Chapter Text
Whitaker is three months into his Residency in the ED at PTMC, and Dana has to give it to him.
The guy was skittish during his rotation, though he did slowly build a rhythm and confidence with the rest of the team. Volunteering to work with the Street Team earned him brownie points with Donnie, McKay, Matteo, and even Robby, who learned about it through Kiara.
By the end of his rotation, the usual staff was sad to see him go (along with Javadi), but he did say in passing to Jesse that he wanted to match here. They got a small cake on his last day, courtesy of Dana herself, and she rubbed his shoulder when the student doctor got emotional about it. “You did well, kiddo, enjoy it!” she said, pulling him under her arm and pressing a kiss to his hair.
Robby did pull him apart at the end of the shift, probably to discuss the letter of recommendation that the attending had asked her to check over. And that was that, another med student who went through their ED.
So, when he walked into the place several months later, laughing with Santos, his shoulders a bit straighter than before, but his eyes still soft at the edges, she was glad to see him back. You could tell he grew up in the interim, but his core disposition still shone through, fitting right into the wilderness of the territory.
The rhythm in the Pitt was the same old: patients moaning and complaining, chairs filled to the brim, residents trying to cherry-pick their cases and getting glares from Robby and her.
And bets.
So many bets.
They could probably run a full casino with how much Perlah and Princess gossip to Ahmad, getting the man to run bets on every move made by people in the ED.
If there is something that didn’t change when Whitaker came back was his unique luck to get drenched in all kinds of fluids, much to his chagrin. So there is a low-level bet done on Thursdays running on how many uniform changes he will go through the shift. It gives enough money to buy several rounds of shots to those who like to go to the bar across the block, or to get the nice take-out for those who prefer to go home, and something fun to look out for on a day that’s usually boring.
And there they go, Whitaker passes by the central bay toward the scrubs dispenser, arms raised and shirt dripping with some kind of pus from the patient in South 15 with the swollen foot. It’s his first change of the day, not bad considering it’s three o’clock already. If he gets one more change before seven, she may take the full win. Robby scoffs next to her, shaking his head and turning around, barely hiding the resigned smile before walking to his next patient.
Peeking a glimpse of the kid as he changes, he pulls his shirt off, wiggling about to avoid getting his hair dirty as well, and Dana laughs a bit before choking on spit, doing a double-take at some nasty bruises littering his hip bones. They seem to come from different times, with varying colors ranging from deep purple to yellowish and greenish tint, quickly covered by the clean scrub shirt.
“What the–” Perlah mutters next to her, catching her eyes and looking back at where Whitaker scurries away, getting turned around when Robby grabs him by the shoulder and leads him to another room, twitching at the grip from the attending.
“Don’t.” Dana cuts her, watching the literal cogs turn in her brain.
“But–”, Perlah shuts up at the glare from Dana, huffing and turning away to her workstation. She doubts she will keep what they saw to herself.
But What the Fuck, indeed.
If it were anyone else in the ED, she’d say those were marks from hands gripping too tightly at his hips, but the boy didn’t give those vibes. Everyone knew he went and came from home with Santos (who was all bark and bravado, but had a soft spot a mile wide for the kid), did a night a week with the Street Team, and Donnie said he caught him going to a gym close to the hospital, but no one knows about a girlfriend or boyfriend. He is like the poster boy for a soft baby, a homebody, all shy and oblivious to people flirting with him (everyone saw him ignore the hot attending from paediatrics who asked him out).
Her worry was picked.
Did something happen to him?
She'll keep an eye out for the kiddo; it wouldn't do to have a nice one in trouble of any kind.
Dennis twisted around, sighing deeply at the twinge in his lower back and the stretch he could feel radiating from his glutes to his hamstrings. Light filtered from the border of the blackout curtains, letting him see the man next to him, wide chest sprinkled in salt and pepper, hooded eyes peering at him over horn-rimmed glasses, dismissing the book in his free hand, letting it fall to the side. Shoving his thigh higher on Robby’s hip, a possessive hand gripped and pulled him even closer if it were possible, letting him burrow in the heat of his body.
