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Jack finished off the last of his second beer and sank back into Robby’s couch with a resigned sigh. The Pens were getting their asses kicked in the season opener against the Flyers, and rumors were that this season would be rough. He rolled his neck and glanced at Robby, who’d been unusually quiet throughout the game, even for him.
“You never know, man. Maybe a humiliating loss tonight will kick the Pens in the ass, and they’ll defy predictions.”
“Huh?” Robby looked at Jack, confused, before his face cleared. “Oh, no, they’re definitely gonna suck,” he said, sounding unbothered about a season of defeat.
“If that’s not what’s got you shredding your beer label, what is it?” Jack asked, nodding toward the small pile of ripped-up paper on the end table at Robby’s side.
Shrugging, Robby used his thumbnail to scrape at the residue on his beer bottle. “Therapy bullshit,” he said. “Nothing I can’t figure out.”
Jack hummed in acknowledgment; he remembered being in the thick of it. How some therapy sessions knocked him out of commission for a good twenty-four hours afterward.
“You wanna talk about it?” Jack asked, unsurprised when Robby responded with an incredulous look.
“I definitely don’t.” He rolled his shoulders and looked up at the ceiling. “It’s bad enough to be talking about this shit in therapy.”
“I get that,” Jack agreed. “Sometimes, just, you know,” he waved his hand between them, “talking it out can help you let it go.”
Robby raised his eyebrows. “Do you talk about your therapy with anyone?”
“Oh, fuck no.” Jack grimaced. “No one wants that.”
“Making my point for me,” Robby laughed. “But the problem isn’t what I’m talking about in therapy; it’s homework Valerie gave that I’m not sure—you know what?” Robby stood up abruptly and grabbed the empties off the table. “This is ridiculous. I’ll figure it out.” He walked toward the kitchen and, with a wave of the bottles in his hand, looked over his shoulder to ask, “Another?”
“If you are, yeah,” Jack said, watching Robby walk away. He wasn’t surprised that Robby was a closed book about the therapy he’d started when he returned from his trip to Alberta, and Jack was giving Robby space—he didn’t need the details—but he was also a man with a healthy sense of curiosity and a deeper concern for Robby’s wellbeing than he liked to admit, even to himself.
When Robby returned, two beers in hand, Jack took his and waited until they’d each taken a long pull before saying, “You know…I was always great at homework. Teachers loved me.”
Robby smirked. “They absolutely did not. I know exactly the kind of trouble you caused in school.”
“Okay, you’re right. They didn’t,” Jack acquiesced. “But it wasn’t because of schoolwork. Besides,” he said, turning on charm he knew Robby would see right through, “I’ve changed. Turned over a new leaf. Valerie would want me to help you. She’s probably already expecting you to ask.”
“Funny how you think Valerie has any idea who you are,” Robby shot back, but his face pinked.
Jack wanted to press, but he let the moment pass, instead shifting his body to face Robby more directly. “You’re doing hard fucking work, Robby. You don’t have to tell me anything, but I’ll help if I can.”
Robby was silent, the time stretching long enough for Jack to turn back to the TV and watch the Pens’ shameful loss in progress. “Jesus,” Robby muttered eventually, drawing Jack’s attention. Robby scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. He looked down at his hands. “It’s really fucking personal.”
“It’s me, Robby,” Jack said simply, hoping Robby could hear everything Jack meant. You’ve seen me at my worst. We’ve walked through fire together. There’s nothing that could chase me away. You’re safe.
“Yeah,” Robby said quietly. He took a deep breath and looked at Jack for a beat before shifting his gaze somewhere over Jack’s shoulder. “When I was with Janey, she would sometimes help me get out of my head. Help me stop—help me stop thinking for a little while. No decisions to make.”
“How did she help?” Jack asked carefully, curiously, when Robby didn’t continue.
Robby pursed his lips and glanced at Jack. “Tasks. Easy stuff that needed my focus to accomplish. Like giving me a time limit to finish a jigsaw puzzle. Some other things.”
The flush was back on Robby’s face, and Jack’s own body heated at the implication. Still, he asked, “What kind of other things?”
“Um,” Robby swallowed, his fingers back to picking at the newest beer label, his skin now beet red. “Sometimes I’d kneel and be still. Or she’d talk to me. Tell me, um, you know. Nice things. And there were things we did in bed. Restraints. She had a paddle.”
Jack did the best he could to mask his reaction to what Robby was sharing, to ignore the pointless fission of heat that ran through him at the thought of Robby on his knees, of Robby bound. “What’s Valerie suggesting?” Jack asked neutrally, trying to stay focused on the problem at hand and on Robby’s needs.
“She wants me to make a list of ways or, um, of people who can help me the same way Janey did,” Robby said, still looking down at his mutilated beer bottle. Then he shook his head and sat up straighter, saying confidently, “It’s a dumb idea. I’m not doing any of that shit with strangers, and I don’t need it. It was just helpful sometimes. Back then,” he added dismissively, as if he’d already considered and disregarded the idea.
Satisfaction curled through Jack at Robby’s willingness to open up, at the validation of the trust between them. He wanted to reassure Robby or suggest they brainstorm options, but what he said was, “I can help.”
“You?” Robby asked, visibly startled.
“Yeah,” Jack nodded, immediately committed to what was, at first, an impulsive thought. “Look, you said Janey had you do straightforward tasks. I can help you with that. It doesn’t have to be a thing.” Jack waved his hand between them, trying to quickly brush past some of the other ways Janey had helped Robby get out of his head.
“And do you have any idea what you’re doing?” Robby scoffed. “I’m not a research project.”
Jack licked his lips, summoning some of the courage Robby had mustered. “I’ve dabbled.”
“Dabbled?”
It was Jack’s turn to blush. “More on the, uh, sexual side of things,” Jack admitted. “I’ve been with a few people who were into orgasm control, restraints, shit like that. Sure seemed like they got out of their head. Never had any complaints, at least.”
Beside him, Robby was still, teeth biting into his lower lip, so Jack continued, “I can learn what I don’t know about the nonsexual stuff, and you already know me, so that checks a box. If it doesn’t work for you the way you need it to, we’ll stop. No harm, no foul, brother.”
“You don’t think it’s a little weird?” Robby asked, sounding uncertain.
“Since when has weird stopped us?” Jack shot back. “Is it any weirder than you having to get in the shower with me, fully clothed, when I couldn’t even handle basic self-care after Jess died? Or sitting in the parking lot for an hour while I went to my grief group? What the fuck’s the difference? We help each other.”
“This is different.”
“How?” Jack asked.
“Your wife died, Jack. I’m just a fucking mess.”
Robby sounded so undeserving of care that Jack bristled, but he restrained himself, worried Robby would think Jack was upset with him. “So you’re a mess,” Jack shrugged. “You already know the rates of physician burnout and suicidal ideation. If you were talking to anyone else, you’d say the job was more than enough reason to feel like you do, and you’ve got a shitton of other issues—yeah, I said issues, don’t give me that look—that have been building and building for god knows how long. You did the fucking hard work of starting therapy. Let yourself see it through. I can’t imagine Valerie would make the suggestion if she didn’t think it could help.”
Finished with his plea, Jack sat back, willing to wait Robby out until Robby let out a long, slow breath and asked, “Just some basics, like the puzzles?”
“Whatever you need,” Jack confirmed, relieved to have a concrete way to help Robby. “This is for you. Something doesn’t work, we’ll reset and try again.”
“Yeah, okay,” Robby nodded, then turned back to the TV. “Jesus, the Pens really do suck.”
Jack did some research over the following week; he found a few Reddit subs that were useful, along with others that he backed out of as soon as he arrived—he was not looking for tips on lifestyle BDSM—and a handful of websites with helpful ideas. The goal was to ease Robby into scenarios that felt safe and neutral, ones where he could focus on his task rather than the fact that it was Jack directing his work or the myriad of other counterproductive thoughts that seemed to plague Robby these days.
He felt ready when Robby arrived on Saturday evening, wearing comfortable clothes and a hesitant look on his face.
“We can just watch a movie or something,” Robby offered as soon as the door closed behind him, kicking his shoes off and nudging them below the bench in Jack’s entryway.
“Nope. I have everything arranged already,” Jack said simply. “But come here.” He pulled Robby into a hug, wrapping his arms around Robby’s body and holding tight.
“What are you…” Robby asked, squirming in Jack’s arms.
“Stay,” Jack said firmly, squeezing tighter. “It’s you and me. I’ve got you. We’re going to try this.”
Robby stood tensely in Jack’s arms, but Jack was prepared to stand there as long as necessary. Eventually, Robby gave in, sagging into Jack’s embrace, giving in to Jack’s hug.
“This is ridiculous,” Robby murmured.
“Deep pressure,” Jack said softly. “Just activating your parasympathetic nervous system.”
Robby humphed in return, but stayed put until Jack slowly relaxed his grasp and took a step back. “You ready?” he asked, glad to see Robby’s brow less furrowed than it had been when he arrived.
“As I’ll ever be,” Robby said noncommittally. “Great,” Jack said, ignoring any of Robby’s remaining hesitance. They just had to get started; once Robby tried, Jack would honor his commitment to let Robby stop at any time. Though Jack’s plan was simple enough that he couldn’t imagine Robby tapping out.
Robby followed Jack through the house to one of Jack’s two spare rooms, this one large enough to serve as both an office and a home gym. A desk was positioned by the window, with bookshelves lining either side. The rest of the room housed a rowing machine, free weights, and a multi-purpose weight machine, with enough room left for Jack’s yoga mat. Different than usual, however, were the empty bookshelves and stacks of books sitting in piles on the floor.
Entering the room, Jack turned to Robby, who was standing in the doorway, surveying the mess.
“Reorganizing?” Robby asked.
“Nope,” Jack smiled. “You are.” He toed a pile of books. “My shelves were completely disorganized. I want you to take ninety minutes to reshelve my books, by subject, in alphabetical order.”
The morning prior, Jack had spent thirty minutes in the office trying to determine how much time to allot Robby for the task. He’d decided that an hour and a half was achievable, but would also force Robby to stay focused on the work with no time for his mind to wander for long.
“Alphabetize your bookshelves?” Robby asked skeptically.
“Yep,” Jack nodded. “I left you a water bottle and a list of subjects on the desk, and I can check in periodically, unless you’d prefer I stay.” “No…” Robby had stepped into the room but was still looking at the stack of books. “No, I’m good.”
“You can take one bathroom break in the ninety minutes. If you decide you need to stop, just come find me.” Jack walked over to Robby and, on impulse, pressed a kiss to his temple. “You got this,” he whispered. “Easy peasy.”
Jack turned to leave and made it to the doorway before he was stopped.
“Wait one sec,” Robby called. “Can I listen to music?” he asked when Jack was facing him again. “It helps me stay focused.”
Jack’s entire body vibrated at Robby’s decision to ask permission rather than simply pull up a playlist. “Yeah. Yes,” he choked out. “Use the speaker instead of headphones, though, so you can hear me when I come in.”
