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“Huckleberry!” Trinity called from the bathroom. She was leaning close to the mirror, applying mascara. “Have you picked an outfit yet?”
Dennis sighed, staring down at the clothes strewn out over his bed. After weeks of begging, Trinity had finally worn him down and convinced him to go out with her and Garcia. He had never been much of a partier, even in his undergrad years. As a theology major, it was frowned upon to be going out and getting drunk, not to mention the fact that he was a closeted gay man trying to maintain the facade of heterosexuality. Like how young queer kids had a fear of getting laughing gas at the dentist, Dennis had this visceral fear of getting drunk and letting something slip.
Thankfully, now that he was living in Pittsburgh and far, far away from his family and anyone who knew them, he'd slowly started to poke his head out of that oppressive closet.
It'd started with Trinity. He hadn't exactly come out to her, but one night they were watching a movie together on the couch, fighting for handfuls of popcorn, and she just asked outright: “So, what's your type in men?”
Dennis had choked on a popcorn kernel, earning a vaguely disgusted look from the woman next to him as he coughed it up.
“Excuse me?” he croaked, eyes watering - and not just from the near death experience. His heart was beating fast in his chest.
“Damn, Huckleberry, just trying to get to know you better,” Trinity laughed, raising an eyebrow.
“But why did-” His breathing picked up. “Why did you ask about- about men?”
Her other eyebrow shot up, a look of surprise taking over her face. “I… you… you are gay, right?”
He felt like he was going to throw up. “Who- who told you that?”
The pure panic racing through his veins was all-encompassing. Who found out? He'd been so careful, so excruciatingly aware of everything he did, every interaction he had. He'd been so careful.
“No one told me. Are you okay?” Trinity fully turned to face him, looking concerned.
“If no one told you, then why do you think I’m gay?” he asked, tone accusatory. “What makes you think that?”
She raised her hands like she was being faced with a feral animal, voice gentle and calming. “I'm a lesbian, Dennis. I’ve got a really good gaydar. That's all it is.”
He started replaying every moment between them, trying to pinpoint anything that could have given him away. What if someone else had noticed? What if Dr. Robby had figured it out? What if he noticed the way Dennis’ eyes lingered a little too long on his hands while he worked, or the way he gravitated towards him during a trauma, looking forward to the next time the man would grip his shoulders and tell him he'd done a good job? What if he thought Dennis was a freak, a pervert, a-
“I'm sorry if I was wrong - I didn't mean to assume-”
“You're not,” he interrupted, voice cracking. “Wrong. You're not.”
He broke down into tears, and Trinity hugged him, pulling him into her arms and holding him as he cried and cried and cried. He told her about his hometown and his family and how he'd grown up hearing that people like him were what was wrong with this country, that people like him were deviants who preyed upon children and tried to brainwash them. He talked about how he'd gone to bed every night and prayed, asking God to take these feelings away from him, to cure him of this affliction and let him be normal.
Trinity opened up about her own struggles with growing up a lesbian in a Catholic Filipino family. They bonded over the feelings of disappointing your parents, the expectations they placed upon you from the moment you were conceptualized - marriage, grandchildren, everything that you were supposed to want.
She confessed that the only reason she had so readily allowed Dennis to move in with her, despite barely knowing him and having a deep-seated distrust of men, was because she had ‘felt his kindred queer spirit’ and had just known in her soul that he was a safe person.
“What if I actually was straight? Would you be evicting me right now?” he joked, wiping tears from his eyes.
She shoved his shoulder playfully. “You're an idiot.”
After a moment of comfortable silence, she spoke up again. “Okay, really: what is your type in men, and why is it Dr. Robby?”
“Santos!”
They ended up falling asleep curled together on the couch, movie credits rolling in the background and popcorn abandoned on the floor.
From that night, they'd been closer than ever - though they did have their moments. Working with someone and then coming home to that same person would make anyone go a little crazy. She especially hated his lack of personal space, now that he was comfortable with her. Sometimes he'd hover behind her at a computer at work, his breath tickling the back of her neck, and she'd send him a withering glare until he stepped back.
Overall, though, their relationship was thriving. Dennis finally felt like he had someone in his corner, someone he could be completely honest with and not have to worry about being judged or excommunicated.
She was kinda like an annoying older sister, though.
The door creaked open and Trinity poked her head in.
“Dude, what gives?” she asked, looking down at his blue jeans and plain t-shirt. “We're going to a gay bar, not a family barbecue.”
He groaned, rubbing his eyes. “I don't have anything else. You realize I don't go out, right? I go to work, I study, I go home. In what world would I have ‘going out’ clothes?”
