Discourse in the omegaverse be like “is scuffing abusive” and Robby keeps his mouth shut when the pittlings’ decided yeah it’s archaic and disgusting because he’d have Jack scruff him every night if they had the time
Ok and what if I once again bring up Omega!Robby going through twink death and thinking that Jack isn't going to want him once he comes back from the military. What if I brought up Robby desperately trying hair treatments to make it look soft and fluffy again, shaving his beard, trying every diet pill under the sun for that stubborn weight around his middle that just won't go away?
What if I brought up Alpha!Jack who's so embarrassed to meet Robby for the first time in ages. What kind of alpha can protect and provide for their mate missing a leg? What if I brought up the dread in the pits of their stomachs that doesn't go away after the reassurances when they reunite?
Uhh soooo in my mind this takes place in the No Homo AU but like 10 years after those ficlets. That said, there’s basically no connection so don’t worry about reading those.
TW: use of the f slur
The warm sun is the best alarm clock Jack could ask for. Morning’s like this, lazy and easy with Robby snoring light and easy on his chest, are rare and cherished. Jack buries his nose in Robby’s soft hair and takes in the fading scent of his shampoo.
He wishes they could stay this way forever; curled around each other in the safety of their home. It’s not often their days off align, between Robby’s residency and Jack starting active duty, sometimes it’s like living with a ghost rather than his college sweetheart.
Robby stretches with a low groan and looks up at Jack with sleepy eyes. “Morning.”
“Good morning,” Jack says. He kisses between Robby’s eyebrows. “What plans do you have for today?”
Robby hums and kisses the underside of Jack’s jaw. “Nothing yet, but I bet I can think of something.”
They make love slowly, under the covers in missionary, the exact way Jack was told sex was supposed to be. Though, he doubts his high school gym teacher thought he’d be using those half baked, celibacy-forward, lessons as an excuse to kiss his boyfriend all the way to orgasm.
After all these years, Jack still can’t get enough of Robby’s pretty blush. He kisses down his chest, appreciating every inch of glowing pink skin as Robby tries to catch his breath. “We should shower,” Jack mutters against his chest.
Robby groans. “Too tired.”
“You’re gonna regret it.”
“I’ll go after you,” Robby says. He rolls onto his stomach and tugs Jack’s pillow into his arms. Thankfully, he’s cute enough that Jack doesn’t mind the extra laundry.
“You don’t want to join me?”
Robby waves a lazy hand. “We’ll go again later.”
Jack smiles and kisses his cheek. “Looking forward to it.”
When Jack gets out the shower, Robby has fallen peacefully back into sleep. He’s so beautiful with the light shining off his naked back, that Jack can't resist kissing him again before heading to the kitchen. He’s halfway through his first cup of coffee when a familiar truck swings into the driveway.
Jack’s heart sinks. Through the window he watches his mother’s fried blonde hair and his father’s beer gut approach despite his desperate wishes that he was hallucinating.
Before they can knock, Jack rips open the door and forces a smile. “Mom. Dad. Hi.”
“Oh, my boy,” his mother coos. She kisses his cheek, leaving behind a sticky mark, and pushes past him into the house.
His father shakes his hand, and before Jack can get another word out, says, “When you got stationed in Beaufort, we expected you to make more of an effort to see your family.”
Jack’s moth goes dry. “Sorry, sir. It’s been busy on base. I was hoping to get out there soon.”
His father grunts unhappily, but his mother pats his arm. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We know there’s a lot going on.”
“Whose car is that?”
“Wha— uh, excuse me? Sir?”
“There’s two cars in the driveway,” his father huffs. “Don’t tell me you need two.”
“Uh, no, sir.” Jack’s heart thuds under his ribs. “It’s… Robby’s.”
His father frowns. “Robby? Your old roommate?”
“Yes, sir. He’s working in a hospital not far from here, so he came to visit.”
“That’s nice,” his mother says from the kitchen. She’s already digging through his cabinets, taking stock. “I was worried about you being lonely.”
“No, ma’am. I’m alright.”
“Where is he?” His father asks. Jack gapes stupidly, unsure what to say. His father’s frown deepens. “Your buddy came to visit at nine in the morning and you don’t know where he is?”
“No, I do. He—“ the old pipes begin to sing through the walls, “he’s showering.”
“Here?”
“The water at his apartment is out,” Jack lies. “He came here to shower and do some laundry.”
His father nods slowly and shuffles to the living room to do his own investigating. Neither of his parents have taken their shoes off, Jack clenches his jaw thinking of what Robby will say.
“I— uh, I’ll be right back.”
Jack bolts to the bedroom and heaves behind the door. His vision has spots from the stress. On shakey legs, he forces his way into the bathroom.
“Robby,” he rasps.
“Yeah?” Jack shushes him instinctually. Robby pokes his head from behind the curtain. “What’s up?” He whispers.
“My parents are here.” Jack’s hands tremble. “They think your apartment’s water crapped out and that’s why you’re here.”
Robby’s jaw drops. The few times he’s met Jack’s family have been short and unpleasant. “I’ll leave.”
Guilt gnaws at Jack’s stomach. “No, this is your home too.”
“Jack, it’s not worth it. I’ll go to the store or something.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, just get back out there before one of them says something.”
Jack obeys and hopes he hasn’t been gone for too long. When he renters the main room, his father is holding a book.
“This yours?”
The blood escapes Jack’s face. His father knows damn well he doesn’t read things like Jane Eyre in his free time. He’s barely forced his lips apart when his father continues.
“I expect this is also Robby’s.”
“Yes, sir,” Jack says.
“He brought a book to shower?” He picks a frame up from the mantel. “And a photo of him and his… grandmother?”
Jack’s throat is filled with cotton. “Robby is living here when I get deployed. Save on rent, and I won’t have to worry about this place.”
“Deployed?” His mother whizzes around the corner. “You never said.”
“When did you get your orders?” His father demands. “Where are you going? When do you leave?”
“I, well, I haven’t gotten them yet,” Jack stutters. “But it’s only a matter of time. They’re feeding us good on base so…” He laughs lightly. “Everyone knows what that means.”
“Oh, my brave boy,” his mother coos. “You call the second you get those orders. I don’t want to miss a minute with you.”
“Yes, ma’am. Of course.”
She wanders off back to the office, and Jack prays she doesn’t rifle through the filing cabinet with his and Robby’s tax forms inside.
His father sets Robby’s photo back on the mantle with a bang. Jack stands at attention and tries to quell the queasiness in his stomach.
“Does this country allow gay service members?” His father’s eyes bore into him. “Did I miss that in the paper?”
“No, sir,” Jack chokes. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second to gather himself. “Technically, gay people can serve, but nobody can know that they’re… um…”
His father isn’t any taller, but he manages to loom over Jack. He looks Jack up and down, mouth twisted. “Are you a faggot, Jack?”
Through a sandpaper throat, Jack croaks, “No, sir.”
“Did I raise a faggot?”
“No, sir.”
“Did I raise a liar?”
“No, sir.” Jack’s jaw quivers.
His father backs away, but only slightly. His heavy squint remains firmly on Jack, seeping to his bones. “Do you have a girlfriend?” Jack’s teeth won’t unclench for him to answer. His father shakes his head. “Of course not.”
“I— we’re busy,” Jack says. “The base— I haven’t had time.”
“You didn’t have time in college either,” his father scoffs. “Jacob always had time. I don’t think he’s been more than a week without a woman since high school.”
“I just—“
Right then, the door creeks behind them. Robby steps out meekly. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says. “I was just heading out.”
“Don’t bother,” Jack’s father says. He looks Robby up and down. He’s never liked him, said he was too ‘soft.’
“Oh, no,” Robby insists. “I have to get something back at my apartment—“
“Where is your apartment?”
Robby gapes for no more than a second, but it’s a second too long. “A few miles from here.”
“Right.” Jack’s father rolls his eyes. He takes a few steps to the hall and throws the guest bathroom door open. “Why didn’t you use this shower?”
