Work Text:
Dennis has the place to himself for the night.
It’s kind of weird, to be honest – until he left home, he doesn’t think he ever actually spent a night on his own anywhere, and when he was still studying at CU, he had two roommates every year, even though Gleider Halls was apartment-style. He’s subletting for a few weeks while he does his IM rotation while this girl is skiing somewhere.
He’s not an angry guy, really, he’s not good at being angry even though sometimes he thinks it’s the sort of thing he should try to be better at, to try to learn to be – not so much in his personal life, really, but for work. Anger can be useful, motivating, get people to treat you like they should.
The girl he’s subletting from, Chrissy, she strikes him as a pretty angry person, and the one of her roommates is skiing with her; the other one, tonight, is at a boyfriend’s, or, um, a boy’s, or a man’s.
So he’s alone in this apartment. For the second night in a row, he’s alone, all alone, and it’s crazy, he doesn’t think he’s ever been like, fully alone in a place like this, with a whole apartment to himself, or a house, or anything, like, ever. He wonders what it’s like, idly, to be a girl like Chrissy, to be renting with girlfriends because they’re her friends, because she doesn’t want to be on her own, rather than ‘cause she has to.
When he’s done subletting here, he doesn’t even know where the Hell he’s gonna go – in his waking hours, he tries to crawl through the Facebook groups and he looks on the noticeboards in the hospital, but everywhere is so freaking expensive. How the Hell do people do it, the people that aren’t Chrissys?
“Oh,” he’d said when Ellie had said she was going over to Tyler’s. “Um, cool, well, uh, I’ll, I’ll be here, like, if you, um… Need anything.”
“You’re not working tomorrow night?” she’d asked, eyebrows raising. “God, Dennis, you’re normally working like, all the time.”
“Night off,” he’d mumbled. “They don’t like to give them to us, but they do have to sometimes.”
“You should get laid,” she’d said sagely. “You want me to set you up with somebody? I know loads of single guys.”
“Guys?” he’d repeated faintly.
“Uh huh.” She hadn’t even been looking up from her phone as she called her Uber, shrugging on her coat. “How do you like ‘em, muscular, or more twinky, like you?”
“Why do you say guys?”
“Oh, you like girls, too?” Ellie had asked, looking surprised. “Oh, shit, sorry, babe, I gotta go. Lemme know about if you want me to set you up with anybody – and feel free to take that cheesecake in the fridge, I’m not gonna finish it.”
CU is a Catholic University, and he’d been Majoring in Theology, and it turns out that sometimes when you’re a Theology Major people just kind of assume that you like men, but Catholics don’t really say it out loud. In Nebraska, people didn’t say it out loud anywhere, except maybe in the right parts of Omaha, he guesses, not Creighton, but places in the inner city.
Pittsburgh is a city, a real city, and people just kind of say stuff here, and they say it outright and all blunt and direct, and it makes him blush, sometimes, the stuff people say not even to him, but just to each other, in front of him. The stuff about him liking guys, he doesn’t know. He’s slept with men before, or, he’s been with them. Made out with them – they’ve made out with him.
More men want to make out with him than women do, but he doesn’t know if that’s the same thing that makes girls know that he might like men. They always seem to think he’s gay, instead of even thinking he might be bisexual, or straight, now that he’s in the city. He doesn’t think it’s necessarily just a city thing, but it’s not like it’s a Pennsylvania thing. It’s ‘cause he’s so skinny, he thinks, maybe, or maybe something to do with his hair, or how he dresses.
You host?
Dennis clicks on the profile. PITT DILF, the profile says. 45.
His profile picture is just of a motorcycle, and then when Dennis swipes through, he sees pictures of this guy in the mirror – tight black underwear and a visible bulge through them, muscular thighs and the plump line of his belly and hips over the waistband; a chest thatched with dark curls marked with bits of grey and a gold chain in amongst them; a leather booted foot braced on a park bench, and a hand loosely gripping at the crotch of dark leather pants.
