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fibrillatory · 3 months

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<3 it: the convention

a commissioned work! I drew inspiration from many tidbits of content I've seen from this community over the years. I think even the concept of a cardiokink convention has been discussed on here before. regardless, I'm excited to share my take on such a thing. do enjoy!!!! 😘✨

Stefan could hardly believe it. Even though a week had passed since the letter, even though the enormous convention centre was well within his field of vision now—he still couldn’t believe it.

An invitation to ‘<3 it’.

The annual cardiokink event, hosted by the enigmatic JUST conglomerate, was invitation only—the cute pink letterhead that adorned such invitations was often flaunted in the online community. They were coveted, envied, and he wondered just how he’d been chosen. He’d done little more than lurk for a couple of months.

Regardless, he was here now.

People of all walks of life approached the building; some in plain clothes, others in-costume, others still planning to change once inside. All the same, they presented their tickets and counted themselves fortunate to take part in the largest gathering of cardiophiles in the entire world.

Stefan’s excitement swelled once he was through. The main floor was alight with activity; dominated by shops and stalls and educational demonstrations of all kinds. A twinge of regret shot through him as he passed a tantalizing display of cutting edge stethoscopes for an equally tantalizing price—he opted to buy one before coming out, in hopes of looking ‘prepared’, in the imaginary situation his social anxiety had brought up.

He stopped to look at them anyway.

“I just bought one of those.” An emphatic stranger broke into his thoughts. “Want to try before you buy?”

Stefan’s face lit up. The stranger was tall, lithe; with sharp angular facial features reminiscent of a high-fashion model. His eyes, spring green, were shining with genuine mirth and playfulness.

Stefan cleared a lump of shyness from his throat. “Yeah… I think I’d like that.”

“You in here all by your lonesome?” He crooked a finger.

Stefan readily followed, relieved that he now had company. He flushed at the query and tried to think of an equally flirty retort. “I… actually haven’t had the chance to make many connections yet. Was hoping to change that, and here you come along…” He giggled and continued, “I’m Stefan, by the way.”

“Wes,” the handsome man said in turn. “Is it your first time? You looked a little… is it patronizing to say lost?” Wes let loose a captivating trill of his own.

“Is it that obvious?”

They approached the boundary that separated the shops from ‘The General Testing Area’—a social space with a clinical flavor, where attendants were welcomed and encouraged to try out their purchases or show off their personal collections. The air was communal and breezy, with many people sharing their equipment and choosing to leave the curtains to their bays open.

Wes brought him over to the nearest open exam table. “I guess a newbie like you wouldn’t know about curtain code, hey?”

He innocently shook his head no as Wes whirled their own curtain entirely closed.

“Closed all the way—do not disturb. Half way open—means people are welcome to watch, but not to interrupt. All the way open—anyone is welcome to approach and interact.”

Stefan watched him demonstrate each position. He was so animated and enthusiastic about it all, and it put him at ease to be told such vital information so soon after arriving. “I like that a lot. Can we start with it closed?”

“Of course.” Wes swept it back around them with a certain flair that kept Stefan staring the whole time. “You should also know—they’re pretty strict about the above the belt policy up here. They’ll ban you for life if they catch you violating it. We have to go downstairs—or up—if we’re going to get carried away.” He punctuated with a disarming wink.

“God—this place is so fucking cool,” Stefan remarked as he recovered from the not-so-subtle proposition. “Wait… upstairs? Do you mean the VIP lounge?”

Wes had set the box down on the rolling bedside table and began to open it. “Yep! I’ve got two tickets. My darling partner woke up sick as a dog this morning, so he told me to go find some fresh-looking cutie and show them a good time. And here you come along,” he echoed with a wide smile. “You okay with that?”

“Absolutely.” Stefan beamed and joined him for the unboxing of the stethoscope: the latest of the Eko CORE digital line. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

Wes handed him the user guide after giving it a quick scan himself. “I have an earlier model at home, but…” he laughed, “I just couldn’t help myself. They’re the sexiest little things I’ve ever seen. Let me just get it going here…”

Stefan turned red when the small screen on the bell blinked to life.

“You want to check it out? Maybe give it a little test run?” Wes offered it to him.

He flushed deeper still. “Heh… to be honest, I’ve never—listened to someone before…”

“Aww. No need to be shy.” Wes pulled his shirt off and set it aside. “Why don’t you try listening to yourself first? I’ll even look away—“ he shielded his eyes for a moment— “if it’ll help.”

Stefan let out a cute nervous laugh and averted his gaze. “I—I think it might.”

Wes quickly hopped up onto the exam table and covered his eyes with one hand. “Alright. Promise I’m not looking.”

Stefan shyly mumbled in the affirmative, then realized he ought to say a bit more. “And… thank you. For being so generous and cool about everything.”

“Of course, baby. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be right here when you’re ready.” Wes playfully wiggled in his seat.

He was thoroughly flustered at that. Stethoscope now perched in his ears, he placed it over his heart, and the single lead ECG surged to life and revealed his pulse rate soon after. It was positively pounding—hovering around 135 BPM—and he found himself curious to find out how Wes would compare.

“I bought a nice Littmann a couple weeks ago. That thing—it doesn’t even compare to this… wow…”

Wes chuckled. “Enjoying yourself?”

He removed one of the earpieces. “Yes! It’s incredible. I, uh… I guess I should bring it over there now, hey?”

“I guess you should,” he shot back with a smile. “Do I have to keep my eyes closed?”

He considered. “No… not if you don’t want to.”

“Good.” Wes looked up at him as he approached his side. “You’re cute, and I wanna look at you some more.”

Stefan giggled. He was rendered a bit speechless by his flattery, and he was grateful to have the stethoscope to help bridge that gap.

Wes grinned when he nervously placed the bell over his aortic valve. He watched his eyes flick up to his shoulder, then back down to his chest. “You can brace your hand there. It’s okay.”

“Shh,” Stefan raised his finger to his mouth before doing just that. Their chemistry was making him bolder by the second. “No mind reading allowed.”

Wes stifled a laugh and continued to lie still and relaxed as Stefan gently examined his heart. Even augmented by the weight of the bell, his touch was feather-light and tender. He definitely knew his landmarks too, and took his sweet time with each one. Before long, Stefan began to stroke his shoulder, sometimes daring to stray closer to his chest—but he didn’t seem to be quite there yet.

“Your heart is so calm compared to mine,” Stefan said, continuing to listen. “You’ve been steady around seventy-five this whole time.”

“Is that so?” Wes finally glanced down to see for himself. It promptly spiked up to 82 BPM. “That might be because you were standing up. Shall we find out?”

Stefan withdrew the bell. There was a timid beat, and then he eagerly offered it to him and pulled his own shirt off. Wes was already off the table, gesturing to where he’d been sitting.

“How do you feel about a little blood pressure measurement while we’re at it?” Wes fished an automatic unit out of his backpack.

“Sure,” Stefan replied quickly.

He expertly affixed the cuff onto his arm and clicked it on. “And how about telling me what your heart rate was before?”

“One-thirty-five, give or take…?”

Wes smiled and nodded. “Alright then. Let’s see what’s happening now that you’re at rest.”

They both waited patiently for the device to give its reading. Wes could see the little heart icon flashing fast, and he tried to guess what his heart rate would be.

“One twenty three over seventy-eight, with a pulse of ninety-two,” he reported dutifully. “See? It’s down a bunch already.”

