Work Text:
It starts, as most good things do, small. Just a jotted word or two in Trinity’s notes app, filed under the header: MHBT: (things to) Make HuckleBerry Try. Whenever her roommate doesn’t get a reference or says he’s never tried something, onto the list it goes.
Here’s the thing: there’s just so much that Dennis, despite turning 30 next year, hasn’t tried, or hasn’t heard of. And since she’s only going off the random moments of confusion Dennis will have throughout the day, there are times she has to pull out her phone at work. If they worked in an office, maybe she would simply jot a few on a sticky note. Then again, who even uses paper anymore? Besides, if they did work in an office, occasionally glancing at your phone likely wouldn’t get scrutinized as closely.
However, they work in a hospital, an ER, where every moment not with a patient is a valuable time to be catching up on paperwork. Paperwork she particularly is woefully behind on and watched like a hawk for. Which is quite unfair, considering she’s trying her best, it’s not her fault she’s being pulled in so many directions. But of course, it’s the one second that she puts down her dictaphone and picks up her phone to add ‘Clue’ to the list that Dr. Robby chooses to darken her screen with his shadow.
“Doctor Santos. Maybe if you spent a little more time dictating and a little less time on your grocery list, your charts would be finished.” Shit. Doctor Al-Hashimi’s early threat echoing in her ears, Trinity does the only thing a girl can really do in this situation- she plays the Huckleberry card. Widening her eyes in innocence she turns around, holding up her phone as proof and injecting her voice with pity as she explains,
“It’s not a grocery list, Doctor Robby, though I do have to buy avocados.” Damn Whitaker eats them all. “You know how Dennis grew up in a small town, right?” Robby nods, posture softening a little at the mention of his golden boy. Seizing upon that, Trinity continues, scrolling slowly down the list in an exaggerated way to illustrate her point. “So I’ve been making a list of everything he mentions that he’s never tried, or hasn’t ever heard from. It’s really a good deed on my part, sir, I mean, look at all this shit he’s never done.”
She knows she’s won when Robby actually pulls out his glasses, shoving them down on his nose and crossing his arms as he reads. Eventually he looks away, averting his eyes from the list and staring off into space. If Trinity didn’t know any better, she would think his cheeks were a little pink. She sits there, waiting for the hammer to come back down on her. Maybe he thinks the list is stupid, honestly, she doesn’t even remember half the shit she put on there. It’d be just her luck if she’d just shown her boss a list that says her roommate needs to watch gay porn or something.
Robby’s still staring off into space as she twists slightly in her chair, body language giving off the question ‘am I excused?’
It’s a question that goes unanswered, however, as all Robby says as he snaps out of it and hurries away is: “make sure you put Macgyver on there, then put your phone away.” Trinity huffs a laugh, relieved it worked.
“Aye aye, Captain.” She salutes and then follows his instructions. Then she stuffs her phone away once more and picks up her dictaphone once more, just as Princess sidles up to her, asking,
“What was that about?” Trinity sighs, dropping her head to her desk. She’s never going to finish charting.
Robby didn’t have a particular destination in mind when he walked away from Doctor Santos, just that he needed to move. Needed to run away from what he had just seen. He’s not shocked by the fact that Dennis doesn’t know what Krav Maga is, or that he’s never watched a Marvel movie. No, what’s got Michael Robinavitch so rattled was an item on the list that, had Trinity remembered it was on there, she never would have shown him. As it was, he would have missed it had she not been scrolling so dramatically, leaving him more than enough time to read number 7, written there on an iphone screen of a hospital intern in comic sans:
- Sex (lol hucklevirgin)
It shouldn’t matter. It really shouldn’t. After all, he knows Dennis comes from a small religious town. Thinks he was even going to be a priest at one point, if his memory serves. And who is he to judge if a 29 year old man is voluntarily celibate? His mind drifts to their earlier conversation in the break room. To Whitaker’s relationship with this… Amy. Oh God, he hopes the kid isn’t planning on losing his virginity to a grieving widow with a new baby. That doesn’t seem like something Dennis would do, but then again. He also seems like the kind of person who would call it ‘making love.’ Maybe that’s what he’s waiting for, someone to love. Maybe Amy is that person. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Dennis is his employee, not his friend, not his son, not his… not his anything.
It’s while Robby is having his crisis that Trinity is explaining the list to Princess, who then tells Perlah, who tells Donnie who tells Jesse and soon the whole ER staff is buzzing, and Ahmad is flipping over the betting board to make a list everyone can contribute to.
There’s no money on the line (yet) but that doesn’t affect the enthusiasm. Cassie mentions that when she casually brought up ‘Abba,’ Dennis asked if that was her grandmother. Mel brings up both Ren Faire and Comiccon.
Dr. Shen is horrified that the man has never had Dunkin Donuts coffee and Jesse has decided it’s his life mission to make Whitaker try a corndog at least once. Trinity for one, is just trying to finish charting. But it does bring her a spark of joy to see everyone caring about Dennis, even if it’s just the novelty. `
Dennis Whitaker is having a very strange day. Besides the work shit, that is. He got his real, proper ‘doctor’ badge, and then lost it. Trinity more or less admitted she liked his company in public. His boss tried to talk to him about his friendship with Amy like Dennis was in a hostage situation and then offered him a housesitting gig, lightly implying he wouldn’t be back.
Speaking of Amy, she’s weirdly flexible about the fact that he’s going to be working late, in a way that confuses him. After all, she has a young child, she shouldn’t be so fine with picking him up at whatever hour of the night he’ll actually get off at. Perhaps Robby was right, maybe it is strange she’s only accepting his help, actively inconveniencing herself and her child to do so. It's enough that he ends up cancelling the evening, saying he'll come over tomorrow instead, so as to not mess up Theo’s bedtime. She understands once again, so easily. It’s strange.
