Doctor, Doctor Duet: Contemporary Medical Romacne

By Will Okati

Love isn’t easy and it’s rarely simple. More often than not it takes practice. Lots of practice.

It Takes Practice (Doctor, Doctor 1)
Dr. Nathan Rey has had a case of broken heart syndrome since his wild, bad-boy lover disappeared. He still can’t forget Fitz, and no one he’s met since could begin to compare. Then Nathan’s nurse elopes overnight and the temp agency sends him, certified and licensed, Fitz himself, with far more than work on his mind. Fitz means to convince Nathan seven years isn’t too long to wait for a second chance at the love of a lifetime.

It Takes Three (Doctor, Doctor 2)
Three med students. Geoff’s wound tight as a cheap watch. Ross is, too, but unless it’s got to do with math or science he’s oblivious. Aurélien’s uber-zen, uber-practical. With exams coming up fast, they’re all in desperate need of some R & R. What better way than getting a little action? Together. Multiple times, and in multiple ways. Once they get started these guys “work” well together. Maybe a little too much so. Aren’t things like this supposed to be hard? In this case, the answer to all their questions is three

Publisher's Note: Doctor, Doctor (Duet) contains the previously published novellas It Takes Practice and It Takes Three.

Copyright Notification: All Changeling Press LLC publications and cover art are copyright and may not be used in any AI generated work. No AI content is included or allowed in any Changeling Press LLC publication or artwork.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Mar 4, 2024

Book preview

It Takes Practice (Doctor, Doctor 1)

Will Okati

Dr. Nathan Rey, general practitioner, has endured a case of broken heart syndrome for a handful of years and counting after his wild, bad-boy lover disappeared just before he received his license. Though it’s gotten easier -- one or two flights of erotic fancy a year instead of every night -- Nathan couldn’t say it’s gotten better. He still can’t forget the charismatic Fitz, and no one he’s met since then could begin to compare.

Still, Nathan’s certain he would someday stop daydreaming and move on. He would have found someone else. Filled the empty spots in his life, his heart and his home. His bed. That is, if his part-time nurse hadn’t eloped overnight. If, unable to find someone local right away, he hadn’t called upon the services of a temp agency. And if the nurse the agency sent to him, certified and licensed, had been anyone but Fitz himself, with far more than work on his mind.

Fitz means to convince Nathan seven years isn’t too long to wait for a second chance at the love of a lifetime. Love isn’t easy and it’s rarely simple. More often than not it takes practice. Lots of practice.

Prologue

Nathan

Seven Years Ago

Nathan stood, barely awake, beneath the stinging needles of the shower spray. He moaned as the heat began to work on muscles wrenched sore from -- good God, how many hours had he and Fitz gone at it? He remembered the sun coming up, and not much else besides. Hot, wet, need. Hungry. More now, now, now.

The cheap rings of the shower curtain rattled along the rod as, still warm and smelling of rumpled sheets, the cause of his sleepless night slipped in behind him and pressed drowsy kisses to his shoulder blades.

Fitz, he murmured. I didn’t think there’d be any getting you out of bed without a crowbar.

Fitz nibbled Nathan’s nape. Shows what you know about me. He sneaked an arm around Nathan and stole the soap, holding loosely and unused in the palm of his hand. Gimme. You’re going to be late.

Mmm. Nathan stretched, enjoying the slick sensation of soap sliding across his skin, and Fitz’s body close behind his. Whose fault is that?

Not ashamed. I might not be good for much, but you got one hell of a graduation party out of me. Fitz lathered the small of Nathan’s back and slapped his ass. "Course, you impressed me pretty good. Even before breaking the bed. Think you went deep enough to taste. But those Jägerbombs? That’s how you drink like a man."

Nathan snorted. I’m four years older than you.

I’m still more of a man. Unless you want to prove me wrong. And just in case I need to spell it out? That’s an invitation. Fitz’s cheek was as rough as his lips were soft. The swinging tips of his hair tickled Nathan’s back, then his chest when Nathan turned around to face Fitz. Or that’d been his intention. Fitz butted his head against Nathan’s chest with a sigh of contentment.

I am not your pillow.

Says you.

