Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was inevitable that Trinity would find out that he'd gone on a date with the patient that famously looked like a beardless young Dr. Robby. He was proud of how he kept that a secret for over a week. But he got to the point that he kind of wanted to tell someone — besides Mohan, that is, who had been very chill about it before — and he figured it would shock her. She was apparently more shocked to learn that the man was a doctor like them. Exactly like them, in fact. He was listed among an absurd number of physicians in his phone, the only one not a colleague at PTMC: Dr. John Carter.

The further he got from that awesome date, the more he began to worry that he misunderstood it. It had been so good. But how could he really know that? It didn't make sense. They were around each other for less than 24 hours. Shouldn't it be the equivalent of a hookup on vacation? Just because Dennis was not usually a one night stand kind of guy, that didn't mean it didn't happen.

Complicating matters, however, was that they were still in touch. He would say they were friends now, maybe even good friends. Definitely everyday friends, checking in and always up on each other's life. He could tell you what John loved about Chicago, what he hated about his co-workers, and why he became a doctor. He was aware that the man ate too much pasta because it was one of the few kinds of food he could cook, that he preferred energy drinks to coffee unless he was freezing, and that he would die or kill for a good peanut butter cookie. But he also knew where he grew up, why he both did and didn't seem like a guy who came from money, and where he wanted his career to go.

Besides all that, they still had a nice spark between them. There was flirtation laced in pretty much every interaction. And sex, too, sometimes, revving each other up and then coaxing each other along. When he wasn't getting off with him, he was thinking about him while he did it. 

But all that was easy, wasn't it? Could he claim it was real? He decided he didn't need to. It was good. John was one of his favorite people, maybe ever. It kind of surprised him that he seemed to be someone John wanted to have in his orbit, too, even a couple of months later. But this thing held. So he held onto it. 

*

Except Finland. It's a whole different bag of cultural norms.

As was becoming a common occurrence, he woke up that morning to find that he'd dropped off in the middle of a text conversation with John, one he was pretty sure started before dinner and originally didn't have anything to do with northern Europe.

Once his brain was awake enough to reorient to the conversation, he answered: maybe because it was literally part of russia until like 100 years ago

He didn't get an immediate reply. He probably wouldn't. John had a tendency to text him in bursts during the day. (He was a little too easily distractable if he kept his phone on him while he was on shift.) Instead, Dennis was his companion on breaks while he got a bite to eat or just stood outside in the ambulance bay for some air. Now, Dennis often did the same. With a little foresight from one or the other of them and a lot of luck, they occasionally got those times to line up.

After he got dressed and brushed his teeth, he had just enough time to sit down with a bowl of cereal and what was left of the coffee Trinity had made probably an hour before. He had the phone in his hand, but he put it down to eat and make small talk with Trinity. 

The screen lit up with a text a couple of minutes later, some probably unrelated GIF that looked like it was maybe from whichever Real Housewives the man was currently bingeing. He didn't even unlock the phone, just smiled and turned it over. Trinity grinned to herself.

"What?" he said.

"You're still talking to Robby's doppelganger?"

"John. You literally just recognized his name on the screen, apparently."

She rolled her eyes, saying, "You're still talking to John?"

He shrugged. "We text a lot. Usually about work, but sometimes we send each other articles and other stuff. We like the same shitty music. Stupid memes."

"Define a lot?"

"Every day?"

"Okay."

"What?"

"You sure you're not dating him, Huckleberry?"

"No?"

"Do you talk about sex?" She raised her eyebrows comically, adding, "Do you reminisce about the sex you had with each other?"

"Who said we had sex?"

"Do you mean to tell me you stayed overnight in his hotel room just to cuddle?"

He rolled his eyes.

Then she asked, "Are you sending him dick pics?"

He swallowed his coffee too fast and burned the fuck out of his throat. 

"C'mon," he muttered.

"No, you come on. Are you?"

"No?" he said, waving his free hand a bit.

"What?"

"He's sending me…"

She frowned dramatically at him, asking, "Why is he the only one sending dick pics?"