“The world where you live with a hot queer woman who needs her twunk to come with her for emotional support as she dances with her inappropriate workplace HR violation who is still refusing to label their relationship.”
“What is a 'twunk’?” he asked, nose crinkling.
Trinity stalked forward and poked at his bicep. “That is what you are, my sweet Huckleberry. Now come on, let's find something that shows off these farmboy muscles. Trust me, you'll thank me later - I have it on good authority that the crowd tonight might be your type.” She winked.
“Trin, you know I’m not interested in dating right now.”
She snorted. “Yeah, because you're in love with your own HR violation.”
His face flushed, and he pointed a finger at her. “I am not in love with Dr. Robby.”
She tilted her head, brows creased in fake confusion. “Who said Dr. Robby?”
He sighed, covering his face with his hands. “I'm not in love with him.”
“Our walls are very thin, Huckleberry. It's important to me that you know that.”
“Oh trust me, I know.” Once her words registered, his face got even redder. “Fuck.” He pointed again. “You haven't heard anything.”
She cackled. “Oh, honey, I’ve heard way too much. ‘Oh, please, Dr. Robby, sir, touch me again-’”
He threw a shirt at her head, mortified. He'd have to start checking her location before doing anything.
Trinity gagged dramatically, picking the shirt off with the tips of her fingers. “Gross, cooties.”
“That's a clean shirt, idiot.” Dennis rolled his eyes.
She threw it back on the bed and clapped her hands, making him jump. “Ok. Here's what's going to happen. I am going to pick you an outfit from my closet, because I’m not going anywhere with you looking like a fucking Huckleberry.”
“Woah, wait a second,” he said, terror in his eyes. “What do you mean your closet?”
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The final fit was… something.
He wore a cropped black tank top lined with white lace, falling just above his belly button, showing off his, according to Trinity, ‘slutty, grabbable little waist.’
He turned in the mirror, checking out the different angles, and he had to admit, his arms looked really nice in this shirt. As a young man, he'd been pretty self conscious about how hairless his arms were, thinking it made him ‘less of a man’ and thus more 'visibly gay,’ but he'd grown to kind of like how soft it made him look, especially combined with the muscles he'd earned working on the farm. The juxtaposition of the soft feminine lace - complete with a little white bow - and his more 'masculine’ form made him feel… cute.
The shorts had been a battle. Trinity had spotted them in her drawer, and the devilish smile that spread across her face had nearly sent him running.
First he'd argued that he hadn't shaved his legs, so she disappeared into the bathroom and threw him a box of unopened razors. Then, he’d said he didn't have the right underwear to wear with something that short, so she offered for him to wear a pair of hers. That led to her convincing him to wear a thong, a dark red lacy number that peeked out of the waistband like a taunt.
Freshly showered and shaved smooth as a baby seal, he grumbled, trying to figure out how to position his newly hairless junk in the tiny pair of underwear. Once he figured it out, he stared at himself in the mirror, pulse thudding, feeling a lot of feelings he'd kept buried for years and years.
He heard the echo of sermons about ‘dirty crossdressers’ in the back of his mind and shook his head, looking away. He wasn't there. He was here, in Pittsburgh, where there were safe spaces where men could wear women’s clothing or perform in drag and it was okay. It was allowed.
He was allowed to be pretty.
The shorts were black denim cutoffs, a little cheeky in the back, with some tasteful decorative rips. He'd never worn something this short in his life, and the long expanse of pale thighs on display made him feel so exposed. He kind of liked it. He wondered what Robby would think if he saw him like this.
When he finally exited the bathroom, Trinity gasped, hand going to her mouth.
“Holy shit, Huckleberry, you're a fucking babe!”
He blushed, dipping his head. “Is it too much?”
“Not at all,” she said, coming over and spinning him around, humming appreciatively. “Your ass looks amazing in those, great choice.” She patted herself on the back, and he snorted.
“Do you want me to put a little eyeliner on you? Some mascara? Combined with your melancholic Victorian orphan eyes, you will be absolutely irresistible.”
If he was going to do it, he might as well go all in.
“Why not?”
After 15 minutes of struggling - “Ow! You’re scraping my eye!” “I'm not scraping your eye, idiot, I’m getting your waterline.” “Well it hurts!” “Stop wiggling, or I’m actually going to blind you!” - he was finally ready.
He was admiring her handiwork in the mirror when Trinity glanced at her phone, wincing. “Oh, shit, the Uber’s here. Hurry, hurry, hurry!”
