Chapter Text
Pittsburgh is cold in the fall—but not the cold he’s used to. It’s not that bone chill. The deep rooted, uncomfortable one. It’s not familiar enough and right now he’s itching for familiarity. No—It’s not cold tonight, not like Nebraska. The wind isn’t hollow and singing, the grass isn’t dead under foot with his boots sinking into mud. He hates it—right now, he hates it.
He’s the only one on the bench tonight, staring empty-eyed ahead of him. He didn’t bother with a coat this morning and now he’ll have to suffer the consequences in the form of goosebumps and hair raising.
“Whitaker.”
Dennis’ head jerks, catching sight of Robby as the older man approaches. He looks different under the orange hue of street lamps—a softer contrast to the bright, medical illuminescence. Here, in the cold, that curious gaze morphs into a familiar sneer and Dennis has to look away, shake his head a little. The day was long and the worst of it is playing tricks on him—bringing back too much.
“Everyone went home.” Dennis says, clearing his throat and shifting where he sits on the bench. An effort to look casual, something that never works around Robby.
“Sure.” Robby sighs, slipping his backpack off from a stiff shoulder and falling onto the bench beside Dennis. Their shoulders brush. Robby has his familiar zip-up on. Dark blue against Dennis’ pale skin. “Not you?”
Dennis shrugs, watching as an ambulance speeds its way toward a neighboring hospital. The sirens make his ears ring. He can feel heat crawling up his skin and it makes him want to claw at it. He wants to dig his nails against the surface and get it to stop.
“Could use a beer.” Dennis breathes out, a little impatient and shaky. He finally turns to glance up at Robby, “How about you?”
Robby’s lips turn up into a smirk. Dennis looks away, again. He does it a lot lately. Ignoring, avoiding. And yet, he’s mastered the art of asking with saying and Robby— Robby has learned to understand. He’s adapted to this new language and Dennis can’t decide if he enjoys it or not.
Given the way his gut tugs and pulls and makes him nauseous—he might like it.
“Let’s get a beer.” Robby agrees, letting his shoulder fully connect to Dennis’ before standing and when Dennis follows, a hand is put in its place.
As they walk that hand drifts to his neck, fitting easily against skin and Dennis has to keep himself from choking on cold air, inhaling gas fumes and the smell of everything Pittsburgh can never be. A thumb hooks into the collar of his scrubs at a crosswalk light and Dennis leans into it, nearly closes his eyes. Dennis wishes it were colder so he couldn’t feel it all. The rush of heat through his body, the thudding of his heart, the spin in his head.
Robby digs the thumb into muscle and pulls Whitaker closer. “You did great today.” Robby says, voice nearly drowned over car engines. Bits of his beard brush against the side of Dennis’ face and it tickles. Even Robby’s breath is warm, washing over Dennis like a baptism by fire.
“Doesn’t feel like it.” Dennis confesses, shame and guilt and frustration instantly fighting its way out. The root of it all and the only thing it took was this familiarity—a touch. A hand reaching in, twisting, and pulling it out brutally, blood and guts and all.
The crosswalk signals and Robby moves them along.
Dennis’ feet feel like lead.
Robby hums absentmindedly. “You should’ve seen yourself—clearly the patients you saved weren’t enough.”
It’s not meant to hurt, but it could. It does. Dennis’ nose curls and he nearly recoils, but Robby keeps his hold firm and pulls Dennis forward..
“Its not that—“
“I know.” Robby nods. His hand falls away and Dennis almost grabs it, forces his presence back. He nearly begs until he’s stopped short and a door opens—The bar.
It’s not busy at all and Dennis doesn’t expect it to be on a Wednesday night. Robby’s hand ghosts the small of Dennis’ back and pushes, just a little, urging him toward the bar stools. When they sit, Robby’s knee presses into his thigh.
Dennis wants the cold again. He wants freezing, ice-slick roads, dry wind. He wants a comfortability that no longer exists. Beer is ordered and Dennis resists the urge to press the cool glass to his neck in an effort to cool the rushing of his blood, the friction of it too hot and too much.
“What could you have done better?” Robby asks.
Dennis follows Robby’s movement. Lips around the head of the bottle, head tilted back, eyes closed. He doesn’t look away when Robby looks back at him.
“Everything.” Dennis replies, not entirely on board with the conversation anymore. He’d rather leave, or not talk at all. He’d rather do a lot of things with Robby in mind than continue this conversation.
Robby studies him silently. “Everything isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the best I’ve got.” Dennis drinks a desperate gulp of his beer and it still doesn’t quench whatever thirst he has. “Are you in tomorrow?”
Robby shakes his head; No.
“Me neither.” Dennis says.
He doesn’t want to say it—or he does. He wants to stand outside and let whatever cold he can settle with wash over him. He wants Robby there and he doesn’t. He wants him now and he doesn’t.
Robby’s hand presses into Dennis’ thigh.
Dennis has to close his eyes and press the back of his hand against his forehead. An effort to keep himself from falling off the bar stool.
“Are you okay?” Robby’s voice comes through static, warm. Too warm and too soft and it makes a fire under Dennis’ skin, in his veins. He hears his mother in a tone like that. He feels bare feet against dirt and a hand in sweaty curls, soothing him to sleep. His cheeks, red and tear stained.
Dennis huffs, blinking against a sudden rush of emotion. He swallows thickly. His knee jerks like he wants to pull it away. “A patient today, the one who… the amputee.” Dennis says.
Robby nods. His thumb drags slow, soothing motions at the inner most of Dennis’ thigh.
“She reminded me of my mom.” Dennis laughs. He can’t help it. He can hear himself and it sounds ridiculous, unfamiliar. Like he’s lost himself somewhere between the morning and now—maybe before that.
His eyes blur suddenly and he shakes his head, pushing fingers into his eyelids. “Stupid.” He murmurs, “It’s so stupid.”
“Hey,” Robby’s hand is tight against his thigh. “Hey, Whitaker, look at me. Dennis.”
A hand at his jaw, guiding, gentle—Dennis doesn’t want gentle. His head ticks to the side a little, nearly pulling away from the touch—flinching.
His eyes, though blurred, meet Robby’s. Too vulnerable and kind. Unfamiliar for Robby, just as it is for Dennis. It’s scary, uncharted.
“Tell me about it—Hey.” Robby’s hand is firmer when Dennis shakes his head and turns it to look away. It drags Dennis back, his face flushing at the hardness of it, unexpected but fully welcome. His gut tugs at the action, a betrayal to his grief. He blinks.
Robby shakes his head, “Don’t bury that.” His tone is firm, stable. Something Dennis is familiar with in the ER, but not outside of it. Not like this. “You bury that and you drown, kid. Tell me.”
