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There are many things MD Jack Abbot doesn’t care for as a wolf: French blue cheese, uncooperative patients questioning care providers at every turn, the ceiling light in the upper-left corner outside Dispatch flickering a white glare sharper than the rest.
Right now, it’s that silvery cougar, tail swinging in lazy arcs and talking Robby up in front of the nurses’ station.
“Who’s that?”
Dana answers without looking up. “Lieutenant Richards from Station 32. Didn’t catch the first name. Brought in one of their own fifteen minutes ago—second degree burn to the left forearm from heat exposure, in Central 6.”
Robby spots Jack over the hub and signals one moment. Jack gives a thumbs up.
The cougar-shifter, Richards, is leaning in, gray ears pricking forward and a boyish-stupid-smile plastered on his face.
Jack scowls.
“Doesn’t a fire chief have better things to do? That tail’s a tripping hazard.”
“Some might call that bias you know. Feather tail scales are nobody’s business but their own. What’s your story with that guy?”
“No story. Never seen him around before.”
Dana rolls her eyes, clearly not buying it.
“Whassup, boss!” Ellis breezes past and bumps Jack’s shoulder, pausing to eye across the bay, smirking when she too spots the new face. “I’m sure it’s nothing, Dana—we dogs just hate cats.”
“Now that is bias. On your way, Parker.”
“The board doesn’t look too bad.” Jack comments and glances over. Robby has moved to his side, ears tinted pink.
“Dangerous thing to say. But what do you know, you might even get to have a few rooms open up in the next hour.”
“You’re in a good mood tonight.” Jack squints at the board. “Central 6?”
“Let’s keep that one overnight. The arm’s pretty messed up.”
“Saw his lieutenant out there. He cool with that?”
“Yeah, Brett seems fine with it.” Robby rubs the back of his neck.
Jack schools his features. Brett.
“Hey, you got a minute? I’ve got something for you.”
Curious, Jack follows Robby into the locker room. Robby pulls out a folded jacket Jack recognizes as his—he'd draped it over Robby when he fell asleep watching the Pens last time and hadn’t taken it back the next morning. It may have been intentional.
“I forgot to bring it over last week, sorry.”
Jack takes the jacket, disappointed to find he can barely smell Robby’s scent on it anymore.
“Used the usual detergent, so it couldn’t be that bad?” Robby asks tentatively.
“No no, it’s perfectly fine. Thanks brother.”
Jack sidles closer, tucking the jacket into his locker next to Robby’s, arm brushing against his wrist. Robby doesn’t flinch.
Sometimes Jack is grateful that Robby isn’t so interested in shifter ethology unless it’s medically relevant, and the man just chalks up all those touchy habits of Jack’s as wolf stuff. That said, it still took Robby a while to get comfortable with direct contact, after Jack explained it’s a pack thing and that he does it with everyone, Ellis, a jackal shifter, and Shen, like Robby, a human.
He doesn’t, not really.
And for that, Jack is also thankful shifters are still the minority, and nobody with a keen nose and sharp eyesight has called him out on the not-entirely-appropriate-interactions-with-your-best-friend yet. Parker definitely knows and takes great pleasure, unbecoming of a beta, in torturing him at every opportunity. Walsh probably knows too, judging by the way she wrinkles her nose every time she passes Jack and asks which patch of grass he and Robby rolled in this time, but that could just be Walsh being on brand.
Robby shifts, and Jack catches traces of an alien scent—embers smoldering in distant campfire, acrid and sharp.
Hackles rising, a low, unbidden rumble starts in Jack’s chest. He crowds Robby against the locker, sniffing, zeroing in on Robby’s chest pocket and struggling not to bare his teeth.
“He touched you?”
“Who?”
Uncomprehending but alarmed, Robby carefully starts to back away.
A snarl escapes Jack, but he quickly pulls himself together at the sight of Robby’s widened eyes.
“Brett.”
“…I don’t think so?”
“He give you anything?”
“Just a card.” Robby pulls out the offending object, a phone number on it in messy scrawls. “He’s new to the precinct, might as well stay in touch.”
Jack has to close his eyes for a minute to stop himself from snatching the card and tearing it into shreds.
Richards was certainly not thinking of professional courtesy.
That repugnant, mangy cat was encroaching on what wasn’t his.
“Jack, you feeling okay? Need me to call Shen?”
“I’m fine.” Jack grits out, keeping his eyes shut and trying to focus on Robby’s crisp, grounded scent.
Robby hesitates. “Is it…the uh, rut?”
“Now where’d you get that idea?” Jack opens one eye, amused by Robby’s blush.
