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Ewen Montagu is currently having a horrible start to his week.
He’d woken up at an ungodly hour feeling slightly out of sorts, a little off. A slight pain in his abdomen. He’d tried to brush it off but, he just couldn’t shake the slight feeling of dread. What if. So he’d silently slid out from under Charlie’s arms and padded towards the bathroom, telling himself he needed to take a piss anyways.
His intuition had been right. Unfortunately.
There was blood in his underwear, blood in the toilet. His monthly visitor deciding to come early. He felt a little bit like he maybe wanted to cry.
Not that the alternative of if being late or not arriving at all wouldn’t have been infinitely worse and harder to deal with, but.
He was early by almost a week. And it was Monday. And he could hear the rain smattering on the bathroom window.
“I’m going to kill myself.” He’d muttered as he got himself sorted, and he was certainly grateful he’d thought to stock up last week just in case. G-d knows what he would’ve done if he’d been out. He deliberately avoided looking in the mirror as he washed his hands. Seeing himself in his relaxed sleep state would only make things worse.
When he came back to the bedroom Charlie squinted at him from the bed, face illuminated by the low light from the hallway.
"Ewen?" He asked, sleep slurring his words slightly. "What are you doing up?"
Monty crept back into bed wordlessly, seeking out the comfort of Charlie’s warm embrace and praying that he’d manage to fall asleep before the pain started as he hid his face in Charlie's neck. No such luck.
Low, at first, cramping pain in his abdomen that wrapped around to his back and spread downwards to his thighs. He shifted, gasping a little unsteadily and gritting his teeth when the pain sharpened for a second and it felt like someone had impaled him.
Charlie, maddeningly perceptive as always, winced in sympathy.
"Is it-" he asked. Monty cut him off with a curt "yes." Meaning, "I don't want to talk about it." Charlie held him tighter, rubbing circles into his back.
"Do you want me to-" he started again but Monty once again cut him off with a shake of his head.
"No." He said, tensing when the pain sharpened again. "Just- I just want to sleep. Let's just sleep." He knew he must've sounded very unconvincing, breathing shallowly through it as he was, but asking for Charlie's help meant acknowledging the existence of his body and the way it was personally failing him. "Go to sleep, Charlie."
Charlie relented and let Monty curl up against him while clutching his stomach.
"Just, please tell me if there's anything I can do." Charlie murmured against Monty's hair and Monty sighed.
"I will. Now sleep"
Charlie drifted off quickly, Monty lay there for another hour. Pain running through him.
Eventually he managed to fall back into an uneasy sleep.
He woke up alone to the loud smatter of the rain, the smell of breakfast from the kitchen, and the, now intensified, pain. The slickness between his thighs made him jolt further awake and he steeled himself and hurried off to the bathroom to clean up, before heading out to the kitchen.
"Good morning, Ewen." greeted Charlie, guiding him to sit at the table while he finished making breakfast. "How are you?"
Monty grunted noncommittally in response, trying to disguise the severity of the pain he was still in. Charlie frowned. "Do you need anything?" He inquired gently, and Monty bristled. He couldn't deal with Charlie's kindness, with his gentle care, and silent understanding.
"No, I'm fine." He dismissed, waving away Charlie's concern. "It's just cramps. I've been dealing with them for most of my life."
Charlie continued, slightly misreading cues as he is wont to do. "As much as I know you hate it, at least this is a sign you are of sound health and not, you know." He made a vague gesture, reddening. Anxiety prickled tight beneath Monty's skin, at the reminder that that was at all a possibility. A constant risk. G-d knows they had probably not been as careful as they should. "Right." He said tersely, picking uncomfortably at the breakfast Charlie had set down in front of him. "Baruch Hashem." Despite that he still couldn't find it in him to feel all that grateful.
After breakfast, Monty dressed quickly. He'd wanted to get on with his day as soon as possible, to get a sense of normalcy that could distract from the physical sensations of it all, but just as he was tying his tie the dull pain that had persisted in his abdomen since waking spread further down again, radiating down his inner thighs. He sat down heavily on the bed, putting his head in his hands and groaning in frustration. It all felt so wrong, clothes too tight, rain too loud, pain too sharp, body too- well. Charlie came to stand unsurely in the doorway.
"Are you-" he stopped, wringing his hands together. "Maybe you should see a doctor? If it's this bad, I mean." Monty laughed bitterly, glancing up at Charlie through his hands.
