Work Text:
Jack is unequivocally aware of the fact that Robby used to smoke, does smoke, and can in fact be seen smoking on occasion.
Jack also knows he finds that the way Robby smokes gets him so hot it's almost embarrassing to admit to it.
He wasn't proud of his fixation with it, given that the habit does in fact kill, and is in fact an addiction, but it's something about the way Robby's lips hit the filter that he can never ever seem to look away from.
Jack noticed that particular obsession in himself about 10 years prior, in the early stages of their friendship, when he was new to Pittsburgh, and new to the ED, and new to knowing Robby as a fellow capable and trusted attending. When he still had that combat bug on him, and his leg would still burn fire at the end of each shift, and his new condo rang empty around the space of his dead wife.
The shift had been fine, all things considered, no massive pile up, no mass casualty event, not even a fucking accidental drowning, boring by all account. Until a little girl came in with a compound fracture in her right leg, no parents in sight, and two overly qualified attendings almost bickering over the wailing child.
Not their finest moment to say the least. And now a decade later, Jack can say he was wholeheartedly wrong in how he tried to handle the case, hell, 3 solid hours later he remembered being sorrier than he ever recalled in how he handled the whole thing.
Jack had spent the better half of his career at the time in combat, treating bullshit unfair breaks like compounds, like contusions so goddamn horrible you could envision the clot in the poor bastard's leg or fucking lung before it even fully bloomed. Like a knife wound so fucking brutal you could convince yourself some hellish creature had crawled from the earth to rip up a man hoping in vain to just hold his guts in a little while longer.
The little girl's leg had been fucking chopped and screwed, and Jack well, he could feel what was left of his own wail in response to her cries.
She was Robby's patient and he had been right there in it with her, ushering her through the temporary stabilization, and what he knew to be a breath stealing initial sterilization. The girl had screamed and cried, great big heaving sobs that ended in choking gasps, gags, ones he recognized. And he found himself unable to sit thorough it a moment longer.
And Robby had held her through it all, her little hands tight on his skin and scrubs. Not that Jack had noticed.
He remembers rushing in, taking over, almost hip checking the man out of the way, like they were in a combat zone, and not a Tier 1. He was met with the wall of Robby's body, and hard eyes, all while running his mouth; Robinavitch get off your ass, do something, do this, do that. Bullshit orders that Robby could have made himself and probably was in the process of making, while Jack was barking out directions that would be useful if the patient had been a 200 pound man and not a 20 pound toddler.
He had lost his cool.
And to his credit, Robby had let it all slide, face screwed into such an expression that Jack had almost told him to quit bitching like he was in the Army instead of speaking to a coworker in the middle of the ER. When they finally rolled her up for surgery—big tear stained eyes, and a waving little hand—and sent trembling parents they finally got hold of trailing her, Robby pulled him to the side and Jack had in fact gotten into the biggest pissing match post Army to date.
Robby had laid into him. Called him everything under the sun except for a bad doctor, like Jack had insinuated in his own earlier panic dazed dress down. His lips screwed flat around how he didn't give a shit about Jack's service, and all the other assholes that signed up to fucking be there. How he especially didn't give a fuck about Jack's medical expertise that came from cleaning up the messes grown men made of each other, while Robby had been doing the same exact thing on kids caught in collateral. Right here on U.S. soil in Katrina, all the way to Congo and Yemen, Jack hasn't seen a single thing that Robby hadn't seen himself. The man had told him to choke on that Lieutenant, vicious and cutting enough on his rank that it had shot right through the heart of his temper, and finally his own downright nasty comments he made to the other man had drifted to the forefront of his own mind like a waking nightmare.
Worst of all, the look in Robby's eyes had pierced to the core. Yes, there was bare and bald disappointment swimming in them, but something about the way he had looked at Jack after, like the man had confirmed all his suspicions from the start about being some fucking Army shithead made him feel worse, lower than low really.
