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It's not like they want to be doing this here. They don't exactly not want to – sneaking around is kind of hot – but that's not the motivation for putting their hands on each other at work. It's just that each of their homes is currently…off the table.
On Dennis's side, there's his roommate. That whole situation is thankfully not a problem, really. Pretty soon after Frank returned to the ED, Trinity expressed surprise at how different he seemed. The two concluded a frosty truce weeks ago, and Trinity still professes to be cautiously optimistic about their ability to work together productively. She gave Dennis her blessing without being asked, probably to see his eyes go wide and his cheeks flush. Because of course she'd noticed what was building between them, maybe even before he did. Still, Dennis feels a little guilty. He's also sure it would be a bridge too far to bring him back to Trinity's apartment.
Frank, for his part, has done nothing to even suggest they could go back to his own apartment. At first, Dennis was convinced it signaled their frequent hookups were going to remain just that. They've been slowly getting to know each other, mostly during breaks at work and over a handful of absurdly long text conversations when they should be getting to sleep. They were quick to acknowledge that something was happening between them, but they've been studiously avoiding labeling it. Eventually, though, Dennis realized there was no secret meaning behind avoiding Frank's apartment. Frank simply hated it, along with a lot of things about his newfound bachelor life that made him roll his eyes in self-deprecation.
So – unable, apparently, to just talk about it like adults – they find themselves coming together at work. It's not ideal. It makes them do reckless things like make out in the alley between the east side of the building and the storage building next to it, hands down each other's scrub pants; or sneak into a call room after shift on a slow night so Frank can suck his cock in a way that seems designed to elicit noise and get them caught; or, on one especially stupid occasion, shut themselves into the single-toilet bathroom adjacent to the staff lounge and jerk each other off like it was a race. Because it was – not just due to the location but due to them.
They didn't get to know each other until after Robby left for sabbatical, which meant that fighting for their attending's attention wasn't in the forefront of their minds. Not that it was smooth sailing. Dennis was apparently the only person Frank felt comfortable really pushing, maybe because he didn't really know him, didn't care about his approval. That was fine, because something about Frank's stupid handsome face made him want to stand up straighter and argue harder. The more he did that, the more Frank learned to push him differently, and now they're more like co-conspirators than rivals. Long before things snapped into place like this between them, Dennis was aware of how badly he wanted to jump the man's bones. It took an eternity to figure out Frank wasn't an indiscriminate flirt – or not just that, anyway. He was interested in men, and he was interested in Dennis in particular.
Today's ill-advised venue for fornication is the same as it's been for three weeks: the family restroom with the broken toilet up in Longterm Care. Frank caught him at the lockers as he packed up, closing a hand around his bicep and giving him a particular mischievous grin. Now they're locked into the bathroom, pawing at each other. Dennis has Frank pushed up against the door, kissing him with a desperation he didn't actually feel until the door clicked shut and Frank gave him a look so hot and determined he felt all the blood in his body rush toward his cock in a hurry.
"You're the worst," Frank is murmuring. "All afternoon, baby. Jesus."
The sad thing is he knows exactly what Frank's talking about. He wasn't exactly subtle.
"What?" Dennis murmurs against his mouth, smiling. "I'm not allowed to be handsy and flirty?"
Frank just growls softly in frustration. "No, actually. You are so goddamn distracting already."
Frank's hands slide down over his ass, and he pulls their hips flush together, tight enough to finally grind. As usual, Dennis is surprised by how hard the man is just from the anticipation of the elevator ride and the way Dennis has been sucking at his neck. Mindful of marks, he has now moved on to his mouth, to fucking him with his tongue.
The man called him baby. That was new, and…very welcome? What the fuck else was he supposed to do?
Dennis is definitely aware of how easy it is to distract Frank Langdon. For most of the afternoon, he was doing nothing of the sort. It wasn't until he watched him turn on the charm to unruffle the feathers of an older blonde woman radiating frustration in chairs that he found himself distracted as hell. If he found reasons to pass by and touch the man a few times, at least until he got entangled in a trauma, if he maybe smiled at him over the floor a little too much, could he be blamed?
"Your fault," Dennis says. He moves his mouth back to Frank's neck, telling himself to play nice this time.
"How?"
"You were running around managing that compound femoral fracture all on your own. I didn't hear Garcia bitch about a single fucking thing when she finally graced us with her presence."
"A minor miracle."
"You sounded really fucking confident. Not cocky or anything, just in control."
It was a lot like watching Robby or Samira, actually — calm voice, talking through things collaboratively rather than asking rote questions, then affirming decisive action.
"You like that," Frank says. "Enough to curse like a sailor, apparently."
"Mmm hmm," Dennis replies as he kisses over his jaw, delighting to feel Frank squirm and pull him closer to thrust against him more forcefully. The friction of layers of clothing as two hard lengths rub against each other and rut into ilium and pubis is making the arousal feel like a series of hot waves flooding his body.
