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“In two miles, turn left.”
Fucking piece of crap .
Robby hated GPS. His acquaintances called him old fashioned, and his friends called him a stubborn old bastard, but Robby insisted on memorizing his way to every destination as best as he could. It worked wonders in his day to day, routinely driving his SUV from home to work and back, occasionally stopping at the shawarma place across the boulevard from the hospital.
But this was not downtown Pittsburgh. This wasn’t Pennsylvania. Hell, this wasn’t even his car. He was in the middle of fuck knows where, Nebraska, lost as hope, driving a stupid little red Volskwagen he couldn’t fit his legs comfortably inside of.
He’d been dumped by his connection bus on his way to a conference in Denver, and sleeping in the Omaha terminal waiting for the next one was absolutely not an option. So stupid little red rental car it was, and off he went into the Nebraska plains.
No map. No clue. Just a GPS on the dashboard, a twelve-hour window and the music collection downloaded onto his iPhone library.
One of those things was on his side. The empty midwestern town roads were a perfect backdrop for old Dylan and early R.E.M.
The other one was the fucking GPS.
Robby smacked the device as it repeated “in one mile, turn left.” There was no left turn available in sight. He doubted that robot even knew where he was standing.
He straightened the little screen back into an upright position. He hated it, but he’d be charged for any damages to the rental.
The sun was low in the sky, burning orange in his eyes as he drove straight west on 92. He forced himself to take a deep breath, count to ten and hum along to Desolation Row. There’d be a stretch of road until he hit an actual town he was willing to stop for a bit in, so he’d have to endure.
Beep. Beep.
Or not.
Beep.
Robby smashed down on the brake. Two different lights turned bright red on the dashboard of the car. He wasn’t low on gas, Robby thought. He’d filled up the tank as he left the rental location.
Or had he?
He doesn’t exactly remember. All he wanted was to get the hell out of there. Robby isn’t the best at handling a bad mood, and he knows what he needs. Action, silence, working towards a goal. So he got the car and got the hell out of there before he could curse at the twenty-year-old manning the night shift desk at Enterprise Omaha.
He might’ve forgotten to top up the gas.
The car glugged out a burst of fumes, and Robby turned the key into the off position, grabbed the wheel with both hands and smacked his forehead to the horn.
“ JESUS-Christ in heaven.”
A squeaky voice from outside forced him back upright. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight- the last thing he needed was a spooked lurker trying to loot his car like he had something inside. He’d not only have to defend himself, but also prove there was nothing of value inside of the Volkswagen except for maybe his laptop and his life.
“ Sir?”
Whoever was outside didn’t give him enough time to come up with a self-defense plan before kneeling down beside his window and knocking softly.
“Do you need any help?”
No, Robby thought. Piss off, kid, I bet there’s enough animals around here that need herding or something. He shook his head. The heat and the humidity and the long hours on the road were turning him evil.
Fuck, he did need help.
He rolled down the window with a click , and was hit with an unpleasant gust of hot, dusty wind. Nebraska was a picturesque place, if you were Clint Eastwood, or a cow. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see a tumbleweed in front of his eyes.
But his city-man inner monologue was cut off by the person who was actually standing in front of him, a slender but defined figure leaning forward and genuinely, honest-to-God tipping his straw hat to the car window.
“Good day, sir. I’m sorry if I spooked ya,” a thick accent spoke into his drowsy Pennsylvanian ears. “I couldn’t help but notice- well, you did almost hit me there, but still- your car seemed to jolt real hard right there. Need some fuel?”
If Robby could’ve rubbed his eyes but for his ears, he would’ve.
The boy looked kind, in dirty blue jeans and a flannel, covered in grease, carrying what looked like a five-gallon jar of tar.
Oh, right. Petrol.
“I was just on my way to refuel my tractor, got stranded just like ya right over there. Lucky I’m close to home, so I can give your crate a sip if you’d care.”
“It- uhm, thank you, kid. It runs on gas.”
It was almost embarrassing to say, like he’d have to pull out a diagram and explain to the heavily sunburnt boy what “gas” on a car was.