It’s not an ask, Dennis realizes. This isn’t a request. It’s the hand on his jaw, the firm tone. The stability that makes Dennis practically melt on the bar stool and Robby being Robby—he’d have no issues picking Dennis back up.
Dennis swallows thickly, trying to will himself to speak.
“My… She died before I left for school.” His voice is quiet. “I don’t visit anymore. Not since…” he stops, shakes his head as much as he can with Robby holding him still. His eyes close. “I miss it and this.. this place isn’t—Fuck.”
Dennis jerks his head from Robby’s hold, turning to press it into the wood of the bar top. The thud brings him to earth a little, but not enough.
“Hey—“ Robby shakes his head, trying to reassure. Dennis feels a hand in his hair that tugs a little, maybe by accident. Dennis knows it’s meant to be kind and gentle, comforting, but Dennis wants to whine, to cry. He wants to beg for something harder—more.
“Why don’t you go back?”
Dennis huffs. He almost laughs, really. “You try affording that trip.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
Dennis freezes. The hand in his hair drifts to his back.
“How much?”
“What?” Dennis whispers, lifting his head to look at Robby. Face full of confusion, awe, disbelief.
“I’m serious.” Robby nods, no doubt in his conviction. It makes Dennis feel dizzy. “Name the price.”
“Robby,” Dennis blinks, shaking his head. He feels breathless. “I’m not… I’m not asking for a hand-out—“
“I’m not giving you one.” Robby says, shrugging casually. “I want to help.”
“That’s a lot of help.” Dennis scoffs, shrugging off Robby’s hand. “I can’t accept that.”
Robby watches him. The silence in his observation makes Dennis uncomfortable and the feeling is practically welcome. Anything to feel outside of his body, he’ll take.
“You’re drowning out here.” Robby says, finality. Dennis stares back. He feels his breathing shallow, almost non-existent. “I’ve known you enough to know what it looks like.”
The words make him flinch, eyes closing. He turns his head to the side.
“Dennis.”
“It’s too much.” Dennis swallows, “If anyone found out I—“
Robby’s face contorts into hurt and confusion. His head tilts and he shifts on the bar stool, crossing his arms. “If anyone found out?” He repeats.
Dennis groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re my attending. You’re my boss, Robby. What we do is already—“
“Bad enough?” Robby interrupts with a bitter laugh.
“Yes.” Dennis snaps, his head jerking to meet Robby’s eyes. He’s annoyed now. Behavior like this from Robby isn’t uncommon. He’s a selfish man who wants and he wanted Dennis—he got Dennis. There’s greed and possession and the unwillingness to let it go.
Robby’s pride is never ending like that—infinite. So when it’s bruised—like Langdon—well… Dennis doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t dare cross the territory of what happens when he bruises Robby and right now, it’s starting to feel like he is.
They’re silent for a while. The bartender reminds them closing is in a few minutes and Robby, without a word, pays for the both of them. They leave.
Dennis would rather step into the traffic outside. That way, he can hitch a ride in the back of an ambulance and sleep in one of the ER beds.
“Do you want to go?” Robby asks.
Come home with me.
Dennis looks up at him. Robby’s lips are pressed into a thin line. He looks impatient now, anxious. Maybe he’s reflecting on his attitude—maybe this is his way of apologizing. Extending a branch and hoping Dennis grabs hold. Luckily for Robby, Dennis is desperate to cling.
He nods.
Sometimes, Dennis feels nearly devoted to Robby. As if the man were god—A god. The need to do well, do good. To stick with Robby’s graces and never a hair out of line. It’s addictive. It’s the reason he’s stayed. It’s the reason Nebraska feels so out of control, out of touch. And now, the very thing he’s stayed for is giving him the out.
Dennis, right now, feels like a dog being dragged off for his final happy night. A lamb before the slaughter. He realizes, as he slips into Robby’s car, that he’s okay with that. He’ll feed right from the hand and never bite.
Robby’s car smells like cigarettes. The leather beneath Dennis is cold from the car's time in the parking garage. This is welcome. He sinks into it, sighing softly. He hugs his backpack to his chest and lets his eyes close.
“Seatbelt.”
The car rumbles to life. Dennis opens his eyes, looking over lazily at Robby who shifts the car into gear and begins to move.
“Seriously?” Dennis asks, eyes trailing to Robby’s grip on the wheel, the other hand he has curled around the gear shift. He thinks of a few weeks ago, that hand on the back of his head. Keeping him down and quiet until Dennis choked on the lack of air and Robby did it all because he could, because Dennis let him so willingly.
He forces himself to look away, out the window.
“Seriously.” Robby nods slowly. He glances over at Dennis. “Do I have to remind you of how many patients we get a day—“
“Alright, alright.” Dennis relents, tugging his seatbelt on with ease. “Happy?”
Robby looks over again, then back at the road. “Good.” He says, nodding.
There’s an electric shock of tension that spreads through Dennis. It makes him shift where he sits. Robby reaches over, turning the radio on.
Something old is playing. Dennis recognizes it—Johnny Cash. It brings him back to Nebraska. It brings him back to his Father—whiskey and cigarettes and tough love that doesn’t feel like love at all. It feels like hard work and a sneer, cruel and intense.
Dennis inhales and the cigarette smell is too strong now. He’s about to ask if he can roll the window down when he stops short, voice catching in his throat.
Something settles onto his thigh, heavy, warm through the fabric of his scrubs. It makes his breath hitch and his head snaps to Robby, who stares ahead at the road. His hand squeezes then drifts—inside of Dennis’ thigh, higher, until Dennis panics and catches Robby’s hand, breathing harshly.
“Robby.” Dennis huffs out.
Robby doesn’t say anything. His fingers dig into Dennis’ thigh, into that space where hip connects. Dennis bites his lip, head thudding back against the seat as a shuddering exhale leaves him. His hips shift slightly and without missing a beat Robby pushes down, keeping him still. It almost hurts. Not enough. Dennis gasps, gripping Robby’s forearm.
“What?” Robby asks, slowing the car to a stop as they approach a red light. His eyes finally turn to Dennis and the heat in them—it’s enough to make Dennis shudder. “You’re so impatient. They don’t teach you that in school anymore?”
Oh, there it is. That divine cruelty. Only giving what he wants to, what he feels like, and yet, it’s always enough for Dennis.
Dennis can’t speak. His voice is trapped within himself. He swallows but his throat is too dry and instead of a cough a pathetic, choked sound leaves him. Robby stares, lips parted in awe. He smirks a little, laughs lowly. It’s so mean and awful and Dennis wants more of it.
“I’m not.. I’m not impatient.” Dennis huffs, his voice sounds uneven and shaky. Robby’s fingers stretch, ghosting along the front of Dennis’ scrubs and again, his hips twitch. “Fuck.”
