GremlinKat

Alright for anyone that enjoyed this Professor Chic Robby Ficlet I wrote

I created a companion piece for it

Lecture Me (Ao3)

Jack Abbot/Michael "Robby" Robinavitch

18+ Sexual Content

Robby doesn't plan on continuing the lectures. He was under the self-imposed impression that he'd fulfilled his duty to Gloria and retired any further thought.

Or he planned to.

Except he really enjoyed doing them. Got a thrill standing in front of a classroom of green, wide-eyed students who were excited to explore the idea of medicine.

there are so many shots where robby is actively trying not to be perceived and jack is staring at him like he can't get enough of him, like every single microexpression robby makes is his & his alone, and i'm OBSESSED

even when robby literally isn't paying attention and jack is in a different room jack is looking at him, constantly assessing where he's at and what he's feeling, and it is such an intense and obvious sign of his love for robby (platonic or not) that i cannot stomach it

jack sees robby even when robby feels emotionally at his ugliest and he never even remotely flinches away from his desire to figure out what robby is feeling and it makes their dynamic so fascinating to me because you have two deeply empathetic, perceptive men who are hyperaware of each other (to the point where there are multiple times where they interact with each other or move to meet one another without even looking) and are not afraid of this obvious depth of love

Summary: Robby makes a decision that brings the two of you closer together in the wake of your concussion.

#aaron is not a fan

+bonus

Jack and Robby had gotten off shift (Jack worked a double, as one does) gone home and CRASH, only to wake in the middle of the night to flames licking through the apartment. Robby immediately jumps into action. But jacks prosthetic is behind a wall of flames. And his crutches are far too hot and too slow. Jack tries to convince Robby to leave him, to send the firefighters in instead. But Robby is so fucking stubborn. He wraps a damp sheet over Jack, carrying him down the flights of stairs out of the apartment. Only for Robby to basically eat shit as soon as he hands Jack over to the paramedics. Half from exhaustion/ smoke inhalation, and half from the fact that his back is FUCKED.

Jack forces him to take some time off of work after that. (And after they go house hunting again)

Just

Jack: You were awesome

Robby: I broke my nose

Jack: Yeah, after carrying me out of a burning house

Robby: I tripped over the sidewalk

like Jack telling Robby to leave without him and Robby freezing up for a second of shock and wondering if Jack is having a stroke and taking in non sequiturs in that moment because there is no way that plan is happening

“what?”

“do you like yolanda? do you have feelings for her?”

and trinity’s face promptly turns beet red.

“so, that’s a yes. good. will you tell her?”

“i’m sorry?”

no one assumed robby was a sub.

he was fearless in his dissents. he did not cower in the face of aggression. he did not melt under the effusive praise from relieved family members, nor the stern chastisements from admin. no one at work knew he was a sub. shit, heather and janey had always just assumed he was neutral. it wasn’t a lie. he did not mislead anyone, but he allowed the assumptions. the stereotypes were in his favor, for once.

no one assumed dennis was a dom.

he had big, searching eyes. he shrunk when confronted. he blushed and stammered when complimented. he simply did not project the casual dominance expected of his designation.

it didn’t come up at work much. designations were personal. some people were more casual about the information than others, but it was uncouth the ask. there was the occasional emergency that made them relevant, but outside of the rare improper use of a dominant’s voice or an impromptu drop, it was generally not germane to the work day.

robby was dropping. fuck, he was dropping hard.

it felt pathetic to admit that it all started with gloria admonishing him for his department’s press-ganey scores, but that really was the inciting incident. robby felt his chest hitch, his shoulders drew up to his ears, and his fingers started to fidget with that loose thread in his jacket pocket. words like failure and fuck-up swirled in his head. he could get through the day, though. he’d gotten through worse.

and then someone asked about adamson. and then he lost a twenty year old kid who just wanted to backflip into a pool to impress a girl. and then he got blood all over his scrubs and his neck.

and then dennis found robby on the floor again, this time in a curtained off bay, on his knees, whimpering and trying to wash the arterial spray off with some half-dry wet wipes.

dennis didn’t seem like a dom when he was just walking around the pitt, but the way his voice got all even and deep, the way he cooed out oh, honey. what’s wrong? as he slowly approached robby, was nothing if not obviously revealing.

no one assumed robby was a sub.

he was fearless in his dissents. he did not cower in the face of aggression. he did not melt under the effusive praise from relieved family members, nor the stern chastisements from admin. no one at work knew he was a sub. shit, heather and janey had always just assumed he was neutral. it wasn’t a lie. he did not mislead anyone, but he allowed the assumptions. the stereotypes were in his favor, for once.

no one assumed dennis was a dom.

he had big, searching eyes. he shrunk when confronted. he blushed and stammered when complimented. he simply did not project the casual dominance expected of his designation.

