M³

She exhaled slowly, pressing her lips together as her gaze drifted up from the screen to the familiar chaos of the ER, monitors chiming, hurried footsteps, voices overlapping in controlled urgency. It had always grounded her. Noise, movement, purpose. Here, everything made sense.

Out there, she wasn’t so sure.

“Hey.” His voice cut through the static in her head with unsettling ease.

(Y/n) didn’t need to turn to know it was Robby, but she did anyway, because not looking at him had never really been an option. He stood a few feet away, arms loosely crossed, expression caught somewhere between casual and searching. Like he already knew something was off and was waiting for her to confirm it.

“You’ve been staring at that screen like it personally offended you,” he added, stepping closer. “Everything okay?”

She locked her phone with a soft click, buying herself a second, just one, to steady her voice, “Yeah. Just admin stuff.”

Robby’s eyebrow lifted immediately. He didn’t believe her, of course he didn’t. He never took things lightly when it came to her, or at least it had always felt like that.

“Admin stuff doesn’t make you look like that,” he said quietly.

“And how do I look?” She crossed her arms, leaned back in her chair and waited for her fellow attending to keep on speaking.

“Like you’ve finally found some sense of freedom others only dream of.” The words hit harder than they should have. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

She felt it then, that familiar, unspoken tension that had lived between them for years. It lingered in the space between breaths, in the way his eyes stayed on hers just a second too long, in the conversations that always felt like they were circling something neither of them dared to name.

“I got approved,” she said finally, voice low. “For the sabbatical.”

Robby blinked once, like he needed a second to process it.

“Approved?” he echoed. “As in, you’re actually going?”

She felt her heart clench in her chest, a sensation (y/n) desperately tried to ignore, “Three months.”

Something shifted in his expression, subtle, but unmistakable. Surprise, sure. But underneath it, something tighter lingered. Something she couldn’t quite name, but felt all the same.

“When were you going to tell me?” he asked. The question wasn’t sharp, but it landed that way anyway.

“I just found out,” she pressed out, softer now. “I mean, I knew it was a possibility, but-”

“But you didn’t think it would actually happen,” he finished.

“Yeah.” She hated this part, the waiting, the not knowing. The way it suddenly felt like everything that had gone unsaid between them was pressing in from all sides, demanding something. “It’s good, though, I mean, it’s what I wanted. Time away, new perspective, all that.”

“Right,” he said. “Of course. That’s, yeah. That’s great.”

It didn’t sound like he meant it. Her chest tightened once more as she began to realise that this was the moment, the one she hadn’t let herself think about too much, because it felt too fragile, too uncertain. But now it was here, standing right in front of her in the shape of his silence. Say something, she thought, her pulse picking up. Please.

A reason to stay. A reason to hesitate. A reason to believe that whatever this was between them wasn’t just something she had imagined. Robby shifted his weight slightly, like he was about to speak.

“Three months is a long time,” he said. Words that made an uncomfortable tightness settle in her body, that godforsaken feeling of disappointment she should have grown used to by now.

“Yeah,” (y/n) agreed. “It is.”

Another stretch of quiet settled between them, even heavier now. Around them, the ER kept moving, life continuing on, oblivious to the fact that hers felt like it had just tilted slightly off its axis.

Robby cleared his throat, he ran a hand through his hair before his fingers settled on the stethoscope he carried around his neck, “Well, you should go out with the others later, you can tell us a bit more about your plans.”

And then he was gone, and with him her last string of hope.

…

“Okay, but, what will you do in those three months?” Trinity was sipping on her drink while grinning at (y/n). She had told them about her sabbatical a few minutes ago, eyes not daring to meet Robby’s once. He had avoided her ever since their talk, keeping his distance when they weren’t actively working on a case, almost as if he was punishing her for leaving.

“I don’t know, take some time to read, travel, meet friends.” She mumbled the words into her drink, eyes flickering back up in confusion as Trinity let go of a chuckle.

“Got it, so you’re just using those three months to let loose and fuck new people.” (Y/n) choked on her sip, wide eyes instantly meeting Robby’s. She hated that she couldn’t read his expression, hated that poker face he had perfected years and years ago.

“And even if so, let the girl live. God knows she deserves it.” To others Dana’s words may have sounded simple, but to her they were dripping with meaning. Their charge nurse was the only one who knew of (y/n)’s feelings for her fellow attending, the one she had spoken about this situation with for months on end, always circling back to the same outcome. Reciprocated feelings, but a man who was too scared of commitment and letting someone in.

“Well it’s good to know you all are so concerned about my sex life.” Her words made the group laugh before Princess said something that caught most of their attention. (Y/n)’s eyes flickered back to where Robby had been sitting moments ago, only to find the seat empty. She let her gaze wander through the bar, catching his frame disappearing out into the night. “Excuse me.”

(Y/n) didn’t wait for a reply, she jogged after him, heart pounding as if it was already their last moment together.

“Robby!” (Y/n)’s voice broke through the evening, she caught Robby leaning against the wall, glasses on his nose while looking down at his phone. “You good?”

“Mhm,” he looked up, “Oh, yeah, all good. Sorry, I just needed to text Jack about a case, something I forgot to do earlier.”

“You sure?” He had sounded anything but convincing, forcing her to study him with an even more critical gaze. Robby let go of a deep breath before sliding his phone back into his pocket.

“Are you really ready to do this?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t have applied if I wasn’t.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Her jaw tightened slightly, “Then what are you asking, Robby?”

He hesitated, just for a second, but it was enough to tell her everything she needed to know. (Y/n) let out a small breath, something with a strange bite creeping into her voice before she could stop it, “Because it kind of sounds like you’re asking if I should stay.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No,” she spat out, a humorless half-laugh escaping. “You’re just, what? Checking? Making sure I’ve thought it through? Because that would be very on brand for you.”

“I’m just trying to understand why it suddenly has to be now,” he said.

“I don’t need your permission to leave.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

“It feels like you did.”

The words hung between them, sharper than she intended, but (y/n) didn’t take them back, she couldn’t, not when they were looking at one another with such a strange, unforgiving longing. And yet, Robby’s expression hardened slightly, something defensive creeping in.

“I’m not blaming you for going,” he said.

She let out a breath, shaking her head before taking a step back, “It feels like you are. I mean, c’mon, what even is this between us?”

He stopped, and there it was again, that hesitation. That line he kept walking up to but never crossing. Something in her finally snapped, just a little, enough to make anger simmer inside of her.

“If you have something to say,” she said, quieter now but also angrier, “then you should probably say it. Because I’m leaving, and I’m not going to carry whatever this is with me if it’s just nothing.”

The words felt too big once they were out there. Too real. For a second, it looked like he might actually do it. Like he might finally say the thing they’d both been avoiding.

“I-,” the bar door slammed open behind them. “Hey, you two hiding out here?”

The moment shattered instantly. (Y/n) stepped back, crossing her arms again, retreating into something safer, more neutral. Robby looked away first this time.

The interruption lingered, filling the space where something else had almost existed. She glanced at Robby, but whatever had been there a second ago was gone, tucked away, buried under something more controlled. Of course.

“Anyway,” she said, clearing her throat slightly to get rid of that heavy feeling welcoming her in with open arms once more. “I should probably head out soon.”

“Let me walk you home.” His words came out quickly, almost cutting her off.

“What?” Robby shrugged, but there was something tighter in his expression now. Something more certain.

“It’s late,” he said. “And,” he hesitated, then forced a small, almost self-conscious exhale. “I’d like to.”

The simplicity of it caught her off guard, because it wasn’t a confession, hell, it certainly was not the thing she’d been hoping for. But not nothing, either.

“Alright, sure. Let’s grab our things and then we can leave.” She didn’t wait for another reply, stepped back into the bar, and tried to ignore the heat buzzing through her system. Her hands slightly shook as she paid for her drink and grabbed her things, watching Dana murmur something to Robby before he joined her at the door.

The evening cozied them along, sirens wailed in the distance, cars honked, people called something out, sounds she had grown used to over the years of living here. Neither of them spoke, at least not for a while, not for the first two blocks before Robby finally cleared his throat.

“So what are your plans for those three months? Like, true plans, besides what Santos mentioned.” She grew hot at the memory, having to breathe her embarrassment away before being able to reply.

“I didn’t lie, I just need some time to myself, to breathe, to allow myself some rest.” He hummed as they came to a halt at a red light, backs of their hands momentarily brushing. She could see from the corner of her eye that he was looking down at her hand for a moment before looking away again. (Y/n) held her breath for a second, a second turning into two and three as she felt his hand slowly reach for hers, fingers pressed together as if they had done this numerous times before.

“We’ll miss you,” Robby mumbled, eyes still set fully ahead, “I will miss you.”

“Yeah?” She turned her head towards him now, ignoring that the light had turned green and people started crossing the road. Robby looked down at her, he squeezed her hand while his other found her chin, thumb stroking her lower lip.

“Course I will.” Her body moved first, weight shifted onto her toes to let her lips ghost his. It wasn’t even a kiss, at least not until Robby closed the distance between them fully. The light had turned red again, people had stopped walking, but their hearts had picked up their beats, racing in their chests while they finally kissed after all those years.

“Just so you know, I’ll miss you too.”

…

Her apartment was dark as they tumbled inside, lips locked, hands busy tugging at one another’s clothing. Robby guided her backward, knowing his way around her apartment after crashing on her couch at least two or three times a month.

“You sure about this?” The words were mumbled against her lips as they both came to a halt before crossing the threshold of her bedroom.

