Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Crane,” you greet, relieved to see your favorite runner walk into the room. You’re always happy when he returns alive, given the mortality rate of his post-apocalyptic career. He does look tired though, a little banged up. You frown. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Nah.” He casually drops a duffle bag onto the fold-out table in your makeshift office. “I got that stuff you needed. Saw your post on the board.”

You blink, stunned. What you’d asked for was more like a pipe dream. Practically impossible. “You’re kidding me.”

“That’d be a weird joke.”

“Crane—I—you—are you serious?“ you beam, rushing over and tearing open the bag to find it full of fresh supplies. Clean syringes. Gauze. Alcohol. Pain killers. Completely unopened medical supply kits. A veritable smorgasbord of life-saving goodies. “How did you—where did you—”

“Hey, don’t hurt yourself,” he says with a hint of amusement and a pat of your arm. “Try breathing.”

You shake your head, tongue moving around behind your teeth like it's trying to find the right words. “You don’t understand. When I posted that bounty I knew it was absurd. Crane, I didn’t actually think all of this stuff would even be in the city. The hospital got wiped ages ago.” You look at him, stunned and nearly moved to tears by the gesture. “I-I can’t thank you enough. Where the hell did you even find all this?”

“There’s a little spot up on Infamy bridge. It had plenty.”

“Little spot? Do you mean the medical tents set up at the far end?” you balk, shaking your head in disbelief. “The one completely separated from the rest of the bridge from oh, I don't know, being exploded.“

“That’s the one.”

“The one no one can get to?!”

He shrugs. “I did.” He’s matter of fact, not even smug which he’d have every right to be, by the way. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Crane, I…” your words catch in your throat. “This is too much… You’re too much. I don't know how to even begin repaying this kindness.”

“Just put it to good use. I know you will, Doc.” He turns to leave, but you catch him by the wrist.

“Wait,” you blurt, not quite ready to see him gone. Okay, so maybe you might have the tiniest crush on a Kyle Crane. “Let me start with you. You look a little worse for wear.”

“I’m good, promise. Save it for someone who needs it.”

Your brows furrow and you maneuver yourself to block his exit, still clutching his wrist. “Do you think I’m stupid or blind?”

“Uh. Neither?”

With a heavy breath you huff and begin ripping the fingerless glove off his right hand. “Do you know what this is?”

“Mild assault?”

A laugh snorts out of you. “No. They’re first degree burns,” you say, pointing to a wound on his palm that licks up his wrist. “Approaching second degree in some spots, I'll have you know. And this,” you yank his sleeve up. “Abrasions. Nasty ones. Just waiting to get infected. You have a laceration on your neck uncomfortably close to your carotid.” Your eyes tick down along his torso and you shake your head. “And I can only imagine what atrocities are going on under all of this.”

“Hey, look I get it and I appreciate the concern, but it’s really not that bad and I’m pretty busy—“

“Crane, please,” you plead, taking his hand into both of yours. “Just let me treat you. I would feel a lot better. It’s all I can do, so please let me do it.”

He looks at you, eyes searching your face which doesn't waver in it's resolve. A beat goes by before he sighs, defeated. “Alright. Fine. Just tell me what to do.”

That's more like it.

You break into a smile, pulling him over to the exam table behind a curtain. “Hop up. Remove your shirt, please.”

With another tired sigh, Crane does as you ask as you prep a few things. When you return, clipboard and pen in hand, you let out gasp and nearly everything.

“Oh, Crane,” you breathe, brows bowing up as you take in the sight of this man. Not an inch of him doesn’t have some angry bruise, wound or scar covering it. His body is a testament to the abuse he puts it through, all to help other people.

“Ah, yeah, this looks worse than it is,” he says, dismissive.

“It looks really bad, Crane,” you say, lifting his arm up by the elbow to get a better look at a really nasty bruise on his side. “What is this? How are you even up and walking right now, let alone doing all the things you do?”

“That?” he questions, glancing down at himself. “I think that was from a pipe. It’s fine, I promise.”

“You hit a pipe?”

“Other way around, but like I said, it’s fine. Really.”

You cringe just thinking about it. “It’s not fine, but okay. I’m going to start with a sponge bath essentially. I need to clean all your wounds up just so I can even see what's going on. Crane, some of these are really bad. This one needs stitches.”

“You’ll take care of that, I’m sure.”

“Of course I will, but only because I twisted your arm into even letting me examine you at all. What if I hadn’t insisted?”

“Look, doc, I’m trained to push through this stuff so when I say it’s not a big deal, I really mean that.”

“I don’t care what you’re trained to do," you say, moving to stand in the space between his splayed legs. You gently take a washcloth to his face. “You're still human. Your body is human. That means something these days, you know.”