He slipped on a borrowed pair of heeled chelsea boots and they rushed down the stairs as carefully as possible - the last thing Dennis needed was a broken ankle. He had a horrible vision of having to show up to the ED dressed like this. At least Robby was off shift right now.
When they arrived at the bar, Garcia was standing outside, waiting for them. She took in Trinity’s little black dress with a heated gaze, then dropped her jaw when she caught sight of Dennis behind her.
“Holy shit, white chocolate. I didn't know you had it in you.”
He shrugged, tugging at his shorts self consciously. “I didn't either.”
Garcia whispered something in Trinity’s ear, and Trinity got a mischievous grin on her face. “All according to plan.”
Dennis lifted a brow. “Well, that's not ominous.”
“Come on,” she said, ignoring him and grabbing his hand, dragging him towards the bouncer. “Get your ID out. It's time to get this night started.”
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Two shots in, and Dennis was giggling, letting Trinity spin him around on the dance floor.
For once in his life, he felt like he could just let go. He didn’t have to think about someone seeing him here, wearing women’s clothing and moving his body in suggestive ways, and worry about them going to tell his parents. He didn’t have the oppressive weight of small town gossip haunting his every move, his every word, his every thought. He was in Pittsburgh, a city of 300,000 people, and no one knew his name, or his family, or his pastor. They didn’t know his employer, or his teachers - they couldn’t ruin his future with a single phone call. He could let himself just be. He could figure out who Dennis Whitaker was beyond Broken Bow, beyond the Whitaker family name, beyond God.
He closed his eyes and moved his hips to the beat of some pop song with thumping, wall shaking bass. He felt the sweaty bodies around him, felt the energy of the room. He heard Trinity laugh, and he smiled at the pure joy in her voice as she shouted something to Garcia. He opened his eyes and saw Garcia holding his friend’s waist, whispering in her ear. The idea that queer folk could just express their desire and their love in public still sent shivers down his spine. He didn’t know if he could be so brave - not yet. But he wanted to be.
“Huckleberry!” Trinity yelled, breaking him out of his reverie. “Can you grab us more shots?”
She had a suspicious glint in her eye, and Garcia hid a smile in her dark hair, a hand caressing the other woman’s arm.
“I’m not your errand boy!” he scoffed, still moving to the beat.
Trinity knitted her brows together, pouting exaggeratedly. “Please, Huckleberry?”
“You can put them on my tab,” Garcia piped up, pulling Trinity closer and swaying.
Whitaker pursed his lips together, squinting at the two women. “I suppose…”
Trinity giggled and Garcia pulled her into a deep kiss, silencing her. Dennis awkwardly averted his eyes, standing there, fiddling with his hands.
“You gonna tell me what you want, or…”
The women were fully wrapped up in each other, in their own little world, and Dennis sighed, turning around and marching towards the bar. The stools were all filled with patrons, but he was able to squeeze into a small opening between two people.
“Hi, uh, excuse me?” He stuck a hand up, trying to catch the bartender’s attention. His voice felt soft and small in this loud bar.
The bartender was a tall woman, with dark brown hair and an impressive amount of piercings. She cracked open a bottle of beer and handed it over to someone before stepping over. “You got a tab?”
“Uh, yes, it's under-”
“Robinavitch.”
Dennis spun around with a gasp, eyes wide. Sitting at the bar, staring at him over the top of his whiskey tumbler, was his boss. At a gay bar.
“Dr. Robby,” Dennis stuttered, face heating.
Robby had on a sleek button up shirt - either a dark blue or black, it was hard to tell with the dim lighting. The sleeves were pulled up to his elbows, revealing toned forearms dusted with dark hair, so unlike Dennis’ own. The top three buttons of his shirt were undone, and Dennis found himself swallowing at the hint of chest hair peeking out.
He spared a quick glance down at his own outfit, feeling a spike of embarrassment and a hint of shame that just a few years out of Broken Bow couldn't train out of him. There he was, wearing a women’s top and the daintiest jean shorts he could reasonably fit into without having a major wardrobe malfunction, standing in front of his boss. The red thong peeking over the waistband was bright and obtrusive, unmissable.
Growing up, Dennis had been taught that red was a sinful color. It was the color of the blood inflicted upon Eve, the color of sexual promiscuity - can you believe she let her daughter wear that red lipstick? People will think she's turning tricks in the schoolyard! The red felt like a scarlet letter, marking Dennis, revealing to the world that he was wicked, depraved.
“Well?” Robby asked, glass lifting to his lips, brown eyes dark and burning. “Weren't you going to order something?”
