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The night of the Fourth of July was hot.
Humid, uncomfortable like sticky second-skin that was barely starting to shed.
Dennis Whitaker stood still in the parking lot of the hospital, the plastic of his newly acquired badge that boldly stated doctor sticking to his sweaty wrist.
Blue, unfocused eyes stuck on the empty parking spot where, just hours before, the Bonneville of his attending waited patiently. It looked like it didn’t have to wait anymore.
Robby, and every time Whitaker had to correct his own thoughts with Doctor Robby, must have slid out of the busy ER half an hour ago, when both night shift and day shift were busy with three drowning cases.
Fuck.
He was probably already on his merry way, happy to have skipped the polite goodbyes Whitaker had learned the attending hated.
Well, former attending.
And that’s exactly why the younger man wanted to talk to him today, the day of his departure for his sabbatical of three months to God-knows-where.
Why he had rushed out as soon as the cases were handled, hoping to find him still in the parking lot, maybe just about to go and leave everything behind. Leave him behind, watching whatever fragile thing they had melt in his hands like ice under the sun.
He had hoped, but no one seemed to have caught his request.
The resident’s nails dug deep in his palms, trying to stop the tears from leaving his eyes. There was nothing more he hated than crying when he was angry.
His brothers had always made fun of the water running down his cheeks, calling him a pussy, weakling, fragile.
Dennis Whitaker was not fragile, not by any means necessary.
He was strong, a dependable doctor, and even if he messed up a few times, it was still less than when he first started. That’s why he called back in the tears, sent a glare to the empty parking lot like it owed him an explanation, and pulled out his phone to call Trinity.
Unread messages sat in his inbox. Some from his mom, teary ones, Dennis was sure. None from his pop, or from his brothers, that certainly had better to do then message him out of the blue.
None were from Robby, per usual.
A message from Trinity popped up. She went out. Again.
“Damn it…” He cursed, nervously picking at the skin flake on his index.
Just great.
Missed his boss to end their occasional private meetings, and now Trinity’s back to the club to pick up someone that could make her forget about Doctor Garcia? Just his night.
Dennis was just musing on whether he had enough money for a cab or if he had to walk an hour through Pittsburgh at night, when a warm, heavy hand landed on his shoulder.
“You good, kid?”
Whitaker immediately tensed, recognizing the voice from hours before, and from when they first met in one of the emergency rooms of the ER.
A case about a woman whose husband had cut cleanly off her hand during a fight demanded the OR’s inspection, and that’s when Dennis Whitaker had the “pleasure” of knowing Brendon Park, not-so-friendly nicknamed “The Shark”. And under the man’s razor-sharp focus, Whitaker had felt like a misbehaving child with his hands in the cookie jar.
Their meetings had been scarce since then, and the disastrous one from this morning was just the fourth. Not that he was counting.
The resident spun on his heels, facing the orthopedic surgeon with his usual nervous smile. The first thing he noticed were his clothes.
Gone were the scrubs, replaced by jeans and a hoodie that hugged his body almost perfectly.
Not that the taller man needed that. He was built like a freaking brick wall.
“Doctor Park…!” The brown eyes that looked at him so pointedly whenever they met were somehow tamer. A softer shade. “It’s– I’m fine, I just missed my roommate going home.”
Dennis was surprised with himself, managing to line up more than one word when the surgeon’s gaze was on him.
He softly dismissed the other’s weirdly concerning expression with a shake of his head, and he felt a loss when that hand slid from his shoulder back to its owner’s side.
Maybe Trin was rubbing off on him more than she should, because he certainly didn’t want The Shark’s hands on him longer than necessary. Rude surgeons were not his type.
He was probably just touch-starved.
That was probably it.
Doctor Park watched him intently before speaking again, like Whitaker was one of the cut-off limbs he came down to examine.
“Don’t be shy,” His voice was low, and weirdly teasing. “If you need a ride, my car’s right there.”
He pointed back to a few cars lined up in the staff’s parking spaces.
With a lighting that wasn’t the bright, hurtful one of the hospital’s neon, his face looked kinder, more relaxed. Probably because he’d finished his shift too.
Whitaker was just about to attempt a polite refusal when the man smiled. And God if it didn’t make the resident’s knees go unexplainably weak.
