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Robby glared at the espresso-brown cream like it was personally responsible for ruining his night.
Chocolate mousse. How hard could it possibly be to make an edible chocolate mousse?
Well, he knew the actual reason, for the culprit’s withered skin lay on top of the countertop, nestled in with the rest of the scraps. The reason that the normally sweet dessert tasted like wet cardboard. Avocados.
He tried, not for the first time that night, to pour more maple syrup into the mixture. Sweeten with maple syrup as needed, the recipe had said. And it needed a lot. Robby wouldn’t be surprised if the mixture was more syrup than mousse at this point.
Robby scooped a small amount onto his taste-testing teaspoon, as if only trying a smidgen would soften the blow. The moment his tongue touched the wretched thing, his nose wrinkled in distaste. Still not sweet enough. It took every ounce of self-control not to throw it away.
He stared up at the ceiling, wondering how he'd even gotten into this mess.
Initially, he’d planned to return from his sabbatical without any fuss. Just come back to work, suffer through the onslaught of curious co-workers asking him how he’d been, and return quick and sharp to some sort of normalcy. But, after four months away, he felt surprisingly unmoored. All those years in the ER, and all it took was a couple of months for his surety to dissipate.
Funnily enough, despite the concern of nosy friends, he actually was better. He’d listened to Jack's advice for once, and could begrudgingly admit there was some wisdom to his words. Joanne, his on-call therapist, had helped him start the process of healing his mental wounds, and provided strategies to deal with the stress and grief of being around so much death. They’d even meaningfully touched on his abandonment issues, although that was still very much a work in progress. And the time away to relax and explore had helped wash away some of the drudgery that clung to him. He felt less like he was drowning, and more like he could see the shore.
Perhaps it was that same optimism that had made it feel wrong to rock up to his first shift back without something to offer; Some way of physically manifesting his regret for the burnt trail left behind.
It had occurred to him that it might be more meaningful to get individual gifts. There had been no shortage of stores and vendors during his travels. Yet, as he’d perused the many knickknacks and curios that lined shelves, he’d felt a flicker of shame. Nothing stood out, for he didn’t actually know his co-workers that well, bar Jack and Dana. So, he’d settled on arranging something for the entire group. The same problem remained - what would people actually like?
He thought, despite the sorrow it unearthed, about what Adamson used to do. Immediately, his mouth started salivating. Glazed meats, bursting with flavour, accompanied by all manners of rich platters. Cheeses and bright salads and all manners of glistening sweets, all made with the utmost love, and shared in the break room with wide smiles and laughter. That had made his mind up.
Jack would have probably pissed himself laughing at the idea. He’d once joked that Robby could meticulously perform a multi-layered laceration repair and on the same day be defeated by instant noodles. It wasn’t entirely unfair - scalpels always felt more natural to wield than kitchen knives. So, Robby would aim for a simple crowd pleaser.
The problems really started when his thoughts drifted to Trinity Santos, and the mention of Whitaker's apparent proclivity towards avocados. With nothing much else to go on, it seemed like a reasonable starting point at the time
Plus, when Robby had arrived home, Whitaker had left very little, apart from a short note welcoming him home, and six avocados lying inconspicuously in his fruit bowl. He took it as a sign. When he googled crowd pleaser dishes with avocados, he’d opened up the first link he found.
And now here he was, staring down at the avocado chocolate mousse with poorly concealed disdain.
Robby took a deep breath, willing away rising doubt. It was just a mousse. No one had asked for it, no one had any expectations. No one would be disappointed if he threw it away. But he couldn’t, quitting on it felt wrong.
Most things could be fixed, if one cared enough to try. Damn it, Joanne. He grabbed at ingredients, chucking in more cocoa powder, sugar and syrup until the bitterness finally faded to mild sweetness. Whoever had made the recipe would probably be appalled, but they were the same person who’d recommended using four avocados.
The taste was still strange, but at least he no longer recoiled at first mouthful. It would have to do.
