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anticipayosbot · 9 days ago

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NSFW Alphabet: Jack Abbot

Warning: explicit content (duh)

Word Count: 2.8k

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Sometimes you both need a minute after sex. Touched out, fucked out, and overstimulated. He’ll roll over, cock still twitching against his stomach as you both try and catch your breath. It never fails to make you both laugh at how love drunk you are for each other. When you both come down to earth he’ll roll over with a grunt, grab his crutches, and go wipe himself down before returning with a damp warm towel. He’s gentle. The way he wipes his seed off your stomach or from your dripping cunt. After throwing the towel into the laundry basket by the door (usually missing) and help you sit up. “Go pee and come back to me.” He demands, making sure you always pee after sex. Crawling back into bed he’ll loop his arm around your midsection and pull you close to him. He buried his head into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. The smell of him, sweat, and sex on your skin is almost enough to make him go again.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite body part is his leg. It took him years to come to terms with his amputation, the physical reminder of war. You were an important part in that journey. The way you worshiped every inch of him. The way you helped remind him of the sacrifices he made, the men he saved, and the strength it took to overcome this life altering obstacle.

His favorite body part of yours was your belly. Like his leg, it was something you used to be incredibly self conscious of. During your first vacation together, you took a weekend away at the Jersey Shore. With a towel draped over your midsection, you asked him softly as two girls who looked like they were straight from a Victoria Secret magazine walked by:

“Do you wish I looked like that?” Jack didn’t even notice them.

“What?” he returned, completely dumbfounded.

“Those girls, their bodies are incred-“

“Stop.” He cut you off immediately before you could finish whatever idiotic statement were about to say.

There was nothing Jack loved more than your belly. Digging his fingers into the supple flesh as he fucked you. The way it looked when you wore something tight. He’d swat at you every time to tried to suck in while in front of the mirror. Like a Greek goddess, he wanted to etch your body into stone.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

There are days where Jack thinks his sole purpose in life is to make you cum. Saving lives? Nah. Making you cum over and over and over again until you’re half dead in his arms? Abso-fucking-lutely . On his mouth. On his fingers. On his cock. Lapping up every ounce of your salty nectar like it was his last meal on earth.

When he cums he is vocal. He was almost embarrassed the first time he came for you, how loud he was. Not until you said it was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves period sex. The two of you dont do it often because you are normally parked on the couch in one of his hoodies with cramps; but when you do, he feels primal. You are wetter, smell mammalian, and he swears your orgasms are stronger.

There is just something so instinctual about fucking you when you’re menstruating.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

As much as he hates to admit it, Jack Abbot had 'a ho stage' (as you call it.) There was a time in med school that he would fuck anything that moved and/or payed him any attention. So Jack FUCKS. Toe curling, back arching, earth shattering sex. He's older than you, which certainly gives him an advantage. So does being a doctor. He doesn't just know where the clitoris is, he's studied it. He doesnt just know how to make you squirt, he knows the science and mechanisms behind it.

You'll never forget the first time it happened. It was something you didnt even know you could do. But when your orgasm erupted through your entire body and soaked the bed beneath you, Jack Abbot in all his glory started to lecture you about the Skene's gland.

"Jack I dont care, just make me do it again."

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Jack loves missionary. There is something so intimate about it.

He can look at you, really look at you. The way your back arches into him begging him to go deeper. The way you throw your head back just as you're about to cum.

He can touch you, really touch you. Massage your belly that he loves so much, grab your bouncing breasts, almost tethering himself to you. Bury his face into your neck, marking his territory with love bites. Grabbing your face in his hands, pressing his forehead against yours and forcing you to make eye contact.

"Open your eyes baby and look at me."

"I wanna see those pretty eyes when you come on my fucking cock, m'kay?"

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Jack is pure business while he fucks makes love to you. He saves the lighthearted banter for afterwards, joking about how you nearly put his cock in a vice grip during your final orgasm.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Because of his time in the military, he is relatively well groomed but not bare. It's long enough for you to rake your fingers through the curls as you go down on him, and enough for added friction as he grinds his hips into yours.

He loves your hair. The first time you had sex you were embarrassed. It was the middle of winter and you sure as hell hadnt planned on fucking anyone, certainly not Jack Abbot.

"I uh- I havent shaved in a bit."

But you were shocked to find out that it was actually his preference. That it trapped your pheromones, making you smell more delicious when his face was between your legs.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

My GOD, sex with Jack was pure intimacy. But not in the stereotypical rom com sense. No candles or rose petals, none of that nonsense. Intimate in the fact that he worshiped you in bed. Intimate in the fact he'd stare at you the entire time, pupils blown. Intimate in the fact he knew every single inch of your body. Every nook, every cranny. What made you tick, what made you clench around him.

But Jack wasnt vanilla. He did love rough sloppy sex, typically after one too many beers.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He felt guilty. So fucking guilty. You were a young bright eyed intern and here he was choking his cock with his hands at the mere thought of you. In the bathroom. At work.

The two of you had been working a GSW and he was working you through a procedure you'd never done before. Typical combat medicine.

"Thread the pigtail catheter over the guide wire. We need to aspirate the air out of his left ventricle or he's not making it to the OR. Move!" and thats when it happened. Stepping in front of him and bending over for more leverage, your ass brushed against his pelvis as he loomed over you. Observing you.

Fuck.

Unbeknownst to you, his cock jolted under his scrubs and it took everything in him to not get rock hard right there in Trauma 3. Once the patient was stable, he booked it to the bathroom to relieve himself.

After cleaning up and walked out of the bathroom, he found you at the nurses station still coming down from the adrenaline high. When Jack joined you noticed his heavy breathing.

“You still wired from that case too?”

“Uhh yeah…”

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He has a few. First and foremost he loves orgasm control. Dominating you and hearing you beg for sweet relief as you are completely under his mercy. Praising you when you finally come undone around him.

"Thats it, good girl. Let that pretty pussy come for daddy."

The daddy kink is new, thanks to you.

"Please daddy, can I come?"

THAT unlocked something in him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In bed. Always in bed. It's where it felt most intimate. Where you were both comfortable.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When it comes to you? Anything and everything. An oversized t shirt and his boxers turn him on just as much as you wearing lingiere.

Standing in front of the freezer in baggy sweatpants eating ice cream out of the carton? Me-ow. Listening to you sing quietly to yourself as you cook dinner? He's turning off the stove and pulling you down the hall to the bedroom. Watching you during a pediatric case at work, how gentle and calming you are with children. It makes him want to fuck a baby in you in the nearest supply room.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Hurting and degrading you. The closest he gets is smacking your ass, and even then, he holds back afraid of hurting you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Jacks two favorite foods are pizza and pussy. He could eat you out for hours, and he'll keep going even when your pushing his head away from your sensitive clit. Your taste and smell are completely intoxicating, and he loves nothing more than to get drunk on your pussy. It's an art you think, and he has mastered his craft. The way he tongue fucks you and his nose nestles against your clit makes your toes curl every time. If you're lucky (you always are) he'll add his fingers, pumping them inside your cunt.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

You love it slow and sensual so he fucks you slow and sensual. You want to feel him, every single inch. His pace is slow but his rhythm is deliberate. He loves nothing more than to stretch you out and fill you up.

He pulls out, almost all the way, before pushing back in to a hilt. The wind gets knocked from your lungs nearly every time.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He never liked quickies.

It wasn’t just about the act… it was about the build-up, the intimacy, the tension that simmered and stretched. For him, sex wasn’t something to rush through like a chore. It was an experience.

He liked to take his time. To explore, to watch, to feel. To kiss in a way that made the room spin and trace his fingers along skin like it was the first time every time. He believed in savoring. The taste of you. The smell of you. The feeling of your body pressed against his.

To him, pleasure wasn’t just in the climax. It was in the connection, the patience, the care.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He liked to experiment—not because he was bored, but because he believed desire had layers. That pleasure could evolve. Some nights it was soft and slow, others it was tangled and intense.

Sitting at the dinner table one night, Jack knew something was on your mind and at the tip of your tongue.

"I want you to fuck my ass, Jack."

He put his fork down and stared at you.

"Alright...Go on..."

"I mean, is that something you'd want?"

"I dont want to hurt you."

"We have lube, right?"

"Yeah..."

"Okay then let's go."

He liked learning you—what made you blush, what made you moan, what made your breath hitch in your throat. With him, sex was never just sex. It was an adventure. A dialogue. A place where nothing was off-limits as long as it was honest, wanted, and shared.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

You're convinced Jack could last forever. Even when he finishes, give him 5-10 minutes and he’s ready to go again.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Jack loves using toys in the bedroom. You use them more often than not. Watching you squirm as he presses a vibrator to your clit is intoxicating. You were nervous to introduce them at first. Worried he’d feel less than. Your other partners were offended when you suggested using toys, but not Jack. He even suggested picking some out together to use in the bedroom.

“You’ve been quiet. What’s on your mind, baby?”

“It’s dumb.”

“If it’s on your mind, it’s not dumb.”

“I’ve been thinking about… maybe using a toy in bed? Something small. Nothing crazy. Just… for fun, I guess…”

“That’s not dumb at all. What did you have in mind? I know you have a vibrator in your underwear drawer…”

“Jack!”

“What? I do your laundry.”

“I just don’t want you to feel inadequate or that I’m not satisfied.”

“If there’s something that turns you on, I want to know about it. I want to explore it with you. It’s sexy.”

“Really?”

“You sound shocked.”

“I wasn’t sure how you’d take it. Some people get weird about stuff like that.”

“I’m not some people. I’m your guy.“

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Jack likes to tease you. Control you. Telling you when you can and can’t come. Edging you until your back is fully off the mattress and your body glistens with perspiration. The teasing is almost painful.

“Please daddy, please let me come.” The tears trickle down your face as you’re begging for your release. He’ll remove his fingers, cock, or mouth from your cunt. Making you feel empty.

“You will baby, you will.” He whispers as he curls his fingers inside you once more “Patience.”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s vocal in every sense. His moans. His breath. The sweet nothings he whispers in your ear as he fucks you raw. He’s loud and it’s so fucking hot.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He keeps a box of granola bars in his bedside table. He noticed you’d often wake up in the middle of the night and shuffle down to the kitchen for some water and a bite to eat. On his way home from work one morning he stopped at Costco and got two large boxes of granola bars and peanut butter crackers.

Each night he brings you a glass of water to bed full of ice, so when you inevitably wake up in the middle of the night it’ll still be cold.

That way you didn’t have to walk all the way to the kitchen for your midnight snack.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Jack is certainly larger than everyone else you’ve slept with. He’s long enough for the tip of his cock to kiss your cervix with each thrust. But where he is really generous was his girth. He was thick. Despite all the times you’ve gone to bed together the initial stretch is something that you need to adjust to. Letting him still inside you as you swallow him whole, as pain quickly turns to pleasure.

“Fuckfuckfuck.” Was all you could say the first time he pushed his way in. Your toes curled and your eyes were squeezed shut at the sensation. You could feel each vein against your walls.

“I got you baby. You can take it, can’t you? Be a good girl for me? Be a good girl as I stretch that pretty cunt?”

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

This man has the libido of a college frat boy. He wants you all day, everyday.

“Listen I know you’re an old man, but are you sure you aren’t taking viagra? Or did you really just get a hard on watching me bend over to load the dishwasher.”

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards

Jack runs on pure adrenaline and you’re convinced it’s because he doesn’t sleep. Ever. And even when he does, he wakes up at the drop of a hat. You blame his years in the military for the reason he’s always on guard.

The only time he sleeps soundly is after he’s finished deep inside of you.

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anticipayosbot · 12 days ago

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DAMN

Title: As a Treat

Rated: NC-17

Pairing: Robby/afab Reader

Word Count: 1,973

For: @oldermenfucker because it’s her birthday! 🥳🎂🎁🎈

My prompt was any/all of the following -> “Fluff and smut for Robby; Sleepy morning sex; or nasty makeup sex”

Content, in no particular order: Reader’s age and race are not mentioned; Fluff; Smut; Sleepy morning sex (that gets progressively less sleepy); Nasty (without the need for making up); Reader sends nudes to Robby while he’s at work; Reader wears a butt plug; Reader lets Robby fuck her ass; Prone bone; Cuteness; Laughter; Dirty talk; Light roleplay elements; Sweet/Hot

Summary: Reader wants to help Robby get more comfortable with asking for what he wants and likes in the bedroom, so she treats Robby to some naughty photos while he's at work to get him started. She then makes good on the promise when he comes home from working the night shift. (Robby gets his “revenge” at the end.) They both have a good time.

Tagging interested folks: @caterpillarskimono, @paristexassweetheart, @pxpecxdy, @lewisrain, @chaoticcosmonaut, @misskrose, @bliss-baberuthless, @sickeningly-sweet-honey, @just-in-case-iloveyou, @subversivecynic, @galacticmermaid, @its-shadowy-heart-world, @robbyrosierobinavitch, @m14mags, @academywas, @captainoates, @earthbodystarhead, @thedamnqueenofhell, @trustme3-13, @punkgeekcryptid, @sailorspoor, @phoenixhalliwell, @greckel, @celestianstars, @noneleft

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You feel Robby slip into the bed beside you, which means it’s somewhere between very late and very early. His warm arms wrap around your middle as he pulls you back towards himself. You can feel the strength in his grasp, and he’s not even flexing. It’s evidence of years and years of lifting patients, steering gurneys, using the jaws of life, and who knows what else. You can also feel how hard he is, and you press your ass back into him, earning a moan from him. You smile.

“I’ve been thinking about you all shift,” Robby husks. “I can’t believe you sent me those photos when I couldn’t do anything about them.”

His hands begin to roam your body, squeezing your flesh as he goes. Sometimes you feel like you’re his human stress ball—not that you’re complaining. You love to see the indents of his fingers in your soft skin as he debates what part of you he wants to hold onto more.

“When did you buy that thing?” he asks.

Robby reaches up your shirt and pinches your nipples, and you let out a a sharp gasp.

“What thing?” you ask, knowing perfectly well what he means.

He coaxes you onto your stomach, and you let him. Robby pulls your panties down and tosses them off the side of the bed. You watch him over your shoulder as he spreads apart your cheeks to see if the heart-shaped jeweled base of the plug is still there. He freezes like he doesn’t know how to process what he’s seeing, and he stops for long enough that you’re starting to get turned on by how humiliating it is to have him staring at the most vulnerable parts of your body.

“Robby...”

He blinks and lets go of your ass. He covers your body with his, and he starts kissing your jaw and biting your neck before you can think of a way to end your thought when you have so many of them vying for your attention right now.

“Is that your way of offering it to me?” he asks.

Robby’s hips flex, dragging his clothed erection against your bare skin.

“Offering what to you?” you tease.

He sits back on his heels then as though just realizing what’s happening and what he’s doing. He’s terrible at verbalizing what he wants in bed because you know he feels like he doesn’t deserve to ask for it. You know it comes from a place of not wanting you to feel objectified or just there for his pleasure, even though you know that’s not how Robby works. But Robby is a pretty simple guy to read. You’ve noticed that he will give you spanks while you ride him. He’ll palm your ass when he passes you in the kitchen. When he gives you a massage, he’ll nip at the curve of your butt. And there was the time you wore a dress with a high slit that made it clear you weren’t wearing underwear, and you barely made it through the front door at the end of the night before he mauled you with his mouth and hands.

You know what this man wants. He deserves a treat.

“You don’t have to, you know,” Robby says. Adding in a small, shy voice, “I’d never ask you for anal.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” you say. “That’s why I’m offering it of my own volition.”

Robby’s hands move back to your ass; he starts kneading your cheeks just like he does when he’s giving you a full body massage. Only this time instead of his eyes and hands roving your body, he’s staring at the jewel and at the way your pussy is dripping wet by now.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

He’s practically salivating. You face forward again so he doesn’t mistake your gleeful smile for mockery.

“I’m sure,” you say. You turn your head back to face him again. “I want you to fuck my ass.”

Robby nods and slips out of his shirt and then his pants and boxers. He lies down on top of you again, and you relish his warmth and weight against you.

“Do you wanna take out the plug, or can I?” he asks.

You’re surprised—but proud—that he actually asks this out loud.

“You can,” you say, jiggling your ass against him.

“God,” he breathes. His hands are back on you again. You love his hands. They’re strong and gentle, just like him. “I can’t believe you’re letting me—letting me do this.”

That little stutter slips in while he’s slipping your plug out so, so carefully. You want to tell him that you’re not made of glass, but you don’t because Robby needs this, needs to take care of you, even when you’re doing something special just for him. You inhale when it’s all the way out, and Robby presses kisses against the back of your neck. He sets the plug off to the side.

“Let me get the lube. Don’t go anywhere,” Robby says.

You let out a laugh then, and you hear Robby’s in response. It seems like he’s relaxing in to the idea more now, and that helps you relax, too. Robby roots inside the side table drawer until he finds the tube. You watch as he coats first his cock with it, and then his fingers. You know you’re in capable hands; you’ve heard all the E.R. horror stories about things people have used as lube and items people have used that were never meant to go inside someone. If anyone knows the important of lube and prep, it’s Robby.

Suddenly he’s the expert as he scissors his fingers inside you, and it tips you off that he clearly has done this before, proving that your hunch about this being a kink of his was correct. You wonder how long he would have waited to bring it up if you haven’t taken the plunge first.

“You know you can tell me what you want in bed, right?” you ask.

“I’m...working on it,” he says.

“Even if I veto something, I won’t be mad that you asked,” you add.

“Yeah?”

He slides his fingers out, and you suddenly feel so empty that you can’t help but whine.

“Yeah,” you say.

Only it comes out softer and far more pathetically than you meant it, but what can you say? You’re as wrapped around his finger as he is wrapped around yours.

“Listen to you,” Robby says. “You sound like that, and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

And you can’t hide it any more, your neediness. You’ve waited for this just as long as he has. You’ve both been waiting since you sent him those photos.

“So do it then,” you say.

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This is pretty new territory for you, but you did your research! You tried the suggested techniques on forums that were created for newbies like you. You bought the lube. You tested out the plug. And you liked it. You liked having this secret, and you liked knowing you’d completely take Robby by surprise. And anyway, you figured that any sex with Robby would be pretty damn good, so this would probably be fine, but you weren’t exactly sure how this was going to go.

But it’s good.

Like really fucking good.

You can feel every inch of him inside you, and it only serves to heighten your sense of touch all over. You can feel each and every point of contact: his lips, his tongue, his hands, his front to your back. He used enough lube that he can keep rocking against you, but he’s barely sliding out. It’s like he thinks if he pulls out even a little, you won’t let him back in.

“I can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” Robby murmurs. “You’re so tight.”

He cuts himself off with moan, and his fingers dig into your hips even further.

“Fuck, Robby.”

Just when you think this is as close as you can ever be to him, he winds his legs around yours to keep you locked in place. He grunts in your ear, low and deep, and you’re reminded of your favorite monster novels where the protagonist finds the werewolf boyfriend of their dreams. You laugh without realizing it.

“What’s so funny?” Robby asks, not unkindly.

This only makes you laugh harder.

Which makes him laugh, too.

“What is it?” Robby asks. “Now I gotta know.”

