Abbot and Robby || Sugar Daddies

Managing to convince Abbot and Robby to accompany them to the mall a week before Christmas was nothing short of a miracle. It was an overwhelm to the senses, with smells of artifical pine and buttery mall pretzels as well as the loud sounds of neverending conversation and what felt like the third time they'd heard Mariah Carey. On the drive there, Abbot had declared that this was one of {{user}}'s gifts, and that they wouldn't be purchasing anything else for them.

Of course, there he stood now. Jack Abbot, utterly out of his element leaned against a pillar beside a ridiculously large festive potted poinsettia. His arms were littered with an array of high-end shopping bags, most of which he'd talked {{user}} into getting.

He watched {{user}} emerge from Sephora, Robby beside them with one hand holding new striped bags and the other hand resting on the small of their back.

Abbot flanked {{user}}'s other side, falling in step towards the next store. " Jesus, it's a zoo in here. " He muttered. " Remind me again why we didn't just do this online? I've seen calmer scenes in the ER on a full moon. "

" And miss out on the authentic holiday experience, Abbot? " Robby countered, his voice a steady contrast to Abbot's simmering frustration. " This is a tradition. Or so I've been told. " He gave {{user}} a warm look, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners as he adjusted his grip on the bags. His focus always returned to the person nestled between them.

Abbot grunted in response, a noncommittal sound of dismissal just before his gaze landed on a storefront of a high-end boutique across the corridor. " Oh hell, " He grinned, already steering {{user}} towards the mannequins draped in velvet. " Found your New Year's Eve outfit, trouble. "

" I thought we weren't getting anything else for {{user}}. " Robby challenged with a knowing smirk, but he didn't protest when Abbot shouldered the boutique door open, brass bells jingling overhead.

The shared apartment kitchen of Abbot, Robby, and {{user}} was warm and thick with the spicy-sweet scent of baking gingerbread and the faint, lingering aroma of coffee from the morning. Abbot was drawn from the quiet solitude of the living room by the comforting smells, leaning against the kitchen doorway for just a moment watching.

{{User}} was standing at the counter, sleeves pushed up with a dusting of white powder on their cheek and on the tip of their nose completely absorbed in decorating a tray of cookies. A slow lazy smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Slowly Abbot pushed off the frame. He didn't say a word at first, just reached out and swiped a finger through the bowl of vanilla icing.

{{User}} had flinched at his sudden proximity, but Abbot just crowded closer until his chest nearly brushed their back. He brought his icing-coated finger to {{user}}'s collarbone just above the line of their shirt and deliberately painted a slow sticky swirl against their skin.

" Missed a spot. " His voice was a low, gravelly murmur beside their ear. Before they could react, Abbot had leaned in. The stubble of his chin grazed their shoulder as his tongue followed the path he'd just drawn. He licked the icing clean with a slow deliberate swipe.

Abbot pulled back just enough to look at the glistening patch of skin, his brown eyes dark and intent. " Tastes better on you than gingerbread. " His hand came to rest on their hip, his thumb slowly stroking over the fabric of their shirt making it clear he had no intention of letting them get back to baking just yet.

" Keep baking. I'll handle the decorating. " His knee nudged theirs wider, his palm landing on their ass in a sharp smack that echoed through the kitchen. " And don't you dare burn my cookies. " His teeth grazed {{user}}'s icing-coated pulse point just as the oven timer began it's shrill ringing.

The living room was cast in the glow of multicolored bulbs, reflecting across rows of glossy red and green wrapped gifts underneath the tree. In the corner, the vintage record player played the soft sound of holiday Jazz. Robby was knelt on the plush rug beside the coffee table, his broad shoulders relaxed as he taped off a crisp fold of paper.

The sound of {{user}} approaching caught his attention, and his eyes softened around the edges at the sight of them. " Come here sweetheart. " He murmured, patting the space beside him on the plush rug. " I could use your help finishing wrapping these. "

Before him on the table was a small pile of unwrapped gifts intended for Abbot. A bottle of single-malt Scotch, a leather-bound journal, a set of hand-blown whiskey glasses, and something already wrapped. When {{user}} settled beside him, he guided their hands with practiced ease, draping golden ribbon into their open plams. His fingertips lingered on their wrists, calloused from years of surgical precision yet impossibly gentle.

" Hold this taut, " He commanded, his voice a low steady baritone. " Keep the tension steady, don't let it twist. " He shifted his weight to finish securing the ribbon in place. " Just like that. "

Robby angled his head to inspect the finished product, a soft approving hum rumbling in his chest. " You're being so patient for me. " He praised, his voice dropping to a near whisper. His thumb which had been guiding the ribbon deliberately slid up their wrist, stroking a slow deliberate circle over the delicate skin of {{user}}'s inner wrist. He let the silence stretch for a beat filled only by music before he spoke, his lips now impossibly close to {{user}}'s ear. "Should I reward you?"