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His hands are shaking as he holds his clipboard, Dana’s calming voice rattling off what Robby knows is important information, having just walked into the bustling building, of course he should be listening. The dulcet tones of people screaming at nurses for stupid shit and Myrna’s wayward flirting escapades as she accosts every single doctor within hearing range is both a balm to his nerves and an infuriating overstimulation this early in the morning.
Robby can’t help it, though. He hasn’t been able to fucking help it since that blasted night a few months ago, that one fucking video.
Elijah, Dennis’s brother, found his number somehow, sent it to him with a wink emoji. Robby is not proud of the things he has done while watching Dennis’s thighs hold tight to that thrashing bull, his accented voice haunting Robby’s dreams.
He’s disgusting. He feels disgusting. He shouldn’t have a thing for one of his coworkers. Sure, Whitaker was almost twenty seven, he wasn’t a child. He had officially finished his rotations, a first year doctor, and been placed with the Pitt. He lived alone, he worked, he got himself through school without monetary help from his family, he has single handedly saved so many patient’s lives. He wasn’t even Robby’s med student any more. Not an equal per say, Robby was still his attending, after all.
Robby didn’t want to discredit Whitaker, the man wasn’t a blushing virgin that Robby could easily take advantage of. Well, him being religious and not having much of a sex life that Robby had ascertained (because he’s been listening, like a fucking creep) meant that there was the slightest possibility of virginity, his rosary hidden under his black scrubs during his shifts. Not that his virginity inherently mattered to Robby, who had been a doctor long enough to come to the conclusion that it was a societal construct.
So why the hell did a part of him feel that he was doing something wrong, by looking? By thinking?
Abbot, who had figured him out way too quickly, said it was because Robby felt he didn’t deserve good things. Robby thought it was the fucking twenty six year age gap and also the fact that he was essentially Dennis’s boss, for fucks sake. Robby had graduated and was an official licensed practitioner going through a divorce when Whitaker was taking his first steps in the tall grass on his farmland.
Then he’s back to thinking about the farmland. The bull. g-d help me get through this shift. Robby prayed uselessly, he wasn’t sure g-d cared to answer him much, no matter what his bubbe had taught him. No matter that he had started going to the hospital’s chapel to pray, coincidentally around the time Whitaker did… for no reason.
The current attack on his mental health and hormone level was caused by something that, if Robby voiced it out loud, would shame him so badly he would have to force himself into the corner like a child.
Dennis has already had to change his scrubs once, Myrna’s attempt to get him to strip in the hall by tossing some water on him (according to Dana), and the machine did not have his size stocked yet, a scheduling issue with the janitors again. His pants were just a bit too tight, and Robby could see the outline of Dennis’s strong thighs.
Mohan had been the one to say it months back, sleeper build. Robby had never heard that term, choosing to stay away from gym bros after years of treating their self inflicted injuries. The amount of body builders who died young because they wanted so badly to get bigger, a misplaced ego issue that ruined them and their loved ones.
“This is because of you, bloodhound.” He heard Santos saying from across the hall, the dark marks under her eyes heavy enough to warrant an excess baggage fee. She rubs her temples with one hand.
He would feel guilty about not paying Dana a lick of attention, really, but he could see the back of Dennis’s head, that just-slight mullet of his, the hair short and messily curled into the nape of his neck. He always looked just a little wet all around. Robby hated how much he liked it.
“It’s not my fault you spent four hours dancing to full frontal drunk off your ass in the livingroom.” Whitaker whispered, the only one keeping his voice at an acceptable volume. Santos struggled with that, though part of Ronny respected her for not quieting herself for other’s comfort.
It was a quiet morning so far, allowing them a little time to dawdle as they both drank their sludge coffee from the break room. Dennis’s nose always crinkled at it, probably used to the good stuff back where he was from, freshly ground and imported. Maybe Robby should use some of his earnings to get better coffee. G-d knows he could use it for more than what little he did.
Dammit. Abbot is going to call him a sugar daddy again, isn’t he? Give Whitaker one set of high quality scrubs as a graduation gift and never hear the end of it. Robby had tried to offset it by taking the entire crew out for a night of drinking, on him, but Abbot didn’t let up.
