Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer—not me.
Carlisle made his way up the stairs toward his dark study, intending to fetch the patient files he had stowed home in his briefcase. He was thinking about his in-patient charges, who would be waiting for him tomorrow morning when he started the day shift at the hospital. In particular, he was eager to see Mr. Southerington, a crotchety cardiac post-op, discharged. The old fellow had a talent for making the young nursing assistants cry.
Cracking the heavy door, he was pleasantly surprised when Esme's scent found him before his eyes caught sight of her. She sat primly on his desk, legs crossed at the ankle and dangling off the front. A mellow lamp was glowing in the corner.
"Mrs. Cullen," he greeted courteously, "how nice to see you here."
"Doctor..." she returned with a genuine smile. His eyes traveled her figure rapidly, uncommitted about where to land. Did he want to gaze adoringly into her butterscotch eyes? Bask in her brilliant smile? Or did he want to stare boldly at the suggestive chasm Esme's parted knees revealed just below the hem of her pencil skirt?
"Thank you for agreeing to see me at this late hour," she continued.
Oh, he thought delightedly. She's role-playing. That's something new. Being the dandy gentleman that he was, Carlisle agreed to play along. He only stumbled over his lines at the start. After that, it was an easy game.
"Yes...well, anything at all for my favorite patient. What can I do for you, Mrs. Cullen? How are we feeling today?"
She looked down, feigning embarrassment. "I came to see you because...I have this...little problem..."
"Yes?" He affected a bedside manner that would have made Hippocrates proud: compassionate, concerned, and competent. "Describe the problem for me."
"It's an itch"—she uncrossed her legs fleetingly before recrossing the other way—"inside of me. Deep inside."
"I see. I'm sorry to hear that. Have you tried to treat it yourself?"
She nodded, serious. "Yes. I tried, but I can't reach. It's so deep, Doctor."
"Well, let's see if we can't do something about it, hm?" He crossed over to a wooden armoire in the corner, opened its double doors, and pretended to search. "Deep, you say? In that case, I'll need to perform an in-depth exam. Oh," he clicked his tongue with mock disappointment. "I seem to have run out of patient gowns. Just a moment, and I'll see what I can find." He flashed out of the room and down the hall to a linen closet. He selected a creamy silk sheet and carried it, folded, back into the office.
"Ma'am," he said, offering her the sheet. "I'll step out into the hall. You will need to undress completely. Then you can drape this sheet to cover your body."
"Of course, Doctor. Thank you."
He fled the room and leaned against the closed door. He allowed his giddy grin free reign as he ran a hand through his hair, rubbing and gripping. This certainly beat filling out patient reports. After he heard her settled again, he used the hand in his hair to wipe the smile away.
Inside was the loveliest art he had ever set eyes on. Definitely the finest thing to ever cross his desk. She sat as before, legs slightly open this time. She was nude under the sheet that was tucked in at the arms and tight across her chest. The fabric hung around her hips and over her thighs. Despite the covering, he could see where she was curved. And what the sheet didn't hide... Luminous bare shoulders. Bare legs. Small pointed feet. She resembled a Greek sculpture. Fresh and yet archaic. An Olympian goddess, the way he imagined.
As he approached her accommodating form, he subtly looked over her shoulder, down the wavy loose hair and pale back to the widened base, the top cleft of her backside. She had birthed a child before her change, and so her figure was maternal, more rounded, somehow softer, even if her skin was just as unyielding as Alice's and Rosalie's, who looked more narrow and—well, virginal. Edward had admitted that he was proud of Bella's curvier figure, wider hips, and fuller breasts; Carlisle felt the same about Esme.
Esme blinked and looked up at him through her lashes. Her demure behavior belied her barely covered body, which made her presentation that much more provocative, Carlisle thought. She seemed tame, but he knew underneath the facade was a lusty tigress.
"I have more bad news," Carlisle grimaced. "I'm all out of latex gloves, as well."
She nodded and pretended to consider that. "I want to be cured. Do what you must do."
"It will be invasive."
"I know. I'll be brave. I promise."
With an arm under her knees and another supporting her shoulders, he turned her and laid her sideways on the desktop. Then, moving between her legs, he pushed her feet to rest flat on its surface, knees bent. Her muscles were flexible, the limbs pliable, and she allowed him to manipulate her body, pushing her feet so that her heels almost touched her buttocks, spreading her knees wider. The sheet was already failing to hide her secret parts.
Carlisle moved again to the side and leaned over her. As he slowly pulled the sheet down on top, he explained the procedure. "Mrs. Cullen, I'm going to need to feel these," he said, his smooth voice turning husky, "just to be thorough."
She kept eye contact as he massaged first one breast, then the other. "Your reputation precedes you, Doctor. That's why I insisted on coming to you. The word around town is that you don't miss a thing." Then she closed her eyes and bit her lip to keep from moaning.
"Checked out fine. I'm going to proceed with the rest of the examination."
He knew how to do this part. It never ceased to surprise him, how his own body reacted to the sight of hers, naked and accessible for him.
Moving again to her feet, he began the inspection with his index finger, exploring and opening. When he inserted it, Esme's eyes rolled back into her head, and he used his thumb to circle her clitoris.