Neither of them have an excuse. Robby looks at Jack for help, but he’s shaking like a leaf. He hates it. He hates feeling weak, especially in front of Robby. Jack has spent many nights kissing promises of love, devotion, and protection into Robby’s skin, and now when the time comes he can’t defend him against his own father.
Cruel, pale eyes glare at Jack. “If you’re not shipped out by Christmas,” he seethes. “Make other plans. I don’t want you in my house like this.”
Jack’s voice cracks pathetically. “Yes, sir.”
His father forces his mother out, making some flimsy excuses about some promise to help one of their friends load his truck for something or other that he forgot about and leaves without sparing either of them another look. The door slams and shakes the walls of the house.
“Jack,” Robby whispers. He reaches for him, but the truck hasn’t pulled out of the driveway yet. They aren’t safe yet, this house may never be safe again. Jack yanks himself out of reach and rushes to the kitchen. He downs the cold last half of his coffee and hunches over the sink. After what feels like an eternity, a gentle hand weaves its way over his spine and lands between his shoulder blades beneath his shirt.
“Sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry,” Robby says. “I think you handled that well, all things considered.”
Jack laughs, but it isn’t funny. “I shouldn’t have tried to hide you.”
“Jack, come on. I wouldn’t expect you to come out on a whim.”
“I should’ve stood up to him.”
Robby hooks his chin over Jack’s shoulder and massages along his ribs. “What if he called someone? What if he did something to try and get you discharged?”
“He still might.”
“Do you really think that?”
Jack taps the edge of the sink. “No. He’d be too embarrassed to tell everyone why I’m not in anymore.”
“I’m sorry, baby.” Robby kisses the back of his neck.
Jack blinks back tears. He can’t let Robby down anymore than he already has. “S’fine.”
Another kiss. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“It is.” Jack swallows. “Sorry for ruining our day.” The tears return.
“You didn’t ruin anything,” Robby says. “It’s not even noon. We can take a nap and start all over.”
With a weak nod, Jack lets Robby take his hand and guide him to their bedroom. It’s not enough, but it’ll have to do.
We had pathetic pent-up Robby and its successor: shameless pervert Abbot who found out about it.
Now we have the third and last installment where it all comes together with a bang. Well- a swallow.
He had planned for this. He had set a trap for his best friend to walk right into, like the horny animal Robby was. Or… well, Jack was, for deceiving him the way he did.
The notification chimed on Jack's phone, and this time it felt so much better than any other time within these past couple of weeks.
Weeks.
That's how long this plan had been brewing.
That's how long it had taken Robby to feel comfortable and confident enough to go to Jack's house when the man was on an EMT run.
Jack had needed to mention his house quite a few times before it either clicked with Robby or turned into a valid option for him. The house was empty whenever Jack had a shift with the squad. So Robby could even turn his free days into a little fantasy session if he wanted to.
The notification lingered on his screen, and Jack swiped to open it, watching the little box in which he could see Robby go through his typical little ritual.
Moving through his hallway toward the bed, Robby froze in the doorway. The hall camera caught the silhouette of his shuddering body before he finally decided to move inside, bee-lining for one of Jack's discarded clothes.
One of which Jack had ensured would be right there for Robby to grab and smell. Had even made sure he'd worn it during an especially heavy shift, leaving the fabric quite literally reeking of his scent. It was practically begging Robby to drag it into his face.
Jack watched the screen for three more seconds, his throat slowly going dry, before he slipped the phone back into his pocket. There was no on-call room today and no EMT shift either. Jack stepped out of his car, leaving it just around the block where he'd hidden it, and walked towards his townhouse.
When Jack unlocked the front door, he considered not staying quiet and making Robby shake with embarrassment the moment he stepped into view, but decided against it. Wanted to see the moment the illusion broke with his own two eyes.
He walked down the hallway with slow, deliberate steps, and when he reached the bedroom doorway, he leaned against the frame, crossing his arms in front of his chest. For a good moment, he just looked at what unfolded right in front of him.
Those soft, frantic noises as Robby fucked into his own hand, breathing and panting into the sweater Jack had left him, clearly already too far gone to notice the man looming in the door.
Jack took a moment to really look at the man in front of him, feeling himself stir in his pants, hardening at the plethora of needy sounds spilling from Robby's lips.
"You know it's almost rude to do this in my bed and not to invite me, right?" His voice called out through the darkness, and immediately all those beautiful sounds died away, leaving nothing but panicked panting behind.
Robby froze in the middle of his bed, staring at him through the edges of his sweater, his eyes wide from the shock of having been caught. Gorgeous. It was an even more gorgeous sight than Jack would have imagined.
He closed in on the bed, taking the time to sit at the foot of it, taking off his prosthetic — even if that made it easier for Robby to run, Jack was almost certain he wasn't going to.
"J-Jack," Robby choked out, his voice cracking. "It's not what- I- I'm sorry- I was just- I can explain!"
It was nothing but pathetic rambling as Robby's brain tried to keep up with the situation, certainly still hazy from the tight grip he had on himself.
A grip Jack was sure to switch against his own soon enough.
"Shhh, it's okay. I know." Jack told him with a mischievous smirk. "There is no need to explain anything when I already know."
With that, Jack turned to pull his phone out of his quickly tightening pocket and turned the screen to face Robby. The security app was still open, showing the live feed of his bedroom and their exact positions.
"You-" His best friend's voice was nothing but a whisper. A confused and uncertain whisper. "You knew? You set up a camera to catch me?"
"I set up a camera because someone was sneaking into my house, and since you lied to my face about it being you… I was worried." Jack turned to kneel on the edge of the mattress now, towering over Robby, looking down at the beautiful shape of him. All curled up and trying to hide that he still had his hand stuffed away in his pants.
"And then I kept watching because I liked what I saw. Sat in the on-call room too many times jerking off to the sound of you moaning my name into my laundry."
Robby's mouth parted at the admission, a soft, breathless gasp leaving his lips. The panic of being discovered — and certainly that very own brand of Robby's personal shame that led him to keeping all of this quiet — was still there, but underneath it, the reality of Jack's words seemed to sink in.
"You think I left that sweater out by accident?" Jack was crawling closer, intentionally caging Robby against the headboard, removing any sense of escape for him. Instead of doing anything rash, though, he merely let his hand brush over Robby's temple, fingertips sliding into slightly damp strands. "I wanted you right here. Wanted you in my bed, touching yourself to the thought of me. The only difference is today you won't have to use your own hand."
"Jack…" Robby whimpered out, very clearly overwhelmed by the offer and the situation. To Jack's absolute delight. "Are you- Are you sure?"
"Dead serious, actually," Jack gave back without giving Robby the chance to retreat back into his head. Instead, he reached down into those sweats and let his fingers wrap firmly over Robby's trembling hand still resting around his length. He squeezed once, forcing a sharp whine from Robby's throat that was nothing but music to his ears.
"No more running, Mike. Look at me."
When he did look, Jack was smiling.
"Good. That's good, now let me show you what happens when you actually get what you want."
When Robby looked up, he could see Jack smile. Despite there being a soft edge to it, he had known his best friend's expression long enough to read this one.
He was not going to get out of this unscathed.
"Good. That's good." Jack's voice was so low, the vibration sent a violent shiver straight down Michael's spine. "Now let me show you what happens when you actually get what you want."
Michael didn't even get a single second to breathe, let alone rebuild those walls Jack had successfully demolished within minutes. His hand, holding onto his leaking cock, was still wrapped by the other man's strong, large one. After a tight squeeze that made Michael gasp, Jack forced their combined grip down his length. Just once was enough.
The slick, electric friction had Michael's jaw go slack, his eyelids growing heavy. He'd already worked himself up quite a bit prior to being caught. But this? Being led by an unfamiliar yet well-known hand? Jack's hand felt much better than he could ever have imagined.
A broken, helpless sound caught in his throat, a pathetic noise he'd spent weeks trying to muffle with stolen fabric.
"Let go, Mike," Jack muttered right into his ear, and Michael didn't need to open his eyes to see how very close his best friend had gotten. He could feel the hot breath fan against his ear and the combined sensation of the tight grip around his hand, Jack's proximity and the fact that there was no escaping the scent he used to get himself over the edge again and again these past weeks-
The way Jack's lips formed his name- his legal name caught him almost more off-guard than everything else. It rendered him powerless against the command, his fingers twitching and going limp as he let his arm slide out of his pants, gripping the sheets below him instead. Now, just like that, Jack smirked down at him.
