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It’s dawn, or thereabouts, given the milky darkness Dennis can see through the crack in the curtains. Their room faces the garden, so there’s no intrusion of the gentle warmth of street lamps outside, just the moon and the stars and the dim glow of Robby’s phone screen as his alarm goes off.
He’s muted it already, and the three of them are just lying in silence for a moment, aware of the shifting in each other’s breathing, aware of the imminent disturbance to their peace, but not willing yet to action it.
Why would they?
It’s not like Robby’s late, and it’s not like the world will end if he is, so they just lie there, warm and comfortable and peaceful.
It doesn’t last forever though.
Eventually Robby drags himself out of bed, quietly bustling about their room as he gets dressed. He doesn’t bother to close the en-suite door as he brushes his teeth, and Dennis can hear him humming to himself as he does so.
He’s half asleep, but the sound of it makes him smile.
When he’s finally ready, he kisses Jack, then has to gently uncover Dennis enough to expose his face, and he kisses his temple and his nose and both cheeks before his lips finally press against Dennis’.
The air in their room is cool, but Dennis still winds two warm arms around Robby’s neck, ignoring the way it makes him shiver, nose tucking into his collar as he clings onto him a little longer than necessary.
Robby indulges him though, gently running a hand through Dennis’ hair before he finally pulls away.
“I’ll see you later sweetheart,” he whispers, then, as he pulls back, “Behave.”
The latter part is directed at Jack, who snorts.
“No promises.”
Dennis doesn’t need to see him to know that Robby rolls his eyes at that, but he also doesn’t need to see to know that he’s smiling.
As soon as Robby’s gone, Jack’s tugging Dennis back into his embrace, and Dennis goes willingly, tucking up to him as close as he can get.
For a while, they just lay there.
Their legs are tangled, and Jack’s hand is in Dennis’ hair, stroking through it absently, his fingertips a grounding pressure against his scalp. Dennis dozes on and off, falling asleep for a minute or two at a time. His face is pressed against Jack’s chest, and when he finally drifts back off to sleep, it’s to the steady beat of his heart.
When he comes around again, it’s to Jack gently pressing kisses to as much of his face as he can, all over his cheeks and forehead and everywhere but his mouth.
Dennis squirms, screwing up his face as he swims back to reality.
“Mmmgh—?”
“Time to get up, pup,” Jack murmurs, taking advantage of Dennis being awake to kiss him on the mouth this time, something brief and woefully nonindulgent.
Dennis whines, and Jack laughs.
“C’mon, up.”
“I am up.” Dennis huffs, and Jack rolls his eyes.
“Vertical, please.”
Jack shifts, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed as he reaches for his crutches, and Dennis rolls over so he’s face down on the mattress. He groans, something dramatic and put upon, and feels something land on his ass through the covers. It’s a pillow or something, clearly tossed at him by his boyfriend, and he huffs again.
“Nuh-uh, no complaining. Get up,” Jack pauses, and Dennis can hear the grin as he speaks again, “don’t make me tell you again.”
He does drag himself up then, but mostly because he kind of urgently needs to brush his teeth, and he’s hungry.
Jack joins him in the bathroom, then shepherds him into the kitchen once they’re done, his big hands warm around his waist, tucked under Dennis’ shirt.
He insists on a proper breakfast, and once Dennis is comfortably perched up on the countertop, he busies himself with making good on that.
He cuts some fruit first, setting a neat little array of apple slices and wedges of orange and some kiwi on a little dish and setting it beside Dennis, before he busies himself with slicing thick chunks of sourdough and scrambling eggs.
“How are your su—“ he goes to ask, attention focused on the food before him, but he’s interrupted by Dennis’ foot colliding with his side. It’s more the tips of his toes that glance his ribs, rather than him actually having kicked him.
“Ask about my blood sugar and I’ll punch you.”
Dennis threatens, as Jack claps a hand over his side like he’s been shot, exaggeratedly staggering sideways.
“Ow — fine, noted.” Jack groans, and Dennis rolls his eyes, picking up a piece of orange and nibbling at it.
He accepts a mug of coffee when it’s pressed into his hands, and he hums happily into the ceramic as Jack turns back to finishing up their breakfasts.
He looks good, still shirtless, just wearing a pair of shorts with his prosthetic on display, and Dennis lets his gaze linger in ways completely inappropriate.
Every time Jack catches a glimpse of him staring, he grins, until finally, after the stove is off and everything is ready to eat, he nudges his way in between Dennis’ thighs, pressing into his space.
“Like what you see, handsome?”
Dennis hums again, draping his arms over Jack’s shoulders as he hooks his ankles together around his hips, trapping him against him.
“I’ve had worse views.” He murmurs, and Jack huffs out a laugh, leaning in until they’re so close that their noses brush.
Whatever he’s about to say is interrupted though, as Dennis’ stomach rumbles.
“You talking about me or these eggs?” Jack asks, and Dennis feels his cheeks burn as he drops his forehead to his boyfriend’s shoulder.
“Shut up.”
“No no, it’s fine,” Jack carries on, “ ‘cause here I was thinking you were complimenting me, but you’re just hungry. I get it, you’re using me for breakfast, it’s fine, I’ll learn to live with this heartbreak.” It’s impressive how serious he manages to keep his tone, because as Dennis pulls back to smack his arm, Jack is grinning at him, his eyes bright.
“I thought you were told to behave.” Dennis grumbles, his cheeks still pink.
Jack kisses him then, a hand coming up to squeeze the nape of his neck, and Dennis’ embarrassment melts away.
When they break apart, a thin string of saliva connects them, and when it snaps Dennis licks his lips, savouring the taste of Jack on his tongue.
“C’mon, Mouse, breakfast time.”
