Work Text:
Robby hears the ding from under his bag before he sits down to eat, debating on finishing the rest of his chicken salad from last night or the burrito from two days ago. He lets curiosity get the best of him, dropping both on the kitchen counter to investigate the notification.
Anonymous, 26
my roommate is out for the night
open to anything ;)
It's not every day off that he finds himself on the apps, but it's increasingly becoming the preferred pastime of most of his days off. It’s been a rough few shifts, usual issues cropping up in the ED, plus more and more pressure from the higher ups to fix problems he has no jurisdiction over and come up with solutions to the same slew of predicaments that won't change without overhaul of the systems that create them. He's tried meditation, exercise, even brief stints of therapy but all they did was reinforce what he already knew: the quickest way to ease the stress that weighs his muscles down is to drag himself into someone else's bed and sweat it out. He grabs the chicken salad and picks at it as he flips through the profile. It's all faceless, shirtless, low lit pictures, most of which were taken in bed, much like his own profile. One catches his eye. A lean, small frame across green bedsheets. Natural light streams in, bright enough that Robby can see faint freckles across his chest. Nice body.
He responds, something quick and to the point, finishing the bits of his cold and unappetizing dinner. Within minutes he's outside and walking to this stranger's apartment, just a few blocks away.
He's expecting a young guy, maybe in business or tech. Possibly a masters student in a program in town. Probably still wet behind the ears. He didn't ask questions because, well, there are other apps for chatting. As far as either of them are aware, they're two headless torsos meeting for the first time. In any other context Robby would hate connecting with other people in such a cold and distant manner but a man’s gotta do what he's gotta do to stave off the call of the void that starts to whisper when he's got too much time to spare.
What he doesn't expect when the door opens is a familiar face. Big blue eyes stare up at him from under a head of freshly washed blondish brown hair. Whitaker. Fourth year student doctor Dennis Whitaker.
The mortification is instantaneous, and Robby can tell by the color creeping across Whitaker's face that the feeling is mutual.
“I don't know what to say,” is all Robby can manage to come up with, paralyzed in the doorway. The anticipatory buzz all but evaporates out of his bloodstream, leaving his heart hammering in his chest.
“Um. Hi,” Whitaker responds, as panic stricken as Robby feels. “D-do you want to… come in?”
Unfortunately for Robby, this turn of events does little to convince him to turn around and make a beeline home. In fact, the picture in front of him, Whitaker in a cropped tshirt and 5 inch inseam shorts, starts the blood flowing toward places further south. Have those legs really been hiding under his scrub pants all this time?
On any other night this wouldn't be a debate, his discernment would cull any persuasive stirrings of the heart or other parts. But on this particular night, the line between ethics and desires seems to blur. He must've left his glasses at home. Home which is just so far away, and he's already made the trek here. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time he's let things get... unprofessional with a medical student. But twice is a coincidence, not a pattern.
And now he stands in the doorway, desperately trying not to picture what he knows is under his subordinate’s clothes. He should leave. Yet he can't bring himself to move a muscle.
Whitaker blinks up at him, unsure, but Robby's inaction seems to embolden him. "I guess I should've recognized your necklace from the pictures."
That gets a smile out of Robby, who still hasn't moved from his place of shock and terror in the doorway. “Do you want me to go?” he asks, at least offering the opportunity it seems neither of them is going to take. Whitaker shifts from one bare foot to the other and scratches at his stomach, a nervous habit, one that just so happens to pull up the hem of his shirt to reveal a sliver of hip bone that pokes out above the waist of his shorts.
"I mean, I'm still game if you are."
Robby stays behind the threshold, waiting three whole beats for one or both of them to run screaming in the opposite direction. When neither do he shrugs himself through the door into Whitaker’s apartment. This is what Jack, who will never, ever find out about this, would call one of his ‘rash, impulsive decisions.’ Or maybe, on a good day, he’d call it Robby living out the true meaning of carpe diem.
