Work Text:
It had to be a sick joke.
Truly, there was absolutely no way that Dennis Whitaker's luck was this bad. It had to be some sort of cosmic prank that God was playing on him. Maybe it was Divine Retribution for having a crush on his boss who was almost twice his age. Or maybe, just maybe, everyone actually secretly hated Whitaker, and this was their way of taking it out on him.
It all started as it usually did, with Whitaker being drenched in mysterious fluids that were not his own.
Whitaker was speed walking between his duties, trying to find a higher up to sign off his discharge letter, when he walked straight into a patient's husband.
Who just so happened to be bringing his wife a cup of… lemonade?
Whitaker winced as he pulled back from his collision with the man, now thoroughly soaked in the beverage, reminding him all-too-much of his first day at work. He wasn't sure if he wanted to go through the embarrassing process of cleaning himself off and changing just to get more scrubs, but as a firm hand clasped on his shoulder, he jumped.
"Please, no open container liquids on the floor," a familiar voice echoed from somewhere behind him. "It can lead to accidents just like this one. Hope you understand."
The man gave an apology to Whitaker, not that he could hear it, and skittered off towards the room his wife was staying in. Robby clenched his fist on Whitaker's shoulder, and spun him around to face him.
Whitaker blinked up at his boss with wide, blinking eyes, mouth open only slightly as he stammered out a few stuttering apologies— or explanations? He couldn't tell.
"Kid," Robby sighed with an amused smirk. "I have no idea how you do it, but you just… you're always covered in something new, aren't you?" He gave a low chuckle as he firmly pat the med student on the shoulder, before walking past him. "Go wash up and get changed. Don't want you getting… sticky."
Whitaker only sighed as moved to the scrubs machine, but not before running into another one of his coworkers: Trinity Santos.
"Uh oh," Trinity jeered as she watched Whitaker do the walk of shame in his hospital gown and boxers. "Did you get sprayed again? Seriously man, I think you should just start wearing a raincoat over your scrubs."
"At least it wasn't a bodily fluid this time," he bargained as he slipped his dirty scrubs back into the machine.
"Oh, was it not? Congrats! A low bar to hit, but a bar nonetheless." Santos gave him a firm pat on the back. "You still look like a sad, wet, puppy, though."
Whitaker sputtered.
"Wh— I— a puppy?!" He sputtered as he swung his head around. "I don't even get to be a fully grown dog? I'm just a baby dog? Who decides that? I'm a— I'm a grown man! I'm twenty-six years old! That's a— y'know, that's a respectable age to be! Not a puppy!"
Trinity stared at Whitaker for a minute, before snorting, and bursting into a fit of laughter. Dennis only watched, slightly miffed, as he felt his cheeks go pink.
"Well, I would've considered allowing you to be a fully-grown adult dog instead," she joked. "But, Christ, Huckleberry, that reaction was too good. Or should I say, Huckle-pup?"
Whitaker's expression fell as his eyes bugged out, staring at the woman like she was about to reveal his deepest, darkest secret.
"Oh, please don't make that a thing."
Trinity was already sauntering her way to her next case, waving over her shoulder.
"See you soon, Huckle-pup!"
Dennis Whitaker prayed to God that the new nickname didn't catch on as he grabbed his fresh scrubs.
Either Dennis didn't pray hard enough, or God wasn't real. Either way, word quickly spread of Dennis' new nickname: pup. Pup, Puppy, or any dog-like nickname, really. He wasn't sure if he was even going to make it through the shift without strangling someone. Surely, he reasoned, that the 'do no harm' part of the Hippocratic Oath didn't apply when the entirety of the ER med staff was already harming him psychically.
Every so often he'd get a "dog-boy", or even a "Fido" that made him truly question if leaving Nebraska was worth it. Eventually he realized that his brothers would have probably just done the same to him, so he sucked it up and went along with it.
His day was going by fairly smoothly. Only a few broken bones, and none that even broke the skin. He even got to treat a young man with heatstroke, which made him feel just a bit better about himself. Maybe his luck was finally turning around—
"Hey, good work on that broken tibia, puppy!"
… Never mind.
Sighing and pulling out his notepad, he scribbled a few reminders to look into meditation exercises on YouTube later.
It had been almost a week and the nickname just. Didn't. Die.
"Hey, Pup, can you check on that bacterial meningitis case in room 4?"
"Ey, Puppy, can you follow me to room 2?"
"Oh, yeah, Pup, d'you mind helping me out with these last stitches?"
It was insanity.
Almost every other time he went to do his work, it was another reminder of Santos' silly comment. He was half tempted to bring it up to HR, but it didn't actually bother him that badly, just sort of embarrassed him, so he decided better of it.
He was sort of half-jogging to his next case when a familiar hand scruffed the back of his neck and pulled him back.
"Ah, Ah, Ah." Dr. Robby chided. "What have I said about running?"
"Only in emergencies," Dennis recited, avoiding eye contact with the taller man.
"Is this an emergency?"
"No…" Dennis shifted his feet awkwardly, feeling like a kid who got his hand stuck in the cookie jar. He was being scolded like a child.
From nearby, Santos let out a surprised laugh.
"Oh, shit! Pup's in trouble," She whispered to Dr. Mohan between fits of giggles. Apparently her whispers were not quiet enough, as Robby huffed and turned towards the woman, giving her an unamused glare.
"Dr. Santos."
Santos quickly shifted her posture, averted her gaze, and hurried to busy herself with the nearest patient. Dr. Robby sighed and shook his head, turning back to Whitaker.
"What was I… oh, right. Don't run. It can cause accidents, and we don't want any of those." He gave Whitaker a hearty slap on the shoulder, shuffling the shorter man along. "Right then, back to work. Go save some lives."
"Yes, sir." Dennis scuttled off to the next open case, keenly aware of his speed, and decided on a brisk speed-walk instead.
Hey, it wasn't running.
After an exhausting day full of too many bodily excretions that weren't his own, Whitaker eventually was lucky enough to be allowed to clock out at a normal time.
When he made his way to the lockers, he rustled through his things, grabbing his bag, until a gruff "Ahem" stuttered him out of his thoughts. He whipped around quickly, only to see Dr. Robby's familiar face, gazing at him with… pity? Concern?
Hm.
"Hey, Whitaker. Know you're getting off here soon, but I wanted to check in with you." He scratched at the side of his beard, and oh, that kind yet gentle way he seemed to speak to Whitaker always sent shivers down his spine.
