Work Text:
“Whitaker. Came back to leave more crumbs all over my –”
Robby doesn’t get to finish the sentence. He was about to say workstation.
But Dennis pushes away from his desk and takes a step closer to him. Bends his head to signify stealth.
“You’re going to get us caught,” he mumbles softly, angling the chart he is holding towards him, as if he is merely here to ask his senior attending for a second consult.
Robby’s eyebrows make a steep climb.
“I’m – how exactly am I –”
“You keep touching me and – and putting your hands on me when we interact.” Dennis’ cheeks are rosy with embarrassment, but he manages to get the words out.
Corpse bride, is what Robby sometimes calls him playfully when Dennis is being particularly coy and cute and sad-eyed. This was initially a nickname coined by one of Dennis' nieces, due to, in his niece’s opinion, his resemblance to the skeletal Tim Burton character. Dennis doesn’t like it. Robby finds it highly amusing. It doesn’t make sense. We’re not even married, he often protests. Yeah, because I’m waiting for you to finish med school. Isn’t that considerate of me? Robby usually retorts.
Dennis doesn’t think it’s that considerate.
And the nickname certainly has an awful new ring to it since he lost his first patient that morning.
“I’m only being encouraging. Friendly. Teacher-like,” Robby argues, taking the chart from him, pretending to look over it.
“You’re not being friendly. You’re being – handsy.”
Robby blinks. He removes his glasses. “Handsy.”
Dennis heaves a small, long-suffering sigh. “Yes. In a non-amicable, aggressive way that could become noticeable.”
“First of all, Whitaker, the people working here have better things to do than keep track of when or how much I am patting you on the back –”
“You know nurses like to chat –”
“And second of all, you coming here in person to tell me about it, looking all panicky and flustered, might actually be more of a tell than my so-called ‘handsy-ness’.”
“I’m not being panicky and flustered –”
“No? Then why do you look like that time your brother asked me if I was your landlord?”
Dennis squeezes his eyes shut. “Can we just – this is my first shift here. And my being here was your idea.”
Robby shrugs. “And it’s been working out just fine. As long as you don’t lose your shit, Whitaker.”
He slaps the chart against Dennis’ chest. And as he walks past his younger boyfriend, he squeezes his shoulder for good measure.
Admittedly, Dennis is a hypocrite.
Because after losing his first patient ever, he welcomed Robby’s warm, reassuring hand on the back of his neck. He knows his boyfriend was trying to comfort him in his own way.
But he can’t be the guy who relies on his older, more experienced partner for everything. He wants to stand on his own two feet. Not least because he knows he’d lose Robby’s respect otherwise.
Which is why, when a few hours later, Robby pulls him into one of the bathrooms, Dennis tries to tell him that no, he doesn’t need more reassurance.
But he soon realizes it’s his boyfriend who needs it. Who hauled him in here because he’s dealing with something.
Robby is pale with anger. There’s a tremor in his jaw.
Dennis suspects it has to do with Dr. Adamson. This being the fourth anniversary of his death. He doesn’t have the full picture of that day – Robby has never been good at opening up about most things, especially that – but he has been able to figure out this is one of his boyfriend’s trigger points.
“What happened?” he asks, gently.
“Oh nothing much. I just discovered a person I trusted has been lying to me for months.” Robby smiles, lips pursed. “I had to go through his locker. Like a fucking narc. And I really clung to the idea that I wouldn’t find anything…but I did. And I knew I would.”
Whitaker stares at him. He has no context for this. And he’s not sure he wants to know. Not sure he should know. He doesn’t want to blur the lines even further between their personal and work life.
“I’m sorry…” he mutters, reaching out with his hand, running it down the tense length of his arm. “We can talk about it tonight, if you want.”
“I don’t want to talk.”
Then Robby is dragging him into one of the stalls. And Dennis – poor fucking dupe that he is – thinks that maybe he wants a private hug.
Robby grips his face in his palm, worries his jaw with his thumb. Then he presses his other hand into the hollow of his neck.
Dennis finds himself kneeling. It doesn’t take much. It never really does.
His fingers tremble in anticipation as he fumbles with his senior attending’s zipper.
He barely has time to take him out before Robby is shoving himself in his mouth, warm and throbbing with resentment, scraping the back of his throat.
Dennis has lost count of the times he’s sucked his cock, but this is the first time they’re doing it on hospital grounds.
And that feels special. And awful.
