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The thing Dennis learned very quickly about Robby was that he carried endurance home with him like a second spine. He wasn’t performative about discomfort, didn’t martyr himself out loud. He just seemed to quietly fail to acknowledge basic human needs until they became a more obvious problem.
He forgot to eat unless reminded, he fell asleep sitting upright with paperwork in his lap and glasses perched low on his nose. He let his coffee go cold because reheating it required standing up and apparently that was simply too much to ask of a man who routinely cracked open chests for a living.
The bathroom thing took Dennis longer to notice.
The first time, they were sprawled half naked across Robby’s couch, all bare legs and sex tired limbs tangled together while they argued lazily over pizza toppings. Robby had dragged himself up from the couch with a long suffering sigh when the buzzer went and returned carrying the pizza boxes one handed, a fountain soda the size of a toddler balanced in the other.
Three hours later Dennis realised, with sudden intrusive clarity, that Robby hadn't gotten up once. Meanwhile Dennis himself had already gone three times because his bladder had apparently been assembled from damp tissue paper.
“You know,” he said slowly from where he was sprawled against the couch cushions, “most mammals urinate periodically.”
Robby didn’t look away from the Antarctica documentary he’d insisted they watch, despite Dennis maintaining for the past forty minutes that endless shots of spanning ice technically counted as ‘nothing fucking happening.’
“Thank you, Dr. Whitaker. Vital information.”
“I’m serious.”
“Mm, you usually are.”
Dennis snorted softly in response, but the tiny hook of curiosity lodged itself somewhere under his ribs.
After that, he started seeing it everywhere. At Robby’s during late dinners that stretched accidentally into midnight and blowjobs. On weekends when they sat reading in the same room for hours, companionably silent except for page turns and the occasional muttered insult directed at hospital administration.
Dennis would get up eventually, stretching. “Bathroom. Want anything while I’m up?”
And every single time: “Nope, I’m fine.”
The signs became even more visible once Dennis knew where to look. A subtle stillness settling into Robby’s body, crossed legs during long conversations. The way he’d stop absentmindedly reaching for his water glass after a certain point.
It was like discovering a hidden current beneath water you’d already been swimming in for months. Because the thing that made it strange wasn’t that Robby held it too long sometimes, it was the feeling Dennis was beginning to get that Robby liked enduring it. Or, maybe liked denying himself relief. That same impossible self control Robby brought to everything else suddenly seemed to live here too, wound tightly into something private and quiet and strangely intimate.
Dennis Whitaker, unfortunately, had the investigative instincts of a raccoon overturning a trash can at midnight. Once the thought lodged itself in his brain, it stayed there. Scratching occasionally at the walls of his attention while he tried to do literally anything else.
A slow descent that began with a google search:
holding bladder too long psychology
And somehow, fifty minutes later, ended with Dennis sitting cross legged in bed reading a forum thread written by people who were definitely getting off on this.
“Huh,” Dennis said out loud to his empty room.
Dennis rubbed both hands over his face. “Nope,” he informed himself immediately. Then, after a millisecond of a pause, “...maybe.”
He was midway through an extremely clinical article titled 'Understanding Control Dynamics in Somatic Restriction Behaviors' when Trinity performed what could only be described as a ceremonial interpretation of knocking before barging straight into his room.
“Yo, have you seen my charg—”
Dennis yelped so violently he nearly launched himself off the bed, the laptop slammed shut with a crack loud enough to sound criminal.
Trinity froze in the doorway, her eyes narrowing slowly, “...Whatcha doin’?”
“It’s not what you think.”
“That,” she said immediately, pointing at him with authority, “is what every disgusting man in human history says right before getting arrested.”
Dennis could feel heat climbing into his face at catastrophic speed. “I was reading something! Can you stop entering my room like a SWAT raid?”
“Okay defensive, stop acting like a teenager hiding pornography.”
Dennis made the mistake of sputtering.
Trinity gasped theatrically. “Oh my God, it is porn.”
“It’s not porn! Seriously, I was just reading. What the fuck do you need?”
“My phone charger. The long one. You stole it I’m assuming?”
“Oh.” He pointed vaguely toward his desk without uncurling from around the laptop. Trinity crossed the room, grabbed the charger, then paused by the door with a thoughtful expression.
“Okay, please leave now, thank you,” Dennis said.
“Mhm.” She stepped into the hallway, then immediately leaned back in again.
“You know,” she said, “once you’re done with the digital literature, I do have some extremely filthy werewolf smut you can borrow.”