“Oh yeah? Why, did something happen?”

“Funny,” you snort. “You’re funny.”

“Eh, not usually. Guess I have my moments.”

“True," you hum. "Even a broken clock is right twice a day.” 

Crane has nothing to rebuttal but he lets out an amused sort of breath. Your eyes tip up to meet his and you exchange a lighthearted look.

“Look,” you say with a click of your tongue. “My point is that those things out there can get cut up and keep going—not us though. I need you to take better care of yourself. Or at least let me do it for you. You can’t be out there living like you’re already undead, Crane, that’s like a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“Hm…” He looks pensive, his voice a deep, soothing hum. “Never thought about it like that.”

“I can tell…” you mumble, dabbing away at dried blood. This cracks a rare smile out of him. Nothing big. But there it is all the same.

You raise a brow. “Something funny about your complete and utter disregard for any modicum of self-care?”

“You’re a good doctor,” he says thoughtfully.

“I don’t know about that,” you mutter, refreshing the cloth to finish carefully cleaning around an abrasion with gravel in it on his shoulder. “If that were true, you wouldn’t give me such a hard time.”

“Nah, you can’t look at it like that. I’m just a bad patient. Don’t take it personally.”

“Too late, I’m already extremely offended.”

He snorts. “What makes you care so much in this hellhole of a place anyway?” The question gives you pause. Makes you meet his eyes again.

“You’re a bad patient, I agree, but you’re a good man, Crane.” With a deep sigh you wring out the cloth and take to cleaning his broad, bruise-mottled chest. “You care too, even in this hellhole. My reason is probably similar to yours, I imagine, which is just… because we’re human. Because we can’t help ourselves. I think it’s human nature to care.”

“Not in my experience,” he says wearily, clearly recalling some nightmarish experiences. Perhaps ones involving being beaten with a pipe. “Besides, I’m just good at running errands and doing what I’m asked. That’s not the same as caring.”

So you pause and blink at him slowly, completely nonplussed. “Are you telling me that you don’t care, Kyle Crane? That you put yourself through all of this—“ you gesture to his battered body, “just because of a piece of paper you picked off a dart board? That’s what you’d have me believe?”

“You know, it sounds a little crazy when you put it like that.”

“Yeah, you think?” you laugh and take his arm. It’s oddly satisfying, cleaning him bit by bit like this. There’s a comfortable intimacy in caring for him like this—however one-sided your attraction is—and you’re just thankful he’s letting you do it. You can’t help but admire his impressive build beneath all the colorful injuries. His body is truly a testament to his capabilities. “Besides, to your point, you’re not always that great at doing what you're asked.”

“Uh…” he seems genuinely taken aback, eyes flickering over to the supplies he brought you. “Come again?”

“I heard you were GRE.”

The room gets quiet for a second. A little colder. It’s nothing to do with the temperature.

“Ah, you heard that, huh? I’m surprised you’re still being so nice to me, Doc.”

You shrug. “I also heard you aren’t anymore.”

“That doesn’t matter to some people.”

“True. Some people will always see you as a government dog that got off leash, but it’s just a matter of time before you’re back on.”

“Ouch.”

“Personally, I find it admirable.”

“Oh yeah?”

With a tilt of your head to get a better view of a cut along his ribs, you sigh—that should get some stitches. “You went against orders. You still do, even though it’s not in your best interest. You're out there fighting every day. I’d love to be as brave as you.”

“I wasn’t brave,” he dismisses. “I was just sick of their shit.”

“Ah," you laugh. "So should I expect a dramatic farewell when you’re sick of mine too? Lord knows I give you enough of it.”

“Nah," he says, expression indiscernible as he eyes linger on you. "I don’t really see that happening.”

“Which part? Giving me a farewell or getting sick of my shit?”

“The second one.”

“Hm, challenge accepted, Kyle Crane.”

He just chuckles. You steal a flicker of a glance at his face and he looks at ease. Comfortable beneath your medical ministrations, finally. It’s all you can really ask.

“You can act like you don’t care all you want, Kyle Crane,” you say with a sigh. “But I’m not buying it.”

“Yeah, I know. Don’t tell anyone my big secret though, alright? You do more good than me anyway, Doc.”

“I don’t. It’s not the same. I really admire how much you help other people. I want to do that too, but… I’m not exactly as athletic as you. Or brave. Or confident. I’m not even a doctor. Not really. Just a nurse. But the head doctor died and, well, here I am. Not the most satisfying promotion. This is all I can do though—so I do it.”

“You should give yourself more credit, and me less.”

“You risked your life for this stuff,” you say with a gesture to the duffle bag. “Without you, I can’t do anything. Can't save lives without supplies. I’m useless on my own. I think I’ve given credit where credit is due.”

