Work Text:
Jack Abbott had taken a look at him earlier and said, “Brother,” His voice gentle with almost concern, “When the hell did we last get you laid?”
So now Robby was here, at a bar -a gay bar- trolling for a hookup. Jesus, that sounded sleazy. He wasn’t trolling; he wasn’t like some lecherous older guy on the prowl for anything. He was just here, at a gay bar, and if someone liked him, then yes, maybe he would consider the possibility of a one-night stand.
Although the chances of anyone actually liking him were next to none. Robby was easily twice the age of everyone around him, apart from maybe a few drag queens in the corner.
And Jack Abbott, of course, who was probably the straightest man Robby knew, but looked perfectly at ease, despite all the men clearly eyeing him. Jack was eyeing them all right back, looking on Robby’s behalf.
“What about him?” Jack said, nodding in the direction of the bar, “Blue shirt, he’s glanced this way a few times.”
Robby spotted the man Abbott was talking about. A dark-haired man stood at the bar. When he saw Robby looking, he gave him a little wave.
Robby swallowed.
“No.” He shook his head, turning back to Jack, “Not him.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with him?”
Nothing, not really. He was a perfectly decent-looking bloke, tall, broad-shouldered, with a thick crop of black hair inching around his ears.
“Dunno,” Robby shrugged, “Nothing really, just not for me.”
“Fine, fine.” Jack took a sip of his cocktail. He’d gone all in on tonight and ordered the house special, which was a tall pink glass with at least a dozen umbrellas and a purple silly straw.
Somehow, Jack managed to pull it off, Robby looked absurd with his.
Still, tasted like bubblegum and Robby could barely taste the alcohol, although he could feel it burning on his tongue.
Jack surveyed the crowd, “Alright, mister-funny-glasses over there. He’s short, you like them short.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Robby didn’t even bother looking this time. “I am not remotely drunk enough to consider hitting on anyone right now.”
Jack grinned at him and raised his glass, “By all means, brother, bottom’s up.”
*
Fuuuuuck, his head was spinning. He could see at least three Jack’s, and he wasn’t sure which one was laughing at him.
“Alright, alright,” Jack held up his hands, although he could barely keep them upright, almost as drunk as Robby. “Back to the matter at hand.”
Robby squinted at him, “Whose hand?”
Jack snorted, “Not yours is the hope.” He nodded towards the dancefloor, and Robby realised that, right, he had a plan tonight. “Right, okay, what about that one?”
“Which one?” Robby said. He couldn’t really make out any individuals. The speakers were blaring something too loud, too new for Robby to recognise, but everyone else in the bar had, and had flown to the dancefloor when it had started playing.
It moved like a living being, one coordinated mass of movement that vibrated the linoleum all the way over to the booths where Robby was sitting.
Jack took a swig of his drink, looking away from Robby, “I dunno, little mullet over there, he looks like your type.”
Robby rolled his eyes, grinning, “What’s my type?”
“Whita-”
Robby looked up sharply. “That’s enough. You know we don’t talk about that.”
Jack laughed, leaning across the table, “Robby, c’mon, would it be the worst thing in the world?”
“Yes,” Robby said emphatically, “Yes, it absolutely would. Christ, can you imagine? You know what I’m like, Jack. I’d give it, what, maybe a fortnight before I fuck it up. And then what, we lose Whitaker from the Pitt? The Pitt needs him.”
“You have so little faith in yourself, brother.” Jack shook his head, “You never know, maybe Whitaker could be it.”
“‘It’” Robby resisted the urge to scoff, “I’m far too old for ‘it’ to happen for God’s sake.”
“Right,” Jack said, hands up like a peacemaker, “Forget it. Back to mullet, what about him?”
Robby was quite tempted to just go home, but Jack was right; it had been far too long since he’d been with someone else, and there was an itch under his skin that he couldn’t scratch alone.
“Alright,” Robby muttered, turning to look, “Which one is he?”
Christ. Robby knew immediately who Jack was talking about.
It was as if the strobe lights had been designed around this particular man, cast him in the same hue as a stained glass window. He was shorter - Jack was right, Robby did like that- wearing a white tank top that was almost soaked through with sweat. He was dancing with a woman, but based on the tightness of his jeans, Robby didn’t think he was with her.
All Robby could see was the back of his head, but he had a clump of curls at the back of his neck that Robby was dying to know what felt like in his fist.
