This year of their cabin vacation, Robby swears will be the year he doesn’t perv on his best friend when he’s out tanning naked on the beach, when Robby can’t sleep and so he rolls over and guiltily, silently ruts into his fist with the pictures he stealthily took of Jack to bring him over.
He never lets himself keep the pictures or the shameful recordings after the trip. He doesn’t deserve to. He deserves to subsist on only the shameful memories and the guilty, horrible thoughts when he snaps a picture of Jack through the window, or turns on the audio recording when the shower can’t quite cover up the sound of Jack’s moans.
This year, Robby will be good, he will refrain from any perverted and sick behavior, he will keep it in his pants and act normal.
Never mind that he’s thought so for the last five years. He means it this time.
weekend food for yall! robby being a sleazy perv with hsp has become my brand apparently so here is another installment! enjoy this cabin vacation as much as they will <3 and let me know what you thought if you read!!
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Okay, this one may be niche and weird, but bear with me please.
Idk if anyone else remembers the era when random men on insta and tiktok would make the most horny and sexy cooking videos ever, borderline fingering the food, always shirtless, that shit.
Now hear me out, Rabbot of course, but Jack posts that stuff, and the amount of love he gets on it makes Robby like jealous and possessive. Meanwhile Jack is like you're the only one that's got me and that's actually dicking me down.
I hope you see my vision
-🦈
Robby comes up behind Jack and hugs him, squeezing him and resting his chin on Jack's shoulder. There's a phone set up recording on the kitchen counter. "Are you making another one of your..."
"Cooking tutorials?"
Robby snorts. All he knows is that he walked in here and watched Jack lick sauce off a spoon while moaning obscenely, shirtless, in booty shorts.
"Well, I was, but now you're in my shot," Jack teases. Robby moves his hands lower on Jack's front, caressing his abs.
"Seems I am." He presses another kiss to the nape of Jack's neck and then walks away.
"You want me to use that one, don't you?" Jack asks, grinning at him. "You jealous or something?"
"Just want to make sure people know you're taken," Robby says, unable to resist going back, resting his left hand over Jack's, subtly showing off their matching rings to the camera. "People could get ideas, with you dressed like that."
"Sounds like you're getting ideas," Jack says. "I'd love to hear them just as soon as I'm done."
You know what I love best about Hollywood? Award season. Can I please get some director Jack and actor Robby working both each other and a red carpet at the same time loke the talented duo they are?
"Saw you watching me all night," Robby says, finally able to get his hands on Jack over his suit like he's been dying to. They've been eyeing each other across the red carpet all night, undressing each other with their eyes, and now they finally have time alone together in their hotel room.
"You're very easy on the eye," Jack shoots back, working down Robby's bowtie and following that up with a kiss. "You did so good out there tonight."
Jack knows what a penchant he has for being called good and loves to use it to his advantage. Robby whimpers into his mouth, toeing the door shut behind them; they don't need any prying eyes. "You want me to tell you the other ways you were good?" Jack whispers, dragging him over to the bed. "I have a list."
Hucklerobby who aren’t even dating but any time they’re together they play stupid little games: I spy, “guess what word I’m thinking of,” and, most notably, the he one where they both have a number and ask questions to figure out what it is. And it inevitably gets especially confusing when they play that one during shift for the first time.
Robby who saunters up to Dennis (who’s been charting next to Trinity) and bends down to ask him, in the most serious voice he can muster, “is this an appropriate number for a white blood cell count?”
Trinity looks up from her computer, gobsmacked at the concept of Robby of all people asking such a basic question about a patient. But he isn’t holding a chart, and Dennis just scrunches his nose like it’s painful then hums.
“No, gosh, no.” He shakes his head, smiling. “Wayyy too low.” He finishes. Robby clicks his tongue, knocking against the counter before walking off. Dennis just returns to what he’s doing while Trinity frowns at him.
Then Dennis squinting against the glaring sun at Robby in the ambulance bay as they wait on an incoming trauma with Mel and Javadi in tow.
