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"Do you get out to the range much?"
Twenty minutes post-shift, Jack was tired enough that it was a fight to keep the amusement off his face at the too-casual question, the patient's dad ostensibly stopping by central to thank Jack...but it was a pretense and they both knew it. He took in Oliver—50ish, broad and built, with short-cropped blond hair, big brown eyes, and a trim beard highlighting a hell of a jawline. Jack had instantly clocked him as ex-military, and Oliver had done the same, that subtle understanding shared by those who'd been in the shit. Afghanistan for Oliver, three tours before retiring as Staff Sergeant.
Oliver's ex-husband had already left with their son—arm fracture after waking in the middle of the night, tripping over his dog, and taking a tumble—what had seemed like an entirely civilized parental handoff, despite being no one's ideal way to start the day. In another timeline, Jack would be there with bells on.
But Robby was on the other side of central, studying a tablet after Jack had walked him through their current patients. And it was eminently clear the man was hanging on every word. For that matter, so were Lena and Parker, both still behind monitors. The traitors. No doubt Dana would be back soon to complete his own personal Greek chorus.
So Jack just regarded Oliver politely and said, "Every once in a while," entirely noncommittal.
Oliver's lips curved up, somehow taking that as encouragement. "Ever been to North Side?"
"Nah, never been out that way," Jack tried again, willing the man to get it.
Oliver seemed to have other ideas. "You should go. It's got all kinds of ranges. Pistols, long guns, even archery."
Jack shrugged, going for the soft no. "I doubt I'd make much use of a membership given our schedule here."
Oliver smiled a little, all invitation. "Come with me." A hint of double entendre to that, nicely played. "As my guest," he added, pulling back on it.
Jack forced himself not to grin, because that would be the wrong kind of encouragement. "I thought they had a pretty strict guest policy. Wouldn't want you to waste it on me," he said, trying again.
Oliver's brown eyes warmed. "Worth it," he rumbled, outright flirting now and not hiding it even a little bit.
A flattered kind of heat swept Jack—it was always nice to be wanted, after all—but he just shook his head and committed to the hard no. "Sorry to dash hopes here, but I'm not available."
At that, Oliver's confidence finally flickered, going a little apologetic. "Ah, sorry. The nurse said the ring wasn't a current kind of deal."
Behind central, Jack clocked Robby tensing. But he ignored that, keeping his focus on Oliver: "No harm. But hey, I'm glad Dylan's gonna be okay. Come back and see us if he has any problems."
Oliver nodded, seeming a little regretful, but accepting. "Thanks, Doc."
And off he went. In his wake, Robby's silence was some kind of pointed.
Predictably, Parker stepped into it: "The Army sure did a bang-up job weeding out the queers," she drawled, laying on the sarcasm.
Jack shot her a look. "What is it you always say? 'We will not be denied?'"
"I know that's right." Parker nodded, a kind of thank you to it, her braids swaying. "Good that you're taking in the wisdom."
"Is that what you're calling it," he shot back, dry as dust.
Which was when Robby finally piped up: "Kind of a shame, though. Guy seemed like your type."
Jack felt himself wanting to bristle, quickly controlling it. Because what the fuck. They'd been entirely wrapped up in each other in the year since Pittfest, Robby finally going to therapy, letting them get more serious than the fuckbuddy deal they'd had going before that. Jack had thought things were going well. "I have a type?" he challenged, raising his eyebrows.
But Robby just doubled-down, holding his look. "Well, you have so much in common. Army, war, guns. Shared life experience. I hear that's the foundation of a good relationship," he said, almost sounding bitter.
Seriously, what the fuck.
Jack idly clocked Parker taking this in like she was at Wimbledon and couldn't bear to miss a volley. He turned to her. "Isn't your shift done?" he said, firm.
"I see how it is," she muttered, but off she went. Jack knew better than to order Lena around, so he looked back at Robby—
Who was already engrossed in another tablet, effectively dismissing Jack.
"Really?" Jack asked. He was just gonna throw that out there and proceed with his day? What was that about?
"I think we can take it from here," Robby said, flat. Behind her monitor, Lena's eyebrows rose, but she carefully kept her attention on her screen.
Jack was grateful for it even as Robby headed off to do his rounds, tossing back, "Get some sleep," as he went.
The dick.
