pitt sideblog because this show sunk its hooks into me. lol. also overlap with er 1994, supernatural, animal kingdom, and xfiles.
im avery. he/it. 20.
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Also, spot the little details I’ve added into the picture, hehehe~
The first leg of Robby's motorcycle sabbatical takes him to Detroit. But no matter how fast he rides, none of it helps silence the echo of the soft, airy little grunts Jack breathed into his ear the morning he left Pittsburgh.
Read below the break, or on ao3.
Listen to the song that inspired the story: Apple Music | Spotify
(Detroit photos above were taken by me.)
Robby didn’t leave when he had planned to, but once he was finally on the road, he decided to ride straight on through to Detroit before stopping for the night.
He had debated whether to go north into Canada and then west, or to head west and then north, but his brain was so thoroughly scrambled by the time he finally got on the road, the sirens in his head steered him west, so he gave the Bonnie a fistful of throttle and merged onto Interstate 76 west towards Youngstown.
“That’s not ridin’,” Duke had told him in the ambulance bay. “That’s runnin.’”
There were more scenic ways to go, but Robby needed to get out, to get away, to get as far as he could away from the endless shitshow that had become his life. The Pennsylvania Turnpike wound northwestward from Cranberry Township and he tried to turn his brain off as he rode, imagining himself a water-worn stone in a slingshot, whipped around and slung as far from Pittsburgh as he could manage before he had to stop along the southern outskirts of Youngstown to piss.
The first leg of the journey offered little more than nostalgia as he passed exits that reminded him of the route he’d taken thirty-two years earlier, when he packed everything he owned into his beat-up old Ford Bronco and left Pennsylvania for Cleveland, bound for the Case Western Reserve University School of Medicine.
He wondered what that young man would think of him now. No wife, no kids, no pond.
Leaning hard into the throttle as he left Youngstown and Interstate 76 behind, Robby picked up Interstate 80 and headed north towards Toledo. Lordstown was the first exit he passed, and he grunted out a shallow laugh, certain that the Lord wanted nothing to do with the city. General Motors had left Lordstown to the wolves, shutting down its vehicle assembly plant there in 2018 after the company decided compact cars weren’t worth making anymore.
Approaching State Route 5, Robby rode past the exits for Warren and Ravenna. He smirked at the latter, wondering how many people along this stretch of road knew that the town took its name from the city in Italy which, for a time at least, served as the capital of the Western Roman Empire. Ravenna was where it all ended for the Romans in the year 476, a decline that occurred gradually and then all at once. He wondered if it was the same for him. Stretched thin like the sprawling, dying empire that once dominated the known world, maybe this was how, if not where, it would end.
He rode hard and fast, or as fast as the old Bonnie could. The wind in his hair reminded him that he was still alive, even if some days he felt like a dead man walking, trapped in the waking tomb of the ED, doomed to claw at the inside of his own coffin. Without a helmet, there was no soundtrack other than the roar of the wind in his ears and the occasional fwoof of a passing car or truck.
No matter how fast he rode, none of it helped silence the echo of the soft, airy little grunts Jack had breathed into his ear that morning.
Robby had stopped by Jack’s condo, not to say goodbye, but rather to squelch the noise of his own thoughts so he could finally leave. To that end, he came to get railed within an inch of his life, to get fucked the way he knew Jack was capable of, but Jack had stubbornly refused to play along. Taking Robby to his bed, Jack pinned him down and worked him over slowly, determined to make him feel everything. The more desperate Robby became for release, the more languidly Jack moved, each rhythmic thrust so agonizingly slow that Robby could no longer tell where one of them ended and the other began. Hemmed in by Jack’s strong arms, Robby ran his hands up and down those warm, freckled pillars of muscle, thumbing the hair against the grain as the sinews underneath rippled with each rolling stroke.
Fuck, he muttered, gritting his teeth as he tried to shake the image from his mind.
He leaned into the curve north of Newton Falls where I-80 ceased its northward arc and veered west, giving the Bonnie more throttle to see if the higher RPMs would generate enough white noise to scuttle the memories that weighed him down.
