Chapter Text
As far as first days go, Robby is fully aware that today was probably about as bad as it could get for the new kids. Javadi’s a sweetheart and a smart girl who is clearly passionate about what she does, but she has that sort of newborn baby deer energy that will get her eaten alive in the ER if she doesn’t get some self-confidence. Mel did a fantastic job taking charge and working with neurodivergent patients, but she had the misfortune of picking Langdon as who she was shadowing for most of the day and ended up caught in that clusterfuck. And on a similar note, Santos is definitely good enough to be as cocky as she is, and being unafraid to point out issues isn’t a negative trait, but Robby’s honestly surprised she didn’t get humbled worse than she did.
And then there’s Whitaker.
The kid has great potential. He’s caring almost to a fault, and a quick learner, and able to apply practical skills to his medical ones. He knows when to show discretion, apparently, and his faith, however strong, isn’t a detriment to his scientific knowledge.
He’s also a cute little thing, who probably doesn’t realize he blushes a teeny bit when he gets complimented. And it’s dangerous for Robby’s sanity how he manages to be endearing while covered in copious bodily fluids.
Fuck.
He’s too old to have a little crush on one of the new med students.
It’s just the emotions and adrenaline from today. Has to be.
That’s why he’s still skulking around instead of going home, anyways. Night shift has fully taken over, the waiting room is once again full of new patients needing help, hell even Jack’s gone back home by now, but Robby can’t quite settle down enough to trust himself to drive. He doesn’t trust himself to actually take any patients either, though, so he’s just sort of wandering the other floors of the hospital he normally doesn’t get (or want) to see.
It’s a strange sort of feeling, seeing how different things are on each floor. For every tragically injured child in his territory, there’s a happy, healthy baby born on the third floor. Every aortic dissection caught just a little too late has its match in a heart condition successfully diagnosed and managed in Cardiology in the left wing of the sixth. The OR where the last of his red-zone shooting victims are being pieced back together is right next to one where a young man is finally getting new lungs compatible with his rare blood clotting disorder. Every car pulling out of the parking garage is in time with a new ambulance pulling into the bay. The cosmic balance between life and death filtered down to a small scale in one drab concrete building.
Okay. Maybe he does need to go home. “Philosophical” isn’t exactly a healthy emotion for him. It leads to stealing Jack’s spot on the roof, or worse.
But instead of the roof, he ends up somewhere random and unexpected. He has no idea what actually leads them there, maybe just some subconscious reminder of what Whitaker said earlier, about the unoccupied eighth floor.
Whatever it is, that’s where he finds himself. The hallway is dim, only lit by the automatic emergency lights. It’s not completely silent, nowhere in the city is, especially not a hospital, but it’s considerably less overstimulating than the ER, so it’s kind of nice for his frayed nerves.
The music is unexpected, though.
It sets his nerves on edge, Alpha instincts finally kicking back in after being shoved to the side in favor of “keep as many people alive as you can for as long as you can” Doctor instincts. He hugs the wall as he creeps down the hallway, curious more than anything but prepared to deal with a situation if needed.
And then just as he rounds a corner, he gets smacked in the face with the unexpected scent of both distressed Omega and the unmistakable tang of Heat.
–
Growing up in the middle of nowhere Nebraska, with four older Alpha brothers, and surrounded by religion on all sides, there weren’t a lot of options for Dennis Whitaker. And those options narrowed considerably when he presented as an Omega.
Or so he thought.
He had never seen the appeal of being some doting little house Omega, only really living in order to pop out some pups and be submissive to their Alphas. He wanted to do something with his life, be someone whose entire world and purpose didn’t revolve around a family. Sure, down the line, maybe one day he’d want that for himself, but when he’s asked what he wants to be when he grows up the answer is easy. He wants to be a doctor. Not a nurse, not a receptionist, a doctor.
It takes a few years of figuring himself out, working up the courage, and trying to do the math on how to both house and feed himself while paying for class materials and student loans, but eventually he hops on a plane and never looks back.