“Come on, you probably don’t live near.” His whole demeanor changed, from “The Shark” to a polite, and devastatingly attractive, next-door neighbour. “I don’t mind, Doctor Whitaker.”
It was something out of a commercial, that damn smile, and Dennis was quite too tired to refuse such an offer. The fact that the surgeon remembered his name was a curious detail, but he didn’t overthink it.
Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad of an experience.
—☼—
The ride was nothing like Dennis imagined.
The first thing that surprised him was the resemblance between Doctor Park’s car and his owner. Dark blue, with the grill almost as big as the windshield. Everything about that car screamed confidence, and that the owner had his fair share of money.
The Cadillac sat proudly in the staff’s parking lot, and Dennis was a bit intimidated to get in there.
Maybe he could lie, tell the surgeon that something came up and wait for the bus, but all his thoughts vaporize when the older man opened the door for him.
The resident stepped in the quiet luxury of the silver seats and interior, so clean that it looked like it came straight out of the factory. He was careful in his movements, worried to bring filth in with his own presence.
The surgeon slid comfortably in the drivers’ seat, sending a quick glance to the blue-eyed man beside him.
Stiff as a board.
He shook his head, chuckling softly.
“Relax, Whitaker.” He reassembled limbs, not cut them off, but the boy looked like he just wanted to bolt. “Mind telling me where you live?”
He frowned slightly at the answer, remembering his days as a med student. He used to live nearby where the young doctor had indicated. Bad neighborhood, but quiet enough to be the safe haven of plenty of students and their army of roommates.
A wrinkle forms around his mouth as he starts the car, and without thinking too hard about it, he leads it on the main road.
The purring of the engine is a comforting background noise, and it makes Dennis’ spine vibrate
The initial silence is comfortable, and it gives the young doctor time to finally think.
With Doctor Robby gone, everyone will have to adjust, but they’d find the pace soon. It was only natural for an attending to take some time off, after all. To take a break from everything, even from his messy relationship with a resident half his age.
Whitaker feels the tears rise back up, the anger about the doctor’s sudden departure. He even prepared a speech, damn it. Rehearsed it and all, thought this might just put an end to this shitty situation, and the damn man won’t even text him back. He was so stupid to even think that the attending would wait for him. There was nothing more than physical connection between them, and the realization pressed on him like a stone sinking in water.
Dennis tries to school his expression, but something in Doctor Park’s expression told him that the older man noticed.
“How could he not?” He thought bitterly. “He’s not a surgeon for nothing.”
The silence turns slightly more tense as the car stops at a red light.
Slowly, Brendon turns towards him, stone-faced like he was back in the emergency room, and wipes a tear Dennis didn’t know he shed.
That was about the least thing the resident expected, seeing someone so sharp, so focused, wipe his cheek with a thumb calloused from handling surgery tools and not call him dumb or pathetic. A man so strong, so capable, treating him like an equal even if he cried.
Dennis, in a surge of helplessness, grabbed the surgeon’s wrist, drawing the man’s palm flush against his skin.
He expected a push, maybe a demand to let his arm go, but Doctor Park just turned his head back to the road when the light turned green.
The young doctor could have sworn he saw a small smile on the defined face of the other man, but he certainly did not speak up.
For a few minutes they just stayed like that, Dennis melting under the warmth of the surgeon’s hand, on how the thumb occasionally flickered to wipe under his eye, and Brendon just driving, gaze on the road as he quietly comforted the younger man.
Whitaker could feel his stomach drop lower and lower as they got closer to the apartment complex, and his fingers flexing slightly on the older man’s wrist at the thought of letting go of his source of comfort.
Doctor Park pulled over just beside the entrance, and stopped the engine.
Both were still for a second, watching in front of them like the car was still moving.
Then, the surgeon and the resident moved at the same time, turning towards the other and crashing their lips together.
The hand resting on Dennis’ face turned into a hold as Brendon pulled the young doctor closer still, the hand that was on the wheel moving as well to cup his other cheek. It lasted a minute, maybe two, lips mashed against each other, teeth clacking and tongues gently introducing themselves to each other.
Whitaker let out a soft, breathless moan as he felt the surgeon’s tongue explore his mouth, and that’s when Brendon pulled away, panting.