“You’re not gonna let me win this, are you?”

“I’ve already won as far as I’m concerned. Getting Kyle Crane to let me clean his wounds? Now that’s victory.”

"Yeah." He lets out a tired laugh. “Whatever you say.”

When he shifts his gaze to you he finds that you're already looking at him. Your cleaning has halted and you're just staring.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, I just—” you pause, searching for the right words that don’t spill too much of your guts. “I’d just be really sad if something actually happened to you, Crane. That's all.”

“Hey,” he says, voice softer than usual. His eyes search you over. “I’m not going anywhere. Where’s this coming from?”

You just shake your head, realizing you’re making this a thing. “Sorry, it’s nothing.” You move to start cleaning him again but he catches your arm.

“It’s not nothing,” he says, holding your wrist hostage as you both stare at each other.

“I just worry. It’s kind of my thing. I worry a lot, okay?”

“About what?”

“About you. A lot.”

The room goes quiet. All you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears, your heart rate ticking up to a sudden gallop. You can hardly believe you admitted how much he's on your mind just like that. The curse of having a bleeding heart and wearing it on your sleeve.

When Crane doesn’t say anything back for a long stretch of silence, anxiety wells up inside you. You feel the need to fill it with rambling. “I’m sorry. This is why I said it was nothing. It doesn’t really matter. I’ve grown fond of you is all and it’s fine, it's really fine. I-I know it doesn’t change anything, and I don’t even expect you to feel the same or anything, and I know how skilled you are and I really shouldn’t worry but I just can’t help it when you—“

He grabs your face and presses his lips to yours.

“Stop,” he breaks the kiss to murmur against your lips. “Just stop.”

“Okay…” you whisper.

And then he’s kissing you again. Or maybe you’re kissing him. You’re really not sure and it doesn’t really matter. You can hardly stay on your feet and you’re thankful when he wraps an arm around your waist, tugging your body tight to his, slotting you securely between his spread thighs. 

He kisses far sweeter than you would have expected. For some reason, maybe because of how confident and attractive you find him, you thought he’d be more of a playboy. Thought he might kiss like a freight train.

But there are layers to this, more and more peeling back as your kiss deepens. At first your lips just press together, breath blustering from nostrils, heart swelling in your chest. But then there’s tongue, a certain timidness to it you weren’t anticipating, though you find it incredibly endearing.

He’s seeking entrance. Permission. His hands roam and slip up under your shirt, rubbing at your sides. His fingertips dimple into the softness of your love handles, squeezing at them like a plea.

“Ah…” He earns a soft little noise from you. You grant him entrance as shyly as he asks it, breath shaking from you as you let your lips soften. Your tongue peeks out to meet his. The tenderness with which he kisses you steals your breath away and you gasp his name so quietly against his lips. “Crane…”

“Yeah?” he questions, pausing, equally breathless.

It’s so stupid, but you have to ask. “I really like you. This isn’t like… a pity thing, right?”

He lets out an incredulous breath of a laugh and rakes his fingers up the nape of your neck into your hairline. “For someone so smart, that was really stupid.”

Leaning in, his mouth presses and opens against yours. You match his energy, tongues passing along one another becoming more and more passionate as if possessed by longing itself. He devours all the little noises slipping out of you, groaning some back in kind.

God, the sound of Kyle’s deep voice rumbling out these low groans directly into your mouth is really having an effect on your knees.

The longer you go, the more handsy he gets. The more desperate he gets. His fingers clench into a fist in your hair, pulling your head back by the roots for him to really bear down on you.

“Ahh…” it pulls out a shocked, wanton moan, your cheeks flushing red in an instant.

Crane’s eyes scan you. Breathless, he raises his brows and asks, “Yeah? You like that?” punctuating it with another small tug.

It spikes heat through your core and pulls another involuntary, hitching noise from you. “Y-yes,” you manage to say, swallowing thickly.

“Goddamnit…” he mumbles, taking you in hungrily before his expression shifts to something torn and pensive, easing up on his grip. The same hand that was just tugging your hair now gently cards through it, tucking it behind your ears. “You’re dangerous,” he murmurs, “but I’m worse.”

Your brows knit. “What do you mean?”

“I want this, but…”

“But,” you repeat, mouth bending into a frown. There’s always a damn but.

“You shouldn’t get involved with a guy like me.”

“You think I can’t handle myself,” you surmise aloud. He might be right, to be fair. You’d be terrible in a fight.

Crane lets out a heavy sigh. “I have a lot of enemies, sweetheart.” He gives you this apologetic look, head angling down to meet your gaze and really impart the severity on you. “Bad ones.”