His hips slow a bit, and he takes some of his weight off you. You look over your shoulder again and see Robby looking down at you, head cocked to the side, his Magen David hovering between the two of you.

“You’re my werewolf boyfriend,” you say.

Robby makes a confused, though amused, face.

“I’m your what?”

“You’re my werewolf boyfriend,” you repeat.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“’Cause you know. You’re furry. And bigger than me. And you growl.”

“I do not growl.”

But his face reddens when he says it, always a dead giveaway.

“Suuure,” you say.

Robby drops back down onto you, and you’ve got no complaints about that. He kisses the parts of your jaw and neck that he can reach.

“I can be your werewolf boyfriend,” he says.

Your eyes widen; you wish he could see how excited that makes you, but he can probably tell from the way you cant your hips back.

“Please do!”

“You think I haven’t seen those novels you pretend you’re not interested in?”

Oh shit.

“You want my knot, pup?” he husks.

“Robby!”

He picks up the pace again.

“You want to have my litter, don’t you? You won’t get any pups if I fuck you like this, but I guess we can try.”

How in the fuck did he turn the tables on you!? This is so like him that it’s almost funny. You always wondered if there was any kind of book Robby wouldn’t read, and now you know the answer is no.

“Baby, I’m not gonna last much longer,” he admits. “You feel too good.”

“I want you to come inside me,” you say.

“In your ass or your pussy?” he asks.

Fuck, for a guy who practically refused to say what he liked in bed because he was embarrassed, this experience fixed that right up.

But this is still Robby’s treat, so you say, “My ass, baby.”

Robby sits back on his heels and hauls you back into his lap. He gives three short, powerful thrusts, and then he is coming inside you with another low groan. He pumps his way through his orgasm, and all you can do is hold onto the sheets as he gets a little more erratic and a little more forceful with each emission.

Exhausted, he collapses onto the bed beside you. You can’t tell which of you is panting more and who is panting harder.

“That was,” you begin.

But what the fuck are you gonna say?

Robby looks at you expectantly, but still, no words come to mind.

“Really good,” you finish lamely.

Robby barks a laugh.

“You’re not wrong,” he says. “You’re not wrong about that.”

He reaches over and pulls you in again. You don’t think you’ll ever tire of him doing that. This time, he coaxes you onto your back so he can kiss you full on the mouth.

“Let me catch my breath, and I’ll make it up to you,” Robby says.

“Good because I need to catch my breath before you do,” you say. “Don’t let me fall asleep though.”

Robby’s eyes are already closed.

“I won’t,” he says.

You close your eyes, too.

Before you drift off, you hear Robby say, “They sell knotted dildos. Did you know that?”

Your eyes pop open.

You can’t fall asleep now.

You need to know what else this man knows!

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Interact with this post if you want to be tagged on my fics!

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anticipayosbot · 12 days ago

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omg what about a night where you're a little more tipsy than usual after a night out, you're both naked and you wanna ride him but you're so so so desperate you end up grinding on his tummy, and because you're just so so needy he lets u because there's just something about watching you fall apart over him 👹 I haven't written smut in so long so this is for the person who will write it eventually 🏃🏻‍♀️

YOU BET teheeeee / Tw: drunk sex, simp!reader, tummy riding🤭 pretty rushed cause i was vibrating just thinking about it lmaooo

The entire ED was looking for a very silly reason to celebrate after the hell of the week in the hospital, and what better reason than seeing Robby’s satisfaction score go up from 32 to 51%? It might have looked so stupid to anyone else, but to the Pitt’s staff? This was huge.

Perhaps you and your boyfriend needed an excuse to drink and get handsy with each other in the club which led to more in the car ride back home. And to this moment that you are peeling Robby’s clothes off like they have personally offended you.

“Robby!” You whine, even pouting before you push him on his back on the bed, standing between his spread legs as he sits up on his elbows, dark eyes following your movements while you pull down your panties and take off your dress, “Your turn.”

But his turn doesn’t mean he has to be the one to get himself naked. You crawl on top of him, one knee on each side of his wide hips as you unbutton his shirt and run your hands down the expanse of his chest as soon as his skin is in your view.

Robby’s hands come up to rest on your naked hips, grounding himself while you explore his chest.

What he doesn’t expect is for you to grind down on the pudge of his belly instead of the bulge in his boxers, it seems you are just as shocked as he is. Even more, because it feels so good when his happy trail gets rubbed on your clit just the right way.

“Oh!” The moan that slips from your lips is too sharp and loud, and it ignites how insanely gone you feel with the alcohol getting to your head, “Mmm, Robby—“

Robby can’t think, not when you are naked, on top of him, trying to grind down on his cock but doing it on his tummy accidentally. You don’t stop, you can’t stop and he notices it.

He doesn’t have the willpower to push you down to ride him, because you look too damn good taking pleasure in the only place he has always felt a little insecure about.

He is mesmerized by the sight of you rolling your hips and moaning at the feeling of his soft belly contracting under you.

There is no warning when you come on him, just the way you moan his name, dig half-moons on his pecs, and quiver on top of him. You release your essence on the trail of hair down his belly button, throwing your head back as you ride your high and move your hips faster.

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anticipayosbot · 12 days ago

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WHOOPS - Pitt smut blurb

Dr. Robby x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT. MDNI. Pussy sliding. Accidental Penetration. Agreement between adults.

Not proofread! I wrote it on my phone! I’m shameless

New kink formed. Pussy Sliding.

Smut under the cut

It was only ever supposed to be stress relief. There was never supposed to be that kind of breach. You get yours and he gets his, in the most non committal way. Clothes always stay on. Mouths stay as quiet as possible. No eye contact. No kissing. No talking about it after. And above all? No penetration.

When you first listed that as a rule, Robby looked at you like you had three heads. “How…the point of a hook up is to actually hook up?” He said, already feeling foolish for being 52 and using the term ‘hook up’.

“I know what a hookup is, Ernest Hemingway” you rolled your eyes in mock annoyance. “I don’t just let anyone inside me, ok? That’s a romantic commitment, for me.” You said matter of factly and shrugged.

“But I wanna get off, too. So…we could try pussy sliding?” You ask with a curious head quirk.

That’s how he found himself here, a year and a half later with you and your legs bent back to your shoulders, sliding his cock through your soaked labia. He’d laugh at the hot dog bun similarity if he wasn’t so fucking hard. Fuck…he always gets a tinged embarrassed at how much he loves this.

A year and a half of this…activity, with you and he still couldn’t get enough. There is something so fucking dirty about it. He wants your hole and he can’t have it. He stares at it clenching for him, even dribbles spit down onto it to make you messier, but he can’t have it.

Fuck. He wanted it so bad. He wanted you so bad, in every sense, but his therapist said that was a conversation for another day. Past baggage first, future progress later.

He would do whatever you allowed him to do. And right now? That was sliding his thick cock through your pussy lips. He reaches down and uses his thumbs to wrap your lips around his cock to create a tunnel.

You watch him bite his lip as he tries not to groan. Keep Quiet. That’s one of the rules. But today, you’re more wet than you’ve ever been. You watched Robby chew out an EMT that made a very aggressive play for you at Central and it made you untamed.

You drug him up here this time. You took his cock out of his zipper. You took your panties down to your calves and flipped your legs over your head, showcasing yourself for him.

Watching him get jealous like that? You’d never admit to it, but holy hell…you were teetering on every single rule you ever set for the two of you.

The head of his cock keeps massaging your clit with constant heat and pressure. The precum smearing around your folds is making you more and more wet and before you ever realize, you whimper.

Robby’s hips stutter and he shakes his head to regain control. He keeps his eyes directly on your pussy and his cock together. It’s almost impossible not to look in your eyes right now.

And that’s when it first happens. The head of his cock notches against your entrance. That’s NEVER happened before. In all this time, he has been so careful. Your gasp mixed with his grunt has you both staring at each other with wide eyes.

“Fuck…fuck sorry” he mumbles and moves himself back to the safe zone. “S’ok” you murmur and let your head fall back when the head of his cock hits your clit again.

Another 3 minutes of this and you’ve gone beyond soaked. It’s vulgar. You’re dripping onto the linoleum floor under the bed and your thighs are smeared with your wetness. Robby has never had to concentrate like this with you before. Never. He’s 54. He’s grown. Composure is the name of the game, but right now? He feels like he’s 16 again.

His hips pull back to slide forward and without warning, the amount of moisture you’ve collected slides him down slightly and right into you. Fully.

He lets out a yell. An actual yell. And his head drops forward. The gasp that drops from your mouth ends in a squeal and you bite down in his shoulder that’s now in your face.

“FUCK! fuck! Fuck sorry you’re so fucking wet. I…fuck. I tried” he pants sounding embarrassed? Mortified? Nervous?

And then, as if he was dreaming, you say the one thing he never expected. With your lips placed against his ear, you moan so soft. His skin erupts in goosebumps as you nuzzle against him. “Don’t stop”

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anticipayosbot · 14 days ago

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please? please? Please? please? please? please? pelAse? please? please please please please please please ple-

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anticipayosbot · 14 days ago

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I KNOW I ALREADY LEFT A COMMENT ON AO3 but this made my bi ass so happy!!!

Pulling a Double

Michael “Dr. Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader x unnamed f!resident | 11.6k words | explicit.

Summary: When Doctor Abbot breaks his collarbone, you come in from Presby to cover as attending on PTMC’s night shift until he’s fit to come back. During your time there, you meet Robby and one of his female residents. After a couple of tense situations, you pitch an idea to Robby on your last day.

Tags/Warnings: fem reader (female anatomy, has at least shoulder-length hair, bisexual), canon typical medical jargon and emergency department horrors (including car accidents, head trauma, drug overdoses, death of a child (mention), water ski accidents, injuries from glass) (but it’s me just saying shit because I’m not a doctor), alcohol consumption, power imbalance (two attendings vs. one resident), smut (including f/f/m threesome, protected piv, dirty talk, spitting and more) - let me know if I missed anyhthing!

Notes: Woke up one day and thought: What if Robby and Reader double teamed a pretty resident? One thing about me is I will find a way to serve the bisexual agenda. Big thank you as always to @javier-pena for jumping at every chance to read this, serving as my very speedy editor and leaving comments that make my writing better, and to @robinavich, not just for enthusiasm but also for reminding me Abbot probably had fall training as a former military medic...

– – – – –

It's Monday morning, on your day off, when you get a call about filling in for Jack Abbot.

Apparently, he tripped and fell post-shift on the roof of the hospital. Landed on his shoulder. Split his collarbone clean in half.

Turns out that accidents happen, even if you've had military fall training–though 5'9"ish is probably nowhere near the altitude he trained at.

It's nice as far as breaks go; needs no surgery, just a sling and some rest. He's out for at least six weeks. Most likely twelve.

The call surprises you, considering you work for a different hospital, but they've given you the all clear if you want the job.

UPMC Presbyterian has enough personnel, they can absolutely afford to miss you, but they’re usually more hesitant about temporary replacements. Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center is… struggling, not just with the general nursing shortage and budget cuts, but rumours have long been flying about the hospital “being up for sale”, and that doesn’t exactly make physicians want to apply for a job there. Your best guess is that Presby’s only lending an attending out because they’re not fully prepared for the swarm of patients it will bring to them should PTMC’s emergency department really shut down over staff shortages.

You wonder if they know you’re personally invested.

You met Jack when you did a rotation at the VA years ago, when you were in medical school and he was a military medic freshly torn apart by war. His medical background made him a little different from the other vets you’d met up to that point, and he had a certain calm around him, even though he had every right to want to curse the world. Throughout your rotation, he told you both the best and most harrowing stories about emergency medicine in the field. If you were being honest, it’s probably what inspired you to pursue the specialty.

Though it might be best he never knows, he already won’t stop saying he has “permanent stock in your medical degree” after helping you with a particularly tricky biochemistry exam.

With that in mind, and considering there's a chance, albeit a very slim one, it might shut him up, you accept the offer.

– – – – –

You meet Robby on your second day at PTMC.

It’s right before change of shift, when you’re swamped with two separate patients in Trauma 1 and 2. You’re making your way from one trauma bay (26-year-old female, car vs. pedestrian, then face vs. pavement, A and O with good vitals, but significant facial fractures) back into the other (42-year-old male, ataxic breathing, nasal discharge, and a dorsal head wound after a fall down the stairs during a sleepwalking episode), and bump into him. Or rather, your shoulders bump when you try to take the same place by the bed to assess the next steps.

Once you figure your patient is probably bleeding more than expected because he’s anticoagulated, Robby orders history and a four-factor PCC to be on standby before you can even speak.

Then he asks what’s in it.

You don’t reply, figuring his question is for one of the residents surrounding you and focusing on the atrial fibrillation on the monitor instead. But then he nudges you, “Today if you can. This is a teaching hospital, so let’s hear it.”

“I’m not a– I’m the attending taking over for Abbot,” you say.

He takes you in, trailing from your crown to your toes, then back up to your eyes. You curse inwardly when you realize your badge is hidden beneath the disposable white scrubs you have on over your regular ones. “Could have fooled me,” Robby says, before raising an eyebrow as if to say, Anyway, what’s in the four-factor PCC?

“Clotting factors two, seven, nine, and ten,” you grit out, because there’s no time, and because you might have just worked a 12-hour shift, but you could answer that in your sleep.

“Excellent,” is all he says.

And you both get back to work.

After, when your patients are in the clear, shipped off to reconstructive surgery and neurosurgery respectively, you get properly introduced and Robby realizes you are in fact the attending taking over for Abbot. He apologizes for his slip-up and compliments your work on the trauma patients. He does so with his hands buried in the pockets of a hoodie he wears over his scrubs, his shoulders drawn up to his ears and a set of brown eyes that silently ask for you to accept his apology.

It’s not worth the argument; you’re too fucking tired and his apology seems genuine, like he’s a hardass purely for teaching purposes and not because he actually enjoys grinding people down, unlike some other doctors you’ve come across.

“Don’t worry about it.” Learn to live with it, learn to accept it, and find balance if you can–you heard that somewhere once. “Comes with emergency department chaos, right? And with first–fuck, no, second days,” you correct with a shake of your head.

Robby looks at you with a quick narrowing of his eyes, a corner of his mouth turning up and his eyes crinkling around a careful smile. Finally, his shoulders slump, a little relaxation slipping into his frame as he exhales.

The board overhead flickers with change, and both your heads turn up to read it – test results from someone in Central 6 that are back – probably a UTI, nothing too exciting. Robby makes his way to one of the computers to check, fishing a pair of round reading glasses from his pocket along the way. Setting them on his nose when he arrives, he clicks around a couple times with the computer mouse, before leaning down on his forearms to look at the results.

“All right,” you say, dragging a hand down your face. “Time to go home. Have a good shift, Doctor Robinavitch.”

“Just Robby,” he reminds you, eyes still slipping from left to right as he reads.

“Right. Robby,” you nod.

“I’ll let you know if it was a good one,” he sighs, before pocketing his glasses again and finding his back with his hands, shoulders drawing together as he straightens. When you frown, he elaborates, “This shift, I mean… When I see you tonight at the next change of shift? I did see you on the schedule, right?”

“Yes. I am on schedule. Sorry about the brain fog.” You yawn, covering your mouth with the back of your hand, then using the same hand to point a finger at the ceiling with a twirling motion. “Must be the 12 hours of flickering lights, and screaming, and… general fucking agony.”

Robby snorts. “Trust me, I know the feeling.”

You both look up when an announcement message echoes through the emergency department. “Attention, code STEMI. Attention, code STEMI. ETA 3 minutes.”

Something immediately changes in Robby’s demeanour, eyes flicking towards the ambulance bay before excusing himself to make his way to Dana, no doubt to figure out what room’s open.

“Get some sleep!” he shouts over his shoulder.

Aye aye, captain…

– – – – –

You quickly fall into a routine of three on, four off, and every morning after work, you come home exhausted, but also weirdly satisfied. During one of your three’s, you’re asked to pull a double; Robby spoke at some conference in Chicago two days ago, his flight has a significant delay, PTMC is swamped…

You like the idea of it – as much as one can like the idea of being in the emergency department for that long. It’s just that everything at PTMC is a rush in a way things at Presby aren’t. Presby is safe. Everything is by the books–everything. But emergency medicine can’t operate that way and it’s like everyone at PTMC knows that, takes calculated, sometimes even creative, risks, and gets results.

So, you agree to the double. It’s not like anyone’s waiting for you at home, anyway.

As night shift becomes day shift, you meet her. Or rather, you see her.

She comes sailing by on a gurney, on top of a patient, face scrunched up with effort as she delivers deep, steady chest compressions, presenting to you all the while as you rush after her (32-year-old male, came in with chest pain, collapsed as soon as he walked into the waiting room, no pulse).

As soon as he’s rolled into one of the rooms, you help her off him, one of the med students taking over on compressions. Everyone works fast, you hear yourself yelling out for a crash cart, one of the nurses hooks the patient up to check vitals, and as soon as you identify his rhythm as v-tach she is next to you, on standby with the paddles and waiting for the charge, voice steady when she says, “Clear.”

It’s all it takes to get him back into normal sinus.

Over the course of the day, you discover the morning isn’t a one-off. She’s a third year resident, quick to react, smart as hell, a bit of a blabbermouth, which she needs to work on as a professional but it mostly just makes you laugh. She sticks close in the Trauma rooms, seems to know exactly when to step in and when to let you take the reins. While waiting for surgery to come down, you talk her through an emergency REBOA on a guy with NCTH after a car accident, and she aces it.

By the end of shift, you’re running on fumes, discussing the state of the department with Shen when he arrives to relieve you, your voice rough from all the talking you did today. When you finish up with Shen, you do a quick round to make sure your dayshift is getting relieved, and find your R3 in Central 8. She’s finishing up her stitches on a guy who fell through a glass door. You take in her slumped frame, her frazzled hair, and the heavy blink of her eyes.

Knowing when to quit is something she also needs to work on.

You pluck one of the med students from the hall, verbally walk her through bandaging the patient up and handling the discharge with Doctor Shen, then poke your head back in the door of Central 8.

“Sir, we’ll have one of the student doctors finish up with you, is that all right?” you ask, giving the girl a little push inside when he agrees. You turn your attention to your resident. “You got a minute?”

She nods, switches places with the student, and drags a hand over her face once she’s out of her patient’s view.

“Thanks. Thought this day would never end…,” she says as you lead her into the empty hallway. She looks at you then, like she suddenly realizes she said that to someone who has been here for over 24 hours. “Shit, sorry–”

“Don’t sweat it,” you say with a wave and a chuckle. “I did come to make sure you get some rest. And because I wanted to let you know that I think you’ve done a fantastic job today.”

She perks up, shoulders dropping, eyes wide as saucers. “You think so?” she asks. Her voice is laced with a little too much enthusiasm to just be from the adrenaline of the day. “Thank you.”

You nod, “You really impressed me.”

And, oh, the addition might be a mistake. Because after you say it, she flashes you a bright smile, like all the effort she put into today has suddenly become worth it because of your praise. She’s fucking gorgeous. You already noticed before, but it’s worse this close up; freckles dusted along her nose and cheeks, a set of sparkling, green eyes set on you. You wonder if she knows, or if she’s one of those women who have no idea how beautiful they are. And then she blushes. It’s devastating.