“It is, actually. You lead me to drink.” Santos pointed, her manicured finger hitting Dennis’s sternum so hard he tilts back. Robby hates that he feels an unhealthy amount of jealous course through his body at the touch. He knows it’s not necessary, Santos was entertaining a poly thing with Mel and McKay, after all. She takes a large sip of her coffee, hissing at the temperature as she forces it down like a shot.
He vaguely hears a laugh from Dana. He is not paying enough attention to care about why.
Raising a hand to his chest as well, pointing where Trinity was still stabbing him with her index finger, “What? How?” Dennis’s soft voice carried, Robby kept trying to find his accent stuck in there, sometimes when he spoke fast, he could hear it in the vowels.
Santos glares at him.
If Robby didn’t know any better, he would think she was genuinely mad at her roommate. Trinity was just a little rough around the edges, he had learned. It was honestly refreshing to have someone willing to yell back at him, no matter the rule stating she shouldn’t. No matter how it sometimes pissed him off.
“There’s a man in my house.” Santos states plainly.
Dennis snorts at her, rolling his eyes and pushing her hand away softly. “Touché.” He agrees, and Robby hates that it makes him hard. He’s so glad he’s sitting at Dana's desk right now, a patient’s file in front of him even as he clutched tight to the clipboard Abbot had handed him before scurrying away to have breakfast with a not so bashful Mohan.
He steps to the side, and Robby’s mouth waters at the stretch of those stupid scrub pants, showcasing Dennis’s muscular calves. He was going to go crazy and it was no one else’s fault but his own.
Robby couldn’t go on like this. He knew what he had to do.
“Hell, Michael, do you need some water?” He hears Dana say, she touches his shoulder and gives him a pitied look, her eyes on his white-knuckled grip on the board.
Mind made, then.
———-
The frantic knocking on his door kicks him out of the restless half-slumber he had managed to fall into, body aching in the uncomfortable position that had been the only comfortable position he could find when he was dozing on the couch to reruns of The Cosby Show.
Being on your feet for 15+ hours really fucked with your body, Robby had found, and yet he didn’t plan to stop until it killed him.
The knock repeats, more intent now.
Robby grumbled, forcing his static limbs to move, as he grappled for his phone residing on his oushak rug. The light blinks at him, two am. What the hell?
He would ignore it, probably those Mormon missionaries again.
Knockknockknockknockkno-
Sighing in a way that almost gives him a migraine, Robby lugs himself up, not caring about the state of his wrinkled blue flannel pajamas or his naked chest. Let him scare the Mormons if they’re going to be doing this shit again. One look at his memento mori tattoo and they’ll go running, probably. He grabs his thick framed glasses, blind as a bat without contacts, and pads heavily towards the noise.
Scraping the old chain lock to the side, Robby fully opens the door without checking the peep hole. “Okay, okay, what do you ne— Whitaker?” Robby pauses, hand braced against the stained white door frame. He forces himself not to stretch out his back, suddenly self conscious.
Whitaker, illuminated by the yellow sensor light, is in his tattered brown sweater, bags under his eyes, duffel sack resting on one narrow shoulder to topside him. He’s a step below Robby, making him appear even shorter than usual.
He looks like a sad mouse. Fuck. Robby should get him a new sweater, he can see moth holes in this one. Abbot is going to laugh at him.
“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Robby says instead of doing what he wants to do, which is slam the door, heart hammering behind his ribcage. The blood rushing past his tired ears blocks out the noise of sirens and horns that usually annoys him this late at night, hence a show playing at low volume whenever he was actually present in his townhouse.
“I left early. Headache.” Dennis says, his voice deeper than usual. Robby gulps, crossing his arms over his chest for something to do.
“You and me both.” He says, for lack of anything else to say. It’s cold out, he doesn’t know how Whitaker got his address. Before Robby can inquire about this breach in conduct, Dennis pushes past him with surprising strength, a shoulder hitting Robby’s side hard enough to move him away from the doorframe, making his way towards Robby’s well-lit kitchen.
“Well, make yourself at home then.” Robby mumbles, running his hand down his face and closing the door, the lock securely in place once more.
“I plan to.” Dennis snaps, his black duffel bag hitting the side table next to the couch before he approaches the marble counter, almost knocking over a blue picture frame of Jake and his new boyfriend.
Robby stared at the doctor.
