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Chapter Text

To say that Whitaker's heart stops when he realizes what he's done is an understatement. To say that he sees his life flash right before his eyes in a past marked by failures and a future marked by total humiliation because of what he's done is a fact, but still not enough to describe the moment. If he didn't currently work in an ER out of all places, he would probably feel somewhat justified in assuming that no human being has ever experienced this level of horror in their life.

He's going to die. Right now, from total and utter despair, and even if he doesn't-

"My life is over," he tells Trinity.

She reacts as he expected she would: with a subtle expression of mockery and amusement.

"Trin, I'm serious,” he continues, waving his phone at her, "I just ruined my life. I'm going to have to move back to Nebraska or something."

That gets her attention.

Kinda.

"Alright," she says, closing the screen her laptop and turning towards him, "What did you do?"

He can't even say it. He looks from her to his cursed phone, sitting on his sweaty and slightly shaky hand. He's certain his expression is sour and terrified. He can't even fucking say it.

"Whitaker, seriously," she complains, "you're pissing me off."

That's Trin's way to say he's starting to worry her. He sighs, joins her on the living room couch where she's sitting in her pajamas. He grabs one of the throw pillows and buries his face in it, letting out a grunt of frustration before returning it to it's place.

"I, uh. I sent Dr. Robby - I sent him something I wasn't supposed to."

He's not looking at her, but he can feel the impatience emanating from her.

"He gave me his e-mail so I could send him questions, right? And then I wanted to ask him about this article and I thought, 'oh, I'm just gonna copy the link to the article and send it along with the question'. But then I guess i didn't copy it correctly or whatever and then when i pressed paste it just put the last thing I had actually copied and I didn't check it because I'm literally so stupid and I was writing it on my fucking phone and then I just hit send."

He takes a breath, shaky and shallow.

"Trin," he finally looks at her, eyes wide and lip trembling, "I sent him the link to the- to the fucking OF thing."

In any other circumstances, the look of actual shock that takes over Santos' face would feel like a victory - it's not often he manages to impact her like this. But with his life and dignity on the line, the way her jaw drops slightly and her eyebrows go up does nothing but tie his stomach into a even tighter knot.

"Fuck," she says.

He agrees.

...

Trinity doesn't quite agree with the OF thing at first.

Dislike would be a strong word because when she finds out it's the second week of them living together and she's still on the "we're not really friends, you just live here" phase of their relationship. So she tries to act like she doesn't care but-

"You do porn?"

"Well, it's not really - I mean. Well, kinda. I mean, yeah. Yeah, I do porn."

They're sitting on the kitchen table and there's a butter knife just to his right. He thinks of slitting his throat with it to avoid this embarassement but it would probably be inefficient.

"I mean, it's just me," he continues, for some fucking reason, "I don't really do - like, complex stuff. And, uh, my face - my face is not in it. But I guess it's still porn, so."

"Okay," she says, "and you're telling me this, why?"

Because he hates himself and loves being homeless and wants to get kicked out as soon as possible.

"You're doing something really nice for me. With the room and everything and - uh, I just want to be honest. Because i do need to - you know, film it. Here."

He interrupts as soon as she starts to open her mouth.

"The most someone will see from your apartment is a bedroom wall. There's not even any camera movement. My face and name is not in it or even the city I'm in. Listen, I considered not telling you because I honestly don't think this is ever going to impact you in any way whatsoever but- I don't know, I would feel bad in case it was something you're morally against so... well, you can tell me to get out if you want. No hard feelings."

The few moments Trinity spends in silence looking at anything but him are absolutely dreadful. He has the strange instinct to get up and do the dishes, just to do something with his hands.

"You do it for the money?"

"Yeah, of course. Why else - is there any other reason?"

"I don't know", she shrugs, "maybe it's your real dream and medicine is just Plan B in case it doesn't kick off."

He let's out a weak laugh. 

"No, it's just some extra cash. I mean, just cash because extra would imply there's a main cash and there's not. I'm not getting rich from this but it pays for some stuff. Small stuff, but still."

"Not an apartment, though?"

"Well, I'm freeloading here so. Obviously not."

She sighs, stares at him for a second or two and shrugs.

"As long as no one can connect it to you and you to me, I don't care. I mean, you're, like - safe, right?"

"Yes," he answers, maybe a bit too quickly, "I mean, mostly. So far. No problems no far."

