Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Jesse draws the tip of his tongue along the edge of the paper, then tucks the roll closed with his thumbs. He twists the end. The joint is small but mighty, using up the stash of flowers from his favorite dispensary in northern Pennsylvania, where the fog from the Appalachian mountains imbues the strain with a certain insane nerve. The last little crumbles sit valiantly at the bottom of the mint tin he smuggled into the condo. He wonders if letting them dissolve under his tongue would give any extra buzz.

"It's been a while since I got high," he tells Jack Abbot, who takes up all three cushions of his living room sofa, lounging on his back.

"Yeah?" Jack hums.

With a proud smirk, he holds up the cigarette. He fits comfortably between the couch and the coffee table, on the floor even when he knows it'll give his already aching joints more to complain about. But Jack said something about his own aches and pains, and Jesse had an old stash that needed smoking, so it was obvious to both of them that two plus two had to equal four.

Jack cants his head and murmurs, "Nice work." After bringing his hand close to ask for permission, Jack plucks the joint from him and inspects it. "I can barely remember the last time I smoked medicinal marijuana."

"Medicinal?"

He snorts, "That's the idea, isn't it?"

Jesse smiles -- glances down bashfully. He takes the lighter from the coffee table and offers that too to Jack, allows him to have the honors. And, honored, Jack clicks the flame, holds it to the end of the joint until it catches and begins to burn. Then, he draws in a low, long breath, as if savoring. He coughs once or twice when he withdraws, but he tries to look dignified, holding his breath for as long as possible. Then, he sighs. Smoke plumes like an atomic bomb from between his lips. Jesse watches all of this too closely. He can delude himself into thinking he was just waiting for a review of the strain.

Jack guesses, smoke curling 'round his features, "You used to be a stoner?"

"It was more of a hobby than a lifestyle," Jesse replies. Jack remembers his manners and hands the joint back over. He eases into the couch cushions as if he's just been given permission to rest. His hands cross over his chest, covering a worn Journey logo. Robby's shirt, Jesse is sure. Jesse tries not to think about Jack's mouth as he nurses the joint in a staccato. "Whenever I had a weekend off to myself, had a bad night, you know."

Jack hums along. Jesse gathers his knees up to his chest to rest his arms on as he balances the cigarette on the lip of the tin, letting the burning end ash itself.

His companion says to the ceiling, noncommittally, "I think we have an ashtray in the garage."

He takes the command as what it is and lifts himself onto his feet like an old-timey stringed puppet. His socks barely protect him from the cold linoleum of the mudroom hallway. Surely, with Jack's income, he could afford to at least install porcelain wood tiles. But, despite that, his chest is already warming. He didn't think his tolerance would have weakened this much, that one puff got him buzzing, but instead of scrutinizing it, he keeps it close like a crackling campfire and searches the garage for an ashtray. Finally, he finds it on top of a dusty toolbox, a little green glass tray that looks well-loved.

"Oh, I wasn't telling you to get it," Jack stammers when he returns with it in hand.

"It's alright," Jesse says, because it is. He arranges the joint into its proper home on the coffee table, closes the tin, and tucks it and the lighter in his scrub pocket.

"This is some strong stuff."

Jesse looks a little pleased with himself. "You don't smoke very often?"

"I used to smoke, I just didn't smoke weed." Jack waves vaguely in the air. "Well, okay, I had a prescription that I used up when my leg was bothering me, but recreationally... not really."

He gestures for the cigarette, and Jesse acquiesces. Again, he watches too close. Jack practically makes love to it, closing his mouth around the filter gently, just barely grazing it with his teeth, closing his eyes to focus on drawing deeper, deeper, deeper. Jesse almost loses his footing and he has his ass on the ground. For the first time since he sat down with his supplies, he wonders what the hell he's doing here.

"You can go change, you know. Don' have to bring work into pleasure," Jack says. Smoke puffs out from between his teeth and out of his nose as he speaks.

"I didn't bring a change of clothes."

"Mm." He thinks about it very hard. "I probably should have thought of that before inviting you. At the end of your shift." He chuckles, and so does Jesse. His tolerance mustn't be very high either.

"Needed it, though," Jesse hums. He watches Jack lean over and ash the cigarette.

"Bad day?"

He shakes his head. "You don't wanna hear it."

"I've probably seen worse than what you've got to tell me." Jack lugs himself onto his back again, crosses his arms. The band in his forearm -- the extensor carpi radialis brevis, his medical hindbrain supplies -- flexes ever so slightly.

Instead of taking the invitation, he glances off into the guts of the condo, the kitchen, past it the mudroom, into the laundry room, and the garage door he just came through. The house seems to stretch farther the longer he stares. The day tries to sneak up on him. Open chest cavities don't get to him anymore; any anatomy he sees is exactly that-- anatomy. What gets to him is the tear-lined eyes of parents. The kids who have no idea where they are and only know that they're in pain. The little girl who was fed the wrong dose of medication and held his hand as her lungs began to shut down.

Jesse takes another hit before his sluggish brain can get stuck on the idea. Rubs an eye as he holds his breath, lets the smoke soak into his lungs.

"Oh, man," Jack laments, seeing what's left of the cigarette.

Jesse mouths, "Sorry," so as not to let any of it go.

"'s okay." He sits up. "You think I could text Robby to hit the dispensary on the way home?"

That gets Jesse to laugh; he coughs as smoke bursts from his mouth and nose. He jokes, "We could just... share the rest," and then promptly mashes his mouth closed by wiping it with his forearm.

But the other laughs with an easy air. He swings his legs over to presumably open a seat for him. Jesse glances at the empty cushion for a moment before welcoming himself; his joints creak, but the pain has dulled enough to mostly forget about. The sofa nearly eats him alive, but, no, he's just high. He presses his head against the back of the chair for stability. Sighs out through tight lips. It's a comfortable sofa. Might be nice to take a nap. What was he doing here again?

"Where even is Robby?" he asks. "I swear I saw him in the parking lot."

"Not sure," Jack says. He sounds as though thinking about it has become too laborious a task. Jesse watches, heart beating, as he leans and takes the joint, about a half-inch left past the filter. Even in the low evening light, his eyes are a little red. It's kind of funny. "I texted him that we were going to smoke when you guys should've been packin' up. He said it was fine. Might be running errands."

Jesse sounds incredulous, "Running errands on a random Wednesday night?"

"He's a big boy." He brings the end to his mouth and asks him, "You still want to share?"

When Jesse nods, oblivious, he draws from the cigarette, long and slow like every other pass, eyes glowing against the burning kindle at the end of it. It lights the strong planes of his face, the green in his eyes, the stony expression of a soldier. If Jesse were any more stoned -- see: stupid -- he would have said "Wow," out loud.

"Ready?" he hums. He looks a little pained, holding onto the smoke as he takes one of Jesse's shoulders and brings him close. Too close.

He mumbles, "Huh?"

And before he can think better of it, Jack leans just a little farther and blows his reserve into his open mouth. Jesse is so shocked that he doesn't breathe in as much as passively inhale when his hindbrain tells him to, dumbfounded, the smoke curling around and behind his teeth. Jack lifts his eyebrows to encourage him to do something; then, he dissolves into snickering.

"We gotta ration, man," he says as he leans into Jesse's lean frame.

Jesse still tastes the smoke as its leftovers cycle in and out of his lungs. He says, "You are so high."

With one last 'whew', Jack tries to force down a grin -- adjusts his pinch on the cigarette. "Let's try again."

"Jack."

