jay's chill time

He freezes slightly, his hazel eyes jolting to meet yours. He's standing there shirtless- his top halfway up his arms as he's dressing- in his blue jeans and no socks or shoes. His face is pinched as he finishes pulling his black t-shirt over his head. 

"Hey. It's early, didn't want to wake you," he half whispers as he buttons his jeans.

His freckled arms flex with the movement and your eyes dart to his hands that work his belt buckle next. 

They're strong and calloused from all the jobs and grunt work he's done over the years. The veins that run from his knuckles to his biceps are prominent and oh so sexy.

You're still half asleep as your eyes drag up his thick torso and beefy biceps, that strain against the fabric of his shirt, back to his face.

His brows are drawn as he finishes buckling his belt. His dark ginger curls are slightly mussed from sleep, face lined with some tension.

"Where are you going?" You prop up on your side, resting your weight on your elbow and your cheek on your shoulder.

"Smurfs," he says curtly as his eyes roam all over your sleepy face and probably ruffled hair. "Baz called a family meeting about the job."

Disappointment floods you as your face slips into a frown.

"But I haven't seen you all week," You try not to whine, but it comes out a bit needy anyway.

Andrew turns his back to you as he sits on the edge of the bed with perfect posture, right next to your feet.

"I slept here last night," he defends, picking up black socks off the floor and putting one on.

"Well I didn't know that," your frown deepens as you sit up and cross your legs. 

How were you supposed to know he came to your place after you were already passed out and slept over?

"Didn't want to wake you then either," he shrugs slightly as he dawns the second sock.

You know why he's being stand offish. It's not because of you, it's because of his family. Working with them has been hard on him lately.

He's always being called to Smurfs to do something for someone. A job, a favor, a task— anything they can think of, he does. It's how it's always been. 

But now he has you. So every time he gets called away to do a dangerous errand or a reckless heist, he's less and less eager to participate.

This new job that Baz is planning is a big one. Andrew hasn't told you much, just that they're getting multiple vehicles and a lot of guns.

"But I don’t want you to go... please stay?" you fully whine now, unashamed at how desperate you sound.

You like when he knows how badly you want him- he's never had that before.

He pauses his reach downward for his boot with a frustrated sigh. Without even turning to look at you— as if he would stay if he met your eyes— he mutters, "Baz told me I can't be late to this. He wants me to back him up in front of our brothers and all that shit."

You crawl towards him. He doesn't want to go this meeting and you can tell— he's tired of being bossed around and not being appreciated. You hate how his brothers and mother treat him.

You wish they could see him how you do. You wish he could see him how you do.

You reach his body at the end of the bed and press your front to his back, wrapping your arms around his waist and rest your head on his shoulder.

"If you don't want to go, then you shouldn't," you whisper, in hopes that he'll choose to stay with you in this room forever and never go back to those people that don't deserve him.

He shakes his head slightly, but says nothing. You almost let out an irritated sigh, but you don't give up. 

You shift around to his front, throwing a leg over his lap. Your shins rest on either side of his thick thighs and you plop onto him.

Your hands run from his shoulders to the nape of his neck, your fingers finding his soft curls. His face is tight, up close you can see his pursed lips and crinkled eyes.

"Andrew," you say sternly.

He says your name right back, mirroring your tone.

After a few second long stare off, you decide to switch methods. You begin to rock your hips slightly forward as you straddle him, while pouting your lips.

His eyes flash with something that you hope is heat as your movement reminds him of something else you haven't done with him all week.

His hands instinctively go for your thighs, resting on the tops of them. When his palms connect with the bare skin his gaze flicks downward, he then realizes that you're in nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of lace panties.

His lips part slightly as his eyes go from your thighs to their apex, that's covered by thin netted fabric. You stare at his handsome freckled face as he stares at your parted legs. 

You begin to fully grind against him, testing the waters. You don't want him to go, but if he really has to, so be it.

"I- I can't stay," he says a little breathlessly, his now-dilated eyes trained on your panties.

You nod with a "mhm" humming from your mouth as the fabric of your underwear begins to dampen at the friction.

His chest starts to rise and fall quicker, his hands going from your thighs to grip your moving hips. You lean forward— deciding not to kiss his lips in worries it will snap him out of his trance— so you go below his jaw.

You plant a gentle kiss to the exposed skin just above his t-shirt collar. You then move upwards, giving him light pecks along the column of his throat— still grinding your core onto his jean clad crotch.

"I really should go... I have to be there in less than ten-” he sharply inhales “-ten minutes," his strained protest falls a bit flat however, when he simultaneously pushes your hips downward onto his growing erection.

You gasp into his skin as his hardness presses right against the most sensitive part of you. He groans, ever so slightly, and his grip on you tightens. 

You know you almost have him. You could start to beg him to fuck you and he would stay all day, doing exactly as you asked.

But then his brothers would be mad at him, and he would end up feeling guilty and worthless, and it would affect him much more than it should. You don't want that, he doesn't deserve that.

So— even in your increasingly horny daze as you dry hump him— you compromise.

You bring your arms to wrap around his neck, bring your mouth to his ear and whisper, "Can we just be quick?"

He lets out a tortured groan, his palms trail up your back, underneath your shirt— leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Fully hard beneath you now, you feel his size through his jean zipper and your whole body heats at the sensation. Between your legs throbs at the memory of what's behind that zipper.

His arms encircle you, wrapping around your waist just as yours are enclosed around his neck. You're cheek to cheek as he squeezes you tightly into a hug— your hips stop their rocking to return his embrace.

You know it's a sort of thank you.

He knows that you're not going to force or guilt him into staying like any of his family members would. You just want to be with him, spend time with him and make him feel good— make him feel like nobody else can make him feel.

Once he has you tightly surrounded in his sturdy arms, he presses you down onto him again and pushes up his hips. You moan against his ear at the sudden pressure.

He loosens his grip, hands running back down to your waist, resting there gently. You pull back and look at him, your hands play with his curls as your faces are a few inches apart.

Andrew leans forward and presses his lips to yours. It's gentle and sweet and short lived. After a few seconds he pulls away. He takes a deep breath and scans your pretty face- eyes searing with heat. 

"Arms up," he rasps and a shiver of excitement passes through your body.

You do as he says and raise your arms straight up above your head. He grips the hem of your shirt— his shirt— and pulls it off you, tossing it onto the floor. 

He looks at your bare upper body in awe, his gaze filled with an intensity that makes your nipples harden instantly. He stares at your tits with his bottom lip tucked over his teeth, his tongue poked out to wet it.

You bring your arms down to rest your hands on his shoulders, but before they can even get there- Andrew pounces.

He flips you over quicker than you can process. You're now pressed into the mattress, further onto the bed, on your back with him on top of you.

You yelp at the unexpected move and his face dawns a small smile at the sound.

God, you love his smile. 

His weight feels so good and you missed it so much. It's been over a week since he's been on top of you and your legs instinctively wrap around his clothed waist, wanting to keep him there.

He leans down and kisses you, really kisses you this time. Your mouths move together until his tongue reaches out and drags across your lips, requesting access, which you allow immediately.

Your hands run up and down the fabric covering his muscular back, as his tongue slips into your mouth and you kiss in a rhythm that's second nature to both of you. 

He only kisses you for a minute though, before pulling away again, his forehead resting against yours. His desire filled eyes stare at you as he says through heavy breaths, "It has to be quick though, okay?"

His heavy words sends the warm anticipation through your stomach to between your legs. You nod eagerly, biting your lip to try and stop the triumphant smile from spreading across your face. 

Andrew doesn't even make a comment about your smug face like he usually would, he just dives back into hungrily kissing you.

He rests all his weight onto one of his elbows as his free hand comes to your chest and messages your bare boob. You moan into his mouth at the touch, it's deliberate and firm, kneading you in a way that makes you desperately grind your panties against his erection once again.

As your kiss intensifies— tongues clashing and lips swelling— he takes his hand off your breast and starts to pulls at your underwear.

You lift up your hips to make it easier for him and then your lace garment is fully off your body, strewn somewhere onto your bedroom floor.

His hand moves to between your legs, fingers running over your wetness as he exhales into your mouth in what sounds like relief. Your hands go to grip his biceps, you feel how bulky and firm they are as they flex with his motions. 

"You're so ready for me, sweetheart. You're all over my hand already," Andrew groans in between kisses.

You whimper as he circles a finger above your entrance, right where you need him to, then returns downward and pushes two thick fingers inside of you. He only pumps them in and out for a minute or two before he removes his hand— leaving you a whining mess. You make a small noise of protest against his lips.

"Need to be quick, remember?" You hear him undo his belt buckle, unzip his jeans and free himself from his boxers.

You glance down and see what you've been grinding against and your mouth waters.

His dick is long and almost painfully hard. It's thickness and the way it's already glistening at the tip has you squirming from underneath him. He takes himself in his hand, pumping his fist once, twice, then he lines up in between your spread thighs. 

His forehead presses against yours as he slides into you with a quick thrust, his biceps tightening under your fingers as he does. 

You gasp and he lets out a deep sigh of satisfaction as he bottoms out. You wriggle around him as he twitches inside of you, rolling your hips as you adjust to his size that stretches you so exquisitely.

His eyes are screwed shut as you grip him, and he whispers, "I missed you."

You bring your hands to frame his face and you press a kiss to his mouth, then say softly through a shaky breath, "I missed you too, Andrew. I missed you- this, so badly."

He pulls his hips back, almost all the way out of you, before snapping forward again, ripping a moan from your throat. His demeanor shifts from sappy to confident at your reassurance.

"Mmm Yeah," he hums breathily as he slides in and out with ease due to your slickness. His pace is achingly slow and a bit torturous. "I can feel how much you missed me. So wet. So needy. Is this how badly you want me? Is it sweetheart?" 

You try to form words to respond, but his tempo starts to pick up suddenly, as if he remembered he's on a time crunch.

He kisses your neck sloppily, nipping at your skin as he does. You cry out when he sucks the spot below your ear. 

"Need your words. Answer me," his voice is rough with a dash desperation.

"Y-yes," you whimper. "I want you so badly, Andrew. Always."

Your legs tighten around his waist as you suction him, to which he hisses at the vice-like squeeze. Your hands roam all over the hard planes of his freckled body. 

"Shit- You feel so good. So tight and perfect," his words are hoarse from pleasure. Your nails scratch down his muscular back, over his shirt that you wish was off. 

Not that you could form any words right now to ask him to do that— you're too sex hazed and your mouth is occupied by gasps and moans. 

"Tell me," his husky voice demands into your neck, his nose nuzzling your skin as he pounds into you. You know what he's asking for.

"You're all I think about," You choke out- a familiar ball of tension begins to build at the base of your spine. "I think about this- I think about you when I'm—" he sucks your tit into his mouth and you gasp "—when I'm in the shower with my hand between my legs. I- I need you always."

Andrew groans proudly at your words, his movements start to get a little less controlled and a bit more frantic. His noises vibrate around your nipple and your mind melts, head thrown back.

He's pumping into you so intensely, hitting a spot with his generous size that only he has ever been able to reach.

"Y-you're so big- so good. Oh God," you moan as your fingers curl into his hair, needing to grip something to stable your body so he can fuck you deeper.

"Not God," his mouth finds yours as he talks, a strong hand moving to right above where he's plunging into you, rubbing his thumb in circles, "Andrew. Say my name." 

His confidence, his touch, his thick length inside of you— it's all too much. The white hot tension moves up your body, the pleasure clouding behind your ears. 

You do as he says. 

You chant his name over and over again as his thrusts become so desperate, being spurred on by your reassurance. The kisses he's giving you are messy and frantic- you know he's close.

You suck his tongue into your mouth and now it's his turn to say your name— it's a whimper onto your lips as he spills into you. You feel his release warm your insides as his finger continues to work you between your legs, it ignites your own orgasm. 

The euphoric feeling bursts behind your ears and pleasure laced tremors spread throughout your body, your legs shake around his waist. You contract around him as you scream. Yup. You scream.

He rubs, fucks and talks you through your climax with a raspy, “Cum on my dick for me sweetheart. Yeah…Yeah. Give it to me all pretty like you always do. Just like that— so good.”

After Andrew's words and thrusts subside and you come back into your body, you're lax on the bed with him propped above you, arms braced at your side. You're both sweaty and inhaling each others heavy breaths— noses touching, eyes closed.

He sighs then kisses you gently, and your heart sinks slightly when you realize it's a goodbye kiss.

"I have to go," he sounds like he's pulling teeth out as he says it, which makes you feel a bit better. Not better about him being upset, it just feels nice to know how badly he wants to stay with you.

You nod, not wanting to make him feel worse than he already does for leaving. His eyelids open as yours do, his lips are turned inward in a slight frown and his eyes are glossy, puppy-dog sad.

"I'm sorry," he whispers while rolling his forehead against yours, expecting you to care for him less now or punish him in some way.

Your heart aches and your hands move to cup his jaw.

"Don't be Andrew, I'm sorry I made you stay... even though it was worth it," you bite your lip as you smile, trying to joke a little and ease the tension he's feeling.

"You didn't make me." A smirk spreads across his face, he blinks away his anxiety, "Worth it for me too."

You feel him start to harden inside of you again, your legs still wrapped around him. You squirm a bit and heat floods your cheeks, a small hum slips out of you.

He grunts in disappointment and unfortunately  pulls out, "Don't have time, sorry sweetheart."

You nod and sit upright as he stands, tucking himself back into his jeans, not bothering to wipe your blended arousals off of himself- it makes you blush.

You then realize that he is fully clothed and you are fully naked as you stare at him. How dirty. From the way that he bites his lip and his eyes roam all over your bare chest and spread legs, he has just realized the same. Your blush deepens.

He shakes his head slightly, banishing whatever thoughts flooded his mind, running a hand through his curls.

You stand off the bed, legs a little shaky still, and step to him, pressing a featherlight kiss to his mouth as you stand on your tip toes.

"When you come back I'll be fully clothed and you'll be naked, okay?" Your tone is playful.

You go to step away, but he pulls you to his chest, gripping your waist and pressing you into a hard kiss. 

"How about we're both naked, okay?" He murmurs against your mouth, smugness appearing in his eyes.

"Deal," you bite your bottom lip in a smile. You step around him, walking towards the bathroom to the shower.

Before you pass the doorframe you pause, and turn back towards him as he's stepping into his boots.

"If Baz gets mad, tell him that I needed you to fuck me good like you always do." You want to get his confidence up before he goes and sees the people who are the reason he barely has any.

His broad chest moves as he chuckles and he shakes his curly head in disbelief. 

"Bye Andrew… stay safe," Your tone serious and— as always— a bit worrisome.

He nods and picks up his jacket off your dresser.

"For you I will be. I'll be back as soon as I can, don't get dressed."

You laugh as he walks out of your bedroom, closing the door behind him.

he made sure you came on his face at least three times. until your legs were jelly, brain mush, voice hoarse from begging him to stop. ‘i-i can’t’ you had whined, ‘ ‘s too much andy!’. he did it to get you into that floaty head space where you’re babbling mindlessly and lax for him.

and you’re exactly that as pope crawls up your body and settles where he belongs, above you and inbetween your legs. still, you breathlessly slur the question that he despises. “condom?”

he feigns frustration even though this is exactly what he planned. “shit— i left my wallet in craig’s car… i don’t have one.”

your response is a needy whine that morphs into a gasp when he rests his cock against your drenched folds and slowly slides back and forth. “can i just have you like this sweetheart?” pope rubs his thick length upwards, angry pink tip catching your clit with every pressing glide. you whimper through your desperate nods, nails clawing at his shoulders, fusing your knees to his ribs to stay spread for him. such a good girl, he thinks to himself.

he keeps his ruttings short. almost playfully light in order to not get you anywhere besides out of your mind from teasing. just how he wants it. when you start to wriggle beneath him, whimpering a few mindless “please please please”s, he looks down at your aching pussy to see her clench around nothing. poor baby, she needs me so bad, he tells himself.

his dick is so drenched in your slick releases that pope ‘accidentally’ notches at your opening. staying in motion, he pushes in ever so slightly. your eyes shoot open in surprise “ohh- andy!” you squeal. frustration bubbles in his chest, but he doesn’t give up. because your panic simmers to heat and your mouth forms an ‘o’ as you moan at just his bare tip breaching your wet heat.

he buries his face into your neck to hide his satisfied grin, licking and suckling the skin how he knows you like. “jus the tip sweetheart? please?” he emphasizes his wimpy whines with an inching forward of his hips. your nails tear at the flesh on his back as you shudder. “p-promise?” you croak out. his reply is strained. “ ‘course honey.”

popes promise — to him at least— goes up in flames when he slips a tiny bit further inside and is met with warm, silky tightness. fuckkk. he groans, muscles tensing and you cry out, eyes rolling back. his thrusts are shallow and unsatisfactory. after a only a few, he’s twitching in need, pathetically trying to inch deeper.

you notice, starting to whine and pant. “you cant! i’m n-not on the pill!” the words almost make pope start to piston in and out of you. the thought of coming in you until you’re swollen with his baby infiltrating his mind. that you’ll be tied to him forever and— oh yeah. that’s happening, he decides.

pope leans down to kiss you languidly. trying to tongue fuck you into submission. your pussy is rapidly fluttering around the first inch of him, telling him that you want this just as bad as he does. he uses his words. “you just feel so good sweetheart. need you so bad. need all of you.” a breathy moan slips from you at his praise as you return his kiss greedily.

you pull back and blink up at him with your glossy eyes and kiss bitten lips. when your legs start to wrap around him, crossing tightly at his back, he knows he’s almost home free. “okay... i- i need you too andy.”

you barely get the words out before he hastily pushes all the way inside of you. guttural noises of pleasure are ripped from you both as you clench around him so prettily and he stretches you out so perfectly. it’s searing, intimate and raw. so fucking raw.

as pope starts to thrust in and out of you eagerly, obscene slapping sounds echo throughout the room. he whimpers loudly at the warm, wet feeling of you and the noises your body makes for him.

when you shakily tell him between moans “you h-have to pull out okay?”

"need him to do a beer run again. we're almost out and we need some for tonight," he said as he walked away from the patio.

the youngest brother gave him a hum in half-hearted agreement, lying back down on the wooden chair to sun-bathe as his hangover wore off.

craig looked around, realizing that his brother was nowhere to be found inside the house. this was odd. he'd just been here, and he wasn't the type to just disappear.

before craig could ponder on it much longer, his feet had taken him all the way to the driveway, where a strange sound caught his attention.

a few steps ahead was pope's truck, which meant he hadn't actually left.

but that wasn't what had caught his attention.

it was what was going on inside it.

the windows were a little foggy, but not enough that craig missed the perfect picture of what, to him, looked like a cheap porno.

pope sat back on the front seat, head digging into the back of the seat as his arms gripped at a girl's thighs.

craig was more than a little familiar with the girl on top of his brother.

pope's girlfriend; you.

he'd seen those legs before, had seen the expanse of them due to the tiny skirts you wore around his brother, the nonexistent bikinis that clung to your body when you swam in the cody pool.

craig had had his fill of checking out pope's girlfriend in the past, but he'd never seen you like this.

craig had the perfect view of your tits, bouncing up and down with every move of your hips. your lips were interlocked, tongues peeking out every so often to play with each other.

it was a nasty sort of kiss.

any time your tongue wasn't trapped by pope's, you returned the favor, suctioning at his tongue in the same way craig imagined you'd trap a dick between your lips. it made him shudder to think of what else you could do with your tongue.

the tiny dress you'd been wearing earlier was bunched up at the hips and torn down at the shoulders, existing uselessly between you and pope as you recklessly rode him.

you were practically nude while his brother sat under you, likely with his pants shoved down just enough to have you take him.

every so often your hands would leave his hair to dig under his shirt, nails scratching at his chest, hands restless as if you couldn't decide what you wanted to touch more.

craig couldn't help but stand there and watch, eyebrows furrowing when you threw your head back, halting your bounces and beginning a deep and slow grind. craig couldn't see more than your upper bodies, but the pace of your practiced movements told him that you were practically using pope to get off.

craig attempted to remove pope from the equation, choosing instead to just enjoy the sight of you.

you were desperate. craig couldn't quite hear you very well, but your body language told him just how badly you needed to get off. your body used pope's to your own satisfaction while the lucky bastard sat under you, clearly unable to handle you.

your sounds were muffled, but still loud enough to be heard by any unsuspecting passerby.

"'m almost there, baby- keep- fuck, don't move, just wanna- my clit, andy- hnng, it feels so good—"

"y-yes, just like that- aaaandy, fuuuuck, please-"

"so big, baby ... feels so fucking good— want you in my mouth after this."

"want you to fill me up so bad, andy- want you to lick it all off."

craig felt lightheaded.

pope said a few things too, but for his sanity, craig blocked them out.

your eyes began to roll back, to which pope responded by cupping your cheek, thumb caressing your cheek and making you look to him — too romantic for craig's liking, but your doe eyes had him reeling anyway.

shifting your head a little, you fished for his thumb, trapping it between your lips, going crosseyed, sucking at it as the car began to shake more and more, leading to a muffled whine coming from your lips.

without realizing, he'd stood there until your climax (and pope's), frozen and uncomfortably turned on as he practically salivated at his brother's girlfriend's orgasm face.

"dude, where'd you go?"

craig immediately snapped out of it, looking back to find deran look to him with a quizzical look.

"you find pope?"

"oh, uh, no, just-"

"wait, is that- is that pope?" deran had reached craig by then, noticing what he'd been looking at so suspiciously and reacting accordingly upon realizing just what it was, "holy fuck, you're disgusting."

with that, deran walked away, face drawn up with disgust at both brothers, though with a little extra judgment directed at craig.

"dude!" craig yelled after deran, "it's not like that— she's hot, okay? fucking sue me."

and craig should've probably walked away then, but he'd been too caught up in yelling back at deran to hear a pair of car doors open and close. and much less did he hear his brother's stealthy steps behind him.

"thanks, craig. but i have a boyfriend."

he had no time to notice you as you walked past him, giggling in the process of walking away. he didn't even get a chance to watch the sway of your hips as you headed towards the house before he felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder.

"hope you enjoyed the show, because next time i see you ogling my girlfriend i'm breaking your jaw."

it'd been said in monotone, like all things pope.

but craig nodded to himself, cursing under his breath before deciding that maybe he should just go get the beers himself.

-

because last night he'd learned just how thin the walls at the cody house were.

he'd learned that, yeah, maybe he should've been a little more considerate of his brothers when staying up all night with a new girl in his room every other day.

but, to be fair, there was no way for craig to know that this was what his brothers were hearing through all hours of the night when his promiscuity got the best of him.

"i swear to god, if i hear one more 'andy-!' i'm going to march in there with a shotgun."

deran could only chuckle into his mouthful of cereal, clearly way less impacted by the noise than his brother.

he was used to it. courtesy of craig himself.

"what, not as fun when it's not a girl screaming your name?"

before craig could answer, the slam of a headboard hitting the wall that separated the kitchen and pope's room began to accelerate once more, interrupting anything he could've said.

and when he opened his mouth after a short pause, he was interrupted once more, except this time by something worse — wails of his brother's name.

"a-andy, fuck! please, fuck, andy—!"

"you've gotta be fucking kidding me," he muttered under his breath before addressing his brother, "no. in fact, sex completely loses its appeal when i'm not the one on the receiving end."

"shit! oh, andyandyandy- don't stop!"

craig rolled his eyes, movements brusque as he took out a few things to make himself breakfast. he could feel a headache coming in.

"hey, be happy it's only her you can hear. i can't even imagine what pope would soun-"

craig grimaced, "don't finish that sentence, man. i don't wanna know what fucking pope sounds like during sex."

deran shrugged, continuing to eat his soggy cereal. nonchalance seethed out of him.

some moments of silence passed between the brothers, with the occasional eye roll from craig and the snicker from deran as the noises came and went. both brothers shared a fleeting thought, which was just how long could the two of you go for?

"i mean, there's no way pope's that good, right?"

"dude, you just said you didn't want to think about pope having sex."

"okay, but listen," craig interrupted halfway through making himself a sandwich, "do you hear that? there's no way she's not faking it. pope can't be that good. he's way smaller than me, his dick can't be that-"

"dude."

"i'm just saying—!"

unfortunately, the hammering at the wall reached its crescendo just then, halting any further conversation that could be had.

your screams increased in volume, and now a few sounds could be heard coming from the other party involved. andrew's pained groans joined your wails, making both guys share a look of terror between one another.

"it's so big, andy! fuck! r-right there—! 'm almost- ffffuck, hnnng, andy, yes!"

and then a very loud grunt from pope was followed by silence.

craig felt some heat reach his neck, but he shook his head in a shudder in order to snap out of it.

meanwhile, deran felt weirdly shocked. he was happy that his brother had found what seemed to be the one and trusted them enough to bring her back home, but this was way more than he'd ever expected to hear from a brother. and this was said with craig's sexcapades in mind.

"okay, i'm gonna kill him-"

"that'll just make him go harder next time."

"fuck, you're right."

and so they found themselves at an impasse.

after the silence began to invade the next room over, it didn't take long for the eldest cody brother to walk into the room, breaking the awkward and defeated silence that had formed in the kitchen.

as expected, be was almost fully nude, with only a tight pair of boxers covering his manhood and a variety of marks adorning his upper body — although craig's nosy eyes noticed a faded trail of hickeys to be found on pope's inner thighs, making him gag internally.

andrew immediately took notice of the weird silence and the shared looks behind his back as he neared the fridge for some cold water.

slowly turning around, he asked, in a somewhat pointed tone, "what?"

settled on opposite sides of the kitchen island, his brothers looked to him with different expressions.

deran seemed mostly incredulous. craig was just frustrated — either jealousy or annoyance, not even he could tell.

"'andy'?" was all craig said.

"got a problem, craig?"

"maybe keep it down next time, yeah, brother?"

deran sighed, continuing to occupy himself with his cereal. pope could be a bit of a ticking time bomb if poked just at the right moment. this was uncharted territory, so he wasn't very sure how much craig could push before making pope blow up.

but craig continued.

his crown had been toppled a little, maybe.

"you're saying that to me?"

with a scoff and an incredulous chuckle, andrew turned back to the fridge, grabbing himself two water bottles before closing it back up and facing his brothers once more. to him, the conversation must've been over.

"i'm just saying, it's a shared space. i don't need to hear your girlfriend, or whatever, screaming your name all fucking night."

pope's eye twitched at the tone in which the word girlfriend was said, but he let it slide.

there was a certain, uncharted, sense of pride he felt at the comment.

his girlfriend screaming his name all night long.

yeah. this could easily become the new normal to him. he had felt a slight surge of confidence upon leaving his room that morning, somewhat aware of how much noise you'd been making, but just completely careless about it. it had been at the back of his mind, but every thrust just buried the thought deeper. up until the point where it became completely insignificant.

(how could he think about decorum when he had you under him, clawing at his back, crying out 'andyandyandy-' in the prettiest voice he'd ever heard, going higher and higher the more he lost himself in your pussy—)

but when he turned around, craig continued to glare at him as if he'd personally offended him.

and normally andrew would've been perfectly fine with decking him, telling him to get fucked, and walking past him. but a very welcome interruption entered the room before he could.

"baby?"

it came from behind craig, leading to the hallway that connected the walls of the kitchen and his room. the soft sound of your voice caused all boys to face you. deran offered a smile, albeit a little forced and awkward. craig scoffed to himself and nodded in semi-polite greeting, hands in pockets as he leaned against the counter in order to create space for you to get to pope.

there you stood, hair disheveled, makeup running slightly down your waterline and donning only one of pope's plain pajama shirts.

with a little extra attention, it would've been easy to spot the matching trail of hickeys up your thighs. and some x-ray vision would've provided the life-ruining sight of your hidden skin filled with marks made by andrew's teeth.

"you were taking too long, what's wrong?"

and, fuck, andrew almost went hard again at those simple words.

pride swelled in his chest, a weird sense of superiority invading him at having his sweet, pretty, gorgeous girl standing in front of his family in such a state.

andrew didn't need to argue with craig any longer. no words were needed as the appearance of his sweet girl said everything that needed to be said.

"sorry, sweetheart, just saying good morning to the guys."

andrew took the few steps that separated you and held onto your hand with one hand as the other held the two bottles of water (swoon), beginning to lead you back where you came from.

at that you smiled at them, sleepy demeanor leaving you a bit as you mumbled 'morning,' seemingly unaware of craig's earlier complaints.

as andrew passed in front of craig, he smirked to himself, twice as much when he noticed craig's annoyed scowl.

"might wanna get some earbuds or somethin'" he mumbled under his breath as he walked away.

once he was gone, craig groaned to himself, speaking up one last time.

"yeah, i guess it's time i moved out."

SD!Jack Abbot who tells you you're going on a summer trip with him a day before the flight. He sends you a quick text with the 5-star hotel in Monaco and an itinerary—no questions asked. After all, you were his sugar baby, and he needed you by his side. A pretty thing to show off at expensive cocktail hours on private yachts or to sit on his lap on a white sandy beach in nothing more than a strappy bikini. 