He sighed and grimaced, then he murmured, "I send him sexy stuff or whatever sometimes, but when I'm feeling like…that, I just…call him?"

"You two are having phone sex!?"

Her slightly hysterical tone made it easy to snort derisively instead of melt into a puddle of mortification.

"Why are you clutching your pearls like the Dowager Countess of Grantham?" he said.

"No, it's just… Okay, I can deal with this knowledge. This is very normal. So, just the phone or…?"

“Or what?”

“Video.”

"What?"

Cue the melting.

She snorted and said, "Now who's Violet Crawley? Who would only pretend to be scandalized, by the way."

"Feels risky," he muttered.

"More reward, though, right? Especially for him — if you're just sending him slutty little selfies in your underwear or whatever."

"Not slutty."

"Have you ever seen an underwear shoot that wasn't kind of slutty?"

"I'm not…" His face went outright scarlet, finally. "I'm not, like, hard in those pictures."

She grimaced at that, having apparently hit her limit of penis talk. But she countered: 

"Neither are they in an underwear shoot. But why the fuck not?"

"I don't know. I'm not a hot guy. And it feels weird."

She rolled her eyes, probably wanting to argue about whether he was hot or not. But she just said:

"Imagine how weird it is for your boyfriend."

"He's not—" He stood up now, taking his bowl to the sink so he didn't have to look at her as he continued to blush like crazy. He mumbled, "We haven't talked about…that."

"Well, then, either you're both emotionally illiterate or it's so obvious he thought you didn't need to have a conversation."

When he turned around again, she was sitting back in her chair, arms crossed.

He said, "It just kind of…developed, once he got back. I don't know."

"You like him."

"He lives in the Chicago."

"If he lived in Pittsburgh, would you be seeing him?"

He scrunched up his face and replied, "Probably."

"Well, I hate to tell you, but you already are dating him."

"Shit."

*

The day was blessedly busy — which is not to say he didn't spin the problem around in his mind at all, just that he had plenty of distraction. 

That night, after he finished his shift, he was too tired to contemplate anything, much less flirting with his…guy. He ended up engaging anyway, though, because John sent him the kind of fishing text he often did when he didn't have anything specific to say: Surviving over there? 

(Shit, he thought. Absolutely a boyfriend check-in.)

He responded simply: literally 5 mi’s, 2 of them stemi’s

Then he added: also got puked on

John just sent him a GIF of a hot guy in a yoga pose. He replied that that was a mixed message, which John just hit with the crying laughing emoji.

At the same time the next night, however, he was wide awake and feeling restless. They'd been poking each other all day, sending nonsense for no reason at all.

(For the dopamine hit of a new text message? Yes, he thought. And to see his name pop up on the screen.)

Near midnight, when Dennis was already in bed, trying and failing to make his body calm down for sleep, John texted him: 

Still awake?

This more polite version of you up? was a sign he was about to receive some sexy stuff. Tonight, Dennis decided he wanted to get ahead of him on that, as a surprise, so he quickly took a selfie in bed shirtless, showing just his chest and head and the headboard behind him. John immediately hearted the image, but then, weirdly, there was nothing for a few minutes. 

Dennis was getting sleepy again when the screen lit up with an image in their text chain. The few guys he'd dated tended to send dick pics that look studied in their casualness. John's often seemed like they were trying much harder than they should. This one, though, was surprisingly natural — and surprisingly naked. 

It's not that John hadn't sent him photos of his erection before, but he was usually grasping himself through his underwear or pushing it down to reveal just part of his cock. This shot was framed around his bare torso and crotch, showing his hand on his flushed dick rising from dark pubic hair, plus the trail of fine hair leading down to it from his stomach. Dennis got hard so fast it would have been funny if it didn't make him feel just a little jittery.

He pushed the blankets off his lower half and looked down at the obscene line of his cock laying hard against his abdomen inside his boxer briefs. He held up the phone and made a test shot. It was…not terrible? He re-positioned himself and his arm a little and made a few more. In the end, it was easiest to get a shot that encompassed his chest and head, too. He pushed send on the most in-focus one before he could chicken out.

