Chapter Text
A lot had changed since the ‘baptism by fire’ shift, and everybody who had never experienced a Mass Casualty Incident before had changed in their own way.
Whitaker had become calmer, less hesitant in his interactions with others, and generally stopped behaving a little more human and a little less like a wet cat. Javadi stopped passing out and became an absolute expert at improvising (with the help of others, of course, she didn't have all the ropes yet), Santos became nicer to some of the patients, though she still bitched at literally every single one of her coworkers, and Mel became great at working under pressure.
The rest of the doctors remained the same—jaded, but doing their best every single shift. All except one.
Frank Langdon.
Robby didn't know what he was going to do when he walked away from Frank in the ambulance bay, couldn't even think past the hurt of what the younger man had thrown in his face. Frank didn't show up to work the next day, but a request for a month-long sabbatical due to his ‘back injury' did come across Robby’s desk another day later, so two days after Robby found him out.
The man's fingers twitched to pick up his phone, dial Frank, and ask him what the fuck he was planning, but another part of him couldn't be bothered. At least, that's what he told himself as he signed the paperwork, running it by Gloria and making sure everything was in place.
Frank kept calling him, but Robby didn't want to pick up—too anxious about what he might hear. He didn't want to hear whether Frank had said anything to his wife, what she had to say about his addiction—fuck, even thinking it made bile rise up Robby’s throat—which rehab he was getting checked into, whether he was even going to check into rehab. He didn't understand why Frank would've taken a month off if not to get into rehab, maybe it was just to throw Robby off his scent.
Either way, there wasn't much Robby was going to do. Thinking about his best resident still hurt, especially when he thought of the big-eyed, watery, pleading look he had gotten when he was throwing Frank out of the ED. It felt like kicking out a stray dog after it had bitten you just once, teeth scraping against the bone, and then whining and crying sadly in regret afterwards.
It got easier to live with it, however, as he threw himself into his work, only thinking about the bite wound when someone asked where the stray went or when he saw the pup’s nest, empty and without a trace of him.
Not even a lingering scent, after a few days.
The wound had scarred over when Frank's leave had ended, and he returned to work. Robby didn't remember the day, so he had the displeasure of hearing the younger man's voice echo off the white walls of the Emergency Department. Mel was the first to respond to him, and even greet him with a happy smile and an awkward half-hug.
He looked…rough. At least, that's how it seemed to Robby. He had lost some weight, for sure, and his hair looked drier than before, and it didn't fall across his forehead the way it did before, in carefully careless strands that clumped together but never looked greasy.
He was managing just fine to convince the others he was fine after his leave, telling them that his back injury had been killing him and that his wife couldn't handle his crumbling state, leaving enough hints for everyone to figure out that they were no longer together.
Despite trying to act like himself with everyone, Frank immediately quietened and turned away when he saw Santos, running away with his metaphorical tail tucked between his legs. No biting, no hissing, no marking of his territory.
The professional part of Robby was glad to see it, though he'd still have to have a long hard conversation with Frank over not contributing to a toxic workplace environment (and also what he did during his sabbatical). The part of him that once considered Frank a friend felt sad, however.
His pup’s teeth had been filed down.
At least he didn't get put down.
×××
The ED lights felt far too bright to Frank after not being under them for over a month. Still, he tried his best to fall into his instincts, triaging and treating every patient that came his way, feeling exhausted less than two hours in. His body wasn't used to such chaos anymore after the dull inaction of the rehab facility, and more than once he found himself moving slower than he would've a month ago.
His skin itched. There were too many voices around him. The needles looked far too tempting.
He kept his locker sparse, only his bag and the clothes he wore into the ED, so that even if he got thrown out (the thought sent an awful shiver down his spine) he wouldn't have too much stuff to lug along.
He needed to get rid of the itch. He needed to get under his skin and rip out the parasite that was making him itch, making him distracted, making him stare at the bottle of Librium in Louie’s hand with an almost lustful gaze.
He needed it to be gone.
×××
Robby strode through the room with an empty cup concealed in his palm, a marker in his pocket, and a frown set on his face. The moment he couldn't find Frank in the sea of residents and student doctors, however, his frown turned into a worried scowl, and he started asking everyone he saw, rather urgently, where Frank was.
