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The hard liquor still scalding its way down Robinavich's throat, it deepened the grimace, the tired lines of his face, fingers cupped around the rim of the glass, setting it down on the bar with so much confidence and precision so as not to make a sound. “You're… just a kid,” He mouthed with distaste, head lolling loose on his heavy shoulders as he made eye contact with the bartender, a silent agreement between them for another shot. “You look like you've got somethin' to prove, and I don't want any part of it… I‘m not gonna play Daddy and coddle you. Plenty more for you to ride out there, farmboy… and I meant that as a slur.” Very pleased with himself, his fingers twitched toward the filled glass when steadier fingers snatched it away, the shot thief desperately tipping the glass up into his mouth.
He slammed the emptied glass onto the bar, tight-lipped, red-faced. Robby’s head tilted slightly, noticing Whitaker hadn't yet swallowed.
“You proud of yourself?” The older man swiveled in his barseat, elbow resting on the resin wood, stubbled chin comfortable on his work worn palm. “Gonna drink that? Or just hold it in your mouth all day?” He shouldn't have been amused, there definitely shouldn't have been a smirk coming out of hiding.
A single tear rolled down from Whitaker's reddened eyes. He slowly smudged his fist against the tear and gulped down the tepid, fiery drink just barely avoiding spitting it out in a hacking cough, groaning at the burn down his esophagus as he bent over a stool. “That'ssofriggin'gross–”
Robinavich laughed heartily, colliding shoulder first into Whitaker, before ordering them two more.
—+{odfjfsjs
Neither of them had exactly been honest in their Grindr profiles. Robinavich used a profile picture from at least ten years ago, which gave him fuller, lighter hair, more of a tan, and actual light in his eyes. Whitaker’s selfie was taken after a workout at the gym, displaying his array of muscles which popped out of his smaller frame especially so beneath a tight shirt, form fitting sweatpants with a notice-worthy bulge that not even an emoji could fully cover.
When they’d actually met up at the bar Robinavich suggested, he took one look at the new gay and rolled his eyes, dismissing him immediately. When Whitaker saw how much older Robby really was, he had near hearts in those sad, mousy eyes.
“I can put in the work–I’m a hard worker, I won’t stop until the job’s done.” Whitaker all but pleaded, thoroughly sloshed now, his face flushed all the way to his ears. He pouted, slumping down until one burning ear touched the contrastingly cool bartop.
“Jesus. I'm not a bale of fuckin’ hay you gotta schlep around.” Robby laughed, showing off the slightest gap between his teeth in a smile that was decidedly boyish. His thumb found its way over Whitaker's exposed ear, lightly tugging on the lobe while his index traced over the shell. The corn-fed boy shuddered, but never lifted his heavy, longing gaze anywhere else.
“... Schmooze me all you like with those eyes, you're too drunk.” Robby felt his voice go soft and listless–almost regretful. “And I'm not sharin’ my bed. You come over and you're gonna sleep it off on my couch.”
His eyes sparkled, lifting his head up–Robby half expected a bushy tail to pop out behind him, wagging. “I can come over? Really?”
Robinavich fought and lost against an eyeroll. “I got you hammered in the first place, didn't I? Mine isn't far from here–” Robinavich stood, finding himself steadier than he'd felt, which was good because Whitaker looked like he could topple over any second. “I get up early for work, though, so you gotta leave when I do.”
The two left for a short, brisk walk in the chilly city, everywhere they weren't touching numbed by the cold. Robinavich remembered supporting Whitaker for the first block, his fist tightening in the older man's collar, murmuring heatedly harmless flirts, in between telling Robby what a nice guy he was.
“Ngh, when you sent me that pic of your–berp–you know, I got sooooo fuckin' hard–” Whitaker moseyed along about as fast as he could without tripping, and Robby sped up, obviously uncomfortable. “You know? Call it what it is.” As vividly as Robby passed, he was all too familiar with cis-gay men who turned off immediately when they came to terms with what he was packing–or lackthereof.
Whitaker went silent, and Robby wondered if he'd been too gruff, or if the guy was really too drunk to even notice, when he spoke up again.
“What do… you call… it…?” He finally murmured, his warm thumb slipping beneath Robby's collar.
Robby laughed breathlessly. “A cunt.”
“Mnnh…. cunt.” Whitaker breathed it into Robby's ear in a way that was decidedly unholy. There was a pulse between his thighs that he ignored, instead amazed with the ease and fluidity of Whitaker's generation.
He knew what he want, and he went for it. It'd taken Robinavich decades to figure out half of it.
“I'm so glad I met you–like, you've got the kindest eyes, I really… really like your eyes.”