"Ah, um. Yeah, Dr. Robby?"
"You… erh." He let out a grunt, lips thinning into a line. He seemed to be struggling with his words a bit. "You— hm. You know how to contact HR, right?"
Whitaker furrowed his brows in confusion, almost amused at the question.
"I'm… huh?"
"HR. Human Resources. You may be a student doctor, but your work here shouldn't have you feeling… uncomfortable. Singled out. Y'know?" Robby gave a shrug, and Whitaker only stared more, his confusion only growing more evident on his expression.
"It— I mean, yes, I know how to… contact HR," he managed. "But I don't really have a… reason to?"
Robby nodded quickly, gnawing the inside of his cheek.
"So the names don't bother you, then?"
"What names?"
"Pup. Er, and Puppy. I heard Santos calling you it earlier. It doesn't bother you?"
And, oh, that made something inside Whitaker light up.
Whitaker blinked as he felt his cheeks start to burn. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing seemed to come out for a moment. Here he was, in front of his boss, almost popping a boner just because he referred to him like… a dog?
Realizing that he hadn't answered the question, though, he quickly fixed himself up, and shook his head.
"Nope. No sir. It's just how she— well, I assume— she seems t'do that to everyone," he explained through a shaky smile. "I mean, I don't know too much about her personally, but I think it's just how she manages to deal with the stress of the whole… y'know, uh— job."
Robby's expression softened up, only slightly, as he moved back from Whitaker, finally allowing him some breathing room.
"Right. Well, if you ever do need it, just know that the resources are there for you."
And with that, he left Whitaker alone, with only his shaking knees and half-hard boner in his boxers to keep him from falling over.
When Whitaker got to Santos' home, he dove into his laptop, immediately trying to find some sort of solution to his problem. He thanked God quickly for incognito tabs, and popped his earbuds into his ears.
He was sure whatever he was going to look up would give him enough Christian guilt to send him back to the confessional booth, but he knew he had to do his research. It's what he was supposed to do. As a med student, his job was to help those who were unwell, right? Well, Whitaker certainly felt unwell.
He typed a few words into the search bar, before deleting it entirely, and then starting over. He followed this process about four more times, until he eventually managed to actually hit the enter button.
'Why do I like being called puppy?'
It was… probably the closest thing to the truth. He wasn't sure if Google would have an answer to 'Why do I get a boner when my boss twice my age calls me pup and why do I want him to keep doing it and maybe tease me about it?', so he had to improvise.
The first article was a Wikipedia entry for something called 'Pet Play'. Whitaker had never heard of it before, but that wasn't unusual. He was fairly sheltered growing up, having monitored computer time for only an hour or so on the shared family computer, so he spent his time online doing useful things, like watching videos of cute animals.
Sure, he grew up on a farm, but the animals he raised were never quite as cute as the ones he saw on YouTube.
Well, he was getting off track. Clicking on the link, Whitaker furrowed his brows as he read through the article. It seemed fairly hardcore to him, reading through the descriptions of people dressing in things called 'pup-hoods' and kneeling and obeying a 'master'.
Surely that didn't interest him.
But as he continued to scroll, his face slowly began heating up. the sight of handsome men in full collars, some kneeling at another man's feet, some being pet by the 'master' in an affectionate way… he couldn't deny the feeling bubbling inside of him. His cock seemed to agree, chubbing up and making itself well known in Whitaker's boxers.
Nope. Nuh-uh. Not today.
Whitaker took in a deep breath. This had to just be a fluke. Right? He didn't want to be his boss's pet dog… right?
Deciding he didn't have enough information to properly support his hypothesis, (or whatever excuse he was looking for to eat more of the forbidden fruit), Whitaker quietly opened another tab and searched up "Pet Play videos".
Horrible mistake.
Instantly, his search was filled with videos of men having graphic sex. None of them were playing, thank God, but the thumbnails were more than enough.
It was… oh, Lord.
Whitaker shifted once more, biting his lip as his erection strained in his pants. He wanted to touch himself, badly, but he also knew that Santos had a very nasty habit of entering without knocking, and—
"Oy, Huckle-pup."
— Speak of the devil.
Whitaker snapped his laptop shut, gasping slightly as he swung his head to face the doorway. Santos stared at Whitaker, brows furrowed like she was trying to figure something out, until—
"—Oh, dude. Gross." She went to shut the door, but Whitaker stuttered out a long "No no no no no, not what it— It's not what it looks like!" Which gave her slight pause.
Turning her head back, she raised her brow.
"Not what it looks like? You're tellin' me that you weren't just about to rub one out on my bed?"
"No! Genuinely! Honest! I'm— I—"
"You are pitching a tent right in front of me, dude." Santos interjected.
"—Yes! I am! And— I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. But I wasn't going to—"
"You weren't going to masturbate? I mean, shit, man, if it's that bad, you can use the shower, just don't do it on the bed." She shielded her eyes from having to view Whitaker's bulge in his pants.
"No, I wouldn't— you're letting me— huh?" Whitaker stopped, his brain far too confused to continue defending himself.
"I mean, yeah, I better not fuckin' hear any of it, or I'll turn you into a eunuch, but I don't expect you to turn into a nun when you're here." She shrugged. "So long as I don't get any lip for bringing home my drunken mistakes at 2 am."
Whitaker had to take a second to process what Santos was telling him, eventually settling on a confused "Huh?" in response.
"Oh my god," she sighed. "Don't jack off in my bed. I'm not cleaning any cum out of my own damn sheets. Do it in the damn shower, like a normal person."
Whitaker gave a slight nod, his jaw hung open in shock, until he whispered out a small "Uh— Yup. Got it. Mm-hm. Understood."
"Good. Now what do you want for dinner?" Santos segued, completely acting like the conversation didn't happen.
The next shifts weren't as bad in terms of the nickname.
Santos seemed to forget about the nickname, as did most of the staff.
Key word: most.
Dr. Robby, however, seemed to think it was cute. Or… funny? Whitaker couldn't quite figure it out. All he knew was that in any given moment, he was in danger at popping a boner in his scrubs, just because his boss decided to hop on a trend late.
He wasn't sure if it was better or worse now that he was the only one calling him it. It was exactly what he wanted, wasn't it? It was like the monkey's paw— he gets to be called puppy by his sexy hunk of a boss, but instead of in the comfort of his home, it's on the ER floor where everyone can watch him get turned on.