“Will do,” Robby agreed. A light flush dusted his cheeks when he turned back to the books.
Jack left Robby to it, setting a 30-minute timer on his phone. While he waited, he removed his prosthetic and took some time to massage his stump, then attempted to read a journal article from July on Comparing Cellulitis Diagnostic Accuracy Between Emergency Physicians and Dermatologists Under Teledermatology Conditions, but gave up after the first ten minutes, during which he’d spent half the time glancing at the phone timer. Once twenty-one minutes had passed, Jack grabbed his crutches from their resting place against the side of the couch and walked back to the office.
Resting against the doorway, Jack let himself watch Robby at work. A tinny-sounding Eagles song played from Robby’s phone—he should really consider a better sound system for the room—and Robby was completely focused on his task. The books appeared to be in some new piles on the floor, and a handful were slotted into the top shelf of one of the four bookshelves.
Jack entered the office with a sharp knock on the doorframe to announce his arrival, pleased when Robby gave him a quick smile, but then returned to his task.
“Looks like you’re making good progress.”
“You have a few books I want to borrow,” Robby said, tilting his head toward a small stack of books sitting on the edge of the treadmill, even as he kept moving.
Jack went over to the desk and pulled open a drawer, grabbing a stack of small, blue Post-Its. “They’re all yours, but I want them organized first. Stick a Post-It on the spine of the ones you want so you don’t lose track.”
Robby paused, his arm frozen with a book grasped in his palm, and his eyes flashed with a look Jack couldn’t decipher. “Yes—” Robby cut himself off and lowered his hand. “Yeah, okay. Will do.”
“Good work, Robby,” Jack said before he left, noting the contented look on Robby’s face at the praise.
Having checked in once, Jack was able to last another forty-five minutes before peeking his head in again. This time, he was met by Steely Dan and two and a half completed bookshelves.
“Just checking in,” Jack said from the doorway.
“I forgot how much alphabetizing sucks,” Robby said, without turning around.
“Keep singing the alphabet song in your head,” Jack offered.
“Yeah, fuck that,” Robby laughed and gestured at the desk. “I wrote it down.”
“That’s why you’re going to get a gold star in bookshelf organization,” Jack teased. “A boy can dream,” Robby said, turning around and grinning at Jack.
“Twenty-five minutes left,” Jack reminded and then ducked out, an idea percolating in his head.
He spent the next twenty minutes executing his plan, wrapping up just as Robby poked his head out of the office. “Done,” Robby said, sounding pleased with himself.
“With time to spare,” Jack noted, shutting off the timer that still had four minutes and fifty-two seconds left. He put his prosthesis back on and met Robby in the office, then walked over to the bookshelves, examining them silently while Robby stood by, a rare nervous energy radiating from him. Unsurprisingly, Jack found all his books in perfect, subject-specific, alphabetical order, with tiny Post-it notes affixed to the spines of five or six of them.
Jack went to the desk and reached into his shorts pocket to extract the paper he’d stashed there when Robby had announced the work was complete. Carefully, Jack affixed a few pieces of tape to the edges and then turned back to Robby, who was watching Jack intently.
“Come here,” Jack said, his heart thundering as Robby stepped toward him, hoping he was playing this right. When Robby was within touching distance, Jack pressed a small, blue star to Robby’s chest, the words “Bookshelf Organization” written in pen in Jack’s handwriting.
“I didn’t have gold paper,” Jack said lightly, meeting Robby’s eyes.
“This is very silly,” Robby said, looking down at the star, deflection in his tone.
“Not silly,” Jack countered. “You did a very good job. I’m proud of you. Take the win,” he said seriously, resting his hand on Robby’s bicep. “And the star,” he added with a playful wink.
Robby rolled his eyes, but the renewed flush on his face let Jack know that he’d hit the mark. “You wanna stay for a beer? Debrief?” Jack asked. He knew this wasn’t the kind of scene that would likely require aftercare, but he hated the thought of Robby leaving wanting, and he’d like to know what did and didn’t work for Robby, regardless.
“Definitely not,” Robby said, sounding firm. “I’m gonna head out, but this was good. I feel good.”
“Yeah?” Jack asked, a little embarrassed at the hope he heard in his voice.
“Yeah,” Robby said softly, squeezing Jack’s shoulder. “Thanks, man.”
Jack wanted to ask more, but he didn’t want to push Robby out of this place of relaxed comfort, so he nodded and walked with Robby to the door, pulling Robby into a loose hug before unlatching the door. “Anything you need, Mike. Okay?” Jack murmured into Robby’s ear.
“Copy,” Robby said, equally quiet, and then Jack was watching him disappear down the hall.
Jack lasted two hours before he texted Robby.
Okay, but for real, brother. I have some other ideas but I need to know what worked and didn’t work and if there’s anything else you need.
By then, it was almost 11 PM, and even though Robby wasn’t working in the morning, Jack wasn’t sure whether or not Robby was still awake. Rather than stare at his phone like a loser, he flipped it over on his coffee table and went back to his M*A*S*H re-watch, letting himself get distracted enough by Hawkeye’s futile attempt to influence the peace talks that he was surprised when his phone dinged forty minutes later.
Even if the text was from Robby, whether he’d actually answered Jack’s questions was a crapshoot. Jack was reassured, then, when he read Robby’s message.
Fair enough. The task was good. Liked the check-ins. Like clear boundaries and rules. More are okay. Liked being told I did a good job. The star was ridiculous.
Jack shot back, “Can do. And star = dopamine. Don’t knock it,” unable to help the smile that tugged at his lips.
They texted a few more times on Sunday, making plans for beers on Thursday when Jack was off, and bitching about a new overtime mandate from Admin, but Jack never quite knew what to expect from Robby these days. Robby was sometimes prickly, sometimes withdrawn, and after the door they’d stepped through on Saturday night, Jack worried that Robby would put up walls, but when Jack showed up for handoff on Monday night, he found that nothing had changed. Robby was griping with Dana about boarders as Jack dropped his backpack behind the desk and gave Jack an easy fist bump without missing a beat in his rant about the number of gurneys lining their hallways. A knot of tension released from Jack’s sternum, and he let out a quiet sigh, relieved. Maybe he’d been overthinking; all through their marriage, Jess had always told him she was amazed at how he’d remain completely composed through the most traumatic shit but stew for two days over whether the guest room towels were thick enough for her parents to use on an upcoming visit.
There wasn’t much time to connect during the week, but Robby was off on Thursday, so they were able to meet up for drinks earlier than usual. Jack slid into a booth at Mulaney’s a little after 6 PM to find Robby already halfway through his first and a beer waiting on Jack’s side of the table.
“Sorry,” Jack said, casually. “Got hung up at Jerry’s.”
“Yeah? How’s that going?” Robby asked. “He doing okay?” “For now,” Jack said, noncommittal.
“You still okay going to see him?” Robby pressed.
A few months back, Jack had found a Veteran-to-Veteran volunteer program that connected veteran volunteers with veteran hospice patients. Jack was providing weekly companionship to a 75-year-old vet who’d served in Vietnam and was now suffering from end-stage mesothelioma from the manufacturing job he’d had when he’d returned to the US as a battle-scared twenty-two-year-old in a country that eschewed his participation in the war, involuntary as it had been.
Jerry had a wicked sense of humor and two daughters who were doing their best to care for him, but he’d moved to Pittsburgh to be closer to family and didn’t have many friends in the area. Jack knew his visits were among the only company Jerry received, so he pushed through his own emotions as he got to know someone nearing the end of his life.
“I’m glad I can help,” Jack shrugged. “This guy was drafted at 20, got back to the States with nothing, and landed a job that’s killing him. Least I can do is spend an hour a week at his house keeping him company before he dies.”
At the skeptical look on Robby’s face, he added, trying to keep the conversation light, “I know you hate the TEMS gig. At least you can’t argue that I’ll get injured sitting at Jerry’s bedside.”
“There’s more than one type of hurt, Jack,” Robby said pointedly, but then changed the topic. “You hear the rumor that the Board voted against the management contract? I won’t know for sure until my 10 AM with Gloria, but it sounds like we get to keep the devil we know for now.”
Jack held up his beer and tapped Robby’s bottle. “Cheers to that.”
After downing the rest of his beer, Robby excused himself to order another round and some loaded nachos from the bar. When he returned, Jack waited until Robby had made it through half of his second beer before broaching the subject he’d been avoiding for days, bolstered by the memory of Robby’s text on Saturday night.
“I’ve been thinking of other ideas. Like Saturday’s,” Jack tacked on for clarity. Immediately, Robby’s face pinked, but he took a quiet sip of his beer, so Jack went on. “Got enough plans to keep going for at least a month before I’ll have to get creative. Was thinking you could swing by on Saturday again.”
“That works,” Robby said after a beat.
“Maybe even make it a regular thing until you tap out?” Jack suggested, trying not to sound nervous at the possibility of Robby’s rejection.
“Or until you tap out,” Robby said and rapped his knuckles on the table.
Jack huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, don’t see that happening.”
“Only because your house is an organizational nightmare and you finally have some free labor to help out,” Robby teased with a smile.
“Caught.” Jack held his palms up and grinned, relieved that Robby didn’t press into the reasons Jack was certain he’d show up for Robby for as long as Robby let him. Jack preferred not to examine it too closely himself. He spun a paper coaster in a circle on the worn, wooden table and summoned the courage to ask the other question on his mind. “Was it only Janey who helped you get out of your head this way? Was there anyone else?”
“Does it matter?” Robby asked, defensiveness creeping into his tone.
“Of course not,” Jack assured, “just figured that if we’re doing this, it might be good to have more cards on the table.”
Robby fiddled with a napkin for a few seconds, pursing his lips. “There was a guy I fucked around with in my last year of residency. Nothing serious, but he was kind of dominating. Not in a bad way, more—” Robby waved his hand in the air and didn’t meet Jack’s eyes.
“More in a way you liked?” Jack offered.
Nodding, Robby tore a corner off the napkin and dropped it on the table.
“Hey. Mike. Look at me.” When Robby continued playing with the napkin, Jack balled up one of his own and tossed it across the table at Robby’s face, satisfied when Robby looked up to glare at him. “You can like what you like. No shame in it.”
“I know,” Robby said softly.
Jack wasn’t convinced but was sure he could help Robby get there.
When Robby came over on Saturday night, Jack led him to the walk-in pantry, which was reasonably well organized if a little overfull. “You have one hour to arrange everything in order of expiration date, starting in the top left corner, working your way down to the bottom right. Everything should be placed one inch from the edge of the shelves, no more, no less, and the labels should face out so I know what’s what.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tape measure, then handed it to Robby. “For accuracy.”
Robby took the tape measure and smirked. “Maybe you should hire someone to help you out around here.”
Ready to snark back, the way he would if he were out at a bar with Robby, or watching a game, Jack bit his tongue, giving Robby a level stare instead, before asking, “Do you have a problem with what I’ve asked you to do?”
“I—no. No. I’m good,” Robby said, straightening almost imperceptibly.
