Summary: Everyone thinks Dr. Robby is depressed for the usual reasons; they have no idea how deep it goes. It's too dangerous for him to love, and you, running from a violent stalker, don't even have romance on the mind. Maybe, in the end, you both get what you need.
CW: Unhinged Robby Is a Werewolf stuff. The werewolf lore is my own, just vibes. I tried to keep the details of the afab reader vague, but I may have to add some more specific things here and there. This series will deal with sensitive topics like stalking, domestic abuse, and coercive control. Werewolf!Robby will be portrayed as possessive and dominant, but always in a consenting way. Harsh language and smut.
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Trinity Santos knew about the hot new labor and delivery nurse, which meant everyone in the Pitt knew about the hot new labor and delivery nurse. Robby liked to imagine himself above the gossip; he liked to imagine it, but that didn’t make it true. How did Santos put it? A messy bitch who lives for drama? She was self-describing, but secretly… Well, there he was, leaning over a counter of the hub, pretending to read his tablet while Santos held court, spinning tales of a nurse so legendarily gorgeous, so undeniably fuckable, that there was already a betting pool going with the nightshift. It was up to $500. First one to get her number wins the pot.
None of them knew he was listening. Robby’s hearing was sharp. Preternaturally sharp. A fact that annoyed and fascinated his students. How did he hear that, anyway? I swear I was whispering and he was halfway across the ER—
The truth of why was the same truth that meant this situation, ultimately, had to be none of his business. It didn’t matter if this nurse was every single one of his fantasies rolled into one—he was off market. Indefinitely.
Eternally.
“That’s…kind of weird, actually. Certainly not ethical,” Mel was pointing out, adjusting her glasses as she tried to verbally shimmy her way out of the tight spot that had become this conversation. Her gaze drifted toward Robby; could he hear them?
He scratched his beard, letting his eyes move back and forth as if he were deeply engrossed in what was on the tablet. And he heard Dr. McKay coming from down the corridor before she ever eased into view. Santos perked up at her arrival, waving her over. The human embodiment of a sigh, McKay scrubbed her eyes with both hands. “What’s up?” she asked. “Nothing serious, please. Just had to tell a mother her kid is definitely losing his foot…”
“It’s stupid,” Whitaker warned her with a shrug.
“It isn’t, you’re just whipped. Mr. Domesticated without any of the benefits,” Santos spat back.
Whitaker groaned. “Amy actually makes a really unbelievable hotdog casserole—”
“Stop talking right now or so help me your new nickname is Hotdog Casserole,” Trinity said, slicing her hand across her throat. Whitaker balked and backed down, which was probably the right call, considering she would absolutely make good on the threat. Huckleberry was bad enough. “The adults,” Santos began, canting her body toward McKay, inviting her into their circle of trust, “were just talking about the new L&D nurse. Don’t you know her?”
“I…do,” McKay’s eyes swept the group. She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Uh-oh.” Javadi spoke up, hugging a clipboard to her chest.
Santos barreled on, undaunted. “She into women?”
McKay stared, frosty. Robby knew it was time to tell them to break it up and get back to work, but these lulls were so rare in the ER, and this was sort of like morale boosting if one were to squint. And if he was never going to feel the touch of another ever again, he could at least live vicariously through those who might.
“Considering she moved halfway across the country and took this position at my recommendation to get away from her dirtbag ex, I don’t—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Santos sighed, cutting McKay off. “I don’t need her life story.”
A beat.
“But was that ex a girl or--”
“Drop it,” McKay told her, making herself subtly taller. Even Santos withered at that.
Santos threw up her hands in surrender. Javadi and Whitaker shared a glance and a laugh.
“Fine. Sure. Might wanna tell that to the night shift goons, they’ve got a bet going, trying to get her number.”
With a wince Robby felt in his chest, McKay clapped her hands over her face. “I’m going to kill them.”
Robby heard the ambulances tearing into the bay; something bad was coming. Time to break up their little powwow and prep for whatever nightmare approached. And now he had something to rib Jack about, which was always welcome. Get that nurse’s number yet? No? Bet I could get her to soften up. Yeah, yeah, I won’t but I could. He was striding across the hub, slapping his hands together, waking himself back up. The others saw him coming, springing apart like naughty children.
“Just don’t be fucking weird when she’s at my birthday party next week,” McKay was warning them, paying special attention to Santos.
“Okay, kids,” Robby said, with a flick of his head back toward the ambulance bay. “Play time is over.”
“Can’t believe I’m about to say this,” McKay grumbled, pushing past him. “But thank God. She’s got enough on her plate without you freaks trying to date her.”
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It was exhausting living like this, never knowing if the next buzz on your phone would start the whole fucked cycle over again. New number. New hair. New apartment. New friends. New town. I just need to start over. One more time. One more try. You didn’t even like thinking his name, increasingly convinced that whatever cursed power fueled his obsession with you could also spontaneously summon him.
