Hucklerabbot fauxcest where Robby and Abbot end up lowkey adopting Dennis after they find out he's living on the eighth floor? Something about them being able to provide for him easier if he's legally their son or some other bullshit idk. Just makes it even better when Dennis calls them both dad in bed
(And the whole brother thing b/w robby and abbot? The family tree is a circle at this point)
Sure, he had real parents. Everyone has real parents, at some point, whether they're around or not. His real parents, they're … more like overseers. Authority figures. He's never once felt a scrap of paternal love from either of them. They made him, and raised him, and fed and clothed and housed him, as he's always being reminded.
But they're not really parents.
They never encouraged any affection. They weren't Mommy and Daddy, or Mom and Dad, even. Mother, and Father. Respectable, respectful titles for people of the Church. Cold, and distant.
For a long time, he thought that was normal. That that was what everyone's parents were like. It wasn't until he was in college, embarrassingly, that he began to hear the kids around him talk about laughing with their parents. Having dinners that didn't feel strict and somber. Being friends with their family.
So when Robby and Jack want to adopt him, a grown man, well.
Look, there's plenty of reasons why he goes along with it.
The first, and most pressing, being the housing security. He's survived his homelessness, he has. He did okay. But God, it was hard. Cold and lonely and every day a fucking scrape to get by.
The idea of two older men, men he trusts, men he's just seen handle the biggest emergency he's ever seen, as if it was just part of the job, taking him home and looking after him?
It's a little intoxicating.
They're so … outraged, when they find him on the eighth floor. At first, he's ready to be scolded for doing something wrong, breaking the rules. He knows how this go. He'll take his licks.
But the outrage isn't … directed at him?
It's the fact that he's been up here, without asking for help. That he's been without a home for - God, he doesn't know how long by this point.
"I can - I'll find a shelter," he promises them, because he really can't fuck up this rotation, not one day in. "Just don't tell, please."
They share an incredulous glance.
"You're coming home with us," Robby says, firm, no-nonsense.
So he goes home with them.
He tries to leave, at first. Work out some other arrangement, that won't have him fucking squattig in the married attendings' home. But he was on the eighth floor for a reason. There aren't a lot of other options.
They refuse to let him go, anyway.
"For God's sake, kid, we have the space, and we like having you here," Jack gripes, the twentieth time he tries to bring up finding someplace else to go.
"Whit," Robby says softly, the thirtieth time he tries. "We're a couple of old queers, okay? We couldn't have kids. Let us just - enjoy it for a bit."
And that has him flushing red. He's not their kid. He's not even a kid. He's a fully grown man, who has legal guardians, parents on paper. A 'couple of old queers' who love him a whole lot more than his real parents ever did. Treat him better.
He stays.
Nothing changes at work, which he appreciates. He gets to keep learning and growing, fulfilling the requirements of his degree. Helping people. He gets more and more comfortable, skilled enough to do things on his own.
He wonders, is this what it feels like to have parents who believe in you?
The two old men, though. They change. It's like they don't think he's capable of taking care of himself, which he damn well is. He's been taking care of himself for years. He put himself through med school, he turned his back on Nebraska, he worked his ass off while living on the streets.
It's not like he's some helpless child.
But Robby, he starts packing Dennis a lunch, alongside his own. They have the same reheated leftovers, but Dennis gets a treat in his. Some pastry, or freshly cut strawberries. Once, he included a note, and it reminded Dennis of things he's seen in movies.
Good luck with your first day in psych, kid.
Dennis kept the note. It lives in his bedside table. So do all the ones that keep coming, tucked away in his packed lunch.
Jack finds out that he's never hit a baseball, and is outraged. Dennis tries to tell him - I played Little League, I'm not totally bereft of athleticism - but Jack will have none of it.
He takes Dennis to a batting cage and insists on teaching him how to hit a damn ball, at least once.
It feels … strange. It's fun, for sure. He hits the ball on the third try, and Jack's whoop of delight and pride fills him with pleasure.
It's just. The man in the cage over, is with his son. His ten-year old son.
"Guess they never get too old, huh?" he says to Jack with a grin, nodding at Dennis, who's trying to perfect his accuracy.
Jack grins right back.
