Doctor, Doctor, a Birthday Story for Rachel
Written by Beth
Six-thirty a.m. and my shift was very nearly over.
I was trudging exhaustedly through the hallway,
clipboard in hand, making notes on the chart of
the patient I'd just visited, when all of a sudden
I was ambushed by one of the night nurses. I
coughed and looked away in the hope that she'd
think I was too busy to talk to her, but she
ignored the gesture, began walking alongside me.
"Dr. Devilbliss," she said firmly. "The guy in
214 is insisting on seeing you. He believes he's
having an allergic reaction to his painkiller.
The one that he's been on for a week." Her voice
was dry. "I tried to take care of it myself, but
he insisted on talking to you."
"I'll be right there," I said, not breaking
stride. She *really* shouldn't have been bringing
these sorts of things to me--I contemplated
finding out her name and making sure she got a
review of hospital procedure (talk to your *shift
supervisor* first--don't go straight to the
doctor!)--but it wasn't worth pursuing. I mean, I
was on the floor in question, and tired or not,
this *was* one of my patients . . . although I
couldn't remember exactly *which* one . . .
I reached the nurses' station, dropped off the
chart, then addressed Jane, who was working the
"214?" I asked, handing her the chart I'd been
writing on and then stretching a little.
She consulted the patient roster. "Bayliss. The
cop who got shot."
"Oh yeah," I said as it all came back to me.
"What's this about the painkiller?"
"He's got a rash and he's itching all over," she
said. "He's really not very happy right now. I
think he's had all of us in his room at one point
or another tonight."
"Ah," I said, then thought for a minute. I
really, really didn't want to get involved with
this--dealing with difficult patients makes me
incredibly nervous. So much easier when they're
still and sedated and on an operating table.
*That* was where I did good work.
Sighing, I scribbled out a requisition for some
lotion with cortisone and handed it to her.
"Would you mind taking a trip down to the
pharmacy? The quicker we solve this, the sooner
he'll stop bothering you."
She gave me a skeptical look, but nodded. "I'll
try," she told me.
I nodded, ran a hand through my hair, rubbed my
eyes, then walked down to Bayliss's room, stepped
"Detective," I said. "I hear you've been
He was sitting up a little bit in the bed, wearing
his glasses, his eyes a little wild looking. The
itching must have kept him from sleeping. He
looked miserable, and the skin on his forearms
really *was* red, and streaked with blood in some
places where he'd frenziedly scratched himself.
"You have *got* to make it stop," he said, voice
fierce. "I--this is driving me fucking
I stepped closer, took his arm in my hand and
looked carefully at his skin. It wasn't hives . .
"Have they changed the sheets on your bed
recently?" I asked.
"Brought you a new hospital gown? Has anyone
brought in a blanket for you, a robe, something
you've been wearing?"
"No, no, no, no," he answered curtly.
"Have you eaten anything that you don't normally
get? Can you remember your last couple of meals,
any snacks that you may have had?"
He shook his head in aggravation, began scratching
the palm of one hand. "Don't you people talk to
each other?! Everyone I've spoken to tonight has
been asking me the same damn questions. I *don't*
have any food allergies, and it's *not* the
fucking sheets!" He was getting rather close to
I nodded--inside, my stomach was beginning to
churn. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. We're just trying
to figure out what's going on here, all right?" I
raised my hands in what I hoped was a calming
gesture. "Tell me exactly where you're itching,
okay? I see the arms and hands, but where else?"
He sighed heavily. "Everywhere. Legs, tops of my
thighs, my stomach, my neck. My feet and my
calves. And my back," he said, grimacing. "And
I'm still too fucking *sore* to reach behind
myself and scratch there, and it's going to *kill*
me--I swear it!" He began to scratch his arms
I stood motionless for a second, trying to figure
out how to proceed. He had been on this floor for
several days now but he hadn't really been a
problem thus far. When he first arrived, it was
straight from ICU, and at that point, he wasn't
doing much of anything. Unfortunately for him,
right now he'd reached the stage where he wasn't
quite well enough to go home but not quite hurt
enough to lie there quietly and bother no one.
And cops really make some of the worst patients--
they always want to *move;* they're always getting
bored; they always become incredibly peevish by
the end of their stay. The expression in
Bayliss's eyes right now was a harbinger of great
things to come. He'd be a handful for the nurses--
and for me, I feared--this week.
He was looking closely at me. There was a
doubtful expression on his face--he was probably
deciding that none of us was going to be of no use
to him. Shaking his head, he finally offered up
his own diagnosis: "Know what I think? It's the
stuff for the pain. See--I sit here, and since I'm
bored out of my *mind,* I notice things. And this
itching *always* gets worse right after they give
me more pain medication."
"You've been on this same pain medication for the
past week without any reaction. So the problem
probably isn't the meds," I said bluntly.
"You don't think it's the meds, it's not the food,
and it's not the sheets. What are you trying to
tell me--that I made it all up?!"
I heard the challenge and the frustration in his
voice and groaned inwardly.
Fortunately, Jane entered the room just then.