You agreed without hesitation. 

SD!Jack Abbot who didn't make you beg for his shiny black card (you soon learned it was actually an American Express Centurion). You had 24 hours you prime yourself for your luxury Italian vacation: 4 hours sitting in the salon chair -$560, 1 hour getting a mani-pedi -$175, 1 hour Brazilian waxing appointment -$120; and of course your favorite part, 8 solid hours spent in the lux mall to buy the skimpiest bikinis and sundresses, heels, makeup, jewelry -$11,000. The best thing about Jack's card is that he had no limit. You had whined and pouted about spending more than $500 when you first met him, and sighed when he deemed that pocket change. 10k was his minimum, and he wanted you to spend to your heart's content. If you didn't buy it, he'd just buy it anyway. You don't even bother looking at price tags anymore; instead, you appreciate the item for what it is. Like a red lace thong and matching bra from Fleur de Mal that caught your eye while passing through the store. Maybe you'll surprise Jack later...

SD!Jack Abbot who leads you around the international airport with a gentle hand on the small of your back. He walked with a steady confidence that made you want to turn your brain off. He knew exactly where to go and wouldn't let you lift a finger. Chauffeur-driven airport transfers, a personal flight attendant who prechecked bags and loaded them first with TSA precheck, facial massages, and a Michelin-star brunch provided in the Emirates lounge area. They even offered to get Jack a wheelchair for his leg, but he insisted on walking with his girl. 

SD!Jack Abbot who got to the gate and only had to flash a smile to the attendant to be ushered past a line of people awaiting the plane. It felt wrong and so completely foreign. But once settled in the plush seats of the first class, all you could think about is the wonderful 2 weeks ahead of you. Jack sits down beside you with a small groan and rubs at his metallic knee before unhooking it. "You okay, Jackie?" You look up at him with doe eyes, chin propped up in your hand. "Why are you worried about me, baby?" He smiled, flicking the tip of your nose with his finger, " 'm fine." He ordered two drinks and melted into the seat. One hand held the thin glass flute, and the other found the soft flesh of your thigh, kneading it gently. You occupy yourself throughout the flight with movies, shitty offline mobile games, books, and a short catnap before landing at Nice Côte d'Azur airport in France. Monaco was only a 30-minute drive away. 

SD!Jack Abbot who rented a sleek black Mercedes-Benz for the rest of the trip, let you be the passenger princess. "Do you know where you're going?" He shoots you a look. "Jus saying... Google Maps doesn't work around here. "I can read a map" "You brought a paper map?" "A souvenir," he claimed as he unfolded the paper in his lap and pointed at a road, "we should be somewhere around here..." "Jack. Don't tell me we're lost." You eventually made it to your destination, a large coastal resort fit with a golf course and a 2000 sqft luxury suite. Your belongings were already in the room, clothes sorted in dressers, robes, and welcome gifts on the bed. You turn to Jack to place a big kiss on his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck.  

SD!Jack Abbot who doesn't even flinch when you thank him, just brushes it off with a "anything for my girl" and a slap on the ass. He plops onto the California king-size bed and pats the space beside him. You ignore the spot altogether and crawl onto his lap. His hands ran down your body, squeezing your plump chest, caressing your hips, rubbing your thighs. You place kisses against the mature lines of his neck and begin unbuttoning his tacky, vibrant vacation shirt. You trailed your lips all the way down to his navel when his phone vibrated. Work

SD!Jack Abbot who unbuckles his belt and shoves his pants down when he answers the phone. He talks into the earpiece, voice unwavering as he fucked your face. "Yep, we'll be there tonight, Robby." You heard him say over the sound of your slurping and gagging. He let out a rough exhale as the man on the other side of the phone just kept talking. Your hot mouth and soft hands on his cock were driving him insane, closer to the edge. "...fuck---no sorry. Yep, I'm fine, brother, be there tonight. Roma Yacht, left off the pier" a sharp inhale when you took him to the back of your throat, "I will see you tonight. In the middle of business. Yep, bye!" 

SD!Jack Abbot who grabbed your hair and rutted himself into your mouth the second the call ended. He emptied himself in your throat, pulling out and letting the last spurt of cum land all over your face. He swiped a thumb over the mess at the corner of your lip and pressed it between your lips "Go clean up. We have somewhere to be, baby." 

SD!Jack Abbot who watches you walk over to the bathroom, pulled his pants back on. He looked in the mirror and fixed his salt and pepper curls. You come out of the bathroom with a clean face and a little black dress. He let you get dolled up so you didn't look like you had just had your face fucked 5 minutes ago. He gave you a slow once-over that screamed "I'm not done with you." You smooth your hair out of your face and follow him out of the resort to the line of expensive yachts waiting on the coast. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ pt.2 

SD!Jack Abbot who introduced you to all his colleagues as his 'girlfriend' and joked about how you kept him young. He handed you a glass of expensive rosé. You had only the expectation to smile, look pretty, hold the champagne glass daintily, bat your eyes at old couples, laugh at suggestive jokes about your appearance—the old song and dance that came with these events. You brushed it off and wrapped yourself tighter around Jack's bicep.

SD!Jack Abbot who couldn't keep his hands off you all night. A hand resting on your hip, an arm around your shoulder, lips against your temple. He did NOT care about PDA. He whispered reassurances into your ear all night long, sometimes in front of guests, not caring who overheard him calling you a good girl or how pretty you looked.

SD!Jack Abbot who snuck you into a private room in the interior rooms of the yacht to make out. He loved the way you made him feel alive again, your skin hot and soft against his. He hastily returned to the fancy gathering of doctors, lawyers, and dignitaries. Back to the niceties of shallow conversation. Robby raised his brow at the smudged lipstick on the crisp white collar of Jack's dress shirt. Hm. You smile and laugh it off, letting the alcohol and laughter soothe the suspicions. 

SD!Jack Abbot who you convinced to get into the hot tub connected to the suite bedroom. He concedes with some light pressuring and your nude form under the bubbling hot water. "Don't be shy, daddy. C'mere," you rest your cheek against the edge of the tub. "...but my leg, can't get it wet. "then take it off." He pursed his lips and went to undo the mechanism connecting his prosthetic. He sat down on the edge of the bed and hobbled over with crutches, "Really sexy, huh?" His voice was sarcastic and horribly insecure. How could this man possibly be insecure!? You must prove him wrong. You tug him into the hot tub, “very”. 

SD!Jack Abbot who was completely in the nude, sank into the hot water. His grey-haired, speckled chest came just above the water line. You tried to keep your eyes from trailing down to the reflection of his dick. You wade over to him on the bench and sit on his good thigh. "You enjoy tonight, sweetheart?" he asked, “I know I did.” You nod and run a greedy hand down his abdomen to his stump and back up to his neck. 

SD!Jack Abbot who froze at the simple words "I love you" that fell from your lips. Your very wet and kissable lips. "Yeah, you like this old man?" "mature" he let out a raspy laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling, "yeah right. Whatever the hell you want to call it, baby. The wrinkles and grey aren’t gonna scare you away?" You nibble at your lower lip and shake your head. "What am I gonna do with you. Hm?" He took your jaw with his large palm, forcing you to look at him. You close the gap between your faces and plant sloppy kisses on his lips, his stubble scratchy against your chin. 

SD!Jack Abbot who couldn't seem to get hard, his cock staying flaccid when you fondled him. "Shit" he hissed. "'s okay, Jackie." "I forgot to bring my prescription...sorry, baby." "It's okay, really." His lips pulled into a tight, frustrated line. You'd been teasing him all night, and now he couldn't even do anything about it. 

SD!Jack Abbot who begged you to sit on his face when you both got out of the hot tub. "Sit down all the way," he growled as you hovered over his waiting lips. He yanked you down by the hips. You gripped his hair as he ate you out thoroughly, his tongue dipping into your hole and lapping at your clit. At the same time, he pumped furiously at his half limp cock. You turn around on his mouth, your ass cheek now pressed against his nose, so you could lean down and go down on his soft member. A hand landed on your ass with a tight grip when you suckled on the head of his cock.

SD!Jack Abbot who flipped you over the second he got hard enough to put it in you. He held your wrists over your head as he pounded into you hard and fast. He liked the way you moaned his name, daddy, or whatever could get out of you. Then he stopped. 

SD!Jack Abbot who told you it was time to "show him a little gratitude" and ride him. Why did he have to do all the work after paying for this trip? You climbed on top of him shakily, sinking yourself on his thick, veiny cock that was now rock solid. He rests his hands behind his head as he watches you make a mess of yourself on his cock: head thrown back, makeup smudged, a mess of juices inside your thighs. He rested a hand on your hip to thrust up into you lazily. The cool European air wafted through the open balcony doors. He could look over your shoulder and look at the water and the late setting sun. How the golden glow made your skin look radiant. 

It’s not that you expected the frequency of sex to remain the same throughout your pregnancy. Hell, there are times where intimacy has been scarce before. Life gets busy. Sometimes those sorts of things fall to the wayside. It feels different lately, though. And maybe that’s just you getting into your own head. You tend to do that.

Trouble is, your body is changing—every day it’s changing, and in ways you don’t always find easy to reconcile with. Sometimes it’s hard to look in the mirror and appreciate any of what you see. So is it really that farfetched to assume that Jack might feel the same way—that his attraction has waned over the past several months?

After weeks of him constantly side stepping intimacy, you decide, one evening, to give it one last try. You doll yourself up, shave as best you can given the constraints your pregnancy puts on you, and wrap yourself in a silk robe.

You feel a bit ridiculous, posing in what you hope is an alluring manner on the bed. Jack hardly looks up as he enters the room and sits at the edge of the mattress. Your confidence, as fickle as ever, shrinks a few sizes. He grunts as he doffs his prosthetic, leaning down to massage his leg. 

You swallow hard and shuffle closer, sidling up to him so you can press a kiss to his jaw. One hand lands on his thigh, fingers trekking upwards. He shrugs you off, rolling his shoulders. 

“You should get some rest, sweetheart.”

The rejection feels sharper than usual. You think because this time you’re trying—really trying and he barely looks at you. Maybe it’s worse than you thought. Is he so repulsed that he can’t even bring himself to look at you for more than a few seconds? You feel like an idiot for attempting to make something happen. 

“Jack,” you begin, failing to keep your voice as prim and even as you want to. “It’s okay if you’re not attracted to me anymore, but please tell me so I can stop making a fool of myself.”

A silence presides over the room, so potent you could hear a pin drop. His movements still completely. Then he whips his head around so fast that you swear, if you were none the wiser, you would be convinced that you’ve just shot him straight through the chest.

The utter shock on his face makes you feel crazy. You have half the mind to start back pedaling, but you’ve already hit the gas on this conversation. There’s no turning back now. The damage is done.

He opens his mouth then closes it. You have rendered your husband, who can rarely ever shut his mouth, speechless. Absent-mindedly, you fiddle with the hem of your robe, waiting for him to muster up his next words.

His eyes elevator down then back up your figure. Jack has been your comfort person for so long you forgot how it is to feel as though you’re under his scrutiny. You hate feeling the innate need to shield your body from a gaze that has never looked at you with anything but admiration before.

“What are you talking about?”

“This—whatever is going on.” You gesture vaguely between you. “You barely look at me, let alone touch me.”

Shock resurfaces on his face. Then his brows pinch together, and you watch the gears turn as he retraces every moment over the past couple weeks. Dragging one leg up onto the bed, he scoots closer and cups your face. 

The fragility with which he speaks brings you back down to earth, urging you out of the storm that has been silently brewing for weeks. 

“I’ve been withholding because I worry about losing myself in the heat of the moment,” he says, holding your gaze firm. “I am incredibly attracted to you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m pregnant, not made of glass, Jack,” you huff. All this worry and insecurity because Jack didn’t think himself capable of being gentle enough with you. It would be endearing if you weren’t terribly sexually frustrated. It feels like a lot of time has been wasted—opportunities let slip away.

“I know. I know…” he says, eyes deliberately raking over you again. “Very pregnant, and so fuckin’ sexy for it.”

“You’re laying it on pretty thick there.” You want to give him a hard time—make him really grovel for it, but you are so pent up that you’re not sure how long you can deny him. He frowns, and his eyes look so sad that you nearly give in at the mere sight.

“I’m sorry I made you feel anything less than beautiful,” he says. “I shouldn’t have made any decisions for you.”

You turn your head to the side in an attempt to avoid falling back under his spell. 

“I’d like to make it up to you, baby,” he continues, and you’re sure that if you let him, he would talk your ear off for an eternity. “I’ve been pent up myself here…”

“And whose fault is that?” The look you give him is scalding. He offers you a sheepish smile in return.

“Your idiot husband’s.”

“Yeah, my idiot husband’s,” you echo as the space between you narrows. His lips meet yours in a heated kiss. He licks into your mouth. Your axis tilts, and you land flat on the bed. He moves to occupy the space above you. A soft sound wells up your throat when he pulls away.

“Oh fuck…” he hisses. You follow his gaze to your chest where two damp patches have formed in the silky fabric over your nipples. His eyes flick up to you, pupils dilated. “When did this start?”

His fingers are already tucking themselves into the waist tie of your robe before you can reply.

“A couple days ago,” you say. He makes quick work of the knot and your robe falls open. “Didn’t want to give you another reason to find me unattractive.”

He fits your swollen breasts into the broad cradle of his palms, attention locked onto where pearlescent liquid trickles in continuous droplets. 

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” he says. His thumb swipes up a droplet and he brings it to his mouth. You watch as his eyes flutter shut and a groan swells from his chest at the taste of you. He immediately brings his hand back down, massaging your breasts and watching in fascination as thin rivulets pour down your skin. “I’m crazy about you.”

It’s difficult to deny such a statement when his erection is pressing incessantly against your thigh. One of his hands coasts down your body, stopping only once he’s cupped it over your glistening cunt. He slides three fingers over the seam, dipping down to prod at your entrance. 

“I need you—now!” You whine, bucking your hips. It’s been too long, and your patience has worn extremely thin.

“Mhm? Okay,” he murmurs, withdrawing to ruck his pants and underwear down. He gives his cock a few firm strokes before lining himself up with your entrance and slowly pushing in. You mewl at the stretch.

Slowly, he begins to rut into you. His attention fixates on your breasts that bounce with every thrust, your nipples still dribbling milk. He moans lowly, unable to resist for much longer.

“Can I?” His head dips down. You feel his hot breath fan over damp skin and shudder.

“You mean—You want to…?”

“There’s nothing I want more right now.” He hovers a second longer before latching onto one nipple, and giving a gentle suck. His hips stutter as a strangled noise escapes him. You cup the back of his head, fingers tangling in sandy grey curls. He reaches between you to toy with your clit. 

“Jack…!” you keen, consumed by a multitude of sensations. He hums, pulling off of you with a wet pop. Next, he’s leaning down and dragging your other nipple into his mouth. It’s so much all at once. Your body shakes apart, tensing up and then going listless. He bottoms out one last time, pouring himself into you while he smothers himself in your tits.

It takes him another couple moments to withdraw, lifting his head to meet your gaze. He looks a mess, but satisfied—that smirk of his twitching at the corner of his lips.

“You’re crazy,” you say breathlessly.

You weren’t even supposed to be at the Cody house, really. Smurf was throwing a party that night and asked you to drop off some beers. When you rounded the corner of the yard, you saw him. Pope Cody. Straddling a man with his fist raised and blood dripping from his fingers. Smurf sat in a chair, lazily watching the scene unfold. You stumbled to a halt. You knew who Pope was. You’d been working with the Codys for a long time, running little errands they didn’t feel like doing. You had gotten especially close to Pope, bringing him food on surveillance missions and staying to talk with him. The two of you had a friendship, and by the way he looked at you, you assumed there was a spark of something more. Smurf had noticed, too, and she wanted you to see first hand what Pope was capable of. She thought it would scare you away, leave her son alone so he could remain indebted to her. 

When you let out a little gasp, Pope instantly looked up, pausing the beating and locking eyes with you. Emotion washed over his features, but only for a moment. It was long enough. He looked scared, guilty, hurt. You didn’t say anything. Your expression was enough: wide-eyed and uneasy. Your gaze flicked from him, to his fist, to the pulpy face of the man he was holding up by his shirt. Pope immediately let go of the man and he fell to the ground with a grunt. He pushed himself up and stalked into the house, shaking out his hand. You followed after him, setting the case of beer down next to Smurf, who was trying and failing to hide her smirk. 

You found Pope in his bedroom, leaning against his dresser with a wide stance. His face was drawn tight and his eyes were wattery, like he was trying not to cry. He pressed his lips together and they moved with words he was saying in his mind. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” He told you. His voice was wet. “You…you shouldn’t have seen me like that.” A tear slipped from his eye and he sharply turned his head. You entered the room calmly.

“It’s okay.” You assured him. You placed your fingers on his forearm and he just lowered his head and clenched his fist tighter. He was shaking. “You didn’t…you didn’t scare me. I know what you do.” He eyes flicked to yours, a small simmer of rage behind them.

“What I do?” He repeated. “What I do. I scare people. I hurt people. You should be terrified of me.” 

“Maybe.” You said and cast your eyes down. His face fell a little. “But I’m not.” When you looked back up at him, your eyes were blazing.

You crashed your lips onto his, fisting his shirt to pull him even closer to you. At first, Pope reciprocated, clashing his tongue against yours and letting out a little moan into your mouth. But a few moments later, he roughly pushed you away. Not harsh enough to hurt you, just to get you off him. You stumbled back, blinking in surprise.

“Pope, what-”

“Stop!” He barked, turning sideways so he didn’t have to look at you. “Just…stop.” His breathing was ragged and his hands came up behind his head, tugging at his own hair. Pope paced around the room like a caged animal. You watched him nervously. Your heart cracked at the rejection, tears prickling at your eyes.

“I…I thought that…” You whispered, afraid that your voice would break if you raised. “I thought you wanted me.” Pope’s eyes snapped to yours, confusion building behind them.

“I do want you.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Then kiss me.” You took a step towards him but he stepped back.

“No.” 

“Why not?” You hissed, hands curling into a fist. “Why won’t you let yourself do this one thing? Fuck’s sake, Pope!” Pope glared at you. He took a deep breath and marched over to you, getting close to you without actually touching.

“Because I don’t deserve it.” He seethed through gritted teeth, looking down at you from over his nose with crazed eyes. “Because you’re perfect and I’m some miserable mutt. All I know how to do is steal and kill. I can never get the blood out from under my fingernails, you know that? No matter how hard and how long I scrub them. It’s always there. And I know that if I get too close to you, one day that blood is going to be yours. I would rather die than live long enough to see myself hurt you. So, yea, I want you. God, I want you more than the oxygen in my lungs. That’s why you need to stay the fuck away from me.” Pope pointed a finger in your face. And you don’t know why, but you kissed the tip of it. Not in a sexual way, but in a gentle way. The care your lips brushed over his calloused, bloody skin shocked Pope so much that his resolve faltered. He lowered his hands to his sides, squaring off his shoulders and looking down at his feet. He breathed hard through his nose and pressed his eyes together. 

“Pope,” You called softly, and you saw his lip quiver. He was bracing himself, waiting for you to scream horrendous insults his way. Instead, you reached out a hand and brushed it against his chest. He tensed, but didn’t move away. “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.” Pope’s eyes snapped open. 

“What?” 

“The fact that you care that much about me. That you would deny yourself happiness, just to keep me safe.” You explained. “Anyone can beat someone up for me. But you’d dedicate your life to me. Only you could reach that level of devotion. And that’s why you’re the only one worthy of my love.” Pope swallowed uneasily. What were you getting at? “Would you?”

“Would I what?”

“Would you dedicate your life to protecting me?” You saw a flash of pure loyalty cross his face.

“I would rip out a man’s throat with my bare teeth if he touched you.” Pope growled, stepping towards you, walking you towards the wall. His pupils were blown and the muscle under his eye was twitching. “I’d sit at the foot of your bed all night to make sure you sleep soundly.” Another step. “I’d follow you around all day waiting for you to ask me for something.” Another. Your back was fully against the wall, chest touching his. Pope’s lips ghosted over your nose, still making searing eye contact. He lowered his voice. “I’d fuck you so hard you’d never want to leave my bed.” He was trying to be scary. Intimidate you into leaving his life before he allowed himself to get too entangled with you. Before he allowed himself to let down his guard and show you that he wasn’t a bad dog. Not really. He’d just been beaten so many times that baring his teeth was his first instinct. But the dissuasion wasn't working. You swallowed thickly and held his gaze. Your eyes reflected the fire he was feeling. You cupped your hands around his cheeks and Pope’s eyes fluttered shut. 

“Prove it.” You challenged, huffing the words over his lips. Pope’s hands gripped your hip and spun you around before you could truly comprehend what was happening. He pressed your front to the wall and dipped his head to be level with your ear.

“Yea?” Pope huffed. “You getting turned on by how fucked up I am? I kill people.” You let out a moan at his words and Pope laughed cruelly. 

“You’d kill someone for me?” You asked and Pope’s grip tightened.

“Anyone.” He growled. “All you have to do is ask.”

“Good, ‘cause I got a list.” A hand smacked your ass.

“I’m not kidding.” Pope kneaded the flesh between his fingers. He got to his knees and pulled down your pants. “You want me to prove it, huh? You want me to show you why you need to be careful about what you say? One taste of you, I’ll be addicted. I won’t be able to stop myself.” You looked at him over your shoulder and widened your legs.

“Please, Pope.” Who was he to deny you? You were his everything. Even if in the morning you might be horrified by your own actions, sobbing to him saying how much of a mistake it was. Maybe he would allow himself this one moment. Because by the way you were rutting onto his face, Pope considered for a moment that maybe you did mean it.

The moment his mouth was on your heat, he was a goner. The first swipe of his tongue through your folds was sinful and it drew a deep, breathy moan from the bottom of your chest. He lapped at you like a starved man, coating the entirety of his lower jaw and the inside of your thighs with his spit and your arousal. His tongue slipped in and out of your cunt repeatedly, stretching your walls when he added a finger. 

“Touch yourself,” Pope told you, voice deep and commanding. You slipped a finger down your navel and rubbed tight circles around your clit. It wasn’t long before you felt your release creep into your belly. It took you off guard, how fast he got you there, and when he added another finger into your pussy, you exploded, clenching around his fingers and squirting onto his chest. You came with a cry of his name. Not ‘Pope’ but ‘Andrew.’ You had never called him that before. The sound of his real name from your throat sent painful claws of yearning into his heart. How could he let you go? How could he push you away? When it was so clear how much you loved him. How much you needed him. A new sense of purpose swelled in his chest. He got up off his knees and pulled off his shirt, wiping his face with it before discarding it on the ground. You swayed against the wall of the bedroom. Your brain was foggy from the intensity of your orgasm and you didn’t notice Pope had picked you up until you landed on his bed. 

Pope crawled over you, fondling your breast as he kissed at your neck.

“M’so sorry,” He choked out, taking a shaky inhale. “I love you so much. Please don’t leave me.” You swallowed dryly, fingers curling in his red hair and tugging him up to look at you. Those brown eyes, wet and round, made your chest flutter with fondness.

“I could never leave you, Andrew.” You told him, kissing him softly. And you meant it. Seeing a man brutally beat up a stranger would scare anyone away- except you. Your personal guardian. It made your pussy throb. “I love you. You’re mine.” Your claiming made him whimper, a high-pitched keening. He bucked his hips against your center. “Fuck me. Show me what a good boy you are.” Pope quickly shimmied out of his jeans and boxers. You laid on your back patiently, grabbing at his shoulders to steady yourself as he aligned himself with your folds. The head of his cock brushed against you, and he let out a pained noise when he felt your wetness against him. He was shaking. “Hey,” you pulled him back into the moment and brushed a curl from his sweat-slicked forehead. “It’s okay.” Pope’s eyes were wide with uncertainty, but he gave a small nod and he pushed into you.

You let out a sharp gasp at the intrusion and Pope immediately stilled. You dug your fingers into his biceps as you took a few deep breaths. He was big. Not specifically long or girthy, but big in general. You gave him a nod and he bottomed out. Breath was punched from your lungs and it took a few moments before you could inhale. Your eyes went wide, locked on his, and you saw his gaze turn from uncertainty to something darker. A shift from Andrew back to Pope. He gave a roll of your hips and you moaned at the sensation. You were so full. “F-fuck.”

“I know,” He cooed, kissing along your jaw and cheeks. “You’re doing so good. I’m gonna take such good care of you.” The rhythm of skin slapping filled the bedroom, mixed with your breathy moans and Pope’s growls after every thrust. He pressed your knees to your chest, causing your eyes to roll back at the new sensation. One of your hands dug into the meat of his shoulder and the other wrapped loosely around his neck, pulling him up to kiss you. A small show of dominance over him that he readily indulged in. You gave a light squeeze and he responded with a sharp snap of his hips. He stayed like that, kissing you sloppily with your hand around his throat, until his pace began to falter. Pope humped his hips into you desperately, eagerly finding his release. He slowed only for a moment to whisper against your lips. “Where?”

“Need you to cum in me, Pope.” You begged, words uneven because of the feeling of his cock inside you. “Please.” You thought he was wounded with the sound he made. Low and broken and needy. His fingers dug into the fat of your thighs, holding you impossibly close against him. His head dipped to the crook of your neck. You settled one hand on the back of his head and the other you dragged in a slow line down the freckled plane of his back. He panted against your ear and you felt his teeth nip at your skin. You pressed a kiss to his sweaty temple and that sent him over the edge. He came with an open-mouthed whimper, hips stilling impossibly deep inside of you, coating your cervix with his cum. Pope rested his weight on you and you pressed your heels into his ass to keep him still. You petted his hair soothingly and whispered praises to him. His heart was directly above yours and when you both caught your breath, they were beating in sync. 

“I love you.” he whispered to you. “I wanna be your guard dog forever. Wanna be your good boy.”

Brendon Park has always believed that the path of medicine could – and should – only be taken up by the cream of the crop. Life was not something you put in the hands of those who were ‘good enough’. What use does he have of overeager students who can’t differentiate a vein from an artery or the top student who buckles at the smallest hint of criticism?

Only those who are the best deserve to be doctors. And only those who beat the best deserve to become a surgeon.

“Where’s the kid?”

The newbies look at each other, confused. Clearly, not being given a heads-up of the culture and hierarchy in the Orthopedics Department.

His assistant speaks, “She is finishing up a consult in the ER. She should be here any –”

“… next time one of Frank’s idiots calls, tell them they better make sure it is compartment syndrome or I will shave off their senior resident's pretty hair.”

 There she is. The crème de la crème.

She composes herself once she finally catches her attendings’ steely eyes and the suffocating tension he likes to maintain in his surroundings.

“Good morning, Dr. Park.”

“Good morning, doctor. Rough shift?” He cocks his head as the two of you ignore the gawking, trembling residents who are here to observe the surgery and continue your conversation next to each other in the sink. “Robby told me to let you sit this one out.”

The reminder of Robby’s cautious text about ‘giving you a break’ as if he knew you better than him makes his blood simmer once more. He lets his senses focus on the cold water running through his palms instead.

“Fuck, no,” you groan, scrubbing your hands aggressively, still frustrated. “I’m fine. It’s just – I fucking hate newbies.”

He actually chuckles at that, letting your shoulders bump as he walks in first, hands raised.

“You’re distracted,” he lets his words hit you where it matters. Your pride. “Fix it before you get in my OR.”

He sees it. The side of you that mirrors him. The way the irritation sloughs off of you like a false skin, the intensity in your eyes that held the same focus he does, the deep breath you take as your chest expands like a well-oiled machine revving up to do its purpose.

Robby doesn’t know what the fuck he is talking about.

“Yes, Dr. Park.”

Everyone knew who you were.

Shark’s favorite – his little prodigy. One he snatched from the ER Department, right under Robby’s nose, to hone into his successor.

The bias wasn’t for show.

You were brilliant, skilled, and had the most potential. You graduated top of your class, beat out your peers in your first rotation as a med student, and got offered a residency program by all departments in the PTMC.

It was almost a little too familiar with his experience when he was an upcoming resident.

And now, after thrashing the other attendings, he gets to have his own perfect protégé.

A student he considers as one of the great successes in his career.

Even now, he can’t help but marvel at you as you skillfully ride his cock.

A true overachiever, through and through.

“That’s it, baby. You’re doing so well," he pats the flesh of your ass almost paternally. The small irritating voice of Jack Abbot reminds him that positive reinforcement is quite effective when done sparingly.

They say surgeons are narcissistic to a fault. That they’d fuck themselves if they could. Maybe that’s why he loved fucking you so much – his mini me.

You’re the perfect specimen. The perfect woman.

“Does it feel good, Dr. Park?”

After all, surgeons would fuck themselves if they could.