He burst into the bathroom a moment later, after Mel told him that's where Frank had gone after doing a crike on the compromised airway of a guy who got crushed under a car.
All of the stalls were empty, except for one, and Robby rushed to the door of that stall, pounding on the door at the pace that his heart was pounding at.
“Langdon! I know you're in there! Come out, right now!” In the back of his mind, Robby was vaguely aware that if anyone else heard him shouting at Frank it could turn the rumour mill at lightning fast pace, but he couldn't find it in himself to care about that when the thought of Frank using again, first day on the job, was weighing on his mind. Especially while he was holding a cup meant for a drug test in his hand.
There was hurried shuffling from the inside of the stall, and it took a minute or two for the sound of the lock unlatching to echo in the empty bathroom. When Frank emerged, Robby got a closer look at him than he had all that, and he found his initial assessment to be absolutely true.
His hair was in worse shape, his face more palid despite already being pale, his scrubs not fitting him quite as they did before, and his eyes were red-rimmed and watery, yet his voice sounded steady and almost relieved when he spoke.
“Robby…hey.” Frank managed a shaky, hopeful smile at the older man, swallowing nervously when he couldn't decipher why he had been cornered in the bathroom.
“Mandatory drug test.” Robby said, his voice rough, instead of offering a greeting. He slowly backed away, schooling his expression carefully to keep himself from folding the moment Frank's face crumpled, his brows furrowing sadly and his lips turning downwards into a pout.
His lips looked pink.
Did he put something on them to make them look so enticing?
The door closed before Robby could hypothesise further, and the sound of liquid splashing against the plastic cup was almost enough to drown out Robby's thoughts.
The brunette was chewing on his lower lip when he came out of the stall, his eyes stuck to the ground in shame. There were splotches of red crawling up his neck, and his shoulders were scrunched up, almost touching his ears, a pup raising its haunches in embarrassment.
The cup was warm to the touch when Robby took it from Frank, his fingers brushing against his subordinate.
“Were you using in there?” Robby asked, because he needed to know what was going to come up in the test. His tongue felt thick in his mouth when he questioned Frank.
The younger looked up from the ground, surprise and hurt dancing across his face as he stopped chewing his lip once to say, “You're not gonna find any drugs in it.”
Anger surged through Robby at the answer, because he wasn't an idiot—if Frank had just swallowed a pill, or if he was about to, that wouldn't show in his urine test.
Slamming the cup full of piss down on the sink, Robby stalked towards Frank, slamming his fist against the wall behind his head, getting in his space while growling, “That is not what I asked and you know it.”
Frank didn't take his eyes off the floor, his eyes dancing from one unidentifiable speck to another. Robby felt his anger grow, and the fist he was using the keep Frank cornered moved, shifting to the back of a pale neck and wrapping around the back of it, scruffing him before squeezing once.
Frank gasped as soon as the fingers made contact with his skin—his cold, clammy skin, Robby noted, the kind normal people didn't have—and his face crumpled nervously as Robby squeezed once more, leaning down to growl the question directly in his ear.
“What.did.you.take?”
A whimper tumbled out of Frank's mouth instead of words, and it shocked a sense of ‘this is wrong’ into Robby, but it also lit something inside his belly to hear his pup whine like that when disciplined.
Stop calling him that!
“Nothing. I—I didn't take anything, boss, I swear.” Frank's voice was shaky, downright pathetic, as he answered.
“So you won't mind me patting you down to check for pills?” A hurt look passed over Frank's face, again, and he made another non-verbal noise, but ultimately shook his head, sniffling only once before standing up straight.
Robby passed his hands down Frank's side, his skin not nearly as warm as his scrubs as it should've been, his thumb fitting into the depression between two of his ribs even though the layers of both his scrubs and the undershirt he was wearing.
He didn't want to linger (he really didn't), but he did allow his thumb to catch on every one of the divots to make sure he wasn't making it up. Frank was too thin to be healthy, though he'd always been lean.
The brunette was shaking as Robby slid his hands down his sides and thighs, though he tried his best to suppress it. The attending could feel it, however, since he was touching him all over. The stream of ‘wrongwrongwrong’ kept blaring in his head like an alarm, especially since every sign was telling him that Frank was overwhelmed—he’d been in rehab, and separated from his wife, too; he probably hadn't had human contact in a long, long time.
