Archive of Our Own

An immediate jolt of your body. You stretch to fumble for your phone, faltering at the arm around your waist.

“Turn it off.” Jack’s gruff voice behind you. Face buried into your back.

Oh. Oh, last night happened. Last night was definitely real.

“We’ve got work,” you say, voice thickened with sleep, sliding the alarm off from your phone.

“I called us out.”

You pause. “When?”

“Last night. I forgot that you probably had an alarm.”

You rub your eyes, blearily staring at a message from Lena that tells you to take it easy and to reach out if you need anything else.

“C’mere.” His breath fanning across your back.

You can’t help the shiver that runs through you at the sensation. Phone placed flipped down, turning around to face him. “Thank you.”

He hums.

“But don’t manage my schedule without consulting me first,” you say. “Please.”

Jack blinks at you. You both know the added Please is just to appear polite. “Okay,” he relents.

“Thank you.” Shuffling into him, your eyes drifting shut again.

The next time you wake, you’re riding his thigh. You don’t even remember if you had been dreaming or not. Just that you’re awake, chasing your pleasure. Fuck. This is embarrassing.

“Uh uh, baby.” Jack’s awake. Was woken up by you grinding yourself against his thigh. It took everything in him not to get himself inside you while you were asleep.

This feels doubly embarrassing for you. He’s witnessed you acting like a teenager with a wet dream.

“Don’t stop just because you woke up.” And his hand grips your hip, dragging you up his thigh. He pushes his knee in closer.

Your forehead thumps against his chest. Moaning. “Jack.”

His fingers nudging your underwear aside, smearing your slick along his fingers. Catching your clit.

You buck up, whining. Sensitive, still. From last night. Yesterday. Whatever time of day it was. Night shift has long altered the way you perceive time.

“Three wasn’t enough for you, sweetheart?” he murmurs. “You need more than that? I’m not taking care of my baby, is that it?” Two fingers sliding inside of you.

You muffle your gasp into his sternum. “No,” you keen. “You do.” Pushing yourself closer to him. Like you want to crawl behind his ribcage, insert yourself right next to his heart. “You do.” You can’t have him thinking less of himself. The problem is you, it’s always you. Too needy. Too much.

“Hey, shh, it’s okay, honey. I’m not mad,” Jack says. His thumb against your clit. Rubbing. “Just take what you need.”

Tears in your eyes, fucking yourself into his fingers. It feels good. Too good. Your clit still feels sensitive. “Hurts,” you whine.

“Yeah? You want to stop?”

“No.” Mouthing at his skin, along his collarbone. A hand gripping his bicep.

“You still want to come?”

“Yes,” you utter. “Please.”

“Yeah, of course you do. Just sleeping next to me made you so horny you started humping my leg in your sleep, huh? Couldn’t even let me fucking rest. You wanted this, baby. Show me what you wanted to take from me.”

You could combust into flames, with the way he’s talking, the way he’s making you feel. Fire broiling beneath your skin. Exhaled with the moans you release.

Your orgasm crashes into you. Body shuddering, soft little ah, ah, Jack, ah, please emitted. Your arm hooked around his shoulder, riding his hand. Down on his fingers, up into his thumb.

“Fuck,” Jack groans. Lazy kisses along your jawline, his other hand against the crown of your scalp, angling your head back. His fingers still moving. “God, you’re so perfect.”

Trembling with the overstimulation. High pitched whimpers escaping from your throat. Tears leaking.

“Too much?”

You nod. Make a complaining noise, unable to speak.

“Okay, baby.” Shuffling closer to kiss you, lips on yours as he slides his fingers out. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.” Murmuring. Shifting back down.

“Don’t go.” Words pressed against his neck, into his carotid.

“Never.” A promise woven between the two of you, legs tangled together.

Jack keeps staring at you.

The confines of your apartment walls, a meal shared during the sunlight hours after yesterday.

You’re both on your couch. It’s not a large one, but still big enough that you can occupy the opposite ends with your feet in his lap.

You put down the book you’re reading, looking up at him. His focus on you.

“What?” he asks.

“That’s my question to you.”

“You’re staring.”

“So are you. You’ve been staring since we woke up.”

“I can’t look at you?”

Despite the way you were completely exposed to him yesterday, you get shy at his question. Looking away, teeth sinking into your lower lip as your face scrunches, a smile that you don’t sanction stretching across your lips.

Jack studies you, grinning. “Getting shy?”

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“I’m trying to talk to you.”

His eyes are like fire when they’re trained on you. “So talk.”

“I… hm. You gotta stop looking at me like that.”

A sly smile on his face. Definitely aware of his effect. “C’mere.” Straightening up, hand rubbing up your ankle.

You place the book on the rug below, crawling across the couch to decrease the space. Perch yourself in his lap. Palms to his face, cradling. His attached to the side of your thighs. You’re both quiet, studying each other. “You keep looking at me like you want to say something.”

Jack slides one of his hands to one of yours, angling his head to kiss your palm. Somehow you knew him well enough to know that about him. “You were out of it, but… you said you love me. Yesterday.”

You smile, a small thing. “I do. I’m not expecting you to say it back. I know it’s complicated, um—with you being a widower.”

Jack forehead creases. “I was—”

“It’s okay.”

“But I—”

You lean in to kiss him. Maybe because you want him to understand that you don’t have the expectation. Maybe because you don’t want to feel like him saying it is merely an obligation to respond, just because you said it first.

“It’s okay,” you say. Bumping you nose against his. “I mean it. Please don’t say it yet.”

Jack frowns. “Okay,” he says. The obvious answer, simply because you asked. And he will give into you, time and time again.

Nothing changes.

At work, that is. Outwardly.

You’re still professional, maintaining an invisible degree of separation.

If Jack looks at you and thinks about the noises he knows you make; the way you become eager and desperate for him; the way you submit for him; and is a little heavy handed with the praises just to see you squirm? Well. That’s only for him to know.

And for him to deal with, after your shared shifts are done. In the privacy of his or your bedroom walls.

In the wake of Jack taking a day off for you, you’re told you’ll be shunted with a double shift—starting with the day shift, then staying for your regularly scheduled night.

Weeks later, they finally cash it in. You should have known the rare weekend off was too good to be true. 48 hours off just to body-slam you with 24 hours on. Whoever managed the schedules had a sense of humour that rivalled the wishes made to a monkey’s paw.

You come in half an hour before shift change. Part of it is to ensure you get to see night shift. The other part of it is to maintain a good relationship with the day shifters. There’s only been a few occasions where you work with them. Most often than not, it’s an outstanding MCI. During those times, the last thing on your mind was a good impression.

“You better be in one piece when I come back,” Lena says, winking at you.

You can’t help the laugh. “Of course I will be.”

Dana grins. “Day shift has less wild patients. We’ll be fine.”

“20 bucks,” you say. “20 bucks to Dana if I’m in one piece by the time night shift gets back.”

“Deal.”

“You betcha.”

A handshake between the two charge nurses. You’re both the bet objective and witness. You make yourself scarce as they hand-off their duties.

“Here you go.” Dr Shen gifts you an iced coffee.

Your mouth drops opened. Regardless of how many times you’ve wheedled the attending for one, his Dunkin traditions remain a solo thing. “For me?”

“Quit making it a big deal before I take it back.”

“Wait, no take backs.” You grab the cup.

“Good luck. You’re repping night shift today.”

You almost feel like a kid being dropped off at school. “With you running things? I don’t think we have much of a reputation.”

Shen makes a face. “I’m taking the coffee—”

“No take backs!” You scamper away. Or, at least, try to. A two person collision, resulting in a firm hand gripping your shoulder to steady you.

“Careful—”

A sucked in gasp. “I’m so sorry, Dr Robby.” Thankfully, whatever coffee deity exists has deemed you worthy enough that the beverage hasn’t splashed onto him. You think you could die from mortification if it did.

“Just as I was talking about repping the night shift,” Shen mutters, assumedly under his breath, but it ends up being loud enough for you to hear.

Robby eyes your drink, then his attention flickers between the two of you. He shakes his head. “There cannot be two of you.”

“Of course not,” you say, quick, before Shen can impose whatever untruths he considers necessary. “I’m nothing like Dr Shen. You can actually rely on me, Dr Robby, sir.”

“Remind me to never do anything good for you, ever again,” Shen says, scowling. Evidently, you’ve never heard of the saying ‘never bite the hand that feeds you’.

You press your lips into a line, trying not to giggle. You make the mistake of meeting Robby’s gaze, who looks like he, too, is fighting a losing battle to mirth.

There are two of you. He doesn’t know how Jack does it. He can already feel the beginnings of a headache, and he hasn’t even officially started yet. Hell, Shen is meant to be going home soon. He shakes his head.

“Hey, there you are.” Parker rescuing you from the testosterone party at Central. An arm hooked around your shoulders, a quick greeting to Dr Robby before she waylays you. “I know we’re going to do hand-offs soon, but I’ve got a kid in Central 11. I really need your touch in there.”

“Yeah, of course. You got it, Dr Ellis.”

“Thank you.” She takes note of the iced coffee, grinning. “Shen was missing you today. We all did.”

“I’ll be back with you guys in 12 hours.”

“Is this your first 24?”

“First full 24.” You’ve done less hours before. Unscheduled overtime that saw you doing 18 hour days, sometimes. Woes of working in a hospital.

“Good luck. Have fun. But remember you’re stuck with us, not them.”

“Oh really, us and them?” McKay sidling up to the conversation, raising an eyebrow at Parker.

“You can’t poach our nurses,” Parker says.

“Don’t act like you guys aren’t trying to poach Mohan and Santos.”

“No comment.”

McKay turns to you.

You silently mime zipping your lips. You’re sworn into silence.

“This is why we don’t like night shift.”

“Hey,” both you and Parker protest.

McKay only laughs. “Alright, you can head out, Parker. We’ll take care of the stray.”

