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“Martin? Do you have a minute?”
Martin doesn’t look up from where he’s hunched over their logs but gestures with an absent-minded flick of his wrist for Douglas to enter the portakabin. “Yes, what is it?”
“It just occurred to me that perhaps I should volunteer-”
“Volunteer? You?”
“Let me finish. Following your best safety practices demonstration mishap of late, it occurred to me that it’s likely been a while since you’ve had a full physical exam beyond what’s required for your flight certification.”
Martin looks up. “What is that to do with you?”
“Well, you’re not the only MJN employee who works a side job. You know I’ve got medical training. I actually do locum work at an NHS clinic from time-to-time.”
“I still don’t see what that’s to do with me, Douglas.”
“I just thought I’d offer my…services. I do feel awfully bad about those van keys, still. This is me offering to make it up to you. Just come by the clinic with me tonight, and I’ll do a full physical for you, free of charge and pesky NHS queues.”
“I don’t know- I feel perfectly healthy. Honestly.”
“You wouldn’t forgo one of GERTI’s scheduled maintenance reviews though, would you?”
“Of course not! But-”
“No buts, Martin. When you’re flying her, your maintenance is just as important as the plane’s.”
“Oh, fine. Just let me finish these logs.”
Douglas smirks. “As if I would ever keep you from that.”
The clinic is mostly dark, and it’s cold, the heating having been turned down at the end of the work day. Martin is perched at the end of an exam bed, nearly shivering in the flimsy paper gown. The fluorescent lighting makes his freckles stand out sharply against the pale cream of the rest of his skin.
“Schenectady,” Martin offers.
There is a snap of latex as Douglas finishes retrieving various items from out of drawers and pulls on a pair of purple nitrile exam gloves.
“You think Schenectady sounds like a euphemism for a sexual act?” Douglas asks. He’d started this game - place names that could be euphemisms for sexual acts - on the drive over with ‘Nether Wallop’ (in Hampshire). “Pray tell, what?”
Martin blushes and mumbles something into his chest. Douglas pulls his chin up and directs him to look at the wall while shining a bright light into first his left eye, then his right. An examination of his ears (and discussion of his inner ear abnormality) follows, then palpation of the lymph nodes in his neck and of his thyroid and tapping at his sinuses. Douglas asks him to say “ah” but uses his forefinger and thumb to hold Martin’s tongue down and out of the way in lieu of a tongue depressor, holding Martin’s chin firmly in his other hand. Martin’s mouth begins to water.
Douglas took Martin’s blood pressure and heart rate (both normal) before convincing him to change into the paper gown, but he hasn’t yet listened to his heart and lungs. The chill of the stethoscope on the skin of his back makes Martin flinch.
“Deep breath in.”
Martin pulls in a slightly shaky breath.
“And exhale.” Martin exhales, dropping his shoulders. With his free hand, Douglas nudges the back of the gown open a bit further and brushes his fingertips over Martin’s ribs soothingly. Martin shivers.
“Again, please.”
Douglas purposely bumps Martin’s nipple, already peaked and tight from the chill, when he’s searching for his heart beat at the front. Martin bites his bottom lip and turns his head away slightly. Despite the chill of the room, a flush is spreading from the base of his neck out to his shoulders and down his chest.
“All right.” Douglas steps away and turns to the small pile of instruments he’d gathered from the drawers earlier. “Take the gown off and lie back.”
“Off?” Martin croaks.
“It’s just easier that way. It’s not as if we’re strangers.”
Martin glumly shrugs out of the gown and lies back on the bed, his legs hanging off the end at the knee. His cock is almost entirely soft; it’s pinkening and not quite resting flat and limp against his right thigh. Douglas spares it only a glance before testing the reflexes in Martin’s knees with the hammer he’d just retrieved and then, setting the hammer aside again, beginning the abdominal exam, tapping carefully over Martin’s liver and palpating gently in all the potential problem areas. Martin is staring at the ceiling, his hands wrapped tightly around the edges of the exam bed.
When Douglas’s hand slides down to his cock, lifting it gently, Martin eyes snap wide open, but he still won’t look at Douglas.
“Are you sexually active?” Douglas asks.
“Not at the moment, no.”
“Well, yes, I could have determined that for myself, Captain Obvious.”
“You know what I meant.”
Douglas is now shifting Martin’s foreskin back and forth, slowly, and Martin’s cock is starting to fill further as a result of the attention. “Douglas-” he begins to protest.
