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Robby is more sensitive than he lets on. This is just a fact of life that Jack has learned like any other. The sky is blue, property taxes suck, and Michael Robinavitch will always have a rough night if he loses a kid on his watch. He keeps it bottled up well enough while he’s still at the hospital, not wanting to make things worse for the grieving parents and trying to put on a brave face for the med students learning to emulate him in all things. But when he gets home, he’s a shell of a man, prone to nightmares or heavy drinking in an attempt to dodge them. Jack always does his best to help him through it, knowing the pain well himself, but sometimes, talking it out while cuddling on the couch doesn’t cut it.
Jack knows tonight is going to be one of those nights. He heard it on the scanner, but wasn’t called in so either the majority were DOA or they got enough coverage before getting to his name on the list. Or maybe Dana knew how hard it was going to be on Robby and worked her sneaky charge nurse magic to make sure Jack got to keep his night off to be there for his husband in the aftermath. Either way, he’s grateful for the time to prepare.
A school bus coming back from a sports tournament out of town collided with a gas tanker on the highway, just a few miles from the exit to get to PTMC, so it made sense that they’d be the ones getting the majority of the patients.
Jack doesn’t hear anything from Robby for the rest of his shift until he gets a text an hour and a half after he was supposed to get home saying he's walking to his truck now.
<< You ok to drive?
>> I think so. I’ll stop if I need to.
<< Ok. Love you. Dont become a patient.
>> Love you too
He uses the twenty minutes or so it’ll take Robby to get home to tidy up the bedroom some, and lay out a few things. The extra soft throw blankets that normally only get pulled out in winter, some sports drinks from the fridge to deal with what will surely be an awful bout of dehydration and electrolyte deficiency with the way Robby only drinks coffee on shift, and a bottle of ibuprofen all get put on the ottoman at the foot of their bed. Those will get used regardless of anything else tonight.
On the duvet itself, Jack leaves out two choices.
What exactly Robby asks for varies sometimes, and he’s more than happy to provide either one. They’ve worked this system out to compensate for the times Robby finds it hard to verbalize his needs, taking some of the pressure off him and making it easier to be honest.
If he wants something gentle and easy, one of Jack’s old army t-shirts is there for him to put on. It’s soft and faded from age, and Robby likes having Jack’s name over his heart and on his back, reminding him he always has at least one person permanently in his corner when things are hard. They didn’t bother taking each others’ last name when they got married, so it’s a fun little treat. Jack likes it for similar reasons, seeing his name like a brand. It settles the darker, more possessive parts of himself he tries not to let out too often.
But if Robby needs that part of him, needs to get knocked out of his head for a little while? Jack can do that, too. And that’s what the collar is for. Simple black leather with locking brass hardware, well-conditioned and a little scuffed from use. The key to the clasp is on its own chain, waiting patiently in the top drawer of his nightstand if it’s needed. The weight of the collar helps Robby sink into a headspace where he can actually fully let go, and Jack loves the visual of the dark material against his throat.
When he hears Robby’s truck pull into the driveway, he heads into the living room to greet him at the door.
The man who enters their home is a shell of himself, eyes vacant and hands twitching. He’s out of his scrubs, which is a good sign. Sometimes he doesn’t even bother changing before heading home. But it’s immediately clear that he is far from okay. Jack pulls him into a tight hug before anything else, like he’s trying to squeeze all the broken pieces back together. Robby sways into his touch, heat-seeking and clingy and exhausted physically and emotionally.
“It was bad,” gets whispered hoarsely into Jack’s shoulder where Robby’s buried his face before Jack can even think to ask. He knew it would be, and he’s curious about the details, but not tonight. They can talk about it later, when the immediate trauma of it has faded some. Not while the wound is still raw and ugly.
“I know. And I also know you did your best, just like you always do.”
Robby makes a humming noise, somewhere between agreement and not. Jack knows the noise. It’s his “I did, but I don’t think it was good enough” noise. Jack has heard that one a lot over the years, and thankfully learned how to deal with it.
“Why don’t you go take a shower, wash the day off. I laid some things out for you. I’ll come in and check on you in a bit, after you’ve had time to settle in, yeah?”
