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Robby was always on his back when he came.
When Jack fucked him, that was. Back to the bed, the couch, the counter, the wall, always his back.
Never belly.
Never hands and knees or bent over the shower chair.
It wasn't a problem per se, but Jack's leg had been increasingly more painful as of late to the point Lena had called Robby an hour before shift change to come pick him up.
“He's walking around like Quasimodo at this point. John and Crus have coordinated to keep him sitting at a station to chart, but you know he's terrible at keeping still.”
He'd told her to tie him down if she had to.
“Listen, what you two get up to in your bedroom is between you two and the deity or deities of your choosing. I'll just have Crus sit on him,” and she'd hung up, laughing at the put upon noise he'd made in response.
But when he'd arrived at the ED, less than 20 minutes later, Jack was seated in one of the rolling chairs, arms crossed and a pissed expression, under layers of coban and elastikon. His pant leg was pulled up to the top of his shin, the prosthesis gone but the liner on.
“The conversation I am having with HR about this will be long and shouty,” he was growling at Ellis who was holding his leg aloft like a prized trout.
Her response was to ignore him completely and announce, “Boss man,” to the Hub, and extend the leg over Jack's shoulder. “He was still rolling around in here. Figured we'd slow him down.”
“I don't know if I should applaud the ingenuity or remind you we don't steal someone's assistive devices.” He took it and hefted it against his shoulder, other hand coming down to the back of the chair Jack was taped into. “Can I interest you in pain meds before we leave?”
“You can interest me in a pair of scissors and my leg back.”
“Scissors yes, leg no.”
“You gonna carry me out of here?”
“I have this, the finest in office chairs, to scoot you out to the car in. Or I could have Dr Shen and Dr Henderson carry you out rotisserie sacrifice style.”
John held up their Medical Level, the one with the Home Depot scan label falling off, and told him, “All I need is some rope for wrists and knees.”
“Knees?”
“You can't tie him at the ankles.”
Jack, apparently having had enough, granted having been awake for entirely too long between the All Hands for the TEMS unit and his shift, declared, “I hate all of you right now.”
Lena, also over it, ordered, “Take him home before he eats someone,” dropping his bag and jacket into his lap.
And Robby, amused by his entire punch-drunk nightshift staff, saluted with the leg, and began the short roll toward the ambulance bay only to be stopped by a jerk and the bag rolling to the floor
“Pick your foot up, would you? It'll make this faster.”
“Untape me and give me the damn leg.”
“Please. I guarantee you've got a damn sore under that liner.” Robby put the bag back on Jack's lap, threw the jacket over his shoulder, and, entirely too practiced at it, whipped and dipped the chair back onto 2 of the 5 wheels. Jack couldn't reach the floor now without injuring himself.
Mateo called out, “10/10 on execution!” clapping briefly.
“You’re getting all the scut next shift, Diaz!”
“Worth it!”
It took less than five minutes after that to get Jack loaded up, though Robby had been tempted to just hoist the damn chair into the back seat, restrained partner and all, for a hot minute.
“Did you seriously tell Lena they could tie me up?” he asked as Robby reversed out of the accessible spot.
“Yep. Learn to sit your ass down when you're in pain.”
“Look who's talking.”
He gave Jack a dry look, then softened as he noted the way Jack's face was tight, his jaw twitching, one arm braced on the rest with his fingers clenched and the other hand white-knuckled around the handle above his head.
Robby swerved a pothole and Jack whimpered, closing his eyes.
Okay, that was enough.
“How bad is it?”
“What?”
“This isn't a sore. You hunch and you weight shift, but you don't fucking brace for it. How bad is the wound?”
“It's nothing I haven't dealt with before, Robby, drop it.”
He was confiscating the leg.
Thankfully, Jack's designated spot was empty–fuck his neighbor’s entitlement–and he threw the car into park while ordering, “Stay here,” and unlatching his seatbelt. At the last second, he grabbed the prosthesis and clearly the right decision based on Jack's annoyed grunt.
“Don't feel like crawling around today, thanks,” he grumbled, then put his face in his hand as he realized what Robby was pulling from the trunk and slammed the passenger door open. “When the fuck did you get that?”
“October 2018.”
Jack had managed to twist his left knee into a mess, fucked the right trying to hobble on it, and been unable to walk for 2 weeks straight. Robby, ever prepared, had bought a half-decent off-the-shelf collapsible wheelchair to stuff in his car trunk where it had lived until the following spring when he'd secreted it away into his garage.
“I really want to be pissed about this, you know.”
“Bitch about it later. You want help to transfer?”
