never did you think you'd be talking to a police officer this fine when you woke up this morning but here you are sat in front of what appears to be named officer bradford "im telling you i didnt see or hear anything" you sat across from him arms folded with a stubborn attitude
"really, you're telling me you hear gunshots outside your apartment and you dont check it out" he leans forward trying to intimidate you but it only made him look hotter "you're kinda hot" you randomly say throwing him off a little "like the whole tough guy act really works for you" you bite your lip a little trying to flirt
"sir lets keep this professional please" tim tries to get back to the investigation at hand but you jeep going with light flirting "what's you name mr officer" you ask "officer tim bradford" he sternly replies "that has a nice ring to it of you're moaning it" you smirk at the blush forming on his cheeks
"and i think that concludes this questioning, you can go now" tim was quick to get up and walk out of the room, he could feel you staring at him as he left, as you walked out the police station you saw the one and only officer bradford sitting in his cruiser and walked up to the window
"hi officer, do you think you can give nice man a ride home" you asks with a seductive voice, and to be fair tim hadn't had any sexual action in a while other than his own hand and a phone screen of porn so he had only a little hesitation to letting you in
you didnt even make it two blocks away from the police station before you were both making out in the backseat in some empty alley "is this very officer like of you mr bradford" you teased him grinding yourself on his clothed crotch before trying to pull his pants down hume stopped you "mm mm i cant take the uniform off" he grips both of you wrists with one hand
"well i do love a man in uniform" you unzip his fly to let his hard cock out, already dripping precum from the tip, tim smack your ass a little before using some of his spit as lube to slide his cock in you, letting out a breathy fuck as he bounces you up and down on his cock, his fingers digging into your waist more and more
"fuck you're so tight" he grunts while his hips start moving on their own, thrusting upward unto you for more friction "yeah fuck me harder officer im your good boy" you moan, tim lifting up your shirt to kiss all over your chest, pinching his nipples with his teeth making you twitch in his touch
"im gonna cum fuck im gonna cum" you moan out moving to jerk your cock before spurting it all over tims shirt "my turn" he smirks lifting you off his dick and pushing you on your knees to shove your mouth onto his cock again, gripping both side of your head to face fuck your mouth "fuckkkkk" he throws his head back with a loud groan
"take it all like a good boy" he shoots his load in your mouth and making sure to fuck it down your throat, listening to how you gagged around him as you swallowed his cum, after a couple minutes of silence you speak up "sorry for the mess on your uniform" you chuckle climbing up to sit on the seat "oh no problem ill just get it cleaned" he reassured "so what number should i call if i wanna see you again tim" you ask "911" he smirks
Robby muffling a sob of please, please, Jack, mmmnhh, please— into the sheets with every thrust of Jack's pulsing dick into his desperate hole, so fucked stupid he doesn't know what he's pleading for, just knows it feels good to beg, to cry, to be nothing but a mess under Jack's relentless pleasure. the blissful release that comes with letting himself be pathetic, letting himself slip into ecstacy and oblivion.
Jack responding with gentle coos of I know, I know, baby, shh, oh, I know it feels soo good, yeah... so gentle with Robby, thrusting deep and firm and slow, making love to him. fuzzing over Robby's too-loud thoughts with every roll of his hips, until Robby can only drool and moan and take it. until Robby can only feel good, kept, safe.
he knows just how to take care of Robby, muffling his own quiet groans as Robby clenches so perfectly around him, lube-slick and hot. oh, sweetheart, y'feel so good.. taking me so well, oh, I know, s'okay to cry, yeah? s'okay, just cry... just feel so good for me... mm, baby, you always feel so nice and tight around me, shit... so, so good...
Summary: Two coworkers who’ve been keeping things “just physical” start to realize it’s not that simple. When a med student shows interest in you, Robby’s jealousy slips out at work, and the tension between you two finally boils over after their shift.
Tags: Friends with Benefits, Jealousy, Robby's Possessive Streak Shows, Semi-Public Sex, Biting, Marking, Hurt/Comfort, Hair Pulling, Cunnilingus, Safe Sex, Bar Bathroom Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rough Sex, Mutual Pining, They're Idiots, Toxic-ish Relationship
dividers by saradika-graphics & viviansturns
You finish suturing the last laceration on your patient. Your fingers move with practiced precision, muscle memory taking over while your mind drifts.
"Nice work, Doctor." The voice pulls you back. You glance up to find Jeremy, the new fourth-year med student on his ED rotation, standing closer than necessary. His smile is warm, interested. "Your technique is really impressive. I was hoping maybe you could show me some of your approach to more complex lacerations? Maybe over coffee sometime?"
You're about to respond when you feel it—that prickle of awareness that means Robby's nearby. You don't have to look to know he's standing at the nurses' station, probably pretending to review charts while his jaw does that thing it does when he's pissed.
"Sure, Jeremy. We can go over it during your next shift," you say, keeping your tone professional, friendly but not too friendly.
Jeremy's hand lands on your arm, just above your elbow. Light. Casual. Completely appropriate. "That would be amazing. You're really great at teaching. Not everyone takes the time, you know?"
You do know. You remember your own rotations, the attendings who treated students like inconveniences rather than future colleagues. You smile at Jeremy because he's a good kid, eager to learn, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with being encouraging.
But you also feel the weight of Robby's stare like a physical thing.
"McKay needs you in Trauma 2," Robby's voice cuts across the space, sharp and clipped. You turn to find him standing with his arms crossed, his expression carefully neutral in that way that means he's anything but. "Now."
Jeremy's hand drops from your arm. "I'll catch you later," he says, that easy smile still in place.
You nod and head toward Trauma 2, very aware of Robby's presence as he falls into step beside you. His shoulder nearly brushes yours—closer than colleagues usually walk, but not close enough to be obvious.
"McKay doesn't need me, does she?" you ask quietly.
"She does now." His voice is low, meant only for you. "I'll make sure of it."
