knotsandknives:

prompt fill for anonymous who asked for “some smutty roseph involving knots and knives”. i tried…..

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“This is not what I was picturing when you said you ‘needed a hand with some rope’.“

Joseph glances up from the heap of sailing rig he’s tangled in, smiling at the disgruntled look on Robert’s face. “We don’t all spend our time in the mental gutter,” he admonishes.

Robert snorts, uncrossing his arms to keep his balance as he steps on board Joseph’s yacht. He glances around the mess on deck, turning back to Joseph with both eyebrows raised. Joseph shrugs, ropes dangling from his arms.

“Spring cleaning!” he enthuses, grinning up at Robert as he comes nearer, standing over Joseph where he’s seated among what seems like every rope available to him in shades of pink. “It’s finally warm enough to get back out on the water, so I gotta make sure she’s seaworthy.”

“Uh huh,” Robert says, bracing a hand on Joseph’s shoulder to lean in for a kiss. Joseph tips his head back to accommodate him, the taste of mint not quite enough to mask the menthol on his breath.

Joseph pulls away, eyes narrowed teasingly. “Did you brush your teeth before you came?” Robert blushes just a little, high on his cheeks. Joseph is delighted. “Aw, did you clean up for me, sweetheart?”

Robert flattens a palm against his face, pushing Joseph’s head away as he laughs up at him. “I thought you wanted to screw!” he huffs, letting Joseph catch his hand and pull him down to the deck. “I didn’t know I was being manipulated into physical labor.” He grumbles a bit more, indecipherable against Joseph’s mouth, before hooking one arm around Joseph’s neck and settling into a soft, unhurried kiss. Joseph’s own efforts to hold him are hindered by the pile of ropes clinging to his every extremity. Robert notices, taking advantage of Joseph’s helplessness, pulling away to brush his nose against Joseph’s, thwarting Joseph’s every attempt at reconnecting their mouths.

“Got yourself in a mess, don’tcha?” Robert breathes against his cheek, kissing Joseph’s closed eyelids when he pinches them shut with a sigh.

“Are you going to help me or just keep making fun?” Joseph asks, with less sting than he intended because Robert has taken one of his earlobes between his teeth, and it’s really hard to sound upset with him when he does that.

Robert hums thoughtfully, nosing in behind his ear and biting down, just shy of painful. Joseph gasps, tilting his head to give him more room. “Depends,” Robert says, following the arch of Joseph’s neck with his mouth. “You gonna make it worth my while?”

“We are – shit, Robert – out in broad daylight,” Joseph whispers, protesting even as he presses into Robert’s touch. “Get me loose so we can at least go inside.”

“How did you do this, anyway?” Robert leans back to get a better look at him, amusement curling the edges of his mouth. He plucks at the thick lengths of rope Joseph is piled under as Joseph shifts, embarrassed. 

“I was checking the rigging,” Joseph mumbles, flinching as Robert’s fingers catch one of the knots caught around his wrist. “I pulled everything down and was running it, you know, checking for weak points. So I was untying and tying knots, and throwing it around, and it was all over the place, and I just kept tying without realizing that they were getting tangled and wrapped around me an- stop laughing, Rob!”

“You’re ridiculous,” Robert tells him, kissing him quickly. “Maybe if these weren’t all nauseatingly pink, you could stand to look at them long enough to make sure you weren’t tying yourself up.” He sits back on his heels, digging into his front pockets for a moment before coming up with small, dark-wooden handle pocket knife.

Joseph jerks involuntarily when Robert flicks it open with a thumb, drawing a strange look from the older man. “You can’t cut these!” he insists, eyeing the sharp glint of the spear point knife warily. “This much rope costs a lot of money.”

“I’ll buy it back,” Robert says shortly, making an irritated noise when Joseph shifts away again. “Joe, come on, you don’t seriously expect me to untangle this mess by hand.”

Joseph almost tells him that yes, he does expect that, just to see if he’s right in thinking Robert would do it. Robert is watching him, a little agitated. Joseph pretends to consider it for just a moment, gazing mournfully down at his custom pink rigging. It had been a lot of work to track down all these shades! He’d had to color-code the different lines, and pink just wasn’t a readily-available color, let alone in all different hues. 

“I’ll buy it back in pink,” Robert says, gently. 

Joseph meets his eye, biting his lip on a smile. “Promise?” he checks, just this side of breathy, and Robert’s eyes go dark. All too easy.

“You’re a spoiled brat, you know that?”

