Chapter Text
While Trinity worked, Dennis was at home with one hand down his pants and the other scrolling his cracked phone screen. He had meant to delve into a legitimate pornsite and jack off for a bit. He always did that while Trinity was working without him. He’d rub himself raw atop their shared throw pillows, feeling guilty and perverted. Sometimes he’d even connect his phone to the TV in the living room; listen to the deep moans on the surround sound without worrying about his roommate overhearing.
Tonight instead, he scrolled through short form videos of naked older men for a couple minutes only. The way they tried so hard to pose their aging bodies with their big, hairy pot bellies and thick, uncut cocks made Dennis nauseated and hard all at the same time. He kept scrolling and scrolling, fingers tiring, until his algorithm decided to do a 180 and present him with animal shelter adoption videos instead. Oh– gross! He slammed his phone against the sofa and groaned. That post-pornography clarity quickly set in and he felt a guilt creep in, suffocating and heavy.
With the glow of the LED screen absent, the room was dark and eerily silent. What time was it? How long ago did the sun set? Their little apartment was too still without Trinity or the various women she brought over. No music playing, no laughter from the next room.
If Trinity were here, they’d put on some shitty reality TV and smoke a bit. Dennis hated smoking alone though, always inevitably ending up far too introspective and cerebral. Such was fate. He sighed.
He’s hungry.
Dennis hadn’t eaten since the cereal that Trinity plopped in front of him that morning. Now that it was nearing 7:00 pm, his stomach grumbled in his gut.
God, when had he become so incapable of looking after himself? Maybe he was just lazy. Maybe he was depressed again.
When Dennis was homeless, he had to move heaven and earth just to scrounge up a meal. Every bite of less-than-impressive food almost had him kneeling down and praying again. He had never felt more blessed than the times his hookups would invite him to show up early for a home cooked meal before their quick fuck. And when the men would hop in the shower, or go out back for a cigarette afterwards, Dennis would raid their kitchen cabinets for granola bars or crackers or anything he could get his hands on before they got back.
But now that there was perfectly good food sitting in his own pantry, mere feet away, he wasn’t interested.
Food that he didn’t need to fuck any mediocre guys for just didn’t taste as sweet.
𐂯
He ended up at the pub four doors down from his and Trinity’s apartment. It was close, and the food was cheap and greasy, so he figured why not. They always got the food out to him still bubbling with scalding oil from the fryer. Dennis’ intent was to order enough food for two people and eat it all by himself back at the apartment with a psychosexual thriller playing in the DVD player. That sounded nice.
When he got to the pub, he bellied up to the bar and waited for the usual lady to meet his eye. The place was warm, with a cozy atmosphere. The lighting was so dim that it was almost hard to make out anyone’s face.
“Hey there hun, what’re you having?” the woman asked him, prepping a glass. Red lipstick stained her front teeth. “No, no, I’m not drinking.” He shook his head. “I just wanna order some food to go, if that’s okay.”
He waited for the go ahead before he looked down at the little laminated menu and ordered, pointing to each individual item. The lady took out her pad of paper and wrote down his comically large order before walking back through the saloon style doors into the kitchen.
It was uncharacteristically loud tonight.
Dennis was used to it being decently busy there. It always opened at noon and the local retired alcoholics flocked there everyday. They practically lived there and their cars always took up all of the street parking. It especially pissed off Trinity, who would usually have to park a few streets down after work and walk home in the cold wind, scrubs covered in God knows what bodily fluid.
He swung his legs back and forth on his stool and nibbled some peanuts left complimentary in a small bowl on the bar top, throwing the shells on the floor like he saw everyone else doing. Dennis felt a little weird about it. He’d never felt more like a small, pitiful rodent.
Moments like these were his favourite. He loved sitting alone in a room full of people. He’d observe everyone in their natural states– try to psychoanalyze them a little bit; watch them, judge them. He felt somewhat like a shoddy spy.
There were a handful of older men playing billiards a few feet away. They had big greying beards. They rested their bloated bellies against the felted table, cues in one hand and bottles of beer in the other. It reminded Dennis of the porn videos he was scrolling through earlier. He wonders if these men go home and pose all sexy-like for their wives like the men in his phone. He nearly gags.
