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Dennis has to keep reminding himself that Brendon ‘the Shark’ Park was the one that asked him out, not the other way around.
He’s sitting across the table from the guy at a nice cocktail place in the city – Park’s choice – with an old fashioned in front of him that he isn’t really enjoying. Park was so abrupt in asking Dennis what he wanted from the bar when they arrived that Dennis had panicked and just said the first thing that came to mind. He couldn't even remember what was in an old fashioned until he tasted it and it made him scrunch up his nose. It takes effort not to grimace each time he swallows his drink, but he continues to sip it constantly. He’s in dire need of something to do with his hands and to occupy his mouth as Park’s disinterested gaze comes down on Dennis like a chill. Whatever he says, whatever stories Dennis tells or tries to bring to this meeting between them are all met with the same reaction: a raise of the eyebrows and a few blinks like Park isn’t entirely sure why Dennis is talking. All the conversational questions Dennis thinks to ask the other man get answered, albeit straight to the point and without any humour, but they’re never returned. Really, Dennis can’t think of a single word he’s said in the hour that they've been here that he’s not regretted within minutes of it passing his lips. And yet, when they fall once again into silence, Park watching him across the table, Dennis forces himself to smile politely at the other man and reminds himself of that indisputable fact. Park was the one that asked Dennis out. He can’t hate Dennis that bad.
Okay, maybe ‘asked out’ is pushing it. Park’s method of showing interest was so coarse that Dennis knew from the moment he agreed to this evening that doing so also meant he lost any claim to self-respect. His face pretty much hasn’t stopped burning since.
The car accident and the broken neck associated with it wasn’t his case. Dennis wasn’t even in the room when Park showed up to consult. Park had found him on the way back out; looking for Dennis by peering around the chaos of the Pitt, circling it, purposefully seeking out the younger doctor. Dennis realises he could be flattered by this detail, yet, sitting in the bar with Park now, his entire body rigid with nerves, that kind of chest puffing pride seems entirely out of reach.
Dennis was in the break room, stealing a few minutes to scarf down a macaroni salad he had made the evening before in Robby’s very well equipped kitchen. Robby’s kitchen makes Dennis wish he was a better cook, and judging by the pristine condition of the equipment in there, he can surmise that Robby wishes he was too. He had been thinking about Robby, actually, though that’s not exactly new, and about how he could stock up his attending’s freezer with some home cooked meals for when he gets back from his sabbatical. The two months he has left of living there should be enough to learn at least some culinary skills, right? He’d get his mom to send over her pot pie recipe. Then he’d text Robby or try and give him a call to say the food was there. Maybe a chicken casserole would be enough of an incentive for him to come back safe.
The unease that this thought sent through Dennis sure wasn't helped by Park the Shark barging in on his lunch. In fact, seeing him sent Dennis’s heart directly into his ass and his food could’ve turned to dust with how suddenly he didn’t want to eat it. Park cast his eyes around the pokey little break room first, nose already crinkling in disdain for it. Dennis wondered if it was to do with the hot pink birthday decorations still left up from last week. The ones that Dr. Al was getting increasingly insistent about someone clearing up.
But Park didn’t mention what he found so distasteful. He simply raised his chin in greeting at Dennis, who by now felt about an inch tall, looking up at Park with his hands pressed onto his lap like an obedient school kid.
Park got straight to the point:
“I heard you’ve got a pussy. When exactly were you planning on letting me use it?”
At the bar, Park’s phone is ringing again. It’s the second time this evening since they got here. The last time saw him leave Dennis alone at their table for almost ten minutes.
“Jesus,” Park says wearily and Dennis watches him feel around for his phone. He’s still stiff in his chair, fingers wet as he traces them through the condensation on his glass. When Park pulls out his phone and sees who’s calling he falls quiet for a moment. Dennis doesn’t dare ask who’s on the line.
Park doesn’t tell him either. He takes his wallet out next and opens it, quickly producing an Amex card and tossing it down on the table between them.
“I have to take this so you’re going to go get us another drink. I’ll have a negroni. Get whatever you want but nothing too sweet. I don’t want to taste any sugary crap in my mouth later.”
“Negroni. Got it,” Dennis confirms, feeling kind of like he’s risking getting taken out back and shot if messes up the order. Park isn’t interested in having his words spoken back to him; as he stands, the look he shoots down at his date is ice cold.
“Is there an echo in here?” He asks as he goes.
Dennis’s stomach churns as he watches Park walk away. “No…” he replies weakly to no one. His shoulders sag.
He wishes this wasn’t getting him so wet.
The bar is busy. It’s summer and even on a weeknight, Pittsburgh is feeling social. Dennis stands, waiting his turn, drumming Park’s Amex on the bartop to the jumpy, nervous rhythm of his own racing pulse. After a minute or so of waiting, he flips the card over to look at Park’s signature on the back. It’s spiky and precise. It would have been more interesting if it was anything else.
“Hey– hi– um–“ Dennis tries, extending a hand at the bartender who’s started taking the order of someone Dennis is sure got here after he did. The hand goes ignored, his soft voice lost to the noise.
Since Park left, Dennis has been on the alert for his return, head swiveling around so much he’s getting dizzy as he looks out for the man. He feels like a prey animal, trying hard to increase his field of vision and anticipate the attack that could be coming from anywhere. But it’s all for nothing, because when Park does return, he does it in a way that somehow escapes notice. Dennis doesn’t see him, meaning his whole body spasms in surprise when a large hand comes down hard on his shoulder. Park squeezes, testing out the malleability of the young man he’s taking out for a ride as he pulls Dennis back into ear shot. He’s rough; Dennis has to work not to stumble getting pulled back over, and he can’t help but compare it to the way another older doctor would slide his hand around Dennis's shoulders, sometimes also pinching and squeezing. Robby would coax Dennis closer, guide their bodies into proximity with a hand on the younger man’s back, shoulders, and even one time, his waist. Park is more abrasive. Demanding rather than asking. It’s almost sending him falling to the bar floor and yet Dennis is glad for the contact. He can blame memory, the way Dennis’s absent attending is being evoked through this grab, for why Park’s pull over towards him is sending a flutter from his throat down to his aching cunt.
“What’s the hold up?” Park asks.
“I’m still waiting,” Dennis tells him. Not exactly an answer to the question and the look he receives confirms Park thinks so too. “It’s really busy,” he adds, which still isn’t an answer.
Park mutters something under his breath. “Gimme that.”
He takes back his credit card and sends Dennis away, replacing him at the crowded bar. As he takes a seat at their table near the bar again, Dennis notices he hasn’t told Park what he wants to order. He prays he’s not about to be given a second old fashioned, wondering how much embarrassment he could endure in order to go back over, tap Park on one of his tree trunk thick biceps and confess to the man that he doesn’t actually like them.
In the end, it takes Park less than a minute to get served. That’s expected, Dennis tells himself. He’s bigger, taller and broader, louder, and certainly less polite. Still, that doesn’t stop him from rubbing his cheek as Park turns back around, trying to scrub the shame off.