it didn’t come up at work much. designations were personal. some people were more casual about the information than others, but it was uncouth the ask. there was the occasional emergency that made them relevant, but outside of the rare improper use of a dominant’s voice or an impromptu drop, it was generally not germane to the work day.

robby was dropping. fuck, he was dropping hard.

it felt pathetic to admit that it all started with gloria admonishing him for his department’s press-ganey scores, but that really was the inciting incident. robby felt his chest hitch, his shoulders drew up to his ears, and his fingers started to fidget with that loose thread in his jacket pocket. words like failure and fuck-up swirled in his head. he could get through the day, though. he’d gotten through worse.

and then someone asked about adamson. and then he lost a twenty year old kid who just wanted to backflip into a pool to impress a girl. and then he got blood all over his scrubs and his neck.

and then dennis found robby on the floor again, this time in a curtained off bay, on his knees, whimpering and trying to wash the arterial spray off with some half-dry wet wipes.

dennis didn’t seem like a dom when he was just walking around the pitt, but the way his voice got all even and deep, the way he cooed out oh, honey. what’s wrong? as he slowly approached robby, was nothing if not obviously revealing.

I reached out to @alethialia a short while back about creating a fanfic/fanart collab piece, just for fun, and she was SO KIND and said yes, and finally we reached the day for posting it.

Everyone please go read Fresh Perspective by Alethia: "In 2.07, when Abbot is being treated by Mohan, Robby walks by and does a double-take, which was scripted. Santos walks by and does a triple-take, which was not scripted. Given her history, I can't imagine that Santos just leaves that alone, especially since "our little secret" was the exact phrase she used in S1 when relating her own abuse. So. A take on it."

Amazing story, excellent character nuance, describes this episode in a light I didn't even consider before.

Like in the canon, Robby is refusing to listen, shutting down all Jack (and Dana's) concerns. Shooting back at his friend that he's "not the one that spends his free time getting shot at, HOO-AH."

(At this point, the ambulance with the C-section patient never comes in. So they don't move the conversation away from the bike)

Robby just starts exclaiming things like "Where I go, or what I do, in my time off is not yours, or Dana's, or anyone else's business."

Angrily gritting out "And I don't know why you're so determined to keep me here like some mutt you don't trust to let off its leash"

Jack can only listen to so much of it before he just snaps.

Both of his hands shoot out over the Bonneville. Latching firmly onto Robby's collar. With no gentleness or grace whatsoever, he tugs Robby in for a firm kiss.

It's mainly smushing their lips together and trying to convey every ounce of "because I love you, you fucking idiot" that he can into the kiss.

Robby's uncertain hands flail around for a second before settling on Jack's own scrubs. He grips the fabric in his fists so tight that Jack half expects to be shoved back; he braces himself physically and emotionally for the rejection.

But Robby seems in a state of paralysis. His fists tremble in their hold on the black material. He takes loud shaky breaths in through his nose. His lips quiver against Jack's own like he can't decide what to do.

Not pulling their lips apart, Jack reaches one hand up, and tries to soothe Robby by petting the hair at the back of his neck. Rubbing small circles there like he's settling an anxious puppy.

The calm steady touch seems to reboot Robby's brain. Because all of a sudden Jack is being tugged sideways around the bike and being walked backwards with focus.

His friend doesn't stop until they're both tucked around the corner of the hospital building. They're on a tiny paved path. The giant wall of the hospital on one side, and a line of knee high shrubs bordering a mowed patch of grass on the other.

Once he'd pulled back briefly (holding Jack at arm's length and peering out at the bay to check they were out of sight) Robby pins Jack against the wall and snogs him with all the energy he received earlier; but with none of the desperation.

He kisses Jack with the firm confidence that he will be kissed back. And he was.

Their lips meet hotly over and over. Their hands make trails all over each other. Grasping or cradling each patch for a few seconds before desperately needing to feel more. Barely an inch of fabric, skin or hair went unexplored.

They could have been there, making out like teenagers, for minutes or hours. They would be none the wiser. It wasn't until they heard the distant chatter in the direction of the ED entrance that they were pulled suddenly from their haze.

That didn't stop them holding each other close though. Robby's hands now cradling Jack's head while raking his fingers through the curls he found there. Meanwhile, Jack held both of Robby's shoulders. He alternated trailing his hands up and down them in sweeping strokes, and massaging them with gentle squeezes to the tense muscles there.

Just as their hands were attached to the other like magnets, they couldn't take their eyes off each other either.

They'd need to get back to the ED soon. Not a great look for the hospital PR wise if anyone dies because 2 out of 3 of the attendings on shift are busy playing tonsil tennis when they should be working.

Of course there would be conversations to be had later. Revelations to uncover. Feelings to confess. Worries to share.

But two things were for certain.

They both had so many wonderful things to see.

Submitted by the incomperable @sheafrotherdon

"I've dealt with my demons," Jack had told Robby. It had been a complete, utter bald-faced lie, and Robby's wholly unimpressed face - even in the midst of his own crisis - had called him on it.