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Robby wrapped his hand around the grab bar in the patient bathroom to steady himself against the tremors that racked his body, threatening to throw him off balance. A sheen of sweat covered his face, and he could feel his shirt clinging to his damp lower back. His scrub top and fleece sat in a heap on the floor.
After an accidental glance in the mirror when he’d first locked himself in the bathroom—his shockingly pale face staring back at him—Robby had avoided a second look, but he had enough experience to know he’d only look worse if he caught a glimpse of himself again.
With his dwindling mental faculties, Robby cataloged what he knew. Heart rate elevated. Likely feverish. His respiration was compromised, and as the minutes passed, focusing intently enough to come up with a treatment plan was getting increasingly difficult.
Banging on the bathroom door exacerbated his burgeoning headache. “Robby!”
“I’m fine,” Robby said, grimacing at the effort it took to raise his voice enough to respond to Dana.
“You’re not fucking fine, Robinavitch,” she insisted. “Jesse says you inhaled the particulates almost sixty minutes ago. You know the timeline you’re looking at.” Fuck. Yeah, he did. He probably had thirty minutes, maybe less, before either his O2 sat dropped too low to maintain consciousness or his heart strained itself into an MI. Unless another systemic failure got him first. At best, Robby was looking at a coma; at worst, death.
If anyone on his team were in his position, Robby would be forcibly opening the bathroom door, privacy and protocols be damned, and doing whatever it took to abate the effects of the pollen, so he wasn’t surprised Dana had been threatening the same for the past ten minutes. But it was Robby who’d been dosed, and the thought of asking a member of his staff to help him was mortifying. Untenable.
“I think I’m getting somewhere on my own,” he lied, and looked down at his cock, which was hanging limply between his legs, where his pants were undone and his boxer briefs drawn down. He took himself in hand again and tried to ignore the grim outcome he’d face if he couldn’t successfully ejaculate, but his body and mind simply couldn’t get with the program. There was a reason the standard of care was supported manual stimulation.
“Robby,” Dana said, her tone making it clear she was pissed, and when Robby survived this—if he survived this—she would be having words with him. “Stop being a self-sacrificing idiot. It’s a bad look.” “Dana,” Robby gritted out, sure she could hear his flat objection in the way he said her name.
“You’re a fucking doctor for Christ’s sake. You know that anyone who assists would be strictly professional—oh, thank Christ,” Dana said, cutting herself off mid-sentence, to Robby’s great relief, until another voice yelled through the door.
“Robby!” Jack sounded as pissed as Robby would expect after being dragged out of bed to handle Robby’s humiliating medical crisis.
“Go home, Jack,” Robby said, trying to sound demanding but losing some impact when a coughing fit swallowed his words.
“The fuck I’m going home.”
Jack didn’t say anything else, but even with his fever-addled mind, Robby knew better than to think he was in the clear, which was wise of him because less than a minute later, he heard the scrape of a key turning the lock to the bathroom.
Fucking environmental services traitors.
As quickly as his shaking hands allowed, Robby pulled up his underwear and pants, his zipper and button still undone, when Jack bullied himself into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.
“Shit, brother,” Jack said, his eyes widening fractionally when he got a look at Robby, who was still gripping the grab bar like his life depended on it.
Robby closed his eyes to avoid the worry on Jack’s face. “I heard about an experimental treatment in Germany that allowed for self-administration. If you make some quick calls, maybe we can—”
“Robby. You don’t have that kind of time.” Jack’s voice was level and firm, eyes boring a hole into him. “This stuff moves fast. You know that. You’ve gotta let someone help. The people out there—” he nodded his head toward the door, “—will never forgive themselves if you die on their watch because you don’t trust anyone enough to let them take care of this for you. Hell, get a stranger if you have to!”
“Jack,” Robby said, imploring Jack to understand what Robby couldn’t even begin to articulate. The vulnerability of letting anyone at the Pitt jerk him off made his stomach cramp and his already racing heart beat even more wildly in his chest.
Before he could even try to explain, a wave of pain crashed over him, sharp and spreading through his limbs, dropping him to his knees. Jack was by his side in an instant, helping him to sit on the cold tile floor, Robby’s back resting against the wall, and his knees drawn up in front of him.
“It’s okay,” Jack soothed, moving to sit next to Robby. He reached toward Robby’s waistband. “I’m gonna help you.”
“No,” Robby ground out, the force of his response eliciting another coughing fit. When he caught his breath, Jack was watching him, looking as angry as Robby had ever seen him.
