Page Girl Lit Productions

he's just... nice. when he found out that you and dennis were dating, he gave you both gift cards; one for marshall's ("to get what you need!") and one for applebee's ("for that precious day off!") he'd given them to you two after your shift, rubbing his hands like he does when he takes hand sanitizer, a self-soothing habit. you wonder if he realizes he does it.

"we take care of each other here," he'd said firmly, when you and dennis tried to protest. "you kids deserve it." and he'd clasped your shoulder and dennis', his large palm warm through your scrubs. there and gone. he smiled briefly, eyes scrunching, and then he returned inside.

and you and dennis have never discussed it, but you saw his flushed cheeks, the gratitude that extended beyond a reasonable amount from a starving med student. you know dennis likes your boss. you like him too.

robby always manages to catch your and dennis' brief moments of affection. a quick kiss, a squeezed wrist, a hand on your hip. robby politely looks away, but he smiles every time, like your young love pleases him, like he's a facilitator of it somehow. robby tells dennis to take care of you from time to time, and dennis always swears that he does, flushed from the praise. dennis is far more confident outside of work, happy to please when you’re both not exhausted. he's quiet, private, but focused. nothing impedes your pleasure; dennis fucks you like he's trying to save you.

robby sees you two doing far more than an innocent peck on the cheek or whatever he's witnessed at the hospital. you must've thought everyone was occupied with the party, and you're right. you're right except trinity asked robby to get napkins from the closet and he sees dennis on you, his hand most definitely in your pants, curling his fingers. and you're making little ah-ah's and squirming as dennis kisses your neck. you're pressed against the closet door.

you don't mean to get caught. but it happens and robby's there as always, purely by accident. this time, he sees more than he should. trinity and dennis decided to host a party to celebrate your and dennis' official graduation to residents. robby should've declined, he knows that. he can't see dennis' bed, your clothes thrown haphazardly across the sheets or dresser. robby can't see dennis' razor or your face wash. it's already unbelievably perverted of him to think the few things that he's thought about you two. knowing how you live will only make it worse.

he thinks you make a great couple. you're both good doctors, kind, beautiful, and full of youth. he can see you two making it through your residency and moving to pittsburgh permanently.

you see robby first, and robby prepares to ease your guilt or embarrassment or whatever else because, after all, he's a doctor, he's about twice your age, and there's not much he hasn't seen. certainly, two people heavily making out doesn't faze him. he was young once. he remembers being twenty-five and fumbling with a girl's jeans.

that's what dennis is doing, and robby finds it endearing that he's clumsy with you despite the fact that you've been dating for three months. robby, he'd deftly unbutton your jeans and play with your clit first, warm you up and get you so wet you can't think. then he'd stretch you with two fingers or three. but he doesn’t expect dennis to be so rehearsed with his movements. that comes with age.

when you meet robby's gaze, he tenses, prepared to see your worry. but the look you give him makes his stomach clench with heat. dennis' back is to robby, so he has no idea that robby's watching you get fingered and you're watching back, lips parted, eyes lidded. you whimper and robby flinches and you grin. you like it. holy fuck.

then you speak. "robby." not a warning. not a sign to stop.

dennis moans, which—what? robby's head is spinning. do you say his name often? does dennis like it?

you get dennis' attention properly, and robby's frozen as you both look at him. dennis is a little more modest than you, slipping his hand out of your pants, his cheeks flushing.

"dr. robby!" he says. "shit, we were—i—"

robby holds up his hands. napkins are the furthest thing from his brain. "no explanation needed, kid. uh, s-sorry."