Robby kept riding, stopping briefly at a Pilot truck stop halfway between Cleveland and Akron for a piss and a bag of Corn-Nuts before hitting the road again. Bypassing Cleveland and its ghosts entirely, he stuck to the left lane as he cleared the city’s southern suburbs. I-80 took him north and west along Lake Erie, passing Elyria and Sandusky and a dozen other towns that had faded as deindustrialization and the Interstate Highway System left them behind. With Cleveland and Akron behind him, the sun-faded green signs teased him with the possibility of a soutward detour towards Columbus or Cincinnati, but he shrugged off the idea and kept riding, his ass and thighs numb as he tried to shake the memory of the fucking Jack had given him that morning.
“You feel that?” Jack had dropped to his forearms, burying his nose in the curve where Robby’s neck met his shoulder. “You won’t find it out there. The thing you’re looking for. It’s not out there. It’s here. It’s you and me. Right here.” Jack’s dry lips brushed against Robby's skin, his breath warm before he placed a soft, sucking kiss there. His hips rolled like waves against the shore, ceaselessly pulling back and then sweeping forward again, filling Robby again and again, finally picking up speed and pumping harder until they each shattered with a breathy grunt.
“It’s not out there. It’s here.” He growled at the words as if he could shush them by force of will alone.
Stopping in Elmore for fuel, a sandwich, and a much-needed piss, Robby bade farewell to the Ohio Turnpike, as I-80 called itself along this stretch of farms and easily forgotten towns. He headed north on I-280, hugging the western edge of Lake Erie and bypassing Toledo as he pushed the Bonnie as hard as she was able to go in the push towards Detroit. His lips were chapped and he stopped into a Harley-Davidson dealership in Taylor, Michigan, where he bought a full-face helmet, not because it was safer, but because he could no longer bear the way his beard caught the grit as he rode. He paid extra to have Bluetooth speakers installed inside the helmet and had one of the techier kids at the dealership help him pair the system with his phone so he could listen to music as he made his way into the Motor City.
He rolled up in front of Michigan Central Station at a quarter to seven that evening. Developed by the same architects who designed New York’s Grand Central Terminal, the stunning Beaux-Arts building had been shuttered since 1988 when the last Amtrak train pulled out of the station. The site had languished for decades, crumbling, mouldering, and rusting as the city around it struggled to adapt to a post-industrial economy. The Ford Motor Company purchased the site in 2018 and spent nearly a billion dollars rehabilitating the deteriorating structure and giving it a new lease on life as it was converted into a mixed-use facility that would host community spaces along with shops, restaurants, and luxury hotel units.
By the time he pulled up and cut the engine, the fifteen-story building was closed for the day, and all he could do was wander its beautifully-manicured gardens that fronted Michigan Avenue to the north of the site. Disappointed, he climbed back on the Bonnie, turned the key, pulled the clutch, and started the engine. Thankfully, she fired right up even after a long day of abuse. He gave her some throttle and drove past downtown to the Eastern Market neighborhood, only to find that the market had closed at four. Bearing west a few blocks, he turned onto Saint Antoine Street and cruised past the Detroit Receiving Hospital, Michigan’s oldest Level I trauma center that he had ranked first when applying for a residency match. He circled the hospital complex, pausing at each traffic light as he wondered what his life would have been like had he started his career in Detroit instead of a thousand miles to the south at Big Charity. Where would he have gone from there? Who would he have become? Would it have made a difference? Or was it always going to come to this?
“The thing you’re looking for. It’s not out there. It’s here. It’s you and me. Right here.”
Grimacing at the voice that echoed in his head, he wound his way back to downtown and rode out to the waterfront. He stared across the river at the skyline of Detroit’s neighbor, Windsor, Ontario. The waterfront was quiet, and after a few minutes, he grew tired of the view. With the Tigers playing the Rangers in Arlington that weekend, the only thing to do near Comerica Park was to visit the MGM Grand, so he headed back to the Eastern Market. He snaked his way through the checkerboard of warehouses and empty lots, snapping photos of the striking murals on the sides of the buildings there. But the voice in his head was persistent.