Joseph grins, satisfied, as Robert settles in a crouch in front of him, getting a better look at what he’s up against. None of the ropes are particularly tight, but they’re heavy and uncomfortable. Joseph can feel them irritating his skin when he moves. 

Robert’s expertise with a knife exceeds Joseph’s with his knots (obviously), so he makes quick work of the bulk of the mess twisted around Joseph’s limbs. He shoves most of the length to the side, focusing on the last of the smaller, tighter knots caught around Joseph’s elbows and wrists. “How?” he asks, gesturing vaguely. Joseph feels his cheeks getting hot, but whether it’s from Robert’s incredulity or being out in the sun for such an extended period, he isn’t sure.

“I was just kinda,” Joseph makes a demonstrative motion with his one liberated arm, “winding it up, you know?”

“Uh huh,” Robert says again, like he can’t believe the caliber of idiot he’s saddled himself with. His fingers slip under the tightest knot, cinched around Joseph’s left wrist.

“Hang on, I think I can loosen it -” Joseph starts to say, twisting his arm beneath Robert’s grasp.

“Goddamn it, Joe!” Robert hisses, yanking the knife away, too late. Joseph doesn’t even feel the pain until he sees blood, seeping from the wound at the tip of his thumb.

Then the world swims, a little, as he sways on the spot. “Oh, shit,” he manages, eyes fixed on the crimson smears trickling toward his wrist.

Robert curses again, cutting the last of the rope away before tossing the knife to the side, grabbing Joseph’s wrist to inspect the cut. Joseph feels sweaty and faint, his heart pounding in his ears, stomach turning over unpleasantly as Robert turns his hand toward the light.

“It ain’t so bad,” Robert tells him, sounding relieved until he catches sight of Joseph’s pale face. “Joe? Baby, you all right?”

Joseph swallows, trying to find the words to reassure him, but all he can focus on is the steady flow of blood from his injured finger. Robert looks between his face and the wound, brow furrowed worriedly, before seemingly coming to a decision. He raises Joseph’s hand to his lips, sucking his still-bleeding thumb into his mouth. Joseph watches with something other than horror as Robert licks the blood from his hand, quick and efficient, chasing the path from cut to wrist. He slides his mouth back up to catch the newest drops at the tip of Joseph’s thumb before they can fall. His tongue traces the length of the cut, and Joseph jolts, more pain than pleasure, but there are aspects of both when Robert does it again, flicking his eyes up to Joseph’s face.

“Rob,” Joseph says, weakly. Robert hollows his cheeks in response, sucking gently at Joseph’s thumb, careful to avoid scraping his teeth over the wound. Joseph is transfixed, heart still thumping painfully, blood still rushing away from his head, but now for an entirely different reason.

“You got a first aid kit around here?” Robert asks around the digit in his mouth, tonguing at the split flesh again. This time, the jolt is all pleasure.

“Below deck,” Joseph whispers, reluctantly. He never thought he’d see the day he’d want to keep bleeding, but Robert has taught him a lot of things about himself he never knew.

“Hold your hand up,” Robert instructs him, catching Joseph behind the elbows and hauling both of them to their feet. He kicks the ropes away, lest they trip over them, and forces Joseph’s arm higher with the hand he still has around his elbow, leading him across deck and down the stairs.

Joseph blinks dazedly once they’re out of the bright sun, eyes struggling to adjust to the dark cabin. He’d installed curtains over the wall of windows, at Robert’s insistence, and they’re closed now, casting the room in a pallor. Robert lets go and moves away, leaving Joseph to stagger his way to the bed. He sinks down on the edge of it, hand raised at shoulder height, carefully avoiding looking over in case he catches sight of the wound again.

Robert rummages around in the cabinet across the room, making little frustrated noises every time another drawer turns up devoid of what he’s looking for. Joseph watches his back, focusing on the concerned tightness in his shoulders rather than the trickle of something down his own arm. 

“Robbie?” It comes out more pitiful than Joseph intends. He’s such a wuss about blood.

“I’m looking, babe,” Robert snaps back, slamming yet another gainless drawer. “You got so much goddamn junk in these it’s a wonder you can ever -” He cuts himself off, digging to the bottom of the current drawer, coming up with a thin piece of paper.

A photograph, Joseph realizes, craning his neck to get a look at it. Robert runs a finger over the surface, head bowed so Joseph can’t see his face. He opens the last drawer in the cabinet, sighing in relief when it yields the elusive first aid kit. He comes over to where Joseph sits, kneeling in front of him with kit and photograph in hand. He sets the latter aside, opening the kit and pulling out an alcohol wipe.

