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Looking back, Robby isn’t entirely sure what the straw that broke the camel’s back was.
He shuffles through his memories of the last day he worked with Whitaker before the… dreams started happening, trying to find the place that his mind decided to latch onto, but he keeps coming up empty.
It had been a normal shift. There’s no exact image of Whitaker that sticks out to him. They worked together on a couple cases and engaged in their regular small talk in rare quiet moments. Whitaker had wished his usual, quick goodnight, Dr. Robby to him as he left with Santos.
Despite the normalcy of that day, his mind betrayed him that night anyway.
Robby had just slipped into unconsciousness, lulled by the sound of some generic action movie that he had seen a million times before playing loudly on the TV, illuminating his room in quick flashes of blue, when his mind was filled with the sight of bare, pale skin.
Whitaker thighs are surprisingly toned where they wrap around Robby’s waist, pulling him closer. He’s sitting on top of the counter of what Robby recognizes as the break room in the Pitt, fisting Robby’s scrubs, trying to keep him as close as possible.
Robby finds his gaze drawn to Whitaker’s pink, cupid’s bow lips, and he doesn’t fight the temptation to lean down and kiss him. His lips are perfectly soft as he moans loudly into Robby’s mouth, hands coming up to tangle into the older man’s hair. Robby cups the side of his face to bring him closer, struck with the sudden urge to consume him entirely.
And when Whitaker’s lips wrap around Robby’s tongue to suck on it, letting out these filthy, wet noises, Robby feels lightheaded with desire. Whitaker’s tongue has always been a point of admiration for Robby, always with the right answer or the perfect comfort sitting on its tip, and now that same empathetic tongue slides in and out of Robby’s mouth with a practiced perfection.
Finally, like he physically can’t take the pressure any longer, Whitaker grinds forward. His cock, trapped beneath a pair of boxers, slides against Robby’s clothed stomach.
“Dr. Robby.” Whitaker’s voice is a quiet plea, already destroyed from the small amount of friction. Robby grabs him by the hips, firm but gentle, and guides him to keep moving. The younger man keens, mouth falling open as his dick firmly against Robby in a steady rhythm. He allows his thumbs to brush against the sensitive skin just ahead of the tight material of his boxers, leaving a trail of goosebumps that stand out against the black scrubs.
Robby’s own cock remains neglected because of the angle. It throbs as he takes in the sight of Whitaker’s head thrown back against the cupboard, as he feels the frantic rub of an agile, fit body against his own. He reaches down to palm at it, still keeping one hand tight on Whitaker’s hips.
Robby watches Whitaker get more worked up, hands groping around the counter as he scrambles for purchase, biting his lip to keep himself quiet. His knuckles knock into something up there, maybe a cup that someone left next to the sink, and there’s a crashing sound and-
Robby is thrown back into consciousness with no preamble, like his brain is punishing him with disorientation for the indulgence.
He gasps as he sits up. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up to his vision as he takes in the familiar sight of his bedroom, plain and lacking any kind of personality, in the darkness. The soft sheets feel foreign now, compared to the uncomfortable grind of the cupboard handles against his legs.
He just had a wet dream about his twenty-seven-year-old resident.
Robby barks out a hysterical, horrified laugh, collapsing back down to the pillows. He can’t remember the last time he dreamt like that; it’s been two decades, at least. Maybe longer. He feels like a horny college student again, imagination running wild with possibilities every time he so much as made eye-contact with a classmate that he was attracted to.
He’s semi-hard in his flannel pyjama pants. Robby steadfastly ignores it, knowing that it will go down soon enough. Trying to do something about it would mean acknowledging that not only did he just experience a wet dream about Whitaker, but it left him so turned on that he had to hump his sheets just to fall back asleep again.
Yeah, no way that was happening.
This was nothing more than just the wires getting all crossed in his head. He spent too much time around all of his residents, and his brain was getting confused because of the proximity. It was a funny enough story, one that he would maybe tell Abbot after a couple drinks once he felt less humiliated about it.
It’s nothing. Absolutely nothing.
-
His eyes keep finding Whitaker the next day.
