulled out your favorite toy; the one that could suction cup to the floor and watched your breast bounce wildly and your knees get sore.

The clothing came with the instructions to wear whichever one you felt most comfortable in. You liked that he gave you the option, took your comfort in mind. You had gone back and forth which one to wear? The teddy is more your style but the two piece made you feel sexy in a way that you often didn't. Never in your life would you choose to be so exposed to a man but he's different. He's not like other men. He's Superman and he chose you.

You took the test before getting dressed. Brushed your teeth and touch up the mascara. Setting the positive ovulation test on the card that instructed you too. Being a member of Superman's harem is a honor. Thousand of women all of the world had fought for a place and you got in. The group in this part of the country is small, the largest number being in Metropolis of course. You meet up with the women every week, and would discussed everything from the weather to life to your shared partner. Part of your duty was image control and publicity some helped in the hero capacity keeping their eyes and ears open. Other working on the logistics of maintaining such a large net work of partners.(They're the ones who helped you prepare for tonight) You help out with child care and a few of the women you've gotten even closer to and considered them friends. Two were here the other night getting the room ready, cleaning your bathroom. Buying you a fresh pair of sheets, that they washed first to strip the newness and give them your scent. Another, one who you babysit for regularly because she lives in the apartment two blocks down from you had swung by a dropped off some food for after, water with electrolytes, lotion to help sore muscles and an extra bottle of lube.

"I know you've been preparing yourself for him but he really is as big as everyone says." She had said. Your face had gone so red and you started giggling like a school girl.

You decided on the two piece. It it bold and so different, and sexy. Pulling up the stockings and buttoning them in place you turn on the speakers and an instrumental playlist starts. Turning off the over head lights and dimming the lamps. You don't want it too dark, You did want to see him. Getting into the bed you arrange the pillows falling back on them. You position yourself then reposition yourself trying to find the pose you want him to see you in. You weren't sure how he'd arrive. Through the window or front door? You relax, resting your eyes and arms. Listing to the sound of your heart beating. The heat of your skin and the wetness at your cunt.

Tracing over the small button that connects the stockings to panties, rubbing your thighs together. Your hand roams further up your legs forming around your nicely waxed mound. There's still a bit of hair, trimmed and shaped like a triangle pointing down. Your fingers glide over the shape and you are amazed out how smooth the naked part of the skin still feels. Tucking a finger down between your thighs still very much squeezed together you press your opening. Slick and wanting, heat spilling from your cheeks and moving down your neck to your shoulders.

Biting your lip you press your finger in, your walls tight and hot. You've got into the habit of touching yourself regularly. Preparing like the others told you but also embracing pleasure. Exploring your body you had once considered embarrassing. You spread your legs open, giving yourself unobscured access to your cunt. Eyes closing you push a finger to the hilt add another and start fucking yourself.

He could probably hear you doing this. Maybe he was already watching. He liked watching his women, pleasuring themself and each other. You knew this. You had been in a few group gathers as such. One of the women, a cute redhead with tan skin and pouty lips licked your pussy while you bit on the lips of a tall, lean dark skinned women who squeezes your breast. He watched as several of the women, the ones who had already given him children put on the straps and showed off their fake cocks. Molded after his. He also partook. Taking one women after another holding them to him and spreading their legs showing off their cunts. Playing with them, complimenting them. Then he fucked four of the women. Got to see him put a baby in all of them. He fucked them stupid.

You moan, remembering his blue eyes, his powerful thighs, his gritting groans. Pulling your hand free you grab one of the toys you have arranged on the side table. Taking the egg that has a cord that sticks out and connects to the remote you turn on the shift two buzz. Your toes curl and you drop your head back.

A strong audible tapping comes from the window. You open teary eyes and focus them to the man outside. You live on the twelfth floor, no balcony, you do have a fire escape but it's on the living room window. Kal-El pushes the window up. He floats through it moving up and dropping back down onto the floor. You had expected the Superman suit but he is dressed casually. Dark jeans held up with a belt, white undershirt and an open button up collar shirt a mossy green.

You instinctively close your legs the vibrating sound of the toy deafening. His hand comes to your knee and he speaks in a calming excited voice. "Don't hide yourself let me see."

With thin lips and fingers clutching the sheets you part your legs. Showing off your perfectly groomed pussy, dripping wet and the toy slowly slipping out. Your pussy pulses trying to keep it in place but with a puk it drops to the bed. Kal-El's hand glides down your leg picking up the toy with his long slender fingers, with a smile he pushes it back into you and his palm holds it in place.

You moan. He was touching you. Cupping your cunt while a toy vibrated hard inside you. Your walls squeezes around it loving the feeling but it wasn't scratching the full itch. His other hand came to your hair and tucks it behind an ear. His finger slides down your jaw and tilling your head up.

You've seen him do so much with theses hands. The power behind them. To protect and love. You're breathing heavily, heart pounding. Nerves yes but also want, anticipation. You've been dreaming of this day since you became one of Kal-El's women. The day he fucks you and puts a baby inside you.

"I've been waiting for my night with you. You look…" He stops releasing a hard breath his eyes taking in your exposed breast, the pad of his palm pushing down on your cunt. "All ready have your cunt ready for me."

Dropping your head back you whine feet pushing into the sheets. Your hand comes to rest on top of his, its warm and soft and you can't picture another man ever toughing you here ever again. This cunt was his and only his.

"She's a greedy cunt." You say. "The toy isn't enough."

He smiles. "We'll have to take care of that."

He unbuckles his belt pulling it free and undoing his pants. He pulls both his shirts off and folds them. You bite back a smile as he tucks it on the chair. He picks up the ovulation test and the list of acceptable sex acts you like. He had a list too of sex acts he likes. Sure the goal is making a baby but you can still get freaky.

Kal-El comes to the bed and swings himself right on top of you. He sits on his knees spread out wide garbing you right under your knees and pulling you down resting them on his thighs leaving you open to him completely. Taking the toy by its tail be pulls it out of you. Turing it off and dropping it to the ground. He replaces it with his finger pushing one in all the way.

Gripping his arm you groan, the finger going deeper then the toy had been and thicker. His mouth finds yours and the two of you are kissing. He's gentle, more so then you expected but still hard. His teeth sharp, his tongue greedy. It became sloppy quick, any hope of romantic longing kisses turned to the wayside. His finger pushes into you fast hitting the spot you need, tears in your eyes already from how good it feels.

Squirming under him, pressing your legs but unable to because of him. His big beautiful body. Hard, muscular, soft and malleable. He breaks the kiss and looks down at his finger and spits. Right on your cunt. He adds another finger and your eyes go to the back of your head and your screaming. He doesn't stop pistolling into you until you stop writhing.

You relax your body still floating. Kal-El gave you a sweet smile removing his fingers. "Sorry." You say wiping at your forehead.

"Don't apologies. I like to know my women are enjoying themselves. Besides that's just one of many."

You laugh. "How many are you going to give me?" He stretches up to lay beside you and you rest your hands on his bare chest.

"How many can you handle?" He asks his eyes playful. You think for a moment. You know he can last a long time. He can have multiple organisms in a singe rendezvous. But you want to be realistic.

"At least four."

"Three more to go." He kisses you his hand coming to cup your face and you smell his aftershave. An earthy musk smell comforting as it lingers in your nose. Pulling away you ask.

"What do you want me to call you? Kal-El? Superman, Kal?"

"Any of them are fine. Most like to use Kal-El or Kal but some like to role play Superman."

"Okay. Kal." It felt so informal but then again you were practically naked and he did just have his fingers up your pussy.

"Turn onto your stomach." He says getting up. "I want your ass up." He floated up and over you landing back down on the side of the bed next to the dresser and all the toys you had chosen for today and he looks between them. Doing as he said and got on your knees, ass up. Right on the edge of the mattress. Your breast dangled, the sheets tickling your nipples and the cold air hit the sloppy mess of your cunt. The tingle of want coming back.

His hand comes sliding over the stockings you wore, his fingers pressing into the buttons. "The buttons are cute. I think I like them better than the guarder claps." He follows the strap up to the underwear. "I love the way women's legs look in pantyhose. Even with a pair of the most unless panties it gives a leave of sophistication." Well that explains the fashion choice among the other women.

Both his hands grabbed your cheeks and separate them. Heat burns up your body, your pussy twitching. His thumb starts teasing your asshole. The moan is throaty, you raise your ass up almost chasing the touch. He presses further the tip of his thumb going in. You jolt, your head snapping back. True with your pussy and now your asshole, someone else's finger always feels better.

"Be careful. I haven't added any lube."

"E…eat it." You say looking back at him. His eyebrow raises and with a wicked grin he relies.

"My pleasure."

His mouth tickles across your ass, his fingers digging into the fat. You drop your head down to the pillow and wrap your arms around it your breath caught in your throat. His tongue glides over your hole and you tenses. Biting your lip so hard it hurts.

With the tip he circles, around and around, stopping going the other way. You choke out a sob your toes curling in. His lips encompass you and he's sucking, and biting, and licking and kissing. You cover your mouth first with your hand but you're still to loud so you bite the pillow. Rocking into him, his tongue sliding into you. It's shocking, it hurts in a pleasurable way. Hot and thick, never have you describe a tongue thick.

His hand comes down and he rubs his finger over your slit. He plays with your pussy and tongues your asshole. Your skin is burning, your knees sore already but you don't stop. Don't stop rocking, don't stop moaning. You feel slobber spilling from your mouth. His thumb presses into your clit, he bites your left cheek.

"Kal! Ka…" You can't focus his mouth finding the next play thing. Your cunt drips, his thumb catching the wetness and pushing back into your clit, hard before giving you relief. His lips leave your hole and you think he's done but then the cap of the lube opens and the cold wetness spreads over you. Using the fingers of his other hand he rims your opening, coating you and his fingers.

"I'm going to use one finger. Get you ready. Okay."

You nod. And one finger goes in. Slow, to the first knuckle. You gasp. He twist and presses and pushes further in. You move to your elbows, straightening out your spine. He kisses your lower back.

Kal-El now has fingers in both your holes and you wonder if he is seeing it. What does it look like your cunt and asshole full. He pushes again to the hilt. And with the fingers in your pussy he starts pumping into you. Your head drops and you watch your breast sway under the motion.

"Kal." You whisper. Your muscles spasm. Thighs and ass clench, a cold relief comes over you as you spray all over him. You're breathing heavy and he leads you down till you're lying flat.

"Two." He says with a dimpled smile. You groan out a laugh.

"I don't know if I'm prepared for the next two."

"Do you want to stop?" He asks.

"What? No, we still, you haven't…"

"I don't want you to extend yourself to hard. There's always next time."

You grab his hand turning to your back and pressing it to your stomach.

"I want a baby. I've always wanted to be a mom and now I can. With someone who is good and sweet and protective. A little girl or boy. Please don't stop."

Kal-El smiles. He rubs your stomach and you can't wait for when its swollen and your feet hurt and the spare room is finally a nursery. He bends down and kisses your cheek and says. "Okay. I'll go clean up. Drink some water and get comfortable." He walks to your bathroom and you get up. Taking the bra piece off but leaving the panties and stockings. With a wet wipe you clean yourself up and grab the fancy water. Your skins getting a bit clammy going from hot sex to cool down. Grabbing some muscle lotion you rub it on your thighs and shoulders.

His hands take over for you rubbing over your shoulders and down your arms. His heat fighting off the chill, his mouth kissing your neck. You can feel him pressed into your back. He had discarded his pants. Everyone had told you he's huge, you had seen it before. But feeling him is different.

Kal leads you back to bed. He wraps you in his arms and falls back. The two of you are kissing, his hands touching you everywhere. Your hands go into his hair, grab his shoulder, feel up his pecks and biceps. You rub your pussy over his cock, feel him twitch and see Kal's eyebrows crumble at the pleasure. You relish in seeing this man succumb to you. You grow boulder biting at him, feeling the strength he displays everyday in subtle ways. Rolling onto your back he follows coming on top of you his legs spreading yours apart.

Pulling away he reaches over and grabs one of the several bottles of lube. You laugh hearing one fall to the floor and his soft 'shoot'. You take in his full naked chest. He sits back on his legs and the 'pop' of the bottle echos in your ears. The lube drips down onto his cock and your cunt. The whole bottle spent under his grip. He toss it to the floor.

One hand wraps around his cock stroking in slow movements of his wrist. His other hand with the brush of three fingers over your cunt spreed the lube around. You buck your hips up and he push all three in rotating them back and forth, pushing further.

"Kal…hmm." Your breathing gets heavy and there's a weight on your chest. "Kal…please. Please put a baby in me."

"I got to stretch you out first. Got to get this cunt ready. Got to take good care of her, this is how our baby will enter the world." He starts fanning his fingers out stretching you even further. It hurts but you moan anyway because it's him doing it, not you or one of your toys or one of the other women.

He's watching your cunt swallowing his fingers so greedily his thumb rubbing along your pussylips and the head of his cock poking against you. You grab the headboard above you scratching at it. His forth fingers enters and you swallow the moan. His whole hand is nearly in your pussy. It brought a whole new term to fist fighting.

"Fuck. Kal. Please…I-"

Kal hushes you. "I know you want it. You want my cock? You want me to fill you up with a baby." He removes his hand and then you feel the tip. Hard, balboas and pushing through. He's thick and long but your pussy is desperate for this particular itch. She flutters for him the lube making her a slip and slide. He opened you beautify the weight of him settling like you were always met for his cock.

Tears slip down your eyes. It doesn't hurt it just feels so good. He wipes at the tears with the back of his hand. The only clean part. In the dark his eyes seem to be glowing and you wonder if that's just something he can do. Glowing blue eyes.

He grabs you by the thighs. Your feet go over his shoulder and he's lifting your backside up off the mattress. With both hands you grip the bottom of your head board and a pause he takes one of the pillows and inserts it between your head and the head board. He's thrusting into you.

The sound of skin hitting skin and the squeak of your bed frame get dawned out by your moans. It feels so good, him splitting you open and filling you up. His face blends in concentration and pleasure. His eyebrows crinkled together, his mouth open in desire. He says your name fast, hard like a snap. Your heels press into his shoulders, feet wrapping around his neck.

He goes faster and your head hits into the pillow. You close your eyes and just feel you body. The sweat, the tingle in the back of your legs, the swollen ache of your cunt, the zap in your skin leaving the hairs standing. Kal grabs your legs from under the knees and pushes them down and open. Fucking you in a whole new angle.

You grab his face and kiss him. Begging for it. "Yes. Yes. I want it. God!"

You come so fast and hard that you're crying and Kal licks at your face. He continues.

Above you are floating. Is he flying? You think but no you watch yourself and Kal-El below. He has rearrange your positions and you are sitting in his lap his hands holding you at your waist and he's fucking up into you. He has fucked you into on out of body experiences. You see yourself drool and your blathering incoherently. You're not even sure how you've managed to keep hold of him.

"Yeah, baby, I love seeing myself inside you." You've snapped back to your body, your mouth wide open, rocking like your just his rag doll. He's hitting the place you need and the tension is building up again. So close to the last one.

"Put it in me Kal. Put a baby in me."

He thrust once, twist and on the third holds you down. You feel it. His cum shooting into you. Your head tips back and your body goes limp. Your fourth organism has truly taken you out. There's so much inside you, it has no choice but to spill out.

Kal rearranges you. With you rear facing the headboard and your feet pointing up. You had heard doing this after sex help the chances of pregnancy. Kal wipes at your face and brushes the hair back. You feel like you're moving through jello, even though you're not moving at all.

"What happens next?" You ask.

"I'll clean you up. If nothings going on I'll stay here and take care of you. Or we can call one of my women if you prefer their support."

"No. Getting pregnant. What do we do now."

"Oh, we'll it'll take a few weeks, but you take a pregnancy test and if everything good we'll put you down as mother to be in the roster. We'll get the necessary ready and prepare for a baby."

"And if I'm not?"

"We will try again. It doesn't always happen the first time."

You were at the gurney in an instance, Robby joining the herd in the pushing of the bed. It took you less than a second to see through the bag in the neck and the blood and the uniform to recognise the one on the gurney. “Hiro? What happened?”

“Warehouse robbery gone wrong,” said Jack with almost absent of mind. He said the words and promptly seemed to realise who he was talking to and looked up- at you- again. “You're working today?”

“Oh no, I just hang around in hopes of seeing you in unfiorm.”

Next to you, Robby chuckled and beyond Jack you gave quick greeting to your laughing buddies, clad in SWAT uniform.

You were what could be called, a floater.

By all educational means you were a doctor and a damn good one too. You had every certificate you needed and all the flying colours you could get. You just didn't have a permanent job. You were a sub. You worked mainly at PTMC and on the field but had been known to go to the dark side, a.k.a, Presby.

“Okay, on my count,” you begin. “One, two, three-”

You helped lift him over to the bed.

“Did you intubate him?” you asked,

“Yeah, under active fire,” said Jack.

You looked at Jack. Sweat on his forehead, flecks of grey hair sticking to him and the shirt under his army vest hung lose. He was dishevelled in away romance characters presented on books covers. To lure you in. “You were shot?”

“Shot at.”

“You need to be looked at?”

“No. I'm fine.” His lips were pursed, focus on Hiro.

“Did you see the chords when you intubated?” asked Robby, floating around the two of you as Jack refused to leave Hiro's side and you stayed by Abbot. He'd seen it a dozen times before. A disaster where there was one, there was the other.

There was the occasions he'd hand over to Jack, go home, sleep and come back to find Jack had called in you. You who was always ready to go at the first buzz of your pager. Wherever it was, whatever you had to do. And Robby would look through the patients that night, check the board and understand they hadn't really needed your help all that much.

Jack had.

Now, Robby saw the way you looked at Jack and had seen the gap that existed between the two of you.

“Yeah, I did but it was hard to miss when I cleared them.”

Jack reached and you watched as he stretched, wincing at the pull in his shoulder.

“You should get that looked at,” you told him.

“I'm fine.”

“No, you're not.”

There was a small roll of the eyes as Jack's gaze rose to meet yours through his goggles. There was almost a tiny hint of a smirk- your favourite kind but it disappeared as soon as it appeared.

“Yeah, c'mon Abbot!” said Charlie, calling from the back of his room where he stood with Diaz, two of the SWAT officers you were most frequent with. “Let doc work you up.”

You chuckled low to yourself, trying to catch Jack's eyes to share the joke but he looked away, his jaw clenching.

So, he wasn't in the joking mood.

“Alright, fellas, out!” leaving the wounded's side you ushered them out in spite of their protests and their giddy, hopeful optimism that Officer Hiro would pull through. “We'll let you know any changes, out!”

You pulled on a gown and cleared a way over.

“Demanding,” said Robby.

“You should hear me in the bedroom,” you teased with a wink.

Over on the other side you caught a small click from Jack's tongue. A disapproval voiced loud enough for others to hear.

You grasped the ultrasound wand from the nurse, circling it around the wound at Hiro's neck while Jack pulled away the gauze he'd packed, carefully minding you. “Good lung sliding, no pneumo-”

The last gauze peeled away in a bloody mess and a rope of blood shot out directly at you for vengeance.

“Geez- woah!”

“Pumper!” you announced, clamping your hand over the wound.

The streak of red cut through the skin on your neck, your gown and the doctors coat you liked to wear just like they did in tv shows. You had a draw full of them at home for instances like that.

“Hey, hey,” Jack was at your side quick as you loomed over the body. “Move back, get yourself cleaned up.”

“I can handle a little blood, Abbot.”

“I know that but-”

“- this is a transected trachea now-”

There was little else time to worry about blood on your gown and coat when the intubation was pulled out, the hole in his throat open.

There was a lot people said about you, with words and looks alike but none of which passed you or bothered you. You knew some thought you abrash and loud, you were, you knew it true. On the field the teams you worked with always thought you as one of them, 'one of the guys' but damn it- you were a good doctor.

You ordered everything correctly, you took them and worked them without so much as a blink and Robby stood behind you approving of everything you did.

It was one of the reasons he always called you in.

“Well done, good breaths sounds, stats are up: in the nineties,” approved Robby.

Jack hummed, pulling off his gloves as you all backed away. “Not bad.”

Your carried your smirk with you and over to him. “Is that the great Jack Abbot stamp of approval?”

“You know I think you're good at you're job,” he said, plainly.

You did know that. You knew that Jack admired your skills. He was one of the only ones who'd seen your skills on the field when sometimes all you had left in your kit was the dregs from other procedures or in the hospital when everything was pristine. He'd worked closest to you, probably out of everyone in either one of your jobs.

But there was always something about Jack that kept him far away. He was always a man that was so calm, which in the the face of conflict wasn't a bad call. Yet, it was the quiet moments in between- the way his footfall would slow to match yours, or the glances he'd steal at you half way across the ward, or the extra snacks he'd pack that had you searching rooms for him, checking shifts to see if you'd be around him.

Then when you were, Jack pursed his lips, clenched his jaw, acted like he wanted to be anywhere else sometimes than at your side.

He was a complicated man. Annoyingly that's what added to your attraction- and everyone knew it.

Once the two of you told Officer Charlie and Diaz that Hiro was stable enough to be taken to surgery you followed after Jack.

“You sure you don't want me to look at that shoulder for you?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, it's fine,” he excused.

“Don't want the paperwork?”

“Something like that,” said Jack, still shifting around in pain as he tried to roll his shoulder out.

“Okay, okay, but get it looked at!” you called off, ready to shed your coat or at least try and rub off some of Hiro's blood.

There was a mutter from Jack before he went another way.

You looked back to him once, watching as he walked off with a small limp that probably wasn't detectable to anyone that didn't analyse him like you did. It was a brutal sort of thing, SWAT, and with Abbot's sleep schedule you knew it was only worse. Eight- maybe ten hour shifts for so little sleep to get thrown back into the fire- literally. You wondered how he did it.

And, why.

Jack flexed out his shoulder at the press of the q-tip to his back.

He meant it, the wound really wasn't that bad. It had grazed through his clothes and vest but still hit just enough to leave an angry welt and bruising. He was content to hide away and sort it himself if it weren't for the fact he couldn't reach.

Then Samira Mohan walked by and offered her help. He was already tired, annoyed that those punks had thought it a good idea to rob a warehouse in the middle of the day, already worried about Hiro and his recovery. Then- there was you, with your snarky comments while saving his life, not batting a lash at the blood that got splattered on you in the mean time and still having time to flirt with Robby.

And prancing around in this scrub pants that were surely just a bit too tight.

Jack was wound up, which was why he admitted surrender and allowed Mohan to clean out his wound.

“Why do you do this?” she'd asked.

Jack had folded his arms over his chest, suddenly very aware he was shirtless in front of her. “My therapist says I need a hobby. I suck at golf.”

She hummed. “Funny.”

“Thank you.”

He made conversation to be polite, asking about the fellowships he knew others were already applying for. Crus had been telling him about them and he knew Mohan was searching to.

They were chatting was all when Robby walked by, looking in to check.

He frowned when he saw Mohan and Abbot, pausing in his fly by with a hand in the door way.

Jack watched as Robby looked around again at the ward, undoubtedly searching for you.

“We're almost finished up here,” said Mohan.

Robby held up his hands. “I didn't say anything,” he said, leaning in the doorway. He passed Jack a nod. “You good?”

“Getting there, thanks to Doctor Mohan's capable hands.” Jack kept his eyes averted from Robby as if he'd done something wrong. He hadn't. He'd told you the wound didn't need looking at because he was going to handle it.

Robby looked at him the sort of way he looked at patients when he knew they were lying about their scale of pain. “Can you give us a second?”

Just as Jack was about to push himself up Samira moved behind him.

“Er, yeah, sure. No problem,” she said, pulling off her gloves and listing off post-care instructions from instinct. “Keep it clean and the dressing fresh.”

“Can do, Doctor Mohan. Thank you.”

Robby stepped out of the way for Mohan before walking in, staring at Jack with his hands in his pockets.

Jack found his shirt discarded on the floor and pulled it over him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Clearly,” said Jack.

“Are you avoiding her, now?”

Jack didn't need to ask who he was talking about and Robby didn't need to specify. “Course not.”

“Did she do something?”

“No.”

“So what was all that? Back in trauma?” asked Robby. His eyes were beady, waiting to pick up on any shift in Jack or anything that might betray him. But Robby wore his heart on his sleeve. He might think he doesn't or thinks he's good at hiding such emotions away but Jack and everyone else sees them anyhow.

Jack had his heart buried deep down. “I dunno, man,” he huffed, ignoring the burning sensation as he pulled his shirt back over him. “Maybe I just didn't feel like joking around when my buddy was bleeding out on the table.”

Robby shook his head, eyes creasing. “People bleed out all the time.”

Jacks lips pursed as he worked on tucking his shirt back into his pants. Anything to keep him occupied and averted from Robby’s knowing gaze.

“I haven’t seen you this worked up since you first met her,” he teased.

“Now I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Abbot grumbled.

Robby chuckled low in his throat, leaning back on the wall comfortable like he was watching his favourite show. “When two consenting adults like each other very much-”

“I don’t,” said Jack, abrupt. “I don’t… like her.”

“Jack, c’mon-”

Jack turned to Robby. He considered his confusion. Sure, you were a great doctor and even better on the field. Something about the chaos seemed to focus you, bringing out your best self. You were funny, even at the worse times.

“She’s not it for me,” he said, trying to mean those words.

Your smile first thing in the morning didn’t warm him. The fact you knew his coffee order after only two days of working together didn’t make him feel special. You were incredibly intelligent. Beautiful.

Jack twisted and turned around his wedding band.

Robby watched, heaving a sigh. “Brother…”

Jack couldn’t keep you in his heart when his dead wife still held a place there. It wasn’t fair to you.

“She’s not it, Robby.”

“And why not?” He asked, pushing and prodding against his bag of lies like he knew he was carrying it.

“She’s different- we’re two different. You know with my- with my wife we worked. She wasn’t a doctor, she didn’t throw her life away on field missions. She wasn’t… she wasn’t ruthless, she was soft. Perfect for me.”

He pressed down against the metal band branding him.

“You’re not gonna give yourself a chance to be happy because she’s not like your wife?” Asked Robby.

Jack glanced back at him. “I know what works for me. I can’t be with someone as loud or… bash. She’s-she’s brutal, you know.”

Robby nodded but there was a furrow between his brows. “We all have our own ways of dealing with things.”

“Her way is drinking every weekend, out with the guys, there’s no healthy habits there,” argued Jack. Why he was arguing about you with Robby he didn’t know. Why he was defending himself with words that fell like led on his tongue he had no idea.

“Okay,” said Robby in a way that marked defeat.

But Jack didn’t believe what he was saying. He heard himself and frowned. “And I don’t even think she’s a person who could settle down. Hmm, I mean look at her job? She’s constantly in between them.”

“She’s a sub, that’s what she does-”

“- scared of commitment,” corrected Jack.

Robby scoffed out a laugh of disbelief. “Okay, you’re in a mood or something.” He pushed himself from the wall.

“No, I’m not,” he argued a little too quick and a little too harsh to be okay with what he was saying. “She’s a good person she’s just not my person. You know she-she doesn’t even like flowers, who doesn’t like flowers?”

“She’s more than a good person, Jack,” said Robby with an air of defeat about him. With one last look back to Jack he left, closing the door gently behind him.

In the seconds the door was open Jack sort a peek out. You were at the nurses desk, leaning over a tablet, the blue glow illuminating you. There was a troubled look to your face, scrunching your brows and marring your usual unflappable gaze. Jack almost wanted to see the chart himself and ask what was bothering you, but he knew you never told him, only ever let it be yourself that saw your problems.

Another thing he couldn’t stand. You’d never ask for help.

Even if, Jack couldn’t admit it out loud, he’d help without an invitation too.

You suppose you shouldn’t have been surprised, yet doctors ran on hope. Without hope trauma rooms became morgues and body’s became empty vessels. You’d built hope into your system, kept somewhere between your heart and stomach.

That’s why you felt it plummet.

She’s not it for me.

There was no intention to listen in on a conversation that clearly you weren’t supposed to know about. You'd just been passing by when you heard your name from Jacks mouth. That was enough to stop you in place. If your feet weren't frozen you would have moved, made yourself busy or call up to surgery to check on Hiro.

But as Jack went on your heart plummeted.

She's brutal.

It wasn't until you heard Robby defend you that you moved away, hiding with your back to the exam room and hunching over a tablet that held no chart.

