Treating me like you’re supposed to do (tears run down my thighs)
Pairing: Michael Robinavitch x Reader
Summary: The three times you failed to get Robby to indulge your little fantasy, and the two times he did (with an Abbot assist)
Warnings: 18+ SMUT - it’s piss! oral sex (m and f receiving) p in v sex, discussion of exploration of kinks, edging (I think), spitting, spanking, choking, Jack Abbot lowkey being their third from the cuck chair and enjoying it, age gap, indulgent use of daddy, did I mention there’s piss in this?
Author’s Note: no but seriously dead dove do not eat. Robby is pissing sexually in this one. Reader doesn’t have a piss kink as such, she just loves Robby a lot - maybe its her first serious relationship - and she wants him to piss in/on her because he’s a repressed old man and she wants him to let goooooo and be vulnerable (and claim her as his in the only way her caveman brain can think of???). She gets a little angsty when he’s resistant because it feels like rejection of her love okay it’s not about the kink it’s about her big feelings… or something. Also this is long. Like really long.
If you asked Michael Robinavitch about how his sex life was going, he’d probably turn beet red and scratch the back of his neck like if he scrapes with his dull nails hard enough, he’d find the answer. Because the truth is, the sex is good, insanely good, absurdly fucking good.
Robby had reached an age where he’d made peace with the fact that the nuclear family was never going to be his lot in life; too old now to find a nice lady to settle down with, get married, pop out a couple kids and a dog and grow old together behind a nice little picket fence. Hell, he’d be lucky to get any action before he finally retired and signed himself into a nursing home - he’d seen enough cases come through the ER to know the retirees were having all the fun, at least he had that to look forward to.
And then you came along, and things long thought forgotten had burst into bloom. Embarrassing as it had sounded, Robby had forgotten what it was like to be fond of someone, to feel endeared by their thoughts and personality and actions. You endeared him, affected him so much it scared him at first - okay, you definitely still scared him. But Jack had said that that was a good thing, that he needed to feel fear to remind himself that he was alive, or something.
Robby didn’t think he needed to feel fear in this particular aspect of his life, considering his chosen career, but he took it in stride, more than happy to let you take the lead. He was already overtly aware of the imbalanced power dynamics that could develop within your relationship due to the age gap, but you never seemed bothered by it. He wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse. “Just ‘cause the wrappers wrinkled doesn’t mean the candy isn’t sweet, baby,” you’d say proudly, a satisfied curl of your mouth as you kissed him with a firm grip on his cock until he forgot what he was worried about in the first place. He just didn’t want to be the overbearing old guy who weighed you down, clipped your wings because he couldn’t control you any other way.
Plus, you were blowing his fucking mind.
Robby wasn’t a virgin by any means, he was in his 50’s for Christ’s sake. He’d had his fair share of flings and one night stands over the years, he’d even had relationships here and there. But the sex had never been the mind-blowing, transformative experiences he was having with you. It was all very sweet, the amount of missionary he’d done over the years. The romantic, hand-holding, maintaining eye contact, I love and respect you and would never dare ask you you to do anal kind of missionary. It hadn’t even occurred to him that there was any other kind of sex.
He imagines that that conversation would go probably differently with you (which is why he hasn’t asked).
Upon learning Robby was something of a missionary extraordinaire, you suddenly felt like a pervert. A dirty little freak who was about to turn out the chief attending of a hospital ER with your sexual deviancy.
You let him take the lead the first time you had had sex. He probably would have referred to it as making love. You would be inclined to agree.
It was your fourth or fifth date, and he’d been the perfect gentleman, not even deigning to look at you in any way that could be perceived as inappropriate. You’d begun to worry that maybe he didn’t want to fuck you at all. And that would have been fine, of course, you didn’t need sex, you just wanted confirmation of whether or not that was the case. After coffees and movies and dinner dates and sunset river walks, you finally asked him, during your semi-regular lunchtime phone call, if you could just have dinner and watch a movie at his place.
His brows raised in shock maybe, or disbelief.
“Yeah, yeah, course honey. We can do something at mine, need me to pick you up after work?” You huffed a soft laugh on your end of the line.
“Please don’t, I can drive.” There’s silence at the other end of the line, you frown, suddenly worried that you’d upset him.
“Only if you stay the night.” You smile, not missing the way he had left no room for negotiation in his reply, just firm orders to do as you’re told, to comply for his sake. You made a mental note of it and locked the information away for later.
“Sure, dad.” A quiet grunt from Robby’s end is all the answer you get.
“See you tonight, kid,” Robby chuckles before ending the call.
Upon opening his door to greet you, you’d merely raised a curt brow at him. “Kid?”
Robby’s ears had flushed pink, instead of replying, he moved aside to let you in, hoping an answer would find him by the time you crossed the threshold into his home. God, you were in his house.
“It’s a term of endearment,” he tried.
“For the snotty prick who bullies your kid during baseball, maybe,” you huffed.
“That bad?” You shrugged, taking off your shoes and setting your bag down on the floor.