He can’t help it. Whether he’s talking to patients in that gentle, kind way of his or doing careful procedures, tongue poked out between his lips in steady concentration, Robby can’t take his eyes off of him.
The urge to touch is still there, just like it always is, but now Robby second guesses it. The times where Robby would usually squeeze his shoulder or guide him to the next trauma room with a firm hand around his arm now feel twisted.
Late in the afternoon, when Robby steps into the breakroom, he feels all the air get sucked out of his chest when he realises that the only other person inside is Whitaker, sitting down at the table and scrolling through his phone as he shovels spoonfuls of yogurt into his mouth.
Whitaker spots him before he can make a quick exit. Shit. “Hey.”
“Hi.” Robby clears his throat, shuffles by the door for a moment. He looks over at the counter that was the star of his dream last night and feels his cheeks grow warm, the thought of Whitaker’s filthy moans as he humped against Robby’s stomach making the room feel ten degrees hotter.
Whitaker watches him, brows furrowing slightly. “You okay?”
Robby nods too quickly. The lie rolls off of his tongue easily enough, “Yeah, just taking a minute. It’s been a day.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.” Whitaker says. He takes another bite of his yogurt, tongue lapping against the spoon to lick up every bit of it, and Robby’s skin feels suddenly tight. He turns around and flees before Whitaker can do anything else.
He does a decent job at avoiding him for the rest of the day. So, it might be weird on Robby’s end for a couple days after the dream, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. He will get some rest this weekend and come back with the memory of Whitaker’s hand tangled in his hair almost vanished.
Robby is foolishly sure of that as he dozes off that night.
His knuckles are deep inside of velvet, smooth heat. Robby is already naked, his desire making itself known by pushing relentlessly against the back pale legs. The person in front of him is trembling on their hands and knees, white-knuckling the sheets as Robby presses a third finger inside of them.
There’s a loud moan, and really, Robby shouldn’t be surprised when the face that turns to look back at him is Whitaker.
It doesn’t stop him.
“Is this okay?” Robby asks, because even through a haze of arousal and something else he can’t understand, a genuine concern makes its home in his chest.
Whitaker nods rapidly, pressing back slightly against Robby’s fingers. Robby watches in fascination as they disappear further. “Yes, yeah, yes. It’s good. I’m ready.”
Robby pulls his fingers out. He pulls Whitaker closer, taking a moment to relish the feeling of soft skin beneath him, presented to him like he’s a starving man. He grabs ahold of his own dick and strokes it a few more times (unnecessarily, really, because he’s never been harder) before lining it up with Whitaker’s hole.
Whitaker shouts as Robby slides in, bottoming out after a moment. He falls forward, head buried firmly in the pillow beneath him– Robby’s pillow. Robby pets his flank, breathing heavy as he feels the impossibly tight heat of Whitaker around him.
It’s intoxicating.
“I’m gonna’ move, okay?” Robby asks, breathless. Whitaker nods shakily. Slowly, Robby pulls out until just the tip remains, then plunges back in until his balls slap Whitaker’s ass.
“Oh my God!” Whitaker exclaims. Robby thrusts forward again, and again, and Whitaker keeps groaning, chanting out pleas.
He reaches out blindly behind him with one hand, and Robby catches it, intertwining his fingers with his and he keeps fucking into him. Robby wants to bring the hand up to his face to press a kiss to the knuckles and taste the salty skin there, but the angle doesn’t allow it.
“So fucking tight. So good. You’re so good.” Robby mumbles. A deep pressure in his gut is unfurling rapidly. “Tell me how much you love it.”
“Holy sh- I love it.” Whitaker is boneless beneath him. “I love it, Dr. Robby.”
“Yeah?” Robby moves faster, like a man possessed. The pressure is building and building, gripping his core and squeezing as his body begs for release, and he’s teetering on the very edge when-
This time, when Robby is cruelly woken up by the sound of his blaring alarm, informing him of his seven a.m. shift, he doesn’t have the self control to ignore his raging hard-on.
