Archive of Our Own

This isn’t supposed to happen. 

Robby squints at the blurry image of Jack signing some papers for the surgical team, a glass wall barricading Robby from them. They’re all talking and Robby can scarcely hear a word of it. He can only hear the heightened tones of concern traveling in sharp waves through the sound barrier. 

Then, his surgeon and Jack enter his room again.

“Hi, Michael. We’ll be taking you up to the OR in the next few minutes. Please just relax and we’ll make sure you get through this procedure with no complications,” the surgeon informs him.

He doesn’t even remember the guy’s name; the pain is sort of overwhelming all his brain function. He frowns at Jack who is studying the pages of information he’s been handed, back to front. Like he isn’t a doctor himself. Like this isn’t a procedure most people get in their lifetime. 

“Thanks,” Robby manages, watching the man leave.

“Don’t worry, Mike,” Jack consoles. “I’ll be here the whole time.”

Robby winces through a stomach-churning wave of pain.

“Don’t you have a life?” 

Jack smiles for the first time in an hour. Robby is unnerved at himself that he’s somehow timed it. 

“Somebody’s gotta drive you home.”

“That’s why they invented Uber.”

Jack rolls his eyes, setting aside the clipboard. 

“Just let me take care of this, okay? You’ve already got intra-abdominal abscesses, I should be here just in case there’s any more complications,” Jack insists in that paternal way that he does. 

Robby’s always grazed against uniformity. He rankles at it now, scoffing.

“It’s a fucking appendectomy. They’re not transplanting my heart.” 

“Bitch at me all you want. It’s my day off and I get to choose how I’d like to spend it.” 

Robby restrains himself from saying something cruel, something that would harken to the fact Jack is likely only here to avoid being at home, where the ghost of his wife might dwell on him. 

Instead, he mutters, “They weren’t supposed to call you.”

Something dark glints in Jack’s eyes.

“I am apparently your emergency contact, so, yeah they fucking were. We can talk about that later, alright?” Right, because Jack doesn’t like to worry about things and Robby should’ve probably consulted him before signing him on as his emergency contact. He didn’t because he knew how that conversation would go, and that alternative is worse than doing something like this behind Jack’s back and hoping he stays healthy enough. He refuses to look him in the eye, feeling shame cascade over him, so deeply that it almost overpowers his embedded guttural pain. 

There’s a hand on Robby’s shoulder, too close to the sensitive nape of his neck. He’s forced to turn his head then, rolling it on the shitty cot this uptown hospital spends none of its budget on. 

He faces Jack.

“Talk later,” Jack emphasizes, “Because you’re gonna get through this. Savvy?”

Robby wants to say he doesn’t care if he does or doesn’t. 

It’d be ironic for something like a burst appendix to send him to the gallows.

“Savvy,” he says in place of that, because he’s a coward.

Jack nods, satisfied, and lets him go.

Robby finds he misses the touch as a group of surgeons and nurses come in to roll him off towards the elevators. He hates how open this place feels, misses the claustrophobia of his own place of work. Watches the world go by with disdain as he’s carted by a wall of windows overlooking the busy streets below. All this sacred funding spent on a man’s useless organ, a man who doesn’t even care if he lives or dies. Something about that seems just a little sacrimonious. 

“I’m so beefy, huh?” 

Robby blearily opens his eyes, groaning when he’s rewarded with Jack’s smirky face inches from his own, blasting him with searing rays of sarcasm. He rolls his neck and groans again when he realizes how sore he feels. Bumblingly, he manages to get out the words, “What are—why?”

“You made it through your surgery just fine, buddy, though I was told the drainage took a couple hours longer than it should’ve. Your appendix must’ve hated your guts. Literally.” 

“Wh…” Robby gasps at the flinch of pain from his stomach. He can’t move without feeling immensely sore, and is glad he’s being pumped with drugs even if they’re doing next to nothing. 

“The why? You really that high still?” 

Words are finally beginning to process, alongside his awareness.

A hysterical sort of sigh escapes Robby’s throat. 

“No, um, shit. This sucks.”

“Don’t worry, old sport, you’ll be back on your flippers in no time.”

Jack’s weird phraseology always manages to get Robby to laugh but that’s not a good thing right now. He languidly lifts a hand to hold his belly as he grins against a shuddering huff of laughter. 

When he faces Jack again, he catches a vulnerable smile on his face.

“I started pacing the OR when your surgery was taking longer than normal,” he admits, smirk twitching with newfound mischief. “Had an anesthesiologist tell me I was the worst kind of doctor.”

“An overactive amputee?” Robby cracks, shifting to get comfortable.

There is no position that feels good.

“The kind that doesn’t trust other doctors.”

“You trust your students just fine.”

“That’s like—they’re our kids, y’know? Every parent believes their kid is the one holding the shit show of a ballet performance together. And that is all doctoring is. A really shitty ballet.” 

Robby nods, closing his eyes against a flash of nausea. 

Jack’s hand is on his forehead then, checking.

“You feel clammy.”

“I’m fine.”

“Maybe I should get them to take a—”

“No tests. I feel fine, man, I’m serious.” Robby glares at him to make sure Jack knows he won’t be argued with. “Trust me, if something’s that wrong inside me again, I’ll be the first to know.” 

Jack's shoulders relax. He nods.

“When am I going home?” Robby questions, trying to decipher the clock on the other side of the room. His brain function must still be slow because all he’s getting in his head is thought-slop.

“Seeing as this is your second time awake, not long now.”

Second time?

I’m so beefy, huh?

For what little blood is left in him, Robby knows he’s blushing. 

“Ah fuck, what did I say? How long was I awake?”

Jack grins like the Cheshire cat.

“It’s okay. I understand. I’m a hunk.” 

Robby groans petulantly. This can’t be happening to him.

“Dude, c’mon.”

“Kept saying I have beefy arms, you’re so beefy, Jack.” Robby lifts an arm to cover his eyes with as Jack barrels on through this ritual humiliation. “Were calling me ‘soldier boy’ to the nurses.”  

“That’s not so bad,” Robby tries.

Jack doesn’t let him off that easily.

“How bout ‘so much beef I might have to eat you’.”

“Jesus. Am I—I had no idea I was this bad. What’d they give me?” 

“The usual. Loads of Propofol, some Ketamine. Nothing fancy.” 

“I’m just specifically a nutjob then, huh.”

Jack lifts a palm to Robby’s head again, as if checking for temperature, then strokes a few strands of hair off his forehead, sleeking them towards the soft pillow cushioning him. He smiles gently, keeping his hand cradling his head a moment too long before returning it to his own lap.

“Gonna drive you home,” Jack lets him know. “Don’t worry about anything.”

“I’m not worried,” Robby protests mildly. “But you don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I fucking do. Unless I should call Janey?”

“No.” Robby swallows hard. “No, of course not.”

“Yeah,” Jack offers dryly. “Not like she’d be on your emergency contact list.” 

“We’ve been broken up for a year.”

“Was she ever one?” 

Robby doesn’t know why he’s pressing on the matter, and he’s slightly embarrassed by it. It’s not like he asked for his appendix to burst, ruining whatever Friday plans Jack had on his day off. 

“Never got around to it. Never knew who else to add so…”

“We’ll talk about this later.”

Pushing the conversation off again isn’t a good sign.

