every time it rains i have the urge to say “well our plan to stand alone in a field with a metal rod is out” which no one ever recognizes is from phineas and ferb but usually kills anyway
that feeling when there are new shows you want to watch because you know you'd love them, but instead you watch favorite episodes of a favorite show--ones that you've seen at least eight million times--because your heart craves comfort, not novelty
No idea where this ficlet came from. Dennis/Jack, with some implied future Robby/Dennis. Gets kinda horny! 1.7k words.
Jack’s shoulder is, well. The joke writes itself.
Pain, thoracic, radiating along his spinatus. Stubborn as hell. Worse after he sleeps. He’s tried attacking it with tennis balls, rolling out, even one of those plastic things that looks like a stage hook, meant to dig into your tender spots, until his jaw hurts from clenching his teeth about it. Most days he just suffers through moving a little more stiffly, hissing whenever he has to raise his right arm higher than his shoulder to help set up an IV or adjust a monitor. When it gets too bad for him to ignore he pops two high-dose NSAIDs before his shift and hopes for the best.
Hell, he could always get a shot, if he needed to, he figures. Robby could do a quick curtain-draw and handle the papers and stick him in the nerve cluster so it all goes away. He’d mother-hen the shit out of Jack about it, of course, but he could tolerate that.
Really, the whole issue is pretty whatever, until one of his nurses catches him rubbing at it while Ellis is presenting a probable torn patellar tendon at some time around three thirty in the morning. It sounds like a violent tear. Jack makes a corny joke about getting kneecapped, and the mafia, which she does him the solid of not pretending to laugh at, and he sends her on her way.
Tucker’s still standing there though, eyeing Jack. Jack’s hand falls from where it was kneading ineffectually at the edge of his lat.
“What?” he asks.
“I know a guy.”
“…In the mob?”
Tucker smiles. “Nah. For the shoulder. “
Jack isn’t unfamiliar, considering there’d been the whole issue of adjusting to the leg. But he hasn’t had physical therapy in so long he gets beers with his old PT– the connection with Nash is definitely social, at this point, not clinical.
Jack shrugs, which doesn’t feel great. “I don’t need any of that–” he cups his hands in shoulder- pinching squeezes, too light, too superficial.
Tucker laughs. “Nah, nah, this guy’s the real deal, promise. He’ll work you over good.”
The pain is making it pretty hard to sleep. And it’s been more days chewing ibuprofen than not, at this point.
Tucker looks like he works out, Jack assesses.
–
“Hi!” the kid says, brightly, getting up to come greet Jack.
Once he’s standing— not bouncing slightly on the big blue yoga ball that he was using like a desk chair— Jack can see he’s short, but built. There’s rap music absolutely blaring in the gym Jack has just walked through, and it vibrates the glass-fronted suite a little, all fluorescent lighting and thick, foam-rubber floor tiles. It smells kinda sweaty but that doesn’t bother Jack too much.
The kid sticks out his hand.
“Dennis Whitaker.”
There’s something about the way the lighting makes his skin sallow and eyes huge that sits bizarrely with how tightly he’s gripping Jack’s hand as he shakes it. He’s in a gray t-shirt that strains across his chest and arms with the name of the gym on the front. His curly hair looks kind of crazy in the humidity. There are cardboard boxes of sanitary wipes and creatine powder everywhere.
“Jack,” explains Jack, pumping Whittaker’s hand once.
“Nice to meet you, Jack. Step into my office.”
He has Jack sit on the massage table, like it really is an exam table. Jack feels like he should somehow at least get to wear a gown during this, though figures he’ll be just in his gym shorts for the actual massage.
He tells it to Whitaker straight. “It’s a spinatus issue. Never been great, but I think I’ve been impinging it by sleeping on my side, so it’s worse.”
Whitaker laughs, sounding excited.
“What?”
“Jason told me you were a doctor. Now, lift your right arm?”
Jack is still catching up to Tucker’s first name as he obeys and winces.
Whitaker has Jack do a bunch of stuff; standing, sitting, twisting Jack’s neck gently left and right while he palpates the sides of it. He inspects Jack’s leg. Shouldn’t be a problem, he says. Jack can keep it on or off. Finally, he finishes probing him.
