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Robby stares at the tiny plastic model of a large intestine, perched on the shelves across from him, perfectly at eye level.
There's not much else to stare at, in the tiny exam room, sat on the exam table with white butcher paper crinkling under his ass every time he shifted his weight. The only other chair was the short rolling stool, tucked under the counter where the computer was sat.
He's squinting at the tiny labels identifying polyps versus hemorrhoids, a drug company's name branded cheerfully across the base of it, when the soft knock on the exam room door makes him startle with another loud crinkle.
"Hi, can I come in?" A dry, quiet voice asks at the same time the man it's coming from steps into the room. As he shuts the door behind him, he turns, sending warm, kind eyes at Robby and extending a hand.
"Michael, right? I'm Dr. Abbot." When Robby shakes his hand, he's half expecting a crushing grip. He's not sure why. Maybe the thickness of his frame or the no-nonsense attitude that seemed to cling to him underneath the veneer of polite bedside manner. The overall impression is someone you could trust, if still slightly intimidating. The warmth of his hands, wide and calloused, surprise Robby even more. It means he takes a beat to correct him.
"Robby, please." It's an automatic instinct, and his hands fall back to his knees once Abbot drops his grip. He fights the urge to dry his palms nervously. There's no reason to be awkward about this. As his husband had (less than) helpfully pointed out, in that calm, unbothered way the man with a cock that actually listens to him could be, that men over 50 experienced dysfunction rates as high as 50%.
"Flip a coin, sweetheart," he'd offered between bites of cereal that morning. "There's your odds."
It was less easy to be sanguine about the whole thing while he watched Abbot settle on the stool, one hand coming up to steady the stethoscope around his neck as he taps his password into the computer, and it unlocks to show a wall of windows, presumably with Robby's charts on them.
"Robby," Abbot says, a slight, deliberate emphasis on his name. "What brings you in today?"
Fuck, Robby hates finding new doctors. And if it was only the need for a physical, blood panels, and a cholesterol check, he'd have avoided this whole thing. As it was, however…
"Uh, new patient," he offers, after a brief pause. "My old primary care doc retired, and I need someone to keep track of," he gestures vaguely. "Everything."
Abbot laughs, a soft sound, and nods as he types something in on the screen. His fingers move quickly, and the quiet clicking of the keyboard in the otherwise silent room makes Robby twitch.
"Alright." Abbot wets his lower lip as he works, a faint smile curling his mouth up, and clicks through to another screen. "Everything." He turns to face Robby again, ignoring the computer for now. "Anything more specific, or should we do air filters and check the brake lights, too?"
The comment makes a slight flush chase up Robby's neck, and he almost laughs. If he wasn't fighting the urge to deny something in particular, he might have even liked the doctor. As it is, he still feels like he might do something truly mortifying.
"I, uh." Robby sucks in a steadying breath. "Do have—" He pauses. God. Fifty percent, he reminds himself. He lets his gaze drift over the doctor in front of him, a little assessing. He has to be close to Robby's age, if maybe a little younger. The gray streaking through his curls makes him look older, but the solid muscle of his arms and shoulders make him seem incongruously young. Fit. Robby blinks, making himself look down. The appraisal wasn't helping him any.
"Have what?" Abbot asks, in that perfectly neutral, softly leading tone that doctors seemed to have perfected. At least, some of them. Robby wonders if they teach that.
He has the vague flash that he thinks Abbot was military, based on his photo on the clinic website. A less professional photo than his peers, with Abbot in an olive drab shirt and stethoscope resting on a solidly muscled chest. Army, that was what his information had listed. Army doctor.
Maybe the Army taught that tone.
Robby shakes his head slightly, like he could clear the buzzing thoughts away in a physical motion. He sucks in a breath, and finally gets out, "Performance issues."
Abbot nods, unblinking. "Alright. Tell me about that, Robby." That same, soft, neutral tone. It's easier to focus on that than the kindness of his expression, and Robby's fingers twitch against his knees where they still rest.
"Uh," Robby starts, and lets out a quiet laugh. "What it says on the can, Doc."