Douglas lifts Martin’s cock out of the way to examine his testicles, rolling them in his hand as he bends closer to look for lumps or other abnormalities. Martin flexes, his back arching reflexively. Douglas’s hands finally both fall away.
“Scoot down to the edge please.”
While Martin is positioning himself, Douglas strips off his gloves and unfolds the table’s stirrups from where they were tucked against the sides. Martin goes stiff and locks eyes with Douglas when he wraps a hand around Martin’s right angle to lift it into a stirrup.
“What are you doing?” Martin asks.
“Would you really rather I bend you over the bed for this part?”
“I- I suppose not, no. Not really. No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
After situating both of Martin’s feet in the stirrups, Douglas turns back to his supplies, donning a fresh pair of gloves and retrieving a tube of lubricant. “Hold this?” he asks, pressing the tube into one of Martin’s hands. Martin grasps it without acknowledging Douglas beyond a visibly rough swallow that makes his Adam’s apple bob in his throat; he’s turned his head away again, and he’s canted his knees inward awkwardly, a vain attempt at hiding and protecting his half-hard cock. Douglas places his gloved hands on Martin’s knees and presses them apart, running his fingers down to the join of thigh and groin.
“Just relax, Martin. This is the last bit.”
Martin squeezes his eyes shut and presses his lips together. Inhaling shakily and puffing out his upper lip on the exhale, he relaxes his legs fractionally so that his knees fall wider apart.
“That’s it,” Douglas encourages, scratching lightly at the tender skin of Martin’s inner thighs. The view from Douglas’s perspective is not a little distracting: Martin laid out bare before him, thin and pale but wiry and near glowing. Watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest - his peaked nipples like buoys in a sea of milky skin - is transfixing.
Hardly paying attention, Douglas lets his right hand wander down to worm between Martin’s arse cheeks and prod gently at his hole. As Douglas’s gloved finger traces tiny circles over the puckered skin, catching every so often due to the friction of the nitrile on unlubricated skin, Martin stops breathing altogether.
Douglas reaches with his free hand to pry the tube of lubricant from Martin’s clutch and dispenses a generous amount, slicking the first two fingers of his right hand. The fumbling and brief interlocking of their fingers as Douglas presses the tube back into Martin’s hand is somehow more intimate than Martin naked and Douglas’s finger exploring his arsehole. It makes something twist - but only briefly - in Douglas’s gut.
Before Martin can tense again, Douglas is bracing his arse cheeks open with one hand and pushing in firmly with the freshly lubed index finger of the other. When his finger reaches the inner sphincter, Martin’s cock twitches. Douglas gentles his movements, alternately massaging the inner sphincter and withdrawing to stretch the outer rim. When he finally pushes past the inner sphincter, Martin jerks and tries to close his knees, but Douglas is in the way, standing between them.
“Just a bit more. I just need to check your prostate.” Douglas presses his free hand to Martin’s lower belly, just above his cock, pinning him more firmly in place while his finger burrows deeper.
When Douglas’s finger finds his prostate, giving it a pair of quick nudges, Martin hisses through clenched teeth.
“Does it hurt?”
“No,” Martin groans, tipping his head back. There’s an astounding synchronicity in the way Martin’s head falls back just as his cock lengthens and rises to jut away from his body. Douglas’s thumb is now a scant millimetre from the base.
“Just a bit of a stretch now,” Douglas says. “Tell me if it hurts.” He withdraws his finger most of the way and pushes two back in smoothly but forcefully, homing in on Martin’s prostate immediately. Martin reaction is conflicted: first he winces, then his hips buck up, seeking further stimulation.
Douglas rubs at Martin’s lower belly. “Try to stay still now.” He begins fucking Martin’s arsehole with his fingers, not vigorously but almost teasingly, quick gentle thrusts just deep enough so that the tips of his two fingers frame Martin’s prostate at the top of each upstroke.
While Martin’s arousal is increasing, his cock continuing to thicken and darken as it fills with hot blood, Douglas explores with his free hand, removing it from Martin’s belly and bumping his knuckles against the base of Martin’s cock in the process. He pulls at Martin’s knee, clamped tight to his ribs, and he rubs at Martin’s inner thigh with his palm, all an attempt to coax Martin into a slightly more relaxed state.