Parker salutes the both of you before she heads for the break room.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just haven’t pulled a 24 yet. They’re just making sure I’m good for it.”

McKay gives you a look that says she means more than just today. The last minute day off that Dr Abbot had taken had circulated the rumour mill around the Pitt. Time is the only thing that buried it.

But the way that McKay looks at you—it’s like she remembers that she had missed seeing you during that shift change. People had been so preoccupied with Dr Abbot that they forgot about the night shift nurses—the absent one, and a worried charge nurse.

“If you ever need to talk to someone,” she trails off.

“Thank you,” you say, because it’s easier than telling her that you would rather not. Jack finding out had been embarrassing enough. You were lucky that he was him. That you were you. That it worked out for the both of you.

As if sensing your unwillingness to talk, McKay squeezes your shoulder before she walks away. “I’m in chairs if you need me.”

“Got it, Dr McKay.” You take yourself back to Central. You try not to make in abundantly obvious that you notice Jack there. Arms crossed talking in low tones with Robby.

Jack sends you a lingering, sidelong look that you pretend doesn’t make you shiver. A slow tilt of his head towards the break room, an eyebrow raised. A silent request. And like all his requests, you obey. You make your way there. Busy yourself with washing the dishes dumped in the sink. Not technically your job, but it keeps your hands occupied.

Two minutes later, Jack’s in the break room, the door closing behind him.

Robby doesn’t know what compels him to follow, waiting until Jack’s no longer paying attention to him.

“Just take care of him like you would me,” Jack says.

Robby’s creeping. He knows. He doesn’t hear you say anything, but you must reply with a look, because Jack laughs. It’s something soft and fond. Not a sound he usually hears inside the walls of the Pitt.

“Alright. Maybe not.” Then he snorts. “Not unless he wants to.”

“Unless he—what?” you ask.

Jack hums.

From the sliver of opening, Robby sees Jack lean in close to you. Oh. Jack’s kissing you. Pieces falling into place. The long story that Jack never really told him in full. The day off he had taken. The only explanation he provided to Robby was that something’s wrong with one of my nurses.

It was you, all those weeks ago.

Really, Robby should have known. Jack’s ambience in the Pitt changed, not a drastic one, but something that usually followed in the wake of one of those nights. Sometimes Robby found Jack a willing partner when he noticed that the other attending was in his own head; sometimes they were each other’s fulfilment. It’s been a long friendship, the two of them. There was very little that wasn’t shared between them.

And yet, not a word about this.

Interesting.

Robby walks away before anyone starts to get suspicious of his presence outside the closed break room.

The thing about scrub change during night shift is they don’t get the luxury of taking time. Not like the day shift. And especially not between the heathen hours of midnight to 3 AM. Those three hours are always filled with intoxicated people, alcohol poisoning, and an abundance of vomit and blood.

With a smaller pool of staff, Jack has forgone squirrelling away into a bathroom for scrub change. It’s not an enacted rule, per se, but when every one of his doctors are balancing a higher volume of patients and fluids, it’s hard to spare the extra ten minutes to change clothes, get the new scrubs, then change again in a bathroom.

It’s something that the rest of the night shift has also adopted. Shen, Parker, Tim, Bridget. Lena, in the rare occasions that she leaves her station at the Central desk. All the other nurses and doctors that you work with.

It had taken you a while to get used to it. You didn’t have the years of familiarity when you first joined. But it had been one of those nights. A toddler crying so forcefully they made themselves sick. A man found unconscious in his home, and the first thing he did upon waking was expel the contents of his stomach. A woman with an arterial bleed.

“Scrub change!” you called out to Lena. She waves you off. As long as Lena knows where everyone is, the department will run smoothly. It was one of the first things you learned when starting. Tell Nurse Lena everything. She’ll take care of it.

Usually you’d change in the bathroom. But. You can hear how the night is getting to everyone. Even in the quick way that Lena waved to acknowledge you, hair plastered to her forehead.

You don’t have time. You need to get back out there.

You’re stripped down, goosebumps across your skin. Old scrubs in. Waiting for your new ones.

And that’s how Jack finds you. Directed towards the scrub machine by Lena when he asked for an extra pair of hands. He knows that his new staff are a little more uncertain about changing right in front of the machine. So he’s expecting to find you there clothed.

He says your name. “I need—”

“One sec.” Hopping with a knee bent, sliding into your pants. The top pulled on after. “Yes, sir?”

Jack’s looking away, jaw set. It’s not the first time he’s seen his staff out here. But it’s the first time he’s seen you. He had no idea you had any tattoos. Scratch that—why the fuck would he need to know that about you?

“Need you in Trauma 2,” he says, eventually.

“You got it, Dr Abbot.”

So.

Night shift scrub change. Different from day shift. A fact you forget after helping Dr Whitaker with an arterial bleed.

“Whoa!” Dana’s the one that drapes a spare patient gown over you.

“What—?” You blink at her.

She blinks at you.

“This isn’t night shift,” you breathe out your realisation.

“This isn’t night shift,” Dana agrees.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” a new voice. Crap. “If I had a body like that, I’d show it off too.”

“Thank you, Myrna.” You flee into the bathroom. Fucking hell. So much for not embarrassing yourself in front of the day shift. Donning the patient gown, you’re back at scrub change, waiting for the new set of scrubs. It already feels like a longer process. You’d already be in new ones at this point. Jack was definitely onto something when he made the decision.

New scrubs obtained, then back into the bathroom to change. Patient gown discarded.

“So, when you guys are trying to talk me into joining nights,” Santos’ voice, walking alongside you to Central. “Is this what I have to look forward to? A free show?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You saw that?”

“Oh, come on, who didn’t?” she says, cackling at the groan you let out.

“It’s just faster,” you try to defend. You’re at Central, eyeing the board above you.

“Fucking Jack,” you hear Robby mutter under his breath. He’s sliding his phone into his back pocket, leaning over the computer.

“I’m really sorry,” you say, shuffling closer to him. You think you’d bury yourself if an authority figure was mad at you. “Please don’t take me to HR.”

Robby shakes his head. It’s already happened a number of times when any night shift staff had to do a stint during the day. Jack Abbot remains the bane of his existence. “No HR. Just try not to let it happen again.”

“Yes, sir.” You don’t notice the way he looks at you at that.

He’s thinking, probably too much, about things he shouldn’t be ruminating on. The way you are with Jack. The dynamic you share. If any of that obedient yes sirs make their way into it.

“There’s a head lac in North 3,” Robby says, instead.

You look at Santos.

“Hell yeah,” Santos grins.

You follow her in there.

An Anna Morales. Late 20s, will probably need stitches. An accident that she’s being vague about. She didn’t want to deal with the cost of an ambulance, so her boyfriend drove her to the PTMC. When he realised there was going to a wait, he told her he’d go home and wait for her call if she ever got into the ER. She had just called him a few minutes ago when McKay got her through chairs.

A stellar review of a boyfriend that has you and Santos trading judgemental looks.

“Hey, they told me to find you in… here.”

You had already been stepping aside when the door opened.

Turning towards the newcomer.

Oh. Shit.

The boyfriend.

You recognise him. Kevin N. Early 30s. Pictures on an app. Four months of talking, of dates. Then a Saturday when you decided to take the leap. To put trust into him. And he left. Ghosted you. No texts, no calls. Radio silence.

Santos says your name, a little too annoyed for it to be the first time.

“Yes, sorry.” You busy yourself with setting up a tray with the tools she needs. Sterilised and clean tools. Avoiding the way Kevin looks at you as he takes a seat by the bed. By Anna.

You try not to throw up while you help Santos. Hoping that she’ll dismiss you as soon as she doesn’t need you anymore.

Santos keeps up a steady stream of conversation as she works. Her bedside manners have come a long way since she first started. You chime in every now and then. But you know you’re not as engaged as you usually are. Your skin’s crawling every time you feel Kevin’s gaze on you.

“Excuse me,” you say. Your tether’s cut short. You exit the room, shutting the door behind you. Technically, there’s no need for you and Santos to both be in there.

You’re heaving as you escape into the restroom. Your first instinct is to call Jack. You make it to the third ring before you hang up. Feel the static in your head as you watch his contact light up the phone screen. You slide to decline the call.

Sent: sorry was just missing you
Jack: It’s okay. I have time to take your call.
Sent: don’t worry about it. just got busy. sorry
Jack: I miss you too, sweetheart.

Breathe. In and out. You pocket your phone and head to the break room next door. You know that caffeine would only increase the shaking, but you don’t think you can afford something that’s supposed to help you relax. You’d only fall asleep. You’re not even halfway through your 24 hours yet.

The door opens as you’re waiting for the coffee.

Robby steps through. “You alright, kid?” Though he knows he has a tendency to pull long hours, he knows how tough a 24 hour shift can be. They don’t get assigned often. And when they do, the attendings and charge nurses are always alerted.

You paste on a grin, nodding. Attempt to ignore the thudding in your chest. “Hanging in there.”

“You need anything?”

You take a sip from your mug. “Real coffee.” The break room’s sludge tastes like coffee-flavoured water. Even paling in comparison to the iced coffee that Shen had gotten you. And that was finished hours ago.

The corner of Robby’s lips twitch upwards. “And you say you’re nothing like Dr Shen.”

“Wait—no. No, I didn’t mean it like that.” This is easy to fall into. A little ribbing. Not thinking about the patient and her boyfriend that you just left with Santos.

Robby grins a little more openly. “You know, you can talk to me if you need anything, right?”

“I know. Thank you, Dr Robby.” Again, it’s easier to thank the generosity than dismiss them altogether. Something you’ve learned from dealing with people that you know mean well.

“You don’t have to wait for Jack.”

Your gaze snapped onto the attending, trying to swallow past the thick thing in your throat. “Um—I’m just. Used to working with the night crew.” Not quite a lie, not quite the truth either. You know Robby’s prodding, but you’re not sure what for. You can’t exactly deny that you’d rather have these talks with Jack—you’ve been working with him for two years, now. It would make sense that you’d trust him more than the day shift attending.

