˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

"Do you feel anything there?"

You shook your head.

Dr. Robinavitch—Dr. Robby, sweetheart, he'd corrected when you'd called him that the first time. Everyone calls me Dr. Robby. And no, you would absolutely not be unpacking the way the pet name had made your spine tingle approximately thirty seconds into meeting him—made a small noise in his throat as his hands cupped underneath your breasts.

He looked so focused, too. His eyes fixed on your ten thousand dollar investment, his hands big enough to nearly engulf the soft flesh of each globe as he lifted them carefully, testing their weight in his palms. When you'd first untied your hospital gown to let it fall into your lap, he'd studied your incisions, even praised your surgeon's work. But you'd come into his ER in such a state after your hookup last night that you'd barely heard the compliment.

Because your Hinge date from last night—a gorgeous, gorgeous man, truly, which only made this entire thing more devastating—had put his mouth over your nipple. Something you used to love. Something that could get you going embarrassingly fast, enough that you'd sometimes twist them yourself when you were getting off alone.

And you'd felt absolutely nothing.

You'd kicked him out mere hours ago, too panicked to explain or even reach any sort of climax—only for you to stare at the blue screen of your phone to begin the frantic Googling. Then you’d called your surgeon's office three separate times despite being fully aware it was 2am. And, finally, pulled on sweatpants and presenting yourself to a Level I trauma center at three in the morning with a chief complaint of, ya know, numb tits. Luckily, the woman behind the desk had barely blinked at your nonsensical needs, as if she'd heard far more dramatic injuries anyway.

"Dr Robby—" you said timidly, and his big brown eyes flickered up to yours, a little hmm? coming from his throat. "Do you think—" Your face started heating before you'd even gotten the sentence out. "Do you think I'll ever… feel anything again? Like—"

Your eyes widened—Jesus Christ, that had sounded bleak. But God forbid you were concerned about losing one of your favorite sensations forever.

"Like… what if I can never…"

"Never what?" he asked. His voice had gone lower somehow, a little hoarser.

And you hadn't missed the fact that his thumb had begun stroking along the side of your breast, the latex of his glove sliding smoothly over your skin while he watched your face for any reaction.

"Well… it's just that… before my surgery, I was always able to… y'know. Just from…"

Your face felt like the surface of Mount Vesuvius.

Shifting in the exam chair, your fingers found a loose thread where the vinyl cushions met in the corner and wound it around your fingertip.

"Sweetheart, I'm a doctor." He said kindly, patiently. "You don't need to be embarrassed. Go on."

"I…" Your lips pressed tightly together before you forced the words out. "I used to be able to have an orgasm."

His eyebrows lifted.

"From nipple stimulation?" Dr. Robby clarified, his head tipping slightly.

You nodded, embarrassment making all your nerves in your body heat in a line of wildfires.

Whether it was the clinical concentration of something new to discover or something considerably more interesting, his expression changed— his mouth pulling downward at the corners in an impressed little frown before his eyes dropped back to your breasts.

"Wow," you heard him mutter under his breath, and your stomach flipped.

"Well," he continued, adjusting his hands around you, "then I think we need to be a little more thorough."

"Okay," you croaked out.

"I'm going to try stimulating the nerve endings directly now and see what you can feel. Is that okay with you, sweetheart?"

There it was again— that stupid little pet name from a stupidly handsome doctor. You were so fucked.

You nodded your head, a little too quickly, if you were really paying attention to notice. You hoped he didn't realize your enthusiasm.

Dr. Robby's hands moved then, pushing your breasts together a bit more, his eyelids dropping considerably as he took in your chest again.

"Talk to me. Tell me what you can feel, okay? Scar tissue can take a while to heal, to be able to feel anything, really. Did you massage your scar lines? Apply ointment to them or anything, sweetheart? Especially around here?" he asked, his gloved hands moving so he could bring his pointer finger to one areola, circling it carefully around the scar.

You squeaked a little, the visual of your doctor playing with your breast making your belly flip, and you could feel the involuntary clench between your legs. But you still couldn't quite feel the sensation of touch. "Mhm, yes, I did. Um—but I can't—can't feel—um—"

"Close your eyes. Concentrate now," he ordered. "Tell me if you can feel this."

