Work Text:
The first time they'd hooked up it could have been justified as a mistake, one fuelled by the intensity of an overwhelming shift. Pure adrenaline.
They'd both just been in a small space at the same time. Trying to catch their breaths and ending up with their tongues down each other's throats, Robby's hands at the small of Whitaker's back, both of them rock hard in their scrubs, grinding like a couple of horny teenagers.
Only, neither of them are teens. Robby definitely isn't. He's a superior. Fuck. Whitaker is closer to teenage. Close to Jake's age.
Robby doesn't even think about that until the first time is over, when Robby is trying to get come out of his scrubs.
He could lose his job over this. Whitaker could file a lawsuit. Go to HR.
Robby tells him to stay away, and Whitaker gets that sad look in his eyes, the one where he looks like a haunted Victorian puppet.
They avoid each other for weeks. Rationalize it as a mistake. A moment of madness. It won't happen again.
The second time things go further. Robby bumps into Whitaker at a bar.
It had been Whitaker's day off. Santos's too. Santos had convinced Whitaker to do shots.
Robby is drunk too, trying to process another stressful day.
Santos walks by them and calls Whitaker a lightweight twink before disappearing with a mystery woman. She doesn't even realize he's talking to Robby.
The bathroom stall is even smaller than the supply closet. Robby's neck aches from how he has to bend down to meet Whitaker's mouth.
It's a blur of hands and belts and skin and mouths.
Robby feels wet, looks down to see Whitaker on his knees, mouth around him. He grabs a fistful of dirty blonde hair.
A sweet, country farm boy. Where'd he learn to do that?
He doesn't remember if Whitaker gets off or not, but he catches a glimpse of his cock, uncut, surprisingly lengthy. Bigger than his own.
It's always the skinny guys. Sees it in the ER enough when he's cutting the clothes off patients. (Nothing sexual about that, just observation.)
Whitaker's teeth graze his jaw at one point, hands gripping his face, and Robby let's out a noise he doesn't think he's ever made before.
It's more intoxicating than the alcohol in his system. That feeling. To have someone who's supposed to look up to him take a moment of control.
When they're sober, days later, on a slow day in the ER, Robby takes him aside, tells him it can't happen again.
Whitaker takes it surprisingly well, although it's more so because he doesn't believe him. He knows Robby is bullshitting. He can tell by the way his eyes linger on his mouth. He may have grown up sheltered, but he wasn't stupid.
Robby realises mid-conversation that he's staring. Not just at Whitaker's mouth, but his teeth. Incisors and canines. The back of his neck flushes hot at the memory of them grazing against his jaw.
x
There's no excuse for this.
They're both sober. The day had been relatively stress less There's no lingering trauma hanging over them.
Robby knows he shouldn't be bringing any of the med students to his apartment, let alone one he's already had two entanglements with.
It had been different with Collins and Abbott. They'd been on his level. His equals. This was breaking way too many codes of ethics.
At first it could be seen as harmless comradery. Bonding. Maybe if he'd invited Santos, King and Javadi over as well, but it was just him. Just Whitaker.
It's an innocent conversation at first. Robby asks him about home. Whitaker tells him how he misses his family, but likes the freedom of being somewhere new. The way he can be himself.
Robby doesn't say anything, just nods. He doesn't know that feeling. He never really struggled with that beyond a few negative reactions from partners when they found out his proclivities weren't just reserved for one gender.
The topic shifts to work, because of course it does, and Robby finds himself spilling his guts in a way he hasn't since the day of the shooting.
Whitaker had been there then. Giving words of reassurance, of praise.
"It's a Hell of a responsibility, and I gotta--," he exhales, shaky, eyes shifting from Whitaker to his floor. "I gotta be in charge all the time. I know we're a team, and everyone does so much, Dana... the nurses. You guys. But I'm..."
He looks to Whitaker, whose blue eyes, usually so alert and almost frightened, are soft, filled with admiration for the man before him.
"You gotta take care of everyone," Whitaker nods, voice gentle. He sounds like he did that day, but less hesitant, more confident. "But nobody's there to take care of you."
