Chapter Text
Dennis Whitaker knew flowers. He knew them like the back of his hand. Blood red drops spilling across fragile petals. Devotion in code, covered in pain. As a medical professional, he knew flowers. How to time the symptoms and decode the timing of the onset: medication that buries pain and medication that relieves some symptoms for a while. As a deeply flawed man, he knew balance, of sorts. How to hide it, how to prolong good health, and how to disappear when it becomes too much to handle. By the time the end of his ER rotation came to an end, he had four different flower's worth of petals creeping into his lungs. And he knew this was not going to go well.
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Hanahaki was one of those illnesses that modern medicine had issues finding the original source of. While those who worked in medicine just knew it as a pain. So fast could petals become flowers and become irreparable damage to the lungs and body. So many cases each day of choked lungs and bodies placed in the mortuary. There were procedures, of course – things to delay or remove entirely. In the 1800s, they first discovered removal – not knowing that it somehow made sure that those who had the flowers taken from their airways would never again feel warmth in their chest, love lost completely – familial, parental, romantic, and platonic. Gone. Still, it saved lives – but the cost? Many preferred to suffer until a better option came along. Requited love, the easiest and most preferred, of course. Yet, you cannot force love onto another, so this too was double-edged. Rejection often sped up the thorns, the choking. Finding a new love reset the flowers, but falling again once already hurting for love? Difficult at best. Cannot be forced. Not everyone gets the illness now – 1 in 1000 as opposed to 1 in 10 from days gone by. Still too many but decreasing as the years wear on.
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Robby was ecstatic to have his favourite back – even with the planned sabbatical. Dennis was beautiful, modest, and distracting. The same feeling wells up in Robby – the one that makes sure he gravitates to the pretty new toy. He tries to keep a distance, but the boy is just too endearing. Still, he was managing. Then on the day he is supposed to be leaving on his sabbatical, who turns up? Noelle. Of course. He reaches in to conjure up his old feelings, but he's just not built that way. He loves and moves on. His eyes flit up from charts and catch blue eyes. Whitaker. Of course. Craving a taste he knows he shouldn't. Later on he watches Dennis drive off with the farm wifey – something possessive gripping him. Maybe he will postpone his sabbatical by one day...
I mean, who would blame him?
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Dennis stands, watering can in hand – Robby sealed to his lips. And for the first time since his ER rotation a year ago, he feels like he can breathe. The petals are soothing instead of burning. They don't exchange words. Clothes drop across floors and hallways, a marked path to Robby's bedroom. Needy little sighs drip from Dennis's lips. Swallowed greedily by his lover. A large hand snakes low to his hard cock, thumb spreading pre-cum over the tip. Robby's cock replaces his hand, rubbing against Dennis's in slow, lustful thrusts. Rumbling gasps join the needy sighs.
"Oh yeah, baby, like that."
"Robby!"
Dennis runs his hands over the hairy chest in front of him – hot and sweaty. His fingers find purchase on Robby's back, fingernails gripping as he is covered in the older man. A click of a cap. A thick finger prods at his hole. A squeaky moan permeates the still, humid air. It takes him a moment to realise it was him.
"Ohhhhh!"
"Yeah, baby, open up for me. I'll make it so good..."
Slick noises and grunts float around the two, breaths getting harsher. Once Robby deems him open enough, he props Dennis up slightly. Locking his eyes with blown-out blue as he rolls a condom onto his girthy cock, Robby watches as Dennis's eyes darken even more. He lines up carefully and slowly nudges into the beautiful boy beneath him.
"FUCKKKKKKK..."
"Dennnnnn..."
He adjusts his grip on pale hips and thrusts once, twice, slowly in and out after he finishes bottoming out. Its a little too fast for Dennis- pain radiates. Gritting his teeth, the thrusts slowly change that pain into pleasure. Robby thrusts harder and faster – lips sealed onto the younger man's. Swallowing each other's gasps and moans. Pleasure ratcheting higher and higher – he reaches down and starts jerking Dennis's cock in time with his thrusts. Dennis keens as he comes – Robby's name a sacrilegious prayer on his tongue. His body contracting around Robby's thick cock- forcing him to come inside the condom, inside Dennis's heat. He lifts himself carefully out, noting that the young man has been completely worn out. Shaky snores filter out of his swollen lips. Robby cleans himself and Whitaker and stews. He shouldn't have done this- he's glad he did. It's out of his system now. He's sure the boy will feel the same. After all, wasn't it just sex? Great sex. But just lust all the same. Maybe he will find a chick or guy on the road. It will keep his mind off of Dennis and PTMC.
Dennis wakes naked and alone the next morning. Robby is gone – his things are gone. Dennis throws on his clothes and races to the garage. The bike is gone. (So is the helmet – little victories). He checks his phone. Perhaps Robby texted? Or called? Nothing. His heart sinks. Making his way into the kitchen, his heart freezes. A note is on the fridge.
"Hey Whitaker,
Last night was great. It was amazing. But we both knew what this was: sex. Great sex. I'm off on sabbatical, and you're working the Pitt. It was never going to be more. I hope when I return, you will be twice the doctor you are now. No, I'm sure you will be. And I will be your chief, your colleague and nothing more.
No hard feelings, right kid?
-R"
Dennis throws up whole geraniums and yellow carnations into Robby's bathroom. He does not make it to work.