— remember you must love.

at the time, robby would just blush and scoff at the idea of such a thing, at the thought of a world where he did have that confidence.

a handful of years later, when they've settled into things, when they're married and committed for life, when they're as comfortable around each other as can be--that day comes. and it is indeed the death of jack.

it comes in many forms. robby stocking up on those tight tshirts he knows jack loves to see him in, the ones robby would once avoid wearing when jack stayed over because he thought they were too tight, too unflattering. jack trained him to see things otherwise.

robby wears those tshirts under every scrub top now, to bed when it's cold, in the morning when he's making them coffee, and jack gets so hard it's dizzying.

same goes for the shorts that ride up robby's thighs, the thighs jack will leave covered in hickeys and handprints, the thighs he loves to nuzzle into on his way up for a blowjob. same goes for the way robby does up his cufflinks when they're going to a charity gala, the veins in his wrist, the way he puts on his watch so effortlessly, shrugging into his jacket, opening the door for jack--all a recipe for jack needing to press him against the wall and kiss him until he looks claimed enough to be seen in public.

robby does it on purpose there, too.

he's doing it on purpose when jack is at work and robby sends him videos of himself jerking off, or a half nude from the bathroom, or pulling down his sweatpants a bit to show some hair before he goes to bed, or even just a thought about you tonight in bed at 10pm text which can only mean one thing. all of the above contribute to jack's early grave.

fucking christ, handsome, jack will reply, don't be such a tease. but he knows robby does it for this reaction, so jack has really fucked himself.

and then there's the way robby will fish for it, whispering bashful questions about what jack thought of his new cologne or that nude from earlier in the week, if jack liked it, if he got off to it, if his clothes smell like robby's cologne, if he doesn't mind that robby stole his shorts for a jog. he usually asks these things during pillow talk, or right when they wake up, both times that aren't great for jack's concentration.

"hitting me with my guard down, man, that's just..." jack will say, before he gets distracted by whatever filthy image of his body robby is putting into his head, and has to kiss him about it. "wanna get you naked." and robby goes along with that a lot easier than he once did. jack drags out the mirror to face the bed and robby no longer throws a fit. he lets jack give him a reacharound and whisper in his ear about how it looks. he lets him.

and there's that gorgeous, impish, blushing grin on robby's face when he gets the reaction he was hoping for, as if seeing it over and over is an affirmation that jack really does love and want him that much. jack is happy to affirm him, sad it took this long for robby to believe he's attractive, but fucking hell. the handover kisses, the teasing, the pictures, the early morning filth, the way robby singsongs i love you at 6am, the clothes he wears when they've had an argument and he wants jack to give in and apologize. he knows the power he has over jack, and he damn well uses it.

the smile alone will do him in. he wants to get drunk on robby's smiles, the real ones, the genuine spur of the moment ones when jack makes him so happy it bursts out. and he gets this happy from his husband affirming that he's attracted to him? he's really too much to handle.

"death of me," jack has taken to muttering under his breath whenever robby is pulling one of these moves. robby just chuckles into his mouth, giving him access to whatever part of his body he wants, because he's sort of, somewhat, finally accepted that jack loves and wants it all. jack is living the fucking dream.

the pitt + text posts → 1/? bonus:

he clocks robby's suicidal ideations before duke does, but he is scared of pushing him over the edge and he tiptoes around it until he literally can't do it anymore. jack knows robby. that's why he muscles in on robby's conversation with noelle, why he is actively watching him throughout all of season 2, and why he's such an effective part of pulling robby back from the edge.

None of these bedwarmers really know Robby, though; not like Jack does. None of them has been with Robby through loss. Through pain. Through the triumph of an impossible, miraculous save.

Robby hasn't helped any of them through the agony of a missing limb that thinks it's still on fire, or devastating graveside visits, and none of them know that Robby's favorite sandwich from Primanti's is pastrami on rye with swiss and coleslaw, because it tastes like Sundays with his grandmother. None of them can see when Robby's self-recrimination has become self-loathing, and only Jack is willing to walk straight into Robby's wrath if it means Robby will still be here tomorrow.

Jack doesn't say anything when Robby cancels plans because the new plastics attending is free for drinks, or when he bows out of the Pens game because his Grindr app pinged. Jack knows what he and Robby have, and it's more than anyone else will get in their 7-week run.

Until everything Jack feels bubbles over. Until he can't bear the thought of another "someone else."

Did he do that after Adamson's death, having almost lost Robby to grief?

Was it something they did for one another when they both had no one else left in their life years prior?

Or maybe something as easy as Robby being involved in an accident, wheeled in as a patient with no contact noted down. So naturally, Jack put himself down as his emergency contact without really thinking about it?

You think it happened with Jack cursing at Robby's bedside? Scared about almost having lost him and the reality of how he wouldn't even have been informed about it.

You think Robby had woken up to Jack glaring at him? Or Jack having given up trying to stay awake long enough for him to come to? You think Robby would have shed a tear about seeing Jack by his side even if he'd been sure he would never see his face ever again?

"I'm not good at - at relationships or talking about stupid feelings, and - and you are, so maybe you could teach me or something, you know? Tell me what I did wrong."