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bed chem

dr robby x r4/fellow!reader

a fellowship application and a shared cigarette lead to a friendship, a situationship, a relationship with dr. robby.

how you pick me up, pull 'em down, turn me 'round /oh, it just makes sense/how you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things/that's bed chem

cw 18+ mdni. song fic. strangers to friends to long-distance something to lovers. porn with way more plot than originally intended. fingering, handjobs, squirting, oral (f & m receiving), a lil 69, unprotectedish piv. reader calls robby different first names as flirting. sharin’ ciggies. a lil angst as a treat. implied sexting/phone sex. goes a little off song but oh well. they’re in love and it’s disgusting. medical inaccuracies. kingdon for a second if you read between the lines. author knows nothing of lake erie & real trauma center locations, and chooses to ignore how fellows are assigned shhhh

wc: 10.8k (5.2k is just smut i have no excuse)

———

the heat of late summer in pittsburgh sends beads of sweat down your spine, the satin material of your dress clinging to you beneath your blazer, the september breeze doing little to help.

stepping out of the restaurant, you pull a cigarette and lighter out of your purse, shrugging off your jacket and throwing it over your bag.

you peek back through the window at the dinner still going on—what kind of hospital, supposedly financially unable to keep entire floors staffed, shells out the funds to host fourth year residents from all over the county for a weekend of wining and dining, trying to entice that year’s best and brightest into applying for available fellowship and attending slots?

the night’s dinner was the last hurrah, preluded with tours of the pittsburgh trauma medical center, shadowing of cases from each department, a luncheon conference with presentations by each department chief waxing poetic about their stats and advantages and research—some doctors notably less into it than others.

while they had reached out to you willingly, their emergency medicine fellowship was one you’d been eyeing since your time as an r2, and your application submitted soon after applications opened a month ago. hell, you had applied for a residency slot at ptmc, only letting yourself be disappointed in secret when you didn’t match. no sane person accepted into one of the most prestigious emergency medicine programs on the west coast should feel bad about missing out on a struggling hospital in almost-nowhere pennsylvania—that’s what you told yourself at least.

trying to light your cigarette with your dying bic, you hear a voice next to you.

“those things’ll kill you, y’know,” the man says.

cigarette still between your lips, you reply with a sarcastic, “never heard that one before—oh! dr. robinavitch, sorry, i didn’t realize it was you,” quickly pulling the unlit cigarette from you lips and hiding it behind your back when you turn to him.

“relax, kid. i’m just giving you shit,” he chuckles. “but really, quit while you’re young. trying and failing to every three months when you get old isn’t fun,” he says, contradictorily pulling a lighter out of his own pocket. he holds it up behind a large palm and lights, nodding down to your poorly hidden hand.

you bring the cigarette back to your lips, your hand cupping against his as you inhale, mumbling a thanks as you hold the smoke in your chest.

“i’m planning on quitting by end of residency, trying to ween myself off,” you add as you exhale. you hold the cigarette out to him, an offer, “you smoke half and it’ll only kill us half as quick, dr. robinavitch. for our health.”

he smirks but takes it, fingers brushing yours. as he lifts it to his mouth, he says, “robby.”

“what?”

“you can call me robby,” he says on exhale, smoke billowing from his nose.

“your parents named you robby robinavitch? wow, they musta hated you,” you tease dryly.

giving you a look and passing the cigarette back, he answers, “they named me michael. med school pedes rotations and a residency in the deep south named me robby.”

he begins rolling up the sleeves of his green button down, fighting off the humid breeze, revealing his forearms—hairy, thick, the kind you’d like to wear as a necklace.

quickly taking another drag, you shake that thought from you mind.

“so i gotta ask,” robby says, turning to lean one shoulder against the brick of the building, “why the hell did you apply for my fellowship?”

a cough of smoke came from your lungs, “excuse me?!”

robby reaches his hand back out for the cigarette, casual, and shrugs, “i saw your application. your transcripts, the letters of recommendation, it’s impressive. the research you’ve been doing more so. you could land an attending spot anywhere, somewhere that could actually afford to help fund your research. so yeah, why a fellowship in the pitt?”

he had called the emergency department “the pitt” in his presentation the day prior, too—overcrowded, understaffed, located in the basement of the hospital—a member of the admin staff had audibly groaned at that.

he finally took a long inhale of the cigarette before passing it back.

you took one last drag before throwing it to the ground and stomping it out with the toe of your heels.

“when i was in high school, my family took a vacation to lake erie. my dad and i were on a jet ski that got capsized while driving under a bridge, and we ran into a pillar,” you began. it wasn’t your favorite thing to recount, but it was what made you want to be a doctor.

“we got life-flighted to ptmc. my dad was driving and took the brunt of the impact. compound fracture of the ulna and severance of the nerve, broken clavicle, skull and rib fractures. a punctured lung. they had to shock and intubate him in the helicopter.

“when we got in, i was taken one way and dad the other. i don’t remember who treated me, i just had a gnarly broken ankle,” you lift your leg up, showing off the scar adorning the side of your fibula.

“but my dad,” you continue, “he had people all over his room. they spent an hour stabilizing him before he got carted off to surgery. thought he hit an artery the way he was bleeding internally. his doctor, dr. adamson, came in after and sat with me until my mom and brother arrived.” you saw robby shift out the corner of your eye, standing straighter. “i asked him all kinds of questions about what happened and he happily answered. i always kinda wanted to be a doctor, but dr. adamson made me want to be an er one,” you finish with a small smile, turning back to face robby from where your back was leaned against the wall.

you were surprised to find his eyes a little watery, but with a small smiled of his own.

“woah, did i say something wrong? i know i rambled a little there but—“

you were cut off my a shake of his head. “no,” he let out a breath, “i just…didn’t expect to ever hear someone say adamson inspired them again. it’s been a while.” he had a distant look in his eyes, an almost bittersweet smile.

you furrow your brow slightly, “really? i mean i figured he’d be at least semi-retired by now, but still working.”

robby looks back to you, back into the here and now. “he, uh, he passed away back in 2020. covid.”

“oh…oh, i’m so sorry. i didn’t know…” you want to say more, to offer some comfort, to say you understood, but you didn’t, not truly.

you’d only been in your first year of medical school in 2020. never experienced the chaos that haunted the hospital, the specter of death lessening, but never quite disappearing from the shoulders of those who had.

and you could tell robby didn’t want to speak about it, how his demeanor had shifted from curious and playful, to something sorrowful.

after a beat, you decide to redirect, not quite ready to break the conversation, finding yourself enjoying it despite the sudden shift.

“y’know,” you said, leaning over toward him, “i’ve read a lot of your publications. i really liked the op-ed about the treatment of homelessness in the ed from a few years ago. it ruffled quite a few feathers in my hospital. imagine, treating the unhoused like people. the gall!” you end sarcastically, him finally looking back to you with nearly imperceptible smile tugging at his lips.

