Moonlight
Dr. Jack Abbot x f!reader
[18+]
— Dr. Jack Abbot’s nights off were some of his favourite nights to spend in bed with you.
— about 3800 words.
— 18+ [mostly porn hardly plot, unspecified age gap, unprotected piv, oral (f!receiving; he’s a munch your honour), dirty talk, lowkey possessive abbot, strong language].
— no use of y/n, not beta read (or edited very well, for that matter).
writer’s note: 1. first time writing for abbot, 2. need that old man bad, 3. if this does ok, i might write some more of him in the future :) — enjoy, and lmk what you thought !!
Jack’s nights off were some of the only times you ever had sex with the moon bathing you in its ghostly light. When you hadn’t pulled down the black-out curtain, and sheer drapes swayed softly in the movement of the circulating fan. When your dewy, sweat-slick skin seemed to shine in the pale light. When he seemed to take his time with you— he was never as tired, never as fatigued. You could spell his name over and over with your hips and he’d let you.
When he did work, and he arrived home after the sun had risen, he was often completely drained and an immovable force when his weathered body hit the plush of your mattress. Sometimes, if you were desperate, he’d let you fuck yourself on two of his thick fingers— usually so you could feel the cold brand of his wedding ring against the molten heat of your folds.
If he did have a bit of energy, shaken up and fizzing from a ridiculously caffeinated energy drink (one which he drank way too close to the end of his shift), or he was riding a high after successfully bringing a patient back from the precipice of death (and received a ton of praise for), he’d bend you over the kitchen counter the moment he walked through the front door. Fuck you within an inch of your life, then fuck you in the shower, then head to bed after a kiss to your cheek.
After each shift, though, in which the two of you connected, it was always with the presence of the sun. The room was always bright and golden and warm, even on the cooler winter days. The colours of the city sunrise bathing you as you reached your peak and came around his cock or his fingers or his tongue, before you had to get ready for work and he had to catch some well-earned sleep.
And (but?) it seemed that sometimes, the sun separated you.
So when it was his night off— finally, after what felt like an eternity —you knew exactly what you were looking forward to. Looking forward to aligning your body with his, aligned with the stars, and taking as long as you both wanted.
As witnessed by the moonlight.
Jack took you out to dinner. Your favourite place, where he spent half the time looking at you adoringly with a painful amount of love in his eyes. The other half, eyes sweeping down the soft curves of your body, was an amalgamation of lust and yearning— and of which set your body alight.
Your front door closed with a soft click, followed by the rhythmic slide of the lock, and that was the amount of time you had before his hands were on you. He backed you up against the front door with his hands immediately finding your hips, pulling you flush against him as his mouth found the side of your neck.
He mouthed at the pulse, letting out a short and quiet groan as the front of his slacks grew tighter, your chest pressed tightly to his as you felt along his pectorals with your palms.
“My beautiful girl,” he uttered against you, nose nudging up the curve of your neck to place his lips against the pulse below your ear. “Fuck, you looked so good, baby. So fuckin’ good.”
“Jack,” you whispered, head falling back as he kissed back up your throat, grinding himself up against you.
He kissed along your jaw, slowly, with his stubble coarse on the soft skin of your cheeks, which were warmed with a pleasant heat. His lips found yours, and he immediately groaned again as his lips split yours and he licked into your mouth. The kiss was fervent and heated, and you grabbed at the front of his shirt as his tongue ran over your teeth and smoothed against your own.
You’d never get tired of this. You were in the throes of an addiction. Hooked on him.
“Jack,” you gasped out again, and he grunted in return, chasing the heat of your mouth. One of his hands, calloused and warm, gripped the back of your neck and anchored your head, holding you to him as he slid his mouth back to yours.
And then you were moving. You’re not sure how exactly, but with his mouth still moving against yours, he pulled you away from the front door and leads you down the hall and straight to your bedroom.
“‘Atta girl, baby, keep walking,” he whispered against your mouth. You trusted him blindly, completely. You’d trust him with your life. After all, you really were in the most capable hands.
The backs of your knees hit your mattress and you fell backwards. He lets you go, removing his hands from your hips and neck and watching you with lowered lids as you splay out for him.
All for him.
Slowly, Jack’s hands found his belt. Nimble fingers make quick work of the buckle, and the sound makes your pussy throb, anticipation shooting through your veins. You caught his eyes as the room filled with quiet clinking, and you swallowed thickly at the heat burning beyond his irises.
