pope cody who is a humper. big bad scary guard dog filled with energy who just collapses into dennis whenever he sees him.
dennis gets in from work, heads into the kitchen before even taking his shoes off. pope is in there waiting for him. pope stalks over and just collapses into dennis back hugging him tight. before he even knows what he’s doing his hips start their tiny thrusting motions into the fabric of dennis’s jumper he still had on over his scrubs, dennis just strokes the hair on the back of his neck and pulls him closer muttering, “cmon puppy, you can do it, just let go for me…. thereeee he is,” encouraging pope along. dennis would never admit it out loud but pope’s quiet devotion in these moments gets him going like nothing else. his man, a puddle in his arms, using him for his own pleasure but still holding him so gently and full of love. dennis feels his stomach swirl with the want. “my beautiful boy, you just missed me so much isn’t that right? couldn’t wait for me to get back, just too needy puppy,”
they continue like this pope rutting into any part of dennis he can reach both fully clothed before he climbs over the peak of pleasure and cums with a whimper into the back of dennis’s neck.
“oh baby, that’s better right? got some of that energy out, shall we go lie down in bed?”
pope just nods, tiredness and submission clouding those big beautiful eyes.
Jack goes back to find Dennis the next day, and he only feels minor guilt at doing it while Robby's sleeping in.
He left a note, and he doesn't think Robby is particularly in the headspace to go back down to the floors hosting the showrooms. It had taken Jack two hours of soothing as the man railed about how wrong and filthy the whole hybrid trade was, before Robby would even consider going to bed.
Jack also knew the guilt that plagued him, because he felt the same snagging, loose thread in his own chest when he thought about the cheerful wag of Dennis' tail slowing and the happy light in his eyes dimming as they walked away from him with no warning and what must have been a horrible demeanour. Poor kid probably thinks he did something wrong.
He could see the desire to fix, to placate and soothe in Robby's eyes. But he knew the man all too well, and he could read in the set of his jaw and the furrow to his brow that voluntarily submerging himself in the noise and smell and swirling chaos of the showroom wouldn't end the way that Robby would want it to.
So he took it upon himself to weave through the relative quiet of the early-morning start-up buzz, until he found his way back to the booths where his eyes had originally caught on Dennis.
For some reason, he was surprised to find the kid there. There was a lurching feeling behind his ribs, like hope suddenly slamming into the place where disappointment had been presumptuously residing. He was so sure that yesterday had been an opportunity passing them by in real time.
"Oh my - you're back! Hi!"
Christ, the absolute uncomplicated delight in the kid's voice momentarily robbed Jack of his own. All he could do was give Dennis his best smile as he approached, taking the time to try to gather himself and find his voice and the words he hadn't bothered to think about.
"Hey, buddy. Yeah, I'm back - was kinda hoping I'd find you again. Was worried you might be done with the circuit by now."
Dennis beamed at him, the force of his tail wags making his whole lower body wiggle. Jack felt his lips twitch in a kind of helpless, happy sympathy.
"Oh, no - this sort of thing usually lasts a few weeks."
Jack obviously did a poor job at hiding his surprise because Dennis giggled.
"I mean, there are competitions and all, and that's fun, but it's not really why most of them come here." At Jack's blank, wary look, Dennis cocked his head and smiled, leaning in a little, and this time there was something about the tilt of his lips that was different. Like looking at a flower whose edges were just starting to brown and wilt.
"It's a time where almost all of the high-profile owners and breeders are together in one place, with their - with us. They trade, they buy and sell. They, um - well, you know."
Jack did not know, and for a moment all he could do was try to look encouraging and open while Dennis' face flushed.
The words from Dennis' handler yesterday pierced through his skull, echoing as clearly as if the man was shouting it into his ear, some kind of vulgar, shrieking ghost at the feast.
"Denny's fit for breeding and his owner is considering offers."
The effort to control the twist of his face - to match the one in his stomach - was like stifling a sneeze on the highway. He wanted nothing more than to react with the full force of his body's horror, to purge the concept like bad food sitting, rotting in his stomach.
Instead, he forced himself to draw his training around himself like a shield, like a set of well-worn scrubs, as he gentled his voice and set his face into something as mild and soft as his racing pulse could manage.
"Of course. I'm sorry, Dennis, I should have remembered. We don't have to talk about that if you don't want to."
Dennis smiled, but it looked like he was dredging it up from somewhere sticky and cloying.
"Or - or if you have any questions." Jack was blurting out before he could even think about it, the impulse so fresh that the other half of his brain barely has time to hope he's not fucking this up or scaring Dennis. "I'm a doctor. Emergency medicine - I'm not a hybrid specialist, but I could still help...make things a little less confusing. If you haven't - I mean, if nobody has explained this to you before."
Christ, he really should have brought Robby with him.
"I've never been covered, if that's what you mean." Dennis is cocking his head up at Jack, so openly enquiring - even with a little bit of a giggle playing at his words at Jack's bashfulness - that his heart aches a little. "I've been away from all that until now. My owner kind of - I don't know, I think they kinda liked having me around, just with them."