Dennis keeps swiping back to the second picture and staring at it, at the line of this guy’s belly and how the waistband is pressing in against it, and how there’s hair going down from his navel, and how hard his thighs look. He’s not as pale as Dennis is.
45.
Leather, Daddy, Rugged.
He hasn’t gotten anything written in the description bit, or filled out any of the other stuff, except that he’s six two.
Dennis looks back at the picture of the guy’s belly over his waistband, at the texture of it, the dimple in the white flesh at his side. His cheeks feel kind of hot, and he feels a little bit itchy in his shirt.
There’s a notification from the same guy, no preview, and Dennis opens it and stares at the picture of PITT DILF’s dick sticking out through the open fly of dark blue boxers. It’s really really thick. It’s not super long, not like, crazy long, but it’s kind of on the longer side, and it has a gentle upward curve, and it’s cut, and it looks good.
Dennis’ mouth is really dry, and his lips are parted, and he realises that he’s gone really really still sitting on the bed. He’s never been with a guy this old before, has only done hand stuff and frottage with guys his age, one was another theology sophomore, a Jesuit who wouldn’t do penetrative stuff because he wanted to be a priest, and then another guy who he topped last year, another farm boy who was checking Creighton out but was only doing it to make his mom happy, was pretty set on leaving the state for somewhere better for him.
He was pretty – he was the sort of guy that Dennis would understand thinking was gay meeting him, because he was kind of effeminate, but mostly just really, really beautiful. His mom didn’t seem to know what he was, but he was pretty confident about it, and the guys staring on campus didn’t bother him at all. He even blew a kiss at one big football player who’d tried to stare him down, made him blush so red he looked more like a Red Cardinal than a Blue Jay.
When Dennis had said that, Alex – the pretty guy – had laughed, even though he’d mumbled through it and sort of stuttered a bit, and had to repeat himself.
Looking at this guy, Dennis isn’t thinking of topping.
He nearly types no immediately, but then he remembers where he is, and that Chrissy and Mina aren’t here, and that Ellie is out all night, and he can host. He’s never hosted before.
“Oh my God,” he mumbles to himself, because he’s going from never being able to be alone in an apartment before to being able to invite a guy over, and not just a guy, but like, a DILF, and suddenly he wants it more than anything. He almost never messages anybody back on Grindr, and really, he feels kind of bad, because maybe he just uses it for the ego boost – he has a picture of himself in a jeans and t-shirt from the neck down, no face, and he likes that he gets so many messages saying that he looks good. He doesn’t think he could stand it as well, face to face, ‘cause obviously a lot of it is really dirty, but it’s nice, for people to say positive stuff about his body, sometimes.
Everybody always used to think of him as just some kind of twig, back home, and it wasn’t as bad at CU, but it’s not like he was hot and sexy in the way that some guys are.
He looks around the room he’s in, at the black and white zebra wallpaper and the creamy white and pink vanity table that his suitcase is resting on top of, and all the furniture that is mostly pink and white, and thinks about the bedspread he’s on, which is also bright pink.
Chrissy likes pink. It’s her second favourite colour after green.
(She’d looked at him like she was dirt on her shoe when he hadn’t gotten that joke, and Ellie had laughed and gently said, “She means money, Dennis.”)
PITT DILF: Do you like it?
D: yes. it looks big
PITT DILF: It is. :)
PITT DILF: Where are you?
D: i don’t normally meet guys on grindr
PITT DILF: Lucky me tonight, then.
Dennis actually laughs, actually turns his head to the side like he’d break somebody’s gaze in real life, feels kind of stupid and bashful, and the blush on his cheeks feels warmer.
D: I don’t know
PITT DILF: Let me know for you. :) I finish in 45. Give me your address and I’ll come right over, show you a good time. You can feel this cock in your mouth, or your ass, or both, if you have time. I’m a good kisser, too.