She took a step away, eyes set on Robby, lips pulling into a smirk as she tugged her shirt over her head, her bra following seconds later, “Looks like I am, doesn’t it?”

A squeal left her as he pulled her back in and picked her up, carrying her to the bed, only to drop her down without warning. Robby was on her in a second, lips pressed to her chest, exploring both breasts as a groan left him. She was trembling slightly, her body feeling the sensations on high alert as his tongue circled her nipples, taking his time exploring her body.

“Robby,” (y/n) panted his name, fingernails scratching at his scalp as she held him close. “Stop teasing, I’ve been waiting too long for this.”

“Have you now?” The question made her scoff. She rolled her eyes at his smirk and gave him a slight push. He seemed to understand her perfectly, dropping to the mattress beside her before she straddled his thighs.

(Y/n) traced his skin, letting her fingers slip beneath his shirt for a moment before telling him to take it off. Their eyes held contact as she kissed his skin, unable to hide her grin as soft sounds slipped from Robby. She kissed along his happy trail before reaching the hem of his scrub pants.

Slowly, she undid the lacing, then pulled them, and his underwear, down just enough to free his already hardening cock. (Y/n) allowed herself to take in the sight for a second, heart still racing, breaths growing heavier, before she wrapped her hand around him.

Robby groaned at the touch, his hands fisting the sheets as if he had to stop himself from reaching for her too quickly. She spat onto the tip, watching her saliva drip down his length, then she began pumping him.

“Fuck, I thought you didn’t want any teasing?” His raspy words made her chuckle, but (y/n) didn’t reply. She was too focused on her task, set on making him feel the same frustration she’d been battling for so long, that indescribable closeness she felt whenever she touched herself to the thought of him, desperate to finally feel him for real.

She pumped him, watching the pleasure pull at his features, a sensation that only grew stronger as she lowered her face and parted her lips, intent on tasting him. Her tongue stroked over the tip, savoring the taste of his precum before she took more of him into her mouth.

“Shit.” Robby’s head fell back against the pillow, eyes closed, lips slightly parted as (y/n) began to suck him off. Every now and then she gagged around him, eager to take as much of him as possible.

“You’ve gotta slow down, baby, I want to cum inside you.”

“Sorry, I forgot that you’re an old man who apparently can’t last long.” Her teasing earned a huff, and within seconds she was pulled up onto his chest, his lips pressing against hers.

“Be careful what you say, doll. That old man is the one who decides over your orgasms from now on.” A shudder ran down her spine, making her choke on a breath. Robby rolled her onto her back, his knee pressing to her heat, letting her grind against it. She moaned at the sensation, desperate for more.

“I want you to beg for it.”

“Robby!” (Y/n) whined, her voice breaking as his hands slipped into her scrubs, circling her pulsing bundle for a moment. “Fuck me, please.”

“What’s that?” He moved his fingers faster, drawing another moan from her. Her head was buzzing, thoughts foggy, unable to grasp what he wanted her to say.

“Come on, doll. Be a good girl.”

“Fuck me, Robby! God, please.” He let out a shaky chuckle, shaking his head before pulling his fingers free. (Y/n) lifted her hips as he tugged off the rest of her clothes, allowing him to undress her fully before stepping out of his own.

She took a moment to steady herself as she reached for a condom, watching Robby roll it down his cock before settling over her again.

“Keep your eyes on me.” The command made her shudder, her gaze locked on his as she felt him brush his tip through her folds a few times. They both moaned at the sensation, the sounds only growing stronger the moment he sank into her. She struggled to adjust, her breathing catching as Robby pushed deeper.

“That’s my girl. You feel so good, baby.” She could only mewl his name as Robby began to thrust, their bodies meeting with every movement. (Y/n) clung to him, her legs wrapping around his waist, her hands gripping his back. Their sounds filled the bedroom, bouncing off the walls as they climbed higher and higher.

Robby pulled out without warning, turning her onto her stomach before entering her from behind again. (Y/n) moaned into the pillow, her hands fisting the sheets as he fucked her harder, one hand planted beside her head, the other tangled in her hair.

“I always knew you’d be perfect for me, made to take my cock.”

(Y/n) sobbed into the pillow, unable to reply as her orgasm built rapidly. Robby’s hips snapped against her with every thrust, undoubtedly leaving marks that would linger, “Fuck, come for me, doll. Let go.”

(Y/n) came seconds later, her moans spilling freely as Robby continued to fuck her through her orgasm. He chased his own high, movements growing erratic until he finally came with a groan, his forehead pressing between her shoulder blades.

“Shit, are you okay?” He pulled out after a moment, his eyes finding hers, glassy but smiling, as she nodded.

They were both panting, trying to catch their breath as Robby disposed of the condom before returning with a damp cloth.

“So, is this your attempt at keeping me here?” Her words made him chuckle. He shook his head before pulling her into his chest, his lips pressing to her hairline.

“Compound fracture?” he asked, not looking at her.

“Distal tibia, possible involvement of the fibula,” she replied. Her voice came out steadier than she felt, trying to ignore the racing of her heart. “They said neurovascular status is questionable.”

“Good. You saw the scans?” For the first time since leaving his office he looked at her, sharp eyes holding contact.

“Prelim only.”

“Then we’ll look again.” Sharks had ampullae of Lorenzini, she remembered from some half-forgotten documentary. Electroreceptors, they could sense the faintest signals in the water, the twitch of muscle, the hidden movement beneath sand. Sometimes she thought Park had something similar.

He always knew when she wasn’t sure, and for some reason, he never called her out on it. Not like he did with everyone else.

They pushed through the doors, the sound hitting her immediately. Monitors beeping, a trauma team calling out vitals, a nurse swearing under her breath. Controlled chaos, at least that’s what they always told her.

The patient was in bay three. Blood soaked through the makeshift dressing, the leg angled wrong in a way that made her stomach tighten, though her face stayed neutral.

Park stepped in first. His entire posture shifted, it was still sharp, still precise, but quieter now, somewhat focused in a different way. Sharks didn’t thras, they circled, observed. Waited for the exact right moment to strike.

“Talk me through it,” he said, but it wasn’t to the room. It was to her, so (y/n) blinked once, then stepped forward.

“Male, mid-thirties, fall from height, open fracture of the distal tibia, possible fibular involvement. Bleeding controlled temporarily. Pulse’s weak but present.” She read the notes, eyes trying not to give away the excitement flushing through her as he nodded at her, greedy for his praise.

“Show me.” Her hands moved before (y/n) could overthink it. She could feel him watching and it made her more aware of everything, the pressure of her fingers, the way her heart beat just a little faster than it should.

“Good,” he said quietly. One word, but it landed heavier than it had any right to. From anyone else, it would be routine, expected even, from him, it felt earned. Behind them, a familiar voice finally cut through the moment.

“Well, what a sight.” Slowly, she turned. Dr. Robby stood at the edge of the bay, arms crossed, eyes flicking between her and Park with an expression that was far too knowing.

Her father had always been good at reading people, it was part of what made him so good at emergency medicine. Patterns, instincts, the ability to pick up on things others missed. Right now though, she wished he was a little worse at it.

“Ortho got here fast,” Robby continued, stepping closer, eyes still flickering between the two. “Must be a special case.”

Park didn’t flinch, if anything, he stilled further. Like something beneath the surface had gone completely still, waiting.

“Open fracture,” Park said. “Time matters after all, doesn’t it, Doctor Robby.”

“Mhm,” her father replied lowly as his gaze shifted to her, then back to Brendon, then back to her again.

Sharks could detect a drop of blood in a vast ocean, a single part per million. Robby didn’t need that kind of biology, he just needed one look, while the space between his daughter and Park didn’t feel as invisible as it had before. (Y/n) cleared her throat, forcing them to focus back on the patient.

Eventually Brendon stripped off his gloves, already half turned toward the exit. “Get the post-reduction films,” he said, eyes flicking briefly to (y/n). “I’ll be upstairs.”

Then he was gone, just like that. Sharks didn’t linger after the strike.

(Y/n) exhaled slowly, forcing her shoulders to relax before turning back to the chart. If she moved quickly enough, if she stayed focused, maybe she could slip out without her father stopping her. But luck was rarely on her side around these four walls.

“Hey.” Her father’s voice wasn’t loud, but it had that tone, the one that cut through everything else. She closed her eyes for half a second, then turned. He stood a few feet away, hands on his hips now, posture casual in a way that wasn’t casual at all.

“I need you for a second,” he said

“Dad, I have to get-”

“You’ve got two minutes,” Robby interrupted, already walking toward a quieter corner of the ED. “Come on.”

She followed, because she simply always did when it came to him. He didn’t speak until they were out of the main flow, tucked near a supply alcove where the noise dulled just enough to make this feel contained. Which was worse, somehow.

Robby turned to face his daughter fully. Up close, his expression shifted, less teasing now, perhaps even more intent.

“How long?”

She blinked. “What?”

“How long has that been going on?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” The answer came too fast.

Robby’s eyebrow lifted slightly. He didn’t argue, didn’t push right away, but he watched (y/n) in that same assessing way he used on patients, like he was waiting for the truth to surface on its own.

“Okay,” he said after a moment. “Then let me rephrase. How long have you been crushing on your boss?”

Heat crept up her neck. “I don’t-”

“And how long has he been looking at you like that?”

That stopped her. She could deny her own behavior, but his was harder to explain away. Robby let the silence sit for a beat, then exhaled through his nose.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Thought so.”

She crossed her arms, defensive now. “You’re reading too much into it. And I’m an adult, whatever I do isn’t any of your concern.”

“I’m really not.” He ignored the second half of her rambling, tone calm, but there was something underneath it, something tethering along the line of concern and fear.