“Don’t be like that,” Robby says. The light changes and he turns away, back to the road. His hand returns to Dennis’ thigh. “We’re almost there.”
The hand squeezes again and Dennis has to close his eyes to calm himself down. He breathes—he tries to. He really does. He keeps his eyes closed the rest of the way and Robby’s hand doesn’t move, which Dennis is grateful for.
The car slows, then stops. The engine shuts off.
“Come on.” Robby says, pulling his hand away casually.
It takes a herculean effort to climb out of the car. Dennis feels dazed, weightless. His limbs don’t feel like his at all. The cold air of the outside passes through him as if he weren’t there.
Dennis forgets, every time they do this, how different Robby’s life is from his.
Robby’s apartment has a lobby, security. Clean floors and a landlord who gives a shit. Dennis’ apartment, shared with Santos, is run down and shady. It smells like piss and there is no lobby. Just stairs up to floors and the floors are apartments with shitty walls and shitty doors and shitty plumbing.
They’re in the elevator now, leaning against opposite sides. Dennis wants to sink to his knees and crawl. He feels desperately animalistic and it doesn’t help that Robby is staring. He always is but on nights like this Dennis can’t escape him. There is no ducking behind medical equipment, a corner. There is no getting too distracted in saving a life to care about his HR nightmare of a relationship.
But when it’s this—just them—Dennis could turn to putty at Robby’s feet and Robby would laugh and call him pathetic and Dennis would wake up the next morning feeling like he could save a million lives in a single day.
“Are you feeling any better?” Robby asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
Dennis blinks and looks down at his shoes. “Yeah,” he nods, "I think so.”
It’s a lie and not a very good one. Dennis will be fine when Robby gets his hands on him, when Robby pushes him around and calls him names that would put his mother, if she were still around, in the grave.
It makes Robby snort. They reach the floor and the doors open. Dennis follows after him. “I’m serious.” He says indignantly, but his words sound doubtful to his ears. Part of him just wants to put on a show—to give Robby a reason.
He does feel better, but he’s greedy and could probably feel even better soon. A lot sooner, he realizes, as he follows Robby into his apartment.
Dennis goes to defend himself again, only to be cut entirely too short. Hands push him into the wall a little too hard and it hurts the side of his face, making him gasp. His backpack falls to the ground and Robby’s lips are searing against his skin, hips flush against Dennis’ ass—grinding.
“Oh fuck.” Dennis gasps, hand reaching back to grab at Robby’s shirt to keep him there, to feel all of it. His cheek stings, his ears ring a little. “Ow, Robby.”
“Mm?” Robby pants against his neck. Dennis can feel them forming a grin before teeth nip the skin. “Thought you liked that, don’t tell me you changed your mind?”
Dennis flushes. His head spins at the words and he nearly sinks to the floor in an effort to hide but Robby’s hold on him is firm and unforgiving. A hand curls into Dennis’ hair, tugging him back and away from the wall.
“Ah.” Dennis gasps, only to have it swallowed down by Robby’s lips on his.
It’s a mess of teeth and tongue, open mouthed and panting like dogs. There’s no care, not really. Just in the way Robby holds Dennis—keeps him upright and steers him.
Clothes are pulled off, his scrub top, the shirt underneath. Robby’s jacket and layers along with it.
Dennis is dragged into a room he’s familiar with and shoved onto a bed, face first. He barely gets a second to breath before Robby’s presence is at his back, arms around his shoulders, his head, practically consuming Dennis. A hand curls around Dennis’ jaw from behind, a thumb pushing its way into his mouth and Dennis can’t stop the loud moan that falls around it.
“Yeah, good boy.” Robby hums, lips kissing behind Dennis’ ear. “Stay.” He says gruffly, pulling his hands away and sliding down Dennis’ body.
Dennis pants into the pillows, inhaling sharply when Robby’s hands pull at his scrubs, taking underwear with it. Cool air of the apartment hits his skin but it’s quickly replaced by warm hands on his thighs, his ass, smoothing over skin and digging into muscle.
“Robby,” Dennis groans, hips pushing back to meet the man’s groping touch. “Come on.”
“Impatient.” Robby laughs, teeth digging into Dennis’ hip. He smacks his thighs gently, it makes Dennis jump, “Roll over.”
Dennis does so, flopping onto his back with a sigh. He relaxes into the sheets, looking up at Robby with doe-eyes. The sight makes the man groan, hungry and desperate. His mouth returns to Dennis’ skin; thighs first, hips, then along Dennis’ achingly hard cock before taking it into his mouth entirely.
Dennis, woefully unprepared, gasps, hands twisting into the sheets as he moans out.
“Fuck—“ He curses, head falling back against the pillows, “Little warning next time—shit.” He hisses at a pinch to his thigh.
Robby chuckles, running a hand up Dennis’ torso and grabbing a handful of his toned chest. His mouth is too warm and wet around Dennis and it’s embarrassing how close he gets so fast. His hands reach for Robby’s hair, gasping for breath. “Robby..” he writhes, “Wait.. wait—“
Robby knocks Dennis’ hands away easily and keeps his mouth where it is. Dennis groans, both frustrated and losing himself. His hips try to jerk up to no avail, Robby holding him down with his weight.
Dennis sobs, his arm falling over his face. He wants to push him away, he wants to feel it out longer, but he also knows Robby.
Robby likes to pull all he can out of Dennis and it’s practically torture—too bad it feels so good.
“I’m… Oh, fuck—Robby—“ His words catch with a choked moan, hand tugging at his own hair, lips parting. Robby moans around him and it’s enough to make Dennis come, hard and fast. It feels like getting whiplash. His entire body twitches, hips finally able to jerk up a little as Robby eases up. He chases that high. Pathetic, gasping sounds leave him as Robby sucks him clean.
Eventually, it’s too much and Dennis really does try pushing at Robby, weakly, but still tries. Robby takes pity and eases off of him with a pop.
“Feel good?” Robby asks, voice rough. It makes Dennis shiver.
He nods, unsure of how his own voice will sound. Robby kisses up Dennis’ chest, slow and sweet and it makes something in Dennis’ stomach churn. It makes him look away, up at the ceiling.
Robby comes into view eventually and that familiar hand returns to Dennis’ jaw. “Earth to Whitaker.” Robby muses playfully. It makes Dennis laugh, rolling his eyes. He tugs Robby down to kiss him, rough and fast and dirty—but Robby can play dirtier.
He slips his hand from Dennis’ jaw to his throat, pressing into it a little. Dennis’ lips part at the feeling, eyes opening wide up at Robby, who looks down at him like he’s hung the moon.
