Chapter Text
Seven o’clock in the Pitt was never usually quiet.
Usually, seven o’clock saw the day shift scrambling to tie loose ends before new staff took over. Usually, seven o’clock was loud, crowded, stressful.
But tonight was different.
The rush of overdoses and major car crashes had passed by half past six, and the ER was stuck treating the hundreds of common colds flooding the waiting room for the final thirty minutes of the day shift.
Nothing short of a fucking God send for Robby.
He’d barely been able to sleep a full night through for weeks. Since Pittfest, it’d been evening after evening of coming home dead on his feet, then collapsing into bed with eyes wide open and a mind plagued with images of Jake and Leah. Jake’s face twisted with rage—a rage Robby couldn’t (or wouldn’t) defend himself against—and Leah, or her body. The most peaceful, quiet sight of the night, even with a tube crudely lodged in her throat and blood staining her shirt.
Tonight would be no different, despite the slow evening – Robby knew that. The only thing a slow evening would change is how willing Dana and Abbot would be to stay up late with him, barhopping until any one of them got too pissed to walk. Irresponsible on a work night, maybe, but every night was a work night these days—they had to get their fun in somewhere.
Shouldering into the locker room with his phone in hand, Robby peeked over his glasses to see Dennis Whitaker, who was groggily stuffing his bag.
“Hey.” Robby sighed, approaching Dennis from behind and placing a hand on his back.
“Uh, hey. Good night.” Dennis jumped. He looked tired. Of course he did, he’s a med student working twelve hours a day in the emergency room. He wasn’t exactly seasoned enough in this genre of health care to smile through it (and maybe Robby like that).
(Maybe that was a strange thing to think. Experience made him a better doctor, Robby wanted him to be a better doctor).
(Whatever. Call it a paternal instinct of some kind).
“Is that a statement or a farewell?” Robby asked, amused. He slid his phone in his back pocket, his hand retreating from Dennis’ back to reach for his own locker.
“Statement.” Dennis cleared his throat. He nodded stiffly at Robby, his lips pursed into a thin line. Robby was about to laugh, say something snarky about how awkward Dennis still was when his eyes caught on a pile of clothes Dennis was cramming into his backpack. The straps of an apron and a hairnet were dangling from the stack, catching on his bag zip when Dennis tried to close it.
“Where’re you going?” Robby frowned, looking pointedly at Dennis’ hand.
“Um. Work.” Dennis muttered, hurriedly unstucking his bag zip.
“I’m sorry?”
“Work.” Dennis said a little louder. Robby’s frown deepened.
“This is your work, no?” He retorted, taking his glasses off in much the same way that a parent would when expecting a ‘sorry’ or a ‘pardon’.
“Doesn’t exactly pay much.” Dennis grumbled, a bite to his voice that Robby was completely unfamiliar with. His expression matched—sour, disgruntled—Robby saw, and it stung. He called after Dennis as he trudged out the door with his head down, but was ignored.
Dennis Whitaker working nights at some chain restaurant? After a day on his feet around here? This was an emergency medical centre—there’s no chance Whitaker was treating people with collapsed lungs and de-gloved limbs before putting on an apron and serving cheap shit burgers to clueless customers. No shot.
Robby decided he wouldn’t think about it. There was more than enough keeping him up at night. And besides, why would he have to worry about Whitaker keeping him up at night? He’s just some med student with weary eyes, Robby felt nowhere as much responsibility for the kid as he did for Jake, much more a sense of fondness.
Nothing to lose sleep over.
Before he could wallow in those sordid emotions, Dana found him.
“Drinks?” She asked, pointing a finger in his face. She didn’t give him a chance to reply before asking, “Are you okay?”
“Sorry? Yes, drinks.” Robby replied, realising this was not something he wanted to speak to Dana about. He’d need a few more months of self realisation before he could tolerate her teasing.
Dana frowned, but didn’t press.
Thank fuck.
“Abbot’s already waiting, let’s go.” Dana waved him out, and Robby obediently ducked out of the change rooms with his bag slung over one shoulder.
———
“What do you think about Whitaker?” Robby asked, playing with his coaster. So much for saving himself from Dana—drinks weren’t even out yet, for fucks sake. He just needed someone to tell him that what he was feeling wasn’t weird and sexual.
