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For the first time in recent memory, Jack Abbot is not miserable about being at the annual hospital-wide mixer. Maybe it's because he's putting the cocktail in cocktail party. Luckily, he's always been a pretty steady drunk, intoxication revealing itself only in a lowering of his inhibitions. Physically, he's fine. Dandy, even.
Physically, he's also standing and trying not to absorb any of Robby's tension. He's clearly anxious about the ability of his troop of weirdos to behave in public, but he handles that not by drinking but by getting a little too involved in Jack's business.
When their casual chatter has died down for a moment, Robby says, "Why don't you go put the kid out of his misery."
Fuck, he thinks. This is the first Robby has ever even hinted he sees anything brewing between him and Dennis Whitaker. And he drops it casually, with a subtle grin.
He frowns and replies, "To whom are you referring, Dr. Robinavitch?"
"The resident twink, who you've been trying and failing not to stare at all evening."
Shit. Shit shit shit.
He covers the slight embarrassment of being called out by giving him an eye roll that can probably be seen from space.
"Not a twink," Jack mutters. "Man's way closer to thirty than twenty. And my interest in his slutty little shirtless suit look doesn't mean I'm gonna go over there and make him feel weird about it. Just like my interest in the absolutely fatal minidress your favorite resident is wearing doesn't mean I'm going to subject the woman to a cartoonish level of not being able to keep my tongue in my mouth."
The truth is he's probably a little too sloshed to trust himself talking to either Mohan or Whitaker right now. Sober Jack is a subtle kind of flirt. Tipsy Jack forgets to filter himself and becomes a kind of sledgehammer of charm — if he's lucky. Regardless, it's always with the kind of blunt honesty that in most other arenas serves him well.
Sometimes it works well enough to get him laid. But at a party that seems to be an especially obvious HR trap — people one normally sees covered in someone else's bodily fluids now cleaned up and in cocktail attire — he thinks it would be bad form.
The even more salient truth here is that he has no idea if Whitaker is interested. He thinks there's a little flirtation between them, but the guy is overall easy to get along with. He might just be the type to flirt platonically with everybody — accidentally, even.
Sure, he definitely reads as queer to him. In fact, Whitaker has been making a point of signaling that around his colleagues, slowly and deliberately, starting with a little gold hoop earring at work, then turning up at the occasional department bar crawl or hangout with flirtier attire plus lip gloss or eyeliner or a swipe of something shimmery over his eyelids. He once came in to work with black nail polish, although he seemed flustered to realize that, like he meant to take it off.
Maybe it's a gender thing, but he doesn't think so, or at least it's not primarily that. Whitaker watches Robby move far more than a newly minted doctor ought to be watching his attending, and definitely more than a person who isn't interested in dick would. But none of that means he's actively interested in going to bed with an awkward middle aged widower with a bad attitude and one foot.
He's about to head over to the bar for another round when Robby says:
"You know, every time your back is turned, he's watching you."
"Whitaker?"
Robby just nods, smiling. Yeah, Jack thinks. So I said it.
Jack mutters, "Why do I feel like you're encouraging reckless behavior here?"
"Reckless is probably a good word for a nice farm boy from Nebraska on Grindr."
He wants to ask him what the fuck he knows about Grindr, but whatever the answer is, it will probably irritate him.
Instead, he just shakes his head and says, "Does that man, in that outfit, actually seem like an innocent little thing?"
Robby rolls his eyes. "I guess not."
"Seriously, why do you care?" he murmurs, with a little more grumpiness than the situation warrants.
"Because you're my friend," Robby replies. "And you're lonely lately. And he needs a decent man in his life."
Jack grimaces at that description.
"Then find him one,” he says. “If I go over there, I'm going to be so far from decent."
"No you're not," Robby says, giving him a smile that pretends to be mischievous but is actually an open challenge.
The hell of it is he's both being sincere and obviously goading him. Still, Jack sets his now-empty glass down on the tall table next to them and says:
"You just remember you caused this, brother."
Robby hides a smile behind his rocks glass of club soda.
Before he walks away, he leans in and says, "Talk about reckless: I bet she'd dance with you, even in that short-ass skirt and those tall-ass heels."