Dennis was shaking. It wasn’t the cold. It was something else. Robby knew the difference.
He pushes down his intense need to stare at Whitaker’s bootcut jeans, the sewn white square designs on the back pockets that were already giving Robby too many ideas he didn’t want to entertain in polite company. He rarely ever sees Dennis in his people clothes. It’s doing bad things for his health and it’s only been two minutes, he’s getting lightheaded. Robby hasn’t been this horny since his Collins.
He presses his back to the wall, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to calm himself before following the object of his begrudging affections.
With a heavy inhale, he turns on his attending voice, though it wavers. He’s not used to putting on that mask in his home. He just woke up. His body is hurting, it is never not hurting. “Whitaker, what’s this ab-“
“Why’d you have me switched?” Dennis turned to him, small eyes angry, voice terse.
Robby gapes at Dennis’s words, not expecting the wrath in his tone. He’s never heard him this upset before. There is a strain on his face, tension at his temples and forehead that Robby wants to kiss away. How he wants.
Before he can stutter out a half-baked response, sluggish mind trying to work without caffeine and nicotine in his system yet, Dennis keeps going, voice getting louder.
“Dana said it was a low-staffing thing, but I don’t believe that.” Dennis continues, stepping closer to Robby. Despite their height difference, Robby can’t help but be intimidated by the intensity in Whitaker’s hefty gaze. Dennis shoves two bandaid covered fingers up against Robby’s sternum hard enough to sting. “Everything is a low staffing thing. There will never not be a low staffing thing.” He almost sounds like he’s whining, it goes right to Robby’s dick. He closes his eyes and tries to wish it away.
He doesn’t mean to, but Robby grabs Dennis’s hand. Not enough to hurt the cuts he must have gotten during work hours, probably another scalpel incident, not pulling him away or guiding him. Just… touching. Just losing the battle because he can’t help himself.
It’s been a few days since they’ve seen one another, after all.
Robby had hoped it would be for the best despite the restless nights it was giving him, a latent jealous urge bubbling within him at the idea of Jesse going after Dennis, which was the current rumor Dana, Princess, and Perlah kept peddling at him. Part of him thought they were just making fun of his jealous streak, they knew about it from his time with Collin’s. Robby was usually a very kind man, that’s why he was such a good attending, but he had his moments of weakness.
“If you really hate the night shifts-“ Robby tries to deflect, sweat beading at his upper lip, tucked behind his messy mustache and beard. He is usually good at this sort of thing, hiding his feelings, suppressing the emotions he doesn’t want or can’t feel.
Dennis shakes his head, the light from the kitchen shows he’s also a little sweaty, the walk here could do that, along with a grueling shift.
Robby needs to stop thinking about Dennis sweating.
“That’s not what I’m talking about. You’re ignoring me.” Dennis snaps again, pressing his hand harder. Robby stumbles back, his hands reaching behind him to grab the wall, but he doesn’t stop Dennis from pinning him the way he knows he should.
He could escape it, too. Whitaker is using one hand, not even gripping, just pushing. Something about Whitaker’s hit palm against Robby’s naked chest is too good to pass up. The skin to skin contact on a place usually covered from prying eyes, his Star of David twinkling between Dennis’s fingers.
“I felt you would do better there, Whitaker.” Robby monotones. Dennis’s free hand reaches up, the pissed off expression on his face deepening enough to catch him off guard when Dennis grabs Robby by the back of his neck, pulling him away from the wall.
Whitaker walks backwards with steady purpose, as though he had planned it, had spent those few moments while Robby was desperately failing at collecting himself to calculate the blind steps he would have to take to pull this off. Robby isn’t expecting the ferocity in which Dennis drags him, stumbling along with a gasp.
“What is-“
Dennis releases the back of Robby's neck and pushes him, Robby lands on the couch before he can even process that he is falling. Something warm in his stomach burns him, his hands sweating at the display of strength.
Briefly, Robby makes the mistake of looking down at his flannel pajama pants, his hard-on too visible for Whitaker to not have noticed it.
“Oh shit,” Robby curses, self loathing already coursing through his veins, stretching to grab his electric blanket from where it was crumpled at the other end. How did this even happen? He had been doing so good. He had been trying to make things right.
Take the temptation away.
