Work Text:
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The steady beat of Peter Benton's heart echoes in the silent operating room, artificially slowed by the steady drip of Propofol into his veins.
Carter feels high.
He never imagined he would get to see his mentor, his idol, so exposed, so vulnerable.
He flicks his eyes up to the nurse, mirth dancing in his eyes, "Shirley?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Would you put on my special music, please?"
"Certainly, Dr. Carter, sir."
He can tell that she’s playing up the act for his benefit, but he doesn't care. All that matters is the unconscious man lying bare on the table before him.
The opening notes of Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries flood the operating room as Carter closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He feels powerful, in control— something he rarely feels in Dr. Benton's presence.
He takes a moment to let his gloved fingers trail along Peter's freshly shaved lower quadrant— index finger nudging the surgical drape lower, to see just how far it was shaved. He grins beneath his mask as he's met with nothing but bare skin, far lower than medically necessary.
Shirley and Dr. Hicks have him pose for pictures around Peter's unconscious body, poking fun at the normally tense and difficult surgeon, left to their mercy. If only they knew what this meant for Carter.
The scalpel feels heavy in his hand, his heart racing as he recites the steps of the procedure; desperate for Dr. Hicks to let him begin. To let him carve.
"Proceed." She releases him, like a trained hound; he certainly feels like one— slavering over the treat dangling in front of his nose.
He shakes his hands out one last time before pressing the ten-blade deep into the flesh of his resident. Feeling how the dermis, fat, obliques, and peritoneum give way beneath his hand.
He's transfixed by the pink, tender insides of the stony man beneath him. Sparing no thought to ettiquette or to his observers, he takes one finger and slides it into the opening he's just created.
Carter holds back a groan. It's so soft, so warm.
He dares to enter a second finger, tugging against the sides of the wound gently, parting the flesh. He fingers along the muscle fibers, running his tip underneath the peritoneum, neatly severed by his blade. He watches the bump of his fingers beneath Peter's skin intently, panting.
Shirley clears her throat, and he sees a pair of retractors enter his vision. He quickly tugs his fingers out and takes the instrument from her, admiring how the traces of blood gleam on his gloves. Gorgeous.
Once the layers of flesh have been properly retracted, Carter tenderly reaches into Peter's exposed abdomen to run his hands along the cecum, feeling the weight in his hands as he repositions it to reveal the appendix.
It's enlarged, easily twice the normal size. A deep, sickly plum color. Beautiful. He squeezes the organ gently between his two fingers, unable to resist the position of power he's been given. He controls Peter's pain. He is the only one who can take it away. This god of a surgeon, fully at Carter's mercy.
Pleasure surges through him at the thought of his resident squirming on the table, awake, and in an indescribable amount of pain, as his little student— the student that Peter has spent this entire rotation neglecting and abusing— squeezes his appendix in measured pulses.
Peter's eyes would be wide, brimming with tears, as he pleads for Carter to stop. That he's hurting him. But Carter wouldn't stop. He'd keep squeezing and pulling until the organ burst between his fingers, desperate for Peter to feel the same agony that he puts John through every day.
When he blinks back to himself, his breathing is labored, and his scrub pants are noticeably tighter. Unfortunately Fortunately, the appendix is sitting in his palm, still intact. He calls for a clamp and gets to work removing the infected organ properly.
Carter doesn't know if he'll ever get the sight of his blade slicing through Dr. Benton's flesh and blood out of his mind. He's separated the appendix and plonked it into a collection tray and has started a purse string stitch to close off the appendiceal base and invert the stump. The procedure is simple, textbook. But he can't help but linger in his movements.
He savors the indelible evidence that Carter was here, that he had been inside Peter Benton.
It's not enough.
"I'm ready to close," he announces.
Dr. Hicks inspects his sutures, "Nice work!"
Carter beams, "Thanks, maybe I'll staple my name into his belly."
The room chuckles like he's joking. He isn't.
"Well, it looks like you have this covered, Dr. Carter. Dr. Doyle, Shirley, would you care to scrub in on the GSW in the OR next door?" Dr. Hicks proposes, and suddenly, Carter is alone.
He looks around furtively before he grabs the camera Shirley was using earlier. He slowly slides two of his fingers in between the crease of Peter's large intestine, pumping them in and out slowly, making sure his gloves are nice and slick. He takes a picture of the lewd sight in front of him.
Not exactly eager to be caught, Carter shoves the developing photo underneath the rest on the tray and swiftly irrigates the surgical field to properly close. He mourns losing access to the most intimate parts of his resident, he wants to crawl inside of his skin so he never has to leave.
He pauses after finishing the final suture, staring at the absorbable Vicryl in his hands. The tape player on the wall flicks over to the next song, Carter hums jovially along, dragging the surgical drape a tad lower to reveal Peter's hip bone.
"Oh, the shark, babe, has such teeth, dear…" he sings, tying off his final suture. He picks the camera up again, resting his left hand on Peter's flank. His little finger pressing meanly into the raw surgical site and his thumb perfectly framing a neat 'JC' stitched above his hip.
"You know when that shark bites with his teeth, babe, scarlet billows start to spread…"
He spends the next week salivating over the pictures from the OR. He'd made sure to swipe them all from the tray, unwilling to let anyone else see Peter like that.
Peter's abused appendix sits in a special jar on his mantel, carefully suspended in formaldehyde he swiped from the autopsy lab. He like to imagine that the impression of his squeezing fingertips has permanently marred the surface.
Sometimes, late at night when he feels the absence of Peter too strongly, he'll take the jar and the photos into his bedroom.
Lying back, he'll replay the surgery in his mind. How it looked, how it felt, how it sounded to be knuckle deep inside of him. Viscera squelching with the movement of his hands. Holding Peter's pain and salvation in between his fingers.
He'll slide his palm down his stomach and into his pants, stroking himself frantically, desperately.
The image of Peter with tears leaking from his eyes, looking up at John as if he's his guardian angel, begging for release, never fails to make him cum.
He makes sure to aim at the jar, watching it slide down the glass in sticky streaks.
A piece of Peter, remaining with Carter, marked by his own hands and seed.
As it should be.
"Dr. Benton! First day back!!" Carter calls as he strides towards Peter, beaming at him.
An animalistic fear flashes in Peter's eyes when he sees him. Though it's gone as quickly as it came, Carter thrills all the same.
Does he know? Has he thought about what I might've done to him while he was under? Does he think about it as much as I do?
"How's the incision healing? Any discharge?" He prods along Peter's hip, too low for his appendix, just to see him squirm away.
"It's fine, Carter." His response is exasperated, almost embarrassed, but not angry. Interesting.
"You know, you really shouldn't be back on your feet for extended periods of time yet. Did you finish that whole course of antibiotics? 'Cause you don't wanna develop a resistance—"
Chuny chimes in from the admit desk, "Hey, you gonna show us your scar, Peter?"
Peter's face falls, panic shooting through him. Carter grins.
"Yeah, come on, let's take a look!" He uses one hand to ruck up Peter's sweater and the other to tug his belt down, just slightly.
Peter jolts, hurriedly tugging his sweater back down. "Carter?! Carter!"
He lets himself be shoved away, but not before he catches a glimpse of pearly pink skin along his hip bone.
'JC'
He catches Peter's eye and smiles at him, slowly. He didn't take the stitches out. He let them scar.
Peter holds his gaze, uncharacteristically shy, cautious.
Carter winks at him before turning on his heel and rushing towards his next patient, heart pounding against his ribs.
A piece of Carter, with Peter Benton, permanently. His resident, his mentor, his. Forever.
As it should be.