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The confession happens while they’re making dinner.
Well, while Jack and Robby are. Dennis tried to get involved but his attempts to help were shot down by the couple. After the tenth time being told to sit down and “watch the magic happen” as Jack put it, Dennis did just that.
Robby uncorked a vintage wine as soon as they entered the kitchen and told Dennis to help himself. Now, thirty minutes later, the lasagna is in the oven and half the bottle is gone.
“Damn kid,” Jack whistles upon realising how empty the bottle is. Dennis blushes.
“Sorry, I—” he starts to apologise before Robby cuts him off with a peck to the lips.
“No sorries,” he says, “you’ve had a tough week, you deserve to get a little wine-drunk.”
He opens his mouth to disagree — he has had a particularly shitty week, but they don't need to pamper him — but this time he’s cut off by a more filthy kiss from Jack.
That shuts him up for a minute. When they pull apart Dennis takes a second to compose himself, heart racing and cheeks burning, holding onto the countertop to keep from toppling off the stool he’s on. Once calm, he grabs a glass of water — no more wine tonight — and sits back down to once again watch Jack and Robby work.
They move around eachother the same way they do at the hospital — easily and efficiently. They're washing up as Jack regales them with a story of a disastrous Thanksgiving dinner.
“... then Rodriguez comes in, carrying this big tray, and guess what he brought…” he says, pausing for dramatic effect.
“Another ham?” Dennis guesses to humour the man. Jack spins from the sink to snap a soapy finger at him.
“Yup! The seventh ham, to be exact.”
Robby, who’s no doubt heard this story before, still laughs at the conclusion.
Dennis laughs too, eyes crinkled with mirth. Taking in the domestic scene before him, he can’t help but think about his relationship with the two men.
He's not sure what to call what they have going on. At first, he thought it was just sex. Risky (they are his bosses, after all), casual fun. A way for the married men to spice things up. Then, it became more than sex. Grabbing lunch together, watching movies while cuddling on the couch, cooking him dinner. If Dennis had to put a label on it he'd say that they're dating, but neither man has said anything of the sort. In fact, they've not really discussed what they're doing at all.
I love you, he thinks, watching as Robby whips Jack with the dish towel. I love you, he thinks when Jack flicks soapy water at Robby. He desperately wants to say those words out loud, the urge feeling like an itch he has to hold himself back from scratching. Dennis wants to believe that they’ll reciprocate his feelings — the two men haven’t given him any reason to think otherwise — but he’s not had many relationships before this one and he can't afford to be wrong, it'd ruin everything.
Dennis is pulled out of his tipsy musing by a glass being set down too forcibly. Looking up from the marble countertop, he finds Jack and Robby looking at him with matching, surprised expressions. He’s about to ask what’s wrong but stops as a memory comes to him unbiddened.
“So you’re one of those drunks, huh?” Trinity had teased, her and Dennis sat on their small sofa. The woman had taken it upon herself to educate her roommate on must-watch TV shows, so they were bingeing Buffy while drinking cheap beer. He must have looked confused because Trinity laughed and clarified: “The type that says everything they think. You just blurted out that you wish Angel would bend you over —”. He threw a pillow at her face.
Fuck.
“I said that outloud, didn’t I?” He asks, hoping he’s wrong. Both men simultaneously give a small nod.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“I didn’t mean— wait, no, I did mean it, but I didn’t mean to say it! Well, at least not right now, I, ummm…” he rants, trying to stand up and push his stool back at the same time. “I’ll just — Imma go, I’m sorr—” his leg gets stuck between the legs of the stool, causing he and it to fall to the floor.
Bang!
“Dennis!” Jack and Robby shout, immediately running over to help him up. Robby reaches him first, his two long legs making him quicker than his husband who’s been stood on his prosthetic all day long. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head? Jack, grab my penlight please?” The man rambles, hands pressed against Dennis’ shoulders to stop him from sitting up.
“I'm okay! There's no need for the light, I'm fine!” Dennis protests, wriggling in Robby's grasp. Regardless of what he says, he can't stop the tears that start to spill from his eyes, both from the pain in his head and the mortification of his abrupt confession.
Seeing this, Robby shushes him and wipes the droplets away with the pad of his thumbs. Then, he grabs Dennis’ face between his palms, forcing eye contact.
“I love you too, Dennis,” Robby says, voice serious but not unkind, “it's okay that you said it even if you didn't mean to.”
Jack kneels next to them, using Robby's shoulder to ease himself down, and looks down at Dennis. “And I love you too, by the way, so no need to injure yourself, okay?”
Dennis starts crying even more.
“Really? I mean, I know you must like me, but —”
A calloused finger lands on his lips.
“But nothing. Now come on, up you get,” he orders, him and Robby helping him up, “we can talk during dinner and then, if you want, afterwards we can show you just how much we love you,” he finishes with a sly smile.
Dennis nods so vigorously he almost falls back over.