Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dennis learns two things very quickly during his rotation in the ED. 

One. He loves emergency medicine. Everything about working in the ER fuels him in a way he’s never been fueled before. The people, the atmosphere, the constant thrum of energy, it enriches him with a sense of purpose. He’s doing something real and he’s doing it well. For the first time in his life, Dennis feels like his contributions are of value.

This, in large part, is due to point number-

Two. Dennis has a thing for older, male, authority figures. What once was a thready pulse beneath his skin- flushed skin when a professor would compliment him or pulsing need to please after critiques- flourishes into a throbbing beat in his chest. 

If he thinks about it hard enough, it makes perfect sense. The way he longs for attention, positive or negative, from men who hold power over him. It always has and always will go back to his father.

He never praised Dennis. And he didn’t have the heart to correct Dennis with compassion. No, his attempts at fixing or perfecting the fundamental issues with Dennis were always in the form of a swift and cruel hand. Biting words and a careless ‘crack!’ across his face, a stinging red mark left behind. He learned nothing other than fear.

Dennis figures out over the years how to Do The Right Thing. The right thing is always the exact thing that would get his father off his back. Whatever he needs, whatever he wants, whatever will shift his sour mood to something neutral, Dennis does. He doesn’t want praise, and he can’t handle punishment, so he lives within the protection of being unseen. 

Like a coat rack or a foot stool, he serves his purpose and nothing more. 

In college, that all changes. 

Far, far away from Broken Bow, his father, and Those That Knew His Father, he learns what it feels like to be praised. To be acknowledged. 

He takes a shine to his Biblical Foundations professor, Dr. Stephens. 

Dr. Stephens is, above all else, kind to Dennis. He takes a real interest in Dennis’ life, his beliefs, his work. He’s also, despite how hard Dennis tries to not notice, incredibly attractive. Tall, put together, graying at his temples, exact in his mannerisms, with warm brown eyes that really see Dennis for who he is. Immediately, he becomes Dennis’ favorite professor and the only good part about his theology major.

The first time Dr. Stephens hands him back an exam with a smile, polite and professional, and an off-handed “good job”, Dennis feels so sick he has to leave the class.

Again and again, he chases that high. The rush of two, barely there, words pushes him to study harder, do better. He works so hard that he burns out in just over a month, the evidence a glaring red 50% grade on his midterm paper.

He’s ruined.

In a fit of desperation, he rushes to Dr. Stephens office hours the next day. Dennis wants to beg for a better grade, plead with him that he deserves better. He needs reassurance that, even if he fails, he’s still good enough. 

Instead, he’s met with disappointment. There’s no cruelty, no physical pain, but something about it hurts more. Gentle and soft, Dr. Stephens explains in detail every point Dennis missed and why. He prints Dennis’ paper out and marks in ink all his insufficiencies, taking great care to look Dennis in the eyes and emphasize that his work simply is not satisfactory. The entire time his brown eyes, long lashes and crow’s feet, are filled with nothing but kindness.

At the end of their thirty minute meeting, Dennis is shaky, nauseous, flushed, and more aroused than he’s ever been in his life. 

He flees to the family restroom, locks the door, shoves a hand down his pants, and comes all over his marked up essay. The evidence of his failures mixing together on the page.

It never gets quite that bad again. 

But it never quite disappears either.

He develops a tolerance for the compliments and the admonishments. In his head he builds a wall separating himself from his professors and mentors, the feedback they give him hits the wall but doesn’t get through to him. It allows him to learn and grow, as a student and a person, but deters his untoward feelings. 

Only on the nights things are bad, when he dreams about bruised knuckles and Bible verses, does he allow the wall to crumble. The words he’s been keeping at bay flood in. Small comments, “well done”, “keep up the good work”, “you could do better”, “not quite”, and the big ones, “you’ve exceeded my expectations”, “you’ll never make it, not like this”, infiltrate his senses.

There’s a fluttering in his chest, warmth in his stomach, a coil of disgust that rounds everything out. His own thoughts and actions revolt him, but even he knows that’s only an excuse.

The guilt and repulsion act as the very crux in which he permits this behavior. If he’s sickened by his own actions, then he knows they’re wrong deep down, and it’s human nature to do wrong, so just this once, it’s okay.

So he squeezes his eyes shut and he gets on with it, pace frantic. He doesn’t give himself time to back out or regret anything, not while the act is taking place. Regret is a product of tomorrow. All that exists in the moment is the firm grip he has on his cock and the feel of his teeth biting into the meat of his forearm. 

The wall of separation in his head becomes less important as he moves up grades. He receives compliments and critiques every day, the words hold less power over him. They’re impersonal. As professionals and adults, his professors maintain a strict divide between academic and personal. They don’t celebrate or demean him, and they certainly don’t ever touch him.

Enter Dr. Robby. 

He’s all touches from the moment he and Dennis meet. Guiding hands and lingering pats to Dennis’ shoulders and back. Along with all the touching, he tells Dennis things like, “good job, Whitaker”, and reassures him over and over again. 

It’s maddening, the way Robby manages to break down in fifteen hours what Dennis carefully built over the course of eight years. 

It doesn’t help that the first day they meet is one of the worst days of Dennis’ life. He’s on edge, guilt ridden, and sad to the depths of his soul, and Robby’s there the entire time. He holds down the fort, imposing and commanding. When Dennis falters, Robby is the one to comfort him, extend grace that he hasn’t earned. 

Of course, Dennis is the one to find Robby mid-breakdown. It’s both out of obligation and something deeper that Dennis decides he needs to be the one to help Robby, if not out, then at least up. Miraculously, he does. 

The reach of his hand to Robby, blue sterile gloves and sweaty, aching fingers, his own extension of grace. A silent, understood return of, “let me help you”. Dennis catalogues the weight of Robby’s hand in his own, calloused skin against rubber latex, and pulls Robby up to him. 

When Robby pushes Dennis away right after with a firm palm to the chest, that old sensation returns, tenfold. 

Being relied on, used and immediately discarded, affects something in the core of Dennis. It excites and frustrates, wounds and winds together all the stray feelings catapulting through his mind. All the hurt and low points, the isolated pride and joy, comes together in a singular moment of contact, tightly bound into a ball that bounces around his head.

He doesn’t have time to think about it, though. The ball bounces and bounces without intervention, but he’s too busy, too mentally occupied, to do anything about it. 

That first shift, all the tragedy, is the only thing he can think about until he's sitting in the passenger seat of Santos’ car later that night on the way to her apartment. 

Santos is nice. She’s not friendly, but she’s nice. By virtue of them being coworkers who met only earlier that day, the car ride is painfully awkward. They’re both exhausted to the bone, riding the waning high of endorphins and adrenaline. Whatever amount of trauma bonding they’ve done over the day doesn’t account for existing in the same space outside of work comfortably. 

But Dennis, raised on Midwest nice and small talk, can hardly stand the silence. 

It’s too much to talk about what they experienced together, the weight of the day still pressing heavy on their lungs, but they have nothing other than the Pitt in common. He becomes aware of that bouncing ball in his head and gently pulls at one of the strings.

“Dr. Robby’s, uhm, tactile, huh?” he asks, breaking the silence.

Santos turns to Dennis slowly, eyes fully off the road and on him. “What?”

A swing and a miss. 

“Like, he’s touchy?” Dennis defends, self-consciousness crawling its way up his spine. 

“What are you talking about?” she laughs out, more breath than sound. 

Dennis flounders, raising his hands defensively. “He sort of, I don’t know, guides and whatever with his hands a lot, you know?” 

Santos blinks at him, any trace of weariness wiped from her face. 

“He didn’t do that to me.”

“He didn’t?”

She shakes her head, finally turning her eyes back to the road.

“No, I didn’t see him do that to anyone.”

…

Then she smiles, a soft laugh exhaled through her nose. “Other than you, I guess.”

He fucked up. Dennis sits completely still in the passenger seat of Santos’ car, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Oh…”

The smile on Santos’ face widens, turning into a full, mischievous, grin. 

“Guess that makes you his special boy, huh, Huckleberry?” she taunts. 

The rest of the drive to Santos’ apartment is done in silence, Dennis’ heart hammering away beneath his skin. 

He carries that with him. The comment, said entirely in jest, clings to him like cigarette smoke. He showers and changes and eats a hastily thrown together meal, and it’s still there. It filters through his skin and deep into his body, through layers of muscle and tissue and fat, the words enter his bloodstream. Hot blood rushes in his ears, his temples and pulse points throbbing with unfettered want. 

Dennis lays awake in Santos’ spare room that night, body too warm for the small space. There’s no real bedding available, so he’s on top of a spare blanket from Santos’ closet and a throw pillow from her couch. It’s undeniably uncomfortable and a million times better than sleeping in a hospital.

He stares up at the unfamiliar popcorn ceiling and thinks about being Robby’s ‘special boy’. Santos had clearly been joking when she said that, but-

Was she honest about not seeing Robby touch anyone the way he touched Dennis? He thinks back on the day, pushing aside the memories that don’t revolve around Robby. Not a single instance comes up of him, for lack of a better word, manhandling someone other than Dennis.

Robby hugged Abbot that once, a thread of comfort between the two of them tying all of their interactions into a loose ribbon of trust. He’s close with Dana, Collins, and Langdon, but it’s nothing like how he interacted with Dennis. 

On every occasion Dennis was near Robby, his hands were on him. He moved Dennis from hand to hand with ease, maneuvering Dennis where he wanted him. And not a single time did Dennis protest. In fact, he remembers standing there waiting for Robby’s hand to find his shoulder again before realizing what he was doing and rushing away. 

