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Summary: You loved Robby enough to build a life around him once. The kind of life you thought people only talked about. Then things changed slowly, and then all at once, until the man beside you no longer felt familiar. Time apart was supposed to make things easier. Instead, a series of circumstances forces the two of you back into the same room, where everything left unsaid is still waiting.
Pairing: Husband! Robby x Wife! reader
WC: 6.5k
Warnings: 18+, smut, stressful work life, mentions of depression, not accurate lmao, strained marriage, arguments, lying, toxic dynamics, inappropriate workplace behavior, jack and mckay are two of reader’s close friends, mentions of a previous miscarriage, mentions of langdon’s addiction, fade to black at the end.
(this was my first robby fic, i hope i captured him well lol)
Working in the Pitt was its own kind of hell, a hell where life was sucked out of you. No fun, no laughs, only stress.
Before Michael, all you knew was work, home, and the few hours of sleep that you allowed yourself after your shift.
It was a cliche thing to say, but you always swore that your life brightened some when he came into it. He had a way about him, a way about him that made you feel at ease.
How the hell your marriage ended up in a spot where you were heavily considering divorce was beyond you. It had been another night of you trying to be there for him, but it turned into a fight— it always did. Your words were always wrong and rotten, no matter how softly they were spoken or how sweet they were laced.
Robby was a ticking time bomb and you weren’t going to let him drag you down with him. It was so unfair, because he acted as if you didn’t struggle too— like you didn’t also have a lot on your plate at work. It was all about him and his feelings.
The thought of your marriage being at that point was foreign, ridiculous even. You loved him and he loved you, how could things sour when that mattered most? How could you give up on him?
Robby was the man that couldn’t see yourself without, the one that made you smile at work, the one that would drop anything to be there for you.
Why would you abandon him when he just needed help?
God, you felt so fucking guilty for even considering it. The guilt gnawed at you every time you thought about it, you were being unfair.
He just needed space, is what you told yourself— hoping that it would turn out differently.
When the two of you got together it was with the help of Jack, he kept giving hints about how you’d do well together and how you two were looking for the same thing. How both of you had been alone for quite some time.
You brushed him off, because you weren’t looking for anything or anyone. You were okay with being by yourself and you had been okay with that for a really long time.
When you finally caved and said yes to the “blind date”, Jack joked that it would be it — you’d never be single again. Robby would be the one for you, the one that would make you change your mind.
You would roll your eyes and mock him, but he was right.
“Fuck.” You whined, your ass bouncing on his cock.
He smacked your ass, biting his lip.
“There you go, sweetheart.” He coached.
It had been so long since you had been touched, Robby was only the second person that you had ever slept with. It felt so fucking good, but you’d told yourself beforehand that it wouldn’t go that far. You didn’t plan to fuck him after the third date, you just couldn’t help yourself— he was so charming.
“I’m gonna cum—“
“Fuck, Robby.” You rasped, your pussy clenching around his cock.
“That’s it baby.” He groaned, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he kissed you again.
You kept riding him, riding out your orgasm while his cock twitched inside you.
“I’m so fucking close.” He panted.
You loved this, every fucking moment of it. “You can cum inside me, I’m on the pill.”
He looked at you, “you sure?”
You nodded.
It didn’t take long before Robby’s deep, guttural groans filled the air— his cum coating your walls.
The two of you stayed in each other’s arms, falling asleep together and waking up together the next morning.
You knew then that Jack was right, Robby was it.
A year later the two of you were married, married at the cathedral that you’d picked out.
It was perfect in every way imaginable and you had smiled more than you ever had in your life. The way that Robby looked at you, held your hand through every moment, whispered cute things into your ear— he was your soulmate.
Your wedding wasn’t big, but it had everyone who mattered there. It was exactly what the two of you had envisioned and talked about on numerous occasions.
Shortly after the wedding, the two of you started house hunting. You both sold your houses and wanted a space that was picked by both of you, something where you could potentially start a family.
Having children was something that you never considered, something that you had written off years ago. I mean, the Pitt was your life— it was all that you had time for. However, experiencing love and being loved made you feel differently about it.
Before you got married, the two of you were also on opposite shifts—just barely able to spend time together. With a little persuasion, you joined the day shift, which made things ten times easier for both of you.
Years later…
You took the empty chair at the nurses station, wanting to rest your feet. The emergency room was buzzing with patients, talking, and machines beeping— you could barely hear yourself think.
“Don’t go to sleep on us.” Dana spoke, nudging you as you blinked slowly.
You wanted to cry internally and externally, “I couldn’t even if I tried.”
The entire day had been more non-stop than usual and you were exhausted, truthfully beyond exhausted.
You glanced at your watch and stood up from the chair, dragging yourself to the next task— going to the bathroom for peace and quiet. On the way to the bathroom, you caught Robby once again grilling Samira for being too slow.
You watched as she walked away, looking like a bit more of her confidence had been shaved off.
Robby walked out of the room, putting hand sanitizer on his hands.
Things between the two of you were already tense, but you were going to say something— you had to. Not just because he was your husband, but his behavior and attitude was getting ridiculous. The low point in your marriage was an all new low, lower than it had ever been. You believed that it was something every marriage went through, something your marriage would overcome— but as the nights passed your confidence dwindled. Your patience for his treatment of you and everyone else thinned.
His behavior at home had been carried with him at work, the one thing he always warned everyone about. It was downright embarrassing to you and him.
He was losing himself right before your eyes— snappy with everyone, sleeping less, and talking less. You were losing your husband and you couldn’t stop it. You wanted to guide him through it and be there for him, but he only pushed you farther away. It had gotten to the point where you drove your own car to work and that you could barely work with him, without arguing.
He was affecting you and your career, he was ruining you.
You walked beside him, “can we have a word?”
He scoffed, the lines near his eyes deepening.
“Here we go—“
“Again.” He muttered.
You walked in front of him, halting his steps and trying not to let his words make you angry.
“Robby, you cannot keep treating Samira that way.” You gently reminded him.
“Dr. Mohan.” He corrected you.
Your brows furrowed, a confused look on your face.
“What?”
He pressed his hands together in front of him, his lips pursed and brows slightly raised.
“She is Dr.Mohan. We are professionals and she is not your friend, she is Dr. Mohan.”
You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief.
“We are professionals, you’re right— but that isn’t a lesson that I need.”
He pulled his shoulders back in offense, pointing his finger at himself.
“Are you trying to say that I need a fucking lesson in professionalism? That’s rich.”
“Robby.. what I’m saying is that—“
“Your treatment of her, constantly nagging and knocking her down a peg.. is unprofessional and comes off sexist.” You stammered.
He stared at you in disbelief.
“You, my lovely wife— are unbelievable.”
“I only say this out of concern, Michael. I love you, but—“
“Just because we are married does not mean that you can talk to me this way, I am still your superior. You need to remember your place and get back to work, we do not have time for bullshit.” He gritted.
You were admittedly startled by his tone, it sent shivers down your spine. The way that he so casually brushed you and your concern off, the way that he pulled the authority card.
It was as if the rose colored glasses that you had on and the excuses for him instantly vanished, that was it— the final straw. It wasn’t something big or catastrophic like you had imagined, it was that.
Your eyes watered as you stared at your husband, the eyes of your coworkers on both of you.
Robby stared at you and you didn’t even recognize him, his eyes no longer held the sanctuary that you used to get lost in.
You leaned close to him, making sure that he could hear you perfectly.
“I can’t do this anymore, Michael.. I thought that I could and that I could tolerate your cruelty, but I can’t.”
His brows raised, “my cruelty?”
“You need to get your shit out of the house and be gone by the time that I am at home.” You added.
Your words were sharp and short, no more apologies and excuses— just straight to the point.
He feigned a smile and nodded, walking away without saying anything.
You turned around to see everyone staring after, considering it was obvious the two of you were arguing.
“What the fuck is everyone looking at?” You yelled, tears finally falling from your eyes.
Dana stared at you a moment longer, before averting her gaze.
“She’s right people, this isn’t a zoo— get back to work!”
Although you appreciated her effort to keep eyes off of you and your failing marriage, everyone knew— it was obvious. Everyone noticed how things between the two of you seemed strained, how easily Robby snapped, or how it seemed like your light dimmed.
You loved him, but this was ridiculous and it just couldn’t continue— not this way.
After your shift, you went home and he was gone— along with his things. He didn’t even hesitate.
You stayed later for charting, hoping for anything from him— but there was nothing. You didn’t know what hurt worse, him not trying or him treating you that way.
When you got home, you realized that you still had a vial in your pocket and needed to return it. You drove back to the hospital, hoping to be in and out.
“Back so soon?” Dana questioned as she prepared to walk out of the door herself.
You held the vial in your hand, showing her. “I needed to return this.”
Dana stopped you in your tracks as you went to walk past her, her hand on your shoulder and her eyes giving you a look that you knew all too well.
“What was that with Robby earlier?”
You fidgeted with the vial, fighting back the tears that wanted to fall from your eyes again.
“He’s.. uh, just having a day— I guess.”
She leaned in closer to you, her brow slightly raised.
“He shouldn’t be like that with you, that isn’t okay and you don’t deserve it.”
You nodded, biting the inside of your lip.
“Tell me about it.”
Dana rubbed your shoulder and gave it a pat before she continued on her way while you continued on yours.
It was embarrassing, embarrassing that your marriage couldn’t even struggle in private— that everyone knew.
The emergency room had quieted some from earlier, but not by much. Dr. Abbott and Mateo were approaching the desk when you walked by, your mind completely focused on the task at hand and nothing else.
You were in the middle of returning the vial when Jack came to the side of you.
“What are you doing back here?” He asked.
You took a deep breath, your eyes red from crying and hands unable to stop shaking.
“I just brought back that vial, I realized I still had it in my pocket.”
He stared at you, his eyes raking over you and your appearance.
“Talk to me.”
Your brow raised, “about?”
He leaned against the wall, glancing around and making sure that the two of you were alone.
“I’ve heard about it, I mean everyone has— tell me what happened.”
You wiped your mouth, a sigh of defeat escaping your lips— your eyes sore from crying.
Jack grabbed your hand and guided you into a nearby empty room, shutting the door behind him.
“He’s just.. he’s slipping. I don’t know what’s going on, but nothing I say is right or okay. He’s an asshole most of the time, like I don’t even recognize him.. my own fucking husband.” You stammered.
Jack watched you, he watched how you also looked like you were falling apart and how you seemed completely alone.
“Why did he argue with you in front of people? What brought that about?”
You wiped your tears, shaking your head.
“He was scolding Dr. Mohan again. It’s like he’s always on her ass about one thing or another and she’s trying, she’s fucking trying.” You choked.
Jack tilted his head slightly and walked closer to you, pulling you into a hug.
“Hey, hey— it’s going to be okay. He’s going to be okay and so will you.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
You pulled away, sniffing.
“Don’t, this isn’t your mess to clean up and I don’t want him getting upset over this too.”
“I don’t like him treating you this way. I won’t tolerate it.”
“It’ll be fine, just trust me.” You pleaded.
He rubbed your arm, “are you positive?”
You nodded, pulling a paper towel from the dispenser to blow your nose.
“Have you—“
“Have you told him about the medical emergency that you had?”
You turned to Jack, your mind clouded by the hum of the light overhead and everything else.
“Oh, the miscarriage?”
He folded his arms, leaning against the counter— his brow raised.
“No.. no. I just didn’t think he’d handle it well—“
“You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone, that is not okay.” Jack interrupted.
You shrugged, your lips pursed.
“I didn’t go through it alone, I had you and McKay.”
“You needed your husband, not just us. He should’ve been there, he would’ve wanted to be there.”
“What was I supposed to do, Jack? Hmm?—“
“Tell my already suicidal husband that during his own meanness and selfish worries, I had a miscarriage. The baby that we once talked about, I lost?”
He nodded, “yes.”
You laughed in disagreement, “that totally would’ve gone well.”
“Maybe, it would’ve changed things for him— made him actually seek out help.”
“It would’ve just changed how soon he’d put a gun in his mouth.” You digressed.
“He will get through this, he will.” Jack spoke, his voice coming out softer for reassurance.
“I told him to pack his things after earlier.. I told him to be gone before I got home.”
“Well, was he gone?” Jack questioned.
“Yeah, most of his things were gone.” You sighed.
“Is that what you wanted?”
You threw your hands up in defeat, “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want anymore, Jack. I am just tired of the back and forth, of this, of..”
You stopped yourself before you could finish your sentence, but both of you knew what it meant.
Mateo opened the door, interrupting the conversation.
“I need you right now.”
Jack looked at him and back at you, “I’ll be right back.”
Once he left, you took a few minutes to calm down before driving back home— but you left before he came back to the room. You were tired and wanted to go home. You needed to go home.
When you got home, you took a shower and practically collapsed. You didn’t have the mental capacity or energy to think about Robby. You barely had the capacity to think about yourself.
The next morning you had overslept and were running behind. You glanced at your phone as you rushed to get ready.
Two missed calls from Robby and three texts from him.
Is everything okay?
Where are you? They said that you didn’t call out.
If I don’t hear from you in the next twenty minutes, I’m leaving work and coming to the house.
You were more flustered about being late than anything else, so texting Robby back was the last thing on your mind at that moment.
You rushed in, your eyes still red and puffy— your voice hoarse.
“There she is! We were worried.” Dana smiled.
You set down your tumbler on the desk. “I overslept, I didn’t mean to.”
Langdon looked up from his chart, staring at you and how you looked. He wanted to ask if you were okay, but you were already walking away before he could.
You were walking to the bathroom, hoping to pee quickly before diving in. Robby appeared out of what seemed like thin air, leaning against the bathroom door in front of you.
“You were late.. an hour late, what happened?”
You scratched your brow, “I overslept.”
He bit his lip, “is that all? Or is there something that you’re not telling me?”
You rolled your eyes, signaling for him to move from in front of the door.
“For Christ sake, Michael l— I just overslept because I was exhausted. I was sad and exhausted, nothing more.”
Robby nodded and moved out of your way, walking back the other direction.
Dealing with him and the stress of what he was dealing with was making you snappy, making you act ugly towards other people. You weren’t being yourself.
When you came out of the bathroom, you bumped into Mckay.
“Are you okay?”
You scoffed, “what do you think?”
“That’s fair. If you’re interested, I need your assistance with this patient. She accidentally almost cut three fingers off.”
You agreed, putting hand sanitizer on your hand as the two of you approached the room.
After observing the wounds yourself and talking with the patient, you pulled your gloves off— standing up from the stool.
“Can you have Yoyo come check this out? I’m certain that it’s going to need more than just stitches.” You spoke to Cassie.
She nodded, picking the phone up from the hook on the wall near her.
You exited the room, putting on more hand sanitizer— your thoughts interrupted by Santos approaching.
“Can I talk to you?”
“Sure, what’s up?” You replied.
She glanced around, her hands in her pocket— “privately.”
The two of you went into an empty room and you didn’t know what to expect, quite frankly you were a little afraid.
Santos stood there, hesitant to open her mouth and tell you why she needed to talk.
“Everything okay?” You questioned, staring at her and her lost expression.
“I think that Langdon is stealing drugs from the hospital.” She blurted.
Her words threw you for a loop, like a prank was being played.
“Langdon?—“
“Frank?”
She slowly nodded, “yes.”
You crossed your arms, your eyes blinking more in that minute than they had since you’d woken up.
“What makes you say that? That’s a serious accusation, Santos.”
“There have been a few discrepancies with benzos on two cases of his.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose.
“You’re absolutely positive?”
“Yes.”
You sighed. “Okay, I’ll handle it from here—“
“Thank you for reporting it.”
She stood there a minute longer before exiting.
When she left, you started to laugh. It wasn’t due to anything being humorous— but it was the cherry on top. Robby’s star pupil was potentially stealing drugs from the hospital and you were going to tell him, it was the last thing that you needed.
Robby was busy, so you sat down and did the notes on a chart. You were so overwhelmed from the information that you could barely think straight.
Time passed with more people coming into the ER, so you had been too busy to talk to Robby— too busy to do anything.
You shook your head, walking from the last patient you had spoken to when you saw him. He glanced up from his iPad, staring at you.
“I need to talk to you.” You mouthed.
He put down the iPad, pulled off his glasses and walked towards you at the end of the hallway. The two of you hadn’t talked about what happened yesterday and he had hoped that you would, just maybe not at that moment.
“What’s going on?”
You leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath.
“Santos came to me earlier and made a troubling accusation—“
Robby sarcastically smiled, thinking that it would be nonsense.
“I can’t wait to hear this.”
“She accused Langdon of stealing drugs from the hospital.”
His smile dropped, “what the fuck are you talking about?”
“She said that on two occasions there have been clear and obvious discrepancies with benzos.”
“And she’s sure?” He questioned, gritting his teeth— his hands on his head.
“About as sure as she can be.”
Robby’s hand smacked the wall as he walked away from you and didn’t say anything else.
“Robby!” You yelled, calling after him to no avail.
Robby disappeared around the corner and you let him, you were just too tired to chase after him and try talking to him. It wasn’t worth the fight.
You made your way back over to the desk, rummaging through one of the drawers to find a report to fill out. Your task was interrupted as they always were, Whittaker asking for a hand.
The thoughts in your mind came and went at such a rampant speed that you couldn’t keep track. If you weren’t thinking or worried about your husband, you were thinking about how you felt inadequate and wanted to give up.
It was tiring.
You made quick work of helping Whittaker and returned to filling out the report. The report was tedious and exhaustingly long, you had finished most of it when you saw Robby again..
“I filled out the report, most of it anyway. I’ll just need your signature and get it sent to HR.” You mentioned, now walking beside Robby.
He rubbed hand sanitizer into his hands, “that won’t be necessary.”
You tilted your head in confusion, “what won’t be necessary?”
“The report, I handled it. Langdon is gone and it’s unnecessary.”
You stopped in your tracks, your feet squeaking slightly against the floor.
“You’re joking, right?”
He glanced at you, “nope.”
You grabbed his hand and forced him into the newly empty room that was closest to you. The smell of disinfectant lingering in the air.
“What Langdon did was a crime, it should be reported.”
He folded his arms in front of him.
“Santos reported it to you, you told me, and I handled it. There’s nothing more to it.”
You scoffed, shaking your head.
“He stole drugs and you’re trying to salvage his fucking career? Trying to help him out?”
Robby took a deep breath, holding his eyes shut for a moment.
“I am the senior attending, I don’t have to explain shit to you! I said it was handled and I meant that.”
You bit the inside of your lip, stepping closer to him and closing the gap between the two of you.
“You once again cut slack for Langdon, but you’d never do the same for me, or McKay, or Mohan— why is that?”
“We move just a little slower or become a step behind, take a small break, or make the wrong decision and you’re immediately riding our ass. Your precious pupil is a drug addict and you still spare him!”
Tears welled in your eyes, your lip beginning to quiver.
“I am doing my job and I don’t appreciate you taking me away from it, because you want to be emotional— because you can’t leave your self esteem issues at the door.” He hissed.
Your mouth was agape and it felt like your heart stilled in your chest for a moment.
“Wow.. just when I thought that you couldn’t get any lower.” You mumbled.
You stormed out of the room, Robby called your name and sounded remorseful— but you didn’t even bother.
The shift was the shift that kept on giving, no break in sight for you or anyone that day— especially after the pittfest nightmare.
You were so tired after that shift that you could barely keep your eyes open, you even fell asleep in the shower.
It was one of the hardest shifts that you had worked in a while, but nothing was harder than dealing with your husband— accepting how he was now.
After everything, you realized that you needed a break— you took off a week and simultaneously put in a transfer to another hospital. You couldn’t work with Robby anymore or just at that hospital in general.
You needed space and a lot of it.
Are you not coming in today?
Nevermind, I heard that you took time off. Take care of yourself.
Did you really put in a transfer request? You’re leaving the hospital, because of me?
I am sorry, baby.