“Gimme,” he demands, reaching for Joseph’s hand. There’s blood pooled in the hollow of his wrist, streaking slowly toward his elbow. Joseph makes a choked noise, turning his face away as Robert swipes at it, working his way up to the actual cut. “I never knew you were a hemophobe,” Robert says, conversationally, like he doesn’t hold Joseph’s maimed hand in his own. Joseph hisses another breath when Robert trades out for a fresh wipe, dabbing at the wound gingerly.

“I don’t know anyone who actually likes blood, sicko,” Joseph retorts, eyes squeezed shut as Robert probes the cut, checking the depth. “Who just sticks someone’s bleeding finger in their mouth? That’s disgusting, Robert.”

“Why, you got cooties I’m gonna catch?” He flicks his tongue against Joseph’s thumb once more, prompting a sharp gasp. “Seems like you like it more’n you’re lettin’ on,” he teases, voice low and amused.

“You’re going to have to clean it again,” Joseph warns, helpless but to watch as Robert takes the whole finger in his mouth again, biting at the last knuckle. His eyes are guileless as he stares up at Joseph, swirling his tongue around the digit as he sucks his way back up. Joseph can’t hold back a moan.

“Worth it,” Robert says, shuffling forward on his knees, pushing Joseph’s apart. He lets go of Joseph’s wrist to get both hands on his belt, forcing Joseph to hold his own hand against his lips as he continues the ministrations of his tongue. Robert’s eyes beg silent permission, fingers plucking at the buckle meaningfully, and Joseph gives a jerky nod. Like he’d ever seriously say no.

Robert’s hands are cool from the wipes as he eases Joseph out of his slacks, a contrast to the heat of his mouth around Joseph’s thumb. He pulls off just long enough to lick a stripe across one of his palms, crimson-streaked saliva thick and wet when he gets the hand back around Joseph’s cock.

“Gross, Rob, come on,” Joseph complains, almost snatching his hand out of reach when Robert leans in for it, tongue first.

“It’s your blood, baby,” Robert reminds him, undeterred.

“Please don’t say the ‘B’ word,” Joseph whines, curling the fingers of his injured hand around Robert’s jaw as he licks at his thumb again. He doesn’t even feel bad if he’s getting…stuff in his beard.

Robert just chuckles, the vibrations not entirely pleasant against the slit skin of his thumb, but Robert’s hands on his cock more than make up for it. Robert invents a rhythm, twisting his wrist at the head of Joseph’s dick as he sucks his way down his finger, following with a quick stroke down to the base as he licks at the cut. Joseph’s head falls back, groans and curses and encouragements falling from his lips as his fingers flex against Robert’s face. He has to hold himself up with the other hand, otherwise it’d be in Robert’s tousled but fresh-smelling hair. He really had cleaned himself up before coming over. Joseph feels a rush of affection that has nothing do with Robert’s current preoccupation. He lifts his hips to follow the motion of Robert’s hand, earning himself a grunt of acknowledgement. 

Robert lets go of Joseph’s dick with one hand, tracing down over his balls in a practiced movement that leaves Joseph gasping, bearing down against the pressure. Just a couple more strokes like that and he –

Joseph shouts as Robert sets his teeth against the edges of the wound, palming the head of Joseph’s cock as he squeezes with his other hand. His release spills through Robert’s fingers, mimicking the flow of blood and saliva over Joseph’s own hand as Robert pulls away to kiss him on the mouth, tongue pressing deep to cut off Joseph’s airway, leaving his head swimming through the remnants of his orgasm. 

Joseph holds him close with both knees and one arm, letting his body speak the gratitude his mouth is too preoccupied to say. Robert is hard against his stomach, moving against him in aborted little half thrusts. Joseph wriggles a hand between them, the uninjured one, frustrated with his temporary handicap when he can’t quite work Robert’s pants open one-handed. 

Robert is no help, both hands framing Joseph’s face as he continues to kiss him breathless. He makes a contented noise when Joseph runs his fingers along the length of his clothed cock, biting his lower lip.

“Help me get your pants open,” Joseph whispers, deep into the kiss. “Rob, come on, I need two hands.”

“All you need,” Robert replies, stroking his tongue along the roof of Joseph’s mouth, “is to keep touching me, just like that.”

Joseph scoffs but tightens his fingers, opening his eyes in surprise when Robert groans in that tell-tale way of his. “Just like this?” he asks, incredulous. “In your…?”

