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Dennis has never been a drinker, but he especially hates the beers trinity orders for cheap whenever she drags him out. They're bitter, and weak, and honestly remind him too much of the piss-sour stuff his older brothers would push on him in high school to be enjoyable. A shot or two of cheap vodka is practically painless in comparison, and is usually enough to get him going into a solid pregame.
Of course, Trinity can't leave well enough alone, and trails into the ED making fun of him for only drinking what she calls "white girl drinks" one bright Monday morning.
Jack and Robby, who've been looking for an excuse to take Dennis out somewhere, anywhere, share a look over handoff that has Robby asking Dennis if he's busy next weekend.
They end up deciding on a Penguins game, something Robby and Jack do regularly enough that it's casual, and they catch dinner and a drink beforehand. The three of them end up seated at the bartop of some nondescript sports bar, with Abbot to Dennis' left and Robby's open seat to his right, the latter in the bathroom while Jack and Dennis peruse the behind-the-bar options.
"Oh, no," Dennis says sheepishly, "I'm not really a beer guy." He wants to make a good impression, doesn't want Dr. Abbot to think he's ungrateful, but it's more embarrassing to look ungrateful than it would be to wince and grimace his way through whatever drink would come out of any of the numerous taps behind the bar.
"Oh, come on, Whit," Abbot says teasingly, "Have a beer with me. We're all men here, yeah?" And he quirks one eyebrow, and smiles. When Dennis doesn't say anything, a slow smile spreads across the attending's face and he taps the bar twice. Before Dennis can blink, the bartender is sliding two glasses of something amber and foaming to the two of them.
"I mean, I-- thanks, uh--"
When Dr. Abbot just raises his eyebrows, Dennis reluctantly brings his glass to his lips. He sips once, wincing at the bitter, hoppy taste, but when he goes to put the glass down, Dr. Abbot's hand is there, pressing upwards so that glass keeps tipping, and tipping, and suddenly Dennis has to make the choice between drinking and spilling beer on the one nice pair of dress pants he owns.
So he drinks, and tries not to blush at the low, approving rumble Dr. Abbot makes as he does. He can feel the other man's eyes on him, and when he flicks his gaze leftwards, his breathing stutters as he drinks.
Dr. Abbot's brown eyes are soft, heavy-lidded, and focused intently on Dennis face, his mouth, his throat as he swallows the bitter, bubbly liquid. He watches and keeps tipping the glass until the beer is entirely gone, finally setting the glass down to the sound of Dennis gasp. Something squirms low in Dennis' stomach, but he doesn't have time to pick it apart because two large, warm hands suddenly land on his shoulders.
"Enjoying yourself, Whitaker?" It's Robby, back from the restroom, big body leaning against the bar and eyes sparkling with some unnameable amusement. He shoots at look at his husband over Dennis' head.
"Really, Jack?" He gestures to the empty glass. "This, already?" He shakes his head good-naturedly, and Dennis thinks he might be missing something when Abbot replies.
"What, man? Man's gotta learn to drink a beer sometime, might as well be here with us." Abbot shrugs, unrepentant. Dennis watches Dr. Robby's face, which settles into a fondly exasperated smile. He's definitely missing something, but that's nothing new, and Robby and Abbot are so nice for even inviting him out that he doesn't want to push any buttons by asking too many questions.
He's always had trouble fitting in with other men. Whether it was his stature, his gentle nature, or the genitals between his legs, something always led to him being kept at arms length. He would have done anything to be part of that world, so a few missed in-jokes and a gross beer with his senior attendings who he admires so much is a small price to pay to feel like he belongs with them. Greedily, he wants to impress them.
He knows he doesn't look like much, but he's determined, and he really, really wants to be invited back again, so when Dr. Robby slides him another beer, he picks it up without hesitation and drinks deep.
They make it to the game without any more fuss, without any more stomach-squirming looks, and Dennis thinks it's over. It's nice to just be out with the boys, to feel like one of them, and everything's starting to feel normal until the first time the Penguins score.
The crowd erupts around them, and in the commotion, Dennis barely registers Robby's hand sliding to grip the back of his neck, pulling him closer. What he does notice is the cool plastic cup that Robby presses to his lips and the firm, reassuring squeeze that accompanies it.
"Drink, Whitaker, celebrate," Robby says, then tips the cup before Dennis can protest.
