Work Text:
The first time he robs Robert's underwear – well alright, not the first time. The first time was an accident, both of them freezing in their makeshift bed on the barn floor at the sound of a car engine turning over outside, the dip of headlights through the cracks in the door, Robert thrusting a fistful of clothes at Aaron's chest and scrambling into his own. It had been nothing, in the end, and Robert had been able lean over Aaron, kiss sour mouth until it sweetened up again, had slipped away from him with a hand across Aaron's shoulders and the promise of soon. Aaron hadn't even noticed the pants weren't his until he was stripping off for bed. Snug, black, boxer briefs – just like his own – but these were roomier around the leg holes, the waistband thicker, softer to touch when he couldn't help himself. He'd peeled them off carefully, tucked them at the back of a drawer, under his own cheapo supermarket pants, felt weird and dirty about it even while his belly flipped. Robert must have realised, that he'd gone home in Aaron's that day, but he never said anything and Aaron didn't either.
So alright, not the first time, but the first time Aaron does it on purpose, and the first time Robert notices, it's a Monday; Robert hurrying out the door to get to a meeting. He leaves Aaron sprawled in bed, chest still heaving from his goodbye kiss.
When his head stops spinning, Aaron gets up, faffs on his phone for twenty minutes while he waits for the bathroom to free up, has a piss, a shower, scuffs himself dry with last night's damp towel, sits naked on the edge of the bed for another twenty minutes to faff on his phone some more, puts his socks on, briefly considers having a wank but decides not to on the off chance Robert is about at lunch time, and finally heaves himself back to his feet when his belly rumbles for breakfast and Adam sends him a message – a photo of his stupid face, mouth down-turned, hand up to display the empty, Aaron-less cabin at the yard. It says Am I on my own today or what bro? which is as close to annoyed as Adam ever gets, so Aaron gets his arse in gear.
He doesn't necessarily give that much thought to putting them on, they share an underwear drawer these days, sort of roughly split down the middle, but he picks up a pair from Robert's side on purpose. They're always softer than his own, and he deserves a bit of comfort for a day of miserable paperwork in that stuffy cabin, Adam breathing down his neck about how he's liking living with Robert – such is his fear that Aaron will change his mind and send Robert back to Keeper's box room where he can get under Adam's feet again. Aaron hasn't told him there's no chance of that happening, with Adam, it's better to let him sweat.
He grabs the blue and grey stripy pair, the ones Robert was wearing their first night of living together, just a couple of weeks ago. He remembers because Robert had thrown himself on the bed, skinned out of them and chucked them at Aaron's face, where he was stood by the door, reeling. Aaron had caught them, held them between his hands, still warm from Robert's body, and laughed. “Bit eager, aren't you?” he'd said, even while his skin prickled, eyes greedy down Robert's chest and the heavy spread of his thighs.
Robert had ignored him, hand curling around himself, eyes sparking like a summer storm. He'd said, “Come here,” and Aaron had gone, underwear dropped to the floor, forgotten.
He makes it to the yard half an hour later, Adam already elbow deep in a silver Kia, fussing at him about being late again and oh, good morning was it lad? with his tongue pinched between his teeth, that stupid look on his face.
:::
Robert clatters into work mid afternoon, car and then shined-shoes spraying gravel obnoxiously. He's damp at the temples and across his forehead, stripping out of his suit jacket and tie. Aaron sinks back in his chair to watch the pull of his shirt across his shoulders, the reveal of freckle dusted forearms when his sleeves are rolled back. He's still the fittest thing Aaron has ever seen, broad and hulking in a way he doesn't know how to use, all shoulders and swimmers hips, soft hands. Aaron wants him so much his teeth ache.
“It's bloody boiling out there,” Robert tells him, huffy, shirt pulled out of his trousers to be wafted, heart-stopping little flashes of toned stomach on show for Aaron to drink in.
It must be plain on his face, it must be he feels flushed with it, suddenly very aware that it's Robert's underwear his balls are tingling in and not his own.
Robert pauses, shirt tails in his hands. “You alright?”
Aaron doesn't clear his throat, but it's a near thing. “Fine. Good meeting.”
And there's that look again, the one that makes the air crackle between them, always has. Aaron gets this feeling, when Robert looks at him like that, starts moving around the desk to get to him, like he's running ten steps ahead of a storm, every hair on his body rising in response.
Robert parks his arse on the edge of the desk, Aaron's council forms crunching under him. “I missed you this morning,” he says, eyes hot over Aaron's face, enough that he can feel it.
This time he does cough. “Did you?”
“Mmmm,” Robert nods. He reaches out to tuck a finger in the neck of Aaron's t shirt, tugging. “I could get used to it though, I reckon; kissing you goodbye, leaving you waiting for me in bed.”
He's said as much every morning for the last couple of weeks. Aaron is still wildly charmed by it, in spite of himself.
So when Robert leans in, lips parting, Aaron's already leaning up in his chair for it, hand finding Robert's thigh. They haven't even had time for a proper snog when the door bangs open, Adam hanging in the doorway with a face on.
“Oh come on, lads,” he says, pained. “Do you not get enough of that at home?”
