Work Text:
Robby’s boy is a twitchy thing, buzzing about with tepid energy thrumming underneath his skin. Robby doesn’t even remember when he’d caught it, but now it’s just so unmistakable—the way Dennis keeps shifting around when he’s sitting still too long, his gaze dancing between things as he tries to tether himself back to the conversation. It’s an adorable thing, really.
But even cuter is the way Dennis stops only when Robby’s hand clamps down on his thigh. He twitches, blinking at the hold, before melting. Dennis settles like his mind has finally turned quiet even if just for a moment, and through this, he never really looks away from where Robby’s hand is resting on his lap.
For a while, Robby thought that it was his touch that grounded Dennis. That it was the weight of his hand that eased up his boy’s flighty thoughts to allow him a reprieve. It was only after their relationship transformed, turning into something more concrete and official, that Robby realized that Dennis wasn’t grounded by his touch—it were Robby’s hands that made Dennis’ mind stutter to a peaceful lull.
The realization made Robby dizzy with elation. It was so adorable seeing Dennis try, with futile attempts, to rip his eyes from Robby’s hands, unable to utter anything but a breathless gasp of, “What?” when Robby poked him for a reply.
Christ. He still couldn’t fathom how cute Dennis was. How easy he was to fall apart at the mere sight of Robby’s hands. Robby never even had a thing for hands but Dennis made him so conscious of them, almost like there was something pornographic in the way Robby used them.
So, naturally, Robby decided to push.
Their work is unkind to their hands and, sure, Robby had always had a decent enough routine to help prevent discomfort, but this time it felt a lot more weighted. It felt more fun.
He bought more lotions than what he really needed, and stocked up on ointments, gels, and oils. There was a moment when he woke up from the fog and wondered if he was being too much, but then he remembered the way Dennis reacted—his eyes wide, his lips parted for an aborted gasp—and the shame petered away, leaving in its wake the churning hunger that called for Robby to do more.
So he did.
He started simple; just a few intentional cracking of his knuckles around Dennis, having paired it with a satisfied groan, before running his fingers under the water to sooth them. The reaction was instantaneous.
Dennis had looked up so fast from his phone to track Robby’s actions, devouring the sight he made with a little shiver like Robby just stripped at his prick in front of him instead of just popping his knuckles. Robby watched as Dennis squirmed on his spot on Robby’s couch, squeezing, then unsqueezing, then squeezing his thighs together again the way he always did when his appetite would curl, leaving him all horny in public. It was maddening—for Dennis to react so vitriolically over nothing.
Robby couldn’t stop, after that. He didn’t dare to.
Lotions from home, the sanitizers from work. Choosing to work on his bike on the days that he knew Dennis would swing by just to capitalize on the mess it made—hands darkened by the oil or the degreaser or the coolant. Even the way that he put his gloves on was purposeful now. Tinged with a tease, waiting to see Dennis react so beautifully.
And Dennis always did: a dusting of red tickling even the shell of his ears, his bottom lip turning into a chew toy as Dennis nibbled on it to stop himself—from what, Robby didn’t know yet. But Robby’s favourite of all, the one that kept on stoking the flames of his own need, was the way Dennis would call out his name, after.
His name always fell from Dennis’ mouth like a prayer.
“Dr. Robby?” He would ask at work, like he was checking to see if Robby was real and not just a manifestation of his dreams.
“Michael?” He would whisper when he’s crashing at Robby’s place for the night, like he still could not fathom how Robby could possibly like him. And Robby would always answer in a voice that he hoped was just as venerating because it wasn’t just what Dennis deserved, but it was what Robby felt for him.
For a while, Robby didn’t think that he was even capable of a love as strong, anymore. And if not a love that was strong, then a love that was fulfilling. Honest. Persevering. He thought that he didn’t have that in him, after everything. That he was past it. But Dennis always had a way of finding him at his most ruined before bringing him beyond the turmoil; always with a firm grasp, and a gentle voice, and eyes that are pools of honest affection.
He didn’t deserve this boy. This beautiful, sweet, smart, and loving boy. But Robby loves him, Robby wants him, and wasn’t that enough?
To show his gratitude, Robby found him a gift.
Dana showed him where he could buy a full-length sized mirror. When she asked, Robby just shrugged and said that he wanted to change up his place. He kept his smile even when she looked at him with narrowed eyes, clearly dubious of his reasoning.
“You’re seeing someone,” she finally said, after a while. Robby didn’t choke on his breath, but it was close.
“I see,” she hummed knowingly, having caught that sliver of error, before nodding her head like something just dawned on her. Then, her face lit up, quiet tufts of happiness filling up her smile. When she met Robby’s eyes next, it was to a gentle murmur. “Love looks good on you, Robby.”
Robby’s lungs squeezed at that. He didn’t know what he was expecting—probably for Dana to have caught onto his silly teasing, or for her to have smelled the blood in the water and called him out for his greed—but it wasn’t that. He didn’t expect it to be something so… honest. Intimate. Raw.
