🤍

The black metal band on his finger was clear as day. You could see it from nearly across the room, glinting in the hanging lights where his weathered hand wrapped around his lowball tumbler. She must have been able to see it with how intently she gazed at him, drinking him in as if she’d never seen a man before. 

That made it all the worse. Accidents happened, a stumble turning into brushed shoulders that could be laughed off, but this, this, was purposeful. It was a choice she was making, to cozy up to Jack, to not look at his wedding band as if it would merely poof out of existence.

Fuck that.

You were storming over before you realized it.

Jack’s face lit up as he spotted you, still a few feet away.

“There’s my girl,” he greeted warmly. His arm was outstretched, welcoming you against his side, the spot by your stool still occupied by the pretty brunette woman who’d had her hands all over him.

“Hi, baby,” you said sweetly, stepping into his embrace and leaning even closer, one hand cupping his cheek to steady him as you kissed him deeply. He made a small sound of surprise in the back of his throat, but kissed you back without hesitation, his arm wrapping further around you to hold you close. His eyes were dark when you parted, a faint questioning look passing behind them as you grinned at him coyly, bottom lip caught between your teeth. 

“Making friends?” you asked lightly, settling yourself sideways on his lap, making sure to favor his good leg before you pressed one more kiss to his temple, your fingers combing through the thick curls at the back of his head. When you turned to face the woman, smiling overly sweetly at her, you felt a sick twinge of satisfaction to see the way her lips pursed together tightly.

“Sweetheart, this is Jessie,” Jack introduced, gesturing to the woman. His words lilted with faint humor, like he was watching his favorite reality show and the drama had just gotten good. “She was just complimenting my shirt.”

You laughed weakly. Of course she was. Just the thick flannel, surely it had nothing to do with the way he filled it out with his broad shoulders and thick, bulging biceps. 

“It looks like really good quality,” Jessie said, desperately trying to sound neutral. “What is it, cotton?”

Jack hummed, looking to you with a faint smirk. “I wouldn’t know,” he admitted. “This one bought it for me.” His arm tightened around you for a moment, giving you a slight squeeze. 

You frowned, your hand running up and down his chest to feel the fabric as you thought. She wasn’t wrong, it really was a good shirt. You’d always loved the soft feel of it under your hands when you ran your hands over his shoulders, sometimes bunching the fabric in your fists when he caught you off guard with an especially deep kiss. 

“I don’t remember.” You chuckled, giving her an easy smile. “Guess I’ll have to check later when he takes it off.”

Jessie nodded once in silent understanding, swallowing thickly before she picked up her drink from the counter. It was so close to the one you’d left Jack to look over for you that it had left a ring of condensation on the edge of the napkin you used as a coaster. 

“Right, well, I guess I’ll leave you to it,” she said, doing her best to paste on a cheerful smile to match her overly chipper tone. Her words sounded hollow, her finger tracing the rim of her glass as her eyes moved between you and Jack.

You only nodded, giving her an almost sympathetic smile to watch her go from your perch on Jack’s lap, fingers still twirling through his curls in a way you knew from countless hours curled up together that he loved. You picked up your own glass to sip, and Jack had to duck his head into the crook of your neck to muffle the sudden laugh he let slip at the way her eyes widened when she saw your wedding ring. 

A flicker of pride went through him, glad that even after so long together, he had made the right choice that day. Hours of designing had gone into your set of rings, months spent deliberating every curve of the band and cut of the stone before he finally showed you, wanting to make every detail perfect for you, to give you something as beautiful as you were that you would never want to take off. And you never did. 

“Have a good night, Jessie!” you called as she retreated. 

Jack gave you a warm look when she was out of earshot, dark hazel eyes trailing over your face like he wanted to catch every detail of it.

“You handled that mildly,” he drawled, amusement curling at the corner of his mouth. His eyes glimmered, the corners creasing the way they always did, bearing the weight of his hidden smile for him. 

You laughed, adjusting your position on his lap to wrap both arms behind his neck. 

“Careful, Jack,” you teased. “I might think you liked seeing me all possessive.”

He only hummed, the deep vibration carrying through his chest and into your side pressed against it, lifting one shoulder before letting it down into a small shrug. 

“You expect me to be upset to have you all over me, playing with my hair?” He gave you a cocky smirk, gaze lowering for just a moment to your lips before flicking back up. Your breath caught, and he noticed, head tilting slightly as he looked up at you through his lashes that had no business being so thick. 