All of the above is strange, actually. But to top it off, people are talking to him. Not humiliating him like Joy had earlier, not calling him into every room he can make it to on time, not asking him for advice or a friendly ear. No, they’re actually talking to him, asking him questions about his life and sharing bits of their own. It’s… nice, everyone being so open and chatty in a way that won’t keep him up at night with the burdens of others.
He’s not sure what’s shifted, but perhaps it’s opposite day, because all of a sudden, Robby, the only person who ever seemed to be interested in him besides Trinity, is ignoring him. He’s not talking to him, not calling him in on cases, and he’s definitely not giving him anymore fistbumps or claps on the back or pat on the shoulder- huh.
Now that he thinks about it, the man does touch him quite a bit. Trinity had mentioned it offhandedly a few times, but he’d always just thought she was making fun of him. But now it’s gone, it’s incredibly clear that she was right.
He consoles himself with the fact that he’ll have to see Robby when the man gives him his keys, so at least that’s guaranteed. And it’s not like he doesn’t have plenty to be distracted with, this day is a shit show. Actually, that's putting it fucking lightly. This day is a hat on a hat of shitshows. Or rather a hat on a hat on a hat of shitshows.
It's not just that it's a major holiday or the water park accident or even the return to analog. Robby may be ignoring him but word about his bad mood has spread, setting everyone from Dana to Mckay on edge. Add in the fact that Dennis lost his badge, and is now out 200 dollars… yeah. Shitshow.
People seem to have lost interest in him by the end of the day as well, or are at least too busy to pretend, but he can't be bothered to care. It’s not like he’s up for talking now.
He's just wrapped up his notes when a heavy hand claps him on the shoulder, making him jump and yelp. Dennis turns to see Robby there, bag hooked over his shoulder, face set in an expression that the most experienced poker player would be impressed with. This distracts Whitaker so much that he doesn't even register that Robby just touched him. That he's in Dennis's space, clearly wanting to talk to him. At least not immediately. When that does hit him though, he sits up straighter and looks at Robby expectantly, hoping for… anything. An explanation, an apology, even a talking to.
Instead, Robby jerks his head towards the ambulance bay and Dennis obediently follows, tapping Trinity on the shoulder to wake her up as he goes. Mel and Javadi don't even look up from their computers.
Once they're alone, Robby lets out a heavy sigh, then tosses Whitaker his keys, saying curtly,
“Don't over water my one plant, okay?” Whitaker nods dumbly, taken aback by the quickness of the exchange. However, before he's even done making the motion, Robby is turning away from him and heading for his bike. Fuck, is he just going to leave, c'mon Dennis, say something -
“- get a drink with me!” Robby freezes, slowly pivoting on his heel, cocking his head at Dennis and raising his eyebrows in disbelief as he asks,
“Sorry, what?” His tone isn't harsh, but it is genuinely confused, like Dennis was talking to some invisible other companion. Like he couldn't possibly be talking to him. Which is fair, this is crazy. Robby's his boss, they- well, actually, no. Robby's not his boss. Not for the next three months. So Dennis swallows, draws himself to his full height, holding Robby's keys so tightly the metal cuts into his fingers, repeating,
“uh, get a drink with me? Will you- I mean, it's been a long shift, and I know I could use one and I thought maybe… you could too.” Robby doesn't say anything, just stands there frozen, appraising Whitaker like he's a puzzle before smoothing a hand over his face and nodding wearily.
“Sure, kid, why not. As long as your girlfriend won't mind. She's your ride, yeah?” Oh right. With the chaos of the day, Whitaker had almost forgotten that his transportation plans had changed. He shakes his head, explaining,
“no, I cancelled for tonight, much too late for Theo to be out. I was just going to take the bus.” Dennis has barely finished his sentence and hasn't even addressed the “girlfriend” thing before he's catching a motorcycle helmet in his hands, Robby perching on his bike and jerking his head back towards the hospital, saying gruffly,
“Go wrap up your charting and grab your stuff, Whitaker. I'll wait.” Swallowing in disbelief, Dennis nods, backing up and practically running back inside.
He doesn't even realize he's still holding Robby's helmet until Trinity narrows her eyes at it, asking much too shrewdly for someone so tired,
“Is that Robby's helmet?” Dennis suddenly has the ridiculous urge to hide the headwear behind his back, but resists. Instead he sets it reluctantly down on the desk and shrugs, not even sitting down as he submits his charting.
“Yeah, he's got some house sitting stuff he wants to go over with me, he's gonna give me a ride to his place.” She narrows her eyes and for a second Dennis thinks she can see through his white lie. Then she shifts her gaze back to her screen, face in her hand as she asks in a monotone,
“Thought you were playing house with Amy tonight.” Dennis shakes his head and she pumps her eyebrows, simply remarking, “good.” He finds that unnecessary, but he also doesn't want to stay and argue. After all, he's not too sure if Robby will actually still be there when he leaves.
Who knows, maybe the man was just trying to give him the slip, it's not like he wears the helmet anyway, and he had been so deadset on riding off into the sunset after the shift. Maybe he just hadn't wanted to say goodbye.
But no, Robby’s still there when Dennis stumbles out, swinging his backpack over his shoulder and trying not to drop Robby’s helmet while doing so. He collects himself, or at least attempts to, before making his way back over to the man on the motorbike waiting for him. He feels vaguely as though they’ve landed in a James Dean movie. All Robby needs is a red jacket. His behavior lately has already been rebellious with no known reason. No cause, if you will. Dennis huffs a laugh to himself at that, Robby catching it and quirking an eyebrow, asking,
“What’s so funny, kid?” There’s no good way to answer that question without either insane, or lovesick, or both. Realistically, it’s both. It’s bad enough that Langdon has an inkling as to how much Whitaker thinks about how they would be cast in a show Langdon’s grandparents likely watched. Dennis cringes remembering that conversation, but at the same time can’t bring himself to regret standing up to the man. If not for himself, then for Trinity.