Please, talk to me. I want to talk.
You ignored every text that Robby sent and reading them was like a knife twisting in your stomach. Things could have been so different.
All he had to do was accept your help, but even that was an unreasonable ask.
During your time off, you spent a lot of time lounging around your house—sorting things and watching a bit of some tv show.
It was odd being completely alone at home, Robby’s things being gone— his scent still lingering. You had been with Robby for years, made your life around him and now you were preparing for a life without him. A life without the man that you spent years loving and accepting.
You sat on the couch in your pajamas, scrolling through the options on Netflix— hoping to find something that would distract you.
Your phone dinged with a text from Jack.
Are you doing okay?
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, because that was the million dollar question— were you okay?
You: I’m okay, as okay as I can possibly be lol. Thanks for checking in on me though!
He started typing, then stopped, and then started again.
I came in to fill in for you and Robby came to me shortly after our shift started.
You: Why? Was he okay?
He brought up what happened between the two of you, mentioned that he’d really fucked up.
You: I’m not sure what to say.
I didn’t know what to say either, I just hope this means that he’ll get the help he needs.
You: I hope so too, but we’ll see.
He misses you, I think more than he’s letting on.
You read Jack’s last text and didn’t respond, you weren’t sure what to say— not really.
It'd been two months since you left the Pitt, two months since you’d separated from Robby.
You had gotten used to the silence that lingered in your life now, used to not waking up beside Robby, used to the new hospital that you worked at.
At this hospital things were different, the unit wasn’t much of a “family” like you were at the Pitt. Each of you did your job and went home, that was it. Surprisingly, you didn’t mind it— not at much as you thought you would.
You sat in the lounge, mindlessly scrolling on your phone when a text came through from Robby.
I just want to warn you, I will be stopping by the house to grab something from the garage. I won’t be there long.
You: That’s fine, I’m not sure I’ll be there though. Do you still have your key?
Yes.
Things between you and Robby were stuck in limbo, they weren’t inherently improving nor were they getting worse.
It had been two months and you had cancelled three divorce consultations, unable to go through with it. The two of you barely talked and had been living separately, you couldn’t understand why you were hesitant.
He’d text you every now and then, checking in on you and letting you know that he missed you. Each text made your skin warm and made your stomach flutter, you still were in love with him— even when you shouldn’t have been.
You missed him— you missed seeing his face, feeling his arms around you, missed hearing his voice, and his snores in the bed beside you.
A text came through, this one from McKay.
Are you still coming over tonight? There’s so much that I have to tell you.
You: Can we do it tomorrow night, instead? I don’t feel well and there’s something that I need to handle.
Sure! No problem.
Thankfully, the work day didn’t drag on and was finished before you could even begin to complain. You wanted to go home, pour yourself a glass of wine, and fall asleep watching some shitty reality show.
When you got home, Robby wasn’t there— you had missed him. You did however find a bouquet of roses on the counter with a note attached.
These are for you, your favorite flower— but still nowhere as beautiful as you. I am sorry for how I treated you, what I ruined between us. I do hope that one day you’re able to forgive me. I love you more than anything. — Michael
You sat the card back onto the table, tears welling in your eyes. You picked up your phone, your finger hovering over the text thread between the two of you.
You: Thank you for the flowers.
You’re welcome, do you like them?
You: Yes.
You: Would you like to come over?
You held your breath after you sent that text, the feeling of regret already creeping into your stomach.
Everything okay? or do you want me over there for something else?
You: I just want to talk.
I’ll be there in thirty.
You liked his message and there was a lump in your throat, you were supposed to be keeping your distance from him— not inviting him over.
You turned off the lights, leaving only the lamp near the front door on— lighting the vanilla candle that also sat on the table.
While trying to process what you did, you took a hot shower— hoping that maybe you’d change your mind afterwards. The water rinsed over your skin, the steam filling the bathroom as you stood there deep in thought.
Could your marriage truly recover? Was this a mistake?
Once you were out of the shower, you threw on one of your baggy t-shirts and made your way back downstairs. You were going to tell Robby nevermind, but as soon your foot touched the last step— the doorbell rang.
Your heart raced as you walked to the door, your fingers sweating when you unlocked it and opened it.
Robby stood there, his eyes raking over your appearance— wet hair, his baggy college t-shirt, and no pants on.
“You wanted me to come over?” He asked, walking past you and down the hall.
You locked the door, your words hung in your throat as you followed him into the kitchen.
“Did you mean it—“
“Do you mean what you wrote on the notecard?” You mumbled.
He leaned against the kitchen counter.
“Every word of it.”
You held back the tears that threatened to leave your eyes.
“Why now? It’s been two months.”
“Two months of agony, two months of feeling like I cannot breathe, two months of feeling like the biggest asshole in the world.”
You bit your lip and just stood there, somehow he felt like your husband again— like the man that you’d fallen in love with years ago.
“You need help, Michael.. professional help that I cannot give.”
He nodded, a pained look on his face.
“I know.”
Somehow in the midst of talking, the two of you ended up closer than you should’ve been— his body against yours.
Robby titled his head, his eyes staring into yours while one his hands rested against your hip.
“I’m sorry for leaving you.” You muttered.
“You had to, baby. I don’t blame you one bit.” He replied softly.
His hand came up to your cheek, his thumb rubbing against it. You felt like you could melt into him, melt like you always did.
“I missed you.” He confessed.
“I missed you too.”
There was a silence, a heat between the two of your bodies.
He gently pressed his lips against yours, his hand cupping your face. He kissed you like he was scared he’d be punished for it, waiting for you to push him away— only you didn’t.
You kissed him back and you welcomed it.
The kiss deepened, your tongue sliding into his mouth.
“I missed you so much, baby.” He breathed in between kissing.
You pulled your lips from his, grabbing his hand and bringing him to the bedroom. As soon as you were in the room, his lips were back on yours.
He pulled off your t-shirt, leaving you completely naked.
“You look.. so beautiful.”
You pulled Robby’s shirt off, your fingers raking over his hairy stomach as he placed open mouthed kisses against your skin.
“I want you.” You whined.
He pulled off his pants, a wet spot on his boxers from precum.
You pulled down his boxers, wrapping your hand around his thick cock— slowly pumping it.
“Hmm, that feels good honey.”
He kissed you fiercely, full of hunger and need— guiding you back onto the bed.
You laid on your back, your legs spread open— watching as he came between your legs.
“Please, fuck me.”
He chuckled, his necklace dangling in your face.
He guided his cock to your entrance, his tub rubbing against your sensitive clit.
“You ready for me?”
You nodded, bringing your mouth to his.
He pushed inside you, a gasp leaving your mouth and a groan leaving his.
His cock filled you, every inch of him stretching you as you got used to him again.
“That’s it, baby.” He groaned, slowly thrusting in and out of you.
It felt good to feel him inside you again, to be close with him, and to feel love for him.
He was so deep inside you, it felt like he was in your stomach— taking your breath with every thrust.
Robby pushed your leg up slightly, his cock going even deeper.
“Fuck.” You whimpered.
Hearing you moan and watching you take every inch of him just about pushed him over the edge prematurely.
“That feels so good, Robby."
“Good, baby. I want to make you feel so good.” He breathed.
The intense feeling in your stomach began to build, your pussy already clenching around his cock.
“I’m so close, I’m so close.” You moaned.
He kissed you with a chuckle, his thrusts faster and messier.
“Me too—“
“Be a good girl and cum for me, honey.”
You loved hearing him talk to you like that, hearing him coach you through your orgasm.
Your orgasm washed over you like a violent tidal wave, his name spilling from your lips over and over again.
“Yeah, just like that, baby.”
Robby’s orgasm followed yours within seconds, his cock slamming into you one last time— his warm cum coating your walls.
Both of you laid there for a moment, reeling from the high that you rode— also now more confused than ever.
Robby pulled out of you, handing you his shirt.
“Do you want me to go?”
You pulled the shirt over your head, getting off the bed.
“You can stay, but you’ll have to leave in the morning.”
Robby stayed and you slept in his arms like you used to, some of the best sleep that you had gotten in a while. You knew that once the morning came, things would go back to how they were.
That night was a weak moment and it made what you said no less true, Robby needed help and the two of you couldn’t be together until he got it.
Weeks later..
Things between you and Robby had managed to somehow get worse, he hadn’t gotten help like he needed to and he was continuing to spiral.
You’d given up and just completely avoided him, even though it was painful. You really hoped that he would’ve taken your advice, that the time apart would have opened his eyes.
You sat on the couch, eating popcorn and decided to open a bottle of wine— a well needed drink.
This was your favorite wine, you’d often buy two bottles when you went to the store.
You glanced at the tv from the kitchen, watching the red wine pour into the glass.
The whiff of wine made your brows furrow, it smelled off. You brought the glass to your mouth, tasting it to be sure.
It tasted wrong and off like something had been done to it, you leaned over the sink spitting it out.
It wasn’t old and it hadn’t been opened, but it didn’t taste right and you couldn’t figure out why.
You stood at the sink, leaning against it and absentmindedly rinsing out the wine— your mind elsewhere.
That’s when it hit you, it felt like a shove to the chest. You grabbed your phone from the couch and pulled up your period app.
You were probably panicking, being ridiculous— there was no way that you were pregnant.
The app loaded and you were late, very fucking late.
“No, no, no.” You mumbled, rushing up the stairs to your bathroom.
You’d kept spare pregnancy tests in your bathroom and never got around to throwing them out once the two of you split.
The bathroom lights hummed as you stood there near the sink, staring at yourself in the mirror.
It was going to be negative, there’s no way it would be positive.
The timer on your phone went off and you took a deep breath, completely preparing for there to be another explanation.
You slowly turned over both pregnancy tests.
They were positive.
You held your head in defeat, tears falling from your eyes.
Bed Rest — Michael Robinavitch x Jack Abbot x Fem! Reader
Wc: 8.06k
Warnings/Tags: reader injury, reader understands tagalog shhh asean pride, maybe ooc robby and abbot even though i like to think im good at writing them, not proof read but was very paranoid while writing, mention of drugs, mean robby soft abbot, porn with some plot if you squint, really long smut scene and aftercare to balance it out; oral sex (both m and f receiving), nipple play, finger sucking, arm kink (?? im projecting), throat fucking, spanking, spit kink, rough unprotected piv sex, slight voyeurism/cucking (??), squirting, pasta mmmmm yummy
AN: hi i hope i dont jinx dis pls dont flop i spent so long on this.... and it's the longest ive ever written, inclusive of my drafts on docs.... okthanksbai i'll probably never see u again
“Taking it like a fucking champ, doc.”
..was what followed the door of the break room swinging open to reveal your senior attending, Dr. Robinavitch. You'd decided to take a short breather after a particularly tedious patient with an even trickier case—the ambulance bay didn’t seem ideal; you preferred to still hear the chaos going on outside.
A slightly disbelieving laugh left you as the last bite of Nature's Valley broke off into your mouth. You glanced down at your ankles and rolled them, testing their current soreness. “Sorry?”
“Thought it was pretty direct,” he muttered, sucking in an appreciative breath through his teeth as he took a gulp of fresh coffee. His head tilted back, revealing the line of his jugular in all its glory.
Not that you.. cared.
Sighing, you crumpled the bright green plastic up before binning it on your way to the sink, making an effort to not stare at him or his beautiful, Seiko-watched hand, wrapped around a mug and dwarfing it. “Don’t think I follow.”
He set the ceramic down, turning to look at you with his hip against the counter, toned arms folded. “I know your shift yesterday was rough. Find it admirable you're doing so great today.”
Your eyebrows rose, tone deadpan, “The Michael Robinavitch expressing empathy? I must be dreaming.”
“Ah, well.. it's the eighth wonder of the world. Next best thing after the Pyramids, for sure.”
You smiled softly, shaking your head and placing a hand on his bicep. Jeez, it was solid. “Flattery and a raise is the way to a woman's heart. Not just flattery.”
“Yeah?” he scoffed, cocking his head. “Do you want me knowing the way to your heart?”
You pushed on his arm before brushing past to hide your unbidden fluster. “You’re fucking lame.”
He shrugged. “Worth a try.”
It was unfairly attractive, the manner he held himself. As such were any of his mannerisms. His condescending nature sometimes rubbed med students and interns the wrong way, but once they'd warmed up to him a little, it was undeniably alluring.
Or maybe it was just you.
You joined the PTMC’s ED as an R3 about a year ago after a couple years up in Portland, and somehow immediately captured the attention of your attending. He always called on you for traumas, letting you take control with a smidge of criticism here and there.
Which should've been a good thing. But with how goddamn hot he was, it wasn't very easy to be on your best behaviour when he was so constantly around; during your laps, when you were striking up some conversation with a patient..
As you left the break room more than a little flushed, Perlah and Princess both cast knowing glances your way before murmuring something in Tagalog they knew you could hear but barely decipher.
“Sa tingin mo nagawa na nila ito?”
“Not yet,” you replied dryly, grabbing an iPad from the dock.
—
Yet another long shift; one that consisted of a record high of 4 STEMIs. Which wasn't a good thing.. obviously. But all of them were currently stable. Being an ED doctor was exhausting, and that was a colossal understatement.
On your days off, all you could bring yourself to do was drink a few shots of espresso and curl up with some Kristin Hannah, as pretentious as that sounded. Maybe cry a little. Either that, or you ended up doomscrolling with the book in your lap.
Part of night shift rolled in just as you were making your way to your locker after finally wrapping up your charting for the day, and you keenly observed Shen’s Dunkin coffee. Definitely miles better than whatever sludge they had in the break room.
A finger poked the side of your stomach, eliciting a humiliatingly high-pitched yelp.
Dr. Abbot.
You slung your bag over one shoulder, elbowing him as he rounded on you.
SWAT uniform.
“Still don't know why I never hear you coming.”
He stared at your exasperation for a beat, a light smile gracing his handsome features. “Same reason I'm wearing this.”
“On that note,” you said, vaguely gesturing at him. “What's with the get-up?”
You didn't catch the way his brows furrowed when you swiped at your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. He leant against the lockers and scrutinised your face like he was telepathic. “Drug raid. But no one got hurt.”
“Ah. Fent or cocaine?”
“Fent,” he declared, a little absentminded as he observed the pained wince as you shifted on your feet. “How’s my favourite day shifter doing?”
You let out an amused huff. “Fuck. Don't let Robby hear that. He's already on my ass for calling him lame.”
“When is he not?”
He pursed his lips at your tired nod. “Penny for your thoughts?”
You moved to tilt your head back against the metal with a hollow thud, eyes fluttering shut. Yesterday was finally catching up to you, and today had not made it any easier. “They'll cost a whole lot more than that.”
“I'm willing to pay.” He took your forearm and squeezed it. The contact only made your eyes flick back open. “You alright?”
“Long day. Past two days, actually,” you sighed and straightened, grimacing again. “Ankle is killing me too.”
“Sit.” He guided you to the bench adjacent to the lockers; looked down at the tops of your shoes, concealed by the hem of your scrubs. “Which one?”
You never should've told him. “Abbot, I'm fine, really—”
He placed himself next to you. “Put your leg up here,” he insisted, no room for argument as he patted his lap.
You looked incredulously at the side of his face before reluctantly hauling your leg up, sucking in a sharp breath between your teeth when your heel scarcely grazed his prosthetic.
“Shit. Sorry. You okay?”
He finally glanced at you, concern etched into his features despite the smirk that pulled his lips as he started folding your pant leg up. “Not like I can feel it.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Only you'd be able to say that.”
“Comes with being a veteran.” His attention diverted back to your leg, hand coming down closer to your—now you noticed—swollen, reddened ankle. “Tell me when it hurts.”
He began gently prodding at the tender area—from the bottom of your shin—with his index and middle, until he reached the top of your ankle; you cursed under your breath. Again.
“Not your ACL,” he muttered, hand hovering.
“This is humiliating. And I would know if it was.”
“Rule out the worst first, doctor,” his fingers wrapped around it, no pressure. “You’re one of our best, you don't know this?”
“Oh, shut your fucking mouth.”
“That's no way to talk to your attending,” he looked up at you. “I'm gonna squeeze it a little in three, two..”
“It is if he's being a—agh.. dick. Robby's really rubbed off on you.”
His eyes widened a fraction, a frown overtaking his amusement. “How much have you been running around this place?”
You shrugged. “Little more than usual.”
“Tib fib hairline,” he craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of someone. “Hey! Anyone, wheelchair over here please!”
“Abbot—” your mouth opened and closed, willing yourself to form something cohesive, the noise of a nurse rushing drowned out by your thoughts. “I— fracture?”
Princess came jogging with a wheelchair rolling in front of her, gaze falling on you. “Hey, what happened?”
“I’m fine! Abbot's full of sh—”
“Thanks. Tib fib stress fracture. Ice, elevate, and set her up in Central 13. I'll be there soon.”
Before you could protest, he was whispering ‘around my neck,’ and shifting you into the chair. The push across Central was like going batshit crazy in the middle of a pin-drop silent public library.
Princess leaned down, “Has that always been an option? Do I leave too early to know about this?”
You cast her a sidelong glance. “I could so hit you right now. Why’re you still here, anyway?”
“Oh,” she prompted, pushing the door open. “I finished Love Island last night and don't know what else to do with my life.”
—
It was a fracture. You really didn't want it to be, but the thin, nearly undistinguishable crack near the edge of both bones was definitely there. And that begged the question; did Abbot have X-ray vision?
Frankly, you felt guilty for taking up a bed during night shift of all times. Sure, it was nowhere near the time where things got really crazy, but you still could've gone home with a wrapped ankle and something for the pain to clear the bed up.
Abbot was at your bedside—now in a black shirt and his army pants—taking a history that was more a verbal interrogation than anything.
That was when you saw Robby jogging across the ER from Trauma 1.
“Shitshitshit,” you inched up the bed from what exactly, you didn't know, before Abbot held you down with a hand on your knee.
He shouldered into the room, and you could see the vaguely irritated quality of his expression. “Brother,” he said, looking over the two of you.
Actually, why was Abbot here?
“Why didn't you come get me?” He placed a heavy hand on the other attending’s shoulder, now focusing on you and the injury propped up on a stack of pillows.
Your brows gathered as you stared at Robby disbelievingly. What was wrong with these people? “Robby—ow—you had a trauma.”
He moved to the foot of the bed, observing your white-clad ankle. “Shen and Ellis were in there. I'm not supposed to be here anyway,” he glanced up. “Neither are you.”
You groaned; slumped backwards and stared at the ceiling. “I was leaving!”
The two men exchanged a look you didn't see.
“Can I fill out my own chart?”
You could feel the disagreement start to bloom in the antiseptic air, and you were about one question away from launching a pair of medical scissors at them. “There are two attendings in a senior resident’s room for a stress fracture! Are you guys hearing how fucking ridiculous that is?”
Abbot got up steadily, a sly smile gracing his face as he traded another glance with Robby. They started backing out, not breaking your gaze.
“Whatever you say, boss.”
—
A week and a half of home rest was not your forte. It was a bit much, really. Yes, hairline fractures healed fully in six to eight weeks, but you were sure you could’ve started walking just fine in a week. On crutches.
You were grateful for the break, though. It was nice getting away from the countless calamities of the ED.
What wasn't, was the ED coming to you.
Following your usual day-off routine, you were laid out on the couch of your apartment with your leg elevated on a bunch of pillows and an ice pack strapped to it—actually—reading an old paperback when there were two quick raps on the door.
It’d been about 5 days so you’d had visitors before this; Trin and Whitaker, Samira, Cassie, Dana, and a few others who'd sent ‘get-well-soon’ packages, but those were after their shifts. It was two in the afternoon.
Placing your book page-down on the coffee table, you braced yourself and got up, hopping toward your crutches before heading for the door.
You'd barely opened it to Abbot and Robby before you slammed it back in their faces. Of all people to make an appearance, you expected less of them and more of Javadi or even Donnie.
