Archive of Our Own

The bells hung on the front door jingled as Dad entered the house, back from his night shift. Dennis adjusted on his bed, blinking awake slowly as he heard Dad trudge through the house, down the hallway and into the bedroom. He watched as Dad slipped inside, sighing softly as he walked straight into the closet, ignoring Dennis on the dog bed. He’d go to sleep soon, Dennis was sure, unless he was hungry.

Hangers clinked around in the closet, the door just-barely ajar. Dennis listened to the rustling of clothes, and then the metallic click of Dad removing his prosthesis, followed by the familiar creak of him settling his weight onto his crutches. Dad stepped out of the closet, and Dennis rolled onto his back, stretching with a small noise, eyes fluttering shut as his muscles relaxed, cropped shirt raising to expose his belly.

The crutching-noise stopped for a second, and Dennis tilted his head, opening his eyes to see Dad staring down at him, exhaustion colored across his face, but the corner of his mouth quirked, just barely, into a smile. He was in pajamas, boxers and a t-shirt, clearly ready to crawl into bed with Daddy, but his eyes trailed over Dennis’ form, bottom lip catching between his teeth.

“Hey, pup,” Dad whispered, and took a partial step towards the end of the bed, where Dennis’ mattress was on the floor. Dennis tried not to wag, extending his arms above his head, fingers just barely tangling in the carpet, underwear running low on his hips. Dad laughed quietly, and took a few more steps over. He removed his forearms from his crutches, and lowered onto his knee, squishing into the mattress, hands coming down to press down by Dennis’ sides.

Dennis couldn’t contain his wiggle, shirt bunching up against his back, and Dad laughed again, lowering to his elbows to brush his lips against Dennis’ cheek.

“Why’re you up, huh?” Dad murmured, a smile cracking across his lips as Dennis’ hands wrenched away from the carpet, grabbing onto Dad’s shoulders to clutch, hold close. He laughed again, still soft, conscious of being quiet for Daddy as Dennis nip-lick-kissed across his face. “Waiting on me to come home?”

“Dad,” Dennis grinned, wriggling his knees out from under Dad, feet hitching at the backs of Dad’s thighs to try and pull him closer, so big, so warm, so much nicer than his blanket.

“Yeah, pup, that’s me,” Dad resisted Dennis’ tug, but his hand moved, curling around the back of Dennis’ head, tangling in his curls and gripping to hold him still. Dennis quit his movement, chuffing out his nose as Dad made him angle his head backwards, having him show off his collar. Dad hummed, and gave Dennis’ head a slight shake, pulling a soft, content whine from his mouth.

“You shower today, puppy?” Dad murmured, and adjusted his grip on Dennis’ hair slightly, spreading out to not apply too much pressure to one point. He ducked down, and smattered little, fluttering, ticklish kisses and nips along Dennis’ neck.

Dennis nodded the best he could, flushing as Dad nibbled along his jaw. His fingers curled along Dad’s shoulders, tangling in his shirt. “Daddy,” he confirmed, eyelashes fluttering as Dad sucked at the mark he’d bitten, back arching, chest pressing against Dad’s firm torso.

“Showered with Daddy, huh?” The words were a little tight, spoken through an inhale as Dad gripped Dennis tighter, pressing their bodies closer together, moving his mouth only a centimeter from the mark he’d left to begin working on a new one.

Dennis shuddered, head falling back naturally, leaning into Dad’s grip as little spikes of heat dripped from the saliva-wet hickeys Dad was giving him. He hummed, biting at the inside of his cheek, revelling in how Dad gripped him. So strong, so mean.

Dad’s free hand had been pressed into the mattress, but it moved, jerking down to cradle Dennis’ thigh, guiding it up to his side. Dennis giggled, the sound a little too loud, and was quickly hushed by Dad’s lips meeting his. 

He loved kissing Dad. His arms curled around Dad’s neck, smiling cheekily, legs extending to sneak around Dad’s torso, hook his ankles together behind his back. Dad licked at his lips, nippy and bitey, and Dennis easily let him in, tilting his head. Dad kissed him like he wanted to eat him, leaning against him, dragging his tongue along Dennis’ canines, lapping at the inside of his cheek, holding him close, closer, closest. Hungry puppy whines slipped from Dennis’ mouth, in between connections as he tried to keep up, tried to catch his breath, flush burning from his cheeks down to his shoulders. 

His shirt rucked up as Dad tugged him further down the mattress, chest exposed, and Dad’s hand moved from the back of Dennis’ head to grope at the exposed skin, thumb brushing quickly, electrically, over Dennis’ nipple. Dennis whined into Dad’s mouth, back arching.

Daddy’s snores from the bed hitched. Both Dad and Dennis froze. Dad pulled away, face a little red. A beat passed, and Daddy adjusted on the bed, blankets rustling, before slumping again, snores continuing with their usual rhythm. Dad exhaled through his nose, something like a laugh, and leaned down to press a quick peck to Dennis’ lips.

“Bedtime, puppy,” he whispered as he fully detangled from Dennis, sitting up. He grabbed his crutches from where he’d leaned them against the footboard, grunting softly as he stood. Dennis pouted briefly, a low rolling-warmth under his skin, but twisted over onto his belly, uncaring of his skin still exposed by his shirt. He listened as Dad got into bed, and Daddy roused again, making a half-baked noise.

“Sleep, babe, it’s still before 7:00,” Dad mumbled, and Daddy huffed, adjusting some more. Dennis’ ears pricked as he heard Dad tuck himself under the covers, and the room fell silent, only the sounds of the AC running through the vents filling the room.

He sighed, and rolled back over onto his back, gathering enough faculties to tug his shirt down, fully covering himself again. His blanket had been pushed aside by Dad, and he grabbed it from the edge of the mattress, tucking the end underneath his heels, and pulling the rest up to his chin. He rolled around a little more, getting comfortable, unaware of how much noise he was making, before Dad’s side of the bed creaked.

“Puppy,” Dad whispered, firm, hard, and Dennis froze, up on all fours on his mattress, prepared to punch his blanket into squishy submission. 

“Go to sleep,” Dad asserted after a beat passed. 

Dennis frowned. He couldn’t sleep, that was the problem! His blanket was evil!

He got up on his knees, extending just enough to peek over the footboard, and Dad was staring at him, clearly at the end of his wick, eyebrow arching. Dennis pouted, and whined, hands raising to grip at the footboard next to his face.

Dad’s jaw ticked. He shook his head slowly, and mouthed, clear as day, “No.”

Dennis shook his head at him, sitting up further, getting his jaw over the footboard. He whined again, louder now, and Daddy’s snores hitched from his side.

“Quit,” Dad hissed, and rolled his eyes, dropping back in the bed, hands rising to rub at his face.

Dennis waited. Just a few more seconds–!

Dad scooted a few inches to the middle of the bed, and patted the now open space. Dennis grinned, successful, and dropped back down, quickly crawling around the side of the bed. Dad huffed, clearly exhausted, but raised the blanket as Dennis got up the mattress, allowing him to tuck up against his side. 

“You’re a menace,” Dad murmured, and turned towards Dennis, grabbing him, easily flipping him over to face the edge of the bed. Dennis giggled as he was moved, and Dad hushed him, one hand sliding down Dennis’ side, the other going beneath Dennis’ pillow, bicep now acting as an additional cushion.

Dennis’ hips twitched backwards as Dad’s thumb slid underneath the waistband of his underwear—loose boxers that belonged to Daddy, and were way too big—and yanked them down a few inches. Dennis pressed backwards towards Dad as he realized what was happening, his own hands moving down to help shove the clothing item off, flushing darkly as Dad’s hand curled over his waist to go right between his legs.

“This what you wanted?” Dad exhaled, right into Dennis’ ear. His fingers slipped with ease through Dennis’ folds, index and middle caging Dennis’ little cock, eliciting a quiet whine from the pup’s mouth. “Need me to rock you to sleep?”

Dennis nodded, mouth opening in a silent gasp as Dad’s fingers went further, two immediately dipping inside.

“Fuck,” Dad whispered, “you’re so wet, pup. You get all excited just from kissing?”

Dennis nodded desperately again, hips jerking, fingers tangling in the hem of his shirt, as Dad fucked his fingers in and out, the wet sounds muffled by the blanket. He turned his face toward the pillow, shuddering out a whimper.

“Yeah,” Dad murmured as Dennis’ leg raised, moving backward to hook around Dad’s thigh, increasing access. “You stay quiet, pup. Don’t wanna wake Daddy.”

“In?” Dennis requested, removing his face from the pillow just briefly, voice barely above a whisper. “In, Dad? In?”

Dad groaned softly, and pulled his fingers out of Dennis, immediately tugging his boxers down. His cock came out, hardening quickly, ruddy-wet tip sliding between Dennis’ thighs. Dad exhaled tightly, gripping the base of his cock, twitching at Dennis’ hitching breaths as he rubbed against his pup’s sopping entrance.

Dennis’ hips twitched backwards, pushing onto Dad’s cock, and with a muted groan, Dad adjusted to push inside. His arm that was under the pillow jerked out from underneath, hand raising to cross over Dennis’ chest and tug him close, hips rocking up into the wet, tight heat. Dennis’ scrambled for purchase, gripping at Dad’s forearm, mouth open, wordless, drool threatening to spill as his eyes wrenched shut, clenching around the intrusion.

“Okay,” Dad exhaled slowly, rocking up into Dennis before settling them back into the mattress. He pressed himself flush, a shiver running through both of them, and patted Dennis’ hip. “Sleep. I’ll fuck you when I’m up.”

Dennis, gooey, warm, entangled with Dad, couldn’t imagine a better scenario. He slumped in Dad’s arms, wobbly, dazed smile on his face, and let his eyes fall shut.

On the other side of the bed, Robby stared at the wall. He rolled his eyes, and moved to bury his face in the pillow. Those two couldn’t be quiet if their lives depended on it.

~:~

Daddy got up around 8:30. He didn’t sleep for long into the day, usually. Dennis blinked awake as the mattress creaked, still obtrusively full of Dad, the lines of the sheets smushed red against his face as Daddy walked over to the bathroom, stretching and yawning as he went. Dennis tried to wriggle out of the bed—he’d shower with Daddy, he almost always did—but Dad’s hands tightened on him, tugging him back closer, muttering something under his breath. Dennis squeaked, clenching down on Dad’s cock, a burn of heat running through him.

He heard the shower turn on. No!

Dennis tried to sit up, getting up on to his elbows, and yelped when Dad tugged him back down. 

“Dad,” he whined, flushing darkly at how Dad twitched, hardening again after a few hours of sleep. “Dad, dad–”

“Sleep, pup,” Dad grunted, voice thick and gravely. His grip tightened on Dennis, and hips jerked up, reaffirming his point.

“Dad,” Dennis frowned, glancing up towards the bathroom, where he could, through the crack in the door, see the mirror fogging. Daddy was in there without him! “Dad!”

“He can shower without you,” Dad groaned, tired grip starting to not be a match for Dennis’ insistent wiggles. “Pup, lay down and relax.”

Dennis’ nose burned with the threat of tears. He shook his head, sniffling loudly, and warbled, jerking against Dad’s grip. “Daddy.”

“God, fine,” Dad released Dennis, snorting as Dennis scrambled off the bed, eagerly crawling across the floor towards the bathroom. Crocodile tears immediately dried, Dennis slipped into the bathroom, wrestling his shirt off as he went. The frosted glass shower door slid open, and Daddy peeked out, eyebrow raised. 

“Hi, Dens,” Daddy smiled down at him. “You joining me? Up, on your feet, baby.”

Dennis grinned, and popped up onto his feet. Just as he almost stepped into the shower, Daddy cursed under his breath. “Shit. Collar, Dens. Go ask Dad to take it off for you.”

Dennis frowned, a whine slipping from his mouth. He tried to step past Daddy, get into the shower, but Daddy just laughed, blocking him off. “It’ll be quick,” Daddy chuckled. “You know you can’t get your collar wet. Go ask Dad, baby.”

Dennis huffed, but turned to exit the bathroom. Dad hadn’t yet fallen asleep, and his eyes widened curiously at Dennis’s bare body—even though he laid around naked all the time—sitting up slightly as Dennis sidled up by the nightstand, hands clasped politely in front of him. Dad waited, eyebrow quirked up, and leaned back onto his hands. 

Dennis swayed back and forth. He knew Dad had heard his conversation in the bathroom. Meanie. “Collar, Dad?” Dennis tilted his chin down, blinking quickly, trying to be cute.

Dad’s mouth cracked, just barely, into a grin. “You want your collar off?”

Dennis nodded. The chill of the room brushed over his skin, and he held back a shiver, excited to be in the hot shower with Daddy.

“I dunno,” Dad’s voice lilted with a tease. “You got outta bed when I didn’t want you to. Maybe you can hold off on a shower for now.”

Dennis frowned. He glanced back at the shower, and the water was hitting the tile in varied notes and splashes. God, he was missing it! He averted his attention back to Dad, who looked far too pleased with himself. Grey hair mussed, eyes tired, but still smug. Dad adjusted to sit up against the headboard, and his now-free hand reached out to curl over Dennis’ hip, tug him close, grope along his bare skin. Dennis moved with the direction, disappointment festering in his chest, even as Dad pet him gently.

“You could shower with me later, puppy,” Dad glanced up at him, hazel-eyes looking brown in the darkness of the bedroom. “Just a couple hours.”

Dennis’ arms curled over his torso, a shiver running through him. He bit the inside of his cheek, and shrugged. Dad exhaled softly, fingers moving further to grip at his ass, giving him another tug forward. 

“Come back to bed, pup,” Dad coaxed. “Warm up my cock for later.”

Dennis shivered again, for a different reason. Daddy was probably already done shampooing at this point, really there wasn’t much time left for Dennis to have fun in the shower. He got a knee back up on the bed, and Dad grinned sharply, pulling Dennis fully onto his lap. His hands clasped Dennis’ hips, and he called out, loud enough for Daddy to hear.

“No shower for him, now! He’s sleeping more!”

Daddy’s voice was water-muddled as he replied. “Greedy!”

Dad snickered. His right hand rose to hook a finger in the O-ring of Dennis’ collar, tugging him down to smack a kiss to his cheek. Dennis giggled, and flattened out on top of Dad, turning his face to give Dad more kissable surface area. Dad’s other hand crept out, curling over the curve of Dennis’ back, down over his ass, sneaking between his legs. Dennis opened his mouth, let Dad lick inside, and inched closer, hips hitching to let Dad’s blunt, thick fingers prod at his entrance, still wet from earlier.

“God, puppy,” Dad groaned into Dennis’ mouth, voice still gravelly from sleep, sending ripples of shivers through Dennis’ skin. “I’ll never get bored of your pussy.”

Dennis flushed, smiling shyly, twisting his face away to catch his breath. Dad just licked along his cheek and neck instead. A whimper slipped from his mouth, head dropping against Dad’s shoulder as his fingers dug further inside, dipping in and out quickly. Dennis shivered, arching further into the touch, making Dad laugh as he burrowed against his chest, little pleased noises slipping from his mouth.

“Made for me, puppy,” Dad crooned, “carved a hole in you that’s just my size, right?”

Dennis nodded, thighs clenching, hips getting higher, heated desperation wax-dripping through his veins. He huffed tightly through his nose, warmth ramping up inside of him, clenching down to feel it, feel Dad, get him in deeper—

The shower stopped. Dad slowed his pace, murmuring something gentle and muddled as Dennis slumped against him, heart beating in his ears, thump, thump-thump, thump, thump-thump. Dad’s fingers pulled out, smearing wetness across Dennis’ thighs before patting completely dry against the bedsheets, and Daddy strolled out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel.

“Good lord, Jack,” Daddy laughed. “Sleep two hours and you’re ready to perv on pup again, huh?”