“yeah, that wasn’t universally well-received. it did get us some grant money for our street team though, so i—wait, if you’ve read my stuff then you knew my name wasn’t fuckin’ robby robinavitch,” the playful tone returning.

the banter continues, you both not disengaging until the sound of people leaving the restaurant breaks the bubble, fellow residents and ptmc staff filing out.

“oh shit, looks like party’s over,” you say. you hadn’t realized you’d been standing outside with robby for so long, only meaning to have gone out for a smoke. but something in a distant part of your lizard brain liked that you had taken up so much of his attention.

after calling an uber, you take your blazer from your purse, pushing it into robby’s arms with a hold this—that earned you a small chuckle.

digging through your purse, you produced a pen. taking your jacket again, you spun so you were between robby’s arms, right shoulder briefly bumping his chest in the movement, before grabbing his exposed right forearm.

“here,” you say as you begin writing your phone number just above the tattoo on his wrist. “text me sometime—i won’t pick up if you call until i have your number.”

clicking the pen closed, you turn back to him with an impish smile, “about doctoring, of course.”

he pauses, then, “about…doctoring?”

grin growing, “y’know, research and science. or a cat you saw or…whatever.” anything, everything, nothing—just keep talking to me.

your uber chose then to arrive. turning and walking backward, you say, “goodnight, robert!” before climbing into the car.

robby doesn’t get a chance to reply, just shakes his head with a incredulous smile, watching until the car is out of sight.

———

it’s been nearly five weeks since you left pittsburgh. five weeks of balancing senior residency, attending and fellowship interviews, your roommate breaking up with their girlfriend again—five weeks with a schedule filled to the brim. so why was your first thought always on the fact that robby hadn’t reached out?

you thought you had gotten along well, really well. you hadn’t meant giving him your number in a flirtatious way—okay, maybe not only in a flirtatious way. but you had genuinely enjoyed talking with robby that night, him meeting your wit and sarcasm without missing a beat.

you almost gave up hope of ever hearing from him as week six drew near, but then—

unknown number:

saw this article and thought about your research.[link attached]

this is robby by the way.

you:

well hello robert long time no speak

robby robinavitch:

still not my name.

it starts slow, a text here and there. an article from him, an interesting case from you—doctoring. never more than a few moments of time, but you begin to cherish those moments.

texts about clinical work turn into strange patients, funny moments in the chaos of your respective ers. talk of work turn into tidbits from your daily lives, a new fancy restaurant you tried and hated, the cat he walks by every morning on the way to work—he actually sent you a picture of a cat.

you:

roberto look at this pile’o’seals i saw on my hot girl walk [photo attached]

robby robinavitch:

what the hell is a hot girl walk?

as the texts grew more frequent, they became phone calls, easier on his old man eyes and arthritic fingers, you would joke.

“ohhoho you just think you’re hilarious, don’t you?” he asks on the other side of the line.

“the pinnacle of comedy,” you reply. “hey, guess what kind of halloween lawn prop i pulled outta guy today.”

“halloween lawn prop? it’s almost thanksgiving…”

you took to calling each other a few times a week, usually during your commute home, the time difference typically having him home and getting ready for bed by then. every so often if your schedules aligned, you spend your days off talking for hours—about anything, everything, nothing. it quickly becomes something you treasure.

you:

guess who got their interview date for a certain fellowship at a certain hospital?

robby robinavitch:

about time, that was emailed hours ago.

you:

5am pacific time is far too early for emails rupert

robby robinavitch:

are these even actual variations of robert at this point?

effortless, innate, like you’d known the other forever, instead of only three months.

you:

happy holidays, bobbie

robby robinavitch:

happy holidays.

brat.

like maybe it wasn’t all in your head.

———

as the new year comes and goes, pittsburgh welcomes you back with a slap of bitter january air, sweetened with the prospects of your fellowship interview—and maybe a little a lot of seeing robby again.

returning to ptmc, you ascend the elevator to the administrative floor—the ivory tower, robby had called it. isengard, you’d suggested. he called you a nerd with a laugh.

other candidates sat on the benches lining the hall of the 12th floor, waiting for their own interviews in one of the many conference rooms. checking in, you joined them, foot bouncing with nerves—robby had refused to help you practice for your interview, even just as a sounding board offering no real feedback, said it wouldn’t be fair as he’d be on the selection committee, leaving you to rely on your own attendings and colleagues for help. it was fair, smart even, you knew that, but you couldn’t help but crave the feedback, to be told you did good, from someone you’d grown so close to.

the fellowship selection committee consisted of the program director, a couple of administrators, a board member, the current fellow, another senior ed attending, and robby, chief of emergency medicine.

over the next hour, your nerves dissipate, the interview going better than you could have hoped. your cv spoke for itself, but your personality keeps everyone’s attention. you even managed a laugh, quickly disguised as a cough, from the other attending, dr. abbot, when an honest answer seemed to peeve the board member. the current fellow, dr. ellis, was mostly on night shift with him, would stay there for her second fellowship year, leaving the dayshift spot open.

once the interview finished, after shaking everyone’s hands, you quickly got a text.

robby robinavitch:

you were our last interview before lunch. wait for me in the lobby.

you:

aye aye boris 🫡

after ten minutes of waiting in the marbled first floor, robby finally appeares.

“hey, sorry about that,” he says, arms beginning to raise, before he shoves them into the pockets of his fleece—was he about to go in for a hug?—“apparently lunch was code for having a meeting while eating lunch, so i gotta head back up.”

you hadn’t thought he wanted to take his lunch with you, not that you would have minded, figured it was just going to be a informal hello.

“no problem, dr. robinavitch,” you reply.

“back to formal titles, are we? i was starting to think you’d actually forgotten my name,” he smiles back, “so maybe—“

the elevator dings open, dr. abbot stepping halfway out, “robby, gloria requests your presence.” robby turns and gave a quick god, one second, before quickly looking back to you.

“i’m off at 7, meet me at o’donnell’s on middle st. 8:30? we’ll catch up then?” he asks, slowly walking away backward toward the elevator.

was your friend slash possible future attending slash crush asking you for drinks? or drink drinks? only one way to find out. “it’s a date,” you smiled back at him, “just don’t bring saruman.”

that earned you a loud ha!, followed by a very fond, “you fuckin’ nerd.”

“you love it!” you stage whispered as he entered the elevator, you both still smiling, neither noticing dr. abbot’s eyebrows raised practically off his forehead.

———

you arrive at o’donnell’s right at 8:30, stepping into the warmth of the pub, shrugging off your jacket which did little to cut the cold pennsylvania night. while smoothing down your powdery blue blouse—still in the outfit from your interview, you had only packed it and comfy travel clothing, not expecting to be invited out—you look around the bar, no robby yet.

after ordering a drink, you find a square high top table out of the way, taking a sip of the cocktail—a little liquid courage, more of a placebo with as small of a drink you took.

after a few minutes, the pub’s door opens once more, letting in a small burst of chilly air—and robby. looking around, he spots you, and walks to the table smiling, removing his carhatt.

