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It wasn’t that people didn’t know that Jack and Samira were in a relationship. They had done all the necessary paperwork, had navigated the scheduling required to keep a fourth year resident from being supervised by the attending with whom she was in a Consensual Workplace Relationship. But they didn’t broadcast it–at least, they never had before.
Samira had been wary of the optics of sleeping with her attending–not enough to keep her from doing it but enough to keep the PDA to a minimum. Jack, for his part, would rather saw off his other leg than do anything to jeopardize Samira’s very promising career and had been happy to simply follow her lead.
But that night, the clock struck twelve on her life as an emergency medicine resident. Two hours earlier, she had signed her contract for a research fellowship at UPitt. So, Jack was not only not her boss, he wasn’t even a coworker.
They gathered at Donovan’s to celebrate. All the residents and attendings not on shift nursing drinks in honor of both Langdon and Samira securing fellowships in Pittsburgh. The bar was crowded, hospital staff pressed shoulder to shoulder, buying rounds of liquor for Samira and, curiously, french fries for a sober Langdon.
Jack wouldn’t dream of overshadowing a celebration of Samira, so he sat on a worn sofa, vaguely listening to Dana and Cassie discuss the Pittsburgh public school system. Javadi sat near enough to listen to the conversation, but Jack knew Eileen Shamsi well enough to know there was no way Victoria’s school experience left her with anything to contribute.
He had been nursing a single beer for the better part of an hour, just watching Samira from across the bar. He wanted to let her have her fun and also to be the one to drive her home and tuck her into bed, and with the rate that people were buying her drinks, he didn’t expect them to be there all night.
Samira wandered over to where they were seated, Santos and King in tow, and he let his eyes graze hungrily across her body, inky curls spilling around her shoulders, and a skirt that cut high across her long pretty legs, accompanied by a pair of knee high black leather boots that made him feel like this party had been thrown solely for his benefit.
He smiled up at her as the girls crammed in around the table and began to scoot over to make room for her. Instead, she came around to where he was sitting and deposited herself directly into his lap. She sat almost perpendicular to him, one leg thrown over both of his, the other in between, and draped an arm around his shoulders before leaning down to press a kiss to his scruff, and turning her body to continue whatever conversation she had been having with Santos.
Jack couldn’t hope to follow it. Alcohol had a tendency to make Samira squirrely, unable to sit still, so his brain ceased getting enough blood flow to meaningfully contribute as she made herself at home in his lap. As she casually chatted with the women of the Pitt, he felt grateful that her long legs covered the bulge in his now too tight jeans. It was the most public contact they’d ever engaged in, and Samira seemed to be doing it without a second thought, bringing her fingers to twirl in the curls at the base of his neck.
The feeling of Samira claiming him so brazenly had his head spinning. “Mira,” he breathed at a moment when the conversation shifted from her. “You do realize you’re grinding against me in a room full of our coworkers, right? This is not me complaining–far from it–I just want to know you’re actually sure, not four-shots-of-Espolon sure.”
“Your coworkers, not mine,” she shot back, eyes wide in a faux-innocent look that had a tendency to make Jack forget that erectile dysfunction was a real problem for men in his age group. The jeans she liked so much on him grew far too tight at the zipper. “But if you’d rather I find somewhere else to sit, I’d be happy to.”
She moved as though she were adjusting her position in his lap, just getting comfortable, but Jack knew her better than that–knew she got off on teasing him until he was desperate, knew he did too. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he groaned from between gritted teeth, wrapping an arm around her waist and holding her to him.
“Are you okay, Dr. Abbot,” Mel asked from across the table. “You look flushed.”
Santos barked out a laugh, but it was Samira who spoke, her voice kind as it always was with King. “He’s fine, Mel,” she reassured.
“Yeah, Mel-odrama. I think he’s exactly where he wants to be,” Santos quipped with a tip of her drink in their direction.
“Close, but not quite,” Samira corrected, voice teasing. “But give it a couple hours, and he definitely will be.”
Jack groaned, knowing his face was still red, so he buried it in the shoulder of Samira’s sweater. The girls laughed, but it became clear that Jack was no longer needed, the conversation reverting in topic.
Samira, however, began running the heel of her boot along his calf, sharp enough to feel even through thick denim.
Jack tried to simply breathe deeply in a way that wouldn’t be too obvious, hoping to keep both his heart and his cock under control, but Samira gave a particularly pointed jab to his superficial Gastrocnemius. It was hard enough to leave a bruise–hard enough for him to think about the heel digging in across the rest of his body, and he pressed his mouth into her arm to stifle the sound of a groan.
“Something wrong, baby?” she asked, turning to him, voice barely more than a breathy whisper. As if she didn’t know. Mel and Trinity seemed to be too engrossed in a discussion about Whitaker’s latest dating disaster to notice Samira’s attention pointed elsewhere. The room narrowed to a single focal point, just Jack and Samira.
“Just–remind me tomorrow that I need to call my lawyer,” he managed to get out. This, at least, had Samira pulling back in surprise, pretty features rearranged in confusion.
“Your lawyer?” she asked, bemused.
“Yeah. I need to amend my trust. I want you taken care of if I happen to kick it, and it’s becoming increasingly clear that you may actually kill me,” he answered, only half joking.
It was Samira’s turn to laugh, a bright unguarded thing. “Oh, honey. Don’t worry about that. I’m a doctor; I’ll bring you back to life,” she reassured him, her tone teasing.
“I have no doubt, sweetheart,” he told her, smiling, pulling a soft, dark curl between his fingers. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”