Letting out a sharp breath, Robby nods, chewing his bottom lip. He feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.
He also feels the bump of Whitaker's knee against his own, the warmth of his palm, pressed to his cheek.
Robby's eyes slide shut at the touch. He can't explain this away, can't deny it, so he accepts it, melts into it, allows it to happen because he wants it.
"I could take care of you," Whitaker suggests, voice quiet, soft as he rubs a thumb across the older man's bearded cheek.
Robby thinks of those teeth, grazing where his thumb now is. It sends a wave of warmth throughout his body, leaning closer to Whitaker on the couch.
"I can't let you do that, kid," Robby says, inhaling a sharp breath, shaking his head. He doesn't sound like he means it because he doesn't mean it. He wants nothing more than to give into this. To let himself go.
"It's okay," Whitaker says, lips brushing against the corner of his mouth as he takes his face fully in his hands.
Robby is never usually in this position. He takes control. All the time. Every time. He should be the one in charge, logically. Whitaker is younger, smaller, slighter, and yet Robby feels so open, so vulnerable, so willing.
Whitaker presses a kiss to his lips, soft and quick, testing the waters.
"What are you-- what do you want to...?" Robby can't figure out words right now, how to convey his questioning.
"I wanna take care of you," Whitaker reiterates, moving to press his lips to the shell of Robby's ear, breath hot against it as he stammers, nervous despite his newfound confidence. "To fuck you."
The noise that leaves Robby is the same one he'd made in that bathroom stall, when Whitaker's teeth had grazed his jaw.
It's lost in the heat of Whitaker's mouth, vibrating against his tongue.
Robby feels his back hit the couch, the weight of the younger man come down on him. He gives into it with an eagerness he didn't know he held.
Whitaker's hands are deceptively rough. Despite his exterior, despite looking like a wet cat found in a cardboard box at the side of the highway, Whitaker is a farm boy. He can snap a rat's neck with ease. Probably shovelled all sorts through rain and shine. Could wrestle cattle and sheep. He can handle himself. As well as others, it seems.
Robby hasn't done this in a while. Not in this position. He hadn't felt the pressure of a hot, wet tongue against his hole, the grip of hands against his cheeks, spreading him open. The vulnerability. He'd never been good at that.
Whitaker was giving him that chance. To be looked after.
He hadn't expected Whitaker to get to it so quickly. There'd been the clashing of wrists, a hand bringing Robby's cock to attention.
Robby had gotten hold of Whitaker's cock at one point, felt the weight of it. It's even thicker than he remembers. Fuck. He doesn't know if he'll be able to take it.
Whitaker's fingers are a welcome surprise, a ragged gasp leaving the back of Robby's throat, the gentle, skilled stretch of them inside of him.
Robby can barely gain the courage to look at him, a mixture of shame and pleasure curling in his gut.
Whitaker doesn't seem to mind, just carries on opening him up, alternating between his tongue and fingers.
Robby wonders briefly if he should have shaved, but Whitaker isn't complaining. The kid seems to like it, his free palm spraying across Robby's stomach, tracing his happy trail, rubbing across the hair on his chest.
"You're so handsome," Whitaker blurts out at one point, reminding Robby that he's an awkward, sheltered boy under all of this.
It just makes his cock twitch harder, makes his knees quiver. It's fucked up. All of this is so fucked up. He wonders if Whitaker has even done this before.
Whitaker is relatively smooth bodied, what little body hair he has is too light to see, just a small trail leading down to his cock, hard and leaking with pre-come.
Robby licks his lips at the sight of it, feels dizzy when Whitaker's fingers curl inside of him, hitting his prostate.
"Whit..." Robby grunts out, hands flying put to grip the younger man's biceps. There's a deceptive strength there. Skinny but toned. All that farm work. "Fuck, kid. I'm gonna need you to hurry up, or I might lose it."
"Hey, it's okay, " Whitaker says, voice soft, reassuring, forehead pressed to Robby's temple. "I said I'll take care of you."
