Chapter Text
Dennis never does this sort of thing.
That’s a lie, of course, but it’s the one he keeps telling himself as he nurses his second glass of lukewarm beer. He sits alone at a small (and quite sticky) table that still has someone else’s abandoned drinks scattered around on it, along with an ashtray full of freshly stubbed cigarette butts.
He keeps scrunching his nose at the stinging smell of it, yet he doesn't look for another table.
From here, he can look out the window.
Through the foggy glass, he sees the hospital across the street; the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, its bright lights sterile and unblinking against the night.
It’s where he’ll start his ER rotation tomorrow morning.
Just the thought makes him so nervous and excited at the same time; he feels the bitter taste of bile crawling up his throat. He takes a big gulp of his drink to wash it down, but the beer is kind of disgusting as well, but it’s all he can afford at the moment.
He hoped the man he was supposed to meet with would end up paying for his drinks.
Not because that’s the kind of guy Dennis is. Of course not.
He usually doesn’t do this sort of thing.
Except lately, Dennis is doing all sorts of things he usually doesn't, like agreeing to a date with a guy from Grindr only 15 minutes after they started talking; an obvious hook-up invite, which he usually doesn’t do.
Except…well. Maybe he does now.
Or he would if the man were to actually show up. But as he checks his phone for the hundredth time in the last hour without seeing any new message pop up, the promise of a spontaneous, fun hookup with a stranger slips further and further away from him.
Whatever.
With a heavy sigh, he stands up, slips his phone into the back pocket of his jeans, and leaves the rest of the shitty beer at the bottom of his glass. It joins the cemetery of unclaimed, unidentified, and half-finished beverages that were already on his table.
The bar’s restroom smells foul; someone must have puked in one of the sinks, Dennis notes as he washes his hands.
He thinks of gastroenteritis and hepatitis.
He washes his hands again.
He glances up at his reflection in the smudgy mirror. Under these lights, he looks more pale, drained, almost ill, like a character wasting away in the final chapter of a Victorian novel.
Someone that a writer would only describe as a “wilting flower”. A sad plant left too long without water, leaves curling inward, stem gone soft.
Neglected. But not yet dead. Not yet.
He almost winces at the sight of his hair.
Cutting it himself had been a terrible idea. A moment of foolish confidence, armed with the only dull nail scissors he owns. Now his bangs sit on his forehead in the strangest way, all choppy and just odd.
It makes him look younger than he is. Less capable, somehow.
Like a damn idiot, his mind helpfully adds.
He briefly considers dying his hair a darker shade. Maybe that’d help. Maybe that’d make him look more…certain.
Because, of course, he was born with hair that’s neither blond nor brown, just that weird in-between shade. It makes him think of wheat at the end of the summer, when it’s no longer golden but not yet dull. Just caught in that tired, uncertain color between seasons.
As he turns to leave, his foot touches something solid, kicking it away as he steps further.
A wallet.
A beat-up, brown leather wallet that doesn’t look too nice now, but it probably was when its owner purchased it years, maybe decades ago.
Dennis almost leaves it there on the dirty yellow tiles. He thinks of various fungal infections.
Finally, his curiosity gets the best of him, and he picks it up quickly, wondering if there is any cash in it.
Not that he’d-
Approximately $80 sits inside the wallet, along with some change.
Well. Shit.
Dennis is already estimating how much food he could buy from it.
The golden cross he wears around his neck burns against his skin. He closes his eyes and lets the thought drift away from him just as fast as it plagued his mind.
He leaves the bathroom with the wallet in his hand and looks around before heading to the bar, asking the bartender to take it in case its owner comes back to look for it.
“Ah, you found it,” the bartender, an older man with glorious grey hair down to his shoulders, smiles at him. “Robby was just lookin’ for it.”
“Oh,” is all Dennis manages to say, as if he’d know who this Robby is.
“He is sittin’ over there,” the man points with an empty glass in his hand.
Dennis follows the movement and finds a man sitting by himself in the left corner of the bar. Unlike him, he sits the furthest away from the windows, deep in the belly of the place, next to the pool tables, surrounded by a group of people.
Yet it seems like he doesn’t know any of them. Doesn’t pay attention to anyone.
“Would you give it to him, kid?” the bartender asks. “I’m a bit busy over here.”
“Sure,” Dennis nods with an easy smile.
“Appreciate ya’.”
The man in the corner, Robby, is hunched over his phone, typing something, with one hand. He squints at the screen, making his brows furrow. Even in this position, his shoulders seem broad.
Dennis walks up to him so quickly, wanting to get rid of the damn wallet along with the tantalizing $80 as fast as possible, that he kind of forgets to think of something to say.
He stops in front of the man, his shoes squeaking on the floor, and it’s already too late because he hears himself say:
“Hey.”
The man looks up with genuine surprise written across his face. His eyes are round and brown, open in a way that catches Dennis off guard. In a way that’s disarming and just… kind.
For a split second, they just look at each other as he seems unsure what to make of Dennis and his unexplained “hey” thrown at him.
Then he smiles slightly, his eyebrows still lifted high in confusion. The skin crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and his beard moves with his lips.
“Hi?” He says. His voice is deep, his tone teasing.
Dennis kind of forgets his own name.
“I- Sorry-,” he shakes his head and finally holds up the wallet in his hand. “This is yours.”
The man’s eyes get rounder as they land on the wallet.
“Oh!” his smile widens. “Yes. Thank you- Where-”
He is quite handsome, especially when he is smiling like that.
“Found it in the bathroom,” Dennis vaguely gestures behind himself, hoping he is pointing in the right direction. “You must’ve dropped it when-”
When you were taking a piss.
His mind finishes the sentence, conjuring up an image of this man in the bathroom with his dick out-
No. Back up.
“When you were in there.”
Right.
“Thank you,” Robby stands up (good lord, he is tall) and looks at him like he just saved his life, and that alone makes him feel high.
