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muttamaro · 2 days ago

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never have i ever - dr. jack abbot x reader

Summary: An uncomfortable, childish game between your coworkers stuck together during a power outage at a medical conference leads to you revealing that you're still a virgin - until you end up in bed with the attending you've been crushing on for ages.

Tags/Notes: jack abbot x reader, afab & fem reader, getting together, mutual pining/crush, virginity loss, fingering (f), oral (m), piv (protected! ooh ahhh!), also ft. mel, langdon, whitaker, and dr. robby

Content: no warnings i think?

A/N: tell me how this ended up being 30 single spaced pages...im so horny for jack abbot ://

Word Count: 8.9k (ahaha fuck)

The night you end up in bed with your attending, it feels like the entire universe has been conspiring against you. First and foremost, you’re in Philadelphia for an emergency medicine conference, part of a handful of doctors and students from PTMC rounded up by Gloria to get credits for the hospital. Second, a nasty snowstorm’s rolled in right after all of you arrive back to the hotel on the first night, killing the power, the WiFi, and cell service before the sun even sets.

And, finally, Langdon just suggested that you, Mel, and Whitaker sit down with him for a game of ‘Never Have I Ever,’ herding everyone away from the hotel bar and toward his room down the hall.

You huff as they start to move in a group, not wanting to go along, “Come on, guys, this is so childish. I should be using this time to study or something.”

“Alright, nerd.” Langdon nudges you with his elbow, his tone playful, not realizing just how uncomfortable you really are at the idea of your coworkers digging into your personal history. “Your Hello Kitty badge reel’s pretty childish, but I’ve never said anything about that.”

You glare daggers. Thankfully, with her arms crossed over her chest, Mel agrees, “I’m sure we can find a better way to pass the time.”

“I can try to make it more fun, if that helps,” Langdon offers, his expression all mischief and mayhem. He looks over to where your attendings are standing a few paces away by the bar, nursing whiskeys and sporting scowls while they recap the day and complain about the circumstances. “Robby, Abbot, we’re playing ‘Never Have I Ever’ over in my room.”

Dr. Abbot frowns and gives him a skeptical look. “That sounded harrowingly like an invitation.”

“Yeah, come on over, it’ll be fun,” he insists, flashing a disarming grin to the three of you on his other side. “A little ‘get to know you’ game.”

Absolutely refusing to move, Abbot scoffs, “I don’t think you all need to know about my personal life.”

But then Robby, amused by Abbot’s obvious discomfort, claps him on the shoulder and shoves him forward. “C’mon, Jack, it’ll be fun.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to indulge this,” Abbot groans as Robby steps by Langdon’s side.

Robby gives a shit-eating grin and gestures for Abbot to tag along. “I am – and so are you.”

There’s no way out of it now. Robby orders a few bottles of booze from the bar to take back to the room. With a grimace that you try to make seem like a smile, you and Mel follow behind all the guys over to Langdon and Whitaker’s hotel room, identical to yours and Mel’s. Inside, Langdon shoves his bed across the room to make a wide space on the floor and then plops his ass down.

Robby joins him with a cackle, Whitaker follows, and you and Mel reluctantly sit next to each other against the bed. Robby hands you and Mel a bottle of wine to share and then cracks open a few beers and a bottle of whiskey for the boys.

Then Abbot taps you on the shoulder, his fingers holding on for a moment too long, and murmurs, “Scoot over for me, ace.”

As you move closer to Mel on your other side, you’re beyond thankful for the overcast evening lighting that disguises your blush. During a shift, you can blame it on the adrenaline, the heat, the exertion. But when it’s quiet and calm and the thing making you blush is nothing but Dr. Abbot’s completely professional nickname just for you, his favorite resident, there’s no excuse.

The first round starts off tame, the questions not prying too much: Puking as the result of a procedure, faking sick to get out of work, smoking weed. You keep all your fingers up but still take sips of the wine to avoid being the only person sober at the end of this. The first major shift in the game comes when Mel offers up, “Never have I ever gotten a tattoo.”

Robby, Abbot, and Whitaker all drop a finger and gulp their drinks. Mel, loosening up now that she’s a little tipsy, gestures for them to move. “Well, doctors, I believe you have to show us now.”

When Whitaker shrinks away from the idea, you jump in, too, really just wanting to see Abbot’s, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure those are the rules.”

Robby chuckles first, shrugging off his jacket. “Well, you know I’m a total rule weenie.” He shows off his symmetrical arm tattoos -- ‘Memento Mori’ and ‘Amor Fati’ -- and then a faded one on his inner wrist that you’ve all noticed before. “Now let’s see what these two losers have.”

Whitaker sighs and concedes, rolling up the leg of his pants and shoving down his sock to reveal a stalk of wheat going up his calf. He shrugs and says simply, “To remind me of home. I’ve got Micah 6:8 on my bicep, but I don’t need to show you my spaghetti arms when you’ve just seen Robby’s.”

Once everyone finishes laughing, it’s Abbot’s turn and you’re holding your breath, praying that his tattoo is also on his ankle so you don’t have to ogle him too much. Unfortunately, you know that isn’t the case because you once caught him on his way to the gym after work, wearing a white tank top and basketball shorts, so this tattoo of his has to be somewhere besides his limbs. Fuck.