As he wrapped it up and put it in the fridge to cool, he distantly wondered if he’d actually have the nerve to take it out in the morning. A later problem.
—
The problem was, he was late.
Turns out, spending four months without needing an alarm had made him forget that it was sometimes necessary to wake up for work. Robby ran around his house at a speed leopards would revere. When he passed his fridge, there was no time to ponder whether he’d bring the mousse or not. He simply grabbed it and slammed it into his bag.
He raced into his truck and drove, quicker than was probably advisable. At least the adrenaline had cut through some of his nerves.
When he pulled into the staff car park, teeming with vehicles he both did and didn’t recognise, something caught his eyes. Keychains attached to the side of his bag. He’d almost forgotten about them - mementos he’d bought at different stops to memorialise his journey. One stood out in particular. A tiny avocado, with an admittedly cute little face. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to buy the thing. Except for that damn conversation with Trinity.
He flicked at it resentfully, like it deserved some punishment for his mousse woes. He considered taking it off, but he was already running out of time. If someone commented on it, he’d find a way of brushing them off.
He walked through the familiar hospital doors with false confidence and was, like he’d predicted, immediately bombarded by Dana.
“Well, well, well, look at who decided to show up? Got bored with your Evel Knievel fantasy?”
Robby smiled, full and true, and met Dana’s embrace enthusiastically. It felt like coming home.
“It’s good to see you too, Dana. Hope you didn’t miss me too much.”
“What, are you kidding me? Barely even noticed you were gone. Definitely didn't have people asking me every five minutes about when you'd be back.”
“She’s right, Robby. We definitely weren’t counting down the days.” Jack walked up to him with that sly smile. Mortifyingly, Robby felt tears start to well up.
He almost charged at the man, pulling him into his chest with all his might. Solid arms wrapped around him in turn, so tight it felt he might never let go. God, he missed Jack. The calls just weren’t the same.
“It’s really fucking good to see you brother,” Jack said, his eyes glistening.
“Good to be back,” Robby choked back, overwhelmed with how true it was.
“Robby!” He heard multiple voices behind him. Javadi rushed forward, Santos on her heels. In the corner of his eyes, he saw Mckay, Princess and Perlah jog over. From behind them, Langdon and Mohan turned to each other, and slowly walked over, joined by Al-Hashimi.
Soon, he was inundated with endless questions. In the chaos, he was hopeless to answer - a new one popping up before he responded to another. On a different day, the display might have irritated him, or made him want to run. Today, he smiled fondly at antics. He’d missed this.
Even Langdon, Mohan and Al-Hashimi, who he’d expected a degree of wariness from, seemed relieved to see him. He must have really created the impression that he might not come back.
The only person absent was Whitaker. As if sensing his questioning thoughts, Santos pointed in the direction of the family room.
“Huckleberry got stuck with an elderly patient first thing this morning.”
Robby nodded, refusing to let disappointment show. Initially, he’d planned to catch Whitaker when he returned home, but the man had left before he could. He wanted to thank him for housesitting and for kind messages of both a professional and personal nature. And for the calls that had somehow become a guiding light out of his mind’s labyrinth.
He couldn’t dwell on it too long, for he was soon pulled into a case - a nurse calling out incoming traumas.
Despite his concerns that time had dulled his abilities, he found his footing relatively quickly, albeit less refined. When he stumbled, someone was always there to catch him. When he forgot to request an obvious test, Mckay would point it out. When his first incision had been slightly too deep, Frank had offered assistance. When his mind failed to identify a diagnosis, Mel jumped in with her thoughts. Through it all, he didn’t get the opportunity to speak with Whitaker. Each time they passed, they’d had to rush in a different direction, subject to the whims of the ER.
Suddenly, half the day was gone. When Robby finally escaped to the break room, he was dripping in sweat and sore from the exertion. Ten minutes ago, parents had raged at him for not doing enough. He’d already lost his first patient for the day. None of these things felt insurmountable.