Instead, the boy laughed.
His joyful cackle rang across the empty road like a birdsong, and got immediately swallowed by another gust of hot afternoon wind.
“Let me tell you what. I’ll hook this baby up to my girl over there, we’ll get you inside the farm and get you fed until you can get a tow to pick you up. How’s that sound?” He pointed in the general area of a bunch of trees and grass into the distance. Robby could see no farm whatsoever, just the top of the tractor among the wheatgrass.
He glimpsed at his watch. 6:47. The sun was riding lower and lower towards the horizon in front of him, and his stomach had already pronounced a second audible grumble.
The blonde man looked harmless enough. He was offering him his petrol and his farm. He was kind enough to offer to pull his pathetic little pavement-dwelling Volkswagen, which he’d have to pay an extra night on anyway, into a hopefully safe, fenced-in space with at least a roof and a cob of corn or whatever for dinner.
Robby sighed. What the hell, sure.
“Thank you-”
“Dennis,” the man said, taking off his hat and leaving it hanging around his neck by the string. “You can call me Denny if you wish, sir.”
“Thank you, Dennis. I’m- I’m Robby.”
“Oh, I had a teacher once called Mr. Robert. He’d bring us all lollipops every Friday.”
Robby chuckled at the anecdote. Mr. Robert sounded way kinder that he thought he’d ever have the gall to be with an entire class of children.
“Actually, it’s Robinavitch. Michael Robinavitch, but it’s been years since anyone’s called me Michael.”
“Robby it is, then.” Dennis chuckled again, so light it let Robby chuckle once back at him and release some of the tension that had built up in his jaw.
The ride into the farm was quiet from within his idle car, turning the wheel whenever he felt the tractor ahead take a turn in the stony road. Dennis had pumped the fuel into the tractor surprisingly fast, his arms much stronger than Robby would’ve expected from someone with such a bubbly disposition, and hooked the Volkswagen to the back swiftly.
Robby called the number on the rental company card from inside the car, and they took most of the journey into the farm to set him up with a tow service for the following day. Eight-thirty in the morning. Sigh.
He could do that, he thought. It could’ve been worse.
Window down, already used to the Nebraska heat, Robby lit a cigarette and rested his hand out of the car. He didn’t really want to rush to the conference anyway, he thought to himself. He’d been to another conference on the same publication two months ago. Maybe that’s why they wanted him back. Oh, well. His colleagues –and closest friends, at this point– had asked him to take a break for his own sake, after all. He texted a quick “can’t make it tonight. I’ll be there for the press circle tomorrow,” and locked his phone again.
The swaying of the treelines in the distance put him in a trance. His last few months in the emergency room had been insane- not like emergency medicine was ever not, but something had changed. Jack Abbott had pointed out that maybe it was something within him.
He had closed the roof access door on Jack Abbott’s face.
Robby committed the sight of the pines swaying with the wind, all orange and dusty in the sunset light, to look back to whenever he was back in the ER, needing somewhere to put his mind for a moment. He’d tell Abbott all about this and make him wish he had a mental runaway spot as good as his.
He flicked his cigarette stub out onto the road behind him, and winced for a second, imagining the wheat catching fire and burning down the farm of the man who was so eager to give him a hand, but breathed back out when the car kept driving and nothing happened.
The tractor came to a stop ahead of him, reaching a final stretch of road lined on both sides by drooping elm trees that looked as old as the land, and revealing a parkway ahead, pointing in the direction of three buildings, placed concentrically around a tall, thick spruce tree. An uneven but worn stone road that looked hand-placed ran in a circle around the tree trunk, joining strips of stones to the entrance of a farm cottage, a pigpen, and a two-story, stereotypical looking red barn.
“Well,” a hillbilly voice rang from outside his window again. “Here we are.”
“Are you sure- is this yours? How old even are you?” Robby mustered, earning another giggle from the farm boy.
“I’m twenty-six, and it’s my Ma and Pa’s, but don’t worry, they bring far more people in than I ever could. You’ll be no bother.”
