Sexual Healin’

Author: Reverand Maynard
Warnings: NC-17; LEMON; yaoi
Disclaimer: I have no legal rights, only stock in perversion.

“The Doctor will see you now, Mr. Barton.”

Trowa Barton looked up from the copy of US magazine he was thumbing through and at the pretty young nurse who had spoken to him.

“Thank you.” He replied almost inaudibly and stood, following her to his doctor’s office.

It was his second month coming to see Doctor Maxwell. He came every week faithfully and had only just recently begun to make progress. He was not terminally ill, nor was he facing any diseases or severe trauma, yet somehow he often thought his plight worse than many of these. Trowa . . . was impotent.

He had not always been thus. He had never been particularly attracted to women but he could remember fondling himself as a teenager and being aroused by the other boys in his gym class. And at one point, he had even had a boyfriend.

He and a man named Quatre had dated for over a year, and when they first met, Trowa had been able to make love to the smaller blonde, and did so frequently. But as their relationship progressed, Trowa’s problems began. Quatre had been a sweet soul and was understanding for a long time. As time passed, however, Quatre grew frustrated, and even after Trowa’s attempts to appease him, Quatre had told him politely that he could not be with a man who couldn’t fuck him stupid. Countless blow-jobs later, Trowa was alone. Again.

And desperate. He had read about Dr. Maxwell in a magazine ad, a specialist in helping men in his condition, and after several bouts of severe depression, decided to give him a try. Couldn't hurt.

Since then he had grown to trust Dr. Maxwell and had even admitted his homosexuality to him and told him about Quatre. The one thing he couldn’t say was why he was having this problem to begin with. Somewhere, in the deepest most secluded corners of his mind, he knew it was something from his past, some atrocity that had been done to him that his conscious mind no longer recognized. And he was glad it didn’t.

The nurse walked him into the familiar room, colored in neutral pastel tones, the walls covered in former patient’s artwork.

Trowa sat, watching as the nurse left and waited for Dr. Maxwell. He was extremely nervous. It was not that he minded doctors, in fact he had grown quite fond of Dr. Maxwell. No, his nervousness came from excitement. He found himself wishing he might never have another erection, just as an excuse to continue seeing the lovely doctor, but at the same time wished he had one now, a lovely gift with which to greet his physician.

“Trowa!” Dr. Maxwell greeted him as he walked in from a side door. “How’ve you been?” He strolled to where Trowa sat on a leather sofa and sat down opposite him, shaking Trowa’s hand in hello.

“Okay, I guess.” Trowa scooted further toward the arm of the sofa, distancing himself safely at three feet.

“Good.” Dr. Maxwell, commented and picked up a clipboard and pen from a nearby table, flipping through the pages.

Trowa watched him, admired him. The doctor had beautifully braided long hair, and deep violet eyes. He was built solidly but with a whisper of femininity that Trowa found endearing, if only he found it arousing.

Trowa felt his cheeks burn hot with shame, not at his lustful thoughts, but at his inability to act upon them. He looked at his hands, wringing them in his lap.

“You don’t seem okay to me.”

Trowa looked up into blazing violet pools. Dr. Maxwell had obviously noticed his unease and a look of concern painted his precious face.

“Did you watch those movies we talked about?” Dr. Maxwell asked softly, setting his clipboard on the floor.

“Yes,” Trowa looked back at his hands, “but, Dr. Maxwell, I don’t think--”

“Trowa,” Dr. Maxwell interrupted, “if I’ve told you once I’ve told you a thousand times, call me Duo.” Duo smiled sweetly, the offering lost on Trowa who still watched his own hands. “Now, what were you saying?”

“Duo,” Trowa’s words were hesitant, “I’m pretty sure heterosexuality isn’t my thing, I--it didn’t do anything for me.”

“Well, that’s what we’re trying to figure out, what exactly your thing is. If your episode began during a homosexual encounter than we have to at least explore the opposite-sex alley. Anything’s worth a shot.” Duo turned sideways, to fully face Trowa, or at least the top of Trowa’s head, and leaned his head on his arm which rested on the back of the sofa. His voice was soft. “What about the masturbation? How did that work out?”

Trowa’s cheeks grew hotter. “I couldn’t” he admitted reluctantly, “I tried in the shower, like you said, . . . I just . . . nothing. . .”

