Work Text:
Morfin found himself alone in Terror’s sickbay, tits absolutely aching and a hammer beating his skull from the inside out. The only sound that disturbed Morfin’s tenuous peace here was Dr. McDonald’s pen on paper. He’d given Morfin a draught for the pain in his head and a cloth to put on his forehead, but Morfin stayed quiet about the tightness in his chest. That aching, tightness that made him yearn to touch them but he still feared it. It would hurt.
Usually, the seaman quietly took care of himself if his breasts ever decided to produce the infrequent milk they did. It had been a shame of his family far before Morfin had done anything for them to really be ashamed of him for, and so he always made it quite the point never to let anyone catch on about this odd physical quirk of his. But this expedition to find the Northwest Passage had kept him busy- so busy, he hadn’t had the time to relieve the ever growing pressure sitting squarely in his chest.
Now, his skull throbbed and Morfin felt miserable and tears stung his eyes. The problem stood that he didn’t want to cry, for crying would only make it worse. McDonald’s care had already moved him earlier to a few blubberings.
“Mr. Morfin, might I ask if there’s not something further I could recommend to help you tonight?” Dr. McDonald’s voice was low and steady.
He sat at his desk across the way, turned so that he could look at the seaman.
“No, sir. I’ll be alright,” Morfin gritted out, not wishing to bother the doctor.
Even though his sickbay stood empty, it didn’t mean the man’s duties could be shirked for Morfin’s lowly sake. Afterall, he had promised not to be a bother and so Morfin would not be that.
“Really? I must say, you seem in a great deal more pain than usual. Would you like a stronger tonic, I wonder?” the doctor pressed.
A stronger tonic might do for his head, but there’d be nothing medicine could do for his tits. Shifting in his seat, cloth over his eyes, Morfin felt the weight of them, small though they were. Terribly tender, his nipples chafed against his shirt and jacket. The stimulation resulted in a fierce jolt of pain, Morfin feeling the left nipple leak just slightly. He shut his eyes, a few tears slipping down his cheeks.
“Mr. Morfin?” Dr. McDonald queried.
Blinking his eyes open and lifting the cloth slightly, he found that the doctor had been distracted from his work, despite all his efforts. The man’s chair had been pushed back, as if he meant to come over to him though he had yet to do so.
“I’m alright, doctor,” Morfin half lied, “Just my head, is all. The stuff you just gave me, sure it’ll kick in soon.”
Even from here, Morfin could see the doubt on the doctor’s face. The seaman surely wished he’d remembered to take care of himself now, or that this condition of his was less unpredictable, or perhaps even if he had a slightly bigger chest- there’d be more room and he could go less days without having to relieve the milk when he found himself in this condition. All these years, and sometimes it felt like he didn’t know his body at all.
“Morfin, if there were anything else amiss, I would put no judgment upon you. It’s my duty as your doctor to make sure you’re hale and hearty,” Dr. McDonald insisted, standing up from his chair and beginning to close the distance between them.
The seaman’s heart sank, hunching forward in order to make himself as small as he could. The movement squeezed his chest in a way that made him wince. The wet spot widened as his left nipple leaked again, the throbbing behind his eyes beginning to lessen. This slight relief sent the tears in his eyes further threatening to spill.
“Really, Dr. McDonald. I’m sure you have better things to do,” Morfin forced the words to be said as steady as he could manage, which he felt wasn’t all that steady.
He held the cloth to his eyes, deciding it would be better not to let the doctor see his face. It seemed his body felt determined to cry, even though it exacerbated the lingering pain in his skull. Dredging it up almost, like disturbing the bottom of a lake and swirling the silt around. He felt awfully sorry for himself, with the sharp and tight fullness in his chest still dueling with the lingering explosions in his head thanks to his own weakness.
“You are my patient. Whatever else would I have to do if not see to your needs. And it’s hardly as if anyone else is in sickbay. Even Dr. Peddie’s abandoned me,” McDonald’s voice sounded as if the man were right next to him.