“Park,” Robby continued, tilting his head slightly toward the doors, “doesn’t look at people, at least not like that. I’ve worked with him long enough to know the difference.”

“He’s my boss,” she said. “He’s supposed to look at me.”

“No. He’s supposed to tolerate you, respect you if you’re good.” His gaze sharpened. “He’s not supposed to single you out.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. There was no use in fighting her father on this, Brendon was different with her after all, something she had noticed within the first month of working with him.

“Listen to me,” Robby murmured, voice lowering. “I don’t care how good he is in the OR, I don’t care how much you like him, but HR will care. Power dynamics, supervision, all of it. This isn’t just messy, it’s career-ending messy if it goes the wrong way, sweetheart.”

“I’m not doing anything,” she insisted, quieter now.

“Not yet.” That landed harder than anything before had. “I know you don’t do reckless. You think things through, overthink them, always have. But this?” He shook his head. “This is the kind of thing that sneaks up on you.”

Her heart skipped at her father’s words, unsure how to fight against his warnings, the words that made heat linger deep inside of her.

“He was watching your hands,” Robby continued. “Not the injury, not the patient, you.”

Sharks track movement, they focus on it, stay locked in until everything else faded out. She had felt it, of course she had, but hearing it out loud made it real in a way she couldn’t ignore.

“I’m not saying he’s a bad guy,” her father added, more measured now. “But he’s intense, he’s sharp. And guys like that don’t do anything halfway, trust me.”

Neither did sharks, they didn’t test the water, they only committed.

“Just be careful,” he finished. “For your sake, and mine.”

“Okay.” Robby studied her for another second, like he was trying to decide if that answer meant anything. Then he sighed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

“Alright, sweetheart, go,” he said, jerking his head toward the exit. “Before your attending decides you’ve disappeared and thinks he needs to punish me for it.”

She turned, relief and something heavier mixing in her chest. But as (y/n) pushed back into the flow of the ED, one thought lingered. Park hadn’t looked at the patient after all, he had looked at her.

The walk back up to ortho felt longer than it should have. The films were clutched a little too tightly in her hand, edges pressing into her palm as if that could anchor her. The ED noise faded with each floor, replaced by the quieter, more controlled rhythm she was used to.

(Y/n) pushed through the ortho doors, forcing herself into routine, films to the lightbox, chart open.

“Did you get them?” His voice came from behind her, he was leaning against the door frame of his office, big arms crossed in front of his muscular chest.

“Yes,” (y/n) turned slightly, holding up the films. “Post-reduction looks good. Alignment’s-”

“Bring them here.”

She crossed the room, handing them over to her boss who took them without brushing her fingers, but it was close enough that she felt them anyway. That near-contact, like static in the air before a storm.

“Good,” he mumbled as his eyes wandered over them. “You caught the rotation early.”

She nodded, following him into his office before closing the door behind herself, just like he always asked her to. “It was subtle.”

“It usually is.” He set the films down on his desk, but instead of stepping away, he stayed there, one hand resting against the edge, eyes still on the images like he was thinking through something else entirely. Then, without looking up he spoke again.

“What did he say?” Her breath caught.

“Who?” Park’s gaze lifted slowly, filled by that same sharp, unblinking focus.

“Your father.” There it was again, that feeling of being tracked. Sharks didn’t rely on sight alone, they followed currents, disturbances, the faintest shifts in the water. Once they locked onto something, they didn’t lose it. Park hadn’t been in that conversation, but somehow, he’d still found it.

“It was nothing,” she started, then stopped herself. Lying outright felt pointless under that stare. “He just said to be careful.”

“About what? Me?” He pushed off the desk and then he moved. Slow this time, deliberate almost. It wasn’t the quick, cutting motion she was used to. This was different as each step was placed with intention while he came toward her.

Her pulse picked up, maybe it was instinct, prey recognized proximity after all. Sharks didn’t rush unless they had to, they circled, and closed distance gradually. Let tension build until there was nowhere left to go.

“He’s not wrong.” The admission hit harder than she expected.

“But?” The word slipped out before she could stop it. Park’s eyes flicked down to her mouth for a fraction of a second.

“But,” he echoed quietly, “he didn’t say anything about what I want, did he?”

Her breath hitched, this was a bad idea. Every logical part of her brain was screaming that. HR. Power dynamics. Her father’s voice, steady and warning.

This is the kind of thing that sneaks up on you.

Park took another half-step forward, chest about to meet hers. Sharks tested boundaries with nudges before the bite. Small, almost imperceptible contacts that escalated before you realized what was happening.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked. The question was quiet, but there was something underneath it, something taut, like a line pulled too tight. She should have said yes.

“No.” It was barely a whisper, but it was enough. Something in him snapped into place, like a predator committing. His hand came up, not rough, but firm as it settled at her jaw, thumb brushing just beneath her lip, tilting her face up.

Sharks didn’t second guess once they struck.

The kiss hit like that, sudden but certain. All that contained precision turned into something sharper, hotter. He didn’t rush it, but there was no question in it either. Brendon had been waiting for this, undoubtedly for the right moment, just like a part of her had been too. Her hands found the front of his scrubs without thinking, gripping the blue fabric as if it could steady the way everything else tilted.

He tasted like coffee and something colder, cleaner. The same control he carried everywhere else, now stripped down to something more dangerous. His other hand turned her around, bracing her against the desk behind them, caging her in without touching more than he had to. The kiss was anything but soft; it was sharp, guided by a longing neither of them had addressed for months.

When he pulled back, it wasn’t far, just enough to look at her, but close enough that she could still feel his breath.

“This,” he chuckled, voice lower now, rougher at the edges, “is exactly what he was warning you about.”

“Are you going to stop?” she asked. A flicker of something passed through his eyes, something awfully predatory.

“No.” Somewhere, distantly, she knew this would complicate everything. But as his gaze dropped to her mouth again, as that tension coiled tighter instead of easing, complicated didn’t feel like a reason to stop.

(Y/n) kissed him, her tongue swiping along his lower lip to ask for entrance as a groan broke from him. Both his hands found her waist, pushing her onto his desk, ignoring the carefully organized papers that scattered to the floor. He was solely focused on her, on their kiss, on the soft noises leaving her.

Sharks in a feeding frenzy don’t think, don’t pause, just instinct and blood pulling them forward. And in that moment, she knew there was no use fighting, no use in pulling away. (Y/n)’s legs tightened around him, and she felt him against her, the sensation making her tremble with anticipation.

“What is it that you want?” She struggled to reply, lips tingling, tongue pressed against her teeth while Brendon stared down at her. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll just fuck you on this desk.”

“Please.” (Y/n) felt pathetic for begging, for needing to feel his hands on her some more, to have him take her right here. Some sharks choose a single mate for a season, circling, testing, returning again and again until the choice is made. He looked at her like that decision had already been made, like everything else was just instinct finally catching up.

“We’ll have to keep you quiet. Can’t have anybody hear what’s mine alone.” He tugged at the band of her scrubs, loosening them as she helped push them down her legs, her panties following a second later. It took her brain a moment to catch up, to ask what he was doing, a thought she quickly abandoned as he pushed her soaked panties into her mouth to keep her quiet.

Brendon’s mouth found her heat, his tongue pressing against her as a groan left him at her taste. (Y/n)’s fingers found his neck, holding him close while he moved against her, his touch expectedly controlled as his soft fingers circled her most sensitive spot.

“Atta girl, fuck, look at you, spread out for me to feast from.” Neither of them had the patience to drag it out, both too greedy, needing to feel each other as closely as possible. He pulled her panties from her mouth for a moment. “Condom?”

“I’m on the pill and clean.”

Brendon freed himself, and she fought the urge to reach for him, silently promising she would later, needing to feel him rest heavily on her tongue. Their eyes stayed locked as he aligned himself with her, and even as he pushed into her, neither of them looked away, lips parted, pupils blown wide.

“Should’ve known you’d fucking ruin me.” His words made her moan, the sound muffled again as her panties were pushed back into her mouth. He moved hard, giving her little time to adjust. They were both too desperate, too aware of the limited time before they’d be called away again.

Their bodies met with every sharp thrust, the desk groaning beneath her. She felt him deep inside her, hitting exactly where it made her vision blur, stars sparking behind her eyes. (Y/n)’s nails dragged down the back of his neck, surely leaving marks, marks others would notice, but neither of them cared about.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. Bet you’re already close, huh? Desperate to come on your boss’s cock, aren’t you?” Tears welled in her eyes, desperation, need, overwhelming her. One slipped down her cheek, but his thumb caught it, bringing it to his mouth, tasting the salt as he drove her closer to the edge.

With his hand finding her clit, Brendon pushed her over, keeping her there as she came apart beneath him. The sensation rushed through her, overwhelming, addictive, impossible to ignore. He followed seconds later, deep inside her, staying close, a low groan leaving him as he pressed his forehead to her shoulder. They stayed like that for a moment, breathing hard, holding onto each other, until he finally pulled back and reached for a tissue to clean her up.

“I’ll take you back to mine after our shift. Do this properly.” (Y/n)’s mind was still hazy, slow to catch up, so she simply nodded, taking his hand as she stepped down from the desk.

“Oh, and the next time your father tries to warn you,” he added, voice quieter now but no less firm, “tell him to drop it. I don’t play around with my women.”

He shakes his head, says something you can't discern from a distance, despite trying to read his lips, and tries again.

Same thing, only this time, she sneers like a rabid dog.