"Good boy~"
Jack moved with an easy and terrifyingly practiced grace when he shifted his weight, and Robby could feel his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird fighting the bars of its enclosure. Every muscle in Robby's body brace and a dizzying wave of heat crashed over him as Jack turned him onto his back, heavy thighs now bracketing his hips. Despite having pulled the sweater along with him, peeking over the fabric at Jack and still being very much dressed, he felt entirely exposed.
The reality of being pinned down- trapped beneath the sheer size of his best friend, Michael's mind spun, circling the fact that he wasn't dreaming this time around.
Michael could barely understand how it had happened. Where he'd been hiding his face in the sweater one second, too embarrassed to even look; the next, Jack's hands had yanked his sweats down, pinning his underwear at his ankles and swung Mike's legs over his broad shoulders. Shocked, Michael's eyes flew open almost instantly and he pulled the sweater from his face to be able to intervene.
"W- Jack wait- you don't have to," he tried to find his footing with the request.
Hazel eyes snapped up and Jack raised a brow as he locked their gazes for an agonizing second without saying a single thing. Then he leaned down to drag his tongue all the way up Michael's length, starting from the very base. Michael's head slammed back into the sheets, his eyes shutting as a loud groan tore from his chest. Once he'd reached the tip — and coaxed a desperate, broken whimper from Michael — Jack took a deliberate deep breath, inhaling the musky scent of the groin before him. Much to the poor attending's shock.
"I don't have to, but fuck do I want to."
Finally, the sweater got abandoned in favor of Michael's hands tangling themselves in salt-and-pepper curls, desperate for some form of anchor, as Jack parted his lips and slid his mouth over Michael's tip. It was a mistake to let out a shuddering gasp. The moment Michael parted his lips, Jack's head moved forward, swallowing his entire length in one deep, scorching push.
The sudden switch from hiding in the dark, jacking off to the faint thought of his best friend touching him to feeling said best friend's hot mouth all around him was, honestly, life-changing. Jack wasted no time, his head moving in a fast, steady rhythm on Michael's cock, almost too easily swallowing him whole.
"Fuck- Jack-" Michael moaned out, his head spinning with wanton and hips helplessly rutting up into that tight wet mouth. "Jack, I can't-"
With the unforgiving pace Jack set and the filthy wet sounds of his mouth, Michael could feel his orgasm build up more and more, pooling right below his stomach. He couldn't hold back any longer. Not with how good Jack was making him feel, his tongue circling Michael's tip every time he lifted his head.
"Stop-" Michael's voice was almost hoarse from how hard it was to get the words out. "Jack, wait- I'm gonna- I can't-"
But Jack didn't stop. Instead, he only increased the pressure, hollowing his cheeks, locking Michael's hips against the mattress and refusing to let him back away.
In the end, it wasn't the relentless pace, the hot, tight friction of Jack's mouth around his cock or even the impossible reality of his fantasy coming true, that undid him. It was the fact that Jack looked up at him through long lashes, drool leaking past perfect lips and that well-known cocky gaze Jack sported whenever he dared to challenge Robby.
There was no escape; there was only his best friend taking what was rightfully his, and who was Michael to deny him that?
For so long, this exact scenario had been nothing but a fantasy, a shameful secret he dared to only visit when the darkness got too much to bear. Now, the reality of it hit him like a damn tidal wave.
Jack didn't even pull back when Michael's hips bucked against the mattress. Instead, he simply took the heavy, frantic bursts of white straight down his throat without any issue and swallowed every single drop of Michael's ruin.
Through the haze of his orgasm, Michael could feel the relentless, rhythmic suction milking his quickly softening length dry. Jack's grip on his hips remained tight, locking them to the mattress and grounding him through the sheer violence of his climax. It was everything Michael had ever dreamed of, delivered with a perfection that already made him jealous of whoever had experienced it before him.
When Jack's mouth finally slid off him, a filthy string of slick connected them, and Michael collapsed into the pillows like a rag-doll. All his strength had left him. His chest heaved as he panted through the exhaustion of his release, skin burning with the shame of what had happened. Michael was painted bright pink from the tips of his ears down to the base of his chest and he quickly threw a trembling arm over his eyes to hide from the intensity of Jack's smug grin.
The mattress shifted as Jack crawled back up, an all too familiar body heat immediately crowding him. Without a word, Jack pulled the arm away from his face again, forcing Michael to watch as he licked his lips clean with that exact grin he had tried to avoid looking at. Specifically, when it was hovering mere inches from his face.
"See?" Jack's whisper fanned over Michael's face, the scent of Jack having mixed with the most intimate of his own, almost making him keen for more. "Much better than doing it alone."
Instead of coming up with a response that wouldn't sound like he just got his brain sucked out of him, Michael closed the distance between their faces as well as his eyes. Lifting his hand to slide slender fingers back into those gorgeous curls, Michael sighed into the kiss, holding on tight.
Robby who uses Jack’s vulnerability after his wife dies to not be alone after all his failed relationships. He knew Jack was looking for an anchor and selfishly made sure he was the only option
Jack who lowkey sabotages any attempted relationship Robby tries to have. He gets pissy if someone even looks at Robby too long. (This only fuels Robby’s abandonment issues and makes him more attached to Jack, the only person he has left)
Jack who sees how Robby is with Dennis and he’s seething. He takes Mohan under his wing in retaliation and Robby is pissed.
They bring out the worst obsessive traits in each other but they need each other like they need air
The first time they sleep together is rough and angry. Jack sees marks Dennis left and he’s practically seeing red
They don’t talk about what happened. But Robby goes to work with hickeys on his neck the next day and starts giving Dennis a cold shoulder
Robby who is aromantic. Of course, he doesn’t really know that that's an option. (Maybe he has a late awakening when one of the pittlings talks about it) He just knows he feels like he needs to run everytime a partner starts being too serious, too romantic. Starts having too many expectations. He needs the physical touch and he enjoys having sex and so he tries and tries again.
The seven-week-itch is born. He doesn’t really think it's his fault that there seems to be such a constant pattern to when the people he is with start expecting romantic feelings. Feelings that Robby never has. Sometimes it holds a little longer. He does have partners he truly loves, Janey is one of them, but eventually they all notice that Robby doesn’t love them the way they need him to. Robby is never enough.
Sometimes Robby wishes, dating people was as easy as being friends with Jack. What an odd thought to have, he thinks immediately after.
Jack who isn’t interested in dating after his wife dies. It doesn’t really cross his mind anymore. He's too old to want to start anything new. He simply can’t see himself doing it all over with someone new. But still Jack doesn’t like being alone. He's so touch-starved.
They have been friends a long time. Jack is aware he has always had some funny feelings for Robby. It might be all the therapy, but he's pretty in tune with that part of himself. It's not quite romantic but it sure as hell is nothing like any of his other buddies.
One day it just spills out of Jack. They're watching a game, sitting thigh to thigh like always, but it's not enough. Jack goes for Robby's hand. He intertwines their fingers, pulls both their hands into his lap, resting against his thigh. He lets his head fall against Robby's shoulder.
"Sorry brother," Jack tells him, he can’t look at him but Robby isn’t pulling his hand away so it can’t be that bad. He tries to put a little humor in his voice. "I guess just need a fucking cuddle today. So you gotta help me out here. I'll be out of your way in a few minutes."
It's suspiciously quiet for a moment and then he feels Robby lean his head against the top of his. His hand is squeezed once.
Robby's voice sounds a little wet, when he says "No, just stay like that, please."
Robby catches eyes with (then married) jack (post-war) at a bar, they reminisce on med school times then get drunk and they end up sleeping together. Robby wakes up to a note from Jack saying it was a mistake.
Summary: A washout service dog who can't stop caring about strangers. A man who can't remember the last time he touched something alive that wasn't crashing. Jack looks at both of them and sees the same animal.