In the hours after Jack had felt like a ghost in the ER.
He was well aware of his problem with eye contact, his almost obsessive compulsion for that small bid of connection in the ED. It had been imperative in combat, a necessary and immediate form of contact that got him and his guys through whatever hell. He was conscious of the fact that he practiced that same kind of check in with Robby, even in the beginning when they hadn't really been friends. Had noted the blatant surprise every time they made eye contact, but the man hadn't said anything about it. Instead, Robby had taken it in stride, a small nod, a quirk of his mouth in acknowledgement. The other man had even started doing it back, when Jack would turn his head to check in, Robby was right there with him shaking his head in return, amused, like he had already known where his head was at.
So, in the wake of their blowout, Robby had kept firmly to himself, very obviously avoiding him.
It had sucked, badly.
He had lost track of the man in the wake of it all, no more eye contact meaning that Robby could slip in an out of his awareness to the point where at shifts end Jack just hadn't been able to find him. Something sick and silent had settled into him by the time he made it to his locker.
Jack had wanted to apologize, wanted to maybe yell a little bit more, wanted to look Robby right in his eyes and call him every name in the fucking book for bringing up his service, wanted to beg forgiveness.
It sat heavy in his chest, a sick cocktail of emotions he knew for a fact would stick with him when he got home. He had contemplated on how to talk to Robby about it the next day on their shared shift again, on break, next time he fucking saw him, anything to wash the tension away when he had heard a throat clear pointedly in the doorway.
It was Dana. In his short time at The Pitt he had recognized who ran the place and who actually runs the place, and Dana was right there up top where Adamson had been. She was sort of just standing there, lips a little thinned, eyes a little sharp, clear conflict across her face even as he remembers the little compassion that shone through in the way she had her head turned at him.
And well, he had nothing to say, no way of explaining himself, his behavior, so he had sat there just watching her watch him.
He remembers how she rolled her eyes, pure exasperation in her voice as she pursed out, "He's on the roof if you're looking for him." Her eyes were sharp and still as she took him in, "and there's a real way to go about making complaints if you think he's a shit doctor, HR would be happy to help you with that." There had been absolutely no give in her voice as she said it either.
Fuck.
Jack had found his mouth dragging open, sorrier than ever to explain himself in some way but she had just shook her head firmly and shot her eyes in direction to the roof. A real explain yourself to Robby not me.
And the trek to the roof had seemed unending.
When he finally made it he didn’t know if it was relief or pure bad luck that it was still dark, the barest hints of sunrise were just beginning to come up over the sky.
There he had found Robby leaning heavily against the safety railing, absolute irritation shining through the way he had been holding his frame. One single unlit cigarette tapping softly in succession against the meat of his thigh.
He hadn't turned back to look at him.
Jack had taken his time, absolutely doing his best to read the shape of the man and how welcome his approach would be. He half hoped for Robby to just ignore him, to turn himself around and head back down to the ED. Leaving Jack alone with his thoughts, his shame, and what was going to be a sincere but truly incoherent apology.
When he had finally sidled up to Robby, he took a breath ready to say—something, he doesn't know—when the man had interrupted him.
"You smoke?"
It was almost whispered out into the tense silence between them, so far from the point of what Jack should be doing up here that it wiped his mind squeaky clean, a blank dark canvas empty of what he could be saying to the other man.
He found himself only shaking his head no, a little shocked, a lot grateful.
Robby's eyes slid to his and back onto his cigarette, flipping the stick between his long fingers, before placing it between his lips.
And Jack found himself entranced in the motion. The way his hand cupped the flame, how his mouth held the filter between his lips, the way he cut his eyes to Jack as he watched him watch—eye's still hard, still quiet—and Jack hadn't been able to make himself look away.
Robby took a drag, and the cherry had glowed fire in the still dark of the early morning, the light of it bouncing off of his dark eyes.
