They have an arrangement, Robby tells him. Jack lets him play with whatever new toy he likes, indulge the piece of himself that needs to fixate, obsess, take. The obsession usually fizzles out once Robby gets his dick in them. 

Dennis panics for a second that he'll become like that - just another toy to be thrown away, but Robby assures him, no, baby. You're different. You're special. You're just like me. 

It's strange, fucking a man with a husband. Being so desperately, painfully in love with a man with a husband. But, Jack … tolerates having him around. 

Tolerates might be a strong word. It looks as if they definitely do have an arrangement - Jack will come home to Dennis bouncing on Robby's cock, and will roll his eyes, but say nothing. Let them continue on like he's not pottering around in the kitchen behind them. 

But he does not like Dennis. He's made that very clear. 

Dennis curls up in their bed, post-fuck, while Robby showers. He's soft, and blissed out, and all he wants is to feel arms around him. 

Instead, Jack enters the bedroom, eyes him, and calls out to Robby. 

"What's it doing on the bed, Michael." 

It. 

He feels something curl in his belly. Something like shame. Or arousal. He gets those mixed up sometimes. Wires crossed. 

"Don't be cruel, Jack, let him stay!" Robby calls back out, over the spray of the shower. Jack looks sour. He toes off his boots, peels himself out of his clothes, and fuck, he is beautiful. 

Dennis can't stop staring. 

"Move," Jack orders, voice hard. 

Dennis startles. He's so warm and comfortable, though. And Robby left him here, he doesn't want to move. 

Jack unstraps his leg, and uses it to nudge at Dennis, not especially gentle. Dennis moves, right down to the end of the bed, over the duvet, where he's pushed. 

Jack takes his place at the top of the sheets. He glares at Dennis the entire time. 

"If you're staying," Jack snaps at him. "You stay down there." 

Like he's some unwanted dog. 

Dennis is hurt. 

Jack doesn't like him? Jack doesn't want him here? But Robby loves him so much. He's getting used to that feeling. The feeling of being loved. Adored. He doesn't want to give that up. 

No, this won't do. He can make Jack like him. He will make Jack like him. 

The new obsession blossoms. He has Robby. He wants something new. He wants Jack. 

He's a nice boy, he knows that. Sweet, and charming, and clever. Sure, he has a few quirks. He's getting off on knowing that Jack's husband is so obsessed with him he sleeps with his cum-stained underwear sometimes. But they're just quirks. 

Dennis is loveable. And he'll show Jack that. 

It's not easy, and that just makes him want it all the more. Jack has absolutely no interest in him. The more time Dennis spends at their apartment, in their home, curled up with Robby or suckling at his cock while Jack watches hockey beside them - the more Jack ignores him. 

"Jack," he murmurs, on the floor at Robby's feet. 

Nothing. 

"Jack," he tries again. Robby's watching the two of them, quiet. "Can I - can I blow you?" 

The man finally looks down at him, but it's with a flick of disdainful eyes, before they return to the screen. 

"No," Jack says flatly. "Be quiet." 

Robby looks deeply disappointed, and leans over to murmur something in Jack's ear. Whatever it was, it makes the man scowl. 

"If you want to keep your pet in here, you can entertain it," he tells Robby, and Dennis visibly deflates. 

So he tries a different tack. He can get Jack's attention other ways. He steals the man's boxers out of the dirty laundry, a day at a time, until every pair is sequestered away in his hideyhole in the guest room. 

Jack stalks in, goes right to it, like he's known it's there the entire time, and retrieves them. Dennis is hoping for a reaction. Shouting, maybe Jack will rub his nose in it. That would be something. 

But the man only shoots him a withering look, and shoves the boxers into the washer without a word. 

God fucking dammit. 

Dennis' obsession rises to truly unhealthy levels. Robby tries to talk to him about it. Make him understand that Jack is feeling a little jealous. A little threatened. He's been Robby's husband for decades, and none of Robby's little flings have ever stuck around as long as Dennis. 

He can understand that. He doesn't want to be a threat. He just needs Jack to accept him. 

He tries harder to find something Jack might want from him. He does every chore in the house, before either of the other two can get to them. Leaves it sparkling clean, tidy, every dish washed. 

Jack makes more mess. 

He waits, naked in bed, for Jack to come home from his night shift. He's got himself ready, plugged, so Jack can just take. 