The bartender was tapping a long manicured nail on the wooden bartop, visibly impatient.
Dennis blinked, flustered. “Right, sorry, um- three skrewball shots, please. Thank you.”
“Chilled?”
“Sure? I guess?” He didn't exactly know what that meant - his mind was preoccupied with holy shit Dr. Robby is here.
The bartender slapped her hand on the table, giving him a closed mouth smile and a thumbs up, going to grab the bottle.
Once she had left, Dennis took a deep breath and glanced back over at Robby. He felt his belly swoop when he realized the man was already looking at him.
Robby’s gaze was trailing down, taking him in, pausing for too long on the red fabric hugging Dennis’ hips. He felt like he was being looked at under a microscope - heat-fixed bacteria stuck to a slide, being inspected and analyzed.
What if Robby thought he was unprofessional? Would he still want Dennis working in his ED after seeing him like this? Would he still be able to trust him to make life or death decisions?
“You clean up nice, Dr. Whitaker,” the man drawled, taking a sip of amber liquid.
Dennis blushed, bringing his fingers up to tug at a blonde curl. “Oh, uh… thank you, sir. Santos, she, uh- she let me wear her clothes. I didn't really have anything, you know, other than, like, t-shirts and jeans, so…” He shrugged, shoulders raising self-consciously.
“I'm sure you could have rocked that look as well,” Robby joked, beautifully wrinkled eyes looking down at Dennis's collarbone, at the little silver cross resting in the hollow of the boy's throat.
Three shot glasses were slammed down, the peanut butter scented whiskey nearly sloshing over the sides. “There you go, kid.”
“Thank you!” he called to her retreating back, carefully pulling the glasses closer. Turning to Robby, he added, “And thank you, for buying. You really didn't have to. Garcia said to put it on her tab.”
Robby shrugged, taking another sip. “You guys having fun?”
Dennis looked over his shoulder at the dance floor and spotted Trinity and Garcia practically dry-humping. He turned back to Robby with a wry smile. “Well, they definitely are.”
Robby followed his gaze and snorted. “Damn, Garcia - no one's taking her from you.”
Dennis laughed, carefully collecting the glasses into his hands. “I should get these over to them before they come to hunt me down.”
“Wouldn't want that,” Robby said, smiling and swirling his drink. “Have fun, kid.”
At the nickname, Dennis dipped his head, biting the inside of his cheek. “You too, Dr. Robby.”
Robby raised his glass in salute, and Dennis could feel his burning stare follow him as he walked back over to Trinity and Garcia. He wondered if Robby was staring at his ass in these shorts. He really hoped Dr. Robby was staring at his ass in these shorts.
“I come bearing alcohol!” Dennis shouted over the music, getting their attention.
The two women’s lips parted and Trinity turned to face him, smiling wide.
“Why, thank you, Huckleberry,” she said, taking two of the glasses from him. Garcia was still kissing across her jaw, and she nudged her. “Drink, babe.”
As a group, they threw back their shots. Dennis winced, wiping his mouth. Skrewball tasted quite nice, actually, but the burn of alcohol was something he'd never get used to.
“So,” Trinity yelled, grabbing their glasses and dropping them on a random table. “See any familiar faces?”
Dennis froze, then groaned. “You knew he would be here. You knew there was a chance we'd run into our boss, and you still let me dress like this?”
“Well, yeah, duh.” Trinity rolled her eyes. “I thought if I made you look deliciously fuckable, he'd finally snap.”
“What do you mean?” he frowned, purposefully ignoring the 'deliciously fuckable’ descriptor. Would Robby really think he looked-
Trinity smirked, and Garcia barked out a laugh. “Come on, kid. You’ve gotta know the man has the hots for you.”
Dennis spluttered. “Excuse me?”
“It's pretty obvious,” she shrugged, sliding a hand up Trinity’s back. “I mean, have you noticed the way he touches you? I’m barely ever in the ED and even I’ve noticed.”
“You make it sound like he's groping me at work,” Dennis argued. “He's just, like, grabbing my shoulder. That's perfectly innocent.”
“He's staking a claim, baby doll. He's practically telling the whole ED, ‘hey, this one's mine, back off.’”
“What she said,” Trinity agreed, clapping him on the shoulder. “See, when I do it, I look like a dad giving their son a pep talk. When he does it, it looks like he wants to grab you and drag you into a supply closet and-”
“Okay!” Dennis covered his face, feeling it burn beneath his hands. “Okay, I get it. Jesus almighty.”
“Sooo…” Trinity said, dragging the word out and dropping her hand from his shoulder. “Did he like the outfit? I worked really hard on it.”