D: ive never been with an older guy
PITT DILF: Lucky again.
PITT DILF: Maybe I’ll pick up a scratcher before I come over.
D: what if I’m shy?
PITT DILF: I like shy. Would you like me to teach you what to do, coach you through it?
The sweat on the back of Dennis’ neck feels kind of cold, maybe just because he’s so warm. He swallows some of his own spit, and reaches over, takes a long drink from his water.
D: is that what you’re into?
PITT DILF: Sure, if you’d enjoy it. Do you like daddies?
D: maybe
D: is it okay if it’s dark?
PITT DILF: Aw, I won’t be able to see you.
D: sorry
PITT DILF: Don’t be sorry – you can make it up to me.
Dennis writes in the address, and PITT DILF flame-reacts to it, and Dennis kind of can’t believe he’s done it, that he’s just given his address to a stranger, a stranger with a big dick who’s gonna come over here.
Dennis almost falls out of bed in his hurry to get up and turn off the lights as if PITT DILF is about to get here right this second and he can already see him, and then he just sits there on the edge of Chrissy’s big king size bed, the biggest bed he’s ever slept in, in the dark.
He takes a shower.
His dick is hard the whole time, and he’s scared to touch it, ‘cause he’s sure he’ll come as soon as he does, and so he basically touches it the minimum amount he needs to wash it clean and then doesn’t again, and it feels really good, and he really wants it, he really wants…
“Fuck,” he groans against the tile, and he flips the water to cold like he used to shower in cold water at home when all the hot water was used up, and his dick barely even fucking flags.
* * *
“You’re in a hurry to get out of here,” Jack says as Robby gets changed, pulling on his pants. He’s trying to get a look at Robby’s phone, and Robby elbows him back, making Jack laugh as Robby tosses his phone on top of his bag. “Got a pretty thing waiting for you?”
“Why, want to split her?”
Jack laughs. “Depends, you learn to share?”
“Oh, they like it better when we act like we don’t know how,” Robby says, and Jack chuckles and mutters that he’s a dirtbag, shaking his head and shoving him in the arm before heading out of the room, and Robby looks down at the phone again before shrugging on his jacket and grabbing his bike helmet.
He doesn’t wear it, just puts it on the back of his bike and makes the drive over to East Liberty. It’s stupid, sure, but sometimes it feels good to be stupid – sometimes it feels good to just pick a guy out on Grindr and fuck him instead of going out with a woman, where you have to push and pull, where you have to flirt, where you have to work for it too much, sometimes.
It’s a pretty swanky fucking place, from what Robby can see from the sliver of it illuminated by the light from the corridor, and when the kid opens the door he steps out of the way of the light and kind of hides behind it. Robby can see his slim fingers and his clean fingernails and a sliver of pale arm, but mostly he can see the dark wood floor of the corridor, see a wall of women’s coats and a shoe rack full of shoes.
“You still want it in the dark?”
“I, um,” the kid says from behind the door, his voice slightly muffled, like he’s pressing his whole body against the wood. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” Robby says, thinking about just how nice it’s going to be to be in a comfortably warm, dark apartment for the evening instead of under bright clinical lights. His feet fucking ache from too much standing in shoes he should have broken in better before he wore them to work, and he steps inside, pulling the door behind him as he crosses the threshold, and drops his rucksack.
“Oh,” whispers the kid as Robby pushes him back against the door, turning the lock shut, and Robby stands in place and breathes for a minute, listening for the rest of the apartment, just making sure it’s just the two of them, that he’s not about to get jumped, but no. D is shivering under his hands, but it’s the eager, anticipant trembling of somebody who wants to be led around, who wants to be taught, who wants a bigger man like Robby to show them what to do.
It’s funny – when he was a kid, he doesn’t think he ever thought of gay guys as having daddy issues, even when he saw the guys in the age gap relationships, doing that May-December thing. He certainly never thought of himself as being the December – or, well, hey. November, maybe.