And his little me wasn’t any different.

He tried to stay away. Swore to himself that he would not derail your career in any way. Women have it hard enough to get into male-dominated fields as it is, much less if you were to become a pariah because of him.

It would be unfair and cruel to be a bump in your career – and your belly, god forbid – when he swore to himself you would be the one to soar alongside him.

Instead, he focuses on more wholesome approaches. Or as wholesome as he could manage.

If he couldn’t have you, he had to monopolize you.

Controlled your schedule, made sure any and every surgery that comes your way went through him first because no one gets to overwork his student but him.

"Cancel all her consultations this Friday. We're doing the spinal fusion."

His assistant visibly stiffens, rapidly scrolling through his schedule. "Doctor Abbot requested her assistance for --"

He glances at him in bored disapproval. "Abbot isn't her attending isn't he?"

The young man nods. Capable but expendable, and he is smart enough to know it. "No, Dr. Park."

"Good. And tell him he can find his own senior resident to torture," he swivels his chair, done with the conversation. "This one's mine."

He had you moved into a condominium near his – lied through his teeth about the hospital paying for it too. Some bullshit about wanting their star resident to focus on her work.

"It should be for move-in next week," the realtor eagerly rattles as Park signs the lease, making sure to verify that it was his other bank account in the contract lest you be smart enough to check it and figure out your nice new condo didn't come from the good graces of the hospital.

"Quite an investment, doctor. Should be worth double by next year. Are you planning to flip it?"

Park signs on the last line.

"'s for my kid."

It eventually escalated to gym sessions together, then the same tailored diet plan because he refuses to let his successor survive on questionable food, and eventually syncing your health apps so he could oversee your fitness and sleep schedule.

'Bedtime.'

You actually stare at your phone like an unruly child.

'Can't sleep. I'll just study for the case tomorrow.'

Before you could flip another page laid in front of your table a call was already blaring through your phone. The shark emoji gave no doubts as to who was calling.

To his hypocrisy, he was also in front of his study table.

"I need you on peak performance tomorrow. Bed, now."

He crosses his arms and your eyes actually drop at how his shirt constricts across his biceps. Fuck.

Whatever, you can just remove your watch so he can stop tracking your bedtime like a fucking --

"Prop your phone up on the bedside table," you press your lips together, caught. "I know your tricks, kid."

In under five minutes, you were tucked in your comforter, staring at your screen as he uses the reading glasses he refuses to let anyone else see him wear.

He doesn't look at his phone again but you knew better than to try and test him. And even though it kills you to admit it, the soft sounds of the flips of the paper was lulling you to sleep.

"Goodnight, Dr. Park."

His reply, if any, slipped past unheard. Only his gentle eyes lingered in your memory as the last thing you saw.

It satisfied the desire, for a while.

When it no longer worked, he tried for the opposite.

He put some space, gave you cases separate from his, called you ‘kid’ to remind himself that he was decades ahead of you.

This time, you saw right through him.

Smart girl, that you were. Ballsy, too.

Chasing him down to his office and demanding an explanation for his abrupt indifference after indulging you with his warped attention.

Try as she might, Gloria couldn't find anyone who would talk about what actually happened that day. All she knows is that it was not pretty. A vicious argument between two top predators of the PTMC.

One that nobody knew ended in you spread out in what was his pristine desk, a quick plan B trip to the pharmacy, and a meeting in HR where the two of you had to declare your relationship once and for all.

It was a scandal and a headache for the higher-ups. They even had half the mind to transfer you to another hospital but he had assured them that he too would quit if that ever happened – making them lose not only an esteemed student but also an irreplaceable attending. Thus, a compromise was reached and the relationship was to be hidden until you officially finished your residency.

Not that he fucking cared. He could be the picture of restraint provided they keep their filthy little paws off of what was his.

What was now finally his.

“Getting tired, kid? Hmm? Need some help? I told you, you needed more leg work in the gym,” he grins maniacally at your whine, your little claws burying into his chest in defiance.

“I can do it. I can –”

You shriek as he slapped your ass, now meeting your thrusts as he bounces you on his cock, punishing your weak efforts with brutality. Grabbing both of your wrists with one hand as he pulls you down meanly to meet his pace.

“This all my little genius can amount to, hm? Can’t even ride her attending’s cock properly?”

You whined, shaking your head. “No – Please, Dr. Park. I can do it! I swear!”

“So polite,” he smirks, settling back down and letting you gyrate weakly in his lap.

He pinches your clit cruelly, heart pounding in glee at your cry. A notification pops on his phone as well as the smartwatch he had bought for you – ten minutes till 10.

Should be enough time.

“Get on with it, kid. It’s almost bedtime for you.”

You don’t disappoint. You never do.

Pope Cody was in prison for 1.114 days. In that time, he read 158.5 books; he finished the last one — The Book Thief, which he started reading on day 1.112 of his sentence — as a free man. He’s already finished with The Book Thief when he learns about audiobooks, after a well placed ad for Audible on a self-help Youtube video he listened to while on a stake out. 

It takes him another eight books after that to discover audioporn. He comes across the app by accident, and it takes him about seven minutes into the first audio he chose — puppyplay, though he didn’t know what that meant just yet — to realize he’s listening to a porn story. 

Pope sticks with it. The stories he listens to don’t do much for his dormant dick, but it’s nice. He likes listening to women whispering about how good of a boy he is, the dirty little things they want to do to him and the things they want him to do to them— A fantasy, something for him to get lost into during the nights he couldn’t fall asleep; a habit acquired in prison, the sort of ongoing vigilance that he couldn’t grow out of even though he now lives a somewhat safe life. 

And then he finds you. Your account is called Mommy Dearest, which is why he clicked on it at first, but the one audio that sticks with him has nothing to do with mommy kink: It’s a phone call, about fifteen minutes long, that starts with you rambling about your day and ends with you wailing through an orgasm with a loud vibrator between your legs. You edge yourself for a long portion of it, talking about how much you miss his cock and his fingers and his tongue; and then, close to the end of the call, you say you miss him. You talk about how you miss him and how prison isn’t going to keep him from you, and you giggle and say that, on another phone call, you’ll tell him every single perverted thing you’ll do to him when he’s out. 

Logically, Pope knows it’s not real. You’re not talking to him, it’s just a character that you recorded, edited and then posted on a porn app for pathetic men like him but it lands so heavy on his chest he doesn’t even notice he’s hard for the first time in over three years. 

You have a whole series on your ‘convict boyfriend’ — which you name Folsom Prison Blues after the Johnny Cash song and Lord help him if that doesn’t do something for him. — and the phone calls and letters and conjugal visits. You sigh and you moan and you describe in full detail what toy you’re using to get yourself off and, when Pope scrolls through the comment section, he gets so angry at all the men that get to listen to you too that he loses his erection. 

But he doesn’t stop listening. Pope feels some sort of odd loyalty to you and your breathy little sighs, his heart clenching whenever you whine about missing him, and he whispers into the air vows of finding you, of walking through the doors of your home and taking you in his arms and making sure you’re always full of his cock. He comes over and over again at the thought of you, bent over his couch and his kitchen counters and in his shower— He doesn’t really know what your body looks like, your profile photo is a headshot of you with a sultry smile and bright pink hair he’s fairly certain is a wig, but he thinks he can figure it out; it doesn’t really matter how big or small your tits are, because Pope dreams of falling asleep suckling on them anyway, your fingers tugging on his hair and your legs wrapped around his waist as you say you’ve waited for him, that you love him and that he’s the only man that gets to see you like that. 

Pope’s not certain at which point he stops thinking of Cath. It happens naturally, either gradually or all at once, and he only notices when he walks into Smurf’s home one evening and Cath is on the couch, her head on Baz’s shoulder, dozing off after what he presumes is a whole day out by the pool. It used to hurt him deeply to see her like that, cuddled up to a man that Pope knows isn’t good enough for her, but this time he… Feels nothing. Not pain, or annoyance, or jealousy. The only thing he can think about is how he wishes he could have that with you; an afternoon together, laying on the couch, watching a nature documentary— You’d interrupt it every five minutes or so to talk about something else, maybe your shift at your day job or the little shiny trinkets you buy with his money. He knows you’d ask about him, too. About his day and his feelings and whether or not he ate; you’d ask and you’d mean it, you’d want to hear everything he has to say unlike Smurf, who asks but never pays attention, never really listens when Pope speaks. 

He’s so lost in his daydreaming that, when he finally hears your laughter, he doesn’t think it’s real. Pope’s eyes fly beyond Baz and Cath cuddling on the couch to find you sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor by the pool, a collection of Barbie dolls spread between you and Lena. You’re in short overalls and a brown and orange striped shirt, your natural hair — not pink, so Pope had been right about the wig — pinned away from your face. A gorgeous, heaven-sent angel that laughs exactly like the girl from the app. 

“Who’s that?” He asks, unable to stop himself. His fingers itch to trace the curve of your neck, to spread his fingers over your collarbone. 

“Lena’s new sitter.” Baz answers. Pope makes a noise in the back of his throat, trying very hard to pretend that it doesn’t matter but his brother sees right through it. He squints at Pope. “Don’t even fucking think about it.”

“I’m not Craig.” He says, but they both know you’re not Craig’s type— Too innocent-looking, verging on the side of boring and not the sort of girl that Craig would look twice at. But Pope would, and he does; he finds a seat in a position where he can watch you from afar while still pretending to pay attention to the TV. You play with Lena until the girl is ready to pass out from exhaustion, and then you bring her inside and settle her on the couch before you finally introduce yourself to him, a sweet smile on your lips as you extend your hand to him. 

If your laughter had been enough to remind him of the girl from the app, the way you say your name cements it to be true. It’s you, the pink-haired girl with the convict boyfriend and an extensive collection of sex toys. 

Pope doesn’t like shaking hands — too many germs, the contact always making his skin prickly — but he takes your hand in his anyway, squeezing it once before he lets go. He wants to keep holding it, feeling your soft skin his against his roughened one, to put your fingers in his mouth and suck on them until you’re begging for him; you don’t seem to notice the way he lingers, you just accept the cash from Baz with a small nod and wave your fingers at them as you leave. 

“I mean it, Pope. Don’t be a creep with the girl.” Baz growls at him later that night, after Cath has already tucked Lena in the backseat of the car and they’re about to go home. “She keeps Lena so busy I get to actually fuck my wife on the regular again. If you fuck this up for me I’ll kill you.”

Pope doesn’t like the way Baz talks about Cath, never has— Like she’s just something for him to get off to, like he needs to rub it in Pope’s face that he’s the one that gets to sleep by her side every night. This time he doesn’t really care, because all he can think about is you.

He doesn’t mean to follow you. He just wants to make sure you get home safe at first, because Baz and Cath make you leave the house later and later each time. And then, when he finds out you’ve been taking pottery lessons twice at week at eight pm, he follows you there because he also wants to make sure nothing will happen— He thinks it’s quite late for a lesson, but you’re always happy when you leave, your face a little flushed from the red wine he sees you drinking from the window. 

Pope learns your schedule quite quickly, and he knows he’ll need to have a conversation with you about that. Keeping such a tight routine is easy for someone to hurt you, even if Pope himself understands the appeal of consistency— It’s all he’s had in prison, after all, and it was quite a comforting change from the violent chaos that is living underneath Smurf’s iron fist. It’s easy for him to come up with excuses to hang around Baz’s house whenever you’re there, and even easier whenever you’re at Smurf’s. 

Although he follows you home almost every night, Pope has never gotten too close. He’s afraid you’ll see him so he stands back, sits in his car for a couple of hours until your lights go out but tonight is different. You have a date. He follows the two of you to the twenty-four hours diner the guy takes you to, and he watches through the window as you almost fall asleep at the table; he can’t hear the conversation but it’s clear that you’re bored, barely responding to the man even though Pope knows you talk a lot when you’re happy. You’re also not a girl to take to a diner of all places and Pope wants to beat the guy black and blue for putting so little effort into dating you, even if he’s glad his competitor is tanking the date— It means he can whisk you away, dazzle you by showing what being truly courted is like. 

You swerve the guy when he tries to kiss you at your front door. Pope is out of his car by then, hiding in the shadows across the street just to make sure the man will leave you alone; he does, even though he speeds off with screeching tires when you deny his kiss for the third time. Pope tells himself that he is only checking in on you, that you’re taking way too long to shut out the lights and maybe something is wrong, as he climbs through the fire escape to your floor— He knows exactly where your apartment is, has watched you open and close your blinds plenty of times before. 

He stares through your window carefully, making sure to stay out of sight, and his mouth goes dry when he sees you sprawled on your bed, fully naked. You have one hand between your thighs, your legs spread apart as far as they can go, but Pope can barely pay attention to it— He’s looking at the dildo you’re holding with the other hand; it’s thick, long, and bright pink. Bigger than Pope’s own cock, the sort of big that he doesn’t think it’ll fit inside of you. And you’re licking it. Long, deliberate strokes of your tongue before you spit on the head, watching as it drips down the silicone shaft; you don’t take it into your mouth, not really, but you lick and spit until the thing is dripping before you collect your own slick to rub on it— You’re using your own juices and spit to lubricate it, and Pope feels like he might come in his pants at the thought of you doing the same to him. 

You don’t take the toy all the way. You push it inside of you slowly, carefully, one hand rubbing furiously at your clit while the other pushes the pink silicone inside; you stop for a moment, chest heaving but the large smile on your face tells him everything he needs to know— You’re edging yourself, stopping to come down from your high before you go back to fucking yourself on the monster cock between your legs. 

Pope’s not even aware of the moment he pulls his cock from the confines of his jeans, spitting on his hand and tugging furiously, his eyes glued to the way you fuck yourself hard and fast— It’s a little clumsy, the angle not quite right, but you’re wailing, shivering and shaking as you shove the toy inside of you as far you can; Pope pictures himself climbing through your window, taking the toy from your hands and fucking you properly with it. He thinks you might let him fuck your ass while the dildo is still inside of you, filling you with flesh and silicone until you’re crying from how full you are, how ruined your pussy and your asshole are. 

He comes first, fisting his cock with one hand and stifling his moans with the other, his eyes still glued to you. You shift positions, desperation all over your face as you bring yourself to your knees, sitting on the dildo instead; you ride it hard, bouncing on the toy and in this position Pope can see the way the entire thing disappears inside of you, the fake balls grinding against your clit when you lean forward, your hips rutting with abandon. You come while meaning loud enough that Pope thinks the neighbors might complain, your tits jiggling hard as you push yourself up and down, riding the toy all the way through your orgasm until you topple sideways, exhausted. 

Pope stays until you fall asleep, the toy forgotten by your side, your naked body sprawled over the bed. And then he stays a little longer, watching you sleep, his denim and hands still stained with his cum.

Pope thinks you’re getting used to his hovering presence the evening he corners you in the kitchen. You’re always incredibly kind to him, talking a lot when it’s just the two of you even though he hardly ever engages in the conversation apart from giving you his undivided attention; he thinks you might like him, even, your smile always brightening up when it’s geared towards him. 

Lena is in bed by then, Cath and Baz gone on a date— Which means Pope has no excuse to stick around after they leave but you don’t seem to mind, swiping up the counter where Lena spilled half of her spaghetti, humming underneath your breath. He’s not sure how to bring it up, how to tell you that he’s been listening and dreaming about you long before you showed up so instead he simply pulls out his phone, opens your profile and slides his phone across the counter. 

You stare at it like it’s something rotten, your hands frozen on the marble counter. “Pope—”

“It’s you, isn’t it?” The question is just a formality, a need for you to admit that he isn’t crazy. 

“Please don’t tell Barry.” You beg so prettily, your eyes going wide when Pope rounds the counter. “I really need this job.” 

“I listened to the entire series.” He mumbles, his hand coming up to brush your cheekbone. Your skin is soft, glittering with sparkling make up and it looks so, so pretty beneath his blood-stained hands. You shiver at the contact, eyes fluttering close before you take a deep breath. “The Folsom Prison one.”

“D’you…” You lick your lips, and Pope needs to use every ounce of whatever little control he possesses to keep himself from kissing you. “Did you like it?”

“I spent three years at Folsom.” He tells you, ignoring your question— He thinks it’s obvious, with the way his fingers drip down to run over the column of your throat. “Would’ve been a lot easier if I knew I had such a pretty young thing waiting for me at home.”

He can see the moment the idea pops into your head; Pope likes to think he can read people pretty well, and he sees the way your eyes fly from his face down to his crotch, his half-hard cock straining through his jeans. He hasn’t gotten hard this easily since he was a teenager, but your smell alone is enough to drive him crazy, let alone the way you blink owlishly at him, your nimble fingers coming up to brush at his belt buckle. 

“Promise me you won’t tell Barry.” You lick your upper lip and Pope doesn’t think you even realize you’re doing it, his mouth going dry at the pink that pokes through your teeth. “I’ll give you what you want, but promise me he won’t find out.” 

Pope nods, not trusting himself to speak, and you sink to your knees. He’s terrified that he might lose his erection but his nerves turn into blazing desire when you wrap your hands around his cock, pumping him slowly and brushing your thumb against his slit— It feels so much better than his own hands that his knees nearly buckle, Pope gripping the counter as you look up at him, a soft smile on your lips. You take him slowly into your mouth, tongue circling around the head of his cock before tracing the vein on the underside, your eyes never leaving his face. Your mouth is warm and flooding when you finally take him into it, the flat of your tongue pressing against his shaft, one hand on his thigh for balance while the other grips the base of his cock; your rhythm is slow, teasing, and Pope digs his fingernails into the marble to stop himself from grabbing you by the hair— He likes you, perhaps too much, and he doesn’t want to scare you. Maybe you’d let him fuck your face one day, but this time he wants to do this your way. 

You take him as far as you can, your nose pressing against his pubic bone and Pope’s eyes roll to the back of his head when your throat tightens around the sensitive head of his cock, a whimper escaping his lips that he tries to stifle with gritted teeth. He’s going to come just from that, tears pooling at the corner of your eyes as you pick up the pace, the wet sounds of your slurping and gagging whenever you swallow too much of him bringing him that familiar tightening at his navel. 

Pope grips your hair at last, pulling you away with perhaps a little too much force. 

“Get up.” He says, half an order and half a plea. You stare at him through wet eyelashes, still gripping the base of his cock for a long moment before you comply— Pope is about ready to yank you up himself, but you stand on wobbly knees before he turns you around, pressing your front against the counter. 

The positions change, with now Pope kneeling behind you while you bend over the counter; you’re in a yellow dress, modest enough that you could run around after Lena all day without showing too much— Modest enough that it would never have anyone thinking you’re the kind of girl to fuck yourself with a silicone cock while saying the dirtiest, nastiest things on a microphone but Pope knows better. He feels like he’s the only person in the entire world that truly knows you, and his hands shake in anticipation when he shoves your dress up to your hips. You hold it in place, taking a deep breath and pushing your ass out even more. 

You’re drenched, the gusset of your cotton underwear a shade darker than the rest, your juices starting to run down your thighs. He cusses under his breath, pushing his nose against your core and taking a deep breath. You gasp, surprised, but you still push your ass against his face. Pope leans back just enough to watch as he pulls your underwear down, mouth salivating as the gusset sticks to your cunt, stringy slick connecting the cloth to your skin before he’s letting it slide down your legs. 

“All this just from sucking me off?” Pope doesn’t mean to tease, the words more wondrous than anything else. Your entire body shivers when his breath hits your pussy, making you whine. Pope takes pity on you, using his hands to spread you open before his tongue runs across your cunt. 

You taste even better than he thought you would. The two of you moan in unison, your hand flying backwards to grip his hair, pushing him against you until he’s struggling to breathe but he doesn’t care— Pope would let you use his tongue and his fingers and his cock however it pleases you, his cock throbbing at the fact that he’s the one bringing you pleasure. He suckles on your clit, nose bumping against your entrance and you keen before you bring a hand to your mouth, trying to keep quiet. He pulls back just a little, watching entranced as you clench around nothing. 

“Talk to me.” He asks. “Like you do in your stories.”

“I need your fingers.” You say, voice a little breathy, the pitch just a little higher. It’s the voice you use in the app, still yours, still recognizable, but still different. “Please, Popey, I need it. Been thinking about them for so long, how thick and capable they are—”

The nickname does something to him and Pope whimpers against your cunt, pushing two of his fingers inside of you at once. It’s a snug fit and he can only think about how your pussy is going to strangle his cock, how he’ll stretch you open and leave you leaking with his cum. He moves his fingers slowly but purposefully, crooking them until you’re almost yelling, a string of yesses and his name falling from your mouth like a prayer.

The noises you make as you come might be the prettiest Pope has ever heard, your already tight cunt clenching hard around his fingers, your slick dripping down his wrists as he suckles on your clit until it’s twitching, your hips spasming against him; you slump against the cold granite, whimpering softly when he pulls his fingers out of you but Pope’s not nearly close to being done— He hasn’t been this hard in years, the tip of his cock painfully red and leaking, and there’s nothing that can make him feel better than the moment he sheaths himself inside of you with one deep thrust. It’s a tight fit, perhaps a little too tight, your pulsing cunt tightening so hard around him that Pope thinks you might push him out.

“Fuck, you’re big.” You whine, more pain than pleasure— Maybe he should’ve prepped you a little better, and Pope makes a note to do so next time.

He starts rutting slowly against you, only pulling out a little bit before he pushes back in, his hands gripping your hips. Pope watches where he disappears inside of you, entranced by the stretch of your pussy around him, his cock coming out shiny with your wetness. 

“ ‘M so full” You moan, your voice back to the breathy one you use when putting on a show. “You’re everywhere. Biggest cock I’ve ever had.”

His hand tangles on your hair, pulling you back harshly so your back smacks against his chest and you moan. “Don’t fucking lie to me.” Pope growls against your ear, the hand not on your hair digging into the plush of your ass hard enough to bruise. “I saw that toy of yours. Such a naughty little slut, stretching yourself open with a big plastic cock, creaming all over it.” 

Your head whips back at him, eyes wide. “What do you mean you saw it?”

As much as he wants to hear your pretty voice singing for him, Pope doesn’t want to talk about it; he doesn’t think you can understand it just yet, how good he would be for you, how well he can treat you.

“Shut up.” He says, picking up the pace of his thrusts; you squirm a little, mouth open in a way that he knows means another question is coming so he slams his hand over your mouth, holding your jaw tightly closed as he pulls your head back against his shoulder. “Just— Shut up.”

He sets an almost brutal pace, his cock pushing in and out of your cunt with indecent squelching sounds and he can see the exact moment that the hand you wrap around his forearm stops trying to pull it away and holds tightly to him, your moans muffled behind his hand. 

“Are you going to be good to me?” Pope mumbles against your ear, lips twisting into a small smile when you immediately nod. He lets go of your mouth, then, pushing you back against the counter— He would love to see your face when you come for him, but the sight of the creamy ring you leave around his cock is too enticing to look away, your pretty little asshole clenching whenever he hits the right spot inside of you. 

You’re moaning now, hips pushing back against his, your mouth hanging open as you rest your head against the counter. Pope spits, the glob of saliva hitting just half an inch away from your hole and he rubs his thumb against it, pushing just the first knuckle inside of your ass; you’re even tighter there than your cunt and Pope moans, his cock pushing so hard and fast against you that you jostle, your head hitting the marble counter with a loud thud; there’s a small pool of drool next to your mouth, your lips still parted, your moans being punched out of you with every snap of his hips. 

“Cum for me.” He all but begs, his voice shaky. “Please, please, cum for me.”

Your body shakes as you come, your wetness splashing against his cock, dripping down his balls and onto his jeans and Pope can’t stop himself. He comes with a loud whimper, both his finger and his cock pushing deeper inside of you. Pope drapes himself over you, his forehead dripping sweat into the tiny pool of drool you left behind and you raise a hand, fingers raking through his hair as the two of you catch your breath. 

“Clean me up.” You say. “I can’t go home dripping your cum.” 

Pope nods, even though you can’t see his face, and he needs to wait until he stops shivering before he pulls out; he tucks himself and then looks around, trying to find the paper towels. 

“No.” You say, looking at him over your shoulder, still bent. “With your mouth, Pope.”

He’s on his needs before you can ask for it twice, lapping at your cunt, licking his own come from inside of you. Your clit twitches when he tongues at it, making sure every single part of you is clean— It takes longer than he thought it might, his cum leaking and leaking and leaking but he does as you tell him to until you’re shaking, his face smeared with a mixture of your wetness and his, fingers digging into your thighs to keep them spread when you try to close them, overstimulated— You come again like that, so lost in pleasure that you’re completely silent, squirting all over his lower face. 

And Pope, because he’s nothing if not great at following orders, swallow every single drop. He keeps licking and sucking until your entire body spasms and you pull him away by his hair. You yank hard enough to hurt, your fingernails digging into his scalp but all Pope feels is pleasure. 

“Now,” You say, smoothing down your dress and leaning back onto the counter. He can see you’re trying to hold some composure but you’re sweating, your lips bitten raw and hair plastered all over your forehead. He notices how badly you’re shaking when you try to push the hair away from your face and Pope interjects, pushing the hair out of your eyes for you. “Now you’re going to tell me exactly what and how you saw anything.”

And he does. The two of you sit down on the kitchen floor, facing each other, and Pope tells you word for word of the night he saw you masturbating on your bed, the way he perched himself outside of your window and touched himself to the image of you. You don’t say anything, silent even when he begs you to say something, sitting on the ground until Baz and Cath come home; you bid them goodnight with an innocent smile as if you hadn’t just squirted all over their kitchen and leave without sparing Pope another glance.

Three days later, Pope gets a notification that you’ve posted a new audio; it’s not an update on the Folsom Prison Blues series but an entirely new one:

Late Night Cravings. It’s the tale of a young nanny that fucks her stalker in the kitchen of her workplace and, in the comments, you promise to soon share another episode.

You could feel your face setting on fire as you desperately tried to think of what to do.

Robby’s eyes weren’t on you anymore as he got rid of his jacket and boots… this would be the perfect time to get up and scurry away towards the bedroom… Robby’s bedroom— Shit.

Your hands went to cover your bare tits as you tried to come up with something else.

“Decided to cut my sabbatical short,” Robby was explaining, “You all were right- as it turns out, I can’t go more than a month without the ED.”

You heard and felt Jack’s snicker, his fingers absentmindedly drawing circles where he still held your waist.

His hard cock was still deep inside you, and as much as you hated having to depart from it, you really needed to get off and try to at least regain some decency.

Which is what you tried to do. You began rising from Jack’s lap, but in an instant, his eyes were on you, his brows furrowed.

“Where you going, sweetheart?”

He can’t be serious right now.

You glanced pointedly at Robby behind him, your voice barely a whisper as you murmured his name.

“It’s alright, honey, Robby doesn’t mind,” he spoke softly, his hands caressing you softly. “Do you, Robby?”

Robby’s soft chuckle came from somewhere closer than where he’d previously been.

“I sure don’t,” He was smirking once you slowly raised your gaze.

He’d walked to the edge of the couch, right behind Jack.

You felt your face burn with embarrassment- and yet your pussy clenched harder around Abbot as you caught Michael’s eyes drink you in.

“We were having such a good time,” Jack murmured, his mouth on your collarbones as he pecked your skin, “Would be a shame to stop now.”

Oh God, he was being serious.

“Jack- I-”

Were you dreaming? Was this one of the sick fantasies that materialized in your mind whenever Robby and Abbot were both on shift, and you had to squeeze your tights together at how incredibly hot of a pair they made?

Everything seemed to point in that direction, except for the fact that the feel of Jack’s fingers removing your hands from your naked chest was very much real- the same went for Robby’s voice.

“You know, sweetheart... we had a talk about you before I went away.”

You were bare again now, and Jack was making use of the space, filling it with delicious, taunting kisses as Michael spoke.

“Decided none of us were gonna try anything... didn’t wanna take advantage of you or anything….” His voice was rough and soft all at once as his hand went to cradle your cheek, “and now look at that.”

Heat bloomed low in your belly and on your cheeks as you heard yourself whimper.

What he was saying was… unbelievable. They liked you- both of them. Just as you liked them.

This was really happening- Dr. Robinavitch was watching you as you sat on Dr. Abbot’s cock. And they both looked incredibly casual, as if this were a daily occurrence.

“Since when has this been going on?”

When you didn’t answer, Jack stopped his ministrations on your neck to speak, “Just two weeks, man.”

“Is he lying to me?” Robby asked you, his head tilted in doubt.

“N-no,” You murmured as you cowered under his stare.

To that, he smirked, shaking his head as he muttered, “A week- that’s how long you lasted.”

“C’mon, man- you knew it was bound to happen.” Jack groaned, looking at you with a smirk as his mouth ghosted yours, “You’re too pretty not to do something about it.”

You felt your heart skip, and your hips involuntarily grind against Jack’s lap- causing you to whimper pathetically.

“Oh sweetheart…” Abbot cooed, his hands going back to rest on your hips, “Go on, take what you need.”

