SparrowFlight246

robby could have answered that he had come looking for him. he could have mentioned overhearing dana downstairs, or that curiosity had gotten the better of him after discovering dennis apparently disappeared into the NICU often enough that several nurses knew exactly where to find him. instead, his eyes dropped toward the impossibly small patch of hair visible beneath dennis’s chin, and he lifted one hand in a subtle motion toward the baby.

“you’re going to wake ‘em.”

dennis’s mouth closed softly. there was a rolling stool pushed beneath the counter nearby, and robby drew it over carefully, lifting some of its weight as he moved it so the wheels wouldn’t chatter unnecessarily against the floor. robby didn’t move toward the recliner at first. his attention caught on the sink along the wall first, habit taking over before he consciously thought about it. he crossed the small room to wash his hands thoroughly. he worked soap between his palms and along the backs of his hands, between each finger and carefully around his thumbs, scrubbing with the precision before rinsing everything clean and drying his hands completely. he turned back toward dennis and the small infant tucked against his chest.

he settled beside dennis without crowding the recliner or any of the equipment surrounding it, close enough now that his new angle gave him a view the doorway hadn’t. what had been little more than the crown of a tiny head beneath dennis’s chin became the profile of the infant’s face turned sideways against his chest, one cheek resting against bare skin while the blanket remained tucked securely across his back.

a narrow nasal cannula rested beneath the infant’s nose, the delicate tubing tucked snugly into place and secured against his cheeks beneath pieces of adhesive that seemed incredibly small until robby considered the size of the face beneath them. he leaned forward with his forearms resting loosely against his thighs, studying him in the quiet silence. up close, the baby seemed even smaller than he had through the window. his features were delicate in that unmistakable premature way, skin thin and soft beneath the muted light of the room, one tiny ear visible where his head rested against dennis’s chest. even the rise and fall beneath dennis’s hand was slight enough that he found himself watching for it despite the reassuring rhythm of the monitor beside them.

robby’s expression softened without his permission. he lifted one freshly washed hand slowly, giving dennis plenty of opportunity to stop him, and when he made no move to do so, robby extended a finger toward the infant’s face. rather than stroking the delicate skin, he rested the long side of his finger lightly against the baby’s cheek and held it there, the contact still and gentle enough not to disturb him. the skin was astonishingly soft, warm from where he had been tucked against dennis for nearly an hour.

he remained like that for only a minute before withdrawing his hand, careful not to disturb the cannula or the tiny pieces of adhesive keeping it securely in place. he leaned a little closer instead, quietly admiring the sleeping infant while dennis watched him from the corner of his eye, the monitor beside them continuing its steady rhythm into the silence. for once, neither of them seemed particularly compelled to fill it.

robby didn’t mind. he had learned quite early that dennis usually spoke when he was ready and that attempting to drag something out of him before then mostly resulted in quietness. so he waited, eyes remaining on the infant between them while dennis gradually settled deeper into the recliner, some of the embarrassment from being unexpectedly discovered beginning to leave his body.

dennis eventually broke the silence. “dana told you.”

“technically, dana told someone else. i was eavesdropping…accidentally,” robby amended.

there was the faintest movement at one corner of dennis’s mouth before he looked down again. his thumb had begun moving almost unconsciously against the blanket, barely more than a slow pass over the fabric covering the baby’s back before going still again. “i come up here sometimes when we’re slow.”

the flush hadn’t entirely disappeared from his cheeks, though, and robby deliberately spared him by looking toward the monitor rather than him. there was something private about finding dennis like this. it wasn’t secretive, but that part of him that was outside the ED downstairs, away from trauma rooms, alarms, and people demanding answers from him every few minutes.

“how long have you been doing it?”

dennis was quiet long enough that robby wondered whether he would answer. “a few months.”

robby nodded once. he left the obvious question sitting between them without asking it, and apparently dennis recognized that too. his fingers shifted slightly against the baby’s back, checking placement more than changing it, before his shoulders sank another fraction into the recliner.

“they need volunteers sometimes.” dennis kept his voice quiet, his focus stayed on the infant. “especially when parents can’t be here.”

there wasn’t judgment in the way he said it. robby noticed that as he continued.

“some of them live hours away, kids at home, having to go back to work, or they’re recovering themselves. sometimes they’ve been here for weeks.” his eyes moved briefly toward the monitor when the heart rate changed by a few beats before settling again once it steadied. “the nurses do what they can, but they can’t sit here holding one baby for an hour when they’ve got other patients.”