“That’s fine,” Duo’s voice was soothing, as was the gentle hand he placed on Trowa’s shoulder, “we’ll figure it out, Trowa, I promise.”

Trowa loved the feeling of that hand on his shoulder. He imagined what it might feel like to have a sexual reaction to it. It had been so long that his body barely remembered what a hard-on felt like. He longed to ache somewhere besides his heart.

“Trowa,” Duo cooed, and Trowa realized he had been silent for a long moment.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m fine.”

“Trowa,” Duo said again, moving his hand under Trowa’s chin and lifting his face into view, “you can’t keep hiding from me. I only want to help you.”

Trowa met those violet oceans timidly, fearfully, and the corners of his mouth trembled as he spoke, “I don’t think that can be done.”

Duo sat quietly, regarding his patient, and then let go of Trowa’s face and rose from the sofa.

He didn’t say anything as he removed his button-down shirt, nor when he peeled off his pants, letting them drop to the floor in a soft heap. It wasn’t until he slid silk boxers down over creamy thighs that he stopped to speak.

“Will you let me try to help you, Trowa?”

Trowa looked at the beautiful figure before him, brown braid snaking over one shoulder, hands falling timidly at his sides, his pretty cock quickly springing to life from his exhibitionism. How could he say no.

Trowa nodded in reply and Duo stepped a little closer to him, not touching, not reaching, just waiting.

“What do you want me to do Trowa?” a slight flush crept over his body, “should I undress you? Touch you?”

Trowa was silent.

“Maybe I should just . . . touch myself.” And as he spoke his right hand moved to rest on his hip and then traveled inward over his taut stomach, it’s destination clear.

Trowa watched all of this with no little fascination.

Duo’s fingers danced across his stomach, pressing inward at times, smoothing lightly at others and when he reached the tip of his weeping erection which now arched upward toward his abdomen, his head fell back in pleasure, his eyes closing, braid falling to hang behind him.

He wrapped his thin fingers around his own pulsing shaft and began slowly working up and then down its length. He started to breathe heavily and his chest rose and fell rapidly. He was so close that Trowa could have leaned forward a little to take the engorged member into his mouth, tasting Duo’s heat.

“Trowa,” he moaned breathily, the word a plea, “Trowa, it’s you. It’s you touching me . . . not me.”

Trowa was mesmerized and ecstatic. While Duo tended to himself, he had a very distinct feeling in his groin. It was only fleeting, and seemed to come in sporadic waves, but nonetheless it was more aroused than he had been in a very long time.

Duo’s pants became less frequent and his hand slowed its movement, moving to stroke his thigh instead. He lifted his head and opened his eyes to peer at Trowa. “That was close, love, you’ll have to be more careful next time, I might not have the presence of mind to stop you in the future.” He smiled coyly. “Aren’t you a might too clothed for the activities of the day?” And he moved forward to help Trowa from his clothing.

Trowa stiffened, and Duo stopped,he turned serious and his voice became soothing. “We don’t have to, Trowa. Just say it and it stops.”

Trowa looked at the caring face, heard the so sweet words and rose to let Duo remove his clothing.

Seconds later he stood bare in front of Duo. He looked down at his flaccid member and willed it to life. It mocked him, hanging limply.

“Do you want to touch it for me?” Duo asked seductively, at least a foot away, still not pushing too far.


“Should I, then?”


“Trowa,” Duo moved closer to Trowa, and Trowa’s shoulders shook. Duo couldn’t see the man’s face but saw a wet drop fall to the ground. He embraced him.

It was somewhat awkward, Duo’s solid prick pushing into Trowa’s soft one but Trowa delighted in the contact. He felt loved in that instant and was comforted by it.

“I want to sit.” Trowa whispered and sat back down, his back to the arm of the sofa, knees drawn before him to hide his nakedness. Duo sat opposite him.

“Do you like dirty-talk, Trowa?”

Trowa shrugged, “I don’t know.”

Duo scooted closer, whispering to the top of Trowa’s head.

“What if I said I wanted you inside me? I want to feel your hard cock pushing into me? Would you do that Trowa? Would you fuck me?”

Trowa was quiet.

Duo thought, and then spoke again.

“Have *you* ever been fucked, Trowa?” Trowa jumped slightly, so did his groin.

Duo noticed and continued. “When you were with Quatre, did he ever make love to you? I would. I can.”