Robby turns scarlet and flips him off.
*
Whitaker has been mixing with the crowd, although he's keeping on the periphery unless Santos engages him. By now, he's done what Jack and Robby were just doing: he’s found a quiet place for his introverted ass to stand and people watch.
For Whitaker, that is in a literal corner. He's leaned back against an awkwardly placed support pillar, drinking what turns out to be a vodka tonic he's been nursing for a while. Jack, another gin and tonic in hand now, doesn't pretend to be passing by, but he also doesn't settle in presumptuously.
"I'm surprised you're still here," Whitaker says by way of a greeting. “Or here at all.”
“Did I miss where this was optional? I hope the fuck not. But if I’m going to be dragged into mandatory fun, I’m gonna at least bleed them dry of free drinks."
Whitaker nods, giving him a wry smile. And a very obvious once-over.
“You look nice," Dennis says.
"I was going for hot, but I guess I'll take it," he murmurs, giving him a sly smile.
"Succeeded, I think." Whitaker nods his head toward the other side of the room. "They've been watching you."
"They?"
"Mohan and Walsh."
He feels a little heat on his cheeks now. Gratifying, of course. There's water under the bridge with Walsh but miraculously no lingering animosity. If she's talking him up… And if Mohan is keeping her eyes on him…
But while Mohan is someone who definitely interests him, her exquisite collarbones and red lips are fighting a losing battle tonight against tousled curls and a black jacket accentuating surprisingly broad shoulders, the lapels cutting over pale skin which he can now see is dotted with the occasional freckle.
Oh, and the earring. He's beginning to feel a little feral about getting his mouth on Whitaker's neck, maybe biting his earlobe, too.
(If he's honest with himself, Whitaker has been winning the battle for a while now, and not just because he'd kind of like to see Robby get out of his own way about something for once.)
So Jack says, "If I really wanted to get their attention, I'd be over there talking to them right now."
He hopes for a little flutter of recognition, maybe even a smirk, if the guy is feeling himself. Instead, he gets a flash of bewilderment covered deftly with an easy smile.
Shit, he thinks. Not even on the radar.
And now he feels like a fool. An old fool. Who knows what the fuck Robby saw. Shouldn't have trusted a straight guy's read anyway.
Nothing to do for it but be pleasant company for a few minutes and move on.
Like a glutton for punishment, he asks, "So, who are you all shined up for?"
"Myself," Whitaker replies, giving him a small eye roll at the sincerity of it.
Jack smiles. "That's good," he says. "Seriously."
Jack is standing at an angle to him now, looking out over the ballroom and trying to appear nonchalant despite the fact that he's suddenly decided, in his drunken wisdom, to put all his cards on the table:
"I never had the guts when I was young and pretty enough to pull it off."
Whitaker is biting his lip now, looking for all the world like he wants to get out of the conversation. Jack is about to make his apologies when Whitaker asks him a question like he knows the answer but just needs to hear him say it:
"What did you need guts for?"
Jack tries not to grin. This will be amusing at the very least.
"To go for what I wanted," he responds with a shrug. "Although I guess you couldn't call it bravery, really. I wouldn't have even known all the kinds of people I was trying to attract, so I damn sure couldn't have done it on purpose. Anyway, I'm not sure this —" he gestures to Whitaker's ensemble "— has ever been quite my vibe, so that's probably for the best."
Whitaker's mouth falls open, and Jack huffs out a bitter laugh.
"I realize it's silly as hell for an old guy to be bi or pan or whatever, but I guess that's just proof the rainbow is a big umbrella. Anyway, I'm gonna go find somebody else to bother. See you later, Whitaker."
He hasn't moved more than a step or two when he feels a tug on his shirt cuff.
"Wait," Whitaker says. "You're…?"
Jack turns and nods.
At the soft and awed tone of the kid’s voice, he can feel the adrenaline begin to fly through his body.
Maybe, he thinks. Maybe?
Whitaker says, "I didn't know."
"That's fair," he says evenly.
"No," Whitaker murmurs, then he turns his face away from him a little as it heats up. "I mean, it seemed like you were watching me — tonight, I mean — but it didn't make any sense, for…lots of reasons."