"You know what I like?" Frank's voice is breathless, but it's still somehow low and calm. "How good your ass looks in scrubs."
"And just why would you be thinking that much about my ass?"
Frank nips at his bottom lip, whispering, "You know why," then he licks into his mouth and Dennis loses track of all coherent thought for a hot minute.
When Dennis finally pulls out of the kiss, he pushes him back against the door with enough force to make his head thunk into it a little, holding him there with two hands on his chest as he steps back.
Air, he thinks. He also wants to look at his face.
"You think so, Langdon?"
Frank's hands can just reach his waist, and his warm fingers slip up under his scrub top and undershirt, brushing soft over his skin.
"I hope, Whitaker. That's all. No, uh, rush."
Dennis works feverishly at the drawstring on his pants, which is not helped by the fact that he's doing it only by touch – because is eyes are on Frank's jaw, his neck, his ear as he leans in and whispers, "What if I told you I can't wait?"
At that, rather than groan, which he clearly wants to do, Frank suddenly grabs Dennis's more loosely tied waistband and the elastic of his boxers and shoves both down over his dick. He has his hand around him before Dennis can even get Frank's pants down. He huffs in frustration, his hips automatically thrusting his cock through Frank's grip.
"Hold on," Frank says, batting at his fingers on his drawstring with his free hand. "Let me do you first, then you do me."
"Okay," Dennis says, because what else can he say?
This is too much? Maybe, but he wants it anyway. However…
I don't know if I want all your attention on me when we–
Dennis buries his face against Frank's neck with a soft moan, taking in the scent of his dumb expensive conditioner and sweat and antiseptic soap.
I do know, he thinks. Need you to touch me. Don't care if it means you're…
When Frank makes a responding sound, pleased and encouraging, Dennis is sure he can hear a smile in his tone.
"Fuck," Dennis mutters. "Why am I so sensitive today?"
Frank leans his head back to make Dennis look at him.
"You're always sensitive," he says. He can't contain a grin that's somehow both lazy and gloating. "It's cute."
"Shit," he says with a gasp.
Frank's other hand presses up under his shirt, following his sternum and shifting the fabric high enough that it finally occurs to him to just hold it up, baring Dennis's chest. He ducks down a little and kisses all the skin his lips can easily reach. By the time his mouth finds a nipple, Dennis's hips are straining not to thrust too hard. He's strung tight, and it's all too much – until he suddenly feels his orgasm come rushing along.
He comes with a low whine, thrusting into Frank's velvet fist. Frank catches most of the sticky fluid, licking it off his hand in three swipes of the tongue. When he kisses Dennis, he feeds some of his spend into his mouth as Dennis somehow manages to untie the drawstring and pull him out. He moans so loud Dennis has to press the kiss deeper and swallow the sounds along with his own come.
It's a different thing doing this when he's not rushing toward climax himself, letting his mouth be plundered while the man clings and whimpers, while he gets a real taste of Frank's need. It doesn't take long to bring him off, just a regular rhythm of rough strokes that leave the man shuddering in pleasure. As usual, his ejaculate ends up painting both of them a little, despite his efforts.
Once they clean themselves up but before they inevitably get a little awkward about having screwed around in an out-of-order bathroom, Frank pulls him close and angles his face up to capture his mouth. This is newer for them, unhurried kisses without a driving purpose, exploratory and sweet. Dennis is starting to believe that this really is about more than just stolen moments, even if that's all it's been allowed to be so far.
"We can't keep doing this here," Dennis murmurs.
"Yeah," Frank says with a chuckle, "I'm honestly kind of surprised they haven't fixed it yet."
Dennis pulls back and stares at the man, waiting to see recognition in those fucking beautiful blue eyes.
"Denny," he says with a sigh.
Dennis is tired of being coy, so he says, "It's not like I don't know why you don't want to take me back to your place, which is definitely not a sad bachelor pad."
Frank snorts, but he can't help but smile through a very serious grimace. Dennis brings his hand up to his face and holds his head steady, so that he won't look away. He can feel Frank holding his breath a little. He would swear his heart is starting to thump heavy against his ribs.
Before Dennis's own heart can shift gears and try to leap out of his chest, he says:
"Do you know why I live with Trinity?"
"No?" he replies warily.
"Remember how the eighth floor was being renovated before you left?"
"Kind of. Felt more like a summer house boarded up for the winter."
"Pretty much." He smiles at the apt comparison, then he says, "She found me there one night. I was living in room 818."
"You were…?"
"Homeless."
"Wow," he says.
Dennis pushes down the shame that wells up, which has nothing to do with Frank's reaction. Frank is doing great, actually.
After a long, attentive pause, Frank finally says, "The typical med school drain?"