Robert nods stiffly against him, letting out a harsh gust of breath when Joseph strokes up. “Really got me goin’, baby.”

“Well, well, well, if I’m a…what did you call me?” He presses, just that much harder, when Robert takes too long to answer.

“A hemophobe,” Robert moans, burying his face in Joseph’s neck. “Afraid of blood.”

“Well, if I’m a hemophobe, that makes you a…” Joseph pauses. “A…whatever you call it when people who get off on blood. One of those,” he finishes, lamely.

“Hematolagniac,” Robert provides, through gritted teeth. He shifts, desperately, trying to encourage the motion of Joseph’s hand. “Joe, come on.”

“I don’t even,” Joseph starts, pressing the heel of his palm at the base of Robert’s dick and dragging up, prompting an open-mouth shudder, “want to know how you know that.”

“Hey, now, I let you have your rope kink. You’re not even gonna give me the same courte- ah!” Robert’s head falls forward on Joseph’s shoulder as he comes, warmth seeping through the front of his pants. Joseph frees his hand from between them to wrap an arm around his shoulders, holding him close.

They breathe together for a minute, Joseph’s fingers trailing idly through Robert’s soft hair, Robert’s clenching and unclenching against Joseph’s thighs. Robert lifts his head, finally, smiling at Joseph from behind tired eyes.

“Good,” he says, simply. Joseph laughs, leaning in to kiss him. His thumb throbs when he reaches to stroke Robert’s face, temporarily forgetting the injury. His sucks a breath through his teeth, pulling back to cast a glare at the offending appendage. Robert frowns, sitting up straighter to lean around Joseph for the medkit. “Let me see that again.”

Joseph holds his hand out, back to avoiding looking directly at it. He casts his gaze around the room as Robert patches him up, eyes landing on the picture Robert had carried over before. He picks it up, eyebrows jumping in surprise when he gets a look at it.

It’s a picture of them, with the other cul-de-sac dads, on Joseph’s yacht. Robert is wearing his sweater, smiling like he hasn’t a care in the world. Joseph’s arm is around him, and though the photo doesn’t show it, Joseph can vividly remember the fingers he’d trailed along the back of his neck, sending gooseflesh down Robert’s arms. He stares at the picture, lost in the way the smile crinkles Robert’s eyes, until real life Robert is finished. He tweaks Joseph’s freshly bandaged finger, making him jump.

“How long have you had that?” Robert asks, quietly. Joseph looks at him, eyes clouded with memory.

“Since it was taken.” He shrugs at Robert’s questioning look. “I like when you smile.” He turns the picture around so Robert can see. “I like this Robert best.”

Robert finishes repacking the first aid kit, setting it on the floor at Joseph’s feet before joining him on the bed. He takes the picture from Joseph’s unresisting hand, holding it at length. 

He needs bifocals, Joseph thinks, not for the first time. It inexplicably makes him want to kiss him.

Robert looks at the picture for a long time. He doesn’t say anything, just looks, until Joseph drops a hand on his leg. He glances over, smiling self-consciously. “You like him, huh?”

Joseph nods, leaning over to rest his head on Robert’s shoulder, letting Robert intertwine their fingers. “He’s pretty cute, don’t you think?”

Robert lets out a long sigh, dropping the photo on the nightstand and reaching over to drag Joseph closer. “I think if you like him so much, you should get him to come rescue you next time.”

He kisses Joseph as he laughs, tumbling him back into the clean-smelling sheets.

knotsandknives:

prompt fill for anonymous who said: Robert has to get bifocals. He hates this. Joseph makes him feel better about it 😀 ;D

---

“Not a word,” Robert warns, pulling the door open ever so slightly, just enough that Joseph can slip through before he slams it back. He doesn’t need any nosy neighbors seeing him like this. He rolls his eyes at Joseph’s guileless expression, turning away to sulk his way back to the living room.

“What do you mean, ‘not a word’? I’m not allowed to comment? Robert!”

Joseph trails after him, poorly-disguised amusement in his voice. He turns the light back on after Robert flicks it off, with more force than is strictly necessary.

“No,” Robert finally answers, ignoring Joseph’s pout. He sits in his favorite armchair and only protests a little when Joseph follows, perching on the arm of the chair to peer into Robert’s face. Robert averts his eyes, gaze fixed stubbornly on the far wall. He needs to paint. He’s never painted. These walls likely haven’t seen a drop of paint since the 70’s.

Joseph’s hands on his face bring Robert’s attention back to the other man, forcing him to meet those brown-flecked blue eyes of his. “Can I just say one thing?” Joseph asks, thumbing at the very edges of the large, squarish frames on Robert’s face. Robert catches his hands with a frown, pulling them away.