He stands up, undoes his belt (does anyone else feel faint?), tugs his white dress shirt from his pants (oh god oh god oh shit), and reveals the sharp V of his hips (shit shit fuck shit fuck). Running along a lengthy silver scar, a handful of poppies snake over his hip and up his side. Then he hikes the shirt up further – oh no, he’s got a silver and blond happy trail that connects with his chest hair – and shows a half-burned match on the bottom of his ribcage, right over another scar. Both tattoos are well done and strike you as relatively recent. When he sits back down, he gruffs, “Now, I’m not about to drop trou in front of my colleagues, so I’ll just tell you I’ve got one on my ass, too, alright? Bachelor party back in the ancient times.”

Robby gives him a whistle. “Even I didn’t know that one.”

Jack shakes his head as he adjusts his belt and shirt again. Then he looks at you, his hazel eyes so beautiful in the waning light, and says, “Your turn, ace.”

After cursing under your breath, you cross your arms over your chest, swallow down the image of Abbot’s bare torso, and rush out, “Never have I ever failed a test.”

Everyone loses a finger but you and Abbot, who nudges you with his elbow and chuckles, “That’s my girl.”

Your stomach flips.

A handful of rounds go by and you start cringing at yourself when you make it through everything, including ‘never have I ever had a one-night stand,’ ‘never have I ever used a fake ID,’ and ‘never have I ever kissed someone within an hour of meeting them,’ which get most of the group into the single digits.

After a particularly targeted blow (‘never have I ever cried in the supply closet’), Mel gives Langdon a pointed look. “Never have I ever pulled the ‘I’m a doctor’ card to impress a date.”

His finger stays frustratingly upright as he flashes that thousand watt smile. “Don’t need to when I look this good. Dennis, your turn.”

A little panicky, Whitaker stumbles out something he knows will get at least one of you: “Never have I ever been on a motorcycle.”

Robby takes a long sip of his beer and drops a finger. “Cheap shot, kid.”

Then it’s Abbot’s turn and he glares over at Robby, ready for his revenge for making him play at all. “Never have I ever screwed a subordinate.”

“Even cheaper shot, Jack,” Robby laughs as he finishes off his beer. “Let’s turn the tables here for my sake.” He stares down his ducklings and offers, “Never have I ever had a crush on a supervisor.”

Thankfully, your finger isn’t the only one that goes down, but it still makes Langdon cheer, “We finally got the ice queen!” He levels a serious but amused gaze in your direction as you polish off a long swig of your and Mel’s shared wine. “Which one is it, Abbot or Robby?”

Mel, fully aware of your big fat crush on Abbot, saves your life for the millionth time in your long friendship. With a pointed look and nervous laugh, she announces, “Oh, no, she had it bad for our attending back at the VA. Total heart eyes.”

You can feel Abbot’s eyes drilling holes in the side of your head as you nod, clamoring to move past it. “Yep. He was, ah, a really great mentor. Taught me a lot.”

Langdon snorts, “Yeah, sounds like it.”

Unfortunately for you, exactly two people in the room know that your attending at the VA was a downright terrifying woman in her 70s: Dr. Mel King, who had worked there with you before you both went to PTMC, and Dr. Jack Abbot, who went there for care a couple of times back in the day. Which means he has total confirmation that your crush is, in fact, on him – or Robby, but, given how comfortable you are around him vs. how nervous you are around Abbot, that seems like a long shot.

Thankfully, he’s merciful, laughing along lightly so you don’t realize he’s seeing right through you for the first time. But, for the rest of the night, he’s watching you more closely than over, letting his thigh brush yours, laughing a little extra loud at your jokes, and holding eye contact longer than he usually allows himself at work.

At the end of the game, you and Mel are the last two standing by a mile; she has six to your eight and you want to crawl under a rock and die. At least it’s Mel, though, because she’s totally unashamed of herself and her history. Her confidence rubs off on you the same way it does when you’re on the floor together. Both of you get competitive with each other, constantly egging the other on to do better. You barely even notice the guys watching the two of you like it’s a great game of tennis.

With nobody else to take down, you get personal with each other. She starts out light but targeted, “Never have I ever taken a nap on a gurney mid-shift.”

Rolling your eyes and taking a tart sip, you reply, “Never have I ever used Kaplan quizzes to ‘wind down.’”

She laughs and snatches the wine from your hands; you’re both bubbly and getting stupid by now. “Never have I ever corrected an attending mid-round.”

Whitaker scoffs, “Jesus, seriously?”

“I was right!”

He cackles. “No way. What did you say? To who?”

Abbot sips slowly on a beer and smirks at you, his gaze more adoring than he lets it be back at the Pitt. “She corrected my pronunciation of ‘foramen ovale’ on her third shift.”

Your cheeks burn into deeper red as you reply, mousy but self-righteous, “I only mentioned it because you tried to tell me I was saying ‘cachexia’ wrong earlier that day. I was annoyed.”

He tips his beer toward you, looking for all the world like a proud teacher. “And you were right.”

You smile shyly and then smack Mel on the thigh. “Never have I ever skipped a party to spend time in the skills lab overnight.”

She cocks her head and cuts back, “Never have I ever canceled on a date to recap a trauma procedure tape for fun.”

“Never have I ever treated my ex in the ED the day after breaking up with him!”

With a mock-betrayed gasp, Mel replies, “Never have I ever memorized my attending’s coffee order to get on his good side.”

“Liar!” After all the laughing and shoving and judging, each of you has one finger up and it’s your turn. Your final chance to beat her. There’s one trump card left in your deck and you’re just drunk enough now to use it to win. Narrowing your eyes, you lean in and tell her what she already knows, not realizing how loud you’re talking, “Never have I ever had sex.”