You obeyed his order, holding your breath as you waited for the feeling. It was odd—you could feel the pressure of being touched, could tell that his hand was there, but you couldn't actually feel the line of his finger tracing your areola.

"No, I can't feel anything. Oh god, what if it's really gone forever…" you whined, legs kicking a little petulantly, brows pinching at the realization that your favorite orgasms might never be within reach again.

"S'okay, relax. What about—this?"

You took a deep breath, shoulders dropping, and then you felt a sudden pinching sensation that made your eyes open wide. When you looked down, Dr. Robby's blue gloved forefinger and thumb were pinching the skin right around your nipple.

"Yes, I can—I think I can feel that!"

He grinned up at you, eyes crinkling with amusement.

"Excellent," he said, nodding. "Close your eyes again, now. What about… this?"

Your back arched slightly before you could stop it, another pinch, but directly to your nipple, making your mouth fall open.

"Ohh," you moaned, then immediately caught yourself, clearing your throat. "Yes. I can feel that."

"Very good," he said, and you were thankful for him giving you the grace of not commenting on your growing state of arousal. "On a scale of one to ten, how much?"

"Like…" You had to think about it. "A three? It's mostly just—pressure?"

"Right, okay. I'm going to increase it now. You tell me how it feels, and especially if it hurts, okay, sweetheart?"

"Yes, Dr. Robby."

He was silent, and you peeked through your lashes, not opening your eyes fully, only enough to take in his face as he looked at your chest.

But as your lids opened, you happened to glance directly into his lap as he pulled the stool a little closer.

And the obvious tenting of his scrubs.

You closed your eyes very quickly, pushing your own legs together.

His fingers pinched a little harder, and you jumped. "Oh!"

"How's that, hm?"

His voice had gotten significantly hoarser the more you reacted to his touch. You were just plainly happy that you still had feeling at all, even if the doctor testing it was apparently having a reaction of his own.

"That's—really good—" you murmured, licking your dry lips where they'd remained parted around little gasps of air.

You also hadn't realized that your back had been arching into him further and further, seeking more of his hand every time he changed pressure.

"I want to try one more thing, really test these little nerve endings, okay? Can you keep your eyes closed for me?"

You nodded. "Yes, sir."

Your eyes opened despite the command, a little ashamed at the sudden moniker, but he was smiling to himself, his tongue dipping out to moisten his bottom lip.

"Eyes closed. You're doing so good."

You did as he said.

The pressure alleviated, his fingers releasing you, but you could just barely feel the tip of one tracing around your areola again. Then came a puff of cool air across your chest that had you jumping beneath his hands. He must've licked his finger first, wetting your nipple with his own spit before blowing gently over it.

"Oh, fuck—" you moaned.

"That's good. What a good girl. Stay just like that."

His voice had gone completely husky now. Your brain had just started to short circuit between the difference of you’re doing so good and being a good girl when —

— you felt his mouth on you.

Instead of opening your eyes, pushing him away, calling for help like a normal fucking person might do when her ER doctor decided to put his mouth on her tit, your hands flew straight into his hair.

Robby groaned.

His lips latched around your nipple then, sucking—and sucking hard. It was nothing like last night. Last night, you'd freaked out when your date couldn't get any sensation out of you, his mouth working gently yet uselessly against numb skin until panic had swallowed whatever arousal you'd had.

You didn't have time to wonder why this was different, because Dr. Robby's teeth caught your nipple and nipped.

Your mouth opened around a throaty moan, your back bending almost inhumanly toward him as your fingers clawed deeper into his hair.

"Oh fuck, yes, just like that—" you mewled, your hips beginning to rock against the hospital bed beneath you.

Robby moaned into your chest, his slightly hooked nose pressed against your sternum while he kept up his ministrations, his other hand coming up to take your other nipple between his fingers and pinch even harder.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—" It was all you could manage, moaning into the room even louder. "That's so good, so good, Dr. Robby, oh, please don't stop—"

Instead of listening to you, though, he pulled his mouth away.

"You gonna come just like this, young lady?" His breath hit your wet nipple before his thumb rolled over it again. "Fuck, that's so good. Come on, rub that pussy on my hospital bed. I can see how badly you want it. C'mon now."

"Yessss—!" you whined, pulling at his hair in hopes he'd lower his mouth again.

