Work Text:
So, Robby didn’t mention the cat.
Sure, he’d had a lot on his mind, but Dennis didn’t know how someone could forget about such an adorable little guy. The cutie was currently circling Dennis’s legs in a figure-8, meowing loudly. Poor thing was probably starving; Dennis had meant to stop by after his shift, but he’d waited until the following morning.
He was a ginger calico all over—no white spots to be spoken of—and he had bright green eyes. Dennis tried to lean down to pet him, but as soon as he was acknowledged, he made a mad dash towards the kitchen. He turned around to check if Dennis was following him, and how could Dennis resist that?
If you’d asked Dennis to imagine his superiors’ apartments, he would’ve expected them to be tastefully modern and professionally, immaculately cleaned. He thought it’d be like a showroom in Ikea, with all of the trash cans hidden under the counters and tasteful reading material on the coffee table.
Robby’s apartment wasn’t quite…that. Instead of linoleum walls, the apartment featured quite a bit of exposed brick. Similarly, while the place wasn’t filthy, there was a bag of trash souring near the door that he’d obviously forgotten to take out, and on the coffee table lay a Playboy magazine with a corner dog-eared. Gross. Suddenly, the room felt a bit hotter.
Dennis didn’t have time to think about Robby’s jerking off habits. No-Name was surely about to die, if his yowling was any indication.
He felt like a creep digging through the pantry and even more of a creep after moving on to the cabinets. Turns out, Robby kept his cat food on top of the fridge, Dennis catching a peek of cans while looking in the spice cabinet. He hoped Robby didn’t have cameras, because Dennis had to pull over a chair from the breakfast bar to get at it.
No-Name had jumped up onto the counters and was wrapped around a paper towel roll, bunny-kicking and sinking his teeth into it. Dennis couldn’t quite tell if he was excited or impatiently agitated. As soon as the cat heard the snap of Dennis pressing the tab in and the metallic peel of him pulling that tab backwards, No-Name was back near Dennis’s feet.
Dennis noticed that the two bowls on the ground were not pet-specific, instead matching some of the dinnerware he’d already spotted in the cabinets. While No-Name gorged himself on the wet food, Dennis took the opportunity to refill his water bowl.
Speaking of which, there was no cat furniture in the apartment. Back on his family’s farm, when he’d read books with a barn cat settled in his lap, his parents had seen no need for cat furniture, which often ran expensive. The only “girl,” even his mother had teased him for getting too attached to those cats; they were practically coyote food.
Crudely, Dennis realized a bad pet owner was a major turn-off for him. Thirty minutes ago, he’d been thrumming with excitement to see his unrealistic crush’s apartment, but now, it felt slap-dash. The mismatching furniture, which was charming just moments ago, now came off unkempt, especially the coaster under one of the sofa’s legs.
Dennis had vowed to leave Robby alone on his sabbatical, but these circumstances felt unique. Pet-sitting was a bit different than plant-sitting. When he pulled out his phone and tapped on his boss’s name, it felt so weird that the display read as “Michael.”
Robby didn’t answer, and Dennis immediately lost some of his nerve, the little flare of anger in his throat dissipating. He thought about something his therapist had said about silver linings, and he decided to enjoy this very friendly cat.
No-Name was circling his feet again, but this time, he obviously wanted attention rather than food. He trilled when Dennis’s fingers gently grazed his forehead, where a little M sat between his eyes.
Dennis slowly shuffled over to the couch, trying not to kick No-Name as he moved. He was largely successful—but when the laces of his sneakers did lightly impact the cat’s belly, he didn’t seem to mind too much, purring even louder.
Sitting on the sofa, No-Name climbed into Dennis’s lap and quickly settled into a ball, nuzzling his own foot against his cheek and rumbling against Dennis’s thighs.
“You’re a friendly one, huh?” Dennis said, mostly to himself, but No-Name trilled in response. This really was the friendliest cat he’d ever met; most of his friends’ cats secluded themselves to a bedroom when he visited. Even the barn cats he’d made friends with weren’t this affectionate, having to be lured in with pss-pss-pss-es.
After just a few minutes, Dennis was getting a call back from Robby.
The first words Robby said were, “Everything alright, kid?”
Dennis suddenly felt self-conscious for phoning in the first place. Robby was going out on a motorcycle, after all. He’d probably pulled over to return Dennis’s call.
“Y-yeah, everything’s fine!” Dennis said a bit too quickly, forcefully. “Well, I mean, uhm… You didn’t mention any, uh, pet-sitting.” He wanted to apologize for being a bit blunt, but his therapist had insisted that he apologize less—which he’d apologized for at the time.
“Shit,” was all Robby said for a moment, voice breaking up a bit. “Listen, I can call someone else…”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Dennis said hurriedly. “I mean, I really like the little guy, but—”
“Little girl,” Robby corrected, as if that made a difference to Dennis.
“I’d assumed with her being all orange and all…” Dennis trailed off, leading Robby to fill in.
“Yeah, a ginger girl is pretty rare,” Robby said. “She’s a stray from somewhere around here. I had some neighbors who left food outside for her, but after they moved, she just started howling outside of my window, like a banshee. Every. Single. Night.” The annoyance in his tone was real, but it was tinged with the smile Dennis could hear in his voice.
“So, I start feeding her,” he continued, “and one day last week, I had to come back up for something—my keys, I think—and I didn’t notice that she’d followed me back inside. Next thing I know, she’s lounging on my couch.” By now, there was a bit of laughter in-between his words, fondness obvious in his tone.
