Archive of Our Own

It's not that he enjoys holding on for hours and hours. He can, yeah, he's cultivated the skill. You don't get through a single fucking shift in a hospital without having to learn to hold your piss. You're not getting a chance to duck out to the bathroom in the middle of a trauma when you're wrist-deep in someone's chest. 

He never had to do it on the farm. Anywhere you were, out on the property, you could just unzip and take a leak. He misses that freedom, a little, but mostly, he's good at putting his physical needs to the back of his mind, putting them on a backburner and letting himself focus on the work that needs doing. 

It's Robby who ruins it. 

"You're jiggling your foot," the attending tells him, as he sits in Robby's chair and charts. 

He is. He hadn't realized, but, there it is. 

"Yeah," he replies, through a mouthful of protein bar. This is his moment to catch up on the paperwork so he doesn't have to stay late. Again. He might as well also use the moment to eat. He's learned, by now, that if you don't eat when you can, you don't eat. 

Pissing just seems lower on the priority list. 

"When was the last time you went to the bathroom?" Robby asks, voice low. His boss would hardly be asking him this. His husband, though, would. 

"Uh, I don't know," Dennis answers, distractedly. He's trying to focus on listing the history he took for a fifteen year old with what looks like it's going to be an ectopic pregnancy. "Like, this morning?"

"It's four in the afternoon," Robby tells him, flat. 

Yeah, this is not information Dennis needs right now, so he tunes it out. Filters it through his 'what's most urgent' lens and finds it wanting. He doesn't bother answering. 

Before he can even flinch from the movement, Robby's yanking him up out of the chair by his arm.  

"Robby!" he hisses, but he's being forcibly marched to the bathroom. 

Dana and Mel watch with vaguely bemused expressions. They're used to Robby's particular brand of manhandling by now. Especially now that it comes with a golden ring attached. 

"Take your moment. Go on. Piss," Robby orders, steering him to the urinal and planting him in front of it. 

"Are you kidding me?" he snaps, turning to face Robby with a scowl. "I was in the middle of charting, you can't just - drag me in here. People will think we're fucking." 

Robby turns him back around by the shoulders, firm. 

"Let 'em," he says, shrugging. "Wouldn't be the first time." 

He stands, watching, arms crossed. He's clearly not leaving until Dennis has his dick out. 

Huffing, he unzips, but doesn't pull himself out of his boxers. He's honestly a little angry that Robby is treating him like a fucking child. 

"Okay, you can go," he snaps. "I'm a big boy. Don't need you to aim."

Robby levels him with a flat stare. Doesn't move an inch. 

"Oh, for fuck's sake, I'm a grown man, I can handle my own bodily functions," Dennis grumbles. Anyone could walk in, and there'd be Doctors Robinavitch and Whitaker, married weirdos who can't even piss without one another.

God help them if Jack ends up in here, too. They'll never live it down. The night shift is the only thing that keeps their marriage from being an all-out three musketeers joke. 

"Oh, really?" Robby drawls. "Because it doesn't look that way to me. Looks like you're gonna fuck up your kidneys by ignoring what your body needs." 

Yes, alright, not pissing for long periods of time will cause renal damage, but he thinks that's a bit of an exaggeration for just - not going for a few hours. 

Well. 10 hours. 

"We work in the emergency department. There's been emergencies," he retorts. He could have just gone by now, been back out at his desk, but. He's not great at backing down from an argument.

"And you've had at least two opportunities to get in here before now," Robby says. When it becomes clear that Dennis isn't moving, isn't going to piss on command just because Robby told him to, he sighs and rolls his sleeves up. 

Fuck. 

He moves in behind Dennis, the warm solid strength of him at his back. God, he's never quite gotten over how much Robby dwarfs him. 

"What're you - " 

But he cuts off when Robby reaches into his boxers, and pulls out his soft cock. Anyone could walk in. This is humiliating. 

"I am not a child," he whispers, outraged. Robby doesn't stop. He takes Dennis' cock in one hand, and aims over the urinal trench. 

"C'mon, kid," he murmurs, right into his ear. "Wouldn't have to do this if you'd just look after yourself." 

This is beyond fucking humiliating. He can feel his cheeks going pink. Robby might be a little over-protective, a little controlling when it comes to, well, his wellbeing. But it's never gone this far. 