"For fuck's sake," the man swears when he opens the bedroom door and finds Dennis. "Out. Get out." 

"But I - " 

"Out." 

He slinks out. 

This goes on for months. Months. Dennis wants, and tries, and gets rejected, over and over again. Robby licks his wounds, assures him that Jack will come around, that he has no intention of letting Dennis go anywhere. 

It's only when Robby is called, last minute, to the hospital to cover an attending shift, and Dennis and Jack are left alone in the apartment together, that something changes. 

Dennis had been planning on an evening of keeping Robby's cock in his mouth for hours. He'd been looking forward to it. He had the ibuprofen ready for the ache in his jaw and everything. 

And now, he's just sitting on the sofa next to Jack, the both of them deeply uncomfortable. 

"Sorry," he mutters. "I didn't think he'd - " 

"Obviously you didn't," Jack snaps. "You couldn't have guessed he'd get called in." 

If it weren't the poisonous tone, it could almost be something halfway to pleasant. 

Dennis huffs. 

"I know why you don't like me," he says, fed up. "I'm sorry that Robby loves me, but he does, and I love him too. And I don't want to take him from you! I, like, probably couldn't. He's been married to you for a million fucking years. So just. Why are you still on my ass?" 

Jack turns his head, slow, to watch him. 

It's like watching a predator size up prey. 

"You," he says finally, slow. "Are a fucking pain in my ass." 

He looks between Dennis and the floor. 

"Sit. Go on." 

And Dennis moves, fast, onto the floor, because this is the first time Jack has ever told him to do something beyond fuck off. 

Jack nudges him onto his back, and so he lays, flat, his chest thumping. He has no fucking idea what's about to happen, and he's so excited he might burst. 

Jack shifts slightly on the sofa, lifting his leg. The prosthetic is balanced against the side. He's still wearing his boots. He barely ever takes them off, Dennis has noticed. They're special, apparently. 

The boot lifts, and then - and Dennis isn't sure he's even seeing this right - it's coming down to press, hard, against his chest. 

He sucks in a sharp breath, but doesn't dare move. 

"Stay," Jack orders. 

He stays. 

The boot presses down against his sternum, not hard enough to cut off air, but hard enough that the pressure is - fuck, it's something. 

"Don't move, pup," Jack warns him, when he starts to squirm just slightly. Not because he wants to escape the almost painful pressure, but. Well, because he's hard. 

He gazes at the boot pressing him down into the ground. It's not very clean. Jack should take better care of these. Dennis' mouth goes dry. He could take better care of these. 

Jack does absolutely nothing else to him, that night. Barely speaks to him. But when he finally lets his foot up, and Dennis gets to his knees, the man isn't quite as hostile. He watches Dennis, and finally hauls himself up with his crutches. Turns, makes his way toward the bedroom. 

"Well?" he asks over his shoulder, when Dennis stays put. "Coming?" 

Dennis sleeps blissfully beside Jack, only just barely touching. 

It takes weeks for Jack to loosen up enough to let Dennis take his foot gently, rest it on his own knee. 

"What are you doing?" Jack asks, watching. He isn't moving, or tugging away. 

"Cleaning," Dennis says, and lowers his head to the boot. He flicks his tongue out, and the taste of well-worn leather, dust and dirt. He moans, unable to stop himself, and his tongue widens out into eager laves. 

Jack looks down at him, brow raised. 

"Why?" he asks, sounding amused. Robby is watching from the other sofa, his mouth curled into a smile. 

"Because he likes you, Jack," he says, fond. "And he takes care of the things he likes. Isn't that right, baby?" 

Dennis nods, without letting up. The leather taste, rich and deep on his tongue, is stronger with every swipe, the grime of the day washed away. 

"Hm," Jack hums. He waits until the boot is spit-shiny, and then tosses Dennis the other one, tugged off the prosthetic. "Good boy." 

The euphoria of winning floods Dennis. 

!!

Jack has Robby’s location — has had it since Robby returned from his sabbatical — but never a reason to check it. A reassurance rather than an obsession, Jack doesn’t need anything more than for it to be proof that Robby is alive, that he’s back, that’s he’s still orbiting the small circle of their little world despite his seemingly growing apathy towards it.

And then Robby calls. And Jack has a reason to check.

