A birthday fic for the lovely and amazing @desperatelyseekingcannibals. Happy birthday, my dear Max, hope you enjoy <3<3<3
Thanks to @slashyrogue for the title, and @tcbook and @hotmolasses for advice on writing smut scenes (and for generally being amazingly patient and wonderful).
Also on AO3.
Mortimer slid quietly along the hallway and snuck a peek into the waiting room, hoping that no one would notice him in such an undignified act. Not that he didn’t spend all day engaged in what many people would no doubt term undignified acts, but at least those took place behind closed doors. Fortunately, the inhabitants of the waiting room seemed to have their direction focussed on quite another subject – the same subject that had caused Mortimer to sneak around without his shoes on.
Seated on a chair at the far side of the room was quite the most unusual patient Mortimer had seen on these premises (which, not to be uncharitable, was saying something). For a start, he was a man, and this practice was strictly ladies only (other than the doctors, of course). Then there was the matter of his hair, which was the colour of pewter and worn in a thick braid that hung over one shoulder, in a manner which made him look nothing short of a barbarian. Mortimer rather suspected he could fight like one too – despite his unremarkable clothing (rough-looking greatcoat, in a shade of grey to match his hair, untailored trousers, beaten-up workman’s boots), the man had a bearing that suggested impressive strength. A former soldier, was Mortimer’s immediate impression.
None of which explained why this rather intimidating specimen had, about half an hour previously, strode into the practice and demanded an immediate appointment with Mortimer himself. Mortimer squinted at his face, trying to recollect if their paths might ever have crossed previously. It was, Mortimer had to admit, rather an interesting face to examine, all angles and sharp edges, yet with an elegance that put him in mind of an ancient sculpture. Or perhaps an ancient rock face. Interesting or not, though, he had no memories of this man, and no reason to grant him an audience.
It had been rather a routine week so far, though…
Intrigued despite himself, Mortimer slipped back to his office, replaced his shoes, and returned to the waiting room. He first excused himself to Mrs Bellamy and asked for her patience in enduring a short delay to her appointment, for which he received a coquettish pout and a giggle in response. He then crossed to the far wall and offered his hand to his mysterious visitor as he rose from his seat.
“I am Doctor Granville. I believe you insisted upon meeting me somewhat firmly, Mr…?”
“Draco will be fine, Doctor Granville. I don’t stand on ceremony.”
Mortimer couldn’t help allowing a brow to rise at this unusual behaviour but otherwise schooled any reaction behind a polite smile. “Mr Draco then,” he said, unable to make himself give up on an honorific completely, “I am terribly sorry to inform you that I have no appointments available today.”
“I will return tomorrow, in that case.”
“I’m afraid I have no appointments free at all for at least a fortnight.”
“You keep none for emergencies?”
“We are not providers of an emergency service, Mr Draco.”
“I shall return each day in hopes of a cancellation, in that case.”
Mortimer wanted desperately to ask if he had no decent employment during working hours but propriety would not allow the words to pass his lips. Instead, he observed the glint of determination in Draco’s eyes and concluded that he would not be brushed off so easily. Acquiescence seemed to be the surest route to ridding himself of this puzzling individual but it wasn’t in Mortimer’s nature to so easily bow down and give in to men’s desires.
“All right, Mr Draco, I shall make you a deal. I will see each of my patients according to their appointments and you will make no further attempts to interfere with my schedule. In return, if you are still here at the close of the day and have managed not to make any more of a nuisance of yourself than you already have, I will see you in my office. Is that acceptable?”
“More than.” Draco gave a little bow – intended as mockery, Mortimer had no doubt – and retook his seat, crossing his remarkably long legs in front of him with a flourish.
“Well then,” Mortimer said, a little rattled by Draco’s behaviour. He stood awkwardly for a moment, and then turned and fled back to his office, hoping against hope that Mr Draco would get bored of his strange little game and be gone by the time he had finished with his next appointment.
The gods were not smiling upon him today though, not entirely to Mortimer’s surprise. He checked throughout the rest of the day, accompanying a number of his patients back to the waiting room rather than leaving them at his door as usual. And each time he was greeted by a softly-smirking Draco who, on one occasion, actually had the gall to wink at him across the room. At least, Mortimer thought it was a wink, it might have been a spasm.
By the time he bid goodbye to his final scheduled patient of the day, Mortimer was resigned to having to make good on his agreement and trod back to the now-empty waiting room where Draco greeted him with a smile that showed the sharp points of his teeth. Mortimer wondered for a moment just what he had let himself in for, but pulled himself together and gestured at Draco to follow him through to his office.
