Xander #2
“No,” I said quickly because I didn’t give a shit if someone was gay or not.
I’d served during the Don’t Ask era of the military, but there had been plenty of guys I served with who were an open secret.
Some guys didn’t like it, but they were outnumbered by those like me, not caring where you wanted to stick your dick so long as you did your job and I could trust you to have my back.
All it meant was that my back was being watched for more than one reason.
It was strange to realize he was gay, and obviously had been the whole time.
Not that he’d done anything that suddenly made more sense because I realized he was gay, even though my brain kept trying to make a connection between his sexuality and the memory of him…
well, that didn’t make any sense. The only difference between me catching him doing it when gay instead of straight was that he was thinking about some guy rather than some random woman when I caught him.
So, no, stubborn brain, it didn’t matter; the memory and his sexuality weren’t connected.
“Perfect, then this is the time to test your assertion,” he said with a grin. “I need you to strip.”
I stopped moving. “What?”
“You know, like a dancer. I mean, the act of stripping, you can throw in a little dance if you want, but you don’t seem the type.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You said non-invasive.”
He laughed. “I can’t do anything invasive. But I meant down to your underwear.”
“Why didn’t you say that?”
“Watching your brain short-circuit as you processed a gay man asking you to take your clothes off was funny as hell.”
I growled. “It…it had nothing to do with you being gay. Aren’t you a professional?”
“In theory.”
“Then, in theory, I shouldn’t have to worry that you want me in my underwear for…reasons.”
“In practice as well,” he said, gesturing toward the table. “Underwear and hop up.”
It wouldn’t be the first time I was undressed around another guy, even another gay guy, so it shouldn’t have been a problem.
Except I most definitely felt awkward as I bent down to take off my boots and do as he said, stripping off my clothes in the process and setting them into a semi-neat pile.
To his credit, he barely paid attention as I stripped until I was in my underwear.
Not that I had expected him to stand there and stare at me, drool dribbling out of the corner of his mouth.
Honestly, I didn’t know why I was being so awkward, internally, thank God.
None of it made sense, and I didn’t have the ability or the desire to pry into my skull and figure out what the fuck was wrong with me.
Though if it didn’t sort itself out, I might have to go digging around in my head.
“Thank you,” he said, pushing up from the counter as I got on the exam table. “Don’t worry about anything, just a quick check-up and no big scary needles.”
“I don’t have a problem with needles,” I muttered.
“Sure you don’t,” he said, and I watched him put on a pair of gloves. “Now, how long have you been supposed to be taking the blood pressure meds?”
“You have my file, you know that.”
“Yeah, well, I’m trying to have a conversation while I do this. Unless, of course, you want to sit here in awkward silence while I touch you… for purely professional reasons.”
I eyed him as he took hold of my arm and pulled out the cuff. “You’re really going to make jokes?”
“Sorry,” he said as he began pumping, sticking the stethoscope under the cuff. “Should I stand here with a scowl on my face and grumble? What role would you have to play then?”
“You couldn’t pull it off,” I told him, his thumb pressing into my arm as he held the end of the stethoscope against my skin and his eyes took on that somewhat distant glaze I’d seen on plenty of medical professional faces as they listened to my blood pump.
It was followed by the familiar hiss of it deflating, and the displeased look I’d seen plenty of times before.
He took up his tablet after setting the things aside and then, after a second, turned it to me. “See those numbers?”
“My eyesight is fine,” I told him in annoyance
“Uh-huh, for now,” he said as he turned the tablet back and tapped again.
“With numbers like that, your risk of all sorts of problems, including potential eyesight loss, is on the horizon.
Or, you know, a heart attack or stroke the minute you get stressed out, and let's be honest, you love being stressed out, so maybe, just maybe, start taking the medical advice you were given…and the medication.”
“I do not like being stressed.”
“Then maybe find ways to release some stress.”
“Then I’ll need a new crew.”
“I think anyone you deal with, so long as they’re capable of autonomy and speaking, is going to get on your nerves.
So, what we’re going to do is make some dietary changes because I’ve seen that menu, I know what kind of shit you eat.
You’re also going to find something calming; I don’t care what it is.
