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“Where’s your boyfriend?” Charlotte asked, her voice casual but carrying that teasing lilt she knew would get under his skin.
Jack didn’t look up right away. “What boyfriend?” he said, closing the beer tap with a quick twist. Foam hissed up the neck of the glass. He wiped his hands on a towel, stealing only a brief glance toward Charlotte, who was unloading the dishwasher with the clatter of glasses and plates.
“The guy who tips you ten bucks for a single glass of wine,” she said. “And, weirdly, only shows up when you’re working.”
Jack scoffed, but the sound came out thinner than he meant. Heat crept up the back of his neck, and he busied himself with lining up the next order.
It had been an accident, spilling two whole beers on the guy, soaking his jeans completely. Jack had been mortified, ready for a scene. But the man had just laughed, waved it off. He’d been too nice about it, the kind of gracious that made Jack feel even more guilty.
And then he had started coming back. Always sitting in the same corner of the bar. Always smiling when Jack walked by. Sometimes he’d tease him about the beer incident, but never in a way that felt cruel. Just light. Warm.
Unfairly handsome, too. The kind of man who looked like he belonged somewhere more polished, less sticky-floored. The kind of man Jack told himself not to think about when he wiped down the counter after close.
“His name’s Robby,” Jack finally said.
Charlotte looked up from the dishwasher, an incredulous smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, he has a name now?”
Jack rolled his eyes, more out of defense than annoyance, and grabbed the two finished beers. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, heading down the bar to deliver the drinks, trying, and failing, not to smile.
An hour passed in a blur. The rain outside had driven people in by the handful, damp coats and umbrellas dripping onto the floor, laughter and chatter bouncing off the walls. Jack barely stopped moving, pouring, wiping, taking orders, tapping his foot to the low hum of the background music that no one was really listening to.
It wasn’t usually this crowded this early. But with the downpour, the bar had turned into a kind of refuge, warm light against the cold street beyond the fogged-up windows.
“Speaking of Prince Charming,” Charlotte muttered, nudging him with her elbow.
Jack glanced up just in time to see Robby walk in, running a hand through his rain-damp hair. Water clung to the dark strands, shining under the lights. His coat was soaked at the shoulders, his scarf slightly askew. He looked like something out of a movie.
Jack’s stomach did a small, involuntary twist. He looked away fast, grabbing a towel and pretending to wipe down a section of the counter that didn’t need it. The last thing he wanted was to be caught staring again.
“Busy shift?” Robby’s voice slipped through the noise like it always did, warm, steady, just a little teasing.
When Jack looked up, Robby was leaning on the counter, one elbow propped casually on the wood, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth.
“You just made it busier,” Jack teased.
Robby laughed softly. “Ah, my bad.”
Jack allowed himself half a second, just long enough to take him in, to notice the way droplets of rain still clung to the curve of his jaw before sliding down. Then he turned away before that look became obvious.
“Usual?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Jack moved down the bar, pulling the bottle from the cooler. The glass caught the light as he poured, red swirling thick and slow. Maybe he poured a little too much, just a touch past what he was suppose to give anyone else.
But that was between him and the bottle.
He slid the glass toward Robby without meeting his eyes, though he could feel that steady gaze on him again, amused, patient, and entirely too comfortable for someone Jack kept telling himself was just a customer.
Robby took a slow sip, eyes flicking up over the rim of his glass. “Can you give me a heads up if my usual table clears?”
Jack craned his neck toward the corner. A couple was still sitting there, heads close, half-finished drinks between them.
“Yeah, sure. They’ve been here a while, I don’t think they’ll take long.”
“It’s fine,” Robby said easily. “I’ll just hang around.”
Jack nodded, maybe too quickly, and tried not to notice the way his gaze followed Robby as he walked down the bar.
He settled near the end of the counter, a seat most people avoided unless they wanted to be left alone. From there, Robby was right in Jack’s line of sight. Which was unfortunate. Or maybe not.
Jack busied himself, pouring, wiping, checking tabs. The bar was still buzzing from the earlier rush, a steady stream of orders and laughter. But every time he glanced up, every damn time, his eyes found Robby again.
Reading glasses perched low on his nose. A thick black sweater, sleeves pushed up, making him look softer than usual. He was nose-deep in a paperback, occasionally pausing to sip his wine.
And Jack’s stomach did that thing again, that fluttery, inconvenient thing he pretended wasn’t happening.
“You’re staring,” Charlotte murmured, jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow.
He shot her a glare sharp enough to kill.
“Your loverboy’s table is empty,” she added, grinning like she’d been waiting for this moment all night.
“Fuck you,” Jack muttered. Then, glancing at Robby and back at her, added, “I’m cleaning the table for him, then I’m taking my smoke break.”
“Fine, but don’t disappear too long. Food’s coming out for table two any minute.”
He followed her gaze to the big group near the windows and nodded. “Come get me if not.”
She gave him a thumbs-up before moving off to the kitchen pass.
Jack grabbed a rag and tray, making his way toward Robby’s table. The plates were sticky with the remains of fries and the glasses half-full of melting ice. He stacked them carefully, the motion automatic, the clatter muted under the steady hum of rain outside.
He wasn’t even halfway through his shift and already he wanted to go home.
“Table’s empty and clean,” he said quietly as he passed behind Robby, tapping his knuckles gently against the back of the high chair.
Robby looked up from his book, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Perfect timing,” he said.
And before Jack could say anything else, Robby slid off the stool, wine glass in hand, and brushed close enough that Jack caught a hint of rain and cedar cologne as he passed.
Fuck his stupid gay life.
He shook himself out of it and quickly snatched his hoodie and his pack of cigarettes from beneath the counter.
Outside, the tables sat empty. It was too cold and wet for anyone to want to brave the weather, but they still had to keep the setup ready, just in case. Puddles had gathered on the plastic chairs, catching the glow of the streetlamps. Jack sighed, cigarette tucked between his lips, already dreading the cleanup later.
He flicked his lighter, the flame briefly warming his face before he inhaled. Smoke curled out in pale ribbons, vanishing into the drizzle. For a moment, he just stood there, hoodie pulled up, eyes closed, head tipped back against the wall.
The muffled sounds of the bar pressed faintly through the door, laughter, clinking glasses, a low beat of music.