“I could learn to like it, I think.” You said, taking stock of your surroundings as you crossed the space, not sure where you were and weren’t welcome.
Hours had gone by in a blur, he fed you - ordering doordash counts as feeding someone, okay? - and then you had melted into his side on the extremely comfy couch, head on his chest watching some old cowboy movie Robby claimed he loved.
He had tried to insist on you picking the movie, but you refused. His house, his choice.
Robby jostled beneath you. Your body wobbled atop the movement. You looked up at him inquisitively.
“Sorry sweetheart, I gotta go.”
“Now? You only just finished work,” you pouted. Robby laughed softly and messed with a loose strand of hair on your head.
“Sure did, I meant I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Oh! Yeah, sure, obviously.” You hopped up so Robby could stand, grunting like an old man as he did so. Your eyes twinkled at the sound.
“Wasn’t doing anything,” you crossed your arms in protest.
Robby kissed the top of your head and moved in the direction of the bathroom, not noticing he had a follower until he went to close the door behind him.
“Jesus christ, sweetheart, you okay?”
“Yeah, just wanted to be with you,” you smiled.
“While I take a piss?” Robby’s brows furrowed in confusion.
“Funny, go back to the couch, I’ll just be a minute.” He closed the door in your face, just missing out on the lethal glare you shot in his direction.
You sat back down, fidgeted with your hands, no longer all that interested in cowboys. Robby joined you a moment later, reaching for you to lay on his chest again. You swatted his hand softly, ignored his gasp and climbed into his lap.
“Hi,” you grinned, now face to face with him.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Robby said in earnest, kissing the corner of your mouth gently. You sighed, Robby heard you sigh, and retreated, but that was kind of hard to do with you planted on top of his body.
“Yeah, just, can we try something?”
“Course, honey, what is it?” Robby rubbed comforting, calloused hands up and down the expanse of your legs, not letting himself drift too high.
“Can we have sex tonight?” You asked, hoping to sound casual but feeling like fireworks were exploding in your chest.
“Yeah?” He asked softly, but his eyes had darkened exponentially.
He’d carried you to the bed, insisting it had to be done the right way the first time, you’d giggled as you called him an old man and he’d pinched your side. “I think that’s what you like about me, baby.”
Rendered speechless at the accusation, albeit extremely true, Robby had taken advantage of the opportunity and divested you both of your clothes, made you cum on his tongue, then his fingers, and then he fucked you open on his huge dick.
“Holy shit,” he’d said, after he’d taken off the condom and disappeared into the bathroom to get you a washcloth, cleaned you up, and then lay beside you.
You would have grimaced at him tossing the used cum rag onto his nightstand, but you weren’t fully cognitive yet.
“Holy shit,” you exhaled, still out of breath from the four orgasms he’d just drawn from your body, on his first fucking try.
“That was insane,” Robby had responded, mostly to himself.
He pulled you on top of his chest again, and you both fell asleep like that.
——————————————————————————
You didn’t try anything untoward for a while. About nine months or something, if you were pressed for specifics.
Robby was, by all counts, a fucking gentleman.
He held doors, footed all of the bills, paid for everything, made you cum at least once (more often multiple times) before he even took his pants off, and he always saved you the best bite.
You didn’t want to jeopardise this relationship by being a freak, so you bided your time, lulling Robby into a sense of security - not a false sense of security, you just wanted him to feel safe enough to explore with you.
So you became the perfect little girlfriend, he’d told you as such on many occasions, just not with that exact phrasing. More often groans of good fucking girl as you throated his cock, or soft, bashful “too good to me”’s when you remembered how he took his coffee, when he’d come home to a clean house and dinner on the table, or impressed whistles and murmured Jesus Christ’s when you appeared at the bedroom doorway in a new lingerie set you’d bought with his credit card that day.
But really, the crux of the issue, was that you wanted— No, needed, Robby to loosen the reigns, to let go.
So it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when you tried to make a move on him while you were taking a shower together.
He’d gently washed your hair, not the sterile, no-frills technique he’d used the first time you had shared a shower. “Sorry, sweetheart, muscle memory.”
You’d tried not to be offended that he’d associated washing your hair with bathing hospital patients, and closed your eyes, letting yourself enjoy his fingers in your hair.
You told him to spin, once your hair was rinsed, and stretched on tiptoes, your weight distributed entirely in your arms as you leaned on his shoulders so that you could shampoo his hair in kind.
“This is nowhere near as romantic for me as it is for you,” Robby had commented, humour evident in his tone.
“How so?” You asked, faux innocence lacing your words.
Robby chuckled. “Make no mistake, baby, I’m having a good time, it’s just that I can hear your laboured breathing, and your hands are shaky from tip-toeing to reach my head, so…”
You pinched an ass cheek, and cackled when he yelped.
“Trouble, what am I goin’ to do with you?” He tutted.
You rinsed his hair out, and then wrapped your arms around his midriff. Robby hummed as you nuzzled your cheek against his strong back, fingers tracing circles on his soft tummy.
