#genderless reader

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It was a very… concerning “job” posting.

But desperate times, and all that. 

It had shown up about a week ago, and it wasn’t hard to see why no one had taken the poster up on it as of yet. 

Bedmate Needed

● 11 pm to 6 am

● $25/hour up front

● Riverside Motel

● Room 44

● Not a sex thing

The last note seemed tacked on in a later edit, but it was still… not great.

You’d have to be either a gullible idiot or a desperate one to go for a job like this. Unfortunately, you were the latter. Very much so.

You couldn’t take another night on the street. It was getting so cold out. The promise of a warm bed was almost enough to lure you in on its own. But the money… 175 bucks just to sleep in the same bed as some internet creep?

Despite the clarification in the post, this had to be a sex thing, right?

You hadn’t gone that far, despite everything. It’s not like you hadn’t considered it… but the thought was too terrifying. Making yourself completely vulnerable to a stranger that could just decide you were less than a person and do whatever they wanted to you? You had to draw the line somewhere.

But at this point, you weren’t sure that there was a line you weren’t willing to cross anymore. 

. . .

The Motel wasn’t the seediest you’d ever seen around town but it wasn’t a place you would’ve voluntarily stayed at even two months ago. Back when you had options. 

Creepy post guy opened the door after a couple of knocks, with an awkward, pregnant pause between them. He wasn’t quite what you expected for an internet creep, but he was still a sight to see.

Really bad posture and dark, greasy-looking hair, with the darkest circles under his eyes you’d ever seen. He looked like he was about to pass out at any second, but he held it together long enough to gesture you into the room. 

“Hey…” His voice was low but he sounded nervous. And so, so tired. “You’re… You’re a little early. That’s…that’s fine. Uh, come in.”

You felt his eyes on you as you passed him, and it didn’t help your anxiousness. Not one bit. 

“Hey so, I-I really…I uh, need a shower.” He stumbled over his words with a breathy, nervous laugh. “Unless you wanna sleep next to a… fuckin’ sweaty mess all night. Do you wanna go first or…?”

You must’ve looked nervous because his eyes went wider, digging into his pocket.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to… Oh, uh…here.” He nodded, pressing the money into your hand. “Up front, just… just like I said. You just…just seemed like you maybe sorta needed one too.”

Some part of you must’ve still had an ounce of pride left because your whole body felt on fire with shame, embarrassment so consuming that you froze up. It had been a couple of days…

He just looked away, seeming like he was embarrassed himself. 

“I w-wasn’t gonna like… try to join you or peep on you or nothin’!” He tried to assure you, eyes darting in a panic and talking a bit too fast. “If I, like, go first? I won’t get mad if you change your mind and leave… I get it. I’m not gonna like… go after you or call the cops or nothin’ like that. I just…”

He stared at the floor, nails digging into his arm as he seemed like he was having trouble breathing.

“I really… I really need this.” He was so quiet, but his voice was so desperate.

You couldn’t really be considering this, could you?

He seemed more like a weird, awkward, sad guy than a real danger or some kind of pervert.

And you really did need a hot shower. 

It seemed like a safer bet to have him go first, if you were really going through with this. And it would give you a chance to look around the room for a spot to tuck away your pocket knife, just in case.

When he was in the shower, you did just that. The spot between the mattress and bed frame would be easy to grab at if things got hinky.

If things got all touchy-feely, as you suspected they would, him finding that on you or leaving it in your pocket when your clothes got tossed wherever would be really inconvenient. 

Steam rolled out of the bathroom when he stepped out, shirtless but with sweatpants and a towel around his neck. He was thin, almost alarmingly so, but you could still see muscle, enough to pose a problem should he decide to overpower you.

This was your last chance to back out, before you’d be vulnerable to this odd stranger.

But even if you left, the money wouldn’t last long, and it’s not like you had any other options. 

You were so grateful that the motel tub wasn’t disgusting, but you would’ve gotten clean regardless. Two days worth of sweat and funk was washed away and it felt so heavenly… But it was hard to relax when you were trying to stay hyper alert of any noise that could be that man trying to get in or even eavesdrop.

But…

Nothing. 