That explained a lot. Robby had been working more hours in preparation of leaving for nearly a month now; he had no time to go buy cat furniture or pet bowls. All of Dennis’s annoyance had faded away by that point, back to being unashamedly crushing. Suddenly, the couch rocking a bit when he leaned back was incredibly charming.
“Have you taken her to the vet yet?” Dennis asked, judgment absent from his tone.
“Of course.”
It was good to hear that he found time for that, at least.
“All good?”
“Clean bill of health,” Robby said. “She’s had kittens before though. Was fixed as a trap-and-release.”
“Wait, I thought you said ‘no pets,’” Dennis said after a beat of silence. “I guess I assumed they…weren’t allowed in the building.”
There was another moment of dead air before Robby spoke again with a conspiratorial tone.
“Well, that’ll have to be our little secret,” he said in a fake-serious voice, one that still incited a thrum in Dennis’s abdomen. “Unless you’d like for your Peach privileges to be revoked.”
“Oh, no, anything but that,” Dennis faux-whined, laughter bursting out soon after. Robby was chuckling too, but Dennis continued, “Peach is a good name.”
“You think so?” Robby said, sounding both incredulous and complimented. “I thought it was silly…”
“No, no, it’s cute,” Dennis said. “Fitting.”
Robby made a little mhm sound, self-pleased. He was being so coy; it was out of character for the normally-rouge physician.
Robby cleared his throat, then said, “Well, I should get back on the road. Long ride.”
“Oh, yeah, of course,” Dennis said pleasantly, wishing instead to protest. “Be safe.”
Robby didn’t reply to that, the line going dead a moment later.
That stirring in his abdomen at Robby’s conspiratorial tone hadn’t gone away, and Dennis had to get himself out of the apartment quickly after that, afraid of what he might do otherwise. He crossed his legs on the bus back to Trinity’s apartment, hoping he wasn’t literally leaking through his pants.
…
It was only two nights later that Dennis was bringing an overnight bag to Robby’s apartment. A backpack hung off of one shoulder, a keychain made by Trinity jingling as he entered.
It was her fault that Dennis would be sleeping in Robby’s bed; Trinity was having a girl over, and as soon as she mentioned it, Dennis was quick to make his escape. Usually, he just had to settle for earbuds to drown her out, so he was happy for the little arrangement with Robby.
Peach was happy to see him, or just hungry. Once she’d been fed, she started batting at the Playboy on the coffee table, chewing on a corner. Dennis shooed her away, taking the offensive material and throwing it onto one of the high shelves of the TV console. He wiped his hands on his jeans afterwards.
It was a Friday, and Dennis had been hoping to go home to a warm-ish shower and a semi-inflated air mattress. But this was better. If Robby had any amount of water pressure or a real bed, his apartment was practically the Ritz.
There were four doors off of the living/kitchen area besides the front one. Furthest from the entrance was a glass door, leading to a balcony that was very sparsely furnished and likely went mostly unused. A few cigarette butts had been snuffed out on the concrete overhang. Next was Robby’s bedroom, which Dennis closed back off quickly. He’d vowed himself not to go snooping around in there. After that was a bathroom, and finally, what seemed to be a second bedroom. However, it was entirely devoid of furniture, only stray file boxes.
Dennis sighed to himself. It seemed Robby’s bedroom was his only choice for sleep that night. He promised to himself not to enter until he was about to turn in for the evening, at least.
The bathroom had a full-length mirror on the inside of the door, and as Dennis undressed for his shower and saw himself bare, he thought about the Playboy magazine. Maybe he was just gay, but Dennis didn’t really see the appeal of scantily-clad women, especially if they were stock-still. He couldn’t help but wonder if Robby looked at real porn, like, electronically. Maybe his boss was just old-fashioned enough to have it on a PC instead of his phone.
Dennis had to abort the thought. He already felt a little guilty taking a shower; surely it would eat him up to go scrolling through his boss’s search history. Surely.
He spent time in the living room scrolling through social media and absentmindedly fanning his chest with his shirt. Robby was lucky to be heading northward for his sabbatical; it was shaping up to be a very hot summer. Dennis thought about how nice it’d be to move further up the globe, to travel at all, really.
Clad in just that t-shirt and a pair of ill-fitting boxer briefs (too large), Dennis had to be extra conscious not to let his hand dip down into them. The blame lie in testosterone, getting him so worked up so easily. Plus, he was surrounded by the smell of Robby, down to the dust in the air—so, cut him a bit of slack.
He was still a bit self-conscious to use Robby’s kitchen, so after a protein bar for dinner, Dennis was ready to settle down for the night. Y’know, scroll on his phone in bed instead of on the couch. That meant he had to cross the threshold into Robby’s room, the darkened space where Robby slept and took people to bed. Dennis felt like such a pervert.
He didn’t even turn on the lights when he entered the room, instead slinking straight to the bed. It was an incredibly comfortable bed, plush and cold from its lack of use. The comforter wasn’t too heavy, like the one Trinity kicked off her bed every night, and similarly, sinking into bedsprings was very different than sinking into a deformed air mattress.
Dennis didn’t know how he even had the presence of mind, in a bed like anesthesia, to put his hand between his thighs, but luckily, he only got in a few ruts before he’d completely knocked out.
…
The next morning, Dennis didn’t have a lot of choice when it came to keeping Robby’s room a mystery. Groggily, as the sunlight was just beginning to hit his eyes, he observed the layout.
