by Tara Lain
“Does this hurt?” Dr. Brown pressed against the glands under Bobby’s ears.
“Yes, some.”
“Are you nauseated?”
“I was and barfed my way through last night, but that seems to be somewhat better. I assume I have a fever.”
“Yep. A hundred and one.”
“Just freezing.” He wrapped the afghan tighter. Maybe he could suggest the nice doctor keep him warm?
“Lie down, please.”
Easier said. Two pieces of paper towel didn’t quite do the job—he was, after all, well-hung for a small guy—but he managed to stretch out and still keep his dick undercover. Of course his goose bumps had goose bumps, and he couldn’t stop shaking. The doc took a blanket—not his afghan—and wrapped it around his shoulders, which felt good, then pulled it up above his belly and lowered the paper cover so far his trimmed pubes had to be showing. Oh dear. He hadn’t bleached in the past few days, so his patch might have dark roots.
The doc pressed down on his abdomen. “Hurt?”
“Kind of a full bladder—I waited for a while—but otherwise not too bad. Mostly, I ache all over.” He snuggled the blanket tighter. “And I’m freezing.”
The doc’s strong fingers probed in ticklish places under the edge of the paper cover. Bobby giggled, and Dr. Brown gave him a grin. The tickles zinged through his groin like electric fireflies. Uh, apparently that dick he thought had died and not gone to heaven was springing back to life at a most inconvenient time. Bobby sucked a breath. Down, boy. Still, the pressing of Senor Cockapotamus against the paper cover suggested his enthusiasm wasn’t remaining entirely clandestine. Bobby glanced at the doctor as the paper cover bounced and rose. No change of expression on that handsome face.
Dr. Brown straightened up and looked down at Bobby. “Flu.”
“Uh, I kind of guessed that.” He shifted so his dick wasn’t quite so prominent.
“Yes.” He stripped off his gloves. “But now we’ve ruled out a boatload of other stuff.”
“That’s good, I guess.” He pulled the blanket over him both to keep warm and hide the still not totally flaccid situation. “I was hoping for something you could cure.”
“You in a hurry?”
“Yeah. My brother and I have the chance of a big contract, but I’m the one who usually does the client contact. Leaving human interaction to my brother? Never a good plan.”
“I’ll step out while you get dressed. Then we can discuss how to accelerate recovery, okay?” He smiled. What a sweetie.
Bobby watched Dr. Brown exit the exam room. Hard to tell under the white lab coat, but it appeared his ass stacked up to the rest of the mythical gorgeousness. Wow. What would it be like to have that kind of boyfriend? A doctor. Handsome and kind and—settled. He sighed, slid off the exam table, and hurriedly dragged on his pink sweats, exposing as little bare skin to the air as possible. Wrapping the blanket around him again, he perched on the edge of the table.
A couple of minutes later, Dr. Brown walked back in the room with his eyes wide. “Uh, I gather that’s your brother in the waiting room?”
“Does he look like someone who’s awaiting an imminent attack from the hounds of hell?”
Brown snorted and nodded. “Or perhaps commanding them.”
“That would be Robin.”
“Robin? As in redbreast? That guy? You’re joking. Black crow, maybe, or vampire bat.” He laughed.
“I know.” Bobby shrugged. “My mother always dreamed of naming a child Robin, but my father balked, and they made it through three kids with no Robin. When we were born and she found out she couldn’t have more children, she got her way and produced Robert and Robin. He emerged from the birth canal first, and since I wasn’t born sunny and platinum—” He flipped his hair. “—and Robin didn’t come out with black hair and a black attitude, she mixed us up. Despite the obvious mismatch, he never changed it because our mom loves the name so much.” Bobby curved the side of his mouth. “I tell him he’s the boy wonder.”
“How does he feel about that?”
“He asks if that makes me Batman.”
“Does it?” Brown raised an eyebrow. Hmm. Kind of flirtatious—or serious wishful thinking.
“Every time I get the Bat Signal.” He gazed up at the doctor through his lashes that weren’t even mascaraed because, oh right, he felt like crap. Brown smiled but looked a little uncomfortable. Bobby grabbed a tissue from his pocket as he sneezed. “So give me the bad news. Do I need to drink lots of orange juice and can I put champagne in it?”