On a night other than tonight, were it that his resolve was higher and his emotions less raw and intense, Dennis would chalk everything up to Robby being a hands-on mentor. But he can’t maintain distance from it or excuse the simmering thoughts in his head. 

Warmth pools in his gut and Dennis rolls over to lay on his stomach, hands caged between ribcage and the bed. The idea of Robby’s attention on him, his hands pulling and pushing Dennis according to his whims and his whims alone, makes Dennis feel good. Really good. And special. Physical manifestations of validation, Robby groping at the muscle of Dennis’ shoulder, and reprimands, a harsh hand to the center of Dennis’ chest causing him to stagger backwards, render him pliant and wanting. 

He curls his hands into fists, twisting his arms beneath him into an uncomfortable position. Blood rushes down to his cock and Dennis stifles the urge to rut into the mattress. He’s half-hard, all from perverted notions of his boss touching him non-sexually. 

The exhaustion from the day finally catches up to him and he slowly drifts to sleep, unease blanketing him from head to toe. In the second before he loses consciousness, a single revelation pops into his head.

‘I have a crush on Dr. Robby’.

He falls asleep.

It was easy enough to avoid the complicated feelings he developed towards his professors in undergrad. He saw them for anywhere from an hour to two, a few times a week, in a group setting. The rare instances of him attending office hours notwithstanding, he purposefully kept away from individual encounters to cut back on the potential for disaster. 

Dennis absolutely cannot avoid Robby. They work together everyday in stretches as long as ten hours, often more. And Robby’s an excellent mentor. There’s no one better for Dennis to be learning from. 

Aside from that, Robby doesn’t allow Dennis the space or time to attempt avoidance. His hands-on approach to mentorship doesn’t abate after the first day. The number of times Dennis catches one or both of Robby’s hands on him, pulling at his arm or firmly latched onto the nape of his neck, only increases as the days progress. 

Dennis makes a valiant attempt to simply take it like it is. It doesn’t mean anything and it doesn’t affect him in any way. He doesn’t fall asleep to memories of Robby dragging him around from place to place or stopping him with a hand tugging at his wrist. He certainly doesn’t dream about Robby’s hands in other places, pushing him down into the mattress, both of Dennis’ wrists trapped in one massive, controlling grip. Each morning he wakes up hard and leaking in his boxers.

The shame holding him back from jerking off in Santos’ apartment fades quickly. 

It’s a necessity, getting off every morning. He sets his alarm ten minutes earlier to give himself extra time. As his hand flies over his cock, using his precum as lube, he chases the fragments of dreams as they fade away. 

Within him, all the decency he spent years cultivating withers and dies. Day after day, Robby’s hands find Dennis and, day after day, Dennis masturbates to the remembered touch. 

What Robby doesn’t know won’t hurt him, so Dennis permits himself this one indulgence. 

He shows up to his rotation energized. Even Santos notices the change in him, a casual-

“You seem different, Huckleberry.” 

They’re driving to the hospital together, as they’ve done every day since the first shift they shared. Santos always drives, it’s her car, and Dennis doesn’t have the first clue about city driving.

He furrows his brow and frowns. “What do you mean?”

Santos shrugs, hands loose on the steering wheel. “I don’t know, you just act less like a scared little mouse.”

“So, you just wanted an excuse to insult me?” Dennis scoffs, turning his attention away from her and out the window. 

“No, no!” She protests, laughing. “It’s a good thing. I’m sure everyone is grateful they don’t have to watch out for you being a suicide risk. Though,” she pauses, swinging her head over to look at Dennis, “I don’t think Robby got the memo.”

He startles in his seat, jittery and unsettled all of the sudden. “Huh? What does that mean?”

Santos turns her eyes back out the windshield and pulls, messily, into a parking spot at the hospital. Once she has the car in park and twists her whole body to face Dennis, a smirk on her face.

“Robby won’t leave you alone. I think I was right, you really are his special boy,” she taunts, grinning. 

Santos gives him no time to respond. She gestures at him to get out of the car so they can, “get on with the shit show”, which he does thoughtlessly. 

Her words are under his skin again. Dennis wants to brush them off but they’re too powerful a motivator. He doesn’t think they’re necessarily accurate, even so, the concept of Robby having a special boy, and Dennis being him, acts as a positive affirmation that pushes Dennis to the furthest ends of his capabilities.

He makes less mistakes, is quicker on his feet. In general, he’s a noticeably better student and doctor. All of his accomplishments, the lives saved and patient connections, are for the reward of Robby’s continuing presence. Dennis survives on his affirming, guiding hands. Robby’s unassuming eyes boring into his, a meaningful, “you’re doing good, kid”, not thrown, but gently tossed Dennis’ way. He’s able to catch and savor the words, brand them onto his soul so that they may remain there for the foreseeable future. 

It’s only in leaning into Robby’s praise and touches does Dennis realize his fatal error.

He looks at Robby a lot. Studies him, the way he moves and takes up space. The more time he spends with and near Robby, the more things he notices about him. Like how he’s always moving, rocking back and forth on his heels or tapping his fingers along his bicep when his arms are crossed. He drinks coffee, always hot, like it’s water and sighs softly after each swallow, as if the single taste works wonders on his nervous system. 

Dennis notices lewd things about Robby, too. The considerable broadness of his chest and shoulders, the gray sprinkled throughout his hair and beard, the way he flushes at the most innocuous compliments. His attention is most often drawn to Robby’s hands, though. It’s hard to not pay attention to them with the way they’re always locked onto some part of Dennis, but it’s more than that. Hands are one of the most important things to doctors, their biggest asset in medical assessment and intervention. 

He watches Robby handle tools with precision, the largeness of his fingers dwarfing the delicate instruments. Dozens of times over the course of a few days, Dennis witnesses Robby assess patients, gloved hands doing examinations and damage control. Honestly, it’s a wonder that Dennis doesn’t realize sooner that Robby is married. 

The day’s been slow, giving Dennis’ impure thoughts ample time to run amuck. Robby’s talking through a procedure, his voice low and straight to the point, though not unkind. He’s doing a commendable job as an educator, but Dennis tunes it out in favor of staring at Robby’s hands. A feat only made possible by the fact Robby’s focus is trained on the hypothetical procedure and not Dennis.

Because it’s a hypothetical scenario and there are no medical concerns about not wearing gloves, Robby’s hands are bare. Dennis traces the lines of his finger bones, eyes catching on the way the tendons and veins shift with movement. His hands are obscenely large, wrinkled with age, and dry. Dennis wants them in his mouth.

He’s retracing his path up Robby’s wrist to his fingers again when he spots it. There, on Robby’s ring finger, is a faint patch of lighter skin. It’s hardly visible, but it’s bright in the emergency department and Dennis is observing closer than any average person would. It’s almost like a tan line, the shape of it that of a ring. 

A moment passes before Dennis is able to conceptualize the new information. A man of Robby’s age with a light patch of skin on his left ring finger can only lead to one conclusion.

It’s a tan line from a wedding band.

Robby frequently wears a wedding band.

“Are you married, Dr. Robby?” Dennis asks before he can stop the question from escaping.

Robby pauses at the interruption, having been in the middle of his long-winded, well intentioned, explanation.

“Were you paying attention to anything I said, Whitaker?”

Shit.

Warmth creeps up Dennis’ neck and settles on his face. He’s sure that he’s making what Santos calls his, ‘kicked puppy’ expression. 

“Sorry, sir, I-”

Robby laughs and claps Dennis on the shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze before trailing his hand down his shoulder, to his bicep, and then away. 

“Just, try to listen next time. Okay, kid?” he says with a firm press of his lips together.

Then he’s walking away and Dennis is left alone, mouth dry and hands shaking. He distantly hears someone call his name and he goes to them, body numb. The feelings, unstable and defiant, climb up his throat and threaten expulsion out into the open. He forces himself to swallow them down. They slide down his throat with a harsh drag, the taste of them something bitter and awful. Guilt, desperation, and yearning burn like acid in his stomach, clawing at his esophagus to be let out. 

Somehow, by an incredible display of restraint, Dennis pushes himself through his shift without spilling. The second he’s in the shared privacy of his and Santos’ apartment, he hurries to the bathroom and slams the door behind him. 

He stares at himself in the dirty mirror, hands grasping at the cool, porcelain sink like it’s a lifeline. 

Lusting after a man is bad enough. Lusting after his male boss who’s double his age, is much worse. But lusting after a his male boss who’s double his age that’s married is entirely uncharted territory. 

Dennis is used to doing bad, being on just the wrong side of the moral thing to think and do. He’s made peace with it. To crave the attention and reciprocated desire of a married man is a new low. The wanton fantasies he thought to be harmless, because why does it matter if he thinks of an available man sexually, even if that man is his superior, are contaminated by the fact Robby is married and has been married this whole time.

Every night that Dennis fell asleep to cherished incidents of being manhandled and dreamed up deeply wrong and sexual scenarios, Robby was going home to his spouse. Probably spending a domestic night on the couch before curling into bed together, arms wrapped around one another. It sends a wave of nausea from his head to his stomach.

What makes is worse is the instant arousal that follows. He’s sick to his stomach, doused in shame, and still the curls of arousal come alive inside of him. The guilt of it all, the wrongness, does it for him, a feeling that only builds upon itself the more guilt and shame he feels. The attending he wants to manhandle him into a mattress, or wall, or floor, he’s not picky, is married and his unbidden sexual impulses can’t take the hint.

