being slutty in a foreign language

Entering Battle of the Bands at your local had started off as a joke. Mostly. Your bassist Sabrina had pointed out the poster last time you were there for drinks, and you’d signed your name. It’d be a laugh, you’d reasoned, a good way to get into playing live shows and meet some other local bands. Plus, a hundred quid cash prize couldn’t hurt.

But that was before you met Drive Like I Do. Or, more specifically, their insufferable little twerp of a lead singer, Matty.

He meets your eyes across the bar, smirking like he likes what he sees, and, honestly, he doesn’t hurt to look at, so you lift your drink in his direction and beckon him over. “Hi,” he grins. “I’m Matty. Are you staying for the show?” You nod, but he interrupts you before you can elaborate. “We’re on last, so you might have to sit through some right shit before it gets good. Have you seen some of the names on the lineup? I mean, True Romance? I bet they just named it that ‘cause it sounds pretty. Probably haven’t even seen the film.”

You glower, and it’s obviously not the reaction he expects, his face screwing up in confusion. “That’s my band. And True Romance is one of my favourite films, not that it fucking matters.” You get up from the table, scowling at him. “And I have a name, thank you so much for asking.”

Annoyingly, Matty’s right; most of the bands on the lineup are shit. But you figure that means you’ll wipe the floor with them, having actually rehearsed and learned your own songs that aren’t covers.

You look out at the crowd, adrenaline pumping in your veins as Grace tunes her guitar. This is probably the most people you’ve ever played for, you realise with a jolt, swallowing around the lump in your throat and stepping up to the mic. “Hello, everybody! How’s everyone feeling tonight? You feelin’ good? Yeah?” The crowd cheers back at you, and you grin blissfully. “Alright, I’m not here to dick about, I’m here to play some fuckin’ songs! We’re True Romance and this is Dream Girl.”

You throw yourself into the set, your hair sticking to your forehead as you sweat under the lights. Your gaze keeps wandering to Matty, sat in a booth with who you assume are his bandmates, nodding along and watching you with intrigue. He quirks an eyebrow at you and you tear your eyes away, grateful for the heat that hides the flush in your cheeks. The crowd is practically frenetic, cheering wildly as the final note whines out of the speakers, and you join hands with your bandmates and bow.

You blow a kiss to the audience and step off stage, passing Matty as he and his band take their positions. Checking the lineup, you scoff when you read the name of the band playing directly after you. Drive Like I Do? And he had the audacity to call your band’s name shit? But you quickly realise they could have the longest, most nonsensical name in the world, and it wouldn’t matter; they’re really fucking good. Matty looks like he was born for the stage, soaking up the crowd’s attention and magnifying their energy tenfold. It doesn’t even matter what they’re singing about (as far as you can tell, a video game) — every girl in the bar is screaming her head off, giggling to her friends when one of the boys so much as looks at her.

Okay, so maybe you’re a little smug that Matty won’t stop looking at you. You’re not blind, after all. Doesn’t make him not a cocky little prick. He comes straight over to you when his set finishes and you roll your eyes. “What, are you expecting me to fall at your feet ‘cause you can hit a few notes behind a mic stand?” you scoff, and he laughs.

“Oh, come on, love. No need for the only two good bands in here to be fighting. Promise I’ll buy you a drink after I win.” You scowl. “Oh, and she’s even prettier when she’s angry. Was it something I said?” he smirks.

“Fuck off and die,” you say with a saccharine smile.

Sabrina slides into the seat Matty just vacated. “He’s into you,” she says, passing you your pint with a slight wrinkle of her nose. You give her a look, and she scoffs, the pair of you so attuned to each other by now that you can communicate without words. “Oh, don’t be all you about it. He’s hot,” she laughs. “If you don’t, I will.”

“Be my guest. He’s a dick.”

She snorts into her Sex on the Beach. “The way he’s eye-fucking you? Tenner says he goes home alone tonight.” She leans in, smirking conspiratorially. “Or with you.”

You roll your eyes. Betting on a stranger’s sex life is… strangely on brand, for the two of you. “I’ll take that bet. Look at the state of him.” You wave a hand in his general direction, a pint glass in one hand and some girl’s ass in the other, her skirt hiked inappropriately high in plain view. She’s pouting, though, his attention clearly not on her even as he paws at her ass, gaze locked on you instead.

Sticking your middle finger up, you turn resolutely away as the other two members of your band wander up to the table. You lose yourself in the conversation, still wild with adrenaline from playing a proper show, and for a moment you forget why you were playing in the first place. When you’re announced as the second place holders, though, you remember, scowling openly because you know there’s only one band who could possibly be winning.

Matty extricates himself from the girls clinging onto him as the cheers start to die down and strolls over, setting a drink in front of you. “Here. Told you I’d get you a drink when I won,” he smirks, and you accept it grudgingly. Look, you’re not about to turn down a free drink, alright? “Don’t sulk, love. We…” He waves a hand, indicating both your band and his. “Collectively, wiped the floor with every other fuckin’ person in here. C’mon, don’t be a sore loser. Let me get you drunk, you won’t pay a penny, I swear.”

And as much as you want to punch his smug little face in, pour your drink over his vintage band tee, one you recognise as being horribly expensive, you’re tempted by the offer of getting smashed on Matty’s tab. Plus, Grace is giving Drive Like I Do’s bassist the eyes, so she’ll be fucking off over there either way.

So you take him up on it, downing vodka cokes until you can barely see straight, screaming in Matty’s face that Blur is obviously better than Oasis, come on! You don’t know how it happens, but you find yourself dancing with them and not hating it? Spinning breathlessly between Ross and George (who are actually pretty sound, in all honesty), you grab Grace and Sabrina by the hands and let them pull Alice, your drummer, into a circle, kicking your legs and laughing wildly.

Lost in sticky floors, thumping bass and a spirit-fuelled haze, you don’t push Matty away when his hands find your hips. You grind your hips back against him, let him press damp kisses to your neck, licking the sweat off your skin. A shudder runs down your spine, faint threads of desire creeping under your skin. “Stopped bein’ a sore loser yet?” he taunts, and your good mood vanishes like a snuffed-out candle.

You turn, slinging your arms around his neck and leaning in close. Matty’s tongue flicks out to wet his lips distractingly, the skin plush and soft. You have a sudden craving to bite down on the skin there, feel it tear beneath your teeth, taste blood in your mouth. You want him, and you want him wrecked. “You,” you say, low voice carrying all the intimacy of a kiss. “Are the most self-absorbed, insufferable piece of shit I’ve ever met. Bathroom. Five minutes.” Matty’s face splits in a wicked grin, leaning so close he could kiss you. You stay like that for a moment, sharing oxygen, the feeling of breathing him in intoxicating, like you’re drunk all over again.

The sticky air of the pub feels impossibly cold as you break away, Matty’s gaze burning into your back until you’re swallowed into the crowd, weaving your way into the bathroom. Matty clicks the door open a few moments later, glancing around furtively before slipping inside. All the air rushes from his lungs as you slam him against the door, one arm braced against his chest and the other tensed beside his head. A gratifying flash of fear crosses his face and you smirk at him, leaning close to speak against his lips. “Am I scaring you, baby?” He swallows thickly. “Good,” you breathe, connecting your lips in a harsh kiss.

Matty moans into your mouth, the taste of gin spilling from his tongue as you devour him. You kiss to hurt, to injure, to bruise, biting down on his lower lip and licking over the wound. He whimpers a little, from pain or arousal you can’t tell, but you have a sneaking suspicion it’s both. “Fuck, you kiss like an animal,” he gasps, chest already heaving.

You grin viciously. “Only when I hate you. C’mon, on your knees. I haven’t got all night.” Matty pouts a little. “Oh, what, did you think I was gonna let you fuck me? I don't know where you’ve been, you fucking whore.” His eyes widen, liquid desire pooling in his irises. “I’m waiting,” you hiss, and he obeys unthinkingly.

His hands come greedily up to your waist, fumbling with the chain looped through your jeans. Finally, he pulls it free, unbuttoning your jeans and tugging them down your thighs. Seemingly unable to resist, he presses a kiss just above the waistband of your panties, and you clench your jaw against the shudder that runs through you at the contact. “God, you’re so fucking pretty,” Matty groans, tipping his head forward so his curls brush against your lower stomach.

“Get on with it,” you growl, shoving your panties as far down your legs as they’ll go. Matty stares unabashedly at your cunt, slick with the only evidence of your desire you can’t suppress. You gasp as his fingers find your clit deftly, rough and calloused over your swollen nerves.

Without warning, Matty grabs your hips and pulls you towards him, so forcefully that you stumble on your feet. His tongue swipes through your folds, a pitiful whimper falling from your lips, and he smirks up at you. “Taste so sweet, darling. Like a fucking peach.”

You roll your eyes, gripping his hair and dragging him back to your cunt, his tongue lapping deliciously over your clit. “Use that pretty mouth for something better than talking,” you snap, moaning softly as he obliges. Matty’s fingers dig into your hips, nails biting crescents of frantic desire into your skin. He laps at you starvingly, tongue-fucking you deep and fast, the punishing rhythm making you dizzy. Heart rolls up your spine, his name poison-sweet on your tongue as you grind your hips down against his mouth.

You fist a hand in his curls, tugging sharply, Matty’s answering moan reverberating through you. “God, you are a fucking slut,” you groan, pleasure swirling low in your belly. “Like that I’m hurting you, hm?”

“Uh-huh,” he moans, indistinct and muffled as the sound vibrates through you. Liquid desire drips down your spine, pooling between your legs and melting on Matty’s tongue, hungry and sure as he buries it deep inside you. He pulls away to suck on your clit, your legs turning jelly-like as a pulse of blinding ecstasy washes over you. You aren’t sure if the bare bulb in the dingy little bathroom is flickering or if your vision is going dim, lost in mind-wiping desire as Matty braces your hips to press his tongue even deeper into you.

Whining, you clench your cunt around his tongue, holding him in place as his fingers come up to play with your clit. You’re barrelling towards an earth-shattering end, twined with the intoxicating power of having Matty whimpering on his knees. “Think you’re so much better than me, huh?” you murmur. “This is where you belong, on your fuckin’ knees for me.” He clings to you like you’re a mirage, like you’ll dissipate and leave him if he lets go, hard and begging and alone with your taste lingering on his tongue.

He draws sloppy figure-eights on your clit, euphoria spreading in your limbs, burning up your blood as you moan his name into the liquor-laced air. Your fingers scramble for purchase against the poster-plastered walls, losing your grip on reality, your impending orgasm stealing the breath from your lungs. A string of honey-slick moans fall from your lips, one hand buried in Matty’s curls as you roll your hips down against his mouth. He makes out with your cunt messily, wantonly, like he’s been starved.

“I’m so close, Jesus fuck—” you cry, slapping a palm over your mouth to keep from screaming as Matty bites down gently on your clit, the flash of pain enough to tip you over the edge. You tumble into oblivion, pleasure burning so hot in your veins that you aren’t sure you have any blood left. Matty licks at you, sucks on your clit, fucks you with his tongue as your cunt flutters around him, swallowing every drop of your arousal as you come undone on his mouth.

Matty’s eager, fucked-out grin is the first thing you see when you come back to Earth, legs weak and skull throbbing. Mustering up your dignity, you sneer down at him like he hasn’t just given you probably the best orgasm of your life in a cramped, dirty bar bathroom. “Just because I let you eat me out, you think that means I’m just gonna put your filthy fucking dick in my mouth?” you scoff. Casually swinging a leg, the tip of your boot meets Matty’s clothed cock, not quite a kick, but not much of anything else either. A helpless little moan tumbles from his lips and you laugh condescendingly, tilting his chin up so he’s looking in your eyes.

He grinds down against your boot, power thrumming heady in your veins. “Baby, please,” he whimpers, the sound dizzying and gratifying. 

“Pathetic,” you say, low and sweet. “Getting off on my shoe like a fuckin’ animal. Bet you’d let me do whatever I wanted, huh?” He nods frantically, desperate to please, his jaw coming compliantly open when you pull down. A thrill steals up your spine as a wad of spit lands on his tongue, chased by a bolt of desire when he swallows obediently. “Don’t come back out until you can fucking control yourself.”

You dress yourself, Matty still panting at your feet, his chin slick with your arousal, and slip back out of the bathroom. Like you’d predicted, your friends are too hammered to question your absence much, accepting your excuse of having gone for a smoke without question. The four of you laugh and sing and dance the rest of the night, Grace slipping away with Ross at a tasteful two a.m., you and Sabrina exchanging a knowing look at her lack of subtlety. At some point, Matty had joined you again, throwing you looks so venomous you’re a little scared.

Just as you’re calling it a night, you scrawl your number on a damp napkin and shove it into his pocket. “In case you’re ever after a rematch,” you say, low enough not to be overheard, and his answering smirk is wicked.

Sabrina sighs dramatically at his retreating back. “Hate to see ‘em go, love to watch ‘em leave.” You snort, shoving her playfully. “Alright, pay up. What did I say? Alone, or with you.”

Groaning, you dig in your wallet and slap a ten-pound note in her outstretched palm. “Alice, have I ever told you you’re my favourite?” Giggling, the three of you stumble out to the taxi rank, the sting of your loss almost forgotten against the heat still tingling between your thighs.

Matty doesn’t text you until the next evening, and you’ll take the grin that split your face at the sight of his message to your grave.

So about that rematch?

Don’t beg it’s pathetic

Had enough of that last night

You know where to find me when you’re ready to put up a real fight

You don’t hear from him for a little while after that, but something tells you the pair of you aren’t done yet. Or maybe that’s just his voice in your head while you bury your hand between your thighs.

Sabrina throws a house party for her twenty-first, because she’s still barred from every good club within ten miles for underage drinking. You’re a little tipsy, a little high, singing along to the CD spinning in the player and sipping a cocktail while you wait for everyone to arrive. The house is a sweaty, heaving mass of bodies by eleven, screaming drunk as you stumble onto the patio. You’re alone except for one other boy with his back to you, his silhouette blurred in the dark as you fish for your cigarettes, alcohol making your body uncoordinated and slow to obey direction.

Sliding one between your lips, you call out, “Have you got a light?” The boy turns, and your heart skips a painfully embarrassing beat. Matty smirks back at you, annoyingly gorgeous with a cigarette dangling from his lips, clad in a floral shirt and a worn leather jacket.

“Long time no see, darling,” he grins. “Was wonderin’ if I’d run into you.” It’s a fight to rein in your thoughts, running wild as want licks up your spine. It’s fucking Pavlovian, you tell yourself, getting off to the thought of him setting off some instinctual reaction to his presence.

“Been thinking about me a lot?” you tease, privately curious as to the answer.

He steps closer, and you try not to flinch. “Oh, I’ve been pulling the absolute cock off myself thinking about how you kicked me in the dick and left me on the fucking ground. Kind of scenario wet dreams are made of,” he snaps.

You laugh like he’s recalling a fond memory to hide the flush creeping up your cheeks at the image of him touching himself. “Oh, don’t be a baby. Shouldn’t have made it so satisfying to kick you in the dick, then.”

Matty flashes his teeth. “You were plenty satisfied already, if memory serves. Jesus fuck, I’m cumming, oh, God, Matty, fuck,” he taunts, putting on a high, breathy affect of your voice, taking another predatory step towards you. He breathes smoke out over your face, the grey cloud curling in front of your eyes, blurring the planes of his face and casting him in a hazy glow.