You finished your shower and brushed your teeth, doing everything you could to feel clean that a motel bathroom could provide. And there was no sign of the guy. 

But you had to go back out there eventually. You supposed you could lock yourself in here and get a full night’s sleep indoors, even if it was on the floor of a motel bathroom with your back against the door, but part of you just said “fuck it” and warily peeked around the doorway into the bedroom.

The lights in the room were dim, but warm. He was sitting on the end of the bed, one knee tucked into his chest, staring at the tv as the bright colors of a nightly talk show reflected in his eyes, but something told you he wasn’t really watching. His eyes met yours and you froze.

“It’s almost eleven…” He mumbled, his head resting awkwardly on his shoulder. His hand ghosted over the spot on the bed next to him. “… Will... will you stay?”

So many thoughts raced through your head. What would happen if you laid down beside him? You could probably deal with sex… even if it felt a bit wrong. But if he wanted to hurt you?

Your brain reminded you:

What do you really have to lose?

When you told him you would stay, sitting next to him, you could see him relax. Just a bit.

“If you still want to leave-”

But you cut him off, almost afraid he would talk you out of it after you’d made up your mind.

Avoiding his stare, you told him you had nowhere to go.

The bed was cold, it might take a bit to warm up with the two of you in it, but it was the least of your concerns at that moment. 

“So it’s...” He’d spoken up so suddenly, you hoped he didn’t see you flinch. He was staring at the ceiling, seeming just a tiny bit calmer. “... it’s fine if you just… lay there or h-hold onto me, or play on your phone or whatever, anything is fine. Just… just don’t leave ‘til mornin’. Okay?”

A worrying pause, but you told him you understood.

And that was that. He laid next to you unmoving for almost an hour before you had the nerve to move at all, shifting slowly to your side to face him.

His eyes were shut, his breathing even, but somehow you knew he was still awake. It was like he was trying to sleep but it just wasn’t coming to him. He looked so worn down, like he could just keel over any second. It definitely made him less intimidating, but you weren’t letting your guard down, no matter how much your body was screaming at you to just let go.

Despite your better judgement, you wondered if he really was being genuine about this not being a sex thing. It was a relief, sure, but it just raised more questions.

Why were you here?

. . .

You’d stopped looking at the bedside clock a while ago. It had to have been hours by then.

Your anxiety and dread somehow felt quieter under the lull of impending sleep. Despite everything, your body was at least grateful for a warm bed and hot shower, and if you didn’t sleep there now, you didn’t know when you’d be able to sleep somewhere warm any time soon. 

Every moment that ticked by, you felt your resolve slipping. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, just to let go… This whole situation was weird, but you just wanted to sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He hoped against everything that he would just fall asleep.

Just this once, he didn’t want to have to follow through with it. But he was so damn tired. There was this ache behind his eyes that he could feel in his bones, his mind never stopped racing… 

He could feel your body heat in the bed next to him. You had either been very scared or very considerate, you’d only moved once since you laid down with him. 

He hated that he had to do this. He felt sorry for you, he really did. But it was drowned out by the buzzing in the back of his brain. The constant whispers in his ear. 

There had been so many before now, it was a miracle he hadn’t gotten caught. But this was a huge, dangerous city. Everyone in it was just a blip to anyone paying attention. 

He could feel their skin under his palms buzzing at the back of his brain. How their eyes stared into his, burning with betrayal, fear, helplessness. How he saw them fade away.

How it was the only thing that worked to let him finally sleep. The only thing that quieted the whispers, at least for a little bit. 

Some booked it after getting the money. Some just showed up and straight-up robbed him. Some tried to leave in the middle of the night, thinking he was asleep. But if they stayed and fell asleep, that was that.

He told himself that he gave them all a chance. 

If you managed to stay up all night, you’d be safe. But he really needed this… It was already day three, and he’d never made it past day five without completely losing it. Trying to fight this, it was too hard. The longer he stayed awake, trying to avoid what had to happen, the worse he felt. The louder the voice got. The deeper the ache in his bones. But the more often he did it, the easier it got. And that was worse in a different way. 

It was wrong. He wasn’t so deep in it that he couldn’t see that. The morning after, he always hated himself and what he did. 

