Archive of Our Own

Dennis needed a new phone. Plain and simple. He was still using the godawful iPhone 8 he bought brand new in his freshman year of uni. He was still a theology major and still in the closet so his parents were still funding his education. Dennis didn’t spend money on himself very often and he was starting a new chapter so he figured splurging on one very important thing was a reasonable use of his savings.

It was the most expensive thing he’d ever bought, maybe that he’d ever owned. And it was all his. Growing up with three older brothers, that wasn’t something he could say about much. Between hand-me-downs and the entitled sticky fingers older-siblinghood seemed to instill in his brothers, things that were his weren’t really his or if they were, they weren’t for long. So this purchase, though trivial to many, meant everything to eighteen-year-old Dennis.

Four years later he came out as gay, abandoned theology, and went to med school in Pennsylvania: a perfect clusterfuck that led his parents to cut all ties. Goodbye, Nebraska. Goodbye, God. Goodbye, financial stability.

When he got to Pittsburgh, Dennis had a well-loved iPhone 8, a degree, the clothes on his back, and about 10,000 dollars in his savings. Not much else. That got him a shitty apartment in a shitty neighborhood for about a year. His earnings from his job didn’t get him much farther and soon, his shitty neighborhood turned into a pretty great neighborhood! But his shitty apartment turned into a hospital room in an abandoned wing on the eighth floor of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Homeless. He was homeless. 

So a new phone was not exactly on the table. Even a year after moving in with one Trinity Santos, Dennis was up to his neck in student debt and could barely afford to put food in the fridge (something Trinity insisted he didn’t have to do, in her own fondly sarcastic way—”let Daddy put food on the table and just make her a sandwich when it gets there”—but something he did anyway). But Dennis wasn’t complaining. There was something special about having the same phone he did his whole adult life. It had seen him through every high and all his copious lows.

But it was, admittedly, a piece of shit. Nine years was not kind on a piece of technology. At his first debrief after that first death on his first day of his MS4 ED rotation, when his embarrassing ringtone went off, he said he forgot to turn his phone on silent. That was a lie. It just… did that sometimes. Went off at the worst possible moment. Then, there was the camera. During his first week of R1, when the screens went down and he was the only one who got a picture of the board, he was mortified, but not surprised when the photo looked like it was taken by a hundred-year-old dementia patient with no opposable thumbs.

Trinity begged him to get a new one, told him she’d pay for it and he could just IOU her. But he couldn’t. Not just out of financial inability. Somewhere along the line, he’d grown a pathological attachment to the thing—for which Trinity threatened to 5150 him, but they both knew Doctor Jefferson would laugh in her face if she tried.

It could at times be frustrating, but Trinity took all the important photos and usually when it gave him problems, he could give it a love tap—or if he was honest with himself, slam it against the nearest surface—and it stopped randomly buzzing. Or randomly blasting his embarrassing dad rock. Or randomly calling his mother, who never answered anyway.

It wasn’t a problem. Yet.

Today was an unusually calm one in the PTMC emergency room. There was still a healthy, or rather, unhealthy amount of patients flowing through chairs. But no mass casualties. No cyber attacks that took them back to the 1970s. Even the few fatalities were cases any medical professional could see coming a mile away—an older adult who had reached their final day or a victim of a head-on collision who was lucky to have made it to the ambulance, let alone the ED. All were tragedies, all weighed heavily. But nothing that surprised them, nothing that made the little voices in their heads say “you could have done more.”

By four o’clock, Dennis had sent his most recent patient for a CT and discharged two others and was ready to take on a new case. He approached the hub and looked up at the board. A four year-old with a head lac. A forty year-old with heart palpitations. Ooh, a twenty-something with a phallic foreign body stuck somewhere it definitely shouldn’t have been. That would be an interesting one.

“Hey, no cherry picking!” Dana called, looking up briefly at him from under her glasses.

“Oh, I would never,” Dennis laughed, leaning against the counter and directing his attention to the charge nurse. “Do we know what the ‘phallic foreign body’ is?”

Dana huffed a laugh and smacked her gum. “Not yet. My money’s on one of those funny-shaped Christmas ornaments. ‘Tis the season.”

“I’ll raise you ceramic Santa figurine. Ho ho ho.” That earned a cackle from Dana and Dennis smiled in return. It was good to see her smile. This was an easy place to lose sight of the good and she’d been there longer than any of them. “Who do you think I should—” 

“Sweat baby, sweat baby, sex is a Texas drought—”

Oh fuck. Not now. Dennis fumbled for his phone and fiddled with the buttons. The traitorous piece of glass and metal was blaring his freak playlist at full volume. On a random night off full of cheap wine and various roommate antics, Trinity had gotten him to compile the most inanely sexual songs they could find and he was gonna kill her if his fucked up little iPhone announced to the whole ED that they ain’t nothing but mammals and should do it like they do on the Discovery Channel. 

Dennis could feel all the eyes in the room on him as he slammed his fingers into the screen, left and right so it would shut up. 

Right before the dreaded chorus, silence overtook the hub and Dennis thanked God for the first time in five years. He heard various chuckles as everyone slowly returned to their own worlds once again. Dennis threw a glare at Trinity who was beaming at him. He shook his head and mouthed “I hate you.” She blew him a kiss and went back to her charting.

He turned back to Dana who was grinning at her computer screen. “You know what, kid, I think you just earned yourself the foreign body.”

Dennis sighed. “Thank you. I could use a brea—”

“Trinityyyyy—”

Dennis interrupted himself. What the fuck?

“I see him. Well, I don’t see him, but it suuuure looks like him.” 

Yeah, that was definitely Dennis’ voice. Dennis’ drunk voice, if the midwestern drawl was anything to go by. Looks flew his way once again and Dennis quickly looked back down at his phone. When did he open his messenger app? And when did he send Trinity a three-minute long voice memo? He scrolled through the messages, scouring for context.

“God, he’s got the beard and the glasses and that pouty fucking bottom lip.” 

There was music and chatter in the background of the audio. Like he was in a bar. Oh. Oh no. Dennis remembered now. Last month, before Robby had gotten back from his sabbatical. His big night out. The one he can’t remember. Oh fuck, oh no. He tried to click pause on the memo but it turned right back on. 

“I wanna lick it. I wanna bite it.”

This was not happening. Dennis was fumbling. Hard. He tried exiting out of the app and it kept playing. He tried rationalizing to himself. Plenty of men had beards and glasses and biteable bottom lips. No one could put two and two together with that little to go on.

“I bet I could make him scream. On my fingers. On my tongue. I’d take that old man apart before he could even think about my dick.”

There was a surprised cough behind him but he was too busy crisis-managing to see who it was. He tried clicking the power button off and it just kept going.

“I’d make him beg. He’s so commanding. He walks in a room like he fucking owns it. I bet I could command him. I bet I could own him. Tie him down. Play with him. Make him whimper. Tell him what a good boy he is.”

He tried banging the phone against the counter.

“I’d fuck him till he cried, Trin. I’d ruin him.”

Dennis was going to die. He was actually going to die via his own perversion. His only saving grace was that he hadn’t said a name yet. As long as he doesn’t say a—

“Rooooobby.”

Ohfuckohfuckohfuck. Dennis threw his phone on the ground, full speed, and stomped on it for good measure. When he finished stomping, he willed himself to look up. Some futile part of himself hoped no one was looking. That no one had heard. Fucking futile. 