“Ones with pipes…” you mumble.

“Yeah,” he lets out a breathy half-laugh, tucking another stray hair behind your ear. His smile is so rare, you always feel lucky to see a sliver of it, even if this one is kind of sad. “Ones with pipes, yeah. So I think… I think you need to be careful. With me. You need to consider these things.”

He’s not calling this off, you realize. He’s giving you the choice.

You nod slowly, looking him over. He looks so at odds with himself, like he can’t even believe he’s his own worst cock-block right now.

“I think I…okay,” you swallow thickly and take in a big breath, stepping backward. “I think—let’s just finish your examination. We got a little, um,” you run a shaky hand through your hair, “a little distracted.”

Crane’s eyes flicker over yours. There’s a dull edge of disappointment there, but it quickly shifts to acceptance. He didn’t give you the option to not respect your decision. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, of course.”

Stepping back further, knees shaky, you look at him apologetically. He brought up a good point—with him comes a degree of danger, of enemies. That was the scary reality of it. He’s a perfect gentleman about the whole thing and it drives you even more mad about him.

“Strip,” you say, gesturing to his pants.

“Uh… Sorry?”

“I finished your upper half.” Grabbing the metal bowl you’d been rinsing the washcloth in, you take it over to the sink to get fresh water. “Your bottoms better be off when I get back.” 

You hear the strained, unsure noise hanging in his throat before it turns into a defeated sigh and then some rustling.

Oh, the sweet sound of compliance. The thing about Crane is that he almost always does as he‘s told.

When you turn around he’s sitting on the table. His pants are in a pile on the floor but his briefs are still on his body.  

Almost always, indeed.

He sits slightly hunched forward. His arms are awkwardly positioned in an attempt to perhaps hide something. 

“Crane…” You return, setting the wash basin on the cart beside the exam table. Brows raised, you give him a patient but expecting look.

“Not necessary. I promise you I don’t have any injuries on my dick.”

“Take them off. Those briefs cover more than that and you’ve already proven you can’t be trusted with self-assessment.”

“Come on,” he says with an edge of pleading. His voice gets quiet like there's even someone else around to hear it. “Let me save a little face. I’m… I’m worked up, alright?”

You’re well aware.

“Crane.”

“God. Jesus, fine…”

You busy yourself to give him a modicum of privacy as he removes his briefs.

“And lay back once they’re off, please. Your legs should be flat on the table, not dangling off,” you request, dipping the cloth into the clean water and wringing it out.

You listen for the telltale sigh of his disgruntled obedience and the shifting of Crane’s body on the table. When the room falls quiet once more, you know he’s ready.

Turning around, you have to really work at keeping your professional composure. His erection is… wow. That is distracting. This man is now completely naked, laying on the padded medical table with his cock shamelessly hard and skyward.

It is… not small.

He just lays there, staring at the ceiling. Arms at his sides. Body still. Breath measured. He’s probably had a thousand medical exams in the military so it’s easy for him to slip into a mode where he just waits for this to be over.

“Thank you…” you say, moving to his side and getting to work. His legs are powerful. They’re actually not in terrible shape like this upper body was. His tactical pants protect him from a lot, unlike the flimsy t-shirts he tends to wear on top. 

You clean him nonetheless though. There are some little cuts here and there, so you wash them and dab them with antibiotic. Pulling the cloth up his thigh, you’re impressed enough to comment. “Look at you, no burns, no terrible, untreated open gashes…”

“Like I said… this really wasn’t necessary—“

His sentence cuts off when you rub at a spot dangerously close to his crotch.

“Oh?” you question, freshening the washcloth and bringing it right back to that same spot, rubbing soft, clean strokes up the inside of his thigh. “Do you want me to stop?”

His eyes meet yours. You two seem to have a conversation in just a look.

What do you think you’re doing?

Cleaning you. Is that a problem?

You’re playing with fire.

I’m cleaning with cloth.

You raise a brow, angling for a verbal response from him. “Because I can stop, if you want.”

Another refresh of the cloth. You're just dragging this out at this point. When you bring it back to his skin, you swipe along the lower flat of his toned abdomen, just above the base of his cock.

You can’t deny it delights you to see the twitch of his body. A little convulsion of his abs sucking in at the close-but-not-quite touch.

“Crane,” you prompt.

“No,” he says finally, eyes growing heavy lidded as he looks up at you. “You can—“ he swallows thickly, looking down at your hand so very close to his cock, “you can keep going.”

You oblige him with a happy hum. It was the right answer after all. You're slow and methodical as you go on, cleaning up and down both his legs, taking the time to massage out some of the tenseness in his calves.

