upstairs, downstairsā¦ or is it really a gross misuse of power if you want your boss to make you his little wife just as much as heād like you to be?
warnings: swearing, smut, bad writing! (i haven't written anything this long ever so i can't promise that it'll be any good), not proofread, reader is briefly mentioned to have a few freckles, fem! reader, i think i definitely made ben ooc, ben picks reader up, inappropriate workplace relationships (reader is the housekeeper), i use the emdash ai fears me, canon divergent, not proofread, age gap, jealous ben, reader drinks before sex but is no way drunk, wife / marriage kink if thatās a thing idk?, softdom! ben, slight dumbification, heinous amount of petnames, praise kink, fingering, patronising, sex with feelings awe, no condom used obvs donāt recommend irl, ben has a big dick who cheered!, fingering, piv sex
5.6k words <3
āHow to get over being in love with your boss?ā
The Google search, a result of last nightās sleep-addled insecurities and far too many of those cherry gummies that are supposed to relax you, blinks back at you traitorously as you search on your laptop for a breakfast recipe. It makes you horrifically grateful that the boss in question, Ben or Soldier Boy as the rest of the world knows him, is wonderfully inept at any technology outside of what you think maybe finding pornā¦ Not that you want to think any longer than you have to about Benās taste in pornography, at least not still bleary-eyed before coffee.
You have been working for him for about two years now, a job that was only supposed to help you get back on your feet after college and instead resulted in you not wanting to do much, other than play house in his apartment, cook his meals, and essentially fetch him anything he could ever need.
Around others, itās pathetically embarrassing. You sit at overpriced brunches with girlfriends who have their own places, proper jobs and men who actually are their boyfriends, and they give you soft pitying looks.
āI just donāt get it. I mean, youāre smart!ā
āDonāt you just find it degrading working for such a fossil? I wouldā
āThereās a secretary job at my firm; I could see about putting you forward for it.ā
Always laughing, you just shake your head and change the subject to their shiny rings, shiny cars and shiny new promotions. Because how on earth do you begin to explain it? There must be something wrong with you, thatās all there is to it. You are a messed-up, sick-in-the-head person, and they can never know that the reason you continue working as a housekeeper to the nationās beloved Soldier Boy is because you are horribly head over heels in love with him. Probably itās some twisted psychological development born of childhood spent beside the naughty boys in class, and of being told you might rub off on them, that you feel some weird responsibility to care about such meanness. To let it snark and bite and claw at you, just in case some of your saccharine goodness might touch them back.
Not that Ben is mean, mind.Ā
That, you figure, is part of the problem. He is mean with almost everyone, mean with women, mean with coworkers, mean with his son, even. But not with you; heās taunting and patronising and goading but never mean. He says you couldnāt handle it, like the fact you couldnāt take it is what makes you endearing. Like a soft little fawn who could startle at just the slightest thing. You donāt know how to tell him that you could take anything he would give you. Take it gratefully, in fact, lap it up till it fills your insides up like something warm and honeyed and spills out of you.Ā
The not-meaness, though, could potentially kill you. You canāt properly track when this feeling began, mainly because you fear it might be the day you first met him. It hadnāt been a good morning, the interview morning. Youād woken up late, tripped in the rush which gave you a run in your tights; youād been leered at on the train, and youād run out of time to eat breakfast. When you had gotten into the meeting, you could feel how warm your face had gotten, hot, childish tears stinging your eyes and palms hurting from digging your nails in enough to leave angry little crescent moon marks.Ā
He had taken one look at you, bottom lip wobbling, and heād reached out to clumsily wipe your face.Ā His fingers were huge and comfortingly calloused, smearing away your tears and slightly smudging your carefully applied makeup. Any sane person would have been horrified; it was far too tactile for a job interview, but like a limp daisy turning towards the sun, you had leaned into his touch, and he had smiled.Ā
āChrist on a cross, you that frightened to meet me? ām not that fuckinā scary,ā He had teased, pulling from you a shaky giggle as you shook your head. āYou wanna tell me what happened, doll?āĀ
The words had spilt out of you like an open dam, and by the end of it, under his watchful gaze, you felt entirely at ease. You had gotten the job that day, and it was only after youād gotten home that you became idly aware that he hadnāt asked to see any of your references or CV.
Heās made it worse too. everyday youāve been working for him youāre met with endless pet names and flirting and euphemisms but also the occasional tenderness. He knows your favourite flower, knows what romcom makes you cry and knows how many siblings you have.
āYou know back in my day, a girl like she wouldnāt be workingā¦ā
āWhat, ben?ā
āYour generation is a buncha stupid pussies. Girl like you oughta be married and barefoot and pregnantā
One of the many conversations that circle your head in those late night google sessions. really he should have more concern for your pitiful heart.
Which again brings you back to where you are. Searching for a breakfast that he wonāt deem āsissy shitā the way he decided crepes were. Privately, you think that if breakfast foods threaten your masculinity badly, maybe youāre overcompensating for something, but youāre a housekeeper, not a psychologist, so you donāt say that to him; you just make a Spanish omelette and pray that passes the test.Ā
Itās grounding, cooking, and makes it easier to pretend you donāt see the woman walking down the corridor in a crumpled-up skin-tight dress. You do see her, though, reflected in the oven, the sight of which does bring a mild case of bile up to your throat.
Sheās Benās type to a T, or rather, what, since working for him, you have come to know as his type. Sheās older than you, with defined womanly curves, full lips, probably at the top of her career and an air of confidence and glamour to her that all the women he sleeps with seem to have. When she sees you, she sneers slightly.Ā
āI didnāt know Soldier Boy had a kid sisterā, she says, deliberately drawing your attention to her. Itās a provocative statement designed to bring colour to your face and humiliate you for reasons you donāt quite understand. You and Ben donāt look alike, and youāre clearly just the help but for some reason this stranger, whom you will never see again, wants to undermine you. Sheās not the first and youāre left just as confused by it as always. What could you possibly have that these women envy and covet?
You politely shake her head at her, chewing childishly at your lip. āOh no Maāam just the housekeeperā
She blinks, unconvinced āArenāt you a little young for that?ā You could snark her back you think, Ben wouldnāt mind if anything he likes when youāre mad, ruffles your hair and calls you āspitfireā but you wonāt because who are you fooling? At the end of the day sheās had some of him and youāve had none.
You are thankfully rescued from such an unexpected attack the very man in question, shirtless and stomping into the kitchen. Your heart stutters and like a pathetic little puppy you feel your face light up into a blissful smile.
āSmells good sweetheartā he says in a low, encouraging tone, those glittering green eyes fixed on you and your silly little smile widens as heat springs to your cheeks.
āOh I didnāt make itā the woman buts in abruptly, disturbing the wonderful little world that existed for a moment of just Ben and you and nothing else but that.
He flicked his eyes to her, cool and disinterested.
āIs there a reason youāre still fucking here?ā
Itās hard but you do your best to make a conscious choice not to be a petty bitch and spitefully smile at that. Spluttering something at him she gathers her things and leaves and you can breathe easy again. The smell of her expensive perfume engulfed simply by Benās heady cologne mixed with the faded scent of weed.
When sheās gone he sits down at the table, legs spread wide with his palms resting atop as he awaits his breakfast. Itās painfully domestic and some tucked away, secret perverted part of you likes to pretend in these moments that youāre his wife. You can imagine it, every task you do now just with the added bonus of being held by him and kissing him and him being able to lift your skirt up when you bent over andā¦
Hastily you cut off that train of thought as colour, hot and stinging spreads across your face.
ātoday would be nice Angelfaceā He encourages, amusement in his eyes as if he can tell exactly where your mind went. Thank god thatās not one of his powers or else youād simply die of embarrassment you think as you hastily serve his breakfast.
You like watching him eat. Itās weird but you do. Every meal is consumed with absolute feverish worship as if tasting the finest ambrosia. Heās messy, sharp incisors tearing in, sauce drips down his chin and he grunts and groans at the flavour. When you first began working for him you had thought it was just another way for him to bring a flush to your face but in these two years youāve learnt that heās just like that. Everything he does is just overwhelming and big. Thatās just Ben. A predator in the truest sense.
You donāt know what that makes you.
Youāre going out tonight.
Those selfsame friends who you spent those brunches with, biting your tongue and smiling till your jaw ached had taken it upon themselves to enforce a āgirls nightā at some downtown club.
You struggle with the dress, itās small, black and silky - lowcut and the zip at the back is hard to do on your own. Itās been a while since youāve worn dresses like this, preferring loose cotton floral sundresses whilst working. Probably there should be a uniform but Ben never enforced one. Thatās kinda a running theme really, Ben not enforcing things he should have done.
Itās what caught you living in the apartment with him in the first place. Originally relying on public transport to hurry you along to his place early in the morning and then leaving late. The move was followed by you receiving your own card. It was only after he started buying you lacey, pastel coloured french lingerie for birthdays and holidays that you had to intervene and say how āthough you appreciated the thought that it was perhaps crossing a line a tadā. You are aware that none of this is exactly normal in your line of work. Itās perhaps a bit late to worry about that now.
The other issue, outside of the way you keep having to drag the hem of the dress down is that you donāt particularly like being at the club. Itās loud and crowded and the lights make your eyes sting and itās justā¦ Itās just a lot.
āYou should dance with him!ā Your friend attempts to shout into your ear, struggling to be heard over the pulsing music and gesturing to some guy in the corner.
Heās been looking at you a lot tonight. You tell yourself you donāt mind, heās cute and probably your age with kinda spiky brown hair and laughing blue eyes. Really you should dance with him, itās not like you have to marry the guy or anything but still you get a funny squirm in your stomach. It feels disloyal somehow - as if youāve got someone waiting for you at home even though you know full well that that someone is probably already balls deep in someone else.
Fuck, you are so pathetic!
The guy, you eventually discover is funny and sweet and clearly is attracted to you, so you dance a few times with him. He buys you a few drinks, tells you his name and you immediately forget it because for god knows what reason Soldier Boy (For he is Soldier Boy now, no longer your familiar Ben) in all his 6ā1 glory is standing - rather blocking - the entryway of the club with his truly ridiculous sized shoulders.
Heās looking straight at you. You donāt think heās ever looked at you like that before. His brows lowered, those brilliant green eyes turned into thin rings almost completely swallowed by the darkness of his pupils and his jaw is set into a scowl. You feel caught, like a child found with her hand halfway into the cookie jaw. He makes no attempt to move towards you though itās clear that you are what heās here for.
No heās perfectly correct and confident in the assumption that the magnetic pull will take you to his side. Already youāre apologising to the guy whose name you canāt remember and walking towards Ben, angling your neck up to meet his dark gaze.
Swallowing weakly you attempt a small smile before speaking.
āBen I - I hadnāt expected to see you hereā
That chided feeling grows as he stays silent, his eyes looking you up and down. Shyly you pull the dress down again and he mutters something indecipherable.
āWhat?ā When on earth did your voice become so thin and reedy?
āSaid if Iād known you owned dresses like that wouldāve made you wear nothing but those fluttering around my kitchen. Fuckinā hell thought you were supposed to be a nice girlā
Colour springs to your face, hot and scalding.
āCome on weāre going homeā
You attempt a few stammering dismissals. Something about being a big girl who can take care of yourself; youād rather not, how itās inappropriate to tell you to leave; a bit late for that and how youāre having fun; youāre not.
Itās all pointless anyways because he simply grabs you by the waist and sends little electric shots up through you before roughly hurling you up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The gasp you let out echoes and flailing you punch at his back and squirm about.
āWouldnāt do that doll unless you want the whole place to see your pretty pantiesā He scoffs and you have to resist the urge to press your legs together.
Stomping he walks out of the club, not giving you a chance to say goodbye to your friend and keeping you there with his palm resting on your hip till you get to the car where you are rather carelessly tossed into the passenger seat.
Youāre both silent in the car and he refuses to look at you, eyes fixed on the road. Ben is quick to fly into rages youāve learnt but normally heās clearer about it - tossing things about and swearing and yelling. This anger is entirely new and as far as youāre aware entirely unwarranted. You had told him you were going out, you had left him dinner - his favourite based off some recipes actually from the 40s because yes you researched screw you - but now it seems as if youāve done something completely outrageous.
When the car pulls up outside the tower thatās when he finally turns to you, his glare sending a fresh wave of goosebumps over your skin.
āYou wanna tell me what the fuck that was?ā
Blinking slowly, you cock your head to the side. Feeling genuinely confused.
āNo - no donāt give me that dewy eyed doe routine now I know youāre a fuckinā slutā
What? Does he mean that guy that you - but that was just dancing and heās done way more but heās still talkingā¦
His hot, whiskey coated breath brushing your rosy cheek from how close you are in the car, thigh to thigh. Youāre so dizzy with it you only catch snatches of what heās saying āActinā all innocentā and āwas tryna be a good guyā and āyou really think some limpdicked cumguzzling yuppie knows what to do with youā
You honestly think you might pass out because thereās no way this is real. There is no way that your boss, Soldier Boy himself, is jealous because you danced with some random guy at a club. This is like your before bed fantasises have come to life and materialised in front of you. It takes all your restraint not to pinch yourself just to be sure that itās actually happening.
Shakily you take a breath and lean forward, angling yourself slightly so that the dressās opening stretches in a way that pushes your breasts up before you speak. Those glorious eyes widen and his fist clenches and unclenches as if itās taking all his willpower to hold himself back.
You donāt want him to hold himself back. If this is all youāre going to get, this one night spurred on by his ridiculous masculine jealously youāll take it. You can tuck it away in your faded memory box and pretend like it doesnāt tear your heart in two.
āWhat are you gonna do about it?ā You ask, sounding less like a cocksure seductress and more like a trembling little thing.
āWhat ām I gonna do?ā
You nod shakily, not trusting your voice.
āWhat dāyah want me to do babydoll? Come on let me hear that pretty voice of yoursā He encourages, sending a fresh wave of heat between your legs.
ātouchā¦ touch meā¦ um please benā Sharp teeth stretch into a wolfish grin as his big calloused hands fulfil your request though not in the way you wanted, stroking over your face almost chastely were it not for the way they brush your lips teasingly. The bratty whine that it pulls out of you would be humiliating were you not so desperate.
āOhho not what you meant hm? So fuckinā polite all those nice manners but you forget now Iāve seen what you really are doll. So tell me what you want, you want my hands touchingā that pretty little pussy of yours hm? Bet sheās just drooling for it aināt she?ā He goads lowly, laughing as you nod like a bobble head.
āPlease - I - yes please Benā¦ want you to um touch myā¦ā the words are stumbled into a soft, breathless gasp as his hands without you noticing have surveyed their way down your body slipping beneath your dress.
The sound you let out is a pitiful yelp when he starts to rub them through the lace, pulling and tugging it over you clit as his fingers continue their pursuit of rubbing tight little circles everywhere. His other hand lifting the skirt of the dress up and grinning at the sight.
āThese the ones I got you?ā Itās such a casual, conversational tone that you almost laugh were it not for the way heās peeling them off you revealing how soaked youāve gotten. If youāre completely honest it probably started the second you saw him, he just has that affect.
āSo pretty, this all for me?ā He coos, grinning at the way you clench around nothing.
āShe likes that hm? When I tell her how fuckinā pretty and good and perfect she is.ā Each compliment is paired with a small, devastating flick against that sensitive button that has you crying out.
āBen!ā You gasp, grabbing at his wrist unsure if youāre attempting to push him away or pull him close. Every part of your brain seems to have been turned to nothing more than soft, melting goo and heās barely even touched you. If he keeps this up you might just die.
Regardless he seems to understand as his hand finally draws, long unwavering circles over and over so that youāre kicking out and letting out soft, embarrassing little whimpers - head thrown out in blissful pleasure.
For some reason you hadnāt imagined it to be like this, obviously you had thought Ben would be an incredible at sex because I mean those women never had any complaints, but you had never though heād be so dedicated to making you feel good first and foremost.
His other hand began to join it, the thick ridge of his finger ghosting your hole till you were pathetically begging him to just push it in.
āSo tight baby, even my fingers gonna break youā He warned lowly, roguish grin on his face that told you he was enjoying every second of teasing it out.
āOh! Please - Please want it so bad! Can take it!ā Demandingly you whine, that bratty tone returning slightly. Maybe it was the right move though because thatās what earns you a finger finally pushing in and god the bastard was right! Even one finger feels like itās splitting you in half, so much bigger than yours and filling you up so completely.
Your body clearly decides thatās all it needed too because him pushing his finger in and slowly starting to crook it against that soft spongey spot deep inside is enough to make you clench and lock around him - a breathless sound pulled out of you and overwhelmed tears springing to your eyes as you cum from the sensation of just one finger alone working inside of you.
Expecting a teasing remark, you squeeze your eyes tight up but are met with the softest kiss against your lips. Chapped and tasting of weed and whiskey and ben as they gently move against yours. His hand rubbing tiny little circles against your clit to get your lips to part and allowing his tongue to find its way in.
āYou a virgin?ā He asks, looking over you and shyly you shake your head.
āNo I justā¦ā Chewing on your lip you smile bashfully āI just really like you Benā
He laughs, kissing along your neck. Stubble scratching deliciously āI know babydoll, youāre not exactly subtle. āS okay though, cute actually. You got a little schoolgirl crush on me or something?ā
You nod, wonderingly as his finger begins to move inside of you again. Joined now by a second, the two moving in sync inside of you and scrambling your brain up completely.
āThatās good ām planninā on making you my bride but I think Iāll fuck you first. Sound good with you doll?ā
Unable to speak again you give him a shaky smile and pray thatās enough.
His touch is wonderful, thatās all there is to it. Heavy and sinful and all consuming as his fingers begin to pick up the pace again paired with his other hand rubbing against that tight little button. You canāt even find it in you to be jealous of those other women because maybe all those pasts have been whatās made him so perfect. Or maybe heās just like that naturally itās hard to say. And heās speaking, soft low praises that go straight to your head as he moves those fingers in tandem. You feel magical, like starlight is coursing through you. Heād probably laugh if you told him that but itās true.
Youāre growing closer again. That delicious coil starting to build within you as those thick fingers grow faster and faster opening you up for him. The sudden withdrawal has your lashes fluttering open, mouth parted in a scandalised gasp that earns you that low laugh again.
āGreedy thingā He chastises admiringly āWant you to cum on my cock instead howās that sound sweet thing?ā
Itās only then that you become fully aware of it, the imprint through his sweatpants showing just as how much he wants you. Even through the fabric you can see its size, the stuff of your most guilty late night fantasies.
You nod eagerly but his broad fingers simply reach down and pinch your clit - eliciting from you a loud gasp as you owlishly blink up at him.
ā ām sure I asked you a fuckinā question didnāt I? Already so dumb before Iāve even properly touched youā
If you had more good sense you would argue that making someone cum once and then bringing them straight to the edge again immediately after was properly touching them but that good sense, had it even existed at all, had melted completely out of you now.
āYes pleaseā You managed to squeak out with some difficulty.
Clearly pleased with this response he, rather gently pulled your panties back into place and brought those brilliant fingers up to his lips - sucking them clean with a sinful groan.
Boneless you let him manhandle you into the house, fondness bubbling up inside of you as he clumsily shoves the key into the lock with muttered curses to himself. Heās such an old man sometimes. How you love him.
Youāve been in his bedroom hundreds of times, mostly dusting it down or hoovering and yet in the dim light with his admiring eyes it looks completely different. It looks perfect.
There is hardly much time to dwell on it anyways as his hands find their way to the zipper of your dress, pulling it down with an echoing hiss as it falls to the floor. Your hands reach up to impatiently pull at his shirt too but he stills your movements with his hand easily holding your wrists behind your back.
āHold still let me look at you. Been imaging this for the last two years, a manās gotta take his timeā
The words send a giddy bubble inside of you and his eyes are so beautiful and low lidded as they roam over you. Cataloging every freckle and ordinarily hidden soft skin and scars from childhood. Were it anyone else you might find it in you to be shy but Ben is not a liar. He wears his feelings on his face and you can see from the way he licks his lips that he honestly likes what he sees. Your heart flutters and you reach back to shakily unclasp your bra.
The sound he lets out is positively pained as he runs his hand over his face.
āGod youāre an angel arenāt you? What the fuck did an asshole like me do to earn this?ā The words come out in a rush and only then does he pull his shirt off. Yanking it over his head and tossing it away. You have half a mind to be irritated when he grabs your waist and pulls you into the bed. Even though youāve seen him shirtless before itās never been for you, not the way it is now but itās again difficult to think as his lips brush over every part of you now on display.
Heās frantic with his movements now, muttering and grunting indecipherable nonsense as he rubs up against you, big hands clasped at your hips to hold you in place. The two of you clumsily bucking into each other like a pair of overexcited high schoolers.
āNeed to-ā He huffs, biting your neck and you nod again drawing him closer.
āPlease - Please Ben would like it so muchā You whisper, pressing him on idly aware that he has now completely yanked your panties off so all thatās between you both is the soft cotton of his sweatpants thatās become wet where the two of you meet.
He fulfills the request, quickly. Yanking them down just enough so that his cock sticks out. You almost melt at the sight - like every other part of Ben itās so painfully big. Pink and angry and leaking as it juts forward seemingly of its own volition.
āGonna - gonna put it in you doll. All you gotta do is just lay there and look pretty foā me you think you can manage that? Be a good little wife for me and let me fill you all up?ā He grunts, that philadelphia drawl thickening he works himself impossible harder. The address term of wife has you clenching around nothing but if he notices he doesnāt say anything as he finally, finally pushes the head in.
The sound pulled from you is barely human as he tries, key word tries, to push a bit more in and laughs - actually genuinely laughs when it barely moves. Not put off at all he snakes his hand down and rubs against your overstimulated clit again making your legs fall open and eyes cross stupidly.
He starts slowly which surprises you, like youāre something worth savouring. The fullness sending a syrupy kind of glee through you as your trembling hands clasp at his broad shoulders for some fools attempt at stabling yourself. All thatās inside your head is his name soft faltering attempts falling from your lips but that sound even to you like something other completely different. Girlish gasps of āuh uh uhā.
When heās fully notched in, he throws his head back as a delicious bead of sweat falls down his forehead. You would like to follow it with your tongue if you were capable of sitting up enough to manage it. With the way things are right now, the deliciously hard feeling of him splitting you in half the odds seem unlikely.
āThatās it. Thasāa girl. I know - I know itās so much for you practically in your fuckinā guts right now arenāt I?ā Weakly you glance down to see heās right. The imprint of him pressed up inside you making you clench down harder around him if thatās somehow possible. His hand grips down hard against the headboard as he jackrabbits up into you over and over again. The pace becoming punishing working you closer and closer to that delicious sweet spot. Ben fucks how he does everything else with complete and utter reckless abandon with very little concern for the wreckage he leaves in his wake. Heady and masculine and all consuming. All you can smell is Ben, all you can taste is Ben and all you can see and feel and hear is him too. Itās blinding you should be worshipping him and yet he is making you feel saintly.
He is drawing closer to release and so are you now. The two of you completely insync as his fingers speed up their assault.
āYou gotta - fuck - you gotta ask me - christ on a cross. Come on - come on dolllface tell your husband what you need?ā He rasps softly against your ear through hisses and grunts as he holds off his own oncoming orgasm.
Teary eyed and quivering you nod, nails digging tightly into his back and leaving soft little pink half moons. Your mark on him, you think dreamily.
āNeed - I mean - please - please can I cum Ben please - oh god!ā The words cut off from the truly ridiculous speed he is rubbing those tight circles in that have you drawing up tight, eyes squeezing shut as the most ecstatic pleasure is pulled for you. Your legs squirm out, half pushing him away as he touches you through it eliciting small fireworks of pleasure even as you come back down to earth.
He looks pained from above you and lazily you register that heās holding off his own orgasm, trying to be some form of a gentleman even if heās never been the type in his life. Shaky hands grasp his face in a cradling motion as cracked lips whisper.
āInside please Ben. āM on the pill and I want itā¦ want it so badā
Itās a pleasure in itself watching Ben come. Watching those beautiful eyes blink through gauzy lashes and his perfect mouth gasping your name as the soft warm heat spreads through you. He cums a lot, the thick viscous liquid filling you up and sending a buzz of possessive heat through you. Part of you wants to ask him to just stay inside, not wanting to loose that gooey connected feeling that is elicited from everywhere you touch.
Sweat clings to his hair and he pushes weakly at he pulls out, letting a low curse at the sight of his seed spilling out of you.
āA man could get used to that sight. Thaās good shitā He tells you proudly, puffing his chest up, rising up and tucking himself back into his sweatpants.
For a moment, your heart weakly lurches - maybe you misunderstood that whole thing but he quickly returns with a soft towel for you and a blunt for himself.
Heās not the tenderest cleaner in the world and you get the sense that this part of sex is new to him but he does it for you and that makes it the most romantic gesture in the world. Pressing a soft kiss to your temple he tucks you against his side, the familiar scent of weed settling in the air as he lights it humming thoughtfully to himself.
āWasnāt kidding you know babydoll?ā He says feather soft as he squeezes your shoulder.
āHm?ā You ask unintelligently, drowsiness taking over.
āAbout making you my wife. Got a ring tucked away somewhere but if you donāt like it we can get you another ām not fussy. So long as you become the little woman itās all good to me. Know youāll be a good one, you already take such good care of me and nag me like one for starters. Iāve never had a wife before but I figure it canāt be that hard. Then once thatās sorted weāll see about the whole white picket fence, two rugrats and a dopey dog bullshitā He says matter of factly as if itās all that simple.
Maybe it is.
āSounds good to meā You agree letting your eyes finally close.
āYeah? Goodā
āGoodā you repeat one last time before sleep takes over and you dimly register another kiss to your brow.
Maybe you donāt have to get over being in love with your boss after all?
writing this literally took every part of me i'm not joking. lawd today drained me. please tell me what you thought, clearly i have a praise kink and need it fulfilled x
Summary: Your first-ever solo hunt with Dean doesnāt go as planned when the ācreatureā youāre hunting is actually Soldier Boy. The plan changes and goes wrong quickly.
ā” warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, smut, solider boy x dean x user, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, u pee urself, dean cucking (?) + slightly submissive (?), pussy + face slapping, spit, intox, strip club, drugs, swearing, pet names (sweeheart, doll, whore, bitch), consent mentioned, threats, no mentions of y/n, reader-insert.
wc: 6.1k | no idea what possessed me to do this. enjoyā¦ā¦. Posting older!bf oneshot later tooooo yay!!
āSo, whyā¦ are we drivinā this far away?ā Dean asks, his hands gripping the steering wheel.
āReports sayā¦ thereās someā¦ man, tormenting people, ruining neighbourhoods, disturbing residents at their homesā¦ā You ramble on, flipping through the small pages of your notebook, squinting in the dark Impala.
āSounds like the son of a bitch is just havinā a bad day,ā Dean responds, glancing over at your notes. āDoesnāt seem like our type ofā¦ deal,ā he shrugs, using one hand to rub his jaw.
āWell, reports sayā¦ he might have superpowers, or some sort,ā you shake your head, flipping through more pages. āSuper strength, doing damage to things you shouldnāt be doing damage to,ā you explain, glancing over at Dean.
He sighs and keeps his eyes on the road, carefully steering Baby through the winding roads in the night. He glances over at you again, reaching over to lightly tap a page, his ring glinting in the moonlight.
āWhatās that about?ā Dean asks, glancing over and then back at the road.
You scoff. āIt says if we were to find himā¦ heād be at a strip club, probably.ā
āNow weāre talking,ā he smiles, tapping the steering wheel excitedly. āSuper strength, watchinā ladies stripā¦ doesnāt sound like heās doinā much wrong,ā Dean shrugs, and he leans on the gas a bit more.
āYeahā¦ except heās tormenting people, and being a complete dick, Dean,ā you shoot back, but he still has a shit-eating grin on his face, suddenly eager to get to small town. āIt says heās dangerous, calls himself āSoldier Boyā.ā
āThe song?ā he asks, looking over at you, and you immediately roll your eyes.
āNoā¦ no, āSoldier Boyā, likeā¦ a soldier?ā you glare at Dean, and heās smirking, purposely making you frustrated with him. Whatās new.
āI say we hit the strip clubs,ā Dean declares.
The black Impala winds down the long roads, taking the two of you deeper into the small town, and Dean takes those damn glances at you; constant eyes finding your thighs, and heās glad Sam is off somewhere, probably doing something with Ruby, and doesnāt have him in his ear, telling him how wrong it is to find you attractive.Ā
You had joined in the little trio when you were old enough toāBobbyās your father, and trusts you with the Winchester boys more than heād like to admit. And with your passion for hunting, and how damn well you do it, it would almost be blasphemy for them to ignore your skills.
It left you in an odd place: between Sam and Dean. Dean was always flirting with you, even when heād bring home some blonde bimbo from the bar, shooing you and Sam out of the motel until he was finished. And Sam was Ruby now, occupied beyond belief, doing suspicious things behind the scenes that broke some brotherly bond you couldnāt understand.Ā
And now here you are, doing a case alone, with Dean Winchester. The first one ever.
Baby rolls to a stop, parking along a curb, bright neon lights casting a constant glow onto the car. The sign is bright and loud, and Dean smirks at the name: Lustful Lounge.
Dean is out of the Impala before you, and youāre scrambling behind him, quickly joining his side. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, only to flash the fake FBI badge at the bouncers, and he nudges you to do the same.
Mister and Misses Smith for tonight, completely unrelated. Very, very believable, Dean.
āThis is a job, I hope you remember that,ā you mumble to him as you walk down the long hallway, with a red tinge to the lighting, and you hear the loud music growing louder.
āYeahā¦ a job with strippers,ā he nudges you again, smiling and fake-smoothing out his hair, before dipping into the small entrance.
There are several stages scattered around; women on poles move, swaying their hips and shaking their breasts, skimpy outfits bejewelled in rhinestones, and it reeks of marijuana, the smell coming from the back, away from the regular customers. Dean looks like a kid in a candy store, and so does Soldier Boy.
Heās lounging in one of the chairs in the VIP section, a blonde woman doing a solo dance for him, and heās smoking a joint, nodding. Her hips twist, and her long legs bend, and heās not even bothering to throw cash, merely observing and taking it in for himself.
āDean,ā you nudge him with your elbow when you notice his eyes straying away, focusing on the exotic dancers instead of the task at hand: operation find Soldier Boy, and get him out of there.
You lightly take hold of his hand and groan in frustration, taking him deeper into the strip club, and a VIP sign flashes. Bingo.
Another two flashes of your badges grant you access into the room, and two bouncers hold the odd beaded drapes that hide it, and your eyes widen the minute you see him: Soldier Boy.
You look at Dean and then Soldier Boy: sharp green eyes, the same sculpted nose, soft lips, a smirk that they both have on while looking at the same womanāSoldier Boyās hair is longer than Dean's, and heās bigger than him too, and your lips part in awe. Maybe itās the light playing tricks on you, morphing Soldier Boyās face. It canāt be.
Dean hasnāt even noticed.
āWho ordered this whore?ā Soldier Boy suddenly calls out, his finger pointing directly towards you. āAndā¦ her fuckinā cuck of a boyfriend, too,ā he laughs, barely noticing the stark similarities the two have. But Dean does.
āJesus Christ,ā Dean curses the minute his eyes find Soldier Boy, and itās like heās staring in a damn mirror, if the mirror ages you about twenty years. āThis son of a bitch stole my face!ā
Youāre too in shock to notice Dean taking steps towards the man lounging on the couch, and he glares at Dean, eyes narrowing at the younger version of himself. He blows a plume of smoke out of his mouth, but purposely towards his twin's face.
āYou stole my face, kid,ā Soldier Boy retorts, tilting his head to the side. āBeen here for hundreds of fuckinā years, Americaās greatest. Aināt copying some washed-up pussy, and his slut thatās too much of a bitch to come over here.ā
Soldier Boy makes that sound that sounds like nails on a chalkboardāitās like heās calling a cat over, a gross kissy noise with his lips, and heās calling you over with a wave of his hand, and you slowly begin to walk over. You feel like youāre more surprised than Dean is.
āNoā¦ no, I have been here for just as long as you have,ā Dean retorts, pointing at the man lounging, and Soldier Boy laughs. āYouāre just some old shapeshifting fucker.ā
āShapeshifting?ā Soldier Boy howls, shaking his head. āIs this some fantasy, role-play kinky shit between the two of you?ā he uses his blunt to gesture between your bodies. āItās fuckinā disgustinā, and youāre not even strippinā for me,ā he calls directly to you.
āWhat? Iām not a stripperāā you quickly say and shake your head, but Soldier Boy interrupts.
āWith that fuckinā body? A god damn shame youāre not,ā he scoffs, and Dean, well, agrees.
āIāve told her this,ā Dean chimes in, nudging you a little and Soldier Boy narrows his eyes.Ā
āHow much you payinā her?ā Soldier Boy suddenly asks, gazing between the two of you. āProstitutes around here donāt usually look that fuckable.ā
Soldier Boy eyes you more closely, and itās weirdānot even because of how filthy heās being, but because of how closely he resembles Dean, who is currently red in the face from anger, or embarrassment.Ā
āIām not a prostitute, Iāmā¦ā you mumble, fishing out your fake FBI card, and he immediately snatches it.Ā
āAh, a liar and a whore, Missā¦ Smith,ā Soldier Boy mumbles, his eyes raking over the fake name and shitty photo. āLookinā like a real doll in the photo though,ā he grins, handing back the ID with two fingers, and you snatch it and shove it in the pocket of your jacket.
āListen,ā Dean mumbles, leaning a bit closer to his doppelganger. āWe just wanna know what the fuck is goinā on, okay? If this is some trickster shit, or whatever the hell,ā he murmurs, and Soldier Boy is staring at Dean like heās speaking another language.
āJesus Christ, this really is some kinky shit,ā Soldier Boy barks, reaching over to grab you by the hip. āHe payinā you? He a cuck?ā he asks, eyebrows raised, and he casually hooks his arm around your thigh, drawing you to the edge of the leather chair.
āYes,ā you say softly, nodding and gazing down at the man, and you can feel the look on Deanās face without looking. āWeā¦areā¦ we are looking for a third,ā you grin, and Soldier Boy looks at Dean. Youāre trying not to laugh.
āShe fuckinā with me?ā he asks, and Dean looks at youāyou shoot him a death glare, and he does that face, that stupid shit-eating grin, though itās mixed with dread.
āNo,ā Dean says through the forced smile. āSheās my girlfriend.ā
Soldier Boy keeps his arm hooked around your thigh, and you mentally curse for deciding to wear a short skirt instead of the usual jeans you stick with. He taps his thumb against your bare leg and looks up at you, his jaw clenching.
āYour fantasy is to fuck a guy that looks like yourā¦ boyfriend, in front of your boyfriend?ā Soldier Boy drawls, bringing his joint to his lips. āThatās fuckedā¦ some real slut shit youāre on,ā he shakes his head, looking at Dean.
You roll your eyes, and Dean looks like he wants to kill himself; heās just staring at Soldier Boy and the firm grip he has on your thigh, the awkward position that puts him eye-level with your stomach. He grits his teeth and sighs.
āSo, are you gonnaā¦ have sex with my girlfriend or what?ā Dean speaks up, his words coming out harsh, like heās forcing them out of his mouthāhe is; he wants no part of this.
āāCourse I am,ā Soldier Boy shrugs, sliding his hand out from your thigh to firmly pat your ass. āWouldāve fucked her even if she really was just an FBI agent anyway,ā he mumbles, gripping the back of your thigh.
You awkwardly squirm on your feet, trying to ignore the woman who is still half-naked, dancing on the pole before the three of you, the bright, neon lights in your eyes, and Soldier Boy is standing on his feet, sighing heavily.
āWeāre parked just outside,ā you chime in, and Soldier Boy casually wraps his arm around your waist, looking down at you.
āYou got some fuckinā nerve, doinā this to a fool like him,ā he drawls, nodding towards Dean, who is glaring at you and the overly large version of himself. āCanāt blame you thoughā¦ looks like he wouldnāt know how to fuck a woman if she came with a manual.ā
āWe look the same,ā Dean immediately shoots, his eyebrows furrowed.
You bite your lip, trying your hardest not to laugh at this interactionāDean is oddly less concerned than you thought. Heās more so convinced that this is some trickster bullshit, and this entire situation has been planned perfectly, just to get the three of you alone, and then he can finally strike and kill the juiced-up man. He doesnāt believe for a second this is a hundred-year-old superhero who just so happened to steal his face, and slap on some facial hair, and maybe fifty pounds of muscle.
The three of you slowly leave the club, and Soldier Boy nods to the few bouncers who seem to have let the criminal off the hookāprobably paid them off with the wads of cash he took from the fucking bank. You had read it in the report: rabid man running through the streets, shouting profanities and threatening to do worse. And now his arm is hooked around your waist, heading towards the impala.
Soldier Boy nudges his broad shoulders into the back of Baby, and you sit in the passengerās seat, your eyes on the road. Dean looks in the rearview mirror, still trying to shake the feeling of having his long-lost twin in the back, who is around twenty years older than he is. He sighs and turns the key to the ignition.
āWe doinā this at a motel? Or do one of you sick fucks wanna do this in your bed?ā Soldier Boy chimes, leaning forward, his eyes gazing at the curve of your neck. āWouldnāt mind either, just wanna make your girlfriend know what itās like to be fucked by a real man, you know?ā
āMotel,ā you say softly, nodding, and Soldier Boy clicks his tongue.
