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His backyard is one of your favourite places to unwind and clear your head. It’s simple in a lot of ways, easy to manage, but with some homely touches. Like the seats with new cushions, the firepit to encourage convivial socialising, and the string lights hung overhead and along the fence. This all means that even during the winter months, the space is appealing.
It’s late evening around 8pm and although it’s dry, the temperature can’t be much more than 10°C. But the firepit is lit and you have a blanket slung around your shoulders to provide some warmth, an amber glow cascading across your face from the flames and the fairy lights. Jack is inside the house tidying up from dinner, both of you enjoying a night off from the busyness at the ED.
However, you’re distracted.
It’s been three months since your relationship changed. There was something bubbling under the surface for a while, but Abbot was reluctant to cross any sort of line. Initially, the assumption was that this was because he still mourns for his wife, but one night he explained in a fiery tirade that it wouldn’t be right. He’s the attending, and you’re a third-year resident. It would be wrong, something about him being in a position of power.
And then you got drunk together after a particularly difficult shift and ended up kissing in a darkened corner of some bar.
After your first date, he brought you back here, not because of any wicked intentions but because your roomie was hooking up with someone at your apartment and he felt sorry for you. This is where you sat together, talking, laughing, feeling genuinely free even if it was for just a few hours. “Baby?” He pokes his head out of the doors that lead onto the decking from the kitchen. “Did you want a drink?”
“I’m okay.”
“You sure?” It’s obvious that he’s asking this for a different reason, clear by the cocking of his head, but he also wouldn’t push. “I can make hot cocoa.”
“That does sound nice.” You smile and although he doesn’t reply with words, it’s obvious that he plans to do just that by how his face breaks out into a grin before he heads back inside.
Sometimes you have to pinch yourself that you're now together. There is an age gap – something that you never thought would be appealing – but it doesn’t feel like an issue because of how he looks after you. No pressure, no expectations, just affection and care and wanting to do right by you.
But you’re yet to have sex.
There’s been a lot of making out and cuddling and a bit of over-the-clothes action but nothing more than that. It’s not that you’re not interested in him like that, and he’s definitely wild about you, but there’s a reluctance there. A reluctance that he respects and doesn’t question. Maybe if he did question it though, just a little, then the next steps wouldn’t seem as daunting. “What are you thinking so loudly about?”
Jack emerges from the house holding two mugs in one hand and his crutches in the other, walking a little off most likely from fatigue catching up on him. He slides the mugs onto a short table between the seats before sitting down, expression relaxed and open, waiting for a response. “It’s nothing.” But this just makes him raise his brow as he works off his prosthetic to put down on the decking next to the leg of his chair.
“I’m not going to make you talk.” He shrugs with a level of nonchalance which is oddly attractive. “But if you talk, I’ll listen.”
Most of your life, you’ve felt alone. An outsider who focussed purely on getting into medicine over everything else. It’s made it difficult to open up, to be honest, to be raw in front of another person. But Jack really wants to know everything about you and everything that’s on your mind, because it matters to him. “Do you find it strange that we haven’t slept together yet?” It comes out so hushed that it’s surprising he hears.
“You stay over all the time.” Is his somewhat flippant answer before he catches the coyness to your expression. It makes realisation flicker across his. “Oh you mean slept together. Hm.” He fidgets in his seat, working out the best way to play this. “I haven’t thought of it as strange. I just get the vibe it may not be something you’re into.”
“It’s not that. I…” You trail off, lowering your head in shame, grateful that the low light means he won’t be able to see how flushed you’ve become. “I just don’t know w-what or- actually, how… fuck. I- shit. I don’t know.”
Abbot doesn’t reply immediately, he just watches you closely while his brain churns. It’s not like you to get flustered. You’ve worked together side by side for over two years and if anything, he would refer to you as calm and collected, but right now you’re being anything but.
He shifts again, leaning slightly nearer as his lips part in a way that makes it seem like he’s about to unearth some great big secret. “Baby… are you a virgin?”
“No!” You exclaim immediately, sounding offended although you don’t really know why. “I just-” The truth presses against your ribs, wanting to burst out but also feeling mortified by the prospect. “God this is embarrassing.”
“It’s not.” He says without a beat of silence passing. “You can tell me.”
This makes you take in a deep breath, holding it for a second or two while your fingertips tap nervously against your thigh, before exhaling. “I’m not a virgin. But I’ve not got much experience.” The breath barely leaves you before the explanation comes tumbling out. “And you are…”
“Experienced?” He guesses. “I guess that kind of comes with age and I’m an old man.”
“You’re not old! Just older than me.”
“Almost double your age.”
“Almost-” This makes you pause. It’s not like you didn’t know this already but saying it out loud makes it even more real. “Double my age.”
Abbot hums and reaches forward to pick up the two mugs of hot cocoa from the small table. He passes one over to you to warm your hands and the other he takes a sip from. It’s like he’s trying to add some normalcy to the situation – a situation you’re finding tough to navigate. “I hate to think that you would find it daunting to roll around in bed with me.” He makes this sound light, easy-breezy, which does help to an extent. “I promise I am a very nice guy beneath the sheets unless you don’t want me to be.”
“Oh.” You blush which you attempt to hide by taking a sip of the hot beverage.
“Sorry that was… probably not the right thing to say.” He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “When you say that you’re inexperienced. What do you mean by that?”