“If I had, like, this amount of knives. Would you think I was a deranged murderer?” He asks, twirling his hand in front of him as he speaks. Javadi looks up with a slack jaw, and Mel frowns at them. Yet Robby snorts, shaking his head no.
“No, I think you’d be in the clear.”
And Robby who grabbed Dennis by the shoulder as soon as they finished rounding and very seriously inquired-
“If I had this many pairs of shoes how inconvenient would it be?”
Dennis takes a second to consider, snorting at the concept.
“Horribly.”
Robby smiles. “Is your number seriously one?”
To which Dennis gawks, shoving Robby playfully.
“How’d you guess that?!”
Trinity’s groan rings out loud enough that it draws both their attention, when she speaks, it’s a yell.
“That’s seriously what you two dumbasses have been talking about all day?”
Bonus:
After they do finally get together and new med students start flowing in, everyone leaves them to figure out the game for themselves too. It’s very confusing to them..
Thinking of a rich and fancy reader who bought herself a tennis club. She knows nothing about tennis
She sits by the court with a glass of champagne in her hand watching the players. A man sits next to her, desperate to speak with her
“Do you play?” He asks
“God no, I know nothing about tennis.”
He wonders what’s someone as beautiful as you doing here then. It must be for a guy.
“I’m Jack” he extends his hand.
“Nice to meet you Jack. Are you a regular here?”
“I am, not sure if will be for long though.”
“Why not?” You’re already grieving not seeing him here again.
“I heard the club’s been bought by a rich lady. There’s talk that the club will change. The name’s already been changed.” A bitter laugh escapes his beautiful lips.
Ouch. “I’m sure that won’t happen.”
“I hope not” Jack murmurs, not taking his eyes off you for one moment.
One of the staff approach you, handing you an envelope. “Ma’am they’re ready for you.”
On the envelope was your initial and last name.
The same last name the club’s name been changed to.
“Thank you Martin. Good to see you, Jack. I hope to see you around someday.”
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Dana nudges his shoulder in passing, a knowing smirk on her lips as she glances over her chart. Her eyes linger to Robby's neck and then away, and the moment passes. Michael blinks, watching her leave and playfully bump into Abbot as he's packing to leave, his face twisting into more confusion than Robby's had.
He picks up on the inuendo immediately and just chuckles to himself. Ah. His fingers drift to the raised lump on the side of his neck, one that he'd forgotten about until now.
He'd actually gotten it hitting his neck against his headboard getting up to quick to go for a piss, but if people wanted to believe he'd gotten a hickey, he'd play into it. If not to watch people's eyes bulge in response or hear the hushed whisper of speculation as to "who" gave it to him, he'd let it play out to watch Jack look around like a lost puppy wondering why people are congratulating him or wagging their brows in his direction.
Robby and Jack are on a plane, headed to a painfully dull conference. It's a long-haul flight, and their plan is simple: sleep through most of it and wake up when it's over. Unfortunately, things don't go as planned.
Robby is already two glasses of whiskey in, hoping the alcohol will knock him out, while Jack keeps shifting in his seat, unable to get comfortable. Just as the cabin finally settles into that quiet, drowsy rhythm of a night flight, the first bout of turbulence hits.
At first, it's nothing unusual. They're rational adults, and turbulence happens. The flight attendants move through the cabin with practiced smiles, assuring everyone there's nothing to worry about. The seatbelt sign stays on, a few overhead bins rattle, and the plane shudders every now and then. It should be fine.
Except it doesn't stop. The turbulence keeps coming, each wave rougher than the last, until every drop feels like the floor has vanished beneath them. Robby isn't panicking (not exactly) but he's clearly having a miserable time. His jaw is tight, his fingers grip the armrest hard enough to whiten his knuckles, and every violent jolt makes him suck in a sharp breath.
Jack tries humor first. He tosses out a couple of dry comments and jokes, but none of them earn so much as a smile. Logic isn't doing Robby much good.
Seeing the tension etched across his face, Jack quietly reaches over and slips his hand into Robby's.
It's strange. They're fully grown men holding hands because of turbulence. Under any other circumstances, one of them would make a joke about it.
Neither of them does.