āThought youād be more of a degenerate,ā he shrugs, looking out of the car windows. āAlmost feel bad for this kidāheās gonna watch me defile you,ā he says it so plainly, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
āYouāre not gonnaāā Dean grits his teeth, and he has to stop himself from blowing up the entire plan.
āOh, yes I am,ā Soldier Boy taunts, nodding. āGonna force you to watch me fuck her brains outā-doll, whatās your favourite position?ā he then switches his attention to you, and you blank.
āShe likes missionary, all the romance shit,ā Dean plays into it, and you furrow your eyebrows, glaring at him.
āI aināt do the romance shit, but I can put your legs behind your head,ā Soldier Boy shrugs, his head tilting to the side slightly. āYou flexible?ā
āShe is,ā Dean speaks up for you, glancing in the rearview mirror, and Soldier Boy is smiling, nodding.
āIs some other kinky shit?ā he asks, looking at the side of your face. āHe does all the talkinā, and you sit here like a sex doll?ā
āNo,ā you cut in, shooting the criminal a glare, and he lifts his hands in defence.
Silence fills the Impala, a brief break, and you swallow hard, trying to act like this scenario is normal. Somehow, fighting vampires and ghouls makes more sense than having a hundred-year-old soldier in the back, with the face of Dean Winchester, with the sex drive of an animal in heat.Ā
āSo, Soldier Boy,ā Dean starts, swiping his tongue over his lips. āWhere did you come from?ā
āWhy does that matter?ā he asks, leaning back into the seats. āNever gonna see me again after this; you donāt need to know lick about me, or whatever else the fuck you two freaks need to know,ā he shoots, his eyes noticing the flickering red motel sign.
You glance at Dean, who is already looking at you, realizing this was a lot harder than you initially had thought. Most vampires and demons, whatever the hell you stumble upon, have thousands of years of lore written down in books and on the internet, and youāve never come across a gem like this, one that seems to be aware of the fact heās being hunted, but still taking offers to fuck random women. You swallow hard when Baby rolls into the parking lot.
The three of you head into the motel room, and Soldier Boy makes it a point to slap your ass the second all of you are in the small room, and Dean is seething at the constant remarksāif only Dean knew that he sounds the same sometimes, but usually a bit lessā¦ filthy.
Soldier Boy sits on the bed, while you and Dean sit on the two small chairs. His brows are forever furrowed, and his arms are crossed, head cocked to the side, realizing this might not be exactly what he expected: a hookup with a girl, while his twin watches. He clenches his jaw.
āWeāre justā¦ gonna set someā¦ boundaries first,ā you lightly explain and nod, and Dean lifts his hand, half-covering his mouth, trying not to laugh. āToā¦ make it safe.ā
āSafe? Is there some fuckinā waiver I gotta sign before fuckinā you?ā he asks, those green eyes looking into yours, and you swallow hard, shaking your head. āUsually I pay for the slut, and she shuts the fuck up. Nothinā about a god damn waiver or rules, or safety.ā
Dean rolls his eyes and leans back in the chair, his legs parting, and Soldier Boy turns his head, gazing at him. He narrows his eyes at the young version of himself, all while he lifts his hand, waving for you to come over. You look to Dean, who is reciprocating the stare-off, and you stand to your feet, walking towards the Supe.
āIsnāt this better?ā Soldier Boy asks, and itās only after heās pulled you onto his thigh, forcing you to sit on the thick muscle. āEasier to listen when I have a plaything just waitinā on my lap, you know? You wouldn't,ā he grins and looks at Dean.
The sight has Deanās fists clenching; youāre sitting on this grown manās lap, his hand wrapped around your waist, a hand against your stomach, holding you up straight, the other hand slyly sliding down to inch up your skirt. Itās barely noticeable, but Dean notices, and he canāt say a word. This is a part of the plan, yeah?
āSoldier Boyā¦ā Dean mumbles through that fake smile, but heās interrupted.
āBen, you can call me that too,ā he shrugs lazily, keeping you on his thigh, and you oddly adjust your hips, looking up at the motel ceiling. You swallow hard, trying to ignore the firm limb between your legs, and how it doesnāt feelā¦ like the worst thing in the world.
āOkay, Ben,ā Dean starts again sarcastically, hastily rolling his eyes, looking at you and then the larger version of himself. āCanāt be beatinā around the bush, you have to tell us some stuff before I let youā¦ you know,ā he mumbles, gesturing with his hands.
āYou sure?ā Ben asks, raising his eyebrows. āThis bitch is already drippinā all over my fuckinā thigh; it doesnāt seem like she needs to know anythinā else,ā he shoots, shaking his head.
Your eyes widen, and you shake your head too. āWhat? Noāā
Dean grimaces and looks down at Benās thigh and then up your body; the way your chest is heaving, the flush creeping up your neck, the sweat brimming at your hairline. His forehead wrinkles in disgust, and he realizes this man might not be entirely lying.
Itās not computing properly, the arousal youāre currently feeling; the odd ache between your thighs, the way your back is arching lightly, your thighs squeezing around Benās, and Dean is disgusted, completely caught off guard by the interaction, and the turn itās taking.
āWhat are you doing to her?ā Dean asks, his head tilting to the side, and his sharp eyes are looking at you. āStop whatever the hell youāre doing!ā
āCalm down, kid,ā Ben shakes his head, licking his lips. āNot doinā a thing, sheās just a whore,ā he hisses, and you donāt even defend yourselfāitās overwhelming, the sudden lust clouding your head, and your eyes are growing heavy.
āYouāre clearly doing something to her!ā Dean says, standing on his feet, and Ben lifts his hand, shaking his head.
āWasnāt this the deal? I fuck her guts, and you watch?ā he drawls, raising his eyebrows, his large hand gliding down your waist and to your thigh. āCan even teach you a few things; you probably need it, donāt you?ā
āI do not need some son of a bitch to teach me how to fuck womenāI do it plenty, and the last thing I need is to watch her get fucked,ā he groans out, his hand rubbing over his jaw. āWe will leave you alone, never come backājust give her back,ā he commands, like itās an exchange, and not your body.
Ben stares at Dean, thinking. āNo.ā
āNo?ā Dean asks, a stitch forming between his brows.Ā
āNo,ā he says smoothly, adjusting you on his thigh. āWhat do you think, doll?ā He then adds, turning to glance at you.
āNoā¦ā You mumble and shake your head, and Deanās eyes widen at your response, and he turns his head to look at the motel door and then you.
āWhat the fuck do you mean no!?ā he practically shouts, huffing and sitting down in the seat. āThis was not the planāthis is not a part of any god damn plan,ā Dean rambles on, scratching his neck.
āA plan?ā Ben asks, his hand sliding up your thigh casually, sliding right between them, lightly cupping your core. āWhat plan did you andā¦ him have, huh?ā he murmurs, turning to press his nose against your cheek.
Your head lazily tips back on Benās shoulder, and Dean furrows his eyebrows, quickly putting two and two together; his hand is up your skirt, and out of his eyesight. Thereās only one thing that could be happening right now, and heās in disbelief.
āJust watch,ā Ben tells Dean, and you feel that large, warm palm lightly curl, and you whimper. āSee? This how you touch a lady, none of that bullshit I know you do,ā he curses, eyes narrowed.
Dean swallows hard and watches, unaware of what to do right now; youāre clearly enjoying yourself, and Ben is too, and heās not sure what the tank of a man would do if he tried to leave, or better yet, intervene. He looks away.
āYou ever make a girl nut?ā Ben asks Dean, and heās lightly rubbing two fingers right through your underwear, focused on your clit. āOr you jusā leave her the second you do?ā he asks, that cocky grin curled into his lips.
āWhat?ā Dean asks, trying to ignore the soft noises slipping out of your mouth and how utterly good you feel right now.
āLook at her,ā Ben says, nodding towards you. āAbsolutely fucked right now, and Iām just rubbinā her through her fuckinā panties. Women are sluts in that way, and you wouldnāt have aĀ fuckinā clue about it,ā he shoots.
Deanās eyes drift towards you; the way youāre panting softly, squirming against Benās thigh, quietly whining and biting your lip, helpless hands trying to pull down your skirt. He clenches his jaw and looks back to Benāthe whole twin thing is still throwing him the fuck off.
āSheās not even in her right mind,ā Dean says, pointing to how out of it you are; practically drooling, your head slumped back, lightly grinding into Benās hand now.
āYeah, cause of me,ā he rolls his eyes, snorting.Ā
It is cause of him, and there are two reasons behind it; one of them being the sick and twisted Soldier Boy he is; telling you to take a sip of a drink back at the strip club, and you, trying to be the compliant and obedient thing you are, took it, and didnāt know what he had slipped in it. And the second reason being him; charming and good with his hands. The combination is making a filthy situation, and youāre unfortunately basking in the attention.Ā
āNow,ā Ben starts, lightly slapping your core. āYouāre gonna watch me pound her from the chair,ā he grins, and Dean listens to you whimper, your eyes fluttering at the light sting between your thighs.
The room is quiet, and Dean sits there, watching the way Ben manipulates your body; carefully lifting you, placing you down onto the motel bed and onto your back. The reports were definitely right; super strength, easily moving you around, like youāre the plaything and doll he speaks about.
āActually,ā Ben starts, gazing down at you. āBetter look over here, cāmere, son,ā he taunts, and Dean shakes his head.
āNope,ā he refuses, shaking his head again, looking up at the ceiling.
Ben rolls his eyes and sighs, gazing down at your body; your dress hiked up your thighs, your hair fanned out against the bed, your eyes heavy and your lips parted. Thereās an unfortunate part about this whole thing, and itās that you donātā¦ hate it.Ā
Youāve always had that silly crush on Dean, and it made you seethe when heād bring back bimbos from bars and hunts, and you had to sit and listen, sometimes watch when heād try to stealthily fuck the girls while you slept on the bed over. Itās his turn, and itās with his damn twin.
Ben carefully slides his hands up your bare thighs, watching you squirm and writhe against the mattress, and Dean can hear the light fuss from you; the whimpers, the tiny whines.
āMissinā out,ā Ben drawls, his large hands parting your legs instead. āReal fuckinā beauty right here, and I doubt you even fuck her properly,ā he calls out.
Dean rolls his eyes, and Ben is cupping you again, watching your head tip back. He clicks his tongue in disappointment, glancing over his shoulder at the awkward male in the room.
āCāmon, what do you do to the poor thing?ā Ben asks, lightly slapping your core again. āGonna probably fuckinā cum from just this shitāyou neglectinā her?ā
āNobody is being neglected, idiot,ā Dean shoots, gazing at the scene before him. āSheās not even my girlfriend!ā
Ben howls at the confession, and he looks back down at you, his free hand sliding down to grab your face, aggressively pinching your cheeks.
āSo, youāre a lyinā bitch?ā He asks, eyes narrowing. āCouldāve just waited on the corner, probably wouldāve taken you home regardless. Instead you gotta make up some bullshit liesāthe fuck is wrong with you?ā
You whine and shake your head, and he shuts you up by spitting onto your face. The saliva is warm as it drips down between your eyebrows, gliding down the slope of your nose. He grins at the look on your face, looking back over at Dean.
āWhat is she then, huh?ā Ben asks, still holding your cheeks, listening to you whine. āA sister? Oh, youāre real fucked if this is your sister,ā he laughs, snorting.
Ben looks back to you and lets go of your cheeks, his hand lightly slapping your face, and you moan at the feeling, your hips lifting. He smirks at how needy you are, but heās more concerned with the lack of care youāve apparently received. Youāre the neediest thing heās seen.
A strong hand slides down your body, and his fingers donāt pull down your underwear; no, they rip it off, a loud sound in the motel room and Deanās eyes widen. Thereās the strength of a supe, and itās being used to rip off your underwear.
āWhat the fuckāā Dean says, standing on his feet, and he walks over, and Ben doesnāt seem to have an issue.
āReal man you are, only cominā over here when you know you get a look at her pussy,ā Ben laughs, a hand sliding down to part your legs more, his thick fingers lightly spreading your folds. āCāmon, take a look.ā
Deanās eyes bulge out of his head at the sight; you flopped on the bed, underwear on the floor, your eyes closed, lips parted, looking like youāre in ecstasy, and now, heās seeing you bareācompletely bare. Not just when he accidentally walked in on you changing, but spread open.
āSee? Fuckinā wetter than hell,ā Ben laughs, examining between your thighs, licking his lips. āLook at itā¦ leakinā, never seen anythinā like this,ā he shakes his head, turning to Dean.
Dean hesitantly looks, and he swallows hard. Despite his demeanour and the filthy remarks he makes, heās gentle; youāve seen the sex before, watched how soft he was with the women, the tender caresses, the sweetness that overtakes the dirty words that he says when heās just trying to seduce the women. This is completely out of his ballpark, and heās not sure how to process it.Ā
āDean,ā you mumble, your eyes finding his, and his lips part the words that leave your mouth. His name, not Benās.
āDumb bitch is callinā for the guy who isnāt fuckinā her,ā Ben scoffs, and he slaps the side of your face again, and you whimper, biting your lip.
Ben reaches down, and heās unbuckling his leather belt, the soft noise clinking in the motel, and Deanās eyebrow furrows when he notices whatās happening. He looks to Dean, ticking his head.
āWhat? That much of a pussy? Canāt look at another manās cock without gettinā shy?ā Ben asks, working on his own pants, his eyes looking back to you. āAināt gay, if thatās what youāre worried about,ā he grins, and Dean is taken aback by the guts on this guy.
Benās hands slowly pull down his pants, and heās resting his knee on the bed, his two hands now finding your thighs, spreading you open more, getting a better angle while he nudges his between your legs. He groans the second he runs his cock through your folds, and he looks at Dean out of the corner of his eye.
āJesus Christ, sheās fuckinā wet,ā Ben hisses, his head tipping back a little, and Dean can feel his body growing warm the longer he stares at you. āShe a virgin?ā
Dean doesnāt respond; he merely watches, and Ben isnāt bothering with waiting for an answer. He pushes in and watches your eyes immediately squeeze shut, your back arching off the bed, and he laughs, shaking his head.
āFuckinā Hell,ā Ben groans, burying himself as deep as he can go, breathing out. āClenchinā around me like a god damn dream, and you never fuckinā hit this? God,ā he laughs in disbelief, speaking to Dean, who is in disbelief.Ā
Ben stares down at you, watching your body rock with each thrust; your eyes fluttering and your mouth agape, drool trickling down the side of it, spit finding its way out of your lips. He curses, holding your hips as he ruts into you, listening to the mewls.
āPut your fingers in her mouth,ā Ben commands Dean, nodding towards you. āShut her up, donāt gotta be hearinā that shit the whole time,ā he mutters.
Dean hesitates, but he does it, as if heās being held at gumpoint. He shifts closer to the edge of the bed, trying to ignore the sound of skin on skin, the slapping of Benās hips snapping against yours, and the way your body moves with each thrust, the way youāre so blissed out.Ā
Dean slides his two fingers past your lips, and your eyes roll back the second you realize that itās his, and not Benās. You can feel the silver ring by your lips, the rough digits on your tongue, the way heās lightly gagging you, and his eyes darken the minute he realizes how good this actually feels.
āSee? Just an obedient whore,ā Ben hums, confusing the relentless movement of his hips, a rough movement. āCanāt believe you had this thing walkinā around, didnāt even try to do anythinā.ā
Dean grits his teeth and deepens his fingers down your throat, listening to the soft of you gagging, the soft choking on his fingers. His lips twitch, and he can feel himself hardening in his jeans, and he glances down, ashamed of himself.
Itās a dream for you; eyes opening to see the same faces looming over you; those familiar green eyes, soft lips parted, and you close your eyes, basking in the feeling instead of resisting it. Whatever drug he has in you has you on cloud nine, and all you can do is suck on Deanās fingers and take Benās cock
āPress on her stomach,ā Ben then nods to Dean, andĀ Dean glances down at the way your shirt rides up, that sliver of skin showing. āThey love that shitāforce her to feel my cock,ā he continues, his one hand holding beneath your knee, the other one lightly slapping your other thigh.
Deanās getting off on it now, too, and he slowly pulls his fingers out of your mouth, pressing his palm to your lower stomach, applying the pressure that Ben asks, and he nods.
āPush hard,ā Ben commands, and Dean is taking orders like itās his job. āMake her piss herself,ā he mumbles, and Deanās eyes widen, hesitantly looking down at you.
You squirm around, moaning now that your mouth is free; the sounds slip out, and Dean can feel himself getting harder at how drawn out there, how much youāre enjoying this. His eyes glance to you, and he lightly presses harder, awkwardly leaning over. Ben doesnāt seem to care.
āAtta girl,ā Ben mumbles, his head tipping back when he feels you clenching harder, focusing on taking him, and holding in your piss now. āKeep pressinā, kid,ā he tells Dean, and his eyebrows furrow at the awkward submissive position heās put in.
Dean rubs the heel of his palm lightly against your lower abdomen, pushing down harder, and he can oddly feel himself enjoying this too; the way you wince and whine, how hard youāre trying to keep yourself composed, all while being focused on too many things at once.
āGonna piss on my cock, doll?ā Ben taunts, cocking his head to the side. āHowās this poor son of a bitch ever gonna see you the same again, huh? Hold it for him, not for me,ā he shakes his head, and your head tips back instead, shaking it.Ā
Dean wonāt see you the same again, especially because you are pissing yourself, softly crying as you feel it streaming down, onto the bed and right in the midst of it all. Ben chuckles and doesnāt even bother stopping, just landing a cold slap against your face. Deanās eyes widen.
āDumb bitch,ā Ben grunts, his hand lightly swatting away Deanās, and he pushes his fist down instead, and you groan, eyes squeezing shut. āReally embarrassinā yourself, yeah? Pissinā all over yourself, and now you gotta sit in the car with him afterwards.ā
Dean breathes heavier, his hand sliding down to press against the front of his jeans, subtly adjusting himself. And Ben finishes, a loud groan in the motel room, and he watches the way your body tenses up, your toes curling, fingers grasping at the bed sheets, and heās filling you up, not even bothering to pull out.
āNever pull out,ā Ben tells Dean like itās casual advice. āMake āem take your seed, wastinā it is for boys, not men, bet you use a condom,ā he teases, still groaning and hunched over your body, holding your hips now, pressing his fingers into you.
Dean is silent and just watching, feeling him awkwardly leak into his boxers at the sight of you; your body all limp and flush, panting heavily, your eyes closed, absolutely drunk and dumbed out. Ben isnāt thrusting anymore, just keeping himself pressed between your thighs, keeping himself stuffed in there.Ā
āSheās feelinā it all right now,ā Ben groans out, staring down at your blissed-out face. āGirls ever tell you that? That you make āem feel full, or do they just ask if youāve finished yet?ā he presses, and Dean is wondering why Ben is so set on humiliating him, too.
āShe looksā¦ā Dean mumbles, hovering over you, his hand lightly finding your forehead.Ā
āFuckinā hot,ā Ben cuts in and nods, licking his lips again. āFeels fuckinā hot too, tightest pussy Iāve felt in a whileāyou sure sheās not a virgin?ā he asks, and Dean shakes his head.
You whine quietly as the boys bicker over top of you, discussing whether or not your virginity was just taken in front of Dean by his god damn twin. You whine and tip your head back again, your chest puffing out.
āPoor thing, she's never been fucked by a real man,ā Ben clicks his tongue, and Dean registers the word: supe. āReally irresponsible of you, you know that? Jusā filled her guts with more cum than youāll ever produce in your life,ā he laughs, referencing the odd amount of semen this man can produceāitās for reproduction to carry on these godly genes, and itās inside of you, stretching and filling you out.Ā
Dean is slightly realizing the gravity of the situation; you, being fucked by the thing they were hunting. If it were a vampire, or any other god damn creature, he wouldāve shot and killed the thing by now, and burned its bones, but Benās human-like similarities, andā¦ well, the charm, made him forget that you were being plowed by some superhuman, with superhuman abilities.
Neither are sure how youāll explain this to Sam, not at all. And Dean gulps when Ben looks at him, gesturing to your limp body.
āNow show me what I taught you,ā Ben grins. āOr Iāll snap your fuckinā neck.āĀ
ā ā LOOSELY INSPIRED BY 'FLEABAG' (2016-2019). jud was yours before he was god's, and you never forgave him for leaving you behind. he lived in your thoughts every day after he left. arriving in chimney rock, unknowing he was there, his life gets flipped upside down by youāand he welcomes it.
ā ā cw .į 8k words. 18+. yearning!reader. smut. death ( the man jud killed in the ring ). religious themes. blood. grief. abandonment. angst. unprotected p in v.
ā ā notes .į wowie. didn't expect my first fic in 4 months to be 8k words but um.. hi i guess!! reblogs && feedback in my inbox are always welcomed <3
you and me against the world, you were my man and i your girl
jud was everything. your everything. the one constant in your life, the never changing part of your being. you met young, wrapped up in messes that merged together and became one.
you spent every weekend watching him in the ring, cheering him on and tidying up his wounds after the fact. the two of you hidden away in makeshift gyms, cuddled up on tattered sofasāconcealing yourselves from the outside world.
jud always said the best thing about him, was you. the best decision he ever made was asking you to be his. knowing you were the girl looking after him, seeing you from his corner of the ringāit was the only thing that ever brought him comfort.
no bruise was ever too much for you, no amount of blood to clean up ever pushed you away, didn't matter how many punches he threw. you stuck by him, with a soft hand and chaste kiss to his swollen lips.
that was love. the only pure love he'd ever known. the only love he could ever want, was the love he felt from you.
where you told me even if we died tonight, that i'd die yours
that love never shifted, not from you, anyway. he may have thought so, convinced himself soābut that feeling in your heart never shifted.
his eyes fell straight to you when the body dropped, when the light left his eyes. when the room realised. it wasn't guilt that hit him first, it was fear. he was petrified that his action had cast himself out of your heart. that you'd see him as the monster he truly believed himself to be inside.
jud saw the look in your eyes, how your breathing slowedāhow you wouldn't look at him. he needed your eyes, desperately needed your comfort. to run to him and promise him that everything would be okay.
he stood frozen, as the chaos followed. his chest heaving, eyes unmoving from you as people rushed the ring. frantic calls for help, the beat of chest compressions ringing in his ears as he dared look in his direction. the body of the man laid still, eyes closed and bruised. blood beginning to dry around his lips.
the body was rushed into the ambulance, but everyone knew it was too lateājud included. he knew as his punch landed, that was the end of his opponent. the fight was over, and he'd never fight again.
the room emptied, the sole light left highlighting the ring. the drops of blood littering the floor. only jud left in the ring, gloves still on and you. tentatively meeting him there.
crouching down to his height, his body small as he sat. head dropped against his knees, arms wrapped around his shins. his guilt beginning to eat him alive.
the guilt of him, of you. of what he was losing as the minutes passed. every second he lived, and his opponent didn't, he was losing youāhe knew it.
the smell of death lingered in the air as your hands, gentle as always, landed on his biceps. his eyes moved up slowly, bloodshot and broken.
"it's my fault," he whispers, words choking out. he knows you can't deny it, and you know you shouldn't. it would be lies, to tell him it wasn't. because it was.
it was his fault he died. it was the one thing jud couldn't fight, only accept. he had killed a man. whether it be purposeful or not, he was capable. the hatred in his heart had spilled, and took a life with it.
"he had family, a mother, i'm sure. sisters, maybe. a wife even," jud murmurs, fists still curled beneath his boxing gloves. "people that will miss him, mourn him."
there's nothing you can say, nothing to argue against. nothing at all to bring him any comfort.
"if it was me, no one would notice. no one but you," he continues, his words aren't meant to be sadājust true. the words aren't an insult, either. not meant to harm you, if anything he's trying to explain his appreciation for you. his love.
"if we died tonight, it would just be us."
your own eyes begin to well, that statement would usually bring peace to you. knowing you always had him, no matter what were to happen. but you could already feel him withdrawing.
"even if we died tonight," jud repeats. "you'd die mine."
then the day came and you were up and gone
you awoke alone, for the first time in a year. cold and alone on that ripped leather couch at the back of the makeshift gym. jud's things were gone, no noteāno anything. just gone.
it had been a month since his last night in the ring, but his soul left you that night. he'd been a walking corpse, carrying guilt with every step.
you'd been alone for a month with him, only now he wasn't here to hold you at night on that battered sofa. your boy was gone, no longer there to occupy the empty space. your safe haven disappeared the night he drew blood, but only now did you really feel the difference. with no man to hold, your man had disappeared into the night.
your love long gone, his place in your heart stayed the same. never shifting, despite the betrayal you felt as you sat alone praying for his return. you knew he wasn't coming back.
but god, i just hope you're doing fine out there, i just pray that you're alright
a year had passed. you hadn't heard from him, not that you expected to. you stayed, hopingāpraying that you'd hear something. see something of him, find him back in the ring one night.
you found yourself praying a lot, for jud. for his peace, for his safety. you never did much when you were together, it never seemed important then. but now, it was your only salvation.
you were alone most of your days, apart from the odd boxer that would pass through. old friends of jud's, or those who knew of him. they'd use the space for a few days and move on. but you stayed, in that place you still called home.
in the dead of night you'd cry. wake up petrified that something had happened to him. that he was hurt somewhere out there, all alone and broken.
that was always what hurt you most, knowing he was alone. not a soul in the world that understood him, not like you. no one that would mourn him, miss him.
you wondered if anyone knew him anymore. if he was different, if he had learned to live with what had happened. if he still grieved, if he was still guilty. if he thought of you.
when, really, i'd kill myself to hold you one more time
it was years later when you finally moved on. not from him, but from your home. the place you both called home.
as pathetic as you felt, he still lived with you there. the ring was the last place you'd known him, felt himābeen loved by him. you were sure he didn't think of you anymore. why would he? it had been years since he left. you didn't even know if he was still breathing.
you upped and left, as he did. in the dead of night. packed a bag, pulled together all the money you had stashed in the beaten up sofa and hit the road.
you didn't have a place to go, you just drove. drove and drove until your car gave out. the early morning sun was threatening to break as your car stopped. in some small town that you couldn't find on your map.
the stained glass windows of the local church were a welcome change of pace to view from your drivers seat. you found peace somehow, in your broken down car, with no one to find and no place to go. that the building welcomed you somehow, with no word or reason.
you found yourself thinking of him again. as small drops of rain landed on your windshield, with leaks of sun breaking through the clouds, you thought of your jud.
with peace, came jud. the two came hand in hand. the feeling always reminded you of him. the only person to ever bring you that feeling, that comfort. somehow, it felt foreign to feel peace without thinking of the one who taught it to you.
you barely realised there were tears falling from your eyes, dripping slowly down your cheeks. the feeling overwhelmed you somehow, more than it had in awhile. the need for him. the desperation in your chest to hold him just once more.
it felt like betrayal almost, to have finally left the ring behind. despite the time passed since his departure, you felt wrong. engulfed in the feeling of fear, what if he'd gone back, and you'd left?
the rain fell harder, echoing against the glass. it comforted you somehow. you'd been in that dark gym for too long. as the sun broke through the rain clouds, hitting the stained glass of the quaint church you'd found yourself at, you felt peace. without jud.
i thought that you were so beautiful, it was love, i guess
you settled. in that quiet town. made yourself comfortable, with the money you'd stashed. didn't bother fixing your car, but found a small place to rent. with windows, big windows.
too used to the loneliness you'd grown accustomed to to venture out. too separate from the town to insert yourself into it fully. slowly, but softly growing open.
the church was becoming your safe placeānot during service, you'd not ventured that far yet. but the grounds, the quiet hours were the pews were empty. you went to pray, to think, to write. to ground yourself.
you were distracted when you heard the murmurs, focused on the thoughts in your mind. you didn't pay mind to the voices, figured it be fellow church goers or staff working on the grounds.
you saw the grand vestment in the corner of your eye, the white robe and stole looked almost royal from the distance you were looking. the priest entered to the chancel of the church, his back turned and busy talking to a middle aged woman accompanying him.
it's the first you've seen him, always too nervous he'd play priest and attempt to talk to you in your lonely visits to his place of worship. he looked young for a priest, from what you could see of him. the black curls sticking out over his collar.
you can't hear their words, not that you were necessarily interestedāmore curious. but your whole body tenses as he turns.
there he is. your boy. your jud. just not as you once knew him. he looks better, no longer broken. as though the grief has left him, the guilt no longer on his shoulders.
you want to run, not from fearāfrom embarrassment. you were still just as broken as you were when he left, still the same mess you were when you were both young. you still had one foot in that dump you called home.
and there was he, the perfect picture of holiness. the presentation of god's image. leading his own church, as though he was made to. as though he was born to. he looked the image of beauty, as he always did, but he held it different.
he wasn't the beautiful boy you had to fix, not the fighter whose cuts you'd tend to after boxing matches. jud didn't need anyone to comfort him any more, that was his job now.
jud spots you as you stand in the pew, hoping for a secret getaway. too scared he wouldn't even recognise you. or worse, would and ignore you.
"excuse me," he mutters quickly to louise, ignoring her following words to rush down the aisle. his heart going a mile a minute. "waitāplease, wait."
his words stop your feet, eyes fluttering shut as you reach the door. back to him, deciding between walking out and turning to him. you turn, and the air enters your lungs for the first time since he left.
"you'reāhi, wowā" his words are whispers, as jud struggles to keep his hands from reaching out to hold yours. "what areāyou'reāi'm so sorry."
his throat bobs, bottom lip trembles. you and he both know he's holding back a mountain of tears. he can't stop his hands as they move, slowly grasping your own in his. thumbs softly stroking the back of your hand.
"i should never have left you like that, i was mean. i was just so scared, baby, i couldn'tā" he gulps, the pet name slipping from his lips so easily. too easily. he'll be saying five hail mary's tonight for that alone. "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to say thatāi'm soāi didn't think i'd ever see you again."
his eyes grow red and glassy, and he's all too aware of his position in the church in this current moment. his vestment upon his body, in the building in which he is named father. with his hands in those of the one he loved. the fear of sin creeps over him, but you're here. in his view again, and that's all he can focus on right now.
"jud, i didn't know," you begin, with eyes washing over his garment. he softly nods, with his bottom lip between his teeth. the words sit silent between you, acknowledging his position and the path he chose to follow.
"are you happy?" you ask him, your own eyes the ones growing glassy now. almost scared of his answer, because either way he responds would somehow upset you.
"i am, i wasāi am," he murmurs, with a soft squeeze to your hands.
he is happy. jud adores his position, in this church now specifically. after all the drama all those months ago, now he's settled in chimney rock. grown his community, grown the churchādoing god's work.
but it's hard to admit that with his past staring him in the eyes. his one damned temptation before him. the whisper of sin in the back of his head every night.
it's impossible to not consider if he made the right decision when you're here. holding his hands again, bringing him the same comfort in his body, the same feeling in his chest he felt all those years ago.
he never questioned god, never since joining the church. truly believed his plan was clear, and everything jud encountered was laid out for him by god. he knew he should be viewing this as a test from him, but you were so much more than that.
you were life before he knew how to live. you were love that he'd never felt. you were comfort, support, peaceāyou were god, before he found him.
"good, i'm glad, jud," you murmur, breathing uneven and hands still in his. "i always thought of you." you admit, before you can stop yourself.
his eyes truly start to tear, wet droplets fall to his cheeks. his heart breaks, he can tell you mean it. you're not saying it out of courtesy, but because it's true. his guilt returns, and every decision is suddenly doubted.
because he's here, looking at you, and he feels like home again.
where the world was empty, save you and i
you were slow to return to the church, knowing he'd be there. it hurt to see him like that. hurt more to see him happy, as much as you hated to admit. you missed him brokenāas you knew him. when he was someone to heal.
it was sunday when you finally returned. sitting quietly at the back of service, watching him deliver his sermon. he was so passionate, he spoke with his heart. it was tearing yours open.
jud spoke of love, of acceptance. jesus' journey to redemption, and the journey we all are on as his disciples. it felt apt. his eyes met yours through the filled pews often, his gaze always softening when he looked in your direction. if he was being honest, his words were for you, selfishly using his service to speak directly to youāthrough god's teachings.
as the space emptied, you waited. stayed in your pew, until the last person exited the church. the silence hung heavy in the air, as jud removed his vestment. rolling up the black sleeves of his shirt, repositioning his dog collar to it's perfect place.
you could see his old tattoo poking out, faded but unhiding. unashamed almost. the angel and the devil. in his old life, his angel was named after you. the devil himself in his mind. you wondered if he still thought that.
"you came back." he smiled gently, leaning against the pew in front of you. his arms softly crossed against his chest, veins popping in the way they used to during his fights. you wondered when the last time he threw a punch was.
"wanted to see you in your new element." you smile back, and think it may be the first time you've smiled since before he left. he huffs out a breath, eyes boring into your soul. you wondered if he even wanted you there at all.
"wanna take a walk?" jud asks softly, as you nod gently in return.
the church grounds were small, but beautiful. you'd walked the grounds multiple times, but it was different with him. the air felt fresher, the grass greener, the sun brighter.
jud tells you the story of his journey to the church, finding himself at the steps of a church in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night months after leaving. desperate for salvation, as though god brought him there to receive the help he needed. the church got him through his guilt, his shame over his actions. worked with him through prayer and teachings, no longer fighting. even if he was known to still throw the odd punch at some ass who deserved it.
"that's how you ended up here?" you smile, a soft laugh escaping you. "for punching a deacon?"
"yeah," jud nods, smile on his face as he walks. hands behind his back, as he looks to you on his right. "he deserved it, and even if i didn't think it at the time, i'm happy here. this is where i'm meant to be."
you weren't sure you'd ever know where you meant to be. where you were destined to be. but you do know something brought you here, to him. whether it be fate, or god, or just dumb luck that your car gave in here.
"and here you are." jud adds, with a smile and sad eyes. his shoulder softly bumping yours before he sits down on the old wooden bench.
"here i am," you smile gently, joining him on the bench. "somehow."
his breath hitches as your thigh touches his. the closest he's been to, well anyone, in years. memories of you flood his brain. how he used to touch you. how your skin felt beneath his fingers.
"am i allowed to say that i missed you?" he asks softly, fingers sliding over his knuckles where his hands sit in his lap. jud slowly looks to you, not moving his leg from where it's touching yours.
"what would god say?" you murmur, attempting to cut through the tension with half a smirk.
"i'd hope he's not listening right now." jud whispers, smirk matching your own before it dissipates. his eyes demand yours, as they always seemed to do. almost distracting you as his hand slowly moves to your thigh. he rests it thereātesting, himself and you.
"i mean it," he murmurs, with a soft squeeze to your skin. "leaving you was the hardest thing i've ever done." his lip wombles with his words, and his hand on you becomes a lifeline. grounding him.
"i never left," you whisper, embarrassed to admit the truth. "until now, until i arrived here. i stayed there, praying you'd come back."
"praying?" jud gulps, the language from your lips feels like sin in the holy grounds.
"praying," you nod, as you see the darkening within his pupils. "that you'd find your way back to me. that you were safe."
his heart aches, but his mind is a warzone. his thoughts are reverting to those he had ignored for years since joining the church. outside his church of all places, with his hand glued to your thigh.
"and it was you, who found your way to me." he whispers, and right now he doesn't know if he's grateful or entirely wrong for wanting you here with him.
your hand slowly moves, up to his face. tracing down his cheek to land on his neck, your hand resting upon his fading tattoo. jud's eyes flutter at the sensation. he's cursing himself for chasing the feeling, but he'd simply die if you moved your hand from his skin.
"i can't," he whispers, eyes closing as air leaves his lungs. "you know that i can't."
"i'm not asking anything of you, jud," you speak, voice barely audible.
"i wish you were."
where i needed you, and i need you still
jud was struggling. finding it harder to lie to himself that you being here in chimney rock wasn't tearing his whole world apart. he'd find himself on his knees at the edge of his bed every night, praying for hours for direction. for a sign that he was strong enough to get through this.
but the more he saw you, the weaker he became. he was doing things he shouldn't. locking his door at night for unholy reasons. five hail mary's and a prayer of forgiveness every time he would commit sin.
your name upon his lips was the reason for his undoing. the word would echo around the room, taunt him. floating lust following him from day to day, waiting for him in the silence.
he welcomed it. that was the worst thing. that was his downfall. jud allowed those thoughts to echo in his mind. fantasised about nights he used to share with you, on that dirty mattress on the floor in his old gym.
jud was a good priest. he wasn't like this. he didn't allow perverted thoughts to surround himself, not in typical situations. before you arrived, he could count on one hand the amount of times he'd allowed himself to indulge. that number has more than doubled since you arrived in town. he was growing desperate, for more relief than he could give himself.
he'd caved and opened the hidden bottle of whiskey the night you arrived. poured himself a small glass, enough to indulge but small enough to forgive.
jud had barely had a sip before the knock arrived at the door. he set the glass down in the living space, before opening the door. still in his dog collar and black shirt, as his eyes landed on you.
"i'm sorry, i justāi wanted to see you." you admit, suddenly shy at his doorstep. regretful in your decision to arrive unannounced in the late evening.
"that's okay," jud nodded softly, moving his body to allow you into his space. you'd been here before, for bible study and his book club. but never alone. never when the house was haunted by just the two of you.