“so you do.”

dennis gave the smallest shrug he could manage without disturbing the weight against his chest. “yeah.”

the simple answer hit differently than robby expected. of course that was how dennis would explain it, not as generosity and certainly nothing worth of praise. there was a need, he had the ability to fill it, and along the way he’d quietly carved out his own time around doing exactly that without mentioning it to anyone downstairs.

the infant made a tiny noise between them then, hardly more than a breathy little squeak, and every trace of dennis’s lingering self-consciousness disappeared. his chin dipped immediately, eyes searching what little he could see of the baby’s face while his hand remained warm and steady across the narrow back. the baby shifted once beneath the blanket, a small hand working free near dennis’s collarbone. the fingers opened without purpose before curling loosely against his skin, barely large enough to span more than an inch or two.

dennis went completely still and robby did too.

for several seconds, they both watched those tiny fingers resting against dennis’s chest, a startling amount of tenderness settling over his expression as his attention remained concentrated entirely on something small enough to fit against one side of his chest.

robby stayed on the stool. he hadn’t intended to, fifteen minutes had been what he’d told dana, and downstairs the ED was undoubtedly preparing to punish them for having experienced a lull in the first place. his phone remained in his pocket, volume high enough that he would hear it immediately if they needed him, but for the moment it stayed silent. he sat with his forearms resting against his thighs and watched the monitor while dennis watched the baby, allowing the quiet to settle comfortably around them.

after a while, dennis looked over. “you don’t have to stay.”

“i know.”

dennis watched him, apparently waiting for the rest of the answer.

robby glanced toward the tiny hand still curled against dennis’s chest before looking back at him. “but i’m already here.”

something in dennis’s face shifted at that. not enough that anyone who didn’t know him would have noticed, but robby did. his shoulders loosened. the line between his brows disappeared. he looked down at the sleeping infant again and adjusted the blanket by barely half an inch, tucking its edge more securely around the tiny body before settling his palm back into place.

Robby shrugged, his shoulders practically hitching up to his ears. He really, really didn't want to talk about this—especially not with Jack. Even though they’d gotten along great since being assigned as dorm mates at the start of the semester, Robby still kept his guard up. He had to be careful about who he let in.

“I wasn’t feeling it.”

“Bullshit. You two were making out against the wall and you were literally grabbing her ass.”

“Doesn’t mean I wanted to fuck her.” The pitch of Robby’s voice spiked an octave, and he instantly hated how defensive it made him sound.

“Are you scared or something?” Jack let out a short, incredulous laugh, but the sound died in his throat the second he caught the look on Robby’s face. The smile vanished. “Wait...you were scared? What for, man? It’s not like you’re a virgin.”

“For sure,” Robby muttered dismissively. He reached up to scratch at his neck, pulling at his shirt again. The room suddenly felt five degrees hotter, his clothes way too tight.

“Are you...wait, are you a virgin?” Jack searched his face, sounding bewildered, like Robby was playing some kind of elaborate joke on him. “What about Emma? You fucked her, didn’t you?”

Robby just shrugged again. He’d gotten Emma off. She’d been great, too—sweet, funny, and incredibly understanding when Robby had awkwardly asked if they could leave his clothes on.

“She spoke wonders of you, man.”

“Can we drop this topic, Jack? It’s really none of your business.”

Robby made a move to step around him, reaching for the doorknob—only to realize Jack had quietly locked it behind them. Before he could turn the handle, Jack planted a broad palm flat against Robby’s stomach, effectively slotting his body into the space between Robby and the exit.

“It is my business, you know?” Jack said. “I can hear you jerk off at night, man.”

“What?” A wave of heat flooded Robby’s face so fast he was convinced he was about to physically combust right there on the carpet. “What the fuck, Jack? Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“I thought you’d get it out of your system. Thought you were just on a dry streak.” Jack didn't pull away. He held Robby’s gaze for a few agonizingly long seconds, his palm heavy and warm through Robby’s top. “What are you actually scared of? Performance issues? Because you can certainly go a while, from what I’ve heard.”

Robby looked away, his pulse hammering in his ears as he swallowed hard past a tight lump in his throat. The worst part was that even now, paralyzed by mortification, he was still turned on. The heat from making out with Maddy downstairs hadn't fully left his system, it was still simmering low in his gut. Having Jack standing this close, breathing the same hot air, was only fanning the embers.

“It’s none of that,” Robby finally muttered under his breath, staring stubbornly at Jack’s collarbone.

“Then what is it?”

“Can you promise you won’t be weird about it?”

Jack nodded, his messy curls bouncing slightly. He bit his bottom lip with slightly uneven front teeth, a tiny habit that distracted Robby just long enough to gather his courage. He had to get this over with. Jack wasn't going to drop it until he got a real answer anyway.

Even so, the actual explanation caught violently in Robby’s throat. He had never been good at vocalizing it—never knew how to put it into words without feeling exposed. It was the exact reason he’d panicked and bolted the second Maddy invited him up to a room.

With a trembling hand, Robby reached down and wrapped his fingers around Jack’s wrist. Slowly, he guided Jack’s hand lower.

He braced himself for Jack to resist—to shove him back, laugh, or punch him. Honestly, any of those reactions would have made sense given that Robby was physically dragging his hand down toward his crotch. But Jack didn't fight it. He just stared at Robby with wide, stunned eyes, allowing his hand to be guided until his palm rested flat over the front of Robby’s jeans. The subtle flex of Jack’s fingers sent a sharp, electrifying shiver straight down Robby’s spine. Nobody had ever touched him like that.

