Just keep it clean and don't call me honey.

The rhythmic thuds of your punches and kicks landing on the bag sounded through the empty gym. You had had an absolutely infuriating day at work and took the liberty of escaping early to take out your anger on the punching bag, rather than ISB Supervisor’s skulls. You were concentrating so hard you were unaware of the door opening and a figure approaching. You jumped literally a foot off the ground once you saw Director Krennic’s reflection in the mirror.

“What the fuck!” you exclaimed, your heart pounding. Krennic laughed out loud.

“Excellent situational awareness,” he mocked.

“I’m not expecting to be attacked in the fucking ISB gym, Krennic.” You turned back to the bag.

“You’re letting your left hand drop on the right cross,” Krennic observed. “Rotate your hips more.” You ignored him, but still the Director—and your immediate supervisor—kept criticizing your technique. “If you’re going to abandon me early, I expect better form.”

Finally you decided you’d had enough. You suddenly spun to face him. “Fine then old man. You think you’re so perfect, let’s go.”

Krennic’s eyebrows shot up. “Old!?”

“Yeah, you’re like a thousand. Let’s go,” you repeated, beckoning him tauntingly. “Unless you’re afraid you’re going to break a hip.”

He licked his lips, looking like he was trying not to smile. You were glaring at him defiantly. Krennic closed his eyes and gave a resigned sigh. He flicked his cape from his shoulders and tossed it into a corner. Despite your irritation, you were surprised. For some reason you always assumed the cape was sewn to his uniform. Still without a word, he unbuttoned his tunic and threw it on top of his cape. You did your best to keep your eyes on his face and not survey his tanned and freckled body as he pulled off his gloves and added them to the pile. Finally he kicked off his boots. “You’re sure you want to do this?” he asked.

“Are you sure?” you countered.

He rolled his eyes and you lunged.

Knowing Krennic was left handed, you tried to land most of your attacks to his right, but it didn’t seem to matter—he was equally adept at blocking either side.

You were getting tired and frustrated and your technique was growing sloppy. Taking a gamble, you tried to end things quickly with punch with your left hand and a roundhouse kick, but Krennic caught your foot before the kick could land and jerked you off balance. You fell flat on your back, lights popping in front of your eyes as your head struck the mat. Taking advantage of your disorientation, Krennic pinned you down, holding your wrists by your head and keeping your thighs apart with his knees and shins. “And now you’re in a rather vulnerable position should someone want to take advantage of you.” Furious at losing the sparring match so spectacularly, you tried futilely to extricate yourself. Krennic held firm. You simply glowered.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten I was a Commander in the GAR before I began working on Star Dust,” he said smugly. You gritted your teeth together. Yes, you had forgotten. Even if you had remembered, you would never have expected him to still be so proficient in hand-to-hand combat. Well, in that case, you could think of another way to work out your frustrations—in the form of a consolation prize that seemed a long time coming.

“I don’t know what you mean by ‘take advantage,’ Director,” you said defiantly. “Perhaps you should show me.”

Krennic chuckled. “Do I need to be concerned about your survival instincts?”

You rolled your hips up into his pelvis, feeling his immediate arousal.

“C’mon,” you breathed, your voice and manner softening for the first time.

He didn’t respond. His deep blue eyes searched your face, the first time you had ever seen him indecisive. You were both aware of the magnitude of the line you were about to cross.

You pressed your hips into him again. “Krennic….” Ooh, he felt huge.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” he asked, echoing his earlier question.

“Unless you think you’re going to break your hip,” you quipped again, giving him a teasing smile.

He narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “I’m forty-five! That wasn’t even funny the first time.”

“It’s kinda funny. But lucky for you, I happen to like a silver fox.” You lifted your head off the mat, bringing your lips to meet his. Krennic kissed you back, hard. He let go of your wrists to eagerly push up your sports bra, cupping your exposed breasts in his massive hands.

Hastily you shoved down your leggings and underwear and reached to unbuckle his pants. You slipped your hand into his pants, massaging his rapidly hardening erection. And yes, his cock was every bit as long and thick as you had been fantasizing about.

Krennic meanwhile was playing with your tits, rolling and pinching and pulling your nipples just hard enough to drive you mad with desire. You arched your back up into him, humming your pleasure. He began tracing tantalizing circles around your nipple with his tongue.

“Krennic!” you whimpered. “Need you…”

He slipped two thick fingers into your cunt and smiled at your wetness.

“If I would have known you were this eager to fuck me, I’d have tried it a long time ago,” Krennic said, curling his fingers inside you.

“I thought that was your plan the night we got drinks. I was slightly disappointed.” You tried in vain to keep your voice steady as Krennic began pumping his fingers in and out.

“To be honest, it was at first. But I didn’t want you to think I was trying to take advantage of your emotional state.”

You laughed. “Director Krennic, ever the chilvarous gentleman.”

“Well, I couldn’t risk losing the best assistant I’ve ever had. I am sorry to hear you were disappointed…and apparently absolutely dripping with desire for me.”

“Well then hurry up and fuck me already,” you practically whined, spreading your thighs a little more.

His smile widened. “Well since you’re begging so pathetically…”

He quickly and deftly penetrated your slick folds. You gasped at the thickness of his cock, but you were so pathetically wet he encountered no resistance.

“Oh Krennic!”

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence.

You rolled your eyes. As if his ego needed any more inflating. “You know damn well what.”

He grinned. “But I want to hear you say it,” he whispered, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck.

The emphasis he placed on “you” didn’t go unnoticed. As though he had been told a thousand times, but he only cared what you thought of him. You, his assistant, his subordinate. You, for some reason, of all people, were the only one whose opinion he cared about.

You flashed a grin. “You’re fucking huge, Krennic!”

He didn’t waste any time teasing you. You planted your feet on the floor, angling your hips to take full advantage of his considerable length. Every thrust was perfect, hitting you in just the right spot.

Your kisses were sloppy, needy, desperate—as though trying to make up for the months or maybe even years the two of you could have been fucking, but missed out on.

All too soon you felt the familiar taughtness in your core. Your hands were tracing up his biceps, through his hair, down his back, pressing him closer into you.

“Krennic!” You dug your nails into his back as you came.

You desperately wanted him to continue, but no sooner had you finished then he pulled out. Before you could protest your disappointment at the sudden emptiness, Krennic was on his feet.

“Up” he ordered. But you didn’t. You just got to your knees, looking up at him through your lashes.

You ran your tongue from the tip of his cock to the base, causing him to shudder. You smirked up at him as you closed your lips around him and began sucking in earnest. Normally you didn’t like giving head after sex, but for Krennic you could make an exception.

“Oh fuck!” he groaned.

He threaded his fingers through your hair, urging your head further onto his dick as you increased your pace.

“Wait!” Krennic said suddenly. His fingers still entwined in your hair, he pulled you to your feet. “Not yet…”

Ripping off your pants entirely as Krennic kicked off his own, you stood. Krennic roughly shoved you in front of him and bent you forward. You obediently braced your arms on the mirror and arched your back, keeping your legs straight.

“Fuck, look at you,” Krennic said, admiring your body in the reflection of the mirror. He ran his hands up your torso to your breasts then down your back to your ass and legs. “Fuck,” he repeated, giving your ass a playful smack.

“Don’t just stand there,” you said, trying to appear nonchalant, though internally you extremely pleased with his appraisal. “Do something about it.”

Krennic positioned himself behind you and thrust into you once again.

“Oh, yes, Director!” you gasped breathlessly. As you could have guessed, Krennic’s arousal and enthusiasm increased with your use of his title. He was griping your hips so hard you were convinced you’d have bruises the next day, but you didn’t care.

Krennic’s grunts, your moans, the lewd squelching of Krennic’s dick pounding in and out of your dripping cunt filled the gym now. Was it really less than an hour ago you were envisioning punching Ronan’s face on the bag? And now Director Krennic was fucking you as though the fate of the galaxy—or even Star Dust—depended on it?

Your eyes were closed, trying to savor the pleasure.

“Look at me,” Krennic commanded.

You obeyed, holding his ice blue gaze in the mirror.

“Please!”

“Please what?” he asked as though requesting clarification on a memo you had sent.

“Fuck, Krennic! Please make me cum!” you implored, eyes shut again.

“Look at me,” he directed once more.

Your eyes snapped open in delighted surprise as his fingers found your clit.

“Oh shit!” you gasped. Krennic smirked as your walls fluttered around him. You felt yourself clench around his thick cock again and again as he fucked you through your high. Just as you thought you felt your arms and legs wouldn’t be able to support you any longer, you felt his considerable release.

You both stood panting for a moment, trying to catch your breath. You straightened up, him still inside you. Krennic’s thick fingers wove through your hair again, more gently this time, turning your head to meet his lips.

“Can we do this every time I have a bad day at work?” you breathed.

Krennic chuckled. “Now there’s an idea.”

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The pillow in question had become the bane of River’s life. His mortal enemy. The first night you’d come to stay over, you brought it with you. He didn’t give it much thought, presuming it was just a home comfort. But you held it – cuddled it – all night long. And the next time. And the next. River noticed it then. While you slept peacefully, he’d spend half the night staring at it in the darkness. The situation was absurd to him; there was an entire human being right next to you (who was more than willing to accept a cuddle – he’d rather die than say that aloud, though), and you were cuddling a pillow. “Here it comes.” He’d sigh, and you’d smile sheepishly. “It just helps me sleep, Riv.” You’d try to explain. He accepted it, grudgingly. But he longed for your touch and was at his limit.

As you drifted off to sleep, rolling onto your side to face him, with the pillow creating a barrier that felt as wide as the Thames, River thought this thing must go. A few hours later, River was still awake. The Divorce Pillow was still wedged firmly between you. Using years of field training, he set his plan into motion.

Carefully, slowly, River reached out and took your wrist, lifting it gently. He paused, waited… no reaction. He grasped the damned pillow and began to pull it away from your torso. He felt himself smirking, feeling pleased with himself – but then you shifted. He froze, his lips so tightly pressed together they barely made a line. You hummed, adjusted your head, and settled back down. Letting out a controlled breath, River continued his operation, the pillow almost free.

At last, it was pried away. Biting his lip, he suppressed a victory, and triumphantly dumped it on the floor. He looked at it for a moment, feeling satisfied, then pulled his arms back under the duvet and watched your dimly-lit silhouette. For about ten seconds, you didn’t do anything; but then you frowned, in the strange way sleeping people do. You shifted, whimpered, began searching. For a second, River regretted that he’d done the wrong thing – the pillow was clearly a source of comfort for you, but only for a second.

Your searching hands found him; or rather, latched onto him. One arm snaked around his middle, and he shivered excitedly at the contact. You pulled yourself into him and tucked your face into his shoulder. You hummed and sighed happily, melting into him. River’s brain promptly stopped working and he became stone still. Having got exactly what he’d been wanting this whole time, he now didn’t know what to do. You were curled up, safe and comfortable against his body and he was hit with a rush of affection. Gently, he freed his arms and wrapped them around you, stroking up and down your back softly. It was now his turn to sigh contentedly. River drifted off to sleep.

The morning light creeping around the curtains woke you. As you breathed in deeply, something felt different. Blinking sleepily, you looked up to see River’s resting face close to yours. You looked around the bed, but didn’t let go of River – not that you could; he was holding you securely. You spotted your pillow on the floor. You paused, fighting a smile.

“Help him to my car then,” River said to Roddy, pushing Marcus onto him and breathing a sigh over the weight lifted. As the group split, River stepped towards you, asking the silent question are you cool with this?. You blew out a breath and ran a hand through your hair, but nodded. River’s hand at his side twitched, wanting to reach out and offer some reassurance, but he caught himself. He offered you a quick sympathetic smile instead. “I’ll see you in a bit then.” He said, and you went your separate ways.

River, Shirley, Marcus, and Roddy approached the terraced-house-turned-flat before you did; they looked up at the dark windows. “She’s not here yet,” Shirley groaned “Jesus Christ, Ho, are you actually helping?” She shuffled her feet to better support Marcus. River sniffed at the cold air, pulled a set of keys from his coat pocket and stepped up to the front door. As the key clicked in the lock, Shirley and Marcus exchanged a look. “Um, when did you get a key to her flat?” Shirley asked. As River pushed the door open, he paused and mouthed fuck!. Turning back to them, he touched his nose briefly. “I got it from her before we left. You know, just in case we arrived before her. Which we did, so …” he said as casually as he could, glancing at them quickly before stepping inside. Roddy and Shirley practically dragged Marcus up the stairs as River opened the door to your flat. He fumbled for a light.

Inside, they were met with a tidy hallway. Ahead of them down the corridor was an open door to a double bed. To their right were three more doors; one to the bathroom, one to another bedroom, and the final door to the open-plan living-kitchen-dining area. River led the way to the living room and turned on the light. It was warmly dressed and cosy, and continued the tidiness of the hall. Marcus stepped away from Shirley and Roddy to sit himself down at the small window-seat table with an effortful groan. Shirley looked around at the furniture and the artwork on the walls. “Makes sense.” She nodded approvingly – at her assumption of your character or the interior design could be anyone’s guess. Roddy began to peruse the bookshelves with a scoff every now and then. Marcus held his side as he watched River walk to the bay window and peer out of it, chewing on his lips.

