I wear many hats

As Robby tries to leave, Jack sidesteps, blocking Robby's way to the ambulance bay. "What was that about bad timing?" Jack asks. His mind is still wrapped around you, but something about Robby's tone is sticking out in his head.

Robby grabs Jack's shoulder, turning him to the bay as they walk in tandem. "Nothin'," Robby says with a shrug. "There's just this new resident..."

"Yeah? What about?"

Robby rubs his hands together. "She's your type."

As they step out into the ambulance bay, Jack is shocked by sweltering heat. Today was going to be rough. "What's that mean– my type?"

"You know," Robby rolls his eyes. Jack narrows his. "Good-looking, witty... soft." "Soft? The fuck–"

"Yeah, Jack!" Robby throws his hands up. "Don't act like you don't know this!"

Jack opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He thinks back to you– good-looking, witty, and–

Oh shit. Jack definitely has a type. A type which you definitely are.

"Goddammit."

"Sorry to break it to you." Robby is smirking. He glances over Jack's shoulder and blanches. "Uh, here she comes. Just keep an open mind, yeah?" Robby clasps Jack on the shoulder, once again turning him abound. "Dr. Abbot! Let me introduce our–"

"Oh," Jack breathes, cutting Robby off because–

"It's you." The laugh you let out is already committed to his memory, from back in the diner when Jack somehow managed to put together a half-decent joke. "You're my...?"

Jack has never been as happy for his existence than when Robby pops his head over your shoulder and calls, "No! Not your boss... directly. That would be me." He nods at Jack, then turns to you, "Me. Who is your–"

"My boss," you finish for Robby, staring at him until he finally takes the hint and steps off to where Whitaker lingers. You whistle lowly. "So, uh, this is..."

"Sticky," Jack sighs. In the distance, sirens approach.

"Yeah." You nudge Jack's ankle– his prosthesis. He makes a note to talk to you about that sometime. "Does this change things for you?"

The sirens are getting louder, you glance back in their direction, and Jack takes the opportunity to trace the length of your neck as it disappears down the neckline of–

"Jack?" You're staring at him through furrowed brows. "Are you alright?"

"Yes!" He clears his throat, eyes snapping back to yours. You're laughing. A flush creeps up his neck. In a desperate attempt to save his skin, Jack tries, "Let's talk about this another time.

Jack's still got it, because you break his stare, smiling shyly as you stutter, "Th-That sounds good. Nice."

He used to want to come home to the quiet of his house, to feed the stray cat outside and maybe read a little before bed. He used to like to sleep in on his off days, to spend the time couch rotting with a good book or some mind numbing TV. He used to like ordering takeout and never leaving the house unless he had to.

He saw enough action at work, anyway. no need for more of it.

But you are living life for the very first time and taking advantage of every second of it. Occasionally you'll sleep in until ten, if he's lucky. But you're out the door by eleven. Shopping or visiting museums or driving three hours to a store for some product that finally says it's back in stock.

And Robby—god. He loved to trail behind you the whole time.

He liked to carry your shopping bags and watch you try on clothes just to put them back. He liked to watch you order something new at a restaurant and see your reaction. He liked to watch as you take a hundred photos on your phone and even let you pose him so it turned out exactly like the vision in your head.

He liked hearing your giggle when you turned your phone to show him some silly TikTok he doesn't understand.

He even liked staying out late now, because you're always at a bar or a club. Always on the dance floor with a drink in your hand. Robby liked to watch you dance wildly, liked to watch the lights reflect in your eyes, liked to come home covered in your body glitter and your coconut perfume and your love.

In truth, Robby had been a little nervous thinking about the first time you'd sleep together. Worried he couldn't keep up with you, that you'd want him more often than his age would allow.

Cause, ya know—he's twice your age, and his stamina isn't what it used to be, and you're so alive and so bright and he's so…him. A little grumpy and a whole lot tired.

But what Robby discovered after some time is that his desire for you overshadowed all else.

He looked at your smiling face and all the nerves settled in his head, going from a raging storm to still waters in an instant.

He wanted your first time together to be romantic. Maybe he'd cook you some pasta and the two of you could get wine drunk and stumble up into his bedroom late one evening, and he'd be real sweet and soft. He wanted to make love to you. Wanted you to know just how much you brighten his life, wanted you to know just how cherished you really are.

But what actually happened is far from romantic.

It's not in his bed or even his house. It's in the back of his car, in broad daylight, on a random side street one rainy, Tuesday afternoon.

You'd asked him to stop and try that new coffee place downtown before you went to meet Trinity and Dennis for lunch. The downpour had intensified while you were inside ordering, and by the time you'd ran back to the car you'd both gotten drenched.