Not a problem, really. Nathan didn’t have to look to be sure of every detail about his boyfriend, from the gold barbell through the head of his cock and the bristling black tribal tattoos tracing their way from chest to neck. Fitz might not be an easy mouthful for future conservative colleagues to swallow, but Nathan had earned his M.D. and they’d have to like his boyfriend, or they could lump it all.

Nathan could handle them, as long as he could handle Fitz, too. The graceful sweep from his broad shoulders to narrow waist, the dip of his spine before the small, tight rounds and the length of his legs beyond. The aching press of fingers hard on his hips and the stretch of his thighs, and the burn of a lover’s bite on his neck where everyone could see…

Fitz laced his fingers through Nathan’s and looked up at him, close enough to kiss the tip of his nose if he’d wanted. He nudged wet locks of hair behind Nathan’s ears. You’ll cut this soon, won’t you?

Doctors can’t usually wear fourteen different colors in their hair and sixteen studs in their ears. Nathan avoided Fitz’s faux-indignant swat and bent in a fluid wave to bite the tip of his ear, whispering, You’ll have to do it for both of us.

Fitz punched Nathan’s arm, playful, the sting only small. He took hold of the circular stone pendant Nathan had given him the year before, strung on a leather cord Nathan had cut to measure himself, and tugged. The slate gleamed almost glossy when wet. His touch lingered. He drew his bottom lip between his teeth and looked at Nathan in a way that Nathan didn’t know at all.

He didn’t think he liked it, either.

Nathan settled back, shoulders to the wall. What?

Nothing. Fitz shook his head. I didn’t know it’d be like this, that’s all.

What would be?

He tapped Nathan’s cheekbone. Staying over for a night. What did you think I meant?

We’ve been dating for months. It’s hardly the first time. I’m the one who got fucked stupid, not you.

I wouldn’t be so sure.

What is it they say about fools and love? Nathan tossed out. He lifted Fitz’s chin to get a proper look at the man. He might be on the cusp of his last night in the last year of med school, and Fitz might be floating somewhere between sophomore and senior undergrad years, but what difference did that make? No looking back.

You never do, Fitz said. Never looking back, always running forward, that’s you. Fitz’s smile was lazy on the surface. Takes longer for some of us. But hey. Feel free to keep on being forward. Fitz eased back beneath the spray, soap in hand but hands busy, sliding down and slicking Nathan where he was still open, still loose from the last round. Not that he wouldn’t be glad of another go. Usually.

No. Not right now. Nathan laid his finger across Fitz’s lips. I know what you’re up to.

Fitz’s movements ebbed into stillness.

And I’m not about to be late for the run-through for graduation. Nathan lifted himself away from the wall. When faced with a naked Fitz, saying no was no small thing. He’d follow his wild bad boy to the ends of the earth. I know you’re majoring in beer pong and how many places you can shove metal in your face -- He hesitated. You are coming for the real thing tomorrow, aren’t you? You promised.

Fitz pressed the pendant to his lips. Yeah, he said quietly. I know.

Then do it. For me. I want to see you in the crowd.

FItz looked up, his shrug easy. Too easy. You bet. Keep a lookout. I’ll be there.

* * *

After all the dust had settled, Nathan was the only one surprised that Fitz hadn’t shown. After a while, he wasn’t surprised at all, either. And in a handful of years, he’d forgotten about Fitz.

Almost.

Chapter One

Seriously? The temp nurse still isn’t there?

Still not.

Chelle whistled. How’s your blood pressure?

Steadily climbing.

I’ll bet. Chelle, who’d been a friend and colleague long enough to talk to Nathan any way she pleased, was laughing at him while on her way out of town for a girls’ weekend. Nathan could sense the mirth was at his expense. He had an uncanny gift that way.

Also, she didn’t bother to stifle her giggle.

Let it pass, man. He had other things on his mind. Such as clothes, and an increasingly futile search through his laundry room. Apparently, since the exodus overnight of the nurse he’d employed since he opened his practice, Dr. Nathan Rey’s housekeeping had also risen up in anarchy against him.