You can’t help yourself. Delirious on being on the receiving end of all of that, and on the hours you’ve worked, you feed her ego further, “Sorry, is Robby– Does he not tell you how great you are at this?”

“Oh, no, no, don’t worry! He does, but in his own… disgruntled way,” she laughs, then takes a step in your direction. “But I um, I really like hearing it from you.”

You wobble where you stand, wanting to step back, but feeling like doing so gives this more weight than it should have. More than she might mean. Though deep down… you know, have gotten better at sussing it out over the years. You can tell from her airy little laugh, the hairs on her arms standing up straight, goosebumps disappearing under the sleeves of her scrubs, the way she bats her lashes while waiting for what you’ll say: she’s flirting with you.

“From both of you.”

It unlocks something–something your fried brain can’t really provide you with a name for. Instantly, you wonder how many times a week that face gives Robby pause. How often he is on the receiving end of that smile and, fuck, this is bad. You need to keep your head on straight, you can’t let your co-workers get to you like this.

Just teach. You are teaching. This is a teaching hospital.

With a heavy blink, you pick your conversation back up. “But you do um, need to know when to take a break, all right? At the end of shift, find someone to take over for you. Don’t run yourself dry.”

She swallows thickly, then nods.

“Okay, so–”

“When’s your next shift?” she cuts in.

You bite your cheek, then say, “I don’t plan on making a habit of being on the day shift.”

She hums, sweet, high pitched, then clicks her tongue. “That’s a shame, I really like…,” she pauses, has the audacity to bite her lip and narrow her eyes at you as she scans your face, “...your teaching style.”

Christ, you’ve accidentally unleashed a monster. Or, well, not exactly accidentally, but it’s hard to hold yourself responsible when you’re spread so thin after such a long day. And when you have a pretty thing like her making advances at you. You like it, though. Like the back and forth–like it a little too much. And so does she, you can sense it radiating off of her, and you have to end this before you do something stupid, like find a rare, empty on-call room to show her exactly what your teaching style could do for her.

“That’s great to hear,” you say instead. “I’ll be sure to give Doctor Robby some pointers.”

“I’d like that,” she says.

“I bet,” you huff out, too much of a mumble for her to hear. “All right, get out of here, it’s end of shift. Go get some sleep,” you say, gathering your composure and sending her off with a jerk of your head.

As she walks away, you realize that Robby will be back tomorrow, even more disgruntled after his conference, his delayed flight, the general stress of the emergency department… and he’ll have to deal with that.

Maybe you should pity him, but you find yourself smiling instead.

– – – – –

Labour Day weekend is a shitshow. While dealing with all the madness a regular night shift entails, including a feverish toddler whose screams reach decibels previously unknown to man, and a burn victim from a house fire, there’s also the dozen or so attendees from an end of summer houseparty, where some ritalin pills were spiked with fentanyl. You see enough naloxone to last you at least a month – a lifetime if you’re honest. Four accidental overdoses don’t make it to sunrise.

One of them is the 8-year-old brother of one of the partygoers, who had been asleep upstairs, snuck down, and most likely mistook the pill for candy.

Right before change of shift, you spot Robby by the central hub, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck while assessing the damage of the night via the board above him. Once you’ve updated him on everyone, you ask, “Do you need me to step in and help?”

He scoffs, because of course he does, especially now that he knows exactly what’s waiting for him this morning. He folds his arms in that way he always does, where they don’t quite cross and he holds one of his elbows. “Should tell you to go home.”

You open your mouth–

“But I won’t,” he says pointedly, leaning down a little to be at eye-level. “Two med students called in sick, there’s still no beds upstairs, it’s…,” he gestures at the board, “...a fucking nightmare here. Could really use an extra pair of capable hands.”

“Thought so. I’ll stay,” you nod.

Before you walk off, he grabs your arm, and when you turn… he asks if you’re okay. It catches you completely off guard. Not the question itself, but the way he asks; in a voice that’s so genuine and soft it cracks on every word, and with a little squeeze of his hand that makes the reassuring warmth of his palm bleed through your scrubs. Tears spring into your eyes, making Robby’s go soft in return.

“The night was um, rough,” you admit, blinking rapidly.

“Thought so,” he echoes. Then, carefully, “You should… let yourself feel it, it’s better if you let it out.”

Your head tips down with a knowing sigh. It’s not new information, but the reminder is nice. And, in a way, it’s a relief that you still haven’t become desensitized to all of this despite how many hours you’ve spent doing this job.

“Go get some cold water from the fridge in the staff lounge, sit, and don’t come back until at least an hour from now. And if you still want to stay, you can stay.”

You concede, nodding and inhaling slowly. “Thank you.”

“Hey,” he squeezes your arm, makes you look at him, eyes widening when he says, “Come find me, if you need me.”

It’s decidedly a declaration, and not a question. You blink up at him, hold his gaze for longer than necessary–longer than you should, because you can practically feel Dana’s stare and you don’t want her babying you all day because she’s worried.

“I will,” you promise.

Robby releases you, turning back to the board, and you make your way to the break room.

Exactly one hour later, you’re back on the floor.

Robby’s talking to Dana, hands in the pockets of his pants, nodding along to something she reads off her iPad. When he spots you, he cranes his neck and gives you a look. You give him a thumbs up in return and a fake smile, something that says, I’m still not okay, but doing well enough to be able to work. His reply comes in the form of a narrowing of his eyes and a huffed out breath. As soon as Dana is finished up with him, he approaches you until you’re standing shoulder to shoulder by the ambulance bay.

“We’ve got two en route, waterski vs. waterski,” Robby says.

You roll your shoulders and nod once. “I’ll take Trauma 1, you take Trauma 2?”

From the corner of your eye, you see his head turn to you, and you swear he smiles.

It’s a whirlwind after that, of screams and orders, blood, fractures, trauma. It’s a miracle you get your guy’s vitals to stabilise. The other room’s still frantic, and when you sail through the sliding doors between Trauma 1 and 2, you find it’s mostly because of how packed it is; there’s two nurses, an R1 on the phone, a med student taking notes, Robby’s listening in as Garcia from surgery fires away questions at Mr. Waterski 2, with his R3 by his side.

You announce yourself by saying. “Other room’s stable, what can I do to h–”

“Got the blood!” comes from behind you. Another med student walks in, puts a brake on the speed with which he enters the room a little too late, and he steps on the back of your shoe as he hands the bag to one of the nurses.

You trip– or, rather, you’re shoved up against Robby’s resident. She squeaks out an, oh! when you collide with her, and your hands find her waist to keep yourself from tumbling over further. It’s no use. You’re like two dominos, your shared momentum making you crash into Robby. Her hands land on his chest to keep her own balance, and Robby stumbles backwards into the wall, a tray of medical supplies clattering to the floor. Your front is pressed against her back, your hold on her tightening as you essentially pin her up against Robby. His hands are up, blue gloved digits trembling slightly as he looks down at her, his pupils dilating, his next intake of breath sharp between his teeth.

“Whoops,” she says between you, voice breathy, and you might have laughed, even just from the tense nerves fluttering through your body, if Robby hadn’t chosen that moment to flick his eyes up to yours over her head.

A deep, dark flush colours his cheeks, the tip of his nose, creeps down the protruding tendons in his neck and into the collar of the shirt he wears under his scrubs. Without your permission, your lip finds its way between your teeth, unable to look away from how affected he is.

Guess you aren’t the only one nursing a little crush.

But duty calls, and you untangle from each other as fast as you’d gotten pressed together. Robby sends the med student away with a curse and a barked out order that’s a little too sharp for the poor guy.

The alarms around you are still blaring, doing wonders to tuck your collision somewhere in the back of your mind and snap you back into attending physician mode. Taking the head of the bed, you keep Robby and his residents updated on vitals as they work on figuring out why they’re dropping.

Both water skiers make it.

– – – – –

After 12 weeks of alternating the night shift with Shen, you find yourself in one of the bars down the street, where the usual post-shift drink had turned into somewhat of an unofficial going away party. It's early evening and the mood is mellow, with people trickling in and out all night depending on change of shift.

Halfway through the night, when things have significantly quieted down, you spot Robby by the bar, freshly showered by the looks of it. It’s the first time you see him out of his scrubs. He’s swiveled around on his stool, bottle of beer in his hand. The moment your eyes find his, he turns his gaze away, staring straight ahead instead. He looks sad, but not in his usual puppy dog way, more like he’s… pining. When you follow his line of sight, it lands directly on–

Of course.

Before you know it, you’re making your way over with quick strides, a grin you can’t hide plastered on your face. When you reach him, you open your mouth–

“Don’t,” he begins with a scoff, “even start.”

“What?” you say innocently, tucking yourself between him and the open stool next to him, leaning back against the bar. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“Saw the little…,” he gestures at your feet, “...pep in your step as you came over. Can’t imagine what’s swirling around that head of yours.”

“Can't help it, you have no idea what working the night shift with Ellis and Walsh as much as I have does to a person.”

“I do, that’s what’s got me worried,” he laughs. “You only have Mohan down there to keep you sane.”

Air puffs out your nose at that. “Speaking of.. What’s her deal? Sometimes she gets this… look on her face; Ellis describes it as looking like she just made the saddest realization.”

“She works in the emergency department,” Robby reasons.

“No, it’s more than that.”

Robby sets his beer down with a hum, then folds his arms like he’s hugging himself and closes one eye in thought, “Is it after someone brings up Abbot?”

Your time to think. “Now that you mention it…,” you say, going over your interactions in your head, “yes.”

He picks his bottle back up with a knowing nod. “She switched to the night shift a couple weeks before Abbot’s accident, looked real sad about his injury and the prospect of not seeing him for months. Think she’s harbouring some… warm feelings.”

“What about you?”

Robby grins. “I do not harbour warm feelings for Doctor Abbot.”

You give him an exaggerated fake laugh. “Just for someone else.”

Robby takes a swig from his bottle, giving you a long look and swallowing thickly. It’s enough to make you straighten up, confused eyes narrowing before you use them to gesture at his resident.

“Are you gonna make a move on her, or are you just gonna keep staring at her?”

He sighs deeply, like he knows better than to answer, but he does it anyway, “It alllll depends.”

“Oh, yeah?” You bring your drink up to your mouth. “On what?”

“If you are going to make a move on her.”

It makes you spit your sip back into your glass with a choked sound. Fuck, okay, he’s more observant than you gave him credit for, noted. Robby smiles against the rim of the beer bottle pressed against his lips.

You gather your composure with a shrug. “It is my last day.”

“That it is,” he says with a slow nod.

Silence stretches between you when your mind prompts you with something–something you haven’t been able to stop thinking about since Labour Day weekend. This is kind of the perfect day to bring it up, to gauge Robby’s temperature and act on the tension that’s been present between the three of you ever since the incident.

You need an extra sip of your drink first, though.

As you do, you flick your eyes to the side and find Robby fidgeting with the collar of the brown button down he’s wearing.

“We could both make a move on her,” you broach carefully.

“Absolutely not,” Robby snorts immediately, turning his head to face you. Then, more seriously, “We are not… competing over one of our residents.”

“Why? Afraid you’ll lose?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Pff, my job, maybe,” he puffs out quietly.

“C’mon, you were with Heather and that didn’t cost you your job.”

“How do you even..? That was diff–” Realizing he took your bait, he licks his top lip, then swipes a hand down his face, scratching nervously at his beard before pointing back and forth between the two of you, “Because we’re not 20-somethings in med school, that’s why.”

You roll your eyes, take another sip. Like you need the reminder. “No one said anything about being each other’s competition.”

That catches him off-guard. The hand holding his beer hovers in the air, forgotten in its journey from his lap to his mouth.

You continue, “We could, I don’t know… double team he–”

“Please, don’t– Fuck. We can not fucking,” he lowers his voice to a hiss, “double team her.”

Your eyes widen, and you throw your hands up in a way that says, Sorry I even considered it! With a large gulp, you finish your drink and put the glass on the bar behind you, willing the dent he put in your ego away. If Robby doesn’t want this, that’s fine, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun. “Message received. I’ll make my move then.”

After two steps, a firm hand closes around your bicep, slowly dragging you back. Your pulse jumps as he twists you around.

“Wait… a minute. I just…” Robby’s gaze darts between her and you, and back. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable because I’m there.”

He signals with his eyes, implies… something, but what, you have no idea. Puzzled, you look at him, your brain going over the possibilities as your tongue passes over your bottom lip. If it’s not about you, and not about her, is it a self-esteem thing? Does he not know his whole… well, everything, does it for a lot of people?

A little flush creeps up his face the longer you wait, until he can’t take it anymore. “Oh, for the love of– I’m a man.”

Air escapes out of your nose at the comment. He can't even look at you after he says it. A smile threatens to curl at your lips, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep it from morphing into a full blown grin; you don’t want to make him feel bad because god, that’s actually really fucking cute…

“Robby,” you begin, stepping closer so that you’re standing in between his legs. You reach up, take the folded-over collar of his shirt between your fingers to feel if the fabric is as soft as it looks (it is). Robby’s breath hitches when you do, eyes flicking to your exploring hand for a moment. “Man, woman, anything in between… I don’t care, I like everything.”

Something changes in his eyes, like your words flip a switch in him, but not the usual switch that flips in men when you tell them you’re bisexual. This isn’t excitement over the prospect of potentially seeing you with another woman, even though that is on the table right now. It’s more about… the realization that you’re attracted to him, that you are included in the deal. It makes you shiver, more so when his eyes drop to your mouth, only for a second.

“So, unless you’re this slow in bed,” you tease, “should I go present our case to her?”

The hand around your bicep tightens, and you swear he growls. “No. I’ll settle our tabs and then I’ll fucking go to her. You go say your little goodbyes to everyone, it'd be rude not to.” He’s so close you can feel his warm breath fan out over your lips, “And once we get to yours, or mine, or hers–I don’t care where, I will show you exactly–”

“Easy,” you say, dragging the word out with a chuckle, his change in demeanour making you feel warm. “She goes first. And then we’ll see what happens.”

– – – – –

“Are you sure you’re sure?” you ask her on the way.

Robby’s behind the wheel of her car, driving towards her address she rattled off to him; he put the two of you in the back to catch up on what he told her. He hums in agreement. “Cause I can just… drive you home, we’ll get a cab, it won’t be a big deal.”

“And let you two have all the fun without me?” she laughs. Her hand finds your thigh. Unfair. “No.”

You stop her. “I’m serious.”

“And I appreciate that,” she says, voice losing its teasing lilt, turning her hand under yours and taking it with a squeeze, “but I want it, so you can stop worrying and start kissing me.”

“Okay,” you nod, watching her as she cups your cheek and leans in, a waft of her perfume, or maybe it’s the shampoo she uses, making it to your nose. Focus. “But um, anytime you want–”

“I know. I will. Now, kiss me,” she whispers, close enough that her eyes cross a little. “Please?”

A deep sigh sails from you the moment you finally close the distance, weeks of piled up tension finally coming to this moment–clearly inevitable, now that it’s here. Her lips are soft, and when you swipe your tongue over the seam of her lips, you taste a hint of some fruit-flavoured drink she had earlier tonight. She parts for you immediately, moaning as you close your lips around her bottom one with a suck, before letting your tongue meet hers.

“Fuck.”

It comes from the front seat. Robby’s brown eyes look at you via the rearview mirror, flick to the road, and then back.

“Are we far out?” you ask, kissing down her neck, enjoying the way she sighs, cups the back of your head, and tilts hers to give you more room.

“Almost there,” comes the gruff reply.

“Then step on it.” You make your way back up to her mouth. “You’re gonna want in on this.”

– – – – –

Her apartment is cute, quaint in an old-fashioned way, and you like it, it suits her. You stumble into the living room positioned much like that day you crashed into them in the hospital; Robby walking backwards, led by her steps as much as her kisses, and you at her back, hands on her waist and pressing your lips to her neck, her shoulder.

Before you can fully consider if her bedroom is anything like the rest of her place, Robby trips, the three of you landing on the couch instead, and you realize you’re not gonna make it to the bed. It’s impractical with three people, but there’s gentle laughter and the soft, yellow light of a lamp she flicks on, and you make it work. She certainly makes up for it in eagerness, dividing her time between you equally.

Robby manoeuvres her against one of the armrests, pulling at her clothes until her bottom half is bare, and pushing her top up to expose her tits. In no time, they’re glistening in the dim light, the skin rubbed slightly raw from the time he spends with his face all over them. Just as you've pulled your shirt off and rolled your jeans down, Robby's satisfied with his work.

He pulls his hand from between her legs and drags you to them with a, “Got her nice and wet for you.” And as he starts unbuttoning his shirt, he moves back so you can take his place.

To say you’re dying to taste her might be a bit of an exaggeration, but you do feel spit pooling on your tongue at the idea. You make your way down her body, soothing Robby’s assault on her skin, pressing kisses to some of the cute little freckles scattered across her torso and then on the curls that cover her pussy.

Her legs widen to give you more room, and it really shouldn’t make you feel as smug as it does. Under other circumstances you would have taken some more time with her, but when you use two fingers to spread her open, your eyes glaze over a little at the sight of how Robby's prep has her dripping, and you can’t help yourself.

You drag your tongue up between the V of your fingers, flattening it against her opening with a groan to really taste her. She’s sweet, soft yet slippery in a way that makes your blood pump. And she’s vocal, a little sigh or moan escaping her lips with every pass of your mouth. But it’s nothing compared to the pleased grunt she lets out when you tell her how much you’ve wanted to taste her for weeks.

Robby hovers behind you, the sound of his clothes rustling after the clink of his belt buckle filling your ears. Then the couch dips, and slowly, he plants a knee between your legs, scooting forward until his thigh meets the fabric between your legs. You can feel the line of his boxers, the press of his bulge against your ass. His hands close over your hips, pulling you harder against him and then he just… stays there, holding you in place.

You slow down with a frown. It feels good, the little barrier between you beginning to soak through with the pressure, but–

“Just… keep going,” he says, fingers toying with the waistband of your underwear.

He’s using that voice, you realize. The kind of soothing tone that he’d use on a patient… right before pulling a dislocated shoulder back into place. He’s attempting to lull you into a false sense of security and it instantly has you on edge.

“Fuck, please, that feels amazing,” comes from in front of you when you gently circle the tight bud under your tonue. Her hand reaches down to cup your face and hold you in place, while the other pinches at her own nipple. “Stay right there.”

Giving her your best attempt at a nod, you concentrate on keeping your rhythm instead of on Robby’s dislocated shoulder voice, to give her enough to please, but not enough to get her off just yet. But it’s hard, because Robby is still toying with the elastic on your hips, fingers dipping underneath and back out in a pattern you can't quite discern, and it’s fucking distracting.

When your resident’s hips begin bucking up, Robby’s hand finds the back of your head, his whole palm big enough to cup it, which is also very hard to push from your mind. His fingers twist into your hair and move you until you’re shaking your head between her soaking thighs, your tongue lolled out as you pass it over her clit again and again.

It helps to get lost in her, how wet your chin is getting, how her arousal is smeared across your lips, your cheeks, your nose… until, without letting go, Robby shuffles back a little. You let out a whine, instantly chasing the pressure.

