a/n: wrote this at 2 am before a school night my bad for any and all errors I just couldn’t sleep without getting this out of my head
synopsis: you meet dennis whitaker in college and after a stressful day he wants nothing more then to help you as much as you’ve helped him.
w/c: 2100
Dennis Whitaker isn’t exactly what you’d call a playboy. He’s far from it, actually. From growing up in a nowhere town in a nowhere state where everyone knows everyone and everything you’ve ever done is plastered on Facebook by someone’s deranged mother, he could safely say that he was scared of doing anything. He was born, he grew up, and he got out. College was a whole other ordeal because not only was medical school no joke, but it also took everything out of him to not end up in a sleeping bag on the side of the road. He considers himself lucky that he snuck his way into the hospital’s empty floor the way that he did and even luckier that Trinity decided to take enough pity on him to lend out her extra room.
So yeah, not a lot of experience in that department. But it’s not like he hasn’t seen some crazy stuff. Working in an ER really brings out the most unsexy nature of literally every part of someone’s body. In the time that he’s started there until now he’s gotten peed on, taken suspiciously long objects out of many a rectal cavity, done a handful of breast exams on concerned patients, helped in a few spur of the moment births, and have had a concerning amount of closeup shots with many, many scrotums.
He’s had a lot of time to reflect on his experiences, which, while few in number, might have honestly helped shape who he is today. He’s kissed a girl, a one-off high school relationship that ended badly on prom night when he couldn’t bring himself to “get it up” in time. And then there was that one time in undergrad when he went to his first party and was promptly groped around the ass by someone he couldn’t even recall the name of.
He’d thought that maybe there was something wrong with them, that maybe he was just asexual or averse to sexual intimacy. Which was fine! He didn’t have to do these things to have a fulfilling life.
But then there was you.
He’d met you at one of the lower-level Theology courses he had taken on campus. The class wasn’t huge, something minor and more focused on writing than anything else, seminar style, if you would. Open to anyone on campus and usually quickly filled with hardcore religious studies minors hoping to whip themselves into shape before they graduate.
There, he learned that you were both in the same year and that you were dorming for free on a scholarship. You were taking the class for an elective credit because Classics had gotten full, and you could only have so many major courses on your schedule before you flipped your skull inside out to stop the headache.
He had to help you…a lot.
You weren’t one for biblical education or for the people who followed it so closely, but you’d always told him that he was the exception because he wasn’t some airhead going around and being weird about it.
Plus, you liked the free medical advice (which he refused at least 90% of the time until you pulled it out of him).
You’d kept in contact with him for all of undergrad, and even up until he started working at PTMC, you’d ask him if he’d join you for some midnight food runs as you did all those years ago.
He cherished your friendship and found that he really enjoyed the small pockets of normalcy he got outside of the trauma center. It was a stressful job, and you took the load off on every offhand meeting you called him to.
So, when he noticed that during the final year of your PhD program, you were stressed beyond belief, he felt that it was his duty as your friend to help you out.
“Dennis,” your voice pitched as he lay his tongue flat on your clit. “Please.”
Your hands gripped the back of his head, the slow-growing curls that he hadn’t trimmed in who knows how long furled up between trembling fingers.
This was all so new to him. The grinding of your silken skin on his tongue, the half-lidded look in your eyes, hell, even the way he couldn’t stop curling in on himself, hoping for something, anything to take away the present ache from his cock.
“Please,” he spoke up, looking up at you from over your mound with those sad little eyes of his. Wet and pleading for release, for you and him.
He repeated it like a mantra, resting on his knees and praying dutifully into your cunt as you sat at the edge of your bed.
From where he was perched, he could see how the warm glow of your bedside table lamp illuminated the space behind you. The orange light gave you a halo effect so drastic that it had flashed him back to those years running you through simple religious studies.
You were an angel, a god, a goddess, whatever the hell you’d learned to live with now that it was all said and done. You were everything.
With your hands, you guided his head down from your clit to your opening.
He groaned at the taste of you, so wet and warm and so you he couldn’t help but thrust up into the air.
His cock, constricted in the layers he wore to get dinner with you, pressed painfully against his thigh, begging for you. Only you.
Out of sheer curiosity and the little that you’d instructed him to do as his first time ever doing anything like this, he couldn’t help but stretch the muscle of his tongue along the outer edge of the opening of your cunt, pressing kisses as he went.
Deeper, deeper, deeper.
You let out a wanton sigh as he finally broke through the invisible barrier that was your pussy, teasing the inside of you with such grace you wouldn’t have believed him if he said he’d never done this before.
