but if robby and abbot are MS4s, and both have plans to ask the other to stay official during residency apart, and they slip out of med prom to the back, the sounds fade, they’re both nervous as hell tiptoeing around what they want to propose
the “dr benton im pregnant” scene is so serious to me like thinking abt his skinny legs & narrow hips holding up his swollen belly the weight of it causing him to waddle around everywhere he’s always hot & whiny & out of breath but benton is taking such good care of his princess & treating him so well after knocking him up
more boring!internist!robby and inscrutably!smitten!paramedic!abbot because … because …
because robby hasn’t felt giddy since, maybe MS1 when his lab partner returned his deeply closeted glances. he writes it off as indigestion and downs a half bottle of tums before returning to bed and staring at the first message on his phone from abbot jack
Hi handsome. Looks liek u don’t come here often.
it’s ambiguous. maybe abbot recognized him from 4C, maybe he didn’t. and maybe robby googled “liek” thinking it was hip lingo, rather than a hasty misspelling. fuck him, he felt like an idiot. jack was probably sending out 10 messages a minute, not want for matches.
What makes you say that?
no. too defensive. and not like he doesn’t fucking know. he has the most clothed and couth profile on this damn app.
I have had Grindr for a few years but I hardly use it
no, definite no. too wordy. not sexy. And jack was… well, sexy. if robby’s hand found his way to his crotch when he thought about that, that was between him and his quiet apartment.
Fancy seeing you here
robby audibly groaned when he read this one back.
Up late?
he decides on, heart pounding so hard he can’t hear his white noise machine.
he stares at his phone like an idiot, as if jack would reply; he imagines his dull notification long gone in a see of sexts by now. but
Night shift life
pops up almost immediately on his screen, followed by an image of jack’s hand, veiny, thick, and delicious, resting on his black work cargos doing a god damn peace sign.
it had been awhile since the last rescue case, so naturally everyone at the aquatic rehab facility had been not-so-subtly captivated by the large wall of tank that housed the new patient. jack had been busy treating water all day, but he’d heard snippets.
hoarder house. dead owner found upon welfare check. they found the merman in a tiny 70 gallon tank, crammed in half as much dirty water, pitifully and compulsively scooping up water and letting it wet the cracked gills that ran down his sides. he was delirious, starved out of his mind with caked blood in his nose and gills from prolonged exposure to air.
now, with much of the staff gone for the night, jack is able to make his rounds to the new patient’s tank to dump in bags of crystallized minerals; all the good stuff the clinic’s doctors had asked him to dose the massive tank with Q12.
jack still hasn’t seen the merman; only the rescue crew had when they conducted heavily sedated CTs and physicals on the poor creature before acclimating him to the new water. the merman had disappeared in the depths since then, hidden all day.
jack ascended the two-story tall back room staircase and entered the platform over top of the tank. it was late, he was tired, and he ripped out his headphones and sat down on the cold metal. he watched the water in silence.
he felt like a pervert at this vantage point, which was silly. merpeople aren’t really… human. they can’t be “perverted” on. they’re feral animals. but jack felt bad for peering down over the entire tank, able to look over the aquatic brush and rock that shielded the tanks inhabitants from the front.
when he saw a glimmer of movement he snapped his head away, and began opening the bags of medicine with his knife. and maybe he could have been a bit quieter; he was sure the thump of his work boots on the metal platform reverberated through the top of the tank, but fuck it if he didn’t want to go home and crash.
so it was his luck that his knife snagged in sharp plastic of one bag, and he pulled, and it flew out of his hands into the tank. jack quickly dropped to his stomach and extended his arm as far as he could, but the knife was just out of his reach, floating easily in the salted water. fuck. fuck.
he tightened his core and stretched as far as he could, brushing the tip of his finger over the edge of the blade and coaxing it along back towards him slowly. it was working, but he hadn’t noticed two gleaming pinpricks trained on him, ascending the depths fast until it was too late.
a skeletal hand, with thinly webbed fingers, snatched the knife just as jack had swished it in reach. a second hand reached up, grabbed jack by the collar, and ripped him down into the water too.