Mel snorts out a laugh, shakes her head, drops her pinky, and downs the last swig of wine. “Didn’t think you had it in you, roomie. Checkmate.”

“Wait, seriously?” Langdon’s staring you down like you’ve grown a second head, probably recontextualizing all his flirty banter with you. “You’ve held a still-beating human heart in your hands and you’ve never gotten laid?”

“Never even been kissed,” Mel adds seriously, and you know you’re going to struggle to forgive her for it even though she’s wasted.

Turning your voice into steel even as your blush spreads, you retort, “I’ve been too busy being valedictorian, scoring in the 99th percentile on my boards, publishing in JAMA as a resident, and graduating with a dual MD/PhD.”

Abbot grins like that’s the only part of the conversation he’s heard. “Touché.”

“I’m just saying,” Langdon pushes, clearly not ready to drop it when he’s got a juicy new piece of hospital gossip, “how many people get through med school without hooking up sometime? I thought we were all screwing each other’s brains out to get our stress out.”

Whitaker shakes his head. “Yeah, maybe those of you who look like marble statues.”

Langdon shakes his head. “Even you’re not a virgin, though, Denny boy.”

Hot embarrassment rises in your throat. Your voice comes out way more defensive than you mean. “There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin! It’s not, like, some personality trait.”

“Well, it kind of is,” he goes on, the haze of liquor making him careless. “How are you supposed to do this job when you haven’t had such a basic human experience?”

As you get more flustered, tears sting at your waterline and you get to your feet in a scrambled frenzy. You can’t even make eye contact as you whisper, “You’re an asshole when you’re drunk, Frank.” Turning around so they don’t see you cry, you mutter, “See you all in the morning; hope you aren’t too hungover.”

Frank calls after you, “C’mon, don’t be like that! I’m just saying you-”

As you’re turning the door handle, you hear Abbot’s gruff voice: “Alright, kid, I think that’s enough. I expect you to get some sleep and apologize to her first thing tomorrow.”

After you’re out of the room, trudging down the hall, you hear Abbot’s stilted gait behind you and sigh, stopping in your tracks. Before he can see the tears on your cheeks, you spit out, “I’m fine, Abbot. Leave me alone.”

“No.” He speeds up to meet you. Suddenly, his hand is on your lower back, steadying you, and you look at him with shiny vulnerable eyes. His voice is low, gravelly, and he murmurs, “I’m not letting you go to sleep upset.”

“It’s okay,” you try, sniffling and staring down at your shoes. “I know he didn’t- he wasn’t trying to-”

“He was being an ass.” Abbot’s frown is earnest and real and he touches your cheek. He’s touching your cheek. He’s touching your cheek. “I should’ve stopped him sooner. Should’ve put my foot down on that whole fiasco. I’m sorry.”

Unable to think with his skin on yours, you stammer, “Thanks. That’s- that’s really nice.”

“Come back to my room for a little while,” he offers as he lowers his hand at last, allowing your neurons to start firing again. There’s no innuendo or trace of ulterior motives. “We’ll have some water and I’ll walk you through the steps of a septal myectomy to cheer you up.”

Finally you offer the shy, hesitant smile that makes his heart pound in his chest. “With a ventricular defect and aortic valve regurgitation?”

“That would be the unluckiest patient in history,” he chuckles, just glad that you’re warming up a little in his presence, “but I’ll give you whatever you want to get you smiling again.”

That alone is enough to get your lips to twitch toward a slightly better mood. When he splays his fingers over your lower back to encourage you forward, toward his room, you follow alongside him like you always do. Trusting him is as easy as breathing, built over countless shifts digging through emergencies side by side. He’d taken a shine to you from day one, and the feeling was mutual.

Unlike the rest of you, Dr. Abbot and Dr. Robby both have their own rooms. After letting you in, Abbot gives you a flat smile and shrugs. “Attending perks.”

Abbot makes good on his word. He brings you a bottle of water and opens one up for himself. Then, on the couch (not on the bed, blessedly; your nerves wouldn’t be able to take it), he painstakingly talks you through a complicated surgery that makes your brain turn back into normal mode. You’ve always been fascinated with the human body – how it functions, how it fails – and, besides Mel, Abbot’s the one person who never made you feel like a weirdo for digging into your fascinations.

In fact, he’s indulged you every step of the way. All your questions, all your frustrations, all your fascinations. Abbot’s taken the time to answer your late-night texts and locker room monologuing and musings. Countless times, you’ve been acutely aware that he had something better to do than to explain when to use a thoracostomy or a thoracentesis

But he always took the time with you. He still chose you. Abbot knew you’d be an outstanding physician and he wanted to invest in that, yes, but he also just plain liked you, which was rare for him. At the beginning, it was your mind. All of his coworkers were smart, but you operated on the same wavelength as him, which made you easy to get along with. Soon enough, he was going out of his way to make you laugh, to make you blush, to get you to do that thing where you touched his bare forearm when he said something funny.

And now you’re here in his hotel room, lit only by an emergency light in the corner, hanging on his every word, asking him questions that get his brain moving, telling quick jokes that fall easily off your lips, and the only thing he’s thinking is that he cannot fucking believe nobody’s ever kissed you because, God, he wants to kiss you. He can’t even remember the last time he’s wanted to kiss someone, much less the last time he actually did, but all he wants is to catch your lips with his and get lost in you.

