#abbotrobby

When Robby wriggles in his seat for the tenth time in so many minutes, Jack shoots him a look, lips curved in a barely there smirk. "You can go hit the head," Jack drawls under his breath. "Pretty sure I can summarize whatever happens while you're gone."

"There's something to summarize?"

"Sure. And if there isn't, I'll make it up."

"Whatever it is will be a hell of a lot more interesting than this."

Jack huffs a chuckle. "It's brain-rotting entertainment. What more could a guy want?"

In all honesty, Robby...likes being out with Jack like this. It's one of the first times they've gone out together on what is very clearly an official date, not just a prelude to a hook-up. They had dinner before this, and Jack had toyed with Robby's fingers on top of the table, lacing them, not pulling away when the waiter had come to take their order. Call him a fool, but he's in no hurry to leave and break the spell that's settled over him tonight, no matter how shitty this movie is.

He is still cold, though. And if this is a date, then maybe...maybe they could... Maybe it would be all right if they...

Christ, you're a grown man. A doctor. You make major decisions on the fly for a living. Will you just do something?

Robby tries to make it subtle, how he nudges the armrest between them so it lifts up. Though Jack's not touching it, he still turns his head the moment that Robby takes the chance, because of course he does. War vet. He's probably aware of a couple dozen more things than Robby is at any present time. His reflexes are sharper than Robby's and always will be. Just the tiniest change in anything from a patient to apparently an armrest is instantly noticed by his eagle eyes. For his part, Robby keeps staring at the screen, though he knows his cheeks are turning pink the longer that Jack stares at him.

Without a word, Robby finally tilts toward him and rests his cheek on Jack's shoulder. Jack snorts. "What's this about?" he asks softly.

"I like being close to you, okay? You're warm. So sue me."

"Why the hell would I do anything to make you stop?"

Robby blinks. The flush is now traveling down his throat. If nothing stops it, it'll flood into his chest where it'll really embarrass him. Yes, he's a grown man, and yes, he's chronically afflicted by perpetual blushing. He'll consider himself fortunate that Jack just thinks it's cute, even though it means Robby has to suffer so much teasing about it while Jack's spreading him out in his bed (okay, so maybe it doesn't make him feel that bad).

Before Robby can fashion a reply, Jack murmurs, "Here," then unzips his own hoodie. He's only wearing a thin white t-shirt beneath it. How he survives, Robby has no idea. The miracle of genetics and all that. Robby lifts his head long enough for Jack to shrug the garment off, but when Jack offers it to him, Robby doesn't reach for it. "C'mon, just put it on," Jack murmurs.

"It's not gonna fit," Robby insists. Jack's arms are thicker than Robby's, but Robby is overall stockier than his lover.

"Not if you don't try it, that's for sure."

Robby rolls his eyes. The heat's trickled into his chest. Never once has he had someone remove something they're wearing and offer it to him. That's always been his job. He can still name the exact scent of half a dozen women who he's dated, how he'd lend them his jackets, then bury his face in the sweet-smelling fabric once they were returned and he was alone. Jack dangling it in front of his face is enough to turn him into a flustered mess.

Jack scoffs. "Fine." Then he drapes it over Robby's lap. He throws an arm around Robby's shoulders next and pulls him back in with a chuckle. "What, are we gonna have to start bringing a blanket everywhere we go, old man?"

"Old—" Robby lifts his head and shoots him a look, trying and failing not to be stirred by that smug expression he's wearing. "Oh, fuck you very much. Y'know, your chances of getting laid tonight are decreasing by the second."

Jack does not look the least bit intimidated. Whatever power Robby might've had to bring him to heel disappeared years ago. "Mm, that's a shame," he murmurs. "What if I get you laid instead, how 'bout that?"

"I just told you—"

"No, no, I won't get anything out of it. Only you will." He rests his hand high on Robby's thigh; lava bubbles up on that very same spot.

They both know that the minute Jack makes Robby come, all playful reluctance to let Jack do the same will be thrown to the wind. It's maybe kind of pathetic, actually, how quickly Robby will spread his legs or open his mouth nice and wide for Jack while his orgasm is still rolling through his veins. But what's he supposed to do? Act like he doesn't want the guy inside of him every second of every day? The one he's pretty sure he's in love with? Robby's done the whole island-unto-himself thing. He's sick of it.

Robby shivers—he feels disgustingly fond of Jack when his response is to hold Robby closer—and takes a shaky breath. "Wanna cut our losses and head out?" he asks, already prepared to grab Jack's bag and get the hell out of dodge.

Jack's lips twitch, eyes sparkling. "What's your hurry? We paid to see a movie, didn't we? We've still got at least a half hour left."

"No way. Are you honestly enjoying this shit?" Robby's brows shoot up.

Jack shrugs. "Maybe it'll redeem itself in the end."

"Yeah, by killing the guy off so we don't have to listen to him screaming every time he lays into somebody."

