Emmerdale Kinktober

Emmerdale Kinktober Event 2025.

[dales-kinktober]

And that's a wrap, folks!

If you've not caught up yet, the AO3 Collection is here and this blog will stay up for links.

If you'd still like to fill any of the prompts then keep tagging #edkinktober and we'll keep roblogging - the more, the merrier! If we've missed any of your previous fills, please give us a shout so we can rectify that.

Finally, we'd like to extend our deepest thanks to everyone that's participated. You've all made it a fun and kinky month. ❤️

We'll be back next year for another round of Kinktober fun!

[robrondale]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

title: the overalls effect

word count: 4.5k

rating: mature

pairing: aaron dingle / robert sugden

warnings: smut

summary: written for the kinktober prompt 'uniform kink'; aaron finally gets to witness farmbert in action. turns out the whole 'staying away from his ex' thing is a lot harder after that

There are probably laws against this sort of thing, Aaron muses, can’t bring himself to stop nonetheless.

When Mackenzie had called ‘round this morning begging for him to put a shift in up at the farm, Aaron had been hesitant. Not because he’s afraid of a bit of hard graft — on the contrary, nothing clears his mind quite like a spot of overexertion — but because of who would be there, shearing sheep or milking cows, or whatever it is that Robert does when he isn’t trying to win back Aaron’s heart. 

And Aaron didn’t condemn Robert back to a stint behind bars to avoid the temptation of him just to steer himself right back into Robert’s path, thank you very much. 

Except Mack looks at him all pathetic, doe-eyes and pouted lips, and Aaron finds himself being strongarmed into a pair of ill-fitting overalls before he’s even registered how they made it up to Butler’s. 

“Thank you for this, Aaron,” Moira says, all sincere and maternal like the good old days when his best friend wasn’t her brother but her son — when he was young and not exactly carefree, but before everything spiralled out of control. 

“Don’t mention it,” replies Aaron. He means it — he hasn’t told John where he’ll be spending the day, can’t be bothered with the hassle of it all because he knows what his husband will say and he won’t be wrong, per se, but Aaron just really isn’t in the mood to hear any sanctimonious truths today. 

There’s a broken tractor that needs checking over, so Victoria leads him out to it after they’ve indulged in a brew and a conversation about something that went in one ear and out the other. She’s looking around, seemingly nervous, as they trek up to the vehicle in question, parked just outside one of the barns, a scattering of parts around it where someone’s obviously taken a crack at it before giving up. 

“Well, here it is,” Vic says, gestures at the tractor like Aaron might’ve missed the great, hunkin’ thing otherwise. 

“I can see that.” 

Vic rolls her eyes. “Alright, smart aleck.” She pauses, glances at the barn then back to Aaron, bottom lip caught between her teeth. When Aaron shoots her a withering glare, she sighs, finally says, “Rob’s in there, just so you know. Shiftin’ some hay, I think.” 

“Right,” drawls Aaron, does a stellar job of keeping his voice steady and his face impassive despite the sudden uptick in his heart rate. “And I care because…?” 

“Just don’t be so,” Vic cuts herself off, thinks for a moment then finishes with, “you. He had a rough night.”

It’s none of my business, Aaron reminds himself, bites his tongue to stop from asking for details that he has no right to know. He doesn’t care — Robert isn’t his problem anymore. 

He was never a problem. Except for when he was, Aaron thinks, hates himself for the fondness he feels when he remembers what a nightmare Robert was and how much he loved him for it. 

“Weren’t plannin’ on shootin’ the breeze with him, don’t worry.” 

“Alright. Well, if you need me I’ll be helping Moira box some deliveries, yeah?” 

Aaron nods, turns to survey the damage to the tractor as Vic takes her leave. It’s a pretty easy fix, he soon learns, just a loose fan belt. Nothing a wrench and a bit of elbow grease can’t solve. 

He knows Robert could’ve fixed it up in no time considering he’d once owned the garage and been a decent mechanic by all accounts, but everyone’s snowed under by the looks of it — even Ross is makin’ himself useful, running amok with Matty as they chase sheep, Ross clutching a red plastic spade for reasons Aaron daren’t question. 

It’s nice to use his hands again, in all honesty. Working at the scrapyard is still very hands-on, but it’s mostly stripping cars down to the basics or taking a sledgehammer to kitchen appliances and the like., so it’s a pleasant change of pace to be putting something back together again for once.

Makes Aaron feel less destructive, more productive. Like he’s actually being helpful for a change instead of a hindrance to everyone around him. 

So, of course, that good mood comes crashing down around him moments later when he hears a loud grunt coming from the barn. 

He knows it’s Robert — hasn’t heard any other voices coming from inside, would know every sound Robert makes like the melody of his favourite song — and all of his instincts scream for Aaron to walk away, out of the field and out of Robert’s life. 

It’s all he wants, except for the fact that his feet are carrying him over to the little window at the back of the barn without conscious thought, like they've got a mind of their own. 

Just a quick peek, Aaron vows to himself, rationalises it by thinking of how devastated Vic would be if Robert was hurt and nobody rescued him in time. It’s the only reason he looks through the window. Honest. 

The good news is that Robert doesn’t appear to be injured — simply groaning under the weight of a particularly heavy bale of hay. The terrible news is that he looks delectable as he lifts — biceps bulging, shoulders broad and trembling, bended knees reminding Aaron of times gone by when they’d do the same in a much different scenario. 

Aaron’s overalls look terrible on him, the navy blue denim swamping him, sleeves folded over, muscle definition lost in the swarm of excess material. In contrast, Robert looks positively sinful in forest green, his overalls perfectly form-fitting, showcasing the definition he’d built up during his time in prison. 

Now that he can clearly see that Robert is fine, Aaron should really move away. 

There’s a million and one things to get done ‘round here and he’d promised Mackenzie that he would be a valued member of the team, but Aaron finds himself rooted to the spot, gaze glued to Robert’s body as he lifts and drops, lifts and drops, squats down low to really throw his back into it. 

Suddenly, he’s grateful for the horrendous fit of his clothing — anything to hide the way his cock stirs to life, half hard in his underwear from the mere sight of Robert in all his farming glory. 

It suits him. Aaron hates him for it. 

He watches for a couple of minutes, ducks out of sight when Robert turns to face the window. He feels like some sort of pervert as he spies on his ex husband, but convinces himself that it’s fine; Robert wouldn’t mind, he enjoys being admired and Aaron isn’t doing anything wrong, not really. 

Until Robert makes that noise again from low in his throat and Aaron yanks his zipper down in record speed, palming himself through his boxers. 

It’s weird now, he acknowledges, wonders if he might get arrested for public indecency or stalking, or some other treacherous crime that he’d have a field day trying to explain to his current husband, who probably would’ve thrown a party if Aaron had checked the barn only to find Robert dead on the ground. 

Aaron shakes his head as though he can physically banish any thoughts of John from his mind — he doesn’t want to think about him right now, not when his body is so aware of another Sugden brother. 

The muscles in Robert’s back ripple when he lifts, supported by the broad swell of his thighs and the clunky work boots he adorns that would look ridiculous on anyone else, but Robert has something of a gift for carrying off the most unflattering outfits with ease. 

Aaron has only seen Robert wear overalls once before, a decade ago, and the sight of him was enough to have Aaron kickstarting their tumultuous affair all over again, falling back into a cycle that he’d never thought would end. 

He’s ten years older now, more mature and settled and a master of self-restraint but fuck. 

He wants Robert. 

And nothing good ever comes from that. 

Sidestepping the window, Aaron turns to lean his back against the wall. He lets his eyes drift, focusing on nothing as he imagines his hand is Robert’s; calloused now from long days at the farm, large and warm and wrapped around Aaron’s cock, the strokes slow and gentle.

Robert would take his time with him, of that Aaron is sure. It’s been so long since they’ve had their hands on each other — their kiss on the bridge doing nothing to douse the flames of desire that set them both alight from the inside, hot and passionate, burning through Aaron’s sensibilities without remorse. 

He thinks Robert would make love to him, and if it were anyone else Aaron might cringe about it, but it’s Robert and the thought of him worshipping his body again — tongue lapping at the faded scars on his stomach, teeth grazing Aaron’s inner thighs, thick fingers stretching him open — has Aaron panting, breathless, as he picks up the pace, twisting his wrist to get a better angle. 

“Mm,” he moans, bites the knuckles of his free hand to stifle the sound. 

I’m going to hell, he thinks, can’t bring himself to repent for his sins, instead runs head on into the flames like he always has where Robert’s concerned. 

It’s the definition of insanity, isn’t it? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome. 

The universe shouldn’t make the thing look as gorgeous as Robert if they didn’t want Aaron to keep going back there, quite frankly. It’s cosmic bullshit. 

There’s precome beading at the head of his cock, a pearly sheen that Aaron swipes his thumb through, smearing it over his shaft to improve the glide as he picks up the pace, squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Robert,” he whimpers, feels the mild summer breeze fanning his cheeks and tricks himself for a moment into thinking it’s Robert’s warm breath. 

He can practically smell the heady combination of sweat and Robert’s expensive shower gel, hear the ragged way Robert would always breathe when he watched Aaron coming undone, awed by the sight of him. 

He’d always seen Aaron, had Robert. Even when he hadn’t wanted him to. 

Maybe especially then. 

“Jesus Christ, Aaron.” 

Aaron’s eyes snap open, instinctively drawn to Robert’s own wide-eyed stare. 

He’s standing opposite Aaron, stock still, like he’s trying not to spook a wild animal. Aaron feels like one — he would’ve bolted straight out of there if he didn’t still have his cock in his hand, drinking in the sight of his ex husband like a man dying from dehydration. 

“Robert,” he whispers, suddenly unable to think of any other words. His brain is empty, his entire world reduced to this one moment: Robert standing in front of him, invading his senses, ruining his life. 

“What are you doin’ here?” Robert asks, voice strangled like he’s swallowed his own tongue. 

They both know the obvious answer to that — can see the tip of Aaron’s cock, flushed red and angry, twitching at the abrupt lack of stimulation as if to draw attention back to itself. Like either of them could be focused on anything else, even if they’re avoiding looking. 

Still, Aaron gestures to the tractor with his head. “Fixin’ the fan belt on that thing.” 

“Mechanics really has changed a lot since my day,” Robert observes, an amused smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, just beggin’ Aaron to step forwards and taste the smugness. 

He doesn’t. It’s a close thing. 

Instead he squares his shoulders, puffs out his chest, and declares, “I was just leavin’.”

“No you weren’t,” refutes Robert. 

When Aaron releases his cock, his hand feels inexplicably empty. He starts to tug his zipper back up, plans to flee and not look back, maybe run off back to Italy and let the two-bit mafia finally end his suffering. 

Except Robert’s hand flies out, wraps itself easily around Aaron’s wrist. 

“Don’t let me stop you. I might take it personally.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” This was a mistake, he almost says. A monumental one, at that. 

Aaron doesn’t wrench himself free from Robert’s grasp, even though they both know he could if he wanted to. 

“Didn’t realise tractors got your motor going.” 

It’s a stupid joke. If anyone else had made it Aaron would’ve just blinked, not even cracked a smile, but it’s Robert so he laughs, feels it rumble up from his chest. He can’t remember the last time he’d let himself laugh over something stupid like this, but it’s nice. 

Robert’s responding grin is blinding — brighter than the late morning sun, warming Aaron all over. 

Aaron takes his distraction to look Robert over up close, and God, he looks divine. For someone who has committed so many sins, Robert looks like an angel with blonde hair glowing in the sun like a halo and cherubic features softened by his laughter. 

A lot of things about Robert are the same: forest green eyes darkened by lust, constellations of freckles dusting sun-kissed skin, plush lower lip Aaron wants to sink his teeth into. 

