Archive of Our Own

2013

“Passengers of Flight 697 headed to Dulles International Airport, we apologize for the delay. There was some choppy weather out of Chicago. We’ll just be another few minutes while we deplane passengers in Pittsburgh and then welcome you aboard.”

Robby groans internally, checking his phone again, though it’s only been two minutes since he’d looked at it last. He’s tempted to pull out his laptop, check his email, even though Adamson had told him to consider the conference trip like a mini-break. His hand is on his messenger bag when people start walking out of the corridor from the plane. Robby grabs the bag’s strap instead, looping it on his shoulder as he stands.

It’s less nerves and more impatience he’s feeling as he begins to slowly pace a circuit around the gate. Traveling always makes him think of science fiction and how much he’d rather just teleport to a destination instead of needing to sit and wait in successive waves. Wait for the plane, then get on the plane. Then wait for it to take off, then sit during the hours-long flight.

Wait, wait, wait. All the while, Robby will be wishing he could be doing something productive, something helpful, something meaningful. Sitting around on a plane is none of those things.

But he lines up with the other passengers just the same, trying not to be an asshole to the flight attendants, trying not to belie how restless he feels and how much he’s dreading the flight.

The hospital had only been willing to pay for economy, but Robby had managed to snag an aisle seat. As he slowly shuffles down the center of the plane, his eyes scan the passengers already seated, most probably from the first leg of the trip from Chicago to Pittsburgh.

His eyes land on a man also seated in the aisle, in the first row of economy. He’s got auburn hair that’s shot through with silvery strands, haloing his head in soft curls. Robby starts to wonder what those curls might feel like between his fingers before he mentally shakes himself. Unfortunately, the man looks up then, and Robby can see the chiseled jaw, the freckles, the hazel eyes.

Robby quickly averts his eyes, clearing his throat as he needlessly double-checks his ticket for his seat number. He continues on his slow journey down to his own seat, half the plane away, on the other side of the aisle. Before the safety message, Robby digs his worn paperback out of his bag, setting it on his knee.

“You a professor?”

Robby turns to look at his seatmate, an older man with thin gray hair, wearing a sweater a size too big. He nods toward The Myth of Sisyphus, wobbling precariously as the plane begins to taxi out of the gate.

 “Sort of? I’m a doctor, work at a teaching hospital. This?” Robby holds the book up. “This is just for fun.”

The man gives a grunt, squinting his eyes, like he’s not quite sure whether Robby is pulling his leg. He faces ahead, sliding out the magazine from the seatback pocket in front of him. Robby gives half an ear to the safety demonstrations, studiously avoiding tracing his eyes over the silvery red curls in his line of sight. The plane takes off and Robby gets stuck into Camus.

Robby figures they’ve got about half an hour of flight time left when the overhead speaker dings.

“Is there a doctor on the flight? Please, a doctor? We need you at the front of the plane.”

The voice is the flight attendant who’d given the safety talk earlier. Robby looks up, his brows drawing together in confusion. His seatmate elbows him.

“That’s you, ain’t it? You said you’re a doctor?”

Robby nods. “Yes, I…”

He’s never been in this situation before. Honestly, he’d thought this type of thing only happens in movies and tv shows. His newly made attending physician ID is burning a hole in his pocket as he stands, having to bend awkwardly to get out of his seat. He can’t help noticing the man with the auburn and silver curls standing as well.

Robby heads toward the front, passing through the curtain into first class. He’s never flown first class, and his eyes take in the wider seats, fancier snacks, and flutes of champagne. The other man is standing by the cockpit door, speaking with two flight attendants. Robby approaches, feeling uncertain.

“Can I help you, sir?” The shorter of the attendants, Tracy, asks.

“You called for a doctor,” Robby says.

“Oh, but – ”

“The more the merrier,” the man says in a voice that cuts right through Robby, gravely and warm at the same time. He sticks out a hand. “Jack Abbot. I’m an EM resident.”

Robby takes his hand, pumping it a couple of times before letting go, making a conscious effort not to flex his hand. It should be illegal to smell so good after spending at least half a day traveling. “Robby. I’m an EM attending.”

Abbot whistles. “Lucked out on this flight, ladies.” He gestures toward Robby then himself. “We both work in the ER. Now, what are we looking at?”

The taller attendant, Alex, gestures toward a man slumped in one of the first-class seats. “He’d been complaining of chest pain, and sweating a lot? He asked for a bourbon to take the edge off or something, and then he sort of passed out.”

Abbot nods. “Can we get the kit?”

Tracy opens a cabinet next to her and comes up with a bright red soft vinyl case with a large white cross on each side. She pushes it on Robby, and he follows Abbot over to the man, who appears be coming around, blinking his eyes sluggishly.

“Sir?” Abbot asks. “Sir, can you hear me?”

The man nods, looking up at Abbot blearily.

“Sir, you’re having some kind of medical emergency. I’m Dr. Abbot, this is,” he points his thumb to Robby, “Dr., er, Robby. Are you comfortable with us examining you to see how we can help?”

The man nods again, wincing as he struggles to sit up higher in the seat. “I’m Don.”

“Nice to meet you, Don,” Abbot says pleasantly, like they’ve met by happenstance in the park. “Dr. Robby and I are emergency medicine doctors, so we’re used to dealing with emergencies. We’re going to check you out, see if we can get you feeling better, and then help get you more care when we touch down. That sound good?”

Don nods, then grimaces. “Yeah.”

Abbot smiles softly. “Ok, crack that baby open, Robby.”

Alex and Tracy start herding the other first-class passengers away from them and Robby unzips the case to find diagnostic equipment on one side and a variety of advanced first-aid supplies, along with medications, on the other.

He grabs a stethoscope sealed in a plastic wrap and holds it out for Abbot, who quickly takes it and begins moving the metal disc around Don’s chest. “Normal heart sounds. Can you take a couple of deep breaths for me, Don? Thanks. Good breath sounds bilaterally.”

Robby looks down at his watch, his eye on the second hand as he times the man’s breathing. He’s not quite tachypneic, but his breaths are labored. Next, he measures Don’s heartrate, which is tachycardic, around 110. He slides on the blood pressure cuff, which settles at 97/45.

Abbot pulls the stethoscope earpieces out. “Can you tell me if you feel any pain, and where?”

Don gestures toward his chest. “At first it was sharp pain, like I’d been stabbed, in my chest, and then in my left arm, here.” He points to his upper arm. “Then I felt like I was going to be sick. Then woozy, I guess. I don’t remember anything after that until just now when you came up.”

Abbot nods, his face serious as he loops the stethoscope around his neck. “Do you have any history of heart trouble? Ever been diagnosed with heart disease or angina? Anything like that?”

Don shakes his head and wipes the sweat off his forehead. “No, but I’ve got diabetes. My doctor told me that’s a risk factor or something for heart stuff.”

Abbot hums affirmatively. “I think we should get a look at how your heart’s doing if we got the right equipment in that magical bag Dr. Robby’s got.”