Feeling useful is at the top of Maslow’s pyramid for Dennis, which leads to severe people-pleasing tendencies and an unexplainable urge to always help people. Hence, the whole becoming a doctor thing.
It’s also why he has a praise kink, but it’s better not to get into all of that right now.
Especially not when a man twice his age is smiling at him with the power of a thousand suns, thanking him for finding his wallet.
“I was already spiraling,” Robby chuckles as he gently takes his wallet. His long fingers brush against the back of Dennis’s hand.
“My ID, my driver's licence… everything is in it. Hell, even my library card.”
Dennis can't help his smile and the embarrassing little snort that escapes him.
Of course, this man has a library card.
He looks like someone who reads in bed before falling asleep.
Do not think about him in bed, you absolute moron.
“Can’t have you walking around without a library card,” Dennis shakes his head.
“God forbid,” The man holds the wallet against his chest as if the other just said something scandalous.
Dennis just stands there smiling like an idiot.
However, as soon as Robby goes to open his wallet, a sudden nausea twists his insides. He is probably checking if all of his cash is still in there. The guilt of almost taking this guy’s money chews into him like a rabid animal, taking him apart bit by bit.
He opens his mouth to say something, to apologize.
Apologize for what?
He didn’t do anything. But he definitely thought about it.
But then, out of nowhere, Robby is holding his $80, which Dennis did not steal, and casually extends it towards the wide-eyed med student.
Dennis goes white, his throat is closing up, and he feels like he got caught somehow.
“Can I-” Robby starts, still holding out the money. “As a thank you?”
His face heats up. In a perfect world, the earth would just swallow Dennis up, cutting his suffering short, but of course, he has no such luck.
He takes a step back instantly, holding his hands up like he is surrendering, and starts stammering like a dumbass.
“Oh no, that’s not- that’s-”
Robby lowers his money (thank God), and Dennis can finally breathe.
The older man gives him an amused smile as if he did something funny, as he folds his wallet.
“A drink then?” Robby asks after a beat. “Let me at least buy you one.”
“You really don’t have to.”
“C’mon. You saved my library card. Let me thank you.”
And that makes the smile return to Dennis’s lips like a magic trick.
“I guess that’s true.”
Robby’s expression is so warm and disarming, he really doesn’t stand a chance against it.
“Sure,” he sighs at last. “Okay. I’ll take that drink.”
The effect is immediate. The older man’s expression brightens, the lines around his eyes and on his forehead return as he beams.
“Attaboy.”
Dennis’s throat feels dry. He gulps down whatever embarrassing sound tries to crawl out of his mouth.
“Alright, kid,” the man steps forward, heading towards the bar. “What’s your poison?”
“Beer is fine, and I’m not a kid.”
Robby smirks with his eyebrows raised, his eyes practically sparkling with delight.
“Oh, I know,” he leans in with his whole torso so they are at eye level.
It should annoy Dennis. It doesn’t.
Unfortunately, his brain categorizes this as “hot as hell” and also as “just put your fucking tongue in my mouth”.
You need to be neutered, Dennis Whitaker. Like a dog.
“Otherwise I wouldn’t be buying you a drink now, would I?” Robby says. “I’ll be right back.”
Dennis watches him go up to the bar to order.
His back is quite wide.
The too-horny-for-his-own-good med student quickly sits down at the man’s table before he could change his mind and bolt.
This is fine.
Great, even. Totally normal and acceptable behavior on his part. Letting a man probably twice his age buy him a drink in a run-down bar across from his future workplace.
Robby moves around the place with easy confidence, laughing with the bartender at something like they know each other. They probably do.
Soon, he returns to the table, offering him some kind of fancy-looking craft beer. A brand that the younger man definitely doesn’t recognize.
“Thank you,” Dennis says, taking the cold bottle.
It’s unopened, he realizes, and smiles. The muscles in his shoulders relax.
Dennis turns the bottle once, glancing at the cap out of habit.
Then, without thinking, he brings it up and hooks the edge of the cap against his teeth.
A quick twist and crack.
The cap pops off clean.
He straightens in his seat, proud of himself that he was able to pull that off flawlessly.
That is, until he looks up.
Robby is still standing next to the table, staring at him with a look that’s both shocked and impressed.
He is holding a bottle opener.
Oh.
Fuck.
“Oh,” Dennis feels the heat rushing to his face instantly. “Sorry.”
But Robby’s smile isn’t awkward or judgmental in any way. It’s honest; he looks like someone who was very much impressed by Dennis’s stupid show-off move, or at the very least, thoroughly entertained.
“Tell that to your teeth,” He chuckles and finally sits down, putting the bottle opener onto the table.
“Bad habit,” Dennis says sheepishly. “But in my defence, I brought it from home.”
A memory flashes through his mind. One of his brothers teaching him various ways to open a beer bottle in a “cool kid” way until their mother finds them and screams at them, but mostly at Thomas for giving Dennis alcohol. He was 13 then.
Robby raises an eyebrow at him.
“Just where are you from exactly?”
“Broken Bow, Nebraska,” he replies without thinking, then immediately adds: “Don’t laugh.”
Robby, very much looking like someone who was about to fucking laugh, holds his hands up in surrender.
“I’m not.”
The younger man squints. “Your eyes are laughing.”
“Now that sounds like a serious medical issue,” Robby takes a sip from his own beer, but keeps his eyes on the other.
Dennis shakes his head and mirrors the other’s movement, drinking from the surprisingly nice dark beer that scratches his throat on its way down.
He catches Robby’s eyes after lingering on his mouth, drifting down to his throat briefly, and he can’t help but smile.
Dennis knows he usually goes for older guys; he is 28 and has recognized his own pattern by now, though he never cared enough to dissect it any further than that. But so far, it has always been men who were around ten years older than him, give or take.
Robby, on the other hand, is probably at least twenty years his senior, maybe more.
And that makes something under his skin buzz.