"I - Robby, c'mon, I can't, like this," he whines. To his horror, he's getting a little hard. Robby's hand on him has the same effect, no matter what he's doing. 

"Can and will," Robby tells him, matter-of-fact. He takes his other hand and places it,  splayed and big and firm, on Dennis' lower belly, pressing down. 

He whimpers. 

"Not fair," he bites, but - fuck, yeah, he can feel it now. He does need to go. And that pressing on his bladder, it's not helping. 

A tiny bit of piss leaks out from the head of his cock, and he tries his best to hold it back, but. 

"There we go," Robby hums, satisfied, holding him firm and watching as a steady stream of yellow piss releases from him. "You gotta drink more water, baby." 

Dennis doesn't think he's ever been so mortified. Or aware of the door, which is currently closed, but.

He watches his cock empty, feels Robby press down on his belly, and. God. It feels good. It's such a fucking relief. He won't admit it, but Robby was right. He needed this. He should have done it sooner.

He can also feel Robby behind him, pressed flush, and - he thinks, maybe, hard.

"You're fucked," he mutters. He's done, and mostly soft. Mostly. "Lemme go." 

Robby lets him go, reluctant, and he shakes himself dry before stuffing himself back in his boxers. 

"Good boy," Robby hums, kissing him on top of the head. Like a proud fucking father. 

Dennis glares at him, and makes for the door to return to the department. 

"You," he says quietly. "Are never doing that again." 

"Don't make me have to," Robby shoots back, calm. 

It doesn't happen again, not for weeks. Dennis makes sure to take his breaks, and makes sure Robby knows about them. He's not risking a repeat of that. 

The memory of it stays with him, burned into his mind. 

Look, they're married. He's been married to Robby and Jack for coming on a year and a half now. He's seen them piss. They've seen him piss. It's not like they're brand new, skirting around one another.

It's just not - it's never been like that. 

A power play. Deliberate. He's never had either one of them that up close and personal with it. 

And fuck, it's never turned him on. 

What the fuck is wrong with him? 

It's not like they have vanilla sex. Far from it. He's done all kinds of weird shit with them, and he loves it. He loves being tied up by Jack's wide range of military knots. He loves fucking Robby until he cries, forcing that release, and kissing away the tears. He loves when Jack takes him over his lap. 

But piss? 

No. 

He's not that depraved. He's not a golden showers porn guy. He's not that guy. 

Still, he can't quite stop thinking about how good it felt to have Robby … force it from him. Be so vulnerable, and - and filthy. Helpless against what Robby wanted from him. 

So no, he doesn't let it happen again. He's too worried that he'll fall into something he can't climb out of again. 

It doesn't happen again, with Robby. 

He slips up, and he forgets that Jack watches him too. Less, to be sure. He's much less micromanaging, less over his shoulder. Mostly trusts Dennis to sort himself out, be an adult about shit. 

He's halfway through a night shift, however, pulling a rare double to cover, because Jack was desperate. It's been busy. Real busy. Triage has been backed up for hours, patients are irascible and needy. His needs are - back on the backburner. 

"Bathroom, sweetheart," Jack murmurs into his ear as he passes by swiftly, carrying 4x4s and dragging the portable chest behind him. They're low on nurses, too. 

He means to go, he does. 

It's just that - well, a patient in a gurney who's boarding in the hallway needs a sandwich, and then Ellis needs help reducing a shoulder, and then he has to call up to Radiology and get on their ass about films not getting down there in time, and. 

Well. An hour passes. 

"You're still clenching," Jack tells him, grabbing his arm in the hall. He is, and he's aware this time. He has to piss, but he has shit to do. 

"M'fine, I got it, I'll go in a sec," he mutters, and tries to pull out of Jack's grip. 

The second he's held in place, his movement meeting resistance, he feels his stomach sink. 

Oh, no. 

"Now," Jack orders. This is the difference between Jack and Robby. Robby took him by the shoulders and forced him. Jack will simply tell him, and the consequences of not doing so are clear enough that Dennis usually doesn't bother disobeying. 

He hesitates.

"... Okay," he sighs, and Jack lets him go. 

Thank fuck. 

He ducks into the nearest bathroom, blessedly empty. Until the door swings open, and Jack enters. 

"Oh, come on, you don't need to - " 

Jack cuts him off, dropping to his knees and pulling Dennis' scrubs and boxers down to his knees in one quick movement.  

