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Jack Abbot was a man of routine. He’d had a strict routine ever since he could remember. He always made his bed as soon as he woke up, had exactly one cup of coffee (whole milk as a kid), and stuck to what worked: a cold shower to start the day, a hot shower before bed. Being the eldest son of a big catholic family in West Virginia meant he had to learn to be efficient. There was not enough time in the morning to gather his thoughts before he had to start helping around. It took him a long time to resolve the complicated feelings of his upbringing. He didn’t think he had any feelings about it (he had warm meals, a safe bed, parents who cared), what could possibly be complicated about that? Until his therapist asked him if he ever thought the reason he was always so ready to jump out and help was rooted deeper than just his military past. Jack scoffed, deflected the topic, and the topic was not brought up back up for a few months.
When Jack signed up for the army, he expected his parents to try to convince him to stay. But they never did, even if they wished they had. Perhaps they already knew, even before he did, that there were people out there who needed him more than they needed him at home. When he came back, a shell of what he used to be, they tried their best to put him back together. When his wife Claire, his high school sweetheart, who had stood by his side through the worst of him, passed away, they put him back together again. A lot of therapy sessions later, Jack understood that maybe he had spent his entire life paying for the help that was to come. For that, he found no resentment in his heart. Maybe a slight wish that Thanksgiving dinners, those that his busy schedule allowed him to attend, were not so loud. Maybe a wish that he had gotten a few more minutes to himself each morning before school, especially when he was trying to get his curls right to impress a young Claire. Maybe a wish that his parents hadn’t relied so hard on him to raise his siblings, after all he was always such a responsible boy, we never had to worry about him.
Jack has a strict routine, one that does not allow for time to think about anything that will open boxes he’s not ready to deal with. He tries to stick to it, otherwise he ends up deviating. Deviating is not good. Deviating has led Jack to realize that he took a turn on a block that he usually doesn’t on his way back from the gym. Which wouldn’t be the end of the world, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s now outside of what seems to be a… cat café? What even is a cat café? Despite his confusion, he can’t help but stare at the multiple signs in the window. Each colorful poster has pictures of a cat, their names, and a little blurb.
Luna, 1 yr old, is a female calico that would fit perfectly in any home. Friendly to kids and other pets, Luna would be perfect for those looking for a first pet or even a new friendly face in their home.
Oreo, 1.5 yr old, is a female cat who’d be perfect for those looking for a calm companion. Oreo would fit best in a home with no other pets and plenty of places to hide. Despite her shyness, Oreo is a secret cuddlebug.
Dusty, 6 months old, is a male cat looking for his forever home. Despite his missing leg and small size, he is always ready for action and loves to play. As the runt of the litter, he’d be best suited for a home where all attention can go to him until he’s more grown.
Jack tries to identify what exactly Dusty looks like. While all the other cats’ pictures are very clear - even looks like they managed to get the cats to pose - Dusty’s picture looks like a printer vomited ink and someone added two stickers to make eyes. For all intents and purposes, this cat (kitten? At what age do kittens become cats?) is just a ball of black lint.
Lost in thought over his internal debate about when kittens become cats, and that kittens are technically always cats, he finds himself in front of a teenager who is politely asking him if he’d like to order. With pursed lips and a frown, Jack realizes he’s somehow made it inside the cat café. He does not need a second cup of coffee on his day off, but he can’t just walk out. That would be rude to…, he checks on the barista's name tag, Millie. That would be rude to Millie.
“Do you have any tea?” Jack asks, looking around. The coffee shop only has one other person that he can see, typing away on a computer and wearing a hoodie with the café logo.
“Yes, let me show you what we have. Would you also be interested in meeting any of the cats? Playtime is open for the next hour or so. Since you’re getting something from the shop, there’s no extra charge,” says Millie, pulling out a small wooden box with multiple tea options.
Jack knows exactly what the answer should be. No, thanks, the tea is just fine. Or, No, thank you, I’m actually allergic to cats. I should be sprinting out of here right now. But that would be a lie.
Jack Abbot is many things - an eldest son, a doctor, the byproduct of all the choices he’s ever made, a very tired man - but he’s not a liar. So Jack picks a green tea, and before he can stop himself, asks the barista if all the cats from the posters are up for adoption.
Millie grins and explains that most of them have been adopted, something about an event last weekend. They haven’t had the chance yet to update the window, but there are still two cats up for adoption: Cleo, a small kitten who was rescued earlier in the week and has been medically cleared to go to a home, and Dusty, who is now their longest resident.