Robby pulls back and nods, and Jack can see the faint recognition of his tone in Robby’s dark eyes. He does as he’s told without arguing, which can either be a good sign or a bad one depending on the day. Jack hopes it’s just that he’s too tired to be difficult, but it could also be that he’s fully dissociated. He won’t be able to tell until Robby’s calmed down a bit more, though. He’s prepared for both possibilities, either way.
Jack gives him some time, listens to the shower turn on, then back off ten, maybe fifteen minutes later. Waits a little longer for him to dry himself off and make his decision, but not so long as to give him time to doubt himself and change his mind. Jack’s a firm believer in first instinct being the best choice, and has learned Robby’s quirks well enough by now. He’s equally ready for and happy with both. There’s no wrong answer, but he knows Robby will convince himself there is if he’s left alone too long in this state.
So he knocks once, just to not startle the other man, then enters the room without waiting for a response.
When he opens the door, he’s a bit confused, because there’s no Robby, despite the door into the ensuite bathroom being wide open and the closet being shut. He should be visible wherever he is. But it doesn’t take long to find him, literally just takes looking anywhere but straight ahead.
Robby’s on the floor, kneeling patiently, head bowed to expose the lock on the back of his collar. Still fully undressed from his shower, hair still a little damp. He already looks a little more relaxed just from the position, letting himself get into the headspace he needs.
Jack’s so fucking proud of him.
He takes a deep breath then shakes out his shoulders on the exhale, getting into his own role before stepping forward into the room. He gets the key from the drawer and steps heavily until he’s directly in front of Robby, making sure he can hear each footfall and anticipate being touched.
He still jumps a little when Jack’s splayed palm lands on his upper back, spread wide for warm, grounding pressure, but relaxes almost instantly. He leans forward a bit to lay his head against Jack’s thigh for support, eyes fluttering fully closed. Jack locks the collar’s mechanism and slips the key around his own neck, then runs his fingers through Robby’s short hair just because he can.
“Anything off limits tonight?” His question is barely a whisper, just loud enough for Robby to hear. Quiet so as not to upset the fragile balance here. They have their usual established rules, but sometimes Robby’s particularly sensitive to certain sensations or words after a rough shift and Jack’s goal is always to make things better, not worse.
Robby pauses, actually thinking about it, which Jack rewards with gentle scratching at Robby’s nape, just how he likes it.
“I don’t think I can handle degradation right now.” He says it like he’s sorry about it, and Jack tilts his face up by the chin to kiss him as sweetly as he can.
“That’s alright love. Whatever you need.”
Robby melts into the kiss, hands leaving his own lap to hold onto Jack’s pant leg and belt, keeping him from moving away. “Need to hurt. Want to be good for you.”
Jack can definitely work with that. Emotionally cathartic masochism with a side of heavy-handed praise, coming right up.
It only takes him a few minutes to grab everything he needs, and Robby stays kneeling the entire time he waits, hands once again folded neatly in his lap, head bowed in a mix of obedience and exhaustion. When Jack is done laying implements out on the bed, he approaches Robby from behind, and slides a blindfold over his face. If he never sees what all is laid out on the bed, it’ll help keep him from overthinking and working himself up. There’s nothing new or particularly cruel, but Robby underestimates himself frequently and gets too into his own head about it.
The ring gag comes next, hard silicone that forces Robby’s jaw open without risking his teeth. The opening is wide enough for Jack’s cock, should he decide to fuck Robby’s throat, but he mostly just likes the fact that it reduces Robby’s communication abilities down to simple yes or no responses, and keeps him from swallowing back his spit. Robby always complains afterwards, but Jack fucking loves the way his drool matts his beard and chest hair.
Leather cuffs are the last thing to go on while Robby is still kneeling, pinning his hands behind his back. Jack’s gentle when he puts them on, traces the tender skin of Robby’s forearms with his thumbs and makes sure they’re not too tight before using the short chain between them to pull Robby up to his feet. Robby shivers, feeling Jack’s eyes on him even if he can’t see them, and Jack smiles to himself. He leads Robby over to the bed carefully and guides him into a more comfortable position, bent over the edge, legs spread shoulder-width apart, face tipped to the side. It puts a slight arch in his spine that Jack can’t help but run his hand along before squeezing an ass cheek in a tease of what’s to come. Next to Robby, laid out neatly are a knobby bamboo cane that tapers down into almost nothing, a thick leather belt, and a heavy stained-oak paddle. The order is intentional, like a proper dinner place setting, letting Jack work from the outside in.