Relaxing, relieved that his gambit paid off, Jack nodded. “Good. An hour will be tight, but I think you can do it.”
“What if I don’t meet the timeline?” Robby asked, sounding genuinely curious. Fortunately, Jack had already thought that through.
“Then we’ll take everything off the shelves, and you’ll try again.”
“Better get it on one, then,” Robby said agreeably and turned to survey the pantry. “Anything else I should know?”
“Yeah, if anything in there’s actually expired, put it to the side, and I’ll toss it after I check your work.” Jack stepped beside Robby and squeezed his shoulder. “You got this. I’ll check on you in 30.”
Jack left Robby in the pantry, feeling less on edge than the week prior, and was able to notate a journal article draft for Shen until his timer went off. When he returned to the kitchen, he found Robby had used painter’s tape from Jack’s junk drawer to mark the appropriate one-inch distance on Jack’s shelves, and about two-thirds of the food was already put away.
“Nice work,” Jack said once Robby noticed him and paused, and rested his hand at the base of Robby’s neck, just above the collar of his T-shirt. He allowed himself the indulgence of smoothing his thumb over Robby’s skin. “You’re moving even faster than I anticipated.”
“And you have a butternut squash soup problem,” Robby commented, staying still under Jack’s hand.
Jack looked up at the shelves and, sure enough, in the top right corner were eight meticulously placed boxes of butternut squash soup. He remembered the sale at Costco and sighed. “Do you have dinner plans?”
With the bookshelf and pantry apparent successes, Jack had given Robby similar timed tasks on both of the following two Saturdays—a one-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle first, followed by the assembly of an Ikea desk. The desk had come with a 30-page instruction booklet, 200 screws, and a slew of muttered curses from Robby. It had been a doozy of a project, taking the better part of his allotted four hours, with pieces spread out across the living room where Jack’s furniture had been pushed to the side, but Robby stayed laser-focused while he worked, music playing over the portable Bose speaker Jack had picked up.
“What is this for anyway?” Robby had asked as he was finishing up, pushing in the final drawer and looking around, as if he was noticing the incongruity of a desk in Jack’s living room for the first time. “You already have a desk in your office.”
It hadn’t passed Jack’s notice that Robby was so focused on the task Jack had laid out, and on meeting the timeline, that he hadn’t bothered to ask why he was building the desk. “It’s for Habitat for Humanity’s donation center. Pick-up is on Monday. Your hard work is doing good, brother,” Jack had said, walking over to Robby—who had a shy look of pride on his face—and pulling him into a loose hug, hyper-aware of the musky scent of Robby’s exertion as he held Robby close for just as long as he thought was passable.
In the week since, Jack had decided to revise his approach. Setting time limits on tasks Jack knew Robby could achieve had been a good place to get into a rhythm, but he wanted to push Robby a little further and, frankly, hoped to see that pride on Robby’s face as often as possible. Which led them to tonight, where Robby was staring blankly at a skein of deep green yarn and two knitting needles sitting on Jack’s coffee table.
“No time limit?” Robby asked.
“No time limit,” Jack confirmed. “I’m texting you two videos. One is how to cast on and the other is the pattern I want you to use.”
“What the hell is cast on?”
“Fuck if I know,” Jack laughed. “Something about how you get the yarn on the needle. You’ll have to let me know after you finish the dishcloth.”
“Jack…” Robby sounded hesitant.
“Always your call here, Robby. You don’t have to do this, but I want you to, and I know you can,” Jack insisted.
Robby pursed his lips and picked up the yarn, turning it over in his hand. “How hard could it be, right? I’m great with sutures.”
“That’s the attitude I’m looking for,” Jack grinned.
Placing the yarn back on the table, Robby looked at Jack. “What do you get out of all this?”
Jack smirked. “Besides a dishcloth?”
“I’m serious,” Robby said. “I’m taking up all of your Saturday nights after we’re finally senior enough to have weekends off, and for what? So you can watch me fumble with an Allen wrench or literally get tied up in knots?”
Avoiding Robby’s eyes, Jack tried not to fidget. He swallowed and sat down next to Robby on the couch, trying to buy himself a little time to think of an authentic answer that didn’t dump all of his cards on the table in a messy, irreversible heap.
“You’re my best friend, Mike. One of my only real friends, you know?”
Robby scoffed. “You have so many friends, Jack.”
“Nah,” Jack countered. “I know a lot of people and I’m friendly. It’s not the same. Anyway,” he continued, steeling himself to give the most honest answer he could, even as a flicker of embarrassment wound through him, “I like that I can help you feel good. And, uh—” He looked in Robby’s direction. “I like that you do what I say. That you want to do what I say.”
“Oh,” Robby breathed, his surprise drawing Jack to meet his eyes. “That’s—that’s good, then,” Robby said, holding Jack’s gaze.
The air between them felt weighted, and Jack’s belly flipped the way it did when he sat in the front of a roller coaster and saw the massive drop looming ahead of him. Then Robby cleared his throat, breaking the moment, and reached for his phone. “Better send me those videos if I have a shot at finishing this dishcloth tonight.”
Jack stood, putting aside that brief moment of anticipation he’d manufactured in his mind, and grabbed his phone from the kitchen, sending Robby the message he had queued. He returned to the living room with a cup of water and a plate of fruit and cheese he’d stored in the fridge earlier that afternoon.
“Sustenance,” Jack said, setting the plate down, ignoring Robby’s chagrined look at Jack’s food choices. “Get to work. I’ll check on you in thirty.”
Not wanting to give Robby an audience, Jack went to his makeshift home gym-slash-office and spent twenty minutes on his rowing machine, then removed his prosthesis—hopefully for the rest of the night—completed his skin checks, and took an army-efficient shower before heading back out to Robby.
Being stealthy with his crutches on the hardwood was off the table, but Robby appeared lost in his work and didn’t acknowledge Jack’s presence until Jack leaned his body against the back of the sofa, removing his right crutch from his arm, and, impulsively, scratched his fingers through the short hair at Robby’s nape.
“Look at you!” Jack said, delighted by the row of knots running halfway down one of the knitting needles.
“Turns out this is nothing like suturing,” Robby muttered, but he soldiered on, wrapping a new twist of yarn around the needle. “Took me thirty minutes just to get this far.”
“Yeah, but now you’ve got the hang of it.” Jack nudged Robby’s shoulder. “You’re doing a really good job.”
Robby let out a small grunt, but didn’t argue, which Jack took as a win. Resituating his crutch on his arm, he walked around to the front of the sofa and sat down on the coffee table, facing Robby. “New rule,” Jack said, and waited until he had Robby’s attention to continue. “You’re not allowed to put yourself down while you’re doing one of my assignments. Not out loud to me, not under your breath when you’re alone, and I want you to be mindful of trying to shut that shit down when I’ve left you on your own. You’re learning a completely new skill, man, and you’re kicking ass.”
“I think it’s my ass getting kicked, Jack,” Robby said, holding up his knitting needles.
“Nope. None of that shit.” Jack sat up straighter. “You’re learning a difficult new skill, and you’re doing a great job. Say it.”
Robby gave Jack a disbelieving look. “You’re kidding me.”
“Not even a little. You can tap out, or you can say it.” Jack softened his tone. “But you’ve come this far, and I wouldn’t ever set you up to fail.”
Under his breath, Robby muttered something Jack couldn’t make out, and Jack’s heart raced while he waited until, finally, Robby said through gritted teeth, “I’m learning a difficult skill, and I’m doing a great job.”
“You’re doing such a good job.” Jack hoped Robby could tell how proud Jack was. “Once more for me, and then I’ll let you get back to it.”
This time, Robby sounded a little less pained as he said, “I’m learning a difficult skill, and I’m doing a great job.”
“Yes. You are,” Jack said, leaning forward to squeeze Robby’s knee. “Get back to work.”
Jack checked on Robby two more times and was thrilled to see him move on from the first video to the second, rows of knit yarn accumulating on the needle, and, about two and a half hours after they started, he heard Robby call from the living room. “This dishcloth is officially my bitch!”
Smiling to himself, Jack returned to the living room and found Robby relaxed into the back of the sofa, turning the dishcloth over in his hands, admiring his work. Jack sat down next to Robby and bumped shoulders. “I knew you could do it,” he said with pride and extended his hand. “Lemme see.”
“I had some trouble with the corners on the—” Robby started as he handed the cloth to Jack.
“I told you—none of that,” Jack demanded, cutting Robby off. He didn’t grab the fabric from Robby’s hand, but it was a damn near thing. The knitting wasn’t perfect—some stitching was uneven and there were a few small knots—but Jack beamed at the result of Robby’s hard work.
“You did such a good job. I’m so proud of you,” Jack said, standing. “C’mon.” He tilted his head toward the kitchen and waited for Robby to rise and follow. In the kitchen, Jack placed the dishcloth on his counter between the stovetop and the sink. “I’ll get a hook, but this works for now,” Jack said.
Robby’s eyes were fixed on the blue fabric, which was contrasted by Jack’s white granite countertops. “I guess it’s not half bad,” he said. The tips of his ears were pink, but he looked pleased. Jack stood by his side, content.
Taking in the way Robby soaked up praise and thinking about how readily he followed Jack’s direction every time, even if there was a little snark first, Jack decided to follow through on an idea he’d been considering for the past week or so. “One more thing before we wrap up,” Jack started, an anxious knot in his belly as he waited for Robby to turn and face him to continue. “Starting next week, when we’re doing this together, I want you to address me as ‘Sir.’ I stay ‘Jack’ everywhere else, but for clarity, when I’m in charge, I’m ‘Sir.’”
Robby’s lips parted as if to speak, but he was silent, and the surprise on his face quickly morphed into a look that was less discernible to Jack. This request felt like a departure from the casual dynamic they’d established, but Jack had a strong hunch that he hadn’t overstepped, so he held his ground, waiting in the growing silence and ignoring his nerves, until Robby gave a slight tilt of his head and said, his voice gravelly, “Okay.” He swallowed and licked his lips. “I can do that.”
“Good,” Jack said, his anxiety dissipating and, he could admit to himself, eagerness already building for what he had planned for next Saturday. He changed gears as they walked toward the door, though. “Want to meet for beers and watch the game on Thursday night? Puck drops at eight, so you’d have time to shower first.”
“Sounds good,” Robby said easily. “Mulaneys?”
“Yep, that works,” Jack confirmed, comforted to know that he and Robby could still pivot between this new interplay and the friendship Jack had come to count on.
Three shifts, a visit with Jerry, and a much-needed Pens win came and went before Jack was knocking on Robby’s door, having suggested over beers that they meet at Robby’s place this week. Jack wanted Robby to be as comfortable as possible, and he was a little curious to see how Robby fared at giving up control in his own home.
Robby’s willingness to turn himself over to Jack, week after week, was a heady feeling, and Jack didn’t take the responsibility lightly. He’d spent time during the week thinking through his plan, hopeful he was still steering Robby in the right direction, to a place where Robby ended the night feeling calm and centered. How good their time together made Jack feel was simply a bonus.
