"Doctor I can't thank you enough"

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doctor you won't regret this.

*

Dr. Patrick Stump

Hmmm. Not bad. Kind of hot, if Pete let his imagination go wild, and it was pretty much an established fact that his imagination was a veritable jungle.

He'd become downright obsessed with this particular idea after doing one of those proposition promos for MTV. He had also been turned all the way on, what with Patrick's gloved hands brushing so temptingly close to his dick while his legs had been propped up in the cold metal stirrups. Patrick had even tugged at the boxers Pete had reluctantly dragged on that morning, probably more a nervous move than a playful gesture... but it still made Pete's blood run hot. There was something about being not able to move freely while Patrick was poking around down there. 

Patrick's face had been adorably confused when Pete had to clamber off the table carefully, grasping the thin sheet to his crotch and hoping the bunched material would hide his erection. 

"Dude," Patrick had murmured, blinking at him as he tried slip past in a frantic bid for a nearby bathroom.

"Dude," Pete had replied urgently, still trying to skitter away as the small crew around them began to dismantle their cameras and equipment, but Patrick held onto his arm with strong fingers. He peered into at Pete's flushed face, which had felt warm underneath the lights of the studio, and now grew even warmer under Patrick's gaze.

Patrick's fingers curled into his upper arm a little more, nails biting into flesh as he continued to scrutinize Pete's face, his eyes darkening. Pete wanted to kneel down and mouth at his cock through his jeans; if he could keep on that doctor's coat and the stethoscope, that would be amazing.

He probably had a thing for a man in uniform, whatever. Yet, he had a feeling that if Patrick had been dressed as a police officer, the effect would not have been the same. Maybe a preacher, though.

"We'll be back soon," Patrick told the assistant that had accompanied them, still holding Pete's arm. Patrick all but dragged Pete in the direction of the nearest exit.

"Hey!" One of the MTV people materialized in front of their escape-route, her hand palm up. They both blinked at her and Pete stifled the childish urge to kick her ankle and make a break for it. "The stethoscope," she explained, wriggling her fingers impatiently. "I need to bring it back to the prop people, or they'll have my head."

"Oh." Patrick unwound it from around his neck, looping it over her arm. Pete watched it go in dismay.

"Oh man, it's... we gotta go now, can't we just keep the doctor's coat?" Pete smiled widely, but it was mostly fake; he was achingly hard. "Oh, and the gloves, too? I mean, you can't reuse gloves."

"Yeah, the gloves are cool," she answered and then turned to shout at the rest of the crew. "Is this ours? The doctor-coat thingy, did we borrow it or what?" 

There was an incoherent, yelling response from somewhere near the top of a ladder, but the young lady seemed to understand the garbled words.

"Yeah, that's cool too." She smiled at them, grinning more outright when Patrick unleashed a sweet little shy smile of his own. Pete grumbled at the misuse of cute, but Patrick was already hurrying him out.

The bathroom was tiny and windowless, at the end of a quiet corridor. Patrick simply shoved Pete in and snapped the bolt shut, then turned.

"This doctor thing--" was all Pete got out before Patrick was upon him, one hand clamped firmly around the back of his neck as he kissed him roughly. Pete moaned and ran his hands over Patrick's shoulders, down his arms and grasping onto his waist, wanting to touch as much as he possibly could. The material of the coat was a little rougher than he thought. He satisfied himself by grasping onto the lapels of the white coat and slinging one leg around Patrick's hips, dragging him closer, rubbing off against him.

"Mr. Wentz," Patrick rumbled at him as he gasped; he pitched his voice a whole octave lower than his normal speaking tone and adopted an admirably professional air, even as he was struggling with Pete to put some space between their hips, so that he could snake a hand between them. "I think we may have to do... a checkup."

"If you just--" Pete tried again, but Patrick beat him to it, finally managing to stick his hand in Pete's shorts and grab his dick firmly. Pete flailed and moaned, trying to clamber on top of Patrick and fuck his hand all at the same time, hips rolling in frantic circles; Patrick held him down with his other hand, fingers digging into Pete's shoulders as he jerked him off roughly. Pete hadn't known that the gloves would feel like that, rub and slide against his skin.