robby has seen abbot around, let’s just pretend for the sake of plot he’s dropped off a few patients on his unit. he’s thick, sun worn and looks damn good in his black uniform. he’s way out of robby’s league. that doesn’t stop him from stealing glances at his toned arms (surprisingly, no tats) or ass when he does bed transfers. he’s got a good ass, but robby convinces himself it’s from his tough profession, not from pointed workouts.
so imagine robby’s surprise when he sees him, the paramedic, pop up on grindr one night. robby’s first gut reaction is to rethink every image he has on his profile — they’re so lame and tame, no way abbot (jack, he learns) would go for him. but this stops almost in an instant. of course he wouldn’t go for him, regardless of any shirtless pic robby frantically thought about taking and replacing with his stupid book selfie… much less his carefully curated collection of pics that he spent way too long stressing over. abbot (jack..) only has three; robby lingers on a gym selfie in a dirty mirror. robby closes the app with his profile still pulled up. he’s swiped too much tonight, mindlessly.
but he pours a glass of red wine (shirtless pic isn’t off the table yet..), and maybe a few hours later it’s the wine that makes him swipe on abbot’s profile. and maybe it’s the wine that drains his entire face when it alerts him that there’s been a match.
it’s been a fucking hell night. hard restraints, spit masks, fluids that cannot be as easily masked. abbot sags in his seat while santos fills the ambulance tank. she’s hellishly green, but he likes her.
he opens his phone, nicking himself a bit on the cracked screen (he needs to get that fixed). the same face he was staring at when he closed his phone hours ago was still staring back at him.
it’s that doctor. the one from unit 4C. the unit that makes jacks ears heat up when he’s asked to haul a gurney up to its rooms.
he wasn’t shocked to see him on grindr, he looked the type. he had swallowed a grin at the ridiculous book selfie the man had chosen as his primary photo.
santos hops back in the cab peers over at jack; he realizes how close he was holding his screen to his face.
“ready, old man?”
“forgot my readers.” jack huffs as he closes his phone as nonchalantly as possible. but it’s itching in his pocket. what if the profile disappears? he’s had it pulled up for hours now. it’s bound to refresh soon.
besides, it’s not like the doctor will ever see his like. he’s not his type, anyway (that hadn’t stopped jack earlier from adding a gym selfie where his expression looked particularly pensive) so jack quickly unlocks his phone, swipes, and tries to fight off a bit of nausea in the pit of his stomach for the rest of the long night.
robby has seen abbot around, let’s just pretend for the sake of plot he’s dropped off a few patients on his unit. he’s thick, sun worn and looks damn good in his black uniform. he’s way out of robby’s league. that doesn’t stop him from stealing glances at his toned arms (surprisingly, no tats) or ass when he does bed transfers. he’s got a good ass, but robby convinces himself it’s from his tough profession, not from pointed workouts.
so imagine robby’s surprise when he sees him, the paramedic, pop up on grindr one night. robby’s first gut reaction is to rethink every image he has on his profile — they’re so lame and tame, no way abbot (jack, he learns) would go for him. but this stops almost in an instant. of course he wouldn’t go for him, regardless of any shirtless pic robby frantically thought about taking and replacing with his stupid book selfie… much less his carefully curated collection of pics that he spent way too long stressing over. abbot (jack..) only has three; robby lingers on a gym selfie in a dirty mirror. robby closes the app with his profile still pulled up. he’s swiped too much tonight, mindlessly.
but he pours a glass of red wine (shirtless pic isn’t off the table yet..), and maybe a few hours later it’s the wine that makes him swipe on abbot’s profile. and maybe it’s the wine that drains his entire face when it alerts him that there’s been a match.
Jack Abbot x John Carter // Explicit // Rancid vibes 4 Carter- Jack pretending Carter is Robby, and uses F-slur in his head// angst // inspired by this post by @puppiegracie // 4.1k words
Jack, who has been in love with Robby (unrequited) for as long as he can remember, finds the next best thing in Robby's half-brother Carter.
Song recc to read this to: Me and Michael- MGMT
"Carter?"