Dennis closed his eyes. “I’m begging you to go away.”
“Very emotional slow burn,” Trinity continued. “Lots of yearning. Knotting. Surprisingly good prose. You’re only allowed to borrow them if you keep the pages jizz free though.”
Dennis snatched the nearest pillow off the bed and launched it at her on instinct, hitting her squarely in the back with a muffled whump.
Trinity simply let out a startled squeal, immediately dissolving into cackling laughter as she stumbled farther down the hallway.
Once the idea existed in Dennis’s mind, every tiny interaction acquired a dangerous second edge. Robby declining a bathroom stop during a long drive home. Robby quietly uncapping another sparkling water anyway. Robby sitting very straight through the second half of a movie, ankle hooked tightly over knee.
And Dennis, traitorous little scientist that he was, began watching for patterns.
One night at Robby’s, Dennis came back from the kitchen carrying two beers to find Robby motionless on the couch, eyes briefly shut, one hand spread low across his stomach; a quiet, steady pressure beneath the hem of his t-shirt.
The moment Robby realised Dennis was watching, his hand disappeared from his stomach immediately, almost too quickly to look natural, settling around the armrest instead. At the same time Robby shifted against the cushions in a small, restrained squirm, thighs tightening briefly like he was trying to ease pressure without making the movement obvious.
Dennis watched a flush bloom slowly across Robby’s face, starting high along his cheekbones before spreading warm pink beneath the bridge of his nose and into the tips of his ears. He glanced toward Dennis for barely half a second before looking away again, jaw tightening faintly as his attention fixed a little too hard on the television.
Another tiny adjustment followed a moment later. Subtle enough that most people probably wouldn't have noticed it. A careful shift of his hips deeper into the couch cushions, one knee bouncing once before stilling again beneath the coffee table.
Dennis felt something low in his stomach pull taut.
Dennis made it almost an entire day before the thought circled back and sank its teeth into him again, the specific intrusive thought his brain had apparently decided to fixate on now:
What if Robby actually lost control?
Dennis stared at the ceiling of his apartment for a long moment after that one arrived. His imagination ran wild with it almost immediately, filling in possibilities faster than he could shut them down. Robby embarrassed, Robby flustered, Robby blushing that deep, helpless pink while trying desperately to maintain composure through something deeply human and humiliating.
And Dennis instantly felt heat curl low in his stomach at the thought.
“What the fuck,” he whispered to himself.
Which was how he ended up back on his laptop at one in the morning, lit only by screen glow and poor decisions. His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a solid ten seconds before he finally typed:
why do i like the idea of someone pissing themself?
The search results appeared with infuriating calmness.
Humiliation.
Vulnerability.
Control dynamics.
Caretaking instincts.
Emotional intimacy linked to bodily trust.
Dennis clicked through article after article in mounting disbelief because the thing was, none of the explanations felt entirely wrong. Especially not when his brain kept supplying images of Robby specifically.
Robby trying to maintain dignity while failing slightly around the edges. Robby being seen, needing reassurance. Robby letting Dennis close enough to witness something embarrassing instead of hiding completely. Not degradation or cruelty, but intimacy, the unbearable softness hidden underneath the humiliation.
This was clearly private. Dennis could see that now threaded backward through every interaction he’d replayed in his head over the past week. The refusals. The composure. The careful stillness. The blush spreading helplessly across Robby’s face the instant he realised he’d been noticed.
The more he thought about it, the more obvious it became that Robby had probably never intended for anyone to notice at all. This wasn’t something performed outwardly. If anything, Robby seemed almost determined to contain it entirely within himself. Which meant those tiny moments Dennis had seen, the shifting, the pressure of Robby’s hand against his stomach, the involuntary flush creeping across his face, were probably the accidental overflow of something usually kept locked down tight.
The intimacy of that hit Dennis harder than he wanted to admit. Because now all he could think about was how much trust it would take for Robby to stop hiding it.
The room settles into that heavy, boneless quiet that only exists after sex.
Dennis is sprawled half on top of Robby, cheek resting against his stomach while some rerun neither of them is actually following flickers blue light across the bedroom walls. Robby’s fingers move absently through his hair every few minutes, slow and lazy with exhaustion.
Dennis shifts slightly to get more comfortable, dragging himself higher against Robby’s body with a sleepy hum and underneath him, Robby jerks almost imperceptibly.
Dennis frowns faintly against his stomach. “You okay?”
“Mhm.”