It was only the second time he slept with Robby; the first time was something slow and sweet, taken out of those corny romantic novels Trinity swears she doesn’t read; the second one was more out of the kind of fantasies he had entertained alone in his room at night.
“Morning, baby,” Robby’s gruff voice, still laced with sleep, rumbled into his neck, nipping at the soft skin there, as his hands traveled from thigh to ass to his waist, back and forth, doing a blatant attempt at lulling him back to sleep.
“Good mornin’,” Dennis whispers, looking at the ceiling for a long moment, marvelling in the moment, before wiggling around, getting to his knees and sitting over Robby, the sheets pooling down, baring him to the cold air of the room, goosebumps rising all over, heat rushing to his cheeks at the look from the old man. Something soft and deeply contented, before his eyes widened, sitting up, almost headbutting him.
“Dennis, what the fuck?” Robby worried, hands hovering over the skin on his love handles (yeah, he now has the barest padding of fat to grip, as Robby enthusiastically showed the night before, using them to pull him back onto his cock), the skin mottling in different shades of purple and blue. There were some red spots on his chest where Robby bit him, but the purple looked lurid in the morning light.
“Oh.”
“Oh?!” Robby almost shouted, “You look like I mauled you.”
“Well, I mean, we were pretty… vigorous last night.” Robby blushed fiercely, the red rising to his ears.
It did look kinda awful, and it would get even worse before the marks faded.
“Do you have low platelets? What the fuck?” Robby whispered, poking and prodding at the skin. Dennis shivered again, the marks not particularly painful (he truly did bruise on nothing), but the memory of Robby gripping and pulling him, fucking him so freaking deep he felt it in his lungs… fuck, it was hot.
“Not my fault, it’s always been the same,” Dennis whimpered, rolling his hips a bit into Robby's lap, his breath hitching when he felt Robby's gigantic dick stir against his taint. “My ma hated it when I went to work in the fields with my brothers. She was scared someone would call CPS on her, because I'd get marks on my legs and arms, and everywhere else if I roughplayed with them.”
“Maybe we– I should be more careful,” Robby gasped as Dennis kept squirming on his lap, well into getting hard again, pressing his fingers into his waist, before softening his grip, likely afraid of breaking him.
“Don't you dare,” Dennis clutched the hair on Robby's nape, pulling harshly, forcing him to look up to him instead of the marks on his body, his pupils blown out, swallowing the brown. “I'd love to watch the marks later, and I can take you, so no need to be soft with me. Understood?”
“Yes, yeah– baby.”
Leaning down, Dennis kissed away whatever else Robby wanted to say.
Donnie shoulders his gym bag higher and gets into the locker room. He is trying to get in shape now that Janice from surgery has started looking his way, and this particular gym has the bonus of being the cheapest on this side of the city while not risking a tetanus infection from old weights and bars.
He is just sitting on the bench, shoving his shoes away to get his trainers on, when Whitaker enters, bobbing his head to the tinny music blasting from his earpods.
“Hey, man!” Donnie waves, getting his clothes out of his bag, snorting as Whitaker jitters around, clutching his chest like a frightened old lady.
“H-hi Donnie,” he says, shoving his earphones into a pocket and bending to get his clothes out, a ratty t-shirt and some shorts.
Donnie gets distracted by a text from Janice before looking at Whitaker again, who's getting his shirt off, wincing at his back.
“Oh, man, that must’ve hurt”, Donnie says, pointing at some deep bruises and a friction rash—reddish and purple— combining on his shoulder blades. “What happened?”
He isn’t expecting Dennis to jump at his remark, twisting and shoving the new shirt over his head, hiding the garish skin from further perusal.