***
Jack stewed on it the whole way back to his condo, into the shower, then into bed, where he tossed and turned. He didn't get it. He hadn't done anything wrong. It wasn't like he'd asked to be hit on. He hadn't even flirted back like he usually did.
What the fuck?
***
Shockingly, Robby actually showed after his shift, which Jack begrudgingly respected. He'd half-expected Robby to slink back to his place and hide. So when he heard the key turn in his lock, he headed out to the main living area, still in sweatpants and his sleep shirt, his prosthetic off.
Robby nodded in greeting, his energy down as he dropped his backpack on the bench inside the door and kicked off his shoes. Jack just eyed him. "Please clue me in to your thought process," he said, hearing the frustration in his own voice. "I don't get why you're pissed at me."
Robby headed his way, eyes tired and maybe...sad? "I'm not pissed at you."
"You shouldn't be," Jack agreed, defiant. "I shot the guy down."
And then Robby was there, pulling him into a rough kiss, his mouth hot. Claiming. He tasted like an echo of a protein bar, eaten on his way home, and smelled like hand sanitizer and stale sweat and it still got Jack's heart racing. Damn him.
He resisted the kiss for a moment—because they should talk—but then Robby slid his hand down to cup Jack's cock, soft but already stirring, and his brain promptly gave up on that.
They could talk later.
***
Jack grunted as he sank himself all the way onto Robby's cock, then held there. He surveyed Robby beneath him—naked and splayed flat on the white sheets, skin glowing with sweat in the golden light of the lamps, expression desperate as he stared up at Jack like he was the only thing in the world.
Jack knew that feeling, often had it when they were like this, as deeply connected as it was possible to be. Not tonight, though, not with Robby indulging in his inner dick. And not in the fun way.
But he needed to not focus on that, he reminded himself. He wasn't going to ruin a perfectly good fuck, not when Jack had the night off and Robby tomorrow. Not when they could actually take their time and enjoy each other.
Jack adjusted his angle and then levered himself up, feeling his thighs working, the slick slide of Robby's cock making him groan. He loved the way Robby made him feel full, ass gripping that big cock of his, nerve endings lit up in bliss. Jack pushed himself up and then sank back down a little harder, moaning as Robby's cock brushed against his prostate, just as he liked. Beneath him, Robby made a kind of helpless noise, hands flying to cradle Jack's hips.
"Uh-uh," Jack muttered, holding himself still as he grabbed Robby's hands and yanked. He leaned over and pressed Robby's arms back to the bed, framing Robby's head. But he didn't hold him at the wrists, instead he layered one arm over the other, as tight to Robby's head as could be. It bent Jack over him, running teasing fingers along Robby's inner forearms, smooth and vulnerable.
Jack stayed just like that as he moved on Robby's cock, rocking himself up and down, body singing with it, Jack holding Robby's eyes the whole time. His hard cock slapped against Robby's stomach every time he sank down, shooting lightning bolts up his spine, but he ignored it, pinning Robby with a look, both of them panting from the heat of it, the smell of sex thick in the air.
"He knows you like I can't," Robby rasped out, voice shot through with lust and some kind of desperation. His eyes were dark pools, turned on, but also some kind of wounded.
Surprise made Jack's rhythm stutter. Was that what he'd been on about? That some rando could wander in and access a side of Jack that Robby could never quite grasp. On the one hand, sure, the war brotherhood was a real thing, you couldn't really know unless you'd been there. On the other, what a shallow thing. Maybe you could build something on that foundation, but that was far from guaranteed. And he was with Robby.
But then, this wasn't Robby being rational. It was that surprising insecurity that flared every so often, when Jack least expected it. He supposed they were due.
So Jack bottomed out and stilled—that big cock lighting him up, heart pounding, a drop of sweat tickling its way down his spine. He held Robby's look. "You know me like no one else can," he said, hearing how rough his voice sounded.
"Not—not like that," Robby said, like a lament that plagued him.
Jack sucked in a slow breath, feeling his lungs expand as he pulled his hands from Robby's arms and straightened up, settling back onto Robby's hips, grunting when his cock sank in a shade deeper, the pleasure of it licking up his spine. He loved taking Robby's cock like this, setting his own pace, riding the fuck out of him until he lost it. Always a thing to see.