He must really want to chew him out for this. 

Jack’s voice is definitive, commanding. Robby’s learned not to argue with him when it’s like that. This doesn’t mean he isn’t filled with dread at the concept of circling back to this discussion. 

Without protest, Robby lets him harass a wheelchair out of his assigned nurse and be rolled to the checkout desk. He’s handed a bill for three-thousand-something dollars at some point which  he can certainly afford but still bothers him. He’s got good insurance and he’s a fucking doctor. 

This country has gone to Hell. 

Jack drives him home, one hand on the wheel, one hand draped over the center console, leaning too closely into Robby’s space. Robby keeps his hands folded on his lap as he gazes out at the scenery whipping by. Even sitting up hurts and he focuses on the impending reality of being horizontal again. A nice cup of ice water and then bed. That’ll make him right as rain right now. 

Except—Jack passes the turn needed to get to Robby’s apartment.

“Dude, you—”

“You need someone to keep an eye on you the first couple days,” Jack tells him like he’s a child. Robby sputters as he continues, “But rest assured I ain’t ever using a shower without a shower seat again if I can help it so, sorry bucko, you’re gonna have to make do with my humble abode.” 

“Nothing humble about it,” Robby grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. That small gesture hurts too, though he’s too stubborn to move.

“Oh, knock it off.” 

They drive in silence for a while.

Fifteen minutes or so from Jack’s place, Jack turns on some music. He’s got one of those old but sturdy cars that still has a CD player installed into its dash. In the center compartment, he keeps a stash of CDs covering the great hits of BeeGees, Billy Joel, even The Smiths. Robby did make fun of him once for the stray Lynyrd Skynyrd and Rob Zombie discs he found unsubtly buried at the bottom of the stash. They mysteriously disappeared the next time Robby rode around in his car.

Robby snorts quietly and gazes out the window. 

He thinks about their past together. 

Robby’s crashed on Jack’s couch for a hilarious variety of reasons, dramatic and simple, but he knows Jack won’t expect him to be on his couch now. Not with this fresh surgery in his gut. He’s a gentleman in most ways, yet it’s just—well, it makes Robby blurt out words he’ll probably regret.

“You only have one bed.” 

Jack shrugs one shoulder.

“I’ll sleep on the couch if your masculinity is threatened.” 

That doesn’t quite give Robby the answer he’s hoping for. 

“I didn’t say I minded, uh, sharing a bed with you.” Robby scratches at his beard and tries not to look at Jack. It’s hard because Jack isn’t even looking at the road; he’s smiling sideways at him.

“Don’t worry. I don’t kick.”

“I think the phrase is ‘I don’t bite’.”

Jack’s grin widens.

“That’s the problem. I do bite.” 

Robby fears his recovery is going to feel very long. 

As soon as Robby is deposited in Jack’s bed, Jack falls asleep right next to him. Prosthetic and clothes adorned. Robby spends a good hour wondering if he should wake him to remind him to take off the leg and get in more comfortable clothes, maybe even brush his teeth, if that advice will even be received well. It never occurred to Robby his circadian rhythm was this fucked. He spends another hour fretting about how little sleep Jack gets, deciding his concern doesn’t matter. 

Jack’s an adult. It’s not Robby’s place to criticize. 

The police scanner is crackling with constant noise, low, on the dresser across the room. 

Robby doesn’t dare attempt to get up to shut it off. 

Even if it is interrupting the focus he needs to get back to sleep, he’ll leave it alone, and not just because getting up would mean a potential breach of his wound. Jack is attuned to the noise and would know if it were shut off, even in his deepest stages of sleep. And as much as Jack hates to rely on crutches, this is one crutch that he will simply not allow anyone to take away from him. 

Robby spends another few hours listening to Jack snore loudly.

“Like a boathorn,” he comments to the ceiling. 

Around hour five of agonizing insomnia, Robby becomes aware of his need for another dose of pain medication. He still doesn’t wake Jack up, not wanting to be a burden.  

At some point, he convinces himself he just can’t get to bed because the sun is still out. Jack is a different creature entirely. Sleeps during the day like a vampire. But Jack’s shift is approaching and Robby knows if he doesn’t wake him, Jack won’t get a good meal in before he goes to work. 

He wants Jack to have sustenance. 

The reasons for not waking Jack up are dwindling fast. 

Up until now, he’s been mostly in denial about being in Jack’s bed, yet now faced with the necessity of needing to touch him, Robby gets cold feet. It feels intimate to reach out gently and stir him. He forces himself to; the backs of his knuckles meet Jack’s spine, rubbing up and down.

There’s a jump in his own pulse as he does it. What the fuck. 

“Hey man,” Robby rasps, wincing through each syllable.

He’s really overdue on pain meds.

Jack grumbles something about flying monkeys, amusing Robby. 

“Jack,” Robby says, a little louder, coughing to clear his throat from overnight (if you can call it night) disuse. “Wake up, sleeping beauty.”

“Shit,” Jack curses straight into his pillow. Robby takes his hand off his back the second he starts moving, shimmying some feeling into all of his limbs. “Where the fuck am I right now?”

“You’re not the one on drugs, so that’s kind of a concerning question.”

Jack blinks at him, then at the clock. 

He jolts upright, showing off an impressive cowlick flattening the left side of his head. He’d been snoozing facing Robby the whole time, not moving even an inch, which is something Robby is just now realizing. When he sleeps, he’s gone to both the world and his own body apparently. 

“I haven’t slept that long in years,” Jack explains. “When’d you get up?”

The pause Robby allows to linger must be long enough, even though it feels like less than a second whilst he silently scrabbles to come up with a convincing lie. Jack frowns down at him.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” The level of concern for Robby on Jack’s face is alarming. Robby can’worth all that. “I could’ve scrounged up something to give you in, like, three seconds.”

“I’m already chalk full of medication,” Robby insists. “But I wouldn’t mind another one of those pain meds if you’re already up.” 

Jack seems to run over the regimen of medications in his head before he lets out a self-castigating sigh and says, “I am the worst fucking friend in the whole fucking world. Fuck.” 

“Do you let sailors kiss that mouth?” 

“Only on shore leave,” Jack cracks, trying to pretend he’s not immensely sore from keeping his leg on while he slept. He shakily lifts himself from bed to hunt for the correct painkillers amongst Robby’s prescribed kit. He finds the bottle in no time and tosses it to Robby, who is grateful he’s trusted enough to fish out the correct dose for himself. He watches Jack flit around the room nervously after that, and decides to say what’s on his mind because in Jack’s guilt-ridden haze, he might actually listen. 

“You need to eat before you go to work.” 

Jack barely glances at him as he grabs a new pair of underwear, scrub pants. 

“I need to do a lot of things before I go to work. I smell like the OR.” 

“No one in the Pitt’s gonna think you’re special for that, pal. Hate to say.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Jack sits back on the bed to doff his prosthetic. Robby watches him because even if he’s still tired, he knows he won’t be able to sleep for the next few hours regardless. He feels like utter shit. 

“I’m gonna drag my ass out to the kitchen and make you something unless I see you eating in the next thirty minutes,” Robby warns him. He smiles when Jack shoots a glare over his shoulder.