Jack’s fingers tightened slightly, pressing down, his lips parting as he registered the complete lack of a bulge beneath the denim.

This is it, Robby thought, his breath coming in shallow hitches. This was where the violence came. This was where Jack pulled away in disgust, and Robby got reminded of his place. He kept his hand loosely looped around Jack’s wrist, waiting for the blow. They were standing so close their chests were practically brushing, sharing the exact same air. But Jack didn't pull away. Instead, his fingers flexed again, shifting over the denim, making Robby shudder with a sudden, dizzying spike of arousal. He felt sick to his stomach, terrified he was going to throw up if Jack didn't break the silence.

“This...this has been the issue all along?” Jack finally asked. He slowly pulled his hand back, but his expression wasn't angry or disgusted. In fact, his face was completely unreadable.

“It’s a pretty damn big issue,” Robby rasped, pulling his own hand back to wrap defensively around his waist.

“I don’t know, man.” Jack scratched the back of his neck, his eyes roving over Robby’s face. “A lot of girls are into pussies. And...you like guys too, right? I’m sure you could easily find a guy to fuck you if you’re into that.”

Robby opened his mouth, closed it, and stared. Jack hadn't moved an inch, his chest was still hovering just centimeters away.

“If you find a guy who can fuck me and actually keep his mouth shut about it, send him my way,” Robby hissed, a sudden rush of defensive annoyance cutting through his panic. “You think anyone at this party is gonna keep it to themselves if they find out Robby doesn’t have a dick?”

“I know someone.”

“Yeah? Who?” Robby rolled his eyes, dragging a hand over his face. His skin was still burning, he’d just found out his roommate listened to him touch himself at night, he’d forced Jack to feel him up, and the entire night was spiraling out of his control way too fast to catch. He shouldn’t had done that third round of shots.

Jack tilted his head, his dark eyes locking onto Robby’s with an intensity that made Robby’s heart drop into his stomach.

“You know him very well.”

Jack’s words hung in the thick air between them. Robby’s pulse stuttered.

“You…” The single syllable came out cracked. He tried again. “You’re serious.”

Jack just kept looking at Robby like he was seeing him for the first time and deciding, very carefully, that he liked what he saw.

“I’ve known for a while,” Jack said quietly. “Not the details. Just…that something was off. The way you never changed in front of me. The way you always kept the lights low.” His voice dropped even lower. “And yeah. I’ve listened. More than I should have.”

Robby’s throat worked. The confession should have made him want to crawl under the nearest pile of dirty laundry and never come out. Instead it sent another slow, unwanted pulse of heat straight between his legs. He was still horny from Maddy, still buzzing from the shots, and Jack’s hand had been on him—really on him—only moments ago. The memory of those fingers pressing down where there was nothing to press against made his knees feel unreliable.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He asked.

“Because it wasn’t my business until you made it mine.” Jack’s gaze flicked down, just once, to the front of Robby’s jeans, then back up. “So now I’m asking. Do you want me to leave, or do you want me to stay?”

Robby should have said leave. He should have unlocked the door and gone back to the party and pretended this never happened. Instead he heard himself answer, voice barely above a whisper.

“Stay.”

Jack exhaled like he’d been holding his breath. He stepped closer—close enough that Robby had to tip his chin down to keep eye contact. The height difference had never felt this charged before. Jack’s palm came up again and settled against the side of Robby’s neck. Thumb brushing the hinge of his jaw.

“Can I kiss you?”

Robby’s answer was to fist a handful of Jack’s damp t-shirt and pull.

The first press of mouths was careful, almost hesitant. Jack tasted like cheap beer and Robby made a small, involuntary sound when Jack’s tongue slid against his and crowded him backward until his shoulders hit the door. The handle dug into his spine. He didn’t care.

Jack kissed like he’d been thinking about it for a long time—wet, dirty, one hand still cupping Robby’s face while the other slid down to rest at his waist. 

“Tell me if anything’s off-limits,” Jack murmured against his mouth. “I mean it.”

Robby’s laugh came out shaky. “Shut the fuck up.”

Something in Jack snapped at the order. He kissed harder, messier, teeth catching Robby’s lower lip as he shoved him away from the door and toward the bed like he couldn’t stand another second of standing still.

Robby stumbled backward, still fisting Jack’s shirt, until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. He went down hard, bouncing once on the creaky twin bed. The sheets smelled like laundry detergent and someone else’s body spray. Jack followed immediately, climbing over him, hands already at the waistband of his jeans.

“Off,” Jack muttered against his mouth, impatient, tugging. “Fucking—off.”

Robby’s head was spinning. The shots, the heat, the way Jack’s weight pinned him down—everything felt too fast. His brain kept looping the same panicked half-thoughts: This is happening. This is actually happening. He’s going to see. He’s going to—

But his body wasn’t listening. When Jack yanked at his shoes, Robby lifted his feet without thinking. Converse hit the floor with two dull thuds. Then Jack’s fingers were at his button, popping it open, dragging the zipper down in one rough pull. He hooked his hands under the denim and the waistband of Robby’s briefs and hauled everything down in one go—jeans, underwear, all of it—shoving the fabric past his thighs and off his ankles like it personally offended him.

