Fever Dream

Charles felt the fever seize him with astonishing speed—a surge of scorching heat intermingled with uncontrollable shivers that left him trembling and disoriented. At 70 he was no stranger to bouts of illness, yet this affliction seemed different—a profound disturbance creeping over him like an unwelcome tide. It started subtly: a dull, pressing ache in his chest, a persistent cough that rattled in his lungs, and a wave of dizziness that sent him sprawling onto his cold kitchen floor. It was Mrs. Patel, his ever-watchful neighbor, who discovered him there and promptly summoned an ambulance. The doctors later confirmed it as pneumonia. Now he rested in a hospital bed, his consciousness barely within reach, sweat beading on the thin fabric of his gown as his mind drifted into a fever-induced limbo.

In that surreal space between lucidity and dreams, Dr. Alden was ever-present. The kindly, competent doctor with graying temples had long been a fixture in Charles’s life—a quiet confidante during routine check-ups, their conversations laden with subtle, unspoken understandings. Now, within this hazy world, Dr. Alden’s familiar presence took on an almost ethereal quality. The stark clinical lines of the hospital room softened into a more intimate setting, and the steady beeps of monitors faded into a distant murmur.

Within this fevered haze, Charles sensed Dr. Alden’s concern deepen into something more tender—a warmth that went beyond mere medical care. As the dream unfurled, the doctor's gentle hands slid to the small, worn ties of Charles's hospital gown, unfastening them with deliberate care. A cool current of air danced over Charles’s skin, mingling with the heat of his fever and eliciting a shiver that resonated from deep within. Dr. Alden’s touch was both careful and exploration-filled, his fingertips trailing reverently over places long neglected, evoking sensations that mingled pain with an unexpected, burning desire. Soft, exploratory kisses followed, their caresses like whispers against Charles’s flesh, charting a course of longing, recollection, and rediscovery. In that fever dream, Charles surrendered to a sensation that was both overwhelming and strangely familiar, an intimate connection that seemed to suspend the outside world until only the mingling of breath and skin remained.

Gradually, as the fever began to recede, the vivid tapestry of the dream started to unravel. Charles’s blurred perceptions slowly reassembled into a clearer reality. In those lingering moments, the sensations faded into the background, leaving behind a delicate residue of warmth and the quiet throb of an awakened heart. The transition was gentle—a slow dissolution of the intense dreamscape—until Charles’s eyes fluttered open, revealing a world that now felt both astonishingly real and poignantly altered.

It was then that the hospital door creaked softly, announcing the arrival of the composed Dr. Alden. Standing near the bedside, he carefully examined the chart in his hands, his expression a blend of professional calm and something more elusive, as if the echoes of the dream were recognized even if left unspoken. "Good news, Charles," he said in a measured, reassuring tone. "Your fever has finally broken, and you’ll be able to go home soon."

Charles, his throat parched and thoughts still swirling with remnants of his dream, searched Dr. Alden’s face for any sign of acknowledgment—a spark that might hint at the intimacy they had shared in the fevered haze. "I… had the strangest dream," he murmured tentatively, offering a fragile bridge between the fading eloquence of his fevered vision and the sober clarity of the present.

Dr. Alden met his gaze with a careful neutrality. "Fever dreams can be remarkably vivid," he replied gently, as if to soothe both the lingering confusion . After a moment of weighted silence, charged with all the things that neither dared fully name, a subtle hesitation flickered across the doctor’s eyes—a quiet, knowing pause before he resumed his professional role.

Later, as Charles dressed to leave, Dr. Alden handed him an appointment slip for a follow-up the next week. Their fingers brushed briefly, a small electric touch that conveyed as much unspoken emotion as any words could. "Take care of yourself, Charles," he said softly, accompanied by a private, almost imperceptible smile.

The following week, Charles returned to Dr. Alden’s office for his scheduled check-up. The morning had been cool, a crisp autumn wind stirring the leaves along the sidewalk as he walked to the clinic. He had felt fine—physically, at least. The pneumonia had receded, and his strength was returning in steady increments. And yet, something lingered, a quiet unease that had followed him since his hospital stay.

Dr. Alden greeted him with his usual professionalism, though Charles couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something different beneath the doctor's composed demeanor. A faint trace of warmth in his voice, perhaps, or the way his gaze lingered just a second longer than necessary.

After the routine vitals check—blood pressure, heart rate, lungs clear—Dr. Alden set his stethoscope aside and regarded Charles carefully. “You’re recovering well,” he said, making a note in the chart. “No complications, no lingering congestion. How have you been feeling otherwise?”

“Fine,” Charles answered automatically. But even as the word left his lips, he knew it wasn’t entirely true.