Park only has one drink. It’s not a negroni. It’s not an old fashioned either. It’s a shot of tequila. That’s definitely not a negroni. The shot has the requisite slice of lime on the rim of its small glass, and the salt is in a line on the side of Parks hand, just below the knuckle of his thumb.
To Dennis, it’s a baffling order. Thankfully, he’s not forced to ask.
“For you,” Park tells him, holding the shot out to Dennis. "Take it."
He doesn't sit down. Dennis has to look up at him and he finds himself dazzled by the way a single person can take up so much space. He considers standing, trying to close the gap between their heights at least a little, but he doesn't. He knows he barely reaches Park's chest and standing would only make that even more obvious. It feels like if he were to get too close, Park could flick him away in the same absent manner he's seen animals do to the flies that bother them: without thinking and without consequence.
“Take it," Park says again, with a measure of impatience. He moves the shot closer to Dennis's face like he's going put it all the way to the younger man's lips and feed it to him himself if that's what it takes, "I’ve decided we’re leaving, so I got you this for the road. It’ll open you up for me.”
Dennis delicately holds the shot glass as he plucks it from Park's hand. He doesn’t say thank you – he’s not even really sure that he’s grateful. The tequila sure wasn’t bought for his benefit. It’s pretty impressive that Park can buy his date a drink and still end the explanation of why he chose to purchase it with the words ‘for me’.
The shot shakes a little in the unsteady hand of its recipient. Dennis hesitates for a moment, asking himself briefly if it reflects any worse on him that even Park the Shark, in all of his presumption, is underestimating just how down bad Dennis is for him already. No tequila necessary. He’s barely closed his legs since Park cornered him in the breakroom earlier.
This wouldn’t happen if Robby were still here, Dennis thinks as Park’s salt covered hand gets thrust towards his face. Robby makes Dennis feel like there’s something to him worth respecting. Even worse than the fact that Robby’s absence has also apparently taken with it any semblance of his self-esteem, is the thought of how all that assurance, the competence Dennis built over ten months in the Pitt could so easily and so quickly unravel without the man who put it there. If that’s the case – if Robby’s leaving alone can take all that away – it can only follow that the sense of conviction, the assertiveness, the skills… They never really belonged to Dennis after all.
It’s the same old story. He finds an older man to latch on to and to desperately try to win the approval of. He'll do anything for him, say anything, be who he needs to be in order to get looked at in that way to make him feel like his insides are swirling. Just because the person Robby wanted to see happened to be someone Dennis liked too doesn’t make it less phoney.
And anyway, Robby isn’t here. Park is. Someone needs to fill that opening.
As he comes forward, wetting his tongue and then dragging it slowly across the salt on Park’s hand, Dennis’s eyes flicker up and meet the ones of his latest source of fascination. In Park's gaze he sees something he hasn’t seen since he agreed, in wide-eyed nods and monosyllabic answers, to let Park use him tonight: approval. Undisguised and uncomplicated. Any resistance flows out of him then, limbs go floppier, body softer. He’d curl up at Park’s feet and bark for him, and now the man knows it. Dennis Whitaker has done it again.
The tequila, when he swallows it, burns. Park watches his throat move to take it with a smile.
***
There’s some confusion over where to go next. The confusion is almost entirely on Dennis’s part: Park contributes nothing to the decision beyond an expectant stare and a terse ‘night’s not getting any younger,’ when Dennis falters, realising that picking the bed he’s about to get fucked on is a task up to him entirely.
Robby’s is where he’s been spending most nights lately. He’s been taking his role as a housesitter very seriously, fielding calls from Amy about the latest farm emergency, and explaining why he’s not been dropping everything to come do an oil change on a truck or fix a broken fence. There’s also been the snarky comments from Trinity about how he’s not snooping enough through his attending’s drawers. Robby’s apartment, spacious, empty, and with really, really good lighting is the obvious choice, but Dennis chooses not to mention it. He doesn’t want to invite Park into the one place where he still gets to feel like the person he was when Robby was around. At Robby’s place, the illusion hasn’t been shattered. There, Dennis can pretend he’s a confident and worthwhile M.D., not whatever kind of person comes out with men like Park, the kind that gets asked when they can be used and nods along with their mouth already watering. He also doesn’t want Park to find out that he’s not changed the bedsheets since he let himself in at the end of that 4th of July shift and found the bed unmade, a pair of worn boxers shoved haphazardly under a pillow.
They’d be better going to Park’s place, wherever that is, but Park makes no move to offer it. Dennis knows better than to ask. That leaves only one other possibility. He figures Trinity’s will probably be empty and though Dennis hasn’t spent the night there in over a week, he still technically lives there. He’s pretty sure she’s at Garcia’s tonight, for what Dennis can gather will be another night of tense silences punctuated by sex and ordering pizza. He tries to distract from how guilty he feels about taking Dr. Park over to her place without asking by marvelling about how in the space of only a year, he’s gone from having no bed to sleep in, to having two. Three, if Amy’s spare room that she keeps trying to get him to sleep over in counts. That one is definitely out for tonight.
Park pays for the cab there. Generosity with Park, as Dennis has been finding out, is never personal. He pays for their bar tab and for the ride home in disaffected silence, like he sees it simply as a necessary expense. Generosity might be the wrong word, actually. He’s not doing it to be generous. He’s doing it because he wants to get his dick wet.
When he gets Park into his bedroom at the apartment, Park surveys his new surroundings with the same cutting derision he did in their little breakroom in the Pitt. And, same as before, Dennis has the same immediate reaction of wanting to jump to the defense of the place but instead saying nothing, allowing Park to take the place in with a contemptuous curl of his lips.
This time, though, he tells Dennis what he thinks out loud, “It’s like a fucking dorm room in here. Do you think this is some kind of playdate?”
Dennis turns his face away, knowing the lamplight won't hide the way his cheeks flush. He tells himself he likes the string lights and photos on the walls; the way that medical textbooks and favourite novels line the shelves behind rows of trinkets and little curios. He tries not to let the way Park looks around and shakes his head at the immaturity of Dennis’s room get to him. He does find himself, however, climbing onto the bed and shoving the comforter his mom crocheted for him and sent over at Christmas off the bed and onto the carpet out of view, leaving just plain bedsheets.
“Sorry, I know it’s a little…” Dennis begins, the apology exiting his mouth before he can stop it. He pauses, still wanting to resist affirming to Park that his bedroom deserves the disrespect Park so openly gives it. He ends the sentence by changing course, “Small.”
And it is small. That’s something they can both agree on. It’s small enough to make Park the Shark look huge, so huge that Dennis is compelled to scramble back on the bed a few inches, suddenly overcome by the sight of him, thinking again of the ease with which creature so big could swat him away.
“Guess it suits you,” Park says, smirking. He’s not talking to the room anymore, he looks directly at Dennis now and steps closer. As if he couldn’t get any more imposing. “Robinavitch always did let his kids off on too loose of a leash. No wonder you’ve not grown up.”