“No,” Jack responded flatly. “You’d rather die than let me get a hand on your dick.”
Robby closed his eyes, his heart beating jackrabbit fast, his breathing becoming more labored. What could he say? That Jack was the worst possible choice to help him? That even the risk he faced felt preferable to living with the knowledge that the only way Jack would ever touch Robby so intimately was to deliver a literal do-or-die medical treatment?
“Robby,” Jack said softly. He sounded afraid. “I don’t care if you can’t look at me again after this. I’m helping you.”
By now, Robby was too weak and incapacitated to resist Jack’s manhandling effectively, and the awful truth was that Jack’s proximity—the promise of Jack touching him—had his cock taking interest. Robby closed his eyes when Jack reached for him again, sliding his hand into Robby’s boxer briefs and wrapping his fingers around Robby’s cock.
The relief was immediate. Jack’s touch eased the cramps in Robby’s muscles and the tightness in his chest. Instinctively, his eyes still closed, Robby shifted his hips up to allow Jack more room to tug Robby’s waistband down and pull his cock free. At the first lazy stroke, Robby let out a low, rumbling groan, his agony replaced by pleasure.
Robby felt his face flush, and he turned his head away from Jack, unwilling to be seen as he hardened in Jack’s hand. He was already burning with arousal, a heat distinct from his lingering fever in how it pooled deep in his groin.
Jack swiped his thumb over the head of Robby’s cock and back again, gliding effortlessly with the precome Robby was already leaking. Reflexively, Robby bucked into Jack’s hand, his moan reverberating against the bathroom tiles. His entire body was thrumming, and Robby distantly wondered how much of his response was about who was touching him, rather than an effect of the treatment itself.
“That’s it,” Jack said quietly, a rough edge to his voice. “You’re doing so well for me. I’m gonna get you there, okay?”
The whine Robby let out was so mortifying that his arm flew up over his mouth, and he buried his face in his forearm, biting down to stifle any other sounds that bubbled up as Jack worked him over so expertly.
“Hey, you’re good. Let your body do what it needs to,” Jack soothed gently, even as his hand increased its pressure on Robby’s cock, and sped up. Jack’s free hand rose to rest on the back of Robby’s neck, a grounding gesture, but its presence on his skin only amped Robby up further.
Robby keened into his arm and began using his legs to lever his hips up into Jack’s hand, thrusting in counter-time with Jack’s movements. He was panting, sucking oxygen into unconstricted lungs. The pain that had been radiating through his body was replaced by ecstasy.
“Jack,” Robby rasped, as his arousal began to surge. He dropped his arm from his face and blindly reached out a hand to find Jack, gripping Jack’s shoulder when he made contact.
“That’s it, Robby. I’m so proud of you, brother. Let it go.”
Robby gasped and arched his hips, cresting over the edge into an orgasm that blazed through him, racking his body with wave after wave of pleasure, his thoughts lost in nothing but the white haze of his release and the relief that coursed through him.
Jack worked him through it, stroking Robby until he was dry, whispering praise in his ear as he started to come down, still breathing heavily but slowly coming back to himself. When Jack finally released Robby’s cock, Robby dared to open his eyes. His shirt was covered in come, and, with a subtle look to his right, Robby saw that Jack’s hand was, as well.
His face heated at the sight, but Jack didn’t seem bothered. He caught Robby’s gaze and glanced at his hand neutrally, like this was any other day in The Pitt, and he hadn’t just brought Robby to a mind-melting orgasm on the floor of a patient bathroom.
“Better, I presume?” Jack asked.
Robby nodded. He swallowed, his throat uncomfortably dry, before trying to speak. “Jack, I—”
“Hey, no worries,” Jack interrupted. “We don’t ever have to mention this again. I won’t even give you shit about denying yourself help in the first place.” Jack used his clean hand to push himself to stand and walked over to the sink, where he washed and dried his hands. After he dropped the paper towel in the trashcan, he looked back at Robby, who hadn’t moved.
“I’m sending Jesse in here in five minutes to get you over to an exam room for vitals and fluids, so make yourself as presentable as you need to by then.”
Robby nodded silently, still trying to compartmentalize the lived fantasy of Jack’s hand on him.
“Hey, look,” Jack said, gripping the door handle, his face unreadable, “I know this was the last thing you wanted, and I’m really fucking sorry I got too,” he waved his free hand in the air like he was searching for a word, “familiar in the midst of it, but promise me you’re not gonna shut me out, okay? Because I was lying when I said I wouldn’t care if you can’t look at me after.”
