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Nick is just filling in today – but that’s not the only thing he wants to be filling.
“Holy …” It’s whispered out in a revenant puff of air as he surveys the feast laid out before him. Never before has he seen such an incredible specimen: glistening, pink, folds spread out like petals around a lush center. It makes him understand, suddenly, the origin of the flower metaphor, a feat that no other pussy had done for him before.
And he’s a gynecologist.
This is the crux of the issue, of course, because Nick is filling in for a coworker, performing a routine exam, and he has just seen God between this patient’s legs.
“E-everything okay down there?” the patient asks, his voice betraying a soft anxiety.
Nick clears his throat, because, no, everything is not okay down there, but that has nothing to do with this beauty laid before him and everything to do with Nick’s own fucked up issues.
“So far so good!” he manages, breaking his eyes free and instead reaching for a pair of gloves. He takes longer than necessary to secure the gloves over his hands, pulling them down tight over the hems of his sleeves, checking for holes – anything to avoid thinking about how he’s about to lay hands on a masterpiece.
Nick should have known he was doomed from the moment he walked into the patient’s room.
He’d been sitting primly on the end of the examination table, long legs hanging off the edge and kicking idly where they dangled. He was already in the usual gown, tight undershirt visible where he’d elected to leave that on, the extra sheet the nurse had provided tucked over his waist. It shifted as he jerked up straight upon Nick’s entrance, wide, blue eyes tracking his path through the room.
He was a patient – albeit an unusual one – but that hadn’t stopped the thought from crossing Nick’s mind.
Oh, he’s cute.
“Vash Saverem?” he asked when he’d finally managed to banish the thought, hoping beyond all hope that the pause hadn’t actually been as long as it had seemed.
Blonde hair bobbed as the patient nodded, a small smile stretching across pink lips. “That’s me,” he confirmed, voice soft.
“Perfect – in the right room. We’re off to a good start!”
Nick was rambling. He was being an idiot and cracking jokes in a goddamn gynecologist’s office.
What was worse: Vash laughed.
It was a small thing, but it made Nick’s heart flutter in his chest, and he forced himself to break eye contact and look down at his patient’s chart.
“Thanks for agreeing to the switch-up so last minute,” Nick continued as if his stomach wasn’t threatening to vault out of his throat. “I know I’m a poor substitute for Dr. Thompson, but if you’ll bear with me, we’ll have you out of here in no time.”
There was that laugh again, nothing more than a giggle. “I’m sure you’ll do great,” Vash assured him. “Doctor …?”
“Wolfwood.”
“Dr. Wolfwood.” Another smile. “You’re a good doctor. I can see it in your eyes.”
Shit.
The rest had passed in a blur – collecting his history, getting through the screening questions, seeing if he had any concerns. Nick took an extra moment to go over what anatomical terminology Vash was comfortable with, a question that seemed to take him by surprise but brought about the brightest smile yet, much to the detriment of Nick’s fraying nerves.
Then, it was time for the exam. Which led to the current moment: Nick, between the legs of an angel.
“I’m going to touch you now, just on the outside, okay?” he narrates as promised.
There’s a hum of agreement from somewhere above him, and then Nick is touching him.
Strangely, once he has gloved fingers on him, Nick is able to focus on the medical side of things – his actual job – with much greater ease. He looks for unusual marks, ingrown hairs, feels along the length of his labia for any lumps or bumps that couldn’t be explained through typical anatomy.
He finds nothing, which he communicates, before warning him, “I’m going to feel inside now. It might be a little cold, or uncomfortable. Let me know if there’s any pain, okay?”
“Okay.” The response is slightly strained, but that’s not unusual during these types of appointments. While this is what Nick does day in day out, the patients he sees aren’t typically accustomed to having someone up close and personal with their genitals in such an unsexy setting.
… In what is usually an unsexy setting.
Two fingers hook inside Vash, feeling along his walls first, then pushing up to find his cervix. Nick presses along his pelvis as he goes, locating his ovaries and uterus through his abdomen and scanning for any signs of cysts or growths.
It’s going well, both from a medical and emotional standpoint; he’s finding nothing concerning, all while keeping his cool. That is, until Vash starts making noises.
A particularly rough press of his fingers earns him a grunt, then a whimper.
Nick pauses. Takes a breath.
“Any, uh.” He clears his throat. “Any pain?”
“N-no,” comes Vash’s answer. “No, I’m … fine.”
“Let me know if that changes.”
Nick continues. But, unfortunately, so does Vash.
Little gasps here, little whimpers there. They accumulate until Nick is clenching his jaw so hard he’s worried he’ll crack a molar.
Nick checks in again, then again, but Vash assures him each time he’s not in pain.
All that assurance does is let Nick’s mind run wild.
“You’re doing great,” Nick tries to soothe, worry layered on top of the haze of lust that has unfortunately settled across him. “You’re almost done. Doing so good.”
Vash lets out a proper gasp then, and Nick doesn’t imagine the way his walls clamp down around his fingers for a brief second before he seems to will them to relax again.
Fuck. Okay, no more encouragement. Got it.
Not unless he wants Vash to cut off all his circulation.
Which. Well … Maybe another time.
Finally, Nick withdraws his fingers, satisfied that he’d been as thorough as possible considering the circumstances. He swallows heavily as a streak of slick follows them out, tongue aching to taste, but he persists, wiping his fingers instead on the paper of the table.
“All done,” Nick grunts as he backs away. “Everything looks good, and you had a pap smear last year, so you’re all set –”
“Dr. Wolfwood?”
“Yeah?”
The next question is asked of him by a patient, one whose legs are still up in the stirrups, the masterpiece between them displayed fully to its worshiper.
“Would you … Would you like to get a coffee with me sometime?”
Nick chokes. Swallows.
“Sure, Blondie.”
Vash sighs. His folds glisten.
God bless he/him pussy.