If only he knew.

...

Trinity insists he opens the e-mail on his laptop, because this "feels important enough for a big screen" and he does so, not able to focus enough to do anything but obey.

It actually feels worse to see it expanded and be forced to watch Santos's expression go from denial to shock to something strangely close to concern and then shock again.

"Okay," she says, checking the email's status, "yeah, you definitely sent it."

"I knew that already!"

"And that's definitely not a link to a medical article. And it goes straight to your page?"

"Exactly."

A bit of silence.

"Damm, Huckleberry."

For a moment, no one says anything. Despair is still coursing through Dennis's veins but slowly turning into the strange kind of acceptance of his own doom.

"I'm not going to work tomorrow," he decides.

"Whitaker-"

"No, no, you can't me fight me on this. Trinity, I can't look at him."

"Your face in not on it. And he would need to sign up and pay to actually see- well, all of it, right?"

"Yeah, but there's stuff and- really, the prospect of my boss thinking I sent him a random porn link is only slightly better than him thinking I send him my porn," he practically whines, his own words exposing the reality of the situation, "Jesus Christ, I sent Dr. Robby my porn."

Best case scenario, he's a pervert and a dumbass. Worst case scenario: he's a pervert, a dumbass, he gets outed as a sex worker and-

"Oh my God, Trinity," he almost yells, "No one at the hospital knows I'm trans. There are layers to this disaster."

Her hands grab him by the shoulders, spins him around so he's facing her.

"Listen to me." She squeezes his shoulders. "We're gonna figure this out."

"Trin-"

"Whitaker," she gives him a slight shake, "at the very least, admit I can't make things any worse."

...

Dr. Robinavitch,

Please, disregard the last e-mail. I accidently included a link which was not related to the article that I wished to share with you and has no professional or academic relevance whatsoever. I'm sorry for any disturbance this may have caused. Also, I have, after extra research, been able to answer my own question. I realize I should've attempted this before reaching out to you.

Thank you again for the availability demonstrated by giving me your e-mail address and I'll be sure to use it more carefully in the future.

Kind regards,

Whitaker.

Robby isn't sure what to think. Well, he knows what he's thinking right now is that the kid didn't write this. Ever since Whitaker received the slip of paper on wich he had written his adress with an wide eyed, honored look that was completely too much for such a small act, he had received exactly one e-mail from him before this. It was formally worded, sure, but you could still see the traces of a nervous, unsure, specific speech pattern. It was like he could see the boy reading it out loud with those sad, prey animal eyes. This was not that different, but -

He's overthinking it. All of it.

Whitaker, no worries.

And it's Dr. Robby.

See you tomorrow, kid.

There. That solves it.

He puts down his phone and tries to go back to his microwaved dinner and the random TV show he was using as background noise - something about people marrying without seeing each other that he wouldn't admit to watching. He keeps meaning to get into documentaries or something equally productive but there's a weird kind of appeal to bad TV. It soothes his brain.

The woman on the screen looks almost exactly the same as the woman who was there a minute ago. Robby wonders if they have the same plastic surgeon and if so why he won't tell them to stop with the lip filler.

Maybe he should've gone into plastic surgery instead of ER.

His phone buzzes again. He checks it - a push up notification from a word game he installed weeks ago and never opened.

Whittaker's words - supposedly his - come back to him: "no professional or academic relevance whatsoever".

He feels kinda bad about it, opening the app again and clicking on the little arrow that will expand the previous e-mail. But he has nothing interesting to do but read the wordy text he sent before - that a sounds a lot more like him - and scrolling to find the link at the end and then-

Oh.

That's unexpected.

...

"Why would you even go to Nebraska?" Trinity asks, "Why wouldn't you just look for another rotation? Or change to night shift. That's such a drastic measure."

"I don't think I could just 'look for another rotation' that easily. Also, night shift? With the way gossip travels around that hospital?"

"You're assuming Dr. Robby would tell someone and not just - I don't know, keep it to himself?"

It's a valid question, he supposes, which is why he fills his mouth with popcorn instead of giving an answer. They're watching a movie - well, Trinity is watching a movie and he's contemplating what his future holds.

"Is this about you having a crush on him?"

He chokes a bit. For a second, he's worried this is going to turn into a surprise test about Santos' knowledge of the Heimlich maneuver.

"I don't have a crush - ugh, sorry, it's in my troath", he coughs away from her, " on Dr. Robby. I don't."

