Chapter Title: School Exams
Author: Sam and Dani
Story: The Omega Trials: 05 of ?
Series: The Omega Rights (part two)
Note: This contains graphic dubius/ non-con fingering of a minor with an adult. Be warned!
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Translation
tyłek - ass - Polish
Piekło - Hell - Polish
Cariad - Love - Welsh
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Setting: AU: Tuesday, September 5, 1933: Brooklyn, New York, United States of America
Bucky grinned as he watched the Sophomores join his own class of Juniors in the old gymnasium of the school building. Picking out the small blond among the other students wasn't hard at all, but Bucky smiled wider once he saw his best friend. He waited, practically bouncing, as he watched Steve looking around at the mass of teen-aged males, all larger than him.
Once Steve spotted Bucky he waved excitedly. He'd never shared an actual class with his best friend before. Even though Steve would be sitting out the class and only watching, he couldn't think of a better way to pass a double-period than to watch Bucky basically trash any competition in athletics; the lithe brunet had always been a great athlete.
Laughing, Bucky strode over. "Heya, punk." He gestured to the beat up wooden bleachers along the side of the large room. "Come on. Coach gives a speech first thing."
Steve allowed himself to be ushered over to the bleachers and took a seat next to Bucky, looking around at the group of about fifty or sixty boys, all bigger than him, filling out their physical education uniform, while Steve's hung loose on his skinny frame.
A tall, thick set man in brand new training clothes stepped to the middle of the floor, raised his beefy hands, and shouted, "Okay, quiet you lot! This is the first time our school is mixing the classes, so you're gonna have to learn to work together. None of the bigger boys picks on any of the littler boys, got it?"
Several snickers issued and Bucky glared around, figuring those had been aimed at Steve.
"Now, I'm Coach Mulligan. Call me Coach. Any of you got restrictions?" The man crossed his arms, looking over the class of fifteen and sixteen year olds.
Steve squirmed a little in his seat and anxiously raised his hand. "I do, Sir," he called out meekly.
Bucky leaned closer and whispered "gotta bring him a note, Stevie."
As if in echo of the brunet, the coach nodded. "Got a doctor's note?"
The blond nodded his head and stood up, he didn't raise his eyes as he handed over the note, slightly crumpled from being in his pocket.
Taking the piece of paper, Coach Mulligan read through the cramped handwriting. "Heart and Asthma, right?" He looked down at Steve and grunted "Scarlet Fever or Rheumatic, son?"
Steve forced himself to look up at the burly man that towered over him, "Both, Sir. I had Scarlet Fever when I was eight and then Rheumatic when I was twelve."
The coach just raised his shaggy eyebrows and nodded at the thin boy. "Okay, Rogers, you'll be sitting things out." He let his voice boom out, "But I expect you to pay attention and give me full written reports of everything we do. Just because you can't play doesn't mean you can't learn."
Steve nodded his head quickly in understanding, "Of course, Sir." His blush returned to his cheeks when he heard the whispers from the other boys in the class.
Bucky's face settled into a scowl, hands clenching. He hated their laughter and whispers of 'sissy boy' and began to rise in challenge but stopped when the coach responded instead.
Glaring thunderously around at the giggling boys, who stopped instantly, the coach roared, "You got a problem? You talk to me. Otherwise shut the hell up! Now, line up alphabetically," he rolled his glare over the class, doubt evident in his voice, "if you can manage that. We've got health checks today. Then next class we'll start boxing."
"Health checks?" Bucky let his hands relax as he settled next to Steve. "Wonder what he means by that." He found out soon enough when the student alphabetically before him came out and called, in a surprisingly shaking voice, "Barnes, you're next." The brunet nodded, standing, and gave Steve an encouraging grin. "Be right back, Steve, keep that seat warm for me."