He was halfway through his smoke when the door creaked open behind him.
“Didn’t take you for the type to vanish mid-shift,”
Jack turned, startled despite himself. Robby stepped out, a cigarette already between his lips. His long black coat caught the dim light, the tiny droplets still clinging to it glinting like specks of glass. His hair was curling a little at the ends.
“Didn’t take you for the type to follow workers outside,” Jack said, though there wasn’t any real bite in it.
Robby’s mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile that didn’t quite make it all the way up to his eyes. “Maybe I just needed a smoke,” he said simply.
Jack huffed a quiet laugh through his nose and turned his gaze back toward the puddled chairs. The rain made a soft ticking sound on the awning above them. They smoked in silence for a while, the only light the faint orange glow at the tips of their cigarettes.
He could feel the warmth radiating off Robby even through the chill, that subtle reminder of how close he actually was. A few reasonable inches between them, sure, but it felt smaller than that.
Robby broke the silence first, voice low and even. “You get many people out here on days like this?”
Jack looked over at him then, really looked. The glow of the streetlamp caught the edge of Robby’s jaw, the curve of his mouth as he brought the cigarette to his lips. It wasn’t fair, Jack thought. The way someone could look that composed and handsome standing in the drizzle outside a half-empty bar.
He looked away before Robby could catch him staring, flicking ash toward the gutter. “Nah. Usually it’s just me.” He muttered.
Robby hummed thoughtfully, a low, almost hesitant sound.
The rain seemed to swallow the silence that stretched between them after that, each drop tracing patterns across their clothes, soaking into the seams and clinging to their hair. Jack ground the half-finished cigarette under his heel, a faint hiss punctuating the quiet.
“Is it too presumptuous of me to ask you to save a drink for me after your shift?” Robby asked, his voice careful, almost tentative, as if testing the space between them for an answer.
Jack looked at him for a long moment, rain sliding off his hair and down the collar of his coat. There was something in Robby’s question, something cautious, almost hopeful, that made Jack’s chest tighten in a way he didn’t expect.
“Maybe,” he said finally, his voice roughened by the smoke and cold. “Depends on how late you’re planning to stay.”
Robby’s lips curved just slightly, the faintest lift that might have been a smile. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he said, almost under his breath.
Jack blinked, caught off guard by that quiet, almost intimate tone. He wanted to reply with some clever, flippant line, something that would keep his guard up, but the words tangled in his throat. Instead, he just nodded, tugging the collar of his hoodie a little higher against the rain.
“You always this smooth?” he asked, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself.
Robby chuckled, a low sound that seemed to blend with the drizzle. “Only when I’m trying to flirt with certain hot bartenders.”
Jack felt heat creep up the back of his neck. He refused to meet Robby’s eyes directly, instead staring at the wet pavement. “Figures,” he muttered. “I should head back in. Charlotte will murder me if I take any longer.” He peeked through the glass to make sure she could manage for a few more minutes, then returned his gaze to Robby.
“Let me give you my number.”
Jack blinked. “Thought I was saving you a drink after my shift?” he said, just teasing. They closed at two a.m., he hadn’t expected Robby to stick around that long.
“If we’re calling it a date at two a.m., I’m taking you straight to my place,” Robby said. His voice was casual, but there was an edge of certainty in it that made Jack pause.
He looked up, momentarily stunned by the confidence. Robby leaned closer, snatching his phone with practiced ease, fingers brushing against his. “It’s an option, by the way,” he said, typing in his number. “But I’d like to do it properly.”
Jack swallowed. A full wave of want and shyness washed over him as he stared at Robby’s contact saved in his phone. In that instant, it was like he’d completely forgotten how to flirt, his mind went blank, every clever retort vanished in a puff of smoke.
The moment burst like a bubble, and Jack snapped out of it, catching Robby’s amused smile just before turning toward Charlotte as she barreled through the door. She looked like she was about to snap, her gaze darting between them in a comically exaggerated panic.
“I need you inside, Jack,” she said simply, retreating with military precision, the door clicking closed behind her.
Jack quickly pocketed his phone. “I’ll text you,” he said, trying to sound casual, though every inch of him wanted to linger, to stay with Robby a moment longer. But he knew better, Charlotte would kill him if he didn’t get back to work right then.
“Looking forward to it,” Robby called after him, voice low and teasing, carrying a promise that made Jack’s chest tighten as he stepped inside.
He trudged back into the bar, the warmth hitting him like a wall, but it felt strangely hollow now that the rain-soaked quiet outside had been replaced by the hum of conversation and the usual noise. Charlotte was behind the bar, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, giving him the exact look he’d been expecting.
“You owe me a smoke break,” she said flatly.
Jack groaned, tugging his hoodie down, still feeling the faint drizzle in his hair. “I was only out there for—”
“Don’t,” she interrupted, cutting him off mid-excuse. “Just grab some rags and start wiping down the tables.”
He gave her a mock salute and set about the work, but his mind refused to cooperate. Robby’s number burned a little in his pocket. He could feel it there, weighty and promising, like a secret he wasn’t sure he was ready to admit he wanted to share.
As he moved between tables, wiping crumbs and sticky spots, he found himself glancing at the door repeatedly, half-expecting Robby to slip back in.
“Seriously,” Charlotte said, nudging him, “if you’re going to stare at him through the window for the rest of the night, you might as well just kill me.”
Jack snorted, finally allowing himself a grin.
Charlotte smirked, shaking her head, and turned back to the cash register. “Don’t get caught, Romeo.” Jack bit his lower lip. Finally turning around when he saw Robby was finally coming back inside.
He kept his gaze low, unwilling to meet anyone’s eyes. He picked up the new stack of dirty dishes, the warmth of the water and the faint scent of soap grounding him. Charlotte leaned in beside him, their hands moving in rhythm as they loaded the dishwasher together. The bar around them continued to empty slowly, the soft patter of rain outside giving way to a gentle drizzle, leaving the air heavy but calm.
“What did you two talk about?” Charlotte’s voice was barely a whisper, threading through the quiet of the bar.
Jack leaned back against the counter, his eyes flicking to hers with a quiet amusement. “He…gave me his phone number.”
