Work Text:
Dennis Whitaker held onto the disintegrating brownness of Dr. Robby’s leather jacket. Santos hadn’t been too happy to see him leave with Robby but Whitaker was now confident that she would call him by Sunday evening to drag him to a diner for pancakes. He could feel all fifteen hours of today’s shift in every cell. He could smell the sweat from Robby’s helmet and his eyes drooped. If he just blinked hard, the cold summer air would wake him up.
“Whitaker!”
“Huckleberry!”
“Yeh, I’m up,” blinked Whitaker.
He wiped off a string of saliva with the back of his hand and looked up to see Dr. Robby smiling at him through the side mirror.
“I’m so sorry,” he slurred, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
He quickly retracted the hand that had been around Robby’s torso and got off the bike. He’d been worried that Dr. Robby was going to pick a fight with the paramedic who’d crashed into his bike but Dr. Robby had been fairly calm, albeit vague, with his goodbyes before they left. Santos stubbornly refused to look his way, narrating away to her monitor, focused on her charting like she’d never been before.
He knew Dr. Robby wasn’t doing well. Dana, Dr. Abbot, McKay, Dr. Caleb– the list of people who were not with his sabbatical was long. Whitaker didn’t want to overstep but even he was skeptical about this whole bike riding escapade. The last ten months in the Pitt had visibly improved Whitaker’s knowledge and confidence, Dr. Robby’s mentorship and trust was a major part of his growth. As a consequence he’d been observing Dr. Robby quietly, the way he always looked one tear away from crying, the volume of his eyebrows and the skin on his face. He was kind of absolutely smug about Dr. Robby choosing him to house-sit but the ‘If I don’t come back’ comment did not sit well with him.
“That’s the gym and there’s an Asian supermarket across the street off the main road,” said Dr. Robby, as they walked out of the parking lot, “There’s also a little pond in the park over there.”
The park was drowning in the darkened evening sky.
“It’s a solid spot for a beer after work,” he continued, “All the elderly groups clear out by sundown, so it’s perfect for some reflecting before bed.”
“It hadn’t occurred to me that there were people older than you.” blurted Whitaker.
“Yeah.” smiled Robby.
“I mean of course there’s people older than you and you’re still young!” he desperately tried to retrace his words, was he that tired? “You’re…fit.”
“Thanks for the validation, Whitaker,” Dr. Robby shook his head.
His bare arms bubbled with goosebumps as they entered the elevator. He rubbed his forearms with his palms as Dr. Robby stepped in behind him.
“Floor seventeen.” The robotic feminine voice was painfully bright as the doors opened to a carpeted hallway that lit up as they walked down.
“The code is 8-3-9-7,” said Dr. Robby at the door to flat 707, “Uh, ‘83 the year I was born and ‘97 when I decided to pursue med in college.”
Whitaker nodded. Dr. Robby seemed especially brittle tonight. The flat was empty. It looked like the pictures you’d see online to advertise a vacancy. There were no posters or little trinkets, the houseplants were the only life in the flat. This was such a contrast to Santos’ flat which had posters of Fiona Apple, Beach House and Pokémon cards on the walls. Whitaker’s room in their also had pictures from when the duo had gone to a gay bar and in helping Santos score, Whitaker had to take nearly 4 shots in succession to work up the courage to kiss the hot part-timer.
“No vinyls or wine collection?”
“I don’t decorate,” said Robby, hanging up his jacket, “All I need is the bed and the shower.”
Whitaker looked at the bare flat and this man who looked like he’d been stripped bare as well. He’d never seen a house that so accurately reflected its inhabitant.
“Well, I’ll grab my bag and be out.,” said Dr. Robby, walking into the bedroom, “I will text you about the plants and how often they need to be watered.”
“You should just drink something before you leave,” he was stalling, “ Go shower, I’ll be back with milk and have a blueberry milkshake ready for you when you’re out.”
“No, I’ll just have some instant coffee and be out, you should rest.”
“Just go, don’t make me tackle you, Dr. Robby,” he winked, where was he getting this confidence from?