“It—it might go faster when you start listening…” Stefan warned, as though that was a bad thing.

“It just might, huh?” Wes began listening at the first landmark, and the bell gave a reading of 98 BPM. “Oh—listen to you go…”

Stefan squirmed, suddenly engulfed by the vulnerable circumstance he found himself in.

“I think someone likes being talked about…” Wes gently tapped his sternum with his free hand, and his heart sped up accordingly. “Yeah. He likes a little attention, doesn’t he?”

Stefan nodded enthusiastically.

“Very strong heart you have here, Stefan.” He moved to the next landmark and admired the readout on the bell and the smooth handsome chest beneath it. “Just beautiful. I could listen forever.”

“I’d let you,” Stefan blurted out.

“Heh. I’ll settle for right now.”

Wes was far more clinical and practiced in his examination than Stefan had been, but it was clearly doing something for him. There was a movement in his hips that he couldn’t help as he dragged it on and on, and he wondered if he had the nerve to proposition him about it.

“You’re… driving me a bit crazy,” Stefan mumbled under his breath.

Wes removed an earpiece, but pointedly kept listening to his thundering heart. “What was that?”

“I said—you’re driving me a bit crazy!”

Stefan pulled his face to his with both hands and dove his irresistible mouth. It was soft and giving, and he could feel the stethoscope pressed deeper into his chest as they devoured one another. It was so easy—too easy—

“So… what am I at now?” Stefan broke off and they both looked down. 147 BPM.

“That’s very flattering,” Wes said, effortless as ever. He placed the stethoscope around his neck after lingering just a few moments more. “You’re so reactive. It’s adorable.”

Stefan gathered his nerve. Wes looked incredible with the instrument perched just so. “Do you… maybe want to get out of here?”

Wes checked his phone for the time. “Yeah! And hey—please don’t take this as me stalling, because I’m not, I’d love to go somewhere more permissive later—but a show’s about to start upstairs: ‘A Private Demonstration of Various Equipment’. Supposed to last about forty minutes.”

Stefan excitedly slid out of the blood pressure cuff and gathered his things. “That sounds incredible.”

