Work Text:
Adults on the Ark are scheduled for mandatory annual exams as part of the strict population control metrics. If you don’t show up for the first two appointment attempts, someone comes to your living area and drags you in by force. Being in his first year of training doesn’t mean Bellamy can talk his way out of it–-it only means that he’ll probably know by name the assholes who rough him up on the way to the med bay. With a 14-year-old sibling to hide, Bellamy never misses his appointments. Show up, say yes ma'am, go home with an approval stamp.
Bellamy is sitting in a small gray room, watching the medical diagrams and text rotate through a loop on the display monitor when a kid in a lab coat pushes the door open, tripping on a cord and apologizing profusely for the wait.
“Sorry for the hold up, another patient had complications so you got bumped to the bottom of the queue. I’m Doctor Jackson.”
Bellamy blinks, because this guy can’t be more than two or three years older than him. “Where’s Doctor Webber?” Webber usually saw the male patients, although he'd been tended to by Griffin or Nguyen a few times as well. Webber was usually brusque, competent, and typically as eager to move on to the next patient as Bellamy was to get out of there. This new kid seems… earnest.
“I’ve taken over his rounds for annual exams as part of my residency training. Don’t worry, I’ve been doing these for six months now. You’re in good hands.”
When he smiles it’s so kind that Bellamy has to swallow and look away. Those big brown eyes could encompass a person, secrets and all. Everything will be okay, say those eyes. I’ve got you now.
Clenching his teeth, Bellamy mutters, “That’s fine,” and tries not to seem nervous.
Jackson smiles at him. “Why don’t you call me Eric. Now up, please.”
Bellamy stands and begin stripping. First his shirt, then his trousers. As he does, Doctor Jackson asks him inane questions about his medical history, his sexual activity, and diet. Bellamy answers honestly until Jackson asks why his average weight has always been low for his age and height.
“I’ve always been skinny,” he shrugs. “I eat my share.” A lie, and yet not a lie. Just that his share is a third smaller than most people’s. Jackson doesn’t react to this beyond a nod, which almost makes Bellamy annoyed in and of itself. Jackson probably thinks he trades food credits for something else; it’s a common enough thing and medical professionals don’t push too hard on enforcing diet restrictions as long as the person looks alright. There are moments when it rankles Bellamy that people will look at his thin frame and his eagerness to please and assume he’s up to something illegal or unethical. He’s feeding a whole other person, not getting himself hooked on substances or gambling.
When he’s down to his underwear, Doctor Jackson approaches and starts prodding him in the sides, the knees, the chest, and so on. His hands are warm on Bellamy’s skin, large and soft with big knuckles. The backs of his fingers graze Bellamy’s nipple when he listens to his heart, and Bellamy sees Jackson twitch, a little embarrassed, before quickly moving on.
“Breathe in,” says Jackson softly, and Bellamy obeys. He watches Jackson watching his chest: in and out, in and out. The doctor’s mouth drops open a fraction, and although his attention is all on the stethoscope Bellamy can see a slight intake of Jackson’s own air in time with his patient’s. “And breathe out.”
After a few moments pass, somehow more intimate than any interaction Bellamy has ever had with a medic, Jackson takes away the stethoscope and quietly asks Bellamy to remove his briefs for the prostrate exam. Feeling like he’s in a trance, or like he’s in some other body entirely, Bellamy pulls his underwear down. He watches Jackson’s face as he does it–the doctor is staring at his data tablet but his eyes jump over one time–and Bellamy looks away immediately.
Feeling a thrill race down his spine and into his legs, Bellamy steps all the way out of his underwear, folding them neatly on the patient bed. It’s not necessary, but Jackson doesn’t stop him, only presses his lips together firmly. Insight flashes through Bellamy that he doesn’t have to feel helpless here like he usually does. He doesn’t need to be nervous today, terrified of deep questions or invasive judgment. Something is happening right here and for once he’s not the only skittish person in the room.
“Thank you,” Jackson tells him, setting the tablet aside. When he sees Bellamy—cock and balls waiting patiently in the cool exposure of the med room—the doctor’s expression is earnestly neutral. When he touches his patient it’s all business, and Bellamy listens to a pep talk about how he has to check himself regularly because cancer is more prevalent in all of the Ark these days, striking younger. It’s the same nonsense he heard last time except for the tight set of the doctor’s shoulders, the way his hands feel soft instead of clinical.
“All done,” Jackson declares, standing up, and that’s when Bellamy slides his hand around the back of his neck and kisses him.
The young physician freezes, and Bellamy almost stops when he feels a tremor shake through him, but then Jackson’s mouth opens up and he sort of stumbles into Bellamy, locking his hands on his waist and eagerly returning the kiss. The metal exam table cuts into Bellamy’s back so he spins them until he’s against the door, one hand carding through Jackson’s short hair and the other finding the other man’s hand. He puts the doctor’s hand over his cock and Jackson's large palm curls around it immediately. It’s warm, like being engulfed, and Bellamy instinctive bucks up into it.
No words have been spoken since the exam was technically finished, but their mouths are hungry against each other. Jackson lifts his hand away and spits into it, returning it to Bellamy’s cock for wetter, surer strokes. Bellamy’s heart is racing and he meets Jackson’s eyes, dazed and dark and beautiful.
“I shouldn’t—” Jackson starts, but Bellamy interrupts him.
“I want you to.”
Nodding, Jackson picks up the pace of his hand job, doing it similar to how Bellamy does it himself on lonely nights: fast and then slow, gentle and then rough. Bellamy tries to rub the doctor through his trousers but he keeps losing it when Jackson does things like pressing his thumb against the wet slit at the tip of his cock. His other hand is on Bellamy’s balls, rolling and rubbing them in a way that’s completely different from the detached medical exam.
Soon their foreheads are touching and they’re both breathing fast and sharp—Bellamy instinctively closing his eyes and Jackson completely focused on his task. The hands on Bellamy’s body are as sweet as he imagined, but there is a confidence in them too that is slowly breaking Bellamy down. The world begins to spin as he leans his head back against the steel door of the room.
“I’m gonna—” he warns, but then it’s too late. His cock feels like it’s bursting and his vision goes white for a moment. Long strings of jizz pump out of Bellamy, getting all over Jackson’s hands a little on his lab coat too.
The both halt, panting, and stare down at the picture: Jackson’s medical professional fingers around Bellamy’s still thick cock, cum starting to drip down to the floor.
Cautiously, Bellamy closes the distance between them and kisses him. Jackson’s lips are soft, wet, and flush with lust. The young man still hasn’t spoken but he seems to be swaying a little on his feet. Like he doesn’t know the next step. Bellamy feels a rush of heady gratefulness and affection. He’s never been so vulnerable before with someone whose opinion could affect his future—and yet it feels safe. It feels lovely.
“Thank you, Eric,” he whispers, and gingerly brings the man’s sticky fingers up to his lips. Bellamy slips a digit into his mouth, cleaning it with a gentle suckle. “You can call me Bell.”