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Gerran never could’ve predicted this would be his life.
Despite years of acting, he never really understood fame until he bagged the role of Dennis Whitaker on The Pitt, and how it could so quickly rearrange his life. His face is everywhere: GIFs, edits, reaction memes, and, most commonly, screenshots of him looking at Dr. Robby as if the man hung the moon and stars himself.
Which, annoyingly, isn’t exactly acting.
See, Noah Wyle of all people plays Dr. Robby. Fifty-four year old Noah fucking Wyle, with his soothing voice and kind eyes and the sort of presence that makes a room go quiet and turn to look the moment he walks through the door. Gerran’s admired the man since he was a kid. He’d spent countless nights sprawled out on his bed watching reruns of ER, transfixed by Noah’s portrayal of Dr. John Carter, how effortlessly perfect he looked on screen.
Gerran was too young to name the feeling back then, but he knows exactly what it was now. Noah was his first celebrity crush; his first crush, period, really.
Meeting Noah years later for the first time on set had been… an experience. Starstruck doesn’t even begin to cover it. Gerran remembers shaking Noah’s hand, trembling like a teenager about to ask his crush out to prom, and bumbling through a pathetic excuse of a greeting. Noah had been kind; he’d smiled fondly at Gerran, eyes crinkling at the corners, and told him he was excited to work with him.
It’s a miracle Gerran didn’t collapse to a heap on the floor then and there.
Gerran has spent years of his life perfecting his acting, perfecting how to play things cool. He convinced himself he’d get through filming alongside Noah, scenes full of fleeting touches and unwavering tension, without any fumbles.
The problem is the internet refuses to cooperate.
Supriya was the first person to make him aware of Hucklerobby. She sent him a link to a fanfic one night and laughed at how ridiculous of a pairing Robby and Whitaker would make. Gerran agreed with her over text, laughed it off, and spent the rest of his evening huddled under his blanket reading the few fanfics available of the pairing at the time.
He told himself it was just research, even as heat coiled low and persistent in his gut with every word he read. Even as he bit off Noah’s name into his pillow when he finally caved and touched himself.
From there, the fandom only grew. Edits on Tiktok highlighting the pathetically needy way Gerran Whitaker would stare at Noah Robby every time the older doctor manhandled him. Fanfic after fanfic, dirtier and kinkier by the minute, making Gerran discover things about himself he never even considered before.
Fanart of Dennis and Robby would pop up every day—sometimes innocent ones, where the characters would be leaning a little too close, fingertips brushing. More often, explicit ones, where Gerran would get a firsthand view of what he might look like with Noah deep inside him, fucking him hard enough to have him screaming out, tears springing to his eyes and—
Jesus fucking Christ. It can’t be normal for Gerran to be this worked up over one man, but he is. Fuck, he really is.
The second season doesn’t help Gerran’s predicament. The writers—yes, that includes Noah—lean into Hucklerobby. They write in more interactions with Dennis and Robby. They have Noah stand closer to him during scenes, with his sandalwood cologne and staggering height difference making Gerran go dizzy every time. They direct Gerran to play Dennis as openly admiring Robby, honing the camera in on his lingering looks, the way he gets flustered after simple praise. Gerran doesn’t have to dig deep at all to portray that aspect of his character, of course.
With every episode released, the fans lap it up and scream out for more Hucklerobby. Which only results in one thing: HBO milking the fuck out of it.
Gerran isn’t overly surprised to find out he’s paired with Noah for the HBO interview. In fact, he kind of looks forward to it, even if there’s a nervous buzz beneath his skin for the whole day leading up to it.
The interview takes place on set. Gerran sits angled slightly towards Noah, leg bouncing anxiously before he forces himself to be still. He’s sitting close enough to Noah to smell the faint hint of coffee and mint coming from the man, with an undercurrent of sandalwood that’s always there. Gerran tries not to lean into it too much.