He plants his hands on his hips and attempts to level her with a disapproving look. An expression which you know all too well. Only difference is, he doesn't actually mean it with you. It's like a silent form of sarcasm.

Such as a few weeks ago when you climbed atop him in bed wearing only one of his Army t-shirts and slid your hands up his chest before submerging your fingers in silken silver curls.

"We need a new dryer," you'd purred before leaning forward and brushing soft kisses along the stubble that coated his upper neck. When you flicked your tongue against his pounding carotid, he'd groaned before grabbing your hips and pushing you back so he could face you head-on.

"And your plan," he'd began while fingering the hem of the t-shirt you'd donned, "is to seduce me for it?"

After wrapping your arms around yourself and pulling it off before finally tossing the garment onto the floor, you'd grabbed his hands and settled them over your breasts. "Is it working?"

He'd pursed his lips—same as he's doing now in Trauma 3—and deliberated for a moment before gently massaging your nipples. "Lay on your back and spread your legs," he'd commanded before sliding off the bed and onto his crutches—headed in the direction of the bathroom for a dose of Viagra.

"You move," he'd called from the other room—followed by the sound of running tap water. "And I'll put you over my knee when I get back in there."

You'd merely giggled before standing and padding toward the middle of the room to see if he'd follow through.

Your bottom stung for two days afterwards. But after many kisses and rub-downs with lotion (which may or may not have ended with his fingers inside of you on more than one occasion), you were more than happy to grant him your forgiveness for the erotic punishment.

Finally, Jack tries one last time—third time's the charm, after all—and all hell breaks loose.

Diving off the bed like a wildcat, she tackles him to the floor and begins smacking him across the face while shouting vulgar obscenities. Threatening to rip his throat out with her teeth is when you see absolute red.

One minute, you're standing next to Frank. The next, you're racing across the ED toward the room she has him trapped in.

Lunging at her with reckless abandon, you dig your nails deep into her scalp and clutch a handful of tangled blonde strands and yank.

Hard.

"I've got twenty on Y/N!" Shouts Parker from the doorway.

"Hula hoop!" You hear shouted from the common area of the ED, but it does little to deter you from following through on making her feel exactly what Jack just did, since she apparently has a death wish.

Leaning over her—now practically seething with rage—you bring your face in close, mere inches from her own. "Shouldn't have put your hands on my husband, you dumb fucking bitch," you spit with venomous scorn before swinging her around.

She clutches desperately at your wrist, but with your refusing to release her, there's little she can do about her current circumstances. Having turned into the strongest claw machine there ever was, you head straight for the other side of the room and toss her against the wall like a bowling ball.

Her head makes a satisfying thud off the drywall, and she slumps into a corner before bawling her eyes out.

Reeling back, you pop her in the nose with a closed fist. It emits a rewarding crack in response, and she begins howling that you've broken it when blood runs over her cupid's bow and down her lips and chin in a blazing river of crimson red.

Just when you've drawn your leg behind you for a swift kick in the ribs, a pair of arms wrap around your middle to haul you away.

You thrash against your captor, until he announces himself. "Calm the hell down or I'll put you both in cuffs!" Robby bellows.

Ahmed advances past and throws a grin over his shoulder that's aimed at Parker. "Frank owes us both a damn pizza and a six-pack looks like," he says with a chuckle while hauling the woman back onto the gurney and fastening the provided straps to her gangly limbs.

"I'll finish what I fucking started, bitch, just try me!" You scream. "I know how to make it look like an accident!"

"That is enough, Y/N!" Robby shouts directly in your ear.

After the adrenaline wears off some time later, you think of lying down on one of the hospital beds for a long nap with a curtain drawn and the lights dimmed, so as to give yourself a bit of privacy. That way, you can stop being stared at like a caged animal in a zoo by curious onlookers who keep passing by the room Robby has relocated you to.

He refuses to let you out of his sight for the rest of your shift, however.

After having you thoroughly wash your hands, Robby wipes your scrapes with alcohol, then soaks an extra large cotton swab in triple antibiotic. As he rolls it over your wounds, you merely watch.

"I shouldn't have done that," you say quietly. "She was drunk, and not in control of her faculties. She was already down after I...threw her against the wall." Tears pool in your eyes. "I assaulted a patient. I could be fired."

He sighs. "Drunk or not, the moment she went after Jack she committed a felony. If you hadn't run in there, I would've." He looks at you from beneath his lashes. "With you being a woman, you'll have a better chance of getting away with how far you took things. Had it been me?" He sucks his teeth and shrugs.

You frown. "Still."

Setting the swab aside, he plants his gloved hands on his knees. "It'll be fine. You did the right thing. With maybe a bit more enthusiasm than necessary, but..." He rolls back and tosses the soiled materials into the trash.

Returning his attention to you, Robby crosses his arms. "Gotta say, I was impressed. Had no idea you had it in you."

You snort. "You and me both."

He chews his lip thoughtfully for a moment before rolling towards you again. "There's two people in this hospital I would go that far for without hesitation."

You lift your chin to meet his gaze.

"Jack is one of them," he supplies.

Your eyes flit between his. "And the other?"

By not speaking, but instead keeping his gaze trained strictly on your own, his answer is made abundantly clear.

"Oh."

He smiles softly. "Not the time and place for that sort of conversation, I imagine," he mumbles before pushing against his knees and standing with a groan.

You remain seated as he heads in the direction of the sink to wash his hands.

"Where is? Or...when?" You shouldn't be asking that—prying at a lid that's best left closed.

Curiosity killed the cat.

He chuckles. "Before your wedding, probably."

Once he's dried his hands, he pulls out a roll of gauze from a nearby drawer and sits once more.

He had been Jack's best man. You'd thought he had spent a bit long looking at you that day as you stood across the aisle from the two of them. And that his touches had lingered when you danced together at the reception.

You suppose you know why now.

Holding out your trembling hand, he begins wrapping it.

"I didn't know," you whisper.

His lip twitches. "Because I didn't tell. Being on night shift, you spent more time with Jack. I saw from a mile away where that was headed from the beginning." He looks at you. "Wouldn't have been right to get in the middle."

You wiggle your fingers to ensure he's not wrapping it too tightly.

"I guess... Thank you for telling me. Better late than never."

He grins. Tucking the tail-end of the gauze neatly away, Robby runs the pad of his thumb along the back of your injured hand. "Jack is lucky to have someone that's so protective of him."

He stands and walks over to the exam room door and jerks his head as indication that you should follow him. "Let's go see him."

You narrow your eyes at Frank who's currently tending to your husband's injuries. "You bet against me," you pout while crossing your arms.

He grits his teeth and cringes. "Had no clue you'd do something like that. You've always been so—"

Docile? you think. Sweet? Quiet? Passive?

"I'm her husband," Jack interrupts. " And I had no idea, so how the hell could you?"

You shift on your feet while biting back a satisfied smirk. Better to be ashamed of yourself for it, and yet...

Frank raises his hands in surrender before slipping past Robby. "Far be it for me to get in the way and be the next victim."

You throw your head back and groan in irritation. "I'm not a psycho."

"Whatever you say, Misses Bateman!" he throws over his shoulder.

You turn and watch him go—heading back toward the lockers, presumably, to gather his belongings and set off for home. Your eyes transfer to Robby next who's leaned against the doorway with crossed arms.

"How're you feeling?" he asks while looking at Jack.

He moans, and you watch as he rotates his arm. "Woman put the smackdown on me, I'll give her that much."

You frown.

Robby chuckles. "Think it safe to say that she got a taste of her own medicine in the end."

Taking a step back, he grabs the door. "I'll give you two some privacy," he states quietly before stepping out and shutting it behind him.

Picking up where Langdon left off, you cup the unaffected side of Jack's face in your hand while patting the scratches on the opposite with a saturated cotton ball. "Are you okay?" You ask softly.

He smirks while sliding a steady palm up the back of your thigh. "Never better."

When he grabs a handful of your backside, you squeak in surprise before taking a step back. "Can you behave yourself for five minutes while I tend to your wounds?"

His mouth curls into a smirk while he pretends to think. Finally, he shakes his head and pats his right knee. "Can't be any worse than losing a limb, so not likely. I've got other things on my mind than ointment and—"

You roll your eyes before stepping forward again. "Keep it up and I'll plaster your face with Hello Kitty bandages when I'm done."

Gripping either of your hips, he scooches forward from atop the exam table he occupies and pulls you firmly between his spread legs. "Honey, after tonight, you can do whatever you like with me."

"Good Lord," you mumble before applying a butterfly bandage to the apple of his bruised cheek.

"What?" He questions. "I'm supposed to lie and say that wasn't hot as hell? You should really bring that kind of energy into the bedroom, sweetheart. I mean, I'm lying on the ground getting my ass handed to me and here you come—running to the rescue. How can I not get off on that?"

You drop your chin and regard him with serious, unblinking eyes. "I assaulted someone, Jack."

He hums, then grabs your hand and guides it between his thighs. "And just think of all the good it's gonna do you once I get you home and shut the blinds."

Glancing down to his growing erection, you shake your head and grin. "Oh, yeah, risk of my right to practice medicine being revoked makes for great foreplay."

He settles a heavy hand against the back of your head. "You're gonna be just fine, baby. Between me, Robby, and the lawyers the hospital keeps on retainer, we'll make sure of it."

Guiding your lips down to his, he grants you an open-mouthed kiss with an exploring tongue that teases your own.

You mewl softly against his mouth while running the heel of your palm up the length of his developing erection.

He sucks in a sharp breath of air, then leans back. "Once I get done with you, we're both going to be sore tomorrow." He nuzzles his nose against yours. "Killer."