Something about being the first to touch Frank in a long time made something warm and dark purr inside him—his pup hadn't been focusing on anything other than getting better.
“Is it—are you done?” Frank asked in a reedy voice as Robby leaned down to sweep over his calves.
“Just about,” He said, voice gruff as he made a final pass over the front of Frank's legs.
It was impossible to notice the flinch and hiss the senior resident made, and Robby felt confusion pass over him like a wave as he looked down at where his hands were—far from his crotch.
Curious, and slightly dreadful, he pressed his palm once, hard, against the same spot, and this time focused on Frank's face. Even though he managed to hide it better this time, Robby saw the tick in his jaw.
Standing up, the bearded man felt pride curl around his heart at not finding any pills, clapping Frank on the shoulder once, letting his hand linger long enough for some of the warmth of his hand seep through the fabric and warm up the cold man.
“No pills. Good. That's—that’s very good, Frank.” Robby allowed his voice to soften a bit as he backed away from the cornered man, letting the praise wash over his subordinate like a warm blanket. Frank visibly brightened, smiling at him.
“I—I did go to rehab, boss, full thirty day inpatient program.” The brunette said hesitantly, and Robby simply grunted once, nodding and striding out of the bathroom with the cup of piss, now room-temperature, in his hand.
By the end of their shift, Robby had lost two patients, and he was really, truly exhausted. He hadn't gotten any more one-on-ones with Frank for the rest of the day, and the latter was the first to leave the ED after the shift—something rare for the man, since he liked lingering and having beers in the park with the rest of the crew.
His locker was empty, besides his stethoscope and a picture of his kids, where there used to be a family picture with Abby in it.
In his own locker, however, Robby found a chart. A chart for Frank Langdon from Right Track Addiction Services, signed by their resident doctor, for his rehab from benzodiazepines. On the back of the chart was a smiley face in purple marker, the kind Dana always uses to mark stuff—the kind she fights with Gloria to always have, just to have a speck of joy in the thankless job they have.
There was a week by week description of his progress—week one consisted of just getting through the withdrawal, and the therapist noted some troubling thoughts being described by the patient, such as a sense of incredible despair now that his marriage was falling apart, but most of all, he was deeply ashamed of ‘failing an important individual in his life, whom he doesn't want to name, but from context it seems that the patient has an almost psychosexual obsession with’, and this individual apparently had an unhealthy amount of emotional power over Frank.
Robby felt bile rise in his throat as he read the chart, having a gnawing feeling he knew who this ‘individual’ was. After all, there was a reason he kept referring to Frank as ‘pup’ in his head—it was from his early years as a year four med student, when Robby became his first attending, and Frank immediately started tailing the man like a stray dog who found a random passerby to latch onto. Dana kept saying Frank was his ‘puppy project’, with the way the younger struggled to learn from anyone that wasn't Robby.
Shaking away the thoughts that were beginning to spiral—Frank was right, they really do all have ADHD—Robby kept reading the chart, finding things improving in week two, but not by much. Frank was still really, really struggling with both the withdrawal and his own thoughts, but something changed in week three.
The therapist described it as jarring, the complete 180 that Frank did—when he was asked what changed, he said he'd found a new, healthy addiction to replace the old, bad one, a little ritual he did in his head, that he would like to keep private. Since it was working, the therapist didn't question further.
Robby didn't like it. Frank was awfully charismatic, and it had clearly worked on everybody in the facility. He wishes, desperately, that he had checked in on Frank before, then maybe he would've caught onto whatever this new addiction was. He had a feeling it was something bad, though, and he had an inkling to what it might've been.
As if God himself was blessing him with an answer to his question, Frank doubled back through the ED doors, bag slung on one shoulder and still wearing his scrubs. He paused when he saw Robby standing at the lockers, slowing his gait as he approached his locker.
“I uh…I forgot my tshirt.” Frank said, swallowing as he quickly grabbed the aforementioned piece of fabric and turned around, walking sheepishly back towards the ambulance bay.
“Frank.” Robby called out to him, and like the obedient stray that he is, Frank immediately doubled back to Robby, an expression of hope beginning to form on his face.
“Abby and kids are staying in your house, right?” Robby asked, and Frank nodded, throwing in a, “Mhm.”
“So where are you staying?”