But it’s nice.
It’s easy, no-strings, fun, and it can just be sex, and it can really just be sex, like, actually.
“You smell nice,” Robby says quietly. He has his hands on the wall either side of D, whose profile had said he’s drowning in student loans and likes horses and likes cool guys in leather jackets. He’s aware of the size of this kid, maybe a head shorter than Robby is, a little narrower. He’s on the skinny side, muscular in a lithe way. “You shower just for me?”
As his eyes adjust to the darkness, he can make out the rough planes of D’s face and body, especially his neck, which is pale and thin and looks pretty easy to get his hand around.
Fuck, he’s needed this.
“I probably should have showered anyway,” the kid mumbles, and Robby chuckles, and he cups the side of his face, feels that his skin is slightly cool under Robby’s warm hand. When Robby kisses into his mouth he makes a little noise, eager and wanting as he pushes up a bit on his tiptoes and leans his chest against Robby’s, grips loosely at his shirt.
He’s not a super practised kisser, Robby doesn’t think, kind of desperate and greedy and a little bit sloppy, but that’s okay – Robby said he’d teach him, didn’t he? He holds back the urge to laugh under his breath, because he can feel the tension of the day starting to soften in his shoulders, getting ready to melt out of his body. Some ED workers will go from the shift to the gym and that, he doesn’t get, but this kind of exercise, yeah, this can be nice, this can be good.
“Why don’t you show me to the bedroom?” Robby asks in a soft voice, keeps it warm and gentle for now – he believes that this one is shy, trembling like a frightened rabbit, and they normally like a gentler touch than the brattier ones, the ones who want to be tamed, the ones who want it stern and just a little bit rough. It’s kind of nice, after a long day of having to be everything to everybody, spinning a hundred fucking plates at once, to just be one thing, and for the kid in front of you to fucking love it, want it, crave it.
Crave you.
“Wow,” the kid whispers, and Robby is pretty sure it’s more for himself than it is for Robby, and he smiles as he’s led slowly down the corridor by the hand and to the left. The bedroom is a little bit brighter, and he can see that this kid is pale, that his hair is pretty short, that he’s got a cute nose, a pointy little thing. “I’m, um, I— Should I call you… Daddy?”
“You can if you want,” Robby says. He’s smiling as he slowly shrugs off his jacket, dropping it on a vanity table in front of a mirror. It’s heart-shaped, and he wonders if this kid is borrowing someone else’s room for this – he definitely doesn’t seem confident enough to have girly furniture like this of his own accord. “How about we start with Michael?”
“Michael,” he repeats. “Um, I’m, I’m Dennis.”
“You done this before?” Robby asks: easy, warm, non-judgemental. He uses this voice a lot at work, and it’s nice, that it gets so much mileage applied to other situations. No one ever told him when he was coming up that emergency medicine came with so many transferrable skills.
Then again, nobody ever warned him about medical suicide rates. Wasn’t that a fun fucking trivia drop, ten years in?
“Um,” Dennis says. “I’ve, I’ve been with men, and I’ve, I mean, I’m assuming I’m gonna bottom, I want to bottom, for you, I like it, I just don’t really consider myself an exclusive bottom, but I never know where I fall on the, like, you know, bottom, top, switch, I’m not in the middle, it depends on the other person, and on my mood, and… and stuff.”
“Sure,” Robby says. “Makes sense. I don’t really bottom much – tried it when I was your age, a few times.”
It’s experimental, the way he says it – dropping something like that will often get a reaction, just like it does now. Dennis shivers, and Robby feels his lips twitch with the desire to really grin, but he doesn’t do that. Some kids – kids like this one – would really get off on his actual age, that he’s fifty-four instead of forty-five, but you never know.
They like a man with seasoning, experience, expertise.