Theres a certain etiquette, in bars like these. Jack imagines in those new age gay clubs scattered about the city where the bass rumbles at your throat and the sweat trickles down your back, that you wouldn't even be able hear yourself think never mind be heard saying someone's name.
But this isn't a dizzying gay techno-club. This is the type of bar frequented by people who rarely, if ever, get asked for their IDs and the music is always respectably low enough to hear each other speak.
This is a bar for men like Jack.
When anyone half their age walks in here, they tend to be here for one of two things. First, tourism. Not gawk at the gays tourism, but if you happen to be visiting and are looking for a safe and friendly spot for a drink, Frank's place still rates highly on a google search. Secondly, more often too, it's for men and women with a certain unfulfilled mommy or daddy kink. And the patrons of Frank's bar are well accustomed at providing that particular service.
Carter pauses, the flat of his rosy red tongue pressing up against some random- no wait shit that's fucking Steve's- clothed junk. When he sees Jack his eyes widen and he scrambles back, hair flopping as he falls over his own limbs.
Jack sighs.
"The fuck Jack?" Comes a low grumble. Right.
The etiquette, of course, is that if someone's servicing one of these poor little kids, one of the doe eyed overly enthusiastic youth in need of a steady hand and guiding words, one of the desperate to please twinks- that you keep your fucking head down and go on your fucking way.
"Shit Steve sorry." Jack rubs the back of his neck. "I know this one. You mind uh- giving this a pass?"
He doesn't look at Carter, instead, watches as Steve tugs his half hard dick back into his jeans and zips himself up with a frown. "You owe me Jack."
"Yeah yeah," Jack laughs, shoulders tense. "I'll send the next one over to you promise."
Steve laughs, but doesn't even look at or check on Carter before he turns to slip out the door, which personally Jack thinks is a little fucking insane. He doesn't know the man well, but this certainly isn't endearing him to know him more.
"D-Doctor Abbot."
"Doctor Abbot? Really Carter?"
Carter flushes beet red, wrapping his arms around his knees and sniffing. Even his eyes start to water a little at the corners. "Uh- Jack? What um- what are you doing here?"
Jack laughs, crossing his arms. "Looks like I'm here for the same thing you're here for, though the floor is less forgiving on my knees these days." He looks to the door, and back to Carter's flushed form, hair all tussled from where he's been running his hands through it. "Steve, Carter? He's older than me. What would Robby think, hey?"
"He's not my father." Carter snaps, then wiggles a little until his back is pressed up against the wall. "I- I don't. Do you think he won't let me stay now? Are you gonna tell him?"
"Woah, hey, back up." Jack frowns. He meant it as a joke, a little teasing, and because there's not a second that doesn't go by where Mike isn't on his mind. He perches down into a squat and places his hand on Carter's knee, rubbing slow smoothing circles into his bare skin. Fuckin' shorts. "No I'm not gonna tell him I was just… why wouldn't he let you stay? Because you got on your knees in a bar?"
"No, because I'm gay."
Yeah, Jack'd thought that Robby's little half brother was probably a faggot when he'd first met him. When he'd crossed his arms after shaking his hand and John's gaze had dutifully slipped across his biceps and back up to his face with a little flush. As if Robby doesn't know. He's not fucking blind.
"Carter he won't give a shit that you're gay."
"My family did, back-uh- home."
Jack feels for him, he does, he presses his thumb deeper into the muscle and lies. "Robby's friends with me and I've been known to suck a cock or two, hey." Robby does not. In fact. Know this. "Robby isn't like that. And you're a big boy Carter. You don't need your brother's approval or his spare room. I hear you're in at Presby?"
Though as he says it he wonders if this is what it is- getting on his knees for men double his age. A seeking of approval. If not from his family, his brother, his work, then from men who pat his head and praise his technique and make him feel useful. He wonders, too, why he himself hasn't told Robby he's into men, even after all these years.
He knows the answer to one of those well.
"Half brother."
"Sure."
"If you're not going to tell him, then why did you stop me?"
Jack could make him feel useful.
He's only known the kid what? Three weeks? Met him twice properly before now, but Jack could pat his head and praise him and call him a good fucking boy, with his mouth stretched out around his cock.