“What brings you here tonight?” Robby asks, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I’m guessing you aren’t here just to save library cards from the bathroom.”
Dennis huffs at the casual tone; he kind of hates to admit that the dad humor is very much working on him.
“I was supposed to meet someone here. A date,” he answers, and after thinking for a beat, adds: “But I guess he decided not to show up.”
He watches the older man’s reaction like a hawk, looking for any sign of discomfort at the mention of a he instead of a she, but there is none to find.
Robby’s expression is sympathetic, his eyes still just as kind as two seconds ago.
“An asshole move,” Robby hums like he is speaking from experience. Dennis wonders which side of that equation he usually is. The one who gets stood up or the one who doesn’t show up.
“It happens,” Dennis shrugs, taking another sip from his drink. “I shouldn’t be here anyway.”
“Why?”
“Starting at a new job tomorrow morning.”
Robby’s whole face lights up at that. “Ah, that is exactly why you should be here then, to celebrate.”
“I guess,” he smiles. “But I don’t really know anyone around here yet.”
The other man puts his beer down suddenly and extends his hand over the table towards him.
“I’m Robby,” he says with a gentle expression on his face.
Dennis glances down at his hand.
It’s a nice hand with an expensive watch on his wrist.
No ring in sight.
“I know,” Dennis replies instead of saying literally anything else that wouldn’t come off like he is a fucking creep.
Robby frowns, confused. He slowly lowers his hand back onto the table, but his lips are still curling upward.
“The uh- bartender told me your name,” he rushes to add quickly.
The lines on the man’s forehead smooth out.
“So you met Duke,” he grins, drumming his long fingers on the table before pointing at Dennis. “Don’t believe anything he says. He is a gossip.”
He feels himself relax, leaning back against the back of his chair.
“Oh, so your name isn’t actually Robby then,” he raises a challenging eyebrow at him.
Robby’s eyes crinkle at the sides, and without missing a beat, he says:
“It’s Michael.”
Huh?
Dennis blinks a few times, slightly tilting his head to the side.
“Wait,” he shakes his head. “Like actually?”
“Like actually,” Robby, or…Michael (???) nods like he is very proud of himself for giving a whiplash to the other man.
“What the f-”
“But everyone calls me Robby.”
“Aha,” Dennis squints at him before reaching his hand out. “I’m Dennis.”
Robby smiles and takes his hand to shake it. His hold is firm and warm, and the younger man almost doesn’t want to let go. But he does anyway.
“Nice to meet you, Dennis.”
A few feet away from them, the group around the pool table erupts in cheers, and Robby instinctively turns towards the noise. Dennis, without the warm gaze on himself, feels cold all of a sudden.
Someone from the drunken group next to them groans and starts arguing why the last shot doesn’t count, but the others boo him, laughing and yelling.
Dennis only now notices that someone put on the same song in the old jukebox that stands in the corner of the bar, probably for the fifth or sixth time, because he hears a man practically screaming for the bartender, Duke, to change the damn song for the love of God.
Robby seems to observe the people around them for a moment as if he were quietly cataloguing all the types of drunks in the bar. But Dennis selfishly wants those eyes back on himself as soon as possible.
He clears his throat, getting the man’s attention back.
“It’s your turn,” he says while he leans on his elbows. “To tell me why you're in this bar by yourself, Michael Robby.”
The older man chuckles.
“Just Robby is fine.”
“I don’t know,” Dennis pretends as if he is deep in thought. “I like Michael. It suits you.”
“Does it?” Robby’s smile is almost bashful.
That’s so not fair.
A 40-something-year-old man shouldn’t look adorable.
“You didn’t answer my question, Michael.”
“Right,” he scratches the back of his neck. “I guess I just had a shitty day and well- here I am.”
He taps his index finger against the bottle, and Dennis' eyes follow the nervous movement.
“I probably shouldn’t be here either,” Robby continues as his gaze finds its way back to the other’s. “Since I’m working tomorrow.”
Dennis lifts his eyebrows and raises his bottle towards the other man.
“Look at us,” he grins.
Robby clinks the neck of his bottle against his, shaking his head. “Look at us,” he agrees.
“To a better tomorrow then,” Dennis says before bringing his drink to his lips.
“I seriously doubt that,” Robby mumbles into his beer.
“Well, not with that attitude,” The younger man replies instantly, and only when the other raises an eyebrow at him realizes he is probably out of line. Scolding a man who is about 20 years his senior isn’t something his good christian mother would approve.
(And let’s not even mention the other things he’d love to do to this man…)
But Robby lets out a very attractive, quiet chuckle.
“Just trust me on this, kid,” he says. “Tomorrow isn’t my day.”
This is the second time he has called him "kid," and now Dennis is sure he doesn’t like it.
“Why?” he asks, “What’s tomorrow?”
“A damn shitty day is what,” the man grumbles before taking a swing from his beer.
“More specifically?”
Robby sighs, putting his bottle down with a loud clink. His forehead creases as he frowns.
“You are a pushy one, huh?”
The chiding tone sends a thrill down Dennis’s spine. The image of getting a slap on his wrist from Robby for stepping over an invisible line between them is starting to get more and more tempting.
“Just curious.”
Instead of answering, Robby just studies him for a while, letting those expressive brown eyes roam over Dennis’s face while slowly finishing his drink without a word.
Around them, the bar is alive, the same music still plays, people are talking and laughing. On the pool table, cues crack sharply against the balls, and the dull thuds of darts hitting the dartboard just feel like a rhythm that comes with the place at this point.
Dennis squirms under the man’s gaze, feeling like he is lying on an operating table, sedated, while Robby is effortlessly gliding a scalpel across his middle, to peek inside his body.
Weirdly, it’s not an unwelcome feeling. His skin would give way to the sharp object, tearing softly, easily.
“I get it,” Dennis says, looking down at his own hand, breaking the intense eye contact. “We don’t know each other.”
Robby hums in agreement, tilting his head like a curious dog.