But as the days went on, it would all creep back in. And doing it again felt less and less horrifying to him. 

You were scared. He could tell. And you had every reason to be, he told himself. But it just meant it would take you longer to fall asleep. 

He could wait all night. And if you made it the full seven hours, you weren’t what he needed. You’d be free from him, from this. Hopefully you wouldn’t come back, no matter how badly you needed the money.

He wondered what you meant by having nowhere to go.

But he tried not to wonder too much. It would make this harder. 

He could hear your breathing getting slower, your body relaxing into the bed. You wouldn’t last much longer. 

His eyes shot open when he felt you suddenly touch him, tucking your forehead into his shoulder. You weren’t quite asleep, a cuddler? He almost laughed to himself when half-asleep you looked a bit frustrated, like it wasn’t enough.

You muttered something about being cold, lazily scooting your body closer to him up the bed. He felt his breath catch when suddenly, his head was pulled to you, tucked into your chest as your arm circled him. He was suddenly the little spoon, but facing you. He could hear your heartbeat. 

He wanted to say something, wake you up or wriggle free to make what he had to do easier on you when you fell asleep. He felt a hand in his hair, playing with it and idle gentle nails on his scalp. 

It was… nice. Everything felt calm, the buzzing and horrible thoughts were still there but they were being drowned out by the warmth of your skin, the thump of your heart in his ear.

You were mumbling something. He held his breath, trying to hear.

You told him, or whoever you were dreaming about, maybe even no one at all, that he was okay. That he was safe. 

He couldn’t keep his eyes open. Something was different this time. He felt all his control slipping away, and for once, he wasn’t scared. 

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You woke to a sunbeam across your face, and the strange man in your arms, sound asleep. According to your phone, it was 10 am. You were grateful for the extra hours in a warm bed, but would he be mad? Did he have somewhere to be?

You couldn’t remember anything past drifting off next to him, but the two of you were tangled together, he seemed so comfortable.

Now that it was over, and your anxieties were much quieter, you really got a good look at the guy. He wasn’t… unattractive, you supposed. He was all elbows and ribs but laying against your chest made him look so soft and harmless. 

Wasn’t the worst way you’d ever made 175 bucks.

You wondered if he’d shell out the extra 100, or if that would be pushing your luck. 

Either way, it would be best to wake him up.

Gently scratching at his scalp, you told him it was getting late.

You watched as his eyes struggled to open, and for a few calm moments, he just laid against you. After a beat, he gasped and jolted up, head swiveling around the room in a panic.

“I…” He seemed really out of it, almost scared. “I actually…”

He stared at you, eyes wide. You told him it was ten in the morning, hoping everything was okay and if it wasn’t, that he wouldn’t take it out on you.

He grabbed you by the shoulders, and for a moment you were sure something bad was going to happen, but somehow, it was even worse.

He was crying.

Breaking down, sobbing hard as he just kept staring at you. Even with the odd night you’d just had, this was somehow the weirdest part. 

Despite yourself, you asked him if he was okay. He pulled himself together and you were startled again when he touched your face, his thumb gently grazing your cheek. It was tender and sweet, and it was freaking you out a little. Just a tad. 

“You… It was you…”

All you could think to ask was if you should get going, maybe trying to make it seem like you had someplace to be, or were at least trying to be considerate of his time. But it didn’t seem like he was taking the hint. 

He grabbed your hands in his, the sudden contact made you jump. He pulled them to his chest, he was too close. The way he was looking at you…

“Can we… Can we do this again? Like tonight? Please?” He was practically begging, the look in his eyes changing. That nervous, achingly tired gaze was hopeful. And so warm.

“You can have the room, if that’s what you need!” he offered, maybe somehow having picked up on your current situation. “I can pay more too. Just p-please…”

He held your palm to his cheek, staring up at you.

“I need you.”