She chuckled. “Should have known you’d be excited about that.”

You nodded, already making plans for when you were going and who you could get to go with you. You loved any kind of festival or carnival. Especially in the fall. Your favorite season mixed with crafts and food and carnival rides? Yes, please. And if you could get Jack to take you? Even better. The two of you had only been on a couple of dates but you were optimistic about where it was going.

“Who’s excited about what?” Robby’s voice came from behind you and you turned to find him and Abbot standing behind you.

“Fall fest,” Lena answered having caught your conversation with Dana.

Robby’s eyes lit as he smiled at you. “You like the festival, huh? I haven’t been a couple of years.”

Before you could answer, Jack scoffed beside him and rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah. Can’t wait for the flood of idiots that will be in here. Injuries, indigestion from overeating that everyone is certain is a heart attack, anaphylactic issues because no one checks the allergens on festival food. And don’t get me started on the carnival rides. I know there have to be standards but—”

Robby dropped a hand on his shoulder to cut him off as your smile dropped and your happy light faded a little more with every word. Jack shot a look to Robby who simply gestured in your direction with his head.

You were already turning away, giving a little wave to the charge nurses. “I’ll be right back for handoff. Need to stash my stuff.”

“Sure thing, hun,” Lena said with a smile before turning her scowl on Jack behind your back.

Jack’s gaze flicked between his best friend, Lena and Dana. “Why are you all looking at me like I did something wrong?”

 Dana took a deep breath, hands on her hips. “Jack Abbot, when the girl you are dating is excited about something, you don’t suck the joy out of it.”

He huffed a sigh. “It’s a craft fair with a carnival attached to it. How excited could she be?”

“She asked to have those two days off in the rotation. I’m guessing it wasn’t a coincidence,” Robby said with a shrug.

“Oh,” was Jack’s only response before heading to his locker.

Jack’s gaze kept finding you during the shift, which, to be fair, wasn’t unusual. But he found himself studying you in a way he normally didn’t. While you were your normal upbeat self, he couldn’t help but notice you were a little wilted around the edges.

When the early morning lull hit, he waited for you to finish with a patient then caught your attention. “Want to get some air with me?”

You smiled. “Sure.”

The two of you stood quietly in the ambulance bay for a few minutes before he turned to face you. “I’m sorry I’m a grumpy bastard.”

That earned a startled laugh from you. “Anything in particular you’re referring to?”

“The festival.”

You simply shook your head. “You don’t have to like the same things I like, Jack. It’s not a requirement and it certainly doesn’t make you a grumpy bastard.”

“Still…” he trailed off and rocked back on his heels. “Let me take you.”

You blinked at him. “Huh?”

“Let me take you. We’re both off tomorrow. Festival starts at noon.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

He stepped closer, meeting your gaze. “I am aware I don’t need to. I want to. You can show me all of your favorite things. I’ll try not grumble too much and we’ll end the night with a ride on the Ferris Wheel.”

The night had thinned out around them without either of them noticing.

Somewhere in the last hour Donnie and Trinity had migrated to a booth in the back, Whitaker nursing his beer quietly beside them, and Trinity (traitor that she was) had shot you a knowing look over her shoulder she wasn’t even trying to hide. 

Which left just the two of you, barstools turned toward each other now, his knees practically bracketing yours, the fabric of his trousers flush against the lace of your stockings. The sticky warmth of the bar and four gin and tonics making everything feel a little closer than it probably was.

He was easy to talk to. You’d expected the same gruff, unreadable, version of him from the corridor and that was there, underneath, you could feel that. But here? He was funny, that dry, witty kind of humour, the sort of person who listened like he was actually interested, because he was, and hanging onto every word, and asking follow-up questions like he’d been paying attention to everything, because he had. 

“Okay,” you say, spinning your glass slowly on the bar. “Worst patient you’ve ever had.”

He laughs at that, low and genuine. “Can’t tell you that.”

“Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically.” He tilts his beer, considering. “Guy came in once, three in the morning, absolutely convinced he was dying.” A pause. “Hangover.”

“No.”

“Severe dehydration, he said. Life-threatening, he said.”

You’re laughing before he finishes, and he watches you do it with that look, pleased, and not smug, just genuinely glad he caused it. He’s been looking at you like that most of the night. Each time it catches you somewhere low, and deep in your stomach.

“What?” you say, catching him.

“Nothing.” Jack takes a pull of his beer. “You laugh with your whole face.”

You blink. “Is that a compliment?”

“What else would it be, kid?”

Kid. 

He’s got grey at his temples, lines at the corners of his eyes, and is probably old enough to have a daughter your age. Fuck. You take a sip of your drink.

You look back at your glass, and you’re fairly certain your ears have now gone warm, which is new.

“Okay,” he says, and there’s something lighter in his voice now, like he enjoyed that. “My turn. What do you do?”

“Tattoo artist.”

His brow lifts, just slightly. Eyes drop to your forearm, the seahorse, then back up. “That your work?”

“Most of them are.”

“You do that yourself, huh.”

“Occupational perk.” You turn your arm slightly so the light catches it. “Takes some gymnastics, but yeah.”

He leans in just slightly to look at it properly, close enough that you catch his cologne again, and you watch him take it in. The fine lines, the detail, the way it curls up toward your elbow - with the same stillness he probably has conducting procedures.

“It’s good,” he says. “Real good. You’re talented, young lady”

“Thanks, Doctor.”

He looks up at that, chin dipping just slightly, the corner of his mouth pulling up as his eyes go a little darker. He doesn’t tell you not to call him that, which you file away for later.

“You like it?” he asks.

“Most days.” You consider. “Some days I like it a lot. Some days I eat lunch in my car and question every decision I’ve ever made that’s led me up until now.”

“Yeah,” he says, “I know that kinda lunch break.”

The bar has gotten quieter. The music a little louder by contrast, something slow and bluesy coming through the speakers now. Letter Bound by Son Little. 

‘You can stay right here and play

Oh listen to the lightning, thunder, and rain

C’mon so exciting, so glad that you came’

He’s close enough that you could count the lines at the corners of his eyes if you wanted to. 

His beer is nearly empty, and your glass is getting there. 

Neither of you have suggested another round and neither of you have suggested leaving and the space between your barstools has been shrinking incrementally for the last forty minutes, and fuck, both of you are absolutely aware but not acknowledging it.

“What made you want to do it?” you ask. “Emergency medicine.”

He exhales through his nose, running his thumb along the neck of his bottle. “Honestly?”

“Obviously honestly.”

“Adrenaline, at first.” He glances up. “Stayed for the rest of it.”

“The rest of it being..”

“The part where you actually help someone.” Said simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Some days that’s the whole shift. Some days it’s one moment in twelve hours.” He shrugs. “Still worth it.”

You look at him. He looks back. Something new croons through the bar speakers. Otis Redding, you think.

‘Come on, come on baby

Just be my little woman

Just be my lover, oh

I need me somebody, somebody’

“What?” he questions.

“Nothing,” you say. “You’re just not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

You consider your response. “I don’t know. Less -” you gesture vaguely at him.

He raises an eyebrow. “Less.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t.”

You smile into your glass. He watches you do that too, elbow on the bar, head tilted just slightly, in no hurry whatsoever.

“You always like this, darlin’?” he asks.

“Like what?”

“Good company.”

You smile at him, warm. “Could say the same for you, Jackie.”

Three drinks in each. He’s been talking rather animatedly the last 20 minutes, which you don’t think he’s noticed.

“Okay,” you say. “Your turn. Something I wouldn’t guess about you.”

He ponders it for a moment, which you appreciate. 

“I restore things,” he says finally. “Furniture, mostly. Old stuff people throw out.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Started with a chair. Took about six weekends and came out looking worse than when I started.” The corner of his mouth twitches at the memory. “Haven’t stopped since.”

You lean forward on the bar, hair falling over one shoulder, earrings catching the light as you look at him. 

“So what I’m hearing is you’re good with your hands.” eyes peering over the rim of your glass, the picture of innocence.

“Among other things.” His eyes hold yours. “Very good, actually.”

“Fuck, that was almost smooth by me” you mumble, blush blooming across your cheeks.

He laughs at that, low and warm. “Almost.”

The bar is down to a handful of people now, and somewhere behind you Trinity lets out a loud cackle at something Donnie’s said. You’d forgotten she was even there. Honestly, it feels like you’ve forgotten most things, in the last hour.

Jack’s looking at you in a way that makes it very hard to think about anything else. 

His gaze drops, slow and deliberate - landing on the bare slope of your shoulder where your top has slipped just enough. The fabric is sheer, teasing, the black lace of your bralette beneath impossible to ignore.

His hand finds your knee, not tentative, not accidental and loaded with purpose. It settles there with quiet certainty, thumb dragging in slow, measured strokes over the lace of your stockings. Each pass is unhurried, intentional, testing how far he can go.

“Jack.” Your voice comes out quieter than you intended.

He looks up. Doesn’t move his hand. “Yeah, doll?”

His other hand rises, brushing your hair back from your face, but it doesn’t stop there. His fingers trail along your jaw, down just enough to make your breath catch before they slip away.

Your head spins, heat curling low in your stomach, sharp and insistent. The bar dissolves around you voices, music, everything fading into a dull hum.

“What are you doing” you say. Not really a question.

“Nothing yet.”

The space between you feels charged, stretched thin, like something is about to snap.

And he hasn’t even really touched you yet.

“Come get some air with me.” Low, and just for you.

“Yeah,” you manage. “Okay.”