"Never too old to smack a ball around with your old man," he says, and when Dennis steps back from the plate, ruffles his hair.
He can feel his cheeks flaming.
"What the fuck was that?" he hisses, when the man goes back to his son.
Jack laughs.
"Oh, settle. Just a little joke. You are my son, y'know, on paper," he says with a smirk.
Dennis' stomach turns over, and he has to work not to have his fingers tremble on the bat.
"On paper," he repeats, firm. "Not for real."
"Well."
Robby finds it hilarious when they're home and Jack has relayed the story. Traitor.
And now, they won't drop it. They ruffle his hair more, all fatherly and affectionate. When he graduates, they're the ones cheering the loudest. He can hear Jack shout that's my boy, and he wants to fucking die. They put his diploma on the fridge with coloured magnets, and leave it there for months.
The worst of it, though, is that they. will. not. stop. calling. him. son.
"Son, grab me my leg, will you?"
"Hey, nice work today, son, proud of you."
"I swear to God, son, show some respect for your elders."
He thinks he's going insane.
It's not fair. They're crossing all his wires. He likes being cared for. He likes the open love they have for him. He even likes knowing they took on legal responsibility for him.
But he also lays in bed, listening to the distant sound of moans from their bedroom, and touches himself. Every glimpse of bare skin, and there's a lot of in their apartment, is catalogued in his mind, and drives him fucking wild.
He wants.
But they're … off-limits, aren't they? They're his - weird father-like friends.
He can't fuck the men who keep calling him son.
It's drugs, that get him in the end. Of course. He's never been especially good at keeping shit together on anything harder than weed. Trinity gives him some molly when they're out celebrating her birthday, and damn, it hits hard. Like, really hard.
He stumbles home, in an Uber that Javadi and McKay put him in, after he'd tried to tell a complete stranger that he loved his Dads, like sooooooo much.
He's light-headed and a little dizzy, and it felt great earlier, he was so full of energy and love and light. Now, though, he's starting to feel kinda - bleh.
When he makes it through the front door, they're sitting up, waiting for him.
Jack raises a brow, at the state of him.
"And what time do you call this, young man?" he jokes, mock-stern.
It goes straight to Dennis' dick, and that distresses him even more.
"I don't feel great," he mumbles, and then he's falling into Jack's arms, pathetic and small and coming down bad.
"Oh, kiddo," Jack murmurs, rubbing circles over his back. "Went a little too hard, huh?"
He nods against Jack's chest. Everything feels so much better here. Warmer. He feels safe in Jack's arms.
"Well, I hope you've learned a valuable lesson," Robby says, and then he's on Dennis' other side, and how did he move that fast, maybe he's still kinda high. "Only take the drugs your fathers approve of."
Jack snorts with laughter, but Dennis looks up, indignant.
"You have to stop that!" he exclaims, all hot in the face and pissed off.
"Stop what?"
"This! That! The - father and son, and kiddo, and fucking - it's too much!" he bursts out. It's not the whole truth, and not coming out the way he wanted. "You're not my Dads."
They have the audacity to actually look hurt.
"Right," Robby says, a little tight. "We'll stop."
It doesn't help. He feels just as weird and sad as before.
He growls in frustration, and rolls his eyes.
"You have to stop, because - "
And he kisses Jack, the first time, the first kiss, hard.
For a horrible second, he thinks Jack is going to push him off. He's not kissing back. But then, a strong arm wraps around his waist, and fuck. Now, he's being kissed back.
"God, finally," he moans into Dennis' mouth. "We were starting to think you'd never get there."
Dennis goes to retort, but Robby's hand catches his jaw and drags Dennis' mouth over to his own, licking into his mouth like he's starving for it.
"This does not," Robby tells him between kisses. "Mean we have to stop, son."
Dennis shudders, reverberating all the way through his body. Fuck.
"Oh, see," Jack coos into his ear. "You like it, don't you? Hm? Like being taken care of, by your Dads?"
His only reply is a high, desperate moan.
"I think we can take that as a yes, brother," Jack laughs, and goddamn it, that's got him twitching, too.
He's so fucked up.
"I don't - I don't know which I want more," he whines. Something inside him is breaking. He's going to have to choose between the two things that have brought him the most joy.