And the worst part is, you’re starting to like it here, even if you’ve never been this cold in your entire life. I can get used to it, you tell yourself, as long as I’m free. Your apartment is small but already filling up with the little touches that make life bearable—postcards your childhood friend sent you from Paris, recent Christmas gifts from Mom (fuzzy robe, chenille house slippers, pink salt lamp, a tarot deck from your favorite curio shop in Portland), a hand-me-down but decent coffee machine from Cassie. At least you weren’t alone. Christmas had been dreary, but you were so busy with the move it was straightforward to ignore the loneliness and just focus on unpacking, doing, organizing. And Cassie brought you dinner on Christmas Eve, even invited you out for brunch the next morning, but you demurred—she should be with just her kid, not bother having you tag along. You were very good, it turns out, at making yourself small.
Maybe that was why everyone at your new job warmed to you right away—you kept your head down, listened, melded into the surroundings, just one more particle joining the stream. The commute to the hospital was brutal with the ice and snow. You had thrifted a decent set of woolly mittens and a scarf, but your fingertips were still going numb as you waited for the bus. Cassie had warned you ahead of time to choose your neighborhood carefully; public transit wasn’t the best in Pittsburgh, and the wrong location could turn your commute into a major pain in the ass. When she wasn’t swamped with Harrison, Cassie would swing by your place, give you a lift.
You never put in your earbuds. Head on a swivel. There was a can of mace and a switchblade in your bag, and you absolutely knew how to use them. The young man next to you bobbed and rocked, breath pluming in white dragons as he danced to the beat in his headphones, eyes glued to his phone. You tried to imagine living like that, worry free, utterly oblivious to your surroundings, confident in your right to live unbothered, unwatched, nobody’s fixation.
Nobody’s prey.
The guy noticed you staring, glanced at you shyly, then winked.
Nice try, buddy.
He wasn’t your type. You weren’t even sure you had one anymore. Love, romance, sex…you couldn’t remember the last time you fantasized about any of those things.
CW: 18+ Putting all of this under the cut because it's raunchy. P in v sex, cum play, size kink, breeding kink if you squint, dirty talk, fingering (male on female), fluff at the end.
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Robby could feel the last shreds of his self-control fraying as he knelt between your thighs. Two versions of the same man were in the bed—the doctor who wanted to make sure every centimeter of ground he gained in your body was gentle, and the beast that wanted to pound you into the mattress until you clawed bloody welts down his back. That it was happening, that you were finally in his bed, mollified the animal inside; the wolf prowled its cage, snapping its jaws, collared to a hunger that could never be satisfied.
The medicine kept him sane, but it was metabolizing, and that single, inescapable fact set a clock ticking in his mind. Within hours, the last soothing vestiges would be gone.
How would he ever trust himself with you, when even chemically restrained, it took all of his willpower to go slow? Robby knew what he was doing, retreating to his mind to take himself out of the moment. You deserved all of him. He risked glancing up toward your face, watching you watch him, a little notch between your brows as you waited for him to keep going. You deserved all of him. He let the sensations back in, the press of your fingers against his neck, your eager nipples hard against his chest, and your cunt… His vision whited out, then returned, half-mercy, half-punishment. So fucking wet. So fucking tight. It was like his fingers hadn’t done anything at all, your body gripping him like a vice, pliant, slick velvet that parted when he shifted forward, settled more of his weight onto you, his hips beginning to ache from the position. Not that it mattered. He’d break one and get it replaced if it meant getting to do this again, make you moan and buck every time his dick pressed a little further, found your limits, and let the lust in your eyes be the guide for when to continue.
What a screwed-up way to live. Some combination of chemicals and emotions conspired to determine his perfect mate. It could have been anyone, but it was you.
The stakes felt impossible. Robby trembled again, suppressing a groan.
“More,” you kept saying.
“Honey, I don’t want to hurt you.”
If this went wrong, you’d never want him to fuck you again. Everything hinged on his execution. Maybe you didn’t know it, but he did. One of you had to be invested in self-preservation, and it fell to Robby. He believed you, that you wanted it bad, now, all at once, but you couldn’t feel it from his angle, how your body tensed with each micro thrust, how your walls clenched and then gradually released.
“There,” he said. “There.” Each step. Each press. Each time your body relented and another sweet, validating gush of slick flooded around his dick. “Is that good for you?”
“Yes. Fuck. Yes.”
Your mouth slackened and fell open; Robby groaned and shoved his head into the crook of your neck, shaking. You were taking him beautifully, there was no need to rush, he just had to be patient. He rolled his hips into you, gradually at first, then with more insistence.
Fuck her. Claim her. Bite her. Breed her.
He had to fight the urge. Had to.
"Good, baby, breathe, you can take all of me, I know you can."
“Feels incredible,” you murmured, gripping his hair, snapping your own hips. “Feels—oh.”
