WARNINGS: watched 1 ep everything i know is from edits and fics WE LISTEN N WE DON'T JUDGE, smut, switch leaning sub!whitaker, he whines a lot, light choking (hes sooo into it tho), huckleberrys hungry asf, inspired by that one dennis whitaker edit with feeling on my body by taffy in mind yk what im talking about, no mentions of skin or ethnicity cs WE should enjoy this💔, abuse of italics, can you tell i follow tonycries on here, FIRST SMUT KINDA NERVOUS
WC: 1.5K
genuinely want those sad hamster abused eyes to look up at me in desperation
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"Please," Dennis whispers desperately into the flushed skin of your neck, arms wrapped tightly around your waist as you move your hips into him. The muscles in his biceps flex briefly as he tries to pull you impossibly closer after a particularly good roll from your body. A whine leaves his throat. "Mhm—! please, please..."
You can feel his fingers grasp at your sides longingly, short nails gliding against your skin with no plan on letting you go anytime soon. He's hugging your waist like he's afraid you're going to get up and leave. The pathetic thrust of his hips in an attempt to match your pace makes you smile and trail a hand up to his beautiful curly hair.
And pull.
"Hah—!" You feel Dennis' lips part against the side of your neck in a gasp of surprise. You feel him twitch inside of you, hands gripping you harder to keep his composure. Not that he had much left to begin with after panting into your sweaty skin for the past few hours. Guess he liked that.
"You feel so good," Dennis' words slur slightly at the end. His normally tired looking eyes are half-lidded with an extra layer of exhaustion from the days stressful shift, blonde eyebrows trying to pinch into a furrow as he forces himself to focus on his words and not get lost of the pleasure. You never fail to make him lose his mind and go numb. Especially when your fingers start to thread themselves deeper into his curls and pull again. "So— so good...hah! Fuck."
"Yeah?" You ask with a raised brow. His head nods vigorously.
When Dennis first started at The Pitt, he was incredibly new to everything. Awkwardly fumbling over himself, stuttering over his words, or getting flustered over his mistakes. As was every inexperienced newcomer to the ways of The Pitt.
It was when the months started to pass, his confidence grew. He didn't second guess his choices, spoke up when a solution came to mind rather than muttering it quietly under his breath. He had even taken to teasing Trinity back rather than just taking it with a thinned smile.
He was still gentle, still kind and understanding. But when shit hit the fan and people started to scramble, as it often did in The Pitt, he wasn't afraid to step in and call the shots.
But when you start to undo the buttons of his shirt as you drag your tongue against the sensitive spot on his neck, trailing your hands down the areas of his chest that you know make him tense, he turns into that shy, stuttering newbie intern all over again.
And he fucking loved it.
Taking a hand from around your waist, he places it behind his back for better balance before giving a long thrust of his hips, causing your breath to hitch. The small change in the position allows him to lay his head near your collar bone, where he takes the chance to look up at you in awe. His eyes wide and dewy as they take in your expression, the shape of your face, the way your hair is styled. The lipstick you put on that morning is smudged at the edge, ending almost at the corner of your chin.
Probably from earlier, when you kissed down his jugular with tenderness that made him grip at the sheets of the bed, lips loving and teeth hungry as they went lower, and lower, and lower. The greedy bite marks on his inner thigh could attest to that.
The thought of it makes Dennis' face flush. No one would see them, no one would know about them, but you. About the marks and bruises you left in places he never expected you to. It'll be covered by his scrubs in tomorrows shift. Just a dirty little secret.
"Keep going, baby." You encourage after he gives you another deep push of his hips. The closeness makes you grip at his shoulders and tilt your head back with a light ah escaping your mouth. "Doin' so good f'me."
Needy lips place themselves onto the middle of your chest, heavy and withering with no trail in sight of that usual gentleness Dennis carried himself with. There was no room for soft and steady anymore. Not if he wanted to get the right message across with no time to spare. You could see it in the light of his eyes though. How much he refused to let go of you, how badly he wanted you closer and closer and closer. To feel the pressure of your slicked skin rub and slide against his. His plush lips mouth against every crevice of your skin that he can reach, causing your thighs to clench harshly around his waist. You were sure it had hurt him slightly, but judging from the way your locked thighs didn't stop the movements of his long thrusts, he barely spared a glance at the pain.
You suddenly feel him take ahold of one of your wrists, making your eyes blink open blearily. Lashes fluttering as you look to see him guide your hand away from his thick shoulder and up his cheek, where he grants you with a chaste kiss against your palm as he stares up into your eyes longingly.
The sight made you smile and rub your thumb against the apple of his reddened cheek, to which he easily leaned into like it was muscle memory.
No matter the mood, no matter how intense things got, Dennis always made sure to remind you that he loved you in between it all. Not once did he ever make you feel like it was done for momentary fun or a quick session. From the very beginning, he made his intentions clear as he stated firmly there would be no so and so with benefits, no late night 'you in the mood?' texts. You weren't something temporary. He was serious about you, serious about everything you two were.
And boy did he bag you.
(Trinity once said something along to lines "he wanted that cookie" which didn't make sense at the time, but now, you understood.)
Dennis takes you by surprise when he continues to move your hand. He doesn't take his eyes away from your own, gaze taking your reaction as he pulls your hand down his face, past his jaw and to his throat.
Did he mean...?
Your breath hitches when he squeezes your hand over his throat as a sign of encouragement when you continue to stare in awe.
"Fuck." You break from his stare to look down at his throat in your hand. You could feel the heat from his skin, the sweat trailing onto his collar bone, the way his Adam's apple bobbed under your intense eyes. "You really want me to...?"
"Mhm." Dennis gives an immediate nod. To show he meant it, he gives another deep thrust that makes your fingers twitch around his neck. You see a flash of his teeth nibble on the inside of his lip in anticipation at the feeling.
Still, you wait.
"Words, Den," You say at the sight of him struggling to keep composure. There's a small grind of your hips against him, but your fingers make no move to tighten. Whether you did it to get his attention or tease him, it's hard to tell. Either way, you needed him to say it out loud incase he was having some doubts.
