dr crus henderson if you read this i'm free on thursday night and would like to hang out. please respond to this and then hang out with me on thursday night when i'm free
Crus Henderson, I don't know where they have been hiding you but I am furious I am only just meeting you because my man, you are twelve kinds of amazing and I don't even know what to do with this.
Why is everyone on nights so competent and mentally stable compared to days?!
the affection I feel for my close friend Sidney Crosby is akin to a good roommate or a kind coworker. Sid we could coexist in such a beautiful way dude
Summary: Your roommate (and long-time crush) Dr. Robby walks in on you masturbating when he wasn’t supposed to be home
Tags/Notes: established friendship, masturbation, mutual masturbation, getting together, mutual pining. roommates to lovers, vibrator use, praise kink, piv sex (unprotected, discussed), riding, cumming inside bc i can't help myself
Content: voyeurism/getting walked in on, one joke along the lines of "kms"
A/N: im realizing this kinktober is gonna be less kinky and more just me indulging my desires
Word Count: 2.9k
You’ve gotta be honest with yourself: It’s really hard to find time to masturbate when you live with your coworker and cover all the same shifts. It’s an old apartment with thin walls. Usually you’re left to quiet whimpers underneath the covers once you know he’s dead asleep (if you can manage to stay awake) or stolen moments with the showerhead while he’s getting ready to go. But when you know he won’t be home for a while or when he goes out of town for a trip, you’ll break out a bubble bath, some cute pajamas, and your drawer of sex toys to treat yourself to a little extra.
You’ve really, really been needing one of those nights lately, so the news that you’ll have the apartment all to yourself Saturday night is a blessing. Robby’s at the governor’s gala, receiving an award for outstanding service in medicine after saving a baby’s life on a bus or something (the details, you hate to admit, began to fizzle out when you started to imagine your options for your evening with yourself).
That night, you give Robby a hug goodbye and wish him good luck, sending him off to be a hero for the evening. The event is scheduled until nine which means, after takeout and a luxurious bath, you have a good two hours with yourself, your porn collection, and your favorite cordless Hitachi wand, with your most trusted dildo nearby in case you feel like some penetration to boot.
It’s definitely shaping up to be a good night. You’re full and content and definitely turned on from the mental foreplay when you settle on the couch around 8:00 (you and Robby had agreed when you moved into the place that sex in common areas was fine if the other person wasn’t home, not that either of you got any action), popping in your headphones and lying back with your vibrator on the absolute lowest setting, phone in your free hand.
You lose track of time somewhere around your second orgasm, watching porn with an actor you definitely would never acknowledge looking a lot like Robby – tall with broad shoulders, a graying beard, and kind eyes. Your eyes are trained on the muscles of his back as you punch the vibrator up slightly higher, ready to edge yourself again before packing it in for a really solid night of sleep.
You’re so deep in the rolling, building pleasure of it that you don’t hear the door opening or Robby quietly greeting you. It’s not unusual for you to be up late on the couch with your headphones in, watching a movie on your laptop instead of the TV for reasons he’ll never understand, so he doesn’t think much of your lack of response until he hears the buzzing.
And the wetness
And the little whimpers.
Robby moves three steps forward, deathly quiet, and takes in the scene. He can’t see everything from this angle, but he can see your knees bent back toward yourself, your shoulder pumping from working the vibrator, and your lips parted in ecstasy. His heart climbs up into his throat. It’s definitely not the first time he’s imagined something like this, but being confronted by it in real time sends his mind reeling. He debates all of his options in quick succession and finally decides on what he’s wanted to do the last six months of your long friendship: Confront it head-on.
It’s the intentional thud of his bag on the ground that startles you out of your haze. You’re panicking right away, scrambling to cover up your body with a nearby pillow as you literally throw your vibrator across the room like a kid caught with a stolen candy bar.
Instead of taking the easy, appropriate way out – muttering an apology and ducking straight into his bedroom – Robby crosses the living room and stands in front of you with the meanest smirk you’ve ever seen on his kind features. Christ, he’s dressed up. Robby never dresses up. The white button down strains over his broad chest and he’s got it rolled up to his elbows and you had just been too close to an orgasm not to notice the outline of his hardening cock against his checked gray slacks. You didn’t even know he owned slacks like that, fitted and modern.
As you bury your burning pink face in the pillow, Robby bends down and picks up your still-buzzing toy from the ground. He clicks it off in a gesture that, for some reason, is insanely sexy. It’s just nonchalant. Like he didn’t just walk in on his roommate, his long-time friend, his coworker masturbating on his couch. He holds it out to you and says, “C’mon, at least show me what you’re looking at.”
You clutch your phone tight in your fist and shove him hard on the arm as your eyes widen in horror. “I would so literally rather die, Michael. Mind getting the fuck out of here so I can go slit my wrists in the bathroom?”
Robby shakes his head, grins like the menace he is, and jokes, “Want me to whip mine out so we’re even?”
Horrified – and the shame making you even more turned on because you’re a fundamentally fucked up person, apparently – you squeak out, “Don’t tell me you saw everything.”
