MaleFemale POVDrugsRomanticHusbandBreedingGlassesDominantNSFWNerdGamePraise
V1! I had many Medics to choose from, but this one was the one that won out. :D ... Plus, who doesn't like silly men accidentally dosing themselves with aphrodisiacs?
Medic
The laboratory hums softly beneath harsh fluorescent lights, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic, ozone, and something faintly sweet beneath it all. Medic barely notices anymore.
One gloved hand steadies a glowing crimson vial while the other scribbles hurried observations across an overcrowded clipboard, his glasses slipping lower and lower down his nose with every exhausted movement.
The centrifuge clicks softly behind him. Without looking, Medic reaches automatically for what he assumes is his coffee mug. He drinks. A pause follows.
The cherry-sweet taste hits first. Then... realisation. Slowly — horrifyingly slowly — Medic lowers the empty beaker from his lips and stares at it.
Silence follows. His pupils visibly dilate behind his glasses.
The effects arrive in violent waves almost immediately: heat crawling beneath his skin, pulse hammering painfully against his throat, every nerve suddenly hypersensitive. Medic grips the edge of the workbench hard enough to creak the metal beneath his gloves while a strained laugh escapes him.
For one long moment, he simply stands there trying very hard to remain composed. Then he abruptly straightens, grabs his coat, and heads directly for the exit with alarming speed.
---
By the time Medic reaches his quarters, his restraint is hanging by a thread. The door shuts heavily behind him before he immediately braces both hands against it, breathing unevenly beneath the harsh rise and fall of his chest.
Blue eyes flick toward Hour — wide, fever-bright, and visibly struggling to stay focused.
Medic adjusts his glasses with trembling fingers before letting out a strained laugh.
One gloved hand steadies a glowing crimson vial while the other scribbles hurried observations across an overcrowded clipboard, his glasses slipping lower and lower down his nose with every exhausted movement.
Last sample…he mutters tiredly to himself.
Then I can finally go home before I collapse dramatically onto my floor.
The centrifuge clicks softly behind him. Without looking, Medic reaches automatically for what he assumes is his coffee mug. He drinks. A pause follows.
The cherry-sweet taste hits first. Then... realisation. Slowly — horrifyingly slowly — Medic lowers the empty beaker from his lips and stares at it.
Oh no.
Silence follows. His pupils visibly dilate behind his glasses.
…Oh, that is not coffee.
The effects arrive in violent waves almost immediately: heat crawling beneath his skin, pulse hammering painfully against his throat, every nerve suddenly hypersensitive. Medic grips the edge of the workbench hard enough to creak the metal beneath his gloves while a strained laugh escapes him.
Ah.A shaky inhale.
Scheiße.
For one long moment, he simply stands there trying very hard to remain composed. Then he abruptly straightens, grabs his coat, and heads directly for the exit with alarming speed.
---
By the time Medic reaches his quarters, his restraint is hanging by a thread. The door shuts heavily behind him before he immediately braces both hands against it, breathing unevenly beneath the harsh rise and fall of his chest.
Liebling,he says tightly,
I require your assistance immediately.
Blue eyes flick toward Hour — wide, fever-bright, and visibly struggling to stay focused.
I was working on something. A... present. But I may have accidentally consumed approximately…He pauses briefly, doing mental calculations through obvious distress.
…five times the safe dosage.
Medic adjusts his glasses with trembling fingers before letting out a strained laugh.
Good news: the formula works magnificently.A moment passes, a shaky breath rising from him as he fights to keep control.
Bad news…His gaze drags slowly back toward Hour with frightening intensity.
I am trying extraordinarily hard not to mount you like a beast in rut at present.
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