“Give me…,” he yanks your underwear down to mid thigh, “...a second,” then presses his bare thigh against your soaked folds.

You jerk against him, the surprised moan it tears from your throat filthy and loud, echoed by your resident only moments after. Robby chooses that exact moment to let go of your head, hands finding your waist to put an arch in your spine and angle you down using his bodyweight, and you’re helpless to stop it. It makes you slide along the hard muscle of his thigh, grinding you against him in a way that rubs your clit just right, and…

You come.

It isn’t anything big, just a steady throb that comes with the friction on your clit after all that continuous pressure. It does nothing to douse the twinge of arousal pooling in your belly–borders more on the painful side of pleasure. Most of all, it pisses you off.

“I said her first,” you snarl, your head snapping back at him as you let two fingers take over for your mouth.

“Could’ve just waited,” Robby shrugs, and he looks so annoyingly smug, smiling down at you, still holding you tight against him–he can probably feel you fluttering. “I can’t help it that you’ve got such an eager pussy.”

Jesus fucking Christ, maybe you underestimated him. Maybe you should have left him in the bar.

Then again, you’re more turned on than you ever remember being.

“When you get a taste of her you’ll see why it’s so hard to concentrate,” you attempt to quip.

“Make her come and I will,” Robby challenges, and this time when he pulls his leg back, it feels like relief.

With a huff, you turn your attention back to the woman in front of you, attempting to find your bearings by pouring equal parts arousal and frustration into doubling your efforts. Your middle finger slides inside of her with ease, and with the next thrust, you fold your ring finger over it and curl up to massage the soft walls of her cunt. The sound she makes in return is exactly what you were looking for, irritation making room for desire–to make her feel good, to make her come undone.

Having done this plenty of times, you don’t need any pointers, and you’ve barely started or she’s already begging for it. This is your favourite part, when they plead with you not to stop, ask for your mouth and “just a little more,” when you’ve got them on the precipice and it’s up to you to tip them over the edge. So, you do, sucking her clit back between your lips, and watching her intently while your fingers find that spot inside of her and push until she’s crying out.

You can feel Robby leaning over you, moving closer and closer, and if you weren’t so preoccupied with the grinding against the push of your tongue, you’d be able to come up with a clever comment about his reading glasses. After a few more passes, you pull back with a smack, her answering desperate sound music to your ears.

“Come here,” you say, and you reach for Robby, grabbing him by the jaw to draw him in.

Taking the spot to the left of you, he shuffles closer until her calf rests over his shoulder and you’re both on your stomach with a premium view. His large palm slowly travels along your back, sliding from left to right, fingers flitting over your ribs, using his grip to keep you pinned to his side. He’s helping you keep your balance, you realize, making sure you don’t roll off the side of the couch. It makes your eyes flutter when he takes advantage by letting his touch ghost along the side of your breast.

“It’s not every day you see something like that,” he says, effectively redirecting your attention from his wandering hand to the two fingers that are still curled inside your resident.

Carefully, you pull them out, the both of you watching as little strings of milky-clear arousal web between your digits. You use them to find her clit, mixing your saliva with her come, watching her spit-slick hole twitch when you do. She gasps, trying to squirm away, but quickly realizes she has nowhere to go when two different hands shoot up to keep her in place.

“Stop teasing,” she protests hoarsely.

It’s hard to take it to heart when she looks dizzy with arousal, her chest still rising and falling at a rapid pace, and makes a weak attempt at closing her legs.

“You’re fun to tease,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh that's both meant to soothe and to keep her spread open. It makes her muscles jump under your touch. “So sensitive.”

Robby lets out a shaky breath. “Can’t blame her after seeing what your mouth can do.”

The small victory makes something hum in your brain, but it’s short-lived when his fingers flex against you again.

“I want to see what your mouth can do,” you confess, head turning and watching as his jaw ticks. Your thumb strokes along his beard, nail scraping over some of the greys between the dark hair, and you struggle to fight a smirk when his lips part. “I can guarantee you she’ll love this.”

A soft little, Oh, please, sails up from above you, and you grin, using your grip on Robby to push him against her soaked folds.

He shuffles closer after the first contact, mouth falling open to engulf her pussy when you let go of him. Pinned in place, you watch with quiet curiosity as he gets to work.

Though there’s overlap, his technique is different from yours. Where you’re more about spit, long lines and swirled circles, using the flat of your tongue, he’s more… rigorous, harsh sucks to her clit that make her keen, quick flicks to it that he can keep up for an impressive amount of time before pushing his tongue inside of her.

Oh, he’s… He’s good at this.

Before you can think too hard about the added sensation of the bristle of his beard on her entrance, her hand fumbles for the back of your head, pushing you down when she gets a good grip. With a muffled Hmmmpf you collide with her, lips clumsily smearing over her wet skin, your smooth cheek pressed to Robby’s rough one. He grunts when you make contact with him, before pulling away from her clit with a suck and giving you better access.

“No,” she protests, whining as she motions for him to come back. “Together.”

You realize what exactly she’s asking for, and everyone is just fuuuuull of ideas today, apparently? Good ideas… You can't deny she’s kind of an evil genius for making this work so well for her.

It’s new territory for you, but you could spend the whole night between her legs and not complain, so you look at Robby, raising your eyebrow in question to see how he feels.

There’s a lazy grin on his face, and his head cocks with a shrug, “You’re the one who wanted to double team her.”

The chuckle you let out in response is mostly air, and you draw your lip between your teeth while shaking your head. He’s such a bastard for revealing this information to her now, when she’s spread out and desperate, all but begg–

“Fuck me,” she growls. “Then do it. Please.”

It takes a moment to find the right approach, to divide your attention equally without constantly getting in each other’s way.

You don't want to compare it to work, nothing about this is like dealing with trauma patients, but… it is kind of like it. Let's say it’s definitely a testament to how attuned to each other you have become that you make it work.

When he focuses his attention on her leaking entrance, your tongue finds her higher. When his mouth slides back up again, yours travels along the crease between her thigh and pelvis, down until you can suck a mark into the curve of her ass. It becomes this dance, but you're both leading, both anticipating each other's moves and adapting while your resident's moans rise in pitch.

Robby's arm curls around her thigh to keep her down when she arches up. “You wanted it like this…” he says when he pulls back, working his jaw and pursing his lips before spitting down on her, “...so take it.”

She shrieks at the action, cursing afterwards with a shudder in her voice.

Your body, naturally, reacts more like you just got shot in the gut; a pang of arousal in your stomach that pulses and twists, a surprised intake of your breath to match.

Who the fuck is he right now?

What the fuck he does next is chase the glob of saliva as it trickles down her clit.

But you're… locked in place, following his moves until he pulls away and twists his head to you like he's wondering where you are.

His eyes are hooded, pupils pushing out the brown of his irises, and his mouth hangs open, the bottom half of his face damp and shiny. It makes whatever's been brewing between you since the revelation in the bar impossible to ignore. In another momentary lapse of reason, and thinking more with another part of yourself than with your brain, you kiss him–it’s more of a collision really, hard pressed, but that’s what makes it so good–

“Fucking… finally,” Robby growls.

Correction, that’s what makes it so good.

You use the words to lick into his mouth with a slow flick and a sound you're not proud of, but it's all worth it when his tongue glides against yours, and you feel his facial hair brush your lips, and god, you'll never tell him but he's right, you should have done this sooner.

He tastes like her, and there’s a conflicting feeling to it; excitement at the notion that he can probably taste the same thing on you, but also something… possessive, like you want to keep kissing him until you taste him.

The quick reminder of her makes you slip your thumb between the slide of your tongues, before reaching blindly for her, letting Robby take control over your kiss as you press the wet digit against her clit.

“Just like that,” she sighs, her hand finding your wrist, guiding you where she needs it and keeping you there. “‘s gonna…gonna...”

But then Robby makes a protesting sound in reply.

He lets go of your side, pushing your hands away before cupping the back of your neck to direct you both back to her pussy. It’s a dizzying, three-way kiss; messy, and so slippery, and what the hell, for someone who shuddered at the words “double team”, Robby’s pretty fucking exceptional at it.

“Ohhhh, myfuckinggod,” she squeals, clearly in agreement, followed by a giggle that morphs into a groan. “It looks so fucking hot, please– Oh, please don’t stop, please make me come like this.”

The hand on your neck squeezes, holding you down so you can't do anything but work her together–not that you want this to stop anyway, it's a very, very clear winner in the Hottest thing that has ever happened to you-competition.

You keep going until your head is swimming, until you have no real idea whether your tongue curls around his, or around her pulsing clit. Vaguely, you register Robby’s fingers pumping in and out of her, but don’t have much time to wonder how you missed that, because when he pulls them out with a grunt, she’s coming.

You feel her orgasm more than you hear it, warm and wet as she desperately grinds herself against your faces; the vibration of Robby’s answering groan as his hold on you wavers; the thud of your knees against the floor as you slip off the couch, gravity forcing you off her as you heave a desperate gasp.

Robby manages to chuckle, eyes flicking down at you before dedicating himself to working her through the aftershocks of her orgasm.

“Holy shit. That was good. Thank you,” she pants, running a hand through his hair as he nips at her thigh.

She makes an attempt to reach for you, but her arm just rolls limply off the couch, joining the leg that came down with you.

“I need to lie flat. If only there was a doctor around…” she grins, “...it appears I've lost all sensation in my extremities.”

“I gotcha,” Robby laughs. He takes hold of her calf, wincing as he gets up on his knees, and yanks her closer to him.

A bright giggle bubbles up from her throat when she slides down, hair fanning out over the cushions. She’s glowing, with satisfaction and a thin sheen of sweat; she looks even more beautiful than she already was.

You're still kneeling next to the couch, watching as Robby does exactly what you would do: kiss his way up her body until he can press his mouth to hers. After, he whispers something you can’t hear, something that makes her cup his cheek and smile with a nod. He kisses her neck, little brushes of his mouth as he grinds himself against her.

He's still wearing his boxers. They must be ruined by now, if not from his own arousal then definitely from the way he's rutting up against her pussy. You want to see it. Mostly to see what's under it, because he felt big against your ass, and–

You pull your underwear from your legs, giving yourself more room to push a hand between your legs. You can already feel your arousal as your fingers inch up the inside of your thighs, slippery trails of where it’s leaked down in just the short time you’ve been kneeling.

“Get back on the couch,” Robby says suddenly, head turning to you.

“I kind of like the view,” you say, grinning when his eyes drop to where you're touching yourself.

He beckons you closer with a crook of his finger while moving to sit back on his haunches.

You shuffle closer, looking up at him. “I want to watch you fu–”

“I want that, too,” he assures you, and before you can scold him for never letting you finish a thought or a sentence, he's bending down to kiss you again, and your mind goes quiet. He holds you by the neck, thumb and ring finger at the corners of your jaw, pulling until you have no choice but to stand, then murmurs, “So would you just fucking… listen to me? Be good and sit on her face.”

Your shiver at the words, eyes flicking to her, and she responds by opening her mouth and showing you her tongue, and god, yeah, another great idea.

Your legs wobble, and Robby’s hands fly to your waist, guiding you to her with an amused look on his face that shouldn’t turn you on.

You can't believe you worked with these people for a good chunk of your 12 week stint at PTMC. Earlier, you wished you’d done this sooner. Now, you’re certain you wouldn’t have survived if you had.

You can’t help but hiss when your pussy makes contact with your resident’s perfect, warm tongue. She flicks at you once, twice, before she tugs you down on top of her, that mouth that has made you laugh so much opening under you to pull a deep moan from your throat instead.

“There you go,” Robby rasps as he lets go of you.

Their combined attention makes you melt, some of the tension that always comes with this position slipping away, making you slump and take a more firm seat. With your eyes cast down, and a hand cupping your own breast, you watch her, the pink of her tongue peeking out from between your legs every now and again.

After a couple passes of her tongue, she suddenly moans, nails digging into your thighs. Your eyes shoot up to watch Robby, slumped over, his little quiff matted down, one thumb hooking the waistband of his boxers down far enough to have taken himself out. The condom he rolled on while you were occupied gives his shaft a shine, like he’s already covered in her slick; the tip of him pressed to her entrance definitely is.

You were right when you felt him earlier, but maybe thick is a better word to describe him–thick in a way that… yeah, that would have you a little worried for her if you hadn’t spent the better part of this rendezvous with your tongues between her legs. Still, she squirms when he slips the head inside, one moan loud and clear in front of you, another trapped against your cunt.

Seeing them both so affected changes your demeanour, like no longer being the very center of attention is giving you more freedom to play with them a little. To be sure, you lift a knee, plant a foot into the cushions. She gasps when you lift off her, and you can’t help but smile at the way she arches up to chase after you.

“Are you okay, honey?” you ask, stroking her wet chin.

“Yes. It feels– It all feels too fucking good,” she manages.

“Hmm-hmm, I bet,” you nod. “But you can take it,” you say sweetly, before promptly sitting back down. The vibration of her muffled, surprised sound makes you sigh, but the answering moan comes from in front of you.

“Jesus,” Robby says, inching a little further into her. “I didn’t think you’d get… like that.”

You let out an amused huff, because the thing is, you’re not; not often, anyway. You’re content to adapt to what the situation asks of you, and this one has you floating, high on pleasure, on feeling wanted, and watched. And when you think about it, he made it this way.

Your hands find her chest, squeezing at her perfect, plush tits before using her as leverage to roll your hips along her eager mouth. Leaning forward, you let your lips meet that spot in the center of Robby’s chest, the spot where his perpetual flush seems to bloom up from.

“Like what?” you ask anyway, looking up at him through your lashes, dragging your mouth over the coarse hair that’s scattered all over his torso until your tongue flicks at his nipple.

“So…” He hisses when you bite him, hand fisting the hair at the back of your head to pull you off, “...fucking mean.”

“Takes one to know one,” you say, enjoying the way he uses his hold on you as leverage to fuck her, subconsciously matching the rhythm of your hips to his.

With a tug, he angles your head up, kissing a path down the center of your throat. “Got that fucking right,” he murmurs, before moving to where your neck and shoulders meet and biting at the juncture.

It hurts, but the good kind, where it’s on the tip of your tongue to aks for more. The thing is, he’s been creative so far, and you’re not sure you can handle another surprise. You can feel him grin when he pulls away, like he knows exactly what you were thinking, which, at this point, wouldn’t surprise you; he’s smart, should’ve known he’d be a quick study.

Under you, your resident moves one of her arms from under your thigh, reaching between her legs with a desperate sound. Robby’s not the only quick study; you’ve figured by now she needs the stimulation to come. It isn’t surprising, it's the same for you, but it is helpful information. You reach for her, grabbing her wrist and pinning it to her belly, just out of reach.

“Wait,” you tell her pointedly, shushing her whines and reveling in the way they vibrate against you. Heat begins pooling in your belly as she slides her tongue into you, making something promising simmer deep inside.

“Please,” she murmurs between mouthfuls of your pussy, her hand twitching in your grip. “Can I come?”

It takes everything in you to conceal how affected you are by her pleading when you look at Robby. “Ask him.”

Obediently she asks, “Please, can I come?”

A snarl flickers across his features as he contemplates his answer, and without looking away from you he says, “What was that?”

“Robby.” It doesn’t sound like her; an octave higher, drenched in desperation. “Please.”

He waits a second… two… three. “Yes,” he says, eyes glazing over with something darker when she thanks him.

In a flash, you bring your free hand up to your mouth, getting the pads of three fingers wet before using them to strum at her clit, rapid flicks from left to right that make her writhe under you, another shriek landing muffled against your cunt.

Robby’s reaching the end of his rope too, you can tell by the way his thighs shake as he frantically tries to keep fucking her.

You work together, looking down, leaning closer until your foreheads are pressed together, her little moans rising in pitch until she's shuddering beneath you, another orgasm pulling her under its current.

“Fuckfuckfuck, it's– She’s squeezing me so…” Robby trails off with a rumbling sound, eyes snapping shut before he pants out, “I’m gonna come. Tell me w–I need to know–oh.”

You sit up, giving her some reprieve and ask, “Where?”

“Fuck, come on my tits,” she says, pushing them together.

Robby pulls out of her, tearing his condom off with a snap!, scrambling to straddle her waist. He's red all over, his cock nearly purple at the tip, eyes glued to her chest as he strokes himself.

Your eyes zero in on the way his fist moves over his cock, quick, squelching flicks from root to tip. He’s leaking, steady drops of precome oozing from the head of his cock and the more you watch him, the greedier you get.

“Let me do it,” you say, tongue passing over your palm and reaching down.

His free hand catches it, voice straining with effort as he says, “Wait, I–”

“Robby, stop it,” you say, pulling yourself free. “Let me do it, I need to do it.”

Your hand has barely closed around his or he’s coming, a deep surprised moan tearing from somewhere deep in his chest as he twitches in your grip. Your eyes widen, tingles of excitement fluttering through you as the first thick rope of it shoots up against your belly, the rest ending up on your resident’s tits.

He exhales heavily, chest rising and falling at a rapid pace after. “I said wait,” he grits out after a couple of panting breaths, his hand slipping out from under yours.

“Could've just done that,” you retort, still milking him, enjoying the way he grunts as the last dribbles of come ooze from the head of his cock. “I can’t help it that you’re so sensitive.”

“Oh, fuck you.” It comes out half groan/half chuckle, and actually sounds like he's kind of impressed with you. Then suddenly, he's more serious, “Oh, you need to– Slower, slower,” a shaking hand closes around your wrist. “‘s too much.”

“Surprised you held out this long in the first place,” you smirk, following his instructions, slowing to a halt and letting go as he starts to soften in your hand. “Thought for sure I’d end up somehow having to finish the job.”

“Hmm, no, don’t have to worry about that with me,” he says, with a lazy grin. He redirects his attention to your resident. “You okay?”

“I’m fucking great,” she grins, still sounding a little dazed. She reaches for you, grabbing at your thighs. “I just need you to sit back down.”

Before you can properly prepare for it, you’re pulled back onto her mouth, a surprised huf sailing past your lips. Your eyes flutter shut as she laps at your swollen clit, your concern for your own pleasure rushing back to the font of your mind now that everyone else’s is taken care of.

You reach for her hand, leading it up your torso to your chest, where she squeezes your breast, massaging the soft skin before pinching at the peak. The sharp pain mixes perfectly with the swirls around your clit, and with every tweak and swipe, she makes you barrel towards the edge faster and faster.

Your eyes fly open when Robby’s hand cups your cheek. He says nothing, seemingly just… holds you to hold you. And he watches, lets his gaze rove over your face, eyes flicking down the length of your body and back up. “Feels good, huh?”

“Yeah. We–oh, f-fuck–made the right call with her.” You barely get the words out or she wiggles her hand between your legs to let two of her fingers slip inside you.

Robby hums, “We did.”

Slowly, you start rolling your hips, meeting the curl of her fingers. You bite your lip, a little frown forming between your brows when that familiar sense of pleasure starts blooming from somewhere deep inside of you. You don’t even really have to chase it–it’s more like it’s chasing you.

“Oh,” you gasp, clutching at Robby’s wrist to have something to hold on to. “Oh, you’re doing perfect, it’s gonna make me come.”