As Jack is about to answer, Millie hands him his tea and starts walking him to a separate part of the café, behind a sliding glass door.
“I don’t see any of them right now, but they usually come out of their hiding spots once the door is closed. Let me know if you need any help,” Millie says as she walks out.
Jack looks around and sees that the space is tidier than he expected. There are multiple cat trees and beds, and in many corners, baskets filled with all kinds of cat toys. With the sudden realization that he has no business standing here on a Saturday afternoon, the very rare Saturday off he gets once every few months, and that if Robby ever heard he had willingly walked into a cat café, he would laugh so hard he might actually choke and die, Jack turns around to leave.
That’s when he feels a slight touch at the bottom of his sweatpants.
Looking down, he finds a small black fluff staring up at him. Before he can react, the small black thing starts to repeatedly hit his head against Jack’s leg and lets out a small screech, what Jack assumes must be the kitten's version of a meow.
“Uh… hi there. I assume you’re Dusty,” Jack says.
He must have lost his mind, maybe hit his head when he was lifting at the gym and has a raging concussion, because he’s now talking to a… cat. Dusty continues to rub against his leg. Looking around for a place to sit, Jack finds a table next to a cat tree with a small ramp. Dusty is now staring at him with his big yellow eyes. After a few seconds of silence, he starts to let out a series of screeches.
“Uh… here. Why don’t you come up the ramp right here,” Jack says, pointing to the tree beside him.
Dusty looks at him like he almost understands, but not quite. Jack starts tapping on the ramp, and the little cat begins his clumsy ascent. He notices that the kitten is missing his right back leg, but still makes his way up the tree just fine and is now eye level with Jack. Unsure of what to do, Jack extends his arm and gently pets the animal. Without warning, Dusty presses his head into Jack’s hand, closes his eyes, and quietly falls asleep.
When Dana asks on Monday what he did with his one free weekend in months, Jack Abbot will certainly omit the part where he got so lost petting a small cat that the barista had to come tell him playtime was ending in ten minutes. Jack Abbot will most certainly not tell Dana that he promptly stood up and asked what information they would need from him so he could take the black cat home.
Samira Mohan had a hard time adjusting to her resident schedule. If you ask her, she’ll tell you it wasn’t that bad and that all it required was a strict routine and a good support system. If you really, really, really ask her, she’ll tell you that despite what everyone in her life may think, she does not like routines.
During her workdays, she forces herself to stick to a routine that works. Not one she’s fond of, but one that gets her out of bed and into her best self for her patients. Even on the days when she doesn’t think she can be her best for herself. Samira does not let herself think too hard about the fact that she did used to have a routine - one that involved reading the morning newspaper with her dad before school, one that involved helping her mom make dinner, one that involved Saturday’s at Home Depot in family to pick up dirt and all sort of supplies for their family garden in their suburban home in New Jersey. Samira does not let herself think that she once had a routine that she enjoyed, but that was a lifetime ago. A lifetime that does not exist anymore.
In this current lifetime, Samira thrives in the emergency department because she knows how to adapt to ever-changing situations. Samira knows how to deal with multiple traumas coming in. Samira knows how to deal with Robby, pointing out that she needs to be faster with her patients. Inside the hospital, Samira just knows. On her free days, however, that Samira takes a step back. Compartmentalizating her therapist once said. On her free days, Samira enjoys waking up without any plans other than making chai and staring out the very small balcony window of her studio in Pittsburgh.
Which is why, on this one Saturday that she has off, she finds herself tipsy at a wine bar with Trinity and some of her friends. She's listening to what shouldn’t be, but somehow is, a very deep conversation about Taylor Swift’s new album. Trinity is convinced someone must have lobotomized her, because this can’t be the same woman who wrote Folklore, while one of her friends argues that even the greatest songwriter of their generation should be allowed to have some fun and write a song about erections.
As the table chimes in with their opinions and Trinity rolls her eyes, Samira checks her phone and sees a notification that makes her heart race faster.
Dr. Jack Abbot (7.34pm)
Mohan, do you have a cat?
Before she has a chance to process the text, Trinity asks if she wants another glass of wine, and Samira nods. Conscious that she’s being rude to the rest of the table, she can’t help but to stare at her screen. What? She has to read it twice to make sure she’s seeing correctly who the text is coming from.
