cw; large age gap. fem reader. groping. old man smells. this fic is just an excuse for me to be weird about men who can't get hard. <- impotence. m receiving oral. toji calls reader a bitch. and a slut. this is a rewrite from my inactive blog. 2.1k wc
When you became a nurse, you knew you wouldn't change the world. You wouldn't get a medal, or many thanks in general, for the late nights and double shifts and mountains of abuse you take on.
So sue you for taking pleasure in your career when you can! Eyeing the older client you've recently taken on is your only vice during his visits; he's a gropey asshole who thinks with his dick and talks out of his ass.
And older is an understatement — he's just plain old. He holds it well, at least. Wrinkled, sure, but he's got a constant scowl etched onto his face that somehow softens his lines of age. His hair is a beautiful gray, hands veiny and arms still huge despite the atrophy that comes with old age.
Come to think of it, he's big for his age. Held onto those muscles of his, even though all you've seen the man do is sit in his damn chair and watch shitty old action movies.
His retained strength isn't a point in your favour, either. Toji likes to fight his cares. And grab. You haven't yet seen a shift through without getting groped or fondled or spanked in some way or another. You've told him off enough for his near-demented mind to hold onto, but you figure a man like Mr. Fushiguro never cared much for the comfort of the women he felt up on in his youth. He seems the grimy type, which makes you feel grimy for enjoying it so much — you also haven't left one of these home visits wearing panties that aren't soaked through.
Eh, you like the attention. He's hot for being old enough to be your grandfather.
"Get me a beer when you're done," his voice is gruff as you prick his finger to check his blood sugar levels, sitting on an unsteady stool by his armchair, listening to gunshot after gunshot coming from his old TV. "Should have some left if that fucker didn't take 'em. Hey, don't have kids, doll. They'll steal all your shit."
You glance up at him with knitted brows. "I'm your nurse, not your caterer, Mr Fushiguro."
The wrinkles in his forehead deepen as he narrows his eyes at you. Just as you move to wipe the blood beading at his fingertip, he wrenches his hand from your grip and brings it to his lips instead, sucking his finger clean. "Says who?"
"The pretty piece of paper I have that says 'nursing licence'," you shrug.
"Whatever. I'll get the damn thing myself."
Toji's attempt to get out of his chair is futile. You watch with your bottom lip drawn between your teeth as his strong arms move to push himself up, but his back groans and his lungs empty with a huff as he drops back down into his plush recliner. The entire thing swings back a little, and just as you're convinced he's going to topple backwards, he's upright again, crossing those massive fucking arms over his heaving chest.
God, how much bigger was he in his prime?
"Quit starin'," he grumbles, the faded scar on his lip pulling downward. "Ain't as spritely as I was. Have trouble getting up."
You snort before you can stop yourself. "Well there's a little blue pill for that. I mean — shit. I mean..."
Oh, to lose your job over a boner joke.
"Mouthy bitch," he raises his chin. "Think I can't keep my dick up?"
For some reason — morbid curiosity, perhaps — you double down. "Keep it up? No, I don't think you can get it up in the first place, Mr. Fushiguro. With old age, certain bodily functions stop working as well as they used to, and—"
He cuts you off with a 'tch' that makes you want him to prove you wrong. It'd be a violation of ten million different things to strip down and ride him there in the big recliner he spends his days in...
Still, it crosses your mind, and sticks. You wonder how he'd grunt and groan in response to the drag of his cock inside such young pussy. How long would he last? How long has it been? Would he even want to break his dry spell with his nurse?
Stupid question. You've been pawed at enough times to answer that one on your own. His trying to cop a feel is like clockwork—a smack to your ass whenever you lean over him to change a dressing. A harsh squeeze of your tits through your scrub top when you're cleaning him up. Wrapping his lips around your fingers when you're checking the fit of his dentures...
And you're wet. You ignore the urge to squeeze your thighs together like you usually do, and instead turn on your heels to grab the man a beer.
His kitchen is a mess. Empty beer bottles and containers half-finished clutter the countertops, and you're pretty sure the floors aren't just sticky with spilt booze. Whoever the carers are that come in to handle his ass-wiping and dressing don't do a very good job of keeping the place clean. Then again, you think Toji would bite your head off if you were in here 'touching his shit', let alone someone being paid to do it.
You have to take a moment to steel yourself. Deep breath in, deep breath out... he's a patient, not a prospective tryst you can throw yourself at like spaghetti against the wall. A few stains on the backwash allude to such things happening in here, and you wonder if Toji was ever laid back enough to teach his kids how to cook.
If he was, they didn't stick around long enough for him to reap the rewards of it anyway.
You turn and pull his fridge open, grab a cold beer and start searching his cluttered kitchen for a bottle opener.
But a loud groan from the living room rips your attention away. You bolt back out, expecting Toji to be on the floor or in the throes of cardiac arrest, but the medical event that greets you instead is a very frustrated-looking Toji fisting at his soft cock.
Oh.
"Shut the fuck up," he bites before you can say anything.