With that in mind, he grabbed his bag from his locker and saw the container. He’d almost forgotten about it. While he was still alone, and before he could jinx himself out of it, he put the container on the break room table, with an accompanied note.
Hey everyone, thought I’d share this with you all. I know I don’t always say it, but I really do appreciate you all. It’s good to be back. - Robby.
The moment he turned away, Santos entered. She looked at him for a second, nodded respectfully, and noticed the container. Her eyes furrowed momentarily, then gleamed. She raced over and opened the container up.
“Woah, Robby, you shouldn’t have! I love mud. Where’s it from? Dennis told me you stopped by Alberta?”
Robby failed to suppress a chuckle. “I’m afraid not, Santos. It’s actually from Minnesota.”
“Ah, my mistake.” She stepped out of the break room. “Hey, Robby made something! I need at least three doctors on standby in case I get poisoned.”
Robby rubbed a hand over his face. He hadn’t particularly wanted his offering to get that type of attention. But he couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed, either.
Alas, it seemed that every staff member who wasn’t currently dealing with a patient had decided to join them, evidently curious of Robby’s creation.
There was a mixture of reactions, ranging from amused, like Jack, to vaguely concerned, like Garcia. It didn’t stop everyone from scooping up a serving of the mousse.
He scanned the room. Still no Whitaker. He also noticed that no one had actually started eating, and were all staring at him expectantly.
“Uh. Enjoy?”
“No speech?” Jack quipped.
“That was what the note was for.”
“I think we’d all like to hear them from the man’s mouth.”
“Right. Well, I meant what I wrote. I know it’s been a long while, and I didn’t leave at my finest, or on the best of terms with some of you. But I’m back, and glad to be. I hope you’ll all give me a chance to show that. My proudest memories are here, and I’m planning to make more. That can’t be done without all of you. So thank you. And enjoy. I hope.”
He wasn’t sure how he’d come to the words, but they seemed to resonate with the group well enough.
“Impressive. You still haven’t told us what we’re actually eating,” Garcia said dryly.
“Oh. It’s chocolate mousse. With avocados.”
He missed the way Santos’ eyes immediately furrowed in suspicion. Because, at the same time, he’d noticed Whitaker join them in the break room. The second their eyes met, Whitaker shot up like he’d been caught with his hands in a candy jar, and then stared resolutely at the wall.
Robby couldn’t even begin to guess what made him react that way. Not that it mattered, he was just glad to see him.
He watched as several people started eating. Some hummed noncommittally, while others visibly grimaced. Frank, of all people, ate with gusto. Most however, ate a respectful amount before putting it down.
Jack slinked over to Robby like a fox circling its prey.
“I’ve got to say Robby, you haven’t changed a bit. You still can’t cook at all. But it was a sweet gesture. Unlike the mousse itself–”
“Thanks Jack. As always, I appreciate your kind and generous feedback.”
Jack clapped his shoulders. “Anytime, my friend.”
Santos’ voice rang out. “Hey, Dennis. I haven’t seen you try any yet. You should, I think you’d really like it.”
Whitakers' eyes widened, oscillating between Santos and Robby manically.
“I-uh, yes! Yes, I would love to try your mousse doctor Robby. Let me just–”
He walked over to the container, which still had a generous amount left, and scooped a large amount into a bowl.
“Whitaker, I really don’t think you should take that much.” Robby began, taking pity on the young man.
“No, it’s okay. I’m sure it’s delicious,” Whitaker said quickly. The man took a large bite, and immediately stiffened. Robby prayed for the ground to swallow him whole. This was not the way he wanted to thank him.
Whitaker gulped slowly. Then lathered his spoon with more mousse. He took another mouthful, practically jamming the silver utensil into his mouth. Then he did again, and again. Chocolate was starting to smudge his lips. Robby's mouth could have caught flies.
“Whitaker, wh–.”
