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"I'm not here!" Jack's voice echoes from down the hallway into the kitchen. There are a few scraping sounds and then a soft thud. Robby grimaces.
"Kinda sounds like he's here." Jesse looks at Robby from over his mug. Delicate wisps of steam curl from the ceramic. Jesse looks good, like he's slept, and the golden sun setting through their bay window almost deceives Robby into thinking the tired bruises they all carry under their eyes have softened.
Heavy boot steps thud up their hardwood as Jack rushes into the kitchen with his scrub top bunched at his pits. "Sorry, sorry, running late. There was a thing and then I couldn't find my belt and did you see that article on spider-bite induced necrosis?" He steps into Robby's space and kisses his cheek, then turns to Jesse.
"His hip is sore. He's gonna lie to you."
Robby's cheeks flush so quickly he feels like he might pass out. "Christ, could you fucking leave?"
Jack does eventually fucking leave, after he fills his thermos with coffee and claps a warm hand around the cut of Jesse's shoulder. He pauses, caught in limbo, before he ducks in for a bewildering kiss to Jesse's temple, too. Robby catches the confusion on Jack's face when he turns. The door slams too loudly on his way out.
"And going to your place again was vetoed because..."
Jesse scuffs his beaten up trainers against the floor and looks out the window. The sun is making it's way toward the horizon in a slow, pondering way. There are still hours of daylight left.
"My brother is in town. We'd both prefer whatever that was," he touches his forehead and waves his hand in the direction Jack went, "than explaining this to him." His eyes land on the glint of Robby's ring.
"Okay," Robby huffs a laugh and his hand automatically curls from where it was splayed on the counter. He steps around the marble-top that has thus far separated them. "Let's sit outside for a while."
The deck is warm under his bare feet and he hears Jesse toe off his shoes before stepping outside. He put in a little effort before coming over here: dark jeans that fit impossibly well and a short-sleeve button top. Now that Robby's seen where the teases of those tattoo tendrils go, he's been able to calm the fuck down at work. Here, though, his eyes chase the curl of ink under the brown linen cuff over his shoulder to where he knows it blossoms into a map of geometric complexity.
He looks down at himself, at the slightly stretched t-shirt that might be Jack's and the jeans that are likely his own based on the fit across his thighs, and wonders if he should feel embarrassed at choosing comfort over style. Robby spent most of his day off cleaning, running a big grocery haul with Jack that filled the pantry for the next few weeks, and poking at crossword puzzles while they caught up on the banalities and comforts of being married during the same waking hours.
Jesse's mug gets abandoned on the railing as he heads down the steps and into the grass, and Robby watches as he does a slow loop of the small yard. He pauses to examine Jack's vegetable garden and trails a finger up the stem of a hardy tomato plant. Jack's plants are fighters. Robby suspects it has little to do with Jack's special homemade fertilizer and all to do with the time he spends on his ass in the dirt, nurturing them with soft-spoken stories of grit and determination. Not many things survive in the desert, but Jack did.
Jesse cants a look up at Robby, curious and assessing.
"You brought a salad the other day for lunch, and actually ate it. It upsets the betting pools when you take care of yourself."
"I think Jack started that garden to guilt me into eating more greens. He knows I won't throw away what he grows." He scratches under his chin, the place where his beard has been bothering him. "Should I be concerned about the volume of gambling going on in this establishment?"
"Feels like you should be profiting more, but…" Jesse raises his hands in innocence and wanders into the center of the green space. The grass is lush and soft, the product of a wet, heavy winter. As he stretches his arms to the sky, his shirt sneaks upward to reveal the pale skin of his stomach. Robby swallows.
"You do much yoga?" Jesse interlocks his fingers and tips to the side, his long torso bending in the graceful arc of a plant stem. He holds for a count of Robby's rushing heartbeats before straightening and tipping to the other side.
"I'm more of an observer."
It's Jesse's turn to breathe laughter into the air. "Yeah boss, I can tell." He extends one leg into a bend and with his arms outstretched, Robby watches him take deep breaths that fills his chest. "Good for core strength. Pelvic strength."