“Bad boy. Actually, the orange juice is even worse for you than the champagne.”
“Seriously?” He wiped his drippy nose. “I thought it was packed with vitamin C and other things that are ridiculously good for you.”
“Nope. Way too much sugar. If you want to drink juice at all, it needs to be green.”
Bobby grimaced and stuck out his tongue.
The doc pulled out a pad of paper. “I’m going to give you a prescription for an antiviral. It would have been better if you took it earlier, but it will help prevent your getting worse. I’m also writing down the name of some herbal and homeopathic remedies I want you to take any time in the future you feel even a little under the weather. These are like magic if you take them early enough. If you’re around sick people, you can even take them prophylactically.”
Bobby’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”
Brown flashed that grin. “It means preventively, hence the application to condoms.”
“Ooh, here I thought you were putting me on the pill.”
“I’ll bet you need it.” Brown gave him a sideways glance that sent shivers up his spine, and not from cold.
The doc stood, handed Bobby the prescription and list of witch doctor remedies, and reached out to give him a hand getting off the exam table. The pressure on Bobby’s bicep produced a warm glow—mostly in his balls. Bobby glanced at the doctor’s face and away quickly. “So I’ll bet your wife laughs at all your silly patients’ antics.”
The doc’s expression hovered between a frown and a grin. “I’d never talk about my patients to anyone, and especially not to the wife I don’t have.”
Bobby’s hands waved before he grabbed back the blanket. “Oh, a handsome doctor like you. What’s wrong with the female population?”
Brown gazed at Bobby levelly. “Nothing besides the fact that I’m not interested in females—romantically, that is.”
Holy flaming shit on a cracker! Take a breath, Bobby baby. That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s gay. “I see.” He paused long enough for the doc to elaborate. He didn’t. Damn it.
“Fill that prescription right away. You can do it downstairs in the pharmacy if you don’t have a place you prefer.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you out.” Dr. Brown held the door and waited for Bobby to walk through it. Bobby dropped the blanket and grabbed his afghan back, then went into the hall and dragged his aching body to the lobby.
Robin stood as they came in.
HOLY SHIT, who’s that? The man in the lab coat behind Bobby looked nothing like good old Dr. Brown, the doc who’d made him and Bobby feel so comfortable they’d even confessed their proclivity for three-ways to him and taken his advice on protection. Hell, good old Dr. B. had tested them both for every STD on the planet and a few from Mars about six times. This guy? Not gonna happen.
The man stuck out his hand. “Mr. McMillan, I’m Dr. Brown.” Robin stuck out his hand and felt it swallowed in warmth. “I’ve given your brother an antiviral prescription that needs to be filled right away. Give him lots of clear fluids, not including champagne or fruit juice—” He grinned, and the impact of those white teeth in that honey face made angels weep. “—and make an appointment with my nurse to bring him back in three days. I need to be sure it’s not settling in his lungs. Can do?”
Robin managed a nod.
Dr. Brown smiled. “I believe you’re also a patient and due for
your physical very soon, so I’ll look forward to seeing you. You might want to set up that appointment now also. Good to meet you.” With another mind-altering smile, he left the waiting room—a little duller.
Bobby giggled and whispered, “Never have there been such compensations for being sick.”
“What?” Okay, shake it off. You’ve seen gorgeous men before. Like earlier today. “Come on, let’s make your appointment.” He walked Bobby to the desk, and they set up a time to come back in three days.
The smiley nurse looked at Robin and said, “Did you want to set your appointment now, Mr. McMillan?”
“Uh, no. I don’t know my schedule.”
“Of course. Check your calendar, and we’ll make it when you bring your brother back in. It’s usually best just to set it and get it over with.” She grinned again.
Yeah, well, how did he feel about having that guy fingering his balls? He nodded and put an arm around Bobby to walk him to the door.
“Don’t forget to fill your prescription,” she called.
Robin glanced back and then pushed out the door. In the hall, Bobby fell against him, clutching his chest. For a second Robin thought he was sicker, but Bobby started to laugh, which turned into a cough.
“Come on, man. Take it easy.”
