This story contains graphic sexual scenes between males. If material of this nature offends you then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age in most states you are not allowed to read this story by law.
This story is purely a work of fiction. Any resemblance to person's living or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely coincidental.
The author claims all copyrights to this story and no duplication or publication of this story is allowed, except by the web sites to which it has been posted, without the consent of the author.
Mark Stevens Jetdesk2@yahoo.com
The Nurse and the Patient, Part 4
Jonathan work up early the next morning. When he looked at his wrist watch, he was surprised to see it was almost seven o'clock. He had slept through the night and had not checked on is patient once.
"Shit," he said jumping out of bed.
He threw his robe on and hurried out of the room. As he came inside Lance's bedroom, he discovered his patient watching television.
"Good morning," he greeted. "You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep," Lance answered.
"Are you in pain?"
"A little," Lance said.
"I'll put the coffee on and bring you some toast so you can take your medicine."
When Lance didn't reply, Jonathan left the room. He went out to the kitchen and started the coffee. Next he popped some bread in the toaster, and soon returned to the bedroom.
"Here you go," he said. "Coffee will be ready soon." He handed the toast to Lance. "Are you hungry?"
"Not really."
Jonathan studied his patient. He was disappointed. Things had been going so well yesterday, and he had hoped the wall between them was beginning to crumble. This morning, the wall seemed to have returned.
He sat the urinal on the table beside the bed. "Just in case you need it. I'm going out to fix breakfast. I'll bring you a cup of coffee."
He left and soon returned with the coffee. He handed the cup to Lance and gave him his medicine. "You went all night without anything for pain. That's good."
Lance took the pill from him and swallowed it. He remained quiet, not saying a word.
Jonathan hurried back to the kitchen and quickly threw the meal together. He soon retuned with oatmeal. "Here you go," he said. As he sat the breakfast tray on his patient's lap, he said, "Hope this is all right. I thought you might like something other than eggs this morning."
Jonathan brought his own breakfast back and sat in the chair next to his patient. He ate in silence and wondered what was going on with Lance. Yesterday had seemed to be going so well.
He finished his oatmeal and took the dishes back to the kitchen. He put things away and returned to the bedroom with two cups of coffee. "Here's some fresh coffee," he said.
"Thanks"
Jonathan sat in the chair drinking his coffee in silence. Finally he said, "Lance, what's going on here?"
Lance looked over at him. "What do you mean?"
"We were doing so well yesterday. What has happened?"
Lance shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Has something happened?
"Nope, not at all," he answered.
Jonathan stood to his feet and said, "Whatever you say. Let's get to your bath."
"Yeah, you must do your job"
Jonathan had been on his way into the bathroom. He stopped and turned around. "What does that mean?" he asked.
"Doesn't mean a thing. I just made a comment, that's all."
Jonathan was getting a little pissed by Lance's attitude, but he kept his mouth shut. He soon came back with the pan of warm soapy water. He sat it down and went back for the towel and wash cloth. When he came back he saw that Lance had pulled the sheet back.
He pulled his shirt up over his head and gave it a toss to the floor. He handed the wash cloth to him and said, "Have at it."
He watched as Lance washed first his face, and then his arms and stomach. Then he took the rag and washed between his shoulders and on down Lance's back. He saw his patient shiver and reached for the towel.
"Dry off, and I'll get you a clean shirt to put on."
Jonathan went over and pulled a fresh shirt from the drawer. He hurried back and raised his arms to put the shirt around his patient's neck. As he did, Lance raised his hand, wrapping his fingers around Jonathan's wrist.
"I can do it," he said sharply.
Jonathan's eyes met those of his patient's, and for a moment said nothing. Finally he pulled away and stepped back. "Of course you can," he said.
He carried the pan of water into the bathroom and poured it down the sink. He returned shortly and said, "If it's all right with you, I think I'll take my shower."
"I'll be fine."
Jonathan hurried to his room and stripped. He threw his robe on the chair. He hurried into the bathroom, and after shaving, he jumped into the shower. As he stood under the hot steamy needles, he played over in his mind what might be going on with Lance. Everything had been going so well yesterday, and it had actually been pleasant to spend time with his patient.
Later, his shower over with, he was dressing when he remembered something. In his mind he had played over everything that had taken place yesterday, and it suddenly hit him what the problem might be.
"Fuck, I am so stupid! I can't believe I didn't pick up on it."
He finished getting dressed, ran comb through his damp hair and hurried out of the room.