They’d landed on the closest bar to the hospital, conveniently in the direction of Robby’s house. It was empty, aside from a few younger looking men that seemed to be well acquainted with one of the waitresses.
Just the way Robby preferred his Thursday night. Quiet, with drinks on the way.
“What about him?” Abbot asked absently, leaning back in his seat.
“Dunno. Him.” Robby shrugged, trying to seem more indifferent than he actually was. Evidently, he was failing.
“Lord, I can’t tell if this is you picking favourites to cope with Langdon’s leave or a mid-life crisis involving a controversially young side piece.” Dana snorted.
“Oh, I see.” Abbot’s smile widened, suddenly much more interested in the conversation.
“Ok, fuck you. Wrong on both fronts.” Robby narrowed his eyes at her.
“What do I think about Dennis?” She scoffed, sliding her crossed arms onto the table with a challenging look on her face. “I think you should take a step back if you’re not too sure about him.”
“Of course I’m not sure about him, he’s not even on my roster of considerations.” Robby hissed, matching her challenge.
“What roster?” Abbot grinned. Robby glared at him across the table.
“This is two against one.” He said flatly.
“Who said I was on her side?” Abbot scoffed, leaning forward. “I think he’s twenty something and in the prime of his life if he wants to experiment.”
Dana gave him a nod of acknowledgment, a sort of surrender.
“No, actually, that’s true.”
“Can you both stop acting like I asked if I should fuck him?” Robby laughed wearily.
“You did.” Abbot snickered.
“What do you guys think about this med student I can’t keep my hands off?” Dana interrupted, her tone all light and airy. It was barely an impression of Robby, but it served its purpose.
“That is not what I asked.” Robby pointed an accusatory finger in her face.
“What do you want us to say? ‘It’s okay, Robby. It’s not weird that you want him. We’ll pretend you were asking about his professional performance if it makes you feel better!’ Really?” Abbot put his hand over Robby’s free hand, basking in the appalled expression Robby wore.
“No! Fucks sake, man. His, his character!” He retorted, snatching his hand away.
“Alright, alright.” Dana snickered. “I think he’s sweet, I think he’s got a lot to learn, I think he’s receptive ‘n willing to be taught.”
“Thank you.”
“And I think he has a widdle crush on his attending.” Dana concluded with a self important grin on her face.
“Who could blame him.” Abbot added passively as the young man waiting their section arrived with their drinks. He was a dirty blonde, soft spoken, stiff but well mannered, Robby noted as he awkwardly wished them a nice night and scurried back to the kitchen.
“Would ya’ look at that, Rob. He’s just your type.” Dana commented cheekily, barely even cracking a smile at him.
“Stop talking.” Robby said simply. He reached for his pint with a small, admittedly amused smile on his face. It was hard to tell if they approved of this small, unspoken (?) attraction he felt towards Whitaker, but at least they were funny about it.
“You know he’s working?” Robby asked before he could stop himself. Dana gave him a knowing look.
“What, he’s got an internship?” Abbot asked with a frown.
“No, like at a restaurant.”
Dana sighed sympathetically, Abbot looked taken aback.
“Fuck me.” He breathed.
“Yeah, he’s real touchy about it too. Tried to ask him about it, told him he wasn’t really in the right position to be working.” Robby nodded, “He just shouldered past me, talking about the hospital not paying him right.”
“The hospital's not paying him at all. He’s still a student.” Dana pointed out.
“Yeah, I know. But moving to Pittsburgh for med school is a big deal. Hard to imagine there’s no one helping him out?” Robby frowned, taking another sip of his beer.
“Look, between you and me.” Dana sighed, leaning over the table. Robby and Abbot followed, as though someone might hear. “Trinity’s been housing him. I don’t think he’s paying her rent either.”
“How’d you know that?” Abbot asked suspiciously.
“She’s been complaining to Perlah about a freeloader, and I saw them catching the same bus home.”
“How’d you know they don’t just live near each other?” Robby eyed her.
“I’m getting there.” She replied harshly, “Like I was saying. She’s been complaining to Perlah, and while I was going to the change rooms earlier this week I overheard her and Dr Ellis talking about how Trinity didn’t want to ask Dennis for rent after promising him a rent free room.”
“Jesus.” Robby leaned back, his head hanging as some sign of solidarity.