Jack feels warm all over now. Whitaker's hand is no longer on Jack's sleeve, but now he's standing just a little closer than he would be unless he wanted exactly what Jack wants. Which he can see in his expression now. Hell, he can feel it stretching almost tangibly between them.
Jack says, "Of course I was watching you. You look hot tonight, if you don't mind me saying so."
Whitaker turns bright red, and the flush covers his neck and stretches down that bare chest as well. But he shakes his head, fixing him in a warm, pleased grin.
"I don't," Whitaker says. "Like, at all."
Whitaker still hasn't stepped back. Jack looks into his eyes, which, yeah, are pretty mesmerizing. But he can't stop glancing down at his chest. He finally reaches out and lets his hand come to rest flat against Whitaker's collarbone. The kid shivers almost imperceptibly. He also inhales a shallow breath. Then he watches as Jack's fingers trace their way down the middle of his chest, not stopping until the coat stops them, halfway between his ribs and his navel. He just leaves his hand there, fingers tucked over the button holding the jacket closed.
Whitaker is shorter than him. That's kind of novel, at least with a guy. It makes him feel a little protective of this beautiful creature standing in front of him. He wants to pull him close, but he also wants this to be fully under Whitaker's control. So he takes his hand back, although he doesn't move a muscle otherwise.
Whitaker studies him with those liquid eyes of his. He reaches out and curves his hand around Jack's jaw, rubbing appreciatively at his clean-shaven skin.
"You like that?" Jack asks him.
Whitaker nods, then he says, "You smell fantastic."
"Thanks."
"And you look very sexy in this suit."
"Not just nice?"
"No," he replies, giving him a smirk that he would call coy — except it promised things, so many things.
So Jack says: "Wanna come home with me?"
Whitaker's eyes go a little wide. "I…"
Jack smiles softly. "An offer, not an order."
Whitaker's shock dissipates as he rolls his eyes. He murmurs, "We can't just…walk out together."
"Sure we can," he says. "I mean, who would suspect the 49-year-old attending to be corrupting the youth?"
It's a calculated risk, making the age gap concrete, but he figures it's worth it. Sure enough, Whitaker's eyes narrow a little, and he says:
"What if that's what I want?" He pauses, then he drops his voice down lower, softer. "I mean, how do you know it wouldn't be the other way around?”
Letting his hand trace its way up his lapel, Jack leans in and says: "Honey, it can be whatever you want it to be if you let me take you home and strip you out of this fucking distracting jacket."
Whitaker grins wide. After a few seconds' deliberation, he holds out his hand and pulls Jack through the crowd toward the doors of the ballroom.
Jack chances a glance at Robby, who is grinning at him, eyebrows raised. He's also standing on the periphery of the knot of people Mohan is in. He wonders if they'll get their shit together enough to dance.
Near Mohan, Santos is tracking them with her eyes and kind of glaring.
As they make their way out to the lobby, Jack asks him, "Is your attack dog gonna be a problem?"
"Trinity? Probably not. Is Robby going to…? I mean, fuck, I don't even know what he could do."
"Robby my friend is safe. Robby your boss is turning the blindest eye to what is only a minor HR nightmare."
"Yeah?"
"Yes, Whitaker."
"Dennis."
"Yes, Dennis."
*
He lets Dennis drive his car. It's the most expedient thing, considering he came with Santos and Jack is indeed more than tipsy. It's surprising how attractive that is, watching Dennis drive. Watching him do pretty much anything right now is attractive.
Dennis reaches out a hand and places it on his thigh at a stoplight, just to rub sweetly at the muscle there for a second. Friendly, except not just that. Lingering a little too long, reaching a little too high up and far in. Definitely not an innocent little thing.
Fuck, he's pretty. Still the kind of reserved guy he's been getting to know, but now with this burning thing hanging between them. Jack contributes to the smolder by staring pretty unabashedly at him, at the lines of his profile, the set of his shoulders, the strength in his hands, long fingers wrapped around the wheel. When Jack finally stops staring, he reaches out and lays his hand on the back of Dennis's neck, just to tangle his fingers up in the curls there.