“hey.”

“hello again, reuben,” you reply, smiling with the cocktail straw between your teeth.

“do you just carry a list of these names around?” robby chuckles. you didn’t expect him to rub one hand across your back, shoulder to shoulder, giving the far one a squeeze, before sliding back off the other—not really a hug, but the most physical contact you two ever shared. it makes you dizzier than any alcohol you had drank could.

“sooo,” you start, “how’d the rest of the interviews go?”

moving the other chair from across the table to directly next to you, robby replies, “now you know damn well i can’t answer that.”

you put on a fake pout, “come on! who am i gonna tell?”

he turns to a waiter walking by and orders bottle of beer before looking back to you, miming turning a lock over his lips, tossing the imaginary key over his shoulder.

you let out a huff with a roll of your eyes, “fine. but now i’ll just have to recount the thrilling tale of the old woman i sat next to on my flight. so she—“

you two spent the next two and a half hours together, bantering, catching up, much like your long calls, but so much better. hearing robby through the phone was one thing, but sitting next to him, close enough to count his freckles, smell is cologne, notice every curl of his lips, crinkle of his eyes—an easy camaraderie, intrinsic—was intoxicating.

you want him to ask you home, you realize, you unable to blame the alcohol for your thought. you’d spent more time chewing at the cocktail straw than drinking, robby’s own beer just halfway gone.

seemingly reading your thoughts, robby flags down the waiter to pay the bill—my treat he said when you tried to pull out cash—adding that he had to work in the morning.

stepping back out into the night, the air didn’t seem as sharp, a warmth in your chest you couldn’t cite to your cocktail spreading to your belly.

“your hotel far?” he asks, watching as you pull out a cigarette and lighter from your bag.

“nope,” you answer after taking a drag, “just a couple of blocks.” you hold the cigarette out to him, much like the first time, the only time, you had shared one.

“not even a month in and you’re tryna make me break my new year’s resolution,” he mock scolds, taking it in hand. “i’ll walk you back. for safety,” he continues with a nod, signaling you to lead the way.

you roll you eyes, “drunk ciggies don’t count, rochambeau. that’s all i’m smoking nowadays, anyway.”

he huffs out a incredulous rochambeau? as he exhales, before coming to a stop, “wait are you drunk?”

“not even buzzed,” you answer—a half truth, you were buzzing, but not from the alcohol. “you?”

“nope,” he answers.

you walk in silence back to your hotel, breaths coming out in puffs of air from the cold and puffs of smoke from the shared cigarette. after crossing a street, robby maneuvers you to the inside of the sidewalk with a large hand on the small of your back—he leaves it there for the remainder of the walk, feels scalding even through your jacket.

“this is me,” you say as you stop in front of the hotel, rocking back on your heels. robby only nods, looking up at the brick facade and ornate windows, hands in his pockets.

feeling brave, feeling the lingering heat from his palm on your back, the taste of your indirect kiss, you ask, “you…wanna come up?”

he turns back to you and says, “yes.”

———

your back hit the hotel room door with a thud the second it was closed, robby’s large hands on either side of your face, lips crashing into yours. the kiss wasn’t messy, it wasn’t necessarily chaste, but it was deep, full of longing, full of months—god it’s only been months of knowing each other—of unspoken truths, slowly circling around the feelings you both shared.

unzipping his coat, you reach up his stomach to his shoulders, pushing it off, causing his hands to fall from your face. he uses them then to push off your own jacket, reaching back out with one hand around your waist, the other to the side of your neck, to lead you further into the room, lips never parting until you where fully inside.

as you kick off your shoes, you flick on the bedside lamp, filling the room with a soft warm glow. in the dim light, you could see robby’s cheeks glow warm, him struggling to kick off his final boot. cute, you think.

meeting each other’s gaze again, he stood back to full height, stepping closer to you, chest to chest, mouths not touching, but close enough to share air.

he hesitates, hands hovering at the side of your waist. “tell me you want this,” he rumbles, his gaze moving between your eyes and lips.

you inch closer, lips brushing, and whisper, “i want this.”

that’s all it took to make his crash back into you, hands gripping tightly to your waist, rucking your blouse up from out of your slacks, your palms gripping at his solid chest. he begins blindly unbuttoning the top, quickly get frustrated with the delicate buttons.

“don’t rip it, i stole it from my roommate’s girlfriend,” you say against his mouth, replacing his hands to make swift work of the buttons.

“i thought you said they broke up,” he says, now mouthing at your neck. you wondered what his beard would feel like between your thighs.

“they’re in the on-again era,” you say breathily, shrugging off the top, suddenly realizing you’re wearing an old bralette—pink and lacy, but visibly well worn, not doing much more than a sports bra for your tits. robby didn’t seem to mind though, mouth trailing lower to bite at the top of each breast.

pulling his head back up for a kiss, his hands glide up from your waist, finders brushing up under the band of your bralette, one thumb swiping gently at the fullness. he then moves the bralette up, revealing your tits, before pulling it over your head, your raised arms landing on the tops of his wide shoulders.

robby takes half a step back, taking in the view—soft and supple, goosebumps rising where his fingers skim over the swell of one breast, nipples hardening in the exposed air. he bends down again, palming at one boob, mouth latching onto the other, sucking hard at your nipple.

you let out a gasp at his ministrations continue, tongue swirling around the nipple in this mouth, fingers tweaking the other.

“alright, alright,” you let out a breathy laugh, tapping at his arm. “your turn, big guy. tit-for-tat. get this off,” you joke, reaching down at the hem of his shirt, knuckles brushing over the coarse hairs trailing down his belly.

he stands up with amusement in his eyes before pulling the back of his henley up over his head in one smooth movement.

now it was your turn to stare. wide shoulders connect to thick arms and a solid chest, dark hair dusting his pecs, a gold chain with a star of david pendant lays between them. the hair trails further down to his soft stomach, hair thickening under his belly button, leading down into his waistband. you want to eat him alive—so you try. you step forward and bite at the meat of a pec, nails sinking into the softness of his belly, scratching up and down, fingertips just barley dipping into his pants.

“this is what gets you goin’, huh?” he chuckles, the baritone vibrations rattle your teeth.

you release your mouth, laving your tongue over the intentions your teeth left, sealing it with a kiss in the middle. “you have no idea,” you smile back up, your pupils blown wide, shining in the dim light.

robby brings you in for another kiss, this one now messy, desperate, tongue reaching into your mouth to lick every inch. his hands reach for your slacks, undoing the clasps, you helping him shimmy them down your legs. large palms squeeze at the meat of your ass, kneading and pulling hard enough to leave bruises where his fingertips lay.

breaking the kiss to look down at you, he chuckles, “these are cute,” before reaching his index finger into one leg hole and snapping the elastic. you look down—oh god, simple cotton bikini briefs, green with a little ladybug pattern.

