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They were routine surgical procedures, required once every few years to ensure the continued cooperation of biological matter with wire and steel, but it seemed that every time his willing, complacent patient went under the knife, Herr Doktor visited a realm of agony more intense. It was far too much control. The man who manipulated him like a puppet, who wound him around his little finger on a daily basis, who could fling him into an abyss of self-loathing with just a tiny derogatory noise made in the back of his throat…lying before him, prone, helpless. The moment the constant drip from the IV caused those gold eyes to gently shift shut and his breathing to slow to a peaceful, serene pace, the Doktor’s hands began to shake uncontrollably.
Far too beautiful, that expanse of porcelain skin completely unmarred by any of the scars he ought to have, thanks to the hands that one would now never guess were so skilled, not with the way they reflexively grasped at the air and refused to still themselves. He allowed himself to run one finger just a few inches down the Major’s bare torso. A barrier of latex prevented him from making actual contact with the skin that he knew to be like silk. Thin lips pressed together and he tried to will himself to be satisfied with just this. Certainly, it was a privilege only afforded to him to see the man like this, unclothed and vulnerable. And it was only he who was allowed inside.
Drawing in an uneven breath, he tried to steady his nerves and to push away all thoughts but those of a surgeon. The knife, it gleamed at him from the institutionally-clean stainless steel of the nearby table. It comforted him, the mere sight of it reminding him that at the very least, the small man, surreally angelic in his unconsciousness, would bleed exactly the same as every other human.
All his tools were sterilized meticulously. He took far more care when operating on the Major than on any other patient, and not just because of his reverence for the man. His body was a precarious abomination that required constant maintenance for its continued functioning. It was his most beautiful work, but a more delicate piece of art than anyone ever would have known, save the two of them. Never were such things spoken of, they were left to float in the air and weight heavily upon Herr Doktor’s mind while he was trying to work.
But once he made that first incision, suddenly nothing else existed in the universe besides the brilliant bloom of crimson against pale skin. He stared as the blood slowly dribbled down to pool in the divot formed by the Major’s collarbone. If only his mouth were as sanitary a device to remove the fluid as was surgical gauze. He would slide his tongue into that long red furrow, and require no sutures but his own lips. As it stood now, however, gauze would have to do. He could not allow himself to stand and gape while his superior needlessly lost blood.
Now the second incision, straight down the middle of his chest. He could feel the knife scrape against metal where the sternum would have been found in any other person. That had been replaced long ago, as it only obstructed access to the organs protected by his ribcage. The third cut was made parallel to the first, an “I” shape now sliced into Herr Major’s chest. Had he been conscious, he might have found some strange humor in it. But even a man such as himself might not have desired to witness the next step – though it was, perhaps, the Doktor’s favorite part. Delicate skin was peeled back, and put into clamps so that it would not obstruct the procedure. Bruises were inevitable, but he used the utmost care so as to minimize the damage that would occur.
His breath hitched – no matter how many times he performed procedures such as these, seeing within the man he worshipped so never became any less exquisite. Such a strange amalgamation of biology and technology; and the latter all his work. It filled him with such rapture to think that it was his devices the Major carried within him always, that it was his hands that kept such a spectacular creature alive.
Herr Doktor reached for a small silver box that lay amongst his tools, and from it produced a tiny key. This was inserted into a small hole in the center of the metal plate that held Major’s ribs together – most of them were still his original bone, but a few had been shattered so badly on various occasions that they had been replaced. A twist of the key was followed by a series of clicks, and his chest cavity opened slowly – gracefully, like a music box. He was the only man in the world with a hinged ribcage.