As they passed through the corridor, Mortimer began to try to discover what this strange man’s business was in coming here. “I must enquire whether you are aware of the nature of our practice here?” he asked.
Draco gave no answer to this, though Mortimer supposed the minute smirk that flashed across his face was answer enough. Still, he forged ahead, wishing for there to be no misunderstanding. “In this clinic we are solely devoted to the treatment of women’s issues.” Mortimer uttered the phrase in a hushed tone for the sake of propriety, knowing even as he did so that it was a ridiculous affectation given that everyone still present in the building was well aware of exactly what kind of treatment he and Doctor Dalrymple provided. Apparently Draco agreed, his smirk fair turning into a leer that made Mortimer’s stomach flip in a most peculiar fashion.
They had reached his door by this point, and Mortimer paused outside it. “Sir,” he stated, riled and concerned by Draco’s reaction, “if you are here to cause trouble or to gather salacious gossip, I will have you removed from the premises without delay.”
Draco help up his hands in a placating gesture. “Calm yourself, Doctor, I mean no offence nor intend anything salacious.” Mortimer had his doubts about that from the way Draco’s accent – something European, thick and honeyed – rolled around the word, but decided it would be easier to hear him out than to call in the police. He had no illusions that he could remove this brute under his own power without serious consequences to his state of being. Instead he opened his office door and ushered Draco inside, gesturing to the chairs opposite his desk for Draco to take one.
Once they were both settled, Mortimer locked his gaze with Draco’s and told him, “I would be most obliged, Mr Draco, if you could state what your intentions actually are in attending this specific practice.”
“Don’t remember me, do you, Doctor Granville?”
Oh, this man was quite infuriating! “Can you not answer a question straight, sir?” Mortimer asked, forgetting his manners in his irritation. “No, I do not recall having seen you in all of my existence.”
“Suppose you see a lot of faces coming and going in your line of work. I’ll try not to be hurt that you’ve forgotten.” Really, the smug expression on Mr Draco’s face was too much, and Mortimer had to grit his teeth in order not to bear them at the impudent way he spoke. Instead, he kept himself together and extrapolated the meaning of Draco’s implications.
“I treated you at some point in the past, is that it?”
“Indeed, Doctor Granville, you saw me in the hospital a couple of years ago. Kept going on about little animals crawling around my body.”
Mortimer squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers, steeling himself for the inevitable barrage of mockery.
“You’re a smart one, Doctor, what you said made a lot of sense for anybody willing to listen.” Mortimer’s head snapped up in surprise. “Put me back together almost as good as new, as well. I thought to myself then, if ever my health was in danger, I wouldn’t settle for anyone else’s treatment.”
Mortimer had absolutely no idea what to say to that, having expected derision and instead received more respect and admiration from this man than any other person about his dedication to modern medical practices. He gaped at Draco, he couldn’t help himself, and knew that colour was climbing into his cheeks. Needing to regain control, he chose to ignore the compliment entirely and instead proceed as he might with any normal patient.
“All right, Mr Draco, given that you have gone to such trouble to seek me out, I assume that you are suffering from some difficulty with your health. If you would describe your symptoms, I will determine whether or not you require further examination.”
“As you wish, Doctor. It is… a little embarrassing, I must warn you.”
Mortimer doubted that somehow, but delivered his standard response to anxious patients regardless. “Please, Mr Draco, I can assure you there is nothing you can say that would shock me. Do go on.”
“Well, you see, lately I have been having trouble finishing.”
“Finishing?”
“Sexually, Doctor Granville. I have no trouble rising to the occasion, as it were, but no matter how I try – and I have tried extremely hard, Doctor – I seem unable to bring myself to a satisfying conclusion.”
“I see. That s-sounds extremely upsetting. I am not- not surprised you sought a medical opinion,” Mortimer stuttered out. Perhaps he should have been expecting it – why else would a man insist on being seen in this clinic – but instead he was entirely taken aback. Did this mean… Was Mr Draco asking…
“Your medical opinion, specifically,” Draco said, interrupting Mortimer’s train of thought before it derailed entirely. “Word has spread about the services you offer in this clinic of yours, Doctor Granville. I thought perhaps your talents might stretch to patients of the masculine persuasion.”
Oh. He certainly was asking, then.
“How, um, long have these symptoms been affecting you?” Mortimer asked, deliberately stalling.
“Oh, for quite some time,” Draco responded, entirely unhelpfully.