“oh my god!” you say half embarrassed, half amused, “they’re comfy, okay! it’s not like i planned on anyone seeing them, otherwise i woulda packed something sexy.”

he brought his hands back down to your ass, sliding below to your thighs, before picking you up. your legs wrap around his waist as you let your a surprised squeal.

walking to the bed he sits at the head, bringing you down with him to straddle his lap. “mmm? these are sexy,” he chuckles, thumbs trailing underneath the leg seams again.

“this what gets you goin’?” you shoot his earlier words back to him.

leaning forward with a smile, he mumbles, “you have no idea,” before capturing your mouth again.

as your tongues meet, you begin grinding your hips down on to his, his hardness evident even though his jeans. you fumble with his belt and button, reaching your hand into his jeans, palming him through his boxers. you stand up suddenly, breaking your kissing, with a take ‘em off. you get an amused yes, ma’am in return.

robby sits fully back down on the bed with his back up against the headboard, reaching a hand out to you, pulling you back on top of him by your hips. a wet spot appears at the top of his cock, where he’s pushing hard against the fabric of his grey briefs.

you continue your ministrations, hands tugging at the hairs at the back of his neck, dry humping like a couple of teenagers, but god it felt too perfect to stop.

pulling out of the kiss, robby moves his mouth down your jaw, sucking and biting at your pulse.

you breath out, “i don’t have any condoms, you?”

robby slows momentarily, before replying, “wasn’t plannin’ on doing anything we’d need protection for,” before reattaching his mouth to your throat. as much as you were enjoying this, you wondered what he meant. yeah, maybe responsible doctors shouldn’t fuck raw on the first date—date? you’d never actually confirmed that’s what this is—but how far was he actually wanting to take this?

“i can hear you thinking,” he say, eyes returning to yours, hands solid on your hips. “i just wanna make you feel good, yeah?” he reaches up to one of your hands at his shoulder, lacing your fingers together, pressing a kiss to your palm.

you nod, taken a little aback by the sweet and intimate gesture.

he smiles then, “turn over, back against me,” he punctuates with a painless smack to your butt.

you shoot him a warning look, less threatening with the smile accompanying it, but oblige. he pulls your ass flush against his cock, one palm moves to your chest to get you to lean fully into him. as he kisses at the back of your neck, the hand not groping your breast trails down your stomach, fingertips ghosting over your skin. when he reaches your panties, he cups your cunt with large his hand.

“je-esus,” he groans into your ear, giving the shell a bite. “already soaked through. you’re drownin’ the poor ladybugs,” he adds with a teasing tone.

you slap a hairy thigh bracketing your own, ready to bite back, but are stopped with his fingers press down, hard, against your clit. your back arches and legs try closing tighter, letting out a small moan, but robby gives a quick uh-uh in your ear. he tugs at the waist of your panties, pushing them down as far as he could from behind you, you kicking them off the rest of the way.

leaning back you can feel the wetness on his underwear pressing against your ass, giving it small grind. pulling you back into his chest, robby throws his left leg over yours, pulling in back, exposing more of your dripping cunt to the air. the opposite leg bends away, his hand on your inner thigh, guiding it to rest along side his.

hand trailing down, he finally touches were you need him, fingers gliding against you slit, collecting the wetness. you try arching up again, but robby’s left forearm moves and locks around your waist, pinning you to him.

“be good and hold still, sweetheart. i’ll make you feel good, i promise,” he whispers in your ear.

sliding his wet fingers back up, he teases circles around your clit, brushes against the slides of the nub with a feather light touch, never making full contact.

a whine escapes you, nails of your left hand digging into the meat of the forearm around you. “please,” you breath, “i’ll be good, just touch me, please.”

“well when you ask so nice,” biting at the side of your neck, he obliges you. fingers finally making contact with your clit. he rubs steady circles around the nub, his thumb reaching up to your mound to pull up the hood, fully exposing it.

“ah—“ you give a shout, his fingers swiping across your exposed clit sending shocks through you. you could feel yourself grow close already. no one’s ever been to get you there that quickly, a testament to his skill or your feelings for him making you desperate, you didn’t care right now, not with the feeling of your slick running down your ass to the bedspread below.

“please, just like that i’m so close,” you pant, head thrown back against his left shoulder, moans escaping between breaths.

leaving an sloppy kiss to you jaw, robby speeds his fingers, adding pressure, grunting praise into your ear—y’sound so pretty, so beautiful, c’mon, come f’r me, such a good girl.

“oooh, michael—“ you come with a moan, toes curling, thighs shaking, pussy clenching around nothing.

robby continues his pace, his left arm coming off your waist to shuffle your head on his right shoulder. his left hand squeezes around your cheeks, forcing you to meet his gaze, eyes bouncing back and forth between your two. his pupils blown wide, he tells you, “say it again, say my name.”

you give the best smile you could with his hands gripping your cheeks, “michael.”

that’s all it took for his to crash his mouth into yours, all tongue and spit and groans and beard burn.

the hand between your legs moves from your overstimulated clit to your slit, plunging two thick fingers into you without resistance, the aftershocks of orgasm still making you flutter. you moan into his mouth as he curls his fingers up, hitting the spongy spot inside you.

releasing you from the messy kiss, he groans into your mouth, “y’hear that? hear how wet you are f’r me? s’good.” he emphasizes by driving his hand harder against your cunt, squelches becoming louder. the heel of his palm presses down against your sensitive clit, his fingers rubbing at your g-spot.

you pant out, “michael—fuck, please, ah, i need more, add another one.”

he leans away from your face a little, locking eyes, seeing nothing but blown pupils and sweaty baby hairs, brows raised in the middle, mouth open trying to chase his—fucking perfect.

you move your own hand down between your legs to rest over his, pressing against the knuckle of his index finger, urging him to add it along side his middle and ring fingers. the stretch rips a moan out of your chest, open mouthed against robby’s bearded cheek, the fullness tugging at something else beyond your orgasm.

your hand moves atop his, bracing against the bend of his wrist. you use the flat of your fingers to angle his hand how you want, making the heel of his palm press firmer on to your clit. with added pressure, you begin grinding your cunt against his palm, his fingers curling up inside you simultaneously. robby can only look down at you with wide eyes, the movements of your grinding adding an extra pressure to his clothed cocked between you—he was fully going to come in his pants if you kept this up.

focusing his attention back to you, he sat up slightly, setting a brutal pace against your walls, more pressure from his palm.

“c’mon, you got one more, don’tcha? need you t’come for me, baby,” robby breathes into your ear, hot pants joined by hot tongue.

your second orgasm quickly approaching, you feel another pressure rush ahead. “mi—mmmichael, wait i’m gonna—“

“do it, let go,” he cuts you off.

you feel hot liquid gush out of you, around his fingers, down your thighs and ass, your orgasm rushing quickly behind. you see stars behind your eyelids, hearing only the blood rushing through your ears, the unbelievable release of pressure from your belly.

you come to with robby slowly pulling his fingers from your used cunt, the other hand smoothing softly down the side of your head.