"What do you mean, kid?" Robby asks, frowning, pulling back.
"I like that you act like my Dads," he whimpers, a little embarrassed. "I - you're so good to me. And it's so nice, and I don't want it to stop. But I also really want to fuck you, and we can't do both, and - "
He's cut off by a hand over his mouth.
"Whoever said we can't do both?" Robby purrs. His heart thumps. "You're telling me you don't want your Dad to fuck you so hard you scream? Jack, he's telling me I'm not allowed to suck my little boy's cock."
Jack's brow furrows, and he shakes his head.
"I just don't know about these kids, Robby," he replies. His tone is dripping with condescension, and fuck, it snaps Dennis right out of the haze he's been in. "It's like they don't know why their Daddies even had them."
It's deranged, and obscene, and Dennis is leaking in his pants.
"Oh, fuck, okay, please," he begs against Robby's hand.
"Language," Jack scolds.
He loses count of how many times he gets the same scold when they have him bent in half and pressed between them, unable to moan more than fuck, yes, Daddy.
ive read your freak4freak hucklerobby stalker fic like 3 times over already (desperate wanter x desperate to be wanted is a PEAK dynamic) and now i cant stop thinking about freakydeak dennis + his indulgences
like texting robby a video of him showering (not even masturbating, just doing his normal shower routine) but its shot as though hes being spied on from a crack in the door. wearing and flashing a peak of underwear that robby had taken, soiled, and left back in dennis' locker just that morning. wearing hoodies on the hotter days of work so he can sweat through his undershirt and tuck it into robbys backpack as a secret gift for him to find when unpacking at home, the pits still just sliiiightly damp
maybe even casually mentioning that trinity has to work on a day he *knows* they both have off, and how he likes to sleep in as much as possible these days-- hoping that robby will finally take up the offer to break in and fuck him in his sleep. bonus points for a needy, sleepy dennis whining at robby not to pull out afterwards, wanting to drift back to dreaming stuffed full and utterly sated by being claimed so thoroughly <3
truly obsessed with your brain, anon. how did you know all my favourite things? I hope this lives up to your thoughts, I took a little liberty.
Dennis thought that the shine might have come off the relationship, by now. That taking away the element of … surprise, of unknowing, would take all the fun out of it.
It hasn't. It definitely hasn't.
If anything, it's gotten better, because now he can ask for things. Robby seems, so far, as if he'll do anything Dennis suggests. Pleads for, with his wide eyes. He hasn't brushed up against anything yet, that seems too far.
God, Robby wants just as much as he does. He wants Dennis, first and foremost, in any and every way he can get him.
It's easy, and fun, and hot, to give it to him.
He's so easily pleased, for one thing. Dennis is more used to having to work hard at dating. Pretend like he knows the right things to say, that he knows the social script, when really, he's paddling hard underwater to seem normal. He doesn't have a … great grasp on what's okay to say, to think, to do.
He knows you definitely shouldn't tell someone on a third date that sometimes you have fantasies about being kidnapped and kept in some strong, mysterious man's basement. That one, he learned firsthand, and he's still never lived down the embarrassment that flooded him when the man's face turned to horror.
He knows that being too clingy, too needy, too wanting, is a turn-off. He's been told before - don't double-text, it's too much. Don't send me all those photos, they're not even of your dick. Don't ask where I am all the time.
So, he's learned to reign it in.
With Robby, he doesn't have to reign anything in. Robby wants to know where he is all the time. He messages Dennis three times in a row to ensure that he really got it, he's seen it, he knows just how cared for and thought about he is.
When Dennis sends photos, he knows they're being saved into a locked folder for later use. That when he sends footage, that he took, not just the cameras he puts on a show for every now and then, that Robby salivates over it. Watches his domestic little spy-cam films over and over.
Judging by the way he fucks Dennis afterwards, Dennis has deduced that the videos of him doing the most mundane things, in nothing more than one of Robby's shirts, are the older man's favourites.
All his fantasies are being slowly fulfilled. Having Robby stand over him and cover him in cum. Being plugged at work, and knowing that Robby's the only one who can, and will, take it out of him.