While she’s no stranger to the occasional text from Jack Abbot, this one is different from their usual exchanges. After PittFest and the pigtail catheter procedure, Abbot had started sharing with Samira studies on all kinds of rare procedures, and the even rarer cases in which they were used in real life. After she made a slight joke about all the trees he had been killing just for her to get smarter, he showed up with a cup of tea during handoff and asked if he could have her number to share the studies.
Samira had smiled and typed her number into his phone under Dr. Samira Mohan.
He’d send her the PDFs and include comments like this one is actually a bit crazy, even for my standards or let me know what you think, I’ve only seen this once in the field. Samira told herself that Abbot cared about her education, that he probably did not want her killing anyone on the odd shifts they worked together (whenever she was pulling a double or covering for someone) and that he’d do the same for any other resident, if they asked.
Samira told herself that the way she felt him staring at her when it was quiet was just him being lost in thought; he was not really looking at her, she just happened to be in the way. Samira told herself that the way she found her eyes wandering to his hands when he was helping with an intubation was just to learn. Samira told herself that their coffe meetings to discuss the papers he’d been sending was just him making sure she was fully grasping the concepts. So if Samira found herself every once in a while in bed thinking about his arms keeping her legs spread and his mouth calling her a good girl, she told herself it was purely the result of exhaustion. Samira told herself a lot of things to get through her day, but she had no words to explain why Jack Abbot was texting her about cats on a Saturday at 7.30pm.
Dr. Samira Mohan (7.41pm)
i have a childhood cat at home in jersey, why?
Going back to sip her now full glass of wine, courtesy of Trinity, she tries to go back to engage in the conversation until she sees her phone lit up instantly.
Dr. Jack Abbot (7.42pm)
I think my cat is broken.
Samira thinks that maybe she’s drunker than she realizes. She only had half a sandwich for lunch and was hoping to have the rest after her workout, but the text from Trinity inviting her to happy hour at Pittsburgh's brand new wine war had her forget all about her sandwich. Maybe she should have had the sandwich or she wouldn’t be here hallucinating texts from her attending.
Dr. Samira Mohan (7.44pm)
i have so many questions but what do you mean broken?
Dr. Jack Abbot (7.45pm)
Can I call you?
“Sorry my mom can’t get into the Netflix account and I think she’ll murder someone if she can’t watch her show”. With a polite smile, Samira excuses herself from the table and grabs her AirPods from her purse heading to the outdoor area. She tries not to think about how easy the lie comes out. She tries not to think about how she actually hasn’t talked to her mom in weeks, how drained she feels when every call ends up in a discussion about moving back home. She ignores the small lump that threatens to show up on her throat and instead calls Abbot.
“Hello… Mohan? Sorry to bother you, I know it’s a Saturday and I assume you’re not working if you’re calling but I just don’t know what to do with this thing. I am really worried and I did not know who else to call. I would’ve tried Google but I don’t trust it, considering how all of our patients think they’re dying when they walk in after looking up their symptoms so I can’t imagine it being any better and I am just -”
“I am going to need you to slow down because I am confused. When did you get a cat? What exactly is the cat doing right now?”. Samira realizes that Abbot is rambling and will continue to ramble if she does not stop him.
“Today, earlier… uhh… he’s just making a scary sound” Jack responds.
The words “panic” and “Jack Abbot” in the same sentence are an oxymoron. Jack Abbot does not panic. He didn’t panic in Afghanistan when half of his leg was blown up. He didn’t panic when the emergency department was overwhelmed with the victims of PittFest. Jack Abbot had routines that held him in place. Jack Abbot had coping mechanisms that helped him understand that the only way out was through. Every difficult case that walked through the hospital doors, he knew he was leaving a piece of his soul behind. But he also knew he'd wake up and the moon would be there, waiting for him to do it all over again. Jack also knew himself well enough to say that this was the closest to panic he’s felt in years.
“What do you mean he’s making a scary sound?” Taken aback by Jack’s slightly high pitched voice, Samira walks around the patio trying to find a quiet spot.
It is the end of July and the place is crowded with young people. The sun is finally starting to go down and she can feel the heat on her skin. She’s wearing a white sun dress with pink flowers that rests just above her thighs, the kind of dress made for hot summer afternoons. She had recently allowed herself to splurge on some clothes after Trinity had dragged her shopping under the pretenses of what if you have a really hot date coming up and nothing to wear. They had spent an entire afternoon wandering around stores until she was carrying enough bags for it to be declared a success. So when, a week later, Trinity tried to set her up with one of her friends, Samira should've known she had been played. Before she could open her mouth to protest, Trinity had continued her speech to say her friend was just looking for a good time, I think you could probably use a good time too if you know what I mean. Samira did not have time to get offended as they were swept over by a trauma coming in, but by the end of the shift she had taken the phone number.
