The Stranger Beside Me

by DrottenDrottzen

Summary:

“So. About that talk.”

Dennis’ eyes widen. Fuck if that prey look doesn’t make something unhealthy stir in Michael's gut. “Uh, yeah?”

“How’s tonight for you?”

OR: The Talk happens. There's also food. And other kinds of eating.

Notes:

Hey ya'll - got a Christmas treat for you. Eat up. Just like Michael - who said that???

A huge thank you to Vee for beta-reading for me <3

More parts are in the works - I hope you all are excited for more of this age gap romance that has utterly consumed my life. As well as HBO Nordic's, apparantely - if you know you know.

Enjoy the read!

“Hiya, fruitcake.” 

Robby sighs, bowing his head. Just five minutes after resetting seven separate bones from a balcony fall, that raspy female voice grates the inside of his brain just wrong. “And a good morning to you too, Myrna. What do we owe the pleasure this time?” 

“Made my husband chew glass for breakfast.” 

“Ah. Of course.” Robby clicks a document shut, then straightens and wanders away from the wheelchair bound (well, handcuffed to be technical about it) woman. 

“See ya later, fruitcake.” He gives a solemnly raised hand in response.

“She’s in rare form today,” Dana informs him, smiling as he approaches her and accepts a new chart from her hands to examine. “Might want to warn the med-students to give a wide berth.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“Especially Whitaker. She likes him, poor guy.” 

Robby hums, distracted as he tucks his glasses on. 

“A lot of that going around.” 

“What is?” 

“Having a soft spot for Dennis Whitaker.”

Robby doesn’t exactly freeze. Just. Falters for a second. Then, he finds his tongue in his mouth to speak again. “He’s a likable kid.” 

“Mhm.” The silence drags on until Robby has to look up. Dana is watching him - again with brows raised, as if she is waiting for him to reply to a question she hasn’t asked. 

“...yes?” 

“It’s a good look on you.”

“What is?” 

Dana simply gestures to him. A casual wave of hand, head to toe. Then wanders off, leaving Robby feeling mildly judged and all too seen. Not a great energy to start off rounds with, but beggars can’t be choosers. 

 

-

 

Rounds are fine. The only off thing is that he catches Whitaker elbowing Santos a couple of times out of the corner of his eye. Whenever he turns back to look, though, the pair look pretty normal. Maybe a bit tense, but…well. He has no idea how the previous night played out after Dennis left the warmth of his home to go pick up a clearly distraught friend. Could be they argued or something. 

Collins is just finishing up presenting the final case of rounds when there is another incoming emergency. Robby walks out, tapping Whitaker on the shoulder as he goes, “Whitaker, Doctor Mohan, with me,” he directs curtly, grabbing a pair of blue latex gloves as he goes. 

“What’ve we got?” Robby calls as he approaches the rapidly rolling gurney and sidles up to it, running his eyes quickly across the patient. A man in his forties, large, wearing dusty coveralls and a toolbelt and muddy boots, wheezing, pale and clearly struggling to stay still. Robby’s eyes catch on his arm - it looks bent and bloody and - ah, he can see the ulnar bone sticking out from the wound. 

“Construction accident. Someone dropped a hammer, caught this guy in the arm. Open fracture, we were told the hammer was stuck in it. One of his coworkers panicked and pulled it out before we got there. We had to apply a tourniquet, it has been on for about ten minutes,” the paramedic rattles off as they settle the gurney into an open trauma room. “We’ve given him ten milligrams of morphine, took the edge off somewhat.” 

They quickly transfer the patient to the bed and once he’s settled and the paramedics sent off, Robby addresses him while Princess and Mohan get to work. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Kevin,” the man on the gurney groans out, eyes rolling. 

“Alright, Kevin - we’re going to take care of you. Whitaker, call surgery, let them know what we’ve got. Doctor Mohan, what’s our next move here?” 

“X-ray, stabilize the arm, clean the wound and cover with sterile gauze until surgery can bring him up?” 

“Excellent.” Robby turns to Princess at the patient’s bedside, adding calmly, “Let’s get our friend here some more morphine too - give another five milligrams, see where that takes us.” 

“Sounds great to me,” Kevin grits out, head tilting back against the gurney. 

“Thought it might.” Robby smiles grimly, then gestures for Whitaker to come help Mohan with the wound care. He watches closely, steps in here and there to instruct. Feels a small twinge of something like pride for how the two of them work together, Mohan giving easy to follow commands, for how quickly Whitaker is picking up and following those instructions - heaps calmer than he had been on that first fateful day in the ED. 

Not even five minutes later, the doors open and in strolls Doctor Garcia, sanitising her hands and looking as casual as ever in the face of horrific open wounds. “Couldn’t find me anything more exciting than an arm break?”  she drawls. 

Across the patient, Whitaker looks up at her and just for a second, Robby sees something cold flash across his face. But he quickly looks back down at his work. 

Odd. 

“Don’t mind her,” Robby tells the patient, who has turned to give the woman a wide eyed, somewhat offended look. “She’s just picky. If anything, her disappointment should make you happy.” 

“If you say so,” Kevin mutters warily. 

Garcia hums for his assessment, wandering closer - nods to Whitaker to lift the gauze to give her visualisation - he grants it without hesitation, eyes still firmly directed at the wound. “Have we X-rayed yet?” 

“Yes, Doctor.” Princess gestures over to the light box. Garcia looks, eyes flicking over the image quickly.

“That’s a lot of pieces,” Garcia mutters, then nods. “We’ll bring him up immediately, we’ve got an open OR next to your balcony guy. A knee replacement got cancelled.” 

“Lucky us,” Robby nods. 

“Is there anyone you’d like for us to call, Kevin?” Whitaker asks. It sounds oddly pointed. He’s looking at Garcia when he says it, but looks away before she can notice to instead smile at the patient. 

“My wife? She’ll kill me, always tells me to keep an eye out.” Kevin is calmer now, the pain relief clearly helping. He’s throwing cautious glances down at his arm every now and then. “Couldn’t do this at a worse time.” 

“No good time for an accident, she’ll understand.”

“You clearly don’t know my wife.” Kevin laughs, voice strained. Whitaker gives him a tight lipped smile, then quickly writes down the number he’s given and hands it off to Jesse as he comes in together with a pair of patient transporters. Thanks him quietly under his breath - good manners, as always. 

“Let’s move,” Garcia says, following the bed out the doors and just like that the emergency is over for their part. Robby’s pulse slows accordingly and he takes a breath. Routine, but adrenaline will work the way it does. 

“Great job, guys,” he praises, tossing his gloves. “Back on the grind with you.” 

Mohan nods and hurries off - slow-mo no-mo indeed. He has noticed a bit of a pep to her step, some extra urgency - but no less of a care for her patient that borders on concerning but has yet to cross over to anything more than needing gentle reminders here and there. Fuck if it doesn’t remind him of himself at her age. 

Whitaker lingers a second too long at the sink, washing his hands. When Robby looks over to him, there’s obvious hesitation to his motions, a glance full of an unspoken question. 

It reminds Robby of last night. Of the way Dennis had hesitated by the shoerack, searching for the right words to say in parting. 

After a silent, charged moment, Whitaker quickly wipes his hands dry and hurries out the sliding doors.  

Staring at his flushed, retreating neck, Robby makes a decision.  

 

-

 

Before Dennis can veer off towards central, Michael grabs him by the elbow and instead guides him a few steps down the corridor connecting the ED to the waiting room. It’s empty save for a sleepy looking janitor cleaning the floor, but he still keeps his voice down as he murmurs, “So. About that talk.” Hand dragging down along his forearm before dropping away, a stolen caress away from watching eyes. 

Dennis’ eyes widen. Fuck if that prey look doesn’t make something unhealthy stir in his gut. “Uh, yeah?”

“How’s tonight for you?” 

“That should work.” Dennis nods quickly. His throat works around a swallow - an anxious lump, or something less fraught, Michael can’t know. 

“Great. How about I order us dinner-”

“Actually,” Dennis interrupts. His cheeks have gone a little pink as he looks up at him, hands folded behind himself. Swaying from heel to toe. “could I cook?”

Michael blinks. “Cook?”

“Yeah, I - when I get nervous, I like to have something to do with my hands? I think better with a task to focus on. And I enjoy cooking. So.” Dennis pauses. Suddenly looks a little uncomfortable and Michael can’t quite fathom why until he goes on in a rush, “You may have to buy the food, though. Unless you’re really dying to eat one minute ramen or uh, sandwiches.” 

Oh. Michael remembers being a med student. Being broke and barely able to scrape together anything unless family chipped in. The awkward feeling of turning down plans or nights out with friends to afford food that week. 

“Don’t worry about it. Send me a list of what you’ll need. I’ll go to the store on the way back and we meet at my place around seven?” 

Dennis relaxes. “Yeah, that - that sounds good.” 

Pleased, Michael turns to leave - pausing when a slightly cool hand closes on his wrist. He turns, confused. Dennis clears his throat. 

“I, um. Don’t have your number.” 

Michael almost smacks himself. “Right. Give me your phone.” 

Two minutes later, he’s tapped his number into Dennis’ phone - it’s got a crack in it, across the bottom left corner of the screen - and hands it back. The younger man pockets it with what looks like reverence. It’s - beyond flattering and it is doing terrible things for his ego, seeing the tiny smile and new glow to his eyes. 

The blare of an alarm behind them breaks the moment and Michael groans quietly. “Back to work. Check if Doctor Collins needs anything, then see to the board,” he instructs then brushes past with a quick pat to Dennis’ back towards the unmistakable sound of a code blue in progress. 

 

-

 

Dennis watches Robby go, disappearing back into the fray of rapidly moving staff. His phone feels heavy in his pocket, his heart still pounding from leftover adrenaline. Somehow, this tiny talk had his pulse racing worse than it did during the most recent emergency. That doesn't bode well for later. 

As he re-enters the ED proper, a hand snatches on to the leg of his scrubs. Dennis jumps slightly, looking down. Feels a slight squirm of discomfort for the sly grin turned up at him. “Oh, uh, do you need anything, Myrna?” 

“You know,” Myrna all but purrs, “if you like ‘em older, I’ve got all the experience you could need, pony boy.” 

“Wh-” Dennis barely manages half a squeak of an affronted reply before Perlah and Dana descend on the situation. 

“That’s enough out of you, Myrna,” Dana says sternly, though not without warmth. She puts a hand on Dennis’ shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. 

“How many times do we have to remind you to keep your hands to yourself, old girl?” Perlah huffs, wheeling the woman away. 

“Ruining all my fun,” she complains hoarsely, but doesn’t put up any further fight than that. 

Dana shakes her head slightly as she watches them go, then pats Dennis on the shoulder. “Sorry about that. We’re trying to keep an eye on her, but, well.” 

