Chapter Text
Dennis was having a weird shift.
His brain was foggy, unable to settle, flicking from one worry to another like an unruly ping pong ball. He kept second guessing himself with easy things, questioning his decisions with patients, overthinking his interactions with his coworkers. He was struggling to remember things — things he knew, things that he could confidently recite on any other day, suddenly just out of reach, his fingers just barely scraping against the surface as he grasped, desperate, for any semblance of certainty. He felt like his body was filled with a tension he couldn't release. Fidgeting became second nature, raking his knuckles across his palm and tapping, tapping, tapping.
"Huckleberry, I swear to God," Trinity hissed. "If you don't stop twitching, I will pour Mylanta down the back of your scrubs. Do not test me."
Dennis sighed, glancing over at her from where he leaned against the charge nurse desk. She was glaring at her computer screen, typing up her charts with the enthusiasm of a cat swallowing a pill.
"Sorry," he sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "I just feel… off today. I don't know what's going on."
"Maybe you need a mid-day nap, like a toddler." She paused, then an evil smirk stretched across her lips. "Or, you know…"
Dennis raised a finger, shooting nervous glances around them. "Now, hold on-"
"…like a puppy."
Dennis shot her a bitchy look. "Ha, ha. It was real funny the first 20 times."
Trinity finding a dog collar in their laundry was still up there as one of the most humiliating moments of Dennis Whitaker's life. It had been all fun and games until Trin realized just what that meant.
"Wait, fuck, you're dating our boss. GROSS! I did not need to know what kinky shit he's into!"
Dennis' hand came up to fiddle with his chain, chewing his lip. From the outside, it looked like any other necklace, peeking out from under his shirt, inconspicuous. But no, this piece of jewelry was custom made — an anniversary gift from Robby. A day collar; a symbol that represented their dynamic moving from just 'bedroom activities' to an everyday covenant. A commitment, going both ways — a promise to surrender control, to trust, and a promise to care, to protect, to support. As much as Dennis belonged to Robby, Robby belonged to Dennis, too.
The weighty platinum was a constant reminder — O-ring resting on his sternum, thumping against his skin with every chest compression, every quick step, every bend down to help lift a patient. It was a quiet comfort, knowing that even when Robby wasn't right next to him, he was there, holding him up, loving him. Dangling from the ring was a cross, dainty and beautiful and absolutely perfect.
When Robby had offered the collar to him, stumbling over his words and blushing and looking nowhere near the confident chief attending that he was, Dennis had melted. That night, Robby had fucked him in front of the bathroom mirror, bending him over the counter and watching with rapt attention as the chain swung in time with his thrusts.
"Mine," he'd growled in Dennis' ear, sucking a mark behind his ear.
Trinity had teased him relentlessly when she'd spotted it the next day at work, and when Dennis confronted Robby about it, he'd just looked smug, like the cat who got the damn cream. He was a possessive man, and he wanted to make sure everyone knew Dennis was taken, even if they couldn't reveal by who.
A couple days later, Robby had sat him down again, looking nervous.
"So, I know you already have a play collar, and if you want to keep using that one I completely understand, but-"
"Robby," Dennis interrupted. "That collar is a piece of shit. The hardware pokes through and scratches my skin."
The collar Dennis had bought himself — years ago when he'd first moved to the big city of Pittsburgh and finally gathered the courage to go to his first sex shop — was a thin piece of faux leather, the black outside crackling and flaking off. It had a dainty D-ring that felt like it would tear through with any force applied, not up to the challenge of being used with a leash, let alone as an attachment for bondage. He'd been embarrassed to show it to Robby for the first time, taking a Sharpie to the cracks in the cheap material to try and hide the wear and tear.
Robby laughed softly, looking relieved. "So you wouldn't be offended if I had a new one made for you?"
Dennis' eyes widened. "Exactly how much money did you spend on collars this month, Dr. Robinavitch?"
Robby shrugged, dragging a large hand through the boy's hair. "I like to spoil my puppy. Is that so wrong?"
Dennis dipped his head forward, meeting Robby's lips in a kiss. Robby's fingers tightened in his curls, holding him closer, consuming him. Dennis moaned, nipping at his bottom lip as he pulled away.
"Well?" he breathed, nuzzling against Robby's beard. "You gonna spoil me, Daddy?"
The collar was a magnificent piece of art. It was real leather with a smooth black finish, thick and heavy and ready to withstand anything they threw at it. The inside was soft against the delicate skin of his neck, not scratchy or irritating even after hours of wear. The real centerpiece, however, was the hardware. Three D-rings, one on each side and one in the front, from which hung a shiny silver dog-tag, bone-shaped and engraved.
On the back, it read: Property of Michael Robinavitch, MD. If found, call: xxx.xxx.xxxx.