"Come 'ere, Jess." He treacherously draws the very last of the joint, the filter starting to burn, eases as much of the high into his lungs as he can, waits a second, and sucks in one last gasp. His hand wanders to capture the nape of Jesse's neck. Jesse's heart pounds in his chest. He can hear his blood rushing. Jack whispers, light as air, "Breathe."

And Jesse can't help but follow, fluttering his eyes as Jack, again, closer than before, sighs a lungful of smoke into his mouth; he focuses on breathing in. He doesn't catch all of it, but he's a little distracted, feeling the heat of Jack's body so close to his. After a moment, he thinks he should return the favor. He tilts his head to keep their noses from knocking together and Jack opens his mouth instinctively, receiving his slow exhale. Jesse's fingertips brush his cheek -- he barely knows he's doing it, too consumed by the silent transfer of breath. Jack returns; the smoke is diluting, some of it billowing past their faces, crawling up toward their eyes.

He loses himself. Like clouds blending, their mouths meet as they sigh luxuriously. Jesse just barely registers the soft give of Jack's bottom lip against himself; he rears back, bracing a hand on Jack's chest.

"What are you doing?" he hisses.

"It's alright," Jack says easily.

He shakes his head, frantic. "You're with Robby." Jack's wearing Robby's shirt, for Pete's sake. They might be in Robby's condo, now that he thinks about it.

"So high-strung." Jack squeezes where he's grasped the back of Jesse's neck. He looks deep into his eyes, the type of stoned where everything is a little funny, trying his damnedest to sound sincere. He coos, "It's alright."

Slowly, Jack brings him back, easing their mouths together again; Jack kisses him with practiced ease. It feels good, and the weed's relaxed their muscles, and his mouth feels a little like mush as it tries to work against Jack's. Jesse hums, parting and then pressing into his lips in two or three intervals. This must be the certain insane nerve that the strain boasted. Jack's breath smells like weed and it takes so much energy not to laugh. Jack nurses his bottom lip; their heads surge as one pursues the other and then back again, slowly growing fervor. It's like their faces have started to melt into each other. Jesse can barely discern where he ends and Jack begins.

Then Jack pulls away to check his phone.

"Robby's pulling up," he says.

Breathless, Jesse draws back. Cold water has splashed him in the face. Jack's shoulders are drawn back, relaxed, like nothing happened. Did Jesse just hallucinate kissing him? He thinks so until Jack smirks and pecks him one last time, just seconds before the garage door opens.

"Good evening," Robby greets. He hangs his keys, the jacket, and the backpack Jesse saw him leave in, two plastic bags swinging from his forearm.

Jack replies jovially, "Hey."

He wrinkles his nose; the stench of weed meets him in a wall as he crosses the threshold of the mudroom. "Having fun?"

"Mmmm-hm..." he draws it out. "Why'd you take so long to get here?"

"I was getting you guys food."

Jack groans like Robby is the second coming of Christ. He makes a beckoning gesture, and, with a smile, Robby brings his catch to the coffee table; eyes wide, Jesse moves the ashtray aside. The last of the joint's butt lies shrivelled among the ash, like it was evidence of the moral crime he'd just committed. His heart thunders in his chest. He watches as Jack takes out containers of Chinese food and smells them to identify the order instead of reading the label; Robby watches Jesse watching him.

"You like Chinese food, right?" Robby asks him.

He swallows, dry-mouthed, and nods. God, he must look so suspicious. His hands are trembling on his knees. Is he sweating?

"Good," Robby says. "I got you extra crab rangoons. Wasn't sure what kind of entree you wanted so I just ordered kung pao chicken and chow mein. Hope that's okay."

He does like those things, but he can barely hear either of them through the thrumming of his heart. The food smells delicious. Sweet and fatty and something he'd love to scarf down if he wasn't so terrified about the fact that he just became Jack's affair partner in Robby's own home. His fucking boss, no less. Both of his bosses. What has he gotten himself into?

He's being handed a to-go box of kung pao chicken. Jack stabs a fat mushroom from his box, maybe broccoli and beef, or something, he can't think straight.

"Thanks, Robby," he manages to say.

"'Course." Robby relaxes into the lounge chair, having pilfered some crab rangoons and tempura shrimp onto a plate as his appetizer. "What kind of host would I be if I didn't feed you?"

What kind of man would Jack Abbot be to kiss another man just before his partner came home?

All of the food looks delicious, but Jesse feels sick, and Jack is eating like nothing is wrong. He tells Robby with a chuckle, "The strain Jess brought was pretty strong. I feel like I'm fucking floating, man."

"Yeah?" Robby laughs along. "Maybe I should have tried some."

The pair picks at their food comfortably. Robby looks exhausted, and hungry. Dark circles hang from his eyes. He's still in his scrubs, like Jesse. But he crunches on a crab rangoon, shoots a smile at Jack. Jack leans over and steals one of Robby's shrimp instead of grabbing his own from the box. Probably as high as he looks, he luxuriates in having beef and shrimp in the same bite. He's being so... normal.

"You okay, Jesse?"

Jesse doesn't know who asks. Just as suspiciously as before, he swallows and nods. The box sits open in his palms, but the fork hasn't moved from where it had been stabbed into the mass of chicken and veggies.

"I think I should go." Slower than he means to be, he sets his food aside, stomach grumbling, and tilts onto his feet. His knees don't protest. It feels great. But he tries to kick the nausea by tugging the collar of his scrub top away from his collarbone. His chest is flushed a rougey pink.

"Uhh," Robby says immediately, "As high as you are? Absolutely not. Even stepping onto the porch could earn you a DUI."

He bites his lip, bares his teeth in a nervous wince. Jack might be realizing that he's making a mistake, or he's played something wrong. He sits up straight and wipes sauce off his face with a napkin in a quick motion, then beckons to Jesse with his brows, gestures to the empty seat beside him.

Robby stands to meet him. He sets a palm on Jesse's shoulder. "Come on, sit on back."

He wipes his face down, stammers, "Am... am I missing something?" and then feels like a complete idiot when he realizes he's said it out loud. All he can do is stare them both in the eyes. His brows furrow higher up. "Feels like there's something happening here that I'm not in on."

In a flash, Robby glances back at Jack. Jack's eyes bounce between him and Jesse.

"Jack, weren't you going to--?" Robby gestures between the pair.

Jack says, "Well, you didn't find us in the bedroom when you came in, so. Y'just came home a little early."

"Bedroom?" Jesse echoes. He squints one eye in his confusion.

"Yeah." He shrugs. Then something visibly dawns on him; he digs through the cotton stuffing his head and opens his mouth in a perfect "o" shape. He explains, "Oh, oh... Oh, yeah. Uhm, I forgot to tell you. We're, like, open."

"Open?" he echoes again. He waves his hands frantically as he faces Jack and tells him, "Maybe that was important information to communicate before you fucking kissed me? This was a proposition?"

"Well, I-- There was a mood going. You seemed into it. I was into it. Seemed fine." He shrugs.

Jesse takes one deep breath and lets it go. "It would have been fine had I known."

"Now you know."

"You're kind of turning me off, man. You turn into a dick when you're high."

Robby finds this amusing. He sits back down and carefully chooses a tempura shrimp from his plate.

"Sorry," Jack says, mouth crinkling. Defeated, he picks at his food. Jesse still doesn't know what he's eating.

He stares at the pair, trying to make sense of them. His high has settled a bit, but there's still a buzz in the back of his head that he tries to cling to. Just as slowly as he left his seat, Jesse sits down again, bracing his hands on the cushion. The tension in the room makes him want to leave more than he did before. Finally, he feeds himself a piece of chicken. He chews slowly. His body gets the chance to tell him how hungry it is, and his stomach writhes like an animal in pain.