He peeked out from behind his fingers. “He said I, uh… ‘clean up well’?”
Garcia groaned. “Men are useless. Why do we always need to do all the work? Where is he?”
Dennis glanced over to where Robby had been, and frowned. “He's gone.”
His eyes searched the room, desperate to catch a glimpse of the older man, and let out a quiet sigh of relief when he spotted him.
Robby had migrated over to the corner, where a small sitting area lay situated behind a half wall. It offered a small semblance of privacy while still being open to the room. He sat in an armchair, eyes lazily moving across the room. Was he looking for Dennis?
Trinity suddenly grabbed his wrist and started dragging him in that direction.
“Wait, Trin, what are you-” Dennis panicked, trying to pull away.
“Hey, Dr. Robby, fancy seeing you here!” Trinity exclaimed, dropping Dennis’ arm and clapping her hands together loudly. “Do you mind watching my Huckleberry for a bit? I need to talk to Garcia about something, in private, if you catch my drift.” She winked.
Before either man could react, she was gone, vanishing into the crowd. Dennis stared after her, sighing.
“Sorry about that,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m completely fine, I’m sorry for bothering-”
There was an angry shout behind him, and Dennis whipped around. Two men were getting up in each other's faces, spouting some nonsense about looking at someone wrong, something inane and stupid and definitely fueled by too much alcohol and testosterone. Before he knew what was happening, someone was shoved, and like dominos, Dennis got knocked, sending him stumbling back. Losing his balance, he winced, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing for impact.
But instead of the hard, sticky bar floor, he landed on something soft and warm. Strong arms wrapped around his waist, steadying him.
“Woah, there, Whitaker. You okay?”
Dennis turned his head and looked directly into his boss’ eyes, faces mere inches apart, heart beating loudly in his chest. He was almost worried Robby would be able to hear it through his skin.
“Yeah,” he breathed, glancing down at Robby's mouth for a split second before his face flushed. “Dr. Robby- I- I am so sorry-”
He scrambled to get up out of the man’s lap, but the arms around his waist tightened, keeping him in place. What?
“Santos tasked me with keeping an eye on you, and look what happened.” One of Robby’s large hands came down to rest on Dennis’ bare thigh. “I think you might be safer right here.”
Dennis swallowed. “Right. I’ll just… for safety.”
“For safety,” Robby agreed, voice completely serious.
Thoughts raced through Dennis' head. He was at a bar, wearing tiny little shorts, and he was in Dr. Robby’s lap, and he had an arm around his waist, and a hand on his thigh, and oh my god, it was moving-
“Did you… shave?” Robby asked, punctuating his question with a soft caress.
His fingertips were calloused, and Dennis shivered at the sensation. “Yes, sir.”
At the honorific, Robby’s hand paused. Dennis was about to walk it back, apologize for being weird, say he didn't mean it like that, it was just instinct, but Robby just went back to what he was doing, rubbing up and down the smooth expanse of skin.
“You're so soft,” he whispered, squeezing the meat of Dennis’ thigh.
Dennis couldn't help it. His hips twitched instinctively, a movement that most might assume was just a regular readjustment.
But Robby was dangerously observant.
The hand on Dennis’ leg slid up, coming to rest on his hip. With the slightest of movements, Robby pulled the boy’s body closer towards him, then pushed it away.
The drag of his crotch against Robby’s leg made Dennis squeak.
Was Robby making him hump his thigh?
Dennis felt lightheaded. There was no way this was happening. He had to be imagining things.
But no, there Robby was, large hands gripping his hips, guiding his hips, moving his body for him. Dennis’ eyes were wide, breath stolen from his lungs.
“Relax…” Robby hummed, directly in his ear, and Dennis sighed. Fuck, it felt so good.
He leaned back against a warm chest, head landing on Robby’s shoulder, relaxing his body and letting the man take control. He turned his face to nestle into Robby’s neck, taking a deep breath in. He smelled like sweet musk, with a hint of hospital disinfectant, and Dennis’ eyes shut.
“Dr. Robby,” he whimpered, lips brushing against Robby’s skin, and the man shivered, speeding up his movements, grinding Dennis down a little harder, a little faster.
Dennis was gasping with each rock, tears forming in his eyes. He couldn't believe what was happening right now. Dr. Michael Robinavitch, his senior attending, was making him grind against his thigh in this crowded bar. He could feel eyes on them, knew they were in way too visible of an area, but Robby didn't seem to care. Maybe he wanted people to watch. Maybe Garcia was right - Robby wanted to claim him.