“Ah,” Jack sat back in the booth, a pleased grin spreading across his handsome face, “So you like him?”
“Shuddup,” Robby said, taking another swig of his drink. “I’m far too old for him,”
“It’s an over twenty-fives bar, you’re in the clear. Besides, getting with an old guy is apparently the whole thing nowadays.” Jack kicked him under the table, “Go man, put the moves on him.”
“Moves.” Robby couldn’t help his laughter, “Jesus, it’s been years since I’ve had any moves.”
“You used to be an icon, man.” Jack mock-mourned, “You used to be a damned pick-up artist. You coulda’ got any man in this room to go home with you, one bat of those pretty brown eyes-”
“Pretty?” Robby raised an eyebrow, “You sure you’re not angling to come home with me?”
Jack barked a laugh, “Oh dude, you know if I liked men, I’d be all over you.” Jack raised his glass, clinked it against his, “Unfortunately for you, I’m not. But little mullet over there is, so finish that, and go remember what it was like to be a stud.”
Robby flipped him off, but he finished his drink and stood up anyway.
Moves. He thought, clenching his fists and heading across the room like he was going to his death. What fucking moves? He’d been good at this once, Jack was right, but it had been a long time since Robby had picked someone up in a bar.
Still, somewhere in him, that man still existed. The one that was good at this sort of thing, the one who could pull a stranger close and whisper something enticing and filthy. It had just been easier then, Robby had been decent looking when he was younger, but now he was nothing but lines. Who the fuck would want him?
Fuck, he was already regretting this.
It was too late; he’d already made it to the dancefloor.
The man was even more dazzling up close, writhing to the music in a way that should’ve seemed silly but was actually beyond intoxicating.
Robby couldn’t help but touch; he knew he shouldn’t, but his hands were already reaching, sliding down the curve of the other man’s spine, “Hello-”
Robby paused, recognising the girl.
He frowned, “Santos?”
She frowned right back at him, “Doctor Robby?”
The man- who Robby was still touching- spun in his arms, “Doctor Robby?”
Fucking. Whitaker.
Robby gawped at both of them.
He knew he looked silly, mouth open and eyes blinking rapidly. He realised he was still touching Whitaker, and yanked his hand back, cradling it to his chest.
“Doctor Robby?” Whitaker probed again, and fuck. It definitely was him. Whitaker was in a thin shirt that showed on his lovely arms, his hair only getting curlier with sweat, his big blue eyes staring at Robby like he was an alien from the moon.
Robby made a noise, he was sure he did, something guttural and panicked, before he spun on his boots and made a swift and hasty retreat.
The bathrooms were close enough to Robby to stalk into. He stared at himself in the mirror, wondering when the hell his life had turned into some type of horror-slash-comedy.
“Doctor Robby?”
And oh lord, it’s the man himself, coming through the bathroom door looking meek and apologetic as if Robby hadn’t crossed about a dozen professional lines. Gloria was definitely going to be sending him to sexual harassment training when she caught wind.
Robby forced himself to take a breath. It was an accident. He reminded himself. He would’ve never tried anything if he’d known it was his student.
“Whitaker-” Robby said, turning to the other man.
Whitaker gave him a funny little, embarrassed grin, “Did you just try and pick me up?”
Robby groaned aloud, turning away and gripping his hair, “I am so fuckin’ sorry,” He breathed, “If you need to report me-”
“Report you?” Whitaker laughed, a beautiful breathy sound that sizzled through Robby’s veins, “Now why the hell would I do that?”
“Because I’m your boss?” Robby said, gesturing frantically, “And I’ve just groped you in a damned bar?”
“Yeah, I mean, you did.” Whitaker siddled closer; there was an almost predatory look in his eye, “But I didn’t mind.”
Robby blinked, “Whitaker,” he breathed like a warning.
Whitaker advanced slowly. He gave Robby the chance to back away, and when he did, he followed him regardless, until Robby was pinned between the bathroom counter and the other man.
“You wanted me,” Whitaker said. He flickered a glance up through his eyelashes, and Robby swallowed audibly. “Do you still?”
Robby blinked, “Fuck.” He was trying to be more articulate, but there wasn’t a word in his head that wasn’t some form of curse or a variation of the word ‘please’.
All he could concentrate on was the blue of Whitaker’s eyes, the slow, creeping smile on his face that was more wicked than he thought the other man was capable of.
