TAGS: fluff, mentions of sex, nicknames, santos being a snoop, javadi being unhelpful, shen malfunctioning, whitaker scrub change mentioned lol
EPILOGUE: PTMC's newest residents try to - unsuccessfully - uncover the meaning behind your nickname. (3k words).
CHAPTER 6: EPILOGUE
Well, this wasn’t fair.
Despite drinking the bar dry last night, Todd looked as fresh as a daisy this morning: hair coiffed, skin glowing, cheeks rosy, dress shirt collar starched to perfection, and poised to present for an hour. He was charmingly sipping a coffee by the podium with another doctor. What a remarkable comeback from looking like he was about to take down a wall at the Marriott last night.
Conversely, you were the one who felt hungover, and you had practiced much more meaningful selfcare than Todd last night. Normal movement aggravated certain areas of your body that Jack had taken liberties to explore. You avoided excessive walking because your gait was a telltale sign of some intense intimacy.
So, here you were, looking down at your feet while standing in the queue for the breakfast buffet. The heels were a purposeful choice; they at least disguised your pain as something else.
No one would’ve batted an eye. Well, except for Jack and one other person.
“Morning, cowgirl.”
Speak of the devil from Mass Gen.
You knew it was Dean and that he was addressing you, but you couldn’t give the impression you’d heed the nickname. Cowgirl. Stupid.
To be fair, Jack did have you in that position most of last night….
You raised your head slightly and feigned surprise. “Oh, good morning, Dean.”
Dean flashed you a bright, flawless smile. If he wasn’t Jack’s friend, you’d think he was walking in Patrick Bateman’s skin. It was those perfectly-shined pointy loafers and his gelled-back brown hair. Dean held a croissant sandwich wrapped in a napkin between his long fingers. “Try one of these. They’re delicious. Though the excess butter and bacon is a bit ironic at a cardiology conference, isn’t it?”
You smiled. “I’ll take my chances with it.”
Dean took a bite of his sandwich and without missing a beat, asked: “You have a good night after your Irish exit, cowgirl?”
Alarms went off in your head. Jack, SOS. Jack, SOS.
Your brain scrambled for an answer. “Yeah, fantastic. I feel well-rested. Ready for the day.”
Dean hummed. “Company was equally good?”
You nodded trepidatiously.
Dean smirked. “Well, enjoy your breakfast, cowgirl,” he said with a grin. “I’m sure I’ll see you again in my near future.”
When Dean disappeared into a crowd of people, you let out a big exhale of relief. You had survived the first test, but just barely. You’d have done much worse if you fell back into a habit of over-explaining. It really was best to own the situation as Jack had advised a couple days ago.
That being said, handling John was going to be a piece of cake after Dean.
On Monday morning, you’d gotten back to Pittsburgh with Jack. It took a lot of self-restraint not to mount him on the airplane after he’d switched flights to fly with you.
Feeling reinvigorated, you capitalized on your free time. You took your nice clothes to the dry cleaners and paid a premium for same-day service. You ordered a ridiculously healthy green smoothie and brought one back to Jack’s apartment. It felt impossible to spend time away from him, so it was especially sad when he had to get ready for work the same evening.
You did your part to prep him for a hard shift, having him lay down on the bed and riding him for the better part of the afternoon.
You lay in Jack’s bed after he’d left for his shift. In his shirt. In the dark. Swathed in his sheets. God, how did you get here? By some stupid happenstance? You felt good—blissful—for the first time in ages. It wasn’t just superficial; some wound in your chest felt like it had been patched up. Maybe it was the quality sleep you got. Maybe the waterside Boston air was healing. Or Occam’s razor: Jack had literally rearranged your guts and everything was in its rightful place.
Whatever it was, you smiled. You were actually buzzing to get to work tomorrow.
You got to work thirty minutes early on Tuesday.
“Hey, welcome back!” Lena was the first to greet you with a big wave. “We missed you!”
“Missed you too!” you responded, slipping off the shades you sported on the walk from Jack’s apartment. You had to be cautious since he lived a stone’s throw away, and you didn’t want to be spotted yet. In hindsight, you should’ve expected him to live so close given his timely appearances on his days off at the hospital.
“I’m totally pitching Boston as an anniversary destination to my husband for next year,” Lena hummed, grabbing a pen and a piece of paper. “What was that restaurant you and Jack went to? Pearl?” Lena’s eyes glinted mischievously. “And the head chef, Grant? He’s a total smokeshow. I totally stalked his Instagram afterward. Do you think he’ll bring out a special cake for us?”
You gave Lena a big smile, eyes crinkling, and responded, “For you, Lena? Yes, absolutely. He might even offer himself up for dessert for you.”
“God, you’re glowing!” Lena remarked, tapping her pen on her desk. “Married life looks good on you.”
You brushed a strand of loose hair back behind your ear and giggled. “It does, doesn’t it?”
John appeared from behind Lena and tipped his empty coffee cup towards you. “Actually, she looks like she just got laid.”
Breath, you told yourself. Own it.
Lena rolled her eyes. “Way to ruin a good joke, Shen.”
“It wasn’t a joke. It was an observation,” John refuted.
You rolled with the punches and shrugged. “I did.”
Silence. Lena was more amused than anything, eyebrows shooting to her hairline, but John—
John grimaced. His cup crunched a bit in his hands. “Stop it.”
You pursed your glossed lips. “Stop what?”
“You’re being weird.”
“How so?” you asked innocently. “I’m just agreeing with you.”
John went quiet, like a circuit in his brain malfunctioned.
“This is new,” you remarked with a clap, like you were congratulating a child. “So you can keep quiet, John.”
John didn’t respond, just continued to stare at you like you were an extraterrestrial being.
“Shen, are you okay?” Lena inquired, brows furrowing in concern, giving his arm a playful squeeze. “Should I clear a room for you to lay in?”
John waved Lena off, insisting he was fine, but kept his suspicious glance trained on you. “I don’t like what Boston did to you.”
“What did it do to me?” you egged him on.
Before John could respond, the sound of the main doors opening caught your attention. At the same time, Jack was turning the corner behind John. You locked eyes with him and your heart rate picked up just a bit. No one here knew you’d seen him naked twelve hours ago and that you were currently fingering the spare key to his apartment in your front pant pocket. To avoid any telling microexpressions, you turned around to face the main doors.
The early morning sun spilled into the hospital as Robby walked in. He removed his sunglasses with swagger, bike helmet coming off in smooth succession. Then, his eyes caught your figure at Lena’s station.
“Morning,” Robby greeted.
“Good morning,” you responded with a slight wave.
Robby’s eyes flittered between you and Jack. A wide grin broke across his face as he walked over and patted you on the shoulder, all the while maintaining eye contact with Jack. “What do you know? The missus is back in town.”
John tensed and looked one wrong word from retching.
Lena pointed to an area by her feet. “Barf bags are here if you need.”
“I’m ready for hand-off when you are,” Jack said. You knew he was looking at you mainly. A wisp of a smile danced on his tired face, and you couldn’t help but mirror it back.
“Alright,” you said. “Lead the way, Dr. Abbot.”
Lena handed you a clipboard. “Here you go, Missus—Missus A?” Lena pondered, trying to sound out the smoothest sequence of vowels.
Robby chuckled, arms folded across his chest. “I think you officially have a nickname.”
You shook your head at Robby and prayed your face held still enough to not give away the fact you found the nickname very endearing.
You accepted the clipboard from Lena. “Thanks, Lena. See you later tonight.”
You followed Jack down the hall and brushed past John, who seemed to have lost executive function.
“A his-and-hers hand off this morning,” Lena cooed. “What a treat.”
Langdon happened to catch Lena’s musing on his way in. “What was that, Lena?” he asked. She shrugged him off. Langdon moved on, greeting John, not seeming to notice that he had been immobilized from the last couple of minutes. “Hey, man.”
“Oh, we’re rolling with this now, are we?” Robby shoehorned in one last comment before following you and Jack down the hall.
September rolled around faster than you could’ve envisioned. With it brought a current of cooler weather, pumpkin spice on the cafeteria menu, and fresh faces. Robby had informed you of the new residents and medical students starting today, but you hadn’t had time to stay in one place and meet them.
It was McKay who had been tasked for orientation duties. She shuttled Javadi, King, Whitaker, and Santos around the Pitt. Back in the epicentre of the action, she pointed to each resident in rapid fire succession. “These are your senior residents. That’s Dr. Collins, Dr. Langdon. For PGY3s, we have Dr. Mohan, and Dr.—wait, where is she?”
McKay looked around for you.
“In Trauma 1,” Robby finished for her, leaving said room. He turned back, watching on as your body loosened in relief. The rapid beeping of your intubated patient’s vitals finally quieted down after ten long minutes of being on the brink of death. “Should be coming out now.”
He eyed your lips moving in response to something Garcia said. Robby had noticed a change in your confidence in the past couple months since coming back from Boston, and he had to admit it was overwhelmingly positive.
“Nice catch on the tube,” Garcia said as you exited Trauma 1. “You sure learn a lot when you sleep with an attending.”
For a minute, the Pitt went eerily quiet. Sure, the monitors still beeped and the Kraken still screamed, but the clacks of every keyboard ceased simultaneously. Ahmad silenced his walkie-talkie and snuck it in his pocket. Perlah and Princess zipped their mouths—whatever they were gossiping about could wait because this was about to be way better.
You split from Garcia, not even acknowledging her when you shot back: “Well, thank you for setting the precedent.”
You caught a glimpse of Garcia’s middle finger and amused smile as she disappeared in the elevator.
“Holy shit,” Mateo uttered, trying to suppress a laugh into his balled fist.
Robby exhaled and turned away, hands on his hips, similarly trying to not laugh, and failing.
Whitaker stammered. Javadi’s mouth was almost on the floor as a quiet ‘Oh my God, she did not just say that’ squeaked out of her mouth. Mel’s mouth fell open though not as far as Javadi’s had. Santos looked on, unsure of whether to be grossed out or entertained.
McKay fought for her next words and for the glorious reputation of PTMC. “Uh, just so you know, I’m pretty sure that was a joke.”
“Was that really a joke? Who’s the attending?” Santos interrogated Robby.
“Not my place to tell,” Robby responded with a strained cough, quelling the laugh in his throat. “Time will.”
Santos squinted suspiciously. So, the attending was real.
“Notes, Robby?” you inquired, passing him on the way back to your computer.
“I have none, that was,”—a whistle of air escaped Robby’s lips—“I’ll let you handle Garcia from now on, okay?”
You perked up at the new faces. “Hey, you must be—”
“Hey,” Perlah interrupted your greeting. “Dr. Park and Dr. Finnessy are down here for the consult you called for. The e-scooter kid.”
You swore under your breath. “I only called for Park.”
“Well, you get both,” Perlah stated with a perplexed expression, wondering why it was a bad thing that two orthos heeded the call when it was sometimes impossible to get one in a timely manner.
“I don’t need two of them,” you huffed. “I just needed Park.”
Santos looked on observantly, now fully fascinated by whatever your story was. The elevator doors opened to reveal your number one headache: a tall, athletic, dirty blonde orthopedic surgeon who was too confident for his own good. Finnessy pretended to scope the area. When he didn’t find what he was looking for (Jack), he strolled over to you.
“Hey, Missus,” Finnessy greeted you with a wink. “Hope you’ve been well.” He glided into step with you and before you could respond, he spoke again. “Myself? Not so much. I’ve been operating day and night to the Weeknd because of you, girl.”
Finnessey sang a tune all the way to Trauma 1. Both you and Park rolled your eyes at the same time. Judging by Park’s tired expression, Finnessy wasn’t kidding. You imagined Park’s ears inundated by the dulcet tones of Save Your Tears overlaid with Finnessey’s less-than-stellar singing.
“Don’t let him quit his day job,” you whispered to Park who dipped his head in agreement. Whitaker jumped out of the way when Park passed him.
Santos raised her arms in clear exasperation. You were clearly the resident with the most lore, and the absence of information was killing her.
So much so that she held an emergency meeting after work on Friday.
“Does anyone have any information?” Santos asked in a round-table formation in the park outside the hospital. The trees, on the brink of turning orange, bristled around her, Whitaker, Mel, and Javadi. Everyone was exhausted after sixty-hours plus hours of work except for Santos who clearly had her priorities straight. “Everyone has a fucking zip tie on their lips.”
She’d tried to pry it out of Perlah and Princess and failed. Even in Tagalog, they refused to relent.
Whitaker was an unenthusiastic participant in all of this; he just wanted to go home and sleep. Still, he lazily offered, “Do you think it’s Dr. Robby?”
“Uhm, he’s like fifty,” Javadi interjected with a repulsed expression.
“That’s a fair point,” Whitaker agreed, thankful that Javadi shut it down. “Maybe we shouldn’t gossip about… I mean, she’s really nice, and this might just be a big inside joke before our time.”
Mel nodded.
“Don’t whiteknight her, Huckleberry,” Santos snapped. “What about the night shift attendings? John Shen? Jack Abbot?”
“How do we know it’s limited to the ER?” Javadi piped up. “It was pretty non-specific.”
Santos gnawed on her cheek. “Fair point.”
“We can’t filter through every attending in the hospital,” Whitaker said, hoping to derail Santos’s plans. “I’m sure we’ll find out in due time. We’ve only been here five days.”
“Oh my God, wait, is it that ortho guy? The one who walked out of the elevator right after?” Javadi added.
Whitaker tried to recall the scene. “The one who said he’d been operating to Drake?”
“It was the Weeknd, Huckleberry,” Santos corrected, patience wearing thin.
“Is there a difference?” Whitaker asked earnestly.
“Yes,” Javadi and Santos responded at the same time.
“Alright, well, just keep your ears open,” Santos relented, sighing.
“Hey, sorry to interrupt.”
The quartet went quiet.
Because it was you speaking. No big deal, just the topic of their discussion about which attending you slept with.
“H-hey,” Whitaker offered with a awkward wave.
“Samira and I were wondering if you guys wanted to grab some drinks and food,” you asked. You gestured to Samira who was beside you. “To celebrate your first week here.”
“Where?” Santos questioned non-chalantly, hands in her pocket, acting like she hadn’t just led a witchhunt.
“At the pub down the street,” Samira answered.
It was Javadi’s turn to speak. “You don’t drink at the park?”
“No, I don’t drink with those guys,” you said. “Not often, anyway.”
“Why not?” she asked.
You laughed. “I always say, Robby doesn’t need a thirteenth hour with me.”
“Sure, yeah, we’ll come,” Santos agreed on behalf of the group. “Lead the way.”
You chatted with Santos while Samira answered questions Mel had for her. Behind you trailed Whitaker and Javadi, who looked quite enlightened at a revelation she had.
Eyes wide, she whispered to Whitaker: “I might’ve been wrong, it’s so Dr. Robby.”
Whitaker banged on the scrub dispenser. Another week, another day of getting questionable bodily fluids on himself. This time, a febrile infant had decided his chest was the best location to vomit. His efforts were futile. Despite stating that medium-sized scrubs had been dispensed, the slot remained empty. The machine had apparently given up on him today, and he wasn’t surprised. In his three weeks, he was probably the top all-time user.
“There’s extras in the supply closet in the lunch room, man,” Mateo suggested, passing by. “I’ll let someone know to come take a look at the dispenser.”
“Thanks,” Whitaker said.
Whitaker shuffled to the closet in the lunch room. He opened the door to the supply closet and found a couple pairs of neatly folded blue scrubs alongside miscellaneous tools, props, and photos from Christmas parties. Right behind the scrubs sat a CPR dummy adorned with blue scrubs and a name badge.
Whitaker afforded himself a closer look. It was a picture of you. It must’ve been from a year prior because you were still listed as a PGY2. Then, his eyes caught the most important detail he almost missed—your name. It wasn’t your last name as listed on your current name badge. It was Abbot.
“Holy shit, you did it, Huckleberry, you solved the mystery.”
Santos held the badge in her hands like it was gold. Weeks of pent-up frustration and she’d finally found her answer.
Whitaker was starting to regret his decision to show Santos. He swiped at her. “Give it back, I’m trying to take it to the lost-and-found.”
“What are you fussing about there?” Dana asked.
“This,” Santos proclaimed proudly as she showed Dana what Whitaker found. “I believe you owe us an explanation.”
Dana thumbed the badge and peered from over her glasses. She let out a barking laugh right away. “Yeah, I know who this belongs to you.”
“Hey, Missus, didya lose your badge?” Dana called to you, waving around the forged badge courtesy of John Shen. It was the one he had made the night of the Instagram fiasco.
Curious, you stopped charting and walked over.
“Oh, that thing,” you said with a giggle. “Can you get it updated? I think it’s from last year.”
“You got it,” Dana assured. “I’ll get John on it later tonight.”
The final day of September happened to be a Friday and an elusive day off for you. Sadly, the same couldn’t be said for Jack, so you decided to have a quick dinner date at a salad chain. You had all the leftovers packed for his impending shift. After dinner, the two of you walked into the hospital together. There was noticeably less fanfare now than the first time you’d done it.
“Your salad bowl’s in the bag with a couple snacks,” you reminded him.
“That is a lot of food,” Jack remarked. “You went all out.”
You gave his arm a playful nudge. “Just trying to take care of you.”
Your eyes hovered to the intake window where Lupe was talking to a girl who wasn’t much taller than the ledge. “I’m sorry,” Lupe said. “She’s not in right now.”
You peered more closely. You’d recognize that blonde hair anywhere.
”Hey, Dahlia,” you called out, urging Jack to continue on inside. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?”
When Dahlia realized it was you speaking, her face brightened immediately. She ran over and tackled you. If you hadn’t been more careful, she literally could’ve taken you down. Dahlia was still in her purple gymnastics leotard from the waist up. She wore a jean skirt and crocs, likely having just come out of practice. Her hair was done up in a tight bun, and glitter dotted her face.
