It was a day like no other, filled with victories and losses, mangled limbs and dead bodies strewn across the battleground. There never seemed to be an end to the mundane working conditions the Medic always found himself slaving through. But, as long as he had able bodies to dissect and patch up, it was a life worth living. (Besides, on a bright note, the pay was pretty good.) And, today would be no different as he sat in his office, casually scribbling words onto a clip board, trying to ignore the spew of boasts from his latest patient. The Scout, having had a very profitable day save for a new injury he wore, was loudly reflecting on his conquests as if he would somehow become impressive to the doctor while kicking his legs over the edge of the examination table.
Yes, a day like every day.
The Medic placed his writings onto his desk and adjusted his glasses, more out of habit than to actually keep them from sliding from his nose. He swiveled his chair to face the obnoxious patient, and thus began the usual. “Vat seems to be ze problem?” he spoke in an almost-robotic tone, having started all of his previous exams with the same form of polite interrogation. He was already bored, as the boy still had his internal organs where they need be and no blood was visible upon first glance. Just another boring band-aid session, it seemed. Or, so he thought.
The Scout ceased in his words and seemed to turn a shade of red as he slumped his shoulders, finding it difficult to look into the gaze of the very man he was bragging to only moments before. It gave the Medic a slight ping of interest and he rose from his seat to approach the youth.
“Don’t be such a baby, junge. Nothzing is too strange for me. I assure you, I have zeen worse zings zen you could ever imagine.” The doctor spoke plainly as he placed a reassuring hand on the younger male’s head, giving it a rather rough pat.
“Alright, doc,” the Scout began, his body fidgeting on the table uncomfortably, “It’s---It’s my ass. I got stabbed in the freakin’ ass.”
Had it not been for his usual stoic nature and professionalism, the doctor would have burst into a laughing fit at the boy’s plight; he was true in his statement that he had seen worse, but something more hilarious had not come by him in a very long time. Rather, he gave a shrug, pointing to his patient’s pants. “Vell, drop zem and let’s have a look then.”
The boy was taken aback by the blunt instruction, but he complied hesitantly as he rose from his seat. It was then the Medic noticed the blood staining the Scout’s pants and underwear, and he became even more delighted as the wound itself came into view. There it sat as a festering mess of torn flesh and muscle upon the boy’s left cheek. He was suddenly very interested and could not contain the rush of adrenaline as he set to work. The elder pressed at the Scout’s back, persuading him to the table to rest on his arms as gloved fingers carefully inspected the gaping wound, tracing the straight pattern that was placed with expert attention. No doubt, it could only have been done by an enemy Spy with that attention to detail and precision. Why he chose to stab the boy in the rear and not the back was a mystery saved for another day as the Medic cared not of the minor nuisances so long as he had something to patch up. The doctor opened a sanitary cloth and carefully wiped up the old blood from around the wound with a painstakingly slow pace. The chill of the wet wipe was causing the boy to tense up, and the clamping of muscles in his backside gave the Medic a strange form of intrigue as he continued more for the sake of watching the smaller body squirm than to actually disinfect his cut. His left hand worked at the wound as the right hand grasped the other cheek, and the Scout jumped in surprise.
“Hey, what the hell, doc?”
“All part of ze process,” the doctor replied in a matter-of-fact tone. His voice was professional despite the minor issue of his pants becoming too tight against his now-forming erection. Wounds would always give him a strange feeling of arousal, but today would seem to take a different turn as he could not tear his hand or his eyes from the softer, plusher backside he held. True, he had seen a lot of patients in the buff, but, save for the youth, they were all built and well-defined, masculine bodies covered in patches of rough hair and scars. The Scout’s own body seemed fresh as a prepubescent boy, only covered in lighter hairs with the occasional darker one mixed in. His skin also seemed to be turning a delightful shade of pink beneath the Medic’s grip.
He seemed to compose himself, at least in voice, and gave the boy a fair warning as he tossed the bloodied rag to the side, “I vill stitch you together now.”
“Just get it over with.” The Scout was beginning to grow uncomfortable under the doctor’s grip and the longer he sat there, the better chance he would need medical attention to the bruise that was surely forming on his right cheek. He could only bite down on his thumb and grunt as he felt a needle poking at the tender flesh around his wound and the tug of stitches as the gap was forced shut. Why the elder didn’t just use his Medigun and fix him quicker, the boy could only guess. But, regardless, he sat, muscles clenched as he refused to let another sound of pain erupt in his throat, not realizing the effect he was unknowingly enforcing on the man he trusted to tend to his intimate wound.
At least, not until he felt an unfamiliar tug at his member. The Scout jumped in surprise and turned to protest, but the Medic’s hand was at his back, keeping him pressed to the table as his own chest bore down on his forearms.
“Doc! What gives, man!” the boy spurted as he squirmed against the offending hand, though his body was already reacting against his will and he could only helplessly give in to the feeling with a moan and a shiver, which merely enticed the doctor along further.
The Medic gave something of a pleased groan as the boy yelped again once the elder’s clothed crotch had rubbed against his bare backside.
“F-Fuck, man.” The Scout mumbled as electricity seemed to be coursing through his veins; he could care less how wrong this situation was. All he knew is that the bastard has better not stop. And, the Medic would not disappoint, as he fumbled with his pants with his free hand as they fell to the floor in a heap, a clang of his belt buckle the only signal that he had removed them at all. The boy then found a pair of gloved fingers reaching into his mouth, and he complied and began licking and sucking at the digits while the other hand kept a slow and casual rhythm at his erection; it was just enough to keep the youth squirming for release and consenting to the ordeal altogether.
The fingers withdrew, slick and wet with saliva, and pressed into the Scout’s backside. He gave a slight hiss in discomfort, but the Medic never ceased in the pleasurable action of jerking the boy, and he found himself attempting to rock against both hands despite the weight pressing against him. Another sharp hiss was given between clenched teeth as the doctor removed his fingers and replaced them with his own throbbing member and set right to work thrusting against the smaller body, his own mind lost in a wave of euphoria at the sensations and delicious Bostonian accent escaping the boy as he writhed in pleasure and pain.
“Sie sind einfach wunderbar!” The Medic murmured in a gasp as he leaned into the Scout’s ear and spoke other streams of German phrases unknowing to the boy. He could not care less either way, so long as the elder continued to pound into his backside. His own dialect was lost into the moans and pants from both men as even the table creaked beneath their weights. Faster and faster, he thrusted, the elder man’s head swirling as his free hand groped beneath the boy’s shirt; he wished feverishly that he had removed his gloves as his hands screamed to touch the softer flesh of an athletically-toned torso.
The Scout finally gave in to his own desires as he erupted into the doctor’s hand, giving a soft cry as his body jerked until all fluid had been drained of him. The tightening of muscles against his own member threw the Medic over the edge, and he soon followed in his own erupting orgasm, another spew of German speech parting through panting lips.
With the experience now abruptly over, the elder simply removed himself and redressed nonchalantly as if he had not just screwed his patient’s brains out own his own exam table. The boy joined the Medic in dressing as he awkwardly rose to his feet and tucked his shirt.
The doctor interrupted, “Do come back in a few days to haf your stitches removed.”
“Right. Er, thanks, doc.” The Scout replied as he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. As he began to leave, a hand to his shoulder stopped him in his tracks and he turned to face the Medic, who merely gave something of a polite smile as he waved a small lollipop in front of the boy’s face.
The boy could only grin and give out a slight ‘heh’ as he accepted the grape-flavored treat and went his merry way.