Dennis lets it go at first, settling again, one arm sliding more firmly around Robby’s waist. A minute later he feels another tiny movement beneath him. Not enough to dislodge Dennis exactly, just a restrained adjustment of Robby’s hips against the mattress followed by a brief tightening through his abdomen.
The television audience erupts into canned laughter somewhere in the background and Dennis can hear Robby breathing above him, controlled and measured. Robby is staring fixedly at the television, jaw tight beneath the soft shadow of stubble, one hand still carded through Dennis’s hair despite the increasing tension gathering through the rest of his body.
And abruptly, delicously, Dennis understands exactly what’s happening.
Colour is already beginning to spread across Robby’s face now, faint but unmistakable in the television light. He shifts again beneath Dennis, smaller this time, constrained by the fact Dennis is sprawled across half his body. Dennis can practically feel the effort it’s taking for him to stay composed.
“You’re very comfortable,” Dennis mumbles, settling his cheek back down deliberately against Robby’s stomach. “Don’t wanna move.”
Robby lets out one quiet breath through his nose and Dennis feels the muscles in his abdomen tighten beneath his head again.
“Dennis.”
Dennis tilts his chin just enough to glance up at him. “Hmm?”
Robby’s expression is carefully neutral, but there’s obvious tension gathering visibly through his body now. His thighs shift restlessly beneath the sheets before stilling again a second later, like he caught himself doing it.
“You are,” Robby says with precise calmness, “significantly heavier than you look.”
Dennis snorts. “That’s incredibly fucking rude.”
“I’m serious.”
“Mhm.”
Dennis settles more comfortably against him on purpose this time, cheek pressing warm against Robby’s stomach again. Immediately, Robby squirms beneath him. Dennis feels it everywhere at once now that he’s paying attention. The quick tightening in Robby’s core, the brief hitch in his breathing, the way one hand grips the sheets loosely before forcing itself to relax.
A flush creeps higher across Robby’s cheeks. “Dennis, I need to piss.”
Dennis hums sympathetically against his stomach. “That sounds tough.”
Robby stares down at him in disbelief. “You’re lying directly on top me. Mind getting up?”
“Mm, no, you’re very comfortable.”
Robby lets out a sharp hiss through his teeth and shifts beneath him again, more abruptly this time, his hips twitching restlessly against the mattress.
“You’re doing this on purpose now,” Robby accuses.
Dennis blinks up at him lazily. “Doing what?”
“You know exactly what.”
“I’m cuddling after sex. Very normal behaviour.”
Robby tries to glare at him. The effect is weakened somewhat by the visible pinkness blooming across his chest. When Dennis resettles his head slightly Robby jerks beneath him immediately.
“Oh my God,” Robby mutters, dragging a hand over his eyes.
Dennis bites back another smile. “You’re very squirmy tonight.”
“I’m trying not to bodily throw you across the room.”
“Mm, don’t think you are.”
Another frustrated shift rolls through Robby’s body. Every muscle in Robby’s abdomen wound taut with effort, his breathing keeps changing rhythm every few seconds before evening out again by force. And still, Dennis doesn’t move.
“Dennis,” Robby says again, more strained now. “Get off.”
“Nope.”
Robby stares at him. “I’m moments away from pissing myself.”
Colour floods even deeper across Robby’s face almost immediately, like he hadn’t meant to say it that plainly.
Dennis’s pulse kicks hard. There it fucking is.
“Well,” he says softly, “that sounds like a you problem.”
Robby makes a frustrated sound low in his throat and drops his head back against the pillows, chest rising harder now.
Dennis can’t help but notice that none of this is actually trapping him. Robby is bigger than him, stronger than him. At any point he could shift Dennis easily onto his side and get up. Instead he stays exactly where he is, visibly trembling now with the effort of holding himself still. Tiny shakes keep moving through his thighs beneath the sheets. Every few seconds his hips twitch restlessly against the mattress before he reins the movement back in again. His breathing is starting to lose rhythm entirely.
As Dennis slowly lifts his head from Robby’s stomach, the movement alone drags a rough inhale out of the squirming man.
And when Dennis looks up properly this time, Robby finally meets his eyes directly. The expression on his face hits Dennis like a physical thing. His cheeks are flushed dark pink now, frustration and embarrassment written openly across features usually held in such careful control. But underneath all of that, Dennis catches something else too, something far more dangerous, something that looks painfully close to wanting.
