It happened fast.
One minute he was working on a GSW, gun-shot-wound patient, who was unconscious, when the large man abruptly awoke, flailing around like he was still in the gun battle. He kicked John hard in the chest. He had stumbled back but held his ground, knowing how to take the occasional hit. The patient flailed desperately, slamming his massive fist into his shoulder and neck, attacking anywhere he could out of adrenaline-fueled survival mode.
If it hadn’t been for Lawson, he would’ve taken a fist to the face next. Lawson stepped in, grabbed the large patient and tackled him back down onto the gurney, followed by Reyes, a couple of nurses, and the security officer. But the damage was already done. John could barely lift his arm, and the other doctors in the department were forced to take over.
John pressed a hand to his chest, knowing he was probably going to have a good-sized bruise come morning. But that wasn’t what was worrying him. His shoulder had shown slow progress over the past month, and he’d finally been able to stretch it over his head, but this… this was bad.
And he had to get back to work.
He couldn’t take time off for something like this.
The door opened, and he wondered if it was Steph with the ice pack. The door closed, and he heard footsteps approach the handicapped stall John had locked himself in.
“Donnelly,” Lawson’s voice came through the gray steel wall. “Open up.”
He hesitated, gritting his back molars, sweat beading his brow from pain. He opened the door and was greeted by cool, impenetrable pale blue eyes.
Lawson didn’t ask as he stepped in, pushing John back, then he closed and locked the door behind him.
John swallowed, shaking. “I’m fine.”
Lawson looked unconvinced, taking up far too much space in the small confines of the hospital bathroom.
“Let me see,” Lawson commanded without a hint of reservation.
“Are you serious?”
“Take your shirt off, let me see.”
“This is so unnecessary and out of bounds, Lawson. I don’t…”
Lawson was on him in an instant, his firm hand touching the injured neck and shoulder, and John let out a hiss of pain.
“Your shoulder is stuck.” Lawson carefully touched the shoulder now, stroking it. “It’s locked in.”
He cursed, leaning back against the cool tile, feeling Lawson’s touch like a calming balm, and hating how easily his body betrayed him. He closed his eyes, resisting as long as he could. He’d gone an entire month, almost nearly forgiving himself for doing something so catastrophically stupid with Lawson.
But having him this close, feeling the heat of his breath on his skin, the press of his fingers gently rolling out the muscle on his neck… He released a sigh and dropped his head forward into Lawson’s chest.
The younger man hesitated only a second before continuing to work his shoulder, humming smoothly from the back of his throat at John’s submission. The shooting tension in his neck and shoulder relaxed enough for him to breathe again.
This went on for several wonderful seconds, until Lawson guided him back against the wall and lifted his shirt. John didn’t resist as Lawson revealed the white shirt beneath his dark gray scrub shirt, before peeling that off next. Both men assessed the damage on his chest. The red imprint of a boot heel was already forming a purple-black bruise, and his neck and shoulder seemed locked together as though by an invisible band.
Lawson's eyes flashed with an anger John had never seen before, and before he could say anything, the young doctor led him to the toilet, slamming the seat cover down, instructing him to sit. John complied like a docile child.
Lawson positioned himself over him, straddling his legs, and went to work on his neck and shoulder, massaging the tendons with both hands. John tried to stifle the groan, but the more Lawson rubbed and soothed, the harder it was to control his body's reaction. He moaned weakly, letting the pain retreat, replaced by relief.
“Fuck,” John said with a surprised gasp. His shoulder and neck finally dropped apart. His neck straightened naturally and was able to move again, while his shoulder, still frozen, didn’t hurt as much. Lawson wasn’t done, though, and continued to massage his shoulder, aggressively now, pushing hard into the muscle and down his bare arm.
Christ, it felt so good…
John was hypnotized by the young man’s bold, confident hands. Rubbing and soothing. Touching and gripping. He studied Lawson’s focused expression and saw the lines around his lips and the intentionality in his gaze. Lawson’s dirty blonde hair swept over his forehead, his cheeks were cleanly shaven, and his jawline was sharp, almost chiseled from granite. He was reminded of those classic, handsome Hollywood actors from the 1940s, who were almost too handsome to be real.
John felt his cock thicken between his legs, and his shoulders tensed. Lawson greeted the tension with a strong, unrelenting push, forcing them back down. He sighed, releasing the rigid control and relaxing under his ministrations.
And to think, I only had one night with him and saw nothing of how truly beautiful he was.
One night, John had allowed himself to be weak.