“Mm. I love a nice, vintage rotator cuff. Needs a little TLC, that’s all.”
Jack blushes a bit at anything about his body being called ‘vintage’.
“Shall we?” Dennis prompts.
“Have at.”
“Alright. Take your shirt off for me.”
While Jack is stripping, Dennis is hooking over a little tray cart with his foot. It looks like the ones they have in the ED, but this one has tools, a towel, and the largest industrial-sized bottle of lotion Jack has ever seen. When Jack turns back, shirt folded neatly on a filing cabinet— the only alternative is the ground—Dennis is pumping out slugs of lotion into his hands and rubbing them together.
“Okay, how do you want me?”
“Oh, face down, please.”
Jack gets himself onto the table and settles himself into the waiting face cradle. His leg’s a little fussy, but something about taking it off feels too vulnerable. Now everything is dark and plastic-squeaky and a tiny bit antiseptic smelling. He has a great view of those floor tiles.
For a while, Dennis just sweeps his hand across him, up and down his back and shoulders. His hands are warm, and Jack can feel his body hovering closely as he leans over the table. This isn’t so bad, though, not nearly hard enough to actually do anything besides make him feel— Jack feels weirdly lulled, actually, the loud music far away, until Dennis speaks again.
“Okay, we’re going to start. Let me know if it’s too hard?”
Jack grunts.
Start? They were already going–
Woah.
Tucker wasn’t wrong; the kid is fucking strong. Like, really strong. Holy fucking shit. Jack feels his whole body start to break out in an all-over sweat as Whitaker’s hands push across his muscles of his upper body in deep, rolling waves, intentional, hard.
He grips Jack’s neck.
“I’m going to separate these tissues a bit, like so.”
Something amazing is happening in Jack’s right trap. Then, somehow, the whole top of his shoulder girdle, even though that isn’t even the part Whitaker is touching.
“I bet you honestly know the names of everything I’m working on.” The kid sounds genuinely pretty thrilled, working the flesh near the cap of Jack’s humerus.
“Supra…spinatus?” Jack hazards, a little strained.
“Very good.”
Dennis keeps tenderizing him. Everything is going fine, just fine, until Dennis mutters something like ‘stay with me, now,’ and then before Jack can ask, Dennis is pressing on the point to end all points, spearing right into the base layer of muscle through the top of Jack’s shoulder with his thumb. Jack’s been shot before– lost his goddamn leg– but somehow, impossibly, this hurts more. A pulsing, white-hot pain that immediately zaps from his shoulder lodges itself in his forehead, behind his fucking eyes. It’s the worst and the best. Jack realizes, distantly, he’s panting into the face cradle.
The pressure falters. “Too much?”
“No,” Jack gasps. “No–”
Whitaker plunges back in. Jack can feel his other hand moving down to anchor below his shoulder blade, pulling across his scapula, stretching against the pinioned point of his thumb. Jack might be crying.
Eventually, after seconds, or hours, the pressure and pain subside. Jack’s body leaps at the relief, pins and needles flushing outwards. He gasps a deep breath, a little lightheaded with how goddamn intense it feels.
“Good job, You did great,” Whitaker is saying, petting light circles into this scapulas with both hands. “That’s it. We’re done with that, now.”
Fuck. Why the fuck is that making Jack a little hard? He can feel the start of a boner pushing against the bench.
“Need a minute?”
Dennis can’t see it, Jack reminds himself. He tries to adjust subtly.
“Nah, we’re good.”
Dennis starts working at his hamstrings. He could cry all over again with the relief of Dennis focusing his diabolical hands somewhere else besides his poor shoulders.
“You’re, uh, thorough,” he mutters, once everything is more warm and melty again, like it was at the beginning.
“The body is one big, interconnected piece, when you look at it from a therapeutic point of view. I need to follow the problem down to the root.”
“Right, right,” Jack agrees, something silly on the tip of his tongue about holistic medicine getting completely whisked away by whatever Dennis is doing to his lumbar.
Jack loses track of time. Eventually, Dennis gently touches his good shoulder.
“On your back for me?”