How Robby didn't ignite on the spot neither was sure.
The expression on Robby's face was a mixture of emotions that Jack could only identify half of, hand and eyes trained on the infected skin and small wound his partner had apparently slathered in ointment before bandaging.
“Did the rug burn start this?”
Jack stubbornly kept his mouth shut.
No, the rug burn did not start it.
...the couch burn did.
But that would absolutely 100% not be something he admitted.
Instead he told Robby, “I’m already on antibiotics–you can thank your buddy Whitaker–and I will go take my gaba,” while flipping the liner inside out, exposing the spots and small streaks where he’d bled through the non-stick.
“No, you’ll stay in the chair or on the couch, I’ll get your meds,” Oh, Robby was decidedly pissed, “and the prosthesis is mine for the next three days, minimum.”
“You cannot confiscate my leg.”
“Oh, I think you’ll find I can and I will.”
“Michael.”
But Robby was already walking down the hall toward the bathroom and the cabinet that housed an assortment of medications. Jack could hear bottles being rifled through, frustrated mutterings that actually made him smirk, and that only made Robby snarl randomly when he returned.
“I’m sorry, at what point did this become amusing to you?”
He didn’t get to answer, the meds pressed into his hand with the tumbler Robby pulled from his bag.
“I swear... what is with you and having me on my fucking back? Your leg would not look like that if you weren’t so fucking insistent on...”
“I’m sorry, go back, explain the fuck you’re talking about?”
“You, man, you insist on only coming in me if I’m on my back! It puts too much strain on that leg.”
Jack swallowed back the pills, glared at the cream and the glove Robby was holding. “It does not strain my leg to fuck you, asshole.”
“You didn’t take the damn thing off the other day when you had me against the wall and you insisted on taking my goddamn weight.”
“I lift more than your weight so I can take it, Mike.”
He just bulldozed forward, continuing, “You off-balance onto your knee if we’re in bed. You use the limb to stabilize if we fuck on the floor or the couch.”
If there was ever a moment that Jack wanted to scream (not at Robby, just in his vicinity) it was then. He settled on reminding the other, “It’s my body, Mike, I can use it how I please,” the same mantra he’d been trying to teach Robby for months now.
“Not if it’s going to give you a goddamn infection!”
“It’s a silicone socket liner, it holds moisture even with the thin one and a sock. Hell, that makes it worse. And this isn’t the first time sweating did this and you know it.” Definitely not mentioning how abrasion helped it along nor was he going to bring up the fact that he was way overdue to go back to the prosthetist to have some adjustments made which had also contributed. Rather, Jack leaned forward, trying to swipe the supplies in Robby’s hand.
Slapping that hand away, Robby half-threw himself onto the coffee table, yanked the chair closer which nearly sent Jack flying out of said chair, and put the residual limb in his lap.
He kept going, the asshole, “I can be on my stomach, you know, or...” the tips of his ears started to glow a deep russet pink, a little embarrassed now that he was less focused on his anger and more focused on the reason behind why Jack’s stump was red and sore and probably had been for days.
It wouldn’t last long, it never did, bodies were bodies, but for a moment, Robby always blushed over his own, still shocked that Jack wasn’t turned off by the softness of his middle, the leanness and the lack of hard defined muscle.
“Or what?”
He ducked his head, gloved hand prodding the cream into the various spots that’d bloomed the skin red.
Jack grabbed his face, lifted it to catch his gaze, asked again, “Or what?”
“Or on top.”
He didn’t mean topping Jack–
They’d tried it and, despite him wanting it and despite remembering how much he’d enjoyed it back in the years before he’d been married, they had quickly discovered that the scar tissue and healed incision lines from the blast that’d taken his leg and mapped his body from the lower back down had made that option an impossibility.
He couldn’t bend the way he needed, couldn’t stretch the way he wanted. Every attempt had left nerves alight with pain rather than pleasure and a wilted dick, a long quiet shower.
He’d had so much anger and regret over it.
But Robby had gently taken over after the last attempt left him ready to cry, reminded him that he preferred bottoming anyway, and switched their positions, let Jack fuck him into the mattress and possibly the floors, straight down to the basement laundry room.
–but Jack made a face nonetheless.
“No.”
“Why?”
Jack shook his head, hissing slightly as Robby continued his inspection. “Just no,” he answered.
“Is it a kink? The wanting me on my back to come? Because it’s okay if it is.” He eased back for the dressing he’d set aside, lightly sprayed with protectant, ripping off the glove as he moved. “We can figure out how to balance not hurting you with satisfying the need.”
Another hiss as Robby pressed the non-stick over, pressed the edges down. “Not a kink, no.”
