#rabbot

Jack does most of his jerking off in the shower; not that he does much of that anymore between getting laid at parties and whatever mutual understanding he's come to with Robby.

He figures Robby is in a similar situation, except he's probably not having as much real sex as Jack is, considering he hardly leaves their dorm for anything other than class.

Until one night, the lights are out, and Jack is lying in bed trying to ignore the impending doom of an exam he didn't study enough for when a little noise rolls over to his side of the room.

Jack knows that sound. He's had the privilege of hearing it only centimeters from his ear, and for the past four months, it's made frequent appearances in his shower-time fantasies.

He hears it again, then a third time, more strangled, desperate.

Jack leaps out of bed and turns the overhead light on. When he turns the short corner of the half-wall, Robby is stuffed under his covers with wide eyes.

"Uh..."

"What're you doing?" Jack asks. As if he doesn't know exactly what Robby was doing, and even if he didn't, that pitiful tent under the bedding would tell him.

"Well, I..."

"Am I no good or something?"

Robby's eyebrows knit together. "What?"

"Looked like you were having a good time when I made you cum your panties before," Jack taunts.

The pretty glow on Robby's cheeks brightens. "They're not panties."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night. You don't want me to get off or something? You want me to lose sleep and fail that fucking test because you're too selfish to help me out?"

Robby's eyes get impossibly wider. He sputters and shifts. "I thought you were already asleep."

Jack hums. Sure, he did. "Do you want help?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure. Just let me--" He reaches for his discarded panties on the floor, but before he can grab them, Jack yanks the duvet back.

The sharp gasp Robby lets out is almost like a bark. He tries to cover himself, but Jack has already taken everything in.

One, Robby is not impressive. It isn't laughably small, but he's on the lower end of average. Two, his dick is dry. There's a bottle of lube lying on the mattress by Robby's hip, and from what Jack was hearing, it's been used.

"Jack—"

He hooks a hand under one of Robby's knees and lifts. Robby yelps and grabs at the mattress. He tries to close his legs, but Jack is too strong and enamored with the sight he's met with.

Robby's wet, winking asshole. Jack has the disgusting impulse to eat it like a pussy. He pushes the thought away and drops Robby's leg. "I didn't know you were gay for real."

"I'm not— It's—"

"I don't care," Jack shrugs. He doesn't have anything against homosexuals, no matter what the anger festering in his chest is trying to tell him. Does Robby fuck other guys? Does he bring random losers back to their room while Jack is out and let them hear his pretty whines? He better fucking not. "Just didn't realize."

"This is just a private thing," Robby insists. "I won't do it when you're here, okay? Sorry."

He starts to recover himself, but Jack grabs the hem of the duvet. "I'll still help you."

Robby blinks up at him. "You... what?"

"Girls have asses. It's not a big deal."

"You've... fucked girls in the ass?"

"No." Jack shifts his weight to his other foot. "But they have them."

"But I'm not a girl."

"I'm not gonna suck your fucking dick, am I? I'm going to fuck you."

Robby's jaw drops, and Jack can't help but picture what those pink lips would look like wrapped around his dick. "Okay." He nods slowly. "Yeah, okay."

Jack snatches the lube off the bed and pours some in his hand. Once he's done, he tosses the bottle onto Robby's chest. He wraps his hand around his dick and starts stroking. Robby watches like the giant homo he is. "Well, get on with it."

That shocks Robby back into his body. He re-lubricates his fingers and worms them between his gorgeous, long legs.

Jack drags his hand over himself slowly, enjoying the show. Robby is so tight, twitching and keening around each finger. The knot in Jack's gut unfurls; he must not be getting dicked down too often.

"Okay, I— I think I'm ready," Robby gasps. He's got three fingers inside himself, stretching and curling, sending that wonderful blush down his chest.

Jack settles on his knees, admiring the slight gape of Robby's hole. He's so wet and loose; the terrible thought of kissing him there comes back. No. Never. Jack doesn't kiss guys. He's not gay; he just doesn't turn down orgasms.

"Sure you're ready?"

Robby's enchanting brown eyes have sunken into blackness. "Yes," he says, so breathless it's almost a whistle.

A low groan escapes Jack as he sinks inside. Fuck, it's so good. Hot and wet and tight. Tighter than anything he's had before. He digs his nails into the soft flesh of Robby's thighs as his eyes roll back.

"So good," he pants. "So good, baby."

Robby releases his own moan at that. His hands flail in desperation before landing on the wall behind him, grabbing at nothing. "Keep going."

