BoyxBoy One Shots

Playing Nurse

A/N - This is an original one-shot. I pulled it from my noggin. Enjoy.

Warning - Sexual Content. Foul language. Jealousy. Naughty nurses and perverted patients will also come into play.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rick: 35 years old, black shoulder-length hair. 6'3" tall, broad shoulders. Tan, buff (but not disgustingly buff), and hazel eyes.

Tyson: 29 years old, blonde short hair. 5'8" tall, swimmer's body. Brown eyes.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Playing Nurse

Tyson watched as his husband strutted around in his teal scrubs. He strutted, almost like he could feel Tyson's gaze that fell to his ass. He couldn't help it - with those broad shoulders, strong legs and those muscles. Rick 's entire demeanor screamed 'Best Fuck of Your Life.' What pissed him off was that Tyson wasn't the only one who noticed. Girls and guys alike jumped on any opportunity to get Rick's attention.

And he liked it.

It infuriated Tyson when Rick would flirt with a doctor or a patient or a nurse. If Tyson didn't love his job, he'd kill every human that glanced at his husband's ass. Like now. He was currently watching his husband walk with his residents, all of which were drooling at his barely concealed abs.

"Tyson, just stop looking. You know it only makes you madder."

Tyson tore his eyes away to look at Marge, a sixty year-old nurse who treated him like her son. He sighed, "I just hate it, especially how jealous it makes me. And I can't help but stare."

Marge chuckled, "You shouldn't be jealous, sweetie. He does go home with you every night."

"Yeah, but he flirts with everything with a heartbeat everyday," I grumbled. My pager buzzed and I sighed. "That's my cue. See you later, Marge."

He made his way to Room 453. He put on a pair of gloves and walked in. "What seems to be the problem, Mr. Hanson?"

The soldier turned from the TV to look at Tyson, his eyes travelling down his body before stopping at his face. He smirked, "Just wanted to see how you were doing."

Tyson sat at the edge of the bed, "I've told you before, Mr. Hanson, you can only call me when you need me. I don't want to get fired for spending too much time in here."

The soldier smirked, "Not even for me? And I've told you before, call me Peter."

"Ok, Peter. Is that all?" Tyson asked.

"Actually, no. I've been feeling a sharp pain in my upper thigh."

Tyson frowned and stood, slipping his hand under the sheets, "Right here?"

"A little higher, please."

Tyson nodded and slid his hand higher, massage the muscle. At Peter's request, his slid up more until he stiffened, his hand in contact with a sticky substance. Peter smirked and placed his hand surprisingly tight over Tyson's, slowly rocking his hips to get friction for his neglected organ. Tyson stood frozen, shocked and unsure what to do.

At Peter's low moan, Tyson woke up out of his haze and snatched his hand out of his patient's grip. Peter managed to grab Tyson's wrist, pulling him closer to the bed. Tyson frowned, "Mr. Hanson, this is highly inappropriate and can cost me my career. Please, let go."