You want to call him on his bullshit, but you're in the middle of the ED with nurses and residents and patients everywhere. So you bite your tongue and push through the trauma bay doors.
Cassie looks up from her patient, surprise flickering across her face. "Oh, hey. I didn't page you."
"Robby said you needed help," you reply, shooting him a look.
She glances between you both, and you can see the moment she decides not to ask questions. "Well, since you're here, want to help me with this chest tube?"
You scrub in, grateful for the distraction. The work is what matters—the medicine, the patients, the lives you save. Not whatever complicated mess you and Robby have created between you.
Except it is complicated. It's been three months since that first night when you both stayed late finishing day/night trade off, and he'd asked if you wanted to grab a drink. One drink became three, and three drinks became his hands in your hair in the parking lot, became frantic kisses and fumbling with keys at his apartment, became the best sex of your life on his couch because you couldn't even make it to the bedroom.
"Just physical," you'd both agreed the next morning. "No strings. No feelings. Just blowing off steam."
For the first month, it really was that simple. You'd text him after a bad shift—or he'd text you—and one of you would show up at the other's door. You never stayed the night. You never talked about anything real. The sex was intense and necessary and uncomplicated.
Then the patterns started. Small things. He began bringing you coffee during overnight shifts—your order exactly right, down to the extra shot of espresso. You started keeping a spare toothbrush at his place, and he never commented on it. After particularly brutal traumas, you'd find each other without even needing to text first, like you could sense when the other one needed the release.
Two months in, he started staying after. Not the whole night—just an hour or two, lying in your bed or on his couch, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your skin while you both stared at the ceiling in silence. You told yourself it was still just physical. That the comfort of another body nearby didn't mean anything.
But then last week, you'd shown up at his apartment after a pediatric code you couldn't save, and instead of pulling you toward the bedroom, he'd just held you. Wrapped his arms around you in the doorway and let you break apart against his chest. He didn't try to fix it or fuck it away. He just held you until you could breathe again, then made you tea and sat with you on the couch until dawn.
You didn't have sex that night. You fell asleep against his shoulder, and when you woke up, he'd covered you with a blanket and was still there, watching you with an expression you couldn't read.
That's when you knew the arrangement had shifted into something you couldn't control. Something that felt dangerously close to real.
And now Jeremy is smiling at you and Robby's acting like a jealous boyfriend, and you can't pretend anymore that this is just about blowing off steam.
The motorcycle accident is the worst—a twenty-three-year-old with internal bleeding. You're already reaching for the chest tube kit before Robby even asks for it, and he's got the ultrasound ready the second you need to confirm placement.
"Pressure's dropping," you say, watching the monitor.
"Two units O-neg, push one of epi," he finishes, already drawing up the syringe. His hands are steady, his voice calm. "On my count for the tube. Three, two—"
You insert it on one, because you know his rhythm, know he always goes early. The patient's oxygen saturation climbs. You exchange a look—brief, satisfied. This is what you're good at. This is where you make sense.
"Nice work," he says quietly, and there's something in his eyes that has nothing to do with the save.
Then Jeremy pokes his head in. "Need any help in here?"
"We're good," Robby says, too quickly, too sharp.
The rest of the shift, that tension builds. In the way Robby's eyes track you across the ED whenever Jeremy's nearby. In the way he snaps at Jesse for something minor—so unlike his usual demeanor that Jesse actually looks hurt.
Garcia notices too. "What's up with Rabbitbitch today?" she asks during a rare quiet moment. "He's been a bear all shift."
You shrug, aiming for casual. "Tough cases, maybe."
"Maybe." But Yolanda's look says she's not convinced.
By the time your shift ends, you're exhausted—physically, emotionally, all of it. You change out of your scrubs in the locker room, pulling on jeans and a soft sweater, and you're just grabbing your jacket when Jeremy appears.
"Hey! I was hoping I'd catch you." He's changed too, looking younger in normal clothes. "A few of us are grabbing food at that Thai place on Forbes. Want to come?"
It's innocent. Completely innocent. Just colleagues getting food after a shift.
But you see Robby over Jeremy's shoulder, coming out of the men's locker room, and the look on his face is anything but innocent.
"Thanks, but I'm pretty beat," you say. "Rain check?"
Jeremy's smile doesn't falter. "Sure, absolutely. See you next shift."
He leaves, and you're left standing there with Robby, the locker room emptying around you until it's just the two of you.
"You should have gone," Robby says finally. His voice is carefully neutral again, but there's an edge to it.
"I didn't want to."
"Right." He moves past you toward the exit, and you should let him go. You should go home, take a hot shower, fall into bed alone. You should let whatever this is burn itself out.
Instead, you follow him.
"What's your problem today?" you ask, catching up to him in the hallway.
"No problem." He doesn't slow down.
"Bullshit. You've been acting weird all shift."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
You grab his arm, forcing him to stop. The hallway is empty, but you lower your voice anyway. "The thing with Cassie. Snapping at Jesse. You've been watching me like—"
"Like what?" He turns to face you fully now, and there's something dangerous in his eyes.
"Like you're jealous."
The word hangs between you. You've said it out loud now, named the thing you've both been dancing around.
Robby's jaw tightens. "That's not—we're not—"
"I know what we're not," you cut him off. "You've made that very clear. No strings, remember? No feelings. Just sex."
"That's what you wanted too."
"I know." And you did want that. You do want that. Except somewhere along the way, it stopped being enough. Somewhere between the late-night calls and the way he brings you coffee exactly how you like it and the way he touches you like you're something precious even when he's fucking you hard enough to leave bruises—somewhere in all of that, the lines got blurred.
But you're not about to admit that. Not when he's looking at you like this, like he wants to argue and kiss you in equal measure.
"Jeremy's just a med student," you say. "He's friendly. That's all."
"He wants to fuck you."
The bluntness of it makes you blink. "So what if he does? We're not together, Robby. You don't get to—"
"I know." He steps closer. "I know I don't get to. That's the problem."
Your heart is pounding now. "What are you saying?"