Robby's eyes followed him, but he didn't move, holding the position, arms crossed mid-forearm, all his vulnerability on display. Even just that tingled through him, Robby following his silent commands. But Jack pulled himself out of the hotness of it to think. Because he didn't know the answer here—there was no way to go back in time and have Robby join him at war...and Jack wouldn't even want that. He'd never want Robby to see what he'd seen. None of which was the reassurance Robby seemed to need.
Spotting the medical journal on Robby's nightstand, Jack reached for the felt-tip pen hooked into it, the kind he used to take notes when he was reading late in bed. He uncapped it, then leaned forward again, groaning a little at the feel of Robby's cock inside him. But he ignored the overwhelming heat of it, and Robby's trembling, using the pen to write first on one inner forearm, then straight onto the other crossed over it, a lazy, elongated scrawl: Jack Abbot.
Robby turned his head, tendon accentuating as he strained to see. Jack tossed the pen and leaned down to blow on the ink, drying it, Robby shivering at the feel. Or maybe at the sight of it, it was hard to tell. So close now, Jack held Robby's eyes. "You're mine, Mike. If you need the reminder, look here. Remember this," he said, brushing light fingers over his name.
Robby's face just collapsed—pleasure and disbelief and a desperate kind of yearning—and then his hips bucked, totally uncontrolled as he gritted his teeth, growling helplessly as he came.
Fuck, that was hot.
Jack took his mouth, clenching deliberately on his cock, Robby sobbing into the kiss as he tried to jerk his hips up into Jack's ass, halting, pinned by Jack's weight. When he finally slumped, spent, Jack pulled out of the kiss, feeling Robby's panting breaths over his lips as he got his hand around his own cock, stripping it ruthlessly. He pulled back a little, his eyes drifting over his name emblazoned on Robby's body—
He came on a rush of fire, the pleasure blindsiding him as he shot over Robby's belly and chest, painting him with his come. "Mine," he panted, muscles trembling, body sweaty and slick and gross. Deliriously so.
"Yeah, Jack," Robby mumbled, halfway to gone. "'m yours."
***
Later, after they'd cleaned up and dropped off into sex naps, Jack felt Robby stir behind him, forehead buried against his nape, arm over Jack's waist. "Sorry," Robby said, nuzzling into his back.
Jack just gripped his arm, squeezing tight. "Other people get pieces of me. But you get all of me. You know?" he said, trying to put it into words, this feeling that clenched in his chest every time he thought of Robby. Because he didn't have to know every part of him to know him. To know that this was it for him.
Robby made a sound that said he got it, felt it, even as imperfectly expressed as it was. "Yeah," he agreed. "Me, too."
And then he buried himself against Jack and let sleep claim him. Jack was on his night shift schedule, so sleep wasn't in the offing, but he stayed just like that, reveling in the feel of Robby against him, curled close, his warm breaths puffing soft against Jack's skin.
There were far worse things.
***
Jack could only laze that way so long, however, so he eventually slipped out of bed to do some laundry. By his count, Robby got about six hours and then woke for good, seeking out Jack and drawing him back to bed. They fucked it out for the rest of the morning, Jack catching some sleep during the afternoon. By the time he left for his shift, he was feeling good, Robby all mussed and used in the best kind of way, smiling as he fingered the giant hickey Jack had sucked into the skin below his collarbone, where it wouldn't show.
Jack floated on the high of it all the way to the ED, finding Parker there early, as usual. She took one look at him and deadpanned, "Your not-availableness is showing."
But nothing could kill Jack's good mood. "No one's forcing you to look."
"If only I didn't see," she drawled, dramatic.
Jack huffed a laugh. There was a reason she was his favorite.
***
Even the shitshow of a shift couldn't pierce Jack's contentment, insulating him from the ever-accumulating losses. Maybe he should feel guilty about that...but fuck it, he deserved this happiness.
When Robby arrived for his shift at 0650, he met Jack's eyes, expression going soft for a single moment, as much as they'd ever allow at work. And then it was all business, Jack running him through their cases, quick and efficient.
They landed back at central, where Dana nodded to Robby in greeting, her conspiratorial face on. "Princess brought cupcakes for Mel's birthday."
Robby went alarmed. "Please tell me I don't have to sing."