“But maybe,” he continues slowly, drawing out that maybe, “That’s why you could tell me. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to strangers.”
Robby’s frown deepens as if the other just said something suspicious.
“Are you a psychologist?”
Dennis snorts.
“God no,” he shakes his head. “I’d go insane.”
The older man almost smiles at that.
“I’m just saying you could tell me,” Dennis shrugs. “I’m just a random guy at a bar.”
“I wouldn’t say just,” Robby mumbles, probably to himself, but Dennis hears it. He can’t help his smile.
Robby takes a breath like he is about to jump into a cold lake; he cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders up, grimacing like it physically pains him to say what he is about to say, and Dennis suddenly feels bad for being a pushy little shit.
He is about to backtrack on what he just said when the other man finally speaks.
“It’s the anniversary of a very close friend’s death,” he says without meeting the other’s eyes.
The sentence hangs in the air, heavy, raw, and honest.
Dennis eyes are searching the man’s face, trying to catch his gaze somehow, but Robby seems to be very good at closing in on himself.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
He wants to reach out over the table to hold his hand.
He doesn’t.
“It happened 5 years ago,” Robby continues. “Covid.”
“Shit,” Dennis doesn’t mean to say that out loud, but it’s already too late because the man reacts with a bitter chuckle from the other side of the table.
“Indeed,” he sighs. “I’ve taken this day off for the past 4 years, just uh- being miserable at home. But I’m tired of it. I want to stop running away from it.”
Dennis really, really wants to hold his hand.
“I’m starting to feel like it was a fucking stupid idea.”
“A very brave idea,” Dennis corrects him softly.
The man scoffs.
“It is,” Dennis insists. “Most people would keep running.”
Robby looks up at him, finally, with eyes so sad and tired they might haunt Dennis later.
“I still might.” his voice is small.
He seems like the type of person who, when he’s unhappy, the colors around him just dull, somehow draining the vibrancy from his surroundings.
“Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted,” Dennis cites. “Matthew 5:4.”
Robby’s eyes widen into two impossibly large (beautiful) circles. He blinks slowly, trying to take in the unexpected turn their conversation just took. It’s obvious, he doesn’t know whether to laugh or not.
“Sorry,” Dennis smiles sheepishly. “Busting out the Bible quotes isn’t very bar-appropriate.”
It’s one of his very lame, very embarrassing superpowers that for every situation, there is a scripture ingrained into his brain, waiting under the surface to break through any minute.
Undoubtedly, not the best move if you want to rizz up a random guy at a bar.
But Robby laughs.
Oh, Jesus.
So Dennis let’s out a snort as well.
“Next time, maybe save it for the second date.”
He knows he is red because his ears are burning. The idea of a date with this man sets his whole body on fire.
Very fucking inappropriate, Dennis.
He was just telling you about his friend who passed away.
“Are you a priest in disguise?” Robby asks with a smirk.
“No,” Dennis laughs nervously because if it were up to his parents, he would probably be one, but Robby doesn’t need to know that.
“Just an undergrad theology major with some unresolved religious trauma.”
It looks like the older man wants to ask him about it, but he decides against it in the end.
“I don’t know if I believe in God anymore,” he says instead. “So I don’t think I’ll find comfort in your quote.”
He isn’t rude about it, just honest.
Dennis lets himself sit with that for a beat before he answers.
“To me, it just means to mourn is to be human.”
Robby looks more taken aback by that than by the Bible quote itself, so Dennis keeps going to fill the silence, explaining himself.
“We grieve because we love. There is no right or wrong way to do it,” he shrugs. “So if you want to call in sick tomorrow, it’s all right. If you decide to go in, but feel like it’s too much during the day, you can leave. But something tells me you’ll push through.”
Robby’s eyebrows are furrowed, but there is a small smile dancing on his lips, disappearing and then showing up again and again.
It might be just the dirty yellow lights of the bar and the alcohol, but Robby looks… broken and so very tired. And in a fucked up way, Dennis likes that; he is drawn to it like a moth with a saviour complex to a glowing ‘help me’ sign.
He always seeks out the ones who are down, who need a helping hand, people he can save to feel useful, to matter to someone, even if only for a fleeting moment.
“You are an interesting young man, Dennis,” Robby says quietly, like he himself isn’t quite sure yet if he means it as a compliment or as an insult.
“You can just say weird.”
“That too.”
He then clears his throat.
“So..theology major, huh? Where did that come from?” he asks, changing the subject in a very obvious way and turning the barrel of the imaginary gun towards the other.
Dennis automatically reaches for his beer but finds it empty.
“I need another drink for that,” he mumbles.
Robby nods, already standing up from the table and taking his goddamned wallet out.
“Consider it done,” he winks at Dennis.
Dear Lord.
In the end, Dennis tells him about his family, about the farm, about leaving them behind, and the guilt that is eating him away still.
What he doesn’t bring up is the med school and his final year; he doesn’t like to talk about wanting to become a doctor with people who aren’t in the same field as him (aren’t as insane as him) because it always leads to uncomfortable rants where he feels like he needs to explain himself or where he ends up looking like an asshole with a god complex.
In turn, Robby tells him about his stepson, Jake, and his ex-girlfriend, Janey. It all feels very easy and low stakes. Like talking to someone you will never meet again.
After his second glass of beer, Dennis feels pleasantly buzzed. Not drunk, but he is smiling from ear to ear, and cannot fucking stop. His cheeks are an awkward shade of pinkish red.
He is laughing at a horrible joke Robby just said. He has absolutely no clue what the punchline was, nor does he understand the point of the joke, but he is long past caring.
He is laughing because if he does, then so does Robby.
And Robby’s laugh is so fucking endearing. Again, not something a 40-something-year-old man should ever be, but here he is. Against all odds, being adorable as hell.
At some point, Dennis slid his chair across the floor so he’d be on Robby’s side of the table, sitting right next to him. Originally, to show him a meme on his phone that the older man didn’t understand.