"Hey, Whitaker! Good job on those sutures in room 6!"
"Ah, yeah, um. Thank you, Dr. Robby."
"You're doing good work, puppy. Now come with me to room 3, there's a mother with a child who can't keep anything down…"
Whitaker's face burned as he was led to the next room by the scruff of his neck, hoping that he could hide his growing erection with something… inconspicuous. Luckily, scrubs were usually loose enough to not have him embarrass himself in front of his coworkers.
Alcohol solved everything.
Whitaker let out a sputtering cough as he downed his third shot, already far too drunk for a man at his height and stature. But, to be fair, his parents only let him have the Eucharistic wine that they had at church, and that was only on special occasions, so…
He never really got into drinking. When he had his 21st birthday, his roommates bought him a celebratory shot and a beer. He winced as he drank both, but decided that the taste wasn't that horrible, so he had continued.
And that's how Whitaker woke up in a stranger's lawn with his shirt missing on the day after his birthday.
Ever since then, Whitaker had basically made a vow to only drink, like, maybe once a year. Holidays, or whatever. The humiliating memories were already too much to bear, and he couldn't handle any more, thank you.
But when Santos grabbed him by the shoulder after a particularly tough shift and told him that they were going to a bar— he just sort of nodded in acquiesce.
He didn't think she'd buy him shots. He especially didn't think she'd buy him three shots— which he was still struggling to finish. His eyesight was already bleary, images fading into one another in a slurry of colors and shapes. His eyes were difficult to keep open, but he managed… mostly. He might've ended up blinking one eye at a time, though.
"Dude, you look like shit." Santos rolled up next to the man, watching him run his finger lazily across the rim of his empty shot glass. "I didn't know you were this much of a lightweight, man."
"'M not a ... tha's such a dumb term." He grumbled into his hand, the only thing supporting his head from falling straight onto the table and passing out. "Lightweight. Wha' 'f you're just… normal. Weight."
Santos pursed her lips in pure amusement. "Ok, yeah, no, I'm taking you home."
Whitaker grunted as Trinity took the extra shot and downed it herself, the light clearing of her throat the only indication that it affected her at all.
"BMI's so stupid," Whitaker objected as Santos lugged the man's arm over her shoulder, leading him to the car, and setting him down in the passenger seat.
"Aaaalright," Santos mumbled as she settled into her driving seat beside him. "Maybe having you take shots was a bad idea. That's on me. We're gonna stop at Walgreens on the way home, or CVS, whichever's closest, and get you some Pedialyte." She looked like she wanted to laugh almost, but this was just a practice in bedside manner.
Whitaker pulled his phone out from his pocket as Santos began to drive, looking for something to idly tap at to entertain his sluggish thoughts.
Somehow, he ended up on his text thread with Robby.
The last few texts had been cordial. Robby had given him his number as a precaution, in case of emergency. He never intended to use it that much. He only gave Whitaker a small 'Hello, this is Dr. Robby', but Whitaker was happy to have a single message from the man, anyways.
Even if he was super sexy. And hot. And smart. And old enough to be his dad, which just made him more hot.
Whitaker mumbled some complaints to himself, thumbing his keyboard lazily. He didn't mean to, but his thumb barely grazed the send button, and accidentally sent off a message of absolute nonsense to his boss.
Whitaker
hgkkhs
Whitaker's eyes widened slightly as his brain caught up to what just happened. Oh shit. It was, what, 1 A.M.? And here he was, drunkenly sending his boss a random message. Well, he had to apologize.
Whitaker
sorr
zorry*
sorry**
disnt mean to text yu
accident
Whitaker let out a long sigh as he let his eyes flutter shut once more. There, now he could relax.
Until he felt his phone buzz in a response.
Dr. Robby
Kid? What are you doing up so late?
Dennis' gut dropped into hell. Oh, fuck. Oh, God. He was awake.
Whitaker
ssory
didnt mena to wake you up
trinity took me out for drinks
after the shift
to get me to relax i think
Dr. Robby
Oh. Well, make sure to drink water. How many drinks did you have, exactly?
Whitaker
three
shost
shots*
thre e shots
Dr. Robby
Damn. And you're this drunk?
Whitaker
dontd rink back home sir
got ba d hangover once in premed
21 birthday
dont usually drink cuz of that
Dr. Robby
Hah. Well, it's a good habit to steer clear from. So long as you don't make this a habit of yours, you should be fine. You're young, after all.
You have a ride home, right?
Whitaker
yes sir
Dr. Robby
You don't have to call me that outside of work.
Whitaker snorted as he read that text back. Little does he know, he thought. He typed out a witty response in his text bar, huffing in amusement at his own flirty joke. He would never send it, though.
But when Trinity took a sharp turn that caused Whitaker's phone to fly out of his hands, when he leaned over to pick it up, he saw the most horrifying thing he had ever seen.
Whitaker
but i want to sir
Oh.
Oh dear god.
Whitaker felt the color drain from his face. He could see the read receipt showing that Robby had already seen it, and that it was far too late for him to try and delete it. Not that he could, anyways. Damn you, Apple products.
Whitaker's eyes bore in on the little gray speech bubble with the three dots. It kept appearing and disappearing, as if Robby was typing and deleting messages over and over again. Whitaker's mouth felt dry, his skin clammy, and he almost felt like he was going to throw up.
With shaking hands, Dennis tried to type clearly enough that he could formulate a proper apology, but before he could, another message came through.
Dr. Robby
Get some good rest, kid.
Dennis nearly fainted in his car seat.
When Trinity finally pulled up to the drugstore parking lot, Dennis barreled himself out of the suddenly far-too-stuffy vehicle, and immediately puked all over the asphalt.
When Whitaker came to work on Sunday, he kept his head down, and his mouth shut.
He only greeted a few people who waved to him first, otherwise ignoring all social contact. He hoped, he prayed, even, that if he could ignore enough people, that nobody would be able to even notice he was there. He could busy himself with patients, and nobody would be any the wiser.
Unfortunately for him, he wasn't as lucky as he'd hoped.
It was a fairly quiet day, (just his luck), which meant that most of the work was already being siphoned away by other, more commanding doctors.
Which meant that Dennis was just meandering about the ER, gnawing at his lip, hoping that somebody had a sudden case of the flu, or something else, because at this rate, he was going to—
"Hey, Whitaker."
Fuck.
Whitaker turned his head around, staring up at his attending with big eyes, feeling an awful lot like a lamb going to slaughter.