“Sleep is for the weak,” Dad shrugged, and guided Dennis to lay by his side. Dennis went with ease, a little punched-out noise escaping him as he detangled from Dad and flopped onto the mattress. His eyes flickered across the room, landing on Daddy as he walked to the closet, brown-grey chest hair tangled and wet, little droplets dripping lower, down into the towel. Dennis twitched, and bit the inside of his cheek, energy coiled within him, lacking an outlet.

Daddy left the door slightly ajar, but he was out of sight as he changed. He spoke from within the closet. “You want pup to sleep some more with you? We could get him a bedtime treat.”

Dennis rolled over onto his stomach, burrowing slightly into the covers, and Dad quickly took the opportunity to grope for a moment at his ass, finalizing the touch with a light smack. 

“He had a bedtime treat last night, right?” Dad asked, directed towards Daddy, palm soothing over the pinked mark he’d landed on Dennis’ rear.

“Yeah, ‘cause he slept in with you,” Daddy confirmed, voice getting louder as he exited the closet.

Dad’s hand retracted, and Dennis felt slightly cold. 

“That’d be quite a few treats within a day,” Dad hummed. “Maybe not.”

Dennis frowned into the comforter, and rolled back over. “Treat?” He sat up slightly, hitching onto his elbows. His eyes immediately jumped to Daddy, who’d changed into jeans and a t-shirt, hands tucked casually in his pocket. Daddy smiled softly, head tilting.

“No treat, pup. You don’t need one.”

Dennis glanced over to Dad, who’d reclined back into the bed, looking slightly worse for wear. “You could get a daytime treat, but no bedtime one.” He yawned slightly, leaning heavily into the pillow. “Go hang with Daddy. Let me sleep.”

Dennis turned back to Daddy, who rolled his shoulders back, cracking his neck with an audible pop. “Daytime treat, Dens,” Daddy nodded after a moment. “Clothes on, then a treat.”

Clothes was a pair of boyshorts and a shirt that was so long there was almost no point in wearing the shorts at all. Daddy had dressed Dennis quickly, a little haphazard, likely because Dennis was biting at his fingers the whole time. Dennis followed Daddy through the house—up on his feet, cause Daddy walked too fast for Dennis to keep up if he crawled—mouth watering as they went into the kitchen. Dennis immediately sat on the floor by the island, criss-cross and back straight, while Daddy rooted through the pantry, searching for the daytime treats.

The bedtime treats were always the same. They were reddy-purpley gummies, usually two at a time, whenever his owners felt like they wanted company sleeping. A few times he’d been given them without any apparent reason, but then he’d just slept all day, unbothered, because sleeping was just another way to kill time. 

Daytime treats, however, varied constantly. Sometimes they were savory. Sometimes they were sweet. Sometimes they were gummies, or chocolates, or sour things. Dennis’ nostrils flared as he waited, impatiently wriggly from his spot on the floor. Finally, Daddy left the pantry, and squatted down near Dennis, palm open. A small pile of M&M’s sat there, and a wide smile curled across Dennis’ face, stomach growling audibly.

Daddy laughed. “Ready for your treat, baby?”

Dennis nodded emphatically, quickly adjusting to sit on his knees, the way proper and pretty dogs do. Daddy watched, and nodded his approval as Dennis straightened his back.

“Good boy. Open your mouth, Dens.”

Dennis dropped his jaw, tongue sticking out slightly, and Daddy adjusted the M&M’s to get one between his thumb and index finger, holding it out. He watched, waited, and Dennis resisted squirming, even as a slowly-moving drip of saliva beaded at the tip of his tongue.

“So cute when you drool,” Daddy exhaled, jaw flexing. He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth quirking. “Good boy. Take your treat.” He popped the M&M onto Dennis’ tongue, and Dennis quickly chewed and swallowed it, humming happily. Daddy laughed, and with his free hand, ruffled Dennis’ curls before quickly wiping at the pup’s dampened chin. 

“Okay, okay,” Daddy grinned, and Dennis got back in his same spot, opening his mouth again. “Second treat.”

Four treats later, Dennis’ mouth was chocolatey and sweet, and he kept licking behind his molars to try and get it all while Daddy made breakfast. He sat by the island, knees up to his chest, and listened as Daddy cooked. It smelled like eggs, and Dennis liked the way Daddy made eggs—buttery, peppery, fluffy. Dad made eggs sometimes, too, but he always took out the yolks. Not nearly as yummy.

His eyes trailed along the floor, the familiar grain of the hardwood. A light fuzz curled around his head, pinpricking even in its airy texture, pressurizing slightly like a stormcloud. He grimaced, and squeezed his eyes shut, familiar with the oncoming sensation of a headache. He liked treats, but the sweet ones at the beginning of the day were only worth it for a few minutes. He buried his face in his knees, hoping minimal light would make him feel better. He sat there for a little while, biting the inside of his cheek as the vacuum around his skull grew heavier, an uncomfortable throb emanating from his temples with each beat of his heart.

A hand ran through his curls, sending a spike of tension-bitten-ouchness through him. Dennis bit the inside of his cheek harder, and Daddy cooed down at him, rustling his hair.

“Aww. You sleepy, baby?” The hand, thankfully, retreated. “Maybe after we eat you can go back to bed with Dad.”

Dennis exhaled through his nose, and blinked down into the darkness he’d created between his torso and legs. He removed his face, just slightly, to look up at Daddy, sinuses burning a teeny bit.

“Daddy?” He asked, voice unintentionally small. Daddy looked down, and his eyebrows immediately knitted with concern. He quickly turned the stovetop heat down, and squatted to the floor. His hand, broad, long, pressed against Dennis’ forehead. 

“You okay?” Daddy frowned, and lowered his hand. “You aren’t feverish. What’s wrong, baby?”

Dennis huffed. “Head,” he warbled. 

Daddy’s face softened, mouth curling into a pitying pout. “Oh, I’m sorry. Why don’t you go get a drink from your bowl? We’ll see how you feel after eating, too.”

Dennis huffed again, unconvinced. Water wasn't ibuprofen. Still, Daddy had told him to.

He unfolded himself slowly, pushing up from the floor with a soft groan. The movement made the ache behind his eyes slosh unpleasantly, and he squeezed them shut for a second before shuffling away from the island. Daddy stood up, returning his focus to the food on the stove.

The fountain sat in its usual corner against the end of the counter, near the kitchen table. It burbled quietly to itself, water trickling over the little tiered lip before spilling back into the basin below.

Dennis stared at it. The fountain stared back.

The headache pulsed, and reluctantly, he crouched.

"Drink your water, baby," Daddy called from the stove.

Dennis got close to the floor, kneeling with his forearms on the hardwood. The water was cold when he bent down to lap at it, tongue flicking over the stream, gathering little sips into his mouth that he eagerly swallowed. He drank for a few moments, nose and chin getting slightly wet with how close he had to get, before lifting his head to catch his breath. A droplet slid from his lips, over his chin, down his neck, and into his shirt, making him shiver slightly. 

The headache remained. He pouted, the throb feeling more intense the longer he was underneath the kitchen lights, not hidden away in some blissfully dark corner. Butter hissed in the skillet.

“Better?” Daddy asked over his shoulder.

Dennis whimpered. “Head,” he insisted.

Daddy turned the stove low again, the burner clicking slightly as he adjusted the dial. He walked over, but didn’t lower himself, leaning against the counter. “You’re always having headaches, pup,” Daddy hummed, and Dennis looked up at him, eyebrows knitting together tightly at the jolt of pain that went through him. “Too much ibuprofen isn’t good for you. Are you able to wait ‘til we eat? Or do you wanna go sit in the dark for a while?”

Dennis shook his head, and his brain rolled around in his hamster-cage cranium, dizzying him briefly. “Ibu,” he whimpered, throat getting thick with the onset of pain-laden tears.

Daddy exhaled, a little firm, a little exasperated. “You had eight hundred milligrams of ibuprofen yesterday, bubs. How about you go to the basement, and I’ll bring you some more water.”

Dennis shook his head again, a pained sound escaping his mouth as his hands rose to cover his eyes. They felt sore, suddenly, a fishing lure tied to the far back of his head yanking with each blink. Daddy sighed again as Dennis tried to squish away his tears, feeling stupid. Why wouldn’t Daddy just give him ibuprofen? It always fixed it. He hated their holistic solutions.

Daddy nudged Dennis' knee with his socked foot. “Basement, baby. Go to your old room and relax for a while.”

Dennis refused to move. Eventually, Daddy had to turn the burner off entirely, and help Dennis off the floor. Dennis was a little too heavy for Daddy to carry—Dad could pick him up, though—so he walked, one hand on Daddy’s bicep, the other clamped firmly over his eyes. They went down the stairs slowly, making sure Dennis wouldn’t slip, and made it down to his old, dark, small room, which was set up with his old bed and blanket. Dennis slumped down on the mattress, steady tears leaking down his face, frustrated, pained, and Daddy kissed them away.

“Just sit for a while, baby,” Daddy whispered, each peck reverberating noisy-horrible gongs through Dennis’ head. “You want breakfast?”

Dennis sniffled. “Ibu.”

Daddy sat back. He patted Dennis’ blanket-covered side. “If it gets worse after a nap, we can talk about ibuprofen. For now, though,” Daddy hoisted himself to stand, grunting softly. “Rest in the dark. Come up when you’re ready, okay? And not for ibuprofen.”

Daddy left, and closed the door behind him, enshrouding Dennis in the darkness of his old room. It’d been redone a while ago, and he wasn’t sure how long ago that’d been, without the camera or restroom box. Dennis used a real toilet now, thank you, and his owners had decided he was good enough to not need to be watched or chained down. Plus, his collar was fancy, and got zappy near the doors and windows.

His head still hurt. He gnawed angrily at the corner of the mattress until the pain had exhausted him enough that he knocked out.

~:~

Dennis wasn’t stupid. He knew that. He could read, write, and understand clocks. It was just the talking that got away from him sometimes.

He could read a lot, actually. And he could read really well. 

The guest bedroom was Dad and Daddy’s home office. On the wall opposite the desk, they had these two tall shelves stuffed to the brim with books. They had a lot of textbooks from when they were in school as doctors. Dad collected old military books, records and battle plans, and Daddy had loads of atlases, some for regions far away, and some for local highways. 

Dennis loved the home office. 

Dad had, apparently, when he was in the military, considered becoming an anesthesiologist. He had a big fat textbook on the bottom shelf ‘cause it weighed down the shelves higher up, and it was outdated, about twenty years old, but still stock full of fascinating information. A lot of what it taught wouldn’t apply anymore, the practices focused on the usage of halothane—and the primary general anaesthesia is sevoflurane now, duh—but he could still fall into them, imagining healthcare in the past, and when people would truly be conked out in the PACU for days after surgery. 

Dad had also done a capstone after he’d finished medical school, and it was bound in a tall thin book with a blue, sort of ammaturely-applied cover. 

Jack Abbot, M.D.: Proactive Understanding of Patient Trauma in an Emergency Department.

Dennis had read it a few times. A little bit of it was beyond him, lot’s of the capstone revolving around the military and veteran experiences, which he didn’t have much schema on. He enjoyed the rest, though. A similar amount of the data was old, with the DSM IV being the main psychological base, considering the capstone was completed in 2000, but the same rule applied. Dennis absorbed it, reread it, looked over the graphs and photos of the studied patients. At the very back of the book was a picture of Dad in his fancy military attire, hair gingery, face softer and less wrinkled, but eyes the same sort of softly stern that Dennis was familiar with.

Daddy had published work in the office, too. Nothing so long as Dad’s capstone, but a lot of articles, or research with his name tagged onto it. The lengthiest one was about thirty pages, and was a teeny bit dull, printed off in a very square, plain font and tucked into a three-ring binder that wasn’t labeled or anything. “Effective Short-Term Care for Long-Term Health”, by Michael Robinavitch, M.D., all the way back from 1994. An in-depth bout of research on working in an emergency department.

Dennis had only read that one twice. He didn’t like it, so much.

There was a part of him, very far away, in the way that baby photos don’t ever actually feel like the same person, that wanted to tear all of his owners books into a thousand pieces, and set them, and the house, on fire.

He didn’t think that way all the time. It usually snuck up on him.

The two times he’d read Daddy’s article, it had appeared in the corner of his vision, blue-hot, raring. He’d been scared of it both times, he’d barked at nothing, and then he’d escaped to the basement, where he’d run in circles until Daddy was home from work.

He couldn’t look at Daddy, both of those times. He felt too guilty.

So he generally didn’t read that one. There were plenty of other things to read in the office, too. History books, comics, classics, nonfiction, horror, and fantasy. Dennis had discovered Four Past Midnight by Stephen King, buried behind William W. Freehling’s Road to Disunion series—one of Dad’s books, he was sure—and The Langoliers had become his favorite quick read when both of his owners were at work.

All things considered, his owners weren’t in the home office that often. They did most of their work at work, after all. The desk and computer were a little dusty, and when Dennis flopped down on the carpet too hard, prepared to laze around on his stomach while he read, dust bunnies would fly into the air, making him cough. He didn’t even really know if they were aware of his reading habits, considering they began when they were both gone at work, and ended when one of them came home.

But there were secrets that puppies were allowed to keep. Probably. And it’s not a secret if they never ask.

Probably.

He was trying out “Heart Shaped Box” by Joe Hill, which had been next to a Norman Rockwell painting collection—Daddy’s book, for sure. So far, it sucked.

He kept the door open while he read so he could hear the front door’s jingle-bells. Daddy was due to be home soon, as Dad had left a little while ago. He’d spent most of the day in bed with Dad, nursing a low-caliber headache. Dad plied him with water and a few bedtime treats, and Dennis happily slept throughout the afternoon, curled up in Dad’s arms. 

Around 3:00, when Dad woke up to his alarm, he’d taken sleepy Dennis into the shower with him. Dennis sat on the shower seat with Dad, drooping against his shoulder, struggling to stay awake. The shower was steamy and warm, the water hot pitter-patter-pelting down on him, lulling him into various dreams where he was running through a rainy field during a pre-tornado rain. But then he’d jerked awake, breath hitching, and Dad snickered at him. 

The third time, Dad huffed, and helped Dennis down to the shower floor, instructing him to sit criss-cross. Dennis gratefully leaned against Dad’s good knee, and slept some more there, barely rousing when his hair was scrubbed clean and conditioned.

He did blink awake when his cheek was gently tapped, peeling his wet lashes open to see Dad’s cock right in front of him, ruddy-red and leaking.

“Can’t nap all day, puppy,” Dad hitched his hips forward a little more, pressing the tip against Dennis’ lips. “Need something to wake you up?”

Dennis yawned, and Dad eased inside, groaning at the soft puppy sucks, lazy and sweet, mouth opening further to get as much of Dad in as possible. Dennis let his eyes slip back shut, and rocked up and down, Dad’s fingers tangled in his curls, wondering blearily if he’d have a snack before Dad left, or if he’d have to wait until Daddy came home.

Dad dried him off with a towel after the shower, and dressed him after he’d brushed their teeth. Dennis could brush his own teeth, of course, but Dad sometimes liked to sit him on the counter and do it for him. 

“Puppies aren’t good with fine motor skills,” Dad would grunt as he’d grip Dennis’ chin, opening his mouth a little wider. “I’m better at getting your molars.”

Dennis rinsed out his mouth by himself, though. Dad wasn’t that weird.