During the interview, Gerran grows more and more relaxed. Noah cracks jokes effortlessly, answering each question with a vibrant and practiced ease. Gerran laughs—he laughs a lot. Too loud and too enthusiastic, but he can’t stop himself, especially when Noah grins at him every time like it’s a private win.
They take turns reading out the questions from cue cards: have you watched season one? What’s your favourite fan theory? Favourite fan interaction you’ve had? Gerran and Noah bounce off each other throughout, their chemistry palpable as they have fun with their answers.
Then Noah tilts his head, playful.
“Okay, here’s an interesting one,” he says. “Who was your first celebrity crush?”
Gerran feels it instantly, the air pressure around him dropping as Noah’s words land. He knows his answer, of course. He’s always known it.
He also knows Noah is sitting right there, eyes crinkling as he watches Gerran, waiting patiently for him to answer first. Gerran fidgets with his scrubs, swallows thickly, and wracks his brain for a response.
Noah Wyle in ER, his mind screams at him. Dr. John Carter, all stupidly pretty and baby-faced, with his tall posture, crooked smile and expressive eyes. Gerran chances a small glance to Noah; it all still rings true, though that baby-face has turned into something more refined and infuriatingly handsome over the years.
Noah quirks an eyebrow at Gerran, still smiling, and Gerran quickly remembers he actually needs to answer the damn question.
“Uh… everyone says Lola Bunny, don’t they?” he blurts out, buying time. “Which is kinda weird.”
He winces at himself internally, then scrambles to think of something safer to say, something normal.
“My first celebrity crush was Rachel Weisz in The Mummy,” he says, pitching his voice with forced confidence, like that’ll sell it.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Noah squint his eyes thoughtfully and purse his lips together.
“Ooh,” he says softly.
Gerran knows that kind of ooh. Noah’s not buying a single word of this.
“First thing that came to mind,” Gerran rushes, heat creeping along his neck. “Are you judging me for that?”
Noah chuckles, easy and warm. He stacks the cue cards against his lap, averting his gaze from Gerran. “No, I’m just realising how much older I am than you.”
The words land like a physical thing in his gut.
Gerran’s breath stutters. His face is definitely red now, the tips of his ears burning. Behind his ribcage, his heart thunders away, so loud he’s convinced Noah will be able to hear it.
Older.
The word echoes through Gerran, curls along his spine, hot and electric. He thinks of the appeal Hucklerobby has to the fans because of the age gap, the power balance between the characters. He thinks of the years of experience Noah has on him, two decades worth. He thinks of what Noah could show him with that experience, how precise and skilled he’d be if he ever got those broad, steady hands on him.
Next to him, Noah gives his own answer. He lists off a couple of his first crushes with fond amusement.
Gerran doesn’t hear a single one.
All he can focus on is the limited space between them. The casual way Noah leans back into his seat, the confidence in his voice, completely unaware of how he’s turned Gerran’s insides molten.
For the rest of the interview, Gerran laughs when he’s supposed to, nods at the right moments, but inside he keeps spiraling. He can barely sit still in his seat, hot and flustered and painfully turned on. He can’t stop replaying all of the content he’s consumed over the months about their characters, can’t stop picturing Noah playing out every filthy scenario the fans have conjured up and plastered over the internet.
When the interview finally finishes, Gerran makes a break for it and makes it back to his trailer in record time. He slams the door shut, locks it behind him as if that might keep his traitorous thoughts from following him inside.
It doesn’t.
He paces once, twice, replaying it all in his head. How stupidly loud he laughed at everything Noah said. How pathetic he sounded saying the first actress’s name that came to mind. The way Noah said how much older he is than him, like it’s nothing. Like it isn’t a live wire that goes straight to Gerran’s cock and leaves him flustered and breathless and achingly har—
Gerran splashes cold water onto his face. He lets it drip down his neck to cool himself off, then chugs half a bottle of orange juice straight from the fridge, but the cold and the sugar do nothing to calm the frantic buzz beneath his skin.