It was like a rusted release valve cracking, breaking, releasing. Maybe it was the angle or maybe you were just that wet and ready and your combined patience had paid off. You helped him travel that final distance until he was completely enveloped in your sweet, rippling heat. Slowly back out, slowly back in. You were warming to him, fucked out enough to make the next few thrusts easy. Not frictionless, never that, just perfect. You huffed out his name in whispers each time he slid home, lifting your hips to help him rub the spot you wanted.
“Just like that?” he asked through clenched teeth. Your pleasure came first, but fuck if he didn’t already want to pop.
“Yes.”
You were somewhere else, head thrown back, lost, not just gripping his hair anymore but pulling, urging him faster. On his elbows and knees, he sawed back and forth, panting, driving at the thing you both wanted. He didn’t want it to end, but he couldn’t hold on, not when you were saying his name like that, making his scalp burn under your fingers, grinding on him, all the pain and tension gone from your face, your cunt clenching, milking him for everything he was worth…
“I’m close.”
Magic words. Priceless. Robby grinned into your neck, then found your ear and bit down. “Use my dick, baby, come on it.”
“Robby, fuck, it’s so big—”
“I know, baby, and it’s all yours. Use it however you want. Like this? Is this how you like it?” He put a bit more snap into his hips, surging upward, holding briefly every time he bottomed out. You couldn’t answer, you were winding up, shivering and bucking, totally oblivious to how gorgeous you looked in the throes of getting split open and fucked. But he knew and he saw and he committed it to memory. His thumb traveled up your shoulder, your neck, tucking inside your open mouth.
You moaned and closed your teeth around it, sucking as he pumped it in and out of your lips, matching the rhythm of your bodies.
“Good girl, good girl, fuck I’m close, too—”
Close wasn’t the word. Spinning down. Plummeting. Falling into smooth-brained oblivion. Yanked, without warning or care, over a sharp and perilous edge. Your smell was everywhere, your taste still on his lips, your sweat drenching his chest hair, your spit still shining on his mouth…
“Please. Cum inside. I want to feel it—”
That was your undoing, your own words, but his undoing, too. Robby squeezed his eyes shut, destroyed, slamming his face into the pillow beside your head as your cries came out in fits and starts, your nails screaming down his back, the pain only enhancing the searing hot pressure that rocked from his heels to his groin. Drawing up, drawing up, a flash of agony before he couldn’t hold on and let go. You were riding your own wave, bringing him along in part with the quick pulses of your cunt. He could sob, it was so good to finally put his fist through that window, let the air come rushing in, breathe, breathe, groan, pumping you full of himself, life and seed and his heat spread between you. The feel of it seemed to take you by surprise, your eyes bursting open as his cock unloaded, your orgasm rippling through you again, a thrilling little aftershock.
He sank down on top of you, struggling to catch his breath, face still buried in the now damp pillow. Your hands went up and down his back until you had nothing left and you stilled beneath him.
Robby rolled to the side and off of you with a sigh. You didn’t move except to put your hands on your stomach while you gulped down air. Then, you laughed and whistled.
“That was worth the wait,” you whispered. “Geez.”
Robby shifted onto his side so he could look at you, not even bothering to hide his proud, borderline smug grin. There was nothing more beautiful than a freshly fucked woman. Well, I’m addicted to this. You looked blissful, somehow both peaceful and alert. He leaned down to kiss you, softly, restore a bit of equilibrium. Your tongue speared into his mouth. She’s already hungry again. Mine. Mine.
His hand gripped your chin, then explored down your breasts to your stomach, lower, two big fingers hooking into your overclocked pussy, fucking his cum back inside. You arched into the kiss, then gasped and broke away, staring at him. Your hand closed over his wrist, but you didn’t try to stop him. Robby’s fingers slowed, the haze fading enough for him to realize how insane he must have looked.
Mine.
“Whoa,” he muttered, flushing. “Sorry. I…I don’t know what came over me.”
He started to withdraw his fingers, but you anchored him there, staring until he was forced to turn his guilty gaze back to your face. Maybe his skin would just crackle and peel away… Robby cleared his throat, studying your expressions, wary of every twitch of your lips and color shift in your eyes. The silence was nauseating. He clenched his teeth. The need to explain a physical pain growing behind his tongue.
“Is it…Is that okay? I just, uh, I like the idea of it being inside of you.” He swallowed noisily. “Staying inside of you. Christ, it is not getting better the more I talk…”
You squished around playfully on his fingers; on his thigh, his dick twitched, aching.
“It’s just new,” you said. “I think I get it. It’s…yeah, I can see how that’s hot.”
“You can?”
“Mmhm.”
Robby brushed a kiss across your lips. “You’re a goddess. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Not anyone I wanted to hear it from.” You propped your hands on his chest, eyelashes long and dark as you lowered them. He couldn’t tell if you were being genuinely bashful. “Until now.”
He laughed. “Even goddesses need their rest. Let’s get you cleaned up and ready for bed.”