Cool air hit Robby’s bare skin. He made a small, choked sound and tried to close his legs on instinct.

Jack didn’t let him.

He pushed Robby’s knees apart with both hands, settled between them on his stomach, and looked. Just looked, for one long second that felt like forever. Robby’s face burned. He could feel how wet he already was, how obvious it had to be. 

Jack just leaned in and put his mouth on him.

Robby’s whole body jerked. A sharp, broken noise tore out of his throat as Jack’s tongue dragged up through his folds, broad and wet and completely unhesitating. No teasing or a slow build. Just hungry, messy pressure right against his clit, then lower, licking into him like he’d been starving for it.

“Jack—fuck—” Robby’s hands flew to Jack’s hair on pure reflex, fingers tightening hard enough to pull. His hips tried to twist away and push closer at the same time. 

Jack only groaned against him and sucked harder, sealing his mouth over Robby’s clit and working it with his tongue in short, filthy strokes. One of his hands stayed locked on Robby’s thigh, keeping him spread open. The other slid up under Robby’s shirt, palm flat against his stomach, grounding him while he ate him out like he had something to prove.

Robby’s head tipped back against the thin pillow. His mouth fell open. Every wet sound Jack made was loud in the quiet room—louder than the muffled music still thumping up through the floor. He could feel how soaked he was already, how easily Jack’s tongue slid through him, how shamelessly his body was responding even while his brain kept throwing up weak little protests that never quite stuck.

Jack flattened his tongue and licked a long, deliberate stripe from entrance to clit, then sealed his lips around the swollen bud and sucked again, harder. Robby’s thighs trembled. A high, helpless sound slipped out of him before he could bite it back.

His hips kept stuttering up against Jack’s mouth, chasing every wet drag of tongue, but the need building under his skin was too sharp, too restless. He couldn’t just lie there and take it anymore. With a rough, desperate sound he shoved at Jack’s shoulders, fingers still tangled in the auburn curls, and hauled him up the length of his body.

Jack came willingly, mouth shiny, breathing hard. The second he was close enough Robby’s hands were already at his jeans, clumsily popping the button and dragging the zipper down with a metallic snarl. He shoved the denim and boxers down just far enough to free Jack’s cock. It was thick, flushed dark, already leaking at the tip. Robby wrapped his fingers around it without hesitation and stroked, tight and a little too fast, spreading the precome over the head with his thumb.

Jack cursed under his breath, forehead dropping against Robby’s. His hips gave an involuntary twitch into the grip.

“Fuck—Robby—”

Robby kept working him, wrist twisting on the upstroke, watching the way Jack’s jaw went tight. The heat of him in his hand made Robby clench around nothing. He was soaked, thighs sticky, and every nerve was screaming for more than just a tongue.

Jack’s hand came up to still Robby’s wrist after a few more strokes. His voice was rough.

“Hey. We don’t have to— I mean, if you want to go slow with the rest of it. First time and everything. We can just—”

“I’ve used toys,” Robby cut in, the words tumbling out before he could second-guess them. His face burned, but he didn’t look away. “I’m not— I know what it feels like. I just…I want you. Now.”

Jack stared at him for a second, something hot and almost disbelieving flickering across his face. Then he was scrambling for his back pocket, yanking out a condom like it was the most important thing in the room. He tore it open with his teeth, rolled it on with quick, shaky fingers, and settled back between Robby’s spread thighs.

The blunt head of Jack’s cock nudged against him. Robby’s breath caught. He was wet enough that the first slow push met almost no resistance—just a stretch, a pressure that made his stomach flutter. Jack sank in maybe an inch and stopped, eyes locked on Robby’s face.

“You good?”

Robby nodded, but his body had other ideas. The moment the thicker part of the head started to breach him he locked up, thighs tightening, breath going shallow. It wasn’t pain exactly. Just too much, too new, the reality of being filled by someone else’s cock instead of silicone hitting him all at once. 

Jack felt it immediately and went still, one hand stroking up and down Robby’s side under the rucked-up t-shirt, the other braced by his head.

“Breathe,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. We can stop.”

“Don’t stop.” Robby’s voice came out thin. He forced his legs to open wider, forced the tension out of his hips even though every instinct wanted to clamp down. “Just…slow. Please.”

Jack nodded once and pressed forward again, careful, giving Robby time to adjust around every new inch. The stretch burned in a way the toys never quite had—hotter, thicker, alive. Robby’s fingers dug into Jack’s shoulders hard enough to make the fabric strain. He clenched and fluttered around the intrusion, still trying to decide whether to push him out or suck him deeper. The wetness made the slide easy once the initial lock-up eased, but the sensation of being opened up like this—of Jack’s weight above him, the careful roll of his hips—made Robby’s eyes sting.

When Jack finally bottomed out he stayed there, breathing hard against Robby’s neck.

“Christ. You’re—fuck, you’re tight.”