"i was just, uhm," he scratches the back of his head as he closes the door. picking up his small glass of whiskey as the two of you stand in the space together. "you want one?"
bad decision. he knows it, you know it. god definitely knows it.
with your nod, jud pours you your own. eyes boring into each others as you both gently take a sip. it wasn't your intention when arriving tonight, subconsciously possibly, but you'd never create this tension with jud purposefully.
you respected his faith, his choice and his position in the church. but the energy in the room felt different tonight. whether it was you, or him, you didn't know. but you were struggling to fight it, jud worse.
he was craving it, creating it almost. waiting for the ball to drop and an excuse to lose himself in you.
"jud?" you whisper, with the air growing thick. his irises blown out with lust, a familiar look in his eyes. the whiskey lines his throat before he sets the glass down, he doesn't answer your whispered call of his name. only removes the glass from your hand and sets it down next to his.
"jud?" you repeat, lip between your teeth as you watch him. his fingers ghost over your cheek, through the hairs on your hairline. he's quiet still, eyes focusing on the way your chest is rising and falling.
"father?" the word on your lips is his annihilation.
his hands grasp your cheeks, forcing your head up toward his, moving his lips onto yours before you can think. his eyes roll back behind his lids as jud melts into the kiss. his whole body alight as his tongue licks inside your mouth.
you dared stop him, not when you were getting everything you wished your life for in this exact moment. his lips felt like coming home, your hands moved up into his hair in the same way you always used to.
he parts from you, breathless and desperate for more. you can see it in him, feel in the way his hands move down to your waist. pulling your body closer into his.
"jud, you'reā" a priest. you speak, cut off with a soft shush from his mouth. his head shakes, heart beating out of his chest as he ignores your respect for his position.
he'd give up everything right now, if it meant he could have you just once more.
"i don't care," jud whispers, as he slowly plucks the white collar out from his shirt. the material falls to the floor, floats down like a feather.
"please," he begs. "let me live in sin for the night."
you couldn't deny himānot in that tone from the mouth of the only boy you've ever loved.
you moved slowly, fingers opening the buttons of his shirt. his breath hitched as you worked down from his collar to the final button. sliding the black material down his arms, seeing the further faded tattoos littering his skin.
jud shuddered as you touched him, nails lightly scratching down his chest. his own hands slide below your shirt, pushing it up and over your head.
he's more desperate than he's ever known. his pants grew tight the second you walked through the door, let alone with his hands on your bare skin.
"jesus christ," he mutters, damn near drooling at the sight of you. his lips find yours again, fingers fiddling with the hook of your bra before it falls down your arms.
jud can't think. his brain is flooded with the feeling of you against him. your bare skin against his own, fueling his senses and giving him everything he's wanted since you arrived in town.
his tongue against yours is pure sin, and jud wants to taste it over and over again. his hands fumble with the zipper of your jeans, as he dips below the fabric. his fingers slide into the lace of your panties, through the wetness of your heat.
jud all but whimpers into your mouth at the feel of you, the warmth. his fingertips meet your bundle of your nerves, hands grasping ahold of his shoulders to keep you steady.
it's almost muscle memory, the way in which he's touching you, in all the ways he used to. eliciting echos of moans from you, captured by his mouth.
your hips move in rhythm with his fingers, before he moves. jud slowly pushes two fingers inside you, his head falling back with a groan as he does. the way your body welcomed him, all but sucked his fingers into you.
"god," he moans, fingers moving slowly inside your sex. grinding your clit against the bump of his palm as he guided your hips. jud knows he's not going to last long once he's touched by you, feels himself inside of you. but watching the contort of your face, the sound of your moans, the wetness on his fingersāhe's scared he's going to finish before he's even started.
your body convulses as he works you over the edge, holding onto him for dear life. his eyes roll into the back of his head as he tastes you on his fingers, licking up every drop of you on his skin.
you know you should stop, to protect his faithābut he wasn't protesting. wasn't showing any signs of wanting this to end here. if anything, it was you that was more concerned than he.
his fingers move to undo his pants, pushing the material down to his ankles before stepping out of the fabric. his hands are back around your waist after the fact, kissing at your lips as he discards your jeans and panties to the floor.
he's kissing you to the couch, his body dropping down to sit with you in his lap. he can feel you against his hardness, with your thighs either side of his knees. jud can't help but buck his hips up against you.
"you are so beautiful," he whispers, moving your hair back behind your shoulders. his lips cascade down your neck to your shoulders, littering your chest with soft open mouthed kisses.
jud is so hard it's painful, and as your hand reaches between the two of you to touch him he thinks he might explode. wrapping your hand around his shaft, slowly pumping his length.
his breath hitches, head falling back against the couch. his eyes half lidded and stuck on you. "don't ever stop touching me," jud breathes out, all need and desperation. "please, never." your eyes on his feel like a promise. silenting agreeing with his plea.
lifting your hips up slowly, you position his member beneath you and sink. your arms hook around his neck as you moan out his name.
"holy shit," he groans, hands tightening on your hips. "you feel like heaven."
his hips move to meet yours, moving together in perfect rhythm. your moans together echo around the sacred space, and jud thinks he could die happy here below you.
the lingering thought of sin festers in the back of his mind, with every thrust up into your cunt. the pushed away feeling burrows into his brain, but he can't deny he'd sin over and over if sin looked as pretty as you did sat on his lap like this.
"fuck, judā" you whimper, as his hips start to pick up speed below you. tightening his grip around you, your chest tight against his. his mouth licking and biting at the space between your neck and shoulder. "i missed you."
the words are his undoing, his thrusts becoming sloppy. his cock throbs inside you, kissing up to your ear as he whispers. "missed youāshitāso much."
"m'gonnaāgod, i'm gonnaā" he stutters, he can't finish his sentence. too shy or too ashamed, he can't tell. but it's too much for him to hold on, barely getting out his word of warning before his load splutters up inside of your walls.
his head collapses on your shoulder, his body going limp as he holds you in his arms. "shit, i didn't use protection." he panics, doe eyed as he looks up to you once more.
"it's okay, it's okay," you smile gently, shaking your head as you push the curls back from his forehead. "i'm on the pill, it's okay." you assure him, but the worry doesn't shift from his eyes.
"jud, it's okay," you repeat, gently caressing his cheek. "add it to the list of sins we've accumulated tonight." you murmur, with a gentle smirk. your words help cut through the tension, through the worry he's feeling.
he feels himself soften within you, as you slowly stand from his lap. jud almost whines at the loss of sensation, the comfort he found from within your walls.
"stay?" he whispers, gulping down the nerves as he asks. his hands wrap around the back of your thighs, chin resting against your stomach as he leans his head back to look up to you.
"you want me to?" you murmur, fingers softly weaving through his hair. jud nods softly, eyes begging you to say yes. to stay with him for the night, to let him hold you in the way that used to be his normal.
"okay."
he wraps you in his shirt, as you both slide your underwear back up your legs. carrying the rest of your shared clothes up to his bedroom, it's only then that he remembersāa single bed, he sleeps in a single bed.
"might be a tight squeeze." he jokes, scratching the back of his neck with nerves, scared you'll say no and leave him to sleep alone.
you smile to him, doing up some of the buttons of his shirt and laying down in his bed. shuffled up close to the wall, holding open the blanket for him to slide in next to you.
he does, and he's never felt more content. your arm slides over his waist, his back to your chest as you hold him. your eyes flutter shut, falling asleep to the soft sound of his voice.
"forgive me father, for i have sinned..."
i'm so alone out here without you, baby
jud was gone when you woke, a familiar feeling. alone in his bed, in his shirt, the smell of him on his pillow still lingering. the note on his nightstand the only proof he had been there the night before.
i'm so sorry. please forgive me. only ever yours, jud
it was hard to understand his meaning, unable to tell if he was apologising for leaving or ever letting you in to begin with. you stayed a short while longer, and left in his shirt.
he didn't call, not even a text in the days that followed. petrified you were the reason for his guilt, wondering how he felt about his actions. did he regret it? was he ashamed? had he begged god for forgiveness in the same way he wrote in his note to you?
you went to his service the following sunday, just to see him. you had no plans to talk to him, never to ambush him. just to check in on him, see the look in his eyes. had shame taken over his pupils, or had he found peace with his choices? you wanted to know he wasn't hurting, and that he didn't hate you for it.
"amen."
you're one of the first to stand at the end of his sermon, heading straight for the doors as jud quickly weaves through the church goers to reach you.
"waitāplease," he whispers, as the two of you stand outside the church walls. his hands grasp yours, as he plays priest to those leaving his service. "did you read my note?" jud whispers, as the final person walks away from him.
"yeah, iā" you start, before his eyebrows furrow and he interrupts.
"but you didn't come." jud sighs, his shoulders slump and his hands slowly let go of your own. your own brow furrows in response, head tilting in confusion.
"you didn't read the back?" he bites his lip, cursing himself for not calling to check after the fact. he watches as you shake your head, a huff of annoyance leaving him. annoyed at himself.
"i just needed to think, i wrote asking for you to meet me the next day." jud speaks, and suddenly you're reaching into your purse. scrambling to find the crumpled note.
"you kept it," jud smiles, and he can't help the way his heart swells at the thought. he watches as you read the back of his note, shoulders slumping as you do.
"i'm sorry, jud, i'm so stupid, iā"
without warning, he tugs you inside the church. away from prying eyes of chimney rock, with no one but god to witness his lips attacking yours again.
"i'm stupid," he mumbles against your lips. "should have called you, gone to your house, anything." jud speaks, between kisses. the vestment still on his body, kissing your lips without a care in the world in god's house.
"just needed to think, baby, that was the only reason i left you alone again." he whispers, big hands holding your face to look up to his.
"you don't regret it?" you whisper, somehow still scared despite the way he's looking at you like you hung the moon.
"no, no, baby, no," jud shakes his head. "i've been so lonely out here, i didn't realise it until you arrived. i told you in that note, i'm only ever yours. i was just too scared to say it to your face."
"just mine?" you gulp, looking to the cross sitting center of his vestment.
"let me worry about that, okay?" he whispers, distracting himself with his mouth on yours.
'cause you were the only one i was never scared to tell i hurt
you didn't question him again. did as he asked, let him worry about it. you're sure he did. when you'd arrive early to his service, finding him kneeling at the altar. muffled prayers would hit your ears, murmurs of forgiveness.
but who does the priest confess to other than god? he stands the burden of confession, sits behind the curtain and forgives those of their sins. frees strangers of their transgressions, accepts their guilt and shame and perversion without judgement. offers them comfort and absolution. but who does this for the priest, the solely priest with no ear to rely on other than god?
you thought of that often. wished to be the ear he needed to console him, but you knew different. knew no one but his god could free him from the shame he was feeling. the acts of sin he was committing by being with you.
he didn't always view it as suchāas sin. only the acts of intercourse did he ever truly feel shame for. jud could allow himself the kisses, the secret glances, the feeling of your skin against his in the dead of night. but no amount of penance could free him from the delinquency of indulging in you fully.
father jud sat upon his chair in the confessional booth, the red curtain between he and those waiting to be dissolved of their sin. you waited for the regular confessors to finish their admissions, before taking your seat behind the curtain.
"forgive me father, for i have sinned. this is my first confession." you speak, as the two of you make the sign of the cross behind the partition.
"i've committed a lot of sins, father." you speak, your fingers fiddling with the necklace dangling against your chest.
"tell me, my child." jud speaks, his voice croaking despite his efforts to remain dutiful.
"i've had thoughts, father, perverted, sinful thoughts," you begin. "acted in ways that go against god's teachings, and i know i'll keep going."
you hear jud gulp behind the partition, imagine his hands growing sweaty, his cheeks blushing red. the thought thrills you somehow.
"this man, father, he does things to me. he always has," you continue. "my whole life, i've craved him. but he, he belongs to god."
"father, he's a man of god, you see. but he's been unfaithful, he's been coming to me in the dead of night rather than his master. and father, i like it," you hum, eyes fluttering shut. "i need him to need me. i love him to need me, to crave me in the way i crave him."
you can hear jud's breathing despite not being able to see his face. his chest rising and falling with every word you speak, his hands tight around his thighs. trying with everything in his body to stay faithful to his position, but your words are testing his restrainant.
"he was mine first, father, you have to know that," you hum, lip between your teeth. "i had him before god did. he loved me, before he loved him."
"but i see him everyday, and father, it's so hard," you drawl, tone lowering. "i want so badly to hold him, to kiss his lips whenever i please, to get down on my knees andā"
"i, uhm, i understand," jud stutters, his cheeks pink.
"do you, father?" you murmur, pushing your luck, and jud's limits. "how badly i want you?"
he doesn't speakācan't. he's quiet on the other side of the partition, before you hear shuffling. you see his shadow move, before jud opens the red curtain hiding you from his view outside the booth.
"you're ruining me," he mumbles, with no bite, as he closes the curtain behind him. "do you know that?"
he drops to his knees before you, the two of you cramped in the small space. his body between your legs, his tall frame making his head the same height as your chest as he kneels. "kiss me, my girl," he whispers. "before i go crazy."
you doāgrasping his face like he's your lifeline, leaning down to press your mouth to his. kissing his lips in the booth, as though this is his greatest confession. because it is.
his greatest sin. his sole temptation, that he's unable to resist.
and it hurts to miss you, but it's worse to know
it had been two weeks since your confession, since jud broke every rule and kissed you within the booth. things had been quiet since then. jud had barely spoken to anyone since, let alone you.
politeness at church, but silence elsewhere. he stopped answering calls, didn't let you inside the house, never let you stay behind after service.
jud was going through turmoil. his shame began to eat him alive. he'd gone too far, and was paying for it his guilt. he knew god loved him, guilty or notābut he'd broken his sacred vows.
it would only ever been you. no one else could have made him like this. there was, and never would be, anyone who could tempt him in the way you did. but you hadn't just tempted him, you devoured him.
it wasn't your fault, never your fault. you were free to do as you pleased without reason. jud never judged you for that, had no right or reason to.
but jud was to blame for his own actions. he'd lost himself in you, almost lost his god on the way. he was close to giving up everything if it meant he could have you, truly have you.
it was late at night when he met you, his stomach in knots and head a mess. you could see it in him, almost knew what was coming when you arrived.
"i'm sick and twisted for what i've done," jud speaks, his head in his hands and guilt written all over his face. he sits with you on that old wooden bench in the church grounds, his knuckles black and bruised. the old punching bag in sam's garage had clearly been overused.
"i'm sick for doing this to you." he continues, his eyes bloodshot as they meet yours.
"jud, please don't do this to me again," you know you're unfair to ask, but you do anyway. "please, we can be happy."
his heart aches at the thought, he knows it's true. he could give up his position, and live a happy life with you. but this is his life, god is his life. he made a vow, and he intends to keep itāno matter how broken he's made it.
"i know," he speaks, his eyes welling up. "but you know i can't. you told me that on the first day, i should have listened." he curses himself, thumb sliding over his battered knuckles.
"i love you." you whisper, through broken tears. "i love you."
"i've always loved you," he speaks through tears, desperate to reach out and hold your handābut he doesn't, jud knows if he touches you he's not sure he'll never let you go. "i will always love you."
his hands wipe down his face, choking out a sob into his palms. it kills him, doing this. hurting you, and destroying himself in the process.
"i will always be yours," jud cries, using the pad of his thumb to brush away a tear dropping down your cheek. "i have only ever been yours, and will only ever be yours."
"and his." you whisper, too scared that sobs would start and never stop if you spoke any louder.
"and his." he nods, looking up into the heavens. his heart heavier than he'd ever felt it. already doubting himself, wanting to change his mind and kiss the sadness off your face.
but looking to the sky, and feeling him, he knows he can't. he made a promise to him, and he owed him his devotion. he was fulfilled as a priest, content, happy. he knows he'll always wonder if he made the right choice, and that's something he'll have to live with. he'll make peace with it, jud knows that. god will give him the strength to make peace with it.
he'll pray that god gets you through this pain, the pain he's putting you through. that will be the biggest regret of his life, causing you so much hurt. god didn't make him perfect, jud made choices that caused pain and heartbreak and hurt. but sometimes he wishes god could have made him able to be kinder to you.
"i'm so sorry." he whispers, cutting through the silent tears you're both shedding. his lips press a soft kiss to your forehead, one more to remember you by, he thinks. god would forgive him for that.
"i'll always want you." you speak, and the sobs follow. chasing his lips against your skin, and he lets you. holding the back of your head as you rest against him.
"there isn't a part of me that doesn't want you," he admits, as though it's his turn on your side of the confessional. "i will think of you every single day of my life."
jud's words shatter your heart piece by piece, because you know it doesn't matter. his words don't change anything, they won't change his mind.
"i will always wonder, i will pray for you every night, i'll want you for the rest of my life," he continues, his hand caressing the back of your scalp as your sobs muffle against him. "you will be with me, in here, for eternity." jud speaks through tears, as he places his hand over yours against his heart.
your eyes both bloodshot, and puffy. all sniffles and snot, but when your lips chase his he doesn't stop you. you kiss him like it's the last time, because it is. you needed to remember how it felt. god would forgive him for that.
"i'll only ever be yours."
i don't condone ethel's actions, i do not support her and i very rarely listen to her music anymore. i find inspiration in the lyrics, so please forgive me for using her songs in fics.
blurb - Joel knows you deserve better. A closed-off, stubborn, fifty-eight-year-old man is the last thing you need. But when youāre this close to slipping through his fingers for good, he canāt bring himself to let you goānot when holding on feels like the only thing he still knows how to do.
warnings - nsfw,Ā mdniĀ 18+, jealous, yearning, second chance romance, love birds, hurt, angst, relationship help, happy ending, insecure!JoelMiller, oldman!JoelMiller, Jackson!JoelMiller, implied age gap, some plot before the porn, emotional sex, dirty talk, pussy pronouns, SPITTING (hey we're the freaks tonight), face fucking, creampies (don't try this at home!).
One shot requested by: @ anyomous
wc: 10.1 k
Joel didnāt want to be here.
Didnāt want to sit at this goddamn table in this goddamn bar, pretending he gave half a shit about whatever livestock report Tommy was tryinā to show him. Didnāt want to make small talk with Maria, who kept giving him those sideways glances like she was bracing for a storm.
And he sure as hell didnāt want to look across the room again.
But he did.
Every few seconds.
Like a fucking compulsion.
There you were. Sitting at the end of the bar. Back straight, drink in hand. Your laugh was softer than usualāhe could only hear it in flashesābut it still hit him like a punch to the gut.
The man beside you? He was new. Joel had seen him around, helping out with the fencing crew. Young. Maybe thirty. No older than thirty-five. Sharp jaw, easy grin. The kind of guy who didnāt creak when he stood up. The kind of guy who could keep up with someone like you.
You were smiling.
Not the way you used toānot that quiet, tired smile you saved for Joel when you were curled up in bed, wearing one of his shirts and tracing old scars on his chest with your fingertipābut still. It was real.
You were smiling.
And it wasnāt for him.
Joelās jaw flexed. He took another drink, fingers clenched so tight around the glass that the joints ached.
āJoel,ā Tommy said cautiously. āYou okay, man?ā
He didnāt look at him.
Didnāt trust himself to.
Maria shifted in her seat beside Tommy, hands laced neatly on the table, watching Joel with those calm, sharp eyes that always saw more than they let on.
āWe can go,ā she offered gently. āYou donāt have to sit here and torture yourself.ā
āI aināt torturinā nobody,ā Joel muttered, staring down into the amber swirl in his glass.
āRight,ā Tommy said. āThatās why youāve been starinā holes through the side of her head since we walked in.ā
Joel didnāt answer. Just rolled his shoulders, tried to act casual. Failed.
Because the truth was, he couldnāt stop looking at you.
Not since the moment he saw you walk in.
Hair brushed and curled, your favorite sweater hanging soft off one shoulder. Lip gloss catching the light. You didnāt look like someone trying to prove a pointāyou didnāt look like you were out to make anyone jealous.
You looked like you were trying to feel normal again.
And that cut deeper than anything.
Because Joel had spent years convincing himself he was the one who knew how to keep you safe. How to make you feel steady. Loved. Even if he never said it aloud, never gave you the words.
Even if he kept his past locked up behind his ribs and only ever let you peek at it in pieces.
He thought itād be enough.
But it wasnāt.
You left.
And you didnāt slam the door. Didnāt scream. Didnāt throw a single fucking thing. You justā¦ packed a bag, folded one of his shirts, and said I canāt keep giving you everything and getting silence in return.
He didnāt stop you.
Didnāt say what he shouldāve said.
Didnāt say Donāt go.
Didnāt say I need you.
Didnāt say I love you.
Because he thought he had time. Thought youād cool off. Thought youād come back.
But here you were. With someone else.
And Joel had never felt older in his life.
His knuckles were swollen from last weekās patrol. His back ached from the cold front. There were lines on his face he hadnāt noticed before, deepening around his eyes and mouth like time had finally caught up.
What the hell did he have to offer you anymore?
What could he give you now, at fifty-fucking-eight, that you didnāt already deserve from someone younger? Someone untouched by twenty years of blood and grief and failure?
He rubbed a hand over his mouth, suddenly too warm in his coat, suddenly too loud in his head.
āI shoulda said somethinā,ā he mumbled. Barely audible.
Tommy raised a brow. āWhat?ā
āI shouldaāā Joel cut himself off. Exhaled hard through his nose. āNever mind.ā
Maria leaned in, voice low. āItās not too late, Joel.ā
He shook his head.
āIt is,ā he said. āSheās movinā on.ā
Tommy sighed. āMaybe. Or maybe sheās just tryinā to remember what itās like to feel somethinā. After you spent months makinā her feel invisible.ā
That one landed.
Joel flinched. Visibly.
He deserved it.
He knew it.
But the truth wasāhe didnāt make you feel invisible because he stopped loving you.
He did it because he loved you too fucking much.
Because loving you meant dragging you into all the wreckage of his life. It meant you knowing how deep the damage went. How fucked up he really was underneath the surface. And heād spent so long building walls, burying thingsāSarah, Tess, everything in betweenāthat letting you in felt like peeling his skin off.
But youād already seen him, hadnāt you?
You saw every goddamn thing. And you stayed.
He had just forced your hands until you couldnāt stay.Ā
And he let you go anyway.
Now here you were.
And that man beside you? He leaned in to say something. You smiled. Shook your head. Looked down at your drink, then back up at him with a softness that wasnāt flirtation, not yet, but it could be.
It could become something.
Joel swallowed hard.
He needed something stronger.
The bourbon wasnāt cutting it. Not tonight.
Not with that manās hand still resting a little too close to yours. Not with your laughter trailing through the bar like a ghost he couldnāt catch. Not with every goddamn ache in his body echoing the one in his chest.
Joel pushed up from the table, muttering something half-formed to Tommy, who just gave him a look. One of those you sure youāre alright? looks that Joel didnāt want to deal with right now.
Maria said something too, something soft, but he didnāt catch it.
Didnāt care.
He moved through the crowd like a man with a mission. Eyes forward. Shoulders tight. His boots thudding against the floor louder than they needed to. He kept his jaw clenched the whole way to the bar, biting down the burn rising in his throat.
He wasnāt drunk. Not yet. But he wanted to be.
Not sloppy. Not out-of-control.
Justā¦ numb.
He flagged down the bartender with a lift of two fingers.
āSomething rough,ā he said gruffly. āWhateverās got the most bite.ā
The man behind the bar nodded and poured something dark amber into a glass that looked too clean. Joel wrapped his hand around it, let the chill seep into his palm.
He didnāt drink it. Not yet.
Just stared at it, watching the way the light fractured through the liquor. The way the ice cracked against the sides. It reminded him of tensionāof pressure building until it finally snapped.
He was so tired of pretending this didnāt hurt.
So damn tired of holding it all in.
And thenā
A tap.
Faint.
Right on his shoulder.
He turned sharply, half-expecting some drunk asshole wanting to start something. Maybe the guy you were talking toāhell, maybe Tommy, coming to drag him home before he embarrassed himself.
He opened his mouth to growl something uglyā
He stopped cold.
You.
You were standing there, looking up at him like you hadnāt just shattered his entire evening. Like you hadnāt carved him open just by walking into the same room.
Your eyes were soft. Cautious.
Like you were bracing for the wreckage too.
Joelās spine went stiff. His mouth opened, then closed. His first instinctāto glare, to cover the bleeding with angerāflickered and died the second you tilted your head.
āHey,ā you said gently, barely audible over the buzz of the bar. āCan we talk?ā
He blinked.
His throat worked around a knot that hadnāt been there a second ago. Talk? Here? With him?
You gestured vaguely toward the back of the room, where a few couples were swaying in the open space cleared for dancing. The music was slower nowāsome old Willie Nelson track playing softly on the speakers. You looked like you werenāt sure what to do with your hands. One of them lifted. Reached for him.
Not quite touching.
Not until he nodded.
āā¦Sure.ā
The word felt jagged in his throat. He downed his drink in one brutal motionāfelt the liquor burn down to his ribs. It wasnāt courage. Not really. But it was something. Something to help hold back the goddamn shake in his hands when you stepped closer.
You reached for his hand.
And Joel, without thinking, gave it to you.
His fingers closed around yours instinctively, like they remembered this. Like theyād been aching for this. You turned, tugged gently, guiding him through the bar. He followed.
And it was so easy.
Too easy.
Thatās what scared him.
Because thisāyour fingers threaded with his, the scent of your shampoo drifting back as you walked ahead of him, your thumb brushing once against the side of his handāthis felt like home.
And home wasnāt something Joel had let himself believe in for a long damn time.
Not until you.
The dance floor was dim. Sparse. Only a few couples moving in lazy circles under the fairy lights strung up overhead. Your steps slowed. You turned to face him, your expression unreadable. Something sad flickered in your eyes, but you didnāt speak right away.
Instead, you pulled him a little closer.
Joel stared at you.
Then at your hand.
Then back up.
āYou wanna dance?ā he asked quietly, unsure, half-hoping heād misread this whole thing.
You didnāt answer his question with words.
You just stepped in close.
And slowlyātentativelyāyou lifted your arms and draped them over his shoulders, like youād done a hundred times before, in moments far easier than this one. Joelās hands hovered awkwardly in the space between you for a second too long before they found their way to your waist. The fit was still there. Muscle memory. His palms curved around you like they remembered every inch.
You started to sway.
No rhythm. No flourish.
Justā¦ movement. Just closeness.
The kind that ached.
Joel exhaled, slow and quiet. His forehead didnāt quite touch yours, but you were close enough that your breath ghosted across his chin when you spoke.
āI need to get my stuff back.ā
It wasnāt angry. Wasnāt even cold.
Just a fact.
Something real to ground all this softness.
Joelās grip tensed, just slightly. A beat passed. Then another.
āYeah,ā he muttered, eyes unfocused. āāCourse. Figured youād ask.ā
You didnāt say anything.
Joel tried to hide the way his throat worked around the words he wanted to say.
The way his chest tightened at the thought of your toothbrush still tucked in the bathroom drawer. Your sweater draped over the back of the chair by the window. That dumb mug with the cracked handle you always reached for first. Your handwriting on the notepad by the fridge, where youād scribbled half a shopping list before storming out five weeks ago.
Heād left it there.
Still did.
Your stuff was everywhere.
It wasnāt just stuff. Not really.
It was the only proof heād managed to build something with warmth.
And now you wanted it back.
Joel cleared his throat.
āI can drop it off,ā he said. āIf you want. Save you the walk.ā
You pulled back just enough to look at him. Not all the wayājust enough for your gaze to meet his. Joel hated the way his stomach dropped when he saw the flicker of sadness in your eyes.
āOr I can leave it on the porch,ā he added quickly, like he didnāt care. āWhateverās easier.ā
You didnāt answer right away.
You just looked at him.
Like you saw through every defense he was scrambling to raise.
āJoel,ā you said softly. āHow are you?ā
He blinked. Pulled his gaze away. Let it drift over your shoulder, toward the corner of the room where the shadows were quieter.
āIām fine.ā
He said it too fast.
Too clipped.
You didnāt buy it. He knew you wouldnāt.
You always had a way of getting him to drop the act.
You leaned in a little closer, your arms shifting slightly around his neck. āThatās not what I asked.ā
He closed his eyes.
Just for a second.
Because he was so goddamn tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of swallowing everything that shouldāve been said when it mattered.
His hands tightened gently on your waist. Not pulling. Not holding on. Justā¦ needing.
āHow am I?ā he echoed quietly. āI wake up, and your shoes are still by the door. That sweater you always wear when you're coldāitās still hanginā on the back of the chair like youāre gonna come grab it in the morninā. I make coffee and pour too much ācause I forget you aināt there to drink it.ā
You blinked hard.
Joel looked down at you again. There was no anger in his face. No heat.
Just exhaustion.
And grief.
He paused. His voice dropped to something near a whisper.
āI left your favorite vinyl on the turntable the other day. Justā¦ forgot to change it.ā
Your eyes shimmered in the low light. You didnāt interrupt. Didnāt say Iām sorry. You didnāt owe him that. You didnāt owe him anything anymore.
Joel swallowed hard.
āIām not great,ā he admitted, finally. āThatās how I am. Iām not great.ā
The silence between you pressed in heavy. Not suffocating, but weighty. Like truth always was.
You shifted your arms, one hand rising to thread your fingers into the back of his hair. Joel closed his eyes at the contact. His grip stayed steady at your waist, but he swore he felt his legs go weak.
āIām not great either,ā you said softly. āThought I would be.ā
Joel gave a breathy laugh through his nose. āYou seemed happy earlier.ā
āI was trying,ā you admitted. āI was pretending I didnāt still feel you in every room.ā
Joelās eyes opened slowly.
Met yours.
And there it wasāthat thing he thought heād lost. That unspoken current. The pulse of something still alive between you, flickering just beneath the surface.
You swayed in silence again.
Neither of you said a word.
The music faded into the background, just soft enough not to matter. Just enough to give the illusion of rhythm while you swayed together in the quiet middle of a too-loud room.
Joel leaned in, forehead brushing against yours. Barely there. But it felt like too much and not enough all at once.
You smelled the same.
Like soap and skin and something faintly sweetāsomething that lived in your sweaters and in his sheets. Something he hadnāt been able to scrub out no matter how many nights heād tried to sleep alone.
Five weeks.
Five fucking weeks.
It didnāt sound like much. Not in the grand scheme. Heād gone longer without food. Without rest. Without safety. But this?
This was something else entirely.
And for a secondā¦
God.
For a second, he let himself pretend you were still his.
That youād be there in the morning. That when he turned over in bed, heād feel your bare thigh brushing his, your palm resting lightly on his chest, your breath rising and falling in that easy rhythm he used to memorize.
He missed waking up to you.
He missed the sound of your yawn when you stretched beside him. The way your hand always found his under the covers, cold and shameless, like you knew heād warm them for you.
He missed the shuffle of your slippers down the hall. The smell of toast. That little click of your coffee mug against the counter.
He used to grumble, pretend he hated it when you cooked breakfast like he couldnāt do it himself.
But he fucking loved it.
Youād hand him a plate with that quiet smirk, always fussingāāEat it before it gets cold, Millerāāand heād do exactly that. Because it tasted like care. Like you loved him even when he didnāt ask for it.
He missed coming back from patrol and finding you stretched out on the couch in one of his flannels, legs bare, book cracked open on your chest, a throw blanket half-falling to the floor.
Youād look up when he walked in, and thereād be this softness in your eyes. This quiet little smile, like there you are, like the whole day had been waiting for him.
He missed that look.
Missed you tossing your book aside just to sit beside him, curl up under his arm, legs thrown over his lap like you belonged there.
You did belong there.
He missed passing the bathroom after a shower and catching the scent of your soap in the steam. That faint citrus smell. The one that lingered on his pillows. On his shirts. On his goddamn skin.
He hadnāt smelled it in days.
He left the bar of it sitting in the shower anyway. Stupid hope.
Like maybe if he didnāt move it, youād walk in again. Humming. Smiling. Telling him to get out 'cause you needed the mirror.
Joelās hands gripped your hips a little tighter.
He swallowed hard.
And thenāGod help himāhis thoughts slipped lower.
Because it wasnāt just the comfort. Not just the routines. Not just the domestic quiet you brought into his chaos.
It was the heat of you.
The need.
He missed the feel of your hands on his chest, tugging his shirt off impatiently. The way your mouth dragged across his jaw with purpose. Like you knew exactly what he needed and werenāt shy about giving it.
You were never shy with him.
Not once.
He missed you pulling him in with a handful of his belt, whispering against his mouth, Come on, baby, take care of me, like you werenāt the one unraveling him.
He missed the way you straddled him on the couch, kissed him deep and slow while your fingers dragged down his stomach. How youād rock your hips against his, lazy and teasing, like you had all the time in the world to ruin him.
He missed how you bit him when you came.
Soft, quick, right against his shoulder.
Like a secret you couldnāt keep.
Joel breathed out slowly through his nose, trying to steady himself.
But it didnāt work.
Because you shifted against him then. Innocent. Barely a move. But enough to bring your chest flush against his, enough for your fingers to tangle a little deeper into the hair at the nape of his neck.
You were warm.
So fucking warm.
And soft.
And his whole body was screaming for more.
He missed your thighs clenching around his hips as he buried himself inside you. The way your breath hitched when he pressed deeper. Slower. When he held your wrists above your head and whispered all the filthy things heād never say anywhere else.
He missed the mess of it.
The sweat. The gritted teeth. The way youād cry out his name like it meant something. Like you trusted him to break you apart and put you back together again.
He missed your skin. The taste of it. The scent of you in his sheets. The way you said Joel like a fucking prayer when he brought you over that edge again and again and againā
He missed being needed.
Physically. Completely.
He missed being yours.
Not just in the daylight. Not just in casual moments or shared coffee or post-patrol silence.
He missed being the man you reached for at night, when you were desperate and aching and honest in a way the sun never got to see.
Joel opened his eyes.
And you were right there.
You were still swaying with him.
Still close.
Still holding onto him like this moment mattered. Like it meant something. Joel could feel your breath against his throat, warm and even. You hadnāt spoken. Neither had he. And part of him wanted to stay in this silence forever.
But it wasnāt real.
It was borrowed time.
And he couldnāt keep pretending.
Not with you so close.
Not with the memory of your smile already fading from his house, from his mornings, from the quiet in the shower.
So he forced himself to speak. Quiet. Raw.
āI wonāt stop you,ā he murmured, barely louder than the hum of the song.
You blinked.
Pulled your head back just slightly, brows drawn.
āWhat?ā
āIf you wanna go.ā He swallowed hard. āIf you wanna be with that guyāā
āJoelāā
āāI get it,ā he cut in. Not harsh. Just final. āYou should. Heās younger. Smoother. Probably better at sayinā all the right things. Probably aināt spendinā half a day tryinā to get up from a chair.ā
You stared up at him, clearly not amused by his joke. Your lips parted, but no sound came out.
Joelās heart ached.
āAnd if thatās what you want,ā he said softly, āIāll wish you the best with it. With everythinā.ā
You shook your head, once. Like you didnāt understand.
Joel held your gaze.
āI mean that. Iāll always be your biggest supporter. Even if I aināt the one beside you anymore.ā
Your breath hitched.
The tears came fast.
You let go of him like youād been burned.
Took a full step back. Then another. Shook your head again, more violently now.
āStopāā you choked, voice cracking. āDonāt say that. Donāt fucking say that.ā
Joelās throat closed. But he couldnāt take it back.
You looked down at the floor like it hurt to meet his eyes.
And then, just like that, you turned.
You pushed through the crowd with both hands, shoving someone out of the way, rushing for the back doors like you couldnāt breathe. Joelās stomach twisted.
He stood frozen for half a second too long.
Then he moved.
The air outside hit him like a slap.
It was cold. Windy. Crisp.
You were standing a few feet away, arms wrapped around yourself, back to him, shoulders trembling.
He could hear the sharpness of your breathingāhiccuped, fractured, like you were trying not to fall apart again.
āHeyāā Joel called softly. āWait.ā
You didnāt turn.
Didnāt speak.
Joel stepped closer, slow.
āJustālet me say this,ā he said. āPlease.ā
You finally turned. Tears were streaked down your face. Your eyes were red. You looked like you hated him and missed him all at once.
āYou always do this,ā you whispered. āEvery time. When it gets hard, you freeze up. You disappear. You shut down and Iām left talking to a fucking brick wall.ā
āI know,ā Joel said. Quiet. Barely there.
āYou donāt fight for me,ā you said, voice cracking again. āYou never fight for me. And now youāre telling me to go be with someone elseālike thatās what I want? Like I left you because I didnāt love you?ā
Joel shook his head. āThatās not what I meantāā
āThen what did you mean, Joel?ā you snapped. āBecause it sure sounded like you were giving me permission to leave like it doesnāt matter. Like we donāt matter.ā
He was breathing hard now.
āI meant I want you to be happy,ā he rasped. āEven if it kills me.ā
You blinked.
Hard.
Joel took another step closer.
āI didnāt know how to love you right. I never got it right. But Godādarlinā, I love you.ā
You didnāt answer. Just stood there, trembling, tears tracking down your cheeks like you couldnāt stop them even if you wanted to.
Joel didnāt know what to do with his hands. His chest ached like a bruise, sharp and sore and tender all at once. He reached for you, slow, cautiousāhis arms wide like he was afraid youād vanish if he touched you too fast.