“Indeed.” Dana agreed.
“I imagine that means Trinity wants rent now.” Abbot added solemnly.
“You guys are a bunch of gossiping wives. I feel like I’m at church right now.” Dana snorted, breaking the tension.
“Hey, this is important.” Abbot noted, “If that kid is up til fuck knows when trying to keep up with rent, it’ll impact his performance.”
“Which is why I told you. I consider you two on a need-to-know basis. Keep a tight lip about this or I’ll kill you both.” Dana said firmly, taking a loud sip from the straw of her polite little gin and tonic.
“That’s a given.” Robby scoffed.
“Anyway.” Dana began again, “I’ll give you a whole lot of shit about it, Robby, but keep an eye on Dennis. However you can. I guess if that involves fucking him dumb once in a while til the end of his rotation, then so be it.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Dana,” Robby groaned, rubbing his eyebrows with an exasperated look on his face.
“I’m just saying!”
“Could’ve said it nicer!”
Abbot laughed.
“Look, I’m only teasing ‘cus this is phenomenally easy bait.” Dana chuckled, smug.
“Usually, we call that a low blow.”
“I take all the blows I can get, Robby, I’m underpaid and overworked. Let me have my small victories.” Dana groaned, kicking Robby’s shin under the table.
Whatever.
Nothing would happen to Dennis. And if anything did happen to Dennis, Robby was (trying to be) confident he wouldn’t be the source of his misery.
———
One of Robby’s most detrimental flaws since the day he had his first drink at seventeen was his pride. He was too prideful to admit to even himself when enough was enough, drinking until someone else called it. The problem with that now is that he was friends with a southern charge nurse and a veteran. There was no way to outdrink them.
By twelve in the morning, Dana was calling a cab for Abbot (who’d optimistically driven here with the expectation he’d have a schooner and nothing more). Robby had wordlessly wandered away from them the second Abbot started raising his voice about leaving his car in the street. He figured neither of them would worry. He’d made the Irish goodbye his signature move since they’d made a habit out of drinking together.
The street was relatively empty around this time of night (day?), with very few functional street lamps still lining the street. The result was a hazy blue landscape, the smell of Robby’s own beer breath and rubbish from the occasional skip bin deeply familiar and somewhat comforting to Robby as he walked slowly through the streets.
The lightless, quiet atmosphere made it all the more confronting to see a figure in the distance. A small man, illuminated by a far off, jarringly warm street lamp. Robby watched as the figure got closer, his eyes glued to the ground.
Fucks sake.
It was Whitaker.
He seemed exhausted, slouched over himself with google maps open on his phone. He was barely picking his feet off the ground, and his eyes looked sunken in his skull (more than they usually did, at least). He looked so fucking pitiful.
If Robby was drunk enough, he’d say Whitaker looked vulnerable. Like he needed a hug, a seat, a drink. A warm bed.
Maybe Robby was drunk enough.
“Whitaker?” He called, the regret he would’ve felt if he was sober dulled by the buzz of four beers and a shot. God, he was such a lightweight.
Dennis’ head shot up in surprise.
He looked so, so tired. So sweet.
“What’re you doing?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at Dennis. Dennis looked completely confused, and Robby placed a hand on Dennis’ shoulder.
“Uh—I’m. I’m going home?” He frowned.
“How far’s home?” Robby asked, cocking his head to the side.
“Um. The bus. Y’know the one in front of the hospital?” Dennis pointed vaguely in the direction of PTMC. “…Dr Robby, are you drunk?”
Robby snorted.
“What d’you think?” He scoffed, then realised that might’ve sounded mean. Dennis seemed to take it well, though.
Hot.
“You missed the last bus.” He said, his eyes half lidded as he stared down at Dennis. Dennis was a little red. Dennis liked that look on him.
Then he went pale.
“Oh—what?” His eyes went wide with distress. Robby frowned, tightening his grip on Dennis’ shoulder and giving him a little shake.
“It’s fine, it’s fine. I’ll call you an Uber—you get student discounts right?” Robby patted him, then let his hand slide down to the middle of Dennis’ back. He absently felt out the ridges of his spine through his shirt, barely even registering what his hands were doing.
“No—no, it’s ok. It’s like thirteen miles to Trinity’s.” Dennis mumbled, his eyes glued on the ground. Robby realised with great joy that Dennis was flustered. Jesus, he was really letting himself go.