“Alright then. It’s a date.”

~~~~~

Wes led him by the hand to the entrance of the VIP lounge. On the way, they admired as many exhibitions as they were able, and Stefan found himself wanting to return later, when they had more time to linger.

“So… you’re coming to my room after this, yeah?” Wes said more than he asked. He handed off both his and Stefan’s ticket, and a doorman gave them passage into the room beyond. “I’ve got one up here. I have a feeling I’m gonna be a little riled up…”

“Are they showing something you like?” Stefan teased. He took a quick scan of the area—it was undeniably club-like, in lighting and general atmosphere, but it lacked music. Several people were mingling in the bar and the booths and tables that separated it from the stage: on it, a single pristine exam table illuminated by a spotlight. He urgently turned to Wes and tugged on his arm. “Also, yes.”

Wes giggled softly and guided him toward the bar. “Well… for the opening act, they’re doing a stemoscope demonstration. They’ll be broadcasting the audio to the audience, and… I don’t know, I guess I’m just a big exhibitionist, if I’m being honest.”

“That’s pretty hot,” Stefan breathed.

“Hm.” Wes shot him a thoughtful look. “Want a drink?”

Stefan met his gaze with a dreamy look of his own. “I might later on. I think my inhibitions are lowered enough…”

“Aw, don’t be mean,” Wes said, feigning hurt.

“No! No, I didn’t mean that—“

He gave a pleasant peal of laughter as Stefan tripped all over himself in an attempt to clarify, but he shook his head no. “No, I know. I’m just teasing you. You’re a real sweetheart, you know that?”

Stefan could feel his face going hot again. “Can you believe I just wake up like this, every single day?”

As they settled themselves in a cozy little booth for two, bantering the whole time, it became evident that there was an issue. The staff looked stressed, buzzing about in urgent strides and talking in fast, hushed tones.

“Wonder what’s going on,” Wes said idly. Other attendants were muttering similar things. “It’s already fifteen past.”

Stefan nodded and continued to watch the staff. They disappeared backstage for a minute, and then, a woman dressed in plain clothes with an ID badge around her neck took the stage, microphone in hand.

“Good evening, my fellow enthusiasts,” she greeted the crowd, and a hush fell over it. “I’m the director of tonight’s program. You might have noticed that we’re running behind, and I want to thank you for being so patient with us.” She paused for a beat; let the audience settle themselves further. “Our demonstrations feature a pre-selected specimen. On the chance that they’re not available, we have second and third stand-ins.” She chuckled to lighten the mood, “unbelievably, all of our specimens are ill or otherwise unavailable today.”

The crowd groaned, with both pity and a touch of frustration.

“However,” she smiled and leaned into the microphone, “we’ve decided to call on our audience to help. Here’s our criteria, up on the screens.” A small bullet-point list appeared on the three displays arranged above the stage. “If you meet it and are interested, please raise your hand.”

“Holy shit,” Stefan exclaimed softly. The crowd was also murmuring with excitement, and hands began to shoot up. “I meet that criteria.”

Wes was about to encourage him, but before he could speak, he raised his hand with a friendly smile and a wave to the director. She turned her attention to him, and something in her gaze both intensified and relaxed at once. “You there. The guy in the booth with the white shirt and blonde hair—yes, you. Come meet me over here.”

“No way. Oh my god. Okay. Okay,” Stefan stood up and readied himself as best he could. He was well outside of his comfort zone now, but he was undeterred—it felt good. Really good. “Can you look after my things?”

“You got it.” Wes winked. He played it cool, but he was truly thrilled. “That’s some crazy luck you got there. Have fun, alright?”

Stefan nodded excitedly and hopped away to meet the director, who was standing near a manned door that led backstage. Part of the criteria had been no adulterants, and he found himself grateful that he’d refused the drink, against his usual grain. He then traced all the little decisions and strokes of luck that had led up to this moment, and shed any doubt that he wanted to do this as he finally met the director.

“Hi there! I’m Kay, and you are…?”

“Stefan Velasquez—“

“Wonderful to meet you,” the energetic woman cut him off and ushered him through the door. She gestured to a gurney waiting in the hallway, attended to by two masked people in scrubs. One was a woman in muted magenta, and another in green with a matching surgical cap whose gender couldn’t be determined at a glance. “In the spirit of treating you well and fast-tracking things, please hop up on here. We’ll need to do some quick preliminary tests, and you’ll need to read and sign some things.” She waited until he was settled on the gurney, then passed him a clipboard. “Please affix your ID to the clipboard when you’re done. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Stefan dug out his wallet and put his driver’s license in his lap, and his attendants quickly wheeled him away. The first page was a detailed outline of what exactly was about to take place, the risks involved, and of course, a waiver of any liability on JUST, should the worst occur.

“I’m Charlie,” the lady explained brightly as he skimmed the pages. “And this is my partner, Mack.” She paused, and they gave a cheerful hello. “We’ll be making sure you’re fit for all of that there real quick.”

“We’ve never done anything quite like this before, so we’ve gotta make doubly sure you’re good to go—it’s not because we think you’re a liar,” Mack reassured him.

“No—I totally get it.” Stefan smiled at them.

“You’re free to enjoy it,” Mack said playfully. “Here we are.”

They arrived in a small exam room and settled him in the middle of an arrangement of diagnostic equipment. He signed off where needed, secure in his decision, then clipped his ID on top as instructed.

Charlie picked up the clipboard and glanced through it to ensure he’d not missed a signature, and she gave him a firm nod. “Alright, Stefan. We’re going to take your vital signs, then an ECG and an ultrasound. We’ll also need to draw some blood. Then, you’ll meet with Dr. Forget and the director, and if all is well—off you go to the stage. Can you take your shirt off for us, please?”

“Of course.” Stefan could feel his heart rate climbing by the second. He happily went shirtless, and both of them were on him immediately—one with a blood pressure cuff, the other with a pulse oximeter. He was struck by how quickly they moved—and how quickly the display revealed his tachycardia. “I’m just a little nervous.”

“That’s alright, sweet thing. Just be you,” Mack crooned. Stefan was visibly placated by their lilting words, melting into the gurney as the cuff squeezed his arm. “It’s natural to be nervous. But Charlie and I—and everyone here—we’re going to take wonderful care of you.”

Stefan beamed. He couldn’t help it. “I… I’m sure you will.”

“One-twenty-five over eighty-seven.” Charlie looked pleased. “Awesome. I’ll be taking that blood now, and we’ll have the results before you know it.”

Charlie tied a tourniquet onto his arm and prepped his skin accordingly. At the same time, Mack started pressing in place the tabs of the ECG. “You scared of needles at all?”

“Oh—no one likes it,” Stefan replied. “But no, not really.”

“Alright. Here we go…”

He winced at the prick in his elbow, and his nurses comforted him as the blood rushed into the vial. Mack continued connecting the cables to the leads, and just as they finished, so too did the draw.

“All done. You were great.” Charlie grinned beneath the mask. “I’m going to run this to the analyst, and Mack here will take care of the rest. Good luck!”

Before Stefan could thank her, she was gone, and Mack was lowering the gurney so it was lying flat.

“Mmkay. Just hold completely still for me—breathe normally, don’t talk…”

The device beeped out his heart rate, still elevated around 120 BPM. Stefan wanted to see it, but it was just outside his peripheral vision.

“Lookin’ good, from what I can tell.” They tapped on the console, then switched to removing the cables. “Don’t worry. Dr. Forget will go over it all with you. Ready for the ultrasound?”

“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life,” Stefan admitted.

“Loving that attitude.” Mack adjusted the angle back upward and readied the ultrasound unit waiting nearby. “Just a little gel, so I can see what’s going on in there…”

Stefan shivered. The translucent blue gel was cold.

“Can you lay on your side for me?” Mack demonstrated with their own body, and Stefan followed suit. “Perfect. You may look if you want.”

He fixed his eyes on the monochrome display as Mack massaged the transducer into his chest. His heart bumped around on screen, still racing in anticipation, and the sounds boomed in time with the images. He barely blinked—it was incredible, getting to experience his heart like this.

“I don’t want to speak too soon, but… I’m pretty sure you’re gonna make the cut,” Mack said. They grabbed a soft towel folded up nearby. “Clean yourself up with this, and Dr. Forget will be right in.”

Stefan patted down his chest, positively glowing. “Sounds great. Thank you, Mack.”

They left him with a wink, and he immediately whipped his head over to the monitor. It was still showing his pulse rate and blood pressure, and he studied the traces while he waited.

Dr. Forget didn’t leave him steeping long. She was a beautiful, mature woman with dark curly hair and striking blue eyes. Beneath her white coat, she wore a silky red dress that revealed her admirable figure. The evocative look was neatly pulled together by sharp, sexy pumps in the same bold colour.

“Hello!” She was as cheerful and welcoming as everyone before her. “I’m Dr. Forget. It’s an alias, but—I am a real doctor, employed by JUST. I’ll be leading your procedures tonight. Pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” Stefan politely shook her extended hand. “Seriously—what an incredible opportunity.”

“Indeed,” Dr. Forget said absently. She pulled up his lab results on a laptop perched on a rolling table, and she brought it over where he could see it. “Your blood work came back normal, and your ECG is great.” She played back the short video for him, much to his delight. “The sonogram shows no abnormalities, so I’m going to go ahead with the next phase of testing…”

“What’s that? The nurses didn’t tell me.”

“Didn’t you read your contract?” Dr. Forget laughed it off. The look on his face told her that he hadn’t fully read it. “You’ll be having your heart cardioverted and paced after the stemoscope demo.”

“Oh yeah! I remember now.” He did vaguely remember seeing those words on the page. “I’m just—so excited. Oh my god.”

“Me too.” Dr. Forget opened a fresh pair of defibrillator pads and smoothed them around his heart. She relished in his obvious surprise and arousal and primed the monitor to pace him. “It might hurt a little bit, okay?”

“Okay…”

“Three, two, one…”

Dr. Forget fussed with the joules to properly capture his strong pump with the current. Stefan grunted at first, but quickly grew used to it. The machine beat his heart at a steady 70 BPM, and he looked down at his twitching chest and realized that something else was twitching beneath his waistband.

“How’s that treating you, Mr. Velasquez?”

“I’m—good. Really good,” Stefan slurred between jolts.

“Great to hear. You’re tolerating it very well.” She turned off the pacing and watched his heart recover. It sped up again, but not as much—it stayed stable near 95 BPM. “We’re going to try something more like a ‘real’ shock now, okay? Take some nice, deep breaths…”

Stefan closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. He could hear the beeping of the monitor speeding up dramatically, and then an electronic hum, and then—

“Huuh… holy shit…” Stefan gasped and croaked. He instinctively clawed at the pads and wondered if being struck by lightning was similar. It hurt like hell, but it was over so fast, and he could feel his body being flooded with endorphins in response.

“Mhm. Just as I thought. You’re the perfect specimen!” Dr. Forget was wired with excitement of her own now. “Alright. Now, if you’ll hop up off the table for me… I just need to get a few more metrics, and you need to change into a gown.”

Stefan hesitated; looked sheepish. “Um… yeah, sure, but, uh… you should know… I’ve—I’ve got a bit of a stiffy.”

Dr. Forget laughed. It was meant to be reassuring, but it landed a little derisive. “That’s just fine, Mr. Velasquez. It’s all part of the fun.”

~~~~~

The rest happened so quickly, Stefan could hardly process it. The director was informing the audience that the show could proceed now, and in a few moments, Dr. Forget would wheel him on-stage.

He looked up at the doctor from the gurney. She radiated confidence, smiling when the audience cheered at the news, and he wondered if she did this sort of thing often.

“I’m like… really nervous,” he admitted. “My heart’s going a mile a minute. I’ve never been… I’ve never performed before—”

“Nothing in the criteria or contract said you had to have experience—or a slow heart rate,” she said matter-of-factly. She picked up his wrist to measure his pulse, but didn’t react to it one way or the other. “Stefan—your only obligations are to comply with the procedures, and look pretty doing it. So don’t worry.” She paused to nod to the stagehand that had approached them. “You’re going to be great.”

When they took the stage, Stefan was assaulted by the stimuli. The lights were bright and hot. The audience cheered and cat-called them both as the gurney was made front and center—he noticed that the exam table had been placed in the background, and that a host of equipment had joined it. Cameras panned around them and the displays surged to life, ready to provide a closer look at what was about to take place.

“So sorry to keep you waiting,” Dr. Forget purred. She had adorned a lapel microphone. “Let’s get right down to it. Our lucky specimen is twenty-four years old, in perfect health, and very excited to be here.”