“I know he told you to take care of me.”

Oh shit. Jack said that in the break room when it was the two of you, alone. And unless Jack later relayed that to Robby within their own conversations you weren’t privy to, Robby wasn’t meant to know that. You remain frozen.

“But you also need to take care of yourself,” Robby says.

You blink. You have no idea where he’s trying to lead this discussion. “I’m—I’m okay.”

“You seem stressed.”

“I’ve still got 15 hours left on my shift.”

Robby nods, but remains unconvinced by your words. “Hey.” And his hand lays heavy on your shoulder.

The weight of it stills you, eyebrows creasing as you peer up at him. Waiting. He probably has some kind of wisdom he wants to impart onto you.

But he stays silent. Breathing. You don’t realise you’re matching it until your face eventually smooths out.

His thumb drifting, rubbing up and down over the juncture where shoulder meets neck. “Relax,” he murmurs.

And you can’t resist the way your eyelids flicker shut in response. To his touch. The tone of his voice.

“Good,” he whispers.

You don’t realise you’re swaying into him until you feel his solid chest against you. Feel the rise and fall of his breathing. Letting out a noise. Half complaining, half comforted.

“There you go.” Low tones. Soft. Talking you down from trembles that you hadn’t even noticed have wracked your frame. “I know something’s got you stressed out. I just want to take care of you like Jack would.”

The mention of Jack’s name is like cold water dumped on you. Sobering. You suck in a breath and draw away from Robby. Blinking wildly. “I—um—I have—I have to go.”

“It’s okay—”

But you’ve already left the break room.

Robby sighs, taking out his phone to send off another text to Jack.

It’s still not shift change yet. Guilt is a heavy thing in your chest, and what was once you looking forward to it, turns into dread.

You have to tell Jack what happened with Robby, even if you don’t fully understand what exactly transpired. It just felt comforting.

You’re bypassing dispatch to head towards the stairwell. You don’t realise you don’t hear the door close behind you.

You need a breather, and you’re kind of apprehensive of heading to the usual places. Robby might be there. Not to mention, Kevin and Anna are in the ED.

“Hey.”

You pivot, fast. Not having expecting anyone to follow you out. Much less…

“Kevin,” you say. Swallow thickly.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says. He’s approaching like you’re a cornered animal.

Maybe you are. Your eyes flicker to the door behind him. The stairs present another way out.

“I wanted to apologise.”

“Right now? While I’m at work?” You can’t help baring your teeth.

“You haven’t been making it easy for me.”

You blink. “You ghosted me.”

Kevin drops his head into a nod. “Yeah. And I’m apologising for it.”

You still haven’t heard him say the word ‘sorry’. “I’m not going to say anything to Anna, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s water under the bridge at this point.” Part of you wants to laugh. Him being an asshole to the nth degree landed you right into Jack’s arms.

“Water under the bridge?” Nose flaring. Jaw ticking.

“Yeah. It’s fine. I’ve moved passed it.”

“Moved passed—?” Scoffing, lips forming a scowl. “Moved passed it? Passed me?”

“You left. It’s been weeks. And clearly, you’ve moved on too.”

He shoves you backwards.

Stumbling, your head colliding into the wall behind you. Starbursts of white flashing across your vision. “Ow, what—?!”

An arm barred across your chest. “You do not get to move on—”

Trying to push at him. “Get off of—”

“Shut up. You fucking bitch.” His fingers around your throat. Cinching, pushing on top of your trachea. Fingers and thumb digging into the flesh on the sides. “You don’t get to fucking move on from me.”

You try to kick, fists furling, punching at his arms. Shoulders. Anywhere you can make contact.

“Stop fucking struggling. You like being choked. You want this, you fucking slut.”

Stars dancing in your vision. Unable to get air in.

“Hey—oh, fuck—!” A voice breaking through the ringing in your ears.

“We need security out here!” Another voice.

A blur of movement. The weight forcibly removed from you. You slide down the wall, hacking out coughs. Inhaling lungfuls of air.

“Holy shit. Are you okay?” Whitaker kneels in front of you, crowding into your space. Fingers going for your neck.

You shy away from him.

“Sorry, I’m sorry. But I really need to check on you.”

“What the hell happened?” Another person.

“I got him!”

Blinking, looking over Whitaker’s shoulder, down the hall to see Santos on Kevin. He’s face down, trying to wriggle out from whatever hold Santos has whilst she’s perched on him.

You see Mike move towards them. Cuffing Kevin. He yells something.

“Come on, let’s get you up.” Whitaker helps you stand. You don’t know what it is that makes you feel unsteady on your own feet. Adrenaline. Fear. A previous lack of air. Something else. But you’re grateful for the support he provides.

Santos pushes the door open. “Dr Robby!”

“We need an empty room!” Whitaker calls out. He has one arm around you, helping you walk.

“Six is opened!” Dana relays.

“Holy shit, what happened?” Princess follows you in.

“Mike has him,” Santos says. She’s gloving up. “Fucking asshole was choking—”

“What the hell?” Robby.

There’s too much happening.

Princess shines a light into your eyes, checking your pupils. Lifting your eyelids. “Robby.”

His arms are crossed, watching them mill around. Steps in closer at Princess’ alert. “Subconjunctival hemorrhaging,” he murmurs.

The flashlight blessedly clicked off.

Princess holds out a finger, making you track her movements.

When she’s done, Santos elbows Whitaker out of the way, gingerly tilting your head back to inspect your neck. “Does it hurt to breathe?”

You nod.

“Hurt to swallow?”

You swallow. Nod again.

“What about talking?”

You take a second. “I think—hurts,” you wheeze, wincing.

“Did you lose consciousness?”

You’re caught between shaking your head and nodding.

“Vision went fuzzy?”

You nod again. Thank God for Santos. She’s questioning in a way that allows you not to speak. She’s going to be a great doctor, you think, even if she decides her future is outside the walls of the Pitt.

You raise a hand. Guide it to the back of your head.

“You hit your head?” she asks.

You confirm.

“We need a CTA. Let’s keep this room for observation,” Robby says. “Minimum six hours. You know the protocol.” And this, he directs to you.

You dip your head. There goes the rest of your 24 hours shift.

Whitaker’s across from Santos on the other side of the bed. Checking the back of your head. “No bleeding.” Fingers on your scalp, palpating.

You flinch.

“Responsive to pain. A little tenderness but no lacerations. That’s good news, right?” His gaze flickers from Robby, then to Santos.

“We’ll wait for the scans,” Robby says. No false hope.

Whitaker presses his lips into a line, as if attempting to give you a reassuring look.

He, Princess, and Santos make themselves scarce.

Robby lingers in the room, sitting on the stool beside the bed. “I called Jack,” he says eventually.

You look at him.

“We both know I had to. He’s already on his way.”

You shoot him a tired thumbs up.

Silent, again. Then, Robby huffs out a chuckle. A hand at the back of his neck, massaging. “Shit. Jack’s never going to let me borrow you for day shift again.”

You can’t help the laugh. Then you wince. “Ow,” you manage, hoarse.

“Sorry, kiddo.” A hand on your shoulder, peering at you.

Again, you can’t help the way that you seem to settle under it.

Princess reappears. “CT’s ready for us.”

Robby feigns checking the bruises around your neck. Hand moving away. “Let’s go.” Between Robby and Princess, they push your gurney to the elevator to get your scan.

By the time you’re done and returned to your comfortable prison in room six, Jack arrives. A rap of knuckles on the door, then it’s opening.

Jack’s face—his eyes on you. Face stony. “Robby,” he says, nodding at him, both a greeting and dismissal.

“Alright. See you out there.” It doesn’t take further prompting for him to leave. The curtain drawn, door closed behind him.

Jack performs the same exams that Princess, Santos, and Whitaker have done. Eyes the monitor quietly tracking your vitals—you muted it as soon as Princess hooked you up. Silent as he does so. You know there’s something brewing in his eyes, dark. The tenseness of his frame. You watch him move around. Never settling.

“Jack,” you say. Your voice is still raw.

“Don’t talk,” he says, from where he’s standing by the computer. Scrolling through your chart.

“Jack,” you croak again.

He turns, eyes hardened as he levels his gaze with yours.

“Can you just come here?”

And he does, because he has never known what it’s like to not yield before you. Crossing the room. You don’t hesitate to reach for him, grabbing his arm to pull him closer. Face buried against his broad chest as you allow yourself to finally shatter.

“Okay,” he murmurs, and pushes the guardrail to the gurney down. Removing the barrier that separates you.

The trembling of your body, held together by strong arms enveloping around you.

“Okay.” A kiss pressed to the top of your head, a hand rubbing up and down your upper arm. An understanding of what you need from him in this moment.

He’s holding you like you’re something fragile, something gentle settling in his chest. A method of soothing himself as well as you.

The tightening of his muscles ever since Robby had called him to let him know that you had gotten hurt. The way he couldn’t let himself calm down until he saw you. And even when he did see you—God, the bruises around your neck. The red spots in your eyes. Your voice still hoarse.

To hold you in his arms, reminding himself that you’re alive. Hurt, but alive. That’s what he needs, and if that’s what you need, then he will give in, tenfold. He would immolate himself to keep you warm, if you ever asked. How dangerous a love like this.

“Hey,” Jack says, and his voice is equally hoarse for a different reason. Shifts back for a moment, hands framing your face. Thumbs wiping against your wet cheeks. “Hey. Fuck. You scare the shit out of me sometimes, you know that?”

You open your mouth.

“Don’t say sorry.”

You shut your mouth.

Jack shakes his head, chuckling gruffly. Leans in to kiss you. A thumb brushing against your cheekbone.

You grab one of his hands, pulling it down. As soon as it glides past your chin, his hand attempts to slide out of yours. You hold fast.