He is a mosaic of Dennis’ love, that he knew, but he didn’t think that it would be so obvious, especially to the people who knew what happened to him. Jack had even told him how he looked less untethered now. More settled into his body. Happier.
“Thanks,” Robby told her, his voice clipped. She just huffed, fond, always so fond even with all of his messes, before clapping him on the back and telling him that he was needed in S7.
His back almost gave out but Robby finally installed the mirror in his bedroom. It’s big. Wide. It shows a really crisp reflection.
All that is missing now is a chair. And Dennis. Those are easy fixes.
“Open your eyes, baby,” Robby rumbles before peppering light kisses on Dennis’ scapula. Dennis shakes his head, a choked keen splintering from the base of his throat when Robby curls his fingers to pet on the tender press of Dennis’ walls, and his sudden shyness, the way he refuses to watch himself from the mirror, makes Robby croon.
This isn’t the first time that they’ve fucked like this, with Dennis propped up on his lap, his legs forced open by the spread of Robby’s thighs, but he supposes that it’s a new feeling altogether. Because it isn’t just about being exposed, anymore; it’s about being revealed.
Robby has always had a mesmerizing view of the way Dennis gobbles his fingers up to his knuckles. It is an addicting sight—watching as the puckered hole sucks them in with the same greed that his throat has, clinging to them with such a vice grip that Robby used to stay for minutes not moving and just plugging Dennis, while Dennis’ pretty cock jumped, twitching and flushed as it sputtered pre- on his stomach—but Dennis never had that privilege. He’s never seen how beautiful he looks when he makes room for Robby. When he’s leaking for Robby.
“C’mon, angel,” Robby tries again. “Won’t you open your eyes for me?”
Lathered in too much lube, his hand and Dennis’ hole are practically glistening. God, what a sight they make. He really wants Dennis to see the wet mess that they’ve become because it’s a pornographic thing—the ridges of his bones are stark on the back of his palm, and three of his fingers, thick and long, are fucked in deep, deep inside Dennis. His skin, wet and shimmering, is even dimpling because of the weight of Robby's touch. And pressed on the inside of his wrist, with a pathetic jolt, lies Dennis’ weeping cock.
What a sight. Truly, what a damn sight.
Dennis has been reduced to a putty in Robby’s embrace and like this, he looks so much smaller on Robby’s lap. Like this, he is just so easy to open.
Fuck.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, unable to stop himself. He watches with a dizzied focus, transfixed by the taut pull of Dennis’ hole, as his fingers pop out with a wet squelch. The sound rings in his ears, debauched, filthy, and Robby’s dick churns, pressing on Dennis’ back, leaking too.
He thrusts them back in, needing to exert more force to push past the tight ring, and Dennis yelps, squirming on his lap, crying out so beautifully as he sobs Robby’s name. Robby throws his arm over Dennis’ stomach, holding him steady and pulling him back to his chest with a whispered, “Shh.”
Dennis whimpers wetly. Tears have begun to spill from his closed eyes, and they trickle down flushed skin like crushed crystals. It stokes the fever inside Robby; makes him greedier, hungrier, needier.
“My fingers are so thick inside you, Denny,” Robby whispers, dazed and drunken. “Fuck, baby. You’re driving me insane like this.”
He nips at the crook of Dennis’ neck, burying his teeth into supple skin, and he shivers at the resounding moan that rips itself from Dennis’ throat. It’s guttural. Animalistic.
Then, he feels it when Dennis finally tears his eyes open to watch the two of them. His hole spasms around Robby’s fingers, tightening like vice, and Robby groans, his breath fanning hotly on Dennis’ skin.
“Oh,” Dennis gasps out. “Oh, Robby.”
He says Robby’s name like it is all things that are good and lovely.
“That’s right, Denny,” Robby coos, flicking his eyes up from Dennis’ wetness to meet his gaze from the reflection. Dennis’ irises are thin rings, his pupils blown wide. His jaw is hitched open, his breaths rattling through his mouth. He is still crying, still a sweaty mess, and he has never looked prettier in Robby’s eyes. “Look how good your hole is opening up for me.”
Dennis nods, so enraptured, before a trembling hand comes up to clutch at the arm that Robby had thrown over his chest. Blunt fingers rake at his skin, leaving shallow indents, but Robby just blinks at the pressure because he understands his boy—they are a sight to behold, it’s cataclysmic.
“Robby. Robby,” Dennis whimpers, hips hitching to fuck himself into Robby’s fingers, his eyes dropping to watch the way they push in—curling, pressing down on those sensitive bundle of nerves—and the way they leave, all shiny and coated with just the littlest of cream.
“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Robby croons back, blinking sweat away from his eyes. “I’m so big compared to you, huh? Look how easy my hand could cover your dick. Look how much you’re gaping with just three fingers.”