Charlotte’s reaction was immediate. “What?!” A few heads near them swiveled, drawn by the sharpness of her exclamation. Her cheeks flamed, and she quickly lowered her gaze, tucking her chin to her chest as if trying to disappear entirely.
Jack’s small, knowing smile widened just a fraction. “And…he asked me out.”
Her mouth opened instinctively, ready to shout, then snapped shut. She caught herself, her lips pressing together as though the noise might betray her. A faint shiver of disbelief ran through her.
Finally, her voice cut through again, low but sharp, brimming with a mix of awe and irritation. “Fuck…you’re such a—” She broke off, swallowing hard. Her eyes found his, wide and sparkling with something that was both exasperation and admiration. “I can’t believe you actually got him.”
Jack chuckled softly, shaking his head as he rinsed a plate, the sound of running water filling the brief pause between them. “I know,” he said, almost to himself, “I can’t believe it either.”
He glanced toward the corner of the bar. Robby sat in his usual chair, absorbed in his book, as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t left Jack’s hands trembling and his pulse stuttering.
The shift rolled on in its usual blur of orders and noise. Saturdays were always chaos, and Jack dreaded them, the endless parade of customers, the clatter of glasses, the constant hum that never seemed to stop. Still, whenever he could, he stole a glance toward the corner. Robby was a calm in the storm, soft-featured, utterly unbothered, turning a page like the world around him didn’t exist.
The nearby tables had stripped his of every spare chair, so he sat surrounded by empty space, isolated, yet somehow self-assured. A quiet bubble of confidence that only made Jack want him more.
Eventually, Robby closed his book and came up to the counter to pay. Jack’s hands were full with a large, noisy group, and Charlotte swooped in to help him instead. Robby’s mouth tightened, just a flicker of annoyance, but he handed over his usual ten-dollar tip with an easy smile. Then he turned, caught Jack’s eye through the crowd, and gave a small, sweet wave before slipping out into the night.
Jack watched him go, feeling that same flutter in his chest all over again.
The door swung shut behind Robby, and the noise of the bar rushed back in to fill the space he left behind. Jack tried to shake it off, focus on the orders, the glasses piling up, Charlotte calling for more limes, but his mind kept circling back.
That look. That tiny wave. The easy sweetness of it.
By the time the rush died down, it was past midnight. The last few customers lingered over watered-down drinks, voices low and heavy with exhaustion. Jack wiped down the counter, the cloth moving in slow, mechanical circles. His body was tired, but his thoughts kept tugging at the corner of what had happened—Robby’s flirting, his confidence, the easy smile.
Charlotte leaned over the counter, breaking his reverie. “You okay, Jack?”
He blinked. “Yeah. Just tired.”
She gave him a knowing look. “Right. Tired.” Then she turned back to the register, humming under her breath.
He pulled out his phone and crouched down in one of the corners behind the counter. Just a second of privacy, that was all he needed. A moment where no one was calling for another drink or slurring compliments he didn’t want.
His fingers hesitated above the screen before he searched for Robby’s name in his contacts. Found it. Clicked before he could talk himself out of it.
Hey, it’s Jack. Two a.m. date still an offer?
The message hovered there for a heartbeat too long before he hit send. He checked the clock in the corner of the screen, 1:15 a.m. Robby was probably asleep. Jack was going to look desperate, ridiculous. He sighed, thumbed his phone dark, and ran a tired hand over his face.
The vibration made him jump.
He unlocked the screen, pulse kicking up. A red dot blinked at the corner of his messages.
Absolutely.
Then, a second later, the typing bubbles appeared.
Want me to pick you up?
Jack’s stomach did a slow, delighted twist.
That’d be great.
See you at two.
He stared at the messages until the words blurred, a stupid grin creeping across his face. Excitement bubbled up so fast it made him dizzy. He was still smiling when a low voice broke through his daze.
“Everything okay there?”
Jack looked up to find one of the late-night regulars watching him from above, eyebrows raised, an amused smile tugging at his mouth.
Jack cleared his throat and pocketed his phone, standing up so fast his knees cracked. “Can I help you with something?”
“Yeah,” the guy said, grin widening. “Another beer?”
Jack stared at him for a long, unimpressed second, then sighed and opened the cooler. “Sure.”
The man chuckled as Jack slid the bottle across the counter. Being a bartender really was the gift that kept on giving.
Once the interruption was dealt with, Jack busied himself with the usual cleanup, sweeping the sticky floors, stacking empty glasses, helping Charlotte with the dishes. The minutes ticked by faster than he expected. Every time he checked the clock, two o’clock inched closer, his pulse a little quicker each time.
By the time the clock above the counter clicked to 1:58, Jack had wiped the same stretch of counter three times. Charlotte noticed, of course.
“You can go, you know,” she said, smirking as she set a stack of clean glasses on the shelf. “I can finish alone.”
Jack straightened, caught halfway between guilt and relief. “You sure?”
“Jack,” she said, laughing softly, “you’ve been checking your phone every thirty seconds. Go before I kick you out myself.”
He flashed her a guilty grin, muttered a thanks, and snagged his jacket from the hook in the back. The fabric was still warm from where it had been sitting near the heater.
“Send me your location, by the way. Serial killers are not always ugly.”
“Fuck youuuu.”
Charlotte’s laugh chased him to the door, warm and familiar even as it faded behind him. Outside, the night air hit him like a breath of something new, cool, sharp, still humming faintly with city noise.
A car idled by the curb, headlights soft in the mist. Robby leaned against the driver’s side door, the glow of his phone lighting the edges of his face. When he saw Jack step out, he pocketed it and smiled.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” Jack felt suddenly aware of everything, the quiet street, the chill air, the nervous flutter in his chest. “You actually meant two a.m.”
Robby shrugged lightly. “You texted. I wasn’t about to leave you hanging.”
Jack huffed a small laugh. “Didn’t think you were serious about that date.”
“Guess you’ll find out,” Robby said, opening the passenger door for him. “Come on. Before you freeze.”
The car smelled faintly of cigarettes and something clean, like air freshener fighting to reclaim lost ground. Jack buckled his seatbelt, the click loud in the quiet. Outside, the streetlights blurred into gold streaks across the windshield as Robby pulled away from the curb.
