Issue 15 - April 2008

Rash Moment by Fiona Glass

Jeff's heart was in his mouth as he sped along the grim green-walled miles of hospital corridor towards the distant ward where Sam was incarcerated.  'Resting comfortably',  the nurse had said when he phoned, but that could mean anything from dozing to half-way dead.  At least Sam should have come round from the anaesthetic by now, and would presumably know whether the op had been a success.  But Jeff hated to see his lover sick, and the thought of him lying there propped up on pillows, pallid and in pain, was almost too much to bear.  He could feel his feet faltering even as the picture took root in his mind.

What if Sam was really ill?  What if the surgeons had failed, and the wonky ribs that had healed all wrong after his motorbike crash were still causing him grief?  By the time Jeff reached the doorway to the ward his heart was racing, his mouth was dry and his hands were sweating so much he was in danger of dropping the daffodils he'd grabbed from a flower stall on the way in.  They'd cost an arm and half a leg - he didn't really want to watch them cascading all over the ugly tiled floor.  He juggled the bouquet, wiped his palm on the seat of his pants, took a deep breath and went in.

His first fears turned out to be unfounded.  He'd had visions of Sam as a helpless invalid, but in fact his lover was sitting up in bed, reading a magazine, with the half-eaten remains of lunch on a tray at his side.  He didn't look particularly ill; in fact if you ignored the rather alarming swathe of bandages across his chest, he didn't look ill at all.  Jeff felt his worry start to fade, to be replaced by something else.

"You're looking well," he said, chucking the flowers onto the tray and giving his lover a peck on the cheek.  "I wasn't sure you'd even be awake."

"I'm fine," said Sam.  "Never felt better.  I was singing when I came round, apparently."

"Gawd."  Considering the noises Sam made in the shower some mornings, perhaps it was as well he'd been spared that.  "I brought you some flowers."

"Yeah.  Thanks."

Jeff felt his mood drop another degree.  Those bloody flowers had been expensive - the least Sam could do was praise them a bit.  "I'll go and find a vase or something."

"Ask Vincent," said Sam.

"Huh?"

"The nurse.  He's been wonderful - he sat with me while I was coming round and didn't even complain about the singing."

"Oh.  Right."  Jeff took an immediate and violent dislike to the absent Vincent.  Anyone who put up with Sam's singing without complaint was either after something, or inhuman.

"He's an angel," Sam added, as if reading his mind.

"Um, yeah.  I'll just go get that vase."  Jeff legged it for the communal washroom, where he found a stack of cheap plastic bottles on a shelf that were obviously meant for flowers.  He grabbed one and half filled it with water, then looked at himself in the mirror and counted to fifty, not liking what he saw.  It was daft to be so annoyed - Sam could hardly help making such a good recovery and it was better than having him lying around in a heap.  It was just... it was just that he'd expected Sam to need him a little more.  Sam was usually the one who cared for him - he'd been looking forward to doing the 'ministering angel' bit for a change.  But now this damned Vincent had beaten him to it.

He took a deep breath, grasped the bottle as though it might escape, and headed back to Sam.  The first thing he saw when he got through the door was his daffodils, resplendently displayed on the windowsill in an enormous glass vase.  "What the-?" he said, brandishing the bottle.  "Where did that come from?  This was all I could find."

"Isn't it fantastic?" said Sam.  "I told you to ask Vincent - he found it for me just after you'd gone.  Your flowers look great now."

"Yeah.  Right.  That's good."  Jeff ground his teeth together and hunted for somewhere unobtrusive to dump the bottle, aware that his dislike of Vincent was rapidly taking on mammoth proportions.  He could only hope that the nurse looked like Quasimodo, or had buck teeth and a squint.

"You'd like Vincent, he's a stunner," said Sam, and shattered yet another illusion.  "I think he's from the Philippines or somewhere, and his eyelashes are about three inches long.  Just wait till you see him."

"I thought you were supposed to be ill," Jeff said sourly.  "You've only just come round from surgery for God's sake.  Can't you leave your willy alone for an hour or two?"

"Takes more than that to stop my willy functioning," said Sam with a leer.  "But you're right, I suppose I do feel a bit sleepy.  And I need my beauty sleep - want to look my best for Vincent.  Do me a favour and ring the bell, would you?"

Jeff felt a scowl start to darken his face.  Far from being a ministering angel, he was reduced to the role of a servant.  He jabbed the call button with an angry finger and hoped the angelic Vincent was tied up elsewhere.  Literally, with a bit of luck.