You'd always assumed Jack was just harder to crack then some of the other SWAT guys. You could read most of them within days, know their moods from a glance. You'd never been able to read Jack and maybe it was because he didn't want to be known by you.

You thought seeing Hiro with a hole in his neck would be the worst thing of the day but you caught your reflection in the black screen of the tablet and resented the way things blurred around you.

She's not it for me.

“Hey-” Robby was behind you and you tucked your head into your chest. His hand squeezed your shoulder. “Central twelve when you have a chance.”

“You got it, boss.” Luckily your voice remained steady despite the waver in your throat.

Robby gave a nod and left you to it.

Had Jack had hatred for you since you knew him and just never said a word? Did you do something for him to harbour these feelings?

Besides from not being his wife.

The door closed again and on instinct you looked over your shoulder, catching Jack adjusting his belt. He looked up and found your gaze, offering you a pulled smile.

It was like every other smile he'd ever given you.

You'd been so blind with affection to not see it. What a fool.

You couldn't even pull your lips back up, you just walked away.

Weeks went by in flashes of sleepless nights and lonely days.

The sick and injured didn't wait for you to get over yourself, instead they helped.

You offered yourself like a lamb to the slaughter in Presby and even Westbridge. You pulled doubles, catching small naps in any empty exam room or on-call room you could find. You started to learn staff names when you'd never cared before.

A group of nurses at Westbridge even invited you out for drinks.

“Drinking every weekend, out with the guys, there's no healthy habits there” you remembered Jack's voice and declined their invitation.

When SWAT called you had an excuse. A plumber was coming around... you were re-modelling; suddenly your apartment was going through half a dozen makeovers and all your childhood friends were visiting.

“You know you're not a very good liar,” Diaz had said when he called you for a drink and you declined. That day you were taking your mom's dog to the vet (your mom was a cat person and in another state)

Your apartment became a cave and you became a shell of yourself, un-ironically listening to the high school musical soundtrack and crying.

And still you couldn't find it in yourself to be angry at Jack. Of course he wouldn't want you- he had a wife. And a memory of that wife to keep him walm. What could he do with you? If you weren't his type, you weren't his type. If it was just that maybe you could have moved on.

But he didn't like you as a person and that stung more.

You didn't know how long it had been since you were last at PTMC, only long enough that you started to scramble corridors in your mind and forget what some of the nurses sounded like.

“We have a mass casualty event,” said Robby on the phone one Sunday morning. His voice sounded different, but you supposed time played tricks on your memory. “School bus incident. You in?”

You were in pyjamas at home, some crappy tv on low. “I'll have to check, Presby might need me.”

Robby scoffed down the line. “Have they called yet?”

“Well, no-”

“Then get your ass over here.”

“Robby-”

“Please, please get your ass over here,” he said down the line, sighing heavily. “I.... I could really use another set of hands.”

Robby didn't say please. Ever. So how could you say no.

Within the hour you were dressed an,d thrown into the anarchy.

You got through the ambulance doors, was thrown a gown and got to work. You didn't even see Robby to let him know you were there, you just found Langdon and worked beside him.

“I need some help over here!” yelled out a paramedic.

At once you and Langdon were at her side, pushing along the gurney.

“Kid, fracted tib-fib, pupils mid range and sluggish- couldn't get a line we had to intubate.”

“Dana what's open?” called out Langdon.

“Room in trauma one!”

Mass casualty meant trauma rooms doubled up, pushed up against either wall. Mass casualty meant extra hands called in- like you. Still, when you pushed through the door and found Jack's eyes look up you spared half a second in apprehension.

“You're here,” was all he said.

You didn't know what to say. There was some snarky comment on the tip of your tongue as you settled the boy in the corner but you remembered you weren't supposed to be that person.

Jack didn't like that person.

“Yeah, in the flesh,” replied Frank instead.

“Chest trauma on the right!” you assessed. “We need an X-ray in here.”

“X-ray's backed up,” Jack called from where he hovered over another patient.

“Then get me an ultrasound!” you called out. “Push five migs of epi down the tube and hang a unit of O-neg on the rapid infuser.”

“BP'S eighty over fifty, pulse is at one-twelve!” called out Princess.

You felt someone bump in your shoulder and knew by inhale it was Jack. He was close at your side, pulling off and on another pair of gloves.

“What have you got?” he asked.

It wasn't instinct to move away from him. It was practised control that had you swapping sides with Frank, practically pushing him into Jack.

“Chest trauma to the right, he's tacky,” he explained quickly.

You pulled out your stethoscope, listening closely. “His breathing's stridor, I need a thoracotomy tray!”

“A thoracotomy?” asked Jack, voice oddly quiet in the trauma as if it was whispered just next to you. “You sure you can handle that?”

“I'm a good doctor, if I'm nothing else,” you bit out, swinging your stethoscope back around your neck. You weren't going to allow yourself to fall back into old habits, of questioning what Jack didn't like so much about you. You focused on the un-conscious boy under the mercy of your hands. You ordered the right tools, made the cut neat and precise, pushing more pain relief.

“Any tamponade?” asked Jack.

You checked the boys blood pressure. “No, pericardium's dry.”

“Okay, start an-”

“- start an internal massage-”

You and Jack said at the same time.

Frank seemed stuck in headlights before he reached through the incision in the boys chest and slowly started to work the heart.

“Pulse?”

“Barely.”

Jack frowned, looking over at your work. “Cross clamp the aorta, and push another mig of antropine.”

“I need suction!”

“Got anything for surgery?” asked a new voice, Doctor Walsh checking between the patients in the room.

“Oh no, we've brought the OR down to us,” said Jack.

Doctor Walsh rounded, catching the suction and the message of the heart. “Are you doing a thoracotomy right now?”

“Don't look at me,” said Jack, surrendering.

Before anyone could argue with you, question your capability you snapped out. “I know what I'm doing!”

Jack was silent, Frank smirked and Walsh rose a brow.

“Clamped,” said Princess.

“Someone push in another of antropine and get another unit of blood in,” you ordered.

There was a sudden buzzing as all eyes averted to the monitor.

“He's going into V-fib!”

You wiped your bloody and gloved hands down your gown. “Okay, I need internal panels!”

They were handed to you and Jack rushed to your side.

“You want me to-” he started but you already had the panels in hand and were ordering their charge.

“Charge to thirty! Clear!”

Like you were cupping the heart with your own hands you nudged the panels on either side and shocked. There were little miracles sometimes in the ED and with a bus full of school children you needed miracles.

“There! He's stable!” said Princess.

“We've got a girl coming in, needs stabalising and an ortho consult!” said Lena, throwing the door open. It seemed everyone had been called in.

“I'll take this guy, don't want you getting all the credit,” smirked Walsh as she and the team wheeled out the boy. She looked back at you, almost waiting for you to say more- some funny joke or flirtatious tease.

You only waved past her to get the young girl into the room.

Everyone in the room looked at you as you honed in on the next casualty, ignoring the pang in your heart at Jack's gaze.

When the girl for ortho came in you could only work on stabilising her before Park the Shark descended and took her up, assuring the bag was on ice. He gave you a less ten friendly look. Seemingly Jack wasn't the only one who couldn't stand you.

The hours ticked by in bodies of different kids, in shades of blood and traumas. By the time you got outside for some fresh air it was night and one lonely ambulance sat with you.

You were catching your breath when you heard the doors slide open and shut again. You imagined it was someone else wanting some peace and air, or a paramedic heading back out on the road.

“You were impressive in there,” said Jack, coming to stand next to you. There was a large enough gap that another body could have fit there.

“Thank you.”

He gave one short nod. “Robby call you in?”

“Yeah.”

“Same here,” he said, not that you'd asked. “You know, Hiro's doing well.”

You paled in the night. Lost in your own self-loathing you hadn't even asked about Hiro, or gone to see him. You'd heard he was okay when he dropped a message from the ICU but that was as far as it got. “Oh yeah, I know, I heard.”

“What, from the guys?”

You nodded, lips pursing as you crossed your arms over your chest in the light chill.

“You know they told me you haven't been around much,” said Abbot. “I've noticed it too. We all went to Larry's the other night, your invitation get lost?”

Was it a test? Was it a joke to him?

“No, I just didn't want to drink. Trying to cut down, it's not so healthy,” you said, kicking one foot in front of the other.

“One or two's not bad,” he said. “Couple of us are gonna grab a beer once this is all over. You joining us? Usual spot.”

She's brutal, you know.

You looked to him first. He was already looking at you, eyes creased like he was trying to see through you. It was real and earnest and making his words from weeks ago hurt even more.

“No thanks, Jack.” You almost reached to his shoulder but thought better of it.

Heading back in seemed the safer option.

Jack turned when you did. “Noody's seen you for weeks-”

“- I've been busy-”

“- except those nurses in Presby, they see you all the time apparently-”

“- they've been busy, they've called me in-”

“- I called you three times last week, you didn't answer-”

“- I didn't think you'd want me.” It was about the only honest thing you'd said in weeks. Your trainers squeaked on the ground just before the hospital, the automatic doors ready to welcome you back.

Jack was at your side, close enough you could see the lines of confusion in his face. “Why would you think that?”

You tried to think of a quick excuse but every word died prematurely in your throat. You chocked on them.

“Hey-hey-” Jacks hand fell to your back, soothing it in calming rubs.

You allowed yourself to bask in one circular motion of his hand and your back before you stepped away, backing up from the doors that slid shut again on instant.

“What’s going on?” Asked Jack, following in your steps.

“Nothing, nothing.”

Jack made a disgruntled noise. “C’mon, talk to me.”

He let you think about what to say, stewing in silence where your mind became alive with everything he’d said, with every terrible thing you’d already thought about yourself. You imagined every time you’d cracked a joke that was maybe too perverse. You tried to picture Jacks face but came out blank. Was it loathing? Contempt?

Your voice betrayed you with a shake as you spoke again. “I do like flowers.”

“Huh?”

You wiped at your eyes and turned to him. “I like flowers,” you said, stronger. “Nobody’s ever brought me flowers but I- I like them.”

For anyone else it would’ve took time to click. They’d have stood there, looking at you like you’d gone mad, spewing out words that out of context meant nothing.

But Jack was not just any other clueless guy. He was the guy who always packed left overs and left them in the fridge, he always cooked enough to make sure he’d have left overs. He was the sort that always checked in on pedes patients and made sure they had enough colourful bandages for them.

Jack knew what you were saying immediately. His jaw tensed. “I- I shouldn't have said that.”

“You said a lot of things,” you said, holding yourself tighter. “Sounded like you meant them.”

He gulped. “I didn't mean-”

“-what, for me to hear it?”

“No, I didn't mean for what I said to come out as- as bad,” he said.

“Well it didn't come out as shining praise either.” You turned from him, looking out to the building and lights. Somewhere n the distance a siren wailed.

“Robby- Robby was saying things, teasing, I just waned to shut him up.”

You chuckled with loathing. “No you didn't. It's okay, Jack, you don't have to like me, I just wish you didn't make it seem like you did.”

“Hey!” he said, coming to stand in front of you. He was without a scrub top and his t-shirt clad to his biceps, his muscles flexing as his jaw worked. “I do like you.”

You rolled your eyes. “No you don't.”

“I do-I do-” Jack grabbed the top of your arms, stopping you from walking away. His grip was tight, not enough to bruise but enough to beg you not to leave. “I do like you.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“It does, it does.” Jack crouched enough in his knees to get a look at your face that you kept trying to turn away from him.

“You know the worst thing is? It's that I know,” you uttered, voice quiet. You didn't trust yourself to shout- even if you really wanted to- in fear your voice cracked, humiliatingly.

Jack's eyes softened, his thumb drawing up and down in comfort. “Know what?”

“I know that I can be a lot. I go out with the guys, I drink, I make jokes when things get bad because what else am I supposed to do? Cry? Let the grief of the job swallow me up?”

“No. No, of course not,” he said, lips pulled down.

You hated that you still wanted to make him smile. “I could keep a job if I wanted to but I like meeting the people-”

“- I know, I know you do-”

“- and now I'm here defending myself to a guy who probably doesn't even want to hear it!” Trying to turn in Jack's hold was feeble, his grip was strong and he moved with you.

“You don't have to defend yourself, you have nothing to defend!”

“You know what the worst part is?”

Jack shook his head, waiting.

“It's the guy you liked and admired the most seeing everything you hate about yourself and hating you for it too.”

Jack flinched as of you'd slapped him. The chill in the air grew colder around you and all the light from the dim glow of the lamps shrunk away, leaving you and Jack in a self-made darkness. You felt his grip weaken and savoured the feel of him a moment longer.

It was only when you couldn't stomach it anymore that you retreated back into work.

Jack had fucked up.

There was no easy way of putting it. There was no clinical way of looking at it, no diagnosis to give other than he had fucked up.

He'd never heard himself speak and hated the sound of his own voice. Never caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror with tired eyes and a pale expression and loath to see the sight. When he looked at himself, all he saw was your own face heart-broken. When he heard himself talking he remembered everything he'd said.

He could have blamed it on the pain in his shoulder, the worry over Hiro, the lack of sleep he'd been struggling with for days but he had a therapist for all that. You didn't deserve that burden.

He was un-focused the following week in work. Patient satisfaction was at an all time low with him. He'd opened up to his SWAT buddies over a self-pitying pint and had been shunned.

“What's your problem?” Charlie had said, two beers deep and a haze over his eyes. “She's a fucking saint. She'd lay down her life for any one of us- what the fuck man?”

“She won't return my calls,” Jack told them. “Can you just... just call her?”

They'd refused, with good reason.

He'd tried texting his apology. He'd tried calling you in but he found from a contact at Westbridge you'd been covering nights while their attending was on holiday.

It was a brash decision to call in to PTMC and tell them he'd be late, he was running an errand. Nobody questioned him.

Westbridge was darker than the hospital he was used t, built up on top of each other but they were no less busy than himself. Patients were lined up in corridors and there was hardly a seat left in chairs when he walked through.

“Can I help you?” asked the nurse at reception, eyeing Jack and the bouquet of flowers he held.

He said he was looking for you.

“She's in a trauma right now, can I take a message?”

“Can you tell her Ja-Jack's here.” For a moment he debated lying, saying it was Robby wanting to see you, or maybe you didn't want to see Robby either. Deceit wasn't going to be his friend.

Jack waited and tried not to look around, tried not to let himself get caught in the heavy bustle of another hospital as he waited for you. He ignored the coughing from the waiting room that definitely sounded like it would require a chest CT.

There was a crash of doors and he caught sight of you rushing out, protective goggles over your eyes and bloodied gown clad to you.

“Jack, what is it? Are you okay?” your eyes were frantic, searching him.

Ah. Of course you'd think something had happened. When you hear someone's in the hospital it's very rarely to just say hi. “I realise I should've specified,” said Jack, rubbing the back of his knuckle against his brow. “I just- I wanted to see you. And give you these.”

Sensing this was a conversation she definitely wanted to be around for yet probably wouldn't be allowed to, the nurse at reception left the two of you to it and Jack sat the flowers down on the counter in-between you.

You eyed the shades of red roses, of yellow tulips, the violet of the iris and the pink of the peony.

“I didn't know what you liked so, I kind of got one of everything,” he said, sighing to himself. He should have got two of every flower the florist had on hand. “I didn't get Lilies, the lady at the shop said it's a show of death and sunflowers aren't in season, apparently.”

“They're very nice, thank you,” you said.

“They come with an I'm sorry:” said Jack. “I'm sorry.”

You wet your lips and pursed them, nodding slowly. “Okay.”

Jack looked down to his boots. “It's not, I know it's not, nothing I said is okay and I didn't mean it.”

You didn't say anything at that, only taking in a quivering breath.

He ignored the irritation in his prosthetic as he crouched to catch your gaze. Jack wasn't used to having to search for your gaze, usually he always found it already on him. He only realised how much he valued finding you in the middle of the storm when you wouldn't look at him.

“I didn't mean it,” he enunciated every word, begging you to hear them.

Your gaze studied around Westbridge, hoping for a distraction.

“I messed up, it's on me. It's not you.”

“The classic it's not you, it's me?” you dismissed.

Jack winced. It was cliché, damn him. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He watched as your fingers brushed over a flower petal, picking it off like plucking a string on a guitar. He felt his heart pound in his chest.

“Can I get back to work now?” you asked, gently.

What was he thinking? Turning up to where you were tying to do some good. Where you were doing good- it was what you did. Did he expect the flowers to fix everything? No. Only he could. But he'd grovel, he'd beg, he'd crawl after you for the rest of his miserable life and do it all while building you a rose garden.

He'd do all of that for one minute of your eyes on his.

“Just promise you'll come back. To the Pitt. Whole place is going to crap without you.” He tried to joke but it was a pathetic thing.

“Okay. Yeah.” Your shoulders lifted in in-difference.

“And don't ignore the guys. They're going out for drinks tomorrow night. I won't be there. They all pretty much think I'm a dick anyway.”

There was a glimpse of a smile.

Jack played on. “I'm a total, total dick, a jerk!”

An elderly lady being escorted by with a nurse and an IV trailing her paused and glanced his way.

“Sorry,” he uttered.

You hid your chuckled behind your mouth but he caught a second of it.

It was enough for now.

Your name was called down the corridor.

“He's in V-tach!” a nurse announced before disappearing again.

“Go,” said Jack, taking himself out of the equation. “Just, please. Don't be a stranger.”

Jack wasn't lying when he said the place was going to crap without you. How they managed on shifts without your charm to work fretting family and friends down, or your terrible singing in between exams he didn't know.

Walking through the ambulance doors for his shift there was already paramedics pushing an empty and slightly blood stained gurney back into their rig. There was a crowd of elderly patients in beds and gowns left at the side and phones were ringing, drilling into his eardrums.

“Where the hell is she?” barked Robby, spotting Jack and no you.

Jack dumped his bag at the counter. “What happened here?”

“Nursing home caught fire, now where is she? We're swamped her, I thought you were going to get her and bring her back?”

Jack grumbled, frowning at the counter. “She's busy at West.”

“West? God-” Robby groaned, looking around the place and cursing. “Listen, I don't care what you have to do to make it up to her, buy her a florist, give her a ring, get down on your knees, I don't fucking care- I need her here.”

“You think I don't?” Jack snapped.

Robby eyed him, hand clenched on the counter. “Tell her the truth-”

“-Robby-”

“-no, you tell her you didn't mean a damn thing you said. That you were scared loving someone that isn't your wife.”

Glass. Jack was made of glass. If Robby could see through him so clearly why couldn't you? Why couldn't you see the truth? That Jack liked you, liked you more than he'd liked anyone. That loving you meant leaving the life he lived with his wife behind, yet carrying a part of her with him always. He didn't want to do that to you. He didn't want to make you live with a ghost or carry his grief. There were days where it was too hard for him to handle.

Robby sighed. “You think she'd want you to be happy?”

A muscle in Jack's neck tensed as he went to nod but was held back by himself.

“Talk to her,” said Robby clamping him on the shoulder quickly before disappearing.

Hiding away wasn't going to solve anything. That's what Robby said to you in a desperate plea to get you back to helping him out with shifts.

Truth was you weren't hiding away... as much.

Drinks with the guys had been hours of them telling you Jack was wrong, after Jack had exposed himself to them, laying the situation on the table. As promised, he wasn't there but every conversation revolved around him so much so it felt like he was at your side. You defended Jack when they argued against him. You told them you knew you were loud at times, maybe you shouldn't joke around as much as you did.

They'd laughed, thinking it was a joke itself.

They told you not to change.

It was hard not to. Every time you heard yourself get loud or get a look from people at the other table your instinct was to shrink. When Diaz tripped on the curb out the bar you laughed instead of helping him and was left with your own guilt when you got home.

Un-learning habits was hard. Learning to live with them was harder.

You started with baby steps. A day shift here, a day shift there, by hand-offs you were always gone. Yet, in the staff lounge there sat a fresh bouquet of flowers every morning. As soon as they started to wilt another fresh bunch was placed over night.

Nothing was said. Nothing ever had to be.

“Shen's out, food poisoning,” said Robby over the phone another day. “You know I wouldn't ask if there was no otherway.”

Which was how you ended up working a night shift. The first in months.

Jack's eyes lit up as you walked in, it was impossible not to notice. The only eyes to rival his sparkle was Lena's when she saw you.

It was the sort of night that held your attention. That roped you in and demanded you listened. Not overly busy but not quiet enough to cause you and Jack to be held captive in the same room. Only seconds passed in hallways when he looked like he was going to say something before being called away, taunt in the neck and gripping his stethoscope for the life of him.

“Am I going to need surgery?” asked the young boy in five who you were examining. A nasty accident in his dad's garage ended up with a laceration to the foot.

“Not surgery but a couple stitches to bring the skin back together, and you're gonna have to stay off your feet for a while,” you said.

The boys eyes grew wide in joy. “So, no school?”

You chuckled as his mom pinched his shoulder playfully. “Well, I can't be the deciding factor on that, I'm afraid.”

You put in the orders for stitches.

“Is it gonna hurt?” asked the boy, shrinking back in his bed.

“We're gonna numb you up so you don't feel anything,” you assured. “Tell you what, I have a secret stash of candy that I only share with my favourite patients, how's that sound, you want something?”

The boy tried not to be too eager in his nodding but it took less than two second for him to grin.

You didn't expect anyone in the lounge when you went in search for candy usually lying around.

Jack was hunched over the table, pulling out the dying flowers and arranging fresh ones. He stopped when you walked in, the door closing gently behind you. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“I was just... maintenance,” he mumbled.

You nodded along, a thick awkwardness engulfing the two of you. “Maintenance... yeah... sure...”

You moved around him, keeping a good distance around the space of him like he was a poisonous snake. The cabinet was high up, the tin an old sewing one where you hid your most precious protein bars and sugar packed candy.

“Here, I can-”

His body was sturdy against the back of you as he reached up for the tin. Few select people were allowed to know about its contents and Jack was on of the first ones you trusted. He raised his arm and you watched the freckles along his arm move and ripple. Upon inhale you took a deep breath of lingering cologne, mixed with the hearty sterile hand wash of the ED.

Jack's own head tilted down and your heard him inhale, deeply.

The tin fell into your hand.

Jack stared down. “Oh- er, there.”

“Thanks.”

It was about all the conversation you got with Jack your shift was over. The morning was just breaking through the clouds at six, bringing with it a down pour. You'd already punched out, handed off your patients to McKay and was left standing under the small awning of the ambulance bay, trying to out wait the rain.

It took ten minutes for Jack to follow you out.

“You heading out?” he asked, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Yeah. I'm just waiting for my uber.”

Jack frowned. “What happened to your car?”

“It's in the garage.”

“Well... I can give you a lift,” he suggested.

The rain hammered down harder above you, steady streams falling from the awning to at your feet. As discreet as possible you checked the location on you uber. Just around the corner. In the rain it had taken longer.

“No, it's okay, you don't have to.”

“I'd like to,” said Jack, stepping closer. “I'd like a chance to talk to you. To tell you everything that I meant by my words.”

You'd almost hoped you could carry on as you were: extremely avoidant.

“You don't have to, Jack.”

“I do- I do!” he insisted, hands out in front of him as if desperate to grasp you. He held himself back. “Please let me.”

Stomaching more of his words, whether it be excuses as to what he meant to say or just doubling down and insisting what he said was true. You didn't think you were strong enough for either.

Your phone buzzed in hand as a slick back black car pulled up, window rolling down and calling your name.

“No, wait-wait!” said Jack, holding a hand up to you with all the authority of an attending still on duty.

“Jack, what are you-” You were struck in place, watching him lean through the window, rain dampening his shirt as he un-folded a few bills and handed them to the driver.

“We don't need you know, sorry man,” Jack mumbled.

Your jaw hung open as you stepped out into the rain, bottom of your scrub pants dampening at once. “What?”

The driver tutted. “I still want me five star review!” He drove off quickly, splashing the two of you as he went.

“Oh- serious?” Jack gritted. “Now I wish I hadn't given him such a tip.”

The puddles of rain were seeping into your trainers as you walked off, out of the way of ambulances and cars, pulling your jacket tighter around you.

“Wait! Wait!” Jack called after you, boots slapping in the water. He all but jumped in front of you, stumbling lightly at the shift in his bad leg. “Wait.”

“I don't know what else you want to say to me, Jack?”

“Nothing I say can excuse what I said-”

“-so why try?”

“Because it's killing me being like this!” he snapped. The rain was pouring down, falling down his cheeks and nose. “It's killing me to look for your smile and not see it. It's killing me to hear a joke and you not laugh. Everything I said, it-it re-plays in my head and I'm sorry.”

“I know you are, Jack, I just need time!”

“I'll give you time,” he said. “I'll give you anything you need. But just let me say one thing. You owe me nothing, I'm begging you.”

To prove a point Jack crouched, starting to get down on his knees, hands already clenched together. To spare you the embarrassment and him the ache in his leg you tugged him back up.

He stared at you, breathless. He was as drenched as you, the both of your scrubs stuck to you.

“I haven't loved anyone since my wife,” said Jack. “I haven't tried, I didn't want to try. I was... not happy, but content to just carry on with her here-” he curled a fist at his chest. “And then you... and I couldn't not feel anything for you. I tried- I really tried.”

“Okay. You tried. I get it,” you mumbled.

“But I started to love you and I hated myself for it. It felt like I was betraying her by wanting someone else. By wanting you. And I did- I do want you. Every terrible joke you made, Jesus, I couldn't laugh in front of patients and their families. When you go out drinking with us and the guys in our team and you sing karaoke badly-”

“Excuse me?”

Jack winced. “I mean great, great karaoke.”

You chuckled.

“I can't take back the fact you're different from my wife, you are, but I don't think that's a bad thing- it's not. Because I still love you. I love that you're loud, I love that you draw attention to yourself as soon as you walk into a room, my attention is always on you anyway,” he smiled, sadly. It was the kind of smile a lover would give as they watched the love of their life leave them. “I shouldn't have made my grief your problem. I shouldn't have hated myself for feeling love again and I shouldn't have tried to convince myself hating you. I mean, that was just- just impossible.”

You looked down to your trainers, seeing the darkening colour where the water soaked in. “I've loved you for so long now, Jack.”

He waited, catching his breath, for more.

You looked up at him. “I'm sorry. About your wife. I can't imagine how hard it is for you. But I don't want to fall in love with a man who constantly advertises me next to his wife.”

Jack nodded, looking down.

The rain was probably helpful, hiding any tears you'd give away.

“I love you, separate to how I love my wife. And I loved her, I did. But I don't want to spend the rest of my life dead inside. Be on my death bed when I'm eighty looking back at all the times I should've kissed you.”

His words pulled at your heart, your feelings that you'd been burying deep inside clashing together inside of you.

“By the time you're eighty, I'll be like, in my sixties?” you said.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“And looking to settle down.”

Jack laughed, and you laughed and for a second that was almost enough. The rain had made the grey in his hair darker, almost making him look younger. “I'm not saying I won't fuck up, I probably will, I have a therapist for a reason.”

“Therapy is good,” you said.

Jack's eyes were lighting up slowly with every teasing comment you made. Something akin to hope flickered between the two of you. “But I will never draw comparison to you and my wife. I'll never make you feel like second choice. I'll never dump my grief onto you. If you just give me one chance, just one chance at making this right.”

As sorry's went... as love confessions went.

“I'm scared what it means to love you, Jack,” you said, slowly, feeling the words around your mouth.

“I know, I know,” Jack reached over, clumsily brushing back your damp hair from your cheeks. In spite of the rain, his skin was still soft and hot on you. “I am too.”

You searched his eyes before whispering. “Can I kiss you?”

He smirked a little. “No.”

Your heart dropped.

Jack's hands tilted your head back before you could tuck yourself away. “Can I kiss you?”

His lips were slick and wet from rain but no less sort after from you. He didn't push or prod for more, he just laid his lips against yours with enough pressure for you to know he was there. For you to always remember he was there.

You could have stayed like that for hours, practically standing on each others toes as your own hands came up to clutch his biceps, fingertips digging into his freckles.

You pulled away only when you needed to catch your breath.

Jack's lips chased yours, body tumbling into you slightly as his eyes took seconds to open like coming out from a dream.

You ran your hands up his shoulders. “I love you.”

He closed his eyes and soaked in the words.

“Will you let me?” you asked.

“Always,” he promised.

