Work Text:
The cigarette is warm between Dennis’ fingers as it burns to the filter. Jack pinches his own fingers together, gesturing for it, inhaling a final time before squashing it under his shoes, Dennis can almost feel the way Jack’s throat must burn with the fire of the cigarette so close. He smiles softly and mostly to himself when Jack chokes on the smoke, looking out to the street and the passing cars before finding Dennis’ gaze, grinning as he trails the shape of his boyfriend's jaw with the back of his fingers, “You look pretty tonight.”
The way the wind hits his face when he leaves the hospital after a long shift warms him, in an almost unreplicable way, a high of relief and satisfaction. In some ways, it just reminds him he’s alive. Sometimes, Jack just makes him feel that way too. It came across as so easy and effortless, the compliments and the gestures, Dennis hadn’t realised it was so comforting to be loved until Jack.
He doesn’t mention that though, he just flushes a light pink, feeling it course over his body, lighting up even the places hidden by his warm clothes and he smiles at Jack, kisses him briefly before falling back against the brick wall of the bar. “Just tonight?” He smirks as Jack jolts back, faux disappointment on his face before he settles his hands on either side of Dennis’ head, leaning in close, their foreheads pressed together.
Dennis’ eyes flutter closed, almost nervously, his hands reaching up to hold onto the other man’s hips, covered in Dennis’ own shirt with some faded message that he must’ve thought was funny at some point in time. Jack’s warm breath falls over his face, their noses brushing as he gathers the words in his mouth, “No,” Jack kisses at the corner of his mouth, Dennis’ tongue darting out to follow the pressure as soon as it’s gone, “Why? Does your boyfriend not say it enough?” Jack pauses, gaze ghosting over Dennis’ features, appreciating the man who seems to crave anything Jack can give him.
“No. Definitely not,” Dennis hums, thinking what he can say to hear Jack laugh, so close and warm against him, “He steals all my cigarettes instead.” He can feel right where it starts, deep in Jack’s chest before it erupts into some sort of sound and it pushes Dennis into Jack’s shoulder, laughing as he goes.
If Jack was a couple drinks more sober, he probably would’ve pushed away, made some stupid remark in return and they would’ve thought about it the rest of the night, smiles plastered on their faces as they return to their friends inside the bar. Instead, in between their laughter, he brushes Dennis’ mouth with their movement, falling into a kiss and they let the giggles dissipate, Dennis pushed flush against the wall.
They had lost track of time long before Jack had pressed him into the wall like he was trying to leave an imprint but then somebody steps out of the bar, stumbling and blocking most of the light that had found them in the dingy corner. Dennis’ fingers curl in the hair at Jack’s neck and the man in the doorway whistles, like he’s only just realised what he’s watching. “Uh, sorry,” He rasps as they pull away, “Thought you might’ve been smoking still.” Langdon scratches at his neck, flushed all the way down his collar.
Jack’s hands don’t move from where he’d been holding Dennis, so warm and intimate even as Dennis pulls his own hands back, trying to hide himself away, “No,” His words sound like they’re stuck in his throat, laughing a little, “We were uh- I have a pack if you want it.” Dennis digs in his pockets for another cigarette as Frank steps closer, hand poised and ready.
He settles against the wall next to them, Dennis reaching his hand out to block the wind as Frank uses his own lighter, smoke billowing out of his mouth, his head falls back against the wall, “Thanks,” Jack pulls Dennis’ back flush against his chest, hands slipping around his waist, chin nestled in his neck, “I didn’t know you two…” Frank gestures awkwardly between them, eyes downcast, almost too scared to look at them.
“Us? No.” Jack smiles, fingers drumming against Dennis’ stomach, “Hate the guy. I’d never even think of it.” He kisses Dennis’ neck, watching Frank as he flicks the butt of the cigarette up with his thumb, enough to let the ash fall at his feet.