“Oh, that feels good doesn’t it?” He presses a little harder and Dennis’ breathing fully disconnects. It’s not for long, maybe two seconds, but it makes Dennis’ eyes roll in pleasure. His hand wraps around Robby’s wrist in a weak attempt to keep him there, but Robby is a saint and while Dennis would love him to go longer, harder—Robby would rather shoot himself in the kneecap than really hurt Dennis.
The realization makes Dennis feel strange, a little disappointed, maybe. A little scared of what that could mean.
“Please,” Dennis whispers, his hips shifting under Robby. The movement makes the older man grunt, head dropping. “Just a little.. a little longer.”
Robby’s jaw ticks. Dennis moves his hips more and Robby tightens his grip again—as if that will get him to stop.
“Can’t believe you like this…” Robby grunts, taking over the grinding now, watching as Dennis’ face turns red from lack of oxygen. Dennis tightens his hold on Robby’s wrist, the pleasure filling his senses entirely. Right when it starts to get too much, Robby releases.
Dennis gasps on a lungful of air, his other hand finding Robby’s shoulder, clinging to him. “That’s it..” Robby shushes, grinding their cocks together slowly. “Calm down,” Robby bends, kissing Dennis on the temple as a reward. “Want a little more?”
Dennis nods instantly, whimpering when Robby tugs on his ear with his teeth. The older man moans, his hips faltering in their grind. Almost like he’s on the edge himself, losing his own ability to keep it together. It drives Dennis mad.
Instead of returning his hand, Robby pulls away to sit himself up. Robby sits back on his heels, pulling Dennis closer by his calves, parting his thighs with ease and situating himself between them.
Dennis watches, somewhat out of it, still recovering from the loss of air earlier. It left his brain a little foggy. A good foggy. He feels a hand around his cock again, slower, gentler. It makes him twist a little from the sensitivity but it’s quickly dissipated when he feels a finger at his entrance, slow and easing its way in. Dennis groans, eyes closing as his back arches up.
“Relax,” Robby shushes, “Come on, Whitaker. Show me how good you listen.”
“No—“
Dennis’ voice gets stopped short by a quick, muffled gasp. Robby’s hand, removing itself from Dennis’ cock, clamps down onto his mouth instead.
Robby eases his finger in and out like it’s nothing. Dennis is so open already and it makes Robby groan. He adds another and Dennis cries out into the older man’s palm.
“Look at that.” Robby whistles lowly. His fingers quirk as he picks up their pace. “You want another? Huh?”
Dennis shakes his head. He wants to say he’s ready. He wants to beg for Robby, all of him. But the hand over his mouth is tight and mean and Robby laughs above him. It makes Dennis whine, pushing his hips onto Robby’s hand desperately.
Robby, feeling merciful, gently pulls his fingers out. His hand finally comes from Dennis’ mouth only to replace it with his own, moaning when Dennis welcomes him instantly.
“Ready?” Robby mumbles into their kiss, pulling back to kiss along Dennis’ face, down his neck.
“Yes.” Dennis says impatiently, “Fuck, please.”
Robby’s hands settle on his hips and it takes all of two seconds for Dennis to feel Robby against his entrance, wet and hot.
“Robby.” Dennis breathes out, reaching for him. Suddenly desperate for the weight of him, his presence. Robby obeys immediately, bending forward. His elbow planted on the mattress beside Dennis’ head. Their lips connect, deep and warm. Then, Robby slides in.
The feeling is maddening. Both of them moan into each other’s mouth. Dennis grapples for Robby’s shoulders, digging nails into flesh when his hips drag slow.
“God,” Dennis moans, “Feels so… Yes.”
Robby nods, head dropping to Dennis collar bone. His hips pick up their pace, knocking the breath out of Dennis, who moans loudly into Robby’s ear. Suddenly, that hand is back over his mouth, squeezing his jaw a little too hard—Dennis loves it. Craves it.
“Huh?” Robby pants and it’s teasing, mean, it makes Dennis groan into Robby’s palm, back arching against the mattress. He thinks of what Robby said earlier; I can’t believe you like this. It makes his skin tingle.
“Was this all you needed, Whitaker?”
Dennis nods, looking up at Robby—eyes wide and watery. Robby and his words, his ways to humiliate. To be mean. It makes him want to cry and he knows Robby would love it. He'd probably make Dennis cry just for fun, just to see it. Just to wipe at the tears and tease him for it and build him back up.
Robby pulls back and in. He takes his hand from Dennis’ mouth to cage either side of his head and they kiss. It’s all tongue and wet and overwhelming, barely a kiss. Robby’s teeth dig into Dennis’ lip and he gasps at the pain.
A hand finds Dennis’ hair and then his face, his jaw. Robby’s hips snap into another brutal pace and Dennis moans, grabbing onto Robby’s shoulder, his wrist. Anything to keep him as close as he is—maybe closer. Maybe, Dennis can figure out a way to keep Robby in him, sharing bones and skin and organs. Melted into one, like fusing metal with metal.
“Look..” Robby pants, nose brushing Dennis’. “Look at you..”
Dennis nearly whines, embarrassed. The hand around his jaw tightens and angles Dennis’ head to the side, letting Robby attack skin.
“Robby—“ Dennis chokes out, hands scrambling to the mans’ hair, pulling and tugging and trying to do everything but speak.
“Mm?” Robby moans against Dennis’ neck, hips slowing. Dennis didn’t even have to ask. It’s like they become in tune with one another, through touch alone. Sharing the same emotions, the same thoughts.
“I can’t..” Dennis pants. His head shakes as much as it can in Robby’s grip. Robby’s thumb is near bruising against his jugular. It slips down, where it needs to be. Robby squeezes and Dennis’ lips part in a soundless moan.
He picks up the pace—just to torture. It makes Dennis spasm, squeezing around Robby who groans at the action, lifting his head from Dennis’ collarbone to watch him. He’s being mean, Dennis wants to tell him. Robby is being mean and cocky and Dennis wants to tell him he likes it. He wants more of this all of the time. He wants strong hands on his neck and humiliating words and teasing and being dragged this way and that way.
He wants to feel it outside of here—outside of Robby’s lonely apartment. During the day, at work. He wants eyes staring and shame and giddiness. It’s sick and twisted and he wants it. He wants anything. He’ll take anything if it means he won’t have to shoulder it.
Dennis wants brutality to contrast the isolation, the emptiness that never fills. Not since leaving home. That never ending void and overwhelming static.
Robby’s hand finally unleashes his throat. Dennis gasps for air, hands grasping around Robby’s arm.
“Hey,” Robby breathes out. His hips slow to a grind, deep and near blinding. Dennis makes a rough, desperate sound. Strained and weak. “Still with me?”