Don't have to tell Jack twice. This part is easy. He's fucked before, and he fucks well. Not only that, but his and Robby's previously clothed escapades have given him insight into how Robby likes it; now is his chance to show what he's learned.

Jack pounds into Robby like it's his job. His grip on Robby's legs gets firmer and firmer to the point that Jack is certain he'll leave behind purple bruises on his pale, lithe thighs.

His posture curls in on itself with each thrust, getting closer to the tempting sounds being punched out of Robby. It'd be so easy to fit his mouth around those lips and swallow each noise whole.

He's only a few inches from Robby's face now; their noses occasionally brushing. Delicate hands trace his shoulder blades. Fuck. Jack was too wound up in the pleasure of Robby around him to notice him moving. It feels good. A nice contrast from his own brutal pace.

The lack of acknowledgement makes Robby bolder, and soon he's dragging sharp lines along the muscles of Jack's back. The thought of seeing them in the mirror, or feeling them when he leans back in a chair, makes Jack's dick twitch.

"I'm— I'm close," Robby whimpers.

Jack nods. He doubts he has two more minutes left. His orgasm creeps closer. Hot and mounting in his gut. He looks down. Robby's pretty fucked out face is too much to resist.

He slaps a hand on Robby's mouth and kisses his own knuckles, hard and greedy.

One of Robby's pretty sounds sends vibrations through his hand. A soft, needy tongue pushes against his palm, threatening to peek through the gaps in Jack's fingers.

The thought of Robby's tongue accidentally slipping inside his mouth sends Jack over the edge. He releases deep inside Robby, jutting his hips all the way through his own and Robby's too.

Once they're both finished, Jack detaches his hand from Robby's mouth. It's swollen, red, and wet as if they've actually been kissing.

Jack pulls out ungracefully and stumbles away.

"That was good," he rasps. "Thanks, man."

Robby nods. "You're welcome... and thanks, too." He's breathless and gorgeous, laid flat out on the mattress, covered in cum and a deep red pigment coloring his face.

Of course, Robby couldn't retire completely. When fall came, he found himself at the front of a lecture hall at the University of Pittsburgh teaching electives on the “Lasting Effects of the COVID-19 Pandemic in Healthcare” and “Trauma Responses in Emergency Medicine Workers”. Teaching scratched the itch he had to still be productive while also settling down out of the fast-paced environment of the ED. He cherished the opportunity to pass down his skills and knowledge to the next generation of doctors; to help them not make the same mistakes that he had made. He brought in help whenever he could: his husband came in to talk about combat medicine, Dana popped by to discuss violence in the workplace, and he had even managed to rope Whitaker into a video lecture on rural medicine. His classes always got great reviews, students citing engaging lectures, useful anecdotes, and interesting guest speakers.

Dr. Jack Abbot, being two years Robby’s junior and still somehow full of energy, continued in the ED for three years after Robby’s retirement. He switched to day shift, citing that he wanted to be able to spend more time with his husband - definitely not the fact that he was in his sixties and his body couldn't handle the night shift like it used to. After the initial adjustment of switching to day shift, Jack couldn't deny the rejuvenating effect of being able to wake up and go to bed next to Robby every night.

When the day came for both doctors to retire fully, their lives shifted in different ways.

Robby couldn't stay out of the hospital - something that both his therapist and Jack ragged on him about constantly. He spent his free time up in the OB, volunteering in the NICU cuddling preemies whose parents couldn't for whatever reason. Which also led him to learning how to quilt, his and Jack’s office slowly turning into a craft room as Robby putted away making baby blankets.

Jack also took up volunteering. He volunteered at the local animal shelter and the VA. His official role at the animal shelter was “Kitten Cuddler”; he helped socialize the kittens and get them used to human touch and interaction. It also wasn't unusual for shelter staff to find Jack in the back yard with a dog or two, throwing a tennis ball from his wheelchair while the dogs chased after it. At the VA, he advocated for disabled veterans and ran a support group for newly disabled vets as well as one for grieving widows and widowers.

Their nights were slow and warm. More often than not they'd have a vinyl on the record player, music playing softly through the house as Robby cooked dinner with Jack in the living room with their cat, a foster fail named Pericardiocentesis (aka: Perry, Cardi, Cardi P, Sissy, and a million other things Jack called her that weren’t her name) laying curled up in his lap. When dinner was over and the two of them had tag-teamed the dishes, Robby would whisk Jack into the kitchen for one last dance, wheeling and spinning Jack around in his wheelchair to the music.