1 . Name: Lithe-Fider @ 2011-06-24 22:27

Nitrile Pleasures

This was requested to be reposted by Kumori!

While the medic in here noticeably shares kinks with my OC medic Jaeger Reinhardt (with the gloves and handsy-ness), I leave him a nameless BLU Medic so anyone can enjoy this reading as they imagine fit. Note this fic has Medigun kink too.

This ‘And You’ is gender neutral, and I kept the talking responses of ‘you’ to a minimum so you can imagine yourself in the role.

Also - in honor of Meet the Medic I’ve changed one detail - he performs this procedure minus his medic coat, mmmm dat vest.

...
…

Your stay with Builder’s League has been relativity uneventful besides the assigned work on your docket. You were hired by BLU and shipped out to a supply station base called ‘Well’ to tune up their automatic train systems. According to what you were told; their rival company, Reliable Excavation Division, is vying for the same land and train lines...hence all the noise you hear during the day as hired mercenaries protect what is rightfully BLU’s.

Your tour was nearly over…working in the quiet afternoons while the mercenaries were in their respective bases. Everything was fine; that is until you slipped and bashed your arm on a broken guard rail.

You were told not to interact with the private ‘army’, but you don’t trust the gash along your forearm. You tried to dress the wound yourself but that rail was rusty, you could get an infection. You know there is a team medic; what harm could it do to run in and ask for a quick healing? Both of you work for the same company, after all.

*Knock Knock*

You tentatively rap on the steel infirmary doors. It’s just become dark outside; most of the other mercenaries are asleep or in their quarters.

“Hallo, Wer ist das?” You hear an inquisitive German accent respond, like it is beckoning you to come in.

You open the large doors and peer inside. Sitting at his desk is a sharp looking older man with strong cheekbones, looking charmingly casual in his gray vest and button up, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He grins curiously at you as he glances up from what looks like paperwork, “Mmmm? Who are you?” The medic asks, though he can see the BLU company logo on your uniform.

You don’t give your name but you tell him who you are, and that you are sorry for intruding.

“Nein, kein problem!” The medic waves a hand and gets up, “You vhork for BLU, zhat means I am your medic as vell, ja?”

You nod and pull back your sleeve, showing the wound dressing you did on yourself.

“Vas happened?” He asks, hands coming up like they want to check your injury, perhaps a bit too eagerly. You hold your arm out for him, and explain about the broken, rusty railing. He feels over the wrapped bandage, scrutinizing as you talk, like he isn’t too pleased with what he sees. Dried blood can be seen where it just barely seeped through the white bandages.

You take notice of the gloves he is wearing as he delicately touches you. They are the same blue color and length of the ones you have seen him wearing on the battlefield…but they seem to be a fancy ‘off duty’ version. The gloves are instead made of fine soft suede leather; it’s like butter on your skin as he feels up to the unwrapped part of your exposed wrist.

“Wollen Sie nicht Platz nehmen?,” The medic waves his hand invitingly to an examination table as he pulls away from you and dances over to the supply cabinet. You assume he means to sit down on it, but you hesitate a bit in uncertainty. You sit anyway, and the German looks pleased as he returns, his jackboots making a clear sound against the concrete floor.

There is now a Medigun clipped to his belt, the hose curling around to his medipack which is held by thick suspenders. He must be of good strength to carry the unit around with such ease, despite his obvious older age, made apparent by his graying temples. However, he looks quite distinguished, and you are a little surprised by how attractive it looks on him…or perhaps you are surprised how much you find HIM attractive. He has a charmingly confident and slightly treacherous air about him that you can’t ignore.

“I could feel how varm zie vound vas. If you have an infection ve must clean und disinfect it befoah I heal it vith zie Medigun.” The medic explains as he puts down a tray of supplies with cheerfulness like he’s preparing for afternoon tea.

He stands before you and pulls up on each finger of the perfectly fitting suede gloves. They must be custom made, their seams are so delicate. The man gives a pleased sigh as he slowly pulls each glove off. You watch intently. Moments after, fresh, form fitting nitrile blues are snapped on. You only get a glimpse of his bare fingers, but he indeed lives up to the stereotype of ‘doctor’s hands’, they look pristinely kept.

