Chapter Text
He tries to avoid Trinity as much as possible when sneaking back in, very briefly explaining where he’s going without making eye contact before rushing off to his room. He can still hear her laughing at him of course, and he decides Robby was very right in his decision to wait outside. He grabs a bag and shoves a few things in, pausing and debating if he can get away with saying he forgot pajamas and hoping to borrow something from Robby instead. Probably not.
He rushes out the door before Trin can corner him, and only hesitates briefly before deciding that the man waiting by his car out front must be Robby. And as soon as he sees him he’s coming forward, taking his bag and helping him into the car, so unless this is the nicest kidnapper in Pittsburgh he was right.
It’s not until he gets in the car that he starts to get nervous, again. He’s still not sure exactly what this is, what this means, and he won’t be able to just run away if he fucks it up again. Which he probably will. Robby still hasn’t said anything about before, maybe he was just waiting for them to be alone properly, where he can’t escape. He closes his eyes, squeezing his backpack close to his chest. This was a mistake, he should tell Robby he changed his mind, he can come up with some excuse, right? Or make himself throw up or something.
Robby reaches over, hand resting on his shoulder. “You need me to slow down or anything?”
“Huh?” He looks over, the question confusing enough to pull him out of his spiral.
“Carsick?” Robby asks, nodding at how tight he’s holding his bag.
“Oh.” He tries to relax. “No, I’m okay.”
And he is, right? It’s fine. It’s just Robby, he’s the one who asked him to come over because he wanted to keep an eye on him. And so he can sleep better. That’s why. That’s all.
Why is his heart still racing so much?
Robby glances over at him, then back at the road, then back at him again. “We’re almost there.”
“Okay,” he nods. Still trying to slow his heartbeat.
He hates the way Robby has to keep treating him like he’s fragile, like he’s going to break over anything, and the worst part is that he is. He decides this is the worst part of all this actually, that he’s not in control, can’t keep his own emotions in check. (He keeps changing his mind about what the worst part is, but for now, this is what’s bothering him the most, more than the headaches and sleeplessness.)
It’s never been something he’s had a problem with before. Nerves, stress, sure. But never like this, where he can’t make it stop. And he’s never had much of a temper either, learned to take out his frustration in complaints muttered under his breath.
He tries to tell himself it’s temporary. Just a side effect of the concussion. He’ll get better.
He’s not very convincing.
Robby comes around to help him out of the car, not letting him take a step on his own. He’s pretty sure if he was 20 years younger and his back was better he’d be carrying him, and he almost teases him for it.
He’s deposited on the couch this time, instead of directly into bed. Maybe Robby thinks he might actually still be capable of conversation. Optimistic of him.
“Still freaking out?” Robby asks, handing him a cup of water.
He shakes his head, then pauses to consider. He can still feel his heart beating too strong, his breathing too quick. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Maybe.”
Robby sits down next to him, his arm stretching out over the back of the couch. “What, do I—” he cuts himself off abruptly, turning away and grabbing the remote instead. “Just let me know if there’s anything that would help. You wanna watch something?”
“Sure,” he nods. He closes his eyes, letting Robby put on whatever he wants. At this point he’s kind of getting used to listening to TV rather than watching it. He’s planning on falling asleep anyway, so it doesn’t really matter if he can’t stare at a screen for more than a few minutes without his head hurting.
“Oh here, how about When Harry Met Sally?” Robby suggests after a few minutes of scrolling through.
“What’s it about?” he asks, opening his eyes to peek at the screen.
“You haven’t seen it?” Robby sounds shocked, and he really should’ve guessed he’d be that type, insisting he needs to watch all these classic movies from before he was born, telling him how much he’s missing out.
He shrugs. “When did it come out?”
“...Ah.” Robby falls silent for a minute, then clears his throat. “Right, well. It’s a classic, you should see it. Or, listen to it, I suppose,” he adds, glancing over to where he’s tucked away against the back of the couch, not even pretending to look at the TV.
“Sure.” He nods.
Robby leans back, stretches his arm out over the couch again. Maybe he seems to settle a few inches closer than before.
He’s still not sure what he’s allowed here, how much he can take before Robby snaps and reminds him of their roles. But he’s always been pretty physical with him, never seems to have much of a concept of personal space, so he thinks he might be able to get away with it.
He scoots closer, closing the distance, leaning into Robby. He gets a sharp breath as a response, but nothing else. He doesn’t comment on it, doesn’t push him away, doesn’t move his arm down either.
Good enough.