The room was a bit more cluttered than the others, Robby obviously not expecting the house-sitter to be poking around in there. Soda cans and half-full mugs sat on both of the nightstands, a clear testament to the long hours Robby had been working. There was even a case file on the bed, one that Dennis hadn’t noticed the previous night. He worriedly hoped he hadn’t knocked anything off of the bed in his blind dash.
Opposite to Robby’s bed was an armoire topped with a TV, but the final item of note was a PC—computer tower and all—and the desk it was on, topped with pencil holders, staplers, Post-It notes, and everything else they sold at Office Max.
That PC was like a mirage in the desert, and Dennis dreamily pictured himself crawling towards it, panting, on his hands and knees. He almost drifted back into sleep, back to the hazy images of his boss’s big hands, but he shook himself awake again.
Peach herself was sleeping in a bit too, cuddled up at the end of the bed. But as soon as Dennis started to stir, she seemed to be reminded of the concept of breakfast, popping up and arching her back in a long stretch.
After feeding Peach and making himself a fried egg, Dennis felt a bit more like a person again—and less like an intruder. He sort-of wanted to grab a coffee from an adorable little café he’d seen on the walk over, but looking at his bank account, decided it wasn’t worth it. A downtown coffee shop would blow through his vending machine money in an instant.
As Dennis sat at the breakfast bar, he decided he liked this apartment; it was cute. Any displeasure he’d taken in visible garbage cans or leaning furniture had turned to endearment for those aspects. He would consider staying over much more often, but he’d seen the fear of abandonment in Trinity’s eyes that Fourth. Trinity valued their relationship highly, but Dennis knew that, if he took it for granted, she would begin to reconstruct her walls.
When Dennis had first told her about his little crush, Trinity had wheezed with laughter, clutching her stomach like it pained her. That’d been during their first simultaneous night off, when Trinity insisted on painting designs (crude depictions of cowboys, staple crops, farm animals, and the letters D and W) onto his blunt nails. That was before Dennis knew about Trinity’s history, painful facts that made him act very differently when it came to gossiping about the favoritism he received from their much-older attending.
Trinity was one of his closest friends, but even in his wildest dreams, Dennis couldn’t imagine her attending his fantasy wedding with Robby, at least sans bomb jacket. That fact made him sad just as often as it made him laugh, the square peg in the circle hole that was this age difference. When in—again—very wild dreams where Dennis wondered what an actual future would look like with Robby, he feared judgment, derision. It even went beyond Trinity. His overly, toxically masculine brothers would want to beat the fuck out of Robby; his mother would act as a mouthpiece to hint towards his father’s disapproval; and his old friends would see his Instagram posts and gossip.
Dennis needed a hobby outside of worrying, desperately. He considered trying to grow herbs on the window sill of Trinity’s kitchen, but subsequently worried that they wouldn’t get enough sunlight, blocked by an adjacent building. So, his thoughts wandered back to Robby, Robby, Robby, incessantly. Dennis daydreamed about stupid domestic things, like watching his boss fold laundry or make coffee in his underwear—or a bathrobe. That would be adorable, watching Robby pad around with matching slippers with Peach circling his ankles.
He’d brushed his teeth and gotten dressed for the day (a day off, luckily) when he received a call from Robby himself. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.
“Hey, how are things?” Robby asked.
“Good!” Dennis said honestly, well-rested and satisfied with his own self-control. “Peach is doing well.” Then, he added teasingly, “I don’t think she even misses you.”
Robby scoffed, then said, “Put me on speaker.”
After Dennis had, Robby started speaking in a baby-voice to try and get Peach’s attention.
“Peach, Peach-y-y-y,” Robby said in a sing-song voice. “A lil’ birdie told me that you don’t miss-s-s-s me.”
Peach didn’t have much of a reaction besides her ears perking up, but when Robby asked, “Is she doing anything?”, Dennis said that she was. He wouldn’t do anything to ruin the voice Robby was putting on, one that would be incredibly charming to any secret admirer. It was the sort of tone that made people swoon, get baby fever.
“See? She does miss me,” Robby said, proud. After a moment, he added, “Anyways, I mostly called to say that I’d arrived. I should be more available, if you, uh, need to call about anything.” For some reason, he sounded hesitant to make such a promise.
Dennis decided not to comment upon it, instead replying, “Sounds good. Thank you.”
“I didn’t, uh, leave the place too messy, right?” Robby asked hesitantly. “I expected Abbot, and he’s used to it.”
“No, no,” Dennis said, remembering searching for the trash room in Robby’s building for fifteen minutes. “I’m worse,” he added for good measure.
Robby chuckled a little at that. “Well, you’re, what, 26? You have an excuse.”
Dennis made a non-committal humming noise to that, the verbal equivalent of a shrug.
Pivoting, he joked, “No, but seriously, you’d think I really did grow up in a barn. Drives Trinity crazy.”
Robby laughed a genuine laugh at that—hard, like he’d been waiting to laugh for a long time. It was an intoxicating noise, and Dennis wanted to pull it out of him again, indefinitely.
In that moment, Dennis noticed how the morning sun was coming in as trapezoids, with Peach on her back in one of them. The image of the morning sun on the hardwood flooring felt so warm, so comforting, and Dennis’s body felt so warm, so comforted. He had a thought like, “This is it. This is what I was afraid of,” but he smothered it, had to let himself enjoy the rise and fall of Robby’s laughter.