But he's already pulling back, that neutral mask sliding into place. "Nothing. Forget it. I'm just tired."
"Robby—"
"I'll see you next shift." He turns and walks away, and this time you let him go.
You end up at Molly's because where else are you going to go? It's the bar where half the hospital staff drinks, a nice place with fairy lights hanging over head and a jukebox that only plays songs from the '80s. But the whiskey is cheap, and the bartender doesn't ask questions, and right now that's exactly what you need.
You're two drinks in when Santos slides onto the stool next to you. "Rough shift?"
"Something like that."
Trinity orders a beer, and for a few minutes, you both just sit there in companionable silence. She's good at that—knowing when to talk and when to just be present.
"Saw Robby tear into Jesse today," she says eventually. "Not like him."
You take another sip of whiskey. "Everyone has bad days."
"True." Santos studies you with those sharp eyes that miss nothing. "You two okay?"
"We're fine."
"Right." The way she says it makes it clear she knows there's more to the story, but she doesn't push. "Well, if you need to talk..."
"I'm good. Thanks, though."
Santos nods and takes her beer to a table where Whittaker, Princess, and Garcia are playing darts. You're grateful for the quietness, for the chance to sit with your thoughts and your whiskey and try to figure out what the hell you're doing.
The thing is, you knew this would happen eventually. You knew that "no strings" was a lie people tell themselves, that sex without feelings only works until it doesn't. You've seen it play out a dozen times with friends, with colleagues. You thought you'd be different. You thought you could keep it simple.
But nothing about Robby is simple.
He's brilliant and infuriating. He pushes you to be better, challenges you, and trusts you with his most critical patients. He's saved your ass more times than you can count, and you've saved his right back. You know how he takes his coffee and what cases keep him up at night and the exact sound he makes when he comes.
You know him. And he knows you. And that's the problem.
You're signaling the bartender for another drink when you feel it again—that awareness that prickles down your spine. You don't have to turn around to know Robby just walked in.
He spots you immediately. Of course he does. You watch in the mirror behind the bar as he hesitates, as he clearly debates whether to leave or stay. Then his jaw sets in that stubborn way you know too well, and he walks over.
"Didn't expect to see you here," he says, sliding onto the stool Santos vacated.
"Liar. You knew exactly where I'd be."
The corner of his mouth twitches. Almost a smile. "Yeah. I did."
The bartender comes over, and Robby orders his usual—bourbon, neat. You sit in tense silence until the drink arrives, until he's taken a sip and set the glass down carefully.
"I'm sorry," he says finally. "About today. I was out of line."
"Yeah, you were."
"It won't happen again."
You turn to look at him fully. "Won't it?"
His fingers tighten around his glass. "What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to tell me the truth. I want you to tell me why you've been acting like this."
"I already told you—"
"Bullshit." You keep your voice low, but there's heat in it now. "You've been weird for weeks, Robby. Ever since Jeremy started his rotation. And don't tell me it's nothing, because I know you. I know when something's bothering you."
"You don't know everything."
"Then tell me."
He drains half his bourbon in one swallow. "You really want to do this here?"
"I want to do this somewhere. Because this—" you gesture between you both, "—whatever this is, it's not working anymore."
Something flashes in his eyes. Anger, maybe. Or fear. "So what, you want to end it?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then what are you saying?"
"I'm saying we need to talk about what's actually happening here instead of pretending it's still just casual sex."
"It is just casual sex." But his voice lacks conviction.
"Is it? Because the way you looked at Jeremy today, the way you've been looking at me—that's not casual, Robby. That's not 'no strings.'"
He sets his glass down hard enough that the bartender glances over. "You want me to apologize for giving a shit? Fine. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't just turn it off like you apparently can."
"Turn what off?"
"This." He gestures sharply between you. "Us. Whatever the fuck this is."
Your heart is racing now. "I never said I could turn it off."
"No? Because you seem pretty comfortable with Jeremy's hands all over you."
"He touched my arm, Robby. Once. And even if he did more than that, even if I wanted him to—which I don't—you don't get to be jealous. That's not part of our arrangement."
"Fuck the arrangement." His voice is rough, raw. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't know I have no right to feel this way?"
"Then why do you?"
The question hangs between you. Around you, the bar continues its usual rhythm—laughter from the dart game, the clink of glasses, someone feeding quarters into the jukebox. But in your little bubble, there's only silence and tension and the weight of everything you've both been avoiding.
"Because I'm an idiot," Robby says finally. "Because I thought I could do this—thought I could have you like this and it would be enough. But it's not. It's not enough, and I hate that, and I hate that I'm the one breaking the rules we both agreed to."
Your breath catches. "Robby—"
"Forget it." He stands abruptly, throwing cash on the bar. "This was a mistake. I should go."
"Don't." You grab his wrist. "Don't run away from this."
"I'm not running. I'm giving you an out. You wanted casual, and I can't do casual anymore. So we end it, and we go back to being co-workers, and we both move on."
"And if I don't want to end it?"
His eyes search yours, "Then what do you want?"
It's the question you've been avoiding asking yourself. What do you want? The safe answer is to agree with him, to end this before it gets messier. To protect yourself, protect your working relationship, protect your heart.
But you're so tired of safe.
"I want you to stop pretending you don't care," you say. "I want you to stop acting like this is just about sex when we both know it stopped being just about sex weeks ago."
"And then what? We date? We try to make this into something real while working together, while the whole hospital watches and gossips? You know how that ends."
"No, I don't. Neither do you."
"I've seen it end badly enough times."
"So we don't try? We just walk away because it might be hard?"
He yanks his wrist from your grip, and this time there's real anger in the movement. "You don't get it. You think this is about being scared of hard? I can't fucking think straight when you're around. I can't do my job when I'm watching him put his hands on you."
"He touched my arm, Robby. Once."
"And you smiled at him like—" He cuts himself off, jaw clenching so hard you can see the muscle jump. "Fuck this. I'm not doing this with you."