Jack's hand slides a little higher, bringing all of Robby's thoughts to a stop. "We don't have to go anywhere for me to keep you warm, that's all I'm saying."

Robby's heart skips a beat, then thunders onward. "You're not serious."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Even higher still. Another inch and he'd be able to feel Robby's dick through his cargoes. As Jack tips his head with playfulness radiating from his intense gaze, he takes his hand on a detour, moving to the side so that he can slip under the hoodie in Robby's lap. Then he gives his pocket a little tug.

He is, in fact, very serious. Fuck. Robby turns around, craning his neck, wide-eyed, making a note of the location of the other three people in the theater. Two of them are making out so feverishly in the back that Robby'd be surprised if they hadn't beaten them to getting their hands in each other's pants. There's a woman with a massive tub of popcorn who seems more than happy to have an entire row to herself, sprawled out like she owns the place. They're nowhere near Jack and Robby. Not even close.

When Robby looks back at Jack, he's biting his lip, and he knows that gets Robby going, the way it makes him look a little bit like a dirtbag, like a guy who just took Robby out so he could get his dick wet. Jack leans in until his exhales tickle Robby's lips. "What do you say, babe? You want me to play with you, don't you?"

Robby nods quickly enough to make his neck ache. Of course he wants it. Of course he wants to feel like a teenager again, messing around in a movie theater with somebody for the first time—only it's a man, not a girl who everybody told Robby was fast but who was just as happy to come home and lie around with him in the afterglow, reading together without a stitch of clothing on. He hadn't realized how many firsts he still would experience once he started dating another man, nor how addictive it would be to check them all off, one by one.

Jack doesn't wait for any verbal confirmation. Just gropes his thigh again with a bruising grip, making Robby hiss and wriggle in his seat. "Shh." Jack grins like a kid in a candy store. "C'mere, baby. You just sit back and let me make you feel good."

Robby doesn't miss the fact that he was anxious as all hell to cuddle up to Robby, but that now he's seriously considering letting him get him off in public. It's different, his brain bleats. It's under a hoodie.

One that'll make it pretty damn clear something's moving under it? Robby's more sensible inner voice retorts.

But then Jack's hand slides higher still, cupping Robby through his pants, and said sensible voice is promptly shoved inside of a pillowcase, a knot tying it closed before it's chucked over a waterfall. Jack makes Robby into this eager creature too easily. He'll tease Robby sometimes about Langdon following him around like a puppy, wanting nothing more than to be liked by him, but for better or for worse, Robby knows how it feels to enjoy someone's company so damn much that he'll do anything to get a smile of approval out of them. Jack Abbot just so happens to be at the top of that list.

Jack nips at the shell of Robby's ear with a hum, sending electric sparks scattering through his system, running through every inch of his veins before they all meet in his pelvis. In seconds, he's hard enough to ache, and the pressure through two layers of fabric isn't enough to grant him relief. Robby bites his bottom lip as he bucks against Jack's palm, but then his hand disappears, and Robby uses every ounce of self-control not to whine at the loss.

"What'd I say?" Jack whispers. Then he sucks Robby's lobe into his mouth, laving it with his tongue, his quiet moan vibrating the sensitive flesh. "Don't do a thing. Let me take care of it."

"You're a tease," Robby accuses under his breath.

He can feel Jack's shit-eating grin, one of the rare ones that stretches across his entire face. He follows it with a kiss on the cheek. "No teasing tonight? Okay. Heard." And then he goes for Robby's belt. He has an unfair amount of dexterity in his left hand. It works his buckle open in less than ten seconds.

Fuck. It's happening. It's really, really happening. Robby squeezes his eyes shut as his breath catches.

"Mm-mm. Watch the movie, Robby."

"Fuck you," he hisses. But when Jack lifts his palm away again, Robby's taken by surprise by the rush of despair, and there's no holding back his whisper-thin whimper this time. "Okay, okay, okay." He'll stare at the bright screen, but that's all that he can manage.

He never meant to need Jack this badly. Robby had all but set himself up for a long future alone, believing himself to be too set in his ways, too confident in his inability to be wrong, that there wasn't anybody who could handle him at his worst, that his best wasn't nearly good enough to make the bad worth it. And then here's fucking Jack Abbot. Calm. Slow to anger. Patient. In therapy, for fuck's sake, and not in a sanctimonious way either. He's made it perfectly clear that the resources are there for Robby whenever he's ready for them. He isn't pushy. He snuck through Robby's defenses under darkness in a stealth mission before Robby even realized that he was anywhere close by. And now Jack's unzipping him, then tugging Robby's belt loop until he lifts his hips enough for Jack to ease his pants and boxers down. And Robby's letting him. And Robby's going to let him do anything he fucking wants, anything at all, just so long as Jack comes home with him tonight and holds him when the inevitable nightmares peck at his brain.

He thinks sometimes that he really would do anything for Jack too, if given the opportunity. And every day, he is realizing more and more that he may very well receive it sooner than he thinks.