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a bit of a different one from me, but i kind of liked how it turned out

that feeling when your new yandere was totally gonna off you but you were just too comfy

he's never gonna let you go. you're the only thing keepin him from killing again, ya know?

i don't have a ton of yanderes that actually kill, as odd as that seems. but this guy is one of them

he's not supposed to be a huge commentary on any particular mental health conditions, i did a bit of "research" into psychosis induced insomnia (using that term VERY loosely), but like does he hear voices because he can't sleep, or can he not sleep because he hears voices? who can say? certainly not I, the dummy who made him

i wrote this one pretty much right after my last big deadline ended, but it got reworked a bit cause it just needed some tweaks:

the yandere started out as tired but crass, kind of a dick, and when he switched after that good night's sleep it felt off. It felt more interesting if he was a bit pathetic and creepy, it felt like less of a red flag for the reader to stick around

the reader was originally going to be a straight up s*x worker that got hired by the yandere for him to kill, but it didn't really feel like my place to make that commentary on violence against s*x workers or to more or less soften it with a yandere love interest. it just didn't feel right for something so unserious

The waiting room smells like disinfectant and stale coffee. Bob sits in one of the hard plastic chairs, clipboard balanced on one knee. He's already measured his pulse twice — elevated but not dangerously so — and checked the time on his watch four times in about as many minutes. Annual medicals always tie his stomach in knots.

Not because he expects anything to be wrong. He's in good shape. Better than most. Doesn't smoke, barely drinks, follows every checklist and regulation to the letter. He just...hates the idea of being studied. Scrutinised. Measured and prodded like a machine with parts that could fail at any moment.

He'd rather be doing literally anything else. Bob exhales slowly and looks down at the form.

SECTION 1: PERSONAL INFORMATION Name: Floyd, Robert D. Call Sign: Bob ID: 770909349 DOB: 06/26/1993 Branch: US Navy Rank: Lieutenant Unit: Dagger Squadron

He moves on, the scratching of his pen the only sound in the otherwise silent room. Across from him, another aviator in a rumpled khaki flight suit is flipping through a magazine, foot tapping out an irregular rhythm. The nurse behind the desk is focused on a computer screen, headset perched over one ear. Bob's jaw tenses as he moves to the next section.

SECTION 2: FAMILY MEDICAL HISTORY (Mark all that apply.) Heart Disease: Mother (Y) Hypertension: Father (Y) Diabetes: N Stroke: N Cancer: Paternal Grandfather (Y, colon) Mental Illness: Maternal Uncle (Y, bipolar disorder) Other: Asthma (Mother)

His eyes flick further down the page to the mental illness section, chewing the inside of his cheek. It's not something he talks about. But he doesn't lie on forms. Ever. Still, there's a little to go before he gets there.

SECTION 3: MEDICAL HISTORY – YOURSELF Chronic Illness: N Allergies: N Surgeries: Appendectomy (2011) Past Hospitalisations: N Fractures: Right wrist (2018, off-duty accident, healed) Medications: Ibuprofen occasionally, multivitamins Vision Correction: Yes (glasses) History of fainting, seizures or blackouts: N Other: Asthma

He pauses again. Debates adding the time he passed out at age fourteen from heat exhaustion during a Boy Scouts survival hike. It hadn't happened again. Still, he scribbles it in the margin, just in case. He knows how thorough flight surgeons can be.

Now, the mental health section; this is the part that always gets him because it's not a numbers thing. It's not something that can really be tested because everyone's normal is different, so it's never objective. He takes a slow breath and reads the questions carefully.

SECTION 4: MENTAL HEALTH Have you ever been diagnosed with anxiety, depression or other mental health conditions? N Have you experienced prolonged feelings of sadness, hopelessness or anger in the last year? Y – brief period post-deployment, resolved without treatment

He writes it small. Neatly. Honest. He doesn't think it was clinical; just a hard couple of weeks after the last deployment. Too much noise inside his head. Trouble sleeping. Missing home. Missing people.

Have you ever received counselling or therapy? N Do you currently feel emotionally supported in your personal life? Y

Bob feels his heart twist slightly at that one. He thinks about his squad, his team; Phoenix's constant dry humour, Rooster's ridiculous playlists, Mav checking in even when he doesn't have to.

And then he thinks about you. The way you always seem to know when he needs a quiet night or a slow morning. The way your hand fits into his like it was designed for it. The late-night texts. The long, lazy drives home. The slow kisses on the porch at night. You might not have made it public yet but he adores you through and through. And you adore him right back. Sometimes that's the only thing to keep him afloat but it's a damn fine reason to make sure he gets home safe.