“Baby—” he starts.

“Please,” you manage. “Please, I just want to feel you.”

He stares down at you, eyes dark. He doesn’t say anything, but you note the moment his resolve falters. The breath he releases, the way his eyelids flicker as they shut. Jack kisses you again, and his palm rests against the side of your throat. Not pressing. Not firm. Just his touch, present.

You feel yourself melt into him. His other hand on the gurney, like he’s stopping himself from grabbing onto you.

There’s a knock on the door. “It’s Robby.” The door’s opened, but he hasn’t pulled back the curtain yet.

“Yeah?” Jack pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. His hand still on your throat, thumb brushing against your chin.

“Police are here. They need to take a statement.”

You frown. “I’m not pressing charges.”

“It’s hospital policy. NFS,” Jack reminds you.

Non-fatal strangulation. Again, it’s protocol you know from working here for two years. You never expected to be on the receiving end of it.

“Can you stay?” you ask.

“Robby can. He’s chief attending.”

Robby clears his throat. The curtain slides, metal rings clinking against each other as he pulls enough to step into the room. The curtain ruffles behind him.

You feel your heart thud wildly, like you’ve been caught.

Jack doesn’t move away.

Robby’s gaze fixes on Jack’s hand against your neck. Flickers between your deer-in-the-headlights expression, and Jack’s relaxed look angled over his shoulder. “John’s out there,” he says, instead of commenting on anything. “He can take care of things for a little bit. He knows we’re in here.”

Of course. You completely missed that night shift started. That meant Robby was officially off the clock. And Jack was meant to be working, not babysitting you.

You move back, like you’re wanting to detach yourself from his hand. “It’s—it’s okay—”

Jack turns back to you. His hand remains where it is, thumb digging lightly into the line of your jaw. “Robby said I’m good to say.”

“But—”

“I’m staying.”

Your eyes shifting to Jack, then over his shoulder to Robby, still near the curtain. Just one step into the room. “Thank you,” you say.

Robby dips his head in acknowledgement. “You feeling alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Your heart rate’s pretty high.”

All three of you now studying the monitor.

“Uhh,” you manage. That’s embarrassing. You feel like you’re still riding the adrenaline high from when Robby came in and Jack hadn’t moved away from you. He still hasn’t. “I just… wasn’t expecting you to come in.”

Robby snorts. “Not the most compromising situation I’ve seen him in.”

Jack just laughs. Thumb brushing against the angle of your jaw before his lips graze your temple. “Robby has a thing for watching,” he murmurs.

Your mouth drops open, frowning. “You’ve—you’ve done things together?”

“Yeah,” Jack says, casual as ever. Grins down at you before he steps away. Sinking into the stool beside the bed with a muted groan.

You have more questions that they apparently, will leave unanswered.

Robby pulls back the curtain, opening the door. “Ready for you,” he calls out.

Two police officers enter, and the room feels smaller. They introduce themselves to you. Officers Reyes and Boyd.

“This should be fairly straightforward,” Reyes says. Kind eyes, despite the years weathering her face. “A few standard questions and then we’ll be out of your hair. It’s protocol for us to respond to these situations.”

“I appreciate it, officers,” you say. You cross your arms over your chest.

Boyd flips open a notepad.

“Do you remember if you said anything to him that could have been taken as hostile? I know people can get angry about the wait times here,” Reyes begins.

Your brows knit together. “He’s not a patient,” you say. Maybe your brain is sluggish from being starved of oxygen for a few seconds, but you’re slow to realise what’s happening.

Boyd blinks up from the notepad he’s jotting in.

“He’s a visitor. He came in for a patient. In North 3.”

“Right. And what was his relation to the patient?”

“A partner. The patient’s his girlfriend, or something. This wasn’t a random—I knew him.”

And just like that, it’s out in the open. You keep your attention on the two officers, but you can see Robby shifting behind them, lax as he leans against the wall. And Jack—you don’t want to look. Because you know how smart he is. He’ll connect the dots as soon as he even has a fraction of the picture.

Conflict welling inside you. You wanted him to stay, but you also want him out of the room in this moment.

Reyes looks at you. “Are you sure you don’t want to press charges?”

“I’m sure.” A long a messy process, you think.

She sighs. “Okay. What’s your relation to him?”

“An… ex-something. It wasn’t really labelled.”

An honorary scoff from the older woman. “Dating these days.”

“And how long did you know him?” Boyd asks.

“Four months.”

A brief moment from the corner of your eye, you can tell it clicks for Jack. The quiet intake of air. The shift of the stool.

“And the last time you talked to him?” Boyd asks.

“A month or so ago, maybe,” you answer.

“So you coincidentally met him today?”

“Yes. I was helping a doctor with a patient. I wasn’t expecting to see him here.”

“Prior to this attack would you say this kind of violent behaviour is typical or atypical for him?” Reyes asks.

“Um… atypical,” you say.

Boyd flips to another page of the pad. “When you saw him today, did he say anything that could be taken as hostile?”

“No. I didn’t talk to him. He didn’t talk to me either. I figured we were going to ignore our… history because his girlfriend was in the room.”

More notes from Boyd. It kind of unnerves you, but you know it’s part of his job. “So when you finally got to talk to him…”

“I went out into the stairwell to take a break. He followed me out there. He said he wanted to… apologise for how we left things.”

“And how did you leave things?” Reyes, this time.

You give her a wry look. “I slept with him and then he ghosted me.”

She rolls her eyes. “Men,” she says, derisive. She carries herself like an auntie that you would want to gossip with, wine glass in hand.

You smile a little in response to her. “I told him it was water under the bridge and he seemed… angry at that.”

“And then he attacked you?”

“Yes. He pushed me. I stumbled. I hit the back of my head on the wall. And then he…” And your gaze fall to your hands. Absentmindedly wringing your fingers. Running your nail against the pad of your thumb. “He—um—choked me.”

Reyes says your name, soft. “At any point, did you fear for your life?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, and you feel cold and small for admitting it. “I, um, I tried fighting back but I couldn’t—do anything. Against him.”

“Okay,” Reyes says, gentle.

“Did he say anything? While he was choking you. To make you think he was threatening your life?” Boyd asks.

“Um—no.”

“But he said something?” Reyes again.

“He said I should like it,” you tell her. Even though your voice carries to the other occupants of the room, you feel safer directing your words to just her. “Because I… asked him to during sex.”

Reyes is already shaking her head, even before you finish speaking. “That has no bearing on what happened—”

“Did you?” Boyd asks.

You blink. “I’m sorry?”

“Did you want him to—?”

“Boyd,” Reyes warns.

Your mouth falls opened. “He tried to kill me—”

“You said he wasn’t typically violent but you were also asking him to—”

“Officer Boyd.”

“Okay, that’s enough.”

Both Robby and Jack are standing. Robby already has the door opened, the noise of the ED disturbing the room again. Jack stands between you and the officers.

“I think it’s time you leave my hospital,” Robby says, curt. It registers to you that he was the one that spoke up just moments before.

“I am so sorry,” Reyes says, to you. “I will be talking to Officer Boyd after we leave.” Half to you, half as a threat to Boyd.

“Thank you, officers,” Jack says, equally short in addressing them.

Robby walks out with them, the door closing again.

You feel humiliation sear your face, clog your throat, burn your eyes. “I’m sorry—”

“No, none of that.” Jack steps into your space, curling his own fingers around yours. Stopping your blind mission of picking them apart. “Look at me.”

With tears in your eyes, you do. Frustrated and ashamed. Face tilted up at him.

Squeezing your hand. “It’s not your fault. What happened wasn’t on you. Never was, alright? Tell me you understand.”

You want to. But a splintered noise in your throat releases as you crumple. And Jack sighs something ragged; this isn’t a wound to be mended in a day, even if it’s what his hands are known to do. Too intimately familiar with the knowledge that healing isn’t linear.

Twenty minutes after the police had left, Robby pops in to tell Jack that he’s leaving, and that the ED needed their night attending on the floor again.

“You alright?” Robby asks you, after Jack leaves with a kiss to your forehead.

You nod, but you can tell that he doesn’t believe you. “Can you tell Dana that she owes Lena $20?”

Robby’s bemused look is enough to make you laugh. “Do I want to know what it’s for?”

“20 to Dana if I made it through to night shift in one piece.”

Robby shakes his head. “Now that’s just tempting fate.”

You grin.

“Yeah, I’ll tell them.”

“Thanks, Dr Robby.”

His hands are braced on the rails of the bed. “You know it’s not your fault, right?” he asks, quiet.

You don’t verbally answer, but the silence is answer enough. Your lips pressed into a line, nodding too late.

Robby blows out a breath. “Yeah, didn’t think so.” He reaches out, cuffing you under your chin.

You blink at the gesture, and he leaves with a soft smile.

Six hours of observation pass without further complications. You’re sent home after Jack checks on your CT results and vitals one last time.

“I’m sending Robby over to yours,” he says.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” you tell him.

“For my peace of mind. Please.”

And you’re not able to say no to him. The way he fights off the smug smile lets you know that he knows that about you.

“Whatever,” you say.

Jack grins. “Thank you.”

Half an hour after you get home, Robby is there. You slide over the guest slippers, letting the door close behind him.

“You really didn’t have to babysit me on your time off.”

“He owes me. I owe him.”

“Right. Because of compromising situations.”

Robby shrugs, gaze firmly on you. “We have… shared interests.”

You shake your head before leading him through to your tiny apartment, heading for the living room. You hear him follow. “I don’t really know what you’re meant to be doing, but feel free to set yourself up in here.” Between the kitchen and the living room, you assume the living room wins that competition, thanks to the couch.

Fluffing out the blanket you have on there. Pivoting, faltering in your turn when Robby is in your space. Not a few steps away like you had assumed, but too close behind.

His arm hooks around your waist so you don’t fall. “Sit. Let me check you.” From his pocket, he fishes out his flashlight.