There are differences, too. In the way Robert carries himself, his frame bigger now but somehow he makes himself small, like he’s hiding away the parts of himself that he doesn’t want people to see. 

He can’t hide from Aaron, though. 

The main difference, Aaron concludes, surging forwards, is that Robert has stubble now. 

He feels it scrape against his own, the prickle of pain nothing in comparison to the wave of pleasure that crashes over him as Robert’s tongue nudges against his lips, asking for permission like it hasn't stormed the castle and claimed the throne a thousand times before. 

Like it doesn’t belong to Robert, even after everything.

Robert’s hands frame Aaron’s face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones, fingertips lightly scratching the fine hairs on his nape. He cradles Aaron like he’s something precious, breaks down every wall Aaron’s been steadfastly building around himself for the past six years in the process.

Fisting the lapels of Robert’s overalls, Aaron pulls him ever closer, backs them up until they’re hidden inside the barn, his spine digging into the wall as Robert crowds into him. 

“I saw you watching me,” Robert admits, the confession hot against Aaron’s ear as he mouths along his cheek, a trail of wet kisses that culminate in him sucking lightly on his earlobe. 

Aaron flushes, knows he’ll feel mortified later when the adrenaline has worn off and Robert’s touch is nothing more than the ghost of a memory. He can’t bring himself to care now — not when Robert is looking at him like that, like he might just say fuck it and devour Aaron entirely.

It would solve a lot of Aaron’s problems in fairness.

“Enjoy the show, did ya?”

“Mhm, like you wouldn’t believe.” 

Aaron reaches down to brush his hand against Robert’s clothed erection, very much does believe it when the proof is right there, twitching against his palm. 

He wants to wrap his hand around it, strip their cocks together until they’re coming over his fist, heads resting on each other’s shoulders in the way they’ve done so many times before. 

But this is the last time, Aaron vows to himself, and Robert has already given him so much — the visual of him like this, the sexiest farmer Aaron has ever seen, sorry Mackenzie, enough to sustain his wank bank through this lifetime and the next — and he decides to indulge in rewarding him for it. 

Robert seems to have a similar idea, moves to caress Aaron’s balls but jerks his hand back when Aaron slaps it away. “First of all, ow!” he exclaims, brow furrowed, wrinkles prominent. It’s another change, proof that time has passed, but Aaron likes it. “What did you do that for?” 

“Don’t act like I decked ya, mate. Grow up.” They aren’t mates; they aren’t anything anymore, are they? A strange concept considering for years Robert was everything. “I’m not gonna come in my pants when I’ve gotta give these things back, cheers.”

Robert grimaces, concedes the point. “So what are you gonna do?” 

Aaron smirks, lets his actions speak for him as he slowly unzips Robert’s overalls, pushes them down his shoulders — and if he lingers for a beat too long just to feel the wide set of them flexing beneath his fingers then that’s nobody’s business but his own. 

His hands travel down the length of Robert’s body, tweaking his nipples through the thin cotton of his undershirt, gliding down his torso, ‘round the back to cup his arse, squeezing just so. 

Robert throws his head back, growls low in his throat. “Get on with it, Aaron,” he snaps, the effect of it lost by the pleading edge. 

“Thought you were supposed to be winnin’ me over,” retorts Aaron because two can play at this game. “Not feelin’ very wooed right now.” 

“You would be if you stopped takin’ forever.” 

The familiar banter brings a smile to both their faces, annoyance forgotten when Robert’s overalls finally pool around his ankles, boxers following a moment later. Robert’s cock is as beautiful as it ever was, standing to attention like a loyal soldier. 

Aaron drops to his knees. The ground is cold and hard, and he doesn’t recall the appeal this had for him in his twenties until he flattens his tongue to lick a hot stripe along the underside of Robert’s cock and thinks yeah, that’s the reason. 

“God, Aaron. Go on, take me like I know you can. Always so good at this, weren’t you?”

Aaron’s body vibrates with the praise, his nerve endings abuzz with electricity. Struck by lightning, he thinks back on his conversation with his Mum on the bridge, about how Robert is the only thing in this world that has ever made Aaron feel truly alive. 

Like he wants to be. 

He relaxes his throat, swallows Robert down to the base like it’s muscle memory. He drags his tongue along the shaft once, twice, three times, tongue swirling around the glistening head, tasting of salt from the mix of sweat and precome. 

Robert’s fingers attempt to grip Aaron’s hair but he pulls off with a pop before he can because, delightful though this may be, Aaron wants something else from this encounter. 

“What are you —”

Aaron uses his strength to grasp Robert’s thighs and turn him ‘round, bending him down over the tower of hay bales he’s been stacking. It gives Aaron the perfect view of his lovely arse, the pert roundness of it a sight that makes his mouth water. 

“Oh.”

It’s the only syllable that Robert seems to be able to get out in the moments following Aaron spreading his cheeks apart with his hands, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks — not that anyone else will see; Aaron’s going to make him come so hard that any thoughts of other hookup attempts melt out of his dick. 

His tongue laps at Robert’s hole, languid strokes choreographed to draw out a chorus of high keens and low groans, a symphony to Aaron’s ears. “You sound wrecked,” Aaron murmurs, his own voice muffled as he bites down on the left arse cheek, soothes the sting with his tongue. “Wish I could record you and hear those pretty sounds on repeat.” 

“You know where to find me if you want to hear them,” replies Robert, the barest hint of a challenge in his tone. “If you want the reward, you’ve gotta put the work in, Aaron.” 

It feels more like play than work — a genuine feeling of joy coursing through him as he dips his tongue into the tight ring of muscle, feels the resistance where Robert hasn’t been treated like this in a while. 

He lets himself believe he was the last person to know Robert this intimately, doesn’t dare ask and risk shattering the illusion. 

Aaron pulls back, admires the smattering of marks left behind by teeth and fingers and stubble. 

Robert has always possessed the sort of beauty that artists are inspired by, but he’s Aaron’s masterpiece to work on: to paint, to stroke, to erase and recreate in the image of his own whims. 

“I was thinkin’ about you out there,” he finds himself revealing. He knows the admission will go straight to Robert’s ego, considers it a parting gift that’ll survive after the physical signs of their intimacy have faded.

“Mm? What about me?” 

Aaron collects spit on the tip of his tongue, lets it drip down into Robert’s hole. “About how good you look when you’re wearin’ those,” he says, cuts himself off from waxing poetic by shoving two fingers into his own mouth, suckling them until they’re coated in saliva. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. They suit ya — don’t act like you didn’t know.” 

He slides the first finger in, revels in the gasp it draws out of Robert. It’s mesmerising to watch the way the digit disappears right up to the knuckle with little resistance, Robert opening up nicely for him. 

“Wanna touch myself,” Robert whimpers, and it’s only then that Aaron realises Robert’s fists are clenched in the hay, clearly itching to do something. He cranes his neck to look down at Aaron, “Can I? Please.” 

“Only ‘cos you look so hot when you beg for it,” Aaron allows. 

It’s more than he should say, but all of this is too much so what the hell? Might as well make it worth it. 

Still, Aaron thrusts his tongue back into Robert’s spasming hole, matches the pace he sets with his finger until he feels confident enough to add a second. 

Robert’s knees are trembling as Aaron ravishes him, wanking himself with no real precision, like he’s too far gone to establish a proper rhythm and will happily settle for any available friction. 

“I need you,” he whimpers, voice strangled. “Please, Aaron. Need you inside me.” 

Aaron takes pity on him, doesn’t quip about already being inside him because he knows exactly what Robert is asking for and his own straining cock aches for the same. 

“Gonna fill you up,” Aaron reassures, scissoring his fingers quicker, harder, sharper until Robert cries out. 

“I’m ready, please.” 

“So polite when you’re beggin’ me to fuck you,” Aaron marvels. 

He clambers to his feet, knees protesting already and there’s no way he isn’t going to be feeling the effects for days after this. A reminder with every step he takes that he’s been unfaithful to his husband because he was weak and selfish and powerless to resist the red string of fate that’s been pulled taut between Aaron and Robert since he was twenty-two years old. 

Draping himself across Robert’s back, Aaron nuzzles his cheek into the crook of his neck, sucks a bruising kiss into the soft flesh. He can smell Robert’s shower gel and whatever cheap body spray he uses these days, the chemicals burning away all thoughts of John — he’s got no place in this, Aaron decides. 

Today he’s getting Robert out of his system; tomorrow, and every day after, he’ll work on committing himself to his husband. 

It still hurts that Robert and husband aren’t synonymous anymore, but he’s happy with John. 

Truly, he is. 

Aaron gives himself a couple of firm strokes, knows he won’t last long as he aligns himself with Robert’s hole and teases the head in, agonisingly slow. 

“Shit,” curses Robert, head thrown back onto Aaron’s shoulder, eyes closed and teeth sinking into his bottom lip. 

Aaron reaches up to free it, doesn’t stop Robert when he sucks his thumb into his mouth, curling his tongue around the intrusion with a contented hum. 

When Robert makes no move to pull away, Aaron takes it as his cue to ease the rest of his cock inside, guides it home inch by inch, feels the way Robert shudders with every movement. 

“You take me so well, Robert,” he praises. “So tight, so hot.” 

“You can move,” Robert replies around his thumb. “Fuck me, Aaron.” 

How could he ever refuse?

It’s over about as quickly as Aaron had anticipated — a few well-aimed thrusts, a frantic kiss that’s more clacking teeth than anything else, his hand placed over Robert’s as they work his cock together. 

Robert comes first, practically sobs through his orgasm as his come coats their knuckles. 

His walls contract around Aaron’s cock as he puts a hand on Robert’s hip, slamming him back as he drives forward, and he falls headfirst into the sort of release that makes your whole body quiver, boneless and incoherent, incapable of doing anything aside from spurting thick white ropes into the cleft of Robert’s arse. 

Some of his load spills out and Aaron tries to stuff it back in, licks the excess of his fingers, watches rivulets of come trickle down Robert’s thighs and onto the crumpled heap of his overalls. 

Knowing that Robert will have to wear them for the rest of the day — wear Aaron — makes his heart rate spike, vindictive pride swelling in his chest. 

Nobody else is allowed to touch Robert like this. He’s Aaron’s, even when he isn’t. 

They’re both silent for a while afterwards. 

Regret comes creeping in slowly, an unwelcome guest at this reunion party. Not about what they’ve done, per se, but knowing that it would crush John, who is kind and patient and everything Aaron should be grasping onto with both hands. 

His fingers are like magnets, though, attuned to Robert’s body, constantly searching for their opposite pole. 

“Is this the part where you tell me it was all a mistake?” Robert’s voice is quiet, impossibly soft considering the way he’d been screaming out just a few short minutes ago. 

“No,” Aaron answers, pulling his overalls back on and zipping them up. Even with the way Robert’s made his chest swell, the material still drowns him. “Doesn’t mean it can happen again, though. I’m married, Robert.” 

Robert scoffs. “When’s that ever stopped us before?” 

“Never. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? We’re terrible when we’re together.” 

“Are we? Or are we actually terrible when we’re apart?” 

Aaron doesn’t answer. He’s got nothing more to say, too busy trying to rationalise this in his own head to let Robert start throwing logic into the equation. 

Still, he doesn’t pull away when Robert, fully dressed once more, steps into his personal space and presses a chaste kiss to Aaron’s lips. It feels like a welcome back and a goodbye all at once — neither option quite enough, both also too much. 

Later, when John is snoring beside him, Aaron’s phone pings. He checks it with a confused frown, unsure what other tormented soul would be awake at almost four am. Should’ve guessed it would be Robert. 

It’s a picture. 

Aaron clicks on it, smiles despite himself when he’s greeted with the image of Robert in his work uniform, hair windswept but his grin as wide as it ever is these days. There’s a blue sky above him and the green rolling dales in the background, and Robert looks in his element. 