Fuck, twenty years ago in the depths of DADT Jack woulda had someone like Carter bent over behind the barracks boxers pulled up to mimic skimpy little panties, sinking into his spit worked hole and covering his mouth while he fucked him, telling him what a good little faggot he was being. Carter seems like the type that woulda shot his load straight onto the grass between his combat boots.
He takes a step forward. "Smart boy like you, wanna take a guess?"
Carter really does look remarkably like Robby.
When Michael laughs, he tilts his head to the heavens and crinkles his eyes. And when Jack looks at him he thinks he finally understands what joy really is.
"Man, come on, we can't switch girls that's ridiculous." Michael brings his head, and Jack's heart, back to Earth. He finishes up washing his hands and turns to Jack, the house party raging downstairs muffled by the bathroom door.
Jack shrugs, "she's clearly more into you. Not everyone like the leprechaun look. And Sophia has been edging towards Jason all night. You might as well get some."
The words spill fractious from his mouth, and he- viscerally- hates himself. As if setting Mike up with a cute girl and getting him laid will help his horrendous debilitating crush. It hasn't fixed it or lessened it any of the other times throughout their first year of med school. He doesn't know why he thinks it will now. A lesson in fucking insanity right? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.
"Shut the fuck up man. I think it looks good longer." Michael says, drunken hand coming up to twist one of his curls around his finger.
Jack's breath hitches. He wants him so badly. He doesn't think he's ever wanted someone so badly in his entire life. He wants him in a way that feels desperate and animal. It was born inside of him the first time he saw Michael, the thing clawing at the inside of his ribcage until his lungs fill heavy with blood. He would do anything. Be anything. Change anything. For Mike to like him back.
Afterwards, he'll blame the vodka for the way he surges up and presses his lips to Michael's.
For one single moment, the world settles. The animal in his chest sheaths it's claws. When Michael moves, Jack thinks he's kissing him back, and he almost laughs into Mike's mouth, but- No, he's pulling away. He's backing up and wiping at his mouth and looking at Jack in horror. The animal howls.
"What the fuck man?" Jack laughs, wiping at his own mouth and forcing a smile. "Are you fuckin' gay or something?"
Michael splutters. "Jack- you kissed me?"
"No I fucking didn't" He slaps at Michael's arm. "You kissed me man."
"Why would I kiss you?" Michael cackles, drunk as all hell. And yeah, Jack thinks miserably, why would he kiss Jack? That would be ridiculous, stupid. Jack's life isn't some goddamn homo fairytale. What did he think would happen? That they'd kiss and secretly date, and Michael would wait at home for him like a good little wife in the shadows whilst Jack toured out the rest of his contractual service, and they'd live together like some roommates for the rest of their lives, whilst everyone else in the fuckin neighbourhood judges them behind their backs? Jack isn't worth that. Jack isn't worth giving up a normal life for that, even if Mike was gay- which he's clearly not. It's not a panicked look in his eye, but an incredulous- isn't this fucking hilarious- one. But Jack's not laughing, is he? Not inside.
"Why would I kiss you, asshole? I'm trying to palm my date off on you so I can fuck Sarah."
"Sarah Whatts? Man that's ambitious." Michael huffs, opening the door and letting the noise of the party, the reality, flood back in.
They've never talked about it since, not for the thirty one years that Jack has remained totally and devoutly, in unrequited love with Michael fucking Robinavitch.
And here's John Carter.
Teary eyed little John Carter, who looks so like Robby twenty, thirty, years ago- with his floppy hair and big eyes and matching nose. Like Jack has stepped back in time. A unwilling passenger in the DeLorean that just hit 88mph and snap- he's back in a bathroom. A little dingier than last time, with Robby Carter on his knees this time, but the essence feels the same. And if he kisses this Robby, this time, his second chance- he's pretty sure it'll be returned.
And would it not be nice? Just once, to know what it would feel like. To taste the joy he still feels when he sees Robby laugh. Maybe he can feel it, too, when Carter cries.
"But, you, I-" Carter stutters.
Jack shrugs again, standing and offering his hand to Carter, pulling him up. "No one's making you Carter, no sweat if I'm not your thing."