You swallow, removing your hand from his chest; you had placed it there for balance. “Jack already checked before I left.”

Robby raises his eyebrows at you. He doesn’t even have to speak to argue with you.

You groan, realising your losing battle. Dropping onto the cushions.

Robby lowers into a crouch in front of you. And like personal space is nonexistent, his arm across your knees, stabilising himself as he shines the flashlight into your eyes. Tests your pupils; murmurs to himself about the healing of the blood in your eyes; clicks the flashlight off to perform an eye movement test.

Fingers pushing your chin up and aside, scrutinising the bruises. “Breathing’s okay?”

“Yep. And talking. And swallowing. Probably good to eat.”

“You haven’t eaten?”

“I was hooked up.”

Robby pushes himself up with the arm across your knees. Grunting a little as he does so. He heads into your kitchen.

“We could probably just order something,” you say, frowning as you follow him.

He gives you an unimpressed look. “Jack said to take care of you.”

You’re reminded of Jack coming to yours to take care of you after he found out about the sub drop in the hospital. Different kind of taking care of, you assume.

“You want to call him?” Robby’s phone already sliding out from his pocket, blindly holding it out to you as he digs through your fridge. Like he’s aware of your internal thoughts.

You take it, watch him rifle through your things. Unlocking his phone with a swipe. “You don’t have a password?”

“They’re annoying.”

“Oh my God, you’re so old.” You click onto his contacts. Jack’s is starred as a favourite. You call him, phone to your ear. Heading towards the living room. You’re still within earshot, and Robby’s periphery if he looks over. But it’s gives an illusion of privacy.

“What’s up, brother?” Jack greets.

“No Robby. Just me,” you say.

“Give me—” Rustling, the noise of the ED muffled. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. We’re okay. I’m just—you told him to take care of me.” You don’t phrase it like a question.

But he responds, anyway. “I did.”

“In what way?”

Jack makes a noise, and you know he’s shrugging with the answer, even if you can’t see him. “Whatever way you need.”

“I need you to stop beating around the bush with this. Please.”

“Whatever you would want from me, he can give you as well.”

You’re standing still in the living room. Watching Robby mill around your kitchen. The stove’s on, the flame turned to low. He found your pot from the cupboard. “And you’re okay with it?”

“If it’s Robby, yeah.” Like it’s a simple thing. “We’ve been friends a long time.”

“Just friends don’t do this kind of stuff.”

“Maybe not,” Jack hums. “You okay with it?”

“I’m—trying to wrap my head around it.”

Robby’s hunted down the chopping board and knives. Has dug around your freezer for protein as well.

“You asked me for everything, baby,” Jack says, soft. “That always included Robby.”

You swallow around the cloying thing in your throat. “Yeah.” Something in your chest aches. There’s love there, you think, between them. If not reciprocated by Robby, then at least from Jack’s perspective, it’s present. A hanging thing between them.

“When’s your break?”

“It’s already past 2. I’m definitely not getting one until after 4.”

“Gremlin hours,” you acknowledge distractedly. Still watching Robby. You could do something here. Permission has been granted. Whatever you want from Jack. “Stay on the line.”

“Okay?” Jack says, confused.

You pull the phone away from your ear, press the button to place the volume on speakerphone. Stride into the kitchen. “Robby.”

“Yeah?” He barely has time to look up from the chopping board.

You’re on him. Lips on his.

Robby makes a muffled, surprised noise before the knife clatters on the chopping board. Hands on your waist, stabilising as he kisses you back. Responding. “I take it you had a good talk?” Robby asks.

“He’s still—” You press the phone against his chest. One of his hands grab for it.

Then you sink to the tiled floor. On your knees, looking up at Robby.

“Shit,” Robby huffs, looking down at you wondrously.

“Can I—” You swallow, wetting your lips. “Is this…” Okay? Allowed? Alright with him? With either of them?

Robby seems to sense your hesitance. The other hand stroking your face. “You wanna suck me off while Jack listens to us?”

The phone crackles with Jack’s responding low hiss. Caught up on what’s happening on the other side.

You nod. “Can I?”

“Yeah, honey,” Robby says.

You look at the phone, cradled against his chest. Then back at Robby.

“Jack,” Robby prompts.

“Yeah, that’s okay. More than,” Jack manages.

And somehow, this is you, in your kitchen with Jack on the phone, Robby with his pants pooled around his ankles, leaning against the sink. With you on your knees, lapping at Robby’s balls, digits curled around his hardened cock, pumping him.

Robby’s fingers tightened in the roots of your hair. Groaning aloud. “Fucking hell.”

Then you’re sliding his cock into your mouth. Your jaw feels unhinged with the width of him. He’s big—you feel it in the strain in the corner of your lips.

“That’s it, honey,” Robby grunts. “All the way in.”

You slide further. Gagging around him. Tears in your eyes. Your nose to his pubis. Your ears ringing.

Robby’s mouth moving, saying something. You don’t hear. Talking to Jack, maybe. You hope. His fingers flexing against your hair. Pushing you down.

You stay. Seconds. Then his hand moves and you pull away, sucking in air. Drool all over his cock.

“Look at you,” Robby says. Caressing your face again. “You’re so pretty like this. You want to let Jack see?”

You shiver, nodding, mouthing at his cock again. Take him back into your mouth.

“Look up for me.” Robby takes a picture with his phone. Taps at the screen.

And the moment Jack sees it. “Fuck,” muttered out, hoarse. “Jesus, fuck, you’re killing me.”

You suck in your cheeks, sliding back and forth around Robby’s cock. Despite the crappy apartment, you don’t attempt to hide the sounds emanating from your mouth. Wet. Slurping. All because you want—need Jack to hear it from the phone.

Robby’s fingers are twisted in your hair again. Fucking his hips into your throat. Using your mouth like it’s your cunt. You’re clenching around nothing at the thought of it.

Robby groans. “That’s it, fuck, that’s it. So fucking good like this. Gonna come down your throat. Is that what you needed, you little slut?”

You’re moaning around him. Jack never seemed to want to insult you, and you never asked him to. But this. A hand between your legs just to give yourself some semblance of relief.

And then he’s coming. Spilling dregs of himself down your throat as he groans. And you’re swallowing him down. Everything. His hand keeping you there as he grinds into your face. You let him use you. You want nothing else.

“Fuck. Fuck. Come here.” Robby pulls you up. Still has the phone; Jack’s breathing hard on the other side.

You lean in to kiss him. It’s uncoordinated. Robby walks you backwards into the living room. Deposits you on the couch. Strips you of your bottoms without any ceremony. Tosses the phone next to your head.

You’re bent in half, ankles to your ears. He’s pushing and you’re holding your legs up for him.

And his mouth is on your wet pussy.

You’re gasping, humping into his face.

“He eating you out?” Jack’s voice is rough.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, oh my God.”

Robby eats you out until you’re crying, blubbering for release. And only when Jack says that he needs to return to work in a few minutes does Robby let you come.

Jack’s voice in your ear. “That’s it, baby. I wanna hear how good he’s making you feel. I know. You’re being so good for us, baby.”

Robby cleans the both of you up after he decides when you’re done. You’re whining, holding onto his hand as he tries to move into the kitchen.

“I’m going to put everything away.”

You look up at him. Teary-eyed. Letting go of his hand. “Okay,” you say, despite it being laced with displeasure.

“I’ll be back.” He makes fast work of packing away the ingredients he had prepared. Into containers then the fridge. Turning the stovetop off.

When he’s back in the living room, he dumps himself onto the couch. Pulls you against him. It’s not a big space, but you make it work. He’s laying across the cushions, and you’re tucked against his chest.

You both fall asleep like that.

When you wake up, your head’s pillowed in a lap. Fingers running through your hair. Your awakening dictated by slow movements.

“You feeling okay?” Jack’s soft murmurs. He places the book he was entertaining himself with down, helping you sit up.

You hum, reaching to rub at your eyes.

Jack stops before you can make contact, tutting at your forgetfulness. “Let me see.” A palm slotted to your face, tilting your head. Checking your eyes, then the bruising around your neck.

“What time is it?” You twist his wrist, peering at his watch. 8:37 AM. Already after shift change—Robby must have left; Jack came over to yours instead of going home. You’re not sure on the timeline of it.

“Robby made matzo ball soup. He said you fell asleep before you could eat.”

“Hm, got distracted.”

“Alright. Up. We’re both eating.”

You hum, following him along. Still feeling bleary with sleep. You’re sat on the dining chair. Jack drapes a jacket on top of you. You pull it tighter around your shoulders, studying the fabric. Taking in the scent of it. Unfamiliar to you. “It’s not yours.”

“Hm?” Jack takes out the container from the fridge, two bowls, two spoons.

“The jacket. It’s not yours.”

Jack blinks at you. Then shrugs, bustling around. “Must be Robby’s. He probably forgot it.”

“Isn’t it cold?”

“He’ll live. He’s probably got another one at work.” Two bowls of soup placed on the table. Jack shifts his chair so he’s sitting to the side, diagonal from you, not across. “You feeling okay?”

You hum your confirmation, tucking your spoon into the soup.

He watches you skim the top of it, then again. Not eating. Yeah, you’re definitely overthinking something but being cagey about it. He leans forward, catching your gaze. “Out with it.”

You try not to look away from the intensity of his eyes. You know that if you do, he’ll just chase it again. In a more obvious way. “Was it—was what we did okay?”

Jack tilts his head. “I said it was, didn’t I?”

You’re nodding. “You did.”

“Was it okay for you?”

“Yes.”

“And after?”

“We fell asleep on the couch.”

Jack inclines his head like it just affirms whatever knowledge he already had. Probably insight gained from check-ins with Robby. “Okay.” Attention flickering between your eyes. “You want to see him again?”

“Is… is that okay?”

“More than okay.”

“But we…” You swallow the words down, like you can’t verbalise your thoughts.