The man could have been on shift in the Pitt, Robby thinks, watching Abbot’s smooth and sure movements, not at all seeming awkward in the confined space of the cabin. Robby feels like he’s suddenly grown two feet bigger, his hands clumsy as he tries to pull out the tablet and leads for the portable ECG. He tries not to dwell on the way that Abbot had easily assumed control of the situation, Robby following his lead, though Abbot’s a resident and Robby’s an attending.

They lean over Don together, helping him unbutton his shirt so they can stick on the leads. Abbot nods at Robby when they’re ready to go, the corner of his mouth tipping up in what Robby thinks of as an encouraging smile. Robby swallows and quickly drops his eyes to the tablet as the results appear from the ECG. He and Abbot step away to confer quietly, not wanting to alarm Don with their differentials.

“It’s not a STEMI,” Robby says, tracing his finger over the ST waves. “Could be unstable angina.”

Abbot hums, crowding close enough that Robby can detect not just his woodsy cologne but his shampoo, which smells citrusy. “My kingdom for a troponin.”

“We should be landing soon,” Robby says. “He shouldn’t have to wait too long to be seen somewhere with actual equipment.”

“Yeah,” Abbot returns softly. “So, for now, I’m thinking nitro sublingually and aspirin?”

“Concur,” Robby says, trying to not let his eyes rest for too long on any one part of Abbot. He crouches to pull out single-use pill packets and hands one each of aspirin and nitroglycerin to Don. He signals to Tracy for some water.

“Is he going to be ok?” she asks, her face full of concern.

“We think so,” Robby replies, glancing at Abbot. “He’ll need to go to the hospital as soon as we land.”

Tracy nods at him. “Ok. We’re actually about to start our descent, so it shouldn’t be too long now.” Her expression turns sheepish. “We’ll need you both to get into seats. But you can sit up here in first-class for this part.”

“As long as there’s no additional charge,” Abbot jokes, his eyes bright as he smiles at Tracy.

She laughs, too, her cheeks flushing. Robby doesn’t know what to do with his hands and bends down to start putting the med kit back in order, hastily handing it off to Tracy to put away.

When he straightens up again, Abbot is standing right in front of him, his hand outstretched. Robby takes it and Abbot quickly moves in to slap his back.

“Excellent job, brother. We make a great team.”

Robby chokes on his spit, coughing a couple times as Jack looks at him with something Robby mistakes for fondness. “Yeah,” he manages to get out. “Uh, pleasure working with you.”

Abbot hums, then turns to sit in the seat behind him. He gestures toward the open seat next to him and Robby sits, trying not to appear reluctant. Alex gets on the intercom to explain that the plane would be descending to Dulles momentarily and that the seatbelt sign is now on.

Abbot leans toward Robby. “So, what are you in DC for?”

Robby bites back a groan. “A conference, actually.”

Abbot’s eyes widen. “Oh, SAEM?” At Robby’s nod, his face breaks into a big smile. “Me, too, man! Wow, small world. You presenting, or?”

“Yeah, on intubations for unstable airways. Airways are, uh, kind of my thing.”

He’s not going to focus on the way Abbot seems impressed. “Wait – what’s your last name?”

“Robinavitch. Robby’s just my nickname, my first name is – ”

“Michael Robinavitch?” Abbot breaks in.

Robby nods.

“Holy shit, man. I’m finishing up my residency at Cook County. You came and gave a presentation on airways last year, I think.”

“Oh, wow, yeah,” Robby says, his head spinning. Had they actually met before? Robby can’t imagine he’d ever forget meeting Abbot.

“Yeah, I had to miss it because they made me cover the ED that day so everyone else could go listen. Isn’t that funny?”

“Funny,” Robby echoes. He doesn’t believe in fate, but this had to be some kind of sign, right? He hasn’t dated anyone in a while, hasn’t been past the one-night-stand phase in forever. Maybe everything is pointing to this being the right time to –

Robby freezes when he processes something that, in the excitement and frantic pace of the medical emergency, he’d just failed to notice. Abbot is wearing a thick silver band on his left hand. Robby mentally kicks himself. Of course, the man is married. He’s probably straight, married to a beautiful woman, with a handful of kids at home.

The plane touches down on the runway and Robby lurches forward, gripping the armrest. Where just a couple of minutes ago, he’d been dreading walking away from Abbot without figuring out a way to prolong their interaction, now he just wants to be alone.

Because they both still have belongings in economy, Robby and Abbot stay in first class as the rest of the passengers file out. The flight crew had radioed ahead about the medical emergency, so there are EMTs waiting at the gate to get Don on his way to the nearest hospital. They each wish him well after explaining what they’d done to the paramedics.

When the rest of the passengers have deplaned, Robby and Abbot make their way to their assigned seats. Robby scoops up his copy of Camus, stuffed in the seatback pocket, and grabs his messenger bag, grateful that everything is still there. Of course, because they’ve both got checked bags, Robby and Abbot end up making the same journey, though the silence between them is comfortable.

As they stand in the baggage claim area next to the carousel, Robby notices Abbot wince. “Can’t wait to get off my leg,” he says, leaning down a little to massage just below his right knee. At Robby’s raised eyebrow, Abbot sends him a rueful look and pulls up his pant leg a couple of inches to show the titanium ankle joint. “Gift from an IED overseas.”

Robby quickly schools his features. “Ouch,” he says intelligently.

Abbot snorts. “Yep, that’s about the size of it. Flights suck, with the altitude shifts. But at least this one gave me something else to focus on.”

Robby isn’t sure how to take that, unable to look away from the glint of the silver band on his hand. But then Abbot’s open perusal of Robby, the way his eyes travel down the length of his body and back up to his face, makes Robby’s palms sweaty, and he knows his cheeks must be a dark pink with how hot they feel.

“Oh, this one’s mine,” Abbot says, walking a couple of steps forward to pull a large camo backpack off the carousel. He turns to Robby. “Well. It really was a pleasure, man. I’d work an in-flight med emergency with you any day.”

Robby laughs, nodding. “Sure. Well, I hope I never have to do that again. But, you know. If I had to. I’d hope you were there with me.”

Abbot meets his eyes and Robby can tell there’s something lurking in there, something warm and wanting. Robby looks away first, holding out his hand. Jack takes his, one side of his mouth tipped up.

“Hope I see you again, Robby.”

“Take care, Abbot.”

***

Robby doesn’t think about Abbot in the taxi on the way to the Hilton. He doesn’t think about the man when he’s checking in, doesn’t wonder if he’s also staying at the conference hotel, doesn’t imagine the myriad ways they could run into each other: in line at the hotel coffee shop, in the hallway between sessions, in the audience of a panel, at the hotel pool.

That last one is particularly ridiculous – Robby hasn’t even brought any swim trunks.

The next morning, Robby travels downstairs to the conference check-in spot. He smiles at the student volunteer, accepting his lanyard and program book, complimentary tote bag stuffed with cheap swag from pharma companies.