Jack’s floaty brain assesses. Mmmm. Uh oh. The problem down below has not resolved itself. If anything, it’s gotten worse. He’s nursing a full, fat erection against the cushion of the table, hot, insistent— he hadn’t even noticed, somehow. For a second, he desperately wishes he even had a skimpy sheet to cover himself with. Anything more than just his shorts, like a middle school boy afflicted with an unwanted boner in fucking gym class.
“Woah, um, thanks, let me just. Yeah.”
When he peels his face up out of the cradle for one mortifying second, Dennis’ eyes are sparkling.
“Would you believe you aren’t the only person this happens to? Perfectly natural reaction. I’ll give you a minute.”
Jack hears him walk over to the glass door, music blaring extra loud for a moment as it swings open, and then he’s alone.
Oh, yeah, Jack believes it.
—
For the first time since he can remember, when Jack wakes up the next afternoon for his shift, the pain is gone.
—
“Hiya, Dana.”
Dana glances at him for two and a half seconds over her glasses before going back to her computer screen.
“FYI, you’re floating about a foot off the floor. Might wanna get that checked out.”
Robby’s no better once Jack finds him for handoff.
“Woah, brother,” he says, setting aside his iPad. “Mind telling me where you found Nirvana on your day off? I’d like some of that.”
Jack hadn’t even opened his mouth! He turns and looks Robby up and down, appraisingly.
“You’ve always had a bad back, right?”
“I’m a fifty year old man, Jack.”
“Fifty four.”
“I’m not—“
“In April. It’s March.”
Robby blows out at breath. “So, yes, you are weird and water is wet. My back sucks.”
2) acknowledges the author controls if there is more
3) offers their support if more is written (also the willingness to read more? Of my writing? Wow. I’m emotional)
4) exclamation mark with a compliment! Exciting!
Person B
1) one word
2) all capitals
3) demanding - it feels like you’re yelling at me
4) could not actually be bothered to say you liked it
Be Person A, not Person B, please! Fanfic authors are not your fic ATMs.
I know people always say they don’t know what to write in a comment but honestly? As long as you’re polite it’s a good comment!
Unless an author has asked for critiques, DO NOT GIVE THEM. I don’t need to know (nor do I care) that something took you out of the fic. It’s FICTIONAL. Use your imagination! Make it work!
Plsss, your fiancé's comment about Dennis being passed around the teachers lounge has me dying. Absolutely cackling imagining j/r's faces if Dennis dated a Prof for a semester
Imagine omfg.
They wanted Dennis to go to college and be a normal kid and do silly normal things. Not psyched about the idea of boyfriends, but, it's to be expected. Dennis is going to find some age-appropriate boy and they'll deal with it.
But then he starts talking about this guy he's been sleeping with. Who doesn't sound ... like he's one of Dennis' peers.
Losing their absolute minds when they find out he's their age and fucking their son.
because uh something something if Dennis wanted to fuck an old man, he has two right here.
you’re Destroying my life. i just read all of nothing but strangers while at work and i Need More. i agree w the other anon i have a medical issue from this fic and i will need to go to rehab once its over. jesus fuck. please . we’re so thirsty and drowning at the same time. i need more of them…. god i cannotttt wait for the day where we get to read jack carefully talking dennis through how to fuck robby, how to get all his favorite sounds out of him, while touching dennis too and making him feel just as good. i feel fucking feral. thank you
ANOTHER MEDICAL ISSUE.
Absolutely delighted to be told I am destroying lives.
What a joy. What an honour.
Listen, I have written some truly fucked up, filthy 'I'll teach you how to fuck my husband' in the past. It may appear again.
I hope Dennis stays unwell I’m so sorry. My freak baby is so strong idk if college and college boys can change that for him but god bless and I’m sure Jack is praying against all odds to see it happen but I’m sorry Jack your baby is a freak (lovingly)
dude this is the funniest ask I've had in a while ilu.
I've been walking around just muttering to myself i hope dennis stays unwell i'm so sorry like some sort of - fandom munchausen's by proxy.
Jack doesn't check who's calling when he picks up the phone, he already knows. He has a sixth sense about it, can always feel Robby before he's there. Even over the phone, even thousands of miles away, he always knows when it's Robby.