He had blown the smoke off to the side, before his eyes locked with Jack's again, considering, and his hand had come up to the cigarette before twisting it towards him, a silent offering while the lit end still smoked in the cup of his curled palm.
Jack didn't smoke—could always bum one or two in the Army, but it hadn't caught on enough to ever get his own pack, to commit any specific brand to mind—but he found himself grabbing at the cig anyway.
He had watched as Robby's eyes followed his hands as he brought it up to his lips, a quiet sigh escaping the man and he watched as the tension holding his frame evaporated. He took a slow drag—a too strong one really—longer than any of the tentative tastes he had taken in the Army or in his youth, and felt the bitter burning on his lips, the downright arresting taste of ash and heat on his tongue, all while Robby watched.
The man in question had plucked the cig right out from between his lips again, returning it to its rightful place. From Jack's lips to his. He had held himself perfectly still as he watched Robby smoke it down to the nub, and remembered the flickering light in the darkness, and murky silence between them.
And when the man finished—ashing the rest of it on the railing before slipping it into his coat pocket—Robby had bumped him at the hip and shoulder, before quirking a small quiet smile at him, forgiveness in his eyes, and turned, leaving the roof.
Jack hadn't watched him go, preoccupied with the warmth of the man's eyes, the phantom touch of Robby's cigarette between his lips, and the unwanted heat in his own face.
So that's how this whole thing had started, sue him.
And unfortunately for Jack, it had continued, ballooned really, swelling and swelling over the last 10 years until what had been an idle fascination with Robby's habit expanded into barely concealed lust.
Each new comedown between them ushering in more heat, more gut twisting interest in Robby and his freaking cigs.
One that Jack swears to god Robby encouraged, each offered drag always coming off the back of a bad shift, an impossible call, anxious energy winding through him and the man in question always right there. Offering an ear and that single second drag, and each exhale and warm meeting of the eyes washing him clean.
Damn him.
Jack had almost mourned the loss when Robby had cut down on his smoking, congratulating him on his interest in his own health even as a small selfish part of himself genuinely wept at the potential pause in those moments of electric heat between them.
But Robby still smoked on those really shit days, and Jack still got his selfish second drag.
He thought he had it under wraps, and he had—truly—until one teeny tiny magazine blew the last of his self control out of the water.
***
An after work get together in front of coworkers and friends is one of the top 3 places Jack doesn't want to be blindingly jealous and horny in one breath. Especially not in front of Dana or Parker, it feels unseemly, obscene. So goddamned juvenile he would consider being embarrassed if it hadn't gotten him exactly what he wanted.
It was a small-ish get together, Dana sternly inviting them all to finish off the summer quarter together. It had started off as just Jack and Robby, Dana and her husband, and then Parker had come along, Shen trailing after her, and Jack always gets a kick out of Robby's fond bewilderment with the man.
A real cool down they all needed, slow almost sedated conversation between drinks, a few shots sprinkled in between too many beers and stolen sips of someone else’s—Dana's, to her husbands obvious unending amusement—wine.
And for that he's forever thankful, because it gets Robby just tipsy enough, just comfortable enough to mention that he used to be a regular at the little dance bar down the block when he was in his 30s. That he's friends with the owners, and he hasn't been to visit or have a drink there since before COVID.
"But I haven't been in about 7 or 8 years, I doubt she'll expect to see me," he had said amusement in his eyes and tone.
It's enough to make Jack take notice, enough to make him sit up from where he's slid down in his seat next to Robby, basking in the tender heat between them while Dana and Parker shoot him increasingly amused looks. So what that he's using the alcohol to his advantage, it makes him clingy anyways if he's drunk enough, and Robby has never cared if he's a little close, or a little loud, or just plain running his mouth.
But Robby has never ever mentioned this bar, or this side of town even in recent memory, and he sees something like surprise run across his face, like he hadn't actually meant to say what he just said at all.
"Oh?" from Dana, loud and knowing into the hush between Jack and Robby, and now he really needs to see about this bar, because Dana knows something he doesn’t, and apparently knows it well.