"You're just, what, constantly looking at him? And he touches you all the time. It's weird."

"Him touching me is proof I have a crush on him? What's the logic in that?"

She doesn't seem convinced but it's true. He really doesn't have a crush on the man. He's just a bit attracted to him because of his whole- his whole everything, really, and he supposes there's a degree of professional admiration but-

"I like him. I look up to him. That's it. It's like you and Garcia."

Trinity laughs.

"See, that's where you contradict yourself, because I definetly want to fuck Garcia."

"Okay, ahm -", he tries to think of another example, "like you and Ellis from night shift."

"I wouldn't say no to her either, honestly. You're having a bit of a Freudian slip there."

"Fuck off, Trinity."

He opens his laptop, screen lightning up and showing the same e-mail. Robby's answer.

See you tomorrow, kid.

All he can do is wait.

Chapter Text

Robby is not the most ignorant of old men. He's in a kind of limbo - not young enough to view technology as something as common place as rain but not old enough that he doesn't know how a little bit of it works.

He doesn't have most social media - tried TikTok once, only to feel like his brain was melting - but he owns a very empty Instagram profile to keep tabs on Jake and he's tried a few dating apps during more isolated, somewhat darker times in his life.

But he knows what Only Fans is. Kind of. He knows it's porn-related. Porn-ish, at least.

Better Google to make sure. He keeps the link there, blue letters just begging him to click it, and types.

is only fans porn?

Answer: kind of. Mostly. Almost defintly porn. Technically, it could be anything from crochet to cooking, but 90% chance it's porn.

Okay.

Cool.

It's not the combination Whitaker and porn that bothers him. He was 26 once and he was no saint and there wasn't a whole world of wonders like the internet offers today. And God knows med students need to distract themselves with something. It's more the reaction his brain has to the combination that shocks him - the fact that there is a reaction at all.

Truth is, he kinda wants to know what Whitaker gets off to.

He admits that to himself. Then immediately closes the tab again.

There are lines you shouldn't cross.

...

He ends up clicking on it.

He feels terrible as it happens, really does. But there is another woman on the screen who doesn't look exactly like the other two but the lip filler is the same and at this point he's actually hitting himself on the head for not going into plastic surgery.

He could be rich now, with a bigger house and things to keep him occupied so he wouldn't end up a sad old man being creepy towards a student.

He sent it you, a voice in his head says.

Well, not on purpose, he tries to argue.

And also, the voice continues, this is probably the least invasive way you've creeped on him so far.

Which is, unfortunately, true: he touches the kid. A lot.

Nothing that crosses the line into anything that could be considered sexual harassment - he hopes. But it's hard to resist the opportunity for little touches when the boy is just there, wide eyed and willing, and Robby is also there, interested and embedded with probably unfit authority.

So he touches.

He can't decide if this is better or worse than that.

There's no time to decide, either. The page opens.

...

Whitaker states at the ceiling. For a very strange and short moment, he actually considers praying - not the shallow and unsure conversations he has with God every now and then, but actually putting his knees on the floor and praying.

He's not exactly sure for what, thought. For Dr. Robby not to click the link? For him to click it but not realize it was him? For him to not react badly if he does?

Dear God, it's me again, Dennis. Can you please make sure my attending doesn't see my porn and, if he does, can he not care or maybe get kinda horny about it? Thanks.

Yeah, that's a hit.

He thinks about what Trinity said. He doesn't have a crush on Dr. Robby. Not at all. He has a very healthy, normal level of admiration for an older man and one time, just one time he kinda thought about him while getting off but it was in an impersonal way. It could be literally any man who looked mostly or exactly like that and also had a bit of the same personality.

He does not have a crush.

He thinks of Dr. Robby opening the link (please, God, don't let him). Seeing the profile picture, the name and bio and recognizing that it's him, Whitaker, the funny little med student who kills rats with his bare hands (the humiliation of it all, God, please no). He thinks of Dr. Robby opening one of his videos, touching his hardening cock over his pants, just enough pressure to get it going and -

No.

No, no, that stops there. He won't open it. Nothing will happen. Whitaker doesn't have a fucking crush.

...

Robby spends a good minute staring at the profile picture.

He urges himself to close it. Close the tab, turn off the phone, throw it out of the window and then never touch technology again.

God fucking dammit, that's Whitaker.