But Dennis was nothing if not sure of himself in your hands. Literally. "P—Please, choke me." He leaned his head back farther as proof, baring his neck to you with nothing but trust. "I want it. 'want you."
With confirmation clear out of the way, nothing is stopping you now and you've teased him enough. Your nails rake the side of his throat as you feel him give another thrust. You trail your other hand down from his hair and down his back, putting it around his shoulders to pull him against you as you finally squeeze his throat.
The reaction is quick. Dennis' eye's widened at the feeling before rolling back. His hand behind him grips at the edge of the bed as you feel his thighs jump from under you. "Ah— oh god," softly left from his dry mouth in a frantic whimper.
When you let go, he moans in relief like he had finally gotten something he wanted, and it makes you wonder how long he had been thinking about this. You go to pull your hand away in question when you feel his own suddenly grip at your wrist to keep it in place.
"Keep going," Dennis begged as he put your hand back where it was, hips stuttering in its pace. He gulps when he realizes how demanding he sounded. "Please, don't stop."
You feel your stomach do a flip at his pleading. He knew how it made you feel.
"Alright," His desperation brings a grin to your face. You give a light, teasing squeeze to his neck that makes him whine when he realizes you won't just give it to him. He has to work for it if he wants you to use your actual strength again. "But we're not stopping til' you give me everything you got."
"Yes Ma'am." His blue eyes looked up into your own without hesitation at the challenge.
Summary: Frank Langdon thinks mocking a safe word is funny. He learns, on his knees, cock locked, thighs red, begging, that his girlfriend does not share his sense of humor.
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✦ 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ✦ :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
– Explicit sexual content
– Rough consensual kink (breath play, impact play, edging, cock ring, overstimulation)
– Safe-word mockery (immediately respected and addressed in-scene)
– Intense power exchange & brat taming
– Tears/crying during sex (emotional, not non-con)
– Extensive, tender aftercare
– All acts are fully consensual, negotiated beforehand, and the safe word is honored the instant it is used.
You have him exactly where he belongs.
Frank Langdon, stripped bare on your bed, wrists cuffed to the headboard with his own leather belt, ankles spread and locked to the corners with soft restraints you both know he could break if he really wanted to.
His chest is flushed crimson from your nails.
His cock stands hard and leaking against his stomach because you’ve been riding him rough for the last fifteen minutes, one hand wrapped tight around his throat, squeezing hard enough that his pulse thunders against your palm.
This isn’t gentle.
You agreed on rough tonight.
He begged for it.
You roll your hips, sink down until he’s buried to the hilt, and tighten your fingers another fraction.
His eyes roll back, lips parting on a choked moan.
“Color?” you bark.
“Green,” he rasps, voice shredded.
You squeeze harder.
His back arches, cock jerking inside you.
You ride him faster; it's brutal, punishing, every thrust designed to wreck him.
Hand returning to his throat in perfect rhythm: squeeze on the downstroke, release on the up, until his world narrows to the pressure of your fingers and the wet heat of your cunt.
He’s close.
You feel it in the way his thighs tremble, the way his abs clench, the way his cock swells inside you.
You slow.
Stop.
He whimpers, actual, desperate whimpers his hips bucking uselessly against the restraints.
You smile, slow and cruel.
And then, because he is Frank fucking Langdon and cannot help himself, he locks eyes with you and rasps:
“Ghostbusters.”
A wave of cold adrenaline hits so hard your fingers go numb.
You don't question. You just move.
Your hand is off his throat in half a heartbeat.
Everything stops.
You’re off him so fast the mattress bounces.
You uncuff him in two seconds flat, voice already shaking.
“Frank — baby — red? Talk to me — scale of one to ten — did I hurt you? Fuck, I’m sorry —”
You’re halfway to the bathroom, running the shower, grabbing towels, his hoodie, ice packs — anything soft.
Frank sits up, blinking, confused.
“Wait…shit….no”
But you’re already back, eyes glassy, hands trembling as you wrap him in a robe, pull him toward the bathroom.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you. Let's get you warm”
You get him under the spray before he even processes.
The guilt hits so fast it steals your breath.
You should’ve caught it sooner. You should’ve seen it in his face.
Water cascades over both of you while you gently wash his chest, his throat, checking for bruises, voice cracking with apologies.
“I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so sorry. I-I-I thought we were good, I thought —”
Frank finally realizes.
The smirk dies.
He grabs your wrists, water streaming down his face.
“I was kidding,” he says, voice suddenly small. “I was just messing with you. I wanted to see how fast you’d stop.”
The shower goes dead quiet except for the water.
You stare at him.
Your face goes perfectly, terrifyingly still.
Slowly, you shut the water off.
You step out.
You wrap a towel around yourself and then grab another and throw it at him.
Your voice is soft.
Too soft.
“All actions have reactions, Frank.”
He swallows.
You walk, water dripping onto the floor, to the nightstand.
Open the drawer.
Pull out the steel cock ring with the remote vibrator.
He knows that one.
You turn to him.
“Bed. Now.”
Frank’s mouth opens to protest, apology, something, but the look in your eyes shuts it down.
He obeys.
You cuff his wrists again this time tight.
You spread his thighs yourself.
You slide the cold metal down his cock and click it locked at the base.
He hisses.
You stroke his cheek, soft but firm.
“Color, Frank?”
He glares through the haze, mutters “Green” like it’s a dare.
You smile, sweet and lethal.
“Good.”
Then you start.
You edge him for an hour.
Mouth.
Hand.
Toy.
Riding him until he’s sobbing, hips bucking, cock purple and leaking, the ring keeping him achingly hard and achingly denied.
Every time he gets close, you stop.
Pull off.
Let the ring bite.
Then you slap the inside of his left thigh hard.
The crack echoes.
He cries out.
You pause, hand resting gently on the red mark.
“Color?”
He’s breathing hard, eyes glassy.
“Green — fuck — green —”
You kiss the inside of his wrist.
“That’s my good boy.”
Another slap to the right thigh.
Again.
Again.
Red blooms across pale skin.
You turn the vibrator to high and watch him thrash.
You slap his thighs in perfect rhythm: left, right, left, right. Until he’s sobbing, shaking, tears streaking his temples into his hair.