Fucking get it together, he tells himself, hitting his forehead against the fridge. You’re supposed to be a professional.
There’s a knock at the door. Gerran squeezes his eyes shut, wills whoever is there to go away. They only knock again a few moments later.
He drags in an unsteady breath and pulls the door open. His heart drops to his stomach.
Noah is standing there, hands in his pockets, easy smile already in place as if he’s not driving Gerran absolutely insane with how effortlessly sexy he is. Fucking Christ, can someone give him a break?
“Noah,” Gerran stutters out uselessly, staring. “Uh, hey.”
“Hey,” Noah says simply. His eyes briefly trail Gerran’s frame before snapping back up to meet his gaze. “Mind if I come in for a minute?”
Gerran nods a little too fast and steps aside. Noah steps inside, glancing around the place to take in his surroundings. Gerran imagines it’s more compact than Noah’s own trailer, less fancy. The space feels even smaller when Gerran closes the door, and he isn’t sure if it’s because of Noah’s height alone or if all the air has just been rearranged to orbit him.
“Is… is everything okay?” Gerran asks, voice betraying him by pitching a little too high.
“Yeah. Yeah, just checking in.” Noah nods slowly, turning to look at him properly now. “You seemed a little eager to run away after the interview.”
“Oh, uh—” Gerran laughs awkwardly and scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Not eager, just… tired, I guess?”
Noah tilts his head, eyebrows pinching with concern. “Have I been working you too hard?”
“No! No, not at all,” Gerran rushes out. “Sorry, I’m not— I’m not tired tired. Just wanted to rest before shooting.”
Noah hums, low and thoughtful, like he doesn’t quite buy it. He steps further into the trailer and leans back against the kitchen counter, folding his arms across his chest. He stays quiet for a beat, lets it stretch between them. Gerran feels as if he’s going to collapse.
“Pretty weird questions today, huh?” Noah finally says.
Gerran exhales a shaky laugh. “Yeah, I guess.” He swallows thickly before adding, "Wish I could’ve known what the cards said beforehand.”
Noah nods slowly, gaze fixed with Gerran’s. “That celebrity crush one caught you off guard?”
Gerran freezes. His brain slams into static.
“Uh— maybe a little? I don’t really…”
“I was surprised when you said a woman’s name.”
Gerran’s mouth opens, then closes again. Heat blooms along his chest, up to his face. Jesus fuck, Noah knows he’s gay?
“Oh,” Gerran says dumbly. He can’t quite meet Noah’s eyes, suddenly fascinated by a scuff mark on the floor. “Yeah. I mean, I—”
Noah doesn’t push. He just watches Gerran, head tilted forward, eyes gentle and attentive.
Gerran swallows. “I panicked,” he admits, the truth slipping out before he can stop it. “I mean, I’m not, you know, out publicly, and that question just— came out of nowhere.”
Noah’s smile softens, eyes crinkling. “Yeah. They do that.”
Another beat of silence. Noah takes a steady step forward, and the air between them suddenly turns sharp and charged. Gerran feels like he’s standing on the edge of something terrifying, toes curled over, moments away from a devastating drop.
“I’m curious what the real answer is,” Noah says, voice low. There’s an intensity in his eyes that makes Gerran’s breath hitch. “Was a bit disappointed when I didn’t get to hear it.”
Gerran panics. His brain is screaming, heart hammering loud in his ears. Noah is standing way too close now, and Gerran’s still half-hard in his scrubs, still achingly needy for the man.
“I… um…” Gerran stammers, throat dry.
“You don’t have to tell me if—”
“It was you,” he blurts out before he can think better of it. “When you played John Carter in ER. I watched it as a kid.”
Noah just stares at him. Gerran’s already thinking of ways he can take the confession back, hands starting to shake at his sides, but then Noah laughs, low and amused.
“What?” Gerran says dumbly, blinking.