"You think I'd do that to Mel?" Dana huffed a laugh, patting his arm—
And Robby flinched. It was tiny, nothing, but Jack knew him. He knew all his reactions, all his little tells, and that wasn't normal. His eyes flew to where Dana had touched him—his inner forearm, covered by a long-sleeved shirt, Robby always running cold...
A horrifying suspicion taking hold, Jack said, "Hold the celebration while Dr. Robby and I have a chat." Then he gripped Robby's shoulder and steered him out to the ambulance bay, into the crisp October air. Robby allowed Jack to propel him past the cluster of medical assistants out smoking, but that cooperation only lasted so long.
"Jack, what?" Robby huffed, annoyed at being manhandled.
Jack turned to face him just outside of the group's earshot, hand pointedly going to Robby's forearm and pressing.
Robby hissed, stilling, something like guilt flickering over his expression.
Seeming resigned, he let Jack push up his sleeve to his elbow, revealing a dark scrawl high on his inner forearm, the delicate loops of his name on Robby's skin. But now it was different, Robby's skin red and angry around it, the ink of Jack's writing darker, permanent. Because Robby had turned Jack's writing into a fucking tattoo. Two, probably, inking Jack's name onto his skin forever. Like that was something people did.
The sight of his name made Jack's heart race, some shameful part of him thrilling at it, even as he knew this was probably something to worry about. This was not a reasoned, thoughtful decision; this tattoo was about twelve hours old, which meant Robby had gone out to find a tattoo parlor after Jack had left for work. Which made him wonder just what was running through Robby's head, something that spurred him to make a forever decision, on a whim.
But mostly he still couldn't believe it.
Jack looked to Robby, blank. "Are you shitting me?"
Robby's expression went mulish. "Fuck off." He jerked his arm back and pulled his sleeve down.
"Robby," Jack said, exasperated. "What's the first rule of tattoos? I don't even have tattoos and I know the first rule."
But Robby wasn't giving in, his jaw flexing. "It's my body, I can do what I want."
"The first rule is no fucking names," he insisted. "Names are tempting fate, man. I can't believe the tattoo artist even went there."
"I'm very convincing," he muttered.
"Not the point," Jack snapped. "What did you think would happen when I inevitably saw this?"
"That you'd laugh it off." Robby flared his hands, annoyed. "What's the problem? You were happy enough to write on me."
"Not permanently," Jack corrected because how did he not get that this was not a normal thing?
Something aching trembled through Robby's expression. "Well, why not," he said, quiet, like it was about more than just the tattoos. Which, clearly. But what? Robby liked being branded as Jack's so much he wanted to keep it? Jack had told him to remember, but he'd gone and made it impossible to forget.
"Explain this to me, man," Jack said, softer. So much of being with Robby was getting him to talk about what was in his head, kicking and screaming the whole way.
Robby went a little wild-eyed, like he might just bounce and head back in for his shift. Jack kept his gaze steady on him, using his expectant officer face, which seemed to make Robby settle. "I just—I wanted proof," he finally said. "So I can look down and see it. So even when it's over, I'll know I had this. That it was real and mine."
High-pitched ringing sounded in Jack's ears, the rush of sheer frustration like nothing he'd ever felt. He knew he should be empathetic and grateful for the honesty—because this was Robby sharing, acknowledging that insecurity again—but Jack just...couldn't. Not when Robby so obviously wanted what they had, even while acting like it was already over. "You are infuriating," he said, low and heated. "Why can't you just propose like a normal person?"
"I'm not—" And then Jack's words seemed to land, Robby doing a double take. "Wait, would that be okay?" he asked, his tone gone surprised, a tiny thread of hope in it.
Jack couldn't help the low noise he made. "Infuriating," he said again because if Robby wanted forever, or needed some kind of permanence, that was fine—no, that was fucking great—but he needed to tell Jack that with his human words, not spiral on his own and do whatever this was.
Before he could say so, Dana rushed out, glaring. "Hey, drama queens, we could really use an attending about now."
Jack started toward her, because Robby was still deep in his shock and that was Jack's bad, dropping a bomb on him like that. So Jack should handle whatever this was. But he looked back and offered, "It'd be okay, Robby," as he went. Because Robby would somehow manage to twist everything all up if he wasn't crystal fucking clear.
