the pitt hyperfixation

“i don’t know robby.” dennis uncomfortably shuffled while putting a glove on. “maybe-maybe you should get your PCP to do this.”

robby pretended to sympathetically furrow his brows. “i mean, you don’t have to do it. i just can’t get an appointment on a day off for at least a couple months.” he looked down at his feet, appearing nervous. “i’m already a couple years past the recommended age to get the exam, and i can’t shake that there’s something wrong.”

and dennis did what he always did. he empathized. it was scary getting older, and the exam was invasive in a way most older men were uncomfortable with. “i-um-i don’t want you having care delayed if you think something might be wrong.”

robby had to suppress a smirk. his sigh of relief at the successful manipulation could be passed off as gratitude. “thanks, kid.”

next thing dennis knew, his boss was turning around, sliding his own pants down, and leaning over.

dennis tried to remember what he learned on his rotations. “you’ll feel some pressure, let me know if it hurts.”

robby tried to relax in spite of his anticipation. he told himself that this was just a taste. just one finger. it wasn’t even supposed to feel good, a prostate exam. this was just to quell an urge inside of him. it was the least invasive alternative for robby’s overwhelming need to have dennis. one finger, maybe a minute of contact, it was all robby really wanted, he was sure.

robby felt the overly slick finger slip in. dennis maneuvered around until he located the gland. robby grunted, and whispered, “shit.”

dennis took that as what it usually would be. “it’s normal to feel some discomfort. i just need to feel a little more for irregularities.” he sounded sort of urgent, like he was doing robby a favor by rushing. that thought made robby clench.

these exams were not pleasurable for the vast majority of people, but robby bet that most people weren’t borderline-obsessed with their physician and well-versed in anal play. dennis’s finger methodically slid over his sensitive nerves. robby’s jaw dropped.

then, the finger started sliding out. and robby made a sort of keening whine that stilled the room. dennis’s retreat faltered, leaving him with about a knuckle and a half still in before he remembered where he was and continued.

robby had to collect himself. he schooled his voice and asked, “feel good?”

a snapping noise followed as dennis took off his gloves. “yep, you felt good.” dennis corrected himself. “um-i felt no irregularities.” dennis watched robby slowly slide up his underwear and then his pants like a reverse strip tease. “i’m gonna draw your blood still, just for the prostate specific antigen test. i’ll be right back.”

dennis was grateful robby didn’t turn around, scared his fascination and arousal was evident. he scurried out the room, not realizing that robby was in a similar state.

the exam didn’t do what robby was hoping. he wanted more.

no one assumed robby was a sub.

he was fearless in his dissents. he did not cower in the face of aggression. he did not melt under the effusive praise from relieved family members, nor the stern chastisements from admin. no one at work knew he was a sub. shit, heather and janey had always just assumed he was neutral. it wasn’t a lie. he did not mislead anyone, but he allowed the assumptions. the stereotypes were in his favor, for once.

no one assumed dennis was a dom.

he had big, searching eyes. he shrunk when confronted. he blushed and stammered when complimented. he simply did not project the casual dominance expected of his designation.

it didn’t come up at work much. designations were personal. some people were more casual about the information than others, but it was uncouth the ask. there was the occasional emergency that made them relevant, but outside of the rare improper use of a dominant’s voice or an impromptu drop, it was generally not germane to the work day.

robby was dropping. fuck, he was dropping hard.

it felt pathetic to admit that it all started with gloria admonishing him for his department’s press-ganey scores, but that really was the inciting incident. robby felt his chest hitch, his shoulders drew up to his ears, and his fingers started to fidget with that loose thread in his jacket pocket. words like failure and fuck-up swirled in his head. he could get through the day, though. he’d gotten through worse.

and then someone asked about adamson. and then he lost a twenty year old kid who just wanted to backflip into a pool to impress a girl. and then he got blood all over his scrubs and his neck.

and then dennis found robby on the floor again, this time in a curtained off bay, on his knees, whimpering and trying to wash the arterial spray off with some half-dry wet wipes.

dennis didn’t seem like a dom when he was just walking around the pitt, but the way his voice got all even and deep, the way he cooed out oh, honey. what’s wrong? as he slowly approached robby, was nothing if not obviously revealing.

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