Stefan grinned and nodded, giving a cute, shy wave as he did. He scanned the crowd for Wes and blushed when he waved back. As Dr. Forget readied and explained the stemoscope tech, he realized he couldn’t just stare at him the whole time.

Shit.

“Alright, Mr. Jay,” Dr. Forget approached him with the small circular device, using the alias he’d requested, “if you would expose your chest for me…”

Stefan moved the gown aside and shot the doctor a submissive look.

“Mhm,” she chirped affirmatively and gently placed the device over his aortic valve. Right away, his heartbeat was sounding through the room, and the data from the accompanying app was displayed on a screen behind them. The crowd hushed to silence to take it in, and Dr. Forget turned to admire the data for herself.

“He’s a little nervous,” Dr. Forget whispered into the mic. His pulse rate had started out at 138 BPM, but it had climbed to 145 in the seconds following. “But he has a very healthy heart.”

Stefan wanted to squirm as she moved the stemoscope over his pulmonic valve, but he pushed it down. He wanted to give some veneer of confidence. She was quiet for the next part of the demonstration to let the audience fully take in the sounds of his heart, and he again looked into the crowd. Even beyond the bright lights, he could see people having a variety of reactions to his heartbeat.

A lot of people had somewhat stoic expressions, he noticed. He wondered if it came from the repression a lot of cardiophiles feel compelled to perform—himself included, up until now—but a lot of others were openly enjoying it, too. Some looked sedate, dazed; and others were so obviously fired up, he thought they might start pleasuring themselves to it right then and there.

Wes was somewhere in the middle. He had relaxed and spread out in the booth, but his eyes were fixed on Stefan. A loud pre-ventricular contraction thumped in the speakers as their eyes met, and he smirked at him.

Stefan had to look away.

“What a nice little treat,” Dr. Forget commented in her ever-sultry stage voice. She picked up the device and held it over the mitral valve, deliberately brushing over his nipple as she did so.

Stefan’s heart was jackhammering. The readout on screen was over 150 BPM. It was almost too much to bear: the arousal, the vulnerability, the watching eyes and cameras. He wondered, for a split second, if it was possible to back out—but instead, he closed his eyes and steeled himself to endure.

“Mr. Jay, I’m going to have you do something called the valsalva maneuver,” she said while moving the stemoscope back to the pulmonic landmark, “it’ll help slow your heart down.”

Stefan nodded. She was already adjusting the gurney to lie flat.

“Hold your nose and mouth closed…” she waited for him to plug his nose, “and try to exhale—like you’re trying to pop your ears.”

He knew exactly what to do. He’d done it before. Stefan closed his eyes and bore down, and Dr. Forget began to count down from ten. As he held his breath, his heart rate jumped dramatically—up to a peak of 164 BPM. The crowd maintained a respectful quietness, but they were clearly spellbound by the rapid galloping of his pump.

“And let it out.”

Stefan exhaled and sucked in a long breath. His heart rapped hard against his ribs for a few beats, missed one with another loud thump, then resumed sinus rhythm in the high-sixties.

“Perfect,” Dr. Forget beamed. She readjusted the incline of the gurney and turned toward the audience. “Vagal maneuvers can sometimes be used in place of cardioversion or medication. We’ll be exploring both today with Mr. Jay.”

As she removed the stemoscope, Stefan found himself wishing he hadn’t just skimmed the contract. He didn’t remember seeing anything about the administration of drugs, outside their implied use in resuscitation…

“For our next section, we’ll need to keep a closer eye on him,” Dr. Forget continued to explain. A stagehand in scrubs wheeled some equipment over to the bedside, and she began rigging him up to the patient monitor. A larger version of it was displayed on one of the screens, which revealed his vital signs once the blood pressure cuff and pulse oximeter were secure. “He’s still just a little tachycardic at one-hundred-twelve, but everything else is well within normal range.”

Stefan was comforted at that. She finished up with the five-lead ECG, and he stole a glance at one of the monitors above him. He did look pretty, all hooked up, and he wondered if these recordings were stored anywhere, and if he might get a copy of it.

“I’m also going to need a couple of volunteers,” Dr. Forget said with a wide grin. Before she could even explain what for, hands were shooting up. “You—and you. Come on up here. Bring your stethoscopes, if you’ve got! If not, we have some up here.”

Stefan’s heart rate spiked when he saw that Wes had been chosen, along with a woman that was positively vibrating with excitement.

As if it wasn’t already hard enough to keep my cool! Damn it! he thought as they joined him on-stage.

Wes shot him a knowing, flirty grin. He kept his composure, but truthfully, he couldn’t believe his luck.

“Alright. You’re assistant one—“ she pointed to Wes, “and you’re assistant two. I’m going to have you both listen to his heart, to start.”

There was an undeniably flirty undertone to her command. The woman looked a little sheepish, when it came right down to it, but Wes was slick and steely as ever. They both found a groove, trading off auscultation landmarks. The second assistant was trying—and succeeding—in being a little sexy with it, juxtaposed against Wes’s more clinical style. He stared directly at him, armed with a soft smile, and every time Stefan met his gaze, his pump would beat just a little faster.

“Do you both have a pretty good idea of what his heart sounds like?” Dr. Forget asked. Her assistants both answered in the affirmative. “Good. Assistant one—please join me over here.”

Wes stepped over to her, and she picked up the defibrillator paddles and offered them to him. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and watched as she squeezed out some gel onto a capacitor, and he took that as a cue to rub them together.

“You’ll place one here,” she guided Wes’s hand over his right pec, “and the other right here. Hold it firm—yes, just like that.”

Stefan was breathing a little quicker now. The sight of Wes holding the paddles went straight to his dick, and he could hear the whispers from the audience in response, but he put it out of his mind.

“How many joules do you think he needs?” Dr. Forget asked innocuously.

Wes scoured his brain. He’d done some reading about defibrillation. “I think I read that two-hundred joules is a pretty standard starting point? For abnormal rhythms, at least?”

Dr. Forget eagerly dialed it in. “Someone’s done their homework! Whenever you’re ready, press that charge button at your thumb, then the shock button. Everyone’s clear.”

Wes didn’t hesitate. The sound of the device winding up reverberated throughout the room, and everyone watched on in silent anticipation.

“You ready?” Wes whispered.

Stefan nodded, and the immense current rocked his body. He groaned and writhed, and the trace displayed his heart arresting, temporarily—it resumed its normal rhythm soon after. Dr. Forget took the paddles and set them aside, then ordered them to have another listen to his chest.

“Do you hear anything different, post-shock?”

“I don’t think so?” the lady answered first. Wes nodded in agreement.

“Do you want to hear something different?” She gestured for her to join her and offered her the paddles. Stefan looked increasingly nervous, and it showed in his elevated vital signs—there was something dark in her voice. “When we’re calibrating pacemakers, we’ll shock the vulnerable T-wave to induce an arrhythmia. Put the paddles on him.”

The second assistant blushed. She was clearly into it. Something about Stefan’s obvious anxiety was getting to her. “Can I choose how much he gets?”

“Absolutely.”

“Um… three-hundred?”

Dr. Forget dialed it in. “Okay. Press the charge button, and I’ll tell you when to shock, counting down from three.” She waited for the defibrillator to charge. “Everyone’s clear. Three, two, one…”

Stefan flinched against the paddles. He loudly sucked in air, then fell unconscious as his heart began to fibrillate. Dr. Forget urged them both to listen again, quickly, and while they did, she explained the type of arrhythmia they had induced to the audience.

