Chapter Text
3:14 am
Dennis stares at his phone. Squinting at the blurring numbers with a pit so deep in his stomach he almost gags. There’s a very annoying, persistent ticking that echoes through the hallway—the sound of a cat scratching at the closed door.
He had promised himself he wouldn’t do this again. He promised Trinity, even. Made a whole big deal about being sick of tumbling into random beds with alcohol on his breath and no clue where he’s at. Yet here he is. Twitching quietly next to a warm body he can’t quite put a name to. Kit, Kade, Kent? Something with a K, maybe. All he remembers is the heated gaze and his unruly brown hair.
He pointedly refuses to give thought to the fact that his mystery suitor near identically resembles a young version of his boss, (one he never got to experience firsthand, mind you.) That he wouldn’t even really know anything of if not for those old pictures Dana so graciously showed him last week. (With a snicker, might he add. But there was nothing funny about how dangerous those images made him feel.)
He chances a glance at the man. He’s… asleep. Snoring quietly against fresh linen with an arm slung snug around Dennis’s waist. Dennis dreads the prospect of morning light, It’s always his least favorite part. The awkward back and forth, the quiet breakfast, an explanation that he, ‘Really, really isn’t looking for anything serious.’ It puts a damper on the fun for sure. But he isn’t here for the after, just the heat of the moment. The bad decision. It’s a better alternative to the bad decision he’d make if left to his own devices, though. One with a big red R stamped all over it.
He could sneak off and Uber home. But it seems he’s used the last of his expendable income on drinks tonight, and he isn’t fond of starving until payday just to get away from his awkward one-night stand. So he buckles down and sighs. Wait for the morning bus it is, then.
*
The sound of rustling startles Dennis. He’d almost dropped his jeans when the man spoke.
“Tryna run off without a kiss goodbye?”
He mumbled, blinking lazily over the duvet. His voice is rough. He’s clearly joking… hopefully. And Dennis swallows nervously. His throat stings, dry and spent from last night. He offers a shaky grin. Fumbling the denim a little more before he finally clasps the button and clears his throat.
“Uh, early shift.”
Dennis tries, buttoning his pants and fumbling with the still-attached belt. The guy huffs in amusement. Stretching out before he sits up and smacks his dry lips. He cocks a brow. There's a sort of confident air about him. Maybe Dennis picks his weekend lovers much more similarly to Robby than he’d like to admit.
“You told me that this is your day off.” The man says, simply. Leaning back on both forearms and smirking lazily. Dennis almost face plants. Slipping on his cropped T-shirt — at home on the cold wooden floor since last night — and scrambling to stand up pin straight.
He really, really does need to stop drinking.
Dennis takes a deep breath. His brows climbing his forehead as he smooths his hands over the wrinkles in his jeans, nervously.
“Well, then. Guess I don’t have much of an excuse.” He says, laughing awkwardly. It trails off in the silence; His lips thin, and after another loaded moment, he slowly nods. Sucking his teeth as he works up the nerve to speak again.
“I honestly… um, one night stands, you know? I wasn’t planning on staying.”
He settles for, wringing his hands in front of himself. The words hang between them for a second. Dennis feels like he’s suffocating. And Clark, or, Caine, or whatever his name may be finally smiles a little warmer. Standing off the bed as Dennis fishes his shirt from the floor and all but dives into it.
“It’s cool. I didn’t figure you would. I just like being a prick.”
He explains, casually. Tossing Dennis one of his loose socks as soon as he pops out of the neckline of his shirt. Dennis sighs in audible relief. And the man has a little more mercy on him as he digs for his own clothes in a drawer.
“My name is Kenny, by the way.”
Dennis winces, “I didn’t—“
“You totally forgot it.” The guy, Kenny. snorts. And Dennis flushes bright and clear. Scratching his jaw mindlessly. He settles for sliding his socks on in silence. When he can’t bear it anymore, he finally responds.
“Um, I had a nice time. Your beds… soft, too.”
He says, making a conscious effort not to glance over at Kenny. And Kenny snorts, rustling somewhere across the room.
“Yeah? I had fun too,”
There’s a pause, Dennis knows he’s being stared down. And he really, really doesn’t want to catch that look on his face. The hopeful, flirtatious, inevitable look of hunger that comes next. ‘Another round? Breakfast?’ Even worse coming from someone that Dennis can pretend is Robby even with his eyes open. So he slows his trembling hands over the laces of his ball shoes and waits. Kenny taps the wood of his dresser, and he speaks again. Dennis can’t blame the guy for shooting his shot.