With a gentleness that was completely alien to the kiss they just shared, the older doctor pulled the young one closer, pressing their foreheads together as they caught their breaths.
Then, after a few seconds, Doctor Park’s dark eyes were back on his mouth.
“My place?”
—☼—
As soon as the door closed, Dennis was shoved against it, and the damn addicting mouth of the surgeon was back on his.
It was a nice neighborhood, the one that harbored Doctor Park’s house. Clean streets, all had a garden and an indoor garage.
Not that he noticed much, with the distracting weight of Brendon’s hand on his thigh, making him squirm as it edged upwards.
Now, in the dim light of the older man’s entrance, Dennis couldn’t keep his hands to himself as Brendon traced his teeth with his tongue, fingers digging in the surgeon’s broad shoulders. It didn’t take him being pressed against the cold wood of the door to understand that Brendon was strong, stronger than him.
That somehow made heat pool lower in his gut, his mind wandering on how Doctor Parker could manhandle him easily on the nice mattress the man probably had in his bedroom.
The older doctor’s leg between his thighs was enough to shut down any additional thoughts.
Without him realizing, Brendon’s mouth had trailed lower, lifting Dennis’ chin with his nose as if asking permission. The latter just moaned, baring his neck to the older man’s lips, shivering when he sucked dark spots on his pale skin.
The young doctor’s mind was fuzzy, already overflowing with desire to block all additional thoughts. He was so turned on from the older surgeon marking him up, his hips driving forward and relieving some of the unwavering want, when Doctor Park slowly withdrew from his hold.
Before he knew it, Whitaker’s lips had parted into a needy whine, and the other man looked at him like he wanted to devour him for that.
“No wonder they call him The Shark.” He thought lazily, already stumbling forward to get back on the older doctor’s arms.
Brendon held him up, the firm hold making Whitaker see stars as the older man started to drag him upstairs. With a few stops, when Doctor Park slammed him so hard against the wall the pictures hanging rattled and one when the surgeon got his teeth on the young resident’s shirt, they stumbled in a dimly lit room.
The bed was huge, and Dennis had just the time to notice that before Brendon made him sit, his feet cold on the bedroom floor.
It wasn’t just the chill in the room that made him shiver.
The sight of the older man sinking on his knees also played a big part in that.
“Hey, Dennis.”
The man’s voice was rougher than a moment before, dark eyes shining up at him. Whitaker held his breath for too long, and Doctor Park laughed.
“Is this…” A hand rested on his inner thigh, but his focus was all on Brendon on his knees. “Y’know, is this okay for you?”
Dennis Whitaker couldn’t give a more enthusiastic consent, nodding vigorously and making the surgeon’s lips curve in something that was both amused and hungry.
“Good.”
The wandering fingers suddenly had an aim, pulling down the younger man's trousers. Cold air hit Dennis’ skin so suddenly he let out a small yelp.
“If you change your mind, tap me three times,” Brendon’s lips were dangerously close to the tent in his boxers, and it was hard to think about anything else. “Okay kid?
He nodded again, but this time the surgeon frowned, returning to his stone-faced ruthlessness. Doctor Parked squeezed his thigh, watching the resident squirm helplessly on sheets.
“Talk to me, do you understand?”
Those eyes burned into him with the intensity of the sun, and Dennis found himself whimpering at the rough handling.
“Yes,” He breathed out. “Yes, I understand.”
A smile, worthy of a real shark, and Brendon’s lips were on the younger man’s clothed cock, placing a kiss that made it twitch and its owner whine.
The surgeon yanked the underwear down with a quick thug, warm hands spreading Whitaker’s thighs as Brendon finally got his mouth to work. All the gentleness was completely gone, the older man taking Dennis’ member between his lips with two practiced pauses, tongue sliding on the underside of the resident’s pretty dick.
Whitaker could only moan, his hands making a mess of the pristine hair of the surgeon as the latter sucked him off vigorously. Leaning back on the flat mattress was tempting, but his body didn’t cooperate well while Brendon was busy driving him mad with his mouth.
“Fuck, please…”
His own voice was breathless, rough as the older man made him shiver. Dennis’ fingers tightened in the brown hair, thighs trembling with the stimulation. Whitaker's back arched, and rough hands wrapped around his waist with enough force to leave him bruised, that wicked tongue sliding away from where he needed it the most.