“That’s not really an answer.” Whitaker said, placing his hands on Robby’s waist, sliding a thumb over his rib cage, he raised an eyebrow, “A damned good suggestion though.”
And Jesus, wasn’t it? Any which way, Robby imagined it was a pleasant image. Whitaker writhing on his lap, or hiking Robby’s legs around his trim waist and fucking him long and slow. Robby didn’t care, as long as Whitaker kept looking at him like that.
Fuck what was he thinking? He couldn’t. Student. Gloria. Sexual Harassment Training.
Robby couldn’t think clearly; he’d drunk too much, and nothing really seemed as important as the feeling of Dennis’s nose skimming the length of his neck.
Robby’s hands were pressed against Whitaker’s chest, palms flat and fingers splayed out, ready to push him away, and fuck, he really should push Whitaker away.
But the chest under his hands was so firm, as were the fingers gently kneading at his hips. Whitaker was still looking at him, peering at him as if Robby’s inner turmoil was written all over his face.
“We shouldn’t,” Robby protested, although it sounded weak to even his own ears. He turned his face more towards Whitaker anyway.
Whitaker pushed closer, fuck, onto his tiptoes so he could press closer to Robby. “We could anyway?”
If Robby were a smarter man, one that cared more about his job, and his reputation, and his goddamned decency, he’d have pushed Whitaker away long ago. But he’s not a smart man, so he kissed Dennis instead.
Dennis grinned against his mouth, filthy, and for a moment, Robby was only kissing teeth. He went to pull away, when Dennis’s hand slunk upwards to hook around his neck, and pull him down further.
The other man’s mouth moved against his, slick and desperate. He tasted like alcohol, nothing sweet, rich and spicy like good whiskey. Robby followed the taste with his tongue, and Dennis shivered against him.
Robby’s hands slipped to the curve of Dennis’s spine, just above the waistband of his jeans. Robby was aching to slip his hands underneath, but that would be too far.
Really, all of it was too far.
Fucking hell, what was Robby doing-
Dennis sucked on his lower lip and immediately distracted Robby from thinking altogether. Dennis raked a hand through Robby’s hair, catching just slightly enough that Robby let out the tiniest, breathiest moan. Dennis smiled against his mouth again, and Robby was filled with an aching sort of pride that he’d done something right.
“Sound real pretty,” Dennis whispered, and Robby flushed like he was a teenager. Dennis beamed at the sight, “Look it, too.”
Robby was about to protest when Dennis was suddenly pushing him, a firm grip on the hips, until Robby took the hint and pushed himself to sit on the counter. Dennis nodded, almost to himself, standing between Robby’s spread knees and kissing him again.
Dennis kissed like a starving man, his lips soft but insistent, his teeth nipping at Robby’s lips and soothing them with his tongue. His hands were on Robby’s thighs, drifting higher and higher-
The bathroom door opened with a bang, but Whitaker was already moving, probably more versed in bar bathroom hook-ups than Robby was. He pulled Robby from the counter and towards one of the stalls, locking it behind them quickly.
“Really?” Robby whispered, raising an eyebrow.
Dennis leaned against the cubicle door and shrugged, sweeping a look across Robby, lingering on his crotch, where Robby was straining pathetically against the zipper of his jeans. “We can stop if you want?”
Robby should take the out.
He really should.
But at this point, it’s more than a sackable offence already, and Robby should really make the most of the situation.
He kissed Dennis, pushed him against the cubicle door for just the sake of it. Dennis made a small noise into his mouth, craning upwards to reach Robby’s lips. His hands slid across Robby’s shirt, unbuttoning it just enough that Dennis could start mouthing at his collarbones.
Robby knew this was a bad decision; a red alarm was flashing in his head as a reminder, but Robby couldn’t find it in himself to stop. Dennis was so needy underneath him, greedy fingers slinking inside Robby’s shirt and grabbing at handfuls to haul Robby closer.
Robby asked God for guidance and found himself on his knees.
He and Dennis both blinked at each other, almost equally shocked by Robby’s actions. But it was Dennis who began praying aloud when Robby started fumbling with the button of the other man’s jeans, pulling them down just enough so that Dennis sprang free and Robby could take him in his mouth.
“Oh god, fuck, jesus christ-”
Dennis had his fist crammed in his mouth trying to muffle himself, and his head hit the door of the cubicle stall with a concerning crack.