The outfit for the day was a compression tank and panties. Dennis didn’t really like the panties—boyshorts or boxers were his preferred undies—but Dad had bought them special for him, so, he didn’t complain. They were a deep magenta, with a little bow in the front. When Dad helped him step into the garment, he’d gripped Dennis by the hips and turned him so his back was aimed at the mirror inside the closet. His hand moved down and groped Dennis’ ass hungrily, cooing with a sharp grin on his face. His fingers slid beneath the loudly-pink seam of the panties, explorative, a little harsh, before pulling away quickly to crack back down. Dennis whimpered into Dad’s chest, and Dad soothed over the pinked mark, and kissed at Dennis’ face, snickering a little meanly.

“Sorry, pup,” he landed one last gentle kiss on Dennis’ nose. “You know I can’t resist.”

Over the compression tank, Dad put one of his old military short sleeves on him. It was a grey-green-beige color, far too big for Dennis, and visually clashed with the pink panties. The sight of it got Dad kissing Dennis firmly, though, holding him close and licking into his mouth with a fever, so maybe the overall aesthetic didn’t matter much. Lastly was socks, fluffy green ones—Daddy always had some sort of central color to the outfits he picked out. Was Dad truly just that helpless with coordination?—and then his collar was snapped back on, skin fully dry post-shower.

Dad made himself a quick meal before he left, prepped chicken and rice, and none was for Dennis. He sat below the table anyway, knees bare against the hardwood floor, eyes shut, chest rising and falling slowly as he got to a state of sleep that didn’t feel like falling off a cliff edge into unconsciousness, and something more like a regular light nap. When Dad was done eating, Dennis kissed him goodbye in the foyer, about six feet from the front door, ‘cause any closer and the collar would get zappy.

Dad left with one more smack to Dennis’ ass, and locked the four deadbolts of the front door with his four different keys before walking off towards his vehicle to head to work.

Dennis rocked on his heels for a moment. His ears twitched as he heard Dad’s truck start, the engine roaring loudly, and skittered off down the hallway, beelining for the office. He laid on the floor, reopened Heart-Shaped Box, and sat in to read.

Yeah, Heart-Shaped Box sucked. Dennis scowled at the umpteenth mention of the main character’s young girlfriends “perky tits”. He froze as he heard a thunk-shift far away, glancing up from the book to the ajar door of the office.

Another thunk-shift, the unmistakable sound of the deadbolt. He quickly got off of his stomach, tucking the book back to where it belonged, not caring to bookmark his page. He rose to his feet for a moment, opening the door fully, before he blinked, shook his head, and lowered to his hands and knees in the hallway. He padded into the foyer and sat on his knees right as the last deadbolt unlocked, and Daddy stepped inside, the doorbells jingling merrily. 

Daddy’s deep brown eyes flickered over the foyer expectantly, landing on Dennis. He smiled, a little tired, and pushed the door shut, taking a moment to flip all the deadbolts back into place. Dennis waited, hands resting politely on the tops of his thighs. When Daddy turned back around, stepping into the foyer, he opened his arms wide, already lowering on one knee. Dennis grinned, quickly moving across the foyer to run into Daddy’s arms, wiggling excitedly. 

“Hey!” Daddy laughed as he wrapped his arms around Dennis, rocking them side to side just a little. “What’d you do all day, huh?”

Dennis leaned up to lick at Daddy’s face, ruffling his salt and pepper beard, eliciting another laugh. They were there for a moment, touchy, giggly, warm, until Daddy grunted, disconnecting them.

“I’m gonna shower, baby,” he said as he stood, knees cracking loudly. “You wanna join? Or did you shower already?”

Dennis followed Daddy as they walked into the bedroom, Daddy thankfully trudging at a slower pace, allowing Dennis to keep up.

“Dad,” Dennis confirmed. Daddy hummed, and entered the closet, kicking his shoes off. 

“Was it a productive shower?” He asked, voice lilting with a tease, muffled slightly as he removed his scrub top. “You actually get clean?”

Dennis shrugged. His eyes trailed along Robby’s form, gradually becoming bare as he readied to shower off the work he’d done all day. He bit the inside of his cheek, lowered his eyes to the floor, and exhaled softly. Sometimes he wished he could actually engage in conversation. He’d been able to, at one point. A long time ago.

He had words, you see. He’d had words.

He remembered them.

He’d had big words. Antidisestablishmentarianism. Electroencephalographical. Meningoencephalitis. Kakorrhaphiophobia.

He’d also had little words. Hi. I. We. Me. You.

Daddy ruffled his hair, and excused himself to go shower. Dennis stayed sitting on the floor of the closet, glowering at the socks.

He’d had name words. Dennis Whitaker. Jack Abbot. Michael Robinavitch.

Trinity.

A lump formed in Dennis’ throat. He wrapped his arms around his knees, and exhaled again, tighter, wetter, lowering his head to press his cheek to his patella.

There’s another word. Patella. Cranium. Femur. Metacarpal. Coccyx.

His nose burned. He inhaled and huffed out the breath quickly, and rubbed at his eyes, even though they weren’t even wet. They itched, maybe. He didn’t know.

He glanced over to the closet mirror.

There he was, curled up on the floor, wearing the awful outfit Dad had picked out for him, skin blotchy, hair messy, face curled into an ugly frown. His hair was long. It fell over his ears and forehead in thick, blonde ringlets, and curled over his neck. It looked shaggy, like some sort of shepherd dog in desperate need of a groomer. Underneath and along his collar was bruises in various stages of fading, purple-red-blue, green-yellow-gone, bites and kisses from Daddy and Dad alike, layered, layered, layered.

He looked away. He got off his butt and onto his hands and knees, slipping between the closet doors to the end of his owner's bed, crawling onto his mattress.

He closed his eyes, and listened to Daddy’s shower run.

☆*:.~:~.:*☆

Sometimes he got bored.

Boredom was the worst.

He usually had a cure, though. He could take a nap. He could walk around the house. He could play in the basement. There was a bucket of toys in the living room, too.

Playing by himself got old very quickly. Luckily, that didn’t happen often. Daddy was usually happy to hold onto one end of a bitey rope for Dennis, or throw a ball for Dennis to scramble after. When Dad would work out in the garage, sometimes he’d let Dennis hang out, have him load up weights or bring over dumbbells. Otherwise, Dad was also usually happy to play in a different way, on the bed, or on the couch, or with Dennis bent over the kitchen table.

But playing with his owners wasn’t always what he wanted. 

Owners were owners. A lot of the time, Dennis really wanted a friend.

And sometimes, he got one!

If Dennis could be a puppy, then it really only made sense that other people could be puppies, too. Though Daddy was too old to be a puppy—he was a dog; big, burly, hairy and grey-speckled, lazy.

Daddy was sometimes Mutt. And Dennis loved Mutt.

Mutt was only around when Dad was there to supervise. Maybe it was ‘cause there had to be someone in charge. Dennis didn’t know—he didn’t care. When Daddy changed into comfy clothes, a loose leather collar hanging around his neck, and sat down on the floor of the living room, then it meant Dennis could play! With Mutt!

Sometimes he’d get so excited he’d wiggle until he fell on the floor. Dad would laugh at him, but he didn’t care, not one inch, stretching out to show his belly to Mutt, get small and sweet, try and earn Mutt’s affection. That was what set Mutt and Daddy apart—Daddy gave Dennis affection like he breathed. Mutt, however, took coaxing. To Dennis, that sounded like a game. A very, very fun game.

Mutt was in sweatpants and a t-shirt, sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch. The pants were a dark grey, and the shirt was olive green, with the Tool band logo written across the breast. His collar was on, and it wasn’t anything like Dennis’—not skin tight, and not thick, either. Just a strap of leather, hanging loosely around his neck. Dad sat on the couch, eyes on the TV screen as he scrolled through Netflix or something. And Dennis was laid out on the floor, wearing a pair of blue butterfly-print panties—Dad’s choice—and a pink Beatles tee—Daddy’s choice—arms stretched above his head, belly-button peeking out from the hem of his shirt. His fingers were extended almost enough to brush against Mutt’s thigh, but then Mutt scooted an inch away.

Dennis slumped, and huffed, undeterred. He rolled onto his stomach, his hair flopping into his eyes. He blew it out of his face, and scooted across the carpet of the living room, steadily getting closer to Mutt. 

Dad chuckled from his spot on the couch. Dennis paused when he was about a foot away from Mutt, and sat up on his knees.

Mutt’s attention was purely on the TV. He didn’t even glance at Dennis.

Dennis inched closer. Mutt still didn’t look over.

Dennis grinned, and divebombed to the floor, practically doing a somersault straight onto Mutt. He giggled loudly at Mutt’s yelp, devolving further into laughter when he was pushed off, getting his bearings next to Mutt’s feet. Dad snickered again, and Dennis realized that a movie was playing, but he didn’t care to tune into it. 

Mutt shot Dennis a displeased look, eyebrows furrowed. He rubbed at his thigh, the appendage Dennis had likely offended with his strategic attack. 

Dennis rolled onto his back, knees raised and feet pressed to the floor. He arched his back to look up at Mutt, practically upside down, and grinned again when Mutt’s eyes jerked away.

“Play?” Dennis asked, wiggling slightly. “Mutt, play?”

Mutt ignored him. Dennis whined overdramatically, rolling back onto all fours, but he kept close to the ground. He pressed his face against Mutt’s thigh, ass in the air to accommodate the position, and he couldn’t help but snort as Mutt pushed him away. He quickly adjusted to return again, giggling as his face didn’t even make it to Mutt’s thigh, instead colliding with the other dog’s big hand, immediately pushing Dennis back.

Dennis shook his head out, and reoriented towards Dad, padding across the carpet. Dad’s knees were apart, a perfect amount of space for Dennis to weasel in, and he did. Dennis plopped his chin on Dad’s lower thigh, and looked up at him, eyes wide, aiming to look as pitiful as possible.

Dad glanced down. The corner of his mouth curled up into a smirk. His eyes moved back to the TV.

Dennis whined, moving to lean firmly against Dad’s leg—his good one, of course—adjusting to open his mouth, aimed right at the meat of Dad’s lower thigh.

Dad twitched away, chuckling. “Quit, you menace,” his hand came down to roughly ruffle Dennis’ hair, shaking his entire head. “I can’t make Mutt give you attention. Have you tried being nice? Why don’t you see if he wants to share your toys?”

God, Dad was a genius! Dennis perked up, and shimmied out from between Dad’s legs, beelining for the bucket of toys. He dug through it for a moment, settling on a rope with two tied ends, perfect for tugging. He got the one end in his mouth, and walked back over to Mutt, who’d crossed his arms over his chest, attention fully on the TV.

Dennis drooled around the toy slightly. It was a little too big for his mouth. He dropped it next to Mutt’s thigh, and pawed at it, the non-wet end brushing up against Mutt’s pant leg.

“Mutt,” he frowned, grabbing his end to intentionally bump the toy up against the other dog. “Play!”

Mutt glanced over, unimpressed. His face was entirely flat of affect, completely bored. Dennis wilted, sitting back on his heels, loosening his grip on the rope. Mutt chuffed through his nose, and returned his attention to the TV, relaxing slightly against the couch cushion.

Dennis looked toward Dad, who simply shrugged.

Okay, maybe Mutt didn’t like the rope.

Good thing he had twelve more toys to pick from!

He tried the giraffe. He tried the rubber ball. He tried the knotted robe with the chewable ends. He tried the bone.

After the bone, Dennis grabbed the handle of the toy bucket with his mouth and dragged the entire thing across the living room. He heard Dad laugh, but maybe that was at the movie playing. He took a few minutes to present his remaining toys. The raccoon that made a crunchy noise? No. Bird that squeaked really loud? No. Chew toy in the shape of a large broccoli? No. A dinosaur plush? No!

The toy bucket was empty, and all the toys had piled on the floor and on Mutt’s lap. Dennis bit the inside of his cheek, chin wobbling just a little as Mutt continued to ignore him.

He sniffled. Mutt watched the TV.

Fine. Whatever. It wasn’t like he wanted to play that badly, anyway.

He slowly picked up the toys, tossing them back into the bucket. His throat felt a little tight, a thick lump in the middle that he swallowed around a few times, his molars digging into his cheek. He grabbed the giraffe, the ball, the broccoli, and the bird. Lastly was the original rope-tug, which had dried from Dennis’ spit, and was resting over Mutt’s thighs.

He moved to take it, but then Mutt’s hand shot out and grabbed the other end. 

Dennis blinked. He looked up at Mutt, but Mutt wasn’t looking at him, still uninterested, still bored. Dennis frowned, and pulled on the rope, trying to get it out of Mutt’s grip, but Mutt held on tighter, knuckles whitening slightly. Dennis got both hands on his end, and tried to yank it away. He had to put it back! Mutt didn’t want to play, and Dad always made Dennis clean up his toys. Why was Mutt preventing him right now?!

Dennis growled, adjusting to sit on his butt, tugging harder. Dad laughed again—jeez, were they watching a comedy?—as Dennis relaxed slightly, letting a beat pass, watching as Mutt’s knuckles loosened, before tugging with all his might.

So, a win, Mutt let go. A loss, Dennis actually experienced no resistance, and flopped backwards onto the carpet with a pained grunt. Dad laughed again, and while Dennis was trying to clear the stars from his eyes, the rope finally in his hand, Mutt got up from his sitting position. Dennis sat up slightly, a little shaky, blinking away the bonk his head had gotten on the floor, and froze as Mutt’s hand wrapped around his ankle, hot, heavy.

Dennis glanced up at him. Mutt was already looking down, attention finally off the TV, eyes big, brown, and heated.

Dennis grinned. “Play?”

Mutt rumbled. His other hand locked onto Dennis’ other ankle, and Dennis watched, curious.

Then Mutt tugged him. Dennis yelped, falling back to the floor, shirt riding up, skin only barely irritated as he was yanked across the carpet, straight into Mutt’s space. He tried to wriggle, but then Mutt’s grip moved, jerking down to Dennis’ hips, pulling again until Dennis’ ankles were dangling haphazardly in the air, and his rear was in between Mutt’s open knees.

Dennis tried to paw at Mutt’s grip. “Play?” He insisted, giggling as Mutt squeezed his side, ticklish. “Toy? Play?”

Mutt growled, and Dennis balked slightly. He went to grab at Mutt’s hands again, but was quickly stopped, bleating a noise near-panicked as Mutt collected Dennis’ wrists, grabbing them with his big left paw, the right one now free.

Dennis glanced towards Dad, face heating. Dad wasn’t even watching the show anymore, eyes attuned to the pups in front of him. 

Dennis squeaked as Mutt’s free hand trailed up his side, tender over sensitive skin, tapping, like a xylophone, up his ribs. Dennis struggled for breath, panting slightly, jerking against Mutt’s grip, but unable to actually get out. “Play?” He tried again, voice weak. “Toy?”

Mutt’s lips cracked into a small, sinister grin. Dennis tensed, flattening against the ground, trying to get smaller, wriggle away, but Mutt just held him tighter.

“Toy,” Mutt rumbled, eyes running over Dennis’ exposed skin. Even though it was the same word, Dennis had a feeling that Mutt wasn’t referring to the chew toy broccoli, or the bone. His hand, broad, heavy, pushed Dennis down, pressed palm-flat to Dennis’ midsection. Dennis shivered, breath hitching as it snuck beneath his shirt, along his bare chest.

“Dad?” Dennis glanced over to him, still sitting on the couch, still enraptured. Dennis pouted, whimpering as Mutt’s hand explored further, a small cry for help. “Dad? Please?”

Dad shook his head, which would’ve looked like pity if not for the evil grin on his face. “He’s playing with you, pup,” Dad relaxed on the couch. “Let him play.”

Dennis shook his head, sputtering as Mutt fully pulled his shirt up, tossing the residual fabric over Dennis’ face. Dennis tried to get his wrists out of Mutt’s hand, preserve some of his remaining dignity, good lord, but Mutt tightened his grip, huffing in a way that sounded like a laugh. His free hand groped Dennis’ chest, now exposed to the air of the living room, pinching his sensitive nipples, his calloused palm gripping him.