Very slowly, Dennis slides one hand down across Robby’s stomach. His eyes stay fixed on Robby’s as he settles his hand low against his abdomen, feels the muscles there tense instantly under his palm as he presses down.
Robby’s entire body jolts, a broken sound escapes him before he can catch it, head tipping back sharply into the pillows as his eyes roll closed for one helpless second.
“Jesus Christ,” he hisses. “What,” he says abruptly, words stumbling over each other now, “what the fuck are you doing?”
“You tell me,” Dennis says plainly.
Robby lets out another strained breath, eyes squeezing shut briefly. “This is insane,” he mutters. “You’re insane. This is fucked up shit, Dennis.”
Dennis slightly increases the pressure of his hand and Robby squirms harder.
“Oh my God, stop doing that too.”
“Doing what?”
“You know exactly fucking what.”
Robby’s entire expression crumples for half a second. “Dennis,” he says, almost pleading now, frustration bleeding openly into his voice. “I genuinely cannot tell if you’re being cruel right now.”
Dennis feels his stomach drop. Of course that’s where Robby’s mind goes first. Of course a thing this private, this humiliating, would come wrapped in the expectation of being laughed at eventually.
Dennis pushes himself up slightly at once, “I’m not making fun of you.”
The room goes quiet except for the television murmuring forgotten nonsense in the background. Robby is tense, embarrassed almost beyond endurance now that everything is more distinctly out in the open. But underneath that, Dennis can see him trying to read the truth in Dennis’s face.
“I wouldn’t do that to you,” Dennis says, quieter this time.
Dennis’s chest aches suddenly with how exposed Robby looks right now, flushed and breathing hard and clearly regretting every decision that led to this conversation while also not telling Dennis to leave.
“I just…” Dennis hesitates, searching for the right words. “I noticed some things. Guessed you might like it.”
Robby’s throat moves once, his face still pink all the way down his neck now. “Please don't.”
“You looked embarrassed,” Dennis says carefully. “Not upset though. You haven’t asked me to stop. Given me ‘red.’”
Robby lets out one shaky exhale through his nose. “That’s because,” he admits with visible effort, “I don’t entirely fucking want you to.”
The words seem to horrify him immediately after they leave his mouth. Robby drags both hands over his face and lets out a low, frustrated sound into his palms.
“This is so fucked up,” he says all at once, the words starting to tumble over each other faster now like he can’t quite stop them. “Jesus Christ, apparently my brain has decided the thing it wants to do with you is…” He gestures vaguely downward in visible agony. “Whatever the fuck this is.”
Dennis opens his mouth but Robby barrels onward before he can speak.
“And now you know about it,” he says, looking genuinely distressed. “Which was not supposed to happen. Shit, this was supposed to remain deeply internal and die with me like a dignified fucking dirty secret.”
Robby is blushing so fiercely now it’s spread all the way across his chest.
“And you know what the worst part is?” he continues miserably. “The worst part is that you noticed immediately because apparently I become the most transparent man alive the second I’m around you, which is humiliating on levels I genuinely don't have the language for right now.”
Dennis settles his palm low against his stomach again, feeling the immediate tightening beneath it, the way Robby’s whole body braces around the contact before melting helplessly into tension.
“Baby,” Dennis says quietly, keeping his eyes on his face. “Do you want me to stop?”
The pressure of Dennis’s hand increases just slightly and a soft, wounded whine escapes Robby, eyes squeezing shut so tightly it creases the corners. His head tips back into the pillows again, throat working visibly as another shiver moves through his body.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he whispers. “I’ve never done this before. With someone else,” Robby says quickly, visibly mortified even saying the words aloud. “I’ve never…this specifically, I mean. Not actually with another person involved.”
“I haven’t either,” Dennis admits softly. “Does…that mean you’ve done this alone?”
Robby’s eyes squeeze shut again instantly, nodding as colour floods violently across his face as he makes a tiny strangled sound somewhere between humiliation and surrender.
“That’s…” Dennis says softly, almost disbelievingly. “That’s so fucking hot.”
Robby makes another strangled noise behind his hands, visibly squirming beneath him now.
“No, seriously, fuck,” Dennis continues, voice lower this time, roughened by want. “You’ve been in this house for years secretly working yourself up like this all alone and nobody’s ever known?” His hand shifts slightly lower against Robby’s stomach again, feeling the violent tension there. “Jesus Christ. That’s filthy.”
Robby whines softly through his hands and Dennis feels his own head spin a little at the sound.