Then, Jack returns to ask, "I really fucked that up, didn't I?"

He says mid-bite, "Kinda."

Robby snorts just to rub salt in the wound, appreciating his honesty. "And you let this guy kiss you?"

He swallows wrong around a pepper and has to cough.

Jack makes a face and mutters back, "You let this guy marry you?"

Jesse can't help but laugh; he doesn't even mean to. It just starts to happen. He tips against the arm of the sofa for balance as he giggles into his chicken.

"Now I have to start all over again," Jack laments, chuckling despite himself. "I've gotta lay it all back on."

Jesse swings his head incredulously. His hands are still shaking. The switch from terror to confusion to relief to now laughter makes him feel like he's clawing through a vat of honey. His stomach is warming again; the food is going down comfortably. The other two are giggling, too. They've reverted to being teenagers.

"Hey, he didn't say you fucked it up completely. He said 'kinda'," Robby soothes.

"I had something good going!" Jack looks over just enough to catch Jesse's acquiescing expression. He points at him as if to tell his husband, 'see?'.

Jesse says, "It was nice," as he collects a few peanuts onto his fork. A little snort pops out of him as he adds, "Nice... nice atmosphere."

Jack drops his jaw and makes a stupid expression at Robby, rubbing it in, like he needed his agreement that he had game. He's unfortunately pretty funny when he's high.

They eat as though an invisible balance had been achieved again. Jesse helps himself to his ration of crab rangoons, now able to enjoyably maximize his munchies. He finally figures out that Jack was eating pepper steak. He never ends up eating the chow mein. His appetite points him toward meat and fat. He eats until his stomach hurts.

He stares at Jack as they digest. They're draped over their seats like bears gorged on honey. Robby might be sleeping. He rests his head on a folded hand; his face mashes itself into his shoulder as he relaxes, wrinkling a million times over, and Jesse finds it endearing. Jack looks a little nervous, which surprises him -- he might still be thinking about what happened. Jesse doesn't think he lost all of his appeal, just lost his footing for a minute. It's reasonable. Well, reasonable after knowing that he did not, in fact, help him cheat on his husband.

The papery corpse of the joint continues to whither in the ashtray, and if Jesse were any more stupid, he probably would have tried to light it and selfishly siphon the last buzz, if only for courage. He remembers the sensation of smoke brushing his cheekbones like fingertips, the warmth of Jack's breath, the softness of his mouth... Fuck, Jesse might actually have to give him another shot.

But maybe he shouldn't lean over and plant one on him like he wants to.

Instead, he finds the bathroom and rinses his mouth out with his palms as a cup. A go-bag might be a worthy investment. His backpack is in the mudroom, but there's only deodorant, a change of shoes, a jacket, and a box of cigarettes inside. He checks his breath and ignores the fact that he probably smells more like weed than Chinese food.

Jack has the leftovers put away by the time he returns to the living room; he'd summoned a wheelchair from thin air and is dragging it toward himself when Jesse approaches.

"I can call you an Uber, if you want," Jack says to him, his voice low.

He makes a face. He thought they were good. He's still reasonably high, and he's relaxed again, but Jack seems to have sobered up, if only because he's lost confidence, not because the weed magically drained out of his system. So, amused, he says, "Asking me to leave is how you're getting your mojo back?"

"I'm not asking you, I'm jus' saying if you're turned off, it won' hurt my feelings." He shrugs, playing it off. "It's not cool of me to make you stay if you don't want to. Wasn't cool of me to forget to tell you that we do thirds before I tried making you a third."

Jesse snorts despite himself, flattens his mouth into a line. "Like I said, I would've been fine had I known. Now, I know. We're good."

It's about thirty seconds before Jack gets the idea that he's been forgiven.

"Y'sure?" he says.

"Yeah."

Jack clears his throat; tugging on some kind of suave persona, he stretches his arm across the back of the couch, adjusting himself to look more handsome, and he meets Jesse's eye, a little smile crawling onto his face. Unfortunately, it's charming. Jesse lowers himself down again, against Jack's flank. He balances an ankle across the opposite thigh. Glances at the other, who visibly relaxes.

"Is this something you guys do often?" he asks.

Jack wobbles his head in consideration. He hums, "Once in a while."

"Just... spicing things up?"

"More like we're both insatiable in our old age."

That knowledge makes a little shock of lust sting low in Jesse's gut. "I thought the opposite was true."

"You'd think so." He chuckles in agreement. His fingertips brush Jesse's shoulder, acclimating him. He stops, watches something on the side of Jesse's face, drifts a hand past his temple and down around his ear. "And it's not really an independent thing, like I sleep with somebody, he sleeps with somebody else, you know. It's more of... like, sharing."

Jesse's eyebrows pop, asking the question for him.

"The deal is that we have to agree on the same person," he explains. He's lost the playful impression since the high has started to soak deep into their bones, replacing insane nerve with a more dreamy quality. "That's the baseline. Now, if the person we want to include picks one or the other, then there's no hard feelings, but we try to go together." He makes a wishy-washy motion.

"Ah." Jesse nods along. The concept is foreign to him, but he's less focused on the details; electricity sparks down his spine at every touch of Jack's fingertips; it exhilarates him. It's a sick thrill, knowing Jack's husband, his direct boss, is dozing right over there in a front row seat. He points at him with a jerk of his chin. "So, he...?"

"Should wake his ass up? Probably." Jack glances amusedly at his husband, only diverting his attention from Jesse for a moment; he returns with a gleam in his eye. He says gumptiously, "Yeah, he likes you, but I got here first, so he's just going to have to deal with it."

He laughs; his cheeks flush so hot he can feel them burn.

Jack is laying it on thick, and he knows he is -- he continues to trace the side of Jesse's head, feels brave enough to take his earring between his fingertips, and Jesse discovers that his ears are very sensitive. He keeps it together as best he can. His eyes flutter downward as Jack, again, hooks a hand around the back of his neck. With no resistance, he tips forward and completes the circuit. Jack presses into him languidly, squeezing his nape to encourage him, kissing him with the pressure of a boulder being lowered on top of him, as if trying to tell him to slow down, to really savor it.

His hands wander from Jack's forearm to his shoulder blade, following the pulmonary artery buried under dense muscle. It flexes beneath his palms as Jack pushes and pulls -- he cups Jesse's neck for a moment, nails drifting, causing arousal to shock into Jesse's stomach like a lightning bolt -- then he skates down the ladder of Jesse's ribs. Jesse can barely keep up. He traces the vein on the silk-soft seam of Jack's tongue with his own, brave enough. Jack groans into his mouth, tilts his head and forces a rhythm that overwhelms him. His hands tremble where they rest on the other's back.

Jack mashes their chests together. He cups Jesse's ribs, brings him close like Jesse is a toy he wants. The muscles of his chest cushion his lean frame.

The next time he gulps down a breath, unable to sustain himself on the quick sighs against Jack's mouth, no matter how thrilling that feels, he glances at Robby and finds brown eyes staring back at him. His face ignites into flames. Robby waves from his spot on the lounge chair, looking pleased with himself.

"Oh, hey," Jack hums. "How's it going over there?"

"Just enjoying the show. Don't mind me," Robby says with a tired gravel in his voice.

"Can you stop being a perv for like, two seconds?"

His jaw drops in offense and he flips his palms to the sky-- Jesse snorts into the back of his hand.

