Work Text:
“I have a thing for you.” His voice was low, but in the empty parking lot it carried, echoing faintly against the concrete. Robby almost dropped his helmet. The place was deserted, he could hear his own breathing quicken in response to that tone. He turned toward the voice, already knowing who stood behind him.
“Excuse me?” He raised a brow. Having to look down at his face shouldn’t give him that much satisfaction, but it did. The curls had grown since the kid first started in his ED, now falling in every direction, as if nervous fingers had been running through them over and over again. “You have something? Like a parting gift?”
“What?” Wide blue eyes blinked up at him, startled, and the older man had to put real effort into hiding his smirk. He knew exactly what the resident meant, but he couldn’t indulge it. He was leaving, and it was for the best.
“You said you had something for me.” He even held out a hand between them, palm up.
The blond made a small, frustrated sound. Robby forced himself to look away from those eyes, only to make the mistake of dropping his gaze to his lips that looked soft, pink, and temptingly pressed into a faint pout. When his eyes lifted again, what he saw there sent a shiver down his spine.
Whitaker looked determined. Robby’s first instinct was to get on his bike and leave. Run. Anything was better than standing there, facing the object of his desire while trying to end everything. The younger man stepped forward, closing the distance in a single movement, and without breaking eye contact, grabbed him by the collar. Robby barely had time to react before their faces crashed together. Soft lips met his own slightly chapped in a warm, insistent kiss.
He tried to pull back, instinctively, but the grip on his leather jacket tightened. The kid was strong, farm boy and all that. Robby knew it, had seen it before with uncooperative patients, but never imagined it would be used like this. To keep him there. To make him stay. To kiss him.
He closed his eyes, realizing he didn’t really have a choice. Not one that he wanted to make. The helmet still hung from one hand, he tightened the grip to not let it fall. The other moved on its own, sliding up the younger man’s back until it settled between his shoulder blades, gripping the fabric of his sweatshirt. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, licking the resident's lower lip.
Whitaker tasted like coffee and the mint gum he was surely chewing before doing this reckless, stupid thing. Robby felt it sink into him anyway. He had to leave, but there he was.
Nothing good could come from this. He knew it. He was broken, exhausted, hollowed out in ways the kid in his arms couldn’t possibly understand. He wasn’t about to drag that bright, energetic, painfully capable man to be doomed by his side even if that was the first thing on his mind every day when he woke up and every night before he went to sleep. Dennis Whitaker deserved more than his depressed middle life crisis ass and he'd make sure he got it by removing himself from the equation.
The grip on his jacket loosened, shifting into something softer. Cool hands slid up his chest, settling against his cheeks, thumbs brushing through his beard with surprising gentleness as the kiss deepened. A low sound escaped him at the sensation, groaning some more when he felt his tongue over his own. He set the helmet on the bike seat and pulled the younger man closer by the hip, pressing their bodies together until he felt the firm heat of his bulge against his thigh.
The blond let out a soft moan against his mouth, rolling his hips, chasing friction. Something in Robby snapped, his thoughts dissolving, replaced by something far more instinctive and animalistic. His grip on his hips tightened while the other moved to the nape of his neck, holding him there. He let the younger roll his hips once and again over his thigh, feeling the hands messing with his hair.
They only broke apart when breathing became impossible. Robby opened his eyes, rested his forehead against the other’s, both of them panting. Whitaker’s cheeks were flushed, lips swollen, eyes still closed. His hands remained on Robby’s face, thumbs tracing slow, absent circles.
After a moment, the blond opened his eyes and looked at him soft, almost shy, a small smile forming on his now pinker lips. That should have been the end. He should have broken contact and left. Those wonderful blue eyes and that cute and innocent smile, this man was definitely going to be his end, or maybe, just maybe his new beginning.
Robby leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to that smile. Big mistake. The second their lips met again, Whitaker responded immediately, deepening it with quiet confidence. Robby groaned into the kiss, pulling him closer, only to break away moments later and trail his lips along his cheek, his jaw, down to his neck. He kissed there, slower, deep, making slopping noises. He then pulled the edge of the sweatshirt and pressed his teeth lightly into pale skin down his clavicle.
The resident gasped, fingers tightening on his shoulders, offering more space. Robby didn’t hesitate. Time blurred, stretched until he returned to his mouth, kissing him harder now, more insistently, with uncontrollable lust, leaving no room to breathe before the resident catches his lower lip between his teeth. Just enough pressure to sting. Just enough to taste iron.
A sound broke through the haze, a whimper, followed by a quiet curse. Robby stilled instantly, pulling back just enough to look at him, hands still anchored at his hips and shoulder. For a second, he thought he hurt him. Then he noticed the car, parked nearby. Windows down. Santos glanced at them, smirking, before calling the younger by his first name.
“Whitaker…” Robby’s voice came out lower than intended. His eyes searched the younger man’s face and then he saw it. Those bright blue eyes, glassy, filled with tears.
“I guess that was my parting gift,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along his cheek one last time. “Please promise me you’ll come back.”
“I can’t do that.” even if now I don't even want to leave, he wanted to say, but the kid didn't deserve to be dragged into his drama. He took another step back, his thighs touching the motorbike. His hands now hung in the air for a second before he crossed his arms on his chest to build a wall that separated his heart from the man in front of him.