There's a quiet, gentle pride there, but as Dennis speaks Jack can see that it's bruised, the damage fresh. Dennis swallows around the words that might have wanted to come after that confession, and as he looks back up at Jack, suddenly appraising, his tail starts to wag.
"But you're a doctor? That's so cool!"
Jack tries to pull his own smile out of his own mire of sticky, dark thoughts, and is pleasantly surprised to find that even after all this time, that tiny flicker of pride at being able to call himself doctor still sparks.
It makes it slightly easier to meet the fascinated sparkle in Dennis' eyes with something real.
"Yeah. Me and Robby - my husband, the man I was with yesterday? We both work in Pittsburgh, in an emergency department. We're only here because there's a medical conference going on upstairs, and sometimes part of the job is being forced to fly to a different city and sit in a room filled with your least favourite people, listening to them talk about your least favourite topics."
Dennis giggled, and his ears twitched like Jack's words had physically tickled something.
"I'm willing to bet there's more hissing, spitting, and fur flying at medical conferences than there is at one of these things." Jack nods his head to encompass their surroundings. "You wouldn't believe how bitchy it can get in clinical academia. Personally, I always think it's a sign of too much time on too many hands."
He puts up both palms and wiggles them in a little jazz hands motion before he can think better of it. He takes a second to thank god that the interns and medical students weren't here to see it - they already give him enough shit for being a boomer, which he has tried to explain many times is patently untrue, but maybe he brings it on himself with shit like this.
Dennis seems to like it though, laughing a genuine and honestly kind of goofy little laugh which makes Jack's own smile start to ache.
"I always thought that doctos were mature, serious people." Dennis volunteers, giving Jack a look that practically twinkles and a little twist of his lips that speaks of trouble. Jack solemnly shakes his head.
"We're all overgrown children with bloated egos and fragile self-esteem. Present company excluded, of course."
"Oh, of course!" Dennis chitters, ears smoothing back earnestly. "You've only been standing here complaining about how all your colleagues are mean and boring. Very mature, super stoic."
The laughter that bubbles out of him is louder than he'd expected, and he ducks his head and tucks his hands in his pockets while he gets it under control. There are little plumes of soft, golden fur drifting in the air around them, because Dennis' tail is wagging so hard.
"You want to see what I get up to at my...'conferences'?" Dennis asks, clearly brimming with excitement and wiggling on his perch.
For the first time, Jack really takes note of what he's wearing. It's an odd, plain white garment, almost shift-like. It's neither baggy nor clingy, instead it seems to drape over the outline of Dennis' body gently, like water. There are strange ties all along the side, almost like you might find on a hospital gown. He blinks, clears the thought from his head at the sight of Dennis' tilted head and eagerly-waiting gaze.
"Hell yeah, buddy, show me what you got."
Dennis makes an odd sound, halfway between a yip and an exhalation of air, shoving himself off his seat and gesturing Jack closer into his little booth. He turns a little display board so it's in Jack's line of sight, and he can see that it's festooned with bright, silky ribbons in every colour and shade imaginable. They all have gold or silver writing stitched in, proclaiming Dennis either first or second place in the 'companion' category.
Jack digs his thumbnail into his palm so hard he feels a slight tackiness start to bead at the nail, but his smile remains firmly in place while Dennis intently studies his face, so the pain in his hand doesn't even matter.
"Holy shit, Dennis, this is all you?" It's a stupid, pointless question, but Dennis is beaming and his tail is wagging as he nods, so once again Jack decides that nothing else matters. "Damn, this is quite the impressive collection. So you're kind of a star, huh?"
That giggle again, although this time it's interrupted by the bustling, harried approach of the man from yesterday, Dennis' so-called 'handler.'
"I'm so sorry - oh, it's you." The man stops short a little even as he fusses at Dennis, urging him to stand and turn even as the man addresses Jack with an expression that's hard to read. "I'm sorry, I wasn't sure you'd be back after yesterday."
Jack shrugs, stares back unblinkingly, not willing to offer the standard social niceties about a fake urgent appointment.
"Denny, for - please try to keep your ears still before we go out there. You manage to get all kinds of knots and crinkles in them."
The man picks up a comb and starts worrying at the long, curly strands of fur at the very base of Dennis' ears. Dennis winces at the tug, but smiles at Jack despite the man's sweaty fussing.
The strands look impossibly soft, and Jack wants to twist the curls around his finger and make them more pronounced, even as the comb straightens them out.
"Look, we're just about to go out on the floor, they're calling Dennis' number." The man throws over his shoulder at Jack. "You're welcome to stay and watch, but if you want to pick up where we left off yesterday you'll need to come back on Saturday. We've got appointments immediately after this - well, that's what we're hoping for, isn't it Denny?"
The man gives Dennis a jovial little shove and pat, and Dennis smiles up at him, nodding along, but the smile dips and wavers at the corners and his tail only twitches minutely. He darts a quick glance at Jack, who feels his thumb dig even deeper into the cresent-shaped wound he's making.