Who would have thought Ilse had it in her? Chelle asked, naming said nurse when Nathan really, really would have preferred she hadn’t. Not that she was listening. If she hadn’t left you in the lurch, I’d call it romantic. Fifty-three and she finds someone she loves enough to run away with?

I’d think it was more romantic if she’d given me two weeks’ notice.

Chelle snorted. Right. Love works that way -- on a schedule. Not exactly, Nathan.

Nathan returned fire with an equally rude noise, partially drowned amidst the racket of his rustling through dry cleaning and home style wicker baskets. Just like being in college again. Jesus. Walking around shirtless, in jeans saved from those days, might have been all right for a graduate student most often found underneath an undergraduate, but not a doctor who had, oh, let’s see, thirty minutes before I need to start my rounds. He had house calls today to his more rural patients.

Come to think of it, some of the elderly folks he’d scheduled probably would enjoy a shirtless doctor, but for heaven’s sake --

So, you think your temp’s a no-show? Chelle asked. Also, do you want me to stop on my way back into town Sunday and pick up your order from the medical supply store?

As for the latter, yes please, and thank you. As for the former? He’d better not be. Nathan had the man’s résumé laid out within grabbing distance of his front door. A male nurse, not quite the oddity it used to be, but it’d still raise an eyebrow or two, especially out there in the hinterlands -- which perversely enough, he supposed, he loved. Mike Smith.

Sounds like a used car salesman, not a nurse. She paused. Wasn’t that…

Nathan clicked his tongue to stop her before she pushed right past the inch he was willing to give when it came to the past, and claimed herself a mile. There were some roads he didn’t care to go down again. Ever. It’s a common enough name. Plain and sensible. He upended a basket and shook it until it rattled, watching mismatched socks fall in a perverse resemblance to autumn leaves. Fuzzy, lint specked leaves. Honest to God, did the washer and dryer eat all my shirts?

Look in the closet. Where clothes usually live. There’ll be at least two you forgot you had from the last time you were on your own.

Nathan stopped. She was right. He remembered now.

Chelle took his silence for its precise worth and pounced. You know what you need? A keeper. A wife. Better yet, a wife who’s a nurse.

Excuse me? He slipped the phone out from between ear and shoulder and stared briefly at it. "Chelle, there are so many things wrong with what you’ve just said I hardly know where to start. Besides, wife? Woman?"

Wife doesn’t have to mean woman.

It does if you look in a dictionary.

Dictionaries are far too restrictive.

Nathan pinched the bridge of his nose and lied through his teeth. It wasn’t too difficult. He’d had plenty of practice. Not that you’re going to believe me, but I swear to you, wardrobe malfunctions aside, Chelle, I’m fine on my own. I like it this way.

Her eloquent snort was her only reply. For a moment. He held his breath and hoped.

You have to get over Fitz sometime, Nathan.

Ah. Unfortunately, wishes weren’t horses and no one would be getting a ride. Fitz. Just hearing his name spoken aloud… Nathan hadn’t thought about Fitz in… years, probably. He’d got better when it came to dreaming about him, too. Once or twice a year. As opposed to, say, every night.

Seven years is a long time to nurse a grudge. Or carry a torch. I never could tell which.

You and me both, Nathan thought, but refused to give voice. He couldn’t quite see her letting him live that one down.

She had more to say, but, thank God, necessity picked her moment. Had he heard… Nathan muted Chelle momentarily to listen. A scratchy sound, not unlike a saw in need of sharpening. Someone on the porch? Doorbell might be on the fritz again. Leave it alone, Chelle. I’m good the way I am.

Alone and celibate? Nathan.

Oh hell. Her serious tone. He waited for it.

You shouldn’t be alone. That’s all I’m saying.

Not something I have to worry about.

Patients don’t count.

In what world? Women, he grumbled, hand on the doorknob. Forget Fitz. Fitz has nothing to do with this. I promise you, the person doesn’t exist who could be a partner in both senses of the word. Find them, or let them find me, and then we’ll talk. I’m answering the door, by the way. He spotted the flutter of pale blue scrubs in the glass pane at the side of his front door. Finally. It’s the nurse. At least, it had better be…

And it was.

He didn’t recognize the man at first. There was no reason he should have. Not until he grinned, lazy