Looking at ease—barefoot, in basketball shorts and a Tulane tee—Robby welcomed Jack in without fanfare.
“You mind grabbing my crutches?” Jack asked once the door was locked and they’d moved to the living room. As long as his body was up for it, he preferred leaving the house in his prosthesis—never know when there’d be an emergency—but what he had planned tonight didn’t require much mobility on his part. While Robby grabbed the spare crutches from the hallway closet where they lived, Jack removed his prosthesis and quickly checked over his stump, which was barely bothered by the short drive. He took the extra few seconds, as Robby leaned the crutches against the side of the couch, to drop a throw pillow on the floor between his legs.
Unsurprisingly, when Jack looked up, Robby’s gaze was fixed on the pillow, his expression inscrutable. Jack let Robby look for a few more seconds before saying, his voice intoned to avoid any impression of judgment at Robby’s possible response, “If you’re not opposed, I’d like you to kneel for me.”
“And then what?” Robby asked cautiously, after a moment.
“One step at a time,” Jack said with marginally more confidence than he felt. “You can always say no, but when you first told me how Janey took care of you, you mentioned kneeling, and I’d bet a Thanksgiving shift that was because you liked it. That it helped. This is your call, Robby, but I’d like to try this with you.”
Jack waited for Robby to make his decision, gratified but not entirely surprised when Robby walked to the space between Jack and the coffee table, and without comment, carefully sank to his knees, using the edge of the couch to steady himself. He fidgeted for a moment, shifting his weight and adjusting his hands, testing them out behind his back and then on his thighs, until Jack took mercy on him.
“Move a little closer,” Jack directed. Once Robby had shuffled forward on his knees, now within Jack’s easy reach, he clarified further, “Straighten your torso and, as long as your shoulders are comfortable, keep your hands clasped behind your back. If that creates too much strain, rest your hands on your thighs.”
Obediently, Robby made the adjustments Jack asked for, raising his chest and shoulders so his spine was straight, and his hands held loosely behind his back. His jaw remained tense and his breathing shallow, though, a tell of nerves that Jack knew well.
“Do you remember how to address me?” Jack asked, more as a prompt than an actual reminder.
Robby stilled, though it seemed like a current of energy ran beneath his skin. He wet his lips before answering, “Yes, Sir.”
A thrill shot through Jack at the title, at Robby’s easy use of the title, which he forced himself to ignore in favor of focusing on helping Robby settle.
“All we’re going to do is breathe together for a bit. In four, hold seven, out eight. I’ll count it for you. Close your eyes. Notice the sound of my voice, feel the pillow under your knees, the stretch in your back and shoulders.”
For a beat, Robby looked like he was going to object, then his eyes drifted shut. Jack let Robby get his bearings and then started counting Robby through the simple breathing technique he’d come to rely on himself. Through micro changes in Robby’s posture and a softening of his features, Jack watched Robby’s body lose tension in small increments as a handful of minutes passed, until Robby seemed as at ease as Jack could hope.
“You’re doing so well, Robby,” Jack praised. “Perfect for me.” He reached forward and rested his palm on the back of Robby’s neck, noting the way Robby shivered at the contact. While Robby’s eyes were still closed, Jack let himself relish how good Robby looked, kneeling between Jack’s legs. Submitting. Trusting. He shifted on the couch, dismissing the low thrum of arousal he felt.
Sitting back, Jack bit his lip and planned his next words carefully.
“Keep your eyes closed. Breathe deeply,” he soothed, adding, “Just like that,” when Robby took a deep breath and let out a long, slow exhale. “You can take as long as you need, but I want you to tell me three things you’re proud of.”
“Jack, that’s not…” Robby murmured, shaking his head minutely as he drifted off. Jack noticed, however, that Robby didn’t open his eyes.
“I don’t ask you to do anything you’re not capable of,” Jack reminded Robby softly, ignoring Robby’s use of Jack’s name for now. “Pick one thing to start. What are you proud of?”
Robby was quiet, but Jack let the silence settle in the room, honoring his commitment to let Robby take as long as he needed. Finally, eyes still shut, Robby said, “I didn’t kill Walsh today, even though I’m sure any court would have considered it justifiable homicide.”
Jack barked out a laugh. “Very commendable, but it doesn’t count. Try again.”
“Jack.” Robby opened his eyes and looked at Jack, imploringly, but Jack was unwavering.
“Eyes closed, because it will make this easier,” he said firmly. “And address me properly.”
There was a small hitch in Robby’s breath, almost unnoticeable if Jack hadn’t been so attuned to Robby’s response, but Robby offered a low, “Yes, Sir,” and closed his eyes again. He shifted on his knees, resettling, and after a long minute had passed, offered, “I’m proud of myself for not losing my shit in yesterday’s budget meeting. The funding for Plastics when we’ve got halls lined with boarders—” Robby cut himself off. “I made my case without losing my cool, and I’m proud of myself for that.”
“I’m proud of you, too,” Jack said, legitimately impressed, because he knew how frustrating those meetings were for Robby. “That’s one. Two to go, and the next one can’t be about work.”
When Robby’s jaw twitched, Jack rested a hand on Robby’s shoulder. “There’s no rush.”
Jack kept his hand in place, smoothing his thumb over Robby’s shoulder, letting the pad of his finger brush against Robby’s skin where the collar of his shirt met his neck. The touch felt more intimate than any of their previous encounters, making Jack wonder if he was overstepping, but Jack noticed Robby’s shoulders begin to soften and his face relax, so he continued the motion while he waited for Robby to speak.
“My entire life is work,” Robby said, eventually, looking up at Jack. “Anything I can think of comes back to the Pitt.”
Though Jack knew that wasn’t true—he could rattle off a long list of reasons he was proud of Robby that had nothing to do with practicing medicine—he kept that opinion to himself, instead asking, “Did you want to do this exercise with me tonight? Are you comfortable with what I’m asking of you?”
Robby huffed out a self-deprecating laugh. “You know I’m not.”
“But are you still here, on your knees, trying really fucking hard to see this through?”
“Yeah,” Robby said, swallowing. Then, an attractive flush pinking his cheeks, he quickly amended, “Yes, Sir.”
“So?” Jack prompted.
He could feel Robby’s hesitation, but Robby’s eyes closed again, and he said, in a low voice, “I’m proud that I’m pushing myself to do what you’re asking of me.”
“You should be,” Jack confirmed, squeezing Robby’s shoulder. “One more for me.”
Robby grimaced, then pressed his lips together, as if he was steeling himself. Then he said, “I’m proud of myself for starting antidepressants. I know it’s ridiculous that I waited so long when it was obvious that I—”
“Uh-uh,” Jack interrupted, bypassing the revelation that Robby had started meds. “One of my rules is no putting yourself down, remember?”
“Right,” Robby mumbled.
“Hey, look at me,” Jack said, waiting for Robby to open his eyes and reluctantly make eye contact. “I’m so fucking proud of you. You think my own medical training made it easy to take care of myself? My life was a shit show for how long? Hell, you’re still giving me shit for so many of my choices.” Jack shifted his hand to rest on the back of Robby’s neck. “You're doing great, and you should be as proud of yourself as I am.”
“I’m trying,” Robby said, but Jack could hear the reluctance in his voice.
“I fucking know you’re trying, Mike. That’s the point.” Jack smiled softly. “And you were so good for me tonight.”
Robby blushed and looked away, but Jack caught his small, pleased smile. Scratching his nails at Robby’s nape one last time, Jack extended his free hand. “Come up here.” With a hand on the couch for leverage, the other grasping Jack’s, Robby stood wordlessly and plopped down next to Jack with dramatic flair, then took a water bottle that Jack had deposited on the end table when he’d arrived. After Robby had downed half the bottle, he turned toward Jack but didn’t meet his eyes. “I still feel kind of silly about all of this,” Robby said. “You’ve gotta have better things to do.”
After Robby’s vulnerability, Jack thought he deserved honesty despite his own discomfort. “You’ve gotta believe me when I say tonight was the furthest thing from a hardship,” he said, then swallowed, hyperaware of Robby’s proximity on the couch. “You were perfect.”
“I couldn’t even—”
“No, stop,” Jack insisted. “If you’re gonna trust me to give you what you need, you’ve got to trust me when I say you were perfect. Trying so hard, even when you were uncomfortable.” Jack licked his lips. His hand itched to reach for Robby, but he restrained himself, unsure of the boundaries now that Robby was seated next to him. “I’d do this every day if you let me, okay?” Jack added, feeling horribly exposed, but he needed Robby to understand that his motive wasn’t altruism.
“Yeah, okay,” Robby said quietly. The charge between them—similar to when Robby had knit the dishcloth that still sat in Jack’s kitchen—had returned. Jack’s eyes darted to Robby’s lips, and he was sure Robby caught the motion, but they both stayed still, neither crossing the line that had been drawn between them.
This is ridiculous, Jack thought. He was imagining a tension that wasn’t there, transferring the intimacy of Robby’s submission into more than it was. Looking away abruptly, Jack twisted to the side and grabbed his prosthesis, which was leaning against the side of the couch.
“I should get out of your hair,” Jack said, sliding on his liner.
“You sure? My fridge is barren, but we can order in.” Robby offered.
“Yeah, I ate before I came over and I’ve got some shit to take care of,” Jack said, finishing adjustments on his prosthesis. He stood and found Robby watching him carefully.
“Okay,” Robby said, doubt in his voice, but he didn’t press. “Still on for wings tomorrow night?”
“Fuck, yeah,” Jack said, grinning, putting a lock on his confusing feelings for Robby. “Those ghost pepper wings have my name on them.”
“It’s your digestive tract,” Robby laughed.
“Can’t help that you can’t keep up,” Jack shot back, relieved to return to their comfortable teasing.
He headed home, reaffirmed that this new dynamic with Robby was messing with his head, making him imagine a type of connection that wasn’t on offer. But when he climbed into bed in the early morning hours—a grueling workout and a trip to a 24-hour grocery store behind him—he couldn’t keep his mind from drifting to Robby: Robby putting his trust in Jack. Robby on his knees. “Yes, Sir.” Jack could hear it in Robby’s low, rumbling voice. He palmed himself guiltily, then flipped over in his bed, then grabbed his phone to start a podcast, resolutely ignoring the friction of the mattress against his cock and the image of Robby in his mind’s eye.
We still on for 9?
Jack shot the quick text to Robby between toweling dry his hair and adding the curl cream that Jess had loved. He’d started using it begrudgingly at the time—we both know I’m not a guy who spends time on his hair—but it had become a staple in his minimalist routine and one of the small ways Jack kept Jess with him every day. And, fine, he could admit the product did keep his sometimes-unruly curls under control.
Robby’s text pinged as Jack was rinsing off his hands: Rough shift. Rain check?
As he was reaching for his phone to let Robby off the hook, Jack paused, another thought coming to mind. Before he could overthink his impulse, he responded, Maybe I can help. Come here instead.
For a solid minute, during which Jack stared at his phone with a racing heart, there was no response. Then three bouncing dots appeared in the text window.