“Hey, Whitaker,” Robby said, taking one hand away from Dennis’ hips and bringing it up to hold the boy's jaw, forcing him to look forward. “See that girl over there? At that booth?”
Sure enough, Dennis noticed a blonde woman watching them, eyes wide, too far away to know for sure but pupils definitely blown in arousal.
“She's got her hand under her dress,” Robby murmured, tightening his grip on Dennis’ jaw, one hand still moving his hips. “Do you wanna give her a show?”
Dennis’ face flushed with embarrassment. The idea that this woman was watching them, watching him, watching the way this older man was using him like a toy, and was getting off on it…
He wasn't even attracted to women, had no interest in her whatsoever, but the idea of her watching Robby use him had his cock leaking.
“Would you want to invite her over?” Robby asked, stroking his flushed cheek.
Dennis quickly shook his head, or as well as he could with Robby still holding his jaw.
“No, you wouldn't like that, would you?” Robby clicked his tongue, releasing his grip on Dennis’ face and dragging the hand down, stroking his neck. “I think I know why, but can you tell me? I want to hear you say it.”
The boy whined, turning his face back towards Robby’s neck. Robby’s hand shot right back up, forcing him to look forwards again. “Ah ah ah…” he tutted. “I didn't tell you you could stop watching her. Now answer my question. Why don't you want to invite her over here?”
Dennis’ cock was leaking heavily now, a dark patch growing over the front of his shorts. They were so tight, so small, that they didn't hide a single thing. He was straining obscenely against the denim, obvious to any passerby exactly what was going on.
The woman’s eyes cycled between staring down at Dennis’ crotch and watching his interaction with Robby.
Robby was still waiting for an answer.
Dennis took a shuddering breath. “Because I-”
Robby ground him down particularly hard, and his voice caught in his throat.
“Sorry, I didn't quite catch that. What were you saying?” the man teased.
“Because I’m yours,” Dennis admitted, tears starting to fall. “I'm yours. I'm only yours, Dr. Robby. She can't have me.”
“That's right,” Robby smiled, hand moving down to Dennis’ chest. He knew he could trust the boy to keep looking forward. “She can't have you. But she can watch, from a distance, right? That's allowed?”
Dennis whimpered and nodded, making eye contact with the woman. Now that he was paying more attention to her, he could see the rhythmic motion of her arm under the table. The sight sent a shiver down his spine, and his cock twitched.
“Use your words, Dr. Whitaker.”
“Yes,” he choked out, sniffling. “She can watch.”
“And what exactly is she watching?” Robby asked. He dragged a finger across one of Dennis’ nipples, which were rock hard and poking through the thin tank top. He jerked.
“She’s watching- ah!”
Robby had pinched a nipple. “Go on.”
“She's watching you show everyone who I- who I belong to.”
“Do you? Belong to me?” Robby asked, and Dennis could hear the slightest hint of hesitation in his voice. The man was genuinely asking - wondering if Dennis felt the same.
“I always have,” he breathed. “Ever since I walked into your ED, I’ve been yours.”
Robby let out a breath and pressed a soft kiss behind Dennis’ ear. “Good boy. Now, do you want to give her a show? Show her just how good you can be for me?”
Dennis nodded, then gasped when his other nipple was pinched.
“Words, Dr. Whitaker.”
“Yes sir, I want to show her.”
Robby finally took his hips in both hands again and restarted the rhythm. With every push and pull, Dennis’ clothed cock rubbed against Robby’s meaty thigh. His panties were soaked through with pre-cum, the wet spot becoming more and more obvious through the material of his shorts.
Dennis had never imagined he would be into something like this, had always been so shy. He walked through life trying to avoid everyone's gaze, would always rather be in the background. But knowing someone was watching this older man take control of him, puppet his body and guide him as he chased his pleasure, had his mind drifting into complete bliss. He was meant to be in this man’s arms, completely at his mercy. He existed to be good for Dr. Robby.
“Robby, Robby, fuck- I need-”
“What do you need, baby?”
“I need- more.”
Robby tsked. “No, you don't. I know you can do it, baby. You can come from just my thigh. Do you know how I know?”
Dennis whined. “How?”
“Because you're always such a good boy for me at work,” Robby whispered. “You know how to follow my orders very well. And I always know if I tell you to do something, you'll do it.”
The combination of praise and command had Dennis’ cock throbbing in his pants, cheeks warming. He loved knowing Robby was proud of him, that he was doing a good job, that Robby trusted him.
“So, are you going to be good for me?”
“Yes,” Dennis nodded, moving his hips faster. “Yes. Yes.”