There was nothing you wanted to do more. As unusual as this situation was, you were so turned on that you feared you’d start dripping on the couch any second now.

Yet you watched the two men uncertainly, biting your lip as you went against your instinct to use Jack’s manhood to feel good.

“Go on, baby,” Robby encouraged you once your eyes settled on him, “Do as he said.”

His palm was still on your cheek, his thumb pulling on your lower lip to free it from your teeth’s grip… and you had no choice but to obey.

You started slow, shily grinding onto him, feeling Jack’s dick graze and reach all those sweet spots inside of you as your clit rubbed against his base.

Your mouth hung open as soft whines filtered through your throat. Robby’s hands held your face so you could only look at him- and the look in his eyes… the darkness in his iris and the locking of his jaw gave you all the more incentive to go faster.

You began raising yourself on Jack’s dick just to slide back down again until you found the delicious pace from before your interruption.

Your moans weren’t so quiet anymore as you struggled to keep your eyes open and gripped Jack’s shoulders for dear life, your nails probably leaving crescent moons on his skin.

“So good for me, baby,” Jack murmured against your neck, resuming his kisses on your salty skin as he thoroughly enjoyed the show. “Such a good girl.”

You cried like a desperate little thing at that, his dick hitting that spongy spot inside of you that had you feeling on cloud nine.

“Jack feels good, baby?” Robby’s voice felt muffled, as if the pleasure was acting as a sound shield.

“Y-yes,” You whined, your voice breathless, your movements more and more desperate, “B-big,” you cried brokenly.

You felt Abbot’s growl vibrate against your chest at that, and seconds later, you felt his mouth against your ear as he whispered loud enough for Robby to hear, “You’ve seen nothing yet.”

You didn’t have the brain capacity to understand what he meant by that, or to analyze the grin that spread Michael’s lips at those words, because all you could focus on was the growing sensation that sparked in your belly.

“Oh my god,” You whined, your thighs burning with the effort as the sound of your skin slapping with Jack’s echoed against the walls.

“It’s ok, baby,” Robby murmured, watching closely as your eyes almost closed and your brows furrowed in bliss, “You’re doing so good.”

You didn’t even realize you were doing it, but as Robby guided his thumb into your mouth, instinctually, your lips closed around it, sucking him in further.

“That’s it, baby,” he nodded, the weight of his finger on your tongue making you wish it was replaced by his cock. And that image… that image made your orgasm approach even faster.

Your moans were silenced by Robby’s thumb, but Jack could feel your walls gripping him like a vice.

“Let go, sweetheart,” he commanded, kissing the spot right beneath your ear. “Be a good girl and show Robby how pretty you look when you come.”

That was it.

You didn’t even have time to mentally prepare yourself that a bright white flash of pure ecstasy overtook your soul.

You came like the world would end tomorrow, your pussy spasming around Jack as he couldn’t help but follow suit.

Somewhere in the frenzy, you could hear Abbot’s groans while Robby murmured what appeared to be soft words to you, his hand never leaving your face.

The pounding of your heart thumped in your ears as you tried to calm your breathing.

Your eyes fluttered open to both the men looking at you, Jack’s eyes soft with gratification and adoration, while Robby’s irises swirled with lust and just plain need.

“You wanna switch?”

Jack’s words didn’t even make sense to you. You were still lost in the haze of what had just happened.

“Not on the couch, man.” Robby shook his head, his lips pulling into a small smile as he watched you. “Let’s get on the bed, baby.”

__ __  __

Your legs felt like jelly as Robby towered over you.

You knew what was happening, and yet your brain was still buffering.

His lips were so close to yours… just a few inches and you’d be kissing him.

But that’s not what he had in mind.

“Lay down for me, baby.”

You blinked, needing a second to understand his command and do as told.

The mattress was soft, the comfy duvet wrinkling underneath you as you laid back, your wide eyes watching him.

With a quick move, he removed his shirt, throwing it behind him… in the direction of Abbot.

Your breath hitched at the sight of him leaning against the wall, his eyes dark as he watched the scene unfold.

By the time you looked back, Robby was naked- and your lungs took another toll.

You were propped on your elbows, shamelessly eying all of him. His broad chest, the dark hair on his pecs, on his belly, until your gaze lowered just enough to catch his cock-

You were pretty sure you’d stopped breathing completely.

That’s what they’d been talking about.

You really had seen nothing yet.

You swallowed dryly as his big hand wrapped around his dick, giving it two slow strokes that had him seemingly grow even more.

Your eyes were wide as he stalked closer to you, his smirk everlasting.

“R-Robby,” you stuttered, clearly intimidated.

“’S alright, baby. I’ll go real slow.”

“I-I- How…”

“Don’t worry about it,” he shook his head, “spread your legs for me, baby.”

And even if your heart was going crazy and your brain was telling you that was an impossible fit, you did as told.

“Wider.”

You slid your feet further across the bed, opening yourself up to him completely, eliciting a delighted groan.

“Pretty,” he murmured, his palm going to your mound and his thumb moving to your folds, exploring slowly.

Jack’s come was still leaking out of you, creating a sultry mixture with your own juices.

Your cheeks heated at his unabashed gaze, but then his other hand grabbed the base of his manhood, his tip suddenly parting your folds, and all thoughts left your head.

You were whimpering already, still sensitive from your previous orgasm, and Michael would have done anything to record those sweet sounds and listen to them on repeat all day long.

“It’s ok, baby, relax for me.” That’s all he murmured, as he started guiding his impossibly thick tip inside of you.

“Oh!” You gasped, your eyes wide open as you watched him thrust into you.

He was looking at where your bodies melted into one another, watching your greedy pussy swallow him in.

The stretch burned at first- he had the biggest cock you’d ever seen after all- counting porn- but his soft growls and groans were making you all the more pliant.

His thumb started circling your clit to help you out as broken cries fled your throat.

He was retracting his hips just to thrust softly into you, over and over again, filling you up inch by never-ending inch.

“O-Oh my god,” You were crying, your hands fisting the sheets as he kept going.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he reassured you, his free hand tight on our waist. “Stretching so good for me- such a good girl.”

Your walls tightened around him at that, causing him to hiss.

“Let me in- just like that… good girl”

You knew the moment he was in to the hilt, because you could barely breathe at the feeling of how unbelievably full you felt.

Breathy gasps spilled from your lips as your gazes met.

“Told you you could do it,” he smirked, before he started to move.

The moan you let out at the first full, deep thrust was more of a scream.

“Robby!” you gasped, your fingers gripping his forearm as he started building his pace.

His back hurt like a motherfucker from all those hours on his bike, but he’ll be damned if he denied himself this sight.

“He always makes you do all the work?”

How his voice was still so even when you could barely breathe, let alone think, was a mystery.

You want to tell him the truth, that no, Jack was usually very much adamant in his need to take care of you, to pin you beneath him and fuck you thoroughly well into the day… but all you could manage was a whine.

You watched his lips pull into a grin at the state he’d rendered you in.

“Oh, c’mon, brother, I’ve just come back from a twelve-hour shift,” Jack defended himself from his spot against the wall as your eyes found him.

You could see from the bed, even with his boxers back on, that he was hard again.

God, this was all so hot.

The way both their eyes were only focused on you as Robby’s thrusts had you bouncing up on the bed, your tits moving in tandem with his harsh movements…

“And she hasn’t?” Robby raised his brows, shooting Jack a quick, disappointed look, before coming back to you.

“You don’t have to worry about it now, baby,” he spoke softly, the thumb he still had on your bundle of nerves resuming its torturous movements. “I’ll take care of you like you deserve from now on.”

You felt butterflies in your stomach at those words.

Your hips were chasing his movements, forcing the loud smacking of his skin hitting your core over and over again to get even louder.

You could feel every inch of his dick inside you, every vein and ridge slide against your velvety walls as his tip speared you and reached parts of you no one ever could find but him.

And with a feeling like that… it was inevitable for tears to gather in your eyes, your vision blurring as a knot of pleasure tightened inside you.

“Oh baby, I know it’s a lot.” his voice was calming, soothing your overexited system.

It was a lot. He was a whole damn lot.

“Just take it,” he cooed, “Don’t think about it, sugar, just be good for me and Jack, yeah?”

You slowly nodded, tears rolling down your temples and onto the sheets as the air filled with your moans.

“That’s it, pretty girl— that’s it.”

And suddenly, it was all too much.

“I-I- Oh my-”

He groaned at how tight you got. His chest inflating with the effort not to come on the spot.

“Let go, baby,” he instructed. “Be a good girl and come for me.”

The last thing you saw was his smile; everything after that was sort of a blur.

A tidal wave of pleasure washed over your body; you were pretty sure you were moaning his name like a prayer as you experienced a mind-blowing orgasm.

Your eyes and ears started functioning again as Robby’s thrusts got sloppier, more erratic.

He grinned as you whimpered at the overstimulation, his groans getting louder as he got closer, until he spilled inside you with a feral roar.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed after several moments, slowly pulling out of you.

Jack had gotten beside him somewhere in the meantime, and both men’s eyes fell to the release spilling out of your spent core.

“C’mere,” you whined, breaking them out of their amazed trance.

They both smiled, and it was Jack who joined you on the bed first, moving you so your head could rest on the pillow as he spooned you, wrapping his arms around you.

“You did real good, sweetheart,” he murmured to your ear, his stubble grazing your skin as your eyes fluttered shut.

You were exhausted.

You didn’t even hear Robby lying down next to you until he placed your head to rest on his chest.

“So… am I gonna have to sanitize every surface of the house?”

A soft laugh fled your throat as Jack grinned amusedly.

“The kitchen should be saf—” The look you sent Jack had him suddenly remember all the alternative meals he’d consumed on the kitchen counter. “No, yeah… the whole apartment.”

a violent, visceral reaction that makes all moisture flee your mouth because there's no way he's... except then a grunt breaks the tense silence; a smothered, breathless little noise that echoes low and wounded into the hallway.

if you hadn't been standing right there, if you hadn't been looking for pope, the distant hum outside would've hidden the filthy wet sounds of his palm stripping his cock fast and hard.

warmth creeps up your neck, pools in your cheeks - leaves your skin altogether uncomfortable; itchy and tight like a nasty burn. every tentative step you take forward feels like walking on a tripwire, your heart tattooing a rhythm against your ribs as the slightest creak of the floorboards rings out, the pop of a gunshot.

it's a miracle you make it to your door, haphazardly cracked with slats of sunlight spilling across the floor. then he grunts again, his voice cracking and trailing off into a pained whine.

you can't help it - can't resist the urge to watch how pope pulls those kinds of sounds from the depths of his throat, to see what tempo he likes to stroke his cock to when he's alone.

with your heart lurching, and a mouth full of cotton, you peek around the doorjamb. nearly brain yourself on the floor when you lose your balance.

while it's difficult to get an unobstructed view of what his hand's doing between his thighs with how he's planted his feet on the mattress and bent his legs, what you can see...

well, fuck.

“…h-haaah…ss-shit, that’s…”

he's so fucking pretty like this; half-naked and wanton, needy and stretched out across the middle of your bed.

there's so much to catalogue, to track - the visual input overloading your brain. it's honestly a miracle you notice the scrap of fabric draped over his chest, your attention grabbed by it purely because of how bright and oddly familiar it is.

but you're too far way to truly identify it, and decide to refocus on more important things.

like how he looks like some wild, half tamed creature come to steal you away; the briar of his curls a dark halo on the pillows, short strands sticking to his damp forehead.

meanwhile his eyes are hooded and hazy, watching as the pink tip of his cock appears through the circle of his fingers with every upwards rut. mouth slack and rosy, tongue glimmering like a tempting prize when he wets his lips.

desire hooks behind your navel, an unscratchable itch that'll drive you crazy, sent reeling as a gush of slick squishes between your thighs the next time you squeeze them. he waits behind your eyelids with every blink, his cock thick and heavy, curved towards his belly and throbbing with each measured stroke.

his sturdy thighs tremble, his toes digging into the bed spread. "fuhhck, please - please, let me..."

it's impossible to look away, your teeth shredding the inside of your cheek as you chew on the gummy flesh. god you wish you were there, feeling him throb against your palm.

"gonna cum, oh god. yeah, just like that - hngg - s'good for me."

rough fingers tug at the hem of his plain black t-shirt, rucking the fabric up and out of the way. it bunches under his armpits and exposes the cut of his chest, the valleys of his muscled frame, the width of his heaving shoulders, muscles straining with his movements.

if you could you'd bite down, sink your nails into his pecs as you rode him hard and fast, his hands anchored on your hips to guide your movements.

"right there - o-oh - right there." his abs clench, hips kicking up. "just like that, come on."

you're nearly mad with desire, only stopping yourself from pouncing when he pauses what he's doing after a few more hurried strokes, the lines of frustration etched between his brows deepening. the hand on his cock slows, and he hooks a finger around the scrap of fabric resting on his chest.

he raises it up to dangle in front of his face - and shock lances through you, followed by ohmygod, are those...?

no wonder it looked familiar.

your pussy clenches, knees nearly buckling as all thought processes grind to a halt once you recognize your favorite pair of panties hanging off your boyfriend's finger.

anticipation swells hot and all-consuming behind your navel until you're shaking because fuck, you never thought seeing pope like this would affect you so much. never even imagined a scenario in which you would (god why didn't you?).

no way.

"mm, so pretty," he murmurs, voice whiskey rough and low. his fingers spread beneath the crotch to stretch out the fabric. "just for me."

all you can do is watch as he scrutinizes the whorls of delicate lace and sheer panels. he's not really going to... is he? (you hope he does).

please, please, please.

then he bites his lip, spares your panties another long look before working them down his body. his nipples stiffen when he trails it down the valley of his pecks, the drag of the lace tickling his skin. a breathy curse escapes him when they glide over the band of his hips, skin pebbled with goosebumps.

you choke on your own spit.

it's almost impossible to believe the andrew pope cody is about to jack off with a pair of your underwear - that you get to witness it for yourself - but then he's switching hands, and you see how pretty the fabric looks stretched over the girth of his cock.

the texture must feel amazing because pope full-body shudders, his eyes pinched shut and his brows furrowed like he's in pain when he lurches forward. he catches himself before folding in half, a shaky breath puffing past his lips.

fingers flexing, the fabric scrapes over his sensitive shaft and teases along his swollen balls. his hips rut up into the sensation, and he whines. "oh my fuh - that feels so good."

if only you know what he's imagining right now, what gets him so hard and leaking; tip flushed where it peeks out from the bright lace, pre-cum oozing down the throbbing shaft in thick, sticky rivulets.

every hitched whimper gets your ears ringing and your legs crossing, the drag of your shirt over your nipples uncomfortable with how hard they are. the slightest shift has your folds sticking together, a wet gush you'd love to soak his cock with.

you don’t even care that he’s getting a little too loud. so what if your crotchety ass neighbor files another complaint? the sight more than makes up for the headache of dealing with management.

though pope's more considerate because he stuffs the corner of his shirt into his mouth - his pretty, desperate noises locked behind the fabric of his makeshift muzzle. when the circle of his fingers meets the base, knuckles white as the crotch of your panties pulls taut over the flushed cockhead, his thighs tremble.

it's getting painful to watch and do nothing, to swallow the moan creeping up from the depths of your chest at imagining all the things he's gotten up to while you were gone as heat crackles down your spine.

it's a physical ache that shoots through you at not slipping inside to drape yourself over his chest, rock your hips down and slip him deep inside your tight little cunt. to feel the burning stretch as he fills you to the brim, the painful pinch of his tip kissing your cervix as you chase after your pleasure with his neck between your teeth.

or maybe you should let this play out? let him stain your panties with cum and then put them on, wear them around the apartment until he fucks you over the counter.

oh god.

your cunt flutters - desperate and empty - at the thought of feeling him on your skin, all slick, messy friction for hours. knowing how filthy he's made you.

right now, the slightest touch could make you cry, you’re so turned on. your clit aching for friction, swollen and raw, all while pope continues to drive himself pleasure drunk.

mind made up, you keep as quiet as possible and shift closer to hear the slick, sloppy sounds of him fucking into the grip of his fist, track the flex of his wrist and the apologetic glide of his palm as he staves off another orgasm. somehow, you clear the doorjamb, the handle itself a faint sensation at the back of your elbow.

you stop breathing, heartbeat thudding in your ears as blood rushes so fast you swear you might pass out. the air thickens with tension, the musk of fevered arousal heavy in your nose.

vibrating in place, the only thing that stops you from lunging across the room and attacking him like a wild animal is the sweetest moan you've ever heard breathing through his cotton gag. he must hear your stuttered inhale, the grit of your teeth because the world slows, then stills completely as he freezes.

muscles coil, his body a rigid line - ready for anything. then those pretty kerosene brown eyes pop open.

immediately seeking you out, pope swallows and unhinges his jaw. the makeshift bit slips free from his mouth, his shirt fluttering back down to his chest.

a patch of damp sticks to his skin. 

“you're...” he says, his voice thick with pleasure - low and rough like smoky whiskey - while a flush blooms across his cheeks, “you’re home…”

without responding, you take a step into the room. the closer you get, the tenser pope becomes - his breath locking in his throat and his eyes falling shut.

at some point, his hand pulls away and tries to tuck your panties off to the side. it’s too bad you’ve been watching the whole time, otherwise he might’ve gotten away with it.

pope clears his throat and scratches at his jaw. “i was just - uh, y’know…”

he trails off, his hands fluttering around his hips. as if there’s a way to hide the excited twitch of his cock or the drool of pre-cum when you stop at the bedside. 

with a faint smile and a raised brow, you ask, “having fun?”

“i - i’m so…” a muscle in his jaw jumps. “‘m sorry.”

he refuses to look at you.

and that just won’t do.

“shit!”

pope jolts, a drawn-out moan full of heat ripped out of his mouth when you press your hand over the heated skin of his throat.

all the air whooshes from your lungs and you watch your thumb trace over the swell of his adam’s apple, enchanted. his body strains up into your tender touch, every hard line demanding you finish what he started.

“need some help?” you ask, feeling him gulp against your palm. “sure looks like you do.”

it’s apparent he can barely think, gaze clouded over in a haze of desperation. your nails dig into his oversensitive skin to see him flinch, to watch as a shudder rolls down his spine at the delicate bite of pain.

his cock bobs against his belly. 

“come on, baby. wouldn’t you like my hand or pussy better?”

“shit, i -” he groans, tossing a forearm over his eyes. “why are you like this? you’re gonna kill me one day.”

you chuckle, tracing the swell of his bottom lip, the bow of his top lip. “that still doesn’t answer my question.”

every pass of your hand works your fingers higher until the tips press in at the corners of his mouth. you repeat yourself, “do you need some help?”

at the taste of your skin, pope groans; a soft, deep-throated thing that injects heat into your veins. his tongue is soft against the pads of your fingers, wet and cradling.

a lone eye peeks up at you from behind his wrist, hooded and burning. “… please.”

feedback is always appreciated

jack brushes his teeth at the sink in your en suite, the door wide open. “what?” he calls out, spitting into the sink.

you moan, your hands clawing at robby’s chest, fingernails digging into his skin as his digits push deeper, curling, dragging against that spongy spot inside you. your hips buck, trying to fuck his hand, but he pins you down with his other palm flat on your belly.

“fuck, i’m gonna—” you cut yourself off with a high, desperate whine as he curls his fingers just right, the pads of his middle and ring fingers rubbing against your g-spot in tight, focused circles.

“there you go, there you go,” robby murmurs, watching your face twist — your mouth open, breath hitching, eyes fluttering. he looks over at jack. “i asked you what your record was. five?”

“for her?” jack hums as he steps out, just a towel on, hair still wet after his shower, watching you on the bed, naked and needy.

robby nods, looking to jack as if they’re just having a regular conversation, as if you’re not really there.

“six,” jack says. “in... fuck, honey, what was it?”

you can barely think straight, babbling incoherently as robby pushes you toward another peak. his digits pump in and out of your dripping cunt, driving you wild.

“he asked you something,” robby says sternly, tapping your cheek lightly. “speak. now.”

your brain is barely able to form words as you mutter, “three hours. it-it was three hours — fuck me, i’m gonna—”

“yeah? you’re gonna what?” robby wonders, helping you get to that high.

you hesitate with your answer, only focused on how he pushes you closer to the edge, until he raises his brows at you with a nod, tapping your chin.

“gonna-gonna cum. please. fuck—” you whine.

“you’re being a dick,” jack murmurs as he goes back into the bathroom, finishing brushing his teeth.

“she loves it,” robby sighs. “i think i can break that.”

“break what? my record?” jack scoffs from the bathroom.

“yeah. six in three? she’s about to do three in one. that’s another one per hour. i could bring it to two, make it eight. go ahead, honey. make it three for me,” robby hums, not looking away from you now as you come undone under his fingers, whining low and pitchy all at once as you scratch at robby’s chest, hair digging under your fingernails slightly as you peak. “good girl. good girl, yeah, feels nice, doesn’t it?” he hums as he watches you soak his fingers again.

jack spits into the sink again. “if you make it eight, then i have to make it ten. it’s an honour thing. my girlfriend — i have to hold the record.”

“if you make it ten, i have to make it twelve,” robby remarks as you pant beneath him, his fingers dragging out of you. a light slap over your folds makes you whine as you drag your hands over his cock. “less an honour thing, more pride.”

“are you seriously making this — what? some sort of competition?” jack scoffs as he walks out of the bathroom. he leans down toward you and kisses you sweetly. “hey, baby.”

you moan into his lips before jack moves away.

“me? competitive? not at all,” robby groans as your hands wrap around him. “fuckin’ — give me a second, will you? needy tonight,” robby murmurs, kissing at your tits sweetly as you slow your movement before pulling back and looking to jack, who’s headed to his dresser to get dressed. “but you? you love competition.”

“bullshit,” jack sighs as he drops his towel, pulling on his boxers before sitting down in an armchair.

“yeah? what was that situation last—” robby groans when your fingers find their way over his tip. “oh, sweetheart, fucking...” he hums, hanging his head into the crook of your neck.

jack watches with a hum as robby manhandles you beneath him, switching positions as robby sits at the head of the bed, moving your hips over his, lining his cock up with your core before guiding you down over him, feeling you ride him, fingers digging into his shoulders.

“what was that... situation you had with shen, then? last month? most patients in twenty minutes?” robby recalls, groaning as he watches you bottom out on him, pussy warm and tight around him.

“that’s different. we were helping people,” jack sighs.

“we’re helpin’ someone,” robby shrugs, a hand over the back of your head, gripping at your scalp. “isn’t that right, sweetheart? we’re helping you.”

you moan, clenching tighter around him. robby hums, groaning softly.

“think you’re just afraid i’m gonna win.”

jack scoffs, rolling his eyes as he moves to sit next to the two of you on the bed, beside robby, as if this is the most casual conversation they could possibly have while you ride him.

“oh, brother, you aren’t gonna win. i know her body. know what she responds to,” jack sighs as he watches you.

“think i do too.”

robby’s fingers work magic on your clit, rubbing gentle circles as he moves your hips to a new angle. your back arches, a low moan escaping your lips as the pleasure builds.

“goddamn it, right there, honey, right there,” robby groans, hitting his head against the headboard as he loses himself in your tight heat. his cock throbs inside you, coated in your slick arousal.

“fine, fine. we’re doing this,” jack sighs, leaning against the headboard as he watches you take robby’s cock. “what should we cap it off at? what are the rules?”

“i don’t know. fucking hell,” robby groans, fingers rubbing firm circles on your clit. your hips buck against his hand, desperate for more.

“now you’re pussy-drunk?” jack says with a smirk. “see what you did to the mean one now, baby? made him an idiot.”

robby slaps jack lightly on the chest, telling him to shut up. jack grabs his wrist and moves robby’s hand to his own cock, making him stroke him.

“you wanna talk rules?” robby scoffs as he moves his hand up and down jack’s shaft. jack inhales sharply at the contact, letting go of robby’s hand as he leans back, watching you intently.

“well, we aren’t animals... gotta make her feel good first and foremost,” jack says, eyes glued to your bouncing tits and pretty moans.

“she’ll be fine.” robby speeds up his hand over jack’s cock before giving up, too focused on you. jack sighs and takes over stroking himself, fisting his thick shaft as he watches you take robby’s cock like a pro.

robby’s hips thrust up into your wet heat, fucking you harder, deeper. his fingers rub firm circles on your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

His comfortable, soft and fluffy bed, now ruined— white sheets and cool toned comforter no longer their original light colors. You had stained them crimson.

You then embarrassingly had to admit the incident to him over the phone. He came rushing home from his brothers house, with a box of tampons for you like the sweet man he is. 

After he got you out of your ruined— and adorable— sleep set and sent you into his shower, he took off the dirty sheets and threw them in the wash, then replaced them with clean ones. He did it with professional precision— corners folded perfectly, not a crinkle in sight. 

When you came out of the bathroom, you were defeated and embarrassed that your sexy, older new boyfriend had to clean up after you. You had hoped to keep the mystery alive for at least a little longer, but clealry that crashed and burned— and bled.

You had assumed he was grossed out by you now, that he wouldn't find you sexy anymore, but you were very surprised when that was not the case. Far from it actually. In reality, he wanted to help you feel better.

In any way that he could. 

You close the bathroom door behind you and see Pope standing a few feet away, as if he had been waiting there the entire time.

His eyes roam over you, assessing to see if you are okay.

As you’re wrapped in his dark blue towel, you lean forward to reach for the tampon box in his hands right as a monster cramp tightens your uterus, sending pain throughout your whole abdomen. You wince, your body cringing and your face tightening inward with a sharp inhale of breath.

Andrews eyes widen, his auburn curls shake as his head recoils in alarm, “What’s wrong?”

You hug your lower belly tightly, hoping some compression will help the pain like how a weighted blanket does. 

“Just- just cramps,” you weakly smile at him as you bring one of your hands to reach for the tampon box. 

Before your arm is even fully extended, he pulls the cardboard square out of your reach, still looking shocked, and a little horrified. 

You stare at his hand that yanks the tampons away from you, your eyes trace the veins that run along his knuckles and up his tanned arm that’s exposed from his t-shirt. His bicep looks extra large today and flexes under his movement. 

You have to plant your feet on the wooden floor to stop yourself from stepping forward and taking a bite of the thick muscle.

Jesus- you forgot how horny you get on your period. 

Usually your attraction to him is intense, but this is your first cycle since you’ve started dating. You decided to skip your last two months of periods just to avoid the hassle. 

Apparently, this week you forgot to keep up with your birth control pills and avoid the next one.

As you stand in front of Andrew, you find yourself having to squeeze your thighs together as discretely as you can when you look at his handsome, freckled, face. You hope he doesn’t notice that you’re so turned on by just looking at him.

As you take in his crooked mouth, perfectly bumpy nose and crinkled eyes, you almost pant like a dog in heat. They’re just all so kissable—

“How can I help?” His voice anchors you into your unfortunately menstruating body as he responds. His hazel eyes scan your face, they’re filled with concern and it makes you smile softly.

“I took two advil, so hopefully that helps. What usually helps is pressure… I guess,” you say as stare at your bare feet, wondering if laying a refrigerator on top of your uterus is too intense. 

Your cramps are truly so bad you’re that desperate. 

Pope’s quiet for a second before replying, “What kind of pressure?”

You glance back up at him to reply and the breath is knocked out of you. His eyes are filled with an idea that— if you’re interpreting correctly— has your heart beating faster and your cheeks growing hot.

“Um…” you say a little breathlessly, “Just any kind of pressure on my- um, stomach. Like a weighted blanket or… something.”

He nods once, an intensity now painted on his pretty face, his hands twitch at his sides, thick fingers dancing with… anticipation? Nerves?

Before you can even try to decipher where he’s headed, another cramp overtakes you, twisting your insides with sharp stabbing pains.

You essentially fold in half and a whimper slips out of your mouth. Andrew drops the box on the ground and moves quickly, wrapping you in his arms to stop you from collapsing.

You welcome his embrace, clutching at his sides —probably gripping too hard due to the pain, but he doesn’t say anything as he rubs your back in small circles. 

Your hands run up his muscular body and you have to bite your lip to hold in a moan.

What is wrong with you? Your boyfriend is comforting you sweetly and all you can think about is mounting him.

You enclose your arms around his strong neck, your face buries in the crook of it, your body mushed against his. Pope presses a light kiss to your freshly washed hair and you can’t help but inhale his scent, it’s a manly kind of wood and salty smell that warms your whole body— your legs go a little weak.

His hands grip onto your hips.

“Do you think…” he whispers into your ear in a low, cautious but suggestive voice, “that a different kind of pressure might help?”

God yes.

So, now here you are— with Andrew laying you down on his bed, flat on your stomach, him climbing over top of you.

You're both naked, him having discarded your towel— placing it under your bottom half on the bed to avoid more stains— then he let you undress him as you ran your lips all over the muscular planes of his hard, freckle covered chest and arms.