“I’ve never been with a, um, a guy your a— oh, God, sorry, I don’t mean, like, that you’re old, you, I was looking at your, um, your pict— like, the one of your, your, um, your…”
“My cock?” Robby supplies helpfully.
“Uh uh,” Dennis whispers, and Robby feels his eyebrows raise as he kicks off his shoes – fuck, if that isn’t a relief. Dennis isn’t getting undressed, is just standing there leaning against the bed with his hands folded in front of his belly, and he’s not trying to watch Robby in the darkness, is looking down at the floor instead. “Your, your, um, your…”
“My chest?” Robby asks, pulling his shirt off over his head and putting in the pile with the rest. When he toes off his socks, he feels how soft the carpet is under his feet, fucking shag pile – yeah, this bedroom does not match up with this guy’s personality, bless his heart.
He doesn’t tend to kiss and tell, doesn’t even talk to Jack, really, about women he sleeps with, doesn’t really want a reputation as a guy who sleeps around at work or with women they might know, and he doesn’t want to talk about men he sleeps with. He doesn’t want to fucking navigate it – it’s why he’s faceless on Grindr, why he doesn’t match with the nearby guys. Sometimes somebody recognises him, but they’re normally on the DL themselves.
“Your, um,” Dennis says. He gestures vaguely, and Robby, now in just his boxers, gently grasps him by the wrist – God, his thumb and fingers just fucking go right around it, that’s really fun, this kid is built like a bird – and guides Dennis’ hand toward his body. Ghosts his palm over Robby’s own chest, over his belly, and then…
Dennis grabs him by his side, presses his thumb into the soft meat that pokes out from his waistband, and Robby chuckles.
“We used to call this a muffin top,” Robby murmurs. “Guess that’s before your time.”
Dennis isn’t listening to him – he’s reached over on the other side and now has his hands on Robby’s body on both sides, and his thumbs are slowly pressing over the flesh of Robby’s middle, stroking over the hair there. Robby’s cock is hard, and he slowly leans back on his heels and pushes forward, until his cock is brushing against one of Dennis’ wrists through the fabric of his boxers, and with a little gasp Dennis rips one hand away from gently playing with Robby’s waist and stumblingly palms over his prick through the fabric, then loosely grips him.
“Fuuuck,” he groans. “Do you have to use XL condoms?”
“Have to makes it sound like such a chore,” Robby says, and he likes the way that Dennis laughs, the way that it makes his stiff shoulders relax a little. It’s a breathless sound, like he’s shy even about laughing in front of somebody, or maybe nervous about laughing while he has someone’s dick in his hand.
Robby isn’t the sort to complain about that, not when Dennis’ hand is warm and strong and stable, when he’s gripping tightly enough for it to feel good but not so tight that it hurts. He’s hard as well, Robby sees as he nudges him back toward the bed, can see the tent in his track shorts.
“You been hard since I told you I was on my way over?” he asks.
“… How did you know that?” Dennis demands, embarrassed, indignant, and Robby laughs and grabs him around the middle and pushes him onto the bed – the way he makes to wrestle back is reflexive, Robby thinks, and the push of the younger man’s body against his own feels good as he puts his knee on one of his thighs, shoves his hands down. Dennis twists, hooking a foot under Robby’s and flipping them over, and then they’re both laughing into each other’s mouths, kissing, until Robby rolls them over again with Dennis underneath him – Dennis’ hands are greedily grabbing handfuls of Robby’s chest, his thumbs rubbing through the curls of his chest hair until they catch on the chain of his Magen David. He’s nervous about having done that, Robby guesses, because very abruptly his hands are sliding down to Robby’s middle again, holding him at the sides.
“You don’t seem so shy to me,” Robby says, and before the kid can get nervous about if he’s being scolded, if that’s a bad thing, Robby kisses him again. Dennis whimpers, makes a sort of eager noise under Robby’s body, and Robby catches him by the sides of his neck, steadying his thumbs on the undersides of his jaw. “A little slower,” he says. “Kiss me slower, more lips, less tongue.”