“N-nothing!” Whitaker stutters, sitting and bending over to change his shoes quickly, barely glancing at Donnie and his dubious look, “You know– Santos can be messy. I tripped over her boots and hit the brick wall at the entrance of the apartment.” Getting to his feet, the kid fixes him with a pleading look, “Please don’t tell her anything, if she knows I’m the one guilty of the scuff on those boots, she is gonna be on my ass the whole month.”
“Sure, man, don’t sweat it.” Donnie tries to project calm, struggling not to fix his eyes on the threadbare shirt with some faded old medical school logo, hiding those bruises on his pale skin. “Wouldn’t want the missus to chew you out,” he jokes, hiding a wince at the slow fake laugh Whitaker gives him, before grabbing his stuff and running out of the locker room.
“Ha, ha, yes, yeah! Thanks, man, see ya’.” He shouts, fleeing away, the door crashing loudly after that weird scene.
Picking up his phone to another message, he kinda spaces out on those bruises.
He is just remembering Santos' layout.
There is no brick wall in that apartment.
The drive from the hospital was ominous, crackling with the tension between them.
The day had been filled with heated looks and leading touches to and from the patients’ rooms. Robby's hands were pulling him around like a dog with a squeaky toy, much to Santos's clueless amusement.
Anytime he went out with Robby, he gave her the excuse of going to the gym or hooking up on Grindr, but he was clear he'd have to sit down with her and be honest about what was going on with Robby—sooner rather than later. He felt just a bit shitty going around her back and betraying her trust. But… fuck– Robby glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, sliding one of his huge hands to his knee and just a bit upwards, covering almost his whole thigh, clenching rhythmically, fingertips rubbing the inseam of his jeans, his breath hitching with every rising inch.
Dennis couldn't say how they teleported from the car to Robby's front door, but his grip on his shoulder didn't let up as he maneuvered his keys with one hand before shoving the door open with a bang and getting him inside.
“Oh my God,” Dennis gasped, hitting the wall in the hallway, Robby pushing a knee between his legs before leaning down and kissing him.
This must be how it feels to be consumed.
The kiss was deep, his t-shirt bunching up as he went to his tiptoes to thread his fingers in the short hair in his nape, Robby's thigh pressing into his crotch, getting a moan out of his mouth just to reverberate between them.
“I'm gonna make you come right here,” Robby growled, getting Dennis’ shirt off in one pull, before swooping again, biting and nipping everywhere he could. “And then I'm getting you into my bed, and I'll take as long as I want with you.”
“Yes, yes,” Dennis moaned, feeling the bricks from the wall press into his shoulder blades, as Robby pulled down his zipper, the sound loud over their heavy breathing. “Oh,” Dennis gasped when Robby’s hand took him out. The air and the wall were cold, but his palm was scorching against his skin, the tip wet with precum that Robby’s thumb spread around, twisting his wrist on the upstroke.
“Such a good boy,” Robby whispered, nipping his clavicle, looking down at his hand before spitting to get it more wet, smirking at Dennis' whines, arching against the brick wall. “Now, let me take care of you.”
There is something weird going on with Perlah and Princess. Usually, she can sneak up on them and hear their gossip in Tagalog, but this last week they have managed to avoid her, and that’s something that’s not gonna fly by her. She wants in on the good gossip and wants to win some bets.
She is walking slowly, chart in hand, where the nurses are whispering. Stealth, Santos, stealth.
“But have you seen anything?”
“You know Whitaker–” Perlah shuts up at a look from Princess, both looking at her and then turning around to different rooms, avoiding her entirely.
What the fuck is Dennis doing that he is the reason Perlah and Princess are blocking her from the good rumours?
Looking around for the guy, she finds him getting out of the employees’ bathroom, a scrub change in his arms.
“Damn, Whitaker! You know your bet is on Thursday, you could cooperate with me and get us that nice Chinese from around the block to eat tomorrow. Let’s say five changes, and then we win.”