He’d seen her shove that scalpel into her pocket and he’s desperately trying to think of different reasons she would have to do that. Obviously he can’t ask her, he knows she would take that as an excuse to shut down and self-destruct, or possibly burn their friendship to the ground.
God, he can't lose her friendship, he needs it so badly. More than that, he wants it. Living with Trinity has been the best year of his life and he's pretty sure it's been good for him. Not just physically, but he has to say, he does like his new haircut. And now that he doesn't have to worry about where he's sleeping, the dark circles under his eyes have lessened. Not to mention the fact that having someone who understands reckoning with their sexuality is priceless. Even though they don't talk about it, he knows she understands.
It's in the silent looks she gives him whenever he drops even the smallest of details about his background, or in the subtle tweaks to his wardrobe she makes, or in her suggestions of which bars to go to. They don't talk about her past either, but he hopes that he's also able to provide small comforts. He certainly tries, in his own way. He listens, or offers to listen to whatever gripe she has at the moment, whether that be with Langdon, or Garcia or even just the way her hair gets in her eyes.
He used to sit quietly at dinner, trying to take up the least amount of space until Trinity shoved him one day and told him to relax. So he relaxed, or tried to. Tried hard to calm the little voice keeping him vigilant and on edge, or the farm boy instinct to try to be useful and silent. For her. Cooking, cleaning, small repairs, whatever she needs, he does, trying to be subtle about it, not wanting to make her uncomfortable with his gratitude.
They have, he realizes at this moment, a good balance. A beautiful one, really. He truly didn't believe it until he started giving her shit, but they have become friends. Close friends. Yeah, he can't lose that.
Dennis gets on the bike instead of answering Robby's question, neither of them pointing out that Dennis should probably be the one picking the bar since he suggested this plan. Robby just gets on the bike in front of him and pulls Dennis's arms around him tightly, mumbling,
“Hold on, kid.” Dennis does, keeping both the fact that his hips are pressed directly against Robby's ass and the fact that he's the only one wearing a helmet at the back of his mind the whole drive.
The bar Robby picks is small, quiet, and close by, but not close enough to risk being seen by anyone else getting off the day shift. Or at least Dennis hopes that's the case.
They take a seat, perching on stools that have definitely seen better days. Robby orders a beer and then tilts his head towards Whitaker, asking,
“Whatcha want? It's on me, kid.” Dennis flushes, opening his mouth to protest, after all, he just got paid today, but both Robby's face and the reality of his bank account make him close it again.
“I… whatever you're having, please.” Robby nods, turning towards the bartender and flashing two fingers. The short haired woman nods in response and sets two bottles in front of them. Dennis fiddles with it, the words, ‘it’s on me, kid’ echoing through his head. If it hadn't been for that last little word tacked on, it would sound less like one of his brothers and more like something a date night say.
Well, that's what Dennis assumes, anyway. There hasn't been much opportunity for him to date authentically growing up, and he most definitely had to be the chivalrous one with the few girls he had unwillingly courted. When he'd left with a slam of his family's front door, a suitcase of everything important his mother couldn't burn, and a few spiteful words, he had fully expected to hit the gay scene running.
However, a sheltered farm boy childhood, internalized homophobia, 0 experience and medical school had made that… difficult. Not to mention, he was something of a romantic, a tendency he's pretty sure he can blame on his grandmother's vhs collection of movie musicals from the 50’s he'd been raised on until his brothers had beat the shit out of him for watching ‘sissy singing garbage.’
He wonders what happened to her collection when she'd died. They certainly hadn't gone to him, not that he would have had anywhere to put them or play them. Some church lady probably bought them at a fundraising yard sale, unaware that she held in her hands Dennis John Whitaker's entire romantic identity.
So he hadn't ever gone on Grindr or gone home with a man on a whim after a night at the bar. The latter was more due to not having money for the bar, though. If he had, it might have been different. He doesn't require much, but a pleasant in person conversation seems like the bare minimum.
Trinity’d teased him before, telling him the night she'd dragged him to the gay bar that he wouldn't have to pay for drinks with those baby blues of his. However, she'd then given him a lecture on roofies so stern and detailed he doesn't think he'll ever drink something anyone offers him ever again. Not to mention, he doesn't feel right about using whatever looks he has, good or pathetic, or however she meant it, to get anything from people. She'd given him a light shove when he'd pointed that out, saying fondly,
“You Huckleberry.” He thinks to this day it's the nicest she's ever been to him besides literally giving him a place to crash rent free.
Anyway, to return to the matter at hand, Dennis can't help thinking privately that if this was a date, he wouldn't mind. In his dreams, it'll be one, now that Robby is technically on sabbatical and Whitaker has a key to his fucking house. Of course, in that little fantasy, it would mean Whitaker has actually asked out his attending. Which would be a terrible move, professionally speaking, sabbatical or not. So it's probably best these thoughts remain in his head, especially since he's damn sure they're one sided. Especially when Robby clears his throat and says awkwardly,
“So… Amy, huh?” Whitaker regrets taking a sip of beer right when Robby asks this, as he immediately chokes on it. Robby chuckles, clapping him on the back with a solid thump that leaves Dennis slightly dizzy with want. “Oh man, that serious, huh?” Dennis feels his face flush as he splutters out,
“No, Doctor Robby, we're not- I'm just helping her on the farm.” He can tell Robby doesn't believe him, in fact the man isn't hiding it at all, instead smirking into his beer and teasing,
“Is that what they're calling it these days?” Whitaker could smack him, really. Or at the very least, grab him by the collar and kiss him until the man forget the name Amy even exists. Instead, he simply rolls his eyes and sips his beer, asking pointedly,
“What about you, Doctor Robby, are you seeing anyone?” Robby shakes his head, opening his mouth to elaborate on that, but Dennis doesn't let him. He continues, “you know, there's rumors about you and Hastings.” Robby's face doesn't flush but it does become more guarded as he shrugs, explaining curtly,
“People talk, you know.” Dennis can't resist pushing, maybe out of retaliation, maybe because it's all he's been thinking about on his off time.