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Robby was still there in the morning. You didn’t know why it shocked you, but it did. He had started snoring at one point in the night until you wedged your shoulder against him and carefully turned him onto his side. He didn’t even wake up, just resettled with a murmur. Normally it was difficult to fall asleep in someone else’s bed, but you had been so exhausted that almost the minute you crawled under the blanket with him, you were out.
Thank God the bed was as big as it was, because it wasn’t unlike sleeping beside a hibernating bear. The ambient temperature in the house was chilly enough that you were grateful for his steady, humid heat. He slept closer to the wall, a mountain rising out of the bedding, such a deep, hard sleeper that you had wondered if he had rolled over and died. But then he would mumble something in his sleep, kick his leg, and banish the thought.
The old school alarm clock on the bedside table read: 6:02 AM.
A crack in the heavy-duty blackout curtains allowed in just enough buttery light to see by. There was a weighted eye mask next to the alarm clock, a case for a molded mouthguard, and a bookmarked book. As I Lay Dying by Faulkner. Your towels were hanging over the open door. The tawny wood flooring was partially obscured by an antique rug. There was an armchair piled with clothes, a full laundry basket, and a closet that ran the length of the wall opposite the bed. A handful of framed certificates and awards were hung on the wall beside the window, along with a tryptic of colorful, modern photographs--city life captured by someone who understood its fragility and its brutality and its necessity.
You could’ve slept eighteen more hours, judging by the weight of your limbs and the pleasant but unmistakable throb between your thighs. But you were trying to make sense of a man. He was a collection of contradictions. You had seen him at work—longsuffering, dedicated, determined, equal parts stoic and empathetic, and you had seen a darker anti-light pouring from the cracks when he stalked toward you in the club. You almost reached out to touch his back but stopped yourself. What was he? A crackling void wallpapered over with medical degrees and distinctions.
Sitting up, you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and swung your legs off the side of the bed. You noticed two ibuprofen and a glass of water were next to the half-read book on the nightstand.
“Those are for you.”
You startled, swinging back around and tucking your thigh up onto the mattress to find Robby sitting up, perhaps observing you as keenly as you had been considering him.
“Good morning, beautiful.”
I’ll never get tired of hearing that, you thought.
“Hey handsome.”
From his boyish smile, it was apparent he was thinking something similar.
“Feeling all right?” he asked, shoving his fist against his mouth as he yawned.
“Yeah.”
“Take them anyway,” he said, and nodded at the pills. “We, uh, got pretty rowdy last night.”
You shrugged and downed the ibuprofen, sipping the water until it was half-gone. “We could be rowdier.”
Robby cleared his throat, scooting closer. A strong, warm arm slithered around your waist, anchoring there. His beard tickled the back of your left shoulder. "Is that right? Duly noted. I didn’t want to assume anything, especially given our, uh, size discrepancies."
“I liked it,” you whispered, not trying to hide your blushing or the mischief in your eyes. “It felt like…” You shook your head, too shy to go through with it. It would scare him off. Men didn’t want to be told intense, lovey-dovey shit after one—admittedly brain-rewiring—fuck. “I liked it.”
“No.” Robby’s tone, firm, directly from the ER, ignited your blood. His teeth outlined the ridge of your shoulder. “What did you actually want to say?”
Fuck. Caught. You reminded yourself that he had driven you home and walked you to your door for weeks without asking for so much as a hand job, so maybe this was the type of romance and connection that could withstand sentimental post-coital disclosures.
“It feels like you’re made for me,” you said. It came out in a single flustered rush. You closed your eyes, waiting for him to stiffen up and withdraw.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Robby pulled you back against him, leaning in to rest his face alongside yours, over your shoulder. “I felt it, too.”
You let out a shuddering breath. “Even your weird cum thing.”
“Okay. Mean.” He chuckled and pinched your ribs. “Get out of my bed, you harridan.”
“Uh-huh.” You escaped his tickling, throwing yourself out of bed, letting that single wedge of light fall over you, illuminating your body in early-morning sunlight. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”
“Five seconds, by my count. Come back. Please.” He slumped forward into a worship posture, snorting into the mattress. “My goddess has forsaken me,” he mumbled, voice muted.
“Your goddess is starving,” you teased, wandering back to the edge of the bed. Robby perked up, feeling your thighs graze the tops of his hands. He groaned, wrapping you up, planting his hands on your ass as he kissed his way lazily from your pubic line to your navel.
“Will the goddess humbly accept an offering of DoorDash? Her servant cannot cook for shit.”
You combed your fingers through his hair, laughing. You shook your head, and in doing so, your gaze fell haphazardly on the lower shelf of the nightstand. There was another book there, weathered, beat up, the title so absurd it couldn’t help but capture your attention.
The Book of Werewolves: Being an Account of a Terrible Superstition.
Robby dipped his tongue into your belly button, and your hands stilled on his head. You were trying to make sense of a man; you gazed down at his sweet, sad eyes, wondering if you were making any progress at all.