“S’good, baby.” You hummed in acknowledgement, and then slid a finger down the thick thatch of hair trailing down from his belly button to his half hard cock. Not all the way there yet, but piqued in interest.
It never ceased to amaze you how ready he was to go at all times, especially for his age. Every time you mentioned it lightheartedly, mostly just impressed, he’d get this determined look on his face, like he felt he had something to prove - he didn’t - but before you could say anything you’d be on you back, folded in half with your legs over his shoulders. Point taken.
He hissed when you wrapped a hand around his shaft, cooing as you move your hand up, smearing his pre around the tip.
“Kinda hard to see what I’m doing from this angle, handsome, you might have to talk me through it.”
Robby had moaned unabashedly, and then talked you through the handjob.
He finished quickly, as he sometimes did in the morning, fuzzy from sleep, brain not fully operating.
You turned him around and he followed, pliant in your arms as you peppered kisses all over his face. He opened his eyes a moment later, and you found that they were no longer glazed over.
“Hi, baby,” you grinned, feeling overly fond of this big man who’s turned to putty in your arms.
He raised a tentative hand and gripped your hip.
“Too good to me,” he’d murmured, pulling you toward him so he can return your kisses.
However, it doesn’t last. He lets go of you, hands returning to his side.
“Can you… turn around?” You chuckled softly, stopping when you realise he wasn’t joking.
“He’s shy,” Robby had pouted jokingly, but the sentiment seemed serious. The proverbial lightbulb sparked.
“I know how we can fix that,” you mused.
You reached for Robby’s hand, and squeezed it firmly. He tilted his head.
“You could… for the sake of curing your pee shyness, piss on me.” You looked up at him through your lashes, big eyes wide and wet as you stared intently, trying to take stock of any micro-expressions he let slip.
Robby’s face doesn’t react so much as something seems to shatter behind his eyes, and then repair itself a moment later. Like he had a glitch and rebooted the system, but something hadn’t yet resumed its function.
“I was just kidding,” you offered, your own reboot proving futile.
“Okay,” Robby had answered again, but the question mark was implied. To end the conversation in the only way you knew how, you turned around and faced the wall, effectively putting yourself in timeout, and pathetically pretended not to listen as your boyfriend relieved himself down the drain.
——————————————————————————
You sent him off to work with a thoughtfully packed lunch and a smile. He’d brought his lips to yours and you kissed him back, but all of the heat was gone.
Robby tried miserably not to frown as he retreated down the driveway, not understanding where and when this morning had gone so wrong.
“G’morning, brother!” Abbot had greeted him from the nurse’s station as he entered the ER. Robby had grunted in response, and continued his slough to the lockers.
“Jesus, man, your girl not put out this morning?” Abbot chirped, hiding his concern behind a mocked jab.
Robby huffed, dropping his bag into his locker and taking off his jacket.
“Morning, Jack,” he forced, sounded worse than he felt.
“You know what, I think I preferred the silence. This mood of yours sucks.”
“I think I did something wrong, but I don’t know what…” Jack leaned against the doorway, arms crossing like the situation calls for serious Jack, and this is about as serious as he can muster for early morning.
“What’d you do? Is it her birthday?”
“Anniversary?” Robby rolled his eyes.
“We’ve only been dating for nine months, maybe ten.”
“Maybe you missed your ten month-iversary. Women keep track of these things,” Jack nodded affirmatively to the bullshit he was spouting, like he believed any of it.
“No, it’s not that. Everything was fine this morning, and then we showered together, and… and then she wasn’t fine. And she didn’t kiss me back when I left the house.” Jack whistled in disbelief.
“You really fucked up, huh.” Robby scratched the back of his neck, feeling more and more fucked by the minute.
“What’d you do, piss on her?” Jack joked, the words click in Robby’s brain, and then he frowns.
“What? No! But she joked about wanting me to, and when I refused, that’s when she went weird.” Robby had felt ridiculous as soon as the sentence had left his body, disbelief apparent, not finding that to be a good enough conclusion for your standoffishness. You wouldn’t have iced him out over him not peeing on you in the shower, right? That didn’t make sense.
Jack Abbot had seen a lot in his life, had built a thick skin, was non-reactive in the face of ER emergencies, of blown off limbs and blood and guts, but upon processing this information, his jaw dropped.
“Fuck!” Robby exclaimed, seeming to have recalibrated to whatever wavelength Jack was currently riding.
“I don’t think she was joking, brother. And I think she’s probably feeling pretty dejected that you don’t feel safe enough to piss on her.”
“I’m not having this conversation with you right now, man,” Robby sighed, hoping this would end the conversation. This was you they were talking about, and you might be upset at him, but he still felt defensive of you, protective of your relationship. Even if it’s just Jack. Even if it’s just him speculating as to what Robby’s done to upset you. God, he was so screwed.
“Whatever you say, Robinavitch. But that shit is hot, I’d be pissing on your girl all the time if she wanted it as badly as she seems to.”
Robby wouldn’t ever hit Jack, fellow attending, best friend, light of his life and emergency contact, but he sure wanted to smack the curve of his smug mouth off of his face as he watched Jack clearly think about you, in compromising situations.