“You just quietly sit here torturing yourself until you’re shaking apart?” he murmurs. “And then you go to work the next morning acting like the most composed man alive?” He lets out a breathless little laugh. “That’s so unbelievably hot I can barely fucking think right now. If you’re fucked up for wanting this, then I’m just as fucked up as you.”
Robby’s body falls back into the mattress like his strings have been cut, tension unravelling all at once into exhausted surrender. Another shaky breath leaves him as he covers his face briefly with one hand, laughing once under it in disbelief.
“This is insane,” he moans.
“A little. But shit,” Dennis says, voice rough around the edges, “do I want to keep going.”
He pushes himself upright and Robby watches him, wary and flushed and visibly trembling now beneath the tangled sheets. Dennis begins to shift his body higher above Robby’s legs.
“Hang on.”
Before Robby can ask what that means, Dennis suddenly slips off the bed entirely and disappears into the bathroom.
Robby blinks after him, still flushed and breathing hard. “What are you doing?”
“Planning ahead,” Dennis calls back.
There’s the sound of cabinet doors opening. Rustling. Then Dennis reappears carrying an armful of towels against his chest.
The second Robby sees them, he groans and drops his face briefly into the pillow. “Oh God.”
Dennis grins despite himself and tosses the towels onto the bed. “Scooch over.”
Robby hesitates for half a second, visibly mortified, before shifting enough for Dennis to start spreading the towels beneath his hips. “There’s already a waterproof mattress protector on the bed.”
Dennis’s eyes darken instantly. He suddenly has an urge to growl at the fact that Robby had built private little contingencies around this part of himself years before Dennis ever stumbled across it. Something warm and dangerous twists low in Dennis’s gut.
“That,” he says slowly, “is unbelievably hot.”
Robby lets out a genuinely pained noise as Dennis climbs back onto the bed. His breath catches instantly as Dennis swings one leg over his hips, then the other, settling astride him low enough that his weight presses directly across Robby’s lower abdomen.
Robby jerks beneath him with a wrecked sound. “Fuck—”
Dennis braces one hand against his chest to steady himself while the other settles low against Robby’s stomach again, feeling the immediate tightening beneath his palm. Robby’s head falls back against the pillows with a helpless groan, both hands gripping hard at Dennis’s thighs now like he can’t decide whether to shove him off or drag him closer.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes.
Dennis looks down at him, pulse hammering and settles his weight just a little more deliberately. Robby actually whines.
“Oh, you’re already hanging on by a thread,” Dennis observes.
Robby glares up at him. “Don’t fucking tease me.”
“And you,” Dennis continues unaffected, leaning down until their faces are only inches apart, “are apparently a lot less controlled than you pretend to be.”
Robby’s eyes flutter shut briefly as Dennis smiles slightly and murmurs against the corner of his mouth, “Let’s see how controlled you really are, hmm?”
Dennis closes the space between them and Robby makes a broken sound into his mouth immediately, one hand tangling violently into Dennis’s hair as though he needs something solid to hold onto. Dennis kisses him deeper before he can think too hard about it, all tongue and teeth and breath, messy almost instantly. Robby kisses like he’s overwhelmed by it, like he’s trying desperately to stay composed and failing more every second Dennis keeps pressing close.
Dennis’s weight is heavy over Robby’s hips while he kisses him slower now, deeper, swallowing down every shaky breath Robby loses into his mouth. Robby’s other hand catches hard at Dennis’s hip, trying, weakly, to stop the slow rhythmic movement Dennis keeps making every time he rolls against him.
“Fuck,” Dennis whispers.
“You have to stop moving,” Robby says hoarsely.
Dennis kisses the corner of his mouth instead and Robby’s grip tightens in his hair hard enough to sting. Another shudder runs visibly through his body as Dennis shifts again, slower this time, and Robby lets out a helpless, high sound straight into Dennis’s mouth.
Dennis pulls back, but continues rolling his hips slowly, rhythmically pushing down on Robby’s bladder. “You’re not close to giving in already, are you?”
“Oh fuck you,” Robby says hoarsely.
Dennis laughs. “Oh, that’s cute.”
“I’m fucking serious.”
“Mhm.”
Robby glares at him, visibly squirming again beneath Dennis’s weight before catching himself with a frustrated breath. “You’re unbelievably fucking smug for someone one bad decision away from being launched bodily off this bed.”
Dennis leans down and licks into his open mouth lazily. “Mm. You haven’t done it yet though, have you?”