Before anything else, though…
Jack brings his flat palm down firmly onto Robby’s ass, fingers pressed tight together. Robby jumps in response, lets out a little grunt of more surprise than pain, and Jack rubs over the spot he hit in reward and placation. “Good boy, all you’ve got to do is take it.”
Robby nods, though it's more just him nuzzling into the duvet, and he adjusts his stance slightly to be more comfortable before Jack begins in earnest.
For the start, Jack’s more methodical, setting a predictable pattern and rhythm, letting Robby fall into the routine. He alternates sides, aiming for mirrored spots each time, keeping his technique consistent until Robby’s entire ass and upper thighs are bright pink and tingly. Every now and then he’ll curl his fingers just a bit, letting his nails dig in for just a second, just to be mean. Robby makes the prettiest noises when he does, little offended gasps as he tests the hold of his cuffs.
He stays close, crowding in against Robby so he can feel Jack’s body heat, feel his breath. The warmup is just as much about intimacy as it is safety, helping lull Robby down to where he needs to be to fully get out of that over-active brain of his for a little while while also tenderizing the muscle a bit so he can handle the harder hits to come.
“Fucking perfect, sweetheart,” he whispers, then kisses behind Robby’s ear. “So handsome like this.”
Robby squirms a little at the praise, a quiet whine leaving his throat, and Jack doubles down as he continues to land methodical slaps until his own palm is sore and tingly. Whether Robby believes him or not is left to question, but he at least likes hearing it, and Jack’s happy to remind him just how loved he is, especially like this.
Jack doesn’t bother asking Robby if he’s ready for more. It’s obvious he is by his body language, but more importantly, Robby doesn’t want to be the one making decisions right now. It’s Jack’s responsibility. And he thinks Robby’s ready.
The paddle is heavy in his hand, well-balanced and solid. The lacquered wood shines beautifully, and they know from experience it leaves rather intense marks if Jack puts his whole strength into it. He’s not going to tonight, though the thought does cross his mind to abandon the other two implements and just focus on this one. It’s a versatile little thing, and it's one of his favorite toys to break out.
As is, it also works fantastically for the next step up in fully breaking Robby down, which is more Jack’s goal for this particular scene.
He rubs the flat surface over Robby’s pinkened ass and thighs, delighted by the way it makes Robby shiver in nervous anticipation.
“Deep breath.”
He waits for Robby to comply, a steady inhale through his nose, chest expanding. He holds it for a second or two, then a slow exhale, until he’s deflated and lax on the bedspread.
“Again.”
Robby listens, repeating the action as he’s told.
But this time, on the exhale, Jack brings the paddle down.
The air rushes from Robby’s lungs as a pained moan instead, and he tugs at the cuffs again on pure instinct, but he settles back down of his own accord, not even needing Jack to remind him.
“There you go, just like that baby. Give me another one.”
Robby full-body shivers, but he follows the command. Another big inhale, hold, slow exhale, once again interrupted by the paddle, this time on the other side. He doesn’t have to be told to keep it up, knowing exactly what Jack expects of him and wanting so badly to be good, to honestly earn more of the praise he desperately seeks.
Jack lets Robby set the pace, even if he doesn’t realize it. He hits him on each exhale, more random than he was with his hand but still spreading the impacts out and mirroring the target back and forth. Sometimes he adjusts his hold and brings the thinner side of the paddle down rather than the proper flat, just to watch the way Robby jumps and whines when the pain switches from methodical, deep-tissue thuds to shallow, stingy bites.
He watches, enthralled like it’s the first time they’ve done this and not the hundredth, as Robby’s ass goes from pink to red. He can feel the heat emanating off it when he rubs his palm over the skin, and every so often the muscle spasms visibly. It’s a gorgeous sight on its own, but it’s still just the beginning.