You pause again, palm soothing over the heat.
“Color, baby?”
He’s wrecked, voice hoarse:
“Green baby, please don’t stop”
You sink down onto his face.
No warning.
He eats you out like a man possessed. It's desperate, sloppy, perfect all while you slap his thighs every time he gets too eager, every time he tries to chase friction against the mattress.
You come twice on his tongue, grinding down, fingers fisted in his hair, moaning his name like a threat.
You lift just enough to let him breathe, fingers threaded through his hair.
“Color?”
He’s wrecked, voice hoarse:
“Green! Please —”
You sink back down.
You come a third time.
Then you slide down his body, hover just above his cock close enough to tease, not close enough to relieve, and get yourself off with your own fingers while he watches, locked, vibrating, sobbing.
You come a fourth time staring into his wrecked eyes.
You lean down, thumb brushing the tears on his cheek.
“One more time, Frank. Color?”
He’s sobbing, shaking, but whispers “Green” like it’s the only word he has left.
You kiss him, soft and filthy.
“Then come for me.”
You flick the ring off.
He comes instantly, hard, violent, screaming your name into the dark, hips bucking so hard you have to pin him down to ride it out.
You don’t stop.
You keep stroking him through it, overstimulating until he’s crying for real. He’s overwhelmed, oversensitive, clinging to you like you’re the only thing keeping him on the planet.
You uncuff him.
Pull him into your arms.
He collapses against you, shaking, face buried in your neck, tears soaking your skin.
You wrap arms and legs around him, blanket pulled over both of you, rocking him gently.
“Shh,” you whisper, kissing his temple, his cheek, the corner of his eye where tears keep falling. “I’ve got you, honey. You’re safe. You’re okay. You did so good.”
He makes a broken sound and clings harder, fingers digging into your back like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.
You stroke his hair, his spine, the red marks on his thighs. Your touch is gentle now, reverent.
“I’m so proud of you,” you murmur into his damp curls. “You took it so well. My good boy. My perfect boy.”
Frank whimpers he sounds small, raw, overwhelmed.
You shift just enough to cradle his head against your chest, feeling his breath hitch.
“Baby,” he whispers, voice cracked open and tiny. “Baby, I’m sorry.”
The word baby from him is soft, pleading, stripped of every ounce of arrogance and hits you like a freight train.
He buries his face in your neck again, breath hitching.
“Baby,” he repeats, like it’s the only word he has left. “Don’t let go.”
“Never,” you promise, and mean it with every cell in your body.
You hold him for a long, long time.
You rock him gently, humming under your breath, kissing every tear that falls.
You tell him he’s good.
You tell him he’s loved.
You tell him he’s yours.
When the shaking finally eases, you ease him onto his back and clean him up with the warm wipes you keep on the nightstand for exactly this.
He watches you with wide, glassy eyes, still floaty, still vulnerable.
You kiss every red mark on his thighs, lips soft, slow, worshipful.
You kiss the tip of his cock, gentle, when he flinches from overstimulation.
You pull him back into your arms and let him curl into you completely, his head on your chest, one of your legs thrown over his hip, fingers laced through his.
You thread your fingers through his hair and feel him melt.
“Baby,” he mumbles again, sleepy and small, nuzzling into your skin.
You smile against his temple.
“I’m right here, my love. Always.”
He makes a soft, content sound and finally, finally relaxes.
You hold him until his breathing evens out.
Until the last tear dries.
Until the only thing left is the quiet, steady rhythm of two people who love each other more than pride, more than power, more than anything.
WARNINGS: lowkey me i think im the problem, sub!whitaker, he whimpers, chest/nipple play, uh soiled scrubs?, he just takes it ngl, EVERYTHINGS CONSENSUAL make no mistake BOAF yall freaks, def an HR violation, still didnt watch the show js horny for this sickly victorian white boy GETTING THERE I PROMISE, inspired by that hucklerobby edit by T H E FUCKING HBO, no specific gender/race cs we (yes WE) will read ts wit a hand down our pants 🥹 sum editing i got lazy
WORD COUNT: 5.5K
Langdon mentioned those muscles n I got hungry wanna bite into that chest likes its a my death row meal
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Charts were so annoying.
It was more tedious work than anything, definitely not the most difficult thing to be done, (hard to top daily spontaneous medical injuries, after all) it just took time. Scanning papers for information and typing it correctly to the T. Just one slip could cost everything. But since when did things in The Pitt not?
Your shoes tapped to a random rhythm against the white floor tiles of the hospital as you pressed the spacebar for what was probably the hundredth time. Before pressing backspace for what was definitely the hundredth time because you accidentally pressed space twice.
"I think I'm actually losing it." You mumble under your breath, trying to resist the urge to make a break for the doors. Which, by the way, was very hard not to do. The temptation was hard to ignore when the only sound apart from the clicks of a keyboard was the low buzzing of the monitor and a distant cough.
"Aw c'mon," Trinity gives you a brief grin from a few chairs away. "If Hamilton can write fifty-one essays, you can write a few charts."
You raise a brow. "You haven't typed a single word in the past ten minutes."
"It's easier to stare into space than I'd like to admit."
You shake your head in amusement, watching as Trinity went back to typing only to quietly curse at a misspell. You had lost track of time hours ago. Though you had found that it passed faster when you had no clue what time it was, so when the time was appropriate you avoided looking at a clock with all your might just so the end of the day wrap up felt all the sweeter and rewarding. It was the only solace you had in a place like The Pitt, as sad as that sounded.
You turn away from your desk to give your eyes a small break after non-stop reading and typing. It had been surprisingly slow for the past hour, after the patient involved in a collision was rushed in. After assisting in pulling out the large bits of concrete stuck her leg and getting her stable, you were pointed to charting by Robby and his infamous blank stare. You had tried to bribe him with a juice box you had brought into work today to give you literally any other job to do, but he was unfortunately unshakable.