Frank's face immediately hardened, and he looked around with an unsure expression, scratching the back of his neck as he shifted his weight from one foot to another.
“I'm uh—I’m kind of between places right now. So um…I’m kinda crashing in the empty wing of the hospital for now.”
“You're what?!” Robby thinks his ears are malfunctioning, because there's no way he just heard ‘I just got out of rehab, I'm homeless, and I live in the hospital' come out of Frank's mouth.
“Don't—don’t tell anyone, please. I'm trying my best to seem normal, and I uh—I really don't need the rumour mill running right now.”
“Yeah, right, the rumour mill’s not going to run—”
“Thank you!”
“—because you're coming to stay with me.” Robby finished his sentence, snatching Frank's bag out of his hand to keep him from escaping.
“What?” The brunette asked, jaw dropping a little as he processed what Robby just said.
“I have a spare bedroom, you're going to grab your shit, and you will move into my fucking apartment—”
“But—”
“—do not fucking argue with me on this, do you understand?” Robby said, pressing his palms together to emphasize his point. Frank looked like he was about to argue, just for a moment, but Robby took a second to make himself taller, larger—you always gotta establish who the alpha is with a stray, that's the only way you'll get them to submit.
“...okay.”
“And I will come with you to the empty wing so we can leave together. C'mon.” Placing a hand on Frank's lower back to push him along, Robby guides him through the crowd in the waiting room and into the empty wing.
He felt angry—not at Frank, but at himself—because he should've reached out. Maybe if he'd reached out to the brunette while he was in rehab, he would've felt safe enough, trusted Robby enough to come to him after he got out, instead of staying in the hospital.
So what if he'd thrown him out of the department? He'd only done it to make sure Frank got the help he needed. He wanted his stray back—his nest in his own home, where he could make sure he wouldn't bite anyone, including himself.
“I gave my car to Abby so she could drive the kids to and from school—she doesn't really have anything, since she was a housewife for so long. It only felt fair to let her have it.” Frank said as he wrapped up what little belongings he had in the hospital room, and Robby eyed them critically.
“This is all you have?” He asked, grabbing one of the bags from Frank despite the younger man's soft protests—he wasn't that good at protesting against Robby.
“N—no, um, most of my stuff is at the house, in boxes, but I haven't gone back to collect it because I uh—I didn't really have anywhere to put it.”
“You'll collect it on your next day off.” Robby said gruffly as they began walking out of the hospital, unsure why he felt it was okay to order Frank around in his personal life.
Maybe it was the way Frank nodded and accepted his order, falling in step beside him and walking at the same pace Robby was.
Maybe if Frank wasn't so good at doing what he's told, Robby wouldn't think it was okay to order him around like a disobedient puppy.
Fuck.
He finally got to take his pup home.
×××
Robby's first thought after getting home was that Frank looked small in the hallway of the apartment. He looked unsure, glancing at everything he thought he was allowed to look at without getting Robby mad. He adjusted his grip on his bag, shifting his weight from one foot to another.
Robby sighed, seeing the obvious indecisiveness, and sank into the couch, leaning back and spreading his legs wide to relax.
He thought back to what he'd read in the chart Dana had printed out for him.
‘Excessive emotional power’, ‘borderline psychosexual obsession’.
Fuck.
This was going to spiral into something pathetic and life-altering for Frank, but given how lost he looked, Robby couldn't help but take pity on him.
“Go take a shower.”
He'd tell him what to do. Just once.
“And don't get dressed afterwards, stay in your towel—I want to check you for pills once more.”
Okay, maybe twice.
The look of panic on Frank's face confirmed the feeling of dread that was developing in Robby's gut, and it only solidified into a lead weight as he watched Frank hesitantly shuffle to the bathroom.
Sighing tiredly, Robby leaned forward and tugged off his hoodie, before slumping back against the couch and resting his head against the back of it. He couldn't bring himself to move for the better part of an hour, finally stumbling up and throwing off his scrubs into the washing machine. His back felt sore, and he groaned in frustration when he couldn't find any clean tshirts in his top drawer, which meant he had to kneel down to the lower drawers to get one.
His age really was catching up to him, he couldn't move quite like before. He'd only just managed to get his sweatpants and tshirt on when he heard the bathroom door open.