“They’re here.” River announced a few minutes later, stepping away from the window and over to the front door, opening it for you, Louisa and Catherine. You let them in first, glancing at River as you crossed your threshold. “How is Marcus?” Catherine asked. “I’m alive,” came Marcus’ voice from inside the flat. The group in the hallway followed the sound into the living room. It was surreal to see your bloody and exhausted colleagues in your flat, the number of them making the space feel much smaller than it actually was. All of them were trying to act normal, like invading your home was always part of the plan for this evening.

Roddy turned to you and gestured to your books. “I’m learning a lot about you, babes.” He flirted. “Please don’t,” you grimaced “Marcus, what do you need?” “A fucking holiday.” Marcus groaned. “I’ve got a first aid kit; will that do in the meantime?” Not waiting for an answer, you walked into the bathroom. “River? Could you make some tea?” you called out. River moved into the little kitchen space and filled the kettle. As it sputtered into life, he turned, opening a cupboard and pulled out mugs. Then he opened another, from which he gathered tea bags and sugar. Catherine and Louisa shared a wide-eyed look, which Shirley caught them exchange and waved at them enthusiastically. Catching their attention, she began to mime he has a key!, but you came back into the room carrying a green box with a large white plus on it. Distracted now, earning a disappointed huff from Louisa, Shirley followed you as you set it down on the table next to Marcus and began to help clean up her partner. Catherine joined in as well, allowing you to step back and accept a cup of tea from River.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, leaning against the kitchen counter as you took a tiny sip. River stood next to you, bodies so close he felt like he could feel warmth radiating off you. His arm was extended behind you on the counter, propping him upright as he held his mug in his other hand. Louisa eyed your closeness, feigning casualness. It was all very… domestic. River looked at you, the smallest of smiles ghosting his lips as he felt you shuffle a millimetre closer, but he quickly dropped it when he felt Louisa’s stare. He glanced awkwardly at her, and before he could play off the moment, you moved away. “Roddy, seriously, stop picking things up and sit down.” You admonished, taking the trinket from his hands and putting it back on the shelf.

Raking a hand through your hair with a sigh, you looked at River and noticed his bloody face. Tutting, you searched the first aid kit for antiseptic wipes and plasters. “You too, sit down. Come on,” you said to him, nodding to the sofa. Louisa shifted so the two of you could fit. She shot sneaky glances as you gently held River’s injured face to the light and dabbed at his cuts. He occasionally winced, but otherwise kept his gaze on you, his eyes flicking across your face, focusing on your eyes, or your freckles, or the way you pouted when you were concentrating. Shirley, who had left Marcus in Catherine’s far more capable hands, was now restless, and nudged Louisa to continue her important mime. Louisa, now more curious than ever, nodded in understanding and motioned to Shirley to act casual while she thought of a way to expose more information.

Catherine stood back and admired her work. “There.” She said resolutely, handing Marcus a cup of tea. She sat on the opposite chair and looked about the room. “This is a very cosy flat.” “Thank you.” You replied, applying a plaster to River’s forehead. Louisa, sensing an opportunity, rubbed her arms. “Is anyone else feeling cold?” “No. Maybe you’re in a draft?” Catherine offered. “It’s the adrenaline,” Roddy said authoritatively “you’re crashing, babes. That’s what happens to people who aren’t hardened to violence.” Louisa wanted to remind him that before Slough House, she was a field agent, and he was – and still is – primarily stuck behind a computer. But before she could, River absentmindedly reached behind him and fished a blanket out of a box and handed it to her.

Bingo. Shirley narrowed her eyes and pointed at him. “How did you know that was there?” River froze; eyes widening, he looked at you. You could feel yourself beginning to blush. “I saw them earlier.” River offered; there were no takers. “Bullshit. You’ve been here before.” Louisa said. “Yeah, you have a key, and you know where the tea and blankets are.” Shirley finished. The whole room was silent for a few moments. “Wait,” she paused “oh my God …” Louisa finished the thought for her, gesturing between you and River “You two are together!”

The room erupted, everyone talking over one another, pointing at each other and at you. “That’s why you two always show up at work at the same time!” “They’re always buying lunch for each other as well.” “You share an office with them – how did you not realise?” “Do you really think I have nothing better to do than analyse my colleagues making cups of tea for each other all day?” “Duh, you work in Slough House!” “Babes, you’re wasted on a loser like River.” You looked at River, who looked like he wished he’d been shot this evening instead of punched. Red-faced, you quietly reached over and hooked your pinkie finger with his. The contact stirred him, and he blinked as he looked at you and shook his head.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us!” Shirley exclaimed. “Tell you what?” Said Jackson Lamb. Everyone yelped and jumped and turned around to find him peering in the kitchen cupboards. How did he get in?! “These two are in a relationship.” Marcus pointed at you. “Finally worked it out then, have you?” The room stopped. “You knew?” Catherine clarified after a few seconds. Jackson looked at her, offended. “’Course I fucking knew.” “How?” Jackson didn’t answer, but looked at you. “You got any booze?” You shook your head in reply, and he tutted and slammed the cupboard door shut. He glanced around your home. “Christ, it’s like being trapped inside a primary school.”

You sat at your desk on the opposite side of the room, playing with your pen as you pretended not to listen. The rest of your team were head-deep in the Situation. It was being replayed over and over, every action scrutinised, assessments being suggested. You were not allowed to get involved; conflict of interest. Being River’s girlfriend meant you might not be able to make unbiased, objective contributions. This was the third Situation in two years that you were forced to sit out on because they involved River. Stanstead, the Code September, and now this …

You ran a hand down your face and sighed. You worked in the Training and Capability Department in Operational Assessment. The Park called it ‘Lessons Learned’ internally. When anything happened – a Situation – during training exercises, live operations, security incidents, and near-misses, your team evaluated it to death in order to feed it back into training and policy. You trawled through footage, read transcripts, analysed timelines… it sounded boring to many, but you loved it. It was hard missing out on the action right now, through no fault of your own other than your choice in romantic partner.

The door to your left opened and your boss walked in the room. The two of you made eye contact briefly; you saw the expression on his face flick from why aren’t you working? to oh, Cartwright. He walked up to the rest of the team gathered around a large table with their tablets, laptops, and notes. “How’s it all looking so far?” “It’s fucked, Sir, to put it lightly,” one of your colleagues replied “we’re currently tracking all his movements on CCTV to figure out how the fuck he managed to get down to Archives despite being followed by Dogs the entire time.”

Your boss perused over people’s shoulders for a few moments before he turned back to you. “And what do you have to say about all this?” He accused. You held up your hands. “Sir, I had no idea this was gonna happen! How could I? It was a tiger op…” you stated the obvious. Your boss sighed, realising he’d crossed a line. “Right. Sorry. It’s just … the overtime is gonna be a nightmare. Just – make yourself useful on something else, OK?” You nodded as he turned back around. You felt more dirty looks from your colleagues come your way.

“Looks like he was signed in by Duffy. I’m amazed Hobbs let him go down all the way.” Someone said. “Yeah, they’re gonna come by once they’ve released Cartwright,” your boss replied “everyone’s invited to that debrief so we can all hear what the fuck they think they were doing… fucking hell.” River is still here? you wondered with Duffy and Hobbs… God, I would not want to be in a room with them right now, they’d be so pissed off…

Oh God. River.

You shot up from your seat and hastily packed away your things, catching the attention of your team. “Woah, where are you going?” “I shouldn’t be in the room anyway with this going on,” you said, already halfway out the door “I’m going to work elsewhere.” You didn’t wait for permission. Walking briskly, you thought about where the Dogs would be holding River. Probably Downstairs in one of those dingy interrogation rooms. You made a beeline in that direction, jogging down flights of stairs. As you were entering the lobby to make the next storey down, three figures caught your eye. One of them was being held up by the other two, practically dragged, limping. Onlookers parted like the Red Sea as they made their way out the front door. Of course, the punishment would be public. You ran to join them outside just as River was handed back to Jackson Lamb. You couldn’t help but gasp as you saw your boyfriend’s bloody face.

“River!” you called. Duffy and Hobbs looked over their shoulders at you. “Oh look, it’s the girlfriend come to baby him again.” Duffy sneered; you ignored him and walked straight up to River, assessing his injuries seriously. You wanted to reach out and touch him, hug him, fix him right then and there, but you knew River too well; he would find that humiliating. “Are you OK?” you asked. “Don’t worry, he still works. Although even when he isn’t beaten to a pulp I still don’t know how you don’t vomit when fucking him.” Hobbs said meanly. River saw shock flash across your face. Lamb chuckled a “bloody hell, that’s low” to himself. You masked your expression quickly and you turned to shoot a nasty glare at the Dogs. “My boss is waiting for you upstairs to tell him how you let this happen in the first place,” you said calmly, rising above the insult “so why don’t you piss off and head there?” You pulled River away as Duffy and Lamb sent some final scathing remarks at one another.

As soon as you turned the corner, you sighed and ran a hand through your hair, stepping in front of River. “My God, what a prick! Are you alright, Riv?” you asked as you hugged him quickly. River winced a little at the impact, pushing you off without trying to offend as Lamb joined you. He didn’t like having the Slow Horses – least of all Lamb – around you. Although you were all of the same life, the same jobs, he tried to keep work and personal stuff as separate as he could. He was a different person around you, and around his grandfather; you two were just about the only things he truly had for himself.

“Banished from the office, were we?” Lamb asked as he lit a cigarette, his voice signalling that he didn’t actually care about your answer. Something flashed across River’s face; disbelief, guilt. “Were you?” “Of course not… well kind of, yeah. But it’s not important.” You replied. River chewed on his lip and his demeanour became slouchy. Lamb called a taxi. “What are you doing now? Do you want to go to hospital?” You asked. “No.” “OK, idiot.” “Thanks,” River said, holding his ribs “I’ll do whatever Lamb’s doing. I’m fine.” you smiled despite worrying about him.  “Alright, yeah. I’m sure he wants to chew your ear off about what’s happened today… as if you haven’t had enough.” You said with a laugh, which River didn’t share. You reached out to move some blood-stained hair, but he dodged your hand. He was stropping. You sighed.

“Right, well, I’ll leave you to it then. I’m gonna go to Slough House.” “What? Slough House? Why are you going there?” River asked in a panicked tone. “Well I can’t go back to Lessons Learned.” “Yeah, but why Slough House? Why not a hot desk or a library?” River asked desperately. He really didn’t want you to go there, not without him, where he couldn’t guard you from his colleagues. You’d visited Slough House once before, that was humiliating enough for him. You shrugged. “The mood is very miserable at the Park right now, and I don’t think I can deal with everyone bitching behind my back.” “Why would they…?” River trailed off. You turned to Lamb. “That alright with you?” “It’s arguably more miserable back at the office, but be my guest.” Lamb said as he crushed his cigarette and got into the taxi. You gave River a quick and gentle kiss; he still looked dejected. You took his key. “Go with Lamb. Get yourself cleaned up. I’ll see you later. I love you.”

About an hour later, after you’d settled yourself in among the boxes surrounding River and Louisa’s desks (masterfully dodging Roddy Ho), they came trudging in. Both of them were frowning and mopey. “Oh no. What happened?” you asked as you stood up. Louisa dropped into her chair with an ‘oof’. River stayed standing, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t read. “We went to Chieftain, only to find that Spider works there and set River up to break into the Park this morning.” Louisa answered. “Oh no,” you mumbled, looking at River. “Yeah,” Louisa said shortly “it was so humiliating.” “Let me make you guys a cup of tea.” You offered. “No.” River spoke out. “No?” “Come with me.” He turned and left the room, making you and Louisa look at each other and shrug confusedly. You followed River, who led you back outside, through the sticky front door, and stopped on the staircase. He ran a hand down his still slightly bloody face. His eyes were starting to turn dark purple. He looked tired.

“What’s wrong?” “What wrong? You’ve–” River broke off to laugh sarcastically “don’t play dumb. You know exactly what’s wrong.” You swallowed. “OK … so Spider used you. He manipulated you to break into the Park, which has caused a tsunami of internal affairs, and probably hasn’t helped in your efforts to come back to the Park,” you said calmly, although River still winced. You reached out and cupped his face. “Riv, you weren’t to know this was happening. You were trying to save Catherine’s life. In the grand scheme of things, there’s much worse things you could do.” “Yeah well, you missed another part.” “What?” “You missed the part,” River repeated “about you being embarrassed about me.” Your mouth fell open.

“What? No I–” “Oh please don’t act like you’re not! I’ve heard it all day: ‘oh, come to baby your boyfriend?’, ‘oh, banished from the office, are we?’” River imitated. “I didn’t say those things.” You tried to interject. “No, but you did say ‘I don’t think I can deal with everyone bitching behind my back’. Just admit that you’re embarrassed. And you’ve come to Slough House to make it really obvious how pissed off you are at me.” “Hold on just a second, River, you’re being unfair!” You said aghast. He didn’t make eye contact with you, so you stepped closer to try and catch him. “Can I state my case?” River didn’t say anything, but made a gesture that allowed you permission to continue.

“First of all, I was not banished from Lessons Learned. The Situation happens to involve you, and you happen to be my boyfriend. That’s a conflict of interest – I’m not allowed to work on it. And that’s common practice everywhere River, not just at the Park. And secondly, if you didn’t want me to come to Slough House, you should’ve been clearer. But I am sorry if I’ve crossed a boundary. I do happen to like your office,” River gave you an incredulous look “yes it’s dingy… and it’s got Roddy Ho in it, but at least you aren’t surrounded by pretentious backstabbers.”