“Thought for a moment you might smash a bottle over her head,” he continued, though his voice had dropped. His hand gripped your thigh, pulling you higher up his lap as he adjusted how he sat on the barstool. It couldn’t have been comfortable for him, but he was far from complaining. “That what you want, honey? Me having to stitch her up?”

The thought of his hands on her made you angry enough to bite your tongue. 

“That’s exactly why I didn’t,” you pointed out smugly, nestling even closer until the tip of your nose brushed the bridge of his. “I’d much rather keep you as my private doctor, Jack.”

He laughed through his nose, his unblinking gaze meeting yours without dropping. “I’ll be your anything, baby, but I don’t think I should be your doctor.”

You rolled your eyes, giving his scruffy cheek a kiss before fully melting against him, nuzzling into the side of his neck.

“Have it your way then. I’ll just make Robby my emergency contact.”

A sharp laugh left Jack before he could stop it. 

"Go?" You stand up when he wheels himself from the table. "Go where?"

"PTMC. Somebody has to make sure you didn't break your hand." Jack shrugs, grabbing his keys from the kitchen counter. "You don't want me to look at it– that's fine. Robby can."

You make a noise of outrage, halfway between a guffaw and and a strangled gasp. "Are you kidding me?"

"No, now come on."

"Jack, I can't show up looking like this!"

He tilts his head, peering over his shoulder to look at you. "Like what?" He asks, as though he's not staring at your tits, plump and popping out of the low-cut top of your dress.

You purse your lips, "Looking like I was one right hook away from fucking my boss."

Now that makes him pause. The two of you showing up together would be very much less than ideal. Sure, he could just drop you off and tell you to sort things out, but that'd be a surefire way to not get a second date, and the half-chub Jack has been sporting since you socked that asshole would very, very much like to get a second date.

"Dr. Abbot it is," Jack says. "Sit back down."

Reluctantly, you do. As he pulls his chair up, you down the rest of his scotch and shrug at the pointed look Jack gives you. "What?" You say, presenting your mottled hand, "I'm not the doctor tonight."

Jack grunts and takes you by the wrist. You whine softly as he turns your hand, observing the blood caked on your knuckles. "Move your fingers for me," he says softly. You do. He brushes your fingertips, "Any numbness?"

You shake your head, "No."

Jack puts your hand down, running his thumb over your split knuckles. The first aid kit sits in the corner of his vision, but he hesitates, savoring the feel of your hand in his.

"So, doc," you say, licking your lips. With your hand still in his, you lean closer to Jack. Your mouth hovers over his. "Am I gonna live? Because I have a hot date that I'd like to get back to."

Jack's lips quirk, "Careful sweetheart, don't want your date getting jealous."

"Oh, he won't mind," you kiss the corner of his mouth. "I promise."

"Well then, maybe I won't discharge you just yet," Jack lets go of your hand to grip your waist. "Keep you all to myself."

You're still in your date night getup, hair, face, and clothing all done up in your favorite manner. At least, it was your favorite manner three hours ago.

"She didn't mean it like that," Jack says for the tenth time since you came home. He's leaning against the dresser, leg and pants already off as he unbuttons his shirt.

You scoff. "How else could she have meant it?"

Jack pops open the last button. He struggles a little with the tightness of it. On nights like this, it's usually you who's undoing his buttons. You don't know if that makes you feel guilty or nauseous, so instead you start crying harder, tucking your face in your hands. The bed sinks next to you, but you feel no touch from your husband as you sob.

Eventually, Jack offers a useless, "Maybe she wears them."

"She's skinny! No fucking skinny girl is wearing spanx, Jack!" You wail. Jack sighs– quietly, but you still hear it. Picking your head up from your hands, you shake your head. "Don't do that."

Jack's poker face is bad, but it doesn't stop him from trying. "Do what?"

"Huff and puff like that." You laugh sardonically. "Pretend like you don't think I'm overreacting."

"I… You mean… I don’t..." Jack doesn't finish, let's you prescribe meaning to his rambling. He moves closer, attempting to wrap you in his arms, but you slide up the bed before he can. "Sweetheart, come on. We had such a good night."

"No, you had a good night, Jack. I had a fucking bitch in my ear all night recommending the salad and the low calorie sorbet and fucking shapewear!"

Jack shakes his head, scoffing as he gives up all effort to hide his frustration. He grabs his crutches from the edge of the bed and shrugs. He asks, voice raising, "What did you want me to do?"