You huffed a laugh as the two of them started bickering just as your phone buzzed in your pocket. You leant against the wall, only half listening as you pulled it out of your scrubs and saw a notification from Jack.

He must have just woken up from his pre-shift nap. The corner of your mouth lifted as you read his reply.

You: Are you coming in early today?

JA ❤️: Always.

You quickly typed out another message.

You: any chance u could bring in a protein bar for me? the ones at work are inedible

The reply came almost instantly.

JA ❤️: I know. I’ve told Robby they are a serious health hazard.

You smiled at that as you watched the three dots blink back at you.

JA ❤️: I’ll be in soon. I already have some in my bag for you.

You: are you psychic?

JA ❤️: Just good at pattern recognition.

Your smile widened as his reply came through.

You: thank u 🩷

JA ❤️: 👍

“What are you smiling at?”

You looked up to find McKay watching you over the fridge door.

“What?”

“That.” She pointed vaguely at your face. “Whatever that was.”

“Nothing.”

Santos and Whitaker paused their arguing to focus on you.

Santos studied you, her face contorting into a grimace. “Gross.”

“What?”

“I just can’t get over the fact that Abott reduces you to…” She trailed off, waving vaguely at you.

“That?” Whitaker supplied.

“Yeah.” Santos nodded gravely. “That.”

You rolled your eyes, sliding your phone back into your scrub pocket.

“I think the two of you are starting to fuse into one brain cell.”

Santos’ expression went still. “….that was genuinely hurtful.”

You turned to Whitaker. “There’s your new button to press.”

Whitaker’s grin widened as he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to Santos. “Oh I cannot wait to bring this up multiple times a day.”

Santos glared at you. "You're a traitor."

You pushed off the wall, shaking your head as you made your way towards the door.

“Never give your triggers away Santos.”

“You’re still a traitor!” She called out.

You waved her off without looking back, escaping before she could start another argument.

You barely made it two steps before nearly colliding with Samira.

“Oh sorry.” She came to an abrupt halt, the usual frazzled expression etched onto her features as she looked up at you.

“You all good?”

“Yeah um- have you seen Joy?”

“Not for a little while.”

“No worries, if you see her can you tell her I need her in Room 3?”

“Sure.” You nodded, tilting your head slightly as you studied her. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah fine.” She brushed you off as she tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Haven’t had lunch so I’m a bit cranky.”

You nodded in understanding. “Word of warning, don’t eat the protein bars.”

Samira’s nose wrinkled as she stepped around you. “Why on earth would I do that?”

You threw your arms up dramatically. “Am I the only one who didn’t know they were inedible?”

“Apparently so.”

You huffed, pulling your hair out from under your collar as you made your way over to the status board which was currently glowing above the chaos that was the ED like a cruel little scoreboard.

Your hands settled on your stethoscope as you scanned the board. Less than an hour till your shift was over, at least officially. Which given your track record of overtime, meant close to nothing.

“Hey.”

You glanced over to see Perlah leaning against one of the desks.

“What?” You asked warily.

Her smirk widened. “Have you seen the hot visitor?”

“The what?”

Princess appeared beside her, equally delighted.

“Absolute smoke show.”

Princess nodded towards the far end of the station. “Follow the sounds of Joy giggling.”

Your brows knitted together.

“Joy? As in our intern, Joy? As in the complete antithesis of her name, Joy?” You queried.

“See for yourself.” Perlah grinned.

You followed their line of sight to the other end of the nurses station where a tall figure stood, leaning an arm on one of the benches.

At first, all you saw was the back of a leather jacket, familiar in a way that made your stomach drop before your brain had fully caught up. The man shifted slightly, turning just enough for a familiar profile to come into view. The same hair coifed to perfection, the same self-satisfied slant of his mouth.

And sure enough standing beside him, blushing furiously as she giggled, actually giggled, at whatever he had just said, was Joy.

“I didn’t even know she was capable of laughter.” Princess remarked.

You closed your eyes for one brief, pained second. “You have got to be kidding me.” You grumbled.

Before either Princess or Perlah could ask what was wrong, you were already moving, making a beeline towards them.

Princess and Perlah exchanged a look behind your back. “What just happened?” Princess asked in Tagalog.

“I don’t know." Perlah muttered. "But I think it’s going to be good.”

By the time you were close enough to hear the familiar deep drawl of his voice, Mark Sloan had inched in just enough to make Joy look like she might pass out.

“So, is that the only piercing you have or...?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Still shamelessly hitting on interns I see.”

Mark turned at the sound of your voice. For half a second, there was nothing but surprise. And then his eyes lit up in recognition.

“Well I’ll be.”

That familiar grin spread slowly across his face as his eyes travelled down your body with the same shameless appreciation he’d had years ago, like he was undressing you from memory.

“Cupid.” He said the nickname lowly, like he’d never stopped saying it. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You shot him a fake smile. “Wish I could say the same.”

Joy looked between the two of you, blinking rapidly, as if she was trying to decipher a complex math problem. You turned your attention to her, offering her a polite smile.

“Dr Mohan's looking for you, something to do with your patient in room 3.”

“Oh right.” Joy nodded, adjusting her glasses as she glanced at Mark. “On it.”

“Bye Joy.” Mark called out lazily, watching her blush as she scurried away, nearly walking into a wall in the process.

He turned to you, looking pleased with himself as he leant forward. “Why do you always have to ruin my fun?” He pouted once she was out of earshot.

"Someone has to."

Meanwhile, McKay, Whitaker and Santos had exited the breakroom, not even bothering to conceal their ogling as they clustered around a monitor.

“Ok who on earth is that?” Santos queried.

"And why does he look like he just walked off a photoshoot?" McKay muttered.

“And how do they know eachother?” Whitaker added.

“He called her Cupid.” Joy casually commented as she walked past them.

Whitaker’s brow furrowed. "....Cupid?"

Santos froze. The faint amusement dropped away, replaced by the sharp, dawning horror of someone remembering a detail they were never supposed to need.

“Oh my god.”

“What?” McKay and Whitaker asked simultaneously.

"Do you guys remember that time at karaoke?"

"....the one where she sang No Scrubs at Abbot?"

"No. The one when she accidentally admitted she had an ex at Seattle Grace that used to call her Cupid."

McKay and Whitaker both slowly turned to stare at Mark, then at you, then back at Mark.

"No." McKay shook her head.

"Yes."

“You don’t seriously think….” Whitaker trailed off.

“Oh I do” Santos nodded. “I really do.”

Back at the nurses’ station, you folded your arms, ignoring Mark's attempts at getting under your skin.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh some conference.” He waived his hand dismissively. “Thought I’d take the opportunity to come see Robinavitch.”

You blinked. “You know Dr Robby.” You said slowly.

“Since med school.” He answered smoothly. “Why? Hoping I was here to see you?”

You snorted. “Please.”

“Oh c’mon Cupid don’t act like you don’t miss me.” He smirked as he stepped closer. “You wouldn’t have moved across the other side of the country to forget about me if you didn’t.”

You leant in slightly, shooting him a dry smile. “I wouldn’t touch you again even if my life depended on it Sloan.”

He let out a genuine chuckle. “I’ve missed this.” He gestured between the two of you. “Us."

He placed his chin in the palm of his hand, leaning even closer. "Why did it ever end?”

You pretended to think for a moment. "Maybe because you’re physiologically incapable of staying monogamous?”

“Oh yeah right that.” He nodded. “Speaking of monogamous..."

"No."

"... I’ve heard you’ve got a new boy toy right here at PTMC.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Jesus Christ Meredith needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”

“Well in her defence she told Derek who then told me so….” Mark trailed off, turning his body around to survey the room. “Which one is he?”

"I'm not playing this game." You answered, folding your arms over your chest.

“Wait let me guess.”

Before you could stop him, Mark placed both hands on your shoulders and gently turned you so you were both facing the floor of the pitt.

His eyes landed on Frank first. “Too pretty boy.”

He guided your shoulders slightly towards Whitaker. “Too scrawny.”

From across the room, Whitaker stiffened. “…Why is he looking at me?”

Santos didn’t look away. “Don’t wave.” She murmured.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking about it.”

Then the ambulance bay doors opened. Jack walked in with a thermos in one hand, his bicep bulging as he shifted the backpack slung over his other shoulder on full display under his dark fitted shirt.

Your stomach dropped as his eyes scanned the room, no doubt looking for you. It didn't take long for his eyes to find yours. You watched as they shifted to Mark, then dropped to Mark's hands resting on your shoulders.

For a moment, his expression barely changed, only the faintest tightening around his jaw gave him away. Then he kept walking.

Mark smiled slowly. “….bingo.”

Your body stiffened as Mark glanced sideways at you.

“I’m right."

You didn't answer.

"I am."

“I’m not talking about my love life with you of all people.”

“Cupid, don’t be like that.” He nudged your shoulder. "Come on, what’s he like?”

“Well for starters, he volunteers as a medic for the SWAT team.” You said sweetly. “So he’s got at least one gun on him at all times.”

Mark nodded slowly, dropping his hands from your shoulders. "Noted."

"He also has excellent aim."

"Message received." Mark held his hands up. "I'll behave."

And then, for the first time since he had appeared, the teasing faded.

"But seriously..." His face softened slightly as his eyes settled on your face properly, no longer performing for the room.

“You’re happy?”

You exhaled slowly, your defences lowering slightly by the unexpected tone of his voice.

“I am.”

“He good to you?"

You smiled softly despite yourself. “He is.”

Something flickered across Mark’s face then, softening the usual sharp lines of his smirk, scarily close to being something sincere. “Good.”

For a moment, the years between you settled there. It didn’t feel painful or bitter or even sad. In fact, it seemed absurd to think that you'd cried over him once upon a time. Now he was just a story you told after one too many drinks, something you reflected on and shook your head, chalking it up to the foolishness of youth.

You cleared your throat, looking away first. “How’s work?”

“Busy, chaotic, dramatic.” Mark shrugged.

"So the usual then?"

“The usual.”

He glanced around the emergency department, frowing slightly as he took in the noise, the movement, the organised disaster of it all. “How’s the ED?”

“Busy, chaotic.” You echoed. “Somehow still much less dramatic than Seattle Grace."

Mark barked out a laugh. “Yeah that checks out.”

“Sloan.”

The two of you turned to see Robby making his way towards you, Jack beside him.

Mark's grin returned instantly.

“Robinavitch.” He broke away from you and pulled Robby into a hug with the force of someone who had never respected personal space in his life.

"A lot less hair since I last saw you."

Robby snorted, clapping him on the back. "The Pitt will do that to you.”

Jack caught your eye over Robby’s shoulder, his expression running a fine line between faint amusement and annoyance.

Robby stepped back, shaking his head before gesturing to Jack.

“This is Jack Abbot, night attending.”

“Nice to meet you. Mark Sloan.” Mark stuck his hand out. “Head of Plastic Surgery at Seattle Grace.”

“Plastic surgery?” Jack's brow lifted slightly as he shook Mark’s hand. “Explains the soft hands.”

Mark laughed loudly enough that several people looked over.

“Oh my god.” Whitaker mumbled as he watched Jack and Mark shake hands. “It’s like I’m seeing double.”

Santos shook her head. “She’s got some serious issues.”

McKay folded her arms over her chest as she studied the two men. “Or just good taste.”

“I second the good taste thing.” Princess murmured as she appeared beside McKay.

Perlah took a sip of her drink and nodded. “I third that.”

The handshake lasted just a fraction longer than necessary as Mark glanced over at you. “I get it."

Robby’s eyes narrowed as he gestured between you and Mark.

“You two know eachother?”

“I was an intern at Seattle Grace." You supplied quickly.

“Oh yes, Cupid and I go wayyy back.” Mark smirked.

Robby's confusion only deepened. “Cupid…?”

You shot Mark a warning glare, which he very intentionally ignored.

“Yeah Cupid.” He answered smoothly. “'cause you know she’s got these little angel wings tattooed right above her-“

“Okayyy you know what.” Robby clapped his hands letting out a bark of awkward laughter. “I think a hospital tour sounds like a great idea right about now."

Mark's eyes gleamed as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I was going to say shoulder blade."

“You are going to walk with me." Robby said, already steering him away, “And tell me absolutely none of the rest of that story.”

Mark let himself be guided down the hall, still grinning smugly as he glanced back over his shoulder at you and winked, making you roll your eyes once more.

You dragged your eyes away from him to look at Jack who was yet to move. He watched Mark disappear down the corridor, then looked back at you.

He slowly stepped forward, eyes scanning your figure as he placed his hands casually behind his back.

"Ex?"

You sighed. "...Ex."

Jack nodded curtly. “Got it.”

“Abbot.” You looked over to see Dana studying both of you. “Dr King needs an attending in Room 8.”

Jack's eyes never left you. You watched him intently, waiting to see if he would say anything further. Instead he simply reached into his pocket and produced a protein bar.

You swallowed as he slid it into the front pocket of your scrub top, his fingers lightly against your side subtly.

“Eat.” Was all he said, unable to hide the affection in his voice.

Your throat tightened around a smile as you nodded. He held your gaze for one more second, then turned and headed in the direction of Room 8.

You watched him go, your hand subconsciously brushing over the side that he’d just touched.

When you looked back, Dana was still standing there, one hand on her hip as she watched you over her glasses with an expression far too knowing for your liking.

“Don’t you dare say a word.”

She raised her hands up in mock surrender. “Wasn’t gonna.”

You huffed as you turned, suddenly desperate to busy yourself in order to keep your mind off the cluster fuck that was your two worlds colliding.

For the next twenty minutes, you threw yourself back into work. Every few minutes though, your gaze betrayed you, either drifting towards the corridor where Robby had taken Mark or towards Room 8, where Jack had disappeared. The protein bar sat heavily in your pocket, your appetite now completely non-existent.

By the time you ended up at a computer to finish off your charting, your shift was close enough to ending that you had started to believe you might actually survive it.

“Oh damn, the patient in room 7 died.”

You glanced up to see Whitaker staring at a chart from the workstation beside you.

“The old lady with the chest pain?”

“Yeah.” Whitaker sighed.

You frowned. "That sucks."

“She had a husband right?” Santos chimed in from across from you, not bothering to look up from her own computer.

“Yeah she did, married nearly fifty years."

Without missing a beat, Santos glanced up at you. “Abbot better watch out.”

Your eyes narrowed.

"Nice. Very respectful." Whitaker shook his head, although you could see he was trying not to laugh.

"What?" Santos shrugged. "Our girl clearly has a type."

"Silver foxes?" McKay suggested as she walked past grinning like a cheshire cat.

"I hate all of you."

Whitaker looked over at you like he was genuinely offended. "What did I do?!"

Across the hallway, Jack had just emerged from Room 8. Your eyes met his. He didn’t react beyond the faintest lift of one eyebrow, but you could tell he'd heard every word.

You tipped your head slightly towards the supply closet. Jack looked at you for half a beat, then gave the smallest nod.

You waited a couple minutes before moving.

The supply closet was narrow, overstocked, and smelled faintly of antiseptic and cardboard. You shut the door behind you and leaned against a shelf, exhaling slowly for what felt like the first time in an hour.

A few minutes later, the handle turned. Jack stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. He leaned back against the opposite shelf, folding his arms loosely across his chest as the two of you studied eachother.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“So… that’s your ex.”

“That’s my ex.”

He nodded. "You left out a few details."

"Such as?"

His gaze dropped briefly, then returned to your face.

“Well first of all I wasn’t expecting Mark Sloan.”

Your brows lifted in surprise. “You know who he is?”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“Of course you have.” You paused for a moment before your voice dropped slightly, unable to hide the insecurity in your tone. "Do you think less of me because I dated someone like him?"

Jack's brows knitted together. "Absolutely not." He said immediately. "It's just that I wasn't expecting your ex to be..."

Your brow furrowed. “Be what?”

“…old.” Was what Jack settled on.

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “He’s not old, he’s like your age.”

“Exactly.” Jack nodded. “I'm practically from the stone age compared to you.”

“You’re not.” You insisted.

Jack’s mouth twitched, but the smile didn’t quite hold as he looked down at the floor.

You studied him for a moment, admiring the lines etched deep into his face that you’d had memorised for as long as you’d known him. “Does it bother you that he’s older?”

“No it doesn’t bother me it’s just...” He sighed. “I thought I was the exception.” He confessed.

Your face softened instantly as you pushed off the wall and took a step towards him.

"Jack."

"I know it’s irrational.” He said, giving a small, self-deprecating shrug. “I just thought I was the first older doctor you’d made questionable life choices over.”

You huffed a small laugh as you closed the gap between the two of you, reaching up to cradle his jaw.

“Hey.” You said gently, guiding his eyes up to meet yours.

“When I met Mark I was young and overwhelmed and had just moved to a new city and he was…” You trailed off, glancing at the door like Mark might somehow materialise on cue.

“…well you’ve seen what he’s like.”

You brushed a thumb over his stubble that lined his jaw. “It barely even qualified as a relationship. And then it ended and we worked together for months. And then I moved.”

Jack leant into your touch slightly, his eyes never leaving your face as you spoke, attentive in the way that always made your heart ache a little.

“And then on my first day here I met a grumpy doctor up on the roof while I was mid meltdown.”

His brows drew together in feigned disbelief. “I don’t think he was grumpy.”

“He told me if I was thinking of jumping I shouldn’t because it’d be a shame to ruin a face like mine.”

The frown that had a hold on his face loosened just a fraction. “Why on earth would he think that line would work.”

“In his defence, I think he was a little out of practice.”

His hands settled at your waist, warm and steady through the thin fabric of your scrubs. “Or his brain short circuited when he saw you.”

Your smile widened as you slid your arms around the back of his neck, entwining your fingers absentmindedly around the silver curls at the nape of his neck.

“Well, lucky for him it worked.”

The reluctant smile finally reached his eyes. “Very lucky.” He corrected.

He glanced down, playing with the tie of your scrub pants.

“I just can’t believe you dated a plastic surgeon.”

You snorted softly. “Is that seriously what’s bothering you the most?”

“Yes.” He answered plainly.

You shook your head, a wry smile on your lips. “Not the stupid nickname?”

Jack glanced down at you, his grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly.

“If he calls you that again I may have no choice but to punch him.” He conceded casually as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

His head tilted slightly as he studied you for a moment. “But at least he can fix his own nose up after.”

You let out a laugh, running a hand over his chest. “Don’t worry.” You soothed. “I already told him you volunteer with the SWAT team.”

Jack smirked down at you proudly. “Atta girl.”

Then he leant down and finally pressed his lips to yours in a slow, reverent kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes narrowed immediately.

“Did you eat?”

You winced slightly. “Not yet.” You patted the pocket that contained the protein bar. “I’ll eat this and then go.”

Jack frowned, clearly unsatisfied with your solution. “Go home and eat something more substantial.”

“I will.”

“There’s pasta in the fridge for you, all you have to do is chuck it in the microwave.”

Your interest piqued immediately. “The pesto one I love?”

“Of course.”

You grinned, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re very good to me Dr Abbot.”

His smile softened into something private, something reserved just for you. “Anything for my girl.”

You kissed him again, deeper this time, enjoying the feeling of his warmth seeping into you.

“Alright.” He muttered reluctantly against your lips as he pulled away. “Get going before I end up locking you in here.”

You smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He shot you a warning glare with absolutely no bite to it.

You huffed dramatically, “alright alright.”

You reached for the door, then paused, glancing back at him.

“And for the record, if you’re worried about feeling old…”

Jack raised a brow.

“You should meet my other ex, he checked into the nursing home down the road last week.”

“Very funny.” He muttered, trying but failing to look unamused.

“I know I am.”

“Go.” He urged as he tapped your backside affectionately.

You raised your hands in mock defeat, slipping back into the pitt without another word.

Jack shook his head as the door shut softly behind you, a lovesick smile spreading across his face.

The idea was to give him easy stuff to begin with, not to hold him in reserve for world-ending crises but ease him in by letting him wade around in the shallows. Busting arms dealers, traffickers, the occasional hostage situation… And so far, he had performed admirably, a wobble here and there, but he was getting his confidence back. The suit helped, seemed to tether him to a persona that was more sure-footed than his day-to-day self, so you really weren’t expecting anything out of the ordinary in Oslo.

It was just the two of you. Maybe that was the start of it, or the reason, or the problem. You had felt his nervous energy since the minute you reached the mission coordinates, Lutvann, a positively quaint lake outside the city. With the soaring pine and spruce trees, serene beaches and calm water, it felt like the perfect place for a getaway, lulled you into a disarming sense of peace; so, the rocket launcher was a surprise.

Your intel had been sketchy, too. Way, way more resistance than you were told to anticipate. You could fire off an angry text to Bucky later, for now, your task was to stay in one piece and recover the data drive in the hands of one idiot who had jumped on a motorbike the second you and Bob were spotted. Easier said than done with the bullets and the rockets and the little fishing cabin you had been sheltering behind exploding into sawdust…

“Get the drive,” you told Bob, diving for cover behind a sturdy pine. He hovered for an instant longer, eyes huge and dubious as a hail of bullets glanced harmlessly off his chest. “Go,” you insisted. “I’ll be fine.”

Annoyingly famous last words. The other targets had scattered in the forest, harder to pick off one by one. To you, the choice was obvious, but Bob seemed hesitant to leave you there. When he finally vanished, a blur above the smoldering ruins of the cabin, you drew in a deep breath, trying to remember what the plan had been in the first place. This was a mess, but you had both been a little arrogant; the Sentry was a pocket nuke, having him around for low level shit like this was overkill, and it had made you sloppy, convinced you it would be okay to go in half-cocked.

Now you were pinned down. It was suddenly lonely there, behind the tree, Bob probably miles away by now, pursuing Motorbike, and you with just your powers, weapons, and a will to survive. You retreated into a denser part of the forest, trying to lure your enemies out into the open before they had to cross the no man’s land of that destroyed cabin. For a while there, it even worked, and you managed to whittle down the bulk, but you know, the fucking rocket launcher of it all. The tree ten feet or so to your left exploded, the shockwave snagging you in the chest, sending you flying into a neighboring spruce.

You hit the ground, dazed, ears ringing, weapon, luckily, still in hand. But in the brief time it took you to get your bearings, the bastards had regrouped, advanced; after taking that nasty hit, you got to your knees, but you didn’t stay there for long, kicked in the side so hard you slumped back onto the soft, pine needly ground, mouth full of metal as another kick landed, this time against your head, and your teeth cut into your gums.

“I’m sure we can talk this through,” you muttered, trying to raise yourself onto all fours.

There was a chorus of laughter above you; you tried to count the individual sounds—six men, maybe seven. The bed of needles and pulverized tree pieces at your side hushed, displaced, as the boot closest to your face raised again, aiming another kick—

It never landed. There was a sound like a giant metal pot of water hissing into a rolling boil, but quick, precise, the number of sudden gurgling sounds matching the number of laughs from an instant earlier. The boot just next to you dropped to the ground and tipped over, empty. You raised your head, eyes still squinted against the next anticipated strike, to find a thick, pink mist lingering in the air.

And on the other side of it, shoulder rolling, eyes molten gold, the Sentry.

He had vaporized them.

You hadn’t memorized the New Avengers handbook, but you were pretty sure that was against team protocols. Stunned, you stumbled to your feet, backing away from the disturbing cloud drifting through the woods, broken apart by a pine-scented breeze.

“They hurt you.”

He moved to your side in a blink, his hand on your chin, lifting, his thumb ghosting over the bruise swelling across your cheek.

“Bob,” you whispered, watching the gold bleed from his eyes. You didn’t try to stop him as he pulled you into his arms, holding you closer; his body was like a furnace, like he was still the loaded weapon ready to evaporate anyone else hiding among the trees. “You can’t… We can’t use that kind of force.”

Bob blinked hard, hands twitching on your waist. He looked away, brow furrowed, cheeks turning pink with guilt. “They hurt you.”

That justified it, apparently. And honestly? You weren’t about to snitch, not when you were pretty sure your zygomatic was fractured and another, harder kick might have given you a brain bleed. Bob was starting to breathe harder, chest pumping, hands trembling, his early tells of a panic attack. You took those shaking hands in yours, feeling the shape of a plastic thumb drive in his palm.

“Look at me,” you said, three times, in fact, until Bob blew out a stammering breath and did as you asked. His eyes were bright, glossy with unspent tears. “It’s our little secret. The rocket launcher malfunctioned. Oh no, right?” You raised your brows, nodding. “Bob, it’s okay. You saved my life. Maybe you lost control a little bit but I’ve got your back.”

He closed his eyes, breathing gradually returning to baseline as you stroked your thumbs across the sides of his forefingers, still grasping his hands. He wrestled back a groan of pain, eyes drifting over your shoulder toward the lake.

“I didn’t lose control.”

Bob said it softly, so softly you almost didn’t hear it. It seemed like a weird time for honesty when you were both about to involve yourselves in a coverup. You gathered yourself, made sure to arrange photos of the rocket launcher that was obviously to blame for the carnage splattered across you and the forest floor. Nobody questioned the story, because why would they? Sometimes things got messy. You had recovered the data, that was what really mattered.

So. Yeah. Things were tense. Things were strange.

You didn’t care so much about the dead mercenaries in a Norwegian forest, but you did care about Bob’s intensity where you were concerned. It could become a problem on missions, more so than it already had. You just wanted it to make sense. All of that rage and all of that protective instinct, and then nothing once you got back to the Watchtower. If anything, it felt like Bob was avoiding you. Months of strained looks. Months of lying awake at night, wondering if he was in his bed thinking about you the way you were thinking about him, with your heart in your throat and your hand down your underwear.

Because healthy or not, the obsession was starting to run both ways. When you closed your eyes at night, you could still see him in the woods, cape rippling, eyes burning, the power of a god and all of it bent toward saving you.

And healthy or not, you were determined to draw him out. Sure, you could just use your words, just ask, but a bitch ass little voice in your head insisted it was better this way—after all, you had put your butt on the line to cover for him after that botched mission, and now he could hardly form a sentence in your presence. Maybe he needed a different kind of motivation, not the life and death kind, but something…adjacent.

The weather had finally turned warm enough to give you a bad case of cabin fever. The girls wanted to go out, and you were more than ready to suck down a few cocktails at the tower beforehand, then climb into an Uber and follow Yelena and Ava to hell, if they so decided, although it would probably just be the Delancey and then Bembe, to torment every horny loser in Manhattan with a dress short enough to make a mother’s heart stop.

You chose your muskiest perfume, your hottest shade of lipstick, and a cocktail dress you had been holding in reserve all winter long. You unfurled it from your closet and held it up to the overhead lamp like it was a sacred cloth about to be anointed with dance floor sweat and spilled espresso martinis.

And it was no coincidence that this evening coincided with the cute little boy’s poker night Alexei had started putting together every Friday. He forced Bob to participate, and John and Bucky traded winning streaks, fleecing their friends for pocket money.

You traipsed out into the common room early; Ava and Yelena were still getting ready, arguing over a pair of earrings, which meant you were free to absorb all the playful wolf whistles of your male teammates, four spreads of cards lowered in unison as you strode by on your way to grab a water from the kitchenette. John turned around in his seat, a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a full house in hand.

“Didn’t know they made dresses that short,” he teased. “Find that in the toddler section?”

“Yep, right next to where you buy your undies, Walker.” You batted your lashes. Bob snorted behind his Dr. Pepper.

John grumbled and shifted back around. “Very funny.”

“I thought so,” Bucky said, pursing his lips as he tore his eyes away from you and put them back on his poker hand.

“Ahh the men of this city should prepare themselves,” Alexei said, laughing, slapping his thigh.

“You good with Yelena dressing that way?” John asked, raising.

You didn’t hear Alexei’s answer. Bob had put down his drink, his eyes gluing and ungluing themselves to various parts of your body as you stood illuminated by the cold light of the refrigerator. You bent over to grab a sparkling water from the lowest shelf, making sure he saw the flex of your thigh, the curve of your ass, the daring scoop of the neckline…

When you stood back up and cracked open the can, he visibly startled.

You met his eye, face the picture of innocence, body the definition of sin.

Something changed between you again. It was like you were back in that forest, his hot, golden eyes searing into you, a silent need passed back and forth, too much, too scalding, for either of you to hold.

“Can I…” Bob cleared his throat, putting his cards down on the table, face up. Bucky sighed and hurried to flip them over for him. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

You shrugged, sipping from the can. “Sure, what’s up?”