You stepped forward again to reach out and cup River’s face. You gave him a small but certain kiss. “Thirdly, I am not embarrassed by you. I never have been.” River searched your face for any signal of a lie or doubt. He found none. “Never?” He asked, like a child. You smiled and moved your hands to adjust his jacket on his shoulders. “Never. I’m sorry you took my bitching complaint that way, it was not directed to you at all, but rather everyone else. People can’t understand why I still date you after everything. They send me dirty glances and make remarks, but I don’t care. They’ll never understand why I love you, so they can go and fuck themselves for all I care.” “People send you dirty glances?” River asked, his eyebrows stitching together in a frown. “Mostly only when they remember when we’re together, or when it impacts them – like this morning. Mostly they’re just pissed off at the unexpected overtime.” “I’m sorry I make work like that for you. Why didn’t you tell me?” “Because I knew it would bother you,” you said with a heartfelt smile “but I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself. It’s alright.” Your reassurance didn’t seem to improve his mood. He had not returned any affection yet.

The only reason you pick boxing is because you find a Groupon for it. You've been meaning to develop a hobby, something to distract you from endless research papers and grading AI generated homework but grad school barely pays and apparently every hobby in Austin requires a two-hundred dollar a month commitment and your stipend isn't so generous. So when you come across a Groupon for six boxing lessons you think, alright. How bad could it be? At the worst, you suck but you only pay ten dollars a class and at the best, you might even be good at it.

You park in the mostly empty lot, and glance around. It's a strip mall but not quite. There's a frozen yogurt place with a flickering OPEN sign and a bored looking teenager inside, mindlessly scrolling on their phone. To its right, there's a laundromat with whirring machines and the smell of detergent seeping through the crack of the entrance. On its other side is Miller's Boxing Club. The sign looks freshly painted, dark red letters against a starch white board. You can't really see inside it, the lights too dim in the already grey weather. You grab your gym bag and make your way towards the door, your heart thumping against your chest. You're not sure what to expect with the voucher having no details about who would be your instructor. You hadn't thought to ask when you had booked your first session online either. You can't back out now so you steady yourself, and then pull the door open. A bell dings as you enter. At the counter, is a man with biceps that reflect all the boxing he probably does. He looks up as you make your way further inside, a pair of glasses perched on his strong nose. He looks like he might be in his late thirties, at most early forties. His beard and his hair are dark brown and he has a strong jaw. It's a juxtaposition to his mouth, which looks soft and pink. He's handsome, you think and that does nothing to ease your nerves.

"Hello," you say, voice croaky from disuse. You haven't spoken to anyone today, now that you come to think of it. You had spent the whole day in your office working on a paper, only leaving when you knew you had to head out to make it in time to be here. "I'm, uh, here for my first session."

"Right," the man says, accent drawling. "You must be —" he adds, saying your name and you nod, giving him a polite smile.

"I'm Joel," he introduces. "I'll be trainin' you. I see from your intake form that you've never boxed before."

"Yeah," you say. "Wanted to try something new, I suppose."

Joel nods, looking down at the computer screen. His expression is serious as he types something and you watch his broad hands, how he types with a single finger. You look away, taking in the gym. There's a boxing ring in the middle, elevated above the ground. There are also sections quartered off with mats on the floor and a shelf of dumbbells and barbells.

"I'll just need to put your card in the system so I can charge you," Joel says and you nod. You reach into your bag, pulling out your wallet and the printed out coupon.

"I also have this," you say, gesturing to the slightly crumpled paper. "I wasn't sure if you actually needed the coupon but better safe than sorry, right?"

Your nerves have begun to ease. While Joel doesn't seem like the friendliest person, he also doesn't seem like he'd be rude or condescending. At least you hope not. You watch his brows furrow as he reads the paper before he looks up at you, a confused expression on his face.

"I don't know what this is," Joel says and whatever nerves have dissipated come back in full force.

"It's a Groupon," you say and you might as well have spoken a different language based on the lack of recognition on Joel's face. "It's, um, it's a coupon. It says that this boxing gym was having a special. Six classes for sixty-five percent off."

"Think you might be mistaken," Joel says, brows still furrowed. "There ain't anythin' like that here."

You open your mouth and then close it, unsure of what to say. What can you say? That you had triple checked the posting and then some? That you had made sure not once or twice but thrice, that you had picked the right location? If the man that runs the place is telling you you're mistaken, then maybe you are. You're about to apologize for the trouble and pay sixty-five dollars for a class you can't afford when someone beats you to it.

"Dad!" a voice says, and then a young girl comes out of what you assume is the office. Her curly hair is pulled into two braids and her eyes are hazel compared to Joel's brown, but they're just as big as his. "The Groupon's valid."

You watch as Joel looks to his left, his eyes falling on her. He reaches up, running a hand through his wavy brown hair. His bicep flexes as he does it and you shift your gaze, focusing on the girl.

"Still don't know what that is," Joel says and the girl huffs, rolling her eyes. She looks at you with an expression like can you believe this guy and it makes your mouth twitch in a smile.

"It's a thing, dad," she says. "Uncle Tommy said it'd be good for business so I helped him set it up."

"Tommy said runnin' six private sessions for ten bucks each would be good for business?" Joel asks and you can feel something like embarrassment settle in your gut. It's the implication of it, that you might be cheaping out, that has you feeling this way. Technically you are, but you're a grad student on a stipend. It's not like there's an abundance of money. Plus, Groupons are completely normal. It's not your fault that Joel, apparently, has never needed a coupon for a workout class before.

"Yes, dad," the girl says, sounding exasperated. "He said you wouldn't agree to it which is why we didn't tell you. It brings people in. People who've never done this before but might want to after."

She pointedly looks at you and Joel follows her gaze, his dark eyes settling on you.

"Right," Joel says, still sounding unconvinced.

"I can just leave —" you start to say but the girl shakes her head.

"No!" she says. "You don't have to. Dad'll do it. Right?"

Joel nods, but he doesn't look pleased.

"Sure," Joel says. "You need to change or anythin' or are we good to start?"

You look down at your leggings and baggy tee before meeting Joel's eyes. He's still watching you. His gaze is unwavering and you've never been one for eye contact.

"I'm ready," you say and he nods. He takes his glasses off before he stands up. He's even bigger now, tall and broad everywhere. You glance at his daughter and there's a pleased smile on her face.

"Go do your homework, kiddo," Joel says and she groans.

"Fine," she says. She looks at you now, giving you a gentle smile. "Good luck. I'm Sarah, by the way."

You smile back, feeling your nerves settle. She seems sweet and surely Joel had some hand at that, so perhaps your initial analysis of him was correct — not friendly but definitely not going to point and laugh when you inevitably slip and fall or something.

"Nice to meet you Sarah," you say. You tell her your own name and she grins before bounding off, back into the office. Joel clears his throat and you look back at him. He cocks his head towards the gym and then turns around. You follow, assuming that's what he means for you to do. Unsurprisingly, he does not immediately lead you to the ring. Instead, he leads you to a corner of the gym. He turns around to face you, and you stand up straighter, wondering if he's doing some sort of internal assessment.

"So you've never boxed before," Joel says and you nod even though it isn't a question.

"Guilty," you say and Joel doesn't laugh but his mouth does twitch in an almost smile.

"We'll start with a warm up," Joel says. He reaches for something on a shelf before handing it to you. It's a jump rope.

"You know how to jump rope?" Joel asks and you nod. "Okay, five minutes of this and then we'll do some dynamic stretchin' before we begin. Sound okay?"

You nod. He stares at you expectantly.

"Right," you say. "I'll just start then."

You begin to jump rope and twenty seconds in and you realize that maybe it's been too long since you've done active cardio. You mostly go on long walks when you need to wind down and sometimes you'll do a yoga video on YouTube if you have the time and energy. A minute in, you have to take a break, already feeling sweat bead at your forehead.

"Sorry," you tell Joel, who isn't watching you but instead looking for something in a cupboard. "Haven't done this since I was twelve."

"S'okay," Joel says, looking back at you. "Just do what you can. I'll let you know when your five minutes is up."

His reassurance helps you relax. You were expecting some sort of disappointment or maybe Joel telling you to buck up and keep going. So it's nice that he sort of lets you be. You huff your way through the next four minutes, lungs burning a bit when Joel lets you know that it's time. He walks you through some stretches which feel a lot more familiar, almost like the yoga videos you do. Finally, you get to the boxing part and there's a buzz of excitement inside of you. You've always loved learning new things. It's part of the reason why you went to grad school.

"We'll start off with your stance. Balance is just as important as bein' able to throw a punch," Joel says, coming to stand in front of you.

"That makes sense," you say. "How do you want me?"

You only realize what you've said once the words leave your mouth and your eyes widen. You can feel your ears burn and when you look at Joel, his mouth twitches before he schools his features into something neutral.

"Keep your feet shoulder width apart," he instructs. "Like this."

He demonstrates and you watch before you try it yourself. Joel looks at your stance, carefully taking it in before he nods.

"S'important to stand your ground," he says. "If you lock your knees straight it gives your opponent the chance to knock you over. Bend them a bit."

You follow his words, lowering your stance a bit.

"Good," he murmurs, circling you. You ignore the low tone of his voice, focusing on staying balanced. "Now take a step back with your left foot. Just a small one."

You do, raising your heels when he tells you to do so.

"How's that feel?" he asks and you shrug.

"Sorta unnatural," you say, and to your surprise, he huffs a laugh through his nose.

"Mhm," he says. "It'll take you a bit to get used to it but the goal of it is that you're light on your feet. It'll help you to dodge and move around without actually bein' able to run away."

"Oh," you say, your stomach churning. "So, I'm going to fight people then?"

"At some point in this, we'll spar," Joel corrects. "Just to make sure you're gettin' what you're supposed to do. It's nothin' violent and I'll be gentle with you. We'll go real slow at first."

"Oh," you say again, ignoring the way your mind immediately latches onto his words and the less appropriate contexts he might use them in. "That seems more reasonable."

"Sure is," Joel says. "Now I want you to move back and forth on your toes. Just in place."

You do, trying not to feel stupid. When you signed up for boxing, you sort of expected to go straight into throwing punches and dodging things. Not light jogging in place like a rocking horse.

"Like this?" you ask and Joel tuts.

"No," he says. "You're puttin' too much pressure on your toes. You need to balance on the front half o' your foot. It's not tip-toein'."

Joel comes to stand in front of you. You stop your movement, and watch as he takes his stance. He transforms when he does it, his face pulling into something focused. He straightens his torso, bending his knees and moving back and forth. You look at his feet, watching how he places them. You try again, and he stops demonstrating, watching you.

"Better," he says and the praise feels good even if it isn't all that much. "Now bring your arms up, keep your elbows tucked towards you."

You follow suit.

"This is how you protect yourself," Joel instructs. "In our next session, I'll teach you how to jab. For now, I want you to practice movin' front and back for a bit. I'm goin' to observe and then I'll let you know when to switch to left to right. It's the same foot movements, you're just movin' your stance a bit to make your feet further apart. I'll show you when we get there."

And he does. You and Joel spend the next thirty minutes moving forwards and backwards and then left and right. It feels silly at first but by the end of it, you find yourself more sure of your stance. You feel less stiff too. Joel watches you through it, correcting you gently with his words. By the end of it, you're out of breath but more confident. You can feel your heart beating in your chest and sweat gathering at the nape of your neck, where your hair is gathered into a low bun.

"Good," Joel says. "You're movin' more fluidly, we can continue workin' on it next week. I'm goin' to teach you how to wrap your hands now. Part of boxin' is wearin' the gloves but you still have to protect them. The gloves can only do so much."

"Right," you say. You wonder if now might be a good time to mention that you've never broken a bone in your body and because it's never happened in your twenty-seven years of living, you sort of have an irrational fear of it. You look up at him instead, waiting for his next instruction. He picks up a roll of what looks like gauze, his brows furrowed as he unravels the end. Then, his singular focus is back on you.

"I'll wrap your right hand to show you," Joel says. "S'that alright with you?"

You nod, unsure why he's asking. So far, he's spent the whole session telling you what to do with no permission. It's only when he takes a step forward and takes your right wrist in his hand, do you understand what he was really asking permission for. To touch you. His hand dwarfs your own, and you can feel the callouses on them as he turns your hand over in his.

"Do you need me to hold it in any specific way?" you ask, mostly to distract yourself from his warm palm. He's standing closer to you now. So close that you can see the brown of his eyes so clearly.

"Nah," Joel says. "Just need you to flex your fingers slightly, not too rigid. I still need to be able to move 'em around."

"Okay," you say. "Just let me know if I'm doing anything wrong."

Joel hums as he nods.

"You start by puttin' your thumb through this loop here," he says as he moves the band over your thumb. He's gentle as he adjusts the fabric and you make sure not to keep your fingers too flexed. "Then we have to wrap your wrist. I'll do three times since you're not goin' to be fightin' anyone."

You watch as he wraps your wrist. His knuckles are slightly swollen, you note. Likely from all the punching he must have to do.

"How's that feel?" Joel asks and you move your wrist around.

"Sort of stiff," you say honestly and Joel's mouth twitches in an almost smile.

"That's expected," he says. "The wrist wrappin' is for support. You'll get used to how it feels and we can adjust as we go along."