"That's not an option and you know that." Charlie frowned, Monty sighed. "And besides, it's no worse than usual. I'll manage." What doctor would even entertain the idea of- hm. Well. There was always Spilsbury. Sure, he wasn't a doctor but he had a medical degree of sorts. Probably. The man certainly wouldn't mind a little, or a lot, of blood. He might have some sort of experimental painkiller, at the very least. Might even be kind of fun. It was certainly worth some consideration.
"Maybe I will see a doctor." He said, sitting up again. Charlie looked at him, confused. "Who?" He asked. "Is there someone-" He stopped, seeing the look on Monty's face, and blanched. "Oh. Really? But- is that safe?" Monty shrugged. "It's safer than going to an actual doctor. He's discrete." Charlie's mouth became a thin line as his brow furrowed with worry. "But he's not a gynaecologist." Monty flinched slightly, skin prickling at the reminder of the cause of his problems. "No. But he's a friend, and he's been to medical school." Again, probably.
That lead him to the now, sitting uncomfortably in Spilsbury's waiting room. It had continued to rain all throughout the morning and he feels damp and uncomfortable in his rain-wet clothes. The tube ride to Spilsbury's morgue had been horrible and loud. He'd wanted to bike, despite the rain, but the front tire had apparently been punctured. Today was not his day. He checks his watch impatiently. He'd called ahead, inquiring vaguely about insight into some health concerns he'd refused to elaborate on, and the current wait is irritating. Whatever Spilsbury is doing currently can't possibly be more important than him. He chews absentmindedly on his knuckle, trying to distract himself from the pain. A door slams open and Spilsbury's assistants walk out, carrying a gurney haphazardly covered with a large white sheet. One of them turns to address Monty:
"You can go get yourself situated in there, Mister Montagu." she points towards Spilsbury's autopsy room "He'll be with you in just a moment." And then both assistants walk off with their gurney, stopping briefly to adjust the body under the sheet when a pale arm slips out from under it.
Monty enters the autopsy room. It's cold. He heaves himself up on the autopsy table and tries to get comfortable. The pain has lessened, blissfully, into a dull pain in his stomach and thighs. Manageable, for the moment. He sighs, and then the door slams open as Sir Bernard Spilsbury enters the Autopsy Room.
"Good day, Ewen." Spilsbury greets him, moving towards the sink in the corner of the room and peeling off his sticky black gloves. "What brings you here today? You were very vague over the phone." Monty braces himself, trying to gather up the right words and find the least uncomfortable way to share his specific problem. He opens his mouth and is cut off by a sharp gasp as the pain shoots back in full force, forcing him to double over slightly. Spilsbury raises an eyebrow. He leaves the gloves by the sink and approaches Monty silently. Studying his face, in that slightly creepy way that he does. Monty avoids his gaze, trying to regain his composure and dignity. He's having a mild outbreak, which he's sure doesn't go unnoticed.
"You're menstruating." Says Spilsbury and Monty flinches. G-d he hates that word. It's also not a question, Spilsbury has read him correctly and he knows it. Monty sighs. "Right- well- yes. Correct." Spilsbury grins. "Are you in a lot of pain?" He sounds… excited. Intrigued. Monty, breathing shallowly through the now intense cramps, tries to show a brave face. For some reason. He smiles unsteadily. "It's not that bad, Bernard. A nuisance that's-" in, out. "All."
"You're lying."
It catches him off guard and he meets Spilsbury's eyes. Amused, analytical.
"Dysmenorrhea is very common, Ewen, it's nothing to be ashamed of." His tone is just left of mocking. Just a step away from condescending. Monty bristles. "I'm not here for a diagnosis." He snaps. Spilsbury laughs. "No?" He moves in closer. Monty has to lean back slightly when Spilsbury boxes him in on the table, placing his hands on either side of him.
"Why are you here then?"
His gaze flicks down for a fraction of a second. Monty says nothing. Spilsbury licks his lips. "When did it start?" Monty shifts. "Early this morning." A hum. "Do you bleed very heavily, Ewen?" Sigh. "First few days, yes." He hates thinking about this. Hates talking about it. "Does the cramping spread?" Spilsbury's hand moves to grip Monty's thigh. Monty nods. "Yes, to my-" a sharpening pain. He grits his teeth. "My back. And my inner thighs." Spilsbury's hand slips lower, squeezing his inner thigh. "Here?" "Yes." Another hum.
"I'll ask you again. Are you in a lot of pain?" The hold on his thigh doesn't let up. Monty nods. "Yes- yes I am." Spilsbury's grin widens. He pushes in closer, forcing Monty to lean back further. "You're here for pain relief, yes?" Monty nods. "What do you need? Morphine? Or-" another lick of his lips. "Something else?"
