sheldoncooperiscool

"Kids these days don't even know what pet play is." Jack snorts. "Brother, they think they can wear a cute little tail and ears and cry and get called a good boy and jobs done. It's so- it's basically daddy kink." Jack sighs, mournful. "Everything's porn industry sanitised daddy kink. " 

Dr. Jack Abbot is drunk. 

Dennis leans on the wall, head pressed up against cool red brick just out of sight and wills himself to walk away. Robby is cajoling Jack away from the allure of even more vodka shots with Ellis, playing the sensible adult everyone knows he isn't. They've said their goodbyes and graced the pitlings with their presence long enough and so their reward is a graceful exit. But now Dennis is creeping on his two attendings like an absolute freak while they wait for their uber. 

His feet twitch. 

He wills himself to be fucking normal, but unfortunately for Dennis that particular brand of self flagellating willpower is something he's never been able to harness. It slips through his greedy little perverted fingers every time he reaches for it. So he stays and he listens to his attending- the current focus of his fucked up desires- talk about pet play and feels his cunt dampen at the dizzying possibility of becoming Jack's live in pet. 

"Some of the twinks won't even bark Robby. What the fuck is pet play is no ones barking." 

Dennis hasn't barked. Not once. No one has asked him to bark. He would bark for Jack. 

"I thought you were the one doing the barking?" Robby asks, sounding a little clueless if supportive. 

Jack snorts. "Oh yeah, and I did that shit well, none of this half baked bullshit. Don't get me wrong Mike, I do love to bring the Mutt back out now and again but-" He sighs. "Puppies are cute you know." 

"I really don't brother, but I'll happily leave that to you." He hears Robby pat Jacks shoulder and tries to resist the urge to drop to his knees, dampen his jeans on the glistening concrete, crawl up to them both and whimper daddy just on the off chance it darkens Jacks eyes into a storm. Into action. 

See, Dennis has been borderline unhinged about Dr Jack Abbot since his swing shift last week. Since he learnt, once again a product of him being at the right place at the right time much like now, that the doctor was trans like him. 

Although not like him. That's clear enough. Line them up, side by side, no one one is struggling on that spot the difference exercise. 

But Dennis couldn't just be normal could he? No he'd had to look at Jack all shift, his magnet eyes following the space in his scrubs where he keeps thinking he sees a bit of bulge and then keeps seeing a phantom space. Schrodingers packing. Schrodingers phalloplasty?

When he puts a little too much iodine swab on the soft -to be stitched- flesh in front of him- whoops, sorry Mrs. Nalander, let me get that up for you- he thinks of the slick that might run between Jack's legs. Imagines it trailing down his grey haired inner thigh like the iodine stains traverse Mrs. Nalander's skin. Imagines dipping his tongue and licking up up up until he's buried, whining and desperate in Jacks cunt, lapping at his dick. Imagines Jack stood there, arms crossed and biceps bulging. Biceps that could cut off his air- no that's another fantasy. Imagines him sighing with disappointment, finding Dennis lacking. Needing to teach him how to be a man like him, how to suck cock like a man, how to choke on it like a man, how to breath in Jack's musk until he's gasping for air… like a man. Until the sweat settles in the recesses of his lungs, under his tastebuds, permeates his skin. There you go Mrs Nalander, all done, told you we'd have you out of here in a split. 

All to say, Dennis thinks it's unreasonable to expect that given the circumstances of his deep routed and seemingly inescapable perversions, he could behave normally when learning Jack is into pet play. Specifically, if he's being serious about it- which he is- that Jack finds his pets … lacking.

Dennis wouldn't be lacking. 

Dennis will make sure he isn't lacking. 

~ 

Dr. Jack abbot is a man who likes control. That was apparent from their first shift together, even during a mass casualty event. 

This appeals, obviously, to Dennis who craves nothing more than to be controlled.

He imagines, even as Mutt, Jack is really still in control. Well trained and useful. A good fucking dog. Dennis isn't a good dog, he's a messy little bitch. A bitch that needs a good dogs teeth around his neck or a harsh hand on his leash and a good set of rules. 

This is what Dennis thinks about, as he fucks his fingers into his ass and teethes at his bed sheets. His teeth ache into his skull. His fingers don't go deep enough. Would Jack's? 

