Work Text:
Robby’s mouth tasted like death, like whiskey-stale, sour death. That the first thing he noticed when he woke up.
The second thing? He was still drunk. That was a clear warning signs of what was sure to be an award-winning hangover. G-d, how much had he drunk last night? Surely it can’t have been that much. He remembered a snifter as he sat down on the couch to watch a documentary, and then a few more, and then… not much of anything really. Did he fall asleep?
And the third thing he realized when he woke up was the leaden weight on top of him, pressing him down into… was this the couch? He must have fallen asleep on the couch under that weighted blanket Dana got him for Christmas a few years back
Questions answered, he tried to move a hand the wipe his eyes, but both of them were trapped. The blanket couldn’t be that heavy, could it?
He rubbed his eyes halfheartedly on his shoulders to clear the sleep from them. It was a lost cause. So instead he blinked them awake slowly, taking in his living room ceiling, the fan slowing spinning above him. A turn of his head revealed two half-empty glasses of water on the coffee table.
Two?
His chin met his breastbone as he looked at the curly gray head on his chest.
Jack. Jack had slept here last night. Jack had slept on top of him last night.
Robby’s arms were wrapped around him, cradling him to his chest. Their legs were slotted together like tumblers in a lock. He could wiggle his feet but bending his knees would jostle Jack awake. His morning wood was pressed into Jack’s belly, and he begged it to go down.
Robby’s head dropped back down to the pillow, laden by the weight of last night’s memories as they came crashing down around him. The overwhelming embarrassment followed soon after, pummeling him into the cushions. Combined, they were far heavier than any weighted blanket or smoking hot attending.
Robby remembered he had gotten almost blackout drunk and decided to organize his medicine cabinet in order of suicidal efficacy. When the bottles became too blurry to read, he’d called Jack. And, despite it being 2 in the morning, Jack had picked up and chatted with him as though they talked late at night all the time. Which… they did, because last night Robby learned that when blackout drunk, he liked to booty call Jack, to be rejected every time.
Jesus Christ, would he even remember the events of last night if Jack wasn’t laying on top of him right now?
Once Jack realized what the call was actually about, he’d rushed over and had not one but two painful conversations with drunk-Robby, the one about the pills Jack wanted to have and one Robby initiated about the booty calls in hopes of avoiding the first.
Thankfully anxiety killed his boner like nothing else.
Robby heard a low rumbly drone filling the room, and a moment later he realized that it was coming from him. It terminated when a bone-deep groan of embarrassment escaped his lungs to fill the edges of the larger prison that was Robby’s living room.
The noise was loud enough to wake Jack, moaning softly. Robby did his best impression of a couch. Jack rubbed his face against Robby’s shirt, his callused hands gripping Robby’s sides as he pressed his nose into Robby’s belly.
“Mmm, smell good.” Jack murmured, sounding oddly pleased.
There was no way Robby smelled that good.
Jack’s fingers slipped under the hem of Robby’s shirt to tease their way through his belly hair as they meandered their way upward. His hand reached Robby’s pectoral muscle and cupped it lightly, the thumb edging Robby’s nipple before it settled atop the hardening peak of it.
Through Jack’s sleepy exploration, Robby did his best approximation of a training mannequin. His limbs were motionless: he did not react to the touches no matter how they tickled. He couldn’t stop his breathing, but he could make it shallower. But, unlike a training mannequin, Robby had no control over his racing heart.
Jack sighed deeply, his face burrowing into Robby’s belly before he quieted, his breaths slowing once more.
Robby was oddly disappointed that Jack hadn’t woken up, but it’s not like Robby had done anything to encourage that. Yet Jack had hardly said anything. Did he think he was still dreaming? Who was it he dreamed he was touching so… familiarly?
Or did he wake up just the slightest bit? Did Jack assume he was with someone else? If so, it had to be another man. There had been no reaction to Robby’s hairy torso or his flat chest, but sleepy Jack had taken his masculine frame as a given. There had been no sense of surprise to his motions.
Robby had no right to be jealous, since all Jack could rely on Robby to do was late night drunken booty calls that he’d completely forget by morning.
How often did he drink himself to Jack-lusting oblivion anyway?
That was concerning.
What’s worse, Robby hadn’t even noticed.
Jack had to be concerned, yet he never brought it up when Robby was sober. Or did he assume Robby wasn’t that drunk, and just wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened?