John responded pretty quickly: Fck yes

So Dennis settled a hand over the hard length in his underwear, thumb tucked under the waistband to pull them down a little and reveal the dark blonde hair at the root of his cock, and snapped another picture. Like before, it was from thighs to face. He looked a little pink, pretty much all over but especially his cheeks, but it maybe wasn't bad as sexy pictures go. He sent it quickly, too.

That earned him a heart eyes emoji. And then the phone rang, which was usually his MO.

"You're killing me," John said before Dennis could even speak.

He laughed a little nervously, that hand still on his cock, now rubbing a little. 

"Not the intention."

"Honestly wouldn't care if it was. You touching yourself?"

"Yeah."

There are was a pause, and it went on long enough Dennis was about to search for words, just to fill it. He did a lot of talking in these kind of calls, actually. But then John said, low and soft:

"What if I asked you to get naked and take another picture?"

He couldn't make his lungs take in a full breath, but with what air he had, he managed to say:

"What if I FaceTimed you instead?"

John immediately ended the call. For a split second, there was blind panic, then a video call popped up.

He answered with the camera pointing at his face. So was John's, surprisingly. But it was such a good face. Very kissable. Fuckable, too, if memory served.

"Baby," John said, "what you just sent me is so fucking hot, you have no idea."

Dennis's heart was racing in a way that didn't feel entirely normal, but, then again, they usually played this a little coy, even when they were having actual phone sex, like they were just guys getting off together. Now he was John's baby…

Dennis said, "Are you naked?"

"Just got out of the shower. Had to pull an extra half shift. Talk to me, gorgeous."

This was definitely making him harder, but there was also a swooping feeling in his stomach. Baby, he repeated to himself. He heard it in John's voice. He slipped his hand into his underwear and started gently stroking his cock, which somehow managed to get even harder. It was hard to suppress a moan.

Dennis said, "You're stealing all the, um— Shit. All the endearments. What am I left with — sweetheart?"

John laughed, eyes briefly closing before he looked directly at him again: "You can call me whatever you want if you send me more pictures of your big dick in your hand."

"Not as pretty as yours," Dennis replied before the words were entirely processed in his brain. 

He squeezed his dick, to keep himself from blowing his load too soon. 

"What would you do with it if I was there?"

"Fuck," Dennis said. "We need to actually… The cameras need to be…"

While he turned around and fumbled to prop his phone on the pillow, against the headboard, he heard John swear as he apparently dropped his. But soon, he was resettled, and John's video showed him sitting in a desk chair on top of a towel. Dennis could still see his face: lips wet, cheeks flushed, hair still actively dripping from the shower. But, yeah, there was the loveliest cock on earth slipping through his loosely closed fist.

John watched with interest as Dennis pushed his underwear down and lifted his dick out. 

"Shit," John hissed out. "Wish I could get my hands on you so bad."

Arousal and longing settled hot in his stomach.

"Me, too." He twisted his grip over the head and bit back a moan. "I miss you, you know."

John's eyes softened at that, and he said, "Yeah?"

"I think about this a lot."

"Me?"

"You and me. What it would be like to touch you again."

"Denny."

That was what John called him when they did this on the phone. But seeing the fondness and heat in his expression when he said it, it was absolutely undoing him.

"You're so beautiful," Dennis said. "Fuck, John. All the things I would do to you…"

"Tell me."

This was normal. This was them. So why did it feel like they were racing out of control?

Dennis said, "I'd make you come down my throat. Wouldn't mind if you choked me a little."

John made an unintelligible noise of need at that, eyes wide, hand stroking hard and fast, sometimes slowing down to keep from just going off.

Dennis continued: "I'd put you on your knees. Fill you up and just stay there, deep. Would you like that?"

John just nodded.

"You'd be so good for me, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," John murmured. "Aren't I always?"

"Very. God, look at your hand on your dick." It was a massive hand. He could remember how big it felt cradling his face or squeezing his ass. "Fuck, John," he said, and he visibly shivered.