Dahlia’s mother, in a beige overcoat, stood beside her with a gentle smile. “She really wanted to talk to you.”
“Sure, we can talk, absolutely. Mind if we go inside?” you asked Dahlia’s mother who nodded. “Thanks, Lupe. I’ll take it from here.”
Dahlia insisted on holding your hand as you swiped in. You could tell she was buzzing with excitement. It assuaged your fears that she was here for medical reasons, but didn’t answer the question of why she was here at the hospital.
You knelt down to her level when you got inside “Are you feeling okay?” you asked.
“Yep! I’m great!” she affirmed with a jump, catching Dana’s attention. She was night-and-day from when she limped in here back in May with a face so sour you were sure she was going to be difficult to contend with. “Dr. Ledecky is super nice.”
”I know. She’s a very good friend of mine, and a very good doctor.” You looked her up and down. “You seem to be feeling better.”
”So much better!” Dahlia giggled and pointed to her sparkly leotard. “I can do gymnastics again, see?”
”That’s good, Dahlia. I know that was important to you.”
She quieted down. ”But I have to tell you something.”
She looked out the window where her mother was standing, looking at her phone. Maybe Dahlia didn’t know, but the walls were pretty soundproof. “It’s alright,” you reassured her. “No one else can hear outside these walls, Dahlia.”
That seemed to convince her. “Remember when you told me your secret?”
“What secret?”
“About your crush on Jack, duh!”
Okay, maybe you shouldn’t have told her the room was entirely soundproof.
Dana glanced over from over the top of her glasses. Donnie looked up from an open room in the middle of a stitch. Princess shuffled a little closer despite not needing to be in your vicinity at all.
”Uh,” you stammered, focusing on Dahlia. “Yes, I do.”
You didn’t trip up easily anymore, but Dahlia loudly trying to rehash the conversation you had in May was certainly going to. You had exchanged secrets when you tried to fish information out of her. You told her about your crush on Jack. In return, she told you about her leg pain and consequently, her own crush on a boy in her class named Jack. It was a cute conversation, but now it was going to be your undoing.
“Jack and I are going to the movies tomorrow! Then we’re going to get pizza after! And he invited me to his birthday party next week. We’re going bowling! And he even said he likes me. Like, really, really, really, really, really likes me! He said it FIVE times!”
You smiled so much it hurt your cheeks. “That’s wonderful, Dahlia.”
“Does your Jack like you back?” she asked earnestly.
Before you could answer, Jack had found his way back from the lunch room. He padded quietly until he stood behind Dahlia with a handsome, knowing grin. You’d kiss it off of him if you weren’t at work.
“I’d say he does,” Jack added in a voice so low and gravelly that it was only audible to anyone who was truly listening. Amused, he urged you on: “What do you think?”
“Yeah,” you agreed, watching Dahlia’s big blue eyes light up. “I’d say he really, really, really, really, really, likes me.”
A/N: Okay, I need to apologize. I barely proofread the end but I needed to finish this tonight or I'd never finish this series. It's how my brain operates... anyway, I hope you enjoy it. 2/3rds of this is just pure smut. The series is otherwise done, and the epilogue will be a cute little way to end the series.
MINORS DNI!!
TAGS: smut, smut, smut!! oral (receiving, and giving), size kink, jack talks you through it, unprotected sex, age gap, mirror sex.
CHAPTER 5: A serious conversation about your line of work in a hot tub leads to you bouncing your attending's cock for the rest of the night. (7.3k words)
CHAPTER 5: MORE THAN WORDS
“What’s it like working with Dr. Abbot?” Masahiro, Todd’s resident, asked.
Your eyes locked with Jack’s as he crossed the room. Streaks of him were obfuscated by passing servers and attendees, but that strong, unwavering figure was a constant. Little sparks of electricity shot through your fingertips as you cradled your wine glass closer to the chest, and those little jolts became a full thunderstorm when Jack took a place right beside Masahiro.
“Oh, Dr. Abbot, he’s very intimidating,” you teased with a full-fledged grin because you knew he was within earshot.
A cocky smile graced Jack’s face. “Is that right?”
You wiggled your other hand ghoulishly. “I don’t mess with the night crawlers.”
“Oh, you’ll be one of us soon enough.”
Your heart soared at the inside joke.
“Excuse us for a moment,” you said, retreating from the group. The three other residents continued on as you pulled Jack into a quieter corner near the door.
“Is everything alright?” you asked. The pride you felt was fleeting; it was washed over with fear. You braced yourself for Jack to announce he was leaving with his former classmate to rekindle an old romance.
You waited with bated breath and gritted teeth.
“I’m going to have a seat outside, my leg is killing me,” Jack said instead. “This conference room is an ADA violation.”
You looked around. Guilt consumed you when you realized: there were no chairs. And it never crossed your mind because it didn’t matter to your body. “It is, isn’t it? This is such poor planning.”
His words continued to eat away at you. How horrible it must be for him at work, standing for over twelve hours a day and running from room to room. Respite came in 2-minute intervals and were far and few in between. And here you were, chatting away and not considering the discomfort he had to endure.
So you offered: “Do you want to head back?”
“I wouldn’t mind, but you should stay. It looks like you found yourself a group of friends.”
“I’ll see them again tomorrow, though I am enjoying the stories about Todd. He’s quite the colourful character.”
“There’s such a thing as too much of a good thing,” Jack rebuffed. “And Todd is a living example of it.” He looked over to Todd who braced himself on the hightop table like it was a life boat and he was a passenger on the Titanic. His posture was oddly reminiscent of your 90-year old fall patient who insisted he needed no aid in getting to the toilet himself. Todd was on his phone, scrolling and reading with intent with Dean and Charles hovering over him. You wondered what enraptured them. “But seriously, if you’re having a good time, stay a while longer.”
“The hotel has a hot tub,” you blurted out.
Jack looked taken aback. “What are you saying?” he asked.
“Oh, I mean,” you sputtered. This conversation was a last-minute course-correct of a car headed off a cliff. “I wanted to take advantage of it before it closed at some point. I didn’t think I’d have time tomorrow—long conference day, you know—so if we left now, it’d actually be perfect.”
Teetering between whether you should ask Jack to come or not, you did, though so quickly that your words slurred together. “Andyoushouldjoinifyouwant—might do your muscles some good.”
“Okay, don’t tempt me, now,” Jack warned with a crooked smile.
Your face flushed. You’d definitely just signed your own death warrant.
“Hey!”
You whipped around. Jack cocked his head up.
In cinematic slow motion, Todd pointed to you. His smile stretched enormously to the point that it was worrisome. You panicked as he began to hobble over. In Ancient Greece, they had hemerodromes. In present day America, they had Todd, trying his best to cover the ten metre gap with an alcohol level that might necessitate an IV flush.
“You’ll never believe what my daughter just sent me. Jack, you cheeky bastard!” He clutched his phone in one hand and wagged a finger at Jack with the other. He bellowed at him like he wasn’t in the same room. “You lied to me. Robby’s resident, my ass! You didn’t tell me she was your WIFE!”
Everyone within a six feet radius turned towards Todd.
“Oh, shit,” you cursed under your breath. “This again?”
Jack cocked his head towards the exit. “Time to go?”
“I couldn’t think of a better time.”
Apparently, Todd had given up the good fight and allowed you and Jack to return to the hotel at leisurely pace. To your relief, all you and Jack did was laugh about the ridiculousness of everything as you strode down the pavement. The entire walk home, you store glances at Jack’s leg, looking for any fatigue in his gait. You wondered if you should offer any help, whether that was extending an arm or hailing a cab. You knew preemptively that the answer was no, that Jack could handle himself and it would be offensive to even ask. But you were fighting an overwhelming urge to offer yourself up in any way you could.
On the final block, you wondered what suave, sweet-talking Dean thought of the article. He had already pegged you as one of Jack’s girls and he wasn’t wrong about it. Though you’d only met him two hours ago, you already knew you’d buckle under the weight of his smarmy comments and let something slip. In a sense, you were relieved you weren’t around for the aftermath.
In the interest of time, you immediately returned to your room to slip into a ridiculously plush bath robe that was hanging in the bedroom closet. You passed one to Jack and let him change.
You could barely look at him when you exited your room; the velvet material clung to his muscles like a vice.
“Ready to go?” Jack asked, thumbs securely looped into his belt. Just one wrong downward pull and that bathrobe would come flying open.
Oh, that would be so very good for you.
You nodded, then hurried to the kitchen to take a large swig of water to quench the multitudes of thirst in your body.
It was in the elevator that you decided that maybe, you didn’t need to address the elephant in the room. So what his friends had seen the Instagram post? Maybe overexplaining didn’t do you any good. Maybe apologizing after your apology had already been accepted wasn’t needed. There wasn’t much time to dwell on it anyway as the swimming facilities were just a few floors up. The room was encased in a glass dome meaning your pursuit of relaxation would be for all of Boston’s high-rise dwellers and skyline photographers to see. Oh, and a drone piloted by none other than John Shen.
But damn if this wasn’t analogous to your life, being put on display in glass and performing every single day of your life. Doing what the system wanted you to. Smiling through your stage makeup when all you wanted was to fling the door to a bathroom stall open and cry in it.
You opened the door to the pool and were immediately met by silence. “There isn’t anyone here,” you remarked, staring at the still water of the pool and the lightly simmering hot tub. How was this possible?
“Good,” Jack said, grabbing a towel for the both of you. “Saves us from making more small talk.”
Jack removed his robe and set out for one of the showers.
Well, he certainly wasn’t shy about stripping down. You looked down. Or wearing a tight-fitting bottom, apparently.
He turned the knob on. Then, he tilted his head right to let the water steam down the left side of his neck. His rhomboids were clear as day as he massaged the water over his freckled skin. You followed the streams of water down his obliques, watched as they curved down his abductors muscles. Your jaw loosened, and you consciously lifted it back up with your hand. You removed your own robe and turned the neighbouring shower on, trying to get all the grime off your body.
And suddenly, you were showering—albeit clothed—next to Jack. You convinced yourself you were scrubbing in but in another context. It wasn’t like his naked body was anything new, but you kept your eyes glued to the cream tiles on the wall. You had to get a hold on yourself.
Reality sunk back in when he turned the shower off. As he turned, the scars on his torso became apparent. Faint, slightly raised lines were littered across his sides and legs. Your heart felt like it sunk a few notches. How wrong it was to objectify his body when the same body had been through so much pain.
Jack sat on the ledge and removed his prosthetic. You watched as he pushed himself into the water like it was a routine rehearsed a thousand times over.
You swallowed all your unholy thoughts and dipped in on the other side of him. “You do this with all the residents?” you joked, breaking the surface tension.
“No,” Jack vocalized with his eyes closed. “Only you.”
“I’m honoured,” you said with a laugh, ignoring the tingle in your chest. Looks like that feeling wasn’t going anywhere. “You don’t miss your friends?”
“I see them often enough.”
“How often?”
“I saw them Wednesday night. They invited me out to golf the next day but I declined.”
“I’ve heard rumours that you suck at golf.”
Jack hummed. “Now who would say that?”
Unfortunately for you, as Jack’s body loosened, so did his vocal chords. There was a delicious rasp coating all his words. You were trying very, very hard not to be aroused by it.
“Is the water helping?” you asked as Jack leaned back against the tiles.
“Yeah,” Jack uttered. He let out a little hiss as he sank deeper in the water. “It does. A lot.”
You frowned. “Was today a particularly bad day?”
“Not worse than any others,” he responded.
You tried to repress the surprise on your face. You figured it had to have been. Jack never showed any signs of discomfort at hand-off; he looked like he was raring to go another shift. If he felt pain, he concealed it well. But the mask, the hard veneer, was cracking in front of you. Throughout the night, he admitted to the pain with words and expressions, and threw that bravado on the back burner.
Still, curiosity superseded everything else. “What keeps you going?”
“What keeps all of us going. Adrenaline. And the underlying goodness in the work.”
“Some days I forget there’s goodness,” you admitted bitterly. It felt easy to open up to Jack now that he’d opened up to you. Maybe your veneer was cracking too.
“Mass shootings, domestic violence, child abuse, elder abuse, human trafficking, even the arrival of the living dead is depressing. Just… watching some of them die without any relatives by their side. Or worse, when the relatives don’t care to show up. I find myself… I need a moment to wonder how it came to that. I just can’t let them die alone, you know?” Your voice dropped to a whisper, letting the sound of the jets in the tub talk over you. “I hold their hand and wonder if they find some comfort in it.”
“Think of the relatives, the children that do show up,” Jack said softly. “They’re there before the evening handoff and are still there when I leave. I know those chairs aren’t comfortable at all. And if they’re lucky to leave, the kids are by their side 24/7, taking them to appointments, getting their medications, asking questions I hadn’t even considered.”
Jack continued on. “Can’t say I don’t get envious. I always figured I'd have someone taking care of me when I'm old and decrepit,” he joked.
“You are not old—!" you interjected. "You have us. We will take care of you."
Jack cracked an eye open. “And who’s we?”
“All of us,” you clarified. “At work.”
“I get the whole crew at PTMC?” he queried. “Lucky me. Feels a bit clinical, though.”
“We are like family, aren’t we?” you asked. “I know you mean though. You want biological family by your side.”
“For better or worse,” Jack agreed. “But sometimes those ties cloud judgement. You’ve seen it, when someone’s at the end of life and you want to pull the plug but the family doesn’t. So you continue supportive care and false hope, and you wonder how much more of it you can give. I like to think I’d be more rational, but I’m not immune to the bias.”
Your bottom lip trembled. “I’d be a wreck. I don’t think I could perform as a doctor in that capacity.”
“Because you care,” Jack corrected. “The job hasn’t jaded you yet.”
“Dr. Robby always tells me it’s coming.” You swirled your finger in circles in the water ominously with a faint grin. “Right around the corner like a reaper. Sometimes he turns the corner and pretends he’s wielding a scythe.”
Jack shook his head in disbelief, eyes closed, and droplets of water falling off his curls. “Unbelievable, that guy…”
You giggled.
“You know, despite what you might think, he holds you in very high regard.”
Your eyes widened. You could only picture all the times you’d disappointed Robby. “No, he—”
“Don’t let this get this back to him, promise me that, alright?” Jack warned. You nodded slowly, heart thudding at what little secret Jack was going to divulge. “He tells me all the time that you’re just one thing away from being perfect, and that’s what frustrates him.”
Your eyes flittered downwards, and a frown tugged at the corners of your lips.. “I think I know what that one thing is.”
“Just one thing, but everything else—your critical thinking skills, your bedside manner, your charting, your efficiency,”—Jack’s hands painted the picture—”your workups that belong in the Louvre—”
”He said that?” you interrupted. “The Louvre thing?”
Jack nodded, trying not to laugh at the cheesy grin on your face.
“But most importantly, your highly-efficient coffee chugs crouched under the table at Dana’s station. Robby’s certain he’s never seen anyone finish hot coffee that fast.”
You reddened. “Gloria said drinking coffee in front of patients made us look unprofessional.”
“So you shotgun it instead?” Jack asked.
“There’s also the limitation of time,” you mumbled. “Along with the subterfuge, I mean.”
“Well, Robby is convinced you have an iron esophagus.”
It was pitiful how you couldn’t even try to look offended. You were glowing at all the praise. If Robby thought this, then why shouldn’t Jack? “He says all this behind my back?”
As you waited for Jack’s answer, you noticed something peculiar. It seemed that every blink brought Jack an inch closer. You feared this was a manifestation of early onset heat stroke or hypernatremia, and you were hallucinating.
“Everything and more. I’m lucky enough to be privy to it. Otherwise, I might’ve never known about your case the other day with the little girl.”
It was when Jack’s eyes met yours with an unusual intensity that you knew it wasn’t all in your mind. His pupils were darkened, dilated, and you could appreciate the sparse specks of hazel left.
“You know, she’ll never forget you.”
His words shot straight through your heart. Only he could remember these minute details about you. Only his praise could make you feel like this. “You think?” you questioned softly, biting your lip. “I only had ten minutes with her.”
You immediately chastised yourself for saying that. Robby would’ve exhaled, rubbed his palm near his eyes, and asked why you were downplaying an achievement again.
But this was Jack, and Jack had a completely different response.
“Meeting you once is often enough,” Jack said. “To remember you for a while.”
Your heart battered your ribs with a crushing force.
Somewhere between those lines, the distance between you and Jack closed. You didn’t know who stepped forward first. Maybe it was the buoyancy of the salt water pushing you together. But did the physics of it all matter when the hard muscle of his abdomen was grazing your chest? When you skimmed against his neck with a simple careen of your head?
You tried to obscure the smile on your face. “You think so?”
“I know so,” Jack affirmed.
So, he had noticed you.
Picked you out of a lineup of a rotating door of residents.
Remembered all the stupid things you tried to wash away at the end of the day.
The next words clung to your throat because you were terrified to be wrong. But that was what had been holding you back, wasn’t it? If there was ever a time to be wrong, then it was now.
“Then let me,” you whispered against Jack’s neck.
“Let you?”
It was almost redundant, his question. He already knew your answer.
“Let me take care of you,” you pleaded. “Please.”
And those were the last words out of your mouth before it was swallowed by Jack.
Every inch of your skin felt like it was aflame and Jack’s hands were to blame, dousing your body in gasoline. They found your hips, your back, under the strap on your swim top. He still maintained a semblance of self-control by not removing your top altogether. After all, you were still in a public space, and Jack knew better than to commit the crime of indecency.