Dennis is very glad at that moment not to have chosen orthopedic surgery as his specialty. But then again, he’s chosen a particular orthopedic surgeon to spend the night with, which may have been just as inadvisable.
“It’ll work, right?” He asks, feeling more short of breath the closer Park comes. By the time he’s leaning over Dennis, a hand squeezing on each of his thighs, Dennis finds himself lightheaded. He tries to be subtle as he wipes the clamminess of his own palms on the sheets beneath him.
“We’ll see,” Park replies. The non-committal tone he takes is only betrayed by the focus Dennis can see in his gunmetal eyes. His touch moves to hook his fingers over the waistband of Dennis's jeans, “Why don’t you hurry up and show me what I’m working with so I can make up my mind?”
Dennis slowly places his hands over Park’s, nodding in confirmation. In all of this, he hasn’t wondered even once how Park found out that Dennis is trans. Of all the stuff that goes on in the Pitt, who’s packing what isn't ever something that seems at all important. Even among those Dennis regularly works with, he’s not sure they’ve all become privy to it. Last week, in the men’s room, the look Langdon gave him when he emerged out of a stall after obviously only going number one could only be explained as one of confusion. Dennis had just shrugged at him. “I like my privacy,” he told Langdon. Robby knows. Robby doesn’t share around the personal details of the people he works with. Right now, Dennis both wishes that Robby were here and, at the same time, couldn’t be more relieved that he’s so far away as to be out of the country while his protege unzips himself, putting aside whatever breach of privacy has led to Park’s interest in order to pursue the possibility of having the PTMC’s least friendly surgeon fuck him.
Park watches for a moment as Dennis shifts his weight to push his jeans down, but he grows impatient quickly. He shoves his hand up Dennis’s shirt, the span of his hand invading the younger man’s bare chest and hiking the fabric up to expose his toned midriff. Dennis doesn’t protest, but a shiver goes through him as he’s so rapidly undressed. Park pulls the t-shirt over Dennis’s head at the same time as he gets his pants down to his knees and kicks them off onto the floor.
“Better,” Park says, sounding almost pleased as he stands to assess the bare body sprawled out before him. “Maybe you can keep up with instruction after all.”
Dennis leans back on his elbows, swearing Park must now be able to see the way that his heart pounds under his skin. But then, even if he doesn’t, he definitely can see the rapid rising and falling of Dennis’s chest. Dennis can even see it himself as he looks down his body and at the one piece of clothing that remains on him. He exhales hotly. What the hell was he thinking? The sight now is making his cheeks go red, making him grip the bedsheets either side of himself tightly as he forces himself not to roll off the bed and hide behind it. He has to stay put where Park can look at him; where Park can look down with a widening wolfish grin at the pair of panties Dennis felt brave enough to put on before coming out tonight. They’re nothing too fancy, cute and cotton with a lace trim, but they’re a light enough shade of baby blue that he knows Park can see a visible wet patch on the front.
“Gift wrapped,” Park says. He’s trying not to laugh. “Am I supposed to think this is cute?” He pulls out the elastic at Dennis’s hip and lets it snap back into place, making Dennis flinch. Dennis watches from behind his hand, one blue eye peeking between fingers.
“Uh…” Dennis squirms, no longer able to keep himself from drawing his knees together. There’s no possible way, in Dennis’s mind, to answer this question without humiliating himself.
“Well? You’re the one who put them on.”
“I don’t know,” Dennis says, because he really doesn’t.
Park chuckles and shakes his head, like this is exactly the kind of thing he expected. “Alright. Move,” he tells Dennis, gesturing for him to clamber up the bed towards the pillows. Park follows him, and once he’s run out of space to keep going, Park seizes the garment again, this time tugging the panties, yanking them down his thighs. Dennis scrambles; threads audibly snap with Park’s roughness, and Dennis yelps as he’s nipped and chafed by how forcefully Park removes this final piece of clothing. Trying to prevent the panties from actually ripping is enough of a distraction for those few moments; it’s not until they’ve been pulled off of him completely that Dennis feels the excruciating grip of total exposure. He’s naked on the bed, Park still fully dressed above him, pushing his knees apart so that Dennis’s unbearably wet pussy can be examined by the other man. The air feels tight against his bare skin as adrenaline tingles in his veins. It’s as if he’s suffocating again, having to catch his breath as he feels his sensitive dick twitch.
“Tequila did its job,” Park comments, still under the illusion that it’s the influence of alcohol and not the rush of obedience and getting to offer himself to an older man that put Dennis in this state. “You’re soaked.”
He’s looking intensely at where his young date opens his legs. He makes this observation without any further comment to indicate what he thinks of the slickness dripping from the hole being presented to him. Dennis can’t even look at him. He’s got his head hanging back, watery eyes fixed on the familiar ceiling of his bedroom. Park either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that Dennis’s legs are shaking. If Dennis were to wager, he’d bet on the latter. This is quickly proven correct when Park puts his hands on Dennis’s knees, stilling him and opening him further. Dennis makes himself glance down then, needing to know how he’s being received; forced into it by the raw wound in him that means he can’t do without not knowing. He only lasts long enough to see the hungry smirk on the other doctor’s face before he throws his head back again, a keening sound escaping from him as two thick fingers drag their way up his slit, through the wet heat, and part, spreading him open for inspection. His jaw clenches as he shoots another of the briefest of looks downward, at the shape of Park the Shark in the warm lamplight, moving in for a closer look.
Park’s fingers push the lips of Dennis’s cunt apart, displaying him, watching how the younger man’s entrance flexes with the neediness that courses through it. “Fuck, that’s a pretty pussy,” Park says, earning himself another pleased whine. “Cute little dick too,” he adds, probing digits coming together to pinch Dennis’s swollen clit. “I’m not surprised you got to stick around in that ER with a cunt like this.”
This final comment hits like a physical slap. It makes Dennis gasp. It’s too degrading of an idea, the notion that he got a job for being like this – ready to fall to his knees on a dime and take whatever he’s given – but he can’t help it. He already feels the claws going in, the image that Robby weaved of him being a competent physician getting picked apart with a single remark. Replaced by the idea that his real calling is dropping his pants and getting filled by whichever stressed out older physician wants him. He’s so horny he could cry. He agrees with Park.
“Just wanna make you feel good, sir,” he says meekly, writhing on the bed as he feels Park thumb at his hole. He shifts his hips only a little, not asking for more than he’s offered, only trying to make Park see how easily that thick digit could breach him.
What he receives in return is a firm hand on his pubis to keep him from moving further. “I think I know how to do that better than you do, so why not stay still and let the grown up take care of things?”
Dennis looks at him again. Park has stopped touching his cunt but he can still feel where those hands were. There’s a chance that if he lets this happen, Dennis will never stop feeling where this man touched him. The thought is both exhilarating and frightening. It takes a second of staring at Park like this, wide-eyed, lips parted, to realise that he actually expects for Dennis to answer him. He nods stiffly, trying to keep his voice steady. “Yes, sir.”
“Right answer,” Park tells him, “For once. Now, hold yourself open for me.”
Dennis blinks at him, not entirely sure he understands.