Eventually, he had convinced you that he could never be grossed out by you, and in fact, was still turned on by the idea of fucking you even after you bled all over the place. So turned on, in fact, that he was the one who decided not to use a condom.

He had asked you how you wanted him and all you could whimper was, “I need to feel close to you- Please.”

He makes sure not to crush you as he comes down on top of you, one arm is braced palm side up the bed so you can intertwine your fingers with his, and the other wrapped under your neck lightly, keeping your head turned to the side so you can look back at him.

You steal a glance at him when he’s settled to see that his tongue is poked out over his bottom lip, as his dilated eyes stares at your backside with a heady need that makes you squirm.

“Relax, sweetheart," He reaches down to mumble into the soft skin of your shoulder as he uses his knees to part your legs. "Let me make you feel good."

You nod, your face pressed sideways into the mattress.

Once he has your legs parted and pinned under his own, he presses his hefty chest into your back. His bare, hard dick taps against your entrance and a shiver of anticipation rolls through you.

Every touch is heightened due to the sensitivity of your body from your period. His breath and his solid frame above you feel like the greatest weighted blanket you could ever dream up.

Pope's forehead presses against the top of your spine, when you feel his tongue poke out and touch your skin, you realize he's licking his lips as he watches himself push inside of you.

He enters you in a slow, gentle thrust, spreading your legs even further apart to make room for him. He slides in easier than normal due to the slickness your blood provides. His hand tightens around yours next to your head as he groans.

A breathy moan slips from your lips as he penetrates through your achy walls. The stretch of him inside you, combined with your already tender hole has it sounding somewhere between pain and pleasure.

He stops when he hears it, his breathing already labored, stomach rising and falling on your back, "Are- are you okay? Does it hurt?"

Somehow, him stilled is even more filling than his initial thrust. His heavy dick is unmoving, pressing towards the front of inside you, making you feel what is the usual dull throbbing from his size, very harshly.

You feel your cheeks heat and your eyes squeeze shut at the feeling, you take an uneven breath to try and push through your sensitivity.

Pope uses his hand thats wrapped under your neck to turn your face towards him fully, "Look at me."

His raspy breath that fans your ear keeps you too overstimulated to do so. All you can do is hum in response.

He uses his opposite hand to squeeze yours where they're connected. The constriction manages to ground you a bit, you squeeze his in response and open your eyes, half lidded, to look at him over your shoulder.

"There she is," he sighs in genuine relief while his face relaxes, as if he truly thought he had hurt you badly. "How do you feel, sweetheart?"

He is still paused inside of you, tortuously so.

"I feel- full and... s-sensitive," It comes out as a hesitant whisper, like if you were to talk normally the slowly fading ache would turn into full on pain.

"In a good way?" His voice is dripping in concern and his brows are furrowed. "Im not hurting you, right?"

You involuntarily tense around him, causing him to hiss through his teeth at the clench. He starts to shake above you and you know its from restraint.

You should tell him that you just need to get fully adjusted to this new sensation and that he's not hurting you.

However, you're currently feeling every detail of him inside you as he trembles. His veins that are rubbing your walls, the wide head of him that falls on a sore spot you didn't even know existed, the heat from him that’s warming you from the inside out.

Your eyes flutter shut and Pope panics, "You have to say something, honey, because you're squeezing me real tight and I'm about to lose it here." The words come out painfully strained, spoken through gritted teeth, “We can stop- tell me to stop and I will."

The thought of him stopping has you finally speaking up in a tinny whine, "Don't stop... you feel s-so good. Please move in me."

His sigh of relief hits your skin and goosebumps spread across your body.

He pulls out— only halfway to ease you into it— you feel a distinct trickle of blood roll down your thigh, but before you can even be embarrassed, Andrew slowly pushes back inside you, filling you up.

The harsh feeling at your opening completely disappears, and a tingly, enjoyable one replaces it, your back arches against him, creating a new angle that causes him to somehow go even further.

You moan louder this time, all pleasure now, no pain. The sound hits Andrews ears and he groans in satisfaction at your verbal enjoyment.

He leans down and kisses your neck and shoulder as he keeps his thrusts slow, but makes sure to push deep inside you each time.

You try and steady your breath as you feel his cock brush your innermost sensitive spot with every languid plunge.

You immediately start to be flushed with pleasure at your hard nipples dragging on the sheets, Pope's open mouth kisses on your cheek and neck, and his firm, muscular body crushing you as one of his hands squeezes yours with each thrust.

“I feel so close to you. Y-you feel like heaven,” he chokes out in disbelief against your skin.

You hear the wet noises your body is making as it takes him continually, and your free hand curls into the sheets beside you.

"Kiss me please," Is all you can moan to stop from screaming at the intense fuzzy pleasure that overtakes your body.

His lips are on yours immediately, he hums as he pushes his skilled tongue into your mouth, it slides over yours and a cry sounds from your throat.

He kisses you like it’s his one true purpose in life when you whine for more, hungrily moving his firm lips against yours.

You're pressed so far into the mattress with his weight on top of you, that it feels like there is nowhere for his bulky dick to go. It’s just unhurriedly pumping inside of you— barely fitting— intoxicatingly so, expelling thoughts from your brain and pooling warmth into your stomach.

Every move Andrew makes has more fluids spread between you, you feel it drip down your thighs and onto his pelvis, making a mess of you both.

You think of what the scene must look like, how carnal and intimate it must be— you cant stop yourself from breaking off your kiss and whimpering into the sheets.

His pace finally picks up at your undeniably reassuring noises, and he pants into your ear, "Is that good sweetheart? Am I making you feel good? Yeah? Am I?"

His arm tightens around your neck slightly, as if he can’t control the need to pull you closer, broad muscles tensing with the movement.

"Y-yes, so good. Too good. Too much, Andy", The nickname that you've never used before slips out of your mouth without even noticing it, but Andrew does. His whole body twitches with excitement.

"Fuck- You can take it," He rasps amorously.

You nod in eager agreement, as you feel yourself turn into a live wire, sensitive and hot all over.

"You're the best I'll ever have. Best I'll ever feel," He continues to tell you through groans as his thick size thrusts against the front of your soft walls so perfectly.

The euphoric sensation built from his fixed repetition has tears stream down your face as you moan with abandon. Pope immediately kisses them off your cheeks.

"Can I cum inside you? Please?" He begs pathetically into your jaw and the sound is so desperate and wanting, that you physically cant do anything besides say “Oh God Yes. Yes.”

"Need you to cum too sweetheart," his tone is determined and so are his movements as he moves a knee to drag your shaking leg up and out to the side.

He takes his hand out from under your neck and places it on the mattress, raising his upper body as much as he can, twisting sideways slightly and fucks you harder than he ever has.

The orgasm rips through your body with such force that you wouldn't be surprised if all your nerve endings had just exploded. There is no build up or warning— just white hot pleasure that bursts behind your eyes that are still leaking tears, and throbs through you unforgivingly, all the way down to your curled toes.

Your whole body quivers, you clutch at the sheets and you yell Andrews name, along with some explicit praises as you pulse around him. His thrusts stay powerful and consistent until he tumbles over the edge too.

He's whimpering and exhaling shaky breaths as he spills into you with your name sounding like prayer on his lips. He collapses down onto your back when he’s emptied, his heaving, sweaty body pressing you into the mattress once more.

With his cheek nuzzled against your face, both of your heads stay sideways, his stacked on top of yours. You’re both breathing heavily and completely slack.

You can barely think, can barely even move— you're actually not quite sure you're even in your body until you feel Pope's meaty palm squeeze yours. You now realize that he never once let go of your hand.

Your fingers had been intertwined the whole time.

The thought has mini, content-filled aftershocks flow through you.

As he rests on top of you, you don’t feel a single cramp or twinge of pain in your body.

"Andrew?" You whisper, your cheek rubbing his as you do.

"Yeah?"

"I feel much better, thank you." You bite your lip in a smile.

He chuckles, his whole frame moving above you as he does. He turns his face and presses a kiss to your lips, mumbling against them,

"Glad I could help, honey."

Brendon was coming out of the OR when he heard it.

A couple of residents- well, an intern and an annoying ms3, talking.

He just came out of surgery. Hadn’t even gotten a chance to piss yet, and it came from down the hall in front of him.

“I just don’t know how you do that” one said. He laughed. “I couldn’t even imaging fucking that blackout drunk.”

“Fuck, me neither.” Came the other. “Like, a butter face you can just put a fucking bag over it, hit it from the back. Face on her is fine I guess but the body-“ “it’s like a fucking beluga whale.”

The burst into laughter. “Maybe a fucking glory hole. Fat chicks always have good lips. They say they try harder, right?” “Ugh, but if I knew it was that fucking heifer on the other side? Bleh.”

Fuck were these kids disgusting.

Young guys were always piggish, sure, he’d been in enough locker rooms and frat houses to know. But this? This was grotesque. This is a fucking hospital. These were supposed to be medical professionals. And whoever they were talking about? That poor girl was someone’s daughter. Someone’s sister maybe. Fuck. She was someone okay? Just because you find someone unattractive doesn’t mean it’s any god damn reason to act like that.

“She’s bitching about dating apps? Please. All a bitch like that is good for it a fast fuck when the bars closing and you’re desperate. If she thinks she’s gonna find Prince Charming with a gut like that-“

“Hey!” He called.

They froze.

“Doc-“

“That’s enough. Shut the fuck up.”

Brendon rolled his eyes. “You realize we’re in a public place right? There’s patients around here- families. Your superiors. Watch your fucking mouth. I never want to hear shit like that again.” He snapped.

They stuttered out apologies, but he didn’t care, pushing past them to the utility stairs. He just needed to get upstairs to his office and relax for a couple minutes. Have a little time to himself before he had that zoom consultation with some U Penn lacrosse player who-

Oh.

Then he saw you.

He pushed past the stairwell doors and there you were, tears rushing down your cheeks, the knuckles of two beautiful manicured nails in your teeth teeth to muffle your tears. Your rosy pink iPad- not hospital issue, clearly your own- for charting and noting clutched in your arms with your clipboard and some pamphlets on rehabs with it.

You must have been on your way to see a patient- one of his patients. And you always took such good care of his patients. You’d once beamed, and elbowed him, calling you the dream team to a patient. “Dr Park is gonna fix you up, and I’m gonna make sure your recovery goes smoothly” you explained. And he chuckled. Sure, why not. The dream team. And he agreed. “Y/N is fantastic, she’s gonna come up with a great plan for you. No one I trust more with my patients recovery plans” he admitted, which you beamed to, again.

The first time you called him that was ages ago, to him atleast. He was used to it now. You were his lighthouse most days. A shining comfort in the chaos.

His heart twisted as he wondered what had happened to his sunshiney lovely social worker.

His stomach sunk, realizing exactly what had happened.

Rage creeping up his spine, he knew, those stupid fucking boys were talking about you.

“Hey, hey sweetheart. What the matter? You okay? Let’s get this hand out of your teeth before you hurt yourself.”

He knows he had a cliche level of soft spot towards you, but he always has. There was just something about the ball of bubblegum that rolled onto his floor one day that he couldn’t be cruel to. There was always something endearing about you, something that brought out a version of him he liked very much. A version of him that could be chivalrous and masculine in a way that wasn’t mean and tough. He could hold doors open and save you food speak to you softly, and use his manners. You just had an effect on him that he always liked.

Clearly you somehow didn’t have that effect on anyone.

“Sorry- I just need a second-“ you sniffled.

“Hey, no offense, you need more than a second and that’s okay.” He eased.

“Can you sit down for a second with me?” He offered. You nodded wetly with an unattractive sniffle.

You sat on the concrete stairs next to him, and let him take your things out of your hands to rest behind you both, and your saliva covered hand in his.

Clearly he wasn’t put off by that, uncaring as he looked you over for injury or damage. “I don’t care about a little spit. I just spent the last four hours up to my elbows in blood” he reminded you. So your apologies stoped. “Don’t care about germs. Care about you being okay. We’re bitting down pretty hard there.” He insisted,

“I’d ask what happened again, but I’m pretty sure I already heard it in the hall, huh?” He admitted.

The tears poured out again.

“You did? Oh my god, this is so humiliating.” You cried.

“Hey-“ he insisted firmly. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You didn’t do a damn thing. Those two? They’re in for an HR investigation now. They were fucking disgusting. They were mean, and sick, and gross. That’s not on you.” He insisted.

You swallowed.

“I mean. They were assholes. but. What hurts is that they’re right. You explained sadly.

“Abso-fucking-lutely not.” Brendon dismissed.

“They were wrong. They were disgusting and wrong. Those are the kinds of kids that pick a girl based on what they think will get them the most street cred with their buddies. And that’s no way to pick your woman. These are the kind of limp dick dipshits who call chicks like, fuckin’, Sabrina carpenter fat, okay? It’s not you, they just let 2000s porn fry their fucking brains.” Brendon insisted in a huff. Form and angry.

You giggled.

“You’re a Sabrina carpenter fan?”

You knocked your shoulder into his, momentarily distracted from your loathing.

He rolled his eyes. And… maybe blushed. “That’s what you’re talking away from this? Christ. I’m not, okay. Ive got tween nieces. I went to the short and sweet tour under extreme duress.”

“Sureeee” you teased.

“You’re laughing but you’ve got no clue how scary those kids are.”

“Must take after their uncle then” you teased.

“Anything to make my girls smile.” He admitted, smiling gently.

You could see in the soft look in his eyes that he meant it.

“Saw her here?” You asked. “In Pittsburgh. Or did you guys go to Philly or something.”

Brendon was surprised by the question.

“Oh. Yeah. At PPG.” “I ask cus I was there too” you explained. “Night one.” He smiled. He was glad at the natural change of topic. He hated to se you so sad. Hated to see you cry. Hated to see losers so low hurt you. Anything that would make you smile would go as far as he was concerned. “Us too. You dress up? They dressed up. Almost gave me a fuckin’ heart attack with those outfits. I thought I was gonna have to knock some perv out by the end of the night.”

He clicked open his phone, showing you his lcokscreen. Him and two girls, middle school aged probably, in glittery pastel outfits with little hearts and ruffles. One was in a dark denim jacket 8 sizes too big. It must be Brendon’s. She must have gotten cold. Oh. Of corse they’d be his wallpaper. He’s in the middle, infront of one of those photo op cardboard set ups. He’s got a grin on his face like he won the lottery, one arm around each girl.

“Oh my god. They’re to cute.”

He beamed. “Right? They’re the best.” He swore.

You clicked open your phone, riffling through your Instagram.

“I got dressed up too.”

You open your phone, pastel glittery case in hand, showing Brendon a photo from the same night last fall. You’re with a couple other girls, some looking vaguely familiar from around PTMC but he couldn’t care less about Eileen Shamsi’s kid or a sassy perfusionist from cardiology.

Brendon’s pupils blew up triple their size.

Your outfit was very, very different.

Knee high go go boots in bedazzled pink, a tiny little pink skirt and a pink bustier corset, hair in big, bouncy blowout curls, heavy makeup like a fucking starlet.

You were mind blowing. Stunning.

He but his cheek trying desperately to keep his responses in check.

“You looked lovely.” He settled on. “You’ve got the boots and everything.”

You smiled to yourself. “It was fun. I wasn’t gonna dress up but Tina really pushed it and I’m glad I listened to her.”

“Me too” he slipped. Oops. “You really look amazing here. You look great every day but this is something else.” He blabbered before he finally stopped himself. Thank god.

“I thought I’d be like. The only fat girl dressed up-“

“I don’t like that word.” Brendon shook his head.

You shrunk. “There’s nothing wrong with your body. You don’t gotta call it anything. It’s normal. It’s healthy. Its good to you.”

You swallowed, choosing to ignore Brendon’s statement.

“But i wasn’t. Quite a few of us there, and no one said anything mean so that was cool.”

You spoke about basic human decency like it was a luxury. Brendon hates that.

“I’m glad you dressed up. No point leaving yourself out. You’re the standout of your little group, no offense. You looked amazing, really.” He insisted.

He ignored how much he wanted that hair and makeup on his pillows, nothing but those boots on you. Perv.

That stream of thought died down naturally, shifting back to the previous topic.

“I- it’s not like they said anything I didn’t know, you know? I always knew I was too fat to date but-“

“I’m sorry. What did you just say?”

You shrunk at Brendon’s harsh tone.

“Um. Too fat too date?”

He made a dismissive, angry noise.

“Who the hell convinced you of something like that?”

Who didn’t?

“I-um. Alot of people?”

Many people. Your old friends who said ‘they couldn’t imagine you in a relationship’. Older ladies in your family who suggested you might finally find a husband if you tried working out more. So many men who made comments like those two doctors. Girls in highschool who made pig noises at you in the cafeteria, or gaged when you walked past.

“Fuck that” he dismissed.

“There’s no such thing” he swore, sure and sharp.

You didn’t believe him, admittedly.

“Brendon. Come on.”

“No. There isn’t. Really. No such thing. No one is too skinny. No one is too short. No one is too tall. Too dark too light. It didn’t exist. None of it. Eveyone has their own cup of tea-“

“I’m not most people’s cup to tea. I’m a little bit too much tea.” You tried to explain.

He shook his head.

“No such thing as too much of a good thing. Too much woman. Come on.”

He shook his head chuckling. “You. Who would complain about too much you? You’re the best god damn thing on this floor, and those clowns want to shrink you? They want less of you? Fuck that.”

Heat bloomed in your face at Brendon’s flattery.

His words had gotten away from them.

“You’re stunning. You’re just fucking stunning, okay? Not for anything, not a but. You just are. Your- this is probably fucking offensive, fuck it. Your weight suits you. Your body is fucking lovely, okay, you’d look weird any smaller to me. There’s nothing wrong with you. There’s nothing to change. You’re not not good enough. You’re good enough. Fuck them. You don’t want the attention of losers like that.” He rambled.

Tears welled in the eyes from the sheer kindness of it all but it still-

He didn’t get it.

You said as much.

“Wha don’t I get?”

You barked a laugh. “You’re a hot doctor. You’re in good shape and have nice hair, and a pretty smile. You love your nieces. You’re like. The Wikipedia photo of an eligible bachelor. I’m just a fat-“

A pointed glare

“Social worker”

Brendon chewed on his cheek trying to decide how to say this.

“You’re a fucking smoke show. You’re a catch..”

Well. There goes nothing.

“I’m 40 and single, i’m no fucking catch. I work dogshit hours, I’m bad with words, I’m blunt to a fault. I’m a giant fucking dick. Only thing I really bring to the fucking table is my-“

He coughed. “Sorry.”

What the fuck is he fucking serious?

“Y/N. You sell yourself short. Despite what a couple dumbasses say you’re a stunning woman, with a respectable job. Anyone would be lucky to have you. Genuinely. I can’t wrap my head around how the fuck you’re single in the first place.”

“It’s not like you would date me. Just as like an example. I’m no one’s type-“

Brendon chuckled.

“You fucking kidding me? Of corse I would.”

You froze.

“Huh?”

Then swallowed.

“That’s not funny, Brendon.” You whisperer. It was cruel.

“Y/N” he swore solemnly. “I’m not kidding. I mean that. Come on. How- you know how I feel about you.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” You jumped.

“You serious? You think I’m this nice to everyone?”

“Well… no, but-“

His face was more amused now.

“Y/N. I’m an asshole. I figured you knew and were avoiding it-“

“No, Brendon. I didn’t fucking know.”

It was kind of a mindfuck.

“So you thought I was rejecting you?”

He rubbed his neck, cringing.

“Yeah. I did.”

You went deer in headlights esque.

“If I knew i-“

“If you knew you’d what?”

“I’d um. Id-“

He chuckled.

“You don’t even know? Cute.”

Did he just call you-

“You’re so fucking cute.”

He shook his head.

Oh.

“You busy after work?”

“Why?”

“Jesus Christ. You’ve got a thick skull huh. I’m taking you out. After work. That okay?”

Oh.

Oh.

There’s that tone. The one he uses with residents when they’re dancing around something obvious. Not unkind. Just… direct. Your breath catches for half a second. Not nerves exactly—more the weight of being looked at like that. Seen through, a little.

Jack glances at you, something softer there now. A small nod. Go on.

You shift in your seat, tucking one leg under you slightly, grounding yourself before you speak.

“It’s not… open,” you start, careful. “We’re not looking to—change anything. Not really.”

Robby watches you the whole time. Doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t fill the silence for you.

“It’s just—” you exhale, a small, almost embarrassed huff of a laugh, “—we trust you. Both of us do. And you’ve been… there. With us. For a while.”

“Unfortunately,” he mutters.

Jack snorts. “Speak for yourself.”

But Robby doesn’t look away from you.

You hold his gaze. “It’s not random. It’s not… about finding some person to fool around with. It’s you.”

That lands. You see it in the way his jaw shifts, just slightly. The humour doesn’t disappear, but it tightens around the edges.

“…Right,” he says, slower now.

Jack leans forward, elbows on the table, finally stepping back in. “It’s not a free-for-all,” he adds, dry. “We’re not pitching some kind of ER orgy.”

“Shame,” Robby says flatly.

You almost laugh, tension breaking for a second.

Jack shoots him a look. “Be serious for one second in your life.”

“I am serious,” Robby says. Then, to you—“I’m just making sure I understand what the hell you’re asking me.”

His gaze drops briefly—to your hands, the way they’re curled loosely around your glass—then back up again.

“What are you actually offering here?” he asks.

You hesitate—not because you don’t know, but because saying it out loud makes it real. Jack shifts beside you. You feel his knee press into yours, steady, grounding.

“It’s not just sex,” you say, quieter now.

Robby’s brow lifts. “No?”

You shake your head. “It’s… us. Still us. Just—” you glance at Jack, then back at Robby, “—with you in it. Sometimes. If you wanted that.”

There’s a long beat.

Robby leans back again, dragging his hand over his mouth, thinking. Really thinking.

“You two have been together, what,” he says, glancing at Jack, “two years now?”

“Nearly three,” Jack corrects.

“Nearly three,” Robby repeats. “You know, you… you live together. Don’t kill each other. That’s impressive.”

“Thank you,” you say, dry.

His gaze shifts back to you again, softer this time—but heavier, too.

“And you’re both telling me this doesn’t… complicate things.”

Jack answers this time, steady. “Everything’s already complicated. This wouldn’t change what we’ve got. We’ve talked, we trust each other, we trust you.”

Robby studies him for a second longer than necessary. There’s history in that look. Long-standing, unspoken understanding. The kind you only get after decades of knowing someone.

“…You’re serious,” he says finally.

“Yeah,” Jack says.

Robby exhales, a quiet, disbelieving laugh under his breath. He tips his head back for a second, staring at the ceiling like he’s trying to reset his brain.

“Jesus Christ.”

You don’t rush him. Neither does Jack. When he looks back at you, it’s different now. Less amused. More… considering.

“You’re asking about the three of us…” he tries, trailing off.

You nod. “Yeah.”

His eyes flick, just briefly, to where your leg is still angled toward Jack’s, the easy closeness of it. Then back to your face.

“And you’re both just- you’re… good with it,” he says.

Your voice is quieter when you answer. “Wouldn’t be sitting here if we weren’t. You’re attractive, smart, funny. And I think you’ve always secretly had a thing for at least one of us. Maybe both, but, one way to find out, I guess.”

Robby drums his fingers once against the table, then stills them.

“...Christ,” he mutters again, but there’s a hint of something else in it now. Not just disbelief.

Interest. He looks at you properly then. Not the quick, passing glances from before. This is slower. Measuring.

“You always this persuasive?” He wonders.

You tilt your head, a small smile pulling at your mouth. “Only when it matters.”

That earns the faintest huff of a laugh.

“Yeah,” he says. “I can see that.”

Jack shifts beside you, not tense—but alert. Watching the shift happen in real time. Robby notices that too. His mouth quirks, just slightly.

Your phone buzzes—once, twice, then a string of messages lighting up your screen.

You glance down, already half-standing. “I’ve gotta go. Park needs me—Isla called in sick.”

Jack doesn’t even hesitate. He’s already reaching into his pocket, keys in hand. “Take the car. I’ll ride back with him.”

You take them, brushing his fingers briefly. “Thanks, baby.”

You lean down—meant to be quick, but it doesn’t quite stay that way. Your mouth presses to his, warm, familiar. He lets you, hand coming up to your cheek, thumb catching just under your jaw, holding you there for half a second longer than necessary before you pull back.

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes when you do. You straighten, turning— Robby’s already looking at you. Not subtle about it. Rarely is.

“Michael,” you say, softer, a small nod.

He repeats your name—flatter, rougher, like he’s testing how it sits in his mouth.

You don’t linger. You head out.

The door swings shut behind you.

Jack watches it a beat too long. Then exhales, leaning back into the booth, dragging a hand over his mouth like he’s resetting.

Robby doesn’t look at the door. He looks at Jack. There’s a slow, almost amused curve to his mouth. Not mocking. Just… processing.

“Alright,” he says. “Who’s idea is it?”

Jack doesn’t bother pretending. “Mine.”

Robby lets out a short, disbelieving breath. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“When?”

Jack shrugs, reaching for his beer. “Remember that detox sexless cult thing she did a few months back?”

Robby snorts. “Yeah. You turned into the most unbearable version of yourself I’ve seen in twenty years. Which is saying something.”

“Appreciate that.”

“Walking around like—” Robby gestures vaguely, “—like a cat in heat.”

Jack huffs a laugh despite himself. “Yeah, well. After you left that morning, we had our… you know, usual great sex - not adding as part of the pitch, you already know how good the sex is -”

“-get to the point,” Robby says, with a slight snicker.

“Some point, I mention… I don’t know, marriage, foreplay, a third. We finish up, and… we’re just talking.”

“Talking,” Robby repeats, deadpan.

“Yeah. Try it sometime. With a professional, even, they do that.”

“Hard pass.”

Jack ignores him, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “It came up. Not seriously at first. Hypotheticals. What we’d be into, what we wouldn’t.”

“And you landed on me,” Robby says.

“Yeah.”

Robby watches him for a second. Longer than usual. “…Both of you.”

“Both of us.”

That lands differently.

Robby leans back, dragging a hand over his jaw, thinking. Really thinking now—not just reacting.

“That’s your girl,” he says finally. “You’ve built something there. I’m not—” he shakes his head slightly, “—I’m not interested in screwing that up.”

Jack’s expression doesn’t change much, but something in it settles. He nods once.

“I wouldn’t be asking if I thought you would.”

Robby glances at him, sharper now. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

“No,” Jack agrees easily. “But I do know you.”

A beat.

“And I trust you,” he adds.

it hangs there. Robby exhales slowly, gaze dropping to the table for a second before coming back up.

“…Yeah,” he mutters. “That’s the problem.”

Jack’s brow lifts, faintly amused. “That I trust you?”

“That I don’t take that lightly,” Robby shoots back.

Silence stretches for a second. Then Robby leans forward slightly, forearms braced on the table, voice dropping a notch.

“And you’re fine with it,” he says. Not a question. “Me and her.”

Jack doesn’t flinch. “Yeah.”

“Really.”

“Yeah.”

Robby studies him—searching for cracks, for ego, for something careless. Doesn’t find much. Jack kept his pride in check. He wasn’t a jealous person, not really. He was secure in himself. Something Robby envied, sometimes.

“…She’s—” he starts, then cuts himself off, jaw tightening slightly. “You know what she is.”

Jack huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I do.”

“Twenty-something,” Robby continues. “Smart. Looks like—” he gestures vaguely, then shakes his head. “You’ve seen her.”

Jack smirks faintly. “I have, yeah. A lot of her. It’s great.”

Robby’s mouth twitches despite himself.

“And she looks at you like you hung the moon half the time,” he adds.

Jack’s expression softens just a fraction. “Sometimes.”

Robby nods once, slow. Then—

“…You really telling me you’ve never thought about it? About her” Jack asks, casual—but not careless.

Robby lets out a quiet breath through his nose, leaning back again.

“That’s not a fair question.”

Jack tilts his head at his friend. An insistence in his eyes to go on.

Robby tips his head back slightly, staring at the ceiling for a second like he’s debating how honest he wants to be.

Then he looks back at Jack.

“…Well I’m not blind,” he says.

Jack doesn’t react much. Just watches him.

“She’s—” Robby exhales, searching for a word, then gives up and settles for, “—she’s a lot. Sweet.”

Jack’s mouth ticks. “She is… You ever think about her while jerking off?”

Robby lets out a low breath at that, clicking his tongue at his friend's bluntness. Fuck it, they’re being honest. “Yes.”

Robby’s a little surprised when he sees the slow blink from Jack, a nod. Maybe irritable. 

“What?” Robby scoffs. “You’re cool with the prospect of me fucking your girl? But what I do with my hand in my spare time is… what, some sort of line being crossed?”

“I didn’t say anything, alright. I’m all good here. Just didn’t think you’d admit it,” Jack nods with insistence. “What about during sex? Thought about her then?”