Dana’s lips were pulled back behind her teeth in sympathy. Perlah and Princess were already whispering to each other in Tagalog. Mel’s ears were cherry red, her hand covering her mouth as Langdon behind her stood with his jaw hanging. The second Dennis’ eyes reached Samira, she turned and bolted into the nearest trauma room.  Joy, whom Samira’d been talking to, had a shit-eating grin on her face as she typed on her phone. No doubt to tell the entirety of Pittsburgh’s med student population. McKay had her hands braced on a charting station, shoulders shaking as Javadi just stared at the chart on the screen at said station, pretending she hadn’t heard anything despite her eyes bulging from her skull. Trinity had her phone out and probably had since the memo started playing. Oh God. She was going to make him relive this nightmare at home. 

But there was one person absent. Dennis felt his shoulders untense ever-so-slightly. He’d never hear the end of this from Trinity. Joy might bring it back up occasionally. But the rest of the team were pretty polite. The rumor mill would churn but he worked with good people. He wasn’t here so Robby would never—

A throat cleared behind him and Dennis felt his heart hit his ass. “Doctor Whitaker.” That commanding voice. That overwhelming presence. Dennis wasn’t just gonna die. He was gonna get fucking fired. 

He turned around and faced the man in question, expecting anger. Outrage. Even pity. But all he saw was a look on his face Dennis couldn’t name if he tried. It wasn’t angry, but his lips were pursed. It wasn’t amused but his cheeks were red. Dennis swallowed, straightened his spine, and looked right into Robby’s eyes, pretending like nothing had happened. “Yes, sir?” he asked in his usual subservient tone.

Robby didn’t answer. His eyes simply bore holes into Dennis’. The resident tried not to squirm but it was difficult under the suffocating intensity of Robby’s stare. After a moment, almost as if waking from a spell, Robby lightly shook his head and cleared his throat again. “There’s a patient in South Two. Foreign body in the rectum. Take care of it?”

Dennis let out a shaky breath. He’d never been more thankful for man’s stupidity than he was in that moment. “Yes, sir.” He grabbed his shattered phone off the ground and practically sprinted to South Two.

The shift passed relatively harmlessly from there. It was in fact a ceramic Santa figurine where it shouldn’t have been and Dana laughed like a mad woman, passing Dennis five bucks and telling him to get himself something pretty. There were many jokes. Langdon’s “till he cries, huh?” and Trinity’s “Shoulda let Daddy buy you that new phone.” (He really wished she’d stop calling herself Daddy.) Mel offered him resources for how to cope with inappropriate workplace attractions which he politely declined, despite the fact that he probably needed them desperately. Then there were the whispers and pitying looks. He almost wished more people were making jokes. He felt more normal and less pathetic when people actually addressed the massive fucking elephant. 

So yeah, there was plenty of talk the rest of the shift. What there wasn’t was a lot of Robby. By the time Dennis finished his charts and went to the lockers to grab his things, he hadn’t seen the attending once. That was probably the worst part of this whole ordeal. The feeling that he’d completely fucked up their dynamic. The absence of the shoulder squeezes and the double fist bumps weighed on him in a way he never imagined it would.

Dennis sighed, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. 

“Hey, Hucklefuck!” Trinity called, not unkindly, strolling into the locker room. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I wanna fuck our boss. Get it out,” he sulked.

“Not what I was gonna say, but that was pretty epic, huh?” She smirked, laughing at the exhausted look on his face. “Anyways. Might wanna dust off that bus pass. I’m way behind on charts, so no ride tonight.”

Great. Exactly what he needed after this shift. Thirty minutes on stuffy public transportation. “You owe me.”

“Nay nay.” She pulled her phone out and waved it mockingly. “With the dirt I have on you, you owe me for life.”

“I hate you.”

She was already halfway out the door. “No, you don’t!”

Bus it was.

—

Robby had had worse shifts. But this one was definitely up there. He’d admit it: he was a coward. He’d been avoiding one resident like the plague for the past two and a half hours which was a feat and a half itself with the ED being as small as it was. It was a testament to his own skill and cravenness that he had managed to elude the poor boy’s presence. Now, said boy, as well as most of the day shift, were gone for the day and Robby finally felt like he could breathe. 

“You can’t avoid him forever,” Dana chirped as he approached the hub.

Robby huffed a laugh, leaning against the charge nurse’s station. “Ye of little faith.”

“Just gotta put it to the side and do your fucking job. It’s not the first crush to grace these halls and it won’t be the last.” It was a little harsh but not without warmth and certainly not unwarranted. Robby had let his discomfort interfere with Dennis’ education and he wasn’t proud of that fact. Except, he wasn’t uncomfortable. God, I wish it made me uncomfortable. “Might be the first that’s got you blushing like a virgin, though.”

“Who’s a blushing virgin?” Robby groaned and plopped his head on the counter. Last thing he needed was Jack Abbot on the case.

“Robby,” Dana chirped.

“Oh, yeah? What’d Whitaker do this time?” Jack snarked, clapping a hand on Robby’s shoulder.

Robby raised his head and looked at Dana with pleading eyes, shaking his head, no. But she was a marked sadist. She laid out the whole situation, in gruesome detail and Robby didn’t have to look away from the crumb on the desk that was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world to see the shit-eating grin on Jack’s face.

“‘Till he cried’?” Jack choked through a laugh.

“Till he cried,” Dana confirmed.

“I knew that kid was a freak.”

“Not helping,” Robby grumbled.

“Oh like you didn’t eat it up.”

“Shut uuuup. Don’t you have rounds to do?”

Dana smiled, pushing up from her chair. “You boys have fun. I’ve got Christmas shopping to do with the girls. Gotta figure out what the hell and where the hell a Labubu is.”

Jack wished her good luck and she left them. There was a silence between the two attendings for a moment.

“So you liked it, huh?”

“Fuck you.”

“No, fuck him. Or him fucking you? I don’t know, but you gotta do something.”

“I don’t have to do shit. I’m not on the clock.”

“No, but you could be on that co—”

Robby shoved his fingers in his ears and started walking away. “La la la, can’t hear you over the sound of the raging HR violation.”

“Whatever helps you sleep through the night. Just make sure he wraps it,” Jack called after him, laughing at his best friend’s ennui. Robby flipped him off over his shoulder and headed to the lockers to grab his backpack.

He was out of the building and in his truck in five minutes flat, pulling around the PTMC onto the main road. He chanced a glance at the sidewalk to keep from hitting any of the copious jaywalkers the hospital seemed to attract when he caught a glimpse of a familiar, curly-headed figure hunched over on a bus stop bench. Without thinking, Robby brought his truck to a stop in front of the resident, rolling down the passenger side window. His first mistake. 

“Hey, kid!” he called.

Whitaker practically jumped out of his skin and Robby felt a pang of guilt at startling him. The pang dissolved as Whitaker exhaled with a small laugh, “Hi, Doctor Robby.” The boy pulled his lip between his teeth nervously and Robby felt his teeth tug on his own of their own volition.

“Waiting for the bus?”

“Yes, sir.” 

Robby decided to ignore the flare of something in his gut at the honorific. “I thought you and Santos drove together.”

“Oh, yeah. She’s, uh, catching up on charts so I’m kinda exiled to public transportation tonight.”

Don’t do it, Robinavitch. Leave the kid alone and go home. “That’s a bit dangerous, don’t ya think? You don’t exactly have a phone anymore.”

In the faint streetlight, Robby could see heat flood Whitaker’s face as he remembered the afternoon’s events. Robby felt a little hot at the memory, too. Go home, Robinavitch. Go home and jerk off in the shower like the dirty old man you are.

“Oh, I don’t mind. It’s only a thirty minute ride.”

He was about to make his second mistake. “That is about twenty minutes too long, kid. Get in.” Michael, you whore!