“Now, let’s correct it.”

Dr. Forget gelled the capacitors once more and settled them in place on Stefan’s chest. “Three, two, one, shock…”

The patient jerked again, and the fibrillation promptly stopped. Dr. Forget looked pleased when his heart restarted accordingly, and a sigh of relief fell over the watching crowd.

“Thank you for your participation!” Dr. Forget gleefully shook both their hands and invited them both to return to the audience. She then moved to give Stefan some supplementary oxygen through a mask. “Let’s give Mr. Jay a little time to recover before proceeding.”

Wes was shaking with adrenaline by the time he returned to his seat. He was grateful for the table—it was hiding a massive erection. He checked the time, eager to have Stefan all to himself again.

As they waited for the patient to come around, another stemoscope broadcast was done in the interim. Stefan’s heart rate was slow, but steady, and the audience murmured about the show so far. Some veterans of the VIP lounge were shocked by how much they were deviating from the usual program, and the spontaneous nature of it all had everyone wondering how it was going to turn out.

Dr. Forget stepped aside to speak to someone, who then disappeared backstage. The arrangement of equipment around Stefan was adjusted, including the removal of the stemoscope, but the actual purpose of it all was somewhat obscure. She clipped her mic back on after taking a few sips of water and studied the patient’s vital signs.

“Everything is optimal,” she said mysteriously as she crossed the stage to the bedside. She fussed with a packet of AED pads and slowly pressed each one in place, caressing him as she did—much to the crowd’s delight. “Now, for the second phase of our show…”

Dr. Forget set the device to pace his heart. The ‘R’ wave in his heartbeat cycle was highlighted on screen. “We’ll start with a little cardiac pacing. The R wave is shocked repeatedly, with the joules slowly titrated upward…” she paused to start the process, “until the heart is captured by the current. Like so.”

The audience watched on, entranced by the spectacle of Stefan’s twitching chest.

She equipped her electronic stethoscope and placed it over his heart. At a lower volume than before, his heartbeat was revealed to the crowd again. A few knowledgeable attendants murmured about Bluetooth capabilities when she didn’t offer an explanation—she simply let them enjoy the sound of his heart, being forced to beat.

Dr. Forget replaced the instrument around her neck when he began to come around, and the audio from it cut out seamlessly.

“Welcome back, Mr. Jay,” she said cheerfully. “How are you feeling?”

Stefan’s eyes darted around. He quickly realized he was still on stage and tried to adjust accordingly. He looked down and both surprise and embarrassment flashed across his face—not only was he being paced, but there was a wet spot on his gown.

“I’m a little tired,” he replied honestly, using every ounce of strength not to moan and sigh with pleasure, “but I think I’m okay. The oxygen and the—the everything… is really nice.”

Dr. Forget had leaned in so the audience could hear his response. Her eyes trailed down and she crooked her lip. “Aw. Did you hear that? Our specimen is quite all right, after all that.” She stepped away from him to address the audience, but shot a deliberate glance at the stain. “Looks like he got a little excited about it, too.”

The crowd tittered appropriately when the cameras revealed it, and Stefan flushed. Even his ears grew red and hot. He knew he’d get hard at some point, but he hadn’t expected the doctor to draw such direct attention to it. He thought of looking for Wes, for a moment, but quickly decided he couldn’t bear it.

Dr. Forget appeared beside him again, this time with the supplies to make a port. She’d turned the pacing off. “You’re just going to feel a little prick, okay? Hold still for me…”

Stefan submitted. He assumed Dr. Forget was about to make good on her earlier words. In his peripheral vision, he noticed the people backstage were moving about, more deliberately than they had been so far.

“Great. Thank you.” She smiled sweetly at him, then picked up a vial and readied and syringe. “This is just something to help you feel relaxed.”

“Okay…” Stefan said distantly as she pushed it through the cannula. He found Wes again—the expression on his face was complex. He was tense with concern now, but his continued arousal was obvious.

Aw. That’s so cute.

Dr. Forget continued to study him, and Stefan’s focus shifted back to his current condition. He was feeling relaxed.

A little too relaxed.

“The final segment of our show will feature many pieces of equipment, being used in tandem.” She was vague to obscure the truth. She didn’t want to alarm her patient—too much. “It might get a little rough, so… we’ve opted for sedation, for the specimen’s safety and well-being.”

Stefan’s heart rate spiked. Something was off. Before he could do anything about it, everything frayed to black.

Dr. Forget turned to address the crowd. She looked absolutely delighted. “For the first time ever in the history of <3 it: a live resuscitation demo.”

The audience was dumbfounded. Some clapped with excitement, others got up and left, and others still stayed, out of sheer curiosity.

Wes’s first thought was to halt the show. He didn’t want to see Stefan come to harm. A resuscitation demo on a practiced specimen was one thing, but a random member of the audience…? His mind raced about waivers and what had happened while he was backstage. As Charlie and Mack were introduced, he noticed a sudden increase in security personnel, and ultimately decided he’d stay put.

Deep down, he too was curious.

“I won’t be wearing my mic for this,” Dr. Forget explained. “I ask that you maintain that respectful volume you’ve all kept so nicely. Thank you.”

The remaining audience was dead silent. Right away, the defibrillator could be heard charging. Stefan flinched on the gurney, and the trace scrawled out ventricular fibrillation.

Dr. Forget quietly ordered her assistants to ventilate him as she equipped her stethoscope. There was a hum of awe as the chaotic sounds of his malfunctioning pump were broadcast. Soon, the artificial respiration provided by a bag valve mask joined it, and Dr. Forget waited.

And waited.

Time dilated more with each second that passed. She gestured for Charlie to cease ventilation, and then, finally, Stefan fell into full arrest.

To everyone’s surprise, Dr. Forget jumped up on the gurney and straddled Stefan’s hips. She rammed his chest hard and fast while ordering the respiration to continue. She urged Charlie to prepare epinephrine and to administer it after thirty compressions—she did have a bit of a show to put on, after all. The cameras continued to pan, to maintain both flattering angles and clear shots of what was going on. Dr. Forget listened to his chest as the drug was pushed through, and again the audio was fed through the speakers, even though there was only silence beneath.

The doctor replaced the instrument around her neck with a huff, and she threw off her white coat before going in for another round of compressions. A particularly drunk patron dared to whistle at her scantily-clad form, only to be promptly silenced by the security presence.

The air in the room grew thick with tension with each thrust given. Charlie could be seen reaching between Dr. Forget’s legs to palpate Stefan’s femoral pulse, and she confirmed that the forced circulation was sufficient. This could be seen on the monitor too, but the enamored crowd was clearly appreciating the sexy flair they were adding to the scene. Despite the obvious peril at hand, their confidence seemed to put them at ease.

Wes was on the edge of his seat. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He couldn’t tear his eyes from it and couldn’t decide how he felt about it. He knew Stefan’s attendants were confident because they had to be, not because they could guarantee survival. He also knew he’d dart backstage the moment he could.

Another round of epinephrine was administered, and this time, Stefan’s heart reacted. The shrill monotone ceased, replaced by a rapid beeping and a flurry of activity on the trace. She ordered Charlie to power up the ultrasound as she hopped off the gurney—with surprising agility for a woman in heels—then grabbed the wand from the nurse’s hand and applied it to Stefan’s chest.