“...On occasion, yes, I’ve- she’s popped up there, yeah.” Robby admits with brief hesitance. 

That’s as far as he pushes it—but it’s enough. Jack nods once, like this one he expected. Like it doesn’t threaten anything.

“Fair,” he says.

Robby glances at him, something like disbelief creeping back in. “You’re taking that a lot better than I thought you would.”

Jack shrugs. “She’s hot. You’re not dead. Tells me you’ve got a working dick, at least.”

Robby lets out a short laugh at that, shaking his head.

Jack took a sip of his beer, then—because he wasn’t finished, because he never really was with Robby—tilts his head slightly.

“What about me?”

Robby scoffs immediately, too quick. “Oh, come on.”

“No, seriously,” Jack says, glancing at him sideways. Casual on the surface, not casual underneath. “No shame, total honesty here. Twenty years, no secrets, all that bullshit.”

Robby drags a hand over his beard, already feeling the trap closing. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Have you?” Jack asks, like he was asking about the weather.

A pause.

Robby stares at the table, jaw working once.

“…You first,” he mutters.

Jack doesn’t even blink. “Yeah.”

Robby let out a slow breath through his nose, eyes dropping, like he was doing the math on how much of himself he was willing to hand over tonight.

“Man, it’s not even—” Jack went on, shrugging a shoulder. “Half the time that shit doesn’t mean anything. Brain just throws things at you. Doesn’t make you anything.”

Robby let out a short, humourless huff. “Right.”

“What,” Jack presses lightly, “you worried about the gay implications?”

Robby shot him a look. “Don’t—”

“—What? Say ‘gay’?” Jack says, not unkind, but not backing off either.

Robby glances up as a couple walks past, waits them out, then leans back in his seat, voice lower.

“We’re talking about whether I’ve jacked off thinking about another guy,” he says, flat. “Yeah, the… ‘gay’ of it all crossed my mind. Excuse me.”

Jack just nods, like that was fair.

“I just… I guess, I didn’t realise—” Robby starts, then stops, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I mean, you know, are you—”

Jack shrugs, easy. “I’ve been with a few. Never made a whole thing out of it. Don’t really care to.”

Robby gives a small, disbelieving shake of his head. “Figrues. Army man.”

“Yeah, well,” Jack mutters. “You don’t have to slap a label on it, Rob. Doesn’t have to mean anything bigger than it is.”

“I’m aware,” Robby says, maybe a little sharper than he meant to. Then, quieter—like it cost him something— “…It’s crossed my mind.”

Jack’s mouth pulled into something faintly smug. Not cruel—just… satisfied.

“Crossed your mind,” he repeated. “Interesting wording.”

“Don’t start,” Robby warns, but there was less heat in it now.

Jack huffs a quiet laugh. “It was easier getting you to admit you think about fucking my girlfriend half our age than it was getting that out of you. That’s saying something.”

“Fuck you,” Robby mutters, rolling his eyes—but there was a reluctant grin there now, breaking through whether he liked it or not.

Jack shrugs, taking another sip. “Options apparently on the table.”

Robby shakes his head, but didn’t argue. Didn’t fully look away, either.

Something in the air had shifted—subtle, but real. Not a line crossed, exactly. More like one finally acknowledged.

Robby studied him for a second, longer than necessary. There was history there—years of it, unspoken things sitting just under the surface, things neither of them had ever had to name.

Jack didn’t push. Just leaned back, easy.

“Think about it,” he tries. “Or don’t. Nothing changes.”

Robby nods once, short. “Yeah.” A few seconds of quiet. “…You still need that ride home?” he asks.

Jack snorts. “Oh, a ride home? Wow. Subtle.”

“Shut up.”

“Flirting now, are we?”

“You are not a funny man, Jack Abbot, don’t think otherwise,” Robby says, but he was already smiling, just a little.

★★★

2 WEEKS EARLIER

threesomenoun — three·some — ˈthrē-səm

1: a group of three persons or things : trio

2: a golf match in which one person plays their ball against the ball of two others playing each stroke alternately

3: a sexual encounter involving three people

“Are you trying to say you wanna play golf?” Jack says from the stove, not even turning around as he stirs the pan like it personally offended him.

The kitchen smells like garlic and butter—onions already softened down, carrots and capsicum still holding a bit too much bite. He’s got one hand on the wooden spoon, the other braced on the counter, solid and steady in that way he always is.

You’re perched up on the counter, one leg swinging lazily, phone in hand.

“Yes,” you say dryly, scrolling. “I’m deeply passionate about golf. The balls. The stroking of the balls—”

“—I get it,” Jack cuts in. “You want a threesome.”

You look up at him, unimpressed. “I don’t want a threesome. I love twosomes. Specifically with you.” A beat. “But I’m not opposed to… expanding the sample size.”

Jack snorts, finally glancing over to you. “Expanding the—Jesus. That’s how you pitch wanting to fuck my best friend?”

“You brought it up,” you shoot back, pointing your phone at him like evidence. “Don’t act like this wasn’t your idea. ‘Oh baby, we should add a third, Robby would give me notes’—”

“I did not sound like that.”

“—If anything,” you continue over him, “I think you wanna fuck your best friend.”

“Alright,” Jack mutters, turning back to the pan. “Not what I sound like. And c’mon—you know you’re all I wanna fuck.” He nudges the vegetables again, frowning. “I think these are done.”

“They’re not.” You don’t even look up when you say it. “Anyway… I doubt he’d even be down for it,” you say. “I barely think he likes me as a friend.”

Jack lets out a quiet scoff at that.

You narrow your eyes. “What?”

“I think he’d fuck you in a heartbeat if I said I was okay with it,” Jack says, like it’s obvious. Then, distracted again—“I really think these are done, hon.”

“Test the carrot,” you say, still scrolling. “If it’s soft enough, it’ll break with pressure.”

He presses the spoon into one. It doesn’t budge.

“…Needs longer,” he admits.

“How do you know that?”

“I just did what you said, I—”

“No,” you interrupt, looking at him properly now. “How do you know Robby would fuck me?”

That slows him down.

Jack exhales through his nose, shoulders shifting as he leans back slightly against the counter, thinking.

“I know him,” he says. “Twenty years of it. And I know you.” A beat. “There’s something there. A thing. You’ve always had good chemistry.”

You huff lightly. “A vague… thing, maybe.”

You hesitate, then—because you don’t really do half-truths—

“I did have a bit of a crush on him,” you admit. “Before I met you.”

Jack stills. Not dramatically. Just enough.

“I don’t anymore,” you add quickly. “It faded. Pretty fast, actually. It was early—before I started coming down to ED properly. He’d come up sometimes, consults, whatever. I think it was just…” you shrug, searching, “…older. Authority. Bit of an asshole.”

Jack’s mouth pulls slightly at that, something between amused and unimpressed.

“Glad to know you don’t have a type,” he mutters.

You lean in closer from the counter, nudging his shoulder lightly with your knee.

“Hey,” you murmur. He glances up at you. “I like them a little shorter,” you say softly.

Jack blinks.

Then rolls his eyes, a huff of laughter slipping out despite himself as you grin and go back to your phone.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters, turning the heat down, a small smile at the corner of his lips. 

★★★

The thing about a third—about this third—was that it… kind of just felt natural. Like there was so little reason to not do it, to not try it, invite it.

It wasn’t sudden. It was something that had been sitting under the skin of things for so long it stopped feeling foreign the second it was named.

Robby had never been separate from Jack. 

Not really. People liked to pretend friendships had clean edges—this is where I end, this is where you begin—but that had never been the case with them. 

Too many years. Too many nights that blurred into mornings, too many arguments that never quite resolved but never quite broke them either. 

They’d dragged each other through their twenties, stumbled into their thirties, and settled—somehow—into their forties without ever untangling.

They knew each other in ways that made distance feel artificial.

And Robby had always lived in that tension.

He didn’t soften easily. Didn’t trust softness when it showed up uninvited. Jack had always been the exception to that rule—steady enough to withstand it, patient enough not to demand more than Robby could give. But patience didn’t mean absence.

There were things between them that had never been said out loud. Not because they didn’t exist, but because saying them would’ve required a kind of clarity Robby had spent most of his life avoiding. 

It was easier to file it under something else—loyalty, history, proximity. Easier to laugh it off, to redirect, to let it sit in that grey space where it didn’t have to be examined too closely.

Then you came along. And you didn’t disrupt that balance. You just seemed to understand it. 

You didn’t wedge yourself between them, didn’t ask Jack to choose, didn’t look at Robby like he was something to tolerate or compete with. You moved through it like it already made sense to you. Like there was room.

And God—there was something about you.

Not just that you were beautiful—though you were, in a way that made people look twice without meaning to. Not just that you were younger, brighter, sharper at the edges in a way that made everything feel a little more alive. It was the way you saw people.

The way you saw Jack—fully, without flinching, without trying to fix him or soften him into something more palatable. The way you leaned into him like you trusted him to hold the weight of that. The way you touched him without hesitation, like affection was a language you spoke fluently.

And worse—

The way you looked at Robby sometimes, like you were trying to figure him out and already had.

He’d noticed it long before anyone said anything. Of course he had. The small things. The way your attention lingered just a second longer than necessary. The way you didn’t pull back when he got too close, didn’t flinch at the edge in him that made other people cautious.

You met it. Sometimes you even matched it. And that—more than anything—was what made him careful. Because wanting you was one thing.

That was easy enough to dismiss, tuck away under instinct, under biology, under the thousand other justifications people used to avoid looking too closely at themselves.

But wanting you like this—in the context of Jack, with Jack, because of Jack. That was something else entirely. It brushed up against things he didn’t have neat categories for. Things that felt uncomfortably close to lines he’d spent years pretending weren’t there.

And Jack…

Jack, who didn’t do anything halfway, who didn’t offer things he wasn’t sure about—was sitting across from him like this was just another extension of something already solid. Like this wasn’t a risk so much as… an opening.

That was what threw him. It wasn’t the sex or the implication, it was how Jack totally trusted him. With you, with this, with Jack himself.

And Robby didn’t trust himself nearly that much.

That was the problem. Beneath all the deflection, all the dryness and sarcasm, the sharp edges, there was something undeniably real threading through all three of you. Not clean, not simple—but real in a way that resisted being dismissed.

Jack had never been particularly private about you. Not with Robby.

Not in the way people usually were about relationships—careful, curated, keeping the good parts polished and the rest tucked away. Jack wasn’t built like that. He didn’t gush, didn’t sentimentalise—but if he’d had a couple drinks in him and it’d been a long week, you came up. Inevitably.

Not in a soft-focus, hearts-and-flowers way.

In details. In fragments. In the way you got under his skin and stayed there. 

The way you kissed him, made him feel every ounce of his own flesh and blood, grounded, and above at once. In how much he adored your figure, or some ridiculous position, some ridiculous story of stamina and libido, your mouth, his mouth, your hand, his hand.

Robby had learned, over the years, to let it wash over him. Half-listening, half-not. It wasn’t discomfort exactly—more like… he didn’t know where to put it. There was something about hearing your name in Jack’s mouth like that that sat strange in his chest. 

“What the fuck do you mean six times?” Robby had said once, a laugh breaking through despite himself as he tipped his beer back.

They were sprawled out on the grass like they hadn’t aged out of it—backs damp against the ground, shirts sticking, the heat of the day still rising up through the dirt. The city hummed around them, distant enough to ignore. It felt like being twenty something again, except their knees ached when they stood and everything they didn’t talk about sat heavier.

It was one of those nothing nights, sometime back in Spring. End of a shift. A few beers. Waiting for you to finish upstairs while Jack pretended he wasn’t being watched over by the hospital.

Jack didn’t even open his eyes. “I mean she came six times,” he said, easy. “Working up to eight.”

Robby snorted. “You’re talking like it’s a personal best.”

“It is,” Jack said. “You don’t set goals, you stagnate. That’s what my therapist says.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Jack grinned faintly, still flat on his back, arms folded behind his head like he had nowhere else to be. “What’s your number?”

Robby shrugged, taking another sip. “I don’t know. I don’t have a number.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Nope.”

“Bull.”

Robby dragged a hand over his mouth, already regretting engaging. “…Four. Maybe.”

Jack turned his head slightly, considering that like it mattered more than it should. His fingers tapped absently against the neck of the bottle.

“Four,” he repeated.

“Some of us aren’t treating it like a competitive sport,” Robby muttered.

Jack huffed. “It’s not me,” he said. “It’s her. She’s a natural.”

“She really that good?” Robby had slipped as a question. Maybe for his own curiosity, maybe because he knew Jack would’ve gotten to it at some point. Both, likely.

There was a beat.

Robby stared up at the sky like it didn’t matter either way. Jack shifted slightly, something quieter settling into him now.

“She’s—” he paused, like he was trying to find a word that didn’t sound ridiculous and failing. “She pays attention. Like she’s studying you. Figures out what works and then—just… doesn’t let up. Like I’m constantly high around her. And man, she-” Jack cleared his throat. “She does this thing with her tongue.”

Robby exhaled through his nose, slow.

He didn’t say anything.

“She swirls it, right around the underside, traces it—the entire thing with the flat part. Goes between, you know, broad strokes, little ones, then she’ll—fuck,” Jack had mused. “…She’ll use the space beneath her tongue, suck, and still use her tongue at the same time. I can’t describe how good it feels,” Jack had explained, his words slurring slightly but still carrying a strange clarity. “Fucking… incredible.”

Robby couldn’t have helped but picture it. The image of you, on your knees, long lashes batting at him, as you brought him to the edge. He sipped his beer, fingers a bit tighter around the neck of the glass.

“She makes the prettiest noises, like a… I don’t even know,” Jack added, quieter now, almost to himself. “Moans and screams, and so… Christ. Like she doesn’t even realise she’s doing it, possessed.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Robby cut in, not sharply, but firm.

Jack just smirked, eyes still shut. “You asked.”

“I didn’t ask for a breakdown.”

“Semantics.”

Robby shook his head, but there was a faint smile tugging at his mouth despite it. He finished the last of his beer, letting the cold settle something in his chest that had nothing to do with the heat.

A pause stretched between them. Jack sipped his beer. Then—

“What’s the deal with you and Noelle?” Jack asked, casual in that way that wasn’t casual at all.

Robby’s jaw shifted.

“She’s… fine,” he said.

Jack cracked one eye open. “That sounds promising.”

Robby huffed. “It’s not—” he cut himself off, shook his head. “Don’t think it’s going anywhere.”

Jack watched him for a second. Then nodded, like he’d expected that. He handed Robby his own beer, watching as Robby took it after a moment, sipping from it himself

“Yeah,” he said. “Bummer.”

Another beat. Robby sat up, bracing his forearms on his knees, their shared beer dangling loose between his fingers.

“Don’t think I’m built for it,” he said finally.

Jack didn’t move. “For what?”

“This,” Robby gestured vaguely. “Relationships. The staying. The… showing up part.”

Jack was quiet for a second.

Then—

“Now that’s bull,” he said, not unkindly.

Robby glanced at him, a faint, tired smirk pulling at his mouth. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “We’ve known each other, what—twenty years? You’ve stuck around that long.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

Robby didn’t answer that. Jack pushed himself up onto his elbows now, looking at him properly.

“You don’t get to pretend you can’t do something just because you haven’t done it right yet,” he said.

Robby scoffed lightly. “Didn’t realise you were gonna get philosophical on me.”

“Yeah, well,” Jack muttered, reaching for his beer. “Hate to break it to you, man, but you’re not some unfixable case.”

Robby laughed at that—short, real.

“Garcia said I’d make a good ex-husband,” he said.

Jack snorted. “See? Even she thinks you can commit.”

“That’s not what that means.”

“Close enough,” Jack sighed. “Lie down, will you. You’re so damn tense.”

Robby let out a low groan but did it anyway, dropping back into the grass beside him, one arm flung over his eyes like he could shut the world out for a second. 

The ground was still a little damp from the morning rain, cool through his shirt, the air thick and warm in that late-night way where everything feels slower, looser.

They went quiet after that. Easy quiet. The kind that only comes after years—no need to fill it, no need to perform.

“Aw, you two are so cute.”

Jack sat up immediately.

You stood a few feet off the path, lit half by a flickering streetlamp—scrubs wrinkled, hair a mess like you’d been running your hands through it all day, hoodie tied loose around your hips. One of Jack’s old military backpacks hung off your shoulder like it belonged there. 

For a while there, Robby had forgotten the whole reason they’d been in the park to begin with was to wait for you.

“Hey, baby,” Jack said, voice softening without him meaning it to. “You finish alright?”

You just nodded, already moving toward him.

You didn’t hesitate—never did. Leaned down, pressed a quick kiss to his cheek that turned, halfway through, into something closer to his mouth. Warm. Familiar. You lingered just long enough that he had to chase it a second.

“Miss me?” you murmured, barely pulling back.

“Always,” he said, easy. A little drunk, a little honest.

Robby watched it happen from the ground, not even pretending not to.

You dropped down in front of Jack, cross-legged, close enough your knees brushed his thighs. His hands came up immediately—instinct, habit—sliding over your arms, grounding, checking. 

Then his mouth found your neck, a soft press just under your jaw, before his hands settled at your shoulders, working slow circles into muscle that had no business being that tight at your age.

You exhaled like you’d been holding it all day.

“Jesus,” you muttered. “Keep doing that.”

“Yeah?” Jack hummed against your skin, a little smug.

“Mhm.”

You tipped your head slightly, giving him better access without thinking. He took it.

Across from you, Robby shifted, propping himself up on his elbows now, watching the two of you with that same look he always got—half amused, half something else he never quite named.

“Robby,” you said, glancing over at him, “how the hell are you drinking after that shift? You guys were slammed.”

“Sometimes a drink’s all you get,” he said. His voice was steady, but his eyes flicked—brief, involuntary—to where Jack’s hands were still working into your shoulders. Then back to your face. “Ortho must’ve been a dream, though.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Oh yeah. Absolute paradise. Park was being a complete asshole to one of the R1s. Kid looked like he was gonna cry.”

“Sounds about right,” Robby muttered.

Jack’s hands slowed, thumbs pressing deeper into a knot that made you suck in a breath.

“Careful,” he said. “You’re gonna fall asleep right here.”

“Honestly?” you said, eyes half-lidded now, “tempting.”

There was a beat. Quiet again—but different this time. Fuller.

You shifted slightly, leaning back into Jack without thinking. Your hand found his knee, resting there, absent, like it belonged.

Robby noticed that too. Of course he did.

You glanced up at Jack then, studying him for a second longer than necessary.

“…You been talking about me?” you asked.

Jack snorted, immediate. “What?”

“You’ve got that look,” you said, squinting at him. “And he’s looking at me weird.”

“I always look at people weird,” Robby said, flat, from the grass.

You didn’t even look at him. “Yeah, but this is a different weird.”

Jack huffed a laugh under his breath, shaking his head like you were ridiculous, even as his mouth betrayed him. “We were just talking about your—what was it—immense beauty. Your sex appeal. Your many talents.”

His mouth brushed your neck again as he said it, like he couldn’t quite help himself.

Robby let out a quiet breath through his nose. Not quite a laugh. Something drier. “It’s not far off.”

You stilled. Then slowly turned your head, looking at Jack properly now.

“What did you say to him,” you murmured, low, dangerous in a way that wasn’t entirely serious—but not entirely not.

Jack leaned in, said something under his breath—too quiet for Robby to catch. Your reaction was immediate.

You smacked his leg—right on the prosthetic—with a sharp thwack.

“Jack.”

He barely flinched, just grinned, caught your wrist before you could do it again.

“If you actually told him that,” you said, pointing at him, “I swear to god I’ll take this thing off and beat you with it.”

“That’s dramatic,” Jack murmured, still holding your hand. “And also physically unlikely.”

“It’s true, though,” he added, softer now, mouth near your ear again. “You’re very good at it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your shoulders had loosened, leaning back into him again despite yourself.

Robby watched the whole thing like it was a film he hadn’t agreed to sit through, but couldn’t quite look away from either.

“So the tongue thing’s real then?” he asked, almost idly.

Jack groaned. “Alright. We’re done here.”

You laughed—bright, cutting through the heaviness of the day shift still clinging to all three of you—and turned into Jack properly this time.

It wasn’t quick. Not really. Soft at first, then deeper, your hand coming up to his jaw, holding him there. He responded without thinking, one hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer, grounding himself in something he knew.

Robby looked away. Not fast enough.

You pulled back eventually, brushing your nose against Jack’s.

“I’ll drive,” you said quietly. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” he said automatically.

“You’re pretty drunk,” you corrected.

A beat.

“…Alright. Could be a little drunk,” he conceded.

You smiled, already reaching into his pocket for the keys like it was second nature. He let you. Fingers brushing yours as you took them, just for a second longer than necessary.

“Don’t lose the car,” he muttered.

“No promises.”

You stood, stretching slightly, then glanced down at Robby.

“You good?” you asked, softer now.

He met your eyes, something unreadable passing through his expression before it settled back into something easier.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m good.”

You nodded like you believed him.

“Night, Michael.”

There was a flicker at that—something small but real.

“Night,” he said.

Jack let you haul him up, weight shifting automatically to his left as he got his balance, your hand steady at his arm without making a thing of it. He adjusted, rolled his shoulders like he always did, then followed your lead without argument.

“Text me when you get home,” he called back to Robby.

“Sure. Have fun with your girl.’ Robby had said, lying back down.

“I definitely will,” Jack nodded.

You were already walking, his shoulder brushing yours, easy. He leaned down slightly as you hit the path, murmuring something low against your hair that made you let out a quiet, breathy laugh—something private, something just for him.

Robby watched you both go.

Didn’t move.

The grass was still damp under his back when he lay down again, staring up at a sky that refused to give him anything clear.

He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over his mouth.

So, when you and Jack finally put it to him—cornered him in that quiet, deliberate way the two of you had—Robby wasn’t as hung up on the logistics of it as he probably should’ve been. The dynamic, the risk, the aftermath—those were the things a smarter man might’ve led with. But that wasn’t where his mind went first.

It went somewhere simpler. Sharper.

Just how pretty were the noises you made? How soft was your tongue? Would you like it if Robby was cruel—if he held your head down and made you choke on him?

And Jack… steady Jack. What did he look like when he finally came? Did he like being teased, kept right on that edge until it snapped? Would he grip Robby’s hair, or would he stay controlled even then, taking it without losing that composure?

It wasn't an abstract curiosity. It wasn’t even entirely sexual, not at its core. It was about access.

About seeing something of both of you that no one else did. About being let into a space that already existed—intimate, closed, complete—and being told there was room for him inside it.

And that—more than anything else—was what made it difficult to dismiss.

★★★

Ortho is down for a consultation when you get called in.

The patient is already under—intubated and sedated, leg secured in traction. The CT is up on PACS, the fracture obvious even before you zoom in: a displaced mid-shaft femur, clear shortening, classic muscle pull deformity.

“Yeah, that’s a transverse mid-shaft femoral fracture,” you say, pen tapping the screen. “You can see the displacement here, and the overlap—this is why the leg looks shortened clinically.”

Santos leans in, her eyes slightly wide. “Fuck.”

You shake your head. “It looks dramatic, but it’s stable from what we’ve got. No obvious vascular compromise on imaging. Ortho will likely take her for an intramedullary nail.”

Santos lets out a breath.

You scroll through the scan again, adjusting the windowing. “We’ll just want to repeat neurovascular checks pre-op and post-reduction. But she’s straightforward.”

“Thank god,” Santos mutters. “I was so not bothered to call for another consult.

A knock on the glass interrupts you. You glance up.

Robby.

He’s already halfway through sanitising his hands when he steps in, eyes flicking once to the screen before landing on you.

“Ortho’s down in ED?” he says.

“Yeah,” you answer, a little too aware of him in the doorway. “Santos messaged me. Femur fracture.”

He leans in beside you to look at the CT, close enough that the space shifts—clinical, but not entirely neutral. He’s tired in the way only long shifts make you, sleeves pushed up, forearms marked faintly by pressure lines from his undershirt.

“Looks like a clean nail,” he says.

“Assuming ortho behaves,” you reply.

He huffs something like a laugh. “They won’t.”

“No,” you agree. “We never do.”

Santos clears her throat. “While I’ve got you—Huckleberry and I are having a Parisian party next Friday. At our place. You should come. You and Abbott, of course.”

You pause slightly.

“A Parisian party?” you repeat.

“Yeah,” Santos says, warming to it. “Paris-themed. Like… French food, wine, decorations. The Eiffel Tower and shit.”

Robby makes a quiet sound behind you—almost a laugh, quickly disguised.

You glance at him, but he’s still looking at the scan like nothing happened.

Santos continues, mildly confused. “Have either of you been to Paris?”

“No,” you say.

Robby: “Nope.”

Santos nods like that still tracks logically. “Yeah, me neither. Barely even been to Canada.”

There’s a beat.

“Anyway,” She adds, already backing toward the door, “You’re invited too, Robby. Maybe the three of you come together or something. You’re all close”

“...Sounds good, Santos, we’ll let you know,” Robby says with a nod. “North Twelve?”

“Consider it done.” Santos says dry, nodding.

The door shuts behind her. Silence settles back in—clean, clinical, familiar. Except Robby is still standing close enough that you’re aware of him in a way you shouldn’t be during a trauma consult.

He glances at the CT again. “Paris-themed party,” he repeats flatly.

“Don’t even,” you say immediately, because you can hear it in his tone already, trying to hide your own smile.

“What?” he says innocently.

You turn slightly toward him. “I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

He finally looks at you properly now, mouth twitching. “I’m not thinking anything.”

“You’re absolutely thinking something and at work nonetheless? Inappropriate.”

“I’m thinking Santos should never be allowed to plan anything,” he says.

“Liar.”

That earns you a brief, quiet exhale of amusement. You finish with the scans and walk out, Robby hot on your heels as you head to the nurses station.

“You think you’ll go?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “Jack and I have the night off. We’ll be busy.”

“Right,” he nods.

A beat.

“You?” you ask.

“I’d rather not spend my night around a bunch of drunk residents,” Robby says with a quiet exhale. “So, no.”

“Come over then,” you offer, stopping at the nurses’ station.

Robby gives you a look. “Thought you said you two were busy.”

“You can be busy with us,” you say, looking up at him, pen tapping lightly against the chart. “Or just Jack. Or just me. He told me you’ve thought about it either way.”

A faint sigh leaves him. “Right. I forgot he can’t keep anything to himself.”

He leans against the counter, lowering his voice slightly as his eyes flick briefly across the station—Dana watching from a few bays away, already narrowing her gaze like she’s clocking something she hasn’t labelled yet.

“Have you?” he asks softly.

“Thought about you? In that way?” you clarify.

He nods, a slight tilt to his head, curious.

You hesitate just long enough to make it honest.

“Yes,” you admit. “You’re tall. Kind. Your beard’s nice. You’re probably a little meaner than Jack, which interests me.”

That earns the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Something deeper in him satisfied.

“Abbot’s a lover boy at heart,” Robby says. “Gives in easily. ‘Specially for you.”

You nod, like that tracks. “Most of the time, yeah.”

That earns a quieter look from him. A pause that sits just slightly longer than professional. Then, more carefully, “Is it true you had a crush on me?”

You tilt your head. “God, he really just— Doesn’t keep anything to himself.”

Robby exhales through his nose. “Not at all. I’ve been subjected to that man and his inner workings for too long.”

You bump his shoulder lightly with yours, just enough contact to make the space between you feel intentional.

“Was it a yes?”

“To the crush?” You consider it. “Yeah.”

That makes his eyebrows lift slightly.

“Before Jack,” you add, like it matters in a technical sense. “Older, authority figure, slightly emotionally unavailable… I think I might just have a pattern.”

Robby hums, low. “Tracks.”

There’s a beat where neither of you moves away. Then he says, quieter, “And now?”

You don’t look away when you answer. “Now, it’s just… different.”

That hangs there. From somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeps sharply, breaking the moment just enough for it not to tip into anything else.

You glance back down at the chart, already half-moving on.

“I’ll let you know when we get a room open for the femur nail lady.”

And then you’re gone—already walking toward the elevator, the conversation left hanging in the air behind you. Robby watches you go.

A quiet breath leaves him through his nose. He taps his fingers once against the counter, then pushes off it, turning back to the screens like he needs something solid to land on.

Dana appears beside him a second later, sliding into the space like she’s been waiting for exactly this moment.

“What’s with that?” she asks.

“...What’s with what?” he replies, arms folding loosely, eyes still on the monitor bank.

“I mean,” she says slowly, “what’s with flirtin’ with Abbott’s girl in front of everybody?”

He doesn’t look at her when he answers.

“That’s not flirting,” he says evenly. “We were just talking.”

Dana hums, unconvinced. “Talkin’ real close.”

Robby exhales, already shifting focus. “New patient?”

“Yeah,” she says, nodding toward the bay. “Just rolled in. Need you over there.”