“It’s okay,” Dennis says, relieved to have been rescued with at least some of his dignity intact.  

“It really isn’t, but what can you do,” Dana sighs. Then, her face softens. “Having a good day otherwise?” 

“Uh, yeah, not bad so far.” 

“Glad to hear it. Good days can be hard to come by around here, so hold on to them when they come, kid. Okay?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Dennis smiles faintly. 

“So polite,” Dana gushes, patting his shoulder again. “Off with you, grab a case before somebody catches us slacking off.” 

“As if anyone would dare tell you off,” Dennis quips, stomach warming for the sharp bark of a laugh he receives in return. Then he does hurry off to go find Doctor Collins. 

 

 -

 

The shift chugs on. Dennis takes care of a number of unremarkable cases - a teen with appendicitis, an older man with an ulcer flare up, a mom who really just needed a sympathetic ear and for her husband to help out more at home and to get a proper night’s sleep (he gets Kiara to talk to her and she leaves with her head held just a tiny bit higher). 

Around lunch, Santos ambushes him at central. 

“Dennis.” 

“Jesus-!” Dennis rubs a bit at his chest, turning to face her - he had been completely immersed in his latest test results. “Aren’t you supposed to be-”

“Never mind where I should be. What the hell?” Santos hisses, leaning over him, eyes a tiny bit too wide. “Doctor Robby?” 

Two chairs away, Perlah and Princess look over at them with quirked brows. Dennis flushes, ducking his head and types frantically at his computer - adding random letters to a recently opened patient file and deleting them equally fast.

“Could you - keep your voice down. And don’t - we can’t talk about this here, I already told you,” Dennis whispers right back, voice high and urgent. 

“You expect me to work this entire shift and pretend I don’t know you and-”

“Trinity.”

“Fine. That I don’t know you and Big Foot have been hooking up for weeks?” 

“We haven’t,” Dennis mumbles. His ears feel like they’ve been stung by several angry bees the way they burn with heat. “I mean, not the way you make it sound. It’s - It’s more complicated than that.”

“I’ll say.”

“Look - I’ll tell you everything once we get home. In private.” Dennis shoots a glance over to Princess and Perlah. The two nurses look busy now, but he can tell their eyes just darted away from them. 

“Ugh, you’re so-” Santos suddenly cuts herself off. “Shit. I wasn’t here.” And with that she pushes away from the desk and she - he can only describe it as slinks away from central and off towards the staff break room. Dennis blinks, watching as the door slams shut behind her. 

“Whitaker.” A steady female voice speaks up behind him. 

Ah. Well now it makes sense. 

Dennis’ chest clenches. He turns around slowly, gives a small nod. “Doctor Garcia.” 

Garcia gives the ward a quick scan, then turns back to him. “Have you seen Doctor Santos?” 

Something cold and sticky trickles down Dennis’ spine. He thinks he manages to keep his face straight as he shakes his head. “Uh, no, not for a bit. I think she’s with a patient.” He says, knowing full well she is currently hiding in the staff lounge. 

Garcia’s lips thin. “Right. Well, if you see her, let her know I’m looking for her.” 

“Yep.” Dennis turns back to his screen. Tries to act busy. For once, he doesn’t feel bad for lying. Though his stomach does clench uncomfortably, as usual. 

“...right.” There is a tense silence. Garcia lingers behind him another few seconds. Dennis stares unblinkingly at his screen until he hears her footsteps fade away.  He takes a slow, steadying breath, then goes back to work. 

 

- 

 

“That sounded juicy,” Princess murmurs, crossing her arms over her desk, leaning on her elbows, watching Doctor Garcia skulk off. 

“Double the trouble, double the fun.” Perlah nods sagely. 

Princess gives her a sly look. “You heard it too, right?”

“Big Foot?” 

“Uh-huh.”

“Jui-cy.” 

 

-

 

It shouldn’t fall to the attending of any department to refill a coffee machine. Especially not after some asshole who leaves ten drops in the pot and figures it should be enough for the next poor soul coming for their fix. 

But no job is too small or unimportant for a good leader, Robby tells himself bitterly as he goes about the task. At the very least it gives him a moment of silence. 

Just as he pops the filter back in and goes to press start, the staff room door bursts open - the next second it slams shut so hard the framed infographics rattle on the walls. 

“Jesus-” Robby hisses, turning sharply. 

Santos stands frozen by the door, eyes wide, looking extremely caught out. 

“Where’s the fire, Doctor Santos?” he asks, trying to keep his annoyance out of his voice. To his own ears, he is unsuccessful. 

“What?”

“It’s - a figure of speech. Nevermind,” Robby sighs, turning back to the sputtering coffee maker to wait for it to finish brewing. 

The previously so welcome silence is now awkward with another person to share it. Robby sighs again, then makes small talk. “How’s the waiting room treating you?” 

“Fine. Nothing too crazy yet. Unless you think a weirdly big rug rash is crazy.” 

“Someone came in with a rug rash?” 

“A kid. Mom thought it was scabies.” 

“That’s…quite the leap.” 

“Yup.”

Silence. The back of Robby’s teeth itch. He looks over his shoulder. 

Santos hasn’t moved from her spot by the door. More disconcertingly, she is still staring at him. The second he turns, though, she quickly diverts her gaze out the window of the door, examining the outside all too carefully. To actually scan for something or just avoid eye contact, Robby isn’t sure. Either way, she is looking worried and the expression finally has him asking,

“Is everything okay, Doctor Santos?” 

“Huh?” She looks back to him - eyes flickering over his face in the oddest of ways. From eyes to jaw to the top of his head and to his eyes again. Not panicked, just - distracted. 

“Well.” Robby pauses. “Not to pry, but - you seem a little off today.”

“Oh, just.” Santos’s face goes through something complicated. “Tired,” she finally lands on, looking back out the window. “Had a bit of a rough night. It’ll pass.” 

Well. Robby knows that. 

“I see,” is all he says, though. “Sorry to hear it.” 

Santos shrugs. 

Back to silence. Robby resists the urge to slam a hand into the coffee maker to make it brew faster. It’s not even halfway done. 

Then, Santos says something strange. 

“How was your night, Doctor Robby?” 

Robby quickly looks over his shoulder at her again. “Excuse me?” 

“Just making conversation.” Santos pushes her hands into her pockets. Shrugs and drops back to lean against the doorframe. She doesn’t look half as casual as she thinks she is. He can tell she is tapping her fingers against her thighs on the inside of her pockets. 

“It was fine,” he says cautiously. 

“Just fine?” 

“Yes.” 

“Cool. Cool.” 

More silence. Robby stares at Santos. Santos stares right back, something expectant in her eyes. Like there is a giant elephant in the room and Robby is somehow not seeing it. 

That is until Santos says, “Whitaker had a pretty good night.” 

Something tightens in Robby’s chest. “What?” 

“Just making conversation,” Santos says again. 

“Santos-” 

“Nevermind, I - fuck, I’m just gonna-” Santos points towards the door, then pulls it open and ducks out - escapes, more like. 

Robby’s got the staff room all to himself again. He hardly even notices that the coffee maker has gone silent behind him. Because his ears are ringing in a way that is all too similar to a fucking panic attack. 

 

-

 

“You look a little pale,” McKay squints suspiciously as Santos returns. "Still tired?” 

“Nope, I’m good, all good,” Santos says, pretending she didn’t just majorly fuck up and send one hell of a storm Whitaker’s way. 

 

-

 

Elsewhere, Dennis is facing a conundrum of his own. 

“Jesse, could you help me with an IV in East Two?” Dennis leans over the nurses’ station, head hung low. “It’s a really difficult stick.” 

“You’re supposed to practise difficult sticks,” Jesse says calmly as he swirls his chair around to face him. “It builds character.” 

“I know. But I’ve tried four times and I think the patient suspects I don’t actually work here now.” 

Jesse laughs, then gets to his feet with a shake of his head, “Fine. Let’s have a look. But if I get it in one try, you owe me a Twix.” 

“Thank you,” Dennis sighs in relief, quickly falling into step with the nurse. “So, uh, got any weekend plans?” he asks as they walk. He feels like he’s gotten to know his coworkers pretty well so far, but Jesse is still a bit of an enigma. Quiet, stoic and honestly a little intimidating. 

“Going to a Muse concert,” Jesse replies, grabbing a pair of gloves as they go.

 “Oh. Are they any good?”

Jesse gives him a sharp look. “You haven’t heard of Muse?” 

“No?” 

Jesse sighs. Heavy and put upon. “The grown ups in your life have failed you. I’ll lend you a CD.” 

“Sure? Thanks,” Dennis says, wondering who even still has a CD player in this day and age but he is definitely not about to say that to Jesse’s face.

Two minutes later the IV is in, Jesse is halfway back to the nurses’ station with his candy bar and Dennis is once again left humbled in the wake of a nurse’s skill with a needle and vein. Giving the by now bemused patient a promise to be back in a bit to check on them, he walks out to check the board for another case to add with this one pretty much sorted.  

A heavy hand lands on Dennis’ shoulder. 

“Whitaker. A word.” 

Before Dennis can even reply, Robby guides their steps straight through a now very familiar door. Dennis is starting to correlate the family room to conversations that are going to make him uncomfortable. 

Dennis awkwardly crosses his arms, watching as Robby closes the door behind them. The look on his face is concerning. He looks…not angry. But definitely not happy either. 

“I had a really strange conversation with Doctor Santos just now.” 

His stomach drops. “Okay?” 

“She, very unprompted, told me that you had a good night last night?” 

Dennis’ stomach hits rock bottom real fast.

“Uh.” Dennis isn’t sure what his expression is, just that it can’t be good considering how Michael’s eyes narrow at him. He breaks immediately.  “Trinity knows. About us.” 

“For fuck’s sake,” Michael groans, rubbing his jaw slowly.

“I didn’t - it was the gloves,” Dennis rushes to explain - he isn’t sure why he’s whispering, it isn’t like anyone outside will hear. 

“The-?”

“Gloves. I- she knows I’ve been sleeping with someone, ever since the, uh.” Unsure how to word it without dying of embarrassment, he simply gestures to his now healed up neck. “You know. Anyway, I told her I forgot my gloves at their place last night. I didn’t think you’d bring them in!" 

Michael’s eyes roll up to the ceiling. Dennis knows he isn’t praying for patience, so it’s a little baffling. “Why wouldn’t you tell her you forgot them at work? That would make the most damn sense.” 

“I don’t-” Dennis squirms. He feels like an idiot as he shrugs and mumbles, “I’m not great at lying.” 

Because how do you explain to someone that, when you were little, your mother used to tell you that your tongue would fall out if you lied too often and since she refused to tell you how many times were too often you just never did? Which means you never learned properly how to and that need to be honest stuck all the way into adulthood and now you get a stomach ache every time you lie? How do you explain all that without sounding like an absolute dork at best or a pathetic mama’s boy at worst? 