This annoys Park, he pinches his nose in impatience, “Do you make everyone wait this long for things to get through that dense skull of yours?” He grabs Dennis’s wrist, pulling his hand downwards, “Get with the program or I’m not interested.”
It clicks then. Dennis presses his lips together as he pushes his own fingers against his cunt, stomach churning but dick pulsing in want as he opens himself in the same way Park did.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes, “this is all just a little–”
Park cuts him off, “Not interested. Move your hand lower.”
Dennis shifts where he holds himself until he gets an approving nod. The reward is getting to watch as Park pulls his shirt over his head. Oh fuck. Dennis knew the guy was built but this is... his eyes greedily roam over the solid expanse of his torso, across where the older man’s undeniable strength bulges. He's drawn too to the delicious smattering of dark hair between his rounded pecs and that trails down from his navel. Park’s shirt gets dropped at the side of the bed, where a pile of both of their clothes is starting to form on the carpet.
He doesn’t get to look for very long. Park isn’t interested in being ogled on this occasion. No sooner has he disposed of his shirt is he moving himself between Dennis’s legs, eyes sweeping up and down the length of the younger man’s body as he descends. As attention is turned to him again, Dennis meets Park’s eyes, yearning for another glimmer of approval, but all he gets is another comment as Park notches a finger at Dennis’s soft, open entrance: “I can’t believe how fucking wet you are.”
Up the bed, Dennis closes his eyes tight, knowing Park will be seeing the way his cunt contracts at the words.
Park starts with a kiss on the tenderness of his inner thigh. His lips are soft, the scrape of stubble apparent but not too pronounced. His forehead bumps against Dennis’s knuckles as he crowds in closer and his breath is warm and damp. It makes Dennis sigh, the gush of warmth felt even though his nerves are jangled. It feels nice. There’s no way he’s gonna be this delicate for long.
“Ahh–!” Park bites down and Dennis slaps his free hand over his mouth to cover the shout of pain that shoots from where teeth meet fragile skin. It’s not a teasing nip, it feels like Park wants to take a real chunk out of him. It makes Dennis wonder exactly how far the Park-Shark comparison goes. As the older man’s large hands push Dennis’s thighs further apart, Dennis also notices his touch isn’t warm. Maybe he’s cold blooded too.
Another vocalisation of pain dies off into a whimper as Park bites Dennis again, this time pulling on the soft flesh before letting go and licking over the deep imprints left behind. The agony of it doesn’t even have a moment to die off before Park turns his attention to his real prize. His dangerous mouth moves over Dennis’s cunt and kisses it deep, tongue darting out to flicker and swirl over the sensitive protrusion of his dick. A sharp gasp becomes a heady “Oh…” As everything dissolves into wet heat. The ridge of Park’s nose presses into the space between Dennis’s fingers.
He’s getting eaten out like he’s never gotten eaten out in his life. Dennis hadn’t realised it could feel this good. Was it always supposed to feel this good? No, Dennis decides as he responds to the feeling with a series of moaned out hums, this is just something else. It’s too good. Better than Dennis is even equipped to make sense of. Park pushes his tongue inside of him then and any further coherency melts out of Dennis’s ears as the sensation makes him arch off the bed, the feeling turning electric as it shoots through him.
“Park,” Dennis whines, his fingers growing stiff as he continues to pull himself apart as wide as he can to allow that relentless tongue to get in deeper, “Sir, that feels so– oh– feels so good, sir.”
Park has his grip on Dennis’s thighs, holding on bruisingly tight as he buries himself between them. He doesn’t respond to Dennis. Dennis doesn’t want him to, he just wants this to not stop, never stop, keep him feeling like this, never stop. More, more, “please more–!”
Park’s lips draw tight around Dennis’s dick then. Dennis swears for a second he goes blind. He flicks his tongue over its swollen head and suddenly it’s too much, Park is too close and Dennis jerks back the hand that’s spreading himself. It was pure instinct, the decision made by a part of Dennis’s brain that he doesn’t have any control over. Crap. Dennis is immediately trying to stutter out another apology, sure he’s in trouble again.
But for once, Park doesn’t take the time to scold him. He doesn’t even hint annoyance that Dennis has taken his hand away, he just draws away with a few huffing pants, turning over onto his back and bringing Dennis with him in hurried, frenzied movements. Dennis couldn’t even say what’s happening, he just moves where directed, allows himself to be pushed until he feels the visceral pleasure of Park’s mouth on him again, until he’s able to grind down on that probing tongue.
For a moment, the room spins. This can’t be happening. He’s sitting on Park the Shark’s face, his cunt getting devoured as this terrifying force of nature lies prostrate under him, clearly exactly where he wants to be.
He’s hugging the sides of Park’s face with his thighs, squeezing too tightly, stubble rubbing the insides of his legs raw, but he can’t help it. Dennis’s voice breaks as he chokes out, “Sorry, sir, sorry, can’t– sto-ohh! Just feels so good–” to the man below him as he fucks himself on Park’s mouth, feeling Park's tongue like velvet as it tastes him in slick, deliberate drags. The prickle of his facial hair is rubbing against the underside of Dennis's dick as he drenches him. He rolls onto Park's mouth, lips reddened from the way he bites at them, body still finding the sensation of the strong, precise tongue invading his insides difficult to decipher. Heat coils behind his dick, tight and urgent and the apologies die off as Dennis’s concern for the other man’s need to breathe is replaced by a consuming need to have him deeper, bear down harder on the friction of his face.
“I– oh, God– oh, God, oh my God, Park, sir, I’m– cl– so close–”
Dennis’s back flexes as he arches from his seat on the older surgeon's mouth, hips bucking and lurching. His orgasm crashes down on him hard and Park takes the way he grinds down on the thick wetness of his tongue with groans at the way Dennis clenches over him. Movements become erratic but Park doesn't stop, not through the cries and jerkiness of aftershocks, nor when whines of pleasure turn into little whimpers of overstimulation. Park keeps his merciless tongue buried in the heat of the body above him even as it convulses and writhes at his attention.
Dennis pants. This time he pushes through the impulse to pull away. Park isn’t finished, and his mouth is still sending heat thrumming from Dennis’s dick up his chest, all the way to the back of his throat. He stops squirming and, on quivering thighs, forces his body to sink lower, give itself over to the pleasure again, so overwhelming it bears the sharpened edges of pain. In reward, he gets a long sweeping drag of Park’s tongue up the length of his slit. It makes him flinch, a shaky “hah–!” punching its way out of him.
He can see where Park is hard in his jeans. Placing one hand on the other man’s firm chest, Dennis leans forward, reaching out and pawing. The relentless way his cunt is being devoured is making him clumsy. Hands that tremble and are dampened by sweat grasp at Park’s button fly but that's when he's batted away; Park finding Dennis’s wrist and smacking it like a parent warding off an over eager child.
Park is pushing Dennis off him to free his mouth, lifting like it’s nothing in order to scold, “That’s not yours to play with, Dennis.” His chosen words do nothing to counter the way Dennis’s hand getting slapped made him feel like a naughty kid and accordingly, shame makes his cheeks burn.
