Fin

Neither man seems to have any qualms about people knowing they've claimed him as their own. Dennis thought there would be more … caution. After all, he's half their age. Other people don't know that these men raised him for a good few years, but, they can certainly see that he's young. 

At first, it's a little embarrassing. He gets comment after comment - sugar baby, unicorn, just something to spice up an old marriage. They're never meant with any real malice, or even seriousness, he thinks, but. It embeds itself in his mind. The idea that he's temporary. That Robby and Jack are their own complete unit, without him, and they don't need him. They might want to fuck him for a while, and then - discard him. 

Like last time. 

It's not a rational thought, he knows this. But it reoccurs anyway. Over and over. 

He's pressed between the two of them, Jack moaning into Robby's mouth over his shoulder, when the thought of it chimes discordant in his chest. He could just as well not be here. One day, he might not be. 

He wriggles out of their grip, expects them to keep kissing. Maybe not notice that he's taken himself out of the equation. But they break apart immediately, lips swollen. 

"Kid?" Robby asks, frowning. "Where're you going?" 

He's sitting, just off to the side, with his knees up to his chest. He feels fucking - small. He hates feeling like this. It's bullshit. It's such bullshit. 

"I just - it's fine, you guys keep - " 

Jack scowls. Outright scowls, and drags Dennis back by a wrist so that some part of him is touching something of theirs, even in the smallest way. 

"Don't make me have to force it out of you, Den," he threatens, voice low and rumbling. 

He swallows. 

"What happens when you decide you've had enough of me?" he asks finally. He's proud, that his voice comes out strong. Not wobbling. He might feel small, but, damn it, he's an adult, and he can face up to this. 

Their faces are like mirrors of one another. Pure shock, and then hurt. 

"Why the hell would you think we'll ever have enough of you?" Robby asks, and he seems so genuinely taken aback that Dennis wonders for a second if he's made this all up. 

"Because we left him once," Jack answers for him, quiet. Too quiet. "That's right, isn't it, little one? You're scared we're going to just disappear again on you." 

He can only nod. It's embarrassing. The fears of a fucking five year old, in his adult body. He thought he was past this. The deep-rooted fear that he's doing something wrong. That he's not good enough. The desperation that - if he's just a good enough boy, obedient and charming, then people will stay. 

Robby runs a hand over his face, and makes a small sound that could be either exasperation or sorrow or anything in between. 

"Baby," he murmurs, pulling Dennis back between them, into his lap. "We're not going anywhere, okay? We found you again, and fuck, I'm not letting you go this time." 

The words are like slipping into a warm bath. Like pure comfort. He winds his arms around Robby's neck, just the way he used to do when he was little, demanding cuddles and comfort. 

"I don't wanna be the experiment of your marriage," he mutters. 

Jack snorts. 

"Oh, kiddo, we've been married twenty years, and never once looked at anyone else. You're not an experiment. You're our boy," he says firmly, and Dennis shudders. He'd gone soft, but now, he can feel arousal between his legs again. 

They must get the message, after that, that he needs the reassurance, because there's a lot more claiming. Robby lays him out on the bed and covers his entire body, every inch of creamy white skin, with purpling bruises, sucking and nipping with his teeth. 

"My sweet baby boy," he murmurs between hickeys. "Not nearly as ticklish as you used to be." 

Dennis is squirming nonetheless. 

"F-feels fucking - good," he moans. "Being tickled doesn't." 

If Jack were here, he knows the man would scrape featherlight fingernails across his sides just for fun, but Robby sucks a deep mark into his collarbone instead and grinds his hips down to brush their cocks together. 

"Language, kid," he laughs softly. "Don't make me tell Daddy you need punishing." 

Jack had dug out old faded photos they had somewhere in a shoebox, of the two men, decades younger, with little Dennis. There are dozens of them. Dennis leafs through them like they're precious as gold, his chest tight. 

There's him grinning up into the camera, missing a front tooth, and showing the photographer his toy dinosaur. 

"You were so obsessed with that thing," Jack says fondly, kissing the back of Dennis' neck. "Slept with it for a week before Caroline said no more." 

Dennis laughs. 

There's another, of a young Dennis sitting in Robby's lap, playing with his stethoscope. He blushes, deep, but can't stop staring. 

"Mm," Jack hums. "You were so fucking cute. Still are." 

Dennis isn't looking at himself. (Well, he is, he was cute.) But really, he's looking at young Robby. 

"He was so hot," he blurts out. "Oh my god." 

Jack bursts out laughing. 