“You’re making me want to kick you in the dick again,” you threaten, but it lacks any edge, all the fight draining out of you as Matty lifts your hand to slip your forgotten cig between your lips. The touch sparks under your skin, stacked kindling waiting to catch alight, burn you up in the blaze.

“Breathe in,” Matty says quietly, leaning in to press the end of his cigarette against yours, the flame passing between you in a shared breath, smoke burning in your lungs as you draw the moment as long as possible, pulling it like elastic between your hands.

You blow out your smoke, twin exhales staining the air between you. “Kiss me,” you murmur, a breathy plea delivered from chapped lips, blackened lungs, through cold air into unreadable honey-brown eyes.

Matty takes a deep drag on his cigarette and flicks it away, taking your jaw in both hands while the smoke sits in his mouth. You try not to envy that it curls on his tongue, your lips parting instinctively for him as it pours from his mouth into yours. Your inhale is quick, perfunctory, an aside to what comes after you blow it out. His lips are soft, your bite mark healed now, moving against yours with what you could almost mistake as tenderness. His hands slide down to your ass, squeezing gently and pulling you flush against him.

When he slides his tongue into your mouth, you can’t help your relieved little moan, something cool and sharp and dangerous lodging itself in your ribcage. “Oh,” he says, delighted. “Missed me, have you?”

“If I say yes, will you fucking touch me?” you snap.

“So needy,” he croons, fingers skirting just below the hem of your skirt. “Wanna stay out here where anyone could see how needy you are for me?”

You stamp on his foot childishly. “If anyone ever finds out I let you touch me, I’ll kill you,” you say, the threat familiar on your tongue, a fraction of your control reigned back in.

Matty laughs. “You’d miss me too much.” You scoff. “Alright, let’s find somewhere to keep this secret, then.”

You practically drag him to Sabrina’s bedroom, and he raises an eyebrow. “If I tried shagging in one of my boys’ rooms, I wouldn’t live long enough for you to kill me,” he remarks.

“Oh, please. You think you’re the first guy I’ve ever fucked in here?” You don’t miss the way his grip tightens around your wrist, stiffening slightly. You don’t want to examine what that means.

He sits on the edge of her bed, legs spread and face expectant. “Your turn, love. On your knees, yeah?” You pause, and he laughs darkly. “Oh, you thought you were gonna get fucked?” he taunts, the words a mocking echo of your own, and you feel them like ice thawing in your spine. “Love, the first time I fuck you isn’t going to be in someone else’s bed at a house party. I wanna take my time with you, tear you to fucking pieces.” Your cunt pulses desperately, forcing you into obeisance even as you wear your disgust plainly on your face. “Oh, you want it bad, huh?” Matty murmurs, low and cruel as you unbuckle his belt and pull his cock free from his jeans. “Fuckin’ gagging for it, aren’t you? Go on, darling, get me hard.”

Your jaw falls open, saliva dripping from your tongue and trailing down his cock. You wrap a hand around him, his hips jolting at the contact. Pumping him slowly, his cock fills in your palm, precum sticky on your fingers when you dig your nail into his slit. You lean down, kitten-licking over the head, and he bucks his hips up with a gasp. “Someone’s eager,” you smirk, pushing his hips down with a smirk.

“Shut up before I shut you up,” he says, darkly threatening in a way that makes you believe him, arousal pooling between your legs.

Matty gathers your hair into a crude ponytail in one fist and you look up at him through your lashes. “If you push my head down, I’m biting your dick off,” you warn, lowering your head and wrapping your lips around his tip.

He moans, fighting not to thrust into the warmth of your mouth as your lips creep down his cock. “That’s it, baby. Go on, take it all. Take this filthy fucking dick. Good girl,” Matty croons, moaning as his cock bumps the back of your throat and you swallow a gag. You bob your head, inhaling deeply through your nose and trying to take all of him. Your nose meets his skin and you grin victoriously around his cock, sugary praise falling from his lips and his eyes fixed on you. “Look so pretty on your knees, baby. If you keep being good, I’ll let you swallow my cum,” he adds, and a bolt of lust strikes your core, tinged acrid with shame at letting him hold power over you.

You jam a hand between your legs, rutting wantonly against it, the friction hot as your clit grinds against the seam of your jeans through your panties. A moan spills out around Matty’s cock, the salt of him filling your mouth as he bucks his hips a little. Pulling up, you swallow around him, spit leaking from the corners of your mouth. Matty moans your name, the sound so sweet in your ears that you want to press it into a vinyl, layer it in the back of a song you can listen to over and over. A string of spit connects your skin as you pull away from him, sitting back on your knees to look in his eyes. “I changed my mind,” you say, the words spilling out before you can stop them, an unbidden admission from a hazy head and swollen lips. “Fuck my mouth.”

Groaning, Matty lets go of your hair and brushes it out of your face when it falls. “Fuck, love, are you sure?”

You smirk up at him, holding his gaze in challenge. “C’mon, Healy, you know you want to. Fucking ruin me, wreck my voice, make me cry,” you say. It’s a demand, not a plea, and he knows it. Knows that he’ll be giving you what you want, conceding territory in your battle, letting you knock a piece off the chessboard. But he wants. His hand tangles in your hair, his eyes closing as he moves like he doesn’t want to see himself capitulate. The sting in your scalp feels like victory, the ache in your jaw a triumph. Matty fucks your mouth with abandon, dragging your head and thrusting up to meet the back of your throat, moaning as you gag around him.

You’re helpless, your panties soaked with arousal and your cunt clenching around nothing. Pure, unadulterated need rises in you, needy whines slipping out around his cock while he fucks your face like a toy. “You getting off on being used like this?” he taunts, eyes lidded and face flushed. “Little slut. Not so fuckin’ mouthy now, huh? Such a fuckin’ bitch until you’re on your knees gaggin’ on my cock.” Lewd, wet sounds fill the room, his words pushing you to the precipice of submission threatening to overwhelm. You grind pathetically against your palm, desperate for more than the feeble embers flickering in your belly. “You wanna cum, darling?” he murmurs, lifting you off him, your breaths coming hard and heavy and impossibly loud in the sudden quiet.

“Please,” you whine, past the point of caring for your fractured dignity. “M’so wet, Matty, I need it so bad.”

“I shouldn’t let you,” he says musingly. “Not after what you pulled last time.” He grins, knocking your knees apart with one booted foot. “But I’m a gentleman. These, off,” he orders, kicking at your thigh to indicate your jeans. You scramble awkwardly out of them, kicking them into a pile of Sabrina’s clothes that you’re definitely going to pick up a new shirt from later. Matty presses his boot between your thigh, the pressure on your clit so glorious you swear you almost cum, a wave of pleasure knocking the breath from your lungs. “Go on, baby. Get off on my shoe like a fuckin’ animal,” he growls, your stolen words hitting you like a shock of ice water.

You hate yourself just a little as your hips roll, taking his cock in your mouth and moaning as he takes up his punishing rhythm. The lace of your panties is rough and scraping over your clit, pain and pleasure mingling in your belly and dripping on Matty’s shoe. Tension winds tight in your belly, a fist clenched so tight it almost breaks skin. Matty fucks your mouth messy and frenzied, his hand tight in your hair and your name sticking to his lips. It sounds like a curse, or maybe a prayer — is there a difference, if God doesn’t exist?

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, gonna cum, darling, don’t stop,” Matty groans, head thrown back in rapture. You pull out every trick, swallowing and humming around him, swirling your tongue across his skin until he’s spilling in your mouth with a broken groan. “Fuck, yes, good girl, take it all,” he says. “My little cumdump,” he adds, the words striking at your core, pouring liquid heat directly over your nerves, achingly hot.

You pull off his cock with an obscene pop, opening your mouth to show off your painted-white tongue. A string of cum drips from your mouth, landing over his wet cock. You lap it up eagerly, Matty hissing at the contact to his sensitive skin. Your hips grind faster, cunt throbbing with need. With your mouth now freed, you whine out filthy pleas, tasting burning shame in the back of your throat. “Matty, please, I can’t—” you whimper, cut off when he grips your chin and forces your jaw shut, smirking meanly.

“You can, and you will. M’not gonna help you, baby. Can get off on my boot or not at all.” His cool, impassive tone is belayed by his flushed face, lips parted and eyes wide as he watches you grind pathetically against him. Pleasure coils under your skin, tangling with the burn of humiliation, your head thrown back and incoherent whines falling from your lips. “Jesus, you’re a fuckin’ wet dream,” Matty moans out, dragging you by the hair so your gaze falls back on him. “Pretty girl. Can’t wait to make you fall apart on my cock, shit.”

Your cunt throbs near-painfully, molten ecstasy turning your organs to liquid, your climax sweet and hot on the tip of your tongue. “M’so close,” you whimper, pleading little gasps stumbling from your lips. You grind your clit harshly against the tough leather of Matty’s shoe, fucking debasing yourself as you chase your orgasm. Digging your nails into his calf, you moan helplessly, gripping him like a lifeline as your head starts to float clear of your body. His eyes glitter triumphantly, holding all the power while reducing you to a pathetic, pleading mess grinding against his shoe.

Ecstasy swirls in your belly, dizzying. It’s thick in your lungs, stoppering your thoughts until all you know is Matty’s cruel little smirk, his lust-blown eyes, his shoe pressed against your cunt. Your final, last-ditch act of rebellion comes when the thread tethering you to your sanity finally snaps. You might have sunk low, lower than you ever thought you could, but you will not plead to cum on his shoe. That final thought circles as pleasure knocks you breathless, a keening wail ripping from your throat as your cunt pulses. Matty’s hand tightens in your hair as you cum, aching bliss coursing through your bloodstream. “Fuck,” you mumble, your legs weak as you crumple to the floor.

“That feel good?” Matty asks, flashing teeth.

“Fuck you,” you snap, painfully conscious of how little effect your words have when you’re on the floor below him, your cunt still pulsing with aftershocks.

“I will,” he says sweetly, and you groan.

Trying not to stagger, you get to your feet. “This,” you gesture in the air between you. “Means nothing, alright? As far as everyone we know is concerned, we can’t stand each other. In fact, I can’t stand you.”

“S’that why you got on your knees so fast?” Matty smirks, still leaning insouciantly on Sabrina’s bed. You scoff, disgusted with yourself, and turn to leave. “Might wanna clean yourself up, love,” he calls as you shove the door open. “You look like you just sucked a dick.”

You don’t realise that leaving was a concession until the door clicks shut and you catch his smirk before he disappears from view. Slipping into the miraculously empty bathroom, you realise he’s right; you do look like you’ve just sucked a dick. Your hair is wild, raked through and tangled, mascara running down your face and your lipstick smeared over your chin. The matching ring that must sit around the base of Matty’s cock makes you smirk to yourself, a tangible reminder of the encounter that he’ll have to work to remove.

You manage to tame your appearance and wander back downstairs, finding Sabrina and Alice deep in conversation with Matty and George. “There you are!” Sabrina gasps, loud enough to be heard over the screaming music and loud background chatter. “Thought you’d fucked off home. Was just telling the boys about our gig,” she grins. Oh, right. Your actual fucking gig, where you have to play your songs to a crowd of fans there for somebody else, and somehow hold their attention for an entire set. And you’d just stopped feeling fucking nauseous about it.

“Love, why didn’t you tell me?” Matty says, mocking in a way that only you can sense, prodding at a wound only he can see.

“Oh, please.” You pour yourself a strong drink and take a long sip before you continue. “I’d rather not spew over the front row seeing your ugly fucking mug in the crowd.” George snorts and Sabrina swats your arm.

“Don’t be a cowbag, it’s my birthday,” she scolds, eyes lighting up as they land on an undrunk bottle of tequila. “I know how to loosen you up a bit,” she grins, brandishing the bottle and digging in the fridge for a net bag of limes. “Body shots!” She spins around, wiggling her eyebrows, and you tip your head back with a groan.

She grabs a knife from the kitchen drawer and wobbles over to the counter to start chopping the limes, forcing you to your feet before she lands herself in A&E. “Calm down there, Ghostface,” you laugh, grabbing the knife before she can do any damage. Slicing the limes into neat wedges with bartender-practised ease, you grin at Sabrina and clamp a slice between your teeth. She brushes salt across the top of your tit, her tongue hot over your skin when she licks it up. The shot glass slams on the counter before you even register that she’s picked it up, her lips ghosting against yours as she bites into the flesh of the fruit, the juice spilling across your mouths.

You spit the rind to the floor and cup her jaw, melting into a passionate kiss like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Licking the taste of lime out of her mouth, one of your hands threads in her hair, and Ross whistles. “Fucking hell, are we interrupting something?”

Sabrina snorts. “If that’s got you blushing, the things we’ve done to each other would make your head spin, pretty boy.”

You risk a glance at Matty, rooted to the spot with eyes as wide as saucers, like he can’t believe what he just saw. Interesting. “Who’s next?” you crow, delivering the words as a deliberate taunt to him. “I’ll even take my top off, give you some more space to work with,” you grin, peeling off your top and gratuitously squeezing a tit. 

“Do we get a snog, too?” George smirks, getting to his feet.

Sweeping your hair off your neck, you tilt your head and smile tantalisingly. “Only if you’re good.” Matty’s jaw clenches. Very interesting. Salt scrapes over your skin as George licks you clean, something molten and dangerous pooling in your core at Matty’s intense eye contact. George bites the lime out of your mouth and spits it to the floor, his lips finding yours waiting.

He’s a good kisser, his mouth sure and firm against yours, tongue brushing against your lips as he cups your jaw. Parting your lips for him, the sharp taste of lime lands on your tongue once again, George tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and smiling slightly when he pulls away. Matty looks at you like you’re a future regret, like the narrative is written and he’s only stepping into his role when he comes towards you.

Ever overdramatic and impaired by liquor, you drape yourself over the table, lifting your head to grin up at him. Matty reaches for a shot glass, and you chide him, meeting his gaze in challenge. “C’mon, it’s called a body shot, after all,” you goad, and he swallows, gripping the neck of the tequila like a lifeline.

“You’re insane,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. The liquor is cold as he pours it into your belly button, splashing from his trembling hands. The muscles of your stomach twitch, contradictory heat pooling in your core as anticipation creeps under your skin. Salt pours between the valley of your tits, Matty cleaning it off eagerly as you fight not to squirm. You swallow a gasp as Matty sucks and licks the alcohol from your body, the feeling of his tongue swirling gratuitously against you falling straight to your cunt.

With a grimace, Matty straightens, leaning down to grip the lime between his teeth, sharp tartness soaking your bruised lips once again. You savour the sting, Matty’s eyes wide with desire as he leans in. The kiss is messy, all top lip and tongue as you lick the tequila out of his mouth, slowly sitting up and slinging your arms around his neck.

One of his hands tangles in your hair, the rest of the world melting away the longer you lose yourself in his kiss, reality tunnelling down to Matty’s skin on yours. He exhales regret against your lips, pulling away slowly and thumbing over your swollen lip. Fuck, that stings. Matty smirks like he can read your thoughts, like your pain is sweet on his lips.

“Jesus, get a room!” Sabrina scoffs, chucking a lime at your head that you don’t have the facilities to dodge. Matty goes red, wrenching his gaze away from you and fumbling for a cigarette before stumbling out of the room. Sabrina squints at the space he vacated. “Like, will the two of you just fuck already? Instead of subjecting us to whatever that was?”