He was also super drunk, which spoke for his current charisma.
Whitaker was in the tearfully apologetic phase of his drunkenness by the time they got inside his apartment, dizzily plopping onto the couch while Robinavich relented it was Alright for the hundredth time. He helped him out of his shoes, bidding him to lie down as he came back with a blanket and pillow.
“‘m sorry for bein’ a burden–gfff!!” The zooming pillow whapping softly against his face warded off the moody sentiment, Whitaker pulling the pillow into his lap with a sheepish grin as Robinavich mussed his hair. “Burden schmurden. I've dealt with a lot worse than you.” On his next shift alone he was sure to run into at least two intoxications–a third more likely with the time of year.
“Can you, uh… help with my pants too?”
Robby rolled his eyes and began easing his jeans down his hips, nearly stopping at the obscene bulge of him filling out his briefs so perfectly.
Robinavich was gobsmacked. Whitaker peeped from behind the pillow he hugged, eyes filled with watery amusement.
“You… you like-a da merchandise?” He cracked in a small voice, suddenly lifted up by the hips with the force of Robby roughly jerking his jeans the rest of the way off. Whitaker was all boyish giggles, grinning by the time he allowed himself to settle back into the cushions, sleep taking him quickly.
…
Having been a little tipsy himself, Rob couldn't quite remember slogging off his clothes and climbing into bed, emptying another water bottle to add to the collection by his bedside sometime before passing out. He couldn't rightly remember when he'd felt Whitaker's heat pressing in from behind.
He encouraged it, the ol’ sentimental fool, coarser fingers lacing into the ones pinching at the love handles he couldn't jazzercise off, gripping his hand and guiding it around his waist, his tired back sinking into Whitaker's front.
With another warm body in close proximity, Rob was sure he wouldn't wake from his death like sleep till his fight-or-flight inducing alarm blared, but then that warm body spoke.
“Can I eat it?”
It hung in the dark room between them, both parties still. Just when he was sure ignoring the question was going to work, Whitaker blurted out again, more confidently this time. “Can I eat it?”
“Eat what–? What the fuck are you talking about?” Robinavich grumbled, casting a glare over his shoulder, which was a lot less effective with his ears reddened. Maybe it was too dark to notice.
“Your cunt.” Whitaker learned from last time not to beat around the proverbial, literal bush, and Robby groaned, because it was effective, and Whitaker's ragged, groggy murmur was right in his ear, dragging its hot talons down his back in a soft shudder.
“I have to get up for work--Early… what time is it, anyway?”
He wasn't saying no. Why wasn't he saying no?
“It's two-thirty five in the mornin’.” Replied a little too assuredly, as if he'd checked beforehand knowing Robinavich would ask. His hand was slipping away from Robby's, not parting without a squeeze, before they slid over his moderately toned abdomen, enough of a firm touch that it didn't tickle, only sending a pulse down his gut.
“I'm goddamn exhausted. Not going to do fuck-all other than lay here–and it's not going be a, you do me–I do you–reciprocating–bullshit.”
Still not a no. Was he really trying to deter him at all? His voice had gained the softest edge to it.
“Who said you had to?” His lips kissed the shell of Robby's ear as he said this, firming into soft pillows as he kissed some secret spot below his ear, the wet warmth of his mouth teasing down his neck. “Not me... I just wanna taste you.”
“Fuck, your hand's hot,” Rob couldn't believe what was being said to him, at his age, by someone who'd looked as pitiful as he had last night. Now there was no timidity in his touch, fingers skimming above the thick line of pink scar tissue beneath a pectoral before squeezing over the tender flesh of it, what little sensation remained in his nipple buzzing straight down to his clenching cunt every time it was teased, a drawn out tug earning a subtle arch in his back.
“‘s… I'm already wet so jus’ get it over with already,” More like, Robinavich didn't want to let on just how much he ached from Whitaker's touch alone, his body half tempted to press his ass down against the shape of Whitaker's thinly clothed cock.
The intense heat pulled away, and Robinavich himself grabbed a stray pillow, wedging it underneath his hip before he was guided onto his back, boxers peeled down and off his hips, down his thighs where Whitaker's shoulders brushed in, the rest of his body settling on the bed below.
“--Actually, hold on.”
Robinavich's hand scrambled for his phone, bringing it to his face.
“ACK–” The screen's brightness was completely on, Robby hurriedly turning it down to then flip on the flashlight.
“Nuh–” Whitaker whined as it was shined on his face instead, about to turn it away when Robby's hand held him in place for it.
He was checking his pupils.
“Little red… but reactive. Not sluggish. You sure you're sober…?” Robby guided the bright light off Whitaker's face, still a doctor through and through, ensuring Whitaker wasn't about to do something he would come to regret.