Aaron snatches his hands away from Robert, embarrassed. The thing is, it's not as though Adam hasn't caught them at it plenty, and definitely not as though Aaron hasn't suffered through far too much of the Adam and Vic show for his liking over the years, but it still hasn't gone away, that quick flash of he's not yours, don't let get caught. Even now, months later, he still feels the same way he did the first morning he bumped into Adam on the landing at Keeper's, both of them in their pants and rubbing at their eyes; like the Robert he'd left in bed, snoring softly into the dent in Aaron's pillow, could be whipped away at any minute if Aaron wasn't careful enough to make sure no one knew about it.
As it was, Adam had just squinted at him and let him use the bathroom first, but the feeling lingered. It's fading, slowly, but sometimes he wonders if it will ever feel like Robert is really his; properly, and for keeps.
Robert's slower to move away, always is, but he straightens up, eyes hot on Aaron's. “Later,” he says, and Aaron nods, breathless and agreeable, even with Adam looking on.
:::
Aaron's dragged into the bedroom when he gets home, Robert seemingly listening out for his boots on the stairs, because the door is yanked open and Aaron gets pulled in by a fist in the front of his t shirt, door closing again when he's pushed back up against it.
Robert bypasses his mouth completely, tongue fast and wet over the skin of Aaron's neck. Aaron lets his head thunk back against the door when Robert sinks to his knees. They haven't even said hello to each other, how can it still be like this? How can he still want like this when there aren't parts of Robert he can't reach any more?
Robert pauses, Aaron's work trousers pulled open and peeled down his hips, and Aaron remembers, with a hot flush, what he's got on underneath.
Robert's nose drags along the length of him, sending blood rushing south, his head swimming without it. “Are these mine?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.
Aaron puts a hand on his head, pushing as politely as he can. “Shut up,” he says, begs really, for Robert to not make a thing out of it, not when he's close enough that Aaron can feel his breath.
Robert seems to be considering his options, still nosing at Aaron, sucking kisses across his belly, just above the waistband, but he must be feeling generous because he doesn't say anything else, just hauls the lot down to mid-thigh and swallows Aaron down. Aaron has bite down on the heel of his own hand to keep quiet, and thanks god that Robert's got his mouth full for the foreseeable.
:::
He ends up on his knees, stolen underwear still down around his thighs, biting in when he tries to spread himself open wider. Robert fucks him breathless, hands on Aaron's hips, skidding up through the sweat on his back. Aaron hangs his head and takes it, pushing back any time it seems like Robert's bruising rhythm might start to falter.
When Robert sits back on his heels, palms spreading over Aaron's chest to take him with him, Aaron goes. He stiffens when he's fully seated, can't help it, Robert deep enough inside him to swallow around.
Robert halts the next upward kick of his hips before it starts, licking over the skin behind Aaron's ear. “Hurt?”
A long, slow shudder ripples through Aaron, and his head dips, turning back and forth. “God, no.” His voice sounds destroyed already, and he's a liar; it does hurt, the best kind of hurt, a static burn that's making his ribs ache, where is heart is battering against them. “Keep going,” he grits out, because he's pretty sure that if Robert doesn't, he's going to come anyway, all over himself, and embarrass himself completely.
Luckily, Robert takes him at his word, starts a slow ride that has Aaron moaning in waves; loud and totally uncontrollable. His orgasm rolls up through him in the end, Robert's fist around him easing the way.
Afterwards, they roll together, Aaron finally getting himself naked and stretching out his aching legs.
“So that was surprisingly hot,” Robert says, because Aaron should have known he'd never just let it go.
Aaron grunts at him.
“I don't mind, you know,” Robert's fingers card gently through Aaron's sweaty fringe. “You can have anything of mine you like.”
Aaron softens but can't help scoffing. “As if I'd be caught dead in half the stuff you wear,” it's tempered by the shaking hand he's smoothing up and down Robert's arm, but he means it. Most of Robert's clothes should be burnt. Chrissie really missed a trick there.
“Except my pants,” Robert says, and there's that smirk again. “They're alright are they?”
Aaron huffs. He wants to get arsey about it so Robert will shut up and he can stop feeling like some sort of perv, but he's too tired, too satisfied to muster more than a half-hearted glare that Robert kisses away before it can even get going. Aaron puts his hand on the back of Robert's head to hold him still, keep the kiss going so Robert has no choice but to be quiet.
When they finally manage to drag themselves out of bed, to go downstairs for a late tea, Robert pinches Aaron's softest hoody, the one he saves for bad days, and shrugs it on.
“Ay, fair's fair,” Robert says, when he catches Aaron looking.
Aaron pulls a face. “I was going to say you look pretty good actually,” adds, “For a change,” off Robert's smug face.
Robert's arms slip around his waist to reel him in. “You're allowed to admit you fancy me, you know,” he says, wheedling for a compliment like Aaron didn't just shout to god and anyone within a mile radius about exactly how fucking good Robert is. “We all know you do.”
Aaron shakes his head. “Well I'm not with you for the sparkling conversation, am I?”
He pushes up on his tip toes to smack a kiss to Robert's cheek, right next to his gravely offended, dropped-open mouth, and legs it out of there before Robert has time to retaliate.