He watches Robby's eyes flit to hers, a healthy dose of color rising in his face, eyes screwed tight and playfully regretful, "Yeah, yeah, Evans, that place. I didn't mean to say that clearly."
"Let's go."
The body he's absolutely pressed up against jolts like it forgot he was here, and as Robby makes an aborted move to give him some space Jack leans himself more into the cradle between the man's body and the leather backing of the booth.
"Jack—"
"No,no, no, let's go. Now."
"Jack—"
He's already out of the booth, pulling himself up and Robby with him, absolutely ignoring the man's quiet protests, as well as the feel of Robby's hands on his waist.
Jack had put his card on the tab well before anyone could even protest to pay, process expedited, no waffling. And they're out the door in a determined march down the block while Robby trails behind them, in what seems to be a heated debate with Dana and her husband.
"You know what sorta place this is?" comes Shen, nursing a cool amused look on his face.
"Don't care, wanna see it." God, he's a little drunk.
"Helluva place for him to be though," Ellis says, a slight wobble in her walk while she bumps shoulders with Shen. And something in the way she says that clues him in.
Jack feels the way his heart manages to genuinely skip a beat. He knows in a very intellectual sense that Robby sometimes goes for men. Has mentioned one or two in his past, rarely in his present.
"What?" Jack doesn't think so, it seems exactly like the sort of place Robby would be at, when he wasn't pretending to be so mild mannered.
"Nah," comes John's voice sort of slow and still endlessly unfazed, "he's taking a load off, doesn't really count if we all know."
There's a quiet sort of hum coming out of the stout building when they reach it, from the music and chatter that floats through the cooling air, from the people—young and old alike—that are hanging by the doors, and on the sidewalk drifting in and out. An almost sultry vibe that makes Jack want to break his neck to look back at Robby, a real interrogation on the man for what he was getting up to in his 30s.
The atmosphere only closes tighter as they make their way in, dark wood, soft lights, chatter on chatter on chatter, couples pressed in the more shaded corners, and a low bass thrum of some kind that makes Dana crow the second she hears it, dragging her husband off to the floor where other bodies bump to the beat.
A real earthiness to it that spells trouble for his psyche.
It's not even 30 seconds in the place before he hears Robby's laughter of all things break through the noise in his head. The kind that he only hears once in a blue moon from the man. Not that familiar hooting of his, or that mocking sort of snort when he's being a dick on purpose, or even the helpless kind that comes off the back of a truly ridiculous shift.
Instead it's warm, familiar, the kind Jack only hears when the man is embarrassed but amused, having fun, the one he's only heard when Robby gets it in his head to flirt back a little, let loose, and that makes him whip around—
To find Robby with his arms full of some woman with wild dark hair doing her absolute best impression of an excited poodle, and a taller man coming up right behind her smooshing them both in a long entirely too familiar embrace.
Parker lets loose a low whistle right in his ear, and out the corner of his eyes he sees how her eyebrows raise high at the scene, "Yeah, you better work quick Abbot because that right there is going to ruin your night for sure." And she's floating off before he can get a word in.
Shen claps a hard hand on his back once in almost consolation before he slinks away into the sway of the bar.
Robby is still red face and entirely too pleased with himself when he finally makes his way over, mirth and something warmer in his eyes, "Jack," he says gesturing to the couple, "this is Leticia and her partner James."
The woman is already bounding over, and he finds himself with an armful of her, crushed tight and warm, "Hi, it's so nice to meet you finally!"
He raises an eyebrow from over her head at the man, apparently he's been made a topic of conversation in Robby's increasingly interesting personal life, outside of all the time he spends with the other man.
Okay.
Leticia is already out his arms and bouncing back over to Robby, pulling him into what Jack is sure to be some spirited conversation, and Robby is right there listening to her, eyes soft and practiced with it in a way that makes his stomach turn.
