Necessary Medicine

by M. K. York

  Pete gave a rambling toast that had Neil hiding his face in his hand halfway through. The word bootylicious had not been on the Forbidden Word List. It should have been.

  When they cut the cake, they realized, looking at each other helplessly, that neither of them had a clue how to do it. “Damn it, Neil, you’re a surgery attending!” roared Bob Sisk. “Cut the damn cake so we can eat it!”

  They did manage to muddle through that part. The cake was delicious.

  * * *

  When they finally got to their hotel room that night, Eli pulled off his tie, throwing it onto one of the chairs with a groan. “My back is killing me,” he called. They had tickets (first class, nothing but the best for Neil and his knees) for two weeks in Kauai the next day, but they had the rest of the night in a luxury hotel room.

  Neil was already brushing his teeth in the bathroom. “Yours is?” he yelled back. “Who had to dance with all the little kids?”

  “I only volunteered you because you’re such an excellent dancer.”

  “They stood on my feet! They’re heavy!”

  “The pictures are going to be priceless.”

  Neil came back out, shirt collar undone. He was tugging at it, loosening it further. Eli was going to say something else, but the words died on his lips.

  Neil saw him looking and smiled. It was still, after all these months, that same smile he remembered from the day he’d kissed Neil up against his office door—sly and sweet and hot and eager.

  “I bet I could make your back feel better,” Neil said breathily, starting to unbutton his shirt.

  “And how would you do that?” Eli was struggling to pull his own clothes off as fast as he could, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  Neil licked his lower lip, a slow swipe of his tongue. “Maybe I could read to you? Or we could watch that British show with the cooks you like.”

  “You,” said Eli feelingly. “Get over here.”

  Neil laughed, bouncing up onto the bed, landing on his knees, straddling Eli’s lap. He put his arms around Eli.

  “Do you want to fuck me or get fucked?” Neil breathed in his ear, and Eli’s cock jumped.

  “Jesus,” he ground out as Neil ran a finger between his ass cheeks. “Warn me next time.”

  “Fine. What do you want?”

  “I want—” He paused to think about it. “I want you to ride me.”

  “Oh, that sounds nice,” said Neil. He was getting heavy lidded, a slow flush rising up his chest. He finished stripping off his shirt; he was already naked from the waist down, cock hardening.

  “You’ve got the—”

  Neil held the lube up in one hand, tests long since done. “Like a Boy Scout.”

  Eli couldn’t help laughing, but then Neil pushed him back onto the bed and sucked him. Eli’s whole body tensed, and he found himself reaching for Neil’s hair, shoulders, running his hands over him.

  Neil pulled back, mouth wet, lips reddening. He knelt over Eli and slicked up Eli’s cock, and Eli could have watched that for hours, his cock appearing and disappearing through Neil’s fingers.

  But when Neil slowly sank down onto him, he tipped his head back and just breathed through it.

  “I still remember,” Neil said, almost conversationally, his long gorgeous body moving fluidly, “the first time I saw you.”

  “Coffee line,” gasped Eli, digging his fingers into Neil’s hips. “You were—hoodie and jeans—”

  “You remember?” Neil’s voice was wondering, punctuated with panting breaths.

  “Always.” Eli reached for Neil’s cock, starting to stroke him with a tight, slippery grip. “Most beautiful thing—I’d ever seen—Oh, Jesus, I’m going to—”

  He shuddered, starting to come inside Neil, and Neil wrapped his hand around Eli’s and squeezed, shouting as he came too.

  Afterward, Neil held up his hand, then knit his fingers through Eli’s and pulled them up. “Look at those rings,” Neil said, sounding drowsy. “We’re married.”

  Eli hmm’d softly in agreement. “Very handsome rings.”

  “For a couple of very handsome gentlemen.”

  “Oh, very.” Eli laughed out loud as Neil turned to look at him from just a few inches away on the pillow, grinning.

  “You laugh so much,” said Neil, reaching up at an awkward angle, trailing his fingers over Eli’s mouth.

  “What?”

  “You do. You’re always laughing.”

  Eli looked at him, a little crooked smile on his mouth.

  “That’s because you’ve only known me since I met you,” he said, softly.

  Neil didn’t come up with anything to say to that, but it did get Eli another kiss—kisses he’d been thinking about since the first time he’d seen Neil, gorgeous as a stormcloud, in a visible hurry but still polite to the barista, since the first time he’d glanced up in a crowded lecture hall and met Neil’s eyes. Much too young, he’d thought, scolding himself, and when he saw Neil again years later, he’d slipped and given Neil the right to call him Eli instead of being distant, professional Elias. He’d asked to see if Neil would remember him. He’d pretended he didn’t remember, which made sense to him at the time, still thinking inappropriate, even when Neil was looking at him with those extraordinary eyes. He’d watched Neil grow and change through five years of residency—and he’d realized, to his surprise, that he was changing too.

  Neil tipped his head onto Eli’s shoulder and started to doze off. Eli could feel Neil’s grasp on his hand slackening.

  He just watched Neil, feeling the growing heaviness of his own eyelids, thinking, You’ve only known me since I met you, and I’m so glad. I’m so glad I met you.

  * * * * *

  Look for M.K. York’s next book from Carina Press, coming 2017!

  Now available from Carina Press and Sidney Bell

  Released after five years in the system for assault, streetwise Edgar-Allen Church is ready to leave the past behind and finally look to his future. In need of a place to crash, he’s leaning on Miller Quinn. A patient, solidly masculine pillar of strength and support, Miller has always been there for him—except in the one way Church has wanted the most.