Dennis doesn’t know. So he simply grits and bears it when Michael groans under his breath at his lackluster answer. 

“Seriously, Dennis?” 

“It’s not like she’ll tell anyone! She gets how serious this is and she wouldn’t do that to me. I trust her.” Dennis frowns, then feels indignancy roll over him as Michael just stares at him in that infuriating way he likes to do sometimes. Like he’s young and dumb. Which - one might be true, but the other sure isn’t. “And besides, you told Abbot, so I don’t know why you’re being so judgy about it.” 

There’s a twitch under Michael’s eye that tells Dennis he had no idea he knew that. It’s satisfying, but also not enough to make his heart stop racing about this argument. 

“I did not tell Abbot, he figured it out on his own.”

“So did Trinity!”

Michael’s nostrils flare. They stare at each other in tense silence while he takes a breath, another. Then, he slowly bows his head and sighs - long, slow, heavy, shoulders sinking. “I…am being a hypocrite.”

“Yes, you are!” Dennis snaps, then blinks - the fight going out of him at once. Instead, his chest feels like it has filled with light. “…and I’m actually kind of impressed that you admitted to it.” 

“Accountability is a hell of a drug.” Michael shakes his head. 

After a pause that is - a tiny bit tense still, Dennis asks softly, “Are we good?” 

Michael nods. “Yeah. We are.” 

“We still on for tonight?” 

The previous intensity in Michael’s eyes has melted away and given way to something softer. Warmer. He reaches out, holds his hand out until Dennis steps forward to take it - fingers tangling the slightest bit. The family room suddenly feels less daunting of a place. 

“Absolutely.” 

 

-

 

The rest of the day is a bit of a blur. Before he knows it, Dennis is climbing into the car with Santos and driving home. As he pulls away from the hospital, she tugs her hair tie off, shakes her head to let her short hair fluff up around her face - and then she promptly punches him in the shoulder. 

“Ow-! I’m driving here!”

“You dick! How the fuck did you end up sleeping with our attending, you absolute Huckleberry!” 

“Um.” Dennis squirms, tries to keep a proper eye on the road, on the intersection he is slowly creeping his way through. “It's…a little complicated.”

“Fuck complicated, Whitaker, I’ve been waiting all fucking day for this - you’ve got to tell me everything!!” 

Dennis cringes. “I…I would rather not get into the details, Trin, please? It’s private.” 

“Ugh, you’re so - fine! How long has this been going on for?” 

Dennis looks around the streets for a ten wheeler to steer the car into. Then feels immediately guilty, knowing intimately just how devastating an accident like that is. “Since the day before rotation. But not like - it’s only been three times. Not. Constant.” 

“Holy shit, that’s - Wait, the day before?”

“It - We met at a bar,” Dennis mumbles. “The day before I went on rotation.” 

“And he picked you up?” There is something in her voice. Concern, mixed with something darker, angrier. An unspoken accusation. 

“Actually,” Dennis rushes to correct, “I picked him up. I guess. If we’re going to be technical about it.” Even if Robby was the first to make a, in hindsight, very forward statement, it was Dennis who actually asked. 

There is a pause. At a red light, Dennis chances a glance over at Santos. She is staring at him. 

“What?”

“...just kinda impressed, honestly. I didn’t think you could pull.” It’s clear she’s trying to make one of those jokes she does when she’s uncomfortable. It makes Dennis’ own discomfort increase tenfold. 

“Whatever,” Dennis says sullenly, looking back to the road. Not about to engage in the teasing and when he is trying to be honest. 

There is a brief, tense silence. Trinity taps her fingers against the armrest of her seat. 

“So, what’s the deal? Is it gonna be some secret fucking kinda thing or what? Because you’re pretty shit at it so far.” 

Dennis’ ears feel warm. He reaches up to rub one. “I don’t know what it is yet, Trin - we - we’re talking about that tonight.” 

“Ooh. Oh, shit. Like - a proper talk talk?” 

“Yeah.”

Another burst of silence. Dennis squints at a street sign as if it’ll help him navigate out of this conversation any better. 

“...are you, uh. Actually considering dating him?” Santos asks as if the suggestion is ludicrous. It causes a twinge of something painful just below his ribcage. 

“I mean…yeah?” Dennis worries his lower lip with his teeth, shrugs. “It’s…not that simple, but. All I know is there is something between us neither of us can just drop. I want to see where it goes.” 

“He’s like - proper old, though. Like, bee keeping age.” Before Dennis can ask what bees have got to do with anything, Santos gasps. “Oh, wait, is this a daddy issue thing, Dennis?” The look she sends him is shrewd and more than a little miffed. 

“No!” Dennis says, horrified. Shrinks a little. “No, I- I mean, I don’t have a great relationship with my dad, but I don’t - I don’t like him because he’s older than me. Or an authority figure or…or anything like that.” Well, that is - not entirely true, he supposes, remembering the thrill of excitement of being held down, the way he feels when called a good boy, a smart boy…

Dennis quickly dispels the thought and goes on after a very brief pause, “We just. Have chemistry and it’s...nice.” 

He feels about three feet tall under Santos’ heavy gaze. When she speaks next her voice is calm, but with an edge he doesn’t particularly care for. 

“...I’m gonna be so real with you, Dennis. This is kinda creeping me out.” 

“Trin-” Dennis sighs, but goes quiet when Santos goes on, “No, hear me out. He’s twice your age, your boss - you can’t blame me for thinking it’s a little messed up.” 

“Come on-”

“He should know better, this could really mess with your education here. Like, what if he decided to stop bringing you onto really great teaching cases if you decide not to put out or you have an argument?” 

“He wouldn’t do that-”

“You don’t know that! I’m just saying - a guy in a position to use that sort of power over you, pursuing you and fucking you, it sounds-”

“Jesus, I know, okay?!” Dennis finally snaps. Breaks a little too hard at a red light, making the car lurch. He feels a little guilty, but more pressing than that he feels frustrated. “I know what it sounds like. I’m intimately aware of how - how weird it must sound. But I’m - I’m not some victim here! I - I’ve been the one pushing for this. He tried to turn me down at the bar, I’ve initiated each time after that and I was the one to ask for more than just sex and - and I’m - I’m really tired of being made to feel like I’m some kid playing with fire. No one manipulated me or coerced me, I got here all on my own and I want this! I’m an adult, I’m - I can make my own decisions, I’m not stupid!” 

The silence that follows his outburst is heavy. It lingers for long, long minutes as Dennis drives them through Pittsburgh and weaves through nighttime traffic, hands shaking slightly on the wheel. 

“...I don’t think you’re stupid, Dennis,” Santos offers tentatively as they pull onto their street.

“...I know. Sorry for yelling.” 

“It’s cool.” 

There’s a long pause as Dennis parks the car. Slowly, he folds his arms over the wheel and slumps. 

“...I really like him, Trin,” he breathes out into the quiet. Suppresses a shiver for how his chest aches with how much he means it. 

“...I can tell. And you know I’m saying all this because I’m - your friend and I care about you or whatever, right?”

“Yeah.” 

“If you think he’ll make you happy, I - I mean I’ll still think it’s a little weird, but I’m with you.” Santos nudges him with her elbow. He rocks into it, sighs. “I trust your judgement. You’re like, really insightful and shit. So.” 

Dennis nods, throat feeling a little tight. He swallows a few times before mumbling, “I appreciate that.” 

“But if it gets bad-”

Dennis lifts his head, frowning at her. “Trin-” 

“No, shut up. If it gets bad, you tell me. Okay? Because I swear I will rock his fucking shit.” Santos’ eyes glow in the low light from the street lamp. Cold, almost shark like. There’s not a doubt in his mind that she means it. 

A faint shiver goes down Dennis' spine. He’s equal parts terrified and fond all at once. 

“Okay,” he whispers. Reaches out and takes one of Santos’ hands in his, squeezes once. Twice, when she squeezes back. 

After a few moments of silence, Santos leans a little closer across the console. Dennis regrets every single one of his life decisions that got him to this exact moment when he sees the grin starting to form on her lips.

“...now that we’ve got that mushy crap out of the way - you gonna give me more than a thumbs up about how good Big Foot is in bed?”

“Oh my God, shut up!” Dennis immediately shoves her away and escapes the car, making a run for their apartment building. He’s followed by Santos cackling laughter the entire way inside. 

Somehow, it doesn’t annoy him as much as it should.

 

-

 

The candles are too much. 

Michael’s spent what little time he has before Dennis comes over sort of. Primping the place. Not that it was a mess when he left this morning or anything; he’s got a maid who comes in every week to clean and it isn’t like he’s a slob. It’s just - he wants the place to look nice. As if he’s made an effort. 

The living room lights are adjusted to a nice, dim light. He’s got music on - turned up enough that it can be heard ever so slightly into the kitchen. Which is also cozily lit by the designer oak trimmed ceiling lamp, not the bright fluorescent over the sink that he usually uses. 

Then there are the candles. Scented ones - bergamott and cedar. He’d spotted them at the store while shopping for the ingredients Dennis requested and just added them on a whim. There’s one in the living room and one on his luxurious kitchen island that doubles as a table. 

It’s way too much. Ridiculous. But before he can second guess it any harder, there’s a knock. Michael grunts, kicks a counter and then heads for the door. He throws a quick glance at himself in the full length mirror by the door - he’s got on slacks and the first button down he’s worn in months. It’s too formal. Fuck, he should - no, there’s no time to change now and he’s not fucking sixteen heading out on his first date. He can wear whatever the fuck he likes. There’s really no need for the nerves. 

Even so. Michael takes a moment to unbutton his cuffs and roll the sleeves up to his elbows. Takes an extra second to smooth back his hair. Then, he groans, shaking his head. 

“Fucking hell, Robinavitch,” he mutters to his reflection, then finally opens the door. 

Dennis is shivering lightly in the crisp night air, arms crossed to keep in as much heat as he can. The tip of his nose is pink. His face lights up in a smile when their eyes meet. “Hi.” 

“Hey.” Michael steps aside to let him in, closing the door behind him. As Dennis unzips his jacket, he gently takes a hold of it and helps slide it down his arms to hang it up for him. It earns him a blush, crawling up the back of that pale neck. There’s something to be said for old fashioned chivalry, he supposes. 

“You look nice,” Dennis says softly when he turns back to face him. 

“So do you.” The jeans he’s got on are black and not nearly as worn thin as his usual pair. Cut nicer. And the matching black polo shirt makes his shoulders look broader. It shows off the lean lines of his arms and - Michael needs to not look at him too hard, because they are supposed to talk. 

Still, he’s only human. So he lets Dennis walk ahead of him to the kitchen to get a better look at just how nice the cut of his jeans is from behind. 