They eat together, unhurried, sunlight creeping across the table. It’s still obviously early, and it feels ridiculously indulgent, almost decadent, to be savouring breakfast together.
They definitely need more time off of work.
Jack starts playing footsie with him under the table though, kicking at Dennis’ feet with his good leg, and there’s something so smugly satisfied about his expression as Dennis joins in that he just has to question it.
Jack plays innocent though, raising his hands in mock surrender. “It’s just good to see you eat.”
Dennis raises an eyebrow, and shoves a chunk of egg and toast as ungracefully into his mouth as possible.
“Really—?” He asks around the food, and Jack winces.
“Not when you do that. I don’t like that.”
Dennis laughs, and almost chokes, clapping a hand over his mouth as he tries not to spit food over the table, and Jack just watches him with an expression of dismay.
“Yeah… no… is it too late to get rid of you?”
As Dennis tries his hardest not to die, he still manages to nod, managing to gasp out a: “I’m stuck with you now.”
The rest of their meal passes with minimal near fatal choking incidents, and once the table is clear and Dennis is dutifully washing up the dishes Jack emerges from the cupboard under the stairs, carrying a bag.
“Hey.”
Dennis turns, holding his sudsy hands up, and immediately he balks.
“No — c’mon, it’s our day off. Don’t make me exercise.”
“Oh I’m going to. Go get changed and get your sneakers on and we’re off.”
Dennis does what he’s told.
They park outside the side of café, and Dennis sits in the boot while Jack swaps out his normal leg for his sports leg, swinging his feet as he watches. It’s a very cool piece of kit, his sports leg, because it’s different to his regular leg and different to his running blade too.
It’s impressive how little he lets his disability stop him.
Dennis has seen how it impacts him, has seen the days where he struggles to cope, but even when he’s tired and he’s sore and his leg hurts, he’s still so mobile, still so hot on keeping himself moving.
From what he’s seen, Jack is at a point in his life where his disability is so familiar that he’s completely adapted his life around it, and it just isn’t really a big thing. He’s up basically every morning off for a run, he goes to the gym and he plays various sports and he walks around all day at work and it impresses Dennis beyond words, really, seeing how much work Jack has put into his recovery to make it all seem so effortless.
He knows that Jack does still have bad days, and that he’s not actually been with the two long enough to have really seen that, or been allowed into it, and he hopes that one day that’s a barrier they’ll break. But also when it comes to his leg, Jack’s bad days are pretty far and few between.
And when Jack physically hauls Dennis up out of the boot and tosses him over his shoulder, Dennis prays to every god he knows that it stays that way.
Jack insists they stop for more coffee before they actually walk into the park, and so they people watch for a little while, sipping their drinks, before they finally begin to make their way down the footpath, to where the beaten up public tennis courts are situated.
Jack likes holding hands, is something Dennis has learnt. But he’s kind of weird about it.
He’s not like Robby, who’ll hold Dennis’ hand whenever he wants, his grip warm and steady. Jack treats a hand he’s holding like an extension of his own, if he’s not grabbing and releasing and grabbing again. He’s always on high alert in public — his years of military service and the ptsd he totally has (as much as they just… don’t discuss it) contributing to that — and so he always treats Dennis’ hand like it’s his.
If he needs to point something out, or do something, he won’t let go, he’ll just tug and move and it’s nice but it’s also just a little bit annoying, especially if Dennis is in the middle of the two. Still, he intertwines his fingers with his partner’s, giving Jack’s rough palm a squeeze.
The park is busy, full of joggers and cyclists and dog walkers and parents with kids. It’s a beautiful day, and it’s beyond refreshing being out in the world and no one around them is sick, no one around them is dying. No one’s turning to them to save their loved ones, they just… exist, just as Jack and Dennis get to.
Jack picks out an empty court, and unzips the racquet bag he’d had slung over his shoulder, digging out a tin of balls, his own raquet, and one for Dennis which he tosses at him.
And when Dennis drops it, he laughs at him.
Dennis has played with him once before, but Jack plays a lot more than either of them are able to keep up with with their shift patterns.
He plays for a veterans sports club downtown, and every week it seems to be something different he’s joining his peers in with. From what Dennis heard when Robby’s talked about it, it’s been life changing for him, a chance to spend time with other veterans (many of whom are also missing limbs or coping with disabling injuries), and Dennis certainly isn’t complaining about its impact on Jack’s body.
It does however mean that his middle aged boyfriend is in significantly better shape than him, which is not only mortifying but also stupidly arousing.
It’s a weird one.
And Jack absolutely does not take it easy on him.
Despite the fact they played a couple of weeks ago, Dennis hasn’t actually played since he was in school, and it’s apparent.
His swings are clumsy, his timing off, and he trips over his own feet a shocking number of times.
Every time he misses, Jack laughs, but he’s not harsh about it, just teasing.
He goes to return Jack’s serve and sends the ball careening sideways into the wire fencing of the court, then promptly stumbles, catching himself just before he faceplants.
“Christ alive pup, you’re worse than Robby and he’s twice your age.”
Dennis looks up from where he’s bent in half, hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath and flips him off in response.
“Dick. Give me a minute.” But he’s smiling.
The good thing is at least Dennis is young, and it doesn’t take long for him to settle into the swing of it, his muscles warm, brain finally working as he finds his footing. They fall into a rhythm of it, just a rally at first. Jack’s competitive streak peeks through now and then, but mostly he’s just so happy, so loose and comfortable in a way Dennis gets to see so rarely.
It’s clear that physical activity is what gets Jack completely out of his head, because he just loses himself in it so easily. He’s so quick across the court, bouncing on his proesthetic and the ball of his foot as he awaits Dennis’ serve, eyes bright as he tracks the ball. He’s just alive when he’s moving, no time to fester in his own mind when he’s running about.