Whitaker’s jaw fell open. “Oh, no, sir—” There was that heat again— “I couldn’t. I really don’t min—”

“I didn’t ask. Get in, Dennis.” He reached over and popped open the passenger door. He pretended not to notice the stirring in his gut at the weight of his resident’s first name on his tongue or at the way Dennis’ eyes seemed to widen at the sound of it.

Robby thought for a moment that Dennis might refuse. The boy was clearly conflicted. Robby almost withdrew the offer entirely until Dennis stood and approached the vehicle, tossing his backpack in the footwell and slamming the door shut behind him.

Robby started the engine and peeled away from the sidewalk with a lurch. Dennis grabbed the door handle and Robby kicked himself for his utter inability to be normal ever. 

The drive was awkward. Tense. Painful, even. It felt like one of those first dates Robby had had in his twenties where both parties had so little in common that even small talk was a stretch. Those dates usually resulted in mindblowing sex and, God, wasn’t that a thought Robby needed to shut down fucking immediately.

After about five minutes of agonizing silence, Robby realized he didn’t actually know where Dennis and Santos lived. He cleared his throat, louder than he really needed to. “So, uh. Where to, Doctor?”

Dennis jumped again and Robby had half a thought to call Caleb in the morning to get the kid a psych eval. He was not a fan of the drastic stress signals he was seeing. Dennis gathered himself quickly and gave Robby the address, though, so Robby decided to hold off siccing the psychiatric attending on the boy. He switched lanes and diverted course toward the Santos-Whitaker residence. 

They didn’t speak again for five more minutes and every second was clawing at Robby’s nerves. He kept thinking back to the voice memo. “I bet I could make him scream.” Robby was never loud in bed but he didn’t think he would be quiet for a single second of a night with Dennis. “I’d make him beg.” Robby felt like begging now, if he was completely honest. “I’d fuck him ‘till he cried.” Robby hadn’t bottomed much in his life. He hadn’t come out as bisexual until well into his forties and most men expected men who looked like him to take the reins. But fuck if he didn’t like being manhandled. And being manhandled by Dennis? He’d never thought of that particular scenario before, but he’d be amazed if he didn’t cry when—if—it happened. “I’d ruin him.” If Robby was being honest, he’d been ruined by this kid for longer than he’d like to admit. And he wouldn’t admit it. Because that would be fucking crazy. He was his attending for God’s sake. And the way Dennis was practically shaking in the passenger seat right now just told Robby how heavily that fact weighed. Poor kid was probably shuffling through a rolodex of all the consequences of the incident. Probably thought he was gonna get reported to HR. Or fired. Or barred from ever practicing medicine again. Robby had to say something, to ease the kids worries, to assure him that he was okay and that none of this would have any impact on his career. Dennis broke the silence before he could.

“Doctor Robby, I am so—”

When Robby cut him off, he was going to reassure Dennis. Tell him that they were okay and that he didn’t think any less of him and that there were no hard feelings. That’s what he was supposed to say. Instead, he made his third dire mistake of the evening and let out, “Did you mean it?”

Michael! He screamed in his head. You whore!

“Did I mean—” Dennis stopped for a moment and Robby could feel the oppressive weight of his eyes trying to crack open Robby’s skull to understand what the hell he was saying. Robby wanted to know, too, because what the fuck? “The voice memo?”

“Yes?” Robby answered, more of a question. “Maybe? No. Fuck, no. Nevermind. I’m sorry, Dennis, this is entirely inappropriate. Just forget I—” Robby squeaked as he felt a hand clamp down on his thigh. Not too low, but definitely too high for a resident’s hand to be on his attending’s body.

“Did I mean which part? I said a lot of things.”

Boy, did he. Robby kept his eyes on the road and tried to come up with an answer that would deescalate the situation because this was quickly reaching wet-dream-and-sticky-boxers levels of obscene.

“Did I mean that I’d like to bite that pretty bottom lip?” Dennis asked, voice dripping with faux innocence. Robby instinctively pulled said bottom lip between his teeth. Somewhere in the recesses of his filthy mind, he recognized heat against his side as Dennis leaned closer.

“Or did I mean that I wanna take you apart with my fingers and my tongue before you even had a chance to look at my dick?”

Robby couldn’t respond if he tried, shifting in his seat to accommodate the growing tightness in his cargos.

“Did I mean that I’d make you beg? That I’d bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you until there were tears in your pretty eyes and your neighbors knew my name?”

He definitely had not said some of that but Robby wasn’t going to call him out on it, especially not the minute he felt Dennis’ long fingers cup his half hard cock through his pants.

“Fuck…” Robby breathed.

“Shit, Doctor Robby, these cargos don’t do you justice. I thought you’d be big, but this? This is just unfair.”

“Did—” Robby’s voice broke, God help him, it broke. He tried again. “Did you mean it?” he repeated.

“Every,” Dennis squeezed Robby’s dick and the older man groaned deep in his throat, “word.”

With the last ounce of blood still flowing in his brain, Robby pulled up to a stop sign and took a look at the street sign above it. They were about three blocks from Dennis’ apartment building. Robby had two options. Turn a few more blocks, drop Dennis off at his apartment and go home and jerk off like he was supposed to in the first place. Or…

“C’mon, Doctor Robby.” Dennis leaned over the console until Robby could feel his breath in his ear. “You gonna make me go home and fuck my fist, or are you gonna give me something better to fuck?” 

Robby turned the car around so fast he felt dizzy and Dennis laughed loudly, falling back against the carseat. Robby laughed, too, but inside he was screaming. Because God… He was fucked.

—

They got to Robby’s house faster than was probably safe. Luckily for both of them, Dennis had kept his hands to himself. He was pretty sure that if he had teased Robby at the speed they were going, they both would have ended up back at work in matching neck braces. Dennis had a feeling Robby would not be pleased having to explain what happened to get them there to a certain night-shift attending.

After he put the car into park, Robby just sat there for a moment. Dennis watched him. His eyes were hazy, his breathing labored. If he couldn’t see the massive hard-on between the man’s leg, Dennis might think the man was having a panic attack. The attending huffed and ran his hands over his face. Dennis could hear the internal monologue. The “why we shouldn’t”s and the “blatant HR violations”. Then Robby dropped his hands and looked over at Dennis for the first time in ten minutes, pupils blown in the lights of the driveway and cheeks filled with a gorgeous red flush. Robby looked Dennis up and down, gaze catching on his lips and the space between his legs. He caught Dennis’ eyes with his own one more time before pulling the keys out of the ignition, popping open the truck door, and fleeing to his front door.

Dennis sat in the car for a moment. He smiled. Then he giggled. Then he laughed, running his own hands down his face. He had been so certain his career was over. The way Robby had been avoiding him, he half imagined that the older man had spent the rest of the shift at HR listing the copious reasons Dennis should never be allowed in the field of medicine anywhere in the United States ever again. But then, Robby had offered to drive him home. Then Robby had, in the sweetest voice, asked if Dennis had meant it. Then, in Dennis’ boldest moment to date, he’d felt Robby through those cargo pants and the man had been so hard he wondered if he had any blood left in the rest of his body. And now, Robby was standing on the steps to his house, staring at his door like it held the answers to the universe, waiting for Dennis. Who was Dennis to deny him anything?

He grabbed his backpack and stepped out of the truck, taking his sweet time to join Robby on the stoop. He stopped right behind him, too close, he knew. But he couldn’t help but smirk at the hitch in Robby’s breath when Dennis put his hands on his waist. The man had a layer of fat padding his hips that Dennis could feel through the jacket and the hoodie and the scrub top and he knew it wasn’t from lack of activity. The ER was a place of strenuous physicality and Dennis had witnessed first hand just how fucking strong this man was. The cushion was just something that came with age and Dennis was salivating over it.

