Tap, tap, tap, tap. Eight steps down, turn and eight more. The long July night has come to a close and I flee from my responsibilities. I can hear the elevators running, carrying their cargoes of people from the sixth, the seventh, the tenth floors, and those in between. Others like myself are running down the stairs. I'm following a dark headed man clad in a long lab coat; hand on the rail, feet under the edge galloping down the stairs in counterpoint to my own. Ta-tap ta-tap ta-tap ta-tap.

Down a flight, my feet chasing the doctor in his lab coat as we make our escape. The people in front of him peel from the line and head out the door, aiming for the south parking lot, but we continue down. Ta-tap, ta-tap, tap, tap. He pulls the door open, and the sweet fresh air from outside rushes in, bathing me in its freshness, clearing my nose of the stale sweat smell. I slip a weary hand up over my face, feeling the roughness of the night’s stubble under my fingers.

Holding the door open, he steps to the side, waiting on me to cross to the small landing. His chocolate eyes look tired, despite the run down the stairs. We are leaving after a long twelve hours, and the adrenaline rush that hits us as we race down the stairs doesn't last long. I raise my own drooping eyes to his, lift my lips in something that approaches my normal smile, and open the second door into the coolness of the hospital.

“One good turn deserves another.” I hold the door in my turn for my inadvertent companion. His slightly startled expression betrays his inexperience in that white coat. But he steps through, and his stride pauses just long enough for me to cross and walk beside him. We walk down the halls, no words exchanged, just the rhythmic scrunch of our shoes on the clean linoleum. Our strides match and we walk companionably side by side through the under construction lobby: bright empty walls, painters tape, and warning signs plastered on the temporary walls.

“Every time I come in here, it looks different.” My companion’s first words are not shocking by content. After all, I've said much the same thing myself. Rather it is the silence they break that startles.

“I know. By the time I come back next week, it’ll look completely different. Today’s my Friday.”

“Lucky you. I'm on the next several.”

“John, unit fifty five.”

“Alex. I'm the new hospitalist. I was on fifty five last night. I didn't see you there.”

“I was on the far side; I like to take the vascular patients.”

“Oh.” We continued on in silence across the drive and up the ramp heading towards the parking garage. Our steps still coordinated. Up we walk into bright sunlight that leaves us blinking and blinded as we prepare to part ways.

“Look, I...”

“Hey, why don’t you...” We laugh. Our words mingled like our steps.

“You go first.”

I hesitate, my courage faltering. “No. you go ahead.”

“Why don’t I walk you to your car?”

“I’d like that.” I smile up at him, lips lifting, splitting my face in a genuine smile, not just the polite stuff we show patients and families. His pink lips stand out in his tanned face, and I watch how they expose white teeth in neat rows when he smiles.

He places his hand against my back as we cross the busy street and I can feel the warmth through my thin scrubs against the muscles in my back.

We climb the stairs against the flow of people making their way in for the start of the day, and his hand drops away. Our feet are heavy as we climb, not the same hurried tap as we fled the hospital; this is the slow tread of exhaustion. We have escaped, and now it is the drive home to sleep that we face.

My fingers slide down to touch his and I lead the way up the past rows of empty cars, across oil streaked floor, towards my truck in the back. Exhaust fumes from the lower levels bleed off. All is quiet on this floor. For once I am glad that I stayed late, passing off charge duties to the oncoming shift. It has let the numbers that parked on this floor leave, and the sounds of cars leaving and doors slamming belong on the lower levels, muffled by the concrete floor.

My nerves jangle and my decision falters. My teeth cut into my lip. We are daring much to do this. His career, just starting out. Mine, long established. Nurses, resident;, it’s done, but not in empty parking lots, and not between men.

We reach my truck, deserted in the back of the lot, and I turn, back against the steel side. My fingers trace down the dark stubble of his face, and I lean in to follow fingers with quivering lips.

The rasp of his facial hair against my chin excites me. His hands have run down my back, to the curve of my ass. There they grip, squeezing, holding me tight. His lips on mine are hard, pressing against me, and I open under their assault. Hard muscled tongue slides over mine, invading, thrusting into my mouth. I want to glance about, check for stragglers, but the tongue overrides my thoughts, drives my worries aside.

His lab coat is starched and feels heavy as it slides across the backs of my knuckles. I slide my fingers along his scrubs, the dusty blue ones worn by every resident, down his sides, to the drawstring waist. Tug at his ties, loosening them under his continued assault of my mouth.

Our lips wrestle, his hard, thin, bristled, demanding. Mine push back, not simply giving.