“You do this a lot?” Jack asked after a beat, his tone casual but his curiosity showing through.
Robby glanced over, one eyebrow lifting, a crooked smile forming. “You mean asking out the cute bartender that spilled two beers on me? No. First time. Would be weird if it was a pattern.”
Jack chuckled. “Really? No one’s ever spilled two whole drinks on you before? Guess I should feel honored.”
Robby laughed, a deep, unguarded sound that filled the small space between them. It rumbled through the car, through Jack’s chest, and left a warmth in its wake that lingered longer than it should have.
At the next red light, Robby slowed to a stop. The glow from the signal spilled across his face, painting his features in soft crimson. For the first time since they’d gotten in the car, he turned fully toward Jack. His hair was tousled, curling slightly over his forehead, still damp at the edges from the drizzle outside.
Jack’s fingers tightened around his seatbelt. All he could think about was what it might feel like to reach over and run his hand through that messy hair, to feel the warmth of his scalp beneath his palm.
“You look nervous,” Robby said. It wasn’t a question, just an observation. His eyes flicked over Jack’s face, calm and unreadable. There wasn’t any teasing in his voice, only quiet certainty. Just him letting Jack know he’d noticed.
“I am nervous,” Jack admitted. “You’re hot as fuck, and I probably look like a drowned rat after an eight hour shift.” Robby chuckled under his breath, the sound low and warm, before turning his head back toward the road. The light shifted from red to green, spilling color across the dash.
Jack turned forward too, waiting for the car to move, but it didn’t. Instead, Robby’s hand came up, firm and sure, curling around the back of Jack’s head. And then Jack was being pulled forward into a kiss.
Robby’s lips were a little chapped, but soft. The kiss wasn’t rushed, it was careful, almost tentative, like they were both trying to learn the other’s rhythm. There was a flicker of need there too, small but undeniable. The kind that started low and spread fast.
For a heartbeat, everything outside the car, the flicker of streetlights, the city itself, faded to nothing but the heat of Robby’s mouth and the thrum in Jack’s chest.
When Robby finally pulled back, it was slow, like he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to. His hand lingered at the nape of Jack’s neck, thumb brushing once against his skin before he let go.
Jack exhaled, a shaky little laugh escaping before he could stop it.
Robby’s mouth curved into a small, lopsided grin. “There,” he murmured, eyes still on Jack. “Nothing to be nervous about.”
For a few seconds, neither of them moved. The green light had long since cycled back to red, painting their faces in another wash of color.
Robby finally sat back, fingers curling loosely around the steering wheel. “Guess I should probably drive before someone honks at us.”
“Yeah,” Jack said, though his pulse was still hammering too hard for the word to sound casual. He shifted in his seat, trying to find something to do with his hands.
Robby glanced over once more, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Don’t worry,” he said, voice low. “You look like a hot drowned rat.”
Jack huffed out a laugh, turning his gaze toward the window to hide his smile. The city lights slipped past again, reflections sliding over the glass.
At one point, Robby's hand drifted over, settling low on Jack's knee, warm, solid and undeniably intentional. Jack sucked in a sharp breath and bit down lightly on his fingers, willing his body to behave. It was ridiculous, he told himself, getting this worked up over one kiss and a hand resting on his leg. But maybe it wasn't the touch itself.
Maybe it was the knowledge that they were heading toward Robby's apartment that sent a slow, molten warmth unfurling low in his stomach.
He hesitated, then let his hand move, cautious at first. His fingertips traced the soft skin stretched over Robby's knuckles, each line and ridge familiarizing itself under his touch.
Robby didn't pull away.
Encouraged, Jack slid his hand over Robby's, enveloping his broad, steady palm with his own.
Gently, almost shyly, he guided it higher, inch by painstaking inch, until it came to rest at the top of his thigh. The weight of it there startled a quiet exhale out of him.
Robby’s thumb brushed once against the fabric, slow and deliberate. A small movement, barely there, yet it landed with the force of a clap of thunder. He didn’t look over. His eyes stayed locked on the winding road ahead, his profile carved into a mask of hard concentration.
The silence that followed no longer felt heavy, it was knife-sharp, honed to an edge. Each passing streetlight flickered across their shoulders, catching the tension stretched thin between them, the kind that hummed with barely contained urgency. Jack could feel his pulse punching a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
A minute later, Robby flicked the turn signal and veered onto a narrow, tree-lined street. He eased the car into a tight space in front of a building, windows dark, its doorway shadowed. The engine cut out, and the sudden stillness slammed into them, no hum, no motion, just a silence so complete it rang in Jack’s ears.
Robby exhaled once, long and quiet. He turned his head slowly, his gaze heavy and direct, meeting Jack's eyes in the near-dark. His pupils looked huge, dark pools reflecting the faint light from the streetlight.
"We're here," Robby murmured, his voice low, rougher than it had been a minute ago. His hand, still high on Jack's leg, finally shifted, his fingers digging in just enough for Jack to feel it.
Jack didn't trust his voice. He simply nodded, wetting his lips. Robby's eyes dropped, first to Jack’s lips then focused pointedly on the high placement of his own hand and finally lifted back to Jack. There was a challenge in his stare.
"Jack," he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "If you’ve changed your mind, tell me now."
Jack swallowed hard, the sound loud in the enclosed space. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears, could feel the insistent, building pressure where Robby’s fingers were now pressing. He didn’t think he had ever wanted anything as badly as he wanted Robby.
He reached out, his hand finding the side of Robby's face, his thumb tracing the sharp line of his jaw. The stubble there was rough and utterly masculine against his soft skin.
“Didn’t change my mind,” Jack managed, the words catching in his throat, a breathless plea.
Robby’s breath hitched, a harsh sound, and he leaned in, fast and hard, his mouth claiming Jack’s again. This kiss was nothing like the first, it was demanding, all sharp angles and hungry urgency. The air instantly thickened with a heat.
Jack didn’t hesitate this time, meeting the demand with his own sudden, fierce need. He shifted, his body twisting toward the driver’s side, uncaring that the center console was digging into his hip. His free hand snaked around Robby’s neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss until the edges of his mind went gloriously fuzzy. He tasted the faint residual flavor of the cigarette Robby must have had hours ago, mixed with the clean, minty freshness of his breath.