"To fucking be a husband to your goddamn wife instead of pretending you didn't notice!"

"You wanted me to say something?"

"Yes!" You slam your hand down on the bed. "Yes, Jack! I did!"

Jack's still shaking his head, getting up from the bed now. He's hasty in his anger, pushing himself up so fast that he nearly topples over. "Alright, fine. I should have said something. I just didn't want to embarrass you."

Your mouth falls open. "You think it wasn’t embarrassing to get back-handed comments all night–"

Jack tries to speak. "That's not–"

"While you to sat there? And- And for me to know you didn't give a shit enough to stand up for me?" Your heart is pounding in your chest, struggling to beat through the ache that spreads from it. The fight is draining from you fast, both of you know it. You figure that's why Jack's already getting up, that he knows you're already done.

He rounds the bed, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of your head. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I'll do better."

You don't acknowledge him, never do when you fight about this stuff. It always goes the same– someone upsets you, Jack doesn't get it, but he apologizes.

Instead, you whisper, "I'm already wearing them."

Jack straightens so he can see your face. "What's that?"

"Spanx," you say. "I'm, uh... I bought a pair yesterday to try."

Something flickers across your husband's face too fast to catch, but you have a couple ideas of what it was. Pity. Maybe disgust.

"'M sorry," he says again.

Ghost nudges Gaz with his elbow, then holds out a wrapped sweet between gloved fingers without looking up. He takes it, and holds it out to the private.

“Here. Ginger. Helps with nausea.” When the private can’t seem to look away from Ghost, he waggles his hand. “Hey. I’m not dealing with you being sick on the plane.”

Next to Parker, Chambers snickers. “Got enough for all of us, Lieutenant?”

“That’ll do,” Ghost drawls. “Take the sweet, lad.”

Parker nearly eats the thing with the wrapper still on. It’s hard to tell if it’s instinctual fear or budding hero worship that drives him, but Gaz will leave that for him and a chaplain to work out. He sits back in his seat and tips his head back.

He’s almost shut his eyes when movement catches his attention. He finds himself glancing at Ghost’s phone again.

And catches sight of a familiar tattooed hand wrapped around a dark throat. The camera is centered there, just close enough that he can see just the barest hint of tits bouncing, just out of frame. There’s no audio, but he can imagine the moan that’s pouring from slick, plush lips at the top of the screen.

Kyle flicks his eyes up to the roof of the transport and rolls his shoulders. It’s not the first time he’s caught of glimpse of an intimate moment like this - it’s not even the most explicit view he’s gotten of Bambi - but there are rules to these kinds of things. Ghost is pretty close to breaking one, here, pulling that up on the fucking truck with the privates, but Gaz won’t stare.

Well. He can sneak another peek.

But the image is gone. He looks up and meets Ghost’s eyes for a long moment, hair standing on end like the mission is beginning instead of ending.