“Nothing.” Noah shakes his head, still smiling. His gaze drops to Gerran’s lips for a fraction of a second before looking back at him. “Just realising again how much older I am than you.”
The words shoot through Gerran all over again, and something in him snaps. He doesn’t think about his next move, doesn’t reason with himself. He just reaches forward, his hands finding Noah’s shoulders, and closes the distance that’s been torturing him for years.
Their lips crash together. It’s closed-mouthed and chaste, but Gerran buries himself into it the best he can. The longing, the frustration, the years of quiet admiration pouring out all at once.
It takes a moment for Gerran to realise, up on his tip-toes and hands fisted into Noah’s fleece, that Noah isn’t kissing him back. He pulls back the second the realisation hits, eyes wide with panic.
“Shit,” he mutters, breathless. He takes a step back, shocked at himself. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
Noah cuts him off by crashing their mouths together again. Gerran makes a surprised, needy sound against Noah’s lips, and Noah instantly takes advantage of it, licking into Gerran’s mouth and deepening the kiss.
He tastes like a mix of spearmint and coffee, and the smooth slide of his tongue makes Gerran melt against him. His lips are soft, a contrast to the scratch of his beard, and he kisses in a way that exudes an easy confidence, like he’s been doing this for longer than Gerran’s been alive.
Gerran realises dizzily that Noah has been doing this longer than he’s been alive.
“Fuck,” Noah mutters against Gerran’s lips. “You’ve been driving me crazy.”
Gerran could almost laugh at how absurd that sounds, the idea of him being the one to drive Noah crazy, as if it hasn’t been the other way around for him for years. He doesn’t have time to find the humour in it though as Noah wraps his arms around Gerran’s waist and turns them, pressing Gerran against the counter.
The counter digs into Gerran’s lower back, a dull ache he barely registers beneath the storm of need and want Noah’s igniting in him. Noah presses closer, drags his mouth down to Gerran’s throat as his hips grind forward. The hard line of Noah’s cock presses against his own, causing Gerran to whimper, his back arching.
“Shit—”
“Tell me this is okay,” Noah says, his voice a low rumble against his throat. “Tell me I’m not overstepping.”
“More than okay,” Gerran squeaks out when Noah’s teeth graze the sensitive skin along the side of his neck. “Wanted this for so long.”
“You’re not the only one.” Noah trails his lips up to Gerran’s jawline, his breath hot against Gerran’s ear. “Been thinking of kissing you since you first walked on set.”
Gerran blinks dumbly, blood thrumming beneath his skin. “You… you have?”
Noah pulls back, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide. He’s got a dark flush on his cheeks that Gerran has always found ridiculously endearing whenever Noah gets flustered, his lips parted and kiss-bitten.
Noah nods once, gaze locked with Gerran’s, and it’s insane how sincere he can make that one small movement look.
“Fuck, please kiss me again,” Gerran says, and before Noah can respond he’s dragging his fingers through the hair at Noah’s nape, pulling him back into another fervent kiss.
Noah’s hands trail along Gerran’s sides, squeeze his hips, before fumbling with the drawstring of his scrubs. Gerran, in turn, claws at the front of Noah’s pants, fingers clumsy with urgency. Fabric rustles, Noah’s zipper grates, and then their cocks spring free, neglected and achingly hard.
Gerran breaks the kiss and knocks his forehead against Noah’s so he can look down and get a better look, breath catching in his throat.
Noah’s cock is as thick and long as he’d hoped, maybe even more so. He’s cut and smooth, the head a deep crimson and glistening with pre-cum. Gerran’s own is smaller, uncut, and Gerran would maybe feel a bit self-conscious if he wasn’t so desperate to get his hands on Noah right fucking now.
Gerran reaches down to drag his finger experimentally along Noah’s slit, earning a low hiss from the older man. He gathers pre-cum along his fingertip and glances back up to Noah, meeting his heated gaze, before slowly sucking the finger between his lips to the first knuckle, savouring the taste.