Robby's hand lifted from Jack's leg, only to move instantly to the small of his back. He pressed, hard, crushing Jack against him, molding their bodies together as best they could in the seats.
When Robby finally broke the kiss, it was with a choked-off groan, their breaths mingling, ragged and desperate.
“God, Jack,” Robby breathed out, the words hot against his skin. His hand left Jack’s back and went straight to the seatbelt release. The loud click echoed. “Come on,” he murmured. He didn’t wait for Jack to unbuckle, pulling back just enough to reach for his own door handle.
They were out of the car in a rush, a clumsy, silent scramble on the cold pavement. Robby didn’t look back at the car. He grabbed Jack’s hand and threaded their fingers together, a firm, possessive hold that sent a shockwave of electricity straight up Jack’s arm.
He pulled Jack toward the shadowed doorway of the high-rise. They stepped through the outer doors, the sudden rush of warm, stale air hitting them. Robby stabbed the Up button for the elevator, his knuckles white against the panel.
The wait stretched, agonizing, only broken by the mechanical whirring sound of the elevator cage descending.
The doors slid open with a chime that sounded deafeningly cheerful in the tension-filled lobby. Robby blindly pushed the button for his floor, and before the doors could even think about closing, he was on Jack again.
He crashed forward, mouth finding Jack’s with an urgency that bordered on reckless. The impact drove Jack back into the cold metal wall with a dull thud, a shock of chill cutting through the heat of the kiss. Robby’s fingers fumbled for purchase and then clenched greedily, hooking around Jack’s waist. He hauled him close, chest to chest, no space left to breathe or think or speak.
The kiss was hungry, unfiltered. Jack’s breath caught against Robby’s lips, and that sound only seemed to drive him further, deeper, as if he could kiss the breath out of him.
The elevator started moving, the smooth, vertical acceleration barely registering. The only sound was the heavy, uneven exchanges of breath.
Jack gasped into Robby’s mouth, his hands scrabbling for purchase, finally grabbing the front of Robby’s jacket and pulling him impossibly tighter. The metallic walls of the elevator car seemed to shrink around them, amplifying the heat.
Robby broke the kiss, dragging his mouth down to Jack’s throat, pressing his lips against the frantically pounding pulse point there. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice a thick, guttural sound that vibrated through Jack’s collarbone. Jack's mind was a blank slate, the only thought a repetitive drumbeat: Robby. Robby. Robby.
His hands, rough and calloused, were everywhere, tugging Jack’s shirt free of his jeans, finding the warm skin of his lower back, and pressing him deeper into the wall.
“Hurry up,” Jack pleaded, the words barely a whisper, his breath coming in shallow, hot bursts. He couldn’t be sure if he was talking to Robby or the agonizingly slow machine they were trapped in.
Robby simply intensified the attack, his lips trailing back up to Jack's ear, biting lightly, sending a jolt of fire through Jack's entire body.
The elevator dinged, a sudden, sharp noise that signaled their arrival, shattering the charged bubble of silence.
Robby didn't immediately pull back. He kept his face pressed close to Jack's neck, breathing hard, before he finally broke away, his eyes dark, his lips swollen. He looked utterly wrecked.
The elevator doors slid open onto a quiet, dimly lit hallway. Without a word, Robby grabbed Jack's hand, his fingers laced so tightly it was almost painful, and pulled him out of the elevator and down the hall, stumbling slightly in his haste toward his door.
At a door near the end of the hall, Robby stopped, fumbling with a key that seemed determined to miss the lock in his haste. Jack could see the slight tremor in his hand and realized that Robby was just as undone as he was.
The lock finally turned with a rough, metallic scrape. Robby shoved the door open with his shoulder and dragged Jack across the threshold. The door caught the push behind them and slammed shut with a heavy, muffled thud that seemed to seal them into the quiet of the apartment.
Robby didn’t release his grip on Jack’s hand. His fingers stayed locked tight, like he was afraid Jack might vanish if he let go. He turned, pushing his back against the closed door, and pulled Jack into him again.
The kiss that followed poured out of him like something long-dammed finally breaking loose. Fast. Deep. Bruising with intent. Robby’s hands slid up, framing Jack’s jaw as if he needed to keep him there, to feel the shape of him and hold it in place. His thumbs brushed along cheekbones, fierce and almost reverent, holding him captive and claiming him all at once.
Jack reached up, burying his hands in that messy, damp hair, grabbing, curling, testing the texture he’d been thinking about for far too long. It was warm beneath his touch, impossibly soft despite the chaos of the moment. It felt exactly as warm and soft as he'd imagined.
The sensation struck him with a flash of realization: it felt exactly like he’d imagined it would.
Robby broke the kiss only long enough to trail his mouth down Jack’s jaw, across the delicate, heated skin of his neck, before returning to his lips. He was breathing heavily, unevenly, the sound raw and thick.
“Jack,” he growled, the name rough and urgent, slipping out between desperate kisses. His fingers tangled in Jack’s hair, firm but not painful, each tug a silent demand that Jack stay exactly where he was.
Jack leaned into him instinctively, breath catching as he pressed closer. His own hands slid up Robby’s arms, then across his shoulders, fingertips mapping the line of muscle over his shirt. He gripped there for balance, for leverage, for something solid in the rush that was quickly stealing every thought except more.
Robby’s free hand trailed down Jack’s back, slow enough to make Jack notice every inch of the journey. Then it slipped beneath his shirt—skin meeting skin—cold fingers against Jack’s overheated spine. The contrast made him shiver, made him gasp against Robby’s mouth. Without thinking, Jack hooked a thigh around Robby’s waist, pulling him in harder, pinning him more firmly against the door.
Robby made a strangled noise into Jack’s mouth. The tentative grip he’d had on Jack’s jaw dissolved, his hands flying down, one to Jack’s thigh to steady the sudden pressure, the other sneaked between them. Pressing against Jack’s fly teasingly.
“Fuck.”
Jack’s whole body locked up, awareness slamming back into him like a brick to the face. His fingers twitched—just once—and in the next heartbeat Robby’s hand was gone, jerking away as if burnt. His eyes flew open, sharp with panic and worry.