The young doctor wasn’t left hanging for long, his ragged breath hitching when the surgeon manhandled him to lay on the middle of the bed.
Brendon lowered himself, breath warming Whitaker’s ear as he parted his legs further for the surgeon.
“Such a pathetic little sight.”
With a kiss on the temple, the older man started to make his merry way down, lips parting in open-mouthed kisses and dark spots, humming against Dennis’ skin as he writhed on the mattress. Hands were there to keep him still when the surgeon teased his nipples, circling with a finger before softly nibbling on them.
Dennis had never thought he could go crazy just by stimulation alone, but here he was, trembling like a newborn fawn under the skilled hands of the older man.
“Please doctor…!” His breath hitched as fingers dug into his hips’ flesh. “Please, I need you.”
The admission made the surgeon groan, and that was of great satisfaction to Whitaker. He didn’t get the time to gloat though, because Brendon had stopped touching him, reaching for lube somewhere in the nightstand beside the bed.
Dennis’ wide blue eyes were glued to the hand trying to unbuckle himself, and that made the surgeon chuckle.
“Come on, baby deer.” The affectionate term made the young doctor flush red. “Help me out, won’t you?”
On a whim, he was on his knees on the mattress, nimble fingers working first on the belt, and then on the trousers’ buttons. Neither of them were taking their time, and that was plenty fine with both.
With a few words of encouragement, Brendon turned Dennis, stomach pressing on the mattress before a cushion was slid under his hips.
Robby had never done that for him, he was never really considerate about his pleasure.
Whitaker forced the thought out of his mind and he heard the slick sound of lube against skin.
Brendon breathed deeply before sliding on the condom, the stretch of it as pleasurable as it was constricting.
Not that he minded.
The surgeon finally allowed his gaze of the perfectly sprawled out Dennis Whitaker, in his bed and begging to be fucked. Just the thought made his dick twitch in the cold air.
He coated his fingers in lube, leaning down enough to press against his entrance and make him squirm so prettily.
“You’re doing so good, Dennis.” He mused, voice rough. “So good for me.”
Slowly but steadily, his fingers made a breach in Dennis’ hole, stretching impossibly wider than what it’s used to. The young doctor trembled under him, moans stifled by the cushion against his mouth.
What a sight.
Whitaker fisted the blankets as the two rough digits started a steady pace, not really fast but pointed, like the surgeon had studied his anatomy and knew exactly where to aim. At some point he lost the connection between mouth and brain, moaning muffled words, pleas.
Brendon didn’t have an ounce of mercy in his well-toned body, and continued to increase the pace, scissoring to open him up for what they both were looking forward to. At some point Dennis might have lifted his head, because louder moans escaped his lips.
“Brendon, fuck, please…” His whole body trembled helplessly, and he wanted nothing more than to feel the older man in him. “Please fuck me, please…!”
Said older man moaned at the sight, slowly pulling off his fingers.
Dennis loved how in control that made him feel, but the thought was buried under everything else when the surgeon’s cock pressed against his gaping entrance. A hand slid low on his back, fingers gripping roughly the back of his neck, burying in his curls.
If he was any less aroused, he might have bitterly thought of Doctor Robby’s touches in the ER, but right now he just wanted to feel the orthopedic surgeon have his way with him.
Finally, the tip slid in, and the older man applied more pressure on his neck.
“Fuck, you’re tight.” He groaned.
Steadily and with a few breaks for both of them, Brendon’s cock slid in to the hilt, making both men moan.
“You alright Dennis?” Doctor Park’s voice was strained, like he was having a hard time controlling himself.
Remembering the earlier questions a bit too late, Whitaker nodded one before exhaling.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” The young doctor hummed as he wiggled his hips experimentally. “Just, mh, adjusting.”
That seemed to get a reaction out of the surgeon, a low grunt rolling in his throat before he made Dennis stay still with a hand on his waist.
“Good boy.”
That made the young man clench down hard.
“Ah, fuck, you like that?” The hand on his neck shifted to grip his hair as Brendon made a few experimental thrusts. “You like being called a good boy?”
The rough, cold tone was the same one the surgeon used this morning to belittle him, but this time it was way hotter, and it made the young man whimper. Whitaker couldn’t help but moan in the pillows, forced down as the older man whispered in his ear.