“Easy, ruffian. I have cuffs in the bedside drawer I’m not afraid to use on you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” 

“Hah,” Jack scoffs, setting his leg against a lamp post. He swaps them out for both of his crutches, lying in the same spot. “I’ll be back before I leave.”

“A meal, not one of those goddamn fig newtons!” Robby calls after him. 

The shower kicks on three minutes after Jack leaves.

Robby stares at the ceiling, dwelling on being alone in a few hours. He hopes he’ll be able to sleep then, but doubts it. He’s also not very good at sleeping in beds that aren’t his. Not because he needs to sleep on any specific mattress but because he’s never been good at staying over anyone’s house unless it’s absolutely an emergency. Janey was an exception, as she usually was. 

That never lasted long. 

Jack is back with a towel around his waist in record time.

He’s pink and his freckles are more on display than ever. The muscles in his biceps flexing as he pulls himself forward with the crutches. Robby can’t help but stare, forced to clear his throat before he speaks because otherwise a voice he doesn’t recognize could easily escape his throat. 

“I’ll accept it if all you make yourself is a cup of cereal.”

“I’m out.”

Jack grabs a shirt and then is gone from the room before Robby can respond.

Robby sinks into the mattress more, wishing a black hole will come swallow him, before swallowing the pills Jack handed him earlier. They go down dry; as they do, he thinks about how much of a raging hypocrite he is. He should probably eat something with these or he’ll get sick. 

Like a prayer answered from the Gods, Jack returns to the room with two bowls of oatmeal, stacked on top of each other with plastic lids so he can use his crutches and also carry them. One of the bowls is eaten a third of the way through and Jack flashes it in his face to show it off. “There,” he remarks, handing Robby the other bowl. Full and fogging up the lid with steam. “Now eat up and stay put today, or you and I are gonna have some words.” 

“Can I piss by myself, master?” Robby jokes humorlessly.

“Okay, smartass. I have a solution for that since you asked so nicely.” 

Before showing him what he means by that, he takes the time to don his prosthetic. After, he’s darting across the room. 

Jack rummages around in his closet for a folded—walker. He is leaving Robby an honest to God geriatric walker to get to the bathroom and back. Robby wants to explode into a million pieces. 

“Used this my first couple weeks of physical therapy, before they gave me crutches.”

“Can’t I just use your crutches?”

“Holding yourself up on those will put too much strain on your abdomen, you know that,” Jack reminds him, scarfing down the rest of his oatmeal. He sets the empty bowl aside on his dresser because he’s always sucked at doing dishes. Robby lets his own oats go cold on the counter next to him. It smells good; like brown sugar and heat. “And you’re not exactly super fit, brother.” 

“I’m tired enough to ignore that,” Robby remarks. 

“Sweet mercy is nobility’s true badge.”

“Get out of here, Shakespeare, or Dana is gonna kill you.” 

“First, uh…” Jack sits back on the bed and runs a hand through his still-damp hair. He’s looking Robby over, as if debating whether or not to go grab a thermometer. “How are you feeling, other than the lack of sleep, and you know, having the normal amount of organs you’re used to having?” 

“Peachy.” Robby glowers. “I haven’t moved. I’d say the recovery is going to be just fine.”

“Keep it that way, at least while I’m gone, alright? Any issues, call me.”

Robby rolls his eyes, shrugging in accordance.

Jack hands him a big tablet and adds,

“There’s games and movies on here if you’re bored.”

“You’re the only red-blooded man in America who doesn’t have a TV in his own room,” Robby points out, accepting the tablet gratefully.

“Please, I watch my porn the old fashioned way.” Jack pauses what he’s doing, packing up his backpack with essentials, to make jazz hands. “Catching an old skin flick at the adult cinemas.” 

Robby barks out a laugh, wincing at the accompanying prick of pain.

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you haven’t lived.”

Robby doesn’t know why it feels like his heart rate is increasing as he watches Jack pack up to go. He spent more time with him tonight than he has in a regrettably long time. Is he seriously worried about being alone? He’s always lived alone so he’s not sure why that should be the case. 

Suddenly, there are hands on Robby’s face.

Jack is squishing his cheeks so hard he can’t look anywhere but his eyes. 

“Call me.” A beat. “Okay?”  

“Fine,” Robby grits out. 

Jack drops his hands and Robby is uncomfortably aware his heart is definitely pounding harder and louder than it should. It’s likely just the new medications, he justifies weakly, as he watches Jack hike his backpack over his shoulder and vacate the room with a polite wave good-bye. He relaxes when he hears the front door slam shut and that relaxation quickly festers into something cold and gelatinous taking up space in his chest. Hard to peel away, hard to remove. When he casts a glance down at his untouched, lukewarm oatmeal, he thinks how similar his heart feels. 

“You know, you’re probably the only guy without Roku in America too. What is this, anyway? You’ve got only HDMI channels on here. Don’t you have to go out of your way to find a TV like that?” Robby interrogates the second Jack is in hearing range and dragging his shoes across the welcome mat. 

He hears a backpack thunk to the floor.

Jack’s voice is tight, holding the whole weight of his shift in its soft, concerned tones.

“The hell are you doing out of bed?”

“You know it’s recommended to get some foot-work in right after surgery, remember? I couldn’t stay in bed all day,” Robby answers. “And all your fun video games are out here on your TV.” 

“Really,” Jack deadpans. “All this for Mass Effect 2?”

“I’m kind of shit at it. Maybe ‘cause I didn’t play Mass Effect 1?” 

“You don’t play video games at all.” 

“Untrue, man. I’m a killer at Mario Kart. Ask Jake.” 

Jack is plopping down on the couch, far too close for comfort, moving quickly to peel back Robby’s shirt. Robby jolts and drops his controller, belatedly trying to swat Jack’s hands away. 

Jack gets what he wants. Robby remains clueless. 

Satisfied, when he finds the sutured wound hasn’t re-opened, Jack passive aggressively shoves Robby’s shirt back down and storms off towards the bedroom. At the speed he’s leaving, there’s an angry click to his step. When Jack is angry, that is just about the only thing you’ll hear. He doesn’t like to raise his voice or yell unless it's over sports. Robby releases a breath he’d been holding and stares at the screen appearing from the game that reads: Critical Mission Failure.

The shower is on when Robby makes it back to the bedroom.

Jack is surprised to see him in bed when he comes in, nude except for briefs stretched damply over his waist. He’s dripping all over the floorboard, wet hair slicked back looking almost black.

He’s got one crutch tucked under an arm. 

“I think I might succumb to your sleep schedule at this rate,” Robby jokes, trying to break the ice. He doesn’t know why Hell’s frozen over between them, not fully, but he knows it’s his job to try and fix it. 

“If you can’t sleep, I’m going to drug you,” Jack states, flat out. The burgeoning smile on his face tells Robby that all is forgiven, even if he’s a little peeved that his instructions were avoided. 

“That’s fair,” he concedes. 

Jack slips on an ancient Oasis t-shirt with holes in it. 

After setting the crutch against the wall by the bed, he climbs in next to Robby. 

“You feeling sore?” 

Robby eyes the redness of his nub before Jack can kick it under the covers.

“No more than usual,” Jack lies, shuffling under the sheets. 

“Uh huh.”

Robby continues watching him, realizing he’s not restless anymore like he’s been all day. When did that happen? 