Dennis nods, body going hot. “Yeah, yes—” he whispers, nodding. “I—oh, fuck—“
“I know,” Robby grunts, nodding. “I hear you, baby. I got you.”
Robby pauses, lifting himself onto his knees, sitting up fully to look down at Dennis. Now he really looks like a god and Dennis is fully at his mercy. His hand travels, wrapping around Dennis’ cock. It’s too warm. Robby’s hips are deep now, purposeful, as he continues his movement. His hand is working in tandem and Dennis can’t think. That’s what he wants—silence.
Robby’s other hand returns to Dennis’ throat. He doesn’t apply full pressure, just enough to give Dennis that spin, that dizziness, just enough to let him breathe.
Everything goes mute, blissful.
“Yes, fuck, that’s it.” Robby hisses, watching in awe as Dennis comes across his hand, hips jerking weakly to chase the feeling. Robby pushes in and out, once, twice, before his own orgasm crashes in. His body pivots forward, crowding Dennis and letting his weight pin him down. His head drops against Dennis’ chest, breathing too heavily against pale skin.
“So fucking good.” Robby whispers, lips kissing wherever he can. “Always are..”
Dennis has to remember to breathe, inhaling slowly and exhaling just as slow. His eyes are closed. All he can think of is Robby, all he can feel, smell. His hands search for whatever part of the man he can touch, strong shoulders. He feels hair and keeps his hands there, curling into the roots.
Something presses to his lips and he parts them without thinking—he doesn’t need to think. Not when Robby can do it for him.
Fingers press to Dennis’ tongue and he moans weakly around them, tasting himself. Robby makes a low, satisfied hum that shakes Dennis beneath him.
“Fuck, look at that.” Robby whispers, voice rough and strained with exhaustion. “Good job, baby.”
Dennis nods, eyes still closed, sucking Robby’s fingers clean. There’s no rush now, not with both of them spent and tired. Robby pulls his hands away, much to Dennis’ disappointment. With a groan, he gently pulls out of Dennis and climbs from the bed.
Dennis rolls over onto his stomach, breathing in the scent of Robby’s sheets, burying his face into the pillows. He’s drifting off when he feels Robby’s hand at his lower back, then, something warm and wet wiping across his thighs, his entrance. Robby even rolls him over to clean his stomach and it makes Dennis smile, laughing a little.
“What?” Robby muses, his lips twisting into a smile of his own. The rag is tossed somewhere and Dennis feels lips on his spine, his shoulder blades.
“Nothin’,” Dennis mumbles, eyes closing. He’s exhausted. It’s late. “You’re funny.”
“I’m funny?” Robby snorts. His beard tickles Dennis’ back. “Who are you and what have you done with Whitaker?”
Dennis bites his lip, turning onto his side, facing Robby on the bed. Robby’s hand finds Dennis’ hair instantly, smoothing it down, nails scratching against scalp. Dennis hums, eyes closing.
“You okay?” Dennis mumbles, words a little slurred. His hand reaches out blindly, resting against Robby’s chest.
“Always okay.” Robby says, taking Dennis’ hand. Lips kiss the tips of his fingers. “Are you okay?”
“Always okay.” Dennis copies, opening his eyes to grin up at Robby. “Yes,” he says normally, “I am now.”
“You sure?” Robby tugs at Dennis’ ear. “I don’t want to have to pick you up off the floor on Friday.”
Dennis can’t promise that and Robby knows it. Neither of them can promise much except the urge to always crawl back. It’s almost impossible to prevent. An itch.
Dennis shrugs a shoulder, avoiding Robby’s eyes. He drops his hand back to the man's chest, catching that familiar gold necklace between his fingers, curling around it. It’s cold, somehow, despite everything they’ve done.
Dennis thinks of his silver cross, the one laying forgotten on his nightstand.
“My dad is sick.” He confesses quietly. The hand in his hair pauses. Dennis twirls the pendant between his fingers, presses into the points of the star. It stings. “Started a year ago. Dementia."
Robby is quiet but his hand continues.
“We never… uh..” Dennis swallows. His throat feels dry. It hurts—not the good kind. “We never had a good relationship. He was, um…” Dennis’ eyes squeeze shut, like the memory is too much. It is. It feels like he’s back there. He turns onto his back, fingers falling away from Robby, Robby’s hand falling from him. He pinches the bridge of his nose.
“He was a fucking asshole.” Dennis says, pained. His hand falls away, strewn across the mattress. He looks up at the ceiling. “My mom was the only one who stood up for me and even then, it was never enough. All he did was drink and yell and…”
He shakes his head. “My brothers want me to be there. They think I can take better care of him but I… I can’t… I really can’t—“
“Hey,” Robby shushes, pulling Dennis into him again, holding him close to his chest. His lips find Dennis’ hair, kissing into it. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” Dennis says, voice shaky. “But not for him. I just… I miss home. I miss my…” His eyes burn, bottom lip trembling. “I miss my mom—Fuck.”
“That isn’t an easy task.” Robby says. His voice is so gentle, so open. It makes Dennis’ breathing shudder, coming out in bursts. “It’s every day. It’s non-stop, thankless.”
“Sounds like something else I know.” Dennis attempts to joke. He thinks of PTMC, his heels that ache and the dull pain of his lower back. The repairing of skin and bones and bringing hearts back to rhythm just to move onto the next and do it all again. Rinse, repeat. Of course he knows the burden of it.
“It’s different.” Robby disagrees, shaking his head. His thumb brushes Dennis’ ear, tugging absentmindedly on the skin. “When it’s family, it’s different. It almost hurts more. There’s no days off—you’re like one of the machines. Just there to keep them upright until the time comes.”
Dennis frowns. He lifts his head slightly to look up at Robby. From their positions, he can’t see much. Just Robby staring off across the room, his brows tugged together.
“Robby?” Dennis says gently, finger hooking into that chain again. “Are you okay?”
Robby blinks very quickly a few times, short bursts of it, like fighting off tears. Dennis’ brows furrow and before he can reach up, Robby pulls him closer, if it were even possible. And, Dennis, for once, doesn’t mind the sweetness of this moment. He needs it, he thinks. For once, he needs this. Maybe he always has.
Maybe, Robby has too. His silence, his strangely comforting and empathetic advice—like he’s been there. Maybe the branches he extends to Dennis won't wither away after use. Maybe this time, Dennis can climb toward something larger. Something bigger than the both of them.
It scares him, feeling this. He’s gotten so used to avoidance and pushing down that being put into a space as kind and warm as Robby’s embrace—it's suffocating.