"Yeah, he sure fucking was. Sometimes, I'd see him with you, holding your little hand down the street, or going down that fuckass plastic slide that was too small for my ass with you between his legs," Jack reminisces, fond. "And I'd think - if only I could knock that man up." 

Dennis chokes. 

"S'okay," Jack goes on, purring into his ear. "Ended up having a baby boy with him anyway." 

Gradually, Dennis' fear that the two of them could just walk back out of his life subsides. It's never entirely gone, but they move him in after a few months, and then he has them on tap, constant. 

They tuck him into bed, usually little spoon to whoever's at home that night. Sometimes, Robby will sing him to sleep, those old melodies that float through his mind. He'll wake up in the middle of the night, and Jack will have a hand around his cock, rutting against his ass. 

"D'dy?" he'll murmur, bleary and half-asleep still. 

"Go back to sleep, little one," Jack purrs, curled around his body and sending lazy hot pleasure through him. "Just need to feel my baby's cock for a bit." 

So it takes him by surprise, a nasty shock, when Robby announces he needs a sabbatical. Three whole fucking months away from them. 

"Why?" he cries, unable to hold it back. 

Jack doesn't seem any more pleased. 

"Come on, man," he tries to reason. "I get you need some time off from work, I'm all for that. But. Don't leave us here." 

Robby can't be budged. 

"I need some me time," he tells them. Dennis' chest gets so tight he can barely breathe. "I'm not leaving anyone, okay? Kid? Look at me. I am not leaving you." 

It sure as hell feels like he is. 

He overhears Jack and Robby arguing a few days before Robby is set to leave. 

"Fuck's sake, Michael, baby boy needs us both," Jack is snapping. "He'll suffer, you know he will." 

He hears Robby sigh, deeply. 

"Jack," he says, weary. "I just - the hospital is squeezing the fucking life out of me. And I love you, both, but I need - I need to get away. You'll take care of him. You're so good with him." 

Jack mutters something he can't make out, and the argument ends. 

The day Robby leaves on the stupid fucking motorcycle, Dennis almost doesn't say goodbye. He sits in the house like a petulant fucking child, refusing to do it. 

In the end, it's the sound of the engine rumbling to life that gets him, and the memory of being tiny, and not knowing where his Dads went, and not being able to say goodbye. 

He sprints out the door, desperate to make it in time, and throws himself at Robby, who's seated on the bike, about to put on his helmet. 

"Please come back," he pleads, face buried in Robby's neck. "Please." 

Robby strokes his fingers through Dennis' hair softly. That sensation has never changed. Always the same. 

"I promise," he murmurs, pressing a kiss into Dennis' curls. "And we'll text, and call. Be good for your Dad, mm?" 

He is. Good, that is. He never lets Jack see him crying into his pillow, feeling the most pathetic excuse for a man there ever was. Not only does he crave, need, rely on two men twice his age to … to take care of him, but he can't handle a few months away from one. 

He's increasingly humiliated by it. The empty, hollow feeling in his chest. He stops calling Jack Daddy. He stops seeking out affection, and comfort. They still fuck. He still needs that. But Dennis doesn't cry and whine when Jack calls him little one anymore. He does his best to take some control. That's what adults do. That's what men do. 

He rides Jack, and ignores every attempt at daddy's here and baby boy. 

Eventually, Jack gets the message. He stops, too. 

They're both entirely miserable. 

A month and a half into Robby's trip, he calls. It's not nearly the first time - he calls at least once a week. But this time, he calls Jack. 

"Not great, brother," Dennis can hear Jack saying. He thinks Dennis is asleep on the sofa. He's not. "He's suffering. Like I told you he would." 

Dennis curls a tiny bit closer in on himself. 

Jack sighs, and he sounds a little broken. 

"I don't know, man. It's like he just - doesn't want it anymore. M'not Daddy anymore. He doesn't want me babying him. Is this what it's like, your kid outgrowing you?" he laughs, mirthless and bitter. 

There's a long pause, and Dennis could not feel any more miserable. 

"We both miss you, Rob. I hope you're - getting whatever it is you need out there." 

Another pause. 

"No, I'm not trying to make you feel fucking guilty. I just - " 

And then he's moving toward Dennis, with the phone. He squeezes his eyes shut, fast, pretending again to sleep. 

Jack must be holding the phone out to view him, camera on, because he's hissing very quietly - 

"Look at him. This is me making you feel guilty. You left our boy. You knew when we started this, he'd need us. We talked about this. I know it's not a normal fucking relationship, but we're not fucking normal. Get your ass home and fix our son." 