  With his staunchly conservative upbringing, Miller has been playing it straight his whole life. Now with Church so close again, it’s getting harder to keep his denial intact. As they fumble their way back to friendship after so many years apart, Miller struggles to find the courage to accept who he really is. What he has with Church could be more than desire—it could be love. But it could also mean trouble.

  Church’s criminal connections are closing in on the both of them, and more than their hearts are at risk. This time, their very lives are on the line.

  Read on for a sneak preview of

  LOOSE CANNON

  On Friday, Miller drove out to Woodbury Residential Treatment Center to pick up Church. There was a loading/unloading zone in front of the main building, but Miller wasn’t sure if he had to go in and sign for the kid or something. In fact, as he drove over a speed bump, peering at the front doors, the only thing he knew for certain was that the sprawl of buildings didn’t look anything like a residence, no matter what the name of the place was.

  Miller guided the truck into a parking spot and turned off the ignition. He was nearly ten minutes early and glad of it, needing a moment to settle his stomach. He had an ugly apology to make, but that didn’t bother him as much as the idea that Church might try to apologize as well. That would be insufferable.

  Or Church might be pissed off. Resentful that he had to depend on someone who’d betrayed his trust. The idea of seeing Church choke down his dislike because Miller was doing him a favor sounded about as pleasant as taking a cheese grater to his skin.

  Miller sighed. This was exactly the kin
d of thing that made him want to live in an igloo on a glacier. Even penguins seemed like too much company at a moment like this.

  Eventually he got out of the truck, only to crash into someone—a guy, bigger than he was, or taller at least. The body against his was lean, little more than bones and sinew and long, flat muscles, obvious beneath his thin T-shirt. Miller took in tough, ropy forearms, a strong throat and dark stubble. His jawline was a knife, his eyes dark and narrowed, and his slightly hooked nose fit the size and shape of his face well enough that he was striking, if not exactly handsome.

  His hands landed on Miller’s arms, steadying him, and there was a weird, stretched moment of recognition and shock as his brain put it together, the delay coming mainly because the most prominent trait of the boy from his memories was that ridiculous mop that spazzed out all over his head, black and thick and coarse, and this boy—this man—had shaved it all off, leaving just enough to give away the color.

  Miller asked blankly, “Church?”

  Those familiar but foreign features quirked into a rueful, wary smile.

  “Yeah.” His voice was deeper too. Miller wasn’t sure how he’d managed to forget that it’d been five years, long enough that Church would’ve changed, would’ve become this startling, shockingly...

  Suddenly they were hugging, he had Church tight against him, firm and strong, and all he could think was that this man might be a stranger in some ways, but his Church was in there somewhere, whole and safe and healthy. He smelled of cheap soap and cigarettes and adult masculinity, more complex than the boy scent he’d had before, something that was Church but also somehow not, and there was a moment of real... There wasn’t a word for it, but Miller’s stomach tightened into a fist at the sensation. He pulled back abruptly.

  “You look good,” Miller managed. “I mean, you look grown-up. Hell, that sounds patronizing, doesn’t it?” He cleared his throat. “You’re taller than me.”

  “Six foot two. Still skinny though.”

  “Not that skinny,” Miller replied, because it was true. But when Miller realized how he’d said it, the back of his neck went hot. Jesus.

  Church rubbed a hand over his buzz cut, looking into the distance, squinting in the sunlight. “You’ve gotta come in and fill out some stuff.”

  “Right.” Miller nodded, grateful for something to do. “Yes.”

  As they walked toward the doors, Miller asked, “So what am I supposed to do here? Am I your...” He stalled out, unsure if friend was the right word.

  “You’re listed as a Prosocial Influence,” Church said. “It’s taken care of. You’re not anyone I’ve gotten into trouble with, you have a job and you don’t have a record, so it was easy to get you approved. They just need you to sign some stuff saying you won’t lie for me or let me deal drugs out of your place or anything like that.”

  “They don’t know you very well, do they?” Then Miller frowned, because the Church he used to know would never get involved with drugs, but this Church could very well be someone entirely different. Miller might not know him any better than they did.

  Don’t miss LOOSE CANNON by Sidney Bell.

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  Copyright © 2017 by Miriam Macrae

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank my editor, Anne Scott, for making this story better, and for helping to develop its emotional core. Also, for convincing me that maybe we didn’t need quite that many commas. I would also like to thank my friend and test reader Nicole, who delicately suggested that perhaps a few minutes of actual happiness would go over well. I would like to thank my spouse, who cooks, thank God, and doesn’t leave me to my own devices, because that is how I end up eating Hot Pockets for a week straight. I would like to acknowledge my Endocrinology professor, whose lustrous, striking silver hair I have borrowed for this story. (His personality, not so much.) I would also like to thank the readers of my fanfiction, whose enthusiastic comments were vastly encouraging to me, especially the more obscene ones.

  Watch for more books from M.K. York and Carina Press, coming soon!

  About the Author

  Michelle K. York is a medical student on the West Coast with a master’s degree in psychology. Necessary Medicine is her debut novel. Previous work includes fanfiction, as well as academic publications on the social perception of sexual orientation and the intersections of sexual orientation and gender identity with patient experience in the medical profession.

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  ISBN-13: 9781488028205

  Necessary Medicine

  Copyright © 2017 by M.K. York

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