Robby finds a spot near the coffee shop – where he does not see Abbot – to sit and page through the conference program, sketching out his daily schedule for attending talks. His own presentation isn’t until tomorrow, so he’s got the full day to see any panels he wants.

He almost skims right past it. But his eye catches on the name, “J. Abbot, M.D.,” in italics below a panel on combat medicine techniques in urban emergency departments, among a couple of other doctors and nurses. The panel is in a few hours. Robby debates with himself whether or not to go.

It would be silly to pass up an opportunity to learn something, wouldn’t it? Having never had any military experience himself, nor worked with anyone who did, Robby is curious about what kind of techniques might translate. He fits it into his mental schedule for the day and finishes his coffee, before heading toward the room for the first talk he wants to see, on effective teaching techniques for MS3 clinical skills.

By the afternoon, Robby has managed to hit most of the talks he’d wanted to see. One had been cancelled, and he’d missed another due to being consistently flagged down in the hotel hallway. He has a great sense of ambivalence with this part of attending conferences: it’s always good to see how friends from med school or residency are doing, but it can get exhausting to listen to others’ tales of advancement, marriages, children.

While Robby is proud of his attending position at a Level 1 trauma center, he feels a twinge of embarrassment every time he has to admit that, no, he’s not seeing anyone, and no, he doesn’t have kids, either. It always makes him think of his grandmother and the hopeful look on her face when she’d ask him whether he’d met anyone yet.

Robby files into the Lincoln West room, medium-sized with seating for maybe 100. He’s ten minutes early, but there aren’t many empty chairs left, and several people are already standing along the back wall. Robby is able to squeeze down the third row to get the last open spot in the front half. He folds his arms and crosses his legs so he doesn’t take up so much space and regrets going for a seat at all.

His attention is drawn to the dais at the front and to Abbot, standing there in a dark forest green suit. He’s talking to a Black man, smiling and gesturing with his hands. Robby isn’t sure how it’s possible for him to look even better than he had the day before, even under the fluorescent lighting.

Abbot’s auburn curls are arranged around his head in a way that suggests either meticulous care or haphazard negligence. The suit jacket shows off the breadth of his shoulders and the trousers must have steel woven in them to fit around Abbot’s thighs without popping a seam. Robby desperately wishes he’d thought to bring along a water bottle.

When it’s his turn to talk, Abbot launches into a story of having to resort to a cricothyrotomy for a soldier who’d been hit with shrapnel. It had been night, and Abbot’s unit had still been taking fire.

“I know that those aren’t the typical working conditions of your standard ED. At least, I hope they’re not,” Abbot says with a sort of self-deprecating smile, drawing laughter from the crowd.

There’s no other word for it than charming, the way that Abbot spins his anecdotes, detailed enough for the audience to feel like they know what had happened, but not too much so that they have complicated feelings about it. He seamlessly connects the fast pace and quick thinking needed in combat medicine with high-traffic EDs and makes a strong argument for more training simulations under high-stress conditions. He ends with a plug to strongly consider hiring more vets, which allows him to smoothly transition to the next speaker, who will discuss medical education programs built to accommodate combat medic training.

When Abbot sits after his section of the talk, he accepts a fist bump from the man he’d been chatting with earlier. He takes several long drinks from a water bottle resting near his feet and stretches out his leg. Robby realizes that it’s the leg with the prosthesis and doesn’t examine how his stomach rolls over that he’s likely one of only a few people here who would know that.

He hadn’t been looking at Abbot for more than a minute, maybe two at the absolute most, when their eyes meet. Robby wouldn’t have thought that Abbot could actually see individual people in the audience, either from the lighting or from the distance. But he feels Abbot’s gaze like a physical touch and his cheeks go warm when the corners of Abbot’s mouth tip up. He maintains eye contact with Robby for another minute or two before Robby breaks it, his eyes falling to the floor as he lets out a soft huff.

After that, Robby determinedly avoids any glance at the dais. He’s not stupid. He knows it’s probably just that type of quick-forming bond that happens when two people go through something urgent and a little scary and come out victorious on the other side. But something about this also feels dangerous, like he’s swum out too far from the shore and there’s a rip current that can drag him out to sea without warning.

The applause around him signals the end of the talk, and Robby feels his cheeks heat up again when he realizes he doesn’t remember anything of the last twenty minutes. He’d been so focused on not looking at Abbot, he’d missed the rest of the panel. Hopefully, he can sneak out of the room and be on his way.

“Robby!”

Fuck.

Robby’s too close to the front and there are too many people around for him to blow off the call. So he takes a deep breath and steps out of the stream of attendees leaving through the double doors. Abbot is coming toward him with the man he’d been speaking with earlier, who he introduces as Tom Westmore.

“You’re Robinavitch?” Westmore asks. At Robby’s nod, he says, “We just read your paper on unstable airways and crike alternatives in the ED conference at Hennepin County a couple weeks ago. My attending, Susan Greene, really liked it.”

“Oh, well…”

Abbot smiles. “Don’t praise him too much, Tom. Robby gets shy.”

An embarrassing strangled kind of noise falls out of Robby’s mouth and his brow furrows. Abbot’s expression is teasing, his lips lifted into a smirk. Westmore looks at Abbot, one eyebrow raised, but he doesn’t remark.

“Hey, Robby, you wanna get a drink with us at the hotel bar? We’re meeting some people for dinner in a little while, but we – ”

“Oh, no, that’s all right,” Robby interrupts. “I have, er, plans tonight. But thank you. Now, I need to head off. Great panel!” He waves and makes a quick exit, following the remaining audience members out the doors. As he turns to walk down the hallway, he allows himself a glance over his shoulder, to see Abbot and Westmore speaking, their heads tipped together, Abbot’s hands gesturing. He has no idea what that’s about, but it’s probably better that way.

Robby opts to go up to his room and catch a nap rather than stay for the final presentation he’d planned to see. He wakes feeling refreshed, or at least, rested enough to tackle his own dinner plans. Adamson had charged him with the obligation of connecting with some of his colleagues – ED and surgical chiefs and seniors at other Level 1 trauma centers – and Robby is unwilling to disappoint him.

Two hours later, he finds himself in the corner of a table in a dimly lit restaurant, listening to two senior attending surgeons debating the best way to remove an appendix. He sorely wishes he could imbibe more alcohol to make the evening less painful, but he doesn’t want to get a reputation as someone who drinks too much, so he confines himself to one glass of wine. As soon as the opportunity to beg off presents itself, he takes it, feeling as though he’s honored Adamson’s wishes.

It’s a little after 2100 when he returns to the hotel. Not feeling like going to bed just yet, Robby decides to indulge in just one drink at the bar first. It’s doing a brisk business with so many conference-goers and Robby just barely manages to snag an empty bar stool after he orders a bourbon, neat.

He’s sipping on the drink when he feels a hand at his back and the warm presence of someone behind him. At first he doesn’t really react, knowing how crowded the space is. But when the body doesn’t move, he looks over his shoulder.

Of course, it’s Abbot, waving his hand to flag down one of the bartenders.

