Disguise, part 5b/?
anonymous
April 21 2011, 03:06:56 UTC
With fifteen minutes left in his shift, John finishes up a few last minute notes and makes sure he knows when he's working next. He straightens up the top of the desk for the doctor who's got the next shift. Doctor Marvel. Rather aptly named, John thinks; the bloke is far too pleased with his own abilities -- oh, how John longs for an opportunity for Sherlock to put him solidly in his place.
Someone knocks and John calls them in, feeling slightly uneasy when he sees Tina. There's something unreadable in her eyes, a fierce aura that glows around her.
"Doctor Watson," she says, carrying a box and a clipboard. The door shuts with a whoosh behind her. "These were just delivered and Doctor Farrell is in with another patient -- can you sign for them?"
"What are they?"
"Vaccines, I believe."
"We've just had a fresh supply recently," John says, frowning. He's certain of it.
"But with the outbreak..." Tina says, her voice lowering.
"Ahh, yes. Alright then." John takes the pen and signs, reaching for the box, but Tina pulls it out of his grasp.
"I'll take care of it, Doctor; you've enough on your plate already."
She shifts and John's mouth dries. He can see her bra peeking out from the top of her uniform: purple, lacy and suggestive. He glances at her breasts and swallows. Not too large; he could fit each perfectly into the palm of his hand, using his fingertips to...
Christ.
Shaking his head, John rises from his chair and intercepts her at the door. "Tina," he says, looking directly up into her eyes. "It's my job. I've got it."
She opens her mouth to argue, but her eyelids soften and she looks down at his lips, then back up to his eyes.
"Are you sure?" she says, her voice a suggestive purr. She takes a step toward him, breathing fruity breath right inside him. John can feel his body tighten.
"I don't mind," she continues, "Doctor. Really, if there's anything I can do for you..."
She's still staring at his mouth. John wets his lips and takes a slow breath. He could. He could cup her arse, lift her up, and press her hard against the door while she gasped into his ear. It would be so easy...
John blinks more than once, steels his mind back into more professional thought paths and gives her a small smile.
"I've got it, Tina. You can go now, thank you."
He sees her glance at the clock, then down to his lips one last time.
"Alright, Doctor," she whispers (and John has no idea if he's ever heard that word sound so dirty), "if you're certain."
"Quite certain."
John doesn't watch her walk out, but lays the box on the desk and examines the label. He slides a finger under the adhesive and opens the box to examine the contents. He's positive they've no need of any new vaccine; one of the other doctors logged in a new supply last week. Frowning, John looks down at the small packaged vials, then up at the open doorway for a long moment. He takes a deep breath and tries to let his mind settle.
Then, of course, the fire alarm sounds.
It pierces his eardrum and he starts badly, almost knocking over the box. But his years as a soldier trained him well and he recovers instantly. John's out of the examination room before he's finished thinking. He guides frightened children and other patients out the front door.
Someone knocks and John calls them in, feeling slightly uneasy when he sees Tina. There's something unreadable in her eyes, a fierce aura that glows around her.
"Doctor Watson," she says, carrying a box and a clipboard. The door shuts with a whoosh behind her. "These were just delivered and Doctor Farrell is in with another patient -- can you sign for them?"
"What are they?"
"Vaccines, I believe."
"We've just had a fresh supply recently," John says, frowning. He's certain of it.
"But with the outbreak..." Tina says, her voice lowering.
"Ahh, yes. Alright then." John takes the pen and signs, reaching for the box, but Tina pulls it out of his grasp.
"I'll take care of it, Doctor; you've enough on your plate already."
She shifts and John's mouth dries. He can see her bra peeking out from the top of her uniform: purple, lacy and suggestive. He glances at her breasts and swallows. Not too large; he could fit each perfectly into the palm of his hand, using his fingertips to...
Christ.
Shaking his head, John rises from his chair and intercepts her at the door. "Tina," he says, looking directly up into her eyes. "It's my job. I've got it."
She opens her mouth to argue, but her eyelids soften and she looks down at his lips, then back up to his eyes.
"Are you sure?" she says, her voice a suggestive purr. She takes a step toward him, breathing fruity breath right inside him. John can feel his body tighten.
"I don't mind," she continues, "Doctor. Really, if there's anything I can do for you..."
She's still staring at his mouth. John wets his lips and takes a slow breath. He could. He could cup her arse, lift her up, and press her hard against the door while she gasped into his ear. It would be so easy...
John blinks more than once, steels his mind back into more professional thought paths and gives her a small smile.
"I've got it, Tina. You can go now, thank you."
He sees her glance at the clock, then down to his lips one last time.
"Alright, Doctor," she whispers (and John has no idea if he's ever heard that word sound so dirty), "if you're certain."
"Quite certain."
John doesn't watch her walk out, but lays the box on the desk and examines the label. He slides a finger under the adhesive and opens the box to examine the contents. He's positive they've no need of any new vaccine; one of the other doctors logged in a new supply last week. Frowning, John looks down at the small packaged vials, then up at the open doorway for a long moment. He takes a deep breath and tries to let his mind settle.
Then, of course, the fire alarm sounds.
It pierces his eardrum and he starts badly, almost knocking over the box. But his years as a soldier trained him well and he recovers instantly. John's out of the examination room before he's finished thinking. He guides frightened children and other patients out the front door.
But there's something wrong; he knows it.
~*~
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