Bob pushed his chair away from the card table, then hurried around to stand a few feet to your right. He nodded subtly toward the corridor draped in darkness, the one that led back toward the dormitory wing.

“Look at that,” John chuckled, sitting back in his chair, shaking his head. “Bobby’s all grown up.”

You rolled your eyes, passing the table, letting the water can bump the back of Walker’s head as you went by. “That makes one of you.”

Bob went ahead, waiting for you in the darkened hallway. As soon as you were a few steps clear of the common room, beyond prying eyes, he turned into you, taking you by the waist, pushing you against the wall. You gasped, lost your grip on the water can; Bob saved it with his telekinesis, lowering it gently to the ground.

“You’re always doing that,” he whispered, and from the flex of his hands around you, you could tell Operation: Hot Stuff had worked. Whether or not that was a good thing, you were still deciding. Bob's nose traced your cheek, as if remembering the place where those goons had given you the most visible pain. “Standing up for me, having my back, it…”

All those months of wanting and wondering, and now you didn’t know what to do with your hands. You thought maybe he would send you a few flirty texts after spotting you in the dress, not jam you up against a wall within seconds of seeing you in it.

“Why?” he asked, his voice a fevered tremor, hands smoothing over your hips, squeezing, before rising back up again. “Why?”

Both of your heads snapped to the right as you heard laughter down the hall. Bob stepped back, just a little, never releasing his hold on you. Of the rooms on this level, his was the closest. Before you could even concern yourself with getting busted in his arms, he had moved you both to that door, opened it, and yanked you inside. You had never moved so quickly, at the speed of a thought, and it left you breathless and dizzy, clinging to him. The water didn’t come with you, an artifact left behind like you had been raptured.

Bob let go of you, eyes wide and stunned, as if he couldn’t quite make sense of how you were now standing in his room together. His eyes darkened as he looked you up and down. You moved back into his orbit, taking hold of the soft, thick collar of his navy-blue cardigan. Even through the dense fabric, you could feel his heart racing, vibrating his entire body.

“Bob,” you said, pressing your cheek against his. He just looked so warm and sweet, and you had run out of excuses. “You know why.”

He sucked down a shivering breath. “That day…” He started over, breathing deeply again, this time steadier, hands crawling up your back to your shoulder blades, your bare skin flushing at his touch. “I didn’t lose control. I didn’t. But sometimes you make me want to.”

You pressed yourself harder against his body, a little shameless, giving yourself over to the confessions, said and felt, building between you. You wanted him to feel the soft pressure of your breasts against his chest, wanted him to notice the way you rubbed your hips subtly against him, your sex throbbing as it became clear where this was going, where this had always been going.

“Is that why you kept your distance?” you asked, peeling open his sweater, pushing it down his arms, exposing the thin, white tee underneath.

He nodded, lips tight and eyes shutting as you both heard his cardigan hush against the floor. The fingertips of his right hand flirted with the hem of your dress, running back and forth along the sensitive skin of your upper thigh. His eyes flashed gold in the darkness, a lamp on his desk and nightstand crackling to life, warming the room with a soft glow. “The way you looked at me… Like you were a-afraid…”

“No,” you said, honestly, cupping his face, forcing him to look at you. “I wasn’t. I’m not afraid.”

Bob’s expression chilled, neutralizing as you spoke those words. “Maybe you should be.”

You couldn’t move. His power blanketed you, freezing your limbs into place. You breathed. You swallowed. You could at least still speak, but you didn’t, squeezing out a gasp as Bob disappeared behind you, his fingers back on your legs, dragging the dress up until it was scrunched around your stomach. “You drive me so insane,” he whispered, nose in your hair and lips burning against your ear as his hands smoothed across your stomach, down to the edge of your thong. “You don’t even know…”

What was too far? You wondered if you would even know it. It wasn’t this, you had wanted this, imagined this, Bob’s hands all over you, pushing down your underwear, feeling through the curls over your sex to glide over your pussy, exploring you, exploring what he did to you.

At the first wet blush of your cunt against his palm, he groaned, hips jerking against your lower back.

“But you will,” he said, the fingers of one hand curling into you, the other teasing the strap of your dress down your shoulder, lower, lower, until your breast tumbled free. “I’ll show you.”

“Bob,” you whimpered, wishing you could grind back against him, do anything. “I…I want to touch you, too, I—”

“Maybe,” he said flatly, palm cupping your breast then closing over it possessively. His fingers spread until your nipple was trapped in the seams, pinched as he squeezed you, hard. “Maybe later, after I’m done with you.” There was a frantic edge to his voice as he went on; against your hip, he thickened, so aroused you felt the heat of him through his jeans. “Because you see, you weren’t fine.”

Your eyes opened wider, confusion knotting your stomach. “What?”

“That day. In the forest. You said you would be fine,” he said, like this was a grudge he had turned over a hundred million times. “You weren’t fine. You needed me.”

His fingers tunneled deeper inside you, claiming, until the heel of his hand was wedged against you and dripping. You moaned, leaning against nothing, held up by his wanting you to be.

“Say you need me,” he said, jamming his forehead against your temple. His eyes were open, fixed on yours, his finger strumming faster, pleasure and heat and electricity gathering in your belly. You wanted to catch that lightning, bring it closer, ride it until you couldn’t think.

“I n-need you,” you whimpered, the words coming out thick and desperate.

“Say you want me,” Bob added, working his hand against your clit, not gently, with a force that pushed another strangled, hungry sound out of your throat. “Because… B-because I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone more.”

That was even easier to say. “God, I want you.”

Somehow, you had gone from long, sleepless nights together on the couch, overdubbing infomercials with goofy voices under a shared blanket, Monopoly games that stretched on for days (left out in the common room with a note reading DO NOT PUT AWAY ON PAIN OF DEATH, to Walker’s eternal frustration), last minute outings to the wildest-sounding avant-garde performance artists available in the city (one time a lady in a lion costume had fed another guy in a sheep outfit peanuts until he puked; you were both pretty sure that one was about capitalism), to this—your body encased in a forcefield, molecules rearranged from standing in the middle of Bob’s room to lying flat on your back in his bed.

It didn’t feel like flying, it felt like waking up from a dream, a dream that had lasted less than a second. You had enough time to register your new location before Bob was climbing onto the bed beside you, naked except for his black boxer briefs. At least you could move again. You reached for him, laughing, giddy, crazed, drunk on these new feelings, on his power, on his hands climbing up your ankles to your knees to your thighs, then those same strong hands tearing the dress over your head before flinging it away, ripping your thong in half with a flick of his wrist.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, kneeling between your thighs, dipping his head down to kiss the inside of each of them. “I knew you would look beautiful in my bed.”

You didn’t know why he had bothered to keep his shorts on; they came off immediately, pushed deftly over his hip bones by your toes. Bob helped you, easing them down the rest of the way. You arched into his chest as he fit his body against yours, mouths crashing together, teeth meeting, tongues wanton and spearing, the taste of your lipstick shared around as you devoured each other.

“I’m not afraid,” you told him, raking your nails down his back. “I need you. I want you. I’m not afraid.”

Bob’s eyes sparked gold again as he stared down at you, but that color quickly receded. He smiled almost shyly, brows knitting, as if he had no idea how you had wound up in his bed or that he was responsible for it, like the sweet, fidgety Bob was coming up for air after drowning. He kissed you again, hands tight to your hips as he wrestled you into the mattress. His hard, velvety length flirted against your thigh, then higher, his spine tensing at the first graze of his tip against your entrance.

“Can you, um, can you say that again?” he asked, pleaded maybe, hair curtaining his face as he took himself in hand and worked the broad, blunt head inside.

Your legs shook, hands dropping away to fist in the sheets from the delicious pressure, the give and take, then the aching stretch…

“I’m not afraid,” you murmured, half of the words dissolving into a moan as he slid deeper. It throbbed so good, every part of you suddenly empty and willing him to keep going, fill you until the ache quieted. “I need you, I want you.”

“Shit, okay, yeah perfect, thank you,” Bob mumbled, gritting his teeth, shoving into you until he bottomed out and you both groaned with relief. “I…I need you, too. I want you. I don’t even know how to…or what…or…”

He shook his head, deciding against words, kissing you instead. That seemed to clear his mind, clarify something, hips rolling on a fevered rhythm. You didn’t mind, you didn’t need him to last, because you had been seconds away from your orgasm landing like a 747 on your head. Your hands pushed into his hair, combing back the soft, damp strands, keeping the hair out of his face while he tried to keep his rhythm, catch his breath, and kiss you all the same time.

“Can you…the pillow…” You laughed into his lips, reaching around awkwardly for the pillow beside your head, grabbing it and trying to cram it under your hips mid-hump. Bob finally followed your meaning, scrambling to help, punching it until it was properly under you.

“Totally, yeah,” he said, also into your mouth. “That good?”

“Perfect.”

“Perfect?” he smiled, dreamily, nose touching yours, hips grinding faster. “Like this?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Your head fell back, upper body loose, lower body tensing around him, squeezing his dick as he worked it into you base to tip. “I need it…just like this.”

Bob swore under his breath, sweating against you, chest red with effort as he pulled his lip between his teeth, face clenched, rhythm faltering before he picked it back up again. But you could tell he was close, and you were, too, the slight alteration to the angle nudging you nearer to the edge on each deep stroke. Then he sandwiched his hand between you, tangling it in the soaking, sweltering churn where your bodies met. He grazed your clit, the rough touch of his knuckles against your buzzy nerves hammering a hot nail through your spine. Fuck. Too much. Too much tension and nowhere for it to go. His cock swelling and colors bleeding across your eyes and heat roaring up from a place inside you that felt like it was coming to life for the first time.

You arched off the pillow, thighs clamping around his waist as the waves rocked through you, not gentle or easy but a quake and a slam. Bob cried out, punching his fists into the mattress as he curled in on himself, holding himself deep as he could go as he poured into you.

“Shit,” you whispered, flattening both hands over your eyes as you remembered, finally, that Yelena and Ava were waiting on you. “The girls are going to kill me.”

“Can’t,” Bob teased, nestling down against you, mouthing lazy kisses against your breasts, your collar bone, your neck. “Won’t let them.”

“But I do need to clean up and get going,” you sighed. On the nightstand, Bob’s phone lit up, buzzing. “That will be them.”

Bob groaned and put out his hand, the phone flying into it. He peeled one eye open to read the text, frowning. “They want to know what they can trade for the hostage.”

You felt him softening, slipping out. Gooey wetness pooled between your thighs; the last place you wanted to go was anywhere other than that bed.

“Tell them I broke my underwear.”

Bob pressed his lips together. “I did that.” Proud. Smug. A pause. “Ava says you have more.”

“Tell her I broke my pelvis.”

He shot you a look. “Then they really would try to fight me.”

You grinned and took the phone out of his hands, holding it above his head, typing with your thumbs.

“Why am I saved in your phone as six heart emojis?”

“No…no reason.”

“Uh-huh.” You read aloud as you texted Ava back. “Give me an hour, tell me where you end up and I’ll meet you there.” You returned the phone to his hands, kissing his forehead. “That fair?”

Bob nodded, wedging the phone under the pillow and nuzzling back against your neck.

“Are you okay?” he asked, after the silence had lingered for a while.

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I would’ve told you if it was too much,” you said, fingers drifting through his hair. Bob’s shoulders relaxed at that, his weight settling on you, though cheated down by your hips, keeping the pressure off your lungs. “And it was a lot, but not too much.”

Bob nodded, holding you tighter. He let one of the lamps go out, plunging you into a cooler, comforting gloom. It would be hard not to lie lack that with him and fall asleep, so you kept your hands busy in his hair. He moaned sweetly into your neck, utterly content, utterly yours.

“Six heart emojis, huh?” you said after a while.

Dragging his ass out of bed stopped the spiral, at least for a moment.

That was why he was in the common room at midnight, why he found you slumped over on the couch, head pillowed on one hand, your knees against the tall leather cushions, faced away from the television, which was still on. Bob muted the informercial (they were trying to make Snuggies happen again and there were dumber ideas, he supposed) and fetched a fleece blanket from the basket at the end of the sofa.

His brain quieted down as he looked at you. Awake, you were a condensed bundle of energy, but asleep like this you were peaceful, soft, your chest rising and falling evenly, your lashes plush and pretty on your cheeks.

Bob shook out the blanket and leaned down to cover you; the instant one velvety corner brushed your bare arm, you shifted, lips moving around a wordless complaint. He had been so busy looking at your face he missed the arm flopped between you and the couch back, your hand in your sleep shorts, disappearing toward…

“Shit,” Bob whispered, blinking hard. He had frozen in place with the blanket in both hands, holding it out like he was a matador with a cape and you his sleepy bull. Maybe it was best if he just covered you up, that would solve every problem all at once. Yeah. He would do that—

You moved again, this time with your hand trapped between your thighs and your legs squishing together as you wiggled. Wiggled and moaned.

Moaned his name.

Bob folded the blanket in on itself, jerking backward like just proximity to your body might set him on fire.

You threw your head back, neck stretched, eyes clenched shut. “Mm,” you whimpered, bucking against your hand. “Right there.”

Where, where, where? He had to know where. You were dreaming about him. Dreaming. About him. He was pretty sure half of the New Avengers support staff and maybe a teammate or two had a crush on you, and you were thinking about him, the guy who mostly ate cereal and went to therapy for a living, the guy who sometimes did the dishes, the guy who probably would’ve been voted Most Likely to Trip at Graduation if he had ever managed to finish high school.

Maybe you meant another Bob. You had lived a lot of life, maybe you knew all kinds of Bobs…

“Please, oh my God. You’re so…you’re so…” Your hips raised up off the couch as you swiveled onto your back, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on your forehead as your hand moved more swiftly up and down in your shorts.

Bob clutched the blanket over his waist, painfully aware that if you woke up, you would see exactly how much he loved those dirty little noises you were making. Dirty little noises that were private, perhaps about him but not for him. He had just made the extremely mature decision to put the blanket back and tiptoe away when your eyes snapped open on a gasp.

You froze. Bob froze. Time froze. The building was suddenly so quiet, Bob could hear his blood roaring through his veins.

“H-Hi,” you whispered, hand still in your pants, eyes wide.

“Hey.” He showed you the blanket, as if that explained his presence, his inability to respect your private moment, his existence on Earth. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

You swallowed, pressed your lips together, then glanced down toward your waist. “I’m afraid this is exactly what it looks like.”

“Okay,” Bob said, developing an instantaneous fever.

“Okay,” you said.

Bob pushed one trembling hand through his hair, never letting the blanket drift too far, never letting you see the absolute tent in his pajama pants. “You were saying things.”

Your eyes somehow got bigger. “What things?”

“Things like…” He would rather die right there with a raging boner than recreate your moaning and whimpering. “Things like my name.”

“Okay,” you said, out of breath.

“Okay.”

You stared at each other like the first one to blink had to pants Walker at the next team dinner.

He couldn’t take the silence anymore, or the want.

“I liked it.”

You pulled your lower lip between your teeth, raised your brows.

Bob stared at that lip, hungry. “Did you finish?”

You shook your head slowly from side to side, chest pumping, breasts straining through the tight, thin fabric of your tee. “N-No.”

Bob shivered, nerves singing, skin electric like he had licked a socket. “Do you want to?”

You reached for his hand, and that was all he needed. He dropped down onto the couch, wedging himself between your legs, covering both of you with the blanket. A million ideas occurred to him at the same time—you could sixty-nine, or just do sex, or sixty-nine and then do sex, or he could go down on you, or you could just make out for a while and rub against each other, or…or…

Bob went with the first thing he saw, which was your hand as you pulled it out of your panties. He grabbed that hand by the wrist, lifting it to his face, worshipping it, kissing your damp palm, then pushing your wet fingers into his mouth. You groaned, squirming against him. He rolled into the space between you and the back of the couch, resting on his side, your fingers still hot on his tongue as his left hand slid down your stomach, underneath the waistbands of your shorts and panties. Your thighs twitched apart and Bob took the invitation, sliding his fingers through the soaked mess you had made of yourself.

“Oh,” you whimpered, needy and soft, bucking, head falling back. “That feels good.”

You didn’t have to do anything else, he would’ve been more than content to stay like that, sucking on your fingers while you purred under his touch, but then you had to go and reach back for him, dragging his hard dick out of his flannel pants, your left hand pumping slowly up and down, learning his dimensions.

He tried to swear around your fingers, but it came out garbled. That was fine. He didn’t need to say anything anyway, just needed you to keep doing that, that thing where your thumb swirled around the head of his dick on the upward stroke. His eyes rolled back as you lubricated the next stroke with his precum, spreading it up and down, slippery, velvety… Fuck, that was nice. That was… Bob pushed his hips against your hand, groaning, biting down on the louder, more ragged noises that would get you both in trouble, an outcome that was beginning to feel very, very likely as his thumb grazed your clit and you cried out in pleasurable surprise.

You shared a guilty look, then laughed, and Bob shook his head, a bit dazed.

“Too loud,” he whispered, then tongued your wet thumb, drawing it back between his lips, scraping his teeth across it. Your eyes fluttered shut. He wanted to feel that, too. He fished his right arm out from under you, holding himself up on his elbow and pushing his thumb between your sweet, swollen lips. Moaning softly, you sucked on him, timing the rolling of your tongue to the leisurely pace of your hand moving up and down his cock.

Bob had never fingered someone while making prolonged, desperate, adoring eye contact, but he decided then and there it was his new favorite thing. You looked so pretty and content with his thumb in your mouth, and your teeth worrying the pad made his head spin. He circled your clit faster, pushing you, ready now to do what he had offered—finish you off. His middle finger darted lower, seeking through your dripping folds, finding a snug home in your body, gliding with a snap, curling after the second knuckle.

But you were not to be outdone. You stroked him just as steadily, mimicking the thrust of his finger inside you, giving him a little taste of what it would be like to fuck in earnest. His vision got weird at the edges, silver and white, the tug of your hand yanking on something he felt in his spine, urging him toward a prickle of heat that built in his throat.

“Mmhm,” you moaned around his thumb, reading his mind.

Bob nodded, not knowing what else to do, because it felt so good, because it was everything he wanted—you finding your pleasure, you getting breathless and sweaty underneath him, you riding his hand like you were back in that delicious dream. But it was real, real and getting realer as he felt that tug on his spine spread like molten honey to his groin.

You unraveled first, thank God. He didn’t think he could last another second. The suction of your mouth around his finger stopped, your upper body bending as you shivered, clamping down on him, grinding yourself frantically against his thumb. It was suddenly so much wetter inside you, and he was the reason why and you wanted him there and you were huffing out the whiniest noises around his thumb—

The white halo around his vision bled inward. For a second everything was too hot, too fast, too intense. He let your finger fall out of his mouth, jerking his hips forward as he finished all over your stomach. He had tried to aim for the blanket, but you wouldn’t let him, watching with half-lidded eyes as his hips stuttered, ass and abs clenched before he slid bonelessly back down to his knees.

When he could feel his hands again, Bob pulled his shirt over his head, wiping up the mess on your bare skin with his ears turning fuchsia.

“I didn’t, um, it’s kind of a mess,” he mumbled, balling up his shirt and dropping it on the floor next to the sofa. You reached down and tugged on those same burning ears until he crawled up to lie next to you.

Sleepy, cozy all over, Bob nestled his head into your left shoulder, leg flopped over yours. He hummed deep in his chest as your fingers found their way to his head, scratching lightly over the back of his scalp.

“You meant me, right?”

Your eyes opened slowly, chin dipping as you looked down at him. “What?”

“The Bob…when you were saying Bob before. You meant me…” He shifted around, pointing at his own chest. “Me Bob.”

“No, I meant the other Bob Reynolds.”

He swished his lips to the side, shy.

“You know, the one who took three buses and a train to get gelato for my birthday?” You smirked, pressing a little kiss to his forehead.

“I didn’t mind,” he mumbled. “Wasn’t a big deal.”

“The one who lets me win at Mario Kart…”

“Only when it gets embarrassing.”

Snorting, you snuggled closer, your free hand smoothing over his bare chest, staying over the place where his heart thundered to meet your touch. “You never let John win.”

Bob shrugged. “‘Cos the noises he makes are hilarious.”

“Well anyway,” you said with a sigh. “That’s the Bob I meant, if that’s not you then this is going to be pretty awkward.”

He pressed his nose more firmly into your neck, simultaneously hiding and trying to climb inside your skin. “I guess that’s me Bob.”

“My Bob,” you corrected, settling down against him like you might both fall asleep that way.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling, nodding off. “That one.”

You'd been struggling at work lately…just a little and it certainly, definitely, wasn't because you'd finally gotten fucked. 

Being dickmatized wasn't a real thing…you were about eighty-six percent sure of that, though the number seemed to drop every morning you woke up thinking about Scott before your alarm even went off. 

Your lack of focus had absolutely nothing to do with the way he'd ruined your standards a few nights ago…the problem simply was the men around you. You were back at the office now, which meant instead of dealing with one irritating man, you were surrounded by twenty. 

None of them understood the concept of an inside voice, half of them apparently thought deodorant was optional and for reasons beyond your comprehension, at least one of them always felt compelled to announce that his balls itched to whoever happened to be standing nearby. You'd abandoned your desk before lunch and barricaded yourself inside one of the glass meeting rooms, the thicker walls muting the chaos outside without cutting you off completely. 

You could still see everyone moving through the office and they could still see you buried behind your laptop, which was enough to keep people from accusing you of hiding, which you were definitely NOT doing. Unfortunately, the spreadsheet glowing on your screen had long since blurred into meaningless numbers. Instead, you sat staring at it while trying to figure out how to fix yourself before weather alerts put you and Scott back on the road together. 

Maybe celibacy deserved another shot and maybe one incredible night was enough for another long while. You'd had great sex, you'd been thoroughly fucked and that could be the perfect place to stop, before it got so good it stopped fitting anywhere on your stupid little scale.

You pressed your hands over your face and groaned into your palms. “This can't be that fucking hard,” you muttered, the words muffled against your skin. “Let's not be greedy,” you sighed then, forcing yourself to sit up straighter and look back at your laptop. 

The spreadsheet waiting on the screen might as well have been written in another language because every time you tried to focus, Scott found his way back into your head. It had been days and your brain refused to let it go…his hands, his voice, his touch and the way he'd looked at you afterward. The memories barged into your thoughts whenever they pleased, leaving you staring blankly ahead instead of working. 

Your eyes weren't even seeing the numbers anymore, they were vaguely fixed on Javier outside the meeting room enthusiastically demonstrating what looked like an attempted backflip to someone unfortunate enough to be watching as a knock against the glass wall snapped you out of it and your head turned so fast your neck almost protested.

Scott stood on the other side, dressed in his usual Storm Par shirt and cap, one hand already wrapped around the handle. He didn't wait for permission before pushing the door open and letting himself in, softly closing it behind him.

You let out a slow breath through your nose and immediately looked back at your laptop, pretending you'd been deeply invested in your work instead of daydreaming about being folded like a Samsung all over his apartment.

“What’s up?” you asked as casually as you could manage, clicking through random tabs and typing complete nonsense onto the keyboard with sufficient confidence to sell the act.

Scott pulled out the chair across from you and sat down. “Nothing.” He shrugged, resting his forearms on the table like this was the most normal visit in the world. “Just checking in.”

Your eyes flicked toward the glass wall briefly as you hummed softly. “You could've done that from outside.” 

“I could've,” he agreed easily. “Just wanted to make sure you understood that hiding from me isn't gonna solve your problem.” He motioned lazily toward the floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding the room. “Especially when you pick the fishbowl office.”

You let out a quiet huff of laughter before catching yourself, disguising it with a small clearing of your throat as your fingers kept tapping aimlessly at the keyboard. 

“Where are you hiding then?” you asked, finally sparing him a glance. Scott hadn't been around much the last few days, at least not anywhere the rest of the team could bother him, though that wasn't exactly unusual, given the choice, he'd avoid every person in the building.

“My office,” he replied flatly.

“Your office?” You frowned. “Since when do you have an office?”

Scott leaned back in his chair. “Turns out when enough people complain about how snarky you are and the company likes your results too much to fire you, they stick you in your own office.”

You stared at him for a second before giving up on the performance entirely. The laptop clicked shut beneath your hands and for the first time in seventy-two hours, you looked directly into his eyes without immediately finding an excuse to look away.

“You done pretending?” he asked.

“I wasn't pretending.”

“No?” His voice stayed soft, almost conversational but the corner of his mouth twitched with the beginning of a grin. He tilted his head to watch your reaction. “'Cause you've barely been able to argue with me for three days…Doesn't seem to be a problem right now.”

Your eye twitched, God, he was trying to bait you. You refused to give him the satisfaction of reacting the way he wanted, especially not to a man who wore a baseball cap indoors like the sun might suddenly appear over the conference table.

“Those great results you're so proud of benefiting from have another name next to yours at the bottom of every report,” you shot back evenly. “Last I checked, you're not out there watching your own back, no matter how self-centered you happen to be.”

You would've sworn you saw the very corner of his mouth twitch upward again. Damn it. 

“My point exactly,” he said quietly, settling deeper into his chair with the smug confidence of a man who knew he'd gotten exactly the reaction he wanted. The same confidence he'd had a few nights ago when he'd been ordering you around his apartment, rewarding you every time you listened. 

The memory flashed through your head before you could stop it. Was he thinking about it too? You blinked hard and shoved the thought aside, straightening your shoulders. 

“What exactly are we talking about?” you asked. 

“My office and your smart mouth. What else?” He paused long enough to let the words hang. “If I started casually talking about how good it felt to fuck you silent, you'd probably throw that laptop at me.” 

Your heart lurched so violently it genuinely annoyed you. Your eyes darted to the glass walls surrounding the room to make sure nobody outside could somehow hear him before snapping back to his face. He looked completely unbothered, sitting there like he'd commented on the weather. 

“What do you want, Scott?” 

“Besides your pussy in my mouth?...” He tipped his head back, lazily rocking his chair as he seemed to remember why he'd actually come in. “Right.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a key and slid it across the table until it stopped between you. “The key to our office.” 

You looked down at it, then back at him, narrowing your eyes. “I think I'll pass.” 

“It's at the end of the hall, far from the elevators,” he continued as though you hadn't spoken. “Big windows...private bathroom…and its own Wi-Fi router. We could probably fit a couch in there for those midday naps you keep pretending you don't need.” 

You let out a quiet scoff and leaned back in your own chair, mirroring his position. “I think all of that thunder finally got to you, Scotty,” you teased, genuinely wondering if the man had started losing his hearing along with his common sense from being exposed to such weather.

“No, but your moaning probably did,” Scott replied without missing a beat. “It echoed pretty well.” 

You stared at him for a second before sighing long and steady. “Blame your complete lack of furniture, playboy.” you muttered. “Your apartment needs a rug…It might actually absorb some of the noise and save you the trip to the ear doctor.” 

“I can get a rug,” he nodded thoughtfully. “Just need someone to test how effective it is–” 

You leaned across the table before he could finish, eyes widening in warning as you pointed a finger at him. “Stop…just stop.” Your voice dropped instinctively as you glanced through the glass wall, checking that nobody outside was paying enough attention to lip-read the conversation. 

A few people walked past carrying laptops while Javi argued with someone over a radar image, nobody seemed interested in the meeting room. 

You looked back at Scott. “We're at work…You can't say shit like that in front of everyone.” 

“You're right,” he admitted with a slow nod, looking almost disappointed in himself for all of half a second, then he tapped the key sitting between you. “Take that and follow me.” 

A laugh escaped you immediately as you shook your head. “Scott, I'm not going to a second location with you…We both know how that ends.” 

“First time I've heard you complain,” he said, completely unfazed. “Usually ends pretty well. Sure, there's quite a bit of cleaning after and being sore doesn't help…but it’s a small price to pay.” 

You snorted and pushed the key back across the table with one finger until it stopped in front of him. “Yeah and unsurprisingly I don't need the whole office hearing about it.” 

“So you admit you're loud.” 

“I'm not admitting to anything during work hours,” you clarified. “I'm trying to work so we can keep our numbers up. Unlike you...” You leaned forward again, lowering your voice until he had to do the same. “...who's trying to lure me into some dark office so you can fill me up like a fucking Twinkie.” 