Overall, not a bad look, he captions it — a terrible, endearing pun that makes Aaron snort. 

He doesn’t reply, just saves the image and tries to pretend he has any hope of making it out of this unscathed.

[sugdenkatie]

i feel my mind returning

pairing: aaron dingle/robert sugden (emmerdale)

rating: explicit

tags: shower sex, fluff and smut

Aaron rinses the shampoo out of his hair, grabbing the loofa to lather up his body in shower gel. Robert rests his forehead on Aaron’s shoulder, letting his hands mindlessly run up and down Aaron’s torso as Aaron washes him.

Aaron is bigger now than when Robert went to prison, with a rounder belly and fluffier cheeks. Robert hadn’t thought it was possible for Aaron to get any more beautiful than he already was, but seeing this new body up close - the shape and size of it, the strong muscle still detectable underneath the fat - had proven him wrong. Maybe it’s the fact that Robert had spent six years longing for him, or maybe the mental images he’d kept of him could never measure up to the real thing, or maybe he’d had a thing for bears all along - either way, Aaron was more gorgeous now than he had ever been, and Robert gets to touch him, which makes him the luckiest man alive.

Written for @dales-kinktober day 31: shower sex (substitution prompt)

read on ao3

[robrondale]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

title: strawberries and cream

word count: 2.6k

rating: mature

pairing: aaron dingle / robert sugden

warnings: smut

summary: written for the kinktober prompt 'food play; blowing up the oven wasn't aaron's finest moment, but if he can distract robert for long enough then he never needs to know, does he?

Aaron stares at the empty space in the kitchen with a mounting feeling of dread. 

His brief, disastrous foray into the world of baking had started off pretty terribly — he’d had to go to three different shops to find strawberries during their ‘off season’, and Waitrose had almost bankrupted him for the privilege, and that was without the expensive champagne he knows Robert loves — but Aaron figured it could only go up from there. 

Unfortunately, the only thing that went up was the oven — into flames, to be precise. 

Along with the final remains of Aaron’s sanity. 

Gone. Poof. Disappeared in a cloud of smoke, the cloying scent of burnt chocolate lingering in the air despite the open windows, a scorch mark on the kitchen floor from where he wasn’t quite quick enough with the fire extinguisher. 

And now what remains of the oven is at the scrapyard and Gerry is allegedly on his way to some fancy showroom in Leeds to pick up an identical model — it’s not Aaron’s favourite part of the plan; Gerry is a wildcard, just as likely to take a detour to the amusements at Blackpool Pleasure Beach as he is to make the successful round trip to save Aaron’s dignity. 

All Aaron has to do is hide the evidence, pray that everything is sorted before Robert gets back and —

“Honey, I’m home!” 

Sometimes Aaron seriously wonders if his husband has a sixth sense for walking into rooms he isn’t welcome in. It seems like Robert has the rather uncanny ability to make his presence known at the most inopportune moments, and this is a prime example. 

Robert stumbles through the front door, takes off his leather jacket and shoes. He doesn’t seem too drunk at first glance, which is surprising considering he’s spent the afternoon at brunch with the girls.

“Somethin’ smells weird.” 

“No it doesn’t,” Aaron denies, defensive even to his own ears. 

His brain kicks into overdrive as he strides over to Robert, loops his arms around his neck to pull him down into a searing kiss. Robert tastes like whatever fruity cocktails he’s been knocking back, and Aaron swirls their tongues together, chases the saccharine flavour with an appreciative hum that vibrates between their teeth. 

“Mm,” Robert moans, opens his eyes to reveal dilated pupils that lock onto Aaron’s like a honing beacon. “I’ll have to go out more often if this is the greeting I’m gonna get treated to.”

What Robert doesn’t know is that he’s never allowed to leave the house again because today is proof enough that leaving Aaron unsupervised is an unmitigated disaster waiting to happen. 

“I’ve got a surprise for ya,” Aaron blurts out. 

Robert leans back, eyes roaming the length of Aaron’s body like a starving man eyeing up his next meal. There’s always been an intensity between the two of them — it’s the whole reason they’d entered into their affair in the first place, unable to resist the magnetic pull between them — and, as Robert attaches his lips to Aaron’s throat, it’s as apparent today as it was all those years ago. 

Aaron couldn’t stop loving Robert if he tried. Robert could well stop loving him if he discovers his beloved, state of the art oven has been reduced to smouldering smithereens though, and Aaron can’t be having that. 

It’s time to bring out the big guns, he decides, already conjuring up a thousand different scenarios in his mind, each more thrilling than the last. If there’s one surefire way to distract Robert Sugden from a scheme, it’s to ensnare him in a second, sex-related scheme. 

“Oh, yeah?” Robert raises his eyebrows suggestively, his signature smug smirk losing some of its natural suaveness when Aaron notices that his tongue and teeth are stained purple from one of his cocktails. 

“How drunk are you?” Aaron’s not so desperate to cover up his crimes that he’ll risk doing something Robert hasn’t explicitly consented to, despite the fact that he knows Robert is always up for a round or three with Aaron. 

“Not very. Once Kerry convinced Vic to do a round of shots, I decided it was time to sober up and play the big brother.” 

There’s a plethora of attractions to Robert Sugden: his boyish good looks, his natural charisma, the wicked way his mind works — scientists would have a field day dissecting the intricacies of Robert’s brain, a therapist’s dream project — but Aaron’s favourite trait of his has always been the way that Robert cares about his loved ones. 

Truly, madly, deeply. 

Not everybody sees it, but Aaron does. He’s always seen through Robert, for better or worse. 

“Bet she loved that.” 

“She was this close to necking off with a lad who was clearly lookin’ to take advantage of her state,” Robert fumes, holds his thumb and forefinger a millimetre apart to demonstrate his point. “She’ll thank me tomorrow.”

Aaron isn’t so sure about that, but he can’t say he blames Robert for intervening. Victoria is great and she deserves much more than some drunken chancer out for a quick fuck. 

Speaking of — 

“Why don’t you wait for me upstairs?” suggests Aaron, drops his voice an octave, intentions clear. 

Robert’s eyes light up, a sparkle in his lust-blown pupils. “Naked?” 

“I wouldn’t recommend clothes for our next activity.”

He slaps Robert’s arse as the older man practically trips up the spiral staircase, taking them two at a time in his haste. 

It’s only when Robert is out of sight that Aaron lets his fear bubble to the surface once more. He’s toeing a dangerous line here, trying to keep a secret from the man who is basically a bloodhound for liars — like calls to like and all that. 

He shoots a quick text to Gerry asking where the hell he is, gets an instant reply of ‘omw :)’ which doesn’t ease his nerves in the slightest.

Maybe he’s the one who needs a drink. 

Thinking fast, Aaron grabs a plastic bag and shoves the champagne inside, adds the strawberries and whipped cream he was going to use to decorate the cake. There’s an idea formulating in his brain, one he’s confident will tickle Robert’s tastebuds, so to speak. 

The sight that greets Aaron when he stands in the doorway of their bedroom is nothing short of divine: Robert sprawled out naked on their bed, on his back with his hands beneath his head, the epitome of casual grace. 

Aaron must stand there gawping for a while, because the next time he becomes aware of the world around him, Robert is giving him a strange look, like he’s been handed the pieces of a puzzle and he’s still trying to work out what the picture is. 

“You sure you’re okay?” 

“Fine,” Aaron replies, finds himself halfway convinced by his own lies. 

Then again, how could he be any less than fine when he’s free to admire, touch, worship Robert’s incredible body, both for today and the rest of their lives. It’s intoxicating, the power that thrums through his veins, crackling like electricity and lighting Aaron up from the inside. 

He strides over to the bed, undresses himself on the way until he’s clad in just his underwear. He drops the plastic bag to one side, straddles Robert’s torso with a thigh bracketing each side of him. Robert’s hands come to rest on Aaron’s hips, fingers scrambling for purchase, desperate to touch Aaron's bare flesh.

“You’re so needy,” teases Aaron, like he doesn’t revel in the glow he gets when Robert openly expresses his desire for him. Call it insecurity, but sometimes Aaron just needs the reassurance. 

“If you’ve got a plan, get on with it,” huffs Robert, immediately contradicts himself by tugging Aaron down by his hair to press their mouths together. He curls his tongue behind Aaron’s teeth, makes little keening sounds that have them both shuddering. 

Aaron rolls his hips, starts up a steady rhythm to generate some much needed friction, their cocks rubbing against one another. 

“Shit,” Robert curses, throws his head back into the pillow and bucks his hips up harder, faster, until he’s writhing. “God, I love you.” 

Those three little words — Aaron could hear them a thousand times and still feel that same flutter in his chest. 

“I love you too, soft lad.” 

Turning to the side, Aaron retrieves the bag of supplies. He pulls out the punnet of strawberries and the can of whipped cream, watches the grin slowly tug at Robert’s kiss-swollen lips as he realises what’s going on. 

“It’s been too long since we’ve done this,” he murmurs. 

They’re both thinking of the same moment: a lazy Sunday morning spent up at Home Farm back when they were ‘just a bit of fun’ (as if), Robert covering Aaron’s naked, sweat-sheened body with chocolate buttons on the dining table, taking his time to lap up every one with his tongue, smearing melted chocolate across Aaron’s body — and rewarding him with a stellar blow job in the shower afterwards. 

“Long overdue,” Aaron agrees. 

He scoots down to rest between Robert’s thick thighs before beginning to place the strawberries across the smooth expanse of his exposed flesh, the vibrant red a stark contrast to the paleness of his complexion.

“Y’know, the house smells an awful lot like burning to say your surprise is strawberries and cream,” muses Robert, a look on his face that says he isn’t fooled. 

Aaron shrugs, bites into the final berry until it’s the right shape to balance precariously on the flushed tip of Robert’s twitching cock. “Burnt some toast, mate,” he says, fights to keep his tone light, “nothin’ worth talkin’ about right now.” 

Any argument Robert was preparing to make dies on his lips as Aaron shakes the can of whipped cream and squirts a generous amount onto each of his nipples. “Fucking hell, Aaron,” he hisses, “that’s freezing!” 

“I can tell.” Robert’s nipples are hard when Aaron bends down to lick them and it serves to make it easier for him to capture one between his teeth, the other in his hand, as he rolls the buds, letting Robert’s wanton moans spur him on. 

Aaron’s tongue maps the familiar planes of Robert’s body — the divots of his collarbone, the firm tone of his chest, the fine trail of hair that leads down to his beautiful cock. He collects strawberries along the way, alternates between eating them and dropping them between Robert’s parted lips, watching the way his jaw works and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. 

“Should eat every meal off you,” Aaron mutters, pauses to suck a kaleidoscope of bruises to Robert’s inner thigh just because he can. He smears some whipped cream along them, laps it up with his tongue, soothing the sting. “‘Course, you taste good enough without them.” 

He punctuates the statement by sucking the tip of Robert’s leaking cock, the saltiness of his precome mixing with the sweetness of the berries, creating a heady taste that Aaron knows he’ll be craving long after this is over. 

Robert’s fingers thread through Aaron’s hair once more, doesn’t use them to do anything other than card through the curls that have been set free from sweat and Aaron’s own frantic hairpulling earlier on, when he was staring down the ruins of their oven and not looking into the eyes of his soulmate. 

One of his hands come up to fondle Robert’s balls, touches featherlight and slow, drawing broken sounds from the deepest parts of him. 

The strawberry from the tip of his cock is still in Aaron’s mouth, and he clenches it between his teeth after pulling off Robert’s cock. He drags it down Robert’s forehead, the bridge of his nose, brushes it against his lips before biting down, the juice dripping down both their chins. 

Aaron watches, transfixed, as it runs in rivulets down Robert’s neck. 