“Oh, wow.” Dennis pauses in the middle of the kitchen, looking around and - oh, right. He hasn’t actually seen it before, Michael realises. It’s not like he’s had a natural moment to give him a house tour. His eyes catch on the lit candle on the kitchen island. It suddenly feels less ridiculous when Dennis' face softens and lights with a blush.  “This is really cool. Like a, uh, cooking show kitchen or something.” 

“All yours. I’ll admit, I don’t use it as much as I probably should with what I spent on it.” Michael wanders past him, deliberately brushing a hand across the small of his back as he goes. Tries not to take too much pleasure in how he straightens his spine and shivers right against his fingertips. “I bought some wine. Do you like wine?” he asks as he fishes up the bottle from the counter, together with the fancy opener Jack got him for his fiftieth birthday. Stainless steel, sleek.

“I don’t know?” Dennis looks a little sheepish. “I’ve had it at Communion a few times. Not really a fan.” 

“I’ll hope this is better quality than Communion wine,” Michael snorts softly, getting the bottle open with practised motions. He pours them a glass each, wandering back to offer one to Dennis. Their fingers brush when he accepts it, glancing between the wine and his eyes. It takes all of Michael’s self-restraint to not pin him up against a counter and kiss him.

Not trusting his own capability for holding back if he remains in his space, Michael walks over to take a seat on one of the tall chairs by the kitchen island. “Everything is in the fridge, except the rice.” He nods to the bag, left out on the counter. “Do you want me to help?”

“No, I-I’ve got it. Thanks.” Dennis takes a sip of the wine, lips curling for a second - not in dismay, more trying to make sense of the flavour Michael thinks. In the end he looks pleased and goes for another sip before placing the glass down and getting started. 

After a few questions about the whereabouts of different utensils, bowls and cutting boards, Dennis settles in by the nearest counter to start his work. There’s a brief, companionable silence where they both just - bask is the only word Michael can think of as he drinks his wine. In the music, the ease of companionship from a person you enjoy in your space. But as nice as it is, Michael starts to feel restless - they need to actually get to what brought them here tonight. He decides to grab the bull by the horn and go for it. 

“So,” he starts, then stops as no more words find his lips. 

Auspicious. What a way to begin. The proverbial bull just knocked him clean on his ass. 

“I’d like for us to date,” Dennis gets them off the ground instead. Even with his ears red and head bent over the green onion he’s chopping he sounds determined and sure. Michael’s once again a little blown away by how fucking brave he is. 

“Right.” Michael sits with the thought for a moment, how the words sit in his head. He finds he likes the idea, even if there is a squirm of discomfort. “I think we could consider that as a possibility. But, Dennis - as much as we enjoy each other’s company, we…don’t actually know each other that well. Hell, we’ve not even known each other a whole month yet.”

“Isn’t that what dating’s for? Getting to know each other?” Dennis looks over his shoulder briefly, smiling. 

Well. He’s got him there. 

“I guess you’re right,” Michael admits. 

“Right. So. I want us to date. And I hope it goes well and…and can be something long term,” Dennis goes on, turning back to his chopping - reaching for a bell pepper and removing the core with a rather fetching amount of skill, dropping it into a bowl he’s been filling with scraps. “But I mean - there’s no guarantee it works out. There never is for anyone. I just want to give it a fair shot. Because I like you. And I like how you’ve made me feel so far.” 

“I like you, too.” It’s easy enough to admit - Michael has been fond of him ever since he first sat down with him at the bar. Hell, maybe even from that first glance. “As for it working out in the long run…I want us to be realistic. With our age difference, that…gets complicated.” 

“Yeah.” Dennis nods slowly, scooping up the chopped bell peppers into a bowl and moving on to onions. “It’s going to come back to that a lot, isn’t it?”

“Unfortunately.” 

“I - okay, I’m gonna get dark here,” Dennis warns before going on, “I had an aunt who got married to her high school sweetheart, right after graduation. He died two days after the wedding in a car accident.”

“Jesus,” Michael mutters. 

Dennis pulls a face. “Sorry. Point is, I don’t want to go into this thinking about how it could end. We could end up dating for only a few weeks, or years, or…until either of us is gone. Even if we only end up together for a little while, I think it would be worth it.” Dennis shrugs. His profile is sharp, his eyes glued to what he’s doing. “So, you know. I’m aware of the, um, time aspect. I just would rather be happy with what time we get and go from there.” 

Michael feels the tiniest bit winded after that. “That’s some head you’ve got on your shoulders.” 

“My pastor always said I had an unusual amount of emotional maturity for a boy,” Dennis says with a shrug, reaching for his glass to take a quick sip before moving on to the next vegetable on his board. 

Michael snorts into his wine, then shifts in his seat. Something settles in his chest. He allows it to. Allows himself to let that matter rest for now. “Okay. So we both want to date. Next step should be to put up some boundaries and figure out what that means and what we do moving forward. We can’t afford to just do whatever and hope for the best here.”

“Yeah.” Dennis nods, swallows. “You’re the one with the most to lose here, so…how do you want to handle it?”  

“We can’t officially let this go anywhere until your rotation is over,” Michael says, voice firm. “That’s not to say we have to stay away from each other completely the next few weeks, but we need to keep it - fuck, this sounds so - we need to keep it between us. No talking about it to coworkers. I guess it can’t be helped with the ones who already know, but otherwise we keep it between us. And we need to keep it professional. At work, I am your attending and you are a med student and we act accordingly. No flirting, no special treatment and anything going on in our relationship stays out of the ED. Alright?”

“Uh. Yeah, of course. But.” 

“But?”

Dennis looks over at him, brows quirked. “...does that mean you’re gonna stop, you know.”

“What?”

“...the touching?

“The touching?” Michael parrots. Then - oh. He recalls Dana’s words from their first day. The way his hands tend to find their way to Dennis’ body at work. Casual, easily excused for now, but that could be an issue if anyone catches on. “Right. That. I will keep it in check from now on.”  

“It’s not like I mind.” Dennis looks back to the cutting board - the back of his neck has gone mouthwateringly pink again. 

Michael takes a steadying sip of wine. “Another thing. Your ratings and recommendations.” 

“Yeah?”

“I can’t be the one to write those.” Michael lifts a hand, asking for patience when Dennis turns again to look at him with something soft and hurt in his eyes, “no, listen - I think you are going to be a brilliant doctor. I truly do. But if I were to be the one to evaluate you and our relationship was to become public it would put all of your hard work into jeopardy. Anything positive I put down would be tarnished by accusations of bias. I’d hate for that to happen. You’re going on the night shift next week, right?”

“Right,” Dennis says slowly, nodding. The hurt has gone away, but he still looks a little miffed. 

“Talk to Jack. Shen’s great, but he’s new. Jack’s word will weigh a lot heavier in terms of a recommendation. He’s going to be difficult to please when it comes to ratings, but honestly - I’d be harsher,” Michael admits. Earning a high score with him takes a lot of doing, it’s well known around the hospital. “Work hard, show him the same guts and eagerness to learn as you have with me and he’ll be happy to write you a glowing recommendation.” 

“Okay, I will.” Dennis’ face tightens a second before he turns back to his chopping, sighing heavily. “This is a whole lot more complicated than I had hoped.” 

“Don’t I know it,” Michael says, swirling his wine in his glass a moment as he gathers his thoughts on the rest of what he has been considering while preparing for this talk. “If we do all that, from a legality standpoint, once you are out of rotation we can afford to be less secretive. Not that we need to come out and tell everyone, but we don’t have to worry too hard if anyone were to notice. As long as there are no complaints filed and we do our jobs, I doubt the hospital will do much about it if it gets out. That doesn’t mean our relationship won’t raise eyebrows. If you want to intern or do your residency at the Pitt it'll get complicated all over again. People will talk, make assumptions - about our ages, the nature of our relationship, talking about it behind our backs. Can you handle that?”

“I-” 

“Wait,” Michael interrupts, firmly. "Don't answer now. Think about that properly and get back to me. I need you to seriously consider it.” 

Dennis turns to face him better, then. Hands flat on the counter, knife left on the cutting board. There’s a small frown between his brows, but it quickly smooths out. He gives the tiniest smile and nods. “I will,” he promises quietly. 

“As for relationship boundaries. I'm not a casual guy when it comes to dating. I've been told I get possessive. So you won’t be sleeping with anyone else or seeing someone else romantically while you are with me. And obviously neither will I.”

That earns him a full body turn as Dennis leans the small of his back against the oak, hands nervously trailing against the grain. He looks a tiny bit affronted. “That’s a given, I think? I already told you. I want to commit to this.” He pauses. Drops his gaze, nibbling a bit at his lower lip. “...and I don’t want to sleep with other people. I…I think you kinda ruined me for anyone else to be honest.” 

That feral creature in Michael’s chest reawakens with a start and a ravenous growl. Inwardly, he tries to tell it to calm the fuck down, this is not the time. 

Outwardly, Michael takes a quick sip of wine and acts like the idea of that being true doesn’t make his slacks a little uncomfortable. 

“Right,” is all he says - he can’t keep the rasp out of his voice to save his life. 

Dennis visibly shivers and his eyes flicker down in a very telling way to his mouth. Then, he clears his throat and goes on - not timid, but cautious. “Can I add a condition, too?”

“It’s our relationship we’re establishing. Of course you can.”  

“If you start having doubts about us, for any reason, don’t keep it to yourself. Talk to me about it.” Dennis’ voice is surprisingly firm, even when his gaze falters halfway through and drops to the floor. “That goes for anything else going on, too, feeling bad or having issues. I can handle talking through pretty much anything, I think. Just don’t let me worry that something is wrong or treat me differently because you’re going through something.” 

“...your pastor really had a point,” Michael says after a few long moments of silence. Slowly setting down his glass on the kitchen island, he holds out a hand. Beckons with his fingers when Dennis doesn’t immediately move. 

Dennis pushes away from the counter, gait a little unsteady as he approaches and takes the offered hand. Michael pulls him in close, wraps his arms snug around his waist - Dennis’ hands land on his shoulders. Like this, they are pretty much eye to eye. He kisses his cheek, sighs softly. 

“I’ll be honest. I’m not great at sharing when I’m struggling.” 

“No kidding,” Dennis mutters - Michael squeezes his hands into his waist admonishingly, earning himself a quiet grunt. 

“What I am saying is; I will do my best. But l need you to understand that - I have spent a long ass time being who I am. Changing isn’t easy.” 

“I get that.” Dennis brushes the tip of his nose against his. Slightly cold, sweet. 

“That being said, you have already seen me at…pretty much my worst.” Michael tries not to cringe for the memory, though his voice falters the tiniest bit over the last few words and they come out a little choked as he goes on, “It’s a little less daunting to be honest when I remember that. I should be able to manage to speak up.” 

