Disclaimer: Don't own APH.
A/N: Hi, it's 11/2016, and I'm putting the full fic back up here. This is the sequel to "Doctor, Doctor." Thanks for reading.
Pairings: Main Germany/Prussia.
Warnings: Second-person POV.
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Physicals, and Why They Suck.
Dr. Chernenko, your usual physician, moved a few months ago to Kiev with her husband, which is the only reason you're here again. Actually, if she hadn't referred you to Kaltherzig, then you probably wouldn't have thought of him - or so you like to think. You know that you would have as soon as the prospect of a physical came up.
Liz's giggling fits (which used to begin every time she saw you) have long since subsided. Roderich still shoots you scathing glares - really, screwing your doctor! Shame! - but who cares about him? Certainly not you. Which is why, five or six months after a one-time fuck, you can't get Kaltherzig off your mind.
(And this stupid fluttery feeling bubbles up in your stomach whenever you see him in town.)
The note Kaltherzig left on your prostate exam results, half a year ago, is long gone, but his slanted handwriting and the obscene promise in his words brought his name to the forefront of your mind when Coach told you that, since tennis season was starting in a few weeks, you had to be in top condition and should therefore go and get a checkup. And Coach's words are Scripture.
Like last time, you don't call and have Arthur set you an appointment, which is why you walk into Kaltherzig's clinic and groan at how full it was (which makes sense, because apparently he works with one other doctor - a ridiculously sexy pediatrician with long platinum hair and great legs. You saw her when she came outside to call in a gaggle of Asian kids followed by another girl you thought was hot until you realized that that she was a he). So you waltz back out and kill the best part of three hours wandering around the mall and window-shopping and buying skimpy lingerie for Roderich, because random acts of kindness are just as satisfying as Roderich's outrage whenever you get him embarrassing shit from Victoria's Secret. Still, it isn't like you have anything else to do today, seeing that Liz is off getting a massage from the spa Antonio works at and Roderich is practicing for a recital or something, therefore preventing your two favorite gamer buddies from killing Nazi zombies with you over LIVE.
Yeah. You were just as shocked as Liz when you two discovered that Roderich was actually pretty boss at first-persons. He said it was expected, given his dexterity and quick reflexes from all those years of piano, and proceeded to headshot you nineteen times in a death match.
The clinic closes at six, so you decide to head back at like 5:20. You leave the pink bags in your car and stroll back into the clinic to find it mercifully empty - apart from Arthur chatting with the ridiculously sexy pediatrician, who has an Eastern European accent not unlike Dr. Chernenko's. Then said ridiculously sexy pediatrician shoots you a strangely attractive leer and says that Kaltherzig had just one other patient before he'd see you, and you flip her off as she strode out.
"What was that about?" you ask, scowling at Arthur.
"Things get around," he replies vaguely. "Especially in an office."
"Yeah, sounds just like your mom."
"Oh, heaven forbid the mother jokes," comments Arthur dryly. "How will I go on?"
You threaten to beat him bloody.
Ten minutes later, you sit on one of the plushy chairs with your headphones on and blaring swing music. (You've recently acquired a taste for the damn stuff, despite how dorky it is.) Arthur clacks away at his computer, humming under his breath with one earphone in and the volume loud enough for you to hear Strawberry Fields when your songs are transitioning. Then door next to the front desk opens, and out comes Vash, from your biweekly philosophy class, carrying a little girl with a ribbon in her short hair piggy-back style. She has to be his sister, Lily; he's talked about her a few times and you've seen pictures, but never thought he was such a good brother. Lily probably isn't much older than six or seven, which is strange because Vash is like twenty, but despite her age she chats animatedly to Kaltherzig, who smiles fondly at her and occasionally adds his two cents. You note that he's not wearing glasses today. Then Vash interrupts their conversation with an apologetic smile that looks strange to you because he never smiles, and Kaltherzig turns to discuss the bill with him. Squirming in Vash's arms, Lily pouts until he sets her down so she can skip over to Arthur's desk. The guy leans over as she speaks, pointing to the earphones dangling over his shoulders; his grin widens, and you assume that she said something along the lines of I-like-your-earphones.
You still have your headphones on, but his why-thank-you probably sounds very posh. She giggles again and accepts the earphones gratefully as Arthur offers them to her for closer inspection.
The earphones are pink. Very, very pink. Like the Vicky's Secret bags in your car, and like Liz's favorite lip gloss, and like the clipboard Kaltherzig had last time.
(Then you glance up, and meet cool blue eyes focused on you and you flush, and oh look! More pink.)