"Not doing what? Actually talking about what's happening between us?"
"There's nothing happening between us. That was the whole fucking point." But he's not leaving. He's standing there, hands curled into fists, looking at you like he wants to either strangle you or kiss you.
Maybe both.
"You're such a liar," you say, and you can hear the anger creeping into your own voice now. "You've been acting like a jealous asshole all day, and now you want to pretend it doesn't mean anything?"
"What do you want me to say?" He steps closer, and there's nothing tender about it. "That I wanted to put my fist through his face when he touched you? That I've been thinking about fucking you in front of him just to make it clear who you belong to?"
"I don't belong to anyone."
"No?" His smile is sharp, cruel. "Then why are you still standing here? Why aren't you going home with him?"
"Fuck you, Robby."
"That's what I thought." He turns to leave again, and this time you don't just grab his wrist—you shove him. Hard.
He barely moves, but he turns back to you with something dangerous in his eyes. "Don't."
"Don't what? Don't call you on your bullshit? Don't point out that you're the one who can't handle this?"
"You have no idea what I can handle."
"Then show me." You're in his space now, close enough to feel the heat coming off him. "Stop running away and show me."
For a moment, you think he might actually leave. Then his hand is in your hair, gripping hard enough to make you gasp, and he's kissing you like he wants to hurt you with it. It's all teeth and anger, nothing soft about it.
You kiss him back just as hard, biting his lip until you taste copper. He makes a sound that's half growl, half groan, and then he's walking you backward toward the hallway.
"Bathroom," he says against your mouth. "Now."
You don't argue. You let him push you through the bar, past the curious stares, into the dimly lit hallway. The moment you're out of sight, he has you against the wall, his body pinning yours, one hand still fisted in your hair.
"This what you want?" His voice is rough, angry. "Want me to lose control? Want me to show you exactly how not-fucking-casual this is?"
"Yes." You grab his shirt, pulling him closer even as you glare at him. "Stop talking and do it."
His laugh is dark. "Careful what you wish for."
Then his mouth is on your neck, and there's nothing gentle about it. He bites down hard enough to leave marks, sucks bruises into your skin like he's trying to brand you. His free hand grips your hip, fingers digging in with bruising force.
"Everyone's going to see these," he says against your throat. "Going to know someone fucked you up."
"Good." You rake your nails down his back through his shirt. "Maybe then you'll stop acting like you don't give a shit."
"I give too much of a shit. That's the fucking problem." He pulls back just enough to look at you, and his eyes are wild. "I can't stop thinking about you. Can't stop wanting you. And I hate it. I hate that you have this much power over me."
The door opens and he pushes you inside, slamming it behind you and flipping the lock. Before you can say anything else, he has you pressed against the door, his hands already working at your jeans with rough, impatient movements.
"This doesn't fix anything," he says, popping the button with more force than necessary. "This doesn't make us okay."
"I know."
"We're still fucked after this."
"I know." You're working at his belt now, just as rough, just as desperate. "I don't care."
He shoves your jeans and underwear down your thighs in one rough motion, not bothering to be careful. His hand slides between your legs, and he makes a sound of dark satisfaction when he finds you already wet.
"You're soaked," he says, his voice breaking on the words. "Even now. Even when we're tearing each other apart."
Then he drops to his knees, and the sight of him looking up at you from the filthy bathroom floor is devastating.
"I need—" His voice cracks. "I need to taste you. Need to remember this."
Before you can respond, his mouth is on you, and it's desperate rather than cruel. He knows exactly what you like, exactly how much pressure, exactly where to focus his attention. Your hands fly to his hair, gripping hard, and the pleasure builds fast—too fast.
"Robby—" Your legs are shaking, your whole body trembling as the orgasm crashes over you with devastating force. You're dimly aware of crying out, of your fingers tightening in his hair.
He pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he looks up at you. There's something raw and broken in his expression.
"Look at you," he says, standing slowly. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing away a tear. "Completely wrecked. And we haven't even fucked yet." He leans in, inhaling deeply against your neck. "God, I'm never going to forget this. The way you smell when you come. I think about it during handoffs, during breaks. Drive myself crazy with it."
"You're cruel," you whisper.
"Yeah." He leans in close, his lips brushing your ear. "And you're still here. Still want me inside you even after I made you cry. What does that say about you?"
You don't have an answer. Can't form words when your body is still trembling with aftershocks.
Suddenly gaining a backbone and not wanting him to be calling all of the shots. You gain some confidence back. And instead of walking away like any normal right-minded person would, you instead grab his shirt and pull him closer, forcing him to look at you. "I want to see your face when you fuck me," you say, and there's steel in your voice now. "I want you to look at me and remember who's letting you do this."
Something flashes in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or satisfaction. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." You start working at his belt, your hands steadier now despite everything. "And I want to make sure everyone knows what we did. So they can see the marks I leave on you."
"Possessive," he says, but his breathing has quickened.
"You started it." You shove his pants down, then reach for the condom wrapper he's already pulled from his pocket. "Now shut up and fuck me."
You tear it open, rolling it onto him with deliberate slowness, watching his jaw clench with impatience. Then you hop up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he pins you against the door.
"Last chance to tell me to stop," he says, and there's something almost desperate in his voice now.
"Don't stop. Don't you dare fucking stop."
He pushes in hard, one brutal thrust that makes you cry out. There's no tenderness, no careful working up to it. Just him filling you completely, stretching you, claiming you in the most primal way possible.
"Fuck," he breathes, and you can see every emotion flickering across his face—anger, need, something that might be pain.
"That's right," you say, leaning in to bite down hard on his neck. "Feel that? That's going to bruise. Everyone's going to see it."
He groans, his hips snapping forward with punishing force. "You're insane."
"And you love it." You bite him again, lower this time, right where his collar won't cover it. You can taste salt and feel his pulse racing under your teeth.
"Jesus Christ." His hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back so he can look at you. "You're going to be the death of me. I'm too old for this shit—fucking you in a bar bathroom like I'm twenty-five again."