What happened next drew a collective gasp from the crowd. The sonogram was blown up to the main display, and they witnessed Stefan’s quivering heart in even greater detail. The defibrillator was primed, the patient was shocked, and the monochrome imaging revealed the inner workings of cardioversion. The arrested muscle jerked, like it’d been kicked. Then it was still—and the audience blew out their breath when it finally started beating again. They erupted with applause, and Mack and Charlie speedily carted him off-stage.

Dr. Forget quickly grabbed a microphone. “And that’s our show! Thank you, thank you. We hope to see you next time!”

“Ow!” Wes stood up so fast that he banged his knee on the table. He rushed over to the manned door that Stefan had disappeared through originally, almost tripping over patrons as he did. The security guard gave him a gruff, disaffected stare.

“Can I help you?” He rumbled with his arms crossed.

“Yes! Um, the specimen? Stefan? He’s my partner,” he lied, thinking fast. “I need to see that he’s okay. Please.”

The questioning guard looked to a staff member tending to something nearby, and he nodded dismissively.

“Alright. Come with me.”

The behind-the-scenes area was still frenetic with activity. This worried Wes, as the guard escorted him deeper inside—what if he’d coded again?

They came to a private room that was well out of the way of the business of the tear-down.

“Hold on.” The guard put up a hand, knocked twice, then entered and shut the door behind him. He reappeared as quickly as he’d left. “Yep, you’re clear.”

Wes was unconsciously holding his breath. He didn’t notice until he blew it out. There he was—still being gently tended to by Dr. Forget and her company. The monitor between his legs showed he was still stable. Other than its steady beeping and the quiet humming of the IV pump and oxygen supply, the room was silent.

“You’re the boyfriend?” Dr. Forget asked after she’d finished listening to his heart.

Wes nodded quickly and extended his hand. “Wes. Thank you for taking care of him, Dr. Forget.” He tried to sound as polite and diplomatic as he could manage. “How is he?”

“Recovering as expected,” she replied with an easy smile. “We’ll just need to monitor him some more before we can let him go.”

“Of course,” Wes agreed. “Would you mind giving us some privacy for a little while? If at all possible?”

“That’s no trouble at all. I’ve got his monitor here on my phone.” She held it up so Wes could see it. “I’ll be really close by if anything comes up.”

Wes thanked her and the nurses, and they left. He frowned and wrinkled his brow when he noticed how pallid and dark under the eyes he was.

“That was fucking crazy, you psycho,” Wes berated him in a soft voice. He couldn’t help cradling his face. “I can’t believe you agreed to all that.”

Stefan’s heart rate spiked, just a little—it was still steady and stable around 72 BPM.

“… wuht?” he slurred after a long breath.

“I said, I can’t believe you agreed to do that,” Wes repeated with less edge. He continued to hold his face, being mindful of the nasal cannula running along it. “You scared the shit out of me. Are you okay? How are you feeling?” He glanced at the display of the IV pump. “Looks like they got you doped up pretty good.”

Stefan finally found his gaze. He gave a wide, dreamy grin and relaxed into the bed. “Yeah… I’m doing great!… ‘specially now that you’re here.”

Wes returned his grin with a warm smile of his own. “I’m glad I’m here too.”

“So…” Stefan continued to slur, “we goin’ up to your room or what?”

“You’re crazy,” he said again through a chuckle. “They gotta keep you for observation, Stefan. You were in full code for almost five minutes.”

“Pfft. I never said I wasn’t.” Stefan said after a pause. “C’mon. You’re tellin’ me that didn’t get you goin’? Not even a little?”

Wes playfully put up his hands. “Alright, alright. Ya got me. That was—incredible. After I got to shock you… god, I was so hard. And I know people noticed.”

Stefan giggled. He looked so pleased with himself.

“Yeah? You think that’s funny?” He suddenly had a stethoscope in his ears. He pressed it hard into his chest, groping him as he did, and Stefan writhed and moaned in response. “How about I just take you right here?”

Stefan looked euphoric as Wes tore aside his gown and eased his boxers down his thighs.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes.”

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna treat you right,” he cooed. It didn’t take him long at all to have Stefan worked up. He kept the bell of the stethoscope firm over his heart, pleased that he could reference its screen for his pulse rate instead of having to look at the monitor. “You have to stay relaxed, though… unless you want the doctor rushing back in.”

Stefan nodded. “Okay…”

Wes found himself desperately wanting to hear his heart as he climaxed. He easily found a rhythm that Stefan responded to, and he prolonged the ride up to the peak as much as he possibly could.

“Yes…! Just like that!” Stefan called out. He gripped the sheets at his hips and tensed. Wes guided him into orgasm, enraptured in what he was hearing. Then, an urgent knock on the door, and the scene dissolved into laughter.

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fibrillatory · 7 months

Text

Subject 12 - Experiment Three

Experiment One | Experiment Two | Interlude

Oddly enough, the doctor finds that he's nervous as the nurses wheel the patient into the procedure room, his palms sweating, heart rate elevated. As always, she's naked below the thin paper patient gown, the boxy shape of it doing nothing for the supple figure he knows it hides. His eyes are drawn over the peaks of her soft, splayed breasts straining against the paper, to her feet where red-painted toes sway as the nurse locks the breaks on the bed.

Did she do that for him?

He smiles as he walks around to the side, stepping into her line of sight at her shoulder.

"Good to see you," he says, touching her arm. "You've been briefed on today's experiment?"

CW: cpr, ventilation, injections, defibs, willing victim, scientific experiments?, dodgy science, surgical resuscitation, internal defib, dark resus, non-detailed vomit, aspiration, seizures

She nods, her own mouth twitching at the sides with recognition. The familiar sound of her pump fills the room as the nurse finishes attaching the leads and sensors that were applied in pre-treatment. Her pulse is, just as he knew it would be, hovering in the low seventies, just slightly higher than her regular resting rate.

"I have a few extra things to go over," he says, breaking the script. He needs her to know what he knows.

"Previously, we've induced cardiac arrest, circulated epinephrine to prime your system, and brought you back with R-3. Today, we will attempt to determine the cumulative effect of multiple doses of epinephrine and R-3—the chance of adverse side effects or death is greatly increased. Do you understand?"

She looks at him for thirty seconds, her eyes half-lidded, emeralds sparkling with thought.

"I can promise we are prepared for any eventuality, and, as per your contract, if your heart is unsalvagable, you will be eligible for a new organ as well as additional financial compensation."

She pins him in her emerald stare and nods. "I understand, doctor," she murmurs.

"Good," the doctor squeezes her arm again, moving away to glance at the two-way mirror.

The benefactor will think him sentimental. Maybe he is. He'd promised himself he wouldn't let their physical relationship affect the work, but there's no doubt something stirs in him when he turns back to the patient, watching as the nurse circles her narrow wrists with the soft restraints.

"Administer the first epi," he instructs. The nurse nods, pushing the drug into the IV.

"This will increase your heart rate and blood pressure," he explains to the patient. Her lips are parted slightly, cherries on the branch. "It should feel like a regular surge of adrenaline."

She knows that feeling, and he knows how it looks on her face. Her eyes flutter closed, and her respirations increase, her chest rising and falling with slightly more urgency as her pump works harder. He watches her heart rate respond to the gentle nudge of the drug, speeding up into the eighties. They don't wait long. Epinephrine has a rapid onset but a short duration. Its effects on the body can dissipate within five minutes, and they need her maxed out past her natural tolerance. He gives the nod, and the nurse pushes the second dose. There are ten more ready on the table next to the bed.