(And a juice box stealer, you note bitterly when he had passed by fifteen minutes after sending you away with said juice box in his hand)
You scan the rest of the area quietly. The screen switches around. A paitents baby giggling at Langdon, who's playing with his stethoscope in front of its face jokingly. A dated PSA poster on the wall about the symptoms of a stroke. A tray of supplies that had been left in the corner, definitely a safety hazard if someone wasn't careful. A painting you forced Dana to hang on the wall as joke and just never took down. You give Mel a nod when you see her walking towards her patients room, clipboard clutched to her chest as she responds with a smile of her own before pushing up her glasses to the bridge of her nose.
Familiar curls make their way into sight.
And suddenly the day is better.
Dennis is pushing a patient in a wheelchair, an elderly woman with inquiring questions that he answers with ease. Gently reassuring any worries she had about the medication she'd have to be taking for the next few months while he guided her towards her room without rushing steps as to not overwhelm her.
The sight makes you smile softly. Dennis was always someone that was empathetic of those around him. He was never quick to judge, he understood that
You scanned him. Like you had been previously doing with your charts, taking in every detail with precision and engraving it into your mind. But unlike before, you weren't doing it just to get a job done, now you were simply admiring what was before you. The small, shy curls at the nape of his neck that he struggled to style every morning. The unintentional pout his lips did when he was deep in thought. The lines under his eyes that never disappeared even when he got a full eight hours of sleep. All of it, all the parts he was proud of, all the parts that he was insecure about, they made him who he was. You loved every bit of him, every side. Unlike in your typing, there were no mistakes that needed fixing.
Then your eyes trailed down. The collar of the white shirt he wore peaking from under his uniform, shifting out of sight to be blocked by his stethoscope whenever he turned slightly. The scrubs he wore today were black. Or at least thats what you think in the back of your mind as you watch the way they tighten around his biceps. Filled by the muscle he had gained as he gently helps the woman into her hospital bed to get some rest.
God, he looked good in grey. Or was it blue?
You eyes shift back and forth in concentration that definitely wasn't there when you were charting. Trailing down the flex of his arms, to his hands, back up to his eyes, the slight bump where his chest was (because holy shit was he gaining muscle faster than anyone could comprehend), the cute slope of his nose, down his back, the curve of his smile when his patient asked another question.
You admired every inch of him. Thoroughly.
His arms flex when you'd drag your mouth near his collar bone, hands clutching desperately to whatever was in reach to ground himself, or straining in place when you ordered for them not to move from their spot. His hips stutter against you on instinct when you take a handful of his thighs into your hold and leave small bite marks. When you suck on the middle of his collar bone and start to move down to his chest, his sucks in a breath and starts to squirm under you from sensitivity.
He crosses his arms as he starts to explain something to the elder woman's family, who had been waiting for her to get rolled out of surgery. His arms start to fill out his shirt again, and you're reminded of the feeling of his heated skin flinching at the feeling of your tongue—
"You alright?"
You blink out of your thoughts at the sound of Trinity's voice.
"Yeah. Yeah." You cough into your fist as nonchalantly as you could so it didn't look like you were caught checking out your own boyfriend rather than doing your job. Head snapping back to your screen like you hadn't even glanced away. "Yup. All fine and dandy."
Who the fuck says dandy?
Trinity gives a snort at your poor act and you know you've been caught when she rolls her chair a bit closer to you to take a pen from your desk as if she had to borrow it. "You couldn't be more obvious with your ogling."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Mhm." She hummed, twirling the pen around between her fingers as you try to pretend you don't notice her stare. There's a roll of her eyes when she realizes you won't break and decides to say her piece. "You know, someone forgot to put those trays of supplies away."
You glance at her briefly with a pause. "...Yeah?"
"So," She takes a moment to answer for dramatic flair, as though to keep you hanging in her words, before shrugging in Dennis' direction. "I'd say you've got...15 minutes or so of free time to put it away before shit hits the fan."
A grin makes its way onto your face as you pushout from your desk and grab your pager. An audible crack when you straighten your spine. God, you hate that damn chair. "I can do a lot in 15 minutes."
Trinity's lip curls in disgust. "Okay, gross."
"Hey, if we have to listen to you and Garcia for hours at a time then—" You joke, making Trinity's eyes widen at your words.
"Just go before I change my mind!" She hissed while looking around to see if anyone was listening before flying your pen at your shoulder. You dodge with a laugh and quickly leave the vicinity before she could get her hands on another weapon. Even a q-tip was dangerous in her hands.
There's a noticeable skip in your step as you make a bee line for Dennis, who had just started to leave his patients room after being thanked by the woman's children.
"Hey, Den." You greet, gently bumping into his hip with your own.
Dennis' shoulders tensed at the sound of someone approaching him, but they quickly dropped at the sound of your voice. His eyes go wide like a puppy in surprise as a smile graces his face when he looks up from his clipboard. "Hey! Hi."
"How's Mrs. Gable?" You give a nod towards his patients' room.
"Good. Surgery went well, and she's as sunny as ever with her questions." Dennis chuckles as he tilts his clipboard for you to see. You hum along as he continues. "There's a lot. But I'd prefer that over a self diagnosis from google."
"You can thank Gray's Anatomy for that." Just the thought makes you grimace. Nothing worse than a patient that thinks they know better than a doctor because of something they saw online.
"Say, you mind helping me with something?" You nod towards the trays you had seen earlier. You don't wait to see if he follows as you move, but the sound of Dennis' scampering footsteps to catch up with you are a dead giveaway. Robby had once said that you walk him like he was a dog, you never really saw it.
"Need to put these away. I'll take this one." You gestured to the trays and take ahold of one. Dennis nods along with a quiet 'Oh!' Confused, but listening none the less as he starts to push his tray next to yours. You both walk shoulder to shoulder down the hall under the buzzing hospital lights and quiet chatter amongst passing residents.
"Aaaren't you supposed to be charting right now?" He asked with a raised brow. You chew on the skin of your lip stare ahead until he says your name in a scolding manner.
"Well...yes, but—" Dennis shakes his head exasperatedly as you try to defend yourself. "A small break never hurt anybody. Besides, someone needed to make sure these trays were put back. They were in the way and could hurt someone."