Sure. Give me 60 so I can shower first.
Whatever you need, brother. Use your key.
On the assumption that Robby wouldn’t eat before coming over, Jack threw together a quick chicken salad and stored it in the fridge. Worst case, he’d have food prepped for his next shift. Best case, he could be sure Robby ate more for dinner than the first processed snack that caught his eye in the hospital vending machine. He was just getting the last few utensils in the dishwasher when he heard the key in the lock.
Jack wheeled toward his entryway and watched Robby hang up his coat and kick his shoes under the bench, noting the weight in Robby’s frame and, when Robby turned around, the exhaustion on his face.
“You want to talk about it, or do you want me to handle things tonight?” Jack asked neutrally, ready to sit and listen if that was all Robby needed.
“I’m not talking about the shift,” Robby said quickly and definitively.
Okay, then. Plan B. Wheeling into the living room with Robby two steps behind him, Jack looked around at what he’d need.
“Slide the coffee table back a bit and grab a pillow from the chair and drop it on the floor in front of the couch. Once that’s done, I want you to go drink a glass of water, use the bathroom, and then come back here and kneel on the pillow. Any questions?”
Robby shook his head and moved toward the coffee table, stopping in his tracks when Jack said his name. He looked at Jack with his eyebrows raised in question.
“Is that how you answer me?” Jack asked, trying to sound firm and supportive. Nothing good would come out of pushing Robby further into the shell of armor he was wearing.
Jack watched Robby’s jaw tense and release before he stood a bit straighter and tried again. “No, Sir. I don’t have any questions.”
“Good,” Jack said softly, and waited silently while Robby moved the table and placed the pillow on the ground.
While Robby headed for the kitchen, Jack transferred from his chair to the couch and rearranged some pillows behind his back so he could sit toward the end of the couch cushion and reach Robby without issue. Once he was settled, it was only another minute or two before Robby returned, still walking heavily with the weight of his day. Jack watched, but didn’t say anything as Robby crossed the room and stopped in front of Jack, carefully kneeling between Jack’s spread legs.
“I don’t think I can—” Robby started, fidgeting, and then cut himself off, his expression hesitant.
“What is it?” Jack asked.
“I don’t think I’m up for talking at all right now,” Robby admitted warily, possibly remembering the last time they were together this way.
“Then you won’t have to talk,” Jack said.
“If you want me to, then I’m supposed to—” “No,” Jack interrupted, more harshly than he’d intended. He tempered his tone when he continued. “There’s no supposed to. This is your show, and you’re allowed to have limits. If tonight one of your limits is that you don’t want to speak, then you won’t speak.”
When Robby didn’t answer, still looking doubtful, Jack pressed further. “Look at me, Mike.” He waited until he had Robby’s focus. “You’re doing great. Now here’s how this will go—you don’t speak without permission. If something is wrong or uncomfortable and you need to stop, you’ll tap my leg twice. Otherwise, you’re going to stay on your knees, with your eyes closed and your hands resting on your thighs, until I tell you that we’re done. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” Robby whispered, a hint of tension leaving his shoulders.
“Is there anything else you want to know before we start?”
Robby tilted his head slightly and took a deep breath, followed by a long exhale. “I trust you,” he said firmly, closing his eyes and placing his hands, palms down, loosely on his thighs.
Jack let himself indulge and simply look at Robby for a minute—the ever-present crow's feet, his strong nose, the slope of his jaw and slightly chapped lips. Robby’s chest rose and fell in a steady pattern, and he stayed in place, waiting for whatever Jack had planned, his body relaxing in small increments as the seconds ticked by. Jack’s ribs expanded with pride.
“I’m going to touch your shoulders now,” Jack murmured, noting a small stutter in Robby’s breath before resuming his normal cadence.
With both hands, Jack reached forward and squeezed Robby’s trapezius, massaging his fingers into the muscles. Immediately, Robby let out a rough exhale, but he didn’t move, letting Jack touch him as Jack pleased. Jack dug into the knots he found, using as much pressure as he thought his hands could withstand, glad he’d thought ahead to his positioning on the couch, because he could have used the leverage of two legs.
When Jack found a particularly nasty spot deep in Robby’s left deltoid, Robby let out a small gasp and then the start of a moan which seemed to catch in his throat.
“No words, but it’s okay if you make sounds,” Jack said just loud enough to be certain Robby would hear him. “The point is for you to feel good.”
Jack worked all along Robby’s shoulders and neck, then moved his hands up to Robby’s temples, cradling his head and rubbing in tight circles against the pressure points. He tried to ignore how good it felt to touch Robby, to feel Robby melting under his hands. What Jack was doing was clinical, nothing more, despite what he might shamefully wish for. The opportunity to help Robby—to have earned this kind of trust—was more than enough.
Knowing how much tension Robby carried in his jaw, Jack slid his fingers gently down Robby’s face to his temporomandibular joint and continued a gentle massage. At the first touch of Jack’s fingers, Robby let out a rough grunt, then snapped his mouth shut.
“Relax,” Jack murmured. “Soften your jaw for me.” Feeling Robby comply, his lower jaw dropping slightly on an exhale, Jack smiled. “Good job.”
He continued to work on Robby’s jaw and temples until Robby’s head started to loll forward in his hands, a sign of relaxation that made Jack warm with satisfaction. Robby had shown up at Jack’s condo vibrating with tension, which had all but dissipated thanks to Jack’s attention.
“Makes me so happy to take care of you like this. To give you what you need,” Jack confessed, emboldened by the fact that Robby couldn’t see him and wouldn’t respond. He slipped his hands into Robby’s hair and scratched at his scalp, earning a low, rumbling moan. “Makes me happy that you’re letting yourself be taken care of.”
Robby let out a pleased hum and dropped his head further, presenting his nape for Jack’s willing fingers. For the next few minutes, Jack continued to drag his fingers through Robby’s hair, alternating between massage and a gentle drag of his nails, continuing even as he observed Robby beginning to shift slightly on his knees—perhaps in discomfort from holding the position for so long.
Sweeping his eyes down Robby’s body for a visual assessment, Jack was prepared to suggest they wind down for the night—after all, Jack had met his goal of working away Robby’s stress—when the words stuck in his throat.
Robby was hard.
The thick, straining bulge in Robby’s cargos was unmistakable, and Jack couldn’t tear his eyes away. Objectively, he understood how massage could trigger the physiological mechanisms of arousal, but that knowledge didn’t stop Jack from wetting his lips at the sight of Robby’s erection.
A questioning sound jolted Jack back to attention, and he realized he’d stilled his hands and was sitting motionless.
“Sorry,” Jack murmured gruffly, swiftly returning to massage Robby’s temples and gently lifting his head. “You did so well for me,” he praised. Jack was determined to ignore what he’d seen, but it was clearly time to call it a night. “You can open your eyes whenever you’re ready.”
Jack dropped his hands and sat back, watching Robby take a final deep breath and slowly open his eyes, which were heavy and hooded. Robby’s gaze roamed down Jack’s body and back up again, almost sluggishly, until he seemed to come back to himself.
“Thanks, man,” Robby said, clearing his throat. He put a hand on Jack’s left knee to lever himself up, while Jack did what he could to look anywhere but at Robby’s groin. Once Robby was standing, Jack maneuvered to the side of the couch where his chair sat and transferred himself.
“You want dinner?” Jack asked as casually as he could muster. “I have that chicken salad you like, with the grapes.”
“Appreciate it, but I’m beat,” Robby said. “Gonna go home and crash and get ready to do it all again tomorrow.”
“Someone’s gotta live the dream,” Jack teased, a little relieved that he wouldn’t have to spend the next twenty minutes sitting with Robby, wondering if Robby was ignoring his erection as steadfastly as Jack was or if Robby had already brushed it off as a meaningless biological reaction.
“Saturday?” Jack asked, following Robby to the door.
“Yup,” Robby confirmed and stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Thanks again, Jack. That made a difference.”
“Literally anytime.” Jack offered a mock salute to lighten the mood, and then Robby was gone, leaving Jack to wonder what he’d gotten himself into.
Jack registered the sound of a key in the lock and his door opening, but he couldn’t bring himself to worry about who was entering his condo. If they had a key, there was no danger, his instincts told him.
Someone called his name. Robby, Jack thought distantly, but he didn’t move from the leather chair where he’d been sitting for the better part of the afternoon. He glanced at the window. Evening, now.
“Jack.”
The alarm in Robby’s voice drew his attention. Robby was standing in front of him, brows furrowed. Fingertips touched Jack’s carotid.
“Do you know where you are?” Robby asked.
Home, Jack thought. Saturday night. Oriented to time and place. Nothing to worry about. But—
“Fuck. Robby,” Jack said, realization jolting him out of his stupor. “I was supposed to come over.”
Robby waved a hand dismissively, crouching down in front of Jack, his hands perched on the armrests. “Doesn’t matter, brother. I just need to know you’re good here.”
Was he good? What had happened that— it all came slamming back, forcing a wounded noise from his chest. Right.
“Jerry died.”
Jack had known it was inevitable. Imminent. An expected casualty. But he still felt gutted. Another loss. Another funeral. A folded flag handed to Jerry’s daughters.
“Oh, Jack.”
The empathy in Robby’s voice was too much. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. “I’m fine,” he muttered.
“You don’t have to be,” Robby said, one of his hands shifting to Jack’s knee. The contact unlocked a need in Jack, and he reached forward, a hand wrapping around Robby’s back, holding on, his gaze down at Robby’s chest.
“Okay,” Robby soothed. “You’re gonna be okay.” He shifted out of Jack’s grasp long enough for Jack to feel the loss, but then returned, dropping something on the floor between Jack’s legs.
“Let me help,” Robby said, and sank to his knees, hands coming up to rest on Jack’s thighs. “Let me help,” he said again when Jack made tentative eye contact.
“This is—we do this for you,” Jack countered. His mind was muddled with grief, but he still felt an undeniable bloom of heat in his gut at the sight of Robby on his knees, face open and vulnerable. In the back of his mind, he knew he should say no, tell Robby to get up. To leave. Jack was fine. Would be fine. He knew how to lose people. But Jack stayed silent, and Robby stayed put.
“You told me it was for you, too,” Robby implored, looking up at Jack. “You told me to believe you, Sir. Please let me.”
Jack let out a rough breath, the honorific his undoing. He reached forward to scratch his fingers through Robby’s hair, letting a palm settle on his nape. Robby’s skin was warm, and he was looking at Jack so hopefully that he couldn’t fathom denying Robby, even if Jack had been strong enough to try.
He offered a sharp nod, still not entirely sure of Robby’s plan, then Robby’s hands slid further up Jack’s thighs, high enough to unmask any remaining pretense. Jack bit his lip as Robby unceremoniously unbuttoned Jack’s pants, eyes fixed on the nimble movements of Robby’s fingers, lifting his hips when nudged so Robby could more easily ease Jack’s boxer briefs down.