Tags: Hurt/Comfort, established situationship, Passive Suicidal Ideation, Mental Illness, Just general mental illness, Fluff and Angst, Service Dogs, this has been in my head for ages and i finally wrote it
Notes: I’ve been trying to finish On Call, but this has been rattling around in my noggin a while. Please enjoy and comment if you feel compelled.
Robby had been back for twenty-three days, and he could tell you the exact number because he'd started counting again. Counting was one of the things Dr. Feinberg had suggested during their video sessions. If the static rose, count something real. Days. Breaths. The number of trucks on the street outside his apartment. It worked about half the time, which his physician brain insisted on noting was no better than placebo, and the other half of the time he ended up sitting in his kitchen at 4 am, his heart trying to escape his sternum, thinking thoughts he didn't say out loud to anyone.
Well. Almost anyone.
Jack knew. Jack had known since the first night back, when Robby had ridden the bike straight from the Canadian border to Jack's place instead of his own, fourteen hours in the saddle, and Robby stood on the doorstep vibrating like a struck tuning fork. He hadn't been able to explain why Vermont had been fine and Quebec had been fine and Ontario had been fine, and then somewhere along the highway the whole thing had come apart in his chest like wet paper. Jack hadn't asked him to explain. Jack had just pulled him inside, fed him, and sat there with a hand splayed warm between his shoulder blades until the shaking stopped.
Three weeks later, Robby still hadn't gone back to The Pitt. Gloria had granted the extension without a fight, which was its own kind of alarming. Gloria never gave anything without a fight, which meant somebody had told her something, which meant Jack had told her something, and Robby couldn't even be mad about it because he was too tired to be mad about anything. That was the part nobody warned you about. The ideation wasn't dramatic. It didn't announce itself with violins. It was just a quiet administrative voice in the back of his head, patiently suggesting that everyone's lives ran smoother without him in them, and some mornings he lacked the energy to file a rebuttal.
So when Jack showed up on a Saturday in October, banging on his door at 8 am with two coffees and that particular set to his jaw, Robby knew resistance was pointless.
"Get dressed," Jack said, handing over a cup. "We're going for a drive."
"It's Saturday.”
"Astute. Boots, not sneakers."
"Where are we going?"
"Out." Jack was already scanning the apartment in that quick tactical sweep he probably didn't know he did, dishes in the sink, blinds drawn, the bike helmet by the door where it had sat untouched for a week. Whatever the sweep told him, his face gave nothing away. "You got somewhere better to be?"
Robby gestured at the couch, an ancient throw blanket, a paused documentary about Byzantine iconography he had been not-watching for three days. "I have a very full schedule."
"Uh-huh. Boots."
The drive out of the city was quiet in the way things were quiet with Jack, comfortable, no dead air needing to be filled. Jack drove the truck with one wrist draped over the wheel, and Robby watched Pittsburgh thin out into hills gone riotous with fall color. All that orange and rust and gold, trees burning themselves down for winter with what looked, from the passenger seat, like enviable conviction.
"You gonna tell me where we're going?"
"Nope."
"Am I being detained? Because legally I feel like I should get a phone call."
"You waived that right when you ate half my breakfast sandwich."
"That was kidnapping tax." Robby settled back against the seat. The truth was the motion helped, the hum of tires on asphalt, the world scrolling by demanding nothing from him. It was the standing still that got him. He suspected Jack knew that, the same way Jack seemed to know most things without being told, which should have been irritating and instead felt like the only net strung under him some days.
Forty minutes out, Jack turned off the state route onto gravel. A farm unspooled around them, white fencing, a red barn gone soft pink with age, a long low outbuilding with a row of chain-link runs along one side. A hand-painted sign at the gate read KEYSTONE CANINE PARTNERS. Under it, smaller: “Service Dogs for Veterans.”
Robby read it twice. Something cold and defensive stirred in his gut. "Jack. What the hell are we doing here?"
Jack put the truck in park and killed the engine like it was nothing, like they were stopping for gas. "Petting dogs is good for brain chemicals," he said. "Oxytocin. Cortisol reduction. It's science, brother. Look it up."
"I'm familiar with the literature."
"Then you know I'm right.”
"You drove me forty minutes into farm country for brain chemicals."
"Beautiful day for it."
Jack was out of the truck before Robby could push further, and the neat sidestep, the retreat into logistics told Robby everything. Jack Abbot did not do anything by accident. The man planned his coffee refills. Whatever this was, it had a briefing document somewhere, and Robby was the only one who hadn't been read in.
He got out anyway. The air was cold and smelled like cut hay and dog, and somewhere behind the barn a whole chorus of barking had started up at the sound of the truck.
The man who came around the outbuilding was built like a fridge, silver at the temples, walking with the faint hitch of someone whose knee had been rebuilt and had opinions about weather like this. His face split into a grin when he saw Jack.
"Well, goddamn. Major Jackass in the flesh."
"That's Major Jackass, sir, thank you," Jack said, and let himself be hauled into a back-slapping hug that Robby suspected registered on seismographs.
"Brad Kowalczyk," the man said, extending a hand to Robby. His grip was careful, calibrated, a man used to greeting people who flinched. "You must be the doc."
"Michael Robinavitch. Robby." He shook the other man’s hand, shooting Jack a look over Brad's shoulder.
You must be the doc. So he'd been discussed. Wonderful. The cold thing in Robby’s gut coiled tighter.
"Brad ran combat medic teams in Kandahar," Jack said. "Now he runs this place. Mobility dogs, psych service dogs. Places them with vets, mostly."
"It's good work," Brad said easily. "The dogs do most of it. I just handle the paperwork and get outsmarted daily." He glanced between them, and something passed across his face, a flicker of the same tactical assessment Jack did, softer around the edges. "You want the tour, or you want to meet him first?"
Him.
Robby turned to Jack slowly. "Meet who?"
Jack's face was doing its best impression of innocence, which was poor, because his face wasn't built for it. "Brad's got a dog he wants you to see."
"Jack."
"Just meet him. That's all."
Before Robby could assemble a response with the appropriate amount of profanity, Brad whistled two sharp notes and unlatched the gate of the nearest run.
The dog that rushed out was the coloring of a Bernese mountain dog, black and rust and white, but the coat had golden retriever ideas, long and feathered and cheerfully unkempt, and the whole animal had been assembled at roughly eighty pounds with paws suggesting the project wasn't finished. He came out at Brad's heel like a professional, sat, held position…
…and then his head swung toward Robby, and the professionalism died on the spot.
"Goose," Brad said, warning in it.
Goose broke like a wave. He didn't run so much as surge, covering the ground between them in a floppy, determined gallop, and then he was on Robby, not jumping, exactly, but insisting, shoving his enormous head into Robby's hands, then his hip, then leaning his whole body weight against Robby's legs hard enough to stagger him. When Robby tried to step back, the dog followed, herding him, nudging at his knees with a blunt snout like a man leaning on a doorbell.
"What the – okay. Okay, hi. Hello." Robby put his hands up, which accomplished nothing. "What does he want?"
"He wants you on the ground," Brad said. He made no move to intervene. Neither had Jack, who had propped himself against the fence with his arms crossed and the expression of a man watching his horse come up the outside rail.
"On the?"
Goose leaned harder, buckling Robby's knee. It was sit down or fall down, and thirty years of ER work had taught Robby to take the controlled descent, so he went down into the cold grass, and the dog climbed directly into his lap like it was an assigned seat.
The weight landed across his thighs and chest all at once, and Goose gave one great sigh, pressed his head under Robby's chin, and went still.
And Robby's whole body…
He didn't have a word for it, which was rare. The weight settled over him like something poured, and something in his chest that had been ratcheting tighter since roughly 2020 gave a single click and let out a notch. His breath, which he had not known was shallow, dropped into his belly. His hands came up on instinct and buried themselves in the ridiculous coat, and the dog was warm, furnace-warm, a heartbeat thudding slow and steady against Robby's own sternum like a metronome set to a saner tempo than his.
It occurred to him, distantly, in the clinical part of his brain that never fully shut up: deep pressure stimulation. Parasympathetic activation. Measurable drops in heart rate and cortisol. He had read the studies. He had cited the studies, once, in a grant meeting.