Dennis was able to get his thoughts back in focus when Robby said, “Tell me about that. Y’know, how you grew up.” After a moment of hesitation on Dennis’s part, Robby added, “We just get, uh, so little time to chat in the ER.”
This was a line of questioning Robby went down every once-in-a-while, ever since he’d learned of Dennis being trans. Dennis could only guess, but he theorized that, to Robby, the idea of his intern being trans and from a farm in Nebraska caused cognitive dissonance, or at least curiosity. But Dennis had always politely dodged those questions, not because he didn’t want Robby specifically to know, but because he didn’t want everyone else in the room to know.
Dennis understood his fascination. Or, maybe, “understood” wasn’t the right word. Dennis didn’t personally relate to Robby’s earnest—but all-the-same objectifying—curiosity, didn’t learn about others through questioning a token favorite. No, maybe it was more accurate to say that Dennis basked in the attention of that fascination—and found it charming exactly for that reason.
“It’s, uhm, a bit hard to explain my parents,” Dennis began with. “My early childhood was pretty idyllic, I guess, but when I was, like, 9 or something, my dad got into an, uhm, accident with one of our pieces of equipment. We had, y’know, farmhands; it was a pretty big operation, but I think he got really depressed, not being able to work the fields himself.” Dennis thought carefully about how to continue. “My teen years were rough, ‘cause I’d been homeschooled up until middle-school, so I got, uh, bullied, and it was worse with him and his moods.” That seemed sufficiently vague; gotta keep ‘em guessing. Or, more accurately, Dennis didn’t want to “trauma-dump”—even though Robby had asked.
“Do they know that you’re…?” Robby led.
Dennis laughed a nervous little laugh. “Does ‘kinda’ suffice as an answer?” When Robby didn’t laugh or say anything, Dennis continued, “I’ve never, uh, officially come out to them or anything, but…I think they’ve, y’know, noticed my hair getting shorter and my voice getting deeper. But when I go home for holidays, I just, uhm, put on a bra and shave my face really well.” Dennis almost couldn’t believe he admitted to that, felt so much shame when he had to do that. He always begged his family not to post any photos he was in publicly, usually having that request ignored. Trying to save it, he added, “I think they know that I’m…something, but they can’t decide exactly what.”
“How do you think they’d react if you did come out?” Robby asked, as if he couldn’t guess by Dennis not having come out.
“Oh, uhm, pretty badly,” Dennis said. “And I mean, med school. Even when I was working two jobs on the side, that was barely enough to cover my groceries. I needed, uh, financial support. I couldn’t go pissing them off over something…small like this.”
Robby seemed to get a bit defensive at that, muttering, “It’s not small.” That made Dennis’s poor, crush-ailed heart skip a beat.
Then, Robby was saying something else: “Putting off my personal life for the sake of my career is the worst mistake I ever made.” Despite the over-dramatic opening statement, Dennis was listening with rapt ears. “I mean, I thought I’d have a family and a lake house and an airheaded golden retriever by now, but I have a bachelor pad downtown and a stray.”
Dennis could hear Robby begin to spiral, and he tried to lighten the tone by saying, “I like Peach better than a stupid dog.”
That didn’t faze Robby, however.
“It was always all about work,” Robby continued. “My friends were from work; my relationships were from work.” Dennis distantly wondered if that was a large part of why he couldn’t leave; Robby didn’t know how to form relationships outside of that environment, how to meet people in the wild. Like, some sort of ER-induced arrested development. “I put everything into work, and sometimes, it doesn’t give back.” After a moment of silence, he re-remembered his original point. “So, don’t put off dreams for work. That’s, uh, what I was trying to illustrate.”
Dennis didn’t want to ruin Robby’s teaching moment, but he had to voice a real belief of his.
“I don’t think it’s…” Dennis hesitated. This sounded so cheesy. “Y-you’re talking like it’s too late for you, but I don’t think it’s… It’s not too late, y’know?”
Dennis only heard dead air for a moment, and he knew he’d pushed a bit too far.
“Hey, uh, kid, I gotta go…” Robby mumbled. “Check-in starts any minute, and I’ve been driving all night, so…”
“Oh, yeah, n-no problem,” Dennis said. “Sorry.”
Robby made some sort of dismissive grumbling sound to brush off his apology, but Dennis was able to speak up again before Robby killed the line.
“Oh, b-by the way,” Dennis said. “I, uh, forgot my laptop at Trin’s, a-and I can’t access some of my, uhm, textbooks on my, um, ph-phone. If you don’t mind, uhm…”
Robby made another noise, prompting him to continue.
“W-what’s your PC’s password?”
…
That warm morning, Dennis hadn’t sprinted straight to the computer, instead writing the password (which, of course, was just “password”) down on a notepad, casually, as if he couldn’t care less. His restraint didn’t mean he didn’t want to do just that, but he was seriously trying (and failing) to remain normal about house-sitting for his crush. It felt more controlled in that moment to say, “Maybe next time,” and pretend to hope there wouldn’t be a next time.
But then, there was a next time, just a few days later, because Trinity got more pussy than she knew what to do with.
That night, Dennis had packed a much larger overnight bag, in accordance with work the next morning. It was dropped near the front door, forgotten, as Dennis slunk into Robby’s room. He felt bad closing a chatty Peach out, but it was just a few minutes after her usual dinner time; she wouldn’t starve.
Dennis, however, felt like he was starving. It’d been all he could think about for the last few days, wondering shamelessly what sort of porn Robby watched and breaking down his own resistance in the process.