You tugged the door back open cautiously as if willing them to be a hallucination, but nope, they were still there and as tangible as the ice pack around your ankle.
Jack wore that same black T-shirt he wore underneath his SWAT uniform and a pair of dark jeans; Robby in a grey hoodie and dark cargos, glasses hooked into his neckline.
Robby seemed like he was suppressing a laugh. Had he caught you ogling him?
“Rude. Can we come in?”
Stepping aside best you could, you reluctantly showed them in. “You’re lucky I wasn't butt-ass naked.”
“You make a habit out of that?” Abbot gave you a once-over before heading to the kitchen.
Only then did you realise the fragrance of fresh bread and the big plastic bag labelled, ‘Primanti Bros’ in his hand, and a large iced Americano in Robby’s.
“Woah,” you mused, awestruck. “Thank you. You're not the first to bring me Primanti’s, though.”
“Oh, I know.” Robby strode over to you, hand hovering above the small of your back as he handed you your coffee and guided you back down onto the couch, taking your crutches. “We figured mostly everyone came after shift, so you'd have a shit ton of sandwiches and no space to stuff them after ten at night.”
You snorted, watching as he sunk into the creaky couch. “Eleven, actually. You'd be surprised. Barely have any leftovers.”
Abbot returned from the kitchen and placed himself on your other side, and there was suddenly a very real, very present sense of wrongness in what flashed across your mind.
You sipped cold bitterness to try dissipate the heat crawling up your neck. “Are you guys allowed to do this?”
“Why wouldn't we be?” Robby grunted as he tugged the coffee table closer for Abbot, who placed a pillow for your leg.
“I mean.. you’re my superiors,” you muttered, reaching across Abbot for the TV remote.
He leaned back to make space for you, smiling as he watched your face. “So? You're our resident.”
Our resident.
That didn't help your state at all.
You clicked the TV on, staring at the Property Brothers on mute. It felt like you'd turn to stone if you dared look at either of the two attendings next to you in the eye. This time you went around Robby to place your coffee on the end table.
A few dreamily uncomfortable beats of silence, before something struck you.
“Robby, did you.. take a day off?”
“Don't let it go to your head,” he huffed lightheartedly, hesitantly gesturing to Abbot. “Once in a blue moon, I take a day or two to spend with him. Just so happened it was today.”
Your brows drew up, the new info giving you the courage to look at Robby. “What?”
He playfully leaned closer, holding your gaze. “Tell anyone, I'll put you in triage the moment you come back.”
“It’s adorable, really,” you teased.
You were immensely aware of the proximity of his face and yours; Abbot shifting behind you; the faint ache already ebbing between your legs. You caught yourself and flinched the slightest bit back, eyes involuntarily flicking down to his lips.
“Also, you wouldn't do that,” you murmured, suddenly breathless. “You need me.”
His jaw flexed, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly and withdrew. He was unabashed in how he blatantly eyed your mouth. “Yeah? Why is that?”
You chewed on your lip, heat pooling low in your abdomen. Your mind had gone blank, any witty retort washed out by sheer need.
Need that was resolved when Robby's hand came up to the back of your head, yanking you forward and molding his lips to yours, groaning into your mouth at the way your touch seemed magnetised to the bulge in his cargos.
He coaxed your mouth open, and something in his restraint seemed to fissure; an arm snaked around your waist, the kiss turning all teeth and tongues lashing at the other, noses nudging as you moaned softly. He nipped at the plushness that was your bottom lip before soothing it over with a swipe of his tongue.
“Fuck,” he grunted, catching your lip between his teeth again before pulling away, panting. A flimsy string of saliva connected them, and he wasted no time in feeding it back to you with his thumb.
“Haven't done that in a while.”
Your heated gaze landed on Abbot, who you did not notice had gotten up and was rounding on the both of you. His eyes lingered on yours; the creak of the couch as you stopped yourself from grinding down into it, before redirecting to Robby.
He'd begun kissing your neck, beard scratchy on your skin when he lightly sucked at your fluttering carotid pulse. “Want something?”
Abbot was devastatingly calm in the midst of the belligerent push-and-pull between you and Robby, moving forward and threading tender fingers into your hair. “Plan on sharing, brother?”
“Not exactly.”
But before you knew it, Abbot had taken the other man's place, the salt of Robby's finger altering the taste of him. It was a stark contrast, the manner in which he approached. He was tentative, almost reverent, apparent in his hands; pushing your hair back, cupping both sides of your neck.
Your fingers carded through his silver curls, one hand caressing his clothed stomach as you whimpered into his mouth and moved closer, “Abbot..”
He drew back, breathing hard and smiling when you seemed to chase after him. “Uh-uh,” his middle and index pressed into your lip, faintly pulling it down. His voice was hoarse and even sexier than usual. “Jack, sweetheart. Don't use my last name. Too professional.”
A knee knocking yours open distracted you from your lazy, affectionate make-out session with Jack. Robby loomed over you, lust—raw; in its absolute simplest form—engraved into the lines of his face.
“Oh, no,” he said in that all-too-familiar, patronising tone. “Keep going.”
Next thing you knew, he was knelt down in front of you, big, calloused hands rasping against your skin. He made some adjustments, discarding the ice pack and making sure your injured leg stayed static and comfortable on the coffee table, before urging your ass down and normal leg open, folding it over Jack's thigh.
It was an insane position, but you were somehow in no pain whatsoever.
Your touch found the top of Robby's head, and you mussed up what you could of his hair. “Careful. Don't want you throwing your back out.”
He didn't even meet your eyes as he hummed a simple, “Won’t. But you can choose who blows yours out later.”
Slack-jawed and disbelieving, you decided to just.. not even try answering.
“Tell us if your ankle hurts,” Robby casually continued, glancing up at Jack; observing while abstractedly stroking your calf. Robby then placed a relatively chaste kiss on the inside of your knee, but it was Jack who asked, “You take your pain meds?”
You had to clear your throat pretty hard to get something to come out. “Yeah. After lunch. Doesn't hurt much.”
“Good girl,” Robby mumbled, lips trailing up your inner thigh. The mix of his beard and hot puffs of breath made you squirm; struggle to suppress a whine.
Meanwhile, Jack’s fingers found either side of your jaw, turning you to face him. “Eyes on me, baby.”
Only then did it click. They were doctors. They knew every little thing about the biology of a human body just as well as you did; if not more. And they had decades of experience.
Shit.
Your mouth was occupied with messy kisses while Robby worked the same on his way up your thighs, mouthing and lapping at the saltiness. Jack kept a hand on your face and one trailing beneath your old T-shirt before flipping it up.
“You sensitive up here, baby?” he questioned, fingers brushing between the valley of your breasts to slip under your neckline and skim your jugular.
“Som—mmh..” your response dissolved into a moan as Robby cupped your clothed pussy, grounding the heel of his palm into your clit.
He chuckled darkly. “She definitely is down here.”
A futile attempt at glaring down had Jack's grip tightening on your face, tongue clicking softly. “No. Answer me.”
Robby's finger hooked into the waistband of your shorts and you instinctively lifted your hips when he tugged. “S-sometimes.”
Jack began massaging your breast, bending to take it into his mouth while Robby yanked the garment down, draping the wounded leg over a broad shoulder. “Alright?”
You purred in preoccupied agreement, face buried in the side of Jack's head as he suckled on your taut nipple. “Mhm.. keep going,” you murmured to no one in particular.
“Cute panties,” Robby stated dryly, letting the lacy trim lightly snap against your skin. They were one of your most comfortable; dark red cotton with white lace. “I like the colour.”
You got to glare at him at last. Kicking him in the back with the heel of your good leg, you elicited a surprised laugh. “Fuck off.”
Jack abandoned your nipples in favour of kissing up your sternum and stripping your shirt fully off. “Sweetheart,” he uttered between the plethora of hickeys he was marring into your neck and collarbones. “Can I try something? Think you'd like it.”
Robby still hadn't gotten to where you wanted—his thumbs were merely kneading at the sides, barely even grazing your most sensitive. Yet, you were fairly sure you'd soaked through your underwear.
Jack straightened and tapped your cheek twice, harder than you expected from him. The silent command had you snapping out of your daze without a second thought.
His jaw tensed. “You listening? Stop getting distracted.”
You were perfectly capable of intubating someone while on the go, but how were you supposed to do that?
Robby finally dragged his thumb down your clothed slit, but it felt wrong to so blatantly whimper while staring into Jack's whirled, aggravated pupils. You opted for nodding frantically, grabbing his face and pressing an apologetic kiss to his lips. “Yes—yes. Whatever you want.”
He hummed into your mouth and licked into it, taking his time to make sure you felt how good he was with his tongue before withdrawing. His arm unfolded before you, the crook of his elbow settling directly under your chin.
You had to keep yourself from grinning. “Someone's been online.”
How many times had you caught yourself staring at those powerful, sun-freckled arms of his during an incision?
His other hand ran down your thigh, helping Robby in pushing your panties down. “I try.”
The giggle that tumbled out when he curled it was inevitable, squishing your face between his forearm and bicep—to which you clung and moaned into as Robby circled the pad of his thumb against your clit.
“So fucking wet,” he groaned, wasting no time in leaning forward to flatten his tongue up your pussy, stopping to suckle on your puffy clit, gently swirling around the already throbbing nub.
You whined, hands flying down to Robby's scalp, Jack's arm uncurling as your thighs tightened around his head. “Robby..”
“You like that?” he murmured condescendingly, not pulling back. His beard only added to the sensation of him eating you out; progressively insatiable; a thick finger easing inside of you, followed by another when you sucked him in with scarce friction.
Jack traded an almost imperceptible glance with him, and you somehow caught it.
“It feels like—mmh—fuuuckk..” Robby started crooking and uncrooking his fingers, the callouses stimulating your G-spot in a way yours never could. Your hips bucked against his face, walls clamping down as he licked in expansive circles, letting his mouth envelop you.
“Feels like what, sweetheart?” Jack cooed, lips brushing tantalisingly across your face, breath warm. You almost felt bad for him and the lack of stimulation he was receiving.
But it wasn't like you could do anything in this state.
“Like—oh.. you're plotting something. Wh-when you do that.”
Robby's fingers pumped faster, more precisely, adding a third with little resistance and burying his face further into you while shaking his head, tongue moving with single-minded focus. You cried out, grip falling to the back of his head.
“Shiiitt.. g-gonna come. Fuck—!”
The slurping between your legs reached its climax just as you did, white-hot stars bursting into fragments beneath your eyelids as your back bowed from the couch, feeling as Robby's beard rubbed your inner thighs to redness; as Jack placed a steadying palm on your stomach.
You didn't know how you came down or when it even happened. All you knew was that you suddenly weren't floating anymore, Robby's fingers had finally pulled out, and now he was staring straight at you with them dripping right in front of your face, elbows propped on your upper thighs. His beard was glistening.
Actually, both of them were staring at you.
Flames stoked up your neck. The neurotransmitters in your brain were fried and unable to give you a proper response, so all that came out was a meek, “..What?”
“What toys do you use?” Jack asked hoarsely, glancing at the mess you made.
“Uhm.. I don't.” Your face got hotter. “Never found the need for them.”
He exchanged another look with Robby. Something smugger. “Right. Okay.”
Robby moved your legs off his shoulders and got to his feet, placing his clean hand on the couch to stabilise himself. “Ankle okay?”
You nodded, regaining some sense of self and smirking up at him roguishly. “How're your knees?”
He reached out to run a thumb down your lip, coaxing your mouth open and dragging his wet fingers across your tongue. “Don't get smart with me.”
You moaned and took his fingers deeper, sucking them clean. He seemed entranced, watching the string of saliva dissolve when he pulled away.
Jack stood abruptly; scooped you up with ease and kissed you again—rougher, deep groans into your mouth—tasting what the other attending had so much of. Your arms automatically encircled his neck.
“Fuck,” he muttered between hungry pecks, making his way to your bedroom with Robby trailing behind him. “Greedy guy, keeping you all to himself.”
“Heard that,” came a gravelly voice.
“You were meant to,” Jack retorted over his shoulder, toeing the door open.
He laid you out on your back parallel to the headboard, head almost dangling off the edge. Hands—palming at your breasts, tweaking your nipples—slowly made their way up, taking yours with him to place on his belt.
His tone was husky and cracked, almost desperate. “Can I fuck your throat, baby? Please?”
You were already getting to work, letting the clink of his belt; the quiet mechanical rasp of his fly sliding down serve as an answer. How many times had you imagined tasting Jack Abbot?
You eagerly tugged at his pants, mouth already watering as you pressed your fingers to the imprint of his cock, squeezing in a way that had him gripping your wrist, but not to stop you. Your hands then trekked up, above the tantalising trail of grey leading downwards, under his shirt to scrape at his waist and along the ridges of his stomach.
“Take your shirt off.”
He huffed out his nose, reaching to yank the shirt off his back. “Yes, ma’am.”
You laughed lightly, humming a flat, “You should call me that at work,” before moving the waistband of his boxers down just enough to free his cock from its confines.
All you could say was.. you hadn't expected any less from a man like him.
He was painfully hard and leaking, tip flushed a light red with a vein tracing up his shaft. A hand cupped the back of your head and pulled you nearer, the head of his cock brushing against your lips.
“Smack me if you need a break, alright?”
You nodded absentmindedly, eyes landing on his leg. You sat up on your elbows and sheepishly turned to look up at him.
“Wait,” you paused, brows furrowed as you gestured at the prosthetic. “Do—do you need to, uh.. take it off?”
He pushed you back down with a hand on your chest. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Haven't been wearing it long. And I do not—” he supported your head again as he sunk into your mouth, a little deeper than before. “Want to miss this,” he grunted.
Your grip came up to his hips, eyes flickering shut at the heady—pun intended—and silken taste of him. You heard a strained “fuuckk..” from above you, feeling his length gradually sink deeper until the halfway point. By then, you knew it'd be a concerted effort to take him fully while.. well, upside down, but you'd be damned if you said you didn't want to.
The mattress dipped where your legs were; a big hand tracked up your bare thigh; coarse hair scratched up your torso and up your chest, leaving wet kisses along your stomach before liquid warmth closed around your nipple.
You whined, thighs pressing together underneath him, pushing your ass down into the bed in search of friction as Jack began thrusting into your mouth.
You could feel Robby's eyes burning holes into the line of your throat, the way it contracted when you gagged and swallowed.
“Taking it like a fucking champ, huh?”
You could've come—untouched—right there.
How were you ever gonna survive hearing that at work from now on?
His hand skated up your skin to just hold your neck, feeling Jack's cock slide in and out. “Ever gonna let me do this?”
Jack adjusted your head, scarcely picking up the pace, his tone low and strained, “You had your fun, brother. Don't get jealous now." His thumb joined Robby's hold on your throat, grazing the top of where your trachea was tangible.
“Just saying,” Robby muttered, retracting his touch in favour of kneading your breasts. He seemed to like off-putting what you really wanted, considering you could feel his knee between yours, just out of reach.
“I feel like I deserve something in return for giving you the best head of your life.”
You moaned at the statement just as Jack tensed and pulled out, orgasm approaching faster than he liked. “Shit, baby,” he panted, squeezing his base to stave it off as he dragged his tip across your tongue, over your swollen lips. “Too fuckin’ good.”
A giggle tumbled out of you. “Is that a bad thing?”
His hold on your nape relented. “Anything but.” He mirrored your laugh at the pout you gave him when he urged you back up into a sitting position.
Robby's fingers immediately closed around your face, digging into your cheeks. His pupils were blown out and borderline scary, but so carnal, so hungry, you couldn't find yourself feeling anything but even more aroused. His nostrils flared, heavy breaths puffing out in quick bursts.
You knew he wanted an answer.
And you were emboldened by the prospect of getting your brains fucked out.
“You won't get anything with that ego of yours, Robinavitch.”
His eyebrow quirked in challenge, heat licking up your spine at the danger in his gaze, the steadiness of his voice.
“You think my ego is big?”
A smirk tugged on your mouth, revelling at how you could feel the sore muscles moving beneath his grip. “D’you plan on proving to me it's not the only thing that is?”
“Oh-ho,” he got out through gritted teeth, irritation apparent.
One moment you were in his iron grasp, the other you'd been manhandled and jostled; flipped onto your stomach and dragged to the opposite edge of the bed. He made sure your injured foot didn't hit the floor like the other, instead shoving it up, bent towards your chest to keep it from dangling.
As an added benefit, the position had your dripping pussy on full display for him.
A hand came down onto your ass with a resounding thwack. You yelped, jolted forward, fingers grappling at the sheets.
“Do I?” He let it sting for longer than you would've liked, before massaging it to soothe the blooming heat.
The frantic clink of a belt, the shuffle of fabric being pushed down. He leant over you, forearms against the bed, chest hair peppering deliciously against your back.
Smack. Harder.
“Can you feel it, baby?” The tent in his boxers just barely ground into your pussy, making you whimper and clench around nothing.
Smack.
“Do I still need to prove it?”
Smack—before the hand travelled up and into your hair, tangling in the locks to carelessly tug your head up.
Jack Abbot sat in your beige Ikea desk chair, a fist wrapped around his thick cock, languidly moving it up and down with a blissful yet smug expression on his face.
Robby bent lower, voice gravelly in your ear, “All for you, champ.”
One of your hands clutched at his bicep, trying to reach further down for the waistband of his boxers. His grip stopped yours, pinning both your wrists above your head.
“I was under the impression you didn't want me to fuck you?”
Your fight was definitely wavering, but not yet. Even if it did cost you more torture. “What makes you think I want you to?” you spat back.
The fingers in your hair moved to close around your throat, putting just enough pressure for you to choke back a gasp, eyes fluttering shut.
“You may be one of my brightest at work,” his grasp eased and withdrew, letting your head fall down into the mattress. “But rhetorics won't be of any use here, baby.”
He was pressed right up against your back, so you could feel when he pushed his boxers down, freeing his cock from its confines.
His free hand appeared in front of your face again.
“Spit.”
You lifted your head from the sheets, catching a glimpse of Jack with his neck craned back, squeezing the base of his cock. You wanted to retort, but any more of this and you'd actually end up coming without any stimulation.
Reluctantly, you relaxed your jaw, letting saliva pool into your mouth, before opening it to let your spit drip onto his palm.
“Good girl,” he cooed, retracting his hand. You heard the telltale groan he let out as he spread it all over his cock; the wetness of him stroking himself. He let go of your wrists, reassuringly squeezing them briefly before pulling away.
His voice was more chaste. “Condoms?”
Fuck.
You were too deep in your lust-filled haze to even think about not doing it.. raw. And you still were, because you barely registered how irrational it sounded when you stated—
“I-I have an implant.”
Silence. From the other side of the room too.
“I know, baby.” He cleared his throat, voice now strained. “You of all people should know why I'm asking.”
You whined, burying your face in the sheets as you pushed your ass back, grinding into his thickness. “Please, Robby.”
He let out a throaty groan, hand heavily landing somewhere beside you to stabilise himself. “Are you sure, sweetheart?”
He guided the head of his cock to gather your wetness and rub it into your throbbing clit. “Haa.. fuck—yes, please, Robby.”
He groaned, tapping his cock against your pussy. “She's leaking, baby.”
You swore you felt the beginnings of an orgasm wash over you the moment he began inching into you, hands pressed into your waist, pushing you into the bed.
“Look at me,” a further voice uttered.
Your head lifted again, bleary-eyed as you looked over at Jack. If you'd been enduring torture, what was he going through?
He really did have the willpower of a veteran.
Even with how soaked you were, you still felt the deliciously immense pressure of Robby's cock bullying its way past your walls. His hands skated down your back to knead your ass, spreading you apart.
“So fucking—” he buried himself to the hilt with a final drive in. “Tight.”
You cried out, tears seeping from the corners of your eyes as you pressed them shut. It didn't hurt, no, it was just.. a little uncomfortable. How could it not be when he was so deep you could almost feel it in your guts?