Dennis' heart thumps in his chest. He doesn't dare move a muscle. 

Son. 

Jack's voice becomes more distant, and he's clearly walked away, leaving Dennis free to breathe again. 

"... Yeah, I love you too." 

When Dennis wakes from actual sleep the next morning, in their bed, Robby is sitting at the end of it, watching him. 

His breath catches in his throat. 

"You - "

"Came home, kiddo." 

Dennis thinks he might still be dreaming. That would be a cruel dream. 

"I don't know why I thought what I needed was out there," Robby says quietly. He's being cautious. Careful. Not coming too close to Dennis. "When I have a husband and a perfect little boy right here." 

Dennis feels his eyes prickle, and that's how he knows it's not a dream. 

He throws himself at Robby, crawling into his lap desperately and kissing him so hard they both topple. 

"Stupid, fucking stupid, don't ever do it again," he demands, pressing up so close against the man that it's like he's trying to fuse them together. 

"Promise," Robby murmurs. 

When Dennis looks up, Jack is leaning in the doorway, arms crossed. He looks … just like the man Dennis remembers from his childhood. 

They end up deciding on a Penguins game, something Robby and Jack do regularly enough that it's casual, and they catch dinner and a drink beforehand. The three of them end up seated at the bartop of some nondescript sports bar, with Abbot to Dennis' left and Robby's open seat to his right, the latter in the bathroom while Jack and Dennis peruse the behind-the-bar options.

"Oh, no," Dennis says sheepishly, "I'm not really a beer guy." He wants to make a good impression, doesn't want Dr. Abbot to think he's ungrateful, but it's more embarrassing to look ungrateful than it would be to wince and grimace his way through whatever drink would come out of any of the numerous taps behind the bar.

"Oh, come on, Whit," Abbot says teasingly, "Have a beer with me. We're all men here, yeah?" And he quirks one eyebrow, and smiles. When Dennis doesn't say anything, a slow smile spreads across the attending's face and he taps the bar twice. Before Dennis can blink, the bartender is sliding two glasses of something amber and foaming to the two of them.

"I mean, I-- thanks, uh--"

When Dr. Abbot just raises his eyebrows, Dennis reluctantly brings his glass to his lips. He sips once, wincing at the bitter, hoppy taste, but when he goes to put the glass down, Dr. Abbot's hand is there, pressing upwards so that glass keeps tipping, and tipping, and suddenly Dennis has to make the choice between drinking and spilling beer on the one nice pair of dress pants he owns.

So he drinks, and tries not to blush at the low, approving rumble Dr. Abbot makes as he does. He can feel the other man's eyes on him, and when he flicks his gaze leftwards, his breathing stutters as he drinks.

Dr. Abbot's brown eyes are soft, heavy-lidded, and focused intently on Dennis face, his mouth, his throat as he swallows the bitter, bubbly liquid. He watches and keeps tipping the glass until the beer is entirely gone, finally setting the glass down to the sound of Dennis gasp. Something squirms low in Dennis' stomach, but he doesn't have time to pick it apart because two large, warm hands suddenly land on his shoulders.

"Enjoying yourself, Whitaker?" It's Robby, back from the restroom, big body leaning against the bar and eyes sparkling with some unnameable amusement. He shoots at look at his husband over Dennis' head.

"Really, Jack?" He gestures to the empty glass. "This, already?" He shakes his head good-naturedly, and Dennis thinks he might be missing something when Abbot replies.

"What, man? Man's gotta learn to drink a beer sometime, might as well be here with us." Abbot shrugs, unrepentant. Dennis watches Dr. Robby's face, which settles into a fondly exasperated smile. He's definitely missing something, but that's nothing new, and Robby and Abbot are so nice for even inviting him out that he doesn't want to push any buttons by asking too many questions.

He's always had trouble fitting in with other men. Whether it was his stature, his gentle nature, or the genitals between his legs, something always led to him being kept at arms length. He would have done anything to be part of that world, so a few missed in-jokes and a gross beer with his senior attendings who he admires so much is a small price to pay to feel like he belongs with them. Greedily, he wants to impress them.

He knows he doesn't look like much, but he's determined, and he really, really wants to be invited back again, so when Dr. Robby slides him another beer, he picks it up without hesitation and drinks deep.

They make it to the game without any more fuss, without any more stomach-squirming looks, and Dennis thinks it's over. It's nice to just be out with the boys, to feel like one of them, and everything's starting to feel normal until the first time the Penguins score.