Abbot's eyes slip shut for a moment and he makes a small, self deprecating noise. When his eyes open again, they're intent. "Fair enough. How about this. When did it start? Or when did you first begin to notice it?"
Robby nods, and sucks in a breath. "About 3 months ago? Maybe a little less." He maybe was jumping the gun by coming here. But it'd taken exactly three times getting fucked and not being able to enjoy it anywhere near as much as he'd hoped for his tolerance level to drop to zero. It was the biggest thing keeping him here, as opposed to making an excuse and heading for his car in the parking lot.
Abbot nods, and his brow furrows in concentration, making tiny lines appear between them. Robby doesn't realize he's staring until Abbot's eyes flicker back up to meet his.
"Anything happen around then? Any medication changes, injury, major life events?"
Robby shakes his head, and his eyes drop down, away from the searching intensity of Abbot's gaze. He can't help but notice the black wedding band on the man's ring finger, and his eyes fix there, caught on the shape of his fingers and the metallic shine under the bright lights of the exam room.
Abbot catches where he's looking, and misinterprets. "This can be challenging for both partners," he says, and thumbs over the ring thoughtlessly before looking back up at Robby. "How has your wife responded?"
Robby clears his throat. "Husband, actually." He adjusts his wedding band, a release of his own nervous energy. "And he's been fine. Great. Really."
Abbot's eyebrows twitch slightly at the correction, but Robby can't read any response beyond that. Before he can wonder if he'd made a mistake in confessing that particular in his life, Abbot's gaze goes a little sheepish.
"Not to put too fine a point on it," Abbot starts, and tilts his head as he searches for his words. "But is there anything else I need to be aware of?"
Robby finally does flush at that. "I— Like what?"
"When was your last colonoscopy?" Abbot asks, and Robby's eyes flicker up to the plastic intestine, sitting on the shelf behind Abbot. It's laughing at him. He can hear it.
"Two years ago." The joyful 50th birthday present everyone wants.
Abbot nods. "And I assume everything was normal?"
Robby shrugs. "I guess. You'd have to ask my doctor, I slept through the whole thing."
That makes Abbot laugh. "Alright, point taken. Let's assume yes." When his eyes catch Robby's again, there's a spark of amusement behind them. "How about your prostate? Last check?"
"A year ago. When I last saw Dr. Carter."
Abbot is nodding, obviously more comfortable in the swing of his routine. "Well, I want to give you a thorough once over, make sure there's nothing physical that might be contributing to this. But, assuming a few things look alright, I don't see a reason why we can't get a script for you to help get you sorted."
Robby can't quite meet the doctor's gaze. He nods, but Abbot stills on the rolling stool, his eyebrows creeping up mildly in Robby's peripheral vision. When he focuses, there's an intensity to him that makes Robby want to squirm.
"How does that sound, Robby?"
Fifty percent, he reminds himself.
"Sounds like it'd be great."
Abbot makes a soft noise. "Sounds like?"
Robby doesn't meet his gaze, and Abbot ducks his head until his stern, slightly concerned expression slides into Robby's field of view. He can't avoid him like this.
"You're not the first man to come in this clinic with this problem, Robby. Hell, you're not even the first guy today." Abbot's voice is soft. "I know a medication can feel like it's a judgment, or— some sort of failure. But it's not." He shrugs, and Robby can't break his gaze, no matter how much he'd like to. "No more than someone taking a pill to help their blood pressure, or something to help with their depression."
Robby's eyes flicker over to the computer, where he knows somewhere in the mess of his charts, is the drug history that contains the relatively new addition of 'Wellbutrin, 300 mg, once daily'. He wonders how much Abbot had glanced at his history before he'd come knocking on the door.
Abbot's gaze goes a little considering, when Robby's eyes return to meet his. He doesn't push it, at least for a moment, and wheels towards the cabinet on the little stool.
"How about I give you the once over, make sure there isn't anything physical we need to think about. Depending on how that goes, we can circle back. Alright?" His expression is still a little wry, but the concession is enough to make Robby relax.