As you get both sober and comfortable, you sigh during a break in the conversation and tell him, “I’m really sorry Langdon dragged you into that stupid game. I didn’t want you to, um-” You swallow hard and blink a few times, trying to clear your thoughts. Ultimately, the thing that tumbles out is more honest than you’d planned: “I wish you hadn’t found out that way.”

That way. Abbot’s mind reels. He’s in new territory with you and he’s not quite sure how to guide it from here. He tries for professionalism first, offering stiffly, “It’s important to me that you know this won’t affect how I see you as a doctor. The idea that your sexual history is at all related to your ability to practice medicine is beyond asinine.”

“‘Beyond asinine,’” you repeat, keeping your tone teasing and light to avoid revealing how much his words matter. “Didn’t realize how much it got under your skin.”

His next response is anything but professional. Of the countless ways he could take it, he says, “It always gets under my skin when someone hurts you. That’s not acceptable to me.”

Out of nowhere, the power comes back on. The room floods with golden light and the sudden exposure makes you flinch. Reality floods you and you stammer, “Guess I should probably go back to my room. Check my emails or- or something...right?”

But Abbot doesn’t move.

So you don’t either.

Soft as cashmere, he says, more a plea than a suggestion, “You could stay here a while more. If you want.” At your surprised raised eyebrows, he backpeddles carefully, “No pressure. Just, it’s-” He cracks a tentative smile. “I, ah, I love talking to you like this. Outside of the hospital. Not your boss or anything. Just…friends.”

You purse your lips, amused, and ask, “Friends?”

“Equals, I mean. I like not being your boss.”

You give him a conspiratorial sort of smirk. “Yeah, me too.”

Then his face darkens, becomes serious, tender. “Seriously, ace, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Not with me, at least.”

Abashedly, you prod, “You don’t think I’m pathetic?”

Abbot actually laughs. “Pathetic? You? The only doctor in the hospital besides Robby who’s willing to go toe to toe with me and call me out? No. I could never think you’re pathetic.” He sips on his water and shrugs, unaware that the little gesture makes his dress shirt strain over his bicep in a way that steals your attention. “The only pathetic thing is the idea that anyone missed their chance to be with you.”

Shoulders tensing and heart beginning to race at the intimacy of the two of you alone in a hotel room, you laugh, “Sometimes I think I should just go to a random bar and let some guy pick me up to get it over with. That way I can just say I’ve done it when it’s really time to do it with someone I like.”

“Don’t do that,” he cuts back, harsher than he meant, sounding like he’s admonishing you. When you give him a concerned sideways glance, he clears his throat and his knuckles turn white as he balls his fists, clenching and unclenching them. He’s trying to keep himself under control, to avoid overplaying his hand, to make sure you’re comfortable with him and don’t think he’s trying to take advantage. “I just mean, ah, that you deserve a hell of a lot better than that. You shouldn’t settle for ‘some guy’ who wouldn’t-” you don’t miss the way he swallows hard, the way his eyes are glued to your lips, the way he’s dropping his voice to a controlled quiet “-take his time with you. Who wouldn’t make it good for you.”

Sheepish, squirming under his intensity, you reply, “I don’t know what ‘good’ is. Nobody’s even kissed me.”

It’s a long time before he nods to himself, collects his courage, and says, “I’ll show you. I’ll kiss you.”

You let out a bitter laugh as shame rises in your cheeks once again. This can’t be real. He can’t be serious. How could he be? How could he want to kiss you? “Please don’t be a dick right now.”

“I was being serious.”

The idea makes your entire body tingle, but you’re too careful and too nervous to give in that easily. “I don’t want your pity, Abbot.”

“It wouldn’t be pity,” he tells you softly. Seriously. He reaches down to take your fingers in his hand. The contact burns in a brand new way. Your eyes meet; you’ve never noticed all those golden freckles in his irises. “And I’d like it if you called me Jack.”

“Oh.”

The little syllable hangs between the two of you. Jack. He wants you to call him Jack and he wants to kiss you.

You’re leaning in before you can overthink it.

Abbot – Jack. Jack. – touches your cheek with breathtaking reverence. The way his lip twitches up ever so slightly into a boyish smile tattoos its way onto your eyelids. Before his lips even touch yours, his other hand goes to your waist, sturdy and sure, and the hand on your cheek snakes around to the back of your head. He’s practically holding you. He’s careful and kind and handsome and he’s closing the gap between the two of you and, all of a sudden and after so much anticipation, you’re kissing him.

Fuck.

So this is what good means.

He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t push. His lips are so soft against yours and his hands are making you feel safe and everything makes sense when you’re in his arms. Your body and mouth move on instinct, folding toward him, and you wrap your fingers in his silver curls, the ones you’ve daydreamed about touching for years. You feel him smile against you, a chuckle low in his throat, and his hands are so strong that you can’t think.

Jack’s grinning like a teenager when he pulls back, searching your face for any sign of regret. “Was that okay?”

Breathless, you nod. “Yeah. More than okay.” You can still feel the ghost of his kiss when you brush your fingers over your lips. His eyes trace every movement. Tentative, you ask, “Would you, ah, would you kiss me…more?”

Jack traces the back of your hand with his thumb and admits like it’s a dirty secret, “If I kiss you again right now, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop. I’ve thought about it too many times.”

A beat passes.

You stare at his hand.

It takes you a minute to get up the courage, but you finally tell him the truth: “I don’t want you to stop.”