“i think you vagled there for a sec,” robby chuckles when your eyes open to meet his. you lean up and give him a soft kiss, sweet, chaste in every way compared to what just happened. he hums in to the kiss, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek.

after a few moments, he pulls away. “c’mon, you need a shower,” he says softly.

having regained the ability to speak and sit up, you turn to face him. “but you’re still hard,” you say, palm sliding up his inner thigh.

his hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you before you even reach the leg of his briefs.

“this isn’t about me,” he says. “i wanted to take care of you. make you feel good.”

you meet his eyes with a small pout, “you did. i do. but i also really wanna make you feel good.” you shift closer, fingers gently curled into the fabric on this thigh. “please?”

he looks up to the ceiling, blowing a long breath out of his mouth. he starts, “i just…i don’t want you to think…” you gently reach at his bearded jaw, moving his head so he’s looking into your eyes again, waiting for him to continue. “i don’t want you to think i’m some dirty old man pressuring you into getting him off so he’ll give the the fellowship,” he lets out in a breath, eyes glancing away self consciously.

you take a beat—you don’t know what you expected him to say, but it wasn’t that.

“hey,” you lean your head to chase his gaze. “michael,” that gets his attention—until tonight you had never called him that, you barely called him robby—his eyes rejoining yours.

“is this about whether or not i get the fellowship?” you ask bluntly.

he hurriedly sits up more, “no! no, of course not! that’s what—“ he’s cut off by a peck on his lips.

“i know. it’s not about that for me either,” you reassure him, fingers scratching through his beard. “i like you, really like you. so if that’s your only reservation, then i’d really like to get you off,” you end with a playful smirk.

robby huffs out a laugh, but looks back at you with a soft fondness, “yeah? okay then.”

you bring him back in for a kiss, you both palming at his underwear to pull them down and off his legs. now, finally, completely bare, you look to take him in. he’s flushed red down his chest, body hair curled and matted down with sweat all the way down, down to his leaking cock. long and thick like the rest of him, flushed as red as his face under your focus, tip a painful shade of maroon, pool of precum beading at the tip—your mouth waters. balls lay heavy beneath his cock, hairy and full. you start to bend forward to take him into your mouth, but robby stops you.

“if you even breath on me right now i am going to come,” he says.

you smile impishly, “mmm? that so? well—“ you move to straddle one of his thighs, “i won’t breath on ya, then.” lifting yourself slightly, you run the length of your hand through the slick mess between your thighs, gathering your wetness. you bring your glossy hand to robby’s cock, slowly gliding your slick up and down his aching length, mixing with the beads of precum previously fallen.

“jesus fucking christ, you’re gonna kill me,” he chokes out, eyes locked on your movements.

“but whatta way to go,” you smile, sitting back down against his thigh, the coarse hairs rubbing against your overstimulated cunt, leaving him covered in slick.

you incrementally increase the pressure of your fist, the speed of your wrist. watching his chest rise and fall, his brows furrow up, eyes close in pleasure.

panting now, robby pulls you in by the back of your neck, mouths once again meeting, kisses interrupted by his moans.

“thought you’d come if i breathed on ya,” you tease.

“close,” is all he manages to reply.

kissing the corner of his mouth, you reach your other hand down to fondle his balls, feeling them tighten up in his impending orgasm. “michael, baby, then come for me,” you speak into his mouth. and he does. ropes of cum spray up his stomach and chest, down your fist still working him through it. once his orgasm subsides, you two stay there for a moment, foreheads pressed together, sharing air.

“now we both need a shower,” he breaks the moment with.

you giggle, opening your eyes to meet his, already looking softly at you, “and a new comforter.”

looking over your shoulder, he flushes that the sight of the wet material.

you give him a peck, “you start the shower, i’ll call down to the front desk about that bedspread.”

you two make quick work in the shower—“no funny business,” he said, “i am not going to the er with a skull fracture from shower sex.”

the hotel clerk delivers the new comforter—“so sorry! i spilled pop all over mine,” you lie lyingly like a liar, “i’ll pay for the cleaning!”— just after you both are dried off, you into your baggy pj shirt, robby with a towel hanging low on his hips.

robby helps you strip the soiled bedding and remake the bed, before reaching down for his jeans.

“stay,” you say quickly, afraid he’s about to get dressed and leave. “i know you have to be up in a few hours, but…stay, please.”

he walks to you and drops a kiss to your forehead, “i was just grabbing my phone to set an earlier alarm. i’m staying.”

laying in bed—head on robby’s chest, hand playing with his chest hair and chain, legs tangled together, sleep pulling at your eyes—you ask, “you promise this really won’t affect my application, good or bad?”

he exhales a mmm from his chest, “no. i don’t get final say anyway and the program director doesn’t listen t’me,” he pulls you in closer sleepily. “besides, the interview was just a formality. you had the slot before applications were even closed.”

“what!?”

———

you didn’t receive your formal offer letter from ptmc until the beginning of march. you had received other offers prior to its arrival, attending and fellowship slots alike, from some of the best facilities in the country.

robby couldn’t understand why you’d still be considering his dumb fellowship—his words—with what you were being offered.

your normal—and now flirty, occasionally explicit—texts and calls turning more into debates and arguments

“the research grants they can provide, i mean, christ! you could publish before you’ve even been there a year! fast track to a lasker award,” he argued to you one night during your phone call.

“yeah, it’d be great on the research side, but it’d only be research! i want to practice medicine! i want to help people, materially, not just in some hypothetical future innovation way!” you argued back. and after a beat, added softly, “besides, you’re not there.”

“honey, please,” he said, a soft desperation in his voice, “you cannot base your future on me. i can’t let you hold yourself back just to be near me, i wouldn’t forgive myself. adamson was the reason ptmc is even on your radar, but he’s gone.”

you blinked back tears, suddenly glad you were on the other side of the county, not looking into his eyes. “and he left the best parts of himself within you,” you said hanging up the call.

you and robby didn’t speak for two weeks, the longest you’d gone since the first time he texted you.

deep down you knew the point he was making was right, but you also knew what you wanted, what kind of doctor you wanted to be—not sitting in a lab for the rest of your career; not buying your third vacation home and spending your afternoons golfing, willfully ignorant to the plights of the sick; but the kind that sits and explains procedures to terrified but curious teenagers; the kind that treats unhoused patients willingly, fully, and tells the whole medical world they should too.

you tell robby as much when he calls you at the end of those two silent weeks, an abnormal facetime call coming through. he looks miserable, says he feels just as well, his therapist having himself kicking his own ass up and down the street. what he didn’t tell you, though, was about the session that truly shook him—him, ranting at his therapist, “i mean, yeah i’d love for her to be here, not only as a doctor, but…here, with me! but i can’t! if you love something, let it go—“ yeah, he realized then, slapped with the obviousness of it, i love her.

things got better then, slowly, you both realizing in the other’s absence that it really does make the heart grow fonder.

in mid april, you accept the fellowship position at ptmc; robby understanding now that it was truly the place you wished to be—and having some old man eye candy was just a bonus, you joked.

you:

robinette guess what i’m doing to celebrate my acceptance?

robby robinavitch:

bungee jumping.

what are actually you doing?

you:

enjoying my empty apartment

just me

and my ladybug panties

and some goodies from my bedside drawer

[photo attached]

suddenly, an incoming call from robby robinavitch comes through—contact photo the selfie he sent you back in february, all awkward angled and big grinned, with the beautiful view from his cabin behind him; you loved it.