Okay, he definitely wouldn't say the latter, but he's not here and will never know this happened, so his opinion doesn't matter.
It hadn't occurred to him before because he hadn't really had a reason to think about it, but it dawns on him as he steps out of his shoes. "You're twenty six?"
Whitaker stands behind him, fiddling with the string of a table lamp. "Yeah? I finished my undergrad four years ago."
Robby scratches his head. "I guess that checks out."
He laughs, appeasing. "And you're-" he looks for a way to state the obvious, but Robby just shakes his head. "Yeah, well. This is one hell of a way to find out, I suppose."
"I was gonna say 'into younger guys,' actually," he says, his tone lighter.
Robby gives him an incredulous look. "The street goes both ways, friend."
"I know what I like," Whitaker shrugs.
Robby turns toward him, really looks him up and down. Standing in front of him, he realizes how short Whitaker is. His hair is growing out, longer than it was when they met. He looks sweet. Young, but not completely out of his element anymore. There's confidence in his posture now, a slight change, but one Robby notices. He noticed something else about Whitaker early on, too, this spark in his eye, an untapped well of potential that lives just under his skin. What kind of potential, Robby’s not sure. But there's more to him than meets the eye. Something to be discovered.
He's also giving Robby an expectant look, like a puppy waiting for a command.
“What?”
"Are you gonna kiss me?"
Robby laughs because it's not a question he'd ever expected to hear from him, but he obliges. "Yeah, okay."
Whitaker breaks into a relieved smile, reaching up to rest his arms on Robby's shoulders as he leans down to meet him. His lips are soft, mouth open, but there's restraint in the way he responds as Robby pushes toward him. It feels like it should be awkward, and it isn’t, but if they're doing this it has to be all or nothing. Robby tries again, this time tilting Whitaker’s head back as he leans down to kiss him. Whitaker’s posture falters for a second, but then he's leaning into it, letting Robby explore his mouth. “Good,” Robby says as they break away. He's already flushed, mouth wet and pink as his eyes follow Robby’s lips. Now they're getting somewhere.
He takes it a step further and brings a hand up to Whitaker’s face, cradling his cheek. He leans into the touch, letting Robby’s thumb swipe his bottom lip, and gives a kitten lick to the tip of it, a sight that immediately goes to Robby’s dick. He kisses him again, harder this time, and Whitaker grabs for purchase at his waist, then slides his hand toward the button of his jeans. "My room is down the hall,” he whispers against Robby’s cheek.
Robby doesn't need to be told twice, already filling out where Whitaker’s hand rests against his fly. He drops his jacket on the couch and follows Whitaker down the hallway to his room, nearly outpacing him. He doesn't even get a chance to look around before he's being tossed against the mattress and then Whitaker is on him, pressed torso to torso.
"Oh, wow," Robby manages as a hot mouth travels down the side of his neck. "We can take it slow," he tries, but the words get caught in his throat as Whitaker climbs across his legs. "Okay," he says, but he sits on Robby's lap, nudged perfectly so the crease of his ass is squarely pressed into the bulge in his jeans as his hands reach up under Robby’s shirt, and the sentiment is a faint memory as he grinds down ever so slightly.
The friction is barely there, layers of fabric obstructing any actual contact, but it's enough to send blood south and suddenly Robby is so hard and so keenly aware of what he's doing and with who.
"Whitaker," he starts, but receives a wince in return.
"Dennis, Dennis is fine."
"Dennis," Robby says, and the name is foreign on his tongue. Dennis watches his lips as he says it with the wet puppy-eyed look he's come to know. Only this time he reads something different behind it, something needier.
"Can you say it again?"
"Dennis."
His body shifts almost imperceptibly in Robby's lap, but his eyes glint, hunger flashing across them in the lamp light.
"Look, are you sure you want to do this? It doesn't have to change anything, you know-"
His attempt at finishing that thought is cut off by hands sliding up his chest, pulling his shirt up and off at the same time and Robby lets himself be coaxed backward onto the bed, the rest of that sentence kissed off his lips.
