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Most MS3’s aren’t 31, but most MS3’s haven’t served a tour, lost a leg, and sorely misplaced their will to live. At least that’s what Jack tells himself. The first two things were in his resume one way or another, but the third one has been all his own.
But there’s no other explanation for why he can’t take his eyes off the attending. They’d met a two months ago at the start of Jack’s rotation in the Pitt, and he’d been lost since the introduction.
“Dr. Michael Robinavitch, but everyone calls me Dr. Robby.”
There were only a few years between them, and Jack’s unique background means he’s got a lot more experience working in high-stress, high-blood, high-mortality situations than most MS3’s. His fellow MS3 had fainted the first time they cracked a chest open, but Jack hadn’t hesitated.
“Alright, now you have to…” Robby would begin in that soft, patient voice of his. Jack would do whatever that voice told him to without question. Part of it was because, yeah Robby was the attending, and yeah Jack had hierarchy and obeying orders drilled into him since he was a teenager, but the other part of it, the biggest part of it, was that Jack had a bit of an obsession with Robby’s soft voice. And his competent hands. And his stubble. And those dark brown eyes that were starting to get the first glimpse of crow’s feet in the corners.
Jack wanted to lick Robby’s baby crow’s feet.
Which was absurd. Ridiculous. Insane.
Jack had served in the arm, and he’d even gone back for most of a second tour. Like almost everyone in the service, he’d traded handjobs and blowjobs aplenty. But he wasn’t gay. That was just what you did on tour when the desperation started to hit, when one of your buddies with long lashes and a great smile asked if maybe you could work out an arrangement. And if it took less time to start looking for someone each time he deployed, well, why prolong the inevitable?
Med school wasn’t all that different. He’d tried having a girlfriend early on, but it had fallen through between all the classes and homework and late nights. He didn’t want to put that on a second women, so he started to pick up one night stands at bars. He’d thought that he’d be past the grind in the third year, but it had only gotten worse with the rotations. He hadn’t seen any action in… six months? Eight?
That had to be why he wanted to see if Robby’s hair was long enough to grab.
He was just horny. That’s all.
“Abbot, you’re with me,” Robby said, patting his shoulder once on his way to Trauma One. Jack abandoned his charting and followed Robby’s long strides across the Pitt, picking up the R1 Dr. Paulson on the way.
GSW. Gunshot wound. Robby let Jack take the lead, and Jack felt a stupid surge of pride that he’d done so. He answered one of Paulson’s questions without thinking, and all Robby had said was, “Abbot got it in one.” Once they’d gotten the GSW stable, it was onto a Motor Vehicle Accident. Then Paulson took the lead, and Jack was barely keeping pace.
The rest of the day, Jack was swapped around between the various senior residents and their two attendings, Robby and Dr. Adamson. He was charting every spare second he could. Seven was past and eight hit before Jack realized lunch had blown right by.
“You caught up on your charting?” Lily, an MS4, appeared by his side with Felix, the fainting MS3, in tow.
Jack hit the enter key on his keyboard and logged out of the system. “Now I am.” Felix gave him a high five and Lily hugged him briefly.
“Congrats on finishing your first rotation in the ED!” Paulson gave him a fist bump.
Oh right. That.
“Thanks, man,” Jack responded automatically.
“Beers in the park?”
“You know it!” They traveled en masse to the park, picking up some nurses and older residents along the way. Jack wanted to invite Robby directly, but he was in a conversation with Dr. Adamson, and that wasn’t the sort of thing you interrupted unless it was an emergency. And beers in the park didn’t count sadly.
Some of them were still too wired to sit after their shift. Jack used to be like that in the army: if anyone was injured, he was the first to volunteer in their place. It helped that when he did finally lay down, he was out like a light, whereas a lot of his buddies would need alcohol or pills to finally catch some Z’s. Not Jack. Not then.
But that was then and this was now. Jack bee-lined for one of the few bench spots. His leg started throbbing painfully as though it finally sensed the opportunity for relief. He sat down with a weary sigh and pulled his scrub leg up high enough to get his leg off. His sock didn’t smell great, so he chucked it into a plastic baggy in his bag and massaged his nub until someone tossed him a beer.