He jerks himself off in tight, quick strokes, picturing the way Whitaker’s perfectly round ass looked as it sucked in his cock, tight like a vice. He pictured the sweat caught in the back of his curls, the goosebumps running down his back as Robby touched him, the sight of his side profile with his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth wide open in euphoria.
Robby comes hard. He thinks the back of his eyelids might turn white with it. Afterwards, he lies sweaty and panting, staring up at the ceiling, remembering that he is supposed to work with Whitaker again in an hour.
This is… very bad.
-
Unfortunately for Robby, the dreams continue.
A long, tiresome week leaves him with three more dreams of Whitaker. Dreams of filthy moans and sweat-slick skin and clever fingers.
Robby keeps waking up with boners like he’s in college again, jerking off quickly and roughly under the sheets, head tilted back with Whitaker’s name on his lips. The shame that engulfs him every time, even through the post-orgasm haze, is like a knife.
He resolves to avoid Whitaker (the real, clothed Whitaker, not the one of his dreams) as much as he can get away with. The traumas he would usually pull him in so easily for now go to Javadi. The careful instructions that he always delights in murmuring close to Whitaker’s ear end up with Santos, now lacking any of the warmth that he never realised they had before.
And Whitaker notices, of course. When Whitaker volunteers to intubate a patient who fell from his roof while trying to do some DIY home renovations, Robby watches his face fall as he barely spares him a glance while offering the job to Javadi.
Robby hates it. He hates how he keeps catching Whitaker staring at him from across central like he’s trying to figure out what he did wrong.
It’s all just proof that Robby had been too indulgent in the past, had let his selfish urges take over to the point where Whitaker was now expecting his touch and praise and guidance, like a dog eager to please his owner.
Two weeks after the dreams had started, Pittsburgh was greeted with the hottest day of the year.
Virtually everyone in the ED was left in a sour mood as a result, fanning themselves with whatever paper they could find and dealing with the wrath of furious, overheated patients.
Robby had stripped out of his hoodie and was now wearing just his scrub top, itchy with the sweat collecting beneath his chain. Most of the residents were in a similar state of half-undressed.
For once, Robby’s mind was barely focused on Whitaker, too caught up in trying to make it through his awful shift while not passing out from the heat, so the shock of actually taking in his appearance left him frozen in the middle of the Pitt.
Whitaker is standing over by central, elbows on the desk as he talks to Mel, who is sitting in Dana’s chair as she does her charts. His scrubs look impossibly tighter than usual, leaving the outline of his waist perfectly visible. The curls at the back of his neck are tangled with sweat, and Robby can see the thin droplets sliding down his arms. His shirt rides up as he leans over, exposing his lower back, which is similarly wet from the scorching heat.
Robby’s thoughts all come to a screeching halt. He can feel himself standing there like an idiot, staring and staring and staring, but he can’t stop. Whitaker laughs at something Mel says, grinning brightly, and that’s when Robby finally tears his eyes away and books it to the bathroom.
He slams the door behind him, scrubbing his hands over his face roughly as he tries to conjure up the most unsexy things imaginable; his grandmother’s perfume, the woman’s whose bone was sticking clean out of her leg yesterday, the first time he did a disimpaction as a med student and threw up afterwards.
Anything to get the thought of Whitaker, tempting and energetic, out of his mind.
The image is still burned into his retinas as he falls asleep that night.
Robby must have incurred some good karma somewhere in his lifetime, because the sight of a naked Whitaker climbing on top of him is easily the hottest thing he has ever seen.
He swings one leg over Robby’s hips, straddling him like he’s preparing to ride a horse. The peeks of his pink nipples are wonderfully enticing, and Robby doesn’t even attempt to resist the urge to reach up to twist them beneath his fingers.
Whitaker’s breathing grows heavier. He lifts his hips, eyes trailing down to Robby’s rock-hard dick, before he slowly starts lowering himself onto it.
“Oh.” Robby tosses his head back, eyes slamming shut. Whitaker is perfectly tight around him; a dream. “Good boy.”
Whitaker groans, both at the praise and at the feeling of Robby bottoming out inside of him. He’s still for a long moment, gasping for air as he settles his hands on Robby’s shoulders, shaking.