“Sorry.”
“No need for apologies,” Robby murmurs. “I said I’d teach you, didn’t I?”
That makes Dennis go stiff as a board for a second, makes his breaths come and go just a little faster – Robby can feel his heart pounding now he’s got Dennis pinned underneath him.
“You like that, huh?” Robby asks. “Got a teacher/student thing going on?”
“Uh, no, I wouldn’t say that,” Dennis says, then squeaks as Robby grips him through his shorts, and Robby chuckles.
“You sure?”
“You’re like, arrogant,” Dennis says, and Robby chuckles some more, because the kid is laughing as well, although that laughter trickles off into a moan as Robby mouths along the side of his neck, sliding his thumb up and down the base of Dennis’ shaft through the fabric. Judging by the way Dennis’ legs are kicking underneath him, the way his back is arching up off the bed, he likes the feel of Robby’s beard against his skin.
It’s a nice cock, on the narrow side, decent length, quite straight.
“Let’s get these pesky things off,” Robby says, and slides his thumbs into the waistband of Dennis’ shorts.
* * *
“Oh my God,” Dennis whispers, and he’s talking to himself, he shouldn’t talk to himself, especially when a hot DILF called Michael is literally on top of him – Michael laughs, at what he’s said, kind of at him, but it’s in a good way, it doesn’t feel like a nasty being laughed at, doesn’t feel like he’s being bullied or made fun of, or if it does feel that way, it makes his dick hard.
“You like to be manhandled, Dennis?” Michael asks – his palm rests in the middle of Dennis’ shoulders and pushes him down into the bed even as he uses his knee to push Dennis’ thighs apart. His thumb is wet as he slides over the back of Dennis’ balls, against his ass. “Just got clean for me? You douche?”
“No, um, they’re not actually, uh, I just try to eat a lot of fibre, it’s actually, it’s actually not advised to douche too often, ‘cause it strips the natural mucous out, it makes you more prone to abrasions and tears and stuff.”
“Huh,” Michael murmurs, kind of thoughtfully, consideringly, and then he says, “Good boy,” and Dennis swallows hard and grabs at the sheets and presses his face into the pillow, pushing his thighs wider apart and leaning back for more. He pours a little lube over his fingers and rubs around Dennis’ hole, and he doesn’t push inside – Dennis was fingering himself in the shower, a little, just to make sure he was clean, and to keep from touching his dick, and it had felt good, felt almost too good. Now, Michael is rubbing infuriatingly around the rim of his ass, lubing up the pucker, kind of massaging the muscle, and it kind of aches he’s so hard, but it feels so fucking good.
Dennis kind of feels bad, wanting everything to be in the dark, wanting it to be kind of anonymous - he wishes he knew more of what Michael looks like, ‘cause he feels his beard, and he feels his nose, and his mouth, and his body, and he wants it, wants more of it, but he knows he shouldn’t get too attached, knows he shouldn’t fixate on what this guy looks like, or more than his name, or anything. He gets attached to other guys, sometimes – he still looks at Alex’s Instagram for like, hours, some nights, and wonders what it would be like to like, date him.
Now they’re not just in the dark, but he’s on his belly and barely doing anything, and Michael has been telling him what to do, telling him to lean forward, telling him how to move his knees, his elbows, position his back.
“You feel like you’re going to be tight,” Michael murmurs, and he kisses slowly up Dennis’ ass, up his back, mouthing along his spine and then breathing on the back of his neck. He hips at Dennis’ ear, making him shiver, heaving in a breath. “You on PrEP? What do you say to me trying it bare, huh? I’m barely gonna fit in you already.”