“Wow,” was the only response that could come out of Robby’s lips as he breathed in the terrible but liberating smell of the farm. “Thank you, I mean. Honestly, I- I’d be more scared of sleeping on the empty road than being killed on a farm.”
He heard himself say it out loud and sighed. He was too tired to act like human interaction came naturally to him.
“Let’s get you settled. Hope you don’t mind our guest room’s in the barn,” Dennis smiled. “Cindy’ll be happy to have a visitor.”
“Cindy?”
“Our mare,” he affirmed, matter-of-factly. Obviously.
Despite any of Robby’s preconceptions, the barn was actually surprisingly cozy. They were greeted inside by a golden-brown creature tall as him, who lowered her head for gentle pats when she heard Dennis’ steps enter her enclosure.
“Hey, little girl. Here,” Dennis said, reaching behind the locked gate to her wing of the barn for a bag of carrot bits. Robby watched her feed for a second, before Dennis turned back to him and pointed to a wooden staircase close to the back of the barn, leading to a wooden-framed mezzanine above the stable wing.
“That over there’s where we put the guests. Follow me,” he said as he pet Cindy’s hair once more and led the way.
On the platform, Dennis showed him to a big, brown corduroy foldable sofa pushed against the back wall of the barn, underneath a large window with its wooden panes open wide. There was an oil lamp on a wooden stool right next to it, which filled the makeshift room with warm orange light, and a blanket and two throw pillows bunched on one side of the seat.
“Sorry it’s messy,” the young man said sheepishly, “I’d been reading here before I went out with my tractor.”
A book of selected poems by Arthur Rimbaud sat on the edge of the couch. Robby hummed to himself, impressed. He’d never guessed country boys read French symbolist poetry, but then again, he couldn’t have guessed a single thing about country boys before today.
He plopped his backpack on the sofa and sat down beside it, testing the surface. It was incredibly comfortable. He couldn’t keep a smile from creeping up on his face.
“Well you hold on before you get too cozy, because I’m sure Ma would love you to join us for dinner,” Dennis offered.
Remembering food was something that existed at its sole mention, his stomach grumbled.
“I- you’re already doing way too much for me, I couldn’t-”
“Oh, please. I know she’d hate it if I brought someone interesting to chat with and left her having dinner alone with my boring old man.”
Something about the man’s playful demeanor was impossible for Robby to contradict.
He went back down the wooden stairs, and followed him into the cottage.
—----------------------------
Guilt started creeping up on him halfway through the dinner, when he realized something in his brain had just turned off the alarm that said “you’re dying on a farm today”, and found himself eating an unknowing woman’s delicious farm-grown vegetable casserole and laughing at her husband’s recount of his last encounter with a cow robber.
God, he’d just let himself be lured into someone’s home, and was now imposing on a couple of lovely people on their perky son’s whim. He appreciated the man’s intent, but everyday Robby, Pennsylvania Robby, would’ve cut off his own fingers and ate them before letting himself accept help from strangers in east Jesus nowhere, Nebraska .
He offered to do the dishes. They refused, the kind souls, but he insisted. It’s the least he could do not to feel he was being coddled like a puppy who was abandoned on the side of the road.
As soon as dishes were done and a glass of whisky was insistently shared, Robby thanked them profusely again and excused himself to the barn. He was genuinely exhausted from a day of driving on the hot road, he’d been rocked to hell by the unexpectedness of the invitation, and he wanted a cig out the barn window. He could imagine the fresh breeze on his face, and sped up his pace into the barn and up the stairs.
Cindy was asleep.
Wonderful. He loved the place, but had never interacted first-person with a horse before, and didn’t want this to be the first day.
—-------------
He couldn’t help but reach for the book as he sat down and changed into his sweatpants from his backpack. He’d loved Rimbaud as a young man, his college years plagued with discovery and learning, nose deep in books, both educational and recreationally- he’d needed an off-button to unplug himself from images of vertebrae and dissected organs, and poetry offered him a wonderful place to rest. The beat generation was the first to captivate him, and he read back from there- their inspirations, their muses, their idols. He had settled on Baudelaire as a predilect, but, naturally, Rimbaud and Verlaine came in hand.