“Robby, this is really good.” Whitaker said, the words coming out muffled. Robby found it endlessly endearing. “What did you put in it?”
“Er. Just the normal ingredients. Nothing fancy.”
Santos slid up beside them both, just as calculating as Jack.
“And Avocados, I hear.”
Robby glared at her. She looked positively delighted.
Whitaker stopped eating for a moment, looking at Robby searchingly. Then, his whole face brightened.
“Oh! You must have wanted to use the avocados I left behind. Sorry, I thought I should at least leave you something, and they were probably going to bruise if I took them home. I hope you didn’t feel obligated to use them.”
Robby waved his hands placatingly. “Whitaker, you’re fine. It actually gave me some inspiration. Oh, and before the ER sweeps us away, I wanted to thank you. For housesitting, and everything else. It was really a big help, knowing there was someone taking care of things, when I couldn’t.”
Santos, and the rest of the breakroom who were listening in, tactfully retreated. Not that Robby noticed. Whitaker had such gentle eyes. Robby couldn’t help but be mesmerised.
Whitaker ducked his head shyly. “Of course, it wasn’t any trouble at all. It helped me too, knowing that I could be of use. Even if that meant making sure your pot plants didn't meet an untimely end.”
“It wasn’t just the housesitting. It was your updates, too. It helped knowing that things really weren’t falling apart without me. And the photos you took of everyone. It made things easier. Reminded me of what I had to lose, and what I had to come back to.”
“I-. You’re welcome, Robby.” It sounded like Whitaker was going to say something else, but held it back, and Robby didn’t press him. Instead, they stood a step apart, and Robby admired Whitaker’s sea-blue irises and the way they lingered on him with quiet tenderness. Robby's chest drummed, though the adrenaline of sharing his mousse had long past. Their eyes didn’t move from each other when Whitaker took a step closer. It was only when there was a crash, someone far away from the shrinking space between them, that the spell was broken.
Whitaker took a wobbly step back, and Robby almost dived to steady him. “Well, it was good to see you. I should…probably go check that out.” He’d said it shakily, but didn’t look away. “I’ll see you on the floor?”
“Have dinner with me.”
The words burst out of his mouth like a beast possessed. He hadn’t meant to say it like that, but the connection between his mind and mouth was faulty, impaired by muddled feelings. He didn’t take them back. Something about Whitaker's astonished expression was intoxicating.
When Whitaker failed to respond, eyes blinking so rapidly they looked more akin to the wings of a hummingbird, Robby clarified.
“For helping me out. It’s the least I could do.” That sounded right. Friends did that sort of thing. Whitaker could be considered a friend, right?
“Oh. Uh yes, that’s very kind of you to offer, but it’s really not necessary. Like I said, it was my pleasure.”
“I insist. Or, do you not trust in my cooking skills?”
“No no, it’s just–”
Robby frowned as Whitaker struggled to find the words, arms tight at his side
“Hey, don’t worry about it. I sprung it on you without thinking. We can forget this conversation ever happened.”
Whitaker shook his head so fiercely that Robby was concerned it might give him whiplash. “No! That’s not what I meant, I-”
Whitaker stopped and breathed deeply, as if steeling himself.
“You know what, yes. I would be honoured to have dinner with you, Doctor Robby.” He said it with an almost jarring level of confidence. Robby’s lips curled immediately.
“Good man. I’m a little low on groceries at the moment, so let’s do it tomorrow night, if you’re free?”
“Yep. Sounds good.” Whitaker rubbed the back of his head. “I’ll bring dessert!” Colour crept in his cheeks. “Not that I don’t trust you to make a good dessert, of course.” He grabbed his empty bowl and held it forward in explanation. Robby wondered if his cheeks were warm to touch.
“Sounds like a plan. Now, I think we’ve spent enough time dallying about. Let’s get back out there.”
Whitaker nodded enthusiastically and practically bolted out of the break room. Robby watched him go, and the unfamiliar feeling from before lingered.