“Depends on what it is. If you call me four eyes, I’ll dump your ass.”

Joseph laughs, twisting his hands in Robert’s grip to tangle their fingers. “Are you sure you’re not going to do that anyway? You’re seeing me in HD for the first time. Maybe I’m not as good-looking as you remember.”

Robert squints up into Joseph’s face, pretending to consider it. “You do have a lot more wrinkles than I thought.”

Joseph whips the glasses off Robert’s face, holding them playfully out of reach above their heads. “Who needs to see, then?” He lets Robert wrap both arms around his waist, pulling him into the older man’s lap.

“What were you going to say?” Robert asks, not faking the squint this time. He didn’t even realize how badly he’d needed the damn glasses until he’d had them, and suddenly road signs could be read before he was right on top of them. Until he’d gotten a good look at Joe and been able to see the gorgeous fine lines of laughter around his mouth and eyes all the more clearly. As much as he hates the damn things, that almost makes them worth it.

Joseph smiles at him, slipping the glasses back over his ears, settling them gently on the bridge of his nose. He leans in to kiss Robert softly, still smiling. “I was just going to tell you how fucking hot you look in these.”

Robert grunts in surprise as Joseph presses nearer, angling for a real kiss. “They make me look old,” Robert corrects him. He runs one hand up Joseph’s back, under his polo, slipping the other beneath the waistband of his slacks, relishing the smooth warmth of his skin.

“Yeah, like a really hot grandpa,” Joseph says, eyes blinking open when Robert scoffs.

“Fuck, Joe, I knew they’d age me but not that much.” Robert lets go of Joseph to try and take the glasses back off. Fucking old man bullshit, he can see perfectly fine without them, thanks very much. Even if he does have to hold his drafting paper two feet from his face to be able to see his own designs.

Joseph catches his hands again, putting them back on his ass. “I told you, I like it. You’re all mature and wise looking. It’s hot,” he stresses, giving Robert another tease of a kiss. “And besides, you could totally be a grandpa. Val’s old enough. Just because she doesn’t have kids doesn’t mean she couldn’t.”

“I think we should talk about your apparent burning attraction to old men,” Robert says, indulging Joseph when he presses their foreheads together, laughing.

“It’s not old men,” Joseph tells him, pulling away to meet his eye. “It’s just one old man in particular.”

Robert pinches his waist, right where that little bit of softness peeks over his pants. Joseph starts, then laughs. “You smudged my glasses, by the way.”

Joseph grins, unrepentant. “I’d like to do a lot more than that, if you’d let me.”

Robert’s heart rate jumps at the low, suggestive tone Joseph’s adopted. “Meaning?” he asks, his own voice suddenly gruffer than normal. Joseph runs his hands up and down Robert’s arms, considering.

“I kind of want to come on them,” he says in a rush, like he has to say it fast or not say it at all. Robert’s eyes go wide, the effect possibly comically magnified by the strength of his lenses.

“Yeah?” he manages, grip tightening on Joseph’s hips. That kid never fails to surprise him. He’s so much dirtier than the clean-cut, pink-polo, blonde-hair, white-teeth exterior would ever suggest. Robert loves him.

There’s a faint, slightly embarrassed blush high on Joseph’s cheeks, but he nods firmly anyway. Robert is so proud of him. “I’ve been thinking about it basically since you told me you’d ordered them.”

“Fuck,” Robert breathes, leaning in to seal his mouth over Joseph’s in a harsh kiss.

“Is that a yes?” Joseph moves back to ask, the hunger in his eyes belying his casual tone. He nudges Robert’s glasses up with the tip of his sharp nose, fogging the lenses, not to mention Robert’s senses. This close, Joseph is all he can see, smell, feel. He can hear the quickness of Joseph’s breath, an echo of his own. He can taste the desire on his tongue when Joseph kisses him again, deep and dirty. At this point, he’d probably let Joseph talk him into eating the damn glasses, if that’s what he wanted.

“It’s always a yes with you, you know that.”

Joseph smiles, a hint of smugness in the expression. “It’s dangerous to give me that much leeway.”

Robert returns his smirk, brushing their lips together. “I like to live on the edge, baby.”

The next few minutes are a haze of wet kisses and rough hands, a shift in position that leaves Robert kneeling between Joseph’s legs, naked from the waist down. Joseph is the reverse image, stripped from the waist up, pants unzipped and open just enough that Robert can slip a hand in. Joseph’s hands are clenched in the fabric of Robert’s henley, stretching the material at the neckline. Robert has a dozen like it. He couldn’t care less.