An event that would've irritated Robby before you, but how could he be upset about the rain and his wet hair and the droplets on his glasses when you were laughing about it? How could he be upset or irritated when you wore the sweetest smile?

You'd leaned across the center console, took his face in your cold hands, and pressed your mouth to his. you always tasted so sweet, and the combination of your warm tongue against his and the cool, wet slide of the rain on your lips—god. It had him weak in the knees.

Arousal pooled low in his gut instantaneously. He tried to think of other things. Gross things, terrifying things, of anything but you. None of it worked to erase the intensity of his desire.

He was ten minutes away from the diner when he pulled over and admitted what was going on. "Sweetheart, I'm…I'm really sorry, I know you were looking forward to this but I think we might have to cancel."

A crease formed between your brows, and it pained him to see it. "What? Why? What's going on, are you okay?"

Robby's face warmed, and he knew he should probably lie. Make up some fluke of an excuse as to why he'd suddenly had a change of heart and needed to return home at the very last second. But the look in your eyes was full of true concern, and Robby knew he'd never be able to lie. Not to you.

So, he took it on the chin. Swallowed down his embarrassment and said, "Yeah, yeah. But…uhm—when you…when you kissed me, it was really…" he laughed, fingers fidgeting. "It felt really nice. Too nice, actually, and—"

"Oh," you interrupted. "You're hard?"

The words are said so plainly, as if there's nothing wrong with the fact that he'd gotten this worked up over something as small as a kiss. Robby shook his head. "I've tried to get it to go away, but," he scoffed. "It's not—uh, not working, so—"

"Well, let me help you." Your lips turned up at the corners, a knowing smirk forming. you unbuckled your seatbelt and moved closer, leaning over the center console until your mouth is a breath away from his. "Is it okay if I touch you?"

Robby's head turned, glancing out of the rain-clouded windows. There was no one around, and he very much wanted you to touch him, but— "Are you sure? Here?"

Your nod is both certain and enthusiastic. "What better place than here and now?"

He laughed. "Anywhere would be better than here," he said. "My bed, your bed, the damn couch, for christ's sa—"

You palmed at his bulge through the too-thick fabric of his jeans. "Yeah? That's where you wanna fuck me, Mikey? The couch?" Your voice was low and teasing in his ear, sending shivers up his spine.

Robby swallowed, muscles slackening beneath your touch. You squeezed his length in your hand, stroking him with your thumb.

"Or…" you began. "Do you wanna fuck me here?" Your other hand joined the first, aiding so you could unbutton his jeans and slide your hand down the front of them.

He's not wearing boxers—Robby can't stand the extra fabric and the way it bunches—and suddenly your hand was wrapped tight around his aching cock. His head tilted back against the seat, eyes closed as you whispered against the shell of his ear.

"You're even bigger than I thought you'd be. Gonna feel so—so full, when you're inside me." you said, stroking his cock with the perfect amount of pressure. "I think about you fucking me a lot, Mikey. You're just so strong and so big and so fuckin' sexy. You remember when I asked you to send me those pictures when you were in the shower? I've touched myself to them so many times."

It killed him to hear it. To imagine you with your fingers on your clit or buried deep inside you while you're thinking about him. His cock pulsed, throbbing with desire. "This isn't—fuck—this isn't how it's supposed to be. I'm supposed to—to be sweet. Dinner and wine and rose—jesus—rose petals and—"

"I don't want rose petals today," you murmured. You licked at his neck, wet tongue sliding up over his pulse, over the stubble there that he's gone a day too long without shaving. "What I want is to suck your cock. Can I do that, Mikey?"

Robby was nodding before he could think any better of it. He lifts his hips just enough to pull his jeans down, cock springing free and resting against his belly, reaching just below his navel. It's thick and aching for you, resting just on top of the dark hair of his happy trail. "'Course you can, baby."

The smile you gave him in response is nothing short of earth-shattering.

Robby doesn't think anyone has ever seemed this eager for him. No one's been so desperate for it. The realization made him feel dizzy with affection for you and the way you worship him, the way you trust him.

You leaned over the center console, took his cock in one hand, and pressed a wet kiss to his tip. Your mouth is so soft and so sweet and so warm. Your tongue swirled around his length as you eased him into your mouth, tracing each vein over and over as if for memorization.

Robby didn't know where to put his hands. He wanted to touch you, to smooth your hair back away from your face. He wanted to reach over and squeeze the supple flesh of your ass through your leggings. He wanted to reach lower, to press his fingers against your folds through the cotton fabric until you moaned for him.

But he didn't know what was too much, or what wasn't enough, and—

You suddenly swallowed him down, taking all of him in your mouth, nose pressed to the thick hair at the base of his cock and it felt so fucking good that he nearly finishes right then and there.