“Fuck, thirteen miles? What does she live that far away for?” Robby laughed.
“Cheapest place with a bus stop nearby.” Dennis groaned, putting his hands over his face.
“Fair.” Robby wandered forward, pulling Dennis over by his shoulder as he sat down on a nearby bench. “I’ll pay, then.”
“No!” Dennis squeaked, snatching Robby’s phone right out of his hands before he could even open it. Robby looked up at him through his lashes in a way he hoped came off as unimpressed. In truth, Robby was fighting a hard fucking battle against his subconscious. The kid was in front of him now, it was the worst time to start thinking about him squeaking like that into his mouth as Robby’s wandering hand found its way around Dennis’ cock.
That’s weird.
He’d punch himself in the morning for it.
Tonight, he might jerk off to it.
Fuck, who cares, he’s off his face.
“What the fuck, Whitaker?” He huffed a laugh, unable to stop himself.
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Whitaker handed his phone back to him immediately, spooked by Robby’s language.
Jesus Christ, this kid was feeding him fantasies.
Robby gulped.
“It’s like, thirty dollars. I don’t want you to pay for that.”
“Kid, I earn like four hundred a year. I’ll live.” Robby raised his eyebrows, and a little voice in his head whispered that that was unprofessional.
“Don’t tell me that, it’s unprofessional.” Dennis muttered.
Robby snorted.
“Thanks for looking out for me, I guess.” He snickered. Dennis looked a little embarrassed, staring at his feet sheepishly. Robby wanted to grab him, take his clothes off, ruin him.
“I’m not okay with leaving you out here, Dennis.”
“I’ll be okay.” Dennis dismissed, but Robby persisted against his better judgement.
“I won’t.”
Dennis was quiet.
“Let me pay or sleep on my couch.” Robby proposed, and Dennis seemed a little more interested. He glanced up to meet Robby’s eyes, as if to gauge how serious he was. “I’d rather regret housing you than regret spending thirty on your fair home.”
Dennis huffed. Then he nodded.
“You’re so weird when you’re drunk.”
No, I’m desperate.
“I know right.” Robby replied instead, standing up stiffly.
———
Obviously, nothing happened. Robby was a coward, drunk or not. He’d never be able to bring himself to touch Dennis in the many ways he’d dreamed of. At least not unless Dennis was the initiator.
No, instead he’d awkwardly fumbled for a blanket and a pillow, throwing them at the couch cushion next to Whitaker and telling him to sleep well before retreating to his own room. In the confines of his own room, Robby let his consciousness drift to much more shameful places. For the first night in two weeks, his mind wasn’t plagued by images of Jake’s tears, his irrational rage that Robby let (or forced) himself receive, or the body of Leah listening to him kneel, and pray, and cry, and gasp for air on the pediatrics floor.
It was plagued by something (arguably) worse.
His mind was overwhelmed by images of Dennis. Poor Dennis. In all sorts of perverted situations, wherever Robby wanted him. God, it would haunt him in the morning, the image of Dennis fumbling with Robby’s zipper, clueless and confused about how to please Robby. The image of Dennis’ face pressed against the couch cushion, limp and accepting whatever Robby gave him without complaint.
In hindsight, Robby knew sex with Whitaker would look nothing like that. He knew sex with Whitaker would be soft and awkward, with Dennis on his back, in Robby’s bed, excited, endeared.
But Robby didn’t want to think about that.
He didn’t want to feel his heart throb at the idea of Whitaker in his bed. He wanted to fuck his fist, acknowldge the guilt and move on with his life. Both were shameful uses of his imagination, sure, but if he had to pick: One was a poison that would slowly kill him, where the other was barely a venom—the bite would sting, but he’d forget he’d even been bitten in the first place, if given time. It was obvious what the lesser evil was.
Robby stared down at his hand, soiled with his own cum and sighed. Suddenly, he was sober again, looking sorrowfully at his reality. It was two in the morning. Whitaker was on his couch. He’d just cum into his fist thinking about fucking a twenty something med student. What the fuck was he doing?