"Alright," he agrees, and even as he speaks, Abbot stands and paws through one of the upper cabinets. He mutters something under his breath, before he finally tugs out a folded up mass of a gown and offers it to Robby.
"I'll step out and let you get undressed. Everything off and then this gown on, open to the back."
Robby's not sure what his face is doing, but he holds the offered gown in his hand like it might drip on him.
"Can't I—" Every prostate exam he'd had just had him pulling his pants down to his knees. Barely exposed, let alone fully undressed.
Abbot cuts him off before he can attempt to finish that sentence. His voice is gentle. "It's gonna be a little more involved than what you might be used to. I want to make sure we're covering all our bases, but if you'd rather do something less thorough—"
"No," Robby breathes, shaking his head as he cuts Abbot off. He's here. He needs to get a real solution, not chicken out and take this escape that Abbot was offering him. "This— It's fine. I just didn't expect it."
Abbot nods again. "No problem. I'm gonna step out, and I'll be back in a few minutes." He smiles, and it's warm enough that Robby loses some of his hesitation, if only for a moment. "Be back in a jiff."
"Angle alright?" Abbot's voice is slightly muffled from where he's facing the wall, tugging gloves free of the rack of boxes next to the door. Robby has to twist his head to see him, but when Abbot turns back to look at him, Robby nods quickly.
"-'m fine." Robby answers, and shifts slightly where he sits.
In the thin gown, leaned back and half reclined, with his feet dangling off the extended foot of the exam table, he feels exposed, even covered from neck to knee. It's chilly enough in the room with the AC fluttering through the vents above him that goosebumps chase across his arms and shins, and he fights the urge to rub them away.
Abbot is pulling the second glove on when he settles on the stool again, and he makes a small, intense face as it sticks to his freshly washed hand.
"Stupid—" He lets out a quiet, triumphant noise when it finally snaps home, and the sharp sound of the latex against his skin almost makes Robby jump.
"There we go," Abbot says, heedless of Robby's reaction. When he focuses back on him, Robby has to look down his body at him.
The stool leaves him a foot or so below the level of the exam table, shoulders level with the top of Robby's knees. With the cool air of the AC finding its way under his gown, Robby's painfully aware of how little is covering him from the doctor's view. He fights not to squirm, and his hands flex where they're settled across his own ribs.
"Alright, Robby." Abbot sends a smile his way. "We're gonna start from the top down, so to speak, alright? If anything's uncomfortable, painful or otherwise, stop me and let me know." He raises his eyebrows, and Robby makes himself nod. When he does, Abbot nods in return.
"Okay. I'm gonna lift your gown now."
Robby's gaze fixes on the ceiling resolutely as Abbot folds the gown up, settling it over his stomach and leaving him exposed from the waist down. He shivers slightly, nerves as much as the chill, and Abbot makes a quiet noise.
"Sorry. AC, I know."
Robby desperately hopes it isn't that cold that Abbot could notice a difference. He shrugs slightly.
"It's fine." His voice, at least, is steady, and he forces himself to pull in a slow breath.
"I know we got your heart rate when you came in, but," Abbot starts, and his hands settle on Robby's thighs, higher than he'd been expecting. "I'm going to take your pulse, here."
He inches his fingertips along Robby's thighs, high up, until they're pressed into the crease of his groin, a few inches away from his cock. It's awkward enough it makes his heart pick up, and he avoids looking down at Abbot as the other man counts silently.
"Alright. Strong and symmetric. Good." Abbot finally says. His voice is reassuring, like this was any other day. Maybe it was for him. He rises to his feet, and it's a minor relief, if only to make it feel less like he was lying between Robby's legs. The relief is short lived, however, once he speaks.
"Gonna start the physical exam now, Robby. Gonna feel me touching a few different areas and assessing for sensation and anything unexpected, physically."
Robby nods up towards the ceiling, and swallows. He fights the urge to shift, and it's only luck that he doesn't respond at the first touch of Abbot's fingers on his shaft.
He's professional, at least as much as he can be with his hands on Robby's dick. The artificial smoothness of his gloves runs over him, and his thumbs slide down either side of his shaft in parallel strokes. It's awkward enough that it doesn't feel sexy. Just… clinical.