Dennis’ moan is a broken thing and he nods at Robby’s words—yes, yes. Because it’s true; Robby has always been so much bigger compared to him, but this position highlights that difference. It heightens it.
“Michael, I wanna cum,” Dennis cries out, meeting his gaze again. “Please, baby? Can I cum?”
“Of course, angel,” Robby rumbles. “Touch yourself for us, love.”
Dennis nods, taking his hand away from Robby’s arm to reach down and curl his fist around his cock. They both gasp at the first touch—Dennis’ hole reacting at the added pleasure, squeezing tight around Robby again.
“So good, Robby! You feel so good!” Dennis keens, his body is singing, not knowing if he’d rather buck into his fist or hump back to Robby. Robby makes the decision for him—he hugs Dennis tighter, shifting, parting their thighs wider. He flicks his wrist just right, and fucks his fingers into Dennis with a hungrier gusto.
His cock buzzes, leaking so filthily into Dennis’ back; the sensation of their warm bodies tangled together, the reality of Robby fucking baby to his completion, it makes him clingy. Whiny.
“Cum for me, baby,” Robby rumbles, hooking his chin on Dennis’ shoulder. He is so entranced at seeing the way Dennis’ body coils, going taut, his toes curling as he reaches his peak, nearing it—
Dennis screams as he cums. He lurches his body off Robby’s chest, bowing into himself as his orgasm hits him with a ragged release. Thick rivulets spurt from his cock, spraying the mirror, and it is so obscene that Robby almost, almost, cums at the sight alone. He is so flushed as he trembles from the ripping of his high, his breaths rattling from his chest in stuttered puffs.
Dennis looks just like a dream; a bundle of all of Robby’s unsung prayers, and Robby falls for him once more. He kisses Dennis’ back, breathing him in, and waits, letting the moment ripple.
“Fuck me,” Dennis tells him after the silence.
Robby trembles. “Please,” he says, his turn to beg.
Dennis folds himself on his knees for Robby, spreading his legs apart to present himself. His puckered hole winks at Robby, flushed and almost swollen with how much it’s been teased, and when Robby stays rooted on his spot, unable to tear his eyes from the gift that Dennis is, his angel huffs and tells him, “Fuck me already.”
It is impossibly endearing how demanding Dennis has become but Robby couldn’t find the voice to let out his humour as he scrambles to obey Dennis’ whine, dropping his weight behind him.
He grabs a fistful of Dennis’ ass, swiping his thumb to his puckering hole, being gifted with a choked whimper, before pulling to spread Dennis open for him.
“Look at you,” Robby rasps out, breathless and dizzy. For a sordid moment, he wishes that his phone is close to his reach because he wishes that he could take a picture of this precious thing. To memoralize the moment. Keep it stowed away for his personal use.
The desire ends when a glob of lube slides out of Dennis’ hole—the final push for Robby to indulge in his appetite.
With a clumsy hand, he taps his cock on Dennis’ hole—quick, wet slaps—before pushing himself in one selfish stroke. He pushes and pushes and pushes, until his pelvis is pressed flush on the fat of Dennis’ cheeks. Dennis howls. Robby isn’t that far behind him.
He feels like he is razed with pleasure, tearing upon him an unyielding quake. He trembles, suspended in the moment. Robby feels like he is being devoured; enveloped with an addicting warmth, he loses himself in the pleasure.
Robby hitches Dennis’ hips, pulling out shallowly before fucking back in, unable to deny himself of the pleasure that Dennis brings to him. Dennis croons in his own fluttering pleasure, his walls spasming around Robby’s cock, and Robby grunts, chasing and chasing and chasing for that heat, that tightness.
He tries to say something; wants to tell his boy how good he feels, how good he’s being, but the feeling of his euphoria crashes into him, tearing him asunder. His moans splinter, his words petering.
“Shit- fuck, baby- fu- wait—”
Robby gasps, rasping out apologies and a litany of curses spilling from his lips, but his orgasm is ripped out of him, unable to stop, and it overtakes him—this devouring fire, building upon him an unending ecstasy.
He fills Dennis, fucking everything in his loving hole. Stuffing him with every spill and every spurt, and he thinks that if he could, this would be the moment that Dennis would leave round with Robby’s kids.
That thought renders Robby speechless, and he tips over, falling into Dennis, crushing his boy on the mattress.
“Holy shit, Robby,” Dennis puffs out after a life-changing silence. He sounds all parts awed and satisfied and giddy.
“Hnn,” Robby tries, but his voice is still sticky, his words clinging to his throat.
“Holy. Shit,” Dennis repeats and Robby thinks, yeah. Yeah. Holy shit, alright.
“…So when did you know that I have a thing for your hands?”
Robby looks up from his phone, peering at Dennis from the top of his glasses. “Since the first night you slept over.”
Dennis blinks. “Shucks.”
Huh. That’s new.
“Cute.”