The Fireman Pt. 01/02

Everyone in this story is 18 years of age or older.

"I can't go right now, I have a patient coming in."

I rolled my eyes in a dramatic, yet playful way. "Fine, I guess I'll wait for you to check in your next disaster. Then we are going on lunch!" I said to Sarah. She flipped me off before going to set up the room for her next patient.

My name is Adrian, and I'm a 26-year-old emergency room nurse working in a large, busy hospital in western Michigan. I'm also gay, but I don't think anyone would ever guess that just by looking at me. I look traditionally masculine with a nice body I get from regular weightlifting and cardio and hair that is nearly as short as a buzzcut. I have a deep voice and can sometimes be a bit gruff with my word choice, though I suspect that has more to do with my redneck upbringing more than it has to do with being masculine. The people who know I'm gay always ask if I'm trying to hide it, and I always tell them no, this is just who I am and what I like.

Sarah is a coworker that's my age, but she started university later than me so she is currently working as an ED tech (the emergency room-version of a CNA) while she finishes her nursing program. She is also my best friend and is fully aware that I am gay, but she has never once made it weird or an issue of any kind. I always try to take lunch with her whenever we have shifts together.

Fortunately, I had my assigned patients all tucked away and comfortable while they awaited the results of their testing, so I had some time and decided to follow Sarah. "What's coming in?" I asked.

"46-year-old female coming from a house fire. Supposedly she only has minor injuries but she just wanted to be checked out."

I nodded my head. This was routine stuff, not much to prepare for. I was just about to walk out of the room when I nearly ran right into an absolute brick wall of a man. "Oops, sor--" I looked up, and my senses promptly failed. I found myself looking into the piercing blue eyes of a fireman that must've been at least six-foot-four considering I was six feet tall and still had to peer up to meet his gaze. Over those eyes were the longest, thickest eyelashes I had ever seen on a man before, and his jawline! I know they say sharp jawlines could cut glass, but this man's jawline could cut diamonds. He was wearing a navy blue "Metro Fire" t-shirt over what appeared to be the torso of a swimsuit model and had red suspenders over his shoulders that held up his yellow fireman's pants. I swear I must've manifested this man right out of one of my lewdest fantasies.

He gave me a single polite nod in acknowledgement as he continued to look at me before raising his eyebrows. "Uh... excuse me?" he said in a deep, husky voice. I got so lost in that man's gaze that it just now dawned on me that I was still standing squarely in the doorway, right in the way of the fireman and the patient on the gurney behind him. My face turned beet-red as I shuffled out of the way. As I turned to let them through, I caught Sarah staring at the fireman, too, and I could tell that she already had mentally undressed him down to his underwear.

As soon as they pulled the gurney in the room, I stepped out of the room, making sure not to look at the fireman as I exited. This wasn't my patient and I certainly did not need to stick around long enough to make a fool of myself again. I decided to disappear into the men's locker room for a second. The whole area was deserted most of the time since the few men who worked here typically wore their scrubs in and didn't have to keep many things packed away, but I always carried a backpack that I kept in my locker while I was on shift. A habit from being a working student for so long, I guess.

I began scrolling on my phone as I waited for my phone to ring. A few more minutes went by and I sighed. Sarah must've gotten caught up with another patient, and I couldn't wait much longer or I'd have new things to do with my own patients. Just as I was standing to leave, I heard a familiar beep and then a cheery "No problem!" as the door opened. I turned to look toward the sound and nearly fainted when, once again, I met the gaze of the gorgeous fireman.

"Oh sorry, the charge nurse said I could borrow a scrub top to go back to the station in. This shirt reeks of smoke," he explained.

"Oh gotcha. Y-yeah, the extras are on that rack over there," I replied shakily, pointing to the shelves across the room. He nodded at me again.

"Great, thanks."

"Sure thing," I said casually. Fortunately, I was able to keep it together throughout this short interaction instead of looking like a mute idiot. I faced my locker and put in the combination, more to seem like I had a purpose for being in here than actually needing anything from it.

"I don't think I've seen you around before, you worked here long?" asked the fireman from behind me.

I finished digging around mindlessly in my bag and turned to respond: "Yeah, I've been here for about four... years..."

Facing the fireman was the wrong move. He was facing away from me and had worked his arms out of his suspenders, allowing the heavy pants to sag a bit and reveal the top of his white boxer-briefs, which were covering the two muscular *globes* that made up his ass. He didn't seem to catch my stutter as he continued.

