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Neither of them knows how it got exactly to this. It's not as if they haven't been having sex for months, because they have. They'd engaged in everything from jerking each other off, to blow jobs, to Whitaker literally fucking Robby into the older man's couch and his own mattress.
This was just... something new.
It's no surprise that Whitaker has shown a penchant for particular aspects of Robby's anatomy. Specifically the dark hair that adorns his limbs, face and torso.
Robby had been slightly amused by it at first. Whitaker having nothing but light peach fuzz on his legs and arms, unable to grow even a moustache, being so fascinated by someone who has so much more hair. He'd gotten a inkling back in that bathroom stall, when Whitaker's teeth had grazed his jaw and he'd felt his hot tongue against the rough of his beard. Nobody had done that to him before. He'd had people's mouths and hands on his neck and face, but not so concentrated on his facial hair, enough to almost take a bite out of him. It had awoken something within Robby, it seemed. To have Whitaker so hyper focused on that one specific thing.
It must be pheromones, or something. Although that's pseudo-science at best. Regardless, Robby had certainly enjoyed it the first time that Whitaker had pressed his face to the crook of his armpit as their lube slick cocks slid between Robby's grip. Also the way Dennis had moaned and whined and licked the sweat-damp hair there, left Robby grunting and pushing his face further into the musk of him.
It all brings them to this. Something Robby has never done before. To be fair, he has been with predominantly cisgender women, but the people he's been with who have the same anatomy as himself have never suggested... this.
He questions Whitaker at first, wonders if he misheard him.
The younger man stammers as he re-iterates, almost dizzy by how insanely aroused he seems to be.
(To be fair to the kid, Robby had been mouthing at his erection through the cotton of his boxers for a while now, bringing him ever closer to the edge before pulling away.)
"Your chest..." Whitaker pants, pawing uselessly towards the robe that's hanging loosely around Robby's torso. "I want... fuck. I wanna fuck it."
Robby tilts his head, ears burning, neck burning, hell, everything is burning. His cock twitches at the prospect.
"What, like a... tit job?" Robby doesn't know what else to call it. It's not something he has done to someone else since college. He remembers enjoying it, but he'd been the one doing it to someone else, that person being a woman.
"Uh, well," Whitaker swallows, contemplating the term in his head. He nods, eyes fixated on the sweat-damp hair peeking out from under Robby's robe. "Yeah. Yeah, tit... pec, whatever. I want it."
It doesn't take Robby much convincing. It's not like he hasn't had Dennis above him before, like he couldn't take the weight of him. The kid had practically fucked his face once, left him unable to speak for a day or two at a needed volume for control of the ER. He'd been face down a couple of times, pressed into Whitaker's mattress as the younger man bit his shoulder to stifle his moans, terrified that Santos would hear them through the wall.
But this was a different kind of weight, his thighs around Robby's waist in a way they haven't been before, sat on top of him, making it a little less easy to breathe correctly, but comfortable enough not to do much damage. It's a strange feeling at first. It's not as if he hasn't had lube or even come on his chest before, but the head of Whitaker's cock pressed against his sternum isn't something he's felt before. He's seen Whitaker above patients, performing CPR, he's just glad he's lucky enough to see it conscious from a different perspective.
It's the way Whitaker seems to so utterly enjoy it that really gets to Robby, the way those piercing eyes look down at him with such an intense, dark lust. Desperation and hunger. It's like he's wanted this more than anything for so long and now he finally gets to have it.
Robby's palms press around the younger man's thighs, helping him swing into a slow rhythm as he moves his hips, the length of his cock sliding up and down his chest.
The noises that come from Dennis are soft little grunts at first, fingers gripping the material of Robby's couch as he rocks gently. He has literally been inside of the older man, so this should logically feel like something lesser, not as intense, but it doesn't. It feels just as good.
"Is it-- how is it?" Robby asks, thumbs absent-mindedly stroking Whitaker's thighs. (There's a faded scar on one of his knees. Tractor mishap.)
"Oh, god..." Whitaker whispers, eyes sliding shut, cheeks burning hot at Robby's question. It's almost embarrassing, how into this he is already.
The way Robby's chest hair is slick with the wet of Robby's own spit where he'd been blowing him.
Whitaker nods, vigorously, "It's good. More than good."
"You can look," Robby encourages, voice low, getting into it more as it goes along. He used to feel guilty over the way Whitaker would sometimes look so ashamed of his own desire, but it's just another part of what makes it so thrilling. How the younger man is sometimes afraid to look him in the eye but brave enough to take control, to make Robby submit to him. It's certainly a play of power. Professionally Robby is above him, but now, Whitaker is, and he's picking up his pace as he opens his eyes and looks down, taking in the glorious sight.
Robby is not exactly massively muscular, a little soft in places with his age, but there's enough mixture of fat and muscle in his chest to make this better. The salt and pepper of his hair looks darker, his skin building up a sweat from the quickening friction of Whitaker's cock. Among the beads of sweat are the beads of pre-come, leaking out of the head of Whitaker's aching cock already.
Robby's eyes drag down from Whitaker's sweaty face to his cock, watching the way the meat of his soft but there pecs cushions the length of him. He swallows, mouth watering at the sight, his own untouched dick hard against his thigh.
"Fuck, kid, this is... you're doing good," Robby encourages, still watching the head of Whitaker's cock, feeling the weight and slide of him against his flesh as Whitaker rocks back and forth. "How is it? Tell me."