He opens his mouth to say something, but the handler is setting down the comb with a sharp, metallic clink and ushering Dennis away from his booth before Jack can even process what is happening.
He sees Dennis glance back over his shoulder as he's tugged away towards the show area, and he tries to school his face into an expression that is reassuring despite the fact that he has none to offer.
Dennis smiles back at him anyway, although his ears remain, as per instruction, perfectly still.
------
Jack follows Dennis and his handler as far as he can before he reaches an area his presence will clearly not be tolerated in, at which point he turns on his heel and finds himself a space at the small 'arena' area that has been cordoned off by a ring of boards with advertising and sponsorship logos splashed all over them. He takes up his post, bracing against the boards with his forearms and prepares to wait. It's at least a relief to be able to take a little weight off his leg, which is starting to protest the heat of the showroom.
He's surpised that he doesn't have to wait long at all, as Dennis' handler enters the show arena at an awkward pace halfway between a power walk and a jog, looking like it's uncomfortable to keep up.
Dennis trots along easily and gracefully at his side, looking like he would happily break into a full run but is locking the desire down tightly.
Someone, somewhere is droning on in an irritatingly loud voice, presumably saying things about Dennis that barely register with Jack, but which he recognises as show language that he wouldn't understand.
What he does understand, is when a two men in smart suits join Dennis and his handler on the floor of the arena, and start touching Dennis.
They greet the handler first, with polite smiles, which he returns stiltedly. The man in charge, clearly some kind of judge based on the uneasy deference the handler is showing him, says nothing to Dennis as he puts both hands on his face and pries open his mouth.
The lines of Dennis' body remain remarkably relaxed, in sharp contrast to Jack's, which has tightened every muscle capable of doing so.
The judge tilts Dennis' head this way and that, runs a finger inside his mouth along his teeth, making Jack clench his own. He runs his hand briskly over Dennis' beautiful soft ears, tugging and turning them to peer inside and then giving him a rough pat in reward. He is quick and far too careless with his hands, considering the effort that had been put into making Dennis look so perfect.
He runs his hand down Dennis' back and grabs his tail at the base, and for some reason Jack can feel something ugly and heavy settling in his stomach, can feel his palms dampening and his pulse starting to pick up a sickly rhythm.
The man pulls Dennis' tail this way and that, ruffling his fingers through the fur. Then he fetches something from his pocket, and Jack's heart and stomach both lurch sickeningly as he takes in the two things that happen next.
One, is that Jack finds out why there were side-ties to the garment that Dennis was wearing, as the man assisting the judge runs his finger down them and unties them with a deftness that makes Jack swallow down something thick and dreadful. The garment hangs loosely on Dennis for a moment before the man tugs it swiftly off without a second thought, leaving Dennis completely naked under the harsh arena lighting. There is no rustle of surprise or discomfort in the audience around him, and Jack wants to shake people, grip all the unfazed faces around him and yell and shout until something moves them.
The second thing that happens, is that Jack sees what the judge was removing from his pocket.
Gloves. Blue, sterile gloves, the same as the hundreds of thousands of pairs that Jack has worn himself over the years.
Jack feels like something large and cold has him in his jaws as his entire body freezes up as he watches the judge immediately reach between Dennis' legs. He pats his thigh once, at which Dennis spreads them just a little, and even reaches out to steady himself on the arm his handler has presented him for support. He bends at the waist slightly.
The judge grips Dennis' genitals like they're nothing more than clay replicas, carelessly and quickly squeezing penis and testicles, before dipping further back to touch his omega anatomy.
He spends far more time there. Jack isn't sure whether to feel grateful or cowardly for the fact that he can't see anything more than the man's hand working mechanically between Dennis' thighs. Dennis' face is blank and unmoving as the man's knuckles disappear and his wrist moves quickly and carelessly.
Jack's not sure how long it lasts, but he's had traumas go south that felt like they went quicker than this.
When the judge removes his hand, wetness glints off the blue glove before it is quickly removed and disposed of. He smiles and shakes hands with Dennis' handler, whose shoulders relax and who returns the smile more genuinely than he had previously.
He gives Dennis a pat on the stomach before resuming that awkward walk-jog out of the arena, Dennis following sedately behind.
Jack stalks along the edge of the advertising border, keeps his eyes locked on Dennis as he exits the show area and into a 'backstage' area only vaguely separated from the rest of the room by larger advertising banners.
He doesn't take his eyes off Dennis until he's gently rebuffed by someone wearing the dark colours of event security.
"I'm sorry, sir - do you have an appointment?"
"What?" He barely spares the security a glance as he scans over their shoulder, desperately trying to keep track of Dennis. He thinks he sees a flash of those reddish-blond curls, but they're getting lost in a sea of other faces and bodies.
"You need to be a pre-approved breeder to access this part of the event, sir." The worst part is that this man looks like he genuinely doesn't want to be breaking this news to Jack.
