Robby, who bought himself a fancy $3000 espresso machine with a matching grinder and spends all his free time researching coffee beans and grind sizes and Jack, who just wants a cup of coffee when he wakes up, now has to wait at least 45 minutes for the machine to warm up.
And one day Jack finally loses his shit and yells: "THE ONLY GRINDR I CARE ABOUT IS THE APP AND I'M GOING TO DOWNLOAD IT RIGHT NOW AND GET MYSELF A BOYFRIEND WHO ISN'T STUPIDLY OBSESSED WITH CREMA!"
we don’t censor words here stop acting like a fool, when you censor words and tags people who have that word filtered due to triggers will still see it
[The full doc contains my ideas for how hucklerabbot could come to be, starting from all three being single.]
.
.
When Robby and Dennis first got together, Robby only wanted to top, and Dennis got progressively more frustrated. He wanted to take care of Robby. He could tell he was sensitive, and the responsibility of being in control took a toll on him.
Robby avoided being cared for at work as well. He was attacked by a patient and ran away, trying to hide and deal with it himself even though he's shaking and sweating with the pain. Dennis found him and lectured him, his usual pacifying demeanour replaced with a stiff back and frustrated strictness. He didn't let him off, didn't let him use his authority, stared him down with flat, tired eyes. He used the work argument. "You wouldn't let any of us hide an injury. The faster we can help you the faster you can get back out there and help us."
Eventually they were in bed, in missionary, with robby over Dennis. Robby looked sad, his big brown eyes narrowed with strain and avoiding looking Dennis in the eye. Dennis was frustrated, staring wide-eyed and tense up at Robby while he tries to prepare him. When Robby finally looked hesitantly into Dennis' eyes, they both knew what they needed, and in a few seconds Robby was under Dennis. Dennis was calm and gentle, but firm, and Robby was a whimpering, shaking mess. He let himself be manhandled, folded in half and pleasured by Dennis' tongue, then fucked until he came untouched. Dennis still had a sticky low-burning rage at Robby getting injured and hiding it. He licked and kissed Robby's injury, cooing about how he shouldn't have let himself be damaged. He was Dennis' pretty boy. Dennis threatened that if Robby got hurt and hid it again he's tie him to the bed and teach him how to take care of his body.
[Dom Huckleberry
Pushing Whitaker away was one of the hardest things Michael Robinavitch had ever done.
The softness of their nights spent together was like heroin. He didn't know how tightly he was coiled until he was given that single refuge; one place where he could be small and broken and held. He had never let himself be the one who needed coddling, but Dennis had seen through every layer of armour he had ever put up like it wasn't there. He didn't get caught in any of Robby's emotional traps. He didn't get scared or offended or hurt. His care didn't come from pity, selfishness, or ego. He simply cared. And knew. Those blue eyes could bore holes through steel.
It almost scared him how Dennis invaded his inner life. How he knew exactly what to do, like a practiced predator, sneaking up. Starting with work, the place where Robby was at his most raw. Mirroring his pain, feeling it so deeply that Robby couldn't deny he understood what it felt like to give up pieces of himself. He couldn't pretend Dennis didn't know. From there weaseling his way into his personal life through charm and sincerity, with just enough calculated confidence and manipulation to get him alone, laughing, and talking about nothing important. From there came sex. And god, Dennis was good at that too. At first there were some awkward moments, but he corrected himself quickly. He treated pleasuring Robby like an emergency procedure, with full, focused attention, precision, accuracy. He carefully modulated pressure, speed, direction, friction. Keeping stimulation in the perfect range. Raising Robby's pulse at a controlled rate. He moved Robby's older body so he was comfortable and had no distractions from the sensation of Dennis' hands, mouth, and cock.
He was never domineering, never demanding, but he also never asked Robby to take responsibility. He moved constantly, giving Robby no chance to take over. He was always calm but focused, those piercing blue eyes watching him like a testy patient trying to die on the table. No hesitation, no stopping.