You glare, folding your arms and screwing up your face as if you can’t think of anything worse. “Don’t be gross.”

Sabrina gets up, turning to face the room at large. “Right, show of hands. Who thinks she just needs to fuck Matty and get it over with.” Six hands go up, and you scowl. Okay, maybe you do want to fuck him, but does everybody need to know about it?

“Please,” groans George. “He’s insufferable when he gets like this about a girl.” He puts on a high effect of Matty’s voice, and you snort. “‘Oh, do you think she’s gonna be there? Will she like this shirt? Does my hair look pretty?’” You roll your eyes, praying the heat in your cheeks is indistinguishable from the flush of the alcohol.

“Ugh,” you say, forcing a shudder. “Get me checked for a brain tumour if I ever fall for that.” You grab the discarded bottle. “Anyway, I’m done being a shot glass. Someone else’s turn.”

Your head spins as you take shot after shot, licking salt from Sabrina’s neck, Ross’ chest, George’s belly. The passage of time slips from your grasp, and before you know it, the party’s mostly over. The last few stragglers are drifting out, Sabrina nowhere to be seen, having slipped upstairs with a girl you vaguely recognise from high school about half an hour ago. Probably shouldn’t tell her that she’s not gonna be the first (or even second) person to get off in her room tonight.

You end up crashing out on the couch, stripping out of your tight jeans and leaving them crumpled next to you — your shirt is long gone. Not a big deal, you can nab one of Sabrina’s in the morning. By some miracle, your headache in the morning is only mild, easily quelled with a glass of water and some painkillers. The house is still, the previous night lingering in sticky floors and plastic cups littering every surface.

One of Sabrina’s guitars is propped against the wall, and picking it up unlocks a vague memory of picking the beginnings of your first song on it, before you had one of your own. You smile fondly, lifting it into your lap and kicking one leg over the arm of the sofa. Your fingers move instinctively, coaxing out the melody you’ve been working on, repeating it over and over and groaning when the next notes just won’t come.

“You’re really good.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re still here?”

Matty shrugs, sloping into the chair next to you, seemingly indifferent to your matching states of undress. “Hann was designated driver, and he fucked off somewhere between the body shots and the karaoke,” he snorts. “Brina said I could stay.”

“Don’t call her Brina,” you snap. “You’re lucky she’s so nice. If it was up to me, you’d be in a ditch somewhere right now. Or flattened on the motorway. Wouldn’t that be nice…” you say, wistful as if you’re daydreaming about his viscera splattered across tarmac.

“You’re such a bitch.” It’s a compliment, you can tell, despite his derisive expression.

Not dignifying him with a response, your fingers creep across the strings, plucking out a familiar riff that you can’t quite place. Matty’s smug little grin flashes you back to the day you met, and you realise with disgust that you’re playing the first four notes of Robbers over and over. Your scowl silences the taunt on Matty’s lips. “Shut the fuck up and stop looking at me like that before I make you.”

Matty shudders, shifting in his chair. “You’re so mean. Who hurt you?”

“This conversation is hurting me. Talking to you feels like voluntarily hitting my own head with a brick.” Matty just smirks at you, conspicuously dropping his hands into his lap. “Oh, my god. Is this getting you hard?” you scoff.

An infuriating smirk creeps across Matty’s face “I can’t help it,” he says. “You’re hot when you’re mad at me.”

“I’m always fuckin’ mad at you.”

“Exactly.” His grin is filthy, legs spread wide as your eyes trail down to where his cock is straining against his boxers.

Still plucking idly at the guitar, you speak without looking at him. “Touch yourself for me,” you say, snorting as Matty chokes on his inhale.

He makes a spluttering little sound, and you don’t look up from the guitar in your lap. “Are you being serious? Here? Now?”

You shrug. “You don’t have to. But don’t pretend you don’t want to. Go on, give me a show. S’just about the only thing you’re good for.”

Matty moans, the resolve in his face visibly crumbling as you lift your gaze to meet his. His cock is flushed and dripping as he frees it from his boxers, throwing his head back with a groan. Heat creeps across your cheeks, the display of him obscene. Arousal clenches in your belly as your name spills involuntarily from his lips, cock disappearing into his fist as he strokes himself.

“Yeah, that’s it. Just like that,” you murmur, breathing slow and deep to keep yourself controlled. Matty’s moans are sweet and syrupy in your ear, low and melodic against your skin. Almost without your knowledge, your fingers dance across the guitar strings, pulling the next notes of your broken melody free instinctively as you watch him. “So pretty like this, baby. Know you can be louder than that. Let me hear you, yeah?”

Slick sounds fill the room, tangling with his moans flowing freely from his lips. Your cunt is dripping in your panties, pleading for attention as Matty fucks his fist, the guitar finally abandoned in your lap. Your hips shift needily against the sofa, the tiniest pulse of pleasure humming through you. “Come here,” he groans, the dominance in his tone sudden and intense.

“What did you just say?” you say, tone carrying a low threat that you don’t even think he notices.

“Can’t make a mess, can I? C’mere, come finish me off. Can see how fuckin’ needy you are from here, love.”

Carefully sliding the guitar off your lap, you stand so you’re towering over him. He gazes openly at your tits, cupped together in your bra, breath hot against your skin. “Who,” you say, voice gentle but full of steel, sliding a hand into his curls. “Do you think you’re talking to?” you demand, fisting your hand and dragging Matty’s eyes up to meet yours, his little pained whimper falling straight to your cunt. “You fucking piece of shit,” you scoff, lowering yourself into his lap. “Get your hands off.” He obeys with a whimper, and you laugh scornfully. God, he’s too fucking easy. “You fucking disgust me,” you murmur against his lips, low and reverent like you’re pouring praise against his mouth. “Who the fuck do you think you are, talkin’ to me like that?”

You tuck him back into his boxers, rolling your hips down and tipping your head back as pleasure runs through you. “M’sorry,I—” You press two fingers against his lips to silence him.

“Gonna let you get off like this. That way you’re only making a mess of yourself, yeah? Say thank you, baby.” Matty ruts his hips up against yours, hungry lips meeting your neck and greedy hands tangling in your hair.

“Th-thank you,” he stammers, breath shaky against your neck. Want pulses sickly in your belly, rising into your chest and squeezing hard as Matty bucks his hips. It doesn’t take long until your name pours free from his lips, tangled in moans and expletives, and he goes limp under you.

Despite your desperate cunt screaming out in protest, you climb off his lap and smile patronisingly down at him. “Fucking filthy,” you say, staring down at his soaked boxers and committing the sight of him to memory, chest flushed and heaving. “You can get dressed and get the fuck out, now. Hope nobody points out the cum stain.”

Matty gives you a look that’s pure loathing, tinged with needy lust, and you jerk your head at him as if to say go on. “Just you wait,” he mutters darkly. “Just you fucking wait. I’ll fucking wreck you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

You don’t see Matty face-to-face for a little while after that, but that doesn’t mean he stops plaguing you. A concerning number of your nights are spent with your phone on your pillow, listening to him moan in your ear as you fuck yourself on your fingers. You have to bite down on his name when you’re fucking other guys, the word bitter as you swallow it back down, longing to spill free. It only makes you hate him more.

You hadn’t thought he’d actually come see you play, but George and Ross’ silhouettes are unmistakeable in the crowd of fans screaming for the band you’re opening for. As is the head of dark curls next to them. Your heart catches in your throat, bleeding over your tongue as you step up to the mic stand. The lights shine into your eyes, adrenaline pumping and nerves jangling. You introduce yourself, introduce the band, the few scattered whoops not even making a dent against the unimpressed faces of the front row. George shoots you an encouraging grin, clapping over his head to make sure you see, and it soothes you a little; enough that your body loosens and you can coax your fingers into strumming on your guitar.

By the third song, you’ve relaxed into it, instinctive. Your hair is plastered to your forehead, jewellery tangled around your neck, sweating into your shirt. The crowd has warmed up a little, nodding their heads and swaying, even a few people singing your choruses back at you. You feel electric, a current zapping through you and echoing out of the speakers. Matty is transfixed, you can just about see — his gaze hasn’t left you for more than two seconds at a time since your set started. His thoughts are so plain on his face that you can practically hear them, filth pouring from him and pooling around you, warming your core and… Jesus. Focus.

Mentally dousing yourself in ice water, you lean close to the mic and catch Matty’s eyes. “This next song… I feel like it’s a story every girl knows. You’re at a bar, you’ve had a few drinks, and you’re lookin’ for a bit of fun, right? And you meet a boy and you think he could be the one, at least for tonight. Then he opens his mouth,” you pause as everyone laughs. “And he just won’t. Stop. Talking!” You launch into the song, unable to keep the grin off your face as Matty recognises the melody, the one you played while you watched him get himself off. The memory heats you from the inside out, identical film reels flickering in both your and Matty’s heads as your insides burn with desire.

Apparently, the song resonates with more than a few, the crowd and the cheers wilder with every song now you’ve finally attracted their attention. Disappointment twinges in your gut as you realise you’re onto the last song. “You guys have been fucking phenomenal tonight. You looking forward to the main event?” Obviously, the crowd cheers louder than they have for you all night. You try not to take it to heart, though. “Thank you guys so much for having us, seriously. You up for one more song? Yeah? Let’s fuckin’ go!” Adrenaline rushing to your head and inflating your ego, you grip the hem of your shirt and tug it up to your neck, soaking in the cheer that goes up as you show off your bare tits.

There’s only one reaction you care about, though, Matty’s jaw going slack and his gaze hot and heavy against your skin. The room melts away, the tension stringing between you a living thing that roots you to the spot. The fuse is lit and you know it, can’t stamp it out. All that’s left is to find out which of you ignites first.

You slip into the back of the crowd just before the main act starts, and immediately get suckered into a sweaty, congratulatory group hug from the boys. You don’t even push Matty off when he smacks a kiss at your temple, his low good fucking girl murmured in your ear making you shudder.

The band you opened for are a little stuck-up, but nice enough, so you take them up on their offer to celebrate after. Their frontman’s grin when he tells you to bring some friends, if you like tells you that he’s going to be very fucking disappointed, though, when the friends you bring are four blokes from a well-known local band instead of the girls he’s clearly imagining. His face falls when he sees them, pushing off to chat up a group of girls hovering around the bar.

Which leaves the eight of you in the now-familiar position of being crammed into a too-small booth, with you once again half on Matty’s lap. “Can’t believe you wrote a song about me. You’re too sweet, darling, you shouldn’t have.” he remarks, and you swing your heel back and laugh at his hiss when it connects with his shin.

“Oh, please. You think you’re the first good-looking asshole I’ve ever met in a bar? Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You think I'm good-looking?” He’s wearing a shit-eating grin, too comfortable pushing your buttons in public. You need to grind him beneath your heel, put him back in his fucking place.

You drop your hand under the table, tracing circles in his thigh and feeling the muscles tense under your touch. “And he’s got selective hearing, too. Who's surprised?”

His hips shift needily against your hand, squirming as he tries to force you into giving him what he wants. “Oh, come on, darling. We both know this only ends one way.” He’s full of shit, false bravado layered deliberately in his voice that you can see through like he’s wrapped in cellophane. 

“In your dreams,” you bite out, pressing your hand against his cock in the same moment, kneading softly and watching blood rush into his cheeks as he swallows down a moan.

“Oh, every night, darling.”

Sabrina gags, breaking the two of you out of the bubble you’d been in, the hazy edges of your reality suddenly back in sharp focus. “Can you two stop being gross for two fucking seconds, please? For all our sakes?”

Rolling your eyes, you set your drink down on the table, dangerously close to the edge. “Oh, it’s my fault he’s fucking obsessed with me?” you scoff. “Read my fucking lips, Healy. Never. Gonna. Happen.”

You focus back into the conversation, relishing in the way Matty’s responses fall shorter and shorter as you tease, his voice going weak and breathy with barely-concealed need. With your free hand, you pull your phone out to type him a text.

i was fucking incredible on that stage today

hope youre ready for a long fucking night

not gonna stop unless you beg me.

Matty’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly as his gaze flickers across the screen, staring resolutely forward even as his hips shift and his cock fills under your palm. You slide your other hand under Matty’s jeans and boxers a moment later, his cock twitching needily in your palm. His knee jolts at the feeling of your hand against his bare skin, sending your full glass toppling over him, covering him in a sticky combination of soda and alcohol.

Withdrawing your hand, you gasp, turning and pretending to fuss over him. “Fuck’s sake, Matty, you- Oh, my God!” You give a spluttering laugh. Matty’s eyes go wide with fear, pleading with you as he correctly predicts your next words. “Do you have a boner?” you demand incredulously, pulling away from him in fake disgust. The table erupts into laughter, Matty’s face fire-engine red as his hands fall to his lap in a desperate attempt to preserve what’s left of his dignity. Oh, God, he looks so fucking good embarrassed like this, and it makes you squirm a little in your seat to know the humiliation is just turning him on more.

“He totally fucking does!” crows Sabrina, cackling and craning her neck for a better look.

“What’s got you all worked up, mate?” George taunts. “Been so long since you got your dick wet that you’re popping one from being next to a hot girl?”

“No,” Matty snaps. “I mean– I get my dick wet plenty, thank you very much. And I don’t have a boner,” he adds, attempting to push past you and escape. “I just— not feelin’ well. I should go.”

You elbow him harshly, and he winces, biting his tongue around a whine. “Aw, George, you think I’m– give me a second, sex pest, I’m having a conversation– you think I’m hot?”

He grins. “I think you’re a knockout, love. Hey, are you free tonight?”

You snort. “Not for you,” you shoot back, George holding his hand to his chest, mock-affronted. You finally take pity on Matty and let him out of the booth, surreptitiously sliding your hand into his pocket and dropping your spare key. Dramatic? Yes. A bit much? Maybe. But you’ve never claimed to be anything less. “I know it’s gonna be tough, but try not to stick your dick in anything that’ll cause permanent damage on the way home!” you can’t resist shouting at his retreating back. When he’s gone, you pull out your phone to text him your address.

go and wait for me, sit on your hands if you have to, but do not fucking touch yourself

if you’re good, i *might* let you cum tonight

do u want me to break in or something

check ur pocket

you’re insane

ill be home in an hour

can u behave until then?

He doesn’t answer, and you’re looking forward to finding out what that means. You stay for another two rounds, anticipation thrilling in your belly at the prospect of what (or rather, who) is waiting for you at home. Walking into your bedroom, you find Matty face-down on your bed and grinding desperately against your sheets, still fully-clothed as needy little whines slip from his lips. “God, you are just fucking pathetic, huh?” you murmur, your thighs clenching at the pretty picture he makes.

Matty gasps. “M’not touchin’, m’not touchin’,” he promises frantically, and you click your tongue.

“I know, baby. But that doesn’t look much like sitting on your hands, either,” you murmur, peeling out of your shirt and kicking off your jeans. “Couldn’t even be a good boy for me for an hour? Worthless little slut,” you scoff, and he whimpers in response. “Least you kept that pretty dick hard for me. Does that feel good? Grinding on my sheets like a little fucking whore?”

He whimpers, still face-down but not moving, like he won’t be able to control himself if he lays eyes on you. “Yes. M’sorry, feels good. Not as good as you. Didn’t mean to be bad, m’sorry,” he babbles, his desperation obvious.