Yes. He writes it in firmer pen strokes this time.

SECTION 5: SUBSTANCE USE Tobacco Use: N Alcohol Use: Occasional (1-2 drinks/month) Drug Use (Prescription): Ibuprofen, as needed Drug Use (Non-Prescription): N

"Almost done." Bob murmurs to himself, tapping the end of his pen against the clipboard. He hates these questions; not because he has anything to hide but because the very act of asking makes it feel like they're looking for cracks. Like if he just scribbles in the wrong box, they'll ground him. He adjusts his glasses and checks the last box:

SECTION 6: PHYSICAL STATS Height: 6'0" Weight: 198 lbs

Finally, he signs his full name at the bottom of the form.

Signature: Robert Dean Floyd

He closes the clipboard with a quiet snap and lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding. The forms are done.

Now comes the exam. Blood pressure. Bloodwork. More questions. The whole routine.

He pops the collar of his uniform, suddenly feeling warm. He's getting a little sweaty. It's probably the needles; those Goddamn needles. He hates those Goddamn, motherf—

A chime sounds and his head darts up to check the screen on the wall. Lt. R Floyd to Exam Room 12.

He nods to himself as he stands up and smooths down his shirt. "Room 12. Got it." He mumbles to himself as he steps into the corridor, the clipboard tucked under his arm.

It's been pretty routine today; a load of annuals and the occasional check-in with existing cases. You don't mind it; it's been easy, if not a little boring. All of that goes out of your window when you open up your next case.

Name: Lt. Floyd, Robert D. Call Sign: Bob ID: 770909349

You pause for a moment before your lips quirk up into a small smile. He'd been worrying about his annual physical; he'd told you as such this morning. At least, now you can make sure he gets the easiest, most comfortable check-up of his life.

There's a tentative knock on the door and you stand, straightening your scrubs before opening the door. Your smile only widens as you set your sights on Bob, his eyes wide behind his thick glasses, lips parted slightly.

"Hello, stranger." You say softly as he steps into your office and closes the door behind him. You make sure to lock the door before he leans down to kiss you; just a sweet brush of his mouth against yours.

"Hey." He whispers against your lips before pulling back to look at you. He always liked the look of you in your scrubs; sweaty, tired, smelling of disinfectant and iodine. You reach out to take the clipboard form under his arm before you turn on your heel and sit back down at your desk.

"Fancy seeing you here." You tease and he chuckles, stepping over to sit in the chair beside your desk, bright afternoon light filtering in through the half-closed blinds. Flipping through the forms, you compare the information to the stats from last year. "Everything seems fine... Put on a little weight though." You shoot him a little grin.

"Hey!" He laughs softly. "I only gained like a few pounds over the whole year." He leans forward slightly in his chair. "Besides, you like having something to hold onto at night, don't you?"

"You know I do. Plus, it's probably my fault; all that barbecue chicken and pecan pie I did for your birthday." You draw your attention back to the forms as he nods fondly.

"You know I can't say no to your cooking." He relents and you set the forms to one side before turning your attention fully to him.

"Okay, let's get this show on the road." You pull over the blood pressure machine and he lifts the sleeve of his shirt for you. A breath catches slightly in your throat as you try not to focus too much on his bicep. For a guy so quiet and unassuming, his body is absolutely, sinfully perfect. But he thankfully brings you back down to earth.

"How's your day been so far?" He asks as you slide the cuff up his arm, unable to stop yourself from giving his bicep an appreciative squeeze before securing the cuff.

"It's been fine. The usual; people popping in and out. You?" You lightly hold his wrist.

"Ah. Same old, same old." He replies with a shrug. "Did some training exercises with the squad. Nothing too big." You press the button on the machine and the cuff starts to inflate. "By the way..." You draw your attention back up to his face. "I was thinking we could go out tonight. Just the two of us."

"Oh, yeah? Red Robin or Outback Steakhouse?" You ask and he grins, looking down at where your thumb brushes against the inside of his wrist.