“You know, doors are most useful when they’re opened,” Dennis teased.

“Fuck…” Robby muttered, seemingly to himself, fumbling for his keys. It was a miracle he didn’t drop them before opening the door and letting them both in. 

Robby’s house was just about what Dennis had expected. Dark wood furniture. A large flat screen TV and an even larger, soft-looking sofa. Medical journals and a surprising amount of James Patterson novels scattered across every surface. Framed photos on the walls of Robby and Abbot and Jake. There were a few of an older woman whose smile was a carbon copy of Robby’s. The living room was open to a sleek kitchen with granite countertops and a sizable island surrounded by tall stools of a similar dark wood to the living room. Lived-in was how Dennis would describe it. But not messy. Just comfortable. It was a home. 

Robby took off his backpack and slumped it to the floor and Dennis did the same. Robby took off his jacket and hung it on a hook on the wall and Dennis did the same. Robby was looking anywhere but Dennis. 

“I um,” Robby started. He didn’t continue for a moment before finding his voice again. “I have wine. If you’re thirsty. Or water. I can make dinner, too. There’s plenty in the fri—”

He stopped as Dennis’ hand landed on his chest. He looked down at it as if it was burning him and then looked up into Dennis’ eyes. What he saw there made his breath catch. Dennis didn’t have to ask him what he saw because he knew. He saw hunger. Dennis pushed at the man’s chest. Not aggressively, but firm enough to have the man inching backwards until his back hit the front door. But Dennis didn’t stop until he was chest to chest with the older man. “Huh,” he mused. “Guess doors are pretty useful closed, too.”

Robby let out a delirious chuckle that died in his throat as Dennis stood on his toes, holding Robby’s face and closing the gap between their mouths. It was soft for a moment. Lips against lips. Toes dipping in the water. A litmus test. Until Robby opened his mouth on a whimper. Before Dennis knew it, he was thrusting his tongue behind Robby’s teeth and swallowing the small, beautifully pathetic sounds Robby was making. Robby’s hands firmly grabbed at Dennis’ waist, scrambling for purchase as Dennis ravaged him. Robby’s hips thrust forward of their own accord and a visceral groan fell from his lips into Dennis’ mouth as their clothed cocks met. Dennis smiled into the kiss and started spewing all the filth he’d been holding in for the past twenty minutes. Or three hours. Or twelve months. “Fuck. That hard already? If I knew all it took was a few dirty words, I woulda sent you that voice memo myself. Were you hard at work, too? Did you do your rounds and your handoffs with my voice in your head? Bet you couldn’t wait to get home and play with yourself thinking about my fingers and my tongue and my dick all over this pretty body. Fuck, you’re so pretty, Robby.”

“Michael,” Robby choked out, his breath caressing Dennis’ lips.

Dennis smiled, “What’s that, baby?”

“My name. Call me Michael.” 

Dennis had to bite his lip nearly till bleeding to keep himself from turning the other man around and taking him right in the foyer. He dragged his thumb across that pouty bottom lip. “Okay. Get on your knees and show me what that pretty mouth can do, Michael.”

There was a large thud that sounded as Michael immediately dropped to his knees. When this was over, Dennis would have to look at those knees to make sure the ridiculous man hadn’t hurt himself, but within two seconds, Dennis’ scrub bottoms and boxers were wrapped around his knees and Michael’s tongue was licking a stripe up Dennis’ length and all Dennis’ doctor thoughts were out the window. 

Michael peppered a few kisses along the shaft before closing his lips around the tip, swirling his tongue around the head and Dennis’ eyes went to the back of his skull. “Fuck… Just like that, Michael.” 

The older man hummed around Dennis and he had to bite his fist to keep from shouting as he hollowed his cheeks and started to bob his head. 

Michael was good. Dennis didn’t let himself think about all the men he’d used to practice with. Instead, he focused on the pad of Michael’s tongue as it traced the veins on the underside of his cock.

“God, you were made for this weren’t you?” Dennis heard himself say, but didn’t remember deciding to say it. Dominance wasn’t his natural state in everyday life, so in moments like these he always seemed to surprise himself. “Who would’ve thought the golden boy of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center was a gold-star cocksucker? How many doctors in the ER know how good this mouth feels, huh?” Okay, maybe he was thinking about the other men. “Bet you’ve blown half the department. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, PTMC community bicycle. Everybody gets a ride.” Jesus, Dennis was bold tonight.

Michael shook his head, or at least tried to, with his mouth full of cock.

“What’s that, baby? Can’t quite hear you,” Dennis teased.

Michael pulled off with a pop. “Just you.”

Dennis raised an eyebrow.

Michael rolled his eyes, “Okay, and Jack, but it was med school and med school is no man’s land.”

Dennis chuckled, despite the ugly pang of jealousy that flared in his stomach. “Guess Doctor Abbot and I have something to talk about now.” Michael’s brows furrowed in displeasure and Dennis smirked, “Maybe we’ll share tips on how to— FUCK!”

Michael cut off the younger doctor by taking him all the way to the back of his throat until his nose was buried in the hairs at Dennis’ pelvis. Dennis grappled onto Michael’s shoulders for balance, which bounced in amusement. Weaponized absence of a gag reflex. Two could play at that game.

Dennis straightened himself up. He threaded his hands in Michael’s hair, pulled his hips back until only the tip remained on his tongue and thrust in roughly. Michael moaned around Dennis’ length again but it was soon muffled by the obscene noises that filled the air as Dennis began fucking Michael’s throat in earnest. Dennis looked down at Michael only to find wide brown eyes staring right back up at him, almost in bliss. Beneath Michael’s chin, he saw movement and in his euphoria, it took him a moment to register what it was. It was his hand, palming at his own clothed cock.

Without thinking, Dennis brought his foot forward, kicked Michael’s hand away and pressed the toe of his boot to the man’s crotch, eliciting a deep groan that sent vibrations through Dennis’ entire body. 

Dennis continued thrusting, fucking Michael’s face like it was his job and he was employee of the month. All the while, he felt Michael thrusting against his boot, desperately trying to get himself off and the thought alone had Dennis on the brink of coming far too early.

He pulled out immediately, stepping back and running his hands through his hair. 

Michael sat back on his haunches, wiping his chin of the excess saliva and his cheeks of the pretty tears that Dennis hadn’t even noticed until they were gone. Dennis slowly tucked himself back into his boxers and scrub bottoms and watched Michael carefully. Wondering what was going on in that head of his. It wasn’t until Michael dropped both of his hands to his knees and looked down at Dennis’ feet that he realized. He’s waiting for orders. Oh fuck. Michael Robinavitch was going to be the death of him.

“On your feet,” Dennis commanded.

Michael instantly complied, eyes still glued to Dennis’ shoes. Dennis smiled to himself. God, this man was pretty. He stepped forward into Michael’s space and tucked his finger underneath his chin, tipping his head up so that he could kiss him sweetly on the mouth. “Go into the bedroom. Take off your clothes. Lube and condom on the bed.”

Michael nodded but didn’t move.

“Now, Michael.” 

He moved that time and Dennis watched him retreat into the hallway, making note of which door he’d left through. 

With the man out of his sight, Dennis finally had a chance to think. And breathe. But mostly think. This was not your everyday Dennis. Replaying the past half hour in his mind, he hardly recognized himself. Dennis was not a dominant person. Not out of the bedroom and usually not in the bedroom either. Not for lack of wanting and given the preceding events, certainly not for lack of ability. The fidgety, yes-sir, country mouse air about him just usually didn’t help him sell “let me tie you down, fuck, and degrade you” to interested parties. But Robby? Michael? He didn’t have to be peddled to. He bought Dennis’ domination before it was on the market.