Robby exhales, hooking a leg around the younger man's hip, fully vulnerable.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," he says, breath ragged. "And I need you to do that now."
It's not ideal to go so quickly. At least Robby had pulled the lube out from his bedroom before this had started.
"Oh, fuck," Robby shakes as he feels the stretch of Whitaker's cock, pressing into him slowly but surely. He grips the back of his neck, a little rougher then he means to, then his eyes fly open. "Oh, shit. Condoms..."
"It's okay," Whitaker huffs, looking down at him with those big blues of his. His hips are still, but half his cock is still inside of Robby, and he can't deny how good it feels, the tight heat around him. "I'm clean. I want to."
"Oh, fuck," Robby hisses, craning his head to the side, rubbing a hand across his flushed cheeks. He shouldn't do it. He should end this right now. But he won't. "Fuck, okay. Yeah. Yeah. Yes."
He opens his eyes at the last words, meeting Whitaker's gaze again. It's no longer wide and skittish, but dark and wanting.
Whitaker kisses him again, their noses bumping hard, teeth clashing.
Robby moans into the younger man's mouth, his heels digging into the small of his back as Whitaker slides into him to the hilt.
He's been fucked before, by a few average sized dicks and one strap-on courtesy of Jake's mom, but that had been a long time ago.
Whitaker was so big. Despite his skinny frame and shorter stature. Typical.
Robby is still wound up so tight, strong thighs quaking, like he's scared if he squeezes them too tight around Whitaker the younger man might shatter.
"It's okay," Whitaker reassures him, forehead pressed to his own. He's sweating already, making breathy little gasps as he rocks his hips gently back and forth. "Just relax. Breathe in and out."
Robby feels his palm again, warm and calloused, splayed against his chest. His heart is hammering under his ribcage a million miles a minute.
Taking a deep breath, Robby lets his limbs loosen, his muscles restricting. The stretch of Whitaker inside of him is still a lot, but it's easier now, sending waves of pleasure though him, his own cock twitching between their bodies.
"Fuck, kid," Robby whispers, fingers gripping onto his back. There's a scar on his shoulder blade, raised. Probably from a tractor or something.
"Does it feel okay?" Whitaker asks, his fingertips pressing into the meat of one of Robby's thighs, the other hand still pressed to his chest. He sounds nervous, like when he's assessing a patient.
Robby nods, swallows, "Yeah. Yeah. Feels fucking fantastic."
"Good," Whitaker's teeth flash into a grin.
The sight of it makes Robby dizzy.
"Mouth..." Robby breathes out, moving his hand to the back of Whitaker's neck, feeling the sweat damp of his hair plastered to it.
Whitaker leans in to kiss him again, which Robby accepts, but pulls away from it after a second.
"Teeth... jaw," Robby clarifies, grunting when Whitaker's hips stutter back and forth, slowly fucking into him still. He cranes his neck up, exposing his throat, vulnerable.
Whitaker pauses, blinking. Oh. He vaguely remembers that drunken night.
Maybe he's not the timid barn owl after all. Maybe he's the fox.
Robby's all too vulnerable. Too open. To expose himself like this to someone he was supposed to be in charge of... it's too late now. Might as well go all in. Loosen up. Let Whitaker look after him like he promised.
His teeth are sharp but gentle, grazing across the grey-brown scratch of his beard. Whitaker can taste a bitterness on his tongue, probably from a beard oil of sorts. He couldn't even grow stubble himself. Such a baby face. A little boy. Not so little now, though.
"Yeah, ah--" Robby gasps, heels digging into the small of Whitaker's back even harder, hips jerking as Whitaker's cock hits that sweet spot inside of him, making him dizzy. Whitaker's mouth moves across his jaw, teeth grazing across his pulse point, tongue sliding over his jugular, like he's mapping each point out from a textbook. Robby hisses. "Fuck. Harder. P-please."
He's never begged like this. Maybe during times of turmoil, praying for help, but not under the weight of a man half his age, certainly not one he would lose his job over if this ever came out.