The crowd erupts around them, and in the commotion, Dennis barely registers Robby's hand sliding to grip the back of his neck, pulling him closer. What he does notice is the cool plastic cup that Robby presses to his lips and the firm, reassuring squeeze that accompanies it.

"Drink, Whitaker, celebrate," Robby says, then tips the cup before Dennis can protest.

Beer, just as bitter and pungent as the two he'd had at the bar, spills into his mouth. Once again he has to choose between making a mess and drinking, and so once again, he drinks. By the time the beer is gone, Dennis is gasping, heart racing in his chest and cheeks burning despite the cool arena air.

Every time the Penguins score, it's the same thing--another beer pressed to Dennis' mouth, held by one of his two attendings and tipped until it's gone. By the time the Penguins have scored four times, Dennis finally resists.

He's dizzy with adrenaline and alcohol and sheer proximity to the two men, so it's all he can do to twist his head away from the cup holding his sixth beer of the night that Jack holds patiently.

"No thanks, m'okay, Jack, shouldn't have 'nother, gotta walk home later, so--"

He doesn't remember when they went from Dr. Robby and Dr. Abbot to just Robby and Jack, but that doesn't matter in the face of the disapproving look Jack levels him with.

"Really, Den? You've been doing so well, it'd be a shame to give up now. Man up," He encourages, voice goading, "Have another beer."

And there's something so warm, so nice, about Jack's voice that Dennis can't help but listen.

When the game ends, Dennis having one more beer before the final buzzer sounds at Robby's insistence, everyone in the arena jumps to their feet to celebrate the Penguins' victory. Dennis follows suit in his excitement, but stumbles as suddenly, it's like all of his drinks have caught up to him.

He wouldn't call himself a lightweight, but he never needs more than a few drinks to sustain a night of partying with the group. At the end of it all, Dennis has had seven beers tonight, and not only is he well past tipsy, he also has to pee.

"Woah, kid," Robby says, catching Dennis before he can sway too far to the side, "Feeling okay? Easy now."

"M'fine, Robby, jus' a little--woah-"

The room sways, or maybe that's the movement of the crowd around them. Jack presses against Dennis' back, and Dennis absently feels a warm, steadying arm wrap around his waist.

"Sounds like we should get heading home, huh Robby?" Jack's voice is a low rumble in his ear, faintly amused. Dennis makes a noise in protest, and he can feel more than see Jack tip his head to look down at him.

"Gotta pee," He mumbles, face reddening. He sounds like a kid, but it's true, he does have to pee, and he really doesn't feel like holding it. Trinity's apartment isn't far away, and--

"It's okay, Den," Robby replies, "We're not that far out, and I guarantee our bathroom is much nicer than the one here. C'mon." And Dennis is helpless to resist as they lead him, half stumbling and leaning on Jack, back to the car.

God, he's going to their fucking house. He's not sure how he got here, not sure what's going on beyond how badly his bladder is screaming at him, but neither Jack nor Robby seem at all perturbed by it, so it must be fine.

For some reason, Jack sits in the back with him instead of in the front with Robby, sliding into the middle seat to Dennis' left. He reaches over Dennis' body to grab the seatbelt, and Dennis' face warms somehow hotter when he gets a whiff of Jack's cologne. Between the pressure on his bladder, Jack's proximity, and the alcohol in his system, he's squirming with restless discomfort for the entirety of the drive.

By the time they get to Jack and Robby's Shadyside address, Dennis really can't hold it. As soon as the car stops, Dennis rushes to unbuckle his seatbelt and practically trips towards the front door that Robby is unlocking. Robby catches him when he stumbles up the steps, and smiles.

"Really gotta go, huh?" Dennis just nods, and Robby cracks the door open. God, he doesn't want to be rude, but both Jack and Robby take their sweet time getting into the house, taking their shoes off carefully and sliding them into the empty spots on the rack next to where Dennis has already toed his off, and he really doesn't want to piss himself in front of his attendings.

Finally, finally, Jack gestures with a hand and calls, "C'mon, Den, I'll show you where the can's at." Gratefully, Dennis follows. Jack, for some reason, leads Dennis through what has to be the master bedroom, a room with dark walls and a huge, comfy looking bed that connects to a wide-doored ensuite bathroom. "Here you go, kid."

And then he doesn't leave.

"Uh, thanks, Jack, m'good now, I-"

"Ah ah," Jack tuts, "Don't act like Robby and I haven't been watching you stumble around. The tile's slick," (It's not, really.) "Wouldn't want you to slip. I'll hang out."

And maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's Dennis' inability to say no to either of the older men, or maybe its just how badly he has to fucking piss, but despite the blush on his face, he just dips his head in a nod. He can't ignore, the amused, almost impressed "Good boy," from Jack as he turns to unzip, heart beating hard and eyes trained on the floor.

His hands shake as he gets his pants undone just enough to slide them down and sit at the same time, but before he can, Jack clears his throat.

"What have I said, Den? We're all men here." Jack's voice is a syrupy, goading thing that makes Dennis' stomach drop to his feet. "Don't be shy." And then he gestures at the toilet, looking at where Dennis' hands are clasped at his fly protectively. "Unless you need help?"

What the fuck. What the fuck?

Dennis freezes, half-crouched over the toilet. Surely he can't--

"Here, c'mere."

And then all of a sudden Jack is standing in front of him, pulling him up to stand and turning him by the waist to face the toilet. With his pants still halfway down his thighs, he can feel the denim of Jack's jeans against the soft skin off his ass, and he tries not to shiver at the friction. What the fuck?

Jack tugs his pants the rest of the way down without a word, crouching to pull them off one ankle and then kicking a bit to nudge one foot out so Dennis is practically straddling the toilet.

"Jack! Wha'tre y'doing, don'need help--"

"S'okay, kid, let me show you--"

"What the hell are you doing, Jack?" Robby's voice startles Dennis so badly he almost pisses himself right there, but he holds it even as his face burns with shame. He's stood over the toilet, ass-naked with Robby's husband wrapped around him like a koala.

"Our boy's just a little too drunk, babe. He needed a hand but looked like he was too shy to ask."

"Is that right?" Robby raises a brow at Jack, leaning against the door frame.

"N-no! S'fine, Robby, I'm-"

Dennis might as well not have said anything at all for all the attention Robby pays his reply.

"Yeah, I've got 'im though. Isn't that right?" And then Jack's hands are sliding back around Dennis' waist pulling him upright over the toilet and stabilizing his wobbly form. The rough texture of Jack's denim jeans presses once again to Dennis' ass, but this time Dennis startles to feel the telltale rub of Jack's bulge there and he can't stop the wavering, humiliated "Ah!" that comes from his throat.

Tears start to well in his eyes, and he looks at Robby desperately. The man's eyes shine as well with something warm and tender, almost longing. He offers Dennis a kind smile, the same one Dennis gets after a particularly tricky diagnosis or procedure, and Dennis' heart lurches.

"Please, Robby," Dennis whimpers when one of Jack's hands slides down his tummy to rest, spread wide, over his full bladder, "I don' need help. Can do it on m'own, promise."

"Aw, it's okay, baby," Robby coos, "Jack just wants to make sure you don't fall. Let him help you, then we can get in bed. You must be tired, huh? It's been a big night, and you've done so well." Dennis' chest cracks open at that, the warmth in his stomach spreading like a blanket over his overwrought nerves.

"Did good?"

"Yeah, sweetheart, you're doing good. Can you let Jacky help you for me? I promise you'll feel so much better."

And Robby sounds so tender, so sweet, that Dennis can't resist. "Mhm, okay."

"Good boy, so sweet for us." Jack's other hand, the one not on his stomach, snakes even lower with clinical ease. Dennis barely startles when he feels Jack's thick fingers spreading his pussy lips, both labia minora spread wide with gentle pressure. At the same time, the hand on his stomach applies more pressure, and Dennis whines.

The pressure is agony, weight and heat and a tingling, building feeling that he can barely stand. His knees weaken, but with Jack standing there he knows he won't fall. The pressure builds, and builds, and builds, until Dennis can't take it anymore. With a teary, thick sob, Dennis starts to piss, stream arcing from between his thighs into the toilet with an embarrassingly loud sound.

"Ohh, there you go, sweetie," Jack praises, hand still applying steady, even pressure, "Let it out for us, you're doing so good, so pretty." Dennis closes his eyes, but that only makes the sounds of his own piss and Jack's murmured praises louder, the two sounds entwining in his mind until he's fuzzy with it. He doesn't even realize he's done until he feels the soft swipe of toilet paper over cleaning him up, Robby's gentle hands smoothing his underwear back into place and pulling his pants out of the way to be folded.

"Good boy, Den, that's a good boy for us. So sweet, doing just what we ask. Hey, no more tears, I know, I know." Robby wipes the tear tracks off his warm cheeks, and he tips his head into the touch, exhausted. Jack steps back once he's sure Robby's got Dennis supported, and the two of them easily get a pliant Dennis undressed and into their bed.