Dennis needed a fucking drink.

—

If Michael wasn’t hornier than a cat in heat right now, he would have been embarrassed at how fast he had stripped his clothes off and thrown the lube and condom on his duvet. If Michael wasn’t hornier than a cat in heat right now, he’d be beating himself over the head because what was he doing? He was fifty-four years old, stiff as a rod at the thought of getting his shit absolutely rocked by someone twenty-seven years his junior. Literally half his age. If Gloria found out, she would have his head on a pike and install it permanently in the center of the ED as a lesson to all current and future attendings: don’t stick your dick in your much younger residents. Or don’t stick your much younger residents’ dicks in you. Tomato, tomahto. It was just a bad fucking idea. This was a bad idea. Why was he naked?

Robby grabbed his boxers from off the floor and pulled them back on. He had one leg back in his cargos when he caught a glimpse of pale skin in his periphery. He turned and there was Dennis Whitaker, in nothing but his boxers, holding a tumbler of whiskey precariously in one hand, the other tucked under the opposite arm. Robby’s eyes traced over the lean but toned expanse of Dennis’ chest, arms, legs and his mouth felt dry at the same time he could feel himself salivate. His ass hit the bed before he could tell himself to sit down as he admired the sheer Dennis of it all.

Dennis crossed the room, finishing a solid finger of whiskey in one swallow, setting it down on the side table and maneuvering himself between Robby’s partially covered legs. “I’m pretty sure I told you to get out of your clothes,” Dennis mused. “Am I mistaken?” Dennis’ fists clenched in Robby’s hair, yanking his head back and his eyes up, “Or are you just so cock drunk you can’t follow basic fucking instructions?”

Suddenly Michael couldn’t remember a single reason why he was wearing clothes right now. Suddenly Michael couldn’t remember anything anymore. He just stared into the pale blue of Dennis’ eyes. Evidently, he stared too long. Those eyes began to soften and Dennis’ fist began to loosen in insecurity. “Sorry. Sorry. Do you want me to—”

“No!” Michael shouted and Dennis flinched and Michael once again felt guilt pang in his chest. In apology, he brought his hand up to Dennis’ in his hair and tightened his larger fist around his, effectively tugging his own hair. This seemed to put Dennis at ease, the man pulling in a way that had both of them groaning.

Dennis eased the pressure on Michael’s scalp, petting his head lightly. “On your back.” Michael fell back to the mattress with little thought or grace as Dennis eased the cargos down the other man’s leg, his boxers soon following.

“God,” Dennis lamented, staring like he was a starving man looking at a full Christmas dinner. It made Michael’s skin crawl.

He tried not to squirm. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he mumbled with a nervous laugh.

Dennis’ gaze didn’t falter as he pulled Michael’s legs up until they were spread and his feet rested against the edge of the mattress. “Can’t. No phone, remember?” he teased, but his voice was far from amused as he raked his gaze over acres of exposed skin. He eased himself to his knees, far more gracefully than Michael had not twenty minutes ago. Michael did squirm that time, feeling more exposed than he had in years. He didn’t do this. He didn’t submit often and when he did, he didn’t submit to residents who weren’t even alive when he graduated med school. This was crazy. He was crazy. He needed to stop this before it got—

“Fuck!” His hips bucked at the brush of something wet and firm against the very core of him. He definitely didn’t do this. He felt Dennis chuckle against his hole, but the little bastard didn’t remove his tongue, doubling down and circling the muscle in a way that should not have felt as mind-numbingly amazing as it did. He tilted his head up to look down between his legs. Just behind the jut of his cock, he could see Dennis’ big blue eyes staring right back, filled with mischief. “Fuuuuck. Dennis…”

The boy finally pulled back, smirking. “Yes, sir?” he asked, feigning innocence and Michael just groaned, dropping his head back down to the mattress. That fucking title. He knew what he was doing and Michael was going to die. “What? Never been eaten out?”

Jesus Christ, the mouth on this kid.

Michael felt a sharp pain in his ass as Dennis pinched him and he honest-to-god yelped.

“I asked you a question, Michael.”

“N-no,” he stuttered. Michael Robinavitch never stuttered. Yeah, he was definitely going to die tonight.

Dennis hummed, seemingly pleased. They sat for a beat, both reveling in the weight that firsts always seemed to carry. Michael hadn’t had a first in a long time and Dennis was probably relishing being the one to give it to him. But he didn’t relish for long, diving back between Michael’s legs with a fervor the older man hadn’t thought possible. 

His tongue stroked and poked and prodded at the puckered skin, pulling obscene noises straight from Michael’s soul until the muscle tensed and thrust itself inside and Michael nearly blacked out.

Then, it stopped. Dennis’ tongue, Dennis’ breath, Dennis’ bruising grip on Michael’s thighs all withdrew and he let out a confused whimper that he would not be proud of in the morning. 

He was about to sit up and look down to see what exactly the boy thought he was doing when he felt a slick finger against his rim slowly push in. Fuck… His eyelids fluttered closed. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed that feeling.

“So tight,” Dennis muttered, almost to himself. “You done this before?”

Michael shook his head without a thought before remembering that that was a lie. Maybe he was cock drunk. He nodded his head. “Yeah… J-just not in a whi— FUCK!”

Stars erupted behind his eyelids as Dennis’ finger quickly found Michael’s prostate. Of course he’d find it easily; he was a goddamn doctor.

“There it is,” Dennis purred, stroking the bundle of nerves relentlessly. Michael had to fight to keep himself breathing so he didn’t pass out. 

“Fuck, Dennis— You gotta— You gotta stop, kid.”

Dennis pointedly grazed his prostate again. “Or what?” 

Michael gritted his teeth and lifted his head to look Dennis right in the eyes, “Or I’m gonna come all over myself and pass out before I get your dick in me and I’d really fucking like it in me so maybe cut the foreplay and get. Your. Dick. In. me.”

Dennis bit his lip to conceal a smirk. “Yes, sir.” From there, the touches were purely perfunctory. A second finger to scissor Michael open, a third to stretch him further, a fourth to be thorough—all avoiding Michael’s prostate, thank fuck. It was nice. Michael had forgotten just how good it felt to be full. And he was about to be even fuller. The sandpaper in his throat was proof of that because Michael had been too occupied to comment earlier, but Dennis was… sizable, to put it delicately.

Michael was reminded of that fact a minute later as Dennis withdrew his fingers and got to his feet, dropping his boxers with little finesse. Michael let himself ogle and just hoped his tongue wasn’t hanging out like a dog. Dennis wasn’t as girthy as Michael was but he wasn’t thin and he was definitely longer. And uncut. Fuck.

“Like what you see?” Dennis asked cheekily and Michael rolled his eyes. What a dork. Dennis grabbed his face a second later and Michael’s eyes snapped back to Dennis’, suddenly very close to his own. “It’s not very nice to roll your eyes at a man who just ate you out within an inch of your life.”

“I wouldn’t say an inch,” Michael retorted.

Dennis looked over Michael’s face for a moment. “Okay, then.” Dennis shrugged, pushing back up to his feet. He picked up his boxers and stepped into them, leaving Michael reeling.

“What are you doing?” he asked incredulously.