The studies had failed to mention what it was like. That was the thought that kept circling as he sat in the grass of a farm forty minutes from the city with a dog's heartbeat against his chest: he could not remember the last time he had touched another living thing that wasn't bleeding. Wasn't coding, wasn't crashing, wasn't a body on a gurney that needed his hands to do something fast and correct. Even Jack…Jack he touched in passing, in doorways, in the desperate press of brother, I am so fucking glad to see you, and there was always an edge to it, always a checking-for-damage underneath. This was just weight. Just warmth. A creature who had assessed him from across a farmyard, diagnosed something, and prescribed himself.
His eyes were stinging. He blinked hard at the fence line and pretended it was the wind.
"So that's Goose," Brad said, ambling over, unhurried. "Golden-Bernese, best we can figure. Two years old. Smartest dog I've had come through here in a decade, and a complete professional failure."
Robby cleared his throat, got most of his voice back. "Failure how? He seems…" Goose readjusted, shoving more of himself into Robby's lap, a physical impossibility he achieved anyway. "...thorough."
Brad laughed. "He's a washout. Aced every skill we threw at him. Deep pressure, interrupt tasks, room checks, cover positions – dog's a savant. Problem is, he can't hold a handler. A service dog's supposed to lock onto one person, their person, and tune out the world. Goose can't do it. Too empathetic. We take him into a grocery store for public-access training, and he'll be walking perfectly at heel, and then he'll catch wind of some poor guy two aisles over having a quiet panic attack in front of the cereal, and that's it. He's gone. Off to triage a stranger. Dragged one of my trainers halfway across a Giant Eagle to lean on a woman crying by the frozen peas." Brad shook his head with the exasperated fondness of a man describing a brilliant, unemployable relative. "He can't be a service dog. He wants to triage."
The laugh came out of Robby before he could stop it, cracked, startled, more feeling in it than he'd intended to show. Goose lifted his head at the sound, examined Robby's face at close range with amber-brown eyes of frankly unsettling intelligence, and then licked his jaw once, decisively, like initialing a chart.
Jack pushed off the fence. He crouched down at Robby's side, forearms on his knees, and there was something careful in his face now, the amusement banked to make room for it.
"Brad called me a few weeks back," Jack said. "Told me about him. Washouts get adopted out, they're great dogs, they just can't work the program. But this guy's a special case. Wrong home, he'd be a wreck. He needs somebody worth all that pointing." He paused, and Robby watched him choose the next words like a man defusing something. "So I sponsored his adoption. Covered his training costs, vetting, all of it. Wanted to make sure he ends up with someone who needs him."
The cold thing in Robby's gut, which the dog had very nearly warmed away, rehardened. "Someone who needs him," he repeated.
"Yeah."
"And who might that be, Jack?"
Jack held his gaze, steady, unblinking. "You know who."
Brad, with the tact of a man who had spent over a decade around exactly this kind of conversation, straightened up. "I'm gonna go check on the kennels," he said to no one in particular. "Take your time. He's had his breakfast; he'll sit on you till spring if you let him." Then he was gone, boots crunching away across the gravel, leaving Robby on the ground under a dog with his… whatever Jack was, the man who held his medical proxy and his heart and apparently now his psychiatric care plan – who crouched beside him wearing an expression of infuriating calm.
"So this is an intervention," Robby said.
"It's a dog."
"It's an ambush with fur, is what it is." The defensiveness came up fast and hot, old and reliable, the same voice that had once asked Jack if he really wanted to have this fucking conversation. "You talked to your Army buddy about me. You've been what? Planning this for weeks? Getting Gloria to extend my leave, telling Brad about the doc, arranging a dog like I'm some –" His throat closed on the word. He forced it. "Like I'm some broken thing who can't be left alone with himself."
Jack didn't flinch. That was the thing about Jack; you could fire everything you had at him and he just stood in it like weather. "You done?"
"No." Except he was. The anger had nowhere to go. It never did with Jack, who refused to give it a target, and Goose had felt the tension climb through Robby's body and responded by pressing harder, a warm insistent weight leaning into his sternum, and it was very difficult to sustain righteous fury while being aggressively cuddled by nearly six stones of failed service dog. "This is manipulative as hell, you know that."
"Yep."
"You're not even going to deny it."
"I planned an op, brother. Recon, asset in place, extraction route." Jack tipped his head toward the truck. "You want honest? Here's honest. You've been back three weeks. You're not sleeping. You leave the blinds shut. The bike hasn't moved in eight days, and I know because I check, and the fact that I'm relieved the bike hasn't moved should tell you where my head's at." His voice stayed level, but something moved underneath it, tectonic. "I'm not gonna sit on my hands and watch you sink. That's not a thing I'm capable of. So yeah. I called in a favor and I stacked the deck. Court-martial me."
Robby looked away, out at the tree line, all that gorgeous dying color. His hand kept moving through the dog's coat like it belonged to someone else. "I have a therapist," he said. "I have you. I don't need…" He gestured vaguely at the animal occupying his entire lower body. "A live-in emotional support unit."
"Okay. Then think about it tactically." And there it was, Jack shifting registers, off the emotional terrain where Robby could dig in and onto the practical ground where Robby had no defenses, because the bastard knew exactly how his mind worked.
"Feinberg's an hour a week. I work nights, you're about to go back to days; we're gonna be ships passing half the time. That leaves a lot of hours where it's just you and the static. Dog's a reason to get up. He eats at 6 am whether you feel like existing or not. He needs walking, so you're outside, moving, getting sunlight, that's your circadian rhythm, your vitamin D, your baseline exercise, and you'd prescribe every bit of it to a patient and you know it." Jack ticked the points off with the flat efficiency of a man reading a checklist he'd rehearsed, which he absolutely had. "Plus he does deep pressure on demand, interrupts panic responses, and he's already demonstrated he can find you from across a farmyard. You want to talk evidence-based? He's a multi-modal intervention with a tail."
"You've been practicing that."
"In the mirror. Twice."
Robby huffed. Goose's ears twitched at the sound and the dog burrowed closer, nose cold against his throat, and Robby felt his own pulse where the dog leaned on it, slower than it had been in weeks. Traitor body. Traitor brain chemicals.
The silence stretched. Out past the barn, a dog barked twice and gave it up. The October light lay long and gold across the field, and Jack waited, because Jack could outwait anything, and finally Robby heard himself say, quietly, to the dog's scruff more than to the man:
"I'm trying, you know. I'm doing the appointments. I'm–" His voice did something unreliable, and he stopped, jaw working, then started again. "I'm trying to get my shit together. I just thought I'd be further along by now. Three months away, all that fucking maple syrup, and I come back and I'm still–" He shook his head. "Some days it still gets loud, Jack. And I keep thinking, I should have this handled. I'm fifty-five years old. I've done this job my whole life. I should be able to get my shit together, and I can't figure out why it's taking so goddamn long."
Jack was quiet for a moment. Then he moved, came off his crouch and sat down in the cold grass beside Robby like it was nothing, shoulder to shoulder, close enough that Robby could feel the heat of him down one side while the dog covered the rest. Goose, without lifting his head, thumped his tail once against the ground, taking attendance.
"Hey." Jack's voice had gone low and rough. "Look at me."
Robby looked. Jack's eyes were steady on his, gray and unarmored, nothing held back for once.
"Your shit doesn't need to be together," Jack said. "There's no deadline. There's no board exam. Nobody's grading this." His hand came up, settled warm on the back of Robby's neck, thumb pressing slow against the knotted muscle there. "Alive is enough. You hear me? You get up, you feed the dog, you come back to me at the end of the day still breathing, that's a win. That's the whole mission. Everything else is extra credit."
Robby's eyes were stinging again and this time the wind provided no alibi. He dropped his forehead until it met Jack's shoulder, and Jack's hand slid up into his hair and held on. Goose, reading the room with the skill that had gotten him fired, stretched up and draped himself across both their laps at once, a warm bridge, sighing hugely like his work here was very hard and very important.
"He's going to shed on everything I own," Robby said into Jack's jacket, wrecked and muffled.