The little book was a familiar feeling, a lovely nostalgic lull as he smoked two cigarettes back to back out of the barn window. He didn’t even realize he’d leaned back against the sofa when his eyelids started getting heavy. He put the cigarette out on the metal beam on the window and let himself fall into dreams.
—------------
His eyes opened to a rustling below.
It took him a second to recognize where he was- he didn’t remember falling asleep under a high wooden ceiling, orange light at his feet and a breeze hitting his side from an unfamiliar angle. He blinked a couple times to adjust to his surroundings, and the events of the previous afternoon washed over him like a flashback.
Right. The boy.
Another rustle brought him to complete reality. He stood still, blood running cold for a moment. Oh, sure. These were the consequences. He was about to get brutally killed by a farmer in a remote barn in Fuckhole, Nebraska.
“Shhh, Cindy. Quiet, girl.”
It was just him .
Robby felt his muscles unclench, and kicked the thin knitted blanket off his legs to silently walk to the edge of the platform. Silently, he leaned his arms on the wooden railing, looking below: Dennis was standing with his back to the staircase, in a long, white shirt and linen shorts, feeding Cindy apple hearts from a basket.
The clock on his phone marked 2:00 A.M. Insomnia on a farm must be a killer, Robby mused, as he watched the boy feed and whisper to the horse. The hair on the back of his neck curled up from the summer humidity, and the light from outside made the shape of his lean but strong arms stand out as a silhouette inside of his shirt.
Robby blinked to himself, breaking his stare. The boy was twenty-six. He was kindly offering him a place to spend the night after his car broke down. And he was twenty-six.
Cheeks flushed with shame, he snapped himself out of even thinking about having such ideas. He retreated from the railing and headed back to his spot on the couch, decidedly choosing to sleep this late-night delusion fueled by his unusual situation away.
Still, as if the universe had been clear in its position against him once today already, his bare foot caught onto a handful of hay on the floor, rustling it into a noise that reverberated throughout the entire barn. Two sets of eyes darted up in his direction from below, but only the human ones turned into half-moons when they saw him looking.
“Can’t sleep?”
The boy’s voice was low and sweet in the night’s silence. He spoke gently, like to Cindy a moment ago.
“What are you doing up so late?” was the only response Robby could muster, ashamed of calling out the boy on his own land.
“I can’t really sleep much in the heat,” he replied sheepishly from the foot of the stairs. “And Cindy is my best friend here. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake ya,” he added, in his strong farm boy accent.
“It’s okay, I couldn’t sleep either. I was actually reading through your book.”
Dennis put his hand on the railing, and slowly climbed up the stairs, speaking as if to muffle the cracks of the steps. “Oh, so that’s where I’d left it. Do you read much poetry?”
“I used to, in college. Had more time, more… curiosity, I guess.”
He pretends he doesn’t see Dennis hide a smirk, as he’s already decided he won’t allow himself to notice that. He won’t be doing this, not now. NOT now, he repeats to himself, as Dennis climbs fully onto the platform and looks down at him.
“That must be lovely, I reckon,” he said as he plopped down next to Robby on the sofa. “College, I mean. Goin’ out, knowing new places. Learnin’.”
Robby sighed. He never knew much about how to be faced with people’s desires he could not fulfill. Still, he replied, “you’re not studying?”
“I’ve got my life here. I mean, everything I know, everything I love… all that I need. I love my little portion of Mother Earth.”
Well, that’s refreshing, at least, Robby’s thoughts relaxed. Dennis turned his head to stare past him and out of the window.
“I saw you smoking before. In the car,” Dennis offered, innocently blinking his blue eyes, like a newborn calf.
“I’m sorry, I smoked in here too. I should’ve asked, with all the hay, I’m-” Robby chastised himself immediately. It’s his second fire-hazard strike, and he feared the third one might actually be the one that sets the farm on fire.