There's no set number of hits in mind for any implement, no arbitrary goal. This isn’t a punishment he’s making Robby count out or a demo at the local dungeon with time constraints. It’s raw and real and focused on getting Robby so deep into subspace he can’t remember his own name let alone how bad his shift was, and also a little bit for Jack, too.
Jack worries, and this is his way of showing how much he cares, as backwards as it sounds. Their dynamic is the foundation of their relationship, and stepping into his role as Robby’s sadist, picking up the mantle of control and safety and support is just another expression of love and trust between them. As much vulnerability as Robby gives him by taking what he doles out, it’s just as important for Jack to be able to be open about his own darker desires and have a reliable outlet he can trust to be honest and accepting.
He sets the paddle aside when Robby can’t hold still anymore. He’s stopped resetting his posture after each hit, squirming and having a harder time keeping his breath steady, so Jack decides this step is done. Robby wants to be good, so Jack’s not going to set him up to fail. Instead, he doubles down on the praise, telling Robby how well he did, how proud of him Jack is, how much Jack loves seeing him like this.
Robby’s breath hitches like there might be some tears hidden under the blindfold, and Jack just smiles and rubs his back for a minute or two, giving him a little break before he starts up again.
The belt buckle jingles as Jack picks it up, folding it in half on itself to get a better grip. Robby tenses and comes up off the bed a little, head tilting towards the sound to try to figure out what it is. There’s a good bit of metal in their kit, mixed in with the leather and latex and rope, half of it being stolen medical supplies, so it could be literally anything.
Jack gentles him back down. “Shh, don’t. Just stay still. You’ll get exactly what you need, trust me.”
Robby goes without any real fight, and Jack kisses down his spine in reward.
He likes using this belt in particular a lot. It’s one of his own, so old he doesn’t even remember buying it. The notches are frayed from over-use, the dark brown leather supple and butter-soft. It’s a wider strap, and folded in half is the perfect stiffness to make a loud cracking sound that’s just as effective as the pain itself. And unlike the paddle and cane, the flexibility of it means it wraps with the curves of Robby’s body, inescapable and all-encompassing.
Something about the material just speaks to him. Leather being a natural thing makes it feel more intimate, more real. It holds body heat, both from his hand and Robby’s skin when it makes contact. And there’s a certain level of care that goes into leather implements, everything from his boots to Robby’s collar to this belt needs proper conditioning and cleansing and safe storage. The ritual nature of it is what really got him into the lifestyle to begin with, decades ago when he was young and curious and craving balance and structure beyond what the military alone could give him. And everything led him here, to this moment, with his husband, so he forgives himself for being a little flowery about it.
He doesn’t let himself get distracted with his internal monologue of poetry about it, though. He’s got a task at hand far more important.
The first strike lands perfectly across Robby’s ass, leaving a bright streak that spans nearly hip to hip. He jolts and groans around the gag, and one foot comes up off the floor for just a second, but he settles himself back down without being told, forcing his lungs back to their steady pattern again.
Fucking beautiful. Jack even says as much, and smirks when Robby blushes a little, just barely visible under the bottom edge of the heavy blindfold.
He uses the belt much in the same way he did his palm and the paddle, methodically working over as much of Robby’s ass and upper thighs as he can until it's all the same shade, now deep red.
When he’s satisfied with the color, he doesn’t put the belt away, though. Instead of having it folded in half, he lets it drop to its full length, then wraps the third closest to the buckle around his hand a few times for a sturdy grip, leaving the tail end hanging long and whip-like.
For the right angle, he has to step back a little, and Robby makes a nervous noise high in his throat as he loses the grounding presence. Jack crowds back in and kisses down the exposed side of his face, temple to jaw. “Not going anywhere, love.” He waits until Robby nods and relaxes before standing back up.
This time though, when he pulls away, he leaves the fingertips of free hand on Robby’s lower back, arm stretched as far as he can and still be in the right position to use the belt effectively like this. Gentle pressure to give him something to focus on besides the pain and the fact that Jack is no longer directly behind him.
It works. Robby stays in place, no more tension or fear.