Maybe it isn't. If the boy himself hadn't - accidently - sent him the link, he probably wouldn't have connected the dots. But it's like looking for something when you know it's supposed to be there - he can see the bigger picture.

Well, in this case, the profile picture.

It's the lower half of a male torso, slim and toned, leading down to a very tight pair of light blue boxers that are wet enough to become see through and - oh.

There's no -

Right. He didn't know that.

The header is a side angle of the man laying down on his stomach, shirtless, the curve of a small but plump ass in the same underwear being the focus. Robby recognizes the skin tone, the build - either this is Whitaker or he like to get off to guys that are eerily similar to him.

He looks at what's underneath the picture.

Farmb0y25

26 yo

Trans (he/him)

Solo content

DM for custom

Robby is going to hell. But first he has to find his credit card.

...

"C'mon, you can do it," Trinity says, dragging him through the doors of the ER, "Everything is fine."

"What if he opened it?"

"He didn't."

"How can you be s - oh, hi, Dana! - how can you be sure?"

"We sent the second one like two minutes after the first - there's no way he had already clicked the link and there's no way Dr. Robby has time to be sitting around, reading through emails random med students told him are not important."

They reach the lockers, set their things inside. Trinity gives him one last look and puts her closed fist forward.

"Ready?", she asks.

He bumps her fist with his own.

"I guess", he sighs, rolling his shoulders to try and alleviate some tension, "I just hope I can avoid him a little bit."

He lasts almost ten minutes before a deep voice calls out his name and he feels two strong hands grab his shoulders and squeeze.

"You got a second, kid?" he asks, "Come over here."

He is guided to an empty patient room, Robby keeping one hand on his shoulder the whole way there, and then, finally, gets turned around to face him.

Do not look him in the eyes, do not look him in the eyes.

He looks at the bridge of the attending's nose, hoping that's close enough.

"So, your e-mail last night -"

God, how have you betrayed me. What have I done to deserve this?

"You listening, kid?"

He is not.

"Yes, I am. Sorry. About the e-mail. Did you - uh, did you read it?"

"I read the second one, where you apologize. You said you didn't have any questions, so it felt unecessary to go back."

I take it back, God. You're the best omniscient entity ever. I love you.

"Right, that's - that's exactly why I sent it. Sorry for the mistake, it won't happen again."

Robby smiles a kind smile that deepens the lines around his eyes and mouth and Dennis wants to melt into a puddle on the floor. In acompletely platonic way, of course.

"Just wanted to say you don't gotta be so nervous about talking to me. I wouldn't have given you the e-mail adress if I didn't want you emailing me. Got it?", he waits for Dennis to nod, "And as a show of goodwill, take this."

He reaches inside his pocket and takes a piece of paper that he opens to find-

"Your phone number," he says, dumbly, "Dr. Robby, you really don't need to-"

"No, no. Anything you need, I'm here, okay? Just hit me up."

He clasps his shoulder again.

"I still haven't forgotten what you did for me during Pittfest. It was a - no, don't deny it, let me talk - it was a really nice thing to do and. Well, I like you, Whittaker, that's all. Now, let's work, okay?"

Right.

Work.

Dennis ignores the burning on his shoulder and nods.

...

Robby had one of the best nights of sleep of his entire life, even through the guilt. And there was - is - a lot of guilt. There was guilt as he put his card's information down, as he finished his subscription - which was way too cheap - and as he opened the site on his notebook, sat in his bed and decided that he was really going through with it.

Whitaker - and he was sure it was him, absolutely sure - was marvelous: freckled skin, a slim but toned body and a preference for posing in tight boxers and tiny shorts that couldn't be more Robby's type if he was the one purchasing them. And before the thought of purchasing this kind of thing for Dennis got him too far gone, he had to gather courage - or whatever definetly non-virtous thing was needed to click on a porn video of his student. He knew that was the point of no return, no coming back - if not emotionally, then at very least in regards to his professional ethic.

He clicked on it anyways.

Whitaker's latest video was short, simple and in a slightly lower quality than the the pictures.

He won't forget the way his mouth dried up when the boy - he really should start stick to calling him a man, for the sake of his mental health - appeared on the screen, sitting on his heels on the floor and wearing another one of those boxers. This one was a pale pink that made Robby's cheeks go the same color. He kept his face out of the frame, but Robby still got the lovely view of collarbones and a chest adorned with slightly fading top surgery scars.