He fishes around for something to use, some trump card to play.
"I was speaking to Dennis' handler yesterday - I have an alpha I want to stud. He told me Dennis' owner was considering offers."
He sends up some silent plea for forgiveness for even thinking the words, let alone saying them out loud like they were reasonable and didn't leave the back of his teeth feeling sticky.
The man glances down, makes a poor attempt at schooling his own expression before he sighs.
"Look, unless your name is on this list, I can't let you back there. They have appointments booked out for the next three days. Come back on Saturday."
Jack's palm is sticky with a mixture of tacky blood and fresh sweat. It's been a long time since he's felt so fucking helpless.
Established rabbot who fuck hard and fast and a little gross, I’m talking grew up heavy in the underground queer scene and exposure to the culture gave them a very liberallllll exposure to kink.
Then they start dating little (kinda sheltered but grew up on the internet) Gen Z Dennis- with his queer culture mainly formed on message boards and tumblr and a very radically progressive view of queerness that’s kinda sanitised.
And then when he watches his boyfriends fuck for the first time, tugging at leather harnesses and spitting in each others mouths he just sits there in his little tight white boxers and socks, cross legged, eyes wide and scandalised and whispers …. Guys do you know you can’t say faggot anymore, it’s like, a slur
Big internalised homophobia dennis whitaker absolutely consumed with sexual shame who has never so much as touched tips with another man before shyly pursuing a relationship with robby, who makes him feel so safe and so supported and so real and so cared for
Vs internalised homophobia of a DIFFERENT kind michael robinavitch who has always fucked other men but almost never loved them, and certainly never loved the ones he was fucking, who feels white-hot anxious and guilty for reciprocating this much younger man's desire, feels so dirty-wrong-bad for even wanting to fuck him when what he craves is obviously robby's gentleness
Going out for coffee after coffee after coffee, dennis slowly closing the gap between them, occasionally a beer but never two. Working on the bike together. Grocery shopping. Watching a movie together where dennis very very slowly insinuates himself against robby's side, and then his chest, then his lap
Never daring to make the first sexual move. Nervously asking "is this okay?" and robby is physically passive but verbally assures him it's okay, he can take what he wants, he can take what he needs from robby
Weeks and then months of dennis jacking off to thoughts of robby and vice versa; santos going almost crazier than dennis at the fact that they haven't fucked yet
And finally robby and dennis hanging out one evening and dennis slowly taking off his clothes as robbt says "hey, you don't need to, you don't have to do that, we can..." and dennis mumbling "i want to. Please. Can't I?"
And robby finally Breaking
And tearing off the last of dennis' clothes and roughly pinning him down, and dennis gasping and shuddering in shock and a little fear and then overwhelming pleasure as robby fucks into him too hard and too fast, bites down on his shoulder and leaves hickeys down his neck, fingertip bruises against his hips, his thighs
A lot of lube but no easing into it, just shoving in all the way to the root as dennis howls, and when dennis is overstimulated and teary-eyed and too dazed to beg for mercy robby just keeps fucking him and fucking him and fucking him
give Dennis a connective tissue disorder. he dislocates his shoulder doing a patient transfer during a trauma and everyone is horrified. and he just. pops it right back in before anyone else can do or say anything.
he’s just used to it because it happens to him all the time and farm work can’t stop just because his joints dislocate a lot. verbalizing this to his very upset coworkers/friends/boyfriends does not help how upset they all are.
i have a thing where i give dennis POTS, i'm about to give him hEDS. should i go for the trifecta and give him MCAS? also im low key deciding to not reread the things i post on here as much and just write because im suffering.
"ah, shit," dennis's pulled back from the transfer and held his right shoulder.
robby, still looking at the patient, asked, "you good, whitaker?"
dennis nodded while massaging his arm. "yeah, think it just sort of fell out of place there."
"what?" a couple people around the room asked urgently.
robby cut through the chaos. "whitaker, go find dana. everyone else, focus. perlah, push midazolam. ABC people."
dennis backed away, but didn't leave the room. as they examined the patient and determined his injuries to be non-life threatening, dennis massaged his shoulder until an audible snap cut through the noise. "ok, sorry. i'm good."
"did you just...fix your own dislocated shoulder?" donnie asked incredulously.
dennis looked around, not expecting to see most of the room focused on him. "uh...it was a subluxation. not quite a full dislocation."
"and you know that how?" donnie questioned with a tilt of his head, completely ignoring robby’s direction to focus.
dennis waved his hand dismissively. he pointedly began to poke at a scrape on the patients lower leg with his non-dominant hand. "it happens sometimes. it's fine." no one responded. "this has some gravel in it. want me to pick it out while he's sedated?"
"no." robby pursed his lips. "well, yes. someone should do that. you go sit. i will look at your shoulder in a second.
"i don't need you to-"
"just..." robby adjusted his volume. he lowered his voice. "just listen to me." it was sort of pleading, vulnerable in a way no one had heard from their attending. dennis folded. he walked out with his tingling fingers and slumped into a patient bay.