"I want it," Dennis says, an enthusiastic grin plastered across his face. "I wanted it the day I met you."
Robby can't help the shocked smile he returns. His eyebrows probably shoot halfway up his forehead. "Really?"
Dennis looks him up and down, eyes catching the pendant on his chest. "Of course. I mean I never thought it'd actually happen, but uh, yeah. Yes."
Robby wants to respond, to say he's sorry he hadn't noticed, but he can't choke out a word as Dennis pulls off his own shirt and presses a hesitant hand back onto Robby's stomach, his fingers seeking out skin under the hem of his boxers.
Robby places his own hand on top of Dennis’, guiding it instead up toward Robby's face. He lets Dennis cradle it for just a second, fingers soft against the scruff of his beard before he connects their lips. Dennis reciprocates with a soft peck that is unexpected in this context, but it's quickly followed by open lips, then a tongue pushing into his mouth, and this is the most he's kissed a hookup in who knows how long. Robby takes the upper hand back and pulls Dennis further into his lap, right where he wants him. He earns a small gasp into his mouth at the way his dick presses up against his hole, which clearly pleases both of them if the bulge growing against his stomach is any indication.
"Shit," Robby says as Dennis grinds down again, providing just enough friction to feel it but not nearly enough to satisfy the want. "I forgot condoms."
He looks at Dennis expectantly, waiting for the reassurance that he's got it covered. He receives no such affirmation.
"You don't have condoms? We have them all over the hospital."
Dennis gives him an incredulous look. "I could tell you the same thing."
Robby sighs, leaning back against the pillows. He's about to say something about safe sex that will totally kill the mood, and Dennis can tell because he says instead: "I'm clean. I got tested a month ago."
Robby is clean too, of course, albeit not tested quite as recently, but he uses protection, so he's fairly confident in that answer. Which seems to curb any hesitance Dennis had, though judging by the grin across his face, there wasn't much.
“All good, then,” he says, leaning into Robby's neck to work at the spot under his ear. "It feels way better without one, anyway," he whispers, and if Robby could get any harder it would hurt.
Before he can even respond, his pants are being unzipped and pulled down, boxers and all.
Dennis watches with eyes the size of saucers as his cock is released from the fabric. "Jesus," he practically whimpers.
Robby laughs, forgetting momentarily to expect this reaction. A blush threatens to creep up his chest as Dennis buries his head into Robby's neck. "It's even bigger than I thought it’d be."
He brings a curious hand down, fingers grazing the tip. It twitches in response to the stimulation, so he presses his thumb into the slit, gentle as he moves down the shaft. It's got girth as much as length, but Robby is of the firm belief that it's more about how you use it than anything. He hasn't had any complaints yet– on size or skill.
"You’ve thought about it a lot?"
Dennis exhales into his neck. "All the time."
Robby, stirred into action by this admission, takes the opportunity as it's presented.
"When you pictured it," he slides his hands into Dennis' shorts, agonizingly slow as he slides them down and off, “what did you imagine?”
Dennis' breath hitches as Robby caresses his thighs, hands slipping up toward his cock, but he makes the effort to answer. "You would take me-" he gasps as Robby squeezes an asscheek at the same time, "in the staff lounge. On the counter. Or the table."
He pulls Dennis closer to him, slotting their cocks together, and lets Dennis rut against him. "With the door open or shut?" he asks, gaining momentum by the second as Dennis falls apart on top of him.
"Open," he says, breathy, gripping Robby's shoulders to support himself as his hands work toward his hole.
"Open? You want people to see?" He's building up a rhythm now, falling back into the swing of foreplay. Dennis' eyes are clenched shut, forehead grazing Robby's. "Yes, yes."
Robby decides to try something. He pulls Dennis’ face up to slip two fingers into his mouth. He watches Robby, eyes blown with want, and takes the cue to swirl his tongue around them, saliva pooling onto his hand, and releases them with a pop.