Something else. A very nice way of saying are you here for sex. He is here for sex, to be fair. He nods. Spilsbury tilts his head.
"Which one, the first or the second one?" Monty scoffs. "You know very well which one." Spilsbury's grip hardens. "Yes. I do. But I'd like to hear you say it." Silence, for a second. And then. "The second one." Spilsbury nods. "That's what I thought."
His hands move to Monty's braces, slipping them over his shoulders. Monty loosens his tie. After the braces have come down Spilsbury places a hand in the middle of Monty's chest. "Lay back, Ewen." He does, the cold metal of the autopsy table making him shiver slightly when his back hits the surface. "There we are." His hands move to Monty's fly, unbuttoning it swiftly and pulling both trousers and underwear down.
The clothes fall to the floor and leaves Monty's bottom half fully exposed to the cold air of the morgue. "Look at that." Says Spilsbury, moving in closer and forcing Monty's legs further apart as to get a better look. Monty's sure it must look a mess. Spilsbury leans forward to look Monty in the face, his hand moving to swipe through the slickness. His bare hand, an unusual sight, comes back up to his face. Slick with blood. Spilsbury maintains searing eye contact as he puts his fingers in his mouth and licks them clean.
"You know, Ewen, I've been meaning to up my iron intake." He grins, hand moving downwards again. His thumb presses circles on Monty's cock, spreading the slick blood up into the patch of hair around it. "Now my good man, you'd best push your shirt up if you don't want it stained. I would take it off of you but-" he waves his bloody fingers at Monty. "Don't think I'd be much of help." Monty gathers up his shirt as best he can and pulls it up to his chest.
Spilsbury moves in with a predatory precision and places his mouth over Monty's cock. He sucks and Monty's hips buck briefly. Spilsbury's hand comes up and pushes his hips down, smearing blood over his hip and outer thigh. He continues his onslaught, circling Monty's cock with his tongue and grazing him with his teeth and causing Monty to gasp sharply. His free hand flies down and, after knocking the hat off his head, buries itself in Spilsbury's hair to keep him in place. "Right there." He grits out, hips jerking when Spilsbury redoubles his efforts.
Spilsbury moves downwards, free hand coming back up to rub at Monty's cock, and licks decadently through the slick blood. He groans as he eats Monty out with abandon, tongue prodding in deeply. Monty gasps and moans and pulls roughly at Spilsbury's hair, the pleasure mixing with the still constant pain and creating a sensation that sends him flying upwards.
He comes embarrassingly quickly when Spilsbury, still circling his cock with his fingers, grazes his folds with his teeth. He snaps over the threshold, holding Spilsbury's face down and working through it on his tongue. Then he goes slack. Legs shivering. The pain, that had receded during the peak of the orgasm, creeping back. Spilsbury comes back up from between Monty's legs, looking like he's been involved in a terrible and bloody accident. He grins at Monty. His teeth are bloody, as is most of his lower face.
"Good?" He asks. Monty nods, tensing when a new wave of pain hits him. Spilsbury tuts. "Well, still not enough it seems." His hand threads playfully through Monty's wet pubic hair. "We can't have that." The hand moves downwards, prodding at Monty's entrance. Asking. Monty provides no resistance, letting Spilsbury bury two long fingers in him. His bloody hands smears more blood over his hips and thighs, smirking when Monty's breathing quickens when he scissors his fingers. He licks his other hand clean again, sucking the blood off his fingers with a low moan.
"You know, I could get rid of this for you." He caresses Monty's lower abdomen with his free hand, all the while starting to pump his fingers in and out of Monty. Monty gasps unsteadily. "Wh- what do you mean?" He says. Spilsbury draws a straight line in blood across Monty's abdomen.
"Your uterus."
Monty tenses, the word filling him with that jarring sensation of unease and wrongness. Spilsbury curls his fingers, pulling Monty out from his head with a short whimper. "Don't get lost in the anatomical words, Ewen. Words are just words." His hand spreads out to cover the line, pressing down slightly. "There are many ways to get this removed. Partially and fully. It's not a simple operation, but I'd gladly do it." His eyes glitter with intensity as he leans forward further. "Nothing would make me happier than the chance to add your uterus to my collection, even just a part of it." He inserts a third finger, curling them abruptly to make Monty whimper again. "How- mhn- how would you do it?" Monty asks, the surgery talk doing… something to him.
Spilsbury straightens slightly, fingering Monty with more intensity as he launches into an explanation. He reaches his free hand down under the table and comes back with a scalpel that Monty knows very well. The back of it is cold against the skin of his abdomen.