“Looks like we can get that drink after all,” Abbot says, his smile sharper than Robby has seen before.

Robby just hums, taking another sip, watching the attractive female bartender approach them.

“Hey, how’re you doing? Can I get an Irish whiskey, neat and chilled?”

The woman is subjected to an Abbot smile with dimples, and she fumbles the rocks glass. She pulls down a bottle and Jack nods at it, apparently liking what he sees. The bartender pours whiskey and ice into a shaker glass, stirs it around several times, then pours it into the rocks glass, sliding it toward Abbot with a shy smile of her own.

Robby expects Abbot to flirt a little with her, maybe try for her number. But instead, he turns and angles his body toward Robby’s, taking a slow drink from his glass. Robby briefly wonders if Abbot already has a partner lined up for the night, but quickly pushes that thought away, not liking the way his stomach twists at it.

“How were your plans tonight?” Abbot asks after there are a couple of moments of silence between them.

Robby lets out a soft groan on reflex before he clamps his mouth shut. Abbot laughs loudly, drawing some attention from nearby patrons. His hazel eyes squint and sparkle, his wide smile shows his teeth, slightly crooked. Robby has to look away.

“That bad, huh?”

Robby opens his mouth, then closes it. “Dinner with people I’d never met before, trying to fake interest in what they were saying, as a favor to someone important in my life.” He shrugs. “Could have been worse, I suppose.”

Abbot hums, taking another sip of his whiskey. “That’s how it is at these conferences, though, isn’t it? Networking and glad-handing. Trying to get a leg up.” He smirks. “If you can spare one.”

Robby huffs a laugh in disbelief, that Abbot would make an amputee joke just like that. Then his cheeks warm at the idea that Robby’s included in this kind of dark-humored joke. When he glances back at Abbot, he finds the other man watching him, an unreadable look in his eyes. Abbot opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, another man stops next to them.

“Jack Abbot?”

The man is tall and fills out the suit he’s wearing very well. His olive skin and wavy black hair give him sort of a mysterious air, combined with the stubble lining his cheeks that could have been cut from marble. Robby falls into the trap of comparing himself to this stranger, though it’s silly. It’s not a contest and Abbot’s unlikely to play for his team. Robby suspects he’d lose the contest, anyway. He takes a big swallow of his bourbon, finishing the glass.

“I’m Jordan Minelli. I’m an attending at Flagstaff MC. Caught your talk earlier, well done.” 

He’s not sure what it is about this guy, but Robby has a growing urge to punch him in his perfect face. Minelli has sort of insinuated himself between Robby and Abbot, shouldering close to the bar so that he’s effectively blocking Robby from seeing Abbot. Robby narrows his eyes at the back of a dark blue suit jacket that may or may not be Armani.

“Awesome, man, glad you came,” Abbot responds.

It’s a rather rote answer. Robby doesn’t detect any note of interest, any invitation for more conversation. There are a couple of beats of silence before Minelli continues, his tone now verging on uncertain.

“Well, uh, yes. Just wanted to say – ”

“Really appreciate it, man,” Abbot says warmly and it’s like Robby can hear the pleasant smile in the words. “Have a great night.”

“You… too,” Minelli says and then he’s slicing through the crowd away from them.

Robby watches him disappear into the crush of people, his brow furrowing. He could almost guarantee that Minelli had been trying to hit on Abbot, but Abbot had blown him off. He mentally scolds himself. Another piece of – very compelling – evidence that Abbot is straight. Straight and in no way interested in Robby.

“So what was so terrible about this dinner?” Jack asks, picking up the thread of the conversation they were having like they’d never been interrupted.

“Picture a table full of senior attendings and chiefs debating over their preferences for minute surgical techniques and me, only willing to drink one glass of Merlot.”

Jack snickers, taking another sip, and waves his hand, encouraging Robby to continue. More than an hour later, plus another drink each for them, Robby eyes his watch and knows that he should head upstairs if he wants to attempt to get a reasonable amount of sleep for the next day. He’s reluctant to leave the bar, though. It’s only gotten busier since he’d arrived and he and Abbot are practically pressed together, Abbot still perpendicular to Robby.

“I really should call it a night,” Robby says, hoping he doesn’t sound like a kid whining about his bedtime.

Abbot doesn’t immediately respond. His eyes seem to dip down, like they’re catching on Robby’s mouth, before they bounce back up to meet Robby’s gaze.

“Couldn’t convince you to join me for a night cap, could I?”

It feels like time freezes for a second as Robby overanalyzes the question. Just a friendly drink, surely? There’s no way Abbot would be inviting him up to his room for sex, right? Robby doesn’t think he can take the ambiguity. He wants to believe in the possibility that this attraction is mutual, but he’s also not the man he was in med school, capable of brushing off only a few hours’ sleep and working a double.

So he steels himself and says, “I appreciate the offer… truly. But I’m presenting tomorrow and I need to at least try to get some sleep tonight.”

Abbot takes Robby’s response in stride, a smile stretching his lips. “We need you well-rested for tomorrow, don’t we? Presenting on unstable airways, right?”

Robby nods, sliding off the bar stool. They’re close enough that if Robby pushed his chest out just a couple of inches, he’d surely graze against Abbot’s.

“I had a nice time,” Robby says, not quite sure why he’d dropped his voice in octave and volume.

“Me, too,” Abbot says, offering his hand.

Robby takes it and they shake. Abbot gives a sharp tug and brings Robby in for a one-handed back pat.

“Sweet dreams, Robby,” he says, that dimpled smile on his face, that unreadable look in his eyes.

Robby just nods, not trusting his voice anymore. He regrets every step to the elevator and finds himself lying awake for at least another two hours, wondering what could have happened if he’d had the balls to take Abbot up on his offer.

***

Robby waves to Abbot in the hallway the next morning. They run into each other in line for coffee, Abbot two people ahead of Robby. They’re on opposite sides of the room for a panel on fentanyl overdoses. Robby’s starting to wonder if they’re drawn together by some kind of magnetic energy. Or if Abbot is somehow reading Robby’s mind about what he’s going to do next, or –

“Your presentation’s in twenty minutes, right?”

Robby looks up to see Abbot standing in front of him, wearing a more casual outfit of khakis and a dark brown polo shirt. It’s almost unfair how well the color combination brings out the brown tones in his eyes, sets off his auburn hair.

“Yep.” He stands, stretching his lower back.

Abbot falls into place next to Robby as he makes his way down the hallway toward Washington East, where his session is. He tries not to pay attention to the head turns and double-takes that sprinkle around them, no doubt due to Abbot.

“You get nervous before a talk?” Abbot asks as they pause outside the door.

“Not usually. Today, I don’t know,” Robby isn’t looking at Abbot, so he flinches a little when he feels a hand come down on his shoulder.

“You’ll do great, Mike. Just take a deep breath and pretend like you’re telling me all about it.”

Robby opens his mouth to say something to that, but his tongue seems stuck to the roof of his mouth. Abbot winks at Robby and his hand slips off Robby’s shoulder to trail down his chest before he turns and follows the trickle of conference attendees into the room. Robby shakes himself out of whatever stupor he’d fallen into and approaches the front of the room, nodding politely and shaking hands with the other presenters.