“Great job with that GSW earlier, Abbot. You really know your stuff!” Paulson raised his can up and Jack toasted back.
“I’m just a one-trick pony tryin’ to learn something new,” Jack drawled. “Traumas are easy, but those walk-ins? Those can get real weird real quick.”
“Did you see that gnarly ingrown fingernail?” Someone asked, and then they were swapping weirdest cases of the day.
Some people downed their beer in ten and went home. Others lingered, and membership changed. That lingering crowd was small today, just the three MS students who were going to rotate to other departments next week.
“What’d you think of the ED, Felix?” Jack asked.
Felix shivered. “You know, I wanted to like it. I did. But it’s not for me. It’s dermatology next, and I’m hopeful. You seem like you were meant for it, though. Like a fish to water.”
Lily laughed. “Like a baby deer, born and running in seconds!”
Jack quirked a smile and shrugged. “You should’ve seen me my first day as a field medic! I stumbled about for awhile.”
“You know, I bet serving as an EMT would help too. Shorter stints than the military and you get to sleep in your own bed,” Felix commented.
“Bet you get to keep both your legs too,” Jack said. They all laughed, but it was more awkward than he’d like. Amputee humor depended a lot on the audience, and Felix and Lily weren’t good for it. Right. He’d learned that a few weeks ago and had forgotten in the onslaught of the Pitt.
“Anyway, I’m heading home. No weekend for me.” Felix stood and stretched.
Lily shook her can, and it rattled with a splash. She tossed it back. “Looks like me too. You coming, Jack? We can walk together for a bit.”
Jack looked down at his still-sore nub and over to the Pitt. It’d be a year before he’d get to come back. It had been one of the few places that truly made sense to him since he got back. All he needed to do was focus on the medicine, and the rest would work out. He kind of wanted to say goodbye.
“Think I might stay awhile. Leave a couple?” Felix handed him the last two beers from the cooler, and then he was alone.
Drinking alone outside the Pitt was a bit sadder than Jack expected, so he focused his energy on getting his leg well enough to make the walk home. He massaged his leg aggressively, so he was only about halfway down the can and thinking about taking it on a walk when there was a thump on his bench. Jack turned to look, and there he was.
“Just you left?” Robby asked. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and Jack found himself wondering how it would feel vibrating between his teeth.
Fuck, I need to get laid. He’s a goddamned attending, and a man to boot. It’s not like I’m deployed right now anyway.
Still, Jack played it cool, handing over the other beer Felix had left him with. “Yep. Giving my leg a break before I head home.” He gestured towards his reddened nub.
Robby leaned over and looked at it with a doctor’s gaze. He whistled. “Yeah, I can see why.” He held onto the beer, not opening it. “This is your last day at the Pitt, right? Starting another rotation tomorrow?”
“I’ve got tomorrow off, but yeah it’s surgery next.” Jack was going to appreciate that rare day off. Some of the med students would be studying, but he could really use the time to let off some steam, to conquer his dry spell so he stopped ogling every attending with kind dark eyes he’d meet. And long legs. And a smile that put the sun to shame.
“Do you want to get dinner?” Robby asked.
Jack was too surprised to control his reaction, his eyebrows darting to his hairline and his mouth dropping open. “I… Uh…”
“Thought I’d offer. I skipped lunch, and it seemed like maybe you did too.” Robby shrugged casually and played with the pull tab of the beer can. “I can drive us there, and I can take you home after. I parked just over there.” He gestured to the nearest lot.
“I did. Skip lunch,” Jack stammered. He took another swig of his beer to give himself a second to think. His whole body thrummed with excitement, with eagerness. But he didn’t want Robby’s pity, not if he could avoid it. “Don’t you have a 7AM shift tomorrow?”
“It’s my Friday. I’ve got a glorious two-day weekend ahead of me.” Robby shrugged his shoulders before he rolled the beer can between his hands. “Figured it’d be nice to kick it off with a drink and a meal, and company is always appreciated. If it’s not awkward, that is. I’m not your attending anymore, so I thought...”
“Yeah, let’s do it,” Jack said before his brain would come up with reasons not to.