Well, logically, he knew that. Your positions said otherwise. Jack sat on the first step leading down to the hot tub, and your legs were effortlessly wrapped around his torso, knees on the second step. You kissed him back with equal intensity, but he seemed intent on swallowing you whole with the way his tongue danced in your mouth. Jack anchored you with his hands on your waist as if you could float away. Eventually, he moved his mouth from your lips down to your neck. You let out a small moan at the feathertouch.
You held onto Jack’s muscled body as he worked on your neck. Your erect nipples poked through the fabric of your top and rubbed against his chest. Your clothed slit hovered dangerously above his hardening cock, barely grazing him thanks to buoyancy. He eventually made his way back to your mouth. Neither of you spoke, but his feverish pace said enough: he had wanted this for as long as you.
But you kind of wanted gravity. “I think I’ve had enough of this place,” you crooned during a rare break in the kiss. How generous of Jack to provide some semblance of air after ten minutes of deprivation.
Jack hummed in agreement. “I think it’s about time to head up.”
There was a very obvious bulge poking through the material of his black swim trunks as he pushed himself out of the pool. The wetness of the fabric clung to it as well, accentuating just how large he was. The water ran down the divots of muscle of his legs. You bit your lip with anticipation, trying the same weeping occurring between your legs. God, you needed to rub yourself on his thighs like yesterday.
Your mind remained polluted from that intense kiss. The morality of sleeping with an attending in your department could be debated another time; having that cock inside you took precedence over anything right now.
You showered off quickly, slipped your robe back on, and headed to the elevator.
You barreled in the room with Jack and deadbolted the door before he swept you to the bedroom. Much like at work, you were efficient at multitasking. Jack trapped your mouth in another deep kiss, and your hands wasted no time undoing the hard knot of the belt he’d tied around his robe. Much like at work, his handiwork was complex. God, he was really going to make you work for it, wasn’t he?
“You sure you want to do this?” Jack asked with the guise of giving you an option. It sounded more like reassurance on his end. His voice was husky, and his eyes flittered from your hands to your lips.end.
“Yes,” you breathed out, giving the belt a final pull. It was an inch from giving out. “A thousand times yes.”
“Before we go too far,” Jack stopped you in the middle of a breath. “I can go buy a—”
“I have an IUD. Erm, for my periods mainly. I’m clean. It’s been half a decade, but I still have my results if you—”
“You don’t have to explain, I trust you,” Jack affirmed, placing a kiss on your forehead. He spoke against your skin. “I’m clean too, but if you change your mind at any time, just say so, okay?” His next sentence came out as a wisp. “We’ll just Uber something over.”
You nodded as Jack’s robe came apart in front of you. Yeah, you weren’t changing your mind about anything. You stared at the wrapped present that awaited you. All however many inches long and wide it was, you wanted it in your hands, in your mouth, against your cheek, and in your pussy. Your hands halted for a second as they dipped inside his waistband. Not because you didn’t want him to have his way with you, but some superstitious force warned you there was something else to address first.
“Do you think we should…” you started.
“Think what?”
“Think we should turn our phones off?”
Jack cocked his head. “Why’s that?”
“Given everything that’s happened,” you mumbled. “I’m not sure I can guarantee something stupid won’t happen again.”
Like your phone autonomously recording you and Jack having sex and it somehow ending up online, or even worse, broadcasted on the patient progress screens at the Pitt.
You didn’t have to provide the example aloud. Jack understood what you meant. In response, he guided your hands further down the waistband of his shorts. “Fuck that.” He applied firm pressure downwards. “Let them see it.”
His shorts fell down to his knees.
Your eyes widened at the sight before you. His cock, just as meaty and red and angry as you’d remembered it from yesterday, sprang out. Jack never deviated from your belief that he was a phlebotomist's wet dream with the veins, one girthier than the rest, that ran up his shaft until they cessated at his bulbous tip. He was an anatomic impossibility with how big he was. Fuck, he was going to have to carry you to the conference tomorrow and drop you in your seat because he was going to fuck you out until you lost somatic function.
Precum oozed out of his slit. You licked the side of your bottom lip, imagining the salty liquid on your tongue. You were about to lean down and take him in your mouth—clean him up a bit— when he stopped you.
“Come here,” he commanded. “Turn around for me.”
So you did, pressing your lower back to his cock. When you looked up, you realized why he’d asked you to turn around: there was a mirror in front of you. You watched as his larger hands derobed you, calluses that you couldn’t feel underwater grazing your soft skin. Your pussy ached at the sensation. You slipped out of your swim bottom as his command, shivering when the cold air kissed your wet cunt. Jack’s hands slithered up from the bottom of your bikini top and pulled upwards.
“Fuck,” Jack cursed when your tits popped out of your top. He fondled your breasts, pinching your nipples with his fingers, letting you watch in front of the mirror. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Your nipples stood erect from all the stimulation and the cold air.
He mumbled against your skin, a slight laugh escaping his lips and vibrating against your skin. “These were almost the death of my career.”
He lowered his mouth, stubble scraping against your skin, and latched onto a nipple. You let out a loud moan, knees buckling. The mirror provided a generous view of Jack bending down, head over your shoulders, and sucking your tits. The view turned you on harder than you could imagine with the way Jack’s large frame towered over yours, neck bent, and muscular arms entwined around your frame.
“How so?” you managed between moans.
“That day you showed up in those tight scrubs— fuck,” Jack cut himself off when you started rubbing up against him. “Do you remember?”
You remembered exactly the day he was referring to. You were about to clock out when Dana called for an extra set of hands for an incoming trauma. Scrubs, you needed scrubs. The dispenser had run out of your size, so you either had to settle for one size down or three sizes up. The former was more desirable, so you suited up quickly and ran back just in time to the ambulance bay. You clammed up when you saw your reflection in a passing window. This look was hardly appropriate. The material pulled at every curve in your body.
Your sex appeal, however, was unimportant compared to the horrors that awaited in Trauma 1. There was a 8-year old boy with a deep thigh laceration from a fateful meeting with a boat propeller, and his 6-year sister was being resuscitated from a drowning from the same accident in Trauma 2. This was an end-of-summer family cottage outing gone wrong, that was for sure.
You opened the door quietly just in time to watch Jack make an incision with a 10 blade. Dr. Walsh hovered by his shoulder, looking down on him like a hawk. Jack didn’t look up once; he was acutely focussed on the procedure. And why would he? This was the worst day of someone’s life and you were worried about whether Jack was looking at you? You glided into where Langdon called for you. “Park’s on the way,” he had told you. You nodded and worked alongside Langdon in preparation for Park.
“Almost dropped my scalpel because of those tits,” Jack said, snapping you out of your memory.
You nodded. “Yeah,” you ground harder on him, letting him messily paint your back with precum. “I remember now.”
He had noticed you. You just didn’t notice him noticing you.
And your tits, in this particular case.
You continued to watch him worship them in the mirror in front of you, cradling them, fondling them like he was trying to memorize the curvature, and sucking them until they were painfully erect. Each pop of his mouth only sent jolts of electricity down to your clitoris. His grip was iron-clad, so you floated blissfully on your tiptoes, letting Jack lift you effortlessly.
As much as you wished this to last forever, you decided it was his turn.
“Sit down,” you commanded.
Jack fell back and sat down on the edge of bed, thoroughly amused, hazel eyes surmising your next step. An expression all too familiar at work, but it was never this clouded with lust.
“What are you up to?” Jack asked with a crooked smile. In one swift motion, he detached his prosthetic. He had a sense he wouldn’t be needing to get up anytime soon.
You climbed on him, pushing him on his back slowly. “Taking care of you,” you teased.
Jack was amused at your boldness. You wiped that analytical look right off his face when you kissed him on his lips chastely and trailed downwards to his neck, then to his large shoulders, to his chiseled abdomen, and to his hip bone.
Gingerly, you took the tip of his cock in your mouth. He felt like velvet against your lips. His precum coated the inside of your mouth and throat as he sank deeper and deeper. His girth stretched out your mouth until you looked like an absolute fool. You began to bob your head up and down, trying to take him further, and pushing back the panic of how he was going to fit inside a tighter space.
“Fuck,” Jack groaned from above you. Your silky throat felt heavenly against his sensitive cock.
“Just like that,” he urged. “Feels so good, shit.”
Your hands pumped where your mouth couldn’t reach which was about half his length. You were trying your best, really, pushing him deeper and deeper in your throat with each bob. You choked and slobbered all over him when he pushed past a certain point. The tension in your mouth was becoming almost unbearable and that was when you realized.
Jack Abbot was going to break your jaw.
And that’d be okay with you because he’d be pretty good at fixing it back up.
His hands caressed the underside of your jaw, palms flush on your neck. Not to hasten you, but to admire the mechanics of your body that sang to his pleasure. His thumbs traced where his cock bulged rhythmically in your throat, and where your skin quivered when you coughed. His pointer fingers wiped away the tears coalescing on your lower lash line in some humorous act of benevolence.
His eyes glazed over in admiration at your quiet determination. You moved up and down faster with increased ease, your throat growing accustomed to the intrusion. He loved the way your ass tilted upwards as you sunk lower. This was just so you—not a lot of words, just a lot of silent grit.
You got a little too good when you swallowed him another inch. His hips jolted reflexively, causing you to choke loudly.
“Shit, sorry,” Jack said, lifting your head up from his cock. “You okay?”
You coughed and nodded feebly, blinking away some loose tears.
Jack lifted you upwards to give you a break. “You’re going to make me cum. And I don’t want to, not yet.”
“Turn the other way,” he said. “Scoot back a bit for me.” You did albeit nervously—was he going to eat you out? You wished you could see his face but that was a foregone conclusion; you could only see your own reflection and the way his cock stood erect against your face.
“Have to get you ready,” Jack murmured against your heat. He maintained a loose grip on your ankles. “Won’t fit inside you otherwise.”
His lips felt featherlight against your clit. His tongue started slowly and broadly, languidly drawing circles, relishing in your taste and the way your legs tensed for him. Your toes curled immediately as you moaned against the base of his cock. He interspersed kisses to your nub to stop himself from overstimulating you. Not now, not too early. He couldn’t guarantee he’d keep the same promise later.
Jack’s mouth trailed downwards to your entrance.
“God, you’re so wet,” he remarked, marvelling at the juices that coated your inner thighs. “Soaked for me, hm?”
His words certainly didn’t help your case.
You had to hold onto something, so you chose Jack’s cock. He was even harder than before, cock pin-straight. Gripping him at the base, you licked up his shaft and peppered the tip with faint licks so as not to push him over the edge. You found it hard to concentrate when he began eating you out like he hadn’t eaten all day. It was becoming too much, the lewd slurps Jack’s mouth made against your folds and his low moans that vibrated against your core. Your hips had a mind of their own and began pushing downwards, trying to feel more of Jack’s face, feel the ridge of his chin against your clit, to absorb every ounce of pleasure you could before you woke up and realized this was all a dream.
Jack paused. “I’m going to put a finger in, alright?” he hummed.
You would’ve joked about his question sounding clinical had you not already lost your mind.
“Yes,” you breathed out. “Please, fuck me with your fingers.”
His mouth found its way back to your clit as he raised one hand from your ankle.
Then you felt it, the intrusion of a finger.
“Mhm!”
Jack groaned at the way your pussy clenched around his middle finger, blood rushing to his cock at how tight you were. Fuck, you were going to feel so good on his cock. He tongued your clit as he began pumping his finger inside you slowly. After a minute, he slowly added a companion, marvelling as your pussy stretched to accommodate his other finger. It shouldn’t have been novel—he was a doctor for fuck’s sakes—but this was you. And how he loved being the reason you were stretched out for him, that you were so turned on you were practically bouncing on his hand.
“Better get used to my fingers, baby,” Jack said, a growl drawling at the end of his words. He curled his thick fingers, padding a spongy area inside you. You reacted like he thought you would, your body quivering with each stroke.
“Jack, Jack—”
“You gonna come for me?” he asked, a smug grin on his face.
You ground back down on him, needing his mouth back on you. “I’m gonna—you—fuck—don’t stop— I can’t—”
He almost laughed sardonically at your nonsensical words. “Come for me.”
And so you did. Instead of screaming, you went silent. That was fine because Jack didn’t need any words of affirmation to know that you did, he could tell by the way your walls clenched on his fingers and by the gush of wetness that trickled down them and onto his face. He let you ride it out slowly, fingers still pumping inside you. Your legs went flaccid on him. Jack would’ve been a bit more concerned had he not been able to feel you respiring, chest rising and lowering, on his abdomen.
“You alright down there?” he teased.
“Yeah,” you breathed out. “I will be… a couple minutes… holy shit…”
Well, your hypothesis about his precise handiwork being a transferable skill was accurate after all.
He chuckled. “You’re cute.”
Eventually, you pushed yourself up, limbs feeling like they were wading in quicksand. You spun yourself around and faced Jack. He was a bit blurry, or maybe it was because your eyes were half-lidded and bleary, but you could see his lips and how they glistened with your cum.
You did that.
You came on his face.
Feeling emboldened, you crawled onto him and laid your head on his left shoulder. Jack placed a chaste kiss on your forehead, letting you repose for a moment.
“Want your cock, now,” you stated..
“What was that?” he asked. “You’re gonna have to speak up.”
“I want your cock,” you repeated. “Please, Jack.”
He grinned. God, he was handsome. “You can barely move right now and you want my cock inside you?”
Wordlessly, you backed on him and lined up your slit to his cock. You were going to prove to him how much you wanted this. Jack choked a groan out at the feeling of your wet folds against his shaft. Your mouth was delightful, but your tight pussy was going to be heavenly. Jack’s response spurred you to set a very steady pace as you rocked your hips and back forth. Soon, his length was soaked from top to bottom. Every so often, the tip of his cock would catch at your entrance. He would reward you with a moan. But even in the briefest of moments he pushed forward a bit, your pussy wouldn’t give, wouldn’t let him in so easily.
Despite his efforts to prepare you, he was just too big.
He was rapidly losing self-control thinking about it.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Yes.”
His hand aligned his cock to your entrance. He bit down on his lip. “Shit.”
You whimpered as he began to push himself in. It stung like hell. You fisted the pillows and dropped your head down over his shoulder. He turned his head to kiss you instead, trying to soothe the pain with his mouth. Your hands found the back of his head, his curls between your fingers, anchoring yourself to him harder as he pushed in little by little. His fingers were thick, and it wasn’t like you hadn’t ever had anything in you, but his cock was a different beast. It truly felt like he was tearing you apart.
“You’re doing so well, baby,” Jack praised. His eyes flitted to the mirror, where he was treated to a front-row view of your pussy enveloping his cock and gripping him every time he gave a shallow thrust. He didn’t want to tell you, but you had a long way to go. “Taking my cock so well.”
You embraced him harder and deepened the kiss. Unlike earlier, his tongue was now sloppy and inaccurate at times, a sign his self-control was degrading. It was exceptionally rare to see him undone like this.
Each little jut of his hip allowed him to sink a little deeper. There was a funny pressure building in your lower abdomen with the way Jack filled you up. Your little whimpers eventually turned into airy groans, and Jack took it as a sign to length his thrusts a bit. Truth be told, he was one-beautiful-little-moan-from-your-mouth away from just pounding balls deep inside of you, but he was holding onto restraint by a hair.
He could see in the mirror and feel it. You were so close. Just another inch and his entire length would be sheathed inside you. His cock twitched at the thought of it.
“Fuck me, Jack,” you whispered against his mouth. “I want you to fuck me.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
He still maintained a slow pace, but deepened his thrusts considerably at your command. You moaned and threw your head over his shoulder. Your hands, needing something, fisted his hair.
“You’re so deep,” you cried out. “Feels so good.”
Jack growled. “God, your pussy’s so fucking tight.”
Lewd squelches and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air. You panted in tandem with Jack who tightened his grip on your waist, trying to bury every inch of himself in you.
“You’re gonna make me cum so hard,” he rasped. And this is how he wanted to do it, cock buried in your cunt. Only if you wanted it that way, though.
“I want you to see it,” he said suddenly. He withdrew himself from you, leaving you feeling empty.
You were about to complain, but Jack moved quickly. He shifted both of you to the end of the bed and turned you around so your back was against his chest.
“Spread your legs,” he ordered. “Get on your knees. Sit on me.”
Your legs fell apart immediately, and his cock pushed against your lips, desperate to find its way back into you. And you let him without question.
You moaned at the same time. The fullness, the stretch beyond your capabilities… You never wanted to live a day not knowing how Jack’s cock felt inside you. Jack’s hands pulled the underside of your thighs back and your body followed suit.
“Look up, look at how you’re taking my cock.”
The scene in front of you was obscene. You looked at his cock first. His cock was so girthy that it consumed the entire width of your labia. There was a thick white ring at the base of his cock. Your arousal. Comparatively, your eyes were half-lidded, hair all mussed, cheeks flushed, as you received Jack with your legs spread open. Your tits bounced in response to every thrust.
You arched back and gasped when the angle changed. Jack was now drilling the one spot that made you want to collapse entirely back onto him.
“Oh, fuck…” you groaned, eyes squeezing shut in pleasure.
Jack laid down, thrusting at a steady pace. His hands steadied you at the hips, fingers occasionally hovering over where his cock bulged in your abdomen. “Fuck,” he said as he threw his head back. “Do you see that? I’m all the way up here. Is this cock too big for you, baby?”
“Yeah, baby,” you managed to say between lung-collapsing thrusts. “You’re too big for me.”
And that was it. The last shred of Jack’s self-control dissipated into the air because of your response. His fingers dug into your hip bones, carving the grounds for a hematoma tomorrow. Then, he set out a brutal pace, driving the entire length of his cock in and out of you. You screamed in pleasure, collapsing back onto Jack. Even though you couldn’t see it anymore, you were certain he was wrecking your pussy.