"Right." Dennis looks unimpressed by your reasoning, but the smile pulling at his lips can't hide his amusement. You both stop by the room that held most of the supplies and he holds it open with one of his hands so you can enter, holding his own tray at his side before pushing it in. "Dr. Robby's gonna have your head when he finds out."
"Nah, he loves me." You waved off his worries as you take a few of the supplies that had been used and take them to the area they had to be sanitized at. Dennis is swift to put back a box of gloves and pile of towels on the shelf as you wipe away at mouth area of an Oxygen mask.
You finish with a wipe at your hands with a paper towel and turn to see Dennis leaning on one of the tables, organizing a mixed box of plasters and bandages with his fingers tapping away in concentration. "Someone seriously needs to organize these."
His furrowed brows makes you snicker. You approach, placing a hand to the lower curve of his back before leaning your head against his. The action makes him pause in his work, taking in the serenity of the environment you didn't get often. You could barely take your scheduled breaks on time. So quiet moments like this were rare, and always appreciated. To find a place to freeze in the middle of an ongoing storm was only a time you could wish for.
But you weren't done yet.
You suddenly shift yourself to stand behind him. Dennis doesn't seem to think much of it, simply drowing in your warmth while he had the chance before you both had to step back into the hell outside. The feeling of your arms wrapping around his waist is comforting, a place of solace he doesn't want to take for granted during the hours your long shift.
When you press a kiss on his shoulder, he hummed quietly. The smell of his laundry detergent covers his scrubs, lightly overtaking your senses from the bland, thick scent of the hospital. Your lips are soft as meet Dennis again, this time a bit higher. Just under the ends of his curls, at the edge of his collar. It's soothing, intimate. Then they traveled higher. He takes a sharp intake of breath, needing a moment to collect himself at the feeling of your plush lips before murmuring your name as firmly as he could.
"Need somethin'?" You tease, knowing fully well what he was calling you for.
"Dont." He tries to give you a serious look, but the flush rising to his face makes it hard for you not to coo at him. There's a concerned crease in between his eyebrows. "I can see the hunger in your eyes! We're in a supply room!"
"Yeah?" You kiss at the nape of his neck, pulling him in closer by the waist. His arms leaned further into the table as he shifts his head to the side shyly at the feelings of your lips inching closer and closer. "Hm? You like that?"
Dennis can't fight the sigh he let's out, hands spread on the table as he tried to decide whether he wants to lean into you or pull away. A shiver goes down his spine at the feeling of your warm breath against his cold skin, heating him from the cold of the hospitals intense A.C. "Y—...Yes."
You go to nip at his skin, careful not to mark it up with bruises since you did still have work, rather just giving wet opened kisses to his skin that had him wiggling in your arms with a whine. You look at his face to admire the view in front of you. His eyes are scrunched close with each touch you gift his body, fingers twitching violently against the table where they're lay, while the pink on his lips part with small puffs of air. "Hah! Hah...shit."
You smirk into his skin as a thought hits you. You continue to lap at his neck, taking in the way his back leans into you weakly, before trailing your hands under his scrubs, up along his stomach and onto his chest. He jumps under your hands. Chest shivering and full as you go and give a heartfelt squeeze.
"Wha—!?" Dennis' hands snap onto your wrists in surprise, but he makes no move to take them away. His front full on display from how his shirt bunched near his collar due to your wondering hands. "What are you...?"
"You've been getting so much muscle recently, Den." Was your only response to his confusion. Your lips press with a pop! onto his neck as you grab at his chest and squeeze again, nails raking at his flushed skin from the handful you gripped for. His hold on your wrists tighten at the feeling. "Tits gotten so big. Lemme feel 'em."
"Oh, fuck." Dennis groans as you massage at his chest, pulling and pushing at the built muscle. A throat clawing whimper leaves him when you push into him from behind. Your warm front against his back forcing him to lean into the cold metal table in front of him. The feeling of it meeting his bare stomach makes him hiss, hips sputtering in place and struggling to stay still in your hold. "Mphf..uck—"
Your tongue skimmed along his neck with purpose, leaving wet trails that clash with the cold air of the hospital, judging from the way Dennis tips his head back with a raspy soft moan near your ear. The smell of his conditioner hits your nose as you drag your mouth on the bridge of his neck. His scent of fresh Mint and Rosemary turning into a light musk as he breaks into a sweat from the heat of your close bodies and his thumping heart. You catch a trailing droplet of sweat with the tip of your tongue as you feel his hips jerk forward again.
Every sound that escapes him makes your insides fire up, heart thumping against your ribcage in excitemen at the situation, and at the way he always becomes so pliant in your hands. You can't stop your own hips from twitching in place at the feeling of his warm back leaning into you. The same back you'd lean into after a long day and feel the vibration of his chuckles against your cheek. His biceps flex where they rest above your own arms. The same big arms that envelope you wholeheartedly when one of you needed comfort during a hard shift.
His curls bounce slightly alongside his jittery movements, gel covered swirls styled with his mullet haircut that matches him just right. His lips are dried and lightly nibbled on at the dry skin from stress, pink in their own, cute way. The slant of his nose is pointed, curved perfectly for you to trace when he lays his head on your stomach during an afternoon nap. And don't even let you start on his naturally big, sad looking eyes whenever they'd meet your own in concern after a moment that hits a little too hard. Every part of him was full on display, and you wanted it all.
You squeeze at his chest again and he lets out a low sound between gritted teeth.
Arms flexing under the dim hospital light as he tries to hold what little self control he has left. His hips push against the metal table without any respect, the waistband of his pants loosening slightly from his constant shifting. The attention you're giving his chest is unforgiving. Pulls and prods at his overheated plush skin and built muscle, you squeeze it with an appreciative hum. You cup the mounds with your palms as if your mapping every inch and logging it into your memory, fingertips pushing into the ridge between his chest and tracing all of its thickness. You want to bite into it like its a cake, but that's for next time.
This beats charting by miles.
You let your teeth nip at his skin as you continue to grab at his chest. Biting softly between his shoulder and neck in a way that makes him tense. His skin has a slight salt taste that makes you moan into his neck. Your tongue laps harshly, licking at every ridge you lips alone couldn't reach to show your appreciation. His gasp hits your ears feels rewarding.