As he walked towards the coach's office, with its shutters drawn for privacy, Bucky noted that the few boys who'd been checked before him stood awkwardly away from the main group, not even talking or looking at anyone. Those who hadn't been checked yet were gossiping, shoving each other, and generally rough housing, with a few brave souls pulling out the basket balls to work out on the large wooden floor.
Bucky opened the office door and stepped in. "Barnes, James, coach," he reminded the man, though he needn't have bothered. The large coach nodded in familiar greeting with a wide grin. Bucky turned and made sure the door latched as he shut it then moved to the wide desk and took off his shirt, placing it neatly on the smooth surface. "Haven't been sick in the past year, Sir."
The coach shrugged. "The rules, Barnes. And we got a new test this year, so you've gotta drop 'em."
"Drop 'em?" Bucky repeated, confusion in his grey-blue eyes. "Sir?"
Rolling his dark brown eyes, the black haired man nodded. "Yeah. You're pants and drawers, Barnes. Don't have to take 'em off completely, just drop 'em to the floor." The man turned and pulled over a folder with Bucky's name on it, flipping past the annual school checks for freshman and sophomore years and opening to a clean page marked 'junior' across the top.
Uncertain what kind of test would need him to expose his genitalia, Bucky slowly undid the fastenings on his gym shorts and pushed them off. He followed that with untying the drawstring on his briefs and lowering them, too.
Coach Mulligan glanced up and nodded. "Okay, heart and lungs first." And the man breezed through his standard checking of the boy's pulse and listening for wheezing as he breathed deeply in and out. Finally, he turned and, after marking his paper, reached over to slip his finger in a large tube of slick ointment. "Okay, Barnes, turn around and lay over the desk. And just relax. Breathe normal."
"What?" Bucky couldn't hide the squeak in his voice as his eyes widened. "Why?" There wasn't any reason he could think of the coach needing to slick up his finger and make him turn around; only one hole was back there and no one ever put anything up there except a thermometer if he felt sick.
"Because," and the coach sounded almost bored, "I have to check your prostate, Barnes, and that's the only way to reach it without cutting you open. Gotta make sure you're healthy." He waved and Bucky reluctant turned as the coach continued, "men get cancer back there, Barnes, and not enough check for it early enough."
Bucky took a shaky breath. "Oh," his voice felt small. Reaching out, Bucky grasped the wooden desk then lay over it, feeling the wood cool against his chest and pelvis. "So, how can you tell if I got cancer, Coach?" Bucky tried to keep his calm, trusting the man but still feeling odd. Idly he wondered if he'd feel odd if it were Steve behind him instead. Feeling his manhood twist in response to the thought, Bucky immediately reminded himself just who stood back there. There was no way he wanted to pop an erection for his coach!
A thick finger probed at his tight opening, causing Bucky to hiss and clench up in defense.
"Gotta relax, son, or this will hurt. Come on. Only takes a moment. Take a breath and let it out and relax." The man probed again.
Following instructions, Bucky sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a shaky whoosh. He tried to relax his muscles back there, and felt the finger actually slide into him. Bucky had to fight the urge to clamp down and let his hole suck that fat digit further up. He pressed his forehead into the hard desk, eyes closed tight, and concentrated on breathing.
"Good man," the coach said and slid his slick finger up further, twisting around slightly as if searching. Finally, he seemed to find what he looked for because he caressed over a spot Bucky hadn't even known existed.
An explosion of pleasure nearing pain washed over the teen. With a soft moan, Bucky fought the urge to move against the stroking digit. He had no idea why that felt good, but his manhood had certainly taken notice and begun to thicken in interest. Bucky pictured the coach's beefy face in his mind and the erection wilted, thankfully.
Just as quickly as he'd found the spot, Coach Mulligan pushed past it until his hand came flush with Bucky's buttocks. Then, the coach pulled his finger out and turned to grab a damp cloth and clean his hand. "Okay, grab a washcloth and clean it up, Barnes, then go send in Calloway."