“Hey,” Jack says. Pushes both the bowls further into the table, pulls your chair closer to him. It screeches against the floor, but you both pay the noise no heed. “Whatever you want with him isn’t going to take away from us. It’s just more. And that’s okay.”

“For you too?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you lo—”

“I love you.”

And his words sit. Lingers in the space between you. You make a noise, caught between hopeful and wounded.

“I know you have your hang ups about me saying it,” Jack continues. “But I do. Okay?”

You nod, sniffling. “Okay. I love you too.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He watches you, for a second. “Come here.”

You climb into his lap. It’s not comfortable—the chairs are crappy and wooden but he doesn’t make a complaint with you straddling his thighs. Tucking your face into his neck.

Jack rubs his hands up and down your back, your arms. Fingers cradling the nape of your neck. Lifting you out to kiss you. Gentle. “Okay, crybaby?” A murmuring tone, ridiculously fond.

You let out a wet chuckle and kiss him again. And somewhere along the way, you’re grinding into his lap, and Jack makes an amused sound.

“Really?” Fiery eyes turned up to you, voice hoarse. “Robby ate you out and you still need more?”

“Jack,” you say. Beg him.

He kisses your cheek. “Eat first.” He grabs your thighs, spreads out his legs. Slowly thrusts his hips up to your core.

You whimper. “Jack.”

“I know. Eat first, okay?”

“You’re mean.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen mean, baby.”

You’re back in your seat, swamped in Robby’s jacket. Feasting on the soup that he made for you—the both of you.

The healing is straightforward. Your eye returns to normal. The bruises fade. Jack stops acting like you’ll evaporate if he dares to look away.

You don’t know if Jack and Robby talk about you, or their status. But Robby looks at you more during handoffs. Talks to Jack, low tones between them. You have no way of deciphering their conversations.

You pick up a few shifts during the day, not 24 hours, but exchanging them for your regular nights. Covering absences for other nurses; Kim is sick; Jesse’s on a much needed weekend away.

You get to see Robby more. Other than more eye contact and seemingly innocent touches, nothing changes.

And then a coincidental night off for you. Jack’s shift is scheduled to finish earlier than usual. Robby doesn’t work the next day. Maybe not from the hands of fate, but purposefully moulded by them. They are attendings, after all.

A text from Jack, then a call, checking in about plans. Dinner and after.

All of you, in Jack’s place. A slow meal. Jack talks to Robby like they haven’t had a chance to catch up in years. You’re content to listen to them, not quite taking in what they’re saying, but listening to the timbre of their voices.

You don’t realise how much you’re staring until Robby pauses, looking over to you.

“Anything you want to say?” he asks.

“No,” you answer, honest.

“Okay.”

Your leg’s balanced on your knee under the table. Jack cups a hand over your ankle, thumb massaging your Achilles’ tendon.

It’s an otherworldly kind of domestic. Until you end up in Jack’s bed. Naked. Spread out under Robby. His knee between your legs, and you’re rutting against him, tugging him in for a kiss.

Jack digs through the nightstand. Blindfold, ribbon restraints, suction vibrator. Deposits them on the bed. Distracts you with kisses while Robby busies himself with tying you to the bed frame at the head of the bed.

“Not too tight?” he asks.

You swallow, feeling your heart race. Tug at them experimentally. “No. It’s fine.”

Jack kisses down your neck, lips over your pulse. Hums at the rapid thudding beneath. “You’re okay, sweetheart. We’ll take care of you.” He kisses you again, once. “Ready for the blindfold?”

You confirm, and then the fabric over your eyes. Around to the back of your head. Tightening, but not damaging.

“Okay?” Robby asks.

“Yes,” you breathe.

“You can stop at any time,” Jack reminds.

“I know.”

“Okay. I’m going to let Robby have his fun first, okay?”

You nod. “Kiss first?”

Jack swipes a thumb across your bottom lip before he leaves you with another one. Lingering. Heated. Has you instinctively wanting to reach for him, to feel him beneath you fingertips. But the restraints stop you.

“I love you,” he whispers, like a shared secret.

And you’re bucking your hips into air. Wanting to say it back but he moves away. The bed shifts, weight moving. Robby’s hands spreading your thighs open. Situating himself there. He eats you out first. Doesn’t let you come. Just tastes you.

Until you’re begging for more. Until you feel like you’re going to lose your mind. Whining every time he takes you to the edge, then draws back.

“Robby, please,” you cry. “Please, I just—once. Please, let me come, please.” You have no idea how long this has been going on for. Your thighs are messy, sticky with Robby’s saliva and your slick.

Robby hums. “What do you think, Jack? Good enough for you?”

You hear Jack breathe, somewhere to the side. Not knowing where he is, but knowing he’s watching—you didn’t think you would enjoy it, but something is lit within you. “Yeah. Good enough for me.”

Robby licks a stripe up your slit. Takes the vibrator, turns on the suction. Nudges it against your clit.

You almost weep with relief. “Unghh, thank you, thank you, Robby, thank you.” It’s a quick thing, your release. From the edging. From the direct suction. You come. Fall apart. And Robby refuses to move the toy from your clit.

Grips your thighs. Licking, sucking at your entrance.

“You wanted to come, honey,” Robby tuts, when you’re bowling past your second one, and he’s still not letting up. When you’re struggling in his hold.

You haven’t seen mean, yet, Jack had said. This is what he meant, you realise. Robby. Giving into you, but on his conditions.

And you’re crying. Full, heaving sobs, absolutely ruined. The circulation to your hands probably cut off by now, with how tightly you’ve twisted your fingers into the fabric. You’re not sure. Your arms were tingly. Now numb past your elbows to your digits. You don’t pay it too much heed. You could lose your phalanges, and you wouldn’t care.

“Please,” you cry. “Please, Robby. Please.”

You hear him laugh. A mean thing. Tongue delving inside you, the toy buzzing incessantly on your clit. The toy’s the issue. You’re on your fifth, you’re pretty sure. Because of that damn toy. Suction, forcing out orgasm after orgasm.

“Please, Jack—”

“Oh ho ho, no, honey,” Robby says, thick with condescension. And he presses the toy firmly against your clit in response to you daring to reach out to Jack, to disobey the established chain of command. “He’s not going to help you.”

“I can’t. I can’t, please, I can’t—”

“Yeah, you can.” Robby’s slides a finger in, crooked. Dragging out your slick for him to continue to lap up. His beard rubbing against the tender skin of your inner thighs.

“Please.” Halfway fractured. Begging for more and for less. Your legs over his shoulders, heels digging into the expanse of his back.

“Give me your colour.”

You whine. “I don’t—I don’t know.”

You feel him move away. You try to grab a hold of him, but your hands are tied, trapped above you. You sob, legs attempting to tighten around him. “No, please, don’t go. Just—Robby.”

“I need a colour, honey.” And his voice. Softened. Gentle. A far cry from the man that degraded you for needing him.

“Green,” you choke out. “Please, one more.”

“One more and then we pause?”

You’re nodding, tears wetting the blindfold. “Please.”

“You’re okay, baby.” The brief reprieve as his lips ghost over your inner thigh. A barely there kiss. Then the toy back on your clit, his tongue slipping inside you again. Tasting.

You moan through the oversensitivity. The suction well past too much. But you can do this. Can be good for him. For Jack, too, even if you can’t see or touch him. Your fingers flexing against the fabric.

“There you go. You need this, don’t you? Need to come six times like a fucking slut. Being so good for Jack and me.”

A gasp of air. The vice-like clenching around his finger. So hard that he can feel it. You’re trembling into your sixth orgasm. Breathing raggedly, almost like you’re hyperventilating. Pulling on the restraints above you. Outright sobbing.

Hips moving into the toy, and away. Chasing and running. Too much and wanting more.

His tongue slathering, licking into you. You can hear the squelching. Your face feels hot. Embarrassed by the sounds your body makes.

“Robby,” you whimper, shaking. “Pause, you said pause. Please, Robby.”

“Alright. I got you. I got you, honey.” The toy turned off and discarded. Robby moving up your body. Undoing the knot that ties your wrists to the bar of the bed frame. Fingers at the strings of the blindfold.

You whine, shaking your head.

“You want to keep it on?”

“Yes, please.” You think you need the comfort of the darkness, right now.

“Okay, honey.”

You’re being shifted, the both of you lying on your sides, facing each other. Your face tucked against his chest. But you still feel like you’re shaking apart, unable to ground yourself, despite Robby holding you.

You don’t realise you’re crying until you feel Robby speak, more so than hear what he says. His thumbs brushing away tears that leak under the blindfold.

And then the weight behind you. The arms around you. Familiar. Lips against the curve of your shoulders, up the side of your neck.

“I’m right here, sweetheart.” Grazing your jawline.

“Jack.” You hadn’t realised you were uttering his name, over and over again.

“Right here.”

You shift, angling your head. Catching his lips with yours. Fingers gripping the hand that Robby has on the side of your leg. You feel Robby’s knee nudging between yours, thigh aligned with your sticky core. A stuttering breath as you grind yourself onto it. It borders on painful, but riding out the aftershocks helps soothe you. And he knew that, somehow.

“You’re perfect, baby,” Jack whispers. “Taking what Robby gave you? You did so good for us.”

You want so badly to ask Robby if he shares the same thoughts. But he doesn’t volunteer, and asking feels too much like digging a scalpel into your chest, beating muscle on display, for him to discern your worthiness, to leave or to cherish. You’ve always harboured a greed that knows no bounds.

You hate yourself for needing that reassurance from him, too.

Your fingers shifting, interlacing with Robby’s. His digits folding over yours. It should be a moment of tenderness but feels clinical from him. Responding, but not given. The way he touches you feels methodical.

“Hey,” Jack murmurs. “You okay?”

“Yes,” you answer. Maybe you’re not being good enough. Maybe Robby doesn’t like you as much yet. If you’re better, maybe he will.