Dennis doesn’t reply, just hangs his head and tries to steady himself as the punishing pace of Park’s mouth on him returns, making his lower half go tense. Meanwhile, Park uses one dexterous hand to finish the job that Dennis barely had a chance to begin. He skillfully pops each button of his fly and shoves his pants down, revealing how his cock strains in the confines of black briefs. The groan of relief from Park as his hand disappears under his waistband and pulls himself free vibrates through Dennis’s body.
If not for Park keeping him in place, Dennis feels like he’d collapse at the sight of the dick just taken out in front of him. Big enough to wipe out any other thoughts in Dennis’s head beyond what it would feel like deep inside him and oh God he needs it inside him. He needs it raw, filling him, using him, whatever Park wants as long as Dennis gets to feel its girth splitting him open. Park is cut, the blunt head of his cock is an appealing shade of dark pink and it gleams appealingly from a glossy membrane of precum. He’s so thick it’s ridiculous, veiny and poker straight as it stands erect, just beginning to leak. The hair around the base of Park's cock is trimmed neat.
It makes the quiet, obedient kind of submission that Park wants fall away. Dennis’s need rips through him, forcing its way out in throaty pleas, and his hips start to rut more insistently,
“Hah– need it, need you inside me, sir– Oh my God, your cock– need it, please, gotta fuck me–”
“Do you ever shut up?” Park asks and Dennis is being pushed off of him. Teetering on shaky legs, Dennis can’t maintain his balance and without Park’s hold on him, he’s falling onto his side, the mattress creaking as a limp body crashes down on it. For a second, Dennis can’t even figure out where he is. He’s dizzy. All he can think about is how empty he feels.
Then there’s Park again, moving over him, his hands planted either side of Dennis’s head, boxing him in and not giving him even a moment to get his bearings.
“Open your mouth.”
Unthinkingly, he does, relaxing his jaw to let it fall open.
“Wider,” Park instructs, “Put a little effort in.”
Dennis wishes he could touch himself. He wants two of his own fingers curling and rocking inside himself, just to ease the soreness of the way he pulses without continued attention. But more than that, he wants to see another look of wicked approval in those steely eyes. He wants to open his mouth just right. He pushes his jaw open a little more.
“There,” Park says, satisfied at last. He’s gripping the lowed half of Dennis's face to keep it in place. “That's one hell of a mouth,” he comments, “shame about half the stuff that comes out of it.
Dennis wonders if Park might be about to kiss him. He sees his own wetness all over the lips of the other man and can imagine how slippery they'd feel against his own. But Park doesn’t kiss him. Instead he draws back and spits into Dennis’s mouth. The surprise of it hitting the back of Dennis’s tongue sees him snap his mouth shut but Park’s hold on his face stays present. Dennis makes a show of swallowing, tilting his head back to show Park the movement of his throat. Then he opens his mouth again to take another. This pleases Park, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Maybe you’re not so dense. That was good,” he tells Dennis, and comes down again. This time he does kiss him. Licks into Dennis’s mouth and pushes his tongue against Dennis’s to force the savory taste of his own cunt upon him. It’s a utilitarian kind of kiss. Deep and messy but with little romance in it. Park does it just to show Dennis what his own cum tastes like. “Very good,” Park repeats as they part, licking their combined saliva off of his lips.
The praise emboldens Dennis. He sits up, looking down between Park’s legs at where he can return the favour; the magnificent erection that looked so tempting from his seat riding Park’s face. It’s like it’s got its own magnetic pull. Dennis brings his calves under him so that he’s kneeling, his own desire to touch himself lost to the single-minded pursuit of pushing the thick shaft down his throat, tonguing at its oozing slit, feeling its warm heft in his mouth. Dennis leans forward, ready to get onto his stomach to service Park’s dick; already enjoying the anticipation of doing so.
But Park stops him before Dennis can get anywhere close, a stern look darkening his features. He’s grabbed Dennis by the hair, fingers pushed through curls and gripping a handful to halt the boy in his tracks. His lips are rosy from his use of them, but that does nothing to make the expression on his any less severe. Dennis swallows. Arousal is making him restless; making him look imploringly up at Park, “I swear I can do this. I just wanna have you in my mouth, sir. Please, I wanna taste it, please–”
Something in the depths of Dennis jumps and flips as he struggles to even recognise the voice coming out of him. He’s never sounded so pathetic in asking to put his lips around someone before. But then, he’s never seen someone so obviously uninterested in the prospect as Park is now, even as his rigid cock bobs erect between stocky thighs.
“Enough. Don't beg, it's not cute. Do they not teach you any manners down in that basement?”
Dennis finally realises it then: Park doesn’t care about what Dennis can do for him. He’s interested in very little that’s not below the narrowing of Dennis’s waist. When he posed that very direct question earlier, the one that almost made Dennis choke on lunch, he wasn’t being forthright for the sake of it. There truly is nothing that Dennis can offer beyond what’s dripping between his legs. It makes him shrink in his own body, reduced to a warm hole for this man to amuse himself with. Yet, when Park reaches a hand down towards Dennis’s cunt, he still leans back and pushes his lower half forward, letting Park to do what he pleases.
What he pleases, as it turns out, is to bring his palm up through the syrupy slickness of the R1 and then to wrap his hand around his own shaft. Park starts to pump his cock in slow languid strokes, Dennis’s wetness aiding a smooth glide up and down his length. He takes himself in hand with a low groan and a hissed out "fuck," and any unease at how Park sees Dennis is smothered under the intoxicating thrill that comes with realising what someone wants from him, and the surge of gratification that accompanies it if it’s something Dennis can give them. For Park, he can give it. All he has to do is allow himself to be used. All he wants is to be used.
Dennis's lips part again. He's looking and not touching, just as Park has made clear he wants, but he still opens his mouth and makes own desires known. He can’t remember how Park said liked it, so he just opens as wide as he can, eyes fixed on the dripping head of Park's cock. Dennis shuts his eyes and silently asks to be used again, in another way. Even if it’s only his face and its gaping open mouth as a receptacle for Park’s cum.
Park runs his free hand through Dennis's curls, gripping another handful of golden hair to lift the boy's face up toward him. Dennis opens his eyes again and sees how Park looks at him: tongue moving across his lower lip, brows furrowed and something in his gaze close to what Dennis is chasing but not quite. He puts his hands on his thighs, fingernails sinking into the pale flesh. So close. He keeps his mouth open wide and pushes his tongue out a little, a tiny whimper escaping as he does.
“Jesus,” Park laughs breathlessly at the sight, “look at you.” He curses again as continues to work his own cock, “Do all your little friends in the ER know what a cock hungry little slut you are? Does Robinavitch know you're like this?”
The mention of Robby’s name makes him screw his eyes tight. Robby doesn’t know. Robby can’t know or else he wouldn’t… Dennis’s chest goes tight enough to hurt.