Two clicks of a tongue and you were looking back up at Jack with glassy eyes.
If you thought he enjoyed seeing you slowly losing your mind getting speared on the other attending’s cock, you could've only imagined what was added when he saw the shininess of your gaze.
Robby was panting, not moving, letting you acclimate to his size. The look on Jack's face couldn't have gotten any smugger. “Enjoying yourself?”
Robby slowly dragged himself out, leaving only the tip in before slamming into you with one stroke, forcing a whimper from your throat and a grunt from his.
Your chin dug into the mattress as you tried to keep your eyes open and on Jack. He was glad you got the gist. “How—mmh.. are you—” you swallowed as Robby bracketed your torso with his forearms again. “Just.. watching?”
Robby's fingers wound across your jaw to pull you up, turning you so he could kiss you soft and sweet as he started to set a brutally slow pace that surged you forward with every thrust; that had him feeling every inch of you wrapped around him so warmly.
“Safe word?” he mumbled against your lips, so close your breaths mingled.
You were so deep in your sexual relief you once again forgot the small probability of this going south.
“Uhm..” you spared a glance at Jack; patiently waiting for you to put your focus back on him. “Is it weird if I say hula hoop?”
He huffed incredulously, watching your dilated pupils like he would with a penlight. “Unless you want me thinking about this when our staff gets assaulted, then no.”
“You still will.” You whined, sensing his shift in speed. “But—fuck—uh.. watermelon?”
You took his smirk as acknowledgement. He placed a lingering kiss to your mouth before turning you to face Jack again, not letting go of your jaw.
“I like to,” Jack continued, seemingly unfazed. Something flashed behind his eyes when Robby gave a particularly hard thrust, setting a more consistent, rough pace that had you moaning obscenely every jolt.
“And it helps me gauge what you like so I can fuck you better.”
You couldn't seem to process what he was saying anymore.
Not with how your brain was short-circuiting, sparking like metal against metal at the knot latching into place in your stomach, at the sexiness of Jack's voice dirty-talking you. Robby let go of your jaw, and you buried your face into the sheets, suppressing your noises alongside every creak the mattress emitted.
He heaved against your back, grunting in time with each smack his pelvis gave to your ass.
You couldn't help but imagine what Jack would do to you if Robby was already fucking you this good.
Lips trailed along the shell of your ear just as a strong arm wrapped around the circumference of your neck, putting you in a headlock and pulling you upright. The new angle had the head of his cock ramming into your G-spot with every pass.
Sirens went off in your head when you felt something different but not unpleasurable, and you were just about to ask him to stop when—
“Have you squirted before?”
Oh.
“H-Huh?” you tried choking out; it merely ended up sounding like a moan you would hear in some low-budget porn. “No—Robby..”
His free hand trailed down your front, pressing his palm into your lower stomach. “Do you want to?”
He took your lack of a real answer as a yes. Four of his fingers tracked down, giving your clit a couple of hard pats that had you yelping before quickly starting to swipe them side-to-side, the lewd sounds of your arousal now echoing throughout the small room.
Was Jack still only watching?
Your own hands grappled at the arm around your neck, nails marring deep crescents where short red trails then followed.
It was such an odd feeling, you instinctively tried to squirm away, thighs trembling when he went shallower, slamming directly into your G-spot. “Fuck, Robby.. wait, wait—”
He shook his head, beard scratching your shoulder as his teeth grazed over the clammy skin, all focus oriented on making you come like you literally never had before. His movements on your clit slowed into soft circles, but his hips were still relentless.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured condescendingly, putting pressure on your stomach with the heel of his hand. “Let go. Come for us.”
Us.
That was what had you soaking the sheets and his cock; liquid gushing from between your legs and running down your thighs as you tensed in his hold, stuffing your face in the crook of his elbow while he fucked you through it.
“Ffuuck, baby—” You could feel the smile against your skin. “Attagirl. Keep going—shiit..”
He gave you two deep, harsh thrusts that'd given you a glimpse of overstimulation before pulling out and fucking into his fist, teeth leaving marks in the meat of your shoulder as he groaned hoarsely, leaving stripes of white across your back.
His arm uncurled, lowering you until you collapsed onto the bed. You hauled your normal leg up to fold under the injured one—which you were surprised to find was not asleep—thoroughly spent but thoroughly satiated.
The abused mattress dipped on the opposite side, and you found yourself being guided by a panting and slightly sweaty Jack Abbot up to the head of the bed.
Your eyelids were heavy despite the scorching sun outside as you laid your cheek upon his rising and falling chest, relishing the difference in scent.
He stroked and gently untangled your knotted hair; massaged your scalp; brushed his lips over your perspirated forehead. “You did so good for us, sweetheart.”
You huffed softly, squinting up at him. “You should join sometime.”
“Oh, I will.”
“Did you even—”
Your eyes then deviated to the small pile of tissues on your nightstand. And also the prosthetic propped up against it.
“Oh. Nevermind.”
You scooched up, nuzzling your face into his neck before Robby appeared out of nowhere, springs creaking in protest as he knelt beside you with a dampened towel. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek before sitting back to clean you up.
He tossed the towel to the side, finally settling down on your other side; his front against your back, his palm running over the curve of your waist.
“Do you own a caution wet floor sign by any chance?”
You elbowed him in the ribs as hard as you could.
“I’m never having sex with you ever again.”
Jack's shoulders shook beneath your chin as he laughed, and his arm moved from where it was in your hair.
What the fuck?
You lifted your head and looked between the two of them. “Did you guys just fucking fist bump?”
Jack smiled into your hair, briefly wrapping you up in his arms as consolation. “Are we not allowed to?”
You hit him too. In the solid wall of his chest. “I don't think it really comes with the customs of a threesome.”
“Sorry, boss.” Robby muttered flatly, pecking along the backs of your shoulders, thumbing the bite mark he left.
He turned you over by the waist. He probably had enough of the back of you, and Jack was probably glad he finally got to feel your ass against him. “Are you okay? Did I go too hard?”
Your eyes softened as you reached out to feel his beard beneath your hands. “I'm okay. Are you?”
He nodded, leaning into your touch and looking at you with such affection it almost made you melt. “Ankle?”
“Kinda hurts. I have a spare ice pack in the freezer.”
You glanced at Jack, suppressing a laugh.
“Not it,” you both said in unison.
Robby was already sitting up. “No shit, Sherlock.”
Your eyes lit up. “I was reading one of those, actually. Could you get that too?”
He stopped at the door with his back against it. The sight of him in only black boxers—silhouetted so largely against the white—almost made you want to pounce on him again.
“I'll get you a glass of water and your coffee and take you to pee after too. Sound good, champ?”
You sidled back up into Jack, trying to stop yourself from grinning. “Thanks, chief.”
—
You woke up alone; groggy and disoriented and sore. You couldn't tell if the sun was rising or setting, if what happened was some really vivid, painkiller-induced wet dream.
The sun filtering through the blinds bathed your lower body in misshapen gold stripes, one of them falling precisely along your wounded ankle, illuminating the gel ice pack strapped to it and the pile of pillows underneath it.
So it wasn't a dream. And it wasn't morning.
All at once, it came rushing back to you as you sat up on your elbows. Your beige desk chair had been tucked back in, your hair towel draped along the back, a grey hoodie and a black T-shirt folded and stacked neatly upon the seat.
At your nightstand, Jack's prosthetic and pile of tissues were gone—replaced by your crutches and now watery Americano—but only now did you notice the tan-strapped Seiko wristwatch next to your lamp.
The painkillers had worn off, and the sharp pain was sorely apparent when you dragged yourself out of bed to hobble toward the door with the crutches carelessly tucked under your armpits.
As you softly pushed the door shut behind you, the familiar aroma of fresh bread wafted through the air, as if you lived in an obscure cottage in Montana and not in an overpriced apartment in downtown Pittsburgh.
You hopped to the kitchen.
You were greeted by the sight of the PTMC’S day and night shift attendings; both shirtless and both now staring at you, sitting at your island.
You halted in your tracks, dumbstruck.
What the fuck?
There was no doubt in how comical your expression probably was when you spotted the pasta on the plates in front of them, the steaming pan with one more portion in it.
“Good evening,” Jack said breezily.
You shook your head and seriously considered going back to bed when you heard the old Bruce Springsteen song playing faintly from his phone.
“I didn't know Magic Mike did at-home performances.”
You started toward them again, making your way to the oven. Robby stopped you and stood, taking your crutches and helping you sit instead.
“It's more like Make-A-Wish. Since you're injured."
You watched as he bent to take your Primanti's out the oven and almost moaned when Jack began kneading your shoulders.
“That's weird. I just feel like I'm in a porn magazine.” Robby set the box in front of you, moving his plate out the way. You opened it and immediately dug in, groaning as the flavours hit your tongue.
“Please put your tits away,” you said, swallowing and pointedly glancing back at Jack. “Especially you. I'm very distracted.”
Robby blew smoke from the red-sauced pasta twirled around his fork before holding it in front of you. “Eat this first.”
You opened your mouth, letting him feed it to you and wipe some tomato off the corner of your lip. You cocked an eyebrow, chewing slowly. “Fuck, that's good. Who made this?”
A kiss was pressed into your hair as Jack got up and headed for the bedroom. “I did.”
“I might have to blow you,” you replied, voice raised so he could hear you from the room.
He chuckled as he pulled his shirt on, tossing Robby his hoodie. “I'm definitely not opposed.”
You smiled lightly, trailing him as he took his place behind you again, melting into him when he resumed massaging you. Robby leaned in to kiss you tenderly, pushing hair from your face.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Like I need my meds,” you muttered, getting one last peck in before he pulled away. “Did you guys not sleep?”
Robby diverted his attention back to the food. “I did on the couch, for a bit.”
You frowned a little, unbidden disappointment twinging your throat, whether from the fact he slept separately, or the fact you passed out for so long.
“And you woke up before me?”
He smirked. “Seems so.”
You briefly scrunched your nose. “That's embarrassing.”
Jack reached across the island for your painkillers, pushing you his half-full glass of water. “Eat.”
You eyed the rows of small, round pills. Both their eyes were on you too. You'd come full circle; both of them were in your space, expressing concern over the pain you were in.
The other pills in the foil rattled as you popped two out, casting a sidelong glance at Jack.
HOLY SHIT 1K NOTES THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH 🥹🥹🥹 Genuinely never thought I'd get here... If anyone cares i got somethin cooking up that involves way more Jack 😳
Someone who handles her own business, doesn’t need help and does her job like a pro.
A strong woman who would go toe to toe with a man to prove a point as Jack watches on.
She walks around with confidence, charm and witt that would leave most men speechless
Because he knows that she comes home she loses it all, when she gets home she leaves all of that independence and strength at the door.
Because she needs him to open then jar that’s just a little too tight, reach the pasta on the top shelf she would usually climb on the counter for and be the lap she falls into every night curling up as small as she can be.
To be the man that turns her into a sobbing, whimpering mess when he is balls deep inside of her as he pins her hands above her head as he says “oh it’s too much? - no I don’t think so, I think you’re gonna take it like a big girl”
The man who has he legs pressed to her chest while he fucks he so deep she can see stars, his rough thumb stroking over her pulsing little clit while she’s whines under his touch as he tells her “oh that’s a good girl- doing so well “
He likes them strong because then when she gets home she needs him to take over, to have her bent over, face pressed against the sheets while he fills her with warm ropes of cum as she writhes and mewls at every thrust, begging for more.
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summary: reader is an author who has recently begun writing a book with sexual content. she's experiencing a bit of a roadblock because, well... she's a twenty-five-year-old virgin. she doesn't know what to do, until hot and sweet jack abbot comes up to her in her beloved coffee shop-slash-office.
warnings: ooc jack. a lot of sex. hair pulling. choking/throat stuff (?). double penetration. nipple play. finger sucking. cockwarming. age gap (reader is mid twenties, jack is mid forties). not edited
wc: 6.5k
a/n: sorry to the agent on my phone. i had to do so much freaky research to figure stuff out and i was ashamed.
part 2 to roadblock here | pinterest board
Writing about sex with little experience feels foolish. It doesn’t matter how many erotic books you’ve read, or how many romance films you’ve diligently watched to figure out how sex is supposed to happen. You still find yourself riddled by the process because all you’ve done in your twenty-five years of life is have foul make-out sessions and clitoral stimulation.
Your readers have yet to call you out on the sex scenes in your books. No one thinks they’re strange, but that might be thanks to your best friends and editor. If something sounds off, they’ll let you know.
You’re currently writing a young adult romance between a college student and her TA, and have hit a roadblock as you write them having sex for the first time. The character, Lara, is both shy and a virgin. You decided she’d enter sex slowly, opting for grinding, humping, and sloppy make-out sessions before ripping her TA Adrian’s shirt off.
You’ve gotten past the making out, but you’re unsure of where to go next. How much do you feel when you’re grinding on someone? Should she be wearing the dress you initially put her in, or jeans?
Your head is starting to throb, so you decide to call the day quits. Right as you go to slam your laptop, a man appears in front of your table, blocking the sunlight from shining onto you.
“I can feel your headache from the counter,” he says.
The voice is sexy. It feels tired, but extremely hot. When you look up at him, he’s just as sexy, if not more. Heat climbs up your chest and takes over your face. Men who look like him don’t usually come up to you.
“I’m writing a novel, and I’ve hit a plateau,” you tell him as you scratch off the sweat forming on your forehead.
“What’re you writing about?”
You chuckle and start rubbing your neck. “It’s embarrassing to share.”
He shrugs. “Can’t be,” he says and then points at the chair pressed into his crotch. “Can I sit while you tell me?”
You nod. “Go ahead,” you say, then he slides in and motions for you to keep speaking. “It’s a young adult novel about a senior in college who falls in love with her TA.”
“That sounds fun,” he says with a smile creeping onto his lips. “How did you come up with that?”
It’s your turn to shrug. “I used to have a crush on my TA.”
He laughs. “Do you use a lot of experienced scenarios for your books?”
“Sometimes,” you tell him. He nods. You don’t share any words for a moment, only a stare so intense your sweat starts coating your upper lip. You have to wipe your mouth and jaw with the back of your cardigan and force yourself to speak to try to cool yourself down. “Can I tell you what’s making everyone feel my headache from afar? You just have to promise not to be creeped out.”
“Sure.”
“This is weird to confess to a stranger, but you’re a stranger… so it won’t matter. Maybe,” you ramble. “I’m at the first sex scene, and I can’t figure out how to write it.”
It’s fascinating how surprise doesn’t coat the man's face. He just nods and relaxes his previously tense shoulders. “Does that usually happen?”
You scoff. “Is it ridiculous to say yes?”
“Why would that be ridiculous?”
“Regular people don’t struggle doing it.”
“What’s ‘it’ here?” the man asks with a smirk audible in his words.
You choke on your saliva and have to cover your red, hot face. “‘It’ as in writing sex scenes. But maybe doing the act, too.”
You don’t know why you’re telling him this. You don’t usually talk about sex with people – outside of writing, it feels taboo. You don’t engage in conversation with random people, even if they are attractive. Hell, especially if they’re attractive.
He laughs and scoots his chair closer to the table. Closer to you, it feels like.
“I’m Jack, by the way,” he says and slides his hand over the table.
You shake his hand and tell him your name. It comes out loud. Or maybe you said it in a normal volume, but your brain is scrambled, and you’re unable to hear yourself.
“Sorry for telling you all of this. I know it’s strange, but I needed to get it off my chest. It’s also been a long day, and the countless coffees I’ve had haven’t done anything.”
“I’m not bothered,” he says. “It’s cool to see the writing process in real time.”
“It can be exciting. If I were in my zone, I’m sure you’d be able to hear my keyboard clacking from the counter, too.”
“I’d like to see that.”
You’re sure your heart does a back flip. You’re also certain your thighs just clenched together.
“Well, when I get over this bump in the road, you will. I’m here every other weekday from ten to two. I hate my office, and this shop is quiet enough most of the day to let me write. You’re more than welcome to sit and chat with me… or stare.”
He bites down on his lip and nibbles on it before placing all of his upper body weight on the table. He leans forward, thick arms slightly draping over your laptop, and whispers, “Why are you struggling so much? Is it because you’re not …” He scrunches his nose, like whatever he’s going to say might shove a knife into your chest. “Are you not good in bed?”
Your eyes go wide, and you stifle an awkward laugh. It borders on a fit of laughter, and you have to reel yourself in. “Well! I wouldn’t know,” you tell him as you cut yourself off. “I’m a virgin.”
“Oh,” he pops. “Okay. That makes sense.”
“It does.”
“Sorry for asking.”
You shake your head and place a hand over his arm. You want to squeeze, but decide to rub over his black Henley.
“It’s a valid question,” you say, trying to soothe the mind you can already sense is going insane.
“I can help,” he shoots out.
“What?” you respond almost immediately.
“I can help you with your… roadblock.”
“Is it weird that I want to say yes?”
“God no,” he scoffs out. “This entire interaction has been a bit weird. The weirdest thing you could do is say no.”
“Then yes.”
You tell your friends you’re going on a date even if it isn’t exactly one. It’s easier than telling them you’re going to lose your virginity to a man you’ve only met at a coffee shop.
To be fair, your conversation dragged on for hours after you exchanged numbers and settled on an evening. It was fun, and it didn’t feel forced. You could joke back and forth and spill your unnecessary stress regarding your projects without feeling nauseous about it. So if you think about it, that was your first date.
Even if your conversation was sweet and your text messages haven’t lost rhythm, your hands tremble as you knock on his door.
You immediately hide your hands behind your back and roll on the balls of your feet. You feel like a kid, strangely, and the mere thought of it has you reevaluating your stance.
You don’t have any time to fix yourself up, though, because Jack is immediately opening the door. It’s almost like he was waiting beside it.
When he fully opens the heavy black door, it’s like someone has punched the air out of your lungs. He looks better than he did when you met him, if that’s possible. His hair looks grayer, somehow, and shiny, like he mixed a dollop of gel with water and hovered his fingers over the tips of his curls. He has another Henley on, but it’s white this time, and dark-wash jeans that look incredibly loved.
You nod to get the rest of your body working. “Hi,” you say — or squeak.
He nods back with a crooked smile before looking you over. “Hi. You look great.”
You shrug. You’re wearing a black camisole with your special lacy maroon bra peeking out of the hem. Then just a pair of jeans. Nothing special, but you take the compliment anyway. “Thank you, Jack.” You point at his shirt — the one he probably has loads of. “How many of these do you own?”
“A whole closet full.”
You chuckle. “I figured. They look good, though. Hopefully, next time it’s a forest green?”
“There’s already a next time? What if the sex is bad?”
“According to all the blogs I’ve read, you can work on sex if it is.”
He nods with a mischievous smile, then jolts out of the haze he’s in. He steps aside and motions for you to walk in. “I’m sorry, I’ve kept you out here long enough. Come in, make yourself at home.”
You slither past him and take a look at his overly large bachelor pad. Calling this an apartment feels wrong because it’s far bigger than whatever you call a house. Your house is small, old, and has low ceilings. It also has a faint smell that verifies its age.
“Do you ever get lonely here? Sorry if that’s invasive, but it’s so big. And…” You step into the living room, a place with no photos or artifacts on the dark wood table. “Bare.”
“Sometimes,” he says, his voice louder. “I’m always at work, so I don’t really care. Does your place look like this?”
You shake your head. “It looks like an antique store. I’ve filled it with so much since I moved in two years ago.”
“How do you plan on moving it all out in the future?”
“I haven’t thought about it,” you tell him as you step into the kitchen off to the side of the living room. It’s bare, minus a few appliances on the stove and clean dishes sitting on a rack. “I live in the house I grew up in and don’t plan on moving out anytime soon. My parents moved away to the middle of nowhere when they turned 65. They’re the landlords, but I’m planning on buying the house from them in the future.”
“How's the rent?”