“So it's not true?” Robby opens his mouth then closes it before answering dismissively,
“Look, sometimes you just have to blow off steam.” Whitaker snorts, a lovely buzz of alcohol removing his inhibitors just enough for him to parrot back,
“Oh is that what they're calling it these days?” Robby laughs, eyes shining in the dim light of the bar as he nudges Whitaker's elbow with his own.
“You're a lot cockier than people think, huh, Whitaker?” Dennis shrugs, feeling proud of himself. Riding that high, he asks boldly,
“Do you… blow off steam a lot?” Robby winces, looking like Whitaker called him out on something he's not proud of.
“hey, I mean, I'm no Casanova, but I get by.” Dennis snorts, elbowing Robby and teasing all too familiarly,
“alright, Ado-Annie.” Robby blinks at him, Dennis too warm and happy to worry that perhaps he should explain. Even better, he doesn't have to, Robby asking
“Did you just… use a musical from the 1950’s to call me a slut?” Dennis hums in a way that coyly says maybe , then giggles, correcting,
“No, no… Oklahoma was put on in the 1940’s first.” Robby barks a laugh, mumbling,
“Charming, Whitaker.” Dennis beams, feeling quite proud of himself once more as he adds,
“Hey, when we're in a bar talking about our sex lives, call me Dennis.” Robby pauses, looking like he's mulling it over before he nods, smiling a little to himself before he asks,
“Alright, Dennis, what's a kid like you doing watching musicals from the 40’s enough to remember characters?” Whitaker freezes, fear from his childhood bubbling up, irrationally certain that the next word out of Robby's mouth will be a slur. But instead, the man is looking easily at him, fist resting against his cheek and what looks like fondness in his eyes. So Whitaker swallows away the fear, instead, retorting,
“First of all, I'm a year away from 30, and second off, my Grandma liked them.” Robby's eyebrows raise in pleased surprise, raising his hand in excitement, making Dennis flinch out of pure instinct. Both of them bypass this, though Dennis thinks he sees a flicker of shock and hurt in Robby's eyes before the man exclaims.
“Mine did too! Raised me to do the same.” Oh. Dennis’s whole body relaxes. He gets it. Maybe it's that affirmation or the alcohol or just the sudden burning urge to be honest with the man next to him, but suddenly Whitaker is blurting out everything.
“really? That's cool. You were an only child right? That must have made it easier. My brothers called me a fag when I'd hang out with Grandma too much, and I mean, I guess they were right- kind of?- I mean I'm gay, but like? In theory, not in practice? I should just get it over with, I mean, what doctor hasn't had sex- how am I supposed to relate with patients if I don't- I need to stop talking.”
His whole body burns with embarrassment. Jesus Christ, what did he just do? Robby, sabbatical or not, is his boss, and he just blurted out that he's a) gay, b) traumatized and c) a fucking virgin. He's not sure which is worse. No, that's not true. What's worse is that Robby doesn't look surprised, like all of that is written all over Dennis’s face 24/7 and he'd just been waiting to hear it from the source.
Whitaker buries his face in his hands, wondering about the scientific possibility of vanishing into thin air. Suddenly there’s a quick thump of pressure on his back that makes him jump, Robby's hand retreating just as quickly as it had landed. Dennis's first, purely panic driven thought is that the man hit him. Wouldn't be the first time, his brothers and his dad made sure of that.
But no, it's worse than that. The man is comforting him. It's enough of a shock to have Dennis peeking out from behind his hands. Robby doesn't look disgusted, though he does look ashamed for some reason that Dennis can't imagine. What does he have to be ashamed about?
Robby swirls his beer on the bar as one would an expensive glass of wine, making Dennis wonder if the man has experience with such things. He must, as chief attending, have fancy parties he has to attend. Etiquette to obey. Nothing Dennis could even begin to imagine. Then he says,
“Gotta be honest with you, kid, I…saw something I shouldn't have, earlier today.” He explains guiltily about Santos’s list, the item on it that he shouldn't have seen. Whitaker's stomach twists, he didn't even know Santos was keeping track of all the shit he's mentioned, he's a little touched, actually. Before he can address this or even fully process it, Robby's continuing,
“And we get patients from every walk of life, Whit. You know that. Millions of things you could have in common besides what you do in the bedroom.” He takes a thoughtful sip of beer. “Besides, there's voluntarily celibate folks, sex repulsed asexuals, those who wait for marriage, the list goes on.” Robby chuckles then, adding, “that's right, bet you didn't think an old man like me knew about that shit, but I've met all sorts in my life. You never know.”
He says this, technically pivoting the subject before Dennis can open his mouth and point out that A) he knows all that, and B), none of those apply to him. Well, maybe the voluntary celibate bit. At least it did until he realized the priesthood wasn't for him and went for his doctorate instead. To be honest, he can't help but wonder if part of pursuing the cloth for him had been getting his mother off his back about marriage.
Not all of it, he found religion fascinating- all religions, actually, which was the other part of the problem - and he liked providing guidance to people. And this was a way to do so while still following a path his parents could be proud of. But the more he opened his eyes to the world outside Broken Bow… the more he realized how turned around he'd been. His parents would call it brainwashing in their phone calls that always went from pleading to lecturing to berating like clockwork every Sunday.