When he came into Lance's room, he saw his patient was awake. "You ready to get up?" he asked.
"I think I'll stay in bed a while."
"You don't feel like getting up and going into the den?"
"I told you what I wanted."
"Lance, let's talk,"
"Nothing to talk about," Lance said. He shrugged his shoulders. "You've fed me, bathed me, and watered me, not much else for you to do until time to start it all over."
Jonathan sat down on the edge of the chair. "Lance, I think we've had some sort of misunderstanding, and I want to straighten it out."
"No misunderstanding. You're the nurse and I'm the patient. Not a fucking lot to understand about that."
"Lance, you were right, this is my job. I have been put here to take care of you and see that your needs are met. That's the truth. However, there is a little more to it than that."
"Don't know what more there could be."
"First of all, yes, you have medical needs, and yes, it is my job to take care of those needs. Second, you are a human being, and I care for you as that human being."
"That's mighty decent of you, but please don't put yourself out."
Jonathan looked at his patient. How could he tell this man that he was falling in love with him? Or that he thought of him every waking minute? God, he wanted to, wanted to get up right this very moment and put his arms around him, to comfort him and tell him everything would be all right, and that he would take care of him for the rest of his life. A part of him was even mad at Lance for not seeing the look on his face; the look that should tell Lance just how much he did care for him.
Whatever response Jonathan might have made to Lance's comment did not happen because someone chose that moment to ring the doorbell.
"You expecting someone?" Lance asked.
"It's not my house," Jonathan said and left the room.
He went to the door and swung it open. He discovered an older gentleman there.
"May I help you?" he asked.
"Who the hell are you, one of his friends?"
"I am a nurse. Who, may I ask, are you?"
"Sam Thompson. I'm here to see my son."
Jonathan stepped back and said, "Won't you please step inside?"
As the older man came into the house, Jonathan introduced himself.
"Did my son hire you?"
"Actually, the hospital sent me home with the patient."
"Then that probably means that I `m the one paying your salary."
"If you will have a seat, I'll go see if your son is awake."
"Is he in the bedroom? I know where that is." Samuel Thompson was on Jonathan's heels, intending to follow him down the hall.
Jonathan stopped and turned around. "Please, sir, have a seat. If he is awake, I will let you know."
"Yeah, whatever," the older gentleman mumbled and took a seat.
Jonathan left him sitting in the den and hurried down the hall to Lance's bedroom. "You're father's here," he announced.
"Say what?"
"I said your father has come to see you."
Lance turned his head to the wall and said, "Who gives a fuck? I don't want to see him."
"Are you sure about that?"
"Do I stutter? Do I need to speak a little slower? Understand me, I do not want to see the bastard, and that's all there is to it."
Jonathan stood there a moment or two and then quietly left the room. He returned to the den and said, "I'm sorry, he's not feeling well. Could you possibly come back another time?"
"You tell him his father was here to see him?"
Jonathan nodded. "I did. It's just not a good morning for him, and it would be better if you came back another time."
Samuel Thompson stood to his feet and walked toward the door. Just before he opened it, he turned and asked, "I suppose you are one of his fuck buddies? Let me tell you something, you'll not get a cent, you hear me?"
It took all Jonathan had in him to remain calm, but somehow he did. "I told you, my name is Jonathan Davis. I work for Community Hospital. I was sent over here to take care of your son. His doctor is William Todd. I can give you his telephone number if you like."
"I'll be back, you have my word on that." Saying that, the old man opened the door and left, slamming it behind him.
Jonathan leaned against the door and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. "My God, what an asshole," he said with a sigh. He waited until he felt he was composed before he returned to the bedroom.
"Did he leave?" Lance asked.
Jonathan nodded. "He's gone."
"I can only imagine what he must have said."
"It was a real pleasure, I can assure you."
"What did he want?"
"To see you is what he said."
"Yeah, I'm sure he wanted to see me." Lance's voice held a trace of bitterness as he spoke.
"Well, I guess you won't find out, since you refused to see him," Jonathan pointed out.
"I'll never see him."
"Well, be warned, I told him to come back another time."
"Fuck you!"
"My God, what was I suppose to say to the man? He wanted to see you. I felt he needed to leave because I didn't want you up set any more than you already were, and it was the only way I could get him to leave."
"Then I guess I should say thank you."
"No need to thank me."
"Yeah, I know, you were just doing your job."
"Fuck you, Lance Thompson. I'm getting tired of your shit."