“Good. Thankfully.”
Jack fills a glass with water and scoots it across the island. “Do you want something stronger?”
You hoped he would ask that. You can’t fathom getting any further without a drink in you. “Please,” you begged. You take a sip of the water to ease the dryness in your throat and watch him step back towards the bar cart he has in the corner of his living room. “What do old guys usually have on bar carts?”
He scoffs and shakes his head. “Ouch. I’m not that old,” he hisses. “And bourbon, whiskey. There’s a bottle of tequila a younger resident gave me during a Christmas party a couple of months ago.”
“I’ll take the tequila,” you reply. He sends you a thumbs up and swivels around back to the kitchen island. You watch him grab a glass from the cabinet and set it a few inches away from you. There’s silence that fills the room, but you cut it short before it gets nauseating. “Sorry, I called you old. You’re not that old.”
“Hm. How old do you think I am?”
“Forty.”
“Five,” he corrects. “Forty-five.”
“I like my men older,” you say with a smile.
He laughs at this and raises a brow. “How much older?”
“You’re twenty years older than me. Is that an answer?”
“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath in disbelief. “How have we spoken about everything under the moon but haven’t brought up age?”
You shrug. “Is that a problem? Me being much younger than you?”
Jack shakes his head. “I knew you were younger,” he tells you as he now opens his fridge and scrummages around for a liquid that doesn’t look green or orange. He takes out a bottle of orange juice and a can of coconut water. “Sorry if this sucks… I’m not much of a juice guy.”
“It’s okay. I used to mix alcohol with anything in college. Just pour me up.”
Jack pours enough tequila into the glass to ease the tension in your shoulders. Then he mixes up equal parts orange juice and coconut water. He mixes it with a metal straw, then pushes the glass over with his pointer and middle fingers.
You take a sip. Strong and good. You should have been drinking stuff like this instead of an artificial fruit cocktail and half a bottle of tequila at twenty-one.
You decide to revert to the conversation you were having before. “I know there’s a big age difference, but I don’t mind. Unless it’s strange for you, then we won’t do anything but enjoy one another’s company.”
“I don’t care,” he replies immediately. “It just amazes me how put together you are at that age. I was nothing like you then.”
“I had a lot of mental health issues when I was younger. That, and my parents went through a rough patch at the same time; they were trauma dumping on me any chance they had, but never thought of listening to me. I guess it might have… changed me,” you say. “I don’t know. Then I started writing and publishing a bunch of deep shit, and people loved it. I earned good money from it and was able to leave my house without relying on anyone.”
“You matured before you had to, it sounds like,” Jack answers.
You nod. “Not too mad about it, though. It’s led me here, in an older man’s house who doesn’t have any decorations up.”
“Shut it,” he playfully scolds. “I’ll put something up just because of you.”
You look at him and bat your eyelashes. Half intentionally, half not. “Good,” you say with a smile that bleeds into your tone.
He grips the counter, and his obnoxiously large biceps strain against his long-sleeved shirt. He lets his body lean against the edge of the counter, using all his might to catch a closer glimpse of the smile pulling at the corners of your eyes. “Good,” he whispers, tone gravelly.
You stare deep into his eyes – it almost feels like you’re in a romance film, consumed by your love interest. You’re trying to find something he isn’t saying through the color of his eyes, a tint you can’t make out. All that you find is his pupils getting wider and wider until you choose to drop the challenge of figuring out their color.
You need him in a way that’s alarming to anyone. You want to forget about your drink, crawl over the marble island, and rip that sexy Henley off him. Well, not before you kiss him in a way you’ve never kissed anyone before.
“I think I want to make out with you right now.”
“Oh-ho,” he laughs. “Yeah?”
You take a big sip of the drink Jack made you and push yourself off the edge. You round the corners of the island to where he stands. You turn your head to the side and study his face: the stubble growing across his chin and jaw with patches clinging onto its melanin; the lips his teeth keep toying with, and how they’re getting redder by the second; and how his Adam's apple keeps bobbing up and down in either desire, nervousness, or a secret third option.
“I’m not usually this bold,” you whisper.
“Why is tonight any different?” You can smell the toothpaste – or peppermint gum – on his breath. It draws you closer to him.
You shrug and shuffle closer to his bicep. “You’re not creepy.”
“I’m not, you’re right,” he replies. The more he drops his voice, the more gravelly it becomes.
Jack turns his body with his left hand still gripping the counter like his life depends on it. You walk into his chest and, unlike before, when you had just met him and found gripping his arms too creepy, you bring your fingers up and hug the muscle of his bicep. Your other hand is at your side, sweaty and empty.
“Can we move this to your bedroom?”
He nods like a teenage boy experiencing attention for the first time. He lets go of the counter and places his hands on your hips. He pushes you backwards, in the direction of the bedroom, you’re assuming.
You try to push your face into his, but the position makes it hard to.
Your struggle ends quickly, though, as he pushes you into his chest while he twists the doorknob and opens the bedroom door. You cling to him and grab his face, pulling it down for your lips to meet. It’s sloppy at first. Your lips are confused about where to sit – the top lip, the bottom lip. You’re not sure if you should slide your tongue into his mouth yet, or if it’s too soon.
You do whatever your mind wants to anyway.
Making out is fun, especially when it’s messy but eager. You can taste the peppermint on his tongue as he tries to grapple with yours, which tastes like the alcoholic mixture he made for you a couple of minutes ago.
“You taste so good,” you gasp as you pull your lips away. A trail of saliva ties you both together, and you lick your lips to savor it.
“I want to tell you something,” Jack breathes out.
You nod. “What?”
“Sit down first.”
You quickly walk to his bed and sit on the edge. It’s almost uncomfortable because you’re already wet. “Okay. Now what?”
He pulls up his right pant leg to his knee to reveal a partially amputated leg. “I don’t have half a leg.”
“Okay,” you answer. “Does that stop you from having sex?”
“No…”
“Was that supposed to turn me off?”
“It usually does.”
“I’m not turned off.”
Jack crosses the few feet from the door to where you sit at the edge of his bed. He just stands there for a moment, looming over you without saying a word. Then he says, “How do you want to start?”
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out, because you really don’t know where to start. What you do know, though, is how good his thighs look in his pants.
Without thinking, you place your hands on his thighs and run them up to where his hardening cock is. His body twitches, and he releases a low grunt. “I can’t stand up while you’re doing this to me.”
“Do you want to sit down?” you ask him as your fingers start toying with his zipper.
Jack grabs your hands and carries them in his palms as he decides to sit next to you. You paw at his thighs like an excited puppy as he takes off his prosthetic and sets it against his dresser, eager to play with him – or chew him up as if he were a toy.
Your fascination with thighs was never explicit, just a thought in the back of your head that would crawl up to the forefront of your mind when thinking about sex. It was something you read in an erotic book when you were younger. It was never the missionary or multitude of sex positions that every couple would abuse in these novels. It was the grinding on strong, fatty thighs that would bounce if you asked kindly enough.
You’re thinking about it now. The demon in your brain is desperate to crawl out and sit on your shoulder, shouting “Ride it, ride it,” into your ear.
You place your chin on Jack’s shoulder and hover your lips over his ear. “I want to ride your thigh first, if that’s okay?” you whisper, then kiss his earlobe.
“Please,” he whines.
You stand from the bed and toy with the hem of your camisole. It’s now occurred to you that you have all your clothes on, and they're entirely too constricting. So, you pull off your camisole and drop it onto the floor beside his prosthetic. Then you fiddle with the button on your pants and slide them down your legs. They sit there for a minute, pooling around your feet without any plans to be stepped out of.
“I like your panties,” Jack says.
You fight a smile. They’re a pair of matching maroon underwear, with a black bow sewn onto the front. They’re simple, but there’s a bit of lace above the cotton material. “I got them on sale,” you reply, even though you should’ve just said ‘thank you.’
Jack eyes you down. It’s an astonished look he gives you. His pupils are blown out like you’re a drug he’s filled his body with, and his lips won’t stop quirking up as he takes in the white stretch marks littering your hips and stomach.
“Come here,” he tells you.
You step out of your jeans, kick them towards your shirt, then shuffle towards Jack's open legs.
His hands grope your ass and the back of your thighs as you step between him. He sinks his nose into your stomach and smells you, hard. You hope he can smell the body oil you coated yourself with after your long shower.
Jack leaves wet kisses on your stomach that trail up to the hem of your bra. “Take it off,” he orders.
“You take it off,” you tell him.
He playfully rolls his eyes and pulls you closer to his chest. He maneuvers his hands behind you and quickly undoes the bra clasps, hauling the straps down your arms. The quick movements burn your skin, yet his breath and the sudden gust of AC that fills the room hardens your nipples.
“Pretty,” he mutters to himself. He takes a nipple into his fingers and your breath hitches in your throat. You drop your head to your chest and shut your eyes, trying your hardest not to sound overly aroused at the soft touches. “I need your tit in my mouth. Is that alright?”
“God, yes,” you plead.
Well, there goes your attempt at not sounding overly aroused.
Jack wraps his mouth around your tit and sucks on it. His cheeks hollow out as he sucks you up, then deflate when he chooses to circle your nipple with his tongue.
You’ve had your boobs and nipples touched and licked before, but it’s never elicited such a reaction from you. Maybe it’s because it’s always been after the foul attempts of fingering you. It felt like compensation for how shit it was, but it ended up leaving you bored and exasperated. This time, though, you could probably get off on it.
“I need to sit,” you breathe out when he pinches and twists your left nipple.
“Need me to take anything off?”
You don’t really care; you just need some friction. But the way his biceps are straining against his Henley has you itching to feel them under your hot fingers.
“Take the shirt off, keep the pants on,” you tell him.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies.
He goes to follow your orders, but you beat him to it. You grab his shirt from his grasp and pull it up and over his body. You throw it off to the side where the rest of your clothes are, and run a hand through his tousled hair. Then you slot one leg between his and one outside of his right leg.
“You’re hot,” you tell him as your fingers ghost over his freckled arms and chest.
“Well, thank you,” he replies.
“I mean, the shirt made you extremely warm,” you chuckle. “But yes, you are incredibly sexy.”
Your fingers start roaming his neck, touching the grooves his wrinkles leave beneath his ears. You lower your head down and kiss each one.
Jack is intoxicating. It’s scaring you just a bit. You knew you’d have sex at one point — maybe it’d take longer, but it would happen — but it didn't cross your mind that it would be lost to someone you'd known for less than a week. That thought would have terrified you a couple of days ago, or the young teenage girl who imagined losing it to a long-term boyfriend.
Yet, here you are, enjoying it with Jack, who is not a boyfriend, or a friend, but not a stranger, either.
You’re not sure if this is supposed to be a one-and-done situation. As you’re slowly grinding into his thigh — that has your insides going absolutely insane — you can’t stop thinking about how long this will last. After you’ve orgasmed, which you already feel creeping up on you, will you have to throw your clothes on and leave? Act like this never happened? Send a ‘thank you’ text and finish your book; treating this as a sex education class for inexperienced adults?
You’re thinking about this too much, and you can feel it between your eyebrows. The little crease that Jack seems to notice, because his thumb is pressed against it, rubbing back and forth gently.
“I can feel your headache again,” he says.
“Sorry,” you mumble and relax your face as best you can.
“What’s going on? You want to stop?”
You drop your hand to his bulge and give it a soft squeeze. He hisses, and the fingers that carefully slid over your eyes are now squeezing your chin.
“Don’t ignore the question. Are you okay?”
You nod. “Kinda wondering what happens after this.”
“I make you some dinner, maybe?”
You squint, watching him in case he bursts into laughter. “That it?”
“No dinner… more sex?”
“I mean, like, will I be kicked out? Will we keep texting once this is done?”
“Do you want us to keep talking once this is over?” Jack asks, his thumb rubbing your bottom lip.
Even if his dick isn’t inside of you yet, or his mouth hasn’t been coating in your slick, you know you want to keep seeing him. You have a good feeling about him, and you rarely have those with romantic interests.
“Yeah,” you say.
“Then we have dinner, you talk about your work while I try not to fill you in on all the open wounds I see daily. Sounds good to you?”
You kiss the pad of his thumb. “Yeah,” you say again.
Jack notices the kiss you leave on his finger, and how your tongue is pressed against the front of your mouth at the sight of it. He prods further in, and you wrap your mouth around it. He groans at the tightness. If his dick wasn’t already hard, it most certainly is now.
He thrusts up, and you have to grab his shoulders to keep yourself upright.
“This just comes naturally to you, huh?” he stutters.
You pull his thumb out of your mouth and drag his hand to your throat. “Can I be honest with you?” you ask as you continue driving your clothed pussy against his thigh. You’re picking up speed, and honestly, it’s working as a truth serum.
Jack nods. “Of course,” he pants.
You squeeze Jack’s hand, silently begging him to tighten his grasp on your throat. “I think about this often. How I’d be fucked. I’m not always in control, but I come faster when I am,” you tell him. “I think about someone choking me or pulling my hair as I fuck myself with my fingers or toys or… when I hump my pillow. I think about what I would look like from the back: face squished into the mattress, gasping for air as someone fucks me fast and hard. I think about grinding on someone’s thigh and leaving a big mess. I think about it all, constantly.”
You stop talking because Jack has tightened his hold on your throat. He’s bouncing his leg just a little, but he also won’t stop squirming beneath you as you dig your nails into his shoulders. You can feel how wet you are as you move against him, and it keeps you going until you orgasm.
You tilt your head back as the sensation shoots through your bones. You feel weak, but you could keep going. Maybe not with Jack’s clothes on, though.
“You are something,” Jack tells you, his hands letting go of your neck and exchanging it with your tits. He massages them, and you’re quick to let out a quiet moan. He chuckles. “You want to keep going, or are you too tired?”
“I’m not done.”
“What position?”
“You choose.”
“Ass up, face down,” he tells you, and pinches your ass for you to get up.
You stand up and peel your soaking wet panties off, then crawl onto the mattress. “Do you want me to already … be in position?” you ask him. “Or wait. I don’t know how sexy it’ll be if I just stay in that position.”
“Just sit,” he tells you.
You sit in the middle of the bed, your body propped up by your elbows as you watch Jack take off his jeans, then his boxers. He’s holding onto his dresser for balance as he does this. You see a pair of crutches to the side, but he isn’t using them.
You don’t know what you were expecting, but maybe it wasn’t this. You’ve seen dicks before, but his is nicer than the ones you’ve seen. It’s thick, not too small but not overly big that it becomes worrisome.
“Can I suck you off?” you spit out before you can truly process it.
“Maybe,” he replies as he digs into his dresser for a condom. You observe him as he rips the packaging and slides the condom over his red, swollen cock. “Not right now, though.”
“After dinner?”
“Did you create a sex checklist before you got here? It sounds like it.”
“I thought all guys wanted their dicks sucked?” you said, firing back at what sounds like rejection. “All the ones I’ve casually dated have.”
Jack strokes himself as he makes his way to the bed, holding onto the furniture to get back to you. You watch as he grabs a pillow and places it at the edge of the bed, a few inches away from your feet.
You knew nothing about having sex with someone who has a below-the-knee amputated leg before. You still don’t know anything. Jack might be saying yes to whatever you want to do, but is it comfortable for him?
“You know, we don’t have to do this position if it’s uncomfortable for you,” you tell him.
He grunts and shakes his head. He rests his clothed stub on the pillow and pulls you toward him by your feet. “I requested this. I just need a bit of cushion for comfort, that’s all.”
“If you feel uncomfortable at one point, let me know, okay?”
He nods. “Now ass up, face down,” he tells you.
You turn around, lift your ass into the air, and press your face into his mattress. He pulls you closer as he positions himself correctly on the bed.
“You’re so wet,” he chuckles. Jack’s thumb presses against your hole, wet and fucking needy for his cock. He spreads open your folds and pushes his thumb deeper into your cunt, collecting whatever slick he can.
As he gets closer to your clit, you can feel more fingers gather along your pussy. He scoops up your juices, and less than a second later, you hear him groaning like he’s just eaten dessert.
You push your face deeper into the mattress. “Are you fucking tasting me?”
“What about it?” he asks. “You taste good, don’t worry.”
“I’m really wet, and I’m starting to get embarrassed.”
Jack's hand – the one he had in your cunt – runs down your spine and collects a handful of hair. He pulls you up just a bit as he presses the red tip of his cock against your hole.
“It’s good that you’re wet,” he says. “I’m flattered. And it’ll be easy to fuck you.”
You make a terrible attempt at nodding. “So then fuck me, Jack.”
He slowly pushes into you, and you struggle to moan through the position your neck is in. Even then, it’s loud and whiny.
Jack lets go of your hair as his cock is fully inside of you. There’s pressure, but it’s nothing bad. He doesn’t thrust at first, just slow in-and-outs as you get used to him.
“Don’t treat me like I’m porcelain,” you mumble into the sheets. “Fuck me like the old man you are.”
Jack slaps your ass and grips the blossoming red mark on your skin at this. He jerks back, then thrusts his cock deep into you. He thinks it might have been too much, but you can already feel your orgasm.
Jack doesn’t have to fuck you at all for you to come. You could have him inside of you, and you’d probably come in less than ten minutes. All he would have to do is play with your nipples, grunt into your ear, and you’d unravel.
You sure hope the sex continues after tonight, because now you really do have a checklist in your head of things you want to do with him, starting with a blowjob.
Jack picks up his speed and grabs your hips for stability and enough power to ram into you. His grunts are loud – echoing off the walls and puncturing your eardrums. It’s the best sound you’ve heard in a long time.
“Fuck me,” you moan into the mattress. “You’re so good. So fucking good.”
Jack loves the positive affirmations you cry out as he leans further over the curve of your ass. He grabs a handful of hair again and pulls you up. With this, you feel him much more.
The way he has you right now – hair pulled, tits out and still hard from when his tongue danced across them – is making you come.
“I’m close,” you whine.
“Yeah?” he grunts. “You’re gonna come from me fucking you from the back like this? Pulling your hair and drilling into your tight, wet ass pussy?”
You feel like crying. Not that his words are humiliating, but because you are right at the edge of your orgasm, and moaning isn’t enough.
“You’re such a good fuck,” he keeps going. “So good, you hear me?”
You nod. “Keep fucking me like this, and I’ll come.”
Jack does for a second, but then grunts in discomfort. You stop yourself for a moment and look over your sweaty shoulder. “You okay?” you pant.
He scrunches his nose and purses his lips. “Leg is kinda hurting.”
“Do you want me to ride you?”
“For your first time having sex?” He makes a ‘tsk’ noise with his tongue and shakes his head. “Let me just adjust.” He gets onto his bed and kneels near the edge. His stump is in front of him but in a more manageable position. “Come here. Position yourself in front of me, on your hands and knees.”
It’s awkward following his directions, but he carefully guides you.
“What’s this one called?”
“The kneeling fox.”
“Knowledgable on sex terms? Should I be jealous of someone?” you joke.
He laughs into your neck as he pulls you against him using your tits. “No, this was a long time ago,” he laughs. He palms your tit before adjusting himself a bit more behind you, grabbing his still hardened cock. “Lift your hips up a bit, alright?”
You do as he says, and when he aligns himself with your entrance, you sink down. “Mhm. Fuck me, I could come just sitting on your cock.”
“Oh yeah?”
You bounce your ass on his cock and place your hand over Jack’s, which is still holding onto your boob. “Fuck yes. Let me just sit on it. So thick and warm…”
“Keep talking,” he ushers you. “You’re so good with your words I might come just by them.”
“Is me not telling you to fuck me good enough? You want me to tell you how bad I need your thick cock and fingers in my pussy?”
He grunts. His other hand loops over your thighs and immediately finds your clit. He rubs over the wet bud, iliciting a whine from you. “This good?”
“Would be better in me,” you say in a low tone.
“You into double penetration?” he asks, amazed.
“Mhm… I think I’ll add that to my list.”
“Keep talking.”