They healed nicely, he thought, he did a good job taking care of them.

His heart was palpitating as Whitaker spread his knees, touching himself over the thin fabric of the shorts, more pressure than anything else, body swaying forward with the motion before bringing his hand up. Robby couldn't see his head but there was a quiet sound of sucking that indicated his fingers had gone to his mouth. Then, a very small moan, muffled moan that barely made it through the speakers.

Robby paused there.

Headphones. He needs headphones for this.

...

"So, did I save the day?", Trinity whispers, standing next to him while he checks the status board, "or are you gonna start self flaggelating on the middle of the hospital?"

"He says he didn't open it. Plus, he's not looking at me weirdly so-", he sighs in relief, "yeah, guess you fixed it. I just hate the idea that it's still there in his inbox."

"We can do a movie-like heist thing and steal his phone to delete the email."

"Really?"

"Fuck no. That was how far I'm willing to go. You should buy me lunch as a thanks, by the way."

"I got two new subscribers last night, so that might be feasible, actually."

Trinity smiles, leaning slightly against the desk in front of him.

"Oh, yeah? Any of them named 'definitlynotyourboss' or something equally suspicious?"

He doesn't tell her that he actually considered that possibility, for a long and horrible second. But seeing the easy way Dr. Robby talked to him today, how open he was to giving Dennis his phone number out of all things -

"No, I think it's just the usual suspects," he nods, more to himself than anything else, "mostly closeted Republicans."

"Is that for real or are you just speculating?"

"If I ever show you some of the requests I get, I think you'll understand - oh, hi again, Dana!"

The woman approaches from behind the desk and taps Trinity on the shoulder, an easy smile on her lips. Dennis smiles back.

She points to the monitor. 


"You kids want a chair and some biscuits to make the conversation more comfortable or can the patients get some of your time as well?"

...

Whitaker's fingers came back wet. Robby thought he could see them glistening, but his head was already slightly dizzy because all the blood was busy filling out his cock - he could very well be seeing things by then.

But the way the boy traced his fingers from his throat to his chest to the edge of his underwear was oh so very real. Robby watched as he stopped to circle and then tease one nipple. His legs closed, maybe in a attempt to rub his tights for relief - but the position made it awkward.

Robby thought: if I was there, I could help. And he was perfectly aware that this - the lonely old man trying to insert himself into the experience - was exactly the point of that performance, that he was being predictable and pathetic.

But still, he wanted to put his mouth on the boy's chest, to nip and suck and mark his neck, to follow that same trail he was laying down with his hand and -

Dennis hand disappeared into his underwear, tights parting just enough to make space for it. He seemed to grind on his own hand for a few hurried moments before hesitantly removing it. Robby watched, unblinking, as the kid lifted himself on his knees and he could see a small wet spot on his boxers right where -

His own hands went to his sweatpants, pushing them down along with the underwear. His cock was painfully hard already but he didn't pay it any more attention than a soft squeeze.

On the screen, Whitaker removed his only piece of clothing slowly and Robby felt any hope he had of keeping his sanity vanishing at the first sight of curly pubic hair.

The full removal of the underwear was slightly awkward because of the kneeling position, Whitaker almost losing balance for a second while lifting himself so it could go down his legs and, finally, off. If anything, it made the whole thing more endearing for Robby, more aligned with the idea he had of the boy.

Robby's hand moved at it's own accord after that. Maybe he was groaning, maybe he wasn't. All he knew for sure was that Whitaker was sitting now, spreading his legs on screen and balancing himself with one hand on the floor behind him while the other one slithered all the way down to -

Robby's mouth dried up. He wasn't quite sure what the right or respectful terminology would be and he wasn't stopping to fucking google it. The fact that that it wasn't what he expected Whitaker’s body to look like, that he had imagined him differently in his previous fantasies - it didn't matter at the moment. What mattered was that it was Whitaker and he was gorgeous, touching himself slowly and letting out tiny, tiny moans that made him want to die. 

Robby came a few minutes later, a little before Whitaker did the same while inserting a third finger inside himself. He didn't quite pay attention to the moment - as much as he wanted to - eyes glued to the mess on his hands and stomach and mind stuck on the horrible shame blooming inside of him.

He was absolutely fucked.

Chapter Text

Whitaker needs to be quiet.