By the time they get to his place, he's feeling just a little jittery with want. They step into Jack's apartment calmly, however, like they don't want to tear into each other's clothes. Jack takes off the jacket to his suit and lays it over the back of the couch, then he quickly loosens the tie and pulls it over his head and off. He leans back against the couch, unbuttoning his shirt cuffs, then he reaches out with his hand to get Dennis to step toward him.
Dennis's hands land on his waist, holding tight. Jack cradles his head in his hand and pulls him into a hard, deep kiss. His other hand reaches down to pop the button on Dennis's jacket — leaving it on for the moment.
At first, he just traces the planes of his chest and stomach with greedy fingers. Dennis looks pleased to be touched, and he sighs when Jack lets his hand slip around that narrow waist and pull him closer. He dips his head down and plants a kiss on Dennis's adam's apple, with his neck now bared for him, and lets his mouth trail down to the hollow of his throat. He kisses his way over Dennis's collarbone and lets wet lips drag until they meet one of his hard nipples. He pushes the jacket out of the way just enough to suck that nipple into his mouth. Dennis moans and clutches his waist.
Jack murmurs into his pectoral muscle, "I have half a mind to mark you up."
Dennis says, "I wouldn’t mind."
They need to relocate if he's going to take his time. The bed is too far away at the moment, and it would practically beg for taking their clothes off, which he isn't quite ready for yet. So he pulls Dennis by the hand toward the counter dividing the living room and the kitchen and gestures for him to sit on top of it.
He steps between Dennis's open legs and instantly feels his deft fingers attacking the buttons on his shirt, although he doesn't let him get too far with that. Jack presses close and his mouth travels back down to Dennis's left nipple, sucking it in unceremoniously and feeling the man absolutely shiver at the contact and just grab onto his neck to hold on.
He laves his tongue over it then sucks it again. One of his hands is rubbing at the other nipple. The other seeks out the bulge in his pants.
"Shit," Dennis mutters.
Jack nips at the tight bud in his mouth, and Dennis whines. His cock also twitches under his hand.
"Jacket off," Jack says.
As Dennis shrugs out of that lovely suit coat, Jack yanks at his belt, finally pulling it free of his pants with one long jerk. He moves to the other nipple and sucks on it as he wrestles with his fly and zipper. Before long, he's sliding Dennis's pants down and pulling them off along with his shoes.
He gives himself just a moment to take in the picture in front of him: Dennis Whitaker sitting on his bar counter in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs, chest flushed and covered in even redder patches where Jack's mouth has been. He reaches out and rubs at the hard length of him. It makes him feel so fucking greedy, but he needs more of this, and now. By the time he's sucking on Dennis's neck again, he's stroking him through his underwear, and Dennis is shifting his hips toward his hand, looking just as desperate for it.
"Shirt," Dennis murmurs.
Jack grins against his neck. "You want it off?"
Dennis's hands grasp ineffectually toward him, but he says firmly, "Yes."
Jack steps back and begins working at the rest of the buttons, although he can't take his eyes off Dennis's hungry expression, which mirrors his own thoughts pretty well. Then, once he's cast off the button-up and pulled the undershirt over his head and his chest is bare, Dennis reaches out for him.
He's seen his own torso in the mirror, and he knows how hard he works to keep his body strong and functional. The side effect of it being attractive to people never gets old, especially not when he's about to get naked with a hot young guy.
"Fuck," Dennis says. Jack steps closer again, and Dennis's hands fall to his shoulders, then slide down over his pecs. "Jack."
"Acceptable, I guess?"
Dennis snorts out a laugh. "Don't even pretend."
"Hey, maybe this isn't what you like."
"Everybody likes this," he murmurs, plucking teasingly at his nipple before shaping his hand to the contour of Jack's pectoral muscle. He lets the other hand play with the light dusting of hair between his pecs, apparently unbothered that’s it’s at least half gray at this point, then they drift down over his abs and press under his waistband. Before he knows it, Dennis's hand is in his underwear, gripping him and rubbing over the head. "And this."
"That so?"
"Can I blow you?"
Jack shudders, everything finally catching up with him. Dennis is already opening his belt and fly with his free hand and pushing down his pants and boxers. When his dick is finally hanging there hard between them, Dennis gives it a rough stroke.
