Charlie, a very old-fashioned man by nature, had reason to curse the modern world often with its drunken teenagers getting killed, its riff-raff that constantly came into contact with his Bells, and its marriages that no longer needed parental consent to take place. But today he had more reason than usual to curse it, which he did so vehemently.
It started with a crime scene.
It was a well-known fact that Mrs. Maybelline was insane (no matter what fancy terms Carlisle ascribed to her, that was the basic truth), although no one had expected her to put her son in critical condition and herself in a pill-induced coma. Which was why Charlie was stuck at the hospital all day long on a fine Sunday in summer when he could be fishing. He sympathised with the kid, prayed and prayed that he would live through the trauma, but he really didn't need this right now.
And to make matters infinitely worse, the nurses were flirting.
Not with him, of course. With Carlisle. Charlie acknowledged with the logical side of his brain that they didn't know Carlisle belonged to someone else, but with his emotional brain, he burned with jealousy and possessiveness. This was his latest problem with the modern world--girls could be so forward, they could even go and ask the man out. When Charlie was a kid there had been significant looks exchanged between the sexes, but that was it. It was the boy who went up to the girl and asked if he could hold her hand. As he'd grown older, the situation had remained pretty much the same, at least amongst the people with whom he socialised and dated. Sure, René had come up to him, had pretty much asked him out, had even suggested they get married, but that had been the exception, not the rule.
Now, these girls didn't care how they appeared to everyone around them, apparently, because whenever they talked to Carlisle about a patient or brought him something, they would press right up against him and smile prettily. He assumed they thought they were smiling lustily, but with their teenage bodies, there was no way they could pull it off.
As a shrill, feminine laugh pierced his ear, he darted a sharp glance at some young girl with long, honey-blonde hair rippling down her back in waves. Her red, glossy lips framed perfect white teeth--almost perfect. Charlie noted with satisfaction that she had a crooked canine. She was still smiling over something Carlisle had said. He noticed that Carlisle did not look up at her as he bent over one of the many beds in the long, sterilely white, almost blue, hallway.
Wondering if the girl would be interested to know that that was how he fucked Carlisle from time to time, bent over some table or desk when they had only minutes to spare made him smirk in her direction, but she didn't notice. Or perhaps she'd like to know how Carlisle sounded when he was trying to muffle his moans, or how he shouted wonderfully when they were all alone and in bed.
Unfortunately, thinking about Carlisle and sex called up an image of the doctor screwing one of these young nurses into of the cots. He could see so clearly the girl's candy apple lips puckered in a perfect O, the glistening trail of saliva left down her slender neck as he trailed his mouth down along her throat, could hear the springs creaking obscenely.
His lust winning over his old-fashioned sense of propriety, Charlie launched himself off the wall with a push of hot, itching hands, and strode to where Carlisle was now comparing notes with another nurse. Or maybe she was whispering everything she'd like him to do to her, maybe she was giving him her number... maybe she was looking at the approaching man very strangely. There were no mirrors, but Charlie could guess what his expression was--fierce, determined, and possessive.
He grabbed Carlisle by the arm, pulling him away mid-sentence and out the doors at the other end of the hallway.
"-shouldn't be any more trouble, unless there's infection," Carlisle finished, too startled to process the change of scenery or the nurse's shocked expression receding in the glacial gloom.
Charlie wrenched open the door of the first closet he found and shoved Carlisle in, who stumbled but caught himself before he could crash into a shelf.
"Charlie?"
"You didn't notice all those nurses," he growled, shutting the door, "throwing themselves all over you? Didn't notice them looking up at you under long, thick eyelashes, or the way they smiled at you?" He had backed Carlisle up against a low cabinet so that they were pressed together as closely as possible, and now he ground his hips down into Carlisle's, drawing out a surprised gasp.
"You mean," Carlisle said, sliding hands into Charlie's hair and looking at him through blond lashes just like the nurses had, "that all day while you were standing around, you were watching them with envy; wanting to be in their place, maybe? Every time one of them came near me," he pressed a kiss to the corner of Charlie's mouth, "you wanted to snap their pretty little necks over me?" He kissed the other corner of Charlie's mouth and leaned closer, whispering in his ear, "I bet you were thinking all the while about telling them we have sex, describing every detail to them, how you fucked me in your office chair, in my study, in closets like this one..."
With a low growl, Charlie spun Carlisle around and pushed so that he was bent over the cabinet. A breathy laugh was torn from his throat as his hands made contact with the chilly metal. Leaning over Carlisle, Charlie kissed a line down the nape of his neck almost tenderly until he met the collar of his lab coat. Carlisle shrugged out of it, the white cloth fluttering to the floor and laying tangled between their feet.
While undoing his belt buckle and freeing himself of pants and boxers enough for what he wanted, Charlie searched the shelves for something slick. He found baby oil in a nearby drawer and wasted no time in getting a couple of fingers into Carlisle. Carlisle handed back a condom--after many times of such encounters, he always came to work prepared--and Charlie rolled it on quickly, pouring more oil into his hand and smearing it all over himself.
He thrust into Carlisle hard, biting back a shout with great difficulty, and as he moved, he felt the doctor trembling around him, under him. Pounding relentlessly into the other man, Charlie muffled his moans in Carlisle's neck, sucking at his earlobe for a few seconds at a time.
Finally, just when Carlisle was thinking he might burst, Charlie slid one hand from Carlisle hip and took his cock in his hand, pumping it furiously in time with his thrusts.
"Charlie, oh fuck, Charlie," he cried, his panting breaths punctuating each word. Charlie grunted behind him, unable to remove either hand from the writhing, bucking body beneath him to cover Carlisle's mouth. Either the closets were more soundproof than the doctor had ever cared to let on, or the man had stopped caring about who heard them, because when he came, it was with such a shuddering groan that it vibrated throughout Charlie's body and pushed him over the edge.
As Carlisle fell against the cabinet, Charlie fell on top of him. But before he could drift off, Carlisle poked him in the stomach with his elbow, prompting him to stand, shakily. As Carlisle searched the shelves for a pair of scrubs, he casually said, "Maybe I should encourage those nurses to flirt if this is the outcome." He grinned over his shoulder, and in that instant he looked and sounded so devious, so conniving, that Charlie wondered if Carlisle might not have orchestrated the whole thing himself.