Trembling at the confusing experience, Bucky reached for one of the coach's seemingly endless supply of washing cloths, dipping it into the bowl of tepid water on the desk. He wiped at his butt, trying to get the feel of slickness to go away. Finally, he gave it up as a lost cause and tossed the cloth at the dirty hamper, easily making the shot. He heard the coach's grunt of approval but ignored it as he pulled on his drawers, tying them quickly, then slipped his shorts back on and fastened them.
Finally, Bucky turned to the dark haired physical education instructor. "So, do I have cancer, coach?" His voice trembled and he swallowed.
"Nah," Coach Mulligan shot him a brief smile, which dropped away as quickly as it had appeared; the coach wasn't one for warm fuzzy gestures, as he called them. "You're clean, Barnes. Good to know, ain't it?"
Bucky nodded and turned, opening the door. He took a breath, strode out, trying to look calm, and called out on a squeak "Calloway." Clearing his throat, he hoped the other guys would think it was just his ever changing voice; it had a habit of changing octaves or going completely silent at odd times over the day . . . had been doing it since he'd turned fourteen a couple years back.
Calloway, a tall, cocky young man on the rowing crew, offered Bucky a smirk and trotted into the office. Bucky would bet real money that guy wouldn't be quite so cock-sure once he got done his prostate exam.
The tiny fifteen year old noted his friend's sheepish body language, giving the brunet a concerned look, Steve asked. "You okay, Buck?"
Eyes latching onto Steve as if to a life raft, Bucky slunk over to his best friend and lowered himself gingerly to the bench then sighed when he felt no pain. He looked at Steve and nodded, keeping his voice low. "Yeah. Coach is doing something called a prostate exam, Stevie . . . and he has to put his finger in your tyłek to do it."
Steve nearly choked, his whole face blushing a deep red, but nodded, thankful for the warning. He'd had all kinds of odd and even painful tests from doctors throughout his life, so this kind of thing didn't really surprise him as much as the other boys, even though he'd never had this test done before.
A sigh escaped from the older boy and he grimaced. "At least he used something to slick his fat finger with, Steve, or it woulda hurt like Piekło. And he reached up pretty far, I could almost taste it."
The blond grimaced when he pictured the Coach touching his friend like that. "It doesn't hurt at all?"
"Didn't hurt much at first, like a stretching . . . like when you tried to put that tennis ball in your mouth last year? Like that. But once he got it slicked," Bucky blushed, "he moved around to stretch it out, then it went smooth. But . . . I never thought anyone would even think to put anything up there except Mam's thermometer to check for fever."
Steve nodded in agreement, unsure if the Coach's fat finger would fit. "Sounds pretty painful to me."
Shrugging, Bucky shook his head. "Just gotta relax and not clench up, he said." Bucky stayed pretty quiet from that point, answering anything Steve asked, but in a small, quiet voice.
Eventually Richman came out of the office, looking thunderstruck, like every other boy before him. He called out in a wavery voice, "Roger's, coach wants you!" then the sixteen year old walked straight into the adjoining locker room.
Bucky turned to Steve and nodded. "I'll be here when you get out, Stevie. Just do what he says and it won't hurt, okay?"
Steve grimaced and gave his friend a terse nod of his head before he stood up and walked into the office.
Once the door latched behind the small blond, the coach nodded at him, opening a folder marked 'Rogers, SG.' He flipped past freshman year and lay a pen on the Sophomore year page. "Okay, Rogers, drop 'em."
"Drop what, Sir?"
The coach looked at him, but not like he was stupid, just like he'd been answering that exact question all day. "Gotta check your prostate, son, and that means you need to lower your trousers and drawers so I can get to your butt. Your prostate's in that hole you dump from."
Steve opened his mouth but no words seemed to come out. He snapped it shut and shakily began to untie his gym shorts. Once the shorts pooled around his ankles he looked over at the Coach before lowering his eyes to the floor. Slowly, he loosened the strings on his briefs and let those fall down his slim legs.