“You’re so beautiful.” Robby says sincerely, hands migrating around Whitaker’s back to stroke the soft expanse of skin there.
Whitaker smiles softly at him, a brief glimpse of tenderness amidst the building heat. As he pulls himself up gradually, Robby’s hands fly to his hips for support. His nails dig into the skin as Whitaker rises then thrusts back down, and Robby’s eyes roll back into his head in pure, unyielding ecstasy.
“Robby, Robby, oh my God.” Whitaker’s voice is a muffled cry. His hands dig tightly into the flesh over Robby’s pecks as he moves expertly, hips grinding against his. The younger man’s cock bounces between them, and Robby reaches up to stroke it. Whitaker practically screeches. “Robby!”
“You gonna’ come for me, Dennis?” Robby murmurs.
Whitaker nods rapidly. “Yeah, yeah, I am, I am-”
Robby can feel how close he’s getting. His tight hole is clenching and unclenching rapidly around him, scratching at his chest. There are tears in his eyes from the overwhelming sensations. Robby releases the hand on his cock (despite the muffled, unhappy protest from Whitaker) to rub the tears away with his thumb, taking in the beautiful sight, and-
Robby wakes up in his empty bed, no Whitaker riding him like a cowboy in sight.
-
“Dr. Robby?”
The sound of Whitaker’s voice nearly makes him flinch. All he can hear is Robby, Robby, oh God, need you so bad, and it’s the last thing he needs to be thinking about in the middle of the Pitt.
Robby turns to him, voice pinched. “What’s up?”
“I have a twenty-year-old woman with severe swelling in her left knee. She said her pain when there’s pressure on it is about a seven, no pressure is a four. I’m worried it could be a blood clot.” Whitaker passes him the tablet, quiet as Robby looks over it.
“Could also be early-onset arthritis.” Robby says.
“At twenty?” Whitaker asks incredulously, accepting the tablet back.
“Yes. At twenty. Put in the order and pass it off to the nightshift.” Robby’s voice comes out meaner than he intended. Whitaker blinks, startled, before mumbling a moody thanks and disappearing back to South Two.
Robby watches after him, chest feeling tight with guilt.
“What’s up, brother?” Abbot’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. He leans against central, brows raised as he stares at Robby.
“Hm? Nothing.”
“Why’d you just bite Whitaker’s head off?”
“I didn’t-” Robby blows out a long breath. “I’ve been here thirteen hours. I’m just tired.”
Abbot hums. “I thought the kid was your favourite.”
“I don’t have favourites.” Robby says automatically.
“Right.” Abbot’s reply is laced with this infuriating knowledge. He often understands Robby better than anyone, and it’s something that Robby has grown to both hate and appreciate in equal measure. Today, he hates it. “Well, you better fix it. He looks like a kicked puppy.”
Robby doesn’t reply.
His dreams that night bring him Whitaker again, a gift and a curse.
Whitaker’s chin rests on Robby’s knee, staring up at him with those haunting, tired blue eyes. Robby reaches out to stroke the side of his face, both fond and already turned on more than what’s healthy.
Whitaker kisses up his thighs, trailing towards Robby’s dick, which already hangs loosely. His boxers are discarded on the floor next to them.
The first contact to Robby’s dick is a chaste kiss to its tip, and it sends sparks of white-hot pleasure shooting down his spine.
Robby bites his lip to contain a moan as Whitaker kisses up and down the length before coming back to the tip and licking it, eyes meeting Robby’s again, checking to make sure that it’s good. As if he could ever be anything but incredible.
Finally, Whitaker takes him into his mouth. Stars explode behind Robby’s eyes as he takes him all the way down before pulling himself back out and settling into a steady rhythm as he bobs his head up and down.
When Robby speaks, his voice is torn and shaking with lust. “Oh, oh, Dennis-”
When Robby tears his eyes open, he doesn’t allow himself to jerk off, no matter how hard his neglected cock begs for release. He’s too angry with himself. He stuffs his face into his pillow and turns up the TV, trying to drown out the sounds of his own desire.