“The thing you’re looking for. It’s not out there.”
His stomach growled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten since Elmore, Ohio.
Robby pulled his phone out of his pocket and pulled up his contacts. One of his old friends from Big Charity, Salah, was from Dearborn, where nearly half of the population was Middle Eastern or North African in origin. He remembered Salah telling him about a great restaurant in Detroit proper but he couldn’t for the life of him remember the name. Opening up his contacts, he typed “A” for “Alayya,” but the first name that came up was Jack Abbot.
“It’s you and me. Right here.”
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, straddling the Bonnie while its engine tinked and crinkled as its metal parts cooled after a long day on the road. He remembered standing in Duke’s ramshackle garage as the old man mused about how the human mind was a lot like an engine that required care, maintenance, and especially lubrication. At some level, he knew it was true, that it took time for his brain to settle after a shift, not unlike the engine between his legs as the metal components cooled and shrunk. How many cycles of heating and cooling could a component endure before it simply failed due to material fatigue?
Why was he here? He didn’t know. Duke and Jack had each interrogated him on the logic of the endeavor, each in their own way, and he never figured out how to give either of them an answer that they, or he, found satisfactory, because in the end, they were both right.
He was running. And the thing he was looking for out on the open road wasn’t there to be found.
Robby was relatively new to this gym. He didn’t know anyone and hadn’t spoken to a single soul in the few months he’d been going.
He recognized the staff and a few regulars whose training schedules more or less aligned with his. Among those familiar faces was a gorgeous man, roughly his age, maybe a little younger. He had grey curls, an insane physique, and deep green eyes that had caught Robby staring more than once. It was embarrassing every time he got caught watching, making him feel like a pervert. Still, he sized the man up every chance he got—his massive biceps, the sleeveless tops that always ended up soaked in sweat to offer a tempting glimpse of armpit hair. Then there were those thighs clad in tight gym shorts, and that ass—Robby had stared at that ass far too many times to count. Yet, each and every time, the man had just smiled. He clearly liked being appreciated, liked being watched as he exercised. Robby was more than happy to comply.
He’d been thinking for weeks about asking the guy out, trying his luck. He’d been in a bit of a dry spell lately. Well, not a true dry spell—he’d been hooking up—but it wasn’t nearly as hot as spotting someone gorgeous in the wild and being so painfully attracted to them that he’d jerked off in the gym shower stall way too many times, thinking about that pale skin and those sinful freckles.
But in the end, he never did it. He didn’t think the guy was interested like that.
For once, Robby decided to head to the sauna. He often times steered clear of it. It was always too crowded, and he was usually in a rush, never finishing his workout on time and having to speed through a shower to get to work or somewhere else.
It was a decently sized sauna, divided by gender. He briefly thought there should be a mixed one, then felt like a pervert for it, certain no woman would want that.
There was another guy inside, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t even glance at Robby when he walked in. Sauna etiquette, he guessed. You don't stare at other people because it’s rude.
Robby swallowed a groan as he sat on the damp wooden bench. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the surrounding warmth for approximately three minutes before the sweat started pouring and it became more uncomfortable than anything. But that was the point of this. So, he relaxed and let his head rest against the wall, listening as the other guy scrambled off the bench and left the room.
He was alone. He thought about adding more water to the coals, but he couldn’t be bothered to move. Instead, he just sat there, staring down at his belly for a while. It was still the same size as when he started. He hadn’t been expecting immediate results—he wasn’t stupid—but he’d hoped for just a little change.
The door opened with a hiss, and Robby tried not to look up too fast. He sort of failed, but his mouth went completely dry the moment he saw the guy step inside. His towel was slung low on his hips, revealing an absolutely insane V-line on his abdomen. His abs, his pecs—everything about him was perfect.
Robby's dick was immediately interested. It twitched, and he prayed the movement wasn't too obvious through his towel. It mustn’t have been, because the guy had no reaction as he sat on the bench to Robby’s right.
He settled into the corner. Robby could easily see him just by barely turning his head. He tried to avoid it, starting a mental list of all the bones in the human body to keep his dick from going hard, but the image that formed in his mind was the guy sitting just a few feet away. It made Robby chub up in record time. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten so hard, so fast. It was embarrassing.