Abbot makes a quiet noise and his grip shifts, and for one brief moment, Robby has the sense memory of his husband's hand, wrapping around him and angling his cock towards warm, waiting lips. It's only for a moment, but it makes him hiccup, and Abbot's hands slow for a moment.
"This feel alright?" His tone is still that even, quiet thing. Robby nods, and he's grateful for the gown, covering the flush he can feel bleeding down his chest. This wasn't sexy.
At Robby's response, slowly, Abbot's hands resume their movements. He lifts his dick, and Robby exhales as Abbot rubs his fingers up the fat ridge on the bottom of his cock. That, unexpectedly, makes a shiver chase up his spine, and Abbot makes another quiet noise.
"When you have an erection, Robby," Abbot asks, like he might be talking about the Pirate's score. "Is it straight, or does it curve at all?"
Robby wonders, briefly, why it's relevant, but he makes himself answer.
"To the left. A little." His voice doesn't shake, but when he sucks in a breath, it feels like it doesn't reach his brain, leaving him a little stupid. Abbot's hands never stop moving, tracing over the skin with soft, barely-there brushes. Robby feels every one.
"Alright." Abbot says, like he's taking notes internally. As his fingers move towards the head, Robby gets a little more still, until Abbot does finally pause.
"Huh."
"What?" Robby asks, and finally lifts his head to look down at him. Like this, gown draped over his stomach, otherwise bare to the room, and the doctor standing nearly between his legs, it feels—
Not just exposed. That went out the window as soon as he put on the gown. But the fully clothed man, broad and solid and gaze fixed on Robby's cock, cradled softly in his gloved hand, feels—
Robby's head drops back on the exam table with a soft thump. He's mortified at the slow, simmering heat he can't quite ignore, building in his stomach. He fights the urge to squirm, and makes himself slow his breathing.
"What is it?" He tries again, eyes on the fluorescent light above them, and squeezes his eyes shut when it comes out thin and breathless.
"There's…" Abbot's voice is quiet, and his thumb brushes, the barest pressure, over the side of his frenulum. Robby knows exactly what he's found.
"I had a piercing." Robby confesses, quietly.
If he wasn't painfully aware of every square inch of exposed skin, he doubts he would have noticed the way Abbot's fingers twitched against his cock.
"It's not obvious, but," Abbot says, and horrifyingly, he leans a little closer. Robby can't look at him, but even in his periphery, the intensity of his expression is obvious. Robby wants to sink through the floor. Or, at least, yank the gown down.
Abbot shakes his head, and before Robby can brace himself, the doctor's thumbs land on either side, pinning the thin, sensitive skin between the pads of his thumb.
"When did you have it done?" Abbot asks, and almost at the same time, rubs.
Robby's fingers clench against the bunched up fabric of the gown, and he has to fight to keep silent, unsure what noise might escape him if he opened his mouth. It takes him a second to respond, eyes shut as he speaks.
"My thirties," he exhales, before his eyes open again in a flash. "Do you think—?"
Abbot shakes his head, even as his thumbs keep up their soft, searching movement. "If there had been nerve damage, you'd have known it well before now." His grip lightens, and Robby watches as Abbot's face goes a little considering. "And, anecdotally— They tend to cause the opposite of your situation."
Robby can hardly process the words as Abbot's touch goes hard for a moment, rubbing just under the crown of his cock, and Robby can't help the startled, punched-out noise it draws from him.
"Sorry, sorry," Abbot murmurs, even as he gently sets Robby's cock back down, "I know, this is not what anyone wants to happen when they come to the doctor."
Robby makes a noise that might be agreement. He's not entirely sure. It feels like he's lost the ability to control his vocal chords.
Robby has a brief moment of relief, a respite as Abbot turns and picks up a pen. He's got a tiny metal tray next to him, and among the items that Robby had strategically avoided looking at was a notebook and pen. Decidedly old school. When Robby had noticed it, there'd been a brief surge of something amused in his chest. As he listens to the scratch of a pen over paper, he tries to find that same relaxed warmth from before.