Whitaker stops him by grabbing the side of Robby’s face, immobilizing him. His fingers dig into Robby’s skin, pressure on his cheek and teeth. It smarts, Robby doesn’t move.
“Shut the fuck up. Let me look at you.” Dennis practically hisses, seething now. It makes Robby lean back into the cushion with a tentative nod, or, as much of a nod as Whitaker lets him get away with, his iron-grip steadfast.
“You keep ogling me at shift and I have to just let you, and then when you can’t take it, you throw me away?” Dennis berates, a genuine distress starting to show in his face and voice that makes Robby’s heart drop. “Don’t even let me look at you anymore. Been stuck listening to Doctor Abbot’s teasing, how you’re a moping shit about me leaving the morning team as though it wasn’t your fault.” His voice wavers at the end, a choking sound. He grips Robby’s face harder, he wouldn’t be surprised if he was bruising a little under his beard, and dammit if the thought didn’t make him feel hot all over.
Robby can’t help but reach his hand to Dennis’s, leaning into the touch. He’s never seen Dennis this upset, he hates that he was the cause of it. He didn’t think Dennis would care nearly as much as he did. Sure, Dennis frequently chose to shadow him even now, but Robby had always thought Whitaker saw them as a mentor and mentee. As the mentor, Robby wanted to do things right.
The motion makes Dennis soften his hold, eyes wet and brimming spiderweb-red around his sclera.
Whitaker inhales, it sounds almost like a sob, something ripped out of him, and then he’s forcing Robby’s head down and to the side, Robby struggles for only a second before making himself go limp despite the strain to his latissimus dorsi, letting Dennis do what he pleases, maneuvering him like he’s a doll until he’s flat on his back, Whitaker resting on his legs.
Dennis looks down as the very obvious problem in Robby’s thin pants, and then sits directly on his lap.
Robby forces himself not to buck his hips, grabbing the scratchy blue cushion under him, cursing in his head at the vision above him.
“I’m not an idiot, y'know?” Dennis sniffles, it’s both cute and heart breaking. Robby never wants to be the reason Dennis suffers, that’s why he did this. How humiliating, for someone like Robby to want someone like Dennis.
“Sure, I didn’t like people knowing about my rodeo thing, but Elijah was right in that the video made it so fucking obvious what was going on between us.” Dennis spat, somehow enraged and sad at the same time, he grinds against Robby’s hard on, he can’t help the muffled noise he makes in response. He was too old for this.
“Except when I finally start making moves back, you get cold feet? Are you kidding me?”
“I- huh?” Robby stutters, head spinning, still not sure exactly what was happening. Not sure what to let himself think about what he thought might be happening. Whether he was in denial or trying to convince himself he didn’t want it, he was unsure.
Whitaker rolled his eyes, “Don’t play dumb, Doctor Robby. It isn’t a good look on you.”
Heat thrums through Robby’s bloodstream, he’s never been this aroused in his life. He’s never had someone treat him like this before, he was never the one being thrown around. He was too much of a bear for that sort of thing, people had stereotyped him early, and he never got out of it.
“If I’ve made you uncomfortable-“ he tries to stall, give his foggy brain some more time to come back online, find the right station that will give him the perfect, HR approved answer.
Whitaker shakes his head. He releases Robby's face only to tug hard at the prickly hair of his beard, his head tilted to one side so that he did not end up with a bald spot. Dennis leans down to whisper in Robby’s ear.
“You know damn well I’m not uncomfortable. You’re ignoring it. You’re ignoring me.”
The sound of his voice breaking forces Robby to move, his hand coming up to grip Dennis’s lean hip. Anything to assure him. He can’t help himself, really, with that pitiful look on the man’s face that he could see from the side of his eye. Robby sits up as much as he is able, a free hand coming to cradle Whitaker’s wobbly chin, wiping that blasted tear away that had fallen, he doesn’t even think Dennis knew.
“I’m not ignoring you, I won’t ignore you, okay? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t-“ Robby sighs, closing his eyes when Dennis pets his face, seemingly done with the hard touches now that Robby isn’t denying anything, though that was the smarter move. Deny. Deny. Deny. “Want you, okay? I’m your attending.” He’s distracted by Dennis’s hand, the feeling of their skin touching, it’s like sparks under his skin.