Robby’s knees would kill him in the morning, as would his jaw, and fuck had it really been that long since he gave someone head that one minute of it had his muscles complaining?
He’d missed it, to be honest. Robby liked the feeling of his mouth stretched wide to accommodate Dennis’s girth, the musky taste of the other man’s sweat, how Dennis’s hips twitched with tiny half-aborted thrusts, like he couldn’t help himself.
Robby set a brutalising rhythm, trying to meet those thrusts. Dennis’s hands were scrambling against the back of the door for purchase, and he made a wounded noise when Robby caught his fingers and directed them towards his hair.
Dennis’s fingers clenched around the strands, his hips moving tentatively. “Fuck,” He muttered, his lower lip trapped between his teeth, eyes half-lidded but still managing to stare Robby out.
Robby would usually have flinched away from the intensity of the other man’s gaze, but he felt impossibly caught in it instead, unable to look away from the blissed-out look on Dennis’s face.
Robby pressed further until he could feel Dennis pressing against the back of his throat and swallowed, just to hear the other man swear again.
He’d forgotten entirely about the third person who had entered the bathroom, the reason they’d moved to the cubicle in the first place, until there was a knock on the door. Robby halted immediately, not moving.
“Sounds fun in there. You guys looking at a third tonight?”
“No,” Dennis said, managing to sound firm despite his strained voice. He ran his hand across Robby’s face, lingering on Robby’s wet beard, “Not a fuckin’ chance.”
Robby heard some muffled sounds of annoyance before the bathroom door swung shut again. He pulled off and filed away Dennis’s breathy noise of complaint for a later time. Robby half-laughed, pressing his forehead against the other man’s hip, “This probably isn’t the best place for this.”
Dennis’s hand was still in his hair, only instead of gripping it now he was petting, almost fondly. “I’m not complainin’.” He said, letting Robby’s gelled spikes bounce against his palm.
Robby swallowed again. It was stupid. He was stupid. He should go now and stop this from ever happening again.
He pressed a kiss to the hipbone beneath his cheek instead, “We could go to my place?” He offered, “It’s uh, nicer than here. I guess, and I have a bed, and lube, so-”
Dennis grinned, his hand skimmed down Robby’s cheek again, catching on the stubble before taking a hold of Robby’s chin and forcing his gaze upwards. “What’d we need lube for, Doctor Robby?”
“Fuck, anything,” Robby said. He wondered if he sounded as pleading as he felt. He was still on his knees.
Dennis’s grin was so wicked that Robby had to surge upward to taste it. “I’ll order a ride,” Robby offered, still kissing the other man, “But there’s no pressure, I mean, if you don’t want to-”
“Order it.” Dennis fished Robby’s phone out of his back pocket and pressed firmly into his chest.
*
“Did it work?” Jack Abbott was sharing a joint with Trinity Santos in the back alley of the club. It was his turn, and he had to tilt his head against the cold bricks to stop it from spinning.
Trinity peered around the corner, watching two drunken idiots clamber into an Uber and turned back, nodding, “I told you it’d work. I told you, as soon as Dennis realises Robby liked men, he’d make a move.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jack waved his hand at her, “I didn’t know Whitaker had it in him.”
She nicked the joint from his fingers, “Nah, Dennis is more confident than he seems.”
Jack shrugged, “Robby’s less confident than he seems. I guess it’s a pretty decent match. I’m just pleased I won't have to sit through more of Robby’s whining,”
Trinity grinned, she jerked her thumb back in the direction of the bar, “Another round? I’m buying, I’m about to come into a lot of money.”
Jack pushed off the wall to follow her, “How so?”
She laughed, tossed him a smug look over her shoulder, “I bet twenty dollars on drunk-hook up by May.”
*
It was possibly the longest cab ride of Robby’s life. He made sure to tip the driver extra, because Dennis had sat in the middle seat, crammed against Robby, his hand on Robby’s thigh and daring to drift higher.
Even once they’d gotten to Robby’s house, Dennis had plastered himself to his back, hands sliding across Robby’s chest as Robby forgot how to unlock his own front door.
“Fuck,” He said, dropping the keys and having to bend to pick them up again. His hands were shaking. Dennis plucked the keys from his hand and opened the door, pushing Robby through it with gentle hands.
“We can go slow,” Dennis was saying, his voice soft, “Or just hang out, y’know-”
Robby kissed him again, unable not to, burying his fingers into the tight curls at the base of the other man’s neck. Dennis twisted them and walked until Robby’s back was against the wall, and crowded into his space until their chests were firmly pressed together.