Her partner, James, makes his way over, a firm handshake that's almost as warm as the embrace he had just found himself in, when it strikes him that Robby is "friends" with a downright knockout of a couple.
The man quirks his plush lips at Jack still watching Robby and Leticia unfold, dark eyes dancing as he opens his mouth, "Yeah, Mike spends a lot of time mentioning you man. Letty is just excited, doesn't mean anything by it. He just hasn't been here in a good while, she's happy. You know how it goes."
No he doesn't.
Re-con. Now that he can do, "You-all haven't seen him in a few years?"
James is leaning back against the bar, long body relaxed and open as his eyes dance over the pair, "No, that's not what I said." His eyes cut to Jack's, a hair raising knowing in them that makes him want to pack this night up and take Robby and himself home, "he hasn't been here in a good few years, but we see him from time to time."
Jack is so mad he could spit.
And apparently James can tell because the man's face splits open on a warm laugh that sends a jolt through him, Robby sure knows how to pick 'em Jesus.
"Hey man," he says, a placating sort of slump in his frame, "no harm. But it is exactly what you think it is."
Jack isn't one to flinch, to blush, anything of the sort, but jeez is he selling it here. So he makes his way to the bar stool right next to James and sits his ass down before he does something stupid like snatch Robby up or tear his own goddamn hair out.
"I know I don't have to tell you this, but he's one of a kind Jack," it's an absolute pain to hear someone else confirm something that he's known for the better part of their friendship. Absolutely kills for it to come from someone Jack knows has intimate knowledge of the fact, and it twists across his face.
"I fucking know that, man." And James is still shaking his head, that same slick smile on his face as he motions for the bartender to pour them out a glass of something sweet and strong.
They make their way to where Letty and Robby have holed up in some dark corner booth, table lamp dimmed and seats downright plush as they are leaned in close, pressed up against each other in something so unthinkingly intimate it would spell heartbreak for Jack if he didn't know the situation.
James has slid himself up next to Letty, a quick press of his mouth against her shoulder that she returns, but Robby's eyes are fixed on some magazine in front of them both. There is heat crawling in the man's face, and he sees his gaze bounce from corner to corner of the page even as his flush travels darker.
Jack sits, noting the way Robby angles the pages to James first, and the man in question absolutely beams at the photos, and Jack honest to got watches as his face warms some. He watches as James shuffles closer to Letty, and he can feel the heat rise between them as she trails a delicate hand down the man's arm, Jack would feel like he was intruding if Robby wasn't so half caught up in the display.
Letty is already turning to Robby again, half ignoring the way James is sending heat her way, "Mike why don't you go ahead and show your man over there the stuff you got up to." She slides her gaze to Jack's, "he missed the 25 year anniversary print we had made. Real throwbacks." Something mischievous dances through her tone as she says it.
Jack jolts like he's been stung. Your man. He hasn’t been that to anybody in a long long time and he wants, however brief.
Robby's eyes flick to his, a little bit pained, and a little hesitant, and he never wants that directed at him, ever. If Robby wanted him to see something, he would show Jack himself no prompting needed.
But before he can open his mouth, Robby slides the magazine over to him, places it wide open across the table, and Jack finds his thoughts screeching to a halt.
The first picture is Robby himself playing pool, maybe 20-30 years younger and Jack feels the way his gaze draws to the man's eyes on the page and the single cigarette dangling from his lips. He's crouched low in a dim room, lit cig glowing bright between his lips, angling up some shot that makes the silver rings on his fingers catch the flash of the camera, eyes absolutely glued to whoever is taking the picture. His gaze is shaded and warm, there's enough in the look to send heat through his body at the suggestion in them.
There's another pic, crammed up against the first that makes him almost swallow his tongue.
It's James on his knees, also some 20-30 odd years earlier, a stark blush in his face, with a impossibly cherubic looking Letty—save for her sharp wide smile, and dripping red gloss across her lips—holding her fingers in his hair, hands palming his head tugging it back while a man with flopping brown hair leans over them both to blow smoke directly in his face.