Robby clears his throat. “I wasn’t keeping tabs or anything. Gloria scheduled your leave, I saw the roster. You didn’t mention it so I asked Ellis—not that I’m poking into your affairs.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jack deadpans, lips twitching.
The conversation with the CMO had been short of humiliating. Underwood’s eyes had that unsettling owlish gleam as she went over Jack’s coverage, then she casually asked whether he needed help arranging coverage for Dr. Robinavitch as well.
“Not sure I understand what you mean, ma’am.” Jack had answered sweetly before turning on his heels.
Robby is chewing at his lip now, a trait he can’t seem to shake when he’s self-conscious.
Jack tracks the movement, transfixed, as a small dent forms in the soft flesh of Robby’s bottom lip, pale for a heartbeat before bouncing back to a near-rosy red, slightly chapped at the edges.
Jack wants to pin him down right there and bite.
“I should let you get to it.” Robby fidgets uncomfortably under Jack’s gaze. “I’ll just, get rid of the card if it bothers you.”
Shit. He must’ve drifted.
“Keep it. ’s fine.”
Robby doesn’t seem convinced but relents. “Tomorrow’s game still at yours?”
Jack takes a breath. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea right now, brother.”
“Oh,” Robby looks taken aback. “You’ve got, um, company?”
“Nope.” Jack says, popping the p. “Just me, my bed and my right hand.”
And his vivid imaginings of Robby, but Robby doesn’t need to know that.
Robby goes tomato in an instant. “I thought it wasn’t supposed to start for another couple days?”
“You’re not wrong, but it gets worse as I get older, and I need time to buffer.” Jack smiles ruefully.
Robby nods, brown eyes strained. “Call me if you need anything?”
“Always do. Now go get your beauty sleep Robinavitch.”
Ruts were once something he looked forward to like nothing else, the sense of completion and fulfillment in burying in another’s body, merging with another soul. But it hasn’t been the same since his mate passed.
And then there was Robby, holding him through the excruciating heat and pain, letting Jack howl his heart out into his arms when Jack almost gave in to the shattering grief because none of it was fair, what was he still doing here when wolves were meant to mate for LIFE? But Robby had mulishly held on to him, a pillar, a steady presence that only grew stronger from the day they met.
And it’s painful, watching Robby draw everyone in, flirt his way through the floors and take interest in anyone but Jack.
The shift sucks.
Not in the people-dying-on-his-table kind of suck—small mercies—but the he-can’t-stop-snapping-at-people kind of suck, and here he thinks that’s usually Robby’s job.
The sounds are too loud, the smells too pungent. Intercom barking, phones shrieking, groaning, moaning, and blood, sweat and other bodily fluids Jack refuses to name all stirred together, bombing his senses.
And his mate Robby isn’t safe beside him around to anchor him.
Ellis keeps stealing glances his way throughout the shift, walks up when Jack nearly scars an intern for life after the poor thing knocks over a tray.
“What?!”
“You may want to go home, boss.” Ellis says cautiously. “People are noticing your scent, and, um—” she gestures at the top of Jack’s head.
No way. Jack reaches up and touches fur. His ears are out.
“Fuck me.”
“They’re cute though.”
“Not helping.” Jack sighs. “I'll be in on-call, get me when Dr. Robby arrives?”
“Sorry to disappoint, but Dr. Robby called in. He won’t be on for the next three shifts.” Dr. Al-Hashimi strolls in, quirking an eyebrow at Jack’s ears but saying nothing.
“He say why? Seemed fine when I left him.” Jack frowns, trying to recall if he missed anything.
“He just said it’s family stuff. Didn’t sound off on the phone.”
Jack grunts. Could be Robby arranged something with Jake last minute, the two have patched things up over the last few months and Robby is going out of his way to indulge teenage whims. Still, he would’ve preferred Robby to have told him.
“Okay then. Ready to inherit the mess?”
“Ready when you are.”
Leaving the chaos in capable hands and bribing Shen with a week of Dunkin’ Donuts, Jack debates heading to Giant Eagle to restock. A few more Gatorades can’t hurt, and he should probably eat something other than protein bars. On the other hand, he doesn’t feel like navigating crowds, and he hates having his ears stuffed under a cap.
In the end Jack decides fuck it and goes home. It’s not like he has a mate to provide for.
He’s one beer in when the phone gives a soft ping. Robby’s ringtone.
Brought you supplies.
Jack looks out the window, and there Robby is, hunched into himself, rocking slightly on his heels, two shopping bags looped over his forearm and a backpack over his shoulder.
Jack breathes in, out, counts to four, and puts on his prosthetic.
Robby barges in as soon as Jack opens the door, teeth chattering.