“Take your clothes off,” he said quietly, almost a whisper. He slid his belt off and tossed it aside before resting his hands near the waistband of his slacks, thumbs hooked in the belt loops. Watching you.
With butterflies erupting in your stomach, your skin on fire, you shimmy out of your clothes and try desperately to ignore the way his gaze set your body alight. The way you could feel him looking at you. Analysing the way you slid your clothes off of your body.
When you were in your bra and underwear, he stopped you with a gentle hand to your knee. A hand which slowly, carefully, pushed your knee to the side. A hand that forced your other leg aside, too, so you were perched at the very edge of the bed with your legs wide open.
He groaned as he got to his knees, eyes transfixed on the darkening cotton between your thighs.
“Jack,” you called for him.
“S’a matter, baby?” He cooed, nearly completely distracted, hands branding hot on the soft skin of your inner thighs. His left hand slowly inched towards your underwear, the tips rubbing against the stitching.
“Need you,” you told him. “Please—”
Jack’s fingers hooked into your underwear and he pulled them aside— not down, but aside, baring your soaked cunt to him and forcing an unabashed moan from the depths of your throat. You heard him hum, satisfied, before he leaned in and placed a delicate kiss to your clit, his eyes once again finding yours.
His lips rested for a short moment against the swollen little bud. Feeling the pulse beneath it. So incredibly warm. And all for him.
Then, he licked a stripe top to bottom, then bottom to top, and sealing his mouth across you as his tongue moved. Your eyes slammed shut and stars burst behind your eyelids, much like the ones glittering beyond your window. Body alight, thrumming with everything he was giving you.
Your hand immediately found the short salt and pepper curls on the top of his head. Fisting tight, gripping, pulling him closer as you rutted your hips in time with the movement of his tongue. God, it felt so good— he felt so good. Warm mouth, moving with the beat of your heart, following your pulse like he was trying to revive you. Resuscitation, with his tongue deep in the slick of your cunt. His hands kneaded the flesh of your thighs, the cool white-gold of his wedding ring refracting moonlight.
“Jack,” you moaned, and it felt as though that had been all you’d said in the last ten minutes. It was the one word that filled your mind like an echo, bouncing off the curved walls of your skull. Infected your mind. Some doctor he was, with his name infesting your thoughts. No cure for that.
“God, Jack,” you continued. “Feels so good.”
He hummed, nose nudging your puffy clit while his tongue curled inside you, eyes watching the way you writhed against the soft sheets. Body rolling with each flick of his tongue, sweat shining over your skin, eyes struggling to stay open.
It was thoughts like these that got him through tough shifts. Of course, just the thought of you had him calm, collected. But like this, pussy open to him, leaking and ready, all saccharine and sin, was what kicked him awake more than any kind of caffeine.
And the sounds you made. Your pleading, your whimpering, your moaning. His name, over and over, and over—
“Jack, baby, fuck—”
“Oh, Jack, feel’s so good—”
“Please, Jack—”
That was fuel to fire too.
Heat pooled in your lower belly, the base of your spine tingling as your legs began to tremble. Thighs clenching, which he could feel beneath the strong spread of his fingers, which continued to knead and grip like muscle-memory. Muscle shifting beneath his palms, pleasure coursing through your veins, following your arteries, pumping through your blood.
Jack didn’t have to say anything, didn’t have to ask you. Sometimes, it’s if he knew your body better than you did.
Tongue curled deep inside you, he felt the silken walls of your cunt pull tight as you came into his mouth. Back arching, toes curling, you came with his name a burning liquor on your tongue, flowing past your teeth with no regard for the way it spilled into the night air. Loud and clear cut.
That had Jack’s cock straining painfully against the front seam of his slacks. With a tacky lower face, he placed one last kiss to your fluttering hole, which was just short of drooling, before getting to his feet. His knees clicked, and you couldn’t help but smile.
“Something funny?” He asked, cocking his head to the side as he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside. His voice seemed a little hoarser, a little deeper. It made your pussy flutter.
“Old man,” you teased, sitting up as the remnants of your orgasm fizzled away. You sat up, watching him with waxy eyes as he rid himself of his slacks too, leaving him in just his boxers.
“Old man, huh?” The corner of his mouth quirked upwards a little. A teasing smile as he approached the bed, one of his hands dipping past his waistband. Your eyes followed, and he laughed. “Need something from this old man, baby?”