Years of hard work, ramen for dinner, and everyone he knows telling him it’s not worth it, that he can’t do it, that he should just go home, gets him interning at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. He’s not called doctor, yet, but his dream is right there, all he has to do is keep going.
Is he homeless living on one of the abandoned floors of said hospital? Sure. Is he still eating ramen and whatever he can scrounge for free from the cafeteria? Maybe. Is it the most free and happy he’s been since presenting? Absolutely.
Of course, his first day in the ER is his worst day yet.
Dennis knows that no one in the entire world, aside from the shooter himself, could have possibly known that his, as well as all the other’s, first day would be what it was. A mass casualty event that turns a 12 hour shift into a 16 hour one once it’s all said and done. By the end he’s not even sure he knows his own name, let alone anyone else’s, but that’s really the least of his concerns.
At first he thought that the fever and cold sweats that started to plague him a few hours beforehand were just stress. The tightness in his lower back was from leaning over patients and bodies, diagnosing and performing emergency medicine. He assumed that the way his sights kept narrowing in on his newest attending, Dr. Robby, was simply because he needed guidance and that he was the person he was supposed to be receiving it from.
Then things calm down, he eats a sandwich, gets hit on by the resident crazy lady in a wheelchair, and sits down in Dr. Robby’s chair. At which point he gets a nice little hit of the Alpha’s scent from the jacket hooked on the back of it, feels himself slick up, and realizes that no, he isn’t just overworked and stressed.
He’s actually just hit a stress-induced Heat and he has, approximately, two hours before he’s lost to his instincts and begging for anyone with a knot to take him.
It’s by the grace of a God he’s not certain he still believes in that he gets off work, and up to the 8th floor before it hits.
There should be no one to bother him, they haven’t yet and he’s been camping out here since his last rotation, which means he doesn’t bother to try and cover himself up or anything, just throws himself into what he’s sure will be his only shower for at least two days, turns on music to help drown out his whining, and starts building a nest he hopes will satisfy his instincts enough.
And if he so happens to have nicked that jacket off the chair, Dr. Robby probably won’t notice. It’s really not his fault the Alpha smells good and looks good, besides he’ll make sure it ends up in the lost and found.
Maybe it’ll help him get this little crush he’s developed in all of one day out of his system.
-
Robby has no idea who it is around the corner. The hospital pumps scent neutralizers through the vent system and most medical staff wear suppressant patches to varying degrees of intensity. It’s hard to pinpoint any one person in a setting like this, especially when he’s constantly being introduced to new patients, staff and students on a daily basis. He could probably pick Jack and Dana out of a crowd, but even then he’d be guessing.
He’s a little on edge when he smells… himself? That can’t possibly be right. Sure, he’s not the only Alpha in the world that smells like wood and leather, but… No. That’s definitely himself. Whoever it is has something of his.
It doesn’t bother him as much as he thinks it should, though. More curiosity than offense or violation.
And it completely fizzles out the moment he peeks his head through the door and finally lays eyes on whoever it is.
Whitaker.
Robby can feel his own pupils blow wide as he gets a direct lungful of Whitaker’s Heat-sick scent. There’s a small pile of discarded patches on the floor next to the bed he’s in the fetal position on, neck and wrist glands visibly swollen and irritated even from here. And sure enough, Robby’s mysteriously missing navy blue hoodie is the thing the kid is burying his face in.
An ugly, possessive part of him is deeply pleased that it’s his scent providing some level of comfort to the Omega, but he knows more realistically it’s just that he’s an Alpha in general, made slightly better by being familiar and trustworthy. Well, that part is debatable, considering all the filthy thoughts going through his head at the sight of Whitaker like that, but he can keep that to himself.
The poor thing looks miserable, and Robby’s a good enough doctor to make a few guesses. Stressful day, tons of new people, going from mostly fine to down that fast, it’s definitely a reactionary Heat.