But no, he’d explained the booty call thing last night almost as though he’d done it before. He must have decided to keep Robby’s drinking a secret from everyone.
At the tail-end of last night, Robby had drunkenly asked Jack how he’d respond if Robby soberly hit him up, and Jack had refused to answer. Sober Robby couldn’t blame Jack for it. Even if he ignored the drinking, Robby knew he was a mess, an absolute dumpster fire of a human. Who knew how long Jack had been putting up with Robby’s harassment?
Fuck. It didn’t matter that they were both attendings if Robby was chief and chair of the Pitt. Robby was technically Jack’s boss, even if they behaved more like equals most of the time. Jack could’ve gotten him fired for his behavior, and probably should have reported him at the very least.
The thumb on Robby’s nipple started moving again. Jack’s hand made a sweep up to trace his collarbone before winding a lazy trail down to where Robby’s hipbone jutted out of his pajama pants. Jack’s face rubbed prickly stubble against Robby’s chest, and he pressed a kiss into the shirt covering Robby’s breastbone.
The kiss was a final straw for Robby’s frazzled soon-to-be-hungover nerves. He inhaled sharply, his hand coming up to seize Jack’s wrist before it slipped further under his pants. Robby wouldn’t be able to stay still if Jack’s hand wandered that way.
But Robby’s grabbing hand was all Jack needed to tilt more firmly to consciousness, his eyes blinking slowly awake. He groaned and braced himself Robby’s hipbone to sit up.
“Robby?” He sounded confused, and Robby couldn’t blame him.
“You, uh, slept over.”
“On top of you?” Jack looked around like he didn’t quite believe he wasn’t dreaming. What a shitty dream this had to be for him.
“I guess?”
“Sorry, man. That can’t have been fun for you.” Jack finally sat back enough to plop down between Robby’s legs and slowly rubbing his eyes. “Did you try—“ His voice caught and he picked up a glass of water. “Sorry, man. But did you try to kill your self last night?” His voice was high and a bit breathless. “You were drunk, I remember that.”
Robby cleared his throat and scooched himself free, putting some distance between them. He couldn’t make it so they weren’t touching at all; his inside leg was pressed against Jack’s thigh, and Jack didn’t seem bothered in the least. But Robby got the rest of himself free, and that was good enough. Robby was surprised to find that final place where they touched was more comforting than uncomfortable.
Jack leveled a questioning glance at him, so he cleared his throat. “I was sorting pills.”
“Right. The pills.” Jack chugged his water, and Robby realized he ought to do the same. It helped clear the mothballs from his mouth, though it did nothing for his shame. That required a strategic retreat.
Robby swung his leg over Jack’s head to free himself. He stood and stretched and avoided looking at Jack’s face as he remembered the events of last night. “I’m going to make coffee and breakfast. Do you want some?” His back cracked satisfyingly, and he released a relieved breath. “I’m too old to sleep on the couch.”
“Too old to play at being a mattress too. I’m sorry Robby. I should’ve gone to the guest room. Or I should’ve gone home.” Jack sighed. “I can go now.” Robby heard the tell-tale sounds of Jack putting his leg back on as he went to turn the coffee maker on.
Of course Jack wanted to leave. He probably couldn’t stand to look at Robby right now. But he came over to help Robby, and that wasn’t nothing. His grandmother taught him better than that.
“If you want. Offer’s standing,” Robby replied casually. He turned the stove on to heat the pan and started cracking eggs into a bowl.
“I mean, I could use some food. If you’re offering.” Jack coughed and muttered, “Came here right after the gym.”
Right. Robby really was a selfish fucking asshole. Fuck.
“Shit, brother. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called you. Don’t know what I was thinking…” A piece of shell got in the eggs, fuck. He tried to get it out with his finger, but it wasn’t working. It kept dodging at the last minute. He couldn’t serve Jack eggs with shell in them, but he was three eggs in and didn’t want to dump them with egg prices through the roof.
“No. No, I’m glad you called.” Jack walked over and shouldered Robby out of the way. “Just use the egg shell half as a scoop, see? Then drain.” Like a magic trick, the piece of shell was practically magnetized to the itself. Jack poured the bit of white back in. Then he shouldered Robby aside, took over the eggs, and left Robby taskless in his own kitchen. “You got beans? Salsa?”
“Tortillas too,” Robby said, giving in to Jack’s leadership.