"Now we're gonna do your knuckles," Joel says, and he talks through how to wrap the back of your hand. When he gets to your fingers, he's even gentler in his movements. He parts them slowly, asking you to flex them more. You try to memorize how he loops the muslin material between your fingers. When he gets to your thumb, he pauses.

"Your thumb's the most important," he instructs, and is it you or did his voice get lower? You look up from his hand to meet his eyes, his gaze already on you. "You have to make sure you're securin' it well so it doesn't bend when you're sparrin' or throwin' a punch. Broken thumbs are no fun for anyone."

"Agreed," you say. The last five minutes have been far too intimate and Joel is far too handsome for you to be normal about it. You can feel your ears go hot, and you clear your throat. "So how do I protect my thumb?"

"This might shock you but you're goin' to have to wrap it," Joel says and it takes you a second to realize he's made a joke. A laugh slips out of you and Joel smiles now, a real thing. He has dimples.

"Wrap it twice at least, but I recommend three times," Joel says as he takes your hand and does exactly that. "It might feel weird at first but I'll get you used to it. Once you're done with the thumb, you have to secure the wrappin' around your wrist again. Just like this."

He presses the hook and loop strap together, fastening the wrapping to your hand. You flex and are surprised to find that you can still move your knuckles fairly well. You flex your palm into a punch, tucking your thumb against your palm.

"It's not as bad as I thought it would be," you say, looking up at Joel with a smile. He nods but he's reaching for your hand. You let him take it.

"We'll get to this but never tuck your thumb into your palm," he says, gently prying your fingers apart. You can feel the heat of his skin even through the many, many layers of fabric. "S'how you break it. Too much force and you'll pull it right out of the socket."

You watch as he tucks your fingers, pressing them tightly into your palm. You try not to think of how much bigger his hand is compared to yours, his fingers long and thick and his palm broad and bruised. Then he places your thumb on the outside, pressing it down so it's against the knuckle of your index finger. His touch is so gentle compared to what he's showing you to do.

"How's that feel?" he murmurs and you look up at him, meeting his gaze. His thumb is still on your own, but there's no pressure now.

"Good," you say, nodding. His eyes trace over your face before he nods. He lets go of your hand and takes a step back.

"Good," he echoes. "That's all for today."

"Oh," you say. You glance at the clock and to your surprise, it's been an hour.

"The next five sessions will be a bit longer, we're lookin' at closer to an hour and a half," Joel says and you nod.

"I saw that on the website," you say. "Do I just continue making bookings online?"

"You could," Joel says but you can tell it's not his preference with the way his brows furrow.

"Or we could just settle on a day and time for now. I can let you know if there are any changes to my schedule and you can do the same," you say and you watch the tense lines of his forehead relax.

"Thank you," he says. "The bookin' system's new and I ain't the biggest fan of it. Not so great with technology but my brother insists on it."

You smile, nodding. He waits for you to unwrap your hand, and once you're done, you hand him the band of cloth. He places it on the bench and leads you to the front desk.

"So every Thursday at 5 pm," Joel says and you nod. You watch him slip his glasses on and type something into the computer. "Alright. I have you in the calendar."

"Thank you," you say, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. "I'll see you next week then."

"See you then," Joel says. He's watching you intently, brows furrowed. You're not sure you can get used to his singular focus. You wonder if the other people he trains are ever momentarily distracted by his big, brown eyes or his pouted mouth.

When you get into your car, you let out a sigh. It's been way too long since you've been with anyone, let alone been attracted to them and now you're flustered by your boxing instructor. You spend the drive home thinking of what you can scrounge up for dinner to distract you from Joel's big hands and his rather quiet, steady demeanour. You're pretty sure you have mushrooms in your fridge and you always have a jar of pasta sauce so you could make something akin to pasta, granted that'll only be possible if you have actual pasta which is something you always run out of. It's just as you pull into your parking spot, that your phone buzzes. You look down at the cracked screen and your brows furrow. It's from an unknown number.

You pull up the hand brake and then grab your phone, unlocking it quickly. You open the text notification.

[(512)-110-0932, 6:13 pm]: This is Joel Miller from the boxing gym. I got your number from your intake form. If there are any changes to your schedule, you can just message me here and we can figure it out. - Joel

You laugh out loud. Of course Joel is the type of man that signs off his texts even if he's given you his full name in the actual body of it. You save his number under Joel (Miller Boxing Club) before you reply.

[You, 6:15 pm]: Sounds good, thanks Joel! Have a good night.

He replies almost immediately.

[Joel (Miller Boxing Club), 6:15 pm]: 👍 You too. - Joel

he could happily spend hours on end alternating between kneading them in his rough hands and sucking your nipples into his wet mouth, tracing them teasingly with his tongue.

he bought various different bras in different colours and designs simply because he loves to see them ‘all dolled up’. it made you embarrassed at times. your cheeks would flush a soft pink as you lay out in front of him, his eyes locked onto your chest exclusively. “they’re so beautiful, sweetheart. they’re looking so pretty in their lace.” he cooed, groping them tenderly over the fabric.

“j- jack.” you flushed, hiding your bright face behind your hands. “what, baby? i’m admiring you.” he stated, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before turning his attention to your breasts.

instead of undoing the clasp, he opted to pull the cups down and let them spill free. jack groaned at the sight he’d seen a million times yet would never get tired of. “i’m gonna give them the attention they deserve.” he promised before leaning down to suckle on your right breast, squeezing the other with his free hand.

you whined, hands reaching to grasp at the greying hair on his head. “j- jack, fuck.” you gasped. this was a familiar game you both played. jack sucking on your tits, pleasuring himself more than you, and you getting lulled into a steady stream of bliss.

you could feel jacks smile growing on you as you yawned. “sleepy, huh?” he murmured, pulling off your swollen nipple to meet your eyes. you shook your head, rubbing your eyes with a fist. “‘s okay, angel. you can sleep. i’ve gotcha.” he reassured softly. this is always how it went. you hummed groggily, nestling into the sheets as jack resumed his place on your chest.

“Seriously?” He looked exasperated but amused by your pleading as you wiggled on his lap. “You want it that bad?”

“Yes,” you held up the small, silver hoop, turning it to let the low light of his living room catch it and throw sparks of light across his face. You’d chosen silver on purpose, wanting it to match his hair and stubble. “Just for a bit. Wanna see it on you.”

He sighed, his hands squeezing your hips. He really didn’t understand your fascination with this, but he really was a push over when it came to you.

“Fine,” you squealed with joy, but he caught your wrist before you could lunge for his ear. “But I’m taking it out after an hour. I’m not wearing it full time anymore. I’m 50, not 25, sweetheart.”

You were pretty confident you could get him to cave and wear it for you logner, but you didn’t argue.

“Can I put it in now?”

Jack smirked a little, resisting the urge to make a joke.

“Yeah, baby,” he turned his head, giving you the space to work. He dropped your wrist, both of his hands returning to your hips. “You can.”

You could see the small, nearly invisible hole where the earring would go. Keeping your touches light, you traced from the top of the cartilage down to the lobe with one finger. Beneath you, you could feel Jack shudder.

Interesting.

Unclasping the hoop, you took the lobe between two of your fingers, holding it steady. His breathing was picking up and his fingers were digging into your sides. You slowly slid the post of the hoop through his ear, leaning in close and letting your breath ghost over the shell of his ear.

You could feel him getting hard between your legs, and, subconsciously, his hands were starting to drag your hips over his. Leaning into it, you ground down on him as you closed the hinge, securing the little earring in place.

“So pretty,” you murmured as you sat back to admire him. Jack was flushed, eyes wide and pupils blown as he turned to look up at you. The shining glint of silver in his ear had your walls clenching and feeling much too empty.

“This what you wanted?” Jack pushed his hips up into yours, pulling you down against the his hard cock.

“No, this is,” your hands fell to the waistband of his sweats, pushing the fabric down just enough to free his length. You pumped him once, gathering the little drops of fluid already leaking from his head and spreading it down the rest of him. He sucked in a hard breath, his own hands shifting down to where your underwear barely kept you covered. 

“You wanna ride me while I look like a pirate, pretty girl? S’that what you’re into?”

You laughed, lifting your hips to allow him to yank your underwear to the side. His fingers dipped through your slit, finding you more than wet enough to take him without any prep.

“Well, you’ve already got the peg leg. You should probably just lean into your new aesthetic.”

Jack didn’t seem to think you were all that funny. His hand came down against your ass, jolting you forward and into him as you gasped.

“You gonna keep talking or are you solve the little problem you created?” He moved you again, lifting you up until the tip of his cock was aligned with your entrance. You slid down slowly, gasping as he stretched you around him.

“I don’t think I’d call it little,” you bit back a moan as you took him fully, settling down into his lap. Your hips rocked back and forth in small, stuttering grinds as you got used to him. “I’d say it’s pretty sizable.”

“Oh yeah?” Jack looked smug, like he always did when he first entered you. No matter how many times the two of you fucked, you always needed a moment to get used to the way he stretched you, more than any partner had before.

“Mhm,” you started rolling your hips, rising an inch or two up off him before sinking down and grinding your clit against him. Your hand twisted in his hair, pulling his head to the side so you could stare at the little sliver hoop. “We gotta get you an eyepatch. Really complete the look.”

“Will you shut up?” Jack slapped your ass again before using his hold on your hips to start moving you harder against him. 

Your teeth were itching for something to bite down on as Jack manipulated your body, driving deep into you. 

With your craving and just how tantalizing that little piece of jewelry looked, it was inevitable that you leaned forwards and grasped the thin metal with your teeth.

“Oh fuck!”

Jack’s hips jumped up, slamming into yours and forcing a cry from your lips, but you held on. Gently, you worked the lobe of his ear between your teeth, letting your tongue swipe over the soft skin and cold metal. 

He was working you harder, dragging you down against him and thrusting up into you with force you hadn’t seen from him before. Every collision of his hips against yours sent little moans flying from your mouth. They were muffled slightly by his flesh still trapped by your teeth, but every sound went straight from you and into his ear.

“Fuck,” Jack was panting, his head turned and ear presented to you like a prize. “Fuck you sound so good, feel so good. Keep doing that.”

You had no intention of stopping, but you did move. You released the lobe of his ear, letting your tongue swipe over the cartilage as you let your pants and whines out, not holding any back anymore.

When Jack’s fingers found your clit, circling the little bud faster than you were ready for, your whole body jerked. Your teeth bit down on the shell of his ear. A loud moan ripped out of you as Jack tugged you back down on him in response, bullying his cock fully inside you.

His whole body shook as the first warm spurts of his release filled you, seeping out around his cock and pooling in his lap. He didn’t stop his fingers, though, keeping up the pace and pushing you over the edge.

Your teeth let go as you came, not wanting to bite him too hard in your haze, but your head didn’t move. You kept it right there next to his ear, letting him hear every moan and whine and gasp as you came.

You clenched hard around him, rolling your hips and grinding between his fingers and his hard length, still filling you up. Your toes curled as the strongest waves passed through you, making your head pleasantly fuzzy.

When your orgasm had passed, you slumped against him, head buried in his shoulder and your hands weakly pushing his still circling fingers away from your core. He relented, moving his soaking fingers away and cradling you in his arms as the two of you panted and tried to recover.

“We should do that again,” your voice was almost completely muffled by his shirt.

“Do what again?”

“Dress you up like a pirate.”

Jack laughed, pulling your head away from him so he could look you in the eyes. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

“I didn’t know that was something you’d be into, baby.” 

You pouted, reaching out to tug at the hoop still in his ear. To your delight, his breathing hitched and the softening length of his cock, still buried deep inside you, twitched.

“And I didn’t know you’d be so into having your ears played with,” you ground down against him, swiveling your hips and fiddling with the earring between your fingers. Jack gasped, gritting his teeth as his cock began to fill out once again. “Guess this means you’ll have to keep wearing this pretty little hoop.”

“Not a chance, you evil little minx,” he held your hips still.

“Really?” You tugged again, thoroughly enjoying the way his eyes slid shut and his hips gave an aborted little thrust. 

You leaned forward again, until your lips were right next to the shell of his ear. Your tongue darted out, tracing over the ridges. He shuddered again and you could feel just how hard he was already.

You twisted slightly in front of the mirror, reaching behind your back and trying to catch the zipper between your fingers, only for it to slip away every single time. You tried again, adjusting your position, stretching a little further, letting out a sigh when it still refused to move.

And Jack just watched.

You could see him in the reflection, standing by the doorway in his suit with the most amused expression on his face, making absolutely no attempt to offer his help despite watching you struggle for the past few minutes.

“You know,” you said eventually, still staring at him through the mirror, “most people would probably help instead of just standing there.”

His mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “I was curious how long you were going to keep pretending you had it handled.”

You paused, slowly turning your head enough to give him a look, “I did have it handled.”

Jack’s eyes flicked towards the zipper that was still very clearly not done before returning to yours. “Right.”

The dry response earned him an eye roll, though you couldn’t hide the small smile that followed. “Jack, can you just help me?”

That was apparently all he was waiting for. He pushed away from the doorway and walked over, still looking far too pleased with himself as he stopped behind you. “I was wondering when you’d ask.”

“Don’t make this worse,” you warned, catching his expression through the mirror.

“I haven’t even done anything.”

“You’re already being annoying.”

“That’s usually how it starts.”

You shook your head, but you were smiling as his fingers finally found the zipper. It took him seconds to fix something you’d spent several minutes fighting with, the metal sliding smoothly into place while his hand lingered against your back afterwards.