Dennis shook his head enough to get the shirt down under his neck, frustration boiling inside of him. This wasn’t fair at all. He flushed darkly as Mutt groped at him, eyes shamelessly roving over his bare skin, leaving white-pinked marks in the wake of his firm grip. Dennis realized belatedly that he still had legs, and they weren’t contained at all, just thrown over Mutt’s thighs. He bit the inside of his cheek, and forced himself to relax against the floor with a huff. Mutt sounded his gravelly approval, and Dad made some noise from the couch. Mutt’s grip loosened just barely on Dennis’ wrists, and he was still absorbed in playing with Dennis’ chest.

Dennis had to count himself down, a ball of evilly-plotted excited energy surging inside of him. He bit back his grin, and when he got to one, he twisted himself sideways, successfully tearing out of Mutt’s grip. His legs were immediately tangled around Mutt’s torso, knees going every which way, but he was on his stomach, upper-half free, already clawing at the carpet to try and scramble away. 

He got about six inches before Mutt was on top of him, big hands landing on Dennis’ waist, pushing out all the air in his lungs. Dennis heaved, crumpling as Mutt straddled his thighs, bearing down on Dennis with a mean growl. Dennis tried to catch some air back into his lungs, get his knees underneath him—impossible, Mutt was far too heavy—wriggle some more, claw at the carpet and scoot further, a breathless giggle squeezed out of him as Mutt gave him another shove back to the floor, asserting dominance.

“He’s got you good, pup,” Dad commented from the couch. Dennis looked up at him, pinked all over, jaw dropped to try and suck more air in. His eyes flickered over Dad’s form, and his hand had gotten into his pants, at some point. Dennis ignored it, and shook his head, grinning.

“Off!” Dennis grit, and gave another valiant wriggle, getting up on to his elbows. Mutt growled, and his hands moved from Dennis’ waist to his shoulders, forcing him down to the carpet. Dennis slumped, fully pinned, arms out in front of him. He tried to get out again, rock his hips side to side, smack his feet on the floor, turn over, but none of it did anything.

He panted, totally out of air, and with a huff, finally gave up, relaxing into the carpet.

“Good fight, puppy,” Dad patted his leg with his free hand, the other still down his pants, a pseudo-applause. “You were very close,” his voice was laced with sarcasm. Dennis shot him a playful glare, and blew his hair out of his eyes.

“Done?” Mutt questioned, though it wasn’t really a question, the word gravelly and low.

Dennis flushed, and nodded the best he could considering he was pinned down. Mutt hummed, and relented his grip on Dennis’ shoulders, palms sliding down Dennis’ back slowly, exploratory. Dennis turned his face sideways against the carpet, eyelashes fluttering as Mutt pressed his knuckles into his back, working them up and down.

“Isn’t that sweet?” Dad hummed, voice slightly breathy. 

Dennis mouthed the word, sweet, a half-baked mewl slipping from his lips as Mutt rubbed at his lower back, the perfect level of pressure. He heard fabric rustle, Dad grunted.

“Go get ‘im, Mutt,” Dad affirmed, and some conversation must’ve happened over Dennis’ head. “Good boy.”

Dennis burned when Mutt’s hips twitched forward, and there it was, a hard length up against Dennis’ barely-covered ass. Mutt rumbled, and pressed harder, hips beginning to roll in fluid, rocking motions. 

Dennis’ fingers tangled in the rug. His face heated. He was just a mound, apparently, for Mutt to rut against. He couldn’t even arch his back to lean into it. He sat up just a little, getting his elbows underneath himself, Mutt’s hands gripping his lower back. The tip of Mutt’s cock, contained only minimally by his sweatpants, snagged on the line of Dennis’ panties. The elastic snapped against Dennis’ skin when Mutt pulled away, going back in for another roll of his hips.

Dennis glanced over to the couch. Dad was watching him, eyebrow quirking up, jaw ticking. Dennis’ eyes trailed down Dad’s form, watched as Dad’s forearm flexed as he touched himself, cock pulled out of his pants, now, ruddy, leaking.

Dennis swallowed the saliva that had pooled under his tongue. He huffed through his nose, heat coiling and festering, itching for engagement, for release, with Mutt rubbing against him and Dad touching himself only a few feet away. This was boring. He wanted to play.

“In,” Dennis looked over his shoulder. Mutt paused, glanced up to him, dark eyes a little hazy, his cheeks flushed. Dennis glanced down at where they were practically connected anyways, and chuffed through his nose, rolling his eyes. “In, Mutt,” he insisted, only mildly petulant. “In.”

Mutt hesitated. His eyes jumped over to Dad, who sounded his affirmative, and then things were moving again. Thank god.

Dennis didn’t have to go far. Mutt got off of his legs, and it only took a moment of adjusting, lowering his chest to the floor, extending his arms out in front of him, and raising his hips, swaying them side to side, enticing, while he listened to Mutt quickly wrangle his own clothes off. Then Mutt came up behind him, and Dennis’ panties were tugged down, a practical hog-tie around his knees, and Dad cursed from his spot on the couch. Dennis closed his eyes, whimpered as he was filled, and let it happen.

He really would’ve liked to play with Mutt—with the toys. Just for a little while.

Mutt was big, rutting inside, meeting Dennis’ deepest parts with spikey-good-pressure kisses. Dennis whined, arching further, getting Mutt to lean further on top of him, press his waist down, making each thrust echo in a way that hurt just right. Mutt panted, groaning, twitching, voice getting breathy when Dennis clenched down on him.

Doing it on the floor usually hurt Dennis’ knees. But his knees always hurt, so, that wasn’t a big deal. He spread them wider, allowing his posture to bend lower, and then it started to ache, ripping a dense, heated agony inside of him each time, bells ringing in his ears, breath slipping from his mouth, soundless. Mutt adjusted his hands off Dennis’ waist, and air soared back into his lungs, reinvigorating howls tumbling from his lips every time they met again. He felt reflexive tears prick at his eyes, maybe from how good it hurt, maybe from something else, and he let them fall. Dad liked when he was teary—he’d lick them away, later.

Mutt’s thrusts got faster, harder. Dennis whimpered and bleated, punched-out noises melting into the carpet as he fell a little looser, the yarn ball in his stomach doused in gasoline and lit aflame, licking his insides, trebucheting him towards the sieged castle walls. He cried, keening loudly as his insides grew staticky, eating themselves, Langolier-ing, rising, rising, rising—

Dennis bore down and trembled as he came, silent for a moment before his tension split, slumping against the carpet. Little clipped puppy whines tumbling past his lips as Mutt chased his own completion, and Dad cursed, groaning and huffing.

And then it stopped. Mutt pulled out, cum spilled out of Dennis, leaked stickily down his thighs, threatening to taint the carpet. He listened as Dad caught his breath, and Mutt panted. Dennis blinked a few times, eyes blurry, unable to focus on the carpet. A hand gentled along his thigh, sweet, soft.

“You want a bath, baby?” Daddy asked. Mutt had been put away.

Dennis inhaled slowly, and nodded.

~:~

Daddy treated him differently than Dad did. In some ways, it was minor. How he spoke. How he moved. How he touched.

But there was something in the entirety of Daddy that was different. Something in his demeanor. His mentality.

Dad was always touching Dennis. When he touched, he gripped, he pulled, he adjusted, he pushed. Dad was big, broad, and strong, dense with muscle and brute strength. He could throw Dennis over his shoulder—he had, in the past, multiple times—or he could flip Dennis over. He could pick him up, run him around the house. He could force him down, contain him, make him stay. 

Daddy touched Dennis, too. But it was just different.

It was hard to explain.

There was a distance. Maybe that was it. Some sort of separation between him and Daddy. It wasn’t like they were opposite magnets, like they never touched or interacted. They did, all the time, every day.

When Dad touched him, Dennis’ skin was often left reddened from friction, purpling from raising-blood hickeys, or wet from tears elicited when they played.

Daddy liked to just pet. He’d run his fingers through Dennis’ hair. He’d rub at his back, or his legs. He’d kiss Dennis, softly, sometimes prickly due to his beard, but never mean. He liked to cuddle, let Dennis lay however he wanted and accommodate from there. He liked to sit on the couch, no other obligations except watching a movie, no other motives besides coaxing Dennis to sleep, head cushioned by Daddy’s thigh, curled up.

He’s not saying that Dad is always mean. No, Dad loves him. He really does. Dad tells him so all the time.

Every now and then, it felt like Daddy loved him more. Or loved him differently. 

Daddy was sleeping, now. It was the early morning, early enough that Dad hadn’t come home yet. He wouldn’t be home for another few hours. Daddy wouldn’t be up for a while, too.

And Dennis was staring at him.

He hadn’t gotten any bedtime treats for a few days. He didn’t know why, his owners didn’t tell him. They just stopped giving him them. He hadn’t been sleeping well, restless, too awake despite being tired, brain running, hurtling, jumping, completing triathlons while he willed it to rest with him, just for a minute.

Daddy snored when he slept. Sometimes it was loud. Sometimes it wasn’t. Daddy didn’t snore at all when he slept on his side, but then he’d complain about his back hurting in the morning. Daddy snored to degrees beyond ethical when he slept on his back, but that was how he slept best, laid out like a cadaver, mouth hanging slightly open, snoring. It had been the snores that kept Dennis awake, but he didn’t mind. He crept onto the bed, and stayed on Dad’s side, buried under the blankets, and watched Daddy sleep, blinking slowly.

Dennis exhaled softly through his nose.

Daddy snored again.

He could wake Daddy up, right now. He could scoot closer, wrap around him, rouse him. Daddy would snort awake, and then probably murmur something sweet, kiss Dennis’ forehead, and adjust to return to sleep.

If it was Dad, there’d be at least fifteen minutes of getting moved around, adjusted, touched. Dad always made Dennis make up for sharing the bed, strip Dennis down, slip his cock inside, coo about how good of a warmer Dennis was. 

Or, Dad sometimes made sure Dennis slept in his own bed.

None of those were bad things. All of those options were fine. They all had their merit.

Dennis squeezed his eyes shut as Daddy snored again. There was a needle-sized pinprick between his eyebrows, threading straight through his prefrontal cortex. It slithered through his brain, piercing, tightening with its knotted twine. He breathed out slowly, and turned his face into the pillow, searching for darkness even in the otherwise heavily dimmed bedroom, only the moonlight from the window lighting the inside.

He wanted ibuprofen. But it was all the way in the kitchen, in the highest cabinet, where all of the medicine was in the house. If he woke Daddy up, he’d be told to go back to bed, or to go downstairs, to his old room.

Senseless, stupid tears welled in Dennis’ eyes. He sniffled as quietly as possible, the sound muffled by the pillow. His arms wrapped around himself. Dad had changed his outfit before he’d left for work, out of the shorts and hoodie that Daddy had put him in, and instead in a pair of skimpy panties and cropped t-shirt. Dennis wanted the hoodie again. Even though all the hoodies had been de-strung, he could still wrap it around his face, give himself horse-blinders, cut his eyes off from the world.

Maybe he could just go into the closet and change by himself. He’d never exactly done that before, but he probably wouldn’t get in trouble.

He turned his face out of the pillow, a needle-pronged thrum running through his head. Daddy was still sleeping, snoring away like there was no tomorrow. Dennis exhaled, and gently, quietly, got out of bed. He considered getting on all fours, but that was louder than tip-toeing, creeping across the bedroom, slowly turning the handle of the closet doors, and slipping inside.

He did sit on the floor once he’d made it to the closet, though. He lowered to criss-cross, and surveyed the rows of hangers, and the clothes hung up on them. The left side of the closet was Dad’s. It was full of camouflage, tan shirts, beige pants, and four or five pairs of thick tactical boots that laced from toe-to-top. The right side was Daddy’s, with blues, greens, greys, and warm browns. Cardigans, quarter-zips, sweatpants and tees, lots of long-sleeved undershirts that he’d wear to work, a few extra pairs of scrubs.

In the far wall of the closet was the mirror, which Dennis avoided looking at. Next to it, though, was a big drawer, which Dennis knew was full of socks and underwear. The bottom drawer was where his things were, his fluffy socks, and his panties. He shifted as his eyes ran over it. He didn’t need anything from the drawer, not really, he just wanted Daddy’s hoodie, but—

He hated the panties. They were tiny, thin-stringed, and sort of gave him a perpetual wedgie. Dad loved them—he’d eaten Dennis out right after he’d put them on, and there wasn’t much fabric to pull out of the way to give him access—but. They were uncomfortable. Maybe Dad would assume Daddy changed him after he left. Maybe Dad wouldn’t even notice, and that would be the best-case scenario, Dennis changing into comfortable boxers, breathable and loose, and have no one ever comment on it, or care.

He got onto all fours, and padded over to the dresser. He ignored his reflection in the mirror, uninterested in how long his hair was, or what the hickeys on his thighs looked like, or his ribs peeking out beneath the hem of his shirt. He opened the second-bottommost drawer, where Daddy stored his underwear, and grabbed a pair of boxers, red and blue plaid. He got up onto his feet to get the panties off, and slipped into the new undergarments, immediately better, immediately not itchy-damp-tight anymore. He tossed the panties into the laundry, and then surveyed Daddy’s collection of hoodies. He raised his hand to brush through them, patting along, feeling their texture, dipping his hand inside to check the softness.

He settled on a black one with the Seether band logo written over the chest in red font. It was exceptionally soft, and looked like it’d be big even on Daddy, which was precisely what he wanted. He hesitated for a moment, knowing the differing lengths of the shirts would bother him, and tugged the cropped tee off, throwing it in the laundry basket with his panties. Then, on went the hoodie, and he folded it over his head with a pleased smile, content with how much his world was immediately narrowed down. 

He exited the closet, freezing when the door creaked. His eyes jumped over to Daddy, but he didn’t wake up, continuing to snore loudly. Dennis had almost forgotten about his headache, but cringed as Daddy’s noise brought it back to life, a tornado-circling throb running around his skull. He looked down to his mattress, at the foot of his owner’s bed, and wondered how well he’d really be able to sleep with a headache and Daddy snoring so loud.

Dennis left the bedroom. His hardwood was cold as he padded into the kitchen, still up on his feet. The hoodie fell below the hem of his boxers, the undergarments themselves were slung low on his hips. He’d remembered both of the clothing items fitting better a long time ago. Maybe they’d gotten loose in the wash.

He opened the refrigerator, and grabbed one of the small water bottles that Dad habitually refilled and placed in the fridge to cool. He opened it, taking a few sips, his gaze flickering down to his water fountain, which burbled quietly in the otherwise silent home. He lowered the bottle from his mouth and swallowed his sip of water, a heavy sensation gathering in his pelvic area. He frowned, but turned away, finishing the bottle. He refilled it in the sink—with hot water, something Dad always insisted on, though Dennis didn’t really understand why—and put it back in the spot he’d taken from. It’d cool down during the night, and it’d be like nothing ever happened.

Dennis walked back through the living room, and considered the basement. It wasn’t that he wanted to go to his old room, per se, but Daddy really was snoring like a maniac. It was taking years off his life, he was sure. 

Being in the basement would help his headache. If no lights were turned on, it would be dark down there all day. He’d be able to sleep through the afternoon, if neither of his owners interrupted him. That wasn’t likely, but still, the thought prodded at him.

He could always postpone them finding him. That was an idea.

Dennis padded down the basement stairs, stepping over the tenth one, ‘cause that one was creaky. Down in the basement, he grabbed his old dog bed, and hauled it upstairs as quietly as he could. It was surprisingly heavy, dense memory foam, but he managed to get it up. He paused at the top, catching his breath, his arms and legs shaking, head throbbing to a point that was nearly blinding, before dragging it down the hallway, and into the office.