His stomach knots with painful arousal as Robby shoves himself deeper. Knowing his younger boyfriend’s gag reflex can take it.
Dennis moans around his cock when he feels Robby’s hand on the back of his skull.
“You won’t lie to me like that, yeah, kid?” he asks, voice hoarse. Fucking his mouth in sloppy, angry strokes, smearing his chin with pre-cum as he slots in and out.
“Won’t ever make me doubt myself, will you,” Robby grunts, fisting Dennis’ hair.
His boyfriend hollows his pink cheeks so prettily. Corpse bride.
Dennis wants to shake his head, but he can’t physically muster it.
All he can do in this moment is moan and swallow.
The older man’s cum feels like a warm meal, like something terribly nourishing that will keep him going for the rest of his shift. He milks every drop.
Robby pulls away with a gentle pop.
Dennis almost feels bereft. Almost forgets they’re not at home and can’t ask Robby to hold him, like they sometimes do after sex.
The senior attending tucks himself in. Looks down at the still kneeling Whitaker.
“That was good, baby,” he murmurs, tipping his chin up. “Now clean up your mouth.”
Dennis is not a total idiot.
He knows the gap between them – years, experience, grief – can’t be neatly bridged with sex or even affection.
This – whatever they have, however it started – will only last if they both put in a lot of work.
It’s easy to like each other, to fuck around for the fun of it.
The hard part is sitting down next to Robby in Pediatrics and watch him weep.
The even harder part is letting Robby push him away, at first.
The older man scoffs at Dennis’ extended hand, at his attempts to comfort.
You will never understand, his sorrow-stricken face seems to say.
Dennis nods. Yeah, maybe. But I’m not going anywhere.
Sometimes, that’s enough. It’s enough to let a person be distinct and unfixable and simply hold them.
It’s Whitaker who pulls him into an embrace. Who drags him forward like the older man dragged him earlier into a bathroom stall.
Robby feels so weak in his arms.
Or maybe Dennis – raised on a farm, after all – is much stronger than most people realize.
He cups the back of his skull and presses his lips to his ear. “It’s okay to let yourself feel this, Michael.”
So Robby does. He buries his face in his shoulder. And feels.
Later that night, when the hospital has quieted down, when the initial shock of carnage has worn off and the day crew has finally scattered, Robby sits on the bench and waits, nursing his second beer.
Whitaker comes out eventually.
Despite the day’s horrors, despite the deep fatigue, the younger man looks oddly refreshed. Ready to go at it again.
It’s not just youth perhaps.
Robby tried to keep an eye on him during the nightmare that was PittFest but eventually lost track of him in the never-ending rotation of dead or dying bodies. Until he showed up at his side precisely when he needed him most and did not even know it.
Dennis sits down across from him, wearing a sweet little smile, just for him.
Robby smiles back. Almost enjoying what he’s about to do.
“So. A nurse saw us in Peds.”
Dennis’ smile falls off a cliff. “Um. What?”
“It was a very touching moment, according to Princess, who relayed the information.”
His boyfriend leans forward. The dark circles under his eyes could probably give the Mariana Trench a run for their money. It’s oddly appealing – this waifish, sleep-deprived look, Robby muses guiltily. Corpse Bride. He really should encourage the kid to get more sleep.
“So they – they think we were just being – I mean doctors hug each other in tough times. It was a crisis. It happens.”
Robby gives a small chuckle. “Yeah. It happens.” He cocks his head. “It’s kind of funny. You were the ‘handsy’ one this time.”
Dennis breaks into a strangled laugh. “Seriously? I think dragging me in that stall earlier was a little more handsy.”
Robby’s eyes darken briefly at the memory. Whitaker’s cheeks grow faintly warm.
It’s tempting to go at it again. Find a large bush and trust the cover of night. After all, they’ve had a rough day.
Maybe this is a bad idea – working together. He can’t seem to respect boundaries. Can’t seem to keep things separate.
He fucked up with Collins, and she used to be an MS4 too.
He’ll fuck up with Dennis too, probably.
But he likes to picture a reality where he doesn’t. A reality where his teasing isn’t just that. Where maybe Dennis really is his too young, non-corpse, very much alive bride.
The kid gets up from the bench. Takes a few steps towards him and offers his hand.
“Come on. We’ll worry about it tomorrow. Let’s go home.”
Robby looks up at him. His own private Idaho. Or, well, Nebraska, actually.
This might as well be a proposal.
“Okay.” He smiles. “Okay, kid.”