"So, is it going to be... just you?" he murmurs near his ear.

"I dunno." Jack turns to his husband. "Mike?"

"I'll watch," his husband volunteers. "But I'm beat. I'll probably just have a finger of whiskey and go to bed."

"We'll go to the guest room so he can get his beauty sleep."

"Don't worry about me. Go ahead. I'll follow you guys in a second."

Satisfied, Jack looks up at him and pecks him on the mouth a few times. Jesse watches him transfer onto the wheelchair parked nearby, pull away from the couch; he takes the ashtray and dumps its contents into a nearby trashcan as he follows Jack past the kitchen. Runs his thumbs along the notches carved into the rim to soothe his anticipation.

Jack's already peeling the sleeve off his residual limb when Jesse walks in; the master bedroom is decorated simply, but it's not boring. There's a giant bookshelf opposite the bed that makes his still-fuzzy mind worry about it toppling over. He lingers nearby. Puts the tray on the dresser. His focus returns when Jack tugs on the hem of his scrub bottoms. Eyes locked with him, Jack pushes the wheelchair away with his foot; he seems to be asking, "This okay?"

Jesse, with a smirk, bends down to kiss him. Jack indulges him once, twice, then attaches himself to his jugular; his knees immediately start to shake. He has to get himself together. But Jack is grazing the most sensitive skin of his neck with his teeth and he visibly shudders. Jack eases him onto the foot of the bed, hands claiming his ribs to keep him stable as he pants; paranoid, he aims his weight away from the other's bad knee. Jack's thumbs trace over his nipples through the scrubs. The combination of hot breath on his neck and the easy passes over his flushed skin has him soughing into the air.

"I hafta tell you something," Jesse breathes. His heart hammers in his chest, in his skull, hears the rush in his ears.

Jack kisses up the side of his face when he returns to him; he hums a question.

He gulps down bile. Grits it out like he's ripping an organ from his chest. "I don't have all the..." he tries, gesturing toward his groin.

When the other looks down, he flushes. He asks, "Did you lose it in an accident?"

He chuckles on reflex. "No, no. Uhm. Born without it."

Jack seems to put it together, though he still looks a little confused when he nods and says, "Alright."

He flattens his mouth into a line and looks nervous. He echoes, "Alright?"

"Yeah, that's fine. Why wouldn't it be fine?"

Jesse takes a minute to reply. He jerks his head, says, "Okay," and Jack mirrors him.

"Let's get this off," Jack hums. "I want to see what's going on, here." He paws at Jesse's scrubs and, as if commanded, Jesse lifts his arms over his head; he shudders as the layer is peeled off. Jack leans back to take him in. He tries not to get shy. It doesn't help that Jack whistles and immediately goes to trace the barely-there scars around his nipples. He inspects the work. "Keyhole?"

"Yeah." Rougey blush warms his cheeks. Jack pinches at his nipples, watching them pink and try valiantly to perk up, as if he could single-handedly get their attention.

"The blood vessels grafted pretty well. Who was your surgeon?"

He says, "Old buddy of mine. Pretty even trade; I did his stick 'n' poke and he did this for me."

"You serious?" Jack furrows a brow.

He says, "No," and the other snickers.

When Jack licks a thumb and traces a circle around his nipple before swiping, Jesse tells him with a little gumptious smirk, "I can't really feel my nipples, by the way."

"Oh."

His smile spreads wide as Jack redirects; fingertips brush the tattoos on his chest: the handpoked crab over his sternum, the lilies on his shoulder, the postage stamp just under his pec, the miscellaneous patchwork scattered all the way down to his hips, all in the same stippled style. Jack's nail grazes the flushed skin. He traces an invisible line down Jesse's neck with his mouth, returning to him like he'd missed him; he dots across the collarbone, near the threaded nerves between his pectoral muscle and shoulder joint. Little shocks of electricity hit him in the stomach, pure arousal, forcing him to close his eyes to keep from getting overwhelmed. He barely has the mind to make for Jack's shirt. He clumsily tugs on the hem and works the fabric over the other's dense torso, allowing him to break away for the second required to yank it over his head. The moment he can, Jack returns to lavishing Jesse's chest; he swings an arm around Jesse's waist and forces them flush. Jack's skin is so hot Jesse nearly yelps.

Jesse supposes he should return the favor; fumbling, he wedges his long limbs between them and gropes at what he can, nervous if he's been given permission yet. The groan from the other is encouragement enough. Jack nips at the lily flowers on his shoulder -- it makes him gasp.

Before he knows it, he's on his back. Jack braces the back of his head and kisses him long and deep as he twists them in one smooth motion; Jesse is so distracted that he barely registers the change. All he knows is that he's being completely overwhelmed by heat and weight and muscle. Jack is everywhere. He hasn't been lavished like this in years. Jack kisses his stomach like he's hungry; Jesse's ribs are ticklish, and he finds a cruel joy in finding the most sensitive places there while the man beneath him shivers. Jesse feels like a bug, stuck in place, arms hovering in the air, brushing the soft plane of Jack's ribs, barely able to keep up.

"You okay?" Jack murmurs -- his lips come to brush the shell of his ear.

Shuddering, Jesse nods. He's more than okay. He's truly aroused for the first time he can remember -- his skin is flushed by the attention, peach fuzz standing up, so sensitive that Jack's kisses almost hurt. The high makes every touch feel as though it's sinking past his skin and brushing his bones. There's a molten heat in his groin that throbs in time with his heartbeat. He needs to rip off his clothes right this second otherwise he might actually die.

But instead, Jesse explains, "It's, uh... It's been a while since I've slept with anybody." The anxious buzz in his fingertips nearly beats out his high.

"That's okay."

"Well, so..." He grimaces -- braces a hand on Jack's rib. Jack parts and looks him in the eye. "I have a couple of conditions that make it harder to... uhm. I don't really know how to phrase it."

Jack guesses, "Cum?"

"No, that's fine. I mean, it's been a minute but it's fine." He bundles everything he could have said into the simple reply, "It just complicates things."

Again, he takes it on the chin. He kneads what he has of Jesse's hips and tells him, "Nothing I can't handle, I promise." He punctuates with a sweet peck on the corner of his mouth.

Soothed, Jesse takes the initiative and loosens the waistband of his scrubs to weasel them off underneath Jack's oppressive weight. His packer nudges against his dick -- the stimulation rushes up through his belly with a desperation so intense it makes him wince.

The bedroom door opens. Robby walks in with an iced glass of whiskey. Jesse tries not to burst into flames again, holds onto his confidence, his scrubs half-off his ass, as the couple exchanges hellos.

"Can I join the party?" Robby says, ambling around to the empty half of the bed.

"Now, you know that three is a crowd, Mike." His husband snorts. He needles, "Did you put the leftovers in the fridge?"

And Robby replies, easy, "Yes, sir, I did."

In good fun, Jack mouths, "Sir," to Jesse with raised eyebrows, making him snort. He looks over his shoulder to request, "Can you get a towel and the lube while you're up?"

"Water-based?" Jesse tacks on.

Robby downs the last of his glass, and, as he sets it on the bedside table, with a hum and a yes, he goes on his mission, trundling to the bathroom. Jack pecks the shell of Jesse's ear to draw him back; Jack kisses him ferociously. He grunts, pushes back, opening his mouth to welcome more of Jack's tongue. The kiss is hot and wet and so immediately intense that it feels like glancing into the sun.