You slide off the barstool, reaching for your purse, and that’s when Trinity materialises at your elbow like she’s been waiting for this moment exactly, which she absolutely has, eyes bright, gin flush in her cheeks matching yours.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she says, squeezing your arm.

“That’s not a very long list, Trin.”

“Exactly.” The grin on her face could seriously power a small city. “Have fun, honey.”

You point at her. She holds both hands up, flashing a wink your way, already turning back to Donnie.

Outside, the cold hits instantly, sharp and biting after the heavy warmth of the bar. It steals the breath from your lungs for a second, leaving your skin tingling.

As you step through the door, Jack’s hand finds the small of your back, firm and grounding.

Not guiding so much as claiming the space there, palm warm even through the thin fabric. His fingers flex once, subtle, but deliberate enough that it sends a flicker of heat straight through you. Then he lets go, and the absence is immediate.

The street is quieter out here. Just the dull thrum of bass bleeding through the walls behind you, distant traffic, the low hum of the city  on like nothing’s changed.

Your breath fogs in the cold air. Jack’s does too.

“You parked far?” he asks.

“I didn’t drive.” You glance up at him. “Came with Trinity. We Ubered here.”

His jaw ticks once, eyes flicking over you like he’s recalibrating.

“Mm.” Then, quieter, more certain. “I’ll walk you home after.”

Not to a car. Home. 

“After,” you repeat, testing it.

His gaze drops to you again, steady, unwavering.

“After,” he says.

You walk past the amber glow spilling from the bar windows, past a restaurant shuttered and dark, past a guy walking a small dog who doesn’t spare you a glance. 

Jack’s Jeep is parked under a flickering streetlight around the corner, a crack splintering the passenger-side mirror that’s clearly been there long enough he’s stopped noticing. He slows as you reach it, and you feel it before you fully register it - his attention shifting, settling entirely on you.

He stops. You don’t realise you’ve taken another step until your back meets the cool metal of the car, the contact soft but grounding. He follows without hesitation, closing the distance like, one hand coming up to brace lightly against the roof beside your head.

The space between you tightens, charged, his body angled just enough to keep you there without actually holding you in place. His other hand hangs loose at his side, fingers flexing once, like he’s thinking about it.

Like he’s holding himself back.

“Hi,” you breathe.

 “Hi.” He doesn’t move away. 

“Been trying to be a gentleman all night.” 

“S’getting harder.”

Then his hand comes up, fingers curving under your jaw, tilting your face up to his. 

Unhurried. He kisses you soft at first, just his lips against yours, testing. 

Then his hand tightens at your jaw and he kisses you properly, slow and deep, his bottom lip catching yours, dragging. His tongue traces the seam of your mouth and when you open for him he makes a low sound against you that you feel in your chest, and fuck, between your thighs as well.

His other hand finds your waist, fingers splaying wide against the sheer fabric of your top, pulling you in flush against him. 

He’s hard against you, unmistakable, and the realisation sends heat straight through you.

Your hips roll against him before you’ve made any conscious decision to do it.

He breaks the kiss with a sharp inhale. “Hey, baby, hey.” Low, rough. “Easy.”

“Sorry,” you breathe. Not sorry in the slightest.

“No you’re not.” But he’s pulling you back in before you’ve even finished the word, a low “mm” against your mouth, one hand sliding from your jaw into your hair, fingers curling at the back of your neck, tilting your head back to give himself a better angle. He takes it.

“Sweet girl,” he breathes against your lips, not quite pulling back, just talking into your mouth, the warm slick exchange of spit between you shameless. “Been thinking about this all night.”

“Yeah?” you manage, between kisses. “Took you long enough.”

He makes a low sound that might be a laugh. “Wanted to do it right.” His mouth drags to the corner of yours, your jaw, back again. “Take my time.”

His mouth is warm and unhurried and thorough and he kisses you like he has all the time in the world, tongue sliding against yours, slow and deliberate, and you make a small sound against his mouth. Your hips roll again, chasing friction, and his grip on your waist tightens.

“Jackie.” His name comes out wrecked and quiet and you’re not even embarrassed about it.

“Yeah,” he murmurs against you. “I know, darlin’. I know.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, chest rising and falling, thumb brushing your cheekbone, breath uneven and visible in the cold air between you.

His eyes move over your face, taking you in - flushed, breathless, hips still pressed against him. His jaw is tight. He looks like a man exercising a significant amount of restraint.

“Look at you,” he says quietly. Thumb tracing your cheekbone, down to your jaw. “Need more than that, don’t you, honey.”

“Jack.” Same word, this time more of a plea.

He exhales slow through his nose, forehead dropping to yours, eyes closing for just a second like he’s collecting himself.

“Get in the car,” he says. Low and rough and close to your ear. “Now.”

The door has barely closed before his hand is on your thigh, pushing up under the hem of your skirt, fingers dragging your stockings down to reveal the warm skin of your thighs beneath.

“Jack.” Just his name, impatiently.

“I know baby.” He’s not stopping.

His fingers trace the lace edge of your underwear, not moving, just feeling, watching your face the whole time. His jaw is tight. His eyes are dark.

“Look at you, darlin’.” Low. “So wet for me already.”

You’re embarrassed for approximately half a second before his fingers push your underwear aside and the embarrassment goes somewhere else entirely.

“Okay?”

“Yes. Jack. Please.”

“Please what, baby.” His fingers still. “Gotta use your words for me.”

“Jackie.” It comes out wrecked. “Need your fingers inside me. Now.”

He works two fingers into you slow, deliberate, curling just enough to make your back arch off the seat. His mouth finds your jaw, your neck, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. 

Your hand finds his hair, fingers twisting into the silver curls at the back of his neck, pulling. He makes a low sound against your throat in response.

“We gotta be quiet sweetheart,” he murmurs against your throat, amused, even as his fingers start to move harder, faster, finding the spot that makes your thighs clench around his hand. “We’re on a public street, remember?”

You grab his wrist with one hand, the other still fisted in his hair. Not to stop him, just needing something to hold onto.

And then he slows. Deliberately. Fingers dragging out almost entirely, pace dropping to something soft, unhurried and absolutely maddening.

“Jack.” A warning.

“Mm?” Unbothered. Like he’s got all night. Like he’s not doing this on purpose.

“Don’t you dare.”

He looks at you then, pleased with himself.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, in a swift, calculated move.

His breath catches. “Again.” 

You pull. Harder this time. He groans against your jaw, fingers curling inside you in response, like he can’t help it.

“Ask me nicely, baby, and I’ll keep goin’” he manages, recovering, though his voice has lost some of its steadiness.

“Jackie.” Your hips roll forward chasing his fingers and he pulls back just enough to deny you. “Please. Please don’t stop.”

“Please don’t stop what, darlin’.” His thumb grazes your clit, barely, just enough. “Specific.”

“Please,” you grit out. “Please keep going. Please. Your thumb right there.”

“Good girl.” And he gives you what you want, fingers curling back in, pace picking up, thumb finding your clit now and pressing in firm circles, and the tension that had been coiling tight and desperate snaps back immediately like he’d never stopped at all.

The tension builds low and deep, coiling tighter with every stroke, and you chase it, hips rolling against his hand, your fingers twisting back into his hair.

“Oh fuck Jack -” His name tears out of you.

“There you go,” he says softly, fingers still working you through it, relentless. “I gotcha”

When you come apart he watches every second of it, eyes on your face, not looking away, drawing it out until you’re shaking and pulling at his wrist and he finally, finally slows.

He pulls back to look at you. 

Dishevelled himself now silver curls wrecked where your hands have been, pupils blown wide, jaw tight, flush creeping up the back of his neck, chest rising and falling hard. 

“Twelve minutes,” he says. “My place.”

a/n: i hope you lovely people enjoyed this part 2, as promised! lowkey lost a bit of the reader’s alt ‘essence’ per say, but if i do a third part i wanna work that in further. also baby’s first smut <3 proofread, however it is 12:38AM in melbourne as i am posting, so yeah pls excuse any typos

once again i am taking requests! fire away in my asks guys 🙂‍↕️

- vic

“Popular this morning,” he commented, aiming for casual but ending up somewhere closer to concerned.

You gave him a tight smile. “Aren’t I though?”

You didn’t elaborate further.

The phone vibrated again and you ignored it, focusing on the novel you’d been attempting to read amidst the distractions. Jack walked into the room, freshly showered and dressed for his shift even though there were a couple of hours before he needed to leave. His steps came to a halt as he picked up on the tension in the room. His gaze moved from you to meet Robby’s eyes as he still looked at you over the top of his glasses. Jack arched a brow.

Robby pursed his lips and shook his head once. “I put the coffee on when you got in the shower.”

Jack grinned. “Thanks, baby.” He kissed both of you on the top of your heads before moving into the kitchen. He was back a moment later, just as your phone lit up with a call.

You scowled at the screen and scoffed as you declined. “Like I want to talk to you, asshole.”

“Everything okay?” Jack asked after a beat.

“Oh sure. Just my uncle. Don’t worry about it.”

The men exchanged a long glance. As rocky as your relationship was with your family, you rarely spoke poorly of them. Choosing instead to not speak at all. A text came through immediately after and your gaze turned cold. Your fingers flew over the screen before you set the phone aside once more.

You looked up to find them both watching you and took a breath. “There’s something we should discuss the next time you’re both off. It may take a bit to explain.”

“I can call off,” Jack offered.

“Absolutely not,” you responded immediately. “It’s nothing bad and nothing that won’t wait. I don’t really want to talk about it right now anyway.”

Robby studied you a beat longer before nodding once. “Fair enough.”