Jack tilts his head like a puppy and you watch his pupils dilate in real time. “You want me to…?”

You both know the unspoken end to the question. You want me to be your first?

“Please, Jack.”

Hearing his first name on your lips, he becomes a man possessed. He doesn’t shove you back on the bed and fuck your brains out, but his voice takes on a tone you’ve never heard before. It’s possessive. The next words out of his mouth shock you as much as they turn you on: “I’m not going to have sex with you if you’re doing this just to do it. If it’s because Langdon made you feel insecure or something. I need to know you want me.”

You bite your lip and nod slowly, debating how you should respond. The truth is that you want him so bad it aches. So, even though it embarrasses you to the core, you reply, “The first time I thought about having sex with you was a year and a half ago at the ED holiday party.” You whisper, somehow both sheepish and confident at once, “You flicked the bell on my Santa hat and said you liked my lipstick.”

You expect him to deny it, but instead he smirks and says, “Yeah, I remember that. Don’t think I’ve ever complimented someone’s makeup before.”

“That’s why.” Your cheeks are once again flaming pink as you go on, “All of us girls did our makeup together at Mel’s and my apartment before we went to the bar. We all looked really nice; Santos did this smoky eye that practically went viral on her Instagram. I don’t think you’d ever even seen Mel wearing makeup. Robby and Langdon and Shen made a point of telling each of us how nice we looked. But I was the only one you complimented all night.” You press your forehead to his and whisper, “You made me feel special. You still make me feel special. That’s how I want to feel.”

“Good. You are special.” Jack’s rough thumb brushes over your chin and your eyes widen when you realize that, yes, this is actually going to happen. “You’re so special to me.”

“Then kiss me.” You grab him closer by his shirt and tell him, insistent and wanting and honest, “And don’t stop.”

The barely-audible groan in Jack’s throat is concrete proof of just how badly he wants you, too. He stands and easily pulls you up to your feet with him. His palms on your waist make your head spin and he’s pushing you back toward the bed, kissing you with every step across the room, never letting you question his desire. When he leans you back on the comforter, your whole body feels loose and new. Acting on instinct, you wrap your legs around his hips and pull him close, deepening the kiss.

All of a sudden, he stops and mutters, sharp, frustrated. “Shit.”

“What is it? Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fucking incredible,” he sighs. “The thing is, ah, I don’t exactly bring condoms to medical conferences – but I know someone who does.” He hangs his head briefly, but he’s still smiling to himself ever so slightly. “God, I’m never gonna live this one down. At least Michael’s known about my thing for you for months.”

Your mind races and your eyes widen when he pinches the bridge of his nose, nodding like he’s convincing himself. “You- you’re going to get a condom from Dr. Robby? And you’ve had a thing for me for months?”

“Figured that second part was kind of obvious by now.” Jack tries not to tease you for how flustered you look right now since he feels the same. He knows it’s important, but he also loves the way the apples of your cheek have turned pink. “And, look, I’m not saying we have to do anything at all. Frankly, we could just make out for a while and I’d be over the fuckin’ moon. Just, well, it’s better to be prepared in case you decided that you did want to.”

“I’m a doctor, Jack, you don’t have to convince me on the merits of safe sex.” You suck your lower lip, hoping to come across as sexy, as you encourage him, “And you definitely don’t have to convince me on the merits of sex with you.”

His eyes graze over your body on his bed, patiently waiting for him to make the next move, and he murmurs under his breath, “Yeah, you’re definitely worth a year of shaming.”

Jack stands upright again, un-musses his hair, and shoves his feet back into his shoes. You don’t miss how he readjusts himself below the belt, sucks in a deep breath, and shakes out his shoulders before leaving the room. With the door hanging halfway open, you can hear the exchange next door.

Jack knocks three times, sharp and short.

Robby opens it and his voice is muffled, talking around his toothbrush. “What is it, brother?”

“Hey.” Jack’s voice is low, gruff, quiet. “I need a favor.”

“This about your talk tomorrow? I told you it’s-”

“Shut up. Please.” Making eye contact, he braces for humiliation and keeps his focus on the sweet relief that’ll follow. “You got a couple spare condoms?”

Robby narrows his eyes, amusement rising up in them. “Bet they sell them at the hotel shop.”

“No, ah- Shit. Fuck it.” Jack lets out a very shaky breath and rubs the back of his neck, praying that a merciful god will wipe Robby’s memory after this. “I need them right now.”

Robby’s jaw goes slack. “Right now? Like she’s…?”

“Yeah, fuckin’ ten feet away in my bed looking at me like I just did a successful heart transplant with a pocket knife.” You stifle a laugh as he finishes off, “Help me out and you can hold it over my head the rest of my life.”

“Calling me for backup during foreplay? Yeah, it’s gonna be a long time before I drop that one.” Robby disappears into his room a second, rummages around, and returns with a small box, dangling it in front of Jack. “Variety pack. Have fun. I’ll put my headphones in so I don’t have to hear when you squeal like a-”

“I hate you.”

As Jack slams the door, Robby laughs out, “You’re welcome!”

When Jack’s back in your line of sight, he’s grinning wide like an idiot. He opens up the box of condoms, takes out the one he wants, and sets it on the couch for safe keeping. Then he walks back over to the bed, flops down next to you, and chuckles, “Now where were we?”

You laugh and grab his shirt and drag him close. Touching your lips to his cheek, you giggle, “I think we were somewhere right around me looking at you like you just did a successful heart transplant with a pocket knife?”

“You heard all that, huh?”