Robby didn’t see Jack before he went home that morning, but he checked his phone upon receiving a message around 7:30am.
Have a good shift, brother.
A word of advice, create a situation where the opportunity for her to watch you piss will arise, and see how she reacts when you turn her down. You’ll get your answer.
PS: stop being a fucking pussy and have fun
Robby rolled his eyes and pocketed his phone. And yet, Jack’s advice had stuck with him the next 13 hours.
He can’t find you when he gets home. His bladders fucking full and he’s on the verge of bursting, but he’s holding it for you. Love requires sacrifice and all that.
He sits on the couch and waits for your return. The waiting game starts to take too long, and he’s got piss about to leak out of his tip, so he foregoes his little surprise and beelines for the bathroom.
He finds you there, washing your hands.
He manoeuvres around you in the direction of the toilet, hurriedly unbuckles his belt.
“D’you want me to leave?” You ask, hesitant.
Robby doesn’t answer until his dick’s out and aimed in the bowl.
“Don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Robby smiles, and then pulls trig. He groans obnoxiously as the first stream pours from him, relief building in his tummy as his bladder empties.
You watch him, really watch him, and he has the decency to pretend he doesn’t notice the way your chest moves visibly with the effort it’s taking you to breathe, or the way your hands fidgeting at its side.
“What was that, sweetheart?” Robby goads you, all but begging for you to ask, or not to ask, so he can prove Jack wrong.
“Can I hold it?” You finally ask, feeling like such a fucking loser for having voiced the question out loud.
“Oh, I’m just about done here, maybe next time?”
Your posture deflates. Just a little bit. Not much. But enough. Robby noticed. You exit the bathroom, closing the door behind you.
Robby puts his dick back in his pants and flushes the toilet, willing his guilt to follow alongside his piss down the pipes. He washes his hands thoroughly, mostly to buy him enough time to think up his next move.
How’s it going over there? Pissed and made up?
No, actually, I made it worse :-(
You suck at this, brother. I forgive you for ignoring my brilliant wordplay.
I wish there was a way we could swap bodies for a night so you could fix this mess for me
Are you talking about freaky friday? I love you, man, but I would rather beat myself over the head with my prosthetic than live a day in your life.
Go fuck your girlfriend, before daddy Jack has to step in.
He opened the bathroom door, and then followed the sounds of you working on something in the kitchen.
He leaned in the doorway, clearing his throat.
“Dinners going to be ready in a minute,” you answered, not that he’d asked a question.
“Have I done something?” Robby asked, and you halted, almost dropping a hot tray in the process.
“Course not,” you reply, blowing your hair off of your face.
“Okay.” Robby pushes off the doorway and moves to the cupboard, busies himself by getting out plates and cutlery to help you plate up.
You chastely kiss him on the lips. “Thank you.”
He hums and starts cleaning the kitchen around you.
The rest of the night passes in a blur, words going unsaid and in their place, creating distance that neither of you knew how to bridge, having casted yourselves on two separate islands with no row boat, no way back to each other.
You apologised in the morning, blaming PMS on your mood, and he pretended to believe you, pretended he didn’t have your period tracker app linked to his phone, pretended he didn’t know that you were ovulating.
He told you there was nothing to apologise for, and then went to work. Everything was fine when he came home, the tension dissipated, the situation long forgotten.
Peace had been restored to the Robinavitch household.
Jack had hit Robby in the arm so hard he winced, when he found out how poorly the night before had gone. He’d even found himself wishing that Freaky Friday was real because he could have patched this relationship up himself, if his stupid best friend was going to squander this beautiful girl who he never should have been able to pull in the first place, over a little piss.
The conversation went ignored for months. Your shared routine settled. Your lives transitioned from separate to one, his space became our space, you’d all but moved in, drawers held both his clothes and yours, one side of the closet now solely belonged to you, he never had enough clothes to fill two sides anyway.
Things were going great, by all measures.
You just couldn’t shake this one thing. While you had backed down on the piss thing, you had gotten Robby to open up more, and he was at a point where he felt comfortable enough to be able to ask for things, which was astronomical basically, and you had been reduced to tears the first time he’d done it.
He was a little freaked out by the display of emotion, assuming he’d scared you off and trying to backpedal, but full-bodied, gut-wrenching arousal won out in the end after you’d assured him it was just happy tears.
The first time he’d asked for something was spitting.
He was very into it - the degradation, the very act of collecting all the saliva in your mouth, like you’re about to hack it onto the sidewalk, and then drooling it into your partner’s mouth instead like it was something sacred, something to be cherished. You hadn’t told him, but you definitely enjoyed it even more than he had.
You’d been working your way up to asking him to try it yourself after working in tongue sucking into your foreplay routine months earlier.
It had hurt to sit for days after, but you’d missed the searing welts after they’d gone, the mark of his handprints no longer claiming your skin.
He had felt awful afterwards, cried silently at the sight of your rapidly bruising ass, even though you liked it, even though you told him you liked it, cum smearing your inner thighs as evidence of how much you’d enjoyed yourself. But it had not become a regular part of your sex life.