When Martin is more-or-less pliant, Douglas grasps his cock, now leaking slightly, and pulls it up and back towards his stomach. The slight change in the angle of Martin’s hips exposes more of Martin’s prostate internally, and Douglas begins to stroke it more directly with the pad of his middle finger.
Martin squirms. “Douglas, stop!”
Douglas ignores this protest and continues his assault on Martin’s prostate, pressing more and more firmly with each stroke. “I’m almost finished. I’m just double-checking that there aren’t any nodules.”
After a particularly rough diagonal swipe, Martin yelps. “Douglas! If you don’t stop, I’ll-”
It’s obvious what’s going to happen. Martin’s cock is leaking copiously now, his pre-come smearing wetly on his stomach. Douglas releases his grip on the base of Martin’s cock and begins to massage his prostate externally as well with two knuckles pressed to his perineum. This overstimulation is too much for Martin. He’s flushed bright red clear down to his navel and grunting almost continuously with the effort of not coming.
“Just let it go, Martin. I don’t mind,” Douglas intones flatly.
Martin does try, but despite how close he is, without stimulation to his cock as well, he can’t come. Giving up on embarrassment, he reaches for his own cock, but Douglas seizes his wrist before he can touch himself.
“None of that. I’ll take care of it.” But Douglas doesn’t touch Martin’s cock, only increases the speed and force of his thrusting fingers.
A few minutes pass, and Martin is the true picture of desperation. His hips are stuttering erratically, only occasionally matching up with Douglas’s thrusting fingers, and his hands are white-knuckled around the edges of the exam bed. He’s biting his bottom lip hard enough to leave deep red indentations.
Finally, Douglas reaches out for Martin’s cock, just holding the head between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing at his fraenulum. Martin pushes his hips down hard onto Douglas’s fingers and curls his toes tightly around the stirrups as he comes with an aborted shout. His cock pulses and spurts once, but as he continues to come, the rest just dribbles out.
Douglas stills his fingers and watches. Twenty seconds of watching Martin’s heaving chest pass before he speaks.
“Is this normal for you?”
“Is what normal?” Martin croaks.
“This small amount of ejaculate.”
“Small?”
“Unless you’ve already ejaculated today?”
“No, um- I haven’t.”
“Well, then. It’s a very good thing we’re doing this. I think you might have a partial blockage, but don’t worry. There’s a procedure I can do right now to correct it.”
Douglas is - in a change of pace from his usual lazy, unhurried approach to life - briskly efficient as he pulls off his soiled gloves, tossing them in the room’s biohazard bin and then secures Martin to the exam bed with a pair of Velcro-closure cuffs holding his ankles to the stirrups and the exam bed’s built-in, faux-sheepskin-lined strap across his waist. Martin struggles a bit when he’s tightening down the latter.
“What-? Why-?” he stutters.
“Just a safety precaution. This is a delicate procedure.” Douglas isn’t looking at Martin as he speaks; he’s already across the room at the sink. In a moment he returns with a soapy flannel and begins to wash Martin’s cock, pulling the foreskin back to wash the glans as well. Martin flinches and tries to push Douglas’s hands away, grabbing at his forearms.
“Stop-” he protests. “Sensitive.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll be gentle. This procedure has the best chance of success when performed directly after orgasm, so it’s important we try to proceed quickly. All right?”
Martin removes his hands from Douglas and reapplies them to the edges of the bed. He nods almost imperceptibly.
Douglas finishes the wash, cleaning up the small splotches of semen on Martin’s stomach last, and then he moves to the sink and returns with a fresh flannel to rinse. Martin continues to squirm, but the strap over his waist is tight enough that Douglas can work undisturbed. It’s really only Martin’s toes and hands that are moving measurably, clenching and unclenching.
After thoroughly soaping and drying his hands and forearms, Douglas pulls on a third pair of gloves and takes up a luer syringe, sans needle, from the tray he’d prepared while Martin was changing into the paper gown.
“This will feel a bit strange,” Douglas warns as he lifts Martin’s now completely flaccid penis into his left hand. He pulls Martin’s foreskin back and pinches the glans just enough to make the urethral opening pout open slightly. After squeezing a small amount of lubricant out of the syringe onto the tip of his left index finger, he rubs it into the opening, then inserts the syringe and squeezes more inside. Martin grunts and throws his head back.