You rolled your lips into your mouth, trying not to smile. Your eyes watched the visible print of his cock against the fabric, and the way he rested his hand over it had your heart fluttering in your chest.
Jack smiled down at you. A grin, all vulpine and knowing. He knew what you were thinking. He could see it in the way you watched him. So, slowly, he pulled his cock out of his boxers, gripping the thick of it near the base as you stared at him, releasing your lips and letting an audible sigh slip from your mouth.
“Yeah? You want it?” He teased. You finally looked up at him with those beautiful watery eyes of yours, and nodded. A slight movement, it was, as if you were embarrassed. Nearly imperceptible, but to his trained eyes, obvious. The need inside of you was building, poisoning your very thoughts, and who was he to deny you the antidote?
“You want it bad, don’t you, baby?” He continued to tease, and this time you whined at him. A high-pitched keen as your brow furrowed, heavy with petulance. He tutted, stroking his cock a couple of times, drawing your eyes once more. “So desperate for it, aren’t you? So fuckin’ needy.”
You pressed forward, and he let you: soft, glossy lips flush to the aching red head of his cock. It twitched against you.
While you did that, Jack reached behind you and, one-handed, unclipped your bra.
You pulled back, smiling, throwing your bra across the room. “You really love doing that, don’t you?”
Jack smiled back. “I have skilled hands. You of all people should know that.”
Shaking your head ruefully, you shimmied backwards, finally pulling off your underwear. You pretended not to hear the way Jack’s breath hitched at the sight of you. While you moved (and after regaining his concentration), this gave Jack time to remove both his boxers and his prosthetic, which accidentally fell to the side with a resounding thud.
“Jack,” you gasped. “Be careful!”
He laughed, finally crawling onto the bed and kneeling between your parted legs. “It’s been through a lot worse.”
“Still,” you grumbled playfully. “And you need to wipe down your leg—”
Jack leaned forward and covered your mouth with his, stealing the words from your tongue and swallowing them. When he pulled away, after a quick nip to your bottom lip, he smiled. You rolled your eyes, and then he was on you again— this time, with his hands roaming your body, pinching and squeezing your flesh, rubbing at your curves.
His large hands found your breasts, which he cupped gently and squeezed as he kissed you. Massaging gently, rhythmically. The flesh was so incredibly warm, he wished he could just bury his head between them.
Another day.
He took his thumbs and forefingers and began pulling at your nipples purely for the noises he knew you’d make. The jolts elicited a harsh moan from you which, once again, was silenced by the lull of his tongue and a near silent laugh from the rear of his throat.
Jack’s hands moved down, down still, until he was massaging the fat of your thighs and spreading your legs even wider, blindly exposing your leaking pussy to the air of your room. You whimpered into his mouth as you felt him— warm and solid, the tip of his flushed cock pressing at the entrance to your cunt, smearing your slick over your folds.
“Mmm,” you hummed as he pulled away, hot and not at all bothered by the butterflies hatching in your stomach again. Excitement bubbled alongside them.
“That’s my girl,” Jack said, just above a whisper. He gripped his cock and inched forward, pressing the head of his cock tighter against your hole. “You gonna be good, baby? Are you gonna be a good girl and take it?”
He knew the answer. He just wanted to hear you say it.
And you would gladly say it. Tens time over.
“Yes,” you answered with a sickly-sweet lilt in your voice. Coated in sin, rolling off your tongue like a prayer, a confession. “Please, Dr. Abbot—”
“Don’t start,” he growled out through gritted teeth as he pushed inside, your pussy molten-hot. Slick, too, making the slide easy for Jack, who inched in with a practised roll of his hips and a deep groan caught in his throat. “Just be a good girl and take it.”
He kept going, and you let his name— his first name, this time —dangle in the air, formed on a shaky breath, as he stretched you open. Split your aching pussy open on his cock, prying you apart, rutting through your silken walls until—
He bottomed out with a grunt. That old man grunt, you often teased. The sound he made when he exerted himself, picked up something too heavy, or when he sat down on the couch after a strenuous shift. A grunt of pure effort, and a sound that had you squeezing around him.
His dark eyes flitted down to where you swallowed him.
“Look at that,” he uttered, more to himself than you. “Perfect fuckin’ pussy— all for me.”