Bobby coughed and snorted. “Sorry. But seriously, did you see that guy?” He fanned a hand in front of his face. “I mean sweeter and hotter than milk chocolate in a cup.”
“What happened to Dr. Brown? Our Dr. Brown, I mean.” Robin felt the crease between his brows getting deeper. He pulled Bobby to the elevator.
“I guess he’s semiretired, and Micah’s taking over a lot of his patients.”
“Micah? That dude?”
“That’s his son. Dr. Brown’s son.” Bobby fell against the wall. “Have you ever seen anything so gorgeous?”
That would be a yes, but that didn’t diminish the dreamy Dr. Brown at all. Still, as a doctor? His doctor? “If Dr. Brown’s semiretired, he must still be seeing patients, right? I can make my appointment with him.”
“Seriously?” The elevator came with a man and a woman already inside, and they stepped on. Bobby hissed, “He’s fantastic. Gentle, sweet, smart. Man, you’ll never get me back to another doctor. Why would you want to?”
Robin shrugged. Not going to say it. Because he thought the new Dr. Brown was just as gorgeous as Bobby did.
Chapter Four
“WHY DO you think she hasn’t called?” Bobby sniffled on the couch as Robin slid on his shoes. Bobby was still snuffling and clutching the afghan, but he’d gotten some pink back in his cheeks.
“Probably because we didn’t get it, dear. Sorry. Bean was there. Remember I told you? They likely gave the contract to him.” Oh, you lying asshole. Why don’t you just tell him? “We need to leave soon for your appointment.” Because I’m a coward, and besides, Bean probably did get it.
“Oh damn, Robin. I wanted it so badly.” Bobby dropped his sweet face into his hand, and Robin considered slashing his wrists with a butter knife. “It would have made your life so much easier. No more slaving over hot stoves. I’m so sorry, baby.”
Oh shit. I’m such a waste of time. “Hey, it’s fine. Great, even. That’s a tough job. This way I can paint more material for the Sawdust, and I imagine Marcelo will hire me back for the summer rush.” Of course, the mural had been a tough job he wanted, and the thought of another summer at Marcelo’s made him a little ill. “Come on. Don’t worry about it. Let’s go see your delicious doctor.”
Bobby smiled softly, but his eyes still looked sad.
As they pulled out of their parking stall behind the apartment, Bobby’s phone rang.
Robin tensed like he had every time either of their phones had rung in the past three days. It seemed like Valerie had tried to spare Bobby the full angst of how completely Robin had insulted their prospective client, but she had to break the news sometime.
Bobby clicked the phone. “Oh, hi, Mama.”
Robin relaxed, more or less, and turned right out the Canyon Road toward Irvine.
“Yes, dear, we’re good. I’ve had a touch of the flu, but Robin took good care of me. Actually, we’re on our way back to the doctor to get a clean bill of health.” He grinned. “I have a very yummy doctor.” He laughed. Somehow Bobby always got away with saying shit like that to their parents. Their Uncle Harold had paved the way.
“No, I’m fine. The doctor just wants to be sure I don’t get a bacterial thing.” He listened and covered the mouthpiece as he sighed, then said, “No, no plans to come home. We’re both so busy in the summer and getting ready for the summer, we can never get away.” He frowned. Their mother excelled at guilt-tripping. “I know we missed Christmas.” He plastered on a smile, as if she could see him. “One of these days, we’ll be big successful artists and will be able to come home whenever we want because we’ll be rolling in commissions.” He laughed.
Robin swallowed. When Bobby’s optimism slopped over into fantasyland, it made him itch. Yes, Laguna had a few very successful artists. Roman made a lot of dough and deserved it, but he painted nude men and sold to rich clients who were either gay or wealthy enough to thumb their noses. Robin and Bobby painted bold, abstract art. Unique but not for everyone. They didn’t starve, but rolling in commissions? Not bloody likely. He let out a soft stream of air. Especially not if the clients meet me.
“I have to go, Mama. We’re almost at the doctor’s.” That was true if you considered fifteen minutes away almost there. “We’ll talk soon, and yes, I’ll discuss a trip home with Robin, I promise. I’ll give him your love. Bye. Love you too.” He hung up. Still staring through the windshield, he said, “Want to talk about a trip to Redwood Valley?”