While they're locked together, Jesse squirms out of his clothes; he dumps the bottoms and boxers over the side of the bed. His sex is exposed to frighteningly cold air. He tries to gather his knees as best he can underneath his lover. Robby enters again, which takes the attention off him for a minute; he's grateful for it.

As he approaches, Robby glances at Jesse for some kind of permission. When Jesse nods, he lowers himself onto the mattress; he hands Jack the towel and lube, who gives him a kiss as thanks. Then, he takes off his scrubs more out of practicality than to seduce. Still, Jesse can't help but stare at the healthy coat of fur over his chest and torso. Tossing his scrub bottoms overboard, Robby flicks his eyes down to Jesse's sex, his swollen T-dick. Maybe Jesse should have shaved. But they're all adults. All Robby does is acknowledge what's there and then return to his husband, now only in his boxers, and pilfer two more kisses from him. The two of them are so close that Jesse can smell the alcohol on Robby's breath.

"You told me things were complicated," Jack prompts when Robby gets the attention he wants.

Jesse nods, but doesn't immediately reply. Instead, he hooks a finger into Jack's waistband. Jack looks down at himself and chuckles; he puts the lube and towel aside to help himself out of his sweats. He leaves the briefs for show. Jesse swallows when he sees the heavy print weighing the fabric because oh, shit, he might have signed up to bite off far more than he can chew.

"I'm really sensitive," he admits. Jack hums, lowers himself back down, chests meeting. Scruff tickles his jugular. The fabric of his briefs brushes his inner thigh.

"Anywhere I should avoid?" the other asks, fingertip trailing from his lowest rib to the nerve cradled by his pelvic joint, exceedingly ticklish. It's like he's acclimating Jesse to his approach.

His most honest answer is, "Just take it slow and I should be fine."

"Tell me if anything doesn't work for you." It's a command, something that rumbles deep in Jack's chest.

When he agrees, he feels fingertips exploring the slope of his inner thigh, skating down into the thatch of grayish-silver hair. It would be impolite to tell his lover that his hands are cold. Instead, he successfully plays off a full-body shiver. His skin is so sensitive that the first touch to his sex feels like fire; maybe a good fire, as the pad of Jack's finger introduces itself, drawing very light circles over his flushed vulva. Jesse hums and watches the movement of Jack's wrist over the plateau of his body. Jack watches his expression intently.

He worms a hand between their bodies to cup Jack's sex. The handful he gets earnestly scares him; he slides a loose grip from the tip to the base, earning a jerk and a huff into his ear. Jack is so thick that he fills the bowl of Jesse's palm. When he glances at Robby -- wincing against the white-hot sensation as Jack inches closer and closer to his clit -- Robby nods as if to say, "I know, right?"

Jesse jerks away from direct contact with his cockhead, having to wince out, "Sorry, hold on--"

"'s okay." He pulls back. "Show me how."

At that, he gets a headrush so intense he needs to shut his eyes tight. He guides Jack to form almost a pinching gesture around his dick, then sighs as he works himself overtop of his fingers, bringing him along back and forth in small jerks, the most sensitive skin now muffled comfortably by the hood. When Jack gets the idea, he creates a jerky rhythm with his wrist. Jesse grunts in approval. His soughs deepen in tone as he feels true pleasure, rumbling through every nerve in his pelvis.

"Good?" Jack breathes.

He manages, "Uh-huh," as he squeezes what he has of Jack's cock as encouragement. Jack groans.

Robby takes his opportunity while Jack focuses on the careful movement of his fingers; he leans over and murmurs, "Can I kiss you?"

Already overwhelmed by the attention, he swallows. "Yeah."

Robby smiles and starts at his cheek; his beard tickles. He plants one at the dimple beneath the corner of Jesse's mouth, another in the crease where he smiles, and then finally meets his lips, pressing into him as slow as molasses. The difference in approaches between the two lovers makes him dizzy.

His grip relaxes on Jack's cock, unable to keep up, as Robby kisses him like there's nothing better to do in the world, pulling him into an invisible gravity well. He pants into Robby's mouth as the pleasure begins to build.

Jack starts to kiss his neck. He gasps -- Robby says something indistinct and sinks to the other side of his jugular, suckling on the tender, hickey-splotched skin.

The dual sensations engulf his whole being, pleasure singing, refracting off each other and down and back, harolding his approaching climax.

"Oh, fuck," he breathes, surprised by himself, "Fuck, I think I might cum."

Jack says, goading, "Yeah?"

His knees start to shake. Pleasure rushes like a fast flood -- his body clenches and his orgasm explodes behind his eyes. He grits his teeth and throws his head back, just hoping to survive it. A low groan rips out of his throat.

"You okay?" Jack nuzzles into the side of his face. "Talk t'me, Jess."

He shudders; he catches his breath as the vertigo settles. Says, "'m good. I'm good."

"Really boosting my ego," he tosses to Robby, who chuckles.

Jesse's sex fires false shots, shocking him like a live wire. When his clit twitches underneath Jack's fingers, he takes it as a sign to back off for a minute, choosing instead to gesture at his hips; he lifts and Jack lays out the towel under his ass. He mumbles something about needing to have done this first. When he leans back enough to arrange the towel properly, Jesse can see that there's a wet spot in his briefs.

"Something about my ego, too," Jesse says; he still sounds winded.

Jack looks down at himself and beams a smile at him like he's in trouble. He returns to him, asking, "Did that make you more sensitive?"

"Should help, actually." He gestures vaguely to his abdomen. The fussy achy tendons in his hips and the muscles deep in his belly have begun to relax. Still, he feels himself tensing whenever he catches a glimpse of Jack's cock.

"Good, good."

He says to Robby, "You know, anyone else and this would be it. Pack up and go home, just like that."

"That sounds very disappointing." Robby has a wet spot, too.

"I'm guessing you're not a one-and-done kind of guy, then?" Jack says.

"Not if I can help it."

Robby's hand keeps drifting near his hip, like he can't decide whether or not he wants to indulge his erection.

Jesse rolls his eyes at his dawdling; he picks at the seam of Robby's waistband, urging him to free himself; he acquiesces. He tugs the boxers down and springs forth. Jesse takes him in hand immediately, squeezes the pink cockhead as he gets a feel for him. He's huge, too, longer but less heavy.

Jack's weight on him feels so familiar now, enveloping like a blanket. One of them feels up his abdomen, and the other twitches in his hand, jerking forward as he focuses on the glans. A smile starts to grow on Robby's face; he kisses him as Jack kneads his belly, as if knowing psychically how to help a problem he doesn't even know about.

Robby is trying to urge him to do something, making little humming sounds as Jesse tastes the bourbon he'd just downed. He pauses between each interval; he devours Jesse more than kisses him -- scratches his chin red with his beard. Jesse winds another hand around to clutch at any anchor on Jack's back, splitting his mind in two.

Jack murmurs, "You okay to keep going?"

Jesse nods as best he can, then breaks off. "Start with your fingers first."

"Of course. I'm not that much of a dog."

"You'd be surprised." Jack shakes his head disapprovingly. Patient, Robby waits as he gets distracted by the conversation and drops his hand. He props himself on an elbow, and so does Jesse as Jack adjusts, moves his thighs around his hips, slots between his legs. He tries not to tense preemptively.

He clarifies, "It's one of the complications."

"Ah." Jack seems to take extra care with positioning each of their legs. He snags a pillow from Robby's side of the bed, rolls it up, and gives himself a makeshift heel to lean his weight on.

"Yeah..." His eyes flutter downward as he remarks, "I don't know what happens, I just... tighten up. My reproductive organs are bad at being reproductive organs."