And Robby, on instinct, grabbed the back of your neck to steady himself. "Oh fuck," he choked out. "Careful, pretty girl. Careful, careful—"

You slowly leaned back, mouth sealed tight around him, sucking hard until his cock pops out from between your lips. You turned your head to look up at him, slapping the underside of his length lewdly against your tongue. Spit bubbled at the corners of your mouth, sliding messily down your chin. "I love sucking your cock," you said.

A smile stretched across his face. Real and true and happy. "Yeah?"

You nodded in response, teary eyes alight with desire. "Mhm."

"Well, it's not fair for you to have all the fun now, is it?" Robby's fingers curled around the back of your neck, pulling you up and off of him. He guided your mouth to his, the kiss wet this time in a whole different way. His free hand found your neck, bracketing your throat completely between his big hands.

You moaned against his tongue and Robby smiled against your lips.

He pulled away only to instruct, "Why don't you go ahead an' get in the back seat for me, baby."

A grin formed on your face—pretty and submissive and alive with hunger. Robby could get real addicted to this, he thought. Real addicted to you.

He let go of your throat, and watched as you hurriedly did as told. Obedient little thing, so perfect.

Robby followed closely behind. He reached tbeneath the passenger seat to push it forward. The space is too small for him; cramped even when he bends on aching knees to the floor of the back seat.

Kneeling between your thighs, Robby hooked his fingers around the waistband of your leggings and pulled them down, over your high top sneakers. His hands come to feel the softness of your exposed skin, roaming up and beneath your shirt, feeling you this close for the very first time.

Robby palmed your breasts over the fabric of your bra, thumbs running over the subtle swells of your peaked nipples. "You're so pretty," he mused, leaning forward to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss just above your navel.

His mouth traveled downward, peppering kisses across your belly until his lips met the fabric of your panties. Robby delighted in the shiver you gave as the warmth of his breath fanned across your cunt. He pressed a kiss right over your clit and grinned to himself as your spine arched.

"Let's take these off, yeah?"

You nodded eagerly, and Robby didn't waste time before pulling your panties away.

"Oh, look at that," Robby muttered. He brought his hand between your legs and slid his fingers gently through your arousal. "So fuckin' wet, isn't she? This all for me, baby?"

"Yes," you breathed out. "Need you, Mikey. So bad."

"I know you do. S'alright, I've got you." Robby took his glasses off and set them on the leather seat beside you, before leaning forward and kissing you right where you needed him most. A shallow breath stuttered out of your chest, but he doesn't give you a moment to gather yourself. His tongue darts out, licking you from your entrance to your clit and then circling.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Robby obliged your silent instruction, suckling your clit into his mouth and flicking his tongue over the pulsing nerves.

His heart was beating fast in his chest, his cock aching to be inside you. He had one hand on your breast, and brought the other to your cunt. Robby finds your opening with two gentle fingers and pushed them in.

"Oh god," you cried out. "That's so good. You feel so—fuck."

Robby curled his fingers inside of you, pushing hard against the softest spot."Talk to me, pretty girl," he urged. "Tell me what feels good."

"M-maybe a little…hmm—a little faster?"

He quickened the pace of his fingers and licked at your clit more feverishly, humming when you give a little gasp in response.

"Fuck—yes, yes. Like that. And—your fingers just a little deeper—just—"

Robby listened like a trained dog, heeding your every beck and call. He pressed deeper, thrusting his fingers upwards until—

"Ohmygod, yes—just like that, just like that please. Don't stop, don't stop—"

He doesn't. Robby licked and sucked at your clit until his spit dripped down onto the leather seat below you. He groaned low at the taste of your arousal, ambrosia made just for him. sweet and youthful and delectable.

He didn't deserve it, Robby knew. Your desire, your love, your light. But he'll eat it all up for as long as you continue to give it.

You clenched around his fingers and Robby pulled his mouth away, strings of saliva snapping against his chin. "You about to cum, baby?"

"Yes, yes, please, Mikey I need it—!"

"Nuh-uh," he said with a shake of his head. He pulled back fully, sliding his fingers out of you and rising to his full height. "M'gonna watch the first time you cum for me. Wanna see it on your face. Wanna feel you milk my cock 'til I fill up that sweet little pussy of yours."

A whimper left your mouth, and Robby could do nothing but smile cause he knew. He knew how needy you feel, how frantic that desire made you. He knew because it lived in him, too.

He pressed your legs upwards, setting the soles of your sneakers against the edge of the backseat. He grabbed at the collar of his shirt and pulled it over his head before picking up his glasses and setting them back on his face. "Take it all off," Robby ordered. "Let me see you."