But before he could pull you inā
You grabbed him.
Fisted your hands in the front of his jacket.
And kissed him.
Hard.
Messy.
Desperate.
Joel froze for half a second. Shocked. Breath stolen clean from his lungs.
And thenā
Goddamn.
He kissed you back like a starving man.
Like he hadnāt tasted anything real in five whole weeks.
His hands flew to your face first, palms cradling your jaw with a tenderness that didnāt match the pace of his mouthārough, hungry, grateful. Then they dropped, skimming your waist, your ribs, your back. Like he needed to touch every part of you to make sure you were real.
You gasped against him, lips slipping, teeth clashing just slightly. Joel groanedādeepāfrom his chest, like something inside him had just cracked under the weight of everything heād been holding in.
The kiss broke for a secondābarely.
You caught your breath.
Then grabbed him again.
You didnāt speak with your mouth. You poured it into himāevery ounce of pain and love and fury and longing youād been biting back since the night you left.
Joel didnāt care who saw.
Didnāt care who was still in the bar, or if Tommy looked out the window, or if Maria came after you.
None of it mattered.
Not when your mouth was on his like this. Not when your hands slid under his coat, under his shirt, gripping his waist like you never wanted to let go again.
He pressed you back against the side of the building, brick cold under your spine, his body flush against yours. His hands roamed like heād earned it. Like he needed to feel you again, every inch, before it all disappeared.
You broke the kiss just long enough to whisper against his lips.
āTake me to our home.ā
Joelās chest clenched.
Not a home.
Not your home.
Just ours.
His.
Yours.
Ours.
Something hot twisted in his gut. He buried his face in your neck, breath shaky, lips brushing the skin just beneath your jaw.
āYou sure?ā he murmured, voice low and wrecked and so goddamn soft.
You nodded, nose brushing his. āJoel. Please.ā
That was all he needed.
He didnāt wait.
Didnāt think.
He just took your hand, gripped it tight, and started walking.
The streets of Jackson were still.
Quiet. Cold. Empty.
Winter was still holding on by its teethāfrost clung to the edges of porch steps, old snow gathered in shadowed corners of roofs and fences. The moon was low and yellow, clouds creeping over it slow like they didnāt want to interrupt.
But Joel didnāt notice any of it.
All he could feel was your hand in his.
Still there.
Still warm.
Still real.
He didnāt look back at youānot directly.
Not yet.
He glanced, sideways, just enough to watch the shape of you in the corner of his vision, like if he turned too fully, the spell would break. Like if he looked too hard, youād vanish all over again.
It felt like a dream.
No, not a dream.
A story.
Something ancient. Mythic.
Like he were Orpheus, and he was walking you out of the underworld. Back to him.
Except this timeāhe wouldnāt look back. Wouldnāt ruin it.
Your fingers stayed locked in his, tight but calm. You didnāt speak, and neither did he. The silence wasnāt heavy. It was sacred. Like everything unspoken was too delicate to be named just yet.
He was scared.
Not of you.
Not of the cold.
But of what came next.
Scared of what he might say when the door closed behind you.
Scared of what you might see when you stepped inside and realizedānothing had changed.
He hadnāt moved your book off the coffee table. Hadnāt folded the blanket you always used. Your mug was still beside the sink. He didnāt touch the turntable. Didnāt fix the curtain you always claimed was crooked in the bedroom.
He hadnāt let himself forget.
Not a single goddamn thing.
When you reached the porch, Joel fumbled for the key.
The lock stuckālike it always didāand his fingers were stiff from the cold, from nerves, from you.
And then he opened the door.
Let you step in first.
He followed, closing it gently behind him.
And thenā¦ you stood there.
In the soft dark of his home.
Your home.
Your eyes moved slowly.
He could feel itāyour gaze drifting across the living room, catching on the blanket you left draped on the arm of the couch. The open book Joel had kept exactly where you left it. The throw pillow you always used, still shaped to your body like it remembered better than he did.
He stood behind you awkwardly.
Cleared his throat.
āI, uhā¦ā His voice cracked. He tried again. āI can make you coffee. If you want. I know itās late butāā
But you were already turning.
Already closing the space between you with three sharp steps.
And before he could finish the offer, you were on him.
You gripped his shirt in both hands and crashed your mouth to his like you were making up for all the time lost in the silence.
Joel reeled.
He gasped against your mouth, caught off guardābut only for a second.
Then instinct took over.
He kissed you back hard. Messy. Like he needed to taste every second of the last five weeks heād spent alone.
Your hands were greedy, tugging his shirt free from his jeans, palms sliding underneath to find his skin. He groanedāloudlyāinto your mouth, arms locking around you, pressing you into him like he couldnāt stand even an inch of space.
Your coat hit the floor with a thump, and his followed soon after. You both knew what the other craved.Ā
Your lips moved down his neck, open-mouthed and reckless.
Joel swore under his breath. āShit, babyāā
Your teeth scraped his pulse point and he hissed.
He couldnāt think.
Couldnāt breathe.
The adrenaline, the grief, the reliefāit all crashed together like a wave breaking in his chest.
āI missed you,ā you breathed against his skin. āI missed you so much.ā
Joelās hands were everywhereāyour back, your waist, the curve of your ass, your thighs, your jaw. He couldnāt decide what to touch first. Couldnāt hold enough of you, not all at once.
He wanted you in his arms. In his bed. In his house.
Where you fucking belonged.
You pulled back just enough to look at himācheeks flushed, lips swollen, hair wild from his hands. And Joel?
He stared at you like you were the only goddamn thing in the world that ever made sense.
He didnāt let you walk.
He couldnāt.
You were back in his arms, and Joel Miller was not taking a single goddamn risk.
He carried you to the bedroom like something precious. Sacred. Like if he set you down too soon, the moment would vanishājust another dream heād wake from, soaked in sweat and aching with loss.
Your arms were around his neck. Legs around his waist. Mouth on his jaw, his neck, the hinge of his throat. Joel groaned every time your lips brushed skin. He was hard already. Had been from the moment you kissed him outside the bar. But he ignored it. He could wait. He would wait.
He stepped into the room and kicked the door shut behind him with his boot.
You looked at him like he was everything.
Like home.
He couldnāt take his eyes off you.
He sat you down on the edge of the bed with careful hands, just for a second. You started to reach for his belt, desperate, and Joel caught your wrists againānot rough, not punishing. Just still.
āSlow,ā he rasped. āLet me.ā
Your eyes flicked up to his, wide and breathless. You nodded.
He exhaled, like heād been holding his breath for five weeks.
Then he knelt in front of you. Not to tease. Not to play.
To worship.
His hands came to your ankles first, callused thumbs brushing just under the hem of your pants.
āYouāre shakinā already,ā he murmured. āMissed me that much, huh?ā
You gave him this broken smile. āJoelāā
He slid his hands up your calves, your thighs, slow and sure.
āI know,ā he said. āI missed you too.ā
He leaned forward and kissed your knee.
Then your inner thigh.
āYou been thinkinā about this?ā he asked, voice low and rough. āāBout me undressinā you like this? Slow?ā
You swallowed hard. āEvery night.ā
Joel smirked. āYeah? Bet you touched yourself. Got all needy in that big olā empty bed.ā
Your breath hitched.
āThought about me,ā he said, dragging your pants down inch by inch, pressing a kiss to every new strip of skin. āThought about my hands on you. Mouth on you. My cock inside youādeep. Slow.ā
You moanedāloud and brokenāand Joelās chest ached with it as he tossed your pants over his shoulders.
āGod, I missed that sound,ā he growled. āYou sound like heaven when you want me.ā
You took off your own shirt and bra. God, those breasts. He loved them. Beautiful and tight. Another classic example of you. He stood, hooked his thumbs in your waistband, and pulled your underwear down next. You lifted your hips willingly.
He didnāt look awayānot onceāas you were revealed to him again. And fuckāhis knees almost gave out.
Pretty. Pink. Folds swollen and wet to the point that he knew you would be embarrassed about it. But never him. He loved how messy you got when you wanted something, like your body was speaking for you when your mouth clamped shut.Ā
He stared up at you from below, chest heaving, eyes dark with something deeper than lust. Something older. More carved in. More earned.
āGoddamn,ā he muttered, voice hoarse. āYouāre so fuckinā gorgeous like this. Laid out for me. All soft and warm andāmine.ā
Your breath caught.
Your thighs trembled.
He kissed your inner knee, the inside of your thigh. His hands rubbed up and down your calves, your hips, his thumbs digging into the softness like he was grounding himself.
āI missed this more than I missed anythinā,ā he rasped. āThis right hereāā he kissed the crease where thigh met hip, āāwas all I thought about. Woke up some nights with your name in my mouth and nothinā but air in my fuckinā bed.ā
You whimpered.
Joel leaned in, closer. He kissed lower.
And thenā
He devoured.
There was no preamble. No soft, lingering kiss meant to ease you in.
No, this was hunger. This was over a month of tension, weeks of near-misses, days of unsaid things and glances that scorched.
His mouth met your cunt like it belonged there. Like heād been born for this, for you. His tongue parted you, slow at first, just to taste. Just to sample the mess youād already made for him. But thenā
Then he groaned. Low and deep, the sound rumbling through his chest like thunder.
āJesus Christ,ā Joel muttered, voice rasped and reverent, breath hot against your folds. āYou taste better than I remembered. Sweet fuckinā heaven.ā
Your thighs twitched at the sound, at the praise, at the pressure of his tongue licking a long, deliberate stripe right through your center.
You cried outāsharp and breathlessāyour hips jolting off the mattress. And he grinned against you. Like the bastard he was.
His hips jolted forward against nothing, instinctively, like his whole body couldnāt take being this close to you without burying himself inside.
āFuck,ā he growled, lips still brushing your soaked skin. āSheās drippinā for me already. Look at her, baby. So fuckinā wet.ā
Your thighs twitched at the sound of it. The way he said it.
āYou miss this?ā he rasped, voice low and dangerous, eyes locked between your legs. āMissed my mouth on her? On this sweet little pussy?ā
āY-Yes,ā you gasped, breathless. āGodāJoelāyesāā
He chuckled darkly. āThought so.ā
Then he sucked your clit between his lipsāslow at first. He knew exactly what to do, knew exactly what made your voice catch. Then harder. Focused.
Tongue flicking over you in tight, calculated strokes until your back arched and your hand flew to his hair, fisting tight.
You werenāt quiet.
You couldnāt be.
The noisesāyour moans, the wet suck of his mouth, the low sounds he kept making like he was drinking you ināfilled the room like heat.
āFuckinā perfect,ā Joel muttered. āSheās so goddamn soft. So sweet. You feel that?ā His voice rumbled against your clit as he flattened his tongue and dragged it up through your folds. āThatās what I missed. The way she opens up for me. So greedy.ā
You whinedābroken and desperateāgrinding your hips against his face.
He didnāt stop you.
He loved it.
āGo ahead,ā he murmured, licking into your entrance, tongue fucking shallow and slow. āUse me, baby. Rub her all over my face. I can take it. I need it.ā
āJoelāfuckāIām gonnaāā
āNah.ā
Joelās voice came from low in his chest, ragged and breathless. He pulled back just an inch, his mouth flushed and glistening, his eyes wild.
āNot yet,ā he said again. āDonāt come yet. She aināt done with me, is she?ā
You barely shook your head. Couldnāt even speakā
Ā Not before he fucking spit.
It landed right on your clitāhot and thickāand he watched it hit like it was the sexiest thing heād ever seen. You jolted, crying out, already grinding into the airā
And then he licked it up.
Groaning as he did, slow and deep, mouth dragging through every soaked inch.
āJesus fuck,ā he muttered, thumb spreading you open wider. āLook at her. So wet sheās fuckinā shininā for me.ā
He spit again. Lazily this time. Watching it trail through your folds, mix with everything else heād already coaxed out of you.
āJoelā your mouth,ā you gasped, trembling beneath him. āGodā I canāt fucking think when your mouthās on me.ā
Joel looked up at you, pupils blown, face shining. āThen donāt. Let her do the thinkinā.ā
You moaned loud and shameless. āSheās not the one begging. I am.ā
Joel grinned, tongue flicking out to catch the mess before it could drip too far. āThat right? Then tell me. What do you want?ā
āI want more,ā you said, voice wrecked. āI want every bit of you. Tongue, fingers, cockāall of it.ā
He growled, face diving back in like youād just set off a fire in his brain. His tongue swirled, mouth suctioning hard around your clit, then easing off just enough so he could spit again.
āFuuuck,ā he groaned, watching the new mess drip over your cunt. āShe loves it. Fuckinā sloppy for me.ā
āSheāll take everything you give her,ā you breathed, chest heaving. āYou know that. You trained her. Broke her in.ā
āOh, I know.ā
He sounded proud. Possessive. Obsessed.
āShe knows who she belongs to.ā
Your body shuddered.
āI love her, you know that?ā he said, fingers spreading you open for his tongue again. āLove this pussy. Love how she feels, how she tastes. I could fuckinā die between her.ā
Your fingers twisted tighter in his hair, thighs squeezing around his head, desperate and overwhelmed. But he loved itāgrunting low, letting you pull him in deeper, tighter, closer.
āSheās got me fuckinā obsessed,ā he muttered against you. āGet hard just thinkinā about her. Wake up fuckinā leakinā ācause I dream about the way she clenches around my tongueāā
He slipped a finger inside you. Thick. Rough. Curling just right.
Your whole body snapped.
āOh my god, Joelā!ā
āThatās it,ā he groaned, voice low and ruined. āCome on. Let her come. Give it to me, babyāI want it. Want to feel her pulse on my fuckinā face.ā
You shattered.
Your thighs locked up, your body bowed off the bed, and your pussy clenched hard around his finger as you came with a cry that echoed off the walls. You said his name like it was the only thing you knew. The only word that mattered.
Joel didnāt let up. Not even as you started to tremble.
Not even as your legs threatened to close.
He held you openāpinnedāand kept licking, kept sucking, kept claiming.
He moaned into you, letting you ride it out on his face, licking up every drop you gave him like he needed it to survive.
Joel could still feel your pulse on his tongue.
He still had your slick all over his mouth and beard. The taste of you burned into himāsharp and sweet and sacred. It had knocked something loose in him. Something primal. Something that made him want to tear the rest of his clothes off, drag you into his arms, and finally sink into the place heād been dreaming about for five long, lonely weeks.
He staggered up from the bed, breath ragged, belt undone with trembling fingers. His body was flushed, hair mussed, lips still wet from your taste.
āYou donāt know what you just did to me,ā he muttered, voice hoarse like it had been scraped from the inside out. āI canāt fuckinā wait anymoreāI gotta be inside you, baby, now, Iāā
But you moved.
Slid off the mattress like smoke. Like fire under silk skin and bare thighs. A slow, molten kind of hunger.
And Joel froze the moment your knees hit the floor.
You looked up at him with heat in your eyes, mischief in your mouth, and a hunger that dared him to stop you.
āWhaābabyāwhatāre youāā
āShh,ā you said, voice like velvet dragged over flame. āLet me.ā
His hands fisted at his sides. His chest rose and fell in hard, shallow pulls. He looked down at you like he wanted to stop you, like he should stop youā
But didnāt. Couldnāt.
You undid the rest of his belt slowly, methodically. Let the tension stretch between you like something alive. The button popped. The zipper dragged down with a slow hiss.
And through it all, your eyes never left his.
āYou know how many nights I imagined this?ā you murmured, kissing the strip of skin just above his waistband. āHow many times I touched myself pretending it was your cock between my lips?ā
Joel groaned, hips jolting forward, instinctive and needy.
Your fingers slid beneath his boxers, confident and sure. And you didnāt tease.
You freed him. Let him fall heavy into your palm.
Fuck.
So thick. So hard it looked painful.
You looked at him like he was a goddamn revelation. And the sound that spilled from your lipsālow and reverentānearly knocked Joel off his feet.
āOh, baby,ā you whispered, wrapping your fingers around the base. āYouāre perfect.ā
Joel shifted, self-conscious in the way only time could teach. He wasnāt young anymore. He was never young, even when he met you. But you fed him well, and with all the labor, he bulked up, bringing out his stomach.
You slapped his thigh. Not hard. It was like you knew where his thoughts were heading. Just enough to snap his gaze back to you.
āDonāt do that,ā you said, low and sharp. āYou donāt get to hide from me. Not here.ā
Joelās throat worked. āYou donāt gotta say thatāā
āIām not sayinā it to be nice, Joel,ā you growled. āIām sayinā it ācause Iāve been fucking starving. And now I get to taste what Iāve been dreaming about since the second I walked out that door.ā
Joelās eyes darkened.
You leaned in and kissed the base of his cock, slow and reverent. His body shuddered.
āYou taste like him,ā you whispered against the skin. āLike the man who used to own me without even trying.ā
And then you licked.
From root to tip.
Deliberate. Worshipful. Filthy.
Joelās head dropped back. āJesus Christ.ā
You opened your mouthāwideāand took him in.
Hot. Wet. Deep.
Joel moaned, sharp and sudden, a sound dragged straight from his spine. His hips jerked, but your hands were already tight on his thighs, holding him in place.
You worked him slow. Rhythmic. Purposeful.
You werenāt just giving headāyou were consuming him.
Joel didnāt know where to look. The way your lips wrapped around him, the hollow of your cheeks, the spit starting to drip down your chin? It was sickeningly gorgeous.
He looked down, saw your eyes staring back at him. Saw your jaw straining to take more.
You pulled off just far enough to speak, letting a string of spit fall from your lips to his cock.
āMaybe I want to ruin you,ā you whispered. āMaybe I want you thinkinā about my mouth every time you jerk off alone in the dark.ā
Joel hissed through his teeth. āYou got a mouth on you.ā
Your tongue traced a slow circle around his tip.
āAnd you love it.ā
āI do,ā he growled. āFuckinā love everythinā about that mouth. But you keep goinā like that, baby, and Iām not gonna last.ā
āGood,ā you said, licking along a bulging vein. āI want it. All of it.ā
And then?
You took him again.
Deeper this time. Throat tighter. Drool messier. Your spit sliding down his cock in obscene trails.
Joelās hips stuttered. His hands fisted at his sides like it physically hurt not to touch you. Like he was barely hanging on to the dominance he always carried.
āYou like that?ā you said when you pulled off again, spit smeared on your lips, eyes glazed with hunger. āYou like seeinā me like this?ā
Joel groaned, barely coherent. āLook at you. Mouth fullāa cock, begginā for more.ā
āI am begging,ā you whispered, licking the tip and smiling like the devil. āSo donāt hold back, Miller.ā
Something inside him snapped.
He gripped your hairātight, firm, not rough but definiteāand held you right there.
āYou want me to use this mouth?ā he asked, voice low and filthy. āThat it?ā
You moaned again, eyes fluttering closed as your throat worked.
Joel cursed. "Fuck."
And then he started to move.
Slow at first. Testing.
Your hands gripped his thighs harder, anchoring yourself now.
Joel watched the way you took him. Let him own your mouth. The way your lips stretched, the obscene squelch of your throat as he pushed in and out. He could hear every inch of it. Wet and raw and real.
You looked up again, and he nearly came on the spot.
āYouāre so fuckinā good at this,ā he gasped. āJesus, sweetheartāyou take me like you need it.ā
You blinked up at him, teary-eyed and eager, your throat fluttering around him again.
Joel growled.
āYou like it when I fuck your mouth like this? Like a goddamn filthy man?ā
You nodded, or tried to, and he felt the motion around his cock.
His knees nearly gave out.
He was panting now. Full-body trembling. His hands threaded deeper into your hair, tugging at your scalp in a rhythm that matched his hipsāthrusting in, slow but hard, dragging against your tongue and hitting the back of your throat again and again.
You whimpered, gagged just a littleāand Joel lost it.
āOh, fuck, babyādonāt do thatādonāt you do that unless you want me to come right fuckinā nowāā
You pulled off, gasping, spit connecting your mouth to him in a slick string. His cock was flushed, angry-red, twitching in the open air, gleaming with your spit.
You licked your swollen lips, then backed toward the bed slowly.
Kneeling there.
Waiting.
Like a fucking vision.
Hair messy, skin flushed, mouth parted, chest rising and falling like you were starving for him. Like you needed him to get over there and do what he was made to do.
Joel stared.
Didnāt speak.
He dropped his flannel to the floorāthen his shirt, then his jeans, his boxersāand crossed the room without breaking eye contact. He was breathing like a man chasing down his last chance. His thighs ached from how tight theyād been clenched. His stomach wasnāt flat anymore, body worn down by age and timeābut you looked at him like he was everything.
Like he was still the man who could ruin you with just one touch.
He crawled up onto the bedāslowly, knees sinking into the mattress, palms planted on either side of your hips.
And you?
You laid back, legs parted, eyes heavy-lidded, the picture of wrecked devotion.
Joel hovered over you, arms caging you in.
For a second, he just looked at you. Like maybe this was a dream. Like maybe if he moved too fast, it would disappear.
Then he kissed you.
Hard. Deep. Tongue sweeping into your mouth like he needed to taste every part of you again. Like he didnāt just want to fuck youāhe wanted to live inside you. Breathe with you. Lose every broken part of himself in the warmth of your skin.
Your hands gripped his arms. His back. Anywhere you could reach. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in tight.
And then Joel reached down, slid the head of his cock through your folds.
Up. Down. Just to coat himself in you.
He pushed in slow.
The first inch had his breath catching. The second had his eyes closing. And by the time he was all the way ināseated deep, buried inside youāJoelās soul had already left his body.
You were everything.
Everything.
Warm and soft and tight, like youād been molded just for him. Five weeks apart, and stillāyou welcomed him like nothing had changed. Like he belonged there. Like heād always belonged there.
You gasped, mouth falling open, fingers clutching his arms like they were the only steady thing in the world.
Joel couldnāt move.
Not yet.
Not when it felt like this. Not when it had been five goddamn weeks of aching and silence and empty rooms and dreams that ended in nothing but sweat and a hollow bed.
His eyes opened slowly. Just to see you.
Your brows drawn together, lips parted, a soft shine in your eyes that had nothing to do with pain.
You werenāt crying.
But it was close.
So was he.
Joel braced himself above youāone forearm pressed into the mattress, the other hand gently pushing your hair backāand kissed you.
It wasnāt messy. It wasnāt greedy.
It was reverent.
He kissed you like he needed you to understand. That he never wanted to be without you again. That no oneāno person, no place, no damn argumentācould ever replace what you were to him.
When he finally moved?
It was slow. Careful.
A pull, and a push.
He exhaled, voice breaking. āYou feel so good, darlinā.ā
You whimpered beneath him, nails pressing into his shoulder blades.
Joel didnāt rush it.
Every movement was like worship. Like penance. Like he was apologizing with his bodyāsaying all the things he hadnāt known how to say before.
He rolled his hips again.
Your mouth fell open. āJoelāā
āI know,ā he breathed. āI know, baby. I missed you. Missed this.ā
Your eyes met his. And for a moment, everything went still.
Just heartbeats.
Breath.
Bodies pressed together like theyād never come apart again.
Joel kissed you again, deeper this time, hand slipping under your back to hold you closer. And then?
He moved faster.
Not rough. Not harsh.
Just urgent.
Like he couldnāt stand the space between your skin and his.
You moanedāhigh and sweet and wreckedāand that sound went straight to his chest.
Joel groaned low. āThatās it,ā he rasped. āThatās the sound I been waitinā to hear. Five weeks without it, and I thought Iād lose my damn mind.ā
You clung to him harder. Wrapped your legs around his hips, anchoring him there.
āDonāt stop,ā you whispered. āPlease donāt stop.ā
Joelās rhythm shiftedādeeper, harder, but still loving. Still present. His forehead dropped to yours, eyes half-lidded, breath hot on your lips.
āNever gonna stop again,ā he muttered. āNever lettinā you walk out that door.ā
You arched beneath him.
His name left your lips again, this time softer. A plea. A promise. A prayer.
Joel held you tighter.
āYou fit me,ā he panted. āLike you were made for me. Like you always fuckinā have.ā
Your breath hitched. Your eyes fluttered shut.
And Joel watched every second of it.
Because thatās what heād missed most.
You. Just like this. Not just the sex. Not just the body. But the way you looked at him like he was worth it. Like you saw him, even when he couldnāt stand to look at himself.
He fucked you like it mattered.
āThat what you needed?ā he asked, thrusting again, a little harder. āNeeded me to fuck you like you belong to me?ā
You noddedāwhimperedāand he growled.
āSay it.ā
āI belong to you.ā
āLouder.ā
āI fucking belong to you, Joel!ā
That was all it took.
He grabbed your thigh, hitched it higher on his waist, and slammed into you. Again. Again.
The bed creaked. Your cries filled the room. Joelās voiceālow, hoarse, reverentāwas in your ear.
āMissed this pussy so bad,ā he panted. āMissed how tight you squeeze me. Missed how you fuckinā moan when I hit that spotāright thereāyeah, you feel that?ā
You squealedāa sound so pure and broken it made Joel want to cry.
He couldnāt stop.
Didnāt want to stop.
Not when you were wrapped around him like this, clinging to him, crying out his name like it was the only word you remembered. Not when you were looking at him with that shattered kind of love in your eyes. Like youād missed him just as much.
Your thigh was hooked high on his hip. Your hands were in his hair, on his back, gripping, clawing, grounding yourself. Joel could barely thinkācould barely breatheāwith how tightly your body hugged his.
āFuck, baby,ā he panted, voice strained. āThis feel good to you?ā
You nodded fast, desperate. āSo goodāso good, Joel, I missed youāI missed thisāIāā
He caught your mouth in another kiss. Swallowed the words. Gave you everything in return. His thrusts hit deep, perfect, the way only he knew how to give. And he listened for itāthat cry you made when he angled just right. When he found that spot and pressed into it, unrelenting.
āThere?ā he murmured, dragging his hips again.
You sobbed. āThere.ā
Joel grinned against your cheek, even as sweat ran down his back, even as his muscles ached and trembled.
And then you were saying thingsāsoft, half-broken, whispered against his ear like confessions.
āI love you,ā you breathed. āI never stopped. I never stopped.ā
His heart clenched.
He pulled back just enough to see your face, still moving inside you, still holding your gaze like it was holy.
āI love you,ā he said, voice breaking. āBeen lovinā you since the start. Been waitinā for you to come back so I could say it again.ā
You kissed himāmessy, desperate, teeth clicking.
āDonāt let me go again,ā you whispered.
āNever,ā Joel swore. āNot a fuckinā chance.ā
Then he slid a hand between your bodies. Found your clit. Pressed two fingers to it, circling slow, firm, just the way you needed.
You screamed.
Your whole body arched beneath himātaut, electric, unraveling. You came hard, pulsing around him, your voice sharp and open in his ear.
And JoelāfuckāJoel lost it.
You clenched down, and he was gone. Buried deep, his body locking up, breath stalling in his throat. He groaned loud, raw, like the release had been dragged from his bones. His forehead dropped to your shoulder as he came inside you, holding you as tight as his arms would allow.
Everything was you.
Your scent. Your breath. Your body. Your voice still saying I love you like a prayer.
Joel stayed there, wrapped around you, chest heaving against yours. The room was warm nowāsweat-slick skin, tangled limbs, the sheets pushed down and forgotten. Your bodies were still joined, hearts thundering in time.
You didnāt speak.
You didnāt have to.
His breath slowed against your shoulder, nose tucked into the crook of your neck, and you ran your fingers through his hairāsoft, slow strokes. He could feel your pulse beneath his lips, steady and alive. Like you were anchoring him there. Like if he let go, the world might slip again.
He didnāt want to move.
But eventually, he had to.
Joel exhaled slowly and began to pull away, his hands careful at your hips. He didnāt want to hurt youādidnāt want to lose that closeness, not even for a second.
Still buried deep, he paused.
Then he slid out of you, slow and reverent.
You whimpered softly, body shivering at the loss. Joel glanced down, and the sight of itāhis cum, white and hot, spilling from youāhad his throat going tight. His stomach clenched.
āJesus,ā he muttered. āLook at that.ā
You shifted on the bed, stretching slightly, and the movement only made more of him leak out of you, trailing down your thighs.
Joel cursed again. His voice was raw with wonder and regret.
You looked at him, flushed and glowing. A lazy, content smile pulled at your lips.
āGonna gawk, or you gonna hold me?ā you teased gently.
He huffed a breathāhalf a laughāand climbed back into bed, gathering you into his arms like you were something fragile. He tugged the blanket up over both of you, let your head rest on his chest, one hand smoothing over your back, the other tangled in your hair.
For a while, it was just that.
Breathing.
Touching.
The afterglow wrapped around you like another blanket, and Joel held you tighter, like maybe he could trap time. Keep it from moving forward and tearing this moment away.
But it did move.
And eventually, you spoke.
āCan we talk?ā you asked quietly.
Joel stiffenedābarely. He nodded. Cleared his throat. āYeah. Yeah, of course.ā
You lifted your head just enough to meet his eyes. āI didnāt leave because I stopped loving you.ā
āI know,ā he said softly. āIāfuck. I know.ā
Your eyes searched his. āBut I needed more, Joel. I needed you. Not just your body, not just your actions. I needed your voice. Your thoughts. I needed to know what was goinā on in your head when you shut down like that.ā
Joel looked away.
The guilt was sharp. Cutting.
He exhaled, rubbing at his face. āIāve always been like that,ā he admitted. āSinceā¦ since Sarah. Since everythinā after. When shit gets too much, I justā¦ just go quiet. I donāt know how not to.ā
You laid your palm over his chest, right above his heart.
āIt hurt,ā you whispered. āWhen we fought, and you walked away from me with silence. It made me feel like I didnāt matter. Like I was yelling into a void.ā
Joelās eyes flicked back to yours. Pain settled behind them, low and heavy.
āI donāt want you feel that way,ā he said hoarsely. āI justā¦ I didnāt know what to say. I didnāt wanna make it worse. Didnāt wanna say the wrong thing and ruin everythinā.ā
āYou not saying anything was the wrong thing,ā you said gently. āThatās what hurt us.ā
He nodded slowly. Took your hand in his. Pressed his lips to your knuckles like they were sacred.
āI know. I see that now.ā He swallowed hard. āI want to fix that.ā
Your expression softened.
āI donāt expect you to change overnight,ā you murmured. āI just want to feel like youāre in this with me. That when things get hard, you donāt disappear.ā
Joelās grip on your hand tightened.
āI wonāt,ā he said. āYou have my word.ā
Silence fell againābut it was warm now. Comfortable. Like a sigh through the sheets.
After a moment, you nestled closer.
āI missed this,ā you whispered. āNot just the sex. Justā¦ this. You. Me. Quiet.ā
Joel pressed his lips to your forehead.
āI missed you every damn day,ā he said. āHouse was too quiet. Coffee didnāt taste right. Nothinā did.ā
You smiled. āYou make shitty coffee anyway.ā
He chuckled. āHey now. Itās improved. Slightlyā¦ā
You laughed softly and tucked yourself against his side, a perfect fit.
Joel stared at the ceiling for a while, then turned his gaze down to you.
āIām gonna try. I want thisāyou. For long as youāll have me.ā
You looked up at him, eyes shining again.
āForever sound okay?ā
Joel kissed you, slow and soft, like it was the easiest vow heād ever made.
āForever sounds perfect.ā
Guys, it feels really good to be writing something different, other than terms & conditions. I love t&C, I really do, but something new never hurt anyone once in a while!
six is straight-lipped and tight, and the edge in his voice sends a cool chill down your spine.
finally, your obvious desires acknowledged.
you obey without a word, dropping to your knees in front of him, eyes dutifully focused on him, awaiting your next order.
six takes his time making his way to you, perfectly polished loafers echoing on the hard wood with each slow step. when he nears he towers above you, observes you, relishing in how well-trained you are. his hand tangles in your hair and pulls it tight, and when your jaw instinctively drops open, he snickers.
his other hand flashes to your jaw and grips it hard enough to crush you. and with half your face clenched in a singular, rough hand, youāre reminded of just how easily he could overpower you, just how helpless you are. he bends over, centimeters away from your face, eyes sharp, locked, and threatening.
āyouāre a goddamn tease.ā he gravels. āyou think you can put on some skimpy little shorts and iāll just cave for you, like an animal.ā he tskās and shakes his head.
thatās usually how it goes, is what you want to say, but youāre trapped, and intimidated. heās never been so frightening, not with you. instead you whimper.
āyou donāt get my cock that easy. you get my cock when i give it to you, when i say.ā he jerks your head with his words, his controlled demeanor wavering.
āif i want that pussy, iāll bend you over and take it. if i want this throat, i can take it. just like this. before you even see it coming.ā his hand on your jaw slips to your throat and squeezes you tight, quickly cutting off your air, speeding pulse thumping against his fingers. āitās what i want, when i want it. not when you want it. you belong to me.ā
he tosses you free, standing straight and sending his erection in line with your face.
itās then that youāre able to take a breath, literally and figuratively, and recognize how worked up you are. your folds stick to your too-small shorts and youāre properly embarrassed. but your torture was finally, finally over. and surely, now, heād fuck you.
āāyou want me so bad-ā his voice is lower now, but dripping in an arousal you know he canāt deny for much longer. ā-lick my fucking loafer.ā
you end up watching sixās load and erection wasted, spilling out over his own pumping hand and falling down onto your face, still hopelessly pressed against the floor.
how i'd love to go to paris again (and again) | j. abbot
pairing jack abbot x fem!reader x michael robinavitch
summary after jack casually floats the idea of adding a third, you donāt let it stay theoretical for longāwhat starts as curiosity turns into something a lot more real when robby gets pulled into the space you and jack have built together. (#threesometime #neverforgetchallengers) (ao3)
tags/warnings MDNI (18+) explicit sexual content, age gap (mid-20s / 50s), established relationship with you and jack, living together, unlabelled jack and robby sexualities (bi?), attempt at a true love triangle (et tu, challengers (2024) except no cheating & u and jack r <3. but rabbot under(over?)tones), unprotected p in v, oral (f/m, m/f) handjobs (f/m, m/m), masturbation, praise & teasing, dom!ish robby, bratty!ish reader, lowkey switch/softdom jack idk, finger sucking, domestic, drinking, brief hospital/medical stuff / orthopaedics (r3), porn with... context?, hint at robby internalised homophobia? possibly ooc for jack sorry, title reference to the 1975 but not inspired by the song more just bad pun bc... paris... threesome... get it
wc 18.3k words
spin off of the fic: my (wo)man on willpower | j. abbot - can be read solo!
Robby doesnāt look confused so much asā¦ unconvinced.
He sits back in the booth, one arm slung along the backrest, beer loose in his hand, eyes moving between you and Jack like heās watching a consult go sideways.
āā¦You two wanna try that again,ā he says, slow, ābut in English this time?ā
Jack huffs under his breath, already regretting opening his mouth. He drags a hand over his jaw, glancing at you like heās half-tempted to pull the plug on the whole thing.
āTold you,ā he mutters, low. āBad pitch.ā
You nudge his knee under the tableānot hard, just enough. Donāt bail.
Robby catches it. Of course he does. His eyes flick down, then back up, something sharpening.
āOh, donāt tap out now,ā he says, leaning forward, forearms braced on the table. āYou brought it up. Iām listening.ā
Jack opens his mouth againā
āāNo,ā Robby cuts him off, not even looking at him. āShe talks.ā
Thereās that tone. The one he uses with residents when theyāre dancing around something obvious. Not unkind. Justā¦ direct. Your breath catches for half a second. Not nerves exactlyāmore the weight of being looked at like that. Seen through, a little.
Jack glances at you, something softer there now. A small nod. Go on.
You shift in your seat, tucking one leg under you slightly, grounding yourself before you speak.
āItās notā¦ open,ā you start, careful. āWeāre not looking toāchange anything. Not really.ā
Robby watches you the whole time. Doesnāt interrupt. Doesnāt fill the silence for you.
āItās justāā you exhale, a small, almost embarrassed huff of a laugh, āāwe trust you. Both of us do. And youāve beenā¦ there. With us. For a while.ā
āUnfortunately,ā he mutters.
Jack snorts. āSpeak for yourself.ā
But Robby doesnāt look away from you.
You hold his gaze. āItās not random. Itās notā¦ about finding some person to fool around with. Itās you.ā
That lands. You see it in the way his jaw shifts, just slightly. The humour doesnāt disappear, but it tightens around the edges.
āā¦Right,ā he says, slower now.
Jack leans forward, elbows on the table, finally stepping back in. āItās not a free-for-all,ā he adds, dry. āWeāre not pitching some kind of ER orgy.ā
āShame,ā Robby says flatly.
You almost laugh, tension breaking for a second.
Jack shoots him a look. āBe serious for one second in your life.ā
āI am serious,ā Robby says. Then, to youāāIām just making sure I understand what the hell youāre asking me.ā
His gaze drops brieflyāto your hands, the way theyāre curled loosely around your glassāthen back up again.
āWhat are you actually offering here?ā he asks.
You hesitateānot because you donāt know, but because saying it out loud makes it real. Jack shifts beside you. You feel his knee press into yours, steady, grounding.
āItās not just sex,ā you say, quieter now.
Robbyās brow lifts. āNo?ā
You shake your head. āItāsā¦ us. Still us. Justāā you glance at Jack, then back at Robby, āāwith you in it. Sometimes. If you wanted that.ā
Thereās a long beat.