“Live free, die stupid crunchy granola mommy in Trauma 2,” Santos announced, breezing by the hub and delivering the news under her breath. Robby’s heart sank as she went on and he fell into step beside her. “Severe headache, blurred vision, edema, nausea, vomited twice on the ride over…”
“Jesus Christ,” Robby muttered under his breath. Not again. These selfish, woowoo nutjobs activated a special disdain in his gut, one he struggled to contain. When Jack drank too much, which was rare but usually somewhat entertaining, he sent memes long into the night; one such wound up in Robby’s phone a few weeks ago.
He had actually saved that one. He felt it in his marrow. Gladly, he thought. Bare knuckled. His shriveled Raisinet-lookin’ ass wouldn’t even make it to round two. He’d be pulp. Robby wouldn’t need to transform for it, though that would make it a more spectacular show for everyone enjoying their Sunday Grand Slams…
As he joined the chaos in the trauma bay, absorbing the information being pelted at him from every direction, observing the heavily pregnant woman on the table writhing as the life saving ballet began in earnest. Everyone knew their spot, their cue, but this was bad. Heavy bleeding. Placental abruption. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He scrubbed and got into his gown. Someone had already paged obstetrics, thank fuck, because the situation was devolving rapidly. He had to shove his personal feelings aside, zero in on the patient, ignore the fact that routine checkups with an actual, trained professional would have kept her from landing in his ED. It stunned him that anyone could be so thoughtless. She had no idea how privileged she was, some people would never get the opportunity to have a family, hold a child they created with a loving partner, and the only expectation was to give a single, microscopic fuck about established science and medicine…
“Is the father here?” he heard himself ask.
“He’s on his way,” someone told him.
“I’ll be having a little talk with him.”
The air in the room chilled at his tone. It warmed a heartbeat later when you arrived, like an angel, like a paladin in gleaming white armed with the sacred sword and shield of god damn NRP and ACLS certifications. There was no time to really see you, but he felt you. Your steadiness. Your calm, collected demeanor. Professional. Precise. He had no idea you were the hot nurse everyone was googoo gaga about until the baby was out and the mother had her guts shoved back into the right places. She would be taken up to your department, but the imminent threat had passed.
And in the aftermath, he understood what all the fuss was about.
You were blood-splattered and sweaty, but that didn’t matter; Robby saw what was unfolding right before his eyes—a serious fucking problem.
“Good save,” you told him, the gurney between you. You were leaving already. No, come back. Sit. Stay. He couldn’t think straight. The relieved, triumphant little smile you gave hit him like a thunderclap. He didn’t even think that part of his heart still existed, the shadowy corner where—long, long ago—he had locked up his dreams and desires. Above the antiseptic, the blood, the iodine and human musk that permeated the space between you, he smelled you. Sensed you.
Suddenly, he was in another man’s body. A man that was still allowed to hunger.
“You got here just in time,” he said, remembering his voice.
You gave him a cocky shake of the head, wheeling the mother away. “I always will.”
“Oh. Now I get it.” Whitaker had appeared at his side, watching you vanish toward the elevator bank.
“Close your mouth,” Robby told him with a smirk. He watched you well after Dennis had slunk away. Your scent stayed with him, somehow in his mouth, spreading through him like molten poison. In the thick of it, in the shit of it, you had kept your head, given and accepted directions with the ego-less clarity of a monk, joining the manic dance of the ER like you were born for it, made for it. There were other things he could imagine you being made for… Robby stripped out of his stained gown and gloves and pinched the bridge of his nose. A serious fucking problem.
Your smell brought him back to a childhood memory, a rare good one, lilacs blossoming near the banks of the Allegheny, sun-warmed sand caught in his hair, a breeze slicing through the summer heat, temporary reprieve, a feeling like everything might be all right one day.
And there was more. Your soap—subtle, appropriate for a hospital setting—rose water maybe, a hint of eucalyptus. It was stronger behind your ears, bloomed by your pulse, your heat, your sweat. A hint of…fur. At that, his brow pulled down. He realized he was standing in the middle of nowhere, stranded, still staring after the impression of you. Fur. On your pant leg or sock… It felt like someone headbutting his stomach, the thought that you were already claimed, taken, but no, that couldn’t be right. There were only two unpartnered males in the area, and unless Duke’s health had taken a miraculous upswing, there was no way that old mutt was keeping up with someone like you.
Which meant. Which meant…
“Hey!”
McKay.
Robby swung around slowly to face her, schooling his expression into something appropriate for a man in his fifties and not a lovestruck, gawky boy.
“I had an asthma case,” she said, fluffing the bangs out of her eyes and gesturing to the blood-stained room behind him. “Did mom and baby make it?”
“Yeah, yeah.” It’s good, he decides, to float back down to the ground. You can’t have her. “Your um, your friend turned up. Real ringer. This place will be better with her around.”
McKay’s smile lit her from ear to ear. “I’m so glad you think so. She’s had a rough go, but I’m glad she’s settling in.”
“Rough go?” Robby asked. He can’t stop himself. He should, but he can’t.