With a firm nod, still eyeing Steve, Coach Mulligan added, "look this here's a check for cancer, which most men don't do until it's too late, Rogers, and with your health history, I think you'd welcome the opportunity without paying a hospital. So, bend over the desk and we'll make this easy." He dipped his forefinger into the jar of slick ointment.
The boy looked over at the desk warily, as if it would jump out and bite him. He shook his head and took a deep breath. 'The sooner I do this . . . the sooner it's over,' Steve thought to himself. He turned his body and carefully bent over the wooden surface.
Settling one of his beefy hands on that slender back, the coach caressed around Steve's puckered opening, letting the ointment coat the boy. Then, slowly, he eased the finger into the hole, pushing past the sphincter.
Steve sucked in a deep breath, taken aback from the intrusion, and hissed. His heart thumped against his chest and he felt himself involuntarily clench around the Coach's finger.
Talking, the coach paused his finger. "Now relax for me, Rogers, don't let your butt tighten up like that. It won't help me reach your prostate."
The blond nodded and released the deep breath he'd been holding in. He forced his body to try and relax.
Nodding, the coach crooned approvingly, "Good lad, Rogers. Now, keep relaxed for me so I can find it." And he slipped his finger in further, letting it slide around, looking for the bundle of nerves he needed to check. Suddenly, in a gentle caressing, the coach's finger moved over the prostate.
Steve shivered and jumped slightly as a wave of pleasure coursed through him. The blond bit down hard on his bottom lip as he tried, unsuccessfully, to hide the whimper that tore through his throat.
Coach Mulligan looked over the slight boy, finger still in his ass, then stroked again over that sensitive spot, watching the boy's reaction.
Steve gasped as the Coach gently stroked the bundle of nerves. He gripped the edge of the desk hard as he forced his body not to buck with the movement of the finger buried deep inside him.
The man nodded and slid his finger in all the way, bottoming out his palm against Steve's round buttock. Moving the fat digit slightly, the coach slipped it back outwards, but then when he got near the opening, he pushed it in again, sliding over the prostate once more. Again he seemed to watch Steve's reaction.
Drawing in a shallow breath, Steve clenched the desk harder; making his knuckles turn white. The blond desperately tried not to buck as another jolt of pleasure ran down his spine. He blushed wildly as he felt his member begin to rise.
Again out then in, this time the coach slid his finger in palm deep, moving it around slightly inside. He seemed to freeze suddenly. Finally the coach slipped his finger all the way out, one more caress over the prostate as he exited. He turned and picked up his cleaning towel to wash off his hand then held it loosely in front of his pelvic area, as if without conscious thought. Softly, he said "You need to get that checked, Rogers." With a frown, he picked up a dry towel from his desk and tossed it at Steve.
Embarrassment clearly written on his features, Steve grabbed both his trousers and his briefs. Pulling them both up quickly, desperately trying to hide his growing erection, he tied the pants haphazardly.
The coach continued, as if Steve wasn't hard at all. "I felt something, like lumps, in there. That's not good." He seemed very clinical and withdrawn as he wrote quickly on a piece of paper then handed it to Steve. "Take that to your mother. She needs to get you seen. I'll need a doctor's note to let you back in the class." He turned away a bit, seeming to adjust his pants . . . maybe got some hair caught down there - - at least that's what happened to Bucky during the summer at one point and the brunet had cursed a new stream of swears Steve had yet to fully learn.
"But, Sir, I don't even do anything but sit . . ." Steve sputtered, not wanting to leave the only class he'd ever been enrolled in with Bucky. The small boy took the proffered note.
Whirling back, moving quickly for so large a man, the coach offered his fiercest scowl. "Don't care. It's the rules, Rogers. You need a doctor's clearance to set foot in my gymnasium, understood?" His dark eyes narrowed and his brows beetled over the stern orbs.