You snicker, giving a teasingly harsh squeeze to make him lurch before moving your fingers onto his nipples. If he thought the hard part was over, he was so wrong. You pinch.
"Mhm..!" Dennis' chest puffs out as reflex as his back arches slightly in your hold. He starts to wiggle from the touch, shoulders shifting against your arms, and you work to keep him in place with a chuckle. He huffs softly when your fingers move to soothe any pain from your pinching with light circular rubs. Which seems to have just as much as an effect on him from the way his body thrashed. "Oh god—"
His neck goes to lean forward on instinct and you click your tongue at his movement, grabbing the back of his scrubs collar with your teeth and yanking it back. You ignore his grunt at the pull and give his nipples another pinch as a light warning.
The pinch causes a shudder to run down Dennis' spine, but he's quick to listen and let you continue assaulting his neck with your dominant tongue. His fingers twitch around your wrists, veins becoming slightly visible as he clenches them in his hold to keep himself grounded. Puffs of air are forced out of his mouth as he tried to regulate his breathing so he doesn't make too much noise and attracting unwanted attention. Not when neither of you wanted this to stop. Not yet.
"That's it," You whisper at his constant fumbling around, because despite all his movement, he doesn't run from your touch. Doesn't take push your hands away, or pull his neck from your mouth. He knows what would happen if he did. Guess you did train him well.
Then..."You can take more, right?"
You don't wait for a response as your hands move like they've got a mind of their own. A hand leaves his chest and goes downwards. Passing his tightly clenched abdomen and jittery hips, to rub at the outline of his sensitive cock through his scrubs.
"Hah— Shit, shit, shit!" Dennis lurched forward in your hold with a gasp, hands slamming onto the table. His dick twitched in your warm palm as you rub him back and forth. He tried to look back and meet your gaze through fluttering lids that only force their way closed. "B— mhm! Baby, we— we're gonna get caught. We can't."
"Only if they hear you." You give him a look of amusement and watch him bite his lip when another whine fights to escape when you move your fingers against his dick. Then you look down at his wrist watch from his splayed hand on the metal table and hum in triumph. He follows your gaze at the sound through heavy blinking. "Besides, we still have about five minutes left. You can be good until then."
You deliver a pinch to his nipple while giving a rub at the mushroom head of his cock, and Dennis' knees can't help but buckle at the simultaneous feeling, causing him to lean his head onto his arm on the table, curling into himself slightly. He takes a moment to answer, too caught up in your touch to form clear words. Funny, he has no issue thinking of quick solutions in a dire time of need out in The Pitt, yet here he couldn't mumble something that wasn't just jumbled noise.
He nodded when he glanced to meet your eyes briefly, forehead smooshed against his forearm as you caught sight of his red ears. Cute. "I— hah...yeah. Yeah, okay. I can."
You follow his movement with ease, leaning onto the curve of his back and hooking your chin over his shoulder. Dennis takes a moment to collect himself, before slowly moving his hips, humping into your hand with an air of shyness in its wake.
Fuck.
"There we go." You grin encouragingly, moving your thumb to the head of his cock and over his slit, feeling wetness start to build up. Dennis gasps at the feeling, hiding his face farther into his forearm. It does nothing against his blushing.
Your other hand continued its squeezing and rubbing at his nipple, taking in the way his abdominal clenched when your nail drags over his sensitive nipple. Mentally noting that for later, you pinch his nipple between your thumb and pointer and rub it together. The friction forces a jolt down Dennis' spine and his hips momentarily piston against your hand as he pushes farther into the table.
The stimulation seems to be the breaking point for Dennis. All embarrassment is thrown out the window as he grinds harder into your hand, lip between his teeth. Fog builds up against the metal table from the heat of your bodies and the hot breath that pushes past his lips in struggling moans. You hear the creak! of metal and look to see the large table push forward slightly. You raise a brow when you realize its from Dennis as he continues to push into your hand and unconsciously against the table and moving it without even realizing it. It was a heavy duty work bench type of table, at least a hundred and eighty pounds without including the piled supplies on it.
Shit, that muscle wasn't for show.
"Fuh— ahhh, fuck." Dennis said lowly as his hips give another thrust. All self control poofing out of existence as it unties from a simple wave of your hand. Precum wets the front of his pants with each rub you grant him, heated and moist while it twitches in your hold when you run your fingers over a thick vein. "Feels —feels so good."
The scene was filthy. You, hovering over Dennis' back as he's bent over the table, a hand under his shirt and the other over his pants as he braced himself against the metal table with soft moans. Knowing he'll have to go back to being an assertive figure, making tough calls and calling out interns on their mistakes, once a new emergency rolled in was almost mind boggling from the way he mewled under you.
The aound of your heart beating reached your own ears, almost drowing out all other sounds. It felt like it was just you and Dennis and nothing else. The dull light flickering above your forms, while the trays you had brought were long forgotten on the side. Sweat starts to build near your hairline, your shirt no longer tucked in your pants like it had neatly been before, your lips slightly swollen from its use. If anyone had no idea what had gone on during your time alone, they'd be an idiot.
"I think I—" Dennis started to pant harshly as his hips gave another roll into your hand, beginning to stutter in it's place. "Ah, ah. 'm gonna..."
"Yeah?" You question, picking of the pace of your hand to match his grinding. You rub your cheek against his shoulder before licking a strip alongside his neck, up to his jaw. You start to rub at his chest gently, asking for silent forgiveness for your consistent pinching. "Go ahead. You've been so good. I got you. Cum for me, Den."
"Thank you, thank you..." Dennis starts to mumble under his breath, lips pressed against the cold metal as his back arches slightly. His body starts to shake under you as he gets closer, and you continue to hover above him and rock along with his movements. You feel something grip at your thigh, and look down to see Dennis had reached the arm he wasn't leaning his face into holding onto your thigh and squeezing it for support.
"Fuck, fuck, mhm— fuck," Dennis groans as his hips starts to jerk forcefully. His nails dig into the back of your thigh, no doubt leaving a bruise in its wake without any regard as you press your thumb down onto one of the veins om the underneath of his cock. He pulls you closer by the grip he had on your thigh, scrubs clenched in his knuckles while theres a deep hitch in his breath.