“It’s sticky,” whines Robert, tilting his head back, bearing his throat. 

“So dramatic, you are,” Aaron replies with a roll of his eyes. 

Still, he indulges Robert’s unspoken request, glides his tongue along the same route as the berry — forehead, nose, stops to thrust his tongue into Robert’s mouth, swallowing his moans, then reaches his throat. He rests his tongue against Robert’s pulse point, feels the rapid thump, thump, thump and takes great pleasure in knowing that the heart beating in his chest is Aaron’s to do with as he pleases. 

Robert brings one hand down to wrench the waistband of Aaron’s boxers, drags them down to his thighs as he envelopes his cock in his obscenely large hand, uses the beads of precome gathered at the head to slicken the shaft. 

The same hand that holds Aaron’s in the street, that wipes the tears from his cheeks, that wraps around Aaron’s throat sometimes when he’s on the edge, desperate to feel Robert everywhere all at once. 

Aaron squirts some of the whipped cream at the base of Robert’s cock, works it up and down the shaft at a brutal pace that starkly contrasts his previous tenderness. 

“Aaron,” Robert whimpers his name like it’s salvation, though whether he wants Aaron to stop or give him more he doesn’t specify. 

“Sh,” Aaron soothes, “I’ve got you.”

The weight of Robert’s cock in his hand is nice, but Aaron needs more.  He shuffles down, gets his mouth back on his husband, sighs contentedly. 

“Use me,” he says, garbled around the girth of him, cream and precome dribbling from the corner of his mouth. “Come for me, Robert.”

Robert understands — always knows what Aaron wants, even when there’s no coherent thoughts left in that pretty little head of his — moves his hands to Aaron’s nape, pushes him down until he hits the back of his throat. 

Aaron’s eyes drift shut, a couple of stray tears rolling down his cheeks as Robert thrusts into him, deep enough that Aaron might swallow him whole, consume him until there’s no part of him that hasn’t been touched, fucked, claimed by Robert. 

“‘m close,” Robert warns. 

Aaron works Robert’s shaft with one hand, matches the pace with his other wrapped firmly around his own throbbing erection. He bobs his head up and down, dips his tongue into the slit. 

The stimulation is clearly too much for Robert to handle and he comes on a groan, thrusts growing shallow as he rides out the waves of pleasure, his seed spilling down Aaron’s throat as he gulps, throat sore. 

Aaron’s own orgasm is quieter, intense in its own way, spurred on by the sounds Robert’s making and the combination of flavours on his tastebuds. 

They’re both trembling afterwards, somehow shifting until Robert is the one draped over Aaron, head on his chest, sweat damp blonde hair tickling Aaron’s nose. 

“You’re amazing, you know that?” 

“Mm, never hurts to be reminded,” Aaron mumbles, fingers tracing each individual notch of Robert’s spine. 

“I intend to spend the rest of our lives reminding you,” Robert vows, and Aaron believes him. “And taking care of you the way you deserve — starting with getting you some water. Bet your throat’s hurtin’.” 

Aaron nods, drops a kiss to the crown of Robert’s head. “I bought champagne. Forgot to bring the glasses up, mind.” 

Somehow Robert manages to clamber to his feet, his stamina no mean feat, and makes his way to the door. “If it’s glasses you want, then it’s glasses you’ll have, Mr Sugden.” 

Aaron grins. “My hero, Mr Dingle.”

Robert slips downstairs and Aaron lets his brain disengage for a moment, just basking in the afterglow of their shared pleasure. It’s still surreal, even now, that they get these moments together — a lifetime of them. 

He intends to take full advantage.

“Aaron,” Robert calls from somewhere beyond the bedroom. “Where the fuck is the oven?” 

Ah, shit. Goddamnit Gerry. 

[sugdenkatie]

you let me complicate you

pairing: aaron dingle/robert sugden (emmerdale)

rating: explicit

tags: dirty talk, hand jobs, affair era aaron dingle/robert sugden

He’s right. Aaron hates it, but he’s right. It’s like the thought of it, the mere idea of Robert putting his hands on him, is enough to make him come apart at the seams. It’s a new feeling that makes him feel raw, like Robert sees something in him that no one has seen before, his gorgeously green eyes finding parts of Aaron he’d rather keep hidden.

“What’d you do?” he manages, pulling at Robert’s hair so their eyes meet again. “If we had more time.”

Written for @dales-kinktober day 29: dirty talk

read on ao3

[robrondale]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

title: you belong to me

word count: 2.4k

rating: mature

pairing: aaron dingle / robert sugden

warnings: smut

summary: written for the kinktober prompt 'collaring; it's aaron's birthday and robert decides it's the prime opportunity to stake his claim on his affair partner

“I’m startin’ to think you get off on winding me up.” 

Aaron startles. He hadn’t heard anyone follow him into the bathroom, but he can see Robert’s reflection in the mirror clearly now — his disapproving scowl, his rigid posture, the dangerous glint in his eyes that promises something enticing. 

Anticipation thrums in Aaron’s veins, has him gripping the edge of the sink as his knees threaten to buckle. There’s something about having Robert’s full attention that makes him feel weak all over, like some pathetic school boy with a crush. 

“Dunno what you’re on about,” he mutters, fights to keep his voice even despite the lump in his throat. 

Robert steps closer, drapes himself over Aaron’s back. He buries his face against Aaron’s shoulder and inhales deeply, mutters a soft, “You smell good tonight.” that has Aaron sending a mental thank you card to Tom Ford for his services to getting Aaron’s dick wet; the ultimate wingman for every occasion. 

A moment later, Robert’s tongue is mapping a path along the ridges of Aaron’s collarbone, neck, jaw, until his teeth graze along his earlobe, rolling it between his teeth. 

“You taste good too,” Robert murmurs. “Need to get my tongue inside you, wanna taste the way you fuck.”

Aaron groans, throws his head back to rest against Robert’s shoulder. “What’s stoppin’ ya?” 

It certainly isn’t Aaron — he’s too busy devising a cover story for when Adam inevitably asks why he’s taken so long in the bogs. 

“I saw the way you were flirtin’ with that bloke.” Robert punctuates the statement by biting down on Aaron’s shoulder, the sting sharp and sending a jolt straight down to his stirring cock. “He was all over you, and you didn’t set him straight, so to speak.”

Jealousy, detects Aaron, feels a little delusional about it to be honest. Just like with that pathetic attempt at a date with Finn, Robert is practically green with it, and it’s a good look on him — the smoulder, the fire in his eyes, the way he grips Aaron’s biceps with bruising force. 

“Was just bein’ friendly,” Aaron claims, knows he’s not convincing either of them. “Not that there’s any harm in it. He’s single, I’m single.” 

“You’re whatever I say you are,” Robert retorts, hauls Aaron into him until his back is flush against Robert’s chest, and he can feel the outline of Robert’s erection pressed against his arse. 

Instinctively, Aaron grinds back, revels in the groan it pulls from deep in Robert’s throat. He does it again once, twice, three times, builds up a steady rhythm that makes heat coil in his core like a spring ready to be released. 

“Say it,” Robert demands. 

Aaron’s a little preoccupied chewing on his bottom lip to desperately stave off the loud, broken sounds he’d be making if they were alone in their barn or tucked away upstairs in the sanctuary of his own bedroom. 

Robert palms Aaron’s erection, squeezes just on the right side of painful. It’s a wonder Aaron hasn’t chewed through his lip already. “Say you’re mine, Aaron,” Robert repeats through clenched teeth. “I need to know that you understand.” 

“I understand that you’ve already got someone who belongs to you.” Aaron doesn’t mean for the comment to come across so bitter — hates that he does this, ruins their moments together by mentioning the rich, gorgeous elephant in the room, the one that wears a diamond on her finger that was put there by Robert — but he doesn’t apologise because it’s not like he’s wrong. 

Apparently Robert isn’t a great appreciator of honesty. Shock horror. 

“Don’t do that,” he insists, working Aaron’s belt loose and undoing his jeans. 

“Do what?”

“You can stop playin’ coy for starters,” Robert scoffs, finally gets his sinful hand around Aaron’s cock. He doesn’t move it though, just holds Aaron until they make eye contact in the mirror, his expression serious. “You know, you never told me it was your birthday.”

Of all the things Aaron had expected Robert to come out with, that wasn’t one of them. “How’d you know?” he asks because Robert’s right — he hadn’t mentioned it for the simple fact that he didn’t think Robert would’ve seen him today if he had. 

It seems like the sort of thing that Robert would consider crossing the metaphorical line he’s drawn in the sand between what is casual affair behaviour and what falls into another category entirely — one Robert currently has filed away under Bury In Closet. 

“I take an interest,” Robert says, doesn’t offer any further information on the matter. “I even bought you a present, but I don’t think you deserve it after the way you’ve acted this evening.” 

For all Aaron knows, Robert’s bought him a measly box of chocolates or some fancy fountain pen for writing out the major points in his new business plan, but even those things excite him when he thinks about the fact that they’ll have come from Robert. 

Pathetic crush, indeed. 

Get a grip, Livesy, he scolds himself. You’re better than this. 

He isn’t, is the thing. 

Nothing is better than this: Robert’s hands roaming his body, rough and assertive, though they both know Aaron could overpower him if he wanted to; the outline of Robert’s cock a stark reminder of how desired Aaron is. 

Truthfully, Aaron’s never felt like this before, and it’s scary. 

“Oh, go on,” he huffs, reaches one hand back to give Robert a single stroke through his trousers, “we both know you want to give it to me.”

Robert grins, a playfulness there now that dulls some of his ire. It’s always like a gut punch when Robert smiles, not his trademark smug smirk, but an actual smile that softens his features, makes him look younger, somehow more handsome. 

It’s the sort of smile you could fall in love with. 

Not that Aaron has, because that would be ridiculous.

“You didn’t say the magic words,” Robert trills, but he’s reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket nonetheless. He pulls out a sleek black box, long and thin, a brand name scrawled across the front in silver lettering that Aaron doesn’t recognise. 

“Close your eyes.” 

“You what?” 

They’re in the middle of a public bathroom — in the Woolpack of all places, Aaron’s mum pulling pints mere metres away from them — and the idea of leaving himself vulnerable like that, entirely at Robert’s mercy, fills him with equal parts exhilaration and dread. 

Robert traces a finger down Aaron’s spine, leaves goosebumps in his wake. “Do you trust me?” 

He shouldn’t. 

“Yeah,” Aaron whispers, lets his eyes drift shut, submits himself to Robert’s whims. 

One of Robert’s large hands brushes against Aaron’s neck and he shivers, barely has time to think I like where this is going, before something cold and firm replaces soft, warm fingers around his throat. 

Aaron hears a distinctive click, the sound of something locking into place. Robert’s breath hitches. 

Aaron opens his eyes, finds his own reflection staring back at him — wide eyes, parted lips, collared throat. 

It’s a massive turn on, and Aaron knows it’s obvious in his face, not to mention the fact that Robert’s hand has found its way back home to Aaron’s cock, shoved into his jeans and teasing through his damp underwear.

It’s also confusing, and Aaron can’t shake the feeling that this is some sort of test — a joke that he’s the butt of, though Robert isn’t laughing. 

“What are you playing at?” he asks, voice rough. He tries to sound strong, misses the mark by about a mile. “Is this another one of your games? What, you want me to bark like a dog and fetch a stick for ya?”

Robert shakes his head. “No,” he murmurs. His soft voice contrasts the aggressive way his fingers dig into Aaron’s hip, like it’s his mission to bruise. “Although if you want to get on all fours for me then don’t let me stop you.” 

“For someone who claims he ain’t gay, you don’t have a clue how to give a straight answer, do ya?” 

Robert scowls as he always does when his sexuality is mentioned, closet case that he is. “You want an answer? Alright, here it is: you aren’t allowed to see other people, Aaron. I can’t handle it. I know it makes me a hypocrite, believe me, but the thought of someone else touchin’ you, it makes me sick.”