A few moments later, Vash shakes Kaltherzig's hand and thanks him for seeing Lily, who hands the earphones back to Arthur with a bright smile. You stand and stretch, and Vash nods at you. "See you tomorrow, man," he says, bumping his fist against yours as he exits; Lily, who clings to Vash's hand, beams at you as well, and your heart just about melts. She's just too cute.
Once the lobby door swings shut, Kaltherzig turns and faces you again with one perfect eyebrow arched slightly. "Hello again, Gilbert," he says, before inspecting the white, nondescript sign-in sheet on the front desk, and the fact that he remembers your name makes you happier than it should. "Here for a check-up, I assume?"
"Yeah. My doc moved and referred me back to you." You hear Arthur snort, though he blinks innocently when you glare at him. "But I didn't really need to come in. I'm only here today because I've got nothing else to do."
He nods at your over-justification. "Did you have Dr. Chernenko?" You nod. "Yes, Dr. Arlovskaya - my coworker - told me about her moving to Kiev. They're siblings, after all." Really? Bubbly, empathetic, lovely Dr. C and that bitch from earlier? No way. You wouldn't have noticed unless someone told you. "But it's good to see you're well, and I'm sorry you had to wait so long. As you could see, we were rather full earlier."
"Nah," you reply with a shake of your head. "I didn't stay for the whole time."
Kaltherzig smiles a little crookedly, and you gnaw at the inside of your cheek as he gestures for you to follow him. He takes your standard measurements (height, weight, eyesight, and so forth) and you squirm slightly under his unforgiving stare, because really, despite how pretty they are, eyes that cold should be illegal. Then it's back into the same examination room from last time, and Kaltherzig shuts the door behind himself.
"Please, take a seat," he says, motioning to the examination couch. "You needed a physical, right?"
"Yep." You flop onto it, leaning forward and propping your elbows on your knees as he pulls out an array of gadgets to check your temperature, pupil dilation, blood pressure, and all sorts of stuff (what he expects to find by shining a light down your throat, you don't know).
"What for?"
"Tennis season's starting soon. First game's in two weeks."
"Ah, you play tennis?"
"Yeah. Did you play sports in college?"
"Football - ah, soccer. At the U of Aachen."
"You went to Aachen?"
"Mmhmm. Transferred here to Yale for business before switching majors to medicine."
"Why did you switch majors?"
The metal of the stethoscope is cold and you shiver as he slips the piece under your shirt, large hands brushing over your skin and eliciting small reactions. Everything about him is cold, including the soft exhalations on the back of your neck; goosebumps prickle up and you swallow.
"I'm not really sure. But I'm glad I did, because it's always enjoyable to help other people."
Yes, you are indeed expecting it when he slips a hand down your front and oh-so-casually palms you through your pants, fingers dancing over thighs so hypersensitive that you twitch despite the (tight) jeans you yanked on that morning. He breathes against your collarbone, and the smell of mint and musk and rich cologne invades your senses. You swallow and he just barely presses his lips to your throat, free arm gripping your hip to hold you in place for a few more minutes. "This your idea of helping people, doc?"
Kaltherzig clicks his tongue. "Perhaps."
Then, just as you're pushing up, gripping his sleeve and panting slightly, he pulls away. You twist around and watch in disbelief as he disinfects everything with peroxide and a cotton swab, "Okay. Everything's normal physically. Was there anything specific you needed to discuss with me?" You glance down furiously, but his coat and dark slacks hide any possible boner.
"Wha -" you sputter.
"No?" His eyes glimmer maliciously. "Well, then that's all. It was good to see you again."
(Damn.)
You blink and gape for a second as he turns to write something down on the clipboard. Aw, what the hell, man, you think sourly, standing. Bastard. "Actually, doc...I did need to ask you something."
Kaltherzig glances at you with an arched eyebrow, and your face contorts into a grimace as you stand akimbo, because your dick is pushing against your Pacsun skinny jeans and owwww.
"Hmm?"
"Is it normal for my ass to still hurt half a year after a good fuck?"
He takes a second to reply, eyes raking over your body and hovering on the hand you set on your hip for a second, and then he steps forward and you bite your tongue to keep from grinning victoriously. "It's not unheard of. The coccyx is delicate, and can be easily damaged - especially the first time."
You move back involuntarily, pressing yourself back against the couch as he stops maybe an arm's length away. "Was it your first time, Gilbert? You were almost excruciatingly tight, so I'll assume so." He reaches out and grips your chin, still with that blasted poker face, and leans in so close that you expect him to kiss you but then, barely a hair's breadth from your lips, he lets go and turns. "Either way, have a good day."
"Wait!" you blurt out before you can stop yourself. "What the hell! Are you gonna fuck me or not?"