Dennis sniffs, pulling away a little, creating some space. Just enough to breathe. He wants to forget the sting of his familial bonds and instead hash open something heavier—bleed himself out and dry. Why not? He thinks, licking his lips. We’re gotten this far…
“Do you.. Do you feel—Fuck, I’m so bad at this.” Dennis laughs, turning his head into the pillows. Maybe he can suffocate himself, the thought makes him cringe yet he keeps himself there.
That hand is in his hair again, at the nape of his neck. Long, strong fingers threading through. Nails drag against skin, down to his shoulder blades, following his spine. Robby is so good at this, so good at tuning into Dennis’ body.
“I really hate to ask this because it's so cheesy but, uh…” Dennis huffs, turning back to Robby, peeking up at him timidly. “What are we? I mean—“ Dennis bites his lip when Robby’s hand stops, “What are we doing?”
Robby stares, his brows are furrowed now, lips pulled into a sort of frown. “We have sex?”
Dennis blinks. He feels nauseous, all of a sudden. Something in his gut swings low and his mouth waters. He feels an intense amount of shame—Right. Of course that’s all it is. Dennis clears his throat and goes to sit up. Robby’s hand falls away entirely, thudding into the heat that Dennis’ body had left behind.
“Yeah.” Dennis nods. The sheets around him fall low across his hips and in his movement, they do the same with Robby, who leans up on his elbow. “I just mean—“
”Whitaker.” Robby’s tone makes Dennis pause, eyes cutting to him quickly. His heart is pounding, going so fast Dennis starts to fear, in the back of his mind, that Robby will have to take him to PTMC. He can already feel the soreness of muscle and skin from the AFIB. “Why are you asking this?”
He doesn’t know. Maybe, it was due to opening up about his mother. The stream of it all creates a leak—not a flood, but a leak. The intimacy of confiding cracking at the intimacy of another body.
They don’t usually shy from communication but it's always muted. Most of their conversation is of work, Dennis’ schooling and that’s it. The rest, Dennis usually finds, is pre-occupied. And, although some may disagree, Robby is kind. He’s guiding and a pillar to not just Dennis, but to all of those who work under and with him. Robby is a beacon for many and especially for Dennis.
It’s only right that Dennis questions what the other man thinks of him, of this strange, non-verbal relationship.
“Humor me.” Dennis replies instead, pushing a finger to his teeth, enamel digging into a cuticle. A nervous habit he developed in school—he hasn’t done it since graduation.
Robby looks at Dennis and sighs. “Well,” Robby’s hand reaches, pinching at Dennis’ exposed hip. It makes the man jerk, hand falling from his mouth. “We have sex—“
”Yes. I happen to be there for that.” Dennis rolls his eyes.
“We have sex,” Robby continues, giving Dennis a pointed look. “We work together. We don’t see each other outside of this and work.” He raises a hand, motioning around the room. “What do you want me to say?”
Say you want more, Dennis thinks desperately and it doesn’t sound like him. Commitment and a future. It sounds like a version of him that has latched onto Robby, the only consistent thing in his life, besides work and Trinity—it refused to let go. It’s given Dennis delusion and hope despite the fact that he knows Robby. Robby is fine with on-and-off. Robby is old enough to do whatever he wants with whoever he wants and that whoever happens to be one of his residents down the line of other, past residents—which should disturb Dennis, but it doesn’t.
“How long have we been doing this?” Dennis asks instead, curling a part of the sheets around his fingers.
Robby scratches at his beard. “A few months.”
“How long do you normally do this?” Dennis asks, eyes lifting to look at Robby slowly. There’s an accusation behind the question and it comes out a little more hostile than Dennis intended. He can’t help it. Am I different? He wants to really ask. Am I something for you? Am I worth it enough? Can I be? If not, why do we keep it up?
Dennis doesn’t remember a conversation being had. He remembers too much to drink and hands and lips and it's been that for so long that the seasons have changed around it and he still doesn’t know.
Robby doesn’t look away from him. His eyes are unreadable, but Dennis gets a sense of amusement, or annoyance. He can’t decipher it, really. It makes him nervous again.
“What do you mean by that?” Robby returns instead of answering.
Dennis’ brow furrows. “You know what I mean.”
Robby laughs a little, but it doesn’t sound amused. It sounds a little guarded and haughty, like he can’t believe what Dennis is saying. Or he’s impressed by the fire Dennis is laying out. Either way, Dennis can see those walls, or the decision to build them up. Bouncing between the draw bridge and retreat, or the acceptance of defeat.
“Not long.” Robby confesses, which takes Dennis by surprise. He wasn’t expecting a real answer. He was expecting Robby to get out of bed and hide in the shower until Dennis takes the hint and leaves. He was expecting short greetings at work, being sent to triage—like Langdon. The thought strikes more fear in his heart. He realizes, as his mind whirs and possibility after possibility floods through, that Robby is undeniably cruel, yet never to Dennis.
Not in the way Dennis fears—or wants.
His lips part, then close. “Not like this?” Dennis asks, motioning between them.
Robby shakes his head.
“Then, why…” Dennis sighs, rubs a hand over his face. “Why am I…Why with me?”
Robby is quiet for a little. His hand, the one not holding him up, drifts a little to brush Dennis’ thigh. It’s light and tickles, it makes Dennis shiver.
“Have you seen yourself?” Robby asks, a little breathless, Dennis feels close to that himself. It makes him blush. Robby’s hand flattens, squeezing soft skin. “I don’t know why it's you. I’ve asked myself the same question when this started—Before it started.” He corrects.
Robby’s eyes won’t meet Dennis, that red blush still creeping in.
Dennis’ lips twitch, smiling slightly. He tilts his head. “Before?”
Robby sighs, like he’d rather not talk about this. Dennis, in the warm lamp-light of the room, can see Robby blush. “Right before you graduated. When you completed your rounds I just… I think I realized it then. I needed you, even then. Maybe a little before that.”
Dennis feels dizzy. He’s never heard this level of honesty from Robby. Not entirely. It’s new territory for the both of them, their footing is uneven. Robby’s hand smoothes down, under the sheets, grazing Dennis’ knee, his shin, then back up. It’s a little distracting, but not enough to deter the way Dennis gets a little giddy. His smile turns into a grin.
“You liked me that long?” He purrs, sinking back onto his side, matching Robby and propping himself up onto his elbow. He watches Robby’s face, his neck, turn a beautiful shade of red. It’s adorable.
“Liked is a strong word.” Robby attempts, waving a hand in an attempt to be nonchalant.
“You wanted to fuck me.” Dennis deadpans with a roll of his eyes, “I wasn’t even a graduate yet—Dirty.” Dennis teases, laughing when Robby reaches out, flicking his nose. ”You liked me.” Dennis repeats, voice bubbly and a little too happy, like he can barely contain himself.