And afterwards, when Robby was spent, his body loose and limp, Dennis was impossibly soft. His hands smoothed over skin like he was holding a baby animal with tiny, delicate bones. Robby was a six foot tall, fifty-something man. He wasn't used to being touched like he was fragile and precious. And when Dennis whispered to him, all he could do was melt and weep. He was helpless when Dennis called him baby, beautiful, sweet boy. He shivered when he was praised for being submissive, called a pathetic cockslut and a good boy with a perfect, silky hole. He fell into dreamless, heavy sleep while Dennis told him how good he was at taking his cock, how he should quit being a doctor and a human with responsibilities, and just live in his bed and be a good little slut.
In those moments he wasn't Doctor Robby. He was just Michael.
None of those words were really even suggestions. It wasn't something Robby would actually want. He would always go back to being Dr. Robby. But those moments when he could pretend he was nothing more than Dennis' baby were like a drug. Like a fuzzy alternate universe where he could escape and let some of the tension he kept at all times finally fall away.
]
[A talk with Jack:
robby swallowed.
"i had sex with whitaker."
jack blinked. he paired his crutches together and leaned them against the chair before flopping back into it.
"whitaker, huh? i didn't know you…" he made a vague gesture.
"is that really the most important thing?"
"hey, you're not the first attending to mess around with a resident. god knows it's not the worst thing you could be doing with your time off."
"he's in his twenties."
"late twenties," jack emphasized. "there's a big difference between 21 and 28."
"sure. there's a big difference between 28 and 40."
jack shrugged.
"i don't know, mike. he's an adult."
robby huffed a sigh. he didn't know what to say.
"if you want me to berate you for this you're shit out of luck. working together is always messy, but as long as you do it by the books it doesn't have to be unethical. you're not working together now. if whatever this is lasts until you're back at work, you tell HR about it, and Al Hashimi or I can do his performance reviews."
Robby frowned and tapped the side of his beer. he tipped his head from side to side. he couldn't find an obvious crack in Jack’s logic. coworkers at the hospital got together all the time. it could be a mess, sure, but things kept functioning.
"i'm more interested in… i mean, he's a man."
"oh, i know," robby said sagely. then his eyes flew open. his cheeks were suddenly hot. "fuck, i didn't mean for it to sound like that."
"good for you, brother," jack grinned mischievously. "sounds like the kid knows what he's doing. wouldn't have thought he had it in ‘im."
"me neither," Robby admitted. "he… i mean, he initiated everything. i wasn't going to. i didn't even realize…"
"that… you were attracted to him? ...how long have you known you were bi?"
robby shrugged.
"i never really was. at least, not as long as you've known me. i messed around a bit in college. then in med school, i… i got scared off, i guess. the hospitals were full of people dying, politicians were talking about gay men… i knew it wasn't right, but it was just hard. at some point i just decided it wasn't worth it."
"oh." Jack's voice creaked. "so, what, you just forgot about it?"
Robby stared at the bottle in his hand.
"more like i put it away. it's not like i could stop looking at men, they're half the world. i… might have had a crush or two, since then. I just never pursued anything. I always thought it wasn't for me."
"i don't like that, man," jack said quietly. jack grabbed the end of his amputated leg and squeezed it, starting to massage. "it's part of you."
"It's not like I'm not attracted to women," Robby said, but his voice wavered.
"i can still walk. that doesn't mean i wouldn't prefer to have two legs."
Robby opened his mouth to argue that it wasn't the same, but the metaphor clung to him. he just sighed.
"alright. point taken, i guess."
"so, how was it? worth the wait?" Jack asked in a lighter tone, lifting an eyebrow as he continued massaging the stump.
Robby spluttered and his cheeks grew warm again. He tried to shrink back into the leather couch.
"that's— you don't want to hear about that."
"hey, i didn't know this about you for twenty years, man. i'm curious."
robby grumbled. he took another sip of his beer and held it with both hands, glancing around nervously as he hesitated.
"it was nice, he mumbled. he's… really nice."
"nice?" jack questioned, cocking his head.
"he's… fuck. i– we don't usually talk about this stuff."