He gasps, eyes flitting to the door. Jack has locked it behind them. 

"Jack," he hisses, cheeks flaming red. "I thought you meant for me to piss, not get a blowjob." 

They don't fuck on the clock as much as they used to, but, well, it still happens. 

"I did mean for you to come in here and piss," Jack corrects him, wrapping a hand around the base of Dennis' cock. "C'mon." 

He opens his mouth. 

Dennis gapes at him. 

"You're - fucking with me." 

Jack rolls his eyes, and leans forward. Wraps his mouth around Dennis' cock, and sucks. 

It's not the kind of sucking Jack employs for a blowjob. No, when he's trying to make Dennis cum, he'll take his time. Lick and suckle and kiss, play with him a little. Draw it out. 

This, is not that. This is sucking. Trying to - to suck him dry. 

"Fucking hell!" he gasps, and god, it doesn't matter what kind of touch this is, it's hot, it's so fucking hot, and he wasn't ready for it. His knees wobble, and Jack holds him steady. His cheeks are hollowed. 

"I'm not - Jack, I'm not gonna - " 

Piss down your throat, is what he was trying to say, but. He's started, and he couldn't help it, and there's no stopping once he's started, he knows that. 

Oh, he's so fucked. He's going to hell. Jack is - going to hate him, was clearly just playing some kind of insane game, and he's lost, because he actually did it. 

But Jack's not pulling back in disgust. He's not pulling away at all. He's swallowing. Dennis watches, transfixed, as Jack's throat moves, sucking and sucking him until there's nothing left, swallowing everything he had.

He might pass out. He feels vaguely light-headed. 

Jack pulls off his cock, and it twitches. He's not even wet, not with anything but the dampness of Jack's mouth. 

"Better?" Jack asks him, still on his knees. He's looking up, grinning. 

Dennis is speechless. Genuinely, truly speechless. 

"Oh, come on, kid, it's not that bad," Jack says, sighing and easing himself off his knees. He's wincing, and Dennis knows how uncomfortable it can be to kneel on the prosthetic. That Jack doesn't tend to do it, because he suffers for it afterward. 

But he's kneeled on the not super clean floor of the men's bathroom, to - 

Fuck. 

He reaches out, muscle memory, to help Jack up. Grabs his hand and gently lifts him back to two feet. 

He'll moisturise Jack's stump for him tonight. Massage out the pain. 

But for now, he's stuck in whatwhatwhatwhat. 

"You - I - " 

Jack puts him away. Pulls his scrubs and boxers back up, reties the cord. He's so shocked he can't even do that himself. 

"You think I've never done that, really, kid? I'm fifty-four," Jack tells him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

"I'm pretty sure that's not normal," Dennis squeaks. 

He hasn't been a blushing virgin type like this in years. Certainly not with Jack and Robby. He likes sex, and he's had a lot of it, and a lot of different kinds. When he met the two older men, he was plenty experienced. 

Not with pissing down someone's throat, though. 

"Worked though, didn't it?" Jack smirks. He pops a mint in his mouth, pulled from his pocket, and - God, was he planning this? 

"Jack, wasn't that - disgusting?" he asks weakly. 

They should be back on the floor by now, but he couldn't possibly go out and work. 

"Nah," Jack brushes off. "No real difference between that and cum, and I've swallowed a hell of a lot of your cum." 

It doesn't feel the same to Dennis. 

But he does, undeniably, feel better. Lighter. 

Turned on. 

"Do not tell Robby about this," he demands, splashing his face with water. He has to get his head back in the game. 

Jack pouts. 

"But it was his idea," he grumbles. 

Dennis turns, and stares. 

"What do you mean, it was his idea?" 

"I mean, he told me about your last little problem," Jack says, and the pout is replaced by that same smirk again. "And how he solved it. How you … seemed receptive." 

Damn it. So he hasn't hidden that as well as he thought he had. 

"I am not into this," he hisses, vehement. He's convincing Jack. He's definitely convincing Jack. Definitely not trying to convince himself. 

"Okay, baby," Jack says, patting him on the back and unlocking the bathroom door. There's no-one queuing, so that's something. 

They don't talk about it. 

Dennis has never been so invested in his own renal health before. He takes bathroom breaks, and he takes them religiously. He doesn't give either of his husbands the chance to manhandle him into it again. 