He has a revolving door of fantasies, curtsey of Reddit and Tumblr and a liberal access to the internet on hand me down iphones. Tonight, he imagines himself a beloved house pet, a good little dog, a good puppy, a silly little pup, in his prime for being bred. And Jack, no- Mutt, old loyal Mutt, who mounts him when his owner- a suspiciously Robby shaped owner, though he can't let the shape form because Robby has been, though at first appealing, found lacking in Dennis' perverse fantasies of late. But the fantasy owner who is Robby but not Robby clicks, and good old mutt mounts him, runs his cock over Dennis' cunt. Sometimes the cock is hard and silicone, curling up inside of him as straps rub at his ass, other times it's flesh and blood. Both make him whine into his pillow. He'd squirm, he thinks. He's wiggle and fight it and demand more and Mutt wouldn't like that. Mutt has been trained well. Knows how good dogs should behave. Needs to show Dennis how to behave. As his thick cock drags against Dennis' walls, Mutt would growl low in his ear, a warning nip maybe, then pin him with one paw to his back and teeth in the scruff of his neck. His cunt but a soft warm little treat to Mutt, and Mutt wants his treat obedient. 

Dennis cums all over his sheets, panting and still aching. Always aching in a way that never quiets. 

He can play a good dog though.

He can play at whatever Jack wants him to be. 

~

Dr Jack Abbot, despite everything that Dennis has learnt and continues to learn, is not taking the bait. 

The fact he is, probably, a decent man is… a set back, but nevertheless Dennis likes a challenge. Disowned or not, he is a Whitaker, and Whitaker's don't quit. So he enacts a series of small incremental steps. Tests, if you will. 

He makes sure Jack overhears that he's trans. This earns his a raised eyebrow and an appraising sweeping up and down. Do you go for that, Abbot? He thinks, flushing at the attention. Do you like it? Are you imagining the little cunt between my legs? Are you re-evaluating me in your mind, the way I've re-evaluated you? Then, when he crosses his arms and his scrub top bulges, the thoughts shift to spit in my fucking mouth Jack spit in my mouth spit in my mouth break my fucking jaw so that you can spit in my- 

Then, he does a couple of well timed but almost imperceptible noises. He whines a little, huffs in a way that's almost a yip, chirps at Robby excitedly. He's a tired puppy. He's an excited puppy. He's any kind of fucking puppy he can be, in little ways that can be easily played off, but he hopes are making a little bit of a dint in Jack's subconscious. Rewiring the image of him as a good doctor to a good boy. A sweet boy. A boy who can cry endless crocodile tears as Jack chokes him into submission. 

It's imperative, Dennis thinks, that Jack believes this was his own choice. 

~

"You up for the game tonight?" 

Robby is standing by Jack's locker as the man himself is half buried inside trying to find the tupperware of brownies he'd hidden in the back from McKay so he didn’t hurt her feelings. Jack doesn't like brownies. He doesn't like anything too chocolate-dense. Mousse is okay. Cake less so. Brownies the worst. Dennis knows this, because Dennis is a fucked up little pervert who wants to live inside Jack's skin and hear all his thoughts and feelings and if not that then at least a seat between Jack's legs and a hand in his hair while he laps at Jack's slick. 

"Sorry brother, T shit at the Shop tonight. Remember Val? Valentina?" 

"Liz's Val?" 

"Yeah, she's practically dragging me out. Haven't been to one of these things in ages." 

"Isn't the shop for.. I mean.. I just thought-" 

Jack laughs, peering out from around his locker to look over at Robby with a fond shake of his head. "Pretty much brother, pretty much." 

Dennis slips back into the ER and starts to formulate a plan. See. Dennis isn't a stalker. He has his limits, he's not about to follow Jack home on the off chance he slips into a bar and then Dennis can- oh, what a coincidence- be at the same bar and then -oh hi, Doctor Abbot, what a small world :) of course you can buy me a drink :) and lead me into the bathroom :) and stuff my little cunt full with your fist :) :) :). He's not totally insane. But, now he's overheard, what would be the issue- really- in going along tonight?