He's trying to. Really, really trying - he even has a hand over his mouth to stop the pathetic little grunts and moans being pushed out of his throat. But it's getting hard. Everything is too much: he can feel the sweat running down his back, the tiny trembles like electric shocks that are taking over him in shorter and shorter intervals, the ache in his legs from keeping them spread out like this for so long.

He needs to be quiet.

But he's so close. And it feels so good and - And, God, the thing is so big.

He pushes the dildo in again, deeper this time - the movement punches a whimpering sound out of him and his body rocks forward. He tries not to let his head drop too much, still fully aware of the camera in front of him. How long has he been fucking himself like this? He doesn't know but he's so sensitive now.

The video wasn't even supposed to be this long - just a few minutes extra than his usual because the guy was so nice and the request was so simple for how much he paid for it - he left a fucking tip, for God's sake, and the only specifics was that the he would "be very pleased" if the toy was somewhat big.

Just a few minutes of teasing himself with the dildo, make a real show of it to compensate for how quick he was planning the whole thing to be.

But then he sat against the headboard and started it and his head got away from him and all of a sudden he started imagining -

"Oh, fuck," he mutters, quietly enough that his shitty microphonecwon't catch it. "Fuck, Dr. Robby."

It would be easier if he was here - if it was his cock inside him. Then, Whitaker would have both hands free and he could play with his nipples and his dick and make himself cum already instead of fucking himself into painful overstimulation. Or maybe Dr. Robby could do it for him. Maybe he would bite his ear before whispering sweet nothings into it.

I like you, Whitaker, he said a few days ago. He could repeat that, but make it raspier and breathier and -

Dennis lets the hand fall away from his mouth, landing limply by his side before he gathers the strength to take it where it needs to go. He forces himself quiet, tries to remember that Trinity is right there in her room and he lives here for free and this is so fucking disrespectful -

He comes - finally - with a few touches over his sensitive clit. A keening noise leaves him as his body spasms and then goes blissfully limp.

He flinches as the dildo comes out, leaving him a soaked, wrecked mess. He's so tired - in a good way, but still. Tired.

He forces himself to reach forward and stop the recording, aware that it's probably already taking up too much space.

Then, he lets his body do what it wants: fall face first into the soft bed. He gives himself a few moments to enjoy it - the ache, the leftover shocks and waves of sensitivity.

He needs to get up. Needs to change his sheets, clean the dildo, shower and - he grabs his phone, fumbling with the tripod. Flinching as he remembers his wet hand, he checks the time and immediatly curses - he will need to edit and send the video first if he doesn't want to break his little 48 hour rule. And there's still work tomorrow, because of course there is.

He grunts, urging himself to sit down and reaching for his laptop to start putting everything together. The sooner he starts-

Ugh. It will be a late night and an early morning.

Hope you feel like you got your money's worth, cowboy71.

...

Farmb0y25 posts weekly - two pictures and one video per week, according to a pinned post on the account. Robby wasn't planning on doing a data study or anything, but a quick scroll - with some stops along the way when something caught his eye - tells him the profile has been open for about one year and has stayed consistent with the flow of content so far.

The older pictures are blurry, more contained and the videos, rushed and unsure. The newer stuff is not professional by any means, but there's some notion of lightning and posing and know-how.

Robby eats them up, one way or another.

Likes the shakiness and the naivety of newbie Whitaker as much as he likes the current confidence - he likes Whitaker, overall.

Two pictures and one video a week for one year - it's a nice little catalogue, a Library of Alexandria of porn starring the exact person Robby has been salivating after for the past few weeks.

It should be enough - even if he didn't have a day job that kept getting in the way of jerking off to one of his students, he should have enough material to last him a good while of more than average self-care.

It is enough.

Until the very moment Robby googles what "custom content" means in this exact context and -

"Fuck." He muttered to himself when he read the results.

Whoever invented the concept did not think of the damage on the lives of poor middle aged ER doctors across America - or at least the Pittsburgh area.

How is he supposed to act like a normal, well adjusted man when, for honestly not that many dollars, he can just ask Whitaker to do stuff.

For him. Specifically.

And even if it's things he could very well find in another video on the page, well -

Everyone likes to feel special.