“Yeah?” Robby’s brow arches. “Gonna show me this time, hmm?”

Fuck. You nod as her tongue flicks faster and faster, making your hips twitch. It’s nothing like the first one–it’s the complete opposite, like it never stops building until it does, suddenly, in a way that seems to push all the air out of you as you gasp, gasp, gasp…

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Robby says, his grip on you forcing you to hold his gaze. “Show me how pretty you look when you come– There we go.”

Goddamn him.

It’s like an avalanche, a loud, vibrating groan rumbling out of your chest as your muscles clench and you push your hips down harder. It seems to reach you everywhere, your thighs quivering, heat tingling up your spine, and your hand scrambles to hold Robby by the shoulder to make sure you don’t topple over. His face becomes a little blurry as you try desperately to keep your eyes open, as the gentle strokes of her tongue start bordering on too much… until it actually becomes too much.

You scramble backwards, overstimulated, ducking down at an awkward angle towards her panting mouth and giving her a sloppy, upside-down kiss. She clutches onto you, licking into your mouth with enthusiasm as you pour praise down her throat, assuring her how good she made you feel, how beautiful she is. After a couple spit-slick kisses, you pull away, taking in her face and stroking a thumb along her freckled cheek, before kissing it and sitting back against the armrest.

Catching your breath, you watch as Robby hauls her up into a sitting position. She reaches for his face, pulling him into a kiss that’s almost chaste in comparison to the one you shared with her.

When they part, his eyes find yours over the top of her head. He calls you over in silence, repeatedly opening and closing his outstretched hand. You take it, and he pulls you closer until you’re kneeling behind her. Then, he brings the back of your hand to his mouth, presses a kiss to it and says, “Good job, team.”

It makes all of you laugh.

The aftermath isn’t as awkward as you feared. You drink a big glass of water, share a snack in her kitchen, take turns showering, listen to her and Robby discussing their schedules to figure out when they’ll see each other next… and then you move to the front door to say your goodbyes.

She kisses you on the mouth before you leave, thanks you as she pulls away.

When you part ways with Robby when you exit her apartment complex, he does the same.

– – – – –

It's Monday morning, a little over a week later, on your day off. You should use the time to sleep in, not to sit behind your laptop in your kitchen before 7am, but you were up the second you were awake. As you're putting the finishing touches on the sign off of the email you're writing, your phone buzzes.

It’s Robby.

That’s kind of freaky.

Ellis told me to tell you she misses you on the night shift, he writes.

the kids always miss the substitute once their teacher is back, you reply. how happy was samira to see abbot?

Had to talk her down from organizing a welcome back party.

A smile pulls at your lips. Of course she’d try that. Sweet. how was he? healed okay?

Busy trying not to smile too wide at the cake Samira brought in anyway. Then, Healed okay, just some expected general discomfort left. And, Why does Abbot say he has permanent stock in your medical degree?

You roll your eyes. So much for that. because he’s an asshole.

He doesn’t reply, and with a quick glance at the clock you realize his shift probably began and chaos is ensuing. You put your phone down, checking if your cover letter is in the attachment of the email, if you spelled PTMC correctly in the email address… and it looks like everything is in order.

Then your phone buzzes again. This time, Robby’s calling.

“Do you want to hear the story that badly?” you answer with a chuckle. “Because I promise it’s not that–”

“I absolutely want to hear it, but… not why I’m calling.” You wait for him to say more, and hear him sigh deeply before asking, “Can I see you this week?”

You suck in some air through your teeth. “Missing me already, Doctor Robinavitch?”

“I uh, had this dream about you, the kind where I…,” he pauses with a chuckle, and you kind of hate how you can picture him; head tipped down, hand scratching at the short hairs at the back of his head, “...had to do something about it when I woke up. Was almost late for work.”

Oh, fuck. You didn’t expect him to say that. Instantly, images flood your mind of a nondescript bedroom, Robby tangled in bed sheets, still sleepy, thinking about you, rutting against the mattress, maybe even with his hand around his–

“Jesus, Robby…,” you huff, snapping yourself out of it while your cheeks begin to feel warm. Then, you think about her, and you bite your lip before asking, “What about your R3?”

“Wasn’t in my dream,” he says simply. “She’s seeing someone from neuro. At least, I believe they're neuro.”

“So I’m just second choice all across the board, huh?” You aim for a joke, but oof, ouch, you actually kind of hurt yourself with that one… Closing your eyes with a sigh, you try to come up with a way to save it, but Robby’s already speaking.

“You know,” he begins, and he sounds amused, and you hate him, “someone as smart as you should know not to make assumptions.”

“Huh?”

“I’m calling you, not her,” he says, then adds quietly, “Ellis told me I looked… sad�� Actually, she said I looked like I just made the saddest realization.”

Well, first of all, few times Robby doesn’t look like that. Second, and once again: Huh?

“After she brought you up to me,” he continues.

That makes something click in your brain: He’s talking about the Samira look, the look you told him about in the bar, about her harbouring– Wait. Your entire body goes rigid as the realization kicks in. And then it floods with something pleasant, something that tingles and makes you giddy…

Warm feelings.

Robby’s voice sounds a little unsteady on the other side of the line when he breaks the silence you put between you, “But you can just tell me the story, and we can pretend this conversation was just that. No hard feelings.”

“I’m free tonight, if you want to hear the story. You can come over after your shift, and…” with a hum, you pretend to think, letting your mouse hover over the ‘send’ button on your job application email, then continue, “...who knows what else I might spill should I be… How should I put it, properly motivated? Suitably loose? Nicely–”

“stuffed?” he finishes for you, voice soft, and deep, because he’s at work but he can’t help himself; he’s calling you about a wet dream he had about you that was so good he had to get himself off after, and making confessions, and the whole thing is actually really getting you goi– “Yeah, text me the address, I’ll fucking be there.”

Click.

He hangs up at the same time you press ‘send’.

– – – – –

Thanks for reading! Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with! I originally wanted to post this for Pride Month, but evidently that didn't work out like I wanted, turns out I have a life and responsibilities (bummer...), but yes, anyway, happy belated Pride Month, friends 💖💜💙!

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anticipayosbot · 14 days ago

Text

Have You Been Good?

A The Pitt 'Reader X' One-Shot.

One-Shot | Explicit | Dr. Abbot x Fem!Reader | 1,061 words ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Summary: If someone had told you what Jack was like in bed before you got together, you would have laughed at them. Jack? Soft-spoken, dry humored Jack? The man who was always ready and willing to go above and beyond for his patients? The one who distracted little girls from their broken arms with corny jokes or remained calm and focused in the midst of a chaotic operating room? That Jack? Yes, as it turned out. That Jack. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Tags: Daddy Dom, Daddy Kink, Female Reader, Praise Kink

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

[ A/N: I woke up this morning and chose violence. And by 'violence' I mean Daddy Dom porn. Enjoy. ]

If someone had told you what Jack was like in bed before you got together, you would have laughed at them. Jack? Soft-spoken, dry humored Jack? The man who was always ready and willing to go above and beyond for his patients? The one who distracted little girls from their broken arms with corny jokes or remained calm and focused in the midst of a chaotic operating room? That Jack?

Yes, as it turned out.

That Jack.

You remember the first time you saw the real him. It was your second date and he had you reduced to a wrung out ball of tears and hormones in less than twenty minutes, cooing into your ear about what a good girl you were as he stroked you to your third orgasm of the night.

After that it was impossible not to see it.

For a man with one real leg, he moved like a predator. Swift. Methodical. Intense as all hell when locked in. And with you? He was always locked in.

And you, as you discovered very quickly—because clearly somewhere along the way your wires got crossed—are really fucking into that.

Tonight was no exception.

He doesn’t ask for permission when he gets you home. Just helps you out of your coat and purse, hangs them up neatly by the door…and then bends you over the dining room table like this was just a part of your usual routine.

You feel all the air punched out of you as his fingers skate smoothly up your thighs to ruck up your skirt. Jack always loved you in skirts. He never told you this directly, of course, but you knew.

That’s why you always wore them.

He makes a chiding noise with his tongue when he slips his hand into your panties and feels just how wet you are. How wet he made you.

“Already so wet? But I haven’t done anything yet.”

That’s exactly the problem and he knows it. He’s been torturing you all day. Gallivanting around town all afternoon. Smoothing his hand along the small of your back. Playing with the hem of your skirt. Casting those intense stares your way until you felt your blood heat and the place between your legs grow slick and swollen.

He’s a goddamned tease, that’s what he is.

“Please,” you whine, desperate and shameless. Your fingers claw at the cool wood of the tabletop as he presses a single finger against the pulsing, greedy little bead of flesh that is your clitoris.

“Has my girl been good today?” He said conversationally, his finger still light as a feather, not pressing down and rubbing the way you so desperately want it to. “Do you think she deserves to come?”

“Yes! Yes! I’ve been so good!” You feel tears begin to leak from your eyes and drip down onto the tabletop and can’t even be bothered to care. You need to come. You need it. Your whole body feels fevered and flushed and achy all over.

“Mmm,” Jack agreed, finally—finally!—pressing that finger down and rubbing once, twice, before slipping it down further to dip it into the weeping opening of your cunt. “I suppose you’re right.”

Then he’s slipping his hand out of your panties and you can’t help but make a pathetic keening sound. But then you hear a delicious groan, the sound of fingers being sucked clean, and then the tell-tale jingle of a belt being undone.

Instantly, you’re widening your legs and wiggling your hips, trying to get closer.

“You’re very greedy today.”

You just nod, your cheek hot against the cool wood. You are. Extremely. But you know he’ll give it to you anyway. He always does.

Jack pulls your panties down your legs until they pool on the floor, then kicks your legs a little wider to accommodate his hips as he moves closer. You feel the hot, hard length of his cock brush up against the dripping seam of your cunt and a hand curl around the back of your neck, keeping you still and ready for him.

The first press of him inside is overwhelming. A relentless push that steals your breath and stops your heart.

“There she is,” Jack grunts, almost to himself. “Always so warm and wet, just for me.”

The words alone make your cunt clench down, ripping a rare gasp from him. In retaliation he shoves the rest of the way in, making you moan and your toes curl against the hardwood floor.

He sets an unforgiving pace, no time for you to adjust—no slow and easy lovemaking the way other lovers might—just pushing and pulling and fighting his way inside like he never wants to leave.

You fucking love it.

This is what you needed. What you’ve been craving all day. For him to fuck the thoughts right out of your head and leave you a limp, shivering mess on his dining room table. Like you’re a thing to be used. His precious good girl who knows how to take his cock.

You feel him slide his hand down between your legs, feel those clever, perfect fingers slip-slide their way past your labia and circle over your clitoris. Around and around and around they went, each circle making you gasp and writhe on his cock like an animal.

“That’s it,” he says sweetly, his whole front pressed against your back, trapping you against the table as your body jerks and shudders helplessly. “Come for me. Nice and pretty like you always do.”

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, knocking the breath from your lungs and the words from your throat. Your cunt sucks and ripples over Jack’s cock greedily—just like he accused you of being—and you hear him groan as his own release finds him. He pumps you full—two, three, four times—and then heaves a contented sigh against your ear.

“Good girl,” he breathes against your cheek, kissing your temple. He always gets so sweet once the games are over—once you’re both so tired and full of oxytocin to do anything but lay there and giggle like children.

(Or maybe that’s just you.)

“Mm,” you agree. “I am aren’t I?”

Just for that, you get a swat on the ass. You giggle.

Perhaps the games weren’t over quite yet.

If you enjoyed this fic, please check out my The Pitt fanfiction masterlist.

Thanks for reading! 💙

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anticipayosbot · 14 days ago

Text

jack much prefers your cunt, but he pulls out the ole pocket pussy he had for overseas when you’re acting up too much for his liking :/

just makes you watch as he fucks it and tuts when you complain. bc you decided to be bad and this is what you get

“she doesn’t feel as good as yours”

“look at what you made me do”

“i’d rather this be you”

he let’s you clean the come off it when he’s done tho. and maybe, maybe, if you apologize sweetly enough he’ll make you come on his fingers and tongue 🤭

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anticipayosbot · 19 days ago

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Stop im obsessed 😭 i need to read the full fic version of that.

There is something so intimate about caregiving and letting yourself be vulnerable in front of someone. Jack and Dana are the only two people he willingly allows to see that side of him.

Jack picking him up like, "Mikey, I thought you said it was just a cold" and Robby like "I thought it was too but I guess not *big fevery doe eyes*" - and Jack is a little down on himself for not *insisting* that Robby stay home and rest that morning.

Also 100% agree that Robby becomes very physically clingy when he isn't feeling well. And this teeny tiny part of Jack kinda loves it... like he hates that Robby is miserable but he can't say he hates the side effects of it 🤷🏻‍♂️

Here it FINALLY is! I've been working on this idea on and off ever since I got these asks and now we have it! I may have gotten a little carried away with it, but I just loved the idea too much

Robby grimaced as a headache throbbed behind his eyes, insistent and angry. He pushed his glasses up onto his forehead so he could pinch the bridge of his nose, high enough that the counterpressure eased some of the ache, before blowing out a heavy breath. “Lookin’ a little peaked, Cap,” Dana said, her voice closer than Robby had been anticipating and he startled a little as he squinted up at her. When had the lights gotten so bright? “Oof. You feelin’ okay?” She started to reach out and press the back of her hand to his forehead- an instinct born of being both a mother and a nurse- but Robby just leaned back in his chair so he’d be out of range.

“Yeah, fine.” Robby waved off her concern but she just stared at him over the rim of her glasses. “Bit of a headache. Probably need a coffee, some sugar, something.” Robby shrugged and the motion made his head reel a little despite the way he was barely moving in deference to the ache there.

“I can do you some Tylenol and one of the flat Cokes in the staff fridge.” Dana’s mouth curled a little at the corner as she leaned her hip against the edge of the desk.

Robby’s own mouth twitched up and he huffed a humorless sort of laugh. “Deal.” He rubbed the heel of his hand into his eye and she put a supportive hand on his shoulder before she dashed off to grab the meds and the drink.

“Dr. Robby,” Robby blinked up to see Whitaker hovering with his notebook clutched awkwardly in his hands. “I- um- just wanted to ask you about this chest trauma case-”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Robby said and scrubbed a hand over his face before tucking his glasses into his chest pocket, nearly whiffing it and sending them to the ground, but thankfully recovering in time. He only swayed a little on his feet once he was completely vertical and gestured for Whitaker to go ahead of him.

By hour seven in the shift, Robby’s vision was swimming as he checked the chart for the last trauma that had rolled in, Santos taking the lead under Samira’s supervision. The two were an unlikely duo on the outset, but their differing approaches and skill sets made them an effective team. If only he could read Santos’s notes to check her cognition work.

“Alright, what’s the deal?” Dana asked and planted herself firmly beside the monitor that Robby was attempting to work at.

“Dunno what you mean,” Robby said and itched at the corner of his eye. It was dry and irritating him. Probably too much time spent looking at a screen. Usually didn’t hit until hour ten though. Must be having an off day.

“You’re not wearin’ your sweatshirt, Robby,” Dana said as if she were talking to a particularly stupid nursing student. “Combine that with the pallor, the sweatin’, the loss of focus, and a slew of other symptoms I’m sure you’re keepin’ from me,” Dana gave him the stink eye for that one, “means somethin’s up.”

“I take off a sweatshirt and you get all that?” Robby asked, clearly trying to deflect.

“How long we been workin’ together?” Dana asked, the question clearly rhetorical. “I think I’ve seen you take that thing off maybe five times tops.” She lifted an unimpressed eyebrow and Robby sighed heavily. Sometimes he hated her observational skills. “You gonna clue me in or make me sedate you to run the tests while you’re out?”

“Just a cold, Dana.” She scoffed and gave him a look that told him to try again. “Really, it’s not that bad. Minor fever and a headache.”

“That what your labs’ll say?” Robby let out another heavy sigh and slumped in his seat. “C’mon, darlin’, let me check you out. Only in the above board way, of course.” Dana winked at him and he huffed laugh at the teasing. “If you’re okay, you’re okay and I back off. If not, I call someone to pick you up to go home.” Robby’s first instinct was to fight her, to insist he was fine and keep working, but she just lifted both brows and- as only Dana could- went for the jugular. “You really wanna be the reason an already sick patient gets sicker?”

Robby’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “Below the belt, Evans.”

“Left me no choice, Robinavitch.” She held a hand out towards one of the empty rooms. “C’mon. Sooner we get this done, the better.” After Robby struggled to his feet, Santos started towards them but Dana just shook her head from where she’d planted a firm hand between Robby’s shoulder blades. “Go ask Dr. Collins or Dr. Mohan, sweetness. Robby’s with me for a bit.” Santos’s eyes widened as Dana hustled Robby into the exam room.

“You know she’s gonna tell everyone now,” Robby grumbled as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed carefully, head spinning at all the movement.

“Yeah, well, maybe then they’ll let you get some rest,” Dana said and started taking his vitals. He was doing pretty well- good oxygen, pulse slightly elevated but nothing that wasn’t typical of a day in the stress of the ER, BP practically textbook perfect- until Dana took his temperature.

The thermometer beeped and before she’d even pulled the probe out from under his tongue, she was frowning in a way that Robby knew was no good. She turned the reading around so he could watch it flash his temperature at him: 103.6.

Shit.

He fucking hated it when Dana was right.

“Gonna say it’s a little more than a cold,” Dana said and set the thermometer aside so she could gently brush his sweaty hair off his forehead. Although he’d never admit it out loud- at least not in her presence- it felt sort of nice even with the layer of nitrile in the way of her cool hands. “Let me do some nasal and throat swabs, send ‘em off, and see what we’re dealin’ with.”

“Hopefully they’ll be separate,” Robby joked weakly because that was all he could come up with as he finally let his tired eyes flutter shut and his head slump down towards his chest.

“Ha, ha, so funny,” Dana said dryly before she leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to the crown of his head. “I’m gonna give you a pass on the bad jokes since you don’t feel good. Stay here, lay down, and I’ll be right back.” Before Robby could say or do anything, Dana helped ease him back onto the bed. Which was probably a good thing since any motion gave him the spins and he wasn’t sure his aim would have worked out.

Robby closed his eyes completely and he hadn’t thought he dozed off- except he must have which was another indicator of how sick he had to be- but when he opened them the lights were dimmed and the curtain had been drawn so that nobody could see into the room.

And like she had felt a disturbance in the Force, Dana popped her head around the curtain. “There he is,” she murmured and came over to the side of the bed so she could pull the tray table closer. It was quick, efficient, and easy. Robby would expect nothing less from Dana. “I’ll send these off on a rush. You need anythin’?”

“No,” Robby rasped out, throat dry from disuse and probably sleeping with his mouth open.

“I’ll getcha some ice chips.” Dana winked at him before she tucked the capped test swabs into her pocket, unfolded a blanket from the nearby shelf, and then tucked it around him like he was a kid rather than a man in his fifties. “Be right back, Cap.” Robby just made a vague noise of acknowledgement before he felt himself slip under again.

His dreams were only half-formed, amorphous things that blurred around the edges and didn’t follow any sort of coherency. A fever dream pure and simple that he had to practically fight his way out of as stimuli from the ER slowly starting filtering in to remind him where he was.