“Fuck no.”
“That’s what I thought.” But from the corner of his eye, Robin saw Bobby frown. Bobby probably would have visited home a lot, but Robin wouldn’t go and Bobby didn’t want to go without him. He said it made too much of a statement when only one twin arrived. “We’ve got to go one of these days, dear. Shouldn’t we just get it over with before the festivals start? You know, since we probably didn’t get the contract?”
Shit, Bobby didn’t even know how big that guilt trip was. “Maybe.”
Bobby bounced. Definitely feeling better. “Really?”
“We’ll talk about it. Get well first.”
“Oh wow, Mama will be so happy.”
And I’ll be so ill. Robin released his breath slowly. He parked outside the medical building. “I’ll wait here.”
Bobby’s eyes got big—and kind of hurt. “Why?”
“I thought you might not want me hanging around—since you’re so much better.” And since Robin’s balls couldn’t take the exercise they’d get seeing the new improved Dr. Brown.
“Oh, you think Dr. Yummy will believe I have to have my big brother to take care of me?”
“Crossed my mind.”
“Hey, maybe that will convince him I’m a damsel in distress and he needs to ride in on his white Lexus and rescue me from the dark demon.”
“Ah, that would be moi, I assume?” Robin pressed his fingers against his chest.
“Who else?” He grinned.
“Okay, okay, I’ll come play my prince of darkness role. Let’s go.” He opened his door with a quiet, resigned sigh.
When they walked into Dr. Brown’s office, the same smiley nurse looked up. “My, don’t you look better.”
Bobby nodded. “I feel almost like a new man.” He dabbed at his nose.
“Dr. B. will be the judge of that.” She gave him a mock frown followed by a big smile to show she was kidding. “I can take you right back.” She looked at Robin. “We got a couple of new magazines.”
“Thanks.” Robin pulled out his phone and settled into a semicomfortable chair. He checked his email. Nothing from Valerie. Jesus, why didn’t she just put him out of his misery? Maybe if she told Robin directly that they’d lost, he could pass on the official
news to Bobby without confessing his fuckup.
Wonder what the doctor’s telling Bobby? No sex? No booze?
He flipped through his mail, checked the weather, and then stared at the browser screen. Not like he kept a lot of fun social apps on his phone for amusement. Shit. Waste of time. He started typing. Micah Brown, M.D.
He read the online post. Wow. Harvard Medical School. Top of his class. One of the reviews said the patient had been surprised when her longtime doctor had morphed into the young Dr. Brown—she didn’t say handsome, but that was implied—but she felt in very good hands and would be returning to see young Dr. Brown in the future. Robin nodded. Yeah, probably once a week. Under family, the listing mentioned his father, Dr. Isaiah Brown, and his mother, also Dr. Brown, but no wife or kids. A little addition suggested Micah Brown was likely about twenty-seven or -eight.
“Mr. McMillan?”
Robin’s head snapped up. Dr. Brown himself. Be still my foolish cock. “Yeah?”
“May I talk to you in my office?”
Ice slipped down Robin’s spine. Something wrong with Bobby? He jumped out of the chair and followed Brown into the inner sanctum. In the office, Brown closed his door, and Robin perched on the edge of the chair. “What’s wrong?”
Brown sat behind his desk. “Wrong? Nothing.”
“With Bobby? He’s okay?”
“Oh, yes. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. There’s nothing wrong with Bobby. His virus is clearing nicely. He should be completely well in another couple of days. I’d like for you to take some of the herbal remedy I told Bobby about to be sure you don’t get it.”
Robin wanted to punch the doctor—well, maybe after he fucked him. Shit, the man was gorgeous. “I never catch anything. You’re sure he’s okay?”
“Yes. I’m sure.” He smiled gently. “You do take good care of him.”
“Not really.” Robin frowned. Maybe that should be frowned more. “He takes care of me. That’s why I can’t let him get sick.”
Brown chuckled, and the sound vibrated in hidden parts of Robin’s anatomy. The doctor sobered. “Yes, well, he’s still taking care of you. He said you might be reluctant to have a young doctor, or maybe any doctor who’s not my father.”