But now he has his hand glued to the man’s upper arm over his hoodie, and there is no way in hell he is willing to let go. Similar to a dog with its favorite chewing toy.
Oh, how he wants to bite into Robby’s neck and chew on it.
He is itching closer and closer to him by the minute, and he knows Robby is more than aware. He keeps glancing at Denni’s lips, looming over him with that hungry look in his dark eyes.
Unfortunately for Dennis, Robby seems to be really good at controlling himself. So far, he had only gifted the younger man with a couple of pats on his back and a quick squeeze to his shoulder.
But one thing about Dennis Whitaker is that he is a determined man, above all else.
And another thing about Dennis Whitaker is that he will climb this man like a goddamn tree tonight. He is sure of it.
“Do you smoke, Robby?” he asks, leaning even closer.
“I quit a while ago.”
Dennis pouts at him.
“It’s bad for you,” Robby chuckles.
“So is alcohol,” Dennis smiles lazily, glancing down at the glass in Robby’s hand.
“Got me there. You want to go outside for a smoke?”
There are plenty of people currently smoking inside the bar, yet Dennis nods.
“Only if you keep me company.”
“I could use some fresh air.”
“I don’t have a cigarette,” Dennis adds with a smile that he hopes is innocent enough.
It probably isn’t because the amused look Robby gives him tells him that he sees right through his bullshit.
He shakes his head with a smile, then says:
“I could bum one from Duke.”
“Thank you,” Dennis beams, giving his arm a firm squeeze.
As he waits outside for Robby, the cold air fills his lungs, sobering him up. The slight push that he didn’t even notice being behind his skull eases, and the buzzing from inside the bar quiets, clearing his mind.
The image of tomorrow sneaks up on him as soon as he doesn’t have something else (Robby) to focus on that could tune his anxiety out.
The thought of the first day of his ER rotation makes his stomach drop. It’s the one he looked forward to the most, already considering it as a strong residency option. So if he ends up sucking at it tomorrow, that’ll be very disappointing and kind of depressing.
Robby appears, conveniently cutting the thread of his spiralling with a crooked cigarette he is holding up in front of him. There is a triumphant grin on his face.
The yellow light of the bar coming from behind him creates a glow around his head, almost like a golden halo on religious iconography. Dennis wants, no, needs, his arms around him. To help him forget about tomorrow just for a little bit longer.
“Thank you,” he takes the cigarette, and simply puts it in his pocket without another word.
Robby frowns at his action and opens his mouth ready to ask about it, but Dennis doesn’t let him.
“Robby,” he starts, while looking up at the older man with what he hopes are his best bedroom eyes. “Can I go home with you?”
The man freezes.
The pause is way longer than Dennis would like it to be. But eventually the words seem to find him again.
“How drunk are you?” Robby asks, his voice coming out hoarse and rough.
Dennis chuckles with his eyebrows raised. “From two beers?”
Didn’t he just tell Robby that he was a Nebraskan farm kid?
Robby clears his throat. “I don’t know how many you had before.”
His eyes search Dennis’s face as if he is looking for any signs of discomfort.
“One more glass that I didn’t even finish,” Dennis waves him off, then adds with a playful smile: “I can walk in a straight line if you want me to.”
Robby just rolls his eyes at him.
“Or,” Dennis’s hand is back on Robby’s upper arm like a magnet as he uses him for balance to lean closer and whisper. “If you happen to have a breathalyzer in your pants, I could blow on it.”
The older man finally breaks, grinning at his stupid joke.
“Alright, alright, smartass,” he shakes his head.
“Sorry,” he drops his hand from Robby’s arm to cover his own mouth to hide a laugh. “And how drunk are you, Michael?”
Robby looks up at the sky briefly and lets out a long breath before turning his head back towards Dennis. He doesn’t try to hide his eyes lingering on the younger man’s mouth.
“Probably not enough to blame it on the alcohol,” he says.
Dennis wets his lips and watches as the others’ pupils widen.
“Blame what on the alcohol?”
“That I want to take you home with me,” Robby answers quietly.
There is hesitation in his voice, like it pains him to say it, but Dennis really, really needs him to get over it, which is very unlike him.
He wants to be selfish tonight. And he wants Robby to be selfish with him.
“I want you to,” he whispers as he reaches out to rest his palm on the other’s chest.
Robby glances down at his hand.
“Okay.”
Robby’s place is fucking huge. Almost ridiculously so.
He lives in a house, for starters. Not in a sad studio apartment or in a condo with a roommate. And he probably owns his place too, and isn’t renting it.
This surprises Dennis a little bit, but only because Robby’s outfit and his whole vibe are giving him more of a broke, divorced dad aesthetic, rather than a rich, successful guy look. Which Dennis wouldn’t have judged him for, as he himself is someone who is… currently between places, crushed by his student loan.
Anyways.
Robby is clearly an adult-adult.
Once they are inside, Dennis briefly wonders what he does for a living.
A lawyer? Maybe an architect? Definitely something that would give him enough income to afford a place like this.
He quickly toes his shoes off, stepping out of them without looking where he leaves them.
The place looks clean, and Robby doesn’t strike him as much of a clean freak, so either he doesn’t spend a lot of time at home, or he has someone to clean for him.
They step inside the living room area. Dennis doesn’t bother with looking around; his eyes are already on the prize. Robby’s lips.
“Can I get you anything?” Robby asks. “A glass of w-”
Dennis kisses him.
Or perhaps it’d be more accurate to describe it as an attack rather than a kiss, as he smashes his mouth against the other’s lips at a horrible angle, while trying to yank him down by the front of his shirt.
Robby makes a surprised noise as their teeth clank together.
Thankfully, he recovers quickly, grabbing Dennis by the waist, tugging him against his chest. His other palm goes to the younger man’s face, cupping it and gently but firmly fixing the angle of their kiss.
Dennis happily lets him take the lead.