“Let’s have a look, ja?” He singsongs in an attempted restrained fashion; like he can’t wait to see the wound, but is trying to hide his enthusiasm

The medic unwraps the bandage with a wide, thin smile, like you are an amusing present. He grips your arm, turning the soft underbelly upwards to inspect the wound. He runs two fingers gently down your flesh, straddling the gash. The medical gloves are still dusted with their factory talcum powder; they smoothly glide over your skin.

“You got yourself gute, nicht wahr?” He chuckles.

The older German continues to feel over your arm, all the way down over your wrist, palm, and finger tips. He has a skilled touch, and his inspection feels rather nice, tingly even. It is easing the dull remaining throbbing of the wound as he goes up and down your skin. You don’t protest at his swirling hands, using his finger pads on the down stroke, and the backs on the up stroke. You can feel his nails through the thin nitrile gloves.

He pauses for a moment and you look up at him, as if silently asking why he stopped. A toothy grin crosses his face as he gives you a momentary look like you are guilty of something.

“It iz a little infected…A quick cleaning und zhen I kann Medigun it for you.” He says professionally, but his eyes tell another story.

He gets a warm cloth and washes over the gash. Why must he go so slowly, so purposefully? You begin to feel like he is thoroughly enjoying this. He sees you biting your lip, the wound stings as it’s cleaned out to make way for the topical antibiotic. “Does zhat sting?” He says in a tender, but somehow dangerous tone. The medic strokes a hand up under your chin, like he’s soothing you against the pain.

You can’t help but whimper. How he uses his hands…he is doing something to you. He has to be taking pleasure in getting to touch your exposed, damaged flesh, and making you quiver with every slow stroke. You can feel it through his finger tips and you are falling right into his grasp.

The medic must be able to feel your rising heart beat through your wrist. He strokes your cheek, still cooing to you like you must be suffering as he finishes cleaning the oozing gash.

He picks up the tube of antibiotic, and squeezes a dollop onto his fingertips. He can’t hold back a sigh as he slicks it between his thumb and forefinger before he smoothes the crème onto your flesh. You watch, and he sees in your eyes that you are hungry for more...but don’t want to admit it. He doesn’t miss a beat as he comes in close, as if inspecting how your arm is doing, but he instead slips your index finger between his lips.

The medic sighs against you, furrowing up those lovely eyebrows as he does not stop smoothing his lubed fingers over your arm. He gives your finger multiple tongue backed sucks, like he is enjoying methodically sucking on your digit. He supports your palm with his free hand, using it as an aid as he bobs up and down on you.

All too soon the German slides off you with a soft moan, standing up straight with a wry grin as he trails his other hand off your wound. “Zhat should be gute,” He looks down at his slightly greasy glove where the antibiotic residue sits, his expression reading ‘oh my I’ve made quite a mess...’

The medic rolls off the dirty glove, leaving his right hand exposed to you. You lick your lips and flex your injured arm. You can feel his saliva cooling on your fingers. You press your legs together, guilty of the burning arousal welling up there.

The cool feeling does not last long as the medic soon brings up his Medigun, “Zhat should heal up nicely now,” He says lowly, taking his time as he pets his bare hand over the large top handle of the gently humming device. He can see you wavering, he must know. Instead of opening the healing gun’s valve onto you, he leans in close, and slips his left hand over your thigh, the nitrile blue fingertips slowly making their way to within inches of your groin.

You involuntarily gasp softly and loosen. He takes the opening and nudges the gun barrel between your knees. It splits you like a wedge, making its way up your thighs until the warm mouth is hovering over your crotch as close as it can come for its width. You lean back to accommodate it, you know if you spread yourself wider...it can nestle over you, but you are reeling, and unsure.