"Outback." He says without hesitation. "I'm craving a steak and some cheese fries." The machine beeps and the cuff deflates. "And maybe some dessert afterwards." You check the machine, satisfied with the blood pressure, though his BPM is a little high. Not amazingly so but just enough for you to know your effect on him. It makes you smile; how his heart literally flutters when you're in the same room.

"Cheesecake?" You ask and he nods as you pull off the cuff, setting the machine back in its place on your desk.

Back to business. Checking the forms on your computer again, you go on with the exam. "How's your vision been?"

"Perfect." You can tell he's just a little distracted by how your scrubs hug your curves.

"Any migraines?" You ask. He can get them sometimes; mainly stress.

"Nope." You type that into the form.

"Good. And how's your hearing? Any tinnitus? Balance issues?" You ask and he shakes his head with a frown.

"All good." That goes in the form.

"That's what we like to hear. "How's your asthma been? Did you pick up your new inhaler?" And he nods, tugging a small, blue-capped inhaler from the pocket of his uniform pants.

"Yes, ma'am. Picked it up yesterday." He assures you, looking very pleased with himself. You let him have the little things. Honestly, you just like to watch that proud, little smile light up his face.

"No attacks recently?" He shakes his head again as he pockets his inhaler.

"Nope, haven't had one in months." You type that down.

"Any RSI? Chronic Pain?" You ask and he thinks for a moment before shifting in his seat.

"No chronic pain but...my shoulder's been bothering me." Your brows knit and you stand, moving to his side and placing your hands on his shoulder before pressing firmly. He groans slightly, head tilting as you press into a particularly tense spot. "Right there. Been really stiff lately." You work your thumbs into the muscle there.

"Might've pulled a muscle. But keep an eye on it, okay?" You tell him and he nods. Leaning down, you press a kiss to your temple before sitting back down at your desk. "Okay..." You pull over the steel trolley, syringes and tubes already prepared on a cardboard kidney dish. You hear him swallow hard as you pull on a pair of latex gloves, pick up the rubber tourniquet and secure it around his bicep.

"You know I hate needles..." He murmurs softly and you nod understandingly.

"I know, honey. I swear it'll only take a second." With two fingers, you tap the inside of his elbow. "Lucky for you, you have nice, big veins." You tell him and he lets out a breathy, nervous chuckle. He flexes his hand slightly as you swipe an alcohol wipe across the join of his elbow. Prepping the needle, you pull off the cap. "Look away now." Bob turns his head obediently, staring at the posters on the wall, the colourful pens in a mug on your desk, anything to distract himself. "Just a little pinch..." The needle slides easily into his arm but he still sucks in a breath between gritted teeth as he grabs the armrest. He fills one vial and then another as you unbuckle the tourniquet, letting the blood flow more freely. "And there we go." You press a cotton pad to the entry point and pull out the needle. "Can you hold that there for me?" He nods and obeys, letting out a shaky breath as you label the tubes and discard the needle.

When you turn back to look at him, he's a little pale and you stroke his hair. "Alright, honey. You're doing great. I know you were worried about this today." He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering closed behind his glasses.

"Yeah, I hate these things." His breathing slowly levels out as you cut off a length of medical tape and place it over the cotton pad to keep it there.

"I hope I'm making it easier." You tell him and he nods, managing a small, sweet smile. "Are you nice and hydrated?" Pulling away, you open a drawer of the steel trolley.

"No, probably not." He admits. "I'm not great at remembering to drink enough water." He sits up a little straighter as you place a sample cup on the corner of the desk.

"Well, I need you to fill this up for me." His eyes widen as they flick between your face and the cup on the desk. Swallowing hard again, his cheeks flush an adorable shade of pink.

"Do I need to...pee in that?" He asks and you nod.

"Mhm. Need some help?" He shakes his head quickly, pulling a laugh from you, especially as his face turns an even deeper shade of red.

"No, no! I think I can manage." He takes the cup from the desk and stands, heading for the privacy screen in the corner.