That's how he ends up checking his phone mid walk and finding a very nice notification on his phone that Whitaker had sent the video he requested with a nice little message attached.

sorry for cutting it so close to the deadline :( been kinds busy lately. hope you like it, cowboy :) <3

He ignores the reference to his username - a very stupid one he chose only because it was the farthest thing from something Whitaker could possibly associate with him. Robby's first instinct with online aliases has always been to use his name and birth year -which was certainly not ideal.

The timestamp of the message reads 1:00 a.m - considering Whitaker is very much scheduled to be on the shift he's on his way to start right now, that's a weird time for the boy to still be awake and working on a side hustle.

Shame curls up on his chest and stays there as he goes through his commute. Not the kind he has gotten used to on the last few days since receiving the e-mail, the kind that's not strong enough to stop him from opening his laptop and pulling his pants down. This shame is sharp and sour and makes him flinch at the thought of the boy staying up late before a work day to work on something for Robby to fulfill his perversions -

He pockets his phone. He will definetly open the video later - no point in lying to himself that he won't, but still.

He stops in front of a coffee shop he usually ignores. Checks his watch - it would be cutting it close but.

Maybe he can do something nice.

...

Whitaker blinks as someone thrusts a coffee cup right in front of his face. Maybe it's a hallucination - God knows he's tired enough for something like that. He follows the hand attached to the cup to an arm and -

"Oh, hi, Dr. Robby," he smiles, "Is this - sorry, do you want me to take it to someone?"

The man shakes the cup lightly, as if motioning for Whitaker to take it. He does.

"Now, kid, I know I'm harsh but I've never used students as waitresses - got another one 'cause they made mine wrong. You look like you could use it."

"Really? Thank you, that's - honestly, it's actually just what I needed."

Robby lifts an identical cup in his other hand and smiles.

"Cheers, then."

"Uhm, cheers." He watches as the man leaves, "Thanks again!"

The coffee is nice - a bit too much sugar in it, but oh well. Gifted horse's mouths and all that. He wonders how Dr. Robby takes his coffee, if they made it like this by mistake - black, maybe. He should try to find out, maybe repay the favor.

Would it be weird? Too much?

He sips the drink slowly, finishing the chart he's working on and trying to will the exhaustion away before surrending to the flow of the ER.

He turns around - Dr. Robby is now standing a few meters away by a trauma room, talking to one of the nurses. Dennis watches the way the woman has to bend her neck to look up at Robby and wonders if this is how they look from a distance. The thought makes his mouth go a little bit dry.

Dr. Robby stops, catches Dennis looking at him - smiles.

Dennis feels himself smiling back, raising his hand in a small wave and then immediatly decides that's actually really stupid and puts it down. Heat takes over his face - he's blushing, from a small interaction at a distance, out of all things.

Is this about you having a crush on him?

Shut up, imaginary Trinity.

...

Robby knows Dana's staring at him. He can feel it every time he goes near her, leaviing him on edge like prey being stalked. In normal conditions, this would be amusing and slightly annoying. Right now, after avoiding her the whole day and having only a few more hours of his shift to go, it makes him avoid looking her in the eyes as he approaches the desk.

Just use the computer and go.

Don't engage, don't engage, don't-

"So," she says, settling herself next to him, "for future reference, I would love free coffee in the morning as well."

"I will keep that in mind."

Robby would like to talk about anything else. Anything at all. Maybe unpack all his mental health issues right here with her, but not -

"You know it's bad for morale to pick favorites, right?"

"I know, that's why I don't do it."

"Robby-"

He turns to her. Maybe she understands the pleading in his eyes as a need to finish his shift and stop discussing meaningless things, maybe she sees right through him - one way or another, she takes pity on him.

"Alright then, but-," she pats his shoulder before getting up, "I'll be waiting for that coffee. Seriously."

He doesn't look at her when she goes. Can't look at her.

He told himself it was just a cup of coffee - something so small (figuratively and literally) that there was no way it wouldn't fly under the radar.

But it wasn't just that, was it? It was the way he kept hunting for the boy with his eyes, hands hovering over him and grabbing when they could. It was the way he approached him from behind while he was suturing a patient today, peering over his shoulder, face so close he swears he could smell the swear under all the antipsetic.

The images he has now - Whitaker naked, pink and pliant and panting - aren't helping satisfy the urge as he thought they would. If anything, they make him want more.

Maybe it's too much. Dana was smart and could notice things that no one could - but maybe Robby's pushing it.

People will start to notice all the little things and put them together and then -

"Dr. Robby, are you listening?"