Finally, finally Robert’s hand dips below the waistband of Aaron’s underwear, fisting his leaking cock and giving it a firm stroke. Aaron groans low in his throat, hates himself for it, just a little. Robert’s thumb swipes over the head, using the precome to glide his hand up and down, up and down, a punishing pace that Aaron knows won’t last long. 

God, they’d only fucked a couple of hours ago, after Robert had sent him a text saying 'kiss and make up?' that he was powerless to refuse. Aaron’s back is still aching from being laid down on the hard ground of the barn, the draft still seeping into his bones, though it’s quickly dissipating under the fire Robert is stoking within him now. 

“And what did you think this collar was gonna achieve exactly?” 

“It was either that or I bite every inch of your throat,” Robert mutters, like those are two perfectly reasonable solutions to the problem he’s created in his own head. “Mark you, so everyone knows you’re not to be touched. That you belong to me.”

Now, Aaron could ease Robert’s fears if he wanted to — because, truthfully, nobody compares to Robert and the way he makes Aaron feel, like he’s drowning and Robert is his only lifeline — but he doesn’t. 

Let him feel how I feel, he thinks to himself, spiteful. 

“I could take it off,” he says, belligerent just for the sake of hearing the frustration in Robert’s growl and knowing he can have that effect on the normally cool, calm and collected Robert Sugden. 

It’s also a lie. 

If Aaron closed his eyes now he could imagine that it’s Robert’s long, deft fingers wrapped around his throat, a delicious pressure against his pulse point. It’s like their own twisted version of an embrace, except Aaron isn’t stupid enough to believe that Robert loves him. 

Still, he’ll take what he can get. 

“But you won’t,” Robert says, voice muffled where he’s buried his face in Aaron’s neck. He’s stripping Aaron’s cock hard and fast, and Aaron’s so, so close, can already feel the tendrils of pleasure snaking their way through his core.

“Cocky, aren’t ya?”

“See, I know you, Aaron.” He flicks his wrist in a way that makes Aaron’s vision blur, the lights in the bathroom suddenly too bright. Aaron squeezes his eyes shut, but it’s pointless when Robert is all around him — chest against his back, face in his neck, hand around his cock. “I know how to make you feel good. I know how fit you look when you come for me.”

It’s all too much. Aaron’s resolve is shattering, his entire body trembling under Robert’s ministrations.  

“And most of all I know that you want this.” 

Robert clamps his teeth around the clasp of the collar, drags it back until Aaron can’t breathe — can’t do anything at all except choke on his own tongue, a broken whimper tumbling from parted lips as he comes undone. 

Robert strokes him through it, then brings his hand up to Aaron’s mouth. There’s a row of sinks right there, but Aaron obediently laps his tongue over Robert’s fist, sucks each individual digit into his mouth, swirls his tongue around them as he cleans the evidence of their encounter from Robert’s hand. 

“You have no idea what you do to me, Aaron.” 

Robert hooks his spit slick fingers under Aaron’s jaw, brings his head up to connect their mouths in a searing kiss that tastes like come and beer and euphoria. 

If Aaron died right now, he’s sure he’d ascend directly to heaven. He wouldn’t be surprised if this is it — an afterlife spending eternity being pulled apart and pieced back together by Robert Sugden sounds glorious. 

When they break away for air, Aaron notices that Robert’s gaze keeps flitting down to the collar like he’s committing the sight to memory. The intensity of it burns Aaron from the inside, has him speaking before he’s even registered that his mouth is open. 

“I am, just so you know.” He clears his throat, feels his cheeks redden as a sudden shyness sweeps over him. “Yours, I mean. I’m not interested in any other bloke. I’m yours.”

“Prove it,” challenges Robert, but he looks pleased and a little relieved, like there was a part of him that doubted himself after all. 

It’s absurd — how could someone like Robert possibly think he could make Aaron feel as good as he does and not own him? 

He’s ruined Aaron for other men, quite frankly. If Robert ever leaves him, Aaron might actually die. 

“How?”

“Keep the collar on. For as long as you wear that, you’re mine. And I promise I take good care of what’s mine, Aaron.” 

Aaron’s gaze drops to Robert’s cock, untouched in his trousers but clearly straining. He wonders how Robert has the self control to resist — Aaron’s had that cock in his hands, his mouth, his arse, so he knows how divine it feels. 

“Yeah, me too,” Aaron hums, turning around to shove Robert’s chest until they’ve stumbled into the nearest cubicle, their laughter cut off when their mouths press together once more. 

Aaron falls to his knees, feels like saying a prayer of gratitude to God for this heavenly opportunity. Instead opens his mouth and finds himself uttering a broken “thank you” to Robert, too blissed out to be embarrassed as Robert grips his hair and thrusts into the back of Aaron’s throat. 

“You’re welcome,” Robert murmurs, fingers massaging Aaron’s scalp in a tender move that contrasts the brutal way he’s fucking into his mouth. “Got to keep you satisfied, haven’t I? Considering I’m the only one allowed to see you like this. All mine.”

Aaron hums his agreement, and the vibration of it has Robert groaning; no time for warning as he comes down Aaron’s throat in thick white ropes. 

Aaron swallows, feels his heart swell with Robert’s come in his mouth and his collar around his throat, fully enveloped in his lust for this man who came blazing into his life like a wildfire — all heat and passion and danger — and gave him purpose at last.

I love you, Aaron thinks, half-crazed. I love you and you’re going to break my heart, and I’ll let you because it’s yours to break. 

He says nothing. The evidence speaks for itself. 

A leather collar tied around his neck like a noose, and Aaron knows he’s prepared to swing for this. 

[robrondale]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

title: i'll wait for ya

word count: 2.8k

rating: mature

pairing: aaron dingle / robert sugden

warnings: smut

summary: written for the kinktober prompt 'intergluteal sex'; aaron and robert talk after kev's heart attack and their bust-up outside the pub — except, they've never really been great at the whole talking part of communicating

Aaron ruminates over his conversation with Robert for almost twenty four hours — a lifetime for the two of them, who wouldn’t know slow if it slapped them across the face. 

There’s a pounding in his head like someone’s taken a pneumatic drill to the inside of his skull, the remnants of his hangover serving as a painful reminder of the state he’d gotten himself into yesterday. 

He knows he’s going to have to apologise to Vinny, hates himself for lashing out at him again after everything they’ve been through to put the past behind them. It had been easier to switch back into that persona, the one who didn’t let himself get hurt by trivial things like betrayal and heartbreak, instead turning them to anger, but Vinny didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of his frustrations. 

No, that right is reserved for Robert, Aaron decides. He’s the root of all of his problems, just like always. 

That’s why he finally answers the seventeenth text Robert has left for him, each one increasingly desperate to be given the chance to explain himself. Aaron doesn’t want to hear it, is the thing — mostly because he knows Robert’s got a silver tongue that could talk him out of just about anything, partly because Aaron thinks he’d let him. 

Robert comes up to the flat an hour later, looking like a sight for sore eyes with his slumped posture and the dark crescents framing red-rimmed eyes, a telltale sign of a restless night. Aaron thinks about his interaction with Robert yesterday once more — recalls the fear etched into the furrow of his brow and the tears glistening on sticky cheeks — and realises that, more than exhausted or cornered, Robert looks scared. 

He’d said as much yesterday and Aaron had been listening, but he hadn’t been hearing. Too hurt, too angry. He didn’t want to know that this wasn’t easy for Robert, didn’t want to accept that this was happening at all. 

Except it is. 

All traces of Aaron’s hangover evaporate into thin air, leaving his mouth dry and his head full of jumbled thoughts he can’t quite put together.

“Listen, Aaron, I’m sorry,” Robert starts, head hung low. “I know you’re upset but I can’t keep —”

Aaron doesn’t find out what Robert was going to say, instead closes the distance between them and presses his mouth against Robert’s. It’s always been the easiest way to shut him up, and the most enjoyable. 

Robert tenses, his spine rigid, straightening up so Aaron has to stand on his tiptoes to deepen the kiss, but it’s not much of a hardship when it rewards him with a soft whimper, Robert’s lips parting to let Aaron’s tongue dart between them. He curls it behind Robert’s teeth, licks the roof of his mouth, plunges it deeper down his throat until Robert lets out a guttural groan and pulls away, gasping for breath. 

“What was that for?” he asks after several seconds, voice rough, barely above a whisper. 

Aaron shrugs. “I didn’t wanna talk to you thinkin’ he was the last person to kiss ya. I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate.”

It’s stupid, Aaron knows, but it isn’t a lie either. 

“I really did try to finish things with him,” Robert says earnestly. He sounds honest, but he’s good at that. Lying has always been Robert’s strong suit, and Aaron doesn’t trust himself to know when he’s being deceived right now, with the taste of Robert’s tongue still coating his own. 

“Maybe you did,” he concedes, “doesn’t matter. You won’t do it now, will ya? You’re gonna stay married to him until he carks it.”

Robert sighs, brings a hand up to rake through his already messy hair. It’s a mark of how stressed he is, that he’d left Keepers Cottage in such a dishevelled state. Or maybe he’d just been in such a rush to see Aaron before he changed his mind. 

The thought bolsters Aaron’s confidence. He reaches up to grip Robert’s wrist, watching his face carefully. “I need to know that it’s me you love,” he says, his thumb rubbing circles against Robert’s pulse point, digging in just a little to get his attention when Robert’s gaze strays to follow the movement. “I need to know you’re not just goin’ to wind up with me because you can’t have him.”

“‘Course not,” Robert denies, eyes wide and pleading. “Aaron, no one comes close to you. The way I feel about Kev doesn’t even compare, not at all. That’s why I was gonna end it, because having him could never be worth losing you.” 

Aaron closes his eyes for a moment, lets those words wash over him. He believes them, he thinks, despite how stupid that probably is. Robert’s been chasing him for months, years really, and that’s got to be worth more than some bizarre prison marriage of convenience.

“So don’t lose me,” he blurts out. 

“What?”

Aaron takes a steadying breath, gives himself a second to back out but finds he doesn’t want to. “I’ll do it — stand aside or whatever, let you be with him until he kicks the bucket and you get your hands on that money you’re clearly so desperate for.”

“It’s not just the money,” Robert repeats, resigned. “I told you it’s complicated and I meant it.”

“Right, yeah.” Aaron’s being dismissive, but he doesn’t want to discuss the intricacies of Robert’s marriage right now. He wants to stake his claim on his boyfriend, wants to remind Robert of what he’ll be coming home to when this is all over. “I must be mental,” he says, mostly to himself. 

Robert takes one step back, bottom lip sucked between his teeth. “You don’t have to do this, Aaron,” he says softly. 

“I can’t lose you,” Aaron whispers, tugs him forwards by the wrist until their chests are flush together, a tantalising line of heat between them. He manoeuvres Robert’s hand to his arse then moves his own to trail a finger down Robert’s side. “I’m rubbish without you. I need you.”

“You’ve got me,” promises Robert before he kisses him again, languid and loving, making Aaron’s toes curl. 

They undress each other on the way to the bedroom, taking their time as shirts and trousers and shoes spread across the floor like a hurricane has come swirling through the flat. It’s a good metaphor for Robert, Aaron thinks — he’d come into Aaron’s life in much the same way, sweeping through it and leaving nothing but the torn remnants of the past and an imprint of himself that would never fade. 

“I want to fuck you,” Aaron growls, mouthing from Robert’s jaw down to his neck, dipping his tongue into the grooves of his collarbone. 

“Yeah,” Robert agrees on a moan, tilting his head back to allow Aaron better access. “Go on then.”