“I lost my virginity at fifteen.” You start by explaining, hoping if you just talk then enough information will come out for this to all make sense. “It was nothing really, a fumble in the boy’s den followed by us watching a bootleg copy of Interstellar. B-But he told everyone.” It’s coming out so fast that Jack has to pay attention to try and keep up, knowing that butting in with questions may make you close off again. “I became this… slutty pariah.”
His hazel eyes gaze back at you, sympathy brimming in them now, his jaw set with ire aimed towards the kid who hurt you like that. “So I didn’t even attempt to go there again with anyone while still at school.” You continue, tapping your foot nervously against the decking. “And then three weeks into college I had a bad experience with a frat boy. Suddenly everything felt unsafe.”
Powerless would be the word to describe how you felt in that situation. Powerless and vulnerable. Consent was vague, too overwhelmed to say ‘stop’ and ‘no’. He probably wouldn’t have listened anyway. “At med school, I tried to hook up with another student when we were drunk at a party. Gave him a… hand job and let’s just say it was over very quickly.” You run your fingers through your hair then, nails digging into your scalp slightly for some relief. “God I feel stupid.”
“You’re not stupid.” Jack is quick to say before frowning. “I’m sorry you’ve had a string of such bad experiences. Sex can be complicated, but it doesn’t have to be.” His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, something he does when he’s apprehensive, showing that he doesn’t quite know the best way forward. “I would love to make you feel good baby. Show you how it can be. But if you don’t want to go there, then I’m a grownup, I can deal with that.”
“You wouldn’t dump me?”
“No. Of course not.” He practically scoffs, horrified that you’d think such a thing. “You know how I feel about you. Having sex would just be a bonus.”
“I do want to have sex with you though. I’m just… nervous I guess.”
“It’s okay to be nervous. I will just have to do everything in my power to make sure you’re comfortable if we go there.” The lack of expectation is quite freeing really. This is a man who would have an excuse to not be patient after the life he has had, and yet here is, being all reassuring and loving despite probably being pent up. “How about you ask me any questions you want about sex and me and my history? I’ll promise to answer them truthfully.”
“Oh I-I don’t know.”
“It may help you to talk about it. Might make it less scary in your head.”
The words settle between you with the soft crackle of the firepit, gentle enough that they don’t feel like pressure, but impossible to ignore. Across from you, Jack stays quiet after saying it, stretched low in his chair with his hot chocolate balanced loosely between both palms, giving you room to think instead of rushing to fill the silence.
You stare into the flames because it’s easier than looking at him. Easier than letting yourself see the concern that always seems to mollify his face whenever the conversation edges too close to any subject that’s bruised inside you. The idea of talking about it makes your stomach tighten immediately, instinctively, like your body has already decided the conversation will hurt before your mind can catch up. Sex has always felt enormous in your head – less like intimacy and more like expectation, vulnerability sharpened into something frightening.
But Jack doesn’t make it feel all that enormous.
The firelight flickers across the edge of his profile, amber catching in the tired lines around his eyes, and you think about how carefully he’s handled every step towards you so far. How he never reaches without checking first, how he never acts like your hesitation is inconvenient. Your fingers tighten slightly around the mug.
Maybe talking about it wouldn’t make the fear disappear, but sitting here now, wrapped in layers against the cold while Jack quietly waits instead of pushing, you can almost imagine the fear shrinking into something manageable. “Okay, um…” Your voice catches slightly in your throat. “How many partners have you had?”
Jack glances up from the fire, brow lifting. “Sexual partners?” All you can do is hum in confirmation. “Oh, I don’t know… Ten to twenty? Most before my wife, only a couple after.” His mouth twists faintly. “Both one-night stands followed by a shit tonne of regret.”
The honesty is almost refreshing because it’s not polished nor performative, just true. “Do you think you would regret it with me?”
“No, sweetheart.” Jack answers so quickly it almost steals the air from your lungs. “It’s different with you.”
“Okay.” A small, helpless smile pulls at your mouth before you can stop it. The silence that follows feels lighter somehow, less severe around the edges. Your pulse still flutters nervously beneath your skin, but curiosity starts slipping carefully between the cracks of fear. “Do you leave your leg on?”
“Oh.” He laughs with a warmness that’s startled and fond all at once. “I love that that’s question number two.” He glances down at his prosthetic leaning against his chair, remembering a time when it used to make him self-conscious but now it’s just part of him. “It depends on the location and position.” Jack expands casually. “Against the wall… in the shower… over the back of the couch…”
Every example sends a wave of heat rushing into your face until you have to duck your head behind your mug entirely. “I would leave it on.” There’s a smirk to his face, telling you that he’s enjoying this little but of harmless torture. “In bed I usually remove it. It’s a bit of a mood killer accidentally knocking into your lover with metal and carbon fibre.” A surprised laugh escapes you before you can stop it.
The fire continues to crackle quietly. You watch him over the top of your cup for a long moment, trying to understand how he keeps making this easier. How conversations that normally leave you wanting to crawl out of your own skin somehow feel manageable with him sitting across from you in an old hoodie and worn jeans, speaking with such easy openness about things that terrify you. “How are you so patient? W-With me.”
This makes any lingering amusement fade from Jack’s expression immediately, changing into something more sincere. “Because I’m not an asshole.” He states simply. “And you matter too much for me to fuck it up over not having sex.”