The blood pressure cuff activates on a timer, inflating with a buzz until it constricts her upper arm, and then deflates slightly, a soft puff of air, a pause, another, then a whirr as it fully deflates. He glances at the reading. Her blood pressure is slightly elevated, but there's no cause for alarm. Not yet. Her heart is beating 112 bpm now, and her respiration continues to increase with the oxygen demand of her blood. He watches the strain appear in her jugular, the veins in her neck bulging with increased pressure.

Another syringe. She makes a small sound, a gasp as her heart rate surges quickly. Her arms start to strain against her restraints, and he can see her hands trembling.

"It feels... it feels..." she shakes, a shudder moving through her body. "I might be sick," she groans.

"We can give you an anti-nausea medication," he assures her, slipping the buds of his stethoscope into his ears while he nods to the nurse who pushes a fourth round of epinephrine into the IV.

160. 175. Her heart rate continues to increase, her SaO2 dropping slightly as her lungs fight to keep up.

The doctor presses the diaphragm of his stethoscope to her chest, auscultating from her aortic valve to the pulmonary, down to the mitral valve, finishing over the tricuspid. It's perfect, he thinks. Her pump is stunning. Even now, as it gallops rapidly beneath her sternum, it's fighting to keep its rhythm. The valves are moving so quickly they barely have time to shut. Despite this, there’s barely any regurge, blood flowing so forcefully that almost none moves backward. Her blood could circulate for minutes on the momentum alone.

The patient hasn’t eaten for eight hours, but regardless, she starts to vomit what little contents remain in her stomach, chest bucking, head jerking back as fluid spurts from her mouth. He calls for suction, and a nurse quickly moves the suction tube into the corner of her lips.

Saturation falls, more epi goes in, and the first PVC slices her tachy waveform.

"Good, you're doing so good," he whispers, his steth still pressed to her chest.

Her eyes are locked on him, green glittering gemstones that somehow manage to see the depths of him with no fear, no hesitation. She’s prepared to die today. He’s not prepared to let her.

Her heart responds to more epinephrine with a wild stumbling. Like a somersault, the momentum carries it head over toes as it tries to stop its full-tilt sprint. Her ventricles give a furious thump, and before her atriums can respond, they contact again and again, pushing all the blood out of her heart without filling. Tachycardia continues. 235bpm. The blood pressure cuff inflates and squeezes. She flinches, her body jerking, and she moans before vomiting a second time. This time the suction is already in place, and there's less mess, but she gasps, and her throat makes a harsh gurgling sound, her saturation continuing to fall.

“Record the aspirations on the observation chart,” he instructs. While one hand holds his stethoscope, the other drifts to the soft skin over her ribs, the small band of her waist. He finds his thumb moving up and down on the knot of her hip, a small motion that he hopes comforts her.

More epi. Her lips are turning a soft shade of blue. Her nipples are beaded and hard as he moves the steth over her chest, the sound below a wall of constant, chaotic noise instead of an organized beat. He covers her apex with his palm, feeling his dick hardening between his thighs as her arrest comes closer— “Almost there,” he murmurs. “You’re doing so good.”

The blood pressure cuff deflates, and he frowns at the results on the monitor. She's quickly entering a hypertensive crisis, the pressure moving through her heart increasing so rapidly he's instantly concerned about a host of possible complications. He auscultates over her pulmonary valve, unsurprised when it’s the first one to murmur with the beginning of failure. But before he can worry about a brain aneurysm or pulmonary edema, her heart trips over itself again just short of 275 bpm, and her lungs give out. A harsh, wet rattle, and then nothing. Her chest lays still, her mouth open and flecked in white vomit, her pupils blown, and her eyes wide but unseeing. He wants to get on her chest. Her rhythm is so disorganized now, he can tell her pump needs his touch. He moves his fingers down, lifting the bottom of her gown up the pale skin of her thigh until he can press his fingers to her femoral artery.

"No pulse," he murmurs. His gaze moves back to the monitor just as she falls into disorganized fibrillation. His dick pulses again.

"Get the R-3 ready," he orders. "And secure her airway."

The nurse inserts an endotracheal tube, pushing the suction device inside to clear out as much of the vomit as possible, then she tapes the tube into place and steps back. They have to wait—

His eyes flutter shut as he listens with the stethoscope. The sounds of her butterfly heart trying to take off start to slow.

Flatline.

A wild escape beat, and then nothing. He waits ten seconds to ensure all electrical activity has ceased.

“Make note of how much epinephrine was administered and the length of time from the first dose,” he murmurs, holding out his hand. The R-3 injector is placed in his palm. No need for epi or CPR. He finds his markers and jabs the syringe between her ribs through the intercostal space and into her ventricle. Count to ten. The plunger clicks, and he withdraws the empty sharp and hands it off.

He palms her breast, fighting the urge to play with one of those pert nipples while her heart lies still, then moves the heel of his hand over her sternum and gives ten quick, hard, one-handed compressions to circulate.

Small artifacts on the screen.

Then she bursts into sinus tach, her body jerking, a gurgling growl leaving her throat around the tube.

"Bag her," he instructs.

The blood pressure cuff inflates.

They wait for five minutes. He applies gel to the transducer and performs a bedside echo, pushing the wand below her breast to get a good look at her heart.

The initial results are amazing; there is a full return of circulation with almost no CPR. When he saw that rhythm on the monitor, he could have cum right there. God, what he wouldn't give to be alone with patient 12 again. And on the echo—still perfect. There is no sign of infarction, her valves are intact, and her ventricles and atriums are moving in perfect concert. Her heart rate doesn't fall below 100, but the effects of the epi begin to wear, and he's sure she'd be on her way to waking up if the experiment were over.

But it's not.

There are still questions to answer. How many times can R-3 be administered to the same patient quickly before results have a diminishing return? Will the R-3 continue to be effective if her heart starts to fail, or worse, to tear itself physically apart? Will the involvement of other organs, lungs, kidneys, and liver, start to hinder the effects of the R-3?

So when the five minutes are up, they start all over again.

Epi. Push. Again. Push. Heart rate increases. Blood pressure in kind. Her lungs give out faster this time, respiratory arrest after only three doses. Her heart races and falters and stops from lack of oxygen. R-3.

Perfect ROC.

It feels like rubbing out multiple orgasms in the same night. Lasting less and less each time. Friction building. Over sensitive.

The third time, she seizes after the fourth dose, her body jerking harshly against the restraints, eyes rolling back, saturation falling quickly until cardiac arrest. R-3. One round of compressions.

Return of circulation.

Amazing.

Her pupils are still reactive. He checks them twice. But her pump is starting to falter and fail in between sessions. Beating too fast, PVCs. Her lungs don't seem to recover, showing early signs of edema, and they continue to bag her while they wait for the next round. He gives her ten minutes this time, hoping her heart rebounds from the rough treatment.

Epi goes in. With the long rest, they'll need to build up the drug in her system again. He gives the order to push the next three doses consecutively.

Her heart stumbles out of the gate, blood pressure rocketing up in response to the medication. The cycling of her blood pressure and the arrhythmias are having a negative effect on her sensitive little pump. Probably also her brain, lungs, and other organs, he thinks regretfully. But the R-3 is still working effectively. What if it has no upper limit? What if hers comes first?