“Alright, maybe I could switch up on the instant coffee. You’d have to go out and get some milk though.”
Whitaker had to take advantage of all his tiredness. Dr. Robby’s disorientation could lead to something worse on the road. Practically, he should sleep the night and set off tomorrow. Ideally, Whitaker would love it if the old man didn’t leave altogether. If he was charming enough to force Trinity to listen to the Chicks, surely he could get Robby to leave well rested. He would have to be careful not to sound presumptuous and keep the tone casual.
“How sad, you don’t even know the joy of a coffee frother,” said Whitaker getting behind the counter, “I need to make you an iced coffee some day.”
“If I get back,” smiled Dr. Robby.
His words thickened the air. Whitaker gave him a dry laugh and turned away. How insufferable. He left the flat and didn’t realise he was clenching his jaw till he was crossing the road to the supermarket. His mood was disturbed that he didn’t even try to help a woman who was straining to reach for a pack of nine toilet paper rolls. He paid for the oat milk with a forced smile and only slowed down when he was right outside the flat, punching in 8-3-9-7 on the lock. He set the milk down on the counter and pulled up Trinity’s location. She was home.
He picked up the bag of frozen blueberries and sent her a selfie.
DW: making a milkshake for Robby
TS: omggg!!! why don’t you suck his cock 222
DW: it’s okaay
DW: i still love you
DW: even though yo-yo doesn’t :3
He put his phone down and scooped two handfuls of the frozen berries into the blender along with some strangely labelled liquid that did taste like honey and the milk. It blended up nicely purple blasts against the white milking mixing into a nice cool light red-violet.
“You should go clean up too.”
Dr. Robby walked in wearing well worn grey sweats and a Playboi Carti tour shirt of all things. Jake had probably given him that shirt and though his son’s visits had reduced greatly since the PittFest incident, Robby had kept it.
“Yeah,” smiled Whitaker, pouring a glass and sliding it to him before heading to the shower.
There was already a towel, sweatpants and a plain shirt neatly folded by the bedside. The shower was still warm and he softened under the warmth of the water. He scrubbed himself with just the water first before looking to the rack to find that Dr. Robby uses bar soap and not body wash. He picked up the light blue rectangle and lathered it all over his body and in his head too. It felt strange. As if the cells from Robby’s body had clung to the soap and were now all over Whitaker. He forced this thought out his head and aggressively washed himself and was out in minutes. He couldn’t relax anymore. He wished he’d packed spare underwear as he pulled on the sweats over his bare ass, His curls were still wet as he walked out into the living room. He picked up the blender and an empty glass before sitting down on the floor beside the couch. He refilled Robby’s glass before pouring some out for himself.
“Nice to have a drink with you before I head off,” smiled Robby, holding his glass out.
Whitaker clinked it and gulped a couple mouthfuls before looking up at Dr. Robby.
“You can uh…put up things you like, paintings or rugs. The plants are really the only thing you need to be mindful of.”
Paintings? Rugs? Whitaker was twenty-six not a divorcee with a drinking problem.
He rolled his eyes
“And the plants are here because you simply can’t leave well enough alone.”
Here it goes. Hopefully Whitaker was able to piss him off enough so this man revealed something. Anything. He simply couldn’t let this Bernese mountain dog looking man ride out tonight because he had a scary feeling that he might die and that would kill Whitaker.
“What?”
“Oh, Dr. Robinavitch, your hands simply can’t stay still, you always have to serve yourself the biggest helping of trouble.”
“Whitaker, watch your tone,” warned Dr. Robby.
“Take. A. Look. At. Yourself. It’s terrible to watch you.”
“Well, you won’t have to,” he set his glass down on the coffee table, “I’ll be out of your lives.”
Whitaker downed his milkshake and put his glass down loudly.
“What are you gonna do? Ride around without a helmet and hope you don’t have to address any of the fuck ton of mental traffic that you’ve made our whole department’s problem?”
“I…Just need some time off. Twenty years I’ve been in there, it drives you crazy.”
“Agreed. Which is why you need to get help or just talk things out with someone. Don’t go on this– don’t leave tonight.”