Samira did try. She used all her good products - the body scrub that made her skin smell like vanilla, the hair mask she usually saved up for self care nights. She put on just enough make up to bring attention to her best features but not enough to feel like it was going to melt off her skin. She chose one of her new dresses, a dark blue one she had gotten at Reformation, after Trinity had insisted that not buying it would be nothing short of a crime.
Which is why, when she met Trinity’s friend Lily at a quiet bar, she was quite bummed to realize almost immediately that it was not going to work out. Lily was great and had recently moved to the city to work for the Penguins in sports nutrition. She was blonde, had a big smile, and struck a balance between asking questions and sharing about her life. Lily was Samira's type, but there was no buzz. No real attraction. Samira could tell Lily felt it too and halfway through the date they both agreed that they would probably work better as friends. Which is exactly when Samira started to hear all the great stories from Trinity’s undergrad, making sure to remember each precious detail for future use.
Samira pushed the thoughts of her failed date aside as she heard Abbot take a deep breath and explain from the other side of her phone.
“Imagine you’re trying to start an old car but the engine won’t budge. That kind of sound. What should I do? He has food and wat-” Before he can continue, Jack is abruptly cut off by Samira’s giggle.
“Oh my god… that’s purring. Your cat is purring. That means he’s happy and he feels safe. I refuse to believe that Dr. Jack Abbot does not know what purring is like”. Under any and all circumstances, Samira should not be laughing at her attending. Samira should not be implying that someone with the level of education and knowledge of Jack Abbot should one hundred percent know what a cat purring sounds like. But Samira Mohan is tipsy and her laughter feels the most real it has been in months.
“Well… I don’t remember them covering cats in med school... He’s just so small, and I am afraid I am doing something wrong.” Samira could hear Jack’s relief through the phone. She’d even go as far to say it was replaced by a hint of embarrassment.
“I could stop by if you’d like an extra set of eyes. I grew up with cats my entire life. I know they can be very deceiving when they want”. Before she can stop herself, Samira blurts it out.
“You don’t have to do that. I am sure you have better plans on a Saturday night than dealing with the world’s most demanding kitten”, Jack responds with a dry laugh.
“You live in Shadyside right? I am actually in the area so it is not a lot of trouble. I promise.”
Jack is silent for a second before responding that he’d really appreciate it. He sends her his address and offers to pay for an Uber, but Samira insists she’s within walking distance. She’s ten minutes away, the area is nice, and she actually enjoys walking during the summer once the sun is setting.
As she makes her way back inside, Trinity lets her know that they’re thinking of hitting up one of the gay bars in the area. Samira smiles and explains that she appreciates the invite, but she probably shouldn't have any more to drink if she wants to be a functioning human being tomorrow. Trinity nods and says it is perfectly fine, asking Samira to let her know once she’s home.
When Jack opens his door to Samira’s big smile and casual hi, he revisits his earlier idea that he may have a concussion he’s forgotten about. Because standing in front of him is Samira Mohan in a short white dress with her cheeks slightly flushed from the heat.
As he steps aside to let her in, he realizes that he did not really think this through.
Jack Abbot had gotten many skills out of his years of therapy, perhaps the most fortunate, and unfortunate one, was that he had become very self aware. He had been self aware of the slight pang he’d felt when he first met an enthusiastic R1 Samira Mohan during a hand off. He had been self-aware how after years of hearing Robby complain about residents, his first interruption had been to defend Samira. He knew that with every coffee he brought her and every article he sent, a part of him was doing it just to see her smile. And he was painfully aware of how his fist felt along his length after a rough shift, how he tried to desperately push his thoughts away but failed, exploding to hazy images of Samira panting his name and rolling her hips, taking him all in.