You rub your palm against the head of his cock as you feel as a sudden warmth starts to spread. Dennis let's out a small cry under his breath, hardly mindful of the noise as his cock spurts out a surge of cum into his scrubs. You stoke him through it, thumbing at his probably red slit and feeling another splash of cum against it as his hips lurch forward again.
The wave that washes over him flushed a shudder down his entire body, his hips slow their pistoning movements into a shy stutter. You keep your pace into his rhythm, until you start to feel him squirm under your hold.
"I can't—! No...no more." His grip tightens on your thigh as groan leaves his throat.
"Shhh, okay, okay. No more." You assure him you hear and make your hand come to a halt.
Dennis' panting comes to a slow stop as you remove your hand from his chest to rub circles on his back. You're gentle with your touches as the ringing in your ears from excitement dies down, heart beat returning to it's normal pace. The A.C. is forgiving, blasting into your bodies and giving you a break from your sweating. It doesn't hide the musk from your body heat, but it's relaxing as you sit in a comfortable silence to gather your bearings. You feel Dennis push himself up.
"C'mere, please." Dennis requests as he turns as quickly as he could. There's a small stumble in his movement as he pulls you in for a kiss, a hand on the back of your neck with his thumb rubbing the underside of your jaw affectionately. He sighs into your mouth desperately.
"Someone's eager." You tease, but allow him to press his tongue along your lips and into your mouth. The closeness is what he needed, it brings him back to earth as he wallows against your lips before parting to rest his head against your own. "Happy?"
"You're joking." Dennis replies with a laugh, nuzzling against you. Then he straightens up, blue eye's widening in concern. "Crap! How's your leg? Are you okay? Did I hurt you? I know I was squeezing pretty hard. Fuck, I wasn't even thinking—"
"Hey, hey, hey! Calm down." You stop his rambling by holding his shoulders. His lips do that pout thing without him meaning to as he stares at you in worry. "I'm fine, Den. Really. There's probably a small bruise at most, but I'm okay. Really."
You then shrug shamelessly. "Besides, it was kinda hot."
Dennis gaped. "Wh— What?" But you don't linger as a thought comes to mind.
"And if anything, I should be asking if you're okay." You grab his shirt and lift it, ignoring his yelp as you gaze at his chest in the state you had a feeling it'd be in.
Flushed with redness at your constant pinching and gripping. The skin of the muscle was irritated, light trails of your nail dragging activities, and almost swollen at his nipples from your borderline harassment.
"Shit, Den..." You stare at the sight with a slightly dropped jaw. You go to try and touch at his chest, only for him to hiss when you finger graces his sensitive nipple. "I really did all that...?"
"It's okay! Really!" Dennis panics to reassure you when he sees your intense stare. He grabs your hands with his ownand tries to shrug nonchalantly. "I— I liked it."
You perk up at the confession. "Really?"
There's a sudden harsh slam against the door that has you both jumping in eachothers hold, before Trinity's voice fills the silence with an exasperated tone.
"Get your asses out, we have four collision patients coming in! And for God's sake, please clean up." You snort when she stomps away, feeling Dennis slump in your hold at the sound of her leaving.
"Well, I'd say we're on time." You joke while giving a quick glance at his wrist watch. Dennis rolls his eyes when you snap your fingers. "With a minute to spare."
"That is not the accomplishment you think it is." Dennis gives you a look at your teasing while giving a slight squeeze to your fingers. He then looked down to his pants and grimaced, shifting slightly. "Ugh..."
"I'll distract everyone and, ah," You raise a brow at his soiled pants and reach behind you for the spare towels on one of the racks. "—give you some time."
"This is your fault, you know!"
"You chose to wear black with those slutty arms today. This is your fault."
Dennis' brows furrowed in confusion as he watched you walk towards the door. "What...does that even mean?"
You waved without looking behind you. "Fourty seconds!"
Dennis fumbled with his pants strings.
ONE EMERGENCY LATER...
Robby nods in Dennis' direction as they leave the room. "Good job in there, kid. Came right in the nick of time. Were you on break or somethin'? You almost knocked over the computer on your way in there."
"Thank you, Dr. Robby." Dennis smiled at the acknowledgement, stepping to the side to make room for the surgeon taking his place now that their job was done. He goes to rub the back of his neck after disposing his gloves. "And uh, no. I...put away some trays someone left in the hallway. Sorry. I didn't mean to—"
Robby gives a simple wave as a sigh leaves him. "Ah, you got there just in time. Good call on the chest cut. Made our work ten times easier."
Dennis almost lets out a sigh of relief that he wasn't in trouble or caused any problems with his little tardiness. Too distracted, he doesn't see Robby's hand slap his chest in encouragement until its too late.
"Ow!" Dennis winced, a hand flying to his chest but making no move to really touch it. It just hovers in the air as reality hits him.
There's an awkward pause.
"...uh," Robby's brows furrowed in confusionas he stared at Dennis, then at his chest. "Did I hit you that hard?"
Dennis' eye's widened comically. "No! No. Just uh, just been working out a bit." He makes it a point to ignore your grin as you pass by quietly. "Body's still a bit sore, I guess."
Summary: It’s 4 a.m. on Christmas Eve.You came for cheap wine and questionable life choices.Mistletoe and Michael Robinovitch deliver both.
A/N: This was supposed to be sweet and SFW, and then it… wasn’t. I struggled with the concept, and now we’re here: 4 a.m. grocery-store smut. You’re welcome. 🎄💋
✨ Trigger Warnings ✨
(please read before proceeding, ya filthy animal 💋)
💋 Explicit sexual content (PIV, graphic detail)
💋 Semi-public kissing (Giant Eagle at 4 a.m. — bold.)