“Mmm-hmm. And I take it the results are equally unsatisfactory whether you are with a partner or,” Mortimer coughed delicately, “taking matters into your own hand?”
“Would that I had the opportunity to compare, Doctor.”
Mortimer barely kept from rolling his eyes. Clearly questioning this man was going to be of little help. A hands-on approach appeared to be the best strategy – it was Mortimer’s speciality, after all.
“Well then, Mr Draco, since you appear determined to obfuscate, I believe it will be best if we get on with the physical examination.”
“Do with me as you see fit,” Draco said, and really, the man seemed able to make anything sound suggestive, it was quite outrageous. No wonder Mortimer had to scramble to remember how to speak for a moment.
“Ah… yes… well then,” he flailed, trying to pull himself together under Draco’s amused gaze. “If you would just move over to the examination table, we can begin.”
Draco obeyed, thankfully with no more than a cordial nod in Draco’s direction, though the way he moved as he crossed the room was, if anything, more suggestive than his words. He put Mortimer in mind of a big cat; a lion perhaps, all lazy grace and coiled power, shoulders rolling and hips swaying in one fluid curve.
Mortimer couldn’t help but gaze at his progress, before wrapping his professionalism round himself like armour. Never yet had he allowed a pretty face or a flirtatious manner to distract him, and this unsubtle show would not be the first to break him.
“If you would be so good as to remove your clothing below the waist, Mr Draco. I’m afraid I will have to proceed without the usual screen in place, in order for me to observe your responses. I hope that won’t be a problem.”
“No problem at all, Doctor.” And indeed, Draco proceeded to remove boots, britches and underclothes in short order, without a hint of the embarrassment to which he earlier referred. Following which, quite to Mortimer’s shock, he shucked off his shirt and vest as well, easing himself onto the table – really more of a lounge chair, with its reclining position and button back – just as naked as the day he was born.
“Don’t want to get stains on anything,” he remarked, his expression aiming at innocence and landing on devilry instead.
Confronted with the long, bronzed line of Draco’s naked form, Mortimer found he could not look away, hoping that his patient assumed he was taking stock of his physical condition for purely medical purposes.
The twinkle in Draco’s eyes suggested he believed that about as much as Mortimer himself. Well, that and the fact that his prodigious length, already half-hard, twitched expectantly under Mortimer’s gaze.
“I, ah, see you were telling the truth regarding your ability to become aroused,” Mortimer said, watching as Draco’s member continued to thicken with something bordering on fascination.
“Dishonesty would have done me little good.”
“Quite.” Mortimer took a deep breath and stretched his hands, considering how best to start. “If I might begin by testing your sensitivity, Mr Draco.”
“You know best, Doctor.”
Mortimer wasn’t quite sure he did, in this situation, but hummed in agreement anyway, and then positioned himself at the side of the table, realising that his normal position at its foot wouldn’t do. Draco’s eyes followed him closely as he did so, and Mortimer felt pinned beneath them, heat rising to his face in a most unprofessional manner. As if to show that he would not be intimidated, he reached out with one finger and gently stroked the underside of Draco’s cock, tracing the ridge that ran the length of it. Draco hissed in response, and his member stiffened fully.
Mortimer couldn’t help his triumphant smile. “How did that feel, Mr Draco?”
“Very pleasant, Doctor Granville.”
Oh, so that was the game. Well then.
“Excellent. Now please, lie as still as you can.” With which, Mortimer took a firm grasp of Draco’s shaft and gave it a few long, dry strokes, just short of too rough. This time, Draco’s response wasn’t a hiss, but a grunt of surprise that turned into a moan as Mortimer grazed the pad of his thumb against his slit, checking for pre-ejaculate. “Hmm, rather dry, is that normal for you?”
Draco shot him a wry look but answered easily enough: “Recently, yes.”
“Ah well, age comes to us all,” Mortimer said, gently thumbing at the rim of Draco’s foreskin.
“I do not – ah – do not think that is the issue.” Draco shifted on the bed a little, perhaps trying to keep his hips from rising.
“No?” Mortimer raised an eyebrow at Draco’s statement. “Well, nevertheless, I believe some lubrication will assist in our examination, if you will excuse me a moment.” He released Draco’s member – noting with amusement the almost imperceptible pout the man gave in response – and went to retrieve one of the small pots of oil he kept discreetly stored near the bed (after all, ladies often also benefited from a little help to ease the way). His patient appeared entirely unperturbed by its appearance, and Mortimer wondered if perhaps his reluctance to discuss partners was less down to their scarcity than to the type of person Draco took to his bed.