"Good." You dig your nails into his shoulders, dragging them down his back hard enough to leave scratches. "Maybe then you'll stop pretending you don't care."
"I never said I didn't care." He slams into you harder, the angle deep and devastating. "I said we should end this. That I should know better than to corrupt someone your age."
"Corrupt me?" You bite his collarbone, his shoulder, anywhere you can reach. "You think you're corrupting me? I'm the one marking you up like I own you."
"Yeah, you are." His voice drops lower, rougher. "And I'm sick enough to love it. To want everyone to see what you do to me. To know that someone half my age has me this fucked up." He thrusts harder. "I should walk away. Should let you find someone appropriate. But I can't stop thinking about you—about this—about how you feel, how you sound when you come."
"Then stop fucking me in bar bathrooms." You bite his lower lip hard enough to make him hiss. "Stop looking at me like you want to murder anyone who touches me. Stop—"
He cuts you off with a brutal kiss, all teeth and anger and desperation. When he pulls back, you immediately lean in to bite his lower lip hard enough to make him hiss.
"Fuck, you're vicious."
Your nails rake down his back again, and you feel him shudder. "You like that I fight back. That I'm not some sweet little thing who'll just take whatever you give."
"Yeah, I do." His hand slides between you, finding your oversensitive clit, and you gasp. "I like that you're as fucked up as I am. That you want this just as much."
"Maybe I do." You bite his neck again, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. "Maybe I want Jeremy to see what I did to you."
"Thought you didn't care about him."
"I don't." Another bite, this time on his jaw. "But you do. You care that he looks at me. That he makes me laugh. That he might touch me the way you do."
"Shut up." But his rhythm is faltering, his breathing ragged.
"Make me." You dig your nails in deeper, feeling him thrust harder in response. "Or admit that you're jealous. That you want me to be yours even though we're not supposed to be anything."
"You want me to admit it?" He angles his hips differently, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "Fine. I'm jealous. I'm fucking jealous of every person who gets to touch you, talk to you, make you smile. Happy now?"
"No." You bite down on his shoulder hard enough to make him groan. "Because you're still going to walk away after this."
"What do you want from me?" His fingers press harder against your clit, and you can feel your orgasm building again despite the oversensitivity. "You want me to tell you I'm losing my fucking mind? That I can't do this anymore—can't pretend it's just physical when I want to murder anyone who looks at you?"
Your breath catches. "Robby—"
"I can't let you go." His voice breaks on the words, raw and desperate. "I've tried. I can't."
You clench around him deliberately, watching his eyes go dark. "Then stop trying."
His fingers work faster, his thrusts becoming erratic, and when your orgasm hits it's with his name on your lips and your teeth in his skin. You feel him follow seconds later, his grip on you bruising, his face buried in your neck.
For a long moment, there's nothing but harsh breathing and the muffled sound of the bar beyond the door. Then Robby pulls out, and the loss of contact feels like abandonment.
You both clean up in tense silence. He disposes of the condom while you pull your jeans back up with shaking hands. When you finally turn to face him, his expression is carefully blank.
"So," you say, and you hate how uncertain your voice sounds. "What now?"
He's already tucking his shirt back in, but when he looks at you, there's something decisive in his eyes. "Now you're coming home with me."
It's not a question. Not even close.
"Excuse me?" You cross your arms, even though your legs are still shaky. "You don't get to just—"
"I'm not leaving you here." He steps closer, crowding you against the sink. "Not after that."
"Maybe I want another drink."
"Bullshit." His hand comes up to your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. "You want to go back out there and pretend this didn't happen? Fine. But you're doing it from my place, not here where every resident in the hospital can watch you."
"Possessive much?" But your pulse is racing, and you know he can feel it under his thumb.
"You literally just marked me up like I'm your property," he says, and there's dark amusement in his voice now. "Don't act surprised that I'm returning the favor."
"That's different."
"How?"
"Because—" You falter, because you don't actually have a good answer. "Because you're being an asshole about it."
"And you weren't?" He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "You bit me hard enough to draw blood. Told me you wanted everyone to see what you did to me. That's not exactly subtle."
"You started it," you say, but it sounds weak even to your own ears.
"Yeah, I did." He pulls back just enough to look at you. "And I'm finishing it. Get your coat. We're leaving."
"What if I say no?"
"Then I'll wait." His thumb traces your lower lip. "I'll go back out there, sit at that bar, and watch you try to have a normal conversation with your friends while you're still shaking from what we just did. Watch you squirm every time you move and feel how sore you are. All while you're thinking about me."
"You're unbelievable."
"And you're coming home with me." It's not a question this time either. "Because we both know you're not done with me yet. And I'm sure as hell not done with you."
You should tell him to go to hell. Should walk out of this bathroom, go back to your friends just to prove a point.
But Robby's looking at you like he'll burn the whole bar down if anyone else touches you tonight, and something in you responds to that with a heat that should probably concern you.
"Fine," you say, and you make sure it sounds like a concession rather than the surrender it actually is. "But I'm not staying over."
"We'll see." He unlocks the door, then pauses.
You should be angry. Should tell him he doesn't own you, doesn't get to dictate where you go or who you talk to.
Instead, you grab your coat from the hook by the door. "You're paying for the Uber."
"Done." His hand finds the small of your back, possessive and warm. "Anything else?"
"Yeah." You look up at him, making sure he sees the challenge in your eyes. "This doesn't mean anything. We're still ending this."
"Sure we are." But his smile is sharp, knowing. "Keep telling yourself that."
He guides you out of the bathroom, his hand never leaving your back. You catch a glimpse of the bar—McKay talking to Santos, Pincess laughing at something Whittaker said. Robby steers you toward the side exit before anyone can notice.
The Pittsburgh night hits you like a slap, cold and sharp. You pull your coat tighter while Robby pulls out his phone to call a car.
"Five minutes," he says, pocketing it.