Dr. Alden studied him for a moment before speaking again. “You seem… preoccupied.”

Charles hesitated. He had convinced himself that the dream had been nothing more than a fevered illusion, a phantom of illness. And yet, the memory of it still clung to him, as vivid as if it had truly happened. The sensation of touch, of whispered breath, the quiet intimacy—it had been unlike any dream he’d ever experienced.

He exhaled softly, lowering his gaze. “I’ve been thinking about something that happened while I was in the hospital.”

Dr. Alden remained still, listening. “Go on.”

Charles cleared his throat, his voice quieter now. “I had a dream. About you.”

Dr. Alden’s expression remained unreadable, though there was a barely perceptible shift in his posture—a tightening of the shoulders, a controlled breath. “Fever dreams can be… intense,” he said carefully. “They blur the line between reality and imagination.”

Charles nodded, but the response felt too neat, too easy. He wanted to let it go, to dismiss it as a byproduct of illness, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there had been something more beneath it. Something real, even if unspoken.

Dr. Alden set the chart aside and leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering. “What was it about?”

Charles hesitated. A part of him wanted to brush it off, to laugh and make light of it. But another part—a deeper, more honest part—compelled him to speak. “It felt… real. The way you touched me. The way you looked at me. As if…” He trailed off, the words catching in his throat.

For a long moment, there was only silence between them. Then, Dr. Alden exhaled slowly, a measured breath. “Charles…” he began, then paused, as if choosing his next words with great care. “Dreams can reveal things we don’t always acknowledge when we’re awake.”

Charles met his gaze, searching. There was no outright confirmation, no grand revelation, and yet, the weight of meaning in those words settled between them like something undeniable.

Finally, Dr. Alden straightened, his expression composed once more. “Let’s do a full examination,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Remove your clothes.”

Charles swallowed, his heart hammering in his chest. There was nothing unusual about a medical examination, and yet, this moment felt charged with something unspoken. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt, feeling the weight of Dr. Alden’s gaze as he slid it from his shoulders. The cool air brushed against his skin as he undressed further, standing before the doctor with an awareness that was both clinical and deeply intimate.

Dr Alden pats the examining table “get up here and lie back…Also take off your socks”

Dr. Alden stepped closer, his hands warm as they traced along Charles’s arms, his chest, pressing gently against his ribs. His touch was thorough, methodical, but there was an unmistakable care in the way his fingers lingered just a fraction longer than necessary.

“Breathe in,” the doctor instructed, placing the stethoscope against Charles’s back. The cool metal sent a shiver down his spine.

Charles obeyed, inhaling deeply, feeling the weight of the moment settle between them. As Dr. Alden moved around him, their eyes met briefly, and for the first time, Charles saw something in the doctor’s gaze—something quiet, restrained, but undeniably there.

Charles held his breath as Dr. Alden’s hands moved lower, skimming over his waist, his hips, in a motion that was both clinical and yet—somehow—not. The doctor’s fingers were steady, his expression unreadable, but his touch carried an electric undercurrent that made Charles’s pulse stutter.

“Turn around,” Dr. Alden murmured, his voice low.

Charles obeyed, his skin prickling with awareness as the doctor’s palms pressed against his back, sliding down the curve of his spine. The examination was thorough, precise—but when Dr. Alden’s fingers brushed the small of his back, Charles couldn’t suppress a quiet, shuddering exhale.

A beat of silence. Then, softer: “You’re tense.”

Charles swallowed. “It’s been… a long time since anyone touched me like this.”

Dr. Alden stilled. Then, very deliberately, his hands settled on Charles’s shoulders, turning him back around. Their eyes met—and for the first time, the careful professionalism in the doctor’s gaze wavered, revealing something warmer, darker.

“Like what?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Charles hesitated. The air between them was thick, charged. He could lie. He could laugh it off. But the memory of the dream—the heat of it, the aching realness—pressed against his ribs like a second heartbeat.

“Like you wanted me,” he admitted

Dr. Alden’s breath caught. For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he stepped back, running a hand through his silvered hair. His voice, when he spoke, was quieter, rougher.

“I’m retiring next year.”

Charles blinked. “What?”

The doctor exhaled, his gaze steady but unreadable. “Thirty-five years in medicine. I’ve been planning it for a while.” He paused, then added, almost to himself, “But then you came in with that fever.”

Charles’s pulse stuttered. “And?”

Dr. Alden met his eyes. “And I realized I’ve spent my entire career being careful. Professional. Never crossing a line.” A faint, rueful smile touched his lips. “But when you told me about that dream… it made me wonder what else I’ve been denying myself.”

The admission hung between them, heavy with possibility. Charles swallowed. “You’re saying…?”