Dennis giggled. It was musical, and in the silence, it’s harder for Robby to tune out the bells it rings in his brain. “No, it’s okay. As long as you open the window- that’s just how my dad does it.”
Thank God, because Robby needed another smoke right now. He shook his zippo lighter closed and back into his pocket, and his eyes met Dennis’s, staring right at him.
“Can I have one?”
Robby stared back. He didn’t like giving cigarettes to people, especially people who didn’t look like they had made the choice to ruin their lungs by themselves.
“Do you smoke?”
“No.”
Dennis kept his eyes on Robby’s, until he broke off. He couldn’t be- no, the kid was curious, and Robby was used to old ladies coming onto him every day in the ER floor, and it was two in the morning on a fucking farm. Jesus, Robinavitch, he thought to himself.
“You’re young, don’t get hooked on this stuff. It’ll kill you.”
“I’m not a kid,” Dennis replied, his demeanor changing slightly, but enough that Robby could tell he’d touched a sensitive fiber. “I finalized a divorce less than a year ago.”
Robby blinked. The kid was full of surprises.
“Divorce? How old are you?” he couldn’t help but ask, as he complied in handing a cigarette over to Dennis.
“Twenty-seven.”
“You said twenty-six before,” Robby replied, mouth moving faster than his brain.
“Then why did you ask again?”
Dennis put the cigarette between his lips and leaned forward. Robby stared for a second, before understanding the ask and pulling his Zippo back out. Suddenly, he felt like the young one of the two. His hands shook as he lit the boy’s cigarette and tucked the lighter back away.
They smoked in silence for a second, and Robby couldn’t help but watch. The boy’s profile was all sharp angles, except for his cheeks, soft, round and pink. He had bags under his eyes you’d expect to find in a weathered, farm-cured grown man, not a twenty-six year old kid.
Twenty-seven. Or not. Robby didn’t know what was really true anymore.
Lost in thought, he followed the curves of the boy’s face, down his neck and into his shoulders, until he was interrupted by his voice.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“I- yes. I’m not hungry, if-”
“No,” Dennis giggled, and for the first time, Robby could detect a hint of nervousness.
“I just want to- well, a city man like you-” Dennis sighed before continuing, like he’d had this locked and loaded for years and just couldn’t bear to shoot.
“Over there, it’s just common for people to be… gay, right?”
Robby froze, and a look at the boy’s face sent him down another spiral.
“You’re- what is this?”
“I’m- I’m sorry, if I-”
“No, it’s- it’s fine. It’s just- are you- do you really have no idea?”
“I’ve never really been, or known many people who have. All I know is here… and, well, here,” he sighed as he pointed to his poetry book.
“Can I show you something?” Dennis continued, breaking Robby’s silence. He took the book back from the edge of the seat, and ran his fingers softly across the pages until he reached a marker. He pulled out a thin magazine cutout.
“I’m going to get one of these one day, when I have enough. Then I’m going to ride her into the city, and not look back.”
He handed Robby a cutout of an old pickup truck, possibly something that wasn’t even sold in cities anymore, or even allowed to circulate.
“You know, there are better, more convenient-”
“I don’t really know much about cars anyway, it’s silly.” He quickly shrugged it off and took the cutout from Robby, burying it back inside the pages of his book. “I can’t drive anyway, and even if I could-”
“No, wait, no-”
Robby messed up, he could feel it in the air. He messed up and hurt the boy’s feelings. The innocent, lovely boy, who had suffered through an unloving marriage, and was confiding in him-
“There’s so much more you have to know about the city. There’s so much more than cars, and it’s a completely different world, if you really-”
“Tell me about it.”
His blue eyes glowed in the dark. Robby couldn’t refuse if he wanted to.
“Didn’t you have to keep your horse in-”
“Do you like men?”
Robby was taken aback by the inquiry.
He could tell Dennis heard him swallow a gasp, and he tried to stay as still as he could, as if that was enough to avoid saying the wrong thing and hurting this young, vulnerable man, who-
His train of thought was interrupted by the questioning graze of soft lips on his.