Dennis really likes it on him.
That is, of course, until Jack starts deliberately aiming his shots just out of Dennis’ reach on purpose. Just to make him run.
“Oh, you asshole,” Dennis pants, chasing another ball that lands perfectly in the corner of the court, far enough that there’s no way Dennis is making it, but still actually in, so Dennis can’t argue otherwise.
Still, he tries for it and swings too late, missing entirely, and as the ball bounces away Dennis bends over with his hands on his knees again, his face burning hot as he catches his breath.
Jack leans on the net, utterly unrepentant and apparently completely unaffected by the amount of exercise they’ve been doing. “You’re doing great, Mouse. Tennis is excellent cardio.”
Dennis flips him off again, this time without even looking, too focused on trying to make his lungs stop burning, which only makes Jack laugh harder.
By the time they’re properly playing a match, Dennis is already flushed, and soaked in sweat, his curls plastered to his forehead, shirt clinging uncomfortably to his back. Jack, unfairly, looks fantastic: he’s barely out of breath, and he’s a little flushed, a little sweaty (Dennis can see the stains under his arms which he’s very excited by), but his eyes are shining, smiling so bright at him that he just looks effortless with it.
When Dennis wins a game, Jack applauds from across the court, before beating him so thoroughly that when it’s finally over and Dennis can collapse down onto the little shitty wooden bench he vows he’s never playing again.
“I hate this and I hate you,” he gasps, his head lolling back as he stares up at the sky. “You’ve ruined my dreams of becoming a rising tennis star and having my own Challengers moment.”
Jack drops down next to him, knocking Dennis’ knee with his own as he offers him a bottle of water.
“You’re having fun and you love me,” he points out, taking a long drink of his own water. “What’s Challengers?”
Dennis groans miserably, pressing the water bottle to his sweaty face before he drinks almost half of it in one go.
“You’re too old for me,” he grumbles, “what do you mean ‘what’s Challengers?’ I thought you were gay. Don’t you keep up with any pop culture?”
Jack just stares at him, before he shakes his head. “Oh I know you’re not saying what I think you are, pup. You know I don’t keep up with all this modern bullshit.”
Dennis groans again. “I can’t believe I’m dating you. You’re like — a grandpa.”
Jack laughs, and then wraps an arm around Dennis’ neck, dragging him half into his lap in a headlock as he scrubs his knuckles over the top of his head.
“You’re such a sore loser,” he teases, as Dennis half-heartedly pretends like he’s trying to wriggle out of his grip, “you lose one match and start calling me old and boring?”
Dennis laughs, grabbing at Jack’s forearm. “I’m surprised you didn’t break a hip,” he manages, and Jack tightens his grip.
“You little bitch.” Jack exclaims, and it’s so disgustingly fond that Dennis has to nip at his fingers to mask the way it makes his heart skip a beat just a little bit.
Robby doesn’t roughhouse as much as he and Jack do, and he doesn’t engage in this teasing like they do either. It’s a real shame, because Dennis would fucking love to see it, but it’s also quite nice because it’s… it’s them. It’s a him and Jack thing, getting to be like this, and it’s nice, having something just for them.
When Jack releases him, Dennis stretches up for a kiss, but Jack gently redirects him with a hand over his face.
Dennis licks his palm, obviously.
“Nuh-uh, you were rude, no kisses. Drink your water.”
Dennis is thirsty, so he does drink his water, but not just because Jack told him to.
They sit there for a little while longer, letting the sweat cool and the pleasant ache in their muscles begin to ease, before Jack finally stands.
“Shall we Foxtrot Oscar?”
“Yeah, I’m starving.”
Jack rolls his eyes as he starts off across the court for the remainder of their balls, leaving Dennis to put away the racquets.
“Of course you are, you’re a bottomless pit. You’ll eat us out of house and home one day.”
Dennis sticks his tongue out at him.
As he does so, the wire gate creaks open behind him, and as he turns to look, there’s a woman standing there with her own racquet bag.
She’s probably around Jack's age, although realistically maybe a little older, and she looks across the court for a moment before she turns her attention to Dennis.
“Excuse me, are you two finished with the court?” She asks, and Dennis nods.
“Oh — yeah, ‘course. We’re literally just leaving so you’re more than welcome to have it. Let me — let me just clear our stuff off the bench.”
“Oh thank you sweetie,” she smiles at him, stepping onto the court and putting her bag down by the gate. “Have you had a nice time?”
Dennis nods. “Yes ma’am. It’s beautiful weather today for it.”
She nods. “Oh just divine, isn’t it? You play much?”
Dennis shakes his head, then gestures towards Jack. “He does. I just play whenever we can find the time.”
Jack returns with their tennis balls, and as he puts them back in the bag, the woman smiles at them, clasping her hands together.
“Oh and aren’t you two just the sweetest,” she says, and Dennis glances up at Jack. He’s not sure what’s coming, but he’s fairly sure this lady is not going to assume they’re dating.
“It’s so nice to see a father and son —“ yep. There it is. “— spending some quality time together outdoors! Oh I can never get my grandsons to play outside, my daughter is an excellent mother but she’s just far too lenient about letting her boys play video games, all they want to do is be indoors!” She shakes her head. “So it’s lovely to see you’ve managed to get him out! Although you are a little older than my grandsons, but not by a lot. What are you, twenty? Twenty one?”
Dennis opens his mouth, but Jack answers for him.
“Something like that. He’s a good boy though,” he clasps a firm hand on Dennis’ shoulder. “Always doing what he’s told.”
The woman nods. “Oh well you must be so proud, and I thank you, for your service,” she adds. “It’s refreshing seeing our veterans raise up proper boys, our men should be fit and respectful, just like your boy is.”