Glancing down, he saw his length starting to tent the towel. He needed to get out ASAP, take care of himself, and head home. Maybe he should cancel his gym membership and find another place entirely, because he didn’t think he could ever show his face here again.
He started going soft at the thought, and a rush of breath escaped him in sheer relief. Mortified, he thanked the intense heat, which surely made him look like a lobster anyway, ensuring his blush wouldn't show.
But when he glanced back at the guy, a spark raced down his spine. Their eyes met immediately. The man was already staring right at him. Flustered, Robby looked away too quickly. The guy let out a low chuckle, and Robby leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His cock was twitching now, getting mixed signals from his brain; the embarrassment was keeping the arousal from taking over completely, and Robby didn’t know which sensation he preferred.
“I’ve seen you around a lot.”
A lot was generous, Robby thought as he looked up. His eyes traced the man’s figure of their own accord, following the path of sweat droplets rolling down his chest and between his abs. Robby wanted to lick every single drop.
“Kinda new to this whole thing.”
“I can tell.” The guy sounded and looked amused, giving Robby a slow once-over.
It made Robby self-conscious about his body all over again, imagining his soft stomach spilling over his towel.
“Not like that,” the guy said cryptically. When Robby looked at him again, the man had a hand resting over his own crotch. It was just sitting there; Robby couldn’t even tell if he was hard. It could easily be a coincidence. But something inside told him the guy was trying to say something. “You’re shy.”
Robby scoffed. An astute observation if he’d ever heard one.
He wanted to say something funny in return—something witty or snarky. But all thoughts ground to a halt when the man spread his legs and firmly cupped himself through the towel, letting out a soft sound in his throat that carried across the small room, straight to Robby’s dick.
“You’re a watcher.” It wasn’t a question, but Robby still shook his head. He had never been a creep before, never stared at men or women in public.
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
Robby swallowed, his throat suddenly parched as the guy began to move his hand slowly. Long, thick fingers wrapped around his own cock, stroking it over the fabric.
Robby briefly thought about someone else walking in, but he guessed that was part of the fun. The thrill of jerking off in front of a stranger made it all the more exciting.
Robby finally placed his own hand over his dick, groaning without meaning to. The noise slipped out the moment he made contact. This was the hottest and simultaneously stupidest thing he’d ever done. Hookups were one thing, but this—whatever this was—was completely different.
Through a horny haze, he realized he wasn’t even moving his hand; he was just gripping himself tight through the towel to keep it from aching. He was too busy watching the guy. Those green eyes glimmered, and those pink lips ticked up into a dirty smirk as he teasingly began to unwrap his towel. He peeled back just one layer, his cock—thick, Robby could already tell—twitching under the final barrier.
It offered a view of the man’s pale right thigh and the sharp hip bone where the towel fell away. Just a hint of trimmed pubic hair, but he couldn’t actually see anything yet. It was pure torture. At first, he’d thought the guy was just going to jerk off under the towel and let Robby watch like the pervert he’d apparently become. But being teased like this sent his mind wild, hungry to see the man entirely naked. The urge was so strong that he shoved his own hand under his towel, his cock spurting precum as he stroked himself a few times.
“Come over here, big boy.” The guy patted the bench next to him.
Robby was standing up before he could even think about it. He hesitated after two steps, but his dick made the final decision when the guy finished unwrapping the towel completely.
His cock was gorgeous. Average in length but incredibly thick, the tip red and dripping. It made Robby lick his lips as he stopped right in front of him.
“Let me see you.” The guy tilted his head, licking his own lips in imitation.
Robby undid his towel without a second thought, too horny to consider the risks. He held the ends of the fabric and pulled it open.
His own cock sprang free. He was longer and slightly less thick, but just as hard and dripping just as much as the guy. They were a match, he thought.
“Mhm,” the guy hummed, leaning back. He fisted his own cock and began stroking lazily. “Big, just like the rest of you.” His eyes traced up Robby’s body with zero shame, his teeth catching his bottom lip as he looked up through his lashes. “I like big boys.”