But, he's desperate to wake up already full, and that, that hasn't happened yet. He doesn't know why. Robby had sure seemed into it. But he just … hasn't done anything about it, yet.
Well, Dennis is going to do something about it.
"Sucks for Trin," he mentions, casual, while they're watching some poor bastard's v-tach turn to asystole. "She's working on Friday."
Robby gives him a sideways glance.
"Thought you two were attached at the hip. How'd she end up on, and you're off?" he asks, and Dennis can tell by the faintest tone of his voice that he's thinking.
"Just unlucky, I guess," he shrugs.
Unlucky his ass.
He batted his eyelashes at Abbot and got the schedule changed.
"Does mean I get to sleep in properly, though," he adds. Asystole, one long beeping line, not responding to shock, after shock. "Without her thumping around the kitchen."
Robby just looks at him, hungry, and he knows he's getting his way.
If he takes half an Ambien before bed on Thursday night, well. He doesn't want to wake immediately. That'd be no fun.
He leaves the front door locked this time. He knows Robby can pick it, and it's nice to give the man a little challenge.
He considers putting on something pretty, to entice Robby, but in the end, he wants the man to have full access to him. He doesn't want Robby to feel like he's put any barriers between them. Even silk.
He falls asleep easy, aided by chemicals, and fantasising about exactly how sore he'll be in the morning.
He had been planning on saving this for their six-month anniversary, but it's clear his sweet boy needs it badly. Needs it before Robby was going to give it to him, and well.
He can't deny that.
He could pick this lock with his eyes shut, at this point. Fiddling with the pin and hearing the click is like seeing an old friend. So too, is side-stepping the pile of Santos' laundry that just - never seems to move.
Unlike the first time he did this, when he enters Dennis' bedroom, he can see the kid is asleep. Deeply asleep, it looks like. He slinks closer, just in case, but he can see the steady rise and fall of his chest. Pink, perfect mouth slightly open, the way it always is when he's sleeping.
Fuck.
He strips off his clothes, unhurried. There's no rush here. Dennis isn't awake, isn't pleading and needy. Robby can do whatever he likes.
Robby can do. Whatever. He likes.
It's a heady rush.
He kneels at the end of the bed, ignoring the way the mattress creaks, and presses a kiss to Dennis' bare ankle, before spreading his legs gently. He parts so easy, like this. Somehow easier than when he's awake, even when he's dripping and crying and begging for it.
He's so … small. Quiet. Pliant.
"Beautiful boy," Robby murmurs, and licks his way across Dennis' skin. Noses into his pits and inhales deep. Still no movement, nothing beyond a gentle shifting in his sleep, moving with Robby.
Robby suspects he's taken something to aid with the staying asleep, and, God, it's just so thoughtful. He fucking loves his boy.
Dennis is too ticklish to let him do this awake, lick and suck at every bit of sensitive skin. Lave at the parts of him that smell most like him - pits and belly and the crease of his inguinal nerve. It's indulgent, to be able to devour him like this, uninhibited.
He finally has his fill, his tongue deliciously overwhelmed by Dennis. He's hard, has been for a long while. It's not much more than a distraction when he's so focused on the boy, but now, he could use a little relief.
This might be a bit much, might wake Dennis before he's really ready for the kid to wake, but. Goddamn it, he's just splayed out, on his back, so sweet and perfect, and Robby has to.
He straddles the boy's body, up high on his chest, his balls pressed to smooth skin, and feeds his cock into the kid's open mouth.
For a second, as Dennis shifts beneath him, he thinks - oh no, I've blown it - but Dennis just huffs out a breath against him, a sleep-snuffle, and slumbers on.
Thank God for whatever it was he took. Jesus.
It's not a blowjob, really. Dennis can't suck, while he's asleep, but knowing that almost makes it better. He just gently rocks into the kid's mouth, hot and wet, lax. It's fucked up, sure, but he's getting off on it all the same.
He's glad the cameras are recording (always). Dennis will want to see this.
Finally, when he can't quite take it anymore, he clambers off, leaving Dennis' lips slick wit precum, and settles between his legs again. He takes his time opening the boy up - Dennis has never, not once, done it for him again, not since he was told not to.