Jack put his leg back on, and they walked to Robby’s car. Robby lived in a hopping part of town, so they decided to park at his place and walk a few blocks to a brewery nearby rather than tempt fate and try to find parking elsewhere.
“You mind if I shower and change real quick? You can shower and borrow clothes too.” Robby offered, and Jack accepted. Robby had a plastic patio chair that he could make work in the shower, and Robby had laid out a selection of clothes on the bed while Jack was in there.
Robby was just a few inches bigger than him, so Jack rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, and he had to cuff the jeans, but Jack tried to do it in a way that seemed a personal choice rather than a necessity.
The Pens were playing tonight, but they still managed to get a table. Jack had only to admit he’d never watched hockey for Robby to start explaining the rules.
Maybe it was was the beer or the impending day off or the entire bar, Jack and Robby included, watching the game and cheering and booing and gasping in turn, but Jack started feeling good. Very good. The camaraderie was something about the army that he missed, and while the med students all had this ‘we’re all suffering through this together’ vibe, it wasn’t particularly joyful. Even the successes in the ER, the close calls and the near misses, had this dark alternative that was hard to ignore. But cheering for a team he’d only just discovered playing a game he still didn’t really understand the rules for?
This was a basic form of bliss that Jack apparently needed.
When the game was over (the Pens won 3-2 with a goal in the final two minutes!), Jack was determined to ride out this high as long as he could.
He tapped Eobby’s arm then leaned close to his ear, the taller man bending close so he could hear. “Want to snag a pool table before they’re all taken?”
Robby’s face lit up, and that was all the answer he needed. Jack claimed a table and inserted quarters, and Robby got them a pitcher of beer.
Jack had played a lot of pool before his leg had been blown off, so he generally knew what he was doing. With his nub still sore from the day, he took to doing more trick shots that allowed him to sit on the table edge. He was getting good at shooting from behind his back.
Robby was garbage at pool. He insisted he played better while drunk, so Jack refilled his glass to help out and offered him bits of advice. As the night progressed and the beer started fuzzing out the rest of the bar, some of the advice became a bit… hands on.
“You gotta follow through on the stroke,” Jack said. He had arranged himself behind Robby as best he could, his right hand atop Robby’s, his left resting comfortably on Robby’s waist, and his hips as directly behind Robby’s as he could manage. “Don’t just stop once you hit the ball. To properly transfer the power, you have to go through the ball.” They hit the cue ball together, and it hit the red 3 at just the right angle and power that it slid straight into the side pocket.
“Now you try.” Jack grinned at Robby. He let go of hand and waist, taking a step back. It seemed to take Robby a moment to get the memo. He circled the table a few times before choosing his shot. He leaned over the table and did a few practice motions before finally tapping the cue ball.
It hit the yellow ball, but that one went wide. Robby gave a bashful smile. “Guess I’m still learning.”
“Hey, that just means we’ll have to play more,” Jack joked.
“Guess we must.”
They went through an increasingly uncertain number of pitchers and probably at least four games, with Jack helping Robby enough that he was practically playing against himself. He would slot himself between Robby’s arms, put his hands on Robby’s hips to bend him to the right angle, adjusted his stance, his arms, and even the way Robby looked down the cue to aim.
Jack knew this careful dance: he remembered it well from his time on tour. It was a subtle thing, a push and a pull. Would this man lean into his touch or lean away? Would they look at each other with hunger or with generalized friendliness?
God but Robby was responding to every move he made.
Over the course of the pitchers and the pool and the night, the touches started to linger. His hand was on Robby’s a bit too long. Robby pressed his hip into Jack’s hand just a moment. Robby put his hand on Jack’s arm, waist, hip as he made his way past him as he circled the table.
And whenever Jack caught a glimpse of Robby’s eyes, they smoldered like a banked fire. When their eyes caught?
They could burn down a forest between them.
Jack wasn’t alone in his interest, it seemed, or in how long it had been since he’d been with someone. He stopped paying attention to the game or who was solids or stripes, and he was increasingly suspicious that Robby never actually cared about the game at all.
The 8 ball made its way into a pocket by pure accident, and Jack racked his cue. “Might be time to hit the head,” he said innocuously.
