Their Unholy Alliance

Note: I shouldn't keep doing this to you guys.

I realize 'Their Prequel' is still unfinished, and i'll get to it (swear to god, it's in progress), but this is the order the stories go in: Their Prequel, Their Interlude, and this one is the third installment. Yes, there's going to be another one. Check my user profile for the links.

Please, no one sue me.

I'm sorry.

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Their Unholy Alliance
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Dr. Cox smelled like sex.

J.D had long ago dealt with the fact that his feelings for Dr. Cox were not - and had never been - platonic. What had started out as admiration had turned into hero-worship, and he'd been able to avoid the truth until one night he'd dreamt about Dr. Cox - dreamt about doing things to Dr. Cox. He also would have been able to pass this off as just a weird occurrence if it hadn't been for the fact he'd had an erection following the dream that lasted through a cold shower and withstood the never-fail method of thinking of Dan dancing in his Nana's jammies.

He hadn't been able to shake the thought of Perry Cox's sculpted body reacting to his touch, or the sound of the man's gasps - or the idea of Cox moaning his name, his real name. Not long after that dream, he'd found himself once again staring at Dr. Cox when he realized that it had gone beyond eroticizing the older man - to J.D's dismay, and with a cold chill up his back, he'd realized he had fallen in love with the man who had tortured him every day for the last seven years.

He had also dealt with the fact that nothing would ever - could ever - happen between them. For one, Dr. Cox was possibly the straightest guy J.D had ever met - though J.D himself had been positive of his own heterosexuality for a long time too, so he stood by the idea that he was just Perry-Sexual. For another, he was pretty sure that even if Dr. Cox would consider having anything to do with another human being - nevermind another man - that he, the worshipping, appletini-drinking resident, would be the man's very last choice. In fact, he was sure that Dr. Cox would make out with the Todd before he would lay a hand on his scrawny shoulder.

So he'd settled with admiring from afar, and dealing with his fantasies as best as he could, in the confines of his own shower. He could do it, he'd managed it this long.

But that was what made the situation so troubling; J.D was behaving himself and taking whatever he could get from the attending. He took every girl's name and underhanded comment with intense perkiness, and he was resisting the urge to run his hands down the man's washboard abs - which he could currently see the outline of, under Cox's form fitting black t-shirt. He kept his hands to himself, he consistently stopped himself from blurting out anything stupid and revealing to the attending, avoided standing alone with Cox just so he wouldn't think it was safe to let his eyes linger a little longer.

But Dr. Cox smelled like sex, and one of his curls had loosened enough to hang down against his forehead, and his defined arms were bare - and there was that muscle in Cox's neck, highlighted by flourescent lights -

- the world was unfair.

Suddenly grateful for his loose scrubs, J.D reflected on the fact that this was the fifth time that week he'd gotten a hard-on from looking at a fully-clothed Dr. Cox, and it was only tuesday. He felt what he knew was a ridiculous, unjustified jealousy as he wondered who was lucky enough to have Perry Cox warming their bed. He did his best to shake it off, and just when he was sure he was going to be able to get himself grounded, Cox shifted, and the material of his shirt moved just enough to reveal what was clearly a love-bite.

And another one.

And a third.

On the back of his neck.

Before he could stop it, images were dog-piling into J.D's mind's eye, one after another, and he froze in place, openly gaping at the bigger man. He'd thought he was imagining it, but Cox had been walking a little strange that morning, like maybe he'd badly pulled a muscle -

Or he'd been freshly fucked.

And there was that image again, Dr. Cox gloriously naked; during these fantasies, J.D sometimes liked to imagine making the attending helpless, somehow tying him down and doing things to him. Of course, even in his own head, Dr. Cox never submitted to him, never gave in, and would punish him later and call him girl's names while screwing him like a jackhammer -

"Belinda!"

J.D simultaneously snapped out of it, and felt his erection twitch in response to the man's voice; he shuddered, and prayed the attending hadn't noticed.

"You've been staring at the back of my head for the last ten minutes, Bonnie Bell, so if you really need to know and it'll get those big cow eyes off of me, I use head and shoulders and yes, it is all natural," Cox said, crossing his arms; he took in a breath, and his big, built chest rose up with it, and J.D felt the familiar urge to hug the man's leg like he was a god.

He may as well have been.