Robby’s hands found the hem of Dennis’s shirt, and they separated just enough for Robby to drag it over the other man’s head.
Dennis had freckles all over his tanned shoulders and running across his back. Robby slid his palms across the broad expanse of skin now exposed to him, and ducked so he could make a start on kissing each tiny freckle.
“Jesus, Robby,” Dennis said, his voice right by Robby’s ear, “Wanted this for so long, wanted you for so fuckin long.” He accompanied his statement with a slow, needy grind of his hips against Robby’s, making them both groan.
“You have?” Robby asked, his voice far too light despite the desperation surrounding the question.
“Absolutely,” Dennis said, his nimble fingers making quick work of Robby’s buttons and pushing the shirt off his shoulders. Robby certainly wasn’t as toned or trim as Dennis, but Dennis didn’t seem to care. “Fuck, Robby. Look at you,” He said, slightly awed, his palms rubbing firm circles across Robby’s skin.
Robby tried to kiss him again, but Dennis pushed him back, holding him tight against the wall. “Want to jus’ look at you a minute,” Dennis muttered. Robby was surprised that he couldn’t move out of the other man’s grip, but not really, he’d seen Dennis’s biceps before, seen them strain against his scrubs every shift when Robby knew he shouldn’t be looking.
Dennis eyes raked across him, catching on when Robby’s jeans were doing a very poor job at concealing his erection.
“I have a bed,” Robby offered, “No need to be doing this in the hallway.” Robby’s cheeks flushed, and he knew Dennis noticed. Robby could tell by how the other man’s smirk widened.
“Alright,” Dennis let him go, and nodded towards the stairs, “Show me,”
Robby took the other man’s hand and hauled him up the stairs after him.
They tumbled into Robby’s bedroom, and Robby barely managed to hit the light before Dennis’s lips were on his again, pushing them insistently towards the bed in the centre of the room.
The mattress hit the back of Robby’s knees, and he fell onto it, dragging Dennis down into his lap with him.
Dennis seemed pleased with the new arrangement, and showed it by palming Robby’s erection, and grinning far too pleased with himself when Robby hissed through gritted teeth.
“How are we doing this?” Dennis said, “Do you want to fuck me? Can I fuck you?”
Robby felt his cheeks heat up significantly as the images of both options flooded his head. He tried to form a coherent thought, but it became increasingly difficult to think whilst Dennis unbuttoned the other man’s trousers and wriggled his hands inside.
“I, uh-” Robby blinked, trying to think past the feeling of Dennis’s calloused hand wrapping around him, “Fuck, um-”
“You get real wet,” Dennis said idly, smearing Robby’s precum around him, “I’ve barely even touched you,”
“Fuck, Whitaker, I’m trying to think here!” Robby let out a pained laugh, falling flat on the bed and pushing his hips into the slow, mind-breaking strokes.
“Well, think quicker, would you?” Dennis quipped, his hand leaving Robby to take off his shoes, and start pulling his jeans down his body. “You’ve been teasin’ me for the past ten months,”
“Not my intention.” Robby admitted, “I didn’t know you liked me. I thought I was being a creep by just looking at you.”
“If I’d have known that you liked men, I’d have jumped you long ago.” Dennis stood up, kicking off his own trainers and pushing his jeans down his hips, leaving him in just a pair of tight blue boxers and showing off far more of that freckled skin that Robby ever expected to see. “Come to a decision yet? Because I’m happy either way, but I’d really love to fuck you silly.”
Robby twisted and reached for his bedside table, before he was even aware of his actions, and handed Dennis the half-used bottle of lube he kept there. “Decision made then,” He said, his cheeks warm.
Dennis grinned filthily and crowded him again, crashing their lips together and pressing Robby into the mattress. He pulled Robby’s legs around his hips and let his hands slink down to grope at Robby’s ass.
“Good choice,” Dennis said, leaving his lips and letting his mouth trail across Robby’s stubble, “I’ve imagined us like that the most.”
Robby blinked, squirming against the feeling of the other man’s tongue in his neck, “You have?”
“Of course,” Dennis promised, working Robby’s underwear off and throwing it carelessly over his shoulder “, Every day. You’re so tense, stressed out, all the time. I have so many fantasies of taking you home and laying you out on the bed, and just keeping you on edge till you’re pliant and there’s not a thought left in your head.”