“For me too,” Robby agreed, putting his own stick next to Jack’s. Jack led the way through the crowd to the Men’s room, Robby close behind.
There was no one at the urinals, and he ducked to check the stalls. The door closed behind Robby just as Jack’s confirmation was complete. He turned to look at Robby to do that final, final check to make sure they were on the same page.
Robby had on an easy smile that crinkled the corners of his face. His warm brown eyes were giving Jack a very thorough once over. His hands were reaching for Jack’s hips.
That was something he knew. Jack grabbed him by the belt buckle and dragged him into a stall, locking it closed behind them. His one hand maneuvered Robby to the wall, before the other made short work of Robby’s belt, having it open in a second. The straining button and fly were undone in another second. He reached down into Robby’s boxers to grasp the hard dick waiting for him.
Robby gasped and grunted, his face close enough to Jack’s that he could feel Robby’s breath on his cheeks. And Robby’s hands were working on Jack’s borrowed pants. Good. That was good. God it was getting tight in there: he was ready to be freed of them.
Just as Robby got his pants opened, his hand came up to grab Jack’s chin, and his lips came down to kiss him.
This was not something Jack had done before. Dicks were dicks, and in the dark of night, you could pretend (or pretend you were pretending, though don’t ask don’t tell applied there too) that the hand on your dick was a woman’s, that the dick you held was a dildo or something.
But he’d never kissed another man.
Robby’s lips were warm and a bit chapped. His stubble was only a little sharp. He tasted of beer and the order of onion rings they’d ordered at some point.
Against Jack’s lips, Robby felt amazing.
He froze just an instant before he let himself be overwhelmed with want, and he gave into it the moment it hit him. He feasted on Robby’s lips and tongue, his hand working frantically on Robby’s dick. He was leaking enough that chafing wasn’t a big issue, but that didn’t mean it was a good idea. They separated briefly so Jack could spit on his hand.
“You’re so hot, Jack,” Robby murmured. “You’re so good at that.” It was the beer, definitely, that made him say that, and it was the beer that made Jack flush under his praise.
In the army, you didn’t call the man jerking you off by his name. It made plausible deniability a lot harder and, well, it just wasn’t done, at least in Jack’s experience.
But you didn’t kiss him either.
This wasn’t the army, and he wasn’t living under Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. Robby’s tongue was in Jack’s throat, and his hand was fisting his cock, and his name was on his lips.
“Here, let’s…” Robby took a half-step closer, and suddenly their dick’s were against one another’s, and Robby took them both in hand, and oh God—
Jack’s knees started to buckle and he caught himself on Robby’s chest and shoulders. “Fuck, that feels good,” he gasped.
It shouldn’t feel so different: it was still a hand around his dick, after all, even though it wasn’t his hand. But Robby’s rock hard dick was touching his, was rubbing against his as he thrusted, and Jack’s brain was whiting out with how good it felt.
Jack’s mouth started running as he started thrusting back. “God, you feel amazing. Like the shit dreams are made of. You’re so hot, Robby. So, so hot.”
“Fuck, Jack, that’s it. That’s it.” Robby coaxed him through it, his voice gravelly and delicious in Jack’s ear. His spare hand grasped the nape of Jack’s neck and stroked the short hairs there.
It felt so good that Jack grabbed Robby’s head with both of his and pulled him down into a kiss.
It’s only gay if the balls touch.
Jack’s borrowed jeans were around his ankles, and his balls were out in the stale bathroom air, but Robby’s were still in his precariously held-up pants. A sizable of him wanted to stick his hands down Robby’s pants, to grope his ass, to free his balls, to fell all of Robby against all of him. Would it feel good? Would it feel wrong?
There’s a hand on your dick, stop thinking about balls, Jack reminded himself. Maybe back in the army, he would’ve pretended that the hand stroking his cock like it knew exactly what Jack liked was a woman’s hand, but there was no denying the stubble and the chapped lips and the fact that Jack was kissing someone taller than him. There was no denying the way Jack was rubbing against Robby’s cock as well as his hand.
