Looking (not so) respectfully | M.R
summary — Sometimes, all it takes to derail an entire evening is a pair of reading glasses.
𝒘 — Michael Robinavitch & Fem! Reader ⟢ ( 1k-ish ) not proofread. established relationship. fluff.
You could eat your boyfriend. Seriously. Maybe it’s the reading glasses perched on his nose. Or the way his fingers press so firm yet so gentle against the paperback novel he’s reading. Either way, it’s unfair.
He sits with his back to your headboard, brown eyes focused on the page, paying you absolutely no mind as you shuffle around your shared bedroom in your little white slip. Getting ready for bed, searching for your moisturizer, but definitely not focused on the task at hand.
Instead, your eyes wander, probably longer than they should. Robby notices, of course he does. He’s got that doctor’s sixth sense for being watched. But, unfortunately for him, his finely tuned instincts now had to be used on his girlfriend.
He glances up, crow’s feet crinkling slightly as he offers you the smallest, teasing smile. The kind that slips through when he looks at you, even when he’s bone tired from another brutal shift in the ED.
“You’re staring, sweetheart.”
Your cheeks flare, flushing a soft rose color. You don’t deny it, instead, you smile back.
“Can you blame me?”
A quiet laugh slips past his lips, shaking his head a little as he returns his attention to the novel, flipping the page with practiced ease. Used to your antics by now. That’s enough of a reply for him. But definitely not enough for you.
You shuffle closer, skincare be damned. He’s got your full attention now. Lifting your knee onto your side of the bed, you hoist yourself up beside him. Scooting closer… closer… until—
“You’re hovering.” He glances back up, peering at you over his lenses, painfully smug. You’re almost certain he’s not actually reading anymore. Just pretending, the way he sometimes zones out looking at charts at work when his mind’s elsewhere and he doesn’t want to admit that he needs a break.
“Am not.” Weak denial spills from your lips as you reach up and snatch the paperback from him, dog-earing the page and carelessly dropping it onto your bedside table.
Robby just stares at you, unamused in that dry, exhausted way he gets after fourteen-hour days. That long-suffering look he’s perfected over the years of working in emergency medicine.
But he’s not suffering at all. Not with you. Far from it. There’s a playful spark behind his weariness.
“You done, baby?” His voice is low, a little rough, almost condescending. The same tone he uses when he’s trying to talk someone (you) down.
A grin threatens to spread across your face. Already prepared with a sarcastic quip on your tongue, you tap your chin, pretending to think.
“Don’t think so.” You beam, entirely too pleased with yourself. “Besides, you obviously weren’t reading anymore.”
Robby lets out a tired sigh, dramatic and completely unnecessary, the kind he saves for when residents push their luck or when you’re being particularly bratty.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, but there’s no real heat in it. “You’re really on me tonight, huh?”
You shuffle even closer on your knees, the mattress dipping under your weight as you swing one leg over his lap, settling yourself on top of him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
The hem of your slip rides up your thighs, cool air brushing bare skin, but you don’t bother fixing it. Not when Robby’s hands automatically find your hips, steadying you with that familiar, grounding grip. Fingertips pressed into the plush of your skin.
“…You know,” he says, “most people just ask for attention.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” You shrug, entirely unapologetic.
He tilts his head back against the headboard, brown eyes half-lidded now, the earlier feigned exasperation melting into something warmer, sweeter.
“You’re a pain in the ass,” he says, but his thumbs are already tracing slow circles over the thin fabric covering your hips. “You know that?”
You lean in, bracing your hands on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your palms.
“You love me,” you whisper, brushing your nose against his. Close enough to catch the faint scent of his bodywash.
“Admit it. You were just waiting for me to come steal your attention, pretending to read for the last twenty minutes.”
Robby’s lips twitch. He slides one hand up your back, fingers slipping beneath the thin strap of your slip and tugging it just enough to make it slip off your shoulder.
“Maybe I was,” he admits, voice low and rough. “Or maybe I was hoping you’d let me get through one goddamn chapter before you started.. this.” His other hand settles on your thigh, squeezing once. “But here we are.”
You laugh softly, the sound vibrating between you, and rock forward just a little, pressing your chest to his.
“Too late for that. Book’s on the nightstand. You’re mine now, Dr. Robinavitch.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound tired but genuine, and cups the back of your neck, pulling you in until your lips hover just shy of his.
“Yeah? Prove it, sweetheart. I’m right here.”
Without a pinch of hesitation, you close the distance, kissing him slow and deliberate, savoring the way he melts beneath you almost instantly.
His grip tightens, a quiet groan rumbling in his chest as he kisses you back like he’s been waiting hours for this instead of minutes.
Your soft fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently, as he nips at your bottom lip in retaliation. The kind of playful bite that ensures that the night is only just beginning.
When you finally pull back for air, both of you breathing a little heavier, Robby rests his forehead against yours. His glasses are slightly askew. You reach up to fix them with a fond smile.
“Still think I’m hovering?” you ask innocently, tilting your head an inch to the left.
He chuckles, deep and warm, hands sliding down to grab a handful of your thighs.
“Baby, you’re doing a hell of a lot more than hovering.” His gaze drops meaningfully to where you’re settled against him.
“Keep it up and I’ll never finish that book.”
“Good,” you murmur, already leaning in for another kiss. “Wasn’t planning on letting you read anyway.”