“Robbie,” Joseph is moaning, head tipped back to expose the column of his throat, long and pale like the rest of him. Robert rests his chin on one of his generous thighs, feeling the tension beneath the khaki. He’s loathe to admit it, but he really can see so much better. Even at this distance, he catches the flutter of Joseph’s eyelids when he presses his thumbnail to slit at the tip of his cock. He can see the way Joseph’s nostrils flare on a sharp inhale when he applies just the right amount of pressure. He doesn’t miss a single nuanced expression, and it’s adding to the sensuality of the experience like he couldn’t have imagined. Damn his old man eyes for causing him to miss out on this for so long.

Robert focuses all his attention on Joseph for now, ignoring his own arousal in favor of watching Joseph’s play out across his face in stark relief. “You really are into these, aren’t you?” Robert asks, thrilling at the noise Joseph makes when Robert presses his face to the side of his cock, letting it slip up under the glasses a bit at the edge, lifting them away from his face slightly. Joseph grabs Robert’s chin, holding him in place to thrust into the gap he’s created between the frames and his temple. It’s hot enough that Robert doesn’t even care how ridiculous it is. Joseph’s unabashed lust is worth any oddities about the situation. He doesn’t even mind the glasses at this point, if wearing them can reduce Joseph to this.

“So much,” Joseph is saying through gritted teeth, already just this side of desperate. Robert is barely stroking him now, just letting Joseph rub himself against his face. And the glasses. They’re worth their weight in gold at this point. “You should,” Joseph is panting now, watching himself essentially fucking Robert’s glasses at this point, “never….fuck, Robert….you should never take them off. I fucking love -” Joseph cuts himself off with a long moan when Robert tightens his grip, giving him a better pocket to thrust into.

Robert backs off a little, ignoring Joseph’s whimpered protests. “You’re gonna be coming in my hair if you stay like that,” Robert shushes him, resisting Joseph’s attempts to draw him back in. “And this whole thing’ll be for nothin’. Aim for the glasses, sweetheart.”

“You sure?” Joseph checks, a little too late in Robert’s opinion because he’s already smeared precum over every inch of the damned things. But endearing nonetheless.

“Go for it, babe. I don’t wanna be able to see a thing outta these when you’re done.”

That’s all the permission Joseph needs before letting go, eyes as open as he can keep them in the midst of it all, watching the pearly strings of his release as they cling to Robert’s nose, cheeks, eyelashes, but mostly watching the way it coats the lenses of his glasses. Robert tilts his head accommodatingly, closing his eyes to keep the worst of it out. He doesn’t need to see. He can hear how pleased Joseph is, can feel it in the reverent brush of fingertips on his face. Joseph’s hands wander to the frames themselves, smearing the traces of himself across the lenses with his thumbs.

“These are never going to be unsmudged,” he tells Robert, not sounding the least bit apologetic. Robert smiles, a little.

“Lenscrafters is really gonna regret their free cleaning and adjustment service after they get a load of me.” Robert pauses, reconsiders. “Well, a load of you, really.”

-x-

Joseph goes with him to the store, just to see the look of barely concealed horror on the poor employee’s face when Robert hands the glasses over.

knotsandknives:

prompt fill for anonymous who said: Soooo…how did Robert get that scar?!?!??!

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“Just leave it, Joe.”

Joseph frowns, still tracing a gentle finger over the prominent scar cutting an impressive line between Robert’s pectoral muscles. They’re lounging in the half-light that is Robert’s bedroom at dusk. Robert’s smoking his fourth post-coital cigarette, despite Joseph’s disapproval (“It’s my room, sweetcheeks. You’re free to leave.”), and neither of them have made any attempt at getting redressed. Joseph needs to get home, knows his kids are going to be asking after him, that Mary will be getting anxious to head out for the night, but he can’t quite bring himself to leave, not now that he’s finally worked up the courage to ask about Robert’s mark.

“Is it something completely embarrassing?” he tries again, voice light. “Like, I have a scar on my knee from giving Chris a horsey ride around the backyard and crawling right over top of -”

“Stop,” Robert interrupts, and his tone is such that Joseph doesn’t need to be told twice. “It’s not cute or funny or anecdotey. I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Fucking drop it.” He sits up from his reclined position, dislodging Joseph where he’d been propped up against his chest.