A particularly loud jeer sounds from inside the bar and Frank offers the cigarette out, Jack shaking his head as Dennis fits it between the space of his fingers, “We’re just not rushing to tell,” He turns his head as he exhales. Jack kisses at his neck again, desperate and reaching before he kisses Dennis' jaw, moving his hand to the back of the other man’s neck to twist him around. Dennis can hear Frank shuffling, sober since he started rehab and clearly sticking to it. He stares at a spot on Frank’s chest, avoiding eye contact while Jack clings to him, “Sorry. He’s drunk.”
Jack kisses him, fingers still tense around his hair, “Fuck off. I’ve just been working,” His other hand finds its way under Dennis’ shirt, cold against his skin. His head spins a little, drinks catching up to him. “Can’t touch you when patients are coding.” If he was more sober, he’d feel embarrassed, barely a finger touching Dennis. Tomorrow, it’d catch up to him and as soon as they had overlapping shifts again, he’d pull Frank to the side, apologise. But tomorrow was still so far away.
“It’s better than being in there.” Frank shrugs, gesturing behind him. Dennis was fairly sure he was only there because Mel had wanted him there although it was painfully obvious she was mainly there for Trinity. A long winded game of ‘Follow the Leader’ almost.
Jack perks up at his words, a smile playing at his lips, “That bad?” He stands up as straight as he can, stumbling as he holds onto Dennis, his hips, his shoulders, “Has Robby done anything stupid yet?”
Frank grins as a stray wisp of hair falls in front of his eyes, “Uh, no.” He takes another drag, smiling as he glances downwards, at the litter of cigarette butts already on the floor, “I think he was close though.” He lets the butt fall next to his shoe, squishing it, the smell of smoke and ash clinging to his clothes and now his shoes, too.
“Hmm,” Jack kisses at Dennis’ hair, hand skirting over the waistband of his pants as he steps away, back to the bar, “That’s my cue.” He stumbles a little, the giddiness and the drinks seeping into his movements. Dennis lets his gaze linger, tracing the broad shoulders and the thick thighs, the slight limp that’s aching to get home and rest.
He loves watching his boyfriend when he thinks the other doesn’t notice, the way his shoulders fall away from his ears when he steps out of the hospital or his arms flexing when he cooks dinner for the both of them. The staring, he’s sure, came from his childhood somehow, the way most of his strange habits have but he’d rather not question them anyways. He likes just being aware of Jack, knowing that he exists in Dennis’ space as much as Dennis does in his.
There’s a slight cheer from inside, hidden beneath the music and it makes him ache for something he’s experiencing. He sniffles, the cold itching at his nose as Frank scuffs his shoe against the pavement, “So,” He stuffs his hands deep into his jacket pockets, “Sorry again… For, uh…” He gestures vaguely with his head at where Jack had been pressed up against Dennis before.
“Don’t worry.” Dennis half-smiles, finding any spot on Frank’s face that he can stare at to avoid eye contact. As stilted as the conversation is, it feels better than being inside, less pressure, less noise. He doesn’t know when he stopped wanting to be around the noise, pressed into crowds and when he started to prefer the warm lighting of a familiar townhouse, the T.V. playing a movie scored into a DVD, a weight on his chest, legs tangled with his own. He drags a foot closer to the door, heavy as it is, gesturing back at Frank, a question he’s not bothered to voice.
Inside, he spots Jack almost instantly, like he knew he would, his eyes drawn to the open laugh spilling out, the sheer glow he seems to have. Maybe later they’d go home and they’d fuck on the couch or maybe they’d just pass out in bed. Dennis is too focused on what they could do, he doesn’t think about Jack’s house becoming ‘home’. He doesn’t think about what tomorrow will look like, he doesn’t think about the fight they could be having in two weeks time that ends with him back in Trinity’s apartment for a night or two. He doesn’t think about the lazy, barely there morning after they work a rare night shift together, nor about the pictures he’d post on Instagram if they ever committed to a trip away. He thinks about later that night and he thinks about that laugh pressed into his skin and he thinks so much about the way certain fabrics feel as he rests a hand on Jack’s shoulder, to just be there, to let him know Dennis was there. But then, Jack is turning to him, kissing him and he should be thinking about all their colleagues watching but he just lets Jack have him, puts all his trust into the man who still smells like a Marlboro that’s now burned out on the footpath.
Most of all, he thinks about Jack.