Aaron smirks at his eagerness, pushing against his chest until Robert falls backwards onto the bed, laughing. He clambers on top of him, one hand outstretched to his bedside table to retrieve the condoms and lube they’d left there a couple of days ago. 

A lot’s happened since then. 

Robert’s nails dig into Aaron’s thighs where he holds him steady, and Aaron hopes they’ll leave bruises tomorrow. He wants to take pictures of them, of Robert sprawled out beneath him like this, and stick them on every notice board in the village with the tagline Mine, but that wouldn’t really be in the spirit of the whole secrecy thing. 

God, this was easier the first time around — when nobody had suspected them, when they could meet up in public in broad daylight and everyone would just think oh what dedicated business partners they are. 

People will talk now, Aaron’s sure of that. They’ll whisper about how Robert’s always been the sort and poor Aaron gets hurt again and they won’t have a clue that behind closed doors they still belong to each other in mind and soul and body. 

Aaron places his hands on the mattress on either side of Robert’s head, swoops down to plant a bruising kiss on him, more clacking teeth than anything else. It’s rough and sloppy, a far cry from their earlier gentleness, and he can’t resist dragging his cock along the broad swell of Robert’s thigh just to get some much needed friction.  

“Fuck,” Robert swears, hitching his leg up to press against Aaron’s crotch again. “I’m not gonna last long,” he warns, expression sheepish, like he’s got anything to be embarrassed about. Aaron’s probably gonna shoot his load the second his cock brushes against Robert’s arse — slow is overrated. 

“Might have time for round two then,” he says, grinning. 

Aaron uncaps the lube and squirts a generous amount onto his fingers, wiping the excess on one of Robert’s arse cheeks. 

“Jesus Christ, Aaron. That’s freezing.” 

Aaron laughs, smears it across the other cheek and dips one finger between them. “Stop complaining,” he murmurs, “we both know you love it.” 

And Robert can’t deny that — both because it would be a bold-faced lie and because he’s been rendered incapable of coherent speech by Aaron circling his finger against his hole, teasing the sensitive skin there. 

“Please,” whines Robert, reaching down to fist his own leaking cock. 

Aaron tears his gaze away from Robert’s fluttering hole with great reluctance, his gaze finding Robert’s, whose pupils are blown wide with lust. “Please what?” 

“You know what,” Robert huffs. “Want you inside me.” 

It’s everything Aaron wants too. He wants to bury himself inside Robert and make a home there, live in the warmth of him, walk around plastered against Robert’s back so pricks like Kev know they’ve got no right to touch what belongs to Aaron. 

But Kev is Robert’s husband and if he’s anything like Aaron he’s going to get out of his hospital bed and straight into one that has Robert waiting and naked in it, so leaving a trace of himself in the form of Robert’s stretched out hole feels unwise. 

If only Robert had married a woman again — Chrissie had never had any reason to question why Robert could hardly sit down, the evidence hidden away somewhere she never touched, a part of Robert that had only belonged to Aaron for the longest time. 

“Let me try something?” 

Robert looks confused, an adorable pout on his kiss-swollen lips that makes him look impossibly endearing. Still, he nods, and it’s a testament to how much he trusts Aaron that he doesn’t ask any questions, willing to give him whatever he wants. 

It’s a power trip, is what it is. 

Stronger men would be driven mad with the power of having Robert Sugden entirely at their mercy like this. 

Aaron strokes himself, spreads the lube along his shaft with one hand, the other nudging Robert’s ribs. “Turn over for me,” he instructs, “on all fours, yeah?”

“Well, I like where this is going,” Robert teases as he does what he’s told for maybe the first time in his life. 

Beautiful. It’s the only word that springs to mind as Aaron drapes himself over Robert’s back, peppering kisses across his shoulders, teeth grazing down each individual notch of his spine until the tension drains from his body, Robert pliant under his ministrations like putty in Aaron’s hands. 

“God, so you’re gorgeous, Rob,” he whispers, reverent. “Can’t blame other people for wantin’ ya when you look like that.”

“Don’t want anyone else,” Robert mutters, voice muffled by the pillow. “I love you.”

Aaron can’t bring himself to say it back. He loves Robert, doesn’t know how not to, but right now isn’t the time to say it. Not when Robert is married to someone else, when he says he only wants Aaron but there’s someone else who can legally call Robert mine. 

“Then prove it,” he says instead. 

He grips Robert’s hips, touches featherlight even as he craves to hear the wanton sounds Robert makes when he’s manhandled. Even now, when he’s just as built as Aaron and taller to boot, Robert reacts so beautifully when Aaron puts his hands on him — be it shoves against the nearest wall or sensual massages after a long day at the farm — like he couldn’t overpower him and take control if he wanted. 

It fills Aaron with desire, the knowledge that he has that hold over Robert even after all these years. 

Aaron moves his hands down to Robert’s arse, palming the soft flesh. He remembers back when they first started their affair that he’d always thought Robert being in the closet was a crying shame for gay blokes everywhere because he has an arse that was just made to be fucked — perfectly round, supple, malleable in the hands of someone who knew how to treat him right. 

God, does Aaron know. He’d spent years of his life committed to giving Robert pleasure, still can’t quite believe he’ll get a lifetime more to come when this is all over. 

“Mm,” Robert hums, the vibration of it thrumming beneath Aaron’s fingers. “Feels good.”

“Looks even better, trust me.” 

Robert on his hands and knees, arse up in the air, presenting himself to Aaron… it’s almost enough to have him coming untouched, dizzy from the sight alone. 

Determined not to end the experience before he’s even gotten started, Aaron takes his cock in his hand, collects the beads of precome from the head and coats the shaft for added lubrication, then eases it between Robert’s arse cheeks with a grunt. 

“Oh,” Robert breathes, clearly surprised by the sensation. 

They’ve done this before — there probably isn’t anything they haven’t done, having started out as two young, insatiable young men bound by lust, then spending years together exploring their likes and dislikes, fuelled by that same lust but overwhelmed by love and trust as well — and it’s something he knows Robert likes, the smooth glide of Aaron’s cock against his hole, gentle thrusts carrying them both to the brink. 

“Fuck, Aaron.”

“Was it like this with him?” 

It’s no secret that Aaron’s a masochist. He wants to know, one way or the other.

Robert shakes his head, golden blonde hair splayed across the pillow, framing his head like a halo in the sunlight filtering through the window. “Never,” he vows, reaching back to blindly grab at any part of Aaron he can get his hands on. 

Aaron rolls his hips, revels in the noises he draws out of Robert, small and broken, pulled from the very depths of him, like Aaron is unearthing some hidden part of him with every upwards thrust. A lot of them are sounds he’s heard before, Robert has always been vocal in bed, hedonistic in his pursuit of pleasure, but some are new: whines and keens and a sharp little gasp when Aaron snakes one arm around his waist to tweak a sensitive nipple. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Robert claims, voice hoarse.

Aaron only wants to kill one man in Robert’s marriage and it isn’t him. 

“At least wait until you’ve got somethin’ worth inheriting,” quips Aaron, powerless to resist the urge to rub salt in his own wound. 

“I’ve got you,” Robert replies, sweet and simple. “You’re worth everything.”

It’s embarrassing, the fact that those words, uttered with such fervour, Robert’s head tilted at an uncomfortable angle just to look him in the eyes as he says them, are enough for Aaron to let go, come spurting from his cock and onto the small of Robert’s back, dripping in rivulets down to his arse, mixing with the lube to create a sticky mess that’s sure to ruin the bedsheets. 

Aaron drops his head against Robert’s back, fully spent, legs trembling as he rides out the final dregs of pleasure. He reaches ‘round to grasp Robert’s pulsating cock, finds Robert’s own hand already there, and the two of them work it for what could be a second or an hour before Robert hits his own climax, time trickling by like molasses, saccharine and indulgent. 

When Robert’s legs give way, Aaron falls down with him, stays clinging to Robert’s body like a limpet.

“I don’t deserve you,” Robert says into the silence. 

Aaron hums, noncommittal. He’s not about to deny it, not right now. “When this is all over, that’s it, yeah? Just you and me, no one else.”

“No one else,” Robert echoes. “If you’ll still want me…”

“Of course I’ll want this.” Aaron recalls saying those same words years ago and meaning them just as strongly. He’ll always want Robert, as sure as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. An unspoken rule of nature. “I’ll wait for ya.”

Robert's smile is captivating, all soft charm and barely concealed awe, a hint of cheekiness beneath the innocence. “Any chance you’d be up for waitin’ in the shower? Reckon we could both do with one.”

Aaron chuckles, makes no effort to move. “Gimme a minute. ‘M not gettin’ in the shower with you until we’re ready for that round two.”

[icouldhyperfixatehim]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Emmerdale (TV 1972) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aaron Dingle/Robert Sugden, allusions to kevbert but they are not in it Characters: Aaron Dingle, Robert Sugden Additional Tags: Body Worship, thigh fucking, Intercrural Sex, Hand Jobs Summary:

fill for day 24 of kinktober: body worship

[sugdenjohn]

john/robert fic for kinktober Day 4: Dacryphilia | Day 25: Incest | Day 17: Dubcon

celia/ray fic for kinktober Day 25: Incest | Day 31: Begging | Bonus: Mummy Kink

[robrondale]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

title: it wasn't your fault

word count: 4.4k

rating: mature

pairing: aaron dingle / robert sugden

warnings: past rape / noncon, dubcon (in relation to robert's experiences with rebecca and kev)

summary: written for the kinktober prompt 'dubcon'; robert finds himself opening up to liam about the struggles he's facing trying to balance his two worlds coming together, and learns some stuff about his past experiences along the way

Kev is released on a Monday morning — by midday, Robert schedules an emergency appointment at the surgery. 

There’s a searing pain in his chest that burns with every ragged breath he heaves. His lungs constrict around nothing, oxygen turning to cement in his windpipe as Robert doubles over around the corner from the cafe and claws helplessly at his throat. 

Liam finds him there. 

He rubs Robert’s back, encourages him to count to ten and try about twelve different breathing patterns until the darkness fades from the edges of Robert’s vision and he gets a front row seat to the doctor’s concerned expression. 

“I’ve still got forty minutes until my next appointment,” Liam says, hand on Robert’s arm, smile doing nothing to disguise the pity in his eyes. “Why don’t you and I have a chat at the surgery? It’s private there, and anything you say will be in the strictest confidence, you have my word. And if that’s not enough, then my legal oath.”

Robert opens his mouth to refuse, but stops short when he sees a tall figure ducking into the doorway of Keepers Cottage, backpack slung over his shoulder. 

He can’t face Kev right now. Would rather fancy his chances having a cosy chat with a man who thinks shacking up with Chas Dingle is a sensible lifestyle choice. Pretty dumb for a man with a PHD, but what does Robert know?

So he doesn’t so much as schedule the appointment as he does trail after Liam like a lost puppy, head down, cheeks flushed with the embarrassment of being caught in his vulnerability. 

There’s a desk between them when they finally get there — littered with paperwork and various eclectic trinkets that would look out of place if the room was inhabited by the likes of Manpreet, but they suit Liam well enough, and a framed picture of him with Chas and Eve — and the distance feels like an uncrossable chasm, somehow too far and not far enough. 

Robert glances between the window and the door, tucks his hands into his sleeves so Liam can’t see the way they’re trembling. 

“It’s a bit warm in here, isn’t it?” Liam comments idly, goes over to the window and cracks it open, just a little. 

He’s lying. It’s practically baltic outside, autumn bleeding into winter, fallen leaves coated in frost that crunch beneath fur-lined boots. 

Apparently Liam isn’t stupid at all — either that, or Robert is pathetically transparent. The air filtering through the crack is bracing, a harsh reminder that Robert isn’t stuck in some airless cell that exists outside of time and space and reality. 

Sometimes he wishes he was. It was easier, in some ways. 