-
The second Robby steps into the dimly lit bar, he knows this is a bad idea.
The residents have been begging him to come out for a drink for weeks. Apparently, he’s the only attending that they haven’t seen make an appearance here, and they want to see what Robby is like when he’s not giving orders and dealing with crises.
Robby has already made himself a deal that he’ll take for an hour, tops, before booking it out of there.
Javadi, Princess, and Mohan are crowded into a booth together, looking scandalized about whatever they are talking about. Robby catches sight of Santos on the dance floor, looking all too giddy to be talking to Garcia.
He sighs as he slinks over to the bar to grab a drink, already running through his mental checklist of excuses he could use when he’s ready to leave, because he already knows that Princess is going to give him a hard time.
Honestly, finding Whitaker just a few feet away is a complete accident.
Robby blinks at the sight of him. Well, he shouldn’t be surprised. He has told Robby before that Santos is constantly dragging him out, trying to ‘get him out of his shell.’ Whitaker is angled away from him, so he can’t see his face, but he can see him talking to a middle-aged man beside him.
Robby tunes in easily to the conversation, abandoning the task of trying to catch the bartender’s attention to order a beer.
“-right across the street, at the PTMC.” Whitaker says. “I work in the ER.”
“Wow.” The man says, voice low and husky, and something unpleasant churns in Robby’s gut. “You must get a lot of patients who hit on you over there.”
Whitaker’s laugh in response is uncomfortable. Or maybe Robby is just imagining it. “I don’t know about that.”
“Oh, come on. A hot guy like you must have people lining up to talk to you.” The man has the confidence to reach out and stroke Whitaker’s wrist.
Robby is sure that there is smoke blowing out of his ears like a cartoon. An ugly, painful jealousy rears its head within him. Who the hell does this guy think he is? He doesn’t know Whitaker. Not really. Not in the way Robby does. He doesn’t see the concentrated, empathetic, intelligent young man that has come to be the object of all of Robby’s fantasies over the last few weeks.
“Not really.” Now Robby is certain that Whitaker is at least a little put off by the boldness. His hand turns to the dancefloor, probably looking for Santos, and he pulls back slightly. “My roommate is probably looking for me.”
Whitaker starts to walk away, but the man grips his wrist. “You don’t like me?”
“I need to go.” Whitaker says tensely, making a move to pull away again, but the man doesn’t let go.
Robby is moving before he can think of it.
He grabs the man’s hand where it is wrapped around Whitaker’s wrist and pulls it off. The man’s surprise at the new party joining means that he doesn’t put up much resistance, hand going slack. Whitaker’s eyes widen as he takes him in, one arm still hanging in the air.
“Who the fuck are you?” The man asks.
Neither Robby or Whitaker pay him any mind. Whitaker turns away and walks quickly towards the entrance. Robby, despite the screaming protest of his brain attempting to save him some dignity, follows almost immediately, leaving the creep behind.
He’s hot on Whitaker’s tail, following him out of the main doors and into the warm evening air. There are yellow string lights hung up around the bustling patio, illuminating Whitaker like an angel. Robby follows him around the corner of the building.
“Hey,” Robby calls out. “You okay?”
Whitaker turns to him. “Yeah. Thank you.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
They stand there like that, silent. Robby avoids Whitaker’s gaze because, selfishly, all he can think about is the hazy feeling his unconscious mind conjured up of how Whitaker’s mouth would feel around his cock, hollowing out his cheeks to suck.
Robby eventually turns to go back inside, heart hammering in his chest, when Whitaker stops him. “Are you mad at me?”
“What?” Robby turns back around.
“You’ve been…” Whitaker huffs. “You’ve been acting pissed at me for weeks. I don’t know what’s going on but I want- I want to fix it. Especially if I messed up with a patient or something.”
“You didn’t mess anything up, Whitaker.” Robby replies tensely. “This is just… it’s me, okay? It’s not you, it’s me.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Robby scrubs his hands over his face. His voice is petulant, like a child caught with their hand in a candy jar. “It means you’re twenty-seven years old and you’re a resident and I’m… just forget it, okay? I’m sorry I’ve been a dick.”