“Oh… my god,” he groans under his breath, cracking his eyes open to watch you. “What are you doing to me?”

“Your muscles are tense. I could get your back and shoulders too sometime.”

“Yeah I’ll… I’ll keep that in mind…” he mumbles, letting out a deep groan that buzzes in your brain. It makes you brave and bold.

“Almost done,” you say, “just one last part to clean.”

It’s incredible how much his erection hasn’t waned this whole time. There it is, still at attention. It looks almost painful, and you can only imagine how badly it needs to be touched.

Taking the cloth to clean down by the base, you pull it up along the underside of his cock in a long, wet, swipe.

“Ah…” Crane lets out a breath he’d apparently been holding, brows pinched together. His hips buck just a fraction in response, clearly not a purposeful movement.

“Just relax,” you murmur, trying to tamp down the heat you feel building deep and low in your own belly. “Let me clean you up. I’ll be gentle, promise.”

Crane looks at you with the most endearing expression. It nearly melts you. Cheeks flushed, eyes dark and lash-heavy, brow strained tightly as he just looks up at you and nods.

Warm, wet cloth in hand, slowly wrapping your fingers around his cockhead, you give a tender squeeze, letting the water runoff drip down his shaft. 

“Ah, fuck…” The move pulls a louder than usual response from him. His hips cant. His breathing picks up. You delight in all his sweet, struggling noises that he tries so hard to tamp down. Like whimpering with need isn’t befitting of a brawny man such as himself. You think it suits him perfectly.

You love it. You revel in knowing you can bring him this pleasure. Knowing that he very badly wants more. That’s good. All you want to give him is more.

“Shhh, shhh,” you coax him into relaxing, rubbing your free hand over the lower flat of his stomach, smoothing down his happy trail. Your keep that grip on his cockhead, experimentally loosening and squeezing harder. Learning. Watching his every reaction.

His face tells you everything. He loves this. He loves when you squeeze it, his face pulling into bliss every time you do it. That’s good to know. You’ll come back to that.

His balls are tight and throbbing. It makes them easy to clean, gently handling them with one hand and using the washcloth with the other.

Crane is just trying so desperately to keep composed. “This is some exam…” he says, voice tight in his throat.

“I want to be thorough,” you admit, setting the cloth aside. He’s all cleaned up now. It feels so satisfying to look at him all clean and patched up, erection straining into the air.

“Thorough,” he half laughs incredulously. “That’s a word for it.”

“Crane,” you say, touching his cock for the first time skin to skin, your fingertips trailing up it and wrapping gently around the head like a promise. 

“Kyle,” he says. It’s less of a correction and more of a request. A plea.

That’s sweet. He’s sweet. Asking for something that he wants for once, and it’s just to be called by his first name. It strikes you soberly to realize something as simple as being called by his first name is intimacy to him.

“Kyle…” you murmur, enjoying the way his name feels on your tongue.

“Yeah?” he breathes, eyes fluttering a little.

“I don’t care about the danger,” you say, squeezing softly. “Can I do something nice for you? Will you let me?”

He looks at you, torn. His eyes linger on your small hand around his big cock, now starting to massage the head.

“If you’re sure,” he says, voice wavering. “You don’t have to though. I-I can take care of this myself. I’m… I’m pretty good at that at this point. Used to it. It’s fine, really.”

“Oh? I… Could I watch?” you ask, pulling your hand from him.

“What?” His voice actually breaks, pulled between despair and desire.

“Can you show me a little?” you question genuinely. “How you touch yourself? So I know what you like?”

He looks between his straining cock and you and swallows stiffly, nodding and wrapping his hand around his shaft. “Yeah, alright. Like this?” He begins hesitantly stroking himself.

“That’s perfect, Kyle,” you say, watching how he inadvertently swells at the praise, pupils dilating full. 

That’s… really cute. It makes sense. Someone who always takes orders must live for being told they did them well.

This isn’t exactly your wheelhouse—taking charge. You’re no silver-tongued vixen or soft dommy mommy or whatever. But you like him so much, and he really is being so good. You think you can do this.

“That’s so good, Kyle,” you murmur genuinely, loving how it visibly affects him. It makes his breath hitch, makes his brows tighten. “Keep going for me, okay?”

He nods, keeping pace at first but quickly getting more and more worked up.

“Can you slow down for me a little?" you ask, softly combing through his short hair. "Can you show me how you touch yourself gently? Do you ever do that?”

“I—uh, yeah… sometimes,” he admits a bit sheepishly. Cheeks darkening in a hot blush. God, he's so beautiful.

“Will you show me?”

“Yeah, I just…” he trails off, softly squeezing and tugging at just the tip. With his cockhead between his fingers and palm, he massages it like that with a slow, coaxing rhythm.