The words came out of Jonathan's mouth before he realized he was saying them, and he was shocked. It was no way to speak to a patient, and he knew it. What had he been thinking?
"I'm sorry, Lance. I had no right to speak to you that way. Please excuse me." He left the room.
Jonathan hurried down the hall. He went through the kitchen and down the short hall to his room. How could he have been so careless, he wondered? After all, a patient was a patient, and the nurse a nurse, and the latter had not the right to do what he had just done.
The word patient rang in his ears. He thought about Lance. True, he was a patient, his patient. Was he more than a patient to him? Was that the problem here? Was he beginning to fall for this patient, and was his mind, his common sense trying to warn him to be careful?
He went into his bathroom and turned the spigot on in the sink. He wet a wash cloth and washed his face. As he breathed into the rag, he wondered what was happening here. How had he lost control of the situation? Nothing like this had ever happened before.
He dried his face and decided it was time to take charge again and return to his patient. He left his room and slowly made his way through the house. His steps became slower the closer he came to Lance's room. He knew he should take control, as he put it, but he wasn't sure how the hell to go about it.
He walked into Lance's bedroom. Forcing a smile to his lips, he asked, "How's thing going in here?"
"You return to your job?"
"I have, and if you ask me, I'm damned good at it, too."
"Yeah, well, whatever."
"You might think about something while you're lying in that bed feeling sorry for yourself."
"Oh, and what might that be?"
"You do have a very good nurse here taking care of you."
"As you've pointed out," Lance told him.
"Well, I am," Jonathan agreed. "However, if you play your cards right, you might get a damned good friend out of the deal as well."
"That's what I need is a good friend."
Jonathan looked around the room. "I don't see anyone else hanging around."
"I guess you have a point."
Jonathan walked over to the bed. "Now, how about getting up?"
"I'm not going to find the old man in there, am I?"
Jonathan shook his head. "No, he's gone all right."
"Then I might get up for a bit."
Jonathan helped him off the bed and into the chair. He rolled him out the door and down the hall to the den.
"You can sit and talk with me while I unload the dish washer. You'll need to direct me anyway, and show me where things go."
"For the price of a beer, perhaps."
Jonathan smiled. It was good to have Lance back in what seemed to be a much better mood. "If you'll settle for a coke, it's a deal," he said.
"If that's the only choice I have."
"For now it is."
Jonathan took a couple of cokes out of the refrigerator. He handed one to Lance and then walked over to the dish washer. "Start directing me," he ordered.
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The next two days went by rather quickly for both Jonathan and his patient. Each morning they had breakfast together, followed by Lance's bath. Lunch would come and go, followed by Jonathan leaving to run errands. During this time Sam Thompson made no attempt to see his son again. Jonathan thought he might actually come back the next day, but he hadn't.
On Monday morning Doctor Todd returned for his second visit. He examined Lance and gave Jonathan new orders on caring for his patient.
"Lance, your legs are healing nicely. It's a bit early, but shortly I would like for you to have some therapy. It will be very important that you cooperate when the time comes, as it will be vital in helping you to recover the full use of your legs."
To Jonathan, he said, "Jonathan, the first couple of weeks the therapist will come here and work. I want you to pay particular attention because he will tell you what he wants you to do."
"Yes sir."
"When he gives the go ahead sign I would like for you to take Lance to therapy. He will probably need to go three times a week, especially at first." William Todd looked over at his patient once more. "And, I repeat, it is very important you work with these two to the fullest."
"I'm the model patient," Lance said.
"Also, you need to cut back on your medication. It's okay to take it at night, at least for the next few days, but try and slow it down during the day time."
The doctor gave some more instructions to Jonathan, and just before he left, he asked, "Do you have any questions?"
"How long is he going to be here?"
"I'm assuming you are speaking of Jonathan here. My guess would be that he will be here a few more weeks. Other than that, I really have no time frame for you."
As he had the time before, Jonathan walked the doctor to the door. When they stepped outside, Todd asked, "So, anything going on here I should be aware of?"
"Not really. He has good days and bad days, as far as his attitude goes. He did have a visitor a couple days ago. It didn't go very well," Jonathan finished.
"What happened?"
"Lance's father paid him a visit, but he refused to see him."
"They must not be close, I take it."
"That's putting it mildly."
"Did it seem to up set the patient?"
"Not really. I think it would have been much worse had I not been able to keep the old man out of the bedroom."
"I'm glad you were able to prevent a scene. That would definitely not be good for Lance."