“That’s good.” Dennis smiles faintly, no more than a tiny incline of his lips and a brightening of his eyes. Then, he leans back a bit in his grasp, eyes lowering to Robby’s shirt - fiddling for a second with the top button of it. “You know, Doctor Abbot told me you were bad at this. The talking feelings thing.”

That’s about the last name he’d expected to come out of Dennis’ mouth tonight. 

“Fuck me. When did you talk to Jack?”

“A few days ago. He checked up on me, made sure we were, um, good. Anyway, I was gonna say he was wrong.”

“That asshole,” Michael mutters, without much heat. 

“He’s not so bad,” Dennis laughs, lifting his gaze up to his again. His hands have trailed up to his shoulders again, then drag down along his arms, down to where his sleeves are rolled up and tucked against his elbows. “...can I ask - I told you how Santos found out. How did Abbot? He was kind of vague about it.”

“He- well.” Michael grimaces. Fingers twitching into Dennis’ waist. “A mutual friend of ours told him. He saw us leaving the Pitt Stop together.” 

“... the guy shouting after you?”

“Yes. Nosy motherfucker. Cop. He caught your name, gossipped, gave a description and, well. Jack’s a former medic and military police. Could never hide anything from him.” 

“Trouble with best friends, I guess.” 

Michael shrugs. 

“...you know, it wasn’t all he said. The ‘bad at talking’-thing.” 

“Oh?” 

“He also said I shouldn’t worry too much if we ended up sleeping together again.” 

“That asshole.” This time, it is much more heartfelt.

 

- 

 

Dennis returns to cooking after fully debriefing him on exactly what a meddling asshole Abbot is. Michael isn’t sure whether he wants to hit him or send him a bottle of scotch. Both, probably - though the violent urge is the first to fade away. 

The air in the kitchen is much lighter now. The talk over and done with, all cards on the table, it’s much easier to just soak up the ambiance of the moment. 

It’s also becoming more difficult to keep his mind out of the gutter. 

There is something about the domesticity of it all - watching Dennis moving around his kitchen. In his home. All loose limbed and relaxed and smiling like he belongs there. It's reminding him of that first night together all over again. The ease of it all, it really does something for him. 

The longer it goes on, the longer Michael finds his appetite has shifted very far away from food. 

Finished with the vegetables, Dennis chops up some chicken and puts it in a mix of spices, green onions and broth in a bowl, covers it with plastic wrap and puts it back in the fridge. “That’s got to marinate for a bit - I, uh, should probably have done that first.” He looks a little sheepish as he washes his hands - he’s got some dishes in the sink, but most of it has been cleaned and left to dry as he went. He’s a surprisingly organised chef, unlike Michael. The few times he does cook, it usually takes twice as long to clean up the mess as it took to finish making dinner. 

“I never asked what you were going to make.” Michael’s eyes linger on Dennis as he fetches his glass and goes to join him by the kitchen island, hopping up on the chair next to him. He refills the wine, despite it not being empty or even close - the kid has been too busy working to really focus on his drink. 

“Fried rice. It’s simple, just spruced it up with, um, extra work on the chicken.” Dennis smiles shyly, holding his glass with one hand - the other hovers for a second before he seems to make up his mind and puts it on Michael’s forearm where it rests on the table top. 

Rather than reaching back for his own glass, Michael puts his free hand on Dennis’ knee. Hooks his foot on the leg of his chair and pulls, dragging it and its occupant closer to himself - sliding his hand higher to his thigh instead as he does. The quiet gasp he earns in response hits his ears just right. 

“So. How long does that chicken need, exactly?”

“Oh, uh…” Dennis licks his lips, cheeks delightfully flushed. His eyes keep darting around - up to Michael’s eyes, down to his lips, further down to the button left undone in his shirt and further down still to where his hand is gently rubbing up and down his midthigh. He takes a quick gulp of his wine, puts the glass back on the table. Hand freed up, he places it gently on Michael’s on his leg. “Like…thirty minutes? Maybe forty if you really want, um. More flavor and stuff.” Dennis’ eyes drag all the way back up to his, half lidded and sweet. He tips forward a bit in his chair, a clear invitation. 

“Great,” Michael murmurs, then leans forward and captures those wine-glossed lips with his own. Groans quietly for the taste of alcohol and Dennis’ natural flavor just beneath it, cupping his jaw and guiding him closer still. His other hand clenches minutely into the jean clad, lean muscle under his palm - has to knead at something to keep himself in check. 

Dennis moans softly into the kiss, his own hands no less busy - one coming to the side of his neck, the other his chest. He slides to the very edge of his seat, balancing rather precariously as he tries to get closer without getting up. He quickly abandons that effort, slides off of the chair to stand and step closer into Michael’s space, deepening the kiss with surprising gall. He’s the first to introduce tongue to it, a tiny inquisitive brush against his lips. Michael is more than happy to let him in, drag him closer by winding his arm around his waist. 

It’s just supposed to be a little bit of making out. Honest to God, that was Michael’s only intention. 

Then, Dennis’ tongue is in his mouth and it tastes like good wine and is so warm and pliant. Just like that his already frayed restraint snaps clean in half and he has no choice but to let the need for more grow unchecked in his belly. 

Michael gets to his feet, too, taking control of the kiss in a heartbeat. He turns them until he can pin Dennis with his back to the kitchen island, half way dipping him backwards over it while his hands greedily roam his body - from his waist, up along his back, then back down, full palmed and firm until he can grab him by the ass and squeeze-

Dennis’ breath hitches - not quite from pleasure. It’s too sharp. 

Michael immediately pulls back from the kiss. Frowns lightly as he watches Dennis’ eyelids flutter open to look up at him with molten confusion. 

“Sore?”

Dennis’ cheeks flush. “Um, yeah…a little.”

Not too surprising. He fucked him just last night and non-too gently either. He probably should have checked in - well. Not that he had time, what with the Santos-shaped emergency barging in on their aftercare. 

“But, um, you can - I think I can still-” Dennis tries to go on and Michael is certainly not having that sort of talk. So he ducks down and kisses him silent, smoothing his hand against his backside - gentler this time, a caress rather than a grab. He withdraws with a slow drag of teeth against his lower lip, brushes their noses together and shakes his head. 

“I’m not fucking you when you’re in pain. There are plenty of other things I can do with you.” 

“Like what?” Dennis mumbles, sounding deliciously groggy. A very stark desire jumps to the forefront of his brain. Something filthy that is far better enjoyed when the receiver is already sensitive and primed for gentle touches. 

“Well.” Michael drags him flush up against himself - guides their hips until their cocks are lined up against each other and grinds lazily, groaning for the surge of pleasure, “I really fucking want to eat you out.” 

Dennis jerks in his grip and suddenly leans back, eyes wide. “Excuse me?”

Not the reaction he expected. 

Still, Michael presses on - leans in and presses his lips to Dennis’ flushed ear, drags his teeth against the sensitive shell before speaking in a low, hungry voice, 

“I,” Michael drags his fingertips between his cheeks through the jeans, pressing in against his rim. His cock pulses for the resulting gasp and jolt, “want to put my mouth right here and eat you out.” 

Rather than melting or trembling with desire, Dennis seems to tense more. 

“Um.” He says, voice a tiny bit too high.

Michael pulls back, still holding him near but examining his face with more scrutiny. Takes in the wideeyed, shocked expression and the red cheeks and the - oh. Rather than eager or horny for it, Dennis looks downright mortified. 

“No?” 

“I- do people actually do that?”

“Some people.” Michael’s eyebrows inch up a tiny bit. “Is it really that surprising?” 

“Just kinda seemed - like something people only did in porn,” Dennis mumbles - he is looking embarrassed. It’s really doing something concerning to Michael’s insides. 

“Definately not just in porn.”

Dennis peers up at him hesitantly through his lashes. “...do you like doing it?”

Michael hums, stealing a kiss. Something tells him that Dennis has his answer by just looking at him right then, but even so he answers quietly, “Would I have suggested it if I didn’t?” 

“Probably not.” Dennis squirms against the kitchen island. “I just…I don’t know.” It’s not playful coyness - it’s real trepidation, Michael can tell. Which means he needs to understand why to decide the best course of action to take. 

Michael moves his hands from Dennis’ body, trying to control himself for a second. He rests them on the wooden counter top instead, framing Dennis in between his arms without actually touching him. Close, but not pushing. Settles his expression into something less ravenous and more attentive. “What about it makes you uncomfortable?”

“I mean.” Dennis’ cheeks are stained red. Which does not help with Michael wanting to fucking eat him. “Like. Not being clean enough or. Tasting weird.” 

“I’m not worried about that.” Michael leans down to brush the tip of his nose against Dennis’ temple. “I’ll bet you cleaned yourself up real nice and good for me before coming over.” 

The way Dennis’ blush deepens tells him he’d win that bet. “Still, I- it’s…” He fumbles for words, trails off. His lips are quivering.

“Hey.” Michael gently grabs his chin. Kisses him - soft, sweet across his brow, just as sweetly on the lips. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. It’s just the first thing that came to mind. There are plenty of other things I want to do with you. All I really want to do is make you feel good, Dennis. That’s it.” 

Dennis swallows. His gaze flickers between Michael’s eyes, his lips. He bites his own, gently. Chews on it, a peek of white teeth against the flushed redness. And fuck - Michael knows that expression, knows it intimately and it has his cock surging with a sudden rush of heated blood. 

It’s the look Dennis wears when he’s seriously considering pushing past his own boundaries to try something new. Something he hasn’t considered before, but that he likes more the more he turns it over in his mind. Nervous, but turned on. Fighting his anxiety for the chance of a new experience. 

“I might not like it,” Dennis warns, softly. 

Michael’s pulse quickens. “We’ll stop if you don’t like it,” he promises, careful to keep his voice even. 

“Okay.” The agreement comes out soft, a little shaky around the edges - and that simply won’t do. 

Michael gently cups his cheek in one hand, strokes a thumb across the delicate bones there. “You sure? Don’t say yes because you think I’ll be disappointed,” he urges quietly, voice low. Hopes he remembers how very important it is that he says no when he needs to. 

Dennis turns his face slightly into his palm, nuzzles in for a second. Then, he nods. Hands reaching out to grasp at Michael’s waist, tugging him closer. “I want to try.” This time, it comes out far more honest. Nervous, but not anxious. Brave. Fucking delicious. 

Michael kisses him, hard - delving his tongue in deep, past his teeth. Then, he pulls back, grabbing him by the hips, “Turn around.” It’s less of a request, more of a demand and he doesn’t wait for Dennis to comply - just turns him bodily to face the kitchen island and starts working on his belt. 

“Wait - we’re doing it here?” Dennis squeaks. 