It was over for you when his mouth gravitated back to your breasts. He sucked harder than before. You blinked back the tears forming in your eyes. Your voice was gone. Every inch of your body was one fire. You were sure Jack had severed your nerves because you’d lost sensation in both your legs.
“I want you to fill me up Jack,” you turned around to beg him. “Please.”
It would be a disgrace if his cum ended up anywhere else that wasn’t deep in your cunt.
You must’ve caught him off-guard with your plea because his thrusts slowed momentarily. He locked eyes with you. “You sure?”
“Yes—”
You couldn’t finish your sentence because his next thrust ripped your orgasm out of you. A hoarse cry left your abused throat. Your pussy spasmed wildly and clenched around his cock. Jack was unrelenting and continued to drive into you, fucking you through your orgasm, sending wave after wave of aftershocks through your body.
“Oh, fuck,” Jack cursed. “I’m so close, I’m gonna—”
He bottomed out inside you, balls pressing up against your folds, and let out a choked cry. The base of his cock twitched incessantly as he released inside you, shooting against your cervix, coating your walls with ropes of cum.
It was a big load, and he couldn’t think of a better place to put it.
Jack stayed sheathed inside you for another minute until his orgasm finally subsided. You just lay on top of him, heaving, wondering if your body would ever function like before.
You used the last of your strength to push yourself off of him. His cock slipped out of your pussy, and his spend immediately followed. It oozed out and dripped down your thighs. There was so much of it, you were sure it was still going to be inside you at the conference tomorrow.
You slithered like a bug, because again, your limbs were deadweight, to lay beside him.
“Are you alright?” you asked softly, throwing his joke right back at him.
Jack wrapped an arm around you and tilted his head, hazel eyes catching yours. “I haven’t felt this alright in ages,” he responded. His lips grazed your temple gently. “I only have you to thank for it.”
Suddenly, your phone vibrated.
“It’s the leaked sex tape,” you joked. “I warned you.”
Jack let out a weak, incredulous laugh. “Maybe we should have turned off our phones.”
You were fairly confident it wasn’t but you still grabbed your phone from the nightstand.
Nope. You were right. It was just a text.
Are you still looking at the STANDARD KING ROOM at the Holiday Inn Express ANDOVER? There are 2 rooms left at your quoted rate. Book now to lock in your stay.
You angled your phone towards Jack. He squinted, trying to read the white text on the green speech bubble.
“What do you think? Should I get going?” you asked with a coy smile.
Jack pulled you in closer. “Absolutely not.”
As you nuzzled your head into the crook of Jack’s neck, you mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ to whatever higher power fucked up and decided to double-book your hotel room.
long hair & tattoos (series) malfoy!reader
When your father, Lucius, puts down an ultimatum, you’re forced to find a lover for next week’s dinner. With his long hair, tattoos, piercings, and your father’s worst nightmare reincarnated in a man, who better to bring than a much older Bill Weasley?
**strawberry wonderland
Unbeknownst to you, you have more of an effect on Bill than you could ever imagine. And he can't stop thinking about all the things he wants to do to you in Nice.
**paradise potions!
As per Percy’s recommendation to his mother, you’re tasked to house-sit the Burrow while the family is away for the Quidditch World Cup. You’re his closest friend and much like him, you are more than wary of his mischievous twin brothers, Fred and George. But what if their machinations lead you to something you’ve always dreamt of coming true?
**snow day
You and Bill get snowed in. He makes alternate plans. (Warning: breeding kink!)
fly away on my zephyr
You and Bill make post-graduation plans.
❁ C H A R L I E W E A S L E Y ❁
**sunburns and dragons (series) malfoy!reader
Getting your parents off your back proves no easy task, and in typical (Y/N) Malfoy fashion, you get yourself in a predicament with your smart mouth. Now, you have to find a boyfriend in two weeks. With slim pickings, and a first-choice in Bill Weasley out of commission, his younger brother, Charlie Weasley falls into your lap.
G E O R G E ❀ W E A S L E Y
one-shots
ferris wheel You, George, and the rest of the Weasley family spend the day at the summer fair. You realize there’s more to be won than just a carnival game; George’s heart is also up for grabs.
today There are only two times George Weasley has left you without him. Little do you know, he has more than a safe return in mind this time.
**on the table (NSFW)
The best time for a romp in the sheets? Flitwick's class.
coming home A couple weeks into your relationship, George Weasley calls you after a night out, and it's not what you expect at all.
F R E D ❁ W E A S L E Y
one-shots
fancy you Fred was certain you would be the one he’d go to the Yule Ball with, the Durmstrang boy flirting with you be damned.
tomorrow August 31st, 1996. A day spent savouring the last summer of normalcy with Fred Weasley.
**wildflower (NSFW) Your first time with Fred Weasley is full of surprises - on his end.
cots for christmas After moving out of the upstairs unit of 93 Diagon Alley, you and Fred are ready to embark on life as real married couple.
yesterday (angst) Time is not limitless as Fred Weasley would soon come to realize: what he puts off to tomorrow, he should’ve done yesterday.
miss black (1, 2): As you try to weather through your newfound lineage, Harry's trial, the Order, and growing pains in general, Fred shows you that love can be found even in the coldest of places - within the walls of Grimmauld Place.
series
time after time (7/7) Every summer like clockwork, Fred Weasley is paid a visit by a woman from the future. Every encounter is a chance to learn a little more about himself as he heads into adulthood. She divulges all he wants to know, but leaves one question unanswered: why is she here?
⋆‧°double-booked (series) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5*]
Thanks to an administrative error, you find yourself confined to the same hotel room as Dr. Jack Abbot in Boston for the weekend. You soon learn that everything that can go wrong will go wrong.
⋆‧° pitt stop!
When you make an infamous 'Pitt Stop' at the Pitt, you stir up rumours with your big mouth.
They don’t know I’m writing filthy Jack Abbot smut in public and dreaming of him whenever I dispense a Libre sensor at work (Abbott is the manufacturer lol) 🫶
Writing the last chapter of my Jack Abbot fic (“double-booked”) and I found this song incredibly atmospheric and fitting. It started out (and will end) as a bit of a crack fic but it gets a little deep, and this song came at the right time. 💗
Summary: Thanks to an administrative error, you find yourself confined to the same hotel room as Dr. Jack Abbot in Boston for the weekend.
A/N: THE SMUT WILL BE IN THE NEXT CHAPTER. Then the epilogue will follow. Thank you for your patience. <3
Tags: age gap, forced proximity, one bed, misunderstandings, fake dating and marriages, husband!jack??, romance, coworkers to lovers(?), naked Jack, eventual smut!!, shy!reader, questionable HR situation, hotels, hot tubs, liberal use of "i'll pay it", SHEN is a MENACE, the night shift are menaces, mentions of Instagram
CHAPTER 4: Intertwining yourself in Jack's world should make you feel further apart from him. Instead, it reveals something deeper than just a work crush. (3.6k words)
STUPID SONG
“It took them ages to get me a new badge when I misplaced mine, and John gets this fake one made in one shift?”
The state of things back in Pittsburgh was, well, dire. Cassie was kind enough to report from ground level with some photos and a kind ‘just thought you should know’ message tacked on at the end of her text. Apparently, John somehow had a badge made with your photo, title, but instead of your legal name, he’d changed your last name to Abbot. Worst of all, he had pinned it on some dummy in blue scrubs. This dummy was placed smack dab in the centre of the Pitt where Dana usually sat so that everyone—even patients—could see.
Louie. Myrna. Earl.
Maybe you should relocate to Boston forever.
Jack leaned in so he could see the photo. “My staff clearly have their priorities straight,” he grumbled.
“Imagine if he worked at this capacity all the time,” you mumbled.
“It’d be superhuman,” Jack agreed.
You forked your overly-fluffy blueberry pancake, stabbing into it like it was John. Against your wishes, you were currently sitting next to Jack on a barstool at a boutique restaurant eating breakfast. It was a cute place, highlighted in pink and with an excess of indoor plants and polaroid photos. The punchy notes of Lady Gaga’s Summerboy poured out of the speakers. But the universe hated you so much that it couldn’t even seat you at a booth or table. Instead, you got the end seats at the counter next to three college girls who were on a trip. You were way too close to Jack; your shoulders touched every time you tried to eat for heaven’s sake.
This was not a good look after the Instagram fiasco.
Obviously, you had deleted the photo but the repercussions were clearly long-lasting.
Jack had ordered a traditional breakfast: eggs, hash, bacon, and toast with a black coffee. The best you could describe this was that it was so very him. If your age gap needed a visual representation, all you needed was your breakfast contrasted against his. Somehow, you were roped in by the server into getting blueberry pancakes and an iced blueberry latte to celebrate an early harvest.
“Has anyone else besides John contacted you?” Jack asked casually. He slung one arm over the back of the high-top chair, and the other was planted on the counter as he held onto his coffee mug. The steam from his coffee kissed his face and you wished to do the same. Every morning in his kitchen in a shared domicile. It was also unfair, the way his thick, white cotton t-shirt hugged his biceps.
You rubbed your temples. “Basically the entire hospital.”
“Have you responded to any of them?”
You shook your head. “I have no idea what to say. I think trying to explain it would make it worse.”
Then your phone dinged.
You dropped it back on the counter. “I’m ignoring this.”
After a moment, you decided to ask Jack, “What did you respond to Dr. Robby?”
Jack showed you his phone. ‘No idea’ was all he wrote. And Robby didn’t respond after that. You envied that silence. It was respectful and special. Just two things you’d never get with John.
“You should try to get some breakfast in you,” Jack advised as he stared at your untouched plate. “It’d do you good for the meet-and-greet later on.”
“You should go by yourself,” you mumbled. “I’ll enter separately.”
“I am not stressed about that,” Jack affirmed.
Heeding Jack’s advice, you took a sip of your latte. Caffeine was heaven especially when it wasn’t from the hospital cafeteria. “By the way, what embarrassing moment did you have?” you asked between sips.” I can’t imagine you ever doing something wrong.”
Jack chuckled as he leaned back on the stool. “I guess I owe you that story, don’t I?”
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.
“It was a couple years ago. My tenth night in a row. About 8 hours into the shift, I’m walking into this room. There was a multi-vehicle collision on Interstate 379. We’ve finally stabilized everyone, and I’m running on fumes, and”—he stretched, arms locked behind his head as if to make a point, flexing those taut triceps in the process—“I walk into a room with a pregnant 25-year old. I’m briefed by Lena that she’s G1P0, in her second trimester, and has been having cramps the whole night.”
Jack paused for a second. “And there’s a man by her side. He looks at least 60.”
You bit your straw. “Uh-huh.”
You had a pretty good idea where this was going.
“I’m about to perform a transvaginal ultrasound and without thinking, I ask, ‘Do you want your father in the room for this?’”
“No,” you exclaimed, mouth open in shock. For dramatic effect, your straw hit the rim of your glass. “Let me guess, that was her husband?”
“You bet,” Jack affirmed with a frown. For once, he looked slightly distressed, pained. This was a rare moment of vulnerability and it was so hot, so elusive. Holy shit. You should feel honoured, not turned on. “No one could let it go for months. But you learn to ignore it pretty quickly.”
“Jack? Is that you, buddy?”
Jack peered around you. “Hey, Todd.”
You whipped your head around to see a man around Jack’s age in a gray suit.
“What are the chances we bump into each other again after dinner on Wednesday?” Todd asked.
“Slim, in a place like this,” Jack responded with a chuckle. “Not really up your alley, is it?”
“My daughter wanted to come here, said it was going viral or something on social media,” Todd deflected with hand gestures. “As a physician, I don’t like that term, but I can barely keep up with the teens now.”
“You said Lily is how old now? 16?”
“Now, don’t date me in front of this lovely lady,” Todd lectured, a jolly laugh following. “Are you going to introduce me?”
You knew that look on Todd’s face very well, like a leech sucking the lore of your fictitious love story. You’d seen it far too often in the last 24 hours.
Still, you awkwardly offered your name. Jack finished your introduction off for you: “A resident of Robby’s. At PTMC. She’ll be attending the conference this weekend with me.” He looked over at you. “Todd Fisher is an attending in the ER at Mass General.”
“Oh!” Todd exclaimed. “Well, it’s wonderful to meet you. I’m sorry, you’ll have to excuse me for that. I just thought”—he turned around and laughed awkwardly—“well, my daughter’s calling. I’ll see you two later tonight at the Marriott for the meet-and-greet.”
You grimaced at Jack. “You don’t suppose he’s seen the article?”
“Not a chance. Maybe his teenage daughter has.”
You gnawed the inside of your cheek. “At least he didn’t think you were my father.”
From the look on Jack’s face, you’d definitely caught him off-guard, and earned an unguarded laugh out of him. You reveled in the fact you were the cause of it. Feeling the weight on your chest lighten for the first time in hours, you could finally ignore the dumpster fire of a misunderstanding that was your life in Boston. You heeded Jack’s advice and finished your breakfast.
You kept a respectable distance from Jack on your walk back to the hotel. Fielding tour buses, groups of tourists and doctors (the latter you were terrified were going to recognize you because John’s social reach extended far), you stole glances at Jack’s reflections through the storefront windows.
All your propriety went through the literal window as you observed his gait. He walked like it was heavy. You now knew it was heavy. And those fitted slacks did your imagination no favours.
“I’m going to hit the gym before the meet-and-greet,” Jack stated when you arrived at the hotel entrance.
“That sounds great. I’m going to swing by the harbour for a walk,” you said. Being next to him had always been tortuous, but it was now unbearable, especially when contained in a 400 square feet hotel room. “I’ll be back around two.”
“Alright. See you then. Call me if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
You watched forlornly as Jack disappeared through the revolving doors before departing yourself. This trip was purely professional and academic. Of course Jack wasn’t going to ask you to spend the whole afternoon eating hotel service chocolate-covered strawberries in the bathtub together.
At the next stoplight, you checked your phone. John had texted you in the short time you’d been at breakfast. Of course, that little shit.
JOHN: So what actually happened
YOU: Buy me a drink first
JOHN: Ok
JOHN: Wait
JOHN: No nvm I don’t want to become your next husband
JOHN: Are you trying to run through all the attendings
JOHN: There’s gonna be none left at PMTC
You shot him a thumbs down emoji. When you received no response, you imagined he’d gone off to bed.
A mile later, you found an empty bench by the water and dialed Parker.
“What the hell happened?” Parker demanded.
“What happened to formalities, P? Hello, hi, how are you? This is horrible bedside manner.”
“Fuck that. I’ve got no time. I have a 5-hour drive ahead of me so I’m going to need you to cut to the chase.”
You sighed. “It’s a long story.”
You hoped you sounded as detached as the situation felt. This whole thing felt like a sitcom, a theatre act rather than your usual strict and mundane life as a resident.
“I’d like to hear. Apparently you haven’t texted anyone besides John back. That’s just a little rude, don’t you think?”
You exhaled.
“Look, I have no idea, P. Admin messed up and put us in the same hotel room, okay?” You made sure to skip over the part where you walked in on Jack naked and had the room speakers recite erotic literature to him. “I was stressed because I didn’t know where to go so I said I needed a drink. We went out to Pearl and the hostess assumed we were married for some reason. She must’ve told the server because he went along with it. And really, I tried to correct them but Jack—Dr. Abbot said it wasn’t worth it. And conveniently, the restaurant was celebrating their 20th anniversary or whatever so there were photographers and they must’ve decided to focus on us.” You drew a much needed breath. “I swear, in that first photo, he was telling me a story about when he lived with Dr. Robby during his own residency.”
A pause lingered on the line before Parker spoke again. “I don’t believe it.”
“Me neither.”
“No, it's just,” she laughed. “It sounds like you’re making it up.”
Your grip on your phone tightened. “What?”
“Like you’ve been reading too many romance novels.”
“J—Dr. Abbot was there. Ask him!”
“Hm,” Parker mused. You could see the mischievous glint in her eyes states away. “Since when did you refer to him by his first name?”
“He asked me to call him that. Does he not do that with everyone?”
She cackled. “I can’t believe you got him to go drinking with you.”
“I didn’t ask,” you rebutted. “I was really stressed about the whole thing and he offered to come with me.”
“Uh-huh,” Parker teased. “Look, I’ll see you next week, okay?”
“Sure.”
Parker couldn’t help but add: “I have a feeling your life is going to be living hell when you come back.”
You held back a groan and let the ocean breeze whip at your hair. “Don’t tell me what I don’t already know.”
Electing to turn off your phone and ignore life back in Pittsburgh for the afternoon, you walked back to the hotel to get ready. Unlike Jack who’d been in the business for over 20 years, you were fresh out of the slammer. You didn’t have Todd or an old friend to hang around; you would be lucky enough to bump into a previous classmate or two so you were really going to put your best foot forward today.
“Hey,” you greeted Jack as you walked back into the hotel room. He was on the couch reading. His silhouette against the grey blues of the Boston sky and how it accented every line on his face was such a treat. “How was the gym?”
“Same old,” he replied, setting his papers down. “How was your walk?”
“It was lovely,” you said with a smile, choosing to ignore your scream-inducing banter with John and call with Parker. “Boston is very scenic. I’m going to freshen up now. I won’t be long.”
Jack nodded silently, and you retired to your room.
The same predicament followed you into the bedroom like a raincloud. Dressing yourself on a normal day was easy; presenting at the same event in front of all your peers with Jack was astronomically hard. Past you had it all figured out. Present you was tossing skirts, trousers, and cardigans into a heap on the floor like a madwoman. Eventually, you settled on a porcelain, sleeveless cowl neck blouse and navy trousers complemented by a pair of heels. It looked nice without seeming too intentional, and plain enough to hide in the background. You definitely did not want to stand out anymore.
“Ready?” Jack asked, nodding towards the hotel entrance.