“I won’t,” Robby promised, his voice catching in his throat. He was unsure how he’d return to normal with Jack, but knew he had to try. At least he would be buoyed by his years of practice living with the persistent torment of his feelings for Jack.
“Gonna hold you to it,” Jack said and slipped out the door, leaving Robby with his pants open, in a come-stained shirt, questioning the choices in his life that brought him to this point.
*
Robby underwent a follow-up assessment in Central 12 by the concerned Pitt staff, everyone and their brother coming in to check on him until Dana growled, “Enough, let the man be,” and pulled the door closed. She stayed behind, though, clearly unimpressed by the look she leveled him.
“Next time this happens, I’m sedating you and getting the cattle prod,” she threatened, arms crossed over her chest.
“Next time?” Robby choked.
“At the rate we’re going around here, Cap, there’s bound to be a next time.”
Robby shuddered, but if it came to that, would far prefer he be the one dosed than any of his staff. “Message delivered,” Robby acquiesced, as much to get Dana off his case as anything. “If you’re done with me, I’m going to go home, have a stiff drink against medical advice, and try to forget how my best friend had to get that pollen out of my system.”
He stood up, shrugging off his gown, and pulled on the spare shirt he kept in his backpack. When he was done and slinging his backpack over his shoulder, Dana’s hand on his elbow stopped him.
“Go easy on him, okay?”
Robby scrunched his eyebrows, puzzled. “Who?”
“Jack,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Sometimes you can get caught up in how you feel about shit, but this wasn’t easy for him either. Don’t be a dick about it.”
Robby raised his eyebrows, confused. Aside from Jack’s concern about Robby’s reaction, he seemed relatively unfazed by the whole ordeal. “He seemed fine,” Robby said, remembering how calm Jack was, working Robby to his release, “but I wouldn’t mess with him, regardless. Honestly, I want to forget today ever happened.”
“Okay, then,” Dana said, patting his arm. “Get out of here. Samira adjusted the schedule so you have tomorrow off, too. Hydrate, and skip that drink.”
“Lots of water with my bourbon,” Robby smiled, tightly, too tired for it to reach his eyes. “Got it.” He offered Dana a mock salute and made his way through the Pitt to the exit, dodging and weaving as best he could to avoid getting caught up in conversation about the day’s events.
On the walk home, Robby thought about what Dana said about going easy on Jack, and Jack’s worry that shit would be uncomfortable between them now. He was bone tired, and that drink was looking better by the second, but he found himself walking in the opposite direction of the T stop that would take him to his townhouse, toward Jack’s condo instead.
Robby’s feelings for Jack—and his ache at knowing today was a one-time anomaly—weren’t Jack’s problem. If there was any chance Jack was unsettled from what happened that day, Robby needed to reassure him that they were good.
When he arrived, Robby keyed in the door code and shot a quick “coming up” text to Jack to announce his arrival. The elevator ride to the fifth floor felt interminable, and as the numbers ticked up, Robby started to wonder if he’d have been better off leaving this alone, giving them a little space from each other to let the dust settle. He’d announced his arrival, though, and leaving would be worse than any stilted conversation, so Robby steeled himself and knocked on Jack’s door.
He heard the sound of Jack’s crutches moments before the door swung open. Jack was in an old Army tee and a pair of gym shorts, his left foot bare and his hair wet with tight curls, looking like he was fresh out of the shower. It suddenly occurred to Robby that he was still in the scrubs he’d changed into at the hospital, and was in dire need of a shower himself. But Jack had seen Robby in far worse condition, so he slid past Jack into the condo and kicked off his shoes, dropping his bag on top of them, all without saying a word.
“I’m gonna make myself a drink,” Robby said, when it seemed Jack was equally willing to let the silence linger. “You want one?”
“You need to stay hydrated,” Jack said, displeased.
“I need a drink, Jack. You know you’d feel the same if you were me.” He walked through the living room toward Jack’s liquor cabinet and pulled down two glass tumblers, then opened the door and grabbed the Woodford bottle, doling out a hefty pour for each of them, leaving the bottle out in case they wanted a second round.
Jack sighed, but sat on the couch, taking the glass that Robby offered. “At least grab a couple of water bottles from the kitchen.”
“That I can do,” Robby said easily, relieved to have another task to distract him from the looming conversation.
When he returned, he sat on the couch in the spot he’d come to think of as his, and took a few sips of his drink, letting the liquor settle warmly in his belly before turning toward Jack, one arm over the back of the couch, the other clutching his glass. He tried to project an air of comfort, even though his heart was pounding and his hands felt clammy. Robby had sat in this same spot countless times, never feeling as uncomfortable as he did now.