Robby couldn’t form words. He just nodded against Jack’s shoulder, hips giving a tiny, involuntary roll that made both of them hiss. The fullness was overwhelming. His first time with a real cock and it already felt like too much and not enough at the same time. He was still shaky, still half-convinced this was going to end badly any second, but the desperate, greedy part of him that had been aching all night just wanted Jack to move.

Jack waited until Robby’s breathing evened out a little, until the white-knuckled grip on his shoulders loosened. Only then did he draw back a few inches and push in again—slow, deep, testing.

Robby’s mouth fell open on a broken sound.

Jack kept the pace deliberate, deep rolls of his hips that dragged every inch of him against Robby’s walls. He was trying. God, he was trying. His jaw was tight with the effort of holding back, forehead pressed to Robby’s temple as he worked himself in and out with careful control. But it felt too good. The wet heat of Robby’s pussy, the way it fluttered and clenched around him every time he bottomed out, the soft broken sounds spilling out of Robby’s mouth—none of it was making restraint easy.

Robby’s hands slid up Jack’s back, then higher, fingers curling into the damp curls at the nape of his neck. He tugged, pulling Jack down until their mouths met again. The kiss was messy from the start, more tongue than finesse. Robby made a needy little noise into it and rolled his hips up to meet the next thrust, taking Jack deeper.

That was all it took.

Jack’s rhythm stuttered. He tried to recover, tried to keep the slow slide, but Robby’s mouth was open under his and he was gripping him so tight and perfect that the careful control simply snapped. He drove in harder. Faster. The next thrust punched a sharp gasp out of Robby, and then Jack was fucking him properly with short, powerful strokes that made the cheap bed frame creak and the headboard start knocking against the wall in a steady rhythm.

Robby’s legs locked around Jack’s waist instead, heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him in deeper with every hard snap of hips. The stretch that had felt overwhelming minutes ago now just felt necessary. The sound of it all was filthy under the wet slap of skin and the relentless thud of the headboard.

Jack groaned into the kiss, lost, one hand braced by Robby’s head while the other shoved under his ass to tilt him higher. The new angle made every thrust drag right over the spot that made Robby’s vision spark white at the edges. He broke the kiss with a choked-off moan, forehead pressed to Jack’s, breath coming in short, punched-out bursts.

“Jack—fuck, Jack—”

Jack didn’t slow down. Couldn’t. The careful, considerate version of him had been left somewhere three thrusts ago. Now he was just chasing the tight heat of Robby’s body, fucking into him hard and deep while the headboard kept announcing exactly what they were doing to anyone who might be listening in the hallway.

Robby was still shaking a little—first-time nerves mixed with pure, overwhelming sensation—but he couldn’t even think about stopping or slowing down. He just held on and took every hard, relentless thrust. It was so much better than he could’ve ever imagined.

Jack was buried so deep it felt like he was rearranging something inside him, and Robby’s body kept clenching around the thick length, trying to keep him there. The friction against his clit with every snap of hips was sharp and perfect and almost too much.

Fuck—Robby was going to come. Jack was going to make him come on his cock during his first time and—

The thought cut off when Jack shifted the angle again, shoving one of Robby’s thighs higher against his own side. The next thrust dragged deeper inside him and Robby’s whole body arched, a high, helpless noise tearing out of his throat. His pussy fluttered hard around Jack’s cock.

Jack cursed, voice wrecked. “Shit—you feel—fuck, Robby—”

He fucked harder, chasing the way Robby’s body kept tightening around him. The headboard slammed into the wall even louder now with every thrust. Robby couldn’t bring himself to care. He was too far gone—legs locked around Jack’s waist, mouth open against his shoulder, taking every stroke like he was starving for it.

Jack’s hand slid between them, fingers finding Robby’s clit and rubbing in tight, messy circles that matched the pace of his hips. The sensation ripped through Robby like a live wire. His back bowed off the mattress. The tension that had been coiling low in his gut snapped all at once.

He came hard—clamping down in pulses around Jack’s cock, thighs shaking, a broken, desperate sound muffled against Jack’s neck. His vision went blurry at the edges. The orgasm rolled through him in waves, longer and sharper than anything he’d managed alone or with toys, leaving him trembling and gasping under Jack’s weight.

Jack followed almost immediately. The way Robby’s body gripped him was too much. He buried himself with a low groan and came, hips stuttering through it, forehead pressed hard against Robby’s as he rode it out.

Robby’s brain was blank as he stared up at the water-stained ceiling and tried to remember how to breathe.

Jack stayed inside him for a long moment, weight heavy and warm, breath still coming in uneven pulls against the side of Robby’s face. Neither of them moved. The room smelled like sex and sweat and the sweet cologne that had been on Jack’s skin all night. Something that must’ve rubbed off on him from some girl.

Eventually Jack shifted, careful. He braced himself on one forearm and looked down at Robby’s face, eyes searching.

“You okay?” His voice was rough, quieter than usual. 