The lieutenant breaks eye contact first. The smile is obvious in his voice as he says, “Stay focused, Sergeant.”

~~~

Back on home soil, Kyle is almost able to put that video clip out of his mind. Almost. From the moment they hit the tarmac, he’s being pulled this way and that. And throughout getting the privates settled, debriefing, meetings, medical, and more meetings, the image of Bambi loops in the back of his mind with his heartbeat. Details he’s not sure he actually picked up layer with what he knows about her, what he doesn’t, what the video recontextualizes about how he sees Simon, on the field and off. It buzzes under his skin until he feels like he can’t sit still.

Simon is very in love with his wife.

That used to trip Kyle up. In the field, the lieutenant is a force. Every moment he’s got a weapon in his hands is a moment Gaz is glad they’re on the same side. To the team he leads, he isn’t cold, exactly. He’ll take care of kids like he had with Parker without a second thought. But compared even to Price, he’s aloof. Self-contained. Unapproachable. To anyone but the 141, and perhaps Kate and Nik, he’s nothing but mask and scars, bulk and the occasional morbid joke. Even with the 141, he’s… reserved. Almost untouchable.

But with his wife? All of the violence winds itself up into something that is not quite a threat. A sheathed knife.

As he throws himself on the treadmill, the contrast of it tickles his brain like lining up a difficult shot.

There had been something animal in Simon’s eyes when he’d shown Gaz a photo of Bambi, months ago. She was in a tiny green bathing suit, hands behind her head, kneeling in the sand. He’d had studied the half-sized polaroid of her for as long as his friend had let him, trying not to read into the wolfish hunger of Ghost’s eyes on his face. She’d looked like a model, and he’d told Simon so as the photo had been tucked away behind body armor. Ghost’s eyes hadn’t left him until they were on the move again, and Gaz had felt the weight of his regard for days. He got the impression that he was the only one who’d seen her that way. All of the 141 may have seen a dim and grainy still of her tits after walking in on Simon stroking off to his phone, but something in Gaz knows that Ghost would eat that photo before allowing anyone else to see his wife smiling on the beach.

Which made the fact that Ghost had pulled that video up in the truck even more perplexing. If any of the privates had seen Bambi that way, even without the knowledge of who she is… But he’d seen it, and Ghost had caught him looking. Had he angled the phone to catch his eye on purpose?

It’s a dangerous line of thought - his whole body is still on alert from the mission and he knows he can easily get tangled up in his own thoughts. But… he’s already chubbing up in his shorts. His mind goes too many places at once, looking for a trap, but also wondering if Ghost is getting off on spinning him up, if Bambi knows and gets off on the idea that her man might let someone see her. The image of Ghost’s hand tight around Bambi’s throat tangles with the idea of being in her place, and of hearing Bambi’s voice as she moans under Simon, under him, between them, him between them, hard and soft-

He slaps End Preset on the treadmill and hops off before the belt can stop.

It takes concentration to make himself breathe, to force himself to focus on the feel of the ground under his feet, the general rumble of the gym. His mind is latched on things he should try to let go of, but he can calm down. He has to.

Of course, as soon as he enters the locker room, his heart is racing again. Simon is already there, pulling off his compression shirt. He scans Kyle up and down once his head is free and smirks.

“Enjoyin’ cardio that much, Garrick?”

“Fuck off,” he laughs, and he hopes the shake in his voice isn’t obvious. He tries not to scan Simon’s body for evidence of Bambi that would be long faded, fails. With a quick shake of his head, he blows a sharp breath. “Mind’s racing. You know how it is.”

“’Ard not to. Lot’s ‘f interestin’ things f’ someone’s mind to grab ‘old of.”

Kyle squints at Simon’s back as the man shucks his pants and wraps a towel around his waist. He knows he’s being fucked with, but it’s always hard to tell why with Simon. The longer he thinks about it, the harder it is to shake the feeling that there’s some hidden threat to this, that Simon is cornering him.

Of course, his cock doesn’t calm down much as he gets out of his own sweaty clothes. If anything, as his mind races through every interaction he’s ever had with Bambi, and looking for something Simon may have been offended by is only ratcheting him up further. Had she really run her fingers through his hair, the last time she’d joined them at the pub? Had she lingered in a hug after a couple of drinks? Hadn’t Simon wrapped an arm around his shoulders, after she’d kissed his cheek goodbye? Or was that another night?