The words hit somewhere deep and aching inside you. He makes ‘not having sex’ sound so normal. You’re not refusing him, not withholding something, not failing at being an adult. You just haven’t gone there with him yet. For the first time in a long while, the knot in your chest loosens enough for you to breathe around it.
“Come here.” The words are quiet, roughened by the cold air and the lingering warmth of the conversation, and somehow that makes them harder to resist. You hesitate only a second before pushing yourself out of your chair. Jack shuffles immediately to make room, one hand steadying against the arm of the chair as you lower yourself carefully into his lap.
The position should feel impossibly intimate. Instead, it feels safe.
His firm chest presses against your back, solid and familiar even through the layers of clothes between you. One of his arms settles loosely around your waist while the other keeps hold of his mug, like he’s deliberately refusing to make the moment heavier than it needs to be. The easy restraint of it makes something in your chest ache. “You’re freezing.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” He chuckles.
The firepit spits in front of you, orange light dancing across the yard. You become aware of the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the smell of smoke caught in his hoodie, the careful way his thumb moves once against your side before going still again, like even now he’s checking for permission without asking out loud. “This okay?” He asks and you nod. “Good.” His chin brushes lightly against the top of your head. “Can I ask you some questions now?”
You feel the words more than hear them, low against your hair where you’re tucked into him. His arm still resting around your waist. “Sure.”
Jack’s hand shifts slightly on your leg, fingers brushing absentmindedly against your thigh through your clothes. “Do you ever touch yourself, baby?”
Heat immediately floods your face again. “Sometimes.” The admittance is quiet, stemming from shyness.
“Use toys?” You shake your head against his shoulder. “Toys can be fun. Maybe we can explore them at some point.” The use of ‘we’ sends another nervous flutter through you, butterflies soaring in your stomach.
His hand drifts a little higher along the inside of your thigh, still feather-light, still careful. It isn’t overwhelming. If anything, the gentleness of it makes you more aware of every inch of your body. Warmth spreads beneath your skin almost instantly. “Does your body react when I touch you?”
You swallow hard. “Yeah.”
“How does it react?”
“I tingle. All over my skin and… and lower.” Your voice drops embarrassingly softer. “I get wet.”
Jack exhales sharply against your neck. “Fuck, baby.” The praise hidden in his tone makes your gut twist pleasantly. He lowers his head further into the curve of your neck for a second, breathing you in slowly, and the intimacy of something so simple nearly undoes you. “Have you imagined us doing stuff together?”
“Hm.” Your heart pounds harder. “Often.” His touches pause against your thigh. “Sometimes I touch myself imagining it.” The confession comes before you can lose your nerve. The arm around your waist tightens instinctively, not possessive, just affected. “Are you going to fuck me?”
Abbot goes still as if his brain has just caught up with what he’s been doing. His hand leaves your thigh completely a second later, settling instead against your stomach in a slow, reassuring stroke. “Not tonight, sweetheart.” The answer comes without disappointment or frustration, if anything it’s affectionate. “I am just going to hold you.” He murmurs, lips brushing lightly near your temple. “If that’s alright?”
----------
The room is dim in that strange in-between way mornings become when you work nights with pale sunlight leaking weakly through the curtains while exhaustion clings heavy to your bones like damp clothes. Somewhere outside, the rest of the world is starting its day, but you feel like yours nearly broke apart already.
The patient’s face keeps flashing behind your eyes no matter how hard you try to shove it away. The monitor alarms, the frantic pressure in your chest, the awful stillness afterwards when you had to call it. You held yourself together through the shift because you had to, because there were other patients and charts and tasks waiting, but the second you walked into Jack’s home the grief cracks open inside you all over again.
He pulled you close, pressing his lips into your neck, using actions rather than words in attempt to reassure that everything will be alright.
Now you’re sitting at the edge of his bed with your fingers twisted tightly in the front of his black t-shirt, kissing him like you’re trying to outrun your own thoughts. Jack lets you. One of his hands cups the side of your neck while the other steadies at your waist, anchoring you instead of controlling you. Every kiss he gives you is deep and patient and devastatingly attentive, like he can feel the desperation behind yours and is trying to absorb some of it for you.
You climb closer without thinking, knees pressing against his thighs. “Hey, it’s okay.” He murmurs quietly against your lips, his hand sliding up your back in one long stroke before settling between your shoulder blades, tugging you even closer. “It’s not your fault.”
The sympathy in his voice cracks the fragile composure you’ve been clinging to since walking out of The Pitt with him. You make a small, wounded sound before hiding your face against his shoulder, and immediately his arms close around you fully. “You did everything you could.”
“It wasn’t enough.”
“Sometimes the odds are stacked against us and even with our best efforts we lose someone.” You cling to him harder. After a moment, Jack tilts your chin up gently, eyes searching your face like he’s checking whether you’re still with him. “You want distracting?”
“Yes.”
A faint smile ghosts across his mouth, tender and a little sad around the edges. “Okay.” And then he kisses you again.
Initially, it’s slow, giving you chance to melt into it. His thumb brushes fleetingly along your jaw while your hands slide into his hair, and gradually the awful tightness in your chest loosens enough for you to breathe around it. The kisses turn messier after that. Needier. Like neither of you really knows what to do with this emotion masquerading as grief except into each other.