Joseph lets himself be pushed to the side, lets Robert roll his way out of bed, watches him stalk to the en suite and shut the door firmly between them. Light filters out from under the door, too bright in the once-comfortable gloom. Joseph hears the water running, what sounds like Robert washing his face. He shifts onto his back with a sigh, cursing himself for pushing it. If there’s one thing he knows about Robert after all these years, it’s that he doesn’t like to be pushed.

But Joseph also knows that, after all these years, he’s earned a little bit of pushiness, damn it. He’s been there enough, shown up enough, proven himself enough to deserve Robert’s trust. Joseph doesn’t understand why he’s still so closed off, after everything. After what they are to each other. Joseph trusts Robert with his life. Literally because one word to the wrong person could see Joseph’s carefully constructed sham of a marriage crumbling at his feet. But he trusts Robert to keep his secrets. The fact that Robert doesn’t feel the same is a source of endless frustration and anxiety. If Robert doesn’t see this as a relationship, one where trust and communication are key, then what are they even doing? What is Joseph even doing here?

The bathroom door creaks open before Joseph can get up and gather his things in a fit of crippling doubt. Robert stands in the frame, still naked as the day he was born, backlit, but Joseph can see the regretful furrow of his brow.

“Still here, huh?” he says, lowly, but there’s no harshness to his voice now. Joseph recognizes the chagrin that always colors his words after one of his outbursts. He smiles softly, shrugging, and it’s enough of an invitation for Robert to slide back in the bed, farther away than before but still present. He’d left the light on in the bathroom, and it spills across the room through the ajar door.

Joseph watches Robert’s eyes, a washed out brown in the artificial light. Robert is brushing ash from the sheets, shaken loose by his abrupt departure. At least he’d remembered to stub the cigarette out on his way. What he’s really doing is avoiding Joseph’s gaze, but Joseph has four kids. He’s familiar with the tactic. And he’s always been too patient for his own good.

Eventually, Robert blows out a breath, reaching across the space between them to take Joseph’s elbow, pulling him close. Joseph considers resisting, on principle, but he never wants to miss a chance to be near Robert. They settle much like they were before, Joseph’s head tucked against Robert’s neck, Robert’s arm behind his shoulders. Joseph keeps his hands to himself, for now, punishing Rob a little. He didn’t miss how this position gives Robert an excuse not to meet his eyes. He doesn’t speak, either. There’s no need to make this too easy on Robert.

“Sorry,” Robert finally mutters, low enough that Joseph could ignore it. Robert probably wants him to. But after all this time, he knows better than to expect Joseph to keep quiet about anything.

“I’m sorry, too,” Joseph says immediately, shifting so the words aren’t mumbled into Robert’s collarbone. “I know I’m a little pushy sometimes, but I can never get you to talk to me otherwise, Rob. And you know I only ask because I care about you, and I want to know things about you because I want to know you better, and I just wa-”

Robert closes a hand over his mouth, not ungently. Joseph rolls his lips together, swallowing the rest of his rambling. He gazes up at the side of Robert’s face, waiting.

“I don’t see how collecting useless facts about people’s past qualifies as knowing them,” Robert starts, pressing harder when Joseph tries to protest against his hand. “I think it’s enough that we know each other as we are now, without all the minutiae. But,” he says, louder, not giving in to Joseph’s huffs of displeasure, “I know knowing these things is important you. I don’t always like your asking about them, and I don’t always want to tell you, and I won’t always tell you, but I know you like to know. And it’s…nice. That you care enough to ask.”

The last words sound like they took everything in Robert to say, like he’d forced them past years of deep-set, ingrained reticence. Joseph rewards his effort with a kiss to his open palm, still resting against Joseph’s lips. Robert’s fingers twitch, but he doesn’t remove his hand.

“You wanted to know how I got the scar?” he checks, nodding back when Joseph bobs his head, movements kept small with the hand over his mouth. “Bike accident,” he says, then amends it when Joseph’s eyes go wide. “Not like motorcycle.” Robert sighs, closing his eyes. Joseph has given up wondering when he’s going to drop his hand. It seems to bring him some measure of comfort, knowing he can tell the story at his own pace without Joseph being able to interject. Joseph wonders how much he actually talks, that Robert feels the need to silence him. It might be time for a little self-reflection on the matter.

Robert is silent for a spell, breath syncing up with the soft exhalations Joseph breathes against the back of his hand. He smells like nicotine and the generic, dollar store hand soap he always keeps in the bathroom. It’s soothing.

