good boy. (18+)
pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x gn!clinican (Callsign: Doc) rating: M warnings: 18+ content minors DNI!!!, SUB!HANGMAN!!!, boy's got his head in the gutter 25/8, praise kink hELL YEAH, innuendos galore, handjob mention, pegging/PinA depending on how you visualize Doc :3, thigh grinding, choking kink?, did i mention innuendos EVERYWHERE? summary: a stress test is not a good time for Hangman to imagine getting a handy from his doctor... a/n: HOOBOY THIS IS UNEDITTED. It came out like water and I wrote it in an hour and fifteen minutes LMFAO please enjoy and i'm sorry for the self indulgence. might have to do this from Doc's POV too if people are interested ;)
“Very good, Lieutenant.”
Hangman was doing his best to breathe in and out of the silicone mask covering his mouth and nose. The air collecting tube was connected to a piece swinging just above his head, creaking eerily at each foot strike. The electrodes measuring his heart rate and pulse tugged against his taut skin. The wires they were attached to were tickling each rib while he speed walked up the inclining treadmill. He was hyper aware of how much hardware he was connected to thanks to the quietness in the lab.
Doc didn’t allow music to play during stress tests. All focus needed to be on them. A shame, really.
Cardiopulmonary testing was commonplace among naval pilots to make sure their bodies were in the best possible shape to handle the strains of supersonic speeds. Anything less than above average and you’ll be doing PT every morning for the foreseeable future until you are exceptional. These tests didn’t happen often, maybe once every three years, but on a select detachment like this one, all pilots must be subject to one to ensure they would be able to handle the impending trauma for high-G flight.
“How are you doing?”
Doc’s eyes were trained on their computer screen, but he could hear the smirk in their voice as the treadmill ramped higher. “Just peachy, Doc. I could do this all day.”
Doc tore their vision from the squiggling lines to wrap a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm. This part? The worst. The constriction of that stupid wrap bothered him more than his face being covered.
“You know I’m perfect, you really gotta do that?”
“It’s just a part of protocol, Lieutenant Seresin. If I don’t track your blood pressures and you’re hypertensive under exertion here, you could blow a coronary in the sky and die before your plane incinerates you. Period, the end. Do you think I'd want that on my conscience?”, they teased. The cool metal of their stethoscope stung against his inner elbow as the cuff inflated tightly.
The treadmill ticked up again. The pace was getting awkward. He wanted to jog, but it was still too slow to keep pace. “At least I’d go out in a blaze of glory.”
Doc was silent as they released the pressure of their cuff. “Good boy, you’re doing great.” They ticked in the new number to their computer.
If he wasn’t as sturdy as he was, Hangman would have face planted. G-Good boy? Was that a fluke? Did they think they were talking to their dog? Or a kid, maybe? Doc sees all kinds of patients being such a well renowned physician to North Base and its inhabitants. He felt a flush grow across his cheeks and a warmth in his chest. Doc’s grin of satisfaction was enough to extend the fire to the pit of his stomach. “Ah, there’s the heart rate increase. Keep going.”
Jake couldn’t help his breathing getting heavier. He was doing well? As he damn well should! He was the best of the best and he was only going to prove it. The treadmill ramped further, the aviator finally taking off in a comfortable jog.
“You look great up there,” Doc encouraged, eyes running over the cut muscles of his torso. “Give me more.”
Give me more. All Jake could imagine was Doc’s hands wrapped around his neck, his breathing tight, their core straddled against his thigh as they ground down onto him, hot and hard. He could hear his own moans, loud and raunchy. Spittle would be running down the side of his lips begging to be kissed. He would be a good boy and let them work their magic, wishing they'd move slightly north to slide over his cock. He would be doing his best to look them in the eyes while they-
“You alright, Lieutenant? Your ventilation rate just increased exponentially. Get it under control. Can you do three more minutes for me?”
“A-anything for you,” he sputtered, doing his best to reign his brain in. The sweat that was pooling along his upper lip was becoming a nuisance. He felt like he was only breathing in heat. Three minutes. Just had to hold out for three more minutes…
No, he needed to push further.
The burning in his stomach was causing more of a problem than he anticipated. Jake never experienced a runner’s high before, but this had to be damn near close. He always thought runners were masochists putting their body through such turmoil all to chase the pavement. The way he was feeling, it had to be similar.
“Don’t stop. Push yourself.”