Thirty seconds later the door opened and a vision entrancing hurried in.  He was small, he was dusky and he was gorgeous, with straight dark hair that dangled appealingly into an enormous pair of spaniel-brown eyes.  And his smile must have measured at least sixty watts.  Jeff felt slightly sick.

"You call?  You feel all right?" said the vision, advancing on the bed with the manner of a mother hen.

Sam gave a pallid smile and looked helpless.  "I'm fine," he said in what Jeff knew was his 'faint but brave' voice.  "Just a bit tired.  Can you help me lie down?"

"Sure," said Vincent, still smiling, and leapt to do Sam's bidding.

Jeff's nausea grew.  He wondered if Vincent smiled all the time - when he was emptying a patient's catheter bag, for instance, or swabbing down a particularly gruesome wound.  He stood aside while Sam was eased onto his back, the covers straightened and the pillows plumped, then watched with incredulity as Vincent laid a comforting hand on the top of Sam's head.

That did it.  Sam's hair was a bone of contention between them.  He had wonderful hair - thick and springy and blond - and Jeff liked nothing better than to run his fingers through it and feel its soft strands against his skin.  Sadly he rarely got the chance, because Sam reckoned he had a sensitive head.  "It makes me shudder," he'd explained once, years ago.  "Feels like rubbing a cat's hair the wrong way."  Jeff had done his best to understand and comply - but here was Vincent touching Sam's hair and Sam hadn't even complained.  A red mist appeared before Jeff's eyes and he had trouble keeping his smile in place while Vincent finished and left.

"That's better," said Sam from the depths of the bed.  "Feel really sleepy.  Think I'll just...."

Jeff saw that his lover was already asleep, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in gentle rhythm and his features relaxed.  It revealed the unnatural pallor of his skin and the dark half-circles under his eyes and in spite of his annoyance Jeff felt himself start to melt.  He loved Sam so much, and longed to hug him and make all the pain go away.  Moving closer to the bed, he leant over and flicked a lock of hair off Sam's face, savouring the forbidden pleasure.  He bent further, and was just about to plant a kiss on Sam's brow when his other half shifted and muttered in his sleep.  "Hmm... mm... mrmm... Vincent."

Jeff shot back as though he'd had boiling steam blown into his face.  What the hell?  How dare Sam be dreaming about that blasted nurse when his own lover was standing right there by his bed?  It was enough to make him walk straight out - unless... unless he could get his own back in some way?  His brain began to tick, and he could feel his eyes gleaming with what Sam called his naughty schoolboy look.  Could he?  Dare he?  Another mumble from Sam convinced him that he could.

He checked to make sure Sam was sleeping peacefully - he didn't want any real harm to come to him, after all.  Squinting round the curtain that surrounded Sam's bed, he waited until the coast was clear, then sneaked out and dashed across the corridor to the women's ward on the other side.  He spent the next few minutes wandering round, trying not to draw too much attention to himself as he gazed at the nurses' lips.  Finally he spotted one that looked just right.  Approaching the nurse in question - a matronly sort - he said, "Excuse me, this is going to sound really weird, but could I borrow your lipstick?  Only my girlfriend," he gestured vaguely towards the other end of the ward, "she's just woken up and she's feeling kind of low."

"Oh, the poor dear, yes of course," said the nurse, and reached into her desk drawer.  "Here you go.  I hope it isn't too bright for her.  I like a nice red myself, but not everyone can wear it."

Privately Jeff thought the nurse shouldn't wear it either, since it made her plump lips look like a plastic sofa.  But for his purposes it was exactly right.  "It's perfect," he said, and thanked her, and ran.

Back at Sam's bedside he peered around until he was certain there was no one else in sight.  Then he flipped aside the bed clothes and Sam's hospital gown to reveal his lover's lower half.  Faced with the object of so many of his desires he almost changed his mind. Only the other night he'd had this cock in his mouth, tongue wrapped lovingly round its bulbous head, lips squeezing tight while Sam closed his eyes and howled.  Two nights before that these plump balls had been slapping him on the rump while Sam fucked him deep and hard over the end of the bed.  Even now he could happily have bent his head and bestowed a kiss on the glistening head, or wrapped his fingers round the shaft and hefted its weight in his hand.  But then Sam muttered again, something that began with a 'v', and he didn't wait to hear another word.  Flipping the lid off the lipstick he picked up Sam's cock and set to work like Michaelangelo on the chapel ceiling.  A red dot here, a red dab there - the key was to put on just enough to convince, otherwise even a groggy Sam would spot the ruse.  Finally he stood back to admire his handiwork.  It looked pretty good, he thought.  Small scarlet lipstick dots stood slightly proud of the wrinkled skin, resembling a nasty rash.  Jeff grinned, gave Sam's cock one last pat and popped it back in its rightful place.

