hmmm… I am not super happy with this tbh; it also kind of ends abruptly, I’m sorry.

don’t want to lament on why; just gonna post it.

contains sph. if you don’t like it, don’t keep reading, please.

---

Angelo beams at Mr. Shimada, eagerly hooking a foot into his stool and tugging it over so he can sit by the older man. He feels like it is easier to talk to patients as skittish as Mr. Shimada when not holed up behind his desk, though Mr. Shimada’s stony expression doesn’t look like he appreciates the effort.

“I am so glad I could finally get you to come to my office,” he says, leaning forward and elbows on his thighs. He is a big man and usually tries to make himself smaller for the sake of his patients.

Mr. Shimada stares at him practically down his crooked nose and only answers after a beat too long of silence: “I have been threatened to be taken off the roster if I do not comply with your demands.”

Angelo blinks at him, then lifts a hand, rubbing two fingers thoughtfully against the carefully groomed stripe of his goatee.

“While I do not condone threats, I do have to admit that I am quite happy about the result this time.”

He smiles at Mr. Shimada, and Mr. Shimada flinches back just a bit, looking almost dumbfounded for a second before schooling his features back into his stony expression.

“I am healthy. I have no complaints or ailments.”

Angelo nods along, smiling placatingly as he stretches to retrieve his clipboard from his desk.

“I know, I know. This is simply a routine check-up so I can update your folder. I do not anticipate to find anything troublesome, you do not need to be afraid-”

He can see Hanzo’s hackles rising immediately, his already broad shoulders squaring a bit more, wide mouth pressed into a thin, fierce scowl.

“I am not afraid. Of nothing.”

Angelo blinks at him slowly, then uncaps his pen, nodding awkwardly. “OOookay. Yes. No problem. Please excuse my clumsy wording…”

He trails off, sees Mr. Shimada deflate a bit again, and clears his throat. “How about we just start with the questionnaire so we’ll get this whole thing over with.”

Mr. Shimada nods once, regally. “Please.”

.o.

“When was the last time you ejaculated?”

Hanzo opens his mouth, then the question registers and he closes it with an undignified snap, staring at the good Doctor. Angelo is looking down at the clipboard he’s balancing on one knee, pen poised above an empty line near the bottom, waiting for Hanzo to answer like he’s done the past five minutes.

“What?” Hanzo hisses. He can feel immediate heat shoot into his cheeks, which makes him even more flustered.

Angelo looks up at that and blinks at him, then looks down at the clipboard and repeats the question a bit slower: “When was the last time you ejaculated?”

Hanzo can feel his chest burning with embarrassment, arms coming up in a defensive cross.

“I don’t know why you would need to know-”

“It is just one of the standard questions, Mr. Shimada. The faster you answer, the faster I can let you go. You can be assured that everything we discuss here will be handled with the utmost discretion.”

Hanzo grinds his teeth and shifts slightly on his chair, then: “Yesterday.”

Angelo nods, looking back at the clipboard, jotting down his answer quickly. “How often, would you say, do you ejaculate in a regular week?”

Hanzo’s heart is thumping quick and hard. He stares at the top of Angelo’s head. The Doctor waits for him to answer, then looks up when it takes too long, brow knitting.

“Mr. Shimada. I know these kinds of questions can be uncomfortable, but for me they are nothing extraordinary, really. Please. I would love to let you go to the practice range ASAP.”

Hanzo balls his hands into slow fists, lowering his gaze to stare at his knees.

“About… five times.”

“Hmm I see.” The blood his thumping in Hanzo’s ears. The Doctor’s voice is without any particular inflection, but still it feels to Hanzo like he is… judging him. “How many sexual partners did you have?”

Hanzo can feel his temper spiking, fingers curling into his pants. He does not answer, scowl becoming fierce and threatening when Angelo tries to prompt him again. The Doctor’s mouth pulls down. He starts to look mildly annoyed with the situation himself, now.

He taps his pen against the clipboard, the silence stretching between them, and then Hanzo feels like something shifts in the usually kind face.

For a second Angelo looks sly – but it is gone just as soon as it had come, and Hanzo is no longer sure he’s seen it.

The Doctor nods and stands abruptly.