The feel of Robby’s beard against his face is driving him crazy in the best possible way; it’s a bit harsh and scratchy, in contrast to the soft lips that work his mouth open smoothly.
Dennis gives in oh so very easily, letting the man’s tongue explore his mouth with practised moves. They both taste like alcohol.
He loops his arms around Robby’s neck, clinging to him for dear life. Luckily, the older man seems just as desperate for it, pushing his whole body against the other’s, driving his thigh between Dennis’s legs, and pulling him forward by his waist.
Oh, he is good. Dennis thinks, gasping into the kiss.
Robby kisses like a starving man, like he is trying to devour the other.
And dear Lord Dennis would fucking let him.
He feels a bit insane, high on the adrenaline rush from kissing this man he barely knows.
In his excitement, he doesn’t even notice that he started grinding his hips against Robby’s thigh, seeking friction.
Like a dog in heat.
Robby’s grip on his hips gets stronger as he unsuccessfully tries to hold him in place. He breaks their kiss with a hiss.
“Are you still sure about this, kid?” he pants into Dennis’s mouth, who is already so far gone he’d probably let the older man do all kinds of nasty things to him.
He nods quickly.
“More than sure,” he says. “and ‘m still not a kid.”
At this point, he questions whether Robby keeps calling him a kid to remind himself that he shouldn’t be letting him into his bed, a way to hold himself accountable, or… it just turns him on.
The latter may be more concerning, but not something Dennis would be unwilling to get behind. Sure, he can moan out a couple of “oh daddy”s if he needs to, to get into this man’s pants.
Robby scoffs, rolling his eyes.
“I could be your father.”
Dennis frowns and stubbornly maintains eye contact.
“I’m 28,” he states.
“That didn’t help your case,” Robby shakes his head with an amused smile.
Now Dennis kind of wants to ask exactly how old Robby is, but more than anything, he just wants those lips back on his mouth and that beard scratching against his skin.
“More kissing, less talking, Michael,” he orders.
Robby smiles, his eyes glinting in the low light.
“Yes, sir,” he chuckles against Dennis’s mouth.
Robby has great stamina for a man in his 50s (or…40s?). Dennis isn’t sure anymore.
Though he really wants to ask how old he is, not that it matters, but just because he wants to know.
He also kind of wants to know his favorite color. His bedsheets are a nice shade of dark blue; so could it be that? It is a pleasant color.
He wants to know how he drinks his coffee in the morning, what he does for a living, and how long he has been living in this house…
Innocent, stupid questions that are all extremely inappropriate and dangerous for a one-night stand he will never see again.
Thankfully, soon he has his mouth full of Robby’s dick, so he forgets his silly little questions pretty damn fast.
The only thing he can focus on is trying to take all of him down his throat. It’s a struggle because Robby was apparently blessed by some higher power (God? Or perhaps Satan?) to have a nice, thick, and long member.
Dennis feels his eyes water again as he looks up at Robby through his tear-soaked eyelashes. He is on his knees, and from down here, he has a nice view of the man’s glorious hairy chest and stomach.
He wants to bite into that soft belly so badly.
Dennis chokes as he works on getting more of Robby into his mouth, drool dripping down his chin. The sounds leaving his throat are obscene.
Robby caresses his face with one hand, shushing him gently. His dick is heavy on Dennis’s tongue.
“Oh, look at you, sweet boy,” he pants, combing his fingers through Dennis’s hair. “So- uhn- eager. Doing so good for me.”
Dennis breathes through his nose, inhaling the man’s scent. His legs start to shake.
Robby’s hips inch forward, fucking into the other’s mouth.
“Good boy.”
Dennis whimpers and comes without even touching himself.
Holy shit-
The insides of his thighs are bright red, and he knows they’ll be covered in beard burns by the morning.
Robby fucks into him slowly, panting into his mouth like an untamed animal; their eyes are locked as their faces are only a few inches away from each other.
He pulls out fully before slamming back into the other man, this time with full force.
Dennis throws his head back against the pillows with a low moan of Robby’s name on his lips.
The golden Star of David dangles in front of Dennis’s face.
He wants to take it into his mouth, let his tongue swirl around it until it glistens with his saliva, to see how Robby would react.
But the older man is pumping into him rhythmically, moving too fast for him to catch the necklace with his lips, so he gives up quickly. Too lost in the moment to do anything other then laying there and holding onto Robby.
“M-Michael- please,” Dennis moans, clawing at the other’s back, trying to pull him closer by locking his feet behind him.
Robby groans and captures his lips in a filthy kiss. Biting and licking.
“What is it, sweetheart?” he kisses a tear away that just escapes Dennis’s eyes. “What do you need?”
“I- fuck!”
Robby pushes into him with a mean force and chuckles when the man forgets his words.
“You got this, Dennis,” he leans down to whisper into his ear. His breath is hot on his skin.
“Please,” he desperately clenches around his cock. “I need-”
“What, baby?” Robby fucks into him without losing his rhythm. “Use your words.”
Dennis whines. “Robby-”
Robby grunts above him
“I need to- please touch me.”
“You want to come, baby?” Robby’s hips slow down before picking up the pace again.
“Yesyesyes please-” Dennis chants.
Robby sneaks a hand between their sweaty bodies to wrap his fingers around Dennis’s aching cock.
It only takes a few pumps before he comes between them with a whimper.
Robby doesn’t stop fucking into him, chasing his own release.
“You look like- an angel,” Robby pants, looking up at him through hooded eyes, gripping Dennis’s hips as the younger man rides him.
That catches him off guard (because who the fuck just says something like that, honestly), losing his rhythm. He falls forward, bracing himself on Robby’s chest (and squeezing it if his palms are already there).
“Fuck,” he gasps. “You are so weird.”
Robby chuckles.
After he came for the second time (in perfect sync with Dennis’s third orgasm), Robby says he can’t get it up again because he is old and tired, and Dennis should stop eyeing his soft dick with that look because it won’t happen.