Robby opens his mouth immediately to argue, but Dennis rises to his knees before he can. The sudden absence of pressure drags a sharp inhale out of Robby so quickly it almost sounds startled.
Dennis watches him carefully for one suspended second, then in one hard movement he drops back down again.
A wrecked, completely incoherent noise tears out of Robby as his entire body jerks beneath Dennis, head falling while one hand clamps hard around Dennis’s forearm like he’s trying to survive impact.
“Fffhck—fuck, fuck, fuck, Jesus—Dennis, I can’t, holy fucking shit—”
Dennis stares at him. And somewhere beneath the dizzy heat and adrenaline and the growing realisation that Robby is visibly shaking apart underneath him, another thought lands with startling, smug clarity. He’s pretty sure he’s the one in control right now.
Robby looks completely undone beneath him now, breathing ragged and uneven, cheeks burning scarlet while he tries and fails to recover enough composure to glare properly.
“You’re a fucking sadist,” he says hoarsely.
Dennis grins immediately. “Well spotted,” he says. “You’re very mouthy tonight,” he continues.
“Oh, fuck off.” Robby whines.
“There it is again. Hey, you can say whatever you want,” Dennis explains. “However you want. You can insult me, threaten me, tell me I’m evil, tell me I’m ruining your life.” He shifts his weight just slightly again and watches Robby’s entire face crumple for half a second. “I’m still not stopping.”
Dennis leans down closer, voice warm against his mouth again.
“Not until you’ve completely made a mess of yourself.”
****
Dennis has to admit, privately and with increasing disbelief, that he’s impressed. Deeply impressed. They’ve been going for at least twenty minutes now, and Robby is still holding on through it with a level of stubbornness that borders on fascinating.
At some point they’d shifted positions entirely. Now Robby lies curled slightly onto his side with his face turned into the pillow, one arm trapped beneath it while Dennis spoons him from behind, pressed warm along the full length of his body.
Dennis’s arm is draped heavily across his waist, which according to Robby, is absolutely not helping. Neither is the slow, relentless pressure of Dennis’s thighs bracketed between his quivering legs, keeping him pinned in place every time instinct makes Robby try to squirm away from the sensation for half a second before giving up again.
Robby is in absolute pieces.
His hair is damp at the temples. His face is flushed dark pink all the way down his neck and chest. And somehow, impossibly, he’s still fighting for composure.
Dennis presses a kiss quietly against the back of his shoulder and feels Robby shudder hard in response. “Still holding on, huh?” he murmurs.
Robby makes a deeply offended noise into the pillow. Underneath the frustration and humiliation and obvious desperation, Robby still sounds defiant. Still sounds determined not to fully give in no matter how wrecked he gets.
“You know,” Dennis says thoughtfully, tightening his arm slightly around Robby’s waist when another restless squirm tries to pull away from him, “I genuinely thought you would’ve cracked by now. You’re shaking.”
“’M aware.”
“And still arguing with me.”
Robby squirms again, sharper this time, a strained sound escaping him before he buries it immediately into the pillow with visible frustration. Dennis feels Robby’s breathing start to change against his hand where it rests across his stomach. Sharp little pulls of air that keep catching halfway in Robby’s chest before he forces them back out again through clenched teeth.
Dennis presses closer behind him automatically, thigh sliding between Robby’s legs as his hand tightens deliberately across his lower abdomen again.
Robby jerks hard. “No,” he breathes immediately, voice cracking apart. “No, I can’t—”
Dennis simply presses down slightly harder.
Robby makes a wrecked sound into the pillow. “Jesus fucking Christ, no.”
His entire body is trembling now. Dennis can feel every tiny involuntary twitch running through him while Robby fights desperately to stay rigid through it anyway.
“I— I can’t do it,” Robby says all at once, words stumbling over each other breathlessly now. “I physically fucking can’t let go, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—”
Dennis shifts his hand lower again, presses down with a firm deep pressure. Robby nearly folds in half with the force of the reaction, one hand clawing blindly at the sheets while a broken gasp tears out of him.
And still he keeps holding on, Dennis is honestly starting to lose his mind over it. This shouldn’t still be possible. Robby is shaking hard enough now that the mattress itself keeps trembling faintly beneath them, breaths coming dangerously close to panting while every muscle in his body locks tighter and tighter with effort.
“This is fucking torture,” Robby says hoarsely into the pillow.
Dennis licks a stripe up the side of his neck then tightens his arm around his waist and presses again. “Mhm.”