Eyes wide, Steve nodded, not wanting to upset the burly man any further.
"Send in Rolston," the coach ordered and turned back to his stack of files, the left hand file stack steadily growing taller while the right hand stack was almost gone now.
Steve exited the room quickly. The only good thing was that his erection had gone away because of the mere thought of having to see another doctor. Blinking away the tears that threatened to spill, he gingerly sat down next to Bucky, who, like he promised, hadn't moved.
Bucky looked over his pale friend, worry evident on his pretty face. He sounded puzzled, "took a while in there, Steve. Longer than anyone else . . ."
Unable to look at his friend, he simply nodded. Shakily, he handed over the note that the coach had given him, not wanting to explain to Bucky the reason he'd been in there longer.
The brunet took the paper with a frown and read it then went pale under his late summer tan. He hissed, "Stevie!" Shooting a look at his friend, who looked miserable, Bucky grabbed Steve's wrist and called out "Coach, I'm taking Rogers to the nurse!"
Coach Mulligan called out "That's fine, Barnes," and Bucky dragged Steve out of the gym. He pulled him, without a word, down the hall, but they didn't go to the nurse's office. Instead, Bucky lead him into the drama storage room, which was not in use that early in the year.
Slipping his arms around Steve, Bucky held him, and Steve began to cry in Bucky's chest.
"He thinks I have cancer, Bucky!" The boy sobbed, finally letting out all the fear and anxiety overwhelming him.
Bucky nodded and continued to hug his friend, dropping soft kisses to his hair then slowly, gently, moving his lips tenderly down Steve's pale, wet face to seal over his full lips. He didn't say anything, merely being there for him.
Steve let himself get lost in the kiss, clutching desperately onto Bucky's shirt as if his life depended on it. When the two boys finally separated, Steve looked up at his best friend. Bucky pulled out his handkerchief and carefully began to wipe away the trails of tears. After Steve's cheeks were dry, Bucky wordlessly handed the cloth over so Steve could blow his nose.
Once Steve was semi-presentable, still without a word, Bucky began kissing him again.
The younger boy only whimpered. After a while, Steve pulled back and sighed, one hand pressed to Bucky's chest. He whispered, "I got hard when he was checking me, Bucky." He sounded troubled.
Bucky nodded. "Yeah, when he touched there, I felt good, too, Stevie. It's okay. Must be normal or he'd have said something, right?" He stroked the back of his left hand down Steve's still flushed cheek.
Steve nodded weakly. "I don't feel much like finishing school today," Steve murmured.
Touching his forehead to his friend's, Bucky nodded again. "Then let's go. I'll bring you to the hospital and you can let your Mam know about the note." Bucky kissed Steve one last time, a sweet lingering kiss, then lead him from the drama room to gather their stuff from the gym locker room, not meeting any of the other boys, who were still gathered inside the main gymnasium.
The younger boy groaned when he felt his abdomen and rectum ache. A tight pain making him almost double over. He clutched his gut and leaned heavily into his larger, sturdier friend. "Ah!" he screamed, making Bucky jump and grab at him. "I think my guts are trying to come out my butt," Steve's voice shook in terror.
Eyes widening in horror at the sudden onset of the strange, painful symptoms, Bucky wrapped his left arm around Steve securely and stooped, sliding the other under the smaller boy's legs. He lifted easily and began carrying the doubled-up boy towards the nearby Brooklyn Home for Consumptives where Sarah Rogers worked. "Don't worry, Stevie. We'll find out what's wrong. Maybe even go to your Doctor Keilmeyer? He might recognize it, since it happened right after that exam and that . . . uh . . . pleasure feeling?" Bucky flushed, embarrassed but wanting to take care of his friend.
Steve nodded, unable to form words over the pain that seemed to radiate from his core. He rested his head against his friend's sturdy shoulder, content with just listening to Bucky's steady breathing.
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Continued in Chapter Six: Helping to Relax