William Todd sat behind the wheel of his car and closed the door after him. "Oh, I almost forgot something. I think it's about time for Lance to get out of the house some. A short drive now and then, I think, would do him good." He started his care engine. "You have my number. If you need anything, give me a call."
Jonathan promised he would and hurried back into the house. He went into Lance's room and asked, "How about getting up and going into the den?" he asked.
"Did the two of you discuss me while you were gone?"
"What makes you think there would be anything to talk about where you are concerned?"
"Yeah, well, whatever."
Jonathan helped his patient into his chair and rolled him out to the den. When he brought them each a coke, Lance told him to take a seat. "Unless you have something more important to do," Lance said.
"You're the boss, guess that makes anything you say or want important."
For a moment Lance didn't say anything. Then, in almost a whisper, he said, "Whatever."
Jonathan took a seat on the couch, and for a moment or so neither one of them spoke, and the room was filled with all those little noises you suddenly hear when everything is silent.
"So, what all did my dad say when he was here?"
"Not much."
"I don't believe that. All my life, ever since I can remember, my dad has always had plenty to say. Was he rude to you?"
"Well, was he?" he asked again.
"Let's just say he was very entertaining."
"Jonathan, may I ask you a question?"
"Anything," Jonathan answered.
"What is it you do?"
Jonathan asked, "Do?"
"Yeah, what makes you happy?"
Jonathan was thoughtful for a moment. "I'm pretty simple," he answered. "It doesn't take much for me. My job, a good book when I'm home, that sort of thing, I guess."
"I see."
"What makes you happy? You are happy, aren't you?"
Lance nodded his head. "Every time I get a notice from the bank that I've made a little more money, I guess that makes me happy."
"Does the money make you happy?"
"Wouldn't it you?
"Who says I'm not wealthy?"
"Good point, Are you?"
"I'm not hurting by any means. I'm also not rolling in the dough either."
They had talked for quite some time when Lance suddenly leaned forward in his chair and asked, "Can you roll me back to bed?"
"Everything okay?"
"I'm hurting. I suppose this is the day I have to cut back on my pain med?"
"You're supposed to."
As Jonathan rolled his patient back into the bedroom, he asked, "On a scale of one to ten, how do you rate your pain, Lance?"
"Close to a nine, I guess."
"Let's get you back in bed, and I'll give you some medicine. Let's try half a pill and give it time to work. If need be, I'll give it all to you."
Jonathan stopped the chair beside Lance's bed. When he put his hands on Lance's side to assist him onto the bed, he felt pressure as Lance held his arm tightly next to him.
"Thank you, Jonathan. I know I'm an asshole most of the time, and I apologize. I know I haven't been a joy to be around."
"It's okay," he assured him.
"Yeah, I know, you're just doing your job."
"I didn't say that. Let's get you back in bed so I can give you some medicine."
When Lance was back in bed once more and covered up with the sheet, Lance hurried over and took a pill from the bottle on the dresser. He quickly snapped it in half, returning half back to the bottle. He went to the bathroom and brought back a glass of water.
"Here, take this," he said. "Let's give it time, and if it doesn't help, we'll do something else.
He handed the glass to Lance, along with half a pill. Lance took the pill from him, and suddenly, his hand was out as he pulled Jonathan closer to him. He leaned forward and planted a kiss on Jonathan's mouth.
Jonathan pulled back. "Why did you do that?" he asked.
"I don't know. I guess I just felt like it. Did it offend you?"
Jonathan shook his head, and said, "No, you didn't offend me. I'm just not sure why you did it though."
"I'm not sure why I did either," Lance answered quietly.
Jonathan made sure his patient had everything he needed and then excused himself, saying, "I'm a little bushed. I think I'll take a little nap."
"You want to take it here?"
Jonathan shook his head and said, "I think if it's all right with you, I'll go to my room and rest."
Jonathan left his patient's room and slowly made his way back to his own bedroom. He wondered what the fuck was going on here. This wasn't supposed to happen, he thought. He wasn't supposed to have feelings here. This was just an ordinary job with an ordinary guy who was his patient. There weren't supposed to be any feelings involved here, absolutely none at all.
The trouble was, the feelings were there, and he knew it. He just didn't know what to do about it. Part of him wanted to run, the other wanted to hang around and see what would happen. Yet, he had to wonder, would he be sorry if he did?
End of Chapter 4, Nurse and the Patient.
Tell me what you think.
Mark