The younger man's pupils dilated then, a small, lopsided grin pulling at his lips. “Yeah, I am. Slept the worst of it off, I promise.”
“Good… just didn't want you to like, puke on my shit.”
“Mmfh.”
By the time Robinavich's flashlight was off, Whitaker's mouth was on his inner thigh, nose brushing against a petal, one thigh hiked over his shoulder, which was stronger than it looked, enough to hold Robby's thigh as it tensed.
Trying to relax, the older doctor tried to seep back into the mattress, head moving this way and that against the pillow until he grew comfortable, eyes closed. His face was prickling heat underneath his beard, a wisp of a moan leaking out at the tender kiss to his exposed, hardened clit. Whitaker's hand slid down over his squishy mound and pulled back, exposing the entirety of him with two fingers spreading him apart, making Robinavich sputter.
“I–buh–I don't cum easy, so if you get tired just sto–ohhnffhn,”
Whitaker's tongue was wide, and soft, delving between his lips and rolling the muscle against his hole until it quivered. He lapped slow, but not teasing–he was testing, seeing what Robby liked, what he shied away from, what his hips and his hands eventually guided him towards. Soon he was waggling his head like a madman, slurping and gasping for air, snuffing himself against the warm, buttery taste of him, eagerly tonguing him like an empty supper plate and going for seconds.
“Nnnhghhuh, fuck, slow, slow down,” Rob had fistfuls of Whitaker's short tufts, near scratching his scalp with the blunt of his nails as Whitaker's tongue lapped through the left side of his hooded clit, each flick of his tongue ending on the exposed bundle of nerves.
“Hhaaaahmnh…. llumn–should I try–ahh… finger?”
Robinavich nodded, his thigh raised off Whitaker's shoulder, the intern's other hand slipping to slip through the slick of his cunt, spitting down over his finger for added measure before the tip lightly pressed, feeling tension that he was happy to tongue away above, getting those scalp scratches before Robby was sucking him in, milking him down every digit, and spasming when Whitaker rubbed against the opposite side of where he was licking. His lips suckled, only lightly, trapping that left side against his tongue as he swirled it in the confines of those soft sucks, giving no reprieve to Rob's clit.
The larger built man wrestled on the bed with it, writhing with one hand clenching Whitaker's wrist. The one that wasn't feeding a finger inside him untangled, easily brushing Robby's grip off before sliding his fingers perfectly between the older man's, squeezing their palms together as Robby gushed on his tongue, a long, drawn out growl reverberating deep from his chest.
Teeth clenched so hard his whole mind felt numb, his jaw finally went slack, pushing Whitaker's beaming, wet face from his cunt, fingers sliding down from his hair until they were cupping the side of his face, toying with an earlobe.
Whitaker's finger slipped out slow, moving up further between Rob's body to kiss him deep, hips slotting directly in place, the older man's cunt squelching wet and kissing wet stains into Whitaker's briefs.
“You–mmph, sure you don't want–?” Robinavich was finally melting back into the bed like he'd intended to, eyelids droopy as Whitaker kissed.
“Nah. ‘m good, honest.” Nothing could wipe that happy-go-lucky smirk from his triumphantly glistening face. Robinavich his a bark of a laugh in a cough.
“You're hard though… I know what I said earlier, but I feel bad.” He tilted his head, a thoughtful frown sizing him up down below. “If you're worried about knocking me up, trust me, it's not gonna happen.”
“Awwh haha, don't feel bad–you're actually a lil’ too wound-up for me, nearly lost a finger in there.” Whitaker's smile finally dropped, seeing Robinavich's mortified dismay. “No, no, that's not a bad thing, just–you need more time, more prep, and I'm not tryna work you up when you need rest!”
“Pffft,” Robinavich rolled his eyes, his hand smearing over Whitaker's face, pushing him away with a laugh. “Now you care about me getting sleep, huh?”
Happy to fall asleep like that, he was instead touched with a warm, wet towel from the bathroom, a tentative wipe met with a small, lighthearted smack as he took the towel from him, too proud to let himself be cleaned after.
“Not that tired. C'mere, my back's cold.”
Resuming their earlier spooning, Whitaker settled in, the rigid curve of his cock eventually softened against his ass, but not before Robby could imagine it throbbing deep inside of him.
When morning came, Whitaker left.
There was a touch of awkwardness, but he seemed in no hurry to leave. He was polite, despite his earlier pressing, got ready quick and was out the door when Robby was ready to go.
“I'll text you,” Whitaker promised.
Robinavich slid in his earbuds with a soft smile and a nod, heading to the hospital.