He knows what he needs to do. There’s completely sealed rooms in the Emergency department for this exact thing, totally scent and sound proof and well-stocked with both Heat and Rut supplies. Sterile toys, extra blankets and towels for some semblance of nesting materials, dimmable lights, privacy curtains, the whole nine yards. It’s not ideal, terribly clinical and unfamiliar, but it’s better than some poor Omega getting taken advantage of in an alley, or an Alpha hurting somebody lost in their own head. They’re primarily used for reactionary cycles and unhoused folks who need somewhere safe to get through it.
He could get Whitaker down there easily enough, through employee-only access doors and back hallways. His badge gets him into pretty much every door in the medical complex as a senior attending. Get him hooked up to an IV of chilled saline to help the fever and dehydration, some pain killers for the cramps. Make sure he has the next few days off to get it all out of his system since it’ll take longer to break without a proper knotting.
That’s what he should do. It’s what any good, compassionate, honest Alpha, Doctor, man, whatever would do.
But on the other hand…
He could get yet another bodily fluid all over that pretty, pale skin. He could fuck some confidence into the kid, peppering all that classic dirty talk with genuine praise about his capabilities as a doctor. A good knotting would help burn out the Flash Heat too, way faster than just letting it fizzle out on its own will anyways.
He should feel sick about the way he’s justifying this to himself. But he doesn’t. He’s a doctor. It’s his job to help people. And if he’s really honest with himself? It’s been a shitshow of a day. He’s a little raw and frayed himself. So maybe he deserves something nice and warm and sweet.
And maybe that little treat happens to be an Omega half his age.
–
By the time Dennis gets into the bed, his sad nest built up around him, and gets Robby’s hoodie pressed up against his nose, he’s already feeling the Heat pretty badly.
True to its name he’s hot and sweaty, and even though he’s dressed down to an undershirt and his underwear, it still feels like too much. His glands are angry and itchy, and having to rip off his patches without soaking them first has only made that worse than usual. The skin is prickled and angry and it’s taking brain power he is quickly losing to not dig his nails into them to try and relieve some of the pain there.
He’s also trying to hold off on touching himself. He doesn’t really have anything to help and he knows once he starts, every orgasm that follows will get more and more unsatisfying. At least the first one usually feels good, so he likes to wait to get there, dragging it out as long as possible. Even a knotted toy might help, but he’s never had one of those before. His mother would have killed him if she found it when he was growing up and he hasn’t had the spare money to buy one. He could have stolen one from one of the ER’s Rut and Heat rooms but he hadn’t been thinking and he certainly can’t go down there now.
Best case no one sees him, worst case everyone does.
Dennis has grown used to his own distressed and unsatisfied scent during a heat, which is why having the hoodie he stole is already a vast improvement to how it normally goes. He does think he’s going a little insane however, as the scent of the hoodie seems to be getting thicker, richer, instead of slowly fading like he expected.
It’s odd enough he actually pulls his face away, blinking into the room where he should be alone.
He almost screams when he sees someone standing there in the doorway but before he can even get out a squeak he’s recognizing the shape and then the face of the very last person he ever expected to see.
Making sure he’s not experiencing something insane like Heat-induced-psychosis, he blinks a few times and then fully sits up. When Robby doesn’t disappear something odd happens. Half of him goes cold with shame, he’s been caught living in the hospital, in Heat, and with a stolen hoodie belonging to the very person who found him. The other half of him goes warm and gooey, there’s a handsome and nice smelling Alpha right in front of him, he doesn’t have to suffer. He doesn’t have to hurt.
Both of those reactions go to war and he ends up just fucking sitting there with wide eyes and a little tremble to his lip.
There’s something- dark reflecting in Robby’s eyes and Dennis feels his entire body shiver as he very clearly gets inspected. He feels like a prey animal, freezing in place making mental math calculations to see if running would be the better option to survive. He’s not sure it is, especially not when he knows the very thing he might be running from had very large fangs. He’s seen them.
He wonders what they’d feel like on his throat.
-
Whitaker sits up and freezes and Robby feels that animal hindbrain urge to posture. He doesn’t want the Omega in front of him to run. But not in a “I hope he’s not afraid of me” kind of way. It’s something darker. More of a “I hope he is a little afraid, and knows that I’ll win if he tries.” He’s not exactly proud of it, but at least he’s being honest with himself about this.
