A/N: okay, the actual porn in this fic has been relocated to tumblr to avoid deletion. my URL meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeg(dot)tumblr, you can find my fics under the tag "megan's stuff".
You hate magazines almost as much as you hate American beer. Both are boring and overrated (and enough to kill boners singlehandedly) and often found in places where you can't fuck shit up without being thrown out, like in grocery stores or libraries.
Or doctors' offices. Maybe you should make appointments instead of walking in like this, because half the time the damn doctors're too busy to see the awesome you. Even though you're, like, awesome. As the case is, your iPhone's dead, you forgot your PSP, and you've not even got a Rubik's cube to keep you busy, so instead you're pawing through the glossy magazines on the coffee table and scowling as you wait for the doc to see you.
Hence your inner monologue on how terrible magazines are.
"Gilbert Beilschmidt? Doctor Kaltherzig will see you now," announces one of the receptionists in a crisp British accent. You yawn, standing and stretching your arms up above his head before following the same blonde who called for you (whose name tag reads KIRKLAND, ARTHUR) over to the scale. Arthur takes your weight down on papers clipped to a horridly pink clipboard that looks like something from Toys-R-Us, and leads you into one of the examination rooms, asking the standard questions (headache? Backache? Stomach problems?). He motions to the exam couch in the middle of the room. You swallow, but try to hide your discomfort.
"Prostate exam, eh?" snickers the blonde, shooting a malicious grin at you. "Have fun. I'll send Kaltherzig along." He leaves, closing the door behind him, and you take a seat on the long, thin couch and twiddle your thumbs.
Ludwig Kaltherzig isn't your primary doctor - no, your primary doctor is a well-endowed Ukrainian woman you've known for years and whom you'd never be able to ask to give you this sort of exam. Out of the several dozen doctors in the city, Kaltherzig is one of the few who offer to do prostate exams, and the only German one out of those few. You've got a preference for European doctors, mostly because they're less likely to be invasive and less likely to strike up stupid conversations, so as soon as you saw Doctor Kaltherzig's last name you punched his clinic's address into your iPhone navigator (which killed the damn thing's battery because you forgot the dock charger for your car) and drove off.
The door opens, and you look up. A tall blonde man in a white coat and black slacks steps inside, with the same horridly pink clipboard from earlier in his hands (his large hands, you note with a slight pang of anxiety) before glancing up at you.
He hardly looks a day over twenty five, with light hair (that's not got even a single strand of grey in it despite the fact that he looks like a workaholic) slicked back from his hard, angular face. His eyes, behind expensive-looking square-framed glasses, are clear and calculating, a deep royal blue that bores right through you. His features are so very German, and if he'd been around in Hitler's time he'd have been the poster-boy Aryan. Damn, he's gorgeous, and you gnaw at your lip as he closes the door behind him.
"So, Gilbert?" he says, smiling at you just a tiny bit - like he's not used to the action. That's totally possible, considering his no-nonsense personality. "Seeing that this is your first appointment with me, I'd like to introduce myself. Ludwig Kaltherzig." He extends a hand, and you shake it, wincing slightly at his strong grip.
"Gilbert Beilschmidt," you reply with a smirk. "Good to meet you, doc."
"So, what brings you in here today?" Kaltherzig, leaning against the counter, flips through the papers on the clipboard. "A prostate examination? Is there any specific reason for it? Pain or such?" He has a German accent, a fair bit stronger than yours, that provides a sexy - uh, interesting lilt to his words.
You shake your head. "Nah. I'm not really sure why, but Coach said I should probably get a check-up before tennis season starts. She's a weirdo, though."
Kaltherzig frowns. "Well, there's no real reason for you to get one." He takes his glasses off and sets them on the counter.
"Liz'll flip a bitch if I don't, though," you groan. Liz isn't your coach (thank heavens), but rather your hilariously horny faghag of a roommate who's bent on you taking it up the ass. She's kind of scary.
His frown deepens, but either way he motions to the chair. "Well, then, I'll assume that this is your first prostate exam. Don't worry, it's hardly as bad as people like Arthur would have you believe. You will need to remove all clothing beneath the waist and lean over the examination couch. I'll instruct you what else to do from there."
Sighing, you reach for your belt buckle and undo it, shimmying out of your skinny jeans and slipping off your Converse. After you've gotten out of your deathtrap pants, you fold them up and set them on the counter, wondering if you should've worn boxers today.
A smacking sound draws your attention and you look up in surprise. Kaltherzig's just pulled on a pair of those off-white latex gloves, and he gestures back to the couch. "Right, now you'll need to bend over." You flush as you realize how awkward you must look, standing there totally pantless and staring at the guy. "Just put your hands on the examination couch, and spread your legs."
You grimace and turn around, setting your palms against the paper-covered couch, and bending over it almost completely. "Spread your legs a bit more, so I can see your anus - ah, that's good," says Kaltherzig, smooth voice sending shivers down your spine. "Since this is your first exam, I'll tell you what I'm doing so you're not lost with the procedure." You hear a soft click, and twist around to see the blonde spreading lube over three fingers with a slightly amused expression on his face.
"I'm using lubrication so it's easier on you," explains Kaltherzig, waggling the three gleaming fingers. "And I'm going to put one finger inside now. It'll feel a bit strange, but it won't hurt."
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