“That’s the weirdest bit, I promise.” Douglas soothes. “Now I’m just going to try to remove that blockage of yours.” He retrieves an instrument from the tray: it’s stainless steel and about three quarters of a foot long, perfectly round, tapered a bit at each end, and with a very slight S-curve. The diameter is narrow, not more than a few millimetres.
Martin is watching now, his chin almost pressed to his chest and his stomach muscles taut as he raises himself up slightly to see. Douglas lifts his cock again and pulls back the foreskin to expose the slit fully. In one smooth motion, before Martin can even register what’s happening, he presses the steel sound into the slit and works it in to a depth of about an inch. When it registers, Martin arches and squeezes his eyes shut. Every muscle in his body is clenched, down to the hard clamp of teeth on lips.
“Stop, please-” he chokes out.
“Does it hurt?” Douglas asks, his hands steady and still.
Martin doesn’t respond.
“I know it feels invasive. Just try to think about something else. I’m going to let it go farther in now.”
Douglas doesn’t push; he just lets gravity do the work, allowing it to pull the sound deeper into Martin’s cock. Martin is pressing his hips back flat against the bed and breathing hard, his chest heaving. When the sound is in as deep as it will go without pushing, Douglas takes his hand off it and, being careful not to touch his gloved hand to anything, rubs the back of his wrist soothingly up and down Martin’s inner thigh.
“Take it out,” Martin whispers. “Please.”
Douglas doesn’t answer, but he starts withdrawing the sound slowly. Martin tosses his head from side to side and groans. He stretches his right hand out towards his cock - apparently overcome by a sudden urge to touch himself - but Douglas fends him off.
Douglas finishes removing the first sound and steps aside to drop it into the sink, retrieving a second, larger in diameter, before Martin can even get a word out.
The second sound drops in more slowly. Martin clutches at Douglas’s left arm with a white-knuckled hand, digging crescents into the flesh. Once the sound is fully seated, Douglas starts running his fingers lightly up and down Martin’s cock. He pauses every third pass or so to play with the foreskin, pushing it up over the glans and then pulling it back down again. Martin’s prick begins to fill again under the attention, and when Douglas starts to withdraw the sound, Martin moans loudly.
Douglas works this second sound out even more slowly, at times letting it sink back in a half inch or so before continuing to draw it out. Martin begins to squirm, now hitching his hips up, straining against the strap holding them down. By the time Douglas has freed the second sound, Martin’s cock is fully hard, flushed darkly, the foreskin completely retracted.
Douglas pinches at the glans to open the slit so that he can inject more lube inside; Martin pulls a face.
“I think this will be the last one,” Douglas announces as he retrieves a third and yet larger sound from the tray. “Watch it this time.”
Martin lifts his head to look down and see his own cock, engulfed in Douglas’s obscenely bright purple gloved hand, the shining rounded tip of the sound rubbing back and forth over his slit and, as soon as Douglas sees that he’s looking, nudging in ever so slowly. Douglas forces Martin to watch by the simple expedient of stopping his movements whenever Martin looks away. But as long as Martin’s looking, he guides the sound in. It’s even slower going this time, and at times Douglas has to pull on Martin’s cock and alternate holding it at a few different angles before the sound will fall in further.
Finally, the sound is in as far as it will go, and Martin risks shutting his eyes tightly, pressing the heels of his palms into them and taking a half dozen shuddering breaths. Douglas waits.
When Martin removes his hands from his eyes and looks down again, Douglas begins to draw the sound out. The fit is snug enough, Douglas knows, that Martin should be able to feel the interior walls of his urethra being just slightly pulled and dragged along with the sound. The sensation of the sound being withdrawn is like an orgasm in slow motion, and the sight of Martin is like an orgasm in freeze frame: legs spread wide and hips straining upwards, mouth open in a silent shout.
Again, every time Martin throws his head back and loses the sight of his own violated cock, Douglas stops and releases the sound to slip back in again. The removal of the sound is, consequently, a long process, and Martin is sweating profusely and whimpering almost constantly by the time the sound is even halfway out. On top of that, he’s desperate to come.
“Douglas-” he whines. “I’m close.”
Douglas moves quickly to clamp down around Martin’s balls, drawn up tight at the base of his cock.
“No, Martin. You can’t come until I remove it.”
“Then take it out!” Martin looks Douglas straight in the eye. His hairline is dark with sweat, and his eyes are fever-bright.
“I’m working on it. Watch.”