"Baby," John whined. "I'm not gonna last like this." 

"Do it," he said. "Please."

He gripped himself tight as he watched John lay his head back, unfolding himself a bit for Dennis's gaze. He gave himself three or four more strokes before he was coming over his hand, drops falling on his stomach and hips and sliding down into his pubic hair. 

He looked up at Dennis again, saying, "C'mon, baby."

It took Dennis a little longer — he was too shy for this, for being so vulnerable with such an open gaze, such desperate eyes drinking him in — but he soon stroked himself to completion, too, spending in arcs that painted his stomach and chest. 

"Jesus," John murmured. 

Dennis lay back against his pillow, feeling kind of giddy and a little sex-stupid and sleepy. Eventually, he rescued his camera and pointed it back at his face. John tilted his up, too.

They mutually decided it would be civilized if they went and cleaned up a little. When he got back to the phone, John was sitting on his bed, still naked and looking flushed with arousal but less keyed up than before.

"Glad you called," John said softly.

"Me, too," Dennis said. Then he shook his head, smiling. "Wait, you called me both times."

"Then I'm glad you made me call."

John grinned at him and closed his eyes.

"So. Um," Dennis started, then he frowned. "It kind of seems like we're…in long distance thing?"

John nodded his head, giggling. "What a revelation."

Oh, he thought. 

"Seriously?" Dennis muttered. "I didn't… I mean…"

Fucking hell.

John smirked at him, then his eyes went wide with incredulous humor: "I've sent you the kiss emoji more than once."

"I'm… I'm pretty bad at this, I guess."

"I don't think so," he replied with a shrug. "Technically speaking, you're such a good boyfriend you can do it without even knowing about it." His mouth curved into a fond but teasing smile.

"Shit."

"It's okay. And it's also okay if you don't want…that."

Dennis would do anything to stop the wounded puppy look he was giving him. Luckily, his words were also the truth:

"I do. I haven't been, like, avoiding… I'm just dumb about a lot of things."

"Promise?"

"Promise," he said with a vigorous nod.

Dumb, and in complete disbelief, he thought. That a guy as amazing as you would settle for…

"That's okay, then," John said. "It's kind of cute."

"Fuck off," he muttered.

"No. Seriously. It's a novel thing for me to be the perceptive one. Let me have this win."

"Fine." He couldn't stop looking at him. He also couldn't stop talking. "I guess it's a good thing I have Trinity."

"Oh?"

"She suggested that maybe I was being a dummy. And also not very equitable about the, um, photography. Which is just me…getting in my own head about…”

“I know." He gave him a soft smile. "It’s why I never pushed. Especially since you didn’t seem shy in person or on the phone.”

He was beginning to feel like the dumbest person on earth. John got him. And John wanted this the way he did, the way they apparently both thought they did weeks ago when they met. 

Which means John had probably been feeling…

Dennis said, “I wish I’d—“

"Well,” John said at the same time, and he evidently didn’t hear him, because he continued: “I'm thankful for the nosy lesbian, then, even if she knows way too much about your sex life." He paused, then he added, "Maybe I should send her a fruit basket or something."

"Oh my God, she'd be mortified."

"I'm not hearing a don't do that."

"No, you're not."

John giggled. He was just staring openly at him now. His face was still soft and sleepy, but Dennis had forgotten how much his mind was always whirring away at something. He wanted to know everything that was going on in it, but he had a feeling the conversation would last for hours if he broke it open. Instead, he decided to talk about the one snag in this Dennis-and-John thing:

"So," Dennis said. "You're literally, like, 450 miles away."

"462, according to Google Maps. Toledo is right in the middle, by the way."

"Yeah?"

It made his chest ache a little to realize it: He already knew where...

"Like three and half hours for each of us," John was saying. "Well, I'd get screwed on the time zone going, so longer, but I'd get it back on the return."

"You would…?"

"...drive I-90 for a while to meet up with you? Yeah."

