Title: Bobby Wins
Author: Ima Pseudonym
Pairing: Bobby/Jack
Rating: NC17 (for gratuitous swearing and graphic sexual situations)
Summary: In the case of 'The Universe vs. Bobby Mercer', sometimes Bobby gets a win.
Notes: This has been around for-e-ver. But then I finally finished it, and- Well, obviously this is different from the other fics I've posted in that there's slash. It still, primarily, deals with Bobby and Jack's personalities and interactions... Only their interactions are a bit- stickier in this.
So, yeah. Slash in this, I'll reiterate. If that's not your thing, no biggie. Enjoy my other FB fics. ;)
One more note: There's no particular 'time' set for this fic. It's AU.
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"It's about fucking time, you limp-dicked fuckhead!" Bobby shouted, to a response of three pointed stomps from the apartment above.
"Fuck you, you old bat!" he threw an empty beer can at the ceiling, for emphasis.
Yes, Bobby Mercer was in a damn good mood.
He had discovered, his first day on the job as a bouncer at a nightclub, that the worse he roughed up asshole troublemakers the better pleased the owner was.
Finally, he was getting paid to, pure and simple, kick the asses of people he felt deserved it. On top of it, Evelyn had prepared the world's best homemade lasagna, of which she'd insisted he and Jack take home the leftovers.
Jerry had shown up, sans Camille and the kids, and Sofi (while unfortunately being present) had apparently come down with a fierce case of laryngitis.
Bobby suggested it wouldn't have gotten so bad if her banshee screeching hadn't eroded her vocal cords. It was worth Evelyn's rebuke for the 'silently' hateful look Sofi shot him.
He got a good spot in front of his apartment complex and his team seemed to be heeding his shouted orders via telepathy. They were simple orders, though, like "Take the shot!" or "Go!Go!Go!"
Finally, Jack was in a good mood as well. He brought Bobby his fourth beer without being wheedled into it, and didn't mention a word about how Bobby should slow down. Bobby had already informed his baby brother-turned-lover of his first day on the job, and Jack had agreed it seemed an ideal occupation for the often violent man.
The younger of the two ignored the free space on the couch, and settled on Bobby's lap, quietly observing the end of the game with him.
And that was fine by Bobby.
His team won by a single goal, shot in the last two seconds of the game.
Yes, at the moment, life was as good as it had ever been bad. Bobby switched off the post-game and tossed the remote away in favor of letting his hands rest on the narrow hips so comfortably melded to his body.
Bobby would gladly take sex over the game, any day. But getting both was that much better. "You been pretty quiet tonight, Jackie." The older man said off-handedly, becoming more adventurous in how far his hands roamed. Jack arched against the touches, with a deft roll of his hips, letting some of his natural sensuousness show through.
"I just didn't want to break this weird cheerful spell you're under." The younger man murmured, voice a low rumble, clutching Bobby's hands; pressing them lower, harder.
"Spell? You been reading Harry Potter again, fairy?"
"Shut up, man." Jack ordered around a gasp as the heel of Bobby's palm kneaded attention-starved flesh.
Bobby toyed with the zipper under his hand, and Jack whined softly, turning Bobby on further.
"Because that's fine, if magic and unicorns and shit's your thing." Tooth by tooth he lowered the zipper, knowing he wasn't playing fair. But fuck fair, anyway. The point was to win.
"Just because your last encounter with literature involved Miranda Rights- Oh!" Bobby made a mental note that the easiest way to shut Jack up was to brush his thumb over the head of the younger man's cock. Although, he supposed that might prove difficult in most public places.
He wrapped his hand around the member, slender like the rest of Jack, stroking slowly against each helpless buck. His own arousal was getting difficult to ignore.
Jack babbled unintelligibly, head thrown back, exposing the long pale line of his throat. And Bobby Mercer did not miss an opportunity that presented itself so nicely.
Jack keened, nearly jerking himself clear off his human perch, as Bobby formed a perfect purpling bruise at the base of his neck: Something Jack didn't normally respond so positively to. The former hockey player admired his work for a moment: Not just the hickey but the way Jack was writhing in his lap, straight white teeth tearing at his lower lip. Bobby had barely gotten started and it looked like Jack was three strokes away from being finished.