If anyone else were around, he’d already be in the showers, jerking himself off to get to that place where his brain is quiet. But it’s just him and Simon, their internal clocks at opposite ends from the other officers. Just them and the memory of that video. He’s inexplicably nervous to get himself off, now. The hair on his arms stands up at the idea that the other man will see through him, that it will be obvious that he’s wrapped up in him and Bambi, not just the video, but more.

It’s that more that reminds him to pull himself back. There is no more, no threat. Simon is his friend. Teasing him, getting a rise out of him, but still friendly. He wouldn’t set Kyle up to hurt him, they’re not enemies. He wouldn’t hurt Bambi. Kyle tries to center himself in that knowledge, slows down his breathing, again.

Of course, that’s when Simon calls, “Sniffin’ y’r own pits out there?”

It startles a bark of laughter out of him. “Fuck you, I’m not Tav.”

“An’ thank god f’ that. Y’got any of that good soap? The missus don’t like me usin’ three-n-one.”

“Get your own! You get paid more than me.”

Simon’s smiling, a genuine smile, when Kyle hands him the bottle. Kyle rolls his eyes and steps to the other side of the half-wall to start the water in his own stall.

The other man leaves him to it, lathering up a loofah and washing himself. Kyle keeps his eyes down. It’s not new to notice how Simon’s body looks, big and wet and lit up under the fluorescents. He’s fit, and he’s not Kyle’s usual type when it comes to blokes, but he’s not immune to muscles. Unfortunately, because he’s already worked up, he accidentally thinks the phrase military hunk and his brain starts playing three different porno scenes on top of each other. He has to dunk his face under the spray before it heats up properly to get it to stop.

Bambi’s pretty face flashes behind his eyelids.

He physically shakes the thought away with a groan.

“Garrick,” Simon calls, suddenly serious. “How copy?”

“Fine, m’ fine,” he mutters, quick, swiping water from his face and squeezing his eyes tight until phantom lights start flashing. “Not panickin’, mind’s not back on the op.”

“Sure?”

“Positive,” Kyle grumbles, eyes still shut tight. “Told you, my heads all over the place, but it’s not bad. Just… hard up.”

“Might’a noticed,” Simon chuckles, and Kyle sees his big shoulders relaxing in his minds eye.

“Oh, fuck you,” Kyle laughs breathlessly as he lathers up a cloth and starts scrubbing down. “Not all of us have a hot wife sending us videos to wank to.”

“’S ‘at what’s got y’r knickers in a twist? Need to see more’f my wife?”

Before Kyle can figure out why he said that and what could possibly be an acceptable response, a sound he can’t quite parse echoes under the sound of the water. Quick on its heels is a breathy little sigh that sends a zip of electricity up his spine. He swipes water from his eyes to took at Simon, and then at the phone he’s propped up on the tiled partition between them.

It’s Bambi, of course, but it’s not the video from the day before. No, this one shows her whole, naked body straight on, perched on what have to be Simon’s hips with her head tipped back. She’s in the same pose from that photograph, arched into pleasure as she rocks her hips and moans.

Kyle’s cock throbs even as his mind rockets into a frantic and nonsensical threat assessment. “You fucking with me, Riley?”

Simon’s watching his face, eyes hot and ravenous as Gaz looks back. The scars on his face pull as he grins. “You d’n wan’ me t’ fuck with you, Gaz?”

Kyle’s eyes dart down to where a big hand is stroking Simon’s hard cock, then back to the screen where Bambi moans as her man gropes one of her tits.

“Fuck,” Kyle laughs, eyes darting away. His cock throbs as another moan floats from under the sound of the water. “Fuck you, mate.”

“Don’ think my wife’s pretty, Garrick?”

“You know she is,” Kyle grumbles. He ducks his head back under the water.

‘She’s my wife, ‘course I know,” Simon snickers. “But y’re not gonna know if you don’t look at ‘er.”

At that moment, Bambi’s voice rings from the phone, a breathy “Please!” that has them both groaning. Against his better judgment, Kyle blinks water from his eyes to look. And when he sees her his whole body buzzes like a livewire.

The way her soft body bounces has him pressing his hands against the wall to keep from touching himself. He shudders at how bright her eyes are as she looks past the camera, at Simon. Kyle can’t help but do the same, eyes flicking over to Simon’s chest, the safest midpoint between those burning eyes and the way he’s stroking himself, and it doesn’t feel safe at all.

“C’n ‘ear your mind goin,” Simon rumbles, and then his big hand is catching Kyle by the jaw, squeezing when he almost jolts away. His dark eyes are amused when Kyle finally meets them. He gives his jaw a gentle shake. “Easy. Don’ overthink it, Gaz.”

Kyle freezes. He’d seen Simon’s hands do some horrifying things, not even three days ago, but now he’s imagining that palm against his throat, pale and powerful but maybe gentle. Bambi’s moans light him up as they continue echoing through the space, splitting his attention and making him aware of all of his senses at once. It’s blinding, overwhelming. All he can do is squeeze his eyes shut again, shudder and brace himself against the half wall when Simon draws Kyle’s forehead to his own.