Your eyes are stuck on his hand, moving up and down as he tugs on his flaccid length. He's so big, even soft. You've never had to do those kinds of cares, the CNA that comes in twice a day is responsible for washing him down. You wonder if she's ever struck with the same thoughts you're having now — you could start a sisterhood of perverted fantasies.
"Impotence is nothing to be ashamed of, Mr Fushiguro," you touch your lips absentmindedly, and imagine the tang of his taste. "It's natural, even. You... your penis wasn't going to work forever."
"Shut the fuck up," he repeats. "And bring me my damn beer."
You tilt your head, challenging the old man in emasculated distress. Is this really who you are now? "Say please," you hum. "And I'll give you your beer. And a blowjob."
He quirks a gray brow. "Fuck, you're a slut."
"That's unprofessional."
"That right?" he snorts. "Please."
You are nothing if not a nurse of her word. You've said a few oaths to back that up, too. You hand Toji his beer, which he takes with the hand that was fisting his cock, and opens it between his handy false teeth. You kneel next to his outstretched recliner, your scrub pants thin enough for you to still feel the scratch of his unvacuumed carpet.
Toji's cock has kept nicely into his old age. It might not work like it used to, but the sight and smell of it in front of your face is keeping your libido strong. He's got that odorous old man musk to him, which you're plenty used-to in your line of work, but there's something layered to Toji's smell that has you dizzy.
"Gonna suck me or what? Not getting any younger here," he barks, ever the impatient man. You remember the agency warning you about his temper. And his wandering hands.
"Keep ordering me around and I'll catheterise you," you warn, taking his soft dick in your hand, which is cold from holding the beer, and giving it a few pumps. It twitches in your grip, but doesn't harden.
Toji makes himself comfortable, taking a swig of the booze that is rotting his liver black. You look up at him, and then back down to his dick, before leaning down and sucking it easily into your mouth. He's salty, and wet at the tip where his inviscid precum leaks out. Your nose tickles against his coarse pubes, and you can't help but moan around his member.
The sound that he makes is guttural. A groan straight from his soft belly that leaves no doubt in your mind that it's been a very long time since someone has throated Mr. Fushiguro's dick. You wonder if he's aching to act twenty years younger, to thrust his hard cock deep into the back of your throat and make you gag on his obscene length.
You think you like him better like this, with one hand nursing his beer and the other on his nurse, gripping into your hair with an audacious sense of possession that he has anything but earnt. It won't take long to make him cum, considering his balls are tightening already. You swirl your tongue around the sensitive head and soak his cock with your spit.
"Off," he grips at your hair, pulling your mouth from his length and looking down at you with a cocksure grin. "Take that stupid fuckin' top off. Wanna see those tits you've been hiding."
You wipe your spit-coated lips and look down at your pink scrub top. You debate arguing him on his stance that it looks stupid, but end up giving in and hiking it over your head. You let it hit the carpet, followed soon after by your bra.
You've never seen him move as fast as when he snaps his hand down to grab at one of your tits. You push yourself forward to stop him from reaching too far and straining something — because that would be an incident report for the ages — and let Toji have his fun.
It's when he starts pinching at your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger in between his kneading of the actual breast, that you notice he's managed a half chub. Nothing firm enough to fit inside of you with any ease, but a feat nonetheless.
"Hey, look," you smile at the semi-hard state of his cock. "Still got it in you after all, Mr. Fushiguro."
"Fuckin' told you. Get back to work, I'm not paying your ass to sit there and — Jesusfuckingchrist."
You return your mouth to his throbbing cock, sucking hard to shut him up as you roll his balls with one hand and use your other to break the waistband of your scrub pants and swirl your fingers over your needy clit. You wonder if he was a greedy lover in his day, if he'd pay any attention to your pleasure if he had the agency to fuck you how he'd like to.
With the half chub he's managed, you're able to bob your head up and down on his cock a little better, though it remains a slippery feat. More than once does his cock slip out of your mouth and land with a loud 'smack' against his skin. He grumbles each time, tugs at your nipple a little harder, but doesn't risk complaining about your skills in fear that you'll stop and rob the old man of an orgasm.
Your climax crests with the beautiful dual stimulation of his playing with your nipples and your own fingers on your clit, and you find yourself shaking and moaning around Toji's cock, which brings him right to that same edge.
"Fuck," he moans, managing a few shallow thrusts upwards into your mouth which, as his nurse, you'd advise against in case of injury if your mouth wasn't full. Before you can pull off and chide him, though, a few weak spurts of cum land on your tongue, followed by a stronger shot right into your mouth.
It's bitter as you swallow it down, battery acid esque, but your favorite thing you've tasted in a long time. Very Toji.
After a final flick to your now-sore nipple, and a recovery sip of beer, he groans. "I'm not paying extra for that, am I?"
You snort. "No, but I am making a referral to a dietician," you scrunch your face up. "Your cum should not be that sour."
"Whatever," he waves you off with that throw of his hand that every old man seems to have down-pat. "Get me some of those blue pills you mentioned and the next load'll be inside of you."
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