Love Happens

His hands continued to excite her, joined now by his tongue and gently sucking lips. She felt the wetness between her legs growing. The past two years her life had narrowed to work and the occasional random hook up. The latter failed to provide more than temporary relief. She pulled away, fearful his mouth on her nipples might make her cum. She was not ready for that. She was not ready for the clarity an orgasm would bring since that clarity might stop her from doing what it was she wished to do.

She broke the embraced, kissed his cheek to ease the disappointment she saw in his eyes, and stepped around the bed to pull the curtain. Patient doors do not lock in a hospital. The nurse assigned to him knew she was doing her admission exam and would wait until she emerged to do her own assessment. But there was Molitor to consider, lab techs, food services, a long list of people who might knock but unlike Allison simply enter without waiting for a reply.

As she walked back around the bed, she re-fastened her bra, in case we're interrupted she whispered to the question in his eyes. She untied the knot at his waist. The backs of her knuckles made a faint raspy sound as they brushed through his pubic hair. She let his bottoms fall around his feet as she took his cock into her mouth. He let out a long whistling sigh as his hands found her hair. She stopped long enough to tell him to be careful and not mess her hair up too much, not noticing she called him baby. He moved his hand to cup her cheeks, feeling them flatten beneath his palms as she took him deep into her mouth.

He tasted better than any man she'd been with. His musk was deeper, richer, sweeter than any other man she'd been with. She pushed her tongue under his foreskin and wicked away the moisture that had gathered there in his excitement. She longed to taste his semen, longed to have him cum in her mouth, longed to feast on his essence but she could not.

She rose and hesitated so briefly he was unaware of it. She saw herself before the disciplinary board, saw herself fired from her fellowship, and saw her parent's looks of distress and shame. She saw it all and did not care. She untied her scrubs and pushed them and her panties over her hips as she turned. She longed to kiss him but she want him to gaze out the window with her. To watch the birds flit and twirl through the air and watch the eddies break and merge as the river flowed. She wondered where that particular little piece of the river has started from. The Rockies? Lower on the plains? Had any two molecules of water made the journey together? Or did they constantly merge and shift? She hoped not. Surely, even if by random chance, there were enough trillions of molecules of water in the river to suppose that two of them might meet and dance around each other on their journey to the sea. Surely?

She reached behind and closed her hand over his erection and pulled him close. She rubbed the head up and down the wet opening of her sex, telling him with her body that she was ready. He entered her slowly, prolonging the joy they both felt at the union of their bodies. She hoped that, as she was, he pictured them high on a plateau gazing out at the river and the world spread out below them as the sky and sun witnessed their love making. What they were doing for each other deserved so much more than a cold, impersonal, functional, hospital room.

His hands found her breasts and he began to move faster. She pushed back to meet him. She realized they were making too much noise and she looked over her shoulder and put a finger over her lips and grinned. His face was beautiful. His eyes glowed and were free of fear and worry. His lips were slightly parted, the tip of his tongue touching the middle of his upper lip. He smiled back at her and his rhythm slowed.

He came silently, pressing himself deep inside her. She pressed back, feeling the pressure of his cock against her cervix. He leaned forward and kissed the back of her neck. They did not have time to cuddle and whisper to each other. She took a moment to suck his softening cock, getting a small taste of what she craved. He sat on the bed and covered his lap with a corner of the blanket.

Allison pulled her pants and scrubs up and re-tied them. She pulled a chair close and sat with her feet up on the end of his bed. That was completely unlike her. She explained she didn't want to get her scrubs wet, which was true. He handed her a wad of tissue. She thanked him but continued to hold them. The reason she kept her legs up was to hold him inside her womb for as long as she could. She was not taking birth control pills. Her hook ups were so infrequent that condoms and a diaphragm made more sense. She had always been very regular. When she had received word of the match, she took it as a sign from a God she no longer believed in. She was mid-cycle.

She told him nothing of this, not wishing to add to his worries. The next morning, he started the brutal cycle of chemo and radiation, then the bone marrow transplant itself. He cleared the first hurdle. The marrow engrafted. He had only mild symptoms of graft versus host disease. He was doing well. Allison had begun to allow herself to hope when he spiked a fever. His new marrow was making itself at home but it was not yet fully functional. Greg's defenses against infection remained low.

He fought. She fought. Molitor fought. He would rally then another problem would crop up. The anti-fungal medication damaged his kidneys. His liver stopped working and he could no longer keep his lungs free of fluid. They talked. He did not want to be put on a respiratory. As much as she wanted to tell him to do it, that it might work, she knew in all likelihood it would not. It was his choice.

They stole little moments when they could. The nurses knew and let them be. It would have shocked her but Molitor knew as well and his heart ached for the young woman he was so proud of. She was a better physician than he, and he had no problems acknowledging the fact. He envied her strength, a strength he no longer possessed. He did not resent her for that. He admired her.

She waited until he had made his decision about the ventilator before she told him. What? No really. It's true. I'm pregnant. They had cried then. Maybe I should let them put me on the ventilator? No love, rest now, you've done all anyone can ask.

When it was clear his breathing was a struggle they began the morphine. A few of his closest friends joined them. If they found it strange that Greg's doctor sat holding his hand they said nothing, not even his former fiancé. It was nothing like the stupid movies. Dying is never easy. He was young and want to live, his body wanted to live. His lungs gasped for air. His heart pounded, driving blood to organs that had already ceded defeat. Allison sat. All but his best friend drifted away. They sat on opposite sides of his bed, each holding a hand. It's okay baby, let go now. Rest. She's right, buddy. Take it easy. It's been a great fucking ride but it's time to rest in the shade. In the end, it's never anything more dramatic than a breath exhaled without another being drawn in.

When it came to light that Greg had named Allison his executor there were the expected rumblings from the administration. Molitor came down on them, as pissed as Moses finding his people cavorting with Baal. He had never met a finer physician, a finer person. Allison was amazed and touched. The psychologist produced her documents and Greg's statement. In the end, the administration backed off. There was no evidence of an improper relationship, none that was visible yet anyway, and certainly no evidence of coercion. A man could leave his estate to whomever he desired.

Allison was shocked at the sum but the codicil that pleased her the most was that he had left his semen to her.

With a minimum of fuss, he was buried out on the plains. It was one of the new cemeteries, no casket, no embalming, a biodegradable shroud, no flowers and no headstone. Once the earth settled back into place and the grass grew tall, there would be no evidence it was a cemetery. He was returned to the earth in the most efficient way possible.

----

They were a striking family. It was impossible not to follow them with your eyes for a moment. The smaller of her children held her hand. The oldest, not quite a teen but old enough to believe it was wrong to show excitement about anything, tried to look aloof.

The woman had brown hair that refused to stay in a bun. The boys had dark wavy hair that curled over their ears.

"That's it?" the eldest son asked, trying and failing not to sound impressed.

"Yup, honey that's it."

"Is it really made out of corn, mom? Cool," the youngest cried, tugging at her hand anxious to get closer.

"It is cool isn't it?"

Her eyes shone. Probably because of the glare from the sun.

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I hope I didn't let the story drift into sounding maudlin. My goal was a simple story of two people making the best of a terrible situation.

Please don't bother correcting me on the medical aspects of the story. I didn't hire a medical consultant to review it. I'm sure that despite Google's best efforts I got some of the details wrong. It isn't a treatise on bone marrow transplantation.