The sound that Dennis lets out is fucking humiliating, is kind of whiny and eager and pathetically horny, and every instinct is saying not to do it, because he knows that’s not safe, he knows that would be stupid, he’s a fucking med student, for God’s sake, but suddenly he’s thinking about PITT DILF Michael’s huge dick inside him completely bare, and he’s never felt that, he’s never felt someone’s dick like, right there, right inside his hole and wet and coming, maybe, like, coming hot, like, would he be able to feel that? Like, getting bred, and stuff?
“Um,” Dennis chokes out. “Um, I, um, I, maybe, um, are you… I take PrEP, but when, when did you last get…?”
“Okay, here’s a lesson,” says Michael, and slaps his asscheek, and the sudden pain makes Dennis jump and squeak. Somehow the stinging heat of the slap isn’t quite as sexy as it coming from a man who’s so much older than him and who’s telling him what to do and how to do it, who’s acting like a teacher, if a teacher was doing something, like, crazy illegal with their student and was lubing up their asshole. “You don’t go bareback with a guy you just met, kid, even if we are both taking PrEP. Or, I say I’m taking PrEP.”
“You tricked me,” Dennis groans, feeling like his face is going to burst from extra blood flow, his eyes almost watering he’s abruptly so fucking embarrassed, and Michael laughs as he reaches across and pulls a packet out of his jacket pocket. “That’s so mean, do you get off on being mean to people? Is that what you do, you say you’re gonna be like, a Daddy kind of guy, but then you’re just mean?”
“Daddies can be mean,” says Michael good-naturedly. “Some guys even like ‘em better that way. What, you don’t want me to put you over my knee and spank you?”
“I’m already trying so hard not to come, please just fuck me,” Dennis groans, and Michael laughs and leans forward, and he pats his now-wrapped dick against his cheeks, nudges his head against Dennis’ hole, and even though the condom feels a little bit cool it’s starting to feel warmer from his skin and his body heat.
“Want to see something cool?” Michael asks, and once again his body slowly eclipses Dennis’, covering him, and Dennis really likes how big he is, even though he’s not necessarily a super huge guy.
“Um,” Dennis says. “How much can I even see right now?”
“Good point,” Michael says, hooking his hands under Dennis’ shoulders and pulling him down his own body – Michael’s cock slides all the way into Dennis’ asshole all at once, just kind of opening him up, and Dennis is yelling and he can’t believe how loud he’s being, and Michael quickly catches his palm over Dennis’ mouth. “Hey, kid, spare a thought for the neighbours.”
Dennis whimpers, nodding an apology and also kind of begging with the movements of his head, and thankfully Michael seems to know what he’s silently asking for, because without any more talk about it he’s pulling back and then fucking Dennis hard into the bed. It’s so fucking expensive it barely even creaks under their combined weights, the big soft memory foam mattress kind of enveloping his hands and knees and keeping him soft and stable.
Why is he so fucking strong? Michael’s hand sticks fast against Dennis’ mouth and it feels so fucking good, because he’s gripping Dennis hard, the palm across his mouth, his hand grabbing bruisingly hard at Dennis’ side, and he’s not playing any more, he’s not making a big thing about teaching him or playing with him or going slow and easy and letting Dennis work out what he wants and what he likes.
They’ve been playing around, going between kissing and wrestling and teasing for a good twenty minutes, maybe forty, he doesn’t know in the dark like this – it occurs to him that Michael hasn’t just been working Dennis up, but working himself up, and now he’s taking what he wants. He’s fucking Dennis so hard that Dennis is fully aware of just how big his dick is, feels himself being spread fucking open, and he’s getting the sheets all wet and he’s almost yelling even more, because he’s all muffled by Michael’s big strong hand, and that’s kind of good, actually. It feels good to be able to just make all this fucking noise and it not fucking go anywhere except against this guy’s skin.