Pete was barely managing to breathe; he was panting too hard, and Patrick wasn't letting up at all, not on the kissing or on this intense hand-job with the fucking gloves still on. "Too dry," he gasped against Patrick's mouth.

"Deal with it," Patrick said darkly, but he still removed his hand from Pete's cock and put it between their faces; Pete licked his palm, tasting the rubber and smelling his own musky scent. 

Patrick had to clap a hand over Pete's mouth as he came, his lips sucking a mark onto Pete's neck. The glove was almost stifling, but this didn't seem to be a deterrent at all. As a matter of fact, Pete groaned loudly against his hand and licked the palm of it again when it was Patrick's turn. He moaned weakly as Patrick's arm moved quickly, bumping into him; Patrick's come was warm as it landed on his stomach and Pete kissed him wildly, still horribly aroused.

"Worst patient ever," Patrick told him slyly as they slipped out to meet the harried assistant and Pete's brain went, ok cool, I totally want more of this.

*

So maybe buying that 'vintage' medical examination table would be going a bit far, but Pete was a purist above all things.

"I don't know," Ashlee said, doubtfully looking over Pete's shoulder as he fiercely bid on E-Bay. She clucked at the baby and Bronx clucked back sleepily, mimicking her; Pete brushed a gentle hand over his hair, hoping that he'd understand when he got older, understand about his parents' relationships.

Ashlee kissed his hand and said, "That might be a bit too much."

"It'll set the scene. It has stirrups," Pete defended and Ashlee appeared wry. He wrinkled his nose as she went out with Bronx, placing him in the other room. Sometimes it was fun having a wife who supported Pete's polyamorous ways; sometimes it totally sucked that she sometimes had a better idea of what might be going through Patrick's head. 

When she returned, she bent close to peer at his screen. "Stirrups. Hmm."

"For keeping me still, you know?" Pete knew he sounded like a sugar-addict locked inside a candy-shop for the night, but he couldn't help himself.

Ashlee turned her head, looking at him incredulously before huffing a small laugh. 

"Well. We both know how you can't keep still. So it might be a nice idea?" She straightened up, and headed out as Bronx fussed in the other room, not wanting to go to sleep as yet. "I don't get this role-playing stuff, though. It's weird to me."

Pete gave her an amused glance. He and Patrick still together, that wasn't weird. He and Patrick dressing up and pretending, that was weird. And people wondered what he saw in her. He watched her leave his office, heading towards a cranky little boy and bit his lip, eying his successful bid triumphantly before going out to help.

*


"A script? Wow." Patrick flipped through a small stack of papers that Pete had handed him, eyebrows twitching a little higher with each turn. Pete was fucking nervous, trying to appear nonchalant as he leaned against the wall near Patrick's messy desk. Patrick's mystified air changed to something tinged with a dark amusement. He smirked at Pete. 

"Just, like an outline," Pete told him.

"Very thorough," was Patrick's reply. "For an outline." He rubbed the edges of the paper between his fingers.

Pete felt a little breathless. Patrick wasn't saying no. "Think you could do it? Just, you know. Try."

Patrick raised his head and gave him a wide-eyed stare that might appear innocent to most, but Pete could see the cool amusement floating behind it. It was one of the fleeting traits about him that turned Pete on so much, a wall of detachment that Pete would merrily try to break down. "Do you want me to? You really want me to do this for you?"

"Yes, please. If you want." Pete had long given up any shame in regards to appearing so eager when it came to the possibility of intriguing sexytimes with Patrick. 

"Sure. We can give it a try," Patrick had said smoothly, placing the sheaf to the side of his laptop and turning back on his swivel chair, as if Pete had just handed him lyrics instead of some detailed requests to explore Pete's body.

Pete tried very had not to squeal, but the look Patrick gave him from the corner of his eye told him that he failed deeply.