“I’m saying,” Dr. Alden murmured, stepping closer again, “that if I’m going to retire, I might as well start living the way I want to.” His hand lifted, hovering just above Charles’s cheek—close enough to feel the warmth, but not quite touching. “And right now, I want to know if that dream felt as real to you as it did to me.”

Charles’s breath shook. “It did.”

Dr. Alden’s thumb finally brushed his skin, slow and deliberate. “Good,” he said softly. “Then let’s stop pretending it wasn’t.”

And this time, when he kissed him, there was no hesitation at all.

The kiss deepened—slow and insistent—as if both were reconnecting with a long-dormant hunger. Charles felt Dr. Alden’s heated body pressed against his, the slight tremor in his hands mirroring the raw, nervous anticipation pulsing under his own skin.

Glancing furtively at the door, Dr. Alden made sure the coast was clear before stepping out to confirm his receptionist had left for the night. The quiet click of the lock echoed down the empty corridor, and with it, he exhaled a small sigh of relief. Returning to the exposed, yearning Charles, the doctor untied his tie with deliberate care, letting the fabric slide softly from his neck. His eyes searched Charles’s face for any trace of doubt, instead reflecting pure, mutual desire.

With a confident, clinical precision turned erotic, Dr. Alden’s hands began mapping every inch of Charles’s body. His fingertips roamed over the hard planes of Charles’s shoulders and chest, then traced the gentle curves of his abdomen, finally pausing at the dip of his navel. Each touch sparked further arousal; every shiver confirmed their shared craving. His thumbs grazed the sensitive peaks of Charles’s nipples, drawing a sharp gasp before venturing lower, skimming the waistband of his boxers.

“Do you mind?” Dr. Alden asked.

A nod from Charles was all the invitation he needed. as he took the hard length into his hand, feeling the heat and pulsing life beneath the velvet skin. His palm caressed Charles’s balls, eliciting a soft moan as the man surrendered to every shiver of pleasure.

In that moment, the rigid boundaries of professionalism melted away. With a teasing tug, Dr. Alden coaxed Charles’s cock to a full, insistent hardness, his touch both commanding and reverent—as if unveiling a sacred, forbidden secret.

With deliberate intent, Dr. Alden began unbuttoning his shirt, never breaking eye contact with Charles. He slipped off his shoes, letting his shirt drape from his arms and fall to the floor to reveal a chestsoftened by time. Next, his pants followed suit, revealing gray briefs that clung tightly to his own arousal. With a final, almost shy look at Charles, he shed his underwear, his own cock springing free—a hard rod with a tip flushed a deep, hungry red.

Charles felt a sudden vulnerability as he took in Dr. Alden's naked form. Despite the countless times he had disrobed for examinations over the years—his aging body scrutinized, measured, and evaluated by those clinical eyes—this reversal left him unexpectedly breathless. The doctor's body was not the perfect specimen one might imagine, but rather beautifully human: slight softness around the middle, the gentle slope of his shoulders bearing the weight of countless patients' worries, silver hair scattered across his chest catching the muted light of the examination room.

"You're staring," Dr. Alden said softly, a hint of uncertainty in his voice that Charles had never heard before.

"I've just..." Charles swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "I've never seen you like this."

The doctor's professional confidence seemed momentarily displaced by a fleeting vulnerability.

Charles reached out, his fingertips hovering just above the scar before making contact. The intimacy of touching Dr. Alden's bare skin—not as a patient being examined, but as a man exploring another—sent a current of electricity through him.

Climbing onto the exam table, he straddled Charles’s hips. Their bodies melded, the heat between them sparking an electric friction as their cocks brushed and provoked a gasp from both. Dr. Alden leaned in and captured Charles’s mouth in a deep, ardent kiss—a consummation of years of longing compressed into that single, charged moment. Their tongues tangled in an erotic dance, tasting and exploring as their erections slid slickly against each other, coated with pre-cum. Every ragged breath and whispered moan filled the small room with a symphony of untamed desire.

Their hips found a silent, rhythmic movement as the friction between their cocks grew ever more urgent. Dr. Alden’s hand slid confidently between them, wrapping around Charles’s length to match the tempo of his own increasingly fervent strokes. The usual clinical precision of his touch was now a language of raw passion, guiding him toward a pleasure long denied.

With a sudden surge of need, Charles leaned forward, parting his lips and taking Dr. Alden’s thick, aroused cock into his mouth. His tongue swirled around the velvety head, tasting the salt of pre-cum as the doctor’s breath hitched with pleasure. Dr. Alden’s hand threaded through Charles’s hair, guiding the depth of each intake, the soft noises he made a heady encouragement. Each suck was deep and hungry, drawing groans from the doctor’s throat that echoed through the room like a secret confession.