Go into town and get laid, take up meditation, casual exercise, nature walks, whatever it takes. ”
I stared at him. “You’re fucking kidding me, I know you’re fucking around.”
“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” he said as he pushed against my stomach, the rough texture of the gloves pulling on the hair there. “Lean back.”
I did so automatically as his hands pressed again and again, working lower until they were just above my hips. His eyes were on my face, but the good-natured humor that was usually there was gone, and instead he was focused. “There’s no pain.”
“I figured,” he said, pulling his hand away, and I realized I was letting out a breath. The warmth of his hands had leached through the gloves, and I could still feel the heat residue left behind.
His movements were perfectly professional as he did all the things I was used to someone doing while they were examining me.
Not for a moment did I believe there was anything but pure professionalism.
And yet, the whole time, I could feel my heart picking up every time he shifted his grip, even if it was to rest his hand on my calf while examining the long scar that ran the length of the right one.
“I can’t make any appointments for you, but see someone about the mole on that calf, next to the scar,” he said as I realized he was kneeling between my legs to examine me. “It’s looking a little funny, and it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“I barely get any sun.”
“And people who have never smoked in their lives can get throat, mouth, and lung cancer. Men can get breast cancer. Shit happens, get it checked.”
“Fine,” I muttered, having no intention of going through the hassle of making an appointment and going all the way to my GP to get a random mole checked. But if it meant he dropped the subject and…got off his knees, I’d agree to whatever it took. “Sure.”
“And I’m sure when I follow up with you in a few months, you’ll lie to my face again and say you’re going to make the appointment soon,” he said, pushing himself up with only his legs.
Only to lose his balance and tip forward. Without thinking, I grabbed him, my hand pressing against his shoulder as my fingers wrapped around the back of his neck to steady him. At the same time he caught himself on my thigh to stay upright.
Eyes wide, he let out a little laugh as he peered up at me. “Keep forgetting that knee doesn’t like to cooperate occasionally.”
I swallowed, trying harder than I should not to notice his head was between my legs, his hand gripping my thigh, mine was on the back of his neck, and I was only wearing underwear.
My only consolation was that it would be weird even if it wasn’t Colin, with whom things had been weird from the start.
The smile on his face faded, and his eyes darted around, as if finally considering what the situation would look like from another perspective.
He licked his lips, and I prayed that was nervous embarrassment rather than anything else, before clearing his throat and getting to his feet.
He flashed me a perfunctory smile, which disappeared quickly as he turned back to his tablet.
“That knee going to be a problem?” I wondered, dropping my hands into my lap. It felt like I was trying to cover myself up, but that was pointless since I’d been on display the whole time and it wasn’t like he was the one who made things weird.
“Nope,” he said, turning to face me, and the normal Colin was back, not a hint of unease or anxiety. “It just doesn’t like me to go from a full crouch all the way up. It got banged up years ago and still works, just can’t move a certain way. Good thing there’s plenty of ways to get off my knees.”
“Right,” I said, sensing the phrasing was innocent and yet weirded out by it all the same. “Am I done being poked and prodded?”
“Why is it that the manliest and grumpiest of men are always the biggest babies with medical stuff?” he asked with a chuckle. “You can get dressed.”
“I am not a big baby.”
“I notice you didn’t argue about manly or grumpy.”
“I’m also not lacking in self-awareness.”
“Or pride.”
I snorted as I grabbed my clothes and pulled them on. “So, what’s the prognosis?”
“Inevitable ER visit until you do what you’re supposed to about that blood pressure,” he said, and the professional sternness had returned.
“Otherwise, you’re a perfectly healthy man of forty-two.
Actually, I’d say that other than the blood pressure, you’re in better shape than most men your age, and probably even my age. Anything I should know?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Anything? Trouble breathing? Difficulty or pain urinating? Random stabbing pains in your organs? Erectile dysfunction?”
My head snapped up. “What?”
He grinned. “There you are, you’re normal and grumpy again.”
“Compared to what?”
“The grumpy you were before.”
“What grumpy was that?”
“Not the normal one.”
“You’ve been here three days, you don’t know what my normal grumpy looks like,” I growled as I yanked my shirt on.