He’d done it a couple times since, and it had been a better experience, when he saw just how soaked it made your cunt get, how whiny and pathetic you’d gotten while bent over his knee and held down by him.
It had kind of clicked for him then.
It was about you, not him.
You’d pulled him out of his head without even realising, and in return he made you fall apart without even touching your pussy.
Calling him daddy had kind of just been the last puzzle piece to slot itself into place, really, his hand had been rubbing your spit slick all around your mouth, having traded his fingers for his cock, fist in your hair as he choked out a fuck ‘m coming fuck as if the taste of his load wasn’t already on your tongue and invading your senses.
He’d lifted you off the ground and placed you in his lap.
“Such a good girl for me, my good girl,” he’d murmured, kissing your forehead diligently in case his words weren’t comfort and praise enough.
You’d looked so beautiful, with mascara streaking your cheeks, eyes pathetically wet as you gazed up at him like he hung the moon just for you.
So it shouldn’t have been a surprise when you confidently said, “please fuck me, daddy.”
Robby swore as his hips jerked, you smiled this smug thing that made Robby want to push you onto your stomach and breed your cunt full.
“Say that again, baby,” Robby said, testing the waters.
You got up onto your knees in his lap, hands fisting his shirt. God, how did he still have that on?
“Want you to fuck me, daddy, please. Been such a good girl,” you said resolutely.
Robby nodded, like that was that really, you had been a good girl and good girls deserved to get fucked by their daddy, and stood with you in his arms. He turned, and dropped you onto the mattress on your back.
“Take those shorts off before I rip ‘em,” was the only thing he said as he removed his shirt, finally, exposing solid hairy chest and soft tummy.
You pried the flimsy material off and threw them, not seeing where they landed. And then he was on you.
——————————————————————————
Jack invites you and Robby out for drinks at some bar in town, on an extremely rare night when they aren’t both working. You got dressed and headed downstairs to show off your outfit, a cute top with a slutty little skirt. Robby had taken one look at you, glasses falling down his nose, and told you to change.
“What? No, my outfit is cute,” you pouted.
“Stop being a brat, we’re going to a bar, not a night club.” He spun a finger and pointed in the direction of the stairs.
You stomped your way up the stairs, moving a little faster when you heard him call from the couch, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
The ride over had been quiet, pleasant. Mostly because the uber driver probably wouldn’t appreciate you putting your hands all over your boyfriend in the backseat as the night opened its doors, beckoning you in to explore countless possibilities under the moon kissed sky.
Jack had bear hugged you when you entered the bar, twirling you around in the air while you squealed.
“This outfit’s trouble, kid, you trying to seduce me?” Jack had said softly into your hair, you giggled and slapped his forearm.
“Why, is it working?” You asked as he placed you back down, waggling your brows at him.
“Always,” he winked at you, and then left your side to greet Robby.
“I didn’t realise you two were so closely acquainted,” Robby had said gruffly as the pair hugged.
Jack cackled. “Heel, boy, I’m just being friendly.”
He sat at the booth directly across from you, making a show of reaching toward you to flick your arm. Robby rolled his eyes and then joined you on one side, wedging you between the wall and his body.
You were pleasantly buzzed, in that way you can only get in some dingy bar where the music’s shitty enough to ignore but the company is good so it doesn’t matter, and Robby’s right at that point of tipsy where his physical affection is free-flowing and you can’t help but beam under the attention.
He kisses beneath your ear, mumbling something about getting a drink, and then slides out of the booth, leaving you with Jack.
“You lookin’ after our old man?” Jack asked, tone unreadable. He notices your expression drop, just a smidgeon, just a tiny crack in your armour, but he notices nonetheless. You suddenly understand what Robby means about Jack being a bloodhound for emotional turmoil.
“Yeah, course,” you reply flippantly, voice just an octave too high to be buyable. Jack’s eyes squint marginally, reading you like a book. He’s probably got you all figured out and there’s nothing you can do about it.
“I’m trying to. He’s… an unwilling patient.” Jack huffs a soft laugh, he believes that.
“I’ve known the guy longer than you’ve been alive, probably, and I’ve never seen him this light, kid. Trust me, you’ve done more than you’ll ever know. Just keep chipping away at that wall.”
“Thanks, Jackie.” You’re more unmoored by Jack’s little speech than you realised, you clear your throat.
“And also for pretending like you don’t know the ins and outs of our sex life.” Jack threw his head back and cackled.
“Just doing my part,” he saluted you teasingly, and you didn’t know what the fuck that meant, but you didn’t push him on it.
The rest of the conversation is pleasant, he says something that makes you laugh, something about you deserving better than being out on a Friday night with two grumpy old fucks.
Robby’s eyes drifted purposely to you after he hears you laugh. Because it’s not a friendly laugh, or some placating laugh. No. It’s your oh this guy’s so funny I need to fuck him laugh. He knows distinctly what that sounds like, because it’s the laugh you reserve for him when he says something perverted, something nasty, only for you to hear. It had transformed over time, having started when you first began dating, and you had laughed that way, like a caress, like a flirty wink, like you were trying to get into his fucking pants.