Robby moaned slightly, “Jesus.”
He heard the quiet snick of the lid being open, a wet sound as Dennis slicked his fingers.
“I’d let you come eventually,” Dennis said, almost conversationally as he walked his fingers between Robby’s legs, “But I’d wait until you were desperate for it, until I’d worked you up to the point of tears and begging.”
Robby made a breathy choking noise that Dennis laughed at, his slick fingers nudging at Robby’s hole.
“Not tonight though,” Dennis promised, “Next time.”
He slid the first finger in deep, to the second knuckle, and Robby arched off the mattress with a whine.
Dennis kissed him immediately, and Robby reached for him, intending to slide his hands beneath those blue boxers that were truly hiding nothing, when Dennis gripped his wrists and pinned them to the bed.
“Ah-ah,” Dennis said, and Robby wondered how many times he’d said that to Dennis, and how many times Dennis had wanted to turn the tables. Dennis’s cheeks flushed, and he hid his face in the curve of Robby’s neck “Want to last long enough for you.” he muttered, punctuating each word with a brief kiss to Robby’s Adam's apple.
Robby could barely concentrate on the other man’s words, too focused on the second finger working inside him, and the tight grip Dennis had on his wrists.
Robby likely could’ve broken out of his hold, had he been in any better condition. As it was, he couldn’t do much other than kiss Dennis and gasp into his mouth when the other man skimmed his fingers across his prostate.
He could feel Dennis, hard and pressed tightly against Robby’s hip. The front of his underwear was tented and damp where he’d leaked precum against the material. Robby wondered if it was perverted for him to want to taste it, but the thought was quickly shoved out of his head in favour of appreciating the third finger Dennis pushed into him.
“You can-” Robby shook his head, the words slipping out of reach each time Dennis hit his prostate. He groaned, freeing his arms and drawing Dennis down to him, “You can fuck me now.”
Dennis kissed him, “I’m sure I probably could.” His accent was slightly slurred, so it had come out as ‘Am sure I pro’lly could.’ Dennis grinned, and his teeth bit into Robby’s lip, pulling a thin reedy moan from him. “Not just yet, though, okay?”
“Fuck.” Robby slid his hands down the curve of the other man’s back, feeling the movement of his muscles shifting under Robby’s palms.
He couldn’t think clearly past the sensation of Dennis’s fingers inside of him, constantly moving, constantly hammering on that little bundle of electricity inside of him. His eyes felt sore from how often they were rolling back into his skull, “Fuck, please, Whitaker-”
Everything stopped all at once, and Dennis frowned at him playfully, “Call me my proper name when I’m fingering you.”
The feeling of nothing was almost more overwhelming, and Robby pressed urgently down on the other man’s fingers, humiliated with himself for needing to do so, “Fuck, Dennis-sorry-Dennis-ah-please-,”
“Jesus.” Dennis breathed, his eyes wide and greedy as they raked across Robby’s face. He kissed Robby insistently, his fingers immediately returning to their previous rhythm, and Robby moaned with relief.
“Fuck, Robby, you’re so good like this, I’m gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good,” Dennis promised, and Robby gave a disbelieving breathy laugh, wondering how the fuck he could take any more? How could anything feel better? Surely his body couldn’t take any more pleasure without giving out entirely?
He became profoundly aware of how wrong he was when Dennis reached down and wrapped his free hand around Robby’s cock, hard and eager for attention.
Robby gritted his teeth and willed away his orgasm before he could get Dennis inside him properly. He batted Dennis’s hand away, “I’ll-if you, I won’t last, Dennis-fuck, just fuck me already.”
Dennis grinned, looking pleased as he withdrew his hands, leaving Robby feeling achingly empty. “Yes, sir,” He said, standing quickly to shuck off his shorts. His cock sprang up freely once it had been released, blood red and standing proudly from a nest of tawny curls. Robby remembered the taste of it, the ache of his jaw as it had stretched around the length.
He was urged to relive the memory; however, Dennis had already grabbed the bottle of lube and was slicking himself with the same hand that had been inside Robby a moment ago.
“How,” Robby swallowed, tried to remember that he was a grown man, and not a fucked-out virgin, “How d’you want me?”
“Every way,” Dennis said, he still had a hand wrapped around himself. Robby was torn between looking at his thumb swipe over the head or the way his biceps bulged slightly when he did so. He settled on watching the other man’s face and the wicked sparkle in his eyes.