Robby leans back again, dragging his hand over his mouth, thinking. Really thinking.
āYou two have been together, what,ā he says, glancing at Jack, ātwo years now?ā
āNearly three,ā Jack corrects.
āNearly three,ā Robby repeats. āYou know, youā¦ you live together. Donāt kill each other. Thatās impressive.ā
āThank you,ā you say, dry.
His gaze shifts back to you again, softer this timeābut heavier, too.
āAnd youāre both telling me this doesnātā¦ complicate things.ā
Jack answers this time, steady. āEverythingās already complicated. This wouldnāt change what weāve got. Weāve talked, we trust each other, we trust you.ā
Robby studies him for a second longer than necessary. Thereās history in that look. Long-standing, unspoken understanding. The kind you only get after decades of knowing someone.
āā¦Youāre serious,ā he says finally.
āYeah,ā Jack says.
Robby exhales, a quiet, disbelieving laugh under his breath. He tips his head back for a second, staring at the ceiling like heās trying to reset his brain.
āJesus Christ.ā
You donāt rush him. Neither does Jack. When he looks back at you, itās different now. Less amused. Moreā¦ considering.
āYouāre asking about the three of usā¦ā he tries, trailing off.
You nod. āYeah.ā
His eyes flick, just briefly, to where your leg is still angled toward Jackās, the easy closeness of it. Then back to your face.
āAnd youāre both just- youāreā¦ good with it,ā he says.
Your voice is quieter when you answer. āWouldnāt be sitting here if we werenāt. Youāre attractive, smart, funny. And I think youāve always secretly had a thing for at least one of us. Maybe both, but, one way to find out, I guess.ā
Robby drums his fingers once against the table, then stills them.
ā...Christ,ā he mutters again, but thereās a hint of something else in it now. Not just disbelief.
Interest. He looks at you properly then. Not the quick, passing glances from before. This is slower. Measuring.
āYou always this persuasive?ā He wonders.
You tilt your head, a small smile pulling at your mouth. āOnly when it matters.ā
That earns the faintest huff of a laugh.
āYeah,ā he says. āI can see that.ā
Jack shifts beside you, not tenseābut alert. Watching the shift happen in real time. Robby notices that too. His mouth quirks, just slightly.
Your phone buzzesāonce, twice, then a string of messages lighting up your screen.
You glance down, already half-standing. āIāve gotta go. Park needs meāIsla called in sick.ā
Jack doesnāt even hesitate. Heās already reaching into his pocket, keys in hand. āTake the car. Iāll ride back with him.ā
You take them, brushing his fingers briefly. āThanks, baby.ā
You lean downāmeant to be quick, but it doesnāt quite stay that way. Your mouth presses to his, warm, familiar. He lets you, hand coming up to your cheek, thumb catching just under your jaw, holding you there for half a second longer than necessary before you pull back.
Thereās a flicker of something in his eyes when you do. You straighten, turningā Robbyās already looking at you. Not subtle about it. Rarely is.
āMichael,ā you say, softer, a small nod.
He repeats your nameāflatter, rougher, like heās testing how it sits in his mouth.
You donāt linger. You head out.
The door swings shut behind you.
Jack watches it a beat too long. Then exhales, leaning back into the booth, dragging a hand over his mouth like heās resetting.
Robby doesnāt look at the door. He looks at Jack. Thereās a slow, almost amused curve to his mouth. Not mocking. Justā¦ processing.
āAlright,ā he says. āWhoās idea is it?ā
Jack doesnāt bother pretending. āMine.ā
Robby lets out a short, disbelieving breath. āYouāre kidding.ā
āNope.ā
āWhen?ā
Jack shrugs, reaching for his beer. āRemember that detox sexless cult thing she did a few months back?ā
Robby snorts. āYeah. You turned into the most unbearable version of yourself Iāve seen in twenty years. Which is saying something.ā
āAppreciate that.ā
āWalking around likeāā Robby gestures vaguely, āālike a cat in heat.ā
Jack huffs a laugh despite himself. āYeah, well. After you left that morning, we had ourā¦ you know, usual great sex - not adding as part of the pitch, you already know how good the sex is -ā
ā-get to the point,ā Robby says, with a slight snicker.
āSome point, I mentionā¦ I donāt know, marriage, foreplay, a third. We finish up, andā¦ weāre just talking.ā
āTalking,ā Robby repeats, deadpan.
āYeah. Try it sometime. With a professional, even, they do that.ā
āHard pass.ā
Jack ignores him, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. āIt came up. Not seriously at first. Hypotheticals. What weād be into, what we wouldnāt.ā
āAnd you landed on me,ā Robby says.
āYeah.ā
Robby watches him for a second. Longer than usual. āā¦Both of you.ā
āBoth of us.ā
That lands differently.
Robby leans back, dragging a hand over his jaw, thinking. Really thinking nowānot just reacting.
āThatās your girl,ā he says finally. āYouāve built something there. Iām notāā he shakes his head slightly, āāIām not interested in screwing that up.ā
Jackās expression doesnāt change much, but something in it settles. He nods once.
āI wouldnāt be asking if I thought you would.ā
Robby glances at him, sharper now. āYou donāt get to decide that for me.ā
āNo,ā Jack agrees easily. āBut I do know you.ā
A beat.
āAnd I trust you,ā he adds.
it hangs there. Robby exhales slowly, gaze dropping to the table for a second before coming back up.
āā¦Yeah,ā he mutters. āThatās the problem.ā
Jackās brow lifts, faintly amused. āThat I trust you?ā
āThat I donāt take that lightly,ā Robby shoots back.
Silence stretches for a second. Then Robby leans forward slightly, forearms braced on the table, voice dropping a notch.
āAnd youāre fine with it,ā he says. Not a question. āMe and her.ā
Jack doesnāt flinch. āYeah.ā
āReally.ā
āYeah.ā
Robby studies himāsearching for cracks, for ego, for something careless. Doesnāt find much. Jack kept his pride in check. He wasnāt a jealous person, not really. He was secure in himself. Something Robby envied, sometimes.
āā¦Sheāsāā he starts, then cuts himself off, jaw tightening slightly. āYou know what she is.ā
Jack huffs a quiet laugh. āYeah. I do.ā
āTwenty-something,ā Robby continues. āSmart. Looks likeāā he gestures vaguely, then shakes his head. āYouāve seen her.ā
Jack smirks faintly. āI have, yeah. A lot of her. Itās great.ā
Robbyās mouth twitches despite himself.
āAnd she looks at you like you hung the moon half the time,ā he adds.
Jackās expression softens just a fraction. āSometimes.ā
Robby nods once, slow. Thenā
āā¦You really telling me youāve never thought about it? About herā Jack asks, casualābut not careless.
Robby lets out a quiet breath through his nose, leaning back again.
āThatās not a fair question.ā
Jack tilts his head at his friend. An insistence in his eyes to go on.
Robby tips his head back slightly, staring at the ceiling for a second like heās debating how honest he wants to be.
Then he looks back at Jack.
āā¦Well Iām not blind,ā he says.
Jack doesnāt react much. Just watches him.
āSheāsāā Robby exhales, searching for a word, then gives up and settles for, āāsheās a lot. Sweet.ā
Jackās mouth ticks. āShe isā¦ You ever think about her while jerking off?ā
Robby lets out a low breath at that, clicking his tongue at his friend's bluntness. Fuck it, theyāre being honest. āYes.ā
Robbyās a little surprised when he sees the slow blink from Jack, a nod. Maybe irritable.Ā
āWhat?ā Robby scoffs. āYouāre cool with the prospect of me fucking your girl? But what I do with my hand in my spare time isā¦ what, some sort of line being crossed?ā
āI didnāt say anything, alright. Iām all good here. Just didnāt think youād admit it,ā Jack nods with insistence. āWhat about during sex? Thought about her then?ā
ā...On occasion, yes, Iāve- sheās popped up there, yeah.ā Robby admits with brief hesitance.Ā
Thatās as far as he pushes itābut itās enough. Jack nods once, like this one he expected. Like it doesnāt threaten anything.
āFair,ā he says.
Robby glances at him, something like disbelief creeping back in. āYouāre taking that a lot better than I thought you would.ā
Jack shrugs. āSheās hot. Youāre not dead. Tells me youāve got a working dick, at least.ā
Robby lets out a short laugh at that, shaking his head.
Jack took a sip of his beer, thenābecause he wasnāt finished, because he never really was with Robbyātilts his head slightly.
āWhat about me?ā
Robby scoffs immediately, too quick. āOh, come on.ā
āNo, seriously,ā Jack says, glancing at him sideways. Casual on the surface, not casual underneath. āNo shame, total honesty here. Twenty years, no secrets, all that bullshit.ā
Robby drags a hand over his beard, already feeling the trap closing. āYouāre unbelievable.ā
āHave you?ā Jack asks, like he was asking about the weather.
A pause.
Robby stares at the table, jaw working once.
āā¦You first,ā he mutters.
Jack doesnāt even blink. āYeah.ā
Robby let out a slow breath through his nose, eyes dropping, like he was doing the math on how much of himself he was willing to hand over tonight.
āMan, itās not evenāā Jack went on, shrugging a shoulder. āHalf the time that shit doesnāt mean anything. Brain just throws things at you. Doesnāt make you anything.ā
Robby let out a short, humourless huff. āRight.ā
āWhat,ā Jack presses lightly, āyou worried about the gay implications?ā
Robby shot him a look. āDonātāā
āāWhat? Say āgayā?ā Jack says, not unkind, but not backing off either.
Robby glances up as a couple walks past, waits them out, then leans back in his seat, voice lower.
āWeāre talking about whether Iāve jacked off thinking about another guy,ā he says, flat. āYeah, theā¦ āgayā of it all crossed my mind. Excuse me.ā
Jack just nods, like that was fair.
āI justā¦ I guess, I didnāt realiseāā Robby starts, then stops, scrubbing a hand over his face. āI mean, you know, are youāā
Jack shrugs, easy. āIāve been with a few. Never made a whole thing out of it. Donāt really care to.ā
Robby gives a small, disbelieving shake of his head. āFigrues. Army man.ā
āYeah, well,ā Jack mutters. āYou donāt have to slap a label on it, Rob. Doesnāt have to mean anything bigger than it is.ā
āIām aware,ā Robby says, maybe a little sharper than he meant to. Then, quieterālike it cost him somethingā āā¦Itās crossed my mind.ā
Jackās mouth pulled into something faintly smug. Not cruelājustā¦ satisfied.
āCrossed your mind,ā he repeated. āInteresting wording.ā
āDonāt start,ā Robby warns, but there was less heat in it now.
Jack huffs a quiet laugh. āIt was easier getting you to admit you think about fucking my girlfriend half our age than it was getting that out of you. Thatās saying something.ā
āFuck you,ā Robby mutters, rolling his eyesābut there was a reluctant grin there now, breaking through whether he liked it or not.
Jack shrugs, taking another sip. āOptions apparently on the table.ā
Robby shakes his head, but didnāt argue. Didnāt fully look away, either.
Something in the air had shiftedāsubtle, but real. Not a line crossed, exactly. More like one finally acknowledged.
Robby studied him for a second, longer than necessary. There was history thereāyears of it, unspoken things sitting just under the surface, things neither of them had ever had to name.
Jack didnāt push. Just leaned back, easy.
āThink about it,ā he tries. āOr donāt. Nothing changes.ā
Robby nods once, short. āYeah.ā A few seconds of quiet. āā¦You still need that ride home?ā he asks.
Jack snorts. āOh, a ride home? Wow. Subtle.ā
āShut up.ā
āFlirting now, are we?ā
āYou are not a funny man, Jack Abbot, donāt think otherwise,ā Robby says, but he was already smiling, just a little.
ā ā ā
2 WEEKS EARLIER
threesomenoun ā threeĀ·some ā ĖthrÄ-sÉm
1: a group of three persons or things : trio
2: a golf match in which one person plays their ball against the ball of two others playing each stroke alternately
3: a sexual encounter involving three people
āAre you trying to say you wanna play golf?ā Jack says from the stove, not even turning around as he stirs the pan like it personally offended him.
The kitchen smells like garlic and butterāonions already softened down, carrots and capsicum still holding a bit too much bite. Heās got one hand on the wooden spoon, the other braced on the counter, solid and steady in that way he always is.
Youāre perched up on the counter, one leg swinging lazily, phone in hand.
āYes,ā you say dryly, scrolling. āIām deeply passionate about golf. The balls. The stroking of the ballsāā
āāI get it,ā Jack cuts in. āYou want a threesome.ā
You look up at him, unimpressed. āI donāt want a threesome. I love twosomes. Specifically with you.ā A beat. āBut Iām not opposed toā¦ expanding the sample size.ā
Jack snorts, finally glancing over to you. āExpanding theāJesus. Thatās how you pitch wanting to fuck my best friend?ā
āYou brought it up,ā you shoot back, pointing your phone at him like evidence. āDonāt act like this wasnāt your idea. āOh baby, we should add a third, Robby would give me notesāāā
āI did not sound like that.ā
āāIf anything,ā you continue over him, āI think you wanna fuck your best friend.ā
āAlright,ā Jack mutters, turning back to the pan. āNot what I sound like. And cāmonāyou know youāre all I wanna fuck.ā He nudges the vegetables again, frowning. āI think these are done.ā
āTheyāre not.ā You donāt even look up when you say it. āAnywayā¦ I doubt heād even be down for it,ā you say. āI barely think he likes me as a friend.ā
Jack lets out a quiet scoff at that.
You narrow your eyes. āWhat?ā
āI think heād fuck you in a heartbeat if I said I was okay with it,ā Jack says, like itās obvious. Then, distracted againāāI really think these are done, hon.ā
āTest the carrot,ā you say, still scrolling. āIf itās soft enough, itāll break with pressure.ā
He presses the spoon into one. It doesnāt budge.
āā¦Needs longer,ā he admits.
āHow do you know that?ā
āI just did what you said, Iāā
āNo,ā you interrupt, looking at him properly now. āHow do you know Robby would fuck me?ā
That slows him down.
Jack exhales through his nose, shoulders shifting as he leans back slightly against the counter, thinking.
āI know him,ā he says. āTwenty years of it. And I know you.ā A beat. āThereās something there. A thing. Youāve always had good chemistry.ā
You huff lightly. āA vagueā¦ thing, maybe.ā
You hesitate, thenābecause you donāt really do half-truthsā
āI did have a bit of a crush on him,ā you admit. āBefore I met you.ā
Jack stills. Not dramatically. Just enough.
āI donāt anymore,ā you add quickly. āIt faded. Pretty fast, actually. It was earlyābefore I started coming down to ED properly. Heād come up sometimes, consults, whatever. I think it was justā¦ā you shrug, searching, āā¦older. Authority. Bit of an asshole.ā
Jackās mouth pulls slightly at that, something between amused and unimpressed.
āGlad to know you donāt have a type,ā he mutters.
You lean in closer from the counter, nudging his shoulder lightly with your knee.
āHey,ā you murmur. He glances up at you. āI like them a little shorter,ā you say softly.
Jack blinks.
Then rolls his eyes, a huff of laughter slipping out despite himself as you grin and go back to your phone.
āUnbelievable,ā he mutters, turning the heat down, a small smile at the corner of his lips.Ā
ā ā ā
The thing about a thirdāabout this thirdāwas that itā¦ kind of just felt natural. Like there was so little reason to not do it, to not try it, invite it.
It wasnāt sudden. It was something that had been sitting under the skin of things for so long it stopped feeling foreign the second it was named.
Robby had never been separate from Jack.Ā
Not really. People liked to pretend friendships had clean edgesāthis is where I end, this is where you beginābut that had never been the case with them.Ā
Too many years. Too many nights that blurred into mornings, too many arguments that never quite resolved but never quite broke them either.Ā
Theyād dragged each other through their twenties, stumbled into their thirties, and settledāsomehowāinto their forties without ever untangling.
They knew each other in ways that made distance feel artificial.
And Robby had always lived in that tension.
He didnāt soften easily. Didnāt trust softness when it showed up uninvited. Jack had always been the exception to that ruleāsteady enough to withstand it, patient enough not to demand more than Robby could give. But patience didnāt mean absence.
There were things between them that had never been said out loud. Not because they didnāt exist, but because saying them wouldāve required a kind of clarity Robby had spent most of his life avoiding.Ā
It was easier to file it under something elseāloyalty, history, proximity. Easier to laugh it off, to redirect, to let it sit in that grey space where it didnāt have to be examined too closely.
Then you came along. And you didnāt disrupt that balance. You just seemed to understand it.Ā
You didnāt wedge yourself between them, didnāt ask Jack to choose, didnāt look at Robby like he was something to tolerate or compete with. You moved through it like it already made sense to you. Like there was room.
And Godāthere was something about you.
Not just that you were beautifulāthough you were, in a way that made people look twice without meaning to. Not just that you were younger, brighter, sharper at the edges in a way that made everything feel a little more alive. It was the way you saw people.
The way you saw Jackāfully, without flinching, without trying to fix him or soften him into something more palatable. The way you leaned into him like you trusted him to hold the weight of that. The way you touched him without hesitation, like affection was a language you spoke fluently.
And worseā
The way you looked at Robby sometimes, like you were trying to figure him out and already had.
Heād noticed it long before anyone said anything. Of course he had. The small things. The way your attention lingered just a second longer than necessary. The way you didnāt pull back when he got too close, didnāt flinch at the edge in him that made other people cautious.
You met it. Sometimes you even matched it. And thatāmore than anythingāwas what made him careful. Because wanting you was one thing.
That was easy enough to dismiss, tuck away under instinct, under biology, under the thousand other justifications people used to avoid looking too closely at themselves.
But wanting you like thisāin the context of Jack, with Jack, because of Jack. That was something else entirely. It brushed up against things he didnāt have neat categories for. Things that felt uncomfortably close to lines heād spent years pretending werenāt there.
And Jackā¦
Jack, who didnāt do anything halfway, who didnāt offer things he wasnāt sure aboutāwas sitting across from him like this was just another extension of something already solid. Like this wasnāt a risk so much asā¦ an opening.
That was what threw him. It wasnāt the sex or the implication, it was how Jack totally trusted him. With you, with this, with Jack himself.
And Robby didnāt trust himself nearly that much.
That was the problem. Beneath all the deflection, all the dryness and sarcasm, the sharp edges, there was something undeniably real threading through all three of you. Not clean, not simpleābut real in a way that resisted being dismissed.
Jack had never been particularly private about you. Not with Robby.
Not in the way people usually were about relationshipsācareful, curated, keeping the good parts polished and the rest tucked away. Jack wasnāt built like that. He didnāt gush, didnāt sentimentaliseābut if heād had a couple drinks in him and itād been a long week, you came up. Inevitably.
Not in a soft-focus, hearts-and-flowers way.
In details. In fragments. In the way you got under his skin and stayed there.Ā
The way you kissed him, made him feel every ounce of his own flesh and blood, grounded, and above at once. In how much he adored your figure, or some ridiculous position, some ridiculous story of stamina and libido, your mouth, his mouth, your hand, his hand.
Robby had learned, over the years, to let it wash over him. Half-listening, half-not. It wasnāt discomfort exactlyāmore likeā¦ he didnāt know where to put it. There was something about hearing your name in Jackās mouth like that that sat strange in his chest.Ā
āWhat the fuck do you mean six times?ā Robby had said once, a laugh breaking through despite himself as he tipped his beer back.
They were sprawled out on the grass like they hadnāt aged out of itābacks damp against the ground, shirts sticking, the heat of the day still rising up through the dirt. The city hummed around them, distant enough to ignore. It felt like being twenty something again, except their knees ached when they stood and everything they didnāt talk about sat heavier.
It was one of those nothing nights, sometime back in Spring. End of a shift. A few beers. Waiting for you to finish upstairs while Jack pretended he wasnāt being watched over by the hospital.
Jack didnāt even open his eyes. āI mean she came six times,ā he said, easy. āWorking up to eight.ā
Robby snorted. āYouāre talking like itās a personal best.ā
āIt is,ā Jack said. āYou donāt set goals, you stagnate. Thatās what my therapist says.ā
āJesus Christ.ā
Jack grinned faintly, still flat on his back, arms folded behind his head like he had nowhere else to be. āWhatās your number?ā
Robby shrugged, taking another sip. āI donāt know. I donāt have a number.ā
āYes, you do.ā
āNope.ā
āBull.ā
Robby dragged a hand over his mouth, already regretting engaging. āā¦Four. Maybe.ā
Jack turned his head slightly, considering that like it mattered more than it should. His fingers tapped absently against the neck of the bottle.
āFour,ā he repeated.
āSome of us arenāt treating it like a competitive sport,ā Robby muttered.
Jack huffed. āItās not me,ā he said. āItās her. Sheās a natural.ā
āShe really that good?ā Robby had slipped as a question. Maybe for his own curiosity, maybe because he knew Jack wouldāve gotten to it at some point. Both, likely.
There was a beat.
Robby stared up at the sky like it didnāt matter either way. Jack shifted slightly, something quieter settling into him now.
āSheāsāā he paused, like he was trying to find a word that didnāt sound ridiculous and failing. āShe pays attention. Like sheās studying you. Figures out what works and thenājustā¦ doesnāt let up. Like Iām constantly high around her. And man, she-ā Jack cleared his throat. āShe does this thing with her tongue.ā
Robby exhaled through his nose, slow.
He didnāt say anything.
āShe swirls it, right around the underside, traces itāthe entire thing with the flat part. Goes between, you know, broad strokes, little ones, then sheāllāfuck,ā Jack had mused. āā¦Sheāll use the space beneath her tongue, suck, and still use her tongue at the same time. I canāt describe how good it feels,ā Jack had explained, his words slurring slightly but still carrying a strange clarity. āFuckingā¦ incredible.ā
Robby couldnāt have helped but picture it. The image of you, on your knees, long lashes batting at him, as you brought him to the edge. He sipped his beer, fingers a bit tighter around the neck of the glass.
āShe makes the prettiest noises, like aā¦ I donāt even know,ā Jack added, quieter now, almost to himself. āMoans and screams, and soā¦ Christ. Like she doesnāt even realise sheās doing it, possessed.ā
āAlright, thatās enough,ā Robby cut in, not sharply, but firm.
Jack just smirked, eyes still shut. āYou asked.ā
āI didnāt ask for a breakdown.ā
āSemantics.ā
Robby shook his head, but there was a faint smile tugging at his mouth despite it. He finished the last of his beer, letting the cold settle something in his chest that had nothing to do with the heat.
A pause stretched between them. Jack sipped his beer. Thenā
āWhatās the deal with you and Noelle?ā Jack asked, casual in that way that wasnāt casual at all.
Robbyās jaw shifted.
āSheāsā¦ fine,ā he said.
Jack cracked one eye open. āThat sounds promising.ā
Robby huffed. āItās notāā he cut himself off, shook his head. āDonāt think itās going anywhere.ā
Jack watched him for a second. Then nodded, like heād expected that. He handed Robby his own beer, watching as Robby took it after a moment, sipping from it himself
āYeah,ā he said. āBummer.ā
Another beat. Robby sat up, bracing his forearms on his knees, their shared beer dangling loose between his fingers.
āDonāt think Iām built for it,ā he said finally.
Jack didnāt move. āFor what?ā
āThis,ā Robby gestured vaguely. āRelationships. The staying. Theā¦ showing up part.ā
Jack was quiet for a second.
Thenā
āNow thatās bull,ā he said, not unkindly.
Robby glanced at him, a faint, tired smirk pulling at his mouth. āYeah?ā
āYeah,ā Jack said. āWeāve known each other, whatātwenty years? Youāve stuck around that long.ā
āThatās different.ā
āIs it?ā
Robby didnāt answer that. Jack pushed himself up onto his elbows now, looking at him properly.
āYou donāt get to pretend you canāt do something just because you havenāt done it right yet,ā he said.
Robby scoffed lightly. āDidnāt realise you were gonna get philosophical on me.ā
āYeah, well,ā Jack muttered, reaching for his beer. āHate to break it to you, man, but youāre not some unfixable case.ā
Robby laughed at thatāshort, real.
āGarcia said Iād make a good ex-husband,ā he said.
Jack snorted. āSee? Even she thinks you can commit.ā
āThatās not what that means.ā
āClose enough,ā Jack sighed. āLie down, will you. Youāre so damn tense.ā
Robby let out a low groan but did it anyway, dropping back into the grass beside him, one arm flung over his eyes like he could shut the world out for a second.Ā
The ground was still a little damp from the morning rain, cool through his shirt, the air thick and warm in that late-night way where everything feels slower, looser.
They went quiet after that. Easy quiet. The kind that only comes after yearsāno need to fill it, no need to perform.
āAw, you two are so cute.ā
Jack sat up immediately.
You stood a few feet off the path, lit half by a flickering streetlampāscrubs wrinkled, hair a mess like youād been running your hands through it all day, hoodie tied loose around your hips. One of Jackās old military backpacks hung off your shoulder like it belonged there.Ā
For a while there, Robby had forgotten the whole reason theyād been in the park to begin with was to wait for you.
āHey, baby,ā Jack said, voice softening without him meaning it to. āYou finish alright?ā
You just nodded, already moving toward him.
You didnāt hesitateānever did. Leaned down, pressed a quick kiss to his cheek that turned, halfway through, into something closer to his mouth. Warm. Familiar. You lingered just long enough that he had to chase it a second.
āMiss me?ā you murmured, barely pulling back.
āAlways,ā he said, easy. A little drunk, a little honest.
Robby watched it happen from the ground, not even pretending not to.
You dropped down in front of Jack, cross-legged, close enough your knees brushed his thighs. His hands came up immediatelyāinstinct, habitāsliding over your arms, grounding, checking.Ā
Then his mouth found your neck, a soft press just under your jaw, before his hands settled at your shoulders, working slow circles into muscle that had no business being that tight at your age.
You exhaled like youād been holding it all day.
āJesus,ā you muttered. āKeep doing that.ā
āYeah?ā Jack hummed against your skin, a little smug.
āMhm.ā
You tipped your head slightly, giving him better access without thinking. He took it.
Across from you, Robby shifted, propping himself up on his elbows now, watching the two of you with that same look he always gotāhalf amused, half something else he never quite named.
āRobby,ā you said, glancing over at him, āhow the hell are you drinking after that shift? You guys were slammed.ā
āSometimes a drinkās all you get,ā he said. His voice was steady, but his eyes flickedābrief, involuntaryāto where Jackās hands were still working into your shoulders. Then back to your face. āOrtho mustāve been a dream, though.ā
You let out a dry laugh. āOh yeah. Absolute paradise. Park was being a complete asshole to one of the R1s. Kid looked like he was gonna cry.ā
āSounds about right,ā Robby muttered.
Jackās hands slowed, thumbs pressing deeper into a knot that made you suck in a breath.
āCareful,ā he said. āYouāre gonna fall asleep right here.ā
āHonestly?ā you said, eyes half-lidded now, ātempting.ā
There was a beat. Quiet againābut different this time. Fuller.
You shifted slightly, leaning back into Jack without thinking. Your hand found his knee, resting there, absent, like it belonged.
Robby noticed that too. Of course he did.
You glanced up at Jack then, studying him for a second longer than necessary.
āā¦You been talking about me?ā you asked.
Jack snorted, immediate. āWhat?ā
āYouāve got that look,ā you said, squinting at him. āAnd heās looking at me weird.ā
āI always look at people weird,ā Robby said, flat, from the grass.
You didnāt even look at him. āYeah, but this is a different weird.ā
Jack huffed a laugh under his breath, shaking his head like you were ridiculous, even as his mouth betrayed him. āWe were just talking about yourāwhat was itāimmense beauty. Your sex appeal. Your many talents.ā
His mouth brushed your neck again as he said it, like he couldnāt quite help himself.
Robby let out a quiet breath through his nose. Not quite a laugh. Something drier. āItās not far off.ā
You stilled. Then slowly turned your head, looking at Jack properly now.
āWhat did you say to him,ā you murmured, low, dangerous in a way that wasnāt entirely seriousābut not entirely not.
Jack leaned in, said something under his breathātoo quiet for Robby to catch. Your reaction was immediate.
You smacked his legāright on the prostheticāwith a sharp thwack.
āJack.ā
He barely flinched, just grinned, caught your wrist before you could do it again.
āIf you actually told him that,ā you said, pointing at him, āI swear to god Iāll take this thing off and beat you with it.ā
āThatās dramatic,ā Jack murmured, still holding your hand. āAnd also physically unlikely.ā
āItās true, though,ā he added, softer now, mouth near your ear again. āYouāre very good at it.ā
You rolled your eyes, but your shoulders had loosened, leaning back into him again despite yourself.
Robby watched the whole thing like it was a film he hadnāt agreed to sit through, but couldnāt quite look away from either.
āSo the tongue thingās real then?ā he asked, almost idly.
Jack groaned. āAlright. Weāre done here.ā
You laughedābright, cutting through the heaviness of the day shift still clinging to all three of youāand turned into Jack properly this time.
It wasnāt quick. Not really. Soft at first, then deeper, your hand coming up to his jaw, holding him there. He responded without thinking, one hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer, grounding himself in something he knew.
Robby looked away. Not fast enough.
You pulled back eventually, brushing your nose against Jackās.
āIāll drive,ā you said quietly. āYouāre drunk.ā
āIām not drunk,ā he said automatically.
āYouāre pretty drunk,ā you corrected.
A beat.
āā¦Alright. Could be a little drunk,ā he conceded.
You smiled, already reaching into his pocket for the keys like it was second nature. He let you. Fingers brushing yours as you took them, just for a second longer than necessary.
āDonāt lose the car,ā he muttered.
āNo promises.ā
You stood, stretching slightly, then glanced down at Robby.
āYou good?ā you asked, softer now.
He met your eyes, something unreadable passing through his expression before it settled back into something easier.
āYeah,ā he said. āIām good.ā
You nodded like you believed him.
āNight, Michael.ā
There was a flicker at thatāsomething small but real.
āNight,ā he said.
Jack let you haul him up, weight shifting automatically to his left as he got his balance, your hand steady at his arm without making a thing of it. He adjusted, rolled his shoulders like he always did, then followed your lead without argument.
āText me when you get home,ā he called back to Robby.
āSure. Have fun with your girl.ā Robby had said, lying back down.
āI definitely will,ā Jack nodded.
You were already walking, his shoulder brushing yours, easy. He leaned down slightly as you hit the path, murmuring something low against your hair that made you let out a quiet, breathy laughāsomething private, something just for him.
Robby watched you both go.
Didnāt move.
The grass was still damp under his back when he lay down again, staring up at a sky that refused to give him anything clear.
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over his mouth.
So, when you and Jack finally put it to himācornered him in that quiet, deliberate way the two of you hadāRobby wasnāt as hung up on the logistics of it as he probably shouldāve been. The dynamic, the risk, the aftermathāthose were the things a smarter man mightāve led with. But that wasnāt where his mind went first.
It went somewhere simpler. Sharper.
Just how pretty were the noises you made? How soft was your tongue? Would you like it if Robby was cruelāif he held your head down and made you choke on him?
And Jackā¦ steady Jack. What did he look like when he finally came? Did he like being teased, kept right on that edge until it snapped? Would he grip Robbyās hair, or would he stay controlled even then, taking it without losing that composure?
It wasn't an abstract curiosity. It wasnāt even entirely sexual, not at its core. It was about access.
About seeing something of both of you that no one else did. About being let into a space that already existedāintimate, closed, completeāand being told there was room for him inside it.
And thatāmore than anything elseāwas what made it difficult to dismiss.
ā ā ā
Ortho is down for a consultation when you get called in.
The patient is already underāintubated and sedated, leg secured in traction. The CT is up on PACS, the fracture obvious even before you zoom in: a displaced mid-shaft femur, clear shortening, classic muscle pull deformity.
āYeah, thatās a transverse mid-shaft femoral fracture,ā you say, pen tapping the screen. āYou can see the displacement here, and the overlapāthis is why the leg looks shortened clinically.ā
Santos leans in, her eyes slightly wide. āFuck.ā
You shake your head. āIt looks dramatic, but itās stable from what weāve got. No obvious vascular compromise on imaging. Ortho will likely take her for an intramedullary nail.ā
Santos lets out a breath.
You scroll through the scan again, adjusting the windowing. āWeāll just want to repeat neurovascular checks pre-op and post-reduction. But sheās straightforward.ā
āThank god,ā Santos mutters. āI was so not bothered to call for another consult.
A knock on the glass interrupts you. You glance up.
Robby.
Heās already halfway through sanitising his hands when he steps in, eyes flicking once to the screen before landing on you.
āOrthoās down in ED?ā he says.
āYeah,ā you answer, a little too aware of him in the doorway. āSantos messaged me. Femur fracture.ā
He leans in beside you to look at the CT, close enough that the space shiftsāclinical, but not entirely neutral. Heās tired in the way only long shifts make you, sleeves pushed up, forearms marked faintly by pressure lines from his undershirt.
āLooks like a clean nail,ā he says.
āAssuming ortho behaves,ā you reply.
He huffs something like a laugh. āThey wonāt.ā
āNo,ā you agree. āWe never do.ā
Santos clears her throat. āWhile Iāve got youāHuckleberry and I are having a Parisian party next Friday. At our place. You should come. You and Abbott, of course.ā
You pause slightly.
āA Parisian party?ā you repeat.
āYeah,ā Santos says, warming to it. āParis-themed. Likeā¦ French food, wine, decorations. The Eiffel Tower and shit.ā
Robby makes a quiet sound behind youāalmost a laugh, quickly disguised.
You glance at him, but heās still looking at the scan like nothing happened.
Santos continues, mildly confused. āHave either of you been to Paris?ā
āNo,ā you say.
Robby: āNope.ā
Santos nods like that still tracks logically. āYeah, me neither. Barely even been to Canada.ā
Thereās a beat.
āAnyway,ā She adds, already backing toward the door, āYouāre invited too, Robby. Maybe the three of you come together or something. Youāre all closeā
ā...Sounds good, Santos, weāll let you know,ā Robby says with a nod. āNorth Twelve?ā
āConsider it done.ā Santos says dry, nodding.
The door shuts behind her. Silence settles back ināclean, clinical, familiar. Except Robby is still standing close enough that youāre aware of him in a way you shouldnāt be during a trauma consult.
He glances at the CT again. āParis-themed party,ā he repeats flatly.
āDonāt even,ā you say immediately, because you can hear it in his tone already, trying to hide your own smile.
āWhat?ā he says innocently.
You turn slightly toward him. āI know exactly what youāre thinking.ā
He finally looks at you properly now, mouth twitching. āIām not thinking anything.ā
āYouāre absolutely thinking something and at work nonetheless? Inappropriate.ā
āIām thinking Santos should never be allowed to plan anything,ā he says.
āLiar.ā
That earns you a brief, quiet exhale of amusement. You finish with the scans and walk out, Robby hot on your heels as you head to the nurses station.
āYou think youāll go?ā he asks.
āNo,ā you say. āJack and I have the night off. Weāll be busy.ā
āRight,ā he nods.
A beat.
āYou?ā you ask.
āIād rather not spend my night around a bunch of drunk residents,ā Robby says with a quiet exhale. āSo, no.ā
āCome over then,ā you offer, stopping at the nursesā station.
Robby gives you a look. āThought you said you two were busy.ā
āYou can be busy with us,ā you say, looking up at him, pen tapping lightly against the chart. āOr just Jack. Or just me. He told me youāve thought about it either way.ā
A faint sigh leaves him. āRight. I forgot he canāt keep anything to himself.ā
He leans against the counter, lowering his voice slightly as his eyes flick briefly across the stationāDana watching from a few bays away, already narrowing her gaze like sheās clocking something she hasnāt labelled yet.
āHave you?ā he asks softly.
āThought about you? In that way?ā you clarify.
He nods, a slight tilt to his head, curious.
You hesitate just long enough to make it honest.
āYes,ā you admit. āYouāre tall. Kind. Your beardās nice. Youāre probably a little meaner than Jack, which interests me.ā
That earns the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Something deeper in him satisfied.
āAbbotās a lover boy at heart,ā Robby says. āGives in easily. āSpecially for you.ā
You nod, like that tracks. āMost of the time, yeah.ā
That earns a quieter look from him. A pause that sits just slightly longer than professional. Then, more carefully, āIs it true you had a crush on me?ā
You tilt your head. āGod, he really justā Doesnāt keep anything to himself.ā
Robby exhales through his nose. āNot at all. Iāve been subjected to that man and his inner workings for too long.ā
You bump his shoulder lightly with yours, just enough contact to make the space between you feel intentional.
āWas it a yes?ā
āTo the crush?ā You consider it. āYeah.ā
That makes his eyebrows lift slightly.
āBefore Jack,ā you add, like it matters in a technical sense. āOlder, authority figure, slightly emotionally unavailableā¦ I think I might just have a pattern.ā
Robby hums, low. āTracks.ā
Thereās a beat where neither of you moves away. Then he says, quieter, āAnd now?ā
You donāt look away when you answer. āNow, itās justā¦ different.ā
That hangs there. From somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeps sharply, breaking the moment just enough for it not to tip into anything else.
You glance back down at the chart, already half-moving on.
āIāll let you know when we get a room open for the femur nail lady.ā
And then youāre goneāalready walking toward the elevator, the conversation left hanging in the air behind you. Robby watches you go.