He didn’t have much time to overthink it, for more patients piled in, and he barely thought of anything outside of giving the best care he could.
In no time at all, his first shift back was over. When the last of his handover to night shift was complete, he grabbed his bag and headed to his truck, feeling unexpectedly light. Sure, exhaustion seeped into his bones, and his legs felt like jelly, but he felt like he’d actually made a real difference today. It had been a long time, far before he’d started his sabbatical, since he’d felt this way.
Before he could exit the building, Santos ambushed him like a cat finding their favourite toy. But she didn’t look at him, she looked at his bag.
“Nice keychain, where’d you get it?”
Unfortunately, Robby immediately knew what she was referring to. He shrugged with as much nonchalance as he could muster. “Hmm, not sure. Probably some gift shop I found on the road.”
“And, of all the choices you could have made, you chose to get that.”
“Yep. Thought it looked cute. Why?”
Trinity crossed her arms. “First, you're making desserts with it, and now you're buying keychains. Rather curious, after our last conversation, don't you think?”
So, Trinity did in fact remember that conversation.
“Maybe I just like avocados? Is that a crime?”
Robby didn’t like avocados. They were bitter and mushy, and the sickly green reminded him of the old, worn chairs in the waiting room. But Santos didn’t know that. And she certainly didn't need to know that it had everything to do with Whitaker.
Trinity narrowed her eyes. “Convenient. I might broach the subject with Dennis, he’s obsessed with the thing. You guys can bond over it.”
Robby's jaw tightened. “I don’t see the point, but you’re free to do what you like, Santos.”
Trinity didn’t reply, but continued to regard him with that piercing gaze. When she evidently found what she was looking for, she turned away without explanation.
“See you around, Robby. And for the record, I’m glad you're back. Though I prefer Al-Hashimi.”
Robby silently watched her go, bewildered.
Thankfully, the only other interruptions he experienced were Dana and Jack, who offered nothing but kind, affirming words. When he finally walked through the automatic doors to freedom, he bristled at the chilly air that blanketed his sweaty skin.
He had one thought in mind. Grocery shopping.
As he paced down the aisles, looking for ingredients to stock his normally neglected pantry, his mind searched for ideas. It came up embarrassingly blank. Of all his years on this earth, he had a miserable repertoire of dishes he felt comfortable cooking. It occurred to him that he could just order takeout, but that felt wrong.
He thought about what Whitaker might like. He knew that he grew up on a farm in Nebraska. Maybe he’d appreciate something that reminded him of home? Just like how Whitaker reminded Robby of his.
Unfortunately, most of the dishes he searched for on his phone were a little outside of his expertise. The only one that felt doable on short notice was some sort of hot beef sandwich. Sure, it probably wouldn’t match the quality Whitaker was used to at home. But, without many other options, and with an increasing desire to flop onto a warm bed, he bought the ingredients and decided that, if it all went to hell, takeaway was still an option. On the way to the checkout, he passed the fresh produce selection. Dark green ovals caught his eye. He didn’t need to buy any for tomorrow's dinner. But then again, an accompanying salad was never a bad choice, right?
He bought six.
When he slept that night, his dreams were wholly incomprehensible, sans a vision of brown curls.
—
Robby glared at the destruction in his kitchen like it was personally trying to ruin his night. Very little had gone right during preparation. At least, he knew exactly how he'd gotten into this mess.
Part of the blame could be attributed to his natural cooking abilities, but a much larger portion could be credited to the nerves that racked his body.
There were endless ways to explain them away, but to what avail? It was pointless not to give it a name anymore. He felt nervous, because he had burgeoning feelings for one Dennis Whitaker.
It had grown quickly over calls and messages during his sabbatical, sure. But even before that, he had felt a pull that he’d buried deep down in the recesses of his mind, too afraid to let it flourish. Yes, there were good reasons for it - the age gap, the power dynamics, the personality imbalance. And the most important part - that Whitaker didn’t feel the same way. It now felt selfish to have asked him for dinner under the pretence of platonic gratitude.