“Understood.” The blond swallowed hard, stepping back as well, closer to the waiting car.
“I’ll…” He hesitated, knowing he shouldn't make promises he was going to break. “I’ll text from my next stop,” he muttered, putting on his helmet as he climbed onto the bike. “Write if you have any questions about the apartment and remember: no parties, no smoking, no pets, no babies.”
Whitaker only nodded, in silence, his hands clenched tight, knuckles white. Tears clung to his lashes, threatening to fall. Robby took one last look at that handsome face. Memorizing, sure that it would be the last time he'd seen it and extremely sad that the younger was about to cry for someone as insignificant as the attending.
The engine roared to life, breaking the silence. He gave a single nod before pulling away, catching a final glimpse of the blond in the rearview mirror, watching as he slipped into the passenger seat of the old car. Then the road swallowed him whole.
It wasn't until miles away, after leaving a few cities behind that he looked for a motel to rest and take care of a particular situation that had been bothering him since Pittsburgh. By the time he reached his room the semi hard bulge in his pants was painfully full again. It took seconds after receiving that text to be thinking back to that kiss, to the way the hands grabbed the leather jacket collar strongly enough to keep him in his place. A few freaking seconds to be reminded of the younger thrusting his thigh to get the friction needed for his own pleasure.
He locked the door, stripped out of his clothes, letting them fall wherever they landed, and turned on the shower. While the water heated, steam slowly filling the small bathroom, he stared at himself in the mirror. Flushed cheeks. Swollen lips. He could feel with his tongue the small bit he had in his lower lip. He didn't recognize himself.
He dragged a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. He was too old for this. Too old to feel this undone after a single kiss, too old to want someone like that with such intensity it bordered on reckless. And yet the memory clung to him, refusing to fade. The water finally turned hot, and he stepped under it, letting the heat soak into his skin, trying to wash it all away, also conscious that he was also way too old to be jerking off in the shower just because he received a text from his clearly mischievous resident that had no boundaries and no common sense.
He could picture Whitaker in the bathroom at his home, same as him right now. His head thrown back, his eyes closed, and the hot water running over his skin. One hand on the tiles for stability, the other one pumping along the shaft while trying his best to stay quiet while hearing in his head the soft moans the younger made while he kissed his neck.
After a long and almost satisfying shower he dropped to the bed, sighing for the pain in his back and thighs. He for sure was going to be sore tomorrow, and apparently for all the wrong reasons. He fished his phone out from where it was on the nightstand. After a day of bad calls he was about to make a last bad one before he could focus on having his last road trip and ending it all.
Robby scrolled through his phone until he found the message app. He had a text from Jack that he replied quickly and short. Dana also sent him a bunch of safety tips she got from the internet for people that in her words “chose to kill themselves the hard way”. None of those texts mattered anyway. He didn't even have to scroll. In the third position, R1 Whitaker picture was smiling and inviting him to reopen the conversation that made him lose his mind.
R1 Whitaker (8:02PM): I think you should be topping soon and wanted to thank you for your parting gift… I guess.
Dr. Robby (8:45PM): just stopped, getting a room right now. My gift? Apartment keys?
R1 Whitaker (8:46PM): Nope… that one is a favour that I hope you return to thank me for.
R1 Whitaker (8:47PM): Your gift, I will cherish them while they last…
*Shares a shirtless selfie of him in Robby's bathroom, finger pointing to the hickeys in his neck*
Robby exhaled sharply, dropping his head back against the wall. He was definitely too old to have a hard on for a second time in less than one hour. His boxers constricted his bulge while he ran a hand through his face. His eyes locked in the path of red and purple almost perfect circles in contrast with the pale and creamy skin of the resident. There was one, almost at his collarbone that had almost a perfect print of his teeth and for some reason that did something to his soul.
The thought of marking the boy and how the bratty resident was claiming those as a gift made him feel suddenly complete, like he could make it to the other side. He didn't know how to feel, that it was even possible to feel that way and it was scarier than the thought of his fucking brain being scattered on the asphalt on a road lost in the middle of nowhere.
Dr. Robby (9:52PM): kind of sad that I don’t have a matching one.
He stared at the message after sending it, jaw tightening. He shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be encouraging it, whatever this was. He was supposed to cut ties, not build new ones. He had already said his goodbyes. Put everything in order. There was nothing left for him to stay for. No family left that cared for him, not after he killed Leah and Jake stopped talking to him.
The teen was right to cast him out of his life.
He felt poisonous, the reason why the sweet girlfriend of his almost son was six feet under. He did deserve the silent treatment, it didn't matter what Janey said, he didn't deserve to be loved by anybody, let alone the sweet kid he watched grow into a fine man and was now depressed because of his useless hands.
He was supposed to be drowning in despair and ready to jump from any bridge with his bike and let the stream of a river wash him over to the ocean to rot and be eaten by the freaking fishes. But there he was, lying on a motel bed, watching the minutes go by while he waited for a reply just to gasp loudly when the dotting bubble of writing disappeared and he immediately slid a hand under his boxer to ease the pain on his hard erection.
R1 Whitaker (10:02PM): That could be fixed if you turned around and came back to the apartment, sir
R1 Whitaker (10:02PM): Your bed is super comfy btw
Robby closed his eyes. The kid and his stupid parting gift were going to be a problem.