A quiet breath leaves him through his nose. He taps his fingers once against the counter, then pushes off it, turning back to the screens like he needs something solid to land on.
Dana appears beside him a second later, sliding into the space like sheās been waiting for exactly this moment.
āWhatās with that?ā she asks.
ā...Whatās with what?ā he replies, arms folding loosely, eyes still on the monitor bank.
āI mean,ā she says slowly, āwhatās with flirtinā with Abbottās girl in front of everybody?ā
He doesnāt look at her when he answers.
āThatās not flirting,ā he says evenly. āWe were just talking.ā
Dana hums, unconvinced. āTalkinā real close.ā
āYeah,ā she says, nodding toward the bay. āJust rolled in. Need you over there.ā
āAlright,ā he says.
And he follows her down the hall, expression already reset.
ā ā ā
āāHey. Hold on a second,ā Jack says, breath a little uneven.
āNo, donātādonāt hold on,ā you protest, already moving, frustrated at the interruption. Your hips roll, trying to sink deeper, but his hands clamp down on your waistāfirm, grounding, stopping you.
āHey. Easy.ā A breath. āJustāgimme a second, alright?ā
You huff, but you stop. Barely. Your thighs tremble, hovering just above his cock, the tip brushing against your wet slit.Ā āThis better be good.ā
He lets out something like a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. āYeah, Iāll try not to waste your time.ā
A beat. He looks at you properly nowāfocused, a little too clear-headed for the situation. His thumb traces a slow circle on your hipbone, soothing, but his eyes are sharp.
āJustā¦ wanna get this straight,ā he says.
Your hands shift on his chest, nails dragging lightly. āOkay. Then say it.ā
He nods once. āHe can be there. He can watch, he can fuck you.ā A pause. āBut there are lines.ā
You tilt your head, watching him. āSuch as?ā
His grip tightens just a fractionānot enough to bruise, enough to mean something. āSuch asāyou donāt forget who youāre with.ā
You raise a brow, a smirk pulling at your lips. āHard to forget when youāve got your dick in me half the time Iām not at work.ā
āSmartass,ā he mutters. Then, quieterāāIām serious. He doesnāt get to know how you taste. Thatās mine.ā
āUh-huhā¦ā You roll your hips lazily, not sinking down, just letting the head of his cock nudge against your clit, making him hiss. āSo this is allowed?ā You lift up, then lower just an inch, teasing the tip against your entrance.
āYeah, allowed,ā Jack nods, his jaw tight.
āMm. This?ā You lean down and kiss himāsweet, slow, your tongue brushing his lower lip before you pull back with a soft pop.
He nods into the kiss, groaning when you start to move again, lifting your pussy off him completely. The air hits his wet shaft and he shudders.
āYeah? What about this?ā You wrap your hand around his cock, giving it a slow, deliberate stroke from base to tip, slick with your own arousal. You squeeze just a little, watching his eyes flutter.
āAll allowed,ā he grates out, ābut his mouth isnāt getting near this, alright, thatās allāā He cuts off as he grabs you by the hips, guiding your pussy back down, lining you up and shoving it back in with a single, brutal thrust. Your moan rips out of youāloud, breathy, grateful. His cock fills you so deep you feel it in your throat.
āYeah? That good with you?ā he asks, voice rough.
You nod, already starting to ride himāslow at first, just a rock of your hips, teasing the angle. āWhat about you and āim?ā you ask, breath hitching as you grind down.
Jack shrugsāor tries to. āWhat donāt you want?ā
āNo blowjobs either, then,ā you say, voice a little strained as you lift up and drop back down, feeling every ridge. āāS for me.ā
āSounds good to me.ā His hands find your hips again, but he doesnāt guideāhe just holds, letting you set the pace. Letting you take.
You pick up speed, thighs burning, your clit grinding against his pubic bone with each roll. The room fills with the wet sound of your pussy gripping his cock, and you tilt your head back, letting him see the arch of your throat.
His hand comes up, thumb brushing along your jaw, pulling your focus back to him when you drift.
āRight here,ā he murmurs.
You meet his gaze. That same lookāsteady, a little rough around the edges, but sure. His.
āGood,ā he says, softer now. His thumb drags across your lower lip, and you part your mouth, just enough to suck the tip of it in. His eyes darken.
And when you move again, itās slower. You rock forward, letting his cock hit that deep, sweet spot, and you moan against his thumb. You pull off it with a wet sound, then lean down to kiss him againādirtier this time, tongue and teeth, whimpering into him.
āYeah,ā he breathes against your lips. āThatās better.ā
ā ā āāā
Itās late into the evening on Friday when you hear Jack on the phone.
āNo, canāt,ā Jack says, pacing your living room, phone tucked to his ear while he half-heartedly folds laundry and gives up halfway through. āIām home. Sheās cooking. Smells like Iām about to get fat and happy.ā
āBaby, can you come try this?ā you call from the kitchen.
āOne sec,ā he says, then quieter, back into the phoneāāWhatād you wanna do?ā
āNothing,ā Robby mutters. āIā¦ I donāt know, man. I donāt feel like crashing Santos and Whitakerāsā¦ house party. We could go for a drive. Hike.ā
Jack stops mid-step. āA hike,ā he repeats. āAt nine-thirty at night.ā
A beat.
āYeah, not happening,ā he decides, dropping the laundry basket and heading into the kitchen.
Youāre at the counter in that barely-there nightgownāsoft, short, riding up your thighs as you lean forward, aggressively chopping an onion like it personally offended you. Eyes glossy, blinking through it.
Jack pauses in the doorway for half a second longer than necessary.
Thenābusiness as usual.
āAlright,ā he says, stepping in behind you, close enough that his hand brushes your hip on the way past. āWhat am I trying?ā
You nod at the stove. āCarbonara.ā
He leans over, tastes it, humsālow, approving.
āYeah,ā he says into the phone. āSheās showing off.ā
You bump his arm lightly. āI am not.ā
āYou are,ā he says, kissing you quick, easy, like heās done it a thousand times. āItās working.ā
You smile despite yourself, wiping at your eyes.
On the phone, Robby exhales. Rough. Tired.
āHikeās dumb,ā Jack says, shifting tone without making it obvious. āWhatās actually going on.ā
āNothing,ā Robby says. āJustā¦ canāt sit still. Garcia was on my ass all day, Al-Hashimi wouldnāt shut the fuck upāā
āāHey,ā Jack cuts in, calm, steady. āTake a breath.ā
You glance over at him. Heās not looking at you anymoreāfocused now, locked into that mode.
āYouāre good,ā he says. āYouāre not thinking anything dumb, right?ā
A pause.
āā¦No,ā Robby says. āJust need toā¦ get out of my head, I donāt know.ā
Jack hears it. You do too. That edge. That restless, pissed-off with nowhere to put it thing.
āHe can come here,ā you say, like itās obvious.
Jack looks at youāquick, assessingābut thereās no resistance there. Just a flicker of something else.
āYeah,ā he says into the phone. āCome over. Foodās ready soon.ā
āI donāt know, manāā Robby starts.
You reach over and take the phone straight out of Jackās hand.
āHey, Michael.ā
Thereās a beat.
Jack watches you now, not even pretending to focus on the onions anymore.
āā¦Hey,ā Robby says, slower. āHeard you were cooking.ā
āMhm,ā you hum, leaning back against the counter, bare leg brushing against Jackās where he stands beside you. āPlenty to go around.ā
Jackās hand settles at your hip automatically. Not possessiveājust there.
Robby hears the shift anyway.
āThis a setup?ā he asks.
You smile slightly. āYou always this suspicious, or just with me?ā
A quiet scoff from him.
āYou should come,ā you add, softerābut not innocent. āYou sound like you need it.ā
A beat. Jackās thumb presses lightly into your hip. Grounding. Present.
Robby exhales. āYeah. Guess I can make it.ā
āGuess you can,ā you say easily.
Silence againābut itās different now.
You glance at Jack.
He nods once.
āDoorās unlocked,ā you say. āTwenty minutes.ā
You hand the phone back.
Jack takes it, fingers brushing yours briefly, then brings it back to his ear. āYou heard her. No pressure.ā
A pause.
āā¦Alright,ā Robby says.
The line clicks dead.
Jack sets the phone down on the counter, then looks at you properly. A slow once-over. Not subtle.
āWhat?ā You raise a brow.
āNothing. Nothing at all. Iāll finish the laundry.ā He gives you a deep kiss to your neck, hands trailing over your figure as he mumbles into your skin, fingers gently pushing aside the light material. āYou gonna stay in this?ā He asks.
āāS that alright?ā You wonder, leaning into his touch.
He inhales sharply against your skin, lips leaving your skin. āSure.ā
ā ā ā
Youāre out on the balcony when it comes up.
Jackās place sits high enough that the city feels almost stagedāPittsburgh stretched out in warm light, bridges lit up in clean lines, traffic moving steady below like it never really stops. Itās one of those late summer nights where the air sticks just slightly to your skin, warm but not suffocating. Thereās music drifting from somewhere down the block, a party you canāt see but can feel in the background.
The balconyās not smallāwide enough for a proper table, a few chairs, space to lean without feeling cramped. Jack had insisted on that when he bought the place. Said if he was going to spend money, itād be on something worth standing still for.
Your plates are mostly cleared, carbonara half-finished, wine and beer sweating into the wood.
āHave either of you done this before?ā Robby asks.
Jack shakes his head immediately. āNo.ā
You donāt answer.
Youāre thinkingāactually thinking, head tilted slightly, finger lifting to tap against Jackās arm like you need him to hold on a second. Thatās when it hits him, belated and faintly incredulous, that this apparently hadnāt come up when the idea itself had.
āā¦Have you?ā Jack asks, turning to you, already suspicious.
āI am thinking,ā you murmur, brows pulling together like this is a serious recall exercise.
Robby raises a brow, watching you now, something amused creeping in despite himself.
āWhat do you mean youāre thinking?ā Jack presses. āThatās notā¦ I donāt know, something you half do or something. Youād know.ā
āOr something,ā Robby mutters under his breath.
You shoot him a look, then roll your eyes. āOkayāno. I donāt think Iāve had a threesome.ā
āHow can you not think youāve had a threesome?ā Jack wonders.
You lean back slightly, folding one leg under you, the fabric of your nightgown shifting higher on your thigh without you bothering to fix it. You donāt notice how both menās gaze drop there.
You exhale, already regretting engaging. āBecauseātechnicallyāno one actually got fucked, there was no penetration by anybody, so, grey area?ā
Thereās a beat.
Robbyās mouth twitches.
Jack blinks. ā...Right.ā
āOkay?ā you continue, defensive now. āIt wasāhands. Thatās it. Group situation, but notā¦ full commitment.ā
Robby huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. āGroup situation,ā he repeats.
āShut up,ā you mutter.
āAnother guy or girl?ā Jack asks, too quickly.
You hesitate just long enough to make it interesting. āā¦Both.ā
Jack leans back like youāve just told him something deeply inconvenient. ā...Huh.ā
Robby lets out a low whistle through his nose. āSo not a threesome. Justā¦ poor project management.ā
You laugh despite yourself. āOh my god.ā
āThatās a foursome that lost direction,ā he adds, dry.
āWhatever,ā you shrug. āMed school was fun for me. Sorry I had range.ā
Jack eyes you, something between amused and slightly thrown. āIām just saying, thatās a hell of a thing to casually drop over dinner.ā
You smirk faintly. āIām surprised you havenāt.ā
Jack scoffs. āIāve had opportunities.ā
āMm,ā you hum, unconvinced.
Robby glances at him sideways. āThat sounds like a lie.ā
āItās not a lie,ā Jack says, defensive now. āI justānever felt the need.ā
āRight,ā Robby says. āTill now.ā
Jack gives him a look. āTill now.ā
Something passes thereāquick, familiar, not entirely friendly as Robby sips his beer.
After, you step out to the edge of the balcony, forearms resting against the railing. The city hums below you, the air warmer now, carrying the smell of food and distant smoke.
Inside, you hear Jack movingāplates, running water. Robbyās voice low, asking something, already familiar with the space.
āThanks, baby,ā you say when Jack comes back out, taking your plate.
You lean in, press a quick kiss to his cheek.
āThank you,ā he murmurs, hand coming up to your hair, messing it slightly with a small, easy smile.
You push him away lightly. āDonāt start.ā
Robby watches it for a second before picking up the empty bottles, holding them loosely by the necks.
āNext to the fridge?ā he asks, like he hasnāt been here a hundred times alreadyālike tonight isnāt slightly different.
āYeah,ā you nod. āRecycling. Thank you.ā
He gives a short nod and turnsā You catch his wrist. Itās not forceful. Just enough.
āHey,ā you say, softer.
He looks down at you.
Thereās a pauseāhis eyes dragging, just briefly, lower before coming back up. Youāre close enough now to feel the heat off him, the faint roughness of his breath after a drink, after a long day.
You use his forearm to pull yourself up just slightlyā and kiss him. Itās not rushed. Itās far from tentative either. Close. Testing.
His beard scratches lightly against your skin, rough in a way that makes you more aware of it, not less. He stills for half a secondāthen responds, mouth softer than you expected, hand hovering like he hasnāt decided where itās allowed to land.Ā
Your teeth catch his bottom lip briefly. Thatās what does it.
āStarting without me?ā Jackās voice cuts in, dry. āBit mean.ā
Robby pulls back instinctively, like heās been caught doing something he shouldnātāeven thoughā
Even though.
You smile a little, letting go of his wrist as he clears his throat.
āNext to the fridge,ā Jack adds, nodding toward the bottles.
Robby nods once, wordless, moving past him.
Their shoulders brush as he goes. Not accidental. Jack doesnāt move out of the way.
He watches Robby for a second longer than necessary, then looks back at you.
You end up on the couch.
It happens naturallyāplates abandoned in the sink, TV flicked on for noise more than anything else. Some late-night rerun playing low in the background, colours shifting across the room, low lamps lighting the room.
Jackās in the middle, halfway through some story from workāone of those cases that stuck with him. Complicated, strange, the kind he canāt quite let go of.
Youāre tucked into his side, knees curled under you, your hand idly playing at the back of his neckāfingers brushing through his hair, absent, familiar. You nod along, half-listening, more focused on the rhythm of his voice, the warmth of him.
Robbyās behind you. Close enough that you can feel the heat of him through your back, even before his hand settles on your thighāslow, absent movement, like heās not even fully aware heās doing it.
Up. Down. Not pushing. Not asking. Just there.
Jack keeps talking.
You lean in without really thinking about itāyour lips brushing along his jaw, then just below it. Light. Familiar. Not rushed.
Jackās hand comes up to your lower back automatically, pulling you in a fraction closer, steadying you there.
Robbyās hand doesnāt stop. If anything, it shiftsājust slightly higher, fingers brushing warmer skin now where the fabric gives way.
Jack feels it. His hand stills for a second at your backāthen relaxes again.
He doesnāt pull you away. Doesnāt say anything. You exhale softly against his neck, your breath warm there, your fingers tightening slightly where they rest behind him.
And for a secondājust a secondāyouāre aware of both of them at once.
Jack in front of you, steady, grounding. Robby behind you, quieter, heavierāwatching more than speaking.
Jackās gaze lifts. Meets Robbyās. Thereās a beat. Not long. But long enough. Something passes between themāwordless, measured. Something you canāt read.
Jack gives the smallest nod. Barely there. Robbyās jaw shifts slight. Then Jack looks back at you.
Your hand slides from his neck to his jaw, turning him slightly, and you kiss him properly this timeāslow, deliberate. He leans into it without hesitation, one hand firm at your waist.
When you pull back, itās not far. Just enough. Just long enough to turn.
Robbyās already looking at you. Not surprised. Not really. Just watching. You close the distance like itās nothingālike itās always been this simpleāand kiss him too.
Different. Not softer, not harderājust new. Testing. His hand stills on your thigh for half a second before it shifts, coming up to steady at your side, like heās grounding himself in it.
Thereās a quiet breath from himāalmost a huff, almost disbelief.
āThis is fun,ā You murmur.
You donāt give him time to overthink it.
You lean back between them again, tipping your head slightly, and they follow without being told.
Jackās mouth finds one side of your neck, familiar, certain.
Robby hesitates for a fraction of a secondā then doesnāt.
The other side. Slower. More deliberate. Like heās learning something heās not used to having.
You exhale, a soft sound you donāt quite hold back this time, and your hands come up instinctivelyāone finding Jackās hair, the other Robbyās, fingers threading through both, holding them there.
For a second, it stays like that. Balanced.
Then you shift, just slightlyāhands tightening, guiding as you move the two of them, their lips almost naturally coming to find one anothers, moving them like ken dolls, before you drop your hands, watching with a small smile, as Robby's immediacy for control goes against Jack's. Robbyās hand deepening into your thigh, grip tight as he kisses Jack.
Jack pulls back first, breath uneven but still controlled, his eyes flicking to yours like heās checking inālike he always does.
His hand slides up your spine, slower now, deliberate where it had been absent before. His palm is cool against your overheated skin, the contrast making you shiver as it traces upward, then back down again, lingering just enough to feel intentional.
You lean back into him, lips finding his neck againādragging slowly over the roughness of his skin, the faint scrape grounding, familiar. You press a little firmer this time, less thought, more instinct.
When you pull back, itās only barely. Your breath catchesānot dramatic, justā¦ aware. Of him. Of Robby. Of both.
Jackās hand presses more firmly into your back, keeping you close, steadying you like he can feel the shift too.
āBaby,ā he murmurs, voice low, softer than before. āFeeling needy?ā
You nod against him, answering with your mouth insteadākissing along his jaw now, slower, more deliberate.
āYeah,ā he exhales, a quiet sort of understanding in it. āI know, hon.ā A beat. Then, quieterāāYou want me, or him?ā
You hesitate. Not longābut long enough to matter.
Robbyās hand shifts on your thigh, moving from the outside to your inner thigh, firm but unhurried, easing you open just slightlyātesting, not taking. Waiting to see what youāll do with it.
āItās alright,ā Jack starts, voice still calm, like heās talking you through something he already trusts. āGo ahead. She likes it when youāā
āāIāll ask you for help if I need it, alright?ā Robby cuts in, low and even.
They exchange a lookābrief, sharp, understood.
You lean over, pressing a quick, soft kiss to Jackās cheekāsomething sweet, groundingābefore shifting your weight and climbing into Robbyās lap.
He stiffens for a second. Just a second.
Robbyās always been hard to read. Timeās etched itself into his face, but thereās still that wall thereāsomething held back, something controlled. Maybe itās nerves. Maybe itās you. His best friendās girl, sitting on him like thisāclose, warm, curious.
āYou okay there, Sasquatch?ā you tease, tilting your head up at him.
His hands find your thighs again almost immediately, like muscle memory kicking in. His gaze flicksādown, over you, then back to your eyes. Briefly to Jack. Then back again.
āSasquatch? Really?ā he murmurs, one hand moving up to cup your breast through your top. His palm is warm against you, sending a shiver down your spine. āThatās what youāre going with?ā
āBeard, tallā¦ same thing, no?ā you shrug lightly.
That earns the faintest hint of a smirk.
āShe always cracking jokes before getting fucked?ā Robby asks, giving your breast a firm squeeze. His other hand slides lower, ghosting over your stomach before cupping your mound through your panties
āDepends,ā Jack admits. āOne time I got G.I Joe for an hour.ā
āHe was in uniform, in my defense,ā You defend, brief before you try moving your hips over Robbyās fingers, eager. āCome on, Michael.āĀ
Robby's fingers press harder against your core, rubbing slow, firm circles that have you arching into him, a sweet whine escaping your lips, his eyes enamoured with how your mouth parts, breath warm against him.Ā
āWhat a cute noise you make, sweetheart,ā Robby murmurs. āAsk me nicely now.ā
You hesitate, desperate as his fingers continue to move achingly slow over your wetness.
āAsk or I give Jack my hand right now instead and you can wait your turn for another hour,ā Robby tells, voice low and soft, not looking away from where his fingers glide over your seeping core.
āPlease,ā you murmur, voice breathy and desperate. āPlease fuck me with your fingers.ā
You crash your lips to hisāharsh, messy, tongues thrusting quick and slick, his beard scraping rough red trails across your cheeks and chin. He growls low into your mouth, yanking your panties aside with brutal force, calloused fingertips dragging through your dripping folds, parting your lips wide before ramming two thick fingers knuckle-deep into your clenching pussyāno mercy, no prep.
You gasp ragged into the kiss, a high-pitched moan ripping free as your lips break away, saliva trailing shiny strings from his mouth to yours. You latch onto his neck, teeth grazing the salty skin, sucking hard as you grind down fierce onto his invading digitsāwalls squeezing tight around the stretch, juices flooding hot over his palm.
āMove your fingers toward her ventral,ā Jack instructs from the side, voice calm but edged with that teasing know-it-all tone, his hand sliding warm along your spine.
Robby exhales sharp through his noseāmild irritation flashing in his eyes at the unasked advice, jaw clenching as he shoots Jack a quick, heated glare. But he curls his fingers obediently upward inside you, knuckles grinding rough along your front wall to hammer your g-spot precise and relentless. Your moan swells louder, body jolting as fresh gushes of slick coat his hand, pussy slurping obscenely around each pump.
āChrist, youāre making a mess on me, arenāt you, kid? Huh?ā Robby rasps, voice gravel-thick with mean delight, eyes locked on the filthy sightāyour swollen pussy lips gliding and sucking greedily over his plunging fingers, riding them frantic.Ā
He twists his wrist sharp, scissoring the digits wide to pry your hole open, thumb mashing down hard on your throbbing clit with every brutal thrustāwet schlicks echoing loud, your thighs trembling slick against his forearm, arousal trickling warm down to soak his jeans.
He adds a third finger suddenly, forcing the burn deeper, stretching your cunt taut as he moves, hooking mercilessly on that spongy spot.Ā
āYou getting close?ā He asks, low and rough, listening closely to your moans, how they become pitchier, breathier, as sweet as Jack described. You nod, a loose yes, focused only on how your core winds up to the edge. āThat right?ā
Your cries pitch wilder, back arching as he pinches your clit between thumb and knuckle, rolling it rough while his fingers churn your insides, coil tight in your core.
āWhat else she like?ā Robby asks Jack, glancing over at his friend now, fingers never slowing their rhythm inside you.
Jack taps his index and middle digit to his lips, nodding toward you. Robby nods back, hums at the sight of you, curious.
Robby yanks his fingers free abruptāyour pussy clenching empty, a whine tearing from your throat at the aching void, hips bucking needy for more. He brings those soaked digits up to your face, gripping your chin firm to still you, watching hungry as you part your lips instinctively.Ā
His fingertips tease your bottom lip, smearing your own cream glossy, before you suck them in deepātongue swirling eager around the thick lengths, lapping every tangy drop, hollowing cheeks as saliva drips messy down your chin.
āAtta girl, youāre a fuckinā mess now arenāt you?ā Robby murmurs, gaze glued ravenous to your bobbing mouth, cock throbbing harder under you. āYou wanna cum?ā
You nod, frantic around his fingers, eyes pleading.
āNot yet,ā Robby denies, voice almost gentle, yet harsh at once. āBarely seen what you can do.ā
You exhale shaky as he pulls his fingers out with a wet pop, trailing spit from your chin before cupping your whole face possessive, holding you locked on him.
āGo over to him. Make him feel good,ā Robby orders, jerking his chin at Jack.
You nod, movements sluggish from the edge he left you on.
āOn the floor, knees, now,ā Robby snaps, voice brooking no argument.
You slide off his lap reluctant, crawling back to Jack beside him on the couch. He smiles soft at you, fingers threading gentle through your hair, cupping your cheek as he brushes strands aside, gaze roaming tender over your flushed skin.
āYou alright there?ā he asks nicely, thumb stroking your jaw.
You nod eager, hands diving straight to his sweatpants, palming the rigid bulge straining thereāheat pulsing under your touch.Ā
You tug the waistband down, freeing his cockāthick shaft springing up heavy, veins bulging, head slick with pre-cum. Your fist wraps tight around the base, pumping slow firm strokes up to the tip, twisting slick over the crown to spread his leak.
Jack inhales sharp, but you drop fully to your knees between his spread thighs on the rug, the rough weave biting into your skin. You lean in, lips parting wide to swallow his cockhead firstātongue flicking the slit to lap salty pre, then sliding down inch by veiny inch, throat relaxing to take him deeper.
āLook pretty down there,ā Jack murmurs with a small smile, hand light in your hair, just cradling.
āYouāre so soft with her,ā Robby remarks from beside, voice mixed with mocking and earnestness as he watches you work, his own tenting obvious.
Jack shrugs, a quiet groan escaping as you hollow your cheeks, sucking vacuum-tight while bobbing steadyāsaliva pooling at the corners of your stretched lips, dribbling down his balls. Your hand strokes what your mouth can't reach, twisting wet on the upstroke, tongue pressing flat along the underside to trace every ridge.
Robby's gaze burns hotāflicking over your arched back, your drool-slick chin, eyes that dart between Jack's tense face, Robby's hungry stare, then flutter shut as you deepthroat him full, nose burying in his pubes. He fixates on Jack's cock vanishing slick between your lips, throat bulging visible. Then up to Jack, whose fingers grip tighter into your scalpānot shoving, just anchoring as his neck cords tense.
āGood job, sweetheart,ā Jack praises breathy, hips twitching minimal into your rhythm.Ā
Your moan vibrates around his length, humming deep to make him shudder, spit bubbling messy as you pop off to lick sloppy stripes up his shaft, sucking each ball into your mouth turn before plunging back down.
He groans low, head lolling back, āFuckingā¦ perfect. So perfect, always.ā
Tension crackles thicker between themāJack's free hand drifts casual at first, then deliberate, palming Robby's thigh before cupping the massive bulge in his jeans, squeezing firm through denim. Robby stiffens, eyes meeting with Jack's, breath hitching as Jack rubs slow circles over the thick outline, thumb pressing the zipper ridge where pre darkens the fabric.
āYou alright there, man?ā Jack scoffs, a light smile. āCanāt handle it?ā
Itās a challenge. It always is with them. Has been since they were twenty something.
Jack knows exactly what heās doingāknows the tells. The slight tilt of Robbyās head, the way his weight shifts more onto one side, the flicker of something sharper behind his eyes. Heās seen that look in bars, in fights, in operating rooms when things went sideways.
Robby doesnāt back down from anything. Least of all him.
Then Robby exhales slowly, something almost like a laugh under it, eyes locking onto Jackāsāsteady, unflinching.
āOh, I can handle it just fine,ā Robby agrees with his own smile. āGo āhead.ā
Jack groans at your relentless mouthāfast and wet, then slowing perfect against himāhis hand stroking over Robbyās clothed cock, deliberate and slow, denim rasping under his palm. He leans in first, crashing his mouth to Robby'sāsloppy, urgent, tongues battling fierce right above you, beards grinding rough, wet sucks and grunts filling the air. Jack's fingers knead Robby's bulge harder, unzipping halfway to delve inside, wrapping firm around the hot shaft through boxers.
You pull off Jack with a gasp, spit stringing from your lips to his glistening tip, replacing your mouth with your fistāpumping slick and steady along his veiny length, thumb swirling over the slit to smear pre-cum. Your eyes lock on their kiss, Jack's hand slowing on Robby as your thumb teases tentative over his own sensitive crown, tongue darting out to lap the edge of his slit.
āOh fuck,ā Jack moans into Robbyās mouth, breaking away to watch you lick him sweetly, hips bucking light into your grip.
Your free hand joins Jackās on Robbyās cock, fingers overlapping his as Robby undoes his belt buckle with a metallic clink, shoving jeans and boxers down his thighs. His thick cock springs free. You spit thick into your palm, slicking it hot before gripping him base to tip, stroking in tandem with Jackāyour hand twisting wet on the upstroke while his squeezes the root, veins pulsing under your combined pressure.Ā
Robby hisses through clenched teeth, thighs tensing as you both jerk him off rough, pre dribbling over knuckles, your mouth still working on Jackās cock.
Jack's strokes on you falter to lazy pumps, his fist gliding easy over your saliva-lubed skin as he watches Robby swell thicker in your shared hold. āFuck, feel that grip? Sheās got hands made for this,ā he rasps, voice husky, eyes dark on Robby's face.
Robby grunts approval, thrusting shallow into the double stroke. Jack pulls back suddenly, nodding down at you. āLet him feel how good your pretty mouth is, baby.ā
You release Jack reluctant, his cock twitching angry-red in the cool air as he takes overāfist flying fast over his shaft, slick echoing. You shift on your knees, turning to Robby, who grips his base and taps the fat head heavy against your cheekāwet smacks on flushed skin, taunting drip of pre-painting streaks.
āDreamt about this once,ā he admits, voice low. āThe way Jack described it, youād think you have the mouth of an angel. That right? You an angel?ā He wonders.
You lick your lips in anticipation, hand between your legs, fingers gliding over your folds.
āSeemed pretty desperate for my boyfriend there too,ā You remark, not looking away from Robbyās gaze.
His jaw tightens. āHeās pretty good with his hand, but I think you can do better with your tongue.ā
You part lips wide, tongue out flat as he slaps his cock deliberately across it, underside dragging salty over your tastebuds before shoving in brutalāhalf his length in one thrust, stretching your jaw.Ā
You gag wet but suck hollow, cheeks caving as you bob frantic, hand pumping the rest in sync. Saliva floods fast, bubbling down his sack as you swirl tongue under the ridge, hollowing deep to milk him. Your fingers are quick against your wetness, dripping between your thighs, your other hand planted at Robbyās thigh.
āShitāyeah, like that,ā Robby growls, free hand fisting your hair to guide rough, not forcing but controlling the paceāpulling you off to tap his cock on your tongue again, smearing spit and pre glossy before ramming back in.Ā
He fucks your face shallow, hips snapping precise, balls swinging to nudge your chin while Jack jerks himself faster beside, groans syncing with yours muffled around Robby's girth.
You sweep the underside of your tongue around Robbyās cock, soft wetness coating him, slow, then fast, hearing how Robbyās hand tightens harder in your scalp.
Jack leans close, breath ragged as his fist blurs over his cock, tip weeping steady. āEnjoying yourself?ā
āFuck off,ā Robby mutters, focused on your mouth, your eyes as they look up at him, wide, watery.
Your fingers slip between your thighs, dipping into your soaked pussy, rutting slow circles over your clit as you kneel between them, mouth stuffed full on Robby's cock. Spit drips messy down your chin, mixing with the slick from your own folds as you finger yourself deeper, chasing that tight coil building low in your belly.
āIām good,ā Jack rasps, eyes locked on your hand working your cunt, his fist pumping steady over his own cock. āSlow down, sweetheart.ā
Your fingers comply, easing to lazy drags through your wetness, eyes flicking up to watch Jack slow his palm in sync, thumb circling his flushed tip. His free hand drifts back to Robby's thigh, squeezing hard muscle as he watches you deepthroatāthroat bulging obscene with each plunge, gags turning wet and rhythmic.
Robby's taunts rumble gravel-deep: āFucking hell, you gonna let me cum in that mouth, honey?ā He pops free with a gasp, cock throbbing inches from your face, tapping insistent on your cheekāleft, right, smearing sticky pre over flushed skinābefore you dive back voluntary, nose grinding into his pubes as you swallow him full, humming vibration to wrench a guttural curse from his chest.
āShe can take it,ā Jack murmurs, voice thick. āCan you, baby? Come on, speak now.ā
You moan muffled around Robby's girth, pulling off with a slick pop, resting your head against his still-clothed thigh as your fingers plunge back into your pussy, rutting frantic. āMhm.ā You kiss alongside his shaft, tongue tracing veins lazy, lips brushing hot skin.
āSo damn sweet now,ā Robby murmurs, hand loosening from your scalp to pet gentle through your hair, watching your fingers disappear knuckle-deep. āThat feel good?ā
You nod against his thigh, licking slow stripes up his cock, pumping your pussy deliberateāthumb flicking your clit, hips rocking into your hand, edge creeping close, breath hitching sharp.
āNo more of that, alright?ā Robby nods down, eyes sharp on your body. āYeah? You listening?ā
You groan, fingers curling harder inside yourself. āFuck youāyou wanna cum, I get to cum too.ā
Robby tilts his head, that piercing lookāthe one Jack knows spells trouble, before ripping into a resident. Jack nearly laughs, slowing his strokes to a tease. āNot how it works,ā Robby says flat, voice dropping steel.
You glance at Jack, pleading.
āDonāt look at him,ā Robby orders, tone snapping stricter, hand fisting your hair tight to force your gaze back. You gulp, thighs clenching empty as you pull your fingers free, pussy clenching needy on nothing. āPut both hands behind your back if youāre gonna act like a fuckinā brat.ā
Reluctant, you clasp your hands behind you, knees aching on the floor, tits heaving with each breath. Robby nods approval, gripping his base to feed his cock back past your lipsāslow at first, letting you savor the stretch, then thrusting deeper as you hollow cheeks vacuum-tight.
Your tongue flattens under his shaft to lap the frenulum relentlessly, swirling wet around the head on every upstroke before slamming down throat-deep, gag reflex crushed to nothing. Saliva floods obscenely, bubbling at the corners of your mouth, dripping strings to his balls as you bob franticāsuction pulling groans from his gut, nose buried in coarse hair, throat milking him like a fist.Ā
You hum constant vibration, eyes watering up at him, popping off to spit thick on his length before sucking one ball then the other into your mouth, rolling tongue heavy before plunging back down full.
āJesus Christāyeah, there we goā¦ā Robby snarls, hips snapping erratic, free hand clamping your nape to hold you buried as his cock swells impossibly thicker, balls drawing tight.Ā
He floods your mouth suddenlyāhot spurts painting your tongue thick and salty, cock pulsing ropes down your throat as you swallow greedily around him, not spilling a drop. He rides it out shallow thrusts, groaning ragged until spent, pulling free with a wet schlick.
āFuck,ā he pants, watching your tongue swipe clean over his softening head, lapping the last beads from his slit.
You fall back onto your heels, knees throbbing, core dripping wet and aching empty down your thighs. Swallowing his load thick, you stand shaky, and lean down to Robby, core exposed from your barely there nightgown. You grab him by his jaw, fingers at his chin, watching as his hand catches your wrist.
You smile at that. āGo on,ā Your fingers linger near his mouth, covered with your wetness. āJack prefers the real deal. You shy all of a sudden, Mikey?ā
Robby reluctantly opens his mouth, trying and tasting your wetness, sucking your fingers clean.
āAtta boy,ā You say sarcastically, moving them out of his mouth. āYou think you can still fuck me, old man?ā You whisper.
āWatch it,ā Robby murmurs.
āYou can, in the corner, while Jack finally makes me cum.ā You whisper. āJack,ā you grab Jackās hand, walking away with him as Jack follows suit behind you.
āUp and at it,ā Jack tells Robby over his shoulder as he follows you.
āFucking hell,ā Robby mutters, taking a second before following after.
You hum satisfied, leading them stumbling to the bedroom, the air electric behind you.
In the dim glow, you strip your nightgown overhead, leaving ruined pantiesācrotch soaked darkāand a lacey bra barely containing your tits. Their eyes burn hot as you climb onto yours and Jack's bed, kneeling center.
Jack follows instant, standing at the edge, hands cupping your jaw rough-tender, leaning down to crash his mouth to yoursāpassionate and devouring, tongue fucking deep to taste Robby's cum lingering salty. You moan into it, hand snaking to grip his cock again, stroking firm base-to-tip.
Behind Jack, Robby's hands roam his back, trailing firm over shirt fabric before gripping the hem, yanking it up and off in one pull. Jack moans muffled into your kiss when your fist pumps faster, hips bucking into your grip, but he breaks away gasping as cool air hits his bare chest.
Robby presses close from behind, chest flush to Jack's back, beard scraping his shoulder as lips latch onto Jack's neckāsucking a mark deliberate.
āBaby, lie down for me,ā Jack instructs.
You nod, lying down on your back, knees spread apart like second nature. He tilts his head, as Robbyās lips trail over his skin.
āEnjoying yourself?ā Robby echoes Jack's earlier words, hand meeting at his cock briefly, feeling Jack stiffen and inhale sharply at that. āYou gonna make your girl cum, or do I have to do that?ā
āFuck off,ā Jack murmurs. āGo sit in a corner and wait, or somethinā,ā Jack mutters, hands dragging you by the underside of your knee, gently towards the edge as he kneels on the bed, as Robby steps back with a chuckle.
āThink I got her ready, though, so, shouldn't take long,ā Robby says. āUnless youāre not as skilled as youāve been bragging to be.ā
āOh, my god, one of you make me cum or else Iām doing it myself, Jesus,ā you whine.
āOh, baby,ā Jack murmurs, kissing at your inner thighs. āIām leaving you waiting here.ā
āSheās being a brat. Have some patience, honey,ā Robby insists, tilting his head at you in mock. āBut sheās right, hurry up, Abbot, Christ.ā
Jack swipes his tongue along your core, and you moan, your wetness ready and eager from Robby's fingering and your own arousal. He licks slow and firm, teasing your sensitive flesh.Ā
Robby watches from the side, his cock still tucked away in his jeans, as he observes you writhing under Jack's talented tongue. His expression is heated, hungry, clearly enjoying the show.Ā
"Mmm...you look like a-" you moan, too lost in sensation to finish the thought. "A fucking nun, Michael," you finally manage, nodding towards his henley. "You aren't hot in that? Take it off already, fuck,"Ā
Robby clicks his tongue, a light roll of his eyes. "You could ask me nicely. Here I thought you were so polite and sweet," he chides.
