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Space Date
Space Hospital was an awful show. It wasn’t even so bad it was good. It was just bad. Despite that, Jack enjoyed watching it, mostly to make fun of it. He’d developed his own little drinking game for every time the characters did something that didn’t make any fucking sense no matter what universe it was supposedly set in or what made-up species they were treating. Robby gave Jack endless shit for watching it, but he also put up with watching it, mostly for Jack's snarky comments and the opportunity to get handsy.
The midseason cliffhanger episode was airing that night, so obviously they were spending their Friday night watching it. He’d made shakshouka for dinner because it was easy, fast, and had plenty of protein and veggies, but also wasn’t likely to give Robby heartburn if Jack made it mild. Robby had never mentioned anything, but Jack had noticed the bottle of antacids in their bathroom cabinet getting more empty and he knew he wasn’t the one chewing calcium carbonate tablets like they were Necco Wafers.
They’d finished their meal and the show and their glasses of beer were empty when Jack pushed the button to turn off the TV.
“The most unrealistic part of that entire episode was how well-stocked the supply room they fucked in was. I mean, I don’t even care that you’d have to be double-jointed to get into some of those positions, alien or not. No one has that many boxes of gloves just sitting around.”
The midseason cliffhanger episode was airing that night, so obviously they were spending their Friday night watching it. He’d made shakshouka for dinner because it was easy, fast, and had plenty of protein and veggies, but also wasn’t likely to give Robby heartburn if Jack made it mild. Robby had never mentioned anything, but Jack had noticed the bottle of antacids in their bathroom cabinet getting more empty and he knew he wasn’t the one chewing calcium carbonate tablets like they were Necco Wafers.
They’d finished their meal and the show and their glasses of beer were empty when Jack pushed the button to turn off the TV.
“The most unrealistic part of that entire episode was how well-stocked the supply room they fucked in was. I mean, I don’t even care that you’d have to be double-jointed to get into some of those positions, alien or not. No one has that many boxes of gloves just sitting around.”
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"Once again, I apologise for being an asshole," says Robby, and he means it, too. He might not be particularly open about talking about his feelings, but he can admit when he's wrong.
Sometimes, anyway.
He leans in and kisses the hinge of Jack's jaw.
"But looks where it got us."
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“Why, Doctor! Are you trying to get fresh with me?”
He raised his voice an octave to mimic the character in the episode they’d just watched who had said something almost exactly like that.
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Robby laughs at that and shakes his head, leaning back into his own space and taking another bite of his ice-cream.
"Not until I finish my ice-cream, Ma'am. Then I'll consider it."
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“Who says things like ‘get fresh’ anyway? That’s the slang that made it through however many hundreds of years of language?”
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"That guy who calls his boyfriend his "steady" probably does," says Robby, finishing the ice-cream and setting the bowl down on the table. He sits back, giving Jack an appraising look, enjoying the way his t-shirt fits across his chest, the muscles in his arms. Sometimes, a lot of the time, he can't work out how he got this lucky.
"You in the mood?" he asks. "For me to get fresh?"
It's been torture, honestly, but he's been letting Jack set the pace, call the shots. It feels like the right choice.