“Fuck, Robby!” He gasped as Robby’s hand twisted around the head of his dick, around the heads of their dicks. Jack moaned as his ass muscles squeezed as he thrust up, as he rubbed against the muscle and veins of Robby’s purple-headed cock.
“Fuck!” He shouted as his world went white and his legs shook and stripes of come spurted all over Robby’s hand.
“Fuck,” Robby sobbed as he followed soon after, his head sagging against Jack’s. His dry hand wrapping around Jack’s shoulders to bring them closer together. He pressed a kiss to Jack’s ear and to the sensitive hollow underneath it.
In the army—
This isn’t the army, Jack. This is real life.
“Come back to my condo,” Robby whispered into his ear. “Stay the night.”
It was definitely the alcohol in Jack’s system that made him respond, “OK,” immediately.
Robby kissed him again. Jack’s heart stuttered and wobbled, and he swallowed to try to keep it inside him instead of pouring out his every orifice.
“Good, OK.” Robby said. “Good.”
Robby left their stall, softening dick bouncing freely, to get wet paper towels as Jack braced himself against the wall. His legs felt like rubber underneath him. Instead of passing over the towel, Robby cleaned Jack up and tucked him in before taking care of himself. Jack got his borrowed pants back on his body. There wasn’t too much of a mess, but if the lights were brighter, they wouldn’t be fooling anybody. Even with the brewery’s dim lights, Jack doubted they’d fool anybody. A sudden panic seized him, and Robby rubbed Jack’s neck as he finished cleaning the front of his shirt.
“All good?”
“Yeah, brother,” Jack said automatically. “Always.”
“Brother?” Robby’s eyes crinkled with a smile. Jack still hadn’t gotten to lick his crow’s feet, but maybe tonight…
“Army term.”
“Hm, I like that.”
Jack stared as his shoes as made their way to the register to pay, unwilling to see if anyone stared at them. The the two of them walked, hands in pockets and shoulder width apart, back to Robby’s place. Jack’s nerves were on fire the whole walk back.
Once through the front door, Jack expected to be pinned, but to his surprise Robby just pressed a single chaste kiss to his lips before he took Jack by the hand and led him into the kitchen. Jack awkwardly sat on a bar stool while Robby poured a glass of water and handed it over before pouring himself one. He spooned Gatorade powder into his own glass and, at Jack’s nod, his glass as well. Then the lanky man leaned on the counter between them with a small smile and both eyebrows raised.
“You’re gorgeous, you know,” Robby said mildly. “Here I thought I was shooting well out of my league.”
“Hardly,” Jack scoffed. “I’ve wanted you for weeks,” Jack said flippantly. Weeks? More like two months, from the first instant he laid eyes on Robby. Since he’d first heard that soft voice.
“Weeks, now?” Robby’s voice was teasing and soft. Jack wanted to sink right into it.
In that hazy comforting voice, Jack almost responded with the truth, but that wasn’t something he wanted to reveal about himself, even drunk.
And he was still drunk: the world was wavering about in a thoroughly uncomfortable way, and it seemed like there was a fog slowing down his every thought. But Robby was in laser focus. The way his eyebrows arched up and the line forming between them. His hair were a bit shaggy, but it looked oh so touchable. The veins on his hands and his long fingers wrapped around the glass like it was a toy.
Those hands had felt so good on him. And Robby’s lips? Who knew kissing a man could be good?
Jack was surprised to find his hand reaching forward to thread its way into the short locks. He used them to pull Robby further over the bar so that he was close enough to kiss, and that’s just what Jack did. The kiss was rough and needy and had teeth, and it ripped a moan out of Robby that went straight to Jack’s dick.
His other hand fisted into Robby’s shirt to pull him closer, and then there was a crash of glass and explosion of blue.
Jack released Robby immediately. “Shit, I’m sorry. Don’t know what came over me.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the spray of a glass and blue Gatorade on the ground.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll clean it up.” Robby was standing on his own two feet, and he wore the same look he had when a new patient came in that wasn’t dying but did need to be seen to immediately. “How about you go to bed and get ready. There are spare toothbrushes in the bathroom closet, and you can help yourself to anything else in there.”
“OK. Sure.” Jack carefully avoided the shards of glass to make his way to Robby’s bedroom, feeling a bit awkward.