One time Dennis had finally snapped, snarkily pointing out the irony of bullying your child on the Lord's day. That hadn't gone well. Now that he thinks about it, that was probably the last time he'd actually attempted to stand up for himself. ‘Survival meekness’ is what Trinity calls his normal demeanor, and while he isn't a fan of that phrasing, he has to admit it's accurate. Whether on his parent's farm growing up, or in the shelters or the classroom, he's always found hiding in the background the best path to safety.
He's not a coward though, he'd stand up for others, shove the bullies away or try to protect the women around him in the shelter from creeps, but he always leaned towards de-escalation, getting everything calm.
Then he'd pull his hood back up, put in his headphones and pray to God the men would forget his face, flinching at every noise or brush of someone walking by. Sometimes he would even close his eyes, a terrible idea considering his hearing was already compromised, but he couldn't help it. He wanted to be elsewhere.
He hasn't felt that way lately. The feeling that Trinity is going to kick him out is slowly subsiding. Hearing her today practically admit to their friendship, in public no less, helped a great deal. Especially now that he's getting paid actual money, he'll have something to offer besides cleaning and repairs and someone to drink her alcohol with.
“-though if you're ever looking for a way to study anatomy, I'll admit, sex is pretty great.” Dennis tunes back into what Robby's saying just in time to laugh nervously, unsure if this conversation is really even happening, quipping,
“So what, every doctor should find someone to do a… practical anatomy study on?”
“I mean, Jack and I did. Back in college.” Robby says this casually, like he didn't just shatter Dennis’s perceptions about the dynamics of their relationship and his sexuality all in one go. He can feel his eyes grow wide as he asks,
“Really?” He wonders for a split, panic stricken second if Robby can hear the sheer hope in his voice. After all, if Robby is into men… if he and Jack had something, why can’t he and Dennis? Whitaker barely finishes that thought before he’s chastising himself. No, that’s stupid. Robby and Jack are both the same age, both on the same professional level, both… achingly attractive. Why would Robby ever want to… downgrade to the… ‘Phantom of the Pitt’ as Joy had called him (because apparently even day one med students know about his shame)?
Robby shrugs, sipping his beer and saying a little dismissively,
“Well, yeah, it was nothing serious, just two buddies blowing off steam. You know how it is.”
Dennis laughs, cold sweat dripping down his spine as he tries to be just a tiny bit as unaffected as Robby by this conversation.
“Sir, my best friend is Trinity. I don't think either of us would like that."
There’s a pause while Robby chuckles and Whitaker takes a quick swig of his beer like he’s trying to get some liquid courage before he asks tentatively, “so are you telling me I should find someone to fuck me… for science?”
Despite the mouthful of beer he has, Robby’s mouth goes dry immediately. He clears his throat, trying not to linger on the fact that Dennis said ‘to fuck me’ and not ‘to fuck’ as he nods and says seriously,
“That’s right. For… science.” Dennis leans in a little closer with only his head and shoulders, his elbows still on the bar, his fingers fidgeting together.
“Well if it’s to make me a better doctor… maybe… you should do it.” Oh this is so past the bounds of professional. Whitaker’s face is bright red, but he doesn’t take the offer back as Michael’s brain stalls out at the idea. God, the kid’s going to think he was angling for that.
Well, weren't you? You told him about you and Jack, didn’t you want him to know you go both ways and one of those ways is fucking coworkers? The little voice in his head really has no business being that right. What nightmare HR scenario even is this? And besides HR, who is he? A 50 + year old man being propositioned by a 29 year old and actually considering it?
Sure, when he was Whitaker’s age, most of the guys he knew had been ‘shown the ropes’ by significantly older men. But that was different. The internet wasn’t a thing, if you wanted experience, you had to earn it, and the pickings were slim. Slimmer, once the Aids crisis started raging.
Times have changed. Dennis could do so much better than the aging man in front of him with haunted eyes and a list of regrets dating back farther than Whitaker himself. And yet… Robby wants this. Wants the man who always has a smile for the suffering, wants the way he's started to lean into Robby's touch, wants to soak in the man's new found confidence, the balance of his tongue against his cheek when he's feeling cocky or proud. Wants Dennis. In all his forms.
He stays quiet for too long, Dennis pulling back with regret and embarrassment, mumbling,
“Shit, can we forget I said tha-”
“Yes.” Robby's answer rings out louder than he meant it to. Dennis blinks, looking down at the bar and nodding, looking like he’s going to cry of disappointment and Robby realizes he just answered the wrong question. So he swallows every instinct he has and clarifies.
“I mean, yeah, I can show you the ropes. If you want. Not trying to talk you into anything here, kid.” Dennis’s head whips up as Robby’s words process through his brain. Then he unfreezes, standing up so quickly that his barstool almost falls over. At first Robby thinks he’s going to walk out of there in disgust, but then Dennis is nodding like a bobblehead and saying- fuck practically begging,
“Yes, yes please, I want- please sir, take me home.” Robby swallows, heat flushing his neck as he nods, throwing down likely too much money and standing up abruptly.
They walk quietly to Robby’s bike, Robby leading the way, Whitaker not too far behind. When they reach the motorcycle, however, Whitaker catches up, standing by Robby’s side and grabbing his wrist to stop him from grabbing the helmet.
“Wait.” The man’s voice is small and suddenly Robby’s stomach is twisted. Oh God, the kid already regrets this, Robby’s a gross old man abusing his power, he never should have even seen that list- Robby’s spiraling stops the minute Dennis’s lips meet his. It’s tentative, Dennis having made the first move, but it doesn’t stay that way as the younger man gets his bearings and Robby adjusts to the shock.