One finger is nothing for Dennis, but two, that gets the first little moan. Not awake, not really. Just a sleepy little sound of pleasure. Robby grins, delighted. He'll be doing this again, definitely.
Three fingers, and the kid is squirming against him. Robby didn't know he could still be asleep and squirming. Not outside of a nightmare. And this, this is no nightmare.
When he slides his cock inside, a stretch even with all that prep, he groans, low. Fuck, no resistance. Nothing. Dennis doesn't even twitch. Just lies, perfect, still, sleeping. He didn't know this would turn him on this much.
He lifts the kid's legs experimentally, rests them on his shoulders, and there they stay. Like moving a doll.
It's only when he starts fucking into Dennis in earnest, hard deep strokes, that finally, he begins to stir.
"Mrrm?"
It's a confused, bleary little sound. Three quarters sleep, one wakeful. He fucks in harder, grunting and keeping his grip on the kid's legs, so he can't move when he wakes more.
"Oh," Dennis sighs, his eyes fluttering. His own cock is twitching against his belly. "Robby."
"Mm, but can't be sure, can you?" Robby murmurs, dark. "Not until you open your eyes. And there'd be nothing you could do about it, baby. Already inside you."
He watches precum ooze and dribble from the head of the kid's cock. God, he's good.
"R-Robby," Dennis whines. He does not open his eyes.
When Robby cums, with a vicious thrust, he turns them onto their sides, cradling Dennis with his lager body, nosing at the back of his neck. Once he's covered back up with the duvet, held tight, Dennis' breath evens out again. He hasn't even cum. He shows no signs of wanting to.
"Oh, sleepy little boy," Robby purrs, and moves his hips slightly to pull out.
Dennis grumbles, though it's blurry and fuzzy with the encroaching wave of sleep dragging him back again.
"Stay," he mutters, barely audible.
Smiling, Robby grinds his hips against the kid's ass, staying firmly seated inside him. He receives a happy purr for it, and then Dennis is sleeping again, entirely, in his arms.
He wakes again a few hours later, moaning and whimpering as Robby rocks them together, whispering into his ear about how he's going to have to write his poor sleepy boy a script for something stronger next time.
thinking about EMT dennis…again. EMT dennis getting hurt and rabbot freaking out…EMT dennis being cute….
“MVC coming in! two drivers and a passenger. engine combusted on-scene so be prepared for burns,” dana hollered out to robby and jack who were lingering together by the nursing station.
jack asked, “how many minutes out?”
“it was on the fort pitt bridge, so at least seven,” dana answered.
robby rubbed his hands together. “whitaker’s driving the rig so probably half that.”
the two men exchanged a loaded look. jack shifted side to side. “whitaker’s on?”
“uh-huh,” robby nodded coyly.
“i mean…rough day for motorists.” jack smiled and crossed his arms. “great day to be us!”
so they waited by the automatic glass doors. anticipation was buzzing between them, not because of anxiety over the incoming trauma, but for the prospect of their favorite EMT walking through those doors.
the sirens were getting closer before the ambulance came into the bay. it’s parking job was just a little less elegant than usual. the back doors burst open, whitaker’s partner hopped out first. she spouted off some pretty stable vitals for smoke inhalation while they lowered the gurney off the back. dennis joined them to walk it in. she interrupted her own assessment with, “wait, dennis, are you burnt?”
dennis kept pushing the gurney into the trauma room where mckay and king were waiting. “i’m fine.”
“robby?” jack questioned wearily.
robby looked next to him, focusing on the parts exposed by dennis’s uniform. there were some burns on his forearms where it looked like flames licked him and some spots on his neck where it looked like ash had popped.
they got to the trauma room. “whitaker, don’t you dare help with this transfer,” robby ordered. whitaker helped anyway, much to the dismay of everyone now taking in his raw skin. “god damnit, kid.”
robby went to grab him by the neck until he remembered the burns there. he settled on grabbing the side of whitaker’s collared shirt and dragging him to the nearest empty patient room.
“i’m fine, i’m fine. i’ll put cream on it on the way back to dispatch!” dennis insisted.
robby shook his head, directing whitaker to the clean bed. as he put on gloves for an examination, robby told dennis’s partner, “call your supervisor, tell them there was an on the job injury and they have to call in coverage while i get documentation.” she nodded with a funny little smirk on her face before stalking off to get her phone from the rig.