You nodded as you slipped your lanyard around your neck. It displayed your name, position, and the hospital which you worked at. Luckily, John hadn’t tampered with this one so it had your legal last name on it. As much as you feigned indignation at his antics, you might just snatch that fake lanyard as soon as you got back to Pittsburgh and keep it for safeguarding. There were no other reasons, truly. It wasn’t like you’d ever fantasized about being Mrs. Abbot.
You had only mounted one step when you felt Jack’s featherlight touch on your back. You tensed immediately, wondering why he had—
“I’m seeing the potential for an ankle injury,” he said as he glanced at your heels.
Oh, yeah. He was just being nice. And an ER doc. Just doing his job. You hid the blush on your cheeks as he supported you the whole way. You wished his hand could cement itself to your skin, but you came apart when you reached the front lobby. Alongside Jack, you followed the signs for the 26th Annual Emergency Cardiology Summit to the reception area.
You didn’t classify yourself as a total introvert, but this was truly an introvert’s worst nightmare. The organizers had foregone seats and instead placed standing round tables. People had dressed opulently which was intimidating. You felt like a pauper in your plain pants. They had also formed their own impenetrable social circles. The higher echelons of medicine, entertaining a resident?
“You want a drink?”
Jack’s question snapped you out of your daze.
“Sure,” you responded. “Yeah, that’d be great, actually.”
You made your way to the bar with Jack who settled for a red wine. You opted for the white in case gravity decided to work against you this evening. Nervously, you took a healthy swig. Maybe this would loosen you up.
“I wouldn’t be worried about how well you get on with anyone here tonight,” Jack said as if reading your mind. “It’s well-known people get shit-faced the night before the conference.”
Your eyes widened. “Really?”
So this was what Robby meant by learning something if you weren’t huddled by the bar.
“I’m getting too old for it, would take me another week to recover from it,” Jack admitted. Then, he tipped his glass towards an approaching figure. “Todd over there, however, is either resistant to the effects of alcohol or he simply doesn’t care.”
Todd ambled over with a full glass of wine looking jollier than he did this morning.
“Can you imagine him up on the podium tomorrow?” Jack mused.
“He’s speaking?” you blurted.
“Well, look who decided to finally show up!” Todd boomed, turning a couple heads. You cringed. Again, you did not need a spotlight on you and Jack. “I was just with Dean and Charles but my glass was empty. Just my luck, you’re at the bar, too! Anyway, they’re wondering where the hell you are, Jack. You’ve been pretty under the radar since Thursday.”
In Todd’s blindspot, Jack shifted his weight to whisper in your ear. “For good reason.”
You giggled.
“Well, come on, and bring your resident with ya. I’ve got some of my own that could use some fraternization outside the hospital walls."
He began to sashay to the other end of the room. Yep, Todd was definitely inebriated. Still, against better judgement, you followed him across the room.
“This one of Robby’s girls?” one of them, either Dean or Charles, asked when you appeared.
You remained still, not sure of what to make of that statement. It sounded oddly possessive, territorial, not that you didn’t like it, but you’d sound better as—
“Nah, definitely one of Jack’s girls,” the other man corrected. “She looks like she’s got some cowgirl in her.” He winked at you. “Please tell me you’re from out west.”
“These are my former classmates,” Jack introduced. He cocked his head towards the first man who spoke. “Charles, cardiologist at UConn.” Then the second. “Dean, trauma surgeon at Mass Gen.”
You quietly introduced yourself, unsure of what to make of this situation.
“Do you treat clinical guidelines like they’re the bible or just suggestions, honey?” Dean asked suavely.
You were about to settle for a smart-sounding answer in the middle when Jack responded for you: “You don’t have to answer that.”
Dean continued on, “Jack treats them like they’re suggestions.”
“Well, I’ve never met a guy as smart as Jack, so he must be doin’ something right,” Todd chuckled heartily, nudging Jack with his right elbow.
You listened wordlessly at their banter. There was nothing you could offer that matched the fast-paced punches, both clinical and social, Dean, Charles, and Jack lopped at each other. Todd was doing his own thing, chatting up stragglers in the crowd. But whatever served as the basis of this friendship, you were intensely curious. Some elements of the interaction reminded you of Jack and Dr. Robby, but this was way more unhinged.
“Oh. Michael, there you are! I’ve been looking for you and Masa.” Todd exclaimed. He yanked a tall brunet man with glasses forward into your circle. “Look, I found you someone else your age. Get a drink, make friends!”
Before Todd threw Michael in front of you, you noticed Dean glancing over at the bar. You followed his gaze to two women. One hand in his pocket, Dean detailed his findings. “Looks like Connie and Ingrid are here, fashionably late as always. They’ll be delighted to see you, Jack.”
“You were always the favourite,” Charles hummed.
“Don’t be so jealous, you were a close third,” assured Dean.
“I guess I owe them one,” Jack agreed. Before he left, he turned to you. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”
You snuck in a nod before your face was smushed up against Michael’s torso.
Michael was a decent conversation partner. He was kind and easy to talk to. Albeit nice, Jack’s friends made you feel like you were out of your depth. He introduced you to some other residents he’d found in the short hour he’d been here: Lisa, and Tim. Masahiro was a co-resident. You huddled around your own table, sharing tidbits about your respective positions and personal life, even comparing the quality of cafeteria sandwiches.
“Is Todd always like this?” you dared ask.
“Believe it or not, he’s actually pretty serious in the hospital,” Michael responded. “He works a lot. I imagine this is the only day he gets to let loose.”
“And letting loose he is,” commented Masahiro, watching Todd almost walk into a plant.
For a brief moment, you forgot about Jack and all the blunders you committed.
But that reprieve was only temporary. It wasn’t until you looked up to see Jack still engaged in conversation with Connie and Ingrid that you remembered where you were. Your heart lurched in your throat as you watched his handsome smile being offered to someone else. The rational part of your brain wanted you to know so badly he was just catching up with old friends. The rational part of your brain wanted you to focus on someone your age like Michael or Masahiro instead. After all, crossing state lines was easier than crossing the sea between you and Jack. He had so many years on you and deeper pockets of experience. There was no way you could compete.
Your heart painted a different story. You wanted Jack, his easy swagger and whip-smart mouth.
When your mind and heart worked together, it was usually a synchronized dive towards doom. You imagined Jack walking over, saying he was going to head out with his friends, and staying the night elsewhere.
It really shouldn’t matter this much. You weren’t supposed to be on this trip. He wasn’t supposed to be either. You weren’t supposed to end up in the same hotel room. Ignorance was supposed to be bliss.
Still, you continued to look at Jack with reverence and unrelenting need. You couldn’t withdraw, not even when he caught your eye and seconds later, broke away from his conversation.
Thank you SO MUCH <<333 I loved it thank you thank you thank you 🩷 those Madame M extracts were so crazy - extremely funny that miss malfoy was highlighting lines, also the 'every man is the same' and then going on to describe things that Bill's been daydreaming about was peak LMAO
I love that little callback of strawberry imagery you worked in there towards the start too, that was such a cute detail. Again thank you so so much I love your writing this is so cool ILY!!!!!!
OKAY I AM SO GLAD YOU ENJOYED IT. I hope it was worth the wait. Thank you for your patience despite my false promises lol... I'm very happy to take any other requests so please, by all means!!
Aww thank you catching that. I just wanted this whole series to feel like a relaxing summer day, windows open, cool breeze, and freshly-picked strawberries.
Omg yes Millicent is crazy. I imagine her as a very sex-positive middle-aged auntie lmao. No wonder she's a best-seller. Also, I don't know if you read sunburns & dragons for Charlie but there's a little easter egg/spoiler in this excerpt hehehe(because I had meant to finish Charlie's fic way earlier).
😭 IT'S OKAY I PROMISE, icl I will never truly expect a creative to meet a self-imposed deadline because I never hit them either lolll because I'm very nice and understanding
Jokes aside tho dw I'm very patient, especially when it comes to someone who is essentially giving me a huge treat for having a silly thought 🫵🩷
I swear it either takes me 1 day or 3 months to write something. I'm so thankful for your patience. <3
bonus chapter: "white linen" in love with me bill's pov
LONG HAIR & TATTOOS
CHAPTER DIRECTORY
A/N: SWEET ANON I AM SO SORRY. HERE IS THE CHAPTER. My life has been a bit crazy and I wished I'd gotten this out way sooner. I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT. ONCE AGAIN I AM SO SORRY. Also wait, this GIF is so good. Credits to @dgleesonsource.
REQUEST: "I know your requests are closed so I wanna make it clear I'm not asking for a fic or anything !! but I'd love some insight from you to what mightve run through Bill's head when he found that Madam Malkin book? I always wonder what he was thinking before miss malfoy woke up for him to tease about it"
WARNINGS: minors DNI, this book is raunchy!! mentions of size, sex, impregnation, yea...
WHITE LINEN
White sunshine. Linen on the line.
That’s what Bill Weasley envisioned when he thought of you. To be fair, it was more of a newfound image that manifested itself when he arrived with you in Nice. Gone were the frankly dark and depressing hues that cloaked the Malfoy Manor in Britain and—no offense—some of its inhabitants. You lent yourself to a summer day, much like those he spent at the Burrow when he was younger and still living with his family. He remembered lying on a chair, eyes closed, soaking in the sun in the middle of July until his skin was flushed. Who cared about sunburns anyway? Molly would be hanging white laundry on the line, better for stain removal, she’d say. The floral scent of the detergent melted into the scent of lilies in the garden, wafting sweetly next to him. The strawberries on the other end of the garden were ripe, red, begging to be picked and eaten.
There was something so pure and innocent about that time. Like a cotton dress on the line, his siblings playing on the field before the weight of growing up pushed him under. Perhaps that was why it reminded him of you, so sweet and untouched.
Best to leave you like that. Why stain the painting of his best days?
Bill rolled his shoulders and swung his arms as he walked in the hallway back to your shared quarters. He was certainly sore and spent from a day of golfing. Your uncle Theodore put up a good fight, but he was no match for homegrown talent.
It was interesting, he remarked upon walking back, how the upper-class citizens still hung—or had a house elf hang—their clothes on the line. Guess old and practical traditions never died.
He knocked on the door, just in case you were occupied or undressed. When he heard no response, he turned the key and entered. For a moment, it seemed like you weren’t in the room. But a few more steps in, he spotted you. You were almost completely buried under the sheets, just closed eyes under a mop of hair peeking out. You had claimed the bed and more specifically, his side. He suppressed a chuckle. Cute.
“(Y/N)?” he called, testing the waters. When he heard no response, he assumed you were deep in slumber.
First, he needed a shower. Whatever else could wait.
After towelling off, Bill changed into something comfier. He opened the window slightly, letting a sweet breeze trickle in. With the sun dulling slightly, he decided to take advantage of the last of it to read. He dug out a novel from his backpack and took your spot on the sofa bed as some sort of payback. Purposefully neglecting the papers on the desk, he decided it felt good to shirk his duties for once. He let out a contented sigh as he leaned back. The tranquility didn’t last long though. He jumped back up immediately when the clothed flesh of his back landed on something hard.
Curiously, he swiped his hand under your pillow.
When he hit what felt like a book, he retrieved it quietly.
His fingers skimmed the leather cover, digits dipping down where the title was indented: “Madame Millicent’s Guide to Pleasing the Patriarchy." Hm, he mused, looked like something his mother stored in the overflowing bookshelf at home. Despite the suggestive title, he was about to put it back where he found it so you wouldn’t stress about it until a colourful flag caught his eye. The edges of those marked pages were lightly creased and flanked by stickies. He was sure the entire book was questionable in content, but what about this section in particular drew you to it?
He couldn’t even fight his conscience. It wasn’t the post-golf muscle fatigue that was killing him now, it was curiosity. Pure hot, unabashed curiosity. A little peek into your hobbies wouldn’t hurt, right? Maybe it would help him understand your interests better and facilitate conversation. Sure, that was it.
Slyly, he peered sideways to ascertain you were still asleep. Yep, out like a light. Then, he very quietly cracked the book open.
CHAPTER 20: BEDROOM RESUSCITATION
Every married couple goes through a lull in the bedroom at some point in their relationship. The passion fizzles, blood fails to flow, resuscitation seems like a lost cause. A flatline some might call it. Some women have lamented where that same man that used to take them nightly in bed at the beginning of the marriage went. Fret not, I have surefire ways to resuscitate that spark even if you’re told by other pundits that it can’t be saved.
FLATTERY
First and foremost, flattery is a foolproof way to capture your husband’s heart in the bedroom. Does it sound crass for me to say all men are programmed the same? My husband Don wouldn’t disagree with me. In this category, I have three topics you can incorporate in your everyday bedtime vocabulary to really spice things up again.
Size matters… in a big way (in the context of talking about it).
‘I love how big you are.’
‘You won’t fit inside me’
‘You feel so big inside of me.’
Bill felt his cheeks start to flame. He wasn’t a stranger to this per se. Reading it, having heard it uttered to him was one thing… but imagining you reading this was quite the other. He thought of the nights you spent alone at his brothers’ flat. Did you… get off on this? Maybe you were saving it for future use?
Amusement mixed with annoyance in his chest.
He skipped a couple pages to the next bookmarked section. His eyes widened like saucers. You’d even highlighted parts of it.
SUBSECTION: BIOLOGIC PLAUSIBILITY
What makes a man feel like a man, and how do you play into it to get what you want? Let’s discuss biologic plausibility for my readers who are women of childbearing age. Maybe you want to have children one day, maybe you don’t. And there’s no wrong answer here, just so we’re clear. However, why not tap into those natural instincts in the bedroom?
I dare say the majority of men I’ve spoken to are highly attracted to the idea of impregnation: the dominance of it, the release of his seed, the idea of making their partner a mother. And if you beg for him to release himself in you? To let him imagine your engorged breasts and growing belly? The game of nature is over - you win.
Oh, boy, thought Bill. The muscles of his jaws were hanging by a thread now.
He could also feel himself growing uncomfortable under the sheets, like his slacks had shrunk a size or two. Sure, the content was partially to blame, but it was disproportionately the thought of you asking him to do all the book advised you to do.
“Bill?”
He looked to the side and saw you stirring. You squinted, eyes adjusting to the light streaming through the window.
“When’d you get back?”
Your voice was so sweet, so innocently inquisitive. He used to be able to ignore it, but thanks to this stupid book, Bill wondered if you’d sound the same pinned underneath him, begging him to cum inside you.
After a few, long, torturous seconds, you’d come to the realization he had your book in his hands. He’d flicked the numerous bookmarks with his fingers and asked, “Is this something you wanted to reread?”
You’d screeched like he’d never heard before, limbs flailing wildly as you toppled off the bed. Then you latched yourself on him, suckling any sense of self-control he may have had left in him. As he grabbed your wrists in a slight show of dominance, he also smiled at the fact he had the upper-hand in knowing your inner thoughts. He involuntarily loosened his grip when your cheek brushed his. You took advantage of that moment of weakness to loosen his grip. You snatched the book out of his hands but it was too late; he’d read it all. You almost chucked yourself off the balcony when you chucked the book into the ocean.
Bill could only give you a barely-contained grin when you returned, skin peppered with a sheen of sweat and blotches of red, and hair mussed from the brawl. He could imagine a hundred different scenarios where you’d look like that. All but one involved you on the bed. The other pressed up against the shower. Maybe you’d be down to try a couple tips from Millicent’s book. Maybe that pure white linen could take a stain.
In due time, he’d find out if his fantasies were at all realistic. For now, he’d keep on playing the part of a perfect fake wedding date, but damn, if it wasn’t growing harder by the minute.
Still trying to update all my stories (“double-booked” Jack Abbot/You, “sunburns and dragons” Charlie Weasley/You, and the request for Bill)!!
Work’s been crazy, my mood’s been a flatline, and idk what I’m doing but one of the senior pharmacists I work with… I reported internally for negligence/incompetence but it’s such a process😔 😔
Summary: Thanks to an administrative error, you find yourself confined to the same hotel room as Dr. Jack Abbot in Boston for the weekend.
A/N: I'll be honest, the text barrage was one of my favourite things to write. Also, spot the easter egg hehe.
Tags: forced proximity, one bed, misunderstandings, fake dating and marriages, husband!jack??, romance, coworkers to lovers(?), naked Jack, eventual smut!!, shy!reader, questionable HR situation, hotels, hot tubs, liberal use of "i'll pay it", SHEN is a MENACE, the night shift are menaces, mentions of Instagram
CHAPTER 3: Three embarrassing moments involving Jack Abbot. Two presumptuous employees at Boston's finest steakhouse. One cute little Instagram photo. How it all led to the biggest misunderstanding of your life, you'd never know. (4.4k words)
CHAPTER 3: YOU FROM THE HONEYMOON
“Hold on, what kind of place did you have in mind?”
Jack stared at you like you were an otherworldly entity as you stepped out of the room in your white satin dress and heels. Your stomach twisted at the way his hazel eyes swept up and down your body in appraisal. Clinically, you reminded yourself, not emotionally.
Still, you almost shied back into the bedroom. “It’s a steakhouse. It has four of those money symbols on Google. Does that help?”
Deciding what to wear on any given day was hard enough; dressing up for Jack was an insurmountable task. You redid your mascara twice because a minuscule clump on your left eye bothered the shit out of you. The spritz of your perfume was measured down to the atom because the hospital had a no-fragrance policy and you obviously followed it religiously but you didn’t want Jack to think you’d ever flout it.
And if the run-on sentences in your mind were any indication of how much you were overthinking this, then tonight was going to be a disaster.
Jack looked himself up and down. “Jeez, I thought you were implying we were going to a local watering hole.”
“Honestly, I just want to sit at the bar, so it shouldn’t matter what we wear,” you assured.