Robby swallows hard. His eyes devour every part of your body visible around the throw pillow that can only cover so much. “I definitely didn’t see as much as I want to.”
That sucks the air out of the room. Out of the whole apartment you share. Out of the entire world, actually.
Your muscles begin to relax. The blush in your face is spreading down your chest and it’s not just from embarrassment now. “What?”
Robby starts to unbutton his shirt, exposing the dark chest hair you’ve gotten forbidden glances of in between shifts. His voice is low, rough. Wanting. “We’ve been dancing around this a long time, sweetheart. I think it’s about time we stop pretending, don’t you?”
All you can do is stupidly repeat, “What?”
“If you don’t want me, tell me right now and we’ll go right on pretending.” The cocky bastard shrugs off his shirt and lets his hands hover over his belt. Oh god. Standing there shirtless, Robby is delectable. He’s strong and soft and sure. And then he says, “But if you do want me – the way I want you – then I want you to spread your legs again and keep showing off that pretty pussy.”
You bite your lip hard for a second, take a deep breath, and move the pillow back to the other side of the couch. The little hitch in Robby’s breathing as he takes in your bare chest is everything. “Then I want to see your cock.” You raise an eyebrow suggestively and add, “Just so we’re even.”
Robby’s hands – fuck, you’ve thought about those big hands of his way too much – undo his belt buckle, his button, and his zipper. His pants fall unceremoniously to the floor and- and his cock is outlined against the sleek, soft-looking gray briefs he’s wearing underneath.
You swallow hard, blush creeping once again back into your cheekbones, and observe, “You’re, um, you’re wearing briefs.”
“I do that when I wear slacks,” he laughs, clearly basking in your outright embarrassment at just how hot he looks. Like a goddamn underwear model with those tree trunk thighs and chest hair and strong broad shoulders and suddenly you’re surging forward to mouth over his clothed cock, possessed by something that’s been growing between you for ages. Robby’s hand drops into your hair at the sight of your desperation and he rasps, “Fuck.”
You pull back only long enough to yank down his briefs and expose his thick cock. You’ve caught glimpses of his naked body a handful of times – it was inevitable with locker room showers and a shared apartment – but you’d, of course, never taken a good long look. And it's a good look.
When Robby sees the way your pupils dilate and your mouth parts open with unbridled lust, his confidence skyrockets. He reaches out, grabs your right wrist, and guides your hand back between your legs. “Show me how you like it.”
“Robby,” you whine, trying to tug him toward you with your other hand, “I want you so bad.”
But he insists, pushing your fingers against your clit and holding them there, “No, I need to see, baby.” He leans forward, though, and keeps his hand over yours, adding slight pressure, until you start circling your clit the way he’s begging to see. His eyes drop to your hand and he whispers, “There you go, baby. That’s it. You know how many times I’ve jacked off listening to your little whimpers through the wall? How many times I’ve wished it was me touching you instead?”
You groan, “That’s fucking mortifying.”
“It’s not.” The bridge of his nose ghosts over your cheekbone. He moves his hand off of yours and wraps his fingers around his pretty cock, thumb smearing his precum. Now it’s your turn to stare. “It’s really not. There’s nothing hotter to me than you getting off.”
You moan at his words, fingers speeding up on your clit, the intimacy of his eyes making your heart thud. As you watch, Robby times the strokes to his cock with the tempo you set in yourself.”
Robby coos, somehow both dark and affectionate, “Good girl. Just like that.”
You can’t help how your thighs spasm around his body. “You did not just call me that.”
“Alright, then we can pretend you didn’t like it.”
His smirk is wicked and delicious and you kiss it off his stupid fucking face so hard it takes him by surprise. “Say it again.”
“You’re being such a good girl for me,” he murmurs against your ear, breath hot and wanting. Both your hands speed up in tandem. “So pretty touching yourself. Fucking perfect.”
It goes like that for another minute – Robby whispering filth about anything he can think of, you becoming increasingly incoherent – until you can’t possibly take it anymore.
“I need your cock,” you whimper, too desperate and slutty to be embarrassed by how needy you sound asking, “please.”
Robby chuckles and presses his forehead to yours. “I need to see you get yourself off, sweetheart.”
“Then I’ll use you like a fucking dildo, Robinavitch,” you cut back. “I want you to fuck me, so either sit your ass down and put your hands behind your head or-”
“I don’t need to hear the other option.” Absolutely grinning, Robby flips himself around and, smooth like he’s practiced it a hundred times, pulls you into his lap, too. “Need to get my hands on your tits, anyway.”
Lining your dripping slit up with his red swollen tip, you falter for a second. You sit back on his thighs, pinch the bridge of your nose, and grumble, “Wait, we should have, like, a responsible adult talk, right? I shouldn’t just let you fuck me raw right here on our couch?”