But he recognizes that this is a delicate, potentially scary situation, and him going all aggro Alpha won’t help either of them here.
He steps forward like he’s approaching an injured bird, trying to keep it from hurting itself worse with panicked flapping. Both hands visible, scent as soft and neutral as he can make it, a forced polite smile.
“Easy, you’re okay.” He tries to sound comforting, even though he can feel his saliva thickening and his cock twitching in his pants. Slowly, he gets fully into the room, pulling the door shut quietly behind himself for a semblance of privacy. The odds of someone else being on this floor are low, but not necessarily zero, and Robby wants to make sure that no one else smells or sees his prize like this.
Should he feel bad about thinking of one of his students like that? Probably. Does he? Not right now.
Whitaker smells fucking sinful. Soft florals and heady amber, almost like church incense, not that Robby has much experience with it. He can’t help but take deep, greedy breaths of it. And if his scent is tempting, his appearance is even worse for Robby’s self control. Those big doe eyes even wider than before, parted lips, a thin sheen of sweat beading at his temples and making his hair curl more than usual. He looks downright angelic, a sharp contrast to the sultry, needy scent he’s putting out. Corruptible , Robby’s brain helpfully supplies.
“How can I help?” Robby asks it intentionally vague. Maybe he needs a ride home to a partner he didn’t mention. Maybe he wants to go down to a Heat room. Maybe he wants a cock inside him.
Either way, Robby’s ready and willing to provide.
-
Dennis doesn’t move until the door shuts, and even then his movement is only to sit up a little straighter, wiggling his hips directly under him so he’s no longer leaning even a little bit.
Everything in him is hyperfocused on the Alpha in front of him and there’s little else even processing to him. Robby is talking to him in his doctor voice, but it’s got a little too much brass in it to be truly that. It’s still soothing, enough that he’s not panicking about being shut away with an Alpha while he’s in heat.
Robby is a doctor, a good man, he wouldn’t hurt him. He’ll help, just like he’s offering.
He opens his mouth to speak actual words, a sentence in the only language he’s spoken since his first words. Instead he makes this little whining noise he doesn’t really recognize. Help me, said without actually being said.
It startles him into clearing his throat, shifting in place with the hoodie still awkwardly being held in one hand with a tight grip. Truth be told, he doesn’t know how Robby could help him aside from leaving him alone or knotting him. Neither one of those options sounds right, but one of them sounds even worse to his Heat-brain.
This close, the Alpha’s scent is only becoming more prominent. There’s no active scent sprayers on this floor because no one is using it, and after a full day of work plus everything else, whatever scent patches or blockers Robby uses are long since worn off.
Every time he breathes Dennis is assaulted by the heady smell of rich leather, warm oakmoss, and the barest hint of sweet roses. It’s making his mouth water and really not helping with the insane level of slick he’s producing. Even in Heat it’s never been like this before, then again he’s never had an Alpha in the same room as him during.
Hell, he’s never had an Alpha at all.
Dennis Whitaker spent so long chasing his dreams and ignoring his Omega nature, that he kind of missed out on all that relationship and sex stuff. Is this really how he wants to lose his virginity? Heat-sick and with his new attending, who has to be at least twice his age?
Yeah, he kinda does.
“I- will you? Help? Please?”
-
“Of course I will. Just tell me what you need.”
He takes another few steps closer as he does, enough that Whitaker has to tilt his head up some to hold eye contact. It puts that lovely, unmarked throat on further display and Robby has to grind his teeth.
He catches the way Whitaker tightens his grip on Robby’s jacket, those long, pale fingers contrasting against the dark blue material. He thinks about the way he snapped that rat’s neck earlier and is weirdly kind of giddy about it. Talented, careful fingers. He wants to feel them wrapped around his cock.
But he needs Whitaker to ask for it with real words. He’ll blur the line of ethics, sure, but he won’t outright take what’s not being offered.