"Come on, horny teen giant." Bobby pushed his brother off his lap, and stood as well. He guided them a few steps backward, towards the tiny bedroom.
The bed was a comfortable mess (much like their relationship) with blankets spun up into impossible twists with the sheets. None of that registered when Jack's lean form was sprawled across the mattress, jeans lewdly failing to hide the sparse trail of blonde hair leading to a thicker patch: His turgid sex lying flat and demanding against his taut stomach.
It was such an appealing (read dirty) picture that Bobby crawled between miles of spread legs and licked a long stripe up the waiting flesh. Jack whimpered, hips straining up into the sensation.
Bobby didn't do this often.
Fucking and kissing were one thing. Having his cock sucked was another. But having his own mouth on someone else's... Even Jack's... Well, that wasn't Bobby Mercer.
Fuck that, he thought. It had been a good day. Why not share the wealth?
Bobby didn't own any finesse when it came to blowjobs. That was one of Jack's specialties, but he'd be damned if he was going to do this half-assed.
He pushed narrow hips hard into the mattress and with something like fierce determination, wrapped his lips around the flared tip of Jack's cock.
The younger man keened again, bruising himself in an effort to push up into that wet heat.
A month ago Bobby might have told him to keep it quiet, but why not also share the wealth with their uptight, dickheaded neighbors? Let'em hear how sex was supposed to be.
Let them know that Jack was his and they would never know how amazing that was.
And let them call the cops. Bobby had a few favors due from some of Detroit's finest, anyway.
"Bob- Oh fuck, Bobby. Pleeaase!" Jack babbled, voice alternating between his usual soft rumble and a higher breathy gasp. And Bobby wondered why he didn't do this more often.
He redoubled his efforts; taking in more than he was sure he could deal with and told himself that he was turned on by the almost pained whimpers and not the silky hot flesh, or the salty skin taste of his Jack.
"No- Bobby! Wait!" Jack pleaded, and Bobby couldn't think of any manly excuse for his disappointment in drawing back, so he didn't bother rationalizing.
"Jackie?" Jack's eyelids fluttered, and Bobby knew it was his tone that caused that reaction. Sometimes, Jack called it his 'bedroom voice' when he was still coming down from a mind-blowing orgasm and didn't consider that Bobby might taunt him for being such a chick. By unspoken agreement, Bobby never used post coital pillow talk against Jack.
For Jack's sake. Not because he liked having sappy shit murmured in his ear.
But, if he held on a little tighter and whispered back, Jack never called him on that, either.
"I don't wanna... Not until..." Jack faltered and tried to tug Bobby up by his forearms.
And Bobby took pity because he knew what Jack wanted and there was no way in Hell he was saying 'no' to that.
Jack wanted to say, "I don't want to shoot my load until you're fucking me." but he hated being that crass. And he wanted to say, "I want to come with you inside me." but he didn't want to be that saccharine.
"I gotcha Jackie." Bobby promised, and he meant it in so many more ways than just understanding what the younger man wanted to say.
He released Jack's hips and started shucking off his own clothing, before reaching out to grab a packet of lube from the bedside table.
Three months ago, they'd gotten the results for all their tests back and had celebrated their officially un-diseased status by tossing out the condoms.
Bobby had repeatedly asked Jack if it was okay, until the brat tightened his thighs around Bobby's hips and drove Bobby over the edge with no safety net... So to speak.
Cleanup was somewhat more involved but if Jack honestly didn't have a problem with it, then that was one more 'score one for Bobby' in the impossible 'vs the universe' match.
It sure as fuck wasn't due to karma.
Bobby took his time prepping the younger man, although this was a common enough occurrence that he really needn't be so, excuse the pun, anal about it.
This was like foreplay. Shit, who said Bobby couldn't be a gentleman? Really though, it was another measure of control he was allowing Jack to assume. The taller of the two said when and Bobby followed the orders.
Sometimes, Jack said 'Stop' with the ghosts of tears in his eyes, and Bobby would just hold his little brother and chase away the demons with his non-threatening presence.
There was a list, you see. A growing one, in Bobby's head and he fully intended to clear that list name by name.
Some people made the list when their actions caught up to Jack in his dreams. And he'd wake up screaming for so-and-so to leave him alone.