Which Dennis rolls his eyes at.
“You can’t or won’t, old man?” he asks with a shit-eating grin.
Apparently, Robby has no problem taking Dennis’s dick into his mouth and finger his hole into oblivion to shut him up, until he is a whitering, shaking mess of limbs, drooling and gasping for air.
Robby finds his prostate really fast. That’s not something Dennis is used to, so it becomes all too much all too fast, and he comes for the fourth time with a shout.
Once Dennis is strong enough to move, Robby helps him into the shower and steps in with him. The hot water pouring down on him doesn’t help his sleepiness.
He lets Robby wash his body, while he whispers sweet things to him, and it’s all very domestic and adorable, and if Dennis were less tired, he would be panicking by now.
But instead of freaking out and bolting as fast as possible as he usually does after a hookup, he has no problem falling into Robby’s soft bed, snuggling close to him, and falling asleep without a care in the world.
Robby caresses his side.
He wakes to the distant sound of the radio and the smell of coffee. He sighs and buries his face deeper into the pillow.
It’s not until he slowly catches on that he doesn’t hear the loud drumming of cars outside and doesn’t smell the disinfectant in the air that he realizes he isn’t in the hospital.
His eyes fly open like he has been brought back to life from a cardiac arrest.
“Fuck.”
Fuck!
The memory of last night floods his brain quickly.
The bar.
A wallet. A library card?
Robby.
He sits up too fast because his backside protests by aching like it’s on fire.
Right.
He stretches his back with a hiss, squeezing his eyes shut before finally looking around the room. Robby’s room.
Dennis’s clothes are scattered around on the floor, and he feels his face heat up when his eyes land on his boxers.
He lifts the blanket to confirm and- yepp. He is completely naked.
Great.
Good fucking job, Dennis.
Sleeping at a one-night stand’s house.
Although Robby didn’t kick him out either, he realizes. A small, proud smile finds its way onto his lips as he thinks of the older man who is probably in the kitchen drinking his morning coffee-
No.
Not a fucking chance.
He cannot have a crush on a guy he just met. He refuses to.
Even if Robby is kind of really fucking sweet and has the kindest eyes and has the hottest-
No!
Once he is done putting on his clothes from yesterday, he finds his crumpled-up, smelly socks by the foot of the bed and looks at them with a grimace.
After a quick look around, he decides to open Robby’s drawer and steal a pair of plain black socks. He pulls them on, already feeling a little guilty about it, but it's just socks for god's sake… And Robby is obviously rich enough to not even notice something like that, which Dennis tries not to think too hard about.
He ends up taking a boxer as well, quickly shoving it into the pocket of his sweater. He’ll change into it at the hospital.
His face is bright red when he stares at himself in the bathroom mirror.
He lost his shoes somewhere in the hallway, right at the entrance, last night. He could try to get them quietly and sneak out, but that’d be rude, so he decides just to bite the bullet and say a quick goodbye before he scurries away.
He finds Robby in the kitchen, sitting by the counter, humming to himself with a cup of coffee in front of him, scrolling on his phone.
He is already dressed, ready for the day, and unfortunately, he looks just as hot in the daylight as Dennis remembered him from last night. The only difference is that he seems less tired, and there is more color in his face.
Instead of fully stepping into the kitchen, Dennis just stands in the doorway, watching the older man just exist in his own space for a moment and try to resist the urge to go up to him and wrap his arms around his middle from behind as if they have known each other for a long time.
“Hi,” he says.
It comes out awkward. His voice is rough because of last night, so he clears his throat.
Robby looks up from his phone, and maybe Dennis’s heart skips a beat when he smiles, glancing at him through a stupidly adorable pair of glasses that make his eyes look bigger and brighter.
“Good morning,” the man straightens his posture. “I was just about to wake you. I need to leave for work soon.”
Dennis nods, forcing himself not to linger on the image of Robby waking him up, gently shaking his shoulders, or potentially giving him a little kiss on his forehead.
Goddamn it.
“Yeah, me too.”
“Which way are you headed?” Robby asks as he puts his phone down. “I can take you if you want.”
He is way too casual about this, Dennis thinks.
Or maybe he is just twice your age and has had a lot more hookups than you and knows how to handle it like a normal person.
“It’s okay,” he shakes his head. “I’ll just take the bus.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I- yeah.”
“Alright.”
Dennis watches him stand up to fetch a plate from next to the stove.
“I made scrambled eggs if you want some,” he says as he fishes out a fork from a drawer.
“Oh.”
Dennis stares at it with wide eyes. Next to the bright yellow eggs are some roasted onions and sliced tomatoes.
“I’m not the best in the kitchen,” Robby places the plate on the counter. “I usually just drink a coffee for breakfast, but- here.”
Dennis finally manages to tear his eyes away from the food to look at Robby, who has an awkward smile on his face. It might just be his mind playing tricks on him, but the tips of his ears look a little red from here.
Did Robby make this just for him?
Maybe he really should start dating older guys…
“Thank you,” Dennis says softly. He takes a step forward but then stops himself. ”Actually, I- I should probably go.”
There is a slight change in Robby’s expression, barely noticeable, but Dennis is watching him like a hawk, so he sees the disappointment right away.
“I don’t want to be late on my first day,” he continues quickly.
“Ah, that’s right,” Robby says. “It’s your first day.”
“Yeah. So I-”
Robby chuckles, stepping away from the counter.
“It’s okay, Dennis, you can leave,” he smiles. “I’m not holding you hostage, don’t worry.”
Dennis kind of wishes he were.
The hopeless gooey side of his brain wants Robby to insist on him staying a bit longer, have breakfast with him, and then drive him to work.
But Robby does none of the above. He just watches him with a carefree smile, ready to let him go so easily.
“I just don’t want to be rude,” Dennis mumbles with a pout.
The skin around Robby’s eyes crinkles more.
“Sweet boy.”