“I mean, if you ever wanted to let loose again-“ he starts, slowly. And Dennis turns to him with a polite, tight-lipped smile. Brow furrowed as he spoke.
“Thank you for a nice night, I think I should get home, though. My roommate is probably worried sick.”
*
“Really, Dennis? Again?”
Perhaps he should’ve just taken that Uber after all.
Trinity looks far from amused. Borderline angry, actually. Curled up on the couch with a stern expression. Grey's Anatomy drones in the background. He always hates when she puts that show on. It’s inaccurate, and dramatic. And there’s enough shit going on in his personal life to keep track of. And yes, maybe he’s bitter to hear about Meredith Grey getting to date her boss when he obviously… cannot. Sue him.
But that really is besides the point. Dennis frowns at her, she’s definitely not happy. She called him by his name, after all. She only does that when she’s upset.
“I thought we talked about this.“ She says, taking a deep breath and shaking her head. Her voice cracks just a tad. “You promised me.” She presses on, not giving him a chance to defend himself as he sighs and hobbles out of his shoes. All he really wants right now is a bottle of water and to crack open the brand new jar of pickles in the fridge. But arguing his way out of the hole he dug for himself is more important right now.
“I didn’t — plan on it, really!” He says, laughing softly. She doesn’t respond, just stares. And Dennis sweats nervously. Tugging on the collar of his shirt and huffing as he averts his eyes. “I just.. I got caught up in the moment is all.” He defends, weakly. Before he can speak again she’s crossed the room, jabbing her finger into his sternum.
“Bullshit, huckleberry. You’re a horrible liar.” She scoffs, and Dennis frowns at her. Grabbing her hand before she gets the chance to withdraw.
“Trin-“
“No, don’t ‘trin’ me.”
She huffs, shaking her head and grabbing him by the shoulder with her free hand. Dennis’ stomach drops again. Guilt clawing right behind his ribs as he deflates under her gaze. He hadn’t thought she’d be this angry. Frustrated, maybe. But not downright pissed off.
“You promised me you would stop, you told me you’d cut the shit. This isn’t— healthy.” She says, throwing her hands up and stepping away. She’s pacing, now. A habit she seems to have picked up recently. It’s nothing short of a miracle she hasn’t worn a hole through the carpet by now. Her head snaps toward him so fast he’s surprised she isn’t disoriented.
“You’re gonna go home with the wrong guy and get yourself killed, Dennis. You can’t keep.. following strangers home while you’re fucked up and waking up not knowing where you are!”
She groans, her voice is strained now. Maybe she isn’t so much angry as she is terrified. And now Dennis feels like a dick, prim and proper. And he sighs, stepping forward to pull her into a tight hug. She doesn’t fight it, but she’s tense.
“Okay, okay — I get it. I’m sorry. I understand.” He mumbles, quietly. His voice trembling now. She’s stiff as a board in his arms, but she melts into it after a second. Slipping her arms around him and huffing too.
“No, you don’t. If you understood you’d stop doing it. You’d — you’d text me where you’re going. Or you’d leave your location on. Or you’d stop doing it drunk.” She mumbles into his shoulder. Dennis sighs, rubbing firm circles between her shoulder blades and shaking his head.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
He settles on, after a moment of contemplation. Because what else is there to really say? She’s right. He said he’d stop, and here he is after it all. Letting them both down. He can blame the alcohol all he wants, but at the end of the day, it’s Dennis who drives himself to that bar stool. And it’s Dennis that follows each stern man with brown hair and crow's feet that gives him the time of day home.
It started off fun.
Harmless fun, that was all. Sheltered, religious, closeted farm boy meets big city. Maybe the city was Dennis’s first love. Or maybe it was the star-spangled sky above the farm. Or maybe it was god. Whatever it may be, the forbidden fruit was just too tempting. And much like Eve in the garden of Eden: Dennis sank his teeth in until it gushed between the gaps beyond control.
The first few times, it was guys his own age. It was clumsy, and awkward, and satisfying. Mostly just to try it out. And once he got over the all-consuming guilt that accompanied any non-innocent touch to his skin, it shifted into blowing off steam. Now and again, he’d drink, he’d dance, and he’d wake up with someone new. A nice distraction from the stresses of Med school. And it was worth it for the free meal and a warm bed to sleep in once he hit the streets permanently. But it was never excessive. Not until recently.