Dennis feels like he’s melting, actually. And if he isn’t, he’d very much like the ground to melt underneath his feet and swallow him whole, ideally forever.
It’s not the first time he’s been mistaken for Jack or Robby’s son, and it’s always awkward and weird. Robby gets awkward about it, and he’s never that good at explaining that they’re dating because normally it’s easier just to nod and move on (which Dennis is fine with), but Jack’s actually kind of evil and he always loves to play along.
Good god does Dennis wish he’d stop.
“Well you have a lovely day now,” Jack says smoothly, lifting the bag up over his shoulders. “We best be heading home.”
“Of course, you two have a nice day!”
Dennis nods his head, mumbling a thank you as Jack walks them out.
As soon as they get far enough away, he shrugs off Jack’s hand, taking it in his own instead.
“What the fuck was that?” He hisses, turning to look at Jack. “Why do you always let people think you’re my dad? And that I’m a child?”
Jack grins, that awful crooked one that makes Dennis a little dizzy, and he squeezes his hand.
“What’s the harm in it, pup? It’s not like we’re ever going to see her again.”
“That’s not the point! Now some random lady thinks you’re my dad! And I’m closer to thirty than twenty for fuck’s sake.” He huffs.
Jack knocks their hips together, releasing Dennis’ hand in favour of pulling him in close again, pressing a kiss to the sweaty edge of his hairline.
“Tell me It’s not kind of fun though,” he murmurs, “if they’re going to assume then let them, it’s pretty funny.”
Dennis groans, turning to press his forehead against Jack’s shoulder.
“At least she thinks I’m a good boy. What was it she called me… fit and respectful?” He can’t help but laugh then, and Jack does too.
“You’re not respectful in the slightest. She should have heard what you were saying before she walked up.”
It’s not that long of a drive home, but Dennis spends the entirety of it watching Jack, playing absently with the hand in his lap.
He picks at a pack of fruit snacks too, as per Jack’s insistence, but given that his alarm hasn’t gone off he doesn’t bother checking his blood sugar.
Honestly he doesn’t really want to know.
It’s comforting, not having to check all the time when he’s on his days off, being able to just rely on his partners and his phone rather than obsessively opening the app all day, and he trusts Jack completely to take care of him. Jack’s proved that he will time and time again.
By the time they get home, Dennis is tired.
But he feels good.
He really doesn’t exercise as much as he should, although that has changed since dating the two, but the thing about getting diagnosed as diabetic later in life is now that he’s fixing what was broken, it’s so clear to see just how sick he was before.
He felt so awful all the time pre-diagnosis, exhausted from the minute he woke up until the minute he finally managed to sleep (and he really struggled to sleep, every night consisted of tossing and turning for hours, sweaty and thirsty and uncomfortable and just generally fucking miserable. Eating had been awful, because every time he tried he just felt worse, and that had only built and built until he’d finally collapsed.
Looking back at it, he hadn’t felt good in… years. Certainly not good like he does now.
And he really does feel good nowadays. Even when everything else feels awful and miserable and terrible, it feels like he’s finally in some sort of sync with his body. He’s put on weight, he’s put on muscle, he’s finally healthy when he looks in the mirror.
Dennis kicks his shoes off at the door as Jack does the same, watching as the man drops the keys into the bowl. Jack reaches for him immediately, then stops and gives him a stern look.
Jack is a neat freak, and Dennis really does try to put his things away, but he’s just innately not on his level. At all.
He definitely allowed himself to become a slob after he left home, his room up on the 8th floor had made that pretty apparent, but sometimes he just can’t help it. Why do shoes need to be in their right slot when they’re already out of the way?
Still, he puts his shoes away, because he doesn’t particularly fancy having the fact that he left them on the floor being… something, and heads into the kitchen.
Jack’s inspecting the fridge as Dennis comes in, and he wastes no time in wrapping himself around his back, pressing his face between Jack’s shoulder blades.
“What do you want? There’s ground beef if you wanted pasta?”
Dennis nods. He’s starving now, and he doesn’t really eat as high carb as he used to, so he hasn’t really had pasta all that much.
Which sucks, cause he misses it.
“Okay, I’ll make pasta then. Can you release me and grab me vegetables please?”
Dennis does so, but only with a long suffering sigh first so Jack knows what an inconvenience it is, before he finds an assortment of appropriate things.
Despite what his boyfriends seem to believe, he’s not totally incompetent when it comes to cooking, he’s just not excellent at making anything fancy, and he much prefers letting them take charge in the kitchen.
He does like cooking, just… not that much.
He deposits them by the chopping board Jack’s just gotten out, and takes the opportunity to duck under his arm and press into his chest, wrapping his arms around him as he hugs him.
Jack instinctively hugs him back, then shakes his head.
“Ugh. You’re still all sweaty, pup.”
So is Jack, but Dennis wouldn’t dream of complaining about that, so instead he just deliberately presses closer to him. “You love it.”
Jack huffs a laugh against the side of his head, then kisses his sweat-damp curls. “I love you. There’s a difference.”
Dennis shakes his head, and Jack makes a noise of protest as his hair is shoved into his mouth.
“No you love me so you have to love when I’m all gross and sweaty,” he mumbles into his shoulder. “That’s the law, actually.”
“Mmm?” Jack’s hands slide down his back, settling just over the swell of his ass. “Really?”
“Mhm.”
Jack hums. “Well in that case I guess I do love it, and you.”
When they break apart, Dennis busies himself with rummaging through the cupboards as Jack starts actually cooking.
Jack decides on making a sort of ragu, with vegetables on the side. It’s pretty easy, and doesn’t take much mental or physical effort from either of them, which given the sort of pleasant weary ache in Dennis’ limbs from their active morning, he’s very grateful for.