Scott's eyebrows lifted noticeably. “A breeding kink?” He hummed thoughtfully, rubbing his jaw like you'd presented him with a serious research topic. “Interesting...” He nodded once. “I'll get tested. Can't say I've ever wanted to skip the condom step before but I'd consider making an exception for you.” His fingers slid the key back toward you again. “In the meantime…don't knock it until you've seen it…Big windows, no vis-à-vis and if you're good and quiet, we could have a remake of–”

“I’m not letting you fuck me again, Scott,” you disputed. You weren't entirely sure whether you'd made that decision before he walked into the meeting room or only after he'd spent the last five minutes trying to talk you into following him somewhere with a lock on the door but it was the right one…it had to be. 

Scott blinked once, let out a slow breath through his nose, then stood already facing the exit. “Get up.” 

Another laugh slipped out as you leaned farther back in your chair, folding your arms across your chest. “No.” 

“No?” He turned fully toward you, giving a small, thoughtful nod. “You know, I like to think we've got this communication thing figured out but I feel like I'm missing a few pieces here.” 

You nodded as if his confusion was perfectly reasonable. “Sure...uh...” You shrugged innocently. “We're incompatible.” 

“Incompatible,” he repeated flatly with enough sarcasm packed into the word to make you roll your eyes. He'd spent the last three days replaying every second of that afternoon in his apartment and there hadn't been a single thing incompatible about it. You two fit like pieces of the same puzzle, one he intended to keep building. “And you know this how?”

“Once is a mistake, twice is a coincidence…third time is a pattern.” You counted each point off on your fingers before pointing at yourself. “Celibacy is a choice and it's the one I'm making.” 

Scott stared at you for a long second before pulling off his cap and dragging a hand through his hair, looking toward the ceiling like he was asking for patience. The cap went right back on. 

“Okay,” he sighed. “Now give me the no-bullshit answer.” 

You shrugged again. “That is the no-bullshit answer…but if you'd like, I can make you a graph…maybe throw in a pie chart, some percentages...” You gestured toward the hallway. “It's gonna take a while though, so you should probably wait in your office.” 

“Our office,” he corrected automatically, then he looked around the meeting room, motioning toward your laptop, the scattered papers beside it and the whiteboard behind you. “I’m sorry, I figured you already had the presentation ready...I assumed that's what all this was.” He stepped closer and planted both hands on the table, leaning toward you. It forced you to lift your chin to keep eye contact. “Explain it to me like I'm stupid, it’ll save you some time.”

You leaned forward until both forearms rested on the desk, making sure he had nowhere to look except your face. If Scott wanted to play games, then he could deal with the consequences. 

“The sex we had was absolutely...” Your voice softened into something dreamy, bait wrapped in honey. 

Scott took it immediately. His shoulders loosened, the tension he'd walked in with bleeding out of him as he leaned closer over the desk, one brow lifting. The corner of his mouth almost curled into a smug grin, convinced he knew exactly where you were going.

“Mhm,” he hummed quietly.

“...interminable,” you finished flatly. “Too many rounds for me.” 

The grin died before it had the chance to fully appear. His shoulders deflated, followed by a slow blink as the realization settled in that he'd fallen for it. His jaw twitched, eyes narrowing at you with the familiar look of a man who'd just been expertly baited.

“And that matters because...” he asked after a beat, his voice noticeably flatter now. “...you're a numbers person?”

“I don't need to run the numbers to know I'm a one-orgasm girl,” you replied with a careless shrug. “Always have been.”

Scott shook his head slowly. “So the extra two you had...” 

“Were just excessive,” you nodded, grinning when his expression darkened further. “See? I knew you'd understand…You're a smart guy, Scott. I've never actually believed your mother dropped you as a child.” You shook your head and flipped your laptop open like the conversation was already over. “Whoever started that awful, tasteless but admittedly very funny rumor around the office should go get fucked.” 

“So...you.” he noted immediately. He wasn't stupid, the only person in the building with enough nerve to insult him to his face and behind his back was the same woman he'd spent three days blaming for every inconvenient hard-on he'd had since the storm. “Which is exactly what I've been trying to do.” 

You gave another innocent shrug. “It’s just not my thing.” 

Scott pushed off the table and straightened to his full height again, looking down at you with that infuriating conviction that usually preceded a terrible idea. “You just haven't been with the right man.”

You couldn't help laughing, even though a small part of you hated that he was probably right. It wasn't the multiple orgasms that bothered you, it was the thought of getting used to someone like him. What happened if this became your new normal? What if nobody else ever measured up afterward? You refused to let some man permanently recalibrate your sex scale. 

“Is that you insinuating you've got a magical dick?” you asked, resting your chin on your hand. 

“You've seen it...you've felt it...” Scott replied with a maddening grin, his voice dropped, making your stomach tighten. “You tell me.” 

You nodded thoughtfully. “Okay...I'm telling you it was a one-time thing. It can't...” You caught yourself, deciding you owed him at least one honest sentence. “Statistically speaking, I hadn't had sex in a very long time, so it was a direct consequence of that. You just happened to cash in on it.” You shrugged and turned back to your laptop, fingers returning to the keyboard. “Should be used to lucky strikes by now, considering your track record at work before we partnered up.” 

Scott didn't answer immediately. He simply watched you, piecing your logic together with the same concentration he used to read weather models. “So...” he said after a few seconds. “You're leaving me because you don't think I can consistently make you orgasm more than three times.” 

Your hands stopped typing as you genuinely considered it. “If I say yes, will you leave me alone?” 

He looked like he was weighing the offer for a solid twenty seconds before quietly stepping around the desk. Without warning, he pushed your laptop shut, stopping your hands beneath your own surprised stare, then picked it up before you could protest. “We work with probabilities and success rates,” he said matter-of-factly. “I'll just have to prove you wrong.” 

“That's...not what I said.” 

“Then maybe my parents really did drop me.” He tucked the laptop in front of himself as he headed for the door, conveniently hiding the growing outline in his jeans. “I know just how much you like being right…enjoy it while it lasts.” 

You pointed after him, biting back another smile. “Keep rubbing my laptop against your boner and you won't hear the end of it.”

A quiet laugh rumbled in Scott's chest as he kept walking. “Come get it then. Might still be early enough for you to get the upcoming flood under wraps.”

He glanced back over his shoulder, the grin he wore making you roll your eyes before you could stop yourself. You shook your head, laughing under your breath as you reached for the key he'd left on the table. Your chair scraped softly against the floor as you stood, pocketing the key before following him to the door.

“You're actually deranged.”

“You liked it once,” he replied without missing a beat, stepping aside to hold the door open for you. “I'm confident you will again.”

You clicked your tongue as you brushed past him, your shoulder bumping his on purpose. “You smug prick... Are we keeping count now?” you asked, looking up at him just long enough to catch the satisfaction on his face before heading into the hallway.

Scott waited until you were ahead of him before letting the smile spread properly across his face. He wasn't unprofessional enough to put his hands on you in the office, no matter how private it was. If he started, neither of you would stop and he wasn't about to deprive himself of the sounds that had been replaying in his head for three straight days. Your question, though, lodged itself somewhere in the back of his mind. 

Keeping count...now that was an idea worth exploring.

The sexual tension around your shared office had become something you were going to have to live with sooner rather than later. 

The door stayed wide open from the moment you walked in until the moment you left, partly for appearances and mostly to keep either of you from acting on a bad idea. Your desks sat at opposite ends of the room, separated as much as the space allowed and every time you stood at the whiteboard scribbling down data or arguing over storm paths, you caught yourself turning your whole body whenever you heard footsteps behind you. 

More often than not, it was Scott wandering over to look at what you were doing and the sharp look you'd throw over your shoulder was enough to stop him a few feet away, one corner of his mouth twitching before he'd silently retreat. 

All that tension had to go somewhere and unsurprisingly, it ended up back at your house, though not for any reason either of you would've admitted to. You sat cross-legged on your bed in an oversized t-shirt that barely covered the tops of your thighs, wearing nothing underneath but panties because there was no point pretending modesty around a man who had already seen every inch of you. 

Across the room, the television you'd impulsively bought to fill the quiet evenings and keep your hands from wandering under the covers to thoughts of him, leaned against the wall while Scott fixed the crooked mount you'd spent an hour unsuccessfully fighting with the day before. He worked with the same concentration he gave everything else, drill humming steadily in his hand as he checked measurements twice before sinking another screw into the wall. 

The room was quiet but not uncomfortably so. Ever since his apartment, conversations between you had become strangely careful. The morning after, you'd simply asked him to drive you home, thanked him with a kiss that tried far too hard to be casual and climbed out of his truck like nothing had changed. Since then, your texts had stayed light, mostly work-related, occasional teasing and both of you acknowledging that neither of you regretted a second of it. 

The silence stretching between you now felt heavier than any conversation. 

“You know I can feel you staring, right?” Scott asked without looking over, the low whir of the drill cutting through the room before he released the trigger and tightened the bracket with one hand. 

“Is it only okay when you do it?” you shot back immediately.

"Given it took you two years to realize I was looking at you in the first place...yeah," he replied without hesitation. He straightened, checking the level one last time before wiping his hands down the front of his jeans. Satisfied, he lifted the television with ease, the muscles in his forearms tightening as he guided it onto the bracket until it clicked into place. 

Only then did he turn to face you, that infuriating grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. "You also could've called me for this," he pointed out. "Or texted me sometime between telling me how thoroughly satisfied you were and dodging every question about when I was seeing you outside of work again." His eyes flicked briefly toward the mounted TV before settling back on you. "I'm exceptionally good at screwing stuff."

"I'd rather you weren't," you answered before you could stop yourself, the words escaping so naturally they made you sigh the moment they landed. 

Scott caught it immediately. You tried to keep your attention on the television but your eyes betrayed you, drifting back to his arms as he gave the screen a firm shake to make sure it was secure, his veins stood out beneath tanned skin, reaching very capable hands...you looked away a second too late. 

He folded his arms across his chest, studying you with the same calm expression he'd worn for the past few days. He still hadn't let the conversation from the office go and judging by the look on his face, he wasn't planning to. "You're not a one-orgasm woman," he said matter-of-factly. "If you think you are, you're only fooling yourself." 

You leaned farther back against the pillows, drawing one knee up lazily as you looked at him. "Are you saying you could've gone longer?" you asked. "The living room, the kitchen and then the shower wasn't enough?" 

Scott walked to the foot of the bed without answering right away. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he planted both hands against it and leaned toward you. "I've been in a truck with you long enough to know when to quit," he said quietly, his eyes moving over your face before settling back on yours. "We were both exhausted." A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. "That's not the same thing as being sated." 

"Isn't it?" you asked, your gaze slipping almost involuntarily from his face to the veined length of his forearms braced against the mattress before climbing back to meet his eyes.

Before you could say anything more, one of his hands wrapped around your ankle and pulled you smoothly to the very edge of the bed, your legs parting naturally to make room for him standing between them. He wasn’t even that close yet but you could already feel yourself growing wet, the slow throb of arousal building low in your belly from nothing more than the way he looked at you. "Weather models aren’t the only thing I read well," he rasped, his voice dropping lower.

"What are you reading now, Scotty?" You teased, fingernails trailing lightly up and down his forearms as you looked up at him.

“That you have more than one…or three meek orgasms in you.” He assured, hands trailing slowly up your legs, the rough warmth of his palms sliding over your skin as he held eye contact. “I just need you to let me show you.”

Your eyes narrowed at his unshakable confidence. “And how are you gonna do that?”

“We’re gonna play a game.” He grinned as he let one finger hook into the waistband of your panties, yanking them down slowly. “Numbers excite you,” he started, eyes lifting to yours for any sign that he should stop but when he found none, he continued pulling the fabric lower, sliding it down your thighs until your glistening pussy was fully exposed to the cool air of the room.

You chuckled under your breath, the sound barely cutting through the charged space between you. “They don’t excite me, Scott. They are part of my job.”

“I’ll put you to work then.” His mouth curved into something faintly amused as he leaned in closer, hands easing the panties off the rest of the way and letting them fall aside onto the mattress. “Condoms?”

You held eye contact with him for as long as you could, whether it was an attempt at challenging him or calling his bluff, it didn’t work. “Bedside table,” you replied, chin tipping slightly in its direction.

The mattress dipped as he moved away and you followed him with your eyes, watching the way his shoulders moved under the fabric of his shirt, every motion unhurried as he reached the bedside drawer and slid it open.

A low chuckle slipped from him as he pulled out the brand new box of condoms, turning it between his fingers. You had bought it after that night in his apartment, unsure if anything would happen again but wanting to be ready. “I don’t know if this is wishful thinking,” he murmured, glancing at you over the edge of the box, “or if I should be worried about competition.”

“Focus on your little game before I dry up,” you shot back with a grin, chin tilting slightly as you held his gaze without blinking.

That earned a short, amused huff from him. Scott walked back toward the end of the bed, the condom foil caught lightly between his teeth as he worked his belt loose with ease, the sound of metal sliding through leather punctuating the silence. He kept his eyes locked on you the entire time, moving with unhurried confidence as he pushed his jeans down and let his heavy cock spring free. 

“I am not in the business of droughts, sweetheart,” he said, voice edged with amusement as he straightened above you, tearing the wrapper open and finally discarding it to the side.

“There is a first time for everything,” you replied, watching him with a calm that didn’t quite match the pace of your heart.

He knelt on the mattress between your parted legs as he rolled the condom on with unbroken focus and you moved back a little to give him more space, which he took gladly. 

He hovered over you, warmth pressing into your skin before he even fully touched you. “Listen to me,” he started, one hand sliding down between your bodies, thumb beginning to circle slowly over your clit, drawing a sharp inhale out of your lungs as your shoulders loosened against the mattress.

His voice stayed authoritative yet gentle, one hand braced beside your head. “I want you to count every thrust and when I ask you, I want a clear answer…”

Your lashes fluttered as your focus wavered between his words and the way your body reacted against them. “What kind of game is that?” you asked, though it came out uneven, breath catching mid-sentence as your hips shifted slightly beneath him, instinctively chasing the pressure he was already controlling.

He didn’t react to the question beyond a faint shake of his head, like the answer didn’t matter as much as obedience to the structure he was setting. His thumb continued its firm, steady movements over your clit, each pass measured enough to keep you suspended between anticipation and release. “Then you'll count the orgasms too.”

“What happens if I lose count?” you whispered, chest heaving as warmth began spreading through your core, fingers flexing lightly against the sheets as your body started to respond more openly to him.

“Don’t and you won’t have to find out.” When your hips started to roll up into his hand, searching for more friction, he tsked softly, refusing to let you set the rhythm. “Can we start or do you have any questions?”

“Make this quick, my date will be here soon,” you teased, though it barely held its edge anymore, breath catching around the words as your focus kept slipping.

“Never had an audience but it’s not too late to start,” he grinned, eyes drinking in the way your chest heaved beneath the thin fabric of your oversized shirt. Your nipples had hardened into tight, sensitive peaks that poked prominently against the material with every quick, shallow breath you drew. Your lips parted on a soft sigh as your eyes fluttered shut, lashes casting faint shadows on your cheeks while you gave yourself over completely to the steady, knowing movements of his thumb.

The pressure against your clit was exquisite, firm circles that never faltered, gliding smoothly over the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves with just the right amount of slick friction. Each rotation sent fresh sparks of pleasure racing up your spine and down through your core, making your inner muscles clench with need. 

You could feel yourself growing wetter with every passing second, the warm arousal leaking steadily from your entrance and coating his fingers as they worked you loose. Your legs fell farther apart around his body, thighs quivering with the effort to stay open for him as the tension deep inside you coiled tighter and tighter, like a spring being wound to its limit.

Scott never looked away, his gaze locked on your face and then drifted lower to watch the way your cunt responded to his touch while his free hand rested heavily on your inner thigh now, holding you steady and spread wide so he could see everything. He varied the rhythm to keep you on edge, alternating between those perfect, consistent circles and broader strokes that dragged over your clit before returning to focused pressure right at the apex. The wet, obscene sounds of his thumb sliding through your increasing slickness mixed with your growing moans, filling the bedroom and making the air feel thicker, hotter.

Your breaths came faster, turning into soft pants that bordered on whimpers. The heat in your belly expanded rapidly, spreading outward in heavy, pulsing waves that made your toes curl against the sheets and your back arch clean off the mattress. Every muscle in your body seemed to draw tight as the pleasure mounted higher until it finally broke over you in a devastating rush. 

The orgasm crashed through you with breathtaking intensity, starting deep in your core and radiating outward in rhythmic contractions. Your cunt fluttered and squeezed hard around nothing while your moans turned raw and unrestrained, echoing softly in the room while your entire body shook and trembled beneath him, thighs clamping around his hand as the pleasure rolled on and on, leaving you gasping for air and dizzy with satisfaction.

Even as the peak began to fade into warm, lingering aftershocks, Scott kept his thumb moving in gentler strokes, drawing out every last bit of sensation until you were left panting on the bed.

“That’s one,” he announced, using the slick in his hand to lubricate the condom further before fisting his cock and adjusting to push in slowly, the thick head stretching your entrance as you gasped at the sudden fullness. “Isn’t this what you’ve been thinking about?” He teased, giving a tentative thrust out and then back in, letting you feel every inch of him sliding home.

“You’re so full of yourself,” you moaned, the words breaking apart on the way out, breathless and uneven as your body adjusted to the depths he reached.

“Not the one being stuffed at the moment,” he answered with a low grin you could feel more than see as he bent down to press a slow kiss against your jaw and then lower along the sensitive skin of your neck. Against your ear he mumbled, “Focus…start counting.”

His hips began to move then, rolling into a steady rhythm that stole what little composure you had left. His shaft dragged heavily against your still pulsating walls, the thick length stroking every sensitive spot inside you with wet, filthy sounds that filled the room and made the mattress rock beneath you with every impact.

“Count,” he reminded you again, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he maintained that same unbroken rhythm.

You counted under your breath each time his pelvis collided with yours, though you didn’t truly believe there would be any substantial consequence if you didn’t. The steady slap of skin on skin mixed with the slick glide of his dick pumping into your drenched folds, every thrust pushing deep, stretching you open and rubbing perfectly against that spot that made your toes curl. Your inner walls clenched around him rhythmically, still fluttering from the first orgasm as he fucked you through the lingering sensitivity.

The wet sounds grew louder with each movement, your arousal coating his cock and dripping down to soak the covers beneath you.

“I still think about the first time I made you cum,” he grunted between thrusts, voice roughened by effort. “Do you?”

Your breath caught on a sharp whimper as your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, knuckles tightening. “Not a good time…”you managed. He huffed a low laugh at that, the sound rolling through his chest and into you where you were already pressed too close to think clearly.

“Good time as any,” he murmured, breath warm against your skin. “You’re good at multitasking.”

“Uh…it doesn’t–” you started, though the thought trailed off completely as you lost it to the deep, relentless thrusts. His hips snapped forward with controlled force, driving his cock into you over and over rhythmically. You could feel every vein and ridge as he filled you completely, pulling out just enough for the head to catch at your entrance before plunging back in and making your pussy squelch wetly around him. 

“Doesn’t what?” He asked, gaze fixed on your face as he noticed the way your thighs tensed tighter around his waist and the way your grip on him changed from holding to clinging.

“Apply to sex,” you blurted out, breath coming fast now, words clipped between shallow inhales. “‘m gonna cum.”

“Mhm,” he hummed condescendingly. “Nobody’s surprised.”

He kept going at the same pace, cock plunging deep and pelvis grinding against your clit with every forward motion until your breath hitched sharply and the second orgasm crashed over you even harder than the first.

Your entire body seized as a guttural cry tore from your throat. Every nerve ending lit up at once with a white-hot surge that radiated outward in concentric pulls. Your cunt clamped around his cock with a strength that surprised even you, muscles attempting to milk him in rapid, involuntary contractions that made his thick ridge drag against your swollen walls with each desperate squeeze.

The moment it hit its peak, he spoke again. “How many was that?” He asked, hips still rolling smoothly to prolong the orgasm, drawing out every shudder as your walls continued to flutter and squeeze him. The wet sounds of his thrusts turned obscenely louder as your slick flooded around his shaft in a gush of warm fluid that coated his pelvis and dribbled down your ass crack onto the mattress. You could feel the way your inner walls fluttered and gripped, the textures of your own flesh squeezing every vein and bump of his length while your thighs locked tighter around his hips, heels digging into his lower back as if to trap him inside you forever.

Your vision swam, the ceiling light blurring into streaks of gold. A sharp, keening moan spilled from your lips, broken by gasps as his unrelenting rhythm continued, even as your peak made your whole body tremble like a plucked string. 

“Mmm, twenty seven,” you moaned, hand digging into his forearm as the orgasm slowly subsided, leaving you trembling and breathless. “Second orgasm.”

“Smart and attentive,” he grinned, slowing his pace to allow you to breathe.

You nodded against the mattress, trying to catch your breath as the warm aftershocks of your orgasm continued to pulse through you. “Attentive enough to remember you said–” you swallowed hard, voice still shaky as your chest rose and fell rapidly. “And I quote ‘leaving me’ during our conversation at the office…I thought you of all people would understand what casual sex is,” you grinned, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Can’t leave you if we’re not together.”

“Oh, I am aware…If we were together you wouldn’t doubt your ability to cum more than three times,” he said, immediately thrusting into you with one long, measured stroke. His cock pushed through your still-sensitive walls, making them flutter and grip around him as you gasped in surprise at the sudden overwhelm. “It’d be a shame for that box of condoms to go unused though.”

You grinned despite the way your entire body trembled, your breasts bouncing freely with each thrust as he picked up an uninterrupted rhythm again. The length of his cock stretched you so perfectly, sliding through your soaked pussy with maddening precision. 

“It’s okay…my suitors don’t always use them,” you managed to tease, the words breaking into a breathy moan as he drove in particularly deep and ground his hips in a slow circle.

“Funny…” he replied dryly, dark eyes locked on your face as he watched every reaction closely. “Have any favorites?” He asked then, never once slowing the pounding of his cock into your dripping cunt.

You shook your head, trying desperately to keep your voice steady even as intense pleasure sparked through you with every single thrust. “I know you don’t make the list though…you haven’t been–uh…fuck,” you moaned loudly, pelvis tilting back for him to effectively hit target. “Performing particularly well.”

He hummed low and amused right against your ear in response, breath hot and ragged on your skin. “One data point from each category doesn't make for a reliable average…Can’t base a whole hypothesis off two results, you know that.”

“Scott–”

“I’m serious. You called me a pervert just to cum all over my dick? What the hell does that make you?” His hips didn’t slow for even a second. If anything, they found a devastating new pace that made your next protest die somewhere deep in your throat. His cock plunged into you again and again, the heavy drag of his length rubbing relentlessly against every sensitive inch of your walls while the wet slap of his pelvis meeting your soaked pussy echoed through the room. 

The pressure inside you built rapidly once more, that familiar heavy warmth spreading through your core as your walls fluttered and squeezed greedily around him.

“This isn’t–” you gasped sharply as he changed his angle slightly, driving even deeper to fill you entirely. “...science. Far from it.”

“Everything is science.” He caught your jaw firmly in his hand, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to look directly at him. His expression remained cocky and unbothered, jaw clenched with concentration as sweat glistened on his forehead and along the strong line of his neck. His eyes burned with raw lust and focus as if he could keep fucking you exactly like this for hours without tiring. “If you want accurate data on my performance, you’re gonna need way more trials than this…statistically speaking.”

“You’re an ass–”

“I’m thorough.” His mouth dropped to your neck and you felt him smile against your overheated skin as he continued pounding into you without mercy. His cock slid in and out with slick, filthy ease, your abundant arousal coating every inch of him and dripping messily with every powerful thrust. “Guess I’ll just have to keep coming back…purely for research purposes.” He turned his mouth toward your ear, voice dropping into a low, teasing growl. “Twenty nine condoms left in that box and with the ones at my apartment we should have enough margin for trial, don't you think?” He grinned, hips snapping forward sharply to emphasize his words. “When we run out I’ll just cum inside of you.”

You gasped sharply, your entire body tensing and seizing as another orgasm ripped through you without warning. The pleasure hit hard and deep, making your pussy clamp down around his thick cock in strong pulses as your thighs quivered violently, mouth falling open in a long, broken moan as the overwhelming sensation consumed you completely, leaving your mind hazy and your body pulsing with need.

“That breeding kink of yours is gonna do miracles,” he marveled, voice rough and strained with arousal as he kept moving through your climax.

“Don’t have one,” you whimpered, the words barely forming as the orgasm continued to crash over you.

“Then why does the thought of it make you cum? Might need to notify the rest of your body of that,” he groaned, looking down between your bodies to watch intently as his cock pistoned in and out of you. The sight of his thick, slicked shaft plunging in and out of your swollen, dripping pussy was obscene, your lips stretched around him, plump and glistening, your hole gripping him with every withdrawal, trying to keep him inside. 

“Trying to milk me dry…fuck.” He kept thrusting steadily, prolonging the pleasure until your body tensed firmly beneath him. “Number?”

You could barely form words, your head shaking weakly from side to side as you remained lost in the overwhelming haze of pleasure. Your chest heaved with each ragged inhale, your skin flushed hot all over as your pussy continued to flutter and squeeze around his thick cock even as the peak of your orgasm slowly began to fade.

“Irrelevant,” you managed to reply, your voice hoarse and breathless.

He shook his head, pulling out of you with a wet pop. The sudden emptiness devastated you, you moaned loudly at the loss, your hand instinctively shooting down between your legs to cover your sore pussy. Your fingers pressed against your puffy, sensitive folds as if trying to hold in the overwhelming ache, walls clenching desperately around nothing while slick arousal continued to leak out against your palm.

“Think,” he said, voice rough.

You grabbed onto his shirt desperately with your free hand, tugging him closer as you tried to collect your scattered thoughts through the lingering fog of pleasure. At the same time, Scott wrapped his hand around his own cock, giving it a few firm pumps as he hovered over you. 

The wet, glistening length looked painfully hard, flushed dark at the tip but after only a few strokes he hissed sharply through his teeth and abandoned the motion. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, rising and falling visibly as he looked down at you with dark and hungry eyes. 

The sight of you lying there needy and trembling, one hand cupping your dripping pussy while you stared up at him, seemed to affect him just as badly.

“I want a total,” he pressed, still breathing hard.

“Third orgasm,” you breathed, fingers absentmindedly pressing a little firmer against your sensitive folds for relief.

“Mhm…I’ll congratulate you when we reach double digits. What else?”

Your eyes widened as you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, staring at him in disbelief while your body still buzzed and trembled. “Double digits? Scott–”

“I want a number,” he repeated firmly, his voice low and commanding, chest still rising and falling heavily.

“Or what?” You challenged, still trying to catch your breath, hand remaining protectively over your aching pussy.

“It’s basic math,” he tried again, his tone teasing but unwavering as he looked down at you with that heated, predatory focus.

You sighed heavily and dropped back onto the mattress, your limbs feeling heavy and your pussy still throbbing with sensitivity as you tried to gather your thoughts. “Forty…two?”

“Is that a guess?” He asked, tilting his head as he grabbed the back of both your legs and pushed them closer to your chest, folding you nearly in half beneath him and exposing you completely.

“Am I wrong?” You asked, eyes drifting from his face down to his heavy, glistening cock dangling between your bodies. You gasped sharply as he pushed back inside in one smooth, devastatingly selfish stroke.

“Close enough,” he groaned as he began thrusting again, hips snapping forward with renewed purpose. The new angle allowed him to drive deeper, thick cock stretching your sensitive pussy wide open and rubbing relentlessly against every nook and cranny inside you repeatedly. The filthy sounds of him fucking into your dripping heat grew louder, your arousal coating his shaft completely and leaking out around him in messy rivulets with each thrust. The overwhelming fullness and friction left you moaning helplessly, body rocking beneath him as pleasure built rapidly once more.

You laughed breathlessly between your own broken moans. “You’re so full of shit, Miller…You can’t even admit the fact that you don’t know the rules to your own fucking game.”

“I know what the outcome should be,” he confessed, face twitching with pleasure as every deep thrust pulled fresh, uncontrollable noises from your throat. His cock plunged in and out of you steadily, the heavy drag of his length filling you completely and making your soaked pussy squelch obscenely around him with every movement. “Keep count. If we’re gonna do this more often, I can’t be responsible for our success rate decreasing…I need to know you can function after being thoroughly fucked.”

“I realize now…” you paused, swallowing hard as you tried to focus through the overwhelming haze of pleasure clouding your mind, the erotic sounds of sex making it nearly impossible to string thoughts together. “That you think very highly of your dick.”