Jack starts with Robby’s thighs this time, just to keep him from getting too complacent. With the belt he can go a little lower, all the way down to just above his knees, leaving crisscrossed marks all the way up to the top of Robby’s ass, and then back down again. He’s loose with the angle of each strike, so there’s no real predictable pattern Robby can be lulled down by, and the very tip of the belt digs in harshly, especially over already-tender skin.
The noises he coaxes out of Robby’s forced-open mouth are divine, grunts and groans and pained, whiny gasps. One particularly mean hit catches right at the sensitive dip where ass and thigh come together, where Robby will feel it every time he shifts or sits down, and it gets him a genuine sob and makes Jack’s cock twitch in his pants.
Fuck, when did he get so hard? Now that he’s aware of his erection, it’s damn near painful, aching and throbbing about the beautiful display in front of him. A quick peek reveals Robby in a similar state, probably not even aware he’s subtly grinding into the blankets, the pain only amplifying the pleasure.
Good. If he’s distracted enough to seek sexual gratification, everything Jack is doing is working.
He sets the belt aside. For this next part he needs more control, which is where the cane comes in. Robby hates the fucking thing, which is also part of the point. The thuddy warmup was to get him in the right headspace and make his skin more susceptible to marks. Now it’s time for the real test of obedience, to make Robby feel like he earned the praise and comfort afterwards that he so desperately craves.
Before he begins in earnest, he pulls Robby’s cock back to where it hangs between his legs, over the edge of the bed so it’ll leak onto the floor, rather than the blankets. It also steals his ability to get any sort of friction as he squirms, which Jack finds amusing. His balls are swollen and dark already, perfect targets, but Jack knows that’s a little too far for the goal here tonight. Maybe next time. And there’s such beauty in knowing there is always a next time.
Again, he has no set number, no specific goal. He wants to see Robby break down completely, his perfect mess of a man. Robby needs the emotional release, and Jack needs the opportunity to provide and reward.
He swishes the cane a few times, letting Robby hear how it cuts through the air before it actually touches his skin.
When it does make contact, it’s a barely-there kiss of the cane against skin. Robby flinches like he was burned, then pauses and makes a confused little grunt that makes Jack laugh at his expense. He can practically see the scrunch of his eyebrows even hidden behind the blindfold.
And now that he’s no longer tense with anticipation–
The body of the cane comes down with a resounding crack that echoes around the bedroom, perfectly straight across both ass cheeks, immediately leaving behind a red-purple stripe where it landed. Robby yelps and nearly comes back up off the bed, but Jack flattens his palm on his lumbar, keeping him held still.
“Aht! You said you wanted to be good for me. Prove it.”
He waits, breath held and cane-wielding hand frozen perfectly still. If Robby actually doesn’t think he can handle this tonight, he’ll stop immediately and pivot to something else. But Jack knows he can, and hopes desperately that Robby has faith in both himself and in Jack to let it happen.
Robby’s submission is always a cherished gift, and it’s no exception tonight. So when he goes back down flat onto the bed and resets his bare feet on the rug, Jack breathes a sigh of both relief and awe. He takes that trust and holds it in his heart like a fragile little bird, and breaks character for just a second to squeeze Robby’s hand with his own.
“Ive got you, sweetheart. You’re doing so well, just keep being my perfect boy, yeah?”
It doesn’t matter that Robby’s actually a few years older than Jack, and technically his boss as department head. Not when they’re like this, in the privacy of their own bedroom. That’s his boy.
Robby nods as best as he can and squeezes Jack’s hand back. Jack kisses the back of his neck just above the lock of his collar before standing back up to his full height, shifting his grip on the cane slightly.
He’s not gentle or easy when he starts up again. He knows what Robby can take, and how to push him right up against the line of too much physically to get him to where he needs to be mentally. The cane lets him be significantly faster than the previous implements, raining down quick, burning hits in random staccato patterns that don’t let Robby anticipate or prepare. He squirms and groans, ends up hiding his face in the blankets completely, but he does as he’s told and endures.
Jack switches it up every so often, going from using the body of the cane to just the very tip, little hornet-stings that he knows ache like a bitch. Sometimes it's rapid-fire, back to back hits that don’t let Robby catch his breath in between. Sometimes it’s more steady, a consistent rhythm that gives him the briefest of respites to un-tense. None of it is predictable, though, nor is it the slow, methodical style Jack had been using with the previous implements.