Jack shuts it behind him without a word.
“Jesus brother, you live in a freezer? What happened to your heat?”
“In case you didn’t notice, I am literally sweating through my shirt right now.” Jack shakes his head but goes obediently to the thermostat and cranks it up.
“Oh, uh—” Robby’s eyes drift to Jack’s salt-and-pepper ears then down to the lazily swaying tail, “I, um, brought frozen pizza, spinach, bacon…” he moves to set the bags on Jack’s kitchen counter and starts pulling things out, “…milk, wipes and blankets. The ones you have have holes in them.”
“Thanks,” Jack says quietly, leaning in the doorway.
“I packed light. Assumed you still have my usual stuff?”
“You’re staying?”
“…Yes? You said you don’t have company, and after today I thought I’d keep an eye on you.”
Jack balls his fists and releases, nails digging into his palm.
“Like I said, it’s not the best idea, brother.”
Robby straightens, gnawing at his lip, and meets Jack’s eyes.
“Okay, I’m just gonna say it.” A beat. “I am offering.”
Jack stares.
Robby shifts his weight.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything. I looked it up—it’s common, shifters having temporary partners to get through heats and ruts, and you, uh, you don’t seem to mind me touching you, so I thought why not—”
Jack stops listening. Of fucking course.
Something hardens in him, cold and biting.
“I don’t need charity,” Jack says icily. “Least of all from you. Don’t offer something you don’t actually want.”
Robby looks like he’s been hit.
“And you know what I want?”
“Just leave, Michael. I’ll see you at handoff in a week.”
Hurt flashes across Robby’s face, there and gone, swallowed fast by something uglier.
“Fuck you.” He spits. “You know what, Brett asked if I’d like to help him through his rut. Maybe I should just give him a call and take him up on the offer—”
Something snaps in Jack.
He pounces, slamming Robby against the wall and biting down at his neck, hard. Robby lets out a startled cry, writhing and hissing as Jack tastes copper blooming on his tongue.
“What the fuck, Jack!”
“You are not going anywhere,” Jack growls at him. “You’re MY mate. MINE.”
Robby goes still. “You—”
“You’ve had your warnings.”
Jack hauls Robby up and throws him over his shoulder. Robby squeaks indignantly and flails, landing on Jack’s bed with an oof.
Jack prowls closer, forcing him back.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen.”
“I’m going to fuck you and breed you. I won’t stop whether you scream or not, and you’re not leaving this bed until I’m satisfied. Sounds good?”
Robby gapes at him, flushed red to the tips of his ears. “Wh—what??”
“You asked for it.” Jack reminds him pleasantly.
Robby facepalms. “Did you have to put it like that.”
“For the record, I’m not exactly in my right mind right now.” Jack paws at Robby’s hoodie. “Off, all of it. I’d rather not ruin them.”
“Jack, wait—” Robby catches his wrist, searching Jack’s face. “This isn’t the rut talking, right? You actually want this, with me?”
Jack groans. “For such a brilliant man, you can be so incredibly stupid sometimes.”
Robby bristles.
“Mikey.” Jack’s tail skims Robby’s arm. “I’ve been wanting this for years. I thought you didn’t want me.”
“But you always went for shifters!”
“Says the guy who only dates women.”
“You don’t know that.” Robby mutters.
“…You sure it’s wise to tell me this now?”
They stare each other down.
Robby exhales. “God we’re idiots.”
“No arguments there,” Jack grumbles. “And just so we’re clear—I do not share. You’re not touching anyone else ever again.”
“That’s hardly fair, I do have patients to see to.”
Jack shoots him a withering look, unclipping the prosthetic, shedding his shirt and pants in one quick motion.
No underwear.
Robby stares and visibly swallows, pulling off his own clothes with a calmness he absolutely does not feel.
Is that something a human body can actually fit?
Sure, he’s seen his fair share of shifter penises at work, but Jack’s is monstrous.
“Hey.” Jack catches his eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you. Trust me.” He nuzzles at Robby’s cheek. “Gimme a kiss?”
Robby drags him down, opening his mouth as Jack swipes his tongue against his lips. Jack takes his time licking and tasting, searing Robby’s scent into his memory. Petrichor, earthy and clean. So much better this close. He could drown in it forever.
Robby moans softly, squirming beneath him, knees drawing up and thighs squeezing Jack’s flanks.
“Getting impatient, are we?” Jack chuckles, hand stroking down through Robby’s chest hair before giving his right nipple a light twist.
Robby gasps and arches up into Jack’s hand. “Just get on with it.”
“Roger that. Lemme just—” Jack tucks a pillow under Robby’s hips, reaching for the nightstand.