In the back corner of the pub, tucked away and unlike the rest of the crowd, was a group of people sitting around a big wooden table. They were quiet. Alternative looking. They weren’t drinking to excess or tilting their heads back in deafening laughter. They seemed to be quietly chatting while sipping a drink or two. Dennis didn’t recognize them at all.
He was in his own little world, people watching.
So he didn’t turn to look when the entrance door creaked open and the cold street air moved through him like a current. The hair stood up on the back of his neck.
“Whitaker?”
Dennis froze.
His stomach dropped as he heard his name called from behind by a deep gravelly voice that was unduly familiar.
He spun around so fast on his barstool that his head went fuzzy.
“Dr. Robby! Dr. Abbot!”
This felt all too similar to the moment when Trinity caught him shirtless on the abandoned floor of the hospital, wide open and defenceless. He felt like a timid deer being held at the end of a double barrel.
He tried his best to quickly flatten his hair with his hands. He knew it was greasy and sticking up all over. He spent all day in bed, rotting away. He probably smelled. God, if he somehow knew his two bosses would show up, he would’ve at least gotten dressed in something other than a grass stained flannel and torn up jeans.
He didn’t know what to say. He stared up at them with big fawn eyes.
It was so uncanny seeing them there. Like when you were little and you saw your teachers strolling the aisles of the grocery store. Like suddenly they were an A-list celebrity in your eyes.
Dr. Abbot walked in first. He was wearing light washed jeans that hugged his meaty thighs. And Dr. Robby was wearing a worn leather jacket, his tortoiseshell glasses, and— oh my god— big, stompy combat boots. Dennis might pass out.
What were they doing there?
They lived on the other side of the city; the nicer side of the city.
This place was way below their pay grade and quite frankly… kinda gross. It was the kind of place people only went to if they couldn’t afford much else. People like Dennis. Not people like the two men in front of him who, put together, made close to a million dollar a year salary.
That’s when Dennis noticed that Dr. Robby was refusing to meet his eyes. He was just standing there, staring at the floor, looking like an awkward giant.
As he went to ask his two attendings why in the world they were there, Dr. Abbot cleared his throat and spoke up.
“Whitaker– you’re here for a munch? Really? I wouldn’t expect that.”
Dr. Robby elbowed the man in his ribs.
Dennis rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans. “A what?” he asked lamely. “What? No, I’m just picking up some take out. I live down the street from here,” he settled.
Dr. Robby grabbed Dr. Abbot by the back of his neck, scruffing him like a kitten, then ran his big hands down his own face and beard. “Sorry, kid. We’re just meeting friends,” he said, nodding toward that quiet group in the corner. He gave Dr. Abbot a firm slap on the back before heading toward said group. Dennis watched as they greeted him with familiarity. “Michael!” a big burly man called, shaking Robby’s hand.
Dennis cringed. He always forgot Dr. Robby was someone other than “Dr. Robby”. He was someone outside of work, with a life of his own, with friends of his own… Friends who called him Michael.
“Well Whitaker, we probably shouldn’t mention this again, hm?” Dr. Abbot said then, smirking. He leaned against the back of Dennis’ stool, one hand on his hip. Abbot always moved like that– overly confident and suave. Dennis thought he was just the handsomest man ever, so much so that he had trouble speaking when he was around.
“R-Right,” Dennis agreed, with no idea what he was agreeing to.
He ruffled Dennis’ hair before meeting up with Robby and the rest of their friends. Dennis watched him go, red in the face.
𐂯
When Dennis was home, stomach full of greasy takeout and film credits rolling, he took out his phone and messaged Trinity. He still felt uneasy about the interaction he had with Dr. Robby and Abbot. He needed to tell someone, tell anyone.
Dennis
you’re never gonna believe who i saw just now
Trin
lol who
Dennis
dr. abbot & dr. robby
and it was SO awkward
Trin
where were you??
Dennis
you know that grimy little pub by our place
i went to get takeout and they were there
w a big group of people
Trin
lol i didnt know robby and abbot had friends
…other than each other
Dennis
LMAO
also dr. robby seemed really pissed that i was there
Trin
why?? tf???
he can be such an asshole sometimes idk
Dennis
i swear it was like a cult meeting or something
dr. abbot called it a ???munch?