By the time Jack’s worked up a sweat of his own, Robby is a fucking mess, and god is it beautiful to behold.
He sets the cane down and steps back in closer, rubbing apologetic hands over broken, bruised flesh. Some of the marks are already dark purple, almost black, pretty stripes and dots all the way from knee to lumbar. Some even broke through, bleeding just a little. The heat radiates from Robby’s skin like a sauna, and he twitches unconsciously, body held tense for too long to stop his muscles from revolting. He’s covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and when Jack gently tips his head back to the side, he sees Robby’s face smeared with spit and tears, escaped from beneath the blindfold.
Jack is, at his core, a sadistic fucking bastard, so he crowds in close and presses his own fully-clothed body to Robby’s, knowing the scratch of his pants and the dig of his belt buckle will hurt like a bitch on overly-sensitive, raw skin. Robby whines, just a pitchy little exhale, but stays perfectly limp. Jack beams with pride, and rewards Robby by digging his nails into the meat of his ass, just because he can, to enjoy the choked off grunt it earns him.
“Good boy, Robby,” Jack croons sweetly, kissing along his jaw and ruffling his still-damp hair.
One of Jack’s favorite things is blending pleasure and pain, so to balance out how badly he’s hurt his husband, he decides to offer him something a little kinder to go with it.
Jack takes advantage of the ring gag, slipping two fingers into Robby’s mouth, dragging them along his tongue and pressing back far enough to make him gag a little. It coats his fingers in thick, viscous spit, and Robby moans around them, rubbing his tongue against them as best he can with the gag in the way.
Using the saliva as lube, Jack slips one, then both fingers into Robby’s hole, kissing the faint freckles across his shoulders. Robby keens and presses back into it, cock twitching where it still hangs between his legs. He can’t help but tease a little, though as promised he keeps any degrading words out of his mouth.
“You want it that bad, sweetheart? Even though it’ll hurt? Eager thing.” Robby nods, makes a noise that sounds a lot like he’s trying to say “please” around the gag, and Jack lets out a quiet moan of his own, biting down where he just kissed to stifle it. “God you’re perfect.”
He takes his time fingering Robby open, teasing his prostate, scissoring his fingers for extra stretch, just luxuriating in the heat of him and the noises he makes. He doesn’t even realize he’s grinding against Robby’s thigh at first, but Robby just takes it like a dream, powering through the ache of pressure on fresh marks.
On most nights, Jack would definitely give him more than two fingers and some spit as prep, but as it stands, Robby wants to hurt, so Jack's going to let him. It’s nothing he can’t handle, though he’ll probably complain about it tomorrow, and Jack’s prepared to make that sacrifice.
He does warn Robby before he moves away from him this time, though, knowing Robby’s down deep already and a little fragile. He doesn’t stay gone long, just far enough to grab a few more things he didn’t think about when he first set everything up. He does grab a bottle of actual lube, as well as a small, remote controlled bullet vibrator, and a pilfered roll of medical tape. It really only sticks to itself rather than skin, perfect for gauze bandages and, well… Jack’s a creative man.
He strips down while he’s away too, tossing his clothes into the laundry hamper in the corner of the room. As much as they both love the dichotomy of him being clothed while Robby is bare and exposed, Jack wants the skin-to-skin. Wants to feel the heat and raised ripples he left behind against his own body.
When he gets back, he holds Robby’s waist in both hands, tracing the high ridge of his hip bones with his thumbs. “You’ve been so good, you can cum whenever you’re ready, okay? But I’m not going to stop just because you do. Understand?”
Robby shivers and nods, shifts his weight just a little to spread his legs farther apart, eager.
Jack has to stifle his laughter. Poor thing thinks he’s just getting fucked, that he’ll be able to hold out. But no, Jack has vastly different plans for him. After all, he’s not done torturing Robby just because he’s put the impact toys away.