He looks through the spice cabinet, taking out little jars of stuff and sniffing at them. Jack and Robby have an impressively large collection of herbs and seasonings and spices, which is great, because their food is really good, but also kind of embarrassing for Dennis. Not because of the fact they own spices, but because of the fact that he doesn’t actually know what a lot of them are or taste like.
His parents had herbs and spices on the farm, but not an awful lot, really, and they didn’t buy new things. They didn’t need to. The food they ate was good but it wasn’t particularly adventurous or fun.
Dennis had tried to familiarise himself with things when he’d left home, and he’d gotten used to a lot of the things most recipes included, but there were things he’d never dared experiment with that Jack and Robby just seem to know and understand and use with such ease. One day he’ll push through his embarrassment and ask, but for now he busies himself in looking through them.
“Why are you like this?” Jack asks, amused, as Dennis pulls down an unlabelled jar of spices and sniffs it. It’s kind of sweet, kind of smoky, and Dennis has absolutely no idea what it could be, but it smells nice.
“Quality control,” he says seriously. “I can’t trust you in the kitchen.”
Jack raises an eyebrow. “I’ve been cooking longer than you’ve been alive. Just because I burnt one of your pancakes last week does not mean I don’t know how to cook.”
Dennis hums doubtfully, looking through the other jars of spice before he chooses one, and reaches past Jack to sprinkle it into the pan.
Jack catches his wrist mid-shake, holding his hand up so no more comes out. “What did you just add?”
Dennis blinks innocently. “Nothing?”
Jack squints at the faded label on the jar. “Paprika.”
“It needed it,” Dennis sticks his tongue out at him, and tries to wriggle his arm out of Jack’s grip.
But Jack doesn’t let go. Instead, he steps closer, crowding Dennis back against the counter, voice low and playful. “You’re not allowed near my cooking anymore, Mouse.”
Dennis laughs, head tipping back, hands coming up in mock surrender. “You’re so controlling.”
“You’re lucky you’re not banned from the kitchen entirely,” Jack says firmly, then steals a quick kiss anyway, because he’s weak.
And Dennis takes that as permission to be more annoying. He bumps Jack with his hip while Jack’s chopping vegetables, stealing pieces off of the chopping board to snack on. He steals a piece of pasta out of the pot to see if it’s done then pretends it’s burned his mouth, pouting until Jack kisses it better.
Jack just lets him, every now and then steadying him by the waist or pulling him in for a kiss.
And if they get distracted making out a couple of times before Jack remembers the food and breaks away swearing… well… that’s the fun of it.
When their food’s finally ready, they carry their bowls to the couch instead of the table. Dennis curls up immediately, legs tucked under his hips, automatically fitting himself into Jack’s side because that’s where he belongs. Jack drapes an arm around him, bowl balanced on the arm of the couch, and fusses with the TV until they find something to watch.
Dennis leans his head against Jack’s shoulder absently between mouthfuls. It’s a little bit awkward, and not really the easiest way to eat, but he doesn’t really want to move.
“This is delicious,” Dennis mumbles through a mouthful.
Jack presses a kiss into his hair. “Thank you, Mouse. No thanks to you.”
“You were always going to put paprika in it, dick.”
When they finish eating, Dennis takes their bowls into the kitchen. He almost leaves them in the sink, but given that Jack cooked, it’s only fair he washes up.
When he returns, Jack is no longer on the couch which is upsetting, but he reaches for Dennis anyway.
“Shower with me, Mouse?”
Yeah Dennis isn’t going to say no to that.
The water is blissfully warm, just hot enough that it makes Dennis’ skin prickle, and it eases any lingering stiffness from their tennis earlier.
Jack gets in first, sitting down on his little stool, before Dennis steps in between his legs.
For a moment, they just stand there, letting the water cascade over them, before Jack pinches at his hip.
“You allergic to that new tape, sweetheart?” He asks softly, tracing a fingertip around the circle of irritated skin around his CGM where it sits on his stomach.
Dennis shrugs. “Maybe. The tape keeps coming off though, I’ve not been covering it for the past few days. I’ll live.”
Jack hums, and his forehead furrows for a moment, before he nods.
“Okay.”
His hands wander across Dennis’ stomach, then down over his hips, and Dennis shivers despite the heat of the water.
All the bathrooms in the house are accessible for Jack, with stools and grab rails built into them, and Dennis isn’t sure he wants to go back to showers without them.
The seat is convenient for a lot of reasons. For Jack, obviously, for sitting down after a long day at work, for sex… the list goes on.
Dennis wraps his arms around Jack’s neck, bending as he kisses him.
As convenient as the seat and rails are for shower sex, it’s not really a convenient thing when your partner is missing a leg and it’s all wet and slippery, but that doesn’t mean Dennis isn’t going to take advantage of the fact they’re in the shower together.
They kiss lazily, breaking apart only when the water gets too annoying, before Jack finally dislodges himself from Dennis’ embrace.
“Washcloth?”
Dennis hands him his washcloth and the soap, before he steps away and busies himself with shampooing his hair, letting Jack wash himself.
As sweet as the idea of washing one another is, Dennis has literally never found it to work particularly well. Robby’s washed his hair a couple of times, that was nice, but it’s just so much easier to wash himself.
Still, when he offers Jack the shampoo and Jack raises an eyebrow, he doesn’t say no.
He pours some into his palm and gently massages it into Jack’s curls, laughing when it suds up far more than he expects.
He tries his best to keep it out of his face, but he feels Jack’s hand on his waist after a minute. “Ah — Mouse, it’s in my eyes —“
“Oh — shit, sorry.”
He unhooks the shower head, and sprays it directly in Jack’s face.
It’s a dangerous game, and Dennis knows it when Jack goes still. There’s a beat, as he lowers the shower head, before suddenly there’s a strong arm wrapping around his waist, tugging him in and holding him firm.