Dennis groans and turns the faucet to cold. He lets it run until he’s sure the water is frigid and splashes it on his face. Once, then twice, then a third time for posterity’s sake.

The cold water pulls him from his anguish, if only for a moment. His heart is still racing, body temperature high, mind far from clear, but he can’t stay in the bathroom forever. 

He slaps himself on the cheek, the sharp sting of it a vestige from childhood. 

Dennis leaves the bathroom, his movements slow and uncertain, and walks out into the living room.

Santos is lounging across the couch, scrolling on her phone. When she hears Dennis enter the room, she looks up at him, concern spelled out across her face.

“All good in there?” she asks, the worry in her tone masked with humor.

He sits down next to her silently without responding. The weight of her eyes doesn’t leave his form, hunched over with his hands folded in his lap. Tension builds in the space between them.

Like a rubber band, it stretches and stretches until it snaps and Dennis breaks.

“Did you know that Dr. Robby is married?”

The reaction is immediate.

“What? No. You’re joking.” She pushes herself up into a sitting position.

Dennis shakes his head.

“How do you know? Who told you?”

He sighs, turning to make deliberate eye contact with Santos. It takes her by surprise, but she recovers well, morphing her wide-eyed expression into something more closed off. They don’t really do the whole talking about emotions thing with each other. They’ve grown friendly over the past few days, more comfortable with each other’s presence, but they don’t confide in one another. But Dennis has no one else. There’s not a single sole on earth he can talk to about this, other than Santos.

“This stays between us, okay?”

Santos eyes him apprehensively, but nods in agreement.

“I maybe have a little, emphasis on little, thing for Dr. Robby and I-”

“Ha! I knew it!” she exclaims, joy dancing across her features. 

Dennis deflates. “What? What do you mean, ‘I knew it’? What does that mean?”

Santos, too, deflates. Confidence leaking from her like air from a balloon.

“It- nothing. It’s nothing. Just, keep going,” she deflects.

He really shouldn’t let this go, but now that it’s in the open air of their apartment, he can’t stop the confessions from spilling out.

Dennis explains, with safer and less extreme verbiage, his obsession with Robby. The way he craves his touch, needs the fuel from his praise and critiques to make it through the day. Santos listens with rapt attention, nodding along to Dennis’ ramblings. 

When he finishes, out of breath and nervous, it feels like a mountain of pressure has been lifted from his shoulders. A before unknown constriction around his heart loosens, the steady ‘pitter patter’ of its beating easier to bear.

Santos says nothing for a long while, her eyes squinted like she’s processing. 

“Do you…do you know who he’s married to?” she asks, trepidatiously.

Oh. He hadn’t even considered that for Robby to be married he had to be actually married to a real, other person.

“...no.” 

She taps a finger on her chin. “Who has he known for the longest? Surely they know who he’s married to.”

“I mean, Dr. Abbot, for sure. Maybe Dr. Collins or Dana. Or, Dr. Langdon, but that’s not really…” he trails off and Santos nods.

“You could always ask Dr. Abbot,” she suggests sarcastically. 

He snorts. “Yeah, right. I don’t really want to be mocked or killed or both.” 

She shrugs. “It’s just a suggestion. Not like it really matters to your whole…situation.”

He’s fucked. And doomed. 

Dennis collapses into himself, forehead resting on his open palms. 

“Thanks for listening at least, Santos,” he groans out, a throbbing pain pulsating behind his eyes.

He hears her start to stand before she pauses. 

“You can call me Trinity, if you want or whatever. Kinda weird to keep calling me Santos when we live together and I know about your fat gay crush on our boss.” She delivers the sentence nonchalantly, but Dennis smiles anyway.

“Okay, Trinity.” He lifts his head to direct his smile at her. “You can call me Dennis, too.”

She scoffs and walks away from him. “I know that, Huckleberry. But I won’t.”

Trinity heads to her room and shuts the door behind her with a soft click. Dennis sits in the vacant silence for a while, head in hands, trembling. 

It was helpful, getting his shame out in the open. The secret of his crazed affection is not his alone to carry, anymore. But Trinity’s awareness only lightens the load so much. At the end of the day, the heady pleasure he gets from Robby lives and breathes solely in his own body. Trinity can’t begin to understand or share that burden. 

Finally, Dennis removes himself from the couch, limbs tired and uncooperative, and goes through his night routine. A cold, cold shower, clean clothes, an unsatisfactory meal, and then he retires to his room for the night. 

Trinity was kind enough to buy him real bedding and he chipped in for a pillow, so his bed is a thousand times more comfortable than it was before. It doesn’t make sleep come any easier. 

The image of Robby’s hand and that damned ring tan line won’t fade from his mind. He never denied being married, simply dismissed himself from the conversation. Surely, if he wasn’t married, he would have said that. So he’s what, secretly married? Private about life? Unwilling to engage in personal talk with Dennis? But he’ll make intimate skin on skin contact with him during work hours. It doesn’t make any sense.

He falls into a light, dreamless sleep, the lack of arousal a welcome oddity. 

Even without the presence of his usual sex dreams, Dennis wakes up hard. Instead of following his urges to jerk off, he takes a short, freezing cold shower. He’s still shivering as he dries off and gets dressed. The chill in his body serves as a distraction. Unpleasant, the continuous shivering is like a punishment. He wants to stay cold all day, a reminder of all that he can’t want and can’t have.

It’s imperative that he distance himself from Robby. He can’t keep doing this to himself, to Robby, it’s unsustainable. Robby’s bound to catch on to Dennis’ feelings eventually, better to cut the cord early. The marriage is just the wakeup call Dennis needed.

The entire journey to the hospital, he thinks through his plan over and over. He’ll start small, standing outside of Robby’s personal space, far enough away that it would take effort for Robby to touch him. It shouldn’t be difficult to shadow other doctors instead, either. He’ll make himself scarce and Robby will lose interest in unknowingly tormenting Dennis and move onto another student. It’s the perfect plan.

Except for that Dennis failed to take into account how perceptive Robby is. 

A few hours in, Dennis has managed to stay just outside of Robby’s reach, washed away in the ebb and flow of ER traffic.

He’s on his way to assist Mel with minor fracture when Dennis feels a presence looming behind him. Without turning back, he knows it’s Robby. 

Big hands come down on his shoulders and Robby leans in close to Dennis, their faces practically side by side. 

“All good, Whitaker?” he whispers harshly into the shell of Dennis’ ear. He’s not asking, he’s demanding that Dennis be good.

Three words. It takes just three words, one of them being his own fucking last name, for Dennis’s resolve to crumble. Like a broken dam, the impulses trickle back slowly, then all at once in a tidal wave. 

He nods, leaning in to Robby’s solid form. 

“All good, sir.”

And things are back to normal. If anything, Robby is more tactile than usual, like he’s fearful Dennis is going to bolt if presented with the freedom to do so. His hands occupy new places, brushing against the small of Dennis’ back when walking behind him or pulling him close with a solid grip on Dennis’ forearm. He throws liberal praise Dennis’ way, corrects him quickly with a sharp and cutting tone. It’s intoxicating.

Dennis follows him obediently. Like an eager puppy does its owner, dependent on them for survival, Dennis is at Robby’s beck and call. 

He’s so drawn in by the feeling that he agrees to stay late next week, urging Trinity to head home without him. It’s all too easy to look past the guilt that drove him to the conclusion that what he needs is distance. Robby won’t allow him that, so he doesn’t need it. Not really. 

It comes back to him blindingly a week later as he’s packing up to head home.

The night shift is slowly trickling in, and unsurprisingly the first person to arrive is Dr. Abbot. He greets Dennis in the locker room and Dennis responds brightly.

“You’re chipper, kid,” Abbot replies, voice gruff and lighthearted. 

Dennis shrugs, pulling on his hoodie. “It’s just been a good day, Dr. Abbot.”

Abbot smiles at Dennis warmly, all soft wrinkles and kind eyes. He’s always more relaxed at the beginning of his shift, open, less hostile. 

“Has it? Well, let’s hope that continues.”

Dennis agrees and slings his backpack over his shoulder, ready to start his walk back to the apartments. He likes Abbot, thinks he’s a great doctor and a good man, but he doesn’t really know him. Their interactions have been sparse, fleeting glances and words during the switch from day shift to night and vice versa. He would love the opportunity to work with Abbot more, but, for now, he can’t help but feel awkward around him.

As he’s walking out of the room, his eyes are drawn to movement. He locks in on Abbot, the way he’s pulling and twisting something on his left hand. Dennis catches the gleam of a simple gold band on his ring finger. He blinks a few times, then looks to Abbot’s face. 

“Damn ring, need to get it resized,” Abbot jokes, finally managing to pull the ring off. He tucks it carefully into a compartment of his backpack.

“I didn’t know you were married, Dr. Abbot.”

He smirks, raising his eyebrows. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, kid.”

Dennis is about to reply when the door opens and Robby comes in. His eyes find Dennis first, surprise filling his face. 

“What are you still doing here, Whitaker? Go home.”

“I’m about to, sir. I was just talking to Dr. Abbot,” he defends.

Abbot nods, like he’s confirming Dennis’ statement. “Go easy on him, Robby. Don’t scare the kid off.”

Robby’s gaze shifts to Abbot and his face does something Dennis has never seen it do before. His expression completely…melts. The rigidity and stress disappear entirely, leaving fondness in its wake. He smiles dopily, then, as if he’s sobering up, he schools his expression and walks over to Abbot, knocking his arm into Abbot’s.