"Yeah..." Whitaker gasps, damp palms splaying against Robby's shoulders, applying more weight against his body. He's drenched, Robby can feel his sweat pooling on his lower back when he slides his hands up to his lower back, guiding him along. "Fuck! So good. Better than I ever thought."
"What about it? Tell me why?" Robby goads.
"Fuck, I don't... hair...." Whitaker groans, moving quicker, the whole length of him sliding erratically across Robby's chest, over his hard nipples, eliciting a groan from the back of Robby's throat. Whitaker continues babbling, nails digging crescent shaped moons into Robby's skin. "Fuck. So good. So much hair. Wanna cover it. Come all over your chest."
"Yeah?" Robby's voice raises an octave, almost catching himself off guard with how into this he is. He can't resist much more, hand moving to palm at his own cock. He uses his other hand to reach up and touch Whitaker's cheek, forcing him to look directly into his eyes. "You gonna mark me, kid? Get that load all on me? All over my hairy tits?"
Whitaker feels like all the oxygen is suddenly gone from his brain, eyes widening as he stares down at the man below him.
"Y-y-yeah, fuck. Yeah!" he whines, getting ever more desperate by the second, feeling that familiar tug in his abdomen, the one that runs down across his tightening balls. "Want you to keep it there. A reminder."
"Let me know I'm yours, yeah?" Robby nods, feeling his own cock jerk between his moving fingers, bringing him closer and closer to the edge.
"Yeah... yeah, you're mine," Whitaker practically whines as everything, the slick, damp of Robby's chest hair, the warm cushion of the muscle and fat, the filthy words of encouragement, becomes all too overwhelming.
Robby is used to Whitaker coming as hard as he does. Youth is on his side and Robby has the dexterity and mouth skills to bring him to orgasms so explosive they leave him a squirming, whimpering mess. But this, this is almost a medical anomaly, just the sheer volume and thickness of the hot ropes of come that Whitaker stripes against his chest. Robby's eyes slide shut as he feels some hit his face, his beard and cheek.
"Jesus!" he hisses, grip loosening on his own cock to grab Whitaker's hip, trying to steer him calm like a bucking stallion. "Fuck, kid!"
"Oh, fuck!" Whitaker manages to croak out, throat hoarse from the noise that had left him as he came. He's positively shaking, muscles twitching as he rides out his orgasm. "Sorry, sorry, sorry! Fuck, I'm sorry."
Whitaker's hands flap uselessly for a moment, before landing on either side of Robby's head on the couch, eyes screwed shut.
"Look at me," Robby says, hand reaching up to touch the younger man's face again.
Whitaker complies, meets Robby's dark, half-lidded gaze. "You did so good, kid. Fuck, just look at me."
A radical warmth spreads across Whitaker's jello-like limbs at the sight of the older man below him. Seeing his own thick, wet streaks of come across his chest, glistening in his sweaty chest hair, it's almost too much to take in. He's claimed him. Marked.
"Mine," Whitaker whispers, fingers scrambling to clasp the Robby's face. Craning down, he captures Robby's mouth with his own, kissing him hard, tasting the salt of his own come that had hit Robby's chin, just below his lip.
"Yours," Robby's words are muffled against Whitaker's tongue, his body arching as he finally comes, spilling across his own knuckles. Some of it no doubt hits Whitaker, but the younger man is too lost in kissing him to notice. It's nothing compared to the sheer volume of the younger man's seed, cooling across his hot skin.
x
The shame isn't as strong as it used to be after they do this, but Whitaker still feels embarrassed whenever he catches Robby's eye across the ER.
He ends up in a supply closet, taking stock when he feels the warm weight of hands on his elbows. He would have been startled if it weren't for the familiar scent of Robby's cologne. He feels himself being spun in place as Robby turns him around to face him, his eyes casting up to the taller man's smiling face, eyes creased at the corners.
"You got a minute, kid?" Robby asks, voice low. The door is shut, but anyone could walk in.
"Uh, yeah," Whitaker says, the hand that isn't holding a pack of surgical gloves reaching out to touch Robby's waist, his own lips curling into a small smile. He leans up on the balls of his feet, lips searching for Robby's mouth.
Robby accepts the kiss, exhaling into it, hands moving to cup Whitaker's face. His thumbs stroke across the smooth surface of his cheeks. Whitaker's palm shifts to Robby's own cheek, touching the soft, conditioned texture of his beard.
"Clean, huh?" Robby smirks as he pulls away, looking down at Whitaker. "Not everywhere, though."
Whitaker's brows furrow slightly, confused for a second, then his eyes widen as he watches Robby lift down the collar of his own scrubs.
It should be gross, but a flood of heat surges over Whitaker's body at the sight of the dried remnants of his come from the night before, matted into Robby's chest hair.
"Oh..." he whispers, cheeks burning as he takes it all in. He wants to kiss Robby again, wants to rut against him, to smooth his fingers through the older man's chest hair and feel himself in it.
"Better get back out there, skip," Robby says, pressing his lips to Whitaker's cheek, making sure to rub his face against him slightly, beard scratching his skin.
He leaves Whitaker in the supply closet, clasping the gloves in a tight grip, trying desperately to still the twitching of his cock in his scrubs.
It's gonna be a hard shift.