“There,” he murmured, his eyes meeting yours through the reflection.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, smoothing the dress down before letting out a relieved breath, “see? That wasn’t so hard.”

“No,” Jack agreed, though he made no move to step away. Instead, his hand remained resting against your back, his attention shifting from the zipper to you. “It wasn’t.”

You caught the look on his face almost immediately.

“Jack,” you said, already suspicious as you met his eyes in the mirror. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

That only made the corner of his mouth lift, “I was just thinking I had better plans for tonight.”

You let out a quiet laugh because you knew exactly where this was going. “We have a reservation.”

“I know.”

“And we’re already late.”

“We’re always late.”

“Because of you.”

He looked mildly offended at that, even though you both knew it wasn’t entirely untrue. “That’s a very unfair accusation.”

“You were the one telling me all week not to make us late.”

“I know,” he admitted, his hand sliding from your back to your waist as he stepped a little closer. “Then you walked out wearing this.”

You tried to keep a straight face, shaking your head, but the smile gave you away, “you’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve heard that before.” He said as his lips brushed against your neck, slow enough that you immediately forgot about the fact you were supposed to be leaving.

“Jack…”

“What?” he asked, completely innocent despite the fact his hand was still resting comfortably at your waist.

“We have to go.”

He sighed like you had just delivered the worst news imaginable, though the amusement in his expression ruined any attempt at looking disappointed. “I know.”

“Then why are you still standing here?”

“Because,” he admitted, looking at you through the mirror again, “I think my original plans were better.”

You laughed softly, turning around to face him properly, “your original plans being?”

“Keeping you here.”

“Not happening.”

He gave you a look like he was genuinely considering arguing, “yyou’re very difficult to persuade.”

“And you’re very dramatic.”

“Maybe.” He leaned down, pressing one last kiss against your neck before finally stepping away.

“Fine,” Jack muttered, reaching for his keys with a dramatic sigh as if leaving the room was some great sacrifice. “We’ll go be responsible adults.”

You smiled, already knowing he wasn’t nearly as reluctant as he was pretending.

“But,” he added, slipping his keys into his pocket as he glanced back at you, “the second we get home, I’m picking up where I left off.”

A laugh escaped you as you shook your head, walking past him towards the door. “Jack.”

“What?” he asked, following after you with an innocent look that neither of you believed. “I’m just making sure you know the plan.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Six months after calling off your engagement, you and Jack haven’t told a soul. Not because you’re ashamed, but because neither of you know how to explain something that wasn’t anyone’s fault.

No screaming, no cheating, no betrayal, just two exhausted ER doctors who loved each other enough to know they were slowly suffocating one another beneath endless shifts, grief, and the impossible pace of the hospital.

Breaking off the engagement felt almost merciful. You packed away the ring. Moved into separate apartments. Started carefully avoiding being alone together at work.

Everyone simply assumed they were still together. Then Dana announces an annual staff getaway. A huge lake house, one weekend, everyone’s invited.

Before either of you can say anything-

“Oh good,” Mel says. “Jack and Y/N can take the downstairs king.”

Too late. Correcting everyone now would mean answering dozens of uncomfortable questions. So you agree to pretend for the weekend.

Sharing a room again feels strangely familiar. His duffel lands beside yours. He still instinctively plugs your phone charger in before his own. You automatically set his toothbrush beside yours in the bathroom before realizing what you’ve done. Neither of you say anything.

That first night is painfully quiet. You lie on opposite edges of the bed staring at the ceiling while rain taps against the window.

The silence somehow hurts more than fighting ever did.

—

Pretending gets easier.

Maybe too easy.

Jack still pours your coffee exactly the way you like it. You still steal bites off his breakfast plate. Everyone smiles knowingly. Because that’s just you and Jack. Nobody notices you’re acting.

Jack starts remembering why he fell in love with you. Not because of any grand romantic moments. Because you laugh with your whole body. Because you hum while cooking. Because you still absentmindedly fix his crooked collar.

Meanwhile, you notice all the little things he’d never stopped doing. Making sure you have sunscreen. Bringing you a blanket when you fall asleep reading. Taking the cold side of the bed without thinking because he knows you get chilly.

One evening you’re sitting on the dock watching the sunset. Your shoulders brush. Neither of you move away.

—

The others decide to play ridiculous party games.

One challenge:

“Couples answer questions about each other.”

Jack and you panic. Except, you know every answer.

Favorite snack, coffee order, biggest fear, first pet, childhood dream, the room erupts with cheers every time you answer in perfect sync.

Dana laughs. “You two are disgustingly in love.”

Jack can’t even fake a laugh. Because hearing it hurts.

That night everyone’s gathered in the living room, watching some movie Robby put on the massive TV. You fall asleep against Jack without meaning to. He doesn’t move for over an hour.

Everyone notices. Nobody says anything.

Later, when he carries you upstairs because you refuse to wake up, it feels exactly like old times.

Except this time he knows you aren’t his anymore.

—

The pretending begins to crack.

You’re laughing too naturally, touching too often. Looking at each other when something funny happens.

One afternoon someone finds an old engagement photo saved as Jack’s lock screen.

“...Jack?”

Silence.

Finally:

“We’re... not actually together.”

The room goes completely still. Everyone is shocked.

“You broke up?”

“When?”

“Months ago.”

No one can believe it.

Dana immediately pieces everything together. “The vacation... You’ve been pretending this whole time?”

The explanations are awkward. Everyone feels terrible for unknowingly putting you through it.

That evening you sit alone by the lake. Jack joins you. No pretending anymore. No expectations.

For the first time in months, they actually talk. About burnout, fear, about loving each other so much they forgot how to simply be people. Jack admits he never stopped wearing the engagement ring on a chain beneath his shirt. You quietly admit yours is still in your bedside drawer.

Nothing dramatic happens. No kiss, just honesty, and somehow, honesty feels even more intimate.

—

The final morning arrives. Everyone packs up. The vacation is over.

Jack assumes this is where they say goodbye again.

Instead, you quietly ask if he’d like to get coffee sometime. Not because you’re pretending. Just because you miss being his friend.

Coffee turns into dinner, dinner becomes walks, walks become movie nights. This time, you don’t rush. No wedding planning. No pressure.

Simply just learning each other again. Months later, Jack proposes again. Not at a fancy restaurant. Just in his kitchen while you’re making pancakes on a lazy Sunday morning.

He smiles nervously. “I figured we deserved a proposal that felt like us.”

You say yes before he even finishes asking.

When everyone at the hospital finds out, they’re thrilled.

Mel blinks. “Wait, you weren’t engaged already?”

Dana smacks her forehead. “They got engaged again, Mel.”

“Oh.”

—

The wedding is small.

This time there isn’t a single doubt in either of your minds. Because you learned something the first time around. Love wasn’t what failed. You had simply forgotten that the person you were promising forever to deserved the same patience you’d give anyone else.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He gestures to the cup in your hand with the pen he plucked from behind his ear.

"That's my order." 

You glance down at the cup. "Is it?”

"You watched me buy it.”

You finally save your notes, clicking the mouse with satisfaction before swivelling your chair to face him.

"Ownership transferred the second you hid my stethoscope."

"I wanted to see how long it'd take you to find it."

"It took me forty-five minutes."

Jack's grin grows wider, and he folds his arms looking very pleased with himself. 

“You’re getting faster.”

"It actually only took me thirty five minutes to find it. I spent the other ten trying to steal your coffee without you noticing.” You offer him your best innocent smile and he laughs as you take another sip of the coffee as the two of you move towards another bay. A nurse slips past to hang a fresh bag of fluids while Jack quickly signs off a medication order resting on the counter. His eyes drift back to the cup in your hand.

"Can I at least have what's left?"

You look inside. A tiny mouthful swirls around the bottom.

"Hmm." His face brightens just enough to make you grin.

"You know what?"

"What?"

"I think you're right,” you lift the cup, "sharing is important."

"It is."

"And I should absolutely give this back."

"I knew you'd come around." Maintaining eye contact, you finish the last sip in one go.

Jack closes his eyes.

"You're evil"

"I know," you say as you crumple the empty cup with a satisfied smile, "I learnt from the best." 

Before he can answer, an overhead voice cuts through the department.

"EMS arriving. Twenty-seven-year-old female. Forearm laceration. Stable vitals."

Both of you instinctively turn towards the board. The first thing you notice is the name, the second is the sinking feeling in your stomach. The warmth drains from your face so quickly that Jack notices before he's even read the name.

"What?"

You don't answer. The ambulance doors slide open and the second you see her, every awful memory comes rushing back. She’s wheeled in, looking perfectly put together despite the blood running down her arm. She spots you straight away and her face lights up.

"Oh my God!" You force a fake smile.

“Jane."

"It's been forever!"

Not nearly long enough. She doesn't seem to notice your enthusiasm is hanging by a thread.

"I can't believe you work here!"

"I can."

Jack looks between the two of you.

"You know each other?"

Jane beams, "We went to school together."

"Unfortunately."

Jack looks at you and she laughs like you've made a joke.

"Oh, she's always so sarcastic, this one!" You bite the inside of your cheek.

"So," Jane continues, "are you my doctor?"

"No." The answer comes out a little too quickly. Jack raises an eyebrow.

"No?"

You look at him.

"I can't take her." You say, almost like a plea and Jane frowns.

"What?"

You quickly turn back to her. 

“Conflict of interest. We can’t treat friends and family.”

Jack studies your face for a moment, noticing the tension in your shoulders. The way you've unconsciously taken half a step backwards. Jack nods once, in agreement. 

“It’s the rules,” he shrugs, walking towards her and grabbing the handles of her wheelchair, “but don’t you worry I’ll take care of you.”

He flags down Princess and asks her to take Jane to an open room, telling her he’ll be with her shortly. He turns to look at you, already grinning. 

“Want to tell me what that was about?”

“Not really.”

He reaches over to you, squishing your cheeks with one hand and giving you a quick wink. 

“You’re cute when you pout.”

You can’t help but smile.

“I am not pouting.” 

He nods his head with a laugh, unconvinced.

“Sure.”

You tell yourself you're only checking because you're worried about the patient, and definitely not because you're curious. You walk past bay four under the excuse of grabbing supplies. Jane is sitting up now with Jack asking her a few routine questions. She's smiling. Of course she's smiling. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You know," she says and Jack glances up from the chart.

“If this is the standard of treatment this place offers, maybe I should come back." She flashes that smile that you know too well. The smile that always got her out of trouble, got her anything she wanted. You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. Jack chuckles politely.

"I'd recommend avoiding repeat visits." She laughs, and mumbles something you don’t catch. He laughs too. Not the polite little chuckle he gives nervous patients. The real one. The one that usually makes you grin without thinking. Something ugly settles in your stomach and you keep walking before either of them notices you.

"You've walked past six times." Santos appears beside you with entirely too much amusement on her face. You don’t look up from the chart in your hands.

"I have not."

"You have."

"I needed supplies." You defend with a shrug.

"You got supplies two trips ago." 

"I forgot something." She snorts, seemingly unconvinced.

"You forgot it four more times?" 

You glare at her, "I don't appreciate your tone."

Before she can respond, Robby walks over, scanning the nurses' station.

"Santos." She looks over. "When you've got a second, can you go lend Mel a hand in two?"

"On it." She flashes you one last grin, “We will continue this later.” 

She disappears down the corridor and Robby sets his chart onto the counter with a quiet thud. He scans the notes while absent-mindedly clicking a pen.

“Where’s Abbot?” He asks with a quick glance around the department. The question catches you off guard and you feel yourself tense up.

“Why would I know where Jack is?”

Robby gives you a mildly puzzled look, recoiling almost slightly. 

"I don't know,” he shrugs, “you two are usually attached at the hip."

You let out a short, humourless laugh.

"I don’t know where he is, but my bet is he's somewhere in the hospital."

"Helpful." He pick up his chart and begins to walk away.

"I do what I can."

He pauses briefly, spinning on his heels to face you.

“Oh by the way, do you know where the arm laceration is that came in earlier?”

"bay four with Abbot,”

The words leave your mouth before your brain slams on the brakes. You stare straight ahead, before slowly turning to face him. He’s smiling ear to ear, and you offer him a sarcastic smile and a squint.

“And I thought it was Abbot who’s usually keeping tabs on you.”

“Very funny.”

“I’ll tell him you say hi.” He says with a smile before walking away. 

—

By the time Jane is discharged, you're convinced you've imagined the whole thing. Maybe Jack wasn't flirting, maybe he was just being nice. He's nice to everyone. But still you don't like it. Not one bit. It had always been different with Jack and you. It was always easy. Since the first day you met, which you could remember like it was yesterday. 

Your first day was supposed to start with introductions, badges and a tour of the department. But you figured that would all have to wait when you heard the shout from the corridor. 

“WE NEED HANDS IN BAY TWO" It was chaos when you walked in. 

"Full arrest, two minutes down, get me," he stopped mid-sentence when you appeared at the foot of the bed already snapping on gloves. "Who are you?"

"Nobody, yet. Badge is still with HR." You were already taking over compressions from the exhausted nurse. "Epi now or after the next rhythm check?"

"Now." He watched you for half a second too long with something unreadable crossing his face. The rhythm returned at the two-minute mark and the room exhaled the way hospital rooms do, all at once, shoulders dropping, someone exhaling a laugh that wasn't really a laugh. He straightened up, looked at you, trying to size you up.