Robby has a smile of his own now. “Yeah.” He relents.
”You like me now.” Dennis says.
“If you say so.”
Dennnis scoffs, pushing at Robby’s shoulder. Robby’s elbow slips, his back hitting the mattress just in time for Dennis to climb onto him, knees on either side of the older mans’ hips. Robby looks up, amused. His hands settle on Dennis’ thighs.
“What about you?” Robby asks. His hands won’t stop moving. It’s distracting. Robby’s hands on Dennis usually are. They slide up Dennis’ stomach, as far as they can on his chest, back down. It makes Dennis bite on his lip.
“Me?” Dennis asks dumbly, breathing unevenly now. Robby’s hands are back on his hips and have started to move them. It's a barely there motion, just enough for friction. Dennis, however, has to steady himself with his hands against Robby’s chest, his stomach dropping with pleasure.
Robby hums, something mischievous and burning in his eyes as he watches Dennis. “When did it start for you?” Robby elaborates, his left hand moves Dennis a little faster now, grinding him against Robby’s hardening cock. His right hand takes more liberty to explore. His fingers find Dennis’ nipple, pressing into it, rolling. Dennis nearly doubles over, like a blow to the gut. A strained gasp leaves his lips.
“Jesus, Robby— I don’t fucking know.” Dennis curses, head dropping, eyes squeezing tight. The hand on his chest falls to his cock, wrapping around it with ease. Dennis shakes his head, trying to get his brain to work with his mouth. “Shit—The.. The PittFest.” He forces out, “It was then.”
Robby hums, his hand is slow and methodical around Dennis. He even slows Dennis’ hips into a deep, easy grind.
“So, what?” Robby begins, “Does me having a nervous breakdown turn you on?”
Dennis, despite himself, laughs. His eyes open, meeting Robby’s own grin. “Maybe.” Dennis shrugs, “Ah—I don’t…don’t see you cry enough. Maybe you can do… Shit…do it sometime?”
Robby snorts. His thumb presses into Dennis’ slit and it makes his hips jerk, a startled moan leaving him. “I’m serious,” Robby shifts his hips up and pushes Dennis down against him harder. It’s a little too much for them both. “Why then?”
Dennis can’t even think. He wants to say that. He does—“I can’t… I cannot think right now.” He groans, head hanging low as his hips grind into Robby’s hand.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No.” Dennis gasps, head lifting quickly, eyes wide.
Robby’s lips crack into a mean grin and it drives Dennis crazy. “Tell me, then.”
Dennis groans, head tilting back toward the ceiling. “I…” Robby forces his hips to go faster and it makes Dennis moan, doubling over to brace his hands on either side of Robby’s head. “Fuck—oh my god. This is not fair.”
Robby laughs, his own hips lifting to meet Dennis’ grinding. He’s breathing just as bad as Dennis, eyes half-lidded as he stares up at the younger man. Dennis loves it, he loves seeing Robby like this just as much as he loves watching Robby in the ER. Professional, serious, attentive and charismatic.
“Come on, Whitaker.” Robby muses, “What happened to that mouth of yours?”
Dennis huffs, cheeks reddening. “I…First time I’ve ever…ever seen you so honest.”
The confession comes with a realization that being let in was enough. It always had been and yet Dennis spent so much of their time together pushing it away. It makes his hips stutter, eyes meeting Robby’s. “I… you were so scared and I…I just wanted to help you. I still—“ He sucks in a breath, Robby’s hand tightens around him, moves a little harder. His hips jerking up to seek more from Dennis, close and getting Dennis closer.
“Oh my god.” Dennis gasps, head dropping to Robby’s, their noses brush a little too harshly, practically colliding into one another.
“Mhm,” Robby nods, nudging Dennis’ cheek, finding his mouth and connecting their lips into an open kiss. It’s slower, deeper. It feels different, somehow. Different from all the ones before. “Still what, honey?”
The pet name makes Dennis cross a sound between a moan and a whine, eyes squeezing shut. “Still want to.” Dennis gasps, panting against Robby’s cheek. “Still want to help… want… want to be with you—Sh.. Shit, Robby. I’m—“
“Me too.” Robby nods, grunting. His hand works faster around Dennis while the other leaves Dennis’ hip to curl into Dennis’ hair and bring their lips back together. It's a kiss much like the one before. Deeper, slower. There’s no rush or desperation. It feels sweet and, much to Dennis’ surprise, like love. Or something close to it.
Robby breaks it with a groan. Dennis feels him tense, muscles going tight. Then, wet and hot spilling under Dennis, coating across his ass and thighs. Dennis shakes, head dropping onto Robby’s shoulder as his own orgasm soon follows. He moans loudly against Robby’s skin, teeth digging into it at one point, making Robby hiss at the sharp pain.
Dennis collapses onto Robby, both of them breathing against one another. Robby’s hand, the one not messy with Dennis’ cum, finds his hair. It makes Dennis smile, lips pressing against Robby’s skin, an apology for the bite.
“I want to be with you too.” Robby whispers, lips pressed into Dennis’ temple.
Dennis lifts his head, looking down at Robby with wide eyes. “What?”
“I said—“
“Shut up.” Dennis shakes his head, crashing his lips against Robby’s fast and heavy. Their teeth click from the impact and Robby grunts, surprised. Dennis doesn’t let up, though, grinning into it. He could devour Robby if the older man would let him—he probably would, and happily too.
The rest of the night feels much like normal, except Dennis lets himself touch. He lets himself lean into the warmth of Robby. They watch TV, not a rarity, but, again, it feels different. It feels different in the way Dennis has his feet in Robby’s lap as they share a bowl of ice cream—Strawberry. It isn’t Dennis’ favorite flavor, so Robby eats most of it. They talk about ice cream flavors and Dennis’ childhood, his mother—they talk about things Dennis hasn't even shared with Trinity.
It’s strange, and the shift should feel harder—he thinks. It should feel like hurtling toward asphalt. It should hurt and shatter everything functioning within him. But it doesn’t.
They laugh a lot and Dennis doesn’t cry talking about his family, another first. He asks if Robby has baby pictures—all of his are back in Nebraska. Robby tells him he isn’t sure, he’ll have to dig them up.
“It all sort of died down with bubbe.” Robby says, thumb rolling across Dennis’ ankle. The television has lulled to background noise at this point and it's barely registered, still, Robby’s eyes drift to it occasionally.
“Bubbe?” Dennis questions, tilting his head.
“My grandmother. She was big on memories and preservation.” Robby waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t know where it all went.”
Dennis frowns a little. “Your parents wouldn’t know?”
Robby smiles at him lazily. “They passed long before that.”