“Are you okay?” Robby asked immediately. “Did I do something wrong?”
Jack watched Robby’s hand fall away from his thigh, retreating even as there was nowhere for him to go, still pinned gently but firmly against the door. Space opened between them, sudden and awful.
“No.” Jack dragged in a breath, hating the thin, shaken sound of his own voice. “No, I’m just—fuck. I’m ruining this.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, pressing his palm into his eyes like he could disappear if he tried hard enough. “I’m trans. Transgender. I’ve had top surgery, but—”
Robby didn’t let him finish. His lips were on Jack’s again, slower this time, softer, the urgency replaced with something steady.
Relief surged through Jack so fast it almost made him dizzy. His shoulders sagged, tension draining out of him in a rush.
“It doesn’t change a thing for me,” Robby said, the words nearly whispered, warm against Jack’s mouth. “Whatever you’re comfortable with,” he added, steady and sincere, “I’m game.”
Jack let out a shaky laugh that caught halfway between a breath and a sob. “Yeah?” he whispered, his voice regaining a bit of its rough edge. “You’re sure?”
Robby’s lopsided grin returned, though it was softer now. “Jack. I’ve been thinking about getting you in my bed since that first beer hit my shirt.” His gaze held Jack’s, steady and intent, like he needed Jack to really hear this part. “I’m sure.”
Jack pressed himself into Robby again, unable to help it. This time it was deliberate, no hesitation, just the solid certainty of Robby’s body against his. Chest to chest, thigh to thigh, the contact sent a low, steady heat through him that made his breath hitch.
He’d struck the fucking lottery with Robby, and the realization landed with a dizzying rush of relief and want. Whatever fragile moment there’d been before had settled and Jack wasn’t about to let the mood slip away again. Absolutely not.
Robby let out a quiet sound at the renewed closeness, hands tightening at Jack’s waist.
“Bedroom?”
Jack nodded. “Yeah. Bedroom.”
Robby led the way, fingers laced tightly with Jack’s. The apartment passed in a blur—dark wood floors, crowded shelves—but Jack couldn’t focus on any of it. His attention snagged on the way the hallway light caught the back of Robby’s neck, the clean line of his shoulders as he moved with easy confidence.
And his ass. Fuck. Robby had a really nice ass.
Jack’s grip tightened without him meaning to. Robby glanced back, catching the look on Jack’s face, and his mouth curved into a knowing smile that made Jack’s pulse jump.
“Almost there,” Robby said, low and amused.
Not soon enough, Jack thought, heart thudding.
Robby nudged the bedroom door open with his shoulder and finally let go of Jack’s hand. The overhead light flicked on a second later, and Jack blinked against the sudden, harsh white glow, momentarily blinded.
He watched Robby move around the room with easy familiarity, toes slipping out of shoes, the faint creak of the floor under him. Robby sank onto the edge of the unmade bed and started working at the buttons of his shirt. Each revealed inch of skin made Jack’s chest tighten and his brain short-circuit just a little.
“Were you in bed when I texted you?” Jack asked, unable to stop himself, voice low.
Robby paused, giving him a look that was part incredulity, part amusement, as he shrugged off the shirt and tossed it aside. The skin revealed beneath caught the light, smooth and warm, and Jack had to swallow against a sudden, overwhelming surge of want.
“Do you actually care, or—” Robby started, voice teasing, cutting off as Jack closed the distance between them.
“Or,” Jack said, a grin tugging at his lips as he straddled Robby’s lap. “I pick or.”
Robby let out a quiet, rough laugh, hands instinctively moving to steady Jack against him.
“Yeah,” he murmured, voice deepening just a touch, “that tracks.”
Jack grinned, all nerves burned away now. He reached for the hem of his own shirt, his movements slightly jerky as he pulled the fabric up and over his head. He tossed it somewhere toward the floor, not caring where it landed. The cool air of the room hit his skin, but the heat radiating from Robby was more than enough to compensate.
He felt a momentary flick of the old, familiar instinct to shield himself, to hunch his shoulders or cross his arms, but he forced himself to stay open. He looked down, meeting Robby’s eyes, searching for even a shadow of hesitation.
He found none.
Robby’s gaze was dark and molten as it traveled over Jack’s chest, tracing the faint, clean lines of his surgical scars with a hungry look. When his eyes finally snapped back up to Jack’s, the corner of his mouth quirked up.
“You have no idea what an injustice your work shirt does to you,” Jack let out a soft, nervous laugh that barely had time to exist before it dissolved into a quiet, surprised sound as Robby dipped his head and nipped at the sensitive skin of his throat.
Jack’s breath stuttered. His hands came up instinctively, fingers threading through Robby’s hair again, familiar now, soft strands slipping easily between his knuckles. Robby took his time, mouth tracing a slow path along Jack’s neck, a careful alternation of teeth and tongue that made Jack tilt his head back without meaning to.
Robby’s hands slid down, firm and certain, settling on Jack’s ass and pulling him closer. The movement brought them flush, heat pressed to heat, and Jack felt the low hum of it everywhere.
With a sudden, fluid movement, Robby leaned back, taking Jack with him. They tumbled onto the mattress, a tangle of limbs and heat. The bed creaked under their weight, the sheets cool against Jack’s back for only a second before Robby was over him, a solid, protective weight.
Robby propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at Jack with an expression that was so open, so undeniably wanting, it made Jack’s throat tight. Robby reached out, his thumb brushing over Jack’s lower lip, which was already swollen from their previous kisses.
He leaned down, replacing his thumb with his mouth. Jack’s eyes fluttered shut, his hands sliding from Robby’s hair to his shoulders, gripping the solid muscle there as if to anchor himself against the swell of emotion rising in his chest.
Robby broke the kiss just long enough to trail his mouth along Jack’s jaw, slow and deliberate, before drifting lower. His breath was hot against the column of Jack’s neck, each exhale sending a shiver through him. One hand slid down, knuckles grazing skin just above Jack’s waistband, a touch that lingered as if savoring the reaction it drew. Then his fingers found the button of Jack’s pants and worked it free with unhurried confidence.
The soft rasp of the zipper sounded unnaturally loud in the otherwise silent room, a small, intimate noise that seemed to echo between them. Robby paused there, forehead resting briefly against Jack’s shoulder, as if letting the moment stretch—letting the anticipation settle heavy and electric in the air.
