Title: My Thought
Author: Anna (tinfoiltiarasxx@aol.com)
Part: 1/1
Rating: PG13 for sexual references
Summary: JD has a thought.
Author's Notes: Set late season 1, I've only seen up to what been shown on UK terrestrial. This is my first Scrubs fic, written from JD's POV.
At 11.02am, there is one thought and one thought only running through my head on a loop, before eventually coming out of my left ear with a soft 'pop' and the thought is unleashed, out there in the big bad world. My God, I wish I was gay. As Elliot walks by her hair's down around her shoulders the way I like it and she's wearing one of those cute little determined smiles she gets whenever she's on a mission. Gay JD, Gay-D for short, could just wander over to her in his pink scrubs and greet her with a "You *are* a pretty lady, I don't tell you that often enough." She'd smile; toss her hair in feigned modesty. "Who's your daddy?" he'd continue earnestly, pointing at her with both index fingers.
"You are," she'd state equally seriously, reciprocating the gesture in its singular form as she signed a chart before leaving it on the desk. Smiling at each other in that knowing way that only comes with some level of intimacy, he and she would do air-kisses then blissfully stroll off arm-in- arm into the sunset, music, preferably something by Don Henley, playing at a moderate, not overpowering, volume in the background. Of course, Gay-D would probably be distracted by the amount of underwear Todd, on passing by, was displaying for Elliot's alleged benefit with an animal-like snarl of appreciation in response to her impassive attitude and postulations made concerning potential lesbianism; not to mention that he would have about as much sexual feeling towards her as I do towards Turk, whom I've seen naked 469 times and still don't want to jump. The fact that I know this disturbs me a little. The number of times that is, not the actuality that I don't want to jump Turk.
Elliot passes out of sight and I finally risk sticking my patient, Mr Villier, a 67 year-old guy admitted with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, for a blood gas.
"Sorry about the wait," I offer with a sheepish smile, giving the tube of arterial blood to a nurse. My patient, wrinkly, his complexion grey, most of his face covered by the mask through which he's receiving oxygen, gives me a thumbs-up. He's probably going to die soon, but he can't resist breaking into a leer, indicating where Elliot was and I'd like to think if our roles were reversed I'd be doing the same. Then it hits me. What in the name of Casper the Friendly Ghost am I doing? I'm young, I'm healthy, I've been told I'm cute and I *know* I have a great ass. Plus, she likes me. She did like me, she's told me to kiss her, and not so long ago we had a few days of more sex than a pen of horny rabbits. I didn't get where that left us then, and I still don't. Even the friendship's not what it was, and I'm not even sure that's what I want.
Damn sex thing.
Author: Anna (tinfoiltiarasxx@aol.com)
Part: 1/1
Rating: PG13 for sexual references
Summary: JD has a thought.
Author's Notes: Set late season 1, I've only seen up to what been shown on UK terrestrial. This is my first Scrubs fic, written from JD's POV.
At 11.02am, there is one thought and one thought only running through my head on a loop, before eventually coming out of my left ear with a soft 'pop' and the thought is unleashed, out there in the big bad world. My God, I wish I was gay. As Elliot walks by her hair's down around her shoulders the way I like it and she's wearing one of those cute little determined smiles she gets whenever she's on a mission. Gay JD, Gay-D for short, could just wander over to her in his pink scrubs and greet her with a "You *are* a pretty lady, I don't tell you that often enough." She'd smile; toss her hair in feigned modesty. "Who's your daddy?" he'd continue earnestly, pointing at her with both index fingers.
"You are," she'd state equally seriously, reciprocating the gesture in its singular form as she signed a chart before leaving it on the desk. Smiling at each other in that knowing way that only comes with some level of intimacy, he and she would do air-kisses then blissfully stroll off arm-in- arm into the sunset, music, preferably something by Don Henley, playing at a moderate, not overpowering, volume in the background. Of course, Gay-D would probably be distracted by the amount of underwear Todd, on passing by, was displaying for Elliot's alleged benefit with an animal-like snarl of appreciation in response to her impassive attitude and postulations made concerning potential lesbianism; not to mention that he would have about as much sexual feeling towards her as I do towards Turk, whom I've seen naked 469 times and still don't want to jump. The fact that I know this disturbs me a little. The number of times that is, not the actuality that I don't want to jump Turk.
Elliot passes out of sight and I finally risk sticking my patient, Mr Villier, a 67 year-old guy admitted with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, for a blood gas.
"Sorry about the wait," I offer with a sheepish smile, giving the tube of arterial blood to a nurse. My patient, wrinkly, his complexion grey, most of his face covered by the mask through which he's receiving oxygen, gives me a thumbs-up. He's probably going to die soon, but he can't resist breaking into a leer, indicating where Elliot was and I'd like to think if our roles were reversed I'd be doing the same. Then it hits me. What in the name of Casper the Friendly Ghost am I doing? I'm young, I'm healthy, I've been told I'm cute and I *know* I have a great ass. Plus, she likes me. She did like me, she's told me to kiss her, and not so long ago we had a few days of more sex than a pen of horny rabbits. I didn't get where that left us then, and I still don't. Even the friendship's not what it was, and I'm not even sure that's what I want.
Damn sex thing.