“What do you want them to see?” he asks, but it's cruel to expect a response as he dips both fingers into Dennis' hole, already prepped beforehand. Dennis whimpers, quiet.
"Answer," he says, grabbing his chin with his free hand. Dennis opens his eyes, training his focus to Robby's face. "What do you want them to see?"
"You taking me apart," he says around a sharp intake of air as Robby starts to slowly scissor his fingers.
Before Robby can say anything else, Dennis is pressing his forehead to his. "I'm ready, please."
Robby shakes his head, pushing him away so he can look him in the eye. "You're not."
"I can take it, I promise," Dennis pleads, but Robby is neither a stranger to begging nor anal sex. "It'll hurt without more lube."
Without a second's hesitation Dennis is flailing over the bedside table, scrambling to grab a tube and hand it to Robby, who has half a mind to laugh at the enthusiasm, but he doesn't. He decides to push further, to see how well he can obey. "Hands off," he says as Dennis reaches for his own neglected cock. He stops immediately.
"Hands on my shoulders or behind your back." Dennis peeks up at him through his lashes, seemingly surprised by the options, and places his hands back on Robby's shoulders.
Robby pours the lube onto his fingers, warming it in his hand first and Dennis smiles at the consideration.
His fingers return to their motions, this time adding a third, and Dennis furrows his brow slightly. "Is it too much?" Robby asks, genuine. Dennis shakes his head. "Just not used to it yet." He lets out a breathy laugh as he looks up. "You have long fingers."
Robby smiles at that, which Dennis takes as an opportunity to kiss him, but he stops himself, pulling back to check that he can. Robby nods, so he presses their lips back together. He's a way better kisser than he ever would have guessed, had Robby considered it before tonight. Dennis moans softly into his mouth at a particular curl of Robby's fingers, which is the cue Robby takes to speed this up to get to the good part. "Do you want another?"
Dennis gives him a look. "You're asking if I can fit four of your fingers inside me?"
"I know you can," Robby says, encouraging, and Dennis gives him another uncertain look, but nods. “Okay.”
Robby adds more lube than he probably needs, and with a little patience, it's snug, but they fit. Dennis rests his head against Robby's chest again, breaths starting to get ragged.
He winces with a slight change in pace. "Hey, hey," Robby says, worry crossing his face. "Good? Should we stop?"
Dennis shakes his head. "No, no, just gotta catch my breath."
He waits, rubbing Dennis’ back with his free hand, tracing the shapes of his muscles, all taut under the soft skin, warm to the touch.
Robby eases his fingers back out, finally, and positions Dennis over his cock, spreading lube over it as he watches. "Ready?"
Dennis takes matters into his own hands and Robby lets him as he sinks down on just the tip. Robby clenches his eyes shut and lets Dennis do the work for once. He's so, so tight, even having been stretched with four fingers, it's almost unbelievable.
He makes it almost halfway down before taking a break, thighs shaking from the exertion. Robby rubs at his sides, kissing his throat before encouraging him to keep going. “You got it, relax.”
Dennis does, nestling his head into Robby’s neck as he sinks down, further, as far as possible. He exhales, collapsing against him with the effort.
“Good?”
Dennis nods without lifting his head. “Just give me a second. It's-” he winces as he leans forward, “I'm not used to this much.”
“You're doing so good already,” Robby says, holding onto Dennis’ waist with both hands, grasp strong, steadying. “So good for me.”
When that elicits the reaction he wants, he starts to push Dennis down by his hips. “You can take it,” he encourages, not letting up the pressure. Robby’s hands are steady against the soft skin of Dennis’ hips, gripping just tight enough to maintain the position. He earns a shaky moan in return.
“Please,” Dennis says, head rolling against Robby’s shoulder.
“Please what?” He moves a hand up to Dennis’ face again, making him focus. “Use your words.”