He presses the little vibrator to the underside of Robby’s cock, nestled right over the sensitive spot at the base of the head, and secures it tightly with the medical tape. The additional weight makes his cock hang even heavier, pointed straight down and leaking steadily onto the floor. He groans when he realizes what’s coming, but makes no move to escape it, eager as ever to endure whatever Jack throws at him. Jack turns it on low then sets the remote aside, still in arm’s reach but out of the way.
Robby’s cock jerks instantly and Jack watches the way he tenses up at the sudden sensation, pleasure rippling up his spine. Jack lubes up his own cock properly and notches the head against Robby’s entrance.
“Deep breath,” he commands again, and Robby obeys just as perfectly as he did before.
On the exhale, he presses in, one long, smooth roll of his hips until he’s fully seated, grinding in deep to put more pressure on the blooming bruises. Robby moans and trembles, pressing back as best he can with no real leverage, greedy and needy and so fucking perfect.
Jack sets an absolutely tortuous pace, slow and languid, really taking his time to enjoy the scalding, velvety vice that is his husband’s ass. He makes sure to scrape Robby’s prostate with every move, in and out, overwhelming him with pleasure now instead of pain. The vibe buzzes away, offering absolutely no reprieve, and Robby is reduced to pitiful little moans and desperate squirming in no time at all.
He struggles against the cuffs again, until Jack releases one side of his waist to tangle his own fingers into one of Robby’s seeking hands, and he loses a bit of time there, drenched in bliss. He almost feels high on the power trip of seeing Robby, someone who is usually well-spoken and in-charge, like this, all wanton and debased. Just for him. It’s an indescribable high.
Before long, he can feel the way Robby’s thighs shake with the exertion of trying to hold back his orgasm. It’s one of his favorite ways to torture his husband, making him decide between denial and overstimulation. Sure, Jack could slip a cock-ring onto him and force him to hold it, or really double down and order him to cum, but making Robby be part of his own torture now that he's on more stable ground? It’s absolutely delicious.
Jack keeps fucking him at the same pace, focused on his own pleasure, using Robby like a toy. He lets his mouth run, too, all sickly sweet affirmations and praises. “Feel so fucking good baby, like you were made for me. Gonna fill you up so nice. My perfect boy, can’t believe I get to have you like this. Love you so much.”
That is what finally pushes Robby over the edge, that declaration of love. It’s cheesy and Jack will absolutely torment him about it later, but for right now all he can do is bite back an embarrassingly loud moan of his own as Robby’s orgasm wrecks him. He clamps down so tightly Jack can barely pull out far enough to keep thrusting, and Jack feels Robby’s spend splatter over both of their legs and the rug he definitely forgot to put a towel down on.
Robby squirms and groans around the gag, no reprieve from either the vibrations or the incessant pressure on his prostate from Jack’s cock, getting absolutely no mercy from either sensation. The aftershocks of his orgasm roll through him in sharp waves, and despite the awful angle his grip on Jack’s hand with his own tightens down painfully. Jack can feel the bones of his hand grind against each other, but it’s a small price to pay for the heavenly, rhythmic clenching around his length.
“Fuck! There you go baby, that’s it, good boy, take what you need.”
Robby nods and sobs, shaking like he’s going to fall apart, and Jack just keeps driving himself home, keeping that steady pace.
He’s not going to last long himself, not with this gorgeous sight below him and how worked up he got during the lead-up, but he’s dragging it out as much as he possibly can, desperately hoping to get Robby off at least one more time in the process.
Robby tends to get clingy after he cums, so Jack drops down over him, draped over his back and bound hands to keep close, bearing his weight on his free arm’s elbow. He leaves biting kisses all over the back of Robby’s neck, along the edges of his collar and the uppermost knobs of his spine, keeping up that balance of pain and pleasure as much as he can.
Jack loses the ability to keep talking, has to trade words for grunts and moans and heavy panting, doing his best to make sure Robby knows how good he feels when he can’t say it in real speech. As he gets closer and closer, his rhythm falters, unable to hold back much longer.
His thrusts start to get looser, sloppier, faster. Steady rolls become frantic snaps, driving in punishingly deep, the slap of skin-on-skin loud in the room. Robby must be miserable, but he bears it like a dream come true, even as the marks on his ass and thighs darken and scab over.