What did ‘get ready’ mean exactly? He’d never… done whatever it was he assumed they were about to do.
He started with what he knew. He brushed his teeth and washed his face. He thought about showering but the patio chair was in the guest shower instead of Robby’s. He sat down on the side of the bed that had less stuff on the nightstand. He took off his leg and moisturized his nub with lotion he found. He took off the borrowed clothes and chucked them towards the laundry hamper, and he added his unfortunate boxer briefs after a moment’s hesitation. Feeling remarkably vulnerable, he got under the covers and he was settling in just when Robby finally came inside.
“Sorry about that. Some of it got under the oven. Now you look comfy.” Robby sat down on Jack’s side of the bed and leaned over to kiss Jack’s forehead. There was a solid thunk as he put a water glass on the nightstand.
“I’m awake,” Jack insisted.
“Mm, but you don’t have to be! There’s always the morning, you know.”
“I’m fine, really.”
“I believe you. I’ll brush my teeth and join you soon. Then we’ll see.”
Jack remembered the jostling of the bed, the shockingly cool hands against his side, and then arms wrapping around him and legs tucked up behind his knees and the soft whisper of breath against his hair. He felt wanted. He felt comforted.
Jack remembered sometime later untangling himself so he could down half the glass of water. Robby rolled away when he did so, and Jack followed him across the bed to spoon the man. It felt right. It felt good.
It didn’t feel wrong at all.
When Jack came awake, it was a moment at a time. He was warm and fuzzy and his head was threatening a pounding headache that hadn’t started yet. He was in bed with someone. He couldn’t remember who, and that wasn’t too out of the ordinary, but they seemed a lot hairier than he was used, not that Jack was complaining. His dick was hard and wedged in the curve of an ass, but it seemed bad manners to start thrusting without opening his eyes. He opened his eyes and sat up to look at last night’s partner.
He saw short dark hair and stubble a couple days old, a hairy chest rising and falling, and the suggestion of morning wood beneath the covers. He saw Robby drooling on the pillow.
Jack remembered the previous night in a rush. The park, the invitation, the shower and change of clothes, the delightful dinner, and the sluttiest series of pool games he’d ever played. He remembered the bathroom and the eager hands and the kisses. Oh God, he remembered the kisses. And the walk back and the Gatorade and the half-asleep snuggling.
This was so much more than Jack had ever done before with a man. Kisses and snuggling? That was relationship shit. Not a one night stand with a man to scratch an itch when no women were around. They were in Pittsburgh, not Kabul. Fuck.
He hadn’t even noticed any women at the bar last night. His eyes had been focused on Robby alone.
Was Robby gay? Bi? He hadn’t had eyes for anyone else either.
Not that that meant anything, of course. Jack would definitely have looked at women too if he hadn’t spent two months lusting after Robby.
He hadn’t even licked Robby’s baby crow’s feet last night.
Jack needed to go. ASAP. Before he spent his one day off having non-stop surprisingly romantic sex with the male attending. God, but he wanted to. He shouldn’t want to, but he did.
He needed to get out before Robby woke up. If he woke up and looked at Jack with his soft brown eyes, smiled at him just a touch, reached for him? Jack would be done for. Lost in the sauce.
Any man would be, if Robby looked at them like that. Straight or otherwise.
Thank fucking Christ yesterday was his last day at the Pitt for awhile. Until he did a second rotation next year, which he badly wanted to do. He needed the time to get past whatever this was. Move on with someone. Or during his next rotation, his knees would turn to goo if Robby so much as looked at him.
He might have to work nights just to maintain some distance.
Jack slowly, carefully extracted himself from Robby’s gangly limbs. He put his day-old sock on his nub then attached his leg. He snuck buck-naked across the room to duck into the guest room where he’d folded yesterday’s scrubs. Going commando wouldn’t kill him, even if it was under scrubs.
He gave in to longing just enough to peek in through Robby’s bedroom door. He was still in bed, but he’d scooched over to fill Jack’s spot, his long nose turned into the pillow.
He looked so inviting. So delectable.
“Fuck,” Jack whispered. Then he turned away from the gorgeous man on the bed, and he walked home.