There was no time for him to think, or react, or wonder- only a hand on his face and soft, eager, tender lips on his and Robby had to pull back before he was dragged down, headfirst.
Dennis’s blue eyes seemed deeper than ever, staring deep into his, without a hint of anything like regret, and not a second goes by before he brings his lips back up to meet Robby’s.
This time, the decision had already been made.
Robby raised his hand to cup the boy’s neck, and, in response, he could feel the weight of his body shift forward onto his. Dennis felt nimble, agile and willing, and he easily maneuvered his legs to fit over Robby’s lap on the couch.
Dennis kissed thirstily, like he hadn’t been fed and was being offered apple cores for the first time. Robby wasn’t used to a face so smooth, so clean. He kissed him deep on the lips, Dennis finding his under his mustache and biting softly, until Dennis pulled a centimeter away and let out the softest of whimpers.
Robby attached his lips again to the boy’s face, to keep himself from doing the same.
He kissed down the boy’s jaw and neck, his lips met with the vibrations of the boy’s throat as he let out soft whimpers beneath him, and Robby felt the need to let this boy know there was so much more to life than what he had known before. He bit softly down on his collarbone, beneath the collar of his shirt, immediately rubbing the spot with his beard to soothe the sting. Dennis moaned, and something broke in Robby.
In a moment, he found himself with a hand on Dennis’s back, locking his legs with his to flip him onto his back on the sofa. The boy’s eyes looked hypnotized on his, and he whispered a soft “yes” as Robby nodded for permission, undoing the buttons on his shirt.
Fingers splayed across the boy’s chest, Robby felt his shirt being pulled up from the bottom. He complied, and for a moment, he stared. All in white, laid on the couch beneath him under the orange light, Dennis looked like an angel. He was not in the slightest sorry for wanting to be the one to show him what there is to know.
He reached forward and placed a careful hand on Dennis’ thigh, coaxing another whimper out of him.
“Please,” Dennis breathed out. “Robby.”
And he, once again, complied. His hand traced the edge of the boy’s shorts, aiming to undo the button, but stopping midway to trace a thumb on the silhouette that had already formed on the boy’s trousers a while ago. Dennis’s eyes went glossy, and Robby wanted to see more of that. He continued.
Dennis whimpered, undone under Robby’s heavy hand- slowly, he bucked his hips up to meet Robby’s strokes, rhythmic and following his breathing in and out. It wasn’t long before Dennis pulled Robby back down by his shirt and clashed their mouths together, feeding him his whimpers straight down his throat as he came, soaking the front of his trousers.
Robby moved alongside him for a moment as he rode the moment out, and attempted to pull his hand away, but Dennis was faster as he grabbed it into his, and whispered into his beard, “now you.”
Faster than his mind could process, Dennis’s hand was past the waist of Robby’s sweatpants, ice already broken, reaching straight for him and wrapping a hand shamelessly around the base of his cock. Robby couldn’t believe this creature that laid before him. Dennis had no caution, no rails anymore- he stroked up and down over Robby’s underwear, closing his eyes and focusing only on the sensation of him on his hand.
Robby gasped, open-mouthed, as his hips bucked involuntarily. He grasped Dennis’s eager hand by the wrist.
“Wait- wait.”
The boy opened his eyes with surprise, and Robby felt as guilty as if he had kicked him on the ribs.
“Not yet.”
Robby pulled away gently, as not to make Dennis believe he’d leave him there, like that. As if he ever could’ve. He sat back on the sofa, and pushed his hand back on the bare chest in front of him. Jesus, Robby could come from just touching his skin. He placed a gentle but firm hand on Dennis’s waist, and turned him to rest on the backboard of the couch.
“Stay there.”
Pinning him down by the waist still, Robby moved backwards and onto the floor. He could feel Dennis getting hard again, and he would not allow this moment to slip out of his hands this quickly.
The linen shorts came down in one swift motion, and Robby stared at the stained white underwear in front of him. Like a canvas.
He dived down, and ran his open mouth from base to tip with one warm, long breath. Dennis was bigger than he’d expected, which was a pleasant surprise. Robby liked having something substantial to work with.