Whitaker.

He looks up - the boy is standing next to his chair, lips settled in a small, kind smile.

Could I ask him to show his lips in a video? Would that be too close from revealing his face?

How far can i go?

"Is this a bad time?"

"Yes - sorry, no. No, Whitaker, it's fine." He gets up when he sees the boy stepping back, puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him, "It's fine, really. I was distracted. What do you need?"

"Can you - could you maybe take a look at this treatment plan? It's my heart palpitations patient, I- well, you know. Want to make sure."

Robby remembers the boy's first patient, the lost look in his eyes when the man just wouldn't come back. He liked Whitaker already then - wanted to help him, to get him what he needed. But it wasn't - it wasn't this yet. Whatever this is.

Besides him being a pervert.

He looks over the paperwork. It's good - really good. If anything, the kid investigated more than he should.

"If there is anything wrong with this heart, you caught it. Send him home."

Whitaker's smile is bright, accompanied by a little sigh of relief. He puts his hands forward, already reaching for his papers, and Robby sees it while staring at his smile. There's a small crumb on the corner of the boy's mouth.

Whatever Whitaker is saying is half drowned out by Robby's mind and he doesn't quite realize what he's doing until -

Whitaker stops talking. He's looking at Robby with a wide eyed look, lips parted as if to say something, bottom lip-

Bottom lip right next to where Robby's thumb is pressing, softly but surely. He removes his hand as if the boy is on fire. Dennis' - Whitaker, Robby corrects himself, he's Whtaker for you - says his name, once, but nothing else.

"I'm sorry, I don't know why - I. I'm sorry."

If the boy gathers his wits to say something right then, Robby will never know. He leaves.

...

There's a burning at the corner of Dennis' lips. It follows him all the way home, leaving him strangely silent while Trinity presents him with a dramatic retelling of her day. He nods and offers platitudes at the right moment, but his mind is busy with more pressing matters - and it stays like that even as they get to the apartment and he lays in bed, staring at the ceiling as if it could possibly contain any answers.

Fact: Dr. Robby likes to touch him.

This has always been the case, ever since his first shift - it's illogical to assume it means anything else than that the man likes to do that but -

Also a fact: Dr. Robby doesn't touch anybody else as much as he touches Dennis. It took him a little while to realize it, but it's true - neither Dana or Dr. Mohan or Dr. Langdon (during the brief time Dennis got to work with him, that is) had their shoulders, necks and backs grabbed or their bodies manhandled across the ER as much as he did.

Of course, that didn't have to mean anything. Maybe Dennis isn't looking when it happens to other people. Or maybe there's something about Dennis that makes him specially - touchable?

But not in a sexual way, of course.

Of course?

But - okay. Robby likes to touch Dennis. In a professional, mentor-ish way. Fine.

But -

Again, another fact: there's a world of difference between a squeeze to his shoulder and a slow, soft touch to his face, thumb brushing against his bottom lip, so close it's almost weird to not open his mouth and allow the digit in. It's just - different.

And Dr. Robby himself seemed to know it, with the way he widened his eyes and pulled his hands from Dennis' face in a movement so abrupt it left him on the edge of saying "no, no, please, stay."

Facts: Whitaker likes when Dr. Robby touches him. Likes that it's something only for him. And he really liked the touch on the lips. Whitaker, it seems, likes Dr. Robby.

Last fact: He's screwed.

...

cowboy71:

Hi.

Sorry it took me so long to give you an answer - had a bad day at work.

Thank you for the video. It has you in it so it can't be bad, but it still exceeded my expectations - you're absolutely gorgeous.

And, please, don't go out of your way to uphold that deadline rule you have in the future with me. Take as long as you need or want - I will like it better knowing you're well rested.

Not sure if it's okay to text you here. Sorry if it isn't.

Farmb0y25

Hi!! Ow, so srry ur day was bad :(( I had a bit of a weird one too lol but glad I could make urs better!!

I'll take my time for ur stuff nxt time then but it was fun filming it lol !! cute that ure already talking about nxt time btw

yeah u can txt me here if u requested something it's fine :))) Nothing too fun tho bc I do charge for tht kind of conversation lol

but ure rlly sweet so I might just make an exception <33

cowboy71:

I was thinking about the next time as soon as I opened the video.

Sorry, can you tell me more about the paying for conversations thing?

I might be interested.