Soon their tongues are sliding against each other and Robby’s palm is spanning the back of Dennis’s neck while Dennis’s grip moves from Robby’s wrist to his waist, clinging more to his t-shirt than his flesh. Robby’s fingers, rough against the smooth skin, entwine into the hair curling at the base of Dennis’s head, only slightly tugging. That turns out to be the happiest fucking accident of Robby’s life, as it results in Dennis letting out a whimper that will haunt his dreams.
Eventually they pull away, both panting. Robby for one, is desperate to get the man in front of him home. Jesus, the kid already looks ruined. Pink cheeks, lips flushed, hair tousled, he looks like what one might picture Eros to look like. His eyes are wide, the pupils massive and all of a sudden Robby considers it a crime that the creamy skin of the man’s neck is unblemished. He ducks his head, sucking a quick bruise into the flesh there before he can help himself. Dennis’s hands flutter against his shoulders, nails occasionally scraping as he makes more of those Goddamned whimpers that make Robby's toes curl.
It’s while Robby is pressed in close like this that he realizes that Dennis is already straining against his pants. This reminds him of a few things. 1) God, he’s old, his dick, though very interested in the situation, isn’t nearly as hard as Dennis’s from just a parking lot make out session. 2) This is Dennis’s first time and Robby wants it to be a fucking fantastic one. 3) He wants Dennis in his house (and bed) now.
“Dennis.” He's never heard himself growl before, and naturally, neither had Dennis. The younger man doesn't seem to mind though, if anything, Robby's pretty sure he whimpers again, just quieter this time. Then they're both getting back onto the bike without another word, Dennis’s arms wrapping around him with no prompting this time.
Robby has to fight every instinct he has to speed during the mere ten minute drive home. He's not sure if the motivation there is simply lust, or a fear that this moment will pass them both by if not acted on immediately. Perhaps a bit of both. Well, that, and he's pretty sure he can feel Whitaker's not so subtle bulge rutting slightly against his hips. He might intend to make the man behind him come several times that night, but no one wants to ride a bike with their pants sticky with jizz. He's torn if he would be upset to have that on his bike, or if the idea of Whitaker's essence becoming one with the bike in such a way is intoxicating. Again, probably a bit of both.
Either way, they eventually make it back to Robby’s, in one piece and not sticky. Or at least, no more sticky than two men pressed against each other in the summer heat ought to be.
Somehow, Robby can tell, deep in his gut, that if they spend any time lingering in the driveway, in this moment, really, that the bubble will burst and they'll return to their senses. Maybe that's what they should do, calm down, be rational adults. But Robby doesn't want to do that, and besides, it's not like he’ll be around for much longer anyway. So instead, he takes Whitaker by the hand and pulls him to the door, only letting go to unlock it.
Once they're inside, however, Dennis is the one who takes control, pushing Robby into the wall with more strength than Robby thought he had in him and attacking his mouth with a fervor. The kissing is inexperienced, but with that is a raw, feral quality. It's passion without the polish of practice. There's no restraint, no lessons learned from past mistakes that make one cautious. It's teeth and tongue and want.
Robby could get drunk on this much faster than anything they had at the bar. They should have Whitaker's mouth on tap. The passing, ridiculous thought amuses him, but the jealousy that spikes in his gut at just the stupid concept makes him haul the man in even closer.
His fingers span the back of Whitaker's neck, Dennis’s hands curled like paws into the collar of his T-shirt. He's surely stretching it out, but who cares. Not Robby. Not when Dennis is trying to get him even closer, practically straddling his thigh that's only slightly sticking out.
Soon he is straddling it, and rutting like a hound, rocking his hips back with such intoxicating force, Robby has a hard time bringing himself to stop him. He does, however, with just a few words. He pulls away from Whitaker's mouth, feeling the saliva between them stretch like a spiderweb, plastering itself to Dennis’s neck as Robby leans into his ear, whispering,
“I thought you wanted me to touch you.” Dennis nods eagerly, and Robby looks pointedly down at his still bucking hips, teasing, “really?” Instantly Dennis stops, prying himself off of Robby's thigh even though it looks like it physically pains him.
“Well you weren't, and I - it feels so good- I-” Robby chuckles, chasing the warm feeling that bubbles up in his gut at those words combined with Dennis’s earnest and desperate expression. He puts a finger under the man's chin, tilting his head up and appraising him, feeling the control fall into his hands in a way he shouldn't like.
But damnit, that's how he knows how to be. It's so easy to take the reins, in the way he can tell it's easy for Dennis to be told. He tries not to think about if that's influenced by their professional roles. But even if they weren't who they were professionally, he suspects this would still be the way things were. So he ignores that thought, and the little voice that points out if they weren't who they were professionally, they never would have met, and instead leans in, growling,
“I know, sweetheart, you're all wound up. But you're going to have to trust me. Can you do that… Dennis?” Whitaker shudders, clearly affected by Robby using his first name, or maybe by the other contents of that sentence. He nods, eyes wide, gasping when prompted with a nudge of Robby's finger under his chin once more,
“I trust you, Robby, please.” Robby chuckles.
“Tsk, tsk, no begging, pup. You'll get what you need.” Whitaker's face blanches and for a second Robby worries he took it too far, but then the man's eyes roll backwards in his head and his mouth goes slack, hands scrabbling at Robby's chest. It's then that Robby realizes he didn't take it too far in a negative way, he made the man come.
He laughs again when Dennis returns back to himself, stroking a finger under the man's chin, teasing,
“Better? Get that first one out of your system? Still want more?” Dennis nods, looking fuck drunk already, which Robby considers promising, more or less saying so as he nods, tugging Dennis towards the stairs. “Excellent, now the real fun begins.”