You do as told, quickly adding your hoodie and bra to the growing pile of discarded clothes.

Robby took a minute just to absorb it all; to memorize the way you looked, spread out for him in the backseat of his car, eyes glassy and pupils blown wide. You're the prettiest little thing. Half his age, half his heart.

That four letter L word flitted across his mind, but Robby doesn't give life to it.

Not yet, anyway.

He dragged his hand down the center of your chest instead, but thought you must be able to feel the love in it, manifesting at the very tips of his fingers.

"I want you inside me," you whispered, bringing your hand to his against your chest, holding tight to his knuckles.

Robby nodded and took his cock in his free hand, sliding it through the syrupy wetness between your legs before he lined himself up with your entrance. He pressed his cock in, just the head at first. Enough for him to notch himself there so he can wrap his hand around the back of your neck instead.

He forced you to look at him, eyes locked together as he slowly pushed all the way inside.

You breathed out synchronized sighs of relief the moment he's seated fully inside you, cock pressed right up against your womb.

You're so tight around him, so wet and warm and perfect. Robby began to gently rock his hips, keeping you steady with his heavy hands. One on your chest, the other at the back of your neck. He can feel your heart beating beneath his palm, pulse elevated in the way his likely is.

"God, Mikey—"

You don't need to ask him to quicken his pace, not this time. Robby heard it in your voice. And some old dogs could certainly learn new tricks.

He finds a rhythm that has your eyes threatening to roll back. The perfect tempo, filling you up and fucking you deep. "My girl," he muttered. "My pretty girl. So good to me. Fuck."

Your spine arched off the back of the leather seat, chest pressed more firmly against his hand. "That's so good, so'fucking—mmm."

"Touch yourself for me, baby," Robby said.

You find your clit and circle it with deft, practiced fingers. Robby took note of the direction you move, cataloging the information for later. "It's so—so big—"

"I know, sweet girl. But you can take it, hm? Can't you?"

"Yes, yes—don't stop, please don't stop I'm so close, I'm so—"

The words are broken in your mouth, overtaken by a wanton moan.

"I know you are," he whispered. "Can feel her squeezing me real tight. You gonna cum for me already?"

He'd said it as a taunt, but in truth Robby was no better. He'd been fighting off his own release from the very moment he'd slid his cock inside you.

"Look at me," he ordered, fingers flexed around the back of your neck. And once you do, a satisfied smile formed on his mouth. "Good. Good. Now cum for me, baby. Give it to me."

Your breath halted, the exhale stuck in your chest. And then Robby could feel your cunt pulse around him, and you let out a ragged whimper as your release rocked through you. "Cum with me, please," you cried. "Want you to cum inside, Mikey."

That's what did him in; the sound of your voice, whining out his name. A moniker he only ever allowed you to call him. So fitting, coming from the soft, bright thing you are. "Shit," he hissed, his own orgasm clouding the edges of his vision. "Takin' it all, huh? Yeah, that's it. That's my girl."

He didn't stop, not until he was well and truly spent. Until he'd fucked all of his release into your cunt, until his cock was sensitive and your breathing evened out beneath his palm.

Robby pressed his mouth to yours tenderly and could feel your smile as it formed. He pulled away, stuffed himself back into his jeans and asked, "What's so funny?"

You shook your head. "Nothing, just…I think Trin is calling me."

It's only when you say it that Robby finally heard the buzzing coming from the front seat. He reached towards it, taking your forgotten phone in his hand and examining the screen to find a photo of Trinity with her head in your lap.

Robby remembered the night he'd taken the photo, some third shift party at John's place you'd insisted on crashing. You'd made friends with Trinity in two seconds flat when she'd confessed her part in his Tinder profile to you, much to Robby's dismay.

He passed the device to you. "Wanna answer it?"

You took your phone, clicked the screen once, and pressed it to your ear. "We're late, I'm sorry, I know," you laughed. "We're on our way. Got stuck in traffic. Order me one of those strawberry lemonades."

Robby helped you find your clothes, tugging your panties back over your legs and righting them around your hips. Your leggings were next, and he tried not to think about his cum that slowly spilled out of you to avoid another stop on the way to the diner.

Robby couldn't fight his grin as he found his shirt to pull it back over his head.

"Trin, no. A shot? It's not even noon—well, yeah, now it is, but—!"

You both climbed to the front of his car, and Robby reached over to buckle you in.

"Well…I mean, if it's a mimosa…"

Robby laughed as he turned the key in the ignition. Knew right then and there he'd probably spend half the afternoon taking care of you, but knew good and well that he'd love every moment of it.

He promised himself he'd give you those rose petals later.

But for now, the vibrancy you've painted in his heart is enough.