Dennis just kind of goes boneless, lets himself be used and fucked and opened up, and it’s so wonderful, it’s so good, it’s so good—
Michael’s noise, when he comes, is kind of quiet and rumbly and from deep in his fucking chest, and Dennis feels the necklace press between them as Michael pins him right down to the bed and presses his dick so deep into him Dennis can barely stand it. He thinks for a second, through the bleary, dizzy wonder of it all, about that necklace, wonders if it’s a cross, or maybe something else – he’s cut, maybe he’s a Muslim or Jewish, maybe it’s a Hamsa or a star of David.
It’s the only halfway lucid thought in between everything else, in between thinking about Michael’s body on top of his, blanketing his, and he’s so muscular and so fucking hairy – Dennis is kind of hairy, like, on his shoulders and his thighs, but it’s not coarse and curly hair like Michael’s, doesn’t feel good like his hair does, doesn’t make a real texture like Michael’s does.
“Fuck,” Michael says, peeling his hand away from Dennis’ mouth. “I hurt you, kid? You okay?”
“Not hurt,” Dennis says dreamily. “I feel really, really good.”
“You come?”
“No,” Dennis says. “But I can handle it, I— Oh, fuck!”
He didn’t know he could be flipped around so fucking fast – he feels Michael’s softening cock slipping out of him, feels himself flipped over, and then sees the vague shapes in the dark. He sees the shine of Michael’s eyes, sees the vague shape of his nose, his hair, the white in his beard showing a bit more than the darker hairs, and then yelps as Michael slides his tongue up the length of Dennis’ cock at the same time he plunges two fingers into him and rubs up against his prostate.
He comes kind of fucking explosively, arching right off the bed and biting down on his own t-shirt, hastily grabbed from the side of his pillow, to muffle his shout, his thighs spreading wide and kind of tensing and his heels pressing down hard into the mattress and his other hard tightening at the sheets, and he squeezes out a tear and doesn’t quite mean to.
His hips are quivering, thrusting against the air, into the air, as his come spatters hot over his own chest, his belly, and it’s a weird sensation, good and bad at once, weird, but good. He’s breathing heavily and his thighs and knees feel all jelly-like and weak as they sink back down onto the bed.
“Shame I didn’t get to see that,” Michael says softly. “I bet that was a real fucking sight.”
Dennis wipes his t-shirt clumsily down his chest.
“Fuck,” he groans.
“That’s right,” Michael agrees, and gently pats his thigh.
He even stays a while, not long enough for Dennis to get weird about it, but long enough to make sure that he’s okay, and it’s nice. They don’t really talk about anything – Michael asks a few mild questions about the room based on what he can tell about the décor in the dark, and it makes Dennis laugh, answering dumb questions about the wallpaper and the pile rug and the vanity mirror and the zebra print wallpaper, and describing the room to Michael without turning the lights on, ‘cause Michael says it’s okay, that they don’t turn the lights on.
Lying on the bed with him, feeling how warm he is, until he gets dressed, it’s good, really good, really nice.
It’s less good like three months later when a hoarse but familiar voice say, “Welcome to the Pitt!”, and he has to go about the first day of his emergency medicine rotation like it’s fucking normal.
He even thinks “Michael” was a fake name until they’re in the elevator and he glances across at his ID badge and sees that his name actually is Michael, that Robby is just short for Robinavitch, and that’s like, crazy, that’s like…
He’s so stupid.
“Um, so,” he says in the elevator, “I, um…”
“You okay, Whitaker?” Robby asks, giving him a quizzical look.
Oh, God. Robby doesn’t even recognise him. “Is that, um, is that a, like, a star of David?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Cool,” Dennis says, and looks forward. Robby shrugs, and he looks forward too.
* * *
“Kid asked for anonymous,” Robby doesn’t say to Jack, or to anybody else, because he doesn’t discuss his Grindr hook-ups with other people, “he’s gonna get anonymous. Keeping confidences is a transferrable skill, too.”
He does keep looking at Whitaker’s ass, though, and makes sure nobody notices.
Fuck’s sake.