He could feel the beginnings of bruises forming on his hips where Robby’s strong fingers dug in, manhandling him like he weighed nothing. Their size difference made Dennis feel small, delicate, and he was panting now, tears making their way down his face to his neck. He watched the woman across the room, whose hand was moving faster now, her mouth open, eyes locked with his own. He knew his makeup was probably smearing, making him look like a complete fucked out mess - exactly what he wanted to be.
“God, look at you. So fucking pretty, Whitaker,” Robby moaned. “When I saw you walking in here, wearing these damn shorts, fuck.” He gave Dennis’ ass a playful smack before resuming his ministrations.
Dennis let out a pitiful whine. “Dr. Robby...”
This made Robby squeeze his fingers even harder. “I swear, I’ll end up popping a boner at work if you keep calling me that.”
Dennis let out a wet laugh, sniffling. “It'll just be revenge. Every time you touch me at work, I think about you pulling me into a storage closet, or a stairwell, and-” He broke off with a moan as the head of his cock rubbed so perfectly against the seam of his shorts. Fuck, he was so close.
“Yeah? What do you imagine me doing?”
Dennis’ hands gripped the armrests of the chair, digging into the plush material, using it as leverage as his hips ground down. “I imagine you shoving me to my knees and sticking your cock down my throat, or grabbing surgical lube and fingering me, filling me with your cum and making me walk around the rest of shift dripping with it.”
Robby gasped, and Dennis could feel the man’s erection digging into his back with each rock.
“Fuck, Whitaker. You've got a nasty fucking mouth, don't you?”
“Yes, sir,” Dennis whimpered.
“You know, ever since you started, I’ve had to go home and fuck my fist after every shift, imagining it was you,” Robby confessed, pressing an open mouthed kiss to the back of Dennis’ neck, skimming his teeth against the sensitive skin.
The visual hit Dennis like a goddamned truck. Dr. Robby laid in bed, hips thrusting up, strong fingers wrapped around his cock, the wet sound as his glistening head slid through his slick grip, imagining it was Dennis he was fucking…
“Jesus, Robby- Robby, I’m close, shit!”
The thumping bass drowned out his cries, blending in with the jubilant shouts of drunken dancers. The woman across the room looked mesmerized, her fingers moving faster under her dress.
“Go on, Dr. Whitaker - show her you can be a good boy for me.”
Robby’s deep voice in his ear rattled through his bones, sending him careening over the edge. He made direct eye contact with the woman as he gasped, hips jerking, warm cum spilling into his panties with each wave of pleasure.
Through the fog of his orgasm, he saw the woman’s body tense, covering her mouth, and he felt a surge of pride. He was a good boy for Dr. Robby - he'd done what he was told and put on such a good show for this stranger.
As if reading his mind, Robby whispered, “You did so good, Dennis.” He worked the boy's hips slowly, watching as his body quivered from oversensitivity, his raw cock rubbing against the cum-soaked panties. “I'm so proud of you.”
Dennis felt a trickle and looked down. His cum was starting to leak from under his shorts, rolling in slow rivulets down his thighs. Before he could warn the man underneath him, Robby brought a hand down and swiped a finger through it. He studied the white fluid dripping down his finger for a moment, then did the last thing Dennis expected: he leaned forward and licked it.
Dennis gasped, letting out a quiet moan. His cock jerked helplessly, and he felt yet another spurt of cum shoot out.
“God, you're delicious,” Robby murmured, going in to scoop up more of the cum. “You don't know how long I’ve waited to get a taste of you.”
“Dr. Robby,” Dennis squirmed, blushing. His senior attending was cleaning up his cum by eating it. God, was he dreaming? How did he get here?
“What, are you jealous? Do you want some too? Here.”
Before he could blink, Dennis had a finger in his mouth and the salty taste of his own cum on his tongue. He moaned, and without hesitation, he reached up and grabbed the man’s wrist, sucking the digit clean.
Robby let out a soft laugh, sticking his finger farther into Dennis’ mouth, then huffed. “Jesus, kid - where the hell is your gag reflex?”
Dennis pulled off with a wet pop. “Don't have one.”
Robby’s hips jerked beneath him, and Dennis grinned. “You're a fucking menace, Dr. Whitaker.”
“Yeah, but I think you like it,” Dennis said, throwing a cheeky smile over his shoulder.
Suddenly remembering their audience, he looked back across the room and saw that their mysterious voyeur had vanished.
