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"I serve at the pleasure of the President."
Jack's eyes narrow in Robby's direction suspiciously.
Four whole weeks have passed since he and Robby officially became a thing, and in that time, he's not had a single minute alone with his man. Running the country really does derail your sex life, he's discovered.
Their first time had been special. It had been slow and romantic the way all first times with the man you loved should be. It had only been disrupted once when Robby had questioned where on earth the President of the United States had sourced condoms from. Jack was forced to recount an embarrassing conversation he'd had with his personal attendant, Dennis Whitaker, a young boy who Jack is sure came out of the womb looking mildly traumatised, and that face just stuck.
Whitaker hasn't looked him in the eye since he awkwardly handed over a brown paper bag in the Oval Office.
Surprisingly, Robby had managed to process the idea of a possible news story involving the president, a young staffer and a box of condoms fairly quickly, and the rest of the evening had been perfect.
It had been too risky to stay the night, so Jack had kissed Robby thoroughly by the door and watched him leave.
He'd hoped for a prompt repeat performance, but he keeps forgetting how quickly his diary fills up. He has to go to California for an event, followed by a formal state visit to France. As soon as he was home, there was an important bill they worked around the clock to whip votes for, hours of midterm election prep, a storm off the coast of Florida with the possibility of turning into a hurricane that needed handling, and a fuck up across the road at the OEOB that took his entire team and most of the counsel's office to fix.
And through all of it, Robby just kept working the same long hours, offering counsel with his usual wit and smarts, keeping his senior staff in line, seemingly unaffected by the lack of intimacy.
Fucking Michael Robinavitch.
Now he's sitting at Jack's right hand in the Oval Office, his gaggle of senior staffers right there too, listening to a risky strategy Jack wants to attempt with an upcoming bill they want to veto without him having to actually veto it.
"So, what do you think?"
"I serve at the pleasure of the President," Robby tells him smoothly.
The fucker knows exactly what he's doing. And Jack can't say a single word about it, not when Langdon, McKay, Mohan, and Collins are sitting right there listening.
That's the whole problem, he wants to say. There's been no fucking pleasure for four weeks.
"Perfect," Jack says instead, voice tight.
"Langdon, speak to some of your friends on the hill, float the idea, see what you get back, don't offer them a damn thing until you've spoken to me. McKay, Mohan, I want a statement on my desk by two. Make sure you pass it by Santos or Garcia in the counsel's office and keep Shen in the loop on this one," Robby delegates smoothly.
Jack is done.
"Okay, that's all," Jack snaps his briefing document shut and stands up.
Everyone gets to their feet quickly, there's a series of "Thanks, Mr President," and then everyone leaves out toward Dana's outer office. Everyone except Robby, who heads in the other direction towards his own office. The privilege of the Chief of Staff is direct access with the ability to walk in without being announced.
When Jack had first been sworn in, Robby hadn't used the door at all, preferring to walk all the way around to the main entrance to the Oval Office, but Jack started purposefully leaving the door open and talking to Robby through the opening until Robby got fed up with all the shouting back and forth and walked in.
"Not you."
Robby freezes at the door and turns around. "Need something else, sir?"
"I know what you're doing."
Robby's eyes flick down briefly, and Jack realises he's silently pointing out the tie in the room. He'll refuse to engage with Jack on this topic while Jack is standing in this particular room, behind the Resolute desk, wearing a goddamn tie. He's cursing his own stupid rule right now. Jack is tempted to yank it off right there to see what Robby would do.
"Oh, so it's okay for you to imply certain things but not okay for me to call it out?"
"I'm late for an East-Asia briefing, Sir," Robby points out, but doesn't leave because Jack hasn't dismissed him yet.
"Fine, go," Jack huffs and waves him off.
As soon as the door between their offices is closed, Jack turns around and heads directly to Dana's desk.
"Dana, when's my next free evening?"
She sends him a curious look, then peers at her screen.
"Hmm, well, you have the reception for the new Ambassador to New Zealand tonight, tomorrow you're dining with Congresswoman Walsh, Friday you've got a meeting with your Chief Counsel, Saturday… currently looks free, and then you're travelling to Chicago for the rally on Sunday."
Jack does his best not to freak out at his busy schedule of entertaining people and pretending to be interested in inane conversation, and focuses instead on his free Saturday evening.
"Okay, let's keep that night free, okay?"
"Yes, sir."
"Absolutely nothing."
"I understand Sir."
"I mean it."
She peers at him over the top of her glasses and gives him a patient smile, "You got it."
She types something into her computer, and Jack thinks that's the end of it. Three more nights, he can handle that, and then he can get Robby back in his bed where he belongs. Jack doesn't even care if Robby has plans; nothing is stopping him from getting into Robby's pants.
And then an airstrike accidentally hits a tower on one of their bases overseas, and he spends all of Saturday evening in the situation room.
The determination to find a free evening becomes Jack's personal mission.