Robby chokes on a sound halfway between a groan and a curse. “Oh my God—, stop, stop moving, stop fucking pressing—”
But the second Dennis stills entirely, Robby squirms backward against him again instinctively like he’s chasing the contact despite himself.
“Interesting,” Dennis whispers.
“Don’t,” Robby says immediately, horrified. “I swear to God—. I can’t fucking do it,” Robby says again, almost frantic now. “I can’t let go, I don’t know how, I don’t know how to stop holding it—”
Robby’s head drops forward against the pillow with a wrecked sound, breaths coming fast and uneven now while his entire body trembles in Dennis’s arms.
“Dennis,” he begs, voice thinner this time. “Please.”
Dennis feels heat curl violently through his stomach at the sound of it. At Robby unravelling piece by gorgeous piece beneath his hands, flushed dark red and shaking hard enough that Dennis can barely keep him still.
“Please make it stop,” Robby says breathlessly. “Jesus Christ, please, I can’t fucking take this anymore.”
Dennis presses down again, harder this time.
“Fuck,” Robby gasps, twisting helplessly beneath him before collapsing back again. “Please, please, please I need—”
Dennis can feel him trying desperately to stay controlled through it anyway, muscles locking tighter every time another involuntary squirm wracks through him.
“You’re doing so well, my brave boy,” Dennis murmurs against his skin.
That only seems to make Robby worse. A broken whimper escapes him as one hand reaches back blindly for Dennis like he needs something solid to cling to.
“Don’t say that,” he says roughly. “Oh my God, don’t fucking praise me right now, I—”
“Why not, baby? Hmm? Use your words.”
“Because it—” Robby cuts himself off with a strangled inhale. “Because it makes me want to—fuck—”
Robby completely loses the sentence as Dennis’s hand tightens again across his stomach. For a second all he can do is pant through it, trembling violently while Dennis holds him close through every desperate twitch and shudder.
Then the begging starts again, louder this time, almost ruined by embarrassment.
“Please,” Robby groans. “Please, I can’t hold it, I can’t, I can’t…”
Dennis wraps his entire arm around Robby’s waist and pulls him tighter against his chest and Robby gasps sharply and bucks, forehead slick with sweat pressing hard into the pillow while another violent shiver runs through him from shoulders to knees. Dennis can feel every muscle in his abdomen locking tighter under the pressure of being held like this.
Dennis’s mouth brushes slowly against the damp skin below his ear. “Don’t you want to be good for me?” he whispers.
Robby can only make a shattered sound in the back of his throat.
Dennis tightens his hold again deliberately, keeping him pinned close while his hand spreads low across Robby’s stomach. “Don’t you want to make me proud?” he asks softly. “You’ve been doing so well. Where’s my good boy, hmm?”
Robby twists helplessly in Dennis’s arms while his breathing breaks into short, wrecked bursts against the pillow. “Please, fuck—”
“You’ve held on this long,” Dennis continues, relentless now. “Been fighting so hard against me.”
Robby shakes his head frantically like he physically cannot survive hearing this while another involuntary squirm wracks through him. “You’re making it worse,” Robby says, nearly breathless. “Oh my God, you know it’s making it worse. Stop it—”
Dennis hums thoughtfully against the back of his neck and shifts his grip just enough to pull another strangled gasp out of him.
Dennis has never seen anything more devastatingly beautiful in his life.
“You can say whatever you want to me,” Dennis says quietly. “Complain. Swear at me. Threaten me. I honestly don’t care.”
Dennis presses even closer behind him, warm and immovable. “It’s not going to make me stop,” he murmurs. “I only stop when you give in.”
Something in Robby finally splinters around the edges after that. The last thin strands of composure pulling too tight, too strained to hold together anymore. Robby’s next breath catches hard enough to stutter into something dangerously close to a sob.
“No,” he says immediately, shaking his head against the pillow. “No, no, I can’t, Dennis, please, please don’t—”
Dennis tightens his hold around him automatically as another full body shudder tears through Robby hard enough to drag them both slightly across the mattress.
“Oh my God,” Robby gasps. “Oh my God, I don’t want to, I can’t—”
And yet he’s pushing backward into Dennis’s hold at the same time, trembling violently while Dennis keeps him pulled tight against his chest. Dennis’s thigh slides more firmly between Robby’s legs.
“There you go,” Dennis groans against the back of his neck, voice low and steady now while Robby comes apart in his arms. “You’re doing so well for me.”
Robby shakes his head harder. “No, no, stop saying that, stop—”
“You’ve held on forever.”