Beer, just as bitter and pungent as the two he'd had at the bar, spills into his mouth. Once again he has to choose between making a mess and drinking, and so once again, he drinks. By the time the beer is gone, Dennis is gasping, heart racing in his chest and cheeks burning despite the cool arena air.
Every time the Penguins score, it's the same thing--another beer pressed to Dennis' mouth, held by one of his two attendings and tipped until it's gone. By the time the Penguins have scored four times, Dennis finally resists.
He's dizzy with adrenaline and alcohol and sheer proximity to the two men, so it's all he can do to twist his head away from the cup holding his sixth beer of the night that Jack holds patiently.
"No thanks, m'okay, Jack, shouldn't have 'nother, gotta walk home later, so--"
He doesn't remember when they went from Dr. Robby and Dr. Abbot to just Robby and Jack, but that doesn't matter in the face of the disapproving look Jack levels him with.
"Really, Den? You've been doing so well, it'd be a shame to give up now. Man up," He encourages, voice goading, "Have another beer."
And there's something so warm, so nice, about Jack's voice that Dennis can't help but listen.
When the game ends, Dennis having one more beer before the final buzzer sounds at Robby's insistence, everyone in the arena jumps to their feet to celebrate the Penguins' victory. Dennis follows suit in his excitement, but stumbles as suddenly, it's like all of his drinks have caught up to him.
He wouldn't call himself a lightweight, but he never needs more than a few drinks to sustain a night of partying with the group. At the end of it all, Dennis has had seven beers tonight, and not only is he well past tipsy, he also has to pee.
"Woah, kid," Robby says, catching Dennis before he can sway too far to the side, "Feeling okay? Easy now."
"M'fine, Robby, jus' a little--woah-"
The room sways, or maybe that's the movement of the crowd around them. Jack presses against Dennis' back, and Dennis absently feels a warm, steadying arm wrap around his waist.
"Sounds like we should get heading home, huh Robby?" Jack's voice is a low rumble in his ear, faintly amused. Dennis makes a noise in protest, and he can feel more than see Jack tip his head to look down at him.
"Gotta pee," He mumbles, face reddening. He sounds like a kid, but it's true, he does have to pee, and he really doesn't feel like holding it. Trinity's apartment isn't far away, and--
"It's okay, Den," Robby replies, "We're not that far out, and I guarantee our bathroom is much nicer than the one here. C'mon." And Dennis is helpless to resist as they lead him, half stumbling and leaning on Jack, back to the car.
God, he's going to their fucking house. He's not sure how he got here, not sure what's going on beyond how badly his bladder is screaming at him, but neither Jack nor Robby seem at all perturbed by it, so it must be fine.
For some reason, Jack sits in the back with him instead of in the front with Robby, sliding into the middle seat to Dennis' left. He reaches over Dennis' body to grab the seatbelt, and Dennis' face warms somehow hotter when he gets a whiff of Jack's cologne. Between the pressure on his bladder, Jack's proximity, and the alcohol in his system, he's squirming with restless discomfort for the entirety of the drive.
By the time they get to Jack and Robby's Shadyside address, Dennis really can't hold it. As soon as the car stops, Dennis rushes to unbuckle his seatbelt and practically trips towards the front door that Robby is unlocking. Robby catches him when he stumbles up the steps, and smiles.
"Really gotta go, huh?" Dennis just nods, and Robby cracks the door open. God, he doesn't want to be rude, but both Jack and Robby take their sweet time getting into the house, taking their shoes off carefully and sliding them into the empty spots on the rack next to where Dennis has already toed his off, and he really doesn't want to piss himself in front of his attendings.
Finally, finally, Jack gestures with a hand and calls, "C'mon, Den, I'll show you where the can's at." Gratefully, Dennis follows. Jack, for some reason, leads Dennis through what has to be the master bedroom, a room with dark walls and a huge, comfy looking bed that connects to a wide-doored ensuite bathroom. "Here you go, kid."
And then he doesn't leave.
"Uh, thanks, Jack, m'good now, I-"
"Ah ah," Jack tuts, "Don't act like Robby and I haven't been watching you stumble around. The tile's slick," (It's not, really.) "Wouldn't want you to slip. I'll hang out."
And maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's Dennis' inability to say no to either of the older men, or maybe its just how badly he has to fucking piss, but despite the blush on his face, he just dips his head in a nod. He can't ignore, the amused, almost impressed "Good boy," from Jack as he turns to unzip, heart beating hard and eyes trained on the floor.