You stand there in tense silence, breath fogging in the air between you. The adrenaline from the bathroom is fading, leaving behind something rawer. More uncertain.
The Uber pulls up—a silver Camry with a tired-looking driver who doesn't even glance at you. Robby opens the door, waiting.
You could still walk away. Go back inside, finish your drink, let this be what it was—angry bathroom sex that doesn't mean anything.
But you slide into the car, and Robby follows, his thigh pressing against yours in the cramped backseat, and then you're moving, the bar disappearing behind you.
The silence stretches. You stare out the window at the passing streetlights, hyperaware of every point where your body touches his.
"I meant what I said in there." Robby's voice is quiet, almost lost under the hum of the engine. "I can't do casual anymore."
Your heart stutters. You keep your eyes on the window. "Robby—"
"I need to know what you want." He shifts to face you, and you can feel his gaze on the side of your face. "Not what you think you should want. Not what's safe or smart or whatever bullshit excuse you're going to give me. What do you actually want?"
"That's not fair."
"None of this is fair." His hand finds yours in the dark, fingers threading through yours with devastating gentleness. "But I'm done pretending I don't care. Done acting like this is just stress relief or whatever the fuck we've been calling it."
You finally turn to look at him. In the dim light from passing cars, his face is open in a way you've never seen—no walls, no defenses. Just Robby, looking at you like you're the only thing that matters.
"You're going to break my heart," you whisper.
"Maybe." His thumb traces circles on the back of your hand. "Or maybe we'll break each other's. But I'd rather have that than keep doing this—pretending I don't want to wake up next to you. Pretending I don't think about you every second we're not together."
Your throat tightens. "We work together. If this goes bad—"
"It might." He doesn't look away. "But it's already bad. We're already a disaster. At least this way we're honest about it."
The car turns onto his street. You're running out of time to decide.
"I don't know how to do this," you admit, and your voice cracks on the words. "I don't know how to be with someone like this—someone who makes me feel like I'm losing my mind."
"Then we'll figure it out together." He squeezes your hand. "But I need to hear you say it. What do you want?"
The car pulls up to his building. The driver's already reaching for his phone, pointedly ignoring you both.
You look at Robby—at this man who's seen you at your worst and somehow still wants you. Who knows exactly how fucked up you both are and isn't running.
"I want you," you say, and it comes out steadier than you expected. "Not just tonight. Not just when we're angry or scared or trying to forget. I want to try this for real, even though it terrifies me."
Something in his expression breaks open—relief and joy and fear all tangled together. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." You lean in, pressing your forehead to his. "But if you ever pull that jealous bullshit with Jeremy again, I'm going to kill you."
He laughs, soft and surprised. "Fair enough."
"And we're telling people. No more sneaking around like we're ashamed of this."
His thumb brushes across your cheekbone, and his eyes are so soft it makes your chest ache. "I want that. I want everyone to know you're mine."
"You're so fucking dramatic."
"You love it." But his smile falters slightly, and he catches your hand against his face, holding it there. "I do mean it, though. All of it. I know I'm a mess, and I know I'll probably fuck this up in a hundred different ways, but—"
"Robby." You press your thumb against his lips, silencing him. "I'm a mess too. We'll fuck it up together."
The driver clears his throat. "You folks getting out, or...?"
You both scramble out of the car, and Robby tips him extra—probably out of guilt for making him witness that. Then you're standing on the sidewalk, the night air cold against your flushed skin, and suddenly everything feels different. Real in a way it never has before.
Robby's still holding your hand. He hasn't let go since the bar.
"So," he says, and there's something almost nervous in his expression now—vulnerable in a way you've never seen him. "Come upstairs? We could just... talk. Or not talk. Whatever you need."
It's such a departure from every other time—from the urgency and the desperation and the unspoken agreement that you'd both leave before morning. This is him offering you space to stay. To be present. To build something that lasts beyond a single night.
"Hey," he says, and his free hand comes up to cup your jaw. "Thank you. For giving this a chance. For giving us a chance."
"Yeah," you say softly. "I'd like that."
His smile is brilliant and relieved, and he tugs you toward the entrance. But before you reach the door, he stops, turning back to face you fully.
Your throat tightens. "Don't make me regret it."
"I'll try my best not to." He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead—gentle and reverent, nothing like the frantic desperation in the bathroom. "I promise I'll try."
And somehow, you believe him.
Because this is messy and complicated and probably a terrible idea and you're both disasters and this could blow up spectacularly. But his hand is warm in yours, and when you look at him, he's looking back like you're something precious. Something worth fighting for.
summary: Dennis activates something that’s been dormant in Jack for years
word count: 2.5k
ao3
warnings: a/b/o dynamics (alpha dennis, omega jack), porn with plot; a lot of plot, age gap, breeding kink, porn with feelings
a/n: this idea came to me and i needed to share it with you all. also i know i said id get my joel fic out but like…i was locked in
masterlist
Jack hadn’t had a heat in almost 15 years, the army effected his cycle alongside his age. So it wasn’t a shock whenever he stopped having his heat in his mid thirties, it was honestly longer than he’d expected to have them. He never had an issue with it, his scent was still there—although in recent years it’s faded to almost nothing due to his age— and he assumed he couldn’t carry, which was perfect for him. Jack never planned to have kids, even with his ex wife, he just didn’t want the burden of pups.
Whenever the Pitt Fest shooting happened, Jacks scent was practically nonexistent. With the lack of scent and not being able to smell others scents as easily, he did his job a lot faster than say the new med student; Dennis Whitaker. The kid was half of Jacks age and acted like he got his second gender a year before. He was still very wary around patients that come in for heat related issues, and was very territorial of everyone else who worked in the hospital—specifically the ER. Jack didn’t bother caring about that though. The kid worked days and Jack worked nights, the only time they’d cross paths after this was during shift change.