"Yep."
"My lease says forty pounds max."
"Funny thing about that. Your landlord's a Marine. We had a conversation."
Robby laughed, wet and helpless, and lifted his head. "You really did plan an op."
"Told you." Jack's mouth curved, but his eyes stayed soft, searching Robby's face for the verdict. "So?"
Robby looked down at the dog. Goose looked back up at him, upside down now, jowls flopped open in an expression of complete idiot bliss, this brilliant failure of an animal who couldn't stop caring about strangers in grocery stores, who had taken one look across a farmyard at a man barely holding himself upright and decided that one, he needs me.
He knew the feeling. God help them both, he knew the feeling.
"Yeah," Robby said, and his voice cracked on it and he didn't care. "Okay. Yeah."
The tail started up like a rotor. Jack leaned in and pressed a kiss to his temple, brief and fierce, and against his skin he murmured, "Good man," and Robby couldn't have said which of them he meant.
Probably both. Jack was efficient like that.
---
The clock on Robby's microwave said 2:42 when Jack padded out of the bedroom in search of water, moving quietly out of habit. Robby had actually been sleeping, was the thing. Deep, even breathing, one arm flung across Jack's side of the mattress, the kind of sleep Jack had spent three weeks watching him fail to find. He would have crawled over broken glass before disturbing it.
He rounded the corner into the kitchen and stopped dead.
The fridge was open. The interior light spilled a pale rectangle across the floor, and in the middle of that rectangle sat Goose. The crisper drawer was pulled out. The block of sharp cheddar Robby had bought two days ago sat on the tile between the dog's front paws, plastic wrap peeled back with surgical precision, one corner of the cheese already missing in action.
Goose froze. Jack froze. For a long moment the only sound was the refrigerator's condenser humming, displeased with the open door.
Then Goose, very slowly, very deliberately, lowered his head, and took another bite of cheese while maintaining direct eye contact.
"Oh, you brazen son of a bitch," Jack breathed, delighted beyond all reason.
He ran the sequence backward in his head like an incident report. The kitchen towel Robby left looped through the door handle. Dog grabs towel, backs up, door swings. Dog opens crisper, how Jack didn't even want to know, probably the same snout that could buckle a grown man's knees from standing, and extracts the target with plenty of time to consume it before breakfast. Two weeks in residence and the animal had cased the joint, identified the asset, and executed a mission. Brad had said Goose was the smartest dog to come through in a decade. Brad had undersold it.
Jack knew he should intervene. Confiscate the cheese, close the fridge, deliver the stern voice they'd been practicing. Instead he backed out of the kitchen and went to commit the greater crime of waking Robby up.
"Hey." He sat on the edge of the bed, hand on Robby's shoulder, shaking gently. "Hey. Robby. You gotta see this."
Robby surfaced in stages, squinting. "What – is it the – what's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. Something's perfect. Come on. Quiet."
"Jack, it's–" Robby lifted his head to glare at the clock, hair a full catastrophe. "It's three in the morning."
"And you're gonna thank me. Move your ass."
Whatever was in Jack's face must have sold it, because Robby hauled himself up, grumbling, and followed him down the hall in his t-shirt and boxers. Jack held up a fist at the corner – hold – and Robby, God love him, actually stopped. Jack eased them both around the doorframe.
Goose had made progress. The cheese was now maybe sixty percent cheese. The dog looked up at his audience of two, tail sweeping a slow, unrepentant arc across the tile, and gave the block a possessive lick.
Robby stared. "Is that…did he…" He turned to look at the towel on the floor, the open door, and Jack watched him assemble the same forensic timeline, watching the exact moment it landed. "He used the towel?"
"Two weeks," Jack said, reverent. "Two weeks of surveillance and he executed a night op. That's discipline. That's a professional."
"That's my good cheddar." But Robby's voice was doing something, shaking apart at the seams, and then he was laughing, really laughing, bent forward with a hand braced on the counter, the deep helpless kind Jack hadn't heard out of him since before the sabbatical, since before a lot of things. At the sound of it, Goose abandoned the cheese entirely and came trotting over to lean his whole weight against Robby's bare legs, gazing up with cheddar breath and total moral confidence, and that set Robby off worse.
"He's not even sorry," Robby wheezed. "Look at him. Zero remorse. He's proud."
"He should be. That was clean work." Jack shut the fridge and tossed the towel onto the counter, grinning so hard his face ached. "We're gonna need a carabiner for that handle."
"He'll defeat a carabiner by Thursday."
"Then we escalate. This is an arms race now."
Robby wiped his eyes, chest still hiccuping with laughter, and slid down the cabinet to sit on the kitchen floor. Goose climbed into his lap like the invoice for services rendered, and Robby wrapped his arms around the dog and pressed his laughing face into the thief's neck. Jack stood in the light of the microwave clock and watched them, feeling something in his own chest release a knot it had been holding since Robby left for his sabbatical.
"Worth waking up for?" he asked.
Robby looked up at him over the dog's head, eyes bright, three-in-the-morning soft. "Yeah," he said. "Worth waking up for."
Ever since he walked in on Robby with a stranger that one time, Jack has been paranoid every time he enters the dorm. Any day of the week, all hours of the day he worries about walking in on Robby enjoying some other man.
It’s just gross. They share a space, and Jack has the good sense not to bring any women around here, Robby should give him the same respect.
He says as much one night when he’s humping Robby’s ass like a dog, hoping that’ll make him more pliable, but all Robby does is roll his eyes.
“Jesus Christ. It was one time. I don't usually come back here," he says.
Jack’s top lip curls. "What? You like to fuck guys in dark alleys?"
"You shouldn't go sticking your dick where you can't see."
A horrible smugness takes over Robby's face. "Oh, you've got me on the wrong side of the wall."
He's bullshitting. Jack is almost certain. 99.9%, but doubt lingers. Jack hates it. "I don't like you talking back."
"I don't care what you like anymore," Robby says. "We can keep this up, but I'm enjoying myself."
"You weren't before?" The thought is a heavy hit to Jack's ego.
Robby hums. “This is alright.” He reaches into his underwear and starts jerking himself off. Like Jack isn’t even there, or he’s just some toy helping Robby reach his own orgasm.
“It’ll be better if you let me fuck you.” Ever since that morning, Robby has had a strict no entrance policy on his asshole, and he rarely gets fully undressed anymore. Thankfully, he’s still willing to blow Jack, but only if he sets the pace. Gone are the days of Jack getting to fuck Robby’s face like the wimpy little queer he is, which is a shame because Jack knows Robby liked it as much as he did.
“Kiss me and you can,” Robby sneers.
Jack pushes himself up on his knees, distancing himself from Robby's tempting lips. "You wish." He juts his hips in silence, letting Robby's breathy sounds and the creak of the bed lead him to orgasm. Even as his dick softens, Jack continues to grind his crotch against the base of the plug sticking out of Robby's hole. It's too much; painful electric shocks zip through every touch, but he needs to play some part in Robby's peak.
Robby is just as captivating as always during his orgasm. Head tilted back, exposing his long, flushed neck, with desperate whimpers jumping out of his throat as his cock spurts white lines. Some of it escapes his tiny briefs and makes a pretty dotted line under his belly button. Jack has to bite his tongue to resist licking it up.
"That scratched an itch," Robby teases, stretching like he's woken from a nap. Nothing like the fucked out bliss Jack was hoping for. "But I'm still going out tonight."
"Fuck off," Jack bites. His legs wobble under him as he retreats to the bathroom.
"You should come," Robby calls after him.
Yeah fucking right. Jack lines himself up over the toilet and forces himself to pee, anything to get him away from Robby for a moment, away from his invite to whatever dilapidated building the city's homos meet in.
Piss dribbles into the toilet. Robby’s offered for Jack to tag along to The Man Hole before; the name alone is enough to make Jack grimace. He can't imagine how filthy he'd feel stepping inside; he's sure whatever that place is, someone like Robby has no business hanging around there. Jack stuffs his dick back in his pants and ignores Robby for the rest of the afternoon.