Noah groans lowly.
“Jesus Christ,” Noah mutters, voice full of gravel. He holds up a calloused palm in front of Gerran’s lips. “Spit.”
A surge of saliva pools in Gerran’s mouth the moment the words land, as if his body will willingly respond to any command Noah gives him. He leans forward, gathers a mouthful of spit in his mouth, and lets it spill out onto Noah’s hand. Noah smears the spit over his palm with his thumb, then he reaches down to wrap his hand around their shafts, encompassing them easily.
He gives a few experimental strokes, a slow and deliberate rhythm that steals Gerran’s breath, before he gets more confident with it, tightening and twisting his fist in a way that has Gerran’s knees buckling. Gerran's head falls back against the counter, a shaky moan escaping him.
“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” Noah mutters, swiping his thumb over Gerran’s leaking tip. Gerran can only shiver in response. “You feel good, sweetheart?”
Gerran can’t speak. He can’t form a single coherent thought beyond the pulsing need consuming him, and so he just nods, lips parted on ragged breaths as his hands fist into Noah’s fleece, clinging on for dear life.
Each slick stroke from Noah is intoxicating, the friction of skin and the hard line of Noah’s cock pressed against him sending him insane. Gerran thrusts his hips forward, chasing the sensation, pressure building in his abdomen.
Noah presses his thumb to the sensitive underside of Gerran’s cock, a precise torture. “Easy, baby,” he rumbles, sounding breathless himself. “You getting close?”
Gerran nods desperately. His vision blurs at the edges, body shivering with the need for release. Noah speeds up his movements in response, jerking his fist tight and precise over their cocks.
“It’s okay, you can let go. I want you to,” Noah pants out, his other hand coming up to cup Gerran’s face, thumbing over his swollen bottom lip. “You can do it. Be a good boy for me and come.”
Gerran’s world shatters. A broken sob tears from his throat, his body going taut and spine arching sharply as his orgasm wracking through him. He spills hot and messy over Noah’s hand and their entwined shafts, jerking in Noah’s grasp. Noah works him through it carefully, the slide only getting slicker, hotter, with every pulse of his cock.
“That’s it, Gerran. So fucking good for me,” Noah rasps, and Gerran feels the praise roll along his spine, pulling a needy whine from his lips.
Gerran presses his forehead to Noah’s shoulder, sagging against the man, shaking through the aftershocks. His chest heaves as he comes down from the high, Noah’s hand now still around their cocks as his clean hand comes up to gently stroke through his curls. A few breathless moments pass before Gerran finally pulls back from Noah’s shoulder, eyes bleary.
“Okay?” Noah asks gently, searching Gerran’s gaze.
Gerran wets his lips and nods his head. He glances down between them, a shiver rolling through him when he realises Noah is still achingly hard, pressed up against Gerran’s now softening cock. He doesn’t even think before he drops to his knees.
“What are you—”
“It’s my turn,” Gerran murmurs, voice wrecked, and reaches out to take Noah’s thick shaft in his hands.
He brings the head to his mouth, tasting the salty mix of his own spend and Noah’s pre-cum. He takes tentative licks, swirling his tongue around the tip and savouring the taste.
“Jesus, Gerran,” Noah rasps, head tilted forward to watch Gerran’s every move.
Gerran blinks up at him, wide-eyed, and savours how wrecked Noah looks already, all blown pupils and flushed skin. He opens his mouth wider, lips stretching, letting the thick head slide inside. He licks and sucks, tongue tracing along a throbbing vein to the smooth, sensitive glans.
Above him, Noah groans out, body tensing. Gerran pulls back, letting the tip of Noah’s cock free with a wet pop, before he drives back down again, taking him deeper this time. He sinks lower and lower, relaxing his jaw and throat until his nose brushes up against the thick patch of hair above Noah’s dick. He stays still for a beat, glances up at Noah, eyes wide with permission.
“Fuck,” Noah mutters.