He laid the bed down on the floor, and practically collapsed into it, entire body trembling. He panted, sweating far more than necessary for his minimal activity, and moved just far enough to push the office door shut, the handle clicking softly as it latched into place. He didn’t lock it—they’d panic—but just relished, for a brief moment, that there was a physical barrier between him and the rest of the house. Between him and Daddy’s loud, obnoxious snores. He loves Daddy, really, he does, but the man needed a CPAP machine.

Dennis curled up on his bed. The office was almost startlingly quiet. Dennis turned towards the bookshelves, pulled the hoodie over his head, and shut his eyes tightly. 

In the morning, when Daddy woke up, he’d assume Dennis had gone to the basement, or somewhere else to sleep. He’d leave, and go to work. Then, Dad would come home, and he’d assume the same thing. Maybe he’d go downstairs, but if he was tired enough, he’d go straight to bed. Then, he’d have until Dad woke up to sleep, entirely alone, all by himself, in the office.

It was perfect. 

It wasn’t perfect. 

Dennis did sleep, for a little while. It was blissful, totally silent sleep. Half of it was just laying there, resting, feeling the headache wane, the tremors slip away, enjoying it all.

But Daddy didn’t just get up and go to work. No, Dennis couldn’t even have just that one thing, he couldn’t just have his own time for one night. No, he listened as Daddy walked around the house, turned the coffee machine on, and, horribly, walked down the basement stairs. Then walk right back up.

And then, Daddy was calling out, voice lilted with something tense, confused, still groggy. “Puppy?”

Dennis groaned to himself. He turned his face into the mattress, and resolutely, didn’t move or make a single sound.

“Dens?” Daddy called out. There were the sounds of doors opening and closing, cabinets snapping shut. Did Daddy really think he was hiding somewhere in the kitchen? He couldn’t be serious.

“Dennis?”Daddy called again, voice getting louder, laced with clear worry. He sounded closer, like he was in the hallway. Dennis curled up on himself. Daddy would find him eventually. 

More doors opened. Then, Daddy was on the other side of the wall, inside the main bedroom’s closet, the hangers clinking loudly. “Dennis? Baby? Where are you?”

Dennis was starting to feel a little bad. He huffed, and sat up, leaning back onto his hands. “Daddy?” He raised his voice, and Daddy paused on the other side of the wall. Dennis could imagine him whirling around, and tried not to smile.

“Dennis?” Daddy responded, sounding as bewildered as Dennis was envisioning him.

“Office,” Dennis spoke, just loud enough for Daddy to hear. There was a beat, then the quick movement of Daddy going out of the bedroom, into the hallway, and then the office door swung open. Dennis blinked up at Daddy, who looked a little haggard, brown hair fluffed up and messy, like he’d been running his fingers through it.

“Jesus, Dennis,” Daddy exhaled, raising his hands to rub at his face. “God. Oh my god, you scared me.” 

Dennis bit the inside of his cheek. Daddy inhaled tightly, and then dropped his hands, quickly crossing the small space and lowering to the floor, one hand moving to gentle over Dennis’ hip. Dennis twitched at the touch as Daddy leaned in, and his forehead lightly bumped Dennis’, another sigh of relief slipping from his mouth.

Dennis frowned to himself. Now he really felt bad.

“Hi,” Daddy chuckled after a second, and pulled away, eyes so dark, starry and soft as they took Dennis in. “When’d you come in here?” He glanced over Dennis’ form, mouth curling into a curious pout. “And when did you change?”

That was a few too many questions than Dennis felt like answering. Instead, he wound his arms over Daddy’s shoulders, and pulled him into a kiss. Daddy hummed, laughing quietly, and returned the move, head tilting slightly to the side, sweet-saccharine. He retreated, and Dennis tried to follow, but Daddy finished the move with a quick peck. The hand on Dennis’ hip rose to cup his face, petting at his skin softly, affection written all across Daddy’s expression.

That’s what he meant. There, right there, that touch, that move, the everything that Daddy had just done.

“Glad it was me you snuck away from, huh?” Daddy laughed, sitting up slightly. “Dad would’ve turned the entire house over if he couldn’t find you.”

Dennis nodded, slightly resigned as Daddy stood up fully, grunting softly. Dennis realized that Daddy was already dressed in his scrubs, the only things missing being his shoes and stethoscope.

“Okay,” Daddy patted the tops of his thighs, smiling down at Dennis. “Dad should be home in an hour or so. See you later, okay?”

“Bye,” Dennis murmured, raising his hand in a small wave. Daddy gave him a fond, gentle look, and left the room, closing the door almost-all-the-way. Dennis listened as Daddy left the house, the four deadbolts jolt-shift-clicking shut, and the sound of Daddy’s Volkswagen roaring to life, before driving off. 

Dennis scooted partially off of his bed, extended his foot, and pushed the door shut.

~:~

Dad was home later. A little later than anticipated, so maybe handoff took a while, or maybe he was taking a breather on the roof of the hospital, which Dennis knew he did sometimes. 

Dennis tried not to think about the PTMC. It only ever made him angry.

So he didn’t. He laid and slept some more on his bed in the office, curled up by the bookshelves, enjoying his quiet time for a little while longer.

The unfortunate thing about the office is that Dennis could really only occupy half of it. The furthest side of the office had a window, a slidey one that opened from the bottom. If Dennis got past the desk, he’d be zapped.

So he stayed near the shelves.

He jerked awake when the bells on the front door jingled merrily. He quickly sat up, eyes bleary, getting achier the longer he slept and continued to rouse himself, after he’d stayed awake most of the night, being worn away by Daddy’s snores. He yawned, jaw popping lightly on the left side, and leaned back onto his hands, blinking away the dryness in his eyes as he listened to Dad walk around.

Dad went down the hallway. Dennis sat up a little more, wrapping his arms around his knees, oriented towards the door, but Dad went into the bedroom. Dennis listened at Dad from the other side of the wall, the dull click of him removing his prosthesis, the metallic clicking of him using his crutches to continue getting around. Dennis heard him grunt, curse a little, say something muffled. Dennis bit the inside of his cheek, resisting a little grin. Dad wasn’t the most talkative, but he tended to chat with himself. 

And then Dad crutched into the hallway, pausing outside of the office door. Dennis considered getting up, opening the door for him, but Dad sort of hated getting help with things he could do himself, even if it took an extra second to complete it independently.

The door swung open, Dad having given it a push, leaning back into his crutches. Dennis blinked up at him, and Dad hadn’t even changed out of his scrubs, exhaustion written over his entire body, eyebrows knitted together in reaction to a likely headache, mouth in a flat line. 

They looked at each other for a second. Dad huffed, took a half-step backwards, and jerked his head, a silent command to follow, reorienting to walk back down the hallway. Dennis exhaled through his nose, but got onto his hands and knees, and obeyed. He padded through the hallway, barely catching Dad returning to the bedroom. He picked up his pace, even as it twinged his knees, entering the room, following Dad into the bathroom. He paused in the entrance, kneeling by the tile, while Dad lowered himself to sit on the marble stool that was by the vanity, setting his crutches aside to yank his shirt off. 

Dennis watched as Dad threw the shirt across the bathroom, his undershirt following, plopping onto the ground with a flumpy sound. Dennis hesitated, but entered the bathroom, crawling across the floor to gather up the two garments. He’d put them in the laundry basket in a minute.

“Good boy,” Dad grunted, minimally attentive to Dennis as he hitched his pants off, then his compression sock. Those clothes were thrown at Dennis, who caught them, and last went Dad’s boxers, thrown at Dennis’ knees. Dad exhaled sharply, and grabbed one of his crutches, tucking his right arm into it, his right leg being the residual limb. Dennis collected all the clothes in his hands, and Dad turned on the shower, leaning hard into his crutch as he held his free hand under the stream, waiting for it to get hot.

“Laundry, pup,” Dad commanded, not even looking over his shoulder. “Then shower.”

Dennis couldn’t really crawl with the clothes in his hands, so he rose partially, still leaned over but up on his feet, to hurry out of the bathroom, beelining for the closet. He dropped the clothes into the hamper, and as he exited, he heard Dad call out again.

“Collar lock, pup! Nightstand!” 

Dennis blinked, and reoriented towards the nightstand on Dad’s side of the bed, opening the topmost drawer. Inside, there was a magnet, a little smaller than his palm, and he picked it up. It was weighty in his hands as he walked back into the bathroom, quickly lowering to the floor as he entered, crawling across the tile to kneel next to Dad. The shower had clearly heated, the bathroom mirror fogging up steadily, but Dad was back on the marble stool, waiting on Dennis. 

“Good boy,” Dad nodded as Dennis handed over the magnet. Dennis sat up straight, palms flat on top of his thighs, and raised his chin to give Dad as much access to his neck as possible. Dad brought the magnet down, pressing it against the side of the collar, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to find the exact spot of the mechanism. After a moment, there was an audible click, and then Dad opened the collar, removing it and setting it on the stool.

“Alright,” Dad huffed, looking more tired with each minute that passed. “Strip, puppy. I’m gonna hop in.”

Dad got back up with his crutch, quickly moving to the shower. Dennis wiggled out of the hoodie, neck feeling oddly light without the collar, folding the clothing item and laying it on the floor next to the stool. Next went his boxers, similarly folded and placed aside, and then he was bare as the day he was born, following Dad into the shower. Dad had sat down, lounging hard against the tile as the water beat down on him.

Dennis stepped in, closing the glass door behind him. Dad, eyes not even really on Dennis, staring at some far distance beyond the wall, patted his good leg’s inner thigh. Dennis settled between Dad’s legs, the water hot and not as pelting as it looked when just Dad was under the spray, leaning his face against Dad’s knee as he gradually grew soaked.

Dad sighed, and raised his hands to scrub at his face. “Fuck,” he grunted, and dropped his hands, slumping a little further. “God, pup, this feels so good after the shift I just had. Maybe God is real.”

Dennis bit back a grin, nuzzling Dad’s thigh. He had a joke. Maybe Dad would get it?

“Africa,” Dennis offered. He watched Dad blink, then furrow his eyebrows, looking down at Dennis. A beat passed before a confused, but pleased grin split across Dad’s face.

“Like, Toto? ‘Bless the rains down in Africa’?”

Dennis nodded, smiling shyly. Dad snorted, leaned back against the tile. Then he snorted again, shaking his head slightly, and it melted into a persistent chuckle. Dennis’ eyebrows knitted together, a little lost, was it really that funny? Dad’s hands raised back to his face, running through his hair as he kept laughing. Dennis was considering asking if he was okay, but then it petered off, and Dad exhaled, smiling relaxedly, eyes swimming around the shower before landing on Dennis. He lightly jostled Dennis with his knee, smile widening at Dennis’ bewildered expression.

“You’re cute, pup, y’know that?” Dad’s hand lowered, and reached out to card through Dennis’ wet curls.

“Dad,” Dennis murmured, in place of anything else, blushing as Dad’s hand ran down his face, curled along his jaw, fingers extending to run down his bare neck.

“Yeah, kiddo,” Dad nodded, voice soft, “I’m here.”

Dennis turned his face to lap at Dad’s wrist, eliciting a humored huff from him. Then, Dad’s hand was retracting, and he turned towards the small well in the wall where all the shampoo, conditioner, and body wash was. Dennis leaned back against Dad’s leg, watching as he spurted some shampoo onto his fingers, rubbing it between his hands, before beginning to work at scrubbing through his grey curls, exhaling through his nose.

A little while passed, Dad focusing on cleaning himself, Dennis nearly drifting to sleep right there on the floor.

“Why’d you hide from Daddy in the office, pup?” Dad suddenly asked. Dennis blinked awake, inhaling a little thickly, hair wet and in his eyes. He brushed his curls out of the way, and looked up at Dad, who’d just finished rinsing the shampoo out of his hair. There was a little extendable handheld shower attachment on this side of the shower—just for Dad to use.

Dennis bit the inside of his cheek, and shrugged. Dad frowned down at him, not meanly. Just sort of observational, analytical, in the way he always was.

“Daddy said you brought your old bed up there and everything,” Dad continued, grabbing the conditioner next. “Must’ve taken some effort, dragging it upstairs. I know that thing is heavy.”

Dennis shrugged again. It had taken effort, way too much.

Dad ran conditioner through the ends of his hair, and silence stretched for a moment. Dennis felt achy, for some reason. Something bone-deep, marrow-lined. His eyelids were heavy, his eyes felt dry despite the persistent moisture in the bathroom. A wash, like a dry paintbrush smushed flat against the canvas, the salty undertow of diving beneath an ocean wave, crashed over the back of Dennis’ skull, the headache returning, a merciless siege against Orléans with no Jeanne d’Arc to save him now.

He leaned his forehead against Dad’s thigh. He felt hot. Too hot. He wished he could ask to turn the water heat down, but Dad liked to get scorched. It’d be better when Dad was done showering, then he could go to his mattress at the foot of the bed, sleep naked, and cool off.

“You really scared him,” Dad interrupted Dennis’ exhausted internal ruminations again. “Is there a reason you chose the office? Rather than just going to your old room?”

Dennis shut his eyes, nuzzled into Dad harder, eager to get this over with, to lay out and let steam rise from his body, get out of these heatstroke conditions. He shrugged again.

Dad sighed. He rinsed his conditioner out. Usually he’d let it rest in his hair, and that would be when he’d wash Dennis down, but it seemed that wasn’t happening today. Maybe he just wanted company. Dennis could understand that.

They were out of the shower a few minutes later. Dennis sat on the stool, panting out of his mouth, leaning against the wall, wrapped in a towel while Dad brushed his teeth. His headache was really getting him now, festering behind his eyes, pin-prick Chicxulub cratering at his temples, arms wrapped around himself. Dad had noticed, cooed, pet at Dennis’ jaw, and gave him a kiss, promising water and sleep soon, like that would fix it.

“Head,” Dennis whined, probably the fifth time, while Dad rinsed his mouth out at the sink.

Dad glanced over his shoulder as he patted his face dry. He evaluated Dennis, just briefly, before sighing, grabbing the floss. “Maybe a few pain meds, pup. Just wait a few minutes, okay?”

No, not a few minutes. Dennis whimpered, pulling his towel tighter around himself, the cold of the bathroom not refreshing or relieving, just hurting. It burned him, icy against his overly hot, tacky, sweaty skin. He glanced towards the exit of the bathroom, towards the bedroom. At a minimum, he wanted to be laying down already. His head was starting to droop, brainstem curdling into brainstew, leaking down his spine like a knocked over wax melt.

The room became fuzzy. Dennis blinked firmly, breathing getting tighter, trying to get it to come back into focus. He slumped against the wall, and tried to right himself, but his hands were shaky, liquidy.

“Dad,” he warbled, trying to find an anchor, keep himself up, even as his sensorimotor cortex unwound itself. 

“Just a second, pup,” Dad spoke with his mouth open, the floss clicking as he got in his molars.

Tears pricked behind Dennis’ stupid, not-working eyes. He sniffled.

“Head,” he bleated, soft, wet. 

The world tilted, and then went black.

☆*:.~:~.:*☆

He woke up in bed. The big bed, his owner's bed. Not unusual.

What was unusual was the IV in his arm, and the clip on his index finger, wired to a thing that looked like a thick Ipad, sitting on Dad’s nightstand, displaying his vital signs. Dennis blinked slowly. His eyes followed the line of the IV to a saline bag, hung up, half-empty.

He closed his eyes again. They hurt too much to keep open. 

He was hot, still. He could feel vaguely that he had underwear on—not panties, but boxer briefs—but no shirt. He was under the blanket, and wanted to kick it off, wanted the open air, but his legs were lead weights, unmovable.

He fell back asleep.