“Shitty ex. Stalker thing.”
This isn’t his first day on Earth. He should know better. That little corner of his heart where sweet things go to die doesn’t just hold hopes and dreams. It cages other things, parts of him that can only creep out on the rare occasions he lets his other side out under the full moon. He’s in the Denny’s parking lot again, he’s seeing red, his fists are raw and decorated with a strange man’s teeth, a man he doesn’t know, but a man he would tear to pieces if given the chance…
McKay was still talking and Robby ripped himself away from the darkness to listen.
“…we’re all just hoping that’s in the past. Anyway, it’s a convoluted story.” She trailed off, shrugging before touching him lightly on the elbow. “Don’t forget my birthday thing. I know you hate that stuff, but please just put in an appearance. It would be good, you know? Take a break, let loose…”
I don’t get to do that.
Robby forces out a smile for her, scruffs the back of his neck. And he remembers the conversation he overheard days ago, and his mind is made up; it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, that he hears a distant click, faint and hollow, like the lock on a door releasing. Just don’t be fucking weird when she’s at my birthday party next week.
CW: Mentions of violence, usual warnings apply. Song lyrics from the songs in the club are ɪɴ ᴛʜɪs ғᴏɴᴛ. I really wanted to get to the first major smut scene but figured it would be better for future readthroughs to separate it into its own chapter. SOON. Please reblog and share if you're enjoying. <3
Suggested listening: Resist and Disorder by Rezodrone and World's Eternal Night by Llynks
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Do exactly what I tell you to do. No more, no less.
Robby hadn’t been this locked in since you bent over to take off your bowling shoes. The warehouse was more or less what he expected. No offense to Jack, but most of his kind liked to hang out in places Robby wouldn’t even shit in. Some of us have standards, Jack had defensively insisted once, when Robby pointed out this exact phenomenon. At least we aren’t prone to rabies.
It felt like being a resident again. He listened, rapt, to every single word of Jack’s instructions as they walked side by side to the door. The windows were obscured by condensation and fog. Robby couldn’t feel the cold as he stood there, itchy, insane, every scenario in his mind more upsetting than the last. I just have to get to her.
The stench of the place was incredible. Robby averted his eyes and breathed through his mouth.
“I’ll take care of Santos,” Jack was saying, eyeing the bouncer. “You get your girl out of there. Hand around her waist, visible, all right? Three fingers together on her here.” He demonstrated, pressing three fingers to his inner abdomen, a few inches in from his hip. “Look like you know what you’re doing. Head up.” Glancing at the bouncer, Jack gave him a single, confident nod. “I know this guy, we’ll be fine.”
Robby raked his eyes across the building again. It certainly didn’t feel like everything would be fine.
“Jakša, my man, how’ve you been?” Jack greeted, slinging his arm against the bouncer’s. Most other men didn’t make Robby feel small, but this guy was huge. “Long time no see,” Jack went on, smoothly. Just as proficiently, he slid a few crisp, folded bills against Jakša’s palm. “Need to get in and out. Don’t wanna cause problems, just have a few normies inside that didn’t know what they were getting themselves into. Ten minutes, tops.”
The bouncer glared over Jack’s shoulder at Robby. One nostril flared. “No fleabag inside.”
“Come on, man. Be cool. You know me, Damir knows me, how many times have I helped his people out of a tight spot with the cops?” Jack palmed him another bill. “Not here for trouble. Scout’s honor.”
Jakša hoisted a meaty, balding eyebrow. “Five minute.”
“Thanks, chief. Tell Anica I said hello.”
Jack waved Robby to his side as the bouncer pushed open the heavy doors with one hand, scoffing as Robby came in biting distance. He pushed out ahead, absorbed into the darkened corridor. Every cell in Robby’s body revolted at the feel and smell of the place. Nocturnal eyes speared through him, watchful, demons in every corner. Someone hissed softly as he walked by. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention, his gums aching where his canines longed to extend.
A tunnel of bodies formed, squeezing in on him from both sides. Snide little comments were passed up and down. Jakša is losing his touch. And, what’s that doing here? Then: Do you think it’s housebroken? And finally: Looks neutered to me.
Robby bristled, thoughts descending to murder, head swiveling to the side in warning.
“Easy, big dog,” Jack murmured, touching his lower back. As soon as he was at Robby’s side, the whispers ceased. “They’re just trying to get a rise out of you. Remember the plan. You’re my brother, I’d do anything for you, but this is not the place we want to pick a fight.” He nudged Robby forward, around a pillar that blocked the dance floor from view. A shallow ramp extended down to the right like a black, lolling tongue. It took him a moment to realize the floor beneath them wasn’t moving on its own, but full of people, a mass of writhing bodies wall to wall like a cage filled with squirming rats. Lights flashed like sudden lightning overhead, illuminating individual faces before they were just as swiftly plunged back into darkness.
The music pounded into him from every direction, the vibrations from the bass jumping along his cheekbones, singing in his teeth.
