Awake from thy sleep
"Will there be anything else, doctor?"
"No Rebecca. Thank you. His fever has gone down a bit. I appreciate all you've done. It's late. Go home.
"Goodnight…" he trailed off, having already relegated her to memory.
At the smooth cadences and kindness of his voice, the flame-haired nurse dimpled the corners of what she knew was a fetching smile. Countless males had given her hard evidence of her power over them. She lifted the young doctor's hand off of the heavy blanket that covered the unconscious male patient between them. Her pale-rose fingers lingered on his even paler ones as she needlessly fussed with the coverlet.
Her eyes never left the doctor's face. His eyes never left his patient. He smiled sadly at what he found there. Her breath caught as she coveted the feel of his slim fingers on her throat, the sweet taste of him on her tongue.
The focused physician took only polite notice of her as he continued to listen intently to the boy's stilted breathing and study the flushed planes of his face. He was guiltily captivated by the fall of bronze lashes on gaunt paleness, the smooth absence of beard-shadow on taut jaw.
He became gratefully aware that the woman had left.
Finally, alone.
He removed the offending blanket. Didn't these nurses know better than to bundle up a fevered patient? The unnatural warmth coming off the sick boy made the scent of the sweet blood under his skin even more potent. The doctor's throat burned as arousal spread its own kind of heat through his cold flesh. The healer pressed his icy hands to the boy's burning forehead, migrating to scarlet-tinged cheeks …to the languid, long neck with its humid pulse and exquisite promise of ...
The boy's eyelids fluttered. He gasped softly, tensed, then exhaled as if in surrender, before descending again into a stillness of deep slumber.
The physician folded back the sheet. He hesitated, then moved the boy's hospital gown aside to expose his body's scorching skin to the air. His cold hands moved of their own volition, snaking over the boy's smooth hips, abdomen and belly. He closed his eyes, as his wintry hands explored and soothed the dry, hot desert planes of the striking youth's flawless frame. When his hands fell between the boy's legs, he almost recoiled as the heat aggressively assaulted his fingertips. The boy hardened at his touch.
Even so. This is not a sign he's improving. He's worsening by the hour. He's going to die. One way… or another.
Feral predator awoke in him as venom flooded his mouth. Irises, eclipsed. Nostrils, flared. From his bowels was elicited a low rumbling growl that vibrated through both their bodies as he covered the boy's chest with his own and pressed his face against the smoldering pyre of his throat.
Mine.
طائر النقار
Open your ears
Awake from thy sleep
A road of crimson
Spread at your feet
- Patti Smith
ص. نائم, طلب, ساكن
Thank you PaceistheTrick for taking me in, encouraging me to stretch my writing muscles with drabbles and erudition.
I am (not-so-surprisingly) blissfully at home in the heady rightness of C/E Slash.