Whitaker opens his mouth, Robby shushes him with a finger to his lips. “Yes, you’re an adult. Im very aware you can make your own decisions, and I trust you to make them.” Robby affirms, he can feel Dennis’s thighs slowly releasing some of the tension around his lap, both a blessing and a curse. He can’t look down or he will say something truly deranged. Just the smell of Whitaker so close, the vague scent of antiseptic and sweat, was doing things to his hindbrain that he didn’t want to think about.
“I’m your boss. I was losing my mind.” Robby finally admitted, hoping that gets across just how fucked this situation is. How he shouldn’t feel this way. Dennis should be mad at him. That’s what Robby had expected.
And yet, Robby wasn’t trying to buck Dennis off.
… that was a thought.
G-damnit.
“I could tell, you’re not subtle.” Dennis gives a small, almost shy smile. It makes Robby’s heart flutter like he’s in a damn rom com.
“Mohan has a betting pool going.”
It makes Robby’s blood run cold, a sheet of ice draped over him.
“Does everyone know?” He whispers, horrified. He could lose his job. What would happen to Dennis? Would people think he slept his way through med school? Robby knows doctors who got accused of that for sleeping with their higher ups.
Dennis doesn’t look scared, he doesn’t look angry or mad. He looks… pleased.
“Yes.” Dennis states, matter of fact. His hand pushed Robby’s naked chest, flat on his back once more. Dennis’s other hand grips the armchair of the couch, leaning over him. “Everyone knows.” He hooks one finger into Robby’s mouth, his lower jaw open, Robby lets him.
Dennis kisses him.
He doesn’t remove his finger, simply acts as though it’s not there as he presses a hard kiss to Robby’s teeth, Whitaker’s lips already wet with saliva. He can’t help but moan wantonly at the sensation.
He’s thought of kissing Dennis before, late at night when no one was there to judge him for it.
Strong, nimble hands on Robby’s tense jaw, his lithe body pressed up warm to his side. The reality is so much better than Robby could have ever imagined. That was usually the case, Robby has found, this wasn’t his first time making out with someone, but it takes his breath away regardless.
It’s a string pulled taught until it snaps, a relief and a resurgence of desperation all at once.
Dennis pulls away after a few seconds, still holding Robby by the inside of his jaw. Robby makes a truly tortured noise without meaning to. His grip on Dennis’s hips tighten, relishing in the corded muscle there.
“How could they not? The way you kept staring at me, herding me around like I’m your dog.” He laughs, his other hand coming up to take a hold of one of Robby’s, pulling his palm under Dennis’s scrub shirt and sweater, that soft expanse of skin on his tummy. It’s devastating, the way Robby craves.
“You know that when you blush, it’s everywhere?” Dennis says, voice in awe. He sits up, more pressure to Robby’s lap. He only smiles at the tortured expression on Robby's tired face, slowly unzipping his sweater, his shirt coming off next with no preamble. Robby watched with bated breath, each new expanse of skin tantalizing.
“You go strawberry red in seconds, all over.” Dennis says, and Robby wishes to bury his head in the ground. His eyes roam the span of Whitaker’s exposed torso, the hair at his navel leading down, the pale skin that was once tanned. “They saw your reaction to that embarrassing bull video Adam showed us. I saw it.” Dennis hums the last part, it makes Robby shudder.
“Yeah, like that.” Dennis’s eyes soften, his finger slotting out of Robby’s mouth and grazing his chin, his Adam's apple. “I kept wondering how far down it went.” He mumbles, talking more to himself than to Robby. By now, Whitaker’s hard on his also apparent in his dark jeans, against his leg. Robby gulps. Whitaker takes no heed of him, eyes hungrily taking in their fill of Robby’s hairy chest and stomach.
Robby can’t hold back a moan any longer, “Whit-“
“Dennis.” The look in his eye could kill Robby.
“Dennis.” He agrees, voice barely more than a whisper.
“I was pissed when I found out Eli sent it to you, do you know how many times I was left out during university for being a country bumpkin? I thought, when he showed it to y’all, fuck, he’s never gonna respect me now. How will he ever see me as someone worthy of him?” There is too much in that for Robby to process, every atom of his body stuck on that glorious accent slip. A fire lights under him, a need so all consuming, to hear it again. For Dennis to lose that control. “But then I saw your eyes, so round, dilated. You tried so hard to hide it.”