Sure, the club is a little on the expensive side for him, and he's only just started earning that Doctor Money. But he is trans too, and if he wants to go to a trans kink and BDSM friendly ethical non-monogamy night then why shouldn't he?

~

So that's how Dennis finds himself dressed in his sluttiest little outfit he can find, the black tape around his chest functioning as a fashion piece under the top that is more holes than mesh (who are you wearing tonight Dennis? Oh this? This thing? This is a Santos exclusive, all the way from Her Closet), black Adidas shorts pulled low enough that he can curl the furry end of the tail plug out over them at the back (Goodwill), white Nike socks pulled up half his calves (his own first paycheck splurge), and new- newbalance trainers (Trinity's: borrowed? Stolen). How could he forget, too, the little baby blue collar with a bell and bow he got last minute from the pet store at the end of Trinity's block. After all, he's going for puppy. He's going for sports chic. He's going for, I like to party because I'm a slutty little baby trans and I think this is what looks good, but I also go to the gym and work out and I'm not quite a twink and I know about the history of sports fetish culture so how about you stuff your fucking jockstrap in my mouth until I can taste it in my throat. 

He purposefully wants to look a little mismatched. A little like he needs to be taught, led. And who better to teach him than-

Dr. Jack Abbot is not a man accustomed to mismatching. Maybe that's why he moves so effortlessly in his skin, whilst Dennis still squirms about it like a rabid feral beast trying to birth itself from it's own skin. Every day, he feels closer to eclosion. Yet everyday, the he scrapes against the chrysalis walls until his arms bleed from silk cuts and his gums ache from the scrape of his teeth against the fibre. 

But mismatched Jack is not, in his fitted black jeans and leather harness. 

Dennis' mouth waters from his perch, hidden mostly from view. 

It's a balancing act, getting the timing right. He jerks a guy off and lets him spit into his mouth in payment for going along with Dennis' idea- tells him it's a scene him and his partner are doing, and no- sorry- they're not looking for a third, but he can play alone as long as he doesn't get fucked in any hole. Hence the hands. 

Surprisingly, it works out sensationally well. Best laid plans- not today- today his plans are lain in stone and the coursing is impeccable. 

When Jack sees him for the first time, he's on his knees in the corridor, positioned perfectly so that when Jack went to the bathroom he'd find Dennis here, mouth open, cheeks flushed staring up at… James? Jonathon? Not Jack- and letting out a soft little bark. 

Jam-athon, as per his carefully arrange script, flinches and takes a step back, slipping his fingers from Dennis' baby blue collar. The bell jingles. 

"Shit man, sorry. I'm not like, into all that." 

Dennis forces his voice into a confused wobble. "What?" 

"The barking and shit? Not really my thing mate, sorry. Lots a people here tho that'll be into that I'm sure." He gives Dennis a pat on the head, which he personally thinks is a little theatrical. "I just like the ears and shit. You good?" 

Dennis swallows and nods. Gets another pat to his head and a wink from Jacob? and then he's left- by his design- alone and teary, knees scraping on the hard, but surprisingly not sticky- good on them for using that cover fee well- floor. He sniffles, and pretends not to have seen Jack. 

Pretends, in fact, not to notice until Jack's boots- holy shit his combat boots are under his gaze. 

"Whitaker." 

Slowly, he drags his gaze upwards, forcing himself to meet his attendings eyes. No matter the fact that he's made this happen and orchestrated the whole thing, this is still embarrassing in many ways. Heat licks up his spine, cunt dampening. Jack's got his arms crossed. 

"You okay?" He raises his eyebrow, but makes no move to comfort Dennis. Hmm. "What are you doing here?" 

Dennis whines-

"Nope. Words Whitaker." 

Fine. 

"Uh- Dr Abbot. I didn't- I'm- I'm trans? I don't know if you- what are you doing here?" 

"Cut the shit. You know I am too. Just like you know I know you are. What are you doing here?"

Dennis scowls. He shoves himself to his feet, using the back wall as guidance and raises up a little so he's not so intimidated by Jack, if the conversations going to go this way. 

"I don't think that's tone and question are really appropriate Doctor Abbot." Dennis hits back, bruised. He put so much effort in and for what?

Jack raises his eyebrows. "Given my tits are out and you're plugged up and crying on your knees, I'd say you answering my questions are the least of our worries kid." 