Like moth to a flame, Robby stalked towards the bathroom, pausing only when he saw Frank standing in the middle of the room, shivering slightly from the cool air outside the bathroom. His skin was flushed a lovely pink, from his forehead, down and over his face, neck, chest—his nipples were pink, too, but that probably wasn't from the shower—and over his stomach, down to the edge of the towel slung over his hips. He was pale, all of him, like a dermatologist’s wet dream.
Robby might have to consider going into dermatology given the thoughts swirling in his brain as he approached Frank, who was hunched like a rabbit about to get pounced on. He was acting a bit like a prey animal. It was a good look on him.
He was shocked out of his…predatory thoughts, so to speak, when he noticed the divots between Frank's ribs he'd felt earlier with his thumb. Pursing his lips together, the older man sighed, sliding his palm down the trembling flank of the brunette.
“You've lost weight.” Robby said disapprovingly, and the trembling stopped, just for a bit, as if the conversion had distracted Frank from how overwhelmed he was feeling.
“Rehab isn't exactly conducive to appetite…I'm fine, though, I'm uh—I’m not underweight.”
“Yet.” Robby murmured, resuming his gentle petting. He knew he didn't have to pat Frank down, given the man's stark nudity, and even the man himself knew that.
Or maybe he didn't. There didn't seem to be many thoughts behind those bright blue eyes when Robby glanced up at his face. There seemed to be static in his brain, nothing more, as he swayed into the touch.
“You understand that I have to check you everywhere, yes?” Robby murmured softly, and Frank nodded, seemingly unaware of what he was even consenting too.
The trust was too much for Robby.
He felt like he was going to come in his pants, then and there.
Oh. He noticed. I'm hard.
During a normal check, the person being checked would be told to turn around and place their hands on the wall, but Robby didn't want to take his eyes off of his pup’s face—what if he made a face of discomfort and didn't say anything? How would Robby know?
No, no, this would have to be done with them facing each other.
Trailing one of his hands down Frank's spine, he slipped it under the waistband of the towel, palm sliding over full ass-cheeks and two fingers between them.
Frank made a noise, a muffled whine, as Robby rubbed his hole with two fingers, dry as a bone. He didn't want to hurt the brunette, but he had to check—he couldn't let him fall off the wagon so soon, not after he'd already done it the first time.
The reedy cry that escaped Frank's throat when he finally pushed the two fingers in, just enough to check whether there were any pills, made Robby's cock throb harder than anything ever had before. A pale hand came up to clutch at his tshirt, and soothing words fell out of the bearded man's mouth unbidden.
“There, there, Frankie, it's okay, you're doing such a good job, sweetheart.” He wasn't sure why he was calling him Frankie, or sweetheart, all he knew was that it soothed the younger, made him lean forward and press his forehead against Robby's shoulder.
Despite being done with his checking, he allowed his hand to linger, scissoring the fingers just a bit and crooking them every which way, toying with the hole as much as he could without causing Frank any pain.
He was warm, scalding, almost, and incredibly tight. Forget pills, not even a single thread could get in there with the vice grip he had on Robby's fingers.
It made him think of how he'd act if Robby fucked him dry, then and there, forced his cock inside with not even spit to ease the admission, and just took him like he was a bitch in heat.
But he wouldn't. He would never. Because Frank wasn't a bitch in heat. He was Robby's pup, with how sweetly he was whining every few seconds into the man's tshirt.
Pulling his fingers free with great effort (it was like fighting a blackhole sucking light out of the universe), Robby slid it up Frank's spine.
“I need to check your front now.”
The words had the same effect as a bucket of cold water might've, making Frank yelp and pull back, trying to back away before Robby pulled him back towards himself.
“I know what I'm gonna find under there, pup, but I wanna hear you say it.” The man managed in a voice gruff enough for it to be an order, but soft enough to not feel like a threat.
Fat tears immediately welled up in those gorgeous blue eyes, and Frank sniffled and clenched Robby's tshirt with both hands now, his voice shaky and trembling when he spoke.
“It—it’s not what you think, Robby, okay? I jus—just needed something to take the edge off! I couldn't—couldn’t think, my brain was too full! M—my skin was too itchy, it was underneath my skin, I had to—I had to get it, please don't be mad, boss, I promised you I'm done with the pills, and I am, r—really, b—but I just—”
The brunette’s words dissolved into pathetic little sobs, and Robby found his heart shattering at the sight and sounds before him. Gently cradling his pup's face, Robby pressed a firm kiss to his forehead, the action calming him down somewhat, though he was still sniffling and whimpering.
