Epilogue
(Six Months Later)
White has never been my color. Very few colors are, really, hence my consistently monochromatic wardrobe.
I have been allowed to don some of my usual attire today, but the specific environment I’m currently in requires the addition of a particular article of clothing that looks and feels completely out of place on me.
I frown at my reflection. “They don’t make these in black?”
“It’s a lab coat,” Ryder says. “Pretty sure those only come in white.”
“I look like some sort of cartoon scientist. Or a supervillain.”
Ryder appears behind me in my reflection. “You think a black lab coat would make you look less like a supervillain?”
I huff and adjust the offensive garment around my shoulders. “I still don’t think it’s necessary.”
“It is if we want anyone to take us seriously. You think I want to be wearing this?” Ryder gestures at his lavender medical scrubs.
I think about commenting that lavender isn’t Ryder’s color any more than white is mine, but I opt not to add insult to injury. “It makes no difference whether anyone takes us seriously when we’re the only business on the bloody planet offering this particular service.”
“For now. Free market means it won’t be long before we have competition.”
“Oh, the joys of capitalism.”
Ryder looks me over in the mirror. “I think it looks good on you.”
I shoot him a glare dryer than the Sahara. Ryder laughs.
“I’m serious!” he says. “It makes you look so… official.”
The look that he’s giving me is one which has become very familiar over the past few months. I run my fingers along the lapels of my lab coat.
“If you’re enjoying this, you must not have spent much time in medical facilities. How long has it been since your last checkup?”
“ Such a long time,” Ryder says in a decidedly less-than-serious tone. “Too long, I think.”
“Well, we’ll have to fix that, won’t we?” I turn around to face Ryder with the most business-like demeanor I can muster with him. “Go on, then. Up on the table.”
Ryder grins and lifts himself onto the medical examination table, letting his legs dangle over the edge. I pull two nitrile gloves over my hands, snapping one of them at the wrist.
“Tell me, Mister Flórez,” I say in an admirably professional tone as I approach my patient, “have you been sexually active since your last physical?”
“Very,” he says.
“I see. With how many partners?”
Ryder hums in thought. “One or two, depending on how you look at it.”
“You’re definitely in need of a physical examination, in that case.” I place my gloved hands on his knees and squeeze. “Any pain or discomfort?”
Ryder shakes his head, trying (though not very hard) to wrangle his grin.
“Good. And how about here?” I move my hands up Ryder’s thighs and squeeze again.
“Definitely no discomfort.”
“Very good. Lift your shirt for me, Mister Flórez.” Ryder does as he’s instructed, pulling the hem up with one hand to expose his stomach.
I pick up the stethoscope around my neck and slide my hand up under Ryder’s shirt to place the chest plate against his sternum.
He hisses slightly when it touches his skin.
I hum in a concerned tone. “Your heart rate is elevated. Any thoughts on why that might be happening?”
“I could think of a few reasons,” Ryder says. I take a step back and make a show of looking Ryder over as I take the stethoscope out of my ears.
“Oh, dear, I think I see some swelling in the pelvic area,” I say gravely. “I’ll have to palpate the region.”
Ryder snorts. I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Unless you’d like to stop the examination?”
“No, no… palpate away, Doctor.”
I shoot him one last warning glance, then press a gloved hand between his legs. “Any tenderness here?”
“Hmm, some,” he says, pushing his hips forward into the touch. “My condition sounds pretty serious; you should probably take a closer look.”
I nod in agreement and slide my fingers over the top of Ryder’s waistband, pulling his pants and underwear down just far enough to bring his hardening cock out. I squeeze it gently.
“Definitely some swelling here,” I say, and even though Ryder is clearly holding back a laugh, he’s also hooking his ankle around the back of my thigh to pull me closer.
“What do you think, Doctor?”
I pull off one glove, then the other, then reach over to the counter next to him and fill my palm with two pumps of medical-grade lubricant.
“I’m recommending massage for your treatment,” I tell him, sliding my slick hand down Ryder’s length. “And plenty of physical activity.”
“Yes— ah— yes, Doctor…”
I speed up my movement and watch Ryder’s eyes flutter shut, watch his head tilt back, and I lean forward to brush my lips against the exposed skin on his neck. His left arm slides over my shoulders, pulling me in close, his right hand drifting down my front to fondle me through my clothing.