During the mass casualty event, Jack caught Dennis getting awfully close to him. He didn’t understand why. The kid seemed to just be curious or needing help so he didn’t understand, until he was outside on the roof with Robby. After he’d finally talked his friend down, Robby spoke up with a laugh “You spend time with Whitaker?” Jack stared over confused “He’s just been kinda hovering, but not enough for you to notice” Robby hummed as he walked “You think he’s taken a liking to you?” He laughed until his ribs ached, shaking his head “You’re funny brother”
It wasn’t until that night while Jack laid in bed, part of him aching, did he realize the young alpha was scenting him. He probably didn’t even notice it either. That’s what was dangerous. He needed to put distance between the kid and himself.
When he’d finally gotten back to work he stopped by his locker first, pausing at the small trinkets inside. Jack knew exactly who it was, he wondered how the hell they got in there though. Robby. The man thought it was funny that Dennis took such a liking to Jack, but Jack didn’t find it humorous in the slightest. Although, the one large item he noticed didn’t seem too bad. An older jacket, it fit him perfectly, must’ve been huge on Whitaker. He slid it on, almost instinctively pressing his nose to the collar where the kids scent glands would’ve been when he wore it. Jack was never getting rid of this.
After his shift Jack was exhausted, but he had to see the young alphas reaction to him in the jacket. First though, he slid a small piece of paper into Dennis’ locker. He stood at the nurses station, just covering his waiting as checking up on patients. When he heard that familiar laugh he smiled slightly, just continuing to go over his patient charts. He turned his head and saw Dennis and Santos—another med student he’d noticed during Pitt Fest— both standing and staring at him. Dennis’ face was red, he was absolutely frozen, while Trinity seemed more confused; confused why Dennis was acting like that and why the hell the nightshift attending had Dennis’ old jacket. Jack started to walk over, he didn’t even know what for, but Dennis almost immediately left to the bathroom. Poor boy. It was almost hilarious how pathetic he seemed for an alpha.
Jack made it back to his place exhausted. He tossed his stuff down onto the floor beside the door, taking off his prosthetic and grabbing his crutches. He made his way to his room, changing into sweatpants and a hoodie, tossing Dennis’ jacket onto the bed. He opened his curtains and window slightly, purring at the breeze. He got comfortable under his covers, holding the jacket to his nose as he fell asleep.
Whenever Jack woke up it was already 4pm, the windows of his room cracked open to let the cool air in. He sat up and grabbed the crutches he kept by his bed, making his way up and to the kitchen. He made himself breakfast—which was technically an early dinner according to time—and sat back in his living room. He put his glasses on and read while he ate, once again subconsciously leaning into the scent of the jacket he was still wearing. Jack had finished his food, nose still buried in the jacket collar. He purred when he found exactly where it would’ve rest against Dennis’ scent gland. It didn’t take long before he’d fallen asleep to the smell of the young alpha.
It was well past dark whenever he woke up to a text, a groan as he looked around for his glasses. He found them resting on his chest. Jack put them aside and grabbed his phone. 7pm. He definitely didn’t plan to fall asleep, let alone for hours. He checked the text—an unknown number— and huffed after
hey jack, it’s dennis
Jack laughed, grabbing his crutches from beside the couch and sliding his phone into his pocket. He made his way to his room, slumping onto his bed
Hey kiddo, you mean to leave your jacket in my locker?
yeah sorry…i’ll take it back if you need me to
Don’t worry about it.
Jack wasn’t surprised after the conversation with Dennis, he already knew that the kid had no idea what he was doing. He could tell the alpha didn’t purposefully court and scent him, but he was still doing it. Jack laid back, head turned towards his window. He slid the jacket off, holding it above his face. The scent calming him from any nerves he’d seemed to have. Part of Jack wondered why all of a sudden he could smell scents; especially Dennis’. But that other part didn’t care, just wanting more of the boys sweet scent.
Jack looked around his room, a soft hum as he sat up. He took all of his blankets off and pushed them to the side, slowly starting to arrange the blankets. It took him at least an hour to get it exactly how he wanted it. He smiled as he laid the jacket right by his pillow, purring as he laid down in his nest. While he buried his face in the jacket he wondered the last time he made a nest. It had to be at least 20 years ago before he joined the army.
It was that next night he noticed it. That itchy heat under his skin. Jack brushed it off, he had a job to do. He wasn’t doing this now. He put a scent patch on before he left the house, already annoyed. He’d lost Dennis’ scent in the jacket by the time he woke up, having smelt it all day and night. By the time he got to the hospital he was already beyond irritated. The waiting room was packed, and he could already smell the scent of other omegas easily. He had a headache. What didn’t help was the arguing he heard as soon as he got into the emergency room. There was an alpha yelling at a nurse, shoving her around while he reeked of rut. Jack covered his nose in disgust, shaking his head as he started his way to the lockers.
Before he even got to his locker though, he heard Dennis. He tensed, immediately going back over, scoping out the interaction. “Sir I’m going to need you to step back. We cannot treat you in rut if you deny medication” The man barked back at Dennis “I have a burn, you’re fucking doctors!” After he yelled he shoved Dennis back, and without thinking Jack went up and swung. He stepped back, his knuckles aching. Everyone just stared, Jack acting aggressive wasn’t like him at all. Dennis ignored the alphas shouting, grabbing Jack and pulling him to the staff room.
Dennis sat him down, kneeling in front of him. He let off that scent Jack had been chasing for hours. Dennis took Jacks hand and looked over his knuckles. He tensed as he looked up to him “Are you okay, Doctor Abbot?” Jack hummed as he looked down, nodding. Dennis shook his head and got up, grabbing Jacks hand “You need to go home Jack” Jack shook his head, trying to get up. Dennis grabbed his arm “I’ll take you home” Jack could tell he was asking, but needed to seem like he had some control. He just nodded as the left. “You go to your car, I’ll be out there in a minute” He let Jack go before going to the nurses station.