"Fuck," Jack says. "Can we take this to the bedroom?"
"Your house," he murmurs with a wide grin as he leans over and kisses Jack's neck.
"Carpet's better there."
Dennis grins, and his mouth makes a quick path up over his jaw to finally meet his lips.
"Mmm," Dennis says into the kiss. His tongue invites Jack's in, and it's a heady thing to thrust his tongue inside, but Jack soon pulls back a little and forces Dennis to take over, to suck at his bottom lip and lave his tongue over it. Dennis renews the kiss, slipping his tongue along Jack's before pulling back and gazing at him with dark eyes — half overwhelmed and half predatory.
Jack pushes him back a little, one hand on his chest, so he can finish the job of removing his own pants and his left shoe. For the moment, the leg has to stay on. Once they reach the bedroom and Dennis shoves him down into place sitting at the edge of the bed, Jack reaches down and hit the release on the prosthetic. Dennis, already down on his knees between his legs, pulls it free and sets it to the side.
Jack groans involuntarily at the always-weird sensation in the stump as he pulls off the inner sleeve.
Dennis grasps for the waistband of his underwear and quickly takes it off, then he kisses and caresses his inner thighs. He looks up at him and says, "Can I?" He moves a hand down over his right knee toward his stump, adding, "Genuine question."
Jack feels his head nod, like he isn't making a decision at all, just observing the right course of action. Dennis begins pressing easy kisses to the inside of his thigh again as his hands find what's left of the muscles of his right lower leg and begin rubbing.
It's weird, no two ways around it — it's been ages since he let somebody touch him like this — but it somehow makes sense. Dennis is a doctor, so he didn’t recoil and he doesn’t hesitate, and it's not like they're strangers. He watches Jack's face as his hands work, arriving at the right pressure without having to ask.
The intimacy of it kind of blows him away. His erection doesn’t even flag. His hands rest on Dennis's head, and when he's done enough, he rubs softly at his scalp, saying, "Good now, beautiful."
Dennis sits back, letting his hands go back to rubbing over Jack's inner thighs.
"Fuck," Dennis murmurs as he looks him over, then he leans in to press a couple more kisses to now very sensitive skin.
For no real good reason, Jack blushes at that. Soon, he feels Dennis's hands settle at his waist as he leans over and takes him in his mouth.
To start, he's only working the head, which feels fucking incredible but quickly makes him desperate for more, which was probably the point. When his hips try to get in on the game, Dennis doesn't still them with his hands, just begins taking him deeper until they stop again. He easily falls into a rhythm, angling his head to allow Jack to slip perfectly over his tongue on each thrust.
Jack leans back on his elbows and groans.
"Jesus, Dennis. You're good at that."
As if that's his cue, Dennis takes him all the way down, choking a little as the head hits the back of his throat. Then he does it again and again, like he's pushing them toward the inevitable end. But Jack wants more, so he reaches out and grasps Dennis's jaw in his hand and pushes him off.
"You wanna fuck me?" Jack says.
Dennis's eyes go wide. "Really?"
"You're surprised?"
There's a pause, then he says, "Do you actually want me to answer that?"
"Yeah."
Dennis says, "Not used to getting an offer like that from someone…not my age."
"Well, let this be a lesson that young bottoms eventually become old bottoms."
Dennis giggles as he gets to his feet and strips off his boxer briefs, revealing a long and slightly curved cock. He shoves Jack down onto his back on the bed and climbs on top of him, licking into his mouth.
"Don't call yourself old," he says against his lips.
"Can I still call you young?"
"If that makes you hot."
"You make me hot," he says, then he pulls Dennis down against him and uses the strength in his upper body to roll them. Once Dennis is under him, he pulls himself up into a push-up position. "To be clear, that's not just because I've got more than twenty years on you, and it was true before you strutted into the mixer looking so fucking cute."
"It wasn't too much?"
"It was exactly enough. Too much would've been glitter, although I think eyeliner or maybe lip gloss should be on the table next time."
"Oh yeah?"
"Definitely. I realize you think guys like me don't—"
Dennis snorts. "Exactly guys like you. Which, by the way, is why I was surprised. About you asking me to top, I mean."