Everything all comes to a boiling point in Jack’s mind. The pleasure, dripping like honey on his tongue. The smell of sex and blood and sweat. The show of trust and submission… It’s all too much to keep his composure any longer.
He thrusts once, twice, three more times and then–
He finishes with a breathy moan of Robby’s name, buried as deep as he can physically get, teeth in Robby’s shoulder, leaving one last mark.
Robby, perfect thing he is, cums again when Jack fills him up, letting out a noise that can only be described as a wail, shivering uncontrollably.
Jack grabs the remote and shuts the vibe off immediately, but makes no move to pull out, enjoying the feeling of Robby’s body milking him for all he’s worth. Their hands are still clasped tightly together between them, and Jack smiles at the way Robby tries to sync his breath up to Jack’s, fighting for some semblance of control. He leaves soft little kisses all over the side of Robby’s face and neck and rubs his hip soothingly, letting them both come down slowly together.
As soon as Jack can feel his own fingers and toes again, he pivots his priorities.
He pulls out slowly, groaning at the sight of his cum dripping from Robby’s slack hole, framed by bruised and battered skin, the perfect image of debauchery. But he doesn’t let himself get distracted.
Jack’s gentle as he pulls away the medical tape, letting the vibrator fall to the floor to be dealt with later. The cuffs go next, finally letting Robby move his hands from behind his back. He rolls his shoulders and lets them fall to the sides, kneading at the duvet to ground himself. He undoes the clasp on the gag as well, and Robby spits out the silicone ring with a groan, working his jaw against the stiffness.
Before letting him fully roll over, Jack grabs the first aid kit from under the bed. He’s all soft hands and careful touches as he applies little bits of neosporin where they're needed, checking to make sure he didn’t do too much damage. Really the worst of the marks is that last bite, where he let himself lose control a little bit, but even that’s not too terribly deep. It’ll heal over fine, probably won’t even scar.
He has to temper his disappointment about that realization.
Helping Robby up onto the bed is a bit of a comedy, his legs are complete jelly so he can’t really bear his own weight, and he instinctively flinches against being flat on his back with how sore his ass is, but they manage it together with only minor giggling like children and accidentally kicking each other.
Jack pulls the blindfold off slowly so Robby can readjust to the light in the room, and when he blinks his eyes open, leans in for a deep, loving kiss, index finger looped into Robby’s collar to feel his rapid pulse.
“How ya feeling, baby?” gets asked in between kisses, Jack barely pulling back far enough to separate their lips fully.
Robby hums, tired but sated, and kisses him again in lieu of a real response. Jack takes it, satisfied that he’s at least better than he was when he walked through the front door.
Jack finishes cleaning them both up and glares at Robby until he rolls his eyes and drinks one of the bottles of Gatorade and takes a few pain killers, then turns off the lights and gets them both bundled up in bed. Robby doesn’t ask about having his collar off, wanting the comforting weight, and Jack’s more than happy to let him keep it on for as long as he needs. He should probably make Robby eat real food at some point, but with how exhausted he already was before they started, that can be a tomorrow morning problem. Breakfast solves everything.
Robby curls up into Jack’s chest, letting himself be babied a bit, which is a good sign. Means he’s still in that calm, floaty headspace where he’s not afraid or ashamed to let Jack take care of him. Jack rubs his back and kisses his forehead, giving him the space to come down from the endorphin high at his own speed.
As much as Jack loves doling out pain, this is what he loves the most about his role. The quiet aftermath, where love and trust and relief all come together, tangible proof that what he did served its purpose. Robby still carries the weight of today, but it’s not as heavy. The jagged edges of the pain and sadness are dulled down, worn smooth.
“Thank you,” is the first real thing Robby says, mumbled into Jack’s chest.
Jack beams and kisses his forehead again. “I should be the one thanking you. You were perfect.”
Robby doesn’t respond again, breathing leveling out as he drifts off to sleep, worn out from his shift and then everything Jack just put him through.
Jack doesn’t fall asleep immediately, just lays there, holding his husband, shielding him from the weight of the real world for as long as he can. Watches for any frowning or twitching that could indicate a nightmare, but Robby sleeps soundly.
And when he does finally let himself drift off too, it’s with a smile on his face and an arm around his husband.