The thought caused a little jolt to run down Mortimer’s spine – and not an entirely unpleasant one, either.
He unscrewed the pot and dipped his fingers in, coating his hand liberally as Draco’s eyes tracked his every movement, hard to the point where the head of his dick was turning purple where it emerged from his foreskin. Mortimer thought that it looked almost painful and took mercy on his patient – he was sworn to do no harm, after all – returning his hand to its former position and letting it glide down to the base and back again. Draco’s groan was louder this time, and he grinned wolfishly at Mortimer.
“A great improvement, Doctor. You really do have a gift.”
If only he knew the truth of that statement, Mortimer thought, but kept it to himself and instead returned Draco’s grin with a polite smile of his own. “All in a day’s work, Mr Draco. Now,” he continued, beginning to stroke in earnest, “I understand from what you’ve told me that getting to this point of arousal is not generally problematic for you?”
Draco’s head tipped back against the headrest, exposing the long line of his throat, already beginning to gleam with sweat. “Not generally, no,” he agreed, his last word turning into a moan as Mortimer twisted his hand a little on his upstroke.
“Mmm, and could you describe to me at what point your difficulties begin?” Mortimer’s voice was a little roughened, almost husky, as he questioned Draco, as though it was he becoming aroused by this activity. He cleared his throat, annoyed at himself, and waited for Draco to gather himself enough to respond.
“Usually… usually I seem to – ahh – reach a kind of… kind of plateau,” Draco panted out, words trapped between gasps and moans. “Can’t seem to… to tip over… oh, that’s good, Doc, don’t – ah, don’t stop, ohhh…”
Draco’s hips were bucking in earnest now, and Mortimer decided to take control by laying his unoccupied arm flat against his patient’s torso, pinning him to the bed. This, apparently, excited Draco even more, his moaning becoming louder and more shameless as Mortimer held him down with one hand and continued to stroke and tug with the other.
This display pulled down the last of Mortimer’s defences – there was no point in denying he was as aroused as the man lying under him, his own member straining within his trousers. He couldn’t reach down to take any of the pressure off, and Mortimer realised he was rubbing himself against the frame of the table, matching the rhythm of his strokes up and down Draco’s cock. He felt electrified with desire, entirely blindsided by his effect on this gloriously beautiful man.
He ought to have been watching Draco’s cock, checking for any physical oddities, any abnormal reactions, but any pretences that this was a genuine examination were long abandoned. Instead, Mortimer found he couldn’t drag his eyes from Draco’s face as it contorted with pleasure, mouth slack, breath short, eyes hooded and dark. Through the haze of bliss, Draco seemed to realise Mortimer’s focus had shifted and tilted his head so their eyes connected.
Mortimer couldn’t contain the little exclamation – oh – that escaped as Draco looked deep inside him, and it was enough to bring both he and Draco to climax, sweating and writhing and shouting for the gods, Draco’s pleasure flowing warm and thick across Mortimer’s wrist and down his arm.
Mortimer stroked him through his orgasm, until Draco shuddered with oversensitivity and he released his grip. He found he couldn’t move away though, or form the kind of detached, doctorly pronouncement his patient was no doubt expecting, not with the evidence of his lapse of professionalism spreading warm and wet inside his trousers. Instead, his hands hovered over Draco’s flushed thighs, wanting to touch, wanting to crawl up onto the table and continue to wring those noises from Draco. Wanting Draco to wring them from him in return.
Of course, he did nothing of the sort. It would have been entirely inappropriate.
Though not, perhaps, as inappropriate as what Draco himself said, once he had his breath back.
“So it is true what they say, once you’ve known the touch of divinity nothing will ever compare.” Draco sought out Mortimer’s eyes, which were already widening in shock, and added, “My Lady Aphrodite.”
Well, fuck.
Mortimer briefly considered trying to locate a weapon and battering Draco about the head. But his fighting skills were rusty after several decades quietly hiding amongst humanity and Draco looked alert and formidable despite his post-orgasmic lassitude. Besides, he had been caught fair and square, and he probably should find out how and for what reason before attempting escape.
Mortimer – otherwise known as Aphrodite, goddess of love, pleasure and procreation, former denizen of Mount Olympus, currently on self-approved sabbatical from his divine duties – sighed. “I really thought this disguise was infallible.”
Draco grinned. “It almost was. Zeus knew your general location but you did an admirable job of masking your exact whereabouts. I must commend you.”
“Oh fuck your commendation, how did you find me?”