Robby stood slowly, fixing his boxers back up his hips, wiping his stained hand off on a tissue by his bed. He let out another, deeper sigh, crumpling the tissue up and stepping out of his room. Whitaker was dead asleep, Robby noticed as he turned into his kitchen, and another sting of guilt shot through him.
He discarded the tissue in the bin, pausing before he left and staring at his sink.
Robby moved to the dishwasher and retrieved a cup, filling it with cold water at the sink and shamefully approached Whitaker’s sleeping form. As he placed the glass down on the coffee table, he could hear the soft breaths coming from Whitaker’s mouth. Just short of a snore. Robby stood up and ran a hand over his own thin hair. One last sigh, then he left, banishing himself to his room.
He had two or three hours til he had to drop Whitaker home to change. In the mean time, he’d stay wide eyed and guilt ridden.
God, he was such a fucking degenerate.
———
“I know I said look out for him where you can, but that’s a ridiculous first step.” Dana laughed humourlessly, rubbing her eyes. They’d both stepped out for a much needed smoke once Dana had noticed Robby avoiding Whitaker’s questions. She’d quickly become fed up with watching him pass Dennis off to Garcia or Mohan, slowing down exchange of patients in and out of the ER exponentially in doing so.
Obviously, in telling that story, Robby had left out the part where he’d squeezed himself dry at the thought of Dennis in some less than savoury situations. It’s not like she needed the extra arsenal.
“Nothing happened, so it’s fine.” Robby waved her off.
“Obviously it’s not. You can’t even fucking answer his questions, Robby! This is a teaching hospital, is it not?” Dana hissed, snapping her finger at him. Her tone turned soft, however, as she continued. “Get over it. I say that with love, okay? This day is already takin’ it out of me, I can’t watch you two dance around each other like that, much less deal with the consequences.”
Robby was quiet for a moment.
“Yeah, yep.” He nodded curtly, taking one last puff of his cigarette before dropping it on the pavement and stamping it out.
“Robby.” She said softly, grabbing his arm before he could leave. “He can tell. As much as you don’t want to, you have to think about him too. And I can see it, you’re hurtin’ his feelings.”
Robby stared at her, silently taking in her words and shouldering her off with a dismissive nod and stepping back inside the bustling ER. Almost immediately, Dennis was at his side.
“Dr Robby.” He started, and Robby noticed with a heavy heart just how tired Dennis actually looked. It was the first time he’d really gotten a look at him since this morning.
“Yeah, what’s up?” Robby breathed.
“Uh—Mc’Kay is looking for you.” Dennis said, surprised that Robby was actually talking to him. Robby decided he didn’t have the room in his schedule to feel regretful about that.
“What for?”
“There’s a suspected domestic violence incident, I think. I’m not too sure, she just told me to come get you.” Dennis explained awkwardly.
“Okay. I’ll be there in a second.” Robby nodded. He watched as Dennis turned to walk away, and reached for him. Dennis jumped, looking up at Robby with eyes widened in confusion.
“C’mere.” Robby gestured for him to come closer with his head.
“Uh—okay.” Dennis muttered, letting Robby pull him closer to the nurse’s station.
Robby was lost for words for a second, searching for the professional way of saying “you look like shit and I’m worried it’s my fault”.
“Are you okay?” He asked eventually.
“Sorry?” Dennis frowned.
“Are you okay? You look… tired.”
“…I’m okay.” Dennis gulped, nodding slightly.
Robby paused. No, he’d ordered this wrong. Domestic violence case first, selfish welfare checks second.
“Okay.” He nodded. “Okay, yep. Let’s go.”
Dennis backed up, looking utterly lost as he gave Robby room to move past him. Fair.
“Oh—spare me fifteen minutes before you leave, yeah?” Robby spun around to face Dennis one more time. He didn’t give Dennis time to answer (refuse), wandering over to the bay he’d directed Mc’Kay to before he’d stepped out with Dana.
———
Whitaker, despite his unwillingness, had waited. Robby found him hunched over his phone at the busied nurse station, frowning down at the screen.
“You good?” Robby asked as he approached, ready to leave.
“Uh—yeah. Can, um. Can this be quick?” Dennis straightened up, looking up at Robby as he tucked his phone into his waistband.
“You’re working tonight?” Robby questioned.
“Yeah.” Dennis nodded stiffly.
“Let’s, uh. Let’s walk and talk, then.”