My hand slips under the scrubs, under the jockeys he has on, and wraps around his hard cock. I can feel the throb of my own straining against the front of my pants. I move my hand up his shaft, the skin like soft satin slipping under my fingers. I can feel it move over the hard iron underneath. My hand slides across the tip, wet and slick from precome, and it lubricates my hand as I slide back down the shaft.

My hand slips easier, faster with each stroke. I can feel the twitch of his cock as I tighten my fingers. Slipping my free hand down, I cup the curve of his ass, fingers digging into the muscle. His mouth is still on mine, but somewhere a shift has occurred. Now it’s my tongue that thrusts into his wet cavern, and my lips that have control. I push my tongue in, stroke it along his silky one. His hands have found their way to my scrub top, twisting as they hold, and he moans against my mouth. My hand works along his cock, sliding, squeezing, rhythmic in my ministrations.

I lift my lips from his, and he moans loudly. His head tipping back. Although he’s taller than I am, he’s looking up at me, his knees bent and hips thrusting up into my hand. I pull him tight against me with the hand cradling his buttocks, and lips to his ear whisper, “I want you to come for me Alex.”

He shivers, moans in the back of his throat. Fluid dripping down and gathering in my hand, letting it slide across the surface faster and with greater ease. The vein on the back, a rope under my fingers as I slid along it. My fingers tightening, and releasing, working him in my hand.

His groans are louder, and he pumps his hips into my fist, thrusting hard against me as I drive my hand along his cock. He holds tight to me, hands sliding down to grip my hips, and he thrusts hard, moaning out. I can feel his cock twitch.

“Oh god, oh, oh, oh.” His oh’s in time with each hip thrust, and my hand gathers his warm spunk with each stroke. It slides along his skin, slick and thick. I gather it in my palm, and as his twitches die off, I raise it to my mouth and lick it from my palm: salty, tangy, earthy.

His hands are still tight on my ass, and I tip his chin, meeting his lips again. We kiss, lips brushing softly, not the urgency of before. Tongues mingling, sharing his flavor. My cock hard, presses against his abdomen. We stand like that, lips together, as he slides his hand around, down the waist of my scrubs, fingers grazing my cock, setting it on fire with his touch.

Aching, I move against his hand. The fingers circling me, squeezing, not enough. I want more. Tugging on his starched coat, I urge him to his knees in front of me. He pulls the strings and my scrubs fall to my knees.

I push my bared cock forward, to brush across those pink lips. His tongue runs out and licks at them, then touches my cock. A light lick across the tip, wet, stroking it lightly. His lips close around me as he slides down, hot and wet surrounding me as he sinks down, lips loose and barely touching. He slides down, and I can feel the back of his throat as I sink into him. His lips tighten as he pulls back.

My cock pulls from his mouth, looking pale against the tan of his face. I push forward again. His tongue slides against the backside of my cock, smooth, stroking. My hips are working, rocking against that tight mouth. My fingers are latched into his hair as I assault that mouth. His lips suck and pull at me as I thrust in, plundering, pushing against the back of his throat. I hold tight and feel the squeeze from the sides and the pressure on my head. I ache deep, and can feel the tightening in my balls. They heat and boil, churn. I impale that wet hole, thrusting, my body aching for the sweet release that is building.

His hands slide along my legs, and he strokes my tight balls. I twitch, and shake, a string pulled tight. Then I snap. Grunting, I fill his mouth, hips jerking as my cock twitches in his wet mouth. The boy doctor gulps, swallows, casts his chocolate eyes my way. I see his throat work, as I spasm once more.

Gently, he slides his mouth along my over sensitive member. Licks me gently, tongue stroking lightly, until I am clean. He stands slowly balancing with hands on my hips. I kiss his beautiful pink mouth again, my tongue licking the drop of my cum from the corner of his lip. Fingers stroking along his face, tracing the line of his jaw. We break away, fumble with our drawstrings. The day has brightened; time has moved on while we stood still. I reach out touch his face.

“I have to go home.” His face starts to fall. “No, don't. I don't mean it like that. I want to see you again.”

“Oh. I’d like to see you again, too.” His pink lips are split, showing those white even teeth again. He reaches into his lab coat, and brings out a packet from his pocket, the packets the doctors carry to be able to use the Doppler to hear veins. He tosses it at me. I catch the little packet marked E-Z Lube. “For the next time.”

Thank you to Raven_Star for looking over my little story for me :)

If you are reading this anywhere but on Lush Stories, it has been stolen by thieves who should be left with the crumbs of an empty pan and a house that smells of fresh banana bread.