Jack’s back hits the edge of the mattress as you push closer between his knees, your fingers buried in the short grey curls at the nape of his neck while his hands slide carefully over your hips and waist, never gripping too hard, never taking more than you willingly give. Your mouths keep finding each other desperately between breaths, slow one second and hungry the next.
The room feels too warm and your pulse can’t find a steady rhythm. Every soft sound he makes against your mouth sends heat flooding through you, and for the first time the wanting outweighs the fear completely. You want him – and that realisation crashes through you.
Your hand moves before you can overthink it, sliding down his stomach, over soft fabric and hard muscle until your palm settles clumsily against the bulge in his sweats that he threw on the moment he got home.
Jack stills noticeably enough to get you to stop. His hand wraps carefully around your wrist. “S-Sorry.” Your face burns instantly, panic flaring hot in your chest, but Jack shakes his head before you can pull away.
“You don’t need to be sorry, baby.” His thumb strokes once across the inside of your wrist keeping you there with him. “I just don’t want our first time together to be like this.” You blink at him, breathing uneven.
Like this. Driven by grief and exhaustion and the desperate need to escape your own head for a while. Your relationship is too important to make those emotions part of a defining moment.
Jack’s forehead rests briefly against yours before he speaks again, voice softer now. “Can I do something for you though?”
“W-What?”
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Do you trust me?”
“I do.” The answer comes without hesitation.
Something tender flashes across his expression at that. Almost wrecked by the raw truth of it. “Okay.” Then he’s guiding you back gently onto the bed beside him – on your side of the bed – one hand smoothing cautiously along your thigh while the other cups your jaw. “You tell me if you want to stop, alright?”
“I will.” Jack kisses you once more before pulling back just enough to look at you properly. And somehow the look in his eyes is more intimate than anything else so far. He holds your gaze for another second, like he’s making absolutely certain you still mean it.
Then he removes his hand from your jaw. “Hang on a sec, sweetheart.” You watch, breathing still laboured somewhat, as he moves carefully on the mattress. There’s nothing awkward about the action that follows, nothing hidden or ashamed in the way he reaches down to unfasten his prosthetic. And yet it still warms your heart because it symbols how he shares every part of himself with you.
The prosthetic comes free with almost rehearsed ease before he sets it carefully against the side of the bed. “Don’t want that getting in the way.” He mutters, almost to himself, before refocussing all his attention back on you. “Can I?” He asks, fingers brushing lightly against the hem of your sweatshirt. You nod.
He peels it upwards slowly, giving you plenty of time to stop him if you want to. The fabric slides over your skin inch by inch until he tosses it somewhere onto the floor beside the bed. His eyes flick over you afterwards, not greedily, but with an appreciation that he quickly voices. “Beautiful girl.”
The words hit harder than they should. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you naked before, but it’s different now, because it’s not just a quick glimpse while you change. Jack’s hands continue carefully downwards, thumbs tracing lightly over your sides before hooking into the waistband of your shorts. Again he pauses, watching your face for any flicker of hesitation.
You lift your hips for him before he even has to ask, and a small smirk ghosts his mouth at that.
The shorts disappear next, leaving you completely bare for him. Instinctively, your arms start to fold across yourself, but Jack catches your wrist gently before you can hide. “Please.” He says softly, his knuckles brushing along your stomach, then your hip, like he’s trying to teach you there’s nothing here to be ashamed of. “Don’t hide from me.”
Your throat tightens. Nobody has ever made vulnerability feel this careful before. This unhurried. Like your body isn’t something to conquer but something he’s been entrusted with. Jack leans down then, pressing a slow kiss just beneath your breasts, and the combination of his mouth against your skin and the steady warmth of his hand on your waist sends a shiver rolling through you from head to toe.
It’s him gently parting your legs that has you sucking in a breath. Jack looks up from between them, eyes scanning your face, wanting to make sure you’re okay. “We can stop, baby.” He reminds.
“I don’t want to stop.” It comes out surprisingly steady. “I just can’t believe you’re going to…” The words die on your tongue.
“Eat you out?” The idea alone makes you dizzy and relieved that you’re lying down against the plush pillows. Jack looks up between your legs with a question glimmering in his hazel eyes, but they don’t leave yours even with your arousal so close to his face. He can smell it and it’s making him salivate but he holds back. “Has anyone ever done this to you before?”
“No.” It comes out barely above a whisper.
“Can I show how good it can feel?” He checks and you nod. “I would rather hear your words, sweetheart.”
“Yes I-” You release a shaky breath. “I want you to.”
“Good.”
Jack starts by peppering kisses along the inside of your thighs sweetly, inching closer and closer to your dripping centre. He doesn’t go there though, not yet, he continues his movements by sucking at your skin instead, hard enough to make your toes curl but not enough to leave a mark.
You wouldn’t mind if he marked you though.
That’s all forgotten on the first swipe of his tongue. It makes a moan that was trapped in your chest carry through your throat until it escapes your lips as a grunt. He chuckles against you, but the vibrations just pleasure you even more. He's only just begun and you're already resentful that you've missed out on years of this.
The tentative licks turn more needy very quickly. He draws in your lips and then your throbbing clit, when his mouth latches around it you hiss, arching slightly off the bed, but a firm arm across your torso keeps you in place. Every so often he does peer up to check in, to make sure this isn’t too much for you, before continuing in his mission. His mission to have you make a mess of the sheets.
