Chapter Text
Tycho couldn’t stop thinking about it. It wouldn’t leave him no matter how hard he tried to forget about it. And boy, did he try.
During Halloween night, just a week or two ago, Tycho wouldn’t know he would soon find himself in a precarious position. He had arrived at a party some time before Gabe, and was well aware that he was to arrive dressed as a “sexy” nurse. What an absolutely stupid idea for a costume. Just completely moronic in his eyes. He could’ve dressed anything else but he had to pull something stupid and go as a hot nurse. Although, to be honest, what Tycho was wearing wasn’t that much better in comparison—pasting a decal of HAL 9000 on a sweater could not have been a lazier costume. But it’s cool, he thought. People will get the reference. Besides, 2001: A Space Odyssey is a respected piece of art. More respected than a sexy nurse at the very least. Especially Gabe as a sexy nurse. It’s semi-respectable, he figured.
Tycho swirled around half a Solo cup’s worth shitty beer until he heard more chatter than usual. There was Gabe, just at the entrance. Much to Tycho’s chagrin, however, he looked good. Great, actually. So much so that he was completely caught off guard. He had expected Gabe to walk in with some cheap, ill-fitting dress, but he could not have been more wrong.
Gabe’s dress fit him perfectly, sitting just below where his boxers rested on his thighs. The collar of the dress sat low on his chest, revealing just a good deal of skin underneath. He’d even gone so far as to accessorize—a nurse cap that sat slightly askew on his head, dark, sheer pantyhose around his legs, patent cherry-red pumps, and a pair of glossy, latex gloves. Tycho couldn’t stop thinking about those damn gloves. They were the same bright red as the pumps, reaching around elbow-length. He couldn’t take his eyes off of them.
Tycho watched as Gabe made it past acquaintances and the like, continually studying the costume. He could not believe it. He just couldn’t believe that Gabe genuinely tried. Nor could he believe that he liked it. Tycho really liked it, in fact. To a, frankly, disgusting degree. He locked eyes with Gabe as he stumbled his way over. All Tycho could do was hope that he could keep his composure for the night.
“Tycho! Shit, sorry for getting here so late. I had too much fun getting ready, and I didn’t—”
“What could’ve possibly gone through your head to make you settle on that as a costume? Seriously? You look ridiculous!” Tycho pointed at him, flicking his finger up and down. Deflection was his only point of defense now, and by God was he going to deflect.
“You can’t be talking. What are you supposed to be anyways? Are you like, evil Steve Jobs or something?”
“We literally watched 2001: A Space Odyssey together, how the hell did you forget? I’m HAL 9000, for crying out loud!”
“Oh, you mean the movie with all the monkeys at the start? Yeah, I slept through that.”
“Of course you did.” Tycho rolled his eyes. He breathed a sigh of relief as Gabe walked off to talk with some other friends—he had no idea how much longer he could keep spitting out snark while attempting to hide his very obvious attraction.
Despite the relief, all he could do throughout the party was stare at Gabe. Even while talking with others, even when he should’ve been doing anything else, his focus was locked in on Gabe. He kept reminding himself to stop eyeing him, lest he make a fool of himself.
Tycho knew, and almost reveled in the fact that he had many a perverse interest. Too many to count, admittedly. So why was this suddenly too much for him? What crossed the line for him this time? What was his problem? It wasn’t like he was drunk or anything. He was fully lucid, and the beer he was drinking was so weak it could have been water. Gabe, he settled on. It was because it was Gabe. That was his problem.
Tycho spent that night tossing and turning in bed for at least an hour or two. He didn’t know why he was so fussy tonight. He lay on his back, trying to think about anything that could get him to doze off. It took almost no time for him to start thinking about the past few hours again. It took him even less time to start thinking about Gabe again. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep after that.
He soon woke up and he found himself in a small, barely lit room tiled floor-to-ceiling. A single lightbulb hung from a fixture above him. Tycho quickly determined that; a) he was in some dingy operating room ripped straight from a horror film, and b) he was probably dreaming. He’d had his fair share of bad hospital experiences, but this felt like he was in a Saw bootleg.
The next thing Tycho noticed was that he was essentially rendered immobile. Looking down, he discovered why—he’d been tied down to a rusty operating table with thick, degraded leather straps at his appendages and torso. There was a chance this could’ve been real; similar things had happened to him before. Though at second glance, any final doubts of this being reality washed over him as he finally discovered he was wearing a sleeveless latex catsuit. A clear one at that. Guess that would explain why he felt like he was suffocating in his own skin.