“I am one beat motherfucker so you should probably tell me now before I conk out if you think you’re going to have trouble.” Jack regards him, and chuckles. “You need me to tuck you in?”

Robby’s laying flat like a dead fish on top of the blankets. 

Robby exhales and maneuvers the sheets around him. Jack pulls the comforter up at the same time, tucking it under his armpit. He’s on his side facing Robby, his grin glowing in the lamplight.

“Attaboy,” Jack praises, smile widening. “Should I sing you a lullaby?”

“One trip to the karaoke bar was enough with you, thanks.” Robby watches Jack stretch an arm backwards to turn up the police scanner. It’s mostly static with news reports filtering in sparsely. 

Jack tries to get comfortable as Robby contemplates the noise.

“Why don’t you have a Roku? Or cable, for that matter.” Jack stares at him, unreadably, and Robby fishes out the tablet from under his pillow. “There’s about ten movies on this thing and they’re all mp4 files. Dogshit rom-coms at that. In what world did you think I’d get desperate enough to watch One Fine Day?” 

Jack’s amusement is slowly twisting into something fonder. 

“You finished?”

“You ready to answer?”

“You know I think TV is garbage, you know I refuse to pay for streaming services. Why not exclusively have a gaming TV if I’m not gonna use it for anything else?”

“You can’t get all your news from the police scanner.”

“I catch up on the news on my phone. Pisses me off to watch full broadcasts anyway. I end up throwing shit, and you wouldn’t like me while I’m in a throwing mood.”

Robby scoffs, rolling his head back-and-forth on his pillow because it’s just about the only body part that doesn’t hurt to move right now. He goes right back to staring at Jack who hasn’t taken his eyes off of him in return. Jack’s eyes have taken on a sort of glossy, not-quite-there quality. 

“Those were Kelly’s favorites.” 

It takes a second to understand what Jack means.

Then, it hits Robby like a collapsing asteroid. 

“I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t say sorry, man. You didn’t say anything, I’m just explaining. And they are dog shit. Like absolute soppy mediocrity elevated to a high art.” At that, Robby laughs aloud, because Jack isn’t wrong. “But, y’know. That’s what she liked. I like to keep them on there, watch them sometimes.” He pauses, reminiscing. Then, beams when he admits, “All of them had some sort of charming jackass at the head of ‘em, so I really don’t know what that says about me.” 

“Trust me, you’re no George Clooney,” Robby notes.

“You saying I wouldn’t look good in a nipply Batsuit?” 

Robby’s laughing again. He tends to do that a lot around Jack.

“Not a chance, brother.” 

“Sorry my accommodations aren’t entertaining enough for you.” 

“Oh-hoh! That wasn’t my point. My point is that an episode of The Wire isn’t going to kill you.”

“It might not kill me,” Jack retorts, “but it certainly ain’t gonna make me stronger.”

Robby shakes his head at Jack’s usual eloquence, reaching for the right words and trying not to come across as an asshole again. He knows he needs to say this, though, while it’s fresh in his mind. 

“You think you’re ever gonna stop listening to that radio?”

“It’s like white noise,” Jack quickly justifies, not even interacting with the judgmental eye Robby gives him in response. “Turns out the lullabies they use in the NICU just don’t cut it for me.” 

“It’s not your job to save the world.”

“Wow,” comes a long, disbelieving drawl. “Choice words from the likes of you.”

Robby holds his gaze for a while, relenting when he realizes this conversation isn’t going anywhere good.

“Okay, Jack. Goodnight.”

Jack’s brow twitches. He sniffs, cracks his neck; all signs of irritation. 

“Night, man.”

It’s a serious problem now.

Robby lifts his hands up and digs stars into his eyes.

The ceiling is blurry and glowing white for a moment when he pulls them away. It’s when he lets out a frustrated mix between a huff and a whine that Jack stirs awake from beside him, the loud snoring subsiding instantly. There’s a hand patting at him blearily, as if checking for signs of life.

“Robby?” he asks. “Man, you okay?” 

“Just hit me over the head with a frying pan,” Robby complains.

Jack is staring owlishly at him now, adjusting to consciousness.

“Wait a fucking second. You still haven’t gotten to sleep?”

The sun is setting now; orange light dipping darker outside the window. 

“I’ll take any sleeping pills, intravenously or otherwise at this point,” Robby rasps, feeling slightly hysterical and positive he’s going to start hallucinating never before discovered shapes on the walls of Jack’s apartment if he doesn’t start counting sheep anytime soon. 

“What are you taking,” Jack grumbles to himself, grabbing the pain medication off the bedside table. Robby grunts in discomfort because he has to stretch over his torso to get to them. Jack reads the label and inhales dramatically which isn’t a good sign. “I don’t have anything that interacts well with this. It’s not like I can make you one of my famous Knock Out drinks either.”

Robby groans, “Dude, don’t even mention those.” 

He would kill for one of Jack’s vanilla boulevardiers. He adds a homemade, thick Irish vanilla creme to a boulevardier and it’s one of the best things Robby has ever tasted. It’s a perfect night cap. And he can’t even have it which—the thought alone—is torture. 

Jack is leaning his weight on an elbow, brainstorming quietly.

“Hey,” Jack poses, a deviousness leeching into his tone. That’s never a good sign. “You want me to pierce your nipple?” 

There’s a stunning silence. 

Robby has no clue what to say. 

“The whole batsuit joke made me think about it.” Jack swings his legs over the bedside and grabs for his crutch. He uses it to navigate to the other crutch which is lying in a laundry pile by the closet. He carries off into the hall, without explaining, leaving Robby to spiral. When he returns, he’s already speaking, “—be just like the barracks. We gave each other tattoos, all kinds of shit.” 

“Jack.”

“The thing is, it’s a good distraction from other pain, y’know? Watched my friend Tobey get an itty bitty back tattoo and he conked out right after, the whole process made him that exhausted.”

“Jack, are you—um.”  

Jack’s got some sort of kit tucked under an arm. He deposits it on the bed and turns the lamp back on, casting them in low light. He manages to flick on the closet switch from the bed with his crutch, giving the room even more light. Non-abrasive, however, which maintains the cozy vibe in the room. This doesn’t help the panic settling deep in Robby’s chest, multiplying outward. 

“I’ve done this a dozen times. I’m good at it. Don’t worry.”

“It’s generally unsafe to pierce outside a professional office. You know that.”

“And wouldn’t you rather a doctor do this to you than a baby-faced college student who just got the job at Spencer’s?” 

Robby supposes that’s true. Jack will know how to prevent infection.

It’s just—

“Why this? Surely you have chamomile tea.”

Jack pauses what he’s doing, gathering all the necessary items in a neat row. 

“You think tea will help?” 

Robby lets that sit between them, then he shucks his shirt off.

“There we go,” Jack purrs, unwrapping a disinfectant tissue and wiping it across the nipple closest to him, on Robby’s right. “Live a little, Mikey. You’re gonna be the talk of the town.”

Robby’s face gets a little red, so he covers it with a hand.

He tries to ignore the cold wetness of the tissue making his nipple perk up. It swipes over him several times in firm, even strokes. Cold shivers chase up and down his spine from it. 

“This is crazy,” he exhales in hysterics.