He climbed onto the couch and pushed his head close to Dr. Robby’s. His eyes reminded him of his family’s farm dog before it died. Painfully heavy pupils that made the thin skin beneath sag.
“Please,” he whispered.
Dr. Robby’s eyes were glassy again. His chest heaved visibly. Whitaker couldn’t help it. He kissed his upper lip. He could taste the residual blueberry milkshake. Dr. Robby’s body relaxed but his brows stitched together. Whitaker pushed him, finding little resistance. All his attitude reduced to a middle-aged man with the eyes of a kicked puppy. He pushed away the wrinkles on his forehead with two fingers and rested his hands on Dr. Robby’s face. He stroked Robby’s beard and maintained eye-contact as he moved in for another kiss. He teased the old man with occasional flicks of his tongue. This was his first time having his eyes open during a kiss. Dr. Robby’s hands were tentatively resting on Whitaker’s lower back. Robby let out a soft noise. Involuntary. His mouth was malleable under Whitaker’s roving tongue. His head relaxed into Whitaker’s firm grip and Whitaker gripped the back of Robby’s head hard. Whitaker smirked against Robby’s lips when the old man finally closed his eyes. Whitaker’s stayed open as he pushed his tongue into Robby’s mouth, discovering mint toothpaste under the blueberries, watching the lines of his face melt away. Robby’s acceptance fed Whitaker’s confidence. He added teeth to tongue and lips, nipping at anything he could reach like a rogue mutt.
“Give me a break,” panted Robby, “I need my inhaler.”
Whitaker pulled away but shifted his body wholly onto Robby’s.
“You really are an old man.”
“Hey, whatever your workout routine is, it’s working,” said Robby, “The nurses don’t even look at Langdon anymore.”
“As if.”
“It’s true, I’ve seen it.”
“Creep, stop watching me,” grinned Whitaker, “I’m telling Dana.”
“You look good…it’s uh…great for work morale.”
“Yeah?”
Whitaker’s right hand snuck into Robby’s shirt. His fingers brushed against his nipples. Robby’s torso stiffened under his touch.
“I bet you don’t even know Playboi Carti,” snorted Whitaker, “Get this ridiculous shirt off.”
Robby moved to take it off and Whitaker grabbed the collar and chucked it to the floor. He kissed around Robby’s chest. Robby squirmed, arms coming up to hold Whitaker’s face. Whitaker tsked at his sensitivity and held both of Robby’s wrists behind his head and pushed his face back into Robby’s chest. He licked around the general pectoral area and massaged the lymph nodes just shy of Robby’s armpits. Robby’s head fell back against the arm of the couch. Whitaker licked the circumference of his areola and Robby’s nipples peaked up like budding apple blossoms in early spring. His free hand slowly rubbed the other nipple, mouth and hand working to give equal attention to both nipples. He gave up his teasing at the blushing tips of Robby’s chest and sucked on the nipple while pinching the other one between the gaps in his fingers. The calluses on his palms rubbed against Robby’s chest, making the old man moan helplessly. Whitaker let go of Robby’s hands and shifted to slip his hand into Robby’s pants. He was wearing boxers.
“Get your damn pants off, man.”
His sweats nearly took the blender on the coffee table out as they fell to the ground. Whitaker pulled out his cock and rubbed it against Robby’s length hanging through the gap in his boxers.
Robby raised an eyebrow.
“I didn’t have clean underwear,” shrugged Whitaker.
Whitaker’s hand was big enough to wrap around both of them and he began to stroke with a hurried rhythm. When he rubbed against Robby’s head, a thin stream of precum leaked down. The old man gasped and wrapped his hand around Whitaker’s wrist. His grip was limp and soon they both cummed all over Robby’s lower abdomen. Whitaker smiled down at Robby who was breathing hard. His hands couldn’t stay still and he immediately dug into Robby’s boxers, fingers brushing over his hole.
“Attractive as you are, I will not have unprotected sex with you,” said Robby, sitting up.
“Fuck off, I have lube and condoms. Santos and I were volunteering–”
“Shut up about work people.”