“miiichael,” you answer, coy and falsely nonchalant, hands already trailing down your torso.

“sweetheart,” he warns, exhaling.

that night you two had another abnormal facetime call, one that ended in sticky sheets and heaving chests and a quiet i wish you were here.

———

ending your residency at the end of may and starting your fellowship on july 1st, you had decided to dedicate the month of june to your move to pittsburgh. time enough to pack and drive the thousands of miles across the county to your new home—miles and miles and miles through desert and mountains and so many cornfields—

robby robinavitch:

please just let me hire movers and buy you a plane ticket, sweetheart.

i don’t like the idea of you driving cross county alone in a u-haul.

you:

i’ve done it before rasputin

three times!!!

the ominous hell is real signs thrill me

robby robinavitch:

that one’s just not even fair.

send me pictures.

“there’s no robert at your new hospital, not in the er at least,” your roommate said, making you look up from your phone.

you step into your closet where they were supposed to be helping to box up your clothes, instead finding them on the floor, on your laptop, scrolling the ptmc staff page.

“i wanna see the boyfriend. it’s only fair, you’re leaving me for him,” they say peering up with an exaggerated pout.

“he’s not—“ my boyfriend, you start. you knew you were ass over elbow in love with robby, but you two had never actually labeled anything, never used the l-word—it’s on the move-in checklist: number 7, the what are we? talk. “he’s not a robert,” you say instead, “i’ve told you it’s a joke. his last name is robinavitch.”

as you step back into your bedroom, you hear them shout, “dr. daddy boba eyes over here? okay, girl. and gasp! chief of emergency medicine, you dirty minx!”

———

knocking at the front door interrupts your unpacking with a start. glancing at the clock on the stove, you were tempted to grab your cast iron skillet as a weapon, but made your way toward the door empty handed. robby had told you this was a good apartment in a safe neighborhood when he helped you house hunt, but who the hell would be knocking at your door at 9:57 at night if not an ax murderer?

slowly peering through the peephole, you see who—robby, one hand on the strap of his backpack, the other holding a plastic takeout bag, rocking back and forth on his heels.

you fling the door open. “sorry sir, i’ve already witnessed jehovah and he got a restraining order,” you deadpan.

“so sorry, ma’am. i’ll just take this food and be on my way,” he jests back, turning to leave. before he makes it a full step, you grab him by the front of his shirt and yank him into you for a bruising kiss. he quickly drops the bags to the ground, wrapping his arms around your middle, lifting you off your feet.

“hi,” he says once you break the kiss for air, smiling.

“hi,” you reply as he sets you back down and kicks the door shut, a small smile joining his. six months with only phone calls and facetimes and texts, you didn’t realize you missed him this much, not until he was standing in front of you, despite you talking nearly every day.

feeling tears sting in your eyes, you bury your face in his chest—still solid, still warm—wrapping your arms tightly around his middle—still soft, still biteable. he wraps his arms around you then, cheek resting atop your head.

“i missed you,” you mumble into his shirt.

“i missed you, too. i brought food,” he says, neither of you moving from your position.

“thought you were an ax murderer,” you add.

he chuckles—still rumbles deep in his chest where your head lays, “why the hell would an ax murderer knock and politely wait for you to answer the door?”

you pinch at his love handle, earning you a laugh. “for the element of surprise,” you step back to look at him again, “who the hell doesn’t text before showing up to a lady’s house in the middle of the night?”

he chuckles at the scowl on your face, reaching up to smooth the furrow between your brows with his thumb. “it’s 10,” he starts, hands moving to rest on your jaw, thumbing at the apples of your cheek. “and a guy whose shift ran over, showered at the hospital, sped to the restaurant to pick up food before they closed, and forgot to text because he was so embarrassingly excited to see his beautiful girlfriend who he hasn’t gotten to touch in six months, that’s who.”

you felt your cheeks heat—girlfriend. “that’s not playing fair, michael,” you whine, grabbing each of his wrists in your hands, tearing your gaze from his.

“ohhoho, you callin’ me michael before we’ve eaten dinner? that’s not playing fair, sweetheart,” he teases, head tilting to meet your eyes again.

when he does, you confess, “you called me your girlfriend. i didn’t—you’ve never done that.”

“is that…not what we’ve been doing? is that not what you want?” you feel his hands start to retreat.

“no!” you say, keeping his hands on your cheeks with your grip on his wrist. “i mean, yes! yes, that’s what i want. we just never talked about it and i didn’t want to assume but i also figured—“ you cut your own rambling.

robby’s eyes soften, pulling your forehead to his. “i will never understand modern dating etiquette,” he chuckles.

“times have changed since the paleolithic era, old man, get used to it,” you tease, finally releasing your grip on this wrists.

“i think you’re gonna have to get used to it,” he says, hands moving to your waist, kissing your forehead, “because you’re mine,” your eyelid, “i’m yours,” your cheek, “we’re together,” your jaw, “so you’re stuck with me,” ending on your mouth, just a soft press of his lips to yours.

———

a trail discarded of clothing leads from the front door, down the hall, and into your bedroom—the only thing set up being your bed, still pulling clean clothes from boxes in the corner. the moonlight streaming in from the large windows is the only source of light as you lead robby backward to the bed.

the backs of his knees hitting the side, robby sits on the edge of the bed and pulls you into his lap, mouths never parting. you hold him by his shoulders, lips trailing down his beard to his neck, licking and biting in their wake. you slide off his lap, nipping at his collarbone, his nipple, his lower belly, before landing on your knees on the floor below him. your mouth moves to his thick thighs, peppering slippery kisses as you move from knee to groin, biting at the flesh at his inner thigh, soothing the sting with your tongue after his flinches.

looking up at robby, you ask, “can i use my mouth?”

robby, ruddy-cheeked even in the pale light, gives a quick nod accompanied by a shaky exhale.

hand wrapping the base of his cock—still long and thick, still flushing hot in your hand—you gather saliva in our mouth. not breaking eye contact, you let the glob of spit fall from your lips, landing at the tip of robby’s cock, hand working his length to coat it. a grunted fucking hell escaping robby’s lips.

coated to your satisfaction, you lean in to kitten lick the tip, swirling your tongue slowly around his head before pushing it into his slit. bringing robby into your mouth, suckling the head, you look back up at him with wide eyes, his mouth pressed tightly shut as to not let any noise escape.

pulling off his cock, you say, “don’t be quiet. please, let me hear you.” not a demand, but not a request either. robby thinks this may be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—you, wide-eyed with spit-slicked lips, bathed in silvery moonlight, sweet voice like a melody in his ears.

sinking back down around him, you take robby as far into your mouth as you can, hand wrapping around what you can’t. hollowing your cheeks, you slowly, tortuously slow, pull up his length, the vacuum heat of your mouth causing robby to finally let out a chesty groan. repeating the ministration a few more times, you feel robby’s hand on your head. but instead of guiding your head down around his cock, he grabs your hair and pulls you up and off of him.