Robby closed his eyes, ignored the danger, embraced the fear heightening his senses, and let your scent guide him.
⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚
It was good to move. You had forgotten how good it felt to just move. The stress and pressure of the day scattered from your body like dead skin, like you were shedding, smooth and weightless and reborn. You could feel other dancers watching, admiring, but you weren’t there for them. Trinity was somewhere close by, and that made you feel secure enough to abandon every last shred of insecurity and let your body do whatever it wanted to. Other hips bumped against yours. Sometimes a stray hand grazed your face, its owner absorbed into the crowd before you could find them, a laconic, anonymous benediction.
The music pulled your arms above your head; the bass sank into your blood. Your head tossed back and forth, loose on your neck, careless and free. This was once your church, and you were remembering what it felt like to worship. The song transitioned into another, even better one that you recognized. Fuck, I love this song, too.
It was exactly what you needed. You lost track of yourself, lost track of Santos. It would all be fine when the lights came on, even if you were starting to feel, deep down in your marrow, that something was wrong. The bodies around you should’ve been slick and warm but radiated cold. You didn’t heed the warning; you didn’t want the night to be over, to go home to an empty bed and fantasies of a boyfriend that didn’t seem motivated enough to give you what you craved.
Your head was thrown back and your eyes half-shut when you spotted him pushing through the crowd toward you. At first, you were sure it was just a hallucination. But you weren’t drunk, barely buzzed, in fact, so how to explain him there, muscling bodies aside when they didn’t move fast enough for his liking, towering over almost everyone in his path. Your breath lodged in your throat. He surged toward you in fragments, the strobes tricking your eyes, making it seem like he was leaping forward in a jagged rhythm, there and then not there, not joining you but hunting.
A warehouse full to the brim with people, overcrowded, but his was the only face you saw clearly. The music dulled in your ears. Your world narrowed to him, to his presence as it split the couple in front of you and then planted his tall, firm body right there. Without a hitch in your movements, you went on tiptoes and wound your arms around his neck, breathing in his rich, clean sandalwood scent.
“What are you doing here?” you shouted, laughing, peering up into his face. He didn’t look angry, necessarily, but tense. Focused. His eyes were glowing agates under the strobes as they swept the space around and behind you.
“I was in the neighborhood.” He locked his hands around your hips, craning down to growl into your neck. “I need you to leave with me, baby,” he said, nuzzling against your ear. His breath shivered down your cleavage, a persuasive argument all on its own.
“One more song! Please…” You called back, giving him your most innocent begging face. “I’m dancing.”
Robby sighed against you, tightening his grip until it felt like his nails were leaving crescents on your stomach. “I can see that, and it’s very nice, but I need you to leave with me right now, okay? Let me take you home, sweetheart.”
ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʟʏɪɴɢ
ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴋɪɴᴅ
His body sealed against yours, one hand climbing down onto your ass and pushing until you could feel the jut of his cock growing in his pants; his sharp canines nipped your ear, pulling, a warning, a promise. Finally. Finally. “Come home with me.”
You rubbed your face against his beard, drawing his attention back around until your lips met. The room fell away, everything fell away, until there was just that kiss and his hands molding you to his chest.
“Take me,” you said, finding his hand, grabbing it, knitting your fingers together.
You expected hunger, maybe a wink, but he just looked…relieved.
“Stay close,” he said, slipping one arm around you. His hand settled over your hip, anchored there as he navigated you straight to the back of the dance floor and toward the ramp leading to the foyer. You looked around for Santos, but Robby just held you tighter. “She’s fine. She’s with Jack.”
“Dr. Abbot is here?” You snorted. “Selfie was that good, huh…”
Robby didn’t even crack a smile. “I’ll explain everything when we’re outside.”
Everything? What did he mean by everything? A chilled knife scratched up your spine. You realized suddenly how weird it was that he had just showed up unannounced at the club. How did he know where you were? Your hand went clammy against his. All at once, you were painfully sober.
⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚
At the top of the ramp, a preening vampire slid into view before deliberately placing himself in Robby’s path. Robby pulled up short, wrinkling his nose in irritation. Of fucking course. By any standard, this creature was a super model, lean and marble hard, his six pack abs fluttering behind his open silk shirt as he flounced his black hair and lifted his hand to keep Robby from going any further. He willed himself not to bite the fingers clean off. On his arm, your fingers dug in, holding on for dear life.
“Leaving so soon?” the stranger purred, keen, silver eyes locked on you. The Borat voice was a surprise, but Robby wasn’t about to get sidetracked. He had the gall to reach for you, one finger, manicured, and Robby slapped it away. “Pity. I’ve had my eye on this one all evening.”
Robby showed his teeth, grimacing. “She’s spoken for.”
Claimed, actually, not that this sniveling, dimwitted icicle could appreciate or even comprehend the distinction.
You were trying to pull him along and avoid the confrontation altogether. Robby let you, more than happy to leave, but the creature repositioned himself, tutting, before leaning forward, dragging his pointy nose up Robby’s chest before leaning back and giving a single, sharp bark.