Dr. Robby's face was… tight. Pursed lips, solemn eyes. He knew he was in trouble.
Christ. He couldn't catch one break, could he.
"Yeah, s—" he stopped himself. "Dr. Robby?"
Dennis saw something flicker inside of Robby's eyes. Something… deep. Low. It was only for a moment. It felt akin to watching a spark fly off into a powder keg— something small, yet overwhelmingly dangerous, in a way he couldn't yet understand.
It was gone the next moment, though, with Robby schooling his expression and nodding over his shoulder towards the family room.
"Come with me."
It wasn't a question. It was a direction— an order. Whitaker felt shame burn in his face as he kept his head down, and followed Dr. Robby into the family room.
Dr. Robby opened the door for him, polite as ever, and shut it behind him when he followed Whitaker in.
"So," Dr. Robby began, after a few suffocating seconds in silence. "I'm sure you know why I have you in here."
Whitaker shuffled his feet slightly, hands clutched behind his back, shifting his weight as a way to distract himself.
"Yes, si— Dr. Robby." God, trying to break that polite habit was going to be tough.
"That." Robby pointed at Whitaker, moving one of the arms crossed against his chest. "That is what I wanted to talk to you about. Your… message."
Dennis squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath, already bracing himself for the humiliation ritual.
"I'm assuming that it was just a… drunken mistake, yeah? I mean," Robby scratched the side of his beard slightly, his cheeks dusted a slight shade of pink. "I can't imagine a handsome, young man like yourself would be exactly that desperate."
Whitaker paused.
Pardon?
He looked up, brows furrowed, cheeks burning deep red.
"I'm— I'm sorry?"
"Look, kid," Robby shifted his hands to his pockets, avoiding eye contact as he shrugged. "I haven't been in that scene in ages, but I know that a kid like you would be snatched up like," he snapped his fingers, "that. You've got nothing to worry about. I know there's all sorts of websites out there now that help with that sort of… uh. You know, searching for a partner who's a little more… controlling." Robby's mannerisms were stiff, forced, and awkward. His cheeks were blushing more, not just from embarrassment, but also…
Dennis let his gaze trail downwards slightly, his eyes catching onto something that set his mind on fire.
Dr. Robby was half-hard in his pants.
Dennis completely tuned out whatever Robby was saying at this point, now laser-focused on the bulge in his scrubs. There was no way that was an accident. There was no way he could just blame it on hormones. He was 54, for Christ's sake, men his age didn't just get random boners. Usually they had a tougher time even getting it up, nonetheless in a situation that supposedly wasn't stimulating for him.
"Are you hard?" Dennis heard his voice ask, his head finally rising back up to make eye contact with the man.
Dr. Robby sputtered for a moment, his eyes skipping around the room as he cleared his throat.
"Well, it's a natural reaction to something so— so—"
"— So what, Dr. Robby?" Dennis finished, eyes wide, swimming in arousal. "Did… Did the idea of me looking for someone to control me turn you on?"
Dr. Robby cleared his throat, beads of sweat beginning to form around his forehead. His eyes refused to look anywhere near Dennis, taking a deep breath, trying to regain control of the situation.
"It doesn't matter what I think, Whitaker. What matters is that it was a mistake, clearly. You were drunk, inebriated. It's not right of me— or anyone else, for that matter— to make judgment based off of a text you sent me while wasted," Dr. Robby managed, finally regaining enough strength to put his commanding tone back on. But it was too late. Whitaker had caught scent that the man he wanted so badly wanted him back, and he wasn't going to let that go to waste.
"But," Whitaker mused, taking a small step forward. "If I were to say those… those words again…" he trailed off, toying with his fingers as a nervous habit. "Would you accept now?"
Robby's eyes flared like firelights, huffing out of his nostrils like a bull that wanted to run. His eyes were starving, gnawing at his lip to silence himself, before he could let Dennis could try and tempt him again.
"I would say that you should find someone closer to you in age," he responded, not outright rejecting him, but not accepting him, either.
"I don't want someone else," Whitaker whined, hovering closer to his attending, like the lost puppy he was. "I want someone I can trust. Someone I know. Someone to guide me. Someone— someone…"
Whitaker's hand reached out, gently running his fingers against the open zipper of Robby's jacket.
"Someone like you, sir."
Robby panted out a hard breath, squeezing his eyes shut as Whitaker attempted to slide his hand lower. He was quickly stopped by Robby's tight grasp snapping to his wrist, pulling him off in an instant.
Dennis looked up, afraid of what he would see. His boss, disappointed in him? But when his gaze cast upward, it wasn't anything like what he'd expected.
Robby's pupils were blown wide, only a minuscule ring of deep brown visible. His lips were parted, brows furrows, cheeks flushed, all a mix of lust, hunger, and irritation.
"Down, boy," Robby's voice burred, which set Whitaker's insides alight.
Whitaker dropped to his knees, only to have Robby groan in appreciation, watching the man fall so easily. He gnawed at his lip, letting out a shaky sigh as he held onto whatever final strands of self control he had left, finally giving Whitaker a direct answer.
"Not here. Not at work," he grunted, teeth clenched. "When your shift ends, you meet me in the locker room. Understand?"
Whitaker nodded eagerly. "Yes, sir."
Robby held back another groan as he quickly dragged Whitaker off his feet, and shoved him out of the family room.
"Go, work. Now," he commanded.
Dennis nodded quickly, tripping over his feet slightly as he hurried back to the rooms, not hearing the family door lock behind him.
The shift ended up being just as slow as Dennis had dreaded.
Usually, he would celebrate slower days, seeing as he was usually exhausted and overworked and would never turn down an opportunity for a small break. This time, however, he was so damn horny he could barely see straight, and needed a distraction, desperately.
He wasn't sure if it was better or worse that he knew that Dr. Robby was also suffering.
Actually, no. Scratch that. He knew. It was worse. It was absolutely, positively, worse.
Robby was getting more fidgety than usual. Wandering hands ended up around Whitaker more often than not, and he couldn't say anything without drawing attention to it. Robby would brush his ears, his nape, his waist— anything that was within his reach wasn't safe from his grasp.
By the time the end of shift came around, both Dennis and Robby were itching to get out of the Pitt. Dennis was shuffling into his jacket as quick as he could, when he felt a familiar presence hovering behind him.