Once he's behind the screen, you hear him unscrew the cup and fumble with his belt and zipper. In the meantime, you open the web browser on your computer and start to reply to some emails. There's a constant barrage on them so you might as well catch up on them, especially if the typing sounds ease Bob's nerves a little bit. There's the familiar sound of fluid hitting plastic and you hear him let out a shaky sigh before pulling a tissue from a box on the counter. "I'm— I'm done." He says quietly.

"Okay. Just put the cap on and come back out." You tell him and he gets to it.

His hands are a little shaky as he walks back over to your desk, the cup feeling unusually heavy in his hand. He sets it down gently on your desk, avoiding eye contact initially. You squint before holding up the cup to the light, staring at the contents for a moment. "Mmm... You really are dehydrated." You place the sample on the trolley with the blood vials, getting up to grab him a cup of water from the filter in the corner of the office. "Here." He takes the water with a small, grateful smile and you kiss his hair before pulling off your gloves and checking the form on your computer. "And you're all up to date on your injections so now we're on to the really fun stuff." Once he's drained the cup, he tosses it into the trash bin by your desk, placing his hand over yours, looking curious.

"'Really fun stuff'?" He echoes and you nod, giving him a smile.

"How's your sex drive? Any concerns?" You ask him bluntly and he looks away for a moment.

"It's...good." He manages, shifting slightly in his seat. You turn back to your computer, typing into the form.

"I'd say it's more than good, personally." You murmur, just loud enough for him to hear.

"You think?" Your eyes flick to his face, your thumb rubbing over his knuckles.

"Mhm. I know from experience that you have nothing to worry about in that department." You assure him and his breath hitches slightly. Now he's blushing for a whole other reason; probably remembering how many times you've sung his praises in bed, at 2 am.

"Babe..." His voice is a little hoarse, his eyes dropping to your lips unconsciously.

"Unzip your pants; I need to check your balls." You tell him and he lets out a strained laugh, standing slowly. This is a part of the physical that he always gets a little worried about but, this time round, it's less worry and more excitement. He unbuckles his belt again as your eyes rake over his body; the way his shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, tapering down to his narrow hips.

He looks away, slowly pushing down his pants and underwear together. Unsurprisingly, he's already half-hard and thickening rapidly. You shoot him a knowing look but he makes a point to keep his eyes fixed on the poster promoting cervical scans on the wall opposite, willing his erection to go away.

All of that goes out the window as you reach up to gently cup his sac. He sucks in a sharp breath, hands balling into fists at his sides, as his cock gives an involuntary throb. But you're still trying to do your job, carefully squeezing his balls one by one, checking for any lumps or irregularities. Still, his erection is thickening further and further and he's trying his best to think thoughts that'll make it pass quicker. "You're doing great, honey." You tell him, tilting your head up to smile at him encouragingly. But that only makes it worse; the praise and seeing you smile so sweetly and those damn fingers running along the underside of his sac...

Finally, you pull away to type out the outcome of the exam; no irregularities. Slowly, you turn back to face him, your eyes flicking between his erection and his face. You lift a hand, stroking the underside of his cock with your knuckles. He shivers. "You know... I haven't taken my break yet today." He's completely hard now.

"Babe..." You move your hands to squeeze his thighs through his tight, uniform pants.

"And it seems cruel to just leave you like this." You bite your lip coyly and he lets out a low groan, his hips involuntarily pushing forward slightly, desperate for more contact. "have you got anywhere to be?"

"N-No..." He admits, quickly shaking his head. "Not for another...hour at least." He's practically begging you with his eyes, his glasses falling slightly down the bridge of his nose.

"Then maybe I should...check your sperm count." You tease, leaning down slightly to drag your tongue over the slit, where precum has already started beading. He tenses, long fingers tangling into your hair as he bites back a relieved yet needy groan.

There's absolutely nothing wrong with Bob's sex drive and it's easy to attest to that when he spends the next hour fucking you over your desk before grabbing you a sandwich from the cafeteria and pressing a shy, little kiss to your lips in thanks. You give him a clean bill of health and send him on his way. He'll be back in the air before you know it but then it'll be a nice steak dinner at Outback Steakhouse and then God knows how many hours in bed.

if you got this far, it'd be lovely if you dropped me a kudos or a comment (whatever you have time for) on ao3. thanks for reading 💛✨