A man. Somewhere distant scoffs in his mind, the man in question is fucking Robby. He's angled towards the camera as if coming into the possessive embrace between the pair, dark eyes dancing as a cloud of smoke is curling from his mouth and across James' smiling twisted lips.
Jack feels his breath going shallow.
The next is of Letty and James, her body is pressed against his in a passionate embrace. Red lipstick smearing visibly for the camera with the man in question looking all but out of his mind from the kiss, clear ecstasy in his face. James has his jaw crushed between large fingers that span across his jaw, each ring adorning the hand squashing clear indents in his skin while he's being held in place for Letty to have her way with him. Between those fingers is that still lit cig, precariously close to his face, something he seems to pay no mind to even as Jack can see how the thing is still lit. Still hot, still red, still spilling smoke.
The last photo, makes his fingers spasm across the page, and something pit in his stomach even as his pulse jumps into overdrive. Next to him Letty murmurs, low and soft in his ear, real sugar sweet even if the undercurrent of it is anything but.
"Oh, no, that's a favorite of mine."
And yeah, Jack can fucking see why.
James, James, James. It's all pictures of Letty and Robby taking out tender tortures on the man; Jack can see why, he looks fucking good taking it. He understands the appeal, why every photo is increasingly steamy shots of the man out of his mind with clear pleasure.
But this last one takes his breath away.
The man in question is once again kneeling, face pressed close to dark jeans, bliss in his features. His hands have come up to rest around the back of the thighs of the man in front of him, tongue lolling out of his mouth, flush high in his cheeks, chin absolutely nestled into the cradle of the man's hips in open invitation.
The picture is cropped above his head but Jack knows who the man in the picture is.
It's Robby with his lit cigarette, silver rings, and gigantic fucking hands.
His belt is cocked open in the picture, pants zipped open and low enough that the camera catches the sick angle of dark hair trailing low on his exposed belly, the teasing way his briefs catch the camera.
And front and center, the pièce de résistance; Robby's thick fingers holding the cigarette right at the cradle of his hips, lofted just above James' eagerly waiting tongue as smoke curls from the end of it.
Sweat breaks clear across his brow, adrenaline coursing through him as he takes the scene in.
It's like Robby's about to flick the ashes right off, like he might stub it out right on James' pretty pink waiting tongue and red stained lips. Ash it right there on him, and James wants it.
Jack wants it.
He can see it in his minds eye, the next part of this whole affair. Robby's cock plunging deep and tight into James' waiting mouth, plush lips already bruised tender from cigarettes and kisses. Jack feels like a pervert for the thoughts he's thinking, how he imagines the taste of spit, and sweat, cock, and fucking ashes on his own tongue. A grimy cocktail that he wants to get his hands and mouth on, and then stick his tongue out to show Robby he swallowed it all down. To show off how well he did.
Jack’ll take anything the man will give him.
"Robb—" Christ, his voice is so fucking shot, he doesn't know what he was going to say but he's glad the man in question is nowhere to be found.
Instead he's caught up in two separate pairs of dark watching eyes, the kind of heat dancing in there he would explore any other day of the week if he wasn't gunning for one man in particular. Letty leans forward, one lone nail pinning the magazine on the table, slick glossy lips catch the low light as Jack's eyes follow the shine, "he went outside for a smoke, sweetheart."
And he's already up before the words really register, vibrating with the heat the pair send his way, and the already ridiculous thrum of bald arousal coursing through him. He's half hard and he fucking knows it.
James lets out a low low whistle at the state of him, sending a wink his way before ducking half his face into the open hollow of Letty's neck.
She sends an amused wave his way as he slides out the booth, stark white teeth gleaming on a laugh, "go get 'em tiger."
***
Jack finds him in the alley, he could pick Robby's silhouette out by shape alone, half blind and concussed before he would mistake him for anyone else.