“I can’t anymore—”
“Then don’t, baby.”
Dennis’s hand spreads wider across his stomach, keeping the pressure there while Robby writhes helplessly beneath it, breaths turning ragged and wet now.
“Dennis,” Robby says again, nearly incoherent now. “Please let me up, please, I can’t, I can’t do this, I swear to God I’m going to—”
Dennis only pulls him closer, locks him tighter against his body, trapped. “That’s it, baby,” he says softly as another wrecked sob catches out of Robby’s throat. “Just let it happen.”
Robby makes a strangled, desperate noise and twists weakly in his arms, but there’s no real force behind it anymore. His body is too busy shaking apart around the impossible effort of continuing to hold on.
“You’re okay,” Dennis says, kissing damp skin behind his ear while Robby trembles violently against him. “You’re doing so well. I’ve got you.”
Robby breaks on the next breath. Dennis feels it the exact second it happens, the abrupt collapse of tension. The helpless surrender of muscles that have been fighting themselves for nearly half an hour.
A fractured sound tears out of Robby’s throat as his body finally gives way.
Instinctively, he curls forward slightly, twisting onto more of his front like he’s trying to hide from it even while it’s happening, lower body pressing hard into the mattress. Dennis’s arm stays locked tight around his waist, hand still spread low across his stomach while tremors continue rippling through him in waves.
“I— I,—Oh my God, shit—” Robby chokes out.
Dennis feels the warmth bloom against his forearm. It starts as a subtle dampness against his skin where his hand rests low on Robby's belly, then spreads outward, saturating the fabric between them.
"That's it," Dennis murmurs against his neck, keeping his voice low and steady. "There you go. Just let go."
Robby's body jerks in a series of staccato spasms, his breath catching in wet, broken gasps. The sound of liquid hitting the towels and sheets fills the quiet room — not harsh or violent, but steady, relentless.
Dennis can feel the fabric growing wet beneath them, the warmth spreading in concentric circles from where Robby's hips are grinding helplessly into the soaked fabric. He doesn't pull away, doesn't flinch. His arm stays wrapped firmly around Robby's waist, palm pressing flat against the drenched curve of his stomach, feeling every shudder and convulsion as his bladder empties itself.
"Keep breathing," Dennis says softly, pressing another kiss to the shell of Robby's ear. "You're doing it. You're letting go."
Robby's hand reaches back, fingers digging desperately into Dennis's thigh, gripping hard enough to bruise as the last of it trickles out. His whole body sags, the tension draining out of him like water from a broken vessel. The wetness beneath them is substantial now — a dark stain spreading across the towels and sheets, the smell sharp and thick and filthy.
Dennis holds him through every last drip, every shuddering exhale, until Robby's breathing starts to even out, his grip on Dennis's thigh loosening from clawing to clutching to just resting there, limp and trusting.
“There you go, fuck, good boy Robby,” Dennis gasps softly.
Robby lets out a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh.
Dennis can hear the relief underneath it anyway. His hand slides slowly upward from Robby’s stomach, gentler now, fingertips brushing through the lingering tremors and mess and warmth, while Robby breathes like someone who’s just run a marathon. Despite the humiliation burning visibly through him, despite the flushed cheeks and drenched bed and the obvious horror at what just happened, Robby presses backward instinctively into Dennis’s chest instead of pulling away.
Robby groans directly into the pillow. “I’m actually going to have to fake my death now.”
Dennis smiles against the back of his neck and starts to shift upright, reaching automatically for the towels beneath them.
The second he moves, Robby makes another protesting sound and grabs weakly at his forearm. “Please don’t leave me alone with my consequences.”
Dennis snorts as he manoeuvres Robby carefully away from the large wet spot, prompting Robby to drag the pillow over his head entirely in immediate, exhausted mortification.
Robby speaks from behind the pillow, muffled. “Next time we’re doing your deeply filthy secret.”
Dennis huffs out a breath. “Yeah, that’s never happening.”
“So you do have one,” Robby says weakly, head lifting from the pillow watching Dennis with obvious curiosity.
“Not the point right now.”
Robby pushes himself halfway upright with visible effort, immediately wincing at the state of the bed before dropping his face into his hands again. “We’ll put this in the wash,” he mutters. “Then we’ll shower. Then we’ll sleep in the guest bedroom and spend the rest of time pretending this never happened.”
Dennis wraps both arms around him from behind before he can escape, pressing a kiss into his damp hair. “Absolutely not.”
Robby can only groan dramatically.