Robby stops him and opens wider, canting his hips up.
“Don’t need it. I came prepared, and I want to feel you.”
Fuck.
Jack swallows, sneaking a hand between Robby’s cheeks. The ring of muscle is warm and tender to the touch, yielding too easily when he presses down. Jack holds Robby’s eyes, sliding in two fingers at once.
Robby’s breath hitches but body offers no resistance. “…A third,” he chokes out.
“Christ, you’re killing me.” Jack drives a third finger in to the last knuckle and Robby whines, walls clenching down on the intrusion.
Jack fucks him deep and slow, coaxing him open, watches in stunned awe as the fingers come out glossy, slick strands clinging between the fluttering hole and fingertips.
Robby grimaces at the clammy feeling between his legs, suddenly finding the ceiling very interesting. “…I may have misjudged the amount of lube needed.”
Jack curses hotly, surging up to claim his mouth in a clumsy kiss.
“—Need to be inside you right now ’bout to burst—can I eat you out later? Please please say yes—”
“I don’t think it’s the edible kind?” Robby pants, brows furrowing, baring his neck to Jack.
Jack is rendered speechless. God help him with this infuriating, hopeless man.
Robby yelps when Jack seizes his hips and tips them upward, the head of a thick cock splitting him open before he has a chance to brace. Jack grunts at the wet heat squeezing and pulsing around him—still too tight.
“Jack—I, hah, I can’t—” Eyes wide, Robby grasps at him, cold sweat beading at his temples.
“Hey, hey, you’re okay, I’ve got you…” Jack forces his voice even, thumb stroking over Robby’s cheekbone—he is clamping around him like a vice. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Just breathe with me…”
Robby draws in a shaky breath, chest heaving, each inhale and exhale desperate to stay in sync. Then slowly, painstakingly, he melts.
“That’s it, Michael, let me in…” Jack murmurs, pressing their foreheads together. “Almost there.”
Jack rocks his hips gently, sinking to the hilt inch by inch. Robby shakes, whimpering.
“You good?” Robby’s heartbeat is elevated under Jack's palm, a little too quick for his liking. “How’re we feeling?”
“Not your patient." Robby huffs. "’m fine, Jack, just full. Your cock almost made me nauseous.”
Jack’s eyes darken and he gives a testing thrust.
Pleasure shoots through his core like a lightning strike, Robby lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched whine.
“Warn a guy first—hng!”
“Now it’s gonna make you feel good.” Jack ignores him and picks up speed, drawling, “—and I don’t even have to aim.”
Robby opens his mouth to snark but only mewls slip out, the relentless thrusting leaving him a moaning, sweaty mess.
Heat builds in his gut, gradual then sudden, rushing up and crashing over him like a wave. Before Robby realizes what’s happening he’s coming untouched, crying out and dragging his nails across Jack’s back.
Jack hisses, nearly tripping over the edge himself when Robby tightens without warning.
“Fuck, Mikey.” He slows and pants, blinking down at the sticky mess between them, surprised. “That didn’t take much.”
“Just sh’up.” Robby throws an arm over his eyes.
“Hey.” Jack drops a kiss on the tender skin on Robby’s wrist. Robby peeks at him.
“You still good to keep going?”
“Yeah…yeah. Do what you gotta do.”
“I can, uh, knot outside you?”
Robby frowns. “Doesn’t that prolong the rut?”
Jack hesitates, one ear flicking. “Knotting isn’t…necessarily enjoyable for the receiving partner.”
“I can take it.”
Jack studies him.
“I can take it, Jack. I’m a grown man.” Robby adds as an afterthought, “Besides, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a bit curious.”
Jack shivers, dropping his head onto Robby’s chest. “You really need to stop saying shit like that.”
Robby scratches Jack’s ears, a laugh bubbling out of him when Jack swivels them back, annoyed.
His laughter is short-lived when Jack starts rolling into him again.
“Lemme know if anything hurts, okay?”
“Mmm…’kay…” Robby moans, breathless, tipping his head back.
Jack nips and licks down Robby’s exposed neck, biting and nuzzling into every inch of skin he can reach. He laps away the dried blood from the bite earlier, purring in satisfaction at the perfect crescent-shaped mark.
Robby has never seen Jack like this—freckles standing out against flushed skin, curls disheveled, hazel eyes bright and flashing with hunger.
“Gonna breed you.”
Jack slams forward, words slurring as the knot begins to form at the base.
“You’d look so pretty carrying my pups—”
“Yes—yes…ngh…I want your pups…” Robby babbles, fucked drunk. “Please, Jack—”
Jack grunts, pushing the knot past the rim with a snap of his hips, arms trembling.