-
dennis didn’t know why robby was talking about this right in front of the totally not sound proof curtain.
“no, i know. i think you should just pick him up.” robby paused, presumably listening. “jack, i heard our boyfriend set his own shoulder in a trauma, of course i’m overreacting!” he said hysterically before pausing one more time. robby sighed, “ok, thank you. i’ll see you when you get here.”
robby moved into the room, pulled over a stool, and began palpating dennis’s hand and arm. he looked surprised when dennis said, “you don’t have to send me home.” dennis winced when robby got to the part on his shoulder that still felt too-loose and achey.
“i thought you were doing your exercises, den,” robby chastised. “the strengthening, the isometrics,” robby pushed dennis’s chin back so his head sat on top of his neck instead of pulling forward, “the posture corrections.”
dennis angrily replied, “i am! i’m doing the exercises, as much as i can as a fucking intern, but they don’t do anything. it’s not fair!”
robby rubbed his hands softly up and down the outside of dennis’s arms, shushing him. “i know, i know. i’m sorry. you’re right.”
“i hurt all the time! and i’m tired. and i always have bruises from combative patients,” dennis tearfully complained. “it’s not fair.”
“i know…” robby just held him. dennis was tired, and he had the unfortunate luck of being someone who actually needed eight hours of sleep to be functional, and robby felt guilty because he knew for a fact why dennis was tired today.
they stayed like that for a couple minutes before jack discreetly slipped through the curtain. “i felt a disturbance in the force.”
“you’re such a fucking nerd,” dennis mumbled into robby’s scrub top.
jack huffed. “and you’re so full of shit. who tries to keep working after their shoulder pops out of place?”
dennis pulled away to look at jack incredulously. “who tries to work with an open, weeping wound on their residual limb?”
jack had the decency to flash a conceding shrug. “and then my wonderful partners put me on bed rest for a week and a half.”
“that was a fun week.” robby smirked.
dennis looked between them. their worried expressions, their messy hair, their weirdly wide stances that make dennis wanna get between their legs. dennis wanted to stay at work, but he wasn’t going to win that battle. he could at least negotiate some better terms.
your POTS post got me thinking about chronically ill Dennis who's so desensitized to needle sticks that he starts making the baby docs and nurses do his meds so he can call them out when they're fishing. its just a bonus for him that it makes his boyfriends love on him extra when one does an especially bad job and bruises him up
“jesus christ, who beat you up?” jack asked as he crawled into bed.
dennis thumbed at the edge of the bruise on his inner elbow. “oh, yeah. teddy had to try it a couple times to really get it.”
“fuck teddy. you look like you were mauled by a bear.” jack eyed the splotchy skin. “you gotta stop letting them use you like a pin cushion.”
robby dogeared his spot in his book to get a good look at dennis’s skin. “yeah, they can practice on inanimate objects if they’re gonna leave you looking like this.”
“it’s ok, i promise.” his eyes flitted between them, relishing in their concern. “i barely even feel it at this point.”
that only made his boyfriends frown, not liking the reminder of just how many times dennis had been poked in his life.
robby placed his book aside, it was some nonfiction thing about soccer. dennis wanted to blow his brains out when robby started describing it. he took off his reading glasses and slid down to properly lay beside dennis.
robby took dennis’s delicate wrist in his hand and held it up slightly to get a full look at the man’s arm. “i’m giving you strict orders to rest it.”
dennis smirked. “oh, really? how strict?”
jack put his big hand on dennis’s lower stomach. “you’re gonna put your arms by your sides, and not move them.” jack’s voice was husky. “can’t have you aggravating anything, can we?”
Did I absolutely fucking ghost because end of semester depression ran me over like a fucking bus? Yes I did. Did I return to drag you about being southern and then give you micro brain wormies? Hell yeah I did.
Anyway
Dennis with an ED. Please tw the heck outta this for folks. Im leaning ARFID and like people in my life have tried to tell me it seems like it comorbs on Autism but like no it can totally show up in trauma folks. I did my ResearchTM.
Homie grew up being told that food is earned, that its a privilege to be fed, but also learned in med school/health class/gym bros on social media/dealers choice that food is fuel and necessary to function. So Dennis will eat but never anything enjoyable unless hes "earned" it. And I dont mean like food thats moldy or actually bad I mean shitty protein bars that are more cardboard than edible or leftovers that are mostly cold in the middle because while he says he likes it that way deep down its because hes punishing himself. "You dont deserve hot food." vibes. When he does "well" he treats himself to the takeout meal he loves and savors the hell out if it.
Is this personal experience hell yeah and I should probably.... talk to my therapist but its fine. If you could wrap the sadness up with a bow where Jack and Robby help him out that'd be nice. I'm mostly okay and if anybody reads this and goes thats not ARFID thats x please let me know 😅
Love youu 💜💜💜
You just can't tell me that Dennis doesn't have some type of eating disorder/trauma.