Dennis looks up at him, tears in the corners of those big blue eyes, and oh, how could Robby not have known he wanted this. That he could have it.
“Please.”
Robby shifts under him, twitching his hips just a little, but Dennis hisses at the stretch. “Tell me what you want.”
“I,” he stutters when Robby thrusts again, but he's so tight it just pushes Dennis into his chest, panting against his neck. “I want you-” it pains him to gather the words, but he does it. “On top. On top, please.”
“Really?” Robby asks, “I’m gonna pull out, then.”
“No,” Dennis says, pushing himself up to look him in the eye, “don't, don't.” Robby can swear he's about to cry, eyes searching his own for reassurance.
“Okay, okay,” he says, soothing. “I gotta flip us, though, okay?”
Dennis nods and Robby turns them on their sides until Dennis’ back is pressed into the pillows, trying his best not to shift too much. “Still good?”
He nods again, spreading his legs out around Robby, and wow, yeah, this is better. From this angle Robby has a much better view. Dennis’ face, pink cheeks marked with tears, lips kissed practically red. His chest is flushed against the green sheets, begging to be marked up, down to his cock, leaking, a trail of precum spread under his navel, down further, to the point where their bodies connect, Robby, still not fully inside, surrounded by the tight, searing heat of his hole. It's a beautiful sight, but it could be even better. “Here,” Robby grabs a pillow from next to Dennis’ head, lifting him by the small of his back to place it under him. The movement causes him to sink deeper, unintentionally, but Dennis moans, so soft, and grabs at Robby’s hips.
“Is this good?”
Dennis just pulls him down by the back of his neck to kiss him, hot and messy. He hooks his legs around Robby’s back and Robby takes the hint to start moving. He pushes forward, slow at first, head pressed to Dennis’ temple. They exhale in tandem, equally shocked by the sensation. “Fuck,” Robby whispers. “You're still so tight.”
Dennis laughs, out of breath, but Robby can tell he's smiling. “Do you get that a lot?”
Dennis rolls his head into the pillow, neck exposed enough for Robby to press a kiss right under his jaw. He feels Dennis’ legs adjust around his hips, loosening his grip. He turns to look at Robby. “I've never taken a cock as big as yours.”
He knows it has the intended effect on Robby and he smirks, cheeks flushed, but Robby won't let him have the upper hand that easily.
“Show me you can take it, then.” With that he pulls out, only halfway, and thrusts in as far as he can, mouthing at Dennis’ neck all the way. Robby can feel his breath catch in his throat, the clipped moan that breaks as he pulls back out, then in, again, a rhythm as methodic as compressions. Dennis’ heels start to dig into Robby’s back, which spurs him to thrust faster, teeth grazing the side of Dennis’ throat.
He laughs, just quietly, and Robby looks up at him, curious. “Your beard tickles.”
Robby rubs his face harder against his neck, which elicits another laugh that turns into a high whimper as Robby picks up the pace.
The slide starts to get easier as he opens him up and Dennis starts to unravel.
“You still with me, Whitaker?” he asks when Dennis’ head rolls to the side, his eyes fluttering shut.
That does the trick, gets him to open them back up, still unfocused. He sucks his teeth on a particularly deep thrust. “Wait, wait.”
Robby stops moving, pulling out slightly as Dennis settles back into the pillows. “Can we try-” he unhooks his ankles from behind Robby, who gets the idea immediately, as if receiving a telepathic message. “You sure?” He tries to tamp down his own eagerness, but it clearly shows on his face because Dennis laughs as he lifts his thighs toward his chest. Robby does the rest, hooking his knees over his own shoulders, leaning forward to press another kiss to Dennis’ parted lips, just because.
When they're settled in position, Robby pushes back in and this is the angle. Dennis inhales sharply as Robby finally, finally, pushes all the way in, deeper than either of them expect at first. Robby groans into Dennis’ hair at how good it feels, still unbelievably tight, and they stay like that for a beat.
“How does it feel?” Dennis asks after a second, adjusting to the pressure in new places. “Is it good for you, too?”