Robby rolled his shoulders back, instinctively squaring up, shifting to his left to place himself more firmly between you and the creep. It was this fucker’s lucky day that he wasn’t off his meds yet. Before he could say a word, reluctantly diffuse the situation, the jerk went flying, slamming against the safety railing outlining the ramp with enough force to shatter a normal human’s spine.
Jack had flung the vampire by the back of his shirt. He snarled something in a language Robby didn’t recognize; Jack’s eyes pulsed with homicidal light as he twisted back toward the two of you and nodded at the exit. “Go.”
When the cold air slapped him across the face, Robby exhaled like he had been holding one breath since the moment he dipped inside the warehouse. “Where’s your jacket?” he asked, shrugging out of his.
“Didn’t bring one.”
Robby told himself not to scold, not to go worried dad on you and crush the spark that had been building. He raked both hands through his hair, watching you hurry toward the sidewalk, where Trinity was trembling and freezing and glaring.
“Take mine,” Robby grunted, catching up, yanking his jacket off the rest of the way and draping it over your shoulders.
“I’m fine, actually.” You were already shivering, so it was a lie. You shoved the coat back at him. Robby held it out between you, a sick, familiar coil tightening in his gut. You blew it. He tore the phone out of his pocket and ordered a car, trying to piece his thoughts into a sensible order while you stared off in the opposite direction.
“Hey,” he said, gathering himself, peeling you a few steps away from Santos, who, even dying from hypothermia, managed to openly eavesdrop with grinning relish. Robby lowered his head, his hand landing like a nervous bird on your shoulder. His heart clenched as you winced away from his touch. “Did I say something? I know you were enjoying yourself in there, but—”
“I don’t like this.” You shook your head, jaw clenched, eyes scanning the darkened road. “It feels like...No. Something is… How did you know we were here?”
“Honey, you sent me a picture.”
“Of a disgusting fucking bathroom, not GPS coordinates,” you said, heated.
“The graffiti on the wall. Jack recognized it.”
He realized it was the wrong thing to say only after you whirled to face him, jaw no longer clenched but on the snowy ground. “You showed that picture to Dr. Abbot?”
“God damnit, not intentionally, but he did see it, and you should be thanking me for that.” Here it was, the preview of what the coming weeks would be like, temper raging, patience whisper thin. Robby caught himself, softening his tone, following you as you wheeled away and dodged back toward Santos. Toward, he thought with a desperate swallow, safety. “This isn’t what you think,” Robby started, the phone buzzing as the driver got closer.
“Then enlighten me, what is it?” You hugged yourself, cold. "Because it's feeling awfully familiar."
That one stung, not that the accusation was out of line. Robby moved closer, slowly, as if you were a loose animal backed into a corner. Even more cautiously, he extended his arms upward and around you, pulling his body-warmed jacket over your shoulders. Teeth chattering, you didn’t fight him on it this time, even if you looked like you wanted to throw up when the fabric made contact with your skin. The car was pulling up. Jack had trotted over from the warehouse, saying something to Trinity in a low voice. Robby eased you closer by his own lapels, wetting his lips anxiously.
“This place isn’t what you think. And I’m not what you think.” Slick, asshole, tell the truth without telling it. “You can go out dancing all night if you want, hell, do it every night if that's what you need. I want you to have your own life, do what makes you happy. But this place…” He gestured with his head toward the warehouse. “Nightshift gets bodies from this place, all right? Fucked up. Clinging to life. Not sometimes, often. It’s the roofie capital of western Pennsylvania.” That got your attention. Your eyes widened before guiltily sliding down his front. “I’m not here to puff up my chest and boss you around, I don’t want to control you. I just…”
“Welp," you said after a moment, deflating. "I’m an asshole,” you muttered, squinching your cheeks. Robby cupped one of them, bending down to brush a kiss across your forehead.
“But the sexiest asshole I’ve ever met, if that’s any consolation,” he teased. “My God, that picture.”
“Didn’t think a slutty selfie would maybe save my life,” you mused, swishing your lips adorably to the side. “You know the saying, though, thick thighs…”
“Don’t,” Robby groaned, cutting you off with a light dusting of kisses against your lips. The car was waiting, Jack cleared his throat theatrically. “I have to survive this car ride. But I…” He twirled you to face the sidewalk, sliding his arm down to rest around your waist. “You don’t have to come back to my place, we do this at your pace.”
“Good,” you said, squeezing his arm. “Because your pace is excruciating.”
Robby grinned, escorting you to the backseat. You hesitated before getting in, accidentally stepping close enough to graze your breasts against his side. He suppressed a shiver, barely, staring down at you with needy eyes.
“Your place,” you murmured, just for his ears, gaze dancing away shyly as your cheeks turned pink in the blistering cold. All those nights on your stoop, all those missed chances, Robby gently took your hand and helped you into the car, delighted that he would finally get to warm you up.