“Like you should, you mutt.”
Every word was punctuated by a thrust, slow but so fucking precise, hitting his prostate in a way that made him see stars.
“Good for nothing but to satisfy me.”
The strain in Brendon’s voice was addicting, tears welling up in his eyes for the right reasons this time. He felt already overwhelmed, and they didn’t even properly start.
His body ached and writhed, but the surgeon’s precise hand held him down firmly by his hair, sometimes yanking him up to arch his back and sometimes pressing him harder against the pillow. Dennis’ body was pliant to the older man every whim, and his brain kept getting foggy every time he tried to think.
“Look at you,” Brendon’s voice shook him from his haze, the words flowing off him like neat whisky. “Already putty in my hands, taking me so well, fuck…!”
The pace increased, but the aim stayed the same, driving Whitaker absolutely insane. Phrases were out of his range, and the only words that came from his mouth were pleas or too broken to understand. His tears soaked the pillow below him, and the heat in his gut was unrelenting in its advance.
Brendon leaned down, lips grazing his ear as the strained voice made him clench again.
“Touch yourself for me, pretty boy.”
The young doctor obeyed mindlessly, hand clenching around his needy, neglected cock, giving it a few pumps in rhythm with the surgeon’s thrusting.
“So obedient for me, aren’t you?”
Dennis clenched down on Brendon’s length as the words got to him. He tried to nod, but the hand in his hair clenched tighter.
“Use that mouth, Whitaker.”
The shift from praise to orders goes straight to his head, making the resident whine a string of “yes, please!” that seemed to satisfy the older doctor.
With a few well-angled thrusts, and the relentless pumping of his own hand, Dennis went through the edge, whining as Brendon rode on his orgasm until he came himself, slumping down on Whitaker's sweaty back. The young doctor trembled with the aftershocks of probably the best fuck he’s had in a while, and he relished in the solidity of the hands carefully turning him around.
He felt boneless, like a doll, trying to catch his breath as much as Brendon.
When they came face to face, the only logical thing Dennis could think about was to smile at him. The brown steady gaze was softer still, something that made the young doctor’s heart ache and his arms wrap around the surgeon’s neck. The latter slowly pulls out, discarding the condom somewhere near, probably a bin, but Whitaker doesn’t have the will to inquire further.
His eyes are all for Doctor Park.
“Come on kid, I have to get us cleaned.”
Even if the man in question is trying, not very convincingly, to get up.
Dennis wraps his arms tighter, pulling the older man down.
“No, you don’t.”
Brendon shakes his head, smiling wide like he just won a prize. The young doctor flushes at that thought, and it gives the surgeon the opportunity to slip away.
He hurries through the bathroom door, fetching a clean towel and filling a glass of water.
“You’re cruel.” Dennis groans from the bed.
“You have no idea.” Brendon laughs back, downing the water and refilling the glass again for the younger man who’s complaining in the other room.
This banter between them fills a spot under Dennis’ ribs he didn’t know was empty. It fills him with warmth, and he smiles wide as the older man returns.
Brendon sits behind him, hand on his hip as the young doctor takes purposefully slow sips on the water, his head leaning against the surgeon’s shoulder.
The silence filling the room is peaceful, two people who had their fun just basking in each other’s presence.
The empty glass gets placed on the nightstand, and Brendon’s hand gently caresses the other’s body, carefully cleaning the mess he’d left and earning a few soft sighs from the resident under him.
—☼—
In the middle of the night, held tight by one of the most respected surgeons in Pittsburgh, Dennis Whitaker feels easy and light.
They fell asleep not long ago, their night filled with teasing and half-serious banter. Brendon opened a bottle for him, cooked like his kitchen wasn’t just for display, and flirted with Dennis like he didn’t just fuck his brains out.
They talked, about how the younger doctor had been intimidated by the pointed, sharp surgeon demeanor, and Brendon laughed, explaining his very deep professional focus and his desire to hide his little crush on the resident had led him to act so rudely. About Doctor Robby’s departure, though they didn’t say much. Brendon had too little to say, and Dennis had too much, so they easily changed the topic to something lighter.
They watched something on TV, neither of them could tell what, and headed to bed right after, where the surgeon was holding Dennis like he mattered.
Here, he mattered.
Here, he could sleep easily, and so he did.