Dennis turns on his heels and flees the room.

Once he’s out on the streets, safely out of the hospital, Dennis lets his mind run wild.

It makes perfect sense that Abbot is married. Why wouldn’t a man like him be married? He’s attractive, reliable, successful, and a plethora of other positive things. But there’s no mistaking that look Robby gave him, full of unrestrained affection and love.

Either Robby and Abbot are engaged in an emotional affair with each other or, and more likely, they’re married to each other. 

He can’t grapple with the idea. 

They’re definitely married. There’s no other explanation. 

It means he has to back off, for real this time. Disrespecting Robby’s nameless, faceless spouse by harboring an intense crush on him is wrong, downright immoral. Robby’s spouse, husband, being Abbot changes everything. 

Now, when he thinks about how his skin tingles with want every time Robby touches him, Abbot’s face will come to mind. It’s enough to dissuade him from further engaging with his complicated feelings towards Robby. 

As long as he ignores the searing heat in his stomach at the thought that Robby is the one choosing to lavish Dennis with attention and touch while actively married. He acts professionally with Abbot, no visible lines are ever crossed. The same can’t be said for how he treats Dennis. They get weird looks on occasion, cocked eyebrows and tilted heads, that doesn’t stop Robby. Every shift he borderline gropes Dennis, treats him with obvious favoritism, brushes off comments when people point it out to him, and his behavior never changes. He has to know the way he acts to and around Dennis is inappropriate for any attending/resident relationship, but it’s especially inappropriate for a married man to act that way. 

The fact Robby doesn’t care turns Dennis on in unfathomable ways. 

But he won’t be able to forgive himself if he fucks up a marriage and his future in medicine with one fell swoop. 

So, Dennis goes back to his original plan. He’s going to avoid Robby. It will be a slow process as to not alarm anyone, but he’s not going to stumble this time. He knows Robby’s tricks, is more than familiar with the way he can wheedle his way into Dennis’ mind. This time, Dennis will shield his vulnerabilities from exploitation. 

He neglects to tell Trinity about his revelations and subsequent planning to dispel his infatuation. Something about it feels like…too much. The only reason he knows about Abbot and Robby’s relationship is due to his fixation which is its own violation. To tell someone else this information and what it means is a further violation, one he can avoid. Dennis keeps his mouth shut and shrugs off Trinity’s concern. However miserable he is, it’s worth it.

It’s, to put it mildly, difficult to continuously avoid Robby. He’s stubborn, insistent. He doesn’t let Dennis shrug him off. Their conversations boil down to variations of the same theme.

“You alright, kid?” 

“Yes, sir.”

Or-

“Everything going okay, Whitaker?”

“Yes, Dr. Robby.”

And sometimes-

“Whitaker, you okay?”

“I am, sir.”

Dennis wants, more than anything, to fall back into the same old habits. But, remarkably, he doesn’t. Everyone else notices, too. He’s not attached to Robby’s side anymore. They’re wary at first, but as time passes welcome to change. He’s available to them now. His relationship with the other doctors and the nurses improves greatly. It’s the one real positive that comes from the whole ordeal. 

Because he’s absolutely fucking miserable. His days are bleak. Gray and sullen. 

He sleeps less, plagued by memories of Robby’s eyes following him, an outstretched hand that never quite touches him. Robby is like a ghost haunting him. 

Getting an exorcism is not an option, so Dennis does something else to exorcise the spirit. He masturbates. A lot. It’s not for pleasure, it’s for survival. He comes two to three times a day to stave off the arousal. If he’s totally spent by the time he shows up at the Pitt, then Robby’s wandering eyes and explorative hands won’t be such an issue.

His hypothesis proves to be accurate. He’s so exhausted sexually that he has no extra energy for burn for Robby. 

But there are these moments. Moments that test his commitment. 

One such example, one that he can’t escape from even in his own head, so abrupt and outlandish it sets a part of Dennis alight that he never knew existed before.

It replays in his head, exactly like this.

Dennis is taking a breather. He’s slumped against the wall, taking steadying breaths.

Patients have been nonstop today and every doctor wants him to shadow them. He’s passed from patient to patient without so much as a second to take a drink or check the time. 

Dennis has a minute now and he’s using it gratefully. He’s still disheveled from all the running around. His hair is unruly, scrubs rumpled, stethoscope laying around his neck, but he cares little to fix his appearance. For now, he just wants to breathe. 

His minute of relaxation is promptly interrupted by the sight of Robby striding down the hall towards Dennis. 

He doesn’t have time to bolt, it would be too suspicious anyway, so he remains planted against the wall in hopes that Robby will look right past him.

That doesn’t happen, obviously, because why would the world ever let Dennis catch a break.

Robby walks directly up to Dennis, closer than is necessary for them to have a conversation. Anxiously, Dennis glances around them. They’re very alone. Too alone. Not a single thing stands in the way of this interaction being a total HR violation.

“Uh, Dr. Robby. Hi. Do you need something or…?” he asks, fidgeting with the diaphragm of his stethoscope.

Robby is silent. His glare is intense, like he’s looking through Dennis rather than at him. Dennis scrambles to keep his facade intact, but a warm flush is already spreading up his chest and neck to his face. 

“Uhh, sir? Do you need to say something to me because I was about to-”

His rambling is cut off by the motion of Robby reaching up and out, not for Dennis, but for the stethoscope around his neck. He takes an end in each hand and tugs Dennis forward into his orbit. 

Dennis, so pliant and unexpecting, moves with the motion and ends up centimeters away from crashing into Robby’s chest. His eyes dart upwards to Robby’s face. He’s already looking down at Dennis, his unreadable expression dim in the dark corner of the hallway. 

From this position, Dennis can see Robby clearer than ever before. The wrinkles on his face, the curve of his nose, the texture of his beard, rendered more intense by their proximity. Dennis itches to reach up and map each line and curve, to explore Robby’s face with both his eyes and hands.

His head, so close to Robby’s chest, allows him to hear Robby’s deep breathing and the quiet thumping of his heart. He longs to press his ear to the soft material of Robby’s hoodie to become enveloped within the sound of his heart. 

Warmth builds between them, both from the closeness of their bodies and the thick tension filtering in the air. Dennis’ entire body is alive with heat, sharp pinpricks of electricity zapping across his skin. 

Robby’s fingers caress the ends of Dennis’ stethoscope and he stares at the cool metal in his hands. When he speaks, it’s absent, like the words are a second-thought.

“You shouldn’t wear your stethoscope around your neck like this. A patient could grab onto it and potentially harm you,” he whispers, attention both solely on Dennis and completely away.

Nevermind the fact that Dennis has seen Robby wear his stethoscope the same way dozens of times. Nevermind the fact that he didn’t need to do a physical demonstration to get Dennis to understand his point. He wants to scold Dennis, make him feel pathetic and unsteady. Either this was a targeted play to get Dennis to fold or-

Robby’s more similar to Dennis than previously thought. 

“Dr. Robby, what-”

Robby’s body jerks and he drops Dennis’ stethoscope like it burned him. Exactly like he had in pediatrics all those weeks ago, Robby presses a firm hand to Dennis’ sternum and pushes him away, into the wall behind him. 

Dennis clutches a hand to his chest and maintains his gaze on Robby. His eyes are wide, mouth dropped open in shock. He keeps his hand stretched out, palm to Dennis, like he intends to keep him at arms length. 

Robby turns and stalks away without a glance backwards. 

Dennis collapses to the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest. He’s panting. He knows he needs to get his breath under control, but something as simple as breathing seems utterly unimportant now. 

He’s hard. The firm outline of his cock presses against his scrubs. He hugs his knees to himself harder, willing his body to calm down. Images come to his mind, awful disgusting images, in order to settle his arousal.

Minutes pass and he manages, just barely, to regulate his breathing. Shakily, he stands. He’s mostly soft again. With a deep sense of uncertainty, Dennis returns to his shifts and finishes out the day without incident. 

He can’t put it past him. Each second of the interaction plays in slow motion in his head. Searching frame by frame, he spots new things each time. Most of them imagined. Fantasies mixing up his memories. But he can’t stop. 

It’s why, after he’s officially done with his rotation at the Pitt, he rejects everyone’s invitations to go out and secludes himself in his and Trinity’s apartment. He cleans every room from top to bottom, reorganizes their fridge, meal preps for the next few days, does multiple loads of laundry, and any other household distraction to keep his mind occupied.

Eventually, he runs out of things to do. The apartment is only so big and he refuses to go into Trinity’s bedroom. 

Dennis sits on the couch and turns on the TV. Then, he turns it off. He bounces his leg just to stop it seconds later, arguing with his body to calm down. 

Nothing feels right. He can’t stop his thoughts from spiraling. More than anything, he wants Robby out of his head. 

He leaves the apartment in a rush, throwing on a hoodie and shoving his keys and phone into the pocket of his sweatpants. Sitting around is doing nothing for him, he needs something, more stimulus or a better distraction or he’ll go crazy. He can already feel the cyclical thoughts looping through his mind again, no end in sight. 

Outside, he’s met with the resistance of wind. The gusts are intense, buffeting his body. Dennis tucks his hands into his hoodie pocket and buries his face in the collar. It’s cold, even without the wind, but squall makes it downright miserable. 

He can’t go back inside, though. It’s not an option, and standing despondently right outside the building is no better. Dennis starts walking, a destination the last thing on his mind.