"Hey, sexy," Jack says as he picked up the phone.
Robby sputters out a laugh in that way he does sometimes. It always makes Jack grin.
"Pretty sure that's sexual harassment," Robby says and Jack smiles into the stew he's making.
"We're not at work," Jack points out, sliding the sliced carrots into the crock-pot.
"I'm not sure that's how that works."
"What are you gonna to do, report me?" He's grinning now, not even bothering to keep cooking. Just leans back on the counter and takes a relieved inhale.
"This sounds like the start to a bad porno," Robby laughs, and Jack can hear a car drive by in the distance.
"Guess there's only one way to find out and that's by coming back." They haven't fucked before, but it's always seemed inevitable- the ultimate terminal of their relationship. Eventually they will fall together and never fall back apart. "Where are you?"
"Oklahoma. There's this giant concrete whale in a little pond. Old Route 66 attraction. It's got a baseball hat on."
"Sounds cute." He's happy that Robby's on Route 66. The farther away he is from Head-Smashed-In, the happier Jack will be.
"It's kind of creepy actually- It's got one eye half-closed so it kind of looks like it's leering at you." A pause. "I'm inside of it right now."
"And what are your thoughts in the belly of the whale, Jonah? You regret giving God the run-around yet?"
"Not yet." A pause. "I like it. No one else is here, it's peaceful."
"Sounds nice. I wish I was there." He would go see as many dumb tourist attractions as Robby wanted as long as he knew he was safe.
"I'll bring you a t-shirt." And Jack likes the sound of that. Robby returning to bring him souvenirs from the trip means that Robby is returning. The anxiety in his chest eases a little.
"Get me a magnet, too."
"Demanding," Robby tsks. "Do you even put magnets on your fridge?"
"I will if they're from you." He'd take as much useless shit as Robby would give him as long as it means he's here. "What's next?"
"Museum of Osteology. Probably more Route 66 after that."
"Nerd. You haven’t seen enough bones in your life?" Jack scoffs.
"These are animal bones," Robby explains. Jack doesn’t point out that humans are animals too. "They have a blue whale skeleton."
"I see how it is. You emerge from the belly of the beast and want to see it's corpse hung from the ceiling. Didn't know you were so heartless." Robby laughs again and Jack grins in triumph. "A whale skeleton does sound cool. Get me something from there, too."
"Bossy and greedy, a real winning combination."
"What can I say, I'm a catch." Jack pauses. "I miss you."
"I miss you too. I think this would be more fun with you." It hits Jack square in the chest. Robby, normally so evasive, actually being honest for once. And then: "I mean- really, who's supposed to take my picture with this cement masterpiece?"
"You want me to fly out there to be your camera man?" It's a real offer; Jack would do it, in a heartbeat. He has the time off banked.
"No need for all that. But maybe one day we take a road trip together. They sell these National Park passports."
"Do they now? Sounds like something we need to invest in." A road trip together sounds good. His breath is coming easier than it has since the minute Robby rode off.
"We can argue about what stickers to put in it."
"Oh, there are stickers now? Sounds very official."
"It's how the book's set up." Robby explains. "You get the stamp from the park and there's space for a sticker above it."
"More things for you to buy," Jack points out. "But let's do it. I have very intense sticker preferences, you know."
"You have very intense preferences about everything. You'll probably come back as a ghost to argue about the way we threw your funeral."
"You just want me to haunt you, I can feel it. Can't be without me for a minute, you just gotta drag me back from the dead."
There's a pause. "You've done that for me before. Just trying to return the favor." And then, in typical Robby fashion, he decides to bail when things get a little too close to the truth. "I'm gonna go, I want to get to Oklahoma City before dark."
Jack doesn't mind, he's just happy to have been called at all. "Okay, Jonah. Give the whale a kiss for me before you go." It's utterly unconscious, the way he says the next part. "I love you."
"Love you too." And then Robby's gone. And Jack thinks. Well, at least there's that, sorted. The words are out there now, and miracle of miracles, Robby said them back.
He returns to his cooking, and a minute later his phone buzzes with a message. A picture of the whale, which is very charming, even with it's squinted eye. And then a second picture, of Robby kissing it's cement mouth. Jack grins.
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