He willed the doctor to go back to his desk. Instead, he felt Dr. McDonald’s firm and warm hand squeeze his shoulder.
“Come now, Morfin. Out with it,” McDonald ordered, although his voice did not belay anything but the sort of care he’d come to expect from Terror’s doctor.
“Like I’ve said, sir, it’s just my head,” Morfin heard himself repeat but he couldn’t truly focus on this, for McDonald had suddenly placed his hands on either side of Morfin’s face.
The doctor tilted his head up, the cloth falling away and revealing the probably puffy redness his face held. The stretching of his neck muscles caused his body to follow, another spark of pain shooting off in his chest as he shifted in the chair.
“You should be feeling some relief from what I have you. Maybe I’ll give you another dose but I do wonder, Mr. Morfin, why it is you are crying so much?” Dr. McDonald mused.
Morfin didn’t have the wherewithal to respond this time, feeling the fullness in his chest. The idea of taking himself in hand felt awful but it would need to be done, if he were to solve any of his pain. But no one on the expedition had been privy to this shame of his, not even Dr. Stanley or Mr. Goodsir. It had not been a problem until now and he cursed himself. Here he was, crying again in front of McDonald, only minutes after just having finished crying about his head.
“Is there some other injury you haven’t told me about, John? Really, no more mucking about,” Dr. McDonald’s thumb stroked Morfin’s beard.
“I… it’s just that,” the words dried up in his mind, Morfin realizing he did not know what to say to Dr. McDonald.
In lieu of words, he took hold of McDonald’s hands and lowered them to his chest. The doctor pressed down. Morfin yelped, his eyes shutting tight. Tears began to flow down his cheeks. With a gentler touch, Dr. McDonald’s fingers drifted lower, cupping what existed of Morfin’s breasts to feel them. The touch was enough to send Morfin moaning in pain.
“Oh, Morfin,” the doctor clicked his tongue, not in disappointment or anger but in seemingly true sympathy.
His touch disappeared, the doctor asking him, “However long have you had this condition?”
Morfin opened his eyes to see McDonald across the way, rummaging in a drawer. He withdrew a cloth and paused a second longer to grab a small bowl.
“Since I was young. Can’t really remember. Don’t talk about it much, if I’m to be honest. Not really right, is it? Doesn’t happen all that often,” Morfin grunted, not wishing to sound so short with the doctor but how could he help it?
The tears that were still leaking from his eyes sent little sparks into his head and he felt he couldn’t stop crying because of how terribly full his chest felt. The idea of touching his tits, of taking his nipples in hand and bringing the milk out, filled him with a wave of need but he felt himself cringe at just the thought of how painful it would be before it felt good.
“I wouldn’t say it’s wrong. Does it usually hurt this much?” Dr. McDonald had closed the distance between them again.
He placed the bowl and cloth on the nearest table so that he could pull up a stool to sit in front of him.
“I haven’t found the time to take care of it. Usually, uh, it’s real simple,” Morfin replied, awkwardly cutting himself off as he realized how he couldn’t exactly tell the doctor his usual method of relieving himself.
McDonald would think him sick in the head, to know him a man who would take himself in hand thrice- once until his left tit was empty, once until his right tit was empty, and finally, once until his balls were empty. Even now, Morfin felt a certain hot shame wash over him as Dr. McDonald’s fingers ghosted over his tits and he felt something akin to pleasure.
“I imagine on Erebus there’s not much privacy,” the doctor said, almost to himself, before catching Morfin’s eye, “We should request a transfer. I could ensure whatever privacy you would need here.”
“Oh, fuck,” Morfin hissed, teeth gritting together as McDonald pushed down on tender flesh.
“You risk mastitis Morfin, if you let milk build up like this,” McDonald informed him.
“Mass-tis?” Morfin echoed but another wave of pain shot through him. “Oh, stop, stop, please, oh, it hurts.”
McDonald pulled away, concern etched all over his face, although the pain kept thrumming in his chest like some sick echo of the pain that had been in his skull and to some extent still was.