He has the gall to wink up at Robby before shifting into another pose. Robby hmms as he finally steps into the yard, the cool blades of grass tickling between his toes. Jesse sees him coming and twists his body into something low to the ground, balancing his weight on his heels and curling his arms into his body until his palms press together. It opens his hips and pelvis in a staggering way. Robby observes the position for a moment as dappled sunlight traces Jesse's knees and ears.
He crouches, and his stubborn knee clicks like it always does, but Jesse's smirk fades when Robby trails a finger across the width of his collarbones where his shirt has come unbuttoned. His other hand settles on one of Jesse's knees.
"What's this pose called?"
"Malasana."
Robby hmms again, and that's all the warning Jesse gets before Robby tips his own body forward. Jesse rolls back, already in a position to land gracefully, and Robby does a decently athletic job of sprawling on top of the other man without either of them jabbing a knee or an elbow somewhere soft or vulnerable. Robby settles in the cradle of Jesse's hips, wide and waiting for him.
If Jesse is surprised, he doesn't show it. He lets Robby kiss a path up his neck, even tips to the side to give him better access when Robby reaches the spot behind his jaw that makes his toes flex and curl. Jesse's hands find bare skin immediately, pushing up the back of Robby's shirt to steal the warmth hidden there.
Robby rolls his hips, Jesse gasps and squirms. Eventually dexterous fingers settle at the button on his jeans and Jesse makes an interrogative noise. It takes Robby's brain two kisses to interpret the question. He pulls away with a shiver.
"Ah, ah. No nudity in the yard. It's a-" He dips for a quick kiss, off-center, "-strict rule and we just rebuilt the relationship with Mrs. Kemper after Jack-"
Jesse cuts him off with a hand over his mouth. "Less backstory. Take me somewhere without any nudity rules."
Their feet are dirty and Jesse squints down at his toes like he is thinking about letting it go, but Robby pushes him into the bathroom, crowding in behind him. They wash their hands and feet, and flick water around like morons, but it gets them naked faster and the shine in Jesse's eyes says that was the plan all along.
It's Robby who is tipped onto his back this time. Jesse stands above, one hand stroking himself as he contemplates the man splayed below. Robby feels pinned and on display, a moth in a glass frame. He's conflicted while pale, hungry eyes trace up his legs. He wants to curl in on himself, or maybe stretch and preen.
Jack makes him feel coveted and vital. With Jesse, he feels discovered. Sexy. He settles for reaching up to snag Jesse by the hip and guide him onto the bed. Their knees clack as he clambers on top, twin huffs of amusement ghosting skin as Jesse aligns their bodies. The Robby gets lost in skin, skin, skin.
"Where-" Jesse breathes into the skin at Robby's hip, replacing the hot air with a sucking kiss. Robby blinks at the ceiling and then flails a hand toward the side table. The bed jostles as Jesse scrambles to the drawer, but Robby can feel when his body freezes and then melts into a chuckle. He sets a clear bottle of lube on Robby's chest. It's new and has a straight black label up the side. Jesse flops to his side and tips the bottle back and forth on Robby's sternum. "Why is this labeled with my name?"
The sticker reads JESSE VAN HORNDOG in white raised typeface. Robby scrunches his face and hears the self-congratulatory cackle Jack must've had when he'd printed the damn thing. "God. I'm so sorry. Jack has a label maker and insomnia. And, you know, you shouldn't share lubricant between sexual partners, so -"
"Relax, Doctor. You're not the only one who has given that advice hundreds of times." He's not looking at Robby, rather, uncapping the bottle and picking at the safety seal. Confident hands - the ones that measure precise dosages and never miss ports - peel off the adhesive and flick it onto the nightstand. "Pretty small bottle, though." Jesse's gaze sweeps over Robby. They are both flush from kissing and rolling their bodies together, but Robby's hand floats down to pull at his cock where it lies soft in a dark thatch of hair. He coughs, clears his throat.
"I'll get there. It's- it was a long week." He gestures for the bottle but Jesse keeps it just out of reach. The sun disappeared behind the horizon but the sky has the evening glow of the in-between. Purple dusk shadows the room and Robby clicks on the side lamp. Jesse runs a palms up Robby's thighs, past his groin, to scratch into his dark chest hair. Robby arches into it like a cat pleased with the contact.