Park reaches out and brushes something from the side of Dennis’s cheek then. It takes Park wiping the warm tear onto Dennis’s tongue with the rough pad of his thumb for Dennis to realise that he’s started to cry. Another tear rolls down the other side of his face. He keeps his mouth open. His jaw aches.
“Fuck, that feels good,” Park says, still working his own dick. Despite being the only other person in the room, Dennis gets the sense that Park didn’t say it for him. Park doesn’t ignore him entirely, however, he releases himself in order to smear his hand over where Dennis still drips wetness and lube himself up again. He’s so forceful, pushing his hand right up against the wet heat of the younger man, so much so that Dennis almost falls back from where he kneels.
He takes advantage of this disturbance in his position to look down at Park’s cock. He’s unable to hold back another needy sound as he sees it again. Still thick and swollen but now raw, angry looking, and wet from the slickness that Dennis leaks and that Park keeps milking himself with. It would slot inside Dennis just right, hurt a little as it went in but then feel perfect. Dennis knows he’d be tight around it, silken walls trying to keep it deep inside where he could grind and roll.
Next time Park comes down to the Pitt, Dennis is going to have to excuse himself. The brusque treatment he receives from the man already makes Dennis so horny he’s had to physically hold himself back from rutting on the nearest available surface after the guy leaves the room. Now he’s going to struggle to even see those severe features, the way Park carries himself, his glower, and not immediately return to this position; knees would shoot rays of pain down his legs as they hit the hard floor of a trauma bay, mouth already open.
The noise Dennis makes just at the sight of him makes Park laugh. He must be incredulous at how easy his mild mannered date turned out to be. Or maybe he just can’t believe that anyone down in the Pitt actually respects the young doctor in front of him, can't believe that Robby was ever proud of someone who so freely gives himself to whoever might fill his wanting holes.
“If you want it, you’re going to have to learn to shut up. Stop being so greedy and get yourself a little discipline,” Park tells him, now permitting Dennis to watch the movements of his wrist with big, yearning eyes. There’s nothing held back in the way Dennis stares – Park knows that he could do almost anything to the lovely young thing and he’d take it. Dennis makes no effort to hide this, thrilled by the idea that Park might take it as an invitation to push him further.
But in all his efforts to be good, Dennis can’t stop himself from disobeying his one instruction. He shudders as his neglected cunt throbs, a ragged breath immediately ruining his attempt to be quiet.
Park sighs, and if Dennis hadn't already started weeping he reckons this would be what sends him over the edge. Park sounds so irritated, tutting as Dennis fails to do the one thing asked of him.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Dennis bleats, looking up at Park and rubbing his forearm over his eyes when he sees the withering look he gets, “I’ll try–”
“You’ve already tried,” Park says. He draws away from Dennis, looking around for something on the bed, “You failed. I’ll be taking matters into my own hands.” He nods at the boy’s delicate little mouth, “Open.”
For the third time that night, Dennis does. The next thing he knows, a ball of fabric is being shoved into his mouth. He has to swallow a few times as he tries not to choke. It takes him that long to identify the intrusion as the lacy underwear he wore tonight, the smell and taste of them a testament to how soaking wet he was before they even got back here. Confronted with the headiness of his own desperation, Dennis’s eyes roll back and he falls, legs splayed and body limp – finally ready for the taking.
It’s all too much. It became too much a while ago, but there’s no indication that they’re slowing down. Dennis allows the euphoria to wash over him then; the feeling of completely letting go. Dennis isn’t even looking at Park now but he feels the older man’s gaze on him and it makes his nerves sing. Somehow he can tell, maybe from the sharp tide of Park’s breathing or something intangible that radiates from him, that he’s being looked at now in the same way as when he gamely leaned in and dragged his tongue over the salt on Park’s hand. He bites down hard on the cotton and lace in his mouth and somewhere under Dennis’s fucked-out, sex drunk daze, he thinks of the stable by his parents farm and the horses that live there. He’s reminded of when those horses were taken out for a ride, and the leather bit clamped in their jaws as a being that they could never fully know or even begin to understand tugs at their reins.
“I don’t suppose you’re going to give me anything to worry about, are you?” Park asks. The thick head of his raw cock is following the valley of Dennis’s slit and it takes a moment for Dennis to compose himself enough to shake his head. “Good,” is the response, followed by, “Gorgeous fucking hole.”
Bliss. Dennis pushes his head back, body arching as the twinge of the stretch along with the bone deep pleasure of getting filled hits him hard. For the moments in which Park slides into him, cursing under his breath, nothing else exists. He’s only vaguely aware that the dull, blunt pain in his legs comes from the way Park is manhandling him, gripping hard under Dennis’s knees to push his legs up. His fingers dig into the flesh of Dennis’s lower thighs as Park folds him into the right position, one in which he can see how he stretches Dennis open and drills down into him as he begins to move in deep thrusts. Hooking one of Dennis’s legs over his shoulder, Park frees a hand to yet again inspect the object of his obsession; to push the lips of Dennis’s pussy open, rub at the oversensitive hardness of his dick, and, of course, watch himself do it. In turn, Dennis focuses his own hazy attention on Park, his grip around the man tightening when he sees how enraptured Park is.
Park notices. “You like being looked at?” he asks, grinning openly at Dennis. For the first time, he invites Dennis to share in his enjoyment. Dennis nods enthusiastically and the meaty sound of Park’s balls hitting him speeds up, intensifying in the small bedroom. Park’s powerful thighs mean that he can jackhammer into the body under him.
There’s a pressure that’s been building between Dennis’s legs. It’s getting impossible to ignore now, and it’s the source of the muffled, desperate sounds Dennis pushes out into his makeshift gag. Every exhale is a pitched whine, like he's a wounded animal. Saliva is soaking the balled up panties in his mouth and it turns out, even the gag isn't enough to fully silence him. Even with it turning his words to nonsense moans, Dennis is trying to tell Park to use him, that he owns the hole he’s so vigorously fucking, trying to tell him to never stop, that he’d do anything.
But by the time Park takes pity on the young man's impotent struggle and pulls the gag out of his mouth, Dennis is reduced to only whimpering one word over and over,
“Please, please, please–!”
“Come on,” Park grits out. He pulls out of Dennis, looking painfully hard but still drawing back. Dennis feels empty, clenching around nothing, but his protests are cut short by his own gasp, his whole body jolting as Park delivers a single wet sounding slap to Dennis’s pussy. He cries, the pressure mounting into something unbearable as Park slaps his cunt twice more in rapid succession. His other hand strokes himself again as he watches the way the sensitive pink flesh of the younger doctor redden. Park does it once more and Dennis feels like he’s choking on air, hovering three feet off the bed and dying all at once. His second orgasm is brutal enough to make his ears ring, for his bones to feel like they’re burning let alone the rest of him. It comes out of him in a gush, a hot release that soaks the bedsheets. In his throes of ecstasy, Dennis is aware of more cursing and pleading; moans that drip from his lips, but only barely. He doesn’t even feel his mouth move to form Park’s name. When it happens again, Park’s harsh smack triggering a second wave, Dennis feels his muscles cramp, his head spin. He might faint, he might die, he might get thrown out of his own body and never be able to get back to it.