“Oh…” you breathe out, finding this much hotter than you ever anticipated. “I love to watch you, Kyle."

"Really?" his voice is shaky.

"Yeah. It’s so sexy—your hands. How your hands look touching yourself like this.”

“Yeah? Can I go a little faster?”

“Not yet, just do this for a little. It feels good doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he breathes with a shudder. This is obviously doing it for him too. His pace comes to a slow, sensual crawl. He cups his tip tenderly, massaging and letting his mouth fall open in time with a tug that pulls at something deep inside him, a jolt of pleasure that hits just right.

“There you go, Kyle,” you encourage, and his reaction is instantaneous. His eyes shift to meet yours, enthusiastic as they are seeking your approval. “Yeah, you can go a little faster, just… just don’t come, okay?”

He swallows and nods, sliding his grip down his shaft while his other hand comes down to feel at his balls, gripping them tight against himself.

It’s enamoring, watching how he jerks off. The pinched faces he pulls, the breathlessness and little grunts when he hits a good stride.

You realize now that he likes commands to an extent. They’re what he’s used to. A comfort zone. Being told what to do and praised when he does it well.

You could honestly watch him to completion and be happy, but you’re not that mean.

At one point when he squeezes and his eyes shut you take the opportunity to step close, reaching out and curling your hand around his cock just above his own.

His eyes snap open, looking at you adorably confused.

“Can I help?” you ask, leaning in but waiting for his consent.

He doesn’t fight you at all. His hand falls away. Yours slides down to take its place and in one fluid movement, you bend low to take him in your mouth.

“Christ…” he wheezes, tossing a forearm over his instantly reddened face, his hips jolting up. “Oh fuck… sorry...”

You feel it hammer against the back of your throat just once before he gets control of himself. You stay on just his tip, undeterred, suckling at it as you pump his shaft with a slow, rolling rhythm.

"Jesus, sweetheart,” he breathes, blindly feeling with his other hand for your head, petting your hair back once he finds it. “That feels so good, so good, you have no idea. Yeah. Just like that—j-just like that.”

Since he seems to like it so much you crawl up onto the table between his legs. The angle is better this way. You’re sure to be extra sweet to the underside of his cock, rubbing your soft tongue along the velvety, sensitive patch just below the tip. Leaving it there to lave over and over until he’s choking out some very strained expletives.

Bobbing low and taking him deep every now and then helps keep him nice and slick on the shaft so you can jerk him at the same time you spoil his cockhead. He likes a firmer grip, you find, and soon he’s just pouring out groans and curses. 

“Fuck, fuck, I need you,” he suddenly gasps, trying to pull you off him to get your attention. You blink at him, worried you’re not doing a good job. It must be all over your face and he starts quickly explaining himself.

“You're amazing,” he says in earnest, hands cupping your face, eyes lingering on your swollen, glossy lips. “But I want to fuck you so bad. Is that—can we…?”

Your eyelids lull heavily, molten heat contracting in your core. Never in a million years did you think Kyle Crane would be saying that to you.

“O-okay, yeah. Yes.”

He levels your gaze, really looking at you. “You're sure? You want to?”

You nod, surer than sure, practically panting from just the thought.

“Okay, here. Here. Come here. I should prep you.” He's pulling at your hips, trying to get you closer.

“I’ll be fine,” you say, slipping off the table to shuck your bottoms off before climbing back on top of him.

“Look, it’s not a bragging thing, but I don’t want to hurt you and I know I’m a little big.”

“Kyle, you're so sweet...” you say, taking his hand and guiding it to between your legs currently straddling his waist. “But I’m ready for you. I want you.”

His brows pull tight, a hot breath escaping him. “Shit…” His eyes are wide on your face, disbelieving. “You’re really this wet from sucking me off?”

“I mean, there was some kissing involved…” you mumble, heat flashing across your face. “And other things.”

“Yeah, no, I know—I didn’t forget those.”

“So you believe me now? I promise I’ll be fine. I want you so bad, Kyle, I-I have for a long time.”

He looks up at you with a quietly sort of adoring look, dipping his fingers into your dripping pussy and running them through your folds, settling some soft circles on your clit. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “I believe you.”

Gasping at his tender ministrations, you start to lower yourself down. “Help,” you whimper as your hole catches on him.

He grabs himself by the base, holding it steady for you to sink down on.

You both sound so helplessly wanton as you do. Once you're steady, his hands move to the tops of your thighs, gripping them as you take him. His girth splits you, stretching you to your limits. If you hadn’t been so wet and turned on, this definitely would have been an issue.

“Sorry, I’m going slow…” you apologize, panting uncontrollably. “I-I’m just adjusting, but I’m fine. You're just... ah... you're so big, Kyle.”