Push yourself. Jake’s imagination went wild at the thought of Doc’s fist twisting around his cock, their fingertips dusting over the tip before pulling away. Push yourself. He imagined himself squirming and writhing against the bed, the loss of friction agonizing when they teasingly pull away. They always came back though, fingers twisting around the head of his dick until he was purple and so hard. He was always so close… it just wasn’t enough.
“Open your eyes Lieutenant. That’s it, good job. Can you keep going?”
His legs were automatic at this point. He didn’t feel anything else. Just the pulse in his head and his constricted breathing were the only things keeping him grounded. Jake was near a sprint up the hill, running up a ladder. “I can go! I can go!”
“Give me one more minute, you’re doing so well for me!”
Did this idiot even know what they were saying?! Jake’s head was a lost cause. He could feel himself bent over and oh so full, his asshole pulling and stretching at every thrust behind them. You’re doing so well for me. He imagined himself trying to hold back his whimpers at each pound into his little hole, but their skillful fingers would knot in his hair and pull. He’d be yanked up harshly against their chest. Doc’s fingers would be flicking, pinching and pulling at his nipples as he came apart in pieces–
Jake bailed. Holy shit. His body was a complete limp noodle minus the al dente one hanging between his legs.
“Great job, well done! Excellent work!”
His chest was heaving and his mouth was completely dry. The hardness in his shorts was extremely uncomfortable as he doubled over, watching the track slow and the machine lowering itself back flat. He was trying the best he could to conceal the tent in his shorts as Doc moved behind him, their hips so close to his. He could feel their heat. He could feel just how close they were as they reached on their tip tops to undo the velcro strap of his mask with nimble fingers. He wondered what they would have felt like spreading him wide…
“All done, Lieutenant. That was one of the most emphatic passes I’ve seen yet! I’ll have the results to Admiral Simpson by tomorrow. Head to the showers, you deserve it.”
He was spun to face them, his head dizzy, as their nitrile-covered fingers worked to dig under the electrodes. They snapped them off with 10 delicious rips from his skin, the hair on his chest pulling at the sensation. He needed to grab the side rails in order to stop the moans from escaping his throat.
Doc tossed the aviator a towel to dry off and reached into the top cabinet next to their work station to grab a water bottle for him. The hem of their shirt rode up just enough to tease a view of small of their back and a full view of their ample ass in those tight as fuck scrubs.
Hangman, his face creased in concentration, trudged off the treadmill with knocking knees to reach for his t-shirt on the chair by the lab door. The standard issued naval PT shirt was on at light speed, sweat leaking through the heather gray, as he turned to wave goodbye to Doc. “Th-thanks for your time. And, uh, thanks for the water. Uh, I-I'll see you again.” A hand moved to brush the sweat off his face… and maybe extinguish part of the embarrassed burn in his cheeks while he exited the lab. No way they didn't know. No way.
“I look forward to it,” Doc cooed, their eyes drinking in his body.
He needed to get the fuck out before he creamed his shorts right there.
Their gaze lingered steadily on the soft curve of his ass for a moment too long before they sent him wink, turning back to their paperwork. “The heart never lies, Lieutenant. The heart never lies. I can see it all.”
—-
“Yo Bagman, how’d the stress test go?” Phoenix was all smiles as Jake exited the lab, peering up from her too-old lobby copy of People magazine. “Doc didn’t torture you too badly, did they? I heard they had a mean streak.”
Jake sneered at the woman. “It’s Hangman. And they said it was an emphatic pass, thank you very much. I’d like to see you weaklings try to beat my time. You won’t come close.”
Rooster, who sat beside her to wait for his own turn, looked up from his phone with a quirked brow. “Ya know, I’d be a little offended if I didn’t know you suck at running. Don’t tattle, Hangman. It’s not a good look on you when your credibility is already shakier than an earthquake.”
Bob, who was sandwiched between the two, squirmed unsteadily in his seat while attempting eye contact with Hangman. “You know, what Phoenix said is true, though. I heard they had nearly sent Coyote through the roof when he went in for his hip therapy after that basics accident he had. He said they kept saying “how well” he was doing as they started to bend him like a pretzel. He said the relief he felt when their fingers dug into just the right spot was something that…”
Jake wasn’t listening anymore. He didn’t even acknowledge them as he hustled through the door, slamming it shut behind them. Fuck those idiots.
He needed a cold shower.
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tagging: @fangirlofallthings22