Three more notifications came through in rapid succession, the phone buzzing angrily. You held up a finger as you scrolled through the texts. “Let me just block them and send a quick message to someone, then I’ll be done with the drama for the day.”

“You’re blocking your uncle?” Jack said, eyebrows raised.

“And his wife. And my mother. And my father. That should cover it until they figure out what I’ve done and recruit everyone else to crawl up my ass.”

“So you’re blocking your entire family?” Robby asked.

You nodded as you sent the text you’d mentioned and sat the phone aside.

“And that’s not something we need to discuss today?” He didn’t like you keeping secrets. Especially ones that seemed to be so large.

“I don’t see why we’d need to,” you said as you shrugged one shoulder.

Jack shot Robby a look over your head, equal parts concerned and amused. Whatever was happening with your family, it was serious enough that you felt the need to cut contact completely, but you seemed genuinely relieved, almost happy now that you’d done it.

“Feel better at least?” Jack asked.

“Much.” You stood to head into the kitchen. “Sorry for the drama.”

“No need to be sorry,” he said, gaze trailing you as you left the room. “Should we be worried?” he asked in a low voice once he was certain you wouldn’t hear him.

“No point until we know the reason,” Robby said. “You know their dynamics are off anyway.”

Jack nodded in agreement but still looked troubled as he took a drink of his coffee.

Two hours after Jack left for his shift, Robby slouched on the sofa, feet up on the table. You were putting away the last of the laundry you’d insisted on doing, despite his offer to help. He scrolled through his phone absently while he waited for you to return so you could watch a movie.

You were humming a tune he couldn’t place as you moved around and he smiled at the sound. He loved having you here, having you in his life, in their lives. He’d started to forget what it was like before you, when the house was empty of another soul more often than it wasn’t, him and Jack passing in the halls of the hospital and returning home alone.

His phone pinged with an incoming message, breaking his train of thought. Unknown number. Probably spam. He almost swiped it away without looking but something made him pause. The preview showed Thought you should see this followed by a video attachment.

Curiosity won out and he opened the message, thumb hovering over the video for a moment. The thumbnail showed nothing distinct, just shadowy figures. Probably meant for another number, for someone other than him.

He pressed play anyway.

The video quality was decent, despite the dim lighting. People gathered at a party or something, drinks in hand, shouting encouragements. He frowned as the camera panned to focus on a woman from behind, her face not visible as she knelt before a man in a chair. He was leaned back, posture making it more than evident what was going on. Robby almost closed the video, uncomfortable at witnessing an intimate moment between strangers that may not have even known they were being filmed.

Then he saw it. Noticed the distinctive floral pattern of the dress. Recognition flooded him, chilling his veins. That dress. The dress he’d bought for you on your first date. You’d worn it many times since then, almost always with the crystal bracelet he’d bought on the same day. The bracelet that shone on the wrist of the woman in the video.

“No.” The word fell from his lips soft and broken.

His fingers felt numb as he back to the beginning of the the video and played it again. He looked more carefully. The woman wore a jacket that fell low off her shoulders exposing part of her back. Your back. Because who else could it be? Why else would it be sent to him?

He swallowed hard as his eyes caught the timestamp in the corner. Two weeks ago. While you were away. Supposedly grieving your grandfather’s impending death. While you were texting them daily to tell them how much you missed them. His chest was tight, each breath shallow and insufficient. His hands began to shake, the phone trembling in his grip as the video continued. You taking the man into your mouth in an intimacy Robby had foolishly believed belonged only to him and Jack.

A lie. All of it was lie.

The words from the party echoed in his mind. She’s been fucking Brent too. Chelsea saw them together at a party. It looked like everyone had seen you. It’s not like you were being discrete. Did you just assume it would never get back to them? What could it hurt if they didn’t know, right?

His jaw clenched so tight his teeth hurt. The betrayal sunk deep in his bones. All those nights you’d called, voice thick with what he’d thought was grief for your dying grandfather, had you been with someone else? Had you been laughing at them behind their backs, the two old fucks too besotted to see what was right in front of them?

The video ended and Robby stared at the screen, images seared into his memory. The text had come from an unknown number, but it could have been anyone at that party. Someone who thought he deserved better, deserved to know the truth about the woman he was with.

His chest was hollow, only filled with a desperate ache where his heart had been. Everything you’d shared, every moment, was now tainted, suspect. Had any of it been real? Or had you just been playing a role, seeing what you could get from them?

The money. It had to be about the money. The expensive dinners, the gifts. They’d both showered you with whatever you wanted, whatever you needed, though you never explicitly asked for anything. And what a great cover that was. Never asking, but taking just the same. Always saying they didn’t need to, that you didn’t need their money.

It was all an act. An award worthy performance.

And they’d bought it completely. Had opened their home to you. Had talked about marrying you, for fuck’s sake. Not that they’d broached that topic of conversation with you yet. Thank fuck for small mercies.

Bile rose in Robby’s throat followed by a white-hot fury that burned through his shock. His fingers tightened around the phone until his knuckles went white. He’d been right to question your loyalty, right to worry you weren’t entirely theirs. The insecurity that had plagued him since the party two days ago hadn’t been paranoia, it had been instinct.

Now he had proof. Undeniable, gut-wrenching proof that even Jack would have to believe.

Robby heard the padding of your sock feet against the hardwood as you came back to the room. The woman who had betrayed them both. The woman he had foolishly, stupidly loved.

You stepped into the living room with the easy smile that usually brought an answering one to his face. Tonight, it made his stomach turn. The rage he’d been containing broke free, flooding his system so potently he could taste it on his tongue.

Your smile faltered as you registered his expression. “What’s wrong?”

The practiced tenderness in your voice was too much. The phone felt heavy in this hand, the evidence of your betrayal still on the screen. He stood, his movements stiff, controlled though he felt anything but.

“You fucking bitch,” he spat, the words so thick with venom he barely recognized his own voice.

You recoiled as if he’d struck you, eyes widening in shock. “What? Michael, what the fuck is going on?”

His name on your lips made something ugly burn within him. “You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore.”

He began to pace, unable to remain still. The pain vibrating under his skin made him sharper, crueler. “I knew, I fucking knew, you were only in this for the money. The shit we do for you. I knew it and Jack told me I was an idiot. We invited you in. We asked for nothing from you except your fucking loyalty and you can’t even give us that.”

Your eyes were locked on him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. Shock certainly, but something else too. Something that looked like dawning horror.

“What? Two dicks not enough for you?” he continued, words tumbling out. “Had to go find someone else while you were away? Someone younger? Guess I know now why you didn’t want Jack or me with you. Wouldn’t want to put a damper on your extracurriculars, would we?”

Tears welled in your eyes, spilling silently down your cheeks. You stood frozen, making no move to wipe them away. The sight should have moved him, should have broken through his rage. Instead, he interpreted your silence as guilt, your tears as confirmation, regret that you’d been caught.

“Just tell me one thing,” he demanded. “Was any of it real? Or were we just convenient targets? Two doctors with good salaries willing to spend it all on you?” He snapped when you just continued to stare at him with wet eyes. “Nothing to say for yourself?”

 “Since I have no idea what you’re accusing me of, no. I have told you repeatedly that I do not want or need your money. You two insist on spending it on me.” Your voice was quiet, steady despite your tears. “I love you, Mi—” You caught yourself, swallowing hard. “Robby. I’m not sure how to make you believe that.”

The correction, the use of Robby instead of Michael, registered somewhere deep beneath his rage, but it wasn’t enough to curb his fury. Not when the image of you pleasuring another man was so fresh in his mind.

“You don’t love us.” He scoffed, the sound cruel and dismissive. “You fuck us for our money. Guess what that makes you, sweetheart?”

The accusation was ugly, cruel, and your expression changed as the light in your eyes dimmed to nothing. You nodded once, a simple acknowledgement of his words and the finality they represented.

The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive.

Robby waited for you to fight back, to demand an explanation, to defend yourself with the fire he’d come to expect from you. But you did none of those things. Instead, you turned away from him, gathering your bag and keys as you slipped into your shoes.

Your hands trembled visibly and for just a moment, doubt flickered in Robby’s mind. Then he remembered the video, the dress, the bracelet. The doubt extinguished as quickly as it had flared.

You grabbed your coat from the hook by the door and slid tit on.

“Nothing to say?” he pressed, needing something to fill the silence.

You paused with your hand on the door, back to him. For a second he thought you might turn around, might engage with him. Instead, you took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Wait,” he said, the word escaping before he could stop it.

You half-turned toward him, the tear tracks glistening on your cheeks.

He cleared his throat, suddenly uncertain when faced with your departure. The fury that had fueled him had burnt out, leaving him hollow. “Where are you going?”

A small, sad smile curved your lips. “Away. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Before he could respond, you stepped through the doorway, closing it behind you with a soft click that somehow sounded more final that a slam would have.

Robby stood motionless staring at the closed door. The silence of the house pressed in on him from all sides. A flicker of uncertainly broke through the lingering fog of his rage.

What if he was wrong?

The thought came unbidden, unwelcome. He pushed it away. The evidence of your betrayal was clear. It had to be true.

Didn’t it?

He sank onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. The empty house seemed to echo with memories of you. The space you’d filled now felt barren.

What had he done?

The silence engulfed him in a cold embrace as his shoulders hunched. Something broke inside him and the first sob tore from his chest with such force it caused physical pain deep within. He doubled over, arms wrapping around his middle as if trying to hold himself together. Hot and relentless tears blurred his vision and soaked his beard. His entire body shook with the force of his grief.

