The first time Dennis calls Robby by his first name, it’s during their first time having sex. And Robby not being ready for how soft and sweet it was going to be, which is crazy because, come on, it’s Dennis, and it makes him curl himself harder around the younger man where he’s lying underneath him, burying his face in the softness of Dennis’ neck to hide because suddenly it feels like what it actually is: Serious.
Very serious.
Dennis Whitaker has shown himself to be the light, love, and warmth that Michael Robinavitch, not Dr. Robby, or just Robby, has been scrambling after his entire life, too desperate and ruined and unaware to even consider the possibility that it might’ve not even been born yet. Fuck. He’s the most fucked up he’s ever felt, in this bed with his protégé underneath him, holding him just as close as Michael (not Robby, not anymore) is holding him back.
And Dennis gets it, holds him closer, murmurs saccharine things like “come on, Michael, lemme love you,” and “you’re everything,” and “I love you. I love you,” and he’s moaning and crying a little too, because he thinks this man is it for him, and that his plans on going back home are ruined unless he doesn’t return there alone, and he can’t stop trying to tell Michael that, even when he’s inside of him, especially when he’s inside of him, and the first name slipped out like a prayer, like prey pleading with a hunter to take it home instead, to feed it, to love it, and he did.
Dennis thinks Michael is so good like that, and even if he sees himself as nothing but greedy and unworthy, crying into his neck as he releases into the deepest parts of Whitaker, Dennis is greedier, unworthier, a quietly placed bear trap waiting for the first foot to move forward.