Whitaker doesn't make much noise, just shaky little breaths, like he's holding back, rocking his hips at a quickening pace. He's got the stamina for it. All that cardio working, no doubt. It's hesitant, the way he sucks his mouth over the flesh on Robby's neck, but the squeeze of Robby's fingers reassures him, and he sucks harder.
Robby rolls his hips faster, down against the weight of Whitaker's cock, up against the skin of his abdomen, his own cock leaking like a faucet, despite having barely been touched.
Whitaker must realise this because he circles a hand around him, jerks him slow at first, eliciting more grunts and desperate noises from the back of the older man's throat. Robby wonders if he's done this before. He must have done. He's deceptively good at it.
A nip. Gentle at first, like the stroke of his fingers, but the moan it gets from Robby just acts as an accelerant. Whitaker bites down harder this time, teeth mashing flesh. They both have the medical training in their back of their minds. Bacteria. Risk of infection. They don't care. They can deal with it.
"Fuck!" Robby yelps out, caught off-guard by the bite and the way his balls tighten, cock twitching between their abdomens as he comes, hot and hard.
Whitaker notices, his breath hot against the burning ring his teeth left on Robby's neck, feeling the sticky wet spill across his knuckles as he grins.
"Christ, fuck!" Robby stammers, hands flexing uselessly, not knowing what to do with them. His cock, softening between them, twitches even now, as Whitaker sucks against the meat of his collarbone.
"Doctor Robby..." Whitaker pants after a moment, hips jerking quick. The formality of his name is strange in this environment, but Whitaker doesn't know what else to call him. He's close, Robby can tell. "I'm gonna... should I...?"
"Inside," Robby nods, hooking his thighs tight around bony hips. "Do it. Need it. Need you to."
Whitaker's face is bright red, pressed against the sweat slick hair of Robby's chest. His gasps are lost in Robby's flesh as he comes, teeth chomping down once more, fingers digging hard into the meat of his thighs, cock jerking inside the tight, slick heat of the older man, flooding him.
They stay like that for a moment, riding out their orgasms, Whitaker collapsed against him like he's just done a twelve hour shift, Robby breathing, ragged, trying to catch up.
Whitaker is the first to move, soft cock pulling out of Robby, body rolling to sit up on the end of the couch. His clothes are strewn across the floor, along with Robby's. He looks embarassed. Ashamed.
Robby blinks open his eyes, watches him move to stand, sweat gleaming across his pale flesh.
"I'm sorry," Whitaker apologizes, gathering his clothes, sliding on a pair of boxers.
"No, don't, it's..." Robby shifts, joints creaking slightly, feeling the sticky wet of Whitaker's come dribble down his thighs. He exhales. "You shouldn't be apologizing. I'm the one who should be... fuck. Jesus, I'm your superior."
"What?" Whitaker turns to him, brow furrowed. "No, you didn't. I took advantage, if anything."
"No," Robby frowns, holding out a hand. "You didn't. I wanted it. You didn't do anything wrong."
A fleeting look of relief crosses Whitaker's face.
"But we can't..." Whitaker trails off, gesturing between the two of them. "Not again, right?"
Robby nods, "Yeah. Not again."
x
"Did Myrna finally get a chomp outta you?" Dana inquires, gesturing to the red mark on Robby's neck.
Whitaker glances up from where he's looking at a patient's file, heat pricking across his cheeks.
"Ah, no," Robby chuckles, meeting Whitaker's gaze briefly across the desk. He swallows. The mark stings. "Tried a new aftershave. I think I'm allergic to it."
Whitaker looks back down, shifts on his feet.
"As are we, I can smell it from here," Princess says.
Robby laughs.
Whitaker ends up in the bathroom at one point, notices it slowly as he opens his scrubs to take a leak. His boxers. They're not his. They're Robby's.
It won't hurt to return them after work, surely? Nothing will happen again. They won't keep doing what they both want to do. It'll cause too much chaos.
Whitaker keeps staring at the mark on Robby's neck when they're out in The Pitt.
Not again.
It's a lie. It'll happen again. Of course it will.