He tries not to think about if Robby is just going to go along with anything he asks for, out of guilt over him getting hurt. Or worse, because Robby thinks— he doesn’t need this, doesn’t need to be taken care of and treated like a child, but he’s tired, and he wants it. He’s too tired to get defensive again.
At least, he tries not to, pushing it down and ignoring it. So what if Robby thinks he’s pathetic, he already does. This won’t change anything. If he’s worse tomorrow— right now, he doesn’t care, he might as well give up and play the role Robby wants to put him in, whatever that is.
Robby is warm next to him, his breathing steady.
He doesn’t even try to pay attention to the movie.
Robby shifts around, standing up, and he blinks his eyes open, leaning back to sit upright.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”
He shakes his head. “No, I wasn’t asleep, ‘s fine. Where—” he stops himself from asking where he’s going, complaining that he was comfortable.
“Well, movie’s over, figured I should get you in an actual bed instead.”
He blinks, looking up at Robby in disbelief. Robby just raises his eyebrows at him, clearly trying not to laugh, and there’s a spot on his shirt that he really hopes isn't from drooling in his sleep.
“C’mon,” Robby holds out a hand to help him up.
He follows blindly, still half asleep and still not sure he actually fell asleep— it’s been taking him hours of tossing and turning to get any rest when he’s actually trying to, how can he just keep dozing off against Robby by accident?
And if he did sleep, it wasn’t long enough for him to feel any more rested.
Robby doesn’t ask permission this time before pulling his shirt off and changing him into something softer, not giving him a chance to argue and posture about doing it himself. It’s not until the shirt’s already over his head that he realizes he left his bag out in the living room and this is definitely one of Robby’s.
He’s too tired to read into that right now, he’ll do it later.
He lies down and closes his eyes as soon as Robby lets him, falling back asleep the minute he turns the lights off.
Or at least, he tries.
And he’s so tired, he was just asleep, and it’s not working. He shouldn’t be mad at Robby for waking him up but fuck, he wishes he hadn’t, actually sleeping through the night or even just for a few hours longer would’ve been so good.
He’ll get there again, he just has to stop thinking and calm down and find a comfortable position and warm up, why is it so cold in here?
Maybe he does sleep some more. At one point he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand and it’s already 2 AM, so he must’ve gotten some in, right?
He briefly toys with the idea of getting up to find Robby, but it’s not like that would do any good, and as forgiving as he’s been he probably wouldn’t be too happy with being woken up just so Whitaker can complain to him.
He also considers jerking off in Robby’s bed, again, but it’s kinda lost its novelty now, not exciting enough to make it worth the effort. It does still smell nice though, and he tries to focus on that. Staying calm, just breathing, trying not to think too hard. That seems to help, at least a little.
He still wakes again a few more times, turning over and chasing more sleep. He can’t tell if anything woke him up, it’s fairly quiet, but his brain just won’t let him stay asleep it seems.
Finally, this time when he opens his eyes it's starting to get light outside, so Robby must be waking up for work soon anyway.
And this time, he’s pretty sure he knows what woke him up. He’s got his face buried in one of Robby’s pillows and the other has somehow ended up between his legs. He can’t quite remember what he was dreaming about, but he can guess.
He hesitates for a minute, peeking his head up to look at the door. It’s shut, and there's no sounds of Robby moving around out there, he must still be asleep.
Even so, he really shouldn’t. Especially not with Robby’s pillow, if next time he sleeps on it he can smell— which yes, thinking about that definitely does make his hips press forward a little harder, but it’s not a good idea.
He lets himself think about it for a minute longer before pushing the pillow away and rolling over. Maybe he doesn’t need to bother trying to go back to sleep at this point, but he should wait patiently until Robby wakes up. And not jerk off in his bed. Again.
It feels much longer than it should be, he might end up dozing off a little again, but wakes easily when he hears footsteps. He takes that as a sign to get out of bed, sitting up slowly, making sure he’s awake enough to be steady before taking the few steps from the bed to the door.
He makes his way towards the kitchen, but hovers in the doorframe, just for a minute. Just watching.
It’s still… not startling anymore, but disorienting, seeing a person he knows is Robby and still not feeling like he recognizes him.
He’s got his reading glasses on, and a change of clothes, and he looks like a completely different person than the Robby he was with last night.
If he looks closer though, maybe… The pieces still don’t quite connect, but that’s Robby’s nose. He knows that one. Robby’s eyes, with his wrinkles. His beard, his mouth. They just don’t add up to Robby’s face, anymore.