He's warm, alright. But certainly not relaxed.
"Okay." Abbot finally says, turning back to look down at Robby. "I don't think you've got anything to be concerned about, but I want to check a few things about your testicles."
Robby shrugs. He's not sure what else he can do. "Alright."
Abbot nods, and with that same soft, clinical touch as a moment before, cradles Robby's sac.
Robby swallows. It's loud in the quiet of the room, and he's not imagining the way Abbot stills. His eyes flick up to Robby's face, and finally, back down to his hands.
"Any pain?" He asks, and slowly, rolls his balls between his fingers. It's not a tease. Robby has to fight to keep his breathing even anyways. He shifts, and the crackle of the paper underneath him covers up the sound he makes when his cock twitches, barely, just above Abbot's hold.
"No pain." It comes out in an exhale, and Abbot nods.
"With either?" He asks, and his fingers tease along each one, right, then left, then right again. Robby shakes his head, not trusting his voice.
"No masses," Abbot says, almost to himself, and his fingers sneak a little farther back, gently brushing against where the loose skin meets his perineum. His fingers are broad and blunt underneath the gloves, and through the thin material, they feel almost cool against Robby's overheated skin.
Robby doesn't get a warning before his fingers press back, and make solid contact with his perineum. It makes him whimper, and his face goes scarlet.
"Going to ask me to turn my head and cough?" Robby asks, a bad joke as he tries to cover his own embarrassment. He says it a little fast, and Abbot's eyes don't lift from where they're staring down at him.
"Not today." He wets his lip briefly, so fast Robby almost misses it. He doesn't know when he started staring. He can't seem to make himself stop.
"When I press," Abbot starts. "How does that feel?"
Robby's brow furrows, and he's about to ask what Abbot means when the man presses up and rubs, two fingers curled firmly against him.
Robby's been touched there before. Had touched himself plenty. But almost never outside the context of sex. Like this, even with the horrifying stirrings of arousal, it was just removed enough from sex that it just ached somewhere behind his cock, low and throbbing, and his breathing gets louder, audible and fast.
His back arches just a little, legs twitching as he tries to decide without conscious input if he should pull away or hold still. It shouldn't be arousing. It's almost painful, but still, heat builds, and its harder to focus on the room around him that it should be.
He must move, because Abbot's free hand lands on his hip, holding him still. When the doctor doesn't speak, Robby realizes he's still waiting for an answer.
"Hurts," he offers, before his brow furrows. "Or— not painful. But. Aches."
Abbot nods. Robby doesn't realize he's holding still, eyes fixed on him and waiting for the man to repeat the press until Abbot pulls his hands away from Robby. The realization makes Robby flush, and he's glad for the way Abbot turns away from him to look at the tray to the side of him.
Out from under his gaze, assessing and unblinking and more intense than Robby knows what to do with, he can pull in a full breath. He tries to take stock of himself, of the warmth in his hips that feels—
"Alright, Robby." Abbot says, and turns back to face him. There's a slightly commiserating edge to his expression, and he bends slightly, fussing with the stool until the hiss of hydraulics fills the space and Abbot sits on the now taller seat. It leaves him staring up Robby's body, gaze searching. "This is the part people really don't appreciate."
Robby's about to ask what he means when Abbot twists, and pulls a bottle off the tray next to him. It's white and nondescript, but when he sets it closer to him, Robby's heart picks up anyway.
"Ah," he offers quietly, understanding hitting him. "Should I—?" He shifts, like he might sit up, and Abbot shakes his head quickly.
"No, you can stay as you are." His voice is steadying, solid and just a touch raspy. "I will have you bring your feet up, though, set them on the table." He taps the surface with one gloved hand, close enough to Robby's inner thigh that he jerks, barely.
Abbot doesn't notice, or at least pretends not to. With his feet flat on the table, knees bent and splayed slightly, Robby feels somehow both more and less exposed. He shifts his hips to resettle, getting comfortable with the new position, when he realizes.