“You didn’t even close the door.”

He kisses you hard. He means it. Every touch. In another second he’s on top of you, his leg between yours, his arms on either side of your head. His eyes are more playful than anything. “Yeah, I wasn’t really thinking about anything besides getting back to you.”

You respond by kissing him back. Deepening it. Chasing the taste of him and the way it lights an unfamiliar fire in the base of your gut. Jack groans into your mouth and the sound makes you grind up against his leg, letting your body react the way it wants instead of trying to talk yourself out of it. Jack makes it easy to give in. The mix of nerves and arousal is a weird kind of intoxicating.

With his hand at the hem of your top, Jack rumbles against your ear, “Can I take this off?”

Your eyes flick over his torso and all sorts of sinful thoughts take over your mind. “Only if you take yours off first.”

With a smirk, Jack stands at the foot of the bed while you watch him, leaning back on your elbows. “Fair negotiation.”

Like he did during the game, which feels like days ago instead of hours, he undoes his belt, but this time he snakes it through all the belt loops and lets it fall to the floor. Way too fucking slowly, he undoes his button-down and shrugs it off. Ugh, he’s wearing a white tank top undershirt that clings to his pecs and you honest to god want to bite him. The whimper you release at the sight seems to stroke his ego because Jack reaches behind his head and tugs off his shirt without a single beat of hesitation.

God, he’s so strong and so soft at once. You know he’d have no trouble throwing you over his shoulder, but you’d also love to rest your head on his stomach for an afternoon nap. There’s that silver happy trail again, but now you can see how it leads up to wispy chest hair and skin dotted with a million freckles.

As he stands there, kind enough to let you stare, you sit up straight again and fling your shirt off, absolutely needing to feel his skin on yours. Jack’s eyes darken and he moves toward you like an animal. He’s kissing over your waist and hips and stomach like you’re the only thing that can cure him. Every contact of his lips, no matter how brief or how lasting, makes your toes curl and your thoughts evaporate.

Jack’s hands go to your sides, thumbs pressing into your hips, holding you tight, as his mouth travels upward, over your sternum, along your collarbone, and back to your lips. He swings you into his lap and you finally feel the start of his body pressing to yours. The warmth of it all is so delicious. It’s impossible not to feel him getting hard beneath you and your head is spinning at the idea that you could affect him like that.

Noticing your expression getting floaty, Jack touches your chin with his thumb and checks, “Doing okay?”

You nod hard and reply urgently, “Doing amazing. Don’t stop.”

Once he’s managed to wipe the grin off his face, Jack starts worshiping your neck. He traces your pulse with his tongue and sucks into the hollow of your collarbone. He’s careful not to leave any marks on your smooth skin, but, god, he’s definitely imagining doing it next time when you’ve talked about it. With every breath he murmurs praises into the curves of your neck. “So beautiful. Gorgeous. Fucking perfect. Every inch of you.”

With his fingers at your bra’s band, Jack pauses. At the needy little whine you release, desperate for more contact, he chuckles and shakes his head. You’re so adorable it aches. You make charged eye contact as he says, low and slow and steady, “Tell me if anything is less than perfect. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. As your heart pounds against your ribs for a million reasons, you nod. “I will. I promise.”

And then he unhooks your bra, tossing it aside to the floor.

“Christ.”

Jack completely freezes. You’ve never seen him looking like he’s buffering. Rebooting. Trying to turn his brain back on after short-circuiting. His eyes are all over you, consuming you, setting your skin on fire.

You start to squirm under his gaze, insecurity blooming in your chest with someone so handsome looking at you mostly naked for the first time. With your eyebrows pinching together, you stammer out, “I know I’m not really- that my body isn’t-”

Jack silences you with a stern look. His pupils are blown dark. That’s new. That’s hot. His voice is urgent and serious. “Baby, I won’t hear a single negative thing about your body. You don’t need to worry about the way you move or what you sound like or look like or-” He shakes his head and smiles almost to himself. “You’re perfect. Just let me enjoy you.”

Before you can think, his mouth is on you. Jack Abbot’s lips are wrapped around your nipple and he’s groaning because of it. His hand goes to the other side and mirrors the movements of his lips and tongue. He’s methodical about it, trying out different things that make your breaths and sounds change. When he nibbles lightly, his teeth grazing your sensitive nerves, you let out a gasp so loud it takes both of you by surprise. He’d back up to check in but you clutch the back of his head tight to your check, a clear and direct order to keep fucking doing that.

Still working your tits, Jack reaches down with his free hand and undoes the button and zipper of your bottoms one-handed. As he helps you shimmy out of the rest of your clothes, you giggle, “That was a really hot move.”

Jack pulls off of you just long enough to throw you another one of those cocky smiles and laugh, “What can I say? Being a doctor for a couple decades has made me awfully good with my hands.”

That thought makes you breathless. Thoughtless. “Show me.”

He absolutely growls, “Fuck yes.”

Jack stands for a second, rips your bottoms away from your body, and shoves your knees apart. You let out a surprised squeal when he uses those beautifully strong arms of his to yank you to the end of the bed. He kneels down in front of you and takes so long admiring your pussy that you blush down to your feet. Now that you know that these pauses in his flow mean he’s taking you in, they’re extra delicious with anticipation.

Then he spits on your pussy and a shiver rocks up your entire body. Two of Jack’s fingers go to your throbbing, wanting clit. He rubs in painstakingly slow circles, watching you with a clinical precision that reminds you of the day he first walked you through placing a chest tube. In this context, it’s beyond hot to be studied like that. To be the object of his complete and total attention.