“What does that- Dr. Robby, don’t walk away-” Whitaker pleads as Robby turns away again. He makes it a couple more steps back towards the entrance before he feels hands pulling on the back of his arms.
“Whitaker-”
Whitaker turns him around again. “Will you please just talk to me?”
His voice is wet and torn, and Robby is the one who did that to him. Robby is the one who made him sad, who ignored him with no explanation, who prioritised trying to curb his own lust over teaching his most promising student.
Robby must be the worst teacher on earth.
It doesn’t stop him from leaning in and closing the distance between him and Whitaker to kiss him.
And somehow, it’s even better than his dreams.
Whitaker freezes against him for a moment, startled, but then he’s gripping either side of Robby’s head and kissing him back. He rises on his tiptoes to press his chest more fully against Robby’s, moaning into his mouth.
When Robby pulls back, Whitaker’s lips are kiss-bruised and rubbed raw from the scratch of Robby’s beard, wet with spit.
“Dr. Robby.” Whitaker whispers, so close that their noses brush together.
“Whitaker, I- we shouldn’t- I’m sorry, I-” Robby stutters uselessly, hands gripping the younger man by the waist.
“Are you gonna’ take me home, Dr. Robby?” Whitaker interrupts him, eyes half-lidded and heavy with lust.
And really, what else is Robby going to do?
Ten minutes later, as they step through the threshold of Robby’s apartment together, Robby feels almost hysterical with the thought that Whitaker is finally standing in the place that Robby has imagined him in for all these weeks.
Whitaker walks a couple paces into the apartment before turning to face Robby, visibly nervous. He folds his hands in front of him as he watches Robby, eyes trailing from head to toe and, endearingly, getting stuck on Robby’s crotch.
“This is a bad idea.” Robby says, because it’s the only thing he can think of.
Whitaker takes a step closer. “Because I’m your student?”
“Yes.”
Another step. “Because you’re twenty-eight years older than me?”
“Yes.”
Another step. “Why else?”
Robby stays silent. Half of Whitaker’s face is illuminated by the light of the lamp Robby keeps in the corner. His lips part in anticipation.
“Because if I fuck you, I’ll fall in love with you.” Robby says.
Whitaker kisses him with a sort of animalistic desperation. Robby backs them up into the nearest wall, pressing his crotch against Whitaker’s as he cups his neck and kisses him back deeply.
Robby pulls away from his lips to leave a trail of kisses down his jaw and neck, pausing just above his collarbone to suck a mark into the pale skin there.
Whitaker pulls off his own t-shirt, exposing the beautiful torso that Robby has been fixated on. It’s just as perfect as he imagined; decent abs, pointed nipples, a sharp v trailing beneath his jeans. He’s absolutely gorgeous; a perfectly crafted sculpture that belongs in a museum.
“You’re beautiful.” Robby says, just like he did in the dream where Whitaker rode him until he was dizzy with desire.
Pink washes through Whitaker’s cheeks– something that Robby delights in as he guides him into his bedroom, kissing him the entire way. His lips, his cheek, his neck, his jaw, his shoulder; it’s all so good.
Whitaker climbs onto the bed as he strips himself quickly of his jeans, leaning back on his elbows to watch Robby.
Robby makes quick work of tossing off his own clothes, body blazing with fire as he takes in the sight of Whitaker, completely naked and watching him with a heavy lust in his eyes, like he can’t quite believe what he is seeing.
Robby is gentle as he climbs on top of him, careful to not put too much pressure on him. The thought of hurting Whitaker in any way makes him feel ill. No, he’s going to make this good. If he’s going to be selfish enough to indulge in the forbidden fruit, he’s going to make sure that Whitaker knows how much he’s valued, how much he has driven Robby crazy from the moment he walked into the Pitt.
He finds his hands trailing down Whitaker’s soft thighs, ghosting over his dick.
“Can I?” Robby asks.
Whitaker nods, appearing almost hypnotised by Robby. Robby reaches over into the nightstand, quickly pulling open the drawer and grabbing a bottle of lube that has grown dusty after months of not being used, and a condom.