Say yes, say yes, say yes, say yes to me this time Michael.
"No. No you are. Just- are you sure? What about-"
"Not really anything to do with your brother, is it?"
It's everything to do with Michael. It will always, forever, be Michael Robinavitch.
"Half brother." Carter insists again. "I'm not trying to replace…" He fades off.
If Jack was a better person, he might follow that loose thread, un-spool Carter and find out what's behind that brief sad vacant look. But Jack has waited long enough, and he's not feeling particularly like a good person today.
"What is it about this? Is it the anonymity? Does the public-aspect of doing it here turn you on?"
"No, not- ah- really?" Carter stumbles over his words, flushing like Robby after a couple of beers or a quick compliment from a new nurse at the ER. "It's just easier, and going back with strangers feels dangerous."
"I'm not a stranger." He hears himself say, like the words aren't his own.
"No."
"Wanna come home with me?"
Carter nods his head, quick and eager, like a good little puppy.
~
The animal in Jack is old now. Fettled, sure, but festered.
Grown into something dark and putrid and dripping. Its claws are stained black with dried blood, but its teeth are still just as luminously sharp. All those mens mouths on his cock, short brown hair under his fingertips while they arch their back, they've sated the animal some, but never tamed it.
Now, with Carter stretched out on his guest bed mewling into the sheets and peering back over his shoulder as Jack palms at the swell of his ass, the animal just rumbles low and quiet.
"Top off too sweetheart." He says, because using his name would shatter the illusion of it all.
And Jack is interested in total immersion. He's put him in the guest bed because last week Robby stayed over after the game and Jack hasn't changed the sheets. They still carry his scent, if faint.
"Beautiful." He says, splaying his hand over Carter's lower back, pressing him into the bed, the tip of his ring finger grazing at the corner of a freckle.
"Jack? Jack can- can I-"
"Hmm?"
"I wanna see you."
Jack groans, takes one last appraising grab at the soft plush ass, spreading him a little, and then flips him. Carter shrieks, then laughs.
The corners of his eyes crinkle just the same.
"Oh my god." He giggles. "You're so strong."
"Yeah baby, you like that?" Jack mumbles, ignoring his straining cock and kissing up his sternum, along his neck, pecking at the hinge of his jaw as Carter lets out a breathy fuck yeah. "What do you like, hmm? Will you tell me?"
"Oh, I haven't- I've only really blown guys and given a handjob?" Carter worries his bottom lip between his teeth. "Is that okay?"
Jack buries his head into the crook of Carter's neck and bites. When he pulls back, Carter whimpering beneath him, there's the faint white indent marks of his teeth against his skin. Jack watches them disappear, and feels the urge to make them permanent.
"Ever had your cock sucked?"
"Yeah but not- not by a guy."
"Been fucked?"
"N-no."
"You want to, baby?" He shuffles down as he drags his hands up, skimming the sides of his chest and resting around his tits. Whilst he waits for a reply he thumbs at his rosy peaked nipples. If it makes it harder for Carter to answer, well, he just has more time to play then doesn't he? To roll the little buds between his fingers and tug a whine from his mouth.
"Y-yeah. Yeah I want that, please?"
"Shit M-" Jack bites his lip. "Yeah. Yeah 'kay. Think you can cum twice for me?"
"I've never tried."
"Let's try," Jack tells him. Straining at the idea of taking Michael's virginity. Would it have been like this? All those years ago? "I'm gonna suck your cock, get you all squirmy and feelin' nice, yeah? Then when you cum and you're all boneless, I'll fuck you hard again until you cum on my cock. Gonna be good and let me baby?"
"Yes yes yes. Please, I'll be good. I'll be so good for you Jack, promise." Carter babbles.
"I know you will. You're such a good boy, aren't you?"
Carter's cock leaks, red and almost painful looking. He should make him put a condom on, but, well, he does hate latex in his mouth. And if he's going to do this he wants to do it right. His one change. He won't push for condoms unless Carter does.
So he works his way down Carter's lithe body and leaves little bruising marks with his teeth. Before he gets his mouth on him properly, he uncaps the lube and spreads Carter's surprisingly thick thighs.