It’s a dream, was the only thing Robby’s brain could manage. It’s a wet dream and I’m gonna wake up any second.
But then the guy reached out and fisted Robby’s cock in his other hand. And that was real—so real that a rope of precum shot out of Robby, nearly making him double over.
The guy seemed delighted by the reaction, his mouth widening into a big smile. The tip of his tongue peeked between his lips as he leaned forward.
He kept leaning until he took Robby into his mouth. It was warm, wet, and perfect—so perfect that Robby moaned loud enough to echo off the walls. He thrust forward, letting his towel drop to fist a handful of those gorgeous curls he’d been thinking about for months.
The guy didn’t seem to mind, or maybe he was just too busy sucking Robby's dick like he was born to do it. Robby tightened his grip and let him work, watching those pink lips stretch around his shaft, feeling the tightness of the man's throat as he swallowed him down effortlessly.
The guy had serious skill. He worked his tongue along the underside of Robby’s cock, one hand clutching hard at Robby’s thigh, nails digging in, while the other reached up to fondle his balls.
Robby could feel the pleasure building behind his eyes. His balls drew tight, and the wet, sucking sound of the guy deepthroating him coiled deep in his gut.
It probably wasn't even two minutes before he gripped the guy’s curls and tried to pull him back, trying to warn him with something other than a groan. But the guy wouldn’t pull away, and Robby inevitably came. He held the man's head, pushing as deep as he could, pouring his release down his throat for what felt like an eternity. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over him while the guy swallowed and tongued his shaft through it all.
He hadn’t come that hard in ages, and it took a second for his brain to reboot as he finally pulled back to let the guy breathe. Even with white spots dotting his vision, he could see the man licking his lips and smirking up at him, looking completely unbothered after giving Robby the best head of his entire life.
The guy fisted his own cock again, stroking fast and hard now, licking his lips over and over.
Robby dropped to his knees. It was only fair to return the favor.
The guy spread his legs to give him space, guiding the tip of his dick to Robby’s lips and pushing the head inside. He tasted salty, and the heavy musk of precum and sweat made Robby lightheaded in the best way possible.
I’m sucking off a Greek god, he thought, looking up at the planes of glistening, defined muscle greeting him as he worked his mouth around that perfect cock. His lips stretched as he took him in inch by inch. He’d never been amazing at deepthroating, but he sure as hell didn’t give bad blowjobs. He pushed himself a little farther down the shaft and let saliva pool in his mouth, pulling off briefly to spit the thick slick to ease the slide of his hand. He tongued the underside of the head, drinking in the beautiful noises the man was making.
Even if someone walked in right now, Robby would keep sucking this guy's dick like he’d been starved for months. He couldn’t get enough of it—the taste, the smell, the noises, the ache settling into his jaw as he bobbed his head fast, working his hand in tandem over the parts of the shaft he couldn’t quite reach.
It was messy and loud, spit covering Robby’s hand and beard, dripping down the guy's shaft and into his grey pubic hair.
It was over too fast, just like Robby’s own release. The guy arched his back and pushed deep into his mouth before shooting off. Robby sputtered a bit, a little out of practice, but he suckled the head and greedily took all the cum into his mouth. He pulled back with a loud pop once the guy stopped twitching, opening his mouth to show the pool of cum on his tongue before swallowing it down under the attentive, lust-blown gaze of those green eyes.
His knees ached as he stood up and gathered his towel. He was breathing too fast for a room full of steam, his lungs straining for air.
“I’m Jack, by the way.”
The guy—Jack—was wrapping his own towel around his waist, smiling up at Robby. But this smile was softer, and Robby couldn’t help but smile back.
“Robby.”
“Nice to put a name to that gorgeous face.”
“Same here.”
Robby looked around, unsure of what he was supposed to say next, or if he should just leave without another word.
“I was planning to shower in twenty or so,” Jack said, his hand drifting down his abs. “If you’re interested.”
Robby was. He sat his ass right back down on the bench just in time for someone else to walk in—an older man who barely minded them sitting together in the corner before taking a seat of his own.