“Yeah? You good to start again?”

You’re nodding.

Jack gives you another kiss, one that has you melting into it. Lost in him. Jack shifts back to breathe, and every millimetre he pulls away feels like something defined with regret. “Go give Robby some love, sweetheart.”

You’re hiccuping, the blindfold damp against your skin. Unseeing as you shuffle along Robby’s thigh, until you’re pressed against his chest. You feel Jack follow your movements, his lips grazing the back of your shoulder. You shiver.

“Hey, honey,” Robby murmurs.

You reach out, feel the coarse hair of his beard beneath your finger pads. Your thumb outlining the corners of his lips. Dragging to the curve of his bottom lip. Inching in until your lips are on his. Once again, he responds. Answering when you kiss. Starting off gentle until you’re rutting yourself against his thigh, and his fingers are digging into the meat of your side.

Until you’re whimpering with the need for more, despite the overstimulation. You need him inside you. Any one of them.

“Alright, up you get,” Robby says.

You’re unsteady on your knees, Jack in front of you. You’ve long lost the orientation of the room, of the bed you’re on.

Jack kisses you again, tongue sliding into your mouth. Soft and reassuring. Hands roaming, touching. Any time your fingers move pass his bare pelvis, he snags your wrist. Correcting wordlessly.

You hear Robby shuffle behind you.

“Down on the bed, baby,” Jack whispers. “On your front for Robby.”

You move, lying down. Your hands brushing against Jack’s knees, you think. Your hands shifting up, grabbing his thighs for the contact. To feel grounded. His hand covers yours, thumbs circling over the back of them.

Bunched up sheets between your legs. Rolling your hips into it, just for some semblance of friction. You let out a moan.

Robby inhales sharply, watching the tattoos across your back ripple with your movements. “That’s real pretty, honey.” Soft. “But we didn’t ask you to do that.” Fingers catching your hips, seizing your movements. You try not to cry. “Bring your knees up for me.”

With his guidance, you do. Legs drawn up under you, presenting yourself to him. It’s not a position that you’ve done a lot with Jack. You’re too clingy, you think. Would prefer to see him. This feels almost impersonal.

“You want Jack in your mouth?”

“Fuck,” Jack hisses, quiet.

Your brain stutters. Somehow, it hadn’t crossed your mind. “Yes.” Can feel yourself salivating at the thought of it.

“Yeah, course you do,” Robby chuckles, low and dark. He draws himself up. He must be on his knees too, thighs bracketing yours.

You feel the head of his cock slide between the swollen lips of your cunt. Resting there. Teasing. You try to grind back onto it, to take it—take him—into you. You’re keening, a pathetic sound that’s brimming with your desperation to be full.

Robby laughs. The heavy paw of his hand swats the swell of your ass.

You jerk at the sting. Feel yourself clench around nothing. “Robby. Please. I need you.”

“Oh, I know.” Once more, the head of his cock swiping the wetness at your entrance. “I can see you. You’re dripping.”

“Please.”

It’s a slow process. Robby draws it out. A tortuous slide into you. Has you scrabbling against Jack’s thighs, his hands caressing yours. Your face turned, cheek against the mattress in the space between his legs.

Robby’s cock pushing into you, the stretch of your walls. Aching. You moan around it. Through it. The stuttering inhales, the hitching of your breath.

“Jesus, honey,” Robby manages, hoarse. Rolling his hips into you with unhurried movements. Experiments of motions to test how your body responds.

You’re sure you have a bruising grip on Jack’s thighs. You’ve lost yourself in recitations of wordless sounds. Feeling yourself ripple around Robby.

“Alright,” Robby bites out. “Your turn, Jack.”

You hear Jack move in front of you. Hear him groan.

Then.

Robby fucks into you, once. Hard. Pushing you further up the bed. A cry punched out of you.

Closer to Jack. His hands on yours, guiding. “Keep your hands on my thighs. Tap three times if you need to stop.”

You nod.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Okay. Three times to stop.”

“There we go. You’re doing so good, baby.”

You shudder at his words. Feel Robby jerk into you as you tighten in response. Robby lets out a breath, a quiet chuckle.

You already feel saliva pooling under your tongue. You swallow. Mouth opening, lips over your teeth. Jack rests a hand on the back of your head. Pushes you down over his cock. The stinging of the corners of your lips. The weight of him on your tongue. Sliding further in. You bob your head, up and down. Tongue flexing up against his length, hollowing out your cheeks.

“Fuck,” Jack grunts.

Robby waits. Has been waiting. Only when Jack meets his eyes, and nods, does he starts to move. Fucking into you.

Your muffled noises, trapped. Your mouth and cunt full. A fucking vision to them.

“Fucking knew you’d be good at this,” Robby murmurs.

You feel dangerously warm. Delirious. Like this is occurring in a dream. Hazy, like a smoky fire on a distant hill. You shift, moaning around the slide of Jack’s cock in your mouth. Dipping your head in repetitive motions. Can hear him come apart as you do.

“That’s it,” Robby says. His thrusts are slow, measured. Giving you reprieve, seemingly content to watch you please Jack. “Show me how good you are for him.”

Oh. Robby has a thing for watching, Jack had said. The break room, probably. When you thought it was just the two of you, and somehow Robby knew that Jack told you to take care of him. How much did he watch through the curtain, before he came in to tell you the police wanted to collect your statement?

Lifting off of Jack’s cock, saliva dripping onto him. He groans, a hand cupping your face. Soft in his touch.

You rub your cheek against his palm, kitten licks to the tip of his dick. Then you’re sliding down again. Feel him all the way, the tip of his cock head up against the back of your throat. You stay like that, your head fuzzy. Hear his muted moans, like you’re underwater.

You swallow around him. He fucks his hips up into your face. Fingers buried into the roots of your hair, clenching.

Robby draws out, almost all the way, then fucks into you. Once.

You choke, throat spasming around Jack. Your fingers digging into the muscles of Jack’s thighs. But not tapping out. You tighten around Robby, roll your hips against him.

Robby grabs the flesh of your sides, then does it again. Pulls out, almost unsheathed. Then thrusts back inside.

You whine around Jack’s cock. Coming up for air again, mouthing at the length of him.

“Fuck, you’re perfect, baby,” Jack says, ruined. His thumb brushing against your cheek. Tugging lightly at the corner of your lips. “So good for us.”

You keen. Robby rocks into you, intermittent motions like he’s taking the edge off for himself. Not after your pleasure. Just his own. Different from Jack, but somehow, you find inextricably hot.

He’s using you.

“Come on,” Robby rasps. “Make him come. Then I’ll fuck you after. That’s what you want, right? Don’t even have to say anything. I can feel you clenching around me. Just begging to be fucked. Just like—that.”

Your head bowed, pressed against one side of Jack’s pelvis. Panting. Fuck, you’re burning. All Robby is doing is talking to you, and you feel like you can’t breathe. Something fluttering in your stomach.

“Jesus, Robby,” Jack breathes out. You can feel the twitching of his thighs. Minute reactions to Robby. He’s not unaffected either.

“Fuck,” Robby bites out. Slowly thrusting into you. Once again, the movements are aimless. Not for you. Just to sate himself. “So turned on you it’s making you dumb, huh?” Robby drapes his weight on your back. Pressing his cock in further.

You whine. You’re so sure the tip of his dick is at your cervix. Hips flexing against him again.

A hand in your hair, guiding, pushing. “I said, make him come.”

You try to nod, mewling at the sting of your scalp when you can’t. “Yes, yes sir, please.” Sliding back onto Jack’s cock. Still blindfolded, completely missing the look Robby and Jack share. Something undecipherable, even with the years they’ve known each other. The way Jack jerks into your mouth. The sharp inhale from Robby.

“Fuck,” Jack grunts.

You hollow out your cheeks, heading bobbing up and down like you’re on a mission. Saliva guiding the way. Wet and noisy. The obscene sounds coming from you, from your mouth stuffed full. But you don’t care. No, what you care about is making Jack come. Like Robby told you to.

You can feel Jack’s cock jerking in your mouth. He’s close. You can hear him. You bury his cock all the way down your throat. Move one of your hands to fondle with his balls. Listen to him groan.

Then he comes.

And you swallow around him. His hand, or Robby’s hand, you’re not sure anymore, in your hair. Forcing you down.

You stay. Swallowing. Drinking his release. Then you move again. The hand on your head falling away. You’re lifting your head, up and down. Hear Jack swear as you continue to suck on his softening cock. Slide up his dick, tongue on the slit. Suckling the tip.

“Fuck, fuck.” Jack tries to grab your head.

But you grasp his hand. Interlocking your fingers. Continue. Sliding back down.

You hear Robby chuckle, sinful and deep, by your ear. Spread across your back. “That’s it, honey. That’s a good cockslut. I can see why he keeps you around.”

“Fucking Christ—baby, that’s—” Jack fucks into your mouth with his spent dick. Fingers digging into your hand from where you’re holding his.

And you’re still going.

“Okay, that’s enough, baby. Fuck, that’s enough.”

You pop off of him. Heaving. Mouthing and kissing above his thighs, along the pubic bone and pelvis.

“Did Jack teach you that?” Robby asks, lips grazing the back of your neck.

You shiver at the sensation. “No.”

Jack huffs out a breathless laugh. “I’m pretty sure I saw heaven the first time that happened.”

Robby smiles against the soft skin of your nape. “So you just came along, all perfect for him, hm?”

“Pretty much,” Jack whispers, tone unbearably soft.

“Robby,” you whine. You try to fuck yourself onto his cock. Still inside you. Still hard. “Please, you said.”

“Oh, I remember what I said, honey.” He lifts himself off your back. Kneeling upright again.

“Please.”

“What do you think, Jack?” Robby asks. His fingers trace the black artwork on your back, making you tremble under his touch. “Is it time for me to fuck your slut? Been good enough for you?”