Trowa looked up at Duo. The words kept coming.

“Do you see me, Trowa?” Duo was moving into Trowa’s space, leaning with one foot on the ground, his other knee resting on the couch, his erection rubbing Trowa’s leg. “Do you see how hard you make me,” he groaned as he ground himself into Trowa. “I want you Trowa, my thick cock in your sweet ass.”

Trowa was beyond belief now, he had in his lap, squashed between his chest and his upraised thighs a small yet growing erection. He felt the blood draining from other parts of his body and into that most precious organ. He wanted more. He spread his legs a little for Duo to see. Duo seemed pleased.

“So you’re a catcher eh, Trowa?” Duo smiled and continued rubbing Trowa’s thigh. “Have you ever been uke before?”

“What?” Trowa asked, wishing Duo would continue with his monologue instead distracting him with questions.

“Have you ever taken it up the ass?”


“Perhaps that’s your problem,” a pause, “maybe we can fix it.”

Trowa was tired of listening to Duo, he wanted to be hard, rock hard, he wanted to feel that influx of testosterone that could make a man insane with need and lust. He wanted to ache, and hurt, and be filled with all of the same.

He moved his hand into his lap and shyly touched his half erection.

Duo sat back and watched.

Trowa closed his eyes leaning his head on the arm of the sofa and stretching himself out more. The first contact was perfection, making him shiver violently. He relinquished the touch quickly, as if too much contact might scare the timid thing between his legs. He touched it again, and this time he found the tip moist. He stroked the underside and fondled his balls a little, the sensations so familiar even after so long, it was like coming home.

He was almost rock hard now and felt ready to go further. He remembered the other occupant of the room and his promise. He opened his eyes, to find Duo touching himself again, incredibly aroused by Trowa’s display. He looked at the impressive equipment Duo held. He wanted it inside him.

“Duo,” he cried to get the braided man’s attention. Duo stilled his hand and looked at Trowa.

Still lightly touching himself, Trowa scooted down into the sofa even further, spreading his legs wide, and cupped all of his cock and scrotum in one hand, pulling it up toward him, giving Duo and expansive view of his rear and the cherry pucker buried between his cheeks.

“Duo, . . . please,” Trowa panted.

Duo reveled in the site before and then quickly rose from the couch coming back moments later with a tube of lubricant.

He squeezed a generous amount on his hand and coated his stiff member, and then moved to Trowa’s spread opening. At the first touch of Duo’s hand and the cold lubricant, Trowa’s cock jumped, and his stomach tensed. He let out a shameless cry.

And when Duo explored him with one finger, two, and then three, Trowa’s erection was turgid, fat with desire.

Duo removed his fingers and scooted in under Trowa’s lower half, draping one impossibly long leg over his shoulder and letting the other wrap around his waist. And then he entered.

Trowa arched painfully, and then panted breathlessly with pleasure. Duo too found Trowa’s tight body breathtakingly, sweet. There was no adjustment period, no moment of hesitation, as soon as Duo was in he was out again. Their movements were not rushed but riotous all the same. The leather of the sofa creaked and whined and Trowa’s gratefully hard cock thudded against his stomach with every solid thrust. Trowa stilled it with his own hand, reveling in the feel of his stiff member and stroked along with Duo’s rhythm.

When climax came it was hard and sudden. Trowa came with a great cry, his essence spraying in a stream onto his chest, thick from disuse. Duo found release in the glowing heat of Trowa’s body. Unable to deny the muscles that clenched around his willing cock, he filled Trowa’s channel with his hot seed, his lover’s name falling clumsily from his lips.

Duo had pulled out slowly, and then moved to clean Trowa’s ejaculate from his chest with his tongue. Trowa enjoyed the attention.

They then lay quietly on their sides on the small sofa, bodies flush, forehead to forehead, nose to nose.

“Do you think I’m cured?” Trowa asked sleepily, his eyes half closed.

“Perhaps.” Duo was in much the same condition.

“What if I don’t want to be?”

Duo opened his eyes, “What do you mean?”

“If I’m cured, I have no reason to come back.”

“Well,” Duo sighed, “you could always come and and let me treat you for nymphomania.”

Trowa opened his eyes now, looking confused, “But I’m not a nymphomaniac.”

Duo smiled, “Well, maybe we can fix that too.”