The Doktor had not realized how profusely he was sweating until a bead ran down his forehead and into his right eye. He did his best to blink it away, as he could hardly stop now to rub at his face. It was entirely too hot in this laboratory. He would have removed his lab coat if to do so would not have been an unthinkable breach of protocol. And if, in doing so, he would not have had to acknowledge certain other uncomfortable things. He would allow himself just the smallest bit of purchase – momentarily, he ground against the hard steel edge of the operating table. A soft breathless noise gurgled in the back of his throat. Just like the brief caresses, it would never be enough, but there was something beautiful enough now to pull himself away from his own body.
It pulsated with a rhythm that was hard to imagine was anything but eternal. If it were up to the Doktor, it would be. Every time he operated on the Major, more and more of his heart had to be replaced with metal, and yet it never lost its visceral, nearly sensuous nature. Its gentle movements almost made it seem like an entity unto itself. Quite a troublesome one, as it was always his heart that required the most work. The valves had to be cleaned, or their movement would eventually halt after processing so much of the blood that had been tainted with chemicals, antibiotics, and the residue of the terribly decadent food that the same pair of hands that must do this cleaning had supplied it with.
But he reveled in every moment of it. To touch the Major, to be inside of him, was the greatest bliss he could ever hope for. Hunched over so close that had his face been any lower, the tips of his hair would have been bloody, feeling the other man’s warmth emanate up from within him – he could have stayed in this position forever. Were it possible, he would gladly have become one of those mechanisms that kept his magnum opus alive, and sewn himself up inside of him. Then there would be no choice but to submit. He would have no room for these thoughts, these temptations that crept up within him, burning him alive from the inside out.
How he hated himself for them, the way they turned his meticulously scrubbed laboratory into something filthy. But he was not strong enough to resist the euphoric rush, so he was forced to bite his tongue until it bled and attempt to ignore the dull throbbing as he deftly tested each tiny gear, checked for any signs of atrophy, and squirted alcohol into even the most minute of crevasses. Nothing less than perfect was ever acceptable, and only when he was quite certain that perfection had been achieved did he stand back for a moment and draw in a long breath, evidently having previously not attended very well to his need to breathe.
Eyebrows canted upward as he gave one last long glance down at the inside of the Major’s chest, an implacable longing gnawing fiercely within him. So beautiful. His hands threatened to begin shaking once more, so he quickly occupied them by gently closing up the ribcage, turning the key to once more safely seal the man’s heart behind a plate of metal.
The tiny stitches he used to rejoin the skin made his fingers ache even more than the actual procedure itself, but it was a necessary first step in the prevention of any long-term scarring. He could never have allowed that alabaster skin to be marred in such a way. Once the incisions were completely closed, he cleaned off the smears of blood that remained and applied antibiotic cream, after which he all but threw his tools into the tray. The knife that had earlier brought him solace and had been his entranceway to such joy was abandoned as his transcendent state faded away and reality came crashing down hard.
Groaning, he leaned against an adjacent lab table and hastily peeled off his bloody gloves, flinging them onto his tools. Removal of his lab coat revealed that a spot of precome had soaked through his trousers, and he briefly frowned, but this did not stop him from rubbing at himself through the tight fabric. He ran his free hand through his hair, trying to remove some of the sweat that was causing it to stick to his forehead. As he kneaded and pressed against his erection, his eyes remained locked on Herr Major’s prone form. The ravenous void of want within him, with no work left to keep it at bay, threatened to consume.
Surely, just one touch…the man was unconscious, he would never know. Standing up straight, he took a step forward and then leaned down in a jerky, almost mechanical manner, but faltered when he came within a few inches of the other’s skin. He could feel his uneven, nervous breath being reflected back at him. Inhaling deeply, he realized that when he was this close, he could smell the Major even over the sharp chemicals of the laboratory. Aftershave, pomade, old books and gunpowder – he made a choked noise and brought his lips down to the crook of the small man’s soft neck. When he dared to flick his tongue out just slightly, he could taste sweat. Though he desperately wanted to move upwards and kiss him properly, that seemed far too great a liberty to take.