“Easy,” Simon rumbles. “Why you ‘oldin’ back? Stressin’ y’self out?”

Kyle’s diaphragm feels frozen. He shakes his head, forces out, “Can’t.”

Simon chuckles. “Y’know what I do when Bambi says she can’t?”

Kyle’s eyes fly open as the other man’s hand disappears from his jaw, a shiver zipping down his spine as Simon rounds the barrier between them. He backs up, jumping when his back hits cold tile and Simon’s reaches up to grip the back of his neck. Simon’s grinning, eyes sparkling as he presses his forehead against Kyle’s again.

“Wha’s wrong, pretty boy?” Simon growls as Kyle grips his forearm. “Got my wife pantin’ aft’ ya an’ y’don’t want to watch her?”

Kyle sucks in a sharp breath. “W-what?”

“’Ere I am,” Simon chuckles, “Showin’ you ‘ow nice she looks, ‘ow pretty she is takin’ cock, an’ y’re in y’ head. Gonna give ‘er a complex.”

The feeling of Simon’s hand around his cock makes him gasp out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. His mind scrambles to take in everything - the drops of water caught in Simon’s lashes, the firmness of his grip, the sound of water hitting tile, and moaning, his, Bambi’s, lukewarm tile against his back and -

“Eyes on me,” Simon commands.

It’s all just a little much.

“F-fuck,” Kyle yelps, hips thrusting into Simon’s hand once, twice, before he comes like he’s been zapped in the taint. Lights flash behind his eyes, and all of his muscles twitch and fire. It doesn’t feel good, exactly. Almost the opposite, honestly. But it does clear his mind, all of the nebulous worry sloughing off of him until all that he can focus on is Simon, Simon, Simon.

And the pitchy breaths of that damned video.

“What the fuck, Riley,” he pants, dropping his forehead against the man’s shoulder and blowing water from his lips.

“Better?”

“Why’re you tugging me off?”

“When Bambi gets in ‘er ‘ead, an orgasm straightens ‘er out,” Simon answers, like that’s a reasonable thing to say. “An’ I told the missus I’d try it.”

“You told Bambi you’d stroke my cock?”

“More ‘r less. This might be more.” Simon shrugs. He opens his grip to press his own cock against where Kyle’s still hard with a groan. “She’s been gettin’ greedy on me, might need a second pair of ‘ands. An’ she likes yours.”

Kyle’s laugh shivers out of him as Simon pulls at both of them. He can hear Bambi’s noises getting more frantic. “Greedy?”

“Didn’t see ‘er yesterday? Can’t ‘ear ‘er now?” Simon rumbles into his neck. “Told ‘er to watch ‘erself, or you’d get an eyeful.”

“Oh, fuck,” Kyle whimpers, thrusting without thought. “You could’ve stopped me.”

“Thinkin’ too much, Garrick,” Simon chuckles, then groans as his own hips pulse forward. “M’ pretty girl is bouncin’ ‘er tits ‘n moanin, ain’t we got better things to focus on?”

As if to punctuate his declaration, Bambi yelps, a sound that makes both of them groan. Kyle tips his face so he can try to get a glimpse of the phone, but he’s at the wrong angle. Simon chuckles and takes a couple of steps back, drawing them both into the spray of water, then spins Kyle around until his hands are braced on the partition. Having Simon against his back feels like it should make his hair stand on end, but the warmth of lips on the back of his neck settles him. It also doesn’t hurt that the new position gives Kyle a perfect view of the phone, and of Bambi.

The video has changed. It’s just her, now, laying on her back on dark sheets. She’s got a hand between her thighs, pushing something into herself as she tips her head back and moans.

“Every time I get back,” Simon whispers, big hand coming around to grip Kyle again. “’S like she can’t get enough. Pretty, greedy girl. Never satisfied with one, gotta make ‘er come over ‘n over or she’ll spend all night whinin’ like a cat in ‘eat.”

On the screen, Bambi whimpers as she pulls the toy from inside of herself. It’s big. It shines, lube and her own wetness that Kyle can’t hear over the shower, but he knows would be loud in a quiet room. Her eyes are closed as she thrusts it back into herself. Kyle bites back a moan as Simon strokes him in time with her movements.

“She’d be real sweet t’you,” Simon mumbles. His fist slides against Kyle’s arse as he strokes himself, too. “My pretty girl c’n get impatient, but I’d wear ‘er out first, make sure she’s on ‘er best behavior.”

On the screen, Bambi’s fingers pinch one of her nipples, and a trick of the light and water of the shower makes it look like her fingers are wet. Kyle moans low in his throat, can’t help it, as the hand between her thighs presses the toy deep, again. Her own shuddering noises make him aware of how close he is to another orgasm.

Simon chuckles. “Best behavior don’ last f’long, though. Y’ think she sounds nice now, wait ‘til you ‘ear ‘er beggin. All those pleases, while she’s squeezin’ down, chasin’ ‘er pleasure. Pretty legs’ll wrap right around ya. Might ‘ave to tie ‘er down if you still want to go slow.”

“Fuck,” Kyle bites out, rolling his hips forward again as he pictures it, Bambi’s legs tied apart while she whines. It takes a moment to find words. “She d-doesn’t like slow?”