“Look at me, baby, eyes on me,” you order. Matty obeys instantly, a punched-out groan slipping from his lips as he takes in the sight of you, his eyes glued to the silver barbells glinting teasingly in your nipples. You snap the waistband of your panties against your waist, the action beckoning his gaze down your body. “D'you think I look pretty?” He nods furiously, but you cut him off before he can start lavishing you with praise, rolling your eyes condescendingly. “Didn’t wear it for you, before you start. Thought maybe I’d finally find some hot guy to take me home and fuck me like I deserve,” you hiss, climbing onto the bed next to him. Taking his jaw in your hand, you brush his curls out of his face. Matty shudders under your touch, pliant and needy as he melts into your palms. “Do you think you can fuck me like I deserve, Matty?”

His pride wars openly with desire in his face, eyes glassy as his tongue flickers out to wet his lips. “No,” he says finally, the admission ghosting feebly against your lips. He succumbs so sweetly that you press your lips against his, licking the taste of sugary surrender from his mouth.

“That’s what I thought. I could be getting fucked right now, you know. Could’ve had any man I wanted. But no. I get your whining, pathetic ass in my bed instead, fuckin’ rubbing yourself off on my sheets like a disgusting animal. S’bad enough that you’re making me do all the fucking work, least you could do is behave,” you snap, and Matty squirms, your cruel words rooting in his brain, digging claws tearing his every coherent thought to shreds.

“Can make you feel good, promise,” he whimpers. “Let me make you feel good, let me make it up to you, please,” Matty begs, reaching out to tug at the elastic of your waistband.

You slap his hand away, and he whines. “Behave. So greedy,”  you chide. “Did I say you could touch me?”

“N-no.”

“Do you think you deserve to touch me?”

“I— no.” You grin, wide and predatory, and tug his shirt off over his head, running your hand down his slim, toned chest. Unbuckling his belt, you help him out of his jeans, the sticky, wet spot near the waistband of his boxers evident and growing.

You thumb over it gently, pressing the digit into Matty’s mouth as he moans and accepts it eagerly, swirling his tongue pornographically. “So fucking wet,” you murmur. “Needy little whore soaking his pants for me,” you tease. “Come here,” you order, sliding your panties down your legs, cool air kissing at your wet cunt. Matty scrambles to obey, laying between your legs and gazing up at you adoringly, seemingly unsure where to look as his eyes dart between your face, your nipple piercings catching the light, and your glistening cunt inches from his lips. “Go on. Beg for it. Beg for the privilege of touching me, of tasting me, of making me cum.”

“Fuck- fuck. Please let me get you off, sweetheart. Let me taste your pretty pussy, let me make you feel good, make you forget everything. Please just fuckin’ use me, I want— mmph!” You cut him off, pulling his face into your cunt by his hair, his pained little whimper spiralling deliciously through your body.

“Forgot how fucking annoying the sound of your voice is,” you groan, rolling your hips up against Matty’s face as he licks at your cunt like melting ice cream. “Put that mouth of yours to better use, hm?” You take his wrist in a punishing grip as he attempts to slide it up your thigh. “God, it’s like you don’t even want to cum. I never said you could touch me. Can make me cum with just your mouth or you can get up and walk out of here with nothing but that little problem between your legs, okay?”

Matty mumbles something that sounds vaguely agreeing into your cunt, pleasure coiling in your veins as Matty makes out with your hole sloppily. “Thank you s’much for lettin’ me… taste so fucking good, baby,” he moans, whining pitifully when you tug harshly on his curls.

“Don’t talk.” Your grip in his hair is punishing as he whimpers into your cunt, sucking and licking like a man starved. “God, such a fuckin’ slut, baby. You like it when I hurt you, hm?” His muffled moan of yes, fuckin’ love it vibrates through you, shivering pleasure ricocheting through every corner of your body. Matty sucks greedily on your clit, your hips bucking and legs kicking in the air.

It would be a lie to say knowing he’s getting off on the degradation doesn’t turn you on beyond belief. Your cunt pulses against his mouth, his tongue starving and wild over your clit. Matty tongue-fucks you, ravenous, his moans vibrating through your body deliciously. “Fuck,” you moan out, pulling hard on his curls to grind his face harder into your cunt. Heat thrums under your skin, biting your lip so hard you taste blood to swallow your moans. You must be suffocating him, his tongue buried deep in your cunt, but he just keeps going. A moan tears free, low and shameful, and he redoubles his efforts, swirling his tongue over your clit. You’re writhing under his attentions, dripping in his mouth as he starts tongue-fucking you at a dizzying pace. Tension pulls tight in your belly, close and electric under your skin as you clench around his tongue, Matty’s name spilling free from your mouth in a crazed entreaty, tugging on his hair just to feel his answering moan spiral through you. 

His teeth scrape over your clit, the flash of pain finally tearing you loose from your body, ecstasy cascading over you as your cunt pulses against Matty’s mouth. He laps at your dripping cunt, bliss flooding against his tongue as your body wracks with sensation. “That’s right,” you groan, desire pulsing through you, leaking into the corners of your body with every thud of your wild, insistent heartbeat. “Fuckin’ swallow my cum. All of it. Yeah, just like that. Good boy.” The words only spur him on, cleaning you up with helpless enthusiasm, essentially locking himself into an impossible task. Every swipe of his tongue only serves to make you wetter, his moans stirring arousal that pools in his mouth. You pull him off you by his hair, tugging him up to meet you.

Matty grins, already hazy and fucked-out, his lips and chin soaking wet. You commit the sight to memory for a second, bruised lips and lidded eyes, your own personal, yielding little doll. “Thank you,” he says without prompting, and you grin. All it takes is a few sugared words, and he’s putty in your hands.

“Been such a good boy,” you croon, swiping your thumb across his mouth and sucking your own taste off your skin. “You wanna fuck me?”

A flash of something dances across his face, some aborted desire he’s not brave enough to voice dying on his tongue. “Yeah. I– yeah. I want that. Really bad. But… I might not… last, uh, very long. M’so fuckin’ hard, I just want–”

You prise open his jaw, silencing him as his eyes go wide. “Don’t push your luck. I’m letting you cum, ‘cause you’ve been such a good boy for me. Cum without my permission and I’ll make you wish you weren’t born,” you threaten lowly, spitting in his open mouth to seal your words.

He swallows eagerly, nodding hard. “Okay. Uh-huh, okay. M’sorry. Won’t cum, I swear.” You push him onto his back, staring impassively down at him as you straddle his waist. “Can you– I want– please,” he stammers, words tripping over themselves to escape his mouth as you laugh meanly down at him. 

You dig your nails into his chest, anchoring yourself and scraping a mark into his skin. You start to trace your first initial, something droning and possessive buzzing in your ears, then think better of it. Slowly, you circle your hips, teasing the tip of his cock at your dripping hole. “You want me? Want me to fuck you like this?” Matty grasps needily at your hips, whimpering uncontrollable pleas into the thick, lust-drenched air of your room. He cries out as you slam your hips down, unable to stopper the moan that falls from your lips as your cunt stretches wide around him.

Grinding your clit against his stomach, you gasp as Matty thrusts up into you, fucking you impossibly deep. “Shit, Matty,” you hiss, pleasure pulsing under your skin. His gaze is fixed on your tits as you bounce on his cock, timed with his thrusts so he fills you as deep as possible. Running a hand up your body, you squeeze one of your tits, twisting the barbell just enough that it smarts a little, a pained gasp weaving effortlessly between your moans. You whine as Matty’s calloused fingers come up to circle roughly over your clit; sloppy like he can barely control his limbs. “Fuck, baby. You tryin’ to get me off faster so I don’t notice how quick you cum?” You grab his jaw so he can’t look away. “Pathetic.”

Matty doesn’t even speak, just moans helplessly as you ride him, rolling your hips and bouncing on him. Liquid heat pools in your veins, your thighs starting to burn and your heart pumping ecstasy into every nerve of your body. The slick sounds of your hips meeting echo off the walls, tangling with heavy breaths and wanton moans in a lurid melody you wish you could press to vinyl. Your nails dig into his shoulders so hard you break skin, leaving a tangible, lasting mark in the unblemished marble of his skin.

You circle your hips, head swimming with desire. Matty’s desperate little moans only turn you on more, his hips stuttering as he gets closer. Pleasure hums under your skin, a soft throb in the back of your skull and the base of your spine. Your thighs are beginning to burn with the effort, but you barely feel it as you fuck him harder, chasing your own release as it hangs tantalisingly out of reach. “You feel so good,” Matty whines, breathless and needy as he fucks up into you with abandon. His blunt nails dig into your hips, pulling you down to drive deeper into you. White spots dance in your vision, everything in your world going hazy but the point where Matty’s skin meets yours. 

Pleasure courses up your spine in a sweet, sparkling arc, moans flowing freely as Matty’s fingers tease back over your swollen clit. “Fuck, feels so fuckin’ good,” you gasp. “Doin’ so well, baby. Gonna make me cum all over your cock, yeah?” He moans, rubbing tight, frantic circles at your clit. Tension coils tightly in your belly, the thread pulling taut until it finally snaps, arousal burning up your veins and flooding out against his skin, moaning helplessly as he keeps fucking into you. Dizzy, you fall forward, bracing your arms over Matty’s head and cunt pulsing around his cock. Matty’s lips close around your nipple, licking and sucking feverishly as you ride out your orgasm. “Shit,” you mutter, his other hand twisting your piercing as he groans, every motion tinged maniacal with need. “Did so well, Matty. You gonna cum for me? Go on, baby. Fuckin’ fill me up, yeah?”

Your words tip him over the edge, cock pulsing as he spills inside you, moaning your name around your tit. He gasps and whines, writhing helplessly under you. “God, feels so fuckin’ good,” he moans. “Thank you s’much,” he adds, smiling dopily up at you as you climb off him and test your weight on your feet before you stand. When you come back from cleaning yourself up, Matty’s dressed again, looking so miserable that you can’t help but take pity on him. “I’m goin’, don’t worry.”

You scoff. “Come back here.” Matty freezes, spinning on his heel so comically slowly that you stifle a giggle. “Jesus. I’m not evil. S’fucking freezing out there, I’m not making you trek back to fucking Wilmslow after that.” Matty just stares, and you roll your eyes. “Come back before I change my mind.”

Matty strips to his boxers embarrassingly fast, but you kind of don’t have it in you to tease when he slots himself sweetly into your arms. It’s almost… nice. Blech. “Did I do good?” he murmurs, his voice soft and sleep-thick.

You scratch your nails over his head and he hums happily. “Yeah, did so good, baby. Dunno what happened to all that shit you were talking about wrecking me, though. Kinda seemed like the other way around…” you tease.

He laughs softly. “I’ll get another chance. Gonna look so pretty crying on my cock, love.”

“Promises, promises,” you say, the muscles of his stomach tensing as you trace idle patterns in his skin. “Are you gonna keep them?”

“Piss me off enough and you’ll find out.”

in gloria's defence, she does a good job of trying to maintain composure; steady voice, neutral expression, controlled breathing, all the usual tricks of the trade. to any regular person (ie., someone who hasn't known her for five years, give or take), she'd seem totally unfazed by whatever information she was getting from the other end of the phone line. but you don't miss the way her slight irritation at being interrupted rapidly morphs into composed concern, or the way her breath hitches as she listens for the first time, the way her eyes widen in accompaniment, the way her voice shakes as she ends the conversation with “i'll let the ER department know. thank you”.

manners. things really must be dire.

you tilt your head, inquisitive as ever. “how bad?”

gloria exhales. “active shooter at pittfest.”

christ. “casualties coming here?”

she nods. “we're closest.”

“jesus,” you sigh, dragging your hands down your face. “how many?”

“nothing confirmed, but it doesn't look good.”

“fuck.”

“my thoughts exactly,” gloria stands, and you rush to do the same. she smiles softly, albeit briefly. “i'm sorry to cut this meeting short, but it's imperative i speak with doctor robinavitch as soon as possible.”

the palms of your hands are clammy against the strap of your duffel bag - not out of nerves, at all, but of sudden concern for your former boss, and what extra pressure might do to him today of all days. still, you manage to hoist the bag onto your shoulder, keeping pace with gloria as she heads for the elevators. “he's here?”

in a tone that you know means not to ask for any elaboration, she responds, pressing the button for the required floor with equal sharpness. “he's here.”

“oh, okay,” the ride down is quiet, save the tinny muzak playing faintly and gloria's deep breathing, and annoyingly long - long enough, as it turns out, for you to break the unbearable quiet before you're even aware of what you're saying. “can i, um, come with you to the ER?”

she turns, raising a brow. “to do what, exactly?”

“well,” you scratch the back of your neck, still sunburnt and tender. “i wanna help. triage, stabilising, taking patients up to surgery,” you shrug. “whatever they need.”

“and you're fit to do so?”

“yes.”

“you're sure about that?”

“yes, gloria,” you huff. “you know damn well i haven't just been sitting on my ass for eight months.”

“which is exactly why i'm apprehensive, doctor,” gloria turns to look at you directly, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel a sense of déja vu about being reprimanded by a parent. “three days ago, you were still treating casualties in gaza. you flew out of jordan yesterday. hell, you've only been in pittsburgh for an hour, and you want to medically assist with a mass casualty incident?”

you swear you can't help the smirk that appears on your lips. “it's not like i don't have recent experience in that area.”

“doctor-”

“really, gloria, i can help. i want to help. you need help. please?”

she frowns. “have you even slept?”

“a solid nine hours between amman and somewhere over the atlantic.”

a beat passes. you can practically read the risk assessments gloria's doing in her head. and then, suddenly: “if robby approves… fine. but as soon as the situation is under control, you leave with the day shift tonight. you hear me?”

not a chance. “yes, boss. thank you.”

“good.”

as if on cue, the elevator dings open. gloria gently taps your arm, the most prudent display of tenderness you think you've ever witnessed from her. “let's go.”

nodding wordlessly, you follow her, weaving through the throng of gurneys and wheelchairs that have already begun to congregate around the elevator. aside from that, the pitt looks and sounds exactly the same as it did before you left - you catch a brief glimpse of mckay's ponytail swishing behind her as she heads towards the board, and a louder-than-strictly-necessary conversation in tagalog over the beeping of heart rate monitors. at the nurses’ station, you can see the backs of robby and dana's heads, facing a group of unfamiliar, wide-eyed faces that you assume belong to the newest batch of med students; gloria hurries towards them without a parting word, and you take the quiet moment to scope out the rest of the main area.

there's no sign of jack anywhere.

you aren't sure whether to feel relieved or downhearted about that.

suddenly, dana materialises in front of you, yanking you into a cigarette-scented hug and quite possibly breaking at least two of your ribs in the process. “well, color me surprised! picked a hell of a day to come back here, kid.”

“so it seems,” you return the hug, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding. she's always been good at that, dana, managing to shut down all your neuroses and getting you to relax, and you didn't quite realise just how much you'd missed her. “how are you? how's the family?”

“ehh, they're fine,” she pulls away, and your jaw drops when you see the shiner she's sporting for the first time. “me, on the other hand…”

“fuck, dana, what happened?”

“we'll call it patient dissatisfaction,” dana slings an arm around your shoulders, walking you toward the staff lockers. “which is administrator talk for some asshole guy caught me on a smoke break and clocked me one.”