And yet when he pulled away, fearful that if he remained there any longer he would grow too rough and risk leaving a mark, he was filled with notions of liberties far greater. The burning within him, instead of having been appeased by the brief contact, had only grown stronger. With all the painkillers provided to him after surgery, it would be at least a week before Major was fully alert again. It was quite possible that far more than a kiss would go unnoticed.
Once that thought had run through his head, it was as if a fuse had been lit. His entire body was shaking as he approached the drawer in which he kept the medical lubricant, part of him already attempting to devise ways to punish himself for this unspeakably insubordinate act, while another part insisted that this could all be halted at any time and he would never need to bear the guilt. The part of his psyche that was currently the loudest, however, did not even speak in words. It did not need them. It communicated in the heat that coursed through him, the aching between his legs. The insatiable lust that left him all but crippled at just the slightest movement of the Major’s lips, the briefest of touches from one white-gloved hand. It was this part that made him pull open that drawer.
He could not think anymore. Thinking would only complicate the process. Returning to the table, he set down the thick tube and undid his suspenders. As he did not want to cause any damage to the stitches he had spent so much time on, he grabbed Herr Major by his hips and pulled him further down the operating table. It would likely have been a difficult task had the steel surface not been first covered with a sheet that slid easily across it. Then, more gently, he repositioned those hips slightly, caressing one inner thigh as if he were the man’s lover and not the desperately panting, disgraceful perversion that he knew he was.
The Doktor flipped open the tube of lubricant and squeezed a generous amount onto one hand, which still had not ceased its incessant shaking. After completely coating his first two fingers, he reached down to slowly press his index finger into the gloriously beautiful unconscious form before him, and for a moment was certain he was going to faint. Far too hot, far too tight – everything he’d pleasured himself to almost every guilty night since he’d met the man. It was true that in his fantasies, Major was usually awake, but that was why they were fantasies. He knew that this was the best he was ever going to be able to get. And with that in mind, he almost had to wonder why he hadn’t done this sooner.
As he worked his second finger in as carefully as possible, he reached down with his other hand and undid his trousers, sliding them down to the middle of his thin thighs. Though he ached to touch himself once more, he was already beginning to fear the prospect of ejaculating before he had even managed to penetrate the other man. Drawing in frantic breaths, he willed himself to calm down. The hyperventilation made his head swim, and he was at least momentarily distracted by the resulting dizziness.
Long fingers crooked slightly as he stroked them against the now slick flesh in shallow thrusts. His actions were completely pointless, but he wanted to be able to tell himself that he could have made Major enjoy this, no matter how much of a lie it might have been. He only removed his digits after having meticulously covered his erection with lubricant. A moment was spent simply staring, eyes glassy with lust and unfaltering adoration, then he drew in a deep breath and held it as he pushed himself in.
When that air was finally released, it came out as a low moan that became more of a whimper when he had managed to completely bury his cock within the other man. Head bowed, thighs trembling, he bit down on his lower lip as he’d subjected his tongue to so much abuse that he was liable to simply bite through it if he continued much longer. This was the place the Doktor had always truly wanted to be – inside of him. “Oh…mein Gott…” he groaned, and was unsure of whether he was addressing some omniscient being or the man who lay before him. He drew in shaky, uneven breaths as he slowly began to move his hips, knowing it would be impossible for him to last long.
Perhaps he would have preferred that the Major be awake, but this – this was complete control. This was the position that Major was perpetually in when it came to him. Every knowing, satisfied smile, every fleeting glance from golden eyes that laughed derisively, every little remark that he would spend weeks analyzing, every private meeting that was spent silently begging for acknowledgement and approval and physical contact of any kind…all of it had twisted and twisted the spring that was finally released as he came violently into the other man, a shudder wracking his entire body. It was fortunate that he bit down on his hand as he did so, for it caused the three words he sobbed out to be muffled. They were not words he wanted to hear himself say, and he was certain they were not words the Major would have wanted to hear him say, either.