“It’s a bacterial infection, Mr. Morfin. I don’t believe that’s what we have on our hands here, but I’m going to insist we take care of this right away,” McDonald gestured vaguely to Morfin’s person, “Take off your jacket and shirt.”
“Oh, I, really, I couldn’t, sir. I… if you just turn your back I can-,” Morfin hiccuped but McDonald shook his head and suddenly he found the doctor taking off his jacket.
The way he was jostled sent a sore ache kicking up every time McDonald brushed his tits and finally Morfin waved him away, gingerly taking off his shirt as his breathing finally evened out. The tears had yet to stop, and God how he wished they’d stop, but he was not sobbing any longer. McDonald took his jacket and shirt and set them aside. Morfin resisted the urge to use his hands to cover his tits, as if he were some woman. He supposed he might as well be, for all that McDonald might think of him now.
“Thank you, Morfin,” McDonald said, offering him the bowl in his hand.
Morfin took it, watching as McDonald once more settled himself before him on the stool and cupped Morfin’s left breast, making sure to position the cloth underneath his nipple. He breathed through the pain, tears still an infrequent trickle down his cheeks.
“Let’s see here then,” the doctor muttered, slowly squeezing Morfin’s nipple.
He’d started in on the left one, the same one he’d already felt leaking. In Dr. McDonald’s hand, the pain in his chest localized there. God, it hurt, this building pressure.
“Oh, please, don’t- just, it’s too,” Morfin shook his head, the bowl clattering to the ground as Morfin’s hands flew to push McDonald away.
He just couldn’t do it. Even though he pushed on the doctor, the man’s grip did not slip.
“It’ll be worse than this, if you let it go any longer, Morfin,” the doctor warned him, forefinger and thumb pushing up and finally a spurt of milk shot free.
Yet Morfin felt no flowing relief. It almost felt like his tits were so full it couldn’t come out. Was that even possible? The tears were back, a fresh sob stuck in Morfin’s throat as he kept trying to get McDonald to stop. Eventually, after switching his hand to Morfin’s right breast and feeling the same sort of resistance, he finally let the seaman sink back in his chair.
“Please, let… just let it alone,” Morfin whimpered.
Dr. McDonald draped the cloth over his shoulder and frowned at him, cogs in his head clearly turning.
“You really are going to have to relax and try to stay calm. I don’t mind if you cry, but I don’t wish to be holding you down, feeling like I’m hurting you. It’ll feel better once I can get the milk flowing,” McDonald said, spreading Morfin’s legs suddenly so he could pull his stool closer.
The doctor might as well have sat on Morfin’s lap for how close he was now and his strong arms suddenly gripped him. Morfin watched in a bit of a daze as McDonald leaned forward, gently wrapping warm lips around his left nipple. Morfin’s hand went to the back of the doctor’s head, another gripping hard on his shoulder, for he felt the pressure spike as McDonald sucked at him and then he finally felt the dribble of milk the doctor was teasing out of him turn into a hot jet.
“Oh, fuck! Fuck,” Morfin cried, the tears coming again.
His hand in McDonald’s hair tightened as he felt the doctor’s teeth lightly graze the sensitive nub between his teeth. Morfin felt each pull, heard each swallow, and he did not know what to do. No one had ever helped him with this process before, let alone latched themselves to his chest as if they were a babe. It felt so strange to feel the milk following from him and into McDonald’s mouth. The attention to his nipple, along with the pure ecstatic relief Morfin felt, went straight to his cock, much to his chagrin. The pressure eased with each gulp of milk McDonald took, his hand squeezing Morfin’s tit to stimulate the flow. It hurt until it didn’t, although now the pain in his right tit felt all too prominent.
When McDonald pulled away from his nipple, Morfin saw the gossamer thread of milky spit connect his nipple to the doctor’s mouth before it snapped. He shuddered, mind trying to catch up with all that had happened. McDonald’s lips were shiny and wet and Morfin ran a thumb over his lips without thinking. The doctor easily sucked his thumb into his mouth. Morfin shivered to think that he’d only just been drinking form him, feeling the hot and wet inside of the doctor’s mouth as he sucked. He wanted to think he even felt the milk, but before Morfin could meditate more on this, McDonald freed himself from Morfin’s hand and bent down to latch upon his right nipple.