Not quite Robby sees him finally, and smiles at him first, then notices his hovering and frowns slightly.
He’s not sure how to say it’s okay, I know who you are, you don’t have to tell me this time. He settles for just, “Good morning.”
“Morning.” Robby nods at him over his coffee cup, only a slight hesitation to his actions. “Sleep any better?”
“Yeah,” he lies.
That was the whole reason he got to come over to Robby’s, after all. If it doesn’t actually help then he’s got no excuse. He sits down, fidgeting with the hem of his borrowed shirt.
He sighs and shakes his head. “Actually no, not really.”
Robby frowns, looking at him like he’s evaluating him again. “I can give you something to help, if you want.”
He still wants to deny it, to say he doesn’t need anything. It’ll go away on its own. He closes his eyes again, rests his head on his hands. “Yeah, okay. I guess.”
Robby pushes a plate towards him and he picks at the food half-heartedly.
“You working today?” he asks, looking over at Robby.
“Nah, Jack’s covering.”
He frowns.
“You don’t need to keep doing that.” He leans back in the chair, crossing his arms. “You could’ve just driven me back to my place, I’m fine on my own.”
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
Robby sighs, setting down his newspaper. “You’re in a mood again, huh? You want to try to get more sleep? Might be less cranky.”
“I’m not being cranky.” He’s ignoring the fact that he really does want more sleep in favor of finding out why Robby keeps pulling this shit. “You keep— You never take days off. I’ve heard Dana bugging you about using your PTO.”
“Well, now I'm using it.” Robby shrugs.
“Yeah, but not—” he huffs, waving his hands, trying to get his point across. “You could be taking an actual vacation or something, you don’t have to waste it on me.”
“It’s not a waste.”
“It is, I don’t need you to take care of me,” he insists.
“Maybe I just like spending time with you,” Robby says, shrugging.
He rolls his eyes. “Sure, and you just happened to decide you want to hang out with me all the time after I got a concussion. Coincidentally.”
“No,” Robby says, but he’s still laughing as he shakes his head. “Look, I get you don’t want me to take care of you, but you’ve got to be bored on your own, right? At least let me help with that.”
He’s not sure how to argue against that, but he still kind of wants to.
“I don’t want—”
“What, you don’t want me around?”
“I didn’t say that,” he winces.
“What else could you mean?” Robby asks, throwing his hands up. “Everything I do seems to set you off, I swear I’m just trying to help here.”
“Its— I don’t—” he fumbles, not knowing how to respond.
Robby sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “No, look, I know it’s not your fault, just irritability and mood swings, your nervous system’s probably still—”
He cuts him off before he can keep going, “That’s what I don’t want. I don’t want you to keep treating me like I’m—”
“What, my patient?” Robby interrupts him. “I’m a doctor. What do you want me to do, pretend I don’t know about TBI symptoms?”
He shakes his head and tries to explain, “It’s not the doctor part, it’s the treating me like I'm your patient part.”
“You are my patient,” he reminds him.
“I’m not!” he insists. “I don't have to be. You don’t have to be the one doing all this shit.”
“Jesus, Whitaker, is it that hard to believe I care about you?”
“I told you, I don’t need your pity.” He tries to stand up and storm off, but he only makes it a step before Robby is standing up and following him, not grabbing him, but just hovering. Within reaching distance if he starts falling. He puts a hand on the counter instead.
“It’s not pity, Whitaker, it’s—” he cuts himself off. “You’re my responsibility.”
“Am not.”
“Are too. You got injured under my supervision, it’s my responsibility to take care of you.”
He’s getting real sick of this whole supervision and responsibility and professionalism bullshit.
“Yeah? Was it your responsibility to shower with me? Where's that in the chief attending job description?”
He really should learn to shut the fuck up.
Robby doesn’t know how to respond to that either, it seems.
He opens his mouth to take it back, say something else, but Robby cuts him off.
“You’re right.” Robby admits, taking a step back and it should feel gratifying to finally hear that, but somehow it just makes it worse. “That was inappropriate, and I'm sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“No, wait, that’s not what I want,” he tries to explain, then his cheeks heat up as he realizes what he’s saying. “I mean—”
“Then what do you want?” Robby steps closer again, putting a hand on the counter next to Whitaker’s. “You know, you’re kinda giving me a lot of mixed signals here.”
“I—” He turns his head away, looking down. He distantly realizes Robby might have a bit of a point, since he’s having this argument while wearing Robby’s shirt and no pants.