Jack reached down, his fingers covering Robby’s where they rested against the denim of his jeans, guiding Robby’s hand lower.
Robby looked up then, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, searching Jack’s face one last time.
“Please,” Jack managed.
Robby didn’t need to be told twice. With a slow, fluid motion, Robby hooked his fingers into the denim, easing the fabric down. Jack let out a shaky breath, his head falling back against the pillow as Robby’s palms smoothed over the curve of his hips.
It was quite a sight, Robby settled between his legs, hair mussed, cheeks flushed, breath unsteady. He looked almost undone, and the realization stole the air from Jack’s lungs. Broad shoulders, big hands warm and certain as they came to rest between Jack’s thighs.
Robby’s hands slid beneath Jack’s legs, easing them apart. He shifted closer, the space between them disappearing, and Jack’s breath broke on a soft tremor. His fingers twisted into the sheets, knuckles white, as Robby leaned in, the faint scrape of stubble brushing the sensitive skin of his inner thighs.
The contact sent a jolt through him and Jack tipped his head back, eyes fluttering shut, caught between anticipation and the simple, overwhelming fact of Robby being right there.
Cool air ghosted over Jack's skin but only for a heartbeat before Robby's warm mouth replaced it. The contact was immediate, a blinding jolt of sensation. Jack cried out, his legs snapping shut instinctively, but Robby's large and steady hands settled on his thighs, holding them open with a gentle grip.
Jack's breath came out in broken, shallow gasps. His hands left the sheets to bury themselves in Robby’s hair, his back arching as he tried to buck upward—only to be pressed more firmly into the mattress.
Each pass of Robby's tongue dragged another desperate breath from Jack's lungs, his hands clenching, nails digging into Robby’s scalp. He tried to shift, to chase the pressure, but Robby only chuckled against him, low and smug, warm breath sending another ripple through Jack's core.
Robby didn’t slow down, his focus narrowing as he leaned deeper into the heat of Jack’s spread thighs. He hummed against the sensitive skin, a vibration that Jack felt deep in his marrow, before his tongue finally found what he was looking for. With a precise, deliberate stroke, Robby licked over Jack’s clit, causing Jack’s entire body to go rigid. A strangled, high-pitched sound tore from his throat, his hips stuttering upward in a desperate search for more of that friction.
"Robby—please, god," Jack choked out, his eyes rolled back, fingers tangling tighter in Robby’s hair.
Robby used his thumbs to spread Jack open even wider, exposing the slick, swollen folds to the cool air before drenching them again with his tongue. He began to suck rhythmically, a low, wet sound filling the quiet room. He focused entirely on the small, hard bud of Jack’s clit, swirling his tongue around it until Jack was sobbing his name, his heels digging into the mattress.
Robby slid two fingers inside, stretching him open while his mouth continued its relentless work.
“Robby,” Jack whimpered, the name breaking apart in his throat. He could hear the wet, messy sounds of Robby eating him out, the slide of fingers moving in and out, and the low, satisfied grunts Robby made as he tasted him.
The friction was too much. Jack’s hips began to buck uncontrollably, his legs shaking as he tried to find a rhythm, his mind spinning. His pussy felt swollen and tight, clenching hard around Robby’s hand with every thrust. He was so close, the pressure building into a tight, white-hot coil in his gut, making his muscles tremble with the strain of holding it back.
“Don’t stop,” Jack managed to choke out, his eyes squeezed shut as the first real wave of the orgasm began to shimmer at the edges of his consciousness. "I'm—I'm gonna—"
"I've got you," Robby murmured against his skin, the words muffled and hot. He increased the pace, his fingers curling inside Jack, mimicking the rhythm of his tongue until Jack’s vision went white. His back arched violently, a long, broken moan spilling from his lips as his orgasm crashed over him. His pussy clamped down hard around Robby’s fingers, pulsing in waves of release that left him trembling and breathless, completely undone.
He stayed suspended there for what felt like an eternity, his heart hammering against his ribs, before he finally collapsed back into the pillows, his body limp and twitching with the aftershocks.
Jack lay there, pinned by the delicious weight of his own exhaustion, his chest heaving as the room slowly came back into focus. The air felt cool against his sweat-slicked skin. Robby hadn't moved; he stayed settled between Jack’s thighs, his forehead resting against Jack’s hip as he took in ragged, heavy breaths.
Slowly, Robby shifted, his fingers finally sliding out of Jack with a slow, wet sound that made Jack’s core give one last, involuntary twitch. Robby sat back on his heels, his gaze traveling up Jack’s trembling body. He looked wrecked in the best way possible, lips swollen, eyes dark.
"Good?" Robby rasped, his voice a low vibration that made Jack’s skin prickle.
Jack could only nod, his voice lost somewhere in his throat. He felt raw and sensitive, still buzzing from the relentless attention. He watched, mesmerized, as Robby reached down, working his jeans quickly and began to stroke himself, his large hand still slick with Jack’s fluids. The sight of Robby’s thick length, dark and heavy in his own grip, made Jack’s breath catch all over again. Robby reached for the nightstand, his movements heavy and deliberate. There was a sharp crinkle of foil as Robby tore open a packet, his fingers working to roll the latex over his thick, aching length. The sight of him, so focused and breathing hard made Jack’s breath catch all over again.
"Come here," Robby murmured. He reached up, his hands firm as he gripped Jack’s hips and dragged him toward the edge of the bed until Jack’s legs were draped over his broad shoulders.
The new position opened Jack up completely, his aching pussy exposed and glistening under the light. Robby leaned forward, the tip of his cock pressing against Jack’s entrance, the latex slicked further by the heavy mess Jack had made. He pushed forward, the friction dragging against Jack’s swollen walls. Jack let out a long, shaky moan, his head falling back as he felt himself being filled. Robby buried himself deep with one steady thrust, bottoming out and letting out a guttural sound of relief as he finally let himself sink into Jack’s heat.
“Fuck, Jack,” Robby groaned, his voice vibrating in Jack’s chest. “You’re so wet. You’re squeezing me so tight.”