He almost slips, dropping the shower head as he grabs at the wall instead, one hand latching onto the grab rail, the other Jack’s shoulder.
“Wh— hey!”
As soon as he’s not in danger of actively falling, there’s suddenly fingertips dancing up along the length of his ribs, and Dennis makes an awful sort of squealing noise, cringing away from him as best he can with Jack holding him tight.
“Jack no — no, no, no, please—“ he gasps, but Jack doesn't relent.
“You little dick,” he growls, “spraying me in the face, getting soap in my eyes,” his fingers continue, working their way under Dennis’ armpit. “So naughty, puppy.”
Dennis whines, a high keening noise as he wriggles helplessly, but Jack’s arm keeps him trapped against him, unable to squirm away. He tries to cover himself with his arms, but Jack is too strong, and Dennis fights uselessly, unable to do nothing more than stand and take it.
Under any other circumstance, he’d be ecstatic and also probably beyond turned on at having this display of strength from Jack, because his partner is so strong and those muscles are insane… but this is not an environment particularly compatible with sex, not when Jack’s using his strength to tickle him.
His partners are so, so, so evil for it, and Jack loves to ‘punish’ him by tickling him, just as he is now.
“Jack — Jack, please, please, please no —“ he begs, fingers flexing against his shoulder. “Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,”
“Mmh I don’t think so pup, not until you say sorry. Good boys don’t squirt water in peoples faces.”
Dennis almost sobs, “stooooop — I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” it comes out satisfactorily pathetic and needy enough, apparently, because Jack does finally stop. As soon as his relentless assault ends, Dennis crumbles, sagging over Jack as he catches his breath.
“You’re so mean.” He pants out breathlessly, and Jack laughs.
“Me? You sprayed the shower in my eyes and mouth, Mouse, and I’m the mean one?”
Dennis huffs, lifting his head to meet Jack’s eyes.
“It was an accident.”
Jack’s hazel eyes glitter. The corner of his mouth is quirked up into a poorly concealed smile, and it’s so ridiculously sexy that Dennis can’t help but smile back as Jack murmurs, “no it wasn't."
He’s right, of course. But there’s no way Dennis is going to admit that.
“It was.”
“It wasn’t.”
There’s a beat, and then they both laugh, and Jack’s free arm winds around Dennis’ waist so he's properly holding him close.
He presses his face into his stomach, and Dennis shivers, finally releasing the grab bar in favour of holding onto Jack’s head.
There’s still some shampoo in his hair, and Dennis runs his fingers through it, watching the way the remaining suds continue to foam up.
“I love you.” He says, and he feels Jack smile against his skin.
“I love you too, Mouse.”
By the time they’ve dried off and headed back downstairs, Dennis is already starting to fall asleep.
He curls up on the couch, dressed in one of Robby’s shirts and a pair of Jack’s sweatpants, both hanging off of him in a way that he really likes, curls damp, automatically tucking himself into Jack’s side as he settles down. Jack throws a blanket over them both, adjusting it so Dennis’s feet are covered and warm, then reaches for his iPad once he’s sure Dennis is settled.
He doesn’t even last ten minutes before he’s out like a light. His head slips onto Jack’s thigh, fingers hooked in the fabric of his shirt, breathing deep and steady.
Jack pauses his game long enough to bend down and press a kiss to the crown of his head, smiling to himself.
Dennis doesn’t stir.
So Jack resumes playing his game, one hand steadying the iPad, the other absently tracing lines and patterns along Dennis’ arm whenever he hits a loading screen.
Dennis wakes to the sound of the front door closing, and the familiar sound of Robby dropping his keys into the bowl, and kicking off his shoes.
He blinks blearily, taking stock of where he is. He’s lying with his face completely pressed into Jack’s shirt, and the blanket half on the floor from where it’s slipped. For a second he doesn’t move, just orients himself, before he lifts his head enough to squint toward the hallway.
“Mmmh… Robby’s home?” he murmurs, voice still thick with sleep.
Jack hums. “Yes he is, Mouse.”
They hear Robby’s footsteps, his voice drifting in when he rounds the corner. “Hey — oh.” He stops, taking in the sight of them tangled together on the couch. Dennis blinks at him, and it’s clear he’s been asleep, the way he’s still curled around Jack, and Jack’s absent touch, focused more on the fact the screen of his iPad is paused mid-game. His expression softens immediately, and Dennis can see the way some of his stress of the day lifts off of his perpetually tense shoulders. “Did I wake you?”
Dennis pushes himself upright, and grins. “Nah. I was awake.” He lies, and Jack laughs, pushing his head gently.
“Yeah, you did. He was completely unconscious. Shift okay?”
“Fine,” Robby says, dropping onto the armchair opposite them with a theatrical sigh. “Had a four hour divert.”
Jack finally sets his iPad aside. “Sounds like you need a hug, brother.”
Robby snorts, shaking his head. He really does look exhausted, the bags under his eyes bruised, and his face just a little too pale from where he’s running out of energy. “I need a shower and food and to go to bed.”
That is definitely true, but he also needs them, and it’s been a whole day since Dennis has gotten to see him and he’s missed him, so much. So he tilts his head, all faux-innocent as he looks up at Robby with big blue eyes. “You can shower later. Come sit with us first.”
“I know your tricks and I’m not getting trapped by you two. I’m starving and I really need to shower.”
“Please? I just wanna say hi.” Dennis pouts, and Robby sighs.
“You don’t want to cuddle me. I smell.” He counters automatically, but he’s already standing, already halfway across the space between them.
Jack lifts the blanket in silent invitation and Dennis scoots over just enough to make space, and Robby’s resolve lasts approximately three seconds.