Jack’s fingers are so unlike your own – thick and calloused and experienced and knowing – and they’ve got a bright heat building inside of you so fast it would be embarrassing if it weren’t so glorious. And then he slides the middle finger of his other hand inside of you and your back arches so intensely you might as well be floating up into the ceiling and through the sky. You’ve never had anything there before and, when he curls that finger back toward himself, your toes flex and your whole body clenches up and releases at once.

When he adds a second finger, certain you can take it with how wet you are, you let out a wailing moan that makes Jack smile and murmur, like he’s talking right to your cunt, “There you go, baby.” His affirmation pulls another moan out of you and his movements get more sure as he urges, “That’s it; let me hear you.”

It doesn’t take long for you to get lost in the way he’s touching you. He times every thrust back against your walls with the brushing of his fingers around your clit. The tempo is agonizing. He doesn’t speed up or slow down; he just lets you build. And build. And build. Being with him is everything you’ve ever wanted for your first time.

It’s like he can feel your thoughts. When he can tell you’re close to the peak, holding back from jitters, Jack whispers, “Breathe for me. Don’t rush yourself. Trust me; I could do this all fucking night and it’d be my favorite night in years.”

That idea is what sends you over the edge. The thought that Jack would spend hours fingering you, learning you, exploring your body, and you know he’s being completely honest that he could do nothing else and be happy. You’re safe here. You’re worshiped. And, as you drink in that knowledge combined with Jack’s purely adoring expression, your walls start to clamp down around his fingers.

Still, he doesn’t speed up. Jack keeps you steady, working you open for him with his fingers, as you cum hard and slow. It’s nothing like the quick sparks you manage to get from yourself with your fingers beneath your panties late at night. It’s burning, roaring, catching. You’re a candle melting all the way down and Jack is murmuring out the filthiest praises to get you through the roiling pleasure.

Your mind goes totally, blissfully blank for what feels like hours but has to be only a few seconds. There’s no such thing as shame or the ED or anything but Jack’s touch. Tears bite at your eyes as you resurface, pulling in oxygen for dear life. All of your synapses are freshly blown out matches, embers still smoking. It’s hot and it’s wonderful and it’s hazy.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?” Jack might as well be an angel standing at the foot of the bed, the soft curls of his hair catching the moonlight as he strokes your inner thigh. He touches your cheek to bring your focus back to him, grinning at how glassy with pleasure your eyes are. “Don’t go quiet on me now.”

Dreamy and floaty, you breathe out, “So good. So, so good. Just a little…nervous, I guess.”

Concern overtakes his kind face. “You wanna stop? Slow down a while?”

“No, fuck no,” you rush out, eliciting another laugh from Jack. Trying to steady your panting, you tell him feverishly, “I want more. So much more. Everything.” Finally, after a deep breath, you say, clear and sure, trying to make your complete lack of doubt clear, “I want you to fuck me. I want your cock.”

If Jack were an even slightly younger man, he might’ve cum in his pants at the needy, honest look on your soft features. Instead, he lets out a shaky breath he doesn’t realize he’s been holding and unzips his dress pants. Underneath, he’s wearing tight gray boxer briefs that hug the muscles of his thighs and the straining outline of his cock.

When he has the pants halfway off, he pauses. For the first time tonight, he looks nervous. Sounding bashful, he rubs the back of his neck and stammers, “My, ah, my leg.”

Your eyebrows pull together. “What about it?”

“I usually take it off when I’m with someone,” he says, like that explains anything. “Would that be okay?”

In that moment, you realize that you’re not the only one with insecurities around sex. You don’t know who made Jack feel like less than because of his leg and his scars, but you’re definitely not going to continue the trend. “Of course it’s okay.” Mustering all your confidence because you know he’s lost some of his, you get up off the bed, push him back by the chest, and kneel. “Sit. Let me.”

“Baby, you definitely don’t have to-”

“I know I don’t have to. But would you like it if I did?”

“Well, it’s, ah- That’s-” When he feels your hands on the sides of his knee, his bare skin, the most sensitive part of his body, the most neglected, all he can manage is breathing out, “Fuck, please. I’d love that.”

As you doff his prosthetic, Jack lets out a long sigh that’s different from any of his others that you’ve heard. It’s low and rumbling and sweet. It’s the sound of relief that comes with being cared for.

Voice soft, somewhere between a doctor and a lover, you ask him, “Do you have any pain still? Phantom?”

“I’m lucky; I really only get phantom pain when I have nightmares,” he replies. You know it’s a big deal that he’s told you that, but you don’t make anything of it, just file it away as you set his prosthetic parts aside and run your hands over his thighs. Then he goes on, “It was a field amputation, really gnarly hack job, so I’ve got a few neuromas that I’m supposed to go and have massaged every week, but, with my schedule, that’s not really- Christ, that’s incredible. Fucking hell.” Jack throws his head back and moans as your thumbs work light pressure into the tightened ropes of nerves just beneath his thickened skin. “Oh my god, baby, where the fuck did you learn to do that?”

“When I worked with Mel at the VA,” you hum lightly, beyond delighted at the way his mouth’s fallen open softly, his eyelids heavy as he gazes down at you with pure adoration, “I did plenty of collaborating with the physical therapy and rehab teams. Picked up a few things.” You give him a flirty glance and add, “Keep me around and I might get you on that weekly schedule you’re supposed to follow.”