"And you wanna be in a long-distance relationship? I mean, I do. Just…"

"Let's be honest — even if we were in the same town, our hours are shit anyway. We just have to make our days off line up."

"Okay."

"Yeah?"

"I mean, apparently we've already been dating, and it's been going…okay."

"Just okay?" John said. "You keep me sane on a daily basis."

"Good," he replied with a grin. "And, I mean, it definitely feels like things are good."

"I like to think my phone sex game has improved."

"Was already pretty great, honestly. We can do video now, too, if you want."

"Oh?"

"Totally. But I hope regular calls aren't off the table. There's something sexy about just hearing everything."

"Right! Honestly, we'd probably last longer without the visuals. Because, man, you are so stupid hot."

"Stop it."

"You are. Send me a pic of that ass sometime. I have fond but very hazy memories. But, really, I wanna see all of you, naked or not."

"Well, I need more pictures of your chest and your face, then."

"I can do that."

"And, like, one in your white coat, so I can show people."

"Apparently, all your colleagues have seen me. Or they look at a middle-aged version of me every day."

"Hard to see that through the beard. What if I wanted to show my sister and my mom?"

John grinned — Yes, boyfriend, Dennis thought — but then he tilted his head an said:

"Not your dad?"

"My dad is happier with me being gay if it's theoretical," Dennis muttered.

"Ah. Sucks."

"It could suck way worse. Seriously. He's come a long way. He doesn't think I'm going to hell. He's just…really uncomfortable with…"

"Gotcha. Okay. White coat picture, check. You, too."

"I don't… I mean, I have one, but…"

"But nothing. I need a picture of Dr. Whitaker to show all the nurses up here, who have been giving me shit for weeks. Dr. Ross has been calling you my imaginary Canadian girlfriend."

"You talk about me?"

"I kinda talk about everything. But, yeah, definitely about you."

He felt something inside him thawing that he hadn't even known was frozen, honestly. Why hadn't he been doing the same? 

Because it didn't feel real, he had to admit to himself. But also: Because I wanted it to be just mine.

"Ross is the hot one?" Dennis asked.

"It's even worse than that. He's a hot pedes doctor. He's also genuinely a good guy, and kind of a rebel when he needs to be."

"Of course he is." 

Dennis would never admit that he searched the hospital's website for its staff page, so he had a visual for most of John's coworkers. Ross actually looked kinda hot in a perfunctory headshot. He couldn't imagine working with that kind of distraction. Benton was…hoo boy, too pretty to pull off intimidating, but he somehow managed. Which was probably its own kind of challenge.

Dennis said, "I took a coat picture when I graduated. It’s dorky, but I’ll send it if you want."

John nodded.

"Okay, boyfriend," Dennis said, "I gotta try to wind down for bed now." 

John beamed a little, but then he snorted. "Is that my cue to take my naked ass off your screen before we decide we need another round?"

"Read my mind."

"Okay, then. I'm probably this close to crashing anyway. Night, baby."

"Night, Johnny," he said cheekily. It was not a nickname he'd ever used before, but he knew it would be now — unless for some reason the guy hadn't seen Dirty Dancing.

After they hung up, John sent him a text: I'm more the Jennifer Grey type.

Dennis replied: i am so not lifting you over my head

*

Dennis was off a couple of days later, but Trinity was on shift. John knew that, and he acted accordingly.

In the middle of the afternoon, Dennis got a flurry of texts from the woman:

I hate you.

There's mangos in there but I still hate you.

The delivery was under my name, title and all.

Now I gotta explain tis shit to people.

Without talking about doppelrobby and how I understand gay hookups better than you.

Did I meniton I hate you?

Once her texts stopped, he replied: what did it say though?

A few minutes later, she sent him a pic of the card, which had a handwritten message: 

Dearest Dr. Roommate, 

This is just to express my appreciation for the invaluable technical advice and moral support you continue to provide our mutual friend.

Sincerely yours,

Dr. Chicago

He snorted and didn't even respond. He just sent the kiss emoji to his ridiculous boyfriend, chased by the laughing crying face.