“Don’t think we’ll have time for all of it,” Robby said. He’d been aiming for humour, but his voice came out gruff and distracted as the images of Dennis’s suggestion flitted through his brain. Robby had always been blessed with an overactive imagination.
“We’ll get round to them,” Dennis said pleasantly, knocking Robby’s knees apart and settling between them, “Tonight, I want to see your face though,”
Robby could feel the head of the other man’s dick press against his hole. He let out a humiliating noise at the feeling. He shook his head, “You’re far too earnest.” He told Dennis.
Dennis shrugged, “Well, you’re far too coherent.”
Robby’s eyebrows furrowed, and he was about to question what the other man meant when Dennis shifted and snapped his hips forward, seating himself swiftly inside Robby.
Robby’s head hit the pillow behind him, and he gasped some attempt at the other man’s name. Dennis hung above him, tawny curls hanging down between them. He was red-faced and biting so hard on his lip, Robby worried he’d draw blood.
Robby clutched at the other man’s back, urging him to move, but Dennis didn’t. Instead, he hiked Robby’s legs around his waist and pressed wet, fervent kisses to Robby’s throat, letting him feel the length of him pressed against every inch of Robby’s insides. Robby squirmed, choked a moan out of himself when he accidentally pressed down on his own prostate.
“Oh,” Dennis said, looking almost surprised by his admission, “I liked that.”
Robby shut his eyes, did it again, and pressed upwards, shamelessly begging against the other man’s mouth, “Please, fuck, please Dennis-”
Dennis groaned and kissed him, his hands skittering across Robby’s body. His hips finally moved, and he set up an almost torturously slow pace. It was wonderful, it was agonising, the wait for each drag against his prostate was almost pleasurable as the act itself, and Robby hid his moans in the curve of the other man’s neck.
“None of that,” Dennis said, his voice strained and sharp and somehow probably the most intensely hot thing Robby had ever heard, and he wasn’t well versed in handing over power in the bedroom. Dennis gripped his chin and tilted his face upwards so that those wide blue eyes were locked on Robbys. He grinned, “I want to see your face while I fuck you.”
Although that was the thing with Dennis. Robby hadn’t so much as given him the reins, as Dennis had smiled pleasantly and taken them from him anyway. Robby didn’t realise how much he would enjoy it, how much he had needed it.
Dennis’s rhythm quickened, and each punch of his hips dragged another moan from Robby’s chest, each drag against Robby’s insides coaxed another mangled attempt at Dennis’s name from his lips.
Dennis was sweating, his hair damp and curling. His mouth was open, and he was letting out pained-sounding gasps each time he pressed deep inside Robby.
Dennis reached between them, took Robby’s dick in hand and stroked him in time. Robby swore, his arms locking around Dennis and holding him close.
Robby let out a desperate-sounding moan, and Dennis answered it with one of his own. “You gonna cum for me, baby?” Dennis said, sounding eager at the thought. It was the eagerness that had done it, the idea that someone like Dennis wanted someone like Robby, desired him in a way that Robby hadn’t felt in years.
Robby felt his orgasm rip through him, turning his body into nothing more than cells and atoms, and the feeling of Dennis still thrusting deep inside him.
“Fuuuck,” Dennis groaned, his eyes squeezing shut, his rhythm skipping a beat, “Jesus, Robby, baby,”
Robby would’ve protested at the pet name, had he not been still seeing stars, and besides, it was kind of nice anyway.
Dennis let out a gorgeous whine and folded over Robby. Robby felt Dennis’s dick throb deep within him, and let out another exhausted moan at the feeling of the other man’s cum filling him with a different kind of warmth.
Dennis stayed where he fell, and Robby stroked a hand tiredly down the smooth skin of his back. Robby regarded the ceiling slowly, wondering if he’d have enough energy to get out of bed and turn off the main light.
Dennis pulled out eventually, but he didn’t go far, just to the bathroom to fetch a towel and clean them both up.
“I’m staying the night, by the way,” He said, tossing the towel over his shoulder and standing with his hands on his hips. Dennis had a bossy look on his face, one that dared Robby to argue with him.
Robby wouldn’t argue with Dennis. Robby had spent too long arguing with himself, and there
was no going back from what they’d done.
Not for Robby at least.
Robby wrangled himself under the covers and held them open in invitation for Dennis.
“Please do.” He said.