"Whitaker." Robby's voice was gruff, and he could feel the older man's beard brush against the shell of his ear. He gnawed at his lip, heat pooling in his stomach once more in anticipation.
"Yes, Dr. Robby," Whitaker whispered, like it was a prayer.
"You're still okay with this?"
"Yes, Dr. Robby."
Robby chuckled deeply, looking over his own shoulders to make sure nobody was around to see them alone in the locker room.
"You know," Robby chuckled. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you get off on calling me Dr. Robby. Like some reminder that I'm still above you."
Whitaker's breath hitched, his eyelashes fluttering slightly.
"But I'm sure," Robby continued, his hand running up the back of Whitaker's scrubs. "That a good boy like yourself remembers that I told him to wait until we were out of work."
The praise seeped into his brain like a thick syrup, drowning any cognizant thought out in favor of the pleasant buzz of praise Robby had given him. Well, praise, and also a slight reprimand.
"I'm sorry, sir— I mean Dr. Ro— I—" Whitaker stammered over his words, unsure if he could even form a sentence without some subconscious reminder that Robby was always over him. Always above him. Always in control.
Robby barked out a laugh, taking a step back and giving Whitaker some room to breathe. "Ah, it's fine, kid. Come on, my ride's in the parking lot."
Whitaker peeked over his shoulder to see Robby spinning his keys around his pointer finger, a confident smile gracing the man's features, emphasizing the crow's feet and smile lines that Dennis lusted over heavily.
Good Lord, he wasn't sure if he was going to make it out of Robby's place alive.
Robby's ride was a perfect representation of himself. A large pickup that looked well worn in its years, but still seemed to function mostly fine. Robby said there were a few issues with the speakers and sometimes the engine made a sound that sounded like nails on a chalkboard, but other than that, it drove smoothly.
"It gets me from Point A to Point B, usually without any hiccups," Robby had explained.
The drive to Robby's place was… a struggle. Dennis had completely lost all of the confidence he had earlier, leading him to just sit in the passenger seat with his hands crossed in his lap. Robby seemed to be just as awkward, but had a bit more ease of mind. He was much older than Dennis, so he probably had more experience.
Wait. Experience.
"Hey, um, Robby?"
"Yeah, kid?"
"Back earlier today, in the family room." Dennis shuffled his feet slightly. "You said something about… uh. Something like, 'I haven't been in the scene in ages'."
Robby's grip tightened on the steering wheel.
"I was… wondering what you meant by that." Dennis turned his head to watch Robby as he finished, watching the older man's lips purse into a thin line, swallowing thickly.
"Well. You know." Robby gestured with his free hand, waving it slightly. "I used to be young like you. Found myself in much more… uh. Interesting crowds. I got a bit of a reputation for being somebody someone like you would be looking for." He settled both his hands back onto the steering wheel, focusing purely on the road. "Someone controlling. Someone to make the decision for them when they couldn't. Someone to give themselves up to."
Dennis gnawed at the bottom of his lip, eyes wide as the lust in his stomach continued to burn brighter and brighter.
"You were a dom." His mouth was dry as he spoke, the words leaving his lips like confessing a sin to a priest.
Robby snorted, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Oh, jeez, kid, I didn't expect you to just say it."
"Sorry," Whitaker apologized on instinct. "Is that a bad thing?"
Robby shook his head. "No, not at all. There's doms and subs, and… switches or verses, I can't remember which one's which, but, uh…" He shrugged. "It's all just… preference, at the end of the day. The power people gave me… it made me feel good. I liked bossing people around. I liked the way they would look at me, waiting for their next command." Robby grinned as his eyes leered to the passenger seat. "It's what you want, too. Isn't it?"
Dennis stared at his boss with burning cheeks, panting slightly as his dick pitched a tent in his pants. He nodded furiously, but Robby only tutted.
"Words."
"I— huh?"
"Words, Whitaker. Use them."
Oh, God.
"Yes," he croaked. "Yes, sir, I want that."
Robby's lips formed into a coy smile as he pulled into a driveway.
"Good," he praised, putting his truck in park. "Let's find out what else I can give you, kid."
Robby's place was tidy enough. Whitaker didn't really care about that, though. He was already struggling to strip out of his clothes as fast as possible, until Robby placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.
"Whoa, there, tiger," he chuckled. "Clothes on. We've still got rules to go over."
"Rules?" Dennis echoed, crestfallen.
Robby raised a brow. "Dennis, be honest with me. How much of BDSM do you… actually know? How experienced are you?"
Dennis swallowed nervously. "Um."
Robby eyed his reaction, patient, waiting. When he got nothing, his brows pinched together in concern. "Oh, kid."
"Look, if I'm being honest, I have no idea what I'm doing here," Whitaker stammered, the rush of emotions finally catching up to him. "I only went on a rabbit hole the other day when I was looking up something called 'pet play' because when you called me puppy, for some reason, my entire body just got so turned on I could barely walk straight. I have no clue about this— the BDSM thing you said, if anything, to me, it just sounds like some sort of extension of the DSM-5 that I never got to read."
Robby nodded, about to say something, but Whitaker continued.
"I've always found you hot. On the— on the day I texted you. It was an accident, you're right, but it's true. I— I've never felt this way about something before. Well, that's not true, I've been, uh— turned on before, but— not like… nothing like this." Whitaker's words trailed off, his body curling in on itself in shame and humiliation. "I don't… know what to do. Please, show me."
Robby shut his eyes, taking in a deep breath. Scooting over, he gestured for Whitaker to take a seat on the couch next to him. Whitaker sat.
Robby ran a hand over his beard contemplatively. He was silent for a while, thinking, while Dennis shivered with nerves next to him.
"Alright," he spoke, finally. "Let me get this straight. You know… what, almost nothing about BDSM?"
Dennis nodded his head shamefully.
"But the way you texted and spoke to me made it seem like you knew at least some things."
"I watched videos," Dennis explained, hands fidgeting, eyes askance. Robby nodded in acknowledgement.
"I see."
They dipped back into the silence, and Whitaker could feel his nerves getting worse. Though, after some time, Robby reached out and placed a gentle hand on the back of Whitaker's neck, gently rubbing some soothing circles into his muscles.
"I'm not mad at you. You're not in trouble," Robby explained, which allowed Whitaker a moment of relaxation. "But I do think it's important to talk about this. I want you to know what you're getting into, and want you to understand why you want it."