Did it matter what he wore? He would look good in anything. But did it mean anything that he cared so much? You killed that train of thought right in its tracks before it could run off the cliff.
Jack sauntered over to the closet. “Well, good thing I brought my suit.”
God no, please don’t wear a suit. I won’t be able to control my urges. “We won’t be more than thirty minutes, I think it’ll be alright,” you pleaded.
“Oh, no,” Jack interjected with a smile. “Showing up underdressed, that’s somehow worse than being lambasted by Walsh at 5 a.m. over proper standards of care.”
You clenched your teeth as Jack looped his arms into a dark blue suit jacket, the material outlining his muscly frame like a second skin.
You really, really needed that drink.
Well, Parker’s prediction was about to come true: Jack was going to drink with you. You didn’t ask him directly but he took your outburst as an invitation as opposed to a deep rumination of your troubles. A gentle June breeze, carrying the colder tones of the water, sifted through your hair. You kept your eyes on Jack beside you, greedily acknowledging how the dark blue of his suit jacket contrasted perfectly against the baby blues of the Boston skyline.
He was freshly shaven. His hair was perfectly tousled. He smelled so good. You wanted to burrow your nose into his chest.
“So, what’s special about this place?” Jack asked.
“I was looking up bars and got this place as a recommendation. I showed Parker and she held me to it.”
“You said you just wanted to sit at the bar? What about dinner?”
“I doubt we’ll get in without a reservation. You have to book it months in advance.”
He raised an eyebrow, stopping in front of the restaurant entrance. “This meant to be a pre-drink?”
You bit your lip, reluctant to admit that you couldn’t afford the price tag of the dinner unless you settled on a salad. “I don’t think the vouchers cover that much. Again, this place has four money symbols on Google.”
Jack just laughed. “If you’re hungry, then don’t worry about it,” he reassured.
You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”
You kind of had to worry about it unless you wanted to be neck-deep in debt.
“It means exactly what I’m saying. Don’t worry about it.”
You tried to temper his expectations. “Well, I didn’t make a reservation so don’t bet on table service.”
Unbothered, he responded, “We’ll give it a go.”
Jack held the door open for you. You thanked him and walked in.
Your first reaction to the restaurant was awe—it looked better than the photos (you thought the same about Jack’s photo on the PMTC website). Momentarily forgetting Jack was beside you, you took it in. Crystalline chandeliers lent light to the dim ambiance. The brick walls felt warm, and the ceiling plants softened the otherwise rigid atmosphere. Red velvet chairs circled the dining tables on which lay roses and candles. The walls of vintage wines and spirits behind the bartenders were impossibly high and seemed to stretch on for eternity.
What a perfect place for a date.
When your heart trilled happily because you’d deluded yourself into thinking this was any romantic, you forced yourself to imagine you and Jack in a cold, clinical situation. A hand-off after a 14-hour shift fueled by one stale sandwich from the cafeteria. Derobing from your bloodied scrubs with sweat plastered on your forehead. Robby watching you handle a particularly sardonic Garcia during a consult in Trauma 2, taking mental notes of your response to share with you later…
You shivered. Okay, that worked. Any lingering thoughts of romance perished immediately.
While you were busy fighting your imagination, Jack had approached the hostess and was already a couple lines deep in conversation.
“Your name?” she asked.
“Jack Abbot.”
She pursed her red lips as her eyes trailed down the list. You stepped forward, about to pull Jack back and suggest the bar when her face lit up.
“Fortunately, we just had a cancellation, Mr. Abbot. Traffic is at a standstill on the 93.”
“Celtics in six,” you whispered sarcastically under your breath, so faintly that only Jack could hear. He tilted his body back, rewarding you with a brush of his shoulder on yours.
He leaned in, inches from your face. “Didn’t take you to be a sports fan,” he commented with a low chuckle.
This was quite the intimate position and you weren’t even touching. You managed to squeeze a joke out. “I am a woman of many hobbies.”
“Hm, I’m well aware.”
If the leggy hostess’s glance was a vintage wine on the wall, it would be a deep red with tones of lust and envy. The way her eyes glazed over Jack—sweet, dulcet— then the way it morphed bitterly when it shifted to you. You’d never experienced anything quite like it before. You wondered if she thought you were together.
No, no, no—a patient puking inches from your feet, Dr. Shamsi walking you through a thoracotomy, a surprise clostridium difficile case after finally having lunch…
Subtly, a professional veneer resettled on your hostess’s face and she smiled. “You couldn’t have chosen better. It’s our twenty-year anniversary event today. We have a couple photographers on site tonight for promotional materials. You may appear in some background photos. If that’s okay, would you mind signing the release here?”
“Sure,” Jack said, accepting the pen.
You nodded along, taking the pen after him.
There it was. Two beautiful signatures sculpted from years of practice signing off orders at the hospital. Could also look good on a legally-binding court document down at city hall.
“Perfect,” she remarked. “Follow me, Mr. and Mrs. Abbot.”
Your jaw dropped for the umpteenth time today.
“Oh, no—”
You were about to correct her but Jack signalled to you that it wasn’t worth it, and to just keep walking.
Bad things happen in threes, you reminded yourself. You tallied it all up: walking in on Jack naked; broadcasting your erotic audiobook for him; now, being mistaken as a married couple. It was only up from this point.
You settled in your seat. Jack mirrored your actions. The air between you was thick and stagnant. Mr. and Mrs. Abbot. How incredibly awkward. You perused the menu as a distraction, pretending you hadn’t studied religiously back in Pittsburgh.
Salvation came in the form of a tall, chipper brunet with a jug of water.
“Good evening, welcome to Pearl. My name is Henry and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Are you local to Boston?”
“No,” you and Jack responded at the same time.
“Where are you coming from?” Henry asked, filling your glass first.
“Pittsburgh,” you answered.
“Well, you might find me biased, but you chose well,” Henry stated proudly. “What brings you into town? Date night, honeymoon, business—“
“Yeah—”
You chose to cut Henry off at the worst possible time, some syllable between the end of honeymoon and business.
His face brightened. “Honeymoon? Hm, funny enough, I was thinking that was the case as I walked over to you, but I couldn’t be so rude as to presume.”
You looked at Jack, alarms blaring in your head. What code could you call for this? “Oh, sorry, I meant we’re here for the—”
Henry smiled and shook his head. “No need to be modest. Let us take care of you tonight, please, Mrs. Abbot. Could I start you off with anything to drink?”
Your brain had absolutely short-circuited at this point. “Uh—”
“She will have your signature cocktail,” Jack answered on your behalf. Good thing he remembered your little spiel. “And I’ll have a glass of the Barolo.”
“Wonderful choices. I’ll be back momentarily with your drinks, and to explain our specials for tonight.”
You watched Henry disappear through the throngs of people seated at the bar.
“I think we should correct them,” you murmured, eyes on anyone but Jack.
“Normally, I would agree, but what’s the point? They don’t know us, we don’t know them,” Jack reasoned, taking a sip of his water. “And you would shatter Henry’s heart. He looks like a soft soul.”
You huffed. “This is hardly appropriate.”
“This barely scratches the surface compared to the other things that have transpired today.”
You exhaled. “I’m hoping the statute of limitations was up on that.”
“Were you pursuing a juris doctor before this?”
“No, just a healthy dose of Law and Order while studying for the MCAT.”
Jack chuckled. “I respect that.”
A pause lingered in the air before Jack spoke again. “You know, I was surprised when you didn’t reach out to me before today.”
”Oh,” you vocalized. You furrowed your brows, trying to figure out if his voice was inquisitive or disappointed. “I figured you had your own things to do.” Curious, you prodded. “What do you usually do with your residents?”
”Well, usually, we’ll fly out together, check-in, grab a coffee and go over the conference notes. Sometimes we’ll get dinner, too, depending on if they have their own plans or friends to see.”
You wanted to scream at Jack that your silence wasn’t a shutout. Your little crush ruined any chance of normal decorum you could have with him. Before you could attempt to explain it, Henry came back with your drinks.
“For you, Mrs. Abbot,” he said as he placed the most exquisite cocktail in front of you. “Our signature cocktail, crafted with Botanist gin, with hints of lychee and elderflower. And of course, real lychee pearls as a garnish to finish off the experience.”
Henry placed Jack’s wine down for him. “And for you, Mr. Abbot, your Barolo. This is my favourite, too. Please don’t hesitate to ask me for steak pairings.”
Your problems were momentarily forgotten as you stared at the shimmery cocktail garnished with little lychee bulbs meant to resemble pearls.
“Uhm, cheers,” you offered quietly when Henry departed.
Jack lifted his wine glass. “Cheers.”
The cocktail tasted like heaven in your mouth, the notes of a lush garden and fruit meshing harmoniously. More importantly, the gin absorbed immediately into your bloodstream and flooded your senses. Incredibly fast-acting. You felt your nerves calm just as quickly, and a true smile unveiled itself on your face for the first time since you got to the hotel room.
“Still debating about food?” asked Jack.
“No, I’m thinking about my next drink.”
Jack guffawed. “I didn’t take you for an alcoholic.”
You narrowed your eyes. “I’m not the one drinking beer at a park after a shift.”
“I’ve never seen you there. Why’s that?”
“I don’t think Dr. Robby needs a 13th or 14th hour with me.”
“He wouldn’t mind. Might give the both of you a chance to know each other better beyond the emergency room.”
“How much do you know about him outside the hospital?”
“Too much.”
“Elaborate?”
“Robby was my roommate during residency. For a brief period of time.”
You gasped.
Jack didn’t know what to make of your reaction until you leaned in, elbows digging into the table, and clapped your hands together. With the intensity of a college student gossiping over cheap corner store wine, you demanded: “Tell me more.”
Jack let out a laugh. “I have never seen you look this elated,” he remarked. “I take it that gossiping, or gossiping about Robby, is another hobby of yours?”
You shook your head. “I should try to get to know him outside the ER, you know, as per your advice.”
“Well, are you sure you’re ready for it?”
“Yes!”
Jack drummed his fingers on the table. “Okay, well, I was living with my friend Leon, but he always went home to Maine for the summer. His parents had a beach house. I didn’t have the luxury of going home or to Maine, so Leon found me a roommate for a couple of months. Back in my day, we posted ads in the newspaper. Anyway, lo and behold, Robby moved in.”
“That’s how you met?”
“You bet.”
Jack continued to recount that summer. “So neither Robby or I were great cooks, we ate out a lot. With 80-hour weeks, I was lucky if I had time to slice an apple.”
You nodded.
Jack rubbed his palm on his forehead. “But Robby, man, he never took out his trash.”
You let out a sharp laugh, then promptly covered your mouth.
Your heart stopped at what you just did: ridicule the chief of the ED. It was the alcohol. You usually would never! “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to imagine—”
Jack leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Well, keep imagining, it gets better.” He paused for a moment, suppressing a laugh as he continued to regale the tale. “We had Chinese takeout containers near the sink that were growing a bacterial colony. His containers. I can still see it. The ironic thing was that he was doing a brief stint in antimicrobial stewardship at the time. One night, I gave up and said, look man, if we have a novel drug-resistant superbacteria in Pittsburgh, I’m blaming it on you.”
Your mouth fell open. “Oh my god. You said that to him?”
“Yeah. That summer, we went through a shit ton of Pip-Tazo and Meropenem. Every outpatient case of cellulitis needed MRSA coverage. I still blame it on Robby.”
“Causation doesn’t equal correlation,” you reminded him cheekily.
“I maintain this was an exception.”
You bit off a lychee pearl with your teeth and feigned indignation. “Dr. Jack Abbot, true purveyor of cowboy medicine. The rumours weren’t wrong.”
At this point, your drink was finished and so was your filter. You barely registered what you were saying and the repercussions it could have when you got back to Pittsburgh.
“I didn’t take you to side with Walsh,” he mumbled. “Speaking of medicine, how’s your patient? The little girl with JIA?”
“Yeah, she’s doing well. I referred her to pediatric rheumatology. I told her my friend Dr. Ledecky would take good care of her.”
“Dr. Ledecky, Dr. Finnessey, you’ve got a lot of friends in high places,” Jack teased.
Oh. So he had seen that message. You attempted to clear the air. “Dr. Finnessey is not my friend. Our friendship”—you signalled with air quotes and popped your toothpick back into your cocktail glass—”was built on a lie because he told me his uncle was one of the authors the NEJM article comparing the bleeding risk of apixaban and rivaroxaban in acute venous thromboembolism and that he was hosting a lecture about it at Pitt.”
You blew out an exasperated breath. “As you can imagine, I never got those details.”
“Shame,” Jack said as he leaned in, his voice dropping a decibel lower into pillowtalk status. “Would’ve been a good talk to go to.”
Again, you clenched your legs together. “It would’ve been.”
Before you could get too riled up in public, Henry made his rounds again. You happily agreed to another cocktail, and Jack to another glass of wine. Jack had somehow convinced you to order fresh oysters and the steak neptune. He ordered the ribeye for himself. You were already calculating your debt payments when Henry looped back again.
“Compliments of the chef, Mr. and Mrs. Abbot,” Henry announced as he placed a chocolate torte cake, adorned with a scoop of vanilla ice-cream and plump raspberries. With a wink, he set another cocktail in front of you. “And so is this. He says he’s never served a client with such a passion for this particular drink.”
“Oh, well, thank you,” you said, words tainted by guilt.
When Henry left, you almost collapsed onto the table. “They gave us free cake and alcohol,” you murmured, squeezing your eyes shut and sobering up immediately. “I feel awful.”
“Even if you told them the truth, they’re not going to take the cake back.”
”I’m a con artist.”
“You didn’t instigate this. They did this by assuming. You tried to correct them, twice I might add.” Jack rotated the dessert so you could read the piping on the plate: ‘Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Abbot.’ “Yet, they still did this.”
“No,” you exclaimed in abject horror.
“Yeah,” Jack agreed, eyes trailing over the lettering with the same precision as he did in surgery. “It gives it some air of permanence, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, I mean no--”
Then you remembered something. In a fast pursuit to quell your nerves, you forgot the reason you were here in the first place.
“Oh shoot, the picture for Parker.”
You angled your phone a couple of ways, looking for the perfect juxtaposition of your shimmery cocktail against the backdrop of the restaurant. Purposefully, you avoided any trace of Jack. You cut out his identifiable watch, his arms (to your dismay), and any part of his suit. If your coworkers caught a whiff of this excursion, your reputation was done for.
“You didn’t have to pay for my dinner. That was very kind of you.”
Jack held the door for you as you left the restaurant. It was dark outside now. A chillier summer wind enveloped you.
Amused, Jack rationalized it. “I’d never let my wife pay.”
To be married to Jack Abbot. Fuck. So the tingles weren’t just from the alcohol.
“Charade’s over,” you pointed out, trying not to implode. “We had our cake and ate it, too.”
Jack fell in step with you on the sidewalk. Thoroughly impressed, he praised you: “Now, that was clever.”
To your dismay, you and Jack went your separate ways after getting back to the hotel. You had a shower before diving into the luxuriously soft duvet covers. You treated yourself to one last catchup online then before bed—what had you missed when you were at dinner with your husband? Lena at a track-and-field meet with her kids. Cassie with Harrison having pancakes for dinner. John’s daily Dunkin’s run. Princess at a family reunion with a gorgeous spread of food. You wanted in on the fun. With a couple swipes, you posted the most recent photo of your beautiful cocktail to your story, then drifted off to sleep.
Little did you know, your innocuous photo set the night shift at PMTC on fire. It was John who saw it first twenty minutes later, and nearly spat his coffee out on Lena who demanded to know what was so funny.
If only your medical precision followed you to Boston.
If only you had vetted the photo you released to the drama-starved coworkers.
If you had realized that behind your drink was a plate painted with the words ‘Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Abbot’...
The next morning, you woke up to 30 text messages, 40 likes, 12 Instagram messages, and 2 missed calls. You sure were popular when you were gone. Then like clockwork, your mind drifted to the worst possible scenario: one of your patients had died because of something you missed in their bloodwork. Heart in your stomach, you immediately began reading.
12:10 JOHN: [PHOTO ATTACHMENT]
12:10 JOHN: Congrats! You’ve brought life to the night shift
12:11 JOHN: Can’t tell if this was a soft or hard launch
12:16 CRUS: Oh, you’re about to go VIRAL
12:18 (Instagram) JOSHUA FINNESSEY: [ATTACHMENT: pearlboston]
12:18 (Instagram) JOSHUA FINNESSEY: wtf :( didn’t you know you were married??
12:19 (Instagram) JOSHUA FINNESSEY: Abbot’s got game
12:21 SAMIRA: I’m not linking the post because I’m sure you’ve seen it but I have so many questions.
12:22 LENA: Are you avoiding the night shift because of romantic conflicts of interest, Mrs. Abbot? Hehe.
12:25 EMERY: [ATTACHMENT: pearlboston]] Shen paged me to tell me about this. I was about to kill him but I’ll spare him this time.
12:27 (Instagram) CASSIE MCKAY: Okay. Wow. Did not expect this.
12:27 (Instagram): PRINCESS: Mrs. Abbot~ it sounds nice
12:30: (Instagram): MATEO: I admire the hard launch. Props.
12:31: JOHN: Wait why did you not want to go Boston with your husband
12:32: JOHN: And esp on your honeymoon
12:32: JOHN: Dw I don’t think HR has caught wind of it yet
12:33 JOHN: Mb they will tomorrow morning :D
12:36: AHMAD: Yooo I would’ve never bet on this
12:36 AHMAD: this is crazy
12:37: AHMAD: Would it be insider trading if you told me next time?
12:40: (Instagram) FOLLOW REQUEST: YOLANDA GARCIA
12:45: DANA: The age-gap romance novels you recommended - I’m guessing fiction wasn’t enough for ya??