The intensity of Charles’s ministrations grew, his cheeks hollowing with each bob of his head as he took more and more of Dr. Alden into his mouth. The doctor’s hand tightened in his hair, his hips rocking in a silent demand for more. The need to be inside him grew more urgent, his cock thickening even further. Gently, Dr. Alden pulled Charles away, panting with desire. “I need to be inside you, Charles,” he murmured, his voice thick with need. He reached for the bottle of lube on his desk, his hand shaking slightly as he squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers. His gaze never left Charles’s as he coated his own erection, the sight of the doctor’s preparation sending a shiver of anticipation through his patient’s body.

“Ready for me?” he asked in a low, sultry tone.

“Yes,” Charles breathed, his body arching, an unspoken plea for more.

With skilled, deliberate strokes, Dr. Alden prepared Charles—each touch tender yet insistent, stripping away any remaining resistance. When the moment was right, he positioned himself, the head of his cock pressing firmly against Charles’s slick entrance. Pausing only to glance deeply into his eyes for final consent, he received Charles’s whispered, “Take me, please.”

With that, Dr. Alden pushed in, the head of his cock piercing the tight ring of muscle. Charles gasped as the doctor inched deeper, filling him completely with a delicious blend of exquisite pain and overwhelming pleasure that sent shockwaves through his entire body.

After being fully enveloped, the doctor paused to allow Charles to adjust, and then began a gentle rocking motion that soon built into a faster, more desperate rhythm. Every thrust, every collision of skin against skin, punctuated the charged silence of the room with raw erotic intensity. Dr. Alden’s hands gripped Charles’s hips, steadying them both as each driven thrust sent jolts of ecstasy coursing through their intertwined bodies.

In that secret, stolen space, the outside world ceased to exist—two men in the prime of their life enjoying each other physically. The roles of doctor and patient dissolved, leaving nothing but two men united in a fervent, uncompromised parade of desire and intimacy.

Their rhythm grew more frenzied as they approached the precipice. Dr. Alden’s hips stuttered, and with a final, powerful thrust, he came, his warmth flooding into Charles’s body. The intensity of his orgasm seemed to coax one from Charles as well, and he spilled over Dr. Alden’s hand, their releases mingling in a silent declaration of their shared passion.

They lay there together in the aftermath, their breath gradually steadying, bodies cooling in the sterile air of the examination room. The quiet hum of the building's ventilation system was the only sound as they disentangled themselves. Charles winced slightly as he sat up, a delicious soreness settling into his muscles.

Dr. Alden reached for a box of tissues and handed them to Charles, their fingers brushing in a touch that now felt both familiar and still thrillingly new. As they cleaned themselves, a comfortable silence stretched between them, punctuated only by soft sighs and the rustle of clothing being retrieved from the floor.

"I've never done anything like this before," Dr. Alden finally said, his voice low and contemplative as he buttoned his shirt. "Not in thirty-five years of practice."

Charles smiled faintly, pulling on his trousers. "I've never seduced my doctor before."

"Is that what happened?" Dr. Alden's eyes crinkled at the corners, a warmth in them that Charles had never fully noticed before. "I rather thought it was mutual."

"It was." Charles paused, suddenly uncertain. The afterglow was beginning to fade, reality seeping back in. "What happens now?"

Dr. Alden sat beside him on the examination table, their shoulders touching. His hand found Charles's, fingers intertwining with deliberate care. "That depends on what you want to happen."

"I'm not sure," Charles admitted. "This is... unexpected."

"For both of us." Dr. Alden squeezed his hand gently. "But perhaps not unwelcome?"

Charles turned to look at him properly. The doctor's face was open, vulnerable in a way he'd never seen during all those years of check-ups and consultations. The professional mask had completely fallen away, revealing the man beneath—a man with desires and uncertainties of his own.

"No," Charles said softly. "Not unwelcome at all."

Dr. Alden nodded, seeming to gather himself. "Your recovery is still my primary concern, you know. Pneumonia isn't something to take lightly at your age."

"At my age," Charles repeated with a wry smile. "You're hardly a young man yourself, Doctor."

"True enough." Dr. Alden chuckled, the sound rich and unguarded. "All the more reason for us to be careful." His expression grew more serious. "I'd like to monitor your recovery more closely. Make sure there are no complications."

Charles raised an eyebrow. "More appointments?"

"I was thinking," Dr. Alden said, his voice dropping lower, more intimate, "that a house call might be more appropriate. Private care, in your own home where you're comfortable."

The implication hung in the air between them, clear and tantalizing. Charles felt a flutter of anticipation in his chest.

"That sounds very thorough of you, Doctor,"