It didn’t take long for Dennis to log in. The next step was to find the browser Robby used—Google Chrome—and hope he didn’t understand the concept of a private browsing session. After searching for “pornh,” plenty of links popped up, so it seemed he didn’t.
He could see the titles in the display, but he decided to go to Pornhub’s watch history so that he could also see thumbnails. Robby had an account and everything, and Dennis could very clearly imagine him getting entranced with the thumbnail of a video locked behind a subscription, making an account, putting in his banking information, and being thoroughly disappointed by the quality of the video he now had access to. Though without renewing the subscription, he had no reason to log out of the account, leaving his tastes on full display.
Maybe Dennis shouldn’t have been making up stories about his boss’s porn-watching habits, but hey, those sorts of images were the best jerk-off fantasies he’d experienced in his life. He shifted uncomfortably in Robby’s office chair, the seam of his jeans rubbing directly against his tdick.
The videos on the homepage had been pretty tame, however—probably what they showed to any user. Dennis had no way to prepare for the videos he would see in actual watch history.
“TRANSGENDER FTM TWINK SPLIT IN HALF”, including a thumbnail featuring a man sporting top surgery (lucky…) with his knees nearly to his shoulders.
Dennis felt like he had vertigo. What? Even in his wildest dreams, he’d hoped for tomboys, women with short curly hair. That would’ve been more than enough to ignite Dennis’s fantasies. Was Robby, like, a proto-chaser, discovering a new fetish through Dennis? That was an egotistical thought, but Dennis thought it anyways.
“FTM WITH BIG TITS TAKES BIG DICK”—this one with an obviously amateur shot of a veined hand groping said big tits, the money shot hidden by the cropping.
Dennis’s nipples felt like they were chafing in his binder, hard against material that suddenly felt scratchy and coarse.
“FTM TRANS CREAMPIE COMPILATION”, thumbnail showing one of the aforementioned pussy shots with cum leaking out. Then, right after that “FTM SLUT GETS FUCKED BAREBACK”, thumbnail presenting a similar shot, but with a pair of panties moved to the side.
Dennis could feel his heartbeat in his tdick, in his entire vulva, but he just couldn’t afford to move his right hand from where it was scrolling with the mouse. He settled for slotting his left hand in between his thighs and uselessly rutting against it, barely getting any relief.
“FTM TRANS SEDUCES HIS BOSS, GETS FUCKED HARD”, with the attached thumbnail sending another wave of heat to Dennis’s pussy. The “FTM trans” in question did have short, curly hair—though more of a broccoli cut than the beginnings of a mullet Dennis was rocking. He didn’t quite know why this fact got him off more, as if Robby’s obvious search term of “FTM” didn’t tell Dennis everything he needed to know.
And, finally, the kicker: “FTM BEGS TO BE BRED.”
Dennis, usually silent when he masturbated, let out an unapologetic groan, body collapsing into the desk. His cheek was pressed to the cool wood while his forehead pressed the space bar of Robby’s keyboard, and his right hand unconsciously gripped the mouse, hard. But he had no care for the misinputs he was entering into the computer, still impractically rutting against his left wrist.
He wondered if he could come like this, humping while imagining his boss sitting in that very same chair with his hand around his cock. God, and he was thinking about Dennis too, probably jerking his hips imagining Dennis bouncing on them. Or, he was imagining pressing Dennis to the mattress that was just behind them, or ripping off a set of lingerie, or, or, or—
Then, the desk he was pressed against was buzzing; it was his phone receiving a call. Dennis looked up blearily, deliriously, but he quickly felt a jolt of panic go through his entire body when he realized that the call was from Robby.
He bolted upright and scrambled out of the compromising position he was in. With both of his hands firmly on the desk, he took a deep breath. He didn’t even consider that he didn’t have to answer, because something in him felt that he really, really should. If you’d asked him to explain his thought process, he probably would’ve cited Robby’s vaguely-suicidal behavior the last few weeks. Maybe, in that moment, Dennis was needed.
“H-hey, Dr. Robby, w-what’s up?” Dennis answered nervously.
“Nothing much, just…” Robby was mumbling as he spoke. “Just taking in the sights. It really is, uh, beautiful here.”
“Yeah? W-where are you again?” Dennis asked, nether regions still aching.
“Alberta, at a UNESCO National Heritage site,” Robby said. He seemed to be avoiding saying the actual name, which Dennis had heard through gossip. “The Blackfoot would drive buffalo off of the cliff here—I’m near it myself.” Then, after a moment, he continued almost mournfully, “It really is so beautiful here. You can see every constellation, not like when you’re in the city.”
“Are you into constellations?” Dennis asked, trying to lighten the mood. “Like, astrology?”
“God, no,” Robby said with a small chuckle. “All I know is that I see a lot of stars. I was trying to say it in a poetic way.” Then, he muttered, “Makes me feel like I’m in a snow globe.”
“Wish I could see it,” Dennis said genuinely.
Robby hummed, and then, seemed to get an idea, as Dennis could hear some shuffling. Suddenly, he was receiving a FaceTime call from Robby, still able to hear his boss over the phone but getting a clear image of his face on the display. Dennis was disheveled, face red and sweaty hairs sticking to his forehead.
“Oh, I’m—I’m not, uh,” Dennis stuttered. “I’m n-not…decent.” He immediately cringed, wondering if that was the worst possible wording he could’ve landed on.
That caused Robby to laugh, which wasn’t the worst reaction he could’ve had.