"Plenty of time. HORNDOG needs scientific testing, if nothing else."
Robby tucks his head to the left and gasps when Jesse takes him, still soft, into his mouth. It's a strange sensation, a good one. He fits almost all the way inside, and Jesse uses warm saliva careful suction to spread shivers up Robby's body.
On his left is Jack's nightstand. There's a small framed photo of Jack and Alicia standing outside their first house, holding keys as shiny as their radiant smiles. Jack's phone charger is coiled, and the two books he's been reading are stacked in perfect alignment with the edges of the table. They keep the lube on Robby's side because there's a Beretta 9mm in Jack's drawer that Robby has no business groping around.
He wonders how the shift is going, if-
"Wait, wait." Robby bites his lip, body tensing in discomfort.
Jesse pulls back, one finger sliding out of Robby with care. He looks up the plane of Robby's body with honest concern. "You with me? Your hip?" He doesn't look down to where Robby hasn't hardened, his cock wet from Jesse's mouth.
Robby sees Jack's dresser over Jesse's shoulders where he knows Jack's stretched out shirts and perfectly folded socks live, and he blows out a long gust of air before shaking his head.
"No. I mean yes, it's sore, but it's not. Just." He shifts up the bed to curl into a protective cocoon, but after a few seconds Jesse moves with him. They slot together, Jesse fitted to Robby's back.
"I can't do this." Robby's next inhale is shaky. "It's not you, it's, Jack is everywhere."
Jesse grunts and then rolls them, using the strength he has earned from decades of lifting patients and unloading supplies. Robby ends up straddling his slender waist, looking down at his sharp features and fuzzed out gray curls. When he shifts his weight back onto Jesse's pelvis, the other man's knees come up to support him and there's no strain on his hips.
Jesse entwines their hands. When he starts to spin and toggle his wedding band, Robby jerks his hand back.
"I'm not going to take it off," he says, in a rush.
There have only been a few - maybe less than you could count on one hand - times that he's seen Jesse lose composure. A true fuck up can do that, and no one is immune to them in the ED. Robby has seen the wild eyed, rushed panic on everyone's face at some point.
He doesn't get that now, not in the slightest. Jesse's hands drop to rest on his Robby's thighs as he nods, slow.
"I wasn't gonna ask you to. I'd hate if you did. If you could only be with me by pretending you weren't married, that's a bit fucked."
Robby exhales air he had no idea he was holding. He feels lightheaded when he nods and rubs a heel of his palm into his eye, then moves to cover Jesse's hands with his own. They exist together, breathing deep.
"I'm sorry, I really-"
Jesse cuts him off. "I don't want you to apologize. This happens, this is-"
Robby cuts him off. "Please don't tell me this is normal, Jesus wept."
"Listen man, I'm forty-eight," he says, grinning at Robby. "I'm having casual, consensual sex with a married man. A man who, if we squint, is technically my superior. Normal left the building."
Robby rolls his eyes, but nods and keeps listening. The smile helps.
"You've been with Jack a decade, more? Yeah, fucking in your bed was a great idea." He's laughing now, and Robby joins with a quiet chuckle. He dips his head to his chest, the relief unbelievable. It's not him. It's not him.
Robby reaches behind him to tap Jesse's legs and they fall back to the bed. He's able to shuffle enough to reveal Jesse's half hard cock. He raises an eyebrow at the man below him, who shrugs.
"Communication gets me going."
Robby toys with the head before wrapping his hand around him. "You can…" Robby keeps the pace slow and tight.
"Are you sure?"
"Would I lie?"
"You lie all the damn time. You told Robinson-" Jesse sucks air through his teeth. His eyes skewer Robby, but he bucks his hips almost unconsciously. "You told Robinson she did a great job with that delivery yesterday. She almost dropped the baby, Robby."
"Some babies are difficult to catch." He holds out his palm. "The HORNDOG, Nurse."
Robby falls asleep on Jack's side of the bed. The pillow is lumpy in a different way but it smells like Jack, and that seems to be enough to put Robby out. When he wakes, disoriented at the proportions of the room from this angle, the bed is empty, the sky is misty dark, and a light spills out from under the bathroom door. The toilet flushes and after the sink runs, Jesse flips the light and steps back into the room. He's got his jeans back on, undone at the fly.