The first time it happened, he had scrubbed his body raw, rubbing so hard his skin burned. When he spent his entire shift feeling the red of his skin against his scrubs, he felt it served him right. When Samira saw him scratching his arm at 3 a.m. in the break room as he made more coffee and had asked him if he wanted moisturizer, I always carry some in the winter, no matter how nice they make these scrubs the combination of cold air and scratchy cotton is hard to beat, he almost dropped the pot. Decades of catholicism flashed before his eyes and he had half a thought not to blurt out thank you but my skin is actually falling apart because I spent 20 minutes trying to wash away how it felt to picture you choking on my cock so now I have no choice but to feel the reminder of what I did in every move I make. Instead, seeing the slight concern in Samira's eyes, he accepted her offer. When he spent the rest of his shift smelling like her, he concluded this torture was actually the right price to pay for letting his thoughts get away from him. When he got home, he skipped the shower, and went straight to bed. He woke up in a haze, cold sweat on his back from the radiator’s heat, rock hard, and mouth dry. He took himself in and went back to sleep in his own mess.
Despite what the rest of the night shift thinks, Jack wasn’t a stranger to casual sex. Over the years, he had worked hard to find a semblance of a life. So every once in a while, he would find a perfectly fine woman to have sex with. A lawyer, whom he’d seen fairly often until she moved cities for a bigger salary, a doctor he met at the last conference Gloria had coerced him into. Age appropriate women. He had not worked on all of his issues so he could lust after a resident barely thirty years old.
He tried so hard to convince himself not to entertain his thoughts that he’d end up acting all awkward. But awkward was better than anyone seeing through him. Awkward was better than everyone realizing that Jack Abbot was a disgraced man who should not be trusted around Samira Mohan in a sundress.
“I was told there was a kitten in desperate need of help”, Samira jokes as she stands inside Jack’s apartment.
His place is tidy and she can feel the air conditioner on her skin as she scans the room. Her legs brush against a deep green sectional couch, in front of a dark oak coffee table. There’s an open laptop and a to-go coffee cup along with some scattered papers. If she looks further, she can see the kitchen in a corner, a window letting in the last light of the day. Slowly turning around, she notices a dining table and a shelf with some books and drawings clearly made by a child.
As if on cue, a small cat emerges from underneath the couch and lets out a screech.
“He’s still learning the whole meowing thing”, Jack says. He sits on the couch, picks up the cat, and places him on his thigh. “This is Dusty. He’s about 6 months old and apparently into hide and seek. I had started to look online for fluorescent yellow collars when you texted you were outside”.
Samira squats next to the couch, thighs pressed against her calves and feet slightly tiptoeing up so she can be eye level with the kitten. Slowly, she extends her right hand. Dusty watches carefully before rubbing his cold nose against her fingers. Samira tries not to think about how close her face is to Jack’s thigh, or how clearly she can see the blonde hair covering his legs.
“Hi handsome. I hear you're quite loud and almost gave your dad a heart attack huh”. Samira can see Jack’s chest rise and fall as he chuckles, extending her hand to fully pet Dusty on the head.
“I could be here petting him all night, but I really need to know how you ended up with a cat”. The question is clearly meant for Jack, but she refuses to look up, keeping her focus on scratching the kitten’s chin. If she were a stronger woman, she’d probably stand up, and go sit at the far end of the couch. She can feel the warmth of the wine running through her veins and the lingering sting on her shoulders from walking back from the gym in just her sports bar. It doesn’t compare to how her hand burns when Dusty settles into a loaf on Jack’s thigh, and her fingers brush his knee as she pets the cat.
“I saw his poster outside of a cat cafe, something I learned was a thing today. I wasn’t planning on walking in, but before I realized, I was having tea next to this little guy and he just stared at me… very intensely. You know?” Jack’s voice is low, careful.
Samira knows. Samira knows what is like to be on the receiving end of intense eyes.
“The place had an event last weekend, and all cats got adopted… except for him. Apparently, people were afraid he’d be a lot of work because he’s missing his right back leg.” This time, his voice comes out a little higher letting out a dry chuckle.
“Apparently he was just born like that, no other issues really. My therapist had been saying for years that I should try to get a pet. He actually wanted me to get a dog, so I’d have a reason to step into the sun. But the café manager happened to be there and he overheard my conversation with the barista. I was telling her I was a doctor at PTMC and he interrupted to say I actually could take him home today, but that he’d check in next week to see how we’re both adjusting. So they put him into a tiny box with holes, and I’ve spent the entire afternoon setting up my apartment for him.”
By the time Jack’s done speaking, Samira’s hand is fully resting on his knee. She’s about to look up to meet his eyes when her phone starts to buzz. Getting up, she pulls out her phone from her purse and realizes she never texted Trinity to let her know she made it back okay. Walking to the opposite end of the room, she stares into the wall and calls Trinity back.