“Then what is it? Leverage? Sensation? Stimulation? We’ve got toys we can add..."
And Jack groaned. “It’s about being face to face, you pain in my ass,” he sucked in a breath, going on, “I need you to see me, hear me, and feel me because motherfucker, I need you to remember I love you and that’s the only fucking time I think you actually absorb it.
“You’re my fucking heart and soul, Robby, and you look so destroyed lately that the only thing I can think to do is to make sure you see just how much I need you. So yeah, I want you on your fucking back so I can make sure you see that it’s me that’s making fucking love to you.”
Oh.
Robby’s shoulders dropped for a second, then lifted back as his brow scrunched, “making fucking love?” he asked, starting to laugh under his breath.
“Shut up. My vernacular is not on trial here.”
The huffed laughter continued for a second, then Robby was leaning closer, pressing a kiss to Jack’s pout. “You get to see me look destroyed, Jack, because I know you love me. I don't have to hide it with you or pretend I'm okay when I'm not.”
“Look at you, using your words.”
“Therapy is a wonderful thing when you stop fighting it.”
“I'm telling Dana you said that.”
Robby didn't rise to the bait. Instead he kissed Jack again and pushed his limb back and down, the corner of the chair bracketed by his legs. “I'm serious about cowboying it. Takes the pressure off your leg entirely.”
“Mmm, not a position your back tolerates.”
“In case you haven't heard, there's this fabulous new drug called ibuprofen. Works decently. Easily purchased, don’t even have to bully a pharmacist for it.”
Jack slapped his side. He got another laugh, another kiss, this one deeper and longer, and Robby's voice was graveled when he spoke again, adding, “There's also this thing called a swing, just have to screw some hooks into the ceiling. Could put in a few, give us options.”
“You been shopping again?” Fingers hooked around Robby's waist, thumbs driving up under his shirt hem and rubbing over the jut of his hips, the warm dry skin and the bruises he'd left there two nights before. He gave the faintest smile as he caught sight of the growing bulge between Robby’s legs, the half-chubbed cock barely hidden under his jeans.
“You,” it was whispered against Jack's lips, “deserve to feel good too,” then slipped his mouth down, pulling the scrub top, the under scrub, over enough to bite at the muscle at the top of his shoulder where it met neck.
He swallowed a moan, felt Robby nip at his pulse point. “I do, fuck I do, ju-just so long as it’s you,” Jack said then, stumbling over his words and pulling Robby by the loop of his jeans until he was barely on the coffee table.
Locking his ankles and knees to avoid falling forward, Robby said, “You keep pulling, I'm gonna wind up on my knees here,” and dragged his hands down top, pants, between the warmth of Jack’s clothed skin and the coolness of the metal bend of the chair.
Jack groaned. “Fuck, Mike, that’s... that’s not a stop action.” He reached forward again, only for a hand to push him back and then there was a click, a louder clunking sound, and Jack’s knees were pushed wider, the footrests locking splayed.
“Other ways to keep us face to face, you know. Well, face to...”
He wasn’t able to finish the lewd thing Jack knew had been coming, hauled in by a hand on the back of his neck. The kiss wasn’t one of their better, just tongues and teeth, chests pressed close, and when they broke, Jack muttered, “Yeah, do it. Wanna see it,” as he reached for his partner’s shirt.
But the smirk was all Robby gave before he let himself slip off the table, knees settling into the rug, and he pulled his shirt off himself, adjusted his stance until his joints stopped yelling about the hardwood under the low-pile.
“Get comfortable,” Jack murmured, his voice low and already raspy. One hand had drifted low, fingers rolling and rubbing over the thickened cock, a wet spot already showing through the black fabric.
“Oh? Planning to take a while, are you?”
“Mmmm, you have no idea.”
The impediment of the knot of his scrub pants to be dealt with, Robby’s long fingers worked it open like he had so many times before: fingertips lithe along the string and beautiful brown eyes focused while a peek of tongue slipped between his lips to highlight his concentration, but still- Jack’s brain was starting to short-circuit at the sight.
He threaded his own hands around Robby’s head, cradled him with so much care, thumbs stroking along his cheekbones in tandem... resisted hooking the edge of his lips, digging his thumbs into Robby’s jaw.
“Gentle,” he murmured to himself, an order, a reminder, “Gentle. Slow.”
And Robby, voice firm and warm and filled with so much neither would name, whispered back, “No, no gentle, no slow. Take, Jack,” and, with the knot undone and the scrubs, the elastic band of the briefs, shoved up under his dick, Robby leaned up, pulled both of Jack’s hands from his head, his own hands reaching out... dragged Jack down until they met half way, pulled from his mouth, felt the bruising kiss from head to toe.