Robby lifts his head. “Are you kidding?”
Dennis smiles, blissed out, and Robby pulls his hips back and thrusts again, picking the pace back up slowly. His chain dangles onto Dennis’ chest, dragging up and down with each thrust. Dennis tugs on it, pulling Robby down to kiss him, mostly teeth and spit but neither of them seem to mind.
They've been sliding up the bed, practically hitting the headboard so Robby repositions them, pulling Dennis down so he's flat against the mattress, pelvis tilted up. Robby grabs his thighs as Dennis brings his arms up and around his neck, fingers tangling in the hair at his nape. He slides back in to the hilt, faster this time, and Dennis practically yelps.
“What?”
All Dennis can do is moan, shakily at first. Robby doesn't stop thrusting, too lost in the moment, but Dennis’ breath hitches, loud, and he throws his head back against the pillow. “What is it?”
He pulls Robby’s hand to his stomach and presses it down. Robby thrusts forward again, as deep as he can, and then he feels it. “Is that-”
Dennis nods, eyes still clenched shut. “Does it hurt?” Robby asks as he presses down on what is absolutely the head of his cock inside Dennis’ abdomen. He shakes his head. “Don't stop,” he says, breathless, “please don't stop.”
He’s so close it would take nothing to push him over the edge in this position, so far inside Dennis he's practically tucked into his liver, but he pulls his hips back and presses all the way in just to feel it again. Dennis clenches down, his own cock twitching against his stomach, and it takes precisely two more thrusts for Robby to feel the edges of his vision go fuzzy, that cursory full-body tingle radiating up through his limbs, and then he's coming, hard, mouth open against Dennis’ exposed throat as he presses him practically flat against the mattress. His head drops into the pillow as if four times its usual weight, and he swears his vision blacks out for two entire minutes before he comes to blinking against Dennis’ chest.
His senses come back to him with a head rush as he pushes himself up with his elbows, and then he feels it, warm and wet dripping down his own chest. Dennis blinks up at him, a mirrored daze on his own face.
“Did you..?”
He nods, a serene smile breaking across his cheeks, so sated he can hardly keep his eyes open. Robby’s eyes are drawn to a red indentation at the base of Dennis’ throat, right over his trap, in the shape of his teeth. The divots left by his canines are the deepest, purple where they sink into the soft skin. He sucks in a breath, rubbing at it with the rough pad of his thumb. “Did that hurt?”
Dennis shakes his head, opening one eye to peek up at him. “I kinda liked it.”
“Oh,” he responds, brow raised.
Robby removes himself from the embrace of Dennis’ legs, who drops them to the mattress with a whimper, and attempts to slide out without making a mess, but it's pointless. Dennis whines at the sensation. His hole puckers at the sudden emptiness, a dribble of cum soaking into the sheets below. If Robby were a younger man, the sight would have him standing at attention again in no time, but he's content now to just observe. He presses a thumb against the pucker, collecting the excess cum that seeps onto his finger. Dennis whines again, hypersensitive. He looks down at Robby between his legs, and something passes across his expression, and then he's pulling Robby’s hand up to his mouth. He smiles against his palm, mischievous, even in this state, before taking Robby’s thumb into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. Despite his age, Robby’s cock does take interest in that, twitching even as it softens. “You're gonna be the death of me, kid.”
Dennis just smiles, pressing a kiss into Robby’s fingers, and then another against the tattoo on the inside of his wrist. His lips travel up his arm, quick, open-mouthed pecks until he reaches his shoulder. He glances down at Robby’s abdomen, then back at his face, the glimmer of want sparkling in his eyes again. He pulls Robby up onto his knees for better access, leaning up to kiss across his pecs, then down his belly, to the smudges of cum sticking to his happy trail. He licks a line up from below Robby’s navel to the base of his throat, collecting as much as he can on his tongue before meeting Robby’s mouth and licking into it, wet and hot and still so full of want. Robby accepts his tongue eagerly, and it would be gross if it wasn't so hot. “Fuck,” he says when Dennis ruts up against him, just barely.