His hands shake as he gets his pants undone just enough to slide them down and sit at the same time, but before he can, Jack clears his throat.
"What have I said, Den? We're all men here." Jack's voice is a syrupy, goading thing that makes Dennis' stomach drop to his feet. "Don't be shy." And then he gestures at the toilet, looking at where Dennis' hands are clasped at his fly protectively. "Unless you need help?"
What the fuck. What the fuck?
Dennis freezes, half-crouched over the toilet. Surely he can't--
"Here, c'mere."
And then all of a sudden Jack is standing in front of him, pulling him up to stand and turning him by the waist to face the toilet. With his pants still halfway down his thighs, he can feel the denim of Jack's jeans against the soft skin off his ass, and he tries not to shiver at the friction. What the fuck?
Jack tugs his pants the rest of the way down without a word, crouching to pull them off one ankle and then kicking a bit to nudge one foot out so Dennis is practically straddling the toilet.
"Jack! Wha'tre y'doing, don'need help--"
"S'okay, kid, let me show you--"
"What the hell are you doing, Jack?" Robby's voice startles Dennis so badly he almost pisses himself right there, but he holds it even as his face burns with shame. He's stood over the toilet, ass-naked with Robby's husband wrapped around him like a koala.
"Our boy's just a little too drunk, babe. He needed a hand but looked like he was too shy to ask."
"Is that right?" Robby raises a brow at Jack, leaning against the door frame.
"N-no! S'fine, Robby, I'm-"
Dennis might as well not have said anything at all for all the attention Robby pays his reply.
"Yeah, I've got 'im though. Isn't that right?" And then Jack's hands are sliding back around Dennis' waist pulling him upright over the toilet and stabilizing his wobbly form. The rough texture of Jack's denim jeans presses once again to Dennis' ass, but this time Dennis startles to feel the telltale rub of Jack's bulge there and he can't stop the wavering, humiliated "Ah!" that comes from his throat.
Tears start to well in his eyes, and he looks at Robby desperately. The man's eyes shine as well with something warm and tender, almost longing. He offers Dennis a kind smile, the same one Dennis gets after a particularly tricky diagnosis or procedure, and Dennis' heart lurches.
"Please, Robby," Dennis whimpers when one of Jack's hands slides down his tummy to rest, spread wide, over his full bladder, "I don' need help. Can do it on m'own, promise."
"Aw, it's okay, baby," Robby coos, "Jack just wants to make sure you don't fall. Let him help you, then we can get in bed. You must be tired, huh? It's been a big night, and you've done so well." Dennis' chest cracks open at that, the warmth in his stomach spreading like a blanket over his overwrought nerves.
"Did good?"
"Yeah, sweetheart, you're doing good. Can you let Jacky help you for me? I promise you'll feel so much better."
And Robby sounds so tender, so sweet, that Dennis can't resist. "Mhm, okay."
"Good boy, so sweet for us." Jack's other hand, the one not on his stomach, snakes even lower with clinical ease. Dennis barely startles when he feels Jack's thick fingers spreading his pussy lips, both labia minora spread wide with gentle pressure. At the same time, the hand on his stomach applies more pressure, and Dennis whines.
The pressure is agony, weight and heat and a tingling, building feeling that he can barely stand. His knees weaken, but with Jack standing there he knows he won't fall. The pressure builds, and builds, and builds, until Dennis can't take it anymore. With a teary, thick sob, Dennis starts to piss, stream arcing from between his thighs into the toilet with an embarrassingly loud sound.
"Ohh, there you go, sweetie," Jack praises, hand still applying steady, even pressure, "Let it out for us, you're doing so good, so pretty." Dennis closes his eyes, but that only makes the sounds of his own piss and Jack's murmured praises louder, the two sounds entwining in his mind until he's fuzzy with it. He doesn't even realize he's done until he feels the soft swipe of toilet paper over cleaning him up, Robby's gentle hands smoothing his underwear back into place and pulling his pants out of the way to be folded.
"Good boy, Den, that's a good boy for us. So sweet, doing just what we ask. Hey, no more tears, I know, I know." Robby wipes the tear tracks off his warm cheeks, and he tips his head into the touch, exhausted. Jack steps back once he's sure Robby's got Dennis supported, and the two of them easily get a pliant Dennis undressed and into their bed.
They curl around him, and blearily, he wonders how he got here. As he falls asleep, he supposes that's a question for another day. For now, he wants to enjoy the warm, fuzzy space he's found himself in for as long as he can.