Simon makes a noise like he’s been kicked in the stomach, hand going still on his own cock before he starts stroking again. “She loves takin’ it slow, fuck, but when ‘er brain shuts off she can’t ‘elp gettin’ impatient.”

“Hard to believe,” Kyle chuckles, even as he feels himself getting impatient with the way Simon’s hand slows, every time Bambi’s does.

“Oh, she’ll prove it,” Simon growls. “Once ‘er pussy starts doin’ the thinkin, all she wants is t’ come. She’ll say ‘n do anythin’ for it. Beg prettier’n anythin’ you’ve ever heard. But she settles down real nice once you get a couple fingers on ‘er clit.”

Kyle can picture it, Simon’s hands or his own between those thick thighs, taking over, pushing hers up and away. Tied up, maybe, like her legs. Fuck, the way she whimpers in the video would be just as pretty as Simon keeps insisting on if she couldn’t move.

He licks his lips as he pictures it. “What’s she taste like?”

“Like ‘eaven,” Simon groans, and his hands speed up as he leans more heavily into Kyle’s back. “Salt ‘n sweet, ‘n so wet.”

Bambi’s movements grow frantic, on screen. She’s writhing, and Kyle bites his lip as her rhythm starts and stops, hands and hips working against each other. Impatient, like her man said, and it’s so easy to imagine taking over, holding her hips down as Simon takes her wrists, pushing into her, finding the pace she likes and making her take it ---

The noise he makes is loud before he can bite it back as another orgasm slams into him. He spurts over Simon’s fingers as it washes through him, shivering and panting. Behind him, the other man goes almost silent, hand working hard before Kyle feels his cum splashing over the curve of his arse. He tips his head to the side, watches Bambi shake through her own orgasm and wishes, bizarrely that he could press his lips to some part of Simon - his shoulder, his neck, his lips.

And then the three of them are panting under the sound of the shower.

Kyle shakes water from his hair, and by the time he opens his eyes again, Simon’s back in his own stall, washing like nothing’s happened. He stares at the other man, waiting for his legs to stop shaking. Slowly, the outside world starts trickling in around the edges.

“Riley.”

“Garrick.” He starts scrubbing at his hair with the same soap he’d been using on his body, then pauses. “Pass me some of y’ shampoo?’

This fucking asshole. “What the fuck? You have a wife.”

“An’ I told you,” Simon cocks his head. “She d’t like me usin’ three-n-one.”

If his arms weren’t shaking, Kyle would throw something at him. “Simon. You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Y’re thinkin’ too ‘ard. Told you I talked to the missus. Makin’ ‘er come slows ‘er brain down.” Simon rinses himself under the spray, then grins as he looks at Kyle from the corner of his eye. “Seems y’ both need more’n two to really relax.”

The laugh that bursts from Kyle’s mouth surprises both of them, and then he tosses the bottle of shampoo for Simon to catch. He feels light as he cleans himself off.

“It’s probably better if you didn’t.” Lupe assures you before she turns back to her monitor with no further explanation. 

You turn your head back one more time, hoping to catch another glimpse of him, but he’s nowhere to be seen. You sulk back into your chair, shoulders slumped in defeat, and move on. Well, as much as you can while his silhouette and sharp jawline stay etched in your mind like a wine stain in carpet. 

By your next shift, after a night of dreams haunted by a tall, broad, handsome stranger, you decide to go on a hunt for more information despite Lupe’s warning. 

You don’t get far before you run into another obstacle. Setting down your coffee at your desk, you slip through the door into the ER and approach the nurse’s stand. Dana looks up at you over her glasses, a chart in her hand that’s forgotten as you approach. 

“What’s goin’ on?” She asks, smacking her gum. You run your hands over the counter, nails tapping against the flat top as you try to piece together your question.

“There was a doctor down here yesterday that I’d never seen before.” You play innocent, though there’s something in Dana’s gaze that makes you think she can see right through you. You try not to fold immediately. “I just think it’s a good idea that I know everyone’s name…”

Dana is silent for a long moment before she places the chart down in front of her. She leans back in her chair, taking a long breath, before she sighs and leans toward you again.

“Listen, kid.” The tone of her voice immediately dampens your enthusiasm. She continues, her eyes having an almost motherly gaze when she looks at you over the nurse’s station counter. “I know who you’re askin’ about. I also know that Lupe already told you askin’ after him is a bad idea. And I’m going to reiterate that for you. He’s not nice, he’d eat you alive.”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, your shoulders curving in on yourself. You wish you could disappear into the floor. Had they talked about you? Did Lupe tell her you’d been watching him? Does everyone know? 

By the time you meet Dana’s gaze again, there’s a pitying smile on her lips. She stands, picking up her chart with one hand and patting one of yours with her other. “It’s better if you drop it.” 