Then, he was moving. Retracting his hips and then rutting forward, pulling and pushing his cock into the slick heat of your cunt. You moaned loudly, body writhing with his movements, hands scrambling to grip onto the expanse of softening muscles that corded along his back. You could feel the strength of them contracting beneath his warmed skin as he held himself up and fucked into you hard.
It didn’t take long for Jack to build up a rhythm (he’d always been good at finding it. At listening to what you liked, paying attention. He had structure at work, and that wasn’t going to change when he got home).
His hips slammed against yours. The bed creaked lightly, the only other sound in the room bar the moans flying out from between your kiss-swollen lips, and the animalistic grunts coming from the grizzled war veteran above you.
And then, and only then —when the sounds of your wet cunt became audible —the talking started.
As grizzled and serious as he was, Jack Abbot could talk up a storm— especially with his cock wrapped tightly in the heat of your cunt, your hands wandering down his body.
“Just like that, baby— doing so well. Doing real good for me,” he squeezed his eyes shut as he whispered praise to you, lost in it. His mouth dropped open though, a moan lodged behind his adam’s apple, which bobbed as he sucked in a hurried breath. “Yeah, fuck. Good fuckin’ pussy.”
Your head was spinning. “Jack—”
He opened his eyes, and then refused to lose the contact. He was always incredibly good at keeping eye-contact, and at seeking it out. With others, it was a connection thing. So he could read them, and understand the way they were feeling. That kind of thing was important in the ER.
With you, he loved seeing your pupils blow up. Loved seeing your eyes go all glossy with pleasure when he sank his cock into you. Loved it. Loved you.
“You’re taking me so well,” he said, panting. He could feel his back slowly starting to ache as he rolled and rutted his hips into you, maintaining his rhythm. A rhythm he knew he had nailed with the way your eyes struggled to stay open. “You feeling good?”
“So good,” you whispered. And then, “Jack, fuck, so good. M’gonna come.”
Music to his ears.
“Oh, yeah? My baby wants to come, huh?” He cooed, and the cockiness in his voice was like a shot of adrenaline— your body arching deeply, hips grinding desperately against his in chase of a high you knew was coming. A high you could feel pulsing with each beat of your heart.
“Jack, please—” The world around you was burning white-hot.
Jack bent down and kissed your jaw, nose nudging your ear so he could whisper, “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you.”
The head of his cock rutted right up against that perfectly tender spot inside of you and you were gone. Your orgasm slammed into you, bones seeming to rattle with the intensity of it. Belly pulling taut, the release was heavenly as you gushed around his cock, moaning his name over and over until you could taste it. And it tasted like warm scotch and him (everything that made him Jack Abbot).
He talked you through it.
He always did. Muttering filth in your ear while he pumped his cock into you, driving you through your orgasm as the night’s stars vanished from view and the ones behind your eyes seemed to glow a little bit whiter.
“That’s it, give it to me, baby. There we go. Yeah, there it is— oh, big squeeze, huh? Such a good girl.”
And then that praise stopped. Cauterised mid-sentence as he grunted and groaned and rutted into you; proving he really wasn’t that kind of old man. Thick cock splitting you open, a frothy white ring building at the base, your slick smeared everywhere and soaking the sheets.
He definitely wasn’t that kind of old man.
When the wound split (when his obsessive praise resumed), he was right on the cusp of release. Teetering on a cliff edge. A knife’s edge, as you lay there and took it with your hands scratching down his spine and your mouth glued to the sweaty column of his throat.
“M’comin’, baby,” he growled, teeth gritting, before he allowed his jaw to go slack. “Fuckin’ Christ, fuck. Oh, m’gonna fill you up—”
Jack buried himself to the hilt inside you before finishing. Liquid heat filled you, consumed you. His head dropped onto the curve of your shoulder as he let go of a guttural groan, hoarse, having ran-through gravel. A tired groan.
His cock twitched inside of you, before he was collapsing to the side, half-pinning you to the mattress.
The two of you breathed. Together. Lying in silence as your bodies caught up. Healed.
“You alright?” Jack was the first to break the silence. He had his arm around you and refused to let go.
“Yeah,” you replied wistfully. “You?”
“I’m good,” he said, turning his head to kiss you on the cheek. “Really good.”
You giggled, dazed. He kissed your cheek again, so you turned your head to catch the third kiss— to which he hummed contently in return, eyes drifting closed, bathed in moonlight.
———