"You do this to yourself?"
Carter shakes his head, and Jack grins. "Good. If you don't like it tell me, okay?"
"Sure, 'kay Jack." He mumbles with a shy smile, so Jack kisses the inside of his thigh for his good behaviour. He's so fucking cute. So good of Michael, to save himself for Jack. To wait for Jack. To only want Jack.
The animal settles wearily- it's on the cusp of being tamed.
Carter squirms when he slides in his finger, but Jack distracts him with a slow drag of his tongue up from the base to the tip of his cock, swirling the tip and letting the taste of his precum linger for a moment.
"Holy shit, fuck. Oh my god, Jack I- what do I-"
"Nothin' baby. You haven't gotta do nothin'. Just lay there and look pretty for me yeah?"
He takes the tip into his mouth and hollows his cheeks, and poor little Carter's hips shoot up. Jack lets him, lets the cock- he thought Robby might be larger than this, but he's average really, a nice length that doesn't quite bully the back of his throat- fill his mouth nicely.
"Fuck Jack." Carter cries, and Jack hears Robby at twenty five, huffing and complaining as Jack made him lift weights at the gym. He grins, takes Carter's hand, and threads it through his hair.
"Take what you need."
And Carter does. Whilst Jack stretches him from one to two to three fingers, Carter groans and whimpers and cries, pushing down on Jack's head before loosening and babbling wet little apologies, but thrusting his hips up next until Jack is drooling out the corners of his mouth.
It's fucking incredible, but Jack needs to be in him.
So he tilts his fingers and makes sure to aim for Carter's prostate on the next thrust in, and Carter sobs. Tears streak down his cheeks as he blinks his little doe eyes at Jack, clutching his curls. He opens his mouth in warning, but before he can get his words out Jack presses hard with his fingers and hollows his cheeks, and just like that Carter cums, thick and hot, right on his waiting tongue.
He savours the taste, swirling it around his mouth a little as he watches Carter throw an arm over his face, chest mottled red and his chin and neck red and wet with tears.
When he swallows the cum down in one, and pulls his head from Carter's softening cock, Jack isn't Jack anymore. Not this Jack. Not an army-bruised, life weathered, salt and pepper greying amputee.
Jack is twenty one. Jack has a hair full of ruddy brown curls, and crooked little teeth. Jack doesn't yet know the taste of dust in the back of his lungs and the feel of death at his fingertips. All this Jack wants is to know what it's like to be inside Michael.
And Carter isn't Carter. Not the half brother of his best friend, searching for family and connection and his place in the world, about to start his ER residency at Presby.
Carter is Michael. Michael at twenty two, four months older than Jack and insufferable about it, glinting smile and a desperate and painfully heroic sense of empathy. His optimistic hope untouched and unharmed by the world thus far. All this Michael wants, is for Jack to push into the wet heat of him.
And so he notches his cock raw against Michael's hole, thumbs his hipbone, and pushes.
Michael mewls, worming away from the overstimulation, but Jack grabs at his hips and holds him steady as he pushes himself flush. Without the freedom of movement, all Michael can do is clench down around him, milking his cock in rhythmic little pulses.
"Mike, Mikey," it slips from his lips unbidden. But Jack is twenty two, and Carter is Michael. "Fuck Michael, you feel so good." Jack groans, squeezing at the hips under his fingertips so hard he'd be surprised if he didn't leave a little constellation of purple mottles.
There's a pause, a stilling of the body underneath him, and then, "please Jack? Can you- you can move? Does it feel good?"
"Yeah baby, you feel good. So good for me Mike."
"Yeah?" A tentative hand comes up to run across his chest, and then he's being pulled down down down until his teeth knock against teeth. He moves a little and groans into Michael's mouth, slipping his tongue past wanting lips. This kiss feels nothing like their last one. No joke here. No no homo bro. No gaslighting or pretending. This time Michael groans into his mouth and clings onto him, needy and a little pathetic.
Jack drives his hips forward with a harsh snap, and Michael whines into his mouth, tears streaming.
"s' much." He slurs.
"Yeah but you can take it for me right?" He mumbles into his jaw, grinding his cock deeper. "You can be my good boy."