“I’m gonna keep bouncing on your cock but I’m going to need you to thrust into me as hard as you can, too. I need to hear it off the walls. How wet I am. How big of a mess I’m leaving on your bed, on your cock.”
“I’m gonna come soon,” he cries out.
The squelching noises are loud.
You drop your head as Jack keeps circling your clit. You add onto the loud moans filling Jack’s room.
“Keep going. Fuck me harder,” you beg. He follows. You stop bouncing and let him jerk his hips faster into your aching cunt. The slapping noises your ass makes against his skin is like music to your ears. “Harder. Fuck me harder until I come all over you.”
Jack is breathing and crying hard against your neck. You turn your head so your ear is right beside his mouth. He takes your earlobe into his mouth and gently sucks on it.
His fingers go further down your pussy and dangerously close to your entrance. You want him to just sink his fingers into your already full cunt… You can just ask…
Jack does it. He sinks a finger into your hole and that does it for you. He doesn’t pump his meaty fingers into you, just leaves one there and you unravel completely.
Your orgasm takes over every inch of your body. You don’t exactly know what you say – whether it’s Jack’s name you mumble over and over through a series of moans, or if it’s just nonsense of ‘yes’ – you can’t make it out.
When you come down, Jack is still hugging you, and still fucking you, but slowly. “So good,” you hear him whisper. “Your pussy is so good, and tight, and fucking delicous. Just sit here for a second.”
“How long before I get a UTI?”
He lets out a tired laugh. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen, just sit, okay?”
You spend the next three minutes cockwarming. Jack spends those three minutes kissing your shoulders and baby hairs that stick to the back of your neck.
When you decide to get up and use the bathroom, Jack picks up his crutches and follows you in. He tells you you’re free to pee. Really, he urges you because you’re incredibly shy at first.
When you do, he watches your naked body at the sink like he’s never witnessed such a beautiful person on earth before.
“What?” you ask. “Should I put a shirt on?”
He shakes his head. “This can’t be just sex,” he tells you with a straight face. “I need to take you on a proper date; because I’m starting to like you.”
“Good,” you tell him. “Now I don’t have to keep adding weird desires to my list just so I can keep seeing you.”
Bed Rest — Michael Robinavitch x Jack Abbot x Fem! Reader
Wc: 8.06k
Warnings/Tags: reader injury, reader understands tagalog shhh asean pride, maybe ooc robby and abbot even though i like to think im good at writing them, not proof read but was very paranoid while writing, mention of drugs, mean robby soft abbot, porn with some plot if you squint, really long smut scene and aftercare to balance it out; oral sex (both m and f receiving), nipple play, finger sucking, arm kink (?? im projecting), throat fucking, spanking, spit kink, rough unprotected piv sex, slight voyeurism/cucking (??), squirting, pasta mmmmm yummy
AN: hi i hope i dont jinx dis pls dont flop i spent so long on this.... and it's the longest ive ever written, inclusive of my drafts on docs.... okthanksbai i'll probably never see u again
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“Taking it like a fucking champ, doc.”
..was what followed the door of the break room swinging open to reveal your senior attending, Dr. Robinavitch. You'd decided to take a short breather after a particularly tedious patient with an even trickier case—the ambulance bay didn’t seem ideal; you preferred to still hear the chaos going on outside.
A slightly disbelieving laugh left you as the last bite of Nature's Valley broke off into your mouth. You glanced down at your ankles and rolled them, testing their current soreness. “Sorry?”
“Thought it was pretty direct,” he muttered, sucking in an appreciative breath through his teeth as he took a gulp of fresh coffee. His head tilted back, revealing the line of his jugular in all its glory.
Not that you.. cared.
Sighing, you crumpled the bright green plastic up before binning it on your way to the sink, making an effort to not stare at him or his beautiful, Seiko-watched hand, wrapped around a mug and dwarfing it. “Don’t think I follow.”
He set the ceramic down, turning to look at you with his hip against the counter, toned arms folded. “I know your shift yesterday was rough. Find it admirable you're doing so great today.”
Your eyebrows rose, tone deadpan, “The Michael Robinavitch expressing empathy? I must be dreaming.”
“Ah, well.. it's the eighth wonder of the world. Next best thing after the Pyramids, for sure.”
You smiled softly, shaking your head and placing a hand on his bicep. Jeez, it was solid. “Flattery and a raise is the way to a woman's heart. Not just flattery.”
“Yeah?” he scoffed, cocking his head. “Do you want me knowing the way to your heart?”
You pushed on his arm before brushing past to hide your unbidden fluster. “You’re fucking lame.”
He shrugged. “Worth a try.”
It was unfairly attractive, the manner he held himself. As such were any of his mannerisms. His condescending nature sometimes rubbed med students and interns the wrong way, but once they'd warmed up to him a little, it was undeniably alluring.
Or maybe it was just you.
You joined the PTMC’s ED as an R3 about a year ago after a couple years up in Portland, and somehow immediately captured the attention of your attending. He always called on you for traumas, letting you take control with a smidge of criticism here and there.
Which should've been a good thing. But with how goddamn hot he was, it wasn't very easy to be on your best behaviour when he was so constantly around; during your laps, when you were striking up some conversation with a patient..
As you left the break room more than a little flushed, Perlah and Princess both cast knowing glances your way before murmuring something in Tagalog they knew you could hear but barely decipher.
“Sa tingin mo nagawa na nila ito?”
“Not yet,” you replied dryly, grabbing an iPad from the dock.
—
Yet another long shift; one that consisted of a record high of 4 STEMIs. Which wasn't a good thing.. obviously. But all of them were currently stable. Being an ED doctor was exhausting, and that was a colossal understatement.
On your days off, all you could bring yourself to do was drink a few shots of espresso and curl up with some Kristin Hannah, as pretentious as that sounded. Maybe cry a little. Either that, or you ended up doomscrolling with the book in your lap.
Part of night shift rolled in just as you were making your way to your locker after finally wrapping up your charting for the day, and you keenly observed Shen’s Dunkin coffee. Definitely miles better than whatever sludge they had in the break room.
A finger poked the side of your stomach, eliciting a humiliatingly high-pitched yelp.
Dr. Abbot.
You slung your bag over one shoulder, elbowing him as he rounded on you.
SWAT uniform.
“Still don't know why I never hear you coming.”
He stared at your exasperation for a beat, a light smile gracing his handsome features. “Same reason I'm wearing this.”
“On that note,” you said, vaguely gesturing at him. “What's with the get-up?”
You didn't catch the way his brows furrowed when you swiped at your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. He leant against the lockers and scrutinised your face like he was telepathic. “Drug raid. But no one got hurt.”
“Ah. Fent or cocaine?”
“Fent,” he declared, a little absentminded as he observed the pained wince as you shifted on your feet. “How’s my favourite day shifter doing?”
You let out an amused huff. “Fuck. Don't let Robby hear that. He's already on my ass for calling him lame.”
“When is he not?”
He pursed his lips at your tired nod. “Penny for your thoughts?”
You moved to tilt your head back against the metal with a hollow thud, eyes fluttering shut. Yesterday was finally catching up to you, and today had not made it any easier. “They'll cost a whole lot more than that.”
“I'm willing to pay.” He took your forearm and squeezed it. The contact only made your eyes flick back open. “You alright?”
“Long day. Past two days, actually,” you sighed and straightened, grimacing again. “Ankle is killing me too.”
“Sit.” He guided you to the bench adjacent to the lockers; looked down at the tops of your shoes, concealed by the hem of your scrubs. “Which one?”
You never should've told him. “Abbot, I'm fine, really—”
He placed himself next to you. “Put your leg up here,” he insisted, no room for argument as he patted his lap.
You looked incredulously at the side of his face before reluctantly hauling your leg up, sucking in a sharp breath between your teeth when your heel scarcely grazed his prosthetic.
“Shit. Sorry. You okay?”
He finally glanced at you, concern etched into his features despite the smirk that pulled his lips as he started folding your pant leg up. “Not like I can feel it.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Only you'd be able to say that.”
“Comes with being a veteran.” His attention diverted back to your leg, hand coming down closer to your—now you noticed—swollen, reddened ankle. “Tell me when it hurts.”
He began gently prodding at the tender area—from the bottom of your shin—with his index and middle, until he reached the top of your ankle; you cursed under your breath. Again.
“Not your ACL,” he muttered, hand hovering.
“This is humiliating. And I would know if it was.”
“Rule out the worst first, doctor,” his fingers wrapped around it, no pressure. “You’re one of our best, you don't know this?”
“Oh, shut your fucking mouth.”
“That's no way to talk to your attending,” he looked up at you. “I'm gonna squeeze it a little in three, two..”
“It is if he's being a—agh.. dick. Robby's really rubbed off on you.”
His eyes widened a fraction, a frown overtaking his amusement. “How much have you been running around this place?”
You shrugged. “Little more than usual.”
“Tib fib hairline,” he craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of someone. “Hey! Anyone, wheelchair over here please!”
“Abbot—” your mouth opened and closed, willing yourself to form something cohesive, the noise of a nurse rushing drowned out by your thoughts. “I— fracture?”
Princess came jogging with a wheelchair rolling in front of her, gaze falling on you. “Hey, what happened?”
“I’m fine! Abbot's full of sh—”
“Thanks. Tib fib stress fracture. Ice, elevate, and set her up in Central 13. I'll be there soon.”
Before you could protest, he was whispering ‘around my neck,’ and shifting you into the chair. The push across Central was like going batshit crazy in the middle of a pin-drop silent public library.
Princess leaned down, “Has that always been an option? Do I leave too early to know about this?”
You cast her a sidelong glance. “I could so hit you right now. Why’re you still here, anyway?”
“Oh,” she prompted, pushing the door open. “I finished Love Island last night and don't know what else to do with my life.”
—
It was a fracture. You really didn't want it to be, but the thin, nearly undistinguishable crack near the edge of both bones was definitely there. And that begged the question; did Abbot have X-ray vision?
Frankly, you felt guilty for taking up a bed during night shift of all times. Sure, it was nowhere near the time where things got really crazy, but you still could've gone home with a wrapped ankle and something for the pain to clear the bed up.
Abbot was at your bedside—now in a black shirt and his army pants—taking a history that was more a verbal interrogation than anything.
That was when you saw Robby jogging across the ER from Trauma 1.
“Shitshitshit,” you inched up the bed from what exactly, you didn't know, before Abbot held you down with a hand on your knee.
He shouldered into the room, and you could see the vaguely irritated quality of his expression. “Brother,” he said, looking over the two of you.
Actually, why was Abbot here?
“Why didn't you come get me?” He placed a heavy hand on the other attending’s shoulder, now focusing on you and the injury propped up on a stack of pillows.
Your brows gathered as you stared at Robby disbelievingly. What was wrong with these people? “Robby—ow—you had a trauma.”
He moved to the foot of the bed, observing your white-clad ankle. “Shen and Ellis were in there. I'm not supposed to be here anyway,” he glanced up. “Neither are you.”
You groaned; slumped backwards and stared at the ceiling. “I was leaving!”
The two men exchanged a look you didn't see.
“Can I fill out my own chart?”
You could feel the disagreement start to bloom in the antiseptic air, and you were about one question away from launching a pair of medical scissors at them. “There are two attendings in a senior resident’s room for a stress fracture! Are you guys hearing how fucking ridiculous that is?”
Abbot got up steadily, a sly smile gracing his face as he traded another glance with Robby. They started backing out, not breaking your gaze.
“Whatever you say, boss.”
—
A week and a half of home rest was not your forte. It was a bit much, really. Yes, hairline fractures healed fully in six to eight weeks, but you were sure you could’ve started walking just fine in a week. On crutches.
You were grateful for the break, though. It was nice getting away from the countless calamities of the ED.
What wasn't, was the ED coming to you.
Following your usual day-off routine, you were laid out on the couch of your apartment with your leg elevated on a bunch of pillows and an ice pack strapped to it—actually—reading an old paperback when there were two quick raps on the door.
It’d been about 5 days so you’d had visitors before this; Trin and Whitaker, Samira, Cassie, Dana, and a few others who'd sent ‘get-well-soon’ packages, but those were after their shifts. It was two in the afternoon.
Placing your book page-down on the coffee table, you braced yourself and got up, hopping toward your crutches before heading for the door.
You'd barely opened it to Abbot and Robby before you slammed it back in their faces. Of all people to make an appearance, you expected less of them and more of Javadi or even Donnie.
You tugged the door back open cautiously as if willing them to be a hallucination, but nope, they were still there and as tangible as the ice pack around your ankle.
Jack wore that same black T-shirt he wore underneath his SWAT uniform and a pair of dark jeans; Robby in a grey hoodie and dark cargos, glasses hooked into his neckline.
Robby seemed like he was suppressing a laugh. Had he caught you ogling him?
“Rude. Can we come in?”
Stepping aside best you could, you reluctantly showed them in. “You’re lucky I wasn't butt-ass naked.”
“You make a habit out of that?” Abbot gave you a once-over before heading to the kitchen.
Only then did you realise the fragrance of fresh bread and the big plastic bag labelled, ‘Primanti Bros’ in his hand, and a large iced Americano in Robby’s.
“Woah,” you mused, awestruck. “Thank you. You're not the first to bring me Primanti’s, though.”
“Oh, I know.” Robby strode over to you, hand hovering above the small of your back as he handed you your coffee and guided you back down onto the couch, taking your crutches. “We figured mostly everyone came after shift, so you'd have a shit ton of sandwiches and no space to stuff them after ten at night.”
You snorted, watching as he sunk into the creaky couch. “Eleven, actually. You'd be surprised. Barely have any leftovers.”
Abbot returned from the kitchen and placed himself on your other side, and there was suddenly a very real, very present sense of wrongness in what flashed across your mind.
You sipped cold bitterness to try dissipate the heat crawling up your neck. “Are you guys allowed to do this?”
“Why wouldn't we be?” Robby grunted as he tugged the coffee table closer for Abbot, who placed a pillow for your leg.
“I mean.. you’re my superiors,” you muttered, reaching across Abbot for the TV remote.
He leaned back to make space for you, smiling as he watched your face. “So? You're our resident.”
Our resident.
That didn't help your state at all.
You clicked the TV on, staring at the Property Brothers on mute. It felt like you'd turn to stone if you dared look at either of the two attendings next to you in the eye. This time you went around Robby to place your coffee on the end table.
A few dreamily uncomfortable beats of silence, before something struck you.
“Robby, did you.. take a day off?”
“Don't let it go to your head,” he huffed lightheartedly, hesitantly gesturing to Abbot. “Once in a blue moon, I take a day or two to spend with him. Just so happened it was today.”
Your brows drew up, the new info giving you the courage to look at Robby. “What?”
He playfully leaned closer, holding your gaze. “Tell anyone, I'll put you in triage the moment you come back.”
“It’s adorable, really,” you teased.
You were immensely aware of the proximity of his face and yours; Abbot shifting behind you; the faint ache already ebbing between your legs. You caught yourself and flinched the slightest bit back, eyes involuntarily flicking down to his lips.
“Also, you wouldn't do that,” you murmured, suddenly breathless. “You need me.”
His jaw flexed, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly and withdrew. He was unabashed in how he blatantly eyed your mouth. “Yeah? Why is that?”
You chewed on your lip, heat pooling low in your abdomen. Your mind had gone blank, any witty retort washed out by sheer need.
Need that was resolved when Robby's hand came up to the back of your head, yanking you forward and molding his lips to yours, groaning into your mouth at the way your touch seemed magnetised to the bulge in his cargos.
He coaxed your mouth open, and something in his restraint seemed to fissure; an arm snaked around your waist, the kiss turning all teeth and tongues lashing at the other, noses nudging as you moaned softly. He nipped at the plushness that was your bottom lip before soothing it over with a swipe of his tongue.
“Fuck,” he grunted, catching your lip between his teeth again before pulling away, panting. A flimsy string of saliva connected them, and he wasted no time in feeding it back to you with his thumb.
“Haven't done that in a while.”
Your heated gaze landed on Abbot, who you did not notice had gotten up and was rounding on the both of you. His eyes lingered on yours; the creak of the couch as you stopped yourself from grinding down into it, before redirecting to Robby.
He'd begun kissing your neck, beard scratchy on your skin when he lightly sucked at your fluttering carotid pulse. “Want something?”
Abbot was devastatingly calm in the midst of the belligerent push-and-pull between you and Robby, moving forward and threading tender fingers into your hair. “Plan on sharing, brother?”
“Not exactly.”
But before you knew it, Abbot had taken the other man's place, the salt of Robby's finger altering the taste of him. It was a stark contrast, the manner in which he approached. He was tentative, almost reverent, apparent in his hands; pushing your hair back, cupping both sides of your neck.
Your fingers carded through his silver curls, one hand caressing his clothed stomach as you whimpered into his mouth and moved closer, “Abbot..”
He drew back, breathing hard and smiling when you seemed to chase after him. “Uh-uh,” his middle and index pressed into your lip, faintly pulling it down. His voice was hoarse and even sexier than usual. “Jack, sweetheart. Don't use my last name. Too professional.”
A knee knocking yours open distracted you from your lazy, affectionate make-out session with Jack. Robby loomed over you, lust—raw; in its absolute simplest form—engraved into the lines of his face.
“Oh, no,” he said in that all-too-familiar, patronising tone. “Keep going.”
Next thing you knew, he was knelt down in front of you, big, calloused hands rasping against your skin. He made some adjustments, discarding the ice pack and making sure your injured leg stayed static and comfortable on the coffee table, before urging your ass down and normal leg open, folding it over Jack's thigh.
It was an insane position, but you were somehow in no pain whatsoever.
Your touch found the top of Robby's head, and you mussed up what you could of his hair. “Careful. Don't want you throwing your back out.”
He didn't even meet your eyes as he hummed a simple, “Won’t. But you can choose who blows yours out later.”
Slack-jawed and disbelieving, you decided to just.. not even try answering.
“Tell us if your ankle hurts,” Robby casually continued, glancing up at Jack; observing while abstractedly stroking your calf. Robby then placed a relatively chaste kiss on the inside of your knee, but it was Jack who asked, “You take your pain meds?”
You had to clear your throat pretty hard to get something to come out. “Yeah. After lunch. Doesn't hurt much.”
“Good girl,” Robby mumbled, lips trailing up your inner thigh. The mix of his beard and hot puffs of breath made you squirm; struggle to suppress a whine.
Meanwhile, Jack’s fingers found either side of your jaw, turning you to face him. “Eyes on me, baby.”
Only then did it click. They were doctors. They knew every little thing about the biology of a human body just as well as you did; if not more. And they had decades of experience.
Shit.
Your mouth was occupied with messy kisses while Robby worked the same on his way up your thighs, mouthing and lapping at the saltiness. Jack kept a hand on your face and one trailing beneath your old T-shirt before flipping it up.
“You sensitive up here, baby?” he questioned, fingers brushing between the valley of your breasts to slip under your neckline and skim your jugular.
“Som—mmh..” your response dissolved into a moan as Robby cupped your clothed pussy, grounding the heel of his palm into your clit.
He chuckled darkly. “She definitely is down here.”
A futile attempt at glaring down had Jack's grip tightening on your face, tongue clicking softly. “No. Answer me.”
Robby's finger hooked into the waistband of your shorts and you instinctively lifted your hips when he tugged. “S-sometimes.”
Jack began massaging your breast, bending to take it into his mouth while Robby yanked the garment down, draping the wounded leg over a broad shoulder. “Alright?”
You purred in preoccupied agreement, face buried in the side of Jack's head as he suckled on your taut nipple. “Mhm.. keep going,” you murmured to no one in particular.
“Cute panties,” Robby stated dryly, letting the lacy trim lightly snap against your skin. They were one of your most comfortable; dark red cotton with white lace. “I like the colour.”
You got to glare at him at last. Kicking him in the back with the heel of your good leg, you elicited a surprised laugh. “Fuck off.”