“this is so overkill,” dennis lamented. “they’re partial thickness, need no debriedment, and cover less than five percent of my-shit! warn a guy,” dennis swore as robby poked at him.
robby stepped closer than he had to for a standard exam. “did you reach your hand in a burning car or something?”
“i mean…” whitaker trailed off.
robby rolled his eyes, exasperated with the self-sacrifice. “god, you’re lucky.”
whitaker smirked and looked up at the man towering over him. “just wanted to stop wasting time so i could get over to see my favorite doctor.”
robby sighed, but couldn’t fight the smile. “don’t let jack hear that. he gets possessive.”
Aaaaaand i'm back with more art for The Car's in Reverse by third_crow!
And i picked out the very first scene of the chapter - Dennis with his mouth full of food, hit with the spotlight - idk man, it was too funny of a visual to not draw. Plus i love when they tease each other
Dennis called Robby while he's on his sabbatical because Dennis can't cum unless Robby's there to talk him through it. Robby's the one who insisted Dennis learn how to masturbate so he didn't get "riled up" while Robby was away.
Dennis calls when he's already hard, when he's already been stroking himself, when he's panting and whining into the phone before it even rings. Robby tells him he's doing so well and that he's such a good little puppy, that he needs to make a big sticky mess and send Robby a picture, that he's gonna get addicted to his own hand.
But then one day they're at it and something shifts. It's two weeks before Robby's supposed to come home.
"You just can't get enough can you? Calling me every night it seems like, wanting to get off in our bed all by yourself. Are you having fun Dennis? Close yet, pup?" Robby's voice is fake sweet and Dennis is face down in the bed, kneeling on the carpet below, thrusting against his hand, face red, grip on himself too tight.
"I just need one kiss, daddy, one kiss and I could cum or or-" Dennis cries out and jerks as a zing ripped through him. Robby hummed, thinking he was begging.
"I bet you could cum just from a kiss. Such a desperate little thing sometimes. What else do you want?" Robby asked, loving when Dennis begged for his fantasies, drunk on his own pleasure. But Dennis didn't start begging for Robby the way he usually did.
"To sit in your lap, don't even have to touch my nasty parts, could just- just sit in your lap for a while" Dennis's voice cracked, the wet sound from his hand on his cock never pausing. Robby smiled, purring out a soft "sweet boy" as Dennis sucked in another breath.
"I wanna- wanna come sit in your lap while you do the crossword or-or lay on you in the bath. I wanna sleep in your clothes that-that're still warm and and- and I wanna have you order my food and you pick what I wear and and- Daddy I miss you so much. I want you to come home, I want you here again" Dennis cried through the phone and Robby's heart broke a little at the way his voice was shaking and breaking, pathetic and raw.
"Dennis-" Robby said but could still hear the wet tempo of the boy's hand on himself. Accompanied by his wet sobbing, muffled as he shoved his face into the blankets.
"It's not hard anymore, can I stop?" Dennis asked, voice coming out small as he looked down at his cock soft and small in his own hand. Robby's hand would have felt better. Looked better. Been better.
"Course, Den. Do you wanna keep me on while you get a nice shower? I wanna hear you get cleaned up and ready for bed, doll." Robby said softly as he listened to Dennis's quiet weeping.
"Yeah. 's okay." Dennis agreed, nodding even though he knew Robby couldn't see.
Robby was quietly praising Dennis the entire time as he took his shower, brushed his teeth, put on his skincare and shaved his face, and curled up in bed in a pair of Robby's boxers.
"I really miss you, Robby." Dennis said into the darkness of the bedroom. It felt too empty without Robby's body heat. Robby sighed and looked at his own motel ceiling. He needed to go home.
"I miss you too sweetheart. I'll be home soon. Get some sleep, I love you."
"I love you too. Night.''