Instead, he brought up both hands, catching your nipples between his fingers and pinching even harder, pulling them forward and up, making your chest follow him instinctively for reprieve from the pressure. The pain shot pleasure through your chest, like sparks into your belly and was so fucking delicious that your eyes opened, mouth hanging loose, brows pinched as you stared down at him.

"Yeah, you like that?" Robby's darkened eyes dragged over your face, head still tilted as he looked up at you on the bed. "See? These beautiful tits are just fine, baby. C'mon, let me see you come from me playing with these cute nipples. Your surgeon took good care of you." His fingers pulled again, making you gasp. "I'm gonna do the same. Come for me, baby."

Your head fell back, chest pushing out even further into his hands, one hand still buried in his hair while the other gripped the side of the hospital bed. Your body locked up, pussy clenching around nothing while your chest tingled and your breasts remained helplessly in his clutch.

"She must be feeling so neglected, huh?" His thumbs pressed over your nipples harder, eyeing your rocking hips. "Pussy all wet from me playing with your breasts, sweet girl?"

You nodded, breath catching as your orgasm finally tore through you, your body jerking against the hospital bed while his hands stayed firmly around your breasts.

"Yeah, bet she is."

He watched you twitch and convulse, moaning in his hold while an unmistakably pleased little look settling over his face.

"That's okay. I can check her next."

Your mouth stayed open as you finally were able to full in a few steadying breaths as the swell of your orgasm died down, your heart still beating hard and trying to catch up with the licks of pleasure still making you twitch. Dr. Robby's hands became softer, no longer pinching or pulling but just tenderly soothing to your skin. His palms were so warm and greedy even through the gloves as he massaged them gently, thumbs moving in small circles along the lower curves and around the scar lines without touching the nipples he'd just thoroughly proven were still very much functional.

"There you go," he murmured, quieter now. "Easy. Just breathe for me."

You let out a breath that turned into a helpless little laugh somewhere in the middle. "Jesus Christ." you smiled, "that was… crazy."

Robby smiled back. "Feeling better?"

You cracked your eyes open and looked down at him.

He'd somehow ended up between your legs, still on the stool as your knees rested over the edge of the bed, ankles hanging loose, the insides of your calves knocking lightly against his thighs every time you kicked them anxiously around. His hands had moved down to either side of your hips, fingers twitching to touch while he watched your face with an expression far too pleased with himself for a man who had supposedly been conducting a neurological exam five minutes ago.

"A little." you said sheepishly.

"A little?"

"Okay." You swallowed another laugh. "Considerably. I was, uh, pretty freaked out earlier. Thank you.”

His hands slipped from the mattress to your thighs, rubbing slowly over the skin just above your knees. You looked down at them, then back at him.

"So…" you started, still catching your breath. "Professional opinion?"

Robby's mouth twitched. "Your breasts work."

You snorted.

"That's your official diagnosis, doctor?”

"That's my preliminary diagnosis." he corrected.

"Oh, preliminary." you nodded, as if, yes of course how could you have been so silly?

"Mhm." His hands moved a little higher along your thighs. "I'd hate to make any definitive statements without a complete examination."

You were still smiling down at him as his hands gently pressed into your skin, settling around the soft flesh of your hips, your knees spreading another inch around him as he leaned in further without either of you acknowledging it.

There was suddenly a voice calling for him outside the door, followed by the swell of hospital noise and the metal clacking of the curtain being pushed aside.

"Robby, brother, you good in here?"

You lifted your hands to cover your chest, Robby turning slightly to see who was coming in.

But you already knew.

Because you recognized his voice even before his hand slid the curtain open and his eyes landed on the scene in front of him.

Standing there, one hand still wrapped around the fabric of the only thing keeping the rest of the emergency department from seeing your exam with the chief attending, was the gorgeous—and I mean, gorgeous—man you'd kicked out of your apartment approximately five hours ago.

Jack Abbot stared at you.

You stared back at Jack Abbot.

His eyes flicked down to Robby between your legs, then back up to your face, and instead of looking surprised—or horrified, or even remotely confused—his mouth curled into a smug, amused smile.

"Guess we skipped the part where we talked about what we do for a living." He chuckled. “Could’ve saved you the trip, sweetheart.”

ok sorry for the corny one liner at the end i didn’t know what to doooo!!! thank you so much for requesting and reading! ilysm!!! my requests are currently open :)