Robby blinked groggily at the ceiling as he slowly pieced together the fact that he was actually awake. And more importantly, he wasn’t alone. Dana was at his bedside, hand on his shoulder lightly. Must have been calling his name, waking him up. “Well, we got a winner, Robby.” Dana rubbed her hand over his shoulder softly. “Looks like you got the flu, darlin’.”

Robby let out a low groan. The flu had been particularly bad for a while a few weeks back, but Robby had thought he’d dodged it. Between the flu shot and his stringent hand-washing and disinfecting protocols, Robby had been careful. But then again, nothing they had was a hundred percent against a particularly determined strain of disease.

“I’m gonna call that husband of yours to come and get you.”

“No, don’t wake Jack up,” Robby said, voice even more raw-sounding than it had been before. “Can take a cab.”

“Not in the state you’re in. Besides, you think Jack’s gonna forgive me if I dump you into a cab like this?” Dana shook her head and huffed a faint laugh. “I do not wanna be on that man’s shit-list. Not even for you, darlin’.”

“Okay, yeah,” Robby relented and lifted a shaky, clammy hand up to his face to scrub at it. And it was an dead giveaway of how shit he felt that he agreed so easily.

“Gonna get Collins to write you a ‘script for some Tamiflu while I get Jack on the line.” Dana helped Robby sit up and take a few sips of some Pedialyte she must have brought in with her and then set a spoonful of ice chips to melt in his mouth. She only stepped to stand in the doorway as she flagged Collins down and tugged her phone out of her pocket at the same time.

Robby felt a small smile tug at the corner of his lips as Dana dialed Jack up while she gave Collins a quick run-down on Robby’s condition. Heather shot him a sympathetic look- he must have looked pretty pathetic for her eyes to have gone so soft- before she gave Dana’s wrist a squeeze and went off to get Robby’s medicine.

“Hey, Jackie, sorry to wake you. I got Robby here with-” Dana’s lips curled up in amusement at whatever Jack must have said on the other end of the line. “No, no, nothin’ too serious. But he spiked a fever so we tested for flu and- yeah, exactly.” She rocked between her feet as she listened, glancing over at Robby briefly. “Okay, kiddo, I’ll let ‘im know. See you soon.” Dana hung up and she slipped her phone into her pocket so she could face Robby fully. “He’s on his way to pick you up. I’m gonna call Shen to come in early and cover so you just lay back and rest.”

“I can go into the on-call room. No need for me to take up a bed that someone else needs,” Robby said and he started to ease himself to the floor.

“Robby-!” Dana sprinted forward and caught him right as he lurched dangerously. “Jesus Christ, I swear you’re a glutton for punishment.” She shook her head but there was a well of fondness there. “Just gonna slip a mask on that pretty face and we’ll get you laid down.” Dana made sure he was steady before she grabbed one of the masks out of a box on the wall. The almost tender way she slipped the loops around his ears and adjusted the nose made Robby’s throat prickle with emotion.

Probably just the fever. Made everyone a little loopy and emotional.

Dana kept one hand on his back and the other on his chest as they made their ungainly way to the on-call room. It really wasn’t much- couple cots with thin blankets that mostly got used for people pulling doubles- but Robby still let out a soft sigh of relief at being horizontal again.

He’d dozed off again before Dana had even left the room.

Robby was sure that he dreamed again though he couldn't have said what any of it was since he didn’t remember. He came to to the feeling of soft fingers in his hair and someone’s chin propped up on his shoulder. His mouth felt clumsy as he said something, though with how cloudy his head was he didn’t remember what it was even just after he’d said it.

“English, baby. I don’t speak Russian.” The voice was familiar, warm.

Jack.

Right, Dana had called Jack to come get him. Because Robby was sick. “Sorry,” Robby mumbled and he turned into the light touch to his hair.

“It’s alright. Do that sometimes in your sleep too.” Jack was smiling a little when Robby cracked an eye open to look at him. Then his face sobered a little and a knot of concern formed between his brows. “You told me you had a cold, Mike.” His thumb stroked over Robby’s temple. “I never would have let you come in if I’d known.”

“Thought it was,” Robby said and shrugged apologetically. When he’d woken up it’d just been a minor ache in his head that he’d attributed to sinus pressure. There hadn’t been any chills or body aches, not until later.

“Okay,” Jack said quietly and shook his head. Though if it was disbelief or just at Robby’s lack of self-awareness and preservation, Robby couldn’t say. “What do you say we get outta here and get you home?” His fingers pushed Robby’s hair back away from his face again. “Bed at home’s gotta be more comfortable than this thing.”

“Low bar,” Robby joked and then let out a low groan at the way it made his head ache.

Jack hummed and he pressed his thumb into the spot behind Robby’s ear, rubbing a small circle there in an attempt to ease some of the pressure. “I’ve got your meds, so we’re gonna get you home, have some food before you take your pills, and then bedrest until you’re twenty-four hours fever and symptom free.”

“Sounds good, Doc” Robby said and leaned his forehead against Jack’s wrist.

“Oh, you must feelin’ pretty bad if you’re going along with prescribed treatment.” Robby huffed a breathless laugh and he felt Jack brush a soft kiss against his forehead before he was pulling away completely. “Up you get.” Between the two of them they somehow managed to get Robby’s uncoordinated limbs to cooperate into getting him upright and moving towards the door. Though Robby was sure it was down to Jack’s arm around his waist more than anything he was contributing.

“I don’t wanna see either of your faces for at least three days!” Dana called out after them fondly and Jack shot her a quick thumbs up over his shoulder, making her laugh.

Luckily, Jack had parked in the ambulance bay so it was just a few steps before Jack had successfully bundled Robby into the passenger seat and they were on their way home. Robby didn’t fall back asleep, it was too short of a ride, but he did lean his forehead against the cool glass of the window despite how the vibration seemed to ricochet through his skull.

Jack came around the car once they were parked in their short drive and put his hands on Robby’s hips to keep him steady when he got out. If it’d been any other day, Robby might have made a teasing comment about Jack feeling him up, but he was too worn out and so instead he just swayed into his husband’s chest and dropped his head onto Jack’s shoulder.

“I know,” Jack murmured and he pressed a slow, lingering kiss against Robby’s temple. “Inside, let’s go.” Jack’s hand on his back was consistent pressure that helped steer Robby inside their place despite the unreality of his fever really starting to set in.

Robby fumbled his shoes off at the door, waving off Jack’s help, and then made his wavering way towards the sofa. “No, Robby, baby, bed,” Jack said and hurried forward to loop an arm around Robby’s waist to guide him toward the bedroom.

“Crumbs, Jack,” Robby practically whined as he leaned into Jack’s side, face tucked up behind his ear.

“I promise not to bring you anything with crumbs then,” Jack promised and Robby didn’t have to be able to see his face to hear the amused smirk that he was no doubt wearing. Robby hummed and nuzzled closer to where he could hear and feel the thud of Jack’s carotid.

Distantly, Robby registered that Jack- who was always so warm when they were pressed together like this or even just held hands- felt cool to him. Almost chilled. Except, no, that couldn’t be right. Must have just been how feverish he already was, throwing off his temperature perception.

Robby startled when he felt his thigh bump up against the edge of his and Jack’s bed. He hadn’t even really felt them moving, though everything felt like it was moving all the time from his fever so that might have been why. “Let’s get you out of these,” Jack murmured and started to gently ease Robby away.

Robby let out a whine and tried, clumsily, to reel Jack back in. He didn’t want space between them. He wanted to just curl up against Jack and soak in the familiar comfort of his husband’s body.

“Robby, sweetheart,” Jack said as he peeled Robby away from him despite Robby’s weak protests. “We need to get you changed. Your scrubs are all sweaty. That can’t be comfortable.” Robby grumbled, words suddenly far too complicated for him to want to bother with. “I’m gonna be right here the whole time,” Jack murmured and he swept his thumb over Robby’s cheek soothingly.

And as ridiculous as it was, the reassurance helped to calm the needy part of Robby’s brain that didn’t want to be left alone when he felt like death warmed over. So he let out a puff of breath and let his aching, tired limbs go pliant as Jack reached for the hem of his scrub top.

Robby shivered once Jack had him down to his boxers, the air in the brownstone feeling frigid compared to Robby’s elevated temperature and the chill of his sweat not helping matters. “I’ll be right back,” Jack said and he brushed a kiss against the side of Robby’s head before he moved away. Robby let his eyes close and he wavered on his feet a little without Jack’s support, but it didn’t last long before Jack was back in Robby’s space, letting Robby lean into his chest as Jack worked a t-shirt over his head.

“Love you,” Robby murmured thickly as he dropped his head down onto Jack’s shoulder so he could burrow into his neck again.

“Love you too, Mike,” Jack said and his fingers came up to curl into the short hair at the nape of Robby’s neck. “How about you have a little lie-down while I make you something to eat?” Robby hummed amiably, already feeling completely drained just from letting Jack undress him, and before he knew it, Jack was tucking their sheets around him so none of the cool air could slip in.

…..

Jack left the bedroom door cracked so that the sounds of him moving around their place would be muffled and Robby could rest, but that if Robby needed anything then Jack would be able to hear if he called out. He took a moment to breathe, scrubbing a hand through his hair, before he padded into the kitchen.

Tucked away in one of their cabinets was an index card case and Jack pulled it down to slowly flick through the cards inside until he found what he was looking for. It was a yellowed card, stained at the edges, and written in the looping handwriting that Robby had told him belonged to his mother, Hanna. He flicked his eyes over the listed ingredients before making a mental list of what they had already and what he’d need.

One Instacart order and twenty minutes later had Jack sitting on one of their bar stools as he chopped onions and potatoes, shredded carrots and cabbage, all while he kept an eye on the chicken so that it didn’t burn as it slowly cooked in the bottom of the battered dutch oven that neither of them got much opportunity to actually use.

He’d never made this recipe before. But he’d heard the way Robby talked about how his baba would make it for him when he was sick, how it instantly seemed to make him feel better even when he could barely prop himself up to eat it, so Jack wanted to do this for him. Wanted to be able to lend that sort of comfort when Robby was so clearly miserable.

Once he’d gotten everything into the pot to simmer and had washed his hands, he moved to the doorway of their bedroom to poke his head in. Robby must have kicked off the sheets in his sleep, overheated, but he was curled tight on his side like he was cold again. Or like he was trying to find some sort of self-soothing comfort. Well, that wouldn’t do. Jack crossed over to their bed and he separated the top sheet from the comforter to tuck it around Robby’s shoulders, stroking his fingers through Robby’s hair, and just sitting on the edge beside Robby’s bent knees.

Robby made a low noise, part hum and part mumble as he stirred a little but didn’t quite wake up. Jack cracked a small smile and tenderly smoothed his thumb over the whirl of short hair behind his ear. “Robby,” Jack murmured as he kept up the light touch, “sweetheart, time to wake up.” Robby let out a weak whine before he burrowed his face into the pillow as if he could hide from Jack’s voice pulling him from sleep.

Robby finally seemed to give up the fight and emerge from sleep, blinking straight ahead at the bedroom before he shifted slightly and his eyes slowly tracked up Jack’s arm to his face. “Jack,” Robby breathed, a slow-spreading smile breaking over his face and making Jack’s chest melt.

“Hey,” Jack murmured and he scritched at Robby’s scalp lightly. “Think you might be up for some food so we can get some medicine into you?” Robby’s nose crinkled a little at the suggestion. “You’ve gotta eat, baby,” Jack said as gently as possible. “I made some soup.”

“Soup?” Robby’s brow furrowed and it was like it took him a moment to correlate the word with what it meant. And then he lifted his head, nose twitching a little before he turned over on his back so he didn’t have to crane his neck to look at Jack. “Did you-” Robby’s eyes went wide and soft around the edges, lower lip trembling for a brief moment, “Did you make shchi?”

“I tried,” Jack said with a short puff of laughter as he combed his fingers through Robby’s sweat-damp hair. “Wanna have it here or at the counter?” He wasn’t sure Robby would be able to sit at the kitchen island, but if Robby felt up to it, he’d make it happen.

“Here’s fine,” Robby said and he pressed into Jack’s touch.

“Okay,” Jack said and he slowly, tentative to Robby’s reaction in his heightened emotional state, pulled his hand back. “I’ll just get it and bring it and your meds to you.”

“Okay,” Robby murmured before he tipped his chin up in silent request for a kiss. And how could Jack say no to that? He ducked down and brushed a chaste kiss against Robby’s mouth and pressed another to his forehead before he stood from the bed. He tapped his fingers against Robby’s hip before he went back out to the kitchen for the soup.

Jack lifted the lid on the dutch oven, using the spoon to poke around and make sure it was done, before he nodded- as satisfied as he could be given that he’d never had the original recipe- and reached for a bowl from their cabinet. It was one of the deep ones so that if Robby’s hands were unsteady he was let likely to splatter soup on himself or the bed sheets.

Once he had it dished out, he grabbed the collapsible tray so he could put the bowl, a spoon, a glass of water, and the bottle of Tamiflu all together to carry in to his husband. His husband who was sitting up against the headboard with his pillow crammed behind him clumsily and looking like he was halfway to falling back asleep.

“I’m warning you now that it’s probably not going to be as good as your baba’s,” Jack said as he moved to settle on the edge of the bed and then prop the tray up over Robby’s lap, “but it’s got plenty of nutrients so I think either way it’ll at least be good for you.”

“Jack,” Robby said and reached out to wrap his fingers around Jack’s wrist before he pulled it away from the handle on the tray. “You went through the effort of making me soup that my baba used to make me when I was sick as a kid. It may not taste the same but the same love is there.” Jack’s face felt warm at the earnestness in Robby’s expression. While he’d never doubted that Robby loved him, Robby had never been the most verbose about it. He was a show more than tell kind of guy. “Smells good.” Robby picked up the spoon in slightly shaky hands and blew on it briefly before taking a bite. He made a contented sound before going for another spoonful.

“Take it it’s passable then,” Jack teased and rubbed his hand over Robby’s shin through the sheet still draped around him from the waist down.

“It’s better than that. It’s good,” Robby said sincerely. His eyes sparked with something before he spooned up another mouthful and then held it out to Jack, his other hand cupped beneath it to catch any stray drips of broth. “Try some.”

Jack quirked a small smile at Robby’s quiet enthusiasm before he took the spoon from Robby’s hand to pop it into his mouth. It was warm and hearty with just a bit of an acidic tang from the sauerkraut. Jack didn’t have a frame of reference for this soup in particular, but it definitely tasted like it belonged in the same family as some of the dishes that Robby and his sisters had made in the past from their baba’s recipes. “Yeah, I think I did alright,” Jack admitted and handed the spoon back to Robby so he could keep eating his soup.

“Only big difference is sour cream,” Robby said absently, like he wasn’t even thinking about the fact he was saying it out loud, as he licked the stray drops of broth off his palm and then lifted another spoonful to his mouth.

“What?”

Robby startled and flicked his eyes back up to Jack’s from where he’d intently been trying to scoop up a piece of grated carrot. “Oh, um, sour cream. Sometimes she’d put this big dollop on top. Made it tangier and thickened it up a little if you let it melt a little before stirring it in.” Robby shrugged slightly as he finally spooned the carrot and a bit of onion before he put it in his mouth and just left it there.

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” Jack promised easily and then tipped his head. “You finished?” There was a little broth and some bits of potato still in the bottom of the bowl, but he could tell that Robby was starting to drift a little.

“Hm? Oh, um, yeah,” Robby mumbled around the spoon before he pulled it from his mouth and settled it inside the bowl. His movements were intentionally slow, like he was already starting to feel disoriented again.

“Okay, medicine next then,” Jack reminded him gently before prodding the bottle closer. Robby shot him a withering look at being treated like a child but it wasn’t particularly effective both because he was sick and therefore not at full strength and because Jack had been inoculated against its effects years ago.

Jack handed Robby the water glass after he’d shaken out one pill and put it into his mouth. He always hated when he watched Robby dry-swallow medication. Made his stomach hurt in sympathy. But Robby didn’t argue with him, just took the glass and drank about half of it in steady mouthfuls.

Jack took the glass from Robby’s hand and instead of placing it back on the tray, he set it on the bedside table with the bottle of medicine so that when it came time to take it again later, it would be close at hand. “Alright. Let your stomach settle for a bit and then you can get some more sleep.” More than likely with the state he was in, Robby would be able to sleep sitting up.

“Jack?” Robby’s voice was small and it made Jack pause from where he’d started to gather everything back up onto the tray to look at him. He was met with deep brown eyes that- on occasion- made him forget how to breathe. “Thank you.” It was soft but emphatic. Like Robby genuinely thought that Jack would want to be anywhere but where Robby was, sick or not.

“In sickness and health, baby,” Jack said and shot Robby a quick smile and a wink before he lifted the tray up from Robby’s lap. Robby rolled his eyes, making Jack’s grin spread just that little bit wider, before tugging the sheet up a little further. But not before Jack noticed the tips of his ears going pink in a way that had nothing to do with his fever.

It was a little ridiculous, practically preening over the fact that he could still make his husband blush, but Jack wasn’t always a logical creature. So he had a bit of a swagger in his step as he carried the dishes out to the kitchen, a small smile as he measured out portions of soup to box up for ease of access later and then washed up the dishes. He was still smiling as he slipped back into their bedroom to find Robby settled properly in bed and already asleep again, all signs of tension eased out of him so that it made it easy for Jack to slot himself into bed beside him after he’d taken off his prosthesis like it was any other day.

…..

By the third day, Robby was starting to feel better. Low-grade fever instead of the high temps he’d had at the beginning, body aches lessening, and his head only really bothered him if he tried to read anything for prolonged periods of time or he fell asleep with his neck at a weird angle.

The problem was-

Well, the problem was that as Robby improved, Jack seemed to be wearing down.

Robby glanced up from his book to where Jack was attempting to fold their spare bed sheets. Attempting being the key word since Jack seemed to be just looking at it listlessly for long stretches before making a groggy fold that was really just a crease.

“Jack,” Robby said quietly to catch his attention. One glance at the dazed fog in Jack’s hazel eyes and Robby knew that Jack was sick too. “I think we need to take your temperature.”

“I’m fine,” Jack muttered and waved a dismissive hand. Robby thought he saw a faint tremor there, but Jack was tucking it under the pillowcases in his lap before Robby could get a proper look.

“Jack-” Robby sighed heavily.

“Michael.” Jack mocked Robby’s tone and set his jaw stubbornly.

Okay, great, so Jack was going to be that way about it. Robby took a deep breath before he raised an eyebrow at him. “In sickness and health applies to you too,” Robby reminded him before he set his book to the side so he could walk over to Jack’s chair.

Jack shot Robby a mulish look, but when Robby reached out to brush Jack’s hair off his forehead so he could press his wrist to Jack’s forehead to gauge his temperature, Jack didn’t fight him. And just like Robby had predicted, Jack’s skin was hot to the touch.

“I think it’s time you got yourself in bed,” Robby said and bent to take the sheets off of Jack’s lap, tossing them back into the laundry basket to be dealt with later.

“I can finish those,” Jack protested but it was weak, his voice thready with fatigue.