Noah’s hands fist into Gerran’s hair, holding him steady as he slowly begins guiding the rhythm, testing the waters. Gerran doesn’t resist, just keeps himself pliant in Noah’s grasp, his hands resting at the back of his thighs, allowing himself to be used in the exact way he wants.
Gradually, Noah begins to thrust his hips at a slow and deliberate pace. He keeps his eyes locked on Gerran’s, checking in with his gaze, and swipes his thumbs beneath Gerran’s eyes as they begin to water with the intensity of it all.
“You’re so fucking good,” Noah whispers, voice tight with pleasure. “Such a good boy.”
Gerran’s eyes flutter, a shiver wracking through him as he whines around Noah’s shaft. He hollows his cheeks and begins sucking Noah’s harder, deeper, his throat aching but his desire overriding the discomfort. He wants all of Noah, every inch. The heavy weight on his tongue is intoxicating, has Gerran’s mouth watering even more with saliva dripping down his chin.
Noah’s body begins to tremble, his breathing ragged. His hips drive forward, faster now, a frantic rhythm that has Gerran gagging around him, wet and messy. He holds on, desperate to please, desperate to feel Noah’s release.
“I’m not gonna last,” Noah chokes out, voice thick with his impending orgasm.
The hands in Gerran’s hair tug back, trying to pull him away, but Gerran resists. He surges forward until Noah is buried deep in his throat, moaning around the thick intrusion, and that alone sends Noah tumbling over the edge. Noah’s cock pulses in Gerran’s mouth as he spills directly down Gerran’s throat, a broken groan escaping him.
Gerran swallows every drop, throat working frantically around Noah’s shaft. He keeps sucking and swallowing, working Noah through the aftershocks until Noah shudders with oversensitivity and finally pulls away.
“Fuck,” Noah rasps, chest heaving. Gerran’s feels just as breathless, heart thundering in his ribcage as he gulps down oxygen, staring wide-eyed up at Noah. Noah meets his gaze and something cracks in his features. “Fuck.”
Noah collapses to his knees in front of Gerran and cups his face with both hands. He collides their mouths together in a messy kiss, licking the taste of himself out of Gerran’s mouth. Gerran can only moan in response, clinging onto Noah with trembling hands.
When Noah finally pulls away, pressing their foreheads together, Gerran stutters out a breathy laugh. He bumps his nose against Noah’s, shoulders relaxing as Noah’s arms wrap around him.
“Something funny?” Noah asks gently.
“Never imagined as a kid that my celebrity crush would want me back one day,” Gerran says, the idea of it alone still insane to him.
Noah laughs, warm and unguarded, and it makes something in Gerran’s chest ache in the best way. “Living the American dream, maybe?”
“I’m Welsh, you bastard.”
Noah smiles, eyes crinkling, and then kisses him again. It’s soft this time, unhurried, and Gerran can’t help but melt into the gentleness of it. When Noah pulls back, his thumb brushes Gerran’s cheek with an easy tenderness that almost feels unreal.
“We should get cleaned up before the shoot.”
“Yeah,” Gerran says, though he makes no move to get up. “We should.”
“It’s another Hucklerobby-centred scene, y’know,” Noah adds casually. “Wrote it myself. For the fans.”
Gerran raises his eyebrows. “For the fans?”
“And maybe for me too,” Noah admits, grinning. He stands with a soft groan and pulls Gerran up with him. “We can go to my trailer after? I have a bed.”
Gerran’s heart leaps at the offer, at the confirmation that this isn’t just a one-off fling. He does his best to school his features, stepping closer to Noah.
“A bed,” Gerran says, dry as he can manage. “Must be nice being the lead.”
“It is,” Noah says, his gaze fond. “Especially since I got to meet you.”
Gerran rolls his eyes, grinning so hard it almost hurts. He grabs Noah’s hand and tugs him toward the bathroom, eager to clean up and get their shoot out of the way so the real fun can begin again.