He’s not jealous. Per se. No. You’re his girl, and Jack is his best friend. Does he feel a pang of possessiveness? Sure. Is he now feeling a little territorial? Definitely.
It sours his mood, makes him order a shot to down at the bar before he can recoup enough to return to the booth.
“Sounds like you two were having fun over here without me.”
“Robby,” you’d whined, at the same time Jack had repeated the sentiment.
“We were just talking about what a downer you were before she entered your life,” Jack teased, and you cupped a hand over your mouth, stifling an ugly cackle.
Robby laughed, but it was this sad, kind of pained sound, that the tipsy high you and Jack were riding couldn’t entirely survive it.
You looked at Robby, gripped his thigh under the table and tried to read his face. He shook his head softly. You tilted your head at him, and failed to hide your frown when he turned away from you.
You looked pleadingly at Jack, who shrugged. You raised a demanding brow at him, and he softened. Tapped his knuckles against the beer sticky table top.
“I’m feeling pretty beat, you guys, going to head off.” Jack nodded, then slid out of the booth.
You nudged Robby out as well so you could say goodbye.
You wrapped your arms around Jack, feeling a little sad that you didn’t know when you’d see him again.
“You’re welcome in advance, by the way,” Jack whispered in your ear, crushing you tighter against his chest.
“Huh?” You whispered back, but Jack merely unwrapped himself from the embrace, holding you at arms length, and then winking.
From behind, you felt a firm, claiming hand clasp your hip. You’re welcome. You smiled shakily, crossed your arms while Robby spoke privately to Jack, and then he was gone.
“Ready to head home, kid?” Robby asked, returned to your side at last.
“One more drink?” You jutted out your bottom lip, hoping to sway his vote.
“Not tonight, baby, I’ve got plans for us.” You noticed something. It wasn’t prominent enough for anyone else to have noticed, but you were well versed in Michael Robinavitch, and so you couldn’t help but notice the deep set gaze in his eyes. You’d never really seen it before, this side of Robby, but you knew what that kind of hunger looked like, what it felt like, the feral longing in your gut to destroy something, to claw it apart with your fingers so you could figure out what it was all for. You whimpered softly, and it ignited something deep within Robby.
Realising you were both standing in the middle of a bar, panting and eye-fucking each other, Robby linked your fingers with his and led you outside.
He couldn’t keep his fingers to himself in the uber home. Or his mouth. Your driver attempted polite small talk, but immediately gave up when Robby had pulled you into his lap and slotted his lips between yours.
Robby had tipped him handsomely, and smacked your ass on the trek up the driveway to the house.
Items of clothes were removed and thrown carelessly one piece of material at a time, a bra here, a belt there, Robby’s shirt on the stairs, your panties on the doorknob, leaving a breadcrumb trail all the way to your bedroom. XXX marks the spot indeed.
Nothing about this particular encounter could be considered tender, romantic. It was a brutal clash of tongues and teeth, bodies rutting and undulating together while scratching and biting to claim victory and ownership over the other.
You were on your knees, the tip of Robby’s cock bullying the soft palette of your throat, his thick pubic hair tickling your nostrils and invading your senses with the scent of him. Clean skin and sweat and musk and something earthy and sweet that was uniquely him. It made you salivate and slicked his cock even more as he fucked your throat earnestly.
He pulled you off of him, and you inhaled sharply.
“Need— fuck— I need’a piss,” Robby sighed, moving to stand, when you yanked his wrist.
“Yeah? What is it, honey?”
“D’you think… never mind…” you looked away, pursing your lips.
“Baby, look at me.” When you ignored him, two thick fingers rested under your chin, and turned your head so you had nowhere to look but at him.
“You want me to piss on you?” His question was sincere, verging on smug, and yet you couldn’t help but bite your lip.
You nod. He raises a curt brow, and then the English language comes back to you. “Yes please, daddy. Want you to piss. Wanna make you feel good.”
He frowns mockingly, although you’re too far gone to realise you’re being played, “I really gotta piss, honey, we can finish as soon as I’m back. Be a good girl and wait thirty seconds for me, okay?”
“No, daddy, wanna do it now, you don’t have to stop, you can just do it in my mouth and then keep going.” Your eyes were wrecked, teary and glazed over as you stared pleadingly up at him.
Robby nods. Nods again, like he’s answering an unasked question.
“Like your own personal urinal.” You smiled.
“Jesus christ, baby. That’s so fuckin’ dirty, you know that?” You didn’t reply, merely grinned and stuck out your tongue, challenging him to make good on his word.
He slapped his tip on your tongue and you moaned filthily. “Been building up to this, huh, honey? Thought you were so smart, askin’ to watch me piss, askin’ to hold my dick while I piss, to piss on you in the shower, while actin’ like these were isolated incidents, like I’d fuckin’ forget what a dirty little girl I’ve got in my bed. Isn’t that right, baby?”