Jack abandoned your nipples in favour of kissing up your sternum and stripping your shirt fully off. “Sweetheart,” he uttered between the plethora of hickeys he was marring into your neck and collarbones. “Can I try something? Think you'd like it.”
Robby still hadn't gotten to where you wanted—his thumbs were merely kneading at the sides, barely even grazing your most sensitive. Yet, you were fairly sure you'd soaked through your underwear.
Jack straightened and tapped your cheek twice, harder than you expected from him. The silent command had you snapping out of your daze without a second thought.
His jaw tensed. “You listening? Stop getting distracted.”
You were perfectly capable of intubating someone while on the go, but how were you supposed to do that?
Robby finally dragged his thumb down your clothed slit, but it felt wrong to so blatantly whimper while staring into Jack's whirled, aggravated pupils. You opted for nodding frantically, grabbing his face and pressing an apologetic kiss to his lips. “Yes—yes. Whatever you want.”
He hummed into your mouth and licked into it, taking his time to make sure you felt how good he was with his tongue before withdrawing. His arm unfolded before you, the crook of his elbow settling directly under your chin.
You had to keep yourself from grinning. “Someone's been online.”
How many times had you caught yourself staring at those powerful, sun-freckled arms of his during an incision?
His other hand ran down your thigh, helping Robby in pushing your panties down. “I try.”
The giggle that tumbled out when he curled it was inevitable, squishing your face between his forearm and bicep—to which you clung and moaned into as Robby circled the pad of his thumb against your clit.
“So fucking wet,” he groaned, wasting no time in leaning forward to flatten his tongue up your pussy, stopping to suckle on your puffy clit, gently swirling around the already throbbing nub.
You whined, hands flying down to Robby's scalp, Jack's arm uncurling as your thighs tightened around his head. “Robby..”
“You like that?” he murmured condescendingly, not pulling back. His beard only added to the sensation of him eating you out; progressively insatiable; a thick finger easing inside of you, followed by another when you sucked him in with scarce friction.
Jack traded an almost imperceptible glance with him, and you somehow caught it.
“It feels like—mmh—fuuuckk..” Robby started crooking and uncrooking his fingers, the callouses stimulating your G-spot in a way yours never could. Your hips bucked against his face, walls clamping down as he licked in expansive circles, letting his mouth envelop you.
“Feels like what, sweetheart?” Jack cooed, lips brushing tantalisingly across your face, breath warm. You almost felt bad for him and the lack of stimulation he was receiving.
But it wasn't like you could do anything in this state.
“Like—oh.. you're plotting something. Wh-when you do that.”
Robby's fingers pumped faster, more precisely, adding a third with little resistance and burying his face further into you while shaking his head, tongue moving with single-minded focus. You cried out, grip falling to the back of his head.
“Shiiitt.. g-gonna come. Fuck—!”
The slurping between your legs reached its climax just as you did, white-hot stars bursting into fragments beneath your eyelids as your back bowed from the couch, feeling as Robby's beard rubbed your inner thighs to redness; as Jack placed a steadying palm on your stomach.
You didn't know how you came down or when it even happened. All you knew was that you suddenly weren't floating anymore, Robby's fingers had finally pulled out, and now he was staring straight at you with them dripping right in front of your face, elbows propped on your upper thighs. His beard was glistening.
Actually, both of them were staring at you.
Flames stoked up your neck. The neurotransmitters in your brain were fried and unable to give you a proper response, so all that came out was a meek, “..What?”
“What toys do you use?” Jack asked hoarsely, glancing at the mess you made.
“Uhm.. I don't.” Your face got hotter. “Never found the need for them.”
He exchanged another look with Robby. Something smugger. “Right. Okay.”
Robby moved your legs off his shoulders and got to his feet, placing his clean hand on the couch to stabilise himself. “Ankle okay?”
You nodded, regaining some sense of self and smirking up at him roguishly. “How're your knees?”
He reached out to run a thumb down your lip, coaxing your mouth open and dragging his wet fingers across your tongue. “Don't get smart with me.”
You moaned and took his fingers deeper, sucking them clean. He seemed entranced, watching the string of saliva dissolve when he pulled away.
Jack stood abruptly; scooped you up with ease and kissed you again—rougher, deep groans into your mouth—tasting what the other attending had so much of. Your arms automatically encircled his neck.
“Fuck,” he muttered between hungry pecks, making his way to your bedroom with Robby trailing behind him. “Greedy guy, keeping you all to himself.”
“Heard that,” came a gravelly voice.
“You were meant to,” Jack retorted over his shoulder, toeing the door open.
He laid you out on your back parallel to the headboard, head almost dangling off the edge. Hands—palming at your breasts, tweaking your nipples—slowly made their way up, taking yours with him to place on his belt.
His tone was husky and cracked, almost desperate. “Can I fuck your throat, baby? Please?”
You were already getting to work, letting the clink of his belt; the quiet mechanical rasp of his fly sliding down serve as an answer. How many times had you imagined tasting Jack Abbot?
You eagerly tugged at his pants, mouth already watering as you pressed your fingers to the imprint of his cock, squeezing in a way that had him gripping your wrist, but not to stop you. Your hands then trekked up, above the tantalising trail of grey leading downwards, under his shirt to scrape at his waist and along the ridges of his stomach.
“Take your shirt off.”
He huffed out his nose, reaching to yank the shirt off his back. “Yes, ma’am.”
You laughed lightly, humming a flat, “You should call me that at work,” before moving the waistband of his boxers down just enough to free his cock from its confines.
All you could say was.. you hadn't expected any less from a man like him.
He was painfully hard and leaking, tip flushed a light red with a vein tracing up his shaft. A hand cupped the back of your head and pulled you nearer, the head of his cock brushing against your lips.
“Smack me if you need a break, alright?”
You nodded absentmindedly, eyes landing on his leg. You sat up on your elbows and sheepishly turned to look up at him.
“Wait,” you paused, brows furrowed as you gestured at the prosthetic. “Do—do you need to, uh.. take it off?”
He pushed you back down with a hand on your chest. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Haven't been wearing it long. And I do not—” he supported your head again as he sunk into your mouth, a little deeper than before. “Want to miss this,” he grunted.
Your grip came up to his hips, eyes flickering shut at the heady—pun intended—and silken taste of him. You heard a strained “fuuckk..” from above you, feeling his length gradually sink deeper until the halfway point. By then, you knew it'd be a concerted effort to take him fully while.. well, upside down, but you'd be damned if you said you didn't want to.
The mattress dipped where your legs were; a big hand tracked up your bare thigh; coarse hair scratched up your torso and up your chest, leaving wet kisses along your stomach before liquid warmth closed around your nipple.
You whined, thighs pressing together underneath him, pushing your ass down into the bed in search of friction as Jack began thrusting into your mouth.
You could feel Robby's eyes burning holes into the line of your throat, the way it contracted when you gagged and swallowed.
“Taking it like a fucking champ, huh?”
You could've come—untouched—right there.
How were you ever gonna survive hearing that at work from now on?
His hand skated up your skin to just hold your neck, feeling Jack's cock slide in and out. “Ever gonna let me do this?”
Jack adjusted your head, scarcely picking up the pace, his tone low and strained, “You had your fun, brother. Don't get jealous now." His thumb joined Robby's hold on your throat, grazing the top of where your trachea was tangible.
“Just saying,” Robby muttered, retracting his touch in favour of kneading your breasts. He seemed to like off-putting what you really wanted, considering you could feel his knee between yours, just out of reach.
“I feel like I deserve something in return for giving you the best head of your life.”
You moaned at the statement just as Jack tensed and pulled out, orgasm approaching faster than he liked. “Shit, baby,” he panted, squeezing his base to stave it off as he dragged his tip across your tongue, over your swollen lips. “Too fuckin’ good.”
A giggle tumbled out of you. “Is that a bad thing?”
His hold on your nape relented. “Anything but.” He mirrored your laugh at the pout you gave him when he urged you back up into a sitting position.
Robby's fingers immediately closed around your face, digging into your cheeks. His pupils were blown out and borderline scary, but so carnal, so hungry, you couldn't find yourself feeling anything but even more aroused. His nostrils flared, heavy breaths puffing out in quick bursts.
You knew he wanted an answer.
And you were emboldened by the prospect of getting your brains fucked out.
“You won't get anything with that ego of yours, Robinavitch.”
His eyebrow quirked in challenge, heat licking up your spine at the danger in his gaze, the steadiness of his voice.
“You think my ego is big?”
A smirk tugged on your mouth, revelling at how you could feel the sore muscles moving beneath his grip. “D’you plan on proving to me it's not the only thing that is?”
“Oh-ho,” he got out through gritted teeth, irritation apparent.
One moment you were in his iron grasp, the other you'd been manhandled and jostled; flipped onto your stomach and dragged to the opposite edge of the bed. He made sure your injured foot didn't hit the floor like the other, instead shoving it up, bent towards your chest to keep it from dangling.
As an added benefit, the position had your dripping pussy on full display for him.
A hand came down onto your ass with a resounding thwack. You yelped, jolted forward, fingers grappling at the sheets.
“Do I?” He let it sting for longer than you would've liked, before massaging it to soothe the blooming heat.
The frantic clink of a belt, the shuffle of fabric being pushed down. He leant over you, forearms against the bed, chest hair peppering deliciously against your back.
Smack. Harder.
“Can you feel it, baby?” The tent in his boxers just barely ground into your pussy, making you whimper and clench around nothing.
Smack.
“Do I still need to prove it?”
Smack—before the hand travelled up and into your hair, tangling in the locks to carelessly tug your head up.
Jack Abbot sat in your beige Ikea desk chair, a fist wrapped around his thick cock, languidly moving it up and down with a blissful yet smug expression on his face.
Robby bent lower, voice gravelly in your ear, “All for you, champ.”
One of your hands clutched at his bicep, trying to reach further down for the waistband of his boxers. His grip stopped yours, pinning both your wrists above your head.
“I was under the impression you didn't want me to fuck you?”
Your fight was definitely wavering, but not yet. Even if it did cost you more torture. “What makes you think I want you to?” you spat back.
The fingers in your hair moved to close around your throat, putting just enough pressure for you to choke back a gasp, eyes fluttering shut.
“You may be one of my brightest at work,” his grasp eased and withdrew, letting your head fall down into the mattress. “But rhetorics won't be of any use here, baby.”
He was pressed right up against your back, so you could feel when he pushed his boxers down, freeing his cock from its confines.
His free hand appeared in front of your face again.
“Spit.”
You lifted your head from the sheets, catching a glimpse of Jack with his neck craned back, squeezing the base of his cock. You wanted to retort, but any more of this and you'd actually end up coming without any stimulation.
Reluctantly, you relaxed your jaw, letting saliva pool into your mouth, before opening it to let your spit drip onto his palm.
“Good girl,” he cooed, retracting his hand. You heard the telltale groan he let out as he spread it all over his cock; the wetness of him stroking himself. He let go of your wrists, reassuringly squeezing them briefly before pulling away.
His voice was more chaste. “Condoms?”
Fuck.
You were too deep in your lust-filled haze to even think about not doing it.. raw. And you still were, because you barely registered how irrational it sounded when you stated—
“I-I have an implant.”
Silence. From the other side of the room too.
“I know, baby.” He cleared his throat, voice now strained. “You of all people should know why I'm asking.”
You whined, burying your face in the sheets as you pushed your ass back, grinding into his thickness. “Please, Robby.”
He let out a throaty groan, hand heavily landing somewhere beside you to stabilise himself. “Are you sure, sweetheart?”
He guided the head of his cock to gather your wetness and rub it into your throbbing clit. “Haa.. fuck—yes, please, Robby.”
He groaned, tapping his cock against your pussy. “She's leaking, baby.”
You swore you felt the beginnings of an orgasm wash over you the moment he began inching into you, hands pressed into your waist, pushing you into the bed.
“Look at me,” a further voice uttered.
Your head lifted again, bleary-eyed as you looked over at Jack. If you'd been enduring torture, what was he going through?
He really did have the willpower of a veteran.
Even with how soaked you were, you still felt the deliciously immense pressure of Robby's cock bullying its way past your walls. His hands skated down your back to knead your ass, spreading you apart.
“So fucking—” he buried himself to the hilt with a final drive in. “Tight.”
You cried out, tears seeping from the corners of your eyes as you pressed them shut. It didn't hurt, no, it was just.. a little uncomfortable. How could it not be when he was so deep you could almost feel it in your guts?
Two clicks of a tongue and you were looking back up at Jack with glassy eyes.
If you thought he enjoyed seeing you slowly losing your mind getting speared on the other attending’s cock, you could've only imagined what was added when he saw the shininess of your gaze.
Robby was panting, not moving, letting you acclimate to his size. The look on Jack's face couldn't have gotten any smugger. “Enjoying yourself?”
Robby slowly dragged himself out, leaving only the tip in before slamming into you with one stroke, forcing a whimper from your throat and a grunt from his.
Your chin dug into the mattress as you tried to keep your eyes open and on Jack. He was glad you got the gist. “How—mmh.. are you—” you swallowed as Robby bracketed your torso with his forearms again. “Just.. watching?”
Robby's fingers wound across your jaw to pull you up, turning you so he could kiss you soft and sweet as he started to set a brutally slow pace that surged you forward with every thrust; that had him feeling every inch of you wrapped around him so warmly.
“Safe word?” he mumbled against your lips, so close your breaths mingled.
You were so deep in your sexual relief you once again forgot the small probability of this going south.
“Uhm..” you spared a glance at Jack; patiently waiting for you to put your focus back on him. “Is it weird if I say hula hoop?”
He huffed incredulously, watching your dilated pupils like he would with a penlight. “Unless you want me thinking about this when our staff gets assaulted, then no.”
“You still will.” You whined, sensing his shift in speed. “But—fuck—uh.. watermelon?”
You took his smirk as acknowledgement. He placed a lingering kiss to your mouth before turning you to face Jack again, not letting go of your jaw.
“I like to,” Jack continued, seemingly unfazed. Something flashed behind his eyes when Robby gave a particularly hard thrust, setting a more consistent, rough pace that had you moaning obscenely every jolt.
“And it helps me gauge what you like so I can fuck you better.”
You couldn't seem to process what he was saying anymore.
Not with how your brain was short-circuiting, sparking like metal against metal at the knot latching into place in your stomach, at the sexiness of Jack's voice dirty-talking you. Robby let go of your jaw, and you buried your face into the sheets, suppressing your noises alongside every creak the mattress emitted.
He heaved against your back, grunting in time with each smack his pelvis gave to your ass.
You couldn't help but imagine what Jack would do to you if Robby was already fucking you this good.
Lips trailed along the shell of your ear just as a strong arm wrapped around the circumference of your neck, putting you in a headlock and pulling you upright. The new angle had the head of his cock ramming into your G-spot with every pass.
Sirens went off in your head when you felt something different but not unpleasurable, and you were just about to ask him to stop when—
“Have you squirted before?”
Oh.
“H-Huh?” you tried choking out; it merely ended up sounding like a moan you would hear in some low-budget porn. “No—Robby..”
His free hand trailed down your front, pressing his palm into your lower stomach. “Do you want to?”
He took your lack of a real answer as a yes. Four of his fingers tracked down, giving your clit a couple of hard pats that had you yelping before quickly starting to swipe them side-to-side, the lewd sounds of your arousal now echoing throughout the small room.
Was Jack still only watching?
Your own hands grappled at the arm around your neck, nails marring deep crescents where short red trails then followed.
It was such an odd feeling, you instinctively tried to squirm away, thighs trembling when he went shallower, slamming directly into your G-spot. “Fuck, Robby.. wait, wait—”
He shook his head, beard scratching your shoulder as his teeth grazed over the clammy skin, all focus oriented on making you come like you literally never had before. His movements on your clit slowed into soft circles, but his hips were still relentless.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured condescendingly, putting pressure on your stomach with the heel of his hand. “Let go. Come for us.”
Us.
That was what had you soaking the sheets and his cock; liquid gushing from between your legs and running down your thighs as you tensed in his hold, stuffing your face in the crook of his elbow while he fucked you through it.
“Ffuuck, baby—” You could feel the smile against your skin. “Attagirl. Keep going—shiit..”
He gave you two deep, harsh thrusts that'd given you a glimpse of overstimulation before pulling out and fucking into his fist, teeth leaving marks in the meat of your shoulder as he groaned hoarsely, leaving stripes of white across your back.
His arm uncurled, lowering you until you collapsed onto the bed. You hauled your normal leg up to fold under the injured one—which you were surprised to find was not asleep—thoroughly spent but thoroughly satiated.
The abused mattress dipped on the opposite side, and you found yourself being guided by a panting and slightly sweaty Jack Abbot up to the head of the bed.
Your eyelids were heavy despite the scorching sun outside as you laid your cheek upon his rising and falling chest, relishing the difference in scent.
He stroked and gently untangled your knotted hair; massaged your scalp; brushed his lips over your perspirated forehead. “You did so good for us, sweetheart.”
You huffed softly, squinting up at him. “You should join sometime.”
“Oh, I will.”
“Did you even—”
Your eyes then deviated to the small pile of tissues on your nightstand. And also the prosthetic propped up against it.
“Oh. Nevermind.”
You scooched up, nuzzling your face into his neck before Robby appeared out of nowhere, springs creaking in protest as he knelt beside you with a dampened towel. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek before sitting back to clean you up.
He tossed the towel to the side, finally settling down on your other side; his front against your back, his palm running over the curve of your waist.
“Do you own a caution wet floor sign by any chance?”
You elbowed him in the ribs as hard as you could.
“I’m never having sex with you ever again.”
Jack's shoulders shook beneath your chin as he laughed, and his arm moved from where it was in your hair.
What the fuck?
You lifted your head and looked between the two of them. “Did you guys just fucking fist bump?”
Jack smiled into your hair, briefly wrapping you up in his arms as consolation. “Are we not allowed to?”
You hit him too. In the solid wall of his chest. “I don't think it really comes with the customs of a threesome.”
“Sorry, boss.” Robby muttered flatly, pecking along the backs of your shoulders, thumbing the bite mark he left.
He turned you over by the waist. He probably had enough of the back of you, and Jack was probably glad he finally got to feel your ass against him. “Are you okay? Did I go too hard?”
Your eyes softened as you reached out to feel his beard beneath your hands. “I'm okay. Are you?”
He nodded, leaning into your touch and looking at you with such affection it almost made you melt. “Ankle?”
“Kinda hurts. I have a spare ice pack in the freezer.”
You glanced at Jack, suppressing a laugh.
“Not it,” you both said in unison.
Robby was already sitting up. “No shit, Sherlock.”
Your eyes lit up. “I was reading one of those, actually. Could you get that too?”
He stopped at the door with his back against it. The sight of him in only black boxers—silhouetted so largely against the white—almost made you want to pounce on him again.
“I'll get you a glass of water and your coffee and take you to pee after too. Sound good, champ?”
You sidled back up into Jack, trying to stop yourself from grinning. “Thanks, chief.”
—
You woke up alone; groggy and disoriented and sore. You couldn't tell if the sun was rising or setting, if what happened was some really vivid, painkiller-induced wet dream.
The sun filtering through the blinds bathed your lower body in misshapen gold stripes, one of them falling precisely along your wounded ankle, illuminating the gel ice pack strapped to it and the pile of pillows underneath it.
So it wasn't a dream. And it wasn't morning.
All at once, it came rushing back to you as you sat up on your elbows. Your beige desk chair had been tucked back in, your hair towel draped along the back, a grey hoodie and a black T-shirt folded and stacked neatly upon the seat.
At your nightstand, Jack's prosthetic and pile of tissues were gone—replaced by your crutches and now watery Americano—but only now did you notice the tan-strapped Seiko wristwatch next to your lamp.
The painkillers had worn off, and the sharp pain was sorely apparent when you dragged yourself out of bed to hobble toward the door with the crutches carelessly tucked under your armpits.