The squeaking of barely-functioning wheels and the click-clacking of high heels echoed loudly from behind the door, getting louder and louder with every click and squeak. Tycho finally got it. It took him some time, but he got it now. And he swore, if it was Gabe behind that door he—
The large, metal door swung open as Gabe entered the room, maneuvering a surgical cart with one hand and holding a clipboard with the other. He looked exactly the same as he did earlier that night, minus the stethoscope around his neck and what Tycho suspected was quite a bit of blood on his dress. On the cart sat medical equipment that was not sanitary in the slightest, but Tycho’s interest was piqued by the syringe filled with clear liquid. Gabe parked the cart next to the operating table and stared intently at his clipboard.
“Mr. Brahe, is it?” He asked, shooting Tycho a glare. He grinned maliciously, with the tips of his incisors barely peeking out his upper lip. Tycho swallowed loudly, looking Gabe up and down. He carried a flirtatious confidence that was unlike the Gabe he knew. Sure, he was confident, but he wasn’t exactly the flirty type. And unfortunately for Tycho, he found this change incredibly arousing.
“That’d be me.”
“I’m gonna be running some tests on you before the doctor gets here.” He tapped a pen on the clipboard, then dropped both on the cart. “Just kidding. There is no doctor.”
“Yeah, I figured as much.” Tycho tried to shrug, but wasn’t able to on account of the whole ‘being strapped down' ordeal.
“Now, what to do…” Gabe shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Oh, that’s right. Check up! Duh.” He placed the stethoscope in his ears, then pushed down onto Tycho’s stomach as he practically crawled onto the man.
He sat directly onto Tycho’s crotch, with the hem of his dress riding up as he did so. The sensation of Gabe’s legs hitting the latex cocooning Tycho’s body made him see stars. He could tell Gabe had nothing on under his dress.
He took deep, heavy breaths as Gabe leaned in, pushing the bell of the stethoscope somewhere near his heart. Probably near his heart. Did Gabe know how to do this?
Every beat of Tycho’s heart was faster than the next, pounding so heavily it could be heard by the human ear. It was like he had some sort of live, pulsating parasite in his chest, just ready to split him in half. The thud that came with each beat drowned out his hearing, and the beating in his chest caused full body jitters.
“Well, aren’t you excited?” Gabe jeered, dragging a finger to prod Tycho deep in the chest. He yelped and tried to jump out his restraints, but was unsuccessful in the act.
“You could say that,” Tycho replied bashfully. He truly was at odds with himself for submitting so quickly; near instantaneously. This wasn’t like him—he had to put up a farce, he had to argue until he was slowly whittled down to nothing or he got away with it. But, then again, he wasn’t in any sort of tangible reality at the moment. The bizarre fantasy he’d formed in his mind mere hours ago had quickly sprouted into a realm of its own. He was free to do whatever he wanted, so submit he would.
“Good thing I’ve got just the antidote for that,” Gabe flirted. He wriggled himself off of Tycho, who lamented the fact that he couldn't get a nice view of his ass. Gabe fiddled with the cart, grabbing the syringe and soon beginning to flick at Tycho’s arm.
“An antidote for…what, exactly?” Tycho was met with no answer as Gabe busied himself with finding a viable injection spot. Without giving a rat’s ass about proper medical procedure, Gabe jammed the syringe into the soft spot of Tycho’s elbow, injecting swiftly. Tycho sucked freezing cold air through his teeth.
“Did I say antidote? Shit! I don’t know what this does, whoops!” The rational parts of Tycho’s brain weren’t sure if he was scared or aroused. Probably both. A thin, warm trickle into his blood quickly transformed into rogue waves of adrenaline that gushed throughout his body. He heaved, blood draining out his head and straight downstairs. At least he didn’t have to think all that much anymore. “What next…what next…”
Gabe crouched down, searching the bottom shelf of the cart. Tycho’s eyes locked on how the light reflected off his stockings and gulped. “I forgot the popsicle sticks! Well isn’t that just great? Man, I’ve been such a klutz lately.” Gabe stood back up, giving Tycho a quick glance before he pulled his gloves up his arms. Tycho went woozy as he put two and two together, the image of his latex gloves in his mouth searing itself into his brain. “Guess I’ll have to use my fingers.”
With a small huff, Gabe climbed back onto Tycho, now sitting directly on his stomach. All the pressure from Gabe’s frame choked the air out of Tycho as he repositioned himself several times. Gabe split two fingers and brought them close to Tycho’s mouth. The scent of latex and silicone-based spray was almost nauseating.
“Say aaah,” Gabe ordered. Tycho obliged, and was rewarded by Gabe ramming his fingers straight into his mouth. He gagged loudly, choking up some drool onto his chin. Gabe’s fingers slowly sank from the edge of his cheeks down into Tycho’s throat, using his other hand to feel around his tongue. As Gabe poked and prodded Tycho thrashed around—or, more accurately, wriggled around in his restraints—and growled loudly. The serum had made its way into every cell in his being, and he wanted more. This wasn’t enough. In a fit of anguish, Tycho almost bit through Gabe’s fingers, but just barely missed. Gabe massaged the wet flesh of Tycho’s inner cheeks as he continued to snarl like a wild animal.