“Hey, if you hate it, you can let it heal over after the stud’s out, and you never have to think about it ever again.” Jack finishes wiping, trying to slam dunk the wet tissue in the trash bin from across the room. It lands draped over the rim. Jack uncaps a new bottle of lidocaine-based numbing cream and slathers some on his fingers. Robby gulps as he lowers them to his chest and starts to rub soothing circles around the areola, circling in on where he’s shockingly sensitive. “And forever onward you can say you at least tried something new.” 

“What makes you think I’m the type of person who wants to try it?” 

“Oh, you told me all,” he elongates the word ‘all’ with a tsk-tsk to cap it off, “about your new wave goth punk phase and that time you saw The Cure in concert.” Jack smirks as he focuses on preparing the sterilized needle, a dauntingly big device. “Wouldn’t ever forget an embarrassing story like that, Mr. Black Fingernails.” 

It’s true Robby has been curious about piercing any part of his skin beyond one of his ears but he truly can say nipple piercings are out of his wheelhouse. It feels wrong; which in turn, feels provocatively right. There’s also the fact Jack is doing it to him which is making his stomach twist like he’s just eaten something spicy. Like it doesn’t know how to digest what’s happening but is also set aflame by whatever is settling low in his belly. Heat bubbling outwards and within. With the way Jack keeps touching his chest, his nipple—the feeling intensifies. Gloving up with a noisy snap of rubber tosses Robby out of the reverie taking him down a path of no return. 

The numbing cream is starting to take effect. 

“I thought the point of this was to make it hurt,” Robby utters, eyeing the single-use thick needle Jack is wielding with suspicion. Jack huffs, humored by Robby’s obvious inexperience. 

“That cream is only gonna soften the blow. Trust me, it’s a good blow.”

“A good blow,” Robby echoes with a chortle. “Okay, sure.”

Jack starts pinching at the nipple, drawing blood into its peak, making Robby shudder.

“Just gotta get this ready,” Jack explains under his breath, taking the long silver needle and a couple silver balls in one palm. Another pinch goes straight to Robby’s cock, the sharp pleasure so abrupt it nearly makes Robby exclaim that they should stop but he realizes quickly how fucking awkward that would make this and resigns himself to the pulsing, low thrum of arousal that’s building between his legs. He just hopes it’ll go away the second the pain hits. “Okay, this is going to hurt like a mother but I’ve got you. Squeeze my arm, don’t bite your tongue. Ready?”

Another couple pinches at his nipple as Jack stares at him expectantly. 

Robby’s mind is getting a bit hazy, focusing on the pleasure of the touch and not wanting it to stop, accompanied by the dark heat of Jack’s gaze searing him. Why is he looking at me like that?

He’s so thankful a thick comforter is blanketing his lower half right now. 

“Do I look ready?” he manages with a dry crackle to his voice. 

“You’re gonna be smokin’ with one of these bad boys,” Jack soothes in a low, persuasive pitch, gesturing down to his kit of piercings. “Don’t worry. Take a deep breath and hold it for me.” 

Robby does as he’s told, adrenaline washing over him as the big needle descends to his hard nipple. It balances there, the tip jutting against him just barely, a pointy promise. Jack glances one more time at Robby’s face, then says as quickly as he starts to move, “Now breathe out. Hard.” 

Right under the jut of his nipple, Jack swiftly pokes the needle in. Pain blooms through the sensitive skin and Robby whimpers, his nails stabbing into Jack’s meaty arm balancing next to him. The big needle slips through the other side and he curses. Jack must’ve done this dozens of times, because he immediately threads it out, leaving behind half of a barbell, quickly rolling on a silver ball on the other end of a stud that’s about an inch in size, hanging heavy from his nipple. 

When Jack’s fingers are gone, only a low thrumming sting remains. 

“Oh my God,” Robby pants, eyes screwed shut. “Fuck me sideways.” 

“That wasn’t so bad, right?”

There’s a metallic clinkling noise, and a zipper. The snap of gloves being removed.

“That was fucking terrible.” 

“Hmm.” Jack chuckles deeply, a hand returning to the center of Robby’s chest, bared instead of gloved now. The dry fingerpads snake down his torso. Robby cracks an eye open when he feels those fingers twirl through a greying patch of his chest hair. “You’re kinda blushing, man.” 

Robby reaches a hand up to touch the piercing, stopping right as he remembers he shouldn’t. He sees what Jack means; his whole chest is a bright pink.  His other nipple is perked in sympathy to the other. He feels cold and hot all over and bright chills won’t stop climbing his spine. 

The sting is beginning to subside. 

“Shut up.” 

Robby becomes painfully aware of how close Jack is, draped halfway over him, towered on top of one arm as he uses the other to trace around his chest for some reason. His blush isn’t fading. 

Panic—a new flavor of it—settles back into his chest.

It’s not about pain; it’s about something else Robby can’t examine. 

Jack’s dexterous fingers trace around his other nipple, and a dangerous smirk crosses his face.

“You want me to do the other one?” 

Pleasure strikes him between the eyes when Jack audaciously tugs at it with two fingers. Rolling the nub at the tail end between his knuckles. It’s a ghost of a touch, barely prosecutable. 

Even so, his unpierced nipple perks excitedly toward the fingers. Robby shivers, trying to shake his head vehemently whilst feeling like he’s stuck in a pool of jelly. Jack seems to understand that as the ‘no’ it is.

“To each their own,” Jack murmurs, pulling back. 

The warmth and tingle-inducing touches disappear all at once; Robby realizes he’s been short of breath ever since the piercing went through him. He tries to steady his breathing as Jack gathers all the kit materials and takes them away. He returns with a warm cloth—water and saline solution the only thing on it he assures Robby—making soothing sounds as he lowers it to his still throbbing nipple, lightly dabbing at the surface. “Shh, there we go. Not so bad anymore, is it, tough guy. That’s it. You’re okay.” God, Robby secretly loves when Jack uses that condescending tone on him. Somehow equally comforting as it is frustrating. “You feeling sleepy now?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Robby admits, because his dick is harder than it was before this started. What the hell else do you say to a question like that, especially when Jack’s acting so oddly?

“You’ll be surprised I think.” 

He removes the cloth and dabs the areola with a dry paper towel. 

There’s a mischievous glint in Jack’s eyes, where they’re trained on Robby’s new piercing. He can’t stop staring at it and that’s not doing much to help Robby rid himself of the pink in his skin.

“Something about a nipple piercing that makes you wanna bite them more than you already do, y’know?” he muses, pressing a thumb right under his pec to get a better look. It hurts when he stretches the skin slightly but the pain is so clouded by arousal that Robby has to bite his lip so he doesn’t accidentally moan. Jack is either oblivious or possibly evil. “Looking good, champ.”

Robby is breathless when he replies, “Yeah?”

Jack meets his eyes, smirking even as he clarifies,

“No complications. Just don’t touch it or roll over on it tonight.” 

“Wasn’t planning on moving again.”

“You due for more pain meds?”

“Yeah.” 

Jack pats him on the cheek and gets up, grabbing for his crutches one more time. Robby lies there, willing his erection to flag. It doesn’t. There’s an anticipation in his chest that he can’t seem to shake, regardless of the fact nothing is happening or will happen. Whatever the fuck this is, it won’t go away under even the most minor scrutiny. His body needs to knock this shit off now. Maybe Robby dug his own grave, refusing touch so often that his confused body craves it. 