He clocked Robby's stunned look—confirming that he got it, at the very least—and then Jack turned his eyes to the ER. He needed to focus.
***
Jack stepped in on the coding patient, an unexpected hemopneumo, overseeing Mohan ably handling the thoracotomy. Once he'd stabilized, Jack went back out to central for his pack. Robby had returned, any emotion reeled in and hidden behind his professional mask as he went over the board with Dana. Still, Jack paused to meet his eyes over her shoulder, Robby finding him instantly—
Something dark and hot swept Jack at that look, just a flicker, really, there and gone, like a match blown out. But he felt the residual burn as he nodded and headed for the ambulance entrance, wondering what that meant.
As the doors slid open, he heard a chorus break out: "Happy birthday to you..."
Jack snorted and fled the building.
***
But he couldn't stop thinking about all of it. Jack's name, scrawled in his own hand, now gracing Robby's skin forever. It shouldn't be hot. It was dumb and rash, done in the heat of the moment, without thought to the consequences. Because their relationship wasn't public—beyond what Parker and Lena and Dana could guess—and yet now Robby had Jack's fucking name on his fucking body, like some kind of declaration. It wasn't like Robby could wear long sleeves for the rest of his life. Someone would see it and then everyone would know. ED gossip could give grunt gossip a run for its money; once one person saw, that was the ballgame. Robby had always wanted to keep his private life private, but this was the exact opposite.
Worse was what Robby had said, that he expected Jack to leave. He didn't know how Robby could still think that, like they hadn't been in each other's pockets for going on a year. Like Jack wasn't the loyal sort.
They needed to talk about that, Jack knew. They probably needed to talk more in general, but being with Robby was just...effortless. They clicked, the two of them riding the same wavelength, even without saying a thing. It was an instinctive understanding they'd found in each other from the very start and it had never failed him. Jack had always figured there had to be some kind of downside, he just wasn't seeing it. Well, here it was.
And yet. Jack couldn't help the low-level arousal that simmered through him at the memory of that reddened skin, the dark scrawl—the knowledge that Robby was now permanently marked as his. He kept flashing back to the sight of it, totally against his will.
Predictably, Jack didn't sleep much.
***
The want kept him right on the edge of arousal, enough to drive him to distraction, all the way until he heard the key in his lock again, and then Jack was there, yanking the door open to haul Robby in.
Robby, who looked just as desperate as he dropped his backpack, eyes shiny with desire, energy spiking as Jack shut the door behind him and slammed him into it. "Did you mean it?" he asked, breathless, like it was all he wanted to know.
"Do I say things I don't mean?" Jack challenged, crowding close to take Robby's mouth.
Robby made a hungry noise into the kiss, opening up to it, fisting his hand in Jack's t-shirt and pulling him closer.
Before Jack got lost in it, he pulled back. "Wait, I want to see," he panted, sounding desperate and turned on and not caring even a little bit. He reached for Robby's arm, shoving the long sleeve up, then repeating it on the other side, revealing the dark scrawl of his own hand—
He ghosted his fingers over the tender skin, feeling the way Robby sucked in a breath, looking up to meet his eyes. "I can't believe you did this."
"I wanted you with me forever."
"You already had that," Jack insisted.
Robby made a wounded noise and hauled him in, their mouths crashing together, sharing heat and want. Jack leaned his full weight against Robby's body, cock already half-hard. He ground against Robby's thigh, Robby grinding back, hands wandering over Jack's body, fingers flexing like he couldn't help it.
Jack knew they were too old to dry hump against his fucking front door, but fuck if he had any desire to do anything but rut against Robby as they kissed and kissed.
So he didn't, pouring his devotion into the kiss, into the way they thrust against each other, both fully hard and going for it. Jack broke off the kiss to pant into Robby's mouth only for Robby to suck him back in, one hand gripping his curls as the other clutched his hip, keeping them fused together. Jack rode the pleasure of it—bright and hot and bubbling under his skin—way too close way too soon, not that he could find it in himself to care. It felt too good.
Robby leaned his head back to gasp. "Jack, I'm—"
Jack growled and flung his hand to Robby's arm, a firm press to that healing tattoo—
Robby's groan was a thing of beauty as he shuddered against Jack and came, the sting tipping him over into ecstasy, written all over his face.