Jack then starts to feast on you. Kissing, sucking, licking, slurping, all while rolling his hips into the mattress to take the edge off his own arousal. It’s difficult to not be hard when he gets to taste your sweet nectar. “You doing okay?” He asks, sounding a little breathless himself.
“More than okay.” You then weave your hand into his hair, pushing him back down to where you want him. “D-Don’t stop.”
“I won’t, baby.” He grins. “I won’t.” That’s when he slides in one of his fingers and the gasp sound you make swiftly transforms into a deep moan.
His digits are so much larger than yours, just one creates a wonderful stretch, but two? Two makes your moans louder, the burn below giving way to something pleasurable when he resumes sucking on your clit.
Meeting Dr Jack Abbot as an intern was scary at first. He was blunt in his teachings, foul-mouthed, and sometimes had very little patience. Then you watched him bond with a former veteran who totalled his car while drunk having consumed copious amounts of alcohol to fend off a PTSD attack. Then you saw how he handled a young woman who was a victim of sexual assault, speaking to her with such care and tact. Then there was him talking down a suicidal teen who locked himself in the bathroom with something that could have done him harm.
All in one night.
Nothing was too much trouble and all three of them went away slightly better having been treated by him. It put Jack in a different light. One that showed him as a human being, not just as the night shift attending. Afterwards, a group of the Nightcrawlers, went for a drink in the park to try and put a difficult twelve hours to bed. You found out more about his time in Afghanistan, how he lost his leg – he even mentioned about losing his wife, before he bottled his emotions up and deflected.
Suddenly though, he didn’t seem as scary. And now he’s made you the wettest you think you’ve ever been.
Jack curls his fingers to stroke at the spongey part of your inner walls, and you practically wail. He’s a magician, he has to be, and a part of you is beginning to regret holding off for so long. “Are you going to cum for me, baby?” He questions, his ministrations not relenting as you push your hips down to meet his movements. “I think you are…” He says this a singsong voice and if you weren’t so aroused you’d roll your eyes.
“Shut up.” And he does – only so he can put his mouth to better use.
In the movies, you’ve seen actresses be loud and expressive when they reach their peak during sex scenes. It’s always made you scoff, hating the dramatics that are so clearly exaggerated. Now you think you may have to apologise to all those actresses because when you fall into your orgasm, it’s like you aren’t in control of your body.
Muscles tense and relax. Limbs quiver. Your back curves off the bed like you’re possessed. All while you make noises that you can’t believe are coming from your mouth. How you gasp out his name, strangled and needy, is definitely a sound you won’t forget in a hurry – and neither will he.
Jack eases you through it with hurried laps of his tongue and deep thrusts of his fingers until you’re pushing him away, prickling with overstimulation. Your chest rises and falls theatrically as you try to catch your breath and when you look down at him, expecting to see a Cheshire Cat kind of grin, you realise that spots in your vision are making it difficult to see. He really did wring everything out of you.
He crawls up your trembling body and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. It tastes different to normal because of how your arousal lingers on his tongue. “How was that?” He asks, sitting up beside you to pull a blanket up from the foot of the bed to cover your body that’s now littered with goosebumps.
“Insane.” You admit, smiling widely. “You’re insane.”
“I will have you know I am mentally sound… most of the time.” A huff of a laugh escapes you as he chuckles too before he turns thoughtful. “Seriously though, was that okay? It wasn’t too much?”
“No, it wasn’t too much.” Reaching across, you cup his jaw in your small hand, running your thumb along his cheekbone not quite believing how lucky you are. “It got me out of my head and felt amazing.”
“Good, I’m glad.” You just about catch how he beams before your gaze drops to how his sweatpants tent around the groin. There’s a damp patch on the front of the grey fabric where the tip of his hardness had started to paint a picture. “Don’t worry about that.” Jack says, tipping up your chin by the side of his hand. “It will go away.”
“Doesn’t seem fair.” You frown before drawing your bottom lip between your teeth, “I could-”
“No.” He states sternly. “I wanted tonight to be about you. If necessary I will go and finish myself off in the bathroom.”
“Or you could do it here.” It just comes out and immediately you sense your cheeks heating up from embarrassment. Embarrassed for being so forward. It isn’t like you… maybe he’s awoken a beast you hadn’t realised was there. “I’m sorry. I-I shouldn’t have said that. It was too-”
Jack kisses you before you can finish the sentence. Completely shamelessly. The sound you make dissolves into the kiss as his hand slides up to the side of your neck, keeping you there. It’s not heated like earlier, just affectionate, silencing you in the gentlest possible way.
When he finally pulls back, you blink at him in mild offense. “Did you just kiss me to shut me up?”
“Absolutely.” He shrugs. “You need to stop apologising for things that you shouldn’t be sorry for.” The instruction comes out harsher than he intends and he’s swiftly shaking his head at himself, not wanting to make this into a big thing. “I love that you’re curious about that. Almost as much as I love you.”
“What?” The second the word leaves your mouth, Jack’s expression shifts from soft affection to immediate alarm. Not because he regrets it but because you sound horrified. “You love me?”
He actually looks appalled. “Yes?” He says cautiously, brows knitting together. “Fucking hell, don’t sound so surprised.”
“I… It’s just… shit.” Now he appears slightly offended, and somehow shy at the same time.