Her heart beats more and more erratically as they progress. Without warning, her body stiffens, head bucking back against the bed, neck straining at an odd angle. Her arms jerk against the restraints, and her legs posture, pulling back at the ankle restraints. Her hips lift and fall as the seizure wraps around her and tosses her body about. The doctor reaches out, spreading his big, warm hand on her stomach and holding her down, feeling her muscles tense and release below him. It’s like being inside her. He can extrapolate it so perfectly. His dick throbbing against her deepest centre, her muscles flinching and seizing around him. The patient’s heart continues to beat erratically, her saturation dropping even though she's intubated, her blood pressure rising drastically—

She bucks weakly against his hand for a minute. Three. Her heart starts to fibrillate.

"Come'on now," he murmurs, watching as her rhythm unravels like a sweater with a pulled thread.

Finally, she falls back to the table with a damp slap. Her heart is still. The R-3 goes in. He waits thirty seconds. Then begins one round of ten gentle, one-handed compressions just as before. It's not enough.

He grunts softly and squares up over her chest, clasping his hands between her breasts and pushing down, slamming her sternum toward her spine two inches, maybe a little more. Letting it spring back to meet him as her heart is forced to fill. Her lips around the tube are blue, and her skin is pale and shimmering with sweat. He wishes he could give her mouth-to-mouth now. The ambu-bag squeezes, and air rushes into her lungs, but it must be cold and dry, tinged with plastic taste. His air would be warm and humid, perfect for her aching lungs. He beats out compressions, counting toward thirty, but around fifteen, her heart spikes with its own electrical activity, and he pulls back.

ROC. Amazing.

He's about to give another order, but after a few tachy beats, her pressure starts to plummet, and her heart falls into helpless fibrillation again.

The doctor's gaze flicks to the two-way glass. What does he do? Is this the R-3 failing...or her heart?

Asystole rings out. Another round of R-3. Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Four more thrusts against her pump and—ROC! What's happening?

He presses his stethoscope over her heart and feels his heart rate spike when the sounds of her pitifully contacting pump are muffled, faint.

"Echo—" he barks, and a few seconds later, the transducer, wet with cold gel, is in his hand. He pushes it against her dying organ, sliding it under her ribs with a hard thrust to get the best picture.

"Fluid in her pericardium..." He murmurs. "She's tamponading..."

He glances up at the glass again, searching for the benefactor. He wants to say *I told you*, but what good would that do?

“Continue with R-3 only,” the voice shakes the speakers in the ceiling.

“She’s probably tearing her aorta from the blood pressure cycling,” the doctor says to the mirror. There’s a second of silence, during which the monitors ping and whine to announce asystole. The doctor isn’t meant to question the benefactor’s instructions.

“Continue with R-3 until it is no longer effective, doctor.”

Fuck. He jabs the offered intracardiac needle into the patient’s chest. He doesn’t even need to landmark now, with a dark bruise and bloody welt where the needle has already gone in so many times. The plunger clicks, and he tosses the syringe. Nothing on the monitor. He starts compressions. He only has to thrust against her pump twice, and it twitches and responds, galloping into life as if it recognizes its master's touch. He feels like the owner of a very obedient dog, one who continues to obey even while he’s killing it.

Her heart struggles against his stethoscope, it’s sounds coming to him from beneath an ocean. It doesn’t last a minute before cardiac arrest begins again.

They continue like this for thirty minutes. He injects R-3. Her heart starts to beat. It drowns itself in blood and tears itself into pieces while he watches on the monitor. Then stops. They administer more epi. He injects R-3. It tries. It tries to beat for him.

That’s it.

"Prep and drape for a thoracotomy."

The nurses start to work around him. She arrests again, and he injects another dose of R-3 while they move the drapes into place around her chest.

She's still fibrillating uselessly when he starts to separate layers of skin, muscle, and tissue. He uses the fifth intercostal space in the mid-axillary line, her muscles come apart like butter, and then there’s blood. A lot of blood.

“Suction!”

The nurse is ready. He calls for the cell saver, and the patient's life force is suctioned and returned to her. They hang two units of blood and packed cells with the saline already on the line.

Gently he pushes her lung out of the way, and there it is. His heart skips painfully against his ribs, reminding him to breathe as he finally beholds the object of his desire. The thing that's captivated him, day and night, since the first time it ceased to beat. Just like their first meeting, it is still now. Empty. He cups it gently between his hands and gives it a soft pump, rocking his hands so that the heels of his palms widen while the fingers draw closer, and then his palms softly squeeze while his fingers draw away, making room for her atriums to expand. Instantly he knows what's happened; as blood pushes up toward her aorta, it spurts into her chest uselessly.

“She's fully dissected,” he murmurs. “Clamp. Call the surgery unit upstairs and tell them to prep for an aortic dissection repair.”

Her pressure has almost hit bottom. Her oxygen saturation is in the twenties. There's no electrical activity in her useless, still heart. He quickly cross-clamps her aorta and gives her pump the gentle massage it craves. Come on baby, he thinks. Come back to me now. His dick is throbbing against the side of the stretcher as he works. The tender organ in his hands is beautiful. So beautiful even now, with dark patches and pale sections where lack of perfusion has begun to damage the muscle. Come on back.

His massage becomes firmer, loud squelching claps. He pauses to pet the organ, running his fingers from the crown to the apex before continuing to pump. Finally, it starts to fill again. Not much at first, but as the blood is pushed in through the IVs, her organ begins to perfuse. The first time it quivers in his hands, his breath catches, and his sex throbs so hard he almost cums on the table. That's right. Come back. Now you'll know my touch directly—your master's hands.

Her ventricles contract against his palms, her atriums misfiring with a wild flutter. That's alright. Keep trying. He helps them with a gentle push. The organ tries again. Her ventricles contract twice. Her atriums get their turn. Good, good, you just need to remember the rhythm. He gives them a few rounds of massage to remind them how to beat, then calls for internal paddles.

Drawing his hand out of her chest gives him a chance to admire the beauty of the quivering organ in situ. Most of her body is hidden beneath the drapes now, but he can still see the green of her eyes beneath heavy eyelids, as though she’s watching him with her usual humour and fascination as he works directly on her fragile pump. He inserts the metal spoon shaped paddles and cups her heart between them. With his eyes on hers, he gives the instruction. “Let's start with 30.”

A short wine, then the electricity passes through her pump with a soft thud. It responds with a flurry of activity, fibrillating harder as it tries to catch the right rhythm, like a dancer trying to match their movements to a song they don’t remember.

“40.”

Thud. A brief run of tachycardia before her heart slows to a healthy sinus tach, eventually titrating down to a regular sinus.

“Send her to surgery.” The benefactor orders through the speakers.

Regretfully, the doctor withdraws the paddles from her chest and hands them off. He can't quite keep himself from reaching inside a final time, circling his finger around her apex as it starts to take on a more regular colour. I'll see you again, he thinks, as he cups its weight in his palm, feeling its contractions against his fingers.

And then he has to withdraw. The nurse covers the surgical opening with another drape for transport, and Subject 12 is whisked out of the room.

“This is excellent,” the Benefactor tells him later. “We need to test the R-3 on sickly subjects who wouldn't pass the regular screening. I'm particularly interested in heart failure.”

“Do you think she'll wake up?” He asks them, surprised they might see Subject 12 again in the procedure room.

“It would be best if she were brain dead,” the Benefactor muses. “I understand she’s opted to donate her body to science.”

177 notes · View notes