Dennis nodded, turning to meet eyes with the older man. Robby's eyes were patient, kind. Much like the eyes he saw at work when he was able to get a moment for himself. Soft, understanding gentleness emanated from him, luring Whitaker in like a moth to flame.
"So, you said you like when I call you pup, or puppy," Robby began, the hand still comforting Whitaker's nerves. "Do you know why that is?"
Dennis paused. He hadn't really thought of it that way. All he knew was that he wanted to be beneath Robby, like his dog— he didn't really give any thought as to why.
He shook his head. "No, not really."
Robby nodded again, humming along with him.
"Have you thought about what you would want a scene to look like?"
Once again, Dennis shook his head. "Just, kinda, want you to… tell me what to do," he mumbled.
"Alright." Robby turned his body fully towards Dennis, the hand on the back of his neck slipping to the man's shoulder. "I think I've got a good idea of what might be good for you, then."
Whitaker eyed up at him, curious and hopeful. Robby gave him a quick squeeze of the shoulder.
"Since you're new, I don't want to go into anything hard," Robby explained. "I won't hit you, or hurt you. I'll pamper you and call you a good boy. How does that sound?"
Whitaker's cheeks flushed, eyes widening in need. It sounded… perfect. He nodded eagerly.
"Alright, good. I'm going to set down some ground rules, then. For you, and for me." Robby explained. "The first rule is simple: Use your words when I ask you to use them. I know there are some doms out there that expect complete silence from their subs, but I'm not one of them. I want you to tell me what you feel, when you feel it. Okay?"
Okay. Dennis could do that. "Yes, Dr. Robby."
Robby snorted. "Rule two: none of that. If you want to give me a title, you can call me 'Sir', but that's only when we're in a scene, not when negotiating or setting boundaries, like we are right now."
"Yes… uh."
"Just Robby works for now," he grinned. "Rule three: use your safewords. You know what those are, right?"
"Yeah, that's the… that's the color thing, right?"
Robby grinned. "Yes, very good. The stoplight system is a very rudimentary safeword system, but it works very well. If I ever ask you 'color' while in a scene, you give me either green, yellow, or red. Green means go, yellow means slow down or take a break, and red means stop completely. Got it?"
"Mmhm. I mean— yeah." Whitaker's hands were fidgeting slightly.
Robby's eyes softened.
"I understand it sounds intimidating," he began. "But this is all so you can enjoy yourself to the fullest. I have no intention of pushing your boundaries so hard that you need to safeword, but if you ever feel the need to, just say the word.
"Okay, now, I know you don't know a lot about fetishes and stuff like that, but are there any things you're absolutely sure you want or don't want?"
Dennis furrowed his brow in thought. "Don't… hurt me," he tried. "I know you said you wouldn't, and I trust you, but that's just… I still have to go to work and stuff. So."
Robby huffed a laugh, shaking his head lightly. "Right, no injuries. Already had that one planned," he joked. "But how about things like blindfolds or gags? Sensory deprivation? Soft bondage?"
"Uhh…" Dennis furrowed his brow. "Blindfolds, yes. Gags, not yet. Sensory deprivation, no. Soft bondage… maybe."
Robby nodded again. "Okay. You've been answering a lot of my questions. Do you have any for me you want to ask?"
So many. Too many. Dennis tried to file through the litany of questions he was wondering about, but one seemed to speak out louder than the rest.
"Are you going to fuck me?" He asked, hopeful.
Robby snorted, coughing into his fist to cover up the laughter.
"Oh, Jeez. Sorry, kid. Didn't mean to laugh at that," he admitted between low giggles. "Just didn't… expect that. You're really full of surprises." Robby pat his shoulder firmly. "But, to answer your question, no, I don't plan on putting my cock in you."
The disappointment must have been evident on his face, because Robby shook his head and added: "I may not be fucking you, but I fully intend to satisfy you and get you off, Dennis."
Whitaker blushed and nodded.
"Is that all you wanted to ask?" Robby cocked his head to the side, almost amused at Whitaker's nervous disposition.
"Yeah, I think." He admitted. "Can we start now?"
Robby chuckled at the boy's eagerness to begin.
"Yeah, but let me take you upstairs to my room, first." Robby stood from his seat on the couch, offering a hand to Whitaker.
Whitaker took it.
He wasn't sure what he expected with Robby's room, but whatever he walked into was not it.
On the surface it looked normal. King sized bed, black sheets, black… everything, actually. Dennis almost snorted at how dark everything was in his room.
But then Dennis noticed a thick trunk standing at the base of his bed. Robby went over and unclasped it, standing in a way so that Dennis couldn't see most of the contents. He rifled around in the box for a while, eventually finding some things and closing the lid of the box once more.
When Robby turned around, Dennis blinked at the items in his hands.
"Blindfold," Robby explained, holding the black silk in his right hand, "and a collar with its matching leash. You said you wanted to be a puppy, so I'll treat you like my puppy."
Dennis' cock hardened as he swallowed thickly. Holy shit.
Approaching the other, Robby took the collar and slowly began to wrap it around the other's neck without words. Dennis lifted his chin up, wordlessly, face burning at the thought of his boss owning him.
"There we go." Robby pulled back, smiling as the collar settled onto Whitaker's neck comfortably. "Not too tight, is it?"
"No," Dennis answered, then paused. "… Do I start calling you Sir, now?"
Robby hummed in amusement.
"Yes, you're allowed to call me Sir, now." Robby's grin was addicting. "Now, strip into your underwear and get on the bed." He snapped his fingers and pointed, sending Dennis into a fit of ripping off all of his clothes as quickly as he could.
When he was left in nothing but his tented boxers and his collar, he kneeled onto the bed, watching Robby patiently.
"Oh, good boy." Robby praised him easily. "You obey directions so well, don't you?" Approaching the younger man, he grazed his calloused hands over Whitaker's cheek, watching the man's eyes flutter shut in appreciation. "And good boys deserve treats."
Dennis wasn't sure what to expect when he was told he was getting a treat. He certainly didn't expect to feel the soft press of lips against his own, gentle, sensual— not at all what he was thinking would happen when he arrived at Robby's.
Dennis let out a soft sigh against Robby's lips as he attempted to kiss back. He wasn't a virgin— not totally. But he had never been one who was appreciated or pampered in bed. His sexual encounters were always just a race to get each other off, never slow and sweet with kisses and understanding.