Jack's expression turns almost admonitory, telling him, "Ah, no. Just needs a little extra love and care, that's all."

A warmth blooms in his chest. He must be smiling like an idiot. Jack plucks the lube from near his head, dabs his fingers healthily, even though, after an orgasm so intense, Jesse doesn't think he's going to need much help. He rubs his fingerpads together to warm it up, just being thoughtful.

Jack traces around his vulva; he starts with a pinky, hopefully not trying to insult him or undersell himself, sinks inside to the second knuckle, and immediately watches Jesse's expression. Jesse focuses on his breathing. His body barely gives enough to allow Jack entrance. At least it doesn't hurt yet.

He lies back, finds and squeezes Robby's thigh to bring him closer; he uses him as a distraction. This is always the moment when he is most susceptible to psyching himself out. Robby guides his cock into Jesse's palm. Then, he crouches down and steals his mouth. Once, twice, then he rumbles, "Hold on. Slow down." He returns, murmurs, "Relax," against his lips. Robby kisses him, gentle, as his husband pumps his finger inside him, tripping a million tiny wires within his body, already building pleasure.

"Slow," Robby instructs. He tastes him like he's a vat of honey, warm tongue exploring behind his teeth, working him into a trance. Jesse can barely keep his focus between either of his lovers; he passively feels Robby's cockhead helping itself to his cupped hand.

Somewhere in the cluster, Jack has found his g-spot-- as he pumps, he curls his finger in rhythm. His gaze is molten hot. Jesse gasps into the other's mouth.

Jack replaces his pinky with his pointer, curling an inch deeper than he means to -- Jesse audibly winces, hand flying to brace on Jack's pec.

"Shit, sorry," Jack squeaks.

The moment his abs start to tighten Robby tells him, "Focus on me. Breathe low in your belly."

Jesse feels the weight of a guiding palm just below his navel; he does as told; Robby kisses him in time with his breathing, controlling the pace. He lets him sigh against his beard.

The breathing is a distraction and an exercise to convince his pelvic floor to stand down. Jesse throws Jack a thumbs-up. He squeezes the tit he has to amuse himself.

"There you go," Robby coos.

The low breaths change the angle of Jesse's g-spot and make it easier to reach. Jack eases him open like he would any other lover, with dedicated patience. He manages two fingers without any adverse reaction. Jesse grunts in time with the rhythm -- he struggles to decide between watching Jack work him to comfort and letting Robby devour him, though he's trying anyway, making his jaw hurt.

"Feels good?" Jack asks. Jesse can only manage a muffled groan in reply. He chuckles, but then taps the side of Robby's head to get him off.

Jesse gasps-- then wheezes into the air as Jack pumps rougher. "Uh-huh," he says. "Really good."

"Yeah?" The tendons in his wrist bulge. A bead of sweat dribbles down his ribs.

Jesse flushes so hot he can barely handle it. An, "Oh, fuck me," falls out of his mouth.

"Feel it," Jack goads. "I can't feel you breathe, baby. Relax." His other hand is trembling, held flat against his thigh. The thought that pops into Jack's head in that moment nearly makes him cum right there: Jack is exercising every ounce of self-control he has. All to make Jesse feel good.

A mouth falls onto his -- Robby uses himself as a plug to control Jesse's breathing, which he finds a little funny, but he gets the idea. Robby withdraws on the exhale, and kisses him on the inhale, making him drink in his sweet-whiskey breath.

Then, Jack grips the back of Robby's head and steals him for himself; he looks so desperate for attention. His brow is crooked in focus. He quickens his fingers as he sits upright and tugs his briefs down, his cock weeping -- he ends up drooling precum onto Jesse's dick, which he swipes down to add to the foaming lube. Even a graze on his paranoid clit makes him wince.

Jack mashes his mouth onto his husband. He might have just been being polite with Jesse. He slobbers all over Robby. He licks at the rug burn around his mouth, bites at his lips, snarls against him.

Then, he shoves Robby's head onto his cock. He tells him, "Careful, not too hard. Don't wanna cum yet," trying to keep his confidence as he shudders at the hot mouth swallowing him down.

Trembling, Jack focuses again. He tests different angles until Jesse rolls his eyes back. It's so freeing to feel this much pleasure and not have it backfire. All he has been is affirmed, affirmed, affirmed, handled carefully but not without respect.

He manages, "Yeah, like that, oh, fuck." His hips relax further and further, welcoming more of his lover. Jack fingers him like he was made for it.

"There you go, baby. Jus' feel it," Jack coos.

He shouts, "Shit!" as pleasure crashes over him in a tidal wave, once, twice, growing in intensity -- then, he cums so hard the rush floods his entire body. He accidentally knocks Robby on the head from his legs spasming closed on instinct.

When the vertigo subsides, Jesse looks up to see that Robby has just cum into his own hand. He gags as Jack selfishly forces him down. Another rope coats his palm. Then Jack lets him go, and he falls onto his side of the bed like a deflated balloon.

Jesse laughs dazedly, which makes Robby laugh, which makes Jack laugh. They clump together like honey-drunk bees. Jack's forehead rests on Jesse's collarbone. Jesse barely knows what they're laughing at.

"Phew," Robby says, wiping invisible sweat off his brow. He mouths something about going to clean himself up, kisses the stamp on Jesse's rib as he parts from the bed.

As Jesse giggles deliriously, Jack wipes his hand on the towel and fetches a condom from nowhere. He's still shaking; his cock bobs, but he maintains his focus, asking him, "How're you feeling?"

He allows himself a good long stare at Jack's dick; forgive him for being crass, but what's drooling onto his clit might very well be the fattest cock he's ever seen.

"Good."

"Relaxed?"

"Yeah," he hums. "Where'd you learn to talk like that?"

"Robby tells me that I get possessed." Jack tears the condom with his teeth when he can't get it with his fingers. Excited, he tosses the wrapper somewhere and feels his way down to fill the condom with his cock. It bulges and strains.

"I'm clean," Jesse says.

"So am I." He coats himself with lube; he jerks himself until his abs are twitching to warm it up. He kisses Jesse's temple as if he meant to do it a while ago. "Just for now. Tell me if it's not working for you, and I'll stop."

When Jesse doesn't agree well enough, Jack grabs his chin and looks him in the eye. "Tell me if it stops feeling good, 'kay, Jess?"

Jesse nods -- that simple movement makes his cock throb.

Jack catches his mouth, pinches the base of his dick, and eases himself inside an inch at a time. He's so big it almost hurts. Jesse clings to that "almost" as he breathes low in his stomach. He forces himself to relax -- his sex clenches around the intruder.

"Oh, fuck," he wheezes. Jack figures out the shape of his teeth with his tongue as he guides himself to the hilt. It takes a minute or two of careful positioning. With gentle hands hiding desperate strength, Jack pushes one of Jesse's knees back to give himself more room, and Jesse swiftly remembers how old he is. As a compromise, he crosses his ankles around his lover's waist. He's still wearing socks.

Jack gets a kick out of asking, "Y'ready?"

Jesse sighs hot against his face and nods as best he can. Their foreheads nudge together. Jack's hips stutter; he seems to debate on short bounces or long strokes, but he settles for the latter, bites his lip as he draws himself out and sinks back inside.

Jesse gasps when their bodies meet in the first official movement. Jack freezes, but he taps his bicep as encouragement. The next thrust is more careful. He rolls his hips, waits for resistance, then tries again, creating a rhythm. Jesse squeezes. Good.