“I hope that… wasn't too much,” Robby started, voice a little strained. “I just saw her over there, watching us, and just… I don't know…”
“You’re a possessive man, Dr. Robinavitch,” Dennis whispered, turning his head to look at the man underneath him.
“Is that a problem?” Robby looked nervous, gaze averting, and Dennis wondered if he had been too much for someone at some point, if he had scared them off by showing this side of himself.
He was definitely not scaring Dennis off.
He carefully turned himself around in Robby’s lap, straddling the man and digging his hands into short brown hair. He leaned close, nose brushing against Robby’s own.
“It's not a problem at all,” he whispered, leaning forward and capturing Robby’s lips in a kiss.
Compared to the rough manhandling of earlier, their first kiss was sweet. It was soft, and lingering, and when Robby gently cradled his face, Dennis could feel the adoration and reverence coming off the man in waves. Robby kissed him, held him, like he deserved to be cherished.
When they broke apart, Robby’s eyes were filled with so much fondness, and Dennis wanted to press his lips to the man’s crow’s feet. Robby traced Dennis’ cheek, smearing the black makeup even more.
“You're so pretty,” he whispered.
Dennis ducked his head shyly, but Robby gripped his chin, making him look back up.
“Are you sure you're okay?” he asked, eyes darting between Dennis’. “I know that was a lot, and we didn't talk about it beforehand.”
Dennis nuzzled against his hand, kissing the man’s palm. “I’m good, Dr. Robby.”
Robby breathed. “Good. I'm glad.”
Dennis leaned back, wrapping his arms around the older man’s neck. “You know, Santos is going to kill me.”
“And why is that?” Robby asked, bringing his hands down to hold Dennis’ waist.
“I fear she can never wear these again,” Dennis said, jerking his chin down at his crotch, grimacing. “They're ruined.”
Robby’s hands slid down to cup Dennis’ ass, fingers slipping underneath the dangerously short hem.
“I’ll give you the money to replace them,” he said.
“Robby,” Dennis protested. “You can't-”
“I will,” Robby interrupted, the pad of one finger slipping between his cheeks and gently stroking over his cloth-covered hole, making Dennis shiver. “Because I want you to keep them so I can fuck you in them, and she definitely won't want them back after that.”
Dennis let out a distressed whimper, leaning forward and resting his forehead against Robby’s shoulder. “Oh, god. You can't just say things like that. Jesus.”
“Would you like that?” Robby purred, pressing harder, pushing the thong against his rim, almost breaching.
Dennis gasped, pushing his hips back, grinding against the finger. “I mean, probably,” he replied, breathless. “I’ve never been fucked, but I’m sure if it's you, I’ll like it. I think I’d like anything you do to me, if I’m being honest. I'm kind of obsessed with you.”
Robby froze. “Whitaker. Are you saying… you're… you've never…”
Dennis' face felt hot, and he hid it in Robby’s neck. “Listen, when you're in the closet in a small town, where everyone knows everyone, there's not very many chances to… you know… and then I was in medical school, and all my time was spent studying. So, yeah. I'm a virgin.”
Robby grabbed a handful of Dennis’ hair, yanking him back, then surged forward, kissing Dennis like a man drowning.
He pulled back with a frustrated sound. “God, fuck, I shouldn't be doing this. Fuck. I'm so much older than you, I have so much more experience-”
Dennis ground back against the man’s finger, letting out a pathetic moan. “Keep talking like that and we won't make it home, Dr. Robinavitch.”
“You're into this, aren't you?” Robby groaned. “You like that I’m a dirty old man.”
“Robby, if you don't take me home right now and fuck me, I might die. I might actually die.”
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
Huckleberry: Hey so. Don't wait up.
Trinity: HOOOOOLLLYYYYY SHIIIIIITTTT IT WORKED???????????
Trinity: FUCKING FINALLY
Trinity: I OWE ABBOT BIG TIME
Huckleberry: Abbot?? What the hell does Abbot have to do with this?
Trinity: I may have asked Abbot to ask Robby to meet him here and then pretend to get called in so Robby was left stranded alone at the bar
Huckleberry: You're absolutely insane. I love you. Robby says hi and that he also owes Abbot big time.
Trinity: Hi Dr Robby, if you hurt my Huckleberry I will hunt you down and castrate you ❤️
Huckleberry: He said ‘I wouldn't expect anything less’
Huckleberry: Also i'm sorry about your clothes btw
Huckleberry: We’ll reimburse you
Trinity: Wait what
Trinity: What did you do to my clothes
Trinity: WHITAKER
Trinity: DENNIS HUCKLEBERRY WHITAKER
Trinity: WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY CLOTHES???