Doc's Orders

Jacob Peterson in purple scrubs runs a flashlight over Jacob Taylor’s throat while his fingers trace the hair on his chest, checking every ridge of muscle. The exam moves down, hands gripping his shoulders, then his elbows, then the thick cord of his neck, before the light shines into his mouth, probing deep. Taylor’s arms stretch out as Peterson presses his palms into his abdomen, then lowers his head to the groin, his breath warm against the skin. Every inch is inspected, from the flex of his wrists to the weight of his balls, with no part left unturned.