He reflected back on the shift from earlier in the day. Unlike yesterday, they’d worked on a few patients together. They’d bantered and smiled, and encouraged each other, falling back into the same rhythm as before. In quiet moments, there were stolen glances which lasted too long to be meaningless. One time, Robby had guided Whitaker’s hands, and hours later still felt the remnant tingle of their skin touching. None of it meant anything, for Whitaker was warm and generous to everyone that he cared for.
Shaking his head, he resolved to accomplish something achievable, lest lose himself in the what-ifs. He’d at least get the kitchen to a presentable state enough to prevent Whitaker from thinking him a complete slob. It was only when he’d finished cleaning the last of the crumbs on his countertop, that the doorbell rang.
The sound made him violently jump, his whole body plagued with irrational jitters. There was no reason for it - he’d been alone with Whitaker many times, and hadn't felt an ounce of anxiety. There wasn’t a reason for tonight to be any different. He quickly checked himself in the mirror, fussing with his shirt collar and running a hand through his gelled hair. Not that Whitaker would care about his appearance.
The door knocked once more and Robby almost stumbled while racing to open it. Whitaker stood in front of him, wearing a crisp, dark green shirt. They perfectly accentuated his fitted jeans and brown leather boots. Robby instinctively tried to wet his mouth, for it had gone desert dry.
It was probably his imagination, but when his eyes finally found Whitaker's, the other man was looking just as rapt.
Before he could blurt out something that would rapidly grant him a meeting with HR, he beckoned Whitaker in wordlessly. It was only after a moment that he realised Whitaker hadn’t seen the gesture, and was still staring. Robby didn’t understand it; he didn’t think he’d dressed particularly lavishly.
Eventually, Whitaker’s senses seemed to return, and he mumbled an unintelligible greeting before rushing in, almost tumbling straight into Robby in his haste. Robby reached out to steady him, grabbing his arms for support, and feeling the lean muscles underneath.
“Woah, there. How about we try to not break our ankle? I don’t fancy a trip to the ER before you’ve even made it inside.”
Whitaker, who was now much better balanced, forced an unnaturally wide smile.
“Haha. Yep.” His shoulders were alarmingly rigid, and he hugged himself so tightly it looked uncomfortable. This really was a bad idea.
Robby scratched his head. “Uh. Well, make yourself comfortable. Not that you really need to, you must be pretty familiar with the place by now.”
“-Yep.”
Jesus, this was awkward.
They both stood next to the entrance in silence, seemingly waiting for the other to say something. Robby, who finally remembered he was literally the host, clapped his hands. Whitaker’s whole body jerked at the sound.
“Right, well let’s go eat.”
He briskly walked to the kitchen, the pitter of feet behind him the only evidence that Whitaker had heard. He gestured to the platters on the table: slow-cooked beef, lettuce, tomato, cheese, bread, and a variety of sauces. A salad with an array of vegetables. And avocados.
“I thought we’d have hot beef sandwiches. I know it’s hardly anything fancy, but I thought it might be something you’d like. You know, growing up in Nebraska. Though it might not be something you actually ate, or enjoyed, obviously. I just thought it might, you know, be something that brings good memories back. Or maybe not, it’s probably weird to eat it in a place that isn’t really your home. Wow, this was a bad idea. Maybe we should order some food–”
“Robby. It looks delicious, thank you.” Robby, whose hands had been waving wildly during his rambling, fell to his side. Whitaker looked at him in clear amusement, much of the earlier edge smoothed from his face.
“And, for the record, hot beef sandwiches were one of my favourite things to eat growing up.”
Robby felt a sharp thrill shoot through him. Just as quickly, it was bullied away by familiar trepidation. Now, the actual test began. Did any of it actually taste good? A fruitless thought - it was too late to back out now.
The pair sat down at a table adorned with a couple of old candles Robby had found in a disused storage cabinet. Robby thought Whitaker might appreciate it, in case his family used them on the farm.