"The lotion you requested," she quickly said, then
left us again, ignoring the desperate glance I
cast her way. I was clearly on my own with this
one. I thought for a moment, then spoke.
"Look--even if we can't isolate exactly what's
making you itch, we can still try to make you more
comfortable. This is a topical lotion that should
help," I told Bayliss, trying to sound
encouraging. "Put this on wherever you're itching,
but don't get it in your eyes or mouth."
"And this will work," he said skeptically as I
approached the bedside, handed it to him.
*No.* I gave it to you as a joke.
"It should," I answered.
He looked critically at the label, then up at me.
"Okay then. Thanks."
"No problem," I said, heading for the door, relief
beginning to spread over me already. "You be sure
to let someone know if this doesn't work."
Not *me,* but someone. I hoped he'd get that.
"Uh, doctor . . . wait," he said. "Please."
I gave him a pleasant if not enthusiastic glance,
"I, uh . . . You see . . ." He shifted around
gingerly in the bed, grimacing a little. "Would
you mind helping me get some of this on my back?
I don't think I can do it myself," he said almost
With some of the belligerence gone, he seemed more
approachable. But I almost never touched patients
in this way, almost never performed such small
gestures of comfort. Bayliss's request was
something a nurse or a family member would usually
handle--to me, it seemed uncomfortably intimate,
personal. My job was to cut people up, not rub
For a long moment, I seriously considered sending
for Jane, getting myself out of this. But as I
looked at him and thought about it, something
inside me gave.
"Sure. I can do that," I said, then walked toward
him, took back the lotion, and unscrewed the cap.
"Lean forward," I said, squeezing the white cream
onto my fingers.
He slowly did as I asked, groaning in pain.
"Good. You're starting to move a lot better," I
said approvingly. "Just a few days ago you could
barely sit up."
I was keeping it all very doctorly, all very
"It hurts like hell, he darkly said, then added,
"But it is nice to be more mobile."
Good god. As I looked down at his slightly bent
form, I suddenly realized that I'd have to help
him open his gown.
"Uh, just let me untie this," I said uncertainly,
embarrassed. I awkwardly extended my left hand
and untied the laces, then slowly spread the gown
apart, pushed it down his shoulders a bit,
automatically stopping a moment to glance down at
the dressing on the side where he was shot.
Nothing going on there.
He was slender--really too thin, in my opinion--
but rather nicely formed. It was obvious that he
took care of himself, probably running or swimming
since his build was lean but not overly muscular.
The hospital gown and pillows he'd been propped up
on had left soft red creases here and there on his
skin, and I had a sudden urge to try and smooth
Madness. Taking a deep breath, I touched lotion
and fingers to his back. He shivered a little.
"Cold," he said, laughing a little self-
Hmmm. Maybe I should have warmed it up somehow--
Jesus. *Why* wasn't a nurse doing this again???
"Sorry," I said, then began to rub the lotion into
him, using small circular motions. His skin felt
soft and smooth against my fingertips and I
breathed out slowly as I encountered the ridge of
a shoulderblade, moved down his vertebrae one by
one. It was . . . oddly comforting to touch him
this way, almost hypnotic.
"Ohhhh," Bayliss groaned. "Oh. That feels so
Something in his voice struck a chord inside of me
and I felt the beginnings of a flush on my face.
I desperately sped up my movements as my brain
screamed for me to get away from him and out of
his room post haste. But my fingers kept moving.
I didn't want to stop--I didn't want to be a
doctor. What I wanted to do at that moment was
slide that gown further off of him. And god
forgive me, because as I finished up with the
lotion, I actually contemplated doing it.
"Okay," I finally said, voice firm. "I think that
does it." I was talking to myself as much as to
He waited for me to close his gown and then slowly
leaned back again. I looked right into his eyes.
I'd grown to like his back--what did I think of
his face? A perfect mouth with a ripe lower lip--
how had I not noticed *that*? And his eyes were
framed with incredibly long lashes, and they
seemed deep and warm and *possibly* also a little
amused . . .
"Thank you for your help, doctor," he slowly said.
"You've got magic hands."
Was he flirting with me? I couldn't speak for a
He smiled at me, chuckled a little, and then
reached out a hand for the lotion. I gained enough
control to give it back to him, but not enough to
stop myself from watching in fascination as he as
he squeezed some of it out onto one of his
forearms, then began to work the cream into his
skin with long fingers.
The sound of someone's voice out in the hallway
startled me. I straightened up, pulled myself
together, washed my hands.
"All right then. Contact one of the nurses if you
have any other problems," I said, then slowly
headed back out into the hallway. A quick look at
the clock on the wall told me that my shift was at
long last over, and I exhaled in relief.
"Ohhhh," he groaned. "You don't know how *good*
I smiled a little, then slowly slid one hand down
to the small of his back, leaned in and kissed his
shoulder, my mouth slightly open so I could touch
his skin with my tongue. He tasted wonderful.
He stiffened, and for a moment I was terrified.
One word out of him and I'd be in court, sued from
here to high heaven.