It’s the first time he’s given this talk, trying to mix up his usual case studies and technique explanations with recent patients he’s had alongside a few cases shared with him from some international colleagues. It’s not his usual style and he feels butterflies for the first time in a long time.

His eyes somehow find Abbot in the audience, and the butterflies take on a different meaning. But he takes a deep breath and pretends that it’s just him and Abbot, that this is just a story he’s telling to the other man, over a drink, maybe. Before he knows it, his presentation is over and the audience are clapping enthusiastically. Abbot is beaming at him from the second row. Robby takes a shaky breath, but it doesn’t have much to do with the presentation.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” Abbot says the minute they’re reunited after the session is over.

Robby scratches the back of his neck. He’d planned on a quiet night, dinner alone, and then an early bedtime, with his morning flight back to Pittsburgh.

“You don’t have other plans, other people waiting?”

Abbot scoffs. “Is that a no?”

Robby blinks. “No?”

An expression that makes Robby immediately think of the Cheshire cat blooms on Abbot’s face.

“Meet me in the lobby in two hours. I’m thinking sushi tonight.”

An older white woman flags Abbot down and he gives Robby another wink before rearranging his face into something more suitable for a professional space as he walks over to her.

Robby doesn’t panic.

Well, he doesn’t panic much. He takes one of the longest showers he can remember having in a long time, being as thorough as possible. It’s not that he expects anything to happen tonight, but, well, he’d rather be safe than sorry. He stands in front of the bathroom mirror, contemplating his beard for an embarrassing amount of time. He waffles over what to wear, even though he doesn’t have many choices from his luggage. He goes with his backup button-down shirt in a burgundy with his dark wash jeans he’d worn on the flight in.

Abbot is waiting when he gets down to the lobby, wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows. He’s also wearing dark jeans that cling to his thighs. Robby isn’t sure whether or not he’s supposed to look until Abbot notices him and Robby watches as Abbot’s eyes travel slowly up and down his body. He swallows, his mouth suddenly dry.

“The place I’m thinking of is in Adams Morgan. You ok with a cab ride?”

Robby nods, standing close enough to be able to count the freckles across Abbot’s cheeks. “Yeah, that’s fine. I don’t know the city that well.”

Abbot smirks. “I spent a couple of months here, doing rehab after my leg.”

“Lead the way,” Robby says, gesturing with his hand.

Abbot’s smile gets sharper and Robby feels a shiver run down his spine, but neither say anything as they walk out to the curb. Abbot easily hails a taxi and before long, they’re getting out in front of a place called Perry’s.

“Two for Abbot,” Abbot says to the hostess when they get inside.

Robby’s face must show his surprise. Abbot shrugs, appearing nonchalant, but Robby can see a little tightness around his eyes.

“I figured I could always cancel it if I needed to.”

Robby hums. “When did you make it?”

Abbot suddenly finds the color of his shoes fascinating.

“Jack,” Robby says, taking a chance at using his first name.

Jack’s eyes snap up to meet his and the corner of his mouth tips up. “Yesterday.” He clears his throat and says much quieter, “Morning.”

Robby feels like he’s just been dipped in a warm bath at the idea of Jack planning for them to go out to dinner before they’d even seen each other again after the plane. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but the hostess comes back with menus and shows them to a table.

“Mind if we do the sushi and sashimi for two?” Jack asks, his eyes quickly scanning the menu. “I like going with the chef’s selections.”

Robby nods, sliding his menu across the table. “Sure. Been a while since I had sushi like this.” He waves his hand to encompass the expensive décor, the top-shelf liquor at the bar, the prices on the menu.

Jack hums, dropping his menu on top of Robby’s. “Just a shame that we couldn’t catch a drag brunch. They’re kind of famous for that.”

Their eyes meet just as the server arrives to take their drink order. Robby opts for just water and Jack follows suit before putting in the meal order.

“So you’re a senior resident at Cook County?”

Jack nods. “Almost finished with my last year. I have a couple applications in for a fellowship, but I haven’t heard back yet.”

Robby nods. “What kind of specializations?”

Jack shrugs. “Medical toxicology, gynecology, pain medicine. Put in an app for a new wilderness medicine fellowship in Denver.”

Robby whistles. “Wait, wilderness medicine? Like, search and rescue stuff?”

“Yeah. Felt pretty translatable from combat medicine, you know? Rendering aid with whatever you’ve got in your pack or what you can scrounge up around you.”

Robby narrows his eyes at Jack. “You’re one of those guys who likes getting dropped in the middle of the woods with just a, what is it, Ka-Bar knife?”

Jack wrinkles his nose. “I was a soldier, not a marine.”

Robby waves his hand. “Oh, my apologies, sir, I didn’t realize that was a meaningful distinction.”

“Oh-ho, you better not say that to anyone in the Corps,” Jack says, chuckling. “But, as it happens, I do like to go camping. Like to take supplies with me, though. I’m not that good at dressing meat.”

There’s a joke in there somewhere, but Robby lets it go. Their food arrives and they spend several minutes sampling from the tray of beautifully arranged sashimi, nigiri, and maki. Robby can’t help the soft moans of satisfaction as he tastes everything, Jack sending him knowing looks after each one.

Once they’ve eaten through half the platter, Jack picks up the conversation again. “You do a fellowship?”

Robby shakes his head. “No, I, uh, I was at Big Charity for my residency.”

There’s a pause before Jack says, “Oh.”

“I actually got hired on as an attending once I finished my residency, but then, well.”

“Katrina,” Jack finishes and Robby nods in acknowledgement.

“I’ve wondered sometimes, if I should have done one. But I was restless to get the training wheels off, you know? And then after the storm hit, I felt pretty solid on my choice, because I could just go and help.”

Jack nods, swallowing the last piece of nigiri. “I know what you mean. I felt that when I was a medic. I had to enlist.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Grew up in Appalachia. But I was a sergeant by the time of my last tour, and I was it, you know, the buck stopped with me. I liked that.” He gives Robby a rueful smile. “I did not like feeling like I was back to square one when I came back to the States to continue my education.”

“Yet you want to do a fellowship instead of going right to an attending job?”

Jack huffs. “These last few months have been, uh. Difficult. To be honest, Mike, I’m not sure if I want to be an attending. Not in a traditional hospital setting.”

Robby reaches across the table and brushes his fingers against Jack’s arm. “I’m sorry. That things have been hard.”

Jack gives him an intense look, like he’s trying to look deep into Robby, trying to figure something out. Robby isn’t sure what he finds, or whether it helps. Jack looks away and gives a short nod. Robby’s eyes fall unwillingly to the thick ring Jack wears on his left hand. He wants to ask, desperately, but he’s so afraid to hear the answer.