"you don't usually have sex with men."
"that's– i don't see how that makes a difference, jack."
jack just continued staring.
"fine. he's… gentle. good with his hands. he treated me really fucking well. I've never… robby let out a long sigh. he's too good for m–"
"hey." Jack cut him off sharply. "none of that ‘i don't deserve good things’ shit. that's a hard rule in this house."
robby rolled his eyes.
"I'm glad, man. seriously. he sounds good for you."
/]
Robby dumps Dennis and tries to sabotage their relationship before his residency starts, in a weak attempt to soften the blow of his suicide. He loses his nerve as his mind fights back, seeking whatever warmth and care he can, and he just can't stay away from Dennis completely on that last day, as much as he tries. Dennis is his safety. He would hold him, he would care for him, he would do whatever it took to make everything better for him, to make him feel whole and loved. But it wouldn't be enough, and Dennis is too precious, too young and good. Robby feels like a leper, like he can't touch Dennis for fear of dragging him down the same path. In his haze of desperation he manages to convince himself that offering Dennis the keys to his house is a good idea. At least he can leave him something as a consolation prize. He can help him somehow, after he's gone.
He fucks up. He doesn't count on the freak summer rain, on the accident happening while he's still in city limits. The last thing he wanted was to end up at PTMC, with a cracked skull, severe road rash, covered in his own blood. He didn't even allow himself to imagine there was a worse possibility. That the doctor who treated him when he was broken and bleeding, the man who would hold his cracked skull together and see his brain matter while he was coding on the table, would be the one doctor who was in love with him.
[“Lovers”?
Dennis was on the 8th floor after his shift. The empty room was a refuge. He couldn't go to Trinity's apartment because his emotions would scare her. He couldn't go to Robby's house because…. He put his phone on silent and stared at the ceiling, dissociating, trying to suffocate the memories and feelings that wouldn't stop flashing in his head. Sometimes sobbing so hard the air caught in his chest and his body just spasmed silently as his face went red.
Jack knew Whitaker wasn't on shift, so he checked his address in the hospital directory and drove to Santos' house, calling her on the way there. He turned around when she checked his room and found that he wasn't there. Santos told him to check the room she found him in on the abandoned 8th floor of the hospital.
Jack learned that Whitaker was homeless when he was a med student. He had slept in an unheated, abandoned hospital wing and lived off stolen sandwiches the night before he worked through the Pittfest shooting. Jack remembered the ghostly way he looked that day. He heard he'd drilled a bore hole in a clown while it was awake. Robby had told him about that day. About Whitaker losing a patient. Breaking down in the pediatrics room, and Whitaker finding him and pulling him up.
Jack stormed through chairs and ran up the stairs. He slowed his pace when he gets to the 8th floor.
The silence of the hallway put his teeth on edge. He didn't know what he had expected. Crying, probably. But instead when he reached the open door to the room, he found Whitaker flat on the bed like he was prepared for viewing. Hands folded over his stomach, blank, red-rimmed eyes staring at the ceiling.
“Hey… Dennis.”
He stopped himself from calling Whitaker “kid”. He was the doctor who saved Robby's life. He was Robby's lover. A man who had stuffed all his feelings inside himself so he could stabilize the person he loved while looking into his cracked open skull.
Whitaker's eyes seemed to gain focus. They closed for a long moment. Then, slowly, his gaze drifted across the ceiling and down to Jack in the doorway.
“Doctor Abbot,” he said.
“Dennis Whitaker.”
Whitaker's eyebrows creased.
“You can call me Jack. If you want.”
Whitaker braced himself on his elbows and sat up slowly, keeping his eyes on Jack. He slid back up the bed and swung his legs over the side.
Jack crossed the room to join him sitting on the bed.
“Robby told me you were… lovers.”
Dennis said nothing. His gaze drifted forward, away from Jack. He looked far away again.
“Not really.”
“What were you?”
Dennis stared for a few seconds.
“Shelter.”