“Shit, sorry I was about to text you… yeah I just got back home a few minutes ago… Yeah, no need to worry about me. Enjoy your night, I’ll text you tomorrow…”. Samira can feel Jack's eyes before she even turns around.
“Sorry, I forgot to text Trinity to let her know I made it alright. She couldn’t get shitfaced in good conscience without confirmation of my safety”. Samira explains, praying that Jack will play dumb and let her get away with the fact that she’s just been caught lying through her teeth.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from Santos” Jack responds, getting up as Dusty sprints from him to curl up by the throw blanket on the couch.
“It really wasn’t my intention to interrupt your night out… Let me get you an Uber to where your friends are, please”.
His voice comes out almost like a plea, and Samira should probably take him up on that offer. She should get the fuck back home, pull out her vibrator, use it until it feels like her skin is about to melt, and file the last 30 minutes of her life in the back of her mind as a summer fever induced dream.
“No, it’s okay. They are going out to some bar but two glasses of wine on an empty stomach already felt like pushing it. I was going to go home anyways”. She gives him the reassuring smile she often uses with patients, trying to make whatever this is last just a little longer.
“Samira, you shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach." Jack’s voice comes out low but firm. "Are you hungry?" He says making his way to the kitchen.
“I - I was going to eat and then Trinity called…” Samira tries not to think how this is the first time he’s ever called her by her name and not Mohan. She follows him and finds the kitchen island, resting her elbows on the counter, about to continue her explanation. Jack turns around from digging around his cabinets, lowering himself so that he’s eye level with her from the opposite end. Samira can tell that he’s not interested in buying any of her explanations.
"Yeah", she admits. "I’m hungry”.
"Okay”. He turns around, pulling up a bunch of vegetables from the fridge and some bread before tossing it it all onto a tray. He then fills up a cup with ice and water and places it in front of her.
"Drink this. I will be back with food.”
Jack enjoyed grilling. As soon as he'd been old enough, he'd been in charge of the grill during the hot summer nights in West Virginia. He enjoyed the quiet it provided him, the meticulousness of knowing when exactly to turn the food so it would cook just right.
This grilling was not providing him with any comfort.
He had managed to unclench his jaw after a few minutes, but he could still feel the burn of Samira’s hand on his knee. When she'd all but admitted to walking to his place after drinking, wearing that dress, he should have driven her straight home right then. But it had been over ninety degrees all week, he was still exhausted from his shifts, and Samira Mohan had been looking at him like he held the answers to all of her questions.
So instead, he'd gone back back inside, asked her if she was okay with mozzarella, and returned to the grill to finish the two vegetable paninis.
Wiping the sweat off his face with a paper towel, he washed his hands and found some chips to go with the sandwiches. Samira was now sitting on the bar stools by the kitchen island, her glass of water half-empty, when he placed the plate in front of her. Samira thanked him and they ate in silence. Finishing his food, he grabs one beer from the fridge and refills her glass with water. Met by her raised eyebrows, he speaks before she cam protest.
“You didn’t finish your glass”, he says matter-of-factly, as if he's just reading out the weather forecast, before taking a big sip of his beer.
“I was going to," Samira says, her voice practically a whine, "but you just filled it all the way to the top again.”
She tries to tell herself Jack is being practical. She'd been drinking. It is hot out. He's just making sure she’s hydrated. She can feel the gears turning in her head.
It’s not working.
Because across from her, Jack Abbot is sweaty, wearing a light gray shirt that’s clings to his arms, and staring at her like she’s the last sip he’ll ever have. She presses her thighs without even realizing.
"Well, tough shit”, he lets out. “Finish everything, and we can negotiate again”.
He finishes the rest of his beer in one big gulp and starts to wash the greasy tray. When he’s done, he turns around to find Samira’s plate and glass empty.
The lines had been blurry for a while, but they both made conscious choices every day to stay on their side. At some point during the night, the lines had gotten so blurry it was impossible to tell they have ever been there. Maybe it started when Samira had knelt in front of him on the couch. Maybe it had been when Jack had to remind himself to breathe so his dick wouldn't get hard when her hand touched his thigh. Whenever it was, plausible deniability had been thrown out the window when he made his way to where she was and stood between her legs and the barstool next to her, placing a beer bottle next to her, and dropping his hands just below the hem of her dress.
“What do you want Samira?” His eyes don't meet hers, and his fingers start to trace circles on her skin.
“I - I just wanted to help you.” Samira's voice comes out ragged.
