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“Summer solstice comin’ up on Thursday, brother.”
Robby looks at Dr. Abbot over the frame of his glasses.
“Is that so?”
“Sure is.”
Robby turns back to the chart in his hands.
“Been a while, brother,” he says. “Be right there, Perlah,” he calls over his shoulder.
“Yeah,” says Abbot, half a question. Robby shakes his head, finds himself fighting back a grin. For one brief moment, he allows himself to meet Jack’s piercing gaze. And then Robby loses the fight with his grin.
“Yeah,” Abbot repeats. Not a question this time. Robby’s blood heats, incongruent with his beginning-of-shift adrenaline. He muscles his grin back in line but not before Jack cuffs him squarely on the shoulder. Robby’ll feel the shape of his hand all shift, he knows it.
“Get outta here, Dr. Abbot,” Robby says, pulling on his gloves. “Get some rest.”
“I will, brother,” Abbot says, a quiet weight in his voice no one hears but them.
Summer solstice. It happened two, maybe three times before covid started—a day and night when neither of them were scheduled to work. Rare enough, they figured, to celebrate. It took years before that turned into fucking, but then yeah, two, maybe three or four times.
After the vaccines, more often. It works, for them—other stuff goes on with other people occasionally, but solstice has been a constant for a good while now.
They get each other. They help each other. It started as a natural extension of that—no one knows what the other needs like him, no one else knows what it’s fucking like. They get it. And whether it’s backup with Gloria or a patient procedure, they can count on each other. Implicit. Robby doesn’t know what to call it, wouldn’t want to try. Whether it’s a conversation mid-field or a shared rooftop sunrise, it helps.
Jack presses Robby’s serotonin button in pretty much everything he does.
Makes sense they’d end up taking the most direct route.
Robby’s barely got the door open when Jack’s muscling into him, grinning so wide it makes Robby nearly blush. Their bodies meet, chest to chest for the first time in months that’s not over an actively dying person. Jack waits, one breath from Robby’s mouth, until Robby gives in and seizes him, clasping him into a kiss.
Jack moans like a dying man. He fists Robby’s collar, kicks the door shut behind them, Robby fumbling for the lock. Jack kicks his shoes off before shoving Robby deeper into his apartment, fixing him with a gaze so raw with hunger Robby nearly stumbles.
Occasionally they bother with condoms, when one of them hasn’t been tested in a while. If he’s hosting he’ll have them out, if he’s traveling he’ll take them out once the door’s locked.
They pause in silent consensus. Robby’s knees turn to fuckin’ water. Does it always hurt his cheeks to smile this much? God, Abbot looks good, he thinks, and then Jack’s on him again, and Michael Robinavitch gets as close as he ever does to ceasing all thought entirely.
Robby doesn’t know if he could put bodies back together every day if he wasn’t periodically reminded of how many ways a body can bend not with pain, but pleasure. How many ways he can use his body to bring this to another, too.
Abbot swears spectacularly, one hand knotting painfully in Robby’s hair. Robby’s eyes roll from the possessive fucking pleasure of it, serotonin spearing through him. He mouths Jack’s half-hard dick through his boxers, his body sinking into a state of stupored peace the harder Abbot gets. He squeezes Jack’s ass. It’s taut, the bastard, thicker now even than Robby remembers. He delivers a sharp spank and it nearly fucking bounces right off. Jack mewls, stiff now, and four hands make a mess of shoving Jack’s boxers to his knees.
“You always smell so fucking good,” Robby doesn’t mean to say aloud. He laves sloppy, open-mouthed kisses over every inch of Jack’s dick. Drags his tongue over his tight balls, sucks on the skin of his length til Jack’s rocking helplessly, braced against Robby’s bedroom wall. He pulls back to fuck into Robby’s wet, waiting mouth and Robby’s eyes prickle from the perfect pressure of it all. They rock like that for a good while, reunited into something familiar and indulgent and safe, in the best and truest way.
“I fucking missed you,” Jack says hoarsely, and Robby’s hands tighten on his hips. That wrecked timbre to his voice. Robby knows how tender this is, all of it. The fucking trust, man. He feels goddamn buoyant with it. Robby pulls off, doesn’t wipe his dripping mouth.
“Yeah,” he agrees, and lunges up to kiss him.
“Oh fuck, Michael.”
Robby shudders. No one gets to call him that unless they have him like this. His name sounds so soft in Jack’s mouth, like a storybook.
Jack sinks a second slick finger inside him and swears again as Robby takes it easily.
He’d worn a plug the last two times he’d jerked off. He’d thought of exactly this when he touched himself, in the way he only lets himself when he knows he’s getting it soon.
It’s better than he remembered. Somehow, it always is.
He’s ready, but he doesn’t tell Jack. Solstice is the one thing Robby’s found he never wants to rush. The other man’s furrowed with focus, jaw slack as his eyes track his own thick fingers disappearing deep into Robby’s asshole. It’s such a pretty fucking sight, fuck, Robby missed it. Then Jack pushes with intent, finding Robby’s prostate with clinical precision, rubbing into him with the expertise of a lover.