“i was doin’ somethin’ here,” you say.

you get a filthy kiss in return, hand still knotted in your hair. “wanna taste you,” robby grunts. his hands move under your armpits to guide you to stand, spinning you to lay further up the bed.

settling on his stomach, he begins kissing up your thighs—beard burning just as deliciously as you’d imagined. looking up at you with a mischievous look in his eye, he takes the fat of your inner thigh and sucks a biting bruise into it—fair, you think as you yelp.

throwing one of your thighs over his shoulder, finally, finally, his focus turns to you aching cunt, hot and wet and dripping for his attention. closing his eyes, robby puts his nose against your slit, inhaling your scent—it was filthy and only make you slicker.

the flat of his tongue runs slow from your hole to your clit, swirling his tongue around the nub once he reaches it.

“michael, please,” you gasp, hips grinding into his mouth.

he splays one large hand over your lower belly, steadying you, the other against the inner thigh of the leg not around his neck, holding you open.

robby eats you like a man possessed, like he’s drinking the nectar of the gods, like he could do this forever and never tire of it. he alternates steady licks with powerful sucks to your clit, nose rubbing the at nub when he dips to fuck your hole with his tongue.

eventually you feel your belly grow tight, unabashed moans escaping your mouth. you reach to intertwine your fingers with robby’s on your belly. “clo-close,” is all you manage to pant out. looking down at him, you can see his hips moving, grinding down into the mattress—hot, you think.

looking up at you, he lets out a mmm that vibrates through you. he speeds the licking at your clit, pulling you impossibly closer. holding your gaze, he sucks hard at you, sending your orgasm crashing though your body. you’re unable to hold his gaze as your back arches off the mattress, head thrown back with a shout.

robby’s licking never stops, only slows, working you through your orgasm and the aftershocks. the heat of his tongue and scratch of his beard boarder on painful in your overstimulation.

sitting up slightly you reach your hand into his hair and tug, him pulling his mouth off you. he looks up at you, beard soaked with your slick, pussy-drunk smile on his face. you can’t help but smile back. he leans down to reattach his lips to your cunt, but you pull his hair again, harder, keeping him from where he wants to go.

“‘m not finished,” he grunts, if not pouts.

you blow out a shaky laugh. “well you interrupted me earlier. let me suck you off, michael,” shoot back.

he concedes, placing a kiss to your hip, “well since you asked so nicely.” he moves up to hover his body over yours, leaning in for a sloppy kiss, all tongue and his spit and your slick. he pulls away just enough to meet your eyes and says, “but only if you sit on my face while you do it.”

blood instantly rushes to your face at his words, at how casually he said them. you were no blushing virgin, but him wanting that made you dizzy.

sensing your hesitation, he spoke softly, “hey, you don’t have to—“

you cut him off with a fierce shake of your head, eyes starting up into his. “nope, my soul just left my body for a minute, i’m all good now.”

he chuckles with a shake of his head and rolls over, laying flat on his back, head on your pillow. following his movements, you turn, looking back as you swing one leg over his head, caging him in. you hesitate to do more than hover over him, but robby pulls you down onto him with two large hands gripped into the meat of your ass. you let out a gasp, catching yourself with a hand braces against robby’s stomach as you jerk forward.

robby keeps his grip on you tight as he begins devouring you once more, sloppy and filthy, grunting into your cunt.

as you bend down to take his cock in your hand, you nuzzle against his pubes, rubbing your cheek against the coarse hair like a cat. trailing open mouthed kisses up his length, wetting him once more, you gently suckle at his cock. the moans he pulls from you while licking into your slit cause vibrations to wrap around him in your mouth, precum and drool leaking from the corner. you increase your suction, hand jerking steadily at what you haven’t swallowed.

you feel robby pull his mouth from your cunt. “baby,” he pants, hand sliding as far as it could up your hip from his position to get your attention, “if you want me to fuck you, you’re gonna have to stop that.”

pulling off him with a pop, you place a final peck to his tip before turning around to face him.

smiling down at him, you tease, “gettin’ tired, old man?” it comes out sweeter than planned, the softness in your eyes matching robby’s own.

sitting up against the headboard, he reaches to grip your hips, pulling you in to straddle him once more. “don’t wanna come until i’m inside your pussy,” he answers, expression too fond for words so vulgar.

you smile again, kissing him passionately, trying to say what little was left unsaid between you two.

reaching down between you, you grab robby’s cock, swiping the head through your slick folds, and begin to line him up with your cunt. robby interrupts the kiss, “wait, baby, condom,” holding you by your hips to keep you from moving.

opening and closing your mouth once, you ask, “you’re clean, right?” he nods. “i’m clean. i’ve got an iud. i want…i just want to feel as close to you as i can. i want to feel all of you, michael.” i want to crawl into your skin and live there, you think.

robby reaches one hand to your face, brushing a rouge hair from your forehead. “i want to feel all of you, too,” he punctuates with a kiss below your eye. “just didn’t wanna be presumptuous,” he adds, teasing.

“you callin’ me presumptuous, you dirty old man?” you shoot back. “wantin’ to fill me up, fuck me raw on the second date?” you add, lining robby up to you once more.

he barks out a laugh that turns into a moan as you sink down onto him. the stretch, eased by your previous orgasm and robby’s tongue, still burned, splitting you open and reshaping you perfect for just him.

fully seated, you and robby pant into each other’s mouths, eyes pinched shut, foreheads touching. finally, you began to move, rolling your hips against his, feeling his fullness suffocate you.

speeding, you felt robby’s hands return to your hips, fingertips leaving bruises in your flesh, assisting the movement of your hips. opening your eyes, you saw him already looking at you, cheeks flushed, sweat beading down his temple. you leaned forward and lick it, kissing his cheekbone, under his eye, across his nose.

robby pants your name like it was holy, one hand moving down your body, thumb finding your clit, making you cry out.

neither of you were going to last, both close to the edge before even starting, desperate to feel the other completely.

hand gripping tightly to your hip, thumb working fast at your clit, robby grunts out, “where do you want it?”