After another minute or so of digging through his mouth, Gabe drew his fingers out his gullet and wiped the saliva on his leg. “Oh no, this won’t do. This won’t do at all,” he muttered pensively, eyeing the cart. He rummaged through its top shelf, and though Tycho tried, he couldn’t get a good look at what Gabe was searching for.
Eventually, Gabe pulled out what seemed to be a gag of sorts—two large, curved metal prongs with clamps at the edges, held together by spring mechanisms on either end, and leather straps in the back. He jostled it in his hand, hearing the metal clank as he waved it around. Gabe leaned onto Tycho, prying his mouth open and tugging the metal prongs in the corners of his mouth. He roughly tied the straps tightly around the back of his head, eliciting a sharp inhale from Tycho, and finally pressed on the clamps to open the gag. “There we go. Much better.”
Gabe leaned back, admiring his work. Tycho breathed heavy through the constraints that forcibly kept his mouth open. The cold metal on his teeth was incredibly unpleasant, but none of that mattered to him at this moment. He was fully vulnerable in this state, and losing the last bits of his dignity along with it made him burn up. Anything could happen to him and he’d be bursting at the seams with infinite drippings of pleasure.
Swiftly, Gabe’s hand returned to the cart to grab a scalpel. Tycho winced in the back of his throat, akin to the shrill meow of a stray cat. An instinctual need built up in his bloodstream, and he needed to be touched now. Gabe slid back, legs splayed open on Tycho’s crotch.
“Liking the view, Mr. Brahe?” he asked. Tycho nodded over and over again, unable to take his eyes off of him. Something in him melted when Gabe referred to him with such a title, so impersonally. Maybe it was because of the irony it held—being referred to as an authoritative role of sorts despite being in the submissive role. Best of both worlds, he assumed, but he didn’t care to ponder it any further. Gabe brought the scalpel to the top of Tycho’s chest, near millimeters away from the catsuit that enveloped him.
“Be still for me now, alright?” Gabe asked, another evil-lipped grin plastered on his face. The sound of Gabe’s voice could’ve been its own aphrodisiac to Tycho, who balled his fists up until his skin turned white. Gabe tapped the scalpel over the latex before making a quick cut, slicing it with one smooth cut. Tycho had to catch his breath as the cold air made contact with his skin. Gabe slid his free hand between the gap, helping to open it up a bit. He clawed and squeezed at patches of Tycho’s chest. Tycho wasn’t sure what was happening—all he knew was that he was so hot, cutting him open would probably be his only source of release.
Gabe dragged a finger over the length of his sternum before lowering the scalpel once more, slicing Tycho’s chest lengthwise. It slid through him like a hot knife through butter, with a cross section of his skin, muscle, and fat now on full display. Somehow, it didn’t hurt as bad as Tycho expected; it was no worse than the dull ache of a bruise. He craned his neck as far as he could and attempted to look down—though the view was restricted, he could tell whatever was inside of him wasn’t anatomically accurate. At least, that’s what he presumed. He couldn’t care less right now. The sensation of the cool air circling through his insides, however, felt very real.
He groaned at his insides being revealed to the elements, and groaned even louder as Gabe slipped his hand into his ribcage.
“We lost all our blood pressure monitors, so this’ll have to do,” Gabe said flippantly, brushing his fingers over Tycho’s heart and giving the organ a tight squeeze. Tycho screamed? Moaned? Cried? He didn’t know what sound he made in that instant; all he knew was that it bounced off the walls and was deeply guttural. His eyes rolled back as nothing but concentrated pleasure raced out from his heart and coursed through his body.
Gabe gave the heart another few squeezes, each one drawing out another cry from Tycho. His heart pounded under Gabe’s contact, a twitchy mess that was not unlike the rest of him.
Once he had his fun, Gabe dropped the organ back into Tycho’s chest. Somehow it corrected itself to its original position and the cut sealed itself up without a trace—Tycho had long stopped questioning the logistics of it all. The only evidence of whatever had happened was the splattered blood complimenting Gabe’s red glove.
Gabe’s focus returned to the scalpel, now positioned near the bottommost seam of latex he cut previously. He pressed into the latex and dragged a clean cut down until where Tycho’s crotch began. The scalpel merely brushed at his skin, but Tycho writhed around regardless. Gabe stopped in his tracks for a moment, thinking loudly to himself. Tycho cocked a brow.