His gaze flicks away from yours briefly before returning, pink beginning to creep across the tops of his cheeks. “Well, this is humiliating.” You can’t help but stare at him harder. “I thought I was being pretty obvious about it.”
“You never said it.”
“I thought I showed it with… actions.” He gesticulates wildly. “But of course I love you, sweetheart.”
The sincerity in his voice hits you harder than the words themselves. Because suddenly all the little things click painfully into place like his patience and tenderness and the way he always notices when you’re overwhelmed before you even say anything. The way he treats your fears like something precious instead of inconvenient.
Your throat tightens. Jack watches your face carefully, shyness slowly giving way to concern. “Hey.” He leans in closer. “You okay?”
“I think I love you too.” He goes completely silent and this time it’s your turn to watch shock spread slowly across someone else’s face.
The silence afterwards feels different from before. It’s not charged with a sexual electricity but is soft. Jack is still staring at you like he can’t quite believe what you said, one hand resting warm against your waist beneath the blanket. The teasing embarrassment from earlier has vanished entirely now, replaced by something so open it almost hurts to look at directly.
You can actually see the exact moment his defences drop. “Yeah?” He asks quietly and you nod, suddenly coy yourself.
“Yeah, I do.” Jack’s eyes close briefly like the words physically strike him. Then he pulls you against him, his arousal suddenly even more unimportant than it was before.
Your cheek presses against his chest while his arms wrap around you tight enough to feel protective, and for a long moment neither of you says anything at all. One of his hands slides slowly up your back. “I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that.” He admits eventually, voice rougher than before. “Should have done it better.”
You smile faintly against his t-shirt. “What, like skywriting?”
“I was thinking dinner or a drink under the stars.” He mutters.
You tilt your head enough to look up at him then, and something in your chest squeezes painfully at the tenderness waiting in his face. There’s no performance in it, no carefully maintained coolness, just affection laid completely bare. His thumb brushes beneath your eye gently. “You look tired.”
“I am.” You confess with a lopsided smile, the heaviness of the shift catching up on you.
“Come here.” You already are, but he still manoeuvrers you closer somehow, rearranging the blankets around your shoulders before settling back against the pillows with you tucked into his side. The movement is so instinctively caring it makes warmth bloom all through your chest again.
Your fingers lazily trace along his ribs beneath his shirt. “You know… you’re a lot softer than everyone at work thinks you are.”
“Don’t ruin my reputation.”
“Too late.”
“Traitor.”
----------
The drive back from dinner feels charged from the second Jack’s hand settles on your thigh across the centre console. It’s not overtly sexual, just aware about the newfound energy there is between you.
Every glance lingers too long. Every accidental touch feels deliberate. By the time he parks outside his house, your pulse is already beating hard enough to make your skin feel tight.
Neither of you says much climbing out of the truck. The night air is cool against your flushed face as Jack guides you up the short path towards his home with a hand steady at the small of your back. The touch is familiar now, instinctive, but tonight it makes heat curl low in your stomach instead of comfort alone.
He only lets go long enough to unlock the front door. The second it shuts behind you, you grab the front of his jacket and kiss him. The kiss abrupt and deep and hardly romantic but it elicits a surprised sound from him as he stumbles back half a step before his hands immediately find your waist.
It turns heated almost instantly, all the tension simmering between you over the past week finally catching fire. You can feel the hitch in his breathing when you press closer. “What was that for?” Jack mumbles against your lips.
You kiss him once more before answering, unable to stop smiling a little. “Maybe I just want you to know how much I love you.” Something in his expression softens so quickly it nearly derails your courage. “Also…” But not quite. “I’m ready.”
Jack stills completely. Your heartbeat pounds loud in your ears as his eyes search your face carefully, making sure you mean it. Really mean it. “For what?” He asks quietly, though the coarseness in his voice says he already knows. All you can do is bite your lip. “Are you sure, baby?”
“I am.” And his eyes darken from lust in reply.
His forehead drops briefly against yours as he takes a few breaths like he’s gathering himself together. “Okay.”
Jack takes your hand after that, threading your fingers together securely before leading you towards the stairs. There’s something different in the way he moves now, still gentle, still careful, but weighted with anticipation beneath the restraint. Halfway upstairs, he glances back at you. Not checking for permission anymore, checking that you’re still alright.
And you are.
Upstairs, the mood changes into something quieter again. Jack closes the bedroom door before turning back towards you slowly, eyes dragging over your body with an expression that makes heat coil low in your gut instantly. There’s no rush in him despite the obvious want darkening his gaze. If anything, he seems even more careful now that this means something bigger than just desire.
His fingers hook lightly into yours. You step between his knees as he sits at the edge of the bed, and immediately his hands settle at your hips, thumbs brushing slow circles over the leather-effect material of your leggings. “Been thinking about undressing you all night.” He admits.
Jack tilts his head back slightly to kiss you again, slower this time, letting the moment stretch while his hands begin easing your chiffon top upward inch by inch. The fabric whispers across your skin as he removes your clothes, eyes flicking up repeatedly to check your expression.
Your heels disappear next, dropped carelessly somewhere onto the floor while Jack presses distracted kisses along your stomach and ribs between every layer he removes. By the time he works the leggings down your legs, your breathing feels uneven enough that all you can really do is watch him.