He buried his face in his hands, shoulders heaving as he mourned the loss of you. The cruel words he’d spat at you echoed in his mind. Each one filling him with regret.

Fucking bitch.

Had he really called you that? The woman who had held him through the aftermath of one of the worst days of his life, who had washed him with gentle hands when he couldn’t bear to touch his own skin? The woman who took care of him and Jack without a single complaint, without asking for anything in return?

The sobbing intensified, raw and brutal. He tried to justify his actions to himself. The evidence was so clear, undeniable. And yet, he found himself doubting. Why had he been so quick to believe without asking for explanation? Had it been his own insecurities? That part of him that always feared you would leave them for someone younger, not broken?

Hours passed, though he couldn’t have said how many. He remained on the couch, unable to summon the strength to do anything but breathe through the crushing weight of his grief and regret.

His phone rang, startling him from his stupor. Jack’s name flashed on the screen. Robby reached for it with a trembling hand, dreading the conversation to come but knowing he couldn’t avoid it.

“Hello?” His voice was hoarse, broken.

“Did you see this shit?” Jack asked immediately, anger heavy in his tone.

Robby felt a moment of relief. Jack saw. He knew what you’d done. He was just as angry as Robby had been.

“Like we would ever believe that was our girl.”

Robby’s stomach dropped. “I—”

“It is so obviously fake,” Jack continued without waiting for a response. “Some cheap attempt to cause trouble. Whoever sent it must think we’re complete idiots.”

The words stuck in Robby’s throat until he forced them out. “I bought her that dress on our first date. The bracelet, too.”

Silence stretched. “Don’t tell me you believed that shit, Mike.” Jack’s voice had gone dangerously low, all warmth drained from it. “There is no anklet on whoever that bitch is and we’d see part of the tattoo on her shoulder. You know, the one she got for us.” His voice had gotten louder and he took a breath before continuing. “Never mind the fact that is not her ass and that is simply not how she gives head.”

The world tilted on its axis as Jack’s words sunk in. The anklet. The tattoo. Details that should have been obvious in their absence, that were such a fundamental part of you. Details he’d somehow overlooked completely in his rush to judgment.

“Oh shit,” Robby stammered, horror washing over him. “Shit, shit, shit. Fuck!”

“What did you do?” Jack’s words were ice, each word precisely enunciated.

Robby’s grip tightened on the phone. “I thought it was her.”

“That is not what I asked you, Michael.” His full name spoken with such cold anger sent a shiver down Robby’s spine.

“I confronted her,” he admitted. “I said…Jesus, Jack, I said terrible things.”

“Where is she now?”

“She left. I don’t know where she went.”

The silence that followed was more devastating than any shouting could have been.

“Jack, I—”

“Don’t.” The word cut through whatever excuse or plea Robby might have offered.

The line went dead, leaving Robby staring blankly into the darkness. The magnitude of his mistake driving the air from his lungs. He had accused you of the worst sort of betrayal without giving you a chance to explain, had hurled the cruelest insults he could think of at the person who had shown him nothing but love and support.

And now Jack was furious with him, too. He had rarely heard the cold fury in Jack’s tone and never had it been directed at him. Robby set the phone down with shaking hands. He had potentially lost both of you in a single moment of blind rage.

The memory of your face as he’d called you those names, the tears tracking down your cheeks, played in his mind on a tortuous loop. You hadn’t defended yourself. Hadn’t fought back. Had simply taken his verbal assault and walked away.

How had he gotten everything so wrong?

Because he’d been looking for confirmation of his own insecurities and the video had given him that in spades. He didn’t think to question it because some part of him had always been waiting for you to leave, to decide that they weren’t worth your time or effort.

He buried his face in his hands again, fresh tears burning his eyelids. He had taken the trust and love you offered and thrown it back in your face in the cruelest way possible. If you never forgave him, he would understand. If Jack couldn’t move past this, Robby wouldn’t blame him.

"Okay, what the fuck?" you question. "Why would I—"

"Cut the shit, the sexual tension between the two of you is so thick we need a saw to cut through it."

"A girl can't have any fun now?" you lean forward, words venomous. "Doesn't mean I'm gonna kiss him.”

"I don't need to know the details of your absurd, borderline psychotic foreplay, just don't kiss him."

"If this is reverse psychology, it's not working."

It's totally working.

"Good," she looks around the room, paranoid. "Just don't fall for it, he's gonna try to trick you, resist it."

You grimace, face contorting into absurd confusion as you try to make sense of the words. But before you can even think to ask, she catches sight of Shen making his way out of central nine. And just like that, she's gone.

You make eye contact with the other attending across the hall, both your gazes narrowing as if to seize up the other.

He takes a sip of his iced coffee, you slowly advert your gaze back to charting.

They're both being weird which can only mean one thing.

The fucking bet.

It had all started a few months ago after the first bar incident.

Trinity, notorious for not being able to not run her mouth, had spread the tale like wildfire, obviously arriving at the second messiest person’s radar by end of shift — Shen.

It was all downhill after that.

A pool was started.

Parameters were set.

From what you’ve gathered, a lot of money is on the line.

If Jack knows about it, you definitely don’t know. He hasn’t been acting any different than usual.

He lingers, he jokes, he teases — just normal for the two of you.

On the other hand, you have been amping up the stakes.

You’d managed to bribe Ahmad pretty early on and he’d feed you information from time to time. At this point, it was him (and you) against Ellis, against Shen.

So when Ellis dropped that morsel of information, you just knew it was time.

You glance up at Ahmad who instantly catches your stare.

Your eyebrow raises slightly in a silent question and he simply nods once.

It's go time.

You'd set a trap over a week ago, planned it out, made sure that everything would fall to your favor.

So the second that Jack slipped next to you even though every single computer at the hub was open, you struck.

“What do you want?”

You didn't even have to say anything for him to know, the mischievous smile on your lips, the one you couldn't contain when something so juicy was afoot it simply took ahold of you and gave you away.

"I want you to kiss me."

His eyebrows raise in a mixture of shock and confusion, cruel of you to say that to him, crueler to say it now.

You stare at him, picture perfect angel, eyes wide and innocent, and all he can do is grin wolfishly.

He knows.

"I want half."

"Hell no."

"I don't know who taught you how to negotiate, but just some friendly advice," he turns to you, inching closer. "That's not how you do it."

You roll your eyes. "Twenty — of my half"

He scoffs, unbelievable.

"Twenty five."

You stand up from your seat, brazenly entering his personal space, faces only a few breaths away from each other.

"Fifteen and I let you buy me dinner."

He laughs and you can't help the genuine smile that tugs at your lips.

Fuck, why does he have to be so beautiful when he feels joy?

"I buy you dinner all the time."

"Officially."

He pauses at that, assessing you.

You've always been bold within the teasing, the fantasy that the two of you have created, so you wouldn't throw something like that out there unless—

"Ten," he leans in. "I buy you dinner," he emphasizes just for the two of you. "And I'll let you kiss me with tongue."

Now it's your turn to laugh and his turn to smile, a soft blush tinting his cheeks at the sound.

God, he wishes he could spend the rest of his miserable life making you laugh like that all the time.

"You're smug tonight," you whisper, stepping forward until your chests are touching.

"And you're gonna get us sent to HR."

"No one's gonna snitch," you press your palms against his chest, feeling the fury of his heart rattling his entire body. "Not like those day shifters."

Jack chuckles. "You really wanna do this?"

You shrug. "Shift's almost over, gotta give them something to talk about."

He hovers over you for a long second, gaze dropping to look at your lips and then right back up at your eyes.

Your heart does a flip, right into your stomach.

Fuck, he's so close, closer than he's ever been before.

You can smell the faint aftershave on his skin, see the little freckles over his cheekbones, find a little eyebrow hair that's out of line that you want to pluck—

And then his lips are on yours and the entire room fades into nothingness.

Your eyes close instinctively but his don't, at least not all the way. He doesn't want to seem like a psycho but he's desperate to see you, to take in every micro expression you're offering him on a silver platter.

Your lips are so soft, exactly what he'd imagined for so long but even his imagination could never compare.

One of his hands lands on your hip, not to grab or fondle, just to ground him in the knowledge that this is real.

And then your tongue swipes over his lips, desperate for entry.

He fucking knew it.

But no amount of previous knowledge could ever prepare him for the real thing.

He's a goner.

His cocky smile lasts only one second before his own urge to devour you takes over.

You taste like mint and that stupid coffee lipgloss Ellis bought you for your birthday.

He tastes like sunscreen and vanilla from that stupid root bear he likes to have at three in the morning instead of coffee.

It's when every ounce of your brain screams for you to wrap your legs around his waist and thread your fingers through his hair that you pull back.

Your eyes open first and for a split second you get to take him in. The definite pink tint over his cheeks, the way his neck is covered in goosebumps, the blissful expression that lingers over his features.

Your eyes meet and for a split second there's only honesty between the two of you.

Nothing to hide behind.

Nothing to joke about.

And then the two of you burst out laughing.

The rest of the ED groans in response.

Of course it's a ruse. It's just another one of your stupid pranks.

At least they think it is.

But the two of you know that it was real.

As real as you would get for now.

As real as you'll allow yourself to be.

"That was easier than I thought," Shen's boasts, a little too loud, a little too close to the entrance of the ED.

His comment lands him a smack on his arm from Ellis, a warning.

"What?" he complains, counting the bills from their real side bet with Ahmad. The woman can only roll her eyes because deep down she knows he's right. "Hey, how much money do you think we can make if we get them to f—"

Ellis shoves him then and it's a miracle that he doesn't end up tangled in the bushes outside the hospital.

a/n: and they kissed!