Jack phones in a favor from one of his cop buddies. Rides with lights and sirens down ninth street, Robby’s hiccupy “I’m sorry.” a nonstop audio loop in his head, a white flag thrown down between them stained red and Jack can only hope he’s quick enough.

It’s a struggle to climb over the ledge, his damn leg in the way, his hands shaking when he finally spots him, and is able to croak out, “Thinking of a swim, Mikey?” And Robby startles so hard Jack has to grab the back of Robby’s hoodie to prevent him from turning his involuntary sway into a swan dive.

Robby’s face is blotchy, nose runny, eyes impossibly wide, shadowed with something like guilt. “What— what are you doing here?” His voice is wrecked, raw, child-like in its warble. Jack uses his grip on Robby’s hoodie to pull him in, wraps a firm arm around Robby’s shoulders and waits for the tense bunch of Robby’s muscles to ease.

“Heard the river’s beautiful this time of night.”

It’s not. It’s an ugly serpentine thing below them, cutting jaggedly through the city. Dark and all encompassing, swallowing the light. Viscous like blood. Like fat congealing on the tongue. Jack hates it more than anything.

Robby doesn’t speak. His body remains tense beneath Jack’s arm. His hands clutch the edge of the bridge, tensing and untensing, something considering blooming in his expression. Jack tightens his grip, and studies the planes of Robby’s face. The divots and wrinkles and contours he’s familiarized himself with over the years.

For a long while, they just sit. Until, eventually, Robby begins to sag, unraveling with a quiet sob, until his face is pressed to the side of Jack’s neck and he’s sniffling out quiet apologies fingers stiff with cold where they clutch Jack’s bicep.

And Jack holds Robby through it, through the earthquake tremors of Robby’s body, through the sharp, stuttering inhales, and warm, wet exhales against Jack’s skin, through the thinly veiled lies, the promises that he wasn’t going to do it, but Jack knows, he knows Robby would — that he might still.

Jack doesn’t say anything. Not until Robby’s gone fully quiet, and the only noise is the cars, the wind blowing through the bridge, the water murmuring below them. Their breaths hang cloudy in the air. Jack sighs.

“Let’s go home.”

And Jack makes his decision before Robby acquiesces. Corrals him into the cop car with the promise it’ll be faster this way and he’ll call someone to get Robby’s bike.

Poor poor Denny,,,, he'd even upped his age range on Grindr just a little, seeking men in their late thirties, hoping that'd make it any better at all. He meets up with this guy, Will, outside a bar downtown when it's already way too late at night. Will is handsome, he supposes, tall and lean with curly hair for days. He's nice, maybe a little sleezy in how much he remarks about Dennis' age--"you really only twenty four? 's crazy"--and tugs Dennis to his apartment above the bar.

It's fast. Embarrassingly fast. They kiss, and it's boring, plain, makeout on the couch for a little bit. Dennis isn't even fully into it, all he can think about how his phone is powered off in his back pocket, and how pissed Jack is gonna be that his location had been unavailable for the past half hour. Will is touchy, and frots against Dennis with these heady little pants. Dennis slides between Will's knees, hoping to buy time for his dick to get with the program, and he sucks Will off for all of a minute and a half before a load is blown down his throat, battery-acidic, making him gag and spit it up into a tissue Will quickly offers.

"Sorry," Will grins crookedly. "I don't eat the best stuff."

And they sit there for a second, Dennis unsatisfied, Will softening. "You, uh," Will tucks himself back into his pants. "You wanna stick around, or?"

Dennis leaves, humiliated. He only gets hard in the Uber back home, trembling with adrenaline and fear as he turns his phone back on, and is hit with a barrage of missed calls and unread texts from both Jack and Robby.

Dad: You come home right the fuck now. I will beat your ass if your location isn't on in the next fifteen minutes.

Robby: Hey kiddo :( please turn your location back on? And call your dad back. We're worried.

Dennis is shivering when he swipes to erase the missed call notifications.