Watch the concentration in his face, the restraint, the way his fingertips linger almost worshipfully against your skin like he still can’t quite believe he’s getting to do this with you.
Left in only your underwear, he spins you around so it’s you against the bed before he’s easing you down onto the mattress. He then stands to undress himself and the sight alone short circuits your brain.
He works off his jacket first, tossing it onto the nearby chair before unbuttoning his dress shirt slowly. Your eyes catch on every newly exposed inch of skin – his broad shoulders, old scars, and so many freckles. When he finally pushes the shirt off completely, your mouth actually goes dry.
Jack notices immediately and he smirks. “You okay there?”
“Shut up.” He laughs and then unfastens his belt. Your stomach flips harder watching him shove his pants down, anticipation humming painfully beneath your skin now. You don’t even try to hide the way you stare.
He then reaches down towards his prosthetic. The mood altering slightly as he unclips it, not awkward exactly, just real. He balances carefully afterward, hopping once awkwardly towards the bed while steadying himself against the mattress. “I know…” He glances up at you with a nervous half-smile. “Sexy, right?”
Something in your chest squeezes immediately and it makes you sit up straighter. “Please don’t feel self-conscious about your prosthetic.”
Jack pauses. The joking edge fades from his expression as he searches your face carefully, like he’s checking whether you’re only saying it to make him feel better. You reach for him before he can retreat into himself, fingers brushing lightly along his wrist. “I mean it. You never made me feel ashamed about the things I was scared of.” Your throat tightens slightly. “I don’t want you feeling that way with me either.”
“Fuck.” He curses, climbing onto the bed beside you. “You really do love me.”
You smile a little. “Told you.” His hand cups your face immediately after that, thumb brushing your cheek while he kisses you slow enough to make your entire chest ache with it. Not heated this time, just full of feeling.
Jack’s kiss deepens for one lingering moment before he shifts suddenly, guiding you backwards onto the mattress. A light surprised laugh leaves you as your back hits the sheets, but it disappears quickly beneath the weight of his mouth on yours again. He braces himself carefully above you, one hand planted beside your head while the other slides slowly along your waist.
The wanting look of desire in his eyes nearly steals your breath. “Still okay?”
“Yes.” The answer comes instantly and he exhales quietly like he needed to hear it.
Then his fingers move behind your back, working carefully at the clasp of your bra. You shiver as his knuckles brush your skin accidentally, anticipation making every touch feel amplified. The straps loosen a second later. Jack pulls back just enough to slide the fabric away from your body before tossing it somewhere onto the floor without looking. His gaze rakes slowly over you afterwards with an uttering of, “Beautiful.”
You blush and he bends down to kiss you again before you can figure out how to respond, more languidly than before. His mouth leaves yours after a while, trailing along your jaw instead. Heat blooms beneath your skin instantly as his lips brush the sensitive spot beneath your ear.
A quiet sound escapes you. “That’s it.” He murmurs. “I’m going to make you feel so good. I promise.” And you have no doubt he’s going to keep his end of the bargain.
Time seems to go by quick and slow all at once. One minute you’re making out with him flicking your nipple with his thumb, the next he’s lifting his head from between your thighs as you feel completely boneless and wrecked in an overwhelmingly wonderful way.
Your skin is damp with sweat against the sheets, chest rising and falling in uneven pants while your entire body still trembles faintly from the aftershocks of the second orgasm he’d pulled from you with impossible patience. “Easy…” He murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to the inside of your knee. “Breathe for me.”
You let out a shaky laugh that sounds embarrassingly close to a whine. “This is not what I pictured when I said was ready.” The admittance is quiet, almost wistful. “Thought you’d just…”
“Just what?” His brow furrows now.
“Fuck me.”
Jack groans and looks heavenwards. “Then I’ve not done my job right.” He says with a firmness you’ve not heard tonight. “I’m not going to fuck you, sweetheart. I’m going to make love to you. Big difference.” Then his voice returns to a softer, lower tone as he gazes at you in a way that makes it feel like you’re his whole world. “And anyway, I’m allowed to take care of my baby.”
And lying there tangled in his sheets, body still humming pleasantly while Jack looks at you like making you feel good was the best part of the night, you can’t help thinking how unbelievably lucky you are.
Still flushed and shaky beneath him, you reach for the waistband of Jack’s underwear almost shyly, fingertips brushing against the elastic like you’re testing your courage one last time. He leans down to kiss you once before sitting back on his heels. “I’ve got it.”
He hooks his thumbs into the waistband and pushes the garment down before tossing it carelessly somewhere across the room. Your breath catches despite yourself at the sight of him fully bare for the first time, heat curling low in your stomach all over again.
A crooked smile tugs briefly at his mouth before he climbs back over you carefully, bracing himself with experienced ease. But you hesitate and say, “Would it be easier if I… got on top?” The question slips out, tentative around the edges. You glance unconsciously towards where he’s missing his lower right leg.
Jack’s expression changes immediately, not out of offence, but pure adoration of being thought about in that way. One of his hands slides gently along your waist while the other cups your jaw, guiding your attention fully back to him. “Trust me, sweetheart. I’ve learnt to adapt in the bedroom.” The confidence in his tone sends a shiver through you. “My left leg is now stronger than it ever was before.”