Robby's fingers close around Jack's with surprising strength, almost painfully tight, and Jack lets him hold on without comment. It's awkward, a little embarrassing, and somehow exactly what Robby needs.
A few minutes later, the captain comes over the intercom to explain that a large storm has formed across their planned route. They'll have to divert around it, adding some time to the flight, but there's no cause for alarm.
As if on cue, the turbulence begins to ease.
The cabin settles into gentler vibrations, and Robby's breathing gradually evens out. His grip loosens enough that Jack can finally feel his fingers again, but neither of them lets go. Their hands remain loosely intertwined on the armrest, casual enough that they could almost pretend it happened by accident.
The flight stretches on like that. Nobody acknowledges it. Even when Jack eventually has to use the bathroom, Robby reluctantly releases him without a word. The moment Jack sits back down, though, Robby reaches over again, takes his hand just as quietly as before, and stubbornly avoids looking him in the eye.
Jack says nothing. He simply laces their fingers together again.
Eventually exhaustion catches up with Robby. The whiskey, the adrenaline crash, and the endless hours in the air finally win. His head tips sideways until it comes to rest on Jack's shoulder, and before long he's asleep, practically folded against him.
Jack smiles to himself. He adjusts just enough to make Robby more comfortable without waking him, slips on his headphones, puts one of his favorite playlists on, and closes his eyes as well. The seats are cramped, his neck will almost certainly regret this tomorrow, and his hand is still trapped beneath Robby's bruising grip, but he can't quite bring himself to mind.
They're pressed shoulder to shoulder, fingers intertwined, quietly dozing somewhere above the clouds.
Then the storm catches up with them anyway.
The turbulence returns with enough force to wake half the cabin, and after another tense stretch of flying. The weather gets worse and the plane will divert to another airport until it clears. By the time they land, it's well past midnight.
The airline scrambles to find hotel rooms for a plane full of exhausted passengers, but with several other diverted flights arriving at the same time, accommodations are scarce. At check-in, the clerk barely glances up before sliding a pair of keycards across the counter.
Sharing a room is the least of their concerns. They just want a shower, a mattress, and eight uninterrupted hours of sleep.
They make it upstairs, unlock the door, and walk inside.
Robby who would always second guess everything because he needs to consider opinions of everyone else so they would like him more so that he had a place to belong. Jack who noticed this behavior and playfully called him a goody two shoes. Robby took it to heart and now he's avoiding Jack like a plague because he thought that the man had hated him. Jack now realizing the consequences of his actions confronts Robby about it which led to another misunderstanding that caused Robby to punch Jack on the face. Robby who was horrified by his actions left in tears nursing his bruising knuckle as he cried himself to sleep, Jack would hate him more now. But what was even knew, he wasn't likeable and people only surround him cause they needed him for things. He was a pushover as Jack said. Robby came to class with red rimmed eyes so Jack knew he was crying all night, Jack felt like an asshole, he really needed to apologize to him.
Jack assumed he would be enjoying a nice lunch with two of his buddies, but thirty seconds into their conversation, his blood runs cold.
“I swear to God, Greenway was looking at me weird.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s gay,” Ben argues. “Maybe he just realized how fucking ugly you are.”
Sam shakes his head. “I’m telling you man, it felt weird.”
“Who cares if he is? It’s not like he tried to kiss you.”
“I would’ve beat the shit out of him,” Sam murmurs into his drink.
“Why do you care so much? You secretly a homo?”
“You fucking wish. Maybe you are; fighting at the front lines for them.”
Jack stuffs half his burger into his mouth at once. It’s overcooked and tasteless. He’s been spending more time in his head than in the real world recently, but now they have his full attention, though he’s pretending otherwise.
“I’m just saying, they aren’t bothering anybody.”
"I wouldn't mind them if they weren't bothering anybody," Sam says. "Do what you want on your own time, but I don't need to see it."
"Whatever, man."
"What do you think, Jack?"
Jack chugs his drink, but the dryness in his mouth doesn't go away. "Don't give a fuck."
"Exactly," Ben says.
Sam rolls his eyes. "Alright, fine. You two queers like sucking dick; I guess that's your business. Just keep me out of it."