"But you're attracted to…?"
"Mmm hmm." Dennis grips his ass and pulls him closer. "Your body is insane, and you're stupidly handsome.” He leans in and says in his ear, "And you make the best noises."
It's been a long time since someone figured out so quickly how to push all his buttons. It's never been someone this young and beautiful, with a soft, warm voice like honey.
"Wait until I'm good and full," Jack murmurs.
With an impatient growl, Dennis pushes against him until he sits back.
"Condom?" he says.
He points to the nightstand. "Drawer."
As Dennis shifts over to that side of the bed, Jack gets a real good view of his ass, which is made to be grabbed. But he behaves himself. He just turns over again and sits back and watches Dennis gather a foil packet and the bottle of lube and crawl back over to him.
"You wanna be on your back?" he asks.
"Unless you object. I like to watch."
Dennis smiles, and his face flushes a little. "Me, too," he says.
He's quiet as he preps him, although his hands and lips are restless. While his fingers open him up, his mouth roams his stomach, kissing and occasionally lightly biting, and his other hand sweeps over his chest and down his arms, slowing to mold his hand to every curve of muscle. It's been a while since someone openly lusted after him like this, and it's really working for him, especially paired with a mouth sucking softly at the skin below his navel.
When he's done stretching him, he pushes in a little too fast, murmuring apologies after he's seated. It's clear he's pretty wound up, which is very flattering, and Jack has never minded a little roughness, so he doesn't wait to adjust, really, just shifts against him and tells him he can move.
Dennis fucks him kind of slowly, with long strokes, taking his time to build the arousal for both of them. It feels so good to just get lost in it, and to feel those strokes shorten and speed up as Dennis begins the inevitable fight with within himself between fucking his hole just right and making sure he gets what he needs.
Jack encourages him with hands on his ass, adding force to his thrusts as he pulls him closer. Eventually, he feels Dennis adjusting, trying to find new angles, better contact with his prostate. Finally, he grabs Jack's hips and forces him to tilt his pelvis up a little more, shift forward on the pillow he's pressed back into. Dennis's next thrust makes him whine kind of helplessly.
"There we go," Dennis murmurs. "Good?"
"Yes," he groans. "Fuck."
Dennis pulls out a little more on each thrust and presses deeper when he slides back in. Jack can't stop the sounds coming out of his throat every time Dennis's cock strokes over his prostate.
Dennis leans closer so that his stomach is brushing against Jack's rock hard cock every time he moves. He steals a couple of kisses, and it gives Jack the chance to focus on his face, how dark his eyes look, how soft his mouth his, the clench of his jaw as he concentrates, the way he sometimes silently gasps when he bottoms out.
"You close?" Dennis asks.
"Mmm hmm," he replies.
"What do I need to do to make you even louder?"
Part of him wants to laugh. Cocky bastard. But the bigger part is now pretty intent on getting properly railed.
"Harder," he says, clenching around him for good measure.
"Fuck," Dennis half-yelps. "Jack."
"Come on, beautiful. Let me feel you."
Dennis gives him a sharp thrust, grinding into it a little, and Jack grunts. He does it again, and Jack grunts even louder. Dennis gives up on pulling out very much, just keeps himself buried pretty deep and rocks into his body with a force he wasn't expecting.
"Yes, baby," Jack gasps out. "Don't stop."
"Want my hand?"
Jack shakes his head. "Don't need it. Just— Fuck. Fucking shit."
Dennis rocks his whole body with a few brutal thrusts.
"I'm gonna…"
Dennis looks down at Jack's cock, which twitches as he comes — untouched, his throbbing length mostly spilling over itself and his stomach, although a couple of spurts reach his chest. Dennis fucks into him a few more times and comes, too.
As their rocking hips come to rest with Dennis still hard inside him, the man's fingers drag through the mess on his stomach. He pops those fingers in his mouth, making a soft noise of pleasure at the taste.
He locks eyes with Jack and says, "Did you really just…?"
"It's a good trick, isn't it?" Jack replies with a lazy grin.
"Oh," Dennis says, giving him a curt nod.