You huff out a surprised laugh, tension easing instantly. Jack grins at this, clearly pleased with himself for making you smile when you were seconds away from overthinking again. Then his forehead rests briefly against yours, expression softening once more. “I won’t do anything that hurts me. And I won’t do anything that scares you.” His thumb strokes gently across your cheek. “Okay?”
“Okay.” And then his cock notches against your entrance.
“We are going to take this slow.” He promises. “We can stop at any time.”
“I am ready, Jack. I promise.” You reassure and he nods before he begins to push into you. You suck in a breath at the stretch – even after two orgasms it’s a lot.
“Breathe, baby.” He urges and continues to edge ever so leisurely inside. “Fuck you feel amazing. So tight and… and hot and…” He stutters. “Jesus. How did I get so lucky?”
His thumb finds your clit which he rubs to help ease some of the discomfort away. He may have failed to mention before how well-endowed he is and although it’s hardly a problem, it just means it takes a little longer to adjust to his thickness. “That’s it.” He praises as he sinks in another couple of inches, both of you moaning at the feeling.
It doesn’t take a lot for the slight hint of pain to transform into pleasure. The burn is a good burn, and it makes you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper inside. “Are you…?” You breathe, mind completely jumbled at the sensations that his throbbing cock is giving you.
“How about you take a look?” He suggests and when you glance down at where has completely sunk inside your cunt, a groan escapes you. “Are you ready for me to move?” You can hear how restrained he is being by the gruffness of his voice. There’s something very sexy about that.
“Yes.” The first movement is careful – so careful you almost want to cry from it.
Jack braces himself above you, one hand tangled tightly with yours against the mattress while the other steadies at your hip. His forehead presses against yours as he eases into you slowly, giving your body time to adjust inch by inch. “There you go. My good girl.”
When he finally starts moving, the thrusts stay shallow at first, measured and patient while he watches your face like nothing matters more than making sure you’re alright. Each careful roll of his hips pulls another shuddering sound from your mouth until embarrassment makes you try to hide your face against his shoulder. Jack kisses you harder for that. “Don’t hide from me. I wanna hear you.”
The tenderness of it mixes dangerously with the heat building between you. Because despite how careful he’s being, there’s still something fiery underneath it all now, restrained want finally slipping loose around the edges. You can feel it in the way his breathing roughens. The way his control falters slightly every time you cling tighter to him or gasp his name too sweetly.
And the movements start to deepen. Pleasure crashes through you so sharply it brings stars to your vision. “Oh-” Jack groans quietly at the sound, dropping his head briefly into the curve of your neck while his rhythm finally loses some of its caution. Not reckless, but fuller now. Heat and affection and desire all tangled together until the entire room fills with the symphony of breathless noises neither of you can seem to hold back anymore.
The headboard taps softly against the wall. Your nails drag helplessly through his hair. He murmurs praise whenever he has the oxygen levels to. And it’s better than you ever imagined, not because it’s “perfect”, but because it’s him.
The restraint only lasts so long. Eventually something in Jack breaks loose.
It’s not his control that breaks entirely, he continues to keep a watchful eye on you, never stops checking the little sounds and expressions you make for any sign you need him to slow down. But the careful patience from the beginning gives way to something far more unguarded. Pure, overwhelming want.
You feel it in every desperate kiss he tries to steal between breaths, in the way his hands grip your hips tighter now like he can’t stand the distance of even an inch between you. The rhythm turns rougher, deeper, driven by the growing inability either of you has to think about anything except each other. “Jack.” His name falls apart helplessly on your tongue.
The sound wrecks him and you see it happen. His eyes close briefly, jaw tightening while a rough groan tears from his throat, and suddenly you understand with startling clarity just how wanted you are.
You reach for him instinctively, pulling him down into another kiss, but it’s messy now, mouths colliding more than meeting properly because breathing has become frustratingly necessary.
The room fills with broken noises after that. Breath and praise and the occasional helpless laugh when one of you tries to speak and completely loses the thought halfway through. Sweat dampens his hair at the temples, your fingers trembling where they cling to his shoulders while the entire world narrows down to warmth and movement and Jack’s voice saying your name like it means something sacred.
Every fear you ever carried about this feels impossibly far away now, because there’s nothing frightening in the way Jack touches you. There’s only hunger tempered by love and affection.
When the encounter reaches its crescendo, his name leaves your lips like a plea as his thumb nudges at your sensitive nub. It not only breaks you, shatters you into a million pieces to only get put back together again by his touch, but it also gets him there too.
Hips stuttering, a rough grunt tearing from his throat, as he holds you impossible close, spilling into you, both letting go completely.
Every muscle in your body tenses as the orgasm tears through you, overwhelming enough to leave your vision blurry around the edges. Your fingers clutch desperately at his shoulders while his name tumbles from your lips again and again, helpless and breathless as you surrender entirely to the feeling.
Jack coaxes you through it carefully despite how wrecked he sounds himself, trembling against you while he murmurs soft admiration between uneven breaths. “There you go, baby.” He whispers hoarsely. “There you go.” The words send one final shiver through you before your body finally slackens beneath his, both weak and quivering a little.
For a long moment afterwards, neither of you moves. Jack remains draped over you, breathing hard against your throat while your fingers lazily comb through the clammy hair at the nape of his neck. Then he lifts his head just enough to look at you, his hazel eyes glazed over, and nothing but affection etched into his expression.
Like he can’t believe he’s the one who gets to love you this way.