I waited, breathing hard, until I was fairly
certain that he wasn't going to say anything, and
then I kissed him again, rubbed my cheek against
his soft, warm skin. I could hear his heart
beating a mile a minute; I found it very sexy.
I gently rubbed the small of his back while softly
kissing his shoulderblades. He sighed--it sounded
a little bit like a moan--and I felt my own heart
begin to beat hard.
"I think--" I began to say after a while, then
stopped myself because my voice was embarrassingly
rough. I coughed a bit. "I think," I began again,
"that I might be better able to help you if we
were both in the bed."
He was silent, and suddenly I was terrified again.
Now I'd really gone too far. I began to move
away, to pull his gown shut.
"Sure," he answered at the last minute. He
sounded slightly breathless, and I felt the blood
rise to my face, rush to my cock. Slowly, he
scooted to one side of the bed.
"No. See--I think . . . I think I should sit
behind you," I said, sure that my face was now
He trained eyes on me, looking critically,
closely. The force of his gaze was so strong I
almost took a step backward.
"You look a little uncomfortable, doctor," he said
a minute later.
Embarrassment flooded me, and I pressed a hand to
my mouth in consternation. He laughed at me, then
reached out and grabbed my arm, pulled my hand to
him, captured it in one of his.
"Why should I let you sit behind me?" he murmured,
twining his fingers with mine.
"Because if you do, I'll make it very much worth
your while," I promised.
"All right, then," he said, and pulled me close.
And then I slowly got into the bed, gingerly
situated myself behind him. I opened my legs, bent
them a little, then urged him to scoot upward so
that his back was pressed against my chest. I
leaned forward to maximize the contact and then
closed my eyes as desire rushed over me. It was
"Closer," I urged him, my voice shaking, then
moved hands down to his hips, encouraged him to
press his sweet ass a little closer to my cock,
which was straining painfully for freedom. He was
naked under that gown--I wished to god that I had
fewer clothes on.
He moved just like I wanted him to, then quietly
drew his breath in when I began kissing his jaw,
an ear, the side of his face.
"This is good," he said, his voice so low I almost
couldn't hear it.
I nuzzled his neck, then moved hands beneath his
hospital gown, slowly slid them onto his chest.
He was breathing hard, softly murmuring, "Oh"
again and again as I traced fingers over his
pectoral muscles, then down the middle of his
chest, smiling a little as I figured out where his
sensitive spots were. I looked down and watched
the outline of my hands moving under the gown,
slowly taking possession of his body. It took my
I found his nipples and he called out softly as I
teased them, gently rolling them between my
"How are you feeling?" I asked in my Doctor
Devilbliss voice, and he laughed a little. I
pressed close, enjoying the vibrations emanating
from him. The laughter stopped abruptly, however,
when I began to slide my hands downward.
"Oh god," he whispered when I gently pressed
fingers under the edge of his ribcage. I kissed
his shoulder, then moaned into his hot skin as I
went for broke, slid hands all the way down until
I could feel his hard cock gently brushing the
backs of my hands, my knuckles. And then, because
I couldn't stop myself long enough to tease him, I
quickly encircled him with my fingers, squeezed
hard. It was so damned good to have him helpless
in my hand like this, to hold him, to feel him
trembling against my body.
I began to stroke him, then gently rubbed the pad
of my thumb over the tip of his cock, moaning a
little when I felt the ejaculate he released in
response to my touch. I spread it all over the
head of his cock.
"Yes, yes," I murmured to him, and then I began to
move my hand again. Bayliss pressed himself into
me, thrust his ass back, and I groaned a little as
the intensity of my own unmet need registered.
But this was about him, and so I caught my breath,
then continued to stroke him, at first lightly and
then with increasing pressure and speed as he
began gasping for breath, rocking his hips a bit.
When he was very very close to coming I took just
a second to glance at his face. Eyes shut, mouth
open, expression of strained concentration--he was
When he finally did orgasm, Bayliss winced, then
let out a low and harsh cry as he pumped hot
bursts of come onto his stomach, my hand. I
kissed his neck feverishly, then leaned back as he
collapsed, pressing me into the pillows. For a
moment we were silent, he breathing hard, I
trembling and exultant.
Once Bayliss had pulled himself together, he
laughed a bit.
I bit his shoulder.
He moved seductively against me and I groaned a
bit. "Let me help *you* now," he said.
"Well, if you *wanted* to . . ." I began.
He laughed again, and then slowly turned around,
got up on his knees, moved hands to the waistband
of my pants.
"Fuck!" I sat up straight, then groaned as I
realized that just like in the dream, I'd gotten a
raging hard on courtesy of Tim Bayliss. I began
to jerk myself off with fierce, rough movements,
trying not to think about how Tim felt in my
dream, about how wonderful it was to touch him,
how very much I was longing to see him again.
So fucking inappropriate, this fantasy, but I
wouldn't let it go. I couldn't. I cried out
harshly as I saw him in my mind's eye, came all
over myself, and cursed the world for putting me
in such close contact with beautiful shot