He drops into the space between them, and Dennis is on him immediately. He twists so he can hook a leg between Robby’s, his stomach pressing up against his side, pressing his face into the soft meat of his pec just above his armpit. Robby’s watch digs into his ribs, but Dennis doesn’t even care, hooking an arm over his stomach as Jack shifts on his other side. Dennis can’t quite tell what he’s doing, but he feels a heavy hand settle on the small of his back that isn’t Robby’s and he smiles contentedly.
“Hey,” Robby protests weakly, even as he relaxes into their embrace, the hand not trapped under a Dennis coming up to gently stroke circles onto his shoulder. “This is a set-up.”
Dennis beams, lifting his head just enough to meet Robby’s fond gaze. “Correct. Missed you.”
Jack tucks the blanket around all three of them as best he can, before he settles down against his husband, resting a hand over his chest. “You’re home now, brother. Dennis has been so good, c’mon, indulge us.”
Robby exhales, long and so clearly exhausted, then lets his head fall back against the cushions. “Fine. Five minutes.”
Ten minutes later and none of them have moved, beyond Jack and Robby just enough to kiss briefly.
Robby stares up at the ceiling, thoroughly wedged between the two. There’s a pause. Then he sighs, finally giving in to them completely, head tipping to rest against Jack’s. “We’re going to need a bigger couch,” he says. “Maybe one of those L shaped ones. Get a matching ottoman.”
Jack hums, patting Dennis’ back. “And get rid of this old thing? C’mon Mikey, it’s been with us since we moved in. It’s a part of the house. And our ottoman sort of matches.”
“It’s an eyesore and it was in the house when we bought it.” Robby points out, “besides, if we get a new one then Mouse can help pick it out.” Another hand lands on his back, and Dennis is fairly sure it’s Robby’s.
The idea of picking out something to be in their house is… it’s weird. Exciting. There’s not really anything of his in the house beyond the things that belong to him like his clothes and toiletries and stuff, so the very idea that he could help be a part of a decision about something that is part of the house… they’ve said that they’re serious about him but it’s a reassurance that maybe they genuinely mean it.
“I say one of those beanbag couches,” Dennis mumbles, and both men groan in disgust.
“Mmh, I take it back, maybe no couch decisions for Dennis.”
“Noooo—“ Dennis whines, burrowing closer to Robby, and both of them laugh at him.
“Oh pup, it’s okay don’t listen to Jack. Of course you can help us pick a new one out.”
As if intentional, the wooden framework creaks then, and Jack pats Dennis’ back again fondly.
“We’re seriously exceeding its structural limits. This couch was not designed for… whatever this is… Mouse why don’t you look online and pick one out and we can go into the store and have a look and see if it works?”
Dennis wriggles happily. “Yes! Yes, yeah I can do that. When are we all next off?”
Jack shrugs, and Robby shifts, gently dislodging his arm from under Dennis as he squints at his watch.
“On the…. The twenty seventh.”
“We can go couch shopping then Mouse,” Jack says softly. “Then I say we might as well break it in.”
Robby groans, and the hand on Dennis’ back lifts, before he hears a gentle smack of flesh on flesh as Robby swats at Jack’s arm.
“Yankl we are not buying a couch just to fuck on it.”
Dennis can hear Jack’s grin as he retorts, “who said you had to get involved? You can watch if you want, me and Mouse can have some fun breaking it in.”
“Animals. My partners are animals.” Robby mutters, mostly to himself.
He’s interrupted by his own body then though, his stomach suddenly growing so loudly that Dennis feels it through Robby’s side and immediately starts laughing.
“Did you eat today?” Jack asks, and his voice is soft but his tone is just shy of accusatory.
“I had most of my lunch, Yankl,” Robby soothes, turning to look at him. “Dana made sure of it.” Jack eats on his shifts, he’s always pretty good at finding time to at least have a bite of something, even if it’s in the fewest of seconds he has between patients. Robby though? He’s not… great. He’s good at pressuring Dennis to eat on their shifts, but he’s pretty fucking terrible at actually having a meal himself. He’s pretty hot on packing lunch though, but something tells Dennis that that’s a new habit since he became part of the household, because he doesn’t really do it when he’s on shift by himself, and Dennis never really sees him eat it all that often.
And Jack doesn’t look convinced.
“I ate. And,” Robby replies, defensive. “I was going to make something sensible for dinner.”
Jack hums thoughtfully. “Mmmh. Sure. Or,” he says, “we could not do that.”
“Yankl...” Robby sighs, “what are you on about?”
Dennis props himself up on an elbow then, eyes bright. “Takeout?” For as much as Jack and Robby do cook a lot, sometimes none of them can be bothered, especially after a long shift. It’s maybe once a week or so that they order in, but it’s always conveniently when Dennis is with them, and he suspects that when it’s just the two of them they sort of just scrounge for leftovers or skip dinner in its entirety. They’ll probably insist it’s because of the diabetes, but Dennis is fairly sure it’s because they can’t bear to see him not fed.
Either way.
He’s not complaining.
“I bought groceries, there’s plenty of food in the fridge and there’s left overs.”
Jack gestures vaguely toward the kitchen. “But that’s all the way over there, and we’re all the way over here.”
Dennis nods solemnly. “It’s so far. Jack made me play tennis, and you’ve been at work all day, we deserve takeout.” And really so does Robby, far more than the two of them. He’s the only one who’s done any real work, and Dennis can tell how tired he is.
Robby looks between them, clocking the way neither of them has made the slightest move to sit up and free him from their embrace, and he exhales heavily. “You’re both awful.”
“And yet,” Jack says pleasantly, “you’re still here—“
“— and you love us.”
There’s a beat, and Robby reaches for his phone.
“Fine. Takeout. But we are not ordering something ridiculous.”