Draco smirked. Mortimer wanted to punch him. “If only you’d been able to resist the temptation, little goddess. You were safe and sound in your hospitals, trying to convince all those poor, naïve humans about the importance of hygiene. But it was too good, wasn’t it? The prospect of bringing pleasure to so many again. Just couldn’t pass it up, to feel the thrill of it, help those poor women feel good. Just a little touch of your power to ease the way, couldn’t hurt, could it?”
Mortimer sighed. How stupid of him, how arrogant to think he could get away with it unnoticed. Honestly though, how was he, the goddess of love, sex incarnate, supposed to turn down the opportunity to provide orgasms on a regular basis? When Dalrymple had reeled off his nonsense about hysteria during their initial interview, Mortimer had nearly fallen out of his chair at the realisation of what was being offered.
“So the little story about seeing me at the hospital? Your supposed difficulty in climaxing? What was the point of that?”
“I needed you to trust me enough to put your hands on me, Doctor.” Draco raked his eyes along Mortimer’s body, the damp patch in his trousers, shameless now that he had revealed himself. “Only way to be sure you were the one I was sent to find.”
“A neat trick. Did Zeus lend you some magic?”
“Daresay he would have, but it was unnecessary. Your kind always feel different, if only a man cares to pay attention.”
“And you do pay very close attention, don’t you? To my backside in particular, I must note.” Two could play at the shameless game.
“It’s a very fine backside, my Lady, even by divine standards.”
Mortimer rolled his eyes, but let himself grin with it. He had to admit, he’d missed sparring like this – the bumbling doctor routine had been a useful one, but he had been forced to play frightfully earnest at times. Some good, old fashioned flirting was quite a relief after being so buttoned up. In fact, Mortimer decided to take advantage of his regained freedom by climbing up onto the table and settling himself atop Draco’s extremely well-muscled thighs while he continued his interrogation.
Draco, happily, seemed completely unfazed by this, and simply placed his large hands against Mortimer’s hips for support.
“So then, soldier – you are a soldier, yes?”
Draco inclined his head in confirmation.
“Thought so, you seem like a man who would be comfortable with killing. So, what does my father want so urgently of me that he would force one of his toy soldiers out of heaven to hunt me down?”
To his credit, Draco didn’t so much as flinch at the insult. “No force was required, Lady, I volunteered.”
“Bored of eternal quaffing and carousing, were we?”
“A break is nice, little god, but eventually a man grows weary of existence without purpose, wouldn’t you agree?”
“You are quite fascinating, aren’t you Mr Draco? And very good at evading my questions. Once again: why does my father request my presence?”
Draco’s smile turned wry. “A war is coming, my Lady. Olympus is threatened and Zeus demands that all his children do their duty.”
“And I suppose if I don’t come quietly he’ll start chucking lightning bolts into Charing Cross?” Mortimer poked Draco, immediately regretting it – the man’s chest might as well have been a breastplate. “All I wanted was a few hundred years of me time, was that really so much to ask? I’m not even any use in battle – I’m a lover, not a fighter.” He laid his hand flat against Draco’s chest, considering. “And you, Captain? How will they reward you for completing your mission?”
“I will be returned to Elysium, to eternal peace and celebration.”
“How ghastly. I have a better idea,” Mortimer said, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Draco’s lips, chasing it with a flick of his tongue. “There, how do you feel?”
“Unsatisfied.”
“Odd. Most people say ‘tingly.’ Let’s try that again.”
This time the kiss was deep, filthy, and several minutes long. By the time it finished, Mortimer had a tight grip on Draco’s braid, Draco an equally strong hold of Mortimer’s much-admired backside, and both were flushed and panting for breath.
Mortimer leaned back a little, in order to look at Draco property. “So?”
“I am not certain tingly quite covers it.”
Mortimer grinned in triumph. “Excellent. Captain Draco, you are now bound to me, unable to leave my side, devoted to me above all others.”
Draco looked entirely unfazed.
“Which means you will attend me in battle, as my captain and consort.”
Draco continued to fail to react.
“I have just stolen you from Zeus himself for my own pleasure! He is not going to be pleased with either of us. Surely you have something to say about that?”
Draco shrugged lightly, and Mortimer once again considered battering him with something heavy. Fortunately, his new paramour finally decided to break his silence. “This means I will spend my foreseeable future fighting when required and fucking when desired?”
“Well… basically, yes.”
“Then I believe Zeus can go fuck himself,” Draco drawled, and dragged Mortimer into another devouring kiss.
Mortimer smiled into it. This one was going to keep him entertained for aeons.