You shook your head, licked the underside of his shaft. Robby laughed, but it was mean. Robby had been lots of things, but never once mean. Not like now.
He pulled his cock out of your mouth and slapped his shaft against your cheek, and then the other one.
“Love this big dick so much you wanna drain it of everything, don’t you?”
“Ye— yes, daddy. Want all of it. Want you, want everything you’ll give me.”
Robby sighs, resolving to his fate.
“Okay, open up little girl.” You look up at him from your position om your knees, big wet eyes trying to gauge whether or not he’s joking.
He guides his thumb to your bottom lip, tracing the lip until you open your mouth slightly, he hooks two fingers inside, prying your jaw open more.
“Gotta keep it open wide for me honey, dont want you to miss a drop.”
You nod dumbly, jaw a little achey from the pressure at which he’s keeping you open, quickly forgetting all about the ache as he slides his fat cock past your lips again, pushing in inch after inch until you can feel his ruddy tip prod at the back of your throat.
You moan at the intrusion, raising your hand from your side and enclosing it around his much larger one, dragging it from where he’s got it resting on his hip until it’s curled in your hair. He tugs once, you groan, the vibrations from your throat reverberating from his tip all the way to his sac, his hips jerk at the sensation and you gag around his cock, eyes shedding stray tears while he coos and tells you how good you are at taking him, his good girl, the best at throat fucking his biiiiig dick, taking every inch just for him. You nod around his dick, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking at the same time, trying to get him to cum.
He seems to remember what you asked of him, and closes his eyes to concentrate.
“You sure you want this, baby?”
“Wow, can’t speak with a dick in your mouth and yet here you are, responding so clearly. A+ for you sweetheart.”
You moan at the mocked praise, dragging your clothed cunt against the rug beneath you, trying to get any sort of friction going.
“Shit, ok, fuck, honey, im gonna—- it’s coming— last chance to back out.”
You pull off his dick for a second, “piss in my mouth, daddy, please, want it so bad.”
Robby pulls you forward by the scruff of your neck just in time to catch the first dribbles of piss from his cock. You stick your tongue out to catch it, your eyes not budging from his gaze as you watch him watch you swallow his piss.
It borders on religion, if he really allows himself to think about it. You, this young, beautiful thing, on your knees, him towering over you, his cock in your mouth. You’re reverent in your undivided attention, supplicant and devoted as you eagerly swallow every drop of piss he allows to pass your lips, moaning wantonly at this act of desecration - a willing follower to a selfish God.
He grows more confident, as dribbles give way to a full stream.
“Fuck, can’t— can’t stop it now, bunny, swallow my fucking piss like a— like a good little slut, yeaaah you like that, don’t you? You like being my good slut, guzzling my piss like a fucking champ, aren’t you?”
There’s so much of it that it spills from your mouth and begins streaming down your chin in thick rivulets, down your chest and glazing your nipples in the piss, pooling below your glistening cunt. It’s filthy, the way you’re playing with your pussy, lubing your hole with his piss, cupping the fluid that’s caught on the towel you put down earlier and dripping it all over your clit, spreading your sticky pussy lips so it all gets soaked in it.
Robby watches you intently, a choked groan accompanies the end of his stream, and you wipe your mouth sloppily, swallowing the last of his spend.
He opens your mouth, inspecting the damage, you suppose. You stick your tongue out, “all gone.”
He smirks, shoves three fingers in at once. You gag at the intrusion, your cunt clenching in kind. He slaps his fingers on your tongue like he would his cock and then removes them from your mouth, wiping the stray saliva on your cheek. You don’t have it in you to feel degraded.
“D’you enjoy that, kid?” You nod dumbly.
“Did you cum?” You shook your head.
“Well thats just too bad, isnt it?” You whine, butting your head into the meaty part of his thigh.
“Make me cum, daddy, please make me cum.” He pulls you off your knees and pushes you in the direction of the shower. Yes, he just pissed inside of you, but he doesn’t want to fuck you like that. His sweet girl, skin tacky from his piss sticking to your skin. He has to maintain some modicum of integrity, right?
——————————————————————————
The second time Robby indulges your… thing, he’s got his cock buried inside you, hips snapping as his tip bullies your cervix. He doesn’t know if you’ve fucking pavlov’d him or something, but he’s starting to notice a pattern where when the two of you fuck, he gets the strongest urge to piss.
“Be right back sweet girl, i just have to pee.”
You frown up at him as he pulls out, and he chuckles softly at the way you can look at him like that with your legs folded over your head like a goddamn trapeze artist.
“Yes this again,” your tone is petulant at best. Downright pissed off at worst.
“Sweetheart…” Robby sighs, already aware this is a losing battle and he has zero leverage to placate you.
“Want you to piss in my pussy this time, Robby.” The way you’re grinning at him would be more appropriate if you’d just told him you’d booked an all expenses Caribbean getaway, or you won the lottery and he never had to work again - he definitely would - not that you were asking him to piss in your cunt, like that was an occasion to be celebrated.
“What? No. No! You can get infections from that shit. No way. Pick another kink to grow attached to.”