As the good physician that he was, he asked the appropriate questions that aid in a diagnosis. Initially Esme was barely able to answer, but she did her best.
"How is that, Mrs. Cullen? Have we reached that itch yet?"
"Not—yet. Keep going, Doctor."
"How is everything in your personal life then? Any stress."
"Very—stressful—yes. My husband...he works a lot."
Oh? He had been working a lot lately. All right then, Esme. Let me have it.
"We have seven teenagers in the house and one small child," Esme blurted out.
"That must be a rambunctious crowd. How do you do it, Mrs. Cullen?"
"It's...a lot of work. My daughter...Rosalie...seems to be going through a phase..."
"Is that right? Tell me about it," he said impassively. He wasn't too keen to discuss the children at that moment.
"She's sassy and bad-tempered. She's been that way for—oh! Mm—um, several decades."
Carlisle had inserted two fingers then.
"And Emmett... He's on my nerves constantly. Edward bickers with Rosalie. Edward bickers with Emmett... Edward bickers with Jasper...and Alice...and Jacob. Rosalie and Jacob at each other's throats... Bella—going—through—rebellious stage... All of them...destructive and smart alecky."
Carlisle let her ramble. It was curious, but she often wanted to chat about her day like this when they made love. It was her time to vent. It took Carlisle years to learn not to take offense, but to realize that it was one of her stranger personality traits.
"It sounds like your husband could do a better job keeping everybody in hand."
"He tries, but it's not an easy job. You see, Doctor, the children are vampires."
"That's shocking. You dear woman! You must be exhausted."
"Well, one is half-vampire and another is a werewolf."
"Well it's no wonder you are experiencing an itch."
She tried to sigh, but it was a more of an expression of need.
"The problem is very...advanced. When was your last exam?" Carlisle inquired.
"I don't remember when."
"It's clearly been neglected in here. I'm afraid I'm going to need to see you in my office every night this week."
"My husband's not going to like that. He demands my company in the evenings."
Carlisle wondered if all gynecologists received such an earful during pelvic exams.
"I don't mean to speak out of turn, but your husband sounds like an arrogant clod. Working all the time and leaving you home alone with eight unruly dependents, then requiring your presence when obviously you are in need of medical attention..."
Carlisle kept his thumb securely on her clitoris while reaching in as far as his fingers would stretch, squeezing and applying firm pressure.
"Oh!" she shrieked. "That's—it—Doctor! Yes! The—itch... Deeper. Uh! You—did—it!"
He stilled himself, smiled gently, and looked modestly down at the carpet while she repossessed herself.
"Never mind my husband. What time do you want me here tomorrow?" she panted.
"I think I have an opening at ten o'clock. But now that we sorted that out, is there anything else troubling you?"
"Well, it's my throat..." she said suggestively.
"All right. I'll take a look. But I should make a confession first."
"What is it, Doctor?"
"I, too, am a vampire."
"Oh," Esme gasped.
"My hands are quite dextrous, my vision is exquisite, but for issues of the mouth, my tongue is the best instrument for diagnosing and treating."
"You're not afraid of my teeth, are you?"
"I assure you, Doctor, I'm quite used to vampire teeth." She beamed.
Carlisle put one knee up on the desk by her side, climbed up to hover over her, and unbuckled his belt. Getting his trousers undone was not easy, due to the swelling inside, but once free, he was ready to finish Esme Cullen's physical exam.
Esme grinned. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage," she said, gesturing toward the sheet that was bunched in spots and slipping in others. "I think it's only fair that we level the playing field." With that, she unbuttoned his shirt, and he helped her slide it off his arms and let it fall to the floor.
While his tongue worked in and around her mouth, twirling and sucking and biting, the doctor's other instrument worked on that persistent itch, plunging in and out. After he had applied his own special injection, using his personalized technique, he gave Esme mouth a more vigorous probing. Then he righted his trousers and offered a hand to his patient, allowing her to sit up.
"What are you doing, Doctor?" she asked, clutching the sheet to her chest. She watched as he fetched a notepad and a fountain pen from his top desk drawer.
"I'm sending you off with a prescription...the cure for your itch." After writing, he tore the paper and handed it to Esme. She looked down and read the note, then looked back up at him, gaping.
"To be taken by mouth daily," he added. She sucked in her breath and resolved to express shock and disapproval, rather than the disbelief and amusement that were trying to surface.
"You may get dressed again. I will see you same time tomorrow. Sharp. Remember, regular screenings are the best preventative measure. It's been a pleasure, Mrs. Cullen," he said with a polite nod.
He turned on his heel and disappeared while Esme reread her prescription, shaking her head and smiling. She picked up his shirt from the floor, shrugged it over her shoulders, and buttoned it up the front.
"Pleasure's all mine, Doctor," she called after him.
Any guesses about what Dr. C. wrote on Esme's prescription? My beta, sisterglitch, says, "A BJ a day, keeps the doctor at (role)play!"
What I wonder is how Carlisle keeps his desk so clean and clear... It's always accessible for any extracurricular activities that involve laying people across it. My desk, I'm afraid, is not so shipshape. I ought to remedy that.