"There we go," Jack breathes when Robby's cock bounces free from its restraints.

Robby licks his dry lips and swallows past the nervous knot in his throat. "I'm gonna ruin your hoodie."

"You sure are, big guy." He doesn't sound the least bit perturbed. "It's not the first time you've marked up my clothes, is it?"

The rush of heat through him is so sudden and overwhelming that Robby buries his face against Jack's neck. When Jack takes him in hand, he's grateful for his instinct to hide because it means his low moan is muffled further by his skin. The guy plays with Robby like it's a science that he's perfected, knowing to gather his slickness in his palm before he goes anywhere near his shaft. Knowing that Robby loves a twist of the wrist whenever Jack reaches his tip. His other arm is still around Robby's shoulder, and he traces his fingertips up and down his throat, tingles and shivers that only accentuate the pleasure with pinpricks of overstimulation.

It's ridiculous how good it is. He shouldn't get to have this kind of attention or bliss. Lightning should strike him right here where he sits for daring to take a chance on love again after everything he put women like Heather through. And yet the movie keeps playing. They are undisturbed. Whatever cosmic vengeance that Robby keeps anticipating decides to wait for another day. And something about the brush of Jack's kisses on his cheek feels like absolution for sins that Robby has been unable to name.

God, he's too fucking perfect at this. Robby pants against him as Jack picks up his pace, his grip so tight. His forearm must be bulging. Fuck, fuck, his arms, his body, covered in freckles from top to bottom, dusted with dark hair that hasn't yet gone silver, so strong, every inch begging for Robby to get on his knees and worship him, marking him from head to toe. His mind catapults him back to the last time that Robby was inside of him, how effusive praise dripped from Jack's lips like the sweat beads falling from his brow, and without another thought, Robby sinks his teeth into Jack's neck and sucks and sucks and sucks because there isn't any other fathomable way to keep himself from mewling so the whole world knows what a lucky son of a bitch he is to have caught this man in a trap that he hadn't even known he was setting. Jack's wedding band is palpable, rubbing against Robby's cock as he tugs him, a symbol of eternal devotion, a constant and crystal clear reminder of what kind of tough act Robby is following. For the first time in a very long time, Robby has been waking up every day with the impulse to recite Modeh Ani.

Just like Jack, Robby's orgasm sneaks up on him, and he bites down hard as he whimpers and shakes through the ecstasy bleeding out of his very marrow. Jack grunts, then groans, long and rough, as he slows his fist before he can overwhelm Robby. He fondles his softening cock for a few moments more—he's always been amused by how he can make Robby twitch and gasp with so little effort once Robby's actually relaxed into the sheets, helpless but to surrender all of his tension to the pleasure.

Once Jack releases him, it takes Robby a few seconds more to realize that he should do the same. His jaw actually stings when he opens his mouth. He's stunned he didn't draw blood. In fact, he's...he's...

He's marked Jack. Right there on his neck. Where everyone will be able to see. Robby's eyes widen; his heart picks up the pace all over again. It's dark. Massive. And it's only going to get more noticeable before they both work tomorrow. "Oh, my God," Robby whispers.

Jack's smirking like the cat who ate the canary. With absolutely no regard for his hoodie, he uses the fabric to rub Robby dry, then cleans off his own hand. "Y'know," he breathes back, "if you wanted to make it official, public, all that, you could've just asked."

"I'm so sorry. I'll, uh, fuck, I'll buy some...what the hell do they use?"

"Concealer?" Jack asks, chuckling.

"Yeah. There's a drug store on the corner, right?"

"Robby." Jack cups the back of his head and turns him to look him dead in the eye. "Listen to me." Then he rests his other palm on his cheek. "I'm not saying no. You understand?"

Robby blinks.

With an amused and fond shake of his head, Jack sighs. Then he rests their forehead against Robby's, and for a long moment, they simply breathe in tandem. Then he whispers, "I'm not gonna walk into work tomorrow and run my mouth about who gave me this. Unless you want me to. And then I'll do it happily."

Robby tries his hardest to understand what he's saying, really, but his entire brain is bluescreening. Him. Them. Together. Public. And then it hits him with the force of a runaway train, and before he can think, Robby grabs his face in both hands and slams their mouths together hard enough to hurt. He just gave them both bruises and he's sitting here with his dick out while his cum dries on Jack's hoodie and he could give less of a shit about any of it.

Jack's grinning when he pulls back. "That a yes?"

"That's a let's go home and talk," Robby murmurs back, as though he's not beaming with every muscle in his face.

"Home, huh?" Jack rubs the tips of their noses together.

The words catch on Robby's tongue. He can't say it. Not yet. Can't even begin to dream of having a home with him. And Jack seems to understand this. He steals one more gentle kiss without a word, then reaches under the hoodie to begin putting Robby's clothes back to rights. He's wearing a secret smile, the kind that only makes the edges of his lips quirk, but that lights his eyes up brighter than the sun itself.