Robby’s thighs were still trembling. He could feel the way Jack was starting to soften inside him, the slick mess between them. His fingers were still loosely curled against Jack’s back, tracing idle, uncoordinated paths over damp cotton. But he nodded. The motion a little uncoordinated. “Yeah. Just…a lot. But good.”

Jack’s mouth twitched, almost a smile, but there was something softer underneath it. He reached down between them, holding the base of the condom as he eased out. Robby sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden emptiness, at how his body clenched around nothing. A thin trickle of slick followed, sliding down the curve of his thigh onto the sheets. He felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with just being naked.

Jack tied off the condom and dropped it somewhere off the side of the bed without looking, then immediately came back, settling on his side next to Robby instead of on top of him.

“You locked up at the start,” Jack said after a minute, voice low. “I was worried I was hurting you.”

“You weren’t.” Robby stared at the ceiling for a second longer, then turned his head to look at him. The honesty felt strange in his mouth, but the post-orgasm haze made it easier. “It was good.”

The word good felt inadequate for the way his body still hummed, for the strange, floating calm that had settled over the sharp edges of panic. He shifted carefully onto his side so they were facing each other on the narrow mattress.

Jack’s hand found the hem of Robby’s still-rucked-up t-shirt and smoothed it down over his stomach without comment, like he was trying to give him back a little privacy. The gesture was almost tender.

“Yeah?” Jack asked. His voice was still rough. One auburn curl stuck to his forehead. Robby had the sudden, absurd urge to brush it away. “Because I kind of lost it there at the end. Wasn’t exactly gentle.”

“I noticed.” Robby’s mouth twitched. He could still feel the echo of those last hard thrusts. “Didn’t want gentle by then.”

Jack exhaled a short laugh that sounded half relief. He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at Robby with an expression that was harder to read than usual. “We should probably get dressed before someone tries the handle,” he murmured.

Robby groaned softly but nodded. Sitting up made every muscle protest. He found his underwear and jeans in a heap near the foot of the bed and dragged them on with less grace than usual. The denim felt too tight against still-sensitive skin. Jack watched him the whole time, open and unhurried, as he fixed his own clothes.

When Robby’s gaze drifted back to the bed, the wet patch on the sheets glared up at him like an accusation. He’d lost his virginity on some poor frat bro’s bed—to Jack, of all people. His roommate. The thought sat heavy and slightly absurd in his chest.

“Just a laundry load,” Jack muttered, already reaching for a pillow and tossing it over the spot with casual precision. “At least it’s not blood.”

A stupid, helpless laugh bubbled out of Robby before he could stop it. He finished tying his shoes with fingers that felt slightly clumsy, the leftover embarrassment still humming under his skin like a second pulse.

Jack paused at the door, one hand on the frame. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

Jack blinked up at Robby from where he had been smirking at his phone. He waved him off as he slid his phone in his pocket, unconcerned.

"He's just pissed because I've been making him do the work."

Robby raised his eyebrows, nodding slowly, considering.

"I'm sure you've been empathetic and gentle every step of the way."

Jack snorts, turns so he's leaning his back against the hub so he can look at Robby properly, and so he can kick his shin with his prosthetic foot rather than his real one.

"He needs gentleness maybe forty percent of the time," Jack scoffed as Robby winced and withdrew out of kicking distance. "The rest of the time, he needs someone who's gonna keep him disciplined and not give in to his whining just because he has a cute orphan face and big watery blue eyes." Robby raised his hands when Jack turned a pointed look his way.

"He describes blatant and unwavering abuse, and I'm a mandated reporter. What do you want from me?"

"Oh yeah? Who are you reporting these abuses to?"

"You. Be nicer."

****

The truth is, Jack doesn't actually mind Dennis being an asshole. He's been there, he's done that, it's an important part of the process.

If he's being an asshole, it means that Jack has managed to get him up and out of bed, and maybe even managed to convince him to let Jack help him get cleaned up.

"I lost a fucking leg, Jack. I still have arms and hands."

"Mhm, and you're still getting used to maneuvering in and out of the shower with your new balance. So I'm just gonna be here in case you need some help."

"Get the fuck out! Christ!"

A tilt of the head, and then a shrug.

"Sure. Okay. Call me if you need me."

He does Dennis the courtesy of pretending not to see the surprise, fear, and sense of betrayal flicker across his face. He also does him the courtesy of not going far from the bathroom door, and checking in after five minutes of quiet shuffling and the distinct lack of the sound of a shower running.

"How you doing kiddo?" "I fucking -" He hears the moment Dennis bites it all back, thinks to himself that he'll have to remind him later that he doesn't have to do that.

"I need help," he spits, but it's quieter and wetter than he thinks Dennis probably intended.

"Okay," he keeps his own voice soft to match the sudden shift, "that's no problem. I'm coming in, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

There's something soft and defeated there that makes Jack ache a little bit, and he makes no comment on the miserable flush that suffuses Dennis' chest and upper back when Jack assesses the situation. Jack remembers just how many people he'd been forced to give up dignity and boundaries for after his injury - he's sure Dennis doesn't actually want Jack to see him naked and trembling, with a death grip on the sink, but he also could have outright refused or demanded that Jack hand him a towel before he came in, so Jack's going to take and hold the vulnerability Dennis has offered like the gift it absolutely fucking is.