He becomes so obsessed with his diary that Dana starts to get suspicious. He could tell her, of course, she's known for being discreet, and it would help them if there was someone in the know who could coordinate diaries, but he knows Robby would think it's too soon to read someone else in on their classified relationship status.
He tries moving things around and manages to eke out a whole night free, but a security alert sends him to the underground bunker until two am. A week later, there's another gap in the diary, and it feels like it might actually happen this time, until he finds out that Robby has to attend an overnight meeting in New York that's apparently vital.
It feels like the universe is against him.
There's one more free night coming up at the end of the week that Jack can't help but pin his hopes on. He doesn't dare talk about it in case he jinxes things, just counts down the days.
On the Friday, his free night, he's barely able to contain his excitement. Robby doesn't have any events scheduled in his diary, so all he has to do is lure Robby up for more food and go from there.
There's just one last thing he needs to do.
"Dana, make sure no one disturbs me this evening, okay? I've got a free night for the first time in ages, and I'm going to enjoy every minute of it."
"No, sir."
Jack blinks. "What do you mean, no sir?"
"Not tonight, I'm afraid, Sir, you've got the Venezuela Symphony Orchestra at the Kennedy."
"The-"
"Venezuela Symphony Orchestra," Dana repeats.
"Since when did I have the Venezuela Symphony Orchestra on my schedule?"
"Your Chief of Staff added it a couple of days ago; he didn't mention it?"
"He did not," Jack growls. "Any idea where my Chief of Staff is right now?"
Dana jerks her head to the right, "Mural room."
"Thank you."
Jack bursts through the door without a care for what he might find on the other side. He's a frustrated man on a mission, and nothing will stop him.
"Robby, why the hell am I going to the Venezuela Symphony Orchestra tonight, and why am I only finding out about it now? You can't just be adding stuff to my diary like this!"
He's so focused on Robby, he doesn't notice the other person in the room who shoots up from their seat the minute he enters.
He knows Mel works for Robby, but for some reason, he's never actually spent any time in the same room as her. All he knows is that she works down in the depths of the building, is very good at her job, and if he's walking down a corridor towards her, she immediately turns and walks in the other direction. She avoided him so artfully that during the first six months of his administration, he'd been convinced everyone was gaslighting him into believing she even existed.
He looks right at her, and instead of the usual deferential "Mr President" he receives from staffers, she squeaks, clasps her hands together, and her eyes dart up to the ceiling. Like if she can't see him, he doesn't exist.
"This is why I like to work from the Steam Pipe Trunk Distribution Venue," she mutters under her breath before softly humming a tune to herself.
Robby rubs his forehead and lets out a heavy sigh, the kind that only a long-suffering chief of staff could let out. "Mel, you can go."
Relieved, she walks out of the room backwards, still humming under her breath, looking everywhere but in Jack's direction.
Jack blinks, "Was that-"
"Hail to the chief? Yeah, she hums it when you're nearby."
"Why?" And more importantly, how has Jack never noticed?
Robby shrugs, "Why not?"
The op-eds love to lambast him for getting sidetracked by futile projects and getting distracted by trivial issues. This is exactly what they were talking about. He counts to ten in his head and returns to the reason for his ire with a calmer voice.
"Why am I going to the Kennedy Centre tonight?"
"To watch the Venezuela Symphony Orchestra."
"Robby, so help me God-"
"The undersecretary of state accidentally made some comments on the record about Venezuela that, as you can imagine, haven't gone down well; you'll be meeting with the Venezuelan Ambassador and showing your support to their national orchestra to make things right."
Jesus Fucking Christ. He doesn't get to have sex because of this? Who does he need to sic the 82nd airborne on to get five minutes alone with Michael Robinavitch?
"Why am I being punished for someone else screwing up?"
"Heavy is the head that wears the crown," Robby shrugs.
"Robby-"
"Look, you're gonna go, smooth things over with your special brand of diplomacy, and you'll be back here before you know it."
"Fine, but I want it known that I'm not happy about it and I deserve a reward for good behaviour."
"Being President of the United States isn't enough of a reward?"
Jack gives him a look, "I want a reward," he says pointedly, "Unless there's a very good reason why you're adding ridiculous obligations into my diary when a free evening could be beneficial to us both."
"There isn't."
"You sure?"
"Very sure."
"You would tell me if there was?"
"Absolutely."
"If I took my tie off right now, would you say the same thing?"
"Yes."
"Robby-"
"Don't you have a three-star general to outrank somewhere?"
Jack narrows his eyes at his chief of staff, does an about turn, and storms back to his office, ignoring the intrigued look Dana gives him as he strides past her desk.
Meetings without Robby in them somehow feel twice as long. Jack doesn't know if it's just because Robby is good at keeping the senior staff on topic or if his presence actually helps him get through the interminably long meetings he has to sit through.
He's standing at the podium in the press room, prepping for a press conference, answering the questions fired at him like a pro. He even manages to sneak in a joke that makes McKay laugh.
"Next time someone asks if I'm actually funny or it's just good speech writing, please remind them of this."