“Dr Abbot.” You said glancing down at his badge, stripping your gloves off and tossing them in the bin.

"That's me.” He held out a hand, and you shook it, adrenaline still running through you.

“You did good.” He said and you looked at him properly then, an assessing look, the kind that catalogues a person based on first impressions. 

"High praise, five minutes in." You laughed.

"I don't hand it out lightly."

"I'll take it then." 

"So are you gonna tell me your name," he said, "or is that a second-meet kind of information?"

"Depends how the second meet goes."

He was already walking backward toward the doors, not quite ready to look away first. "Go find HR. Get a badge.” A small smile crept onto his face.“I've got a feeling I'm gonna want to know your name before the day's out." He disappeared through the doors before you could say another word. 

And that had been it. Something about him had made you drop the careful, professional version of yourself you'd walked in with. With everyone else, you would measure your responses. You would be polite, appropriate. With Jack, somehow, the filter disappeared.

"Hey." Jack catches you as you're grabbing a drink in the staff room. You barely offer him a glance as he crosses the room to you.

"You've been avoiding me." You don’t deny it, because you would both know it was a lie. He leans against the counter, taking the can from your hand and taking a sip.

"What’s going on?" 

"I'm fine, just busy.” Jack nudges you slightly. He knows you well enough by now to know that you’re not just busy. You’re annoyed. And you know Jack well enough to know he isn’t going to drop it until he gets an answer out of you. 

"Your patient just got under my skin."

"Jane?"

"Yeah."

He waits and you fold your arms.

“We just never got on in school, she was a horrible girl. But it was years ago, it doesn’t matter. I’ve moved on, it doesn’t bother me.” He watches you for a moment before he moves to stand in front of you with his hands in his pockets. 

"So what is bothering you then?"

You hesitate for a second.

"She was really flirty."

Jack lets out a small laugh.

"She was."

"And you were flirting back." He squats slightly trying to meet your eye level, his eyebrows shoot up.

"I was what?"

"You heard me." 

"I wasn't flirting."

"You were."

"I absolutely wasn't."

“You were laughing.”

He shrugs, smiling at your accusation. “She made a joke.”

“Yeah, and you laughed.” You kick his boot with yours, and he stares at you for a second before shaking his head, a wide grin still plastered on his face. He folds his arms now too, mirroring your stance.

"Why does it matter?"

The room goes quiet, you open your mouth trying to think of something to say, because you don't actually have an answer you're willing to say out loud. Jack watches your expression carefully. He steps closer to you, and you finally shut your mouth. 

“Why would it matter if I was flirting with someone?” He asks again, and your heart starts to pound.

"It doesn't." You shrug, looking away from him, pretending to straighten a mug that sits on the counter beside you. He laughs, snaking his head to catch your eye. 

“Oh come on, you can do better than that.” You roll your eyes, finally looking at him and he’s watching you with that infuriating little smile that always seems to know exactly what you're thinking.

“It’s our thing.” You wave a hand between the two of you.

"Our thing?"

"The flirting." For a beat, he just stares at you.

"You think we flirt?" His grin quickly turns smug.

"Jack." You laugh once, slightly embarrassed.

"Yes, she was trying very hard to flirt with me, and I was trying very hard to redirect the conversation without embarrassing her."

Just like that, the knot that's been sitting in your chest all afternoon begins to unravel. Jack watches the realization cross your face and smiles.

"The only person I intentionally flirt with at work," he takes one more step closer, "is you."

Your breath catches, and you try to ignore the heat you feel in your cheeks. And just like that, it feels like your thing again.

“You think we flirt?” you ask and he laughs, throaty and real. 

“I think we do, and it seems a shame to keep restricting it to a twelve-hour shift.”

You smile.

"What are you suggesting?"

"Dinner."

You pretend to think about it.

“Fine.” His grin is immediate.

"But."

He groans dramatically.

"There's a but."

"If another pretty patient flirts with you," he waits, "I'm transferring her to Whitaker."

Jack laughs, "Yes, ma'am."

“Hey, Mrs. Lover-Girl. Look at you up and moving..” Santos jokes the second you’re in her line of sight and off the elevator.

“Follow. Now.” You grumble, desperate for a girl’s only confession. She pauses but shares a look with Javadi before quickly following you to an empty hospital room.

“What’s all this about?” Santos asks as Y/N practically yanks her insides the private room.

“I did the unthinkable..” Y/N mutters bluntly as she begins to pace.

“Ew. I don’t need to hear about whatever crazy sex thing you did to celebrate-“ Y/N quickly cuts Santos off.

“That’s just it! It wasn’t crazy!” Y/N hisses. Santos pauses at that, eyeing her closely.

“So it was like… Mild stuff?” She asks as she eyes her fellow resident.

“What?! No! Santos…” Y/N sighs heavily before wringing her hands together nervously. She looks around the empty hospital room, guilt coming on to her flushed face.

“I faked it.”

The words leave her mouth quietly. Like if she says them too loud, she’ll die. It’s quiet for too long. Too long for Y/N’s liking. Then finally, Santos speaks.

“You what?!” She asks, trying not to laugh.

“This isn’t funny! I swore when I got into this relationship, I’d never fake one ever again. I spent too much time in college doing that. Jack has always been attentive. I thought my faking days were over!” Y/N openly complains now, letting it all flood out. Santos shakes her head in disbelief.

“Then what the hell happened?!” She asks.

“A 12-hour shift and an entire bottle of wine at dinner, plus dancing! That’s what happened..” Y/N practically stomps a foot.

“Okay, okay. Just.. Breathe. Start from the beginning..” She urges as she moves closer to comfort Y/N. She’s been her best friend since those said ‘college days’. She’s seen the pieces of work Y/N has given a chance to, and yes, Jack was the best of them all.

“Trin, it was perfect. The dinner, the dancing, the food. The wine! Then we got home, and.. I felt so comfortable in the bed. He started kissing up on me, I thought I could fight through it, but…” She hesitates.

“But what?” Santos shakes her head.

“He loves taking his.. Time.” Y/N mutters before looking down at her own body to silently inform Santos of Jack’s little… Habit.

He really enjoyed ‘playing with his food’…

“Oh no..” Santos laughs quietly.

“Don’t laugh! I.. Usually I find it endearing. But last night, I.. I just couldn’t. So I.. Faked one, and told him I was too sensitive to keep going..” Y/N pouts.

“Hey, I’m sure you’re forgiven in the eyes of the relationship god.” Santos assures, a bit sarcastic for Y/N’s liking.

“It’s been two years to the dot, Trin. Is this our relationship now? We used to go all night. I’d have to call off for half the morning to sleep in!” Y/N points out.

“Yeah, I remember..” Santos sighs. “Welp! At least I don’t have to cover your shift anymore!” She smiles.

“Trinity!”

“Hey! You’re spiraling! You faked it one time. Your relationship isn’t doomed or stale. You’re just maturing together..” She finally shrugs.

Neither girl seems to notice the hospital room door open an inch or so. Jack had just gotten into work and was told Y/N was already in one of the rooms.

He’d felt a little off about last night, and.. A part of him had hoped to talk to her about it before her shift officially started. He couldn’t wait for their shared lunch time on the roof.

He pauses though when he hears her tense voice.

“Trinity. I faked an orgasm so I could sleep.”

Those words make his stomach drop.

The burning hand of embarrassment makes its presence known on his tight shoulders.

No.

No…

Jack knew there was something off about the way she’d moaned last night. He knew her body like the back of his hand. He’s 50, sure, but Jack Abbot took the act of intimacy extremely seriously.

But he also knew that deep down… The fear only his therapist knew he held on to, was coming true in this very moment. Y/N, in all her youth, had grown bored of him.

He was tasting her, and she was better off just going to sleep.

He felt so small in this moment as Y/N continues her conversation.

“Two years. Yesterday marked two years, and I did the one thing I swore I’d never do in this relationship!” She sniffles. Jack backs out of the room quietly.

He’d let her down. And he was gonna make things right…

“Hey. Y/N..” Santos whispers, all playfulness leaving her face now as she steps closer.

“I don’t.. I don’t want it becoming a habit..” Y/N worries quietly as Santos sighs heavily, hugging Y/N.

“It won’t. You won’t let it..” She assures her simply.

*

*

*

Y/N usually squeezed by on three power bars and a ton of water and coffee throughout her morning shift.

It was mostly so by 6:30pm, she could sneak off with Jack before his shift officially began. The two would grab something together, and it would count as their ‘lunchtime date’. Y/N looked forward to it everyday. Same time, same meet up location by the stairs.

But today, more than ever, she was really eager to see Jack. She hadn’t spotted him around at all. That was rare. Usually, Jack would show up early-ish, so he could help out where it was needed before going to nap upstairs on the sixth floor. No ED member was technically allowed up there, but.. Jack had made nice with all the nurses years ago. So they all turned the other way when he’d sneak upstairs to nap in an empty hospital room.

Y/N paces by the stairs as she waits to see him. She’d made up her mind that she’d just take what happened last night to her grave. And she’d never pull something like that again.

But after the ten minute mark, she begins to worry. Pulling out her phone, she texts Jack.

‘Where are you? I’m starving! 😭’

Not even a full minute passes when she gets her response.

‘Roof’

She stares down at the simple one worded text message, blinking slowly as she tries to figure out what that’s all about. Jack only texted that shortly if he was busy or upset.

With concern clear as day on her face, Y/N heads up the stairs and towards the rooftop of the hospital. The second she opens the metal door, she’s being grabbed by the waist.

“Oh!” She gasps as she’s yanked into Jack’s chest, his head finding the cork of her neck almost automatically. His stubble grazes her skin as he kisses her pulse point. She shivers involuntarily.

“Jack!” She breathes out as she pulls away a bit.

“I wanna fuck you, baby..” Jack whispers hungrily as he picks her up. She squeals at the suddenness of it all. “Right here. On the rooftop..” He continues as he catches her lips. She barely has time to kiss back.

“Mm.. Jack!” She pants a bit, head spinning as she tries to catch her breath. “Have you lost your mind?!” She whispers as he carries her to the railing.

“Look at the city, baby..” He urges as he moves back to her neck, kissing and licking her skin as he groans softly. She momentarily melts against the assault on her neck, moaning quietly before reality kicks back in.

Her boyfriend is trying to get busy with her on the hospital rooftop!

“Jack! What the hell has gotten into you?!” Y/N finally squeaks as she puts her hands on his shoulders to push him back slightly. His arms around her waist are the only thing making her feel secure as she sits on the metal railing.

He pauses at the confusion and seriousness of her voice. “I… I’m trying to be.. More exciting.” He says slowly, his tone sounding lost. Like he’d assumed this is what she wanted.

“More exciting?!” Y/N laughs. She can’t help it. Jack Abbot is the most exciting man she’s ever met!

“Yeah. I.. You’re getting bored.” Jack frowns a bit. Y/N stiffens slightly.

“Who.. Who said that?” She asks in shock. “Jack. I.. Every time we do it, it is more exciting than the last. I’d never get bored of you.” She assures as she touches his cheek tenderly. He looks down, jaw clenching slightly.

“Then why did you fake it..?” He whispers, voice coming out extremely quiet and raw. There’s this shame on his face that should be on Y/N’s. The guilt could swallow her whole just from looking at how sad her lover truly is.

“You.. How did you..?” She stammers softly.

“Does it matter? Were you ever gonna tell me?” He asks.

“Jack. Look at me..” Y/N frowns. Jack hesitates at first, but then he looks over at the only person who could ever hold the power to make him feel so small..

“I didn’t fake it because I was bored of you. I…” Y/N’s face grows hotter with embarrassment. “I faked it because I wasn’t able to keep up with you.” She admits.

“Y/N..” Jack sighs, thinking she’s just saying that.

“Jack, it’s true.” She assures, finally with her full chest. “You love going all night, and.. I.. Last night, I was really tired. So.. I faked it.” She mumbles sheepishly as Jack watches her closely, shoulders slumping as he realizes she’s telling the truth.

“You… Why didn’t you just tell me?!” Jack immediately fusses.

“You were in the middle of…” She trails off. “I didn’t wanna kill your mood.” She says softly.

“Baby.” Jack says firmly as he makes her look at him. “I’d rather you be all in it, than think you have to fake something like that.” He says simply as he looks her in the eyes. Y/N pouts slightly as she nods, letting his words assure her.

Once again, she’s reminded that even though she’s dated losers.. Jack Abbot is not one of them.

“I’m sorry you thought you had to go bigger to keep me. You have me, baby. And I’m enjoying the ride..” Y/N says sweetly, leaning in to peck his nose and lips softly in order to show she does find this man completely capable of rocking her world. Age difference and all..

“Mm.. I’m sorry I got crazy.” He chuckles. “Doing it on a roof? That’s…” He trails off as he eyes her, a sly glint growing in his eyes.

“Jack!” Y/N squeals bashfully as she realizes he’s still considering it.

“What?!” Jack defends with an innocent shrug. He eyes her, a smirk playing on his face as he steps closer, arms firmly around her waist.

“I’m still owed a big one.” He continues playfully as he looks her in the eyes, one of his hands moving between them and slowly slipping into her scrub bottoms.

“Jack! We have a 15-minute lunch break, we’re on a roof! Someone could se…” Her voice breaks slowly as she feels his magical fingers. Shakily, she grips his shoulders, panting softly as he watches with a cocky expression, loving the power he has over her.

