He thumped his forehead against the locker, “Lawson. That’s not a good idea.”
Lawson’s hands withdrew, and John could finally breathe again. He turned and saw Lawson stripping off his hoodie, the brief outline of his abs and that sharp V-line of his hips, and the telling signs of an erection. John flushed again, quickly retrieving his coffee from the bench. Once Lawson’s head cleared the sweater, he glanced toward him and then downward. Lawson didn’t even blink, his expression perfectly neutral, and yet his eyes… Something flashed there for the briefest of seconds, seeing his own telling signs of John’s semi-hard dick.
The young man kept his eyes locked with his as he casually slid his hand beneath his scrubs, adjusted his erection upward, discreetly snapping the waistband of his briefs and scrubs over himself.
John wondered if he should do the same.
“Yo, yo, yo,” Reyes chimed down the hallway. “Dr. D! You’re alive. I thought you’d want the day off.”
“Good morning to you too, Reyes,” John said politely, smiling half-heartedly at the young doctor, shifting his stance to alleviate the pressure that had built there. “I’m tougher than I look.”
“Yeah, we know,” Reyes said, punching in the locker code. “You’re the toughest son of a bitch in the ED, next to Samuels. The only difference between the two of you is that you smile on occasion.”
“Well, Samuels has that ability, too,” John replied. “I just think he forgets how to do it sometimes.”
Lawson frowned considerably at him for some reason, making him hesitate, wondering what shifted the younger man’s mood, before nodding briefly at the two men and heading toward the central station to Steph. Lawson and Reyes reminded him of the younger days when he and other young doctors were battling for dominance in the ED. All ego-driven, trying to outsmart and outdo one another.
Lawson and Reyes seemed almost indifferent to competition and were more like teammates, wanting to support rather than stifle with judgment or rivalry. He supposed it was a generational difference. And the thought suddenly made him feel old.
He instinctively rolled his shoulder and sighed. Damn it, Lawson had the magic touch. His shoulder had never felt so loose. Maybe he’d take him up on the offer to meet in the break room.
Just two minutes.
It couldn’t hurt.
That’s it, and that would have to be enough.
Chapter 7
Wyatt
Pride welled in him at thesight of how well Donnelly moved through his morning, his shoulder pain undetectable from what Wyatt could see. And he couldn’t stop the small victory smile whenever he noticed it, whenever he noticedhim.
After that moment of raw vulnerability from Donnelly in the bathroom stall yesterday, Wyatt felt like he was falling rapidly without a parachute. His mind went back to that moment again and again, the way Donnelly’s body released, relaxing and surrendering—finally—under his touch. But when he had tilted his head into his stomach, relief etched on his features rather than pain, entirely at his mercy, vulnerable and needy, Wyatt had rushed to greet him. He had thrown himself headlong over the cliff and into his own canyon, labeled: John Fucking Donnelly.
When Donnelly’s arm had wrapped around his waist, tugging him in closer, he dug in, knowing that it wouldn’t last long, and he’d have to take what he could before his captain slammed the door in his face again.
He kissed him like the ship was sinking, battling him with tongue and lips, kissing the hell out of him. And fuck, every time he thought about it, he nearly got hard again.
There were kisses, and then there werekisses.
That one left him edgy and desperate for more.
More. More. Goddammit, more,please, Dr. Fuckin’ MD.
So, when he saw Donnelly alone in the hallway by the lockers, and he actually greeted him instead of ignoring him as he had been, Wyatt pounced like a hungry lion. And his prey let him take. He knew when he told Donnelly to come to the break room, he would. He knew in his bones and blood that the older doctor wasn’t done with him yet, either.
Breathless with anticipation, Wyatt finally managed to sneak off around 2:45, while the ED seemed calmer, and headed for the break room. The staff avoided the break room like the plague, saying it was haunted by the tears of fallen med students who couldn’t quite hack it. It also had the worst coffee maker, producing liquid sludge instead of coffee.
He opened the door and froze.
Dr. Ava Taschen was passed out on the small kitchenette table, drooling into the crook of her arm. Her unruly brown ponytail flopped over her shoulder, and her scrubs were wrinkled.
Wyatt glowered.
Ava had yet to earn his respect as a fellow resident. She slacked off, showed up late and left early, and, worst of all, pretended to be competent in critical moments, sometimes harming patients in the process, which luckily for the patients, Donnelly or Samuels always caught. He couldn’t wait for her day of reckoning. But until then, he had to tolerate her like the wart she was.
He made himself busy washing out the leftover coffee sludge, prepping the coffee maker, and clearing his throat loudly.