As you softly pushed the door shut behind you, the familiar aroma of fresh bread wafted through the air, as if you lived in an obscure cottage in Montana and not in an overpriced apartment in downtown Pittsburgh.
You hopped to the kitchen.
You were greeted by the sight of the PTMC’S day and night shift attendings; both shirtless and both now staring at you, sitting at your island.
You halted in your tracks, dumbstruck.
What the fuck?
There was no doubt in how comical your expression probably was when you spotted the pasta on the plates in front of them, the steaming pan with one more portion in it.
“Good evening,” Jack said breezily.
You shook your head and seriously considered going back to bed when you heard the old Bruce Springsteen song playing faintly from his phone.
“I didn't know Magic Mike did at-home performances.”
You started toward them again, making your way to the oven. Robby stopped you and stood, taking your crutches and helping you sit instead.
“It's more like Make-A-Wish. Since you're injured."
You watched as he bent to take your Primanti's out the oven and almost moaned when Jack began kneading your shoulders.
“That's weird. I just feel like I'm in a porn magazine.” Robby set the box in front of you, moving his plate out the way. You opened it and immediately dug in, groaning as the flavours hit your tongue.
“Please put your tits away,” you said, swallowing and pointedly glancing back at Jack. “Especially you. I'm very distracted.”
Robby blew smoke from the red-sauced pasta twirled around his fork before holding it in front of you. “Eat this first.”
You opened your mouth, letting him feed it to you and wipe some tomato off the corner of your lip. You cocked an eyebrow, chewing slowly. “Fuck, that's good. Who made this?”
A kiss was pressed into your hair as Jack got up and headed for the bedroom. “I did.”
“I might have to blow you,” you replied, voice raised so he could hear you from the room.
He chuckled as he pulled his shirt on, tossing Robby his hoodie. “I'm definitely not opposed.”
You smiled lightly, trailing him as he took his place behind you again, melting into him when he resumed massaging you. Robby leaned in to kiss you tenderly, pushing hair from your face.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Like I need my meds,” you muttered, getting one last peck in before he pulled away. “Did you guys not sleep?”
Robby diverted his attention back to the food. “I did on the couch, for a bit.”
You frowned a little, unbidden disappointment twinging your throat, whether from the fact he slept separately, or the fact you passed out for so long.
“And you woke up before me?”
He smirked. “Seems so.”
You briefly scrunched your nose. “That's embarrassing.”
Jack reached across the island for your painkillers, pushing you his half-full glass of water. “Eat.”
You eyed the rows of small, round pills. Both their eyes were on you too. You'd come full circle; both of them were in your space, expressing concern over the pain you were in.
The other pills in the foil rattled as you popped two out, casting a sidelong glance at Jack.
I love old remus (he's like 30) idfc that he's a complete freaking coward. Like yes professor i know u dont want to lose dumbledore's trust. Don't tell him ur situationship is a huge fucking dog. It's okay. 🥹🥹🥹 Don't leave your beautiful gorgeous wife tho... I still resent u for that...
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summary: during a mission for the Order, you end up in a tiny shack with Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Bill Weasley. a game ensues.
cw: MDNI 18+, smut, age gap, mfm, forced proximity, reader is mid-twenties (same age as Bill)
masterlist
“Must you do that?” Sirius drawled, stubbing his cigarette on the window sill.
You flipped him off, not even faltering in your pacing, undoubtedly wearing a path in the ancient carpet of the tiny safe house. Barely 600 square feet, it was more like a shed than a house. But it was where you, Bill, Sirius, and Remus had been sent to camp out after a reckon mission.
Bill, one of your closest friends from school, was already asleep upstairs, taking the first sleeping shift with Remus.
Sirius chuckled, his voice rough with exhaustion, eyes tracking you back and forth, back and forth. “So ill-mannered,” he teased. “How do you and Weasley get on so well?”
“Because I'm a delight,” you countered.
He only hummed in response, the sound sending a tremor up your spine. Of course, he looked particularly sinful tonight, his dark hair messy from the days work, dressed in one of Remus’ too large button-down shirts that showed off way too many of the tattoos on his chest to be considered appropriate in decent society.
Sirius was hot. He knew it, you knew it, but it didn't change the fact that he was a decade older than you and in a committed relationship with another man. Who also happened to be exceptionally attractive. And also a decade older than you.
It was fine. You were fine.
It's not like you've had a debilitating crush on both of them since Bill brought you into the Order, right?
Right?
Then, like a vision from your filthiest daydream, Remus came plodding down the stairs, dressed in sweats and…nothing else. Just bare, burnished skin, lightly muscled and littered with pearly scars.
You and Sirius both sucked in a breath, then glanced at one another. Your eyes were wide like a deers, while Sirius’ narrowed, unreadable. Then, the faintest smirk hooked the corner of his mouth, and your lungs withered.
“Sorry, dove. Thought Sirius would have sent you to bed as well,” Remus said, his voice still thick with fatigue as he made his way to the kettle.
“And miss out on her charming company?” Sirius crossed the room to greet him, pressing a kiss to the taller man's scarred shoulder as he took over tea-making. “You're supposed to be sleeping, love,” he chastised, thought there was no real bite to it. Like he had anticipated Remus wouldn't be able to sleep.
“Couldn't,” Remus replied, glancing at you again before taking a seat at the kitchen table. “House is too quiet.”
“Ah, so you could hear her pacing a hole through the earth’s crust?” Sirius teased, winking at you.
You stuck your tongue out at him.
Remus chuckled. “It was hard to hear anything over Bill's snoring.” He pulled out the chair beside him, gesturing for you to take it. “Something on your mind?” He asked when you sank into it, your body suddenly feeling heavy on your bones.
Merlin, it had been a long day.
“Wouldn't even know where to start,” you said, sounding petulant even to yourself. You weren't usually the sort to sulk, but something in your body felt out of sorts, your mind racing a million miles a minute.
Remus' brow furrowed, eyes lifting to Sirius as the other man set a mug of tea in front of him, and then another in front of you.
Sirius' hand landed on your shoulder, squeezing experimentally. “Saints, you're coiled up like a snake, love,” he muttered, bringing his other hand up to massage your shoulders. “Poor thing,” he cooed, and your stomach flip flopped, heat climbing into your cheeks.
What the hell was happening? Had you fallen asleep on the couch and now were having the best dream?
His hands were burning, long-fingered and etched with ink, and the tension in your body started to give way to his coaxing. A soft sigh escaped your lips, and you quickly bit them together, stiffening once again.
“Sirius, you don't have to—”
“Ah, ah,” Sirius warned, squeezing a bit harder. “Relax, doll. Let us help you.”
Remus was studying your face, his eyes growing darker when Sirius tilted your head to one side, working his thumbs along the vulnerable curve where your shoulder meets your neck.
Your heart picked up, thrumming eagerly under your skin, between your legs.
“How's that feel?” Sirius asked, his face so close you could feel his breath tickled your skin. “Good?”
You nodded. “Y-yeah,” you breathed, perilously close to a moan.
“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, then his lips caressed your jugular, the faintest brush, but it felt like you'd been electrocuted, a gasp wrenched from your chest.
Remus made a low sound of approval in his throat. “Seems you were right, Padfoot,” he said, taking a sip of his tea like nothing out of the ordinary was transpiring.
Sirius smirked, his lips on your skin growing heavier, more insistent as he charted a tingling path towards your ear.
“Right about what?” You asked, hands gripping the table, unsure of what was happening, or if you were allowed to touch him back. But fuck, you wanted to comb your fingers through that gorgeous hair so bad it made your skin itch.
“That a pretty thing like you could want us,” Remus answered with a knowing smile, and your jaw dropped.
Who wouldn't want them?
“He thought I was mad,” Sirius chuckled, one of his hands coming up to hold your jaw, turning your face towards him. His storm-cloud eyes were molten, dark lashes heavy with unmistakable desire.
“Not mad,” Remus corrected. “Just thought it was wishful thinking.”
“Was it, baby?” Sirius asked you, the tip of his nose grazing yours. “Am I dreaming that needy look in your eyes?”
You shook your head. If he didn't kiss you right that second, you thought you might die.
“Words, pet,” Remus ordered, his tone gentle despite the clear command. “Tell us what you want.”
“I want you both,” you whispered, hardly believing that you were saying it aloud. This long buried secret of yours that you only brought out in the dead of night, fingers between your legs, desperate moans muffled by your pillow.
Sirius surged forward, molding his lips to yours, and it felt like he knocked your soul out of your body. Gentle but insistent, tinged with nicotine and honey, he coaxed you open in a way only a man with experience could.
Already, this was different than any experience you'd had prior. Better.
His hand cupped the back of your neck, dragging you closer, his tongue prying apart your teeth to taste you. Your hands fisted his hair, rising up to try and press your bodies together, desperate to feel him.
Remus loosed a low chuckle. “Ever been kissed like that, dove?” He asked.
You shook your head, unwilling to break the kiss to answer, and Sirius smirked, his teeth catching your lower lip and tugging before disconnecting your mouths.
“Have to taste her, Rem,” Sirius said, his thumb collecting the string of spit still connecting your lips and feeding it back to you. You wrapped your lips around the digit, the salted, smokey taste of him it's own aphrodisiac. “So sweet, aren't you?” He cooed, watching you with open appreciation, eyes dark with desire.
“Come here,” Remus said, and your heart seized, excitement pooling low in your belly.
You released Sirius' thumb and slid off your chair, taking measured steps towards Remus in the hopes of not betraying just how eager you were. But he had no such reservation, his big hands grabbing you by the hips and pulling you down into his lap.
“Feel a little different than what I'm used to. All hard angles, that one,” he murmured, glancing at Sirius. His calloused hands glided over your curves, almost reverent as he studied you. “You’re a soft little thing.” He tightened his grip, pressing you harder against him, and you could feel just how eager he was pulsing against your covered heat.
“Remus,” you whined, nails biting into his bare shoulders. Meager lines of pink amid a map of scarred ruin.
“Shhh,” he soothed, bringing one of his hands up to cradle your face. You couldn't help but lean into his warmth, craving the safety, security you associated with him. “Don't worry, dove. You trust us?”
You nodded, pressing a kiss to his inner wrist. And it was true, Sirius and Remus had protected you on countless occasions against Snatchers and Death Eaters. You trusted them with your life.
He smiled, and Sirius made a soft, affectionate noise in his throat. “You are sweet, aren't you?” Remus asked, his thumb ghosting over your lips. He leaned forward, laving his tongue across the seam of your mouth, and you squeaked in surprise, parting for him instantly. But he didn't kiss you, leaning back against the chair again. “Can hardly taste anything through the smoke, you degenerate,” Remus remarked with an amused smirk, looking over at Sirius.
“Mhm, just like me,” Sirius purred, suddenly right behind you.
“Don't go getting territorial now, mutt.” Remus’ grip tightened even further, belaying his real strength. It made your head swim. The two of them could tear you apart, a werewolf and a murderous hound. “We both know that's a fight you'd lose,” Remus added, voice low.
“Oh, look what you've done, doll,” Sirius chuckled, running his fingers through Remus' hair to soothe him, the professor's grip loosening a bit. “Got us acting like proper beasts.”
It clicked then that they were just playing with one another, circling like dogs before they pounce. Just part of the game. You were the proverbial rope in their tug-of-war.
Remus stood suddenly, lifting you into the air and dropping you onto the table and rattling the tea cups. He finally kissed you then, towering over you like a god of war, he pillaged your mouth with his, laying waste to your mind and soul. Remus kissed like it was the first and last time—all desperation and ravenous fury. With none of the sweetness and reservation he carried on a normal day.
You were helpless to it, giving yourself to him, to them, completely as he laid you back on the wood. His hands slid beneath your knees, pushing your legs back and out, his body settling between them.
“Want a real taste,” he muttered, kissing down your neck before lowering his head between your thighs.
Sirius appeared by your head, smoothing back your hair. “We've wanted this for a long time,” he said. “Since that first day and you dove headfirst into battle with those Snatchers…”
Remus hummed in agreement, guiding your jeans down your legs and laying them over the chair he vacated.
“Knew then that you could handle us,” Sirius continued, lifting your shirt over your head, leaving you completely bare to them.
“So fucking pretty,” Remus said, pressing a kiss just north of where you ached for him. “You sure about this, dove?” His hazel eyes met your over the naked stretch of your body.
“Please,” you said, carding your fingers through his tawny hair. “I've wanted you both for so long too.” The admission made your head spin, relief ballooning in your chest.
“Yeah?” Sirius asked, nosing into your neck to kiss your pulse, the hot muscle of his tongue making you tremble. “You've been a little slut, daydreaming about older men, haven't you?”
“Padfoot,” Remus huffed at his crude language.
But you loved it, the filthy words electric. “Yes, Sirius,” you panted, arching your back when his lips reached the peaks of your chest, the liquid heat of his mouth enveloping you.
“You touch yourself thinking about us?” He asked, teeth scraping fragile, rose-colored skin. “Our names muffled into your pillow when you shatter?”
“Yes—countless times.”
Whatever was holding Remus back seemed to give way at your confession, and his mouth enveloped you over the fabric, his tongue laving a demanding stroke.
You cried out, pleasure crashing through you, and Sirius clapped a hand over your mouth, bringing his face up yours.
“Quiet, love. Unless you want Bill to get an eyeful,” he warned.
Something rumbled from Remus’ chest. Displeasure at the idea of Bill finding you, you imagined. Almost instinctively, you scratched at his scalp to soothe him, lifting your hips to encourage him to continue, and he obliged, settling once again.
A dog with a bone.
Sirius smiled, removing his hand and stealing a quick kiss. “Seems she's got you figured out, Moons,” he teased.
Remus didn't reply, his finger hooking in the gusset of your panties and tugging them aside so he could taste your properly. Your mind lit up like it was a reward, you'd passed some test.
Another moan bubbled up and Sirius caught it with his fingers, pushing them past your lips again while his free hand explored. You sucked on his fingers, lapping at the texture of his rings, quickly getting lost under their expert attention.
Remus was insatiable, sloppy with it, devouring you like a hot meal on a winters day. You felt like you were flying, pitched and tossed through crests of ecstasy and agony.
“Such a good girl,” Remus praised, easing a thick finger inside of you. “So fucking pretty. C’mere, darling.”
Intuitively, you knew he wasn't talking to you.
Sirius abandoned his work, having left a row of marks along your sternum, and slipped his fingers from your mouth. “Look at that,” Sirius hummed, bracing a hand on the table as he leaned down, watching Remus work.
Remus chuckled, shifting back so Sirius could have a taste while he toyed with you slowly, deliberately. Stretching you, you realized before another wave a euphoria crashed over you, rendering you thoughtless once again.
Sirius groaned, nuzzling closer as he savored you. His enthusiasm was your undoing. You had to bite your hand to keep from crying out when you finally came apart for them.
“That's our good girl. Well done, dove,” Remus praised, splaying his free hand over your ribs to stop you from shaking the table with your aftershocks. Feeling the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the clammy sheen of sweat over your skin. He withdrew from your heat when you started to wince, but Sirius didn't let up, drinking you down like a mountain spring.
You whined, trying to inch up the table and away from the overstimulation, but Remus wasn't having it, wrapping an arm around your thigh to keep you locked in place.
Sirius finally came up, ending your torment with a wicked a smile on his face. Tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Not done yet, are you, love?” He asked as he moved back up towards your head.
“No, just—fuck,” you panted, slumping back against the table. “I've never…that hard before.”
“No?” Remus asked, placing a final kiss on your inner thigh before straightening.
“A travesty,” Sirius said, standing fully behind you now, his eagerness straining against his jeans just a few inches from your face.
Now it was your turn to lick your lips.
“Surely, we must get a reward for that?” He asked, undoing his belt with one hand, the sliding under your hair to hold the nape of your neck.
“You think so?” You teased.
“I do.” He yanked you across the table, your head dangling just slightly over the edge. “And I know just what I want.”
“So rough,” Remus tsked, tugging you back the other way so your head was fully supported. “You'll break her neck.”
Sirius rolled his eyes, and you giggled. “I'm not going to break her neck—” he tugged you back down, though not quite as far as before. “I'm going to fuck her throat.”
Your hands immediately went to undo his jeans, practically salivating at the thought. Merlin, how many times had you dreamed tasting Sirius Black?
“I was going to tell you ask nicely, but apparently she likes being manhandled,” Remus chuckled, watching as you freed Sirius from his boxers.
“Fucking made for us, Moony,” Sirius moaned, head falling back on his shoulders when you took him fully into your mouth.
You moaned at the heady flavor of him, hot and silken on your tongue. You could already tell it was going to be a concerted effort to take all of him like this, but you were determined to please him.
“Yeah?” Remus tugged you back down, pulling you slightly off of Sirius. You were about to complain when you felt him glide through your heat, a ruthless tease. “Were you made for us, dove?”
You whimpered around Sirius, nails scratching on the table for something to hold. Sirius grabbed up both of your wrists, gripping them in one of his hands against your chest, effectively immobilizing you.
Like that, pinned and at their mercy, Remus finally eased into you, bullying through your clenched cunt into the gooey warmth of your body.
“Fucking saints,” he hissed, sandy hair falling across his brow.
“That’s a good girl,” Sirius praised, withdrawing a bit so you could breathe through the stretch, thighs trembling on either side of Remus' hips. “Take us both so well, don't you, dolly?”
You tried to nod, a strangled moan escaping from your chest when Remus started to move, the two men falling into a punishing but hypnotic rhythm.
They were everywhere, everything. They were twin planets, massive, grasping stars, and you were a speck of space dust, flung helplessly into their orbit.
You didn't stand a fucking chance.
“Going to come for us again?” Remus asked, lifting one of your legs to rest over his shoulder, hitting an entirely new, eye-crossing spot deep in your guts.
“Such a perfect little plaything, aren't you? Being fucked open by men a decade older than you—fucking hell,” he groaned when your throat tightened around him, your whole body winding tight as your orgasm built. Higher, higher, higher—
“Go on dovey. Show us how much you love this—”
You combusted, starlight exploding under your skin, and if Sirius hadn't been painting your throat white, you probably would have screamed loud enough to wake the dead. It ravaged you, scorched you, left you a pile of smoldering ash on the poor, abused table.
Remus released across your stomach, his moans stifled when he sunk his teeth into the meat of your calf, fucking into his clenched fist.
Sirius leaned forward, kissing along your face and neck, his hand massaging your wrists where he'd held them. “Did so good, baby. Fuck me, you're perfection—”
“Dove, are you alright? Did we hurt you?” Remus asked after tugging on some pants, his hand smoothing over your hip, the skin still stained pink from the ferocity of his grip.
“Blimey, look. We damn near broke the table—”
“Padfoot, not now—”
“M’okay,” you giggled, managing to press a kiss to Sirius' jaw, and the two of them relaxed a bit.
They managed to get you wrapped up in a blanket and onto the couch, tucked securely into Remus' chest. Sirius pressed your magically re-heated mug of tea into your hands.
“Please tell me you enjoyed that as much as we did?” Sirius asked, catching your lips in an airy kiss before you could respond.
So instead, you threaded your fingers through his wild hair, drawing him deeper. Trying to pour every ounce of excitement and relief you were feeling into him.
“No going back now,” Remus chuckled, grabbing your chin to turn you toward himself, nudging Sirius away so he could steal a kiss too.
A creak snatched your attention, making the three of you jump and look towards the stairs. But they were still dark and vacant, the air around them undisturbed.
Another creak, then—CRASH!
The table collapsed, the legs buckling entirely under the weight of the tabletop, and fell into a wooden heap on the floor.
Bill came flying down the stairs before any of you could move, wand aloft and still dressed in his pajamas.
“What the fuck?!” He cried, skidding to a halt by the table, his wand arm lowering a bit. Then, he turned to face the three of you, still mostly undressed and looking, well, thoroughly fucked. “Wha—what the fuck?”
