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Dennis hesitates outside after unlocking the door, hand on the doorknob. Andrew’s car is parked on the driveway and on most nights it excites him to come home to him, but it also means Andrew is up, waiting for him, and tonight that’s not something Dennis is looking forward to.
He’s come home with a scratch or bruise before, nothing too frightening, but he knows Andrew won't be rational seeing him tonight. It isn't something that comes with the job, per se, but you know what you're signing up for when you join the street team, which is to say there are no easy patients.
The house is quiet when he pushes inside, closing the door just as softly as he opened it and putting his bag down. There are exactly three sounds he can hear, the whir of the refrigerator, the swish of the dishwasher and the buzzing in his temple.
It’s dark, until it’s not, and then the hallway light is flickering on.
“Well, hello.”
Dennis’ heart squeezes in his chest at the sound of Andrew's voice, his lips spreading into a smile unconsciously. He doesn’t turn around, slipping out of his shoes achingly slow, in hopes that Andrew will let it go. But it’s never taken much for Andrew to go to bat for Dennis, after all. “Andrew.”
The moment snaps, Andrew’s presence becomes unnerving and although Dennis knows Andrew would tear the world down before hurting him, it sends a chill down his spine as he listens to him draw closer.
Andrew closes the distance between them, plastered to his back and rests his cheek on Dennis’s shoulder, facing away from him. “You think I’ll need to grab my gun if I see what’s wrong with your face?
Dennis’ eyes flicker shut, hands reaching back to find Andrew’s and squeezing, grounding himself. If it were anyone else, Dennis would laugh, he would roll his eyes and mumble yeah, right.
But it’s Andrew, he knows exactly what Andrew is capable of.
“No, but how about some ice cream?” He tries.
Andrew hums, something guttural, the sound reverberating against Dennis’ back. His hands tense in Dennis’ before he pulls away, standing tall again. He lets his hands glide up Dennis’ arms, touch delicate, deliberate, as he feels every groove and curls them around his shoulders.
Dennis shivers.
But that’s not the end of it, it never is with Andrew.
He wraps a hand around the back of Dennis' head, fingers splayed wide but gentle, his other hand snakes its way around Dennis’ throat, fingers brushing over his jaw—
Dennis hisses. “Not there.”
Andrews’ touch halts immediately but not before Dennis feels them twitch. He curls his hand around Dennis’ throat instead, the pads of his fingers tilting his head toward himself. Dennis doesn’t fight it, knows better, and turns.
He watches every muscle of Andrew’s face change, the way his nostrils flare the slightest bit, jaw clenched tightly, eyes narrowing on the awful long gash over his cheek—stitched up and bruising something ugly.
Dennis swallows, reminds himself that Andrew isn’t angry at him, he never is, but for him. “Andrew, hey.” He wraps his hands around Andrews waist, bunching up his shirt. “It’s not that bad.”
“Don’t lie,” Andrew grits, tilting his head to hold Dennis’ gaze. “Not to me. You know better than that.”
Andrew chews the inside of his cheek, clearly plotting his next move, but Dennis feels tired just thinking about moving. Especially if that means not having Andrew next to him after fifteen hours away from him.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Can we at least sit first? My feet hurt.”
Andrew drops his hands, evidently displeased and just when Dennis thinks he’ll walk away, he’s being swept off his feet.
“Are you—you know this isn’t what I meant.” He huffs even as he wraps his arms around Andrew’s neck, belly going warm.
“Did you remove me as your emergency contact?” Andrew places Dennis on the couch, as if his entire body is compromised and not just a cut on his face, and perches on the coffee table in front of him.
Dennis’ eyebrows furrow, hissing as the movement pulls on the stitches. Andrew scowls, hands itching to reach out to find a way to take away the pain. It’s a little screwed up, but it’s one of his favourite things about Andrew, how he can see his own pain in Andrew.
“I should have been called.” He shakes his head, hands clenching and unclenching. “I was sitting my ass here for who knows how long just-just waiting when I should have—I should have been there at the hospital, Dennis.”
Dennis watches Andrew’s throat move, knuckles turning white as they curl around the edge of the table. “Why wasn’t I called?”
For all Dennis isn’t scared of Andrew, he knows exactly what to say to make him feel as if he’s getting punished anyway. He looks away, stupidly enough.
Andrew curls a hand around his chin, shaking it ever so lightly. “Eyes on me.”
Dennis’ eyes find him immediately. He leans forward, knees brushing against Andrew’s and looks up at him through his lashes. He’s learned a trick or two along the way, he knows exactly how to soften Andrew. “And risk you setting the building on fire?”
The corner of Andrew’s lip twitches, but there is nothing humorous about it. “Not with you in it.”
Dennis presses his lips together, shaking his head. His vision blurring through his left eye. “That really doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“And I really,” Andrew starts, voice low as he drops his elbows to his knees and pushes into Dennis’ space, mere inches apart. “Don’t like seeing anyone lay a hand on you, sweetheart.”
Dennis swallows, shoulders immediately dropping as the last of his resolve crumbles. He grabs Andrew's arm, pulling at it where his hand is behind his back, no doubt wrapped around the gun tucked into his pants. “You know I’d tell you if it was worse than what it was.” He threads their hands together.