The first touch of Robby’s hand to Jack’s soft, but very interested cock, felt like an out-of-body experience, his mind a step behind the sensation, the unreality of what was happening difficult to parse.
“This okay?” Robby asked tenderly, smoothing his thumb over the head of Jack’s cock, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips when a bead of precome slipped from Jack’s slit.
“Mike,” Jack said roughly, the depth of his need making him weak.
“I got you. Take what you need,” Robby said, then lowered his head and wrapped his lips around Jack’s cock and sucked gently, moving his head in a slow, steady rhythm as Jack hardened in his mouth.
The pleasure was overwhelming. The grief that had rooted in Jack’s chest flowed lower, morphing into a near-mindless arousal, a fire in his belly. Robby’s mouth was hot and wet, and the pleased sounds Robby made as he worked Jack over reverberated through Jack’s body. As Jack hardened too much to take so easily, Robby wrapped a hand around the base of Jack’s cock and used his shockingly talented tongue to tease Jack, to keep him on the edge.
“Fuck,” Jack groaned when Robby shifted to take Jack deeper, and gripped the back of Robby’s head. “So good. You’re so good. Fuck.”
Robby let out an unrestrained sound at the praise and sped up his movements. His face was wet with tears, and his beard was already a sloppy mess, but his expression was relaxed, not a furrow or worry line to be found as he swallowed around Jack’s cock.
“So good for me, letting me use your mouth.” Jack started guiding Robby’s movements, setting a pace that would take him where he needed to go. “Look so good on my cock. Shit.”
Jack’s hips bucked of their own volition, and Robby sputtered and coughed, then rasped, “More, Sir,” and sank his head back down.
A moan tore from Jack’s chest, and he let go, fucking his hips up into Robby’s waiting mouth, both hands on Robby’s head now, guiding him, holding him where Jack wanted. His arousal burned hot, coiling tighter, spurred on by how eagerly Robby let Jack use him. There was no pain. No grief. Just a cresting pleasure that continued to build until it was uncontainable.
With a long, rough groan, Jack tipped over the edge, spilling down Robby’s throat. His orgasm felt endless, his mind awash in static, and a faint, continuous buzz coursed through his body, to the tips of his fingers and toes.
He kept his eyes closed as he came down, settling back into himself, opening his eyes only when Robby pulled off Jack’s softening cock. What he saw brought reality crashing back with the force of a detonation.
Robby looked wrecked. His eyes were red-rimmed and his face was a mess. Robby’s chest was still heaving in an effort to refill his lungs, and even from Jack’s angle in the chair, he could see that Robby’s pants were tented where Robby’s erection strained against the fabric of his cargos.
Both men were silent, and as the seconds ticked on, the gravity of what Jack had done—the power he’d abused—hit him.
“Robby—” Jack started, stricken, but Robby interrupted, levering himself to his feet as he did.
“I need to—” He pointed his thumb in the direction of Jack’s entryway. “I’m gonna go. I’ll, um—just. Take care of yourself,” Robby said, turning and walking away before Jack could formulate a coherent response.
Well, fuck.
Sleep was hard to come by. Between the thoughts of Jerry that plagued him and repulsion over what he’d done to Robby, Jack was exhausted when he arrived at work on Sunday night and in even worse shape by the end of his shift. Staffing was short, patients were irritable, and Jack was overwhelmed at the thought of having to face Robby at handoff. At some point in the early morning hours, Jack even considered sneaking out and letting Shen deal with the day shift, but of all the words he’d use to describe himself, coward wasn’t one of them. He hadn’t had the guts to text or call Robby over the weekend, but he’d force himself to face the music now.
When Robby arrived at 6:45 AM, he looked about as bad as Jack felt. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he avoided Jack while he stashed his bag under the desk at the Hub, then walked straight to the board to assess the situation he was walking into. There was no good-natured teasing about the state of Chairs, not even a proactive question about the night.
Jack thought he might be sick. He and Robby had been so good, and he’d ruined everything because he couldn’t compartmentalize his fucking feelings. He glanced at the time, and then at Robby, who hadn’t moved from where he was gazing up at the board, and steeled himself.
“Got a second to catch up?” Jack asked, as neutrally as possible.
“Sure,” Robby said without looking at Jack. “Who’s the patient?”
Jack plowed forward before he lost his nerve. “Not a patient.”
“We’ve got handoff,” Robby said, not leaving room for discussion. But Jack wasn’t an intern who’d be cowed by Robby’s determination or defenses.
“We’ve got ten minutes and an empty family room. Let’s do this, or your shift is bound to be as bad as mine was.”
That seemed to get Robby’s attention, and he nodded, then followed Jack to the family room, where the door closed behind them with a noticeable snick. Robby crossed his arms over his chest and kept his eyes on the floor. Jack was about to speak—to bite the bullet and hope he could salvage their friendship—when Robby beat him to it.
“Look, I’m really sorry,” Robby said, staring somewhere around Jack’s sneakers.
“You're sorry?” Jack gaped, perplexed. “For what?”
“You’re gonna make me say it?” Robby sighed. “I guess that’s fair.” He looked up toward Jack, his face drawn. “For taking advantage of you.”
“You–– what? What are you talking about?” Jack felt like he was in the Twilight Zone. “I took advantage of you.”
“That’s obviously not what happened,” Robby said, sounding frustrated.
Jack raised his eyebrows and forced eye contact, uncomfortable as it was. “Mike, I took advantage of this dynamic between us to get what I wanted from you, and I’m sick about it. I haven’t slept for two days.”
“You didn’t—Jack. I took advantage of you. I ignored that you were compromised to take what I wanted.”
“I didn’t say no!” Jack countered, focused on Robby’s misperception of what had happened.
“You couldn’t say no,” Robby said, shaking his head. “You were practically dissociating when I got to your condo. I knew better.”
Jack wanted to argue Robby’s point, but the rest of what Robby said suddenly hit him. “What do you mean, ‘you took what you wanted?’”
Robby scrubbed a hand over his face and looked away. “You heard me. It’s fucking mortifying enough as it is, without saying it again. I’m just sorry, okay? We had boundaries, and I fucked with them the worst way.”
Running the calculations in his head, as fast as if he were under fire, Jack forced himself to push aside his incredulity to read between the lines of what Robby was saying. There were things Jack never dared to hope for, that he always expected to do without. The possibility that Robby reciprocated Jack’s feelings was intoxicating.
“Jesus Christ.” Jack shook his head and grinned at Robby, still a bit disbelieving. “Were you also so lost in your self-flagellation that you missed the details of my apology?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Jack stared Robby down. “You think I’m just gonna let you suck me off because I’m what? Sad?”
“You in the habit of turning down blow jobs?” Robby challenged, flushing a pretty pink, but there was a small note of hopeful humor in his voice, and Jack saw some of the tension in Robby’s body unlock.
A loud rap on the door startled Jack from his thoughts. “Thing One and Thing Two! Get a move on!” Dana yelled through the door. “You’re gonna have a mutiny from the night shift if handoff isn’t squared away pronto.”
“On our way,” Robby called, then looked at Jack and shrugged nonchalantly as if the basic understanding of their friendship wasn’t in the process of being upended. “The Pitt waits for no man.”
Undeterred, Jack moved closer to Robby. “We’re gonna finish this, brother,” he said firmly. “I’m off Wednesday night. Swing by after your shift.”
Robby hesitated, then swallowed and said, “Yeah, okay. That’d be, uh, that’d be good.”
Jack nodded and turned toward the door, but stopped when a hand touched his arm. He looked back at Robby and raised his eyebrows. “And we’re good?” Robby asked; a tentative look had returned to his face.
“Better than,” Jack said with surprising certainty and winked, then opened the door and held it open until Robby passed through.
Jack’s days were full. He had two shifts, his daily workouts, a few side projects at the condo that had eaten into his free time for a few months, and, on Tuesday, Jerry’s memorial. Robby had offered to attend with Jack, but Jack declined, insisting he’d be fine. In actuality, he’d have appreciated Robby beside him as he paid his respects, but Jack needed space from Robby before they saw each other later in the week. Because, despite how busy Jack was, he couldn’t stop his mind from returning to Robby—to the trust Robby had placed in him, the ease with which Robby followed Jack’s direction, how incredible he looked on his knees calling Jack “Sir.” What they already had was more than Jack had dreamed possible, but it no longer felt like enough, and he was overwhelmed by the possibility that Robby felt the same way.
By the time Robby knocked on Jack’s door, an hour after his shift had ended, Jack was still unsure about how to approach the conversation, but he knew that they had to start by finding the guts to be honest with each other.
“Beer?” Jack offered, once he’d closed the door behind Robby.
“Maybe not,” Robby said, toeing off his shoes and kicking them toward the bench in Jack’s entryway. “One will lead to four, and I think I need to be clearheaded right now.”
“Fair,” Jack said as they walked to Jack’s living room. Robby was right, but Jack almost wished he’d done a shot or two ahead of time to calm his nerves.
They sat awkwardly. Robby massaged the back of his neck and looked anywhere but at Jack. Jack spent twice as long as needed on a skin check after removing his prosthesis. About when Jack was ready to throw his hands up in defeat, Robby laughed ruefully, the noise cutting through the oppressive silence that had built.
“Maybe that beer isn’t a bad idea,” Robby said, grimacing.
“Nah.” Jack shook his head. Robby had been right about staying sober; they were being cowards. Not talking was what got them into this mess in the first place. “Let’s just—let’s just do this.” He turned toward Robby. “It’s obviously overdue.”
“Yeah,” Robby agreed, finally looking at Jack.
Jack wet his lips and dove in. “When I offered to help you out, I swear to god it was above board. I would never have asked for sex.”
“But you wanted it? Sex?” Robby clarified. His face pinked, and Jack suspected he wasn’t much better off himself if the heat in his cheeks was any indication.
Having relentlessly thought about the answer to that same question, Jack was prepared, but still spoke reluctantly, anxious about putting his cards on the table so fully. “You’re my best friend, Mike. We’ve been through so much shit together I wouldn’t have enough digits to count it all out, even with a second foot. I’d literally rather die before I let myself fuck up what we’ve got, but yeah—” Jack paused to gather himself. He looked at Robby sheepishly, afraid but persevering, and held eye contact. “I want you.”
Robby’s lips parted, gaping slightly, and Jack’s heart thundered in his chest. “Not just because of what we’ve been doing on Saturdays?” Robby asked.
“Robby, we’ve gotta start naming this shit,” Jack said plainly. “Talking around what we’re doing is probably half of what got us sitting here staring at each other like we haven’t been friends for fifteen years.”
Looking up at the ceiling, Robby sighed. “Probably.” He looked at Jack. “Okay. What would you say we’ve been doing?”
“I’d say,” Jack said carefully, “that I’ve been creating scenes that allow you to submit. To me. I’ve been creating scenes where you submit to me.” He paused to give Robby a chance to interject, but Robby was silent, watching Jack neutrally but with the familiar blush that made Jack’s stomach flip. “Yeah, you’re getting out of your head the way you asked, but the name for what you're doing is submission, and I fucking love it.”