Aimlessly, he wanders the nearby streets. He’s one of the few people out, the only one without a proper coat on. His pace is brisk, and he hunches his body in on itself to brace against the raging wind. It’s nothing like Dennis has ever seen before. Papers fly through the night, posters and newspapers ripped from their homes on polls and in boxes. They travel in whimsical paths in the air and Dennis follows them with his eyes, wishing he had that same freedom.

Loud noises of hokey music and voices penetrate Dennis’ thoughts and his attention is pulled from his purposeless wanderings to a bar down the street. He’s passed it on a number of occasions, usually from the distance of driving past in Trinity’s car. 

Going inside would be a nice escape from the wind and cold. Maybe the atmosphere, the thrill of a new experience, is just what he needs to get over this slump. But, as he watches a group of hearty older men leave the bar, he decides it’s not worth it. 

He’s determined to walk past it when he eyes a figure heading inside. They’re familiar, something about their gait and build is recognizable. 

Dennis observes them for a second. They turn, and Dennis’ eyes lock onto their profile. It’s the glasses and strong, hooked nose that cause him to call out.

“Dr. Robby?”

He spins to face Dennis, evidently as surprised to see Dennis as Dennis is to see him.

“Whitaker? Is that you?”

Dennis nods, then, realizing there’s no way Robby could see that, walks closer to him.

Bathed in the glow of warm, yellow streetlamps, Robby looks so different. There’s a soft quality about him, like he’s a real person that exists outside of the ER. The effect is amplified by his clothes, his usual cargos paired with a hoodie and an unbuttoned coat. It’s hard to tell in the low light, but he looks flushed from the cold. A feeling eerily close to tenderness swells within Dennis.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, like they’re not standing in the entrance of a bar. 

Robby has the decency to resist laughing. “I was planning to get a drink, believe it or not. Were you-” he gestures to the bar. 

Dennis shakes his head. “I wasn’t- I’m just on a walk.”

Quickly, so quickly Dennis almost doesn’t catch it, Robby looks Dennis up and down. He frowns, taking a shallow breath and brings a hand up to scratch at his beard. 

“If you want, you can join me. Unless you’re, you know, busy.”

It’s hardly an invitation, one he shouldn’t be extending anyway given the complicated circumstances. There’s no world in which this ends well for either of them. But it’s Robby who offered, so Dennis accepts. 

He shrugs and follows Robby into the bar. 

Upon entry, Dennis discerns straight away that this is not a place he would ever choose to occupy. It’s populated exclusively by men Robby’s age or older, they sit together in small groups drinking beer. A few are playing pool in the far corner. Everything is wooden and run down, but it’s charming in an odd way. It has an air of maturity. 

The ambience makes Robby look good. It highlights the handsome lines of his face and masculine qualities. He sheds his coat and Dennis shamelessly watches the flex of his shoulders and broad movement of his chest. Robby folds the coat over his arm and looks down at Dennis, amusement dancing in his eyes. 

He nods to an empty booth near the bar and Dennis follows behind him, right on Robby’s heels. As Dennis sits, Robby places his jacket on the other side of the booth. 

“What do you want?” he asks, pointing over his shoulder to the bar. “I’ll cover it.”

“Oh, no. I’m okay.”

“It’s one drink, kid. It won’t break the bank. C’mon,” he insists.

Out of a compulsory sense of politeness, Dennis replies, “Uh, just whatever you’re having is fine.”

He rarely drinks, too busy to waste the time and too poor to waste the money.

Robby cocks an eyebrow, an unspoken, “you sure?”.

Dennis nods and Robby walks away with a smile. 

What is he doing? He shouldn’t be here. The painful, embarrassing truth is that he misses Robby. He’s like a dog with separation anxiety and his owner has finally returned home after work, turning away or shunning him is not a real possibility. 

His eyes linger on Robby’s distant shape. He eyes his back, revels in the way he leans on the bar to order. His shoulders shift as he hands the bartender his card. Dennis wants to press his fingers into the meat of Robby’s back, claw at the skin until he bleeds and not stop until particles of Robby’s skin make a home beneath his fingernails. God, he’s disgusting. 

The lecherous fantasies playing through Dennis’ mind are silenced when Robby starts walking back to the table in long strides, glasses full of amber liquid in each hand. He sets them on the table and sits across from Dennis. 

Dennis takes one of the drinks, shivering as his cold hands make contact with the chilled glass.

“What is this?”

Robby takes a long pull of his drink before responding, “An Old Fashioned. Have you had one before?”

Dennis scoffs. “I’m twenty-six, not freshly twenty-one.” He hasn’t had one before, but Robby doesn’t need to know that. 

Though it appears he does anyway, based on the way he laughs at Dennis’ reply. 

He rolls his eyes, bringing the cup to his mouth to take a sip. It’s strong, bittersweet, not exactly pleasant, but Dennis has had worse. He swallows the liquid, doing his best to not grimace at the taste.

Observant and apparently in a mood to tease, Robby laughs again as Dennis gently sets his drink back on the table.

“What’s your next rotation?”

“Surgery.”

Robby hums softly. “Looking forward to it?”

“Eh,” Dennis shrugs, playing with the garnish on his drink, “it’ll be a good learning opportunity. But-” he cuts himself off, eyeing Robby warily.

“You already know where you want to be placed?” Robby comments, a smug smile spreading across his face. 

He thinks of the recommendation letter Robby graciously wrote for him a few weeks ago, back when their relationship was an unquestioned positive in Dennis’ life. His feelings on emergency medicine haven’t changed, that’s definitively where he wants to practice for the foreseeable future. The feelings he has about and for Robby are more complicated. He would love more than anything for his placement to be the Pitt, unfortunately, that would also be the worst case scenario.

He peers up at Robby through his lashes and raises his shoulders noncommittally. “Who knows, sir. We’ll see what happens.”

“I have a pretty good idea, Whitaker.” Robby takes another drink of his Old Fashioned and adds, “And, it’s just Robby, kid. I’m not in charge of you.”

It’s laughably untrue, but Dennis can pretend for a minute. “Then call me Dennis. Not Whitaker. Deal?”

He extends his hand across the table for Robby to shake, which he does with a sharp laugh. 

“You’re cu- you’re something else kid,” Robby chokes out, a sudden blush filling his face.

Dennis sighs, taking another small taste of his Old Fashioned. It’s not so bad now that he’s getting used to it, it’s definitely a Robby drink. An intense blend of sweet and sour, noticeably bitter, with a warm finish. It burns on the way down Dennis’ throat and builds a comforting heat in his stomach.

Dreadful silence falls between them. Dennis predicted this. The two of them alone together was bound to be weird and charged, comfortably colored with strange tension. 

It’s like the drive home from the hospital with Trinity after the first shift, nothing to talk about other than work. Except, there is something he and Robby can talk about. Something much worse than work, the only thing that could increase the awkwardness and tension between them. Dennis isn’t so cruel as to bring it up, but as the silence continues, he considers it strongly.

“This- this isn’t weird, right? Us being here. Together,” Robby asks, gesturing vaguely to the two of them with his drink.

It’s incredibly weird. Robby knows it as well as Dennis does. It’s also the only way this ambiguous thing between them was leading to. An awful culmination of guilt and lust hidden behind two Old Fashions and a wooden table. 

“Kind of. I don’t know. Maybe it is weird.” He won’t give Robby the validation he so clearly wants, not this time. 

Robby bites his bottom lip, staring at Dennis through the thick lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses. Given the time and opportunity, Dennis would love nothing more than to dissect Robby. Take his brain from its secure home in his skull and hold it in his hands, detail all of the wrinkles and gray matter, figure out what it means when Robby looks at him so…inquisitively. What is he seeing? What does he want to see?

Dennis weighs his options. He can leave, go back to his bedroom and wallow like he knows he should, but it’s hardly a realistic option. He can stay and suffer through the awkwardness, make meaningless small talk and then go home and wallow. Or-

He can actually say something. Robby’s right in front of him, they’re not on the clock. Robby’s not even his boss currently. If he ends up doing his residency in the emergency department, well, he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it. Before him is Robby, casual and evidently open, it’s his one chance to figure out what the fuck is happening. What’s the harm?

His eyes find Robby’s left hand holding his drink in a loose grip. He’s wearing his wedding ring. A simple gold band, identical to Abbot’s. His eyes don’t stray from the ring as he speaks.

“Was I your favorite boy, Dr. Robby?” Dennis asks, boldness overtaking his common sense. 

Robby sputters, coughing on his Old Fashioned. “What?”

Dennis continues, undeterred. “I told Trinity after the first day that you were touchy and she said that no, you weren’t really. You only were like that with me. She said I must be your favorite boy. Was it true?”

“I…” Robby pauses, taking a deep breath, “you’re a good kid, Whitak- Dennis. And you’re going to be a great doctor.”

“Do you touch everyone you think is going to be a good doctor?”

“What are you- what is this?” Robby groans, running a hand through his beard. “If I- if I ever made you uncomfortable or-”

“You’re married. Of course it made me uncomfortable.” It’s not the truth, but it feels like the right thing to say.

With a shake of his head, Robby scoffs. “Are you going to start lying to me now? Is that what this is?” He points a finger at Dennis. “You didn’t figure out I was married until, what, halfway through your rotation? And still that didn’t stop you from seeking me out. I don’t think you were uncomfortable, Dennis. I think you like the fact I’m married.”

“But, you’re married to Dr. Abbot. That’s…that’s different.”

“How is it different?” he’s exasperated. “To you. How is it any different?”