He’s been mostly successful at blocking out the possibility that going to bed with Jack will mean helping Jack to cheat, that he’ll be the other man, or whatever. So far, Robby’s assuaged his guilt by reminding himself that he’s had plenty of one-night stands over the years and who’s to say whether any of those partners were in relationships? Robby could have already filled the role of the other man without knowing it. It may be logical but it doesn’t fully cover the sour feeling in Robby’s stomach when his eyes catch on the ring, like a thorn snagging on a piece of cloth.

Jack diverts them from heavier emotions. “What was the best session you saw at the conference?”

Robby thinks back to the panels and presentations he’s seen. He and Jack talk about the high points along with some of the more amusing gaffes, like the presenter who’d loaded an entirely different slide deck for his talk and hadn’t ever seemed to notice.

The server brings the check, and Robby can’t believe how long they’ve been sitting and talking. He practically pounces on the bill, mumbling something about how he’s an attending, and trying not to smile when he sees Jack’s cheeks darkening into a pretty blush.

They don’t talk much in the taxi back to the hotel. Robby isn’t sure he could carry a conversation anyway, with how his blood seems to be pounding in his ears and he’s struggling to keep his breathing even. As he steps out of the cab, he’s grateful for the brief gust of wind that whips his hair around. It’s calming and centering and he needs that as he opens his mouth.

“Couldn’t convince you to join me for a night cap, could I?”

Robby can see the way Jack sharply inhales. He can see the tip of Jack’s tongue when it slides across his lower lip to wet it. If there were enough light outside, he might be able to see Jack’s eyes and how maybe the pupils have dilated a little.

“Maybe just one,” Jack responds, his voice coming out raspy.

The ride up in the elevator is silent. They both lean against the back railing, inches apart, but each lost in their own thoughts. Robby is out first, leading Jack around the corner to the end of the hall. It’s a long trip, which does nothing to calm his nerves, but affords some privacy and quiet. The mechanical whirring of the door lock disengaging is deafening, and Robby swings the door open, holding it behind him for Jack to enter.

He’s in the process of turning, having just let go of the door, about to actually offer an overpriced drink from the minibar when Robby feels the wind knocked out of him as he’s shoved up against the wall. His eyes wide, he looks down at Jack’s who’s got one hand splayed across Robby’s chest, his eyes focused on Robby’s mouth.

“Better say now if this isn’t what you want,” he says roughly.

Robby answers him by angling his face down and pressing his mouth to Jack’s. They both moan. Robby tastes the sushi and something sweet, like Jack had somehow managed to suck on a hard candy or chew a piece of gum on the way to the hotel. He begins to feel self-conscious about what his own breath is like, but Jack moans again, pressing a leg in between Robby’s thighs, and up, hard, against Robby’s thickening dick.

Now that he can, Robby threads his fingers through Jack’s curls, one hand sliding around to cup the back of Jack’s neck. In response, Jack sweeps his tongue into Robby’s mouth, stroking it along Robby’s own tongue in a move that seems both practiced and desperate. Robby doesn’t want the kiss to end, wants to keep breathing in Jack’s spicy cologne, the faint smell of sweat underneath, and Jack’s own unique scent. But he also wants to see what’s underneath Jack’s clothes.

He gently pulls back from the kiss, laying soft pecks on Jack’s lips until there’s some space between them. Their chests are both heaving, bumping up against each other. Jack’s hands have drifted down to Robby’s waist, his body fitting so nicely against Robby’s.

“The bed,” Robby says.

He points, hoping he’s getting his point across, his mind swirling with lust and the sounds Jack’s making low in his throat.

“Yeah,” Jack agrees.

Robby doesn’t miss the way that his gait is slightly more lop-sided. He frowns, wondering whether his leg is hurting. Jack sits on the edge of the bed, exhaling as he drops onto the mattress. Yep, it sure looks like he’s feeling some pain.

“I want to suck your dick, is that ok?” Robby asks, his eyes now dropping to the sizeable lump at the crotch of Jack’s jeans.

“Fuck, yes, you can do whatever you want to me, darlin’.”

And that’s how Robby learns that Jack’s Appalachian accent comes out stronger when he’s distracted.

Robby kneels in front of Jack’s spread legs, glad that his joints are cooperating for now. He smooths his hands up Jack’s knees and over his thighs, his eyes fixed on his destination. He slowly unbuttons Jack’s jeans, easing the zipper down. He may make a low sound in the back of his throat as the jeans give way to a pair of briefs and the hard flesh straining underneath.

After a quick glance up to Jack’s face, Jack raises his hips slightly to allow Robby to grip the waist of his jeans and slide them over Jack’s hips. He’s careful as he pulls them over Jack’s prosthesis. Jack doesn’t move to take it off, so Robby doesn’t touch it, but he doesn’t shy away from stroking his residual limb either, mirroring the touches on his other leg.

He reaches up a hand to palm at Jack’s erection, drawing a deep sigh out the man. Jack plants his hands on the mattress behind him and leans back, his eyes scanning over Robby and his progress. Robby tugs the waistband of Jack’s boxer briefs down so that his cock can spring out over it.

“What – ”

“Oh, right,” Jack says, his tone flippant, but Robby can see that sparkle in his eye.

He drops his own eyes back down to Jack’s cock, almost fully hard now, and sporting a thick black titanium captive bead ring through his meatus. His stomach does a somersault and he wonders what that would feel like inside his hole.

“When did you get this?”

Jack shrugs, looking very much like the cat that ate the canary. “It was a dare back when I was in the Army.”

“I’m assuming you lost?”

“Least I didn’t have to get a tattoo on my dick.”

Robby cringes at that idea.

“Hey, hey, weren’t you gonna suck my dick there, sugar?”

Robby snorts at the pet name, but he also licks his lips and leans forward. He wraps a hand around the base of Jack’s cock, aiming it toward his face. While it’s only about six inches long, it’s thick, and Robby feels the stretch in his mouth as he gets the head inside. The ring bumps up against the roof of his mouth and Jack hisses. Robby tries to apologize with Jack’s dick still in his mouth, but it mostly comes out as a humming sound, and Jack hisses for probably a different reason.

It’s an adjustment, trying to bob his head up and down without being too rough on the piercing. He’s never been with a guy who’s got a Prince Albert. The thick gauge of the ring fits the thickness of Jack’s shaft, and the titanium stands out against the flushed head. Robby works at it until he can just feel the coarse hairs surrounding the base of Jack’s cock tickling his nose, lapping up the pre-cum that’s started dripping from the tip each time he pulls back to suck on the head.

“Ok, ok, ok,” Jack mutters. “I don’t want to blow my load just yet.”

Robby pulls off, panting a little. His lips are tingling from the stretch. He licks the last of Jack’s pre-cum off of them.

“Pretty as a picture,” Jack says, taking Robby’s chin in one hand and running his thumb along Robby’s puffy lower lip. “Why don’t you come up here and join me?”

Robby goes to stand, but then nods toward Jack’s leg. “You want to get more comfortable?”

Jack pauses and Robby worries he’s overstepped. Jack’s perfectly capable of determining his own pain tolerance, and he probably wouldn’t want to be without his prosthesis or any other mobility aids. When Jack bends over slightly to release the catch on his prosthesis, Robby resolves not to make a big deal about it.