“i'll kill him.”

“i don't doubt it,” she snorts, pinching the bridge of her nose. “but stop making me laugh, it fuckin’ hurts. here, gimme that,” she yanks the bag from your hands, trying locker doors until she finds one that's open. “so, when did you get back?”

“left the airport like… ninety minutes ago?”

“jeez. and you've already been home with the rest of your stuff?”

“nah, this is it. gave up my apartment before i left, remember? all my stuff's- oh, thanks,” you take the fresh scrubs from her, toeing off your shoes and stepping out of your jeans. “yeah, so, everything else is in storage.”

“where you plannin’ on sleepin’ tonight, then?”

“didn't really think that far ahead,” you shrug. “a hotel, i guess.”

dana smirks. “you know damn well someone's not gonna let you do that.”

you scoff, pulling the scrub shirt over your head. “someone doesn't even know i'm in the continental U.S., so…”

“you didn't call?”

“uh-uh,” you shake your head, busying yourself with grabbing your phone and hospital ID and stethoscope from your duffel. “it's not that i wasn't gonna,” sighing, you ram your bag into the locker, resting your head against the cool wooden door before turning to face dana again. “it just all happened so fast after i agreed to come home, y'know? like, one second, i hear myself saying yes, i'll fly to new york, no, i won't be flying back here, and the next i'm on a plane to jfk. i haven't even had time to breathe, let alone call anyone.”

“well, now's the time to start inhaling and exhaling again,” dana smiles, tugging you into another (mercifully more gentle) hug. “‘cause, quite frankly, we don't have the time or resources to resuscitate you and deal with everything headed our way,” as she pulls away, her face drops into a more serious expression; still pleasant, but tinged with the gravitas you're sure everyone in the ER is hyper-aware of. “m'glad you're here, though, kid. ready to get back out there?”

you tighten your ponytail. “i'm ready.”

you're not quite sure if you believe yourself. still, you clip your badge on and - not for the first time in your life - follow dana into the chaos. nobody's outwardly panicking, at least that you can see, but there's definitely an increased sense of urgency, and an overwhelming sombreness in the air that, thankfully, you haven't felt in the pitt very often. princess, talking in hushed tones on one of the landlines, waves at you as you walk by; mckay, on her cell phone, does the same.

before you reach robby, though, a pair of slender arms wrap around you, enveloping you in lavender perfume and obvious love. you beam, turning in samira's grasp to hug her properly, heart aching and eyes welling up purely from how much you've missed her. “hi, mimi.”

“hi, angel,” samira moves, resting her forehead on yours. her eyes, too, are teary, and if you loved her any less you'd be extremely irritated by how much it emphasises her beauty. “i'm so happy to see you.”

“likewise,” you reluctantly pull back, holding her hands while you get a proper look at her. “you look good, mimi. really good.”

she smiles, squeezing your hands affectionately. “and you look beautiful.”

“you're talking shit, mohan, i've been on an airplane for a day and a half.”

“i'm serious! you look, i don't know,” she shrugs, head tilted to the side as she ponders the right word. “confident. not that you weren't before, it's just… different. like you're more sure of yourself, secure,” she steps closer to you, and you're only mildly embarrassed by the way your heartbeat quickens as she bites her lip. “it's sexy.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. very.”

“well, you'd know,” a gurney almost bashes into your leg, and you're suddenly reminded of the situation you and samira and the rest of your colleagues are about to find yourselves in. you squeeze her hands. “as much as i'm loving flirting with you like this, mimi, i should probably go and tell at least one of the attendings i'm here before the shit hits the fan.”

samira grins, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “good to have you back, angel. see ya!”

she speeds off towards the ambulance bay, pulling her phone from her pocket as she goes. biting back your grin as best you can, you turn in the opposite direction, sidestepping frantic med students and hi-fiving your favourite nurses as you make your way towards robby, who's currently fielding questions from no less than seven people at once. dana, probably fielding even more questions with the landline phone wedged between her ear and shoulder, throws a thumbs up and raised brow in your direction; you nod, copying the motion back to her, and it isn't a lie. you are okay - or, at least, settling back into the swing of things.

and then he walks in.

somewhere in the recesses of your mind and your peripheral vision, you register perlah's shocked gasp when she notices you. or, more specifically, when she notices you staring at jack, who - thankfully, mercifully, miraculously - hasn't looked your way, too hyper-focused on getting to robby and formulating a plan of action to get caught up in the chaos and notice you hyper-focusing on him. you've no idea what sort of gormless expression your face has ended up wearing, but judging from the way perlah hisses princess' name and beckons her over to watch you too, it can't be good, and you're only a little bit disappointed in yourself for feeling grateful that everyone's too busy to start a(nother) betting pool about you and jack and whatever the fuck's going on between the two of you.

you doubt even you'll ever find out. and now really isn't the most opportune time to dwell on it.

it is, however, time you got a fucking grip and spoke to the man professionally. tightening your ponytail again, as if the pressure on your head could sharpen your brain, you make a beeline for your bosses, currently locked in one of those weird bro-hugs that men their age seem to resort to like it's second nature. it's a true sign of how focused (read: stressed) they both are that neither of them seem to notice you striding towards them until you're almost there, even when they break apart and begin walking in your direction - only when robby shifts the angle of his gaze in search for disaster bins does he see you, face twisting into utter bewilderment. “now, when i asked gloria to call in reinforcements,” he deadpans. “i didn't necessarily mean the international contingent. that said, i'm very happy to see you,” hoodie-clad arms open, and you step into them for a quick, brotherly hug. when it's done, his eyes flick to look at jack, before zoning back in on you. “did we know you were gonna be back today, or…?”

you interject before jack - who, you can see from the corner of your eye, is now staring at you so hard you wouldn't be surprised if he bored a hole in your skull - can. “no, nobody knew,” gently patting robby's arm, you turn to look at jack properly for the first time. his eyes soften almost imperceptibly, and you're sure yours do the same. you've never been able to hide your feelings for and from him, after all. “i didn't even know until three days ago - they said they needed a doctor on a flight to new york yesterday, and i agreed.”

jack nods, eyes still locked on yours. fuck, he's hot. “transplant patient?”

a nod in return. “two. aged six and ten.”

“christ. did they make it over?”

“safely in the OR as we speak.”

“attagirl. welcome back, by the way,” he steps forward, all calloused hands and big arms pulling you into a shockingly tender hug. on nothing more than sheer instinct (and a hint of hopeless, hopeless desire), you turn your head closer into the crook of his neck, taking a deep inhale of the fresh laundry and sandalwood scent that's just so sorely him it threatens to make your knees give out. he worsens it, of course he does, by pressing his lips to your hair, the soft kiss punctuated by an even more detrimental set of soft words. “fuck, i've missed you, baby.”

behind you, robby coughs pointedly. your cheeks burn, but jack is unfazed, releasing you from the hug but keeping an arm around your shoulders. he nods at his colleague. “d'you wanna liaise with dana and the other attendings while the two of us start prepping emergency supplies?”

“sure,” robby looks at you. “are you sure you're feeling up to all this?”

wrapping an arm around jack's waist, simply because you can, you nod. “wouldn't be here if i wasn't, robby.”

the relief is evident on his face. “good. alright,” he claps once, pointing to jack. “briefing in ten?”

an affirmative nod, and off robby goes. jack's arm slips from your shoulders, and you're just about to pout when he takes your hand, gently leading you towards behavioural health and the emergency supplies within; the sense of sadness you feel when he drops your hand is quickly overtaken by infatuation, watching his biceps flex as he cuts the box open and begins to unpack supplies. you follow suit, sorting hemostatic bandages into bundles, and the room falls into a comfortable silence - well, as comfortable as you can be when you're brushing arms with jack abbot in a room only occupied by the two of you, that is.

he's the first to talk. “you look good, y'know,” he clears his throat, and something in your heart twinges at the fact you managed to make doctor jack abbot even slightly nervous. “really good.”

“i do?”

“yeah. like, healthy, but also, y'know. hot.”

“hot?”

“hot, sexy, gorgeous, pick a card, any card.”

you scoff. “samira called me sexy earlier, too.”

“well, she'd know.”

“that's exactly what i said. but what is with you people today?”

jack shrugs. “guess she and i just have good taste.”

“well, i came straight here after flying for eighteen hours, so i doubt it.”

“so?”

“fuck d'you mean so?”

“so what? you were on an airplane for a while. that doesn't cancel out how hot you are, you know,” jack moves to face you, hands on his hips. “you look badass, baby.”

“hmm,” you busy yourself testing the lights on the laryngoscopes, smiling to yourself when a memory pops into your head. “you should've seen me in combat training.”

his breath hitches. when he speaks again, his voice is soft, completely devoid of any flirtation. “they taught you how to shoot? you?”

“they tried. i sucked.”

jack snorts. “did they make you wear military uniform?”

“no, just my own shit,” you shake your head. “cargo pants and a tank top, to be precise.”

“what color of tank top?”

“does it matter?”

“yes, it matters” he shoots back. “i wanna make sure my imagination's accurate.”

you roll your eyes. “black. lace trim at the top, too. happy now?”

his eyes flutter closed. you genuinely don't know if he's kidding or the thought of you holding a gun in that outfit is really working for him. hopefully, the latter. “jesus, please tell me there are pictures.”

“none that i'm prepared to show you at work.”

“ooh, even better.”

your cheeks are aflame. “you're such a guy, abbot, you know that?”

“oh, i know,” his voice is bordering on gleeful; suddenly, it's right in your ear, low and gruff and doing things to your underwear that you really, really don't need right now. “but cut me some slack, baby - s'not every day the hottest woman you know tells you there's photographic evidence of her wearing lingerie while she learns how to shoot.”

“i wasn't wearing lingerie!” you hiss, doing your utmost to appear scandalised, instead of the sickening joy you feel at the prospect of jack abbot thinking about you in your underwear. as for the comment that you're the hottest woman he knows, which you think is slightly ridiculous because, hello, samira mohan exists… yeah, that's definitely not something to be pondering in the middle of a work emergency like this.

great. now he's hugging you again.

“alright, alright, i apologise for teasing,” he murmurs, dropping another soft kiss to the side of your head and leaving you reeling. before you can forgive him, he's spinning you around to look at you properly, beautiful eyes searching for something you can't quite name deep within your own. “it isn't an easy thing, what you chose to spend the last eight months doing, and i wanna tell you how proud i am of you for doing it,” a big hand softly caresses the side of your face. “d'you wanna tell me about it now, or are you good?”

you shake your head, aware of the real meaning behind his words. “i'm good right now, i think. but thank you, jack.”

“okay. good,” a gentle swipe of his thumb over your cheekbone. “you promise you'll come to me first if that changes?”

“i promise.”

“good girl.”

fuck.

before you've managed to pick your jaw up from the floor, jack's hand is back in yours, leading you towards the crowd of people gathered around robby. with a final squeeze, he lets go, shifting into chief attending mode as he moves to stand beside his old friend. once you've gowned up, you hover around the fringes of the group, waving a quick hello at john shen, and tuning into robby's speech when he mentions your name and the fact you've “returned today from humanitarian work in gaza, treating casualties in an area under constant attack. she's already one of the best residents we've ever had, but her more recent experience makes her particularly invaluable to us today.”

as you blush, jack nods, tossing you a hi-vis and turning back to address the crowd. “as such, she'll be co-primary ER with me. every other department has a single primary who will oversee their staff. if you need someone, look for the vest - we're all gonna have walkies, we can get you whatever you need,” he sidles closer to you, leaning down to address you and you alone while robby continues preparing everyone else. “sorry for springing that responsibility on you. but i wouldn't have done it if i didn't think you were the most capable person in the room.”

you nod, too overwhelmed by his gesture and his belief in you and just him to say anything. jack copies the movement, turning and easing himself back into the briefing; you do the same, listening to robby explain the colored slap-band system, and winking at samira when she's told she'll be working with you and jack. he speaks next, outlining the time restraints for stabilising patients that you now know firsthand he learned from working in an active warzone, nudging you once he's done talking the staff through the ins and outs of combat medicine. “anything you wanna add, doc?”

folding your arms, you turn towards the med students and interns, all of them visibly fighting to keep the fear from their eyes with varying levels of success. “what we're asking you to do is a total contradiction: use your instincts when you diagnose, abandon them when you treat. we're all driven by a desire to help people as much as we can, to do everything in our power to save their lives, and that desire is heightened when we see people as in need of help as those we're about to treat,” taking a deep breath, you continue. “and it won't be easy, at first, but you have to fight that desire. today, saving means stabilising, and our friends in other departments will do the rest. do only what you absolutely have to, as fast as you can, and leave it at that. it's the only way we'll be able to help as many people as possible,” you look at jack, an unreadable expression in those beautiful eyes of his. “so… yeah.”

“nicely put,” he murmurs, turning away from you and increasing the volume of his voice. “everything you need - blood, drugs, bandages - everything will be in behavioural health, that's our supply depot.”

“oh,” you interject, another piece of advice springing to mind. “i'd also recommend keeping a couple of 11-blades on you at all times. basically, we really want to be focused on resuscitation, so we can get people upstairs and treated as quickly as possible. sorry,” you tap jack's forearm lightly. “i didn't mean to interrupt.”

“not at all,” he nudges you lightly, a faint smile on his face. “you took the words right out of my mouth, actually.”

robby gestures to the two of you. “see? trust your attendings, people. alright, trauma surgery and neurosurgery will assess…”

the rest of the shift passes in a blur of blood, sweat, and gurneys, a seemingly infinite loop of casualty after casualty appearing in front of you in dire need. it would unsettle you if you were any less focused, you think, the fact that the pitt - your home, for all intents and purposes - looks and feels more like the warzone you just left than the hospital you're used to. but there's no time to think about that, not when you have patients to work on and questions to answer and jack looking at you intensely whenever he gets a free millisecond.

mid-crike on a young man with a GSW to the chest, the latter becomes unbearable. you glance up to meet his gaze. “you good?”

“hmmm? oh, yeah,” he clears his throat, eyes flitting to the procedure you're performing for a split-second, before they return to you. “peachy.”

you hum. “so why do you keep staring at me?”

he's quiet for a second. then comes the sigh. “how long would it have taken you to call me and tell me you were home, if this,” he gestures wildly. “hadn't happened?”

at the head of the gurney, princess' eyes widen. yours do the opposite as you glare at jack. “are you seriously asking me this right now?”

“please,” he scoffs. “either one of us could do a crike with our eyes closed…”

“that's beside the point.”

“...and, frankly, it's been bugging me since i laid eyes on you today,” he finishes. “so, put me out of my misery - when?”

you blow a stray hair out of your face, downing tools and scanning over the patient a final time. “princess, take him to the OR, please,” once the gurney's out of the way, you step closer to jack. “tonight. wanted to clear it with gloria before i talked to you.”

his brow furrows. “what? why?”

god, he's so stupid. “so i knew i'd only need your approval when i asked you if i could work nights, dipshit.”

jack's mouth falls open, and almost immediately shifts into one of those smirks you pretend not to find attractive. “i knew you liked it best when i was telling you what to do.”

“fuck off,” you scoff, doing your best to ignore the daydreams springing up in your mind about him telling you what to do in a more, well, intimate context. “i could still change my mind, work daytimes again.”