Breathing hard, Robby’s eyes very reluctantly work upward from the place where your clit is bumping against his shaft, up the curves of your stomach and hips and waist, all the way to your eyes. “Well, I know you have an IUD and haven’t slept with anyone since before COVID,” he reasons, unable to stop glancing down at your bare breasts, “and you know better than anyone that I haven’t gotten laid since Collins broke up with me and that was years ago.”
“You’re making some really compelling points, doc,” you breathe, reaching down to position him at your entrance. “Fuck, Michael.”
Robby moans loud, animalistic, and buries his face in the crook of your shoulder. His voice is wrecked as he explains, “I don’t think you’ve ever said my name outside of making fun of me.”
You kiss the side of his head and murmur against his ear, “Michael.” Then you pull back, tilt his head so you can look in his summer creek eyes, and kiss him soft and sweet. “Michael.”
It sounds like he’s on the verge of tears, really, as he kisses you again and says close against your lips, “I’ve wanted you for so long.”
He sucks in a sharp breath as you rock your hips back and forth, his cock buried so deep inside your wetness that he has to concentrate to stop himself bursting right away. When you lean back and drop your fingers between your bodies to find your clit, Robby groans deep and lustful as he feels your cunt gripping around him, forcing him closer to the edge until he has to dig his thumbs into your waist hard to maintain control. “You have no idea how good you look right now. Christ. You’re perfect.”
You honestly don’t have anything to say. While your dominant hand teases your clit, your other hand goes into his hair, which is overdue for a haircut, and fists it tightly to keep your balance. Robby’s eyes roll back, the sting of pain to his scalp sending him to another stratosphere of pleasure. The way he moans borders on pornographic, loud enough to alert your neighbors in this old-ass building, but the two of you have listened to your neighbors fucking enough times that you decide not to care. Instead, you yank on his hair to increase the volume.
Your back arches as Robby’s hands rove around you, grabbing at your ass, digging into the sensitive flesh, holding you hard enough to leave bruises. God, you hope he’s leaving bruises. At that thought, you yank his head to your neck and say, “Mark me up. I want everyone to see I’m yours.”
Literally whining now, he groans against your neck, “You mean that? You wanna be mine?”
Your hips stutter faster at the idea and you rake your nails down his arm, grasping his bicep to get a better hold, to drive your hips down hard, switching from back and forth to up and down. “It’ll be really nice having a spare room, don’t you think? We could have an office. Or a gym.”
“Now that I’m thinking about it,” he grunts as sweat beads on his hairline, feet planted hard on the ground so he can thrust up into you, “I’ve always wanted a free-weight set.” Robby’s lips and teeth clamp down over your carotid and he sucks so hard it’s downright mean. Satisfied with the deep purple bruise, he adds with a horny, ridiculous smile, “Maybe a futon.”
With your thighs burning and your cunt begging, you whimper, “Please don’t make me cum right after saying you want a futon. I’d rather die than own a- Michael!”
He’s flipped you around and shoved you onto your back to take control, thrusting hard and deep and savage. “Fine. I’ll make you cum right after you fucking beg for it. That sound better to you, sweetheart?”
“Uh,” you try. “Uh.” Your rolling eyes are brimming with white hot tears all of a sudden as he plunges inside of you like an animal, stretching you, beating against your cervix. It’s bordering on painful but it’s so good. So much. So divine that all you can manage as you lock your legs around him is a throaty, “Um.”
Robby cocks his head and smirks and mocks, “‘Uh, uh, um.’ That all you have to say? Such a mouth on you, all teasing and coy, until you really get what you need, huh?” He shoves his huge hand down between you and works your clit with his large, calloused thumb, driving you into overstimulation. “Go on, baby, beg. Find your words and beg for it.”
Your brain’s positively swimming as you try to access the part of it you’re supposed to use for language. Nearly a decade of advanced education has totally left you. The only thing that exists is Robby’s cock filling you, your wetness pooling around it and dripping down onto the couch below you. “Please.”
He presses his free thumb to your lower lip until you instinctively suck and praises, “That’s my good girl.” His sweat drips onto your cheek and you honest to god want to lick it up. “Cum for me. Let go.”
“I want- I want you to finish inside me,” you stammer, “with me. Please, Michael, give it to me. Need it. Need it bad."
With a sound much more like a growl than a moan, Robby nods and kisses you like he’s drunk on your taste. His hips tense and you can feel how his balls slap against your body and you’re tightening around him, so fucking tight, claiming like your pussy wants to swallow him whole, and you can’t take it a second longer. The pulse of your orgasm is undeniable and violent. Robby sucks another harsh bruise into your neck – way too high for work – as he ruts a few final times, shaky and desperate, working your orgasm out so he can let himself go at last.
Once Robby’s cum is seeping from both of you and onto the couch, he laughs. Really laughs. So blissfully happy and exhausted that all he can say is, “I’m really glad we can skip all the early relationship bullshit and go straight to living together because I’m going to need that pussy as often as possible.”
You roll your eyes, kiss him, and laugh, too, “Does this mean you’re my boyfriend?”
He looks down at the mess your bodies have made, shakes his head in disbelief, and chuckles, “Honey, I think this means you’re about six months from being my damn wife.”
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