You're still staring, J.D. - cut it out. He's gonna think something's up, he's gonna know why you're looking at him, he already knows you worship the ground he walks on. Oh no, he's starting to look worried, he's doing the Hugh Jackman eyebrow-thing - but don't tell him he does that, he hates Hugh Jackman, though Wolverine does that too, maybe he likes Wolverine. He's cocking his head, he's gonna say something, he's gonna - oh no - are his eyes dropping?

J.D felt a chill run through him, and he followed Cox's eyes downwards to where his lab coat was no longer covering, and where there was some very obvious -tenting.

Both of Dr. Cox's eyebrows were raised now, and then they both made eye contact, and J.D flushed furiously; his mind went blank as he fumbled for an excuse, a reason why he was standing in the ICU with a hard-on. J.D was sure he was going to die that day - until Cox spoke:

"Nice shoes there, Newbie, didja get 'em off a Bratz doll? Honest to Christ, it looks like you're wearing something stolen from a four year old girl with colour-blindness."

J.D's eyes dropped even lower, and he looked at his sneakers; what had originally been a plain white pair of sneakers had been covered in sparkles and unicorn stickers, a direct result of thinking he could safely leave them in his locker overnight.

J.D pulled his jacket around himself as he replied:

"Yeah, well, wait'll the Janitor sees what I did to his uniform."

Off in the men's bathroom, the Janitor caught sight of the back of his shirt in the mirror; with a grunt, he tore the piece of paper off.

"'Kick me', huh?"

"Yeah, right across the back." J.D said, looking particularly proud, waving a hand for emphasis.

"Genius." Cox grunted, shaking his head and moving past the resident, leaving J.D to release his breath as a low sigh of relief. He turned his head to watch the doctor go, caught sight of the man's backside, and let out a low groan.

"This is killing me." J.D. said.

-

"This is killing me." Cox said, his head in his hands as he sat at home on his couch that evening. A pair of strong hands landed on his shoulders, long fingers digging into the muscles they found there, hard enough to elicit a moan from the attending.

"So do somethin' about it."

"Oh come on! I've been working with him for seven years, he's spent all of them following me like a lost puppy, but this is the first time he's looked at me like that."

"Nah, you observe but ya don't see."

"And just what the hell is that supposed to mean, Confucius?" Cox asked, moving to look up, but a thumb dug into just the right spot, and he hung his head again, arching up into the touch. He felt breath against his ear,

"It means you haven't seen all the times he's looked at you like that. Trust me, he's spent seven years working with you, but he's wanted to spend all of them working under you."

"Jesus."

"And let's face it - the only reason you didn't push him down onto that empty bed and pound him into the mattress today was for the same reason you fought me - regardless of how much you wanted it. You're afraid of getting hurt all over again."

"Bullshit."

"Hey, for once i'm speaking the truth here, no confabulation, Doc; you've got this thing about your ex-wife -"

"Don't bring Jordan into this."

"What? You're all caught up in the idea that you're gonna get attached to someone and they're gonna skip town, rent a dinghy and make their way to New Mexico to start a life with the one-legged organ harvester they met at an Ohio convention -"

"I get it, I get it!"

"Sorry. Look, point is, sometimes ya need to take a chance. You don't have a problem taking them with everything else, I think your heart can bear it - 'sides, Dorian is kind of a sure thing."

"You think so?" Cox asked, lifting his scotch, swirling it around in the glass and doing his best not to look like he actually gave a damn.

"You brushed shoulders with him two days ago and I think he may have orgasmed."

"You said no more confabulations."

"That wasn't one."

"Huh."

"Anyways, if things don't work out, i'll still be here to spank you until you have trouble sitting."

"Gonna hit you." Cox ground out, and he felt the hands ease up, though one of them stayed lightly in place as the Janitor moved around the couch and slipped beside him, his long arm going across the doctor's shoulders.

"Yup. I think things'll work out nicely."

Cox looked over at the Janitor, who grinned at him; Cox blinked once, and then his eyebrows slowly knitted,

"You're going to torture me now, aren't you?" Cox asked.

"Yup."

And the Janitor suddenly slipped off the couch and onto his knees, forcing Cox's legs open. The attending didn't bother to fight it that time, letting his head drop back, lifting his hips so the other man could pull his scrubs down over his legs.