Dennis: I'm on my way. I feel sick, pls just leave me alone when I get home

Dennis sneaks into the house. He knows they're awake, despite the late hour. He tip-toes past their bedroom, the light on and casting an orange beam underneath the door. He can hear them murmuring, confirming he'd arrived home, and he walks down the hall to his own room. He locks the door behind him, and hates himself for how fucking hard he is :((

He crawls into bed, flushed, trembling, and buries his face in his pillow. He can't bring himself to actually touch,,, he just grinds against his bed, sniffling pathetically at how gross he feels, how good the little zaps of pleasure up his spine are. Fuck, it's awful, how he's thinking about it, going to their room and asking for the relief he know they can give him, because they would, in a heartbeat, if he did. They'd take him apart right there, set aside anything else they're doing.

His phone buzzes on his nightstand. He grabs it, frowning, twitching from oversensitivity.

Dad: When are you gonna quit with this bs? There's nothing other men can give you that we can't.

Dennis huffs to himself, prepares to draft some spitfire response he doesn't actually have the balls to send, when he gets another message.

Dad: Cmere, kiddo. I know you're hurting. Let us fix it.

Robby: Dad promises not to spank you too much.

Dennis buries his head in his pillow. He takes a few breaths, and he storms out of his room, into theirs, flustered and pissed.

"I hate you," he seethes, blushing down his neck, yanking his shirt off in their doorway. "I hate both of you."

"Sure, baby," Jack pulls Dennis onto the bed.

"We love you too," Robby grins, already hard in his boxers.

Meltdowns happen a lot, mainly because Dennis is, as his daddy puts it, "A fussy little thing." He likes his routines and his rules and his schedule. He clings to the normalcy that he can get and protect in this new role, this new life. The normalcy of daddy works Monday through Thursday, and every other Sunday. Dad works three on, three off, and occasionally an extra fourth. When daddy has to go in on a day he's not supposed to, that's a meltdown; tears and fast sobs and fists curled up in daddy's shirt because he's supposed to be home today, not at work, not away from Dennis.

Meltdowns happen when he's not ready for bed yet because dad hasn't left for work so he can't go lay down. When the one plate he likes to use is still dirty, when dad has to put him to bed alone because daddy isn't home yet, when his blanket is still in the wash for naptime, when it's raining outside so he can't go play, when the toys he wants have been put away because of a previous behavior issue; those are meltdowns.

Those are usually easy fixes. A few well placed kisses and cuddles stop the tears from flowing. Dad can grab one of daddy's shirts to substitute his blanket. Daddy can pull him into his lap and feed him by hand. They can distract and persuade and pull Dennis away from those teary, hiccuping sobs, those nights where he might end up crying himself to sleep.

(Sometimes the meltdowns are when he wants them to touch him like an adult. When he needs someone to touch him or fuck him or something, anything. But those aren’t touches he can initiate or even ask for. Little boys don’t need to think about things like that)

Tantrums...it doesn't help that dad tells him in that calm, stern voice, "You want to keep having a tantrum or do you want to be our good boy again?"

Like it's a choice. As if Dennis has a choice.

Which, technically, he does. The choice is to be good or to be bad.

But it's hard. "It's so hard, sweetheart, I know," daddy coos while Dennis is trying to gather his words about why he did whatever he did. Threw his food. Kicked at his dad for trying to cuddle him. Launched one of those books at story time across the fucking room and screamed. Curled up in a corner and started crying whenever they try to touch him.

Because he doesn’t know how to sort out his feelings and his words and his actions. He doesn’t feel anything but sick to his stomach when he realizes that for as upset as he is, for as angry as he is, for as much hate he has for daddy and dad, they’re the only two that can bring him comfort in this moment. In any moment, ever.

Daddy and dad can bring him comfort and pleasure. They can also rip it all away. And that’s what scares Dennis the most. And they know it because daddy will kiss the top of his head when Dennis finally crawls back to them, lashes wet with tears, cheeks rosy red, bottom lip just trembling. Dad makes sure he has Dennis’s blue baby blanket ready to wrap around him.

“Silly boy,” they always tell him. “We did so much to get you here. Why would we ever send you back?”

The vibe is Dennis gets dropped off growling and not letting jack touch him so jack drugs him, ft. intox, somno, breathplay, heavy noncon, pet play, dad kink, fauxcest. then its jack training Dennis up- Dennis who settles with something in his cunt, but between that is resistant. Ft. Jack getting robby involved. ft. they end up wanting to keep him, the only hybrid Jack's ever trained that he wants to keep. Ft. mean Dom jack and Pervy soft Dom robby. ft. Dennis becoming their little pet

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