“There you go.. Atta girl..” Jack whispers tauntingly against her mouth that slowly hangs open in silent pleasure. “You just look at the pretty city. I’ll take it from here..” He whispers before slowly dropping to his knees in front of her while she quickly grips on to the railing she’s still sat on.

Oh yeah, Jack Abbot.. Is so not a loser..

"aaron," you chide. "i'm disappointed. every time i have ever interacted with you, i've wanted nothing more than for you to shut me up with a kiss and fuck me into next week."

the look on his face is priceless as you give him a wink and leave his office.

his large hand stops yours from hitting the elevator button. "you do not get to say something like that and then leave." each word sends chills down your spine. he wraps his fingers around your wrist, turning you towards him. his eyes glance toward the open elevator behind you, weighing his options.

he pulls you towards the stairs, to his office. as soon the door closes, he presses you into it. his long body touches every part of yours. years of tension permeates between the two of you and you're on fire. so many things were in the way of this every happening. his late wife for one.

you hated yourself for wanting a married man. you hated knowing it was more than a harmless work crush, if those could ever even be harmless. he was a "good guy" and you were a "bad guy". he represented everything missing in your life, being surrounded by the worst of the worse. and what's worse than wanting some one else's husband.

your hands are glued to your side, as if actually touching him would wake you up from this dream. in contrast, aaron's hands are cemented on your hips. he brings his forehead to rest on yours. his chest heaves and his face is twisted in anguish.

"you piss me off," he grumbles.

"you love it," you breathe. at this comment, his dark eyes open. his pupils are blown and the want behind them is the biggest turn on.

aaron breathes out. "you know i do." he punctuates the sentence with a kiss, finally bringing his mouth to yours. kissing aaron hotchner is almost as hot as the verbal sparring.

his left hand still has a death grip on your hip, but he brings the right hand to settle at the base of your neck, twisting in your hair. he uses that hand to lightly tilt your face more his. aaron breaks the kiss, moving to assault your neck with slow, teasing kisses.

"are you as dominating in the bedroom as you are in the courtroom, prosecutor?" you ask him. this solicits a groan from deep in his throat. the sound reaches deep in your belly.

he slides his nose up your neck, pausing as his mouth hovers over your ear. "depends on the lady. maybe i am tired of always having to be dominant around you." the comment snaps you to attention. you hands leave your side as if they have a mind of their own. they wrap around his neck, giving you more leverage to press yourself into him. aaron smiles against your skin, and you wish you could see it.

you've never seen a true aaron hotchner smile.

taking charge, you push aaron through his office stopping at the leather couch. "sit." you tell him, your voice taking on the same edge it had when confronting hudson in the interrogation room. aaron raises a brow, a small smirk sitting on his face. he lets himself fall to the couch. he brings his hands to rest behind his head, blatantly checking you out as he does.

the two of you stare as you reach behind to the button on your skirt, letting it fall to reveal your lacy panties. "god," aaron breathes. stepping out of your skirt, you slide onto aaron's lap. you take a minute, running your hands down his chest. aaron looks at you like he's exactly where he wants to be.

"i go first," you tell him, rolling your hips against his erection. aaron's hands fall to your hips, digging his thumbs in. "of course," he acknowledges. his eyes squeeze shut and his head falls to the back of the couch as you grind against him again. you bring your arms around his neck, using him to hold you up as you work yourself against him.

"do you need my help?" he manages to ask. you shake your head. "not this time. i'm just going to take what i want," you tell him against his ear. you're already so close thanks to all the tension built up between you.

"it's yours to take," he sighs, and that does it. you ride out your high, murmuring his name like a love-sick fool. he runs his hands up and down your back as you shudder against him. you turn to look at him, feeling slightly embarrassed he witnessed you so vulnerable. he raises a brow, "good?"

"cocky bastard," you grin as you slide off him. his features fall at your absence, but as you sink to your knees, surprise replaces that sadness. you reach up and fiddle with his belt buckle, silently asking him if he's game. he answers by leaning forward and taking his mouth in yours. he deepens the kiss as you remove his belt and unbutton his slacks. he wastes no time raising his hips to let his pants fall where you need them.

his head falls back against the couch again as you take him into your mouth. "fuck," he curses, jerking his hips. you can't help but feel like a goddess as he falls apart for you. he brings a hand to you hair, but doesn't instruct you with it. it's almost like he just needs to ground himself. "baby, i'm going to cum embarrassingly fast if you keep this up."

"baby?" you say around his cock. he writhes beneath you.

"we can sort out the pet names later, i need you up here," he groans, trying to pull you up. you release him and crawl back to his lap. aaron brings his hands between your legs, pulling your panties to the side. "do i need a condom?" he asks. you shake your head against his neck. "been on the pill for years." aaron lightly curses again. you're one hundred percent used to his profanity when it comes to you. but its usually in frustration, anger, or annoyance. hearing it as a form of reverence is something entirely different.

aaron lets you take the lead, letting you situate yourself around him. as you sink onto him, the two of you moan in unison. you let your forehead fall to his. "i've never rendered you this speechless before, agent." he chuckles, "no, but i figured you'd be the only one able to."

"you've thought about this, hotchner?" when he contemplates too long, you pause your ministrations. he picks up where you left off, lightly jerking his hips upward. the amount of pleasure coursing through your body makes it hard to form words.

"now it's me who's got you speechless," he smirks. "i figured you'd be the only one able to," you use his own words against him.

"touche'," he responds. you begin moving your hips, halting his movements. you both soak in the bliss before you speak up again. "i've thought about it, you know. i've got this one fantasy where you bend me over the witness stand."

"you talk a lot," he marvels.

"then shut me up, aaron." you've never called him by his first name alone and this is something he absolutely notices. he slams his mouth against yours, those kisses urgent and pleading. pleading for you to shut up and enjoy what's happening. his hands find home on your hips, helping you against his penis. he pulls back just a hair, "i'm going to cum," he breathes against your mouth. you work kisses along his jawline and down his neck, letting him take over again. his hips jerk more wildly. the groan that leaves his mouth as he finishes, calling out your name, is something you'll hear for the remainder of your days.

the two of you are completely spent. aaron places the sweetest kiss against your cheek, before helping you back to your feet. he reaches over to the side table grabbing a few tissues, then runs it along your inner thighs. he picks up your skirt, gesturing for you to step in. aaron guides the fabric along your legs and up over your hips and buttons it back for you. "hmmm," he murmurs appreciatively, running those hands along your clothed thighs.

you step back, allowing him room to stand and situate himself. he picks up your bag and holds it out to you. you take it from him, letting your hand pause in his. he uses this moment to pull you back into him. the bag drops between the two of you as you fully embrace him. his hands run down your back and over your ass, then he hoists you up around his waist.

"we cannot have sex in this office again," he manages to say.

"oh, but i've got many fantasies to fulfill in here." he laughs. a genuine laugh with a genuine smile. you stare at him in awe, matching that smile.

"what?" he asks.

"i've never seen you smile before," you marvel.

aaron places you back on your feet, but keeps his arms around you. "sure you have. i know i smiled when i kicked your ass in the courtroom," he says.

rolling your eyes, you pick up your bag. you glance at his desk, at his suitcase packed and ready to go. "you coming?" you gesture toward the door.

he gives you that smile again. "yeah, i'm right behind you."

as you step out of his office, movement in the bullpen catches your eye. derek morgan sits at his desk, leaning back in his chair.

"oh, morgan, i didn't know you were still here," aaron says. he wasn't there when you left for the elevator the first time. derek shrugs, "i didn't realize the two of you were still here, either."

hotch tips his head in a goodbye ignoring his comment and begins toward the elevator. you hang back, taking derek in. turning on your heel, you move to follow aaron.

"oh, by the way, the new answer to your question is, yes they have," you call over your shoulder.

a/n: okay, my first time writing smut!!! if you hate it, please don't tell me. *hides behind hands*

You wake up with post-text message clarity the next morning, but there’s little you can do to backtrack now. You gave the man your name and number. You spoke to him on the phone about it, albeit briefly. Sure you could call John again and tell him that you thought it over a little more and decided against it, but then—

“It’s gonna cost four thousand dollars.”

Your coworker lets out a hissed breath, wincing. “That’s not cheap.”

It’s a pea-soupy summer morning, all hot and humid with the sky tinted a yellowish colour from forest fires up in the country, the hazy light seeping in through the windows in the office kitchen. Not a cloud in sight. You wouldn't call it a particularly pleasant morning, with the weather as overcast as your mood, but it could always be worse.

She’s the first person outside of a few close friends that you’ve told about going to the clinic at all, but she reacts exactly as you thought she would. It’s both affirming and annoying; it’s not so bad hearing from someone else that four thousand dollars is a bit pricey for a single person, but part of you wishes she’d try to convince you to go through with it. You need someone to push you in a direction—in any direction. 

You nod, mouth screwed into a grimace. “And that’s only for a single try. I think she said it would be closer to, like, twelve thousand dollars altogether.” 

“So are you gonna do it? Or are you gonna keep looking around?”

“I have another appointment next week,” you half-answer, getting cagey all of a sudden. 

The truth is, that appointment isn’t the only thing you’ve got on the books. There’s another dot in your calendar for a few days before, one that seems to glow ominously when you stare at the date as it slowly approaches, lumbering forward one ground-shaking step at a time. 

You wonder how long you can go without telling anyone. Theoretically, you could keep up this ruse for the rest of your life, pretend you always went through with the treatment. Lie through your teeth when your friends ask you if you know anything about the donor. No, they didn’t tell me anything, I just picked a profile with a good medical record and family history. 

Don’t think about how you live in the same city. Don’t think about the likelihood of running into him around town with the baby in tow. 

You shake your head. Those are concerns that you can foist off onto a future version of you. All the current you needs to worry about is making this all a reality. 

You don’t know what to wear out to dinner with him. It’s both a date and not, more of a prelude to the later events of the night. Part of you wonders if you should just text him your address and tell him to skip the preamble and come on over. 

The only reason you don’t is because a little voice at the back of your mind insists that you at least do your due diligence and screen him a little more over dinner. You can always back out at the last minute if a few too many red flags pop up. 

(You tell yourself that as if a strange man offering to knock you up within five minutes of meeting weren’t a big enough red flag on its own.)

John meets you at the restaurant looking every bit as handsome as the day you met him, once again nearly taking your breath away. A little more buttoned up this time though, actually quite dashing in a proper dress shirt and suit jacket, even his shoes polished. 

You have a second to think about calling it off. A second to consider turning tail and getting as far away as possible. Maybe, with enough time, you could scrape together the money for IUI. You could wait a year, or take out a loan with your bank, or pray for a decent enough raise to manage it on your own. 

But then, as the time before, he turns his head and locks eyes with you. 

It would probably be a good idea to take a picture of him, maybe even a picture of his ID, and send it over to one or two of your friends, on the off chance that he turns out to be a dangerous man, but you don’t need to be inundated by a barrage of text messages and phone calls from your friends trying to talk you out of it. You’ve made up your mind. 

Walnut and burgundy furnishings decorate the large room, and the amber glow of candlelight and antique wall sconces saturates the restaurant in a dark, sensual bloom. A server guides John and you to a table right in the middle of the room, a better table than you might’ve hoped to get on your own. You eye him sideways when he pulls your chair out for you. 

His demeanour is so relaxed that if you didn’t already know the purpose of this dinner, you could be forgiven for assuming that you were out on a real date. John certainly acts the part. 

“You know, we didn’t have to do this,” you start awkwardly, eyes gliding over the room to look at all the other well-dressed patrons, some presumably out on actual dates. 

“Call me old-fashioned, but I was taught that dinner comes before the rest of the evening.”

“I just mean you didn’t have to. I would’ve been fine just…” getting right down to business, you leave unsaid, hoping that he doesn’t make you spell it out. 

“We’re two civilized adults. I thought we might get to know each other first.”

“Well, what do you want to know about me?”

“This is as much for me as it is for you—don’t you want to know anything about the father of your children?”

You wish he’d keep his voice down. He isn’t wrong though; it would be a good idea for you to take his candidature more seriously, actually ask him questions about himself and his parentage. He already emailed you a recent STI panel and bloodwork results, both done through the fertility clinic back when he was still keen on donating, but it wouldn’t hurt to learn a little more about him.

“Alright. How old are you?”

“Forty-six.”

You nod, pleased with yourself for guessing it right. “What do you do for work?”

“Just some work for the government,” he says, brushing the question off. “What else?”

That piques your interest though. “Oh, come on. What are you, M16 or something?”

“No, nothing like that,” John laughs, genuinely amused enough for you to believe him. 

You roll your eyes when he doesn’t elaborate any further though. “Fine, leave me in the dark. Anything else you want to know about me?”

“Where are you in your cycle?” he asks, blunt as a hammer.

A classic spit take moment. It’s a good thing you haven’t ordered a drink yet. 

“I think it’s, uh…it’s coming soon actually. Um. Next week or so.”

He chews on that for a second, mulling over the timing. “That’s fine. We should still be able to make it work.”

There he goes again, making comments that leave you fish-mouthed and stunned, jaw slack with disbelief. Never able to conjure up a good enough retort. 

When the server comes by to take your drink orders, both of you still deliberating over your food, John orders a beer for himself and a mocktail for you, not even bothering to consult you about it. 