They lay there kissing, open mouthed and lazy, both too spent to worry about cleaning up.
“Can I tell you something?” Dennis asks in a whisper, his lips brushing Robby’s ear.
“Hmm?”
“I did recognize you.”
Robby glances down at him, inquisitive.
“When I saw your profile. I recognized your tattoos.” He's biting back a smile, big eyes searching Robby’s face.
Robby turns over, breathing out an exasperated laugh. He runs a hand through his hair, still too well-fucked to really digest the reality of this admission. “What would you have done if I ran in the opposite direction when you opened the door?”
“You didn't,” Dennis says, matter of fact. “I guess we'll never know.”
“On that note,” Robby says, “what you said earlier. About the staff lounge.” Dennis groans, turning his face into the pillow under his head, but Robby can still see his ears flush bright red. “Were you serious?”
Dennis says something that's muffled entirely by the pillow in his face.
“What was that?” Robby asks, nudging his shoulder.
Dennis turns onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. “I don't know.” He squints, side eyeing Robby. “Yeah, I guess. It was the heat of the moment. I was in a vulnerable position.”
“Voyeurism, huh,” Robby says, letting the word linger. “Good to know.”
Dennis just covers his face with his arm, but he scoots closer to Robby, their shoulders touching.
Eventually, after what feels like hours but is probably five minutes, Robby rolls out of the bed to clean them up.
When they're both at least somewhat dry and dressed, Dennis, shyly, face half pressed into a pillow, asks, “will you stay the night?”
Robby glances at the clock on the bedside table, which shines a green 12:16 back at him. He thinks about it, weighs the options of walking home this late or crawling under the covers right here.
“When does your roommate get back?”
“Uh,” he hesitates, as if omitting something, “she won't be back until tomorrow night.”
“Huh,” Robby says. He needs to run the dishwasher, and would have ideally done a load of laundry tonight, but he can't bring himself to leave this room. Dennis just watches him, big blue eyes trained on every movement of Robby’s body as he runs a hand through his hair, mussed in a truly glorious post-sex kind of way. He doesn't want to be endeared by the way Dennis looks at him but it's beyond his control. He can't stay.
“Can't you just lay here? Just for a little while?”
Robby sits at the edge of the bed, halfheartedly toeing on a sneaker. Dennis touches his wrist, just a soft brush of his fingers. They wrap around his arm, and then he's tugging him back up onto the bed. Robby lets himself be maneuvered, giving in as Dennis clambers around him until they're both on top of the sheets, tangled in a mess of limbs. Robby breathes out a sharp exhale at a cold sensation against the back of his leg as he turns toward Dennis.
“What?”
“I think I'm laying on a wet spot.”
Dennis just smiles into his shoulder.
–
Robby wakes to an unidentified voice outside the door of a strange room. He glares at the clock on the bedside table, eyes bleary, but he can't yet focus them enough to read the numbers. He’s in a bed smaller than his own with someone next to him hogging the sheets. The voice gets louder and he starts to make out the words, fragments of memories slipping into mind as he stirs to life. This is Dennis Whitaker’s bed. In his apartment. And that must be his roommate. Home early.
“Whose big ass sneakers are by the door?” He hears shuffling near the hallway, doors opening and shutting. “I thought you said you were marathoning TLC while I was gone? I assumed you meant alone, but clearly I was mistaken.”
He turns to Dennis, shaking his shoulder, but he doesn't wake.
“Huckleberry?”
A series of knocks follow before the door opens, Robby instinctively tries to cover his face, but not fast enough to obscure much. “Oh, my God, sorry,” the unidentified roommate says, practically slamming the door on her way back out.
It takes a handful of seconds for Robby’s synapses to start firing at full speed, but he seems to come to the realization at the same time Santos does.
“Wait… Robby?!”