Robby sighs. “Just tell me what you want from me and I’ll do it. Whatever you ask for— you want me to fuck off and leave you alone, I will.”
“I don’t want you to fuck off, I want you to fuck me,” he mutters, frustrated.
It takes him a second to realize he said that out loud. He freezes, staring at the ground.
“Yeah?” Robby asks, taking a step closer. “I can do that.”
He opens his mouth to defend himself, half expecting that to be a joke of some kind, but Robby doesn’t give him a chance to respond, pulling his face up and pressing their lips together.
Robby pushes him back against the counter till he’s half sitting on it, his legs parting to make way. Robby’s hand cups his jaw, tilting his head to the side so he can kiss him deeper, licking over his lips and pressing his tongue inside.
“Fuck,” he pulls back panting, “it’s that easy?”
Robby laughs at him. “It can be. Just tell me what you want,” he promises.
“You couldn’t tell?” he complains, tucking his leg behind Robby’s, pressing his thigh closer and grinding into it. “I kissed you.”
“Yeah, and then you ran away, and acted like it never happened.” Robby points out. “Not exactly using your words,” he chides, but he leans in to kiss him anyway.
“Well— only cause—” he cuts off, trying to argue back but too distracted by Robby's mouth on his neck.
“Impulsivity?” Robby guesses.
He scowls. “Don’t talk about my symptoms right now.” He pulls him closer by the waistband, slipping his fingers under.
“See, this is what I mean by mixed signals,” Robby snorts. “You’re glaring at me and still reaching for my dick.”
“Yeah, well…” He doesn’t have an excuse for that one. He goes for deflection instead. “What about you? You’re the one who sent me a vibrator.”
“I—” Robby opens his mouth to argue back, then pauses and frowns. “What? I most certainly did not.”
“You did,” he insists, but then frowns, doubting himself. It had to have been him, right? No one else was sending him stuff. “The… personal massager.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Robby laughs, shaking his head. “That’s for your neck, it can help with tension and headaches.”
“No, I know what massagers are for,” he huffs. “It's not though. The one you bought.”
“It is.”
“Is not.” he glares. "I know what a fucking vibrator looks like, Robby.”
Robby rolls his eyes. “Just because you’re a horny little brat doesn’t make everything a vibrator.”
“What— I am not!” he protests, his cheeks flushing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Robby raises his eyebrows. “Really?”
“What?”
“You jerked off the first chance you could when you got out of the hospital.” Robby’s hand slides down, over his stomach, pressing just above his boxers. “In my bed.”
Fuck. “You knew?” Oh god, how loud was he? Did he hear? Or notice something after? Why didn’t he say anything sooner?
“Thought I heard something, came over to check on you,” Robby tells him. “Got a pretty good view.”
That’s even worse, he saw— and if he was in the room, he probably heard him saying his name. “That wasn’t… it wasn’t like that, wasn’t like I was just waiting to—” he tries to explain, but he’s having even more trouble finding the right words, his head getting fuzzier. He just whines instead, leaning his head into Robby’s chest, putting his hand on top of his and pushing it down, trying to get it lower.
“No? Wasn’t because you’re horny all the time and got pent up when you didn’t have any privacy?” Robby mocks, but his fingers slip under his waistband, finally reaching down and rubbing over his clit.
“Nnno,” he pants, rolling his hips up into the pressure. “Was ‘cause it was yours, wanted you.”
Robby groans, his other hand pulling up on his leg, tilting his hips up towards him and sinking a finger into him. “Yeah, heard you moaning for me.”
He gasps, humping against Robby’s hand, pressing his finger deeper inside, his other hand clinging to Robby to try to stay upright. “Then why didn’t— ah,” he whines, “why didn’t you come fuck me?”
“That’s…” Robby’s hand stills, and he sighs. “Look, can we talk about this later? You’re the one who said you don’t wanna talk about your symptoms right now.”
“My symptoms,” he echoes, and his stomach twists in a way that is distinctly different from arousal.
Robby groans, pulling his hand away. “I’m just… trying to keep it simple, okay? Just tell me what you want, and I'll do it.”
He swallows, trying to push down everything he wants to say in response to that. “Right. Simple,” he mumbles. Just don’t think about everything else. Don’t try to understand what's going on because he won’t explain it, because he doesn’t think Whitaker is capable of understanding it.
And maybe Robby is right about him being an idiot because if he had any common sense he’d tell him to fuck off, but he doesn’t.