“Alright,” he says.

And he follows her down the hall, expression already reset.

★★★

“—Hey. Hold on a second,” Jack says, breath a little uneven.

“No, don’t—don’t hold on,” you protest, already moving, frustrated at the interruption. Your hips roll, trying to sink deeper, but his hands clamp down on your waist—firm, grounding, stopping you.

“Hey. Easy.” A breath. “Just—gimme a second, alright?”

You huff, but you stop. Barely. Your thighs tremble, hovering just above his cock, the tip brushing against your wet slit.  “This better be good.”

He lets out something like a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. “Yeah, I’ll try not to waste your time.”

A beat. He looks at you properly now—focused, a little too clear-headed for the situation. His thumb traces a slow circle on your hipbone, soothing, but his eyes are sharp.

“Just… wanna get this straight,” he says.

Your hands shift on his chest, nails dragging lightly. “Okay. Then say it.”

He nods once. “He can be there. He can watch, he can fuck you.” A pause. “But there are lines.”

You tilt your head, watching him. “Such as?”

His grip tightens just a fraction—not enough to bruise, enough to mean something. “Such as—you don’t forget who you’re with.”

You raise a brow, a smirk pulling at your lips. “Hard to forget when you’ve got your dick in me half the time I’m not at work.”

“Smartass,” he mutters. Then, quieter—“I’m serious. He doesn’t get to know how you taste. That’s mine.”

“Uh-huh…” You roll your hips lazily, not sinking down, just letting the head of his cock nudge against your clit, making him hiss. “So this is allowed?” You lift up, then lower just an inch, teasing the tip against your entrance.

“Yeah, allowed,” Jack nods, his jaw tight.

“Mm. This?” You lean down and kiss him—sweet, slow, your tongue brushing his lower lip before you pull back with a soft pop.

He nods into the kiss, groaning when you start to move again, lifting your pussy off him completely. The air hits his wet shaft and he shudders.

“Yeah? What about this?” You wrap your hand around his cock, giving it a slow, deliberate stroke from base to tip, slick with your own arousal. You squeeze just a little, watching his eyes flutter.

“All allowed,” he grates out, “but his mouth isn’t getting near this, alright, that’s all—” He cuts off as he grabs you by the hips, guiding your pussy back down, lining you up and shoving it back in with a single, brutal thrust. Your moan rips out of you—loud, breathy, grateful. His cock fills you so deep you feel it in your throat.

“Yeah? That good with you?” he asks, voice rough.

You nod, already starting to ride him—slow at first, just a rock of your hips, teasing the angle. “What about you and ’im?” you ask, breath hitching as you grind down.

Jack shrugs—or tries to. “What don’t you want?”

“No blowjobs either, then,” you say, voice a little strained as you lift up and drop back down, feeling every ridge. “’S for me.”

“Sounds good to me.” His hands find your hips again, but he doesn’t guide—he just holds, letting you set the pace. Letting you take.

You pick up speed, thighs burning, your clit grinding against his pubic bone with each roll. The room fills with the wet sound of your pussy gripping his cock, and you tilt your head back, letting him see the arch of your throat.

His hand comes up, thumb brushing along your jaw, pulling your focus back to him when you drift.

“Right here,” he murmurs.

You meet his gaze. That same look—steady, a little rough around the edges, but sure. His.

“Good,” he says, softer now. His thumb drags across your lower lip, and you part your mouth, just enough to suck the tip of it in. His eyes darken.

And when you move again, it’s slower. You rock forward, letting his cock hit that deep, sweet spot, and you moan against his thumb. You pull off it with a wet sound, then lean down to kiss him again—dirtier this time, tongue and teeth, whimpering into him.

“Yeah,” he breathes against your lips. “That’s better.”

★★​​★

It’s late into the evening on Friday when you hear Jack on the phone.

“No, can’t,” Jack says, pacing your living room, phone tucked to his ear while he half-heartedly folds laundry and gives up halfway through. “I’m home. She’s cooking. Smells like I’m about to get fat and happy.”

“Baby, can you come try this?” you call from the kitchen.

“One sec,” he says, then quieter, back into the phone—“What’d you wanna do?”

“Nothing,” Robby mutters. “I… I don’t know, man. I don’t feel like crashing Santos and Whitaker’s… house party. We could go for a drive. Hike.”

Jack stops mid-step. “A hike,” he repeats. “At nine-thirty at night.”

A beat.

“Yeah, not happening,” he decides, dropping the laundry basket and heading into the kitchen.

You’re at the counter in that barely-there nightgown—soft, short, riding up your thighs as you lean forward, aggressively chopping an onion like it personally offended you. Eyes glossy, blinking through it.

Jack pauses in the doorway for half a second longer than necessary.

Then—business as usual.

“Alright,” he says, stepping in behind you, close enough that his hand brushes your hip on the way past. “What am I trying?”

You nod at the stove. “Carbonara.”

He leans over, tastes it, hums—low, approving.

“Yeah,” he says into the phone. “She’s showing off.”

You bump his arm lightly. “I am not.”

“You are,” he says, kissing you quick, easy, like he’s done it a thousand times. “It’s working.”

You smile despite yourself, wiping at your eyes.

On the phone, Robby exhales. Rough. Tired.

“Hike’s dumb,” Jack says, shifting tone without making it obvious. “What’s actually going on.”

“Nothing,” Robby says. “Just… can’t sit still. Garcia was on my ass all day, Al-Hashimi wouldn’t shut the fuck up—”

“—Hey,” Jack cuts in, calm, steady. “Take a breath.”

You glance over at him. He’s not looking at you anymore—focused now, locked into that mode.

“You’re good,” he says. “You’re not thinking anything dumb, right?”

A pause.

“…No,” Robby says. “Just need to… get out of my head, I don’t know.”

Jack hears it. You do too. That edge. That restless, pissed-off with nowhere to put it thing.

“He can come here,” you say, like it’s obvious.

Jack looks at you—quick, assessing—but there’s no resistance there. Just a flicker of something else.

“Yeah,” he says into the phone. “Come over. Food’s ready soon.”

“I don’t know, man—” Robby starts.

You reach over and take the phone straight out of Jack’s hand.

“Hey, Michael.”

There’s a beat.

Jack watches you now, not even pretending to focus on the onions anymore.

“…Hey,” Robby says, slower. “Heard you were cooking.”

“Mhm,” you hum, leaning back against the counter, bare leg brushing against Jack’s where he stands beside you. “Plenty to go around.”

Jack’s hand settles at your hip automatically. Not possessive—just there.

Robby hears the shift anyway.

“This a setup?” he asks.

You smile slightly. “You always this suspicious, or just with me?”

A quiet scoff from him.

“You should come,” you add, softer—but not innocent. “You sound like you need it.”

A beat. Jack’s thumb presses lightly into your hip. Grounding. Present.

Robby exhales. “Yeah. Guess I can make it.”

“Guess you can,” you say easily.

Silence again—but it’s different now.

You glance at Jack.

He nods once.

“Door’s unlocked,” you say. “Twenty minutes.”

You hand the phone back.

Jack takes it, fingers brushing yours briefly, then brings it back to his ear. “You heard her. No pressure.”

A pause.

“…Alright,” Robby says.

The line clicks dead.

Jack sets the phone down on the counter, then looks at you properly. A slow once-over. Not subtle.

“What?” You raise a brow.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. I’ll finish the laundry.” He gives you a deep kiss to your neck, hands trailing over your figure as he mumbles into your skin, fingers gently pushing aside the light material. “You gonna stay in this?” He asks.

“‘S that alright?” You wonder, leaning into his touch.

He inhales sharply against your skin, lips leaving your skin. “Sure.”

★★★

You’re out on the balcony when it comes up.

Jack’s place sits high enough that the city feels almost staged—Pittsburgh stretched out in warm light, bridges lit up in clean lines, traffic moving steady below like it never really stops. It’s one of those late summer nights where the air sticks just slightly to your skin, warm but not suffocating. There’s music drifting from somewhere down the block, a party you can’t see but can feel in the background.

The balcony’s not small—wide enough for a proper table, a few chairs, space to lean without feeling cramped. Jack had insisted on that when he bought the place. Said if he was going to spend money, it’d be on something worth standing still for.

Your plates are mostly cleared, carbonara half-finished, wine and beer sweating into the wood.

“Have either of you done this before?” Robby asks.

Jack shakes his head immediately. “No.”

You don’t answer.

You’re thinking—actually thinking, head tilted slightly, finger lifting to tap against Jack’s arm like you need him to hold on a second. That’s when it hits him, belated and faintly incredulous, that this apparently hadn’t come up when the idea itself had.

“…Have you?” Jack asks, turning to you, already suspicious.

“I am thinking,” you murmur, brows pulling together like this is a serious recall exercise.

Robby raises a brow, watching you now, something amused creeping in despite himself.

“What do you mean you’re thinking?” Jack presses. “That’s not… I don’t know, something you half do or something. You’d know.”

“Or something,” Robby mutters under his breath.

You shoot him a look, then roll your eyes. “Okay—no. I don’t think I’ve had a threesome.”

“How can you not think you’ve had a threesome?” Jack wonders.

You lean back slightly, folding one leg under you, the fabric of your nightgown shifting higher on your thigh without you bothering to fix it. You don’t notice how both men’s gaze drop there.

You exhale, already regretting engaging. “Because—technically—no one actually got fucked, there was no penetration by anybody, so, grey area?”

There’s a beat.

Robby’s mouth twitches.

Jack blinks. “...Right.”

“Okay?” you continue, defensive now. “It was—hands. That’s it. Group situation, but not… full commitment.”

Robby huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Group situation,” he repeats.

“Shut up,” you mutter.

“Another guy or girl?” Jack asks, too quickly.

You hesitate just long enough to make it interesting. “…Both.”

Jack leans back like you’ve just told him something deeply inconvenient. “...Huh.”

Robby lets out a low whistle through his nose. “So not a threesome. Just… poor project management.”

You laugh despite yourself. “Oh my god.”

“That’s a foursome that lost direction,” he adds, dry.

“Whatever,” you shrug. “Med school was fun for me. Sorry I had range.”

Jack eyes you, something between amused and slightly thrown. “I’m just saying, that’s a hell of a thing to casually drop over dinner.”

You smirk faintly. “I’m surprised you haven’t.”

Jack scoffs. “I’ve had opportunities.”

“Mm,” you hum, unconvinced.

Robby glances at him sideways. “That sounds like a lie.”

“It’s not a lie,” Jack says, defensive now. “I just—never felt the need.”

“Right,” Robby says. “Till now.”

Jack gives him a look. “Till now.”

Something passes there—quick, familiar, not entirely friendly as Robby sips his beer.

After, you step out to the edge of the balcony, forearms resting against the railing. The city hums below you, the air warmer now, carrying the smell of food and distant smoke.

Inside, you hear Jack moving—plates, running water. Robby’s voice low, asking something, already familiar with the space.

“Thanks, baby,” you say when Jack comes back out, taking your plate.

You lean in, press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, hand coming up to your hair, messing it slightly with a small, easy smile.

You push him away lightly. “Don’t start.”

Robby watches it for a second before picking up the empty bottles, holding them loosely by the necks.

“Next to the fridge?” he asks, like he hasn’t been here a hundred times already—like tonight isn’t slightly different.

“Yeah,” you nod. “Recycling. Thank you.”

He gives a short nod and turns— You catch his wrist. It’s not forceful. Just enough.

“Hey,” you say, softer.

He looks down at you.

There’s a pause—his eyes dragging, just briefly, lower before coming back up. You’re close enough now to feel the heat off him, the faint roughness of his breath after a drink, after a long day.

You use his forearm to pull yourself up just slightly— and kiss him. It’s not rushed. It’s far from tentative either. Close. Testing.

His beard scratches lightly against your skin, rough in a way that makes you more aware of it, not less. He stills for half a second—then responds, mouth softer than you expected, hand hovering like he hasn’t decided where it’s allowed to land. 

Your teeth catch his bottom lip briefly. That’s what does it.

“Starting without me?” Jack’s voice cuts in, dry. “Bit mean.”

Robby pulls back instinctively, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t—even though—

Even though.

You smile a little, letting go of his wrist as he clears his throat.

“Next to the fridge,” Jack adds, nodding toward the bottles.

Robby nods once, wordless, moving past him.

Their shoulders brush as he goes. Not accidental. Jack doesn’t move out of the way.

He watches Robby for a second longer than necessary, then looks back at you.

You end up on the couch.

It happens naturally—plates abandoned in the sink, TV flicked on for noise more than anything else. Some late-night rerun playing low in the background, colours shifting across the room, low lamps lighting the room.

Jack’s in the middle, halfway through some story from work—one of those cases that stuck with him. Complicated, strange, the kind he can’t quite let go of.

You’re tucked into his side, knees curled under you, your hand idly playing at the back of his neck—fingers brushing through his hair, absent, familiar. You nod along, half-listening, more focused on the rhythm of his voice, the warmth of him.

Robby’s behind you. Close enough that you can feel the heat of him through your back, even before his hand settles on your thigh—slow, absent movement, like he’s not even fully aware he’s doing it.

Up. Down. Not pushing. Not asking. Just there.

Jack keeps talking.

You lean in without really thinking about it—your lips brushing along his jaw, then just below it. Light. Familiar. Not rushed.

Jack’s hand comes up to your lower back automatically, pulling you in a fraction closer, steadying you there.

Robby’s hand doesn’t stop. If anything, it shifts—just slightly higher, fingers brushing warmer skin now where the fabric gives way.

Jack feels it. His hand stills for a second at your back—then relaxes again.

He doesn’t pull you away. Doesn’t say anything. You exhale softly against his neck, your breath warm there, your fingers tightening slightly where they rest behind him.

And for a second—just a second—you’re aware of both of them at once.

Jack in front of you, steady, grounding. Robby behind you, quieter, heavier—watching more than speaking.

Jack’s gaze lifts. Meets Robby’s. There’s a beat. Not long. But long enough. Something passes between them—wordless, measured. Something you can’t read.

Jack gives the smallest nod. Barely there. Robby’s jaw shifts slight. Then Jack looks back at you.

Your hand slides from his neck to his jaw, turning him slightly, and you kiss him properly this time—slow, deliberate. He leans into it without hesitation, one hand firm at your waist.

When you pull back, it’s not far. Just enough. Just long enough to turn.

Robby’s already looking at you. Not surprised. Not really. Just watching. You close the distance like it’s nothing—like it’s always been this simple—and kiss him too.

Different. Not softer, not harder—just new. Testing. His hand stills on your thigh for half a second before it shifts, coming up to steady at your side, like he’s grounding himself in it.

There’s a quiet breath from him—almost a huff, almost disbelief.

“This is fun,” You murmur.

You don’t give him time to overthink it.

You lean back between them again, tipping your head slightly, and they follow without being told.

Jack’s mouth finds one side of your neck, familiar, certain.

Robby hesitates for a fraction of a second— then doesn’t.

The other side. Slower. More deliberate. Like he’s learning something he’s not used to having.

You exhale, a soft sound you don’t quite hold back this time, and your hands come up instinctively—one finding Jack’s hair, the other Robby’s, fingers threading through both, holding them there.

For a second, it stays like that. Balanced.

Then you shift, just slightly—hands tightening, guiding as you move the two of them, their lips almost naturally coming to find one anothers, moving them like ken dolls, before you drop your hands, watching with a small smile, as Robby's immediacy for control goes against Jack's. Robby’s hand deepening into your thigh, grip tight as he kisses Jack.

Jack pulls back first, breath uneven but still controlled, his eyes flicking to yours like he’s checking in—like he always does.

His hand slides up your spine, slower now, deliberate where it had been absent before. His palm is cool against your overheated skin, the contrast making you shiver as it traces upward, then back down again, lingering just enough to feel intentional.

You lean back into him, lips finding his neck again—dragging slowly over the roughness of his skin, the faint scrape grounding, familiar. You press a little firmer this time, less thought, more instinct.

When you pull back, it’s only barely. Your breath catches—not dramatic, just… aware. Of him. Of Robby. Of both.

Jack’s hand presses more firmly into your back, keeping you close, steadying you like he can feel the shift too.

“Baby,” he murmurs, voice low, softer than before. “Feeling needy?”

You nod against him, answering with your mouth instead—kissing along his jaw now, slower, more deliberate.

“Yeah,” he exhales, a quiet sort of understanding in it. “I know, hon.” A beat. Then, quieter—“You want me, or him?”

You hesitate. Not long—but long enough to matter.

Robby’s hand shifts on your thigh, moving from the outside to your inner thigh, firm but unhurried, easing you open just slightly—testing, not taking. Waiting to see what you’ll do with it.

“It’s alright,” Jack starts, voice still calm, like he’s talking you through something he already trusts. “Go ahead. She likes it when you—”

“—I’ll ask you for help if I need it, alright?” Robby cuts in, low and even.

They exchange a look—brief, sharp, understood.

You lean over, pressing a quick, soft kiss to Jack’s cheek—something sweet, grounding—before shifting your weight and climbing into Robby’s lap.

He stiffens for a second. Just a second.

Robby’s always been hard to read. Time’s etched itself into his face, but there’s still that wall there—something held back, something controlled. Maybe it’s nerves. Maybe it’s you. His best friend’s girl, sitting on him like this—close, warm, curious.

“You okay there, Sasquatch?” you tease, tilting your head up at him.

His hands find your thighs again almost immediately, like muscle memory kicking in. His gaze flicks—down, over you, then back to your eyes. Briefly to Jack. Then back again.

“Sasquatch? Really?” he murmurs, one hand moving up to cup your breast through your top. His palm is warm against you, sending a shiver down your spine. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“Beard, tall… same thing, no?” you shrug lightly.

That earns the faintest hint of a smirk.

“She always cracking jokes before getting fucked?” Robby asks, giving your breast a firm squeeze. His other hand slides lower, ghosting over your stomach before cupping your mound through your panties

“Depends,” Jack admits. “One time I got G.I Joe for an hour.”

“He was in uniform, in my defense,” You defend, brief before you try moving your hips over Robby’s fingers, eager. “Come on, Michael.” 

Robby's fingers press harder against your core, rubbing slow, firm circles that have you arching into him, a sweet whine escaping your lips, his eyes enamoured with how your mouth parts, breath warm against him. 

“What a cute noise you make, sweetheart,” Robby murmurs. “Ask me nicely now.”

You hesitate, desperate as his fingers continue to move achingly slow over your wetness.

“Ask or I give Jack my hand right now instead and you can wait your turn for another hour,” Robby tells, voice low and soft, not looking away from where his fingers glide over your seeping core.

“Please,” you murmur, voice breathy and desperate. “Please fuck me with your fingers.”

You crash your lips to his—harsh, messy, tongues thrusting quick and slick, his beard scraping rough red trails across your cheeks and chin. He growls low into your mouth, yanking your panties aside with brutal force, calloused fingertips dragging through your dripping folds, parting your lips wide before ramming two thick fingers knuckle-deep into your clenching pussy—no mercy, no prep.

You gasp ragged into the kiss, a high-pitched moan ripping free as your lips break away, saliva trailing shiny strings from his mouth to yours. You latch onto his neck, teeth grazing the salty skin, sucking hard as you grind down fierce onto his invading digits—walls squeezing tight around the stretch, juices flooding hot over his palm.

“Move your fingers toward her ventral,” Jack instructs from the side, voice calm but edged with that teasing know-it-all tone, his hand sliding warm along your spine.

Robby exhales sharp through his nose—mild irritation flashing in his eyes at the unasked advice, jaw clenching as he shoots Jack a quick, heated glare. But he curls his fingers obediently upward inside you, knuckles grinding rough along your front wall to hammer your g-spot precise and relentless. Your moan swells louder, body jolting as fresh gushes of slick coat his hand, pussy slurping obscenely around each pump.

“Christ, you’re making a mess on me, aren’t you, kid? Huh?” Robby rasps, voice gravel-thick with mean delight, eyes locked on the filthy sight—your swollen pussy lips gliding and sucking greedily over his plunging fingers, riding them frantic. 

He twists his wrist sharp, scissoring the digits wide to pry your hole open, thumb mashing down hard on your throbbing clit with every brutal thrust—wet schlicks echoing loud, your thighs trembling slick against his forearm, arousal trickling warm down to soak his jeans.

He adds a third finger suddenly, forcing the burn deeper, stretching your cunt taut as he moves, hooking mercilessly on that spongy spot. 

“You getting close?” He asks, low and rough, listening closely to your moans, how they become pitchier, breathier, as sweet as Jack described. You nod, a loose yes, focused only on how your core winds up to the edge. “That right?”

Your cries pitch wilder, back arching as he pinches your clit between thumb and knuckle, rolling it rough while his fingers churn your insides, coil tight in your core.

“What else she like?” Robby asks Jack, glancing over at his friend now, fingers never slowing their rhythm inside you.

Jack taps his index and middle digit to his lips, nodding toward you. Robby nods back, hums at the sight of you, curious.

Robby yanks his fingers free abrupt—your pussy clenching empty, a whine tearing from your throat at the aching void, hips bucking needy for more. He brings those soaked digits up to your face, gripping your chin firm to still you, watching hungry as you part your lips instinctively. 

His fingertips tease your bottom lip, smearing your own cream glossy, before you suck them in deep—tongue swirling eager around the thick lengths, lapping every tangy drop, hollowing cheeks as saliva drips messy down your chin.

“Atta girl, you’re a fuckin’ mess now aren’t you?” Robby murmurs, gaze glued ravenous to your bobbing mouth, cock throbbing harder under you. “You wanna cum?”

You nod, frantic around his fingers, eyes pleading.

“Not yet,” Robby denies, voice almost gentle, yet harsh at once. “Barely seen what you can do.”

You exhale shaky as he pulls his fingers out with a wet pop, trailing spit from your chin before cupping your whole face possessive, holding you locked on him.

“Go over to him. Make him feel good,” Robby orders, jerking his chin at Jack.

You nod, movements sluggish from the edge he left you on.

“On the floor, knees, now,” Robby snaps, voice brooking no argument.

You slide off his lap reluctant, crawling back to Jack beside him on the couch. He smiles soft at you, fingers threading gentle through your hair, cupping your cheek as he brushes strands aside, gaze roaming tender over your flushed skin.

“You alright there?” he asks nicely, thumb stroking your jaw.

You nod eager, hands diving straight to his sweatpants, palming the rigid bulge straining there—heat pulsing under your touch. 

You tug the waistband down, freeing his cock—thick shaft springing up heavy, veins bulging, head slick with pre-cum. Your fist wraps tight around the base, pumping slow firm strokes up to the tip, twisting slick over the crown to spread his leak.

Jack inhales sharp, but you drop fully to your knees between his spread thighs on the rug, the rough weave biting into your skin. You lean in, lips parting wide to swallow his cockhead first—tongue flicking the slit to lap salty pre, then sliding down inch by veiny inch, throat relaxing to take him deeper.

“Look pretty down there,” Jack murmurs with a small smile, hand light in your hair, just cradling.

“You’re so soft with her,” Robby remarks from beside, voice mixed with mocking and earnestness as he watches you work, his own tenting obvious.

Jack shrugs, a quiet groan escaping as you hollow your cheeks, sucking vacuum-tight while bobbing steady—saliva pooling at the corners of your stretched lips, dribbling down his balls. Your hand strokes what your mouth can't reach, twisting wet on the upstroke, tongue pressing flat along the underside to trace every ridge.

Robby's gaze burns hot—flicking over your arched back, your drool-slick chin, eyes that dart between Jack's tense face, Robby's hungry stare, then flutter shut as you deepthroat him full, nose burying in his pubes. He fixates on Jack's cock vanishing slick between your lips, throat bulging visible. Then up to Jack, whose fingers grip tighter into your scalp—not shoving, just anchoring as his neck cords tense.

“Good job, sweetheart,” Jack praises breathy, hips twitching minimal into your rhythm. 

Your moan vibrates around his length, humming deep to make him shudder, spit bubbling messy as you pop off to lick sloppy stripes up his shaft, sucking each ball into your mouth turn before plunging back down.

He groans low, head lolling back, “Fucking… perfect. So perfect, always.”

Tension crackles thicker between them—Jack's free hand drifts casual at first, then deliberate, palming Robby's thigh before cupping the massive bulge in his jeans, squeezing firm through denim. Robby stiffens, eyes meeting with Jack's, breath hitching as Jack rubs slow circles over the thick outline, thumb pressing the zipper ridge where pre darkens the fabric.

“You alright there, man?” Jack scoffs, a light smile. “Can’t handle it?”

It’s a challenge. It always is with them. Has been since they were twenty something.

Jack knows exactly what he’s doing—knows the tells. The slight tilt of Robby’s head, the way his weight shifts more onto one side, the flicker of something sharper behind his eyes. He’s seen that look in bars, in fights, in operating rooms when things went sideways.

Robby doesn’t back down from anything. Least of all him.

Then Robby exhales slowly, something almost like a laugh under it, eyes locking onto Jack’s—steady, unflinching.

“Oh, I can handle it just fine,” Robby agrees with his own smile. “Go ‘head.”

Jack groans at your relentless mouth—fast and wet, then slowing perfect against him—his hand stroking over Robby’s clothed cock, deliberate and slow, denim rasping under his palm. He leans in first, crashing his mouth to Robby's—sloppy, urgent, tongues battling fierce right above you, beards grinding rough, wet sucks and grunts filling the air. Jack's fingers knead Robby's bulge harder, unzipping halfway to delve inside, wrapping firm around the hot shaft through boxers.

You pull off Jack with a gasp, spit stringing from your lips to his glistening tip, replacing your mouth with your fist—pumping slick and steady along his veiny length, thumb swirling over the slit to smear pre-cum. Your eyes lock on their kiss, Jack's hand slowing on Robby as your thumb teases tentative over his own sensitive crown, tongue darting out to lap the edge of his slit.

“Oh fuck,” Jack moans into Robby’s mouth, breaking away to watch you lick him sweetly, hips bucking light into your grip.

Your free hand joins Jack’s on Robby’s cock, fingers overlapping his as Robby undoes his belt buckle with a metallic clink, shoving jeans and boxers down his thighs. His thick cock springs free. You spit thick into your palm, slicking it hot before gripping him base to tip, stroking in tandem with Jack—your hand twisting wet on the upstroke while his squeezes the root, veins pulsing under your combined pressure. 

Robby hisses through clenched teeth, thighs tensing as you both jerk him off rough, pre dribbling over knuckles, your mouth still working on Jack’s cock.

Jack's strokes on you falter to lazy pumps, his fist gliding easy over your saliva-lubed skin as he watches Robby swell thicker in your shared hold. “Fuck, feel that grip? She’s got hands made for this,” he rasps, voice husky, eyes dark on Robby's face.

Robby grunts approval, thrusting shallow into the double stroke. Jack pulls back suddenly, nodding down at you. “Let him feel how good your pretty mouth is, baby.”

You release Jack reluctant, his cock twitching angry-red in the cool air as he takes over—fist flying fast over his shaft, slick echoing. You shift on your knees, turning to Robby, who grips his base and taps the fat head heavy against your cheek—wet smacks on flushed skin, taunting drip of pre-painting streaks.

“Dreamt about this once,” he admits, voice low. “The way Jack described it, you’d think you have the mouth of an angel. That right? You an angel?” He wonders.

You lick your lips in anticipation, hand between your legs, fingers gliding over your folds.

“Oh, baby, you’re touchin’ yourself too?” Robby notices. “God, so desperate.”

“Seemed pretty desperate for my boyfriend there too,” You remark, not looking away from Robby’s gaze.

His jaw tightens. “He’s pretty good with his hand, but I think you can do better with your tongue.”

You part lips wide, tongue out flat as he slaps his cock deliberately across it, underside dragging salty over your tastebuds before shoving in brutal—half his length in one thrust, stretching your jaw. 

You gag wet but suck hollow, cheeks caving as you bob frantic, hand pumping the rest in sync. Saliva floods fast, bubbling down his sack as you swirl tongue under the ridge, hollowing deep to milk him. Your fingers are quick against your wetness, dripping between your thighs, your other hand planted at Robby’s thigh.

“Shit—yeah, like that,” Robby growls, free hand fisting your hair to guide rough, not forcing but controlling the pace—pulling you off to tap his cock on your tongue again, smearing spit and pre glossy before ramming back in. 

He fucks your face shallow, hips snapping precise, balls swinging to nudge your chin while Jack jerks himself faster beside, groans syncing with yours muffled around Robby's girth.

You sweep the underside of your tongue around Robby’s cock, soft wetness coating him, slow, then fast, hearing how Robby’s hand tightens harder in your scalp.

Jack leans close, breath ragged as his fist blurs over his cock, tip weeping steady. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Fuck off,” Robby mutters, focused on your mouth, your eyes as they look up at him, wide, watery.

Your fingers slip between your thighs, dipping into your soaked pussy, rutting slow circles over your clit as you kneel between them, mouth stuffed full on Robby's cock. Spit drips messy down your chin, mixing with the slick from your own folds as you finger yourself deeper, chasing that tight coil building low in your belly.