When Robby has downed his pills and Jack has settled back into the sheets for sleep, guilt creeps up on him when he slowly registers that Jack is analyzing him with a newfound level of concern.

“Man, that got you wired even more, didn’t it?””

He sounds deeply disappointed, and Robby’s self-loathing plummets. 

“I think it would’ve worked, uh, under different circumstances.”

It’s all he knows how to say about the situation. 

“I swear I wouldn’t have done it if I thought it would go this way.” Jack rubs his own eyes, muttering solutions to himself, spending way more time on this dilemma than he should. 

“Stop, look, I’m sure it would’ve had the intended effect if I was hiding out in barracks in South Asia but it’s just too…charged here, man, but hey, I got a sick new look out of it.” Robby smiles grimly at Jack’s dark frown. The sun is still dimly shining through the window, though it’s fading quickly. Orange turns to navy as swiftly as the moon rises. “I got caught up in my own head.”

“Okay,” Jack says, like there’s still a solution to be found there, and like this isn’t just an excuse Robby made for the hard-on he’s got brewing downstairs. “Then talk to me, brother. What’s up?”

“No, no that’s not—go to bed, Jack.”

“You think I’ll ever get to bed worrying about shit?” Jack shimmies his weight up get a better look at him and half of it is a threat that he’ll turn the lamp back on. Robby doesn’t think he can bear the scrutiny right now, so he grabs a handful of broad shoulder and shakes Jack firmly. Once. 

“This isn’t something you have to worry about.”

Jack doesn’t like being excluded from anything Robby. Especially when he has no clue what the exclusion is even about. It’s all ‘talk to your therapist’ until he feels like he’s missing out on a big secret. 

Robby should’ve remembered that. 

“Oh yeah? You’re in my bed, Mike. I’d say you’re a priority.”

“The observation period is up. I could just go home.”

“No the fuck it’s not. And with what car? I’m not offering to be your chauffeur.”

Robby sighs, swallowing a smartass remark about Uber. 

The only way out is through. 

“Jesus fucking…” Robby knows he won’t get anywhere telling anything but the truth so he decides to be honest with Jack because they’re certainly close enough friends that this can’t be weird. “My dick got the wrong idea from the whole—I’m not good at getting rest when it’s up.” 

“Ah.” 

Nope, it’s weird. 

He was kidding himself. 

“Yeah.”

Jack scratches at his stubble, considering him. 

“That sucks, man. An orgasm would probably do you real good right now.”

Robby lets that comment hang between them before cautiously muttering, “Don’t I know it,” before rolling flat again and setting an emotionally steeled gaze on the dormant ceiling fan. 

“I know that does me right as rain.”

While Robby didn’t expect any real awkwardness, the ease of which Jack is talking about this does startle him a bit. Carefully, Robby checks his peripheral only to find Jack is staring into the middle distance, between them, even deeper in thought. Somewhere very far away. 

Robby’s voice comes out a little stuttery when he speaks again. 

“But I know. Two weeks until I can do anything fun,” he laments at the ceiling. “Not that I would here anyway.” His heart isn’t fully in the joke when he adds, “Not my bed, not my playground.”

Jack snaps to attention, disagreeing immediately.

“Nah man, it’s more fun with a friend. Me and my troop used to jerk off together in the barracks and trade sexual escapades.” This information is dropped like a nuclear bomb between them and Robby barely has the wherewithal to sputter before Jack babbles on, turning excitedly on his side to face Robby. “It was good morale building for us, kinda the best boost to comradery, y’know.” 

“I—I don’t know, I guess.”

“Yeah, guess it sounds weird.” Jack chuckles, “You had to be there?” 

A laugh bursts from Robby’s throat. 

“Thanks for making me feel better about this.” 

“No problem.” There’s a strange look in Jack’s eye as his focus drifts, as if he’s scrolling through the memories of his time with those soldiers, beat for beat. Robby’s heart rate kicks up and he becomes increasingly aware of their proximity. Jack’s nose is practically touching his shoulder. 

There’s a foul veil of an emotion, masking the rest of Robby’s anxiety too.

It tastes like jealousy, cold and acidic in his mouth, but it’s too faint to truly be sure. So faint, he certainly doesn’t have to look at its presence square in the eye and demand why it’s here. 

“You okay?” he forces himself to ask because Jack still looks like he’s drifting. 

Jack hums, a slight growl to the noise.

“Yeah. Now I’m worked up,” he complains, rolling onto his back. Their shoulders are touching now and Robby keeps himself still as can be, subconsciously wanting to keep the contact going.

“Oh.” 

Jack is practicing even breaths, in and out. 

Before he can succeed in whatever type of self-control method he’s attempting, Robby finds himself saying in a rushed, hopefully not desperate way, “If your war buddies don’t mind, I won’t.” 

A pin could drop; Jack turns to Robby.

A grin spreads across his face.

“You sure you’re not trying to vicariously live through me?”

He’s being given plausible deniability. This is good. 

Robby takes it instantly, without remorse. 

“Well, if I’m not gonna be able to even get myself off for the next couple weeks, I might as well try,” Robby states, forcing an unaffected smile onto his face that he hopes is convincingly neutral.

Jack’s grin grows fangs as he kicks the sheets down a bit. The blanket only gets lowered right beneath his pelvis, covering half of his briefs. Apparently that’s all the room Jack wants as he lowers a hand to his sizable erection, tugging it over the fabric. The directness and speed of which he’s started going at it paralyzes Robby momentarily as he’s struck by the sight before him.

“This is gonna be fun, haven’t done it like this in a while,” Jack whispers, closing his eyes as he maintains a teasing rhythm. He plays with his balls delicately before resuming the dry, half-commital tugs, apparently in no rush whatsoever. He lets out a soft groan, and rolls his neck. 

If Robby had delusions about this being a silent affair, he discovers himself thrilled that it’s not. Jack obviously has no qualms about showing off how good he’s feeling, vocally and loudly. 

“Is it really that much better?” Robby asks, unable to peel his eyes away.

He’s not allowed to touch himself, he knows that.

But fuck—he wants to.

If he comes, the issue is that his abdomen and stomach might clench so tight that his wound will reopen. And he’s in no mood to explain to any hospital what type of activity caused that carnage. 

“The more the merrier applies to most situations,” Jack breathes, hips jumping into his thick hand as he starts to really grind the heel of his palm against the head of his dick. Dampness darkens the fabric, something Robby has to squint in the dark just to make out. It makes his own cock throb in sympathy and he just barely keeps himself from reaching down to adjust himself. 

He’s still not sure what the rules are here. 

What is acceptable to do or say with your male best friend jerking off right in front of you. 

“Maybe to you.”

“No trust me, this is fun. It’s like you’re doing something in secret, like trying to jerk off in your childhood bedroom during a holiday family reunion because you’re a stupid horny teenager, mm—fuck.” 

Just when Robby thinks Jack will keep his underwear on, he slips a hand under the hem and gathers his sex in his hand, stroking up lazily so that the tip gently peaks out, glistening purple. Robby stares right where he’s cupping himself and glazing a hand over the top of it, teasingly. 

He tries not to think about Jack doing the same to him. 