“You wanted to help me?" His voice raises slightly. "You showed up in my doorstep, in this excuse of a dress, and decided that was going to help." He doesn't sound mad, he doesn't even sound too altered, if it wasn't for the frustration that hangs in between each word.
"I try so hard Samira, I try so hard every day not to think about you. And when I inevitably fail, I remind myself that someone so smart and pretty as Dr. Samira Mohan could not possibly be interested in me. So I feel like a dirty old man, and go back to my day. And then, I repeat it all over again, just for you to show up and drop to your knees in front of me. So I'm really going to ask once sweetheart, and you’re going to look me in the eyes and answer, what do you want?” His ears are ringing and his voice comes out low but loaded. He knows his fingers are gripping the insides of her thighs a little too hard, he can see the white of his knuckles as he lifts his eyes to hers.
“I want you to make me feel good”. It is almost above a whisper but there’s no doubt once her lips are touching his.
Jack slips one of hand behind her hair and lightly pulls as she opens up her mouth to him. Carefully sliding his tongue in, his other hand moves to cusp her ass and pushes her closer to him. She opens her legs and wraps herself around him, slowly grinding her hips against him. He can feel his dick getting hard. He moves his mouth and as she’s about to protest, he tugs her head with one hand and starts licking kisses down her throat.
When soft moans fill in the kitchen, he pushes down the straps of her dress and starts to suck in the skin on her shoulders. When she wraps her hands around his waist to bring him closer, Jack entertains the idea of continuing this way until she’s begging. But he's not a cruel man. He gets his mouth off her, desentangles himself, and in almost practiced motion, lifts Samira onto the kitchen island. He sees the small wince in her eyes - he knows her legs are hot and the marble is cold. He’s about to suggest they move to his bed, when all of his thoughts come to a stop. With her legs open and closer to his eye level, he can see her bare cunt through the white lacey underwear.
“Samira, what the actual fuck?” His voice is gravel, almost painful. Before she asks him what’s wrong, he moves her underwear aside and slides his hand, the tip of his fingers resting over her clit.
Realizing what’s happening, Samira starts to answer with a huffed breath.
“I had a date last night, one of Trinity’s friends…” Jack is now rubbing his index finger as he stares at her, waiting for the full answer.
“Fuck - please don’t stop… I wanted to be prepared. Nothing happened," she rushes on. "We just didn’t click and then - fuck please”.
Withdrawing his hand from her pussy, he taps on her ass so he can take off her underwear. Pulling her closer, he lowers his head and starts kiss the inside of her thighs. He can taste a mix of lotion, the same one that's been seared into his nose since the winter, and sweat. She barely has time to process the feeling of his mouth on her skin when he looks up at her.
“You are so wet. When did you get this wet?” She’s almost convinced he’s asking because he’s truly trying to understand, if it weren't for the fact that she knows him well enough to detect the sharp edge in his voice. She's about to come up with an answer, but her thoughts scatter when she feels his hot breath over her clit.
“It’s okay. I will take care of you baby."
Samira doesn’t know if it has been a minute or an hour. Her back presses cold against the kitchen island, and all she can hear are her own moans and the sound of Jack’s fingers sliding into her.
His tongue was sweeping all over her, licking her entrance slowly, until he finally settled around her clit. He had started to add a finger slowly as he alternated licking with sucking. When her hands found his hair and tugged hard, he slid a second and then a third finger in. When he felt her nails on his scalp, he fell into a fast rhythm and buried his face in her, feeling the roll of her hips as she took what she needed. He didn’t stop until her legs were locking around his head and her hands finding his shirt to drag him up.
Feeling the air return to her lungs, she sits up straight and finds Jack’s gaze on her.
“Good?” He asks with his hands resting on the countertop and his cheeks flushed. She can see her wetness glistening on his fingers.
“Yeah… but I want more.” Her voice is raspy as she moves towards him. With his eyes on her, she grabs his hand and brings his fingers covered on her cum to her mouth.
“Fuck Samira... sweetheart, don’t do that”. His eyes are closed, and his head hangs low between his shoulders. Her other hand finds his chin, forcing him to look up and open his eyes. Holding his gaze, she swirls her tongue around his fingers. Making Samira cum on his tongue was one thing. Actually being inside her may be enough to kill him.
“I don’t have any condoms. I - I don’t…” He’s trying to explain that he hasn’t needed any since a conference months ago, when he feels the hand that was cupping his chin slide under the waistband of his shorts.