"Okay," he repeats, nodding as he takes in the position that Dennis is in, the storyboard of his attempt all too clear to Jack. "You're not far off. You just need to back into the chair rather than approaching it facing forward."

"I'm not going to back into it!" Dennis yowls indignantly. "I can barely stand up -" "Don't exaggerate, you're on your feet. You're doing fine."

"-and now you want me to throw myself blindly backwards into the shower as well?"

Dennis' chest is rising and falling rapidly, and Jack blinks back calmly.

"Let me finish. I'm gonna tell you how to do it."

Dennis' lips purse angrily, and Jack sees that it's the only thing stopping them from wobbling.

"Not even gonna help me? Why am I even staying with you?"

"I am helping you. I'm gonna tell you what to do, and I'll be here to catch you if you start to fall, but I don't think you need me to pick you up and put you in the shower right now."

He takes no pleasure in the angry spark in Dennis' eyes, the way he grunts and looks away from Jack, but they're all good fuel to Dennis' own fire, all useful impetus.

"Okay, you're gonna carry on walking towards the shower as you are. Use whatever you need to. If you need to hang onto the sink, that's fine. I'm here if you need me, but it's better that you use things that are always gonna be in the bathroom. Grab bars are there and there if you need 'em."

Dennis is silent as he focuses on finding his balance again, and getting decent hand-holds on anything that isn't Jack.

"That's it, good job. Go a little further into the shower -"

"It's wet."

"Yeah, showers tend to be." "I'll fall, you asshole!"

Jack allows himself to drop his raised eyebrow, to soften his voice and lean a little past Dennis to scuff his own foot against the shower mat.

"It's non-slip, and it covers the whole shower. It holds up against me hopping and twisting around in there every night when I'm grumpy as all hell and would rather still be in bed."

He feels Dennis' attention flicker to the side of his face, keeps his own gaze down at the shower mat and its industrial-strength suckers. He gentles his voice even further.

"I know it's scary when you're not used to it. Your body's centre of gravity has changed, and you're using one leg to guide yourself into a place your brain is telling you is slippery."

He chances reaching out one hand and resting it lightly on Dennis' back. He doesn't stroke or pet, he just leaves the weight of it against the flushed skin and feels the muscles there start to loosen slightly.

"It's natural to be wary. Wariness is a good thing. But we have control over this environment. I've lived in this place with one leg longer than you've been a med student. It's fit for purpose, and I promise it's safe."

He gives Dennis a moment to draw in a shaky breath, then another, then five more until they're no longer shaky.

"Good job. You trust me?"

"Yeah."

It's quiet and raw and so painfully genuine, and even though he asked the question, Jack has to swallow around the certainty he hears there.

"Excellent. Turn around and face me, then. I'll tell you how to lower yourself down safely."

****

"I'm fucking done with this!"

If he's telling the truth, Jack gets it. He really, really gets it. But it's his job to be kind of an asshole now, because when Dennis is done then Jack has made it his business to only just be getting started.

"You don't get to be done with this right now."

His voice is hard and he knows it. Can see it in the shock and hurt in Dennis' face.

"What the fuck - yes I do! I'm tired, I hurt, I'm fucking done."

"I heard you the first time. And my answer's the same. You don't get to be done. Because this is your life, Dennis. And I know it's not the life you pictured, I know you never expected to have to practice learning to walk in your twenties. I know you never expected to be hurting like this, and to have to work harder than everyone else just to do simple shit they don't think twice about." And maybe he should ease up, because he can see each word hitting Dennis like a fist driving into soft clay, caving in little pocketfuls of hurt. He also knows he can't stop. That right now, they're at that point in a trauma, where the pain meds haven't quite kicked in, but they still desperately need to clamp down hard and fast on the bleeding. It's never nice to hear someone scream and cry while you're trying to save them, but pain is pain and Jack is used to being the bad guy in the moment so long as he stops someone from calling it quits in front of him.

Dennis' chest is heaving with residual rage, turning to bitter, choking tears. He scrabbles at his prosthesis, trying to clumsily undo it and rip it off.

"No, don't touch that. Leave it alone, Den, c'mon." He holds his hands out, offering them to Dennis to hold, something to distract him from removing the leg. Dennis slaps them away, but it's weak and he doesn't go back to fussing with the prosthesis so Jack counts it as a win.

He ducks his head and leans in closer to Dennis, close enough that he can hear his grieved, angry panting.

"I know this isn't the life you wanted. It's okay to be disappointed with that. But it's still a life, Dennis." He huffs a little, reaches up to roughly paw through Dennis' curls as the kid continues to pant. "Don't worry, I'm not about to start telling you that life is fuckin' beautiful and sunshine and roses, and you just need to believe and smile and all that horseshit."

He gently, carefully closes the gap between them until his forehead bumps against Dennis'. Lets them both stay there quietly for a while, breathing in each other's rage and grief and hope.

