Work Text:
Normally Whitaker avoids work drinks like they’re an infection risk. Tonight, however, he has a paycheck and poor judgment
“Oi farm boy! Come help pick a cocktail!”
He doesn’t even look up from his pint. “That sounds like a trap.”
Trinity was basically folded over the bar top to shout at Dennis. Victoria, bless her, looked very uncomfortable.
“I think Crash should get either blowjob or dirty dream. Thoughts?”
Dennis’s face contorted in to something unreadable, at Santos and whatever she just read from the menu. “Many.”
Victoria just held her head in her hands staring down, mortified. Honestly poor girl.
“Huckleberry just help me pick!”
Yeah he can’t be bothered to read the ingredient list “Blowjob. Comes with a sparkler in it.” He handed the menu back to Trinity which she decided to use to get the bartenders attention.
“Three blowjobs please!”
“Whitaker kill me please.” A very flustered Javadi muttered to him.
———
Denis doesn’t normally get cocktails, unless some guy at a club offers, other than that too pricey. But tonight he can act like everyone else and order colourful drink after drink.
The night moves on, glasses get emptier, and Dennis finds himself sat alone on a tall stool just watching everyone around him. Victorias with Dana and Dr McKay. Trinity is stood a bit too close to Dr Garcia to be classed as appropriate for coworkers.
Oh, and there’s Robby.
Dr Robby is.. definitely intriguing, Dennis would say. God, he’s just drawn to him. Since his first day at the Pitt and them hands were always lurking near his shoulders or sometimes even his neck. The way he looked and still looks at him gives Whitaker a sliver of hope that this fifty-ish man would maybe let them hands on his shoulder trail down to the small of his back and move in closer so his breath causes the hair on Dennis’s neck to stand and-
“Dr Whitaker,” Robby greeted him as he sat in the stool next to Dennis “what you doing sat all by yourself for?”
“Oh Santos was with me she said shed be right back..” Dennis faltered
“You alright kid? Looking a bit flushed,” his hand was now on Dennis’s shoulder. God must hate him. “How many drinks you had?”
“Too many or not enough, not decided yet.” He tried to sound composed. Robby just smirked and shook his head, amused with Whitaker, giving his shoulder a pat before slowly lifting his hand away. Dennis swallowed, hyperaware of the spot on his shoulder where Robby’s hand had been. It still felt warm. Or maybe that was just the alcohol. Or him.
“You didn’t answer me,” Robby said, leaning in just enough that Dennis could smell the whiskey on his breath. “How many?”
Dennis huffed out something that might’ve been a laugh. “You counting?”
“Maybe.” Robby’s knee brushed his under the bar. He didn’t move it.
Dennis could’ve shifted. Should’ve, instead he stayed perfectly still, pulse ticking hard in his throat. Robby’s gaze dipped- not obvious, just enough to make Dennis aware of everywhere he was being looked at.
“You get like this when you drink?” Robby asked quietly.
“Like what?”
“Honest.”
Dennis’s fingers tightened around his glass. “I’m always honest.”
Robby hummed like he didn’t believe that for a second. His hand came back- slow this time, deliberate- resting at Dennis’s waist as if testing whether he’d pull away.
He didn’t.
The music thudded around them. Laughter. Glasses clinking. The whole bar moving, unaware of how small the world had suddenly become.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Dennis managed, breathing unsteady.
Robby’s thumb shifted just slightly against his side. Not enough to be obvious. Enough to matter.
“Am I?” He murmured.
Dennis finally turned to look at him fully- and that was a mistake. Robby was closer than he thought. Close enough that if either of them leaned in-
Someone called Robby’s name from across the bar.
The spell snapped, but not completely.
Robbys hand faltered, his eyes shifted away from Dennis. But they were soon back.
“We’re not done,” Robby said.
Dennis’s stomach dropped at the certainty in it.
“You’re my attending,” he shot back, softer than he meant to. It came out breathy instead of sharp. “This is-“
“Complicated?” Robby supplied.
“Stupid.”
Robbys jaw flexed. For a second the teasing edge faded, something heavier settling in its place. “You think I don’t know that?”
Dennis finally forced himself to shift, putting a sliver of space between them. It didn’t help. Robby just followed, not touching, but close enough that Dennis felt caged in by his presence alone.
“I’ve been trying not to do this since your first week,” Robby admitted quietly.
That landed harder than any touch.
Dennis blinked “don’t”
“Don’t what?”
“Say things like that”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll believe you”
The music swelled around them, something heavier settling base-heavy pop song that made the floor vibrate. Robby looked at him like he was trying to memorise something.
“You think this is just the drinks?” Robby asked.
Dennis hesitated - and that was answer enough.
Robby leaned closer, voice dropping to something almost rough.”I notice you in trauma bays. I notice you when you argue with me. I notice when you stay late. I notice when you seek my approval.” His gaze dipped briefly to Dennis’s mouth. “This isn’t new for me.”
Dennis’s pulse roared in his ears.
“That makes it worse,” he whispered
“Does it?”
“Yes because tomorrow I still have to see you. In scrubs. At work. In front of everyone. And im no good at pretending.”
Something in Robby’s expression shifted again - not playful, not smug. Intent.
“Then don’t pretend,” he said.
It wasn’t reckless (it is). It wasn’t drunk bravado (could quite well be).
It was a decision
“You could lose your job,” Dennis said.
Robbys hand came back, firmer this time, sliding to Dennis’s hip. Not possessive. Steady. “Im not careless with things that matter.”
The implication hit hard and low.
Dennis’s breath stuttered. “And what am I?”
Robby didn’t hesitate. “Not casual.”
That did it.
The next few minutes blurred - someone laughing too loud, a hand at his back steering him through bodies, Dennis not remembering who moved first.