1:00: (Instagram): DONNIE: Damn…
2:00: PARKER: Girl I just got back to the hotel… did you mean to post that??
2:00: PARKER: I’m just reading the article John sent
2:01: PARKER: Is there something you’re not telling me??
2:15: MISSED CALL: PARKER ELLIS
2:16: MISSED CALL: PARKER ELLIS
2:18: PARKER: Too late, Shen said he and Lena printed and laminated the article and pinned it on the station for the morning shift. Call me when you wake up though…
You tapped the link Joshua sent you from pearlboston. The first photo on their Instagram, reposted on their story, was a picture of you laughing at something Jack was saying. Whoever took the shot was far away, but managed to make it look like you and Jack were the only ones in the restaurant. The caption underneath, however, was way more incriminating.
And suddenly, the barrage of messages made sense.
Spotlight on our customers:
In 2006, Grant Reilly came back to his hometown of Boston with a lease, a bucket of mortar, and a dream. As he painstakingly laid every brick on the very walls that encapsulate you, he didn’t realize what he was building: a stronghold in the food scene in Boston. But we don’t have to say anything, we’ll let our customers do the talking.
Last night, we welcomed Mr. And Mrs. Abbot as they celebrated their marriage here with us.
You looked over-the-moon delighted as something Jack said. His body language was calm, his face content. The potent punch of gin in your cocktail loosened you up a bit, causing you to laugh harder than usual. Oh, you recalled what you were talking about now: Robby’s superbacteria colony. Nonetheless, you read on.
It says a lot when two doctors from Pittsburgh who could’ve traversed anywhere in the world decide to mark a milestone with us here at Pearl. When asked about what brought them in, Mrs. Abbot responded with our signature cocktail.
Special event? Milestone? Just a casual night in town? Let us take care of you.
You scrolled through the post. After the photo of you and Jack, there was a photo of the coveted cocktail that caused all this drama, and the stupid, delicious and incriminating chocolate cake.
You threw your phone on the bed and covered your mouth. This couldn’t be real. It was a joke. An elaborate photoshop ruse by John Shen.
Operating in a daze, you forced yourself to get ready for the day. Millions of possibilities ran through your mind. Like what if Jack hadn’t seen it? Besides, you were sure the morning shift was in for a dumpster-fire of a day if the night shift had been just texting you the whole time. There wouldn’t be time for gossip at hand-off. And if he had seen it, so what? You were the one who suggested correcting the hostess and waiter. This was his fault.
You left your room and saw Jack sitting on the couch directly in front of you. God, you hated the idea of manspreading, but Jack was the exception: it was so hot when he let his legs hang open like that. You simultaneously loved and hated that you now knew what lay between his legs.
“Good morning,” you greeted trepidatiously.
“Good morning,” he responded. “So, I woke up to this text from Robby. You know anything about it?”
He gestured for you to approach. You inhaled through your nose and got close enough to read the green blurb on his phone.
ROBBY: So, I get into work a little earlier today and your crew is bouncing off the walls. Lena is doubled over her desk looking and sounding like she swallowed helium. She can barely get the words out to Dana. I ask what’s going on and they show me this.
ROBBY: [PHOTO ATTACHMENT]
Your heart fell. There was a literal lamination of the Instagram post pinned to the corkboard at the charge nurse station.
ROBBY: Care to explain this?
“John Shen, that motherfucker—”
Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “I would never have expected that to come out of your mouth.”
“He started this! If he hadn’t sent it to everyone—”
“Some friends are truly double-edged swords.”
You squeezed your eyes shut. “What do we do? This is just awful.”
Now this was in contention for the worst thing to have happened in the past 24 hours. At least the nudity, the audiobook… those things could be kept between you and Jack. But this? This was a monster that was going to be dissected like a cadaver in a med school anatomy lab.
Jack shrugged his shoulders. “I say we ignore it and get breakfast.”
“You aren’t worried?”
“You get teased pretty mercilessly for a couple weeks. By all your colleagues and people from departments you don’t know. Then the joke gets old. So, no, I’m not worried.”
You eked a smile out. Jack’s presence was so calming and it was impossible not to mirror it. A minute ago, you were so charged, anxious. Now you felt like you were sharing a joke with an old friend. Being around him versus being around Robby was day and night for your nervous system. “You sound like you have experience in this department.”
Jack pushed himself off the couch. “I have worse stories I can share at breakfast.”
“Only if we sit at different ends of the restaurant,” you offered.
Jack winked. “If we keep this shtick up, it might end up being on the house.”
Summary: Thanks to an administrative error, you find yourself confined to the same hotel room as Dr. Jack Abbot in Boston for the weekend.
Tags: forced proximity, one bed, romance, coworkers to lovers(?), NAKED jack, fake dating, eventual smut!!, shy!reader, questionable HR situation, hotels, hot tubs, liberal use of "i'll pay it", y/n loves her erotic audiobooks
A/N: GETTING SPICY IN HERE. Also, I just wanted to use this GIF lol. The next chapter will be super fun, chock-full of the misunderstanding trope.
CHAPTER 2: In hindsight, you should've noticed that the hotel room was booked for two people before barging into the occupied bathroom. (3.3k words)
CHAPTER 2: ROOMMATES?
PARKER: You get to Boston alright?
YOU: Yeah, it was a pretty short flight. I could really go for a cocktail now.
PARKER: I’ve already started
YOU: P, it’s only 2. Should I be concerned?
PARKER: I’m MOH, and there are no rules. Besides, you’re the one who suggested it?
YOU: I can’t get the Pearl signature cocktail out of my head!! You can’t put an iridescent, shimmery drink in front of me and not expect me to drink it.
PARKER: You should ask Abbot to drink with you LOL.
PARKER: I’d pay to see it
Your cheeks flushed as you pressed your back up against a pillar at the arrivals terminal. You imagined Parker on her phone, glass of red in her hand under the lush shade of a vineyard, suspiciously peering at a speech bubble appear and disappear as you figured out how to respond to her suggestion.
YOU: I don’t think that’s his thing!
PARKER: You’d be surprised about what he likes ;)
What?
Before you could ask, your phone pinged again.
PARKER: Anyway, gotta go, duty calls. Have fun!
You scrunched your nose at the suggestive blue blurb. What in the world did Parker mean by that? Did she suspect anything? You sighed, not wanting to tangle yourself up in a future trip.
On the bright side, your flight was short and uneventful. Most of it was spent with headphones and an audiobook about a forbidden workplace romance that hit too close to home. The slides and guidelines for the conference in two days? Forgotten in your purse. You’d study them at some cute cafe by the harbour tomorrow.
Before leaving for the subway terminal, you snapped a photo of the airport, skillfully capturing the sunlight as it streamed through the tall glass windows. Deviously, you posted it as an Instagram story but forewent a caption—you wanted it to be mysterious.
On the short ride to the downtown core, you pulled up the email confirming your hotel reservation. The hotel that the hospital put you in was very nice. You were shocked. Of all the times Gloria had stomped around the Pitt trying to shake Robby down like a mob boss on the operating costs, staffing, and overtime hours, you half expected her to put you up in a roach-infested motel. Instead, you got a king suite with a harbour view. The imaginary smell of fresh linen sheets and a salt bath flooded your senses. You leaned back in your seat and took a true deep breath. Thank God everyone was busy because what a blessed weekend this was going to be for you.
The email from the hotel implored you to download their app for a smoother check-in experience, and to toggle lights and appliances in the room via Bluetooth connection. The moment you hit download, a notification popped up on your screen.
(Instagram) JOSHUA FINNESSEY: where you at :(
Ah, shit. You forgot that the resident ortho playboy gym rat and Dr. Park’s best friend, Dr. Finnessey, had access to your Instagram story. Your connection was established under the guise of him sending you a journal article comparing the bleed risk of apixaban and rivaroxaban and hooking you up with one of the authors which never happened. He did, however, send you multiple messages asking you out for drinks. When you were trying to respond to one of his messages some Thursday during some rare downtime, both Samira and Cassie extended their necks and warned “no” at the same time. No ortho boys unless you wanted someone who would prioritize protein over you.
Tempted to ignore Joshua altogether, but unable to find that courage, you kept it simple.
(Instagram) YOU: Conference!
(Instagram) JOSHUA FINNESSEY: I know, hospital feels weird without you here
(Instagram): YOU: You’ll live (:
You promptly erased your next line: Don’t you have unsuspecting old lady hips and knees to drill with Park?
A grand idea consumed you as you walked the last block to the hotel. You picked up an iced coffee from Dunkin’s, and snapped a picture of it with the hotel as a backdrop.
YOU: [PHOTO ATTACHMENT]
YOU: Boston baby!!
JOHN: Yessss
JOHN: Did you check in
YOU: About to!
A light flowery scent wafted through the front lobby when you walked in. You weaved through smartly-dressed people, people in green jerseys, their luggage, and bellhops. The lobby was tastefully decorated in navy and white accents. Doctors had already piled into the bar, dressed in fresh-pressed suits and shiny loafers. You went straight to the elevator, letting it catapult you up to the 21st floor.
You weren’t prepared for how beautiful and elegant the room was. A corner suite offering a view of the water. The theme was nautical, but very beautifully and subtly nautical. Navy curtains draped across the ceiling-high windows. Where there wasn’t carpet, there was a marble floor. Mouth agape, you set your suitcase by the kitchen island and set your iced coffee on it. The kitchen was sizeable. Yep, you could envision yourself having your morning coffee pressed up against the window here. You noted a cream-coloured sectional facing the largest television you’d seen in a hotel. Oh, you and a bottle of wine and a trashy television show were going to have the best time tonight.
With the fervor of a kid opening a Christmas present, you walked into the bedroom. But before you could take it in, a warm mist tickled your nose. Beside you, billows of steam poured out of the door to the washroom. Curious as to if this was a weird welcome ritual by the hotel or a piping malfunction, you walked over. You nudged the door open to find—
A muscular man, bare from top to bottom. His hands were tangled in a towel as he dried his peppery curls. His triceps contracted as he went through the motions. His arms were a field of veins—a phlebotomist's wet dream. Water droplets clung to his skin, dripping down from his chest to his navel. His oblique muscles strained as he turned towards you, the intruder. In shock, your eyes swept his body like the TSA had done to you earlier today. They didn’t find any jewels but you sure did: taut muscle lines meeting at the groin where a sizeable red, fleshy, cock reminiscent of a coke can—
There was a delay, a skip in your brain, but you eventually screeched. Operatically. So shrill it could’ve shattered the glass door to the shower.
“I am SO sorry!”
You whipped back around, almost tripping on your suitcase, and threw the front door open so hard it almost ricocheted back into you. “What the fuck?” You whispered to yourself. Safe in the hallway, hands trembling and lungs malfunctioning, you pulled out your phone.
Frantically, you compared the room number on the app against the plaque on the door. Nope, you were more than correct. It wasn’t you; the hotel had messed up and set you up to be sued for perversion. The only question was whether your malpractice insurance covered this at all.
The door clicked open.
You should’ve run. But you didn’t, so you braced for impact.
“I thought it was you.”
Your jaw dropped at the familiar face. “Dr. Abbot?”
Geology wasn’t your strong forte. You didn’t know how prone Boston was to sinkholes but you sure wished one would appear and swallow you right up.
“Jack,” he corrected dryly. “Now that you’ve seen me naked, we should be on more intimate terms, no?”
That was a joke, right? Should you laugh? Could you afford to? All you knew was that you weren’t going to call him Jack, not in this lifetime at least.
In the short time you were freaking out, Dr. Abbot had changed into beige slacks and a black t-shirt—a much more decent presentation of himself though slutty in its own right. His veins were still more than prominent. The slacks did nothing to hide the ridges of muscles on his thighs, and all the creases drew attention to his groin which you were now intimate with. His hair was still a touch wet from when you’d obviously interrupted the grooming of it. He crossed his arms, biceps kissing his knuckles as usual. Stern lines settled on his face.
“I am so sorry,” you continued to apologize, cheeks reddening as you backed out further into the hall. “This is the room they assigned me.” You held out your phone to Dr. Abbot in desperation, as if the situation could be salvaged. He needed to see that annoying little green circle around Room 2125 contracting in and out, advising you to tap the sensor, if it was the last thing he ever did. “I double checked everything, Dr. Abbot.”
‘Welcome to Room 2125’, it read. ‘We hope you enjoy your… free viewing of Dr. Jack Abbot’s ass!’
He barely acknowledged the phone. “I don’t doubt you.”
His words did nothing to alleviate the panic that had clawed into your chest. “Okay, well, the hotel must’ve messed up.” You began stepping back, pointing towards the elevator with your thumb. “Uhm, I’m going to go down and figure it out. Just keep on… with whatever you were doing… before I came in. I’ll let you know.”
“Yeah,” Dr. Abbot responded. “Give me a heads up before you come in next time, okay?”
You ran.
“That was a joke. You obviously have the key.”
Dr. Abbot opened the door on the second knock, catching you with your hand suspended in mid-air, palms closed and knuckles pointed towards him.
“I’m not going to put myself in any compromising positions knowing you were on the way back,” he continued.
You bit the inside of your cheek. It was hard to tell when he was joking or not; his humour ran a touch dry at times. “I thought it was the polite thing to do, Dr. Abbot.”
A raspy chuckle left Dr. Abbot’s lips. “Well, we’re way past niceties now, kid. But I’m not kidding about the name. Call me Jack, please.”
Kid? Ouch.
The hotel room was adorned with touches of Jack: his watch, badge, and notebook laid in a perfectly straight line on his nightstand; his suitcase was unpacked and hidden in the corner of the room; journal articles sat crisply on the desk; and his clothes were hung with military precision in the slightly open closet. You eyed a suit in a dry-clean bag and raised your eyebrow. There were things you didn’t notice the first time around but should’ve to avoid the voyeurism that occurred in the bathroom.
“Have a seat,” he said, pointing to the cream couch by the windows. “What’d they say?”
You complied immediately, though you reckoned it was him that needed to be sitting after what you were about to say. You inhaled deeply. “They said there was no error on their end. The hospital put us in the same room.”
Jack quirked an eyebrow in amusement. “Really?”
“I explained the circumstances, but the hotel’s all booked up for the conference, some Deloitte shareholders meeting, and most importantly, the Celtics are playing Game 6 tonight.”
“All booked up, hm?” he repeated. “What are your options?”
“I looked up some neighbouring hotels in the elevator. I’ll book one of those. They’re close enough to the convention centre.”
You turned your phone to Jack and unlocked it. The first thing that popped up was—
(Instagram) JOSHUA FINNESSEY: I think they should send us together next time ;)
You swiped the message away in hard annoyance, afraid to even look at Jack’s expression. You prayed he didn’t get the wrong idea. You scrolled down the list and kept your voice nonchalant, hoping to cover your pained choke at the nightly rates. “These ones.”
His eyes widened. “Okay, before you do anything drastic,” he countered, voice alarmingly calm for the situation. It was reminiscent of his resilience at work, and this was a much easier issue than a cricothyrotomy. “Why don’t you stay here, and I’ll make a couple of calls and figure out what’s going on?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’ll phone Robby and see if he knows anything.” Jack threw on a light jacket and grabbed his wallet. “Do you want anything, a coffee, snack?”
“Oh no, I’m fine.”
You gestured to your iced coffee sitting on the kitchen bar that had fully liquified now.
Jack went to retrieve it for you and shuddered at the familiar orange logo. “For a moment, I thought Shen had followed me here.”
You attempted a smile as he placed it on the coffee table for you. “Better him than me.”
His lips contorted to what looked like a pout. “I’m not so sure about that.”
You imagined him whimpering in that same bathroom as you sucked him clean, knees pressing into the marble floor.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Either he needed to leave now or you had to get out of here.
Pretending you weren’t deathly tachycardic, you offered him a small smile. “I appreciate it, uh, Jack.”
He mirrored your expression as he left the room.
Minutes after Jack left, your body, paralyzed in shock, refused to move. You couldn’t stop thinking about what you just saw: Dr. Abbot’s dick. The memory looped cinematically in your head. More pointedly, the part when he turned around and his dick followed suit, bouncing left to right with deliciously slow momentum because of how heavy it was. You always had an inkling. How did he not trip over himself at work? Did he grow? Did he show? Could he fit inside you? For the sake of a meticulous patient intake report, you really needed this answered.
You squeezed your eyes shut. You should not be thinking about fucking Jack Abbot after walking in on him naked.
So you did everything in your power to wash out the images in your mind. You scrolled Instagram as a distraction, rolling your eyes at Finnessey’s 4.a.m. shirtless mirror selfie—terrifying— at the gym, accompanied by Park in a singlet and tiny shorts—scary. John had sent you a meme about patients giving extraneous information after being asked for their date of birth (you almost spat out your tepid coffee when the audio started screeching, ‘My name is Carol and I’m retired and my son Shawn is a—’). Then, you gave Parker’s story of her and family a heart emoji.
It all seemed to work until fifteen minutes later when the lock whirred and Jack returned.
You shot back up. “Did you find anything out?”
Jack shook off his jacket, black shirt straining against his chest as he pulled back. You clenched your legs together—a very short-acting antidote.
“From what I’m hearing, it sounds like Gloria assumed Robby and I were going,” Jack explained. “Historically, we’ve always shared a room. Robby changed his mind, said that it was stupid to short the hospital two attendings so he’d find a resident. Then our very competent team at the hospital put me in a one bedroom and directly swapped your name for Robby’s. There weren’t inconsistencies on their end so they didn’t bother to check what they did.”
You nodded. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” Still, you couldn’t stay here. Your perverse thoughts were going to be cause for termination. “If I find another place, will the hospital reimburse me?”