“That’s fucking right, squirt for me baby,” Park groans, his voice just becoming comprehensible again in time for Dennis to hear him say it. Dennis knows he’s missing seeing that approval in his eyes again, but he’s blind to everything right now outside the paralyzing waves of pleasure that take him over. “That’s fucking right,” Park says again as Dennis sobs, “pretty fucking pussy, that’s right. Fuck. Fuck.”
Park’s jaw goes slack then and Dennis manages to get the fog cleared enough to watch as the older man comes, his broad chest heaving and the hand around his cock shaking as thick creamy ropes arc out of him in four powerful spurts. Each one gets a strained grunt out of Park, his brow in a deep furrow but his eyes firmly fixed on Dennis.
Dennis feels some of it land on his legs and abdomen in warm spatters. Park’s cum hits light against his skin but Dennis still flinches, muscles spasming as fried nerves mean even this feels dialed up to a hundred.
Tentatively coming back down to earth, Dennis tries to blink the blur of sweat and tears away. There’s still a roar in his ears, and everything looks surreal, as if his brain still can’t make sense of the bedroom around him, the string lights or the colourful trinkets. Everything is so far away.
Park’s cum is starting to cool on his skin. He uses one trembling, exhausted hand to draw his fingers through it as Park finally shuts his eyes and slumps forward, gulping in air.
“Oh my God,” Dennis breathes, boneless where he lies, “That was…”
Park sweeps his hair back. A few strands have fallen across his face but he’s fast to correct that. He’s ignoring what Dennis says to him. He reaches down the side of the bed and locates his pants, finding his phone and wallet in the pocket and taking them both out. Dennis watches as he checks the phone, looking a little tense. After seeing the screen, Park appears to relax a little, putting both items on the nightstand beside Dennis before collapsing on the other side of him for a brief minute of respite.
Dennis doesn’t make another attempt at pillow talk. He lies next to Park, keeping his thoughts to himself as he rides the whirl and the rush inside of his high. Park’s words; the tone he took as he told Dennis ‘That’s fucking right’... Dennis draws a hand over his mouth. Approval.
And yet, in the pit of his stomach, something is starting to drop.
After few minutes of silence, Dennis is about to say something else, offer his bedmate a chance to use the bathroom, when he hears something from the other man like a deep sigh. He takes it as a precursor to Park saying something so goes still and waits, but nothing comes. Then another heavy breath.
He looks over and sees Park with his eyes shut. Oh. Dennis goes very still. Though it should be pretty obvious what’s happening, he finds himself for a few moments unable to believe it. Brendon Park has fallen asleep in his bed.
Unguarded like this, the handsome shape of his face softens. He’s got longer eyelashes than Dennis previously realised. There’s a burning between Dennis’s legs, however, and a wet patch on the bedsheets, that won’t allow him to forget anytime soon how that face hardens when it wakes. It makes Dennis chew his lower lip, body tense beside Park’s as he tries to figure out what exactly to do with this imposing sleeping figure.
He’s interrupted by a buzzing noise, making him jump in the quiet of the bedroom, and Dennis’s eyes fall to its source. Park is getting another call. His phone is on the nightstand, screen facing up. His wallet is on top of it, obscuring most of the display, but enough of the contact’s name is peeking out for Dennis to read it. ‘Mom’.
It’s then that a large hand grabs Dennis on the shoulder, tearing him away from where he peers at the phone.
“It’s not for you,” Park says, awake again. He releases Dennis and reaches over him, swiping the phone and standing. He doesn’t say anything more as he gets out of bed, still naked as he crosses the room. The call goes unanswered until the door shuts behind him.
Dennis sits for a moment, trying to catch any of what Park says. He can’t hear anything; the call must have been taken all the way into the living room or kitchen rather than out in the hall where any of it could be overheard. Like sleeping, having parents is not a state that Dennis had even conceived of as possible for the man he just invited home. Dr. Park the Shark was somebody’s baby once, Dennis thinks. It sounds like maybe he still is. The thought doesn’t make him feel good; it makes him feel too human.
Shifting on the bed, Dennis hears the headboard squeak as he leans back against it, knees hugged to his chest. His body hurts. He desperately wants a shower, hot enough to burn away crawling skin, but he’s too afraid of interrupting Park’s conversation with his mother to dare leave the room. His room. Belonging to Dennis. He looks around it again but it still looks strange to Dennis's eyes. The corner of the crocheted blanket is peeking out from where he tried to hide it earlier and Dennis bites hard on the inside of his cheek when he notices it.
Maybe the problem isn’t that he’s spent too much time away from Robby’s presence, but that he’s spent too much time in Robby’s apartment. He’s too aware that the place isn’t his, that the bed he rolls gleefully around in after a hot bath in Robby’s big tub is still saturated with the presence of its true owner. It’s making Dennis forget he owns anything at all. He doesn’t even feel like his own body is his anymore. It’s someone else’s and he’s just trapped inside of it.
Waiting for Park, Dennis pushes his index finger against where Park stretched him out. He can touch himself, he always could. Now, tentatively pawing at his fucked hole, he’s trying to prove it. He’s the one in charge of this body. Not the man out there on the phone or even the one in Alberta who occasionally returns his texts. What Dennis finds though as he tries to remember what it’s like to take himself into his own hands, is that he’s quickly pulling away; too sore and overstimulated now to do anything more than simply fall back on the mattress and wait for Park to finish.
By the time Park comes back, Dennis isn’t sure if he’s waited five or twenty minutes for his return. He puts his phone back on the nightstand, face down this time, and bends down to root through his clothes.
At some point during his wait, Dennis had pushed his face into the pillows on his bed. When Park reenters the room, he looks up again, blinking away the blur of wetness. Park looks back at him. For a beat, they lock eyes, saying nothing.
Then, seemingly out of nowhere Park explains, “My mother has early stage vascular dementia. She forgets she’s called me already. I usually get around five phone calls a night from her.”
And if tonight is anything to go by, Park picks up every time.
“Are you leaving?” Dennis asks him, still curled on the bed, hugging his naked body and absently watching as the older man pulls his briefs back on.
He doesn’t need to see Park’s face as he kneels again for his shirt to know he’s rolling his eyes. Park doesn’t like questions with clear answers, “That should be obvious. I came here for sex, not a sleepover. If you wanna cuddle, wait for your attending to get back.”
This pulls Dennis out of the haze he’s entered enough to get his attention. He pushes his body up from the bed, and even though Park doesn’t like questions, he’s willing to answer the one he finds in the vulnerable face of the young doctor. He cups Dennis’s chin as he stands over the bed, a gesture that could even be called affectionate if not for the man doing it, “Robinavitch seems to get passed around enough that I figure you'll have your chance at some point. Keep at it.”
Park finishes dressing soon after. He slides his phone and wallet away. Dennis has sunk back down to lying on the bed again.
“Well? Are you going to show me out?”