“I-”

But Robby’s not done. “You know what I think, Dennis,” he practically sneers his name, “I think you like the fact I’m married. I think it makes you feel good, having my attention. The fact I’m married to Jack makes it better for you. The wrongness, the guilt, it gets you off.”

Dennis gulps. His face is on fire, his heart beating rapidly. He knows he’s not having a heart attack because he’s a med student, he’s smarter than that, but the feeling is disturbingly close to what he imagines one is like. With numb hands, Dennis takes his drink from the table and swallows the rest of it down. 

Robby’s distressingly on the nose with his assessment. Being seen so clearly, right into the depths of his soul, is undeniably terrifying. He wishes he could just be scared of Robby’s understanding of his psyche, but there’s more to it, a searing heat in his veins that burns Dennis from the inside out. 

“Am I wrong?” Robby asks, finishing off his drink.

Dennis shakily places his empty cup on the table and folds his hands together in his lap. “How did you- I mean, no I don’t-”

“Just be honest. Say what you want to say. You can do it,” Robby goads, his tone careful and commanding. 

With a deep breath, Dennis continues. “No. You’re not wrong. How did you…how could you tell?”

Robby leans across the table until there’s but a few inches between their faces. The faint smell of his cologne consumes Dennis’ senses. It’s heady and masculine, at once comforting and activating.

“I noticed how you are about praise. You’re desperate for it. I could see how much it excited you when I praised you. But when you did something wrong? God, I’ve never seen someone so eager to be corrected before,” Robby explains. His words are demeaning, they make Dennis feel small and warm all over. 

Dennis is on the verge of panting. Everything is too close to him, Robby, the bar patrons, the music is too loud. He can’t see, he can’t think, he can’t breathe.

Robby, because he notices everything apparently, notices this and leans away. Immediately Dennis mourns the closeness, but Robby doesn’t let him protest. He stands, pulling on his jacket and taking a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket.

“I’m having a cigarette,” he says, turning to walk out the back door. 

For a second, Dennis does nothing. Then he scrambles out of the booth and up to follow Robby outside. 

The door leads to an empty alleyway. Here, protected by the tall buildings around them, the wind isn’t so strong. Instead of intense gusts, the wind is a forceful breeze. Dennis has to brace against it, but he doesn’t feel like he’s going to blow away.

Opposite to the door, Robby is standing with his back to the wall. A cigarette dangles from his mouth and he has a lighter in one hand, the other cups the end of the cigarette to shield it from the wind. 

Dennis approaches him cautiously, eyes drawn to Robby’s fingers as he attempts to light his cigarette. He thumbs at the lighter, but the wind is too strong still. 

Without thinking, Dennis cups his hands over Robby’s to help the process. Robby tenses under Dennis’ touch, but he relaxes after a moment and finally lights the cigarette. 

He takes a long drag of it and breathes out smoke. The wind pushes it directly into Dennis’ face and he inhales it quickly. Not knowing what to do with himself, Dennis rests on the wall next to Robby, closer than he should be to him, farther away than he’d like to be.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Dennis admits, breaking the silence.

Robby exhales and more smoke pours from his mouth, onto Dennis. “I don’t. I quit.”

Dennis feels no need to mention the obvious, that no, he hasn’t quit. 

“Do you smoke, kid?” Robby asks passively, like he cares little about the answer. 

“Uh, no, I don’t. Is that surprising?” 

“No, not really.”

They’re encased in silence again, the only sounds that of the wind and loud music from inside. 

Then, Robby sighs, dragging a hand through his short hair. “I shouldn’t have brought you out here. I was pushing it, inviting you to drink with me, saying all that. This is too much.”

Dennis huffs, pushing himself closer to Robby. It’s infuriating, how he has to look up to make eye contact with him. 

“You did all of those things, though. So either you’re pretending to care about what’s inappropriate or you just don’t care enough that it’s wrong,” Dennis spits out. He aches to take Robby by the shoulders and shake him.

Instead of responding, Robby stares blankly at Dennis, cigarette burning away in his hand.

Dennis eyes it with determination. “Can I try it?”

Robby rolls it between his fingers and holds it up. “This?”

Dennis nods. 

Contemplatively, Robby licks his lips. He continues to roll the cigarette between his fingers, eyes trained on Dennis’ shivering form. Finally, he nods and hands it to Dennis.

He brings it up to his lips hesitantly. The second the smoke enters his mouth, he chokes and coughs. 

Dennis holds the cigarette out to Robby and continues coughing into his elbow. Robby’s free hand pats his back sympathetically, though amusement is the reigning emotion on his face. Once Dennis stops coughing and catches his breath, Robby’s hand slides from between Dennis’ shoulder blades to plant firmly on the small of his back. His palm is warm and his fingers, ever so gently, press into Dennis. 

“Guess I’m not cut out for smoking, huh?” he jokes self-deprecatingly. 

Robby assesses Dennis for a second, eyes half-lidded and slow moving. He then nods, like he’s made up his mind. 

“Let’s try something, since we’re throwing propriety out the window.” He leans down into Dennis’ personal space, their noses an inch away. “Open your mouth.”

Dennis obeys immediately with a slight parting of his lips.

Unsatisfied, Robby shakes his head. “More.”

He drops his jaw further, fighting a waxing feeling of shame in his chest.

“Good.”

Robby brings the cigarette to his lips and takes a long drag, but he doesn’t breathe the smoke out. Using the hand on Dennis’ back, he pulls him closer, squeezing Dennis’ hip in his massive grip. He holds the smoke in his mouth and closes the small gap between him and Dennis, pressing his lips to Dennis’ open mouth with excruciating care. Only then does he exhale.

Smoke and the feeling of chapped lips overwhelms Dennis, but he takes it all in greedily, like a man starved. Warm breath and smoke fill his mouth and Dennis infuses his lungs with the flavor. The taste is objectively kind of bad, a chemical bitterness like burnt leaves sticks to the back of his tongue and coats his throat on the way down to his lungs. It’s an offensive obtrusion, but it’s 100% Robby and Dennis needs more.

Robby backs away with a cut off groan, though he continues to grip Dennis’ hip in a bruising hold. He wipes a thumb over his lips, cigarette burning between his middle and index finger.

“Again?” he asks, breathlessly. 

Dennis, tingling from the buzz of nicotine, shakes his head. “I have a much worse idea.”

“Wha-”

Dennis pushes himself against the soft planes of Robby’s body, bracing his hands on Robby’s chest. Instinctively, Robby pulls Dennis closer by the hip, fingers digging into the bone. He’s staring at Dennis with a sense of bewilderment, mouth dropped open in an ‘o’ shape. There are words on the tip of his tongue, a rejection or placation ready to fall from his lips, but Dennis stops him with a violent press of his mouth against Robby’s.

Robby reciprocates instantly, deepening the kiss with a swipe of his tongue against Dennis’ lips. He welcomes the intrusion with a needy moan. The kiss is messy, hot and wet. It’s simultaneously everything Dennis has ever wanted and not nearly enough.

It’s clear Robby is of the same opinion. He brings the hand not on Dennis’ hip to his face. His hand grips Dennis’ jaw, maneuvering him along with every movement of their lips together. Distantly, Dennis is aware of the cigarette near his face, trapped between two of Robby’s fingers. It’s nearing the filter, on the border of burning both him and Robby. 

He wants Robby to use him like an ashtray. 

The thought of Robby using him, pressing the burning end of his cigarette into the skin of Dennis’ chest or arms, unwinds him further. His knees are weak, he feels like a fawn learning to walk, unable to support itself. He drags his hands up Robby’s chest to loop around his neck, collapsing fully into him. Their bodies are flush, moving together in shallow, rocking motions.

He loses himself in the feeling of Robby’s lips and tongue. Their teeth click together and Robby admonishes Dennis with a harsh bite to his lips.

“Easy, kid,” he murmurs.

Dennis whines and his mouth goes lax, Robby uses the opportunity to lick further into his mouth, chasing the waning taste of nicotine on his tongue.

“There you go,” Robby groans, “So good for me.”

Dennis’ hips thrust forward of their own accord and he keens, high, in the back of his throat. 

The need for oxygen disappears. All that exists, exists between panting breaths and spit-soaked, bitten lips. 

Dennis leans impossibly further into Robby in a desperate attempt to merge their bodies into one, double the pleasure and sensation. Robby grunts, then swears, pushing Dennis away. 

In a daze, Dennis stumbles backwards and catches himself on the alley wall. He blinks himself into alertness, trying to think about anything other than his sore lips and aching cock. 

Robby’s a few feet away, shaking his hand in the air like it’s injured. 

“Are-” his voice cracks, “are you okay, Dr. Robby?”

Robby huffs and takes the side of his finger into his mouth. 

“Fuckin’ burned my finger,” he mumbles gruffly.

Cautiously, Dennis approaches him and grabs Robby’s wrist gently. He pulls Robby’s hand away from his mouth and brings it into his own, wetly mouthing at Robby’s minor burn. 

The second his tongue brushes Robby’s finger, Robby rips his hand away, closing his body off to Dennis. He collapses against the wall, the very image of a pathetic and tragic figure. His head is in his hands and he’s pulling at the thinning hair of his hairline. Gone is his usual broad shouldered, solid posture. He’s trembling, hunched over like a man at his breaking point. Almost small he looks, pitiful, the same way he appeared to Dennis in pedes all those weeks ago.

It takes great effort to not go to Robby’s side. He holds his hands behind his back to stop himself from reaching out. The automatic nature of the impulse to comfort is jarring. 