“He says you can try but it’s not guaranteed. The hospital’s already set out a budget for this event.”
“But they obviously made an error,” you argued. “This is an unmitigated HR disaster.”
“Robby offered to pay for you.”
“What?” Your mouth fell open. “Oh no, I’ll pay for it myself.”
“I’m offering, too,” Jack stated, hands in his pockets. “It shouldn't come out of your pocket.”
“I don’t want you or Dr. Robby to,” you interjected. “The rates this weekend are so inflated. I’ll take care of it.”
”So, where are you thinking of going?” Jack asked.
“There’s a place an hour out of town—”
“No,” he interrupted.
“No?” You repeated.
“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” Jack clarified. “But you’re a resident and I am responsible for you, in and out of the hospital, and we’re technically at work. If you think I’d let you book a place an hour away, where I can’t guarantee your safety, I’d have failed my duties as an attending. And as a person, in general.”
You ran your hands through your hair. “Then what do I do?”
“Okay, see this door?” Jack wrangled the handle of the bedroom door. “Why don’t you set up and stay here for tonight, at least?”
“You want me to sleep in the bedroom?”
He nodded. “Once you shut the door, you can pretend I’m not here.”
“You should take the bedroom. This is comfortable, honestly.” You gave the sofa two pats as if to prove your point.
Jack chuckled. “Trust me, I’ve slept in far worse places.”
“Are you sure I won’t be too much of a bother?”
You winced. Dr. Robby would’ve wrung you to hell and back for that line. “You’re not a bother, you have to stop asking that.”
Jack paused in handsome contemplation. ”You don’t snore like Robby, do you?”
You laughed and shook your head.
He flashed you a heart-stopping—ironic—smile. “Then no.”
“Oh, and one last thing,” Jack deadpanned. You gave him the same intense attention you did when he was presenting a case; this must've been important, whatever he was about to say.
He took a couple steps to the alternative door connecting the hallway to the bathroom and rapped on it twice. “Just knock before you come in, okay?”
You shot up from the couch, and turned your head to hide your mortified expression. “I’m going to unpack.”
Jack’s amused chuckle followed you into the bedroom.
So, it was decided. Just for tonight, you reminded yourself. It was a temporary refuge until you figured your accommodations for the weekend out. Jack agreed to keep his clothes in a closet by the front door to make space for yours. He was currently by the television toggling the controls, probably trying to listen to SWAT radio as white noise.
You unpacked the white silk dress you’d planned to wear to Pearl tonight with care, letting it hang close to you, because in an hour, you’d be there, drinking away this whole situation. You also fiddled with the Bluetooth commands on the app, ooh-ing and aah-ing as the overhead lights dimmed and brightened with a flick of your finger. There were even mood options for the lighs. Yeah, you were never getting out of bed.
A familiar voice pulled you out of your trance.
“I’m going to work you so hard, both in and out of the office. I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to make it in tomorrow. So be a good girl and get down on all fours—”
You held the phone speaker to your ears. Confused when the volume didn’t increase, you opened your audiobook app instead. It was there you saw in green letters:
[OUTPUT] ROOM 2125
That couldn’t be right. How did it connect to the speakers?
Realisation hit you like a freight train. You did this by hooking your phone up to the hotel app. Now, your filthy audiobook was casting from the bassy stereos in the living room, leaching into every crevice of the hotel room and into your attending’s ears.
You ran out of the room, attempting to hit pause on your phone and failing on all accounts.
“Yeah, just like that baby, take it all, I want you to feel every inch of me. Make me come, let me come in that pussy. Is that what you want? You want me to put a baby inside you? I’ll make sure everyone in the office knows it’s mine—”
There he was, Dr. Jack fucking Abbot, standing stone-faced with a TV remote in his hand wondering what the hell he was listening to.
“Wow,” Jack vocalized, pressing a button to mute the television. “I didn’t know the hotel came with free porn. You know, back in my day, you had to pay.”
You held your hands about to offer an explanation.
“Hey, it’s alright,” Jack assured. He pressed his lips together, suppressing a laugh. Mirth was dripping down his face faster than ice cream on a hot summer day. “My therapist says we all need hobbies. You know mine, now I know yours. I think we’re even.”
“I—this—,” you stammered. This? This was truly the worst day ever. Did Dr. Robby send you up here as part of a humiliation ritual? Why was this happening? “My friend recommended I—and everyone has—and I have other hobbies, real hobbies—”
“I’m sure of that.” A stupid, teasing smirk danced on Jack’s face. “Anything to get the heart rate going. That’s what we are, right? Adrenaline junkies.”
You let out an audible groan and a thought completely unfiltered. “Jack?”
Summary: Thanks to an administrative error, you find yourself confined to the same hotel room as Dr. Jack Abbot in Boston for the weekend.
CHAPTER 1: Robby drops a bomb on you on a Tuesday. You spend the rest of the week worrying about it. (2.6k words)
CHAPTER 1: FUTURE TRIPPING
When Robby stalked you down one Tuesday afternoon as you exited South 18, you almost collapsed onto the floor at the reason.
You shut the door, leaving your eight-year old patient, Dahlia, and her mother to wait for the labs you just ordered. “Me?” you squeaked, your voice climbing to impossibly high notes.
He delivered the news so casually, oblivious to how earth-shattering it was to you.
“Yes, you,” Robby repeated with a confused sigh. He shut his eyes and rubbed his temples. He was nearing eight hours into his shift and couldn’t spare the patience to be redundant. “Why do you sound surprised?”
You tightened your grip on the clipboard. “I—just, aren’t there other residents?” Better, more capable ones, you wanted to say, but you kept your mouth shut.
He quirked an eyebrow, lips pulling up to one side in a bemused manner. “You sound like you don’t want to go.”
”No, I absolutely do, Dr. Robby, I’m just… pleasantly… surprised.”
“Not your most convincing moment, was it then?” he remarked. “What happened to sounding more confident like we discussed? I’m not saying turn into Dr. Garcia overnight because that would freak me out, but you need to speed it up. Spend more time around Dr. Collins, Dr. Langdon, even Dr. Mohan.”
He folded his arms and you immediately braced for impact—his posture was a surefire sign he had some criticism to dish out. Just had to get comfortable first, you supposed. “You are more than clinically competent, your charting is perfect, flows well, but you need a face to show for it. Fellowship is competitive. Attending positions are competitive. If you want the part, you have to act the part. It’s not going to be handed to you, do you understand?"
You nodded, swallowed the criticism or advice or however you chose to interpret it. Eight hours into your shift and Dr. Robby had already dealt a sucker punch and knocked out a tooth. Nonetheless, you attempted to end the conversation on a positive note. “Are you coming, too?”
Robby stretched out his arms and turned the other way. “Nope. Those days are behind me. You young kids go have fun, maybe learn something if you aren’t huddled around the bar the whole time.”
Ah, classic Dr. Robby emotional whiplash. After beating your confidence silly, he walked away like you’d exchanged pleasantries over Sunday brunch.
But in some twisted form of Stockholm Syndrome, you tried your best to keep in step with him down the corridor. Unfortunately, Dr. Robby was tall and his strides were long as a consequence. “Then who’s coming with me?” you near-shouted at him, the boldness of your voice surprising yourself. Your inner monologue piped up again: There it is, Dr. Robby, that confidence you so desire!
”That’s still up in the air,” Robby responded non-chalantly before disappearing into a room. A sliver of his head peeked out of the doorframe. “Ask the night shift when they roll in.”
Sadly, the morning shift proved futile for any information. Over a 2-minute crappy-cafeteria coffee chug at three, Samira divulged her plans to visit her mother in New Jersey. She was hard-pressed in choosing between family and the conference, but ultimately decided she was overdue for a visit. Dana piped in and said Langdon and his wife had anniversary plans that same weekend. An hour later, you bumped into Cassie. She let you down gently in the motherly way she does by mentioning Harrison’s baseball tournament that Saturday evening, and that no academic pursuit was going to stand in the way of her raising her son. Fair enough.
Perhaps the most interesting response came from Heather in Trauma 1 as you were de-gowning after a MVC.
“I can barely stand to be within two feet of that man on any given day, you think I’m voluntarily going to sit next to him for a weekend?”
“No?” You sucked air through your teeth. In an attempt to salvage the hope of Heather accompanying you, you offered: “But he’s not going.”
“If there’s any chance he would or change his mind,”—she dropped a bloodied glove in the waste—“then absolutely not.”
Alone in the trauma room, you were beginning to think that this invitation wasn’t merit-based at all.
Nonetheless, it was suffocating not knowing the identity of your partner-in-crime. Because as much as you wanted it to be Dr. Abbot, you wished just much as it wasn’t. So when Shen sauntered in at 6:45 p.m, iced coffee in hand and eyes on his phone, you sacked him back a couple yards. Ahmad was going to be out of work if you kept this up.
”Hey, hey,” you greeted and forced Shen to step back through the double-layered automatic doors. “Are you coming to the conference with me?”
He slipped his phone into his pocket. “I was going to, yeah.”
The door closed behind you. “Was going to?”
He equalized your assault and stepped back into hospital, forcing the door behind you to open again. “Exactly, but I made Jack go.”
And the second door, in confusion, slid open again, the sound it made was just enough to cover your choke: “Jack—Dr. Abbot?”
Shen tilted his head, straw slipping from his mouth. “Is there another attending named Jack in this department?”
”No, of course not,” you brushed the slip off. “Why not you? Why not Ellis?”
Shen set his coffee down on a counter by Dana’s workspace and shrugged. “She has some family thing going on that weekend. As for me, I dunno, I feel like Jack’s pulling a lot of hours. Now that I’m an attending, I could relieve some of his shifts.
Oh, no, no, no. Your breaths quickened. This was now becoming all too unpalatable, emetic even. Why couldn’t it be anyone but Dr. Abbot? It wasn’t because you didn’t like him. Conversely, the issue was that you simply liked him too much. He was so nurturing. Whatever Dr. Robby said about your lack of confidence only made it worse; Dr. Abbot made you feel reassured and safe.
Dr. Abbot was unfortunately also very distracting. There had been times where you asked him to repeat things because you were hyperfixated on the way his fingers danced during a procedure. You imagined those same fingers in treacherously different contexts—after all, understanding anatomy had to be a transferable skill to the bedroom, no? Oh God, you bet he was good.
And his voice. Did he realize he was a siren in human form? The hoarse whispers, the rasp that cocooned all his sentences, especially as his callused, skilled hands sewed up a site. And that day he marched in in his SWAT uniform and boots would be forever embedded in your mind. You had uttered curses interlaced with prayers, mainly for the surgical mask that you considered a heavensend for covering up your drool.
He could read you the hospital’s door-to-ballon time reports or even Gloria’s summit notes as a lullaby and you’d find it sexy. Mhm, your hands pressed to his bare chest under the sheets in his bedroom as he poisoned your consciousness with sleep. Whatever draught he wanted to feed you, you’d gladly lap up. All for you, Dr. Abbot…
This was fine. Fantasizing at work was fine as long as you kept it in the confines of your mind. Lusting after your much older attending was a bad call, but maybe there was an innate part of you that desired someone older and self-assured to fulfill the parts of you that weren’t.
“Hey,” Dana called out to you. Her voice shattered the internal trial in your mind: The People v. Is It Cool to Fantasize About Sleeping with Your Attending? Guilty, your honour. Lock her up and send her to horny jail. “You got a 39-year old with an oozing boil in East 2. Wanna take that before you leave?”
“Of course, Dana,” you responded. Before disappearing to look at something a little less palatable than Dr. Abbot’s chest, you turned to Shen. “Uhm, I owe you a coffee.” Then, you were off to handle what was hopefully your last case of the day.
Shen raised an eyebrow, perplexed. “What for?” he called out, but you were halfway down the hall. He turned to Dana and asked, “And what’s wrong with Abbot?”
Dana just shrugged and adjusted her glasses. “Robby works his residents too hard. They all start to go crazy after a while.”
Shen’s little nugget of information cascaded into a goldrush. A memo in your inbox informed you the conference was in Boston. Cardiology-focussed. Change to the atrial fibrillation guidelines, new ablation methods, and studies coming down the pipeline. A separate email confirmed your hotel reservation, meal vouchers, and link to a portal to book your flight. So, you stayed after your shift on Friday, face slumped on your palm after an intensive charting session as you mulled over flights.
Could this have been handled at home? Absolutely. But you opted not to for two reasons. One, segregation of work and pleasure was important for your sleep hygiene. Secondly, you knew Dr. Abbot was on shift tonight. You parked yourself at a station far enough away to remain in the shadows, but close enough to see him from above the computer monitor. You afforded yourself an illicitly indulgent glance at Dr. Abbot engaging with Robby for hand-off. His muscled arm was parked on the ledge. Of course, he had to wear that stupid, sexy black t-shirt that clung his broad chest and shoulders like clothing does after being caught out in a thunderstorm.
Suddenly, Dr. Abbot turned towards you. Your eyes immediately darted downwards as you pretended to type something. You prayed you weren’t assigned nights often. How the hell were you supposed to focus being around Dr. Abbot for 12 hours?
“You’re the lucky resident this year, hm?” Ellis remarked as wheeled herself over to you. “I’m bummed I couldn’t make it. We would’ve had a good time.”
“We would’ve,” you groaned, dreams of hitting up the bars on Boylston Street with her shattered. With a pained expression, you asked, “You sure you can’t change that family thing?”
“Look, I love you but my sister will kill me if I don’t show up at her wedding. And Dr. Abbot is honestly the best—well, second to me—attending to go with. He won’t bug you, and he asks great questions.”
And he’s sexy, Ellis. He’s so devastatingly sexy. You pouted. “If you say so.”
Ellis caught a glance at your screen. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Tell me how it goes and share anything cool. But get a cocktail at Pearl for me. I’ll be waiting for the Instagram story.”
You smiled. “You got it, P.”
It was unfortunate, Dr. Abbot being a deterrent to you working the night shift. You chewed on your pen as you thought about him. You vibed so well with Ellis and Shen. The park and bar down the street and a footlong tab was no stranger to the three of you. Getting past superficial niceties with the morning shift was difficult. Except for Samira. You loved Samira but her dedication to the job meant that your conversations never drifted far from cases at work. Well, except when she was a drink too far. Then, you’d shit-talk Dr. Robby for a beat or two. You both knew he meant well, but sometimes you needed an outlet and she was the only one who understood. Collins was cool, but you had a feeling she wasn’t looking for a friendship with you outside of work. McKay was on a different stratosphere because she had a kid. You had no idea what you had in common in Langdon. And Dr. Robby wasn’t going to take you for a coffee anytime soon…
At this rate, your best friend during days was going to be Brendon Park. Just two very competent but quiet people.
You shuddered.
Rerouting your attention to the matter at hand, you continued to scroll for flights. Focus and stop staring at Dr. Abbot. United, Delta, American Airlines…your eyes glazed over. Why were there so many options? In fantasy-land, Dr. Abbot would amble over and lean over your shoulder. Did he even know you were coming? Well, in fantasy-land, who cared? He’d suggest you take the same flight as him. Naturally, you’d have to be seated next to each other. It’d be really weird if two colleagues decided to sit on completely different ends of the plane, wouldn’t it?
Then the TSA would peg you as husband and wife—oh, how horrible! Then, he’d hold you stow your luggage and hold you during turbulence and you would have no complaints.
“Hey, good catch on the peds case with the juvenile arthritis today.”
You nearly launched yourself out of your chair. You turn around to where Ellis had sat, but she’d been replaced with Dr. Abbot who was standing tall and imposing, arms folded across his chest, and staring you down with an impressed smile. His biceps contracted and pushed against his knuckles. Wow.
“Robby was telling me about it at hand-off. Your kid had been refusing to go to school the past couple weeks, skipping gymnastics, and spiking a bit of a fever but insisted she was fine. Heard that once you got the overbearing mom out of the room, the kid spilled her guts out to you.”
You nodded slowly, resisting the urge to lick your lips at the sound of Dr. Abbot praising you. “With mom out of the room, she admitted she had a lot of pain in her legs, but didn’t want her mom to worry. She was a bit of… hypochondriac towards her kid. After that detail, the direction of her diagnosis was a bit more evident.”
“And if you hadn’t been there, she might’ve been discharged with behavioural counselling and Tylenol,” Dr. Abbot added.
“She even told me about her crush at school. His name’s Jack. Isn’t that funny?”
“Kids have the best intuition of who can be trusted.” Abbot placed a firm hand on your shoulder. “I’m always warning Robby, I’m going to poach you from days soon enough.”
You laughed despite the burn where Dr. Abbot’s hand rested on your blouse. How was it that you could feel his fingers through the material? “I could be convinced.”
Dr. Abbot pointed at you. “Careful, I’ll take that as a binding agreement,” he warned. “Have a good night. Keep up the good work.”
You chewed the inside of your cheek to keep from crashing out. “Good night, Dr. Abbot.” You offered him a small smile before swivelling back to the computer where your cursor was hovering over the ‘book flight’ button for a 10:35 a.m. flight out of Pittsburgh International. You wondered if he saw anything on your monitor. The flights, the conference—should you ask…?
Even if you wanted to, Dr. Abbot was being lured away by Shen and you really didn’t need Shen to judge you more than he had been. He accused you of being jumpy and weird. Hypocrite.
Dr. Abbot had to babysit you enough at work, you didn’t need him to do that at the conference. With a frown, you booked the flight. Then, you slung your bag over your shoulder and clocked out. Let your dreams be dreams, you thought to yourself. There was an inconceivable chance that anything could happen between you and senior nightshift attending, Dr. Abbot.
But you were still going to go home, crack open a crisp bottle of wine, pop your headphones in, and listen to an erotic audiobook…
And pretend it was Dr. Abbot on the other side of the sound wave.
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