Long after the sun sets, Robby leans against Jack's half of the wall. "Sure you don't want to come?" He's cut the bottom half of his shirt off, exposing the soft hair that stretches from his belly button to under the waistband of his panties that pokes out over his jeans.
"No," Jack grits out. He turns back to his book and clenches his fist as Robby leaves.
What the fuck is Robby going to do there anyway? Drink shitty beer? Or maybe a frilly girl drink; that might be the only thing they sell at homo bars. He has to be lying about the glory hole. There's no way he would actually do that.
What if Robby does? What if he does it for the first time tonight just to prove a point to Jack? No way. Jack grabs his keys and runs out the door.
The Man Hole is more difficult to find than Jack anticipated, but eventually he finds the glowing red sign in a dingy part of town. The lights in the 'O' wink at him. Fitting.
It's way more crowded inside than Jack anticipated; men in mesh shirts and cut-off shorts keep knocking into him. One guy winks at him, but Jack ignores him, solely focused on finding Robby and dragging him far away from here.
Just when Jack is starting to think Robby was giving him the runaround and didn't come here at all, Jack spots a familiar head of hair. In theory, there's nothing special about it: straight, brown, and short, like half the fuckers in here, but Jack knows that hair. He's felt it between his fingers and yanked at it in desperation.
There's an older guy behind Robby, holding his waist, caging him against the bar, and whispering something in his ear. Robby laughs at something he says and leans back in his grip, tilting his head up and saying something that scrapes his lips over the man's jaw.
Jack stares. It's better than a glory hole, but not by much. This guy's greasy fucking hair is tickling Robby's cheek, and Jack has to suppress the impulse to rip it out of this guy's scalp.
He's picturing all the ways he could beat the snot out of this guy when Robby spots him, and it only takes one horrible second for him to decide to punish Jack.
Robby wraps his arms around the man's shoulders and captures his lips in his own. The man doesn't waste any time. He envelopes Robby's bare waist with his large hands and pushes Robby back against the bar.
The whole bar goes red. Jack shoves his way through the crowd, grabs the man's shirt with two angry fists and throws him back. Jack can hear him stumbling and cursing behind him, but he doesn't give a fuck. All his attention is on Robby.
Jack takes the man's place, caging Robby in, and presses a hot, wet kiss to Robby's neck. He can feel the gasp in Robby's throat against his lips.
"What the fuck?" The guy's rasping voice echoes. Jack detaches himself from Robby's neck and looks up. Robby is staring back at him with rich brown eyes. "You didn't say you had a boyfriend."
"I don't," Robby says. His eyes never leave Jack's.
Jack leans in close and whispers in Robby's ear, "I kissed you. You said if I wanted to fuck you, I had to kiss you. You never said where."
One corner of Robby's mouth quirks up. "Touché." He looks past Jack's shoulder. "Sorry."
"Fuckin' whatever," the guy mutters. Good riddance.
Robby grabs Jack's hand and drags him through the crowded bar. A warm tingle spreads through Robby's fingers into Jack, sprinting up the length of his arm, through his chest, to a flutter in his stomach.
The bathroom lights are a lot brighter than the main area. Jack blinks stupidly, waiting for his eyes to adjust, and lets Robby guide him to the last stall.
There's a hole in the wall leading to the next stall over.
The fluttering in Jack's stomach becomes a grating churn. "You don't really..."
Robby follows his eye line and laughs. "Ew, no." He pushes Jack playfully. "I only fuck hot guys."
Jack's chest puffs. "So you weren't gonna fuck that dude?"
"Hey! I thought he was handsome."
A disapproving noise comes from Jack. Robby grins and slings his arms around Jack's neck.
"It's in your best interest to trust my taste," he teases. He tightens his arms until they're barely two inches apart. Robby must have been one of God's favorite creations, because there is no reason for him to be this beautiful.
The beauty closes his eyes and comes impossibly closer. At the last second, Jack turns his head, and Robby's lips land on his cheek, barely missing the corner of his mouth.
Robby pulls away and clicks his jaw in irritation. "Seriously?"
"I held up my end of the deal," Jack argues.
"No, you found a loophole." His hands land on his hips. They are accentuated stunningly by his exposed underwear. "Which I will honor under one condition."
"What?" Jack's dick has been throbbing since he felt Robby's pulse under his lips; he'll do anything. The fantasy of kissing Robby properly enters his head again. Almost anything.
"Kiss me again. If you're not going to kiss me right, you're gonna kiss me as much as you want to fuck me."
Robby's head hits the wall with a small thunk as Jack shoves him against it. His lips are locked on Robby's neck before he can think, leaving a sloppy, wet trail in his wake.
It isn't long before the collar of Robby's shirt gets in his way. Without thinking, Jack lifts Robby's cropped shirt and kisses the center of his chest. Robby is too thin for there to be any semblance of cleavage, but he reacts with pretty sighs just like all the girls Jack has had before.
It's too easy to take one of Robby's nipples in his mouth. Jack swirls his tongue around the bud, sucking and nipping around it, anything to keep Robby's pretty moans going.
Robby fists his hands in Jack's curls, which gets a moan rumbling through Jack. He wonders if this is how it feels when he holds Robby while he goes down on him.
Jack continues his way down Robby's soft stomach, giving special attention to his happy trail.
"That's good," Robby sighs. "So good."
Jack needs to hear more of that.
He licks a long stripe over the waistband of Robby's panties and undoes his jeans. They fall to the floor in a pathetic pile, and the tent of Robby's straining dick has never been closer to his face.
No. No way.
Jack flips Robby so his front is pressed against the wall. He pulls the backside of Robby's tiny briefs down and relishes in the way his ass bounces from the movement.
He decorates one cheek with sloppy kisses and kneads the other with a wide palm.
"Jack," Robby gasps. "Oh, fuck." He reaches back and replaces one hand back on Jack's head. His grip isn't as good from this angle, but the way his blunt nails scratch at the back of Jack's neck is hypnotizing.
Jack uses one thumb to spread Robby's cheeks and feel his empty hole. "No plug?"
Robby scoffs. "And risk it hitting this floor?"
Excellent point. The foul condition of what he's kneeling on hadn't been at the forefront of Jack's mind, too engrossed in Robby, but he sure as hell wouldn't want any of his shit to touch it either. He wouldn't be in here at all if it weren't for the incentive in front of him.
He spreads Robby's cheeks with both hands, fully exposing his fluttering hole. He's frequently wondered how different it would be to have his tongue here versus a pussy. Jack runs his thumb across it, and it flutters. Practically begging for Jack to find out.
Girls have asses...
He licks a long, thick stripe over Robby's hole. A sharp gasp and a firm yank on his hair are the first answer he gets. He takes another lick.
"Fuck! Jack, are you out of your mind?"
Maybe. It's not anything like a pussy. Not as soft or wet, but it's got it's own allure. Tighter for sure. He digs his hand into the meat of Robby's ass and worms his tongue inside. It's softer than he thought.
Gorgeous whimpers echo through the bathroom. God, Jack wishes they were back in the dorm. He would lay Robby down and trace his insides all night.
His tongue slips out, and Jack zigzags over the outside, adoring the way Robby twitches at the sensation. Jack shoves his own hand down the front of his jeans and jerks his cock with hard strokes.
Robby is gasping and whimpering his name so prettily. All Jack can think about is getting him off like this, making Robby cum in his little panties because Jack is eating him out. No dick needed.
It isn't long before Robby is pushing back against his face, chasing his own orgasm. Fuck, there is nowhere else Jack ever wants to be but right here.
He feels the moment Robby cums. Robby shakes and quivers around Jack's tongue and moans like a howl. Jack prays everyone in the bar heard him. Especially that fucker from earlier.
Robby is clenching in the aftershocks when Jack soils his own jeans. He sprays hot and desperate into his own hand and pumps until there's nothing left for him to give.
Jack pants in the open air, wishing he was back buried inside Robby, gathering his bearings as Robby redresses himself.
"Okay," Robby sighs. "Deal kept."
He's ethereal, standing over Jack like this. He looms like a marble statue. Something for Jack to beg and pray at the feet of.