Dennis looked a little relieved, pointing his head down and starting towards the door shoulder to shoulder with Robby.
“You…aren’t in close contact with your family.” Robby stated as they stepped out into the streets.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
Touchy. Okay.
“Uh, I’m just…more than a little concerned.” Robby started awkwardly. “About you. Your financial situation. And I figured your family wasn’t exactly putting in.”
“I’m not quitting my job.” Dennis said firmly.
“I—Okay“ Robby sighed. “You know that there are programs. We can help out.”
“I’m okay.” Dennis shook his head.
“Okay, then I’m concerned about how much sleep you’re getting. I can’t afford to have doctors falling asleep at the helm here.” Robby tried.
“…I’m not a doctor.”
“That’s all you got?” He snorted.
“Yeah, I don’t really—yeah.” Whitaker relented. “I’m in a tough spot. It’s just til the end of this rotation, really.”
A cruel and unprofessional idea bloomed in Robby’s mind.
“I mean, I’m really only losing sleep over the fair back. The bus is like a half an hour wait, half an hour ride.” Dennis continued.
“So what if you had somewhere to sleep on work days? Somewhere closer.” Robby suggested, immediately punching himself for it. Luckily, Dennis didn’t seem to catch on.
“Uh. I don’t really wanna entertain that just yet. I can’t really afford anywhere else.” He mumbled, scratching his jaw sheepishly.
“…Look.”
No, don’t do this to yourself.
“You…can have my couch.” Robby breathed.
“…Sorry?”
“It’s closer to work. Both ways. You can have my couch, if you really need it.”
Whitaker was silent, walking beside Robby with an unreadable expression.
“That’s, like. Really unprofessional. Right?” Dennis said slowly.
“Yes. Yes it is.” Robby replied honestly. “It’s wildly unprofessional, but you’ve done it once already and I don’t know if I’ll be able to live with myself if you fuck up around here because you’re sleep deprived.”
Again Whitaker was silent. He was considering.
“…Okay.” He nodded, his shoulders rising awkwardly. “Don’t, like. Kill me in my sleep or anything.”
Robby snorted.
“Sure, just this once.” He muttered.
———
Ten minutes after Robby’d received the text asking for his address, he heard Whitaker knocking at his door. He’d been stuck in his own head on the couch, rolling through the cycle of thinking about Whitaker, sipping at his third glass of bourbon and telling himself he wasn’t allowed to fall into alcoholism this late in life. In doing so, he’d failed to make the couch up for Dennis.
Still, Robby quickly stood up to open the door for him.
He’d honestly thought that Whitaker just wouldn’t show up. It was already one in the morning after all, and Robby was beginning to regret waiting up for him instead of leaving his apartment unlocked.
But, alas, there he was, Whitaker standing awkwardly in his doorway with his tight white shirt and black jeans still on. Robby could see the gleam of sweat still on him, and he audaciously savoured the image.
“Hey, come in.” Robby nodded him in, placing a hand on his back as he wandered into the lounge. “I haven’t really set you up yet, give me a second.”
“Okay.” Dennis said softly. He looked like he was about to pass out.
“Uh. How was your night?” Robby asked as he turned the corner into the hallway and opened his closet.
“Yeah.” Dennis replied groggily. “It was…It was something.”
“I don’t imagine it was something good.” Robby huffed with an amused smile on his face as he emerged from the hall with a blanket in hand.
“No, not really.” Dennis shook his head.
“What happened?”
“Just, uh. There was a shit manager. I guess.” Robby watched as Dennis rubbed his sunken eyes. Robby couldn’t fathom going from twelve hours at the ER to five or so hours in a stinking kitchen. Yet, here Dennis was, living his nightmare.
And allowing Robby to help him.
Dennis was painfully clueless to what deplorable actions his imagination led him to take, and it was killing him from the inside out. Dennis would hate him. He would run for the fucking hills. It didn’t matter if Dennis was into him, because Dennis was into his dependability, his kindness. Not his perversions.
At least that was the most obvious notion. Robby didn’t want to entertain the idea of Dennis fantasising about him, lest he risk a repeat of last night.
“How so?” Robby asked after a moment.
“Um…” Whitaker started, groggily gathering his thoughts. Fuck, he was so sweet. “He’s, like. He does this thing, where he asks for an order that’s still being made. Without looking down the line to see if we’re making it.”