His laugh sparkles through the room. “Honey, I was definitely plannin’ on keeping you around no matter what, but if that could be part of the deal, then-”

Words once again fail him, tumbling into a grunt, as you lean forward and mouth over his straining cock, clothed and leaking. With one hand still massaging his leg, you reach up and tug the waistband of his boxer briefs down. When his cock springs free, you swallow hard and try to stop your eyes from widening. You may not have much of a frame of reference for size, but the thought of his cock in your mouth is definitely intimidating. The thought of it inside of you is intoxicating

Wanting nothing more than to hear what sort of filthy noises you can get him to make, you wrap your hand around his shaft and take his head between your lips. He tastes so uniquely Jack, clean and salty and somehow like honey, too, but that might be from how addicted you are to the feel of him stretching your lips right away.

Jack’s hand goes to the side of your head, not pushing or demanding but just needing to touch you somehow. To look down at you learning to use your tongue just right for him. His thighs straining as he tries to stop himself from fucking up into your inexperienced mouth, he groans, “I must’ve been a goddamn superhero in a past life to deserve you.”

After a few more bobs up and down, you pull off of him and, with a bead of saliva still connecting you to him, reply, “You’re kind of my hero already, Jack.”

You’re about to get back to work when you feel his hand in your hair. He beckons you forward with a finger and rasps, “That’s it; I need you right now.”

With a shy smile, you stand up, grab the condom from behind you, and ask, “How do you want me?”

“I want you every way I can possibly imagine and then about a hundred more.” He shakes his head with a chuckle and wraps his hand around his cock, fisting it slowly as he looks at your naked form. He leans forward, takes the condom from your hand, and then settles against the headboard while he rolls it on. “How about you ride me? Let me watch your pretty face while you take it for the first time.”

With an eager nod, you crawl toward him and position yourself over his hips. If there’s one thing you’ve learned while you’ve been with him, it’s that this just isn’t as complicated as you expected. Being with Jack makes perfect sense. Your body knows how to move before your mind even tells it to.

As you line yourself up, balancing by holding onto his biceps, Jack puts a hand on your waist. With barely controlled lust tightening his features, he tells you sternly, “Remember, the only thing I want is for this to be good for you. If you’re uncomfortable, then we’ll slow down or we’ll table this for another-

You sink down on Jack’s cock. It slots easily inside of you and that shuts him the fuck up. His hand on your waist turns bruising and the next sound he makes isn’t a grunt or a groan. It’s closer to a whine, if anything. No matter how incredible you feel engulfing him, he still ensures this is about you first: “You alright, ace?”

In lieu of a response, you push your lips against his and start moving your hips. You may not know exactly what you’re doing, but you know that his cock feels fucking good and the way you roll your body puts friction on your clit and it’s all perfect, so who care about anything else?

That definitely works for Jack. One of his hands snakes around your lower back, gripping your ass, and the other roves across your breasts, your waist, your neck, anywhere he can reach. It’s like he wants to commit your every millimeter to muscle memory. He’s quiet but he’s intense, practically growling when he does speak or make a noise. His hands are claiming and his eyes are locked to yours.

Jack kisses you again and then orders, soft but serious, like it means the world to him, “Touch yourself for me. Wanna see you cum again. Feel you lose it around me.”

Dropping your hand between your two bodies, your fingers find your still swollen clit and move lightly. It’s already overstimulating, but it’s really goddamn good. Your cheeks are hot, your lips are puffy from kissing and biting, and your mind is totally clear for the first time in your life. You bury your face into the crook of his neck and shoulder and whimper, “So good, Jack. So fucking good.”

His fingers knit into your hair and he holds you close. You’re completely held and completely safe and completely, utterly, totally fucked. You want to make him cum so bad it hurts. You push yourself until your thighs burn and then some, savoring every moment of him stretching and filling you.

Jack feels your movements losing rhythm and chuckles, “Hold on, baby.”

Then he flips you onto your back, smooth and easy, like your weight is nothing to him. That reality has your head swimming back toward another crest. When Jack’s thumb goes down to your clit as his hips piston faster, you know you’re done for. Sweat slicks the arch of your back and your nails dig into his biceps and his name is the only thing rolling off your tongue.

“Jack, I’m- I think I’m-”

“Me too, love. Let go with me.” And then, lips ever so slightly touching yours, eyebrows pinched together, thighs tensing, he adds softly, “Please.”

You can’t do anything but listen.

With one last cry, raw and delicate at once, you cum harder than before. Jack’s cock inside of you makes each pulse more intense, like your body’s begging to hold onto him, and he follows you, beyond willing, over the edge of the cliff. Your eyes crash together in that final moment of ecstasy and you’re both thoughtlessly lost in each other.

Your eyes flutter shut when the pleasure becomes too much and you have to catch your breath. Jack’s tying off the condom and tossing it in the bathroom trash before you’re even aware that he’s left. But he’s back by your side in the next second, bringing you to his chest, kissing the top of your head, holding you as close as he can.

Rubbing your back lightly, Jack murmurs, “Thank you.”

You let out a sharp laugh and roll your eyes as you nestle into his pecs, breathing deeply and sleepily. “You did not just say ‘thank you’ because I let you take my virginity.”

Jack smirks and closes his eyes. “No, I said ��thank you’ because nobody’s made me feel that good in a long, long time.”

#woah #sweet #i need a sweet old man #i need to watch this damn show #fic #the pitt

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