He pets up and down your thighs, his strong fingers curling over as it to reassure. “Take your time. I get it, I can feel how tight you are, it..." he breaks off to openly moan as you sink down a little more, brows furrowing tightly. "Feels… feels fucking amazing.”

"Yeah?" You nod, starting to bounce minutely, getting a little further down each time. You open for him, delighting in the full feeling of every fiber being tested. Your walls conform around him for the perfect fit, and your nerves light up every time he hits deeper.

Crane lets out a deep groan, his hands coming up to find the buttons of your shirt. You let him. The air hitting your exposed nipples makes them tighten immediately and any ounce of self-consciousness melts away when you see the way he looks up at you.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, awed, reaching out like he’s about to touch something forbidden. His massive palms cup your ribs and move up to your breasts, admiring the way they look in his hands. 

He’s crazy as far as you’re concerned. He’s the beautiful one here. Looking down at him beneath you, your eyes rake over his body, so chiseled and perfectly sculpted beneath your own, which is soft and nothing special in your opinion. But still, you’re happy he seems to think otherwise.

“Ride me,” he begs, eyes tipping up to yours pleadingly. His hands move to squeeze at your hips, tugging at them a little in desperation. He’s at your mercy.

Lucky for him, you’re a doctor. You’re known for mercy.

“Ah… Kyle,” you moan, lifting off him almost completely before and sinking back down to take him even deeper.

His face contorts with relief and pleasure, pulling at your hips to do it again. And you do. You ride him in earnest, pressing to the hilt and—

Fuck.

He nails a spot deep inside you. It’s raw and sensitive and you’re not sure it’s ever been touched before. Not like this. Not with the fat, blunt head of a cock that fills you so full.

“O-Oh—” you choke out, staying there and rocking back and forth. “Oh Kyle… oh my god—”

His brows bow up, fingertips dimpling into your hips as he helps you along. Yanking your entire body back and forth on his cock, he manages to question, “Yeah? You find a good spot?”

You can only nod vehemently, your face just the picture of helplessness and pleasure. Tears prick at the edges of your eyes and stream down your cheeks. The molten hot, coiling feeling that deepens every time he pounds that spot overwhelms you in the best way.

“Fuck, are you coming?” he asks in a rush. “Are you about to come?”

“Kyle—K-Kyle,” is all your short-circuiting brain can manage to get out. Your fingers claw at his stomach, hips bucking with desperation and an utter lack of coordination.

When you reach the precipice, a mind-numbing orgasm bursting through your body, you lose all control of it. Your back hunches forward, hands balling into fists on his stomach as your body quakes with euphoria overload. A strangled, unintelligible cry sobs out of you. Your pussy spasms and clenches around him, pulling some surprised, choked off noises from Kyle, too.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grits out his encouragement through a clenched jaw, making an effort to dig his heels into the cushioned table and fuck up into you since your body has gone rigid and still. His body is so powerful. He acts like it's nothing for him to just hold you up and jackhammer you like this. “Ride it, ride it, there you go, baby. There you go. Keep going until you can’t anymore. Until you can’t. Then... th-then I’ll take over. Fuck.”

You realize with a swelling in your heart that he’s talking you through it. He’s so, so sweet and selfless that even now, even with his own need throbbing inside you, he’s taking care of you and talking you through your orgasm.

It hits you wave after wave. You’re not even sure if it’s one long one, or several strung together. It’s like some insane ouroboros of orgasms, one just swallowing up the other and living on. They wash over you, leaving you in a delirious, sobbing haze. 

“Kyle,” you whimper. “Kyle, Kyle.”

“Yeah?” He asks, breathless, reaching up to brush the tears away. “I’m gonna take over, alright?”

“Please…” You nod, breathless and shaking.

“Okay, shh, I got you. I got you,” he consoles, kissing your temple as you slump against him, your breasts squishing to his chest. He sits up and pulls you against him. The way he manhandles your limp body to suddenly be beneath him is a talent in and of its own. “You okay if I keep going?”

Right, because he hasn’t come yet and you’re a bag of jello. It’s sweet of him to ask.

“Use—Use me,” you say, breathless, pulling his gorgeous face down for a kiss. “H-However you want.”

Kyle’s eyes fall shut for a second with a deep exhale. 

This is foreign territory to him. Doing as he pleases. Doing something for himself for once. It’s something you want to offer him so desperately.

His eyes crack open and he gives you this earnest, almost apologetic look. “I want to fuck you like an animal.”

You practically come just from his voice whispering that, low and gravelly with need. From the brow-pinched desperate look on his face.

You take his face in your hands, gazes meeting with an electricity, and nod. It’s all he needs.