“inside michael, shit— inside, please please, inside,” you whine, orgasm closing in.

robby chokes out a fuck, before moving the hand from you hip to the bed, using it as leverage to fuck up into you from below. “fuck, baby, i’m close, shit! god, i lo—“ robby shuts his lips tight, breathes coming heavier from his nose. did he just— was he about to—

you reach both hands to his beard, tugging so you can lock your gaze with his. “what were you going to say? please, say it,” you keen, so close now.

he releases the seal on his mouth with a heavy exhale, “i love you. i—fuck, shit— i love you so fucking much.”

that’s enough to send you over the finish line, cunt clamping down hard on robby’s length, thighs trembling from exertion and ecstasy. one hand falling down to robby’s still playing with your clit, nails biting into his wrist—to keep him going or to stop him, you didn’t know, brain foggy with overstimulation and oxytocin.

the hand still in his beard tugs at the short hairs, eyes opening again to meet his. “i love you too, michael. so fucking much, i love you,” crashing your lips back into his.

a few more thrusts and he’s coming, hot ropes of cum filling every inch of you, marking you as his, his rumbling moan spilling down your throat.

you two bask in the afterglow, trading breathless laughter and panting i love yous as the moon drifted further into the sky. kissing forming bruises and soothing over lingering scratches. drifting to sleep in a tangle of sheets and sweat and limbs, content now having the other in arm’s reach.

———

as june came to a close, filled with unpacking, exploring, and making up for six months of distance, july 1st quickly arrives, time for your fellowship to begin.

arriving at ptmc, you make your way to the ed—the pitt—arriving half an hour early, determined to both settle into your locker and settle your nerves before shift change at 7. you manage to find the staff area without being stopped, everyone seemingly too tired to notice the unfamiliar face in familiar black scrubs.

exiting the break room, a gruff voice comes from the north nurse’s station. “you’re here early,” the voice says.

“oh! hi dr. abbott,” you say once you turn. never listen to jack, robby had joked. “just didn’t wanna be late on my first day, y’know. how are you?”

ignoring your question, dr. abbot asks his own, “robby here, too?”

keeping your best poker face—it’s bad—you reply, “what? oh! uh, i don’t—i wouldn’t—“

dr. abbot continues his staring, unimpressed or unbelieving, you couldn’t deduce.

“i, uh, haven’t seen him! but i’ll let him know you’re looking for him if i do!” you end with a fake cheer.

face unchanged, dr. abbot huffs out his nose, “got me excited, thought i was gonna get outta here before 8 today.” he looks up with a smirk, “next time just come in together, save me the heartbreak.”

never listen to jack. always listen to dr. abbot, but never jack.

laughing nervously, you gave a small gotta go do something before walking away. not a complete lie.

you had briefly seen the memorial wall during your tour all those months ago, photos of ptmc staff who had passed. it was the second place you wanted to to visit before the start of your first day. looking up at dr. adamson’s photo, you smile as if he was actually here, seeing the curious teen now grown into a real doctor.

making your way toward the main nurses station, you see an excited doctor talking animatedly with her hands—something about an amazing! case the evening before—to a prettyboy doctor, who had a smitten look on his face, seeming to be hanging on her every word.

two more doctors walk in from the ambulance bay then. the woman one smirks at the pretty boy and says getta room! with a teasing tone. prettyboy just flips her off, attention never straying from excited girl. the victorian orphan looking boy just pushes sarcastic girl further into the pitt as she cackles.

leaning against the counter, you hear footsteps stop next to you. “doctor,” the voice—robby—says in faux seriousness.

“doctor,” you echo.

as senior doctors gather at the nurses station, introductions are made by robby—you can’t remember another time he’d ever called you by your title and full name.

“you remember dr. abbot and dr. ellis from your interview,” dr. ellis gives a up-nod, dr. abbot an all-knowing half-smile. robby introduces two senior residents, one being sarcastic girl—dr. santos. “and our junior attending, dr. langdon, who isn’t scheduled til noon, yet is already here,” robby ends, turning his attention to dr. langdon—prettyboy.

he shrugs, “had to switch out cars, figured i’d stay. i’ll survive.”

“say that to shen in 18 hours,” dr. abbot smirks.

the day proceeds quickly. a thorough tour, more introductions, a few traumas. it was overwhelming and exciting and real—didn’t hurt that your tour guide was your piece of old man eye candy.

midafternoon, the announcement of an incoming multi-car, multi-trauma pileup rang through the intercom.

“from downtown,” the charge nurse, dana, added off-speaker.

“okay, y’all, how many furries?” one of the med assistants asked loudly. post-it notes and cash flew his way between staff setting up for protocol.

“furries?” you ask putting on your trauma gown.

“furries,” dr. whitaker—victorian orphan—confirms. “there’s a convention every fourth of july weekend and we always end up with at least a dozen of ‘em. some bet on how many, what reason, how wild,” he ends up a shrug.

you just nod, a little confused but hey, every hospital has their thing—the pitt’s seemed to be betting on anything.

you worked the trauma event with efficiency and precision, leading some cases with junior residents, working other cases along side robby or dr. langdon. the cases with robby were something else; a choreographed dance neither of you knew you had learned, an easy rhythm uninterrupted by the urgency of the situation, the other right where they were needed when they were needed.

as the final patient was stabilized and wheeled off to surgery, you pushed your disheveled hair out of your face, giving an amazed laugh to robby from across the trauma bay. he returned the smile with a soft good job, closer now, audible only to anyone actively trying to listen in.

(there were 11 furries in a 15-passenger van. one threatened to sue as his fur suit was cut off. a nurse named jesse won the pool.)

as the shift drew to a close, you sat at central finishing your charting. from the corner of your eye, you saw two nurses—princess and perlah—turned toward you, talking openly in tagalog? you’re pretty sure? smiling nervously as you turn to look at them, they smile back, giving small waves.

“they’re talking about you, you know?” dr. santos says as she leans across from you, elbows on the counter, hands clasped together loosely.

looking from the nurses, you joke, “only scandalous things, i hope.”

dr. santos smirks, “they’re plotting to start a betting pool. how long before you and robby start fucking and or dating each other?” you let out an incredulous breath before she continues, “my bet is that you already are. am i close? i need a win, i lost a lotta money today.”

if it were about anything else—anybody else—you would have laughed it up with dr. santos. instead, you felt your hands grow sweaty and face hot, fumbling out, “i don’t know what—i mean—nooo…robby? noooo.”

“‘noooo robby,’ what?” the man asks himself, walking up to return a tablet. dr. santos excuses herself with a light oh, nothing.

robby turns to you with raised brows.

“your staff is betting on when we’ll get together, michael,” you answer. the hr papers were already turned in. technically it was out there. just needed the right question to be asked to the right admin staffer by the right person.

robby leans on the counter, mirroring dr. santos’ previous stance. “well then, would you like to go to dinner sometime?”

you smile rolling your eyes.

“are you free next week?”

———

and then princess and perlah my chismosa queens overheard and rigged the bet and won so much money amen

also no one cares but i know ellis would be 2 not 1 year post residency and mel 1 year with this timeline but i wanted them in here so pretend they did/are doing a 5th year as chief resident or s/t shhhh also i fully believe langdon and santos will eventually end up being bickering-siblings-coded in canon thank you goodnight

#wrote dis

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