“What, did I catch you on the toilet or something?” Robby asked through chuckles.
“Har-har,” Dennis said, with a roll of his eyes that Robby couldn’t see. “…No.”
Still laughing, Robby said, “Oh, I see. Watching porn?”
In that moment, Dennis looked up and realized that Robby’s computer was currently playing one of those Pornhub videos, luckily on mute but on stark display with fullscreen. He’d probably accidentally clicked on something when he was rutting against his hand earlier.
Dennis’s mistake was that he panicked, trying to click off of the video but just unmuting it in the process. Only one slap of skin and one moan escaped, but it was ear-piercingly loud, booming out of the desk speakers next to the monitor.
“Oh, my God, I’m—I’m s-sorry.” The feeling pulsing through Dennis’s nervous system was kinda like when your text tone went off in a lecture hall—but a thousand times worse.
But Robby was laughing, near hysterically. Dennis felt a bit of his self-consciousness dissipate. It was a better reaction than the complete disgust he expected, so he’d take it.
Between dying chuckles, he was able to snort out, “I’ll—heh—leave you to it, kid.”
Dennis was able to squeeze one word out of his tightening throat: “Wait.”
Robby’s breath hitched, a tiny, robotic sound with how it filtered through the speaker.
“…A-aren’t you curious about w-what I’m, uhm, watching?” Dennis had closed his eyes as he said it, as if Robby was right in front of him during his shoddy confession.
There was a moment of dead air, and then, Robby’s voice was distant and authoritative as he spoke again, “Whitaker, this is wrong. This is…unprofessional; I’m your superior. You shouldn’t be…” He trailed off.
A little thrum of anger stirred in Dennis, twisting from this rejection—from being scolded.
“I—I don’t want to hear it from you,” Dennis bit out. “Of all people, y-you and your ‘FTM’ porn.” He put emphasis on the air quotes, like the three letters were an insult to his kind and not just a porno-titling shortcut.
There was a full-on gasp on the other side, and then, a shaky voice mumbling, “Whitaker…” Robby sounded like he was begging, but Dennis didn’t know what for. To stop? For more? To not tell HR?
But at that point, Robby had gotten Dennis started, and he was still wailing on his boss.
“I can f-feel it, okay?” Dennis said. “I’m not stupid; I can feel it. And—and, you won’t do anything about it, because you-you’re too much of a pussy! A-a coward!” He softened his language as if Robby cared about political correctness.
Robby’s breath hitched for a third time, and Dennis belated realized that this wasn’t the best conversation to be having with his probably-suicidal boss, who was feet from walking off a literal cliff’s edge. The anger was still pulsing through him, but that twinge of regret was sobering it.
“I-I’m sorry; that was…” Dennis was muttering now, self-consciously looking down at his lap. “I just h-had to say something.” When faced with more silence, Dennis started to re-button his pants and shake the pins-and-needles out of his legs. “I-I’ll go now. I can, uh, hand the key off to Dr. Abbot, i-if you w-want.” More silence. Dennis double-checked that he hadn’t been hung up on, but the call was still running. “…Please don’t tell a-anyone.”
Robby’s voice was barely above a whisper as he said, “I won’t. I promise.”
Dennis suddenly felt as if he might cry, eyes feeling heavy and itchy in his skull, throat tightening up even more.
Waver present in his voice, Dennis said, “I wish you-you’d just let go—let go of whatever it is… Fuck.” A few tears had escaped. “Whatever it is that—whatever holds you back from being happy, like, actually happy, not just successful-happy.” A sob hiccupped out, and Dennis absentmindedly went to cover his mouth with his free hand, as he had done as a teenager trying not to be heard. It prevented him from speaking further, however, so he’d soon lowered it.
Dennis continued: “I-I’m even jealous of you sometimes, b-because you’ve never worried a-about which bathroom to use. Y-you don’t have something to dis-disclose before you f-fuck someone. And—and, you have s-so much mobility. I mean, I don’t have any m-money; I’ve got a-all these re-requirements before anyone trusts me with a-anything im-important, but you could work anywhere—or, or, travel. Y-you probably have plenty o-of savings, and you get t-to visit beautiful places w-with beautiful c-constellations.” Tears were now falling freely down his face.
Finally, Robby spoke up with, “I blow through my savings like that’s my job.” There was a lilt of humor filtering through the line. “I’ll be back to ramen noodles and instant coffee when I get back. …This bike cost me a pretty penny to fix up.”
Dennis laughed a bit, a sad little chuckle that could be mistaken for another sob.
“What, Duke didn’t give you a discount?” he asked, trying to keep those sniffles out of his voice.
“It was the guy before Duke that gave me trouble,” Robby said, and Dennis could hear the smile in his tone. “Ran me out…” He trailed off for a moment. “No, if I tell you how much I spent on that stupid bike, you’ll kill me.”
“In a j-jealous way, or a nagging-wife way?” Dennis asked, gaining a bit of his confidence back but teasing still fully present in his tone.
Robby chuckled a bit, then made a hm sound—as if he was just seeing where this went, casually. As if Dennis hadn’t just poured his heart out.
But instead of another twinge of anger, Dennis couldn’t help but continue to giggle, feeling light and free. He remembered that he liked Robby’s flaws, starting with his chaser-ness, and including, but certainly not ending with his reluctance to hold emotional conversations. It was just another piece of ammunition for Dennis’s fantasies; he just had to figure out how to make it erotic.