“Another time.” Robby held out his hand and after a second of just staring at it stubbornly, Jack relented and let Robby pull him to his feet. There was a faint twinge of guilt as he combed his fingers through Jack’s hair- curls twined even tighter with sweat- since it was, technically speaking, Robby’s fault that Jack had gotten sick in the first place. Not only because he’d brought the germs home, but because he hadn’t insisted on some boundaries between them to prevent it spreading.

But it had been hard to even fathom sleeping in separate beds or going without the soft, reassuring kisses that Jack had peppered over his face let alone actually going through with it. Robby was a miserable, clingy patient and he knew it. He also knew- just from the fact alone that he’d indulged Robby’s bad behavior without comment- that Jack liked it. Probably had something to do with the fact that Robby was more open when he felt like shit.

Something to talk about in therapy.

But for now, he’d focus on wrangling a still somewhat prickly Jack into bed. He laid a light hand on the small of Jack’s back as they both shuffled toward the bedroom only for Jack to turn his head and bare his teeth at Robby. “I can walk on my own.” It wasn’t quite snappish but it wasn’t the gentle tones of the past two days either.

“I know,” Robby said patiently and put more pressure behind his touch so that Jack wouldn’t stop to argue with him. Because that was the thing about Jack. Where Robby clung when he felt poorly, Jack pushed everyone away like a wounded animal. A fact that Robby had witnessed first-hand over the many years that they’d known each other.

“Don’t baby me, Mike. I can’t stand it when you-”

“Take care of you?” Robby cut him off archly as he peeled the top sheet back, holding it open, and pressed his fingertips into Jack’s back lightly to usher him along. “Like you’ve been doing for me for the past two days?” Jack grimaced abashedly at that as he sat on the edge of the bed, going through the motions of taking his prosthesis off absently. More muscle memory than anything. “You’re going to lay down while I get you some Tylenol and then I’m going to call Dana about getting you your own ‘script for Tamiflu.”

“Robby,” Jack started to protest but Robby just gave him an unimpressed look. Jack huffed and flopped back onto the bed, scowling up at Robby pointedly.

“Thank you,” Robby said brightly and then dropped the sheet down onto Jack’s chest. He turned on his heel and made his way out to their kitchen to grab the bottle of Tylenol from the cabinet.

For Robby, this was as much muscle memory as Jack putting on and taking off his prosthetic. Taking care of people was just what he did. Literally made a career out of it. He brought the medicine, a glass of water, and a bottle of the sports drink that Jack liked back into the bedroom with him.

“Here,” Robby said and waited until Jack had stretched out a hand to drop the pills into his overheated palm and then pass him the glass of water. “Should start to feel better in about forty minutes,” Robby said reflexively as he took the glass of water- drained save for a thin ring of moisture at the bottom, good- and set it on the bedside table.

“What would I do without you, Dr. Robinavitch?” Jack snarked at him bitchily. Robby just snorted a laugh because they both knew that Jack’s bark was worse than his bite. Especially when he was in pain or not feeling well. “However can I repay you for your sage medical advice?”

“Could always leave me a good patient satisfaction score,” Robby joked and moved to unstick Jack’s sweaty hair from his forehead. “Get Gloria off my back for a bit.”

Jack groaned dramatically and pulled the sheet around himself tightly as if it were a shield. “I thought that we promised not to invite the bad energy of invoking the name of admin into our home. Was somewhere in the wedding vows, I swear.”

“My bad,” Robby said and he swiped his thumb over Jack’s temple. “Get some sleep.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Jack muttered around a jaw-cracking yawn. He sounded like he was already halfway to being asleep so Robby just gently pulled back before making his way out of their bedroom. There wasn’t much to tidy up but Robby finished with the sheets, unfolding the bad job of it that Jack had done, and tucked them into the laundry basket to be put away later. Then he fished his phone out of the pocket of his shorts to call Dana.

After two short rings, she picked up. “I thought I told you that I didn’t want to hear from you for three days.”

“Well, hello to you too, sweetheart,” Robby quipped before continuing before she could cut him off. “Firstly, you said you didn’t want to see my face and since this is a phone call, you aren’t. Secondly, it’s been three days.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a pain in the ass?” Dana asked flatly.

“Not today,” Robby said and made sure that Dana could hear the smirk that was pulling up one side of his mouth.

“Obviously you’re feelin’ better,” Dana’s voice was dry but there was an underlying fondness. “So what’re you botherin’ me for?”

“Need to call in a ‘script for Tamiflu.” Robby said and shifted his phone to his other ear. He heard Dana sigh down the phone, coming to the exact right conclusion like she always did.

“Abbot’s sick too then.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yup,” Robby said, popping the p a bit. “Given him some Tylenol and bundled him off to bed for some rest. Meds’ll help speed things along though.” There was a touch of pleading that Robby knew wasn’t necessary but figured couldn’t hurt.

“He already gettin’ prickly?” Dana asked, the note of amusement back to her voice. Robby just hummed an affirmative and tried not to take it personal when Dana laughed at him. “Alright. I can put it into your regular pharmacy so you can have it delivered to your place. Don’t need you goin’ out and gettin’ worn out tryin’ to be a big hero.”

“Thank you, Dana,” Robby sing-songed playfully just to hear her laugh at him again. She did, loud enough that she pulled the phone away to not blow out his ear. “I knew you loved me.”

“Of course I love you, dumbass.” Dana’s voice was warm. “I’ll get that put in for you. You just focus on gettin’ the two of you better so you can get back here and wrangle these damn kids.”

“Is everything-?” Robby started to ask, brows drawing together, before Dana made a noise like a buzzer going off.

“Nope. Not talkin’ about work until you’ve finished your meds and are symptom and fever free for twenty-four hours,” she reiterated firmly. “Give Jackie a kiss from me if he’ll let you get close enough.”

“Will do,” Robby promised and then rubbed at the corner of his eye. He could already feel the slow drag of fatigue reminding him that he wasn’t fully recovered yet. “I’ll see you in a couple days then.”

“Get some rest, Cap.” He hummed a soft acknowledgement before they said their goodbyes and Robby hung up the phone. He glanced around the kitchen to make sure everything was settled before he cast a longing look towards the bedroom door where Jack was sleeping just on the other side.

He thought about crawling into their bed and pressing his nose against the back of Jack’s neck despite the way he would be sweaty and putting out heat like a furnace. Something in him wavered for half a second before he made his way over to the couch, knowing it would be better so that they didn’t keep passing germs back and forth until Jack had some meds in his system but also hating it just a little.

…..

Two more days had Robby changing the sheets again- even with meds in his system, Jack had sweat through them twice- while Jack scrubbed down in the shower. He’d just finished with the tucking the edges in when Jack shuffled out of the bathroom on his crutches. “Perfect timing,” Robby said and shot Jack an easy smile as his eyes flickered down to map across Jack’s shoulders and chest before bouncing back up to his face.

“Easy, tiger,” Jack said with a smirk, though it was a bit ragged at the edges. “Not quite sure we’re there yet.” Robby felt his face flush hot but he just rolled his eyes and stepped out of Jack’s way so he could sit on the edge of the bed when he got there.

“About that,” Robby said and he tucked his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Was thinking that if you were on the upswing that I should get back to the Pitt tomorrow.”

Jack nodded and he didn’t seem to be put-out by the suggestion. “Makes sense.” He tucked his crutches between the headboard and the bedside table so they were within reach. “You don’t need to babysit me, Robby. I can set alarms for my meds and I know how to hydrate and sleep without you watching me.” He shot Robby a fondly exasperated look.

“Yeah, alright,” Robby said and he moved to stand between Jack’s spread knees. “Sue me for hovering around my husband when he’s not feeling well.”

“Considering it,” Jack teased as he set his hands at Robby’s hips and tipped his head up to smile at him crookedly. “I’d give you a kiss but we really don’t want to keep up this game of germ tennis.”

“Yeah, best not,” Robby said quietly and he brushed the backs of his fingers against the corner of Jack’s mouth tenderly. He must have shaved after his shower because instead of the rasp of stubble, it was smooth skin beneath Robby’s touch. “If you need me tomorrow-”

“Which I won’t,” Jack cut in as he tipped his head into Robby’s hand.

“But if you do, you’ll call me, right?” Robby asked and felt a small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Can be back in less than twenty.”

“If it will make you feel better then yes, I will call you if I need you,” Jack promised sincerely, no hint of teasing in his voice.

“Good,” Robby said and he ducked down to press a quick kiss to the top of Jack’s head. “I’ve already called in dinner at that Thai place, should be here any minute.” Robby swept his thumb over Jack’s cheek one last time before he stepped away to grab the basket of their dirty clothes. Couldn’t hurt to do a quick load of work laundry before bed.

“Hey,” Jack’s voice was quiet but it still stopped Robby in his tracks from where he’d been about to head to their utility room. Robby raised an eyebrow when Jack seemed to hesitate. “I know-” Jack frowned and took a deep breath. “I know I don’t make it easy. To take care of me. But I… I appreciate you trying anyways.” His voice was strained, like the words were physically being dragged from his throat.

“How much did that hurt to admit?” Robby asked and cocked his head teasingly.

“Would almost rather have my leg blown off again,” Jack quipped and shot Robby a crooked smile. “I mean it though.” His eyes were all dark and earnest and vulnerable in a way that Robby knew that Jack hated to be sometimes. Most times. At least when it was directed at himself rather than something they shared.

“Yeah,” Robby said quietly, his shoulders softening as he shot Jack an easy smile. “I do, Jack.” Jack nodded, the tips of his ears turning a little pink, and ducked his head. Robby turned to go, giving Jack a moment to breathe and resettle, before tossing a load of scrubs into the wash and waiting for dinner to show.

It hadn’t been a fun experience- the flu never was- but there was a sort of contentedness that had come over Robby at just the simple act of exchanging care with Jack. It was a type of intimacy that was entirely removed from sex but still felt as if it had tied Robby and Jack closer even though most days it felt like there wasn’t any daylight between them to start with. They would still have their issues, their clashes, but if Robby could remind himself to take a breath and remember how he felt at this moment, he felt confident that they would be just fine.

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anticipayosbot · 22 days ago

Text

blurb about how jack likes things messy cause I lost both of the beautiful asks that were sent in 😔

warning: rough blowjob, one gentle ish slap, i guess technically somnophilia? Sort of? Idk

He’s orderly in so many ways. Clean. Organized. Prepared.

All that goes out the window as soon as he gets you on your knees. The professional front is gone, stoic nature nowhere to be seen as he grabs a handful of your hair and pushes into your open mouth.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he groans, staring down at you with hooded eyes, lips lifted on one side, “just love having somethin’ to suck on.”

You’re not sucking as much as choking, but he’s right. There’s something incredibly satisfying about being able to do this, take him, swallow him.

“Open that throat up for me, honey, come on…”

Your eyes roll back, jaw slackening further and letting drool leak from your swollen lips. Jack gives a few experimental thrusts, cockhead slipping past your soft palate to trigger your gag reflex.

He pulls back when your shoulders curl in, the hand in your hair tilting your face up so he can look at you. His thumb gathers the shiny spit that covers your chin, tacky against your cheek when he slaps you just hard enough to sting.

“You can do better, I know you can.”

You know you can too, and you want to. Wanna do this for him.

So you sit back on your heels and open your mouth again, beckoning for him to come back to you.

It takes a second for you to get used to the feeling and relax into it, but when you do, Jack praises you, stroking the back of your head as his hips piston back and forth, thick cock sliding deep into your throat.

You shake and grip his thighs when he pushes you all the way down, your nose to his pelvis, then grinds into you.

And, he sounds so fucking pleased when he throws you the bone you love so much, the one that never fails to make you smile— “‘atta girl.”

You would moan if you could, grin if he’d let you, but your mouth is stuffed and your airway is blocked, and you’ve long since hit that point of dazedness. Now, you’re just dumb.

Taking everything you can, licking the base of his cock, drooling down his balls just like your pussy is drooling on the puppy pad beneath you ‘cause the towels you used to use get too wet, too fast, but the little pads catch everything that Jack forces out of you.

And, Jack forces a lot out of you.

He also forces a lot inside of you. Dildos, speculums, panties, his best friend…

You adore all of it. Every second, no matter how sore you might be the next day, no matter the looks you get at work when your voice comes out raspy.

Jack uses you like an object, then holds you like a lover. He could do anything to you, and you’d let him.

That’s pretty much the last thought you have before you black out for a second… a minute… maybe longer. You open your eyes just in time to see cum shoot out of Jack’s cock, thick and hot as it splatters all over your face.

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anticipayosbot · 22 days ago

Text

brat tamer robby!!! we al chant in unison

You work with Robby two days later where you pretend that you did not see him at a fucking sex club. Probably just a dream—not that you like the idea of dreaming about your boss but it’s better than acknowledging the fact that yes, you saw him there and yes, he saw you there.

It’s fine. The two of you didn’t even talk. All you did was make eye contact and then go your separate ways. Nothing worth committing to memory.

It obviously bothers Robby more than you, though, because toward the end of the day he nods you toward an empty exam room and pulls the curtain shut.

Before he can even say anything, you’re blowing a stream of air through your lips and rolling your eyes, “I’m not gonna say anything, okay? You can chill out.”

Robby frowns, squints, crosses his arms over his broad chest. “How do you know I didn’t pull you in here to talk about your performance today?”

It makes you laugh. Openly. “Did you?”

Something in his cheek twitches, just under one of the patches of white, and though your amusement remains, your smile fades.

Okay, maybe you shouldn’t be poking fun, but it’s hard not to when he looks genuinely annoyed. Toeing just a little bit further over the line shouldn’t get you into too much trouble.

“Fine,” you stand a little straighter, lock your arms behind your back and rock on your heels. “Please give me my performance review,” you say, unable to suppress your smirk when you tack on a purposeful, “sir.”

Robby is silent, but you do see his throat bob with a swallow, catch the way his hand tightens around his bicep. Funny, you think, though he’s likely just irritated at how fucking obnoxious you’re being. It’s not like he’s actually—

Oh, shit. Oh, his eyes are… his eyes are dark. Robby may be staying quiet, but that look is definitely a warning. Don’t test me.

With a click of your tongue, you revert to a more relaxed posture and assure again, “seriously. Nothing to worry about.”

No response.

“It’s not like I want people knowing I was there either.”

Nothing. He’s just… staring.

It’s starting to make you itch.

“I…” you feel your eyebrows pinch together, try to figure out if it’s okay to leave or if he’s waiting for something else. “Uh, sorry…?”

His mouth lifts the tiniest amount, subtly satisfied with your apology, but you’re only able to see it for a second before Robby wipes it from his face with his own hand.

With a jerk of his head, he grumbles, “get back out there,” and you do so eagerly. As you pull the curtain back, you hear it, muttered but still loud enough for you to pick up: “fucking brat.”

Spine straightening, you chance a glance over your shoulder, find that Robby’s gaze is once again fixed on you meaning he’s able to see your deer-in-the-headlights expression.

“I should’ve fuckin’ known,” and his chuckle sounds genuine even as he shakes his head.

Should’ve known what? you wanna ask, but you’re still too off-kilter to get the words out.

Stepping past you, Robby takes the curtain from you and slides it open the rest of the way then plants all five fingertips between your shoulder blades to urge you out of the room.

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anticipayosbot · 26 days ago

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i love u and i thank every god out there that you publish fanfic, let me give you a smooch

how easy you are to need - part 2

MICHAEL ‘ROBBY’ ROBINAVITCH x F!READER

<< part 1 ||

Summary: You accidentally send some very compromising pictures (and a particularly filthy video) to your boss/attending/crush. Chaos follows and, along with it, a very pleasant surprise.

wc: 4.9k

Warnings: f!reader, explicit sexual content, robby is a tiny bit unhinged, possessive tendencies, oral (f!receiving), implications of a scent kink, reader is honestly so lovesick and hot for him (it’s mutual), fingering, vibrators

A/N: i’ve gotta get this out of my drafts and out of my sight. breaking it up cause I think posting like 10k of pure smut might be over the top and boring tbh so here is the first 5k of filth. enjoy <3

The way to your apartment is spent with both of your hands on the wheel and one of Robby’s on your thigh. He could have driven, is used to driving, but he’ll let you think you have some semblance of control. For now.

He makes small talk about work the entire time, pretends like nothing is out of the ordinary, but he knows you’re barely listening, too focused on the road and doing your best to ignore the thumb stroking at the inner seam of your pants—up high, but not high enough. You squirm and bite your lip, and in the short span it takes to pull into your lot, Robby’s managed to make you swear a total of three times.

It’s fucking intoxicating.

The way you respond to him, angry and eager, then, once safely inside your home, completely pliant when he pins you to your front door.

“You’re terrible, god—are you trying to kill me?” you huff when Robby bullies his leg between yours like he did earlier that day, only this time, he holds you by the hips and does the work for you, shifts you back and forth with a tight grip,

And, he wishes he could see your expression, knows it must be fucking gorgeous just like the sounds you’re making, but he keeps his face buried in your neck, breathing heavy and grunting anything and everything he thinks might drive you a little more crazy.

“So fucking needy, and I haven’t even touched you yet—gonna let me do whatever I want, aren’t you?”

You keen, hips rolling back and forth, side to side, desperately seeking the friction you just can’t get through all these goddamn layers.

Even if you’re coming apart, you’ve still got that mouth on you, manage out a, “don’t get—nn—don’t go getting a b-big head,” that’s probably meant to sound indignant but is really just kind of adorable.

Robby chuckles, still buried in your neck but tilting his head to run his chin over your cheek bone, grazing the shell of your ear as he goes, and you reluctantly reward him with a full body shiver.

“Okay, fine, I’ll stop teasing,” he sighs with no intention of doing so.

You must have some inkling of this because when he pulls away, he finds you watching him through narrowed eyes.

“I don’t believe you,” said with a smile playing at the corners of your mouth.

Robby grins in a way he hasn’t in years—all sideways and cocky. Fuck, when has he had someone so hungry for him? Him? Never, he thinks, no one has ever looked at him the way you do, shuddered at his touch, whimpered at the loss.

He shouldn’t enjoy it so much, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t sending him on a bit of a power trip, but it’s more than that.

You may be falling apart in his hands, but he’s holding you so tight so you won’t see how badly he’s shaking, wants his face hidden so you don’t see how bright it is, how cloudy his eyes are at the idea of getting to fuck you.

Too long, Robby has wanted this for too long. An inappropriately long time, and now he has it. He gets to mold his lips against yours and feel the way your thighs quiver around his. He gets to follow you deeper into your apartment, to keep his hands on you even when you get to the bathroom.

Robby’s got his tongue in your mouth by the time you make it to the sink, grinds his hard cock against your ass when you bend to turn on your shower, is on his knees when you start stripping your clothes off.

Who is he? What has fucking possessed him? He’s more desperate than he’s ever been in his life. Not even the horniest of his teenage years can compare to this.

Teeth on your hipbone, Robby hooks his fingers into the waistband of your scrubs and slowly pulls them down, nibbles over your skin until he reaches your naval then drags his mouth back to the side.