“If it’s anything like your…glorious pussy, you will soon too,” he replied, voice low and rough with the effort of holding back while buried inside your tight heat.

“Glorious?” You giggled, the sound dissolving quickly into a breathy moan as he angled his hips just right and dragged the thick head of his cock across your g-spot.

“Never been good with words that aren’t insults…I’ll get back to you on that,” he groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through his chest. “I’ll understand if you want to gatekeep it from me…I’m turning into a fucking addict and I’m not above begging if you keep it to yourself,” he leaned down to press his lips firmly to yours because he knew that if he heard that breathy-moan hybrid once more, he would probably cum right then and there.

You kissed him back to the best of your abilities, one hand pushing off his baseball cap so you could run your fingers through his hair and grip the strands tightly. Your tongues danced messily together, tasting and exploring as his thrusts refused to slow or stop. Each stroke stretched you open wider, filling you completely and rubbing against every sensitive inch of your walls. The slick glide of his thick cock pumping in and out of your dripping pussy created constant wet sounds that mixed with your muffled moans into his mouth. The overwhelming fullness, the heat of his body pressed against yours and the taste of him on your tongue all blended into a storm of sensation that left you dizzy and desperate for more.

Eventually, your doorbell rang loudly through the house, the sound cutting cleanly through the heavy breathing and slick sounds of sex. Scott pulled back from your lips to look at you, eyes widening in brief surprise, yet his hips kept moving, driving his cock deep into you with relentless thrusts as if the interruption barely registered. You laughed breathlessly, both hands flying up to hide your face before he could see just how completely undone you had become, your expression wrecked every time he snapped his hips forward just right and ground against your clit. Between your splayed fingers, you watched his eyes flick toward the bedside table, lingering briefly on the box of condoms before returning to you. His brows pulled together, confusion settling across his face as he searched yours for an explanation.

“Were you serious?” He asked. Had sleeping with you that first night somehow triggered some carefully planned rotation of men? He wouldn't be angry and he wasn't exactly hurt, but the reality of someone else showing up at your door while still buried balls deep inside you was unfamiliar territory. Between your hands, your breathy laughter only deepened the crease between his brows, doing absolutely nothing to ease the knot forming in his stomach.

You suddenly gasped sharply, your hands flying away from your face to dig into his arms for support. “Fuck…fuck–fuck!”

“Yeah, I’d rather do it uninterrupted,” he muttered, breathing still uneven as he rested his forehead briefly against yours and kept thrusting into your soaked, clenching heat without missing a beat. “Who’s at the door?”

“Dinner…oh!” You whispered, the words cutting off as another orgasm hit you hard and fast. The pleasure exploded through your body with a heavy throb that made your cunt pulse and squeeze tightly around his cock, as fresh slick gushed out around him and you moaned loudly, the sound echoing through the room so intensely that you began doubting just how soundproof your house really was. You'd ordered pizza earlier as a simple thank-you for helping mount the television, a gesture that had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time but now, as the doorbell rang again, you couldn't help wondering whether it had ever been necessary. Judging by where the evening had ended up, you probably would've let him fuck you either way.

“Should have asked,” he started, voice strained as he forcefully pulled out of you with a loud, wet pop that left your empty pussy clenching and fluttering around nothing. He dropped to one knee, then the other, settling quickly on the floor at the foot of the bed and put his face right between your spread legs, staring hungrily at the sight of your puffy, glistening folds still twitching from the recent orgasm. “Usually like to start off with a sweet drink,” he said with a wicked grin before diving in without hesitation.

You moaned loudly, spine bowing off the mattress as his hot mouth offered sudden, intense relief and new pleasure after the constant stretch of his cock. Your shaky thighs rested heavily on his broad shoulders while his big, veiny hands wrapped firmly around them, massaging the trembling skin there and pulling you even closer against his face. His nose pressed and rubbed deliciously against your swollen clit with every movement, sending sharp sparks of overwhelming sensation shooting through your already sensitive body. 

The first stroke of that wet muscle against your oversensitive flesh made you jolt, a high, keening whine escaping your throat as he peppered your soaked slit with slow kisses and gentle, exploratory licks, savoring the taste of your abundant arousal as it coated his lips and tongue. He licked broad stripes from your entrance up to your clit before circling the swollen bud with focused attention, the wet sounds of his mouth working you over filled the room alongside your ragged moans. The warmth of his breath, the wet heat of his tongue and the firm grip of his hands all combined to keep you right on the edge.

His lips sealed around your clit, sucking it hard momentarily before withdrawing solely to speak.

“I am all ears,” he prompted between kisses and licks, looking up at you with dark, hungry eyes while you still tried desperately to catch your breath but the longer you failed to answer him, the more indifferent he became, knowing he was gradually losing you to the pleasure again. One of his hands reached up your body, pinching your nipple between two fingers and rolling it firmly, making you gasp sharply at the sudden sting of pleasure. Your hand moved up instinctively to cover his, holding him there as he massaged the sensitive peak and soothed the sting away with slow but firm handfuls.

“Four,” you swallowed hard, voice coming out hoarse after the intensity of your previous orgasms. One hand fisted the sheets, knuckles light, as he alternated between deep, probing licks inside you and teasing, featherlight touches on your swollen nub.

“Mhm…almost half way there. That it?” he prompted, warm breath ghosting over your slick, swollen folds as he remained positioned between your spread thighs.

“Lost count,” you slurred, the words barely coherent as jolts of lingering pleasure made it difficult to focus on anything else.

He hummed in clear disappointment, slowly shaking his head while his eyes stayed fixed on your dripping pussy. This whole thing had become a test of restraint for him, he needed to know he could keep his composure at work, that he could sit across from you in a meeting room, argue over data and not immediately think about getting you in bed. What better way to prove it than by denying you while forcing himself to watch? 

He released your breast, fingers trailing lightly down your side before pulling away, expression calm despite the battle he was clearly fighting with himself. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Your lips curled into a tired but undeniably sultry smile, your tone teasing despite how thoroughly spent your body felt. “You’re already down there…and it’s clear we aren’t getting any pizza…so get to licking. I would hate for such a big man like you to go hungry.”

“I’ll stay down here…but you’re gonna put those pretty hands to use. Give me something to look at,” he replied, darkened eyes gleaming with hunger as he watched you intently from his position between your legs.

“You must not want to reach double digits that badly,” you teased, trying to maintain some semblance of control even as your core throbbed with fresh need. You stretched across the mattress with a quiet moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing just how much the denial had gotten to you.

“No, I do…just want you to want it too,” he admitted, gaze dropping down to your glistening, puffy pussy before lifting back to your face. He could see the subtle flicker of disappointment cross your features when he held back from giving you exactly what you craved. “If you saw how I cleaned a yogurt lid, you’d stop playing hard to get,” he grinned, voice dropping into that low, teasing register you were starting to love. “I know you’ve been thinking about it…that night, on your dining table…”

“You could just remind me,” you shrugged, attempting to sound indifferent while your body betrayed you completely.

“You could just earn it,” he shot back, refusing to give an inch.

Once again, you held challenging eye contact with him, the tension crackling between you as neither seemed willing to fold first, though the insistent, needy pulsing of your greedy pussy eventually won out. 

Your hand moved lower with shaky determination, fingers inching across your lower belly until they reached your wet and puffy clit, while Scott’s eyes followed every movement hungrily, watching as your fingertips made contact with the glistening bud. Your cunt looked thoroughly used and beautifully plump, the outer lips engorged and parted to reveal the slick, shiny inner folds that still fluttered slightly from your release as clear arousal continued to leak slowly from your entrance, trailing down toward your ass and making everything look obscenely wet and inviting under the bedroom light.

You began rolling your clit gently under your fingertips, the direct stimulation sending sharp sparks of pleasure shooting through your tightly coiled body. A shaky huff escaped your lips as you threw your head back against the pillows, thighs trembling around his shoulders while he drank in the sight greedily, specifically the way your fingers moved in small, unsteady circles over your clit, occasionally dipping lower to spread your abundant wetness back up and make the entire area glisten even more. 

Your pussy clenched visibly at the touch, the tight entrance winking and pushing out another bead of slick that slowly dripped down as your breasts rose and fell rapidly with each breath, nipples still hard and flushed from his earlier attention. The visual was almost too much for him, your body laid out open and responsive, fingers working your most sensitive spot while he watched from mere inches away.

He breathed a stream of cool air directly onto your heated flesh as he continued to observe every detail. “That’s it…you won’t have to do this much often, if you agree to just call me every time your fantasies aren’t cutting it,” he murmured, blowing another gentle puff of cool air across your clit that made your fingers falter for a moment and your hips bucked. “Let’s just remember to skip this part during our quarterly partner reviews.”

His eyes stayed locked on every movement of your hand, intense focus fraying as he failed not to lick his lips. This was the last time he'd let himself acknowledge how unprofessional this was. It was purely selfish now, the thought dissolving until it barely qualified as one.

“There you go,” he murmured, voice low and condescending in the most delicious way. “Look at you playing with that pretty pussy just because I told you to. I knew you could do it…and you almost didn’t complain.” He leaned in and puffed another stream of cool air directly onto your heated clit, making a shiver run through your thighs. “Keep those fingers moving…nice and slow just like that. I want to see exactly how you touch yourself when you’re thinking of me.”

Your breath hitched as you obeyed, rolling your clit a little firmer under your fingertips. You could feel his gaze burning into you, watching as your pussy fluttered and leaked more arousal with every circle. Your other hand moved up to squeeze one of your breasts, pinching your nipple as your hips started to rock subtly against your own hand.

“Attagirl,” he praised, the words dripping with smug satisfaction, watching with dark eyes as your entrance clenched hard in response and more slick dripped out. “So fucking greedy. Don’t you worry, I’ll stuff you right after, I promise…I’ll fill you up nice and deep once you cum for me like this. You know I’m a man of my word.”

The combination of his words, his watchful stare and the occasional bursts of cool air had you trembling. Your fingers moved faster, sliding easily over your slick clit as the pressure built heavier in your core, muscles tensing as you chased the frantic crescendo. 

Scott’s hands stayed firmly on your thighs, holding you open wide so he could see everything. 

“You’re getting close already, aren't you?” he teased, cocky and unbothered. “I can see it, your pussy’s clenching like it’s begging for my cock…but you’re going to cum on your own fingers first, huh?” He puffed more cool air directly onto your clit right as your fingers pressed firmer, the sudden sensation making you moan loudly and arch your back. “Look at that pretty pussy dripping everywhere. Such a good, messy girl for me…I’ll fuck you so deep you’ll feel me for days…just cum for me and it’s all yours.”

Your fingers moved desperately now, circling and rubbing your clit with increasing urgency as the pleasure coiled tighter in your belly. The slick sounds grew louder with a squelching noise that swallowed the room while your arousal dripped down in messy uncontrollable rivulets.

Scott kept watching intently, occasionally blowing cool air directly onto your hypersensitive folds to tease you, each breath made your hips jerk and your pussy flutter visibly while his praises never stopped, they were a continuous stream of condescending encouragement that pushed you closer to the edge, reminding you exactly who you were coming for.

He blew one final, longer stream of cool air right against your opening just as the tension snapped. Your spine curved like a drawn bow as molten heat spread through your entire body, making your cunt clench and flutter wildly as the internal muscles squeezed tight.

Your hard and engorged clit pulsed rhythmically under your fingers, sending fresh spasms to your nerves that kept the climax rolling. Loud moans spilled from your lips unrestrained as you lost all composure, you weren't just peaking, you were drowning in it, leaving you shaking, chest heaving and gasping for air.

Scott stayed right where he was, eyes fixed on every twitch and contraction of your soaked pussy, watching the way your walls continued to ripple and clamp down even as the intensity began to fade and ensuring he didn't miss a single second of you coming completely undone for him.

He pushed your thighs gently off his shoulders and moved up your body again, keeping his eyes locked on your face as you gasped, still trembling from the intense oblivion. His lips glistened with your arousal and the sight of him crawling back over you, cock heavy and painfully hard between his legs, sent another shiver through your exhausted body. “If I’d known a few orgasms would shut you up,” he said, voice rough with amusement, “I would’ve bent you over the back of the truck the first week.”

You grinned tiredly, chest still rising and falling rapidly as you watched him wrap a fist around his thick cock and pump it slowly over you. The sight was mesmerizing, veined hand sliding along the glistening length as the head flushed dark and leaked into the condom. “You wouldn’t have…otherwise you wouldn’t have discovered arguing turns you on.”

“Not something I’d advertise,” his voice had gone rough, any pretense of composure slipping..

“Too many names on the roster?” you asked absentmindedly, eyes following every stroke of his fist along his cock, mesmerized by the way the muscles in his forearm flexed with each movement.

“None you need to keep count of,” he grinned, positioning himself at your entrance and slowly sinking back into your pussy. The thick head stretched you open once more, sliding deep with a wet, smooth glide that made you moan loudly at the overwhelming fullness. Your walls fluttered and clenched around him, still sensitive and slick from everything he had already put you through. “Except for yourself.”

“That made five orgasms…” you started, smile deceptively soft as you ran your nails slowly up the nape of his neck, threading them through his hair. You took a firm handful and pulled back sharply, your smile turning razor-sharp as he groaned deep in his throat, cock twitching hard inside you. “Every time you make me work for an orgasm is a day I won’t spend in that office of yours…So start earning your quota, Miller.”

He let out a deep chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest as his hips began moving again, driving into you with renewed intent. 

Numbers had never been Scott’s favorite part of the job, he was far more a man of action, preferring tornado chases and results over spreadsheets and tallies but if his tasks now included counting your orgasms and hunting something far more thrilling than any cloudburst, all while naked in your bed, he could definitely get behind it…or rather, on top.

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A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!

And you did know. But this was one of his good days, when everything made him laugh, when his memory was sharp and your anecdotes were met with a dozen follow-up questions. The zany neon lighting in the barcade dyed him pink and purple, like he was a cotton candy version of himself. It was a Thursday, and the place wasn’t too packed, which meant you had the pick of the cabinets after finishing your food.

Bob shoved his hand into his jeans pocket under the booth table, then slowly slid it toward you, eyes dancing with mischief.

“What’s this?” you asked, heart skipping up to your throat at the thought Bob had gotten you a gift. He didn’t really have money to throw around; his stipend was minimal until he actually got his suit back and joined the team in earnest.

“It’s a surprise.”

Your brows lifted, grabby hands scuttling across the table toward where his rested in a firm lump. “Can I see?”

“I don’t know, it’s pretty sweet,” he said with a proud little sigh, lips pursed.

You pawed at his hand, which was futile; even if Bob had little to no active control over his Sentry powers, he was still ambiently enhanced by the serum. You were never going to get those fingers pried open, but damn was it fun to try. He enjoyed it, too, dissolving into quiet laughter as you put all of your weight behind a yank on his thumb.

“Hey,” he teased, clearing his throat like he was all business. “That tickles. You’re gonna give me a hangnail.”

“Bob. Come on.”

He snorted, uncupping his hand, lifting it away to reveal a shiny pile of quarters.

“Not bad, right?” he asked, playfully cocky as he crossed his arms and kicked back in the booth. “That’s enough to last us hours. Maybe the whole night.”

“Wow,” you said. You were kind of hoping for, like, racy panties or a bracelet or something, but this was life with Bob. It took some adjusting, but so far, it was worth it. Maybe you weren’t being wined and dined, but you had never been with someone so willing to attune to your emotions, someone who listened, really listened, and often couldn’t remember where he left, well, anything, but kept a clean mental inventory of your favorite pizza toppings, favorite songs, favorite coffee mug, favorite movies.

“I know. I take care of my girl.” He winked, then flicked a few quarters off the pile toward you, scooping up the rest, flicking his head toward the rows of arcade cabinets lining the wall to his left, your right. “Come on, show me what you got.”

You picked the closest game with a name you recognized.

“Hell yes,” Bob whispered, tugging his lip between his teeth like he was getting turned on. “Mortal Kombat II, classic. Who are you gonna pick?”

You sidled up to him, leaning in a little close, head tilted to the side as you considered the lineup. “Well, there’s like two girls so not a ton of options…”

“You don’t have to play as a girl,” Bob pointed out, inserting the quarters and moving the stick over to pick Scorpion.

“Yeah, but I’d like to.” You decided on Kitana, since her outfit was fierce and her fans were cool.

“Man, Kitana is so hot,” Bob whispered, glancing at you askance, blushing. He fiddled with the joystick. “Sort of a formative crush.”

You swiveled, leaning against the cabinet. “Maybe I should ask Valentina for a redesign on my outfit…”

“No,” he blurted out, startling toward you. His hand closed gently over your wrist, eyes huge and imploring. “Please don’t do that. I mean, you’re kidding? You’re kidding.”

“I’m kidding.” You watched his shoulders relax as he blinked slowly, then turned his attention back to the screen. “Unless…”

Bob stilled, brows tense. “Unless what?”

Shrugging, you selected your character, stubbornly fixing your attention on the game instead of Bob, even as he stared directly at the side of your face. This was date number eight, not that you were obsessively counting. And all of those dates had gone well, and they all ended at the same place: the door to your bedroom in the tower dormitories. Bob would lean in, your heart would cram itself into your throat, he would kiss you sweetly on the lips, sometimes the kiss would deepen, and you would think: this is it, he’s going to ask to stay over. But then he would pull away abruptly and come up with an excuse to end the night there.

Sometimes he didn’t even bother with an excuse, just squished his mouth to one side and said goodnight.

You were starting to wonder if this was something beyond shyness or chivalry. You were beginning to wonder if there was something wrong.

 “It’s just…” You trailed off, suddenly nervous. Guilty. Bob was dealing with enough; he didn’t need to be pressured into a physical relationship he wasn’t ready for. Maybe his therapist had recommended he avoid that kind of thing. Maybe the serum had done something weird to his libido. Maybe he was a virgin, and he was worried about being judged. There were a hundred possibilities and none of them were your business unless he felt like sharing, though on Date Eight it was really starting to feel like your business… The disappointment was beginning to feel like rejection. “Sorta sucks, I guess, to hear that from you.”

Bob detached from the joysticks altogether, losing interest in the game as you stumbled your way through this hot-faced confession.

“Wait, what’s going on?” he asked, carefully placing one hand on your hip, turning you toward him.

You twitched moodily at his touch. “She’s hot,” you said, in disbelief at the situation as you gestured toward some fucking pixels. “Formative crush. Whatever. It would just be nice to feel like you…” You took in a big breath, bracing to lay out the truth. “Like you wanted me. Like you wanted to fuck me.”

Bob froze, face shattering like you had slapped it.

“What? Babe, I do, I…” he whispered, stricken. Bob looked down at his shoes, then at you, then at the door. “Can we do this somewhere else?”

You nodded, letting him take your hand.

It was a long walk back to the tower.

Bob held on to you, fingers laced tightly through yours, refusing to let go. He blew out a halting breath, glancing up at the milky film of light pollution over the city. You didn’t say anything, feeling him build toward something you needed desperately to hear. The insane number of quarters in his pocket jangled quietly on every step.

“So, here goes,” he said, with the kind of gentle courage that had won your heart in the first place. “I want to do this right, satisfy you, all that stuff, be the boyfriend you want me to be, but…” He shook his head, venting a dry laugh down at the sidewalk. “I don’t know if I remember how. I didn’t get girls because I was rich or a bad ass, you know? I got them because I knew how to score drugs.”

His hand was wet with sweat against yours, but you didn’t care. You waited, you let him say it at his own pace. He was walking faster now, like maybe he could outrun all of the difficult things that had to be said.

“And then we did those drugs,” Bob went on, pale, eyes searching the darkness ahead of you. “We got high together. We drank. We got black out. Maybe I had a good time, maybe they came, maybe not, maybe I did, maybe not. I don’t remember, I don’t—” He almost laughed again, but it came out tortured, terrified. “I asked Mel to email me my file a few weeks ago, because I didn’t know what my status was. It’s actually unbelievable that I didn’t contract anything, living like I was. I wasn’t thinking about that. I wasn’t thinking about anything but getting high, tuning out.”

He wiped his free hand down his face. Your fingers tightened around him.

“And now I have this. I have you. And it’s like…starting over again.” The tower loomed, and both of you noticed. Bob’s steps slowed until you were standing together under a tree half a block from the corporate glass box you both called home. “It’s fucking crazy,” he finished, unable to meet your eye. He stared down at the sliver of grassy dirt between you. “I don’t even know what I like because I’ve never had it in a way that meant something.”

You took his other hand, moving closer.

“Romantic, I know,” he sighed.

“It is.”

Bob’s head twitched up.

“It’s always romantic when you trust me. Can we talk upstairs?” you asked, nodding toward the building spearing up to your left. “We don’t have to do anything--”

“I wanna do things,” Bob interrupted, leaning down to brush his lips against your cheek. The skin of his face was burning hot. There was a hungry tremble in his voice. “I wanna do everything. With you. To you.”

You closed your eyes with relief, tugging him into you. Bob hooked his arm around your waist, following you inside the tower, up the elevator. It all got tremendously real once he was actually in your room, the door shut and the bolt thrown. You dropped your keys in the dish on your bookcase, then flicked the lights on to a warm, dim setting. Once you shucked your jacket and threw it on a reading chair in the corner, you turned to find Bob inspecting your bookcase, then your walls and everything you had up on them, then your bed…

“It’s so you,” he said with a shy, dorky laugh. He came back to you, middle of the room, hands looped together in front of his waist.

“Thanks?”

“Complimentary,” Bob assured you, rolling one shoulder. Silence barricaded him in, color seeping up from under his nubbly sweater. It was time, again, to return to the conversation that had started outside. No pressure.

“Can I ask you something?”

Bob nodded, lips pressed together in nervous anticipation.

“You said that you don’t know what you like, but do you, you know, watch anything or—”

“Like porn?” Bob smirked, reaching for you, flattening his hand to run it horizontally across your waist, then rest it over your hip. Heat fluttered in your stomach. Okay. Okay. This was escalating. Your heart knocked against your ribs. “Yeah, I watch some stuff.”

You ran your hands up his chest, tangling them in the front of his sweater. With your throat drying up, you asked in a rasp, “Recent searches?”

Bob shakily took his phone out of his pocket, unlocked it, navigated to his PornHub account before handing you the device. You couldn’t believe he was trusting you with it.

“Bob, are you sure? This is so private--”

“Yeah,” he swallowed with the difficulty of someone who was very not sure about the decision he had just made. His brows tented as you slowly scrolled through his latest watched videos. His hands curled into fists at his sides, like he was holding himself back from coming to his senses and snatching the phone back. Tattooed Big Booty Goth Slut Dominates Me After Beating Me in Mario Kart. Making My Boyfriend Worship My Pussy and Ass. Worshipping My Hot Slut Goddess Superhero Wife. When Men Lose Control.

In the quiet that followed your scrolling, Bob began to shake. You angled the phone back toward him while certain things slotted into place. Letting you see his porn history wasn’t just inspiration or instruction, it was foreplay. It was submission.

“Which of these did you like the most?” you asked, half to step into character, half because you were genuinely curious.

Bob swallowed noisily again, pointing.

But by now, it was clear to you what he wanted. You suspected he knew, too, but was too shy to come right out and say it. Something dark and delicious stirred inside you, a need to see him reach a bliss nobody had ever given him before. To not just be his sober first, but his safe harbor. Someone he could trust. Someone that could make him come undone with the lights on, no judgment, just pleasure, just dirty play time for two very willing adults.

“No. Say it,” you told him, firm. His eyes widened; the command jolted through him, and that recognition that you understood, that the car was driving in a higher gear, thrilled you, too. His eyes searched back and forth across your face.

“I’d like to hear you say it,” you added, sweet but insistent, pushing the edge of the phone against his stomach.

“Fuck,” he murmured, closing his eyes briefly before forcing them back open. “Okay.” He leaned down slightly, and from the time it took him, it seemed like he was remembering how to read. “W-Worshipping My Hot Slut Goddess Superhero Wife.”

You hadn’t heard him stammer like that in a long, long time. He straightened, staring at the wall beyond your shoulder, spine tight enough to snap.

“Incredibly specific,” you said, looking down at the phone.

“Yeah, although I don’t like that word,” Bob murmured, wincing.

“Which one? Slut?”

He nodded, flinching again.

“That’s okay.” You gave him his phone back and he wordlessly shoved it in his pocket. Gently, you cupped his face, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. The sound he made startled you both, a pained whimper from the top of his throat. It came out automatically, like it had been lodged there for eight dates. “Why don’t you like saying it?”

Bob whetted his lips, digging for courage once more. “That’s not what you are.”

“No?” You shook your head and he did it back, sliding into his role so effortlessly it made you shiver. Carefully, you slid your hand further, cradling the back of his head, exerting gentle downward pressure until he lowered himself to his knees. “No,” you said, knowing this was it; one more step and you were both in it for keeps. “That’s not what I am,” you agreed, petting his hair back from his face. He listed forward slightly, chasing your touch. “I’m your goddess.”

You skirted around the other descriptors, which felt loaded in a way neither of you were ready for. It wasn’t a question, but Bob pushed his face against your thigh through your dress, planting it there, rubbing against you. “Yes.”

“That you want to worship.”

“Yes.” He shifted back slightly, kneeling on his haunches. “Tell me what to do. Please.”

“Why would I do that?” you teased, still combing his hair back with your fingertips, enjoying the stubborn expression that crossed his face.

“Because I—because I want to make you feel good.” He looked up and down your body. “So good.”

“Bob.” You couldn’t help but wobble; his eyes were liquid desire as he gazed at you, chest pumping, lips parted as he waited for you to help him. This was new for you, too, having a man on his knees who was desperate to learn, desperate to please. The vast number of options before you were somewhat intimidating. You closed your eyes, remembering all the times you had crawled into bed after a date with him, wet and wanting and lonely. The fantasies that sprang to mind in those moments would have to be your guide.

“Push my dress up,” you heard yourself say, even before your eyes were fully open.

He did, readily, big, expressive hands gliding up the tops of your thighs, thumbs hooking in the stretchy fabric and peeling upward, higher, higher, until the colorful edges of your panties were exposed. He groaned, eyes flicking to you, awaiting instruction.

“This is kind of intense without weed,” he whispered.

“Nothing to take the edge off,” you agreed with a laugh, having had your share of tipsy hookups. “Nowhere to hide.”

He nodded.

You drew in a shuddering breath, locking eyes with him. “Are you okay? Should we keep going?”

An enthusiastic nod.

“Take my panties off.”

“Okay, yeah,” Bob murmured, blinking rapidly. His hands slid under your dress, then around the waistband of your thong underwear, tugging until the wetness sealing them to your sex gave and they dropped to the floor. “We’re doing this.”

“We’re doing this.”

“It’s so pretty,” Bob whispered, eyes flickering from your face to the heated skin right in front of him. “You’re so pretty. I…I want to taste you.”

You snorted softly. “I thought this was about what I want?”

“It is,” he hurried to say, wrapping his arms around your legs, chin tucked against your pubic mound as he gave you his best impression of a total innocent. You knew better. For all of his sweetness and light, he could be mischievous, sly, acerbic. “But also, I want to taste you. Can I?”

What were you, heartless? “Mmhm.”

“Hell yes.” He dove toward you face-first, kissing frantically across the tops of your thighs before pushing his cheeks across the front of your pussy, rubbing against it like he could mark it with his scent, claim it. “Fuck, I want it so bad.”

You took a fistful of his hair, tugging gently, stalling him before his lips could collide with you again. Bob’s eyes seared up your body, a frantic muscle jumping in his jaw.

“Say please.”

“Please,” he whimpered, leaning into the hand pulling his hair. “Please, baby, let me taste you.”

You guided his face closer by the hair, his breath warm and humid against dripping wet flesh. Bob did the rest, leaning into you, licking the soft outer seam of your sex before his fingers rose to meet his mouth, urging you open. At the tentative lick, he gave a groan that sounded like it had been building since your first kiss. His hesitation vanished, hands pawing at you, opening you wider so he could drive his tongue inside, lapping like a parched animal.

“Just like that,” you murmured, breathy, grinding his head against you, hitching one thigh over his shoulder. “F-Fingers here,” you told him, taking your free hand and clapping it over one of his, positioning it at the apex, his thumb following yours until both were nestled against your clit. “Oh, shit, um…” Those words didn’t tumble out with much authority. You were closer than you thought, the sight of him on his knees, begging to please you, had been tugging a hot cord tight around your spine.