Of all the times. Of all the moments—
The click of the bottle opening is enough to break through his silent, horrified realization. He can't look down, but he listens to the sounds of Abbot moving, quiet and focused, the bottle squeezing out something wet sounding, the soft rattle of the tray as Abbot returns it there, and the slick slide of latex against latex.
"When I start to press in, I want you to bear down. It'll be a little uncomfortable, but it shouldn't hurt." Abbot's voice is low, level, and if Robby wasn't losing it, traced with warmth. It's certainly not the first time Robby's been in this position, but the quiet guidance in Abbot's voice, confident and sure, is reassuring regardless. His gaze is intent, and Robby finally lowers his eyes to meet it, before he nods once.
"Okay," Robby manages to get out, and without dropping his gaze, Abbot slowly pushes one lubed finger into the tight squeeze of his ass.
Any other time, he might be able to handle this. Bite the inside of his lip and stare at the ceiling and ignore the awkwardness of the moment. Now, with the warm weight of his cock, slowly hardening where it lays, half flopped across his stomach and the impossible to ignore stretch of Abbot's finger opening him slowly, he feels like he's been lit on fire.
Robby's face is hot as he tries not to pant, the slow stretch of his rim like gasoline, stoking the heat in him to inferno levels.
He should be happy— his first real erection in months, save those instances of morning wood which had faded almost as fast as he'd realized they'd been there when he'd woke up. But the bland walls and buzzing fluorescent keeps him from forgetting exactly where he was and exactly whose finger was inside him.
"Breathe," Abbot instructs, even as he rotates his wrist slightly. The glove and lube keep the stretch from stinging, frictionless and unavoidable, but the slight ridge of his knuckles as he slides in deeper feels like its hardwired from Robby's rim to his cock. His fingers twitch and tighten in the material of the gown, and he fights to keep from moving any more than that.
Robby sucks in a breath obediently, and his eyes shut as Abbot makes a soft noise. His free hand lands on Robby's inner thigh, and with a soft squeeze to the skin, he murmurs, "Good."
Any hope of trying to breathe through the start of his erection, think unsexy thoughts and will it away through sheer determination flies out the window. He's certain he's about to draw blood, given how hard his lip is clamped between his teeth. When he opens his eyes, the sight of Abbot's head, ducked forward and bracketed by the pale expanse of his own thighs feels like porn.
He sucks. He's a bad husband, a bad patient. This was the other man's job, and Robby was laying here, getting off on it— He was a creep—
"Gonna add a second finger," Abbot murmurs, and his hand presses just that much more firmly on Robby's inner thigh. It's all the warning he has before Abbot slides his finger out enough to feed in another, the blunt stretch of his two fingers making Robby whine.
There's no way Abbot could miss it. His cock is almost fully hard, curved and flushed where it lays against his stomach, and Robby can hardly bite down on the sounds each movement draws from his throat. Embarrassment as much as arousal fills him with heat, and his balls tighten as the back of Abbot's hand brushes against them with each forward push.
The doctor, however, doesn't pause. Slowly, deliberately, he twists his wrist, until his palm is facing up and his thumb brushes idly against the soft skin of Robby's asscheek.
"How does that feel, Robby?" Abbot asks, and his voice is rougher than it's been the whole time Robby's been there. His eyes are so dark they look black, and when Robby meets them, the intensity of his gaze makes him squirm.
He can't expect an answer. Robby's panting, mouth open stupidly and cock dripping pre-come against his stomach, and Abbot's brow furrows.
Suddenly, his fingers curl, up, pressing, searching, until—
"Shit—" Robby gasps, back arching and eyes slamming shut as Abbot's fingers find his prostate and rub in an unyielding press.
"I know, I know," Abbot says, in a version of his consoling tone from earlier. It'd be easier to believe if Robby hadn't seen his face. "I need an answer, I'm afraid. To make sure everything's alright." His fingers curl upward again, and Robby has to bite his tongue to keep from gasping.
"Feels—" He gets out, eyes fixed on Abbot's face. "Can't— it's a lot—"
"Warm? Pressure? Little like you have to pee?" Abbot asks, and the hand on his thigh runs just a little higher, until it's braced against the cut of his hipbone, spread wide and pressing down. It means Robby can't shift under his touch, and Robby nods, unable to look away from the doctor.