“I need a sample outta you,” he demanded, looking at Tycho’s groin. “Care to assist, Mr. Brahe?” Tycho responded with more quick and enthusiastic nods. If he wasn’t touched soon, he was sure he’d fall into cardiac arrest. “What a needy patient you are,” Gabe giggled. “An inpatient patient! Shit, that’s good. I need to write that down.” He aimed the scalpel downwards and finally sliced the last bit of latex entrapping Tycho. “You’re so damn eager to get off, Tycho.”
Gabe’s voice dripped with a rudeness that wasn’t present in him previously. It hung in the air and struck Tycho as too real. He whined at the thought of it. His name was spat out with the same vitriol Gabe would use when in the midst of arguing over some petty bullshit. It felt all too real. Tycho needed this. Tycho needed him now. And bad.
Tycho’s cock sprang out from the pressure released by the latex, impossibly wet from precum that spewed out of him like a faucet. Gabe rose and positioned himself onto Tycho, who groaned loudly as Gabe lowered down until he was flush with him. He began to ride Tycho slowly, the motion of such upskirting his dress. Tycho could see that Gabe had been hiding an erection as well, making his head go all numb and fuzzy.
Every slap his skin made against the latex from every thrust only made Tycho hornier. And the view—he would never be able to get that view out of his mind. Gabe was practically splayed open for him, giving him exactly what he wanted and more, and yet he was just out of his grasp. He knew he’d never be able to forget a scene like that.
Tycho couldn’t think well at the moment, but he decided with his last bit of rationale intact that it was for the best. All he wanted to do was sink into the moment and ride it out. If he could stay here forever, he probably would. No doubt about it. He could worry about everything when he was up and fully conscious. Besides, his best friend was a hot nurse using him and toying with him for his own sexual gratification, and that was really hot. Insanely so.
Gabe dropped the scalpel somewhere beneath the operating table, the sound of it hitting the floor echoing throughout the room. He clung firmly onto Tycho’s hips, fingers digging into him for support as he sped up. He was incredibly tight, yet still managed to glide on Tycho with ease. Every sound that came out of his mouth could only be described as pornographic in nature—all too rehearsed, all too fake, yet it still hit Tycho like a truck. Tycho, on the other hand, sounded like all the oxygen in his lungs was being sucked out of him.
Soon, Gabe let go of Tycho’s hip and began stroking himself with the blood-covered glove at a slow and easy pace. Though it should’ve dried up by now, the blood on it was still thick and unnaturally syrupy. The sight of Gabe touching himself while on top of him muddled anything and everything else inside of Tycho. He was too out of it to prepare himself for Gabe speeding up at an uncouth pace.
Gabe leaned into Tycho with his free hand until his dick came into contact with Tycho’s stomach. The pressure and impact of Gabe stroking himself made Tycho soon to blow.
Gabe nuzzled himself into the crook of Tycho’s neck, lips closing in on his skin. Instead of being met with a kiss, however, Tycho was met with the sensation of Gabe’s teeth grazing him. His bunny teeth sank into him notably more than the rest of his teeth. “Tycho…” he muttered, breath hot against his neck. “Tycho…I’m so close…”
Tycho cried out loudly in response, all composure flying out the window. He tried to kick and thrash within his restraints, but it was no use.
“Tycho…Tycho…” Gabe moaned his name out over and over again, growing louder and louder as he sped up, until his breath hitched and he—
Tycho nearly launched himself out of bed, eyes bolted wide open as he scrambled to prop himself up. He looked around, gasping like he was starved for air. When he was a bit more awake, he realized he had overslept terribly, and that the dream had quite the effect on his real-world morning wood. He grumbled and laid back down on his back, crossing his arms and huffing.
How could he dream up such a thing? Why would his brain do that to himself? He didn’t even know if he could look Gabe in the eye after this. Sure, he’d had his fair share of in-depth risqué fantasies, but this felt like it was going too far. If it’d been any generic sexy nurse, that would’ve been one thing, but it just had to be Gabe. He just had to remember every little detail of his costume that night. It just had to be Gabe crawling up on him in and fucking him. Of course it did.
Tycho knew very well that trying to ignore it and bottle it up would make things worse, but there was nothing else he felt would leave him at least slightly guilt-free. It was awfully humiliating, and unfortunately for Tycho, it wasn’t even sexually humiliating this time around. Just plain old humiliation.
Should he tell Gabe? Did he want to tell him? How’d he even react? Hundreds of questions swirled around in Tycho’s mind, all being answered with a I’m not thinking about this right now. He lay motionless in his bed, staring at the creaky ceiling fan spinning round and round. He had to let Gabe know eventually. If only so this would stop wreaking havoc on him. But how do you confess something like that to a guy like Gabe? Why, of all people, did it have to be Gabe?