Dennis pointed to himself. “Me? Oh, I’m leaving. I’ve clearly not met your standards. Maybe you should give Jack Abbot a call. Y’know what, I’ll call him myself.” Dennis grabbed Michael’s phone off the nightstand and brought it up to his ear without even turning it on. “Doctor Abbot? Hi, it’s Dennis Whitaker from PTMC. Yeah, Robby let me borrow his phone, ‘cause mine broke, whoops. Listen, I just ate his ass and despite squealing like a school girl, he said my head game was subpar at best.” Michael couldn’t help the surprised laugh that escaped him. “I know you two used to hook up, so could you come fuck him for me? Yes, he is kind of a brat.” Michael ran his hands down his face and groaned. Dennis covered the phone’s unlistening microphone and looked over to his attending with a playfully annoyed look, “Michael, I’m on the phone.” He uncovered the mic and resumed his conversation. “Yeah, that was him. Insufferable. Oh. Oh, no, you’re still at work? Damn. Guess I’ll have to leave him here to jerk off by himself. Okay, Doctor Abbot. You have a good shift. I’ll give Robby your love. Bye bye.” Dennis pretended to hang up the phone and turned to Michael, shrugging again.

Michael stood and approached Dennis, plucking the phone from his hand and setting it back on the night stand. He turned back to Dennis and folded his arms across his chest. “You’re ridiculous,” Michael stated, but couldn’t keep the fondness out of his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Dennis sighed, flopping his hands at his side, clearly committed to this bit. “I tried to convince him.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard. Will you fuck me now?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

Dennis tilted his head, “How good you can beg.”

“Dennis. Please fuck me.”

“Mmmmm.” Dennis’ lips flattened and his eyes narrowed. “See, that sounded more like a request. I didn’t say ‘request’. I said ‘beg’.”

Michael pursed his lips.

“You can beg,” Dennis continued, batting his lashes. “Can’t you, sir?”

Michael exhaled loudly. “You’re dangerous, y’know that?”

“I do. But that also doesn’t sound like begging to me. Bed. Now.” Oh, how quickly that switch flipped. Michael immediately sat back down and looked up at Dennis. Who just stood there. Watching him. Waiting. And you know what? Michael’s ego was well past bruised. It was downright bloodied.

“Dennis. Please fuck me. Take your cock out and split me open. I need it. Badly. I haven’t been filled in years. I need you to make me scream and fuck the brains right out of me. Please, Dennis, I am begging you.” He continued in a stream of the filthiest words he could possibly find and by the end of them, he felt just about as desperate as the words made him seem.

Dennis smiled and approached the bed slowly. He brought his hand to Michael’s cheek and stroked the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Michael couldn’t stop himself from leaning into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. He felt Dennis’ lips brush his in a gentle kiss and his breath hitched. Then they were gone and Dennis was shoving him down on the bed. He scrambled backward until his head hit his plush pillows, watching as Dennis shed his boxers again before crawling onto the bed between Michael’s legs, letting Michael feel the weight of him on top of him. He was smiling like a maniac. “You beg so prettily.”

Michael just nodded, reaching down to take Dennis’ dick in hand, but Dennis caught his wrist before he could. He dragged the offending limb up and pinned it to the pillow above Michael’s head. “I don’t recall telling you you could touch me.”

“Please,” Michael pleaded.

“Sorry, baby. Begging won’t work this time. Hands on the headboard.”

God help him, Michael didn’t even think of protesting. He raised his hands and grasped onto the wooden headboard. 

Dennis pressed a pleased kiss to Michael’s lips before sitting up and grabbing the condom from the duvet, which Michael had completely forgotten about.

“No!” Michael called before he could even explain why.

Dennis froze. “What?” He dropped the condom and brought his hands up to caress Michael’s spread thighs. “Are you okay? Do we need to stop?”

The attending groaned. Dennis was such a helper. Always ready to assist and comfort and fix. He was so gentle and caring and Michael was a dirty old man who couldn’t think with the right head if it saved his life. He made a mental note to never tell Jack about this. “‘M clean.”

Dennis’ brow furrowed, like he had no idea what that word and a half meant before his eyes widened in realization. “Robby—”

“Michael.”

“Michael,” Dennis conceded, rubbing his thumbs in calming circles against Michael’s thighs. “Are you sure?”

What the fuck are you doing, brother? Jack screamed in his head, but Michael didn’t listen. “You’re clean, right?”

“I mean, yeah but—”

“Then do it. Fuck me raw, Doctor Whitaker.”

Michael could see the instant he won, the dark glint that shone through those baby blues. Dennis’ tongue came out to wet his bottom lip and he nodded, reaching behind him to grab the forgotten bottle of lube, pouring a generous amount on his palm and spreading it down his gorgeous cock. Michael swallowed and the burn reminded him of that same cock down his throat. 

Dennis used one hand to push one of Michael’s legs up and back as far as it would go, opening him up. He used his other hand to align himself with Michael’s hole. “Deep breath,” the younger doctor cooed, the same way he would to a distressed patient and Michael was helpless but to comply. On his exhale, Dennis pushed in and they groaned in unison. Michael’s eyes screwed shut at the stretch despite the preparation. It really had been years since he’d done this and it was almost too much. 

Dennis stayed still for a few moments, peppered a few kisses to Michael’s knee. He didn’t ask if he was okay, even though Michael was certain he wanted to. He seemed uncannily aware of what the older man needed. Just a second to adjust. A second to reacquaint himself with the overwhelming fullness. Michael breathed a few times before nodding jerkily.

Dennis inched deeper at a glacial pace and Michael chanced a glance at the younger man, finding his eyes clenched shut and his mouth parted in a dumbstruck ‘O’. When he finally bottomed out, his chest started heaving.

“Dennis?” Michael huffed, concern overriding his discomfort.

“‘M good,” Dennis breathed in turn. “‘S good. So fuckin’ good…” 

Michael let out a delirious, breathy laugh. The kid looked wrecked. Michael wanted to run his hands over the kid’s abdomen, grab his ass and pull in encouragement, but instead fisted the headboard until his knuckles turned white. Dennis had told him to keep his hands off, so he’d keep his hands off. He wanted to be good.

After a moment, Dennis seemed to recover, pulling out a little faster than he’d pushed in and giving a quick and short thrust forward, testing the waters. Michael hooked his free leg around the resident’s hips, nudging him further forward and dragging a long, drawn out moan from him and forcing his eyes open. 

That was all the encouragement the boy seemed to need, pulling his hips back and slamming his hips forward, pelvis slapping against Michael’s ass and cock ramming his prostate. 

“Ah!” Michael shouted, lightning shooting up his spine and leaving him breathless. Dennis didn’t slow down, fucking his attending like he meant it and Michael was eating it up. Each thrust forced a new, embarrassing noise from him and he could feel himself flush what he imagined was an absurd shade of red. Each thrust proved him right, over and over and over; he really couldn’t stay quiet with Dennis. It was simultaneously worse and so much better than he’d imagined. Then again, he’d never imagined getting railed nearly to death by the ED’s resident mousy farm boy. On late, lonely nights in his little townhouse, with his dick in his hand and blue eyes in his mind, it was usually the other way around. But those thoughts were far from his mind in that moment. He was painfully present and aware of the stretch and the momentum and the filthy sounds spilling from their mouths and bodies. Skin slapping skin, Dennis’ dirty fucking words. “God, Michael.” “Fucking made to take this cock.” “Good boy.” “Just a whore for it, aren’t you?” At some point, the hand not holding Michael’s leg had taken hold of his jaw, forcing his mouth open for Dennis to promptly spit directly onto Michael’s tongue, ripping a garbled whine from somewhere deep and dark within him. If Michael were younger, he would have come on the spot. 

But Michael was not a younger man, as the twinge in his back was slowly but surely reminding him. After several more thrusts the twinge became an ache became a sharp pain at the base of his spine. “Dennis. Dennis. Stop.”

The boy froze immediately, face paling visibly. He thought he’d fucked up, hurt him irreparably. Michael smiled up at him reassuringly.

“Pull out. Let me rearrange.”