Jack knew exactly what he meant. He and Robby were sensitive people who gave and gave. They were vulnerable, and found a safe place with someone else who knew what that was like. And for some reason they never let anyone else know. Maybe it was something too raw to be shared. Maybe they both lacked the self-worth to reach for the beautiful thing they could have had together.
…
Dennis cried and it made Jack's blood run cold in a way it rarely did even at work. This wasn't normal crying. It wasn't even lost-family-member crying. It was long built-up, “watched people you love torn to shreds and had to keep fighting” crying. He hadn't heard someone sound like that since he was discharged, in the army hospital.
“There was nothing to tell,” his voice was a rasp.
“You were lovers, weren't you?”
“We had sex.”
“Robby wouldn't violate HR guidelines for a casual hook up.”
]
[Take care of yourself - Jack
“I don't want you to kill yourself.”
“I'm not planning to.”
“You will. If you keep this up.”
Dennis locked eyes with him. Downturned, baby blue eyes set in deep sockets the colour of a fresh bruise. Creases running from his under eye almost to his cheekbone.
“I can't die.” He smiled weakly. “I'm a doctor.”
Jack grabbed a fistful of the hospital mattress cover to stop himself from grabbing Dennis and trying to shake senss into him. He felt that same smouldering rage he did when Mike started talking bad about himself. For smart people, they were both impossibly stupid.
“And what will you do when that's not enough?”
Dennis turned away. His profile reminded Jack of a Roman statue– and his expression was fitting. He could imagine this man hadn't slept in a thousand years.
“Then it won't matter.”
Jack's throat constricted. He didn't know this kid. Not really. Not like Mike did.
But every second he spent with him, he saw more of his brother. More of his best friend. The care and concern he put into every movement, the way he valued people and really listened. The way he would put himself on the line to save a stranger.
And he saw the ways they were different. The hesitance in Dennis' movement, the constant fear and watchfulness in his eyes, like a wide-eyed, trembling pup that expected a boot to appear at any second if he put one toe out of line. He looked like he had seen more than he should have in a life as long as his or Mike's, despite being half their age.
“You're more than a doctor. You're a man.” Jack twisted his face to stop the burn behind his eyes
“You deserve a life too.”
“How do you know?”
“What do you mean?”
“How do you know I deserve more?”
Jack stared at Dennis blandly. If he couldn't even understand that, how could he get anywhere? Mike wasn't like that at this age, was he?
The vulnerability of the man on the bed next to him made Jack’s chest tight. The way his shoulders rolled forward and his hands clasped in front of him, like a child obediently receiving a lecture. The watery blue eyes that looked like they would submit if he so much as asked, the slight pout of his small mouth. His tucked in undershirt and small waist, sitting with his legs together so he didn't take up space. Brown curls turned up from the back of his neck.
Jack wrapped a hand around the back of Dennis' neck and squeezed gently.
“Doctor Abbot?” He asked in that soft tone he used with patients.
“Just trust me, won't you?” His voice cracked. “You’re a good man. You deserve everything.”
The blue eyes that stared back at him were deep and heavy with something he couldn't name. Exhaustion, resignation, pain.
“Doctor Abbot…”
“What made you this way?” Jack asked, his soft voice like a rusty door hinge. “Who taught you to think like that?”
I wish I could go to a doctor and just list every single symptom I ever experienced no matter how small and unconnected they seem and the doctor is nice and patient and knows everything and they nod and smile and explain that every symptom I ever experienced is connected to like one rare and often overlooked issue that's sooooo easy to fix with like. a pill. and then I never have to worry about anything ever again.
Why have underwear & swimwear companies decided vaginas should be no wider than 1” maybe 1.5” if they’re feeling generous… stop trying to make narrow pussy happen it’s not going to happen
Regardless of how wronged and hurt you are, regardless how much of a horrible piece of shit the other person is being, you still should not say bigoted things about them.
Bigotry is not a more advanced degree of insults that stings more, it's a reinforcement of the framework where certain marginalized traits are inferior. This is not about you and that person. This is about the society you live in.
“We Are.” @castiyelle-whitaker - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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