See, that’s the thing about sex, and alcohol, and bad choices. They’re fun at first, but it’s a slippery slope. And once he started his ER rotations — Dennis met his match.
Michael Robinavitch
Michael, and his big, strong hands. Michael and his wrinkles. Michael and his religious mumblings on the floor of pedes. Michael and his magnetic fucking pull.
And Dennis, oh, Dennis was enamored.
Because yes, maybe Dennis’ first love was the city, or the sky above the farm, or god. But his heart was never reserved for an idea bigger than himself. And it was never really all that into casual sex with men who don’t touch him like he burns.
‘And god is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear.’
*
“Dr Robby?” God, has his own voice always been so annoying?
Robby seemingly doesn’t notice, or maybe he doesn’t mind. Because he glances up from the monitor of his computer calmly. Peering at Dennis through the thick frames of his glasses. Hand splayed against the side of his own neck. He raises his eyebrows, prompting Dennis to continue.
Dennis smiles sympathetically, his brows climbing his own forehead. Jutting his thumb towards Ogilvie. The student's brow twitches, his arms crossed almost defensively around himself. He’d taken a fall, knocked slick out after making the (admittedly) embarrassing mistake of removing a very deeply embedded piece of glass from an unconscious patient's wound. One nasty arterial bleed later, here they are. Standing before their attending.
“Ogilvie took, uh.. a fall.” He sighs out, slowly. Biting the bottom of his lip in an effort not to snicker about it. Robby whistles low, leaning back in his chair and shifting his weight. He shakes his head, crossing his own arms and letting out a deep chuckle in response. Dennis clenches the counter a little harder — trying not to perve out about the way his biceps flex.
“Ohohoho, I’m feeling nostalgic.” Robby snorts, a grin creeping onto his face as he nods toward the staff lounge. He seems to be in a good mood today, at least.
“Park it for a few, contemplate it.” He sighs, leaning forward to continue typing. And before Ogilvie can protest, Dennis snaps his head around. Fixing him with an unamused frown; the boy retreats accordingly. Mumbling something to himself as he goes that Dennis doesn’t care to listen for.
It’s quiet in his absence. Or as quiet as it can be in an ER. Dennis turns back to Robby, weighing his options. On one hand, he really doesn’t need to fan the flame in his gut any more than he already has. But on the other hand, there he is, and he’s happy today, and Dennis feels very bold in the idea that there’s a shared level of seniority between them in this situation. Two doctors who can bond over medical students who fumble and make mistakes they would no longer make. In this sense, they’re equals. It’s dangerously addictive.
So Dennis leans in, he relaxes his posture, and props his face in his hand. Tapping his own cheek a couple of times with his finger as he speaks up.
“Reminds me of someone.”
Testing the waters.
Robby’s fingers still over the keys; he blinks a couple of times. Snorting again, he bites.
“Why’s it always you who’s around when it happens?”
Dennis grins in response, glancing to the left of him and pretending to watch anyone else but Robby.
“Seems I’m just lucky,”
Robby laughs wholeheartedly again, and Dennis hops impossibly further into the counter. No doubt he looks ridiculous.
“Perhaps… you’re just a snitch.”
Robby says, head dipping as he teases, and Dennis’ cheeks heat up. He feels special. It reminds Dennis of how freely Robby once interacted with Dr Langdon on his first day. Or how he trades shots with Dana. How he squabbles with Dr McKay.
Reel it in, Whitaker.
“Ah, there’s a saying about those and stitches. I could make a doctor-esq play on that, if I were smart.” He says, patting the counter a couple of times as he wets his lips. Robby lets out that half-choked chuckle — The one that reminds him endearingly so of a seal. And Dennis waves an awkward goodbye as he steps off to actually work.
*
“Fancy seein’ you here kid.” Two for two, Dennis would be excited if not for his heart racing in his chest.
“Outside the hospital… where… we both work?”
Oh, dear god. He’s horrible at this.
And yes, Dennis is no fool. He knows good and well the effect he has on people. Sometimes his fumbling, awkward demeanor is cute. Sure. But not when he can’t come up with a clever enough quip to keep the conversation going. He did just fine earlier. Maybe it’s being on Robby’s terms that gets him. When Robby speaks first and Dennis follows. Or it could be Robby outside of work that throws him off, even if it is just outside in the ambulance bay.