"You going?" Robby's voice is a quiet, raspy thing that barely interrupts the darkness of the room. Jesse isn't startled by it, but he does pause his search for his shirt.
"Shouldn't I? It's…" He checks his wrist for a watch that isn't there. "…late. Or early."
Robby shifts until he's sitting against the headboard, arms crossed to clutch at his elbows. "Dangerous to drive at this hour."
Jesse checks his imaginary watch again. "Bars are just letting out."
The warm imprint of their conversation the night before sits on his skin. He's fifty-three. Maybe he can just fucking say the things he wants to say. "Come back to bed."
The bed bounces when Jesse hops back on and Robby immediately starts to push him back off.
"Are you kidding me? Take off your fucking jeans."
Jesse pulls them out of bed before the world has fully risen and presses his thumbs to the corners of Robby's sleepy scowl. He allows for a merciful detour to the kitchen for tea but soon has them both in the yard, clean toes scrunching in the dew-damp morning.
Robby copies Jesse's sun salutations with the enthusiasm of a grumpy toddler, drawn from sleep too soon. He has miserable balance and spends more time appreciating Jesse's form than applying himself to the study. Jesse gifts him with adjustments, nudges and pushes with his competent hands all over Robby's shirtless body. His touches leave goosebumps on Robby's skin.
Robby feels the burn of his calves and glutes, then up in his traps when Jesse moves them to the ground. They are quiet in appreciation of the morning. Even the birds seem soft and contemplative as the men configure themselves in complex shapes.
The slam of the front door is muffled but distinct to Robby, who has lived in this house for over a decade. Jack and Robby are, for the most part, exceptionally considerate housemates when the other has a day off. This type of entrance means Jack's had a bit of a shift, though: too much caffeine, death, and heartache. Robby pauses mid-stretch to listen as his husband slams the microwave shut and rifles around in the silverware drawer.
Jesse's face is tipped to the sky as he takes strong breaths through his nose and out heavily through his mouth. He is either oblivious to Jack or purposely maintaining his zen, but either way, Robby is a bit jealous. The sounds from the kitchen become clackier when Jack removes his prosthesis and opts for his crutches.
Jesse elbows Robby softly into stomach before lowering himself back to the ground, folding his knees under himself and extending his arms in front as far as he can. "Child's Pose. Come on boss, a few more." Robby follows, breathing through the stretch of his hips and the pull in his shoulders.
"Are you doing yoga without me?" Jack yells from the patio door, his microwaved dinner steaming from a Tupperware in hand. He's incredulous, and his voice cracks at the end, evidence of twelve hours in the Pitt. "You sons of bitches."
Jesse pulls himself up into upward dog, the curve of his spine sinuous. He glances over at Jack before closing his eyes to enjoy the morning air. "You were right about his hips. I'm leaving him better than when I found him."
The commotion Jack makes on the deck would be comical if Robby wasn't legitimately concerned for his life. He's never seen Jack run down stairs on his crutches before.
"You sons of bitches," Jack breathes again, strained. "Where are your goddamned shirts? Mrs. Kemper is going to have all our asses in front of the HOA board, if you-"
Robby reaches out and collects his husband by the shoulders. Jack deflates into the hug, nudges his nose into the space just behind Robby's jaw. When they separate, Robby plucks at Jack's scrub top and strips it and his undershirt off.
"Okay?" Jack nods. "Okay. Sit down and meditate or something."
Robby is balancing poorly in cow pose, extending one shaking leg out after the other when he catches Jesse shuffle closer to him. Jesse waits for him to pause before turning his cheek to kiss him goodbye. It's chaste but intimate.
"See you tomorrow, boss." Jesse pivots to where Jack is twisted into a complicated stretch that hasn't yet flattened his post-work frown. "We had some complications. He's gonna lie to you, but he probably needs to talk."
Robby watches as Jesse smacks a kiss to Jack's temple and leaves. Jack's face lightens to match the brilliant sunlight as it finally spills over their trees.