"Yeah. Didn't start in a good place, then it got worse."
Frank nods, and his hand comes up and clasps the one on his face. He's clearly trying not to look pitying, except that he's also trying not to look flippant. It's a lot of look.
"You're thinking too hard," Dennis says, smiling and pulling his hand back. "I just meant to say your apartment can't be anywhere near as sad as my previous living situation, okay?"
Frank gives him a skeptical half-smile and pulls away, leaning back against the sink.
"The mattress is on the floor," he says.
"Not a half-broken gurney. Do you have a couch? A table to eat at?"
"Actually, yeah." He gives him a small smile. "It's not as…depressing as you're imagining. I had to make it livable for when the kids are with me."
And there it is: without his children regularly visiting, he might very well be living like the most pathetic single dude. Or like an overgrown frat boy, which Dennis is not entirely convinced he isn't.
"Then what's wrong with it?" Dennis asks.
"I don't know," he says with a shrug. "Still feels…temporary."
Frank doesn't try for a smile, just meets his gaze and holds it.
So Dennis keeps his feet planted where they are but reaches out and grabs his hand, threading their fingers together even though it's an awkward angle. He keeps his head down and watches out of his peripheral vision as Frank reacts with confusion and then an uneasy smile.
As if they haven't been sharing breathless orgasms and sucking face like their lives maybe depend on it for six weeks now. As if he can't tell just how bad the man wants to lay him down somewhere and bend him up like a pretzel so he can kiss him while he fucks him, slow and steady. It could be wishful thinking, of course, but he doesn't think so, not the way Frank's thumb is rubbing soft against the pad of his own.
"I'm guessing," Dennis says, "it just needs a little of your personality in there."
"Does it?" he retorts, frowning.
"Bro."
With an eye roll, Frank says, "Look, Abby decorated our house. I don't…" He runs his other hand back through his hair nervously. "I'm not sure I have any, like, taste."
"Sure you do," he says. "Everybody does. It might be bad taste, but…"
Frank barks out a laugh, but he takes his hand out of his hair and his shoulders relax a little.
"What do you suggest?" Frank asks, reaching out to take his other hand now. It ought to be nauseating, and he supposes it would be for anyone seeing them like this, but it feels good.
"We're both off on Sunday, yeah?" Dennis says. "Is this your weekend with the kids?"
He shakes his head. "Nope."
"Then let's go shopping. Don't make that face. Just for a few little homey things. Throw pillows and hand towels. Maybe, like, a wall clock and some decorative book ends. Shit like that."
"I never unpacked my books," he replies.
"We can do that, too," Dennis says.
Frank then lets go of him so he can push himself up off the sink. He steps closer to Dennis and curves his left around his neck.
"I also need a lamp for my bedroom," Frank says. "And a toaster that doesn't suck."
"Make a list tonight, so we don't forget?"
Frank nods, bending down to kiss him quick and soft on the mouth. Something inside Dennis kind of unravels, and it keeps unraveling because he didn't expect it.
He remembers keenly how, a few days after he moved in with Trinity, she took him to a pretty great thrift store and handed him a twenty dollar bill. You need shit, she said. She was going to wander off to look at things on her own, but he made her keep him company. Mostly, he shopped for clothes, but they also found the ugliest coffee mug, which they still fight over on some mornings, and a wooden hand-painted owl figurine that she never ceases to mock him for keeping on his nightstand. She had already gifted him a set of sheets and a brand new pillow.
Because it now feels so possible, so desired even, Dennis slips his arms around Frank's middle and presses his face to his neck. He can feel his heart beating, but it's not tripping over itself. His pulse is slow and strong. They've never been quite this soft with each other. Frank cradles his head in his hand, but when it becomes clear that they're going to stay like this for a moment, he lets his fingers thread into Dennis's hair and scritch at his scalp, which is soothing and lovely – and all too tempting.
"You're gonna make me fall asleep," Dennis murmurs.
He wonders what it would be like in Frank's bed. What would they be if they had more than a few minutes to be together?
Apparently Frank is thinking about the same thing, because he says, "Come stay with me Saturday night?"
It sounds a little like a question he's asking himself, so Dennis jumps to answer before he can talk himself out of it.
"Okay."
"Yeah?"
He leans back and gives him is best don't-be-dumb face. Then it softens into a smile, one he imagines is probably more than a little mischievous.
He asks, "Do you have condoms?"
Frank raises his eyebrows, smiling and shaking his head.
"We'll get some," Dennis says with a nod.
"Yes, sir," Frank replies with a grin that manages to be soft and wild at the same time. But that's Frank in a nutshell. It's occasionally bewildering but mostly exciting.
Maybe that's why they are going straight from bathroom quickies to home decor. It makes a weird kind of sense that they're be skipping the dating thing entirely. Who has time for that? They've wasted enough already.