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Summary
He groans hearing the bell to his apartment ring, reeling when he realizes it’s Dottore leaning against the doorway like he’s trying to pick someone up. The taller man has dinner takeout, and a not-so-subtle bag that holds lube and a box of condoms in the other hand.
“What’s a cute thing like you doing alone tonight?” Dottore winks.
Scaramouche resists the urge to slam the door in his face. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The doctor invites himself into Scaramouche’s space like he owns it, hand wrapping smoothly around his waist. “Well, since the hospital so graciously gave you leave, I thought about taking a few days off for myself to keep you company,” he murmurs, trailing kisses down Scaramouche’s neck. “Can I stay?”
Scaramouche kicks the door shut behind him in response.
Dottore is a doctor, Scaramouche is a nurse. To no one's surprise, they're both menaces.