As a medical student, Dennis knows he has the tendency to want to help and care for others, but he’s never felt it so powerfully. It grows like a bacteria beneath his skin. He wants to pull Robby close and heal him through affection alone. He wants to carve a hole in his chest to make room for Robby to crawl inside and stay there, connected to him through matching pulses and blood flow. 

But Robby’s shaking harder than before and Dennis is frozen in place, unable to do anything other than witness. 

“What’s wrong with me? Jesus, this- this was a mistake. This is a mistake,” Robby mutters to himself. 

He doesn’t have the decency to look Dennis in the eye when he says, “This shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry, kid.”

Angry tears form in Dennis’ eyes, a scorching heat in his head. He wipes his eyes, the rough drag of his palm grounding him. 

“Don’t say that.” The words come out meekly, unsure. 

Robby’s hands card through his hair, then he crosses his arms over his chest. He levels Dennis with a sorry gaze.

“You know it’s the truth. This can’t happen. I-” Robby’s voice cracks, “I cheated on my husband with you. You made me-”

Dennis barks out a laugh. “I didn’t make you do anything. You wanted to kiss me. I may not know a lot of things, but I know that. You don’t kiss someone like that unless you’ve been wanting to for a long time.”

“And you know that, how?”

He returns Robby’s stupid, sorry look. An unspoken understanding between them. 

“We both want things we can’t have. But we can have them, for right now, we can.” Dennis insists.

He feels filthy, a type of sinful he hasn’t known in a long, long time. 

Robby shakes his head. “We can’t.”

Dennis closes the gap between them in quick steps. He ignores the minute way Robby flinches and takes a hold of his arms, pulling them from their crossed position and resting over his shoulders. Looking up at Robby beneath his lashes, Dennis lets desperation fill all the gaps and absences within him. 

“You want something from me. I can give it to you, just for tonight. Let me give it to you. Please, sir,” he pleads.

Robby’s hands intertwine on the back of Dennis’ head, lightly tugging at his dirty blonde curls. 

“You know what I want?”

Dennis shakes his head, pressing up to be as close to eye level with Robby as possible. 

“No, but I’ll listen. I’ll do it for you.”

“And what about what you want?” Robby asks, warm breath tickling Dennis’ skin.

“You already know,” he admits shamelessly, lips brushing against the coarse hair of Robby’s beard. 

Robby’s mouth is on his in another searing kiss. The second Dennis adjusts to the feeling of his mouth, Robby tugs his head back with a sharp pull of his hair. 

He leans in to bite and kiss along the smooth skin of Dennis’ neck. Robby forcibly pulls aside the collar of Dennis’ hoodie and bites into the junction of his neck and shoulder. Up he goes, lavishing the unmarred skin. Dennis whimpers in his hold, savoring the scratch of Robby’s beard and wet heat of his mouth. 

Robby bites at Dennis’ earlobe, then whispers, “You’re right. I do know what you want.”

He snakes a hand down between them to cup Dennis’ hard cock through his sweats. 

“You want me to be nice to you, treat you like the good boy you are.” He punctuates the statement with a punishing squeeze of his hand. Dennis whines, chasing the friction, but Robby lets up.

“But first, I think I’m gonna be mean to you. That okay with you, kid?” 

Dennis nods frantically, splaying his hands over Robby’s soft stomach.

“Good.” Robby kisses him chastely and pulls away. “First, we’re going to leave and get in my car. I’m going to drive us somewhere. Then, we’re going to get in the back seat and you’re going to suck me off. After that, if you’re good, I’ll let you fuck my hand until you come all over yourself. Sound good?”

Dennis nods again and Robby pulls his hair, eliciting a soft moan.

“I need words, kid.”

“Yes, yes. That sounds good. It sounds perfect.”

Robby inhales deeply and straightens up. The cruel hand in Dennis’ hair relaxes and makes a home on the nape of his neck. Robby’s hold tightens again and he uses his grip to pull Dennis out of the alleyway and with him to the parking lot. 

He steers Dennis to his car, unlocks it, opens the passenger side door for him, and helps him in like he’s a child. Dennis lets his mind float, he follows Robby’s leadership like it’s second nature because it is. 

Robby’s car is nice, clearly a newer model with cold leather seats and an all black interior. It feels like a liminal space, the quiet darkness like a blanket shielding the world from them or them from the world.

As he drives, Robby plays no music, but he does turn on the heat. Dennis groans when the warm air reaches him. He was so distracted outside that he failed to recognize how truly cold he is. The false build of heat between him and Robby was temporary, but his hands are freezing and he’s shivering in the passenger seat. He hugs himself tightly and sits back in the seat, trying to get comfortable. 

Becoming comfortable is made difficult by the fact there’s nothing comfortable about his current situation. His arousal has diminished slightly, but he’s still hard, straining against the soft cotton of his sweatpants. Tension, frightfully electric, fills the space around them. It crackles on his skin, making him twitchy and anxious. Robby’s eyes, set straight ahead, and the rigid lines of his posture deter Dennis from addressing the tension or trying to lighten it. It’s a little erotic, the way they can’t bear to look at each other. Dennis tries not to think about what that means.

Minutes later, Robby pulls into a vacant parking lot. He stops the car haphazardly, diagonal across multiple parking spots. With an aura of control, Robby turns the car off and unbuckles. His movements are unhurried, as if they have all the time in the world. The juxtaposition between his deliberate actions and Dennis’ crazed mental state calms him down so he can focus on Robby and Robby alone. 

Robby gets out of the car and re-enters into the backseat. He sits in the middle, cargo clad legs spread wide. The visual is drool-worthy. Enticing. Dennis doesn’t bother exiting the car. He uses his youthful agility to climb over the center console to the backseat, finding purchase in Robby’s lap. 

“God, you’re pathetic,” Robby groans, pulling Dennis in by the hips to straddle one of his thighs. 

It’s a tight fit in the backseat with two grown men, especially one of Robby’s size, but Dennis relishes in the forced proximity. They can’t get farther apart even if they try. 

Robby wastes no time in capturing Dennis’ lips in a messy kiss. The movement of their lips together is sloppy, entirely too much tongue and saliva. Spit drips from Dennis’ mouth and down to his chin. Robby chases it, licking it back into Dennis’ mouth.

His cock is rock hard again, all from a bit of making out. 

Using Robby’s thigh beneath him, Dennis grinds down slowly. The moan he lets out is swallowed by Robby’s mouth, continuing to ravish Dennis. His cock is aching and he can feel the precum beading at this tip. Robby’s hands grip Dennis’ hips. He uses his strength to control Dennis’ movement, rolling his hips up to match each thrust. 

They move together feverishly. Dennis craves more friction, but Robby won’t let him have it. He continues to control each needy thrust, quiet, punched out groans leaving his lips. 

Given the chance, Dennis could come like this. Any decision making taken from him and placed in Robby’s hands. Robby knows what he needs better than he does, he’ll make Dennis feel good. 

Robby pulls away from the kiss with a breathy moan. He cups Dennis’ jaw with his left hand, thumbing at his bottom lip to prompt him to open his mouth. Dennis does, a sharp pang of arousal sparking in his gut at the feeling of Robby’s cold wedding ring against his skin.

He takes Robby’s thumb in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digit. His experience giving oral is limited, extremely so. Two previous occurrences spring to mind, both of them having ended poorly. It was too much for him, overstimulating, making his skin crawl with the feeling that he’s doing poorly. But it will be different with Robby. 

He removes his thumb from Dennis’ mouth and replaces it with the pointer and middle fingers of his other hand. He fucks his fingers deep into Dennis’ mouth, using his hold on his head to keep Dennis still. 

Dennis gags and Robby backs off, spit-coated fingers coming to rest on Dennis’ pulse point on his neck. 

“You really think you can take my cock like this?” he asks meanly, wet fingers trailing up and down Dennis’ Adam’s apple.

“Yes, please. Need to taste you.” He’s begging, grasping at the fabric of Robby’s hoodie.

Robby groans and pushes Dennis off him, manhandling him into a half-crouching, half-kneeling position on the car floor. It’s cramped, his muscles already sore from maintaining the position, but trapped between Robby’s legs he feels nothing other than pure, unsaturated want. 

Painstakingly slowly, Robby unbuttons his cargos and pushes them down just far enough for Dennis to see the outline of his cock in his boxers. Despite his obscured view, Dennis can tell Robby is big. Dread and desire pool in the pit of Dennis’ stomach as he thinks about taking Robby’s cock in his mouth and deep down his throat. 

Unable to resist the temptation, Dennis pulls himself up, bracing himself on Robby’s thighs, to mouth at the head of Robby’s cock beneath the cotton of his boxers. Robby groans, bringing his hands around to tangle in the curls of hair at the nape of Dennis’ neck.

He looks up at Robby, hands toying with the waistband of his boxers. “Please, can I…?”

“Can you what?” he breathes out, meanly.

Dennis bites back a whimper. Humiliation flows through his veins. “Can I suck you off, sir? Please.”

“Yeah, go on, kid.”

He wastes no time in pulling Robby’s cock out, inhaling the musky scent of his sweat and arousal. Tentatively, he takes the tip of Robby’s cock in his mouth, hips jerking forward to grind against nothing at the taste of Robby’s precum on his tongue. 

Dennis flattens his tongue to take more of Robby into his mouth, then freezes, looking up at Robby uncertainly. 

Robby chuckles, the demeaning quality of it making Dennis whimper. 