“Oh,” Dennis blinks. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright, you didn’t know.” His hand squeezes Dennis’ ankle. “She was a good woman.” Robby nods. He looks a little sad now, though muted. An old wound with a rough scar, too much tissue built up to really hurt again. It’s phantom, if anything. Dennis understands.
“Maybe we can look together.” Dennis suggests, foot nudging into Robby’s stomach. “If you want help?”
Robby’s smile trips into something warm—devotion. He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be great.”
“Okay.” Dennis says softly. Smiling back, shy.
He thinks of little Robby on grainy film from the 70s. He imagines red wagons and Robby dressed in overalls. He pictures Robby with a missing tooth, holding up a quarter. It makes his heart melt, dripping like wax through ribs and lungs and sealing off any exit.
“What about tomorrow?” Robby says after a beat.
Dennis’ brows lift. He had thought Robby would take him up on it eventually. Not now. Still, Dennis stutters out a response; “Y-yeah. Yeah, we can do that. I’ll just have to go back home and change and—“
“You don’t have to.” Robby says. “We’re going to my old place. You can dig through my stuff.”
Dennis pauses. He sits up, the actions take his legs from Robby’s lap as he crosses them. “Your old place?”
“Yeah,” Robby says, shrugging. “Bubbe’s.”
“Bubbe’s.” Dennis parrots, “As in.. you own that house now?”
Robby gives him an odd look. “Yes…” He says slowly, “I own that house.”
Dennis feels a very strong urge to drop to his knees and thank God for, hopefully, putting Michael Robinavitch in his path. “Do you know how hard it is to get an apartment?” Dennis gapes, “You’re so lucky.”
“I’m lucky my grandmother died?” Robby teases, raising a brow.
Dennis groans, “Not what I meant.” Dennis relaxes against the back cushions of the sofa beside Robby. His knee pressing into the older man’s thigh. “How come you stay here?”
Why are you so alone?
Robby sighs, finding Dennis’ thigh under the light of the television. His fingers dig under Dennis’ boxers, finding the meat of the muscle and squeezing. “It’s uh… too big. Too much space and too little of me.”
Dennis nods. He settles his hand over Robby’s pulling it away to press his lips to the man' s knuckles. Soft, gentle. Robby breathes out, like he was craving Dennis’ touch before he even knew—like Dennis had felt it somewhere deep down.
“I felt like that in Nebraska.” Dennis says, threading their fingers together. “So many brothers and so little of me. It felt easy to slip through the cracks—spent a lot of time outside. No one bothered me there, except for mosquitoes.”
It’s a poor attempt to make Robby laugh, but it works. Dennis smiles. “Never tried roommates?”
Robby gives him a snort. “Been told I’m a 7-week itch, kinda guy. No, no roommates.”
Dennis tilts his head. “It’s been a little more than 7 weeks.” He points out and only then does he realize how it sounds. “Not…not that I’m, like, suggesting or anything—“
“Suggesting what?” Robby asks innocently.
Dennis’ face reddens. Eyes widening. “Nothing.” He breathes out, shaking his head dismissively. “Forget it. Tomorrow sounds great.” He forces himself to relax, “I want to see where the great Dr. Michael Robinavitch grew up.”
Robby pulls a face. “It’s not that special.”
It is to me, Dennis wants to say. His lips twitch, but he chooses against it. Instead, he leans over, shoving himself into Robby’s chest, curling into the man’s side.
“Would you go to Nebraska?” Dennis asks, skimming a hand over Robby’s forearm.
“Sure.” Robby says, nose brushing the top of Dennis’ head, lips pressing against hair. “Curious to see how different farm boy living is.”
Dennis laughs. He wonders how it would look, showing up with a stranger—the stranger being his boss, his boss being his…Boyfriend? Is that what they are now? Dennis has a feeling he shouldn’t ask. It’s too late for that, anyway. The digital clock on Robby’s ancient DVD player reads 4:27 AM. The green light is so faint, it’s barely readable.
“We should go to bed.” Dennis sighs. Robby grunts, arm around Dennis tugging him closer. It takes a convincing kiss to get Robby moving and back into bed. He’s fast asleep by the time Dennis climbs in, pressing into Robby’s side until the man, in a sleepy daze, throws an arm around Dennis’ middle and shoves his face into Dennis’neck.
Dennis has stayed the night plenty of times before, and Robby is no stranger to cuddling. But, again, this one is different. This is seeking Dennis out, keeping him close. Like an aid. Dennis drifts to sleep and when he dreams– it's home.
He doesn’t know if it's because of the day he had—unwelcome memories flooding in. Or maybe his discussions with Robby. Still, she was there—his mother. She’s younger, like the picture he has of her on his nightstand. Her hair is wild and wind stricken, from horse riding, she says and Dennis realizes, even in his sleep, that he’s already forgotten her voice. It comes to his ears a little differently each time, like running through the pitch scale or scanning through radio stations. She smiles at him and nods her head to the side. When Dennis turns, he sees Robby.
He looks younger too, only a little. His hair is fuller, face a little sharper. Still, Dennis knows it's him. He’s leaning against a corral fence, squinting past the sun.
“He’s a looker.” His mother says and it makes him laugh. She always says that it doesn’t matter who or what. You could be a prized stallion or the waiter at Marie’s Diner in town—if you pleased her eye, you were a looker. It makes Dennis’ heart fill a little. He misses her again, suddenly. His mother yells something that he can’t quite hear, brain fuzzing it out.
Then, he’s in his mother’s pick-up. The engine is loud and nasty. It sounds congested with something and it has as far as Dennis can remember. His mother would drive around with him and his brothers during the summer—windows down with Janis Joplin and Dixie Chicks CDs consistently shoved into the beat up player in a futile effort to drown out the noise.
He expects to look over and see her exactly as he remembers. Cigarette in her lips and stained with lipstick. She’ll have her sunglasses on—scratched, dirty aviators that were far too big. They were his uncles, the one who died long before Dennis was born.
His uncle was nineteen when he was shipped out, his mom was sixteen when they got the news. All Dennis ever heard about his uncle was how alike they looked, acted. It was fitting, his mother would say, and only right, that Dennis was named after him.
He expects to see all of that. Feel all of it flood back. But, when he looks over, he doesn’t see his mother.
He sees Robby.
It’s his Robby, now. Older, familiar. His hair is hidden by a baseball cap that Dennis can’t see the logo of. He has a toothpick in his mouth, a coat on. He looks different, good-different.
He looks like Nebraska. He looks like home.
“What?” He hears himself shout over the rattle of the truck. He wants to hear Robby, he feels like it's important. He blurrily remembers his mother, her shout from earlier. He wishes he could have heard her then, too.
Robby turns to look at him, grinning so wide that the toothpick shifts. “I said, I love you!”