“So you’ve mentioned,” Robby mumbled, but somehow, despite how often Jack had said so, didn’t look convinced.
“Robby. You’re fucking incredible, okay? Trying so hard. Pushing yourself even when you were uncomfortable. The way you’d look at me when I told you that you did a good job. How—how fucking hot you look on your knees, staring up at me, trusting me to give you what you need.”
As he spoke, Jack caught the shift in Robby’s demeanor, the doubt morphing into a cautious interest, which was fortunate because Jack was on a roll. “You make me feel like I have—like I have a purpose. I just want to keep earning you, and I’d feel that same damn way even if you didn’t submit so sweetly that I’ve had to will myself not to get hard around you for weeks.”
Jack stopped talking and wiped his palms on his shorts. His cards were laid out, face up. Heart bared. The power now in Robby’s hands.
“That was a hell of a speech,” Robby said roughly. His eyes darted to Jack’s lips and up again.
“Yeah,” Jack huffed, trying not to sound like his heart was about to beat through his ribs. “So what say you?”
Robby scrunched his face and looked down at his hands. “I, um, I was pretty skeptical at first, but I’m trying to do Valerie’s homework, and she’s had some good ideas, so I figured it couldn’t hurt. But, yeah. I liked it. I liked—I liked submitting to you. Only worrying about what you asked me to do. Feeling like I’d done a good job.” He sighed and glanced at Jack. “I suck at this.”
“You’re doing great,” Jack assured, smiling softly, the warmth he felt for Robby suffusing his chest. “Trying so hard for me, like you always do.”
The flush in Robby’s cheeks deepened, and he looked away. “See? I like that.”
“You’re allowed to like hearing that you’re doing a good job,” Jack insisted. “You’re allowed to feel good when you get praise. And for what it’s worth,” Jack added, “I like it when I can give it to you. Especially in private, when I know you’re being good for me.” He tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, letting the burst of pain when he bit down override his flare of worry at the question he was about to ask. “I’ve gotta ask, though—and I need you to tell me the truth—do you like the praise in general, or because it’s from me?”
Robby mulled the question over, visibly considering. Jack appreciated that Robby was giving his answer its due, but his heart thumped wildly while he waited for Robby to respond, fidgeting with the fraying hem of the T-shirt he was wearing until Robby started to speak.
“At first, like I said, I thought the whole thing was going to be awkward and end as soon as it started, but I don’t know,” Robby gave a helpless shrug, “what we were doing worked. I started looking forward to coming over, to seeing what you had planned for me. I loved meeting your challenges. I liked, um, I liked doing a good job for you. And, yeah, maybe over the first few weeks I would’ve lied to myself and said that I could have replaced you with anyone and it would’ve felt the same, but that first time I was on my knees…” Robby trailed off, attractively flushed down to his collar, and Jack sat quietly, trying not to move, not to disturb the moment while Robby gathered his thoughts. He knew how difficult it was for Robby to open up this way, and was almost overwhelmed at Robby’s willingness to try.
Swallowing, Robby looked at Jack, his brown eyes soft and open, and went on. “The first time I was on my knees for you, I just—I wanted more of that. I wanted to move where you put me. I wanted you to keep looking at me that way. I wanted—” Robby’s face scrunched endearingly, “let’s just say that, when Jerry died, I acted impulsively, but it wasn’t the first time I considered getting my mouth on you.”
Jack let out a soft, shaky exhale. His palms were sweating and he was sure his heart rate would be setting off alarms if he were hooked up to a monitor. His anxiety had morphed into arousal with lightning speed, and he was finding it difficult to decide what to say in response to Robby’s confession.
Let me take you to dinner. I want you to be mine. I think I’m in love with you.
What he said was, “I need you in my bed five minutes ago.”
Jack’s hand almost shot to his mouth at his audacity, but the flash of heat in Robby’s eyes stopped him in his tracks.
“Fucking, please,” Robby rumbled, then, with an expectant look, stood and handed Jack a set of crutches leaning against the side of the couch.
“This is just a pause, Robby. We’re not done talking,” Jack said, once he was standing.
“I knew you’d say that.” Robby wore an achingly fond smile on his face.
“I want to know everything you like, and what you don’t, and we’re going to set boundaries.”
“Yes, sir,” Robby said, almost cheekily, but it had the effect of pulling Jack right back to the present.
“You like calling me Sir,” Jack said, the statement going straight to his groin.
“Yeah,” Robby said tentatively enough that it was almost a whisper. “I do.”
“Good,” Jack reassured, unwilling to let Robby’s doubt linger; then he inclined his head toward the short hallway off the living room. “Bedroom.”
They walked side by side and Jack was taken by how normal it felt to be walking to his bedroom to have sex with Robby. More than just the blowjob over the weekend, it seemed like they’d slowly been moving toward this for longer than either of them realized.
When they reached Jack’s room, Jack flipped on both bedside lamps and turned off the overhead light, then shifted his attention to Robby, who was standing in the middle of Jack’s room, looking a little lost. That was fine. Jack was going to be calling the shots anyway.
He walked over to Robby, stepping into his space, and handed his left crutch to Robby to hold so he could cup Robby’s cheek in his palm. Robby’s beard was soft against his skin, and he smoothed his thumb over the sensitive skin beneath Robby’s eye, reveling in the way Robby’s breath hitched at the touch. Slowly enough to telegraph his movements, Jack leaned in and brushed his lips across Robby’s. The kiss was electrifying but chaste, a promise more than anything else, and Jack didn’t let it progress before he stepped back.
“I want you to take your clothes off and get on the bed, on your back,” Jack directed. Robby only hesitated for a moment before he handed back Jack’s crutch and peeled off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor, all without making eye contact. Robby’s shoulders were broad and strong from his work, matched by muscled biceps, ready for the heavy lifting their job demanded. A dusting of hair was scattered across his chest, below his Star of David pendant, which sat just above a set of pecs that Jack wanted to sink his teeth into almost as badly as he did Robby’s soft belly and the flesh at his waist.
“Look at me,” Jack said, and waited until Robby followed the instruction to continue. “You’re gorgeous. You’re just—you’re so fucking hot I can’t believe I’ve had to wait this long to have you.”
Robby blushed, and though he didn’t deflect verbally, Jack caught the slight negating shake of Robby’s head.
“I know you can’t take a fucking compliment to save your life, so we’ll try this a little differently. When I compliment you, you let what I said sink in, no matter how uncomfortable you are, and then you say, ‘Thank you, Sir.’” Without waiting for Robby’s response, Jack went on. “Let’s try it. You’re so hot, I’m losing my mind standing here instead of touching you.”
Robby’s chest rose and fell, and his tongue peeked out to wet his lips before he swallowed thickly and, looking somewhere over Jack’s shoulder, said, “Thank you, Sir.”
“Good job,” Jack said gently, letting his pride show. “Now finish getting undressed.”
Jack watched openly as Robby unbuttoned his cargos and let them fall to the floor, kicking them away before he sat on the edge of the bed to peel off his socks and slide out of his boxer briefs. The hair on Robby’s belly grew thicker as it approached his groin, until it reached a delicious mess of untrimmed, thick brown curls framing Robby’s cock, which wasn’t fully hard but was starting to fill out. Even mostly soft, Robby was big, and Jack’s mouth watered at the thought of tasting him—of pressing Robby’s hips into the mattress to hold him still while Jack swallowed him down.
Robby climbed onto the bed, and Jack watched as he got situated, wishing they’d had the patience to talk just a little more before diving in headfirst, but he remembered what Robby had said about Janey and restraints and paddles, so he felt comfortable with the next set of instructions he provided.
“Put your hands on the pillow above your head and hold a wrist in your other hand, whichever side is comfortable.” Once Robby’s hands were placed how Jack wanted them, he asked, “Do you think you can stay like that, or do you want me to tie your wrists together?”
At the question, Robby’s cock twitched, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Whether from embarrassment, arousal, or a mixture of both, Jack wasn’t sure, but his own body responded as well, a thrill shooting through him at the promise of everything he and Robby could experiment with together.
“I can hold still,” Robby said resolutely, opening his eyes.
“We’ll see,” Jack teased good-naturedly. “Now spread your legs for me, wide enough that I can sit between them, and pull one knee up with your foot flat on the bed.
With that edict, Jack confirmed his suspicion that Robby’s blush would spread all the way down his chest, but Robby complied without comment, widening his legs and planting his right foot on the mattress. Like this, Robby looked like a feast. His cock was almost fully hard and his balls hung low and heavy beneath. Jack’s eyes dipped lower, where he could see the furl of Robby’s hole on display, and for the first time tonight, had to give in to his impulses and palm his cock to relieve the pressure that was building.
“You look so good,” Jack said, almost breathless at the sight of Robby laid out for him, exactly as Jack had directed.
“Thank you, Sir,” Robby answered. The tips of his ears were bright pink, but his eyes were hooded and his cock was now resting proudly against his belly.
“Good boy,” Jack said, walking closer to the bed so he could run his palm up Robby’s calf. At the praise, Robby let out a strangled moan that shot straight to Jack’s cock. Every sound, every reaction, every obedient response added to Jack’s arsenal of ways to care for Robby, and he planned to hoard the knowledge.
Jack sat on the edge of the bed and laid his crutches on the floor, then, unceremoniously, pulled off his shirt, followed by his shorts and underwear, letting them fall in an unremarkable heap on the ground. When he twisted around to climb onto the bed, he found Robby watching him with a heated gaze.
“It’s killing me that I can’t touch you,” Robby said, lifting his clasped hands an inch off his pillow and letting them flop back down as his eyes raked over Jack’s body.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” Jack drawled and crawled between Robby’s legs, bracing himself with his arms over Robby’s body. In his position between Robby’s legs, Jack’s cock grazed Robby’s belly, sending a spark of bright pleasure up his spine, and he moaned, letting himself have one indulgent roll of his hips against Robby's groin before pulling himself back up again.
“Fuck,” Robby muttered below him. Need was evident in his eyes, but he stayed still.
“You’re incredible,” Jack murmured, in awe of what Robby was giving him, that Robby wanted to give himself to Jack this way. Leaning down, Jack brushed his lips across Robby’s and, unlike earlier, this time he let the kiss deepen, nipping Robby’s lips until they parted and he was granted access. Robby kissed like he wanted to devour Jack, craning his head up to get as close as he could without moving his arms. They were both panting when they broke apart, and Jack lightly rested his forehead against Robby’s to catch his breath.
“I’d take you any way I could have you, but this is—you have no idea what you do to me,” Jack confessed, already out of his mind with lust, though they’d barely gotten started.
“I think I’m getting the idea.” A shy smile tugged at Robby’s lips.
“Yeah? Well, I’m not done showing you,” Jack said, with challenge in his voice. “Can you be good for me and stay still?”
Robby choked out a rough sound before answering, “Yes, Sir.”