Bob didn’t notice you shivering and swearing until you started working your hips faster and faster against him. He moaned into your body, the eyes he had closed in ecstasy snapping open as you blurted out his name.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s good,” he whispered, breaking only long enough to mumble out those words. “Wanna see you let go, wanna taste it…”

You tossed your head, biting down on a damning noise. You were supposed to be the one teaching him, the one in charge, but damn, eagerness certainly made up for inexperience, or forgetfulness, or whatever this was. “N-No. Have to make you work for it.”

He groaned, pressing his face more firmly against you, meeting your thrusts, gone, his chin wedged between your thighs and mouth so tight to your pussy you were starting to worry he would suffocate. And if anyone could accidentally suffocate eating their girlfriend out, it was Bob Reynolds.

His eyes found yours across the undulating span of your body. “So make me,” he whispered, right into your body, then closed his eyes again and went back to work.

It had been an empty, stupid threat, but now you had to make good on it. Now you had to hold yourself back from a brink that had been powering toward you since he dropped to his knees. How the fuck were you supposed to clamp down on that feeling?

Especially when he was starting to figure you out, and fast, already realizing that the smooth, deep circles around your clit were making you buck harder, and the hum of his voice against your entrance drove you insane, too, and then his fingers joined his tongue, fucking into you on long, squelching strokes so filthy and noisy you both moaned like it was a total surprise, like you hadn’t been covering his face in sticky slick for the last five minutes…

You clutched his head with both hands, holding on for dear life.

Not a single cell in your being wanted him to stop, and yet, if he didn’t, you would unravel so, so quickly.

You caught your breath, you forced yourself to focus, and you were doing pretty well, clenching your stomach and thinking about taxes and not looking at the way he licked you like his favorite sweet, but Bob was learning on his own, branching out. Trying things. Clever boy. He kissed his way up to his left hand, sucking your clit between his lips while the fingers of his right hand searched deeper, curling, petting you with an insistence that was borderline unfair.

“Holy shit,” you whispered. “Oh my God.”

Fuck it, let him take this round.

You stopped holding back, allowing yourself to really take it in—his grunts of effort, the way he moaned into you like driving you wild was just as pleasurable for him, like the sensation pooling in your belly was mutual, shared between you. You let yourself see him as he really was—a desperate man on his knees with only worship on the mind.

“You’re really, really g-good at that,” you managed to bite out, and he shuddered at the praise. “Good boy—” He moaned, wrecked. “Such a good boy making me…making me…”

Bob’s hands let go, then smoothed around your thighs to your ass, cupping both cheeks and forcing you harder against his face, tonguing your clit like he was trying to medal in it. He had invented a new sport, a new passion, and fuck if he wasn’t going to be number one at it. Your nerves buzzed. His fingers on your ass sank in, possessive. Grinding back against him, there was nowhere to go but down, falling into the swirling hot whirlpool just tantalizingly at the edge of your perception.

You let him push you there. You clamped down on a scream that would get you both a lot of raised eyebrows in the morning, hands deep in his hair, nails tight to his scalp.

Weightless, drifting, you gently let go of his hair, his grip on your butt loosening as he smiled up at you, dreamy-eyed and perhaps slightly smug. You settled down slowly to the floor, cuddling into him, pressing your face into his neck. His sweater was so warm, he was so warm. “Were you by any chance a professional lollypop tester in another life?”

Bob chuckled, eyes bright, smoothing his hands down your back. He grabbed the neck of his sweater and pulled it up wiped off his chin, then kissed your forehead. “You were making all these sounds so. I just kept going.”

“Strong instinct.”

“They were interesting sounds.” He smiled. “Won’t be forgetting those.”

Bob tugged your dress off the rest of the way, eyes moving over your in sweeps as he reached behind you and unhooked your bra, then tossed it away. There was no way you were going to let him stay fully clothed.

“This has got to go,” you teased, leaning into him again to hook your thumbs under his baggy sweater and fling it over his head. Bob glanced away, red-faced, chewing the inside of his cheek, like maybe you had a secret, deep-seated loathing for hard, lean musculature and rippling abs. Like he wasn’t perfect.

“These, too,” you said, and reached for this belt buckle.

Bob helped you undo it, blowing out a ragged breath, hands shaky as he tugged his jeans open and kicked them off. When he was done, he glanced off to the side again, fingers stilling around the waistband of his boxer briefs. He was so hard his shorts couldn’t contain him. You kissed the corner of his mouth and his eyes fluttered shut as your hands met his, helping him roll the shorts lower.

“Got a little excited,” he said, laughing anxiously.

“I can see that.”

“How do you…how should we…” Bob watched you take off his underwear, blinking fast like his brain couldn’t keep up with what he was seeing. It probably would’ve been better to get off the floor, but you were aching for him, and the carpet burn would just be another reminder tomorrow of how hot he looked with his big, gooey eyes asking all the right questions and his hands reaching for you.

You reached right back, pulling him toward you, hard enough to communicate just how much you wanted him. And Bob let you do it, because he could be solid as a concrete wall, but just then he was only hard and firm where he needed to be. He tumbled over you, pinning you to the floor, hair shadowing his face as he pressed his body against yours, kissing you with the fervor of a man starved. You could’ve stayed like that, making out with him in a tangle of your discarded clothes forever, but Bob had other ideas, feeling you up, his left hand already going right back to where it was before, rubbing through your soaked folds until he teased out your clit again, still swollen and too sensitive.

Arching into his kiss, you flung one arm over his shoulders, gasping up at the ceiling while Bob revived his new favorite trick. There had never been a time in your life when a guy had tried to double down on an orgasm that fast, ignoring his own throbbing erection, all attention on you.

It was too much. Near side of painful. It shouldn’t have felt so good, intoxicatingly weird, like something you weren’t meant to know about yourself, like a secret your body had been keeping until now. It would’ve hurt if you weren’t so wet, the glide of his fingers a blow to your composure on every completed circle.

“C-Can’t,” you whispered, hips betraying you, making you chase the deep, dark pull you felt behind your stomach. “Too much, it’s too much, I can’t…”

“I think you can.”

Your mouth dropped open. Jesus Christ, Bob.

“I think you like it.”

You just held on. You just let him do it. If this was worship, then it was time to trust the supplicant.

“I think you need it.”

You wailed his name, heedless of the social consequences, of what it would bring down on both your heads in the group chat. You didn’t care. You couldn’t think. This was an orgasm from hell, dragging you down into fire. You clung to him, legs soft and open, body his for the taking. The speaker on your nightstand crackled to life; Bob groaned something you couldn’t understand as he flattened his fingers, palming you while you rode out the last of the thickening waves; a warm, wet gush bloomed across your upper thigh.

“Should we?”

You had about five seconds to rearrange your melted brain into a solid state. Bob was over you, kneeling between your thighs, dick in hand as he leaned down to nibble along your jaw.

The music threaded itself through your bleary thoughts.

𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘪𝘵

𝘐𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴, 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭

𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘪𝘵

𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘸

Bob’s mouth slanting across yours filled you with enough heat to defrost your brain. You jerked upward against him, nodding. When he broke the kiss, your eyes skipped down from his tense, focused eyes to his chest, further to where his spend was cooling on your leg. Oh. His dick was hard again, thickening in his hand as he dropped his hips lower.

“Yes,” you finally told him, finding your voice, just a rasp. “We’re doing this.”

“We’re doing this,” he agreed, a single, firm nod and another kiss brushed across your lips, and then he was pushing inside.

“Good,” you mumbled, head falling back against the carpet. Good God. The stretch was exquisite; you had never felt so ready to open for someone. It felt like he went on forever. “Good boy,” you added, absorbing his excited shudder. “Good boy, just like that, harder.”

Bob pushed his fists into the floor on either side of your head, dragging in and out with his eyes stuttering closed.

“Just like that.”

“Like that?” he asked, voice cracking as he bottomed out, holding himself there with his arms quaking.

“Yes.”

The music dipped, then got louder again. Bob pressed his sweaty forehead to yours, finding his rhythm, driving after the end of you both. “Like that?”

“Fuck yes.”

You hitched your legs up snug to his hips, sucking him deeper on every stroke, squeezing around him to match his building speed. And if you tilted your lower half just a bit, friction and his pelvis and his stamina would do the rest. You couldn’t believe you had a third one in you, but Bob clearly believed, sliding his forehead down your temple until he could suck and bite on your neck.

“One more for me, baby,” he murmured. “Wanna hear you go again.”

He was close, too, you could feel the tension in his abdomen, the frantic snap to his hips, his little rising gasps, the sudden, swelling pressure as he wound up to blow. That was enough, knowing he was right there with you, that he knew what to do now, that he wasn’t afraid.

The overhead light dimmed and then flashed as you slammed into a sensation too bright. No sound came out of you at first, not as the first waves hit, but as the tide came slower you heard yourself whining and panting, pathetic things falling out of you, senseless until you could manage, “That’s my good boy, making me cum so much—”

Bob stilled and then drove back into you, forehead tight to your jaw as he lengthened his strokes, every one of them devastating as he gathered you close in his arms and burst.

“Jesus, agh.” It felt like he might crush the life out of you, holding you in the spasming vice of his arms. His warmth flooded into you. His hips slowed until he was just sort of wiggling in place, groaning. When his grip on you loosened and you could breathe again, you gently unfolded your arms and helped his hair back behind his ears.

“We did that,” he whispered, leaning onto one elbow to keep from crushing you. He gazed down at your face, laughing as his chest worked to get more air. “We really fucking did that.”

“We sure did.” You smiled up at him, lazily tracing the line of his cheekbone to his nose, then down to his lips, tracing their shape. “You were amazing.”

Bob’s cheeks appled, his eyes squishing shut. “I was?”

“You know you were.”

“Yeah, but it only counts when you say it.” He leaned down, kissed you. His head perked up as he noticed something, squinting. “Radio’s on.”

“Yes, Robert, you did that.” You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Almost blew the bulbs in my lamps, too.”

“Whoa. Shit.” He ducked his head. “I was, uh, somewhere else. Didn’t notice.”

“That’s okay.” You craned up onto your elbows, letting your bare breasts rest against his chest. He looked down at that with a thoughtful smile. “That wasn’t too scary, was it?”

Bob shook his head. “No. I knew you would make it easy, I just…care.” He sighed.

“I know.”

“A lot,” he added, brows flicking up.

“I know.”

“I’m getting better,” he said softly, one finger following the trajectory of your ear down to your shoulder, outlining you. “Every day I get a little better, and this helped.” He looked up suddenly, gazing beyond your head to the bed behind you. “Can we…Can we get off the carpet? Kinda making my ass itch.”

You smirked, laughing. “Mine too.”

“God, I can’t imagine.” He reached for your thigh, flipping you over slightly. “Ooh, yeah, yikes. That’s gonna leave a mark.” He smoothed his hand over your carpet-burned backside. "Sorry about that."

You glanced over your shoulder with a shrug. “We could try the bed. See if it’s softer?”

Bob scooped you closer, touching his nose to yours. “Oh we are definitely doing that.”

 And you were grateful for them now, sandwiched between James Buchanan Barnes and Robert Reynolds at a memorial park dedication you were pretty sure was supposed to end an hour ago. Bucky had said maybe five words since you arrived at the shady little wedge of grass and maples in Queens. It was a warm day, late August, and you could feel sweat pooling in your lower back.

You really despised that super suits and the whole nine yards were required for these things; you would give anything to be back in your comfy street clothes. At least then, the smile on your face might be marginally more authentic.

Someone shifted closer to you, their elbow rubbing yours. Bob. Bob or Robert. You tended to think of him as Robert in the suit, because the guy in gold and black was not the same as the sweetheart who lounged around the common room until noon reading comic books upside down on the leather sofa.

You looked down at where your arms touched, then back up to his face. Another speaker had gotten up to the microphone, and the sound system shrieked; everyone winced except Bob.

“Don’t mind me,” he said under his breath, eyes on the sky as he played it casual. He was almost snug against your side now, his front to your right side. “Telephoto lens over there has been trying to get pictures of you from behind for about thirty minutes now.”

“Jerk.” You sighed; sadly, this was not the first time.

Bob closed one eye, still watching the clouds, a soft smile tugging his lips until they were crooked. “I’m hoping we’ll get a breeze. It’ll move the cape, then he can take pictures of my butt for the rest of the day.”

Laughing, you looked down at your boots. Bucky cleared his throat, a gentle warning that you should both shut up.

Bob flared his eyebrows, a wobble passing across his lips as he tried not to laugh along with you. With everyone watching, it was hard not to giggle together like misbehaving children. Especially when you noticed him subtly swishing his cape to the side, especially when his expressive face constantly gave him away. He leaned down toward you.

“He’s behind the blue jungle gym. Is he taking the bait?”

You craned back, finding the photographer in question. “He put the cap back on.”

Bob sighed, rolling his shoulder.

You didn’t know what possessed you to say it; you knew better than to flirt with a colleague, specifically with a colleague you found distractingly handsome, but things had always been so easy with Bob. Some of the other New Avengers could be prickly at the outset, laying out obstacle courses to gain their trust and admiration. Not Bob. He was just excited to have another Scrabble enthusiast aboard, another animal lover, another person who could crack an easy smile at a joke and had a sense of wonder and humor.

So, you said it. Knowing you shouldn’t. Knowing that there was a germ of something dangerous already sprouting between you.

“His loss,” you added, training your eyes on the microphone stand and the speaker.

Bob didn’t say anything, but you know he heard it. His chin lifted, a twinkle in his eye persisting until the speeches concluded and the photo op began.

More standing around. Mind numbing. Bob got you both lemonades, at least, from the picnic tables piled high with donated snacks. You sipped yours and sucked thoughtfully on an ice-cube, keeping a close eye on Telephoto Lens, never putting your back to him if you could help it.

“It is weird, when you think about it,” you mused aloud, smiling and waving at someone’s kid as they walked by and gave the three New Avengers in attendance a curious glance.

“What?” Bob settled his hair, waving at the kid, too.

“That we’re in skin tight outfits, and everyone just thinks it’s normal.”

“I’m in a leather jacket,” Bucky pointed out flatly. “You had options.”

“Not really,” Bob said. “I was test screened, design by committee.”

“Me too.” You shot Bucky a playful glare. “Surprise, surprise, Valentina’s audience wanted the woman in spandex and rubber.”

Bucky shrugged, glanced at your drink, then stalked away to get his own. It occurred to you then that Bob hadn’t bothered to bring one for him. “Guess I just got lucky.”

“It’s strange,” you went on, still bored enough to think aloud while a high school band got set up to play. Your eye scanned back to the photographer who had been trying to shoot pictures of your ass. Bob’s attention followed yours. “We’re really not leaving much to the imagination. Borderline exhibitionist. Wonder what that says about us…”

Bob was quiet for a moment, but you could feel him squishing around in his boots, thinking. Parsing. Choosing. The tension was there, you had put it there, and it made you both fidget.

“Do you like it?”

A simple question. Innocent, maybe. Maybe. You tore your eyes away from the photographer, raking them up Bob’s chest to his face. You were becoming familiar with his array of expressions, but this one was new. Heated. Intense. Hungry. Gold reflected in his eyes like an animal caught in a dark hallway.

You picked your answer carefully, aware that you were breathing harder, and so was he. You could feel him trying not to stare at the body in question. Yours. “It helps me become someone else, I’m sure it’s the same for everyone. I mean, you’re different in the suit.”

Bob absorbed that with his ears smoothing back, his chin grinding to the side. “Am I?”

“Come on,” you said with a dry laugh and a roll of your eyes. “These are personas. I don’t think Who Ate My Captain Crunch? Bob is the same as Black Cape Padded Suit Bulge Bob.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest; it was such a stupid, reckless thing to say.

Bob looked down at his lemonade, swirled the melting ice-cubes in it, and scrunched his nose. His demeanor was flatter, darker, as he shifted closer to you, lowering his mouth until it was just beside your ear. His hot breath tickled the sensitive skin of your neck. “First of all, it’s Cap’n, okay? Put some respect on his name.”

You thought you had sidestepped a huge fucking oopsie. You thought you were safe. You relaxed, closing your eyes and chuckling, opening your eyes again to find a surprise loping across the park toward you both. Your boyfriend. His timing could not have been worse.

Bob wasn’t finished with you. His chin grazed your ear as he added in a rough whisper, “And second, it’s not the suit.”

You startled, twisting toward him, finding yourself almost nose to nose. You couldn’t find a trace of blue in his eyes as he held your gaze, his warm, knowing smile almost as devastating as his repeated assurance.

“It’s not the suit.”

“Does it bother him?”

Ava and Yelena had wandered off to bed ten minutes ago, leaving you alone with your night time chamomile tea and Bob Reynolds. You watched him through the fragrant steam rising from the mug, realizing this was a question he had been waiting to ask until the others were gone. Across the counter from you, he worked his finger back and forth across a large fleck in the granite, chewing his cheek.

It was time to say goodnight. It was time to go to bed. This was a trap.

You walked right in.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” you said. “Does what bother him?”

Congressman Alan Banks, your boyfriend, had been the topic of conversation up until the girls turned in. They wanted all the gory details. How had you met? (Set up by friends.) Was he close with his family? (Yes.) Star sign? (Cancer.) Was he going to propose? (Probably.) When did they get to meet him? (Soon, hopefully.) They peppered Bob with questions, since the two had met briefly at the park dedication, but Bob’s answers were strained, every word like glass pulled from a fresh wound.

Bob straightened up, leaving behind the imagined stain on the counter, following the curved line of the granite slab, but slowly. “That you live here with us,” Bob said. “And not with him.”

There was a wound in his voice, subtle, but there. Confusion, maybe, or exasperation. Step by step, you watched him change. You were alone now, no witnesses, and the sweetness in his eyes melted away, boiled off, leaving behind sticky, concentrated interest. Your skin prickled, and your tea suddenly became terribly interesting.

You took a few casual sips and shrugged. “He’s in DC most of the year.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Your head flicked toward him. He was closer now, on your side of the counter, approaching like you might startle and fly away. You clutched your mug, watching him, recalculating.

Yelena had been candid about Bob’s quirks when you joined up. She had given you an exhaustive description of the events that led to him becoming the Sentry—discovering him in the vault, reuniting with him under antagonistic circumstances. And you had seen the way her face became pale and drawn when she described being hurled across the penthouse by a man she didn’t consider an enemy. A man she wanted to help.

It had gotten so bad, someone threw the kill switch.

She didn’t polish up the truth. When Bob embraced that side of himself--the arrogant, superior, deluded part--he was all but impossible to stop.

But he wasn’t like that anymore, that was what you had been told. Bob had gone to therapy. Bob had spent a grueling year working on himself. The Sentry wasn’t its own entity, just the glinting gold side of a multiple-faceted gem.

Bob was in control, Yelena swore as much.

Bob was in control. The words shivered through you. It certainly felt like he was, not just of himself, but of you, as he calmly took the mug out of your hands and set it down on the counter. Your eyes swept the room over his shoulder. You could leave now, excuse yourself, but you didn’t. You stayed.

You had lied to yourself, insisting that you weren’t curious, that you felt nothing when you saw your names paired together on the mission board, that you didn’t notice or like the way he always ended up beside you at briefings and photo ops.

And maybe you would go on lying to yourself a little while longer, but the protective strength of that lie was beginning to fray as he crowded you against the counter, his heat and his power surrounding you.

“It would bother me,” Bob said softly. “If it were me, I’d want you close.”

He was close now, so close. You could smell his sweat, feel the warmth radiating from his chest, steady as a lantern through the thin, stretched cotton of his t-shirt. Your eyes grew heavy as he watched you, as he waited.

“Alan trusts me,” you said in a harsh whisper.

It was true, he did. You tried to think about Alan—handsome, gentle, Alan, with his Princeton education and his rowing team build. Alan with his wholesome, all American family, his 401k, his ‘vice’ of two dirty gin martinis after work on Fridays.

Thinking about him didn’t make Bob Reynolds go away, didn’t chill the heat simmering between you as he touched your chin, igniting something newer, hotter, lifting your face until you were forced to gaze into his brightening golden eyes.

His expression was lightly skeptical, almost mocking. “Should he?”

You clenched your teeth. “Yes. I-I don’t know why you would ask something like that.”

Bob tilted his head to the side. “I have heat vision, you know that, right?” He didn’t wait for your response. “I know exactly how warm your body is, where it’s warm. Where it’s hot.” Bob shifted closer, his hips nudging yours as he caged you more firmly against the granite. “How that heat changes when you look at me.”

Oh shit. Your lungs worked harder as your pulse raced. Bob let go of your chin, that hand dipping between you to run along the sensitive skin just above the edge of your sleep shorts. You choked back a gasp.

You had never seen him like this, supremely confident, borderline cocky, like he already had you, like this little chase was just a formality.

Bob lowered his head, his lips hovering a centimeter from yours, one breath passed between you.

“Should I show you?”

“Fuck. Forgot my stupid fucking phone.”

Yelena.

Bob separated from you so quickly it made you dizzy. Too swift to be perceived by the naked eye. By the time Yelena marched into the puddle of golden lights over the kitchenette, he was on the other side of the counter from you. You breathed out, shaky, taking your tea and hurrying toward Yelena as she grabbed her phone off of one of the leather-wrapped stools.

“Oof. Shit, I’m beat. Anyone else, like, crazy tired? Gonna set my alarm for never.” Bob stretched his arms over his head, winking behind Yelena’s back as he stuck his hands into his sweats and shuffled away. He was sweet, dopey Bob again as he hung his head and gave you both a dorky wave on his way to the dormitories. “Night.”

Your pulse was still catching up to your brain as Yelena stuck her arm through yours, eyebrow cocked. “Something going on with you two?”

“No,” you said, unable to conjure a real defense. “Nothing. He, um, wanted to tell me about geckos.”

Yelena snorted, dragging you away from the kitchen. “Hm. Yeah. Sounds like him.”

Congress recessed for the summer. Alan was back in New York for the next three weeks. You wanted to be happy about it. Part of you was, because it would finally force the issue. Whenever you thought about dumping him, your stomach twisted painfully. He was everything you never thought would pick you. Smart. Rich. Successful. Respected. You were a lab rat, a literal experiment, something that usually ended up euthanized in a bucket.

Alan wanted forever. Bob’s intentions were murkier.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, coaching yourself through the process of tying the silk strings of your dress at the back of your neck, choosing a necklace, deciding on a perfume. But your hands were shaking. It would be a miracle if you made it out alive on the other side of this birthday party.

The door to the spare bedroom opened, Alan slipping in, still doing his cufflinks as he came to check on you. Ava wanted a classy birthday, for everyone to dress up a little for the occasion. She had arranged a caterer and a caviar bar.

You smoothed down the buttery fabric of your dress over your thighs. Alan came up behind you, eyes warm with adoration as he scoped you out in the mirror. He bent down to kiss your neck, hands finding yours on your legs and pressing.

“Hey, gorgeous. Got a date for tonight?”

You couldn’t help it, your eyes played tricks, replacing him with Bob. His hands sliding over yours, his warm breath playing across your throat, his soft, golden-brown hair tickling the shell of your ear, his dick thickening against your hip.

It’s not the suit.

You shuddered and closed your eyes. Fuck.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you teased back, hearing the strain in your voice. The lie.

On the vanity, inside your clutch purse, your phone buzzed. Alan looked toward it, frowning, then went to retrieve it for you. You froze. Bob had been texting you lately, nothing scandalous, determined to draw you out, make you crack first. Still. It was a suspicious amount of texting by any reasonable standards. Not that you expected Alan to snoop. He wasn’t like that. He was a good guy.

Your guts tightened into a knot.

Bob would be there tonight. The two men would certainly interact. You didn’t trust Bob to behave himself, worse, you didn’t want him to.

Alan handed you the clutch, gentlemanly, hands in his pockets as he turned back to the vanity and ran his hand along it. “You should leave more things here,” he said.

You nodded absently, taking out your phone. Hot, slithering guilt gathered in your stomach as you saw Bob’s name on the lockscreen. Alan’s back was to you. Your heart felt like it was going to explode as you checked the notification and the message.

Do you think he knows?

Bob had sent a picture, one you didn’t recognize, one that hadn’t made it onto social media or any press releases. It was from a recent meet and greet at a children’s charity. The whole team was there, laughing, enjoying themselves, being sweet with the kids. The only New Avenger not in frame was Yelena, which meant she must have taken it and then let Bob have it. You were right next to him, snug against his side, your hand on his forearm, gazing up at him like he was a golden fucking god, like you weren’t just secretly crushing but in love.

His expression wasn’t all that different, more restrained, maybe.

Adoring.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, closing out the message.

A cold sweat broke out over your brow.

“Honey? Everything all right?” Alan tracked back to you, running his palms down your arms. “Did you hear me? You should leave more than an overnight bag. I think we’re beyond that now, don’t you?”

Bob kept his distance at first, not that it mattered.

You knew now that he could read your body like a neon billboard and just having him in the same room made you light up like Time’s Square.

Ava must have taken him shopping or something, because he wasn’t in his normal uniform of a baggy sweatshirt or tee and house slippers. He wore a soft, knit shirt, collared and tucked into fitted black jeans. In the corner by door out to the observation deck, he chatted with some team staff Ava had invited. You knew without asking that it was Dr. Pepper with crushed ice in his glass. You knew what he would smell like if you crossed the room and stood at his side—cedarwood, chamomile, patchouli, the sweet woodsy notes of his shaving cream and the little incense sticks he burned in his room.

His eyes found yours, burning gold as he caught sight of you in your short, hot dress.

It didn’t take long for Ava and Yelena to steal Alan away, promising to take good care of him. He shot you a helpless glance as they hauled him off for a friendly interrogation. And you just shrugged, smiling, having warned Alan in the car over that he was in for the third degree.

Bob kept his distance until you separated yourself from the herd. You vanished down the hall by the elevator, the one that wrapped itself around the perimeter of the floor. Halfway down the first corridor there was a co-ed bathroom. You felt him following. He could be on you in an instant, but you let him overtake you; the text message and that picture still lingered in your mind.

You flattened yourself against the wall in the shadows, watching his dark silhouette approach, the only light coming from what danced in his eyes.

“What the fuck is this?” you asked, sliding your phone out of your purse to show it to him.

Bob settled in front of you, three inches of plausible deniability between his chest and yours. “I think you know. I think we both know.”

You shook your head, desperate, glancing down at the floor for help.

“Tell me to stop.”

You stilled, shoving your phone back into the clutch, squeezing it until your fingers hurt and the beads cut into your palm.

Bob’s brows lifted as he scanned your face. His voice was calm, light, as he repeated himself. “Tell me to stop.”

You trembled, gulping for air. That sliver of daylight between you was gone as he pressed himself flush to your body. The rich heat of his chest felt so good, just like home. He leaned in, nose outlining your cheek, his left hand gripping your waist hard enough to bruise.

“Tell me to stop.”

At least his voice shook. At least he was burning up, too.

You whined softly, then keened a bit louder as he gathered up the skirt of your dress, his big, strong hand palming your hip before gliding lower to push your thong aside. A delicious, needy sound broke out of his throat as he traced the line of your sex, top to bottom, achingly slow.

Your head slammed back against the wall. “What are you doing to me?” you bit out. “What do you want?”

Bob made the same journey up and down your pussy again, studying every quiver of your lips, every different tension in your face. His mouth brushed yours, speaking into you. “I want you in all the ways you’ll let me have you.”

Where the fuck was this coming from? Bob, who would eat French toast for every meal if the team nutritionist let him; Bob, who fell asleep with punk music blasting from under his door; Bob, who had hid a litter of stray kittens in the dormitories for two weeks, bottle feeding them day and night until the cleaning staff caught on and he was encouraged to bring them to a shelter. He had named them after Ninja Turtles.

You couldn’t find that Bob in the man teasing you into near madness. You curled against him, fighting the urge to grind back against his hand.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered one more time, finger growing wetter as your slick rushed out to meet him.

“I can’t,” you moaned, forcing your eyes shut. “And we can’t.”

“But you think about me when he’s fucking you, don’t you?”

Behind your eyelids, red splotches burst and spread.

“I…” You tossed your head. “That’s not true.”

“It will be.”