Dad was on the phone. That was the first thing Dennis heard when he woke up again. Dad was on the phone and he sounded angry, voice hard, spitting, the kind of tone Dennis hadn’t heard in a long time—not since Before, which he didn’t really think about, these days. The sound of it made Dennis freeze, sink into the mattress some, and listen, very carefully, to Dad’s words on the other side of the wall.

“—no, he fucking passed out. Fainted. Can you get that through your fuckin’ head, Mike?”

Dennis bit the inside of his cheek. His nose pricked with reflexive tears, despite knowing Dad wasn’t mad at him. Just hearing the volume was enough, though.

“No! I’ve got him on an IV and hooked up to a monitor, but he’s been out for three hours, so no, jackass, I haven’t been able to do a concussion screening. You’d know that if you would’ve picked up the phone the first fucking time I called you!”

Dad was mad at Daddy. Dennis frowned. Daddy was hard to reach when he was at work, he did important doctor things, taught students, handled hard cases. Dad couldn’t really fault Daddy for not picking up.

Dad groaned loudly. There was a thumping noise, like he’d hit or kicked something. “Stop blubbering, Jesus. When you get home, we are having a serious conversation about his overall health. I know you like the dog bowls, and the hand feeding, but I have eyes, Mike.” Dennis whimpered to himself, Dad’s tone rising in intensity. 

“He’s underweight. All these headaches, and now this? I’m done with it.”

Silence, for a beat, and then Dad scoffed. “Quit with your excuses. Go do your job, and bring home at least five nutritional IV’s. Bye.”

A minute or two passed. The little diagnostic screen on the nightstand beeped intermittently to the tempo of Dennis’ heartbeat. Dennis tried not to cry, breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth, but it was like his entire body was geared into his emotions. The little nudge of potential tears when Dad had yelled trickled through him, and he gnawed at the inside of his cheek to try and stave it off. There wasn’t any need to cry—Dad wasn’t even mad at him. He was being ridiculous.

The bedroom door swished open. Dennis tried to sit up a little as Dad walked in, eyes down on his phone. He looked even more tired than before, and Dennis wondered if Dad had slept at all, dressed in tan t-shirt and black sweatpants, prosthesis on. A thick lump formed in Dennis’ throat, obscene, obtrusive, and the dam inside of him broke.

“Dad,” he whimpered, tears spilling over his waterline, salty and dense. Dad’s head shot up, eyes wide, frantic, and he crossed the room in a few paces, immediately sidling up by the bed.

“Hey,” Dad sounded almost like he was trying to coo, but the residual anger and panic in his voice sharpened the edge. Dennis didn’t care, hiccupping loudly on a cry as Dad touched him, a hand cradling his neck—collarless, Dennis realized—the other moving to the side of Dennis’ face. Dad leaned down, and pressed a series of firm kisses to Dennis’ forehead, one knee up on the bed, getting close, closer.

“Dad, dad,” the word tumbled from Dennis’ mouth over and over, his free hand, the one without the clip or IV, shaking as it reached up towards Dad, grabbing, tugging as best he could, needy. 

“I’m here,” Dad asserted, firm in the way Dennis needed to hear, concrete, tangible. Dad lowered his face to brush his cheek with Dennis’, like two cats greeting each other. “Hi, pup, I’m here.”

Dennis yanked Dad again, trying to get him closer, to lay on top of him, or something, press him into the mattress, squish him, give him containment, pressure, keepsakeness.

“Dad,” Dennis keened, dragging it out as he sobbed, burying his face in Dad’s shoulder. Dad got up fully onto the bed, practically straddling Dennis’ legs, though not sitting on them, not adding weight. Dennis needed weight.

“What do you need, puppy?” Dad sat back a little, retracting one hand to stabilize himself, the other holding Dennis’ jaw, wet with tears. “Tell me. At least one word.”

Dennis shook his head. He needed Dad. 

Dennis wished he had words. They spooled in his mouth, wriggling across his tongue, wet, slippery spaghetti, disorganized, prefixes eating each other, suffixes smoking away.

“Collar,” Dennis finally choked, heaving to catch his breath, the air thin, his body burning up, heat growing high up his neck, singeing his curls.

Dad’s eyebrows furrowed. “Collar? You aren’t wearing your collar, puppy.”

God, please understand me!

Dennis shook his head. “Collar,” he repeated, slumping back into the bed as he couldn’t manage to sit up anymore, shaking, limp. “Collar. Dad. Collar.”

Dad looked even more confused. His eyes flickered over Dennis’ form, sweaty, reddened. “Do you want your collar?”

Dennis tried to shake his head again, but he was tired, beyond physical, beyond the universe, sniffling loudly as the bed fed upon his body slowly. “Dad,” he whimpered, voice thick. “Collar. Dad. Me. Dad.”

Something crossed over Dad’s face. His hand, on Dennis’ chin, holding him steady, twitched. Dennis’ breath caught in his chest, dragging for a moment before smoothing back out. Dad’s jaw ticked, and he leaned further into his supporting arm, as his hand inched lower, further, fingers gentling along Dennis’ neck.

“Dad,” Dennis whispered. His eyelashes fluttered as the palm curled over his throat, not pushing, not gripping, just there.

“I’ve got you,” Dad nodded, voice low, soft. His thumb just barely pressed against Dennis’ pulsepoint, eyelids lowering, his head tilting as Dennis relaxed. “Good boy, puppy. My sweet boy.” His palm tightened, only minutely, thumb pressing enough into Dennis’ pulse for him to get a read, even though the heart monitor was right there on the nightstand. Dennis exhaled weakly through his nose, breathing finally regulating, the all-encompassing heat cooling down to something below boiling, as Dad held him.

He loved Dad.

Dad loved him.

“Dad,” the word was thick, a mumble, minimally coherent, tumbling off Dennis’ bottom lip as he laid, a lead weight, on the bed.

“Yeah, puppy?” Dad responded, barely above a whisper. Still holding. Steady. Foundational. Purposeful.

“Love,” a crooked, delirious grin melted on Dennis’ face. He inhaled slowly, exhaled slower, enjoying the way his neck expanded under Dad’s grip. “Dad.” 

Dad made a tiny, barely audible noise. He adjusted himself, lowering further onto his knees, still not applying his full weight to Dennis’ body.

“Love you too, Dennis,” he affirmed quietly as Dennis’ eyes slipped back shut, tuckered out.

“Very much.”

~:~

The fever broke, and Dennis got a bath. 

With Mutt. And wasn’t that exciting?

Dennis had started sweating really bad sometime a while after Dad had fallen asleep. He’d gotten a new IV, and been plied with a water bottle, as well as a small bowl of applesauce. Then, Dad had checked Dennis’ vitals one last time before removing his prosthesis, climbing onto Daddy's side of the bed, and fell asleep hard. Usually Dad snored, just a little, but he didn’t make a single noise all afternoon.

Dennis slept on and off. His little vital monitor showed 14:30 when he woke up, beyond hot, beyond sweaty, all sorts of icky-blegh-gross. He’d gotten enough strength back to kick his blankets off, but the sheets were soaked beneath him, and he was unable to escape the dampness no matter how he rolled around. Even topless and exposed to the cold bedroom, he was too hot, leaking out of every pore, mouth open to breathe bigger, harder breaths. He grew minimally cognizant to reach over and shake Dad’s shoulder, and then he was relocated to his bed on the floor, no blanket, no undies, a ziplock bag of ice wrapped in a kitchen towel balanced on his forehead. 

Dad didn’t wake up until Daddy came home, the deadbolts thunk-swishing open, the bells on the door jingling cheerily. Dennis was on his side, arm held out to not disturb the IV and monitor, and tried to not get all teary when Daddy entered the bedroom, immediately lowering to Dennis and pecking his face all over with kisses.

“Aww, baby,” Daddy had crooned pitifully, letting Dennis grip at him somewhat senselessly, contact-seeking, whimpering puppy-whines as Daddy’s hand cradled the back of Dennis’ head, landing kiss after kiss to his sweaty forehead. “I’m so sorry you’re sick. Has Dad been taking good care of you?”

Dennis nodded firmly. “Dad,” he panted, and Daddy hummed his acknowledgement.

It was then that Dad roused, grunting loudly as he stretched.

The temperature of the room shifted, just a little. Daddy stilled, gently releasing a wiggly, squirmy Dennis, sitting back on his heels, eyes up, presumably on Dad.

“Fuck,” Dad cursed quietly, and there was a popping noise—probably his neck, or his shoulder—and he exhaled. There was a beat, and Dennis watched Daddy’s eyebrows knit together, and his mouth curled into a frown.

Then Dad spoke again. “Clothes, Mutt. Give puppy a bath. We’ll do nutritional IV after.”

Daddy’s face flattened, and suddenly, there Mutt was, right in front of Dennis, present and clear even without his loose leather collar. Mutt leaned back down, nuzzled Dennis sweetly, and helped Dennis up onto his feet to get towards the bathroom, toting the hanging IV line along. 

The bath felt hot. Mutt told him that it was lukewarm, really, sort of cold, but Dennis felt like it was at a good, reasonable warmth. Mutt was allowed to use the magnet to take Dennis’ collar off, and then started to run the water. Dennis sat on the marble stool, the infectious cold feeling relieving now, and not painful. Mutt stripped down, leaving his clothes in a little heap on the floor, and when the tub was full, helped Dennis inside.

This wasn’t his usual situation with Mutt. They tended to have playdates, ordained periods of time with a function, purpose, or arena that they belonged to, like the living room, or in bed. Bath or shower time was often with Daddy. This was different. This was nice.

Dennis’ arm stayed out of the tub, IV out of the water, the saline nearly empty, anyway. He’d probably be fine to get unhooked, but didn’t think to ask. He was warm, leaning against Mutt’s chest, getting his entire body washed with a loofa in a bubbly tub. He’d hate to be anywhere but here. This was perfect.

Dennis sighed, a little hazy, content and happy, and leaned his head back, cushioned by Mutt’s shoulder. Mutt pressed a gentle kiss to Dennis’ temple, and his arms wrapped around Dennis’ torso, the loofa floating to the bubble-coated surface of the tub. 

“Feeling better?” Mutt murmured, sounding suspiciously like Daddy, though Dennis didn’t really care to investigate.

“Warm,” Dennis affirmed. 

Mutt hummed, held Dennis tighter. “Wanna wash your hair?”

Dennis breathed out slowly. “Warm,” he murmured again. Mutt adjusted behind him, wet arm sliding out of the tub, grasping blindly at something. He made a successful noise, and returned with a small pitcher, a plastic one that could maybe hold about two cups of water. He held it out in front of Dennis’ face, showing it off.

“So you don’t have to dunk your head,” Mutt explained. 

Dennis blinked at it. He nodded.

Mutt scrubbed Dennis’ head carefully, slowly. He found a comb in his additional rummaging, wide-toothed and good for Dennis’ tangled curls, patiently working through the length Dennis had grown out. His hair splayed over his neck when it was wet, over the top ridges of his spine. It fell in his eyes, most of the time. He could almost hide behind it.

Mutt worked the shampoo in, and then ran through with the comb again, feeling around for unwashed parts, nails scraping nicely against Dennis’ scalp, eliciting happy hums from his mouth. He told Dennis to shut his eyes tight when he poured the pitcher over his head, refilling it a few times to ensure all the suds were gone, and that Dennis’ hair was all the way rinsed out. Dennis wiped at his eyes with his free hand while Mutt ran conditioner through the ends of Dennis’ curls, murmuring something about a diffuser, and gel, whatever any of that meant.

The bath was over a little too soon, but the water had started to feel cold even to Dennis, and his fingers were all pruney. The IV had run out, and Mutt was careful when drying Dennis off, patting around the insertion, face a little distant, pensive. 

Dennis remembered the phone call from earlier. How Dad had yelled. He looked up at Mutt while he was rubbed dry, and bit the inside of his cheek.

“Okay?” He asked. Mutt paused, and gave Dennis a slightly quizzical expression, before resuming his drying, scrunching the ends of Dennis’ hair.

“‘Okay’, what, Dens?”

Dennis frowned slightly. He wasn’t sure how to explain it. Maybe Mutt had already forgotten. He shook his head, and Mutt accepted it, wrapping Dennis up quickly before changing his focus to himself, running the towel along his body.

It was far into the evening, now. Dad wasn’t in the bedroom when they emerged, and it felt like Daddy, not Mutt, who detached him from the saline IV, leaving the insertion there for later. He did cover the opening with a little piece of gauze, though, taken from the medical DOPP kit that was stored in the bathroom.

Dennis was feeling much, much better. His mind was clear-ish. His blood wasn’t boiling. His head didn’t hurt. Mutt’s behavior didn’t mirror him, quiet, maybe even sullen, as he got them dressed, helping Dennis into a pair of boxer-briefs, compression tank, and hoodie, before dressing himself in boxers, sweats, and a t-shirt. Mutt ushered Dennis back to his bed, and Dennis sat criss-cross on the squishy surface while Mutt hooked up a nutritional IV.

“Lots of vitamins, but not calories,” Mutt murmured—and he really did seem like Daddy, right now—“But if you get worse, pup, Dad’s considering a feeding tube.”

Dennis hummed as the IV was inserted. Mutt—Daddy—gently rubbed his thumbs over the insertion site, looking resigned, eyes downcast. Dennis’ eyes flickered over Daddy’s face, frowning softly.

“Okay?” Dennis asked again.

Daddy’s eyebrows knitted inward, and his nostrils flared while his mouth pressed into a flat, tense little line. He nodded, but sniffled through his nose, bringing Dennis’ forearm up to press a shaky kiss to his wrist. “‘M fine, baby,” Daddy murmured, voice sounding tight. “Just been a long day.”

“Daddy,” Dennis’ mouth curled downward. Daddy was sad. Was it because of the phone call earlier? Was it because Dennis had gotten sick? “Daddy?”

Daddy shook his head slightly, lowering Dennis’ wrist, favoring instead to rub his palms quickly over Dennis’ bare thighs. He shook his head again, a little firmer, exhaling on a waver through his mouth. 

“I’m fine, Dennis,” Daddy reaffirmed. “I love you very much, you know that?”

Dennis nodded.

“More than anything in the entire world,” Daddy leaned in, the movement of his hands stopping. Daddy gripped Dennis’ thighs, not meanly, as he enforced eye contact, the deep brown of his irises threatening to swallow Dennis whole. “I love you. I never, ever meant to hurt you. If I ever do, it’s an accident. Do you understand?”

Dennis hesitated, but nodded again.

Daddy’s eyes were welling with tears. Dennis swallowed, a reactive lump forming in his throat. He made a noise, and reached out, tugging on Daddy’s shirt, trying to get him to come closer. Would a hug help? Cuddles? Daddy usually liked cuddling Dennis. He’d do it all the time. Would that fix it?

Daddy exhaled all shaky again. “I gotta go talk to Dad, baby,” he tried to detangle Dennis’ hands. “You need to sleep. We can’t do snuggles right now.”

Dennis shook his head. 

“Yes,” Daddy rebutted, and finally managed to capture Dennis’ wrists in one hand. “Please,” Daddy’s voice lowered to a whisper, harsh and stern, lined with something desperate. “Take a nap, puppy. I’ve got grown up stuff to do.”

Dennis felt resistant. Daddy was sad. Sure, Dennis wasn’t formally trained on being an emotional service dog, but he could do emotional services! He tried to wiggle his wrists out of Daddy’s grip, whimpering when Daddy gripped him harder.

“Nap, baby,” Daddy gave Dennis’ wrists a firm shake, jostling him slightly. “I don’t wanna see you sneaking out of bed. You stay right here, okay?”

Dennis sniffled. Daddy was being mean for no good reason. He nodded, and Daddy finally released him. Dennis sat back on his bed, pouting, while Daddy stood, his knees popping with the motion.