Or to squeeze him dry. 

No, he's putting that firmly at the back of his mind. 

Is he curious about Jack's casual assertion that he's done that before? That it's no big deal to him? 

Of course he fucking is. 

Does he want to know exactly who, what, when, where and why? Does he tingle thinking about what the fuck exploits Jack might have got up to, to make him so blasè about something Dennis finds, to be honest, insane? 

Of course he fucking does. 

But talking about it would mean opening up the can of worms. Letting in the opportunity for Robby and Jack to interrogate him about it. 

And he's not especially keen on that idea. 

So he says nothing, and he makes damn sure that he pisses every few hours. 

It occurs to him that this might have been their goal the entire time. To train him into better habits. Well, it's worked. 

Except. 

Sometimes, at home, one of them will linger in the bathroom. He'll be in the shower, and Robby will pointedly take his time relieving himself in the morning. Jack will hover in the doorway while he waits for Dennis to be done so they can go out. 

He's tempted to insist they move into a place with a separate toilet.

When he feels the urge beginning to grow, the insistent pressure in his belly and his cock, he thinks - don't get hard. This isn't getting hard. This is needing to piss. It's different. 

The wires are getting crossed in his head. 

They've been out, for what Dennis still calls date night. It makes him happy and it makes the other two squirm, and that makes him happy too. His parents have date night every week, and will until they die. He likes knowing that his marriage is just as happy as theirs. 

It's been a nice night. Jack insisted on dragging them to a new sports bar that's opened to watch the Penguins game, and while Dennis isn't especially interested in hockey, he's picked up enough from Robby and Jack to be able to keep up. 

"Let's make this interesting," Robby says, watching the screen. "Drink, every time there's a score." 

Dennis scoffs. 

"Really, old man? We're playing drinking games? Are you in a frat now?" he teases. 

Robby shoves him gently, and hands him his bottle of beer from where it sits in front of him on the table. 

"Just trying to keep up with you, jailbait," he grins, and on the screen - score. 

The two older men pick up their drinks, and take a large gulp. Grumbling, Dennis follows suit. He's not going to be outdrank by his husbands twice his age. 

By the time the game's over, he's drained three bottles of beer. He's a little tipsy, and when he wobbles off his stool to go to the bathroom, Jack catches him and steadies him.  

"Whoa, okay," he laughs. "I think it's time to get you home to bed." 

And from the way he says bed, Dennis isn't about to disagree.

Within an hour, Robby's bouncing him on his cock. He's so fucking full. He's already had Jack cum inside him and eat it back out, and now he's stuffed again. He's so fucking overwhelmed and it's delicious and it's everything he craves. 

"That's it, baby," Robby's purring, thrusting up with his hips hard. No matter how long they go, Robby never seems to run out of energy for this. For him. In the rare instances he does, he'll just pass Dennis over to Jack and tap out.

"Fuck, I'm - fuck, close," he pants, arms looped around Robby's neck and moaning with every bounce bounce bounce. "I'm gonna - I'm - " 

"Go ahead, sweetheart," Jack tells him, snaking a hand between him and Robby and stroking his cock where it juts, hard and throbbing, against his belly. "Let go." 

It's so much. It doesn't usually feel like this. It's like he's going to fucking explode. They haven't even edged him tonight. There's been no teasing. So why is he so sensitive, so full of delicious pressure.

Jack and Robby share a long look over his head. He catches it.

"What?' he pants, and Robby thrusts up harder. 

"Nothing, baby," Jack tells him, jerking his cock slowly. "Just wanna make you feel good. Wanna make you lose control." 

There's something off about this. They're playing with him, somehow. He just doesn't know how, or why, and he's too full of pleasure to think too hard about it. 

"I - fuck - just - fuck, it's so - oh," he chokes out, and understanding washes over him. This feeling isn't just an orgasm feeling. This is need. He knows exactly what will happen if he cums right now. 

"Wait, wait, no, I gotta - Robby, stop, I'm gonna fucking piss myself if you don't fucking - " 

He's growing more and more desperate by the second, with every hard thrust up into him. Why isn't Robby listening to him? Why won't he stop? 

"It's okay," Robby murmurs, low and filthy. His cheeks are red. He looks hungry. "We know." 