He only remembers Robby’s fingers catching in the belt loop of his jeans. The look. The silent question.
And Dennis nodding.
The bathroom door barely shut before Dennis is shoved back against it, the impact rattling the cheep lock. Robbys mouth is on his before either of them speak - not tentative, not testing.
Hungry.
Dennis makes a sound he doesn’t recognise as his own, grabbing fistfuls of Robby’s shirt, dragging him closer like there isn’t already zero space between them.
This isn’t careful.
It isn’t slow.
It’s months of restraint snapping.
Robby kisses like he argues - thorough, consuming, determined to win. Dennis bites back, teeth catching at Robbys lower lip, and Robby groans low in his throat at the sting.
“Not halfway,” Robby mutters against his mouth, hands sliding down Dennis’s sides, pushing under his shirt.
Dennis shivers, not from the cold tile against his back, but from the deliberate way Robby touches him now. Like he’s memorising.
“You’re my attending,” Dennis breathes, even as he arches into the contact.
“Not in here,” Robby answers, voice rougher than Dennis has ever heard it.
The words shouldn’t undo him.
They do.
Dennis pulls him back in, harder this time, kissing like he’s trying to erase every professional boundary between them. His hands slide up under Robby’s jacket, over warm skin, mapping muscle he’s only ever imagined under scrubs.
A sharp knock hits the door.
They freeze.
For half a second.
Then Robby’s forehead presses to his, both of them breathing too hard, too fast.
“Tell me to stop,” Robby says - and this is different from before. This is steady. Serious. “And I will.”
Dennis looks at him. Really looks.
At the want.
At the restraint.
At the choice.
“Don’t you dare,” he whispers.
Robby smiles. Certain.
And when he kisses him again, it’s slower. Deeper. Like this isn’t just about getting off anymore.
It’s about claiming something they’ve both been pretending doesn’t exist.
No restraint now. Dennis’s hands are everywhere, dragging at his jacket, shoving it down his arms until it hits the tile floor. Robby answers in kind, gripping Dennis’s hips hard enough to bruise, hauling him flush against him.
Possessive.
Not gentle.
“You have any idea,” Robby mutters against his mouth, teeth scraping Dennis’s jaw, “what you do to me at work?”
Dennis laughs — breathless, wrecked. “You’re the one staring.”
“Because you don’t stop looking back.”
That hits low.
Robby’s hand slides down, firm, claiming, and Dennis’s head drops back against the door with a sharp thud. The sound he makes is helpless — stripped of every ounce of composure he’s ever had in a trauma bay.
The knock comes again. Louder.
They ignore it.
Robby’s mouth trails down Dennis’s throat, biting, sucking just enough to leave proof. Dennis fists a hand in his hair, tugging hard, not caring how desperate he feels.
“You’re mine in here,” Robby says, voice dark and wrecked. “Just for this.”
It shouldn’t make Dennis’s knees weak.
It does.
“Then show me,” Dennis shoots back, reckless and shaking.
Robby looks up at him from where he’s dropped lower — eyes blown wide, jaw tight, like this is the last thread of control he’s holding onto.
“You’re going to regret telling me that,” he says.
Dennis doesn’t hesitate.
“Try me.”
Robby’s expression shifts — something feral, something decided — and he sinks down further, hands gripping Dennis’s thighs, spreading them just enough to slot himself between.
Dennis’s breath stutters hard when he feels the deliberate press of Robby’s mouth lower, slower now, like he’s savoring the power of it. Like he knows exactly what he’s about to do.
Another knock. Someone swears outside the door.
Robby doesn’t look away.
Dennis’s pulse pounds in his ears, heat flooding every nerve, anticipation sharper than any touch.
“Lock better hold,” Robby mutters.
And then he leans in.
Hurriedly making quick work of getting Dennis’s jeans and boxers out of his way. Watching as his cock springs up free from its restraints.
Robby can’t help but smirk.
He ignores the main event for now, choosing to kiss, suck and nip at Dennis’s thighs.
Marking them. Claiming them.
Dennis’s hand makes its way to Robbys hair. Guiding him, barely swallowing down his own needy sounds.
Robby gives one last bite to his inner thigh before moving to lick a long stride up his shaft.
“Oh fuck.” Dennis gasps above him, almost folding in on himself from the sudden sensation.
Robby slowly takes the head into his mouth. Slowly swallowing him down before coming back up to tease the slit.
He keeps the pace deliberate, unhurried, taking Whitaker part inch my inch like he has no where else to be.
“Robby,” Dennis breathed heavy above him, “Robby please.”
Robby hummed around his cock in understanding.
He hollowed his cheeks and sped up his pace. Making quick work with his tongue to help Dennis reach his climax.
That hand found its way back to Robby’s hair, slightly gripping it to help speed things up.
Robby gagged once, then double downed determined.
“Robby, shit,” Dennis almost choked on his own breath, his face flushed and twisted from trying not to make a sound, “I’m gonna come get off.”
The hand pulled at Robby’s hair but he hummed in disapproval, deciding to speed up.
He looked up, challenging Dennis to look at him as he ignored his warning.
His mouth quickly filled with warm liquid.
Seeing Dennis lose his control in a way he never does at work.
He gave a few more slow sucks before pulling off and swallowing.
Dennis watches him drag the back of his hand across his mouth - unbothered, smug - and something hot and feral twists low in his gut.
“You’re insufferable,” he breaths as he slides down the door, joining Robby on the floor. “Absolute animal,” He laughed breathlessly, patting the side of the older man’s face with his palm before dragging his thumb across his bottom lip.
All Robby could do was laugh and lean in gripping his jaw,
slowly kissing him on the bathroom floor.