That set Jack off, coming on a choked-off moan, his cock pulsing as he ground against Robby, a wash of pleasure that kicked sparks into his vision.
After, Jack fondly took in the flush in Robby's face, nothing he could ever hide. He let himself rest heavy against Robby's body, feeling his heart still pounding, hummingbird fast. It never got old, doing this. He wondered if it ever would.
Their breathing slowing, Robby swallowed with effort, nudging Jack.
"Hmm?" Jack pulled away slightly, making a face at the stickiness in his sweatpants as Robby leaned over to his backpack—
He straightened and thrust something into Jack's hand, fast, like he needed to rip the bandage off. Jack looked down—
And his sex-stupid brain clocked the gray velvet box in hand. Recognition slammed into him, even as he opened it to find two plain gold bands nestled inside.
He looked back up to Robby, who seemed to be holding his breath. "How'd you get to a jewelry store when you were on shift all day?" he asked dumbly.
"I'm very convincing," Robby said, offhand, like he didn't quite trust that that was Jack's question.
Jack snorted, brain coming back online, a new rush of pleasure at this, an unexpected high. This was Robby finally asking for what he wanted. In his own special way. Apparently it was easier to get inked than pop the question.
Not that Jack needed him to say the words. Because they got each other.
Jack unceremoniously slid Lizzie's ring off his finger and grabbed the gold band that looked about the same size. He went to put it on—
And then paused. He found Robby's eyes, outright staring at Jack, awe in his face, a sense of unreality about him, like he didn't believe it. "Do you want to do the whole ceremony thing?" Jack didn't need the pomp and circumstance, but Robby was a romantic at heart; he might want to memorialize it.
Robby pulled a horrified face. "Fuck no," he said, vehement, the idea of making himself a spectacle clearly too much.
Jack grinned. "We can go to the marriage license office in the morning." He went to don the ring—
But Robby's fingers stayed him. "Can I—" He took the ring from Jack, flushing again, from more than the sex now, the lines around his eyes wildly pleased, everything about him exuding elation. A romantic, Jack reminded himself.
So Jack relinquished it and watched, fond, as Robby slid the ring on Jack's finger. He remembered how much that had meant, when he'd done the same to Liz. He didn't expect the simple happiness at the idea that Robby got to experience it now, too.
Robby stroked over his ring absently, that little forehead crinkle appearing between his brows. Jack noted that the gold looked different against his skin than the black had. But it was heartening, somehow. Things changed and that could be beautiful, too.
Jack reached out to smooth his fingers over Robby's forehead, soothing. Then he grabbed the other ring and caught his left hand. He didn't belabor it, sliding the ring onto Robby's finger, where one had never been. Because this was a decision Jack had made ages ago, before it was even a coherent question, the ring merely a symbol of the devotion underlying everything.
Robby seemed caught on the sight of it, something complicated flashing over his face as he rotated the ring, like he was feeling the weight of it. "I told myself I was fine without this."
Jack hummed. "You would be. But you can have it now."
Robby pulled his eyes from the ring to find Jack's face, gaze filled with so much. "Thank you," he said, meaning it on multiple levels, Jack knew.
He leaned against him, ignoring how gross his sweatpants had gotten, this more important. "I meant what I said, you know. You're mine. A damn parade of hot Army guys couldn't change that."
Robby slanted a sharp look at him. "I knew you thought he was hot."
Jack rolled his eyes. "He was objectively hot, man, but he's enlisted."
"You enlisted," Robby shot back, like this was not a valid argument.
"And then I saw the error of my ways," Jack drawled with a little half-smile. But he let it drift away, going serious, holding Robby's dark eyes. "Most importantly, he's not you."
Robby breathed out, the lines in his forehead deepening as he looked down. "Sometimes I see you with people and it just makes sense."
"We make sense," Jack corrected, firm. He cupped Robby's jaw to get him to meet his eyes, scrubbing blunt nails through his beard. "All you had to do was say what you want." Then he tipped his head. "The tattoos were kind of a long walk to get there."
Robby went vaguely chagrined. "That may have been excessive."
"Ya think?"
Still, Robby jutted out his chin, stubborn to the last. "I like them."
"Good thing. There's no going back now."
Robby brought Jack's left hand to his heart, fingers stroking the gold band there. "And I wouldn't want to."
***
Fin. Feedback is adored.