With his hands previously resting on the side of your hips, he let his right hand travel down until it came in contact with that plushy button you’d told him so much about. How to press it the way you liked, how wet you wanted it to be with his saliva, how long you’d wanted his lips to be there.
Now, with his tongue in your pussy and his thumb rubbing against your clit, you couldn’t help it.
Like a call to action, your excited screams drew him in, akin to a siren call.
Wetter and with revived devotion, he plunged in and drew his tongue in all sorts of ways, finding which one had you falling from your sitting position on the bed and onto your back, arched and wanting more than just the wet muscle inside of you.
God, this was a sight he wouldn’t have ever imagined being able to see you in, so pretty and wanting, so full of him.
His left hand, which he left on your hip, trailed down the side of your thigh, giving a few gentle squeezes as he lapped up the nectar you so gracefully blessed him with, and down the smooth plane of your leg.
Down by your ankle, he debated if this would be too much, if he did this, would there be any going back?
But, fuck, he was already eating you out and praying over your body as if you were some deity that had come down to bless his dull life.
From your ankle, he gripped the outline of his cock through his jeans, hard and hot to the touch.
“Dennis—I can’t—“
Your hips were starting to buck up, rubbing yourself over the rest of his tongue. From your hole, he went up and down the inside of your lips, sucking at your clit before picking up the latent drippings of your pretty pussy all for himself.
From following the precise directions you’d given him at the start of the night to sloppily lapping on the whole of you, Dennis had resigned himself to unbuckling his belt and stripping himself of the constricting fabric of his clothes.
Your legs were coming around his head now, pulling him further into you, blocking off any and all distractions. He belonged to you now. He sees it, you see it. He’s all yours.
With his hand wrapped around the base of his cock, he imagined how you felt. With his tongue, he did one final stroke through the entirety of your slit before replacing his thumb once more, suckling on your clit and running one, no, two fingers along your hole.
With a certain finesse that perhaps only a medical student could have, he made his way in and out of your pussy to the rhythm of his left hand jerking himself off.
“Fuck!” You cried out, tucking the back of your head deep into your comforter, arching your hips up, and seemingly running away from the overwhelming feeling of his tongue. He’d followed, because of course he had.
He wanted to talk, wanted to tell you not to run away from him, to let him drink you up for as long as time would conceptually allow him to, but he could only whine into your pussy, lamenting the ultimate detachment he knew he’d face sooner rather than later.
Then he felt it, a gush of liquid coating his hand and the bottom half of his face. The creaminess of your cunt extended far beyond what he’d felt previously on his fingers, with the only evidence besides his feelings being the glistening ring of white cum you’d left behind on him.
You came. You honest to god came with him, eating you out, the first time he’d ever done something, anything like this before.
He couldn’t stop, not now, not when he had pulled what he wanted from you after so long.
He’d enjoy the fruits of his labor, the hard work he put into making you his, and vice versa.
With his right hand, he pushed in and out of your pussy, latching onto your clit for a brief moment to lick at his fingers before dipping his tongue in once more and cleaning you up as best he could.
You trembled from overstimulation and want, your body not knowing what to do or how to go about doing it.
“Too much,” you spoke through a broken voice, pushing his head away limply.
“Please…” that was all he said all night.
Please let me in. Please I want to help you. Please let me eat you out. Please tell me what to do. Please cum on my face. Please don’t stop. Please.
And who were you to deny him the right of expressing himself?
You sat up, left hand supporting you, right hand pulling Dennis up to you by his hair.
“No, no, no, no…” he whined pitifully as you drew him away from his work. The shame of his precum-covered left hand and hard cock, not at all shocking you on the way up.
Before he could argue his case or run away from embarrassment, you pulled him into a kiss.
It was nothing at all like he’d experienced before. With you, it was carnal and needy, wet and hot with your tongues caressing at the finer points of each other’s mouths.
There was no real pulling away, only brief stints where both of you would pause to breathe before getting back into it, head moving in tandem as you bit at his pouty lower lip.
With your tongue firmly in his mouth, Dennis felt the pull of something more, something much lower.
With his own hand, he followed the trail from your shoulder down to your wrist, and then it had finally dawned on him that you’d taken to massaging the tip of his cock.
“Wanna help you too,” You muttered into his mouth, hand pulling more of him to you.
This was intoxicating, it was addicting. It was never-ending.
“I—I probably won’t last that long…I—“
You shushed him with another kiss, pulling him further into your bed until your back was to the headboard.
When you finally pulled away for good, a string of saliva connected the two of you. It made his heart beat fast with a rhythm of desperation and want
You pulled your now wrinkled shirt off, revealing no bra and a world that Dennis had yet to open his eyes to.