“Why not?” Michael drops down to his knees, dragging Dennis’ jeans down with him. 

“It’s the kitchen-” Dennis’ scandalized gasp gets cut off as Michael presses a warm kiss to the back of his thigh. 

“And?”

“It’s - not food safe for one.” 

Michael snorts, leaving a bite at the crux of Dennis’ thigh and left buttcheek. “I don’t know. What's a kitchen for if not eating?” 

“Not funny-” Dennis’ voice hitches sharply when Michael sinks his teeth in a tiny bit harder.

“Shh. Hold on tight.” 

 

-

 

Dennis stares down at his palms pressed flat to the wooden table top. His pulse is throbbing, heated blood pounding in his ears. Every single one of his senses are focused on Michael behind him - below him. On his knees, breath brushing hot and hungry against his buttocks. Widens his stance a little when his hands urge his knees further apart and his lower body a little closer to him. 

It's not like he hates the idea of Michael’s mouth on him or anything. It has, in fact, been one of his absolute favorite things so far. 

He just hadn’t imagined he'd want to put it there. Not that he’s opposed to being touched there, obviously. Having Michael’s fingers and his cock all up in there is one thing, though. But his mouth? That’s a different matter entirely. 

Mortification, excitement, shame, arousal and anxiousness are writhing in Dennis’ belly into a great big ball and he is doing his very best to not bolt across the kitchen like some spooked prey animal. 

Thankfully, Michael doesn’t keep him in suspense but rather gets to it. 

Large, gentle hands hold him open and there is a warm brush of lips against the left cheek, then the right. Dennis’ entire body shudders and he lets his head drop a little further, biting back a faint moan. 

It tumbles out of his mouth, though, for the first contact of Michael’s lips, followed by his tongue, right there against the rim. A loud burst of air, his fingers clenching against the table top. The slick, warm sensation repeats just a moment later - soft, slow laps. Dennis squirms, tries to make up his mind whether it feels good or strange. So far, it just feels wet. 

Michael shifts closer. The heat of his mouth becomes more prominent, as does the slightly prickly feel of his beard against skin that Dennis never realised was quite that sensitive. 

He squeaks. Hips jerking forward and away, hair rising to sudden attention up his arms and the back of his neck. 

There’s a pause. Michael’s hands squeeze, then slide down his thighs as he leans back. “You okay?”

“Yeah, uh.” Dennis’ voice sounds way too high to his own ears and he frantically tries to remember how to use it normally. “Just - ticklish. I guess? Sorry.” 

Michael hums quietly in acknowledgement. He sounds a little out of it. Brushes his hands back up to his cheeks, thumbs digging into the soft underside of them. “Can I keep going?” There’s a new rasp to his voice - like even this little is really doing something for him. Dennis swallows, hard. 

“Uh-huh.” He nods, blinks hard a couple of times down at his hands, focuses on the wood grain under them. 

“Thank you,” Michael murmurs and - Dennis feels the oddest sensation for that, a heated tingle from head to toe. For the gratitude, as if he’s giving the other man a treat by letting him do this. His cheeks flush hot and his vision briefly swims. 

The next swipe of tongue is less teasing - firm, digging into his rim, followed by pursed lips and a nip of teeth. The drag of beard against his skin becomes less a skim and more a scrape and Dennis can’t help the overwhelmed shiver rushing up his spine for it. Followed by another when Michael repeats the motion and full on groans into his flesh - loud and edacious. 

Dennis suddenly feels about five degrees hotter than he did a second ago. Like his entire body was just dipped into a steaming hot bath. The sound is playing on repeat between his ears. 

Michael spreads him open wider and pushes his lips against his rim - almost like a kiss, then rapidly turning into something much filthier as he runs his tongue over and over against his entrance. Everything is getting wet and slick and hot down there and it - it’s starting to feel good, tiny twinges of pleasure low in Dennis’ loins. 

“Oh,” Dennis breathes out, eyelids fluttering shut as he focuses harder on the sensation - every brush of tongue and slick sound of an eager mouth working him over. Dennis rapidly begins to lose strength. He goes from his hands to his elbows, bending further over the table top. 

With an almost reverent sigh, Michael pulls away to take a few breaths. “Spread your legs a little more.” His voice sounds wrecked. It’s all Dennis can do not to utterly lose his mind. Shakily, he does as asked - inches his feet a tiny bit further apart. A heavy hand comes to rest on the small of his back, pushing just so - he follows the silent order and arches his back. 

Where Dennis expects Michael’s mouth to return to his spit slick rim, it reintroduces itself lower. A brush of lips against his sack, followed by a gentle nip of teeth - it shocks a loud moan out of him and he pushes back to chase the sharp jolt of pleasure. “Oh, fuck-” 

Michael’s mouth lingers there for long, languid moments - soft, wet and gentle with that sensitive part of him. One of his hands reaches around his hip to wrap around his cock - it’s startlingly hard, flexing into his grip. He doesn’t stroke it, just holds it with a firm fist. 

Slowly, Michael trails his lips back up between his cheeks. His mouth becomes less gentle and more ravenous when he’s got it back on his hole - wet pressure and heat overwhelming his senses, pleasure soaring higher after the brief interlude. Then, Michael’s tongue pushes harder at the outer ring of muscle, and before Dennis knows it, it slips past it and into his twitching insides. 

Dennis whimpers. Crumples down a little against the kitchen island, burying his face in his arms. His hips tilt back. His entire body shudders. 

The responding rumble from Michael’s throat is loud. He’s moaning as if it was his cock that just sank inside of him. He fucks his tongue into him, again and again - it’s a new, teasing sort of friction that has Dennis’ head rapidly filling with static. Faint, breathless noises are starting to tremble out of his mouth in response to each hungry utterance barely muffled against his skin. It’s an infinity loop of feedback - the more Michael signals just how much he loves doing it, Dennis feels his own enjoyment of the act increasing. 

Michael’s hand not on his cock slips between his legs, knuckles brushing against his perineum. Then they push up, knead into him in slow circular motions and oh. There’s a familiar pressure and low roil of pleasure. Dulled, but so good. Blunted sparks of pleasure that coil low in his belly, building slowly inside of him. Dennis sways up on his toes, then pushes back and down for more. 

When Michael pulls back for breath again, Dennis whines. A half-broken, helpless little sound. 

“Oh, baby, you’re doing so good,” Michael groans and Dennis almost sobs, nods against his folded arms to show he heard him and crumples further against the kitchen island. “I could do this to you all night, you’re so sweet.” 

That must be a lie, but Dennis swallows a mouthful of saliva, shoulders hitching up to his ears with a rush of satisfaction for the praise regardless. Then he turns his face out from the cradle of his arms to be heard better. He can hardly recognize his own voice - tremulous, hoarse, embarrassingly reedy. “It’s…it feels so good.” 

“Yeah?” There’s a hungry lilt to Michael’s voice - something low and predacious. His hand had stopped moving during their little talk - now, it starts up again, that rolling massage on that tiny strip of skin Dennis had never known could be so sensitive. Pushes up firmly until Dennis’ cock twitches in his hand and he lets out a weak moan. 

Dennis nods jerkily, toes curling. 

“Ask me to keep going.” 

The command is almost too much for Dennis to take in the strange, floaty headspace he’s in. But somehow he manages to try. “Please...” He trails off into a distracted moan as Michael teases his lips across the taut skin of his sack. “Oh, God…”

“Please, what?”

“Michael…!” 

“Can’t ask nicely for me?” Michael’s mouth brushes against the inside of his thigh. He rubs his jaw against the thin skin there and goosebumps rise immediately in response. 

“...you’re the worst, fuck,” Dennis whines, shuddering when there’s a warning nip of teeth against his flushed skin and then the words rush out of him uninhibited. “Please, keep going, please, I want it, your mouth - Michael, please…” 

“We’ll work on your manners later.” Michael clicks his tongue in a way that is a tiny bit mean and then he thankfully puts his mouth back to work and Dennis out of his misery. 

He starts over from the top. Soft, light strokes of tongue to start, copious amounts of kisses and drag of teeth to the skin around his rim. Starts building the intensity back up when Dennis squirms impatiently for the not-enough feeling. 

Soon enough, he's got Dennis quivering senselessly over the kitchen island, breaths coming quick and shallow like he’s about to have a panic attack. Twitching each time Michael pushes his tongue in, keening on the outstroke and so out of his mind he can’t even try to be self-conscious about any of it. 

Then, Michael’s hand that has been wrapped so casually around his leaking cock starts to move. Strokes him slow, root to tip - once, twice, spreading the slick of his precum all along the shaft. On the third time around, he flicks his wrist a little sharper at the head and then just keeps going like that - short, quick strokes at the head, stripping his cock with purpose. 

In a matter of seconds, the efficient caresses and ravenous mouth send Dennis tumbling over the edge and into a climax that buckles his knees and brings tears to his eyes with how intense it is. Forced up on his toes, breath punched out of him in a throaty moan, and he presses his forehead into the table, staring blindly into the dark of the wood way too close to his eyes. His entire body jerks in time with each pulse of pleasure low in his groin - the kitchen island creaks in time with each one. 

When it is over, Dennis is left a molten mess across the cool wood, shivering from head to toe. His mind is deliciously blank, the way it only seems to be after Michael has finished having his way with him. 

Behind him, Michael makes his way back to his feet - hands dragging warm up along his thighs, his hips, settling over his waist as he leans over him. He drapes himself over him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, then his neck - mouth hotter than the rest of him, branding his skin. “I’ll be right back,” he murmurs. The weight of him lifts away. Dennis listens numbly to the sound of his steps fading away. He’s left alone for a few moments, floating on the quiet tunes still coming from the living room. Acoustic guitar, low and gentle on his buzzing ears. 

The footsteps return. There’s the wet, warm sensation of a towel cleaning him up, then a dryness of cotton wiping away the residual dampness. His jeans are carefully dragged back up his legs, everything tucked away and zipped up. Then, large hands carefully scoop him up and turn him around to slump into a tender embrace. Dennis lifts his face, blinking sluggishly up at the taller man - his vision is a tiny bit hazy in the aftermath, but he catches a smile and the crease of pleased lines around warm dark eyes. 

Michael presses a soft kiss to his temple, down to his cheek, then kisses him properly on the mouth. Slow, thorough. He tastes like mint and oh, Dennis’ neck prickles - he’s used mouthwash on his trip to the bathroom. Something warm and blissful coils in his belly - he feels unbelievably cared for in that moment and it has nothing to do with the orgasm. 

Despite feeling all kinds of content, the gentle kiss and the swell of Michael’s cock against his stomach is rapidly filling Dennis with desire all over again. One of his hands slides down to find and cup his length through the fine fabric of his slacks - Michael groans low and muffled against his lips and presses into the touch at once. 