“Abbot said you liked them stronger than you let on.” Dennis claims, hands on Robby’s chest and pushing, showing that if Robby tried to fight him, it wouldn't be easy. His biceps strain, those muscles Robby never sees finally out in the open. He needs to lick them. He’s going to have bruises on his chest.
Robby was going to kill Abbot.
In hindsight, his relations with Mohan proved that he would probably be in support of this, at least understanding. Garcia’s newfound thing with Santos as well.
They were a fucked up ED unit, Robby is realizing.
“I thought, surely, this would get you to make a move. But no. You’re gonna make me do all the work, aren’t you?”
“I didn’t want to cross any boundaries.” Robby huffs, his large hands tracing patterns against Dennis’s soft stomach. He drinks his fill while he can. He can’t stop his hands from wandering, not while he has permission.
“Shut it.” Dennis grumbles. He digs his nails into Robby’s pec enough to make him flinch, his strong arms keeping him in place in the heady way that makes Robby lose touch with reality,
“You crossed boundaries when you gave me a pair of your scrubs.” He hisses, and Robby’s eyes widen. He tries to interject, but Dennis doesn’t let him.
“They weren’t new, you wanted to see me in your clothes.” Dennis’s pissed off expression made Robby’s knees feel weak, the way he was starting to grind down onto Robby, a subtle rocking that would get maddening soon enough. “Had them hemmed to my fit but I could tell.”
“I’m sorry, sheyfele.” Robby offers, wishing he could lean up and kiss him. With how Dennis is holding him, he doesn’t think he has the right or ability to make the choices now.
“You never wore them.” Robby says, and immediately regrets it. He sounds like he’s pouting. Maybe he is. He had hoped so desperately to see Whitaker wear them.
Dennis smirks, devastatingly charming and cruel. “They make me too horny.” He leans in close to Robby once more, “You wanna know what I do with them instead?” Whitaker’s hot breath grazes Robby’s sweating cheek. He pulls Robby’s hands down to the buttons of his jeans, and Robby does as he’s commanded. The shuffle to unclothe Dennis would be awkward if Robby were younger, maybe. Now, it’s just sweet.
Robby groans when Whitaker sits back on him, right where they left off as though nothing happened. As though he hadn’t shucked off those pretty jeans and his boxers, hairy legs out in the open for Robby to see. To touch, if he wanted. If he had the courage to do it. Did he?
“You’re going to kill me.” Robby doesn’t know if he’s talking about what Dennis is saying or the feeling of his strong, bare thighs tensing against him. Almost as though Dennis was doing it on purpose, reminding him.
“I’m going to ride you, since you seemed so fascinated with the idea.” Dennis proclaims, reaching around him to grab his duffle bag, holding a half used bottle of lube. He clicks it open with a practice hand, the rosary around his neck moving with him. “Then you’re going to take me out on a date. You’re going to sign whatever paperwork HR has that’ll let us be together without you losing your job because I know it exists, you’ll bring me back to the morning shift. Then I might kill you.”
“I shouldn’t-“ he stops, because he can hear Whitaker fingering himself, and suddenly Robby doesn’t want this to end. He can’t. Every thought telling him this is a bad idea sends that energy straight to his dick.
“Unless you actually tell me to stop, I’m not stopping.” Dennis promises, determination laced in his voice. He needs this just as much as Robby does.
Robby makes another tortured noise before fully relaxing into the couch, finally. He pulls Whitaker more firmly on top of him, wide hands spreading out to touch his fill. It’s the worst type of drug. Dennis’s pretty cock is leaking on Robby’s stomach, he’s uncut and red at the tip, Robby’s mouth waters. He leans his head back and closes his eyes so he doesn’t lose it right there.
“Good. Good boy.”
Robby hates the whine that escapes his throat. He hates the second whine that comes out when Dennis pulls Robby’s pants and briefs down just enough to get his cock out, a lubed hand stroking him once, twice, before Dennis is lining them up.
Robby is going to die.
“Tell me you want this. You want me.” The intensity in which he says it, you want me. Robby can’t help but buck his hips.
Dennis has always had the prettiest eyes. Sad and downturned, slate blue, layers of eye bags that told one too much about his sleeping habits, Robby never stood a chance.