*

"Please be still," the doctor murmured from between his legs and the patient tried to control his breathing; but the fingers skating around his hole were tickling torturously. He raised his head a little, blowing out through pursed lips as he tried to take a look at the man doing such an intimate inspection, but all he could see was the thin blue sheet draped over his upraised knees. The stirrups had been cold around his ankles, but now they were a little warmer. 

The patient was naked beneath the thin cover and he shivered a little.

"I'm asking you again, Mr. Wentz," the doctor said again, still in that fairly mild tone but the patient could pick up an edge of annoyance. "Don't move."

"Okay," the patient said meekly and put his head back down on the padded rest of the table. "I'm just... kind of nervous."

The doctor hummed and his fingers were a slick presence against the curve of the patient's ass.

"Mr. Wentz." The doctor sounded very forbidding and he raised his head, peering over the blue ridge of sheet between the patient's legs. His eyes were stern behind his glasses, hair tucked underneath a surgical cap and the patient felt a curl of something deep in his belly. His cock started to harden.

"Yes? Is something wrong?"

"Did you have a sexual encounter quite recently?"

The patient blushed and felt his dick throb at the memory, tied up and blindfolded, fucked until he cried out in a raw, broken voice. "Yes?"

The doctor frowned and rubbed at his nose with the back of a gloved hand. "I'll have to do an internal inspection," he mused. "Try to relax."

The patient couldn't see, but he gasped as a cold finger slipped up inside him, twisting and stroking. He tried to relax, as the doctor had asked, but jerked when the doctor's finger dragged over his prostate.

"Oh god," he moaned.

"Ah, excellent," the doctor said in a very clinical voice and did it again. The patient jumped and whined, feet rubbing inside the constraints of the stirrups. "I'll have to open you up a little more."

The patient felt that wonderful finger slip out of his ass and touch his dick briefly, a quick brush that could have been inadvertent, but the patient wanted him to wrap his hand around it and make him come. Could he beg the doctor to do that?

He was about to, when a cold object slid inside him, slippery from lube. He tried to go up on his elbows, but it was no use. He still couldn't see; however, he could hear a slight squeaking sound and whatever filled him began to widen. It was so fucking strange.

"Ooh," he breathed and moved his hips, causing the object inside him to be pushed in further. The doctor stopped and so did he, panting sharply. Then, he groaned again as he felt hot breath near his cock and widened hole; the doctor had leaned in to take a closer look.

"Well," the doctor declared after few long agonizing moments of inspection and slowly closed the object, slipping it out of the patient's ass. "This is fine. And now the final test..."

The patient made a surprised sound as a warm mouth slid over his cock. He wanted to kick out, to pull his legs in and hold them tight to his chest so that he could see his cock disappear into this man's mouth, but he was firmly affixed in place. He grabbed wildly at the sheet but the doctor had tucked it tightly around his waist, and he was stuck with just the sensation of the doctor fingering him again, and sucking him off.

"Pleasepleaseplease," he could hear himself ramble, bucking and arching. "Fuck, please," he whimpered when the mouth pulled back to suckle at the head of his cock. He twisted and grabbed sweaty handfuls of the sheet and fucking shouted as he came.

There was a flurry of activity and the patient found that his legs were freed from the stirrups, then were pushed up against his chest and the doctor, still fully dressed in his sensible white coat, slid into him, cock warm and hard and thick.

"Mr. Wentz," the doctor gritted out and the patient moaned weakly. "You might have to. Fuck," Patrick hissed, giving up his persona as he thrust deeply into Pete and came.

As Patrick pulled out, straightening out Pete's cramped legs very slowly, Pete said, "Ah fuck. That? Was fucking awesome."

Patrick's grin was sudden and sunny and inexplicably shy. Pete could never get over him, honestly; how could he have been fucking Pete ten seconds ago and look like that?

"So, about the next appointment. Will the doctor be in?" Pete asked hopefully and Patrick's smile widened.

"Sure. The doctor is always in."

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