When he starts to open Whitaker up, the younger man throws his head back and moans loudly. Robby wants to keep hearing it forever. Whitaker slides his hands under the pillow as Robby thrusts a finger in and out of him, adding a second finger in soon enough. He scissors them apart, changing the angle to be less painful when he notices the slight grimace on Whitaker’s face.
Finally, he knows that he has hit something inside of him, because Whitaker practically screeches.
“Oh, right there, right there, oh my God.” Whitaker exclaims. “Oh, oh, Robby.”
“Yeah, you like that, baby?” The dirty talk that slips out of him doesn’t surprise Robby. He had been literally dreaming of all the things he would get to say to Whitaker once he was finally beneath him, pliant and willing.
He stretches Whitaker out for a while longer, adding a third finger. Whitaker hisses at the sting and Robby leans down to kiss his navel, which seems to soothe him.
“Is this okay?” Robby asks as he quickly tears open the condom and rolls it on. He positions himself above Whitaker, eyes trained on his face as he waits for a response, cock pulsing where it prods against Whitaker’s hole.
“Yeah.” Whitaker breathes. His hips move slightly against Robby’s. “I’m excited.”
A genuine laugh is startled out of Robby. His head falls forward into Whitaker’s chest, who is also giggling.
Whitaker moans as Robby pushes into him. He tucks his face into the crook of Robby’s neck, nails digging into the rough skin of his shoulders. “Oh, Robby.”
Robby moves in and out of him, and the tight heat engulfing his cock is absolutely delicious. Whitaker’s legs wrap around Robby’s waist, flexible and perfect, as he presses frantic, needy kisses against Robby’s chest.
“So tight. So fucking good. You’re so fucking good.” Robby babbles. Arousal tightens in his chest when he notices Whitaker growing hard against him, cock brushing his stomach.
“Robby.” Whitaker cries. Robby reaches down to pin Whitaker’s wrists to either side of him, euphoria building up inside of him. The new position seems to interest Whitaker. “Oh my God!”
Robby’s entire body blazes with the heat of his pleasure. It pools in his gut, making his hips snap faster and faster as he chases his release. Whitaker is a mess beneath him, crying and groaning with each thrust. Robby longs to know what he will look like when he orgasms, what his face morphs into as he stands at the peak of pleasure.
“You gonna’ come for me, Dennis?” Robby asks. Whitaker nods, eyes slammed shut. Robby reaches down to stroke Whitaker’s cock, hoping that the double sensation of the dick plunging in and out of him and the large fingers sweeping up and down his sensitive cock will drive him over the edge. “Yeah? You gonna’ come for your chief attending?”
“I’m gonna-” Whitaker starts, only to cut himself off as he suddenly goes rigid. White cum spurts between them, covering both of them as Whitaker screams. His hole squeezes tightly around Robby, and the sensation is what drives it home.
One, two, three more thrusts and Robby is falling into a pit of ecstasy. Everything comes to a screeching halt as he fills Whitaker up, listening to the overwhelmed, euphoric sounds being made directly next to his ear.
Robby pulls out of him before his bones can give up attempting to hold himself up, trying not to crush Whitaker. He rolls over beside him, chest heaving with the force of each breath.
Whitaker turns to him after a while, leaning forward to kiss him. Robby kisses him back, thumb sweeping across the back of his neck.
Whitaker pulls away but stays close, lips brushing Robby’s as he speaks, cupping around his neck with shaking hands. “Fall in love with me.”
Robby blinks. “What?”
“You said if you fucked me, you’d fall in love with me.” Whitaker whispers. “So, fall in love with me.”
If it was anyone else, Robby would pull away. He would deflect, he would make it clear that he was not the type of person that any self-respecting person would want to be with. He would stuff the thunderstorm of feelings within him way down until they died.
But this time, he doesn’t want to. Having Whitaker in front of him, bare and completely real, all he can feel is steady adoration. The fear gets pushed into the background, drowning beneath the current of long-repressed love.
“I think I already have.” Robby replies.
Whitaker smiles.