“Yeah, sure,” Dennis bites back, shoving the garments into the machine and getting a new one to keep in his locker, a high blush on his cheeks, wincing when she leans over and pinches his cheek quickly. “Stop it,” he whines, walking to his locker and shoving the spare scrubs inside.
“Come on, let's aim for an all-time high. No one is gonna bet on that number.”
Hitting the door closed, “Why do you want me to embarrass myself so badly?” he huffs, crossing his arms and levelling her with a look. The dark henley he is wearing underneath bunches on his forearms, leaving them exposed.
“What's that?” Her voice sounds rough, like a ton of gravel went through, and then a rock drops to her belly.
“What? Nothing!” Dennis blabbers, dropping his arms as burnt, letting the henley fall down.
“You–” grabbing his elbow, she forces his arm up, pulling the cloth, and exposing a line of haematomas, the perfect print of fingertips, a light purple in contrast with his pasty white skin.
“Whitaker. Explain.” Her grip is soft, but her tone is hard. She could deny it forever, but she likes Whitaker; he must be the first guy she considers her friend, and these bruises give her the creeps.
“You know I bruise easily,” he mumbles, pulling his arm back and dragging the sleeve down, hiding both arms at his back, the blush returning strong, reaching up to his ears.
“Was this yesterday? When you came back late to the apartment?”
“Ah- it was an accident, so I was walking to the bus stop, and there was this weird guy that tried to rob me, and yeah–, but it wasn’t a big deal! You know, it’s just some bruises, they’ll be gone in a few days,” he nods nonstop while he’s spewing excuses, like one of those broken dolls you put on the dashboard of your car.
Trinity isn't stupid.
“–and he pulled me over, but my phone is old, so he left me alone. People are so weird and aggressive here, it’s a good phone, not like the newest one out there, but it’s serviceable–”
“Shut up, Whitaker.”
Dennis claps his mouth shut, widening his eyes, giving her that Victorian orphan look begging her to let it go.
“Whitaker, Santos, enjoying a chat?”
“Dr. Robby!” Dennis squeaks. He literally squeaks. God, could he be any more embarrassing?
“Yeah, yeah, sorry, we are going now,” she says, walking to the door, bypassing the burly man, keeping her hands on Dennis, and pulling him away.
“Whitaker, a word,” Robby says before Dennis can run after her. Turning around, she gives him a look —we will talk later— wincing as Robby puts his paws on Dennis’ shoulder, gripping and saying something inaudible as the door closes behind her.
He had an unfortunate accident after changing out of his scrubs at the end of his shift. He didn’t see Jesse walking out with a coffee to go, and most of it wound up on his clothes. Getting back to the breakroom, Robby gave him a look from where he was perched on the table, talking with Abott, taking in his rumpled form and wet sweatshirt.
Dennis grumbled, shifting stuff around his locker, realizing his last “clean” shirt was home waiting to be washed. “Fuck.”
“Hey, Whitaker,” Robby said, pulling a black shirt out of his backpack and throwing it at his head. “It’s mostly cleanish, but it’s better than going around all wet. Give it back later.”
“Thank you, Dr Robby,” Dennis mumbled, trying to ignore the rising blush on his cheeks and the suspicious look from Dr Abbot, before turning around to the bathroom to change alone, no need to give the guys a show of the different bruises Robby had left him lately. If Dana's concerned looks and the whispering-and-quietness from Perlah, Princess, and Donnie are anything, there must be some kind of rumor about them already.
“You shouldn’t lead the boy around, brother—” Dennis cringed at Dr Abbott’s words, the “What?! No–” from Robby drowned after the closing door.
Oh, how awkward.
Fast forward to Dennis sneaking into Robby’s car once more, “Thank you for lending me your tshirt,” Dennis said, burrowing into the leather seats of Robby’s car, twisting a bit to keep looking at his profile, drinking in the small smile Robby let free, those crow’s feet deepening for a moment, some soft rock music lulling them on the road.
