you have no idea that jack pulls you to stand in between his legs at the bar, your back to his chest, in an act of completely innocent adoration. on the bar stool, his knees frame your hips and his one hand drags across the skin tenderly. the other arm wraps around your clavicle, leaning you further back to him. he doesn’t give a shit what robby thinks, he’s passed that point 1 beer ago. so when he drags your earlobe into his mouth, suckling and smiling into your neck when you squeal and giggle and flinch, he can’t help himself when he questions. “so pretty, who’re you this pretty for, huh?”

and friend… you have no idea, the strength jack has to possess when you furrow your eyebrows at one of his commands and tilt your head like a little puppy.

it was a normal shift at ptmc, what jack would always describe as “your usual mix of blood and tissue and coding.” not necessarily a bad shift, in fact quite tame! which is why it’s so confusing that jack is leading you to the bedroom with a slight, sudden push to your back so you stand in the middle of the room. your scrubs still smell like the soft vanilla of your detergent, despite the grime layered on from a 12 hour shift.

jack approaches, his gait swaying as his hands clasp behind his back. he needs to bring back his military training just so he doesn’t completely sink his teeth into you within seconds of getting you alone. facing you, jack tilts his chin up, looking down his nose because he knows it riles you up. “take your panties off.”

a bambi blink, a tilt in your head & a swallow before you lean down. jack watches your every move as you slide your scrubs down, and peel of your panties before handing them to him. fuck.

you think his aggressive cuddles were bad then? how do you explain the deep nose breaths he now takes before speaking? your panties, pastel pink with a little white heart in the center, a lacy little bow around it, has jack’s eyes rolling back.

he isn’t even shameless when he brings them to his nose, a deep inhale as the lace drags against his cheek. it builds in him so quickly his hands shake, “been wanting to get my hands on you alll day. lay down, lemme see those eyes.”

You do your best, but every lungful drags you further down his length, your body desperate for the heavy fill it’s already trembling to accommodate. A needy whimper slips out, fists knotting the sheets, and he soothes you with a gentle kiss against your smile line. 

“That’s it,” he praises, hips rocking in a rich, molasses-slow circle that lets you savor every thick inch. “Such a good girl, taking it all — see how beautifully you fit me?”

Tiny wildfires flower through you everywhere at once, heating your cheeks, spilling down your throat, settling low in your belly where desire winds itself tight and shining.

Embarrassment flickers its wings right alongside it, because he’s cooing at you the same way he coaxes patients through vaccinations: gentle, forbearing, inexorable.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says, like there exists a universe where you would ask him to stop.

His hand glides the length of your back, fingers pausing in the dip where your spine meets sacrum. 

Too much is exactly how you’d describe the feeling of his cock dragging across that spot that makes your vision strobe starbusting colors, but the tenderness in his voice knots something unsteady in your body. 

You manage a breathy, “please, don’t stop.” 

A contented rumble answers you, and he plants a feather-light kiss on your forehead, right where he’d lay cool fingers to check your temperature.

He resumes that same rhythm. Slow drive in, lingering grind, languid pull out that leaves you aching for the return. The headboard knocks a soft counterpoint, each tap punctuated by his gentle commentary.

“Doing so well,” he croons when your elbows buckle, gathering you up with one flush tug to his chest. “Hold on to me, there you go, honey.”

Jack angles your leg higher, opening you wider for him, and the change steals air from your lungs in one shattered sound. 

“Shh,” he hushes, half-smile curving, proud and adoring all at once. “I know. Feels big, doesn’t it? Let me make it better.”

His fingers dip to your clit, and your gasp dissolves into his name. “Jack — s’good.”

The room narrows to the glide of his thumb and the steady ballast of his body. 

He kisses the salt at your hairline, murmuring, “Same here, baby. My perfect girl. Let me handle the rest, yeah?”

MARIA NOTE if being babied this hard during sex is wrong, i refuse to be right <3