"Nice, man. That's about how long I've been at the station. I take it you live around here?" he asked, no hint of anything other than polite conversation in his rugged voice. As he spoke, his hands grasped the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it off in one quick motion, allowing me to take in the rock-hard muscles of his back and the way his broad shoulders tapered down to his waist, forming the perfect inverted triangle. I could feel my scrub pants tighten as they stretched around my rapidly-growing erection. I quickly tore my gaze away and turned my head back toward my locker, willing my erection to soften and not give me away.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I, uh, I-I have an apartment just a couple miles from here." Gone was the carefully casual tone of my voice as I, once again, stumbled over almost every word. A beat of silence occurred as I shifted items around in my locker, trying to appear to be looking for something.

"Am I making you nervous?"

I started. His voice came from right behind me, and I turned to see he was standing just on the other side of the bench, leaning over it to whisper directly into my ear. My gaze dropped slightly to take in his body, his enormous pecs and his washboard abs, before returning to meet his gaze. "What? No!" I said with as much nonchalance and confidence as I could muster, shaking my head slightly for added effect. His eyes moved slowly down my body before stopping. My entire face flushed again; it was obvious what he just noticed.

"Well, I seem to be making you something," he chuckled softly as his eyes returned to meet mine. I instinctively folded my hands over the painfully obvious tent in my scrubs. If ever there was a time I wanted to be swallowed whole, it was now. The smile faded from his face as he reached over and grasped my forearm. He tugged at it gently, enough to know he wanted me to loosen my grip but not so much as to seem forceful. My brain had long since short-circuited, and I swear no rational thinking was going on in my head as I allowed him to pull my arm away from my crotch and watched as he guided it up toward his chest. He carefully studied my face, as if waiting for me to show signs of refusal.

A moment later, he positioned my arm so that the palm of my hand was resting on his left pec. Heat shot straight up my arm and warmed my whole body. I looked from my hand on his chest to his face repeatedly, waiting for him to start laughing or call me a queer or something. But he didn't. He simply allowed my hand to remain on his chest, feeling it rise and fall with his breathing as he stared at me.

Slowly, painfully slowly, I removed my other hand from my aching dick and placed it on his other pec, holding it there to allow him to bat it away or reject me in some way. Instead, I felt his breath catch in his chest as I touched him and began allowing my hands to roam ever so slightly. I felt every inch of his chest, with its light dusting of hair, before moving onto his shoulders and eventually to his biceps, which he tensed up for me as my fingers ran along them. As my eyes roved over his entire body, I could tell that his never left my face. He watched me as I explored him, watched as my eyes filled with lust and my breathing became noticeably shallower. Eventually, my hands made their way back to his shoulders and then to the back of his neck, where I allowed them to drift into his wavy chocolate-brown hair.

He closed his eyes for a second. I worried he was having second thoughts about what we were doing... what he was letting me do to him. That concern was squashed quickly, however, when he suddenly reached around and forcefully grabbed my ass, pulling me toward him. Up against him.

"You feel so good," he breathed, opening his eyes to look at mine, smile slowly spreading along his face. I recognized that look from the hookups I've had in the past: lust.

Hunger.

He ran his hands up my back until he reached the nape of my neck. I shivered at his touch. I wanted to respond, but suddenly this gorgeous half-naked man in front of me had me irrevocably tongue-tied. Before I could convince my brain and mouth to form a coherent sentence, I felt him pull my head toward him until my lips were pressed against his. He wasted no time as he pushed his tongue against my closed mouth, almost begging for entry. I parted my lips and he shot in, quickly beginning an aggressive dance with my own tongue before my horniness took over.

It's not like I've never made out with a guy before; now that we had reached this part of our tryst, I knew what to do. I closed my lips around his tongue and sucked on it, giving him a taste of what I'd do to him if he'd just drop those pants to the floor. He had one hand gripping the back of my head, keeping me firmly in place, while the other hand was running along the small of my back with his pinkie finger trailing along under my waistband. I released his tongue and attacked his lower lip, gently biting it and sucking on it before he latched his mouth back onto mine and ran his tongue along my teeth.

We made out for what somehow felt like both fifteen seconds and an hour when he broke away and peered downward. He let his forehead rest against mine as he breathed heavily and began pulling on the strings of my scrub pants. Finally, he uttered the three words I desperately longed to hear:

"Take these off."