Food can be a reward and a punishment. It was used as both when he was growing up so of course as he got older, lines were blurred and confusing. There's levels of growing up with food issues turned into food insecurity when he got to school turned into what the fuck do I even like to eat.
If we're leaning ARFID, Dennis doesn't trust what will happen if he does eat. He doesn't know why certain things are bad, just that they are, and he has his safe foods that are easy to consume. Easy to want and get.
But there's also that level of "if it's put in front of me I eat it" because that's what happened growing up. Robby and Jack notice how quiet Dennis gets during mealtimes. He goes from being entergetic and chatty to focused and silent. All his attention has to go into trying to consume whatever is on his plate regardless of how he feels about it. If he even wants it.
Which, of course, leads to a conversation that honestly leaves all of them confused. Dennis can't really explain the issue, he can't pinpoint where it started, he doesn't know what makes it better. Food is just hard for him. That's all he can really manage to clarify.
It takes the actual diagnosis, the nutritionist that he starts to see, the therapy Jack insists on, to actually begin to see the actual issue. For him to learn that food is not and never should be something other than neutral. Something he needs and never has to earn or force himself to consume.
Thinking of the sweetest date nights where they try new recipes and foods without any judgement or "you have to finish it" mentality. Dennis can take one bite and say no more and that's respected. He hesitantly brings forth things he wants to try and is met with absolute enthusiasm. And on those harder days, there's always a steady supply of his safe foods for him to have while Jack and Robby have whatever they want.
Mealtimes go from being tense and awkward to normal and easy. He can talk again and laugh and it makes the whole house warmer.
Extremely self-indulgent Hucklerobby "Daddy teaches his little boy how to kiss fic." FT fauxcest, punishment, spitting, degradation, etc. No one look at me.
A record droned on, warming the living room as Robby and Dennis lounged on the couch. Robby was lying down, propped up against the armrest, Dennis tucked in against his body.
After a shift, it took Dennis time to slip into rest. Whenever he tried to tidy up after work, Robby would nag and complain until he could get Dennis off his feet. Now, couch time was mandatory and Dennis supposed that was alright.
Robby was warm and broad. Even after a shift he still smelled faintly of cologne. His hand caressed Dennis’ thigh, fingertips dipping under the hemline of his shorts every so often. It was the kind of rest Dennis had once dreamed of. One rooted in safety and trust, making him feel whole and at peace.
Well, for a while.
Because, inevitably, Robby's innocent touches would escalate to not-so-innocent touches. Then, right on cue, Robby's hand groped under Dennis’ shirt and the older man leaned in for a kiss.
Dennis could kiss. He could. He liked kissing– he liked kissing Robby! He just… never figured out all the tongue stuff. His secret, high-school boyfriends never got that far past chaste kisses and quick hand jobs in a barn. Then, homelessness pretty much dashed all opportunities at romance throughout college and med school. Anything Dennis had done was a far cry from the languid, relaxed making out that Robby seemed to crave so much. Dennis usually tried to play it off, break off the kisses before they got too deep, bury his head in Robby’s neck. That didn't seem to be working this time.
Robby had Dennis’ face in both hands: gripping his jaw and cheekbone. Enough slack to stop kissing whenever Dennis wanted, but not enough to move towards Robby's chest and hide his face. The second time Dennis tried to make a break for it, Robby spoke up.
“Stay up here with me, Den?” Robby asked, his thumb brushing along Dennis’ lower lip. The request was so sweet and gentle… Dennis couldn’t deny his boyfriend. Could he?
“Uh,” Dennis swallowed. “...yeah. Ok.” He nodded. He could do this. He was a grown man. Most people figured this out as teenagers. He was a practicing doctor. He was regularly having sex with this man! Kissing couldn't be that hard.
Robby’s lips landed back on his, warm and soft. Dennis imagined that if he wasn't so scared, he could really come to enjoy this. The heady feeling of focusing on nothing but the man in front of him. The world narrowed down to a single point of contact.
Then, Robby's tongue grazed Dennis’ lower lip and suddenly Dennis was clammy. He didn't know what to do with his hands. His mouth was rapidly drying out. His spine stiffened and instead of doing literally anything he just sort of… stopped moving. Like a body in the cadaver lab, his mind unhelpfully supplied.
Robby broke contact when Dennis stilled.
“Hey,” he whispered, concern hiding in his furrowed brow.
“Hey,” Dennis choked out.
“Is… something wrong?”
“Ah,” Dennis sucked his teeth. “No. No, it's just…” he lifted his eyes up to Robby, praying to god that he wasn’t making what Trinity called his “sad puppy face.”
Robby's raised eyebrow wasn’t promising on that front.
“Den, if there's ever something you don't like, that’s fine. We just have to talk about it.” Hypocrite. Dennis thought– but that was a conversation for another time.
“No– I like… I just–” He closed his eyes and steeled himself. “I just haven't kissed a lot.”
“...What does that mean?”