Dennis didn’t think he cared. He gets up with a start, the idea that he could tell Park to see himself to the door hardly even crossing his mind. He pulls open a drawer, locating the loosest t-shirt he owns. The idea of anything too close to his body right now is making him nervous. As he wrangles a pair of boxers on, he stumbles.
“Yeah, I’ll show you out,” he says, straightening. Standing again in this small room, it’s impossible to ignore how much smaller he is than Park.
But rather than moving to the door again, Park takes another second to look down at Dennis. He looks pensive as he clicks his tongue a few times and sighs. Dennis tries not to retreat into himself under the penetrating gaze; he’s getting inspected again.
“Take a shower after I’m gone,” Park instructs, “A warm one. And don’t stay up too late. I’m going to make a trip down to the ER tomorrow morning and if you’re not looking good then I’m never doing this with you again.”
Dennis doesn’t answer. He wonders what counts as ‘good’.
Park continues, “If you’re fine then I’m going to give you my number. If you call it I’m blocking you from my contacts. It’s for pictures of when you’re as soaking wet and hard as you were tonight. That only. Don’t bother with underwear or anything, I’m not interested in teasing. Got all that?”
The heaviness that settled on Dennis starts to lift as the familiarity of a clear path to approval presents itself again.
“Got it,” he replies hoarsely.
Park nods, the slightest of smiles, “Good. Now, shower, sleep. Hydrate too.”
Dennis nods. He’s biting back his own smile, remembering why he chases this.
He shows Park into the hallway. He’s trying to find the words to say goodnight and goodbye without saying something that’ll irritate the other man. He’s halfway through what he thinks is appropriately short and polite when the lock on the front door rattles. They both look up.
Dennis sees Trinity before she sees either him or the large, unamused orthopedic surgeon standing in her hallway, but not with enough time to do anything about it. There’s just enough time for his blood to go cold.
When she does look up, she jumps back, “Holy shit!”
Trinity glances back over her shoulder, doing a double take, like she's wondering for a moment if she somehow managed to unlock and walk into the wrong apartment. She catches her breath just to ask, “What the fuck?”
Dennis opens his mouth to say something but he’s got nothing. He can’t stop his eyes darting between his friend and Park. Trinity has gone white. A very prominent vein has just appeared on Park’s neck. Dennis feels entirely responsible for both, though the favourable course of action right now still feels like running through to the living room and jumping directly out the window.
“Dr. Park? Um. Good evening, I guess?” Trinity says, shooting a panicked glance at Dennis as she remembers herself. She clears her throat, “Are you–?”
“I was just leaving,” Park says. He makes for the open door. Trinity presses her whole body to the wall to stay as far out of his way as she can while he swiftly goes past. “Fucking roommates,” he mutters, audible to the both of them as he pulls the door shut behind him, lock clicking.
Dennis puts his face in his hands, “Oh my fucking God. Oh my God.”
“Hey, Huckleberry, you wanna explain what the hell that was?” Trinity asks, dumping her overnight bag on the floor.
“I thought you were staying with Dr. Garcia,” Dennis says, voice muffled by the way he continues to facepalm.
“She had a headache, I got kicked out,” Trinity replies and the clench of discomfort in Dennis worsens. She’s not in the mood for this. “Super fucking glad you got to get your rocks off, though.”
He looks at her, guilt bubbling up so quick he speaks fast as he says, “I’m really sorry, that was stupid, I shouldn’t have invited him here.”
“No kidding,” she leaves her bag where she dropped it, half its contents spilling out into the hall.
He follows her as she storms off in the direction of the kitchen. He can’t explain himself, has no excuse, “That was really bad, I’m sorry, I should have asked–”
She’s at the sink, getting herself some water, ignoring him entirely.
“I can talk to him? Say I fucked up and he should forget he was ever over here?” Dennis can only imagine how that conversation would go. Laughably poorly.
Trinity throws her hands in the air. Whatever he could’ve just said, this was the wrong thing, “Sure! Go talk to your new fuck buddy, or go text Robby about it or whoever else you’re sleeping with. Clearly you don’t want to talk to me.”
“I…” Dennis tries, “What?”
“How long is it since you spent a night here? Now you come back just to get railed in secret cuz you think I'm not gonna be here? Fuck, Den!”
“I didn’t wanna take him to Robby’s…” Dennis tells her. Even as he says it, he knows it’s not what she wants or needs to hear. Sure enough, she turns away from him again, looking like she’s been slapped across the face.
“Great,” Trinity says bitterly. "This isn’t a place for you to take people back to because you don’t want to mess up whatever weird Robby thing you have going on. This is my apartment, and you’re supposed to be my friend.”
“I’m sorry, Trinity.”
“Shut up.” She glares at him. “I’d tell you to leave me alone but you’ve been finding that real easy lately.”
Dennis’s eyes widen, “Wait. Is this about Amy again?”
But she just gives him a bitter laugh, “If it wasn’t, it’d be about something else.” She turns away. “He’s a dick anyway. If you want someone to be mean to you, you should’ve just asked. I’m going to my room.”
Dennis catches a glimpse of Trinity’s face as she leaves. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips pressed tightly together, eyes cast down and pointedly avoiding his.
“Trinity…” He calls after her. She doesn’t look over, her dark hair falls over the side of her face like a veil, but she does hover for a second in her doorway. She’s letting him say whatever he has to tell her. But Dennis doesn’t really have anything.
When the pause draws on, he hears her exhale. She pushes her hair back but still won’t look at him as she says, “Night, Huckleberry,” and goes, door closing behind her.
Dennis doesn’t try to follow this time. He leans against the kitchen counter, biting his lip and clutching the front of his shirt, trying not to cry. He messed this one up, he’s not the one who gets to cry about it. In just the loose t-shirt and underwear, it’s cold in Trinity’s kitchen. He wraps his arms around himself and holds tightly. At Robby’s, the heating comes on all by itself. It’s always warm there.
After a few minutes, Dennis decides Trinity isn’t coming back out of her room any time soon. He badly wants to go talk to her. But what else does he have to say? Dennis gets the feeling that he could go knock right now and he’d get let in, but he feels tears form an ugly lump in his throat again when he thinks about going inside, having another chance to make it up to her and messing up again.
Instead, he goes to his own room and gathers his stuff. Park told him to take a shower, but Dennis figures he can do one better with Robby’s big clawfoot bath. Robby said he likes it when Dennis uses it – means it’s seeing use that it never gets when Robby himself lives here. He likes it when Dennis stays over, makes sure everything stays working, keeps the place cozy and lived in. Over at Robby’s, Dennis will cultivate the approval that here, from his friend, he only seems to be able to ruin. In an hour, he’ll be there. It’s just a bus ride away.
And then, after spending the rest of the evening being good for Robby, Dennis can be good for Park. He can look good tomorrow, whatever that means, and he’ll get the man’s number. He swears he won’t use Trinity’s place to take the pictures. He’ll do it in Robby’s living room, where the lighting is good, and he’ll be able to text both men at once: Robby to tell him that the apartment is clean and taken care of; and Park to show him he remembers instructions, no underwear.
By the time he leaves the apartment, Dennis is almost breathless.
He’ll be so good.