Dennis’ sigh of relief was audible. He freed himself of Michael’s tight heat and sat back far enough to allow the other man to turn over onto his stomach, spreading his legs as wide as his sore joints would allow and planting his hands firmly back on the headboard.

“Oh my God…” he heard Dennis whisper in reverie. 

Michael laughed and wiggled his hips. “Well?”

Dennis didn’t hesitate plunging into the man and pistoning his hips violently. The motion had Michael’s cock rubbing deliciously against the fabric of his sheets in time with the brutal assault on his prostate and a scream tore from his lungs before he could even think of stopping it. He could feel wet tears pouring down his face at the all-encompassing pleasure coursing through him. The coil in his gut wound tighter and tighter as Dennis started spilling obscenities into Michael’s shoulder blades, mouthing and tonguing at the muscle between words. Michael couldn’t help himself, wrenching his hand from the headboard and reaching back to grab Dennis’ jerking hip. He half expected to be reprimanded, but Dennis seemed too far gone to do anything but groan gutterally.

The coil was coming to its snapping point and Michael barely let out a breathless, “Coming, coming!” before he screamed Dennis’ name as an earth-shattering orgasm overtook him. His ass clenched around Dennis’ cock in a vice grip and with a resounding “FUCK!” from the resident, he felt warmth flood his insides as Dennis painted them with his cum. 

Michael saw white for a solid minute as the aftershocks bled through him. He barely registered Dennis pulling out and a trickle down his thigh. He vaguely acknowledged that he was being manhandled onto his back and faintly perceived two fingers swiping through the mess between his thighs. The first vivid sensation he recognized was the bitter taste of cum on his tongue. He came to immediately, eyes locking on Dennis’ face, eyes dark as he shoved his first two fingers to the back of Michael’s tongue. Michael was helpless but to lap the digits clean.

Dennis smiled and whispered a final “Good boy” before sliding off the bed and disappearing into the en suite bath. Michael felt himself frown at the absence. Which was ridiculous. It was just sex, after all. Nonetheless, something in his chest lifted when Dennis returned with a wet washcloth and took his time cleaning his stomach, his soft cock and his dripping hole. After a quick swipe over his own dick, Dennis tossed the rag in the direction of Michael’s hamper. The older man chuckled when he missed by a wide margin. Dennis laughed too. It was… good.

Michael expected that to be it. Dennis would redress and leave and they’d see each other at work and pretend this never happened. What he didn’t expect was Dennis to wrestle the duvet from under Michael and pull it over the both of them as he settled himself under Michael’s arm.

They lay there in silence for a while. Not tense like it was in the truck. Just present. Aware of each other’s company and comfortable in it. Michael eventually spoke first. “I think I owe Mrs. Abramowitz a gift basket.”

Dennis snickered, “I’ll sign it. Something tells me she’ll know the name.”

Michael laughed, genuinely laughed, and ran his free hand down his face. “This is crazy. You’re crazy, y'know that?” He looked down to the boy with crow’s feet branching from the corners of his eyes. “I should 5150 you for this.”

The boy just grinned and closed his eyes, burying his face in the crook of Michael’s arm. “You’re not the first to say so and you won’t be the last.” He peeked one eye open. “Get some original material.”

Michael laughed again and Dennis somehow managed to snuggle further into his side. “Goodnight, Dennis.”

“Mmmmm. G’night, Michael.”

—

Dennis had meant to wake up before Robby. His plan was to sneak out at about 3am, catch an early bus back home, and get another hour and a half of sleep before going into work and pretending like nothing had happened. Dennis wasn’t proud of this plan, but what was he supposed to do? Wake up in his boss’ arms and exchange sweet pillow talk? Kiss his boss before they’d brushed their teeth and poke fun at their awful breath? Drink his boss’ coffee out of his boss’ mug in his boss’ kitchen wearing his boss’ too big t-shirt? Walk into the ED hand in hand with his boss and kiss him before they parted ways to do their rounds? Dennis fucking wished. No. It was better if he did what he should have last night instead of cuddling Robby like it meant something. It was better if he treated this like what it was. A one-night stand. That he would see at work, every day, for the foreseeable future and never be allowed to touch again. 

Or that was the plan. It was hard to wake up at 3am when you didn’t have a phone. So instead, Dennis woke up to an empty bed and the faint smell of cooking meat and coffee. Outside the window, it was still dark and the alarm clock on the side table read 5:02. He rubbed his eyes and tossed the duvet off himself, grabbing his boxers, sliding them on and heading down the hall.

He found Robby in a similar state of undress, all dense muscle and plush fat, flipping what looked but didn’t smell like bacon, bumping his hips to an Etta James song playing from a speaker. Somewhere in the recesses of Dennis’ delusional mind, he thought he could get used to this. 

Robby, practically sensing Dennis’ presence, looked over his shoulder with a smile that nearly stopped Dennis’ heart with how loving it seemed. As if Dennis was something important to him, something he cherished. With mirth in his eyes, he flicked off the stovetop and spun toward Dennis in time with the music, bringing the spatula up to his lips and singing, “I want to be loved,” he strode forward, taking Dennis’ hand and spinning him. Dennis laughed, despite himself as Robby pulled him in close. “I crave affection.” Michael ran his thumb over Dennis’ cheek. “Those kisses of yours,” he dropped a chaste kiss on Dennis’ lips that left his head reeling. “I gladly share.” Dennis looked to the floor, nervously, all confidence from last night evaporated. Michael was having none of it, tilting the boy’s head up to meet his deep brown eyes. “I want your eyes to shine in my direction.” Dennis could feel heat fill his cheeks as he wrapped his arms around Michael’s neck and Michael nuzzled his nose against the side of Dennis’ face, crooning in his ear, “Oh, make me care.”

They stood for a moment in each other’s space, swaying to the beat of the music. It was Dennis who pulled back and looked in Michael’s eyes. “Of course you’d be an Etta James guy.”

Michael laughed brightly, “Don’t know what that means, but I’ll take it as a compliment.” He pressed another lingering kiss to Dennis’ lips before turning back to the stove, plating the meat next to a feast Dennis hadn’t even noticed. Eggs and toast and jam and two mugs of steaming coffee in various shades of brown that told Dennis Michael knew how Dennis took his coffee. The intimacy of something so seemingly trivial nearly choked the younger man up. “Hope you like turkey bacon.”

“Never had it,” Dennis admitted

“First time for everything,” Michael mused, shuffling a healthy portion of food onto two ceramic plates. “I may not believe in God, but from what I’ve read, They’re just vengeful enough that it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Dennis snorted and took a plate from Michael, setting it on the counter and taking a bite of turkey bacon. It wasn’t bad. They filled the early morning air with small talk that didn’t feel small at all. It bounced from work to family to their childhoods. Never too deep, but not shallow either. Every bit of information they gleaned about each other held weight, at least in Dennis’ mind. It was easy in a way he hadn’t imagined it could be. When their plates and mugs were empty, Michael dragged the dishes to the sink to wash up and Dennis grabbed the kitchen towel dangling from the oven door handle and dried. 

“I have to run an errand before work,” Michael announced as the final dish reached its place in a cupboard. “Do you mind if I drop you off at your place? That way you and Santos can head in together. Maybe best if we don’t immediately out ourselves to the entire department.”

Dennis froze. “Out what about ourselves, exactly?” he asked carefully.

Michael bit that maddening bottom lip, suddenly looking twenty years younger in his uncertainty. “I just, uh… I just thought, maybe, if you wanted— that this could be a regular thing. You. Me. Us. B-but only if you wanted to, I wouldn’t want to assume…” Michael stumbled for a few more beats, looking anywhere but at Dennis, wincing at every awkward phrase, and Dennis’ heart soared. 