“The, uh, tongue stuff.” Tongue stuff? Kill him. “I don't really… I don't really know how. I- I want to, I just get nervous?”
For a second Robby didn't respond. It probably didn't help that Dennis had his eyes closed. That was fine. Robby didn't have to say anything. Dennis was running through the logistics of quitting his residency and fleeing the state. He could probably swing it– it honestly didn't seem so hard right now. He just told his boss-boyfriend that he was a 28 year-old man who didn't know how to kiss. This was Robby. The man has been kissing longer than Dennis has been alive– oh god actually don't think about that right now. Jesus Christ, Dennis was spiraling. Could Robby tell he was spiraling?
He cracked his eyes open to catch Robby barely containing his laughter.
“Oh my god!” He shoved Robby in the shoulder. “Don't laugh at me! I'm being really brave here.”
Dennis’ plea had the opposite effect as Robby doubled over chuckling in front of him.
“Dennis!”
“Don't–!” Dennis could feel a blush rise to the top of his ears.
“Den–!” Robby's face was scrunched up from giggling, showing off his crows feet and smile lines.
“Robby!” That was enough! Dennis flipped miserably onto just back and crossed his arms, waiting for his boyfriend to cut it out.
“Oh, don't be like that.” Condescending asshole. “It's okay, Den.”
“No it's not. It’s literally miserable.”
“Oh, hush. A hand came down to raffle Dennis’ hair. It did nothing to help him feel less infantilized and really liking it didn't help either. “You know that I'm okay with you being less experienced.”
“This is different! This is kissing! Everyone is supposed to like kissing. It's natural!”
“Trust me, it takes practice. I just have a lot of it.”
Dennis pouted.
Robby shifted gears, moving close to whisper a sing-song voice into his ear. “You just need a teach-er.”
Dennis felt goosebumps on the back of his neck. “R–”
A hand palmed over his shorts before he could protest. “Daddy just needs to teach his little boy how to kiss,” he teased.
If anyone asked about the sound Dennis made in that moment, he would deny it to his grave.
Weight shifted on the couch as Robby moved over him, pinning Dennis under his hips. Wet kisses landed along his cheekbone, jaw, and neck as Dennis slipped into a whinier, smaller version of himself.
“Daddy–”
“Shh. Just take it.”
Dennis was going to hell. Hard in record time, grinding into his chief attending's thigh.
Robby relented, bringing his face directly above Dennis’.
“Just take it slow, sweet boy.” Daddy's gravelly voice washed over Dennis.
“What if…” He bit his lip. Real vulnerability peeking out behind the faux-innocence. “What if I'm bad at it, Daddy?”
“It's okay, baby. Daddy's gonna take care of you.” He was so close now, Dennis could feel his lips form the words. “You trust me right?”
Yes. Completely. All the time, in everything. “Mhm.”
—
It took a few minutes of Robby stroking his hair for Dennis to find a steady rhythm. When he wasn't so nervous, kissing was actually pretty nice. Robby had soft lips that contrasted the rough scratch of his beard. The sound of his breathing made Dennis’ heart ache. Robby had kept Dennis nestled underneath him. It was overwhelmingly safe. Like his Daddy had eclipsed the whole world; everything that ever mattered was on this couch.
Dennis could feel his own spit covered, swollen lips. They were surprisingly sensitive. Every once and a while, Robby's tongue traced one of his lips. It was soft and wet– yet not as off-putting as before. It was sweet. A skin-to-skin contact he'd never experienced before. Like being held for the first time.
Robby was enjoying himself too. Broad hands stretching over any piece of Dennis that he could touch. Relishing the way one of his hands could nearly encompass Dennis’ whole waist. Watching his boy come apart under him: handing over all his trust like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Eventually, Dennis felt a nibble on his bottom lip and instinctively gasped. Robby's tongue dipped tenderly past his lips, earning a soft moan from Dennis.
“See, isn't that nice?” Robby purred into his ear. “Not so scary huh?”
Dennis moaned, mouth failing to form any actual words. His hips jutted up into Daddy's, chasing friction and making Robby chuckle.
Somewhere in the room, their record had ended. The faint white noise of the needle hitting nothing remained. Dennis hadn't even noticed.
Robby was letting Dennis set his own pace. Showing him what to do but not rushing him to do it. Dennis caught between the anxiety of trying and the desperation of having Robby as physically close as possible.
His hands tangled in Robby's hair and neck, tugging the older man close to him.
“Ah-ah. Don't be greedy.”
Dennis complied before the command even registered to him in his brain. He whined and writhed. Didn’t Daddy understand? Dennis needed him close– needed more.
“Oh, see how sweet you are? My good boy. Following my orders all pretty.”
“Daddy–!”
Robby cut him off sharply: “If you want it, earn it, Den.”
He lowered his lips slowly onto Dennis.
Dennis was brave. He was a good boy. He could earn it. He was good. He was good. He was good–
His tongue tried to peek out and run along Robby's mouth. Wrong. Bad. It was messier than he intended it to be. Tongue flat and unpleasant. None of the finesse Daddy had.