Jackās tongue is a relentless, wet invasion, fucking into you with a rhythm that steals your breath. You clench around him, a tight, pulsing grip, your fingers tangled in his silver curls, thighs locked around his head like a vise.Ā
Your eyes stay fixed on Robbyās as he discards his shirt, the fabric whispering to the floor. The snick of his belt sliding free from the loops makes you tighten your legs around Jack even more, a shiver of anticipation racing up your spine, as Jack laps at your pussy.
āWider,ā Jack grunts, his voice muffled against your pussy. He pushes your thighs apart with his hard biceps, one big hand splayed over your hipbone, pinning you down. āStop squirming. Take it.ā
From the foot of the bed, Robby watches, arms folded over his bare chest. He looks like a professor observing a dissectionācalm, analytical, utterly in control. āHow close are you?ā he asks, his tone clinical.
āMm, close,ā you manage, the words breaking on a moan as Jackās tongue flicks hard over your clit.
āYou make such pretty sounds. He was right about that,ā Robby hums, stepping closer. He sits on the edge of the mattress, his calloused hand coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb strokes your skin, sweetly, but his brow is furrowed, his gaze intense. āCallinā me a nun, and you still got this thing on, honey.ā He hooks a finger under the strap of your bra and flicks it sharply against your skin, a sting of sensation.
Jackās tongue plunges deep again, and you arch off the bed, a choked cry leaving your lips. Your eyes donāt leave Robbyās as his hand slides down, cupping your breast through the lace. He admires the weight, the shape, his fingers tracing the curve.
āWant me to fuck you first, or GI Joe there?ā Robby recalls, a smirk playing on his lips.Ā
He doesnāt miss the way your mouth curves in a smile, even as your eyelids flutter shut. Jack quickens his pace, his hands now gripping your thighs like heās holding you together.
Youāre too close, teetering on that blinding edge. Words are impossible.
āAnswer me,ā Robby instructs, his voice dropping low and stern. His hand kneads your breast, then slips inside the cup of your bra, his fingers finding your nipple. He rolls it, pinches it just shy of pain. āWho do you want first?ā
āYou,ā you gasp, the answer torn from you instinctively, desperately.
Robbyās smirk widens. āYou hear that, Abbot? I get to break her in first.ā He doesnāt look away from you as he says it.
He leans down, his hand sliding between your legs. Jack pulls back without a word, letting Robbyās fingers trail through your soaked folds, delivering a slap to your clit. You shiver violently, a string of high, needy moans escaping as he collects your wetness on his fingertips. He brings them back to your mouth, his other hand still working your nipple.
āI was right,ā you murmur, breathless. āKnew youād be mean.ā
āYeah? You like it?ā Robby wonders, though he already knows.
You bite your lip, refusing to answer.
He pushes his wet fingers past your lips, pulling your jaw open with a firm pressure. The look he gives you is pure commandādark, expectant. Obey.
āI like it,ā you moan around his fingers, the admission almost reluctant. Your grip tightens in Jackās hair. āFuckāIām gonnaāoh fuckāā
āYeah?ā Robby hums, petting your hair now, his other hand still at your breast. He watches your mouth hang open, watches the pleasure wreck you. āEyes on me. Come on. No, no. No closing them. You keep āem right here.ā His gaze holds yours captive. āGood girlā¦ good girl, arenāt you? Bratty, but you just needed to cum a little, isnāt that right?ā
You whimper as Jackās tongue sweeps over your oversensitive clit one last time, lapping up your juices as you shatter. Your orgasm crashes through you, white-hot and convulsing, your body bowing off the bed as you cry out.
āGood job, baby. Fucking hell,ā Jack mutters against your thigh, his voice rough with praise.Ā
He comes up your body, his hand replacing Robbyās on your breast, kneading possessively. His lips find yours in a messy, wet kiss, tasting of you. Tongues swiping, teeth clashing briefly as you chuckle into the kiss, wet and sloppy as he moves to your neck, sucking hard around your jaw, yoru neck, hand trailing over your figure, squeezing, gentle, rough all at once.
āMy favourite girl in the world, you know that,ā he murmurs against your skin, kissing at your collarbone.
You grin, feeling as Robby captures your mouth with his own, a brief pause as he watches Jack worship your figure. Jack slides a finger over your core, feeling as your back arches, how you gasp into Robbyās mouth.
āYou arenāt a brat, are you baby?ā Jack murmurs, rubbing tight circles at your clit, hearing how you whimper at the feeling, fresh from your orgasm. āNo, honey, not for me, isnāt that right? Yeah, I know, I knowā¦ my sweet girl,ā He replaces Robbyās mouth with his own, dragging over yours as you nod into the kiss.Ā
āTold you. Lover boy,ā Robby remarks to you.
You grin into the kiss, before Jack pulls away and naturally seems to find Robbyās lips.
You watch, a strange heat pooling in your belly, watching as Jack immediately leans in and kisses Robby. Itās harsh and sweet all at onceāa clash of teeth and soft sighs. You thought you might feel a spike of jealousy, but instead, a warm, possessive pride swells in your chest.Ā
Robby stands, briefly cupping Jackās jaw in a gesture thatās both dismissal and affection before pushing him gently aside. Jack moves from between your legs, sprawling onto his back on the bed. Robbyās hands are on your waist, and you yelp in surprise as he manhandles you with effortless strength, flipping you onto your stomach.
He drags your ruined panties down over your ass, off your legs, and sends them flying to a corner of the room with a flick of his wrist. Your bra is next; he unclips it with one practiced hand, and the lace joins the panties.
āAss up, sweetheart,ā Robby instructs, his voice thick. He lands a sharp, stinging tap on your bare ass cheek. He has one knee on the bed, the other foot planted on the floor.
You obey, pushing yourself up onto your knees and elbows. Jack is lying in front of you now, his gaze heated. You reach for his prosthetic leg, helping him with the quick-release mechanism. Robby hands you the second one without a wordāa seamless, understood exchange. Jack kisses you, sweet and grateful, as he sets the limb aside.
"That's it," Robby mutters, positioning himself behind you. You feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against your slick entrance, teasing, and then he thrusts forward in one brutal, seamless motion.
Filling you so completely the air leaves your lungs in a whoosh. He sets a punishing pace immediately, each thrust driving you forward toward Jack.
Robby inhales sharply at the feeling of you. You adjust to him, moan loud and silent all at once at the feeling.
āShit,ā Robby mutters. āFuckinā hell, you know much Jackās raved about this pussy? Callinā it the treasure of the fucking ocean.ā
His hands grip your hips like anchors, fingernails digging into your soft flesh as he sets a merciless rhythmāpounding into you with a force that drives your body forward with each impact, making the headboard knock rhythmically against the wall. āPerfect fucking pussy, sweetheart, you know that?ā
You moan at his words, clenching even tighter around him.Ā
āHow the fuck do you leave home, Jackā Jesus Christ,ā Robby says as he quickens his pace slightly, watching as your ass moves from the harsh contact of his hips against you.
āLife or death, and thatās it,ā Jack says.Ā
āCome on, give him some love, kid,ā Robby tells.
Jackās cock is hard and leaking against his stomach. You lean down, taking him into your mouth, swallowing him deep. He groans, his hands coming up to cradle your head. āFuck, just like that,ā he rasps.
Youāre split between themāRobby fucking into you from behind with deep, possessive strokes, and Jackās length hitting the back of your throat. The dual sensation is overwhelming. Robbyās hips slap against your ass, the sound filthy and wet.Ā
āYou like being used like this baby?ā Jack wonders, your moans vibrating against him.Ā
You donāt answer, focused on the sensation of Robbyās cock harsh within you.
āHe asked you a question,ā Robby pants, moving his hand to your hair, tight as you look up at Jack, watery eyed.
āUh-huh,ā you nod.Ā
āSee? Not so hard,ā Robby groans.
Jack smiles a bit at that, caressing your face as you occupy your mouth with Jackās cock. He groans. The taste of salt and heat floods your tongue as you take him deep, your lips stretching around his girth. You hollow your cheeks, sucking hard as you bob your head, letting him feel every ridge of your throat as you swallow him down. Your nose presses against his pelvis, and he groans, his fingers threading through your hair.
"Just like thatā¦ Just like that," Jack chokes out, his head falling back as his hips buck up involuntarily, his hand tightening on your jaw. His thumb presses against your cheek, forcing your mouth wider, and you feel every ridge and vein of his cock sliding deeper down your throat. "Come on now, so close."
The words vibrate through you, but before you can double down, Robby leans over your arched back, his chest sweaty and hot against your spine, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Make him wait."
You pull off Jack's cock with a wet pop, a thick strand of saliva and pre-cum stretching between your lips and his glistening tip before breaking. Jack's frustrated groan cuts through the room, his hips twitching in empty air.
"Fuck off, Mike," Jack growls, but his hand remains gentle in your hair, fingers stroking through the sweat-damp strands as you whimper from the brutal pace behind you.Ā
Robby's cock is driving into you with relentless accuracy, the head of him hitting that deep, spongy spot inside you with every thrust, sending electric jolts through your core. Your inner walls flutter and clench around him, helpless against the assault.
"You gonna be a brat too, then?" Robby says, shooting a lighthearted glare at Jack over your shoulder.Ā
Before Jack can retort, you clench down hard around Robby's shaft, a desperate whine escaping your throat. Robby's rhythm stutters for half a second, a low curse spilling from his lips. "Fuckingāhell, god, doll. You are so goddamn tight, y'know that?"
His pace becomes brutal, each thrust driving deeper, harder, the angle punishing. His balls slap wetly against your clit with every impact, the sound filthy and rhythmic. You feel the slick heat of your own arousal coating his shaft, dripping down your thighs with every punishing stroke.Ā
"She's close," Jack murmurs, his voice softer now, almost reverent.Ā
You shift forward, pressing open-mouthed kisses across his stomach, your tongue tracing the soft lines of his abs, tasting salt and skin, over the light freckles. You moan into his flesh, the vibration making his muscles jump, and then his palm cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, holding you warmly.
"Look at you," Jack whispers, his eyes dark and soft at once. "So beautiful like this. Taking us both. You're doing so well, baby."
āGo ahead, cum,ā Robby growls into your ear, his hand snakes around your hip, his fingers finding your clit. He rubs tight circles against the swollen nub while he continues to pound into you, and the sensation is electricāeach thrust driving his fingers harder against that sensitive bundle of nerves. āNow.ā
You moan around Jackās cock as you break, your pussy clenching wildly around Robbyās thrusts. The convulsions milk him, and with a low groan, he buries himself to the hilt and pulses inside you, hot and deep.
"Fuck," he breathes, his forehead pressing against your shoulder blade, his body shuddering through the aftershocks.
He pulls out slowly, and you feel his cum begin to seep from you.Ā
āGoddamnit,ā Robby murmurs, a pant.Ā
Before you can even catch your breath, he spits into his palm, the sound crude and purposeful. He reaches down, slicking up Jackās cock, which is already hard again and straining against his stomach. Jack groans, a deep, ragged sound at the touch.
āYour turn,ā Robby tells him, his voice rough with use.
But instead of letting you face Jack, Robby guides you. His strong hands on your hips turn you, maneuvering your spent body until youāre straddling Jack, but facing away from him. Your back is to Jackās chest, your ass pressed against his hips. You can feel Robbyās cum, warm and wet, slicking the way as you settle over Jackās length.
Jackās hands come to your hips, steadying you. āEasy, sweetheart,ā he murmurs, but his voice is tight with need.
From the foot of the bed, Robby watches. Heās kneeling there now, his eyes dark and hungry, fixed on the place where your bodies move against one another, well practiced. Jackās fingers slide between your legs, through the slick mess Robby left behind. He gathers it on his fingertips, his touch making you shiver, he brings those wet fingers to your lips.
You open for him, tasting Robbyās salty tang on Jackās skin as he slips his fingers into your mouth. You moan around them, your tongue swirling. Jackās eyes never leave Robbyās as he then pulls his fingers free, back to your cunt, a slight shudder once more, and brings them to his own lips, sucking them clean, tasting his best friend.
Robby watches this whole exchange, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
āAtta girl,ā Jack pants against your ear, his hands tightening on your hips.
Then he guides you down, and you sink onto him with a broken cry. He fills you completely, the stretch delicious, the sensation of being stuffed so soon after your last climax making your head spin. Youāre so sensitive itās almost painful, a sweet, overwhelming ache.
You begin to move, rising and falling on his cock, finding a slow, grinding rhythm. Your hands brace on Jackās thighs behind you for leverage. The angle is deep, each descent hitting a spot that makes you see stars.
āThatās it,ā Jack encourages, his voice a rasp in your ear. His hands roam your bodyāgripping your waist, palming your breasts, thumbing your nipples.
You increase your pace, bouncing on him, the wet sounds of your joining filling the room. Your head falls back against his shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut.
āEyes open, sweetheart.ā
Robbyās command cuts through the haze. Your eyes snap open. Heās moved closer, kneeling right beside the bed now, his face level with where youāre joined with Jack. Heās watching every slide, every glide, his expression one of rapt fascination.
āLook at you,ā Robby murmurs, his voice thick. āTakinā him so well."
His praise fuels you. You lean more back, hands coming up behind you to Jack, angle pushing him even deeper, as you whimper, sharp gasps, teetering on the edge again.
āBaby, Iām gonna cum,ā Your moan, soft.
āFucking- shit, go ahead, honey, cum fāme,ā he moans.Ā
Your orgasm crests, a silent scream trapped in your throat as your body tightens. You clench around Jack, a series of violent, fluttering spasms that milk his length.
Jack curses, his hips bucking up into you. āFuckingājust like thatāā
As youāre pulsing around him, Robby leans in. He captures Jackās mouth in a sudden, fierce kiss over your shoulder. You can hear the wet slide of their lips, the soft grunts and sighs. Itās raw and intimate, and it sends another shockwave of pleasure through your oversensitive nerves.
Robby breaks the kiss. āLift up for a second, kid,ā he breathes against your skin.
Dazed and pliant, you raise yourself up, Jackās slick cock sliding almost all the way out of you. Robbyās hand replaces you, wrapping around Jackās shaft. He gives him a few rough, efficient strokes, his thumb smearing the pre-cum beaded at the tip.
āMissed the taste of you,ā Robby mutters to Jack, his eyes locked on his friendās face as he works him.
Jack just groans, his head thrown back, his hands gripping your thighs. Then Robby guides you back down, easing you onto Jackās cock until youāre fully seated once more, stuffed to the brim.
āGo ahead, finish,ā Robby growls, his command for both of you.
You begin to move again, a slow, rolling grind now, utterly spent but driven by the need to feel Jack lose control. Heās closeāyou can feel the tension in his body, the way his breath hitches.
āCome on, Jack,ā Robby urges softly, his hand returning to your clit, applying just enough pressure to make you whimper. āFill her up. Give her what she needs.ā
That does it. With a shattered cry, Jackās hips piston up once, twice, and then he stills, buried deep inside you as he comes. You feel the hot pulses of his release joining Robbyās already there, flooding you.
Jack kisses at your shoulder blades, near your neck, as you relax your body entirely, shaky breaths with your back against his chest. His arm coming around you automatically, instinctive, like it always does. His hand slides up your arm, slow, grounding, fingers brushing your shoulder, your collarboneāchecking, not asking out loud but asking anyway.Ā
Robby puts a hand to your jaw, tapping your cheeks lightly with his fingers, watching as your eyes lazily find his.
āYou alright?ā he murmurs, voice rough, softer than itās been all night.
āMhm,ā You nod, catching your breath.
āThere she is,ā Jack murmurs against you, pressing a kiss into your hair, lingering there a second longer than usual.
Robby doesnāt move right away.
Heās sitting beside you both, elbows on his knees, head tipped slightly forward, breathing steadier nowābut thereās something in his posture, something looser than before. The edge is gone. Or at leastā¦ dialed down.
You shift, peeling yourself gently from Jack, turning toward Robby. For a second, thereās that flickerāuncertainty, maybe. Not doubt. Justā¦ recalibration.
Then you lean in and kiss him. Itās different now. Slower. Softer. No urgency behind it.
Robbyās hand comes up to the back of your head, not guiding, not demandingājust holding you there, thumb brushing lightly at your hairline. He exhales through his nose, a quiet thing, like he didnāt realize heād been holding onto something.
When you pull back, you stay close.
āHey,ā you say, softer.
āHey,ā he echoes.
Jack watches the two of you. His hand still rests low on your back, thumb moving in slow, absent circles like it always does when heās settling you.
Jack kisses gently at your bare back, āBe right back,ā he murmurs against you, before you hear him leave the bed, putting on his temporary prosthetic.Ā
You hear him leave, pulling away from Robby who watches Jack as he leaves the room, headed for the hall.
You groan and flop onto the bed, Robby moving the blanket over you, maybe suddenly prudeish as he picks up presumably Jackās shirt and hands it to you. You hum, put it on.
āJesus,ā you murmur, voice soft, wrecked. āI think my legs might actually fall off.ā
That gets a quiet huff out of Robby.
Heās sitting up at the edge of the bed now, dragging a hand down his face, then through his hair. He looksā¦ different, a little. Looser. The usual edge sanded down.
āYeah,ā he mutters. āThink youāll live.ā
You glance over at him, managing a small smile.
Heās already reaching for his boxers, pulling them back on, movements unhurried. The gold chain at his neck catches the low lightāthe Star of David resting against his chest, rising and falling with his breathing. Thereās something grounding about it. Familiar. Normal.
Thereās a beat.
Then, softerā
āā¦You good?ā You ask.
He turns your head toward you. āYeah.ā He thinks for a moment, a shake of his head as he lets himself admitā āNeeded that. Needed to beā¦ not alone, I think.ā
You watch him for a secondāsomething thoughtful in your expression.
āThat something youād wanna do again or is this a one and done situation?ā You wonder earnestly, rolling onto your side as you look up at him. ā
Robby doesnāt answer straight away. He looks at youāreally looks, like heās trying to figure out what the question actually means underneath what you asked.
Your hairās a mess, Jackās shirt slipping off one shoulder, eyes soft but steady on him. Hickies across your neck. Not fragile. Not asking for reassurance. Justā¦ asking.
His jaw shifts slightly.
āā¦You always this direct after something like that?ā he mutters.
You huff a quiet laugh. āIām an ortho resident. I donāt have time for interpretive dance.ā
That almost gets a smile out of him. He exhales, leaning back more fully, one hand rubbing absently at his chest like heās trying to settle something under the surface.
āItās notāā he starts, then stops. Tries again. āItās not really a āone and doneā kind of question.ā
You tilt your head slightly. āWhy not?ā
He glances at the doorāwhere Jack disappearedāthen back at you.
Because Jackās not just some guy. Because this isnāt just sex. Because thereās history here that predates you by decades and still manages to feel unfinished. Because he already feels it sitting somewhere in his chest, heavy.
You seem to pick up where his head is at, a nod. āDo you haveā¦ like, real feelings for him? Or me?ā
Robby scoffs a chuckle. āI donāt have time to think about that.ā
āJust time to fuck us though. Well, not Jack, sure heāll give me a complaint about that later.ā You murmur.
Robby smiles a bit. āYou two areā¦ perfect for each other. I still donāt get how he found you.ā
āI donāt know either, to be honest,ā You admit. āBut he cares about you. Like a lot. And so do I. And itās not just because your dick is great, promise. Youāre always welcome with us, whether its sex, comfort, food, all three. We arenāt picky people.ā
āPicked up on that,ā Robby nods, quieter now. āWhat are your plans? With him, I mean. He mentioned something about marriage.ā
You smile a littleāmore to yourself than anythingāyour hand drifting, almost unconsciously, to your left ring finger.
āNo idea,ā you admit. āHowever long he wants me around, I guess.ā
Robby huffs a soft breath, leaning back against the headboard. āWell, if ageās anything to go by, youāve got a good couple of years.ā
You smack his arm lightly. āYouāre literally older than him.ā
āIām not marrying you,ā Robby shoots back, deadpan.
āYouāre an ass,ā you sigh.
That earns you a small smile.
The door opens.
Jack steps back in, towel slung over his shoulder, a glass of water already in hand. He pauses just inside, taking in the room in one sweepāquick, practiced. You, curled on your side in his shirt. Robby at the edge of the bed, quieter than usual.
āMy legās killing me,ā Jack mutters, like itās an afterthought, already moving back toward the bed.
You push yourself up onto your elbows, frowning. āYou okay?ā
āIām fine,ā he says, dismissive in that way he gets, like painās just background noise. He hands you the glass. āDrink.ā
You take it, still watching him. āYou say that about everything.ā
āBecause everythingās fine.ā
Robby snorts under his breath. āYeah. Thatās a healthy coping mechanism.ā
Jack shoots him a look as he sits down, stretching his leg out carefully. āOh, Iām sorryādid you want to compare notes?ā
Robby raises his brows. āNot particularly.ā
Then Jack exhales, leaning back into the headboard. His hand finds your thigh automaticallyāabsent, grounding, like he needs the contact without thinking about it.
His gaze flicks between the two of you, lingering on Robby for half a second longer than necessary.
āWhatād I miss?ā he asks.
You shift, settling back into him, your cheek brushing his shoulder. āMarriage.ā
Jack huffs. āOne night with my girl and youāre already trying to steal her? Alright. Good to know.ā
Robby lets out a quiet chuckle.
āWith you, idiot,ā you correct.
Jack glances down at you. āOh, him and I are getting married now?ā
You roll your eyes and, just to be difficult, shift toward Robby insteadācurling lightly into his side.
It lasts all of two seconds.
Jackās arm hooks around you and pulls you straight back against him.
āRelax,ā he mutters, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, holding you there against his chest.
Robby watches that, something unreadable flickering across his face before it settles again.
Robby stays the night.
Not in the same wayāthereās a natural rhythm to it. He gives you and Jack space without being asked, drifting out into the living room, the quiet murmur of the TV carrying faintly down the hall. At one point you hear the balcony door slide open, then shut again.
Heās not intrusive. Never has been.
But he doesnāt leave, either.
if u havent read it, i'd recommend reading my (wo)man on willpower! this is a spin off of that, i suppose. focuses more on jack x reader, though. :D
a/n: girls i have another like 700 words i had that as a short scene of santos speculating why u didnt make it to her paris party (oh my god im so funny paris because threesome haha i know right, please dont click off this), and i might post that later, but my ao3 will get the full thing if u wanna just see what it was. the 1000 block limit on tumblr genuinely my opp fr.
anyway thank u guys all for the support on my (wo)man on willpower, so proud of that fic and so sweet the reblogs and comments! i wish u could see my grin every time! and yall hammered me for this so i hope its up to standard, meets an expectation or two. i had a lot of fun just exploring the dynamic, you x robby, robby x jack, jack x you, like i am a true believer in true love triangles, so hopefully that came across, but admittedly, still keeping jack and reader endgame obvi, so.. also sorry if it aint gay enough, i told yall i do not read mlm stuff, just not for me. i love it! just dont like, actively read it yk! i also just wanted to have fun with the prose, emotional stuff, etc, and idk. hopefully the smut isnt terrible, that shit is hard as hell! like, positions, dirty talk?! dirty talk is hardddd guys!! then like the build to it, ugh. i wish i had a smut class at my uni or something so i could really get into the weeds of it, and spend time endlessly editing it. i really couldve spent another few days editing this but honestly wanted it OUT and DONE !! need to lock in got exams soon team. okay sorry for this long as hell authors note ! lmfaoo. hope yall liked!
Summary: It started as harmless curiosity; you'd always wondered what it was like to drive an F1 car, like your dad and Sonny used to do. Sonny reluctantly agreed to show you. But when you pushed a little further, he stopped acting like your dadās best friend.
Warnings: SMUT 18+, dad's best friend trope, AGE GAP, reader is Ruben's daughter, unprotected sex, forbidden Relationship, power imbalance, size kink, strength difference, rough sex, wall sex, semi-public sex, hair pulling, dirty talk.
A/N:(PART TWO) ok, so I warn in advance this is filthy, the reader is Ruben's daughter, so it's like forbidden lmao. But honestly, who doesn't love an age gap, and Sonny is so perfect for it. Also the pun in the title is very much intended ;)
MASTERLIST - REQUESTS
WC: 4.2k
The garage is quieter than youāve ever heard it before. No shouts from mechanics, no whine of drills or wrenches, just the low hum of the fluorescent lights overhead and the faint smell of hot rubber that clings stubbornly to the air even after the cars are wheeled away.
You swing your legs idly from the folding chair you claimed an hour ago, phone long forgotten on your lap.
Your dad said it wouldnāt take long.
āJust a quick debrief, stay put, Iāll grab you when weāre doneā, but āquickā in race weekend terms is always a lie from Ruben Cervantes.
Which leaves you here. Restless, bored, and very aware that the only other person left in the space is Sonny Hayes.
Heās exactly where heās been since Ruben disappeared upstairs, still slouched on a stool near the coffee machine, one of his ankles hooked over the other, his hand wrapped around a paper cup. Even off-duty, he looks like heās been carved out of something harder than the rest of the world. His jaw is sharp under the fluorescent lights, grey creeping through the edges of his hair.
His eyes flick up every so often like heās making sure you havenāt wandered off, but otherwise, he seems content to leave you to your boredom.
Itās strange, in a way.
Sonny has always been around. Your dadās old teammate, his drinking buddy, the guy who used to ruffle your hair when you ran around the paddock in oversized team gear. Heās always been Uncle Sonny in that casual, honorary sense. But now, with no one else around, the nickname doesnāt fit.
Your gaze drifts across the garage until it lands on the hulking shape in the room across the hall. The simulator rig, still powered down but impossible to ignore. Youāve seen drivers climb in and out of it on practice days, but never this close.
You tilt your head, considering. āSoā¦ whatās it like?ā
Sonnyās eyes flick toward you, lazy, wary. āWhatās what like?ā
āThat thing.ā You jerk your chin toward the sim. āThe car. Driving it.ā
He smirks faintly and goes back to sipping his coffee. āFast.ā
You roll your eyes. āWow, thanks, very descriptive.ā
āYou asked, I answered.ā His voice is that low, gravelly rumble that makes every word sound like a dismissal. āItās not something you put into words, kid. You feel it.ā
The nickname lands heavier now, making you bristle. āDonāt call me that. Iām not ten.ā
That earns you a longer look. His eyes narrow, assessing, like heās noticing for the first time that you arenāt the gangly teenager sneaking sodas from the team fridge anymore. It only lasts a second before he turns back to his coffee.
You stand, crossing the floor toward the sim. The thing is kinda intimidating up close, all wires and screens and the sleek outline of the cockpit seat. You brush your fingers over the wheel, imagining what it would feel like with an engine roaring behind it.
āDoes it really throw you around like people say?ā you ask. āLike, do you feel every bump? Every turn?ā
You hear the sound of his stool scraping back from behind you. A moment later, heās closer, his presence filling the space before he even speaks.
āYou shouldnāt mess with that,ā he says, quieter now. āNot a toy.ā
āI wasnāt gonna break it.ā You glance at him sideways, lips quirking. āYou donāt think I could handle it?ā
His laugh is short, humorless. āItās not about handling it. You wouldnāt last two seconds before your head hit the wheel.ā
Something about the way he says it, so matter-of-fact, makes you want to push. āSo show me.ā
That makes him pause. You watch the muscle in his jaw tick, like heās debating whether to shut this down outright. Finally, he exhales through his nose and mutters, āYou're not gonna let up, are you?ā
You smile sweetly, leaning back against the frame of the rig. āNot when Iām curious.ā
He mutters something under his breath about Ruben killing him for this, but he sets his coffee down anyway, stepping past you to crouch by the simulatorās power switch. The screens flicker to life one by one, casting a pale glow over his face, and for a moment you think you forget to breathe.
Watching him like this, so focused and methodical, isnāt anything new. Youāve seen him on TV, on podiums, even slouched in your dining room during the off-season. But it's different when you're standing so close, impossible to ignore the lines carved into his face, the way his hands move with easy confidence over every switch and strap.
He slides into the seat like itās second nature, body folding down into the cockpit until he looks like part of the machine. For a heartbeat you just stand there, staring, and then his eyes flick up to meet yours.
āWell?ā he drawls. āYou wanted a show.ā
Heat crawls up your neck, but you force a shrug. āJust making sure you remember how.ā
That earns you a real smirk, crooked and sharp. He reaches for the belts and clicks them across his chest, shoulders flexing under his t-shirt. The cockpit is narrow enough that his arms brush the sides as he works, and you can see veins shifting under tan skin.
āEverythingās tighter in here than you think,ā he says, his voice slipping into that calm, instructive tone youāve heard him use with your dad when they talk setups at home, or during team briefings.
āYou donāt move around. You canāt. Car does all the moving for you.ā
The sim hums louder when he taps controls, and suddenly the screens wrap around him with the illusion of asphalt and guardrails. He grips the wheel, and just like that, the laziness vanishes.
His whole body sharpens. His eyes lock forward, jaw clenches, and shoulders square up.
You find yourself leaning in, fingers curling around the edge of the rig as the seat vibrates under him. His arms flex with each turn. It isnāt flashy, but thereās a rhythm to it, muscle memory.
āThrottleās everything,ā he says, low and even. āToo much, and youāre sliding. Too little, youāre dead in the water.ā He presses down with his foot and the rig lurches, the engine sound vibrating in your chest.
āBut brake points are instinct. You canāt second-guess.ā
You swallow, eyes fixed on the way his knuckles tighten around the wheel. āSo it really feels like this?ā
āThis?ā His lips twitch. āMultiply it by ten, and then youāre getting close.ā
The car on the screen shudders through a corner. You gasp without meaning to, stumbling forward a little, and his hand shoots out instinctively to steady you, hot against your hip, just for a second, before he pulls it back like the touch burns him.
āCareful,ā he mutters. āItāll throw you if youāre not strapped in.ā
You look down at him, heart skittering, and for the first time he doesnāt immediately look away. Thereās something in his gaze that makes the space between you feel smaller than it is.
You force a grin, trying to break it. āYou make it look easy.ā
āItās not.ā He shakes his head, tearing his attention back to the screens. āEvery second, the carās trying to kill you. You either stay ahead of it, or you donāt walk away.ā
āThatās why you like it, isnāt it?ā
His eyes flick to you again, sharp, unreadable. āWhat makes you think I like it?ā
āBecause youāre still here,ā you say softly. āStill doing it, when you couldāve walked away years ago.ā
He doesnāt answer, just flexes his hands on the wheel like he needs something solid to hold onto. The car on the screen eats up another straight; you can feel the vibrations through the floor.
You lean in, lowering your voice. āSo when do I get a turn?ā
That breaks his concentration. His head snaps toward you, disbelief written plain across his face. āNot happening.ā
āWhy not?ā you ask, letting the words tilt into a tease. āAfraid Iāll be better?ā
āYou wouldnāt last half a lap.ā
āThen show me.ā
You watch his throat work as he swallows hard, heās trying to find the right angle to brush you off.
But you donāt give him a chance to tell you no again, because before he can find the right gruff dismissal, you swing one leg over the edge of the cockpit and lower yourself into the narrow space, right onto his lap.
Sonny goes rigid beneath you, every muscle locking like youāve just thrown him into a live current.
The sim seat definitely isnāt made for two, and the fit is impossibly tight. Your back is pressed to his chest, your thighs spread wide to straddle his, the wheel just out of reach of your fingertips. His breath hitches hot against your hair.
āThe hell do you think youāre doing?ā His voice is low, dangerous.
āLearning,ā you say, all false innocence as you wiggle to settle in. His thighs are solid beneath you, the belts of the cockpit digging against your hips. āYou said I wouldnāt last two seconds on my own. Soā¦ show me.ā
His arms hover like he doesnāt know where to put them, as if touching you will set off an alarm. Even like this, he dwarfs you, his shoulders boxing you in on either side, chest a hard wall, legs stretching so much farther under the pedals that you feel small in a way you havenāt in years.
āOff,ā he bites out. His voice cracks around the single word. āNow.ā
But you lean back, tilting your head just enough to catch his profile. āCāmon, Sonny. Just one lap.ā
The use of his name lands like a punch. Your voice is soft, coaxing, not the bratty kid tone he expects.
āI said-ā His jaw flexes. He swallows whatever warning is next, dragging a hand through his hair instead. āChrist, you donāt make anything easy, do you?ā
You smile. āWhere do my hands go?ā
He curses under his breath but reaches for your wrists, guiding them forward until your fingers curl around the wheel. His much larger hands close over yours, and suddenly it feels less like a lesson and more like a trap. The heat of his skin bleeds through and you canāt help shifting slightly, pressing back against him.
The sim jolts into motion as he taps the control. The engineās roar fills your ears, vibrations shuddering up through the seat and into your body. Well, into his body, which is pressed flush against yours. His thighs bracket you, his arms wrap around you to grip the wheel, and the size of him makes you feel as if swallowed whole.
āHold it steady,ā he mutters against your ear, voice gravel scraping low. āDonāt fight it. Let meā¦ guide you.ā
The words thrum through you, double-edged, and you let out a soft laugh. āFeels like youāre doing all the work.ā
āBecause you donāt know what the hell youāre doing,ā he growls back, but his breath is harsher now, his hands tightening over yours.
The car jolts through a sharp corner, the rig shuddering violently. The motion presses you back harder against him and you feel everything, including the unmistakable heat building beneath you.
Your breath catches, and you shift again, deliberately this time.
His hands slip from the wheel to your waist, fingers digging in. āDonāt,ā he warns.
But you only tilt your head, lips brushing his jaw as you whisper, āThen make me stop.ā
For a beat, the only sound is the roar of the simulated engine, the rattle of the seat. His chest rises and falls like heās fighting with himself.
Then his grip tightens, dragging you down against him with a force that makes your pulse stutter.
āYou donāt know what kind of game youāre playing, sweetheart,ā he rasps against your ear. āAnd Iām not the man you want to play it with.ā
But he doesnāt let you go. His grip on your waist tightens like he means to shove you off, but he doesnāt.
The sim jolts again, the wheel twitching under your fingers, but neither of you are paying attention to the track anymore.
āStop moving,ā he mutters, low and ragged.
You tilt your hips just slightly, the motion deliberate, pressing yourself back against him. The growl he lets out is guttural, helpless.
āYou think this is funny?ā His voice rasps over your skin, vibrating low in your chest. āSitting here, squirming on my lap like a damn-ā He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale.
You smile, wicked and breathless. āFeels like youāre the one squirming, Sonny.ā
That does it. With a hissed curse, his hands land hard on your hips. The sim car jerks into a wall on the screen, alarms blaring, but the motion only makes the seat shudder violently beneath you.
He drags your hips back, forcing you flush against him, and his voice cracks through his teeth. āYou donāt know what youāre asking for.ā
āYes I do,ā you whisper, head tipping back against his shoulder. āI know exactly what I want.ā
His breath shudders out, hot against the shell of your ear. He presses his mouth there, just a ghost of lips, and you feel his restraint splinter.
āRuben would kill me,ā he mutters, like saying it aloud might ground him. But his fingers are already sliding under the hem of your shirt, calloused palms hot against your skin. āChrist, I should walk away right now.ā
But he doesnāt.
Instead, he pulls you tighter against him, the sheer size of him enveloping you. Every shallow rock of your hips against him drags another ragged sound from deep in his chest.
āLook at you,ā he grinds out, voice low and hoarse. āDadās little girl, sitting here trying to ruin me.ā His teeth graze the curve of your neck, not quite biting.
āAnd youāre doing a damn good job.ā
Your fingers clutch at his forearms, nails biting into muscle. āThen stop fighting it.ā
The sim rattles around you, forgotten, the world outside the cockpit narrowing until itās only his breath, his heat, his hands dragging you into the hard line of his body.
One hand slides down, past your stomach, pressing firmly between your thighs. You gasp, the sound swallowed immediately by his mouth on your jaw, rough and demanding.
āGoddamn it,ā he groans, almost to himself, as if he canāt believe heās letting this happen. āYou feel that? Thatās what happens when you play with fire, sweetheart.ā
You roll your hips into his palm, into him, and he curses again, louder this time.
His control slips fast.
His touch goes rougher, his kisses harder, every word spilling out like a confession he canāt hold back.
āThis is wrong,ā he growls, but his hand is already working you through your clothes, the heel of his palm pressing just right. āSo fucking wrongā¦ā
You turn your head, catching his mouth with yours at last, and the kiss is a collision. It's messy, desperate, teeth clashing until he groans into you and drags you harder against him.
Sonny is everywhere, his body is caging you in, his hands pulling you apart, his breath filling your lungs like youāll never get enough.
Finally, with a sharp jerk, he tears his mouth from yours. His voice is wrecked, his forehead pressed hard to the back of your head.
āIf I donāt get you out of this seat right now,ā he pants, āIām gonna fuck you in it.ā
And then his hands are under your thighs, lifting you out of the cockpit like you weigh nothing at all. You gasp, clutching at his shoulders, but heās already moving. He crosses the garage in three long strides before slamming you up against the nearest wall. The impact rattles the tools hanging there, your breath knocked out of you in a startled laugh that dies in your throat when you see his face.