It's almost enough to stop the wave that's building, but, not quite. 

"Whaddya mean, you know?" he cries, and does his best to ease off Robby's cock. Jack holds him down and swipes his thumb over Dennis' slit. 

"Don't, I'll - guys, I'm not fucking kidding, it'll be bad," he whines. 

"What makes you think we didn't know this all night?" Jack asks him. When Dennis meets his eyes, they're dark. 

Oh. 

Oh. They've been playing him.  

They kept bringing him beer, and then a glass of water between, because, he's in his thirties now, and he doesn't want the hangover, does he. 

They did this on purpose. 

"You fuckers," he spits, and both men laugh. 

"Yeah," Robby agrees. There's sweat at his temples, on his forehead. He's doing his best to last, Dennis can tell. 

"I don't - I can't, don't make me," he begs, when the reality of - I'm really going to fucking piss myself sets in. "Please, come on." 

It's not the first time they've done this to him. Not this, specifically. But pushing him much further than he was ever comfortable. Ignoring his pleas for mercy. Afterwards, every time, he's asked for it again.

He doesn't know about this time. 

"Baby, it's not going to be bad," Jack says, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Don't you wanna let go for me, hm? Don't you want your Daddies to control this? You?" 

And the thing is. 

The thing is. 

He does. 

He fucking loves handing over his control, and he loves having it taken from him. He loves every aspect of them knowing him this well, knowing when to push and how to push to make him fall apart. 

He whimpers, and holds onto Robby for dear life, because the wave is cresting and - 

"Oh, oh, oh, fuck, I, fuck, fuck fuck fuck." 

He's cumming, hard, and fuck, it doesn't feel like anything he's felt before. It feels like more. He paints Jack's hand, his own belly, Robby's. And then. 

More. 

He knew it would be coming. He knew it. He could feel it. That's been the whole point of this. 

He can feel it, warm and wet and spreading between them. He can feel himself sob, dry, horrified. He can feel Jack stroking him through it. He can feel Robby moaning and moaning and then he's spilling inside Dennis. 

"Oh, fuck, baby," the older man groans, hips stuttering as he rides it out. "God, you're so good for us. Such a good boy." 

He's trembling. He can't get his breath back. 

"Told you it would feel good to let go," Jack purrs, and yeah, it did, it felt so fucking good. 

And now he feels so fucking dirty. 

"Why'd you do that?" he whimpers. "I'm fucking gross now." 

Robby laughs under his breath. 

"You're fine, kiddo," he breathes. "You need a shower, sure, but, God, it feels good knowing I can milk you anytime I want." 

And okay. His cock gives a valiant effort at getting hard again. 

"C'mere," Jack says, and lifts Dennis into his arms. It never ceases to amaze Dennis that the man can balance a crutch and his weight. Jack insists this is why they go to the gym. 

They're both wet. With him. 

Jack sets him down and turns the shower on. As soon as it's warm enough, Dennis steps right under the spray, desperate to be clean. 

They both join him, and the evidence of his letting go, of their power over him, washes down the drain. 

"You okay, Den?" Robby asks gently, rubbing soapy circles across his belly. 

"I - yeah," he answers, quiet. "I don't. I shouldn't have - " 

"What? Did exactly what we told you to do? Been a perfect boy?" Jack cuts in. "Or enjoyed it?" 

He's quiet for a long moment. 

"It's gross," he whines. "It's yuck. I don't understand how you make it feel - so fucking hot." 

They both laugh. He flicks water into their faces, scowling. 

"Sorry, sorry," Robby says, still laughing. "It's hot because it's … I don't know, fun to make you lose control. And you know you like losing control."

"Also doesn't have to mean anything more than it gets your dick hard," Jack adds. "Don't psychoanalyse our sex life." 

"You're the one drinking my piss," Dennis mutters, and Robby looks at Jack, astonished. 

"You did what?" 

Jack goes just the faintest touch pink. 

"Kid told me not to tell you. I - oh, come on, I wanted to see if he was into it, like you said. He was." 

"Oh, you're definitely supposed to tell me when you do something like that," Robby says, outraged. 

"How about we tell me when you're going to do something like that?" Dennis pipes up. 

"No," they say in unison. 

He gets out of the shower without a word and leaves them both under the spray. 

That night, he buys a waterproof mattress protector. Just in case.