The pain flamed anew yet he found his back arching as McDonald finally got the milk flowing from this breast. His left side felt wrung out and in an odd juxtaposition, just as if he were in his own hammock, Morfin hardened further in his trousers. It hadn’t even occurred to him that one of his hands had drifted down to his crotch, had already absently started to palm at himself. Distinctly, through the feeling of McDonald’s lips locked around his nipple and feeling the milk flow so easily now, he heard himself saying words. He was not aware of what he said nor did he know how to stop himself, but it didn’t seem McDonald minded. In fact, he knocked Morfin’s hand away and he felt one of those strong hands wrap firmly around the head of his cock. His hips bucked up, sliding himself along McDonald’s hand until McDonald hit his base and then Morfin felt the man feel at his balls. They were nearly as tight as his tits had been and the touch wrung an equally pained cry out of him that turned into a moan as McDonald began to stroke him. Too many signals were being sent to his brain, too many things for him to pay attention to. It felt as if McDonald were pulling him apart, trapped as he felt between the relief of feeling the milk flow from his own nipple and the feeling of McDonald’s hand on his shaft.
By the time McDonald finally pulled his mouth away from Morfin’s nipple, the final drop of milk had probably been drunk minutes ago. Between his own legs, Morfin’s cock throbbed and leaked and twitched.
“Please, please, God, please,” Morfin begged, shaking his head from side to side.
“See now, Morfin. That wasn’t so bad. And now there’s no risk of infection,” McDonald said cheerily, as if his hand were not pumping him in his trousers.
Hell, as if he hadn’t just been drinking his milk!
“Please, doctor, please! Oh, McDonald,” Morfin moaned and muttered a string of curses following this as McDonald removed his hand long enough to free Morfin’s swollen cockstand from his trousers.
The head of his cock looked as freely weeping as his nipple had to have been in McDonald’s mouth. The sight of it made him dizzy. Almost as if they were thinking the same thing, McDonald slipped off the stool in order to sink down and take Morfin’s cock into his mouth. His hips thrusted forward, sending him down McDonald’s throat but the man didn’t seem to mind. He hummed, which had Morfin throwing his head back as he began to fuck into McDonald’s mouth. He couldn’t help it. The doctor appeared to welcome it, hand massaging his balls in the same manner he’d gently rubbed at his tits.
And so Morfin came.
It took him by surprise, seizing up his body as McDonald swallowed and swallowed. Just how much of Morfin had the man ingested in the course of this encounter? The thought rolled another shudder through him and a strangled whimper rang loud in his ear. His own whimper. When McDonald pulled off him, Morfin nearly slid off the chair. He felt boneless and tired and spent and drained. His chest felt light and, although it felt as if someone had stuffed his head with cotton, it wasn’t pain he felt there, not even a lick anymore. No more tears leaked from his eyes and it felt like at any moment he’d simply float away. Or fall asleep.
“Well, I won’t presume you have the energy to answer anymore of my questions tonight, but we will have to talk briefly about how often you might need attending to, Morfin,” McDonald said rather casually as he stood up.
The doctor glanced down at him, his hands once again fondling Morfin’s chest. Although the sensation still felt too much, he did not find himself crying. It merely made him flinch, which he tried to cover up by nodding his assent. McDonald grabbed a handful of his left tit, squeezing until Morfin squirmed and only then did he finally step back.
“The bed is all yours tonight. I imagine it will be quite comfortable. Sleep well. We’ll talk tomorrow,” Dr. McDonald smiled at him, turning only briefly to grab Morfin his shirt and jacket.
It felt as if he were in a dream now, shrugging his shirt back on and swaying to his feet. He thought to thank the doctor, but it seemed all he could manage was a shuffle over to the bed. McDonald’s notations resumed in the quiet sickbay as Morfin made himself comfortable for the night.