"M'good?"
"Yeah you're perfect. Perfect. No one- no one has ever felt like this fuck you're everything. You're so good. Perfect. Keep, keep doing that Mike." He groans, biting and sucking at his jaw, his earlobe, his neck. "You're such a- a- good doctor. You're so good at everything you do and you- you care so much. Everyone fucking loves you. I love you. I love you so-"
Michael shudders, his cock starting to fill again slowly as Jack works him back up, slamming repeatedly against his prostate as Michael cries.
"Good boy, that's it, take it for me, take my cock. Made for me Mikey. Good fucking boy. Say my name, say it."
"Jack, Jack please- please Jack I need you. I- Jack, please-" Michael sobs.
"Please what?"
"Fuck me."
"I am fucking you." Jack laughs, pulling out traitorously slowly so Michael feels every inch of his cock. Too thick, really, for his virgin hole and the level of prep.
"Harder Jack." The little brat huffs, but the effect is reduced by the hitching whine that follows and the tears that spill from the corners of his eyes.
"Ask me for it."
"Jack!"
"Ask me Michael."
Another pause, and then- "Jack please fuck me, will you fuck me, I'll be good I'll-"
"You are good." Jack growls, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "You're my good boy."
Michael sobs, and Jack won't last, not with those tears and the hot gripping heat around his cock. So leans down and spits on Michael's cock, following it with his hand and pumping fast and harsh. It's no surprise when he shudders, biting his lip so hard that he draws blood.
Maybe Michael has his own animal inside him too. Maybe, where Jack's settles for Mike, Mike's wakes up for Jack.
Wouldn't that be something?
"Come on, you can cum on my cock can't you? Good boy like you. Cum for me baby and I'll fill you up, would you like that?"
Michael breathes his name like a litany, thighs shaking and tightening around Jack.
When he cums, he opens his mouth to scream but nothing comes out, not with how hard Jack fucks him through it. Jack's name is lost on his tongue And when he cums raw, pressed flush with his shaking pliant body, Jack is the one that screams a name that belongs to neither of them. Not the animal. The animal is finally sated and quiet. It's Jack and Jack alone that howls.
~
"Holy shit."
Carter's fingers pet at the damp sweat slick hair at the back of his head whilst his other hand draws circles into Jack's hip. He's pressed on top of him, his cock still buried deep.
"Jack-"
"No- no no no." Jack pulls back, pushing past Carter's protests and yanking his head away. "Fuck me, fuck." He goes to scramble back, but winces as Carter winces. Slowly, he pulls out of the wet heat and feels horror slip through his spine at the sight of his cum leaking thick and damning.
"Jack-" Carter reaches for him again, but he pulls back and goes to hide in the bathroom but his fucking crutches are in his bedroom and it just reminds him why he chose this bed and these sheets and bile rises in his throat.
"Fuck." Jack drops his head to his hands, his softening cock hanging between his legs. "M' sorry."
Carter stays silent.
"Carter- John. John." His voice breaks, but he can't look up. "I'm so sorry."
"S'okay." John mumbles. They both know it isn't. "Have you always loved him?"
Jack has to box breathe for a moment before he can speak.
"Why'd you let me do that John? Why didn't you stop me?"
He feels Carter shuffle closer to him then a tentative hand settle on his knee. Carter shrugs. He feels it because he presses his whole side up against Jack. "Dunno. It was nice? You were so nice to me. I felt… wanted. Even if it wasn't… you said I was a good doctor and that I was perfect."
Jack keeps his head in his hands, and Carter whispers, "I've never been perfect before."
~
Three years later, John makes Attending.
He celebrates, edged all night, crying on Jack's cock. He never tells his brother he's gay.
Three years later, Jack sinks into his boy who still lets him call him by another name. He never tells Robby he's fucking his half brother.
Some things, in the end, are better left unsaid.
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Yeah. so. i love john carter? baby u deserve better what r u doing. Anyway, i normally just shoot one shots like this out into the wild, but would genuinely love to know how this one landed for people because im not sure where it came from and i wrote it in a haze and im not sure how it makes me feel