Two of the names (through impatient sleuth work) had matched pre-Evelyn foster parents.
Bobby didn't know for sure what they'd done. He didn't want to. But he knew they'd left eternal scars on what he loved most in the world, and that was enough to earn them some personalized lead badges.
When Jack said "Now. Please, Bobby- Now!" he carefully removed his fingers and replaced them with what he loved second best in the world. (Hell, he 'was' a man, after all.)
His dick was perfectly proportional with his body, or so he'd silently defend when compared with his taller lover's own business. But while Jack had length on him, Bobby had girth, and he had never had a complaint.
His ego was quietly stroked at the intense expression on Jack's face; the perfect 'o' of his mouth, like every time it was just as impressive, and he was unsure if 'that' could fit 'there'.
But it did, and the gratification wasn't one-sided.
"Jesus... So tight." Bobby groaned, and even though he'd said similar (or exact) things every time, they were too caught up to care about repetition. The classics never die, after all.
Bobby shifted his hips forward, gaining another willing inch, and Jack grasped his shoulders, pulling him in; always in, at every conceivable level.
When short fingernails dug into his skin, and Jack dropped the rhythm, Bobby paused.
"C'mon, little brother." he whispered, and yeah- Okay, maybe that was a little fucked up, but the taboo kind of worked for them, and it's not like Jack would be popping out three-toed babies, even if he were female, because Bobby had already been an adult having sex with whatever looked cross-eyed at him for five years when the scrawny kid had come into existence, and became his family on paper, and in spirit.
It wasn't just an offbeat kink of Bobby's because at the title, Jack flushed red from more than exertion and with a broken shout, arched up in release.
Bobby didn't wait for the orgasm to subside before he renewed his thrusting, with just a little less caution than usual. He knew Jack didn't like him leaving bruises on his hips (or anywhere; sometimes including hickies) but Bobby didn't exactly like his shoulders and back being clawed up, so he didn't mind leaving a few fingerprints on pale hips. And right now, this time at least, Jack didn't seem bothered either.
When Bobby came it was quiet; just a stutter of meeting pelvises, and a low hiss. He pulled out, expecting Jack to hobble off to the bathroom. Bobby wouldn't say he liked cuddling or any chick shit like that, but while he understood the impulse to clean up, it usually ruined post glow to think of what that entailed.
When Jack only pulled him back down, plastering them together with the mess of sex-related secretions, and kissed the scratch 'wounds', Bobby softly traced the half-crescent nail marks on Jack's hips, and felt like the luckiest guy in the world.
"I love you, man." he said, and his tongue almost tripped on the words. Yeah, he'd said it before. And he always meant it, but in the quiet of post-coital touching, it seemed more real; bigger.
Jack's sleepy smile soothed his nervousness. "I love you, too, Bobby."
That? That Bobby would hold Jack to, for as long as Jack held his own declaration to him. (And then for another eternity, for good measure.)
With a life like they'd both lived there was always that underlying panic that when things seemed too good, the other shoe would drop, or the bottom would drop out, or whatever 'drop' analogy turns your crank would occur.
But somehow, despite experience and the pessimism built by that experience, the shine wasn't wearing off this. And in his heart, no matter what his mind taunted, he felt it wouldn't. This was a victory, and that couldn't really be taken away.
It was like life was one big game with fans and hecklers, time outs, fouls, and the exhilarating thrill of competition. But with Jack on his team, he'd never lose, even when the universe threw everything it had at him.
He'd taken his share of hits, committed more fouls than he'd like to admit, but with Jack- in this alone- he couldn't lose.
The final score didn't matter. Not really. Bobby knew he'd won, already.
FIN
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A/N: Using 'FIN' makes it sound fancier than it actually is.
So, I hope I didn't traumatize anyone. Bobby/Jack slash is a lot less taboo than some of my other fic-favorites, like Wincest, but I realize not everyone's cool with the notion. I didn't write this (or share it) to offend anyone.
It makes me feel good to have Bobby and Jack find happiness with one another.
So please review if you enjoyed this and let me know, even if you didn't like the slash, but found other elements of the story notable. (Sex certainly wasn't the driving force of the story! It was just a means of yanking thoughts and characteristics from Bobby, who threatened me the whole while with a jar of expired peanut butter and an irate opossum! Le horror!)