But Robby doesn’t seem to be put off by it all. Just snorts, crossing his arms and looking away as he smacks on the mint between his teeth and turns it over on his tongue. It’s far from cold out tonight, yet Dennis shivers.
“You got me there.” He flicks his head. Gaze shifting to Dennis again. He rips his ear at him. “What’re you doin’ standing around? It’s humid out here.”
The younger man swallows. A bead of sweat races down the side of his face. And Dennis takes a deep breath, shrugging in his spot, leaning back against the cold brick.
“Just… catching some air before I walk home I guess.”
He smiles, his foot taps nervously against the pavement. And he smooths his shirt. In all actuality, he’d been letting the dreadful desire to book it towards the nearest bar wash over him. Hoping the warm night air would nip it out of his nervous system, hoping he doesn’t have to do it himself. This interaction really isn’t helping, though. Robby nods.
Dennis stares at him. Taking in the way Robby cracks his knuckles, the pull of his crows' feet, and the salt and pepper color of his beard. Fuck.
“That’s uh, a nice bike by the way... Sir.”
Dennis says, smiling wobbly as he vaguely gestures toward it. Robby smiles, chucking in poorly contained excitement.
“Yeah? Thank you. Everyone else likes to poke fun at me for it.”
He bows, dramatically. And Dennis snorts. His cheeks grow a little warmer, and not from the temperature outside.
“They say it’s a midlife crisis. I just like to ride in style.”
Dennis huffs, biting at his nail mindlessly. He speaks, after a moment.
“I’d argue it’s pretty cool,” he pauses, nodding. “Maybe not as cool as horseback, though. Ever consider saddling up a trusty steed?”
Robby sighs, stepping a little closer to Dennis. Just a tad. His gaze is intense. It makes Dennis want to squirm… or throw back a shot. He can’t quite decide which, but he can taste salt on his tongue. Perhaps if Robby kissed him then and there he’d taste it too.
“That’s where you’re mistaken, kid. I can do both.”
He laughs, music to Dennis’ ears. Then his eyes trail him over. Just once. And he sounds so confident, and sexy, and irresistible that all the air is gone from the blonde’s lungs in mere seconds. His fingers twitch with effort not to grab Robby by the collar — god. He needs a drink, he needs a shot, he needs to double-fist something alcoholic until he loses all his reservations and gives in to that urge before he melts.
Because Dr Robby knows how to ride a horse? It shouldn’t be nearly as enthralling as it is to him. But Dennis feels like he can’t breathe. Imagining Robby as a farm hand. Firm and tanned, putting those arms to good use. Hot air hisses from between his teeth. What would life have been like if they met on Dennis’s stomping ground? He’d like to think much easier for him. But he’d likely be much too petrified by the prospect of tainting the Whitaker farm with his unholy desire. His lips thin with effort to school his expression, Robby doesn’t say anything more. So Dennis speaks again. Afraid that his off-putting reaction might ruin it all.
“Oh, whoa. I.. didn’t expect that.” He laughs shakily, his throat bobbing. “When’d you find the time to learn?”
Robby smiles, scratching the side of his face with closed eyes. “Jake and I took lessons when he was younger. Thought it’d be fun. I think I enjoyed it more than he did, though.” He snorts. Dennis’ mouth is dry.
Robby glances at him, then at his bike. He leaves Dennis with quite possibly the cruelest thing he could have said in this scenario.
“Don’t look so surprised.” He smiles, dangerously. Clapping his hands together.
“How about I take you on a ride next time you’re off? Show you the best of both worlds.”
Dennis takes a long, deep breath.
Bad idea.
Horrible, terrible, no good idea. Why would he ever get on the back of a death trap like that? Be confined with his arms around Robby’s waist and his chest pressed against his Boss’s firm back? Why would he ever consider riding a middle-aged man after a grueling shift in the ED to blow off steam?
Or— oops. Taking a ride with one. God.
His breath sputters out faster than his words. No doubt he’s made a fool of himself. But his shoulders hike up and he speaks.
“Yeah, yeah I’d like that” He sputters, and Robby smirks lazily. Nodding once in acknowledgement. He reaches out, planting a firm hand on Dennis’ shoulder and shaking him lightly.
“Damn right. See you tomorrow, Whitaker.”
He says, and with that: he’s gone. Onto his bike and squaring himself away before he pulls off. Dennis notes, interestingly. That he isn’t wearing a helmet.