“Alright,” Daddy huffed, while Dennis rubbed at his wrists, looking up at him. “Okay. Dad and I have to talk about some stuff. You’re going to sleep.”

Dennis hummed a noise, and sat back, his shoulderblade up against the foot of his owner’s bed. Daddy glanced over him one more time, and turned to exit the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Dennis looked up at the IV. It wasn’t like the saline one, the liquid instead an odd sort of yellow, hung up on his own little rolling stand. Dennis sighed, and drew his knees up to his chest, plopping his chin down. He shut his eyes, just for a minute. He wasn’t really tired—maybe he should’ve asked for a bedtime treat.

Dennis listened for a few moments. He wondered if Dad was still mad. He wondered if Dad would get mad at Daddy. Maybe that’s why Daddy was sad? Maybe Daddy was scared? Dad could be scary sometimes—Dennis remembered that from Before. 

He didn’t want them to be mad at each other. That wasn’t good. All because he was sick? He was better now!

Dennis hesitated, but stood from his bed, a little shaky before he grabbed onto the metal stand. The hoodie Dennis had been dressed in fell over his hips, the boxer briefs only barely peeking out from underneath. Everything was oversized, and slightly over-warm. He nibbled the inside of his cheek, but walked over to the exit of the bedroom, pulling the stand along with him, its plastic wheels making soft noises along the carpet. He turned the handle slowly, the mechanism clinking, before he tugged it open, peeking his head out, listening carefully for any sounds.

There wasn’t much. He couldn’t immediately identify Dad or Daddy talking. If they were in the living room, even if they were murmuring, that would’ve come down the hallway. Even in the kitchen, he would’ve been able to hear them. Were they in the basement?

Dennis crept out into the hallway. The wheels on his stand immediately squeaked on the hardwood, and he froze, wondering what he’d do about that. He couldn’t take the IV out—it had things he needed to get better. Dennis waffled for a moment before he wrapped both hands around the stand, and lifted it slightly off the ground. It was surprisingly light, and he made a small noise of success to himself, before taking another few cautious steps down the hallway. 

Dennis kept walking, and paused again at the entrance to the foyer, leaning out, trying to subtly catch a glimpse of them. The living room lights were on, but from his angle, no one seemed to be in there. He frowned. The house was still pretty quiet.

Dennis snuck across the foyer, sneakily of course, and slowly opened the basement door. He peered inside—pitch black, clearly not being used.

Well, this was weird. Where were they?

Dennis closed the door to the basement. He persisted through the living room—definitely no one in here—and took a step into the kitchen. He froze when he heard a distant, muffled sound, and whirled around, looking out the kitchen window.

They were on the porch! Dennis nearly ran right over to the kitchen door, which led out into the sunroom, and then exited onto the porch, before he stopped himself about six feet away. He couldn’t go into the sunroom, his collar would zap him.

Dennis whined, and got up onto his toes to try and see them through the kitchen window, and through the additional windows of the sunroom. He spotted Dad, who was standing with his arms crossed, mouth moving fast and angry. Dennis tilted to the side, and he could just barely see Daddy sitting on one of the outdoor chairs, faced away from the house.

No! No, they were arguing! 

Dennis huffed through his nose, and lowered the stand to the ground, wringing his hands together. He didn’t want them to argue, especially not over him. He’ll get better! He’ll do the feeding tubes and everything!

Dennis whined again, feeling a rise of wet, heavy emotion burble up in his chest. He exhaled a frustrated sound, and ran a hand through his hair, still a little damp from his bath. He dropped his hand to his shoulder, but paused as something felt off. He blinked, and inched his hand up to his neck, where, beneath the hood of the hoodie, his neck was bare.

Daddy hadn’t put his collar back on.

So- wait. If his collar wasn’t on, then his collar couldn’t zap him.

Dad’s voice rose outside. Dennis flinched and squatted, hand still on his neck, the other gripping the rolling stand. Out of view of the kitchen window, he considered what his options were. He could go outside. If he went outside, then maybe they’d be so surprised about him being there that they’d stop arguing. But, maybe Daddy would get in more trouble for forgetting to put his collar back on. That wasn’t ideal.

Dennis nibbled the inside of his cheek. He glanced over the kitchen door, and realized he didn’t have to stand so far away. He moved onto all fours—well, more like all threes with one hand still holding onto the rolling stand—and took a few probing steps towards the door.

No zapping. Woah. Very weird. A little exciting.

Dennis felt a little thrum of energy course underneath his skin. He padded closer, grinning to himself when he made it all the way to the door without any zaps. He sat back on his knees, shuffled himself and the stand out of the way of the kitchen door, and slowly turned the handle.

The second the door opened, he could hear Dad talking.

“—did you forget that I did all of this for you?” Dad’s voice was hard and angry, not quite a yell, but something a little louder than regular talking. Dennis stilled, and stayed in his spot up against the kitchen wall, with the door only barely cracked. 

“I set up all this shit,” Dad continued, “evaluated him, trained him, got him to the point that you wanted, and you can’t even take decent care of your toy? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Silence. Maybe this was one of those sorts of talks where the other person doesn’t actually talk, and just listens.

Dad scoffed. “Jesus, you’re embarrassing. You don’t have the right to be crying right now. This is on you. I’ve been worried about the headaches, about his weightloss, but no, you wanted to do hand-feeding! You wanted puppy chow! And now we’re smuggling IV’s out of work!”

“Jack,” Daddy croaked, and he sounded ruined.

“Shut up,” Dad spat, and Dennis could hear shoes crunching around on the stone base of the porch. Maybe he was pacing.

Dennis frowned. Dad was being mean. He could hear Daddy sniffle loudly. He had to do something. 

“Well?” Dad spoke after another beat of silence. “Do you have legitimately anything to say for yourself?”

“Thought you told me to shut up,” Daddy grumbled.

“Yeah, and now I’m telling you to speak, mutt. Did you forget your lessons already? Do I have to take you downstairs and reteach them?” Dad sounded so angry, his voice dense with fumes and heat. Dennis felt a reactive teary prick in his eyes, and wiped at his face with the heel of his palm. Dad sounded like Before. It made Dennis’ chest hurt.

Maybe he could get up and get in the way. Maybe then Dad could just be mad at Dennis, and not be so angry at Daddy anymore.

Dennis opened the door further. 

“Don’t go there right now,” Daddy retaliated. “We’re not doing that. We’re having an adult-to-adult conversation, Jack, don’t mutt me.”

“I’m not mutt-ing you,” Dad laughed, hard and sharp like a gunshot, “you’re mutt-ing yourself. I’m just reminding you of the role you exist in. You can’t handle being an adult here.”

Dennis moved to sit on his butt, and scooted out into the sunroom, lifting the rolling stand with two hands to get it over the door threshold.

“I’m not!” Daddy seethed, “quit doing that! How do you expect us to have a mature conversation about the state of everything when you won’t even let me talk–”

“Because it’s not about what you feel!” Dad snarled. “It’s about what’s in front of our fucking faces, which is you getting too wrapped up in your kink and neglecting the one fucking thing you promised to take good care of!”

Dennis bit the inside of his cheek. His whole upper abdomen hurt. He felt the distant haze of a headache threatening the backside of his skull, and he glanced out of the sunroom’s windows, where Dad and Daddy were now both standing up, anger emanating off of them. He didn’t mean to be hard to take care of—Daddy always tried his best. Daddy loved  him. 

Dennis huffed wetly, and sucked it up, adjusting to be able to stand. Without any collar to stop him, he shakily rose to his feet.

“You severely undermine how much I care about Dennis—” Daddy got closer to Dad, eyebrows furrowed and face flushed.

“I’m not undermining shit,” Dad growled. “You’re a bad owner, Mike. I’ve gotta do everything around here, while you live in your horny little fantasy, content to be ignorant to the legitimate health problems Dennis has been experiencing.”

The wheels of Dennis’ IV stand rolled loudly across the wooden floors of the sunroom, and he froze. Dad’s head whipped over, eyes wide and furious, and Daddy’s gaze followed, confused.

“How-?” Dad sputtered, his attention finally off of Daddy. “Pup, what-? Where’s your collar?”

Dennis gripped the stand with both hands. He tried to gather words from his head, but they were soupy and slithery, sliding between all the crevices of his mind. He shook his head, and whined.

Dad took a half step away from Daddy, and huffed loudly, rolling his eyes as he fully turned and walked over, jerking the door of the sunroom open to step up and inside. Dennis trembled, blinking his eyes as the headache began to materialize, weighted heavily along the back of his head, curling forward to his temples. Dad walked over, expression melting away from anger, but no less stern.

“Where’s your collar?” Dad asked again firmly, eyes flickering over Dennis’ form. “What’re you doing up?”

Dennis bit the inside of his cheek. “M-” he struggled, and blinked again. “Mad.”

Dad sighed, and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s not for you to worry about, pup. You need to go back to your bed.”

Dennis shook his head again, and tried not to shrink away at how Dad’s eyes hardened. That was good—it’d be fine if Dad was mad at him, as long as Daddy wasn’t the focus anymore. “Mad,” Dennis said again, “Daddy cry.”

“Daddy’s having a lot of feelings,” Dad’s jaw ticked. “And none of them are your business. Go back to bed.”

Dennis’ nostrils flared, the familiar threat of tears burning his sinuses. He glanced over Dad’s shoulder, where Daddy was watching through the window, glancing between the two of them, clear concern written over his body. Dennis’ eyes jumped back to Dad, who seemed to be getting more impatient with every second that Dennis didn’t obey.

Dennis inhaled a tight breath. “No.” He pressed his mouth into a flat line.

Dad’s eyebrow arched. “Excuse me?”

Dennis felt his heart begin to thud in his hands. The headache creep-crawled over the top of his head, sinking pinpricking claws in his brain. His eyes ached. “No,” he repeated. “Mad.”

Dad’s arms moved, hands settling on his hips. He took a step closer, and Dennis didn’t dare move, even though he wanted very badly to run away, eyes narrowing as Dad leaned over him, mere centimeters of space keeping them apart.

“Go.” Dad’s voice lowered to a deep, stern growl. “Basement. Now.”

Dennis’ knees knocked together. He held back his whimper, and shook his head again.

Dad exhaled through his nose, and Dennis shivered as it blew across his face. “I’m not asking,” Dad rumbled. “You move before I make you move.”

Dennis forced his eyes to rise, blue meeting hazel. He swallowed, his throat thick. “Make me,” he forced out of his mouth, rebellion foreign and acrid on his tongue, sending an electric shot of nausea through his guts.

Dad’s hand jerked out, grabbing Dennis harshly by the bicep. He yelped as Dad jerked him closer, tears bursting from his eyes, and, humiliatingly, hot wetness bloomed in his boxers. Dennis froze, his eyes squeezing shut and a high-pitched whimper slipping from his lips as Dad also stilled, and the pitter-dribble of piss spilled down Dennis’ thighs, spreading across the floor.

“Jesus Christ,” Dad sighed, and jostled Dennis, sending a ricochet-rumble roll of hot coals through Dennis’ head. The spill petered off, the hot liquid already cooling. “Fucking- okay. C’mon.” 

Dennis choked on a sob as Dad suddenly picked him up, hoisting Dennis up to perch him on his hip, one hand going beneath Dennis’ soaked behind, and the other grabbing the rolling stand. Dad jerked his chin over to Daddy, who was standing static and shocked outside.

“We’re not done,” Dad bit at Daddy, and reentered the house, kicking the kitchen door open. Dennis sniffled, wrapping his arms and legs around Dad’s torso, his eyebrows knitting together as his head began to properly throb, pressing his cheek against Dad’s shoulder. Little droplets of pee followed their wake into the primary bedroom, and Dennis was quickly lowered onto the stool next to the tub. Dad grumbled to himself, not even sparing Dennis another glance as he yanked his shirt off, the side of the fabric darkened. Dennis pressed his legs together, body pulsing with humiliation and fear of what Dad would do next.

Dennis shivered, his boxers and legs quickly growing overly cold in the chill of the bathroom, while Dad washed his hands and forearms off in the sink, going sullen and silent.

“Sorry,” Dennis bleated quietly when Dad turned the sink off, and flicked his hands dry.

“Puppies have accidents,” Dad grunted. “Stop fuckin’ crying.”

Dennis nodded, and sniffled. Dad finished drying his hands off, grabbed the DOPP kit from beneath the sink, and turned back to Dennis. “Arm out.” Dennis obeyed, and extended his arm with the IV still inserted. Dad’s jaw ticked again, and he made quick, precise, and careful work of removing the IV. Dennis gnawed at the inside of his cheek, blinking through his tears while Dad unzipped the DOPP kit, and placed a few pieces of gauze over the crux of Dennis’ elbow.

“Sorry,” Dennis murmured again, voice tight with tears. 

“You need a bath again,” Dad huffed, ignoring Dennis’ statement.

“Dad,” Dennis whined. He felt small, outrageously small. He’d never had an accident before, not even Before, when he’d still been in the basement with his personal restroom. He hadn’t meant to—he’d just wanted to distract Dad a little, not make a huge mess.

Dad rolled his eyes, and righted himself, going to turn the water of the tub on. Dennis sniffled loudly, wrapping his arms around himself. He hiccupped wetly. “Dad?”

“Be quiet,” Dad huffed as he held his hand under the running water. Dennis hiccupped again, and scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palm, unable to stop fat, hot tears from leaking out of the corners of his eyes, leaving salty tracks down his face. Dad made a sound when he was content with the temperature of the water, and plugged the drain to allow it to fill. Dad stood up, and sat on the edge of the tub, arms crossed, hard eyes running over Dennis’ soiled figure.

“So,” Dad spoke over Dennis’ pitiful noises. “Did you take your collar off yourself?”

Dennis shook his head, and hooked his ankles together.

Dad’s eyebrow quirked. “Did Daddy forget to put it on after your bath?”

Dennis hesitated, but nodded. Dad cursed under his breath, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.

“Mad?” Dennis whimpered. Mad at him? Still mad at Daddy? Mad at all?

Dad cast Dennis a scornful look, and Dennis shrunk in on himself. Maybe he shouldn’t be trying words right now. Dad sighed, and glanced down to the floor, jaw ticking. Dennis inhaled shakily, trying to get himself under control, trying to not be such a crybaby.

“You got sick because of Daddy’s negligence,” Dad spoke after a moment. Dennis glanced over, sniffling, and Dad’s eyes flickered over him again, a little softer now. “Part of it’s my fault for not pointing it out, but…” Dad wavered his head side to side. “Daddy’s a hard person to argue with. We’re both stubborn.”

Dennis swallowed, and tilted his chin down in acknowledging nod. Dad took a deep breath, and glanced down into the tub, before pushing off, working his hands at his jeans. Dennis watched as Dad shucked his jeans off, and threw them aside with his shirt. “Your clothes, pup,” Dad directed, going for his boxers next. Dennis blinked, and then hiked his hips up to tug off his ruined underwear, his hoodie and compression shirt going off next. Dad took them as they came off, and then Dad was leaning one hand against the bathroom wall, standing on his good leg while he made quick work of removing his prosthesis.

Dad set his prosthesis on the floor, and then gave Dennis a look. Dennis quickly stood, shivering in the cold of the bathroom, and offered Dad his shoulder. Dad gripped Dennis’ shoulder tightly, using him as leverage to make the few steps over to the bathtub, switching to grip Dennis’ hand instead so he could sink in. He gestured with his hand, and Dennis crawled in after him, settling with his back to Dad’s chest, between Dad’s legs. Dad released a soft sigh, snuck his arms around Dennis’ torso, and pulled him close.

The water was still running, currently at hip-level and rising.

“I’m not mad at you,” Dad nuzzled his face against the back of Dennis’ head. “I got worried. I’m mad at Daddy, but that’s adult stuff.”