Dennis’s chest and stomach rose and fell with hitched, shallow breaths as Robby kissed him over the loose fabric of his boxers, sloppily pulling them down to free the entire length of his cock. Robby wasted no time in taking him in almost whole, and Dennis gasped, high-pitched and breathy, already fully hard again.
Robby, unlike Dennis, was rhythmic, slow and methodical. He’d already proved he could take him in all the way, so he’d take a moment to be careful. He kissed, wet and warm, around the base, hand caressing the thin blonde hair beneath him, working his way back up slowly, and swallowing him whole again.
The boy grabbed onto the side of the couch and Robby’s neck as he bobbed up and down carefully, with a low groan caught on his throat. Dennis was a mess, all whimpers and half-swallowed moans.
“Robby-”
The older man pulled him out of his mouth with a pop, and the vision could’ve killed Dennis instantly.
“Yes, sweetheart?” Robby responded as he looked up to meet Dennis’s eyes, and he had to do something before he came again on the man’s hand.
“Sit down,” Dennis mustered, and moved to let Robby sit in his warm spot, immediately sitting back down on his lap.
They locked eyes as the boy reached for Robby’s waistband again, attempting to pull the sweatpants down, but interrupted by the friction of the man’s erection against his. He couldn’t help himself. He gripped onto Robby’s arm instead, and let his full weight fall down onto the other’s lap, moving up and down, looking for the right angle to feel him best.
Robby pulled him down by the neck again, and joined their mouths in a wet, eager kiss.
Bucking into Robby’s lap like an animal in heat, licking messily into his mouth, beard rubbing on his lips, Dennis could get lost in the overwhelming sensation. So he did, and his hips lost the regular rhythm as both he and Robby became sloppier, faster.
He felt Robby twitch and release under him, staining the front of his pants visibly. Dennis followed suit, the image being enough to drive him over the edge.
They stood unmoving for a while, kissing languidly until they were just pieced together mouth to mouth. Dennis was the first to move, though neither seemed to want to.
“I, um-”
Robby sighed deeply. “You’re something, Dennis.” It was all he could muster.
“I should go. Thank you. I’m sorry,” Dennis stuttered, as he quickly slid his shorts back on, and ran out of the barn before Robby could even begin to stand up.
His head fell back onto the backboard. Shit. What?
Lucky for him, there was a visible sink connected to the barn wall.
—------------
Doctor Robby downed the last of his black coffee as he pushed past the emergency room doors, five minutes later than he would’ve liked to. He reached for the first available tablet as he dropped his backpack behind Dana’s station, who greeted him with a “Morning, sunshine” as she downed her own styrofoam cup.
“Sorry, Dana. Someone rear-ended a pickup right in front of me as I was turning onto North. I-”
“Who’s late, doctor? I see the clock on 6:55.” He sighed, earning a laugh from the head nurse. “Come on, Robby. Go help Jack on Trauma 1 so he can finally go home and get off my ass.”
Jack Abbott looked as relieved as a marathon winner as Robby entered the trauma room, and he presented the case as doctor Mohan checked the patient’s stats. “Car crash on North and Madison, this guy got knocked off his bike. Surprisingly fine for the flight he took. Come on, help me set his hip.”
Easy as that, Robby set into his usual pace. It was almost meditative for him, and when he snapped out of it, the patient was being wheeled to an OR upstairs and he was being ushered into a hallway and handed a clipboard by nurse Dana.
“The newbies,” she whispered as he leaned down to grab it.
Right, Robby thought to himself. The students. He stood back upright and turned, seeing a lineup in front of him, comprised of a tall, blonde girl in glasses, two shorter girls with similar slicked-back ponytails, and-
What the fuck.
What the ever-loving, merciless, hellsent fuck of a joke was this.
Robby’s head snapped to Dana, eyes wide as headlights, as she addressed the people in front of him. Robby had no idea what she was saying. His eyes could not erase the image of the head of blonde hair in front of him, looking just as petrified as he was.