Robby grabs Jack's hand and helps him stand. "Let's go home."
All Jack can do is nod. Robby could guide him anywhere right now, and he'd be too entranced to stop him.
Is it just me or the more I watch ER, the more I can't see Carter as young!Robby that a lot of people seem to want/would like him to be? John’s beautiful face and kindness aside, he's actually a little bratty (especially in the early seasons like 1-4) and some of his actions made me go “Whaaattt??? I can't believe you just said that to your mentor!" Or "I can't believe you're about to get drunk with some chick when you have to get back to the hospital in like an hour or so!!!" (And please, I say all this with all the affection I have, because I love both Carter and Robby so much). Anyway, just wanted to bounce thoughts with someone hehe!
i've said this before but they are completely different characters acted by the same man. there are times when watching er i spotted something robby would do or say and when i watch the pitt id spot something john carter would do but its because its noah wyle's mannerisms and skills shining through.
john carter was a spoiled bratty rich boy who was neglected by both of his parents when his older brother died. he grew up with an abusive and controlling pair of grandparents who dicated every move until he boldly chose his own path. he is deeply traumatised and he was sexually assaulted at age 11 and he had no one at all to call his own for a very long time as he basically raised himself and fell into harmful habits in a toxic spiral again and again. but he's a good man and a fantastic doctor and he tries, he really really tries.
michael robinavitch was abandoned by his mother at 8 years old to his bubba and we know nothing about his father or if he was even around. he's jewish but he's deeply struggling with his faith. he's also deeply traumatised but burned out from covid, the loss of his mentor, and the emotional strain of holding an entire hospital on his shoulders. we know he's a good leader, a mentor, a teacher, he's respected, admired, and people really care and love him. but he's really struggling with his mental health and suicidal ideation and because of that he's different and he's broken but he needs help.
i don't and won't compare the two or see carter as a young!robby because they're just too different.
Robby who cannot settle no matter how well he eats or how loud he turns his TV.
Robby who is desperate for some kind of peace and knows the one spot where he can find it.
So he jumps on his bike, and drives over to Jack's place.
He's so familiar with the layout, he barely has to turn on the light. He only needs to follow his heart and is carried right into his best friend's bedroom.
Michael knows he shouldn't be here, not without telling Jack... No matter how many times he keeps reminding him he's welcome to stay over any time.
But then again, Jack doesn't know what he does when he stays over.
Jack doesn't know how deeply, deeply disgusting he is.
So he never told Jack, that when the darkness gets too much, he comes over, grabs one of his best friends worn sweaters out of his hamper, settles on the bed and presses his face into the fabric.
He would never dare tell Jack how his hand always finds its way into his pants- or how he wraps his long, slender fingers around his length with a muffled little sound.
The thought alone of Jack's disgusted look on his face should turn him off from rutting his hips into his fist, but somehow it doesn't.
Somehow it only makes him take deeper breaths of the perfect smell surrounding his face and thrust into his hand a little faster.
Pathetic little whimpers, followed by wanton moans, leave Michael's lips and are instantly swallowed by the thick fabric in his hands. A thick fabric that had heard so much more than Michael wanted it to.
The thought of a set of familiar thick fingers wrapping around his length instead of his own was what sent him over the edge. As they always did.
Cleaning up was as shameful as always. Michael was shaking from a mixture of the orgasm's echo and the unfulfilled wish of Jack being there to witness it- to be the one causing it.
But that would never come true.
So instead, Michael cleaned himself up, tossed his boxers in the wash and grabbed one of Jack's.
Instead, Michael laid down in his best friend's bed and closed his eyes, face still buried in that same sweater, wishing for it to be replaced by the real thing.
And if Michael managed to fall asleep so easily in his best friend's bed, wearing his best friend's clothes and having cum to the thought of his best friend getting him off... then it really was no one's business.
I don’t think people really appreciate how quickly Robby snaps out of his bad moods in season 1. He gets into it with McKay about her calling the cops, she shuts him down, 15 minutes later he tells her he’s sorry and he was wrong. He screams at Langdon over how he’s speaking to santos and then pretty quickly tries to make amends (it’s Langdon who ruins that with his paranoia). He has his break and cries and sobs on the floor and really imo pulls himself together remarkably quickly after that.
Idk just something I’m noticing. He doesn’t really sink into his bad moods until season 2. That’s how you know he’s really really bad.
john carter who's too clingy for doggystyle. benton who has to sigh and relent and flip him over, missionary, because carter just wouldn't stop glancing over his shoulder with big wet brown puppy eyes and whimpering s'it good? m'I doing good, does it feel good?
benton leaning his forehead on carter's as he nestles back inside carter's fluttering hole, mumbling yeah, it's good, carter. you're doing good. john clutching onto him desperately as he cums, muffling his pitiful whines in benton's shoulder. <3
No. Abby needed to change and it took Luka almost dying and Carter leaving her for it to happen.
She never chose Carter in that relationship but he always chose her. When he finally chose himself, she got mad.
Luka gets back a healed version of Abby. An Abby that finally put the work in and stopped waiting for someone else to fix her problems.
Meanwhile, Carter did everything to gain perspective and find someone to love and actually choose him for once in his life, and he still never got that. No one ever put him first. And when he tried to put himself first, he got vilified for it. He still gets vilified for it by certain fans.
If anyone deserved better, it was John Truman Carter lll. And I will die on that fucking hill.
Pre med era Rabbot are randomly assigned as roommates.
Jack is convinced on sight that Robby is gay. He just looks gay. Straight guys aren't that pretty.
And Jack is an ally, so he makes it super clear from the jump that he's pro-gay and everything homosexual is a-okay with him. Robby responds positively, but a bit awkwardly. Jack is sure he's just not used to so much outward support.
He talks about Robby with his friends and worries that maybe he wasn't clear enough on his allyship because Robby never brings guys home. One of his friends suggests that maybe Robby has a crush on him and that's why he never hooks up with anyone. He's too busy being sad about having a crush on a straight guy.
After that, Jack starts to notice everything Robby does to support the crush theory.
If their feet knock together while they're watching TV on the couch, Robby doesn't try to move them. He always brings extra food for Jack. He even paid when they went to see the new James Bond movie.
Jack feels like shit. He didn't mean to lead him on. Robby is so smart, and funny, and charismatic. He's a ton of fun to be around and the most considerate roommate Jack has ever had. He'll make some guy very happy someday.
He brainstorms ideas on how to subtly turn Robby down, but the more distance Jack puts between them, the more effort Robby puts into them spending time together.
Jack is at a party, without Robby, drunkenly mulling over his options, when he overhears some girl talking about experimenting with her roommate. She says something about trying it and deciding she wasn't into it, but was glad she got it out of her system.
Huh. Maybe Jack can do that for Robby.
He's not sure how well it'll work, considering Robby is actually gay, but maybe if they kiss, Robby will feel Jack's straightness and lose interest.
It's harder to kiss a guy than Jack thought it would be. Or... it's harder to find the opportunity. Every time Jack thinks he gets close he chickens out and spends hours kicking himself after.
They're sitting on the couch, feet not touching, but Jack relaxes an arm over the back. His fingers barely brush the sleeve of Robby's shirt. They both keep catching each other sneaking glances. Their eyes meet during a commercial, and Jack feels like he's going to burst. Then Robby says:
"Fuck it."
His mouth crashes against Jack's. It's nice. Really nice. Warm and wet. Not unlike kissing a girl, but maybe a bit more... insistent.
The kiss rolls into making out with Robby in his lap, then rutting against each other on the couch, then exchanging sloppy handjobs and an attempt at a blowjob in Jack's bed.
Jack wakes up the next morning, tangled up with Robby, more content than he has ever been before.
"That was fun," Jack whispers when Robby wakes.
"Yeah," Robby stretches. He's got an easy smile on. "I didn't think I'd like that as much as I did, but... you might've convinced me."
Jack shoves him lightly. "What does that mean? Do I not look like a good lay?"
"No, no," Robby laughs. "I just meant, like, because I'm straight. Or was, at least."
Jack's smile falls. "You're what?"
Nightcrawler of da Pitt @shplottwist - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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