Jack used to sleepwalk, sleepeat, sleeptalk, and sleepwander. His mother would direct him very carefully back to his bed and tuck him in, no harm no foul. Thankfully he grew out of sleepwalking when he turned ten, though he retained the sleeptalking even through his years in the army. His wife loved it: she thought it was hilarious.
He lost leg and then his wife soon after, so he moved back into his parents' house, his tail proverbially between his legs. With his life in ruins around him, he found he hadn't quite kicked the habit.
When he dreamed, he still had two legs.
Jack's healing nub did not enjoy plummeting ten inches to the floor the first time he tried to sleepwalk. His parents, meanwhile, did not enjoy the many, many creative words he used when he woke up on the floor.
He woke up on the floor a number of times before he found a very-not-kinky handcuff solution that he attached to his infantilizing bed rails. It took a long time for Jack to claw his way back to dignity and independence, but he made it. He made it through med school, residency, and even got an attending position at the PTMC.
So what if he never slept over after a hookup and never hosted. So what if he never found anyone he trusted enough to tell about his somewhat embarrassing condition.
His life was fine. It was his own, and that's all he could ask for.
"Stay," Robby insisted. His hand gripped Jack's loosely, but the insistence in his eyes was stronger than any desperate grab. His lips were dark from kissing, and his chest was covered in a light sheen of drying sweat. Jack had sucked bruises on his belly and thighs, but there was still plenty of room for more, he noticed.
"Better not," Jack said quietly. He didn't try to free his hand though. It was their third time hooking up, and Jack was starting to feel like things were getting a bit too close, a bit too intimate. His belly was full of butterflies like he was a teenager again, and he was definitely too old for a crush.
That didn't mean he couldn't have one.
"Please?" Robby pulled back enough so that there was space for Jack in his arms. It looked inviting.
"Alright, brother. I'll stay for a bit." Jack took off his leg again and tucked himself into Robby's lanky frame.
"This OK?" Robby's breath stirred the hairs on the back of his neck. His fingers ran up and down Jack's arms before his arm wrapped around Jack's middle like a vice.
"It's good," Jack murmured, half asleep.
He had intended to stay five, maybe ten minutes. Then he'd find some excuse or other, about the bed, the pillows, something, that would allow Jack to leave without hurting Robby's feelings.
But with Robby's body trapping him into bed, he fell asleep feeling safe as houses. Robby was better than a weighted blanket, and Jack found that, even if he wanted to, he couldn't go anywhere.