But you couldn’t drop it. You found your eyes drifting on more than one occasion toward the emergency room floor, tracing for any familiar details that might suggest your the doctor had returned. He lingered in your dreams, imbedding himself in every fantasy. You didn’t even know his name but you’d imagined him doing things to you that would make anyone else blush if you said them out loud. 

You decide to try one last resort. You know you can’t ask any of the doctors, mostly because they’re too frantic and fast-paced for you to have any chance to. But nurses… nurses are fair game, especially ones who have been nice to you since you started working in the ER. 

You arrive early, another iced coffee clenched in your hand as you wait like a predator stalking prey. You watch some of the night shift leave, some of the day shift doctors arriving before dawn to take their place. Your victim arrives shortly, and you scramble to exit your car at the same time she does, jogging to reach her side as you shout her name to get her attention.

“Princess!”

She looks up with wide eyes, but then her lips turn up in a smile with only a hint of confusion beneath it. “Hi!”

“I have a question for you.” You say, keeping in step with her as the two of you approach the building. You adjust your bag on your shoulder as you continue, “There was a doctor down here the other day. I’ve never seen him before, and I was wondering-”

“Oh no.” Princess shakes her head, holding up a finger in your direction, “I was told explicitly not to tell you anything about a certain evil orthopedic surgeon that you seem to have your eye on.”

Orthopedics. Well, that’s more information than you’ve gotten out of anyone else. You conveniently ignore the other adjective she’d used to describe him. 

You try to push for more, “Not even his name?” 

“Not from me.” She shakes her head again, lifting her fingers to mime zipping her lips closed. You groan in defeat, but you still hold the door open for her as you walk in. 

You keep your eyes peeled for him, this handsome doctor who has somehow wedged his way between the folds of your brain. But as shifts pass by, days and days of them, you lose hope. Maybe he was just visiting, and that’s why no one wanted to tell you anything? Or had other women like you fallen into the same trap and gotten burned, and that’s why no one had entertained you, even for a moment? 

Your brain goes around and around, shifting between fantasies of the mysterious man and disappointment that you’d probably never see him again. 

And then, one early Saturday morning, fate decided to intervene. 

You’re off work surprisingly, not trapped between white walls or engulfed in the scent of antiseptic. You’re enjoying a nice walk, breathing in the fresh air, and splurge a little with a stop at your favorite coffee shop halfway across town. 

You’re waiting at the counter for your order to come out, scrolling mindlessly on your phone. Your ears perk up when you hear one of the baristas call out your coffee order, placing in on the counter. You make a mad dash through the small crowd of people also waiting, your hand clasping around the cup. You give a quick ‘thanks!’ to the staff working behind the counter, beginning to lift the straw to your mouth for a drink. 

A throat clears behind you. “I believe that’s mine.” 

You turn, and to your horror… it’s him. The doctor from the ER, the one who has been present in every fantasy and every dream you’ve had since you first saw him. You’re gaping at him, mouth slightly parted like a fish, and a look of annoyance crosses his face. 

“That’s my coffee.” He says again, and some part of your brain must finally reset and work because next you’re practically shoving it into his hand. 

“Sorry!” You tell him, trying to put on an apologetic face while simultaneously urging your heart to slow down. He doesn’t nod, doesn’t give you a smile, doesn’t give you any kind of acknowledgment at all. Instead, he begins to turn away. 

You can’t let him escape again, you think. Not without at least knowing who he is. 

“Hey,” You take a step forward to get his attention again, but it doesn’t work. So instead, you just blurt out, “Do you work at the PTMC?”

This does make him pause. He turns back toward you, his eyes more narrowed but less annoyed this time when they meet yours. 

“I do.” He says. He gives you a once-over, his head tilting just the slightest bit to the side. “Do you?”

“Yes.” You tell him with a nod. Your mouth opens for you to speak again, though you aren’t able to get anything out before the barista is calling out your order. The exact same as his.

No wonder you’d gotten them confused.

His eyebrows raise, eyes glancing back at the counter where your coffee sits. “You have a good taste in coffee.” He gives you a nod, and you feel like you won a battle. He doesn’t say anything else before turning to leave, and the giddiness of the interaction has you on a high that almost makes you feel like you don’t need a coffee after all.

It’s not until later that you realize you still never learned his name. 

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