Robby lets out a string of swears he didn’t know he knew, clawing at his sheets.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” he trails off, heartbeat throbbing in his dick. His mouth hangs open as he braces himself on the bed and takes Abbot’s skilled massage, pleasure spiraling almost painfully through his brainstem. His cock oozes precum into the hair on his stomach, and when Abbot leans forward to lick it Robby arches his whole body like a bow pulled taut.
He forgot. He always does. Dr. Robby’s body’s so good to him, so good for the department. He gives so much, he trusts his body to provide for him and grant him the skills to save lives, at least most of the time.
He forgets what it is to let himself want to take.
He forgets what his body can become when separated from any responsibility outside the iddiest, most hedonistic pursuit.
He forgets who he can become. And then Abbot’s shoving Robby’s thigh back, bracing himself on his good knee, lining himself up just right, and the moment he sinks in, Robby remembers.
It feels fucking incandescent. That slow perfect slide—it fills Robby like something molten, something starbright and half-holy, maybe, because if anything is it’s gotta be this. Abbot clasps him at the scruff of his throat, pressing their foreheads together as he fucks him slow, carving Robby open, hollowing him into the greedy fucking hole he loves to be for Jack.
“Fuck, you’re good,” Robby whines, managing to sound at least a little annoyed by it. Jack kisses him, their scruff prickling each other, and Robby clenches so hard Jack gasps.
“You feel incredible.” Jack says it soft and sure, voice cracking down the middle, and Robby’s eyes prickle again.
“Yeah?” he rasps through gritted teeth. “You like that, brother? You needed this too?”
“Yeah I fucking did,” Abbot growls, snapping his hips. “Can’t let it go this long again.”
Robby feels electric. He rolls them, pinning Abbot to the bed, bracing himself on that strong, scarred chest. He bites his lip as he starts to ride Jack, running a hand through his own wrecked hair.
“That’s it, Michael,” Abbot mutters, thrusting up to meet Robby’s rhythm. “Take what you need, man, go on. I could watch this view all day.”
Robby lets out a choked snort, shoving at Jack’s face. Jack grabs his hand, drags that wicked tongue over two of Robby’s fingers, and then Robby’s not laughing anymore. Jack meets his gaze, forge-hot with intent, and spits on his own palm before wrapping it around Robby’s dick, and Robby damn near feels his soul leave his body.
Robby rides him wild, lets go of ego. He doesn’t have to think, with Jack. They’ve been through the gamut. There’s no one to perform for, no one here to save.
Because fuck, fuck, yes! This this this is what a body can do, what Robby’s body can do, can feel, can be. His body goes tight and loose, waves of synapses firing that haven’t in so, so long. Jack nails his prostate like it’s his fucking job, the perfect obscene thickness of his cock spreading Robby open open open. His thighs burn from riding already and it feels better than any workout.
Folded within Jack’s body, pinned there between his hard cock and his clever fist, forced into nothing but the present, Robby is free.
They collapse at last, some blissfully unknowable amount of time later. Robby locks eyes. Takes in Jack’s heaving, gleaming chest, the wreck of matted hair and streaks of sticky cum between them. Jack’s got a thousand scars but it feels like Robby leaves a thousand new ones every time. Little war wounds, bruises he knows he wears to match. A thousand marks left on each other from mouths, scruff, touch.
They look at each other, brain chemistry fucking reset, and they burst into exhausted rumbles of laughter. Robby laughs so hard he coughs, squirming his well-fucked body into the absolute nightmare they’ve made of his bedsheets. Jack passes him a water bottle, which makes Robby slap at him, but he takes it, shaking his head. Takes a deep swig, passes it back, and reaches out for a low high five. Jack, still chuckling, gives it to him without missing a beat.
“Still got it,” Abbot says. He draws their clasped hands to his mouth to plant a wet kiss on Robby’s fingers.
“Was that ever in doubt?” Robby snorts, playing at indignant.
“No,” Jack says. He meets Robby’s eyes. His laughter trails off, but the smile stays. “Hell fuckin no, brother.”
Robby grins at him. Squeezes Jack’s hand, presses a kiss to it in return.
“If anything,” Robby says, “I’d say we’re getting better.”
Jack snorts, stretching out. “That’s more like it.”
Robby lets his gaze travel Jack’s fucked-out body. Feels his own start to respond like a fucking teenager. When he finds Jack’s eyes again, they’re bright with a cocky grin.
Jack laughs again. That loose, rough sound, none of the bite from work.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Gimme a sec, baby. I got you.”
Robby sinks into his arms again, brain settling indulgently into its most raw, animal self.
“Not letting us go this long again without a solstice,” he murmurs somewhere into the crook of Jack’s throat, hands hungry for as much of the man they can touch.
Jack hums, grinding against him.
“Once again, Dr. Robby,“ Jack rumbles, “it seems you’ve read my mind.”