“It is alright. You can tell me later.”

He puts the clipboard back on his desk and walks to the only examination table in his office, rummaging in a little cupboard until he pulls out two thin latex gloves.

“Do you stimulate your prostate, Mr. Shimada?” he asks without looking at Hanzo. Hanzo, having watched the Doctor’s movements across the room with trepidation, feels his heart skip a beat, then gallop in his chest.

“What?”

“Your prostate,” Angelo repeats patiently. A bit slowly like he is talking to a kid now. He has one glove slipped onto his hand and snaps the latex with a finality against his wrist that makes Hanzo shudder. “Are you accustomed to stimulating it? With your fingers or a toy, or…”

“No,” Hanzo hisses, throat feeling tight and dry with rage. “I would never-” He chokes on his own self-righteousness and Angelo speaks before he can bring anything more out; calm and collected: “Alright. Please come here and drop your pants, Mr. Shimada. I would like to perform a prostate examination.”

Hanzo stands abruptly, chair toppling to the floor.

“I will not stand this blatant disregard of my pride,” he growls in cold fury, fingers curled into tight fists. “This is -”

“It is up to you, really,” Angelo interrupts evenly, snapping on the second glove. “I will not force you to do anything. But you will also understand that I can not lie to Winston – and you are quite aware of the consequences of your refusal.”

Hanzo stares at him mute; the Doctor looks back with an enigmatic little smile, gloved hands folded in front of him as he waits for Hanzo’s decision.

.o.

“Hm,” the Doctor hums when Hanzo’s pants fall, tangling between his ankles. He stares at the bulge of his fundoshi until Hanzo turns away and puts his hips against the cold edge of the examination table. He feels dazed; like this is some kind of dream. Or nightmare.

He loosens the knot of his underwear and keeps it in his hand when he brings his arms forward, balling a fist around it as he stiffly bends at his hips.

The Doctor does not give him a second of reprieve. Suddenly his hand is between Hanzo’s thighs, cupping his soft cock. Rolling the ball of his hand against his sac and causing Hanzo to stand up onto the balls of his feet, an alarmed sound caught in his throat.

Angelo makes a considering noise. He is close enough that Hanzo can feel his body heat – and then he is suddenly murmuring, right against his ear: “I see. There’s not much you can do with something like this, I suppose.”

There’s a bolt of heat zipping down Hanzo’s spine, and when the ringing in his ears abates, he realizes with horror that he is getting hard against the Doctor’s cool fingers.

“It is functional at least. That’s a good thing, hm?”

The Doctor pats his cock like a small animal, then pulls his hand away. Hanzo is staring at the crinkling paper on the table, mouth hanging open – caught in a stupor while his ears burn.

Moments later, his cheeks get unceremoniously spread, and then there is another beat of silence.

Angelo grunts softly, something between interest and satisfaction, and then Hanzo jerks forward, rattling the table when cold, wet fingers round his sensitive pucker; tight and kept meticulously hairless in those afternoon showers where he nervously touches the peach pink hole and pulls away before he can talk himself into doing it.

“Deep breath,” the Doctor mutters, but even before he has finished he is already pushing in with a single, long finger.

Hanzo knows, somewhere, that this is revenge for his earlier bitchiness, but as he pulls up onto the balls of his feet again, trying to evade the intrusion, he can’t formulate many rational thoughts at all.

His cock is feeling hot and swollen, throbbing as his muscles clench down and try in vain to force the finger out once more.

“Hmm this is unorthodox,” Angelo comments, “but I figure this is a good opportunity to test whether everything really is in working order. I am not sure it is of consequence for your little… ah… for you, but – I like being thorough.”

Hanzo burns. His eyes are wet with tears, thighs shaking as he can’t help but bear down on the finger. He bends his knees, sticks his ass out, lets his head hang low in abject shame at his own display.

He can’t… He can’t believe…

“Your prostate seems swollen,” the Doctor informs him. Hanzo can feel his finger rounding it, too. Slow and leisurely, dragging circles through the wall of his intestine and causing more tears to jump to his eyes from the sharp, delicious stimulation. “Not worrisome, but I would suggest a more regular check-up.”

Hanzo grinds his teeth.