“don't even think about it,” he puts a hand on the small of your back, tugging you out of the way of another gurney and closer to him, far closer than probably appropriate for work. but why would you complain, when you're so close to him that you can perfectly see the border between brown and green in his eyes, focused on your own like they always are when you're around him? “you're my girl.”

adoration. that's what he's looking at you with. that's what he's always looked at you with.

and, yeah, he's right. you're his. completely, utterly, totally his. blinking up at him, you nod slowly. “yours.”

he huffs out a laugh - nothing malicious, more… bewildered. overwhelmed, maybe. “you know i'm not just talking about work, right?”

“i'm not stupid, jack.”

“no, you're not,” he agrees. “i might be, though, instigating this conversation in the middle of a fucking crisis,” someone calls your name, frantic, and jack all but shoves you towards the sound. “go, baby, do your thing. i'll find you later.”

***

“i cannot believe you let an intern do a REBOA.”

you smile around your cigarette, turning to face jack. robby, looking like the dictionary definition of the word drained, also turns to him, brows raised. “i'm sorry, one of the interns performed a REBOA?’

“exactly,” jack nods towards you. “we give her attending powers for two minutes, and she lets them run wild.”

humming to yourself, you ash your cigarette. “it worked, didn't it?”

“that's beside the point.”

“oh, please, you're just mad because i got to see it and you didn't.”

robby chuckles quietly - you think that's probably the limit of his expression of amusement, given what he just went through. jack's scowl deepens; suddenly, it disappears, handsome face adorned with a slight smile instead. “that's true, actually,” so quick you can't stop him, he plucks the cigarette from your fingers, taking a long drag of it himself with a hum of satisfaction, and you actively have to fight the urge to moan at the sight. “why didn't you just do it yourself, though?”

“interns gotta learn, don't they?” you wave jack away when he tries to pass the cigarette back, smiling politely when robby gratefully accepts it instead. “they're a good group of kids, y'know. i'm looking forward to working with them.”

robby smiles. “as long as you keep the tutorials for the crazy last-resort emergency surgeries to a minimum.”

“no promises, dude, the night shift's like the wild west.”

“and you're sure we can't tempt you into working days?”

jack elbows him in the arm. “quit trying to poach my senior residents, will you?” he wraps a big arm around your waist, pinky finger brushing your hipbone so lightly you aren't sure if he's aware he's doing it. “she's exactly where she wants to be.”

as usual, he's exactly right. well, almost - “i do also really want to be in the park with a beer right now.”

a soft squeeze of your waist. “then let's go.”

understandably, post-work drinks are quieter than they've been in the past, both in number of attendees and atmosphere-wise. but it's nice, you think, chatting quietly to samira and victoria, savouring the coolness of your drink, snuggling into jack's side without giving a shit about your coworkers seeing. between the latter and the way jack takes your hand in his to walk you home, you know your names will appear somewhere on ahmad's betting board tomorrow, but you really, truly couldn't care less.

still, you wait until you're well out of earshot before you talk. “you do know i gave up my apartment, right?”

“i do.”

“okay,” you bite the inside of your cheek, hoping your sudden nervousness doesn't manifest itself in the form of sweaty palms, because you'd hate to have to let go of jack's hand. “are we going back to your place?”

he stops. turns. gently strokes your face. “that was my plan, yeah. unless you'd rather, uh, something else.”

“no!” the word almost trips over itself in its haste to leave your lips. “sorry, i mean… no, i wanna go home with you. if that's alright.”

“of course it's alright,” his voice is as soft as you've ever heard it. “whatever you want, baby.”

just as softly as him, you reply. you're barely loud enough to hear yourself over your heartbeat (slightly tachy, but strong) pulsing in your ears, but that's okay - you've been thinking these next three words since the first day you met jack abbot. “i want you,” you exhale, slow and shaky, as his hands move to cup your jaw. “and i wanna be yours. officially, i mean,” you smile sheepishly. “you had me within ten minutes of us meeting, you know.”

“that makes two of us,” jack rests his forehead on yours, looking down at you so tenderly you could cry. “you know, i don't even think it took ten minutes for me to start thinking about kissing you. five, maybe. seven and a half at most,” he murmurs. “and i haven't stopped thinking about it ever since.”

you grin. “wanna stop thinking about it and actually do it?”

it doesn't even take him a second to get his lips on yours.

the kiss is jack in reverse - sweet, at first, soft hums and gentle hands trailing down to your waist, turning into something harder, more forceful and passionate, as you kiss him back. when you moan into his mouth, it shifts - he shifts - into something unfamiliar, something desperate, his tongue licking into your mouth and his hands grabbing your ass so roughly you think (and, honestly, you hope) you might bruise. in all the years you've known him, not once have you ever witnessed jack abbot lose even a semblance of his military-honed self-control, and now, here he is, groaning like a slut against your lips and practically grinding on you on a public sidewalk after one singular kiss.

you fucking love it.

so much, in fact, that you whine when he pulls away, slightly dazed and breathing heavily and maybe the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. jack smirks at the sound, ducking in to give you another quick kiss before grabbing your hand. “c'mon. can't have you making noises like that in public, or i'll end up getting us arrested for indecent exposure.”

you smirk right back. “god, you're so into me.”

“damn right i am.”

thankfully, the walk to jack's apartment isn't very far, even factoring in all the breaks you take to steal kisses from each other. he keeps kissing you in the elevator to his floor, too, pressing you against the mirrored wall and his thigh between your legs with just enough force to make you whimper, smiling against you at the sound while you tangle your fingers into his hair. you find yourself pressed against the back of jack's front door in a similar fashion a few minutes later, except now his lips and teeth and tongue are exploring the uncharted territory of your neck, long kisses punctuated by little nips to the smooth skin and the sexiest moans you've ever heard.

his hands are also exploring, moving from your waist to hips to ass, and you know perfectly well his silly analytical brain is determined to find the place that makes you moan loudest - when he cups your clothed cunt, he gets his answer, pulling back from your neck and beaming at you, wild-eyed. “can feel how fucking wet you are already, baby,” jack coos, and your knees almost buckle. “want me to do something about it?”

a wanton moan. “yes.”

he raises a brow. “yes what?”

“yes, sir.”

jack's jaw slackens. suddenly, your legs are around his waist, and he's moving you through the only vaguely-familiar hallways with surprising ease; even more suddenly, your back meets a firm mattress, and then, when he flicks the bedside lamp on, your eyes meet his. the old adoration is still there, peeking out within the lust, and it does something weird to your already-tachy heart.

he taps your ankle, breaking you out of the reverie you were just about to fall headfirst into. “still with me, baby?”

you nod, legs opening in invitation. “always.”

“that's my girl,” he takes the invitation, stepping closer to the bed and thumbing at the waistband of your scrubs. “may i?”

you nod again.

“need to hear you say it, gorgeous.”

“yes,” your voice is breathier than you've heard it in a long time. maybe ever. “please take my clothes off, jack.”

“fuck, baby - shit, sorry, i forgot about your shoes, let me just… okay, lift your hips for me, just like that,” as the fabric slides down your legs, he winks at you. there's a slight flush to his cheeks, and in the low light of the bedroom he looks nothing short of perfect. “got there in the end, huh?”

“mhmm,” pre-empting jack's next request, you sit up, raising your arms. he pulls your shirt over your head, and you're not quite sure if the subsequent goosepimples that flutter across your arms are because of the sudden cold or the mortifying realisation that you're wearing a bra you literally bought during the obama administration. “would've dressed up a bit more if i thought this was happening, y'know,” you smile, sheepish. “sorry.”

jack shakes his head, dark eyes trained on your chest. “nah,” he starts, looking you up and down in a manner you can only describe as predatory. it's hot. “you're perfect.”

“really?”

“absolutely fuckin’ perfect,” another kiss, the most desperate yet, jack's tongue practically down your throat and his still-clothed-but-very-obvious hard-on pressing deliciously against your heat. he's actually panting when he pulls away to talk, hands clutching at the bedsheets beside your head like a life raft. “you know, i was gonna go about this in a gentlemanly way,” he begins, breath syncing with the rhythm of your own. “but honestly, baby, i gotta fuck you, right now,” his forehead gently meets yours, the tenderness totally incongruous with the blunt desire of his words. “you game?”

what a stupid fucking question. it's not as if you’ve been getting off to the thought of that for years, or anything.

still, you nod, breathless and enthusiastic. “yes, sir.”

“such a good girl for me,” he coos, reaching round to unclasp your bra. “you wanna watch in the mirror? see how pretty you look taking my cock?”

jesus h fucking christ alive.

just as enthusiastically as before, you return to nodding, humming happily at the feeling of jack's hands feeling up your bare tits. “yes, please.”

“and how do you wanna be fucked?”

“hard.”

jack grins, yanking his shirt off. “your wish is my command.”

and, boy, does he follow orders well. better than you, anyway, proven when you watch him take off his prosthetic leg and insist upon riding him so he's more comfortable, ignoring his protests and reassurances that he's fine, he wants this, he's “been dreaming of fucking you like this for years, baby”. but you're just as stubborn as jack (some would and have described you both as pigheaded), with a years-long habit of being concerned about him and his leg (which, in any other context, he's very grateful for), and you don't give in until he pushes you forward onto your stomach and pins you to the mattress, sliding a pillow underneath his right leg and another under your hips. you feel yourself getting wetter at the casual dominance of it all; jack notices, too, and actually rips the panties off you for a better look, which only has you gushing even more for him. “oh, baby,” his voice is already hoarse. “you really want me, huh?”

“yes,” you whimper, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “need you, sir.”

“sweet girl,” jack kisses your shoulder. you like him best like this, you think, sex personified and tenderness all rolled into one. “what do you need me to do?”

you exhale, shaky, but your voice comes out strong. “i need you to fuck me.”

in lieu of a verbal response, he slides the head of his cock through your folds, gathering the plentiful wetness there - only when he meets your cunt does he speak, that fucking voice cutting through your whimpers and pleas like a hot knife into butter. “gonna slip inside now, okay?

“okay,” you whisper, breath catching at the feeling of jack finally, finally fucking you, thick cock stretching you out more than you've ever been before, hurting in the most delicious way. “feels good, feels so good, jack.”

“yeah,” he chokes out, beautiful eyes rolling back as he sinks impossibly further into you. “holy shit, baby,” another kiss to your shoulder as he bottoms out; suddenly, he's softly turning your head to kiss you properly. “you good?”

“perfect.”

“damn straight,” he pulls back, bracing his hands flat on the mattress. “gonna fuck you now.”

not a question, but a statement. a promise.

one, as it turns out, jack relishes fulfilling. your brain swiftly becomes so hazy you can barely see, even though he won't let you take your eyes off the mirror, tugging your ponytail and groaning “keep your eyes on me. eyes on me, baby… good. good girl” the second your head drops forward, but you can feel how much he wants this - how much he wants you - from the way he snaps his hips into your ass, fast and deep and rhythmic and determined, determined to make you feel good the way you've both wanted him to for so long. you've dreamed about him fucking you like this before, of course you have, hand down your pants or vibrator pressed to your clit on lonely nights, but the fantasies all pale in comparison to the real thing. after all, there's no way you could've imagined just how deep he'd be able to fuck you, or the sound you'd make when he hit that spot with just enough force to make your legs start shaking, or the way his face would light up at the realisation. “you like that, baby?”

“yeah,” you push yourself up on wobbly arms into a sort-of cobra pose, turning to kiss him sloppily. “m'gonna cum if you keep doing that.”

“god, please,” jack whines, the sound going straight between your legs. “s'all i want,” he kisses you, biting your lip and smiling when you moan into him. “wanna feel you cum on my cock. you can do that for me, can't you, baby? yeah. ‘course you can.”

fuck.

he's right, though, as he usually is - the tension is already beginning to build in your lower stomach, tightening with every movement of jack's hips. your arms give out, but you force yourself to keep your head up and your eyes locked on your own sweaty, messy-haired reflection. jack hums approvingly at your focus, leaning down to kiss your shoulder; the change of angle drives him even deeper into your cunt, so deep it's bordering on physically impossible for you, which in turn drags you onto the precipice of your orgasm and a desperate half-scream from your throat.

(what can you say? you've always enjoyed pushing yourself to the absolute limit.)

the pressure in your stomach becomes almost unbearable. you blink rapidly, chest heaving, flailing for jack's forearm and digging your nails in so hard he'll be marked for at least a few days. somewhere in the recesses of your sex-addled brain, you wonder if he's into that - then, he thrusts into you again, and your brain clears completely in favour of focusing on how taut the feeling in your stomach is. “sir,” you whimper, because it's the first means of addressing him that comes into your head, your tears falling thick and fast down your face and onto the heather-grey bedsheets. “m'close, m'so fucking close,” legs and lips trembling, you meet jack's gaze in the mirror, heart fluttering at the way he's looking at you hungrily. “please let me cum, sir, please.”

he nods. sharp, commanding, sexy. “do it, baby. be a good girl and cum for me.”

your body reacts accordingly, tension breaking apart in your stomach and skittering, fragmented, through your nervous system, soundtracked by the single sluttiest moan you've ever made. your cheeks burn, your limbs shake, your cunt clenches so tightly around jack that he actually chokes. he recovers enough to kiss your shoulder when you softly whimper his name, though, thrusts turning shallower and shallower as his own orgasm threatens to overwhelm him. “fuck, you're so good to me, baby, cumming on my cock like that,” he groans, hips falling out of rhythm for the first time tonight. “my good girl, my fuckin’ perfect girl,” a big hand finds your ass, kneading the soft flesh. “christ, baby, i'm gonna cum, i'm gonna fuckin’ cum,” jack gasps. “where d'you want it?”

no other answer. “inside, please.”

“god,” jack cums with a whine of your name, pressing his forehead to the back of your head as he pulses heat inside you. “fuck, thank you.”

you hum softly, pressing a kiss to his bicep as he flops - carefully - onto you; you're thankful for him grounding you, actually, keeping you from floating away in that hyperspecific but seldom-experienced euphoria that follows really, really good sex. there's a lingering silence in the room, aside from you and jack breathing heavily in sync, but not an uncomfortable one. it's… peaceful. contented. safe, even.

speaking of safe - jack's right hand comes up to the back of your head, fingers resting on the hair tie you've been wearing for god knows how long. “may i?”

“yes please,” you sigh as he deftly manoeuvres it out, the same hand sliding back into your hair to gently massage your scalp. “thank you for this. all of it, i mean, the sex, too,” you glance up at him in the mirror, smiling bashfully when you meet his gaze. “you're really taking care of me tonight.”

“i'd do it forever, if you let me,” he kisses your temple, voice lowering as he speaks again. “please let me, baby. i just wanna, y'know,” his voice cracks slightly. “keep you safe.”

you nod, turning as best you can to look at jack properly. “i would really like that.”