“What, you need me to show you what to do?”

Dennis does his best approximation of a nod. 

The way he scoffs and uses his hold on Dennis’ head to feed more of his cock into his mouth sends a rush through Dennis that makes his cock twitch. 

“God, look at you. Too stupid to even blow me right. Just need me to use your mouth like a cocksleeve, huh?” He thrusts shallowing into Dennis’ mouth, teasingly forcing more of himself down Dennis’ throat. 

He’s starting to choke, he can feel his throat constricting around Robby’s throbbing cock. Robby’s hands card through Dennis’ hard, but he doesn’t ease up. 

“Breathe, c’mon. You’re gonna take the whole thing.” He’s using his teaching voice, the kindness in his tone bordering on pity. 

It’s just the motivation Dennis needs. He follows Robby’s order and breathes, cushioning his teeth with his lips and allowing Robby to push the rest of his cock into Dennis’ mouth. The weighty feeling of Robby on his tongue, salty skin and firm pressure, is heavenly. He takes deep, careful breaths and noses at the trim pubic hair of Robby’s pelvis.

Robby lets him catch his breath, then he experimentally rolls his hips forward to fuck Dennis’ face. They let out simultaneous moans at the feeling. Robby continues rolling his hips forward, barely giving Dennis the time to adjust to the hard cock hitting the back of his throat. His hands are on either side of Dennis’ face, locking him in place. 

He’s drooling pathetically, desperately whining with every thrust of Robby’s hips. With one hand he grips at Robby’s ankle like a lifeline, thumb pressing into his Achilles tendon, the other grips at his cock to relieve the pressure. He’s never been more turned on in his life. 

Above him, Robby lets out a deep moan, his hands tightening on Dennis’ face. “You’re mouth- fuck- so fucking hot and wet, Jesus.”

Dennis fumbles, trying in vain to press himself closer to Robby, taking him deeper than before. He sucks Robby down greedily, a new and voracious hunger like a roar inside him. Robby’s legs squeezed around him, caging Dennis in between strong shins and tensed thighs. It’s where he belongs, on the ground before Robby, being used to chase a crescendo of pleasure. 

Deliciously sloppy sounds of a mouth being fucked and the clicking of Dennis gag reflex fill the car. He forces down the primal urge to pull off, focusing only on the increasing moans and groans falling from Robby’s open mouth. 

“Taking my dick like you’re made for it-” Dennis licks at the underside of Robby’s cock, interrupting him with an elicited moan. “Fuck, yeah. Just like that, kid.”

One of his hands leaves Dennis’ face and comes to wrap about his throat, calloused fingers feeling the bulging intrusion of his cock through his throat. 

He groans, thrusts growing more frenzied and irregular, a quiet, “oh, fuck”, leaving his lips.

“Gonna come in your mouth, mark your insides with it. Oh, shit-”

His hips punch up once more and he comes deep in Dennis’ throat. Dennis chokes, then moans, thick and salty come filling his mouth. He’s able to take most of it, but Robby pulls out too soon. The final spurts of come hit Dennis’ lips and chin. He licks it up eagerly, chest heaving. 

They look at each other for a second, both of them panting. 

Without the distraction of Robby’s cock in his mouth, Dennis’ attention is drawn to his own arousal. His cock is hard and leaking, a gust of wind could make him come. The material of his seats is wet. He needs friction, something, anything. He needs to get off. 

Robby pulls Dennis up from the floor and back into his lap. Unceremoniously, he pulls down Dennis’ sweats and boxers at the same time. His cock slaps against his stomach, staining his sweatshirt with precum. He whimpers as the air hits it, feeling vulnerable and exposed, like a patient on an exam table, waiting to be taken care of.

A dry hand fisting at his cock pulls him from that thought. 

“You’re so wet for me. You like being used by me that much?” Robby snarks, taking his hand from Dennis’ cock and towards his mouth with an open palm.

Dennis nods weakly, staring blankly at the hand before him.

“Spit,” Robby commands.

Dennis does with a moan. Robby brings the hand to his own mouth and does the same, then he takes Dennis’ cock again, their saliva mixing together with each stroke of his hand. 

He’s entranced by the sight of his cock being dwarfed by Robby’s grip, the pink head of it peeking out of Robby’s fist with every stroke. He thumbs at the head of Dennis’ cock, firm and unrelenting as the pain of arousal blends with pleasure.

His hips are jerking forward in twitchy, uncoordinated thrusts. 

“You wanna be good for me, kid?” Dennis responds with a moan, his head falling forward. “Then fuck my hand.”

Dennis gasps harshly, brain fuzzing with desire and low oxygen, and does as he’s told. He helplessly fucks Robby’s hand, weak and desperate to come. 

Robby tuts, removing his hand from Dennis’ cock.

“No, no, no. Please. I need it, please. I’ll be good. Need to come so bad, please,” he pleads, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

He grabs Dennis’ chin, forcing his eyes up. His face is stern, but his eyes give everything away.

“Then fuck my hand like you mean it.” 

Dennis practically sobs when Robby’s hand returns to his weeping cock. He fucks into Robby’s fist wantonly, the coil of arousal building in his stomach. 

The hand not around his cock reaches under the hem of Dennis’ hoodie to explore the hidden skin of his torso. Fingers play with and pinch his nipples as Dennis moans shamelessly into Robby’ neck.

“Doing so good, kid. C’mon, just like that.”

The praise goes straight to his dick, making it twitch, more precum spilling from his tip.

“Want you to come using my hand, and only my hand. You can do it,” he whispers darkly into Dennis’ ear. 

He continues using Robby’s hand to get off, on the verge of climax but not quite reaching it. There’s not enough stimulation, he needs more. The hand around his tightens and Dennis cranes his neck down to watch it. 

There’s a feeling, something foreign and odd against his cock as he fucks into Robby’s fist. He feels it against the head of his cock before he sees it. 

Deliberately, it’s Robby’s left hand that’s fisting his cock. That foreign, smooth sensation, so different from the skin of Robby’s palm and fingers, draws his attention. It’s Robby’s wedding band. 

Dennis’ body wracks with a sobbed moan as he comes, spilling over Robby’s hand and his own sweatshirt. His hips continue to jerk forward, chasing the pleasure until he whimpers, overstimulated. 

Robby takes his hand off Dennis’ length, bringing his hand to his mouth and licking up the evidence of their exploits. If Dennis had any energy left, he would lean forward to join Robby in cleaning up his mess, but instead he collapses into Robby’s chest, ear pressed against his beating heart. 

Gently, Robby pushes Dennis away and wipes his hand on Dennis’ ruined hoodie. 

He breathes out through his nose, that sorry look returning to his eyes. 

“I have to go. I’m sorry, really, but I-”

“It’s okay. I know,” Dennis cuts him off, exhaustion and hurt coloring his words.

Carefully, he extracts himself from Robby’s lap and falls into the seat beside him. He pulls up his boxers and sweatpants, cringing at the feeling of dried come. His sweatshirt is disgusting, he grimaces at the thought of walking home wearing it, the thought easier to wrestle with than the thoughts of Robby. 

Sound and motion catch his attention and he looks over at Robby, who’s awkwardly pulling his own hoodie off, revealing an old band tee underneath. He holds the hoodie out to Dennis.

“Here, take it. Wear it. Or don’t,” he shrugs, refusing to look directly at Dennis.

He takes the hoodie slowly, like it’s a trap. The material is soft and old, high quality. Robby’s had this hoodie for a long time.

“Are you sure?” he asks, trepidatiously. 

Robby nods mournfully. “I feel bad. And I wouldn’t want you to be cold.”

‘Cold?’, Dennis thinks as he takes his sweatshirt off and replaces it with Robby’s. It’s a size or two too big and warm. It smells like Robby, a perfect mixture of his cologne and sweat.

“What? Why would I be cold?”

It’s absurd, the tragic way Robby’s eyes fall to him.

“I can’t- I can’t take you home, Dennis.”

Oh.

Shock, like ice in his veins, takes over his body. He blinks at Robby, unable to form a single coherent thought.

Robby’s opening his mouth, probably to explain or defend himself, but Dennis doesn’t care. 

He opens the car door and slips out, legs wobbly and body shaking. He ties his hoodie around his waist and puts a hand on the door, ready to close it. 

Robby grabs him by the arm, stopping him. His fingers dig into the delicate bones of Dennis’ wrist.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s not just an apology, it’s a plea. A beg for forgiveness. 

“I know,” Dennis whispers back, the sound of his voice swallowed by the swell of wind around him. He slams the car door and steps away. 

There’s a sick part of him that wants to stay and watch Robby get out of the backseat, get back into the driver's seat, and drive off, leaving Dennis alone in the parking lot. For the first time, when it comes to Robby, Dennis ignores that sick part of him. He walks off in a random direction.

It’s only after walking for a while that Dennis realizes he doesn’t know where the fuck he is. Robby drove them off somewhere, but he’s not familiar enough with the city to know his way back. 

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, wincing at the missed calls and texts from Trinity. It’s later than he thought it was. He deletes the notifications and pulls up maps, inputting his address. 

A twenty minute walk. He steels himself against the wind and cold, burrowing his face into Robby’s hoodie. The smell is already haunting, the fresh death of their whatever-ship reincarnated immediately into sickly longing. 

He takes a deep breath of the lingering scent, telling himself it’s the last time.

Then, Dennis walks home, back to his and Trinity’s apartment, his body sore and his heart nothing more than a trembling ache beating rapidly beneath his tender, ruined skin.