Robby wrapped his legs around Whitaker’s waist and sniffed the skin on his neck behind his ear. Whitaker could feel Robby’s boner against his lower back already.
“Let’s see how strong you are, boy.”
Whitaker clenched his jaw at the taunt and made his way to where he’d left his bag in the bedroom, gripping Robby’s thighs with unnecessary aggression. Robby was heavy but nothing compared to a sack of pumpkins during autumn harvest. He threw Robby onto the bed and nearly tore his zip off as he blindly felt for the tube of lube and the condoms he had from when the street team was promoting safe sex in a neighborhood infamous for STD cases and unwanted pregnancies. Whitaker turned to the bed to find Robby so happy to look a mess. Tangled hair and crumpled boxers. Whitaker’s dick strained against his pants. He climbed onto the bed and squeezed out lube onto his palm. He curled a hand around the base of Robby’s neck while smearing the lube over his other hand, fingers smacking wetly. Robby kicked his boxers off and looked at Whitaker’s hand, out of breath already. Robby was completely naked now, save for his silver Star of David chain. Whitaker stared into Robby’s watery eyes as he slid his middle finger into the old man’s butt. He massaged the hot walls of Robby’s insides till he was able to put two fingers in. He supported his pinky and thumb against the gap between his inner thighs. He inserted a third finger and quickened his movements to ease the pressure from the muscles in his hole.
“Fuck, are you a virgin. So tight,” said Whitaker.
“You’re my first man. Sexuality really is a spectrum," panted Robby.
He could feel Robby relaxing against his fingers and he pulled his hand away from Robby’s neck to pull out his dick, sweatpants hanging low on his butt and ripped out a condom from its packet with his teeth. Just as he got it on, he shoved it inside Robby. Robby’s legs rested on his shoulders naturally and Whitaker squeezed his calves as he began to move. Robby covered his face with his hands but Withaker bit the skin on his knee with a growl. Robby’s hands fell away and his hips gyrated upwards, grinding into Whitaker’s strokes. Whitaker shifted his arms to support Robby’s lower back. He didn’t want Robby to pull a muscle. He felt so brittle under Whitaker’s touch and the sigh of Robby’s feeble expression made him harden inside him. He thrusted harder and Robby whined. Long and low. He put his hands on Whitaker’s chest and pushed.
Whitaker fell back with a smirk. Robby’s hand had no strength behind it but he kinda wanted to see Robby ride on him. He supported himself on his elbows and let Robby position himself on his dick. Whitaker’s smirk crumpled into a groan as Robby began to move. Robby looked so shy and the way his bruised lips glistened, curtained between his moustache and bear was so cute. He didn’t know how much a greying man could turn him on. Robby took himself into his hand and stroked himself in tandem with his pelvic movement. Whitaker was enjoying Robby’s active participation and his elbows gave out, he fell against the mattress biting back a smile.
“Don’t pass out on me grandpa,” grunted Whitaker.
“Shaa–Ah,” groaned Robby, gripping Whitaker’s shirt hard.
Whitaker’s eyes closed as he cummed a second time and he pulled the condom off his dick as Robby came crashing onto his torso. As they lay on the bed catching themselves, Whitaker could feel sweet pooling in his armpits and lower back. He sat up.
“I’m sweaty.”
Robby gave him an incredulous look between his laboured breaths.
Whitaker stood up and stripped. He held his hand out to Robby.
“Let’s shower.”
“I’m not in my twenties. Let me–”
Whitaker hauled him up and snaked his arms around Robby’s waist and softly dragged his fingers against Robby’s lower abdomen. The shower was lukewarm from Whitaker’s shower and Robby clung to Whitaker as the warm water ran over them. Whitaker places his palms on Robby’s buttocks and massaged his lower back with two thumbs. Robby bent down to kiss him, inhaling water in his hurry. Whitaker couldn’t separate tears from water as Robby leaned his forehead against his.
“I’ve been having a bad day for the past twenty years of my life,” whispered Robby.
“Lucky for you, I like being there for people on the worst days of their lives.” smiled Whitaker.