Robby began to pull back until he was almost out, only to drive back in with a sharp, bruising tilt of his hips. Jack’s eyes blew wide, a shattered moan escaping his lips.
The rhythm was relentless, a heavy, driving force that left Jack reeling. Each time Robby bottomed out, his weight pressed Jack deeper into the mattress. His legs, hooked over Robby’s shoulders, shook with the effort of holding on. He reached out blindly, his fingers finding the headboard and gripping the wood until his knuckles burned. He was stretched full, every nerve ending in his core screaming with a mix of exquisite ache and building pressure.
"Robby—" Jack gasped, the name little more than a shattered breath.
"I know," Robby growled. He shifted his grip, his large hands sliding from Jack’s hips to his waist, hauling him upward to meet every downward thrust. "Just breathe for me."
But breathing was impossible. Robby tilted his head, his teeth grazing the side of Jack’s neck, and the sharp sting of it sent a fresh jolt of electricity straight to Jack’s groin.
Jack felt the coil tightening again, faster this time, fueled by the sight of Robby’s focused, sweating face and the heavy, wet sound of their bodies. His head thrashed against the pillow, his internal muscles clenching desperately around Robby’s length.
Robby’s pace shifted from steady to frantic as he felt Jack’s internal muscles begin to seize. He wasn’t just moving with Jack anymore; he was driving into him, his movements raw and stripped of any remaining restraint. The bed frame groaned under the rhythmic force, mixing with Jack’s broken, high-pitched whimpers.
Every thrust felt like it was carving Jack open, filling him with a heat that threatened to consume him. Robby let out a low growl, his hands digging into the mattress on either side of Jack’s head as he braced himself for the finish. He began to hammer home, short, punishing thrusts that hit Jack’s most sensitive spots over and over again.
Jack’s body went taut as a wire, his toes curling and his fingers locked into the wood of the headboard as his second orgasm tore through him, more violent than the first. His internal muscles clamped down in a rhythmic, crushing grip, milking Robby with desperate intensity.
Robby let out a long, ragged moan, his head falling into the crook of Jack’s neck as his own release hit. He buried himself deep one last time, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm, pinning Jack to the bed as they both rode out the crashing waves of the afterglow.
The silence that followed was heavy, filled only by the sound of their uneven breathing as it slowly began to steady. Robby stayed draped over Jack, his weight familiar and grounding, his body still trembling faintly as the last of the adrenaline drained from his muscles.
After a moment, Robby shifted, pushing himself up onto his elbows so he could look down at him. His hair was a mess, darkened with sweat and his eyes were dark with a lingering, soft intensity. He reached up, gently uncurling Jack's white-knuckled fingers from the headboard.
Jack hissed quietly as he flexed them, soreness blooming through his hands. He watched Robby lean down to press a brief, gentle kiss to his knuckles before finally getting off the bed. Robby moved with quiet efficiency, disappearing into the bathroom to clean up, the door left partially open.
Jack lay there, staring at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling in slow, deep breaths. From the bathroom came the muted sounds of running water, the soft clink of something set down on porcelain—small, ordinary noises that made everything feel real again.
He rolled his wrists, working out the stiffness, then let his arm fall back against the sheets. The room smelled faintly of sweat and soap, the air warm and close but comfortable.
After a minute, Jack pushed himself upright. He glanced down at his hips and waist, fingers brushing the red marks blooming there, already certain they’d darken by morning. He tested one gently, then snorted under his breath at himself.
“You can shower if you want,” Robby’s head peeked around the bathroom door, damp hair curling at his temples. “There’s clean towels and a spare toothbrush under the sink.”
Jack looked up at him, a corner of his mouth lifting. “You planning on supervising?” he asked, voice rough but lighter now.
Robby huffed a quiet laugh and leaned against the doorframe. “Only if you want company,” he said easily.
Jack snorted, the sound easing something tight in his chest. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the sheets sliding cool against his skin. “A shower sounds good actually.”
Robby nodded, already stepping back to give him space. “Take your time.”
Jack showered—quick, efficient, all muscle memory. The heat eased the grime of the day from his skin, but the tiredness of his shift lingered, sinking deep into his bones where the water couldn’t reach. When he stepped out, he pulled on the fresh boxers Robby had left out for him, the small, practical kindness not lost on him. He brushed his teeth with the spare toothbrush waiting on the counter, mint sharp and unfamiliar.
By the time he stepped back into the bedroom, the edge of the adrenaline had faded into a heavy, bone-deep weariness. Robby was sitting on the bed, back against the headboard, phone abandoned facedown beside him. He looked up immediately when Jack emerged, eyes flicking over him in a quick, assessing sweep before softening.
For a second, Jack hesitated, staring at his clothes strewn across the floor where he’d dropped them. Maybe he should redress and dip.
“I’d like you to stay the night,” Robby said softly. “But if you want to go, I get it.”
Jack let out a slow breath, feeling the weight in his chest ease just a little. The thought of leaving, of slipping back into the quiet of his own space, felt safe—but hollow. He looked at Robby, at the quiet hope in his eyes, and something inside him shifted.
“I’ll stay,” he said, his voice low but certain. He didn’t move to get dressed. Instead, he let himself sink onto the edge of the bed, feeling the pull of exhaustion and comfort at the same time.
Robby’s expression softened, a small, grateful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Good,” he said simply.
Jack eased down onto the bed beside him, the mattress dipping slightly under their combined weight. He shifted awkwardly, then slid beneath the covers. A moment later, the lights went out, and Robby shifted behind him. Jack felt the warmth settle around him like a soft, familiar weight. Robby’s arm draped over his waist, holding him close but not tight—just enough that Jack could feel the steady press of his chest against his back. His fingers traced lazy, absentminded patterns over Jack’s side, a quiet rhythm that matched the slowening beat of his own pulse.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the distant city outside, the rain still pouring steadily. Jack rested his head against the pillow, eyes half-closed, tracing the shadows Robby’s arm cast across the sheets.
Jack’s eyelids grew heavier, the exhaustion finally claiming him completely. He felt Robby’s arm shift one last time, pressing him gently into the warmth of the bed, and then he let himself drift, the soft rhythm of Robby’s breathing lulling him into a calm, deep sleep.
The last thing he registered before the darkness took him was the faint brush of lips against his shoulder.