Dennis immediately perks up. “Define ridiculous.”
“No sushi,” Robby says. “I want hot food.”
Jack answers instantly. “Thai.” He loves everything spicy, Dennis has learnt. He asked, once, and Jack blamed it on his time in the army which didn’t really make sense, but Dennis hadn’t questioned it. He puts hot sauce on everything, and he has a whole collection of various sauces in the fridge, as well as different pots of crushed chilli and chilli powder. Dennis isn’t sure he’s actually ever seen him eat anything that wasn’t spicy (beyond sweet things, really), and it’s kind of a little awe inspiring.
It does, however, mean that Jack is fairly blind to the spice tolerance of most other people. He’s not that bad, especially because he’s learnt that it’s just bed to avoid the heat until it’s been dished up so everyone can do their own spice, but he does go a little wild with it when they order food in or go to a restaurant.
Dennis shakes his head.“We had Thai yesterday.”
“We had noodles. That doesn’t count.” Jack counters, leaning over Robby to frown at Dennis.
“Yes it does! You made a spicy coconut sauce using a Thai recipe to put on it, that absolutely counts,” Dennis counters, sticking his tongue out at him.
Robby keeps scrolling down the list of restaurants. “Fine. No thai. How about pizza?”
“—Yes.” “—No.”
They blink at each other, then Jack raises an eyebrow quizzically. “You said no to thai and pizza?”
Dennis rolls his eyes, propping himself up on Robby’s chest to point a finger accusingly. “Yeah. So what? Besides, you never want pizza, you always say you actively don’t want any and then eat half of mine.”
“That’s different,” Jack says. “That’s your pizza.”
Robby sighs again, scrubbing his hand over his face. “I can still cook.”
Dennis ignores him though, and leans over him to peer at the phone. “What about Indian?”
Jack brightens immediately. “Ohhh, curry. I can do curry.”
Robby hesitates though, looking at the menu before he looks back at Dennis. “That’s a lot of rice, Mouse, not that easy to make it low carb.”
“So?”
Robby gives him a look. “I don’t want you going low overnight, it’s already late, and I don’t want you feeling rough because we have something high-carb.”
Jack squeezes Robby’s arm placatingly. “We can deal with it. He’s been good all day, and we played tennis for a couple of hours, he needs it.”
“I was really good, promise. Besides, I don’t have to have that much rice, I don’t need it that much.” Dennis offers, looking between them.
“Why do I even bother pretending I’m in charge?” Robby groans, “Here—“ he moves to hand Jack his phone, but Jack just takes it before he can even fully offer.
“Right. Okay. Burgers?”
Dennis pulls a face. “We had beef with lunch. And it’s kinda greasy.”
Robby leans his head back into the cushions, shutting his eyes again, “This is why we should rotate who chooses each time. I always say this, and neither of you listen.”
“Great. So that means it’s my turn.” Dennis grins, reaching out to take the phone.
Jack immediately objects to that, turning his head so fast to look at Dennis that it looks physically painful. “No it is not, Mouse. You ordered last time.”
“I ordered for me and Robby, you ordered for all of us last, so it feels like it should be my go,” Dennis points out, utterly unconvincingly.
Robby sits up a little then, dislodging them just enough that they’re forced to look at them. “Figure it out, or I’m choosing. Besides, by your logic, Mouse it’s my turn.”
Both of them groan.
“Fine. We’re getting Indian, then.” Robby continues, “from the place with the grilled chicken options. We’ll get pilau rice on the side and… one naan each.”
Dennis narrows his eyes. “Two naan.”
Jack nods. “Two naan. Obviously, brother. What kind of a man are you? Oh — and I want peshwari, obviously.”
“Uh — what about garlic?”
“Good point, Mouse. Yes. Okay, both.”
Robby looks between them, and they both stare unrelenting back at him.
“…Fine, fine. For fuck’s sake.” Robby says. “Two naan. But you’re both helping me decide. We’re sharing”
Dennis beams and immediately curls back into Robby’s side. “You’re the best.”
“You’re a menace, Mouse.” Robby shifts, and wraps both of his arms around Dennis, dragging him up so he’s sprawled across his chest instead, and he squeezes him.
Dennis makes a noise of surprise, but settles down against him almost immediately, hugging him back as best as he can with the angle he’s lying.
“But you love me?”
“Yeah, I love you.”
“And what about me?” There’s a shift besides them, before Jack joins him on Robby’s chest, batting his eyelashes up at his husband.
“Mm, not sure about you.” Robby murmurs, and it’s so unbearably fond as he looks down at Jack that Dennis has to look away for a brief moment.
“Not sure about you either.” Jack kisses Robby’s shoulder, and Robby smiles, so bright and beautiful and happy.
God does Dennis love seeing him like this so much, so much. It’s so good seeing him happy and relaxed, it’s so different from how tense he seems at work, and how stressed he always felt before Dennis really got to know him.
This is good. This is nice.
And he’s also fairly sure that Robby just told him he loved him for the first time. Jack’s been fairly open with it, and Robby tells Jack he loves him, but he’s never actually directed it towards Dennis before.
Except now he has.
Dennis has to put it to the test.
“Hey,” he says softly, lifting his head as Robby turns to him. They’re so close like this, and Dennis can see all the salt and pepper in his beard, can see the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, his surprisingly long eyelashes behind his glasses. He’s so incredibly gorgeous, easily one of the most attractive people he’s ever seen in his life, and god, god Dennis loves him.
“I love you.” He whispers, voice cracking just a little over the words.
Robby blinks at him, surprise fleetingly passing over his expression as his eyebrows raise just a little, before he smiles, and it’s like the sun breaking through the clouds as everything about him softens. It takes Dennis’ breath away just a little bit.
“I love you too, Mouse.”