“Can I help with anything, or?”

Jack grunts, leaning the prosthesis up against the bedside table. “I could use a damp washcloth.”

Robby stands, wincing as the blood begins returning to his lower legs and heads into the bathroom. While he’s in there, he has a flash of insight and rummages around in his dop kit until he finds the travel-size bottle of lube he’d stuck in there a couple of years before, just in case he finds himself wanting to jerk himself to sleep or something.

He returns to the bed with the washcloth, not missing the small smirk on Jack’s face when he catches sight of the lube. Having removed his sock and liner, Jack rubs down his residual limb with the washcloth at an efficient pace before tossing it toward the wall, out of the way, and shucking off his underwear, followed by his shirt.

Robby sucks in a breath, finally catching sight of Jack fully nude. He could be a fucking still life model. His thighs look even thicker without pants, and his biceps and shoulders could have been sculpted from an artist’s clay. The wide expanse of his chest is dusted lightly with hair but crowded with freckles. Robby wants to get his hands and his mouth on Jack’s tits.

“You plannin’ to join me, or just watch?” Jack asks, using his hands to slide back toward the headboard, and stacking up pillows behind his back.

Robby practically tears at his clothes, his waning erection plumping back up as he peels away layers. By the time he’s dropping his own underwear to the ground, it’s Jack’s turn to suck in a breath, his mouth falling open just a little as he takes in Robby’s dick.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “Now I’m feeling a little intimidated.”

Robby snorts, climbing onto the bed and over to Jack’s body. “I’m sure you’ve had partners with bigger dicks than mine.”

“Seeing as how you’re the first one, no, not really.”

Jack’s eyes widen with the admission, and Robby’s brain does a hard restart. “I’m sorry,” he says, holding a hand up, “you’ve never been with a man before?”

Jack presses his lips together and shrugs one shoulder. “You know, I’ve looked. And I was in the Army, I’ve seen a lot of dicks. But, I, uh, just haven’t, well.”

The idea of being Jack’s first male partner threatens to end Robby’s side of the evening in very short order. He surges forward, shoving a hand into Jack’s curls at the back of his head as he presses his lips to Jack’s, moaning when Jack opens his mouth to let Robby push his tongue inside.

When they break from the kiss, they’re both sufficiently wound up again. “It’s perfectly fine,” Robby says, probably sounding like a health teacher subbing in for sex ed.

Jack huffs a laugh and presses another kiss to Robby’s temple. “Is it ok if I’m on my back, like this?”

Robby nods. “Yes. Absolutely. Actually,” he looks down at where Jack’s dick is standing up against his belly, “I’d love to ride you, if that’s ok.”

There’s a low growling sound and Jack nods. “Yeah, very ok. Can I prep you?”

“I mean, if you want to – ”

“Oh, I want to,” Jack interrupts. “I love this part. But, uh, you’re gonna have to turn around, darlin’, so I can see.”

Heat races down Robby’s spine as he understands the implications of what Jack’s saying. He’s going to need to, what, present himself? Push his ass into Jack’s face so he can finger him open? Robby’s about to tell Jack that he can do this part himself when he feels a gentle slap on his thigh.

“You’re thinkin’ too much. Turn around and get on your knees. Trust me, I love doing this.”

Robby feels a spike of shame that sinks in his stomach like a stone. But he does what Jack asks, straddling his thighs backward and leaning forward. He’s extremely grateful that he’d taken such a long and thorough shower before dinner.

Jack hums behind him. “Boy, now this is a pretty hole.”

Robby tries not to jump too much when he feels Jack’s fingers in his crease. They’re a little wet, probably from Jack’s spit, and Robby has to bite back a groan at that visual. He feels a slap on his ass.

“Let me hear it. Don’t go quiet on me now.”

Robby groans low and then much higher when he feels not Jack’s fingers, but his mouth, against his cheek. Jack bites at his ass, then soothes with his tongue. He lays light kisses against Robby’s rim before he starts to lap at it, long strokes with the flat of his tongue. Robby couldn’t stay quiet even if his life depends on it, eventually sinking down to rest on his forearms as Jack licks slowly into his hole.

He forces his eyes open again when he realizes he’s squeezed them shut. Right in his eyeline is Jack’s thick cock, twitching each time Jack rumbles into Robby’s crease as he eats Robby out, the black ring shivering along with it. Robby doesn’t notice his mouth has fallen open, thinking about getting that cock inside of him, until he sees a line of spit fall out of his mouth.

Jack makes a high sound and his hips squirm. “Did you just… drool on me?”

“Uh,” Robby can’t quite make a coherent sentence, as Jack had started pressing a finger into his hole alongside his tongue.

“Fuck,” Jack grunts, thrusting the finger deeper inside Robby.

Robby’s lost to the pleasure of Jack playing with his body, murmuring terms of endearment and praise, until Robby thinks his entire head and torso probably resemble a giant tomato. Jack had laid his hand on the bottle of lube at some point, adding that to his spit to ease additional fingers into Robby. He’s worked up to three fingers when he pulls out, tapping Robby’s hip.

“Ok, baby doll, I got a seat just for you.”

Robby clumsily shuffles his body to face toward Jack now, shaking his head. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Doing what, sugar pie?”

“That’s not even a real thing people say.”

Jack snorts, his grin giving him away. “C’mon, look at that blush. You’re adorable.” Jack runs his palms over Robby’s thighs. “Wait. Do you have a condom?”

Robby freezes and his stomach drops. “Shit.”

Jack sinks back against the pillow, his head tipping up to look at the ceiling. He inhales deeply and exhales slowly as Robby conducts some quick calculations on how quickly one of them could procure a condom without totally spoiling the mood.

“Ok,” Jack says, dropping his head to face Robby again. “It’s actually… it’s been a while for me. And I’ve been tested since.”

Robby presses his lips together and then says, “I got tested last month. Haven’t been with anyone since. Or, well, a bit before then, too.” He feels a need to repay Jack for his vulnerability.

They stare at each other silently, like they’re waiting for the other to exclaim what a stupid idea it would be to fuck raw and they’re goddamn doctors and… And Robby sees out of the corner of his eye that Jack is slowly reaching for the bottle of lube, while still maintaining eye contact. Robby hears him slick up his dick. Robby raises himself up on his knees and then he’s sinking down until he feels the titanium ring brushing against his rim.

“Yeah?” Jack asks softly.

Robby winds his arms around Jack’s neck and slowly presses down, exhaling as he feels the head of Jack’s cock pop inside of him. “Yeah.”

Jack groans and gets his hands on Robby’s hips and though Robby isn’t quite sure what he’d expected, Jack turns out not to be a passive participant, despite Robby being astride him. He uses his grip on Robby to shove him down onto his cock once Robby has worked it all the way inside him with careful pulses.

“Fuck, you feel amazing, Mike,” Jack says, his arms sliding around Robby’s back to tip him close enough for their chests to touch.