Robby nodded, a faux signal that he was listening.
“And so we make another of the same order. Because, y’know. He’s a manager.” Dennis continued, though there was no bite in his voice. Just a tinge of exasperation, if anything at all, Robby noted as he picked his glass of bourbon off the coffee table again and sat down on Dennis’ little couch-bed of sorts. “And then he gets fucked off at us. For wasting resources. ‘N time.”
Robby took a sip from his drink.
“Sounds like an idiot.”
“No. That’s—that’s mean. I think he’s just, like.” Whitaker sighed. He slowly wandered to sit on the edge furthest from Robby.
Robby had to stop himself from laughing. Whitaker, all huddled up on one end of the couch. Like Robby would bite. His smile swiftly fell from his face when he remembered he did, in fact, bite. Or he thought about biting, which was the first sign of being a biter.
God, this was such a bad idea.
“He’s nice….’n he laughs at my jokes ‘n stuff.” Whitaker mumbled, sinking into the couch. “Holy shit, my legs are tingling.” He groaned.
“Kept you on your feet too long.” Robby chuckled. Dennis reddened.
“Tell that to them. I work five hours and all I get is a half hour unpaid break.” He muttered, staring at the ground with his eyes barely open. “It’s legal, sure, but it’s the bare minimum. I used to know some girls who worked in retail who got a paid forty minute break.”
“Mm.” Robby hummed, leaning one elbow on the arm of the couch.
“I think they were doing more labour n’ stuff, though. Some of them worked on commission, others were like, store tradies.”
“Mhm.” Robby nodded slowly, knocking back the last of his bourbon.
His eyelids felt heavy.
“So I guess, in a way, the job was more taxing than what I’m doing.” Dennis continued, his words slightly slurred with the effort it took for him to speak.
Robby didn’t respond that time, closing his eyes for a moment.
One moment.
One four hour moment.
————
Four whole hours. The most sleep Robby’d gotten since Pittfest. He might’ve even gotten more if it weren’t for Whitaker’s alarm (fondly labelled “get the fuck up”). Dennis was practically unconscious next to him, comfortably sleeping through the blare with his lips slightly parted and his hands curled at his chest.
He was so, so…
Robby consciously refused to finish that thought.
Cracking his neck, hissing as a dull ache shooting through the muscles at his shoulder, Robby moved to get up. Only, there was a weight on his legs. A small one, but a weight nonetheless, and it startled him.
Dennis’ foot. One socked foot hooked on his pelvis, resting comfortably in the crook of his thigh, and the other lay next him, pressing into his leg.
His ass, actually.
Dennis had a foot pressing into his ass from the side.
Robby took a deep breath, grounding himself as best he could. He didn’t want to think too hard about Dennis’ foot in his lap. If Robby was hard (if) (he wasn’t) (that’s important), the tips if Dennis’ toes would be ghosting along his length through his pants.
What the fuck?
“Dennis,” Robby reached over and shook Dennis’ shoulder, swiftly moving Dennis’ feet off him. His feet were cold, he noticed, as he placed them back on the couch. The kid was probably just searching for warmth in his sleep, and here he was imagining how close his foot would come to touching his cock if he’d woken up with morning wood. “Dennis, wake up. It’s six.”
Dennis groaned.
Robby snatched Dennis’ blaring phone off the ground and placed the cold screen on Dennis’ face (then he wondered if maybe that was a little forward. Oh well, too late).
“Six?” He muttered.
“Yes, yep.”
“What? I don’t—“ Dennis sat up, slouching over himself drearily.
“Up, up. We’ll get breakfast on the way.”
Dennis was quiet for a moment, rubbing his eyes.
“I don’t have any scrubs.”
Robby stared at him.
“What happened to the ones you were wearing yesterday?” He frowned.
“I gave them to Trinity to wash.”
“Fuck…” Robby muttered, placing a hand on his forehead and brushing his hair down.
“Sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Yep, it’s fine. I’ll give you a pair for today. Return it.”
Dennis nodded, standing up. His face was a little pink, like he was flustered by the notion, but too tired to really react accordingly.
Every single minute together made Robby realise just how bad this idea was.
Every single minute together made Robby realise just how attached he was about to get to Whitaker, and how dangerous that game would be.