And then he smirks and you literally kick yourself, because he inclines his head slightly to the side and asks you, aloof as ever, "Do you want me to?"
"You - fucking - yes."
"Then I will, won't I?" He grabs your arms and lifts you up, hooking your legs around his hips as he practically slams you against the wall and descends on your throat. (And pssh, no, of course you hadn't deliberately picked a V-neck shirt to wear today.) You practically mewl, twisting your fingers in his hair and grinding against him, grimacing as he pushes his knee between your thighs to hold you up. He slides a hand under your shirt, grazing your skin and tweaking your nipples.
Normally, you like foreplay, but right now you're already horny as hell so there's no real need for anything. You squirm, and when he arches a brow at you, you grumble that maybe you should get to the good stuff before you come all over the place.
He smirks and informs you that he's got no lube.
"Bull-fucking-shit," you hiss. "You're a doctor, and you had like KY or something last time when you were only supposed to be giving a prostate exam!"
"Arthur stole it," shrugs Kaltherzig. "And knowing him, it's all used up."
"...what a boner kill. Now what?"
By the way, the two of you are still in your previous position - you against the wall, legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his shoulders.
"Saliva is nature's lubricant," replies the doctor nonchalantly, trailing off into a lewd pause.
Ten seconds later, you push him off and drop to your knees, and ew there's a dick in your mouth and it's...not tasty, because, you know, it's a dick, but it's not as gross as you would have imagined. And you don't really know how it all fit in your mouth, because Kaltherzig's not exactly small (...or even average, the bastard), but whatever. He rests a hand in your hair and you gag slightly as the thing rubs against the back of your throat; it's not really painful, though, until he starts thrusting, and then you feel about to puke. You pull away, gasping for breath with ropey blowjob spit dripping out of the corner of your mouth and onto the floor, and as you cough wetly Kaltherzig kneels and flips you onto hands and knees, yanking your pants down and spitting onto his fingers. "Going commando, I see?"
"Shut up. And whoa, whoa, wait a - AY!" you cut off with a holler as he pushes the first finger into you.
"Relax," he orders, and it feels like another prostate exam - except that he's not being gentle, and pained tears swim in your eyes as he adds another finger and scissors forcefully. He spits again, and then it's a fair bit smoother even though it still hurts like a bitch. You bang your head against the linoleum floor until he reaches for your dick, wrapping his hand around it and jerking slowly; the pleasure almost overrides the burning feeling shooting up your spine, but then he stops, positions himself behind you, and presses a kiss to the back of your feverish neck before forcing his way in. You exhale slowly through gritted teeth, and groan in pain as he grips your shoulders and pulls you up so you're practically riding him, but it feels so good that you don't mind the overwhelming sense of ow everywhere else.
Then he starts sliding in and out, and you lean back against his chest, breathing slowly and swallowing hard. Occasionally, he hits something inside that hurts half to hell ("Your tailbone," he grunts by way of explanation when you cry out) but most thrusts are straight to your prostate. He knows your body too well, you think, and your thighs quiver with the strain of keeping your hips up. He skips the torture and starts off fucking you hard and fast, one big hand gripping your cock and fisting slowly. After a few minutes, you start jerking sporadically in his arms, bucking forward and whining loudly as you grip at his black slacks. "Hurry up! Where's that German efficiency?"
(And oh, he shows it to you.)
You whack your fist against the floor as you come into his hand. He didn't use a condom this time, and the feeling of come sloshing around inside you is too strange to be pleasant - a feeling that changes abruptly into the squick zone when you stand shakily. "Oh, gross! Where're the tissues? This stuff feels like molasses."
"You've quite the experience with molasses running down your legs, I take it?" quips Kaltherzig, climbing to his feet a moment after you. He licks the come off the fingers he gave you a handjob with. You scowl and flip him off, and the slight smile he gives in return incites the weirdest fluttering in your stomach.
He cleans you up and you pull your pants on, retying your shoes and washing your hands again before you two leave the room. The air in the hall is cool and smells like Febreeze and cinnamon candles, a sharp juxtaposition to the sex-heady atmosphere in the exam room.
Damn. Whoever has to clean that place is in for one hell of a surprise, you snort.
"Again, everything's fine," Kaltherzig says as he pushes open the door leading to the lobby. "Your insurance should cover the bill. Arthur will discuss the details with you." He extends a hand (the handjob hand, to be precise), and you look at it warily before accepting a handshake. "Be good, Gilbert," he smirks before disappearing back into the hall.
Arthur grins when you turn to him. "Good checkup, I hope?"
"Yeah. Glorious," you shoot back dryly.
Your ass hurts as you drive home.