“I want— can we— uh, bed?” he fumbles, pointing vaguely in the direction of the bedroom.
“Yep,” Robby nods, pulling back, keeping his arm wrapped around his waist and leading him back to the bedroom.
He lies down on the bed and reaches for Robby, pulling him down on top of him.
“This what you want?” Robby asks,
“Yeah, want you to fuck me,” he repeats, more confident this time. And after a second of consideration, “and I want you to make me cum so hard I fall asleep after.”
Robby laughs. “I can do that,” he promises, and leans down to kiss him again.
“But—” he hesitates, trying to find the words. “Also I can— we can do what you want, too,” he adds, unsure. For a moment he’s worried Robby’s just going to turn him down, deflect with some joke, insist it’s only about him.
Robby hums. “Well, that already sounds like a pretty damn good plan to me.” He pulls back slightly, looking down at Whitaker from above. “But, if we’re doing what I want…”
His eyes track lower, and he shifts back, pulling Whitaker up by the waist until he’s nearly upside down. He presses his lips to the inside of his thigh, looking him over before leaning forward and licking a long line up over his underwear, pressing his tongue flat over his cock.
“Fuck, please, Robby,” he moans, bucking up into his mouth.
He tries to keep watching him. The look in Robby’s eyes… it’s intense, staring straight at him. That’s all he can tell. He knows he wouldn’t be angry right now, but he’s not sure what he is feeling, what that look is supposed to mean.
He closes his eyes, covers his face with one arm and reaches for Robby’s hair with the other, tugging him closer.
“Robby,” he whines again.
“Hm?” Robby asks, barely pausing his motions, mouthing over his cunt. “Use your words, baby.”
“Want these off,” he reaches his hands down to push at his underwear.
“And I want your fingers, ah, and—” he tugs on Robby's hair again, pulling him lower. “Suck— Yeah, there, fuck.”
His legs start shaking almost embarrassingly quick, panting and caught between pushing up into Robby’s mouth and down onto his hand. His fingers curl inside him and he nearly yells with how strong the orgasm hits him, his whole body trembling.
He falls back on the bed, panting, eyes shut. “Fuck.”
“You want that nap now?” Robby smirks. “Or can you keep going?”
“I can keep going,” he insists. “Fuck me.”
He hears Robby fumbling around with something in the bedside drawer, and he opens his eyes again to watch as Robby pulls his cock out of his sweatpants.
He’s definitely staring as Robby strokes himself a few times before rolling on a condom. His lips twitch and he bites down slightly to hold back from grinning as he realizes that it might be easier for him to recognize Robby by his cock than his face.
“Ready?”
He nods, settling back down and spreading his legs.
“Yeah?” Robby asks, lining himself up between his thighs. “Gonna just lie back and let me take care of you?”
Robby bends down to kiss him again before he can respond, and then all words leave him anyway as he pushes in slowly.
“There you go,” Robby murmurs. “So good for me.”
He’s moving almost infuriatingly slowly, pushing in inch by inch.
“Robby,” he whines. “C’mon, faster? I can take it.”
He seems to hesitate for a moment, pulling back slightly, before acquiescing with a prompt roll of his hips.
“Yeah, like that,” he pants.
“Yeah? Just tell me if it’s too much, okay?”
“Uh-huh,” he agrees, mind melting from pleasure too much to argue. “I can take it, please, harder—”
Robby still moves gently at first, shallow thrusts, but starts speeding up quickly, pounding into him. He pulls one of his legs up, moving him to just where he wants him, getting the right angle and pushing in deep.
He reaches up and pulls Robby down to him again, wrapping his arms around the back of his neck, not so much kissing as panting next to his neck, but just needing him close. Robby might be saying something, but if he is he can’t make it out, too caught up in the feeling.
He shoves a hand down between them, rubbing over his cock. “Gonna—” is all he manages to get out before he’s cumming, again, squeezing tight around Robby’s cock.
“Fuck,” Robby groans. “Yeah, that’s it baby, come for me.”
It’s hard to tell with how hard his ears are ringing, but he thinks he feels Robby going even harder, twitching inside him and groaning. He just keeps holding on, wrapped tight around Robby, letting him take control.
After what might be a few minutes or hours, Robby pulls out, grabbing something to wipe him off.
“Think you can sleep better now?” Robby asks, running a hand over his hair.
“Mhm,” he nods, already halfway there. “Stay?”
“Of course.”
He feels Robby climbing back into bed behind him, pulling the blanket up and over him, and he might still be saying something but he’s asleep before he can hear it.