He placed a hand gently on Michael’s cheek, cutting off the rambling and drawing brown eyes to blue ones. “Are you asking me to go steady with you, Doctor Robby?”

Michael huffed a laugh, looking back down. “Yes, Doctor Whitaker. I would like to go steady with you.”

Dennis kissed him. Deeply. How could he not? When they pulled apart, both suddenly breathless, Dennis nodded. “I think that can be arranged.”

They moved quickly from there. Brushed their teeth, Dennis with a spare Michael had in a drawer. Got dressed. Grabbed their bags. Got in the car. Michael didn’t mention it when Dennis grabbed his hand on the console halfway through and Dennis didn’t mention it when Michael brought Dennis’ hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it. Dennis didn’t immediately get out when they reached his and Trinity’s apartment building. Michael didn’t wish him farewell. Neither of them seemed to want to part. But they had to. Dennis pushed up from his seat and kissed Michael on the cheek, pulling back to grab his backpack when Michael grabbed him by the front of the shirt and pulled him back into a deep kiss, full of promises, that left Dennis’ head in the clouds. They pulled back and Michael patted down the front of Dennis’ scrub top. “See you out there, Doctor Whitaker.”

Dennis grinned, “See you out there, Doctor Robby.” And he left, not looking back at Michael’s truck for fear that he would run back and never leave the man’s side.

Dennis pulled out his key and let himself into the shared apartment, dropping his backpack by the door. He took a moment to breathe, absorbing the last twelve hours before promptly punching the air in victory.

“Dennis Mildred Whitaker, I have been worried sick about you.” Dennis let out a high-pitched shriek, shrinking in on himself as he finally recognized Trinity sitting on the couch, scrubbed up with her hair pulled back in its usual half pony.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

She stood from her perch, approaching him with narrowed eyes. “Long enough.”

“My middle name’s not Mildred,” he protested, if only to assuage the accusing knives she was shooting into his very soul.

“Oh, I know, Elbert,” she snarked. “Where were you?”

“Out.” He hoped she didn’t latch onto the intentional ambiguity, but it was hopeless.

Suddenly her eyes were wide and her mouth agape in an all-too-knowing ‘O’. “You got laid, didn’t you?”

“No!” Dennis squeaked.

“Oh my God, Dennis, you so did. You dirty dog!”

Dennis could feel his face get ten shades redder which was not helping his case. “Fine, okay. I got laid. Can we be normal about it? Please?”

“Oh, hell no. You’re telling me everything. What was his name? How old was he? And why was he fifty-year-old senior attending Michael Robinavitch?”

“Trin! How could you—”

“A-ha! It was! Oh my God, Dennis, thank you, thank you, thank you.” She squeezed his waist with her head smushed to his stomach in her imitation of a hug and Dennis was a little offended that she only seemed to initiate physical contact when he did something for her, but he had no idea what he’d done this time. He didn’t have to ask. “You just won me so much money.”

“What?!”

Trinity pulled back and straightened her scrubs. “Oh, you didn’t know? Doctor Abbot started a pool months ago. It’s worth at least a thousand bucks. Emotionally stunted senior attending and blushing country-mouse resident. Will they and when they?”

Dennis paled. “Trinity, you can’t tell anyone.”

“Oh, I won’t have to. If Mildred isn’t your middle name, ‘Subtlety’ sure as hell isn’t, either.”

Dennis went to protest, but honestly, if there had been a pool for months, neither he nor Michael were nearly as subtle as they thought they were. He settled for, “I hate you.”

Trinity just grinned. “No, you don’t.” She grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the couch, tucking her legs under her and propping her chin on her fist. “Tell me  everything.”

—

Dennis did not tell Trinity everything, but he told her most of it, to her utter delight. He anticipated many, many jokes about wolves in sheep’s clothing. He had to cut her off and usher her out of the apartment when she asked what Michael sounded like because a) they’d be late if Dennis got started on just how incredible the older man sounded and b) Trinity would weaponize the knowledge against him every chance she got.

Michael wasn’t at work when Dennis and Trinity arrived at 7:05. It was strange. Robby was usually here well before shift started. Dennis started scouring his brain for something, anything he’d done wrong. But then he remembered the way Michael had looked at him over breakfast, singing Etta James and swaying Dennis’ hips to the music with his hands. It was like a flame to Dennis’ frayed nerves. He only had a second to relish in the warmth before getting swept into the motion of the ED, because unlike yesterday, today would be chaos, Dennis could already tell.

He only had about five seconds to notice Michael enter the bustling ED—sunglasses on his face, backpack slung over his shoulder, lips pursed in a whistle, headed vaguely in the direction of the lockers—before Dennis remembered he was in the middle of a cardiac massage, his hand lodged in a man’s chest. 

The shift passed quickly and by the time 6pm hit, Dennis was practically dead on his feet. He forced his feet, one in front of the other, to carry him to the locker room. Trinity was finishing up her last chart so at least he wouldn’t have to bus home. The one good thing about today. That, and Robby’s hands back on him. Not excessive, not too intimate, but there. The usual shoulder grabs and double fist bumps. Like things were back to normal. Like they were good. It made the strife feel worth it. But that didn’t mean he didn’t still absolutely hate this stupid fucking shift.

Dennis took his time putting in the code to his locker, lethargic and not particularly interested in urgency. He’d had his share of urgent matters today. He just wanted to grab his shit, find Trinity, and faceplant on his bed for the next eight to ten hours. 

But when he opened his locker, he felt himself perk up immediately. Inside sat a box that definitely was not there this morning. It was sleek and black with a silky red ribbon holding it shut. The fuck?

He pulled the brick of a box out and turned it over a few times as if that would somehow tell him what was inside. He supposed there was only one way to truly find out. He slowly pulled the ribbon and opened the box and looked inside. A surprised hiccup of a laugh escaped him.

Inside sat a brand new iPhone with a little sticky note on the screen. 

“Next time, send me the memo. Xoxo - Michael.”

—

A collective groan erupted in the room as half the ED watched Ahmad tear down the various colored sticky notes from the whiteboard. Robby had been on his way to the lockers, the day having finally come to an end, when he saw the amalgamation of disappointed coworkers staring as whatever money they’d just lost went down a Trinity Santos-shaped drain—if the stack of bills the R2 was waving in her own face was anything to go by. Robby peeked his head in. “When?” he asked the room as a whole and they all looked his way like a school of fish. 

He’d made a wager in this pool the week he got back from his sabbatical, some “when and how” bet on some not-quite-couple in PTMC whose names no one would tell him. There were a lot of staff at this hospital, so he didn’t think much of it, just put down fifty dollars on New Year’s Eve party and called it a day.

Now, though, he felt his skin itch as everyone’s eyes were glued to him, some filled with mirth, some wide and guilty like they’d just been caught. Trinity’s were the former as she slapped the stack of bills on her hand. “Last night,” she answered when no one else seemed willing. “Incriminating technical difficulties.”

“About damn time,” Dana muttered from where she sat at a desk, winking at Robby and his ears flooded with heat as the realization hit him.

Chuckles echoed throughout the room and Ahmad just cursed as he ripped down the two-hundred dollars he’d put on Christmas. Robby sighed and shook his head. “Back to work, traitors,” he grumbled and the group disbanded, passing him as they exited. Trinity tapped him on the shoulder with her earnings. From the corner of the room, Jack emerged and smacked him on the chest, leaning in close to whisper, “Good job, brother. Hope he wrapped it.” Robby rubbed his forehead and he could hear Jack cackle as he went to do his rounds.

Unbelievable. He couldn’t stop smiling.

Fin