“I took Val for a bike ride at the shitty, slummy park near our shitty, slummy house. She must have been like seven or eight.” Robert pauses, swallowing hard. Joseph can hear his heartbeat beneath his ear, nervous and uneven. He kisses Robert’s palm again, spreading his own against the expanse of Robert’s flat stomach. “I was wasted,” Robert grits out, years of guilt and regret lacing the words. “I was always wasted, back then.” He gives a short, humorless laugh, not robust enough to shift Joseph. “I guess it’s not too much different from now, except I couldn’t hold my liquor as well then. Definitely not well enough to watch a kid, steer a bike, and smoke. I was mostly focused on the cigarette,” he continues, bitterly. “Like, of all things. That was most important to me. Anyway, there was a big hill that lead down to the parking lot. Val liked to ride down there so we could have coasting contests, see who could go the longest without pedaling. We’d fuckin’ book it down that hill, then coast around the parking lot until one of us fell over.”

Robert’s voice sounds thick, rich with memory as much as emotion, and Joseph considers breaking away from the hand over his mouth to tell him it’s okay, he doesn’t have to go on. But now that he’s started, Robert seems determined to finish. He takes a couple shuddery breaths before he continues.

“I don’t even remember getting to the top of that hill, that’s how gone I was. I just remember being pissed at how windy it was that day. I couldn’t get my cigarette lit, and Val was needling me, trying to get me to hurry up. I,” Robert sounds angry now, at himself. At the world. “I yelled at her. Told her to stop being such a needy little shit. She started to cry, and I was frustrated, and was just like ‘fine! let’s go!’ and took off without her.” He shakes his head, and Joseph can see the tension in his jaw. “I was drunk, and mad, and only had one hand on the bike. It was a gravel path. I ate shit. Like, spectacularly. Fucked everything up. Concussion. Broken wrist. This,” he gestures to the scar, disgustedly. “Val had to ride home for help. Seven years old, had to ride home by herself to tell her mom that her drunken asshole of a dad was lying at the bottom of a hill, passed out and bleeding everywhere. She had to see that, you know? She had to see that and react to it and -” He stops again, jerking away from Joseph to sit at the edge of the bed, breathing hard and shaking just slightly.

Joseph sits up more slowly, missing the weight of his hand already. He follows Robert to the edge, kneeling up behind him. He slips his arms around his chest carefully, unsure of his welcome, but Robert leans back into his touch. Joseph lets out a breath, hooking his chin over Robert’s shoulder, hands clasped together over the identic scar.

“That was kinda the last straw as far as me and Marilyn were concerned,” Robert tells him, quietly. Joseph can’t help the questioning noise he looses, because he knows the two of them had stayed married until Marilyn’s death. “Had myself a situation a lot like yours,” Robert clarifies, hands coming up to close around Joseph’s arms, keeping him close. His thumbs slowly stroke the jut at the outside of Joseph’s wrists. “We stayed together but it wasn’t…we weren’t together. Not that I blame her.” Another humorless laugh. “I didn’t even deserve that. She should have left. Taken Val and never seen me again.”

“Rob,” Joseph starts, but Robert squeezes his wrists, tight. Joseph is tired of being silenced, but letting Robert get it all out is more important that Joseph getting a word in edgewise.

“So that’s the story of the scar. Glamorous as you were hoping?” Robert asks, but it isn’t really a question.

Joseph turns his head, resting his cheek on Robert’s shoulder, thinking. “I would have stuck with you, too,” Joseph tells him, quietly. Robert scoffs, and Joseph talks over him. “Listen, I can’t pretend to know why Marilyn did it. Why she stayed. But if she ever felt even close to the way I feel about you, and if she saw the person I see, under the booze and the self-destruction and the cynicism, then she had a reason for -”

Robert interrupts him again, but not with words. He takes a sobbing, shuddering breath, face turned away from Joseph. He drops the hands on Joseph’s arms to cover his face, scrubbing at his eyes roughly. Joseph sits up slightly, mortified but also strangely gratified at finally drawing some kind of emotional reaction out of Robert. He drops a kiss at the back of Robert’s neck, running both hands up through his hair, brushing it back from his forehead. Joseph kisses him again and again, the side of his neck, the shell of his ear, the crown of his head. Robert’s breath catches a few more times before finally evening out. He sighs explosively, leaning back into Joseph’s embrace again.

“I think I love you, you know that?”

Joseph closes his eyes, nose pressed to Robert’s smoke-scented hair. They breathe in unison for a while, sitting naked on the edge of Robert’s giant bed, yellow light warming their features.

“I know.”