Trin
huckleberry are you fucking stupid
Dennis
what?
Trin???
WHAT!!!
Trinity stopped replying after that. He threw his head in his hands and groaned. Without reserve, he swiped out of his messaging app and opened google.
What is a munch? He typed into the search bar.
The first thing he saw was a Wikipedia article titled “Munch (BDSM)”. What the fuck? Of course, he immediately clicked.
“A munch (derived from "Meeting Over Lunch") is a casual social gathering for people involved in or interested in kink, BDSM, alternative relationship lifestyles, or fetishes. Most munches are "vanilla" events where no BDSM, kink, or fetish activities take place. A play munch is a munch that incorporates a play party where participants can participate in BDSM and fetish activities.
Munches often take place at a restaurant, bar, coffee shop, or other public setting. A munch organizer usually reserves a large table, a back area, or a private room. People are free to arrive and leave within the specified hours. The primary purpose is socializing and meeting like-minded individuals. Munches are intended as opportunities for those who are curious about kink to meet others, become more comfortable, and better informed.”
Oh.
Oh.
Dr. Abbot and Dr. Robby were… kinky? Into… “fetish activities and alternative relationship lifestyles”? He suddenly felt light headed.
They seemed so normal at work. They didn’t show up with big bruises and rope burns, or anything of the sort. Dennis wasn’t stupid or naive– he knew what BDSM was. He knew about the whips, and the chains, and the gimps, and the masks, and the… Oh god.
He couldn’t help the intrusive image of Dr. Robby on the ground, grovelling, crawling, begging for Dr. Abbot to whip him again and again.
“Oh, what the fuck,” Dennis said aloud in the silence of the apartment. He rubbed his eyes until he saw stars. “This is just so fucked.”
He wasn’t sure how long he sat like that on the living room sofa, head in his hands. Long enough for Trinity to wrap up her shift and drive home amidst the Pittsburgh traffic, clearly. The deadbolt slid unlocked and it stirred Dennis from his stupor. He sat up straight and cleared his throat like he was a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
When Trinity was successfully inside the apartment, she slammed the door shut behind her and dropped her knapsack onto the tiled foyer floor with a thud. She turned to face Dennis and just tiredly smiled. Knowing.
“So, Huckleberry, seems like you had an interesting day off,” she said before throwing herself onto the sofa beside Dennis. She relaxed her feet atop Dennis’ rigid lap. He nodded silently, staring at the coffee table, bags under his eyes purple and puffy.
Trinity laughed.
“So I’m assuming from your silence that you looked up what a munch is?” she asked, lips closed tightly in an attempt to not laugh at Dennis’ obvious distress.
He just nodded again. He couldn’t look at her.
Trinity removed her legs from his lap and turned the TV on to fill the silence.
“C’mon, Huckleberry, it’s really not a big deal. Everyone fucks. Some people just fuck all freaky-like. You don’t have to be so weird about it!” She tried. Dennis sighed, his shoulders moving with his breath. He felt his face heat up.
She’s right. He really shouldn’t be so weird about it. He didn’t even know why it was affecting him the way it was. It was none of his business what Robby and Abbot got up to off the clock. He really shouldn’t care what they did with each other; what they did to each other. It’s just… he did care. His whole body was lit up with jealousy and envy.
That first day at the Pitt when Robby was covered in blood, tired and weary and weeping, Dennis thought maybe, just maybe, he was the only other person to ever see Robby so vulnerable. He could have sworn that Robby never looked at him the same way again after that moment. He thought they shared a secret knowing between them. All of those covert glances they shared, those little touches, did they mean nothing?
Dennis thought Robby was just like him— reserved, closed off to the world. But now he sees he’s quite the opposite. Dennis was in an entirely different camp. He could hardly watch vanilla porn without feeling remorseful, like God was watching him and shaking his head. But Robby and Abbot, they must be sexually liberated. He could hardly call himself liberated at all.
Maybe he was alone in the taciturn universe of his own making.