Your hands are in his hair, fingers curled tight then loosening over and over again. It’s when he rubs his chin against the sensitive curve of your hip that he realizes it’s his beard that’s making you squirm, and if you’re this twitchy now, you’re gonna be a fucking mess when you feel his face between your legs.

Once you’ve stepped out of your pants, Robby grumbles a warning, “gonna touch this pussy now,” but doesn’t wait for a response before running his middle finger along your slit, pushing a little, “ah—ha, fuck,” from you.

He’s delighted to see your stomach muscles contract in response, but that’s nowhere near as satisfying as the way your knees literally buckle when Robby slides his finger into your cunt.

His shoulders catch you, weight making him grunt first then groan when you start to shake.

“Let me—god, let me shower first,” you try, planting your palm against his forehead when he surges forward in his first attempt to taste you.

Robby’s gaze wanders up your body, naked and perfect, and he focuses his eyes, big and brown, the ones that used to get him everything he wanted, on yours when he urges, “one lick?”

You squeak like you’re offended by the request, laugh a little incredulously while posing the question, “how the fuck can a man your age make such good puppy-dog eyes?”

Robby laughs through his nose, “years of practice,” and this time when he leans in, you don’t stop him.

It isn’t just one lick, but Robby knew it wouldn’t be, never planned for it to be, and tonight he is all about plans.

His knees are gonna hate him in the morning (and his back. And his shoulders. And his neck. And everything else), but as soon as the tip of his tongue slides between the very apex of your folds—already wet, already dripping for him—making direct contact with your swollen clit, you buck against his face, and Robby…

Robby loses it.

Bottles and products and whatever fucking else go flying when he lifts you onto the counter—

“Fuck—Robby, Robby! Jesus Christ,” you’re squealing but he barely hears you.

You taste so fucking good, grateful he was able to do this before you got in the shower, and Robby knows there’s a level of self-consciousness right now—he’ll let you rinse off, he will, but fuck, you have nothing to be worried about. He hasn’t even seen it aside from in that video, hasn’t appreciated it past tasting it, but Robby is obsessed with your pussy. Wants to live here, wants to drown.

“Robby, please,” you moan, “don’t wanna—don’t want this t-to be how—fuck, don’t make me cum like this!”

Raising his gaze first to your heaving chest then to your beautiful face, Robby sits back on his heels but keeps both hands on your spread thighs, uses a thumb to rub circles over your slick clit in place of his tongue.

“What is it?” he asks (croaks).

“There’s just,” you make an incredibly pitiful noise and roll in time with his tiny strokes, breathless as you explain, “there’s shit, like, digging into my back and—and the mirror’s cold,” you blink down at him with wet eyelashes, and Robby actually feels kinda bad. “Just wanna really enjoy what I’ve wanted for so long, please.”

Yeah, that gets him back to his feet real fucking fast, and Robby pulls you from the countertop with a gentleness he hasn’t shown until now.

Holding you close, he runs his palms from your shoulder blades to your waist, feels the different imprints from whatever had been behind you and massages the blood back into every crease while apologizing.

“Got kind of… ” he laughs to himself, “carried away,” and, using one hand to rub the back of his neck, he’s trying so fucking hard to stay casual in the midst of his brain screaming at him.

He can feel the rise and fall of your chest, your much smaller hands making their way under the hem of both of his shirts.

Your cold skin makes him hiss quietly, and you grin up at him, “it’s what you get for making me stand here completely naked. Think it’s time for you to lose the clothes, Dr. Robinavitch.”

Robby shakes his head, which probably comes off as a gesture of amusement, but it’s not.

Contrary to what you may be thinking, he has no desire to strip. Not yet, anyway.

Standing on your tiptoes, you tug him down for another electrifying kiss, scratch lightly down his ribs, and Robby grunts at the sensation, then bites down on your lip. He keeps one hand on the back of your head while wiggling his other between the two of you, paying your tits some much deserved attention.

Stepping back, Robby massages both of the soft mounds, has to do more than just stoop to get his mouth low enough to place a wet kiss on each of them, left then right.

Without looking up from your chest Robby orders, “get in the shower,” voice like rolling thunder.

“Wha—mm,” you falter when he flicks his tongue over your hardening nipple, fingers closing over the other and pulling just enough to elicit another pretty moan. “But, you’re still… oh, s-still have clothes on.”

“Mhmm,” Robby nods, smiles when you try to push your tits closer to his face, “‘cause I’m not getting in with you.”

He stops his little attack and straightens up. The way you're pouting at him shouldn’t make his cock hard, but goddammit, it does.

“Why not?”

Your bottom lip pushes out, makes it easy for Robby to trap between two fingers. A hum of confusion lilts upward as you try to pull out of his grip, but Robby only pinches harder.

“You wanted someone to watch you, right?” he drawls, and his tone is similar to the one he uses on the interns when they ask genuinely stupid questions. “It’s the only reason I can think of for sending your cute little pictures and videos to someone—” and he might squeeze the nipple he’s still rolling between his fingers just a little too hard.

Thinking about it again, Robby feels a new sort of irritation flare to life inside of him. It’s not the heat that accompanies anger nor the sickness of jealousy. This is… Possessive. And, he doesn’t think he’s ever experienced it before. Not like this.

You sent someone else those pictures and that video. On purpose. You’d taken all of it for another man, and all because—

Robby catches the way his masseter works to slide his jaw forward, close to bearing his fucking teeth. He relieves some tension by rolling his shoulders, and when he stretches his neck from side to side, he hears the tell-tale crack of joints.

He feels a little crazy. You’re driving him fucking wild just by standing here with your hands on his torso, mouth open, eyes wide, fuck—fuck.

Coarse and corrupt, Robby tells you, “the only reason you’d send someone a video of you playing with your pussy is so they can watch you do it, so that’s what I’m doing,” lips brushing your forehead, “I’m watching.” One more slow, deep breath, then Robby exhales all once— “get in the fucking shower.”

To tell the truth, it might be a good idea for him to step away for a second, rein in his thoughts, stop acting like a fucking psycho, but how is he supposed to leave when you move away on wobbly legs, when you look so pretty standing under the spray? The dark outer curtain is still bunched up in the corner, leaving a clear plastic sheet as the only barrier between you and Robby.

You’re slightly distorted, but if anything that makes it better. He can see the curves of your body, the motion of your arms when you lather your hair with shampoo. The scent fills your bathroom, and, suddenly lightheaded, Robby is glad he’s posted up against the wall across from you, legs crossed at the ankles, hands locked together over the top of his head.

He barely even notices how hard he is, and when he does, he really doesn’t care. You are his top priority tonight. Taking you apart, making you cum over and over again. He wants to see shiny tears stream down your face so that he can kiss them away, wants to make your body quake just so he can hold you through it. He wants to leave a print of himself inside of you. He wants, wants, wants.

It was always there, laying dormant at the back of his mind—this urge to touch you, feel you. Robby bookmarked every time he made you shiver, took too much satisfaction when you’d stare and smile like he’d hung the moon. He bathed himself in every interaction, got off to a few of them, but even then, even when he recognized his attraction to you, he didn’t think that he’d be like this when he finally got his hands on you. He didn’t think he’d lose the ability to think rationally.

After checking a couple of cabinets Robby finds a stack of towels and pulls one out, has it ready when you step out of the shower. You gaze up at him with foggy eyes the entire time he dries your hair, and he holds that gaze, feeling his expression—his mind—soften.

Once your hair is no longer dripping, Robby moves downward, towels off your shoulders, your neck, earns a flutter of eyelashes when he gets to your chest and purposely runs the terry-cloth over your perky nipples. Ribs, stomach, back, thighs, his lips brush over your pelvis, and your nails scratch at his scalp when he sucks a harsh bruise into the divot of your hip.

The sounds you make are so… Fuck, he could get drunk off of them. Already is, actually, and Robby wants you to make more of them.

“Time for clothes?” he prompts, smiling up at your slow, dazed nod from where he’s still squatted.

Your hand slides from his head down to his cheek, and Robby turns into it, kisses your palm before getting back to his feet.

“Followin’ you.”

He holds you by the shoulders lightly, letting you guide him down the hall and into your bedroom.

It fits you, Robby thinks, with one corkboard full of smiling friends and family, another with notes and diagrams pinned all over. Your bed is halfway made, topped with too many pillows and a well-loved quilt. Robby sits down on the mattress and watches as you open a couple different dresser drawers.

He’s barely made contact with the sheets when he sees a flash of lace, and then he’s standing all over again and striding up behind you.

The panties are cute—of course they are. A light purple that probably looks beautiful stretched over your waist, but Robby isn’t interested in anything forced or uncomfortable.

Able to see into the open drawer from over your shoulders, he reaches in and rifles through your underwear until he procures a classic bikini cut, printed with light pink flowers. His eyes land on the tiny bow at the front, and Robby almost comes on the spot.

“These,” he huffs, nuzzles into your temple and surrounds himself with the scent of your shampoo. “No one to impress. I just want you to be yourself tonight.”

Robby should start taking notes of the things he says that prompt strong reactions, especially the ones that get you to pivot on your toes and pull his face down to yours. You kiss him hard, tongue lashing against his in his mouth, and Robby has to brace himself on the dresser behind you to keep himself upright.

“You’re fucking killin’ me,” he pants, the hand on your back pulling you closer and closer until your hips are rolling against his cargo pants.

You could make a mess all over him, Robby knows, and he entertains a brief fantasy of holding you on his lap at work, making you leak all over his thigh then wearing you for the rest of the day.

He needs his dick inside of you, fucking Christ, he needs to feel your pussy clench and flutter—shit, fuck.

Not yet. He remembers the way you had begged him to let you relax and get comfortable before making you come, and that still applies now. Robby wants to have you spread out on his bed, wants a clear view of your face and body when he wrings out everything you’re able to give him.

His hand dances between your legs, fingertips teasing over you, and when he feels heat radiating from your core, Robby can’t help but groan and push a digit between your slick folds. He’s met with warm arousal and a tight hole, rewarded with a soft, wanton moan and your nails in his traps.

Is he really patient enough to make it all the way to his house? Is he strong enough?

He has to be. Plans—he has so fucking many, some just for tonight and some extending quite a bit farther.

“Finish getting ready,” Robby mumbles against your lips, giving one small thrust of his finger before pulling back and away. “Pack a few things,” he sounds absentminded, examining the juice you left on his hand, crystalline and glistening, “then you can show me your collection.”

Robby sucks your arousal from his finger, eyes on you the whole time, and you look like you want to kiss him again, your grip on his shoulders tensing and relaxing a few times before you exhale a shaky breath and move away from him to do exactly as instructed.

Even if a little sassy, you’ve always listened to Robby—happy to learn, happy to help, happy to make him happy.

Apparently, that applies outside of the hospital as well, taking his earlier words to heart and slipping into an old college T-shirt and a pair of stupid tiny drawstring shorts. Robby tracks your every movement as you pad over to your nightstand and bend at the waist, showing off the curve of your ass while retrieving the toys he wants to see so fucking badly.

“Mkay, so this is old faithful,” you begin, tossing what Robby’s pretty sure is a clit sucker onto the bed, “I also have this wand, but it’s, like, too much most of the time.”

He grabs the vibrator as soon as you put it down. Too much? Robby powers it on to assess, hums at the tremor that shoots up his arm, masks his inward smirk with surprise that’s not entirely faked. This thing definitely hits heavy, could probably overstimulate to the point of desensitization.

He’ll figure all that out later, though, when he gets you into his bed.

Moving on, you wave a familiar teal dildo and look at Robby with a lifted eyebrow, “I assume you want to see this?”

“Might be good to start with,” he shrugs because while the toy is an okay size, Robby himself has a good couple inches on it, not to mention a significantly larger girth.

You stare at him for a moment, but he doesn’t elaborate, just tosses the vibrator back on the bed before nodding toward your drawer. Keep going.

“Everything else in here’s really just failed experiments, I guess,” you tell him, scanning over various shapes and colors before you stand up straight.

Robby cocks his head to the side in question, and somehow you’re able to read it.

“Ya’ know,” you wave a dismissive hand and attempt to explain, “things that didn’t feel as good as I wanted them to or, like, just didn’t work for me.”

“Define ‘work’.”

Robby’s eyes are drawn to your collarbone when you shrug but quickly trail down to the perky little buds he can see through your thin t-shirt.

You catch it, fight a shiver at the intensity, but can’t appreciate it too much when your mind is suddenly buzzing with apprehension.

What doesn’t work for you? Why is it so hard for partners to get you off? You know the reason, but it’s hard to say out loud.

Which is pretty stupid, actually, considering it’s a common problem among the female population. Fuck, it’s not even a problem; it’s just anatomy and sensitivity, and Robby will understand. He’s a doctor in his 50s, not some frat boy bitch.

Still, you nibble on your lip, look away for a few seconds, and though he doesn’t speak, you can tell Robby is expectant, fists in his jacket pockets with his shoulders forward as he dips down to get a better look at your face.

“It’s dumb—I’m being dumb,” you shake your head. Just say it. It’s not gonna send him running. “I can’t come from penetration alone.”

Robby’s eyebrows pull down and together, one slightly higher than the other. Not quite frowning, he pushes his lips out in a confused sort of pout, almost like he doesn’t know why you’re telling him. “Is this your way of giving me a heads up?”

“I guess? I usually don’t, but…” you do frown, deep set and wrinkling your forehead, and you try to explain yourself, “it’s like—I don’t really bring it up with partners, especially if it’s not a long-term thing, and that way I can, ya’ know, go into it with lowered expectations, or really no expectations, so when it’s all said and done, I’m only a little disappointed when—”

“Stop,” Robby shakes his head, “stop talking, just—you’re telling me whenever you have sex, you go into it with no fucking intention of getting off?”

You sigh, “it’s not always about the orgasm, Robby.”

“Okay, so one, fuck that.” He sounds like he’s about to lecture you, which is, in fact, exactly what he does. “I know it’s not always about finishing, and I know the statistics. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to fucking come, Jesus Christ.”

“I know that,” you grumble, “it’s just more trouble than it’s worth most of the time. And, if I tell them, ‘hey, I’m not gonna get off from your dick alone’, it’s like… like they wanna challenge it somehow? Like, their dick is gonna break some kind of curse. I don’t know—guys are fucking weird, and your egos are easy to bruise, so why?”

Head hanging back and looking at the ceiling, Robby lets out a frustrated breath. Closes his eyes. Shakes his head for the upteenth time.

He’s trying to come up with the right response, you think, and you see him suck his teeth before he steps closer to your bed and sits down heavily. You let him pull you to him, guiding you to his lap. Straddling him like this, you’re reminded of how fucking big he is. You’re used to having to look up at him, and you recognize that he has a broad frame, but it’s usually a passive observation—something fleeting, not fully appreciated.

Now, though, his shoulders seem endless where your forearms lay, and your legs are spread wide to accommodate his, and his hand spans the entire length of your face, heel of his palm against the side of your chin while his fingertips rest in your hair at the curve of your fucking skull good God almighty.

“I need you to listen very fucking closely,” he starts, and oh, he’s doing that thing where he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head—the same way he does when he’s about to teach a valuable lesson or reassure a nervous resident, and it’s always made you melt. Always.

But, now he’s right here, and he’s so warm, and you’re in his lap, and your thoughts are racing so fast that it takes extreme effort to focus on what he says.

“Whatever you did or didn’t do or faked with previous partners,” his jaw ticks when he says this, “you will not fucking do tonight, got it?” You can only stare at him, which is apparently unacceptable because Robby presses his fingertips into the small of your back just a little harder, enough to make you arch away from them and further against him.

God, he’s so hot like this.

“O-okay, yeah, got it,” you agree with a whimper.

When you rock your hips a tiny bit, Robby spreads his legs which, in turn, spreads yours, until there’s a wide enough gap between your thighs that leaves absolutely nothing to rub your pussy against. Diabolical.

Robby chuckles when you whine pathetically, nuzzles into your neck and admonishes, “told you to listen to me, but you just wanna act like a bitch in heat.”

It shouldn’t turn you on, but the way his voice rumbles against you and vibrates in your ear has wetness pooling in your panties, and the way he’s got you splayed open, you’re probably dripping onto your bedspread.

“m’listening, I’m listening, I promi—” you break off in a gasp when he pushes you backward in his lap just enough to work an arm between you, cupping your aching cunt with his hand.

He sounds disbelieving as he mumbles, “how have you already managed to get these little shorts all wet?”

Your jaw falls open when he rubs you through them, and you can’t help the way you move, how you beg for more with your actions alone.

“Still listening?” he teases, and you nod. After all, you are… on some background level.

Humming, Robby adds pressure to one of his fingers, the length of it slipping between your folds, pushing your panties along with it so that you immediately soak the cotton.

It feels a bit like he’s mocking you about how insanely worked up he’s gotten you, but even if he’s making fun, it’s still burning you up, stoking the fire in your gut.

“I am gonna take such good fucking care of you tonight,” he picks back up, “hear me? You’re gonna forget about every,” his finger presses harder, “single,” a little more, “one of those motherfuckers,” and when he slides the tip of that first digit inside of you, cotton and all, you suck in a deep breath.

“Mmm, please,” you whine, starting to twitch all over.

Robby lets out a condescending little, “aw,” and pushes your loose shorts and underwear to the side, showing you mercy as he shoves two impossibly thick fingers into your sopping pussy.

You ride them. You ride them like you would his cock, bucking and grinding and moaning his name into his mouth when he kisses you with a grin, “you should see yourself right now, how pretty you are fucking yourself like this—poor baby,” he croons, “told me you didn’t wanna come in the bathroom, but you seem more than ready now.”

“Goddammit, Robby,” you shudder, trying and trying and trying so hard, but you still need— “fuck, use—can you—your th-thumb or palm or something—”

You won’t get there unless he touches your clit, and the way his hand is curled does not allow that. His fingers feel amazing inside of you, up against your g-spot, making you drip, but no matter how hard and fast you rut, it’s useless.

Robby looks positively devilish, brown eyes heavy-lidded with lust as his mouth pulls up on one side, a lazy sort of smirk you’ve never seen on him before.

“Now why would I use my thumb when I can use this instead?”

You fall forward when he removes the hand from your back to grab the vibrator you’d cast aside. Your breath stutters, so many protests on the tip of your tongue, but Robby’s already got it turned on and is guiding it to your spread legs to cradle it in the palm of the hand halfway inside of you.

You’re lucky for the thin layers of material between your clit and the toy—the whole reason you weren’t able to grind into his palm, but even with that barrier you quake. It’s still too much, too much sensation, too much desire, too much Robby. He spreads his fingers across your back again, holds you against his chest and keeps you there like he keeps the wand against where you’re most sensitive.

You’re crying into his shoulder, his shirt growing damp with the spit you can’t suck back into your mouth, and you barely even realize your jaw is locked, teeth buried in the column of his throat, until Robby groans and swears and tilts his head to give you more skin to work with.

And, you do, leaving bite marks and bruises and a trail of saliva as you tremble, bend, break. Then, with a broken cry that could get you evicted, you come so hard you might black out for a second.

When you fall back into your body, it’s to feel Robby stroking your lower back, tender where he brushes over your spine. His cheek is pressed to your temple, and the way he’s shushing you, telling you to, “breathe,” is like the purr of a big cat, deep and a little dangerous even through the calm.

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