Fine, again. If Jack wants the truth, he'll give him a version of it. 

"I thought I might finally be able to get what I want somewhere like here, but I-" He pouts a little. It's always been good with the older demographic. "It's just the same, clearly." He rolls his lips together awkwardly, not entirely having to fake it. This hasn't gone… quite how he'd hoped. Best laid plans and all that after all. "Sorry, you don't want to hear about how no one in this while city wants to leash me and make me bark for co-" He stutters. His brain to mouth filter is normally much better at this. He's- he's normally better at hiding this side of him. He flushes, and none of it is by design. 

"Well I'm here because I was dragged out." Jack admits. "But I won't lie and say I wasn't hoping to find a nice little pup to leash up and bark for my cock." 

Dennis' gaze snaps up to his attendings eyes, but the man is smirking at him, his handsome weather beaten face finally pulling into a smile, the corners of his mouth lifting. Oh. Oh he's joking. Does he think Dennis is joking too? Before he can ask, Jack puts a hand on his shoulder. Something he never does at work, no matter how many times Dennis lets Robby do it to him in front of Jack hoping to model good behaviour. 

"That was shitty of him Dennis, he could have handled that better, I'm sor-" 

"Please do it." 

Jack's hand tightens. "What?" 

"I'll bark for you." 

Jack huffs out a laugh, hand tightening even further before dropping off him completely. 

"Is it really that bad of a thought you have to laugh?" Dennis grumbles. 

"No, jeez kid I'm not laughing at you- I'm laughing at the- the situation. All of this." 

"Okay." Dennis bites at his bottom lip. "You're in the scene right? Do you know anyone that might be up for it?" 

Jack narrows his eyes. "Up for what?" 

"You know. Training me properly. Woof woof and all that." He pitches the bark like a joke, but it still hits Jack all the same. He can see it in the way his pupils widen and his breath catches a little. Nearly on the hook. Maybe. Dennis has been wrong before. He hates being wrong. 

"Need a firm hand kid?" 

Dennis nods, a soft little whine breaching his throat. 

"Fuck me. Okay. If I go to that room there, will you heel? Theres no right or wrong answer here Dennis, no pressure. But if you follow me in there I'll make sure you get what you want but I won't go easy on you. I have my kinks too kid. If you don't, no sweat at all, we can never talk about this again, or go get a drink at the bar and I'll play old wise transdaddy and you can ask me anything you want for one night only." 

"I will, I'll heel." Dennis rushes to say, the words falling thick and heavy over his tongue in his haste. "I'll be good." 

"Hmm. Will you now? Safe word? Hard limits?" 

Dennis proposes the traffic light system, and Jack nods. He gives no hard limits. This is on purpose. Jack, of course, picks up on it. 

"Don't act all tough guy on me kid." Jack grumbles, pressing close to Dennis and tilting his head up by his chin. "We go in there, and I'm gonna play however the fuck I want with my new little puppy unless you tell me not to now. Everyone has their limits-" Dennis doesn't think he does. Really. He shakes his head, motion limited in Jack's grip. This is everything he's ever started and they haven't even started yet. "-no? If I wanna fuck your throat? Smack that pretty face? Fuck your cunt?" He lets the word land for a second, but Dennis just opens his mouth a little and pants. "Tie you up? Pull out your plug and fuck your ass? Still nothing hmm? Maybe you are a tough guy Dennis hmm, big strong man wants to be a little puppy for a while?" He nods furiously. "If were doing it like this, remember your fucking safe words, and use them. Okay? and this it stays here. In this club and this night. And it never, ever, gets out- you hear me pup?" 

Dennis whines and nods frantically, wiggling in Jack's hold until Jack tightens his grip and then shoves Dennis back. "Come on then, heel puppy." 

He heads straight to one of the private rooms, getting them exclusive access and once the door shuts behind them with a heavy thud they're alone. Dennis' feels the excessive thud of his heartbeat all the way down to his toes. 

"On your knees pup." Jack snaps, and Dennis falls to the ground so hard that it hurts, radiating up into his hips but he doesn't care. He thinks this might be the greatest moment of his life. 

"Now, where shall we start with you hmm puppy?" 

~