Doubly so for the way the man's body curves around his cigarette and the way he looks when he finally gets to take a fucking load off.
He finds himself stumbling towards the man, already certain that Robby knows exactly who is clumsily making their way right towards him. Jack is pressed down and tight in his own thoughts, get to Robby cycling in a frantic loop that leaves no room for anything else. Not the cool air that only fans the heat he's letting off, the way he wants, or even the way his cock is making itself known the closer he gets to him.
Jack stops right in front of the man, breath heaving, sweating bullets while Robby only watches him, eyes shaded like the first time they shared a smoke between them.
And Jack wants.
The look in Robby's eyes downright tugs him to press closer, and he does, almost trembling into the man's open frame. He wills himself to say something, anything to match the dark that exists in Robby's pointed gaze.
He sucks in a breath, ready to let the first thought fall free, when Robby blows a cloud of stinging smoke directly into his face.
The moan that falls from his lips makes the back of his own neck burn.
Robby places the cig between his lips again, and Jack is suddenly pulled closer into the man's warmth, his own hands coming up to grip tight on Robby's shirt and waist. He can barely fucking think with how much is running through him.
This isn't like the ED, the rush of a trauma, isn't like the high of war, or even the immediate pleasure of a good fuck. He's half out his mind and this hasn't even started yet.
He finds himself falling into Robby's body, face pressed close and tight against his jugular, heated skin grazing against his lips as he trembles while warm hands soothe hard and sure across his back.
"Man, are you fucking with me?" because it never occurred to him that Robby would go about it this way, with slick sex and temptation coating every move.
He feels the way Robby leans down closer to get at his ear, breath hot against the shell of it, and he swears to god he feels the heat of the cig somewhere in it.
And Jack wants.
One of Robby's hands comes off his back, gripping the cig between his fingers, while the other trails to his nape, raking through the short hairs there, making his hips twitch up against Robby's thigh some, jumping forward before he can still himself, another bolt of heat rolling through him.
Robby has turned his head to the side enough to tug him out of his resting place at the man's neck, enough to where he gets his eyes back on him, and Jack watches Robby watch him as he feeds the cig right up against his waiting lips.
His offered drag.
And he takes it gratefully, he fucking needs it.
Robby watches him take it before returning it to his own lips, eyes still a little shadowed as he says, "I'm really not fucking around here Jack. If we do this I want it all." The words are firm, unexpected, like Jack isn't crawling out of his own skin to get into Robby's.
And he has no other choice than to do what he does next, a half thought, all he is wrapped into one move to show the man just how much he needs this, wants this.
Jack sinks to his knees, and Robby's hand grips his elbow tight in simple support as he collapses down.
Robby blows a harsh breath out. From this angle the streetlight casts a dark shadow across his face, each inhale lighting his face up and Jack presses closer.
"That what you want, Abbot?" God, Robby is such a fucking asshole and he loves it.
He nuzzles against the bulge of Robby's jeans. Feels out of his mind, crazed with how much hes gagging for it. Breathing right up against where the man is slowly hardening for him. Jack finds himself pressing forward, waiting, hoping Robby will take this further.
"Take me out, Jack." An order. And he fucking does it, lips and teeth grabbing at the zipper of the denim, dampening the cloth there in his haste, tugging the fastening down. Each glance above only kicks him into overdrive, all he can register is the waiting expectation in Robby's eyes and the bright glow of his goddamn cigarette. Robby told him to jump and all Jack Abbot can scrounge up out of his ruined mind is how fucking high.
He focuses back on his task, and downright whines at the sight.
Robby isn't wearing any underwear.
His cock is nestled in a dense thatch of hair, proud and glistening in the pale light reaching them. He's beautiful, flushed and clearly aching. Jack licks a stripe up against it, groaning at the way it twitches, hot blooded and seeking before he feels a hand grip at his head.