Some people wore their heart on their sleeves. Robby wore his on his face. You weren’t sure if he knew this about himself, but he was so facially expressive you could read braille off the lines on his forehead if you tried hard enough.
If you were to trace the lines now, you knew you’d get the same answer as you were reading now from the look on his face. Chin quivering slightly, the wrinkles between his brow creased in deep lines, forehead scrunched in a depreciation. He was fucking distraught.
“You’re a doctor, baby, you can just prescribe me an antibiotic, or you can get Jack to if that makes you less uncomfortable. It’ll be fine.” You rubbed his shoulder in what you hoped was a comforting gesture. It probably came off more as condescending.
“Jesus christ, baby, this is insane. Do you hear what you’re asking for?”
“You— yes? Fuck. Okay. This is the last time, okay?”
“Okay.” Now you’re the one placating him.
“No. Seriously. This is it.” He leans forward so you’re practically forehead to forehead, his eyes staring deeply into yours like he’s communicating the message via prolonged eye contact too. Just in case your ears hadn’t received it.
“Okay, I get it. Get the waterworks going now please,” you huffed.
“I hate you so much.” You roll your eyes at him fondly, so dramatic. He shakes his head but kisses you once for good measure.
He lines himself up, and nudges his cock inside you again. His thrusts are more hesitant this time around, like now that you’ve asked him to piss inside you, he’s reverted to being a virgin again or something. His technique’s sloppy and his hips can’t seem to find their usual rhythm.
He rocks his hips, still hitting all the right angles even if he’s worried about what he’s working himself up to.
“Ok, here it comes, honey,” you exhale deeply as you feel the first remnants of his piss inside your hole, the drizzle before the downpour. He fucks you through it, panting heavily, like this affects him just as much as it affects you.
“I love you so much, dirty fucking girl.” Robby’s gasping and moaning obscenely, the sensation of pissing while fucking you is overwhelming. You’re always so wet and pliant for him, but with his piss actively filling your hole… It’s immense. It feels like he’s fucking one of those tube toys with the holes at both ends while the toy’s being waterboarded. He realises that’s a stupid analogy, and notes to himself to never tell you that.
“hnnng love you daddy,” you cry as he fucks you harder, the piss pouring out of your sloppy cunt onto the floor in puddles.
“Gimme all of it, Robby, please,” you moaned, head thrown back in that way you do right before you cum.
“Fuck, m’almost done. I’m gonna cum sweetheart, think you can cum at the same time?” Robby stares at you so reverently, with so much adoration, you have to close your eyes. You clamp them shut, throw away the key. He shouldn’t look at you like that if he wants you to be a functioning human being anyway.
He taps your face with his palm. Not a slap, just an invitation to rejoin him in the world of the living. With his cock spearing inside your pussy obscenely. You open your eyes, Robby would probably describe you as doe eyed and wobbly. Bambi.
He smiles at you, but it’s this earth shattering thing. It steals all the oxygen from your lungs, burns your throat on the way up.
“Y-yes,” you nod desperately, clammering for Robby’s hand.
“Rub my clit, daddy,” you beg, no longer caring how annoyingly desperate you sound.
He smiles down at you, his good girl, and rubs your clit in tight circles, your hips raise, meeting his thrusts in freakishly wet plaps.
You stick your fingers in Robby’s mouth, catching him off guard, he chokes out a moan, and cums balls deep inside of you, the feeling of his spend at your cervix.
You cum too, it’s a vicious climax, really - your entire body trembling and thrashing while your pussy contracts wildly, pushing waves of Robby’s piss, your cum, and his cum out of you in a clean flush.
Robby collapses beside you, into the puddle.
“Yeah,” you sigh, your brain presently orbiting outer space.
“Love you, baby,” he admits softly, his splayed hand on your tummy flexing.
“Love you too, Robby.” Your hand rests atop his, index finger tracing the veins.
He’ll get up eventuslly, needs to clean you up thoroughly, get you both showered, and then deal with this floor. And then he has to figure out how to get Jack to prescribe you antibiotics without telling him that he pissed inside of you. God. What have you done to him?
——————————————————————————
Ellis and Shen are bickering.
The night shift’s inexplicably quiet, for no apparent reason. Jack knows not to curse their luck so he doesn’t acknowledge it, they all do.
He finally realises he’s had about enough of listening to them antagonise each other over… who knows what, really. It could be the continuation of their Dunkin’ vs Starbucks argument from a couple weeks ago, or some other iteration of pointless time wasting they love to partake in.
He excuses himself from the station and checks his phone.
He has one message from one Michael Robinavitch.
Hey, man. Need you to do me a favour
He raises a brow. Colour him fucking interested.
Oh? How can I be of assistance to you on this fine evening, Dr Robinavitch?
I need you to get a prescription for metronidazole. No questions
You dirty bastard, you fuckin’ did it
Hey hey hey, don’t get grumpy with me, I’m playing by the rules here. I’ll get your lady her prescription
So, how did it feel when you pissed inside her? I’m curious