“good,” he breathes, leaning down to kiss you gently, which somehow feels even more intimate than him literally finishing inside you did. “let's go for a shower.”

the comfortable silence continues in the bathroom, you and jack too busy savouring the warm water to talk, but the casual intimacy stays; he's insistent on pulling you onto his lap in the shower chair and washing your hair for you, looking up at you like you hung the moon when you return the favour, pressing soft kisses onto your chest whenever you reach up properly to shampoo him.

you stay in there until the water goes cold, too happy and content to do anything but make out. and you'd be happy to do that once you've dried off and climbed back into bed, too, but jack has other ideas, settling you between his legs with your back to his chest and making you scroll through doordash while he traces little patterns onto your bare thigh. he keeps that up even after the burgers arrive and you've moved to the sofa, eyes flitting between you and the tv every few seconds, almost as though he can't quite believe you're actually there beside him.

you know how he feels. the kissing was one thing, the sex was another, but to be here, with jack, in his house, wearing his clothes, smelling like his body wash, curled into his chest, domestic… it's surreal.

so surreal, in fact, that you can't stop yourself giggling. jack turns, a bewildered half-smile on his face, gently poking your side. “you good, baby?”

“yeah, i'm just… i don't know, actually,” you laugh even harder, rubbing your eyes in a futile attempt to focus. “what a fucking weird day.”

“that's an understatement,” he rests his head on yours. “you know i kinda thought i was hallucinating when i saw you at work earlier?”

that sobers you up. you grab his hand, rubbing circles into the calloused skin with your thumb. “yeah, i, uh, i should've called you. i'm sorry.”

he shrugs. “i know why you didn't.”

“still shitty of me, leaving so abruptly and turning up one day like nothing had happened,” you look down at the coffee table, the remnants of dinner strewn across it. “i guess i just didn't know where else to go when i got off the plane.”

“you could've come here, you know.”

“and freaked you out even more?”

“no. well, yeah, but,” he kisses your head. “i still would've been happy to see you.”

“you're sweet.”

he makes a face.

“you are, jack. too sweet, sometimes, i think,” you smile. “it's kinda confusing, actually. i was never quite sure where i stood with you.”

jack tilts his head. analysis mode. “is that why you left? well, i mean, i know you went out there because they needed doctors, but,” a scratch to the back of his neck. nervous. “it seemed kinda… reactive. like, you'd never mentioned it, then you said you'd applied, and then you were gone the next day. and i had no idea when you were gonna come back - if you were gonna come back,” he exhales. “and there was a voice in the back of my head the whole time, telling me that it was all my fault.”

your heart sinks. “jack…”

“i thought about begging you not to go,” he twists his wedding ring, something you've only seen him do when things are really getting to him. “and i thought about calling you every day for the past eight months, begging you to come home. but i couldn't,” he laughs, mirthless. “because i was a fucking coward, and i kept putting off telling you how i really feel about you, and it would've been manipulative of me if i'd only done it to stop you leaving and doing this amazing thing,” he strokes your cheek with one hand, wiping tears from your lashline that you didn't know had formed. “please don't cry, baby. i'm sorry.”

you shake your head, lip trembling; before you start sobbing, though, jack pulls you into a tight hug. “i've got you,” he whispers, sounding like he's on the verge of tears himself. “i swear.”

“i know,” you sniffle. “god, sorry, i'm crying all over your shirt.”

“we're doctors. you know damn well i've been covered in worse.”

a weak laugh. “yeah,” you take a deep inhale of said shirt, the familiar scent of him helping to regulate your nervous system faster than any drug could. “and you're wrong by the way. about my leaving being your fault,” another sniffle. “i just… i kept getting this feeling like i didn't know what my place in the world was. and when they put the call out for doctors, i just thought what the hell, let's do it, let's go and help people who really, really need me. selfish, really,” you attempt a smile that probably comes across more as a grimace. “i just needed to feel like i was needed, and i sent myself into the middle of a fucking genocide to achieve it,” you laugh, manic, dragging your hands down your face. “selfish and self-destructive. what a fucking combo.”

jack gently pulls your hands from your face, taking them in his own. “hey,” his eyes are warm, if slightly concerned. “you're talking to someone who joined a SWAT team for something to do during the day. i get the self-destruction, baby, i really do. and as for the needy part,” he takes a deep breath, handsome face the most nervous you've ever seen it. “i need you.”

you close your eyes, an invisible weight lifting from your chest; you'd been carrying it so long you'd almost forgotten it was there. “say it again. please.”

you can hear the smile in his voice. “i need you, baby,” he kisses your cheek, trailing little pecks to and onto your lips. “i've been a fucking mess without you these past eight months.”

“that makes two of us,” you smile, genuinely, leaning in to kiss him properly. “god, we really gotta find some hobbies. how d'you feel about board games?”

“meh,” his lips are on your neck, now, drawing little satisfied hums from your throat. “i'd rather just play with you, if i'm being honest.”

“you're a freak, jack.”

“says the girl with the crippling praise kink.”

“i mean, i wouldn't say crippling-”

“you almost told a guy he was pregnant once immediately after i said you'd done a good job on an intubation. and then there was the-”

“alright, i get it!”

jack laughs. it's the best sound in the world. “hey,” he murmurs, pulling you further onto his lap. “can i tell you something i think you'll like?”

“you can tell me anything you want. except, y'know, tales of my embarrassing exploits at work.”

he smiles, the sun breaking through clouds. “i love you.”

you've often wondered what it would feel like to hear him say that. in your daydreams, it always had an earth-shattering impact, sending you into floods of tears or fainting spells - real, gooey romance novel shit. but now, in real life? nothing, with the exception of a very faint sense of déja vu, the feeling of coming home to a cosy house on a winter's day. warm. comforting. safe. familiar.

somewhere, deep down, you think you already knew jack abbot loved you.

you smile back at him, leaning up to whisper against his lips. “can i tell you something i think you'll like?”

“go on, baby.”

“okay,” you kiss the end of his nose, huffing out a soft laugh at the adorable way he scrunches it up. “i love you too.”

he grins. “enough to show me those pictures of you in combat training?”

“Hey, are you busy on Halloween?” you ask, letting your head dangle off the bed so you can see Matty.

He grins over at you. “Yeah. There’s this girl I know, been seeing her for a while now, and I know she loves horror movies. I was thinking about buying her a bunch of tacky American Halloween candy and letting her show me all her favourites. As long as she lets me hide in her tits during the scary parts,” he adds with a little smirk. “D’you think she’d like that, love?”

You give a glowing smile. “That sounds amazing, babe. For the 30th. Because you are busy on Halloween, Matthew. You are coming with me to Maya’s Halloween party,” you declare.

Raking a hand across his face, Matty groans. “You know how I feel about parties in this city, darling.”

You smile blithely. “And you know how I feel about Halloween. Promise I won’t leave your side, okay? But this is actually important to me. Me and Maya do Halloween every year.” You pause, a grin crossing your face. “And I wanna dress you up.”

Quizzically, Matty tilts his head. “I’m listening.”

“Oh, I love you,” you grin, clapping your hands together excitedly. “So, I was thinking about Halloween last year, the Detroit show, right? Well, mostly I was thinking about how good you looked covered in blood,” you add, flipping onto your stomach and propping your chin up on your palms. “Shows how committed I am to Maya’s Halloweens. Any other day and I would’ve caught a redeye to jump your bones.” Matty laughs softly. “Anyway, I was thinking about you all sexy and covered in blood and dressed up like a male manipulator, and it hit me.”

You pause for deliberate dramatic effect, and Matty rolls his eyes. “You get mad at me when I drag things out for this long.”

“Shut your mouth. We’re going as Veronica and JD, okay?”

Matty’s eyes gleam. “Are you gonna wear the little pleated skirt?” he grins, finally getting out of the chair and crossing the room to lay next to you.

Pressing your body into his, you sigh happily. “Perv. Are you in?”

He grins, presses a soft kiss to your lips, lets his hand wander down to your ass. “Only because I love you.”

“Mmm, yeah, I’m perfect. Now, d’you wanna pick out what I’m gonna wear underneath? Something to keep you going through the night.” Matty grabs your face and kisses you deeply, grinning breathlessly as he pulls away. His hands trail down to the hem of your shirt, grasping and pulling it off, then fly to unhook your bra. “Eager,” you tease, winding a stray curl around your finger.

Matty grins against your mouth. “I need to be able to visualise it, right?” he says cheekily. “I’m an artist, I need to be able to see the full picture, yeah?” You roll your eyes, giggling and deliberately pushing your ass into his face as you crawl up the bed and relax against the pillows.

Dropping your hands to your waist, you slide your panties down your legs, flinging them at Matty with a grin. “Are you getting a good visual, babe?” You prop your laptop up next to you, start browsing through lingerie sites as Matty gazes adoringly over at you.

“Shit, y’can’t just do that, bunny,” he groans. Turning wide, innocent eyes on him, you click through to a pretty little black babydoll dress. “Don’t give me that look. The big, sweet, virgin eyes don’t work when I’ve had my tongue in your arse,” he smirks.

The memory washes over you and you shiver. “Don’t be crass,” you pout, angling your laptop screen so he can see.

The heat of his body presses into your back as he climbs into bed next to you. “You’re literally fucking naked and showing me lingerie,” he complains. “If I can’t be crass now, when can I be?” Long fingers trace over your thighs, sliding over your ass and squeezing greedily.

“Mmm, okay,” you concede. “Yeah, okay, c’mere.” You roll over, lay on top of him, kiss him hungrily. “Fuck, I want you.”

Matty grinds his hips up against yours, breath coming harshly against your mouth. “Whatever you want, you’ll get, bunny,” he grins, breaking away from you just long enough to pull off his shirt.

Leaning down, you kiss the exposed skin. “Gonna be a proper little bunny for you,” you promise, sliding your cool palms down his chest to his belt. “Wanna ride you, bounce on it, yeah?” you grin, sliding a hand into his sweats. Matty’s cock twitches in your palm, and you stroke him gently before pulling him free.

“Good girl,” Matty grins. “Good little bunny.” You sink down on him, throw your head back, get lost in his hands and his skin and his cock buried inside you. You spend the rest of the night letting him have you in whatever position he wants, finally falling asleep sweat-soaked and sated in his arms.

Halloween finally rolls around, and you’re lazing on the bed and happily ogling Matty as he splotches fake blood on his face. “No, Matty, you’re— You look like a ten year old that just ate spag bol for dinner,” you huff, getting to your feet. “Here,” you say, stepping up to him and gently dabbing a damp cloth on his face.

Matty smiles softly, eyes drifting down to your chest and the black lace cupping your boobs. He presses a soft kiss to your lips, grabs your ass under your skirt, sucks on your lower lip. “Do we—”

“I swear to God, Matthew, if you ask me if we have to go one more time, no sex until next Halloween,” you tease, dripping the fake blood over his forehead and smudging black eyeshadow over his cheek. “There you go,” you grin, pulling back to admire his pretty, sculpted features, long-lashed brown eyes blinking down at you.

“But you look so fucking good,” he whines. “C’mon, you know how fast I get you off, lemme eat you, baby,” Matty pleads.

You swat his arm, scowling playfully. “And fuck up the makeup I just put on you? Nope,” you pop the ‘p’ slightly obnoxiously. “You’re just gonna have to be patient. You can whisper all the dirty things you wanna do to me in my ear all night, and I’ll take my pick when we get home, alright?

Matty groans frustratedly. “Right now, all I wanna do is bend you over, flip up that fucking skirt and fuck you until that party is the last thing on your mind,” he groans, trying to grab you, but you waltz out of his reach.

Smirking from a few feet away, you give a little spin, tiny skirt flaring out and showing off the soft curve of your ass. Matty makes a pathetic little noise, and you scoff. “Behave yourself.” You stop in front of the mirror, turning this way and that to appraise yourself. “Tell me how pretty I am, and then it’s time to go,” you add, grinning at his reflection.

“You are…” Matty gives a deep sigh. “The most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. And the most frustrating.”

You laugh airily. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m a massive cocktease, heard it all before. C’mon, coat on, let me see the full outfit.” Matty shrugs on the trenchcoat, and you stop cold. “Oh, my God, you’re so hot,” you rush out, almost a moan. “Okay, okay, the car’s here, we need to go before I let you distract me any more.”

Ducking out of Matty’s path as he tries to kiss you, you beeline for the door. It takes you minutes to wrangle him into the car, wincing and apologising to the driver. Matty tries desperately to grope you the entire ride, and you keep swatting his hands away with teasing little giggles. The music is practically shaking the foundations of the building as you walk up, every step sure even in six-inch heels.

It takes forever to find anyone you know well enough to want to talk to, shrugging off a dozen sycophantic influencers who just want a story for Twitter. Matty’s pressed close to you, his hand in yours warm and grounding in the sticky-hot room. You can tell he’s already ready to throw in the towel, so you pull him to the bar. “C’mon. This’ll be way more fun when we’re drunk.” You press a lime wedge into his mouth before slamming three tequila shots, kissing him hard as you suck the sharp, sour taste out of his mouth.

Matty leans over and orders a drink, downs it and orders a second before you wander away again. A high squeal of your name makes you turn, grinning widely as Maya bowls into your arms. “You look amazing! ‘Oh, it’s not much,’ my ass,” she scoffs, pulling back to take you in properly. “And you!” she adds, punching Matty in the arm. “I’ve been trying to get you to come to these things for five fucking years, Healy.”

Shrugging, Matty smiles ruefully. “Sorry. But, it would’ve been six, if not for this one. Too convincing for her own good,” he says, tugging you in by the waist and kissing your temple.

Maya grins. “Yeah. I kinda hate you and Charli now, you know?” You scrunch your brow quizzically. “I had to change venues three times, ‘cause so many people wanted to come. Everyone wants to be wherever you two are. Bloody logistical nightmare,” she teases. “Now, come on. I wanna dance.” You grab her hand eagerly, throwing a glance at Matty over your shoulder. “Don’t be a snore, Healy. Come on, or you’re not getting her back at the end of the night.”

You stretch out your other hand, grinning widely, and Matty takes it after a split second. You squeal in delight, tugging him along to the dancefloor. Laughing delightedly, you let Maya pull you in, rest her hands on your hips as you grind back against her. “Are you sure it has to be him?” she teases. “It’s like you’re dating my gross older brother.”

You laugh, meeting Matty’s eyes. “I’m in love with him, unfortunately,” you mock-sigh. “Plus, I love you, but I am never giving up the sex,” you add, spinning to face her. “I mean, oh, my God. He does this thing where he folds me in half, and—”

Maya shrieks, shoving at you. “Ew! You heard what I said about him being my brother, right? Get away from me, I need to go and drink until I forget that you said that,” she groans, and you roll your eyes and let yourself drop into Matty’s waiting arms.

“We’ve done it at your house, by the way!” you shout at her retreating back, cackling when she claps her hands over her ears.

“Why are you telling my little sister about our sex life?” Matty says with a long-suffering sigh.

“You guys are such prudes. I was only telling her about that thing you do where you bend me in half, how good you are. I want you to do that to me later tonight, okay?” you smirk, swaying your hips to the beat.

Matty smirks, leans down to speak in the shell of your ear. “You’re fucked if you think you’re giving me orders, bunny,” he says, and you shudder, slinging your arms around his neck.

You dig into your purse, pluck something out at random to drop to the floor. “Oops,” you giggle, bending over and pressing your ass into him. “Wait, is that Charli? C’mon, your other half must be around here somewhere,” you say, darting off as Matty follows you with a beleaguered sigh.

Sat across from Charli, you throw back your head in laughter as she recounts a story from her last photoshoot. You’re in Matty’s lap, squirming deliberately to rile him up, even while you sip innocently at your rum and coke. “Stop it,” he murmurs in warning. “Behave yourself.”

You giggle. “Never.”