I moan in his ear, if only because I know the effect it will have, and Ryder quickly slides my trousers out of the way to feel me, skin on skin and heat on heat.
I press in close against him, close enough that the heads of our cocks rub against one another, the intemperate heat of it threatening my self-control.
Ryder groans and wraps his hand around both of us at once, and I thrust into it, moan, thrust again.
The friction of Ryder’s hand on one side combined with the slickness from his cock on the other quickly has me forgetting where we are or which game we’re playing.
Ryder’s breath quickly turns short and urgent, and it isn’t long before he climaxes, bringing me over the edge with him, both of us moaning wordlessly and heedlessly into one another’s mouths.
We take a few seconds to catch our breath before I look down at my lab coat.
“Oh, no,” I say, pointing at the new stain which is highly inappropriate for a medical setting, “looks like I can’t wear this very stylish coat anymore.”
“We have extras,” Ryder says as he wriggles his scrubs back on. “We’ve got enough lab coats that you could go through two or three of them a day.”
“Just how many stains were you planning on making, Mister Flórez?” I ask as I remove my soiled coat and tuck myself back into my trousers.
Ryder opens his mouth to respond, but he’s interrupted by the door to the exam room bursting open as our business manager comes rushing in like the organized tornado she always is.
“Okay,” Nix announces, setting a drink tray from a coffee shop and a massive stack of papers and folders on the counter. “I’ve got an iced Americano for Senán, an iced dirty chai for Ryder, which makes this… my iced oat milk latte.”
She brings her drink up to her lips and freezes, looking around the room for the first time since walking in. She narrows her eyes at the two of us.
“What were you doing before I got here?”
I look at Ryder, who looks extremely guilty and not terribly upset about it.
“Uh…” he says, smiling sheepishly.
“He was long overdue for a physical,” I finish for him.
Nicky sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “For fuck’s sake, you live together!”
“We don’t have doctor costumes at home!” Ryder replies, trying not to laugh.
“Oh, so now it’s a costume?” I ask. “Because a moment ago it was very important professional attire.”
“Whatever,” Nix says as she digs through the pile of paper she brought in with her. “Just make sure you sanitize surfaces before and after. I’m not gonna get shut down because you can’t keep your respective dicks in your pants for eight hours at a time.”
Nicky pulls a manila folder out of the stack and holds it out to me.
It has a name printed on the outside and has been filled so haphazardly that whatever sort of forms are inside threaten to spill out onto the floor.
I stare at it, trying to figure out why Nicky is handing me paperwork of all things. Paperwork is her job, isn’t it?
“Wow, so close,” she says sarcastically after a moment, “You are supposed to stare at it, but you’re supposed to take it out of my hand first.”
“Why? What is it?”
She’s looking at me like I’m trying her patience with blatant stupidity, an expression I’ve grown numb to in the months we’ve been working together. “It’s a medical file,” she says. “That’s why it’s file-shaped and currently resides in a medical facility.”
I take it out of her hand, still confused. “Didn’t think we ought to have files if we haven’t had any patients yet.”
“Oh! Right,” she says, brain switching gears as quick as ever. “Completely forgot to tell you guys. Sorry, it happened over the weekend—”
“Nix,” Ryder cuts in, “I thought you were still sorting out licensing. Where did you get all these files?”
Not one for single-tasking, Nicky walks up to the dry erase board hanging on the outside of the exam room door and begins writing “CLOSED FOR CLEANING” on it as she rattles off her explanation.
“So, I reached out to Charlie at the FWS to tell them we’re trying to open a Cryptid Medical Center, just to figure out first steps, you know?
All of a sudden, half of the agency is calling me nonstop, telling me they have this massive backlog of cases that they’ve been trying to figure out what to do with, all these people asking them where to go for this stuff, and then bing-bang-boom, we’ve got a temp license for practice, granted for ‘emergency circumstances,’ then they sent over all the files they’ve collected that they classified as ‘medical,’ and I spent the weekend calling them up and setting up appointments, so drink your coffee fast because your first patients are in the waiting room now. ”
Nicky picks up her coffee and the remaining files and blusters out of the exam room, conversation evidently finished. Ryder and I stare after her for a few seconds, trying to catch up mentally, then rush down the hall and out into the waiting room of our young medical offices.