Andrew hums, eyes falling back to the stitches and nods, curt. This is another thing Dennis loves about Andrew, how he trusts Dennis implicitly, immediately. He leans in, nosing at Dennis’ jaw delicately and then presses his lips just beneath the last stitch, over the blue-green bruising. “I know.”
“Tell me when it starts to melt, and I’ll grab another.” Andrew hands him an ice pack wrapped in a tea towel. “Anything else you need?”
Dennis doesn’t bite his lip, lest he pull a stitch, but it’s a near thing. Having Andrew’s undivided attention has made him a greedy, desperate thing. A year ago, if he was in the situation, he’d be home, halfway crying himself to sleep and ready to forget the events of the night.
But it’s different now, he knows he can get something better.
Before he has a chance to answer, there’s a knock on the door. Andrew’s hand immediately goes to his gun, face hardening.
“Put it away.” He rests his head against the back of the couch, eyes closed. “It’s probably Santos coming to check on me.”
He hears the gun clatter on the coffee table before Andrew goes to open the door. Only, he doesn’t hear the usual bitching between the two of them. Dennis follows the low murmurs to a much more intriguing sight.
Jack and Robby are at the door, still standing outside and very much getting dressed down by Andrew. He leans against the wall at the end of the hallway, trying and failing to hide the grin on his face.
“Check what? You think between the time he left work and came home he’d be healed?”
Robby scratches the back of his neck, clearly uneasy, and then his eyes find Dennis.
He raises his brows and shrugs, there’s not much he can do at the very moment anyway.
“Alright, Pope.” Jack, unfazed, steps around him and into the house. “It’s not like I hurt the kid.” He rolls his eyes in Dennis’ direction, Robby following behind, much more tense.
“You sure you’re safe here, Whit?” There’s a teasing lilt to Robby’s voice, but Andrew has never taken a liking to jokes, much less if Dennis is in question.
“As opposed to what?” Andrew answers instead, now standing behind Dennis. “Being under the supervision of you two? Yeah,” he drawls, eyes darkening. “That’s much better.”
Dennis feels the heat of his body radiating off him, can’t help but lean back into it. Even as he sees the tips of Robby’s ears go red and Jack bouncing on his leg.
It’s always amused him to watch two of the best doctors he knows turn anxiety-ridden and unsure. Not that he’d say that out loud.
“I’m good, really. But, uh,” he trails off, eyes lighting up. “Thanks for coming by.” To get told off by my boyfriend, mostly.
Jack knocks him in the shoulder, playful, pushing him further into Andrew’s chest, whose arm wraps around his waist to steady him.
“Watch it, Jack.”
Jack lifts his hands in surrender, smiling innocent.
Robby huffs, grabbing his glasses where they’re hooked to the front of his jacket and takes Dennis’ chin in hand. Much like Andrew, he angles his cheek every which way, and inspects the stitches of his own delicate work. When he’s seen enough, he hums in approval.
“Tylenol once you feel the lidocaine start to wear off.” He drops his hand and pulls his glasses off, eyes flickering behind his shoulder, to Andrew.
“What would we do without you, doctor?” Andrew asks, voice flat.
Dennis turns his head and blinks, making Andrew drop his head and lean his weight against the wall.
Jack snorts, wrapping an arm around Robby’s waist and pulls out the tube of Bacitracin from his pocket. Before Dennis can grab it, Andrew is plucking it out of Jack’s hand and studying the tube.
“Alright, Whit. Next three days off but if symptoms change or get worse, call and we’ll sort it out.” Robby reaches a hand out, but thinks better of it, and runs it over his beard instead.
Dennis’ face goes hot, cheeks burning and not because of the pain beginning to edge back. But because there is someone in his corner who loves and desires him so deeply, so whole and possessive that a mere look can make someone think twice.
“Sounds good.” Dennis nods and walks them out, waiting for their car to drive out of sight before closing the door.
Once again in the same position as when he came home. He leans his back against the door and tilts his head. “You asked if I needed anything else, before.”
Andrew crosses his arms over his chest, biceps bulging. “Before your co-workers decided to interrupt.”
Co-workers, Dennis thinks, smiling to himself. The only person Andrew deems good enough to be his friend is him. Dennis isn’t complaining.
He nods to the space in front of him. “It’s probably not a good idea for me to move my face.” Andrew steps forward and rests his hands on either side of Dennis’ head, crowding into him. Dennis has never felt more safe. “But I can think of something your mouth can do.”
Andrew blinks, slow, his lips curving dangerously. “Your mouth seems to be working just fine to me.”
Dennis moves to slide down but Andrew’s hand, heavy and hard, presses into his chest and stops him, just like he thought. “You don’t want me?”
Andrew makes a wounded sound and seamlessly falls to his knees. He pulls on the drawstring until it comes undone and pulls the band just enough for Dennis’ cock, already hard and leaking, to jut out.
Andrew’s eyes never leave his, it’s almost enough to make him come right then and there.
Dennis curls a hand around Andrew’s chin, the other around the base of his cock. “You know exactly how to make me feel better, right?”
Andrew licks his lips, the tip of it brushing Dennis’ cock. He settles his hands around Dennis’ bare hips, fingers digging hard enough to leave indents. “Best, even.”
“That’s right, Andrew.”
Andrew’s ears twitch, ever eager to be praised but never one to admit it, and receive it much less.
But that’s fine with Dennis, he knows how to give Andrew what he needs, too.