“...Dennis Whitaker, MS4. P-pleasure.”
No hint of a hick accent in his voice.
Could he be wrong? Could he be imagining things? Could the other Dennis have an identical twin with the same name who was raised miles away from God knows where, Nebraska, unaware that his brother was going down country roads picking up stray travelers to have them blow him in a barn?
Jesus, he could not afford to be thinking like that right now.
He shook his head. “Sorry, I’m still shaking off sleep. Doctor Robinavitch, attending physician, but please, call me doctor Robby, or just Robby.” He cleared his throat to keep memories of that name in someone else’s mouth far, far away.
Robby got over the introductory speech as efficiently as he could, keeping his eyes locked away from the kid at all times, who made it easier by staring straight at nurse Dana the entire time. He thanked whatever god was above for Collins turning the corner and calling him to a kitchen accident in a room that required a reattachment.
He avoided that hallway all day, as if Dennis were haunting it like a ghost.
It was past noon when he was leaving the bathroom, one of the rare occasions he was actually able to stop and piss in over ten seconds, when he was met face to face with his fear, the boy’s pupils shrinking down to the size of a pinpoint. Robby grabbed him as kindly as he could muster by the arm and ushered him into the empty bathroom.
“Whitaker.”
“Yes, sir.”
The boy’s eyes were glued to the floor, his arms together in front of him like he was part of a shooting peloton.
“None of this. Please.”
The boy stuttered.
“Are you-”
“I- I’ll- not a word, sir. I promise. Not from me.”
Robby watched him squirm in fear, and dread settled deep in his stomach.
“I’m- I really need- I really want to be here, sir. I’m not- I’m sorry if I-”
“Stop.”
Dennis froze in place, and looked up at him, terrified. Robby hated that.
“It’s fine,” Robby sighed. “Fine by me. Worse things have happened.” He rubbed his eyes, aware of the kind of decision he was making, and of the kind of weight he was putting on himself. But looking at Dennis shake in fear of his superior, beginning a rotation he was clearly invested in- Robby could imagine himself back as a medical student, and, if he had found himself in the boy’s shoes, he would’ve possibly jumped off of the hospital roof day one.
“Go on, Whitaker.”
Dennis stood, frozen.
“You’re doing well. Keep it up. And please- let’s leave the past in the past, alright?”
Something in Dennis’s stare warmed up at the reassurance, and Robby felt himself defrost some of his own fear. He opened the bathroom door for Dennis to exit, but closed it again immediately for an addendum.
“Where are you from, Whitaker?”
Dennis nodded eagerly. “Broken Bow, Nebraska, sir. That- that is true. That’s- my family’s farm.” He sighed, as if he knew it was over. “I’ve been a medical student at Pittsburgh for the past four years, sir.”
Robby hung his head down and shook it in disbelief. He’d fallen for a college student’s ruse, and he’d have to suck it up or face the music.
He opened the door again and signaled for Dennis to walk out. “Go,” he ordered, “good work on the concussion case.”
The boy nodded nervously and ducked under his arm, quickly walking out of the bathroom and back into the ER floor.
“Whitaker.”
The sudden stutter of Robby’s voice stopped him on his tracks, and he turned on his spot to face him again. Robby cleared his voice, and, quietly, asked “the divorce?”
Dennis broke eye contact and shook his head, looking back at him with miserable eyes for a moment before taking off again on the nod of Robby’s head, looking kicked.
Robby let the door close and lingered for a moment, washing his hands again, allowing him to get a head start. Fucking him was one thing, but fucking with him- He grasped onto the sink with both hands and looked at himself in the mirror. He’d been elusive all his life- the consequences of his actions didn’t often catch up with him, much less collide head-first with him at seven in the morning at his place of work.
Game time, he thought. He’d gotten through worse than men he’s fucked before. Hell, he’s worked for years with something much worse- a woman he’s fucked before. He could do this. He cracked his neck and let out a long, deep breath, releasing as much of his tension as he could.
Doctor Robinavitch shook the cold water off of his hands, put on his best game face and walked back onto the ER floor.