“Yeah, yeah,” Robby breathes out. “That ring is amazing.” He can feel it gently scraping his walls, teasing his prostate every time it brushes by.

“Shit, it’s been a while for me.” Jack’s face is flushed and a sheen of sweat is breaking out on his forehead.

“You already told me that.”

Robby smiles then groans when Jack slaps his ass. “I was saying it by way of apology for how fast this is going to be over.”

“Well, then you better get a hand on my cock, big guy, so I can come before you fill me up.”

Jack growls against Robby’s neck, getting his teeth on the skin there, sucking a mark into it. He squeezes a hand between them and wraps it around Robby’s dick, giving him just enough pressure. Jack strokes him in long passes, using his pre-cum to slick his hand.

“You’re like a faucet, dripping so much for me.”

“Yeah, sorry. Kinda messy.”

“Oh, don’t apologize, sweetheart. So hot.”

Robby grinds his hips down when he next makes contact with Jack’s thighs, pushing Jack’s dick deeper still inside of him. They both groan and Robby feels a delicious heat licking like flames at the base of his spine.

“Fuck, I’m really close,” he says, squeezing his eyes closed.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” he hears Jack murmur.

Robby doesn’t consider himself to be coward. He didn’t cry when his mother left, barely lets out a sound on roller coasters, and the handful of times his friends have pressured him to go to one, he’s walked point through Halloween haunted houses.

But there’s something terrifying about Jack’s request here. Robby isn’t sure he wants Jack to be able to look into his eyes right now, not sure what might be lurking there. He musters up the courage anyway when he feels a brush of lips against his cheek, out of surprise more than anything else, maybe.

“There we go,” Jack says softly, the hand not on Robby’s cock smoothing his hair off his forehead. “Beautiful.”

Robby apparently doesn’t have any defenses for this level of intimacy. All of his mental barriers gone, his orgasm slams into him, spurting ropes of cum over Jack’s hand and onto his belly. It’s dripping down Jack’s pubic hair and between where their legs are tangled together. He always did go off like a hose.

“Jesus,” Jack yells, and there’s a warm sensation filling him.

He can feel Jack’s dick pulsing inside him. Robby can’t resist tightening his hole just a little. Jack grunts and gives an answering squeeze around Robby’s cock, still drooling feebly over Jack's hand. 

Robby pulls back, straightening to rest his palms on Jack’s shoulders. They’re both panting, their chests rising and falling in sync. Robby groans when Jack wrings out the last of his cum, then his mouth drops open when Jack lifts his hand to his own mouth and licks at Robby's cum covering it.

"Jesus, fuck," Robby mutters, arousal starting to thrum under his skin again as Jack's mouth spreads into that sharp smile.

He can already tell the flight home tomorrow is going to suck, both the sitting and the folding of his limbs into a small space. Right now, though, languishing in the afterglow as Jack brings up his other hand to stroke down Robby’s flank, he can’t regret it much.

“Ok,” Jack says after a couple more minutes of soft touches. “You need to get up.”

Robby huffs a laugh, rising up on his knees. They both groan as Jack’s cock slips out, and Robby feels a meaningful stir in his own cock when he sees the milky residue coating Jack’s piercing. Jack must be reading his mind.

“I could probably go again in a little bit,” he says, “but it’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” Robby says, not sure if he should feel this disappointed.

He climbs off the bed and pads into the bathroom to wet a washcloth. He does a cursory wipe down of his dick and his crease, then brings another damp washcloth back to Jack. He looks away while Jack cleans himself up, the reality of their being two strangers who’ve just fucked creeping in.

“I… I had a nice time tonight,” Robby says, hoping he doesn’t sound as stupid to Jack as he does to himself. When Jack snickers, he wishes the ground would swallow him up.

“This you trying for a brush-off?”

“No!” Robby says, too quickly. “No, just… didn’t want to have any expectations, or you to – ”

“Relax, Mike,” Jack says, once again using his first name in a way that feels both too personal and just right. “I’m not going to be mooning over you or something. As it happens…” He scoots to the edge of the bed and grabs at his boxer briefs just within reach. “My wife died a few months ago.”

Robby feels like he can’t get a full breath in, like he’s breathing through a straw. “I’m so sorry, Jack.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, reaching now for his sock and liner, reattaching his prosthesis. “Liz. She was – ” He cuts himself off. “Anyway, trust that I am not looking for, you know, anything here. I saw you, I liked you.” He shrugged. “Just glad it was mutual.”

Finally able to breathe normally again, Robby clears his throat. “Me, too.”

Jack looks up at him and hits him with that Abbot smile, his eyes crinkling, his dimples popping. In just a couple more minutes, he’s fully dressed while Robby is still scrounging for his underwear.

“So,” Jack says, standing at the far corner of the bed. “I had a real nice time. Darlin’.”

He injects a maximum amount of accent into the pet name and Robby rolls his eyes.

“Have a good trip back to Chicago,” Robby says, because he can’t think of anything else.

Jack nods, a different, softer smile stretching his mouth. He gives a casual salute and heads out the door. Robby releases the breath he’d been holding when he hears the click of the door shutting and falls backward onto the bed. It’s a while before he falls asleep.

Robby sleeps through his first alarm and is tremendously grateful that he’d set a backup. Still, he’s scrambling to collect all his clothes and toiletries, haphazardly tossing everything into his suitcase without caring what it’ll look like on the other end. He manages to get to the airport in enough time and heads to the gate.

It’s only when his flight starts to board that he realizes he’d never gotten Jack’s number.

It’s probably better this way, Robby thinks, as he slides into his aisle seat, once he’d surreptitiously scanned every passenger on the way in. The man is still healing from his dead wife. And Robby’s in no shape to be with anyone.

No, they probably will never meet again, unless it’s by chance at another conference or professional event. Robby stares out the window, past his sleeping row-mate, and pretends that he’s just fine with that.

2014

Robby sips from his travel cup, staring up at the board. The shift’s almost over and he’s looking forward to heading home, eating some leftover Italian, and crashing. Someone comes up to stand next to him. By how close they are, it can only be one person.

“You still sore because I hired someone while you were on vacation?” Adamson asks, a thread of amusement in his voice.

“No,” Robby says, in a way that’s not at all petulant.

“Well, cheer up, Michael, because the new attending’s got his first shift tonight. He came highly recommended.”

Robby sighs. “I’m sure he did. I’m sure you made a great choice. I just wish I’d – ”

“Oh! Here he is now. Early! That’s how I like it. Welcome, welcome! Dr. Jack Abbot, I’d like you to meet one of our daytime attendings, Dr. Michael – ”

“Sugar pie?”

Robby had been in the process of turning at Adamson’s words, but he freezes when he sees Jack, someone he’d last laid eyes on more than a year before. Someone he never expected to see again. Judging by his expression, Jack hadn’t expected to see Robby, either, which means that Monty hadn’t mentioned Robby at all during his interview.

“Oh!” Adamson says, something in his tone not quite trustworthy. “Do you two know each other?”