#stalkerverse

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.