On the front, in a delicate looping font: Dr. Whitaker.
Dennis had nearly choked. Instead of his first name, or even just 'Puppy' or 'Huckleberry,' the man had gone for his title. He knew it was a playful jab, a way of saying, 'look at you — a doctor, but also a pathetic little puppy. How cute?' It had made him turn bright red, and Robby had cooed at him.
"You worked so hard for this title, Dr. Whitaker — you deserve to show it off."
It brought Dennis back to the moment when Robby had presented him with his 'Doctor' badge at work, how much pride he had felt in that moment, how special it was that Robby was the one to give it to him.
During scenes, Robby sometimes alternated between calling him 'puppy' and calling him 'Dr. Whitaker.' Dennis thanked God every day that he had yet to get hard at work at the sound of his boss calling his name.
God, that was what he needed. He needed to be Robby's puppy today. He needed to turn off his brain, stick his tongue out, and follow Robby's lead.
But he couldn't just ask. Where was the fun in that? No, Dennis needed to earn it.
"You know what? You're right."
Trinity's head shot up. "Excuse me?" She grabbed her phone from her pocket, scrambling to open the camera app and holding it up to his face. "Sorry, could you repeat that? I didn't quite hear you the first time."
Dennis rolled his eyes, batting the phone away. "You're an idiot. I'm going to take a nap during my lunch break. I'll set an alarm, but do you think you can keep an eye on the clock for me?"
Trinity grinned, setting her phone back down. "Sure thing, Huckleberry. Just don't let Dr. Robby catch you — you know how he gets about you skipping meals."
Dennis shot her a thumbs up and walked towards the break room, hiding a smirk. That was exactly what he was hoping for.
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Dennis was yanked out of his slumber, quite literally, by a hand in his hair. Thick fingers tangled in his curls, pulling his head up from where it had been cradled in his arms on the table. He yelped, blinking at the sudden bright lights assaulting his vision, confused and disoriented.
"Lunch breaks are for eating, Dr. Whitaker."
At Robby's voice, Dennis sighed, shoulders relaxing. He let his head go limp in the man's grip, rolling back to look up at him with tired eyes. "Hi."
Robby's lips twitched. "Hi. You sleepy?"
He hummed and nodded his head.
"…Did you eat before your nap?"
Dennis bit the insides of his cheeks and averted his eyes. That was all the answer Robby needed.
"What have I told you about skipping lunch, Dennis?"
"That it's not good for me."
Robby nodded. "That's right. I need my doctors focused, and you can't be focused when you're hungry. You can take all the naps you want, but if your body doesn't have the nutrients it needs…"
Robby tugged, and Dennis whined.
"But we've had this conversation before, haven't we? Yeah. I distinctly remember you promising me to never skip lunch again, except for emergencies. Isn't that right?"
Dennis closed his eyes, feeling some of the tension in his chest release. "Yes, sir."
"Was there an emergency?"
"No sir."
Robby sighed, easing his grip and raking his nails across the boy's scalp, earning a shiver. "I'm sorry you're tired, sweetheart. It's too late for you to grab a full meal now, but here-"
Digging into his pocket, Robby pulled out a granola bar, dropping it on the table in front of Dennis. "Eat this and get back out there. There's more in my locker if you need it."
Robby dropped a gentle kiss to Dennis' head and left the room. The boy at the table huffed, crossing his arms. That didn't go how he planned. He needed to push more.
Sighing, he picked up the granola bar, unwrapping it and taking a bite. As he chewed, an idea popped into his head.
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Dennis had just stepped out of a room, closing the door softly behind him, when a familiar hand took its place on the back of his neck. He smiled.
"Hey, Dr. Robby. You need me for something?" he asked, really playing up the innocent farm-boy charm.
Robby's pointer finger slid beneath Dennis' chain, and in a deft twist, he looped it around his finger and tugged. The chain tightened, the newly revealed O-ring pressing firmly against the front of the boy's throat. The little cross tickled slightly, swinging from the momentum as Dennis was marched down the hallway and dragged into a stairwell.
He felt like a dog in a prong collar getting a correction. He adored it.
Once they had passed through the doors, Robby pressed him up against the wall and leaned in close to his ear, facial hair scratching against his smooth cheek. "I told you to make sure you ate something, puppy."
At the nickname, Dennis shuddered. It was very rare that Robby called him by that name while at work. They were pretty good at keeping a separation between their dynamic and their jobs, creating boundaries that kept everyone safe. Dennis was never to brat in a way that bordered on malpractice or inconvenienced their coworkers, and Robby was never to overstep his professional boundaries, allowing Dennis his autonomy as a doctor.