Already heaving, Jack watches his face. He uses his weight to more powerfully thrust his hips, earning a groan instead of a wince. His eyes are still red-lined; the boundaries of his body are fuzzy, so close that Jesse goes cross-eyed trying to find the veins in his chest. Two orgasms in and Jesse's more overstimulated than he could normally handle, but Jack stares into his eyes with such careful intensity that the chemistry in his brain changes -- Jack digs deeper, underneath the pain-delight of a live wire, to find and exploit a trembling pleasure deep in his gut. He gasps as his lover discovers it; he writhes, grabbing at Jack's ribs.

Robby returns to his side of the bed. He's wiped himself down, in a change of boxers and sweats, and he lies back with his arms behind his head, practically eating popcorn.

Trying not to feel self-conscious, Jesse nudges against Jack's nose and forces himself to enjoy the attention. Jack kisses him when their mouths brush. His breath is white-hot. The warmth of his body is so overwhelming. It's like he's melting onto Jesse.

Jack grunts, "Fuck," as they part. Then, with a breathless laugh, he mouths to Robby, "Oh my God."

Robby's eyebrows pop, enlightened.

The tendons in Jesse's inner thighs tighten as pleasure ripples through him, makes his hips jerk. His body is searching for more, more, more of that undercurrent. Jack must feel like he's fighting to hold him down.

"I got you, baby," Jack murmurs against his cheek. He attempts to appease him, not knowing he's only stoking the fire; he coos, "'s alright, jus' feel. I got you," as his thrusts sharpen in intensity.

He pants and hisses like he's the one doing all the work, not Jack. Sucks in through his teeth. Groans when a cramp hits him low in the belly.

Animal instinct taking over, Jack's locks his arms around Jesse's head, changing the angle, discovering all sorts of hotspots that have Jesse moaning out loud -- something he doesn't do very often. He's getting more, more, more, but fuck, it's starting to hurt.

Jack tells him, commands of him, "Give it t' me. Come on. You got one more in you, I know you do."

The cramp clenches tighter. He feels it in his ribs. He's starting to tighten up. His breath studders; the pain borders into pleasure and back again. But he can't stop. He'd rather die than stop. "Fuck!"

They lose themselves in it. Like hours before, when they were at the peak of their high, they blend into each other like smoke. Jesse doesn't know where he ends and Jack begins. Jack is thrusting like a madman, dribbling sweat, panting loudly, using every bit of endurance training he's had to keep the pressure building. To make Jesse feel good.

"Come on," Jack babbles, "Come on, you gotta cum before I do, man."

"I'm close, I promise," he says. His lover laughs.

His face is smashed between Jack's bicep and his molten-hot gaze. Jack's fucking him like he's spent his entire life training for it. Robby watches their faces with a lovestruck expression. His orgasm is finally within arm's reach. By all accounts, he's in Heaven. But the pain is starting to beat out that undercurrent pleasure he's been fighting so hard for. He's starting to think that maybe he really is too old for this. Every time he's about to cross the precipice, a shock knocks him out of it. It's like his body is fighting with itself.

Still, he holds on. He braces against Jack's shoulder, digging his nails into the muscles wrapped over his shoulder blades.

He finds Robby's gaze. Robby has rolled onto his side, unabashed. Something about how he drifts to take Jesse's hand trips a wire in his brain. He kisses a knuckle. Draws him into a trance. He mouths, "Breathe."

Biting his lip, Jesse sucks in, then out, then in, then out; the man above him groans, as though he can feel the shifting of his abdominal muscles from the inside. Slowly, a sheet is pulled off, removing the last barrier from his pleasure; it breaks through the pain.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," Jack squeaks into his ear.

Jesse's eyes roll, his head lolls back against the pillow, unable to do anything else but feel. His lover loses control. He thrusts helplessly and gives out as soon as Jesse crosses the threshold. One final wave drowns him, makes him shout, barely able to process Jack's own orgasm. His body dissolves, static floods his brain, his limbs tremble, he clings onto anything he can reach. Somehow, he's still fucking high.

He chokes in pain when he returns to himself. His body tightens like a knot being pulled from either end; the endorphin rush wears off fast despite it being the hardest he's ever come in recent memory. He pants as Jack gets his footing again.

"What a sight you two make," Robby says.

Jack lays his head on top of Jesse's, mashing their cheeks together. He sounds delirious. "You're such a perv, my God."

"You could have kicked me out at any time."

Though he's amused by the banter, Jesse taps him again, and they unstick. Goosebumps raise as Jack pulls away onto his heel. He grabs the base of his dick. Grunts.

"Let go'a me," he says.

It makes Jesse laugh rather than feel embarrassed. He murmurs an apology as Jack pulls out just as slowly as he came in. Jesse's sex cramps around nothing, and he grits his teeth.

"You okay?"

"Can you get me a Tylenol?" he strains. Inch by inch, he lets his legs down; they're stiff and sore.

"Yeah. Mike?"

"On it." Robby throws himself off the bed.

As if commanded to, Jack digs his thumbs into the fold of Jesse's hip joints, massaging, easing the ligaments as Jesse fights to gain control of himself again. White noise lingers in the back of his head.

Before he knows it, Robby's back with a glass of water and extra Tylenol. He leans close and tells him sweetly, "You need to use the bathroom."

Jesse sits up precariously; the muscles beneath his abs don't know what to do with themselves. He trembles, weakly balances himself over his hips. He drinks all of the water in one go and takes the pills dry. Sounding hoarse, he asks, "I do?"

"Yes, you do." He takes the glass with warm eyes. "Better yet, use the shower too. I'll get you a change of clothes."

In the background, Jack ties off the condom and finds its wrapper off the side of the bed. He's still panting somewhat. The pink flush of sex lingers on his face like crushed raspberries. Robby graciously throws the trash away for him.

Jesse feels his own cum coat his inner thighs; he finds a way to put his legs over the edge of the bed. Jack hands the towel to him after slipping it out from under his rear. He makes a plan in his head to stand and wipe himself down, but he shakes too badly to be stable. Another cramp hits him low in the gut like he'd been punched. It mixes badly with the high and makes him nauseous.

"You alright, Jess?" Jack asks for the millionth time.

"I'm trying to go to the bathroom," he says after a pause. "You guys got me good." Jack lifts a corner of his mouth but he really just looks concerned.

Robby remarks, "I didn't really do anything."

He stands with great effort. Wipes himself down, bends precariously, carefully measures what his body is and is not comfortable with. He feels like he's doing something horribly inappropriate, but both his lovers are tending to themselves; Robby is picking out sleep shirts and glancing at Jesse, guessing what would fit; Jack lies back, still recovering from his orgasm. His hands are draped over his stomach. He looks like he got the air knocked out of him.

"I have cigs in my bag if you want one," Jesse tells him.

"Oh, no. 'm good," Jack replies, breathless. "Now probably would've been the best time to get high, to be honest."

He wobbles his head in consideration. When he's done cleaning himself, he lingers awkwardly with the towel in hand, looks for a hamper -- until Robby steps in and takes it, not without Jesse feeling self-conscious. Robby seems to understand, offering him a gentle smile. He does indeed need to use the bathroom. Muscles tense and loose at the same time, he shuffles to the ensuite.

Knowing he shouldn't, he looks in the mirror.

What the fuck happened to him? He looks like he fought a bear and a lion and lost to both of them. There are red splotches everywhere: hickeys, fingerprints, rug burn, his nipples are somehow flushed by the attention even when he couldn't feel any of it. Where the hell did he get those scratches from? He glistens with sweat and saliva. His mouth is red and his lips are swollen and his jaw is sore. And his hair, God, his hair.