Robby tugs him back, and Jack's mouth is already falling open, knowing what's next. Hoping for what's next. He feels the way his jaw hangs loose, waiting.
The man is sliding in, cock slick with precome, salt and tang across his tongue as he pushes in slow, slow, slow while he watches Jack take it.
He groans as Robby seats himself, nose smearing into thick hair while he drools around the man's cock, throat rippling even as he presses himself closer. He hears Robby mutter something above him, a gentle tug that grinds his face forward, and all he smells is musk and sweat, and Robby, and he's pulled off again.
Jack has one moment to pant, to whine into the open air in bitter protest, to huff around the heat of him before he's sinking back again. Cock pressing, and pressing, and pressing, bumping against his soft palette and tongue. Each pass of it blowing him further from himself, from thought. He's here for what Robby want's to do to him, and he fucking loves it.
It's weightlessness and weight wedged into each moment, obscene indulgence in the way he's thankful for every messy gag. Robby's cock wringing him clean while he sputters, throat catching and constricting on the stretch of the man. He's almost humming with each pass, joy in the fact that he can do this, is doing it.
Robby's hips change rhythm, a stutter in each hitch that he knows means the man is going to come soon. He wants no question of next steps, no confirmation of what he's here to do. Jack presses himself closer, an insistent plea in the way he curls his body in.
Robby's hand grips his head tight, tugging at his scalp before he stills Jack's movements, his hips piston sharply, a hammer home of in, in, and in, that makes his eyes flutter, before he's coming in long aching pulses that make Jack sob around it all.
"That's fucking perfect, baby. Thank you."
Thank you.
Robby pulls himself free, tilting his face up, and as Jack finds it in himself to focus he sees the way the man is smiling at him, face flushed, eyes crinkled and warm. Jack feels himself relax further, doesn't even think better of it before his own tongue lolls out, showing Robby he caught it all, a shining puddle of the man's come cradled in his fucked tender mouth.
Two slick fingers slide through the mess, and Jack feels his eyes roll in his head before he's yanked up on his unsteady legs. He's huffing great big puffs of air, mouth still open, still wet, as Robby coos warmth at him.
He's pulled in, tongue meeting Robby's open mouth, licking the mess out of there, sucking on his tongue, pressing kiss, after kiss, after kiss onto his aching lips. Fingers tender on his face and jaw, smearing more wet there, more heat. Jack groans low and loud into the space between them, while Robby presses another quick peck that interrupts the noise.
He's humming something sweet out into the heat of them both as Jack settles, as he marvels at how sweet the bastard can really be, at how raw Robby is in the same breath.
Before he can say anything the cigarette is back, smoked down low, Robby taking one drag before he passes it off to Jack again. Pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth wrapped around the cig, and Jack takes a relieved inhale. The high of Robby's attention mingling with cloying tobacco and clove, the way his body only presses closer.
"You did so good, Jack, just perfect." He wants to hide from the attention, wants to bask in it, spread himself open for Robby to see.
Jack takes the cig from his mouth, the last of the drag trailing off his lips as he throws it down, stomping sure and strong on the stub. Robby watches him do it, finger trailing sticking spit across his neck, gripping at his throat some, thumb rubbing against the hollow there. His eyes gleaming something dark, taunting.
Jack scoffs, even as that sick thrill rises again, all his focus front and center for what he knows will happen next.
A tender kiss is brushed against his brow—like he isn't covered in spit, come, and fucking ashes—and he bites up against the sweetness of it, teeth audibly clicking in the quiet. Robby's rough smile flashes once in the dark, endlessly pleased. Jack grabs at Robby's hand, dragging them both from the alley, half hoping the dark covers the mess they made, half proud from the evidence of a job well done Robby left on him.
"You're a fucking tease, Mike. Take me home, man." The words fall out low and crackling around the aching want in his used throat, desperate and he fucking knows it.
Robby's laugh curls like smoke in the night as they make their way home.