She laughs again and, with a nod, says "I serve at the pleasure of the President," completely oblivious to what those words now mean to Jack.
"Okay, executive order, no one is allowed to say those words ever again," he blurts out.
Everyone turns to look at him with a mix of curiosity and confused expressions.
"Everything okay, Sir?" Heather asks, concerned.
What is he supposed to say? That after years of being alone, he fell in love with his best friend and Chief of Staff, and he's just experienced a taste of the pleasure he could be having with this man, but running the country is playing havoc with his newly discovered sex life, and any mention of pleasure just feels like he's being taunted?
"I'm fine," his tight voice exposes the truth.
Fuck.
"Alright, we're done here. Let's pick this up tomorrow morning."
Everyone thanks him as he steps down from the podium and storms back to the Oval Office, where he's already late for another meeting.
If he doesn't have sex soon, he might just invoke the 25th Amendment
Normally, unless there's an event or a crisis happening, Jack tries to work till about seven, sometimes later if there's a lot going on. So he's surprised when Dana knocks on the door just after five and reminds him it's time for him to go upstairs and get changed. Every reception and dinner all feel the same after a while, so he can't even be bothered to ask her what it's for. He knows someone will hand him a card with some speaking notes at the right time, show him where to go, and who to speak to, so there's very little brain power involved.
With his hands in his pockets, he trudges up to the residence slowly, his mind elsewhere. Luckily, Henderson and Ellis are beside him as usual, making sure he gets where he needs to go.
He thinks about the way Robby carefully removed his prosthesis for him as they undressed, pressing a reverent kiss to his scarred skin, his stump a reminder that he could have died halfway across the world, and they wouldn't have had any of this.
He thinks about Robby's elated, flushed face after their first time, the blush that spread down his chest deliciously, and the way Robby had moaned his name again and again. He remembers that even after Robby had left that night, there had been a second indentation in his pillows, and he hadn't realised how much he'd missed the evidence of sharing his life with someone.
The thought is so distracting, he doesn't realise there's someone in his bedroom, not until he's a few strides in.
Startled, he stops midstep.
Robby is sitting on his bed, waiting for him.
"What the…what are you doing in here?"
Robby doesn't say anything, just gets up from the bed, walks over to Jack and deftly removes his tie. Only then does he speak.
"That's better." His eyes soften, and he locks eyes with Jack. "Hi, Jack."
He lets the name wash over him with a shiver, the way it always does when Robby says his name. The tie rule isn't perfect, but sometimes it feels like he's a superhero taking off his mask to reveal the real man underneath. Only Robby gets both versions.
Somehow, Jack remembers the reason for being up in his bedroom in the first place.
"I'm supposed to be getting ready for some damn reception."
Robby laughs, "That was a ruse to get you up to your bedroom."
Oh?
"A ruse against your president feels like murky waters to be playing in."
"Well, that's fine because I tricked my boyfriend, not my President."
Jack blinks, trying not to get distracted by Robby's casual use of the word boyfriend.
"Fair," he replies weakly.
"Before we-" Robby jerks his head towards the bed, "I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" Jack frowns. What does Robby have to be sorry for?"
"You were right…Maybe I was avoiding you a little bit."
Jack's jaw drops, "I knew it!"
"Just a little bit," Robby repeats firmly. "This is…a lot, and it's just going to take some getting used to. I don't have any frame of reference here for starting a romantic relationship with the President of the United States."
"I get that."
"And you need to get used to the fact that our lives are crazy and that means not seeing each other as much as we would like."
"I can't accept that."
"What do you expect me to do, move into your bedroom? Yeah, that absolutely won't get leaked to the press."
"As much as I would like that…" Jack grins, and Robby's cheeks flush, "…Maybe we could just try and coordinate our schedules a bit better, block out some time here and there. Yes, sometimes we'll have to wait six weeks to have sex again, but that doesn't mean we can't make out a little in the red room in between calls to the Canadian Prime Minister and the German Chancellor."
"You've got it all figured out, don't you?"
"Operation kiss that man."
Robby's eyes light up, "Oh, it has a name."
"I workshopped a few possible options with Whitaker this morning," Jack jokes.
Robby barks out a sharp laugh, and it's like music to Jack's ears.
With a cock of his head and a heated leer, Robby blindsides Jack completely when he suggests an alternative.
"How about Operation fuck that man?"
"I could be amenable to the change," Jack feels his whole body heat up with anticipation, "Might need congressional approval, though," he grins.
"Fuck Congress," Robby growls as he hooks his fingers into the belt loops of Jack's dress pants and pulls him in close.
"You first," Jack murmurs against Robby's lips, moments before capturing them in a kiss that feels like a glass of cool water in a hot desert. Finally, Robby is back where he belongs: pressed up against his body as he leads them both back towards the bed.
"Just so you know," Robby begins, his fingers slipping inside Jack's now loose pants, "I serve at the pleasure of Jack Abbot."
Jack feels his throat tighten, "About fucking time."