“God, look at you,” Jack said, pulling away so he could sit up, knees on either side of Robby’s waist, damn grateful for the core strength that helped him balance. Robby’s eyes were hooded and he was taking deep, shaky breaths, making his chest heave. Reaching forward, Jack dragged his thumbnail over a pebbled nipple, watching the bud tighten further. When Robby let out a soft gasp, Jack did it again, then moved to the other side.
“Sensitive,” Jack said under his breath, pinching Robby’s nipple between his fingers and tugging.
Robby’s breath hitched and his eyes closed, something like a mewl falling from his lips when Jack tightened his grip into a pinch.
Adjusting his center of gravity to free both hands, Jack pinched both nipples and twisted, relentless, noticing Robby’s every reaction—his heaving inhales, the bitten-off sounds he made, the fine sheen of sweat at his temples—and reveled in the fact that he was the one making Robby feel so good. Jack's cock was almost painfully hard by now, flushed and heavy, and he wrapped a hand around himself and stroked to take the edge off, grunting in relief as he did. Robby’s eyes followed the motion of Jack’s hand, a needy look on his face.
“Can I fuck you?” Jack asked, his voice thick.
“Please.” Robby answered before Jack had even finished his question, one of his legs sliding wider, making more room for Jack.
‘Yeah?” Jack asked softly, inching forward on his knees across Robby’s abdomen and chest until he was braced above Robby’s sternum, one hand on the headboard to steady himself. He took his cock in hand and dragged the head across Robby’s lower lip, leaving a trail of precome in its wake. With a pleading groan, Robby’s mouth dropped open, his tongue resting on his bottom teeth, but he made no other effort to move.
“Fuuuck,” Jack moaned, “you’re such a good boy, waiting for my cock.”
Robby whined at the praise, but the sound was cut off when Jack fed his cock into Robby’s waiting mouth.
“Just a taste,” Jack said, banging his palm against the headboard and groaning when Robby’s lips closed around him, enveloping his cock in a wet heat that sent fire licking up his spine. He kept his thrusts shallow, with his hand still wrapped around the base of his cock to avoid giving in to his desire to fuck into Robby’s mouth, and thrilled at the greedy sounds Robby made as he used his ridiculously talented tongue to tease at Jack’s frenulum.
“You want it so bad. God. Fuck.” Jack pulled away before he let himself get carried away, ignoring the plaintive noise Robby made at the loss, and slid to the side of the bed so he could reach into this end table and grab lube and a condom, which he held up for Robby.
“I’m on PrEP, and I’m one hundred percent sure I’m clean, but I’m good wrapping it if you want.”
“No condom,” Robby said hotly, watching Jack toss the foil packet back in the drawer and slide it shut.
Jack leaned over to press a kiss to Robby’s lips, and then repositioned himself between Robby’s legs. “Drop your hands so you can hold your knees back for me,” Jack said, his whole body burning with arousal as Robby did as Jack asked, holding his legs back and open, face and chest flushing a deep pink as he put himself on display.
“This where you want me?” Jack asked, after closing his eyes to compose himself. He trailed a featherlight finger over Robby’s hole and watched his rim flutter at Jack’s touch. “You want me to fuck this pretty hole?”
Robby nodded wordlessly, a gorgeous sheen of desperation on his face.
“Can you ask nicely?” Jack asked with faux-sweetness, still tracing his finger around Robby’s entrance.
“Oh, my god,” Robby breathed, his cock kicking against his stomach. “Fuck. Jack. Sir. Please—fuck,” Robby moaned as Jack pressed the tip of his finger inside Robby’s body, too dry to do much but make its presence known. “Please fuck me.”
Brushing his lips over Robby’s calf in a gentle kiss, Jack grabbed the lube and coated his fingers. “One to start?” Jack asked, warming the lube.
“I can take two.”
Robby sounded certain, and a spark of jealousy flared behind Jack’s ribs. “Someone else giving it to you?” He asked before he could stop himself, even knowing it wasn’t his business if Robby had been fucking someone else, but wondering who and when and how he’d missed it. After Robby’s sabbatical, Jack had thought Robby had moved away from his string of meaningless flings.
“Jack,” Robby said sharply, drawing Jack’s attention. Jack expected to be rebuked, but Robby was looking at him knowingly. “There’s no one else.”
The tension in Jack’s chest released, but he looked at his thick fingers and then back at Robby. “Don’t push yourself past your—”
“I’ve got fingers of my own, brother,” Robby interrupted, the tips of his ears now scarlet.
Jack stared at Robby; the obvious answer that had eluded him was now all-consuming. “You are so fucking hot. Next time you’re showing me.”
He pressed two slick fingers against Robby’s hole, easily breaching his rim, imagining Robby alone in his bed fucking himself on his own fingers, maybe using a toy, and had to squeeze his eyes shut to ground himself. Jack wanted to take his time opening Robby up, make it about more than a means to an end, but he was so keyed up he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out.
“You need a third?” Jack asked roughly, twisting his wrist, watching Robby’s hole suck Jack’s fingers in.
“I’m good,” Robby panted, grinding back against Jack’s hand.
Jack raised an eyebrow and scissored his fingers open.
“I can take it,” Robby insisted. “Please. Just—just fuck me, Sir.” His erection hadn’t flagged and was leaking steadily on his belly, the head flushed deep, needy red.
Sliding his fingers from Robby’s hole and wiping them on the sheet, Jack reached for a pillow and nudged Robby up to slip it under his hips. “Hands back over your head, and wrap your legs around my waist,” Jack said, moving into position between Robby’s legs. While Robby complied, Jack slicked his cock quickly, ignoring the sparks that shot up his spine at the touch, and leaned over Robby’s body, notching his cock against Robby’s entrance while he used his free hand to hold his body weight.
Meeting Robby’s eyes, Jack pushed inside him in a long, steady thrust, not stopping until the full length of his cock was engulfed in searing, tight heat. Glancing at where they were joined—at Robby’s rim slick with lube and stretched wide—he bit back a moan and looked up at Robby again. Robby’s eyes were wet and wide, and his hands were clasped tightly above his head, knuckles almost white.
“You good?” Jack gritted out, working hard not to move until he checked in.
“Yeah,” Robby rasped, and used his heels to pull Jack even deeper. “So full.”
Jack pulled back slowly and rolled his hips forward more forcefully, enough to shift Robby backward on the bed.
“Brace your palms against the headboard if you need to,” Jack said, starting to fuck into Robby more purposefully, changing up the angle of his hips until Robby let out a ragged groan.
“Fuck. Mike.” Jack already felt close to losing control. “You’re so good for me. Fuck, look how you take it. Holding your arms like I told you. Taking my cock fucking perfectly. My good boy.”
Robby let out a thready whine. “Oh, fuck, I wanted—” “What? Tell me,” Jack panted, pistoning his hips faster; the sounds of skin slapping and their rough breaths filled the room.
“Wanted you. Wanted to be yours, Sir.”
Jack groaned and adjusted his weight so he could wrap a hand around Robby’s cock. “You are mine. You’re mine, and I’m gonna take such good care of you. Give you everything you need.”
Letting out a wild noise, Robby arched his hips up into Jack’s hand. “Please. Please. Please,” he babbled.
Jack wasn’t even sure what Robby was begging for, but he’d give Robby anything. “C’mon, Robby. Give it up. Lemme see.”
Robby went silent and his entire body tensed, constricting deliciously around Jack’s cock; even Robby’s chest stilled on an inhale as his cock pulsed in Jack’s hand, striping his stomach with ropes of come. He looked incredible, unselfconscious and lost in his pleasure, and Jack watched in awe until Robby let out a ragged exhale and then sucked in a heaving breath, sagging into the mattress.
“Give it to me,” Robby mumbled, nudging Jack with his leg and clenching weakly around Jack’s cock.
Jack let out a rumbling moan and, grabbing Robby’s calves which were still wrapped loosely around Jack’s waist, manhandled him until his knees were pushed back and Jack could hold onto his legs for leverage. Robby was lax and pliant, looking blissed out when Jack started fucking him in earnest.
His entire body felt electrified, sizzling as his arousal intensified. Mindless with need, Jack grunted with each exquisite thrust, consumed by the heat that continued to build in his core and by Robby, who was watching Jack with sated eyes, taking everything Jack had to give.
“Mine,” Jack growled, overcome by the realization that today was a beginning.
Robby—madening, self-sacrificing, loyal, brilliant Robby—wanted Jack to take care of him in all the ways Jack had secretly hoped to and—
Jack’s orgasm crashed over him in a blinding shock of pleasure. He shook through the force of it as he came, wave after wave, inside Robby until he collapsed, bonelessly, on Robby’s chest.
“Fuck,” Jack said, letting out a breathy laugh.
“Yeah,” Robby agreed. Jack could hear the smile in his voice.
They lay there quietly, steadying their breathing, until Robby murmured, “Can I move my arms?”
“Shit. Yeah, of course,” Jack said, mentally chastising himself for not thinking of that sooner. He pushed himself up, slipping out of Robby’s body as he did, and repositioned himself flush against Robby’s side.
Robby lowered his arms, and Jack reached up to massage Robby’s right shoulder. “You good?”
“Mmmhmm,” Robby intoned, then grimaced. “Messy, though.”
“Gimme a minute and I’ll get you cleaned up,” Jack said, then pressed a kiss to Robby’s temple.
“You don’t have to,” Robby said, already starting to sit.
“Uh-uh.” Jack pushed Robby back down. “I’m full service, brother. Just want to bask for a few minutes first.”
“Basking, huh?” Robby asked with a shy smile tugging at his lips.
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Jack grinned, more at peace than he could remember feeling for some time.
Robby let that sit for a few seconds, then pursed his lips and waved a hand between them. “You don’t think all of this is a little weird?”
Despite having a quip ready, Jack could sense that Robby was starting to get lost in his head, returning to the same question he’d asked when they’d started this together, so he took the answer seriously. “Us being together or the fact that we both like it when you do what I say?”
“Second one.” Robby scrubbed a hand over his face, then looked at Jack again. ”You make me feel good about myself. I don’t know if that’s weird. That doing what you say makes me feel good about myself. That you’re my best friend, and I like calling you Sir.”
Jack pushed himself up on his forearm. “You said yourself that you had relationships with dynamics like this before,” he reminded Robby, shoving down his unreasonable jealousy toward Robby’s past partners. “We started all this for a reason. Therapy homework, remember? You deserve to feel good. I want you to feel good and, uh,” Jack licked his lips, “if it’s not embarrassingly obvious, I really want to be the one to give that to you. If that’s what you want from me, too, then we’ll figure out the rest together, same way we always do.”
Robby’s cheeks pinked and he craned his head up to press a kiss to Jack’s lips. “That’s what I want.”
“Good. Then let yourself have it,” Jack grinned slyly, “because I already have a mental list of what I want to do with you.” “Oh, yeah?” Robby asked, his eyebrows arching.
“A long fucking list. Starting with getting you cleaned up, maybe a shower together, and then a classic Jack Abbot home-cooked dinner.”
“Wowwww, I really rate, huh?” Robby teased, his smile warm.
“You have no idea, man,” Jack said, ready to prove it.