His eyes are dark, wild, all the lazy composure stripped away. He cages you in, one massive hand gripping your hip, the other braced beside your head.
āJesus Christ,ā he mutters, forehead dropping against yours. His breath is ragged, hot. āI shouldnāt be touching you.ā
But he is.
His hand slides up your side, under your shirt, calloused palm rough against bare skin. You arch into it instinctively, chasing the heat, and his mouth finds yours like heās been starving for years. His tongue sweeps in, his teeth catching your bottom lip until you whimper against him.
That sound undoes him. With a growl, he grabs both your wrists in one hand and pins them above your head, his grip iron. The other hand fists in your hair, tugging your head back so his mouth can trail down your throat. He bites, sucks, laves at the skin until youāre squirming, until your pulse is hammering under his tongue.
āYou have no idea what youāve started,ā he rasps against your neck.
āThenā¦ finish it,ā you whisper, breathless.
His laugh is low, humourless, almost broken. āCareful what you ask for, sweetheart.ā
He releases your wrists only long enough to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly aside. His hands are everywhere, palming your breasts, kneading the soft flesh, thumbs dragging over your nipples until your knees buckle.
He catches you easily, slamming your body tighter against the wall, his own pressed flush to hold you up.
āLook at you,ā he groans, eyes raking down your body like he canāt believe whatās in front of him. āRubenās little girl. You know what heād do to me if he saw this?ā
You meet his gaze. āHeās not here.ā
Thatās all it takes. He swears harshly, and then his hands are on your waistband, shoving your pants down your legs in a rough, impatient motion. He kisses you again, harder, while his fingers slide between your thighs, finding you already wet. He groans into your mouth, the sound guttural, like he canāt believe it.
āFuck. You wanted this. All along, you knew.ā
āYes,ā you gasp, rocking into his hand. āI wanted you.ā
That shatters whatās left of his restraint. He spins you, pressing you chest-first against the wall. The cold surface shocks you, but his body heat smothers it instantly. He yanks your underwear down with one hand, the other flattening against your stomach to pin you in place.
āYouāre too damn small for me,ā he growls in your ear, rutting against you through his jeans. āIāll break you.ā
āTry me,ā you throw back, voice trembling but certain.
He curses again, pulls his zipper down, and in one sharp motion heās pushing inside you. The stretch steals your breath, a cry ripping out of your throat as your hands scrabble uselessly at the wall for purchase. He clamps a hand over both of yours, pinning them flat, his whole body pressing you into the metal as he groans.
āGodā¦ tight little thing,ā he pants, every word a growl. āTaking me so well.ā You moan, pushing back against him, but he won't let you move much.
He sets the pace himself.
Slow, deep thrusts at first that make your legs shake, then harder, faster, until the sound of your body hitting the wall echoes through the empty garage. His hand slides from your stomach to your throat, pulling you back against him as he drives into you.
āThatās it,ā he growls against your ear. āTake it. You wanted to play grown-up, didnāt you? This what you were begging for?ā
āYes, Sonny- fuck-ā
He groans your name like itās a sin, rutting into you with bruising force. His free hand slips down between your thighs, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in messy circles that have you gasping and shaking in seconds.
āCome for me,ā he orders, voice rough. āRight here, with me buried inside you. Show me how bad you wanted this.ā
Itās all too much. The wall, his body, his voice wrecking you from the inside out. You shatter around him with a broken cry, legs giving out as pleasure rips through you. He holds you up easily, growling as your body clenches tight around him.
āFuck- goddamn it- ā He buries his face in your neck as he thrusts harder, sloppier, until he finally loses himself with a raw groan, grinding deep as he spills inside you.
The two of you collapse against the wall, breath mingling, bodies trembling, his arms the only thing keeping you upright. He doesnāt let go, not yet. He just presses his forehead to your shoulder, breathing hard, like heās still fighting with the weight of what just happened.
Your chest is still heaving when the world starts to crawl back into focus, the hum of the garage lights, the faint creak of tools swaying on their hooks, the sting of cold air on your sweat-damp skin.
Sonny hasnāt moved. Heās still pressed against your back, his forehead buried against your shoulder, his arms locked tight around you like if he lets go, the whole thing will come crashing down. His breath is hot, ragged, ghosting over your neck.
āFuck,ā he rasps, voice shredded. āWhat the hell did we just do?ā
You shift in his grip, forcing him to lift his head. His eyes are darker than youāve ever seen them, guilt and hunger knotted together.
āWhat we wanted,ā you murmur, lips curling into the ghost of a smile.
His jaw works, like he wants to argue, but his hands donāt leave your waist. Instead, he spins you slowly, pressing your back to the wall again, just so he can see your face. His size still dwarfs you; even hunched over, heās a head taller, broad shoulders blocking out everything else.
"This can't happen again."
You run a hand through his hair, "Says who?"
āYou donāt get it,ā he says, almost pleading. āYour dadā¦ if he knew-ā
You cut him off with a kiss, soft this time, a contrast to the hunger from before. He doesnāt resist, not really. His lips find yours with an ease that betrays how much heās wanted it, how long heās been holding back.
When you finally pull away, you whisper, āHeās not here.ā
That earns you a low groan, part frustration, part surrender. He drops his forehead against yours, shaking his head. āChrist, youāre trouble.ā
You smirk. āYou didnāt seem to mind a minute ago.ā
He huffs a laugh and finally steps back. The loss of his body heat makes you shiver, but his hands linger, smoothing down your arms like he canāt quite stop touching you. He glances toward the sim, the scattered clothes, the obvious wreckage of what just happened, and swears under his breath.
āGet dressed,ā he mutters, running a hand through his damp hair. āBefore someone-ā
And then you both freeze.
Footsteps echo down the hall outside the garage, steady, purposeful. Your dadās voice drifts closer, muffled but unmistakable as he finishes up his call.
Your heart leaps into your throat. You scramble for your clothes, tugging them on with shaking hands, while Sonny moves faster than you thought possible. He sweeps your shirt from the floor, tosses you his jacket to cover up, and yanks his zipper up like heās done this kind of cleanup before.
Which, to be fair, he probably has.
The door creaks open, Rubenās laugh carrying into the garage. Sonny straightens instantly, back to his stool by the coffee machine like heās been there all along. You drop into the folding chair you started in, jacket hiding your rumpled clothes, pulse hammering in your ears.
Ruben steps in, still distracted by his phone. āSorry about that, took longer than I thought. You two surviving down here?ā
āYeah,ā Sonny says, smooth as gravel, lifting his coffee like it hasnāt gone cold. āJust babysitting.ā
You bite your lip to smother a grin, pulse still racing. If your dad notices the flush in your cheeks or the way Sonny wonāt quite meet his eye, he doesnāt comment.
But when you risk a glance at Sonny, his gaze flicks to you for just a second. Itās quick, sharp, and charged with something that makes your stomach twist. Guilt, yes, but also hunger, a promise you know he wonāt be able to keep.
One time, heād said. You donāt believe it. And neither does he.
I'm really tempted to write a part two to this, ngl I've fallen in love with the dynamic of dbf š¬ so if you enjoyed or would like a part two lemme know
ā“ļø sum. you meet detective david loki at a bar, drunkenly taking him home with you. a night that should have been easy turns unexpectedly intimate when heās slower, gentler, and far more controlled than he looks. SMUT!! drunk hookup, slow burn, vanilla!loki, avoidant!loki, angst, i listened to sm cocteau twins writing this lol
req for anon! āā“ļøĖļ½”āā“ļøĖļ½”āā“ļøĖļ½”āā“ļø āā“ļøĖļ½”āā“ļøĖ masterlist š£² playlist
āMmmāI, uh.. think you might be assuming Iām.. more intense than I am.ā Loki murmurs, his breath warm against your mouth.
Youāve got him backed against your apartment door, your clumsy fingers stilling in the loosening knot of his tie. Your lips are slotted messy and desperate against his, and he can taste the sticky-sweetness of the bar on your tongue.
When his words slip past the humming, live wire gin-and-tonic buzz in your head, your heart skids to a stop.
You canāt pull away fast enough. Rejection burns in your ears. You canāt help but think you arenāt drunk enough for this.
You leave Lokiās tie loose, fingers numb and clumsy where they let go. āiām sorryāfuck, shitādid Iā¦ā
āNo,ā he says softly, quickly. But thereās a subtle firmness to it. His hand catches your wrist, his big fingers encircling your wristbone. His warmth hits you a half-second late, your nerves lagging with the reeling of your head.
He smiles down gently at you, oddly enough. Huffs an almost-laugh through his nose. It lightens the flood in your chest, just a little.
āHey,ā Loki breathes, head dipping closer to yours. Itās electric in itself. āYou didnāt do anything,ā he tells you.
The words land slow in your chest. You swallow, throat dry. āI thoughtā¦ I thought you were okay with,ā you gesture to the scant, swaying space between you, āthis.ā
He blinks hard, twice, his pale blue eyes flicking to your mouth and back; like itās an effort not to look too long.
You notice his other hand on your waist, not knowing when it got there.
āI was.ā His thumb presses lightly, and you hear his breath hitch in his throat. āI am.ā
āThen whatā¦?ā you start to murmur, searching Lokiās face.
There was a paradoxical unreadability about him. He had that tightness, that control, like a string pulled too-tight around his chest. But there was something else there, too. Something warm and boyishly nervous.
āI havenāt done this inā¦ Christ. I just want to slow down.ā He says, trailing off close to your ear. His pale blue eyes search yours, bracing for your reaction. āYeah? That okay?ā
Something about the low silk of his voice makes you shudder.
āā¦Yeah. Okay.ā
You feel his hold on your wrist tighten, just slightly, his hand on your waist staying rooted. Youāre close enough to smell his aftershave, breathe it in.
āām not good at doing it slow,ā you slur against his neck, the words bubbling past your teeth easier than they should. You can feel him swallow, thick. His breathing stutters for a moment before he can rein it in.
You press a kiss to the tattoo on his neck, filing away the thought to ask him about it later. āDonāt mean to come on so strong.ā
āYou didnāt come on strong,ā he murmurs. His hand leaves your wrist, then hesitatesāhovering, reconsidering before it cups the back of your neck. The touch is steady, yet the choice behind it is far from effortless.
He tilts your head up, gentle, making you look at him. āYou came on honest.ā
āWhat do you mean?ā
His hand slides up your waist, controlled, thumbing the hem of your shirt. āYou knowā¦ā His voice is uncharacteristically soft. āI deal with people aalllll day who hide what they want. You didnāt.ā
āThen what? whatās your issue, mm?ā You demand, hands fisting clumsily in his shirt, still buttoned all the way up.
You didnāt exactly bring guys home with you to take things slow.
His shoulders rise with a small breath. It almost reminds you of a boy scout, preparing for battle, or whatever boy scouts do.
āIām justā¦ā He shakes his head, sheepish in his own way. He blinks hard. āSlower than I seem. More straightforward. I havenāt, uh, done a lot of things.ā
His thumb brushes back and forth, pressing lightly into your side. You canāt tell if itās to ground you or reassure himself.
āAnd Iām a little drunk,ā he admits, quiet smile playing at his lips. āSo Iād rather say it nowāwhen itās easyāthan do the wholeā¦ āweāre about to tear each other apartā thing.ā
āSo.. slower,ā you echo, your hand slowly finding the collar of his shirt. You feel his breath hitch. āThatās it?ā
āā¦Most of it.ā
You slowly undo the very top button of his collar, watching his body language. His shoulders square like heās braced against something internal.
āAnd the rest?ā
He blinks hard down at you, eyes flicking. You start to recognize it. His lips part for a moment, and he scrubs a hand over the back of his neck.
āTheāuhā¦ control. I donāt like when itās, um, frenzied.ā
He speaks like itās a challenge to explain himself, even when his headās floating with whiskey.
āYou seem pretty in control,ā you murmur, still working on unbuttoning his shirt. You take it slow, watching for discomfort. āBetter than me, anyway.ā
He chuckles breathily, a disbelieving laugh. āThatās generous.ā
You hum, pressing a kiss to the revealed parts of Lokiās neck. You were starting to lose your patience, despite yourself.
āTell me to stop,ā you breathe against him. He shudders.
āI donāt want to.ā His hold on your waist tightens. āI want toā¦ feel it. Feel you.ā He takes a deep breath, eyes skirting away, embarrassed. āJust without losing my footing.ā
A slow, deliberate smile spreads across your face. āOkay,ā you say. āWe can do that.ā
You can see the weight sighing off his shoulders, the relief in the way he blinks lightly.
āYeah?ā He breathes, drunk honesty making him need to hear it twice, that anchoring agreement.
You just slip your fingers into his hand, guiding. He startles almost imperceptibly at the contact, eyes flicking down to where youāre holding him.
āThis way,ā you say.
Understanding dawns on Lokiās face, and you hear him sigh through his nose. āOkay.ā
You lead him down a short hallway, dimly lit. He follows half a step behind you, work-worn hand still in yours, and you can feel him grounding himself through the contact. The apartment feels warmer back here, softer somehow. The hum of the city fades.
When you reach the bedroom, you donāt turn on the overhead light. Just the lamp by the bed, waxy and warm like bleeding sunlight.
You stop just inside the doorway.
Loki lingers there, taking it in. The bed. The quiet. You.
āThis is usually where things getā¦ā He trails off.
āFast?ā you offer.
He nods. āYeah.ā
You step closer, still not crowding him. āThen we wonāt do that.ā
Something in his expression eases at that. His shoulders relax out of their rigid hold. āThank you,ā he says, low and earnest enough to make your chest ache.
You guide him to sit on the edge of the bed. He perches on your duvet, hands resting on his thighs like heās not sure what to do with them yet.
Itās almost endearing to see such a big, stoic man almost nervous.
You stand between his knees, resisting the urge to touch him just yet.
āStill slow?ā you ask.
He looks up at you, eyes warm and a little glassy. āStill slow.ā
You lean in, honey-drip slow, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. The closeness alone makes his breath hitch, but then he melts.
Lokiās hand slides from your waist, fingers lingering before he lets go. He shifts on the edge of the bed, shoulders rolling once, drawing a quiet breath as he pulls away.
āOkay,ā he murmurs. More to himself than you.
His fingers go to the buttons of his shirt, clumsy at first. He frowns faintly at them, the effort of concentration written plainly across his face. One button comes undone. Then another. He pauses, glancing up at you, checking.
You donāt rush him.
That seems to help.
He exhales, shoulders loosening, and continues. He moves with slow, careful movements, like heās aware of every inch of himself right now.
When the shirt finally parts, he shrugs it off with a small, self-conscious breath, like heās surprised he made it that far.
The tank top underneath sticks a little as he lifts it, catching at his ribs. He tugs it down again, embarrassed, not used to being watched like this. He tries again, slower this time. It comes free. He drops it beside him on the bed, ears faintly pink.
āThere,ā he says, quiet. Almost shy.
He looks at you then, really looksāeyes warm, searching, still a little unsure.
āStill okay?ā he asks, voice low, steady despite the nerves humming under it.
āMore than that,ā you hum, easing your hands down his chest, laying him down.
You climb on top of him, straddling his lap, feeling his want mount in the growing bulge between his legs.
You slide your hands down his chest again, deliberately slow, eliciting a breathy haah that sounds like itās been trapped in Lokiās lungs for a while.
He appears almost starstruck, looking up at you. Something about the red in his ears tells you that if he were sober, heād be cold, distant stone.
But neither of you are sober.
He lifts up, kissing you again. Harder this time. His choice. His hands find their way back to your waist, like he likes it there.
You can feel the callouses seared into his palms as they slide under your shirt. They run back and forth over the soft, bare skin of your sides.
āFuck,ā he breathes out, his hands passing over your chest. Reverent. Feeling you. āYouāreā¦ shit.ā
āHmm?ā you kiss the corner of his mouth, down to his jaw, then his shoulder. Your hands slide down to his slacks, feeling the tent there. Its bigāyou can already tell.
Your hand thumbs at his belt. āCan I?ā
You hear him stifle a needy noise that bubbles up from his throatāalmost a groan. It makes you grin.
āMmmāyeah. Mhm.ā
You slide his belt off after fumbling for a moment, your open mouth searing wet, blooming bruises along Lokiās throat. Your hand slips easily down the front of his pants, palming his heavy, flushed length through his boxers.
āDāyou want me to use my mouth?ā you ask.
Loki shakes his head no, his eyes glassy with a restrained desperation you hadnāt seen yet.
āI justācan IāI just want to be inside you. I donātāIām not used toā¦ shit like that.ā
You make a mental note to show him what heās missing later on. But you donāt want to push him too hard, not yet.
āYeah. āCourse you can,ā you murmur.
You catch Lokiās mouth in a deep kiss, feeling his blood rush into the scent of you.
His hands grab and feel and worship every inch he can reach, far past thinking and deep into wanting.
.
.
.
āOh, fuck,ā Loki pants, one arm braced above you, the other holding your waist hard enough to bruise. Sweat beads on his forehead, his slick-backed hair falling messy over his face.
Youāre mewling below him, breathy moans punching out of your chest with every thrust, dizzy with how deep he is.
You knew he was gonna be big.
But jesus, not this big.
You didnāt expect him to know how to use it, either.
āShiittāDavid, fuck!ā You moan, hooking your arms around his neck.
āDo you need me to slow dowāaahnā¦ā Loki groans, his head dipping into the line of your shoulder. The muscles in his torso ripple with every delicious, stirring movement of his hips.
You can feel every vein of his impossibly fat dick stretching you out, the space where the two of you meet all creamy and perfect.
āDonātāmmmphādonāt you dare,ā you gasp.
He nods breathlessly, his lips swollen from how hard heās biting them to keep from groaning too loud.
The cord in his chestāthe one he keeps coiled tightāstarts to unravel faster than he can rein it in.
His hips snap up more and more erratically, small groans of pleasure escaping his lips as he holds onto your hips for dear life. āJesusāfuckā¦!ā
You rake your nails down his back, digging them into his skin and making him shudder hard.
You can feel his cock throbbing hard, his veins throbbing like it hurts so good. His hand on your waist moves to swipe sweat-slick baby hairs from your forehead, glassy eyes flicking between yours.
Without thinking, your hands come up to cup his face above yours. Your thumbs brush over his stubble, a breathless, too-tender gesture that makes you both seize.
āOh, ah-haahh.. mmph..ā You whimper, pulling Loki down so that your foreheads touch.
You watch as his eyes roll back into his head, his long eyelashes fluttering. The muscles in his shoulders tense as he gets close, his hips faltering and losing their rhythm.
āIām gonnaāfuckā¦!ā Loki gasps, pulling out right as he cums. He spurts all over your inner thighs, his breath shuddery and panting.
He collapses next to you, blinking hard and breathing harder.
You share that blissful, unthinking moment where the adrenaline and breathless air crescendo into this.
āFuckinā Aā¦āLoki sighs after a long beat.
āMmm?ā
āNothing,ā he shakes his head.
You watch him sit up slow, with a carefulness that suggested too much movement would shatter something.
His breathing evens out, deliberate. Controlled again. Too controlled.
You notice the warmth drain from his eyes. Theyāre distant now, that open glassiness having shuttered back into the cave of his mind. Locked behind something practiced, careful, safe.
He must have sobered up.
āAre youāā you start to say.
āāI have to go.ā He says it quick, avoidant, but not unkind. Like heās stepped too far and cant backpedal fast enough.
He gets up, before you can answer. He shoves his slacks back on, buttoning his shirt to the top quicker than he could get it off. Precise, button after button.
Familiar armor sliding into place. He wonāt look you in the eye.
āYou justāwhat the fuck?ā you blink, pulling your shirt back over your head. Youāre still sticky with sweat and cum.
āHey,ā you try again, softer now. āDavid.ā
He stills.
For a moment, you think he wonāt turn around. Then he does ā and thereās something naked in his expression that has nothing to do with his clothes.
āThereās a caseāI have toā¦ Someone..ā
He cuts himself off, jaw tightening. A shake of his head, like heās frustrated with his own lack of honesty.
āSorry. āM sorry.ā
It isnāt a plea for forgiveness.
It beckons distance, pushes you away.
You follow him to your door anyway.
You stumble after him, trying to find the words to interrogate him, cuss at him, anything.
āHey. What the hell?ā You say, but itās more of a plea. A sad one.
He pauses there, hand on the handle, like heās bracing himself.
Then he turns back and cups the back of your head, forehead pressing briefly to yours.
His eyes are filled with something that makes your heart clench.
The kiss he leaves on your forehead is fierce and restrained all at once. Like it costs him something.
āThank you,ā he murmurs. The weight of it lands heavier than anything else heās said all night.
Fem!reader has a bad day at work, which leads to her going to El Diablo āfor a drinkā ends up meeting the friendly neighborhood priest there and as they discuss their lives, they have a little too much to drink and maybe they go home togetherā¦
smut 18+
takes place after mosigner wicks' murder but not important to the story
dreams were not a common occurrence in juds life. in fact, heād stay awake as long as possible to avoid experiencing nightmares.
he knew what they'd show him, sins of his past life and horrible temptations that he could not give in to.
these temptations gripped him seductively, preaching lavish promises into his ears.
jud knows that these messages only wish to pull him from his holy path and that giving in to any of them would be a betrayal of all he has fought to stand for.
but he knows, he knows it would feel so good to again feel the warmth of somebody else against his body.
and perhaps god could forgive him. he'd been a humble and virtuous servant for so long, he surely should be allowed some release?
-
after an exceptionally horrid day, courtesy of course of the memories of mosignor wicks. jud lies in bed, curled up and facing the wall.
he rests his hands under his head, feeling a familiar ache in his head from a hearty dose of stress.
after a couple of minutes of feeling sorry for himself, he rolls onto his back, propping himself up on his forearms. he's tired, he's unwilling to sleep to give into nightmares, he's overworked, and he just wants a fucking drink.
-
not much can be said about chimney rock; you regret not travelling to hillsborough but appreciate the distraction nonetheless.
you needed this getaway, after a lifetime of vowing to move away from your mother and the town you grew up in, all you've managed is a dramatic move one street down.
"tom collins", you mutter to the man across the counter from you, "please and thank you"
"2 minutes"
you slouch over the bar counter and over your phone resting in your lap. the screen shows a lavish retreat in greece, fancy cheeses, fiery passionate love, glamorous nights, and out of your price range forever.
you pry your head up from your phone, sweeping a glance at your surroundings. el diablo, in your intoxicated stateā not from alcohol yet, but the horrible feeling that sits in your gut āyou notice a couple of things about the bar, one, it's very red.
and two, thereās a man sitting next to you. well, not next to you, but a couple of seats down. he's wearing a priest get-up and wears an expression on his face not dissimilar to yours.
"tom collins", the bartender states, placing the drink in front of your right hand, which is resting on the counter.
you nod to him obligingly with a small smile. you take a sip of your drink, fiddling with the coaster.
"so," you jokingly ask the man in priest clothes, "what're you in for?"
he turns to you tiredly, a small bugruging smile spreading across his face.
"murder"
you laugh nervously, but he turns back to his drink, stirring it before finishing it off. you notice the tattoo on his neck as he tilts his head up.
-
jud sits quietly on his stool. not daring to move a muscle now.
"murder?" you question, jud turns to look at you again. he studies your face a little before answering. his brain registers what you look like, your eyes, your nose, he scolds himself before he can think about anything further.
"yeah, when i was a boxer"
"not many boxers turned priests"
his eyes droop a little, he's tired and woozy, jud thinks you can tell.
"sorry, i overshare when i drink" he mumbles, clearly embarrassed, yet he goes on ''not that i donāt overshare when im sober, i definitely do."
-
you listen to jud nervously ramble on, you glance around the little room, it's just you two, the bartender has gone to the back room.
your eyes flicker to that tattoo again, then to his eyes, which are bright and soulful, and his hands.
he's very expressive with his hands; he waves them wildly around as he goes on about some detective. they're big, you notice, his hands. you peer down at your own.
huh
you notice that you're right next to each other now. did you move closer, or did he?
your glass is empty now.
then your eyes trace the form of his nose, and his eyebrows, and again that tattoo.
-
"then, i thinkā cus my memoriesa're a little floggy right now, that, that, that the boy, you know like his sonā " jud stopped his breath caught in the back of his throat,
you had just placed your hands on either side of his face, your pinkies brushing his jaw. you squinted, your eyes watery.
"are priests allowed to have sex?"
-
jud pushed you against your motel door. your hand danced along the frame for the knob. finally, you twisted the key, the latch opened, and the door hit the hallway wall violently.
his lips were now on your neck, and his hands on your hips, the tips of his fingers pressed needily into your skin.
he lifted, and you jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist, and your arms around the back of his neck.
jud was about to say something. something along the lines of: 'actually ma'am, priests aren't allowed to have sex, and i haven't finished the featured interview in my new magazine, so i should probably go home and read that. goodnight'.
-
but instead he stood beside your bed as you planted your knees into the dirty carpet, and hurriedly undid his belt.
the window was open, and the moon was serving as the only source of light in the room.
his pants fell to the floor with a little help, his boxers as well.
he was hard already, and fucking desperate, you noticed as he rutted into your hand that second you wrapped it around his base.
you heart beat in excitement. it wasn't greece, but you suppose greece wasnāt needed for fiery passionate love. you bent your head up to look into his eyes.
you brought your hand up to your mouth to spit on it before giving his cock a couple of strokes. a deep groan resonated from his body; you could feel it through your hand.
you wrapped your lips around him and braced one of your hands against his thigh
-
"shit" jud cursed breathily "forgive me god"
he planted one of his large hands on the back of your head, pushing you down slightly, the sound of you choking around him only brought him closer.
as did the sight of your arms in the waistband of your skirt,
"take-" jud groaned, his back pressed against the wall "take the skirt off"
as you obliged, still stroking him with your free hand, he felt the guilt rise in him once more, he felt much more sober now.
he's spent so long at the altar worshipping god, jesus, and serving his community. he'd be lying if he didn't say having someone worship him felt good.
"im a good priest right?" he cried, out of breath as you swirled your tongue around his tip.
"mhmm" you hummed, pressing your nose into his lower stomach and gagging.
you took your mouth off him with a pop. continuing to twist your wrist as you pumped your hand up his cock.
with a cry, he came on your face, spurting his release.
-
he collapsed to the ground, his legs crisscrossed and his head angled to the sky in prayer. tears streamed down his face, and you wiped up your face with the corner of your bedsheet and sat next to him.
the motel was quite pretty at night, the curtains opened up to the town below. and the sky above, a rich, navy blue with millions of stars.
chimney rock wasn't that bad.
you climbed onto the lap of the sniffling man next to you, you kissed his tattoo sloppily, he pressed his face into your neck.
Fem!reader has a bad day at work, which leads to her going to El Diablo āfor a drinkā ends up meeting the friendly neighborhood priest there and as they discuss their lives, they have a little too much to drink and maybe they go home togetherā¦
smut 18+
takes place after mosigner wicks' murder but not important to the story
dreams were not a common occurrence in juds life. in fact, heād stay awake as long as possible to avoid experiencing nightmares.
he knew what they'd show him, sins of his past life and horrible temptations that he could not give in to.
these temptations gripped him seductively, preaching lavish promises into his ears.
jud knows that these messages only wish to pull him from his holy path and that giving in to any of them would be a betrayal of all he has fought to stand for.
but he knows, he knows it would feel so good to again feel the warmth of somebody else against his body.
and perhaps god could forgive him. he'd been a humble and virtuous servant for so long, he surely should be allowed some release?
-
after an exceptionally horrid day, courtesy of course of the memories of mosignor wicks. jud lies in bed, curled up and facing the wall.
he rests his hands under his head, feeling a familiar ache in his head from a hearty dose of stress.
after a couple of minutes of feeling sorry for himself, he rolls onto his back, propping himself up on his forearms. he's tired, he's unwilling to sleep to give into nightmares, he's overworked, and he just wants a fucking drink.
-
not much can be said about chimney rock; you regret not travelling to hillsborough but appreciate the distraction nonetheless.
you needed this getaway, after a lifetime of vowing to move away from your mother and the town you grew up in, all you've managed is a dramatic move one street down.
"tom collins", you mutter to the man across the counter from you, "please and thank you"
"2 minutes"
you slouch over the bar counter and over your phone resting in your lap. the screen shows a lavish retreat in greece, fancy cheeses, fiery passionate love, glamorous nights, and out of your price range forever.
you pry your head up from your phone, sweeping a glance at your surroundings. el diablo, in your intoxicated stateā not from alcohol yet, but the horrible feeling that sits in your gut āyou notice a couple of things about the bar, one, it's very red.
and two, thereās a man sitting next to you. well, not next to you, but a couple of seats down. he's wearing a priest get-up and wears an expression on his face not dissimilar to yours.
"tom collins", the bartender states, placing the drink in front of your right hand, which is resting on the counter.
you nod to him obligingly with a small smile. you take a sip of your drink, fiddling with the coaster.
"so," you jokingly ask the man in priest clothes, "what're you in for?"
he turns to you tiredly, a small bugruging smile spreading across his face.
"murder"
you laugh nervously, but he turns back to his drink, stirring it before finishing it off. you notice the tattoo on his neck as he tilts his head up.
-
jud sits quietly on his stool. not daring to move a muscle now.
"murder?" you question, jud turns to look at you again. he studies your face a little before answering. his brain registers what you look like, your eyes, your nose, he scolds himself before he can think about anything further.
"yeah, when i was a boxer"
"not many boxers turned priests"
his eyes droop a little, he's tired and woozy, jud thinks you can tell.
"sorry, i overshare when i drink" he mumbles, clearly embarrassed, yet he goes on ''not that i donāt overshare when im sober, i definitely do."
-
you listen to jud nervously ramble on, you glance around the little room, it's just you two, the bartender has gone to the back room.
your eyes flicker to that tattoo again, then to his eyes, which are bright and soulful, and his hands.
he's very expressive with his hands; he waves them wildly around as he goes on about some detective. they're big, you notice, his hands. you peer down at your own.
huh
you notice that you're right next to each other now. did you move closer, or did he?
your glass is empty now.
then your eyes trace the form of his nose, and his eyebrows, and again that tattoo.
-
"then, i thinkā cus my memoriesa're a little floggy right now, that, that, that the boy, you know like his sonā " jud stopped his breath caught in the back of his throat,
you had just placed your hands on either side of his face, your pinkies brushing his jaw. you squinted, your eyes watery.
"are priests allowed to have sex?"
-
jud pushed you against your motel door. your hand danced along the frame for the knob. finally, you twisted the key, the latch opened, and the door hit the hallway wall violently.
his lips were now on your neck, and his hands on your hips, the tips of his fingers pressed needily into your skin.
he lifted, and you jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist, and your arms around the back of his neck.
jud was about to say something. something along the lines of: 'actually ma'am, priests aren't allowed to have sex, and i haven't finished the featured interview in my new magazine, so i should probably go home and read that. goodnight'.
-
but instead he stood beside your bed as you planted your knees into the dirty carpet, and hurriedly undid his belt.
the window was open, and the moon was serving as the only source of light in the room.
his pants fell to the floor with a little help, his boxers as well.
he was hard already, and fucking desperate, you noticed as he rutted into your hand that second you wrapped it around his base.
you heart beat in excitement. it wasn't greece, but you suppose greece wasnāt needed for fiery passionate love. you bent your head up to look into his eyes.
you brought your hand up to your mouth to spit on it before giving his cock a couple of strokes. a deep groan resonated from his body; you could feel it through your hand.
you wrapped your lips around him and braced one of your hands against his thigh
-
"shit" jud cursed breathily "forgive me god"
he planted one of his large hands on the back of your head, pushing you down slightly, the sound of you choking around him only brought him closer.
as did the sight of your arms in the waistband of your skirt,
"take-" jud groaned, his back pressed against the wall "take the skirt off"
as you obliged, still stroking him with your free hand, he felt the guilt rise in him once more, he felt much more sober now.
he's spent so long at the altar worshipping god, jesus, and serving his community. he'd be lying if he didn't say having someone worship him felt good.
"im a good priest right?" he cried, out of breath as you swirled your tongue around his tip.
"mhmm" you hummed, pressing your nose into his lower stomach and gagging.
you took your mouth off him with a pop. continuing to twist your wrist as you pumped your hand up his cock.
with a cry, he came on your face, spurting his release.
-
he collapsed to the ground, his legs crisscrossed and his head angled to the sky in prayer. tears streamed down his face, and you wiped up your face with the corner of your bedsheet and sat next to him.
the motel was quite pretty at night, the curtains opened up to the town below. and the sky above, a rich, navy blue with millions of stars.
chimney rock wasn't that bad.
you climbed onto the lap of the sniffling man next to you, you kissed his tattoo sloppily, he pressed his face into your neck.
Prompt (Requested): You piss David off beyond his limits and he decides to teach you not to disrespect him again.
Warnings: By request, plain evil. Degradating, spiting, slapping, overstimulation, choking, being manhandled, oral (male), a LOT of dirty talk, hints of breeding kink, unprotected sex, maybe a little size kink, daddy kink and a bit of praising just to balance all of this.
his voice travels through the nave and sits in your ears. most of the congregation is leaning forward, sucking up his words greedily. you however, are sitting back, pressing yourself against the wooden bench to ground yourself. and to remind yourself that the man in front of you cannot be yours, as he is gods.
he pauses his deliberate ramblings to rake his gaze across the sparse crowd with a smile on his face. his gaze barely even graces you, and you've melted like hot wax on an altar.
outside, he talks with curch goers after the service. you stand by the wall of the church, plucking a dull orange leaf apart.
"enjoyed the service?" you lift your head,
"as always," you breathe, but not before studying his face; it's not often you get to see him so close.
"I was a little afraid that I strayed a bit off topic today" he comments, a playful expression overtaking his features.
he is referring to the little spiel about his late dog, who he felt was crucial in bringing him closer to god.
"of course not," you smile, "if you find your experience valid, god can only support you"
his eyes travel to your eyes and lips as you speak, and you get a bit red around the ears.
~
father jud is a man of god. it is demeaning for him to have to repeatedly remind himself of such each time heās close enough to smell your floral perfume.
he's frustrated, of course he is. a couple of years ago, he would've brought you home no problem, satisfied himself, and escorted you out.
but he doesn't want that now, he wants to have a relationship, to 'be' with you. he is a softer man, perhaps for the better. but he finds it pathetic that his knees get weak just thinking of kissing you.
he throws himself onto his bed and picks up the bible from his bedside. as he reads, his mind paints you, with your lips against his and travelling to his neck, planting sloppy kisses along the way. with you beside him on a bench, talking about whatever comes to mind, with you, on your knees before him, kissing his tips before wrapping your hands and lips around his length.
fuck
he's discarded his bible at the base of his nightstand and wrapped his hand around himself; he hasn't done his in years. he hasn't even taken anything off, only pushed his pants and briefs down low enough so he could touch himself.
he's so sensitive that he's almost put to tears at the thought of you, combined with his hand dragging up and down his cock. with sweat beading upon his face and his hair clinging to his forehead, he begs god to forgive him. forgive him for wanting to love one person and sinning in your name.
your name, which he calls out as he spurts his release. he paints his black shirt white and collapses onto the bed.
his voice travels through the nave and sits in your ears. most of the congregation is leaning forward, sucking up his words greedily. you however, are sitting back, pressing yourself against the wooden bench to ground yourself. and to remind yourself that the man in front of you cannot be yours, as he is gods.
he pauses his deliberate ramblings to rake his gaze across the sparse crowd with a smile on his face. his gaze barely even graces you, and you've melted like hot wax on an altar.
outside, he talks with church goers after the service. you stand by the wall of the church, plucking a dull orange leaf apart.
"enjoyed the service?" you lift your head,
"as always," you breathe, but not before studying his face; it's not often you get to see him so close.
"I was a little afraid that I strayed a bit off topic today" he comments, a playful expression overtaking his features.
he is referring to the little spiel about his late dog, who he felt was crucial in bringing him closer to god.
"of course not," you smile, "if you find your experience valid, god can only support you"
his eyes travel to your eyes and lips as you speak, and you get a bit red around the ears.
~
father jud is a man of god. it is demeaning for him to have to repeatedly remind himself of such each time heās close enough to smell your floral perfume.
he's frustrated, of course he is. a couple of years ago, he would've brought you home no problem, satisfied himself, and escorted you out.
but he doesn't want that now, he wants to have a relationship, to 'be' with you. he is a softer man, perhaps for the better. but he finds it pathetic that his knees get weak just thinking of kissing you.
he throws himself onto his bed and picks up the bible from his bedside. as he reads, his mind paints you, with your lips against his and travelling to his neck, planting sloppy kisses along the way. with you beside him on a bench, talking about whatever comes to mind, with you, on your knees before him, kissing his tips before wrapping your hands and lips around his length.
fuck
he's discarded his bible at the base of his nightstand and wrapped his hand around himself; he hasn't done this in years. he hasn't even taken anything off, only pushed his pants and briefs down low enough so he could touch himself.
he's so sensitive that he's almost put to tears at the thought of you combined with his hand dragging up and down his cock. with sweat beading upon his face and his hair clinging to his forehead, he begs god to forgive him. forgive him for wanting to love one person and sinning in your name.
your name, which he calls out as he spurts his release. he paints his black shirt white and collapses onto the bed.