“I’m good,” Jack rasps, eyes locked on your hand working your cunt, his fist pumping steady over his own cock. “Slow down, sweetheart.”

Your fingers comply, easing to lazy drags through your wetness, eyes flicking up to watch Jack slow his palm in sync, thumb circling his flushed tip. His free hand drifts back to Robby's thigh, squeezing hard muscle as he watches you deepthroat—throat bulging obscene with each plunge, gags turning wet and rhythmic.

Robby's taunts rumble gravel-deep: “Fucking hell, you gonna let me cum in that mouth, honey?” He pops free with a gasp, cock throbbing inches from your face, tapping insistent on your cheek—left, right, smearing sticky pre over flushed skin—before you dive back voluntary, nose grinding into his pubes as you swallow him full, humming vibration to wrench a guttural curse from his chest.

“She can take it,” Jack murmurs, voice thick. “Can you, baby? Come on, speak now.”

You moan muffled around Robby's girth, pulling off with a slick pop, resting your head against his still-clothed thigh as your fingers plunge back into your pussy, rutting frantic. “Mhm.” You kiss alongside his shaft, tongue tracing veins lazy, lips brushing hot skin.

“So damn sweet now,” Robby murmurs, hand loosening from your scalp to pet gentle through your hair, watching your fingers disappear knuckle-deep. “That feel good?”

You nod against his thigh, licking slow stripes up his cock, pumping your pussy deliberate—thumb flicking your clit, hips rocking into your hand, edge creeping close, breath hitching sharp.

“No more of that, alright?” Robby nods down, eyes sharp on your body. “Yeah? You listening?”

You groan, fingers curling harder inside yourself. “Fuck you—you wanna cum, I get to cum too.”

Robby tilts his head, that piercing look—the one Jack knows spells trouble, before ripping into a resident. Jack nearly laughs, slowing his strokes to a tease. “Not how it works,” Robby says flat, voice dropping steel.

You glance at Jack, pleading.

“Don’t look at him,” Robby orders, tone snapping stricter, hand fisting your hair tight to force your gaze back. You gulp, thighs clenching empty as you pull your fingers free, pussy clenching needy on nothing. “Put both hands behind your back if you’re gonna act like a fuckin’ brat.”

Reluctant, you clasp your hands behind you, knees aching on the floor, tits heaving with each breath. Robby nods approval, gripping his base to feed his cock back past your lips—slow at first, letting you savor the stretch, then thrusting deeper as you hollow cheeks vacuum-tight.

Your tongue flattens under his shaft to lap the frenulum relentlessly, swirling wet around the head on every upstroke before slamming down throat-deep, gag reflex crushed to nothing. Saliva floods obscenely, bubbling at the corners of your mouth, dripping strings to his balls as you bob frantic—suction pulling groans from his gut, nose buried in coarse hair, throat milking him like a fist. 

You hum constant vibration, eyes watering up at him, popping off to spit thick on his length before sucking one ball then the other into your mouth, rolling tongue heavy before plunging back down full.

“Jesus Christ—yeah, there we go…” Robby snarls, hips snapping erratic, free hand clamping your nape to hold you buried as his cock swells impossibly thicker, balls drawing tight. 

He floods your mouth suddenly—hot spurts painting your tongue thick and salty, cock pulsing ropes down your throat as you swallow greedily around him, not spilling a drop. He rides it out shallow thrusts, groaning ragged until spent, pulling free with a wet schlick.

“Fuck,” he pants, watching your tongue swipe clean over his softening head, lapping the last beads from his slit.

You fall back onto your heels, knees throbbing, core dripping wet and aching empty down your thighs. Swallowing his load thick, you stand shaky, and lean down to Robby, core exposed from your barely there nightgown. You grab him by his jaw, fingers at his chin, watching as his hand catches your wrist.

You smile at that. “Go on,” Your fingers linger near his mouth, covered with your wetness. “Jack prefers the real deal. You shy all of a sudden, Mikey?”

Robby reluctantly opens his mouth, trying and tasting your wetness, sucking your fingers clean.

“Atta boy,” You say sarcastically, moving them out of his mouth. “You think you can still fuck me, old man?” You whisper.

“Watch it,” Robby murmurs.

“You can, in the corner, while Jack finally makes me cum.” You whisper. “Jack,” you grab Jack’s hand, walking away with him as Jack follows suit behind you.

“Up and at it,” Jack tells Robby over his shoulder as he follows you.

“Fucking hell,” Robby mutters, taking a second before following after.

You hum satisfied, leading them stumbling to the bedroom, the air electric behind you.

In the dim glow, you strip your nightgown overhead, leaving ruined panties—crotch soaked dark—and a lacey bra barely containing your tits. Their eyes burn hot as you climb onto yours and Jack's bed, kneeling center.

Jack follows instant, standing at the edge, hands cupping your jaw rough-tender, leaning down to crash his mouth to yours—passionate and devouring, tongue fucking deep to taste Robby's cum lingering salty. You moan into it, hand snaking to grip his cock again, stroking firm base-to-tip.

Behind Jack, Robby's hands roam his back, trailing firm over shirt fabric before gripping the hem, yanking it up and off in one pull. Jack moans muffled into your kiss when your fist pumps faster, hips bucking into your grip, but he breaks away gasping as cool air hits his bare chest.

Robby presses close from behind, chest flush to Jack's back, beard scraping his shoulder as lips latch onto Jack's neck—sucking a mark deliberate.

“Baby, lie down for me,” Jack instructs.

You nod, lying down on your back, knees spread apart like second nature. He tilts his head, as Robby’s lips trail over his skin.

“Enjoying yourself?” Robby echoes Jack's earlier words, hand meeting at his cock briefly, feeling Jack stiffen and inhale sharply at that. “You gonna make your girl cum, or do I have to do that?”

“Fuck off,” Jack murmurs. “Go sit in a corner and wait, or somethin’,” Jack mutters, hands dragging you by the underside of your knee, gently towards the edge as he kneels on the bed, as Robby steps back with a chuckle.

“Think I got her ready, though, so, shouldn't take long,” Robby says. “Unless you’re not as skilled as you’ve been bragging to be.”

“Oh, my god, one of you make me cum or else I’m doing it myself, Jesus,” you whine.

“Oh, baby,” Jack murmurs, kissing at your inner thighs. “I’m leaving you waiting here.”

“She’s being a brat. Have some patience, honey,” Robby insists, tilting his head at you in mock. “But she’s right, hurry up, Abbot, Christ.”

Jack swipes his tongue along your core, and you moan, your wetness ready and eager from Robby's fingering and your own arousal. He licks slow and firm, teasing your sensitive flesh. 

Robby watches from the side, his cock still tucked away in his jeans, as he observes you writhing under Jack's talented tongue. His expression is heated, hungry, clearly enjoying the show. 

"Mmm...you look like a-" you moan, too lost in sensation to finish the thought. "A fucking nun, Michael," you finally manage, nodding towards his henley. "You aren't hot in that? Take it off already, fuck," 

Robby clicks his tongue, a light roll of his eyes. "You could ask me nicely. Here I thought you were so polite and sweet," he chides.

Jack’s tongue is a relentless, wet invasion, fucking into you with a rhythm that steals your breath. You clench around him, a tight, pulsing grip, your fingers tangled in his silver curls, thighs locked around his head like a vise. 

Your eyes stay fixed on Robby’s as he discards his shirt, the fabric whispering to the floor. The snick of his belt sliding free from the loops makes you tighten your legs around Jack even more, a shiver of anticipation racing up your spine, as Jack laps at your pussy.

“Wider,” Jack grunts, his voice muffled against your pussy. He pushes your thighs apart with his hard biceps, one big hand splayed over your hipbone, pinning you down. “Stop squirming. Take it.”

From the foot of the bed, Robby watches, arms folded over his bare chest. He looks like a professor observing a dissection—calm, analytical, utterly in control. “How close are you?” he asks, his tone clinical.

“Mm, close,” you manage, the words breaking on a moan as Jack’s tongue flicks hard over your clit.

“You make such pretty sounds. He was right about that,” Robby hums, stepping closer. He sits on the edge of the mattress, his calloused hand coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb strokes your skin, sweetly, but his brow is furrowed, his gaze intense. “Callin’ me a nun, and you still got this thing on, honey.” He hooks a finger under the strap of your bra and flicks it sharply against your skin, a sting of sensation.

Jack’s tongue plunges deep again, and you arch off the bed, a choked cry leaving your lips. Your eyes don’t leave Robby’s as his hand slides down, cupping your breast through the lace. He admires the weight, the shape, his fingers tracing the curve.

“Want me to fuck you first, or GI Joe there?” Robby recalls, a smirk playing on his lips. 

He doesn’t miss the way your mouth curves in a smile, even as your eyelids flutter shut. Jack quickens his pace, his hands now gripping your thighs like he’s holding you together.

You’re too close, teetering on that blinding edge. Words are impossible.

“Answer me,” Robby instructs, his voice dropping low and stern. His hand kneads your breast, then slips inside the cup of your bra, his fingers finding your nipple. He rolls it, pinches it just shy of pain. “Who do you want first?”

“You,” you gasp, the answer torn from you instinctively, desperately.

Robby’s smirk widens. “You hear that, Abbot? I get to break her in first.” He doesn’t look away from you as he says it.

He leans down, his hand sliding between your legs. Jack pulls back without a word, letting Robby’s fingers trail through your soaked folds, delivering a slap to your clit. You shiver violently, a string of high, needy moans escaping as he collects your wetness on his fingertips. He brings them back to your mouth, his other hand still working your nipple.

“I was right,” you murmur, breathless. “Knew you’d be mean.”

“Yeah? You like it?” Robby wonders, though he already knows.

You bite your lip, refusing to answer.

He pushes his wet fingers past your lips, pulling your jaw open with a firm pressure. The look he gives you is pure command—dark, expectant. Obey.

“I like it,” you moan around his fingers, the admission almost reluctant. Your grip tightens in Jack’s hair. “Fuck—I’m gonna—oh fuck—”

“Yeah?” Robby hums, petting your hair now, his other hand still at your breast. He watches your mouth hang open, watches the pleasure wreck you. “Eyes on me. Come on. No, no. No closing them. You keep ’em right here.” His gaze holds yours captive. “Good girl… good girl, aren’t you? Bratty, but you just needed to cum a little, isn’t that right?”

You whimper as Jack’s tongue sweeps over your oversensitive clit one last time, lapping up your juices as you shatter. Your orgasm crashes through you, white-hot and convulsing, your body bowing off the bed as you cry out.

“Good job, baby. Fucking hell,” Jack mutters against your thigh, his voice rough with praise. 

He comes up your body, his hand replacing Robby’s on your breast, kneading possessively. His lips find yours in a messy, wet kiss, tasting of you. Tongues swiping, teeth clashing briefly as you chuckle into the kiss, wet and sloppy as he moves to your neck, sucking hard around your jaw, yoru neck, hand trailing over your figure, squeezing, gentle, rough all at once.

“My favourite girl in the world, you know that,” he murmurs against your skin, kissing at your collarbone.

You grin, feeling as Robby captures your mouth with his own, a brief pause as he watches Jack worship your figure. Jack slides a finger over your core, feeling as your back arches, how you gasp into Robby’s mouth.

“You aren’t a brat, are you baby?” Jack murmurs, rubbing tight circles at your clit, hearing how you whimper at the feeling, fresh from your orgasm. “No, honey, not for me, isn’t that right? Yeah, I know, I know… my sweet girl,” He replaces Robby’s mouth with his own, dragging over yours as you nod into the kiss. 

“Told you. Lover boy,” Robby remarks to you.

You grin into the kiss, before Jack pulls away and naturally seems to find Robby’s lips.

You watch, a strange heat pooling in your belly, watching as Jack immediately leans in and kisses Robby. It’s harsh and sweet all at once—a clash of teeth and soft sighs. You thought you might feel a spike of jealousy, but instead, a warm, possessive pride swells in your chest. 

Robby stands, briefly cupping Jack’s jaw in a gesture that’s both dismissal and affection before pushing him gently aside. Jack moves from between your legs, sprawling onto his back on the bed. Robby’s hands are on your waist, and you yelp in surprise as he manhandles you with effortless strength, flipping you onto your stomach.

He drags your ruined panties down over your ass, off your legs, and sends them flying to a corner of the room with a flick of his wrist. Your bra is next; he unclips it with one practiced hand, and the lace joins the panties.

“Ass up, sweetheart,” Robby instructs, his voice thick. He lands a sharp, stinging tap on your bare ass cheek. He has one knee on the bed, the other foot planted on the floor.

You obey, pushing yourself up onto your knees and elbows. Jack is lying in front of you now, his gaze heated. You reach for his prosthetic leg, helping him with the quick-release mechanism. Robby hands you the second one without a word—a seamless, understood exchange. Jack kisses you, sweet and grateful, as he sets the limb aside.

"That's it," Robby mutters, positioning himself behind you. You feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against your slick entrance, teasing, and then he thrusts forward in one brutal, seamless motion.

Filling you so completely the air leaves your lungs in a whoosh. He sets a punishing pace immediately, each thrust driving you forward toward Jack.

Robby inhales sharply at the feeling of you. You adjust to him, moan loud and silent all at once at the feeling.

“Shit,” Robby mutters. “Fuckin’ hell, you know much Jack’s raved about this pussy? Callin’ it the treasure of the fucking ocean.”

His hands grip your hips like anchors, fingernails digging into your soft flesh as he sets a merciless rhythm—pounding into you with a force that drives your body forward with each impact, making the headboard knock rhythmically against the wall. “Perfect fucking pussy, sweetheart, you know that?”

You moan at his words, clenching even tighter around him. 

“How the fuck do you leave home, Jack— Jesus Christ,” Robby says as he quickens his pace slightly, watching as your ass moves from the harsh contact of his hips against you.

“Life or death, and that’s it,” Jack says. 

“Come on, give him some love, kid,” Robby tells.

Jack’s cock is hard and leaking against his stomach. You lean down, taking him into your mouth, swallowing him deep. He groans, his hands coming up to cradle your head. “Fuck, just like that,” he rasps.

You’re split between them—Robby fucking into you from behind with deep, possessive strokes, and Jack’s length hitting the back of your throat. The dual sensation is overwhelming. Robby’s hips slap against your ass, the sound filthy and wet. 

“You like being used like this baby?” Jack wonders, your moans vibrating against him. 

You don’t answer, focused on the sensation of Robby’s cock harsh within you.

“He asked you a question,” Robby pants, moving his hand to your hair, tight as you look up at Jack, watery eyed.

“Uh-huh,” you nod. 

“See? Not so hard,” Robby groans.

Jack smiles a bit at that, caressing your face as you occupy your mouth with Jack’s cock. He groans. The taste of salt and heat floods your tongue as you take him deep, your lips stretching around his girth. You hollow your cheeks, sucking hard as you bob your head, letting him feel every ridge of your throat as you swallow him down. Your nose presses against his pelvis, and he groans, his fingers threading through your hair.

"Just like that… Just like that," Jack chokes out, his head falling back as his hips buck up involuntarily, his hand tightening on your jaw. His thumb presses against your cheek, forcing your mouth wider, and you feel every ridge and vein of his cock sliding deeper down your throat. "Come on now, so close."

The words vibrate through you, but before you can double down, Robby leans over your arched back, his chest sweaty and hot against your spine, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Make him wait."

You pull off Jack's cock with a wet pop, a thick strand of saliva and pre-cum stretching between your lips and his glistening tip before breaking. Jack's frustrated groan cuts through the room, his hips twitching in empty air.

"Fuck off, Mike," Jack growls, but his hand remains gentle in your hair, fingers stroking through the sweat-damp strands as you whimper from the brutal pace behind you. 

Robby's cock is driving into you with relentless accuracy, the head of him hitting that deep, spongy spot inside you with every thrust, sending electric jolts through your core. Your inner walls flutter and clench around him, helpless against the assault.

"You gonna be a brat too, then?" Robby says, shooting a lighthearted glare at Jack over your shoulder. 

Before Jack can retort, you clench down hard around Robby's shaft, a desperate whine escaping your throat. Robby's rhythm stutters for half a second, a low curse spilling from his lips. "Fucking—hell, god, doll. You are so goddamn tight, y'know that?"

His pace becomes brutal, each thrust driving deeper, harder, the angle punishing. His balls slap wetly against your clit with every impact, the sound filthy and rhythmic. You feel the slick heat of your own arousal coating his shaft, dripping down your thighs with every punishing stroke. 

"She's close," Jack murmurs, his voice softer now, almost reverent. 

You shift forward, pressing open-mouthed kisses across his stomach, your tongue tracing the soft lines of his abs, tasting salt and skin, over the light freckles. You moan into his flesh, the vibration making his muscles jump, and then his palm cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, holding you warmly.

"Look at you," Jack whispers, his eyes dark and soft at once. "So beautiful like this. Taking us both. You're doing so well, baby."

“Go ahead, cum,” Robby growls into your ear, his hand snakes around your hip, his fingers finding your clit. He rubs tight circles against the swollen nub while he continues to pound into you, and the sensation is electric—each thrust driving his fingers harder against that sensitive bundle of nerves. “Now.”

You moan around Jack’s cock as you break, your pussy clenching wildly around Robby’s thrusts. The convulsions milk him, and with a low groan, he buries himself to the hilt and pulses inside you, hot and deep.

"Fuck," he breathes, his forehead pressing against your shoulder blade, his body shuddering through the aftershocks.

He pulls out slowly, and you feel his cum begin to seep from you. 

“Goddamnit,” Robby murmurs, a pant. 

Before you can even catch your breath, he spits into his palm, the sound crude and purposeful. He reaches down, slicking up Jack’s cock, which is already hard again and straining against his stomach. Jack groans, a deep, ragged sound at the touch.

“Your turn,” Robby tells him, his voice rough with use.

But instead of letting you face Jack, Robby guides you. His strong hands on your hips turn you, maneuvering your spent body until you’re straddling Jack, but facing away from him. Your back is to Jack’s chest, your ass pressed against his hips. You can feel Robby’s cum, warm and wet, slicking the way as you settle over Jack’s length.

Jack’s hands come to your hips, steadying you. “Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, but his voice is tight with need.

From the foot of the bed, Robby watches. He’s kneeling there now, his eyes dark and hungry, fixed on the place where your bodies move against one another, well practiced. Jack’s fingers slide between your legs, through the slick mess Robby left behind. He gathers it on his fingertips, his touch making you shiver, he brings those wet fingers to your lips.

You open for him, tasting Robby’s salty tang on Jack’s skin as he slips his fingers into your mouth. You moan around them, your tongue swirling. Jack’s eyes never leave Robby’s as he then pulls his fingers free, back to your cunt, a slight shudder once more, and brings them to his own lips, sucking them clean, tasting his best friend.

Robby watches this whole exchange, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Atta girl,” Jack pants against your ear, his hands tightening on your hips.

Then he guides you down, and you sink onto him with a broken cry. He fills you completely, the stretch delicious, the sensation of being stuffed so soon after your last climax making your head spin. You’re so sensitive it’s almost painful, a sweet, overwhelming ache.

You begin to move, rising and falling on his cock, finding a slow, grinding rhythm. Your hands brace on Jack’s thighs behind you for leverage. The angle is deep, each descent hitting a spot that makes you see stars.

“That’s it,” Jack encourages, his voice a rasp in your ear. His hands roam your body—gripping your waist, palming your breasts, thumbing your nipples.

You increase your pace, bouncing on him, the wet sounds of your joining filling the room. Your head falls back against his shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut.

“Eyes open, sweetheart.”

Robby’s command cuts through the haze. Your eyes snap open. He’s moved closer, kneeling right beside the bed now, his face level with where you’re joined with Jack. He’s watching every slide, every glide, his expression one of rapt fascination.

“Look at you,” Robby murmurs, his voice thick. “Takin’ him so well."

His praise fuels you. You lean more back, hands coming up behind you to Jack, angle pushing him even deeper, as you whimper, sharp gasps, teetering on the edge again.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” Your moan, soft.

“Fucking- shit, go ahead, honey, cum f’me,” he moans. 

Your orgasm crests, a silent scream trapped in your throat as your body tightens. You clench around Jack, a series of violent, fluttering spasms that milk his length.

Jack curses, his hips bucking up into you. “Fucking—just like that—”

As you’re pulsing around him, Robby leans in. He captures Jack’s mouth in a sudden, fierce kiss over your shoulder. You can hear the wet slide of their lips, the soft grunts and sighs. It’s raw and intimate, and it sends another shockwave of pleasure through your oversensitive nerves.

Robby breaks the kiss. “Lift up for a second, kid,” he breathes against your skin.

Dazed and pliant, you raise yourself up, Jack’s slick cock sliding almost all the way out of you. Robby’s hand replaces you, wrapping around Jack’s shaft. He gives him a few rough, efficient strokes, his thumb smearing the pre-cum beaded at the tip.

“Missed the taste of you,” Robby mutters to Jack, his eyes locked on his friend’s face as he works him.

Jack just groans, his head thrown back, his hands gripping your thighs. Then Robby guides you back down, easing you onto Jack’s cock until you’re fully seated once more, stuffed to the brim.

“Go ahead, finish,” Robby growls, his command for both of you.

You begin to move again, a slow, rolling grind now, utterly spent but driven by the need to feel Jack lose control. He’s close—you can feel the tension in his body, the way his breath hitches.

“Come on, Jack,” Robby urges softly, his hand returning to your clit, applying just enough pressure to make you whimper. “Fill her up. Give her what she needs.”

That does it. With a shattered cry, Jack’s hips piston up once, twice, and then he stills, buried deep inside you as he comes. You feel the hot pulses of his release joining Robby’s already there, flooding you.

Jack kisses at your shoulder blades, near your neck, as you relax your body entirely, shaky breaths with your back against his chest. His arm coming around you automatically, instinctive, like it always does. His hand slides up your arm, slow, grounding, fingers brushing your shoulder, your collarbone—checking, not asking out loud but asking anyway. 

Robby puts a hand to your jaw, tapping your cheeks lightly with his fingers, watching as your eyes lazily find his.

“You alright?” he murmurs, voice rough, softer than it’s been all night.

“Mhm,” You nod, catching your breath.

“There she is,” Jack murmurs against you, pressing a kiss into your hair, lingering there a second longer than usual.

Robby doesn’t move right away.

He’s sitting beside you both, elbows on his knees, head tipped slightly forward, breathing steadier now—but there’s something in his posture, something looser than before. The edge is gone. Or at least… dialed down.

You shift, peeling yourself gently from Jack, turning toward Robby. For a second, there’s that flicker—uncertainty, maybe. Not doubt. Just… recalibration.

Then you lean in and kiss him. It’s different now. Slower. Softer. No urgency behind it.

Robby’s hand comes up to the back of your head, not guiding, not demanding—just holding you there, thumb brushing lightly at your hairline. He exhales through his nose, a quiet thing, like he didn’t realize he’d been holding onto something.

When you pull back, you stay close.

“Hey,” you say, softer.

“Hey,” he echoes.

Jack watches the two of you. His hand still rests low on your back, thumb moving in slow, absent circles like it always does when he’s settling you.

Jack kisses gently at your bare back, “Be right back,” he murmurs against you, before you hear him leave the bed, putting on his temporary prosthetic. 

You hear him leave, pulling away from Robby who watches Jack as he leaves the room, headed for the hall.

You groan and flop onto the bed, Robby moving the blanket over you, maybe suddenly prudeish as he picks up presumably Jack’s shirt and hands it to you. You hum, put it on.

“Jesus,” you murmur, voice soft, wrecked. “I think my legs might actually fall off.”

That gets a quiet huff out of Robby.

He’s sitting up at the edge of the bed now, dragging a hand down his face, then through his hair. He looks… different, a little. Looser. The usual edge sanded down.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Think you’ll live.”

You glance over at him, managing a small smile.

He’s already reaching for his boxers, pulling them back on, movements unhurried. The gold chain at his neck catches the low light—the Star of David resting against his chest, rising and falling with his breathing. There’s something grounding about it. Familiar. Normal.

There’s a beat.

Then, softer—

“…You good?” You ask.

He turns your head toward you. “Yeah.” He thinks for a moment, a shake of his head as he lets himself admit– “Needed that. Needed to be… not alone, I think.”

You watch him for a second—something thoughtful in your expression.

“That something you’d wanna do again or is this a one and done situation?” You wonder earnestly, rolling onto your side as you look up at him. “

Robby doesn’t answer straight away. He looks at you—really looks, like he’s trying to figure out what the question actually means underneath what you asked.

Your hair’s a mess, Jack’s shirt slipping off one shoulder, eyes soft but steady on him. Hickies across your neck. Not fragile. Not asking for reassurance. Just… asking.

His jaw shifts slightly.

“…You always this direct after something like that?” he mutters.

You huff a quiet laugh. “I’m an ortho resident. I don’t have time for interpretive dance.”

That almost gets a smile out of him. He exhales, leaning back more fully, one hand rubbing absently at his chest like he’s trying to settle something under the surface.

“It’s not—” he starts, then stops. Tries again. “It’s not really a ‘one and done’ kind of question.”

You tilt your head slightly. “Why not?”

He glances at the door—where Jack disappeared—then back at you.

Because Jack’s not just some guy. Because this isn’t just sex. Because there’s history here that predates you by decades and still manages to feel unfinished. Because he already feels it sitting somewhere in his chest, heavy.

You seem to pick up where his head is at, a nod. “Do you have… like, real feelings for him? Or me?”

Robby scoffs a chuckle. “I don’t have time to think about that.”

“Just time to fuck us though. Well, not Jack, sure he’ll give me a complaint about that later.” You murmur.

Robby smiles a bit. “You two are… perfect for each other. I still don’t get how he found you.”

“I don’t know either, to be honest,” You admit. “But he cares about you. Like a lot. And so do I. And it’s not just because your dick is great, promise. You’re always welcome with us, whether its sex, comfort, food, all three. We aren’t picky people.”

“Picked up on that,” Robby nods, quieter now. “What are your plans? With him, I mean. He mentioned something about marriage.”

You smile a little—more to yourself than anything—your hand drifting, almost unconsciously, to your left ring finger.

“No idea,” you admit. “However long he wants me around, I guess.”

Robby huffs a soft breath, leaning back against the headboard. “Well, if age’s anything to go by, you’ve got a good couple of years.”

You smack his arm lightly. “You’re literally older than him.”

“I’m not marrying you,” Robby shoots back, deadpan.

“You’re an ass,” you sigh.

That earns you a small smile.

The door opens.

Jack steps back in, towel slung over his shoulder, a glass of water already in hand. He pauses just inside, taking in the room in one sweep—quick, practiced. You, curled on your side in his shirt. Robby at the edge of the bed, quieter than usual.

“My leg’s killing me,” Jack mutters, like it’s an afterthought, already moving back toward the bed.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, frowning. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says, dismissive in that way he gets, like pain’s just background noise. He hands you the glass. “Drink.”

You take it, still watching him. “You say that about everything.”

“Because everything’s fine.”

Robby snorts under his breath. “Yeah. That’s a healthy coping mechanism.”

Jack shoots him a look as he sits down, stretching his leg out carefully. “Oh, I’m sorry—did you want to compare notes?”

Robby raises his brows. “Not particularly.”

Then Jack exhales, leaning back into the headboard. His hand finds your thigh automatically—absent, grounding, like he needs the contact without thinking about it.

His gaze flicks between the two of you, lingering on Robby for half a second longer than necessary.

“What’d I miss?” he asks.

You shift, settling back into him, your cheek brushing his shoulder. “Marriage.”

Jack huffs. “One night with my girl and you’re already trying to steal her? Alright. Good to know.”

Robby lets out a quiet chuckle.

“With you, idiot,” you correct.

Jack glances down at you. “Oh, him and I are getting married now?”

You roll your eyes and, just to be difficult, shift toward Robby instead—curling lightly into his side.

It lasts all of two seconds.

Jack’s arm hooks around you and pulls you straight back against him.

“Relax,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, holding you there against his chest.

Robby watches that, something unreadable flickering across his face before it settles again.

Robby stays the night.

Not in the same way—there’s a natural rhythm to it. He gives you and Jack space without being asked, drifting out into the living room, the quiet murmur of the TV carrying faintly down the hall. At one point you hear the balcony door slide open, then shut again.

He’s not intrusive. Never has been.

But he doesn’t leave, either.

if u havent read it, i'd recommend reading my (wo)man on willpower! this is a spin off of that, i suppose. focuses more on jack x reader, though. :D

a/n: girls i have another like 700 words i had that as a short scene of santos speculating why u didnt make it to her paris party (oh my god im so funny paris because threesome haha i know right, please dont click off this), and i might post that later, but my ao3 will get the full thing if u wanna just see what it was. the 1000 block limit on tumblr genuinely my opp fr.