Encouraged, Dennis breaks the kiss, panting softly as he opens his eyes to look up at him. “What…What do you want?” he asks, breathless. “I- what can I do for you?” 

 

-

 

That’s one of the things he likes about Dennis - he’s always so eager to please. It shines in those blue eyes, glowing up at him with the aftermath of post-orgasmic bliss. 

Those damn eyes - he wonders if they’ll ever stop lighting a fucking fire in his chest each time they lock onto his like that. 

Michael hums quietly to hide the fervid thought, gently taking a hold of Dennis’ chin between thumb and the rest of his fingers. Angles his face up just so, to brush his lips against the tender line of his jaw. “How about you tell me what you’d like to do instead.”

Dennis’ eyes widen just a tiny bit, then flick down. There’s barely a breath’s worth of hesitation before they lift back up in a supplicant stare. “Can I blow you?” A pause, then softer, “Please?”

“Good boy,” he praises quietly for the remembered grace. “I’d like that. But,” he halts Dennis as he was about to eagerly drop to his knees all at once. Michael slides his fingers forward to take a hold of his jaw - a firm, possessive grip keeping him just where he is. “I want you to do something for me.” 

“What?” Dennis asks softly - sucks in a breath when Michael squeezes his face ever so gently. 

“I want you to keep your eyes on me this time. The whole way through.” 

Dennis’ cheeks colour beautifully. He nods into his hand. 

“I also have a request,” Michael adds. Drags his thumb across Dennis’ lower lip, swiping some of their shared saliva across it. Imagines it swollen and red from sucking his cock and has to take another second to actually find his words to go on. “I’d like to fuck your mouth. Test your limits a bit. Is that alright?”

“Fuck, please,” Dennis blurts out, all too honestly. The enthusiasm has his cock twitching painfully against his zipper. 

“Since you’ll have your mouth full, I want you to tap my leg three times if you need to stop.” Michael instructs quietly. “Got it?”

“Got it.” 

“Show me.” He grabs Dennis’ hand and guides it to his thigh. Immediately, Dennis complies - moves his fingers in tandem against his leg, three rapid and solid taps. “Good. Get on your knees. Slowly,” he adds when he feels Dennis try to just drop as he had that desperate night in his foyer. “Don’t hurt yourself. There’s no rush, you’ll get what you want.” 

“Fuck,” Dennis breathes out, then does as he’s told. Lowers himself slowly to his knees, holding on to Michael’s hips to steady himself and ease his descent. He gets comfortable, then tilts his face up. 

Michael reaches for his belt. Dennis’ eyes immediately lower to the motion. His throat bobs. The attentiveness makes him want to show off - he slows down, grasping the buckle with a lot more care than he normally would. He undoes his belt with a clink that seems incredibly loud in the anticipatory silence. Drags the zipper down all the way to the box and pin, then tugs his slacks down his hips in one economical movement. 

On the floor, Dennis lets out a tiny breath of a sound. Swept up by his eagerness, Michael gives himself a couple of strokes - his cock is hard and leaking already from their previous activity. Dennis shifts a tiny bit closer, stops. Looks up to Michael’s face - and waits. Like a good boy. Awaiting permission. 

“Go on, then,” Michael murmurs, granting it, sliding his clean hand into Dennis’ hair - releasing his cock and resting his elbow on the kitchen island for support. 

Surprisingly, Dennis doesn’t immediately take him into his mouth. No, he ducks down a little to lap sweetly at his balls - slow, long drags with the flat of his tongue. The sensation has Michael’s head falling back and he gives a quiet groan of pleasure. He already knows this won’t last long. 

The detour doesn’t last long either. Dennis wraps his hand gently around Michael’s shaft and guides the head of his cock to his outstretched tongue, taking it into his mouth properly a moment later. Michael watches greedily as his lips stretch around the girth of him. Dennis’ eyes flutter shut - he squeezes his fingers into his hair. 

“Eyes up here,” Michael reminds him quietly. 

Immediately, Dennis’ eyes fly back open. Peer up at him through heavy lashes. They already look a little dazed, like he’s got a fever. 

“Good boy. I’m going to start moving now, okay?” 

Mouth full, Dennis can only give a tiny nod and a faint hum of agreement. 

Michael starts slow. Rocks his hips shallowly into his mouth. The wet friction and heat has him shivering - even more so when Dennis lets out a muffled, pitchy moan around his cock. Fucking Christ, it’s a blessing to find someone who enjoys giving head. 

As Dennis relaxes, hands heavy on his hip and thigh, Michael starts pushing deeper. Sinks half an inch deeper with every other finished roll of the hip. His mouth is a dream, wet and hot, tongue pushing up slightly against the vein at the underside of his cock each time he swallows. 

When he’s got just about half his cock inside, Michael stops. Strokes gently under one of Dennis’ glazed over eyes until his gaze sharpens just enough to tell him he’s listening. “Remember to stop me if I go too deep,” he murmurs and receives a slow blink in response. 

Fuck. Michael’s cock flexes on Dennis’ tongue for the sweet little gesture. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, Michael drags Dennis’ closer to his crotch. Watches as he feeds more and more of his cock past his lips. He gets further than he thought, near the back of Dennis’ throat before there’s a shaky series of taps against his thigh. He immediately stops - doesn’t withdraw, though, just stays where he was bid to. Feels Dennis tremble under his hand, tears of a fought back gag in his eyes - eyes that are directed up at him still, a tiny bit wide. He doesn’t pull away, though.

“Breathe through your nose, baby. Slowly,” Michael tells him. Gently rubs his scalp with the tips of his fingers, coaxing him to relax. He does - a tiny bit strained at first, but as he gets himself used to the almost-too-much feeling of it, his breathing eases. Slowly, he starts to relax again - his eyelids flutter to a docile half liddedness again and he sighs heavily through his nose. Close enough that Michael can feel the hot air of his exhale against his groin. 

“There we go,” Michael murmurs. He takes Dennis’ hand from his hip, guides it to the base of his cock - fingers wrapped around it just at his lips, the limit of what he can comfortably take. With that safety measure in place, he starts to move in earnest. Deep, slow thrusts, grinding slightly when he gets as deep as Dennis can get him to get him used to it, tease a deeper fit on the next time he gets to do this. Dennis takes it so well, moaning softly at the back of his throat every now and then. He seems a tiny bit out of it, but his eyes are open and looking up at him beatifically so Michael thinks it’s safe to keep going. 

Hand on the back of Dennis’ head and another cupping his cheek, he starts moving a little quicker, with purpose. There’s a delicious, wet sound each time he slides his cock in hard into Dennis’ mouth. Where his tongue flexed on each stroke in, it has now become pliant and soft against his cock, a perfect contrast to the firmer texture of teeth behind his lips. Just as he expected, he’s close far sooner than he usually would be. A shame, but then again - it’s not like they won’t be doing this again, so it is a minor disappointment. 

When the warning pull behind his balls gets too sharp to ignore, Michael pulls out of Dennis’ mouth with a groan. Shivers delightedly when Dennis’ mouth remains open for a few seconds too long before his brain catches on that he’s stopped. His eyes slowly swim back into focus to peer up at him with dazed confusion. 

“I’m close,” Michael tells him - strokes his hair and smiles when Dennis lets out a breathy, pleased noise for the news. “Do you want me to come in your mouth?” 

Dennis shakes his head. Michael isn’t offended. The taste and texture isn’t for everyone. “Alright. I’ll pull out before I come,” he promises, reaching for the towel from earlier for easy access. But then Dennis’ fingers tap against his thigh. He quickly looks down. 

Dennis is shaking his head again. 

Well, that’s confusing.

“No?” Michael gently rubs his fingers under Dennis’ jaw, keeps his face tilted up and their eyes locked. “Tell me what you want.” 

It takes a few moments for Dennis to find his words. Sounds out of it, but perfectly coherent when he finally mumbles,  “Can you…on my face?”

Michael’s gut clenches and there is a moment where it’s almost beyond his control where or when he comes. 

“You want me to finish on your face?” Has to make sure, has to - 

Dennis nods. His face is flushed, but he seems too high on dopamine to be embarrassed. “Please,” he adds, voice soft and hoarse. 

“Fuuck.” Michael drags the word out quietly, more to himself than anything else. “Yes, okay, I’ll - just let me-” He guides his cock back to Dennis’ mouth, toes curling when his lips part with an eager moan. Watches hungrily as Dennis’ eyelids flutter halfway shut, a hazy smear of sky blue staring up at him. He keeps his thrusts short, quick - it hardly takes a minute to get him back to that point of no return. 

Panting heavily, Michael pulls out of Dennis’ mouth - cock chased by a wet sounding gasp - and grabs his hair tighter, yanks his head back while his other hand strips his cock. The copious amount of saliva makes each stroke sound absolutely obscene. “Close your eyes,” he manages to warn grittily, then he’s coming.

It feels like a frankly insane amount of cum, considering. Each long pull low in his loins herald another spurt of thick white spend - across Dennis’ brow, his cheekbone, bridge of his nose. One final one across his still parted, wet lips - his tongue comes out briefly to clean some off his upper lip with a needy moan and there’s his answer on whether he likes the taste. Dennis looks absolutely filthy and it’s one of the most erotic things Michael’s ever seen. There’s a vague urge to get a picture but - he’s not nearly fucked stupid enough to do something that risky. Nor has he asked if he could, so he just commits the sight to memory. Stares for several hungry moments while he catches his breath, tucks his spent cock back into his slacks.

Dennis doesn’t move. Just sits there on his knees, panting softly, head tilted back. His hands have fallen into his lap, fingers curled together loosely. Doesn’t move while Michael gently wipes off his face with the still damp towel. Leans his heavy head into his palm when he cups his cheek after. 

“Dennis?” 

He just hums softly. Michael’s lips twitch. 

“You with me?” Another soft noise. Slightly concerned, Michael taps his cheek with his fingers. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

After a few seconds Dennis does, slow, sluggish. His eyes unfocused, staring up at him unseeing. And oh, Michael has seen that look before. It’s been a while, when he was younger and had just finished an inspired night together with a previous partner. Restraints and copious amounts of edging had been involved. The concern quickly gives away to pride and indescribable amounts of fondness. 

“Oh, baby,” Michael croons breathlessly, brushing his thumb against his flushed cheek, “you’re floating up in outer space right now, aren’t you?” Unsurprisingly, all he receives in response is another one of those contented little noises from the back of Dennis’ throat. “C’mon. Let’s get you comfortable.” 

 

-

 

It takes some doing and a healthy amount of manhandling, but Michael manages to get Dennis to his feet and over to the living room. He sits him down on the couch, grabs a blanket and wraps him up in it. Then, he lays down against the arm of the couch and arranges his docile, heavy body into his arms. They end up with Dennis’ face buried in his chest, Michael’s hands at the back of his neck and small of his back, stroking both slowly to help ground him. 