“Some of us would make it a game,” Jack rambles, panting heavier between words. “We’d see who could last the longest.” A strangled noise comes out of him when he thumbs at the underside of his cockhead. “I was never really any good. I have good stamina with the ladies but there’s something about watching other guys jerk off, I don’t know. The visual was, uh…yeah,” he chuckles, the noise sexy in the dark intimacy of the bed which is feeling smaller and smaller by the second. “God, this is gonna be over quick, hhng, shit, te—tell me about your favorite part.” 

Robby stalls, arousal blinding him.

“My—of what?”

“Sex, Mike,” Jack all but snaps. He turns to meet his eyes, face cracked open with pleasure and a slight edge of vulnerability Robby’s never seen. The noises are growing wetter, faster. Robby’s breathing like a racehorse just experiencing the sight alone. He wonders if it’s obvious to Jack how much this is doing for him. If that’s bad. “What’s your favorite part? Gimme something to work with.” He grins like the Devil and persuades in a low tone, “Put yourself to good use, huh?”

Robby swallows and tries to clear his head. 

“Probably when a woman lets me…” He’s not used to talking like this, not to friends, not even to partners. He’s never been much of a talker during sex. Something about Jack always turns a situation on its head and forces him to go outside of his meticulously structured box. “Taste her.” 

Jack licks his lips and nods, feverish, hand working in a frenzy just inches away from Robby.

“Yeah? You like to go down on women?”

“Don’t you?” Robby tuts.

“Yeah, yeah, just testing you,” Jack heaves in and out, slowing down on himself just to speed up in the next second. His voice skips when he says, “You like to make ‘em come that way?” 

Robby can’t help but glance down, even though Jack is staring directly at him. Jack will see plainly that Robby wants to look. And Robby doesn’t give a fuck. He simply nods, sluggish and thoughtful.

“They like to come like that too.” 

“They do,” Jack purrs, body rolling into each thrust of his pelvis. “They do.” 

It’s getting physically uncomfortable to watch like this and do nothing. He wonders how Jack could stand it out in Afghanistan. 

“I wanna know what you like.”

Jack exhales sharply, whining low in his throat. His eyes are closed. Robby thinks he might be visualizing exactly what he likes in his mind, or maybe he’s just this focused on the sensations. 

“Uh-huh, you do?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I like their necks,” Jack trades, shuddering as he says it, “The hollow of their throat when they’re coming, the way it sorta quivers. Christ. I like leaving little marks there so they know I’m there the next day, and the next. I like…” Robby wonders if it’s a mistake when Jack’s eyes open and wander to his new piercing, staring wildly at the raw pink color surrounding the skin. “When they have jewlery on, and I get to-tu—fuck, shit—tug on it with my—my teeth—oh fuck, man.” Jack’s chest is rising and he’s fucking into his own hand, noises of pleasure crackling off his tongue like embers being spit out from a raging flame. Robby wants so badly to burn inside it. 

The scent of sex brews between them. 

It’s dizzying.

Jack’s gorgeous, shimmering eyes screw shut as a new wave of pleasure crests. The tide is coming soon and Robby thinks he might be able to give Jack what he needs for it to arrive. 

“You want another one of mine?” Robby asks quietly, body turned to watch him without shame. The stretch of his toned body, twitching and tensing is too hot to ignore, and he doesn’t. 

Jack nods, delirious though still locked in on every word. 

“Give it to me,” he grinds out. 

“I like when a man fucks me just right, with his fingers. Deep as they can possibly go,” Robby confesses, almost a whisper, right by his ear. Jack’s eyes shoot open and he emits a shell-shocked whimper, hips stuttering into the air at the same time he wraps a tight fist around the base and squeezes, stunning Robby. He’s just stopped himself from coming because of the mere concept of Robby being touched intimately by a man. He was about to fucking come from it. 

Emotions are roiling between them, confusing and stifling. 

Robby wants to kiss him. He wants to run away. 

Then, a hand is pawing at his arm, then his hand, and all of a sudden he’s dragging Robby’s hand to his cock. “Please,” Jack exhales, folding Robby’s fingers around the pulsing shaft. It’s searing to the touch and rigid as steel. “Fuck just—Robby, please.” 

This is all happening too fast.

Robby doesn’t analyze it. He resumes Jack’s work, angling himself on the bed to match a good rhythm, fisting a tight circle at the head and giving him a clenched space to thrust against. The friction they create together brings Jack back to the edge in seconds and he’s coming with a stilted moan all over Robby’s knuckles, and wrist. Robby works him through it, feeling suspiciously calm. 

Jack’s petting at his forearm, tugging at Robby’s hair with the other. 

His eyes are closed, and his shrill moans are twisting into sighs. 

Of course Robby’s serenity comes crumbling down the second Jack’s watery, starlit eyes peel open in the come-down. The sun has officially drifted, and in the moonlight, he’s glowing. He sucks in steadying breaths, not seeming to notice that Robby is stiffly retracting his hand and boarding a worrying train of thought; did I just ruin the most important friendship of my life?

“That…” Jack starts, laughing at the hoarseness of his own voice. “I did not do with my troop.” 

Robby is taken aback again by Jack, who is offering a totally unexpected response. Not the fragile masculinity of a man who wants to categorize away every stray, queer feeling he’s ever had. None of that. 

“Good,” Robby states, because he believes it is.

He wants to be different from them, wants this to be different. 

Another laugh, more hysterical, erupts from Jack as Robby is cleaning the come off his hands with a tissue from his bedside counter. 

Robby frowns at him.

“God, Kelly would have the biggest shit eating grin right now if she knew.” Off Robby’s confused, almost mortified look, Jack waves a hand vaguely and explains, “She always said I was a little too bisexual for my own good. Thought even if it were true it wouldn’t be…this is…yeah.” Jack grins at him, a soft and spent kind of look that makes Robby melt. “That was good.” He tilts his head, taking in Robby’s disheveled appearance and hard-to-ignore arousal,  rearing to tear into this situation without mercy. “Hey, you have a crush on me or something?” 

“Jack,” Robby grumbles, shaking his head. “Don’t play around with this.”

“I’m not. I can’t even play around with you.”

“You’ve been playing around with me all night.”

“Is that what I’ve been doing?” Jack smirks, cloying sweetness and mischievous toiled in one, rolling close to him. His front is pressed along Robby’s side, and apparently he has no hesitation about the newly discovered intimacy between them. “I thought I was trying to do you a favor.”

“Let’s see,” Robby iterates, stretching an arm around Jack’s back to keep him tucked close because he will give up a modicum of dignity just to keep feeling this amount of skin on skin, especially when it’s Jack’s skin. “You stabbed me with a sharp needle, almost forgot I was due for painkillers, then jerked off in front of me while I was sidelined. You’d be the worst nurse.” 

“Your nurses usually jerk off in front of you?” Jack teases, his gravelly voice far too sexy for how close to the edge Robby feels right about now. Robby grunts out some colorful choice words, leading Jack into another fit of chuckles and a snickered, “You’re so grumpy.”

“I’m sexually frustrated.”

“It’s not fair for me either,” Jack complains, like he’s not covered in his own come. “I just found out you like getting fingerbanged into oblivion and I can’t even touch you. I feel like an asshole.” 

“You are an asshole.”