Robby licked Dennis' lips and Dennis eagerly opened them, allowing the older man's tongue to invade him and explore him in a purely hedonistic manner. It was like Robby was a thick syrup of ecstasy that Dennis was slowly sinking into. He wasn't sure he would be able to escape the man even if he tried.
Not that he wanted to try.
After a long minute of sloppily tonguing each other's mouths, Robby broke away, a string of saliva the only thing connecting the two men.
"There," he purred. "Did puppy like that?"
Oh, dear Lord.
The slightly degrading insult mixed with the lust in Robby's eyes was a concoction that sent lust bursting through his body. His mouth was left open, lips puffy and panting as he nodded furiously.
"Yes," he croaked. "Yes, Sir. Yes, Sir. Please, more."
Robby seemed to approve of the slight request, leaning in and kissing him on the cheek instead.
"Such a good puppy," he praised. "Already knows how to beg. But that was just one treat for now— puppy's gonna get lots more treats later, yeah? And he's going to enjoy every single one. I'll make sure of it."
Dennis moaned in response, but Robby pulled away, holding the blindfold in his hands, giving the other a raised brow.
"Blindfolds are very good for beginners," he explained as he wrapped the soft silk across the front of Dennis' face. "They don't take too much away from you. Just your sight. It can be scary at first, but once you relax into it, the rest of your senses start to feel stronger as a result." Tying the blindfold around the back of his head, Robby smiled as he watched Dennis look around in confusion. "Well?"
"Um. Feels weird, sir," Dennis admitted.
"I know it does, puppy. But I'm right here, and I'm not going to leave you." Robby ran a hand over the man's knee, watching as the smaller man's muscles loosened at the touch.
"Okay, sir. Thank you, sir."
"So polite." Robby crawled onto the bed, stripping himself of his own shirt and pants, quickly tossing them aside. "God, how'd I end up with such a polite puppy? So eager to serve, and yet he's never done it before. You're perfect, puppy," Robby whispered as he crawled atop Whitaker, pinning him down into the sheets.
Whitaker keened into the praise, gasping as he felt something hot and wet begin to suck against his jawline. His arms instinctually clung around the body atop him, grasping at anything to keep him grounded, afraid that if he sank too deep into the pleasure, he would never return.
Robby continued to lick and pepper kisses against the boy's upper neck, whispering soft praises of how well Whitaker was taking it, and how good he sounded. Robby loved his vocal partners, they were always such an ego boost, especially with someone he's wanted for a while, like Dennis.
"Bite," Whitaker gasped out, after torturously long minutes of only gentle kissing and sucking. "Bite me, please, sir. Please, bite me."
Robby groaned at the pleas that fell from his puppy's mouth. He wasn't sure how this kid had never been a sub before, because holy shit, he was good at it.
"You want me to bite you, huh?" He echoed, burring into the boy's ear, one of his free hands groping its way across the man's chest. "You want me to mark you up? Show everyone that you're my puppy to own?"
Whitaker's back arched off the sheets, his hard cock leaking into his boxers, seeking some sort of friction. He nodded furiously, amidst a flurry of 'Yes, Yes, Yes', so Robby took it upon himself to fulfill the boy's wishes.
Robby leaned into the man's upper neck, opening his mandible and sinking his teeth into the boy's supple skin. It was hard to reach, due to the collar resting on his throat, but Robby managed. Robby felt the way Whitaker's voice cried out from his throat, whining moans small whimpers of 'Thank you, sir' against his lips. Robby growled in response, using his hand on the man's chest to tweak at his pert nipples, eliciting another whine from the boy.
Whitaker wasn't sure how he was feeling so good. Sure, Robby told him blindfolds increased sensitivity, but… could it really be that effective? He felt insane, like he was losing himself, falling into an ocean where only ecstasy remained. His mind was swimming in the praise and pet names, wanting nothing more than to make Robby proud.
"Your cock's leaking in your boxers," Robby hummed into his ear, which elicited a small gasp from Dennis in response. "Do you want to cum in your pants, or do you want me to take them off for you?"
"Off," Whitaker panted, his legs kicking slightly from beneath him. "Please, sir, off."
"Shh," Robby coaxed, slipping his thumb beneath the elastic waistband of the boy's underwear and tugging them down. Dennis gnawed at his lip, holding back soft whimpers as Robby took his sweet time, purposefully dragging it out so as to tease the boy.
When his cock was finally freed, it thwacked against his stomach, much to his own surprise. It was red, angry, leaking, and full.
Robby licked his lips in response.
"Oh, poor puppy." His voice was condescending, "Look at you, all wet and needy. Just from a bit of kissing and biting." He leaned over the man, gently blowing a puff of air against the head, which caused Dennis to yelp.
"A-Are you— can you touch it, please?" Whitaker panted.
Robby hummed as if he was contemplating the request. Eventually, he smirked and chuckled. "Not yet, needy puppy. I want to teach you some patience, and that includes learning to appreciate the pleasure that is given to you."
Dennis let out a noise that sounded almost like an actual pup's whining, which just tested Robby's will even more. But he said he wasn't going to touch it yet, so he wouldn't.
Instead, he took both of his hands and began to softly massage his pectorals.
Dennis let out a confused moan as Robby continued to grope the man's chest. Then, Robby's fingers slowly circled around his areolas, until he was pinching both of the boy's nipples between his pointer fingers and his thumbs.
"Look at your pretty chest," he purred, placing a soft kiss on the boy's sternum. "So cute and perky. So needy."
Whitaker whined again, going to say something, but was cut off when Robby sucked his left nipple into his mouth.
"—Sir!" Dennis gasped, head throwing back into the pillow. Robby just hummed, rolling the nub between his teeth gently, not as to hurt, but to give the boy a bit more sensation.
After he finished on one nipple, he switched to the other, repeating the process until both nipples were hard and covered in a sheen of saliva.
"You look so beautiful like this, puppy," Robby praised, running both of his hands down Whitaker's sides, getting a small gasp out of him. "Under me. Listening to me. I think you deserve another treat."
Whitaker preened, letting out a string of 'Thank you's and 'please's into the air. Robby just purred, quietly snaking his hand lower and lower, palming the man's inner thighs.
"Touch," Dennis whined. Robby chuckled, shaking his head.
"Yes, you're right, puppy, I am touching you," he teased, tone purposefully condescending. Whitaker shook his head, trying to buck his hips up so that Robby would get the idea, but instead, Robby grabbed the man's hips and pushed him back down into the sheets.