Most of their rules centered around Dennis taking better care of himself. After Robby had found out about his homelessness, the way he was having to snatch sandwiches from the patient food cart to sustain himself, he had made it his duty to make sure Dennis never wanted for anything ever again. Getting used to having more than one meal a day was quite the adjustment for Dennis, and when Robby noticed he wasn't taking lunch breaks — more by habit than anything else — he'd added it to their rules.
'Puppy eats lunch every day, except for when emergencies prevent it.'
"We were really busy," Dennis argued. "I didn't have time."
"Oh?" Robby's free hand dug into his pocket, pulling out a familiar granola bar. "You certainly had the time to take a single bite out of this and leave it on my workstation. You're lucky we don't have an ant problem, Dr. Whitaker."
Dennis swallowed, and Robby followed the movement with dark, watchful eyes. "Here I am, giving my puppy a treat, and he doesn't even appreciate it?"
It took everything in Dennis to bite back the immediate submission, the apologies, the affirmations that, 'yes, Daddy, I appreciate you so much, thank you for feeding me, I love that you want to take care of me, I love you.'
But no. There was something he wanted. Something he craved.
He needed to play his part.
Dennis shrugged. "I didn't like it."
The grip on his chain tightened.
"You didn't like it."
Dennis nodded. Robby cocked his head, narrowing his eyes.
"I vividly remember you begging me to buy this specific brand and flavor."
Dennis shrugged again, trying to look unbothered, but his heart raced in his chest. He saw a muscle in Robby's jaw tense, and he fought back a shiver.
"Open your mouth."
Dennis' eyes widened. Did Robby want him to blow him in the stairwell? Where anyone could walk in?
"H-here? But, Robby-"
Robby's lips twitched, and he held up the granola bar, wrapper peeled back. "Open. Your mouth."
Dennis' racing heart slowed slightly. Okay, yeah — Robby wasn't that crazy. He looked down at the bar, its delicious strawberry scent making his mouth water, but he wouldn't give in. He had a mission, dammit.
"I don't want to," Dennis said, shaking his head. "I told you — I don't like it."
"Dr. Whitaker," Robby growled, pressing the sweet treat against the boy's pink lips. "Open."
Dennis couldn't suppress the shiver this time, but he held Robby's gaze and let out a hum of refusal, mouth sealed shut against the intrusion.
The tension on his chain disappeared, and suddenly Robby was gripping his face, cheeks slightly squished. A tiny squeak caught in the back of his throat.
"What is with you today, puppy? Why are you being so bad?" Robby's brows furrowed, like he was trying to figure out a complicated diagnosis.
Dennis' pulse thudded in his ears, but he stayed silent. To his absolute mortification, his stomach decided that that was the perfect moment to announce its disagreement with his whole plan. Robby looked down, then back up at his face, watching with delighted eyes as a blush spread across the boy's skin. He chewed on his lip, fighting a smile, before shaking his head and letting out a sigh.
"I guess I can't blame you — puppies have owners for a reason."
Dennis felt blood rush down to his dick.
Robby leaned in, dropping a gentle kiss to his nose. "You're too soft, domesticated — so far removed from wolves, who can hunt for themselves. No, you're helpless. You need Daddy to feed you, don't you, puppy?"
Dennis whined, eyes fluttering. Using the distraction, Robby forced the boy's mouth open, placing the granola bar between his teeth. "Now, be a good dog for me and bite."
No matter how hard he tried to fight it, Dennis, at his core, just wanted to please Dr. Robby. He wanted to be his good boy.
Giving in, he took a small bite, and despite what he had claimed earlier, it really was delicious. He held back a moan. He wouldn't give Robby the satisfaction.
Robby released his grip on Dennis' face, content that he had earned the boy's cooperation. His dark eyes drifted down to his lips to watch him chew.
"Swallow," he ordered, pupils blown.
Dennis immediately obeyed, and his cock jumped when he heard a loud click!
Looking down, he saw Robby had grabbed his pen out of his pocket. He couldn't bring their real clicker to work without getting some weird looks, so they had learned to improvise.
"Good boy, Dr. Whitaker."
If Dennis had been wearing his tail in that moment, it would be wagging. Robby held the bar back up to his mouth, and without needing a command, he finished his treat, bite by bite, earning a click with each swallow.
Fuck! He was supposed to be being bad right now!
Before Robby could pull his hand away with the empty wrapper, Dennis shot forward and nipped his fingers.
"Ow!" Robby yanked his hand back, shooting Dennis a sharp look. "Did you just bite me?"
Dennis grinned up at him, flashing his teeth as if as a threat. Robby's eyes trailed across his face, down his body, which was practically vibrating with anticipation.
"Message received, Dr. Whitaker. I'll see you after shift."
As Robby turned and left, Dennis melted against the wall, chest heaving. Oh, he was in for it now. He couldn't fight the smile forming on his face.