“I-I bet that you—you like it that I-I’m jealous of you,” Dennis said, trying to keep his inward hesitancy out of his voice.
Robby cleared his throat, and Dennis could hear shuffling on the other side. Getting comfortable? Dennis hoped so.
“I-it could be the smallest d-dick in the world, and I’d st-still want it,” Dennis said in two shaky exhales. He thought for a moment that it was a misstep, sounded like he was assuming Robby to have a microdick—for reasons unknown but easy to take offense to. Luckily, it seemed like Robby had the opposite reaction.
“Yeah?” Robby asked hesitantly. Then, he added, “It’s not so bad, y’know, but…it’s no…no porno dick.”
Dennis unashamedly moaned aloud; he couldn’t believe this was happening. There was a huff on the other side in response.
“I-I don’t care, b-baby boy,” Dennis said. Now, where did that come from? “I w-want it so, so bad.”
Robby chuckled a little, self-consciously. “For yourself, or…?”
“Both, both,” Dennis chanted.
Dennis heard a curse from the other side and the distinct sound of a zipper being lowered. He was lightheaded; Robby was jerking off to his fantasies underneath a seemingly-gorgeous blanket of stars. If Dennis was being particularly self-centered, he wondered if Robby was not only choosing him over a scenic night sky, but suicide as well. Either way, Dennis felt desired, and it just added fuel to the fire.
A whole new wave of self-confidence washing over him, Dennis continued: “B-but you know what?”
“What?” Robby asked, obviously hanging on to every word. Then, there was a wet sound, which Dennis quickly realized was Robby squirting sunscreen or lotion or something onto his hand. Shit. A moment later, there was a steady, slick noise—Robby touching himself slowly, like he wanted to savor this.
“I dunno if I want, uhm, the surgeries,” Dennis said as his free hand (luckily, his right) started to drift between his thighs, rubbing with his pointer and middle finger on either side of his swollen tdick. His poor little dick was trapped behind the seam of his jeans, the fabric too thick to get the stimulation he wanted. With haste, he hooked his thumbs into the waistline of his jeans and boxers, pulling them down to just-above his knees. He couldn’t spread his thighs as much as he wanted to, but Dennis didn’t want to make Robby wait another second.
Dennis finally got his fingers on bare skin as he said, “’Cause—fuck—‘cause I-I fuck myself on-on my fingers thinking about your c-cock.” He was really trying to turn up the seduction, whatever he could do to make Robby stay, on this phone call and on this plane of existence. If it was for such unselfish reasons, it couldn’t be wrong to continue to push. “A-and I, uhm, like the f-feeling in my nipples… I would miss, uh, t-teasing them.” God, how embarrassing; unfortunately, it just incited more wetness to soak into Robby’s computer chair.
Dennis commented upon it; “I-I’m so, so wet.” He added a nervous laugh on accident, suddenly self-conscious of his bodily functions.
Somehow, it only incited a loud slap of skin on Robby’s end.
“That’s o-okay, honey,” Robby said. While his voice was stuttering just the tiniest bit with the rhythm of his jerks, the pet-name came out naturally, as if he’d been waiting to say it to someone. Dennis had let out a little gasp when he heard it, which had just incited those slick movements to pick up speed. “Please—fuck—please, keep going.” When Dennis didn’t immediately speak, Robby let out an honest-to-God whine and begged again, “Pretty please, s-sweetheart?” Sly dog; he’d caught that little gasp, and now, he was throwing out any pet-name that came to his head.
Dennis’s fantasies, up until that point, had mostly had him as the more submissive party. It was just what he expected when it came to boss/employee or age gap relationships, that he’d be dominated mercilessly—and he could certainly get off to that just fine. But, this, this feeling of control over Robby, Robby begging for him, it set any creative gear he had in his head turning, pulling at any threads of dominance from his jerking off catalogue.
“I’d have you on your b-back, with, like, fuzzy pink handcuffs, completely n-naked,” Dennis said, breath steaming up the screen of his phone. “A-and I’d be giving you a-a strip-tease, and underneath…” Now, this part was new, but he thought he’d accommodate Robby’s apparent interest in lingerie, an interest that was rapidly becoming Dennis’s own. “…Underneath, I’ve g-got on lingerie—t-that you bought.”
Another loud, slick sound and a hiss through Robby’s teeth.
“I’d buy you—shit—so, so many nice things,” Robby muttered. “W-whatever you want.”
“I know you w-would, baby boy,” Dennis said, using the nickname for a second time. Two could play that game. Robby seemed to like it, cursing again. “I’d—I’d just keep your credit card in my w-wallet.” Another curse on Robby’s end. “A-and I expect nice dates.” Neither seemed to notice the unconscious change in tense.
“Anything—anything you want, honey,” Robby said. “I’ll take you any-anywhere. Fuck, fuck me running.”
For someone who worried so much about how he was perceived, Dennis’s next statement should’ve been counterintuitive. But that was often the nature of sexual desires, that they fed off your fears and embarrassments.
“E-everyone will see us, and they’ll know—they’ll def-definitely know I’m on the bottom. And—and, they’ll feel bad for me, think I’m a v-victim, but—but—” a moan slipping through, “—but I-I’m the one who s-seduced you. You’re mine, n-not the other way around.”
Robby almost sounded like he was sleep-talking as he whined out, “I’m all—all yours.” Then, he repeated, “All yours, sweetheart, a-all yours.”
Dennis could only guess that he was close, the sound of his motions picking up again in speed.