Charli pulls you off to dance again, and you lose your head in a dizzy, drunken haze of thudding bass and glowing flashbulbs. Matty’s hands are on your hips, his lips on your neck, and you grind your hips back against his. “It’s a shame there’s still so long left. I wish you could take me home already.” You take his hand, slide it under your skirt, gasping as he slips it into your panties. His fingers brush lightly over your cunt, and you can’t suppress a moan. “Feel that? Feel how wet you make me? Gonna be such a good girl for you tonight.”

“Oh, my God,” Matty groans into your neck. “Oh, my God, bunny, you’re fucking killing me. Please let me take you home. I wanna do things to you. Bad things. Disgusting, perverted things.”

You grin, spinning in his arms so you can press your back to his chest and grind your ass against his hips. “Like what?” you say, low and breathy. “Convince me,” you add, red-painted lips stretching wide around a smirk.

Matty’s hands slide around your chest, groping you obscenely and groaning. “You know what you do to me like this, love. I can’t take much more, m’gonna have to fuck you right here. When I get you home, it’s up against the wall, okay? Gonna rip those fucking panties off, fill you up, fuck you so good you can’t even remember your own name. Then you can bend over the counter for me and I’ll get you all cleaned up, yeah?”

Arousal clenches tight in your stomach. You sway your hips. “Mmm, this all sounds like normal stuff. I’m not hearing perverted, filthy, disgusting…” you tease, sweeping your hair off your neck to let him kiss there.

“You need more convincing, huh?” Matty murmurs, soft in the shell of your ear. “Alright. After I clean you up, I’d like to get you in bed. But I don’t know if we’ll make it that far. I might have to bend you over the sofa on the way. ‘Cause this skirt isn’t hiding anything, and those little panties really aren’t helping how bad I want my tongue in this pretty ass.”

Your knees nearly buckle. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whimper. “Fine, you win. Call a car, I need you,” you plead, turning so you’re speaking against his lips. Kissing him hard, you melt against him as he grabs your ass greedily.

“I’m not done yet, bunny. Then I will get you in bed, on your hands and knees while I fuck your sweet, gorgeous ass, okay? Then, I’m going to plug you up, keep you nice and full of me until I fuck you again. Yeah?”

You go hot all over. “Tell the driver to break traffic laws.”

“Five minutes,” Matty grins, leaning down to kiss you slow and deep.

Someone taps their foot impatiently behind you, and you turn with a sharp grin to find Maya with her arms folded. “Will you two stop being disgusting for five fucking minutes?”

Laughing, you shrug. “That’s about all you’ve got, ‘cause we’re about to go home and fuck all night,” you smirk.

They both give shrieking groans, and you only laugh harder. “Oh, would you look at that? Car’s here, let’s go — Bye, Lim, great seeing you, won’t let it be so long next time!” Matty rushes out in one breath, tugging you so hard you stumble in your heels. You blow Maya a kiss as you scramble off, and you’re in Matty’s lap in the backseat before you know what’s happening.

You kiss him feverishly, time warping around you until, in what feels like both seconds and weeks, you’re outside your apartment building. In the time it takes to get from the ground floor to yours, it seems like Matty’s seconds away from dropping to his knees in the lift; you’d welcome it. Your body is pleading for him, hunger groaning in your chest, aching between your thighs. It takes what feels like an age to get your keys to fit in the door, stumbling inside with his lips still on yours.

“Remember what I promised?” Matty murmurs, lips against your jaw.

Giggling, you shudder. “Mhmm. But can we skip to the part where you bend me over the sofa? Please,” you breathe, spreading your legs around his thigh so you can grind on him. “I need it.”

Matty pinches your ass, and you whine. “Needy little bunny. Fuck, I love you so much. Go on, bend over for me, my girl,” he says, and you scramble to obey, draping yourself over the plush arm of the sofa and spreading your legs wide. You hear Matty drop to his knees behind you, and true to his word, tears your panties off.

The sound of expensive lace ripping to shreds makes you wince. “I liked those,” you murmur weakly, and Matty laughs.

“I’ll buy you more,” he promises, spreading apart your cunt and licking a slow stripe through. “Fuck, I’ll give you anything you want.” His tongue slices through your core, a sharp bolt of ecstasy jolting up your spine. “I love your fucking pussy,” he groans, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking softly. Grinding your hips back against Matty’s face, you whimper out a plea. “Yeah, I know what you want, sweet girl. Don’t worry, bunny, I got you. Gonna give you what you need, yeah?”

And then his tongue flickers up, just barely kisses at your hole, and your knees nearly buckle. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper, drool pooling in your mouth as Matty drives his tongue deeper. Your back arches and you moan, Matty’s hand coming up to toy with your clit and sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Whimpering, you press back against him as he rubs circles into your clit and licks down to your cunt.

You’re dizzy, nearly sick with it, your thighs slick and your mind slicker. Matty kisses your clit, slices his tongue back up to your hole, lapping greedily. “God, such a good girl,” he murmurs reverently, tracing his fingers over the curve of your ass. He slaps the side of your ass, spits on your cunt, licks your hole, and you moan out his name. You’re spinning out, crashing closer to your climax, grinding your hips back desperately.

“Matty, please,” you whine, and you feel him smirk into you.

“C’mon, bunny, I got you. Cum for me,” he orders, rubbing his thumb into your clit and coaxing you to an earth-shattering climax. Your pulse thunders in your ears, liquid ecstasy flooding from your cunt and dripping down your thighs, Matty’s tongue still roaming hungrily over your skin. Fists clenching, you whimper out his name, legs trembling and head spinning.

You crawl gracelessly onto the sofa, stretching up to beckon him. “C’mere,” you plead. “Wanna kiss you.” Matty breaks into a grin, climbs on top of you, his body firm and warm against yours.

He leans down to speak against your lips. “I gotta give my girl what she wants,” he says, pressing a soft, near-chaste kiss to your lips. You slide your hands into his hair, pull him down so you can kiss him hard, tongues sliding together as your breaths mix in the air between you.

Grinding up against him, you moan softly. “Y’so hard,” you smirk. “Let me help you?” Your hands slide greedily down to his belt, unbuckling deftly and freeing his cock. You stroke along his length, tracing the vein throbbing on his underside, and coat your fingertips in his precum. Sucking your fingers happily, you give a teasing little moan at the taste of him, and Matty gasps, buries his head in your neck.

His lips are soft and wet with spit against your skin as he kisses, licks, sucks, leaves lasting bruises that are going to be a bitch to cover up in the morning. “Fuck, I fucking love you,” he groans, grinding his hips down against your core in a way that makes need pulse through your entire body.

Your hands fly down to Matty’s waist, shoving his jeans and boxers off at once. “Let me suck your dick,” you whine. “Please. I need it, need to make you feel good, god.” You pump his cock, spreading wetness down his length, savouring his soft moan.

“Yeah, c’mon, good girl,” Matty croons, flipping you so you’re on top of him. You grin, kissing your way down his body and trailing your tongue over the tattoo at his hip as his hands thread into your hair. He gasps as you mouth gently at his cock, moaning when you wrap your lips around his head. “Fuck, y’so good. My good little bunny,” he groans, easing your head down until your nose presses against his skin.

You moan around him, bobbing your head as the smell of his sweat fills your senses. Relaxing your throat as best you can, you let Matty thrust messily into your mouth. He moans your name, fucks into your mouth, twitching and gasping. Tracing your fingers over his belly, you feel the muscles tense under your touch, teasingly pressing kisses against his base and across his v-line. “Mmm, I love you,” you sigh, lapping at his head and letting spit drip from your mouth and slide messily down his cock.

“I fucking love you,” Matty groans, pulling at your hair just enough that your scalp stings, pain weaving its way into pleasure between your thighs. “So fucking— oh, my God, bunny, fuck!” he gasps as you take him as deep as you can, gagging and drooling around him. “M’gonna cum, bunny,” he moans. “Where do you want me?”

You smile around him, pulling off and licking along his cock. “Wherever you want,” you murmur. “But I kinda want it down my throat, if that’s alright,” you tease, eyes alight.

“‘If that’s alright,’ she says,” Matty huffs, gently easing you down his cock. “Jesus, bunny, I fucking love your pretty mouth, gonna make me fuckin’ cum, make sure you swallow it all, yeah? My little cumslut,” he adds affectionately, bucking his hips as you moan around him. Your name spills from his lips amid near-crazed praises, ropes of cum splashing on your tongue as the taste fills your senses.

You swallow eagerly, pulling off to smile dazedly down at him. “Thank you,” you say, in the innocent, soft tone that drives him wild.

And, like clockwork, Matty practically whines, manoeuvres you until he gets you into his arms. “God, such a perfect fucking girl.” Your stomach swoops as he picks you up bridal style, then thinks better of it and throws you over his shoulder, swatting your ass. “Good girls get rewarded, yeah? Tell me what you want, bunny, anything you want,” he promises, and you laugh wildly as he carries you to bed.

“What if you already promised me exactly what I want?” you giggle, heat pulsing between your legs at the mere thought.

“Oh, I did, did I?” Matty teases, his smirk audible.

she sighs, showing her own lanyard and nodding thanks to security. “another insistent reminder that it's an offline game, no doubt.”

“exactly,” a rush of cold air passes over you when you step into the suite of dressing rooms, and the relief from the baking summer sunshine outside is so palpable you have to bite back a satisfied moan. distraction comes in the form of your two favourite boys cheering, providing both directions to their specific location and another seemingly endless reason for you to smile; still, you can't help but deadpan. “god, i can't believe my fiancé likes me least out of everyone in my family.”

“if you bothered to play this with me, that wouldn't be true,” matty calls from through another doorway. before you get the chance to step through, he's poking his head out into the corridor, beaming at you with the adoration that always tints his gaze whenever he looks at you; you pout your lips for a kiss, and he obliges sweetly before extending an arm out to hug your mum. “how was alanis, then?”

“amazing. mum cried.”

“aww, lynne,” matty rests his head on your mum's, and she grins and pats his arm affectionately. “was that your first time seeing her?”

“since i had the kids, yeah,” your mum smiles fondly at you. “grew up on jagged little pill, didn't you?”

before you can even answer, matty giggles, moving to rest his arms on your shoulders. “honestly, babe, that explains so much about you,” he kisses your forehead, moving to guide you towards one of the sofas. “and zander, to be honest. no wonder you both turned out cool.”

zander scoffs. “i still can't believe you think my sister’s cool.”

you frown. “get out before i batter you.”

“as if you could,” he stands, ruffling your hair on the way out and beaming at your frustrated groan. “pint, mum?”

she nods, smiling - well, smirking - at you and matty. “see you two later, then.”

“bye!” matty waves, turning to you with a mildly judgy expression as soon as the door closes behind them. “you know you've threatened to batter him five times already today?”

“i think that's less than average, to be honest,” you shrug your handbag over your head, tossing it and yourself onto the sofa; matty flops down even more gracelessly a beat later. “that little shit's been pissing me off ever since i've had conscious thought.”

he hums out a laugh, shuffling you so you're sat on his lap and he can rest his head on your chest the way you both love. “i think he's a good lad. he was telling me he's excited about our wedding, you know,” he leans back against the couch to look at you properly, so beautiful you feel your heart flutter; when he grins, you fall in love with him all over again. “so am i. more excited for that than anything else, to be honest.”

you raise a brow. “this from the man literally headlining glastonbury tonight?”

“well, yeah, of course i'm excited about that, but,” matty's hand cups your face, thumb softly rubbing across your lips. “still pales in comparison to marrying you, doesn't it?”

“oh my god,” you bring your hands to your now-blushing cheeks, adoration for the love of your life completely overwhelming you; if not for him holding you, you're sure you'd topple off the sofa and onto the floor. “you're mental, you know that?”

“so i've heard,” matty leans up to kiss your jaw, nudging your hands away so he can peck your lips. “s'true, though - tonight's a dream come true, it really is, but it's scary, you know?” he nuzzles into you. “getting to officially be yours forever… that's just perfect. no downsides, no fear, nothing bad at all.”

“aside from having to sit through every future season of love island with me.”

he grumbles, arm wrapping around you tighter. “can't fucking believe we're missing it tonight,” calloused fingers lightly tap your thigh, a rhythm you recognise as the post-ad jingle from the show. “you're sure we can't just stay here for, like, five minutes longer, just to see it through?”

“delaying a pyramid stage headline slot at fucking glastonbury just so you can finish an episode of love island,” you shake your head, dragging your hands down your face in disbelief. “i can't believe i'm in love with you. i must be insane.”

your fiancé snorts. “shut up. you're obsessed with me,” he blows a raspberry into your neck, kissing up to your face when you giggle; his smile is clear against your skin. “and it's reciprocated.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” matty's kisses to your neck get stronger, longer, more passionate, and your ability to form sentences and coherent thought and any sort of brain function is slipping away more and more in response. “gonna be thinking about you through my entire performance tonight,” a hand slides its way up your body, stopping on your tit and kneading ever so gently. “and, afterwards, when i get you back in my arms, we're gonna sneak out of the afterparty and come back here,” his lips meet yours, tongue slipping into your mouth with a sexily-familiar ease - just as you start to whine, though, he pulls back with a grin. “and we're gonna watch tonight's episode together. sound good?”

“it does, actually, darling,” you admit, glowing at the way matty's eyes flutter closed when you softly caress his cheek. “i do miss sneaking out of parties to do less wholesome things with you, though, i won't lie.”

“so do i,” matty sighs; you have to stifle a giggle at the juxtaposition of how softly wistful his voice is while he reminisces about fucking you stupid in random dressing rooms and bathrooms and hotel rooms the world over. and then he looks at you again, and you forget to focus on anything that isn't a musing on how pretty he is. “reckon we'll be too tired for that later - cos, you know, we go to bed at 10 now - but,” his hand passes over your asscheek - gently, but you can sense the intention behind it. “we are alone, and we've got hours and hours before either of us need to get ready, so if you fancied me doing any of those things we used to do now… i'd happily oblige.”

“i would very much enjoy that,” you bring your hands round, sliding them down matty's chest to the button of his jeans, smiling at his little moan. “reckon you've got enough energy to fuck me and put on a show later? or d'you want me to be on top?”

“as much as i fucking love watching you ride me, gorgeous,” so fast you can barely register how he does it, matty flips the two of you over, so you're sitting properly on the couch and he's above you, grinding into you as slow as dripping honey and pulling equally as sweet whines from your lips. “i really, really want to fucking rail you right now.”

“fuck,” you open your mouth, groaning when your fiancé spits in it before crashing his lips to yours. it's a sloppy, sloppy kiss, all licking and biting and sucking and moaning, so good that you genuinely whimper when matty pulls away and stands up. “where are you going?”

“just gonna lock the door, darling,” he strokes your face before standing, darting to the door and bolting it before making a beeline for the stage outfits rail. “and i'm also looking for… this,” as he wanders back over to you, jeans unbuttoned and t-shirt creased from your desperate grabs, he holds up the bundle of black fabric; only when he gets closer do you realise it's a folded tie, and you open your mouth before he can even ask. “oh, good girl,” matty coos, securing the already spit-soaked accessory behind the back of your head. he brings his hands round to gently hold your cheeks, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel your underwear get wetter at how obvious his love for you is in his eyes. “you ready, sweetheart?”

you nod enthusiastically, spreading your legs as much as he allows and speaking as best you can through the tie. “yeth.”