Dennis waited for the nightshift charge nurse, rubbing his face with his palms. He could smell Jacks heat and he knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself in the car with him for that long. When he finally calmed himself after having talked to the charge nurse, letting her know Jack would be out, he got out to the car and slid into the drivers seat. “Everyone can smell you Jack” He mumbled as he started to Jacks house.
Dennis didn’t know what happened. His hand was fumbling with Jacks scrubs and stroking his cock before they even made it out of town to Jacks cabin. He could smell the slick, the heat, Jack. Jack was all he was thinking about. Dennis barely made it to Jacks place, helping him out of the car and following him to his room. Jack stood nervously at the door as Dennis inspected the nest, hands in his pockets and cheeks red. He smiled and hummed as he watched Dennis kick off his shoes and climb into the nest.
Jack followed, taking off his shirt as he did. Once he rested into the nest he let Dennis take his scrub pants off, then guided him to get his prosthetic off. It took a bit and some giggles but once it was off they were back on eachother like animals; like the animals they were. Dennis gently ran his fingers up Jacks amputated leg, all the way up to his cock. He kissed the older man deeply, pulling him into his lap and grinding up against his leaking hole. “You’re already leaking Doctor Abbot…” He hummed, smelling the spike in Jacks scent at him calling him doctor.
Jack whimpered, trying to get his shirt off while he kissed Dennis. He tossed the shirt aside, Dennis pausing as he stared. “Shit-“ He purred as he looked at the stretch marks and scars over Jacks body. It drove him crazy. He kissed Jacks pecs, his chin rubbing against the salt and pepper stubble against his chest. He eyed him up, then kissed up to his scent gland. He rubbed his own against Jacks, scenting him directly. Jack purred with a smile, closing his eyes.
Dennis laid Jack on his back gently, then carefully got his boxers off and tossed them aside with his shirt. He paused and looked down at the mass amount of slick against Jacks hole and thighs. He pulled the older man’s legs around his hips, the one a bit of a struggle more than the other, but got comfortable. He stroked his cock, then carefully lined up with Jacks hole “You’re so pretty like this Doctor Abbot…you’re so beautiful” He hummed as he slowly pushed into Jack, whines coming from under him “My pretty omega” He purred
Jack wrapped his arms around Dennis’ neck, holding onto him as he looked into his eyes. Dennis slowly thrusted, the slick from Jack making it all easier for both of them. Dennis kept his head down on Jack, fucking into him deep and slow. He ducked his head down, kissing Jack slowly. His cross tangling with Jacks dog tags, another laughable moment between the two—even while Dennis was still fucking him. They slowly untangled the chains around both their necks, a soft giggle from Jack when Dennis’ cross hit his nose.
The scent of Jacks heat filled Dennis’ nose subtly, he knew it wasn’t long before they were both fucking like animals, no rhyme or reason, just primal instinct. He already felt himself slowly get riled up at Jacks scent, part of him worried for a rut, the other part begged for it, to share his first time in rut with Jack while he was in heat. It seemed almost poetic.
Jack was old and it was his first heat in years, he was struggling to not finish. Dennis could tell, he could smell the pre cum dripping from his cock. He leaned down and bit into Jacks scent gland, thrusting into him. Jack almost immediately finished, back arching against Dennis, his cock spurting against his chest. Dennis kept going though, he pulled away, eyes dark as he stared down at the mark he’d left on his attending. Fuck.
There was no going back for him. The scent of Jacks heat already set him off, he already marked an omega twice his age, his rut was the last thing he needed—yet it still came. His fingers traced over Jacks stomach then down to the soft muscle towards the bottom of his torso “You want me to put pups in you Doctor Abbot?” He hummed out, not even considering what he was actually saying. “You’d have my pups..” He felt his heart racing at the thought of it, his omega carrying his pups. Dennis buried his nose in the scent gland again as he felt his knot to form. Jack moaned into Dennis’ ear, nails digging into his back as he just nodded. He wanted Dennis and he was going to milk that poor kid dry.
It was hours before they were even aware enough to clean up and eat, Dennis apologizing profusely for marking Jack without any warning, but he didn’t seek to mind it. For once in his life he got what he wanted. Part of it at least. Jack laid his head on Dennis’ chest, tracing shapes against his bicep “Did you mean what you said earlier” He asked without even thinking, mouth moving before he could form a thought. Dennis didn’t hesitate to nod “Of course” Jack smirked, grunting as he climbed back atop the younger man’s lap “Yeah? Then we try for pups staring now”
The next few days were a blur of sex, eating, sleeping, and showering, and the showering part was generous. Dennis was still scenting some of Jacks things, especially that jacket again since he liked it. The two didn’t take the same shifts at first, they knew everyone knew, but it felt more real when they’d work a shift together. It took them almost two weeks to finally take on a shift together, anxiously coming in at the same time. The first people to tease were Ellis and Trinity, one getting on shift and the other leaving “Well damn huckleberry! You’ve got game” Trinity laughed as she observed the scarred teeth marks in Jacks neck “Definitely got a bite too” Ellis chimed in, both laughing hysterically at the two
Okay Jack Abbot tumblr girl au except he’s on almost exclusively porn audios of boys and finds one and it’s perfect so he shares it with Robby who is interested enough.
It’s Dennis.
They don’t realize till Dennis is yanking at scrubs stuck in the machine saying “please, please, please” while praying they don’t rip. Jack just stands there staring because fuck.
Abbot has a frenum piercing (right under the head) from back when he was in his 20s/30s. Dennis find out after a messy drunken night at the bar lands him on his knees in jacks living room. His eyes glossed over as he peers up at jack, clumsy hands rushing to undo his belt and fly. When he pulls down jacks jeans and boxers, he hardly expects to be met with a silver barbell on the underside of his tip. He barely bites back a groan when his tongue lands against the cool metal. Dennis works his mouth up and down jacks shaft, at first being weary of the piercing. But when his teeth accidentally catch on it, it sends a shiver wracking through jacks entire body, his hands shooting to dennis’ hair as he groans deep in his throat. The way it feels inside of dennis is even more mind-blowing.