Not a moment too soon.  The movement, or the sudden chill, had roused Sam again, and he opened his eyes and blinked.

"How d'you feel?" said Jeff, crossing his fingers behind his back.

"Better.  But - oh, hell, I need the loo."

"I'll get Vincent to give you a hand.  You'll need some help getting out of bed," said Jeff, and sprang to ring the bell.  He could hardly believe his luck.  Sam might not have noticed anything for ages yet - and he might not have been around when he did.  As it was....  He fought to keep the grin from taking over his face.

The grin shrivelled quickly enough when he saw the nurse who answered his call - the very one he'd borrowed the lipstick from.  She paused for a moment when she saw who it was, and he could see the wheels turning round in her mind.  But then she seemed to shrug, and came into the room.  "Does your, er, friend need some help?"

"Yeah, he needs to go to the bathroom," said Jeff, grateful that she'd chosen not to make a scene.  He could feel his cheeks glowing with a guilty flush.

"No problem," said the nurse, and in two minutes flat she'd coaxed Sam out of bed and was supporting his arm as he took his first faltering steps towards the door.  "Not far now," she added brightly, and began to steer him across the ward.

Sam bore the expression of a man on his way to the electric chair, and Jeff was caught between horror and mirth.  Oh God.  Ohgodohgodohgod.  It would have been good enough if Vincent had come to help, but this was... both better and worse.  Would she guess what he'd done?  Would she give the game away, or play along, or would she be too busy to even see?  He wished he could be a fly on the bathroom wall, but he knew there wouldn't be long to wait.  Any moment now....

The blood-curdling shriek of a creature in pain echoed across the ward, followed by a slamming door.  Seconds later Sam reappeared, his face as white as his bandage, and scrambled back into bed.  Once there he huddled in a heap with the sheet pulled up to his neck, and an expression of such utter misery on his face that Jeff almost lost his nerve.  He was rescued by the nurse.

"Oh there you are.  Please don't run off like that again, Mr Woods.  You might fall and hurt yourself without a nurse."  She turned to Jeff.  "Your friend seems to have had an allergic reaction.  I'll get someone to give him a suppository.  The male nurse, perhaps.  I'm quite sure he won't want any of us women poking about down there.  I wonder if I might have a word outside?"

Now it was Jeff's turn to feel like a condemned man.  Here it came - she would tell him off for sure.  Abandoning the stricken Sam, he followed her outside and prepared for the worst.  Then he saw that her lips were twitching and began to relax.

"I'll have my lipstick back now, if it's all the same with you," she said.

Jeff gave a sheepish grin.  "You knew?"

"I recognise my own lipstick when I see it.  Although I must say it turns up in some very unusual places sometimes."

"Er, yeah."  Jeff shuffled his feet.  "Look, I'm sorry if I've caused any trouble.  But he was being such a pain."

"Oh, don't worry, I've had plenty worse.  You wouldn't believe some of the things that go on here.  The anaesthetic takes away their inhibitions, you know, and some of them get very frisky when they come round."

"Knowing Sam, I can't say I'm surprised.  Er, you said something about a suppository.  He won't have any side effects, will he?  I don't want to hurt him or anything."

Her red lips stretched into a conspiratorial grin.  "The only side effect he'll suffer is embarrassment.  Don't worry, the pills are quite harmless.  We keep them in stock for just this sort of thing.  It'll give him something else besides his libido to think about, though.  Now, about that lipstick...."

"Oh.  Yeah.  Sorry."  Jeff dug around in his pocket and held it out.  "Here."

The nurse looked at it for a while, and then shook her head.  "On second thoughts, keep it.  I really don't like to think where it's been.  And you might need a second application when that one wears off."  And she winked and bustled off.

Jeff grinned at her retreating back, then counted to ten.  He needed to psych himself up to go back in and face his other half, and await the arrival of Vincent with the pill and the rubber gloves....

  The End

© 2005 Fiona Glass

Fiona lives in a pointy Victorian house in Birmingham (UK) with one husband, one visiting cat, several tropical fish and far too many spiders. She's been writing homoerotica for about ten years and had stories published by Torquere Press, Chippewa Publishing, Sultry Heat Publications, Velvet Mafia, and Sigil: Volume 2. Her first novel, Roses in December, a gay paranormal romance, has just been published by Torquere Press. One Degree of Separation, an e-book collection of eight poignant gay love stories, is also available from Torquere.
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