He maybe pushes his own scent a little harder, putting his intentions in the already-charged air. Maybe shifts his posture to show off the strength of his hips and thighs, what he can offer. Crosses his arms to broaden his shoulders. Smiles just a little crooked to flash a fang. But nothing so overt that he can’t reel it back if Whitaker says no.
-
Dennis is very quickly losing all rational thought. A reactionary Heat comes on fast and hard and he’s already a few hours in. Add on top of that he’s got an Alpha, that by all accounts to his instincts is perfect, right in front of him offering him whatever he wants, and it’s a recipe for making decisions without thinking.
He doesn’t want to think though, he wants to be helped, to be taken care of.
His eyes rake over Robby’s body, focusing on the flex of his bicep and the flash of his fangs. The amount of slick he’s producing is ridiculous and his mind helpfully supplies that that will only make it easier to take the knot he knows will stretch him out so perfectly.
Robby’s eyes are laser focused on him, too, and it’s all he can do to not squirm under the stare, to show off his throat even more, or hell to just roll over and present like a good Omega should.
He ends up licking his lips and whispering, “I don’t know what I need, I’ve never- done this before.” Robby tips his head to the side, like he’s trying to parse through what that means, but Whitaker just leaves it open ended.
“You’ve never Heat shared?”
He shakes his head.
“Have you ever even been with an Alpha before?”
Another shake as embarrassment floods his entire body. He ends up turning his face away, staring out at the wall. God why is this so hard? Why do they need to talk , can’t Robby just fuck him and stop asking questions?
-
“Have you ever been with anyone before?” Also gets a little shake of the head and a reedy little whine and Robby has to bite the inside of his cheek to not growl.
The Omega is visibly embarrassed as much as he is frustrated, all blushy and squirmy like that. And Robby recognizes he’s rapidly losing his own composure, because all he’s thinking about is how cute Whitaker would look blushy and squirming like that on his cock.
What’s clearly upsetting for him is unfairly hot to Robby, really everything this kid is doing is unfairly hot and he should be ashamed of himself for caving so quickly.
In a brief moment of clarity he thinks perhaps he should leave, turn Whitaker over to a dynamic specialist and get him set up in a Heat room downstairs. But it doesn’t last long. Whitaker’s so warm, the heat of his body radiating from the rising fever. He smells so sweet and needy, and really what kind of man, what kind of Alpha , would he be if he abandoned him now? To ruin his first time?
He justifies it to himself. The kid clearly needs help. He’s his mentor, it’s his job to teach him how to handle the real world. And this is part of that. Right?
Right. It’s better to take care of it himself than put Whitaker in an unfamiliar space with strangers who will treat him clinically rather than with the care he actually deserves.
Because being a doctor is all about getting to know people better to help them, and really he's only known him for a little while but he knows him more than any of the doctors on a different floor who don’t know him at all. Really he's just expanding his role a little bit.
He finishes closing the distance, coming to a stop at the side of the bed, and holds a hand out, offering his wrist for Whitaker to scent.
“Okay. That’s okay. Just means I’m gonna start slow.”
-
Robby comes to a stop right in front of him and Whitaker knows that he’s out of it because he didn’t even see or hear the Alpha move. The hand offered to him is new, he’s never seen an Alpha do that before, but it brings that rich scent so much closer and he reaches out without thinking. Dennis drags Robby’s wrist right up to his nose and inhales deeply, his eyes fluttering shut as he gets a direct hit of concentrated interested Alpha.
He opens his mouth, trying to breathe it in from there as well, a little moan slipping out of his mouth at the same time.
It’s only then does he actually process what was said. He looks up at Robby, head still tilted down to breathe directly against his wrist.
“Please?”
Robby’s other hand reaches out, thumb brushing against his cheek, and wiping away a tear he didn’t know was there. When did he start to cry?
“Of course. Why don’t you lay back in that nest of yours and I’ll get out of these clothes that smell like work.”
Dennis can agree to that. The issue? In order to do so he has to release the wrist he’s drooling over, and he really doesn’t want to do that. He’s not exactly firing on all cylinders so it takes him a moment to realize that that’s the issue, and when he does he just pulls on Robby’s wrist with a whine.