Jack releases a noise. Eyes scorching when he meets Robby’s gaze.

“Please,” you cry. Pushing yourself backwards into Robby. “Please, Robby. You said you would if I made him come. I did, I did. Please.”

Robby laughs, momentarily watching you struggle. “Not me, honey.” Attention back on the other man. “Ask Jack.”

“Jack,” you sob. Lifting your head.

Even though Jack can’t see your eyes, he knows. The way you’d look. Dilated pupils, how shiny and wet they’d be from your tears. How he can’t say no to you when you look at him.

“Jack, please, I want to feel him. Please, Jack, I was good, I promise, please.”

Robby swears, hips grinding into you. You moan.

“You were so good for me, baby,” Jack says, a hand caressing your face.

“Please,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” Jack answers, just as quiet, completely lost to you. “Robby.”

“You wanna lie down?” Robby asks him.

Both Jack and Robby move. With their guidance, you’re kneeling up long enough for Jack to settle comfortably on the bed. Then Robby situates you on top of Jack. You let out a noise, half moan, half sigh. Completely content to feel Jack against you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

You hum, chin tilted. And wordlessly, his lips find yours. A messy exchange of saliva. Jack’s tongue in your mouth. Against yours. A hint of teeth nibbling your lower lip. Carried away by kissing him. Until you’re rutting against him. Hissing when your clit rubs against him.

Then Robby fucks into you. Hard. Punching the air out of you. You keen. Trying to catch your breath but he keeps up the pace. Relentless as he fucks into you. Just as you had been begging him to. He doesn’t think there was ever a world where he could withhold this from you, from himself.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” Jack rasps. His hands roam, squeezing. Touch scorching. “Robby making you feel good?”

“Yes, yes, he’s, mhm, yes. Oh—”

“Fuck,” Robby grunts. “Taking me so well, honey.”

You arch your back just a little, feel him slip in further against that spot inside you. You’re both moaning around the deeper slide of him. Feel Robby’s grip on your waist as he fucks into you, again and again. You hope his fingers dig in hard enough to leave bruises. A souvenir to remember this and him by.

Jack’s fingers delving between your bodies, the space made when you curved your spine.

You whimper, reaching to grab Jack’s wrist, to stop him from rubbing circles against your clit. Based on the previous six orgasms that Robby gave you with the toy, you’re still too sensitive.

“Too much for you?” he asks.

You hum in affirmation. “It’s—mm, this is—ah.”

Robby releases a breathless laugh. He fucks into you like it’s his mission, like it was what he was put onto this Earth to do. Hitting that spot, on target with each thrust.

Jack takes your hands in his, fingers interlacing. Lies them on the bed above his head. Until your arms are stretching up. You feel the scorch of it, rekindling the burn of when they had been tied to the bed frame.

You cry out.

“There we go, honey.” Robby leans down, until you start to feel the press of his weight on top of you. Not entirely to suffocate you, but enough of his body aligning against yours.

Your breath hitches in your throat. That fire building in your stomach. Fucking yourself back against him. “Ah, ah, mm. Oh my God, Robby.”

And Jack recognises it. The stuttering of your gasps. The way your mouth drops open in broken off moans. The whimpers in the higher register of your voice. “Holy shit,” he utters, reverent. “You’re going to come, baby? Just from Robby fucking you like this?”

Your forehead against the curve of Jack’s chest. Crying out. “Yes. Yes, he’s—so good, he’s—I’m—” Half formed sentences, lost to wordless noises of pleasure. You’ve never been able to come from penetration alone. You’ve accepted it as a truth about yourself. Even told Jack about it.

And then comes Robby, an act of defiance.

“Yeah?” Robby grunts. His movements are more urgent. Like he needs to see you fall apart under him. To take something from you that hasn’t already been claimed by someone else. “Never been fucked like this before? No one’s been treating this little slut right, is that it? Just needed my cock inside you to—fucking—come like this?”

You’re keening, feeling yourself tighten around him, impossibly. Lava, all encompassing. All around you. On your flesh, consuming.

“Fucking hell, Robby,” you hear Jack groan. His hold on your hands start to bite.

“That’s it. Fucking come for me.” Robby’s reaches, fingers curling around your throat. Lifting your chin up. Squeezing the sides, above your pulse.

You gasp.

“Robby,” Jacks voice.

“You like this, don’t you? Can feel you tightening around me. Need to be fucked like a goddamn whore.”

Robby thrusts, once, twice.

And then you’re coming around him, a forceful avalanche. Imploding supernova. Heaving when Robby lets go of your neck. Riding out your orgasm as Robby buries himself deep, rolling his hips.

“Fuck, baby, look at you,” Jack says.

You’re crying. Sobbing, grinding yourself against Robby. Robby hooks an arm around your stomach, face buried against the notches of your bared spine. Grunting as he comes, hot breath fanning your upper back. You feel his dick twitching with it. He thrusts into you, milking out his own orgasm. And you take what he gives, whimpering with the overstimulation.

“Fuck me,” Robby huffs.

“Come on, I got you.” Jack releases your hands, rubbing up and down your arms.

You’re absolutely gone. Floating. Moving through molasses.

“Robby.”

“Yeah?”

“On your side.”

Robby tucking your back against his heaving chest, still inside of you, softened. Jack shuffles close. You’re nestled between them. Robby has a hand splayed on your stomach. Jack’s hand rests against your chest.

Jack kisses you. His other hand against your cheek. Fingers nudging the strings of the blindfold. “Can I take this off?”

You hum. An affirmative sound, you think, given that Jack gingerly removes it off of you.

You keep your eyes closed. And even if they were opened, the room would be dark. Blacked out curtains framing the windows, no lights on.

Wiping at your wet cheeks. “So beautiful, sweetheart. You did so good.”

You’re shuddering, nosing against his jaw. And yet, something not quite clicking the way it should. That greed within you, again. A gaping hole that swallows.

You’re sobbing, still. Too fractured. Too tremulous.

“Hey, I’m right here,” Jack murmurs, picking up on your erratic breathing. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?” Fingers through your hair, against your cheek. “Baby, hey.”

Robby’s hand soothing up and down your thigh.

“Not good,” you manage, hoarse.

“What? What wasn’t good?” Jack asks.

“Robby.”

And Robby goes still behind you. Deathly so. “Honey—” He tries to move. Back and away. Out of you.

You’re shaking your head, crying. “No.” You clench around his already flaccid dick. You don’t want him to go.

Robby hisses. “Jack.”

“Talk to me, sweetheart. What happened?” Jack asks.

“Not good for Robby,” you utter.

“What wasn’t good for him?” Jack asks. Clarifying.

Robby still feels his heart in his throat.

“I wasn’t,” you whisper.

Robby swallows. Makes an incredulous noise. “Yes, you were. You were so good for me. For us.”

“You haven’t kissed me,” you hiccup.

Robby mouth opens, prepared to argue. He has. Remembers your lips against his. But really, if he’s cataloguing those moments, they’ve not been initiated by him. Too unsure to know where and how he fits in this. What he’s allowed to do and take.

Robby’s fingers gripping either side of your chin, angling your face to him. Kissing you. The scrape of his beard. The push of his tongue against yours. His hand smoothing down, resting over the front of your neck.

You keen, jerking your hips.

Robby parts, swearing at the sensation of velvet walls rippling around him. He can’t go again.

You make a noise. Jack shushes you. Kissing you again. Robby takes the moment to detangle himself from you. Sliding out, throwing the condom away in the bathroom. Cleaning himself up. Then runs hand towels under warm water from the sink.

Bringing himself back to the bed, passing a towel over to Jack. You’re on your back, and Robby’s cleaning you up, towel against your skin. And even though Robby’s sure you’re exhausted from seven orgasms, you buck up lightly at his ministrations.

“How the hell are you keeping up with this, man?” Robby asks, glancing at Jack.

Jack snorts. “I’m not. What do you think you’re here for?” Kisses the curve of your shoulder, gentle.

Robby chuckles. “You’re insatiable, you know that?” Aimed towards you, now.

You’re whining.

“You’re okay, sweetheart. Robby will make you feel better,” Jack murmurs from beside you.

“You think you can do one more?” Robby asks, something raw and hungry in his voice.

He barely waits for your answer, already moving south of the bed, between your legs. A greedy thing, inside of him. An abyss that answers yours, buried in the cavern of his chest. How completely fitting that Jack found the both of you to call his.

You’re whimpering, digits twisting in Robby’s hair. And his fingers are sliding into your sopping cunt and he’s groaning as your hips thrust up when he mouths at your clit. Jack is a solid thing next to you, alternating between gentle kisses and talking you through the oversensitivity.

You’re trembling when you come, and Robby’s rutting his half-hard dick against the sheets beneath him.

Robby cleans you up again. Takes the towels to bathroom. Then he’s back on the bed. Tucking himself on your other side.

When you feel him, you bodily turn, facing him. Your eyes blinking, getting used to the darkness of the room.

Robby thumbs your cheek. “You’re so perfect, baby,” he rasps out, faint words ghosting over your lips before he kisses you again.

You sigh, a quiet sound, sinking against his chest, eyes closing. Robby’s hand rubbing your upper arm. Your breathing gradually evens out, falling asleep.

“You okay?” Jack asks, eventually. His chin hooked over your shoulder.

And when Robby looks at him, Jack’s eyes are already on him. “Yeah.”

“Don’t believe you.”

“Just thinking.”

“Quit thinking. We just had mind-blowing sex.”

Robby huffs out a chuckle. “Yeah, we did.”

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” Jack kisses the back of your shoulder; you shuffle closer into Robby’s chest.

“Yeah?” Sternum cracked open in the quiet room. Gaze moving between Jack and you. Silently daring to wish.

“Whatever you want. ’S always been yours, Robby.” And Jack sounds so sure of himself, so certain, that Robby believes in that quiet hope. Of the three of you crowded in a too small bed, for more than just tonight.