"Don't get me wrong," he starts off, soft out of respect for their closeness. "Life is all that good shit. Life is worth it. But right now life is also painful and slow and shitty. Both things -"

"Can be true." Dennis finishes for him, sounding fucking exhausted and depleted and a little bit like a kid who's tired of hearing their dad's equally-tired jokes. Jack smiles.

"Yeah? That right, wise guy?" He laughs a little, jostles Dennis gently by the grip he still has on the back of his head. "Well then you know already that's why you can't be done. You gotta keep pushing through all the shitty stuff to get to the good stuff. It's like eating Robby's fucking stupid cookies. You're probably gonna pick up a few oatmeal raisin ones before you get to the chocolate chips, but they're fucking worth it."

Dennis huffs, swallows thickly. Jack strokes the back of his neck with his thumb.

"I like the oatmeal raisin ones."

"Don't fucking lie, Robby's not here to give you goo-goo eyes for it."

****

When he gets up to start getting ready for his shift, he finds Dennis slouched in front of the TV in the dark, scowling fiercely at his phone.

"Good to see all that nonsense about young people and screen addictions isn't true." He ruffles Dennis' hair as he rounds the back of the couch to flop down in front of Dennis, who doesn't react to his presence other than to grunt and whine at being jostled.

"What's got you so pissy?"

Dennis grunts again, but actually angles his phone towards Jack so he can see, which wasn't what he'd been expecting.

He peers over at Dennis' arm to the muted video, and winces when he realises what he's watching.

The guy has a huge following, a very successful channel, and he's absolutely not the sort of creator he'd want Dennis glued to right now.

They both watch in silence as the irritatingly chipper man - a combat vet as well, just to make things worse - preps for what the video proudly proclaims is his third half-marathon this year. The thumbnails below, which YouTube has helpfully lined up for them, all feature the same man grinning brightly into the camera as he sky-dives or swims with sharks or any other number of obnoxiously physical, adrenaline-junkie activities.

They let the video play out in silence, until Jack gently reaches out and pauses it, lowering the phone carefully to sit face-down on the couch cushion next to them.

Dennis swallows next to him, and it clicks loudly in the blue evening light.

"Never even wanted to run a marathon."

"Yeah." Jack agrees gently.

"Never wanted to skydive or do any of that shit. And swimming with sharks is for people who can afford to lose another limb."

Jack snorts, makes a mental note to relay that one on to Robby just to hear him do that stupid guffaw. He watches the side of Dennis' face, sees the effort it takes him to swallow again.

"Doesn't stop it from feeling like the most obnoxious thing you've ever seen, right?"

That jolts a surprised laugh out of Dennis, and Jack doesn't acknowledge the fact that the sound a little torn and wet.

"Dennis. Look at me for a second, bud."

He gives Dennis the time he needs to huff and roll his eyes and squirm before he finally turns red-rimmed eyes Jack's way.

"Not everyone who loses a limb is gonna go skydiving and run marathons. Some people wanna do that, and that's fine, they can go do that. But not everyone's the same, kid. We're all at different stages of our journey - yeah, I know it's a bullshit word, don't look at me like that - and that's okay too. There are gonna be times when you're not able to do shit like that. That's just the reality of the situation. There are gonna be times when you're as able as the next person, but you just might not fucking want to. You don't get gifted with the inspiration porn starter pack along with the prosthesis, you know?"

"Jesus, Jack."

"I'm being serious! Not all disabled people wanna do this shit. Hell, I'd say most people with all their limbs still intact don't wanna do this. Dennis. It's okay if you just wanna live your life as close to the way you were living it before. It's not...a waste, or unworthy, or whatever thoughts are rattling around that curly little melon."

He scrubs his knuckles gently against Dennis' head, unable to stifle the smirk at the indignant little quacking sound Dennis makes.

Once he's done scrubbing, Dennis sighs and leans heavily into Jack's side.

"He's out there jumping out of planes, and some days I can't even walk out of the bedroom without crying. Some days I don't even wanna leave the bedroom. Or stop crying."

Jack nods, smoothing his hands more gently this time over Dennis' curls.

"Denny, you think that guy doesn't have days like that? Especially when he first lost the leg?"

"Yeah, I know that, like...intellectually. On paper."

"But it's hard to feel when all you wanna do is sleep and doomscroll. I get it sweetheart."

He feels Dennis' breathing stutter a little in surprise at the term, and he forces himself to push on like he hadn't just dropped that small bombshell.

"Denny, I promise you will absolutely be able to jump out of a plane or run a half marathon if you want to. I know you don't see it, but if you think about the fact that you were in a hospital bed not that long ago, the fact that you're sitting here having walked from the bedroom is fucking astronomical progress. And if you wanna live your life without jumping outta planes, that doesn't make you any less worthy. If you just wanna be able to walk to the store and stomp around the ED like Robby 2.0 then that's just fucking fine with me."

Dennis makes a sound that might be a giggle, even if it does sound a bit limp and wet.