Jack bites at his shoulder and Robby shakes him off with an amused huff. They wrestle as tenderly as they can manage, with only arms and head butts, and a bit of nibbling at any skin they can reach. If this is as much as Robby can get, then he can survive a couple weeks of celibacy. 

Or so he thinks. 

There’s a groan by his armpit then Jack is blurting out,

“Can’t I just suck you off and we hope for the best?”

A dangerous hand lands on his cock over the blankets. Somehow, the traitorous thing actually feels it from beneath the thick comforter and twitches like it's in death throws. 

“Jack, don’t say shit like that.”

“I mean why not? We’re both doctors. You’ll be fine.”

“Don’t even—”

“Why not?”

There’s a thousand reasons why not. Robby isn’t going to insult them both by listing them. 

“I’m a man. It’s not like I’m gonna say no.”

Jack’s smile is cruel.

“Then don’t say no.” 

Robby groans pitifully as Jack burrows under the blankets. 

“I promised myself I'd never fall for your bullshit prince charming routine.” 

“You calling yourself a princess, princess?"

Robby groans again, hatefully this time. 

Jack chuckles into a thigh as he presses promising kisses there. 

“You don’t even know what you’re doing,” Robby protests one final time, as if that’ll have any sway on Jack’s warpath. A tongue dabs at a vein on his cock and he tries not to fling his hips up into the touch. He feels his stomach clench, and pain bloom from just that, and knows this isn’t a good idea whatsoever. Jack hums against the shaft, licking up until he reaches the head. “Fuck.” 

“Mhm.” 

A hand slithers up from the covers to tweak his unpierced nipple, sending Robby into overdrive.

Jack wants to bring him off efficiently, as it happens, bobbing his head like he’s got places to be. Speed has always been Robby’s killer and this has his balls tingling, and the tip of his cock leaking across Jack’s tongue in seconds. He reaches down to grapple at the short grey hair peeking out of the sheets, muttering, “Jack, there is no way you haven’t done this before, what the fuck.” 

Suckling kisses replace suction momentarily so Jack can murmur against his erection, stubble tickling the sensitive skin, “I didn’t do it, but I watched my buddies doing it to each other in the barracks.” 

“What didn’t your buddies do in the barracks?” 

He lifts his head up so Robby can see him waggle his brows before dropping back down, taking Robby between his lips and proceeding to suck the rest of the thoughts out of the tip of his cock. 

He does muster one last bitchy comment, however. 

“That is not what you originally made masturbation night with the troop sound like, oh—I’m right fucking there, man. Fuck,” Robby warns him, curling fingers gently in his hair. “Jack.” 

The pain that’s shooting off in his stomach fades into pleasure.

He’s barely aware of it anymore.

He’s only shaken from his daze when Jack scrambles up his body, all flexing muscles and soulful eyes, to throw himself into a kiss that has Robby’s thighs trembling just from the passion of it. A hand is cradling his skull, keeping him in place. It's intoxicating. Jack’s  hand resumes the work on his cock, slipping easily up and down the saliva-slick shaft with his palm grazing hotly against the head on every pass. Heat curls up Robby’s spine as Jack whispers in his mouth, “Uh-huh, c’mon.” 

They’re right back at the edge, Jack in control and Robby falling apart. 

Robby whimpers as Jack frantically says against his lips, “The way you fucking sound, man, I couldn’t fucking stand it. I had to. Had to kiss you.” He kisses him again, and Robby groans. Jack echoes the noise when he feels a wetness spill between them, making their stomachs tacky where they press and breathe together. Then, a confused sound spills from him as Robby pushes him off his body.

That is not come, Jack realizes with horror. 

Robby holds his side and nearly yells, “We are such fucking idiots.” 

It’s easier to run off to the ER than scrounge up any makeshift tools at the apartment. Jack has a lot of medical supplies on hand but this will require non-conflicted hands with the best tools not to scar. 

Being here on a day when he’s not working makes Robby want to die.

A lot of this situation makes him want to die.

Jack has to lie to Ellis about why this happened, and why he’s even with Robby in the first place and Robby can see it plain as day; she doesn’t believe a word they say, and knows the truth. 

She at least has the decency not to say anything.

When she’s gone, Robby emphasizes his disdain of the predicament. 

“Kill me now.” 

“You’d rather go uptown?” Jack asks, almost a threat.

“Not that tawdry hellhole.” Robby rolls his eyes. “How did I let you talk me into that?”

“You could’ve focused more on not tensing up.”

“Are you kidding me? This is on me now?”

Jack swishes his jaw around, not facing him.

They don’t speak to each other for seventeen minutes.

Robby doesn’t know when he starts laughing, but one of his hands flies down to hold his side when he does, knowing he won’t be able to control himself until the humor of all this subsides. 

Jack looks at him like he’s crazy, not for long until he too is cracking a smile.

“Dana’s gonna be on our case about this for years,” he notes and Robby laughs harder, bleeding through his perfunctory bandages. Jack flails. “Shit, okay, okay man. Stop cackling, you loon.” 

Jack eyes around the curtain they’ve been segmented to, looking for the tools they came here for. He wants to do this himself for Robby yet knows he can’t. Robby is overwhelmed with fondness.

With the fondness arrives an old friend; fear. 

“We’re too old to be doing this,” Robby points out, sobering up in an instant. “You and me. You know that right.” 

Jack is unreadable as the words swing between them. 

“An old dog can learn new tricks.” 

“Said no one ever.” 

Instead of making some speech, or a plea of any kind, Jack says,

“We’re too old to be each other’s emergency contacts.” 

Robby meets his eyes, curious and terrified.

Jack blazes on, “I mean what, no one else made the cut? We’re nearing fifty.” He plays with his wedding ring, the trauma of it still fresh on both their minds, but what’s even more pertinent in Robby’s is the idea that he’s also Jack’s. He had no idea, but then again, Jack didn’t know about being his either. They’ve both been living in quiet dependence, and devotion, of each other for so long. It makes Robby almost sick to his stomach that he hasn’t noticed it for so long. Or at least, never saw it for what it so clearly was. Is. Suddenly Jack is saying, “No reason to change it now.” 

Robby asks, “What?” 

He needs more elaboration, so his heart doesn’t crash with his body.

“We’ve obviously been in this for a while,” Jack clarifies, staring at the nipple piercing that Ellis was forced to see, smiling. “I’d hate to have no one to call, y’know, if I’m at death’s door.” 

Robby softens, reaching out to take Jack’s hand.

“Okay,” he allows, knowing he’s actively digging a new kind of a grave. Although, maybe it’s one he can learn to be okay with sharing. “You and me it is.” 

The happiness and relief on Jack’s face is unexpected.

He didn’t know Jack was so afraid of losing this.

He wants to kiss him before a nurse he’s never even seen before walks in. Can that happen? He feels Jack’s long-suffering sigh before he hears it, because this ought to go well. 

Robby listens to her prattle on about how the OR is going to want to take a look and make sure no infections have taken hold, and see if they need to decontaminate before they close him back up. Jack argues with her about something that Robby completely zones out. Then she asks, without any weight to the standard question, “Do you have an emergency contact, Dr. Robby?” 

Jack speaks up before he can answer.

“That would be me.” They exchange slow smiles with each other, and Robby’s grows even wider when he’s not looking, as Jack turns to her and declares, “I’m his, and he’s mine.”