“These are purely egoistical needs,” Robby said, glancing at him before getting his eyes on the road again, his huge hand going to their favorite spot on his thigh. "Wouldn't want my intern to get sick and leave us one man down. Besides–” tightening his grip once, his ears going red, “You look good in that one.”
Something warm unfurls in his chest, letting his hand fall over Robby’s, interlacing their fingers.
“You like me wearing your clothes,” Dennis teased, laughing when Robby’s blush covers his entire face. “Does it give you a thrill? Are you going to be all macho, providing for me?”
“Don’t tease me,” Robby squeezed his thigh in warning, letting his hand rise higher, smirking as Dennis gasped.
“Or what?”
Robby’s look was a silent promise, heat scorching Dennis, pinning him in place.
—
“Oh, God,” Dennis moaned, throwing his head back and bucking his hips against Robby’s, a whine leaving his lips when Robby sat back, pulling his jeans and underwear off in one fell swoop, leaving him wearing only the damn black shirt, while Robby was fully clothed on top of him, pressing him into the bed.
The attending hands were rough on his skin, fingers prodding and pulling at his hole, one, then two fingers, the excess lube spreading everywhere, wetness clinging to his thighs and the sheets beneath him. He threaded his fingers on the short hair, scrambling to pull him into a frenzied kiss, panting as Robby bit his lower lip, “Fuck me, fuck me now,” Dennis scrunched his eyes when Robby’s hands pulled back, barely taking the time to open his fly and take himself out, gripping his hip and pressing into him, his cock feeling huge (more than usual) with the hurried preparation, not that Dennis would complain about it, nails biting in Robby’s shoulders, rumpling up the shirt before scrambling to grip at his neck wanting to leave a mark on his skin, something to show for how good he felt at this moment, the feeling of the zipper biting into his ass when Robby pushed to the hilt.
“No, no, kiddo,” Robby grunted, slowing the snapping of his hips, to pull both hands off and bury them into the bed, laughing meanly when Dennis tried to buck once more, “Shhh.” Dennis blushed at being shushed like a bad puppy, trying to twist around some more.
Robby shifted, grasping both forearms into one of his hands, pulling Dennis’ arms upwards, leaving him with no leverage to fight him, bullying his way into Dennis once more with his free hand, drinking in Dennis’ sobs, kissing him once, twice, before detouring to bury his nose into the space where the shirt bunched leaving his shoulder exposed to his teeth. “You gonna keep fighting?”
Dennis looked cockdrunk already, twitching his arms against his grip, pushing and moaning when Robby just pressed harder with his hand and with his hips, fucking into him in short, hard thrusts.
“Maybe.”
—
“Oh, fuck,” Robby groans, looking at Dennis’ reflection in the foggy mirror. He was a bit distracted in the shower, kissing Dennis softly while letting the water clean away every fluid on them, coming down from the amazing sex.
But now, with a clear head, he can see where there are purple bruises blooming on his hips, his collarbone, and his forearms. Even his asscheeks have an imprint that must be from the zipper in his pants.
“Dennis,” Robby murmurs, pulling the intern closer to him, taking the towel and ruffling his hair, gulping at the soft look on those huge blue eyes, a satisfied impression on them. “Baby, look,” Robby points out at the mirror, the constellation of marks painting a lurid spread on his skin.
“Oh,” Dennis winced, leaning over the counter and pressing the spots. There was something undeniably hot about looking at the marks littering his body, a physical proof of everything going on with the older man.
“You should take one of my Henleys with you, to use tomorrow under your scrubs,” Robby whispered, leaning down to press a kiss into the bitten clavicle, hands covering the marks on his forearms and rubbing the skin there, asking for unnecessary forgiveness, “I can’t believe I left you like this, I’m sorry.”
“Hey, this is hot, no need for sorrys,” Dennis corrected him, pulling him into a kiss, languid and unhurried, sighing when they pull apart. “But I’m gonna take the offer, because this,” he said, waving an arm in his peripheral, “is gonna be harder to explain away.”