“Was willst du?” He whispers huskily in your ear, right before he nibbles on it. The BLU doctor is fully in control now. You whimper under his fingers as they caress up from your thighs to your chest. The gun is held firmly in place by your clenched thighs and his body pressing towards you. With how he is nudging towards you, it’s like the gun wants to go further, and nestle its glowing mouth over your groin.

He forwardly pushes up your shirt, using his gloved hand to flick over your nipples, pinching just enough to make you squirm. His bare hand is like silk over your skin despite its masculine appearance, and it trails right up to your face. The medic pets over your lips, dragging his finger over the moist inner rim as you part them loosely. He starts to nudge inside you with an exploring but dominant index finger.

“AAHHhhh!” The doctor bites his lip and moans out deeply, throwing his head back as you start to suck on him. “Sehr gute!”

He groans against your tongue work, but even as he reels he keeps in control, bobbing his hand against you and adding a second finger as you get his skin moistened. He face fucks you with a steady, slow, pulsing motion, softly moaning all the while. The sounds he is making are driving you crazy. You might as well be sucking him off proper with your face between his legs, with how he is reacting and swaying with you.

Suddenly, the medic jumps up onto the examination table, pressing your back to the steel surface. You yelp in surprise but it is muffled by his hand still in your mouth. The gun comes with you, and you open wider for him as he straddles the gently vibrating Medigun. The bottom handle is off the edge of the table end, so it can still sit flat against you and the steel table. Thankfully, the table is bolted to the floor, or it might have toppled over with both your weights at its far end.

He removes his wet fingers from your mouth, and you are able to gasp fully as he laughs in enjoyment. You feel a rubber-skinned hand trail down between your quivering legs.

“You vant mehr...?” He smirks.

“Mehr...?” You ask.

“More...” He translates then continues, “Beg for me... ‘Bitte Herr Doktor’...”

You writhe as he pleasures you, unzipping your pants to get better access. He moves the gun just long enough so he can strip you of the troublesome garments. That warm mechanical mouth is pressed into your bare flesh now, as well as the cooler metal of the table. As he leans in he pulls on the top handle with a bent back arm, causing just a small stream of blue vapor to leak from it. It tingles against your crotch; it feels incredible!

“B...bitte! Bitte Herr!” You finally wail. You need more!

You notice now he has unzipped his own pants. His erection is pressed against the top barrel of the gun, his ass nestled in front of the large top handle. He hisses as he teabags the device; it tingles against his groin. The wily old German leans over your half undressed body, and caresses up your skin with those talented hands. You moan and he offers you his fingers again. You hungrily take them, licking between every digit webbing and up every fleshy pad.

“AAHHggnn! Gute!” He praises, rocking against the top of the gun, which in turn rocks the Medigun right into your burning crotch. You open a little wider each thrust, until the tingling Medigun is firmly over you like a needy lover. Your legs are spread as wide as they can go.

You grip up around him with your arms for support and writhe your palms into the back of that vest. Your hands are ensnared momentarily by the aroused German as he takes pleasure in your anatomy; he graces them with wet kisses and hearty licks, over your pulsing veins and twitching tendons.

Once he releases you, his free hand dances over your flesh, teasing at your erect nipples. He growls as he starts to lick over your pulsing carotid neck artery, which he exposes by pushing your head back with the hand you are pleasuring. His hip thrusts strengthen in speed and intensity; the front edge of the lower Medigun handle rams against the table edge. He babbles various German into your ears with a husky tone. He must be as on edge as you are, rimming release so precariously.

The BLU medic opens the Medigun valve fully now, causing a swirling outpouring of vapor to explode against you.

Your throbbing arm seals over, the skin stitching together as you are healed. You don’t take much notice; you are too busy crying out into his trembling fingers as your body explodes in orgasm. You feel the medic cry out as he spills his seed over your stomach and the barrel of his Medigun.

...

You’re still trembling as he cleans you both up. The medic looks quite pleased with himself as he puts away his Medigun and washes his lovely hands so he may put his usual gloves back on. A playful, but confident, smirk graces his lips as he looks back at you,

“See? Healed up Schön like I said, ja?”