Whitaker froze momentarily when he noticed something on the table.
“Something catch your eye?” Robby asked, feeling a drip of sweat running down his back.
Whitaker nodded but kept his mouth closed, though his smile only seemed to widen.
They both assembled their sandwiches. Whitaker, in particular, put an exceptionally large amount of salad on his plate, a few pieces of avocado falling off when there was no room left. Strange, but maybe he just really enjoyed salads?
Despite the uneasy energy prior, they both managed to transition to successful small talk, primarily about the happenings of the ER.
Turns out, the phone calls during his sabbatical weren’t a fluke. Whitaker was very easy to talk to. They talked about patients, Whitaker's recent escapades with Santos, and all manner of other topics. Robby learned that Whitaker had a soft spot for rabbits, and was deadly afraid of clowns. The early tightness in his chest slowly receded, and Robby found himself relaxing in the good company.
Both of them eventually finished eating, bellies full. Robby sat, content, and let a comfortable silence drift over them. When he looked at Whitaker again, the man was watching him with poorly concealed happiness. But that wasn’t what he was focused on. At the corner of his lips, there was a smidge of green. Before he could say anything, Whitaker beat him to it.
He raised a finger. “You have…on your face.”
Robby tilted his head. “I’m sorry?”
Instead of doing literally anything that Robby might expect, Whitaker grabbed a serviette and leant forward until they were practically nose-to-nose. Up close, Whitaker’s lips were even clearer to see. He felt the lightest brush of Whitaker’s warm breath as he exhaled. It was incredible that he even registered it, for the newfound proximity had made his thoughts turn to mush.
For a moment, Whitaker’s eyes widened, as if just realising how close they were. But, the moment of panic seemingly passed, and he didn’t retreat. In fact, he looked even more determined. With utmost gentleness, he wiped the serviette over Robby’s beard, cleaning away some excess liquid that had dribbled down it. He dropped it on the table, hands noticeably shaking, but didn't move back entirely. Robby was glad he stayed.
“Robby, our calls. Please, tell me that there was something there. That I’m not imagining it all. Please.”
Yes. Robby knew it, and thank god Dennis did too.
But all he could was nod, words falling away, so transfixed with Dennis’ presence. He could finally map every detail of Dennis’ face like he’d wished to when he was hundreds of miles away. Somehow, he was more gorgeous now, than ever.
Dennis, apparently not having the same problem as Robby, took his chance.
He pressed soft lips onto his, and Robby soared. Dennis tasted of home.
Before he could kiss back with gusto, Dennis pulled away, worry etched across his face. He barely opened his mouth open before Robby closed the gap between them.
And, as slowly as he could manage, licked the avocado from the corner of Dennis’ lips. As his tongue swirled, he could hear sweet breaths. It propelled him to sweep his tongue across the curve of Dennis’ mouth, lapping and nibbling until Dennis’ breath grew heavier.
Eventually, Dennis growled in frustration and clasped Robby’s head, roughly kissing him, plunging his tongue into Robby’s mouth. Their tongues danced, and Robby shared the flavors from Dennis’ lips. When the need for air triumphed over euphoria, he reluctantly pulled away. By Dennis’ glassy eyes and flushed cheeks, and the fact that he seemed to be practically vibrating out of his skin, his efforts had reaped the intended effect.
Dennis almost knocked the chair sideways in his effort to get up and onto Robby’s lap. They devoured each other with a frenzy, and every fibre of Robby’s body roared with the rightness of it. Before his plan to carry Dennis to the bedroom could come to fruition, Dennis started to giggle into his mouth.
“You know, if it wasn’t for avocados, I don’t think I’d have been brave enough to kiss you.”
Robby chuckled. “How so?”
“Trinity told me about your chat. I put the rest together.”
Robby hummed, then captured Dennis’ lips once more. The other man matched him with just as much intensity.
Perhaps avocados weren't so bad, after all.