Dennis follows, tripping up the stairs after Robby, eyes big and shining when the older man looks behind him, like he's trying to convince himself Dennis is still there.
He is, indeed, still there, as he follows Michael to the bedroom and lets the man lay him on the bed. Watches with wide eyes and his thumb between his teeth as the very man he's been trying not to think about shucks him of his jizz stained scrub pants and boxers. His shirt and undershirt soon follow, each removed slowly, with a savoring care that he both appreciates and is concerned by.
He needs to know Robby doesn't see him as some fragile thing, even with his lack of experience on the table. On the other hand though, he's had to be tough for so long. It's kind of nice to be taken care of. Especially when Robby nudges his thumb away from his slightly gapped teeth, nudging in his own two, larger and more calloused fingers. Dennis moans, sucking them in greedily, both desperate to prove himself as more than some blushing flower and also to have Robby inside of him in any way possible.
Robby apparently shares this sentiment, but for the vice versa, as he makes a low noise in his throat and leans down. The minute his tongue makes contact with Whitaker's sensitive cock, Dennis hears himself make a broken noise around Robby's fingers. He sucks even harder as the man between his thighs carefully licks him clean until the only wetness on Dennis's skin is the drying saliva, a bit of sweat and now some leaking precum. Dennis doesn't think he's even gotten hard so quickly after coming before.
All of a sudden, Robby’s fingers and mouth retract, as does the heavy warmth of his body on top of Dennis's. He whines, grasping in mid air, too desperate to feel ridiculous. Robby chuckles, reappearing to stroke the back of his hand along Dennis’s cheek, murmuring,
“Mmm. You're a needy one, aren't you?” Dennis swallows, eyes finding Robby's as he nods, feeling sweat drip into the hollow of his throat as he begs,
“Robby, please.” Robby makes another amused noise, peeling back once more, adding,
“Shh, just one second, baby, I promise, you have to let me get-” he cuts himself off as he shifts, clearly going to grab whatever he's talking about. All Dennis can focus on is the word baby. He reaches a shaky hand up, pushing his own bangs back off his forehead and watching as Robby rummages in his bedside table, producing lube and condoms with a flourish, like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat. It's in such stark contrast to his usual persona, not to mention the way he had been just speaking, that Dennis giggles a little, back of his hand and against his mouth.
Robby turns, and all of a sudden there's such a strong look of fondness in his eyes that Dennis feels almost self conscious. Not to mention, he's just now realizing that Robby is fully clothed. The man takes a step forward and Dennis pushes himself up to a half sitting position on his elbows, shaking his head.
Robby immediately stops his approach, a look of concern clouding his face. This just makes Dennis shake his head harder, worried that Robby will think he doesn't want this. He clears his throat, pointing and explaining,
“Take your clothes off… please.” Robby raises his eyebrows, having the audacity to look surprised at the request.
“What?” Dennis sits up properly, criss -cross applesauce as his mother used to say- not that he wants to think about her right now. He puts his fists under his chin, elbows on his knees and raises his eyebrows, nodding his head a little to say, go on.
“Yeah, I want to see you.” Robby sets the lube and condoms on the bed, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes, like he thinks this is all a joke. Dennis doesn't laugh though, just sits, patiently. Eventually Robby seems to decide he's serious, and slowly pulls his shirt up over his head. He pauses, again like he's waiting for a laugh track that never comes.
Instead Dennis’s eyes blow wide and he feels his mouth go a little slack. Jesus Christ. He's never heard the word beautiful used for men, that he can remember, anyway. And he's not sure if he can even use it now. Because what's standing in front of him… beautiful doesn't cover it. It's much too soft of a word.
Handsome would probably fit better. Handsome makes him think of elegant men in suits, escorting their dates to dinner. Handsome covers the broad expanse of Robby's chest, covered with dark hair, silver interspersed throughout. The swell of his bicep as he raises his arm, the soft muscle of his stomach, the way he looks like he could pin Dennis into the mattress. Jesus.
Robby clearly misreads his genuine awe, grimacing and rubbing the back of his neck as he says,
“Yeah. Take a good look kid, this is what getting old looks li-” Whitaker doesn't let him finish, bounding off the bed and pulling Robby's lips down to his. Once the man is reciprocating, he drops his hands to Robby's belt, fumbling with it as he pants into Robby's mouth-
“Robby, all due respect, shut the fuck up. You look like fucking- Burt Reynolds and Sean Connery had a baby- you're like everything I think I've ever wanted, so just… please fuck me.” Robby pulls away and blinks at him, then shakes his head.
“Hey, if you're going to flatter me, you don't need to use references you think I'll know.” Dennis rolls his eyes, getting to his knees and tugging the man's pants down, explaining,
“I'm using references I know, Michael. Besides, I'm telling the truth. Now can you please fuck me before I come in my pants again from just looking at you?” Robby stares down at him in disbelief as he's shucked to his boxers, annoyingly pointing out,
“You're not wearing pants.” Dennis looks up at him contritely.
“You aren't either.” Robby huffs, muttering,
“Fair enough” before pushing his boxers off himself, exposing his half hard cock, inches away from Dennis's face.
Dennis can't help himself, he leans forward, licking a stripe up the shaft slowly. He doesn't have much to go on besides what Michael himself did to him earlier but he's clearly not doing too badly. Robby’s hand goes to his hair, not tugging, just carding through. Smooths some behind Whitaker's ear as the man presses his nose into the crease where his thigh meets his groin. He dips down to the head, taking it into his mouth as Robby groans, flicking his tongue across the slit, bringing the man in front of him to full hardness as his own dick follows suit.
“Christ, Whitaker.” Whitaker frowns, hard to do with a mouthful of cock, pulling off and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, mumbling,
“Call me Dennis, remember?” Robby nods, then cups his broad hand around the back of Dennis's neck, hauling him up and then pushing him back onto the bed.