“Do you have episodes like that frequently?” Liam asks. 

“I thought I was having a heart attack,” replies Robert, matter of fact. There’s a quiver to his voice, a silent question hanging between them. “That’s how my dad died,” he elaborates when Liam scribbles something down in his notebook and the sound of the pen scratching against paper frays Robert’s nerves. 

Liam frowns, adorns that sympathetic look that people do when they offer condolences. “I’m sorry to hear that. It’s always worth having checkups for those sorts of things if they’re hereditary, but I’m fairly confident that wasn’t what I witnessed just now.”

Robert knows that, is the thing. 

But it would be a hell of a lot easier if it was. 

“Have you been experiencing any other symptoms of anxiety?” 

Doctors could probably quote their entire pamphlets on the condition from the inside of Robert’s brain — restlessness, racing heartbeat, the uncontrollable thoughts in his head that keep him up at night; he’s ticking all the boxes. 

A therapist’s field day. His own worst nightmare. 

“One or two, I suppose,” he agrees. 

“Between you and I,” Liam begins, leans forwards slightly in his seat like they’re two mates gossiping down the pub, “a lot of people are worried about you, Robert.”

Robert scoffs. “You mean like John was?”

“I mean like Victoria is,” corrects Liam. “Like Aaron is.”

Hearing Aaron’s name makes Robert’s shoulders tense, rising up to his ears. “He shouldn’t bother.” 

Liam chuckles, not unkindly. “Well, good luck trying to tell Aaron what to do.”

Despite himself, Robert’s lips twitch upward. “He’s a stubborn bastard,” he acknowledges, all heart-eyes and fluttery stomach. It’s one of his favourite things about Aaron, his relentless commitment to his own moral code. “He gets it from his mum, eh?”

Liam playfully wags his index finger at Robert. “Now, I couldn’t possibly comment on that.”

The tension eases somewhat between them after that. It’s nice, Robert muses, to share this mutual connection with Liam — to talk about Aaron with someone who knows him, even if not in the way that Robert does, who doesn’t despise Robert’s existence. 

Liam didn’t know the Robert of old. 

Neither of them know the Robert of new. 

“Aaron and I are back together,” Robert blurts out when the conversation lulls. He’s bolstered by the safety of the room — by the posters advocating for mental health and prostate examinations and a range of other things that Robert’s forgotten about in the last six years.

Nobody really thinks about sorting those kinds of things in prison. 

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” 

“Depends on who you ask, I s’pose,” Robert replies. 

Liam frowns. “Okay, well let’s say for argument’s sake that I’m asking you.”

“Well, yeah. It’s great, obviously.”

“But?” 

Liam might not be a trained psychologist, but he may well be a psychic. 

“I’m tellin’ you all this as a patient, yeah?” Robert checks, chewing on his bottom lip. “You can’t tell anyone?”

“Not if you don’t want me to,” Liam agrees. “Unless I think someone is seriously at risk, that is.”

Robert might be, if Kev catches wind of it all. But he hardly counts — not when he brought this on himself. 

“I got married in prison. And now my husband is here, in the village, lookin’ for some sort of epic reunion.”

Liam drops his pen, brings his now empty hand up to rub his forehead like an exasperated parent whose naughty kid has gotten themselves into some hijinx. He looks like he needs a holiday, or maybe an early retirement. 

It reminds Robert of his mum, in some strange way. Maybe because when Liam looks at him again, there’s no burning hatred or judgement, just a desire to help. 

“Forgive me, but you’ve been fairly vocal in your quest to win Aaron back,” he says, drawing out the words, “and now you’re saying you’ve had a secret prison husband all along?” 

Robert’s already heard all the jokes from Victoria. 

“Yeah. I didn’t think he’d ever get out, though.” 

“Right.” Liam bends down to pick up his pen, but clearly doesn’t have a bloody clue where to start with writing any of this down. “And this is what caused your anxiety attack earlier?”

Robert shrugs. “Probably. There’s a lot of things wrong with my life, mate.” 

“Let’s start at the beginning then, shall we? I’m sure Manpreet can take my one o’clock appointment with Mrs. Whittaker — between you and me, you’ll be doing me a favour. If I have to listen to one more story about her thirteen cats, I fear I might just lose my grip on reality.”

Robert snorts. Join the club, mate. 

— — — 

Robert visits Liam again the following Monday. 

It’s been a rough week and both Aaron and Kev are starting to notice that something is amiss with Robert as he splits his time between the two of them and the farm with middling success. 

Sitting in the doctor’s office feels like a blessed relief, a sanctuary away from the chaos of the outside world. 

They exchange pleasantries for a little while — Robert finds the idea of Liam’s murder mystery evenings fascinating, and Liam, in turn, seems impressed by the places Robert had travelled to before he’d come back to Emmerdale a decade ago. 

Robert feels a little guilty at taking up Liam’s lunch hour, but they’d bumped into each other in the cafe, and Liam had been the one to offer the chat, so he thinks it’s okay. 

“Aaron said you’ve been having some trouble sleeping still,” Liam broaches tentatively after they’ve finished discussing the merits of green versus black olives — Liam’s feta salad sprinkled with both, much to Robert’s horror. 

“Aaron says an awful lot for a bloke who’s mostly monosyllabic,” Robert bites out. 

He runs his hands through his hair, blonde strands damp and darkened by the rain. He knows, logically, that Aaron is worried about him and it’s sweet but he really needs to stop drawing so much suspicion on the two of them with his constant mithering. 

“Only when it comes to you,” Liam confesses. “It’s obvious he cares very deeply about you.”

“Sometimes I have nightmares,” Robert explains, feels inexplicably guilty for worrying Aaron over it when it isn’t a big deal, not really. “You remember what I told you before? About people in prison lurking ‘round corners, pinning me by my throat? All that didn’t just magically disappear just because I’ve got Aaron back.”

“Of course not. If only it were that easy, eh?”

Robert huffs a bitter laugh. “Yeah, if only.”

“Do you mind if I ask about your sex life?” Robert pulls a face but doesn’t interject. “Are you sexually active with both Aaron and Kev?”

“Not really. I mean, Aaron and I have sex obviously. God, he’d be staging a public intervention about my mental health if we weren’t; it’s always been the easiest part of our relationship. Very passionate, you know?”

To his credit, Liam doesn’t appear outwardly traumatised by Robert’s oversharing. Maybe he’s heard some of the stories — half of the village has been a victim of Robert and Aaron’s rampant sex life at some point or another. 

“And with Kev?” 

Robert grimaces, brow furrowed and lips pursed. “We’ve not had sex since he’s been out,” he says carefully, “but we’ve done some stuff. It’s easier to avoid with him, but I can tell he’s getting suspicious.”

“And why are you avoiding sex with Kev, do you think?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m cheating on Aaron, aren’t I? And the guilt is killing me.”

That’s the crux of it all, really. 

Lying to Aaron has always ripped Robert’s heart out, but it’s worse than ever now. Aaron had been so earnest in his request for them to get back together, so willing to go along with whatever glacial pace Robert wanted to set just to have them be together again — because even when Aaron had just had his heart broken and his trust irrevocably shattered, he’d still chosen to place his love in Robert. 

And he’s stomping all over that with every secret rendezvous with his equally secret husband. 

“Can I ask why you can’t end it with Kev? If it’s Aaron you really want to be with…”

“It is,” snaps Robert. He grips the armrests of his chair until his knuckles turn white, takes a few deep breaths to calm himself. If he were Kev he’d be snapping an elastic band against his wrist right now. If he were Aaron, he’d be midway through dumping Robert’s sorry arse. 

“It is,” he repeats, softer. “I love Aaron, but it’s complicated. I owe Kev, and it’s not a debt that can be repaid with money.” 

“But it can with your body?” 

Robert thinks he should be offended, but he’s too tired. “It’s not so bad, Aaron aside. I mean, I’ve had years of practice when it comes to dealing with Kev — it’s just about making it quick and pretending to be somewhere else. Or pretending he’s someone else, I s’pose. Most of the time I don’t even remember it afterwards.” 

Apparently that’s the wrong thing to say because Liam looks disturbed, expression pinched as he scrawls something in his notebook. 

For several moments neither of them say anything. 

Robert drums his fingers, the tapping sound filling the uncomfortable silence. 

Eventually, Liam sighs. “Robert, you know this isn’t healthy, don’t you?”

“I’m not proud of myself. Cheating on Aaron — it makes me want to die. I can’t look at myself in the mirror without wanting to punch my own reflection.”

“I’m talking about having dissociative episodes just to get through sexual activity,” Liam corrects. 

“That’s making it sound a bit dramatic.”

“Is it?”

Robert scuffs the toes of his trainers against the carpet, studies them like they hold the secrets of the universe. “Divorce isn’t an option,” he mutters. “Kev isn’t the sort of person you say no to.”

Liam shifts, grips the edge of his desk when the wheels on his chair threaten to roll him away. He looks uncomfortable, mouth gaping like a fish out of water once, twice, about a hundred times. Robert almost reaches over to throttle the guy before finally, finally Liam spits it out. 

“But did you say yes to him?”

And that — well, that’s not what Robert had been anticipating. 

“If you’re implying what I think you’re implying then you’re wrong.” Robert tries to make his voice loud and strong, misses the mark by about a mile. He sounds shrill, borderline hysterical, like Chas every time Aaron announced that he was giving Robert another chance. 

God, he’s dreading going through that again. 

“Am I?”

“Yes,” Robert emphasises. “Kev protected me when those pricks inside kicked my head in, you know? He spent weeks in solitary and got a nasty scar to prove it, and I was so grateful. I made the first move, not him. And then we got caught and Kev got outed, and I couldn’t just turn my back on him.”

Robert heaves a deep sigh, realises he hadn’t taken a breath throughout that recount. He justifies it as needing to get the whole story out there before Liam starts with his ridiculous theories again, but the explanation sits heavy in his chest. 

Maybe he’s just sick of being judged, even though he knows he deserves every bit of it. 

“So you’re in his debt,” Liam summarises. 

Robert’s eye twitches. “He saved my life.”

“So you married him.”

“So I married him.”

As simple as that. If only the solution were as easy to come by. 

“But if you want to be with Aaron, and you consciously choose to forget your sexual encounters with Kev, then you can’t deny that there’s an element of your relationship with the latter that isn’t healthy.”

“None of this is healthy,” Robert exclaims, leaps to his feet and slams his fists down on the desk. Liam flinches back. “Sorry, I’m sorry. But I’m fuckin’ drowning here, Liam! I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t look Aaron in the eyes without seeing my own wretched reflection in them, and I hate myself because I can see how much he loves me and I know I’m going to break his heart again.”

Liam rights himself, concern breaking through his professional exterior. “There’s a power imbalance in your marriage, Robert. You see that, don’t you? Kev isn’t the sort of person you say no to, and you owe him a debt. If you weren’t in the mood one evening but he was, what would happen?”

Unbidden, Robert’s thoughts shift to nights spent in their cell — Lockdown in full swing, no other inmates filtering through, the guards turning a blind eye as they always did when Kev commanded. He thinks of wandering hands, of quietly trying to dissuade Kev’s enthusiasm with lame excuses, but ultimately giving in because it was easier. 

He closes his eyes, wraps his arms around himself and pinches his waist, just on the right side of painful. Grounding. 

“They used to brew this shit wine in prison,” he recalls suddenly, can still taste the sourness of it on his tongue, the acrid burn as it slid down his throat. “Kev always had a supply of it; everyone was eager to get in his good books, so he always got first dibs on everythin’ that came in and out of the Wing.”

“You used it as a coping mechanism,” Liam guesses. 

Robert slumps back into his chair, the fight drained out of him. “It made dealing with it easier.”

“You can’t give consent when you’re drunk, Robert.”