"That's alright," Abbot murmurs, and twists his wrist again, pushing just a touch deeper until his other fingers, curled loosely outside of him, press against the skin of Robby's rim. He wants to wheeze at the sensation. "Breathe, Robby."
It's harder to listen, this time, and before he can think to say anything, to squirm away or rock down against his hand, Abbot's free hand shifts to wrap loosely around his cock.
"It does curve a little to the left," he muses, and Robby gapes down at him, until Abbot's thumb presses back under the head of his cock.
Robby does gasp at that, and Abbot just watches.
"I need you to tell me how it feels, Robby. Please." His voice is ragged, and so low it's almost hard to understand. "Alright?"
"It's-" Robby gets out, and has to swallow before he can speak. "Feels— fuck, feels good—"
Abbot nods, and his fingers curl again. This time, when they press against his prostate, he doesn't stop.
It builds, hot and simmering until it feels like Robby can't breathe, and his hips jerk up under his touch, fucking into the grip around his cock, and he wants to curse when Abbot's fingers move with him, unrelenting, unforgiving, and seemingly set to make him shake apart.
"Fuck— Doctor!" Robby groans as he spasms around him and comes, heat bursting behind his sternum and legs shaking with the sensation. It rolls through him in waves, more intense than he anticipates, especially after so long. It leaves him breathless and hot, helpless to stop the noises coming from him.
It takes him what feels like an eternity to come down, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving, and when Abbot slips his fingers out, Robby gasps.
"Sorry, sorry." Abbot says, and Robby's eyes slide open to take him in. He's a little flushed, high on his cheekbones, but when he meets Robby's gaze, its steady and focused.
Robby stares, a little fascinated, come cooling on his stomach, as Abbot slides back, tugs gloves off his wrists, and tosses them in the tiny trash can in the corner. When he turns back, Robby can't keep his gaze from flicking down to the dark pants the other man is wearing. Before he can tell if he's as affected as Robby, he pivots.
"Well, Robby." Abbot says, and his voice— It's that same soft, reassuring tone as before. Robby blinks, and the doctor continues.
"I don't think you have any major physical concerns, at least on my examination." He raises his eyebrows mildly. "But I'll tell you what. If anything else comes up, or if you want to revisit our earlier conversation about medication? Come by and see me."
Robby nods, a little shell shocked. The gown is still rucked up to his stomach, legs splayed and ass slick with lube. He feels wrung out, used and hung up wet, and he can't pull his eyes away from the other man.
Robby watches as Abbot quietly adjusts his wedding ring on his finger, and for a brief moment, his eyes flicker down over Robby's body.
"I think you'll be just fine, Robby." And with one last, wry smile, he leaves the room, the door shutting behind him with a quiet click.
Robby dresses mutely, and leaves the clinic in a daze. He doesn't stop by the front desk, and when he steps out of the front doors, the cool air outside feels like it resets something inside him.
His car is on the far side of the lot, away from the building, and it's not until he gets close that he pats his pockets and swears.
"You've got the keys," Robby calls over his shoulder, and Jack's slightly uneven, thumping gate catches up with him.
"I thought I— you're right." Jack concedes, and once he tugs the car keys from his pocket, he presses them into Robby's hands. "My bad."
Robby makes a soft noise and unlocks the car. "How'd you get Benton to let you use the clinic after hours, anyway?"
Jack grins over the top of the car, and knocks his knuckles against the roof. "I kicked his ass in poker last month, and offered this as a repayment option instead of cash."
Robby snorts. He opens his mouth to say something, then decides better. When he climbs in the driver's seat, Jack's quick to climb in after him.
"Robby?" He asks, and as Robby presses the ignition, engine rumbling to life, he twists his head to look at the other man. Jack holds his gaze for a moment, before he drops his hand to palm the front of his pants, tented and tight looking.
"Drive fast."
Heat stutters through Robby, and despite coming only a few minutes ago, he feels his dick twitch. His answering look is heated.
"Sure thing, Doc."