“Did you treat them properly, pup? Are they going to get infected?” Robby asked once he pulled away his lips, calming his skittish pup by running his knuckles up and down the length of his spine.
“N—no. I don't think so.”
“You don't think so? Pup, thinking isn't good enough. C'mere.” Herding Frank to the couch and setting him down on it, Robby moved the towel up, only to be met with a graveyard of wounds. Graveyard, because while a couple were fresh (a few hours fresh, fuck him) others were old enough to have healed completely, leaving only faint pink lines as proof of their existence.
Looking over the symmetrical, neat lines, Robby pressed a few kisses to some of the scars, and made sure the fresh cuts were healed enough to not be problematic.
“Poor thing.” Robby said once he was done making sure there would be no infections or further bleeding. He stood up from where he was kneeling on the ground, his knees cracking unfavourably.
“Hurtin’ all on your own, weren't you, pup?” A large, warm palm slid under Frank's chin, and he blinked up at Robby with sad, watery eyes, pressing his face eagerly into the touch.
“Think you can kneel for me, puppers?” Robby knew the nickname was getting a bit ridiculous, but the way Frank immediately slid off the couch and onto the ground made him think that maybe it wasn't ridiculous. Maybe Frank did need something to take the edge off, and maybe that something was to be treated like the pitiful, pathetic little creature that he is.
“Not on the bare ground.” Immediately grabbing a pillow, Robby slid it under Frank's knees, sitting down on the couch and finally, finally allowing his fingers to slide into his pup's hair, scratching at his scalp and using it as leverage to bring his head closer, rest it on the inside of his thigh.
“You need to take the edge off, you come to me. I do not want you to hurt yourself anymore. Am I understood?” Robby’s voice hardened as he allowed his grip to become uncomfortably tight for just a second. Frank nodded eagerly, opening his mouth to speak his assent, but Robby shushed him, tugging his head forward to occupy his mouth with the obvious hard-on in Robby's pants.
“Puppies don't speak, do they?” He asked mockingly, rolling his hips up once into the wet heat he could feel from the outside of his sweatpants.
Frank shook his head, best he could while being held firmly in place by Robby's grip on his hair, and the latter hummed, relaxing his hand to gently comb through his hair again.
“You're only allowed to bark, yip, or make any other noises that don't involve you speaking. You'll bark once for yes, and twice for no—understood?” Frank nodded eagerly, pulling back to let out a hesitant, “...woof?”
“Good boy.” The praise made his pup beam like the sun for the first time that day, only to dim a little when Robby wouldn't let him work over his cock.
“You're going to go make yourself a little nest in my room, and then you're going to get rid of this towel and get ready for bed while you wait for me to finish showering. Do not touch yourself.” Robby emphasized his words by running his foot up Frankie’s thigh, over the towel, and pawing at his hard cock through the towel.
Frankie let out another “Woof!”, this one sounding more confident than before, and scurried off to gather spare sheets and pillows to make his ‘nest’, as Robby had described it.
Truth be told, the man liked being swaddled in his sleep. Extra pillows and sheets always helped, but he never had the energy to do it himself.
As he showered, he thought of the gorgeous man waiting for him, naked, tangled up in sheets, probably willing to let Robby do whatever he wanted to him. It was the first time in four decades, since his teenage years, that he'd managed to come in under two minutes.
The post-orgasm bliss brought with it other concerns—HR, the fact that he'd recommended Frank for that fellowship position, the general power dynamics that had existed between them since they'd met, but his brain went blank the moment he exited the bathroom, clad only in boxer briefs, because on his bed, following his orders to a tee, swaddled in all the extra sheets, pillows, and blankets in the apartment, was Frankie, still flushed, but no longer hard.
“You look pleased with yourself.” Robby said with a chuckle as he approached, crawling into the pile of different fabrics and textures.
“Woof!” Frankie said, nuzzling closer to Robby, and the man let another chuckle rumble through his chest, kissing the top of his head, and then his temple, and then his cheek, and finally the corner of his mouth, stopping just shy of kissing him fully on the mouth.
Fuck Gloria.
He was not going to give up his pup.