It takes about ten minutes before Dennis begins to stir. He lifts his head, blinking slowly as he does so - he looks groggy, like he just woke up from a nap. “Michael?”

“Mm?”

“...did I fall asleep?”

“Not quite.” He strokes another long, slow line up and down his back. “Think you just checked out for a minute. Had a bit too much of the good brain chemicals. It happens sometimes.”  

“Oh.” Dennis frowns a little, then lays his head back down. Nestles in a little and sighs. “...guess I kinda…was aware. A little. Just couldn’t, um…process.” 

“How did it feel?” 

There’s a thoughtful little hum muffled against his chest. “Nice. It was…nice. Not having to think for a bit.” He pauses, then goes on shyly, “...is that weird?”

“Not at all.” Michael rubs slow circles against Dennis’ temporal bone, feels him melt just a tiny bit further into him. Like a very big, very sleepy cat. “Some people find it meditative, you know? Giving head.”

“Really?” Dennis’ head lolls a bit as he rolls his neck to look up at him. Still so sweet and relaxed. Michael has to steal a kiss to the bridge of his nose.

“Mhm. Repetitive motions. Focusing on your breathing.” After a moment of hesitation, Michael goes on, “I had an ex back in college who liked to just. Keep it in her mouth. Not even to get me off, just to have it. Said it helped her think.” 

“Kinda the opposite for me, I guess,” Dennis mumbles, eyelids fluttering shut again. They cuddle in comfortable silence for a long while. Through the blanket, Michael feels Dennis stroking his chest with his knuckles. Then, Dennis suddenly jerks a little and perks up, head high and eyes wide.

“Oh! Dinner - I was supposed to -” He yelps as he flops back on Michael’s chest, arms tangled in the blanket, clearly a little wobbly still.

“We could order in if you’re tired,” Michael offers, but Dennis is already squirming himself out of the blanket and getting up, half hunched over him. 

“No, I - it’s the easy bit left. And, well.” He blushes, ducks his head. “I really want to cook you dinner.” 

Whatever has been growing in Michael’s chest since the start of the evening swells up another size or two for that. He reaches out, cups both of Dennis’ cheeks with his hands and pulls him down into a kiss. 

“Alright,” he murmurs, right there against his mouth. Tries to hide how tight his throat suddenly feels with helpless affection. “Let’s do that.” 

The soft smile that blooms on Dennis’ lips tells him he probably failed. 

 

-

 

The fried rice ends up being delicious enough to have Michael wandering back to the stove for seconds. The way Dennis beams with pride has him adding maybe a spoonful or two more than he really needed to. 

When he finishes eating, Michael leans back in his seat with a groan. “Well. That’s the second best thing I’ve eaten in this kitchen.” 

“Second best-” Dennis starts, then pauses when Michael quirks a brow across the table. A smirk playing on his lips. 

The look on Dennis’ face is totally worth the spoon thrown his way.

 

-

 

“So I’m guessing it went well?” Santos drawls from the couch when Dennis returns later that night. 

Dennis’ face hurts from smiling all the way home. “Yeah.” He wanders over and sinks down on the couch with a sigh. “Yeah, it went okay.” 

“‘Okay’ he says, sighing like a Disney princess.” Santos shakes her head, unpauses Grey’s Anatomy and settles back comfortably - after dropping her slippered feet onto Dennis’ lap. He rests his hands against them and slumps down, joins her in watching in silence for a bit. 

After a few minutes of watching truly horrendous chest compressions, Dennis says softly, “So we’re going to date.” 

“I figured.” 

“...it’s gonna have to stay secret until I finish my rotation, though.” 

“Obviously. Kinda sucks, though, huh?” 

“A little.” 

A comfortable silence follows. On screen, Meredith Grey stares solemnly at some guy getting a diagnosis none of the actors can pronounce right. 

“...you can’t talk about it at work, Trin.” 

“Duh. I can be a bitch, but I’m not an asshole.” 

Another brief pause where Dennis turns to stare hard at Trinity, who is absolutely immersed in watching someone absolutely obliterating the sterile field in a weirdly over and under-lit OR. 

“...I think you and Doctor Abbot would get along really great.” 

“Huh?” 

 

-

 

Dennis wakes up the next morning feeling good. A little sleepy, but good. 

The feeling lasts until he actually gets out of bed and feels a very distinct itchy sensation as his backside rubs against the sheets when he sits up. A frantic rush to the bathroom and very up close and personal check in a mirror later confirms the diagnosis.

The only upside to this particular beard burn is that at least no one can see it. That’s not to say it’s not noticeable. 

“Jesus, Whitaker, do you have ants down your pants or something?” Santos asks as she watches him squirm by the stove, cooking them some eggs before work. 

“No,” Dennis answers sullenly, flipping one of the eggs. Clicks his tongue when the yolk breaks in the pan, oozing slowly and sizzling as it overcooks. 

“Then what’s-” Santos cuts herself off suddenly. When Dennis chances a glance her way, she’s staring at him. The look in her eyes and the way her lips are twitching as she presses them together spells bad, bad news for what little remains of his dignity. 

“Don’t,” Dennis pleads. 

“...got a bad case of Bearczema?” 

“Trinity.” 

“The Cousin It Itch?”

“Please-”

“Oh, oh, wait - Big Foot-itis!” 

Dennis decides to give Santos the worst of the eggs. 

 

-

 

After applying the last of the hydrocortisone cream, the itch is at least dulled, if not completely gone. It keeps him going for the first few hours of his shift. 

As is the nature of the job, though, it’s soon enough back to full itchiness after enough sweating and friction has worn away the layers of soothing lotion. Around lunchtime he’s half slumped over his desk at central, trying to figure out how to surreptitiously get some relieving friction to all that red hot skin without getting fired for public indecency. 

“You feeling alright, kid?” Dana asks above him with honest concern. She looks about ten seconds away from calling his mom to come pick him up, and what a horrific thought that is. 

“Yes, ma’am. Just peachy,” Dennis replies through slightly gritted teeth. Sits up a little better, glances around and tries to squirm in the least noticeable way possible. Considering the side-eye he gets from Dana, he fails. 

Across the way, Robby looks up from where he’s been helping Mel with something. Their eyes meet. There’s a quick, assessing once over from over the rim of his glasses.

Then, Robby smirks. Small, but oh so knowing - smug, more a glint of the eye than an actual quirk of his lips. 

Dennis’ lower eyelid twitches. 

Oh, that bastard. 

Well. Two can play at that game. 

 

-

 

“Well, Mr. Lloyd,” Robby pushes his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, swaying back on his heels, “looks like you’re just about rid of us. Student doctor Whitaker here will be giving you a quick rundown on at home wound-care and we’ll let you go on your merry way. Whitaker?” He nudges the younger man with his elbow, smiling down at him. 

“Yessir.” Whitaker says back, voice low and curling around the word in a way that is way too pointed. 

Robby startles. Whitaker looks up at him. Gives him just a second too long of eye contact. Then, he takes a step closer to the bed and speaks up brightly, “So, basically you will want to keep the wound clean, covered and dry-” 

Motherfucker, Robby thinks to himself, clenching his thigh muscles hard. 

 

-

 

He’s got no one to blame but himself. He gave Whitaker the gun. He just didn’t expect him to actually fire it. 

But fire it he does. Over and over, that little honorific being thrown at him. Not at every interaction, but often enough that he can tell it is on purpose. It shouldn’t get to him - such a simple fucking thing - but there is just something about the way Whitaker says it. Equal parts menace and earnest good manners. Fucking Christ. 

By the end of the day, Robby is a ball of tension. Bouncing his fingers on counters, pulling on and off his glasses, tapping them restlessly against his thigh - shuffling his aching feet despite desperately wanting to sit. But he thinks he’s held it together pretty well, it hasn’t affected his work. No one seems to have been able to tell-

“You good?” Abbot interrupts him in the middle of him doing the hand-off. He’s looking at the used latex glove he’s fiddled with for the past ten minutes. It’s stretched out into a near irrecognizable shape. 

Robby immediately tosses it into a nearby trashcan. “What? Yeah, why?” He catches how sharp his tone is too late. 

Abbot just stares at him. Long and hard. Way too intensely with a crease between his brow that - oh.

Just like that Robby realises - he’s looking for signs of a panic attack. Of…whatever must have been on his face when they stood together on the roof after Pitt Fest. Fuck. He quickly shakes his head, rubs his scalp and groans. 

“Jesus, no, it’s - nothing bad. Just…a personal life development gone a bit out of hand.” Robby mutters, low under his breath. 

“Personal life development,” Abbot echoes dubiously. 

“I’ll tell you all about it later. After a drink. A big one,” Robby promises, reaching out to give his shoulder a heavy pat. “Alright?” 

After another pause, Abbot finally seems to relax. He nods. “Alright. What were you saying about the guy in Central two?” 

Robby’s about to launch back into it, but is interrupted by a call across the counter,  

“Goodnight Doctor Abbot, Doctor Robby.” Dennis gives them both a nod as he walks by, jacket on, gloves tucked into one hand and his bag in the other. 

“Good job today,” Abbot nods. A small grin tugs on his lips. “You’ve got a couple night shifts coming up, right?”

“Yeah, all of next week,” Whitaker confirms, smiling as he shrugs his backpack on. “I’m looking forward to it, actually.” 

“I wouldn’t,” Abbot deadpans, face gone suddenly blank, eyes dark. 

Dennis’ face falls somewhat. “Uh.” 

“Don’t mind him. He lives to be dramatic.” Robby gives Abbot a light shove, rolling his eyes. “Enjoy your weekend, Whitaker.” 

“It might be your last.” Abbot’s still staring unnervingly at Whitaker, who laughs uncertainly. 

“Thanks for the warning, Doctor Abbot. And yessir, will do.” Again, the word comes out all silky smooth and sweet. Worse than it has been all day. And with that, a small salute and a bright smile, Whitaker walks off towards the door. 

In his wake, Robby is left feeling oddly breathless and so utterly fucked. Something hot and delightedly frustrated prickles low in his belly. Oh, if that is how the kid wants to play he’ll be more than happy to show him just what happens when you rile up -

Belatedly, Robby remembers he is still at work. Quickly schools his expression and thoughts. Far too late, though. He slowly turns. 

Abbot is staring at him with the most devastating of grins. When their eyes meet, he has the audacity to fucking wink. 

“...personal life development, huh DiCaprio?”

“Fuck me,” Robby groans and hangs his head. 

 

-

 

“So is the fruitcake tapping that ass or what?” Myrna rasps. “Cause if he won’t, I will.” 

“When we figure it out, you’ll be the first to know,” Perlah sighs. 

Notes:

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! <3

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 4 of Strangers to (?)