Robby feels the knot swell, stretching him open and locking in, warm rush flooding his insides. A foreign pressure builds at his tailbone then spreads to his lower abdomen like wildfire, all-encompassing and frightening.
He keens.
Jack snaps his head up. “What’s wrong?”
Another broken sound escapes. “I don’t—I don’t know, Jack, I—Aaaah!”
Robby screams, convulsing and arching up violently when the pressure coils tight like burning coal inside his gut, shuddering and sobbing as a gush of clear liquid spurts from his cock, streaking across his chest and catching Jack on the chin.
“Holy sh—” Jack stares, slack-jawed. “Did you just—”
“…not a word.” Robby rasps, curling toward Jack, honey-brown eyes misty, faint tremors rippling through his stomach.
“’m not saying anything.” A beat. “Just glad you liked it.”
Robby groans. “…still talking.”
“S’rry.” Jack repositions them onto their sides, hand absently stroking over Robby’s waist and the quiet rise of his belly. “Any pain?”
Robby shakes his head, not trusting his voice.
“Mikey, I need you to talk to me.” Jack cups his face, eyes searching. “That was intense. Lemme know you’re okay, please?”
“ ’m good.” Robby shifts and winces. “Sore, maybe a little bloated. No pain.”
Jack huffs a soft laugh and presses his nose into the crook of Robby’s neck, his bushy tail curling and patting idly at Robby’s thigh.
“How long will we stay locked like this?” Robby mumbles, hazy.
“Fifteen minutes give or take. You can take a nap if you want.”
Like magic, Robby yawns. Jack chuckles, reaching behind him fumbling for his phone.
“Wha’re you doin’…?”
“Ordering Chinese, something light.”
“We’ve got pizza in the fridge.”
“Need to get some real food in you before round two, love. And don’t fight me on this.”
Robby grumbles unhappily.
“Pizza later though?”
Jack lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Sure. Anything you want.”
Robby hums, burrows into Jack’s warmth and drifts off.
“What we got?” Robby rushes to meet Jack as he rolls in with a gurney, holding an oxygen mask in place.
“GSW through-and-through to the left thigh, missed the femoral by a hair. Clean entry and exit. Bleeding’s controlled and pressure’s holding. Lucky as hell.”
“You got this?”
“Yeah, yeah, we’ll be fine.” Jack wheels the SWAT into Trauma 1, shouting back over his shoulder, “Left dinner on the table, eat it!”
“I had something!”
“What you had doesn’t count. Eat the food Robinavitch!”
“Jesus.” Robby drops his head back, exasperated.
“Yo, that’s him.”
“Isn’t he like, Abbot’s boss or something?”
“That’s what you’re worried about? The man’s fucking drenched!”
“Yeah like inside out.”
Low whistles. “Damn. That bastard Abbot’s crazy.”
“And lucky.”
Robby feels the stares at his back before he even turns around—four pairs of curious eyes fixed on him, reminding him of the huskies kept by his grandmother’s looney neighbor, who would all whip their heads around and stare whenever he walked past the fence.
One of the men walks up and extends a hand. Robby shakes it.
“Marcus Holt, team sergeant. Sorry about the nosy boys—it’s not every day you see a completed bond between a human and a wolf.”
“And that’s…not good?”
“No not at all, just uncommon. Bonding this deep is…taxing on both parties, and not all humans are willing to go through with it.”
Robby flushes, looking briefly away.
Holt clears his throat. “You may want to tell Abbot to dial it back though. His scent on you doesn’t exactly say ‘welcome’ to the other shifters.”
Robby sputters, face going beet red.
“Anyway, thank you for saving Hiro’s life. And welcome to the pack.” Holt moves to pat Robby on the shoulder, then thinks better of it and retreats with a small nod.
“Whatcha still doing here?” Jack frowns, ripping off the bloody gloves and tossing them into the bin.
Robby has his hands jammed in his pockets, not meeting his eyes. “Dr. Abbot, a word?”
Uh-oh. That’s never good.
Jack spins around to the SWATs. “What did you say?”
“—Abbot, now!”
Heads turn their way. Santos cranes her neck over the monitor to get a better look.
“Move along, people—not a circus!” Robby barks, already storming toward on-call without checking whether Jack follows.
Jack trails after him, tail between his legs.
“Where’s Abbot?” Walsh looks around and pulls a face at the scent on Robby’s chair.
“He’s in the doghouse~” Ellis singsongs.
“Serves him right.” Walsh shrugs.
“What’re you talking about?” Mel looks between them, puzzled.
“Oh, nothing, Dr. King,” Ellis says, all innocence. “Just a pack thing.”