"Hey," Jack says, and he stretches up to kiss him on the mouth. "I can by no means do that without the other person being very good at what they're doing, especially at this point in my life."
"Yeah?"
"Fuck yeah."
Dennis gives him a teasing kiss, then he pushes himself back up so he can finally pull out of him — slowly and apologetically.
After Dennis returns from disposing of the condom, he immediately climbs back on top of him, not in the slightest bashful or hesitant with his movements, even if his expression is at war with itself, wavering between and open smile and a guarded one. He's got a wet washcloth, which he uses to quickly clean Jack's torso and cock.
As their bodies settle together again, Jack lets his fingers trip along Dennis's spine as the man kisses his neck and shoulder, eager to soothe away the tension that's beginning to spring up in his body.
"You alright?" Jack finally says.
Dennis murmurs in the affirmative and then slides off him and curls up around him, head on his chest. Jack doesn't stop feathering touches over his back.
"Sorry," he says. "I get a little in my head sometimes."
"About sex?"
"About everything. But, yeah. Sex with a coworker who outranks me? Definitely."
"Sorry."
"Hey," he says, turning his face to bite bluntly at Jack's pectoral muscle. "I'm not, like, sorry we did it, just being neurotic."
"But it was good, right?"
Dennis giggles. "Don't be dumb."
He's got just enough liquid courage left in his system to ask: "You think you'll wanna do it again?"
Dennis sits up and looks down at him, apparently kind of astonished. "Really?"
Jack gives him a wary smile, and says, "Yeah?"
Dennis shakes his head like he's clearing away uncertainty for both of them.
He nods and says, "I just… I don't get this lucky, okay. But if you…"
Jack feels something warm and hopeful swoop through him. That this lovely guy could think he was the prize here…
Dennis's hand is on his chest. Jack covers it with his own.
He says, "I was hoping for you, you know. Even when I wasn't sure if there was anything to hope for."
Dennis's expressive eyes look wet now, and he says, "I wasn't sure you even…"
"Why not?"
"My age doesn't bother you?"
"I could ask you the same thing. You sure you wanna jump into bed with a busted-up old man?"
"Not old," he says firmly, now laying back down and tucking himself up against Jack's body again. "Or busted up. For fuck's sake. And I'm already here, aren't I? Having a very good time, in case that wasn't clear."
Jack kisses the top of his head and lays there listening to their heartbeats slow, then slowly begin to sync up. He is sure Dennis is drifting off to sleep when he suddenly says:
"You asked me who I was dressed up for, earlier."
"Mmm hmm," Jack replies, feeling something warm spread through his chest.
Then Dennis makes it clear: "For you."
"Baby," he whispers.
"Didn't think it would mean anything," he says with a chuckle. "Just, like, something fun for me. But yeah."
Jack squeezes him a little tighter, and he's pleased to feel Dennis press closer.
Jack asks, "By the way, is it okay that I call you baby?"
"Very. Except at work."
"Obviously. I'm not even gonna use your first name at work. No telling what else would go out the window."
"So no quickies in the on-call room?"
"What do you know about on-call sex?"
"That is sounds risky and dumb, and the reality is probably not as hot as the fantasy of it."
"But you still wanna do it?"
"Hell yeah."
"You know, it can be hot and not awkward, actually, as long as you don't get over-ambitious."
"Well," Dennis murmurs. "I'll follow your lead, then."
"You sure that's wise?"
Dennis giggles softly. "Yeah. I'm pretty sure."
Jack strokes the man's hair, but he's pretty still now, and quiet.
"You falling asleep on me, Whitaker?"
"Maybe. That okay?"
Jack says, "Yep."
"Only for a little while," he says in a warm, mischievous tone.
"You're gonna have to give me a solid hour."
"I can do that," he replies. "You're comfy, for a guy so tanked up."
"'Cause I'm kinda soft around the middle."
"Mmm," he murmurs. "Perfect."
Jack snorts and closes his eyes, taking in the scent of him, of them, lingering in the room and the warmth of his own body, sated but still yearning after this gorgeous person in his arms. He rests his wandering hand on Dennis's ass and tries to still himself. He doubts he'll doze off, but stranger things have happened — are happening, will keep happening. If he's lucky.