“No alcohol,” he reminds you before you have a chance to ask. 

To be fair, the spicy blackberry-basil concoction that the server comes back with a few minutes later is a refreshing burst of fruit and fresh herbs, but that doesn’t excuse the overstep. You ignore it only because you know there’s no use getting worked up when you’ve already made your mind up. It’s a peccadillo in the grand scheme of things considering what he’s doing for you. 

Conversation flows surprisingly well over dinner, but at the back of your mind, you can’t stop thinking about how at the end of the night, he’s going to take you home and fuck you. It creeps back in whenever you let your guard down for a split second. 

So, do you have any hobbies? (In three hours, this man is going to strip you naked and have sex with you)

Do you have any siblings? Any twins running in the family? (In two hours, this man is going to climb on top of you and fuck you until he puts a baby in you)

It’s a lot to keep in your head at the same time.

“How long have you been thinking about doing this?” John asks apropos of nothing, the earlier thread of your conversation evaporating on the spot.  

“I mean, I’ve wanted to have kids for a long time, but actually planning to have them…maybe a couple months?”

“Why now? Why not wait a little longer? Wait for someone to start a family with?”

You’re not sure why he’d ask you that, why it would matter. It’s none of his business, quite frankly. You almost want to tell him that, let yourself get righteous, get angry, but you find you can’t fully commit to the anger. It wouldn’t change anything. You aren’t being forced to answer him. 

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I’m not much of a family man myself. ‘Least not when I was younger, when it counted. Never had the time nor the inclination. Work took me all over—it just wouldn’t have been fair if I had a wife or kids waiting around for me. But since it didn’t seem like having a family was in the cards for me, I thought it would be a waste of good genetics.”

“Oh.” It’s arrogant, but it’s as good an answer as any. 

He waits a beat then lifts an eyebrow when you don’t reciprocate. “So? Why didn’t you wait?”

“I did try, but there wasn’t much out there, and I wanted a baby more than I wanted to be with someone, so…” 

Leave him to fill in the blanks. He met you at the culmination of that longing after all, even changed the course of it, disrupted your plans to place himself at the centre of them.

At the centre for a time, you remind yourself. Not forever. 

After that, he keeps the conversation light, only delving into superficial topics to help pass the time. You excuse yourself after finishing your meal to go to the bathroom, and come back to two coffees laid out on the table with sugar and cream in pretty porcelain cups laid out between them. John must have ordered for you again in your absence. Good thing you like coffee. 

The bill is also there, discretely tucked under John’s napkin, and that makes your stomach flip, realizing that only a coffee now sits between you and the end of this night. 

Then, at a certain point, when all that’s left in your cup is the dregs, sugar spoon bone dry on your plate, John gives you a look from across the table that says it’s time for you both to go. 

Well, here we go, you think a little hysterically as you push back your chair to stand, nearly jumping out of your skin when his hand comes down on your back. 

At your car, you sway back and forth on your heels. “You can, uh…follow behind me, if that works.”

“Why don’t you give me your address and I’ll meet you there?”

You bite your lip, pretending to deliberate, then acquiesce. 

Let him think he’s pulling one on you. You’re bringing him home instead of the other way around because you don’t want to have any memory of a man’s bed when you think about your pregnancy journey. If it’s going to be you alone, then it should be about you alone. Your decision to go out and pick a man to father your baby. 

His participation will be a short blip in your life. A minor footnote. You’ll remember it in bursts throughout the rest of your life: staring at a carton of cream in the dairy aisle of the local grocery store; garden spade buried hilt-deep in a plot of soil, blue bigleaf hydrangea in a pot beside you, sweat dripping down the bow of your lips; your baby’s face, for the rest of your natural life.

In your foyer, his hands glide around your hips, pulling you into his chest, and you realize abruptly that ‘short’ might not have been the most accurate interpretation of what’s about to happen. 

(Honey, you’ve got a storm coming)

“This off first,” John rasps, pulling the bottom of your shirt up and over your head, blinding you for a split second before he yanks it over your arms. 

“Getting right to it, huh?” you joke nervously. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he asks, staring down at you assessingly, as if staring into your soul. That cuts the humour from the moment. Vacuums it from the room, leaving behind only the crackling, blistering heat of his gaze and his intentions. 

“Yes,” you whisper. Neither of you mention the tremble in your voice and how unsure you sound. 

It doesn’t stop him from undressing you though. Bra pulled down under your breasts, pushing your tits up into his face like an invitation, one he accepts without question, pulling your nipples into his mouth one by one, hands on your hips to hold you in place when you try to squirm away. Not that it’s bad—it’s amazingly good after all, toe-curlingly good to have a man run his tongue over your areolas and suck each sensitive nipple to a stiff peak, until you’re on the verge of coming—but it’s a lot, a lot that you have to wrap your head around, your bra pinched off shortly after that and underwear next.  

Your touch is hesitant at first, fingers barely gliding down his arms and fisting in the fabric of his shirt to jerk it up, but he makes it easy for you to get lost in it, your nerves fizzling out in the heat and fervor.  

You don’t even notice that John has walked you backwards into the bedroom until he pushes you down onto the bed, the mattress bouncing under you. “One second, love—need to get all of this off myself.”

You watch transfixed as the suit jacket comes off first, shrugged off and discarded. He undoes only a few buttons before wrenching it over his head, eyes on you the whole time, his stare never breaking. Scalding hot. 

That’s how you know that despite all his lofty words, this isn’t some favour he’s doing you. He wants this just as badly—wants it with a vigour that you don’t even know if you’ll be able to handle, aware that you are just flesh and blood. There’s a prickle at the back of your mind, a whisper reminding you that nobody knows that he’s here, that he’s a hot-blooded man about to slake his lust with your body. 

Then he slides the elastic waistband of his boxers down his thighs and your mind goes blank when you see the flushed, heavy shaft droop between his legs. 

The two of you work together to shove a pillow under your hips, John fetching it from the top of the bed and you lifting your hips to give him easier access. You don’t have to ask why. 

Nestled between your thighs, John looks up at you with heavy-lidded eyes and says, “Let’s get you all softened up to start, alright, love?” 

The first touch of his lips to your sex sends a lightning bolt up your spine, and then it’s practically an open mouth kiss. Tongue running up the seam of your lips, pushing into the clenched hole at the centre, the bristles of his beard scraping up the insides of your thighs and the thin skin of your labia. 

It’s good, but it’s taking too long and your heart is a rabbiting mess and you can barely think or see straight, so you tangle your fingers in his hair and try to push his head away. “That’s okay, John, I just wanna—oh fuck, can you please just put it in?”

“No, baby, it’s good if you come first,” he murmurs. “Helps it take.”

That floods your system with a frenetic, crazed exhilaration. Baby fever bubbling and boiling, frothing spilling over the top like a pot left on the stovetop for too long. 

You gasp when he tucks a couple fingers into your hole to stretch you out, a perfunctory, almost clinical motion. Just enough to loosen you up for him, unmindful of the way you squirm and whine, rolling your hips to get him to go faster. He does not. 

It doesn’t take much effort on his part after that to get you to come, too worked up and wound up, core squeezing his fingers like a vice until he gives your clit a suck and you squeal, oh, too much, breath ripping through your chest.

They’re wet when he pulls them out, and he dries them off by rubbing them on your belly. 

The shadow of his body draws over yours as he climbs on top of you. It’s as physical as it is visual though, John’s hands always on some part of your body, dragging up your legs and over your arms, fingers spreading over your belly before he runs a hand up between your breasts and over your throat, lingering there just long enough to close around your throat and hold for a second, then skating up to cup your jaw. 

And then he’s all big body on top of you, coaxing your legs around his hips, one hand squishing your cheeks when he bends down to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his lips, the tongue pushing into your mouth musky with the flavour of your cum. You’d protest if you could, but you can’t, his mouth slanted over yours and demanding. 

“C’mere,” he mumbles against your lips when he draws you in for another kiss, sawing his cock up and down between your folds, coating his length with your juices, until it’s there suddenly, breaching you. 

You have to grab him, loop your arms around his shoulders and squeeze to ground yourself. It’s a lot to take in. He’s a lot to take in. 

“I know, love, I know,” John murmurs soothingly. “Deep breaths, okay?”

You listen to him, letting a shaky breath out. It helps you relax. Barely, but enough to ease the strain a bit. 

He nuzzles his nose into your temple, his breath fanning out against your ear. “A little more, love, alright? You gonna be brave for me?”

“Oh—just get on with it,” you gasp when he eases in another inch, and John laughs in your ear. 

It feels genuinely romantic like this. Your arms wrapped around his neck and his hips slowly rocking into you, whispering sweet nothings like, there we go, you’ve got it, that feel good, love? When he fits his hand around the back of your neck and lifts your head up for a kiss, you swear you see stars. 

The kiss is too much. Too intimate. You wish you would’ve set that boundary ahead of time. It feels pointless now, trapped under the heavy weight of his body and impaled on his member, sucked into it, lips slotting and melting over each other, his tongue running over yours. He’s a good kisser at least, practiced from a lifetime of it. No awkward schoolboy tonguing. 

Too good. You wonder distantly how many other women he’s slept with (probably more than you have any business knowing). If he’s ever gotten anyone else pregnant. Your nails dig into his back instinctively at the thought and he gasps a wet and guttural sound, hips bucking harder. 

He gets rough enough to loosen a bolt of fear in your chest. All of a sudden, it becomes bright and clear in your mind. There’s a grunting, sweating man over you, all two hundred plus pounds of him laid out on top of you, with no protection between you. Raw cock plunging into your pussy. You can barely get a full breath in. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” John grunts, and your eyes flick down instinctively, trying to see past the dense mass of hair on his chest towards the length of his cock sliding into you. He’s pressed too close though. When he catches you looking away from him, he clamps his hand around your face again, forcing your gaze back up. “No, none of that. Eyes on me.”

You think you must gasp. Some horrified sound must escape you because you can feel the aftereffect of it, the big hollow where it used to be. 

His other arm wedges under your back to pull you closer to him, thighs spreading to brace his weight against the mattress before driving into you harder, deeper, the big, concentrated energy of him inescapable.

You can sense it the second before he’s about to come, his eyebrows digging in and his jaw going tight, the vein in his forehead prominent. 

“Christ, you’re gonna take it, aren’t you?” he snarls. “All this fucking cum.” 

On the next stroke in, you dig an ankle into the muscle of his ass and squeeze your inner muscles around his length, grinning hazily to yourself when that makes him shout. 

And then, oh, he surges in and you feel it, hear it, sense it all around you, his fingers from the hand wedged under your back digging hard into the side of your breast. Hips forcefully pumping into you and pushing his cum in deep, your own orgasm lost somewhere in there, a small, forgettable part of it all. 

Eventually, he stops moving over you, letting his cock slip out of you on the next stroke out. You hiss when he does, clenching up involuntarily. With nothing plugging it inside though, his cum leaks out, dripping down the crack of your ass and onto the pillow under your hips. 

John’s hot breath fans over your face as he pants, slowly winding down as well, the red flush in his cheeks still stark, though gradually fading. It’s only in the cooldown that you realize how claustrophobic it is being trapped under him, the sheer weight and heat of his body flush with yours becoming more and more uncomfortable, almost unbearably so. 

When he slumps off to one side, you can finally breathe again, the air rushing into your lungs. There’s sweat in your skin and tears in the corners of your eyes, everything tacky and humid, the frantic beat of your heart only beginning to slow down. The stiffness in your shoulders only dawns on you after a few minutes like that, and you push yourself up onto your elbows just to try to work some of it out. 

“No, don’t get up, love. We’re just gonna lie here for a bit,” he instructs, pushing your shoulder back down. “Better chance of my boys getting the job done if we keep it all in you.”

Of course he just wants to make sure that it takes. That way, you don’t have to do this again. “Oh yeah. I, uh, I didn’t think about that.”

He doesn’t just mean lie there, of course, though your body would like nothing more than to sink into the plush embrace of sleep. Instead he means keeping your hips propped up on the pillow now saturated with cum, and curling you into his side, separating your thighs again to palm your cunt, sliding his fingers through the wet. 

It’s a goopy, sticky mess that John plunges his fingers into, pushing it back up inside of you and shushing you when you whimper, a little gaped from his cock but sore to the touch. 

For much longer than you anticipated, he lies there on his side beside you and keeps two fingers pushed up inside you, blocking any cum from leaking out. 

“How long do we have to do this for?” you ask, voice all high and tight in your throat. 

John hums, unconcerned. “Ten, fifteen minutes.”

True to his word, he keeps you there for the full fifteen minutes. Only the sound of your breathing fills the room, quiet otherwise aside from the enormously large weight of his presence, too familiar now with the private corners of your world. 

He doesn’t warn you before idly circling your clit with thumb. You jerk, nearly biting through your lip. “John!”

“Relax, honey, I’m just making you come again.”

“I know that, John—ah, ah, ah—”

A leg hooks over yours, his thigh heavy enough to keep you pinned without even much strength behind it. His fingers don’t so much as twitch inside of you, buried to the fattest knuckle while his thumb circles the tight bud of your clit over and over again until you—

You haven’t finished the thought by the time he draws his fingers out, pearlescent strings of cum webbed between them. He hums approvingly when he sees that, pulling your thighs further apart to admire his work. “Gorgeous. That ought to do it for now.”

Your heart skips a beat and you stare up at him, exhausted, the sweat on the back of your neck now cold.