“I have an IUD. I got tested in the last clinic we had a month ago. I have not been with anyone ever since. Please”. Looking straight into his eyes, Samira pulls out his dick and wraps her hand around it. Applying just enough pressure to feel good, she rubs her thumb over his head already dripping with precum. He doesn’t think he’s been this hard since he was in colleg, sneaking off to the bathroom in the middle of the night with a bottle of lotion.
“Okay.” He takes a deep breath and helps her to her feet. “Go to my room. It shouldn’t be too hard find. I’ll be right there”.
As she disappears into the hallway, Jack fills a bottle with water and then takes a sip of the now lukewarm beer she didn't even touched. He’s trying to decide if he’s going to hell, or if the concussion he’s now most certain he has actually killed him and he’s in heaven. He settles on heaven when he makes it into his room and sees Samira laying down naked on his bed. He takes off his shirt and sets the water bottle on the nighstand.
He’s not sure whose lips find whose first. When she’s done biting his bottom lip, he moves to find her breasts. He wraps his mouth around her nipple and sucks on lightly, his tongue swirling carefully. He moves to her other breast and instead of repeating the motion, he pulls her nipple with his teeth. He asks her which one she prefers. With an uneven breath she says both, all, I don’t care just please don’t stop. So he alternates between licking and biting. At some, point his fingers are on her again and he can feel her clenching around him while her hands grip his hair. As she sinks into the mattress, he rolls onto his side and waits for her to catch her breath.
“We have two options Samira. I can get between your legs and use your pussy to get my cock ready for you. Or you can come over here and do it yourself”. Jack wasn't this pushy with his partners, not unless he was sure they would enjoy it. He probably should've checked with Samira first, but he was afraid to break the spell that had him trapped in this reality where he was a cat owner and Samira Mohan was naked sweating in his bed.
He didn’t know what he was expecting. A part of him thought she was going to reach for him and bring him back between her legs. A part of him hoped she’d straddle him, sinking on his lenght until they couldn't tell where they each began. He was not expecting Samira to push him on his back and take his entire cock down her throat. Jack Abbot was not a religious man, his only belief in God rooted in the years of catholic masses he was forced to attend, but he was sure this was the closest he'd ever get to heaven.
“Oh my fucking god. Fuck baby - please stop or I'm not going to last”. With spit running down her chin and a knowing smile, Samira crawled next to him, bringing her hand just above where his prosthetic met his leg. She asked him if he wanted to take it off but he said it was fine. With that, he got on top of her and slowly filled her in.
Samira had never made a habit of sharing too many details of her sex life with her friends. But if she had to describe Jack’s dick, she’s pretty sure she’d use the words life changing and so thick I think I actually thought I'd combust. His breath is rough, and she can tell he’s letting her adjust. But she’s desperate and needs him to move. She finds his head, which has been placing kisses on her neck, and with her hands running through his sweaty curls, she asks him to please move.
“Yeah? Are you sure you can take it, baby?” He whispers in her ear and one of his thumbs finds her clit, but he still doesn’t move.
“Yes, Jack. Please fucking move”.
“Okay, sweetheart". Grabbing the pillow above her head for balance, he pulls all the way out and immediately sinks back in. His thrusts are so hard the only sounds in the room can't even be described as moans, only as grunts. She has given up trying to kiss him and instead is just panting on his lips. Her legs are spread out wide open and she’s digging her heels on his waist to push him even deeper. Her nails dig into his back and and the headbord thuds against the wall. They lose whatever trace of a rhythm they had when his thumb brushes her clit just right and he feels her tighten around him. He loses himself when she whispers in his ear that he can cum inside.
When Jack came back with a towel, Samira was already passed out on the right side of the bed. She jolted at the warmth against her skin, but Jack kissed her forehead and whispered for her to go back to sleep.
Careful not to make noise with his crutches, he went back to the living room to make sure Dusty was asleep, and that his water and food were full.
When his alarm went off at 7am, Jack Abbot turned it off and rolled over, sleeping in for the first time in years. When Samira woke him up at 10 a.m. and asked if he wanted to have the best chai for breakfast, he followed her around until they reached a coffee shop a few blocks from his place. When she made him stop by the pet store to pick up some toys for Dusty, he let her choose the ugliest pink toy they had. When they got back to his place and she asked him to help her review some journals for her research, he pulled out his laptop and sat beside her for hours. When Jack Abbot spent 50 years building his perfect routine, Samira Mohan had only needed a day to make him realize he'd never need one again.