Making breakfast together was easier than a trauma and as seamless. Soon enough, they both were seated at the bar with plate and a cup of coffee. Jack even let Robby get a few bites in before he returned to the earlier conversation.
“So. Pills, man? Seriously? I’ll take them from you if I have to. I won’t have you dying on me. And with pills, Jesus Christ.”
“Can we get off the pills, please?” Robby snapped. “I’ve got a bitch of a hangover on its way.” Robby shoveled beans and eggs into his mouth using the tortilla as a spoon, with the desperate hope that food would stave off the nascent hangover.
“Right. OK. Give me a moment.” Jack stood and disappeared into Robby’s bedroom, returning a few minutes later with two Ibuprofen gel caps, which he put next to Robby’s plate. He rooted around Robby’s cabinets to get another packet of Liquid IV, which he stirred into a tall glass of water.
“I’m surprised you don’t have a dedicated hangover cure,” he commented as he sat back down.
Robby knocked back the pills and washed them down. “You know, I figured out this morning that I didn’t actually realize how often I get pretty drunk.” Jack coughed, and Robby flushed a bright pink. “And how often I, uh, call you. Like that. So do you know? Because I don’t.”
Jack bit his lip. “About every week or two. You’re generally pretty good about calling on my off days, but you’ve hit me up at work before.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Robby put his head in his hands and groaned. “I’m so sorry, Jack. That’s so disrespectful and unprofessional. I can’t believe I—“
Jack’s hand appeared on his back, fingers spread and palm warm, stopping Robyn’s apology in its tracks. He rubbed it slowly back and forth. “It’s ok, Robby. It really is. Better me than somebody else, right?”
“It shouldn’t be anybody,” Robby mumbled into the gap between his palms.
“Yeah, but we don’t always get to pick our demons. That one was pretty easy for me to manage, a compliment really, until it went from ‘can I please suck your dick’ to ‘what pills will kill me best,’” he said pointedly.
“I really begged to suck your dick?” Robby peeked disbelievingly out from his hands.
“Oh, you’ve begged me for all sorts of things. You’ve got quite the dirty mind, Mikey.”
Robby folded his arms on the bar top and fell face-first into them. Jack’s hand was along for the ride, following Robby’s back as it rounded and Robby was in the closest approximation of the fetal position he could get to on a bar stool.
“Can we get back to the pills thing?” Jack asked gently.
“I’d rather not. There’s no point, anyway.” Robby’s voice grew sharp. “Weren’t you the one telling me that it comes for all of us? Well here it is, in my condo, coming for me. What more is there to say?”
“Well for one, you don’t to invite it in. And two, knowing how close you came to it last night, I’d really feel more comfortable removing everything from your house that you could use to kill yourself.” Jack’s hand slipped up to the nape of Robby’s neck, tangling in the short hairs back there. It softened the blow, but that didn’t mean it didn’t land.
“You don’t have to Jack. I’ll be fine. I’m always fine.” Robby insisted. He didn’t believe it quite as much as he had last night, but he could pretend, couldn’t he?
“Well what if I want to? What if I want to help you? Because if this is fine, I’d hate to see what ‘bad’ looks like.” Jack’s hand stopped moving and Robby found himself missing the gentle caress.
“What if I’m never better than I am now?” Robby whispered into the cavern of his arms.
“I’ll help you anyway,” Jack promised recklessly.
“But why? Why do you even care?”
Jack’s pause was longer than he expected, and Robby found himself deflating. Without Jack’s voice filling the room, all he had were his own thoughts and those were, despite his insistence earlier, not fine.
“Because I do.” Jack said at last. “Because you’re my friend, and I care about you. Can’t that be enough?” Jack’s voice adopted a pleading tone.
“I don’t understand why you’d even want to,” Robby whispered.
Jack sighed, and his fingers carded Robby’s hair, massaging his scalp. “It’s you and me, Robby. Remember? There can’t be a me without a you. The world can’t exist like that.”
Robby scoffed. He shook his head to try and dislodge Jack’s hand, but he held tight. When Robby stopped shaking, Jack’s fingers resumed their caress.
“So you’re saying it’s selfish?” Robby said petulantly.
Jack sighed. “You know what, if you’ll accept my help then sure. My desire to help you is 100% motivated by selfishness. Now. Will you let me?” Jack’s exasperation had an edge of teasing to it that Robby could appreciate. It brought things back to where they were comfortable.
“Fine,” Robby agreed quietly.
“Glad to hear it, brother.”