"I'd start with an incision here." The scalpel follows the smudged line of blood. "Open you up." He ups his pace, Monty's hands grip Spilsbury's upper arms desperately. "And then?" Spilsbury licks his lips. "And then it would depend on the procedure." The scalpel and Spilsbury's fingers still as Spilsbury thinks. Monty squirms impatiently, gasping when Spilsbury pushes his hips back down again.
"Eager, are you?" He says, resuming the fingering. "Now, let's say I do a full hysterectomy. That would entail the full removal of the entire uterus as well as the cervix." He trails the scalpel in a vaguely round shape. Presumably tracing where the organ is. "It would be the ideal operation, in my opinion." Spilsbury sounds breathless and Monty glances down at the coroner's lower body as best he can, confirming his suspicions that the other man is straining against the fabric of his trousers. Visible even through the leather apron. "I would like to keep the organ in one piece, preferably." The scalpel trails downward to circle Monty's cock briefly before trailing upwards again.
"The uterus and the cervix would be removed through the abdominal incision," he presses the the back of the scalpel down briefly on Monty's abdomen. "You would have to be unconscious I'm afraid, it's far too invasive a procedure to be done awake." He curls his fingers again to wind Monty up more before quickening the pace of the fingering. Monty's fingers dig in harder into the flesh of Spilsbury's arms as he moans. "Is it dangerous?" He gasps and Spilsbury chuckles. "There is certainly a risk of complications. Long recovery time, for one." Monty's thighs and abdomen is completely smeared in dark blood and Spilsbury leans down to lick through it. "But you'd never have to deal with this again." he gestures towards the blood. Monty shivers, hips bucking as Spilsbury leans down to start licking him again. His hands retake their grip in Spilsbury's hair and he throws his head back when Spilsbury's tongue joins his fingers for a second before moving back up to suck and lick at his cock.
The second orgasm slams into him with a force that has him crying out and this time he pushes Spilsbury's face away from his crotch when he's come down, overstimulated. Monty watches through the haze as Spilsbury swipes his hand through the blood and reaches behind his apron to open up his fly and frees his own hard cock. Spilsbury jerks himself off quickly and efficiently, using Monty's blood to ease the friction, and comes into his hand with a grunt.
The two assistants materialise beside him , seemingly out of thin air, with towels and water, handing Spilsbury one for his hands and face before tending to the mess that is Monty's lower half. They wipe down Monty's stomach and thighs in a surprisingly gentle manner and one of them, after inquiring about Monty's preferences, runs off to get him some Kotex. Spilsbury moves back to the sink and his abandoned gloves to thoroughly wash his hands end his face. There's nevertheless still a faint pink stain over his chin afterwards.
"Right, Ewen." says Spilsbury once he's cleaned up. "I was serious about the hysterectomy. Call me up if you're interested and I can get you in for a surgical consultation." He smiles, all teeth. "It would look splendid on the shelf next to your breast tissue."
Monty laughs, still a little unsteady on his feet as he tries to button up his fly. "I'll certainly think about it." He pulls his braces up and starts to retie his tie. "In any case you've made a very compelling argument." The assistants leave and Spilsbury waves Monty out of the autopsy room, he's got another appointment in five.
It's still raining heavily when Monty walks out on the street again. He hurries down the street to the underground and endures the loud and damp commute home. Dull pain still very much present and radiating. When he arrives home he stands in the hallway for a minute, breathing through the irritation that has been building inside of him again. The wet rain and loud underground and the pain and the body and he is spiralling a little bit again.
"Ewen?" Charlie calls from the living room, snapping him out of it.
"Yeah." He answers, kicking off his shoes and hanging up his wet coat. "Still alive. Spilsbury hasn't killed me yet." Charlie comes to stand in the doorway, looking at him softly. "Did it help?" Monty nods. "Yes." He greets Charlie with a kiss and then hesitates. Sharp pain. He grimaces, pushes through his pride. "Still feel horrible though." Charlie hums. "A shower might help?"
A shower does help. A hot and long one. He cleans off the last of the blood stains and wishes he'd asked Spilsbury for some morphine as well when the pain comes back in full force. Once he's dry and dressed in clean clothes he makes his way back to the bedroom. Charlie is waiting for him, with a cup of tea and a hot water bottle.
"Thought you might need this." He smiles, handing Monty the bottle as he crawls into bed next to Charlie. Monty accepts it without a word and curls up with his head in Charlie's lap and the bottle pressed to his abdomen. He's too tired to put up a fight. And it does help. Charlie's hand starts combing through his hair and Monty burrows in closer. "Try to sleep a little, Ewen. I'll be here." He whispers.
Monty sleeps.