"Bad puppy." Robby tutted. "Patience, remember? I'll touch you there when you earn it. For now, just lay back, and feel good."
Whitaker let out a breathy moan, forcing his body to relax into the sheets as Robby's hand grasped around his balls instead. They were heavy and firm, probably close to bursting, if Robby had to guess. He smiled. Good.
Moving his hands lower, he pressed a finger against the man's perineum, pressing in such a way that made Whitaker jolt and squeak in surprise.
"Sir!" He gasped, and Robby hummed. "Sir, please, I… I need it."
"Need what?" Robby goaded. "If you're going to ask something of me, you'd better make it clear."
"Touch my cock, please," Dennis cried. "Please, sir, I'm so hard, I— I need you to touch it, just a little. I'll do anything, sir, I just need to cum, need to cum so bad, please, I—"
"Shhh." Robby placed one finger over the boy's lips, silencing him instantly. "That's it. No more thinking for puppy. You did such a good job, using your words." Robby shifted slightly, grabbing Dennis and picking him up, moving him so that Dennis was sitting between Robby's legs, Robby's chest to his back. Robby hummed in his ear. "Such a good puppy. No more thinking for you. I'm going to jack you off and make you cum, and you're gonna take it, okay?"
Dennis let out a half-moan-half-sob, nodding his head as his hips thrust into the air uselessly. Robby spit into his own hand, finally wrapping his arms around Dennis and grasping his weeping cock in his hand.
Dennis shuddered and let out a long groan as he leaned his back fully into Robby's chest.
"That's it," Robby mumbled in the boy's ear. "Just take it, puppy. You don't need to do anything, just feel."
Whitaker hiccuped, his moans tumbling out of him like a cup overflowing. His hips thrust into Robby's palm, whining at the friction, grateful to finally have some much-needed relief.
Robby's pattern sped up slightly, watching the way Dennis' breathing picked up, analyzing the way his moans got higher pitched.
"Sir—" He tried. "Sir— cl— close—"
"Go ahead, puppy." Robby growled into his ear. "Be a good boy and cum into my hand."
Whitaker swore he saw white.
His body fully tensed up, cock shooting ropes of cum into Robby's palm. The sounds that came from his mouth were filthy, pathetic, and needy— but they sounded like an angelic chorus to Robby. He just praised Whitaker through the man's orgasm, continually pumping and stroking his cock through the many aftershocks of the boy's pleasure high.
After a few moments, Whitaker fell limp against Robby, fully wrung out and sated from his hard orgasm. Robby smiled at the reaction, reaching over to his side table and pulling out a small container of cleaning wipes.
Reaching over with one hand, he grabbed the back of Dennis' blindfold, taking it off and letting the man adjust to using his sight once more.
"I know," he cooed as Dennis hissed at the sudden onslaught of sensations. "I know it's a lot. Just take your time, it's okay." He pulled out a wet towel and rubbed it on his palm, cleaning up the cum from Whitaker and gently wiping up any excess that might have ended up on the boy himself.
It took Whitaker a minute for all of his facilities to come back online. He felt like a computer that had been hard reset— like his body was rejuvenated, or like something had been lifted. Is that what sex was supposed to feel like? Jesus, his other partners must've sucked.
Wait.
Sitting up, Whitaker spun around, eyes bugging out as he stared at Robby with horror.
"You didn't get off."
Robby raised a brow, snorting softly.
"Kid, when you get to be my age, you can cum once a day, if you're lucky." He snorted. "Besides, that was all supposed to be about you and making you feel good. Not me."
Whitaker furrowed his brows, confused.
"I don't… get it." He blinked. "Are you saying you already came today? When?"
Robby pursed his lips, eyes looking away. Whitaker thought for a few moments.
His eyes widened.
"Oh my god," he gasped. "The family room. Did you— did you jerk off in the family room?"
"I locked the door after you left to make sure nobody would walk in," Robby quickly defended, his cheeks going pink. "Listen, it was— it was a horrible decision, in hindsight, and I got the absolute worst post nut clarity I'd ever had in my life."
"Did you… how did you clean up?" Whitaker asked.
Robby glared.
"No, no I'm not—" Whitaker snorted slightly. "I'm not making fun of you, I—"
"I was going to ask how you were feeling after that," Robby began, his arms tugging back around Whitaker to hold him close. "But seeing as you're just as energetic as usual, I'd say you're feeling fine."
Whitaker hummed as his head was cradled into Robby's large pecs, the adrenaline rush slowly wearing off and leaving him just feeling groggy.
"Oh, um. Yeah. I feel… that felt good."
"Not too comfy yet," Robby mentioned, reaching for the boy's neck and tugging at the collar he put on before. Whitaker rustled in his spot, a bit confused.
"Oh," he whispered. "I kinda forgot I had that on."
"I figured you might've," Robby mused, shuffling the collar to the side table. "But that's alright. You were just supposed to be enjoying yourself, after all."
Dennis blushed slightly, huffing a bit as he leaned into Robby's warmth.
"… So, next time," Dennis mumbled. "You're gonna be the one wearing the collar, right?"
Robby snorted and gently pinched Whitaker's cheek.
"Go to sleep," he chided, an amused smile on his face.
But as he rolled over to turn out the light, something warm fizzled within him at the prospect of a 'next time'.
When Dennis came into work the next day, Santos nearly tore him a new one.
"You send me one message," she hissed at him, wanting to strangle him with her fists. "One message. You could've been dead, dude. Were you off hooking up with some guy on Grindr? I thought you deleted that. Didn't I tell you not to—"
Dr. Santos shut up as Robby entered the room, looking between the two of them.
"Dr. Santos," he nodded to her. "Whitaker. What are you two doing in here?"
"Huckleberry here—" Trinity gestured, fuming. "Decided that it would be a great idea to not tell his roommate where he was going to spend the night. Seriously, man! Not cool!"
Robby sighed, scratching at his nose. "Ah, yes. That's understandable. Whitaker, I'm disappointed in you," he tutted, crossing his arms. "You should always tell your friends important information like that. For both your safety and theirs."
Whitaker lowered his head in shame as Santos let off a few 'I-told-you-so's, before going back to her rotation in the rooms. Robby gestured for Whitaker and himself to follow, but when Dr. Santos was far enough away, Robby leaned in to whisper in Whitaker's ear.
"Thank God you didn't tell her," he snorted. "I think she'd have my head."
"Probably both heads, sir," Whitaker snorted, following his boss to save some lives.