He rubs his eyes and chortles intermittently at himself as he pisses. Robby had good foresight to get him to flush himself out. Though, it's hard to get up after, as his hips decide to give out; the ache in his knees has started to appear again. He helps himself to Jack's shower chair, feeling like he's crossed some sort of invisible boundary. Well, he crossed all sorts of invisible boundaries with Jack, so he supposes he can handle somebody else using his bench.

The high breaks like a fever while he scrubs himself down underneath a spray so hot it pisses off all the little raw spots down his torso.

He likes the smell of their shampoo. He's smelled it on them before, and it's nice to put a name to the face. ...Maybe he is still high. Probably just the leftovers, as he luxuriates in a desperately needed scalp massage.

He sits and air dries instead of scrounging through their cabinets for a towel.

"Knock knock," Robby calls through the door.

"Door's unlocked."

Robby finds him on the lip of the tub, holding onto it for balance. His knees still rattle in their sockets.

He hands him a change of clothes. Jesse jerks his chin in thanks. The very thought of putting clothes on makes his skin flare with sensitivity, burning, electric. The next time he looks over, Robby's sitting beside him, his eyes warm. Jesse is starting to feel the exhaustion of a long, hard day followed by one of the most exhilarating nights of his life; he must look it, too, as he blinks slowly at his companion and earns a painfully soft expression.

"I'm guessing you'll get irritated at me if I ask how you are," Robby says.

Jesse flattens his mouth into a line. That is a pretty good guess. He shrugs with one shoulder. Turns to him. "How are you feeling?"

The other decides to indulge his obvious deflection. "Good. Well, not as good as you and Jack, but I'm pretty satisfied. My throat hurts a little bit."

Jesse snorts. "Was it everything you hoped for?"

"And more," he says earnestly. His big brown eyes warm impossibly further.

He shouldn't be feeling this way around his boss. A tenderness blooms in his chest, genuinely flattered. He rubs his face down. Heaving once, twice, he manages to get on his feet again, definitely not thinking about how he's putting on his boss's clothes. Miscellaneous pinpoints in his belly twitch as he bends and feeds some loose boxers up his legs.

"It's concerning me that you're in this much pain," Robby broaches. "Have you gotten it checked out?"

"Just need the meds to kick in," he says simply.

"You don't have to do that again if you don't want to."

Jesse isn't sure whose sweatpants he puts on; he stumbles and Robby immediately comes to brace his chest, helping him stay upright. "Do what again?"

He deadpans, "Have penetrative sex."

"I didn't know there could be an 'again'." He ties the strings until he triggers the bruises on his hips. Where'd he get those?

"Honestly, might be too early to tell," Robby says. Jesse appreciates his practicality. "The sentiment stands, though. Neither of us wants to see you in pain, never mind possibly do permanent damage."

"I'm already too far gone."

"We don't have to contribute. Not if we want to be good to you."

Jesse doesn't respond. The gifted shirt is so worn he can barely make out the band. Steve Miller's Pegasus logo clings to the fabric with all its might. He sits to keep stable points of contact and laboriously works it over his head.

"I personally like the low and slow approach," Robby preens, wobbling his head a little.

He pauses. "That wasn't low and slow?"

"Not like how I do it." A smile melts his face into something so self-assured it makes Jesse's dick twitch.

Fuck, he can't get horny again. He ruffles the shirt to fall correctly with a rougey flush. His mouth wrinkles the wrong way; the pleasurable rush receding as soon as it appeared, he meets Robby's eyes again. "You know I'm probably never going to see you the same, right?"

Robby says easily, "That's what we signed up for." He kisses his temple before he can react, holding the back of his head. Then he stands to give Jesse space.

He thinks about how he hasn't felt a cramp in a while. The meds have kicked in. He rests in the still-steamy bathroom as Robby closes the door behind himself. Blinks slowly. The boundaries of his body still feel a little fuzzy, both from the leftovers of the high and from having more orgasms in one night than he usually has in a month.

Jesse picks his clothes off the floor, tries not to pink as he hides his packer in the bundle. He stuffs the clothes into his bag. Smokes a cigarette in record time on the porch like he's breaking an unspoken law. Runs into Robby as he rinses out his whiskey glass in the kitchen.

When he returns to the bedroom to get the ashtray he's caught by the despondent look in Jack's eyes. Jack waits for him against the bedframe, face still flushed. He isn't dressed yet, either. He intensely watches Jesse tend to himself. The high must have broken for him, too.

Jesse sets the tray down and settles beside him. The ache in his legs beats the pain meds for the moment it takes to lower himself down. He hisses, closes his mouth, and recovers.

"You didn't tell me," Jack says.

He gives the other a furrowed brow. He thinks about what to say. "Didn't want you to stop," is his most honest answer.

"Didn't want to hurt you."

"I'm not that delicate, Jack." He shakes his head.

Jack doesn't look happy with that answer, but he sets it aside. He looks relatively unscathed. Mostly recovered. He's still naked, afterglow making his skin dewy.

"Careful," Robby tells Jesse as he joins the crowd; he eases on Jack's other side with a grunt. "Jack gets emotional post-orgasm." Jack swats his stomach with the back of his hand, earning an "Uff!"

Which makes Jesse snort tiredly. Jack leans in, tells him with importance, "In the future, if I get the inkling that you're in pain, I'm going to stop, point blank. No 'if's, 'and's, or 'but's about it, 'kay?"

No matter how much he hates it, he supposes it's fair. He doesn't make any kind of movement to agree, but his quiet acceptance of it comes through anyway.

Maybe as a reward, Jack begins to brush his nails around Jesse's ear like he did just hours before. The gentle passing of his fingertips soothes him.

"Does this trick work with Robby?" he asks when the other's ear curls around his ear for the fifth time.

"What trick?" he says. He scratches near Jesse's nape.

He manages to smile. He's practically melting into the bed, even when he hasn't been given permission to sleep there yet, but he's so exhausted he's afraid to close his eyes. Jack seems to sense it.

Jack tips Jesse onto his shoulder, murmuring something indistinct. He smells like sweat and sex. Like traces of body wash. Jesse takes a second to open his eyes when he blinks, and that's when he knows he's done for. Robby gets the idea and snuggles in on the other side; he wrestles a comforter from the floor and drapes them all, ensuring that he covers Jack's bare chest. Jack picks up the slack on his end and tucks in across Jesse's shoulders.

Jack murmurs, close, "If you need more pain meds, they're in the cabinet above the paper towel rack."

"Top left shelf," his other half supplements.

Jesse makes a noise to show that he heard.

"Thanks for a fun night," he remembers to say. It probably comes out as more of a mumble. Only his nose and mouth bob above the current of sleep.

Jack chuckles, and his laugh reverberates through his ribcage and into Jesse's skull. There's shuffling above him; Jack kisses his husband, likely missing out on his rations of married affection earlier in the evening. They caress each other, murmur little jokes into each other's mouths, laugh amongst themselves. It feels nice. Jesse tries not to feel like an intruder.

Finally, they settle. One by one, their breathing slows, sinking under the current in their own time. Jesse falls first, lingering in a half-sleep until Jack lifts his head suddenly.

"Should I stop calling you Jess?" he asks. It sounds like a thought that shocked him just before he fell asleep, too tired to think it away.

Jesse smiles very weakly. He replies, "I dunno. I like it. Just a nickname."

Humming, Jack pats his head, like he's gotten everything he needs. His hand lingers, a warm weight.

He doesn't even know when he falls asleep.