Robby made it home in five days and when Dennis walked in on him sitting on their couch, he broke out in tears and spent the next hours appreciating his daddy.
new hc, robby spends the days before leaving for his sabbatical carefully creating several of those dildos moulded in the shape of his own cock, and leaving them tactfully in the top draw of his bedside table.
he's not naive, he knows dennis will poke around a bit, and he knows he'll find them pretty soon. and, not to be vain, he knows his cock is fucking hot. it's big, and veiny, and the perfect thickness to stretch a first year intern out nice and good.
he leaves ample lube in the draw too, setting the trap perfectly. he knows dennis won't be able to resist fucking himself to an orgasm on robby's bed, not with the hungry eyes the boy keeps giving him. he wonders if dennis will realise the dildos aren't standard models from the Internet, if his cut cock head will give it away...
either way, when that pretty little intern does go poking through that draw, robby will be waiting, phone connected right to one of the hidden cameras in the room corners- rest assured, he's going to get every angle of dennis stuffing himself full in robby's bed, prostate getting abused by robby's cock even when he's hundreds of miles away.
when robby comes home weeks too early, that's when he'll really pounce.
new hc, robby spends the days before leaving for his sabbatical carefully creating several of those dildos moulded in the shape of his own cock, and leaving them tactfully in the top draw of his bedside table.
he's not naive, he knows dennis will poke around a bit, and he knows he'll find them pretty soon. and, not to be vain, he knows his cock is fucking hot. it's big, and veiny, and the perfect thickness to stretch a first year intern out nice and good.
he leaves ample lube in the draw too, setting the trap perfectly. he knows dennis won't be able to resist fucking himself to an orgasm on robby's bed, not with the hungry eyes the boy keeps giving him. he wonders if dennis will realise the dildos aren't standard models from the Internet, if his cut cock head will give it away...
either way, when that pretty little intern does go poking through that draw, robby will be waiting, phone connected right to one of the hidden cameras in the room corners- rest assured, he's going to get every angle of dennis stuffing himself full in robby's bed, prostate getting abused by robby's cock even when he's hundreds of miles away.
when robby comes home weeks too early, that's when he'll really pounce.
Robby gets an elbow to the head while dealing with a patient, so now he needs to be checked for head trauma. Unfortunately, doctors make the worst patients and Robby is absolutely not being cooperative. He keeps insisting he's fine and needs to go back to work even tho they aren't sure yet. Dennis, in charge of examining him, snaps at him.
"Do you want to be restrained? Are you going to make me tie you up to the bed for the whole ER to see? All just because you would rather put yourself and our patients in danger than wait to be cleared?"
Robby wants to argue but can't. Dennis is right and they both know it. Robby stays silent. The idea of Dennis tying him up to the bed as punishment for being disobedient in front of everyone should not get his blood pumping. But his body always loved betraying him at the worst moments possible. Hopefully, he won't notice anything.
"Are you going to behave now?"
This is getting worse. This is getting so much worse. His brain isn't in the right state to deal with this. He doesn't want to find out what it feels like to both be hard and concussed at the same time. If he is concussed at all.
"Yes, Dr Whitaker," he says sheepishly.
He calls him that all the time. It shouldn't feel different now. But it does. The title seems to hold more weight and to have another meaning. He wonders if Michel from HR can sense, from the other side of the hospital, the disaster currently brewing between him and Dennis.
"Good," he says firmly but with a relieved smile that reaches his tired eyes. He's so handsome sometimes it hurts.
"Anything for you," Robby whispered back softly, like a confession.
Yeah, he definitely didn't mean to say that out loud, fuck. He really might be concussed. The soft smile he gets as an answer makes it worth it, for now. He's definitely going to freak out about it later.
"Thanks, Robby. So, where were we?"
But right now, he’s going to let himself enjoy being taken care of by Dennis. Enjoy in a totally platonic and professional manner, of course. He's definitely not going to feel some type of way. Shit, he really needs to calm down.
Getting time off together can sometimes be a challenge, so when the stars do align in their favour, Jack likes to go and pick Robby up after his shift, so they don't waste a moment of it.
Having "a lot" of followers on tumblr is funny because probably 80% of them are ghost blogs who haven't been on here in like a decade.
It's like, no no, those aren't my followers, that's a graveyard! I'm the caretaker of a thousands of tombs. I love them, but they've been dead for seven years.
I hate that when you’re stressed enough your body just starts falling apart. I think it should realize you’re already stressed and don’t need that and start functioning better actually
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