💋 Alcohol consumption (cheap wine)
💋 Strong language + sarcastic foreplay
💋 Consent + communication (“color” check-in)
💋 Praise kink / mild roughness / biting
💋 Co-workers to “oh we’re doing this”
💋 Light emotional vulnerability + loneliness themes
💋 Jewish character + humorous religious mentions
💋 No condoms used (I know… I KNOW)
It’s 4:07 a.m. on Christmas Eve and the Giant Eagle on Liberty Ave is blasting “Little Drummer Boy” like it’s a personal attack. The fluorescent lights are flickering, the linoleum smells like pierogi grease and despair, and the cashier, some guy named Dante who’s wearing a Santa hat over bald head has duct-taped a sprig of mistletoe to the cigarette display with a Sharpie sign: KISS FOR 10% OFF!
You’re in penguin pajama pants and a Pirates hoodie, holding a $7 bottle of YellowTail and a box of Trojans like a woman who’s already accepted her fate.
That’s when you see him.
Michael Robinovitch, black wool coat, permanent scowl, clutching a single sad slice of Giant Eagle cheesecake like it's his last meal.
He clocks you. You clock him.
You raise an eyebrow. “What are you doing alone on Christmas Eve, Dr.Robby?”
He snorts. “Sweetheart, I’m Jewish. Counter-question: what the fuck are you doing alone on Christmas Eve in the middle of Bloomfield?”
You shrug, eyes on the Red Bull cooler so you don’t have to look at him. “Family’s… not an option. And by the grace of Saint Nick and the scheduling gods, I’m off tomorrow. Plan was to get wine-drunk and play my favorite game: Swipe for Weiner. see if Santa felt like stuffing my stocking.”
You shake the condom box like maracas.
You look at the floor. “Same reason you’re buying cheesecake at four a.m., I guess.”
He takes the bottle and box out of your hands without asking and walks to the register.
The cashier and his duct-taped mistletoe grin like evil twins. “Mistletoe is upon us. Pay up or pucker up.”
Michael mutters, “This city is a fucking circus,” then turns to you.
He’s close enough now you can smell snow, cedar, and the faint bite of clove cigarettes. He starts to go for the sarcastic cheek kiss, then clearly says fuck it.
He cups your jaw with cold fingers and kisses you on the mouth.
For half a second you think he’s kidding.
Then his hand is on your jaw and knees are gone.
Soft at first. Then not soft at all. Tongue sliding against yours like he’s been waiting months to taste you and is furious about it.
Dante whoops. “LET’S GO PENS!”
Michael pulls back just far enough to meet your eyes, voice wrecked.
“Still planning on swiping for weiner?”
You’re already breathless. “Depends. You offering to be eight nights late?”
He slaps a twenty on the counter. “Dante, keep the fucking cheesecake.”
The cab ride is torture: his thigh pressed to yours, gloved hand resting high on your leg like he’s claiming territory, snow streaking past the windows in white lashes. Neither of you speaks. You don’t have to.
His apartment door barely shuts before he’s on you: back to the wall, coat still half-on, mouth hot and demanding. But this time it’s different. This time Michael Robinovitch, patron saint of restraint and sarcastic detachment, is shaking.
“Bedroom,” he rasps, voice shredded. “I need—”
He doesn’t finish. You do it for him, pushing him backward down the short hallway until the backs of his knees hit the bed. He sits hard, eyes black in the low light.
You straddle him without ceremony, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. His hands go straight to your waist, fingers digging in like he’s scared you’ll vanish.
“Tell me again,” you murmur against his mouth. “Color?”
“Green,” he breathes. “So fucking green it hurts.”
You roll your hips once, slow, deliberate, feeling exactly how hard he already is through two layers of clothes. He groans, head falling back.
“Been thinking about this for months,” you tell him, nipping his throat. “Every time you lean over me in the trauma bay pretending you’re not staring down my scrub top. Every time you hand me coffee like it’s a hate crime.”
He laughs, ragged. “I was trying to be professional.”
“Well you failed.”
You peel his sweater off, mouth following the path of exposed skin: collarbone, sternum, the soft curve of his hipbones. When you sink your teeth gently just above his waistband he jerks like you shocked him.
“Jesus—do that again.”
You do. Harder. He swears in Yiddish, hands fisting the sheets.
You take your time undressing him slow, reverent, filthy. Every new inch of skin gets kissed, bitten, praised.
“Look at you,” you whisper when he’s finally naked, flushed and trembling beneath you. “All that brooding and you’re this pretty when you’re desperate.”
He tries to flip you on instinct, so he can be in control. You pin his wrists above his head with one hand and grind down hard. His hips buck involuntarily.
“Stay,” you order softly.
He stays.
You ride him slow at first, watching his face go slack with pleasure, listening to the way his breath stutters every time you sink all the way down. His hands find your hips, not guiding, just holding on like you’re the only real thing in the room.
“Fuck—you feel—” He can’t finish. You clench deliberately and he breaks off into a choked moan.
You lean forward, lips brushing his ear. “Tell me what you want, Michael.”
He swallows hard. “Want to watch you come on me. Want to feel you lose it. Want—”
You sit up, change the angle, and start moving in earnest. Slamming yourself on him hard, deep, relentless. The headboard knocks the wall in a steady rhythm that would embarrass you if you cared about anything except the way he’s unraveling beneath you.
His eyes never leave yours. Not once.
When you reach between you and circle your clit he actually whines. The sound is high pitched and gorgeous. “Come for me,” he rasps. “Want to feel it—want to watch you fall apart on my cock—”
You do. Hard. Shaking. Clenching around him so tight his hips stutter and he follows you over with a broken groan, fingers bruising your thighs, spilling deep inside you with your name on his tongue like a prayer he forgot he knew.
After, you collapse onto his chest. He wraps both arms around you like he’s afraid the snow might steal you away.
Minutes or hours later (time is meaningless), he presses lazy kisses to your shoulder and mutters, voice hoarse, “Still don’t do Christmas.”
You huff a laugh into his neck. “Liar. You just came so hard you saw the burning bush.”
“Guess the discount worked,” you murmur.
He laughs against your lips. “Should’ve charged full price.”
He snorts, bites your collarbone in retaliation. “Stay anyway?”
You tangle your fingers with his. “Try and make me leave, Robinovitch.”
Outside, Pittsburgh is buried in white, and inside it’s warm and wrecked and perfect.