“I-I imagine riding you, an-and kissing your face while you b-beg to touch me,” Dennis continued. “I tease you; I-I rub my nipples a-and my t-tiny dick, and—and you just want to-to make me feel g-good, but I-I had to lock you up, ‘cause…” Now, Dennis was dipping into shared fantasies. “…’Cause y-you always pull out—or, or, insist on a condom—an-and I want you to-to get me pregnant.”
Dennis didn’t know how the slapping could get faster, but it did.
“That’s…” Robby sounded hesitant, still groaning in pleasure, however. “You h-have an entire future…”
“That’s what makes it hot,” Dennis blurted out in one exhale, not stuttering over his words for the first time since the two started putting their hands down their pants. He was soon back to the wavering syllables, however. “L-like, the instincts take over, and you c-can’t help yourself. Y-you try not to come, but—but I-I’m working you so good…” Dennis’s hips bucked involuntarily, tdick hard and red and difficult to keep between his fingers now that he was soaking. He was getting close too.
“It’s…it’s just natural, to want that,” Robby said, pace on his cock never slowing. “We’re just—fucking shit—we’re just overly-intelligent animals.”
Dennis’s frontal cortex would’ve been lighting up under a brain scan at that moment, filled with those extra-extreme fantasies meant to have you leaping off the ledge. He just usually didn’t voice them.
“A-and we’d have—Christ—s-such smart b-babies,” Dennis moaned out. “Imagine it, r-right now,” he commanded. “M-my tits l-leaking, and—and your baby in my-my stomach.” In his fantasies, he usually said something along the lines of, “Please give me all your babies, Robby!”, but in that moment, with a real-life Robby, Dennis was the one in control.
So, instead, he ordered, “Y-you’re gonna put a-a baby deep in me, a-and I expect pl-plenty of doting.” Wishing he’d brought his vibrator as his fingers became even more uncoordinated, he desperately groaned, “Ex-expensive ice cream, and b-back rubs, and all.”
Robby’s voice was squeaky as he said, “Of-of course, honey, anything you want.”
“Tell m-me,” Dennis said. “Tell me h-how bad you want it.”
Robby sounded like he was pouting as he said, “I wanna—I just wanna put m-my babies in you, please, please, please. I’d do a-anything, hun—fuck—take such good care of my-my babies.” He was beginning to babble, and Dennis knew he was so close that he just needed a few words more. So, he chose some very powerful words.
“I-I’m so in love with you th-that I can’t stand it,” Dennis said, humping his fingers without any rhythm. He needed someone there, someone to hold down his hips and apply a consistent pressure to his most sensitive areas. “I need you.”
Robby was groaning, loudly, and chanting, “Need you, need you,” as he came. To try to help his boss through his orgasm, Dennis gave his best pornstar moans, in-between whispering little encouragements. If he threw in a “My good boy,” or two, that was between him and Robby. He didn’t need to act much; he wished desperately that the two were mumbling sweet nothings in real life.
After Robby sighed a deep sigh, Dennis spoke up again, still uselessly rutting against his fingers.
“I-I’m close,” Dennis said, trying not to sound too pleading. “T-tell me about what you think about w-when you…touch yourself.”
Robby, in his afterglow, immediately answered: “Eating you out ‘til you cry.”
Dennis sucked in a sharp gasp.
“Pressing all the buttons that make those sweet sounds,” Robby said dreamily. “You in a skirt, bouncing on my cock.”
“Y-you dirty ch-chaser,” Dennis said lightheartedly.
“Is that what it’s called?” Robby asked, making a thoughtful hm noise. Soon, though, he was back to his fantasies: “Mm, that wet pussy wringing me dry…”
“I-I’m so wet that I c-can’t get over the e-edge,” Dennis admitted through stuttered groans. “S-so, no problems there,” he added with a self-effacing laugh.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Robby said, voice mixed between pity and lechery. “I wish I was there…” His tone was leaning teasing, though still the tiniest bit regretful. “Would make you feel so good.”
“Tell me-e-e,” Dennis whined, losing a bit of his dominance.
“I’d make you feel so good that…” Robby hesitated for a moment. “…so good that you’d never want to leave.”
He didn’t have any reason to be hesitant, because Dennis unapologetically moaned at that. Seemingly spurred on by that, Robby continued.
“Our little secret, baby,” he said sweetly. “Until you start showing.”
Dennis screamed as he came, hips lifting so far out of the chair that he nearly fell out. His speech stuttered between truly-gracious “thank you”s and curses, once calling out Robby’s first name.
Dennis came down against Robby’s desk, cheek pressed into the hardwood again. He, thankfully, could still hear Robby’s pants on the other side; Dennis was afraid he would’ve hung up by now out of mortification.
Dennis himself was starting to feel a bit of that post-nut shame, and he squeaked out an apology, not directed at anything in particular.
“No, no, it’s my fault,” Robby said. “I shouldn’t have—”
“I r-really liked it!” Dennis blurted out. “We—we should d-do it again, i-in real life.”
Robby sucked in a breath. He was about to voice disapproval—Dennis could just feel it—but he jumped in before his boss could scold himself.
“M-maybe it could be more of a…stay-home sabbatical,” Dennis suggested slowly. “Y-y’know, read books, meditate, get your c-cock drained.” It was an incredibly vulgar way to word the sentiment, but Dennis was quickly learning that crudeness was the key to Robby’s heart.
But Robby laughed at that, a cute little chuckle.
“I’ll consider it,” he said, and that was good enough for Dennis.