Dennis leaned back against Dad’s chest. Something tender and tight was in his stomach. The water continued to rise, silence stretching between them, and Dennis flushed up his neck when Dad’s hand moved from Dennis’ stomach to between his legs, index and middle finger slotting on either side of Dennis’ clit.

“Messy puppy,” Dad exhaled, giving Dennis’ clit a light pinch, sending a shiver down his spine. “Can’t believe you pissed yourself like that. I bet Daddy’s cleaning it up.”

Dennis frowned, even as he rocked his hips up into Daddy’s touch. “S- sorry,” he whimpered, biting his bottom lip as Dad began to gently rub over Dennis’ clit, slicked-smooth from the water.

“Might get you to do that again sometime,” Dad mused. “Daddy always liked that sort of stuff.”

Dennis’ eyebrows knitted together, his mouth falling open as Dad increased his pace, the water splish-splashing with Dad’s quick ministrations. “Mnph–” Dennis bit his bottom lip, hands scrambling under the water, clawing for purchase at Dad’s thighs. “Hnh– Dad—”

“Might tie you up,” Dad’s other hand snuck further around Dennis’ ribs, pulling him closer. “Make you drink a bunch of water. And you would, ‘cause you’re my good puppy, right?”

Dennis squirmed and panted hotly, trembling as his head fell back, prickly pleasure building at the base of his spine.

“Yeah,” Dad crooned. “Use a spreader bar, make it impossible for you to hold. Watch you wet yourself. Daddy’d lick you clean, pup. Fuck, he’d kill to see that.”

Dennis nodded, whimpering as his hips jerked, rocking desperately into Dad’s touch. Dad laughed breathily, entertained by Dennis’ squirming.

“Such a good boy,” Dad murmured, and tugged Dennis further up, fingers sliding further down and dipping inside Dennis with ease, eliciting a high-pitched cry. “So easy. So good. Couple minutes ago you were being defiant, tellin’ me ‘no’, now you’re about to cum on my fingers. Funny how that works, huh?”

“D-ugh,” Dennis’ knees twitched together before jerking back apart, the water rising up to his chest, his eyelashes fluttering shut as Dad fingerfucked him just right, the heel of his palm grinding expertly against Dennis’ clit. He whined a stuttered, half-baked sound, chest rising and falling quickly as he panted, pressing further back against Dad.

“Love the way you fall apart,” Dad whispered, right in Dennis’ ear. “I keep telling Daddy that we should buy a breeding bench, or a fucking machine. Leave you for hours, maybe when one of us is working, ‘n watch you get worked until you’re just a brainless,” Dad punctuated with a harder fuck, beating a noise out of Dennis’ mouth, “stupid,” another, and Dennis gasped tightly, “fuckin’ dog.”

“D-ad–!” Dennis’ voice pitched up, and he tensed, going completely still, eyes squeezed shut as Dad slowed his fingers, working him through it. Dennis huffed on a breath as his body threw himself over the internal hill, tumbling down the heated spike-laden prairie, each pinprick fiery and perfect, shredding him into a thousand tiny pieces before it softened. He exhaled harshly, slumping against Dad’s chest as he desperately caught his breath.

The water was almost up to their shoulders. Dad extended his foot, and smacked the faucet, turning it off, a ripple running across the surface of the water as he settled back down into the tub. Dennis panted, and squinted his eyes shut as the residual sensation critter-crawled up his spine, settling along the aura of the headache he’d almost forgotten he had.

Dad’s wet hand snuck out of the water, and he wiped his thumb along Dennis’ cheeks.

“So cute,” Dad hummed. “Why’d you come out to the sunroom, baby?

Dennis sniffled, suddenly incredibly exhausted. “Mad,” he mumbled, blinking slowly.

“‘Mad’,” Dad echoed, his hand that had been on Dennis’ torso curled upward, curling around Dennis’ chest, lightly pinching Dennis’ nipple. “Could you hear us arguing from inside?”

Dennis licked his bottom lip, and shook his head, the answers flowing easily from him. “Daddy sad,” his eyelids were heavy, the bath was so warm, and Dad was so solid beneath him. “Daddy-” Dennis couldn’t think of the word. “Daddy,” he settled, and just hoped Dad would understand.

“Hm,” Dad gave Dennis’ nipple a playful twist, before releasing him, both of his arms rising from the water to instead perch loosely on the sides of the tub. “Did Daddy say he and I had to talk?”

Dennis crossed his arms over his belly, and leaned back against Dad’s chest, eyes slipping shut. He sounded his affirmative.

“And Daddy looked sad when he said that?”

Dennis made another noise.

“Hm,” Dad hummed. “What else did he say?”

Dennis was so comfortable. Dad was so warm. This was nice. He’d expected Dad to get mad at him—but this distraction worked too. “Tube,” Dennis mumbled.

“‘Tube’?” Dad sounded curious. “Like, your IV?”

Dennis’ eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Food,” he corrected.

“Ah,” Dad exhaled. “Yeah, a feeding tube might be in your future. Just in case you lose any more weight.”

Dennis hummed. Dad exhaled, and the water rippled again.

There were words Dennis needed to say. He just had to think of them. He wasn’t very good at organizing words anymore—he kept forgetting how. More than one word at a time took some serious coordination. 

Dennis forced his eyes open. The bathroom was a little too bright. He licked at the inside of his teeth, feeling along his incisors, canines, and molars. 

“Don’t…” he trailed, the water rippling when Dad adjusted under him. “Don’t fight,” Dennis managed.

Silence stretched for a beat. Dad’s hand lowered back into the tub, his knuckles brushing along Dennis’ shoulder lightly.

“Maybe,” Dad murmured. “We’ll see if Daddy’s cooled off. You’re going to bed, though, and won’t be interrupting us.”

Dennis let his eyes fall shut again, and made an approving sound. Dad huffed a laugh. “Alright, bathtime, pup, gotta scrub you clean. C’mon.” 

~:~

Dennis was redressed after his bath. Black boyshorts, one of Dad’s olive drab tees, a pair of fluffy socks that were colored like a calico cat, and his collar. Dennis was delegated to his bed, got a brand new IV, a bedtime treat, a blanket, and then was given as many goodnight kisses as he wanted before Dad left him alone in the room, quiet and dark.

He laid for a while, rotated like a rotisserie chicken, always careful not to disturb his IV, before he got comfortable on his side, arm extended out. 

He was mostly asleep, reaching that state of nearly falling into it when the whole world felt like it was on a tilt, like his mattress was ready to suck him into it where he’d cocoon until the morning rose, when the bedroom door slowly creaked open.

Dennis’ eyes were blurry when he opened them, and he yawned, stretching his arms out above them, trembling slightly, when he felt a presence by his side.

“Sleepy boy,” Daddy murmured, and Dennis hummed a small sound when he flopped back down on his bed, Daddy’s palm gentling over Dennis’ bare thigh. Dennis exhaled, knees falling to the side, and Daddy chuckled. He’d sat down by Dennis’ bed, legs extended out, ankles crossed, leaning back on one of his hands. He seemed relaxed, a little evened out, calm.

Daddy’s dark brown eyes flickered over Dennis’ figure, jumping up to meet Dennis’ gaze. He smiled softly, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Hi, baby.

A lazy grin melted across Dennis’ face. “Daddy,” he reached out, bumping his fist against Daddy’s calf.

“Hi,” Daddy repeated fondly. He tilted his head to the side. “Bet you’re tired, huh? Big day for you.”

Dennis sounded his affirmative. He was all syrupy and heavy, headache a dull nurse behind his ears, small and distant enough that he could ignore it until he fell asleep. He sighed softly when Daddy pet his thigh more, the tips of his fingers slightly calloused, scritchy along Dennis’ skin.

Daddy sniffed through his nose, and his gaze lowered, more pensive. “Dad said you asked us not to fight.”

Dennis nodded. He watched Daddy’s Adam's apple bob. Daddy sighed, and made a noise under his breath, before resuming his pets, hand wandering up further, up Dennis’ hip, fingers brushing over Dennis’ stomach.

“Well, we didn’t. At least, not as bad as before. We talked it out,” Daddy’s voice was low, gentle, soothing like a lullaby. “He’s thinking about a feeding tube for about a week, just to be sure you’re getting enough calories, and then bigger meals afterwards, and tracking to ensure you’ve eaten. Grown up stuff.”

Daddy’s eyes flickered up, meeting Dennis again. “Did you sneak out onto the porch to distract Dad?”

Dennis felt a flush prick at his face. Had he been that obvious? He shrugged. Daddy rubbed his thumb along Dennis’ side, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

“I figured as much. You haven’t stood up to Dad in—” he paused, pursing his lips curiously, something washing over his face before it slipped away. “Well, not in a long time. It was pretty out of character.” He moved his hand, brushing further under Dennis’ shirt, rucking up the fabric slightly, fingers running along the light divots of Dennis’ ribs. “You don’t need to do things like that, pup. I wasn’t in danger, or anything. Just an argument.”

Dennis’ free hand snuck over his torso, bumping intentionally into Daddy’s wrist. Daddy glanced down, and retracted from underneath Dennis’ shirt, instead lacing their fingers together. Daddy made a noise, something breathy, and sniffed again. 

“You’re a very good boy, Dennis,” Daddy murmured. Their eyes met again. “There aren’t enough words in the dictionary for how much I love you.”

Dennis’ chest bloomed in warmth. He grinned, and gripped Daddy’s hand a little harder, quickly in an interval of three—one, two, three—and Daddy chuckled, squeezing Dennis three times in return. 

Dennis fished the words from his hindbrain. “Love,” he blinked, tilting his head to the side. “Daddy.”

Daddy’s lips pressed into a flat, wobbly line. “I love you too, Dennis,” he nodded, and gave Dennis’ hand another little squeeze. “So much. More than you know.”

Dennis puckered his lips. Daddy huffed a laugh, and released Dennis’ hands, going through the motion of getting off his butt and adjusting onto his knees, leaning down to give Dennis a quick kiss. He tried to pull away after just one, but Dennis reached out, tangling his fingers in Daddy’s shirt, and pulled him back down, eagerly nipping another few kisses. Daddy laughed again, and relented, kissing Dennis back with sweet little pecks, giving in when Dennis gave him another yank, slowing the pace. 

Daddy adjusted, one forearm pressed into Dennis’ bed to support his weight, and exhaled through his nose as Dennis licked into his mouth, noises and saliva passing between them. Dennis’ knees hiked up, feet pressing into the mattress, thick exhaustion coursing through him not enough to stop him. Daddy didn’t argue, groaning softly, nipping Dennis’ bottom lip, his free hand curling in Dennis’ hair, caressing, petting, gentle.

Dennis tried to get him in further, closer—Daddy liked cuddles, Daddy liked love, Dennis could do that—but Daddy pulled away, and pecked fluttery kisses over Dennis’ mouth, cheeks, nose, and forehead, pulling a giggle from Dennis’ lips. Then, Daddy sat back, fondness doused over him and emanating off of his skin, while Dennis settled back onto his bed, satisfied for now.

“You’re silly,” Daddy murmured, and patted Dennis’ thigh. “It’s about bedtime for me. I’m gonna crash on the couch tonight, okay?”

Dennis frowned, but nodded. Daddy patted him one more time, and grunted as he stood, knees popping loudly. He walked into the closet, and Dennis listened to him clink around for a while, before he exited, changed into pajamas. He went to the exit of the bedroom, and paused as he turned to leave, offering one last little wave. Dennis mirrored it, already halfway back asleep, and Daddy shut the door quietly.

Dennis turned back onto his side, eyes slipping shut.

Dennis startled awake to the feeling of a hand on his thigh. He blinked, sat up halfway, a confused, half-baked noise falling from his lips.

“Hey,” Dad’s voice was a partial whisper, immediately calming in the deep darkness of the primary bedroom. “Just me, pup.”

“Mmph,” Dennis grumbled, his blurry vision finally focusing on the pale blob of Dad, only minimally illuminated by the moonlight shining through the windows. “Huh?”

“Your IV ran out,” Dad murmured lowly. “Gonna remove it for the night. Sit up.”

Dennis whined, and tried to turn and burrow into his bed. He was too tired, couldn’t Dad just wait a few hours?

Dennis yelped when Dad reached out, hands closing over Dennis’ shoulders to quickly tug him up. His surprised sound quickly dissolved into giggles when Dad gave him a little shake, and he was reoriented to lean against the footboard, slumping against it with a huff.

“Good boy,” Dad murmured, and leaned forward, knees plush in the mattress, the DOPP kit by his side. He grabbed Dennis wrist, and laid his arm out. Dennis yawned as Dad removed the IV, gauze-taping the insertion site with practiced efficiency. Dad pressed his thumbs down over the tape, smoothing it out, and made a noise to himself when it was satisfactory. Dennis anticipated slumping back down to his mattress, but Dad leaned forward, and snuck his hands around Dennis’ thighs.

“Hm?” Dennis hummed curiously.

“Arms around my shoulders, pup,” Dad huffed. “Pickin’ you up.”

Dennis blearily wrapped his arms around Dad’s neck, and squeaked when he was quickly lifted, Dad grunting softly under his breath. A few steps later, Dennis was deposited onto Dad’s side of the bed. Dad sat down at the end of the bed, leaning over to remove his prosthetic, the metal clicking and releasing in a few moves. 

Dennis watched through half-lidded eyes as Dad set it carefully by the bedside. Then the mattress dipped again as Dad climbed in fully, exhaling through his nose as he settled back against the pillows. Dennis curled on his side, head half-cushioned by Daddy’s pillow, half by Dad’s, and for a minute, there was only the sound of the house. The A/C running, the foundation settling, and the rustling of blankets paired with Dad’s breathing as he got comfortable. 

The moment Dad was content with his positioning, he reached out, and tugged Dennis closer. Dennis scooted across the mattress, accepting the invitation, and curled up against Dad’s side.

Dad gathered him in close, one arm sliding beneath the pillow, curling around Dennis’ shoulders, his other resting across his own torso, hand brushing Dennis’ chest. Dennis reached up, and Dad easily tangled their fingers together. Dennis released a heavy breath, deflating against Dad, snug against him, contained and anchored like his old room in the basement. Dennis made a small, content sound and shifted until his face was tucked against Dad’s chest. He gave Dad’s hand a gentle squeeze, and Dad squeezed back.

Minutes passed like that. Maybe less. Maybe more.

“Love you, pup,” Dad murmured, an exhaled thought warped with sleep.

“Love,” Dennis whispered back, easier than anything in the world.

Dennis’ breathing evened out until it started to blur at the edges again, the kind of sleep that washed up along his skin, drawing him further. He snuffled, rubbing his face against Dad’s pec, and Dad rubbed Dennis’ back a few times before relaxing into the mattress with a low, breathy sound. Dennis let his eyes slip shut.

He slept.

☆*:.~:~.:*☆

Dennis loved his owners. They loved him too. They told him so all the time.

His life wasn’t always perfect. Sometimes he got headaches. Sometimes his clothes didn’t fit too well. Sometimes his owners argued with each other.

But there were a lot of things about Dennis’ life that were really nice. He got fed three times a day, now. He had a big cozy bed that he slept on each night, and sometimes, he’d be able to sleep with one of his owners. He got kisses whenever he wanted, and more love than he could ever dream of. He had toys to play with, a basement to run around in, and, every now and then, time to himself to read. When he was tired, he went to sleep. When he was sick, he’d be given medicine. When he was bored, he’d have a playdate with Mutt while Dad monitored.

Sure, his world was a little small, and zappy at his neck around any of the exits of his owner’s home. And sure, he didn’t talk much, and words had started to become a little difficult to conjure and say out loud.

But he was their puppy. He was a very good puppy. They loved him, wholly and entirely, over and over, every single day and night.

He loved them back. Of course he did.

He always would.