Dennis feels the familiar heat in his belly. It curls around his intestine like a vine, blossoming further when Robby looks him up and down with that hungry look from last night.
“I need to find my shoes,” he says with one breath, turning on his heels to head towards the hallway.
You need to leave. You need to leave. You need to leave. He chants it in his head. Along with: Don’t suck his dick. Don’t suck his dick. Don’t suck his dick.
He knows he is about two seconds away from begging the older man to fuck him against the counter while he tries to shovel those stupid scrambled eggs down his own throat.
He can’t start his ER rotation by being late, let alone walking in with an obvious limp.
Robby watches him frantically trying to pull on his shoes and tie them as fast as possible. He is leaning against the wall, just waiting and quietly observing him.
“Just uh- out of curiosity,” Dennis mutters while tying his shoes, trying and failing to sound casual. “How often do you visit that bar?”
Robby lets out a puff of air, making an amused sound. Dennis doesn’t have to look up to know that he is grinning.
“What are you trying to ask me, Dennis?”
“Nothing,” he says, but it comes out like a question.
He stands up finally, looking at Robby with a sheepish smile.
“Give me your phone, kid.”
Dennis is too stunned to question it and just hands over his unlocked phone. The other man quickly types something into it.
“Here,” he says, handing the phone back. “My number.”
“Oh?” Dennis stares at the numbers on his screen like it’s the code to a secret safe somewhere.
“You can do with it whatever you want. Delete it or text me,” he shrugs. “It’s up to you. I might answer, but I might not. No expectations or promises.”
Dennis saves the number as ‘Robby (fromthebar)’.
“Okay,” he beams. He knows he probably looks like an excited child with a candy, but he doesn’t care.
Robby has a fond smile on his face. “Well,” he lifts his eyebrows. “It was really nice to meet you, Dennis.”
“Yeah, you too,” Dennis says quietly as he opens the front door.
He looks back at Robby. “Goodbye, Michael.”
“Good luck on your first day.”
Dennis nods, and he only thinks for a second before standing on his tiptoes and cupping Robby’s face with his palms to pull him in for a kiss. Their lips meet once again, but before it can go any further, Dennis pulls away.
They share a smile.
“Bye,” Dennis says and walks out the door.
He texts Robby from the bus, about 15 minutes after they said goodbye.
Does it make him look desperate? Probably.
Does he care? Maybe a little bit.
Will it stop him from sending a lame message to his one-night stand? Hell no.
hi :) its dennis
The reply comes not even a minute later.
Robby
Hey! Did you catch the bus?
Dennis smiles at his screen.
yepp
only had to run a little xdd
Robby
Good job
Dennis
thanks
He bites his lips nervously before finally typing out his next message.
Dennis
if today gets too much u can text me
if u want
Robby
Will you send me some more Bible quotes?
Dennis hears himself snort. He looks around the bus, but thankfully, no one is looking at him.
Dennis
sure <3
Robby
I think I’ll pass.
Dennis
!!!
hOW DARE U :(((
Robby
;)
The bright fluorescent lights of the hospital buzz above his head as he, along with the two other new student doctors he just met, follows in Dr. Cassie McKay’s trail.
The beeping of machines and the smell of disinfectant are the constant companions on their walk.
Dennis is holding his notepad, trying to scribble down everything Dr. McKay says about the waiting room and the hospital.
They are with a patient who has some serious burns on her palm when a young man who previously introduced himself as Dr. Langdon pops his head into the room.
“McKay,” he nods at the other doctor. “We’re gonna round.”
“And the fun begins,” Dr. McKay sighs, then looks at the three student doctors, telling them to follow her.
“I’ll introduce you guys to our attending,” she says.
Dennis straightens his back instinctively, feeling his anxiety flare up for a moment. Generally, he has had a good track record with attendings; they all seemed to like him so far, except one.
His previous rotation was neurology, which he did at PTMC as well, but for some reason, the attending there seemed to just hate his guts and made sure that Dennis wouldn’t choose his department for his residency years.
So now there is a lump in his throat as Dr. McKay leads them to their new attending.
“That’s Dr. Michael Robinavitch,” she points, then glances back at them. “But everyone here calls him Dr. Robby.”
Dennis follows her hand and sees the back of a very familiar man standing in the middle of the department.
His stomach drops.
No.
“That’s-” he breathes out with wide eyes, stumbling in his step.
Dr. Santos catches him before he falls on his face.
“What the hell, man?”
“Are you okay?” Javadi looks at him with concern from the other side.
He nods but cannot bring himself to reply.
His attending is-
“I see we have some new faces with us this morning,” he hears the unmistakable voice of the man he just spent his previous night with.
Robby.
Dr. Michael Robinavich, the attending physician of the ER, is his Robby? Well. Not his. Definitely not his.
He is walking over to them, and Dennis freezes like a deer in the headlights. And he does feel like he is about to get run over by a speeding truck.
“Good morning, good morning,” Robby greets them with a smile. “Come on-”
His eyes finally land on Dennis, and his smile falters.
“-over,” he finishes his sentence after a beat.
He sees the muscle in Robby’s neck tighten, his adam's apple jump, and the absolute horror in his eyes before he quickly tears his gaze away from Dennis.
He introduces them to the young woman next to him, Dr. Melissa King, but Dennis can barely hear anything from the sirens screaming inside his head.
He can’t take his eyes off of Robby.
This is the same man with whom he shamelessly flirted last night; he told him about his family and his struggles. He knows how his beard feels on his skin, how his tongue tastes in his mouth, how his dick feels in his-
He looks away.
“Victoria Javadi, MS3,” He hears the girl next to him say.
When everyone stays quiet, he looks up.
Robby’s gaze burns him.
“Uh, Dennis Whitaker,” he introduces himself as if he didn’t just kiss the man in front of him goodbye, not even 50 minutes ago. “MS4.”
Robby holds his gaze.
“Welcome to the Pitt,” he says.
Well.
Fuck.