Jack panted as they broke apart. “So good to me, Mikey.”
“Wanna know a secret?” Robby asked back with a warm voice, swollen lips.
“Yeah.”
“I listen best when I can’t argue back.” His pupils were blown wide, black ringed in a thin sliver of brown, but the mischief no less clear. “When my mouth is occupied.” He winked, the bastard, and then pushed Jack’s hands back to his head and lowered his body back down, lowered his mouth.
A little kiss to the head, a light lick, a gentle suck.
“Fuck, Mike,” he grunted. Fingers tightened against Robby’s skull. “Always wanna play with it first.”
The grin was wicked as he curled fingers around the base and enveloped the whole head, sucking and tonguing over it, finding the slit to tease, the frenulum. He savored the moan that that dragged out of Jack and worked his mouth a little further down, always aware of just how much Jack preferred the slow vague scrape of teeth versus the pad of his tongue, how he liked the constriction of his palate over the soft pull of his throat.
G-d, but they fit well together: Jack yanked him back by the short scruff of his hair before Robby could choke himself, groaning at the release of saliva that coated him, slicked that warm mouth more, and Robby reminded himself that Jack didn’t like when he tried to take him deeper.
“Don’t do that,” he growled as the wave of pleasure rolled through him. “You hate being choked with it and I hate seeing you choke, just suck like a good boy.”
Robby let out a whimper that vibrated through Jack to his core, a whine crying out from his chest and he felt his body tighten with the next wave, nerve endings coiled and singing.
“You have no fucking idea. None. Look at me, Mikey.” He cupped his hands on Robby’s face, stilled him but didn’t pull him off and instead felt along Robby’s jaw, on his chin: the weight, the girth, of his cock was right there, wrapped in his partner’s mouth like it belonged there, like a present he’d wrapped up in flesh. “You look like sin and absolution all rolled together. Fucking love you, man. So perfect. Forget your ass, I wanna sit in this mouth forever.”
Robby shivered.
Well, that was a new sensation.
Jack pinched at the base of his dick. An “oh, fucccckkkkk,” slipped from him and then he felt Robby growl back, like a bemused puppy whose toy was being removed and shoved at Jack’s hand until his was once again wrapped tight around Jack and this time, this time, Robby jerked roughly as he sucked, dry hand catching on warm, engorged skin.
“So good. So fucking good. Gonna give me handburn on my fucking cock.”
In retaliation, the suction increased and the slide became easier as Robby bobbed his head just enough and saliva dripped down the shaft, slowly eased under the pads of his fingers. He pulled up for a moment, nipped at the very crown of him, tongued the slit.
“Come on,” he grumbled, palming himself, “Come in my mouth, damnit.”
“Demanding.” Fingers scratched at the back of his head, higher than before, deeper than before. “Love that so fucking much, you know.”
A hum. Another long suck.
“Shit, I... you...”
He pulled back again, a string of spit clinging to his lips and the curve of his cockhead. “‘m fine. Come on.” Jack almost–almost–shoved him back down, instead he threw his right leg around Robby’s back and hooked him in.
Robby caught his gaze, flicked it toward the limb, then back. Excellent use. Approved. A finger slid out, squeezed behind his balls and pushed up and Jack was gone, entire body clenching into the chair, into Robby, into the moment.
There was a smear of come on his cheek when Jack’s vision cleared, his head laid onto Jack’s left knee as he stared up at him. “Got something just...” he gestured at his own face, “...right there.”
He didn’t move. “Mmm, do I? Wonder how that happened.”
Jack rubbed his limb against Robby’s back, tucked himself back inside his messed pants, and stroked over his partner’s face to clean it up himself, wiped his hand over his chest. “You wanna get up here or you wanna be edged tonight?”
“First, this chair isn’t going to handle both our weight.” Robby turned his head to press a kiss to his thigh. “Second, I’m good.”
“You’re good?”
“Yep.”
Jack eased himself forward, peered down at Robby’s crotch, spent dick hanging out through the opening of his boxers, over the zip of his jeans. The dark wash was marred by drying white stripes of come, a few stray drops caught on the swell of his belly.
He wanted to lick those drops clean, but he settled for a warm, “You’re good,” with another round of affectionate stroking over Robby’s cheek, fingertips soothing over cheekbone and jaw.
As those fingers crossed his lips, Robby kissed them, quick and dry. “We’re both good.”
Still...
“Want some ibuprofen?”
“Fuck yes.”