“I want you.”
Dennis slowly sinks down and color explodes behind Robby’s eyelids.
He doesn’t get to move his hips, it seems. Dennis clamps his thighs down on him, hands on Robby’s love handles to keep him in place. Robby listens, his hands on Whitaker’s thighs, squeezing the thick muscle there.
He lifts himself up at an unhurried pace, adjusting to the stretch quickly. He’s definitely done this before, it’s a dumb thought, of course he has. Robby thinks it anyway. Dennis has a wry smile on his face when Robby’s trembling hands try to pull him back down. He fails. It’s both embarrassing and a huge turn on. He really doesn’t have all the power here. Robby wasn’t used to that.
It’s intoxicating.
He kind of hates himself for it.
Dennis’s lips are on his again, and Robby stops thinking about it. His thoughts quickly replaced with Whitaker's reaching tongue, dragging along his teeth and upper palate like a starving animal. He growls into it, pushing Robby’s head down when he tries to push up into it.
Robby gives as good as he gets, though Dennis was truly doing most of the work, skin shiny with overexertion. He teases Robby for a bit, his pace maddeningly deep, his eyebrows furrowed in aroused concentration. As though he truly was just using Robby to feel good.
He couldn’t meet Dennis’s thrusts as he rode him, large, flowering bruises already forming on Robby’s hips like the best type of medal.
Finally, Robby gets his tongue into Dennis’s mouth, happy to do some exploration of his own. He could feel their joint saliva running down his cheek, he couldn’t get enough of it. The way Dennis practically attacks Robby’s tongue with his teeth, biting gently down and tugging, almost undoes him. His tongue runs along Whitaker’s maw until he finds a small gap. Whitaker briefly pushes him away, bashful.
“Sorry, hazards of the hobby.” He says, pulling his cheek to the side with a hooked finger to show that his second molar and his second premolar on his left side weren’t here.
Robby leans up to bite him, sucking his bottom lip and pulling him back in.
He doesn’t realize he’s begging, a litany of please please please uttered from his mouth, so slurred he barely recognized himself. He vaguely recollects the prideful look on Whitaker’s face, and that just makes him more aroused, somehow, if it were even possible. Dennis’s weight on top of him further clouds his ability to think, an addictive sensation. He can hear the couch creaking, the wooden legs scratching against the floor with Dennis’s movements. A part of him vaguely thinks, he’s going to have to get a new couch after this.
Dennis squeezes around him, hot and wet, Robby curses, pulling Dennis’s thighs (he’s never going to be able to stop touching him here, after this. It’s over for him.) down onto him, as Dennis comes all over his chest with a deep moan.
The sensation is enough to bring Robby over the edge too, watching with raptured eyes as Dennis arches his back, clamping down on him with a strength that smarted.
Usually, Robby is the one to do the after care. Except as he’s coming down from the hormone surge, he starts to feel just how truly fucked his back feels, a tense ache that he could tell would spread throughout the day even if he took the maximum dose of Tylenol.
Worth it.
Dennis doesn’t let him dawdle on it, reaching again towards his duffle bag after a moment’s reprieve, their breath intermingling as they both fail to catch it. He pulls out some wet wipes that Robby recognizes- he must have snatched them from the hospital. Dennis kisses him, rough and hard and possessive, more teeth than when he had been riding him, as he cleans them both off. He finally lets Robby’s drowsy hands wander the expanse of Dennis’s muscled back, Robby greedily taking in his fill.
He pulls out a water bottle and Robby’s preferred painkillers next, it makes something in his chest go molten hot.
Instead of slipping away, Dennis hankers down and cuddles into Robby’s chest, uncaring of the spend and Robby’s cock still inside him.
“I’m gonna warm you for a bit.” Dennis says, grabbing the remote on the coffee table to switch it to a women’s college basketball program.
Robby stares at the ceiling, feels his cock twitch uselessly. “Fuck.” He says.
“Maybe I’ll fuck you later.” Dennis grins, grabbing the electric blanket to cover them.
Robby chuckles, pulling Dennis closer, still confused to high hell how he got here. Was this a prayer g-d answered, or was he thinking too much of it?
His silver Star of David and Dennis’s wooden rosary intermingle on his chest.