Ben laughs, and Jack forces the rest of his food down.
Later, he lies in his bed feeling queasy. He's on his stomach with his head half buried in his pillow, looking out the small window, wondering if anyone can see him from the ground. The afternoon sun streams in and bakes his naked shoulders. The door opens and closes behind him.
"That's a nice view to come home to," Robby jokes. He's wearing those tempting little shorts again; selfishly, Jack wishes he wouldn't wear them in public. Robby places a gentle hand on Jack's back and jerks his head toward him. "May I?"
They've never done anything in Jack's bed before, but he can't move and needs Robby's touch, so they'll have to. Jack nods, and Robby makes himself comfortable, barricading Jack against the mattress with his thighs.
Robby trails his lips up the length of Jack’s spine, sending tender shivers through him. The tension in his muscles leaks with each kiss, and soon a calming tingle expands through his whole body as Robby nips at the base of his curls.
"Did you ever do anything with a guy... before?" Jack asks.
Robby hums in his ear. He rests his arms on Jack's shoulders and presses his cheek into his curls. "My friend's brother kissed me once. I didn't know him that well; he was fourteen, I was twelve. He pulled away before I could kiss back and then begged me not to tell anyone. I wouldn't have; I knew better than that, but how scared he was scared me, and I didn't consider touching another guy after that."
He takes a deep breath and continues, "Until I started college. You know, everyone talks about college like it's total freedom and self-discovery, so I thought, why not try again?" Jack can feel Robby's heart pounding against his back. "I went to a few parties, but it wasn't until March that I actually got signals from another guy. He took me outside, and we were making out in this dark corner when some other people came out..."
A shallow laugh vibrates against Jack. "He beat the shit out of me," Robby says. "I don't know if he knew them, or if they even saw us before that, but it didn't matter. He was shouting that I came onto him and called me all sorts of names. I left with a black eye and a busted lip. Didn't go to class for a week afterward because I was fucking embarrassed."
He presses a soft, deliberate kiss to the crook of Jack's neck. "And then I met you."
Sharp tears prick Jack's eyes. He rolls over; it isn't easy with Robby still looming over him, but Jack doesn't want him to move for anything.
Robby's pretty face drops. "What's wrong?"
Jack pinches the bridge of his nose and forces the tears away. "I wish people wouldn't treat you like that," he croaks. As if he's not one of them. Like he isn't exactly like every other man who has ever hurt Robby, or used him for his pretty face and openness.
Robby blinks, confused. "It's okay," he says. He cups Jack's jaw with his hand and brushes his thumb over his cheek. "I'm okay."
Jack breathes in a harsh sniff. "You deserve better."
Robby leans back on his heels. Stunningly beautiful, as always. He looks around the room, as if this shitty little dorm could give him an answer, then he looks down at Jack and shrugs. "I like where I'm at."
Jack surges forward and takes Robby's mouth in his own.
His lips are soft and inviting, exactly how Jack dreamed they would be. Robby's hands retake their place on his jaw, and he sighs softly. He's so perfect, and Jack is greedily tainting him, pulling Robby closer with an arm wrapped tight around his middle and a hand tangled in his hair. Jack needs this to last forever; he might die when it's over.
But it's a good thing, so it must come to an end.
When they do separate, Jack doesn't dare open his eyes. He tries to commit every touch and tingle to memory before he has to come back to reality.
"I think," Robby whispers against his lips. "You need a nap."
Jack can't speak; hearing his own voice will break the veil, so he nods and slowly lies back against the mattress. His arm is still hooked around Robby, who follows without complaint.
They lie nose to nose on Jack's pillow. In a moment of weakness, Jack opens his eyes to check that Robby is real. He is. He's staring back with a small closed mouth smile that nearly knocks Jack out. His thundering heart threatens to leap out of his chest.
Robby presses a light kiss to between his eyebrows. "Sleep," he mumbles.
Despite his pound heart, Jack does.
When he wakes, the sun has started to set, and the room is drenched in a rich orange. Robby is propped up on one elbow, playing connect-the-dots with the freckles on Jack's chest.