“So much for nothing changing,” Jack said flippantly, but Robby could see the underlying hurt on Jack’s face.
“Fuck. I’m sorry,” Robby said, putting down his drink and scrubbing his hands over his face. “It’s been a shit day.”
“Well, at least one of us is glad you’re well enough to be sitting here bitching about it,” Jack shot back.
Robby sighed and cracked his neck to try to ease some of the tension he was carrying. “I am glad I’m sitting here. It’s just—” He looked up at the ceiling helplessly, trying to figure out how to explain without making himself even more vulnerable than he already felt. “I mean, you had your hand on my dick, for god’s sake. I came all over you,” he said, his face heating in embarrassment. He couldn’t look at Jack.
“I know,” Jack said, his frustration had dissipated, and his voice was laced with understanding and a hint of sadness that Robby could only pick up on because he knew Jack so well. “I know you hated every second of that experience. There was—there was no other option, brother, but I’m sorry there wasn’t another way, and I’m sorry I made the whole situation worse.”
Robby’s stomach dropped, Jack’s guilt eating him up. “You didn’t make anything worse. It was all fucked from the start.”
“Obviously, I made you uncomfortable, Robby. You can’t even look at me, which is exactly what I was afraid of, by the way.”
Called out, Robby looked up at Jack but struggled to meet his eyes. “Don’t you think I’d have the same issue if it had been Perlah or Langdon jerking me off in the Pitt bathroom?”
“Maybe if Perlah or Langdon were also cozied up to you, whispering in your ear while they got you off, sure.” Jack grimaced and muttered a rough “fuck” under his breath, then reached for his drink and swallowed a mouthful of the amber liquid.
“Jack, you were just doing what you had to,” Robby said. Sure, Robby had responded to Jack’s proximity—the soft praise Jack whispered and the feel of Jack’s hands on his body—but Jack was simply going to extraordinary lengths to take care of Robby. Like Jack always did.
Jack’s mouth turned down, and he sighed. “Listen,” he said unhappily, “you wouldn’t be so generous if you knew the whole truth.”
“I don’t understand,” Robby responded quickly, perplexed. But niggling in his mind was Jack’s apology in the bathroom and Dana’s warning before Robby had left the Pitt. He lifted his eyes to meet Jack’s. “What did you mean, earlier, when you apologized for getting too familiar? What truth?”
Instead of answering, Jack downed the rest of his drink. Robby hated to see how miserable Jack looked, but there was an ember of hope growing in Robby’s chest that he stoked by sliding closer to Jack on the couch, one leg pulled up so they could face one another.
“You can tell me anything,” Robby said softly.
“Not this.” Jack shook his head.
“Anything.” Robby squeezed Jack’s shoulder. “And there’s nothing you could do that I wouldn’t forgive.”
“Yeah?” Jack asked ruefully. “How about knowing I touched you under false pretenses?” “Jack—” Robby started, ready to push back, but Jack cut him off.
“You think you could sit here defending me if you knew I liked getting you off? That when you were in such a compromised position, I was living out a fantasy?” Jack let out a disgusted huff. “You can’t tell me you didn’t notice.”
Robby looked at Jack in wonder, stunned and hopeful and happier than he could remember feeling in a very long time. He put his hand on Jack’s shoulder again, higher this time, so the tips of his fingers brushed Jack’s skin.
“I might’ve noticed, if I wasn’t so consumed by how it felt to have you touch me,” Robby said, the ember in his chest a flame now.
Jack’s eyes widened. “The pollen…” He said, trailing off, licking his lips nervously.
Robby shook his head. “Not the pollen.”
“You’re for real right now?” Jack sounded incredulous, but he shifted his body closer to Robby’s.
“I’m a bullshitter, but not about you,” Robby said and cupped Jack’s face in his palm, awed that he could touch Jack this way; the simple contact felt as intimate as Jack’s hand had on Robby’s cock. He smoothed his thumb over the stubble on Jack’s cheek, then leaned in to brush his lips across Jack’s.
The kiss was chaste, but it felt like a beginning.
“You know,” Jack said, smiling against Robby’s mouth, “we’re gonna have a hell of a story to tell when anyone asks how we got together.”
Robby pulled back and glared at Jack. “Oh, we are not fucking telling a single person about that pollen.”
“We’ll see,” Jack said, but pulled Robby into another kiss before he could argue. Perhaps, Robby thought, he could be convinced.