Work Text:
The cold smoothly covers the bare, pale collarbones. Naturally. The airflow in the room is sucked out by a small awning window. This whole place is a huge block of ice.
Frost always swallows up the dull streets of Blackrock. The wind rushes furiously, buzzing irritably through the drafts. The cold slowly envelops the walls of the room.
It embraces both back and shoulders, making the body temperature more and more unbearable.
Buttons of the white ironed shirt are slowly unfastening.
He always makes sure to wear clean clothes. There is not a single snag or stain on his trousers and jacket.
Doctors are fucking perfectionists in everything.
The scientist hates doctors.
The shirt is neatly hung on the back of a chair.
He wants to get out of bed and crumple the damn fabric. Cut it up, tear it up, and turn it into a shapeless rag that would only be good for mopping floors in his laboratory.
No need to.
The doctor hovers over the scientist, examining his facial features. Or rather, what was once a "face". Now, most of it is a disgusting rotten mixture of a puke-pink hue. Only a long, hypocritical look is recognizable on this once-familiar face. Masochism and principles of a conservative region have turned an annoying but lively profile into this.
Large pink pupils pass over the face hanging above them.
He hasn't changed much in ten years. Except that his facial features began to look a little rougher. Traces of past disagreements remained a stigma on the doctor's face. Instead of a left eye there is a black, ironed bandage.
The Blackrock scientist raises his hand heavily, as if it is pressed down by a steel weight.
He lazily reaches for the bandage on the face opposite. A scar is exposed. Instead of a left eye there is just an ugly seam. It looks so wrong, especially considering that this is the work of Subspace himself.
The bandage is crumpled in his fist before a pale, thin arm lets it slide to the floor.
Medkit's face remains relaxed. His gaze is dazed and unfocused. It is difficult to understand what he is thinking or feeling right now.
Then there is a loud, piercing clap.
The doctor punches Subspace right in the face.
A sharp burning pain on his cheek slowly turns into a sweet tickling pleasure. Heart descends somewhere below the abdomen, the red mark on the skin becoming numb.
The scientist looks questioningly at the face next to him, expecting something more than just a slap.
Medkit gives him a disgusted look. How pathetic does this damn masochist look, now literally begging for a second punch.
Pain. Screams. Blows.
Three things that haunted the doctor all the time he spent in his cursed homeland.
And, of course, partnership with that bastard, whose face draws him into a dreadful nostalgia.
Makes you scream and pull your hair.
Forces you to hate and suffer.
Just ten years ago, Subspace was a real pain-in-the-neck. The scientist wasn't just weird, he was unbearable like a migraine.
Sudden conflicts or fights brought him only fun.
The young scientist enjoys pain. It doesn't matter who experiences it, he himself or someone else. It doesn't matter if it is just a slap or a beating to unconsciousness. He is simply guided by a thirst for strange pleasure.
What did Subspace feel when he took young doctor's eye?
Was his heart bursting out of the chest? Was his pulse racing?
Was he enjoying it? Was he regretting it?
These questions are tormenting Medkit even now.
His former partner was always there for him in every nightmare or panic attack.
His entire existence was full of Subspace. No matter how disgusting it was and no matter how much the doctor denied it, the face next to his always had a significant place in his life.
Significant in all plans
.
Maybe the doctor wouldn't be a doctor in the first place if it wasn't for him.
Whether it is for the better or not.
It doesn't matter.
What matters is what the scientist feels now.
Who would have thought that it could be that good.
Being in someone else's hands.
Feeling someone else's body.
Consciousness narrows down until he forgets his own name. The only thing that remains is a desire for more.
Thoughts are mixed up in this strange bliss, shaping something new and unknown.
He wants to melt into this erratic mess of emotions, warmth and doctor's hands. Body and consciousness merge into one mass. Something more than just delight and euphoria. External sensations cease to exist.
The pain, the taste, the smells, the image in front of him, all mixed together.
He wants it to last forever. It is more than just "good." It is simply impossible to describe the entire seemingly limitless spectre of feelings with one word.
The scientist no longer hates doctors, or rather, he no longer knows if he truly does. He feels his body become a mass in Medkit's hands, obediently bending and squirming.
It is more intoxicating than any alcohol.
The hardest drugs wouldn't bring such an euphoria.
Bliss.
Such intense bliss that he wants to scream and cry. The most pleasant and desirable feeling in his life.
To feel someone else's lips on his own.
To sense the warmth of someone else's body.
To see someone else's marks on his hands and feel them on his neck.
He doesn't know if the doctor had any experience in a love like this. Can this be called love at all?
Maybe.
However, this is probably the last time he sees the doctor. That is why he wants to get the most out of this damn moment. To completely suffocate with love.
And the scientist, surely, will be looking for a way to get it. Of course, it is unlikely to come true.
What is Medkit thinking?
Now, when the scientist is so vulnerable, is the perfect moment to take a steel revolver out of his pocket and put a bullet directly into the Subspace's head.
Or should he grab this fucker by the neck and quickly twist his head, watching the scientist breathing his last?
However, the doctor will think about it much, much later.
Because right now he is like in a haze. Body heat mixes with pure recklessness and the taste of rot.
He is driven by anything but common sense. If he remained rational, he wouldn't be here in the first place. Medkit has no idea what his body is guided by. He simply moves by inertia of his emotions and the sixth sense.
Knowing him, it is insane to even think that he could enjoy the presence of someone who caused him so much pain.
The doctor always tells himself that if this happens again, he will put a gun right in the scientist's mouth and shoot him in his rotten throat.
But for now, he just enjoys looking at the squirming body beneath him. How he squints and bites his lip, overwhelmed with emotions and pleasure.
After all, the fact that it won't happen again is the punishment worse than death.
He probably wouldn't want to do it with anyone else. Not in his right mind, at least. It would be a waste of time.
Their bodies, thoughts, feelings.
All of it mix together.
A process that has no purpose and meaning other than getting pleasure from each other. Even with cold draft blowing through the open window, they feel unbearably hot.
It is kind of funny that the only moment they need each other is framed by something like this.
A very strange but memorable moment of physical love.
Sooner or later everything comes to an end.
They are done with this shameful matter. Heat flows through the bodies, squeezing the last of their strength.
Medkit closes the flimsy window, which didn't stop the airflow from flowing into the room.
He falls on the bed, away from the scientist.
Subspace turns to the other side and asks hoarsely:
"Am I a bad person?"
"Disgusting."
Such a brief, yet accurate answer.