Douglas releases his grip on Martin’s balls and resumes the process of removing the sound. This time, Martin resolutely does not look away until the last inch, when he can’t help throwing his head back, hitting it on the exam bed with a loud bang. His legs are shaking, and he’s digging his nails into the backs of his thighs. Recognising how close Martin is, Douglas removes the sound completely in one smooth pull and then runs the rounded tip back and forth across the slit, which is just what it takes for Martin to come again, screaming Douglas’s name and straining desperately against the restraints keeping him bound to the bed. His ejaculate shoots out in several long arcs that stretch nearly to his chin.
When he’s through the aftershocks, Martin scrubs at his face with slightly shaking hands, rubbing away tears and pushing sweaty curls off his forehead. When he’s collected himself, Martin calls out hoarsely, “Douglas?”
Douglas is at the sink again, preparing another flannel. “Coming,” he answers absently.
Martin laughs a little to himself.
Martin lets Douglas gently - almost tenderly - milk the excess lubricant from his cock and clean it away with the hot flannel, but after Douglas has wiped the semen from his chest, Martin reaches for him.
“Come here.”
Douglas bends down, and Martin seizes on the chance to grab him by the back of the neck and pull his head down, Douglas’s ear to Martin’s lips.
Martin mouths at Douglas’s jaw lazily, just rubbing slack lips over stubble and occasionally tasting salty skin with his tongue. When he feels Douglas beginning to move, he pulls him in tighter, whispering into his ear, “Fuck me.”
Douglas jerks away.
“What? You- Martin, this was about you. I’m fine.” He starts fiddling with the waist strap. “Let me just get you off this, and we can go home and relax.”
Martin brushes Douglas’s hands away from the strap and tugs him close again, angling for a kiss. Douglas assents to the kiss readily, and they both get lost in a tangle of tongues for a few moments, until Martin nudges at Douglas’s shoulders. With an impish grin, he snakes a hand out to palm Douglas’s erection, burning hot even through his trousers.
“I’m serious. You should put this to use-” Martin squeezes Douglas’s cock for emphasis. “And fuck me. Hard. On this table.”
“Martin-”
“Oh stop trying to pretend you’re a bloody saint. We both know you’re not.”
“Fine. What sir asks for, sir shall receive.”
Douglas steps between Martin’s spread legs, opens his trousers, and pushes both trousers and pants down to his knees. Then he pauses, looking around the room.
“Where’d the lube go?”
“Oh, I think I dropped it earlier,” Martin answers. Douglas crouches down to retrieve it from the floor. “Use a lot of it, but don’t bother with prep.”
“As you wish, sir.”
Douglas follows instruction surprisingly well. After applying a generous amount of lube around Martin’s hole and pushing some inside with one finger, carefully avoiding Martin’s abused prostate, he spreads a handful on his own cock and steps close enough to touch the tip to Martin’s hole. Martin watches as Douglas wraps his hands around Martin’s hips and leans into him more, still not pushing in, but getting closer.
Martin covers Douglas’s hands with his own. “Put it in,” he demands.
Douglas begins to push, but nothing happens until he pulls back and then snaps his hips forward in a real thrust that forces open Martin’s reluctant hole. Martin groans and lays his head back on the table, but he’s still completely relaxed, so Douglas pushes the rest of the way in with another quick thrust. The tightness is almost overwhelming, and Douglas grinds his pelvis into Martin’s, pushing hard and deep. Shifting his grip to hold Martin by the tops of his thighs, Douglas begins - as requested - to fuck him in earnest. Martin is so tight that Douglas can only manage short, quick thrusts at first, his hips snapping forcefully against Martin’s arse at the bottom of each stroke. But in minutes the clench of Martin’s hole relaxes somewhat, and Douglas scrabbles at the Velcro cuffs so that he can grab Martin behind the knees and fold him in half over the table, fucking into him with long strokes punctuated by the slap of skin on skin.
When he comes, Douglas pushes Martin’s knees wide apart so that he can thrust in as deeply as possible and hold himself there, grinding through his release. After he’s finished, he releases his grip on Martin’s knees and slumps over onto Martin to recover. Eventually he raises his head to catch Martin’s gaze and ask, “How was that?”
“I’ll be sore,” Martin starts, and he has to wrap his legs around Douglas’s waist to keep him from moving away. “But that was what I wanted. Thank you.” Martin pulls Douglas into a chaste kiss. “And I would like to be unbound from this bed now, Doctor Richardson.”