Hoisting himself up to cage overtop you, he leans back on his knees and reaches for your hips to tug you onto him. His hands are huge, fingers sinking into your softness as he grabs and drags you close. With a shift of his hips just so and one hand coming to press down on the top of his cock, he angles into you and sinks in cleanly.

“K-Kyle!” you keen, eyes jolting and fluttering as he fills you in one go. Your pussy stretches euphorically, alight with sensitivity from your previous orgasms.

His palms slide up the back of your thighs, pausing at the hinge where they meet your knees. He shoves them back, knees to your shoulders. Opens you wide. Makes you tight.

“God damn…” Kyle lets out a scraping, growling noise from low in his throat, deeply satisfied, as he watches where his cock disappears into you with a darkening expression. Taking a moment to just let his eyes roll back when he sinks fully to the root, he lets out a long, shaky breath.

And then he starts.

Kyle’s muscular body works like a machine as he pistons into you. Long clean strokes full of power.

He barely falters when he grabs your hand, guiding it down your stomach. “Touch yourself,” he begs, hastily dragging it lower and pressing your fingers into your pussy lips. “Come on, touch yourself, baby. Please.”

You do. Of course you do. You’ll do anything for him when he talks to you like that. So desperate and pleading and sweet—god, he never loses that part of him, even when he’s railing you like this.

And then his hands are back on your legs. Clutching desperately. Locking you in a tight mating press. Making sure you take him. All of him. Everything he gives you.

Which is a lot.

He loses himself. There’s no filter anymore. Layers peel back down to the last one which is raw and grunting and cursing with vigor. His body doesn't falter. He growls mostly unintelligible praises that you catch bits and pieces of. “Tight, tight, fuck—yeah, y-yeah… hah…There—”

Like an animal was an understatement. He fucks you like a beast.

The only noise escaping you now is the air being punched out with each thrust. The pleasure is indescribable. 

“Kyle,” you manage to get out his name like a warning. You're going to come. He’s going to make you. Your fingers swish clumsily over your clit, yeah, but it’s the way he’s crushing into that spot that is really driving you to your limit.

“Kyle!” It’s pitched up this time. Your whole body goes wire taut. Your hole clenches and spasms around him, your oversensitive walls milking and milking him.

He lets out a deep, guttural noise like he’s hot on your heels. “Take it,” he grits out from his clenched jaw. “Fucking—“ he gasps, mouth hanging and eyes rolling back, hips stuttering before slamming home. The tendons in his neck flex, head and eyes both rolling back as he strains to keep talking. “Take it, take it, take it.” 

The blunt tip of his cock slams flush to your cervix and unloads. Pours itself right into you. It’s a warm sensation in your belly. So so warm. Your hand comes to feel at it and you find yourself reveling in the comfort of the heat he’s pumping into you.

“Kyle, Kyle,” you breathe in awe. “You’re coming so much. It’s so much—I can feel it.”

“I-I know…” he whines, brows pulled together as he watches your hand rubbing slowly over your belly. “Fuck… That’s so hot. You like it inside, baby?”

You nod eagerly. “Yes, yes.”

“Good…” he exhales, satiated beyond words. “Me too…” and then he’s draping over you, kissing you again, soft and sweet. It ends with him bumping his forehead to yours, catching his breath. The both of you. “That was…” he shivers like he has tingles all over and just gives up looking for a word.

“Yeah… same…” you pant, feeling almost weightless. He’s still inside you. Neither of you dare to move. It’s like there’s this unspoken understanding that once he pulls out, you’ll both have to deal with the real world again, and this is just so much better.

“I didn’t hurt you?” he asks, nuzzling into your neck, giving it some kisses as if to console. “I know I went kind of hard…'m sorry...”

God, this man knows just how to melt you.

“Kyle…” You scratch at his scalp, finger-combing though his hair. “I think you broke me, but no, you didn't hurt me.”

He laughs against your neck. “Sorry… it’s uh, it had been a while for me.”

“That’s okay,“ you say, kissing whatever part of his head closest to your mouth. It doesn't matter. “Me too."

"Fuck... that was... that was so good... you're incredible," he says, clearly still coming down from his post-nut high.

"We could make it more of a regular thing… if you wanted.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you so very fondly. “You’re sure?”

“Always questioning me.”

“You know why I worry. I’m still not sure this is a great idea.”

“Kyle, I swear to God, I will put up a request for mind-blowing sex on the dart board. Is that what it’ll take to get you back in here?”

He pulls a face. “You know other people read that thing, right?”

“Of course.”

“Okay. Yeah, no, don’t do that. I don’t like that.”

You just laugh. Yeah. That’s what you thought.