“Alright, Dennis, you want me to prep you?” Dennis’s breath comes faster as it settles in that this is actually happening. Robby is going to fuck him. He nods, and Robby reaches for the lube. As he does so, Dennis has a slightly panicked thought about not being clean enough. Maybe he should go shower real quick or something. Before he can finish that thought, nevermind actually get up and do anything about it, Michael's finger is massaging his hole and then Dennis’s mind goes blank. Well, almost blank.
It strikes him then, as said finger breaches him, probing until it finds his prostate with a doctor's precision, that he's never really gotten the right angle on his own before.
His back arches, a moan slipping from his lips at the slight burn and sheer pleasure of it all. Above all though, he wants more. His hands scrabble against the bedsheets, wanting to reach down and help impale himself until Robby's fingers- Jesus, when did he add another one- come out his mouth.
He’s pretty sure another finger is added as he twists, he can’t even tell, all he knows is he feels so full and Robby’s licking a line up his pectoral before sucking hard on one of Dennis’s nipples.
“Robby oh my God, please.” Dennis barely recognizes his own voice as the cracked plea leaves his lips. Robby chuckles, leaving his nipple in favor of nipping Dennis’s collarbone before he slowly pulls out his fingers, wiping them on the bedsheets before groping around until he finds the box of condoms.
Robby barely wants to take his eyes off the man below him as he fumbles with the wrapper of the condom but with the lube still slicking his fingers, he does actually have to look and concentrate. Eventually he gets the packet open and the rubber on, adding more lube for good measure before he lines himself up with Dennis’s hole and starts to push in.
As he does, he slides his glance up to Whitaker’s face, taking in just how wrecked he looks, cheeks flushed and eyes shining, his teeth digging into his lip. His hair is wild and his hands are twisted hard into the sheets like he’s never felt this good in his life. Like this is perfect. Like Michael is perfect.
Oh God, he can’t let himself get used to this. He can’t have this. It will end and he will be alone and it will all be his fault for letting himself get so attached. C’mon Robby, stay in the fucking moment. His jaw clenches with both effort of doing just that, and with taking the entrance into Whitaker’s ass slowly. He doesn’t want to overwhelm the man, though it seems that he’s the one getting overwhelmed. The irony.
Suddenly one of Dennis’s hands leaves the sheets, cupping Michael’s jaw, thumb rubbing across his lips, the man below him whispering,
“Hey. Robby. Are you okay?” Robby blinks, surprised to find that his eyes are teary. He nods, Dennis’s touch grounding him to the moment. To how fucking tight Dennis is, and the pools of precum leaking from him, slipping down his stomach to stain Robby’s sheets. Part of him hopes it never washes out.
Eventually he pushes in as far as he can go, pausing to let Dennis acclimate to the stretch. It doesn’t take too long, or maybe the man is just impatient, because soon Dennis is twitching below him, urging his hips to move and then- he’s fucking Dennis Whitaker. And it feels fucking amazing.
It’s clear it’s not going to last too long for either of them, Dennis’s hips are bucking below him, adding a thrust pattern that overlaps and clashes with Robby’s. The man reaches for his own cock and Michael bats his hand away, muttering,
“Let me.” Dennis does, eyes widening and then rolling backwards as Michael jerks him off, finishing with a choked scream, barely before Robby feels his own orgasm fill the condom and claw its way through his system.
They both collapse after that, panting like they tied for first in a wind sprint. Eventually Robby makes himself get up, easing out of the wincing man below him and disposing of the condom.
They shower together before he changes the sheets, Robby wordlessly passing Dennis clean pajamas, then tossing both of their day clothes into the wash with the sheets.
Once all the possible tasks are accomplished, they simply stand there, looking at each other. It’s only then that he realizes neither of them have really eaten today. He clears his throat, about to offer a midnight omelet or a sandwich, when Whitaker speaks first, eyes wide and hands fidgeting.
“Oh… sorry, do you want me to go? I know you wanted to leave- although I still think it would be safer to do that in the morning…” he trails off and Robby chuckles dryly, the sound feeling rough in his throat. Right. He had almost forgotten the one thing that’s been on his mind for weeks, if not months. His shining hope of getting the voices to stop once and for all. To be free. He could leave now, he supposes, but on the other hand… he shakes his head, not blind to the way Whitaker’s whole body glows.
“Nah. After all, just changed the sheets, it’d be stupid to waste it. I was just gonna offer you something to eat.” Jesus, this kid could be the sun. His smile puts any joy that Robby’s ever felt in his life to shame.
“Oh, that’s okay, I’m more tired than anything else. I can… um, take the couch if you-” Robby’s reaching out before he can stop himself, before he can let his brain insist that he can’t want this, can’t have this, can’t do this anymore. He takes Dennis’s wrist and tugs, crashing them into each other, the man’s nose bumping into Robby’s collarbone before he’s bending his face down to Whitaker’s and slotting their lips together. The younger man exhales with relief, eagerly meeting Robby’s tongue with his own and tugging them backwards onto the bed.
Dennis winds up in Robby’s arms that night, clinging to him like he’s scared to lose him, and murmuring into Robby’s chest,
“Can you just… not leave for a few days? Please?” Robby sucks in a breath, pressing his lips into the damp curls on Whitaker’s head, tears smarting his eyes as he nods, voice hoarse as he replies,
“Yeah. I think I can do a few days, baby.” Whitaker nuzzles into him, satisfied, and Robby finds that he is too.
After all, it’s just a few days he’s agreeing to. It’s not a stopping point, it’s not a cure. He doesn’t think he could accept either of those right now. But he’ll take a delay. Just some time. Who knows? Maybe they can even check a few more things off the list.