His finger eased inside you, thick but tunneling smoothly from how badly you wanted him there. You jolted against his body, skin blazing, nerves electric. Nothing had ever felt as good as that one, single indiscretion. Bob pressed his cheek to yours, gasping like you had been the one shoving him open. He added a second finger, stirred them. You tore your hand away from his shoulder, covering your own mouth against the cry that almost exposed you both.

Bob’s breath hitched, his fingers in you but suddenly still, his head cocking to one side.

“Laugh like I said something funny.”

Then, he was three steps away, settling his hair nervously behind his ears as you yelped out a laugh. Alan was moving down the hallway toward you.

“I’m just saying,” Bob shrugged, snort-laughing to join in with you. “I would use the one in the dorms if I were you.” He gestured toward the bathroom neither of you had touched. “Alexei had Taco Bell for lunch. Thought I was gonna die in there.”

After the cake was brought out, the candles snuffed and wishes made, you climbed into an Uber with Alan and went back to his townhouse. You didn’t trust yourself to stay in the Watchtower. Not when Bob was there and seemingly finding every available excuse to lock eyes with you and stick his fingers in his mouth.

“I think that went well,” Alan was saying, while you stared out the window at the city going by, rehearsing the breakup speech that now felt imminent.

He found your hand on the leather bench, rubbing his thumb against your palm the way he always did when he was thinking about sex. When you got back to his place, you indulged him, but really, you indulged yourself, climbing onto the bed on all fours, letting him fuck you from behind while you were wet for another man.

But you think about me when he’s fucking you, don’t you?

Now you were. Now you couldn’t stop. And Alan couldn’t believe his luck, could he? Because you had never moaned like that before, screaming almost from stroke one. He didn’t see your closed eyes or the man behind them; he didn’t hear Bob’s voice thrumming through your head saying: Tell me to stop.

No, no. Don’t stop.

Alan wore a condom, like he always did. When he was spent and shuddering on your back, you heard your phone buzz in your bag on the floor. Self-restraint of a nun, you waited until Alan was in the bathroom cleaning himself to check. You knew who it was; your pussy clenched around nothing at the thought of him thinking about you.

It was another picture. Bob in his bed, lights low, shirt and pants gone, underwear tight to his groin. The boxer-briefs were pale gray, displaying a dark stain where he had leaked into them. He palmed his hard dick through the fabric. Your mouth flooded with saliva. Fuck.

A minute later, a message: I told you it wasn’t the suit.

You could hear the sink still running in the en suite.

Your thumbs flew across the screen. He just fucked me.

The typing bubbles popping across the window made your heart thunder. Maybe that was too much, maybe you had pushed this too far--

Show me.

Your eyes widened in alarm.

The door to the bathroom opened, Alan’s shape looming in the doorway. You rolled off the bed, hiding your phone against your thigh as you stood.

“You can leave the light on, I need to use it,” you said, light and sweet.

“All yours, honey.” He had put his underwear back on, and hovered until you passed by him to use the restroom, brushing a kiss across your temple. “That was nice,” he said, touching your hip. “You were wild tonight.”

“Mmhm.”

You closed the door, every twitch of your face and hands agony. Did he see the furtive shift of your eyes? Did he see the phone you had smuggled over from your bag? Alone in the crisp chill of the bathroom, you ran the tap ice-cold, slicking water over your face. You couldn’t handle your own reflection, frightened of what you would see there.

A new challenge presented itself—how to show him.

Every angle was a nightmare. You finally dragged one knee up onto the counter with the sink, holding out your arm and grabbing a photo of yourself from the waist down. Minutes were ticking by. You decided that was good enough and didn’t make you look like something that had washed up on a beach and sent it.

Your hands were buzzing. You had to do something. You turned the sink on again and brushed your teeth, venturing a glance at yourself. The woman that stared back was wide-eyed and hungry, satisfied but not satiated. On the counter, your phone jerked to the side, another message coming through.

God, this was insane. Insane. What were you thinking? Never in your life had you considered behaving this way.

Did you come?

Yes.

Did you think of me?

Yes.

Bob didn’t respond and you couldn’t barricade yourself in the bathroom any longer. You flushed the toilet and turned out the light, pressing the phone to your leg again and hurrying to the bed, sliding inside before shoving the device under your pillow.

Alan reached for you, turning onto his side, shoving his nose into your hair. You kept waiting and waiting for the phone to buzz, for Bob to say something, but nothing came through.

You stared into the darkness; there was no going back.

The mission alert hit your phone at 1:45 PM the next day. You were already showered and packed by the time Mel sent a car. The team had assembled in the hangar, though Bob had gone ahead; no need for a jet when he could outpace it.

Your heart vibrated in your throat until you landed in the Utah wilderness. The landscape was dry and cracked, windless nothingness for miles except for a small, gray rectangle huddled in the distance. Walker took point, his experience with hostage situations making him the ideal choice. The compound was well-fortified, 360-degree visibility, and the strip between it and the LZ likely booby trapped with any number of vicious homemade devices.

Several of them exploded, raining sand and shrapnel, as you hunkered down behind a low rock formation with Yelena. You dragged your attention up to the sky, where a golden shape hovered against the cloudless blue, and a layman might mistake that shape for a falcon circling for prey.

“Bob’s cleared us a path,” you heard Walker grunt over comms. “Move in.”

It was smooth going until you made it about twenty yards from the compound itself. Bob had been instructed to sweep the back of the building for exits and any indication that hostages were being removed to a secondary location. He wasn’t there when the first sniper round zipped by your ear, perilously close to a kill shot, but he was there for the second. The round was almost the size of a small dagger. It bounced harmlessly off of his back as he reached for you. You had dropped down into cover after the first near miss, flattened to the red dirt.

“I’ve got you,” he said, eyes bright with focus as he lifted you into his arms.

“Two snipers,” you barked into the comms. “Rooftop.”

“We’ll handle it,” Bob added, firm, hastening you to one corner of the compound, dropping you there gently before soaring back to the other side of the building to incapacitate the other marksman.

The rest of the extraction was a blur. You couldn’t believe the conditions inside the place, how many families were crammed inside. Overflowing toilets. Towers of canned food, many ominously dented. No air conditioning. But the mission was a success, Walker and Barnes had even managed to subdue the cult leader before he could turn the gun on himself.

The flight home was quiet; you sat on the bench in the cargo bay and stared at an empty spot where Bob could’ve been. The feeling of being in his arms returned to you slowly, like a fantasy hardening into memory. His chest was a solid wall, his arms like steel around your waist. But his touch was careful, that of a man who knew how easy it was to break precious things.

You dragged your tired ass and your go bag back to your dormitory on leaden feet, peeled yourself out of your suit with bruised fingers, kicking your boots to far corners. The emotions of the day—pre and post mission—hit you all at once. You stood in the middle of the room, blinds only half-drawn against a city that felt a thousand miles away, lost.

When the knock came at your door, you knew exactly who it was.

Which was why you didn’t other covering up, answering that knock in your bra and panties.

Bob was still in his suit, which was the only surprising thing about his appearance at your door. His eyes flared at your nearly naked state.

You held his gaze, wobbling slightly on your feet.

“I ended things with him.”

You had considered that Bob was interested in you solely because of the challenge, because the secrets and the sneaking around were addicting. You had considered that all the little tallies you had made of his personality, sweet and not so sweet, didn’t add up to anywhere near a complete picture. Maybe it was stupid, but he had left you on read after getting that picture and exchanging a few words; you had admitted you wanted him, and maybe that was all he cared about in the end.

Bob stepped inside, the door closing without his ever touching it. He pulled you into his body by the waist, pressing his cheek to yours. His breath had a cadence you recognized, deep and fast. Relief.

“I didn’t want to lie to him any longer,” you added in a choked whisper. His heart drummed against yours. You lifted your hands, smoothing them up his chest. “And I didn’t want to lie to myself, and I didn’t want to lie to you.”

One of Bob’s hands grazed up your back, fitting around the back of your skull, holding you to him, more snug, like he wanted you to hear the desperate thunder of his heart. “This is what you want.”

It felt too good to be close. That it was close. That you would have it. Him. This terrible magnetic thing between you…

“This is what I want,” you said. “You.”

That was all he needed to hear. You squeaked as he swept you into a kiss, groaning as you opened your mouth for him, tongue meeting his in long, greedy sweeps. The heat roaring off his chest seared through you. He tugged you with him until his back collided with the wall next to the bathroom door, his hands sliding into your hair, anchoring your face to him until he was finished pouring his relief into that kiss. He reached for the clasp on your bra; you shook your head, wrestling against him.

“I’m filthy,” you warned, knowing there was still sweat caked to every inch of you.

“I know,” he laughed. Bob nosed against your cheek, then craned back to look at you, eyes deep, pooling blue. He wiped a swipe of dirt off your cheek, then nodded toward your bathroom. “So am I.”

The decision was wordlessly made. You helped him with his suit, pawing at it until he was down to his shorts, then you were tripping over each other trying to get to the shower. It turned on before you stepped inside, Bob catching you and hoisting you back toward him until he could tear off your bra and panties, kissing all the way, breathless.

He didn’t fuck you in the shower. You wanted to kill him for it. There was no arguing with his vastly superior strength; no, he didn’t want to fuck you, not yet, he just wanted to learn you, running soapy hands over every contour, every curve and squish and muscle and divot. He rinsed his hands and fingered you until you came apart, arching into the spray of the water as you ground back against his hard dick.

“That’s my filthy girl,” he whispered, biting your shoulder. “All mine.”

You should’ve realized sooner that the serum would change things, that Bob Reynolds was not a normal man and therefore not a normal lover.

The first round, to him, seemed almost not to count. Just a warm up. And you needed it, discovering at personal risk to your health that it was indeed not the suit. Bob urged you to straddle his hips, take him that way, fucking yourself down onto his cock until there was no more left to take and you heaved for air like he was lodged against your lungs. He watched you with his eyes turning gold fleck by fleck, his expression rapt, anticipatory, one brow quirked as he took in you taking him in.

He seemed to enjoy that a lot, hands on your hips working you into a counter rhythm as you got up the courage to drag yourself up and down his shaft.

“Just like that,” he told you, licking his lips, eyes flaring brighter. “Don’t rush.”

You didn’t want to. You were so full and he was so hot, moaning each time you took him deeper, each time you chased that obliterating sensation, the one you felt in your toes, the one you felt behind your eyeballs.

“Can’t last when you do that,” he grunted out, stomach flexing as you rode him faster, harder. “When you…squeeze like that. Fuck, that’s nice. All mine. Shit. All mine. You’ll see…”

You weren’t sure what that meant until you were spent and underneath him, humming and soft in the afterglow, your belly pleasantly warm, your sex aching from the friction and stretch. Bob lay on one elbow, gazing down at you, hair mussed and eyes glossy.

His right hand stroked down your body. He was still inside you, thickening as he leaned down to brush a hasty kiss across your lips. “This is what you do to me,” he murmured. He shut his eyes tightly as if in pain. You were still trying to catch your breath. “I’m not…I’m not myself. I need to have you. It’s just all I can think about.” His voice was trembling, gaining the high, wired edge that almost frightened you. “And that picture you sent was all wrong. All wrong…”

You touched his cheek, carefully.

Bob leaned into it, trembling. “I’ll never leave my girl like that,” he promised, eyes snapping open, gleaming gold. The entire tower shook, subtly, like the force of his desire would lift it off its foundations. “You’ll know when I’m done with you.” He shifted his weight, pressing you into the mattress, stealing your next breath as he fucked into you, fully hard again. “When you’re begging,” he whispered, pressing his lips together in concentration as he focused a few shallow thrusts just against your entrance, letting you feel the mind numbing stretch again. “When you’re ruined.”

You arched, thrusting your breasts against the sparse hair on his chest, moaning as he gathered you into his arms and kissed his way to your ear.

“Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t.

Time warped around the bed, shapeless, losing meaning and consequence. It was one thing to be the focus of his obsession, another to feel him mark that reality into your body. It didn’t seem to matter how much you came or how much he did; Robert Reynolds wanted more.

Light was peaking over the city spires by the time he rolled off of you and went to get a wash cloth from the bathroom. From his gait, you could tell he would keep going if he thought you would survive it. There was a strange feeling moving through you, like you were only partially in your physical self. Your brain was blissfully empty, a sluggishness to your blood. Your feet tingled. The gooey, hot wetness between your legs had eased into something comforting and luxurious.

You were already half-asleep when he came back to clean you up. It seemed to take him a while, but he was gentle with you, diligent.

Bob crawled into bed beside you, gathering you into his chest, his chin on the top of your head, his heat the last thing you needed to finally let go and drift.

The picture came two days later, when you were out getting pizza. Yelena wanted to show you the new place she found, and Bob and Ava jumped at the chance to get some fresh air. You were piled into one booth, the pies arriving to Yelena’s frantic, excited claps.

Bob sat across from you, his foot wedged against yours under the table.

You could feel him watching you as your phone vibrated in your lap. Reaching for it was a reflex; you weren’t thinking, really, and you weren’t anticipating much.

Bob had texted you. It was a picture of yourself, of the mess he had made of you two nights ago. It was so obscene, so startling, it took your brain several seconds to make sense of it. But you recognized the bedspread and then your own thighs, and then, your cheeks prickling with hot needles, the thick, milky gush of his spend bubbling from you like a fountain.

Your ears felt like they were going to melt off your head. Bob’s foot flirted with yours. When you tore your eyes away from the picture, he was sucking on his Dr. Pepper, straw tucked into one cheek. You saw his shoulder tense as he texted something under the table.

Bzzt.

In fact, the first hour of your shared shift had been fine - enjoyable even. You both cracked jokes, sharing stories about peculiar mentors that you had encountered in the past. Frank even offered you some of his hard-earned wisdom; things that he wished he had known as an MS3.

Then he had led you into various operating rooms, detailing the cases and procedures to you with a hand on the small of your back. It made your skin flush, but he didn't notice, taking your silence for rapt attention - something that was rare in students these days.

Throughout his residency, Frank had met countless students that were simply jumping hoops and leaping hurdles, just going through the motions to reach that fabled paycheck at the end of their placements. (He took small pleasure in knowing that the wages would most likely disappoint them; residents were always the ones to get underpaid.) Hell, he had even seen doctors that were entirely the same: only in it for the money.

However, it was quickly apparent that you were different.

There was something in the way you spoke to patients, how you advocated for their best interests. It was clear that you had a passion for helping people, and that you were seeking fulfilment from this career, rather than a hefty sum of money. Frank thought it was an admirable quality, but in spite of this, he still found himself at his wit's end by midday - barely able to tolerate you.

As reflected by hundreds of studies, it has been proven that asking questions is an important part of the learning process. However, it would seem that none of these researchers had ever met you, with your endless stream of inquiries. Seriously, Frank felt like he was being interrogated.

He would be elbow-deep in someone's body cavity and you would pipe up from beside him, sickly sweet voice asking something about the technique he was using. They weren't even stupid questions, too, that's what really bothered him.

The first time, Frank had foolishly tried to offer a response. You watched as his incisors sank deep into his lower lip, gaze never faltering as he struggled to conjure an answer. He had stammered uselessly until Robby stepped in to (semi)-end his suffering, heckling him from the corner of the room, "Focus on the patient Langdon - there'll be plenty of time to look confused later."

There had been a resounding laughter at that remark, so Frank decided it was best to ignore your queries from there on out to avoid any further humiliation. Still, he couldn't understand what was causing these vacancies in his mind. It could possibly be attributed to the focus that each procedure demanded from him, or the way that you stood too close, letting your perfume dizzy him.

Nonetheless, you continue asking questions. It shouldn't bother him, (you're here to learn, after all) but it does, because now you direct them at Robby instead.

Robby, who explains concepts to you with a lot more warmth and patience than he ever had with Frank - or anyone for that matter. Despite his best efforts to shake off any lingering jealousy, he couldn't help but wonder why you received such special treatment.

That wasn't his breaking point, though.

No, that came about two weeks in.

In Frank's defence, it had already been an exhausting day: the shift was running over by at least an hour; he hadn't found an opportunity to eat since that morning; and you had just decided to revive an annoying habit that Frank thought you had finally moved past.

Evidently not, as you begin every contribution to the case with a “Well, my dad said that…” or a “My dad showed me a journal that said…”

It wasn't to say that he doubted your dad's knowledge - whoever he was - but Frank wanted to hear from you. He wasn’t just asking these questions because he felt like it, he genuinely wanted your input. Although it wasn’t something he would admit easily, you had offered him a different perspective on more than one occasion. Your advice was valuable to him.

So maybe, just maybe, when you opened your mouth to say, “I think I remember my dad telling me about this,” he snapped, looking up at you from where he stood bent over the patient.

“If I wanted your dad’s opinion, don’t you think I would be asking him instead?” he begins, leaning towards you on his forearms. You tried to hold his gaze, not letting him intimidate you as his eyes darkened, becoming more pointed and accusatory as his voice rose, “All day you’ve been leaning on him like a crutch. I don’t know who he is - fuck, I don’t even care - but if you want to be a doctor, you have to think for yourself.”

The nurses had immediately gone silent, busying themselves with trivial distractions. You could hear Princess fiddling with her gloves from across the room, and Langdon’s ragged breath breaking through the silence. You thought he was finished, but a vein fired off in his neck as if to prove you wrong.

“Have you ever heard a resident quoting their dad as a source of medical information?” he paused, watching as you shook your head, letting his hair fall into his eyes as he mimicked your movement, “No, of course you haven’t. We’ve spent years attending lectures and studying medical journals, you know, the reliable, legitimate resources?”

Frank sucked in a deep breath as he prepared to continue, but the vitals monitor began to beep, interrupting him. Instead, he just threw you a look, one that said ‘do better,’ before turning his attention back to the patient.

Fortunately, this altercation hadn’t been mentioned again. He still felt guilty about it, taking a bad day and pent up desire out on you. The divorce hadn’t been easy, especially when you were tormenting him every day; you must have been the only person to look so good in scrubs.

The thought had been weighing on Frank's mind - a constant thrum since you were assigned to his watchful eye. 

Who were you? What was it that seemed to make everyone fawn around you?

He had seen it on multiple occasions: Dana insisting you take a lunch break, even when the ER was hectic and you were decidedly not hungry; Perlah bringing back all sorts of souvenirs for you whenever she went abroad; but most obviously, the way Robby nurtured you. It was shameless favouritism, and Frank wanted to know what was causing it.

So, one night when sleep refused to find him, he turned to Instagram. 

Truthfully, he was shocked that he fought the urge for so long. A little impressed, actually. Nonetheless, he has always been an inquisitive soul, and the curiosity mixed with the jealousy (although Frank wouldn't call it that - perhaps just a healthy bit of competitive spirt among peers?) had become too much to bear.

The mattress squealed as he rolled to face his end table, arm reaching out and guided to his phone by the moonlight. It laid in a bed of its own - one of those electromagnetic chargers, a useless purchase born from a 20% discount - but it was in a far deeper slumber than Frank had any hope of finding. It was selfish, but if Frank couldn’t sleep, then neither could his phone. He yanked it from the bay and shuffled up against his pillows.

His touch woke the device, a photo of his dog coming to fill the screen, and the brightness filling his room. He winced, hurriedly stabbing at the control centre to dim the display. 

God, this would wreak havoc on his eyes.

After he gave himself a moment to push away the optical static, he headed straight to Instagram. The home page showed a woman wielding a giant bowl of salad, the subtitles flaunting her nutritious recipe. He stared aimlessly as she began chopping up various vegetables, unsure of where to begin his search. 

Look, cyber stalking - or any type of stalking - was new territory for him. Besides, Frank had really boxed himself into a corner here. 

For the entirety of your placement, he had deliberately avoided any small talk with you. It was a strange form of self-preservation, because Frank hated nothing more than being wrong. He knew that if he spoke to you, his dislike would quickly feel unjustified, and that was something he just couldn’t handle. The logic was primitive, but it had served him fairly well until then, as he realised that he didn’t know your surname.

Nonetheless, he remained hopeful and decided to start his search in the most obvious place, fingers typing your name into the search bar. The results began appearing, but a quick skim told him that he would need to wisen up, as the list only showed him a handful of random influencers who happened to share your name.

He readjusted himself on his bed, bringing the screen closer to his face as he pondered his next move. He felt like a detective as he compiled a mental web of everyone you know, plotting a route to your account.

Frank also felt like a total creep.

Well, what you don’t know won’t hurt you, he reasoned, exiling the guilt like had so many thoughts over the past month. Some of them - like how he wondered what your mouth might feel like - were persistent, and he had to pushing them away in some strange Sisyphean feat. 

He shook his head, resetting himself. Then he was back into action, fingers taking him to his profile and sifting through his followers to find Mel. He recognised her account immediately, the colorful profile picture of her and Becca catching his eye. Clicking on it, a strange sort of flow seemed to consume him, and he suddenly found himself on a roll. Frank scrolled through her page to find Whitaker, and from there, Trinity – your close friend.

Whenever he saw the two of you whispering at work, it felt like a conspiracy against him. He was always worried that he would open his locker to find rotting food in there, or gum plastered to the inside, but deep down he knew you were too nice to do something like that. He couldn’t fathom why, but even after he had shouted at you, you remained friendly with him. Everyone knew that he couldn’t say the same for Trinity.

Ready to continue the search, a digit remained hovering over the screen, but it instinctively tucked itself away as he found what he needed: a photo of the pair of you on a girls’ night out. You’re both leant on a sticky bar giggling to one another, and even Frank could admit that it was a cute photo - he wasn’t blind.

So, he sent out a silent prayer that you were tagged, then pressed tentatively on the thumbnail. 

It almost felt like fate as the little grey widget popped up, and he didn’t even read your username, thumb eclipsing it as he pressed with desperate haste. If there was a God, he was looking down on Frank kindly because by some miracle, your account was public - dumb, but convenient, Frank mused.

From there, it was like someone had released the hounds. He wasted no time scrolling through your extensive post history: a trip to the Maldives, some photos of your various meals, and a photo dump of you almost exclusively in bikinis.

Look, he knew he shouldn’t.

But his free hand was already pushing into his boxers, and his dick was already half hard.

Besides, if he had already exercised all of his worst impulses, what was one more? It wasn’t like you would find out.

That was all the convincing he needed, fingers coming to wrap around the shaft as he groaned. He had denied himself this for too long.

Then, he continued his exploration - cock in one hand, phone in the other. He flicked through the slideshows, smearing his precum around the tip as he looked at your lips, shiny and pouting. God, what would they feel like wrapped around his dick? A question for the ages.

He was stroking the shaft when the next slide took him by surprise: a photo of you from behind, bikini practically wedged between your cheeks. His hand sped up, that sound of skin against skin filling the room as he raced to match the thoughts that were speeding through his mind. Your skin looked so soft, and God - your ass was perfect. How had he not done this sooner?

Frank began to lose himself in the pleasure, imagining the way you would sound beneath him, sweet and encouraging. Breathless as he would bend your knees over his shoulders, pace harsh and unforgiving - punishment for the way you had embarrassed him.

What really finished him off, though, was thinking about how you would sound as you came, all coos and whimpers, drunk on his cock. It was almost instantaneous, Frank cumming alongside the imaginary you he created, his load spurting onto his phone.

In the midst of his orgasm, he scrolls one more post, searching for something to ride out his high to. He thought he had struck gold, only to end eye-to-eye with his boss, who was now coated in a sheen of Frank’s cum.

Post-coitus had never been so short, as Frank leapt from the bed and waddled to the bathroom, wiping his screen clean with a towel. It was only then that he noticed your username, and that he had accidentally hit the follow button.

@yn_robinavitch2003

Fuck.

thank you so much for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed!!! my asks are shamelessly open, so please send in any requests!

A/N: based on this gorgeous ask, sorry it took so long but thank you so much for the request, i hope this isn’t dull or ooc! part two is coming and it won’t take so long this time i promise 💕 also i haven’t proofread, i’ll do that in the morning!

It’s kind of the last thing you expected.

This week was supposed to be about soup and board games and helping your aunt clear out her garage. It was supposed to be about sourdough starters and running errands.

It was not supposed to be about open mic nights at bars and hot strangers with guitars.

And voices that tickle your spine until you have goosebumps all over.

And blue eyes you could sink into and drown like you never learned how to swim.

It was not supposed to be about one night stands.

But, alas.

The blue eyes are closed. He’s still sleeping.

Cameron.

That’s his name.

Cameron.

You can still remember last night in flashes. His voice through the microphone. The scrape of his thumb over guitar strings.

The way he looked at you across the crowded bar like he already knew how the night would end.

And maybe you did too.

You remember his hands around your waist in the kitchen while you laughed into his shoulder. Remember him kissing you slow enough to make you yearn for more.

Yearn.

For a man you’d met less than three hours ago.

You remember thinking: oh, this is trouble.

Now he sleeps beside you completely unaware of the damage he’s done.

Mouth slightly open.

Hair a mess.

One hand curled loosely against your waist.

You should leave now, probably. Before you turn this into something it isn’t.

Instead you stay exactly where you are.

Cameron shifts in his sleep. Closer. His arm against you tightens.

Half-asleep, he murmurs against your neck, “Morning.”

“Good morning,” you whisper, trying to sound like you haven’t been awake for the better part of an hour just staring at his face. You gather the sheet over yourself, suddenly very aware of your own naked body.

He opens his eyes, barely, looking at you like somehow he didn’t expect you to reply. Like he wasn’t sure you weren’t just a dream.

His voice is rough with sleep. “You’re very pretty.”

You snort with laughter.

His brow furrows. “What?”

“Is that your go-to?”

“My go-to?” he repeats, visibly offended.

“Yeah. Your morning-after line.”

“You say that like I have a system.”

“You don’t?”

He shakes his head. “This doesn’t happen to me often.”

“Uh-huh,” you say. “I bet I can predict your next move, though.”

“There are no moves.”

“Right. So you’re not going to get me a cinnamon roll for breakfast?”

“No, I’m not—” He pauses abruptly. “Wait, what? How did you—”

“Last night, I told you I’m new to town and you said…”

Your voice trails off. That’s enough to spark his memory.

“That you should try the cinnamon rolls from the bakery,” he concludes.

“And you specifically said they make a great breakfast.”

His face shifts. Like he’s just now putting two and two together.

“But that’s not a move,” he says.

“No?”

“That’s just—”

“Yes?”

“Information that could improve your quality of life.”

“It’s that good?”

He nods.

You consider him for a moment. He seems sincere, and even if it is a move, like some sort of thank you for the sex, have a cinnamon roll and don’t be mad if I never call you scheme, what is really the worst thing that could happen?

That you leave here with two orgasms and a sugar high?

There are worse fates.

“Then I guess we’re having cinnamon rolls,” you say.

“Give me thirty minutes.”

He gets dressed like he’s already late for something—and for a moment you think he’s freaking out that you might not be here if it takes him a minute longer than he’s promised. You shrug off that thought as quickly as it comes.

Before he’s out the door, you realize that while last night has left you happy and satisfied and relaxed beyond measure, it has also left you icky. Dried sweat. Remnants of perfume. Whatever is left of your makeup.

“Uh, Cameron?”

He turns quickly. “Yeah?”

“Can I take a shower?”

“Sure. Through there,” he says, pointing to a door in the hallway. “Extra towels in the cabinet.”

You nod.

He leaves.

Thirty minutes doesn’t leave you with a lot of snooping time—not that you would, anyway, but you do glance around as you head to the shower, making a few accidentally-on-purpose stops along your way. The house is nice, well built, with a lot of wood and knickknacks that don’t really scream Cameron, but you just met the guy so what do you know? Maybe the little horses have a story behind them. Maybe the framed cross-stitch pieces were passed down to him. Maybe he got the place furnished and hasn’t had time to redecorate anything besides his room.

Maybe—

Maybe it’s been fifteen minutes and you still haven’t gotten to the shower.

The water pressure is bad. Like, really bad. And he doesn’t have nice products, but other than that it’s a fairly uneventful shower until—

The front door slams shut.

And just before you have a chance to call out his name, someone else does it for you.

“Cameron?”

It’s a woman’s voice.

A chill runs through your body.

You don’t reply.

You run through the possibilities in your head. This isn’t his house. He’s house sitting. Or he’s a burglar. A scammer. A real estate agent with boundary issues.

Or—

He’s married.

You don’t like any of the options.

Not because of him—God, no. If he’s a liar or cheater or whatever, good riddance. You do not care.

But simply because now you’re complicit. And naked. In a stranger’s house.

That’s the kind of thing that gets people shot.

“Your car isn’t out front,” the woman calls out.