“I’d mostly drink afterwards,” Robert says, though he’s aware it doesn’t really sound much better. “Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time I’d ruined my life getting drunk.”

Liam must’ve filled an entire notebook with the amount he’s written down, but he’s still going. Robert wonders if his hand hurts. There’s a perfectly good computer on the desk, but it hasn’t even been switched on. Maybe Liam’s just old school like that, thinks the pen is mightier than the keyboard or something equally ‘profound’. 

“Tell me about the other times?” 

Robert snorts derisively. “How long’ve you got?” 

“I don’t have any more appointments this afternoon. Do you?”

Robert’s behind on farm work; here’s a tractor that needs seeing to and a herd of sheep that need booking in for a million different tests ahead of lambing season. He’s also supposed to be watching Rocky with Aaron, and trying to fit a pint in the pub with Kev into his hectic schedule. 

“No,” he replies. “Nothing that can’t wait.” 

It’s all going to implode either way. 

“The worst time was obviously with Rebecca — you’ve heard about that, I presume?”

Liam inclines his head, looks a little sheepish. “Chas might’ve mentioned.” 

“I bet she did.” Robert doesn’t really blame her. If someone ever broke Seb’s heart the way Robert has Aaron’s — will do again, inevitably — well, he wouldn’t be shy about villainising them across the village as well. 

“She didn’t mention any alcohol, though,” Liam admits, thoughtful. “Were the two of you quite drunk, then? Not that it makes it better, I suppose.”

Robert hums his assent. “I was so angry at Aaron that day. I’d been to see him in prison and he’d basically called me useless: just sat there, drugged up on spice, looking straight through me. Didn’t care about me or Liv or anything. Just thinking about his next fix.”

“Dealing with substance abuse can be difficult,” Liam sympathises. 

“He wouldn’t let me help him. I didn’t know what to do.” Robert feels helpless all over again as he remembers the entire saga. “So I did what I do best and hit the bottle. Got annihilated, destroyed The Mill — not the pokey little flat he lives in now, the swanky place where Caleb and Ruby live — and texted Rebecca to come over.” 

“Sometimes it’s easy to believe the answers to our prayers are at the bottom of a bottle,” Liam says, and Robert gets the impression that there’s a story there, but he knows better than to push. Liam had lost a daughter, hadn’t he? At the same time as Aaron had lost yet another boyfriend. 

Those weren’t the sort of wounds one should go poking at without expressed permission. 

“Rebecca couldn’t resist coming over, as I suspected. She claimed she wanted to just be friends, but I knew exactly what to say to lure her into bed. She was so in love with me, I almost felt sorry for her sometimes.”

“Did the two of you carry on drinking together?” 

Robert frowns, has to think for a moment. Even now, with years gone by and nothing but time to ruminate on his past indiscretions, he can’t quite recall that night through the haze of the whiskey and remorse. 

“I think she had a swig from the bottle,” he decides, “but not much. I don’t think she’d really been drinking, although God knows how she’d gotten through a date with Ross Barton without knocking back some of the hard stuff.” 

“But you were drunk,” Liam reiterates. 

“Three sheets to the wind, mate. Can’t remember anythin’ between the first kiss and the next morning.”

Liam’s face does a series of complicated motions, settles into something that Robert doesn’t like the look of. A recurring theme in their conversations. 

“Robert, if she was drunk and you weren’t, then that’s rape.”

And it’s not like Robert hasn’t considered that aspect, in all honesty. 

With Kev, it’s different: Robert owes him, feels something towards him that isn’t love but is affectionate in nature, and it had happened so many times that eventually Robert had just accepted it. 

Sometimes he even initiated it, when he was cold at night or feeling homesick, or after listening to Kev detail the way he’d brutally savaged a fellow inmate who’d mocked their relationship, or the gay community in general. 

Apparently being out in prison turned Kev into some sort of LGBTQ+ activist. Robert thinks he just liked to beat people up, but he would reward Kev for his bravery nonetheless. 

But with Rebecca — well, it was complicated. 

Robert had been the one to invite her over. He’d had clear intentions of wooing her over, making out a little, maybe even getting his dick wet. Sex had always been on the table, but he knows it wouldn’t have even crossed his mind if not for the heartache and the copious amount of whiskey he’d consumed. 

Rebecca was practically sober, the barest hint of alcohol on her breath as she giggled about how drunk he was, how he didn’t really want to do this. And then they’d done it anyway because maybe Robert hadn’t wanted it, not really, but Rebecca had. 

She saw the opportunity and she took it. 

And maybe Robert would call that rape if he were Liv or Victoria or some other helpless victim who didn’t deserve it, but it was him and that was what he did best: hurt others when he was hurting. Destroyed any chance of happiness he ever had. 

If Rebecca had raped him then his breakup with Aaron was for nought, really. Because Aaron would’ve supported him through it if that was the case, so it couldn’t have been. And that would’ve made Seb the product of something even worse than it already was, and it hadn’t been worth thinking about back then. 

Robert hasn’t seen his son in years. They wouldn’t even recognise each other now. 

Robert doesn’t recognise himself. 

“I think there’s something wrong with me,” he says at long last, voice small, eyes watering. He feels like a little kid again, and inexplicably misses his mum. She would’ve known what to do to make all of this better. 

“There isn’t,” Liam soothes. He reaches over, places a hand atop Robert’s in a way that makes him seem like less of a professional and more of a friend. 

It’s nice. Robert doesn’t have many of those knocking about these days. 

“Owen drugged me when I said no to him,” he murmurs. 

It reminds him of waking up in the back of John’s van, groggy and disoriented and crestfallen at the knowledge that nobody had cared enough to so much as drive him to the hospital. 

Even Vic had been fine with letting him sleep it off outside, like there wasn’t a chance the beer and the drugs from both Owen and John could’ve finished him off. 

Would’ve made things easier, in some ways. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

“But if Rebecca and Kev and Owen weren’t my fault, then I must have the shittest luck in the world,” Robert points out with a self-deprecating laugh. “And if they weren’t, then why do I feel so guilty?” 

“Because you’re a good person,” Liam says patiently, squeezes Robert’s hand. “With rather a lot of issues.” 

“Hope you’ve got a lot of meds to fix them,” Robert jokes. 

— — — 

The third time Robert sees Liam, they aren’t in the surgery. 

They’re in the Woolpack, sitting separately but occasionally making eye contact across the room. Liam is sitting at the bar with Cain, the pair of them pretending to listen to Chas drone on about something or another, and Robert is holed up in a booth with Kev, his own game of pretend going on as he wilfully ignores the hand creeping up his thigh. 

Everyone knows now. After their little public kiss outside the Hide and Aaron’s subsequent outburst of homicidal rage — a difficult thing to explain to Kev, but Robert’s silver tongue is good for nothing if not talking himself out of tricky situations — their relationship is common knowledge, and Kev has decided that means public displays of affection are fair game now. 

Robert lets his mind drift. 

His thoughts don’t wander in any particular direction. In fact, he doesn’t think of anything at all. 

It’s a bit like falling asleep, a darkness blanketing him, a shield from whatever it is he’s trying to escape, except there’s no nightmares. 

No, he’s living the nightmare, he just won’t remember. And that’s fine. It’s easier, really. 

He can hear the faint buzz of punters chatting, can taste the remnants of beer when he licks his lips, can smell the onion rings on Kev’s plate from when he’d scoffed down his cheeseburger and been too full to finish off the sides. Prison shrinks appetites, and terminal illnesses don’t exactly help matters. 

Punters. Beer. Onion rings. 

Robert blinks, comes back to his body like he’s returning from some astral plane far away. 

When he glances over at the bar, Liam is already looking over, clearly worried. 

“I’m fine,” Robert mouths, punctuates it with a roll of his eyes. It’s not like any of this is new to him. 

This had been his life once, for many years. When he never thought he’d step foot in Emmerdale again, let alone have and blow yet another chance with the love of his life. 

When it had just been Robert and Kev and an endless stretch of time ahead of them. 

Robert will still have time when Kev is gone in just a few short months. He could still do things, see places, grovel pathetically at Aaron’s feet if he thought it might earn him a scrap of forgiveness. 

But Kev is dying and Robert is his husband, and yeah, he wants the inheritance, too. 

Maybe he’ll spend some of it on that therapy everyone’s been suggesting. 

“Who’s that?” Kev asks, gesturing to Liam with his chin.

Robert wraps both hands around his glass, turns to give Kev what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Just a mate.” 

He thinks he might start with buying Liam a pint. The guy’s alright, really — terrible taste in women aside.

[capseycartwright]

body's a work of art you'd die to see

There were parts of Robert’s soul that he’d only ever given Aaron. That was a fundamental truth. But, sometimes it felt like there wasn’t much else he could give Aaron that he hadn’t already given to someone else first, and so that was kind of why he’d been obsessing over one particular thought for days, weeks now. 

or, Robert asks Aaron to fuck him without a condom for the first time.

ao3 link

written for day 23 of @dales-kinktober. set at some vague point of boyfriends era! and yes, the title is from diet pepsi by addison rae because robert would also think its a banger of a song.

[capseycartwright]

now i only see daylight

Aaron had been sure he would never get to have this again, have Robert curled up next to him in bed, the rest of the world waiting outside of their bedroom door, and Aaron’s universe reduced down to this; the cold brush of the tip of Robert’s nose against his own as he leaned in to kiss him, Robert barely awake but gorgeously responsive as he kissed Aaron back.

ao3 link

following up threesome fic with tooth rotting schmoop. am nothing if not a woman with layers. written for day 22 of @dales-kinktober but with the replacement prompt of sleepy sex!

[eloquentmydear]

would you consider blessing us with some kevbert porn?

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Yeah alright

[aarobron]

just sit back and relax

kinktober 2025 day 2: cockwarming

Robert’s been grumpy since he woke up, sniping at Aaron over the toast being too burnt (the toaster is still on the same setting it was yesterday) and his tea tasting funny (the same teabags they buy every time). Well, waking up is pushing it - he knows Robert hasn’t slept well, got the bruises on his shins to prove it.

Which is why he’s going to make this better.

read it on ao3

[aarobron]

a painting you could never frame

kinktober 2025 day 1: breeding

They’re both different now. Not like ten or eight or six years ago. But this is the same. Robert thinks this might always be the same.

read it on ao3

[sugdenkatie]

three makes a pair

pairing: mackenzie boyd/aaron dingle/robert sugden (emmerdale)

rating: explicit

tags: porn without plot, threesome, explicit sexual content

He’d experimented with blokes before, of course he had. But he had told himself that after some wild nights in his early twenties, he’d gotten it out of his system. It had been easy enough to believe, since the people he actually fell in love and entered into relationships with had all been women from then on. Despite that, though, there were still parts of him that lingered on men, made his heart skip a beat when a hand stayed put just too long, suggestive eyes knotting his insides. But those moments had been fleeting, gone as fast as they came, which made them easy to ignore.

This time, he couldn’t ignore it. Not when he could feel Robert growing hard against his back and Aaron was looking at him with dark eyes, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey.

Written for @dales-kinktober day 21: threesome

read on ao3

[capseycartwright]

baby what's mine is now yours

It sort of felt like a self-indulgent treat, really, the thought of bringing Mack into their bed.

Robert wasn’t a selfless man; he wasn’t going to suggest it out of the goodness of his heart, though he knew it would be a nice thing for Aaron. He liked beautiful things, and Mack was beautiful, and if he allowed himself to indulge the thought, luxuriate in the fantasy, he could imagine Aaron and Mack together being a beautiful combination.

Robert indulges Aaron's crush on Mackenzie - because what kind of boyfriend would he be, if he didn't encourage a threesome?

ao3 link

mackrob summer might be over, but mackrobron autumn lives on for day 21 of @dales-kinktober. and yes. that is a lyric from house tour by sabrina carpenter as the title. pls enjoy.