"You don't have to stay," Jack says, his voice cracks pathetically.
Robby's head snaps in his direction. A funny smile slides to one half of his face. "I kinda live here, so..."
"I'm a waste of time."
Robby's eyes flicker over his face. Cautiously, he lowers himself and places a gentle kiss on Jack's lips. He pulls away and studies carefully, as Jack licks his lips in an attempt to keep anything Robby gives him. Delicate crinkles form at the corners of Robby's eyes. "Doesn't seem like a waste to me," he says and leans back down.
Jack doesn't know how long he spends kissing Robby; it could have been years, and it wouldn't be enough. They undress each other lazily, more focused on keeping their mouths within an inch of each other at all times.
Robby's tongue is silky and soothing in a way Jack didn't know was possible. He cherishes it as he opens Robby up and slips inside.
"Oh, fuck," he sighs. He's not sure why it's more intense this time compared to all the others. It's as if Jack is losing his virginity again.
"That's it," Robby whispers. He twists his fingers in Jack's curls and reconnects their mouths. "Just like that."
Jack wonders what Robby's first time was like. Has he ever fucked a woman? Did he meet a man at the club, or was it that desperate night when Jack invited himself into his bed for the first time? He can't think of a single scenario where Robby is treated with the gentleness he deserves. It makes him sick.
He wraps a tentative hand around Robby's dick and pumps it slowly in time with his thrusts. Their lips detach as Robby's head tilts back with a content moan; Jack chases him immediately. Robby is more addictive than any shitty beer.
Robby's orgasm takes them both by surprise. He shoots farther than Jack has ever seen before and arches his back with need, calling Jack's name into his own mouth.
Jack's hips slow to a stop, but Robby claws at his back. "Keep going," he says. Then they're kissing again, and Jack has no choice but to obey.
When Jack releases it's as if he's glowing from the inside out. He's too dizzy to hate himself.
"That was good," Robby mutters against his lips. "That was really good."
Jack nods foolishly and collapses with Robby in his arms, still sticky and disgusting, but neither of them care. There are a hundred places Jack should be rather than here, but there is nowhere else he wants to be.
For the second time that day, they fall asleep tangled together in Jack's bed, and for the first time since they met, Jack feels safe.
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robby and dennis have so much sex that they end up ordering a bigger bottle of lube that just happens to have a pump dispenser. the first time robby uses it, muscle memory kicks in and he tries to rub it into his hands like hand sanitizer
I’ve seen this happen a lot in fandoms when they’re shipping gay men.
They’ll usually take the bottom guy and make him trans. And as a trans guy, I love it! I mean hell yeah, representation for us. But then they make him a very feminine, skinny, trans guy
(nothing wrong with being a feminine, skinny, trans guy)
and it just feels icky at times. Not because he’s written/drawn fem, skinny, and transmasc, but because that is the ONLY way they draw/write him if he’s trans.
No hypermasc guys that love going to the gym, no ‘literally just a regular guy that you only know is trans because he says it’, no dad bods and balding, not even the cringy indie uwu stereotype. They don’t really make him masc in general.
And maybe it’s just me, but most of the smut fics I see in fandoms like that where the bottom is a very fem transmasc guy, it seems like just an excuse to write straight sex instead of gay sex.
it’s like they want the feeling of a gay couple without actually having to write it.
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everyone assumes that when robby and jack talk about the club, they mean a country club. it’s just what makes the most sense! of course the two attendings belong to an upper crust, high society organization.
they talk about how they relaxed there over the weekend, how robby got over served and is still suffering the consequences, how enlightening the conversation is. there’s always a fundraiser or a mixer or a performance they’re going to. it seems that their social lives revolve around that place.
everyone envisions them in summery business casual eating at the club house, maybe golfing with the other department heads, basking by the pool. it becomes a sort of aspirational thing for the people that work under them. many residents dream of getting an attending gig, paying off their loans, and getting their membership.
jack and robby are not members of a country club. they’re regulars of an exclusive, invitation only BDSM club.
and dennis finds this out when his latest (much older) situationship takes him as a guest.