“Sloppy, Den. Try again.” Not mean or angry but directive. The same way Robby instructed him during a trauma. But they weren't in a trauma. They were in Robby's apartment and Dennis had been leaking precum into his boxers for the last 15 minutes.
“M’ sorry,” he gasped out.
He tried again slower this time. Using just the edge of his tongue, earning a groan out of his Daddy.
“Like that?”
“Just like that, Den. Good boy.” The praise made Dennis buck and keen, chasing more closeness.
He and Robby were finding a rhythm: slow, sure, and reciprocal. Dennis needed to focus to make it good, carefully mimicking the way Daddy's mouth felt on his. He started eagerly parting his lips, hoping for Daddy's tongue in his mouth. Keeping his hands balled up in Daddy's shirt so he wouldn't get greedy again.
The wet heat made him sink deeper and deeper, taking in Robby in every way he could. Rough hands under his shirt. The weight of Daddy pushing into the couch. Fingers combing through his hair. Not kissing to get to something better. Just enjoying each other. Slowly, because they could.
Until Dennis got impatient and started whining again. Hitched breaths and whimpers slipping out between kisses.
“What're you crying for, Den?”
“More–”
“More what?”
Frustrated tears slipped out of the corners of his eyes. Why didn't Daddy understand?
Dennis brought their mouths back together, eager and messy. Head too cloudy to focus the way Daddy taught him to. A warning tug pulled at his curls but he didn't care. He needed Daddy close: in his mouth and on his tongue.
“Den–” Robby muttered, patience wearing thin.
Dennis used the moment to push his tongue deeper into Daddy's mouth. Hot and messy, mostly catching Robby's teeth. The older man yanked himself backward, sputtering.
“Stop!” Daddy growled.
“Please–” Robby silenced Dennis with a firm grab on just jaw.
“Nope. None of that. You lost that privilege.”
Dennis felt more hot tears slide down the side of his face. He blubbered and ground up into his daddy– layers of shorts and sweatpants hiding nothing between them.
“What happened to my good boy?” Robby mocked. “You were being so polite. Get too stupid? It's barely been a couple minutes.”
He lowered back closer to Dennis. The younger man responded by craning his neck, fighting the grip Robby had on his jaw. He thrashed petulantly against the resistance. Dennis was strong but Daddy really had him stuck.
“Open,” Robby commanded.
Dennis made a weak, questioning sound.
“Listen to your Dad, Den. If you want kisses, you'll have to earn them back.”
Ok. Ok. His brain was spinning out with desire. He could be good. Dennis wet his lips before carefully parting his mouth. Lips wider than he would for a kiss, jaw opened and obedient.
He panted for a moment, chest rising for small, deep breaths.
Then, Robby licked a broad stripe across the side of Dennis’ mouth and tongue. Dennis gasped as saliva pooled on his skin. He felt used and messy in a way that went straight between his legs.
“You like that? Feel what it's like? Filthy boy.” Robby made a fist in Dennis' hair before going back down to lick at Dennis’ open mouth.
Dennis didn't dare speak. He didn't do anything to close his mouth. He let Daddy lap across his lips and jaw. He was a very good boy.
Robby felt on fire. His little boy took his punishment so well, he almost wanted to go easy on him. That wouldn’t help though. Dennis needed a firm hand and it made Robby feel like the luckiest man alive.
Dennis was kiss drunk below him. Pupils consuming the blue in his eyes. Face wet with tears and saliva. Sweet desperate sounds that only Robby made him feel safe enough to make. All pried open under Daddy's love.
Robby waited for Dennis’ eyes to flutter closed to spit into the boy's mouth. It landed with a smack as Dennis recoiled.
“It doesn't feel good does it?” Robby chided, a mean edge raising his voice. “It doesn't feel good to be messy huh, baby?”
“M'sorry!” Dennis cried, spit dripping around his mouth and on his tongue.
Robby pressed his fingers into the mess, swirling it around. “My messy, sloppy boy. What would you do without your Daddy to teach you?”
“Dad…” Dennis croaked. Grabby hands clutching the sides of Daddy's face.
“I know, I know. If I wipe you down are you gonna be good?” Robby asked, taking his fingers out of the boy's mouth.
Dennis pushed his chin up slightly, chasing the missing contact. He was flush, cheeks blotchy and wet. His voice was small: “Yes, Daddy.”
Robby brought his sleeve up to wipe down Dennis' face. Soft, gentle motions until the boy was neat and tidy again.
Dennis looked up at him, eyes clear and calming down from his punishment. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
“Thank you for cleaning me up, Daddy.”
“Every time, sweetheart.”
Dennis pulled his mouth to the side, thinking for a second. “I'm sorry if I was bad at it.”
Robby's face lit up, fondness softening every edge. “Not bad, just… learning.” He brought a hand up to sit firmly on the space between Dennis’ neck and shoulder. “You'll just need a lot more practice with Dad.”
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