Oxygen & Other Complications

Rain hammered the metal awning as Aaron shoved the clinic door open, Archie held tight against his chest. The storm had drenched him completely. Water streamed off his hair and soaked his shirt until it clung to every line of him, outlining his shoulders, the curve of his biceps, the hard plane of his chest. His jeans didn’t fare much better, plastered to his thighs in a way that made the cold air inside bite sharply when he stepped in. Mateo looked up from behind the counter, and the shift in him was immediate. His fingers stilled mid-motion on the keyboard, the air in his lungs catching just long enough to notice the way the man’s soaked shirt clung to the ridges of his abdomen, the water beading on his collarbone like a trail Mateo’s gaze followed for half a second too long. He swallowed, throat suddenly dry, before crossing the lobby with steps that were steady only because he willed them to be. “What’s going on?” he asked, already reaching for Archie. “He can’t breathe,” Aaron said. His voice was raw. “It started so fast. I didn’t know what to do.” Mateo’s hand came to rest under Archie’s ribcage, testing the rise and fall. “You’re fine. I’ve got you. I mean—him.” His voice stumbled for half a second, then steadied just as quickly. If Aaron hadn’t been panicked, he might have laughed. As it was, he only managed a shaky breath as Mateo shifted closer. The warmth of Mateo’s arm pressed against Aaron’s torso, the heat seeping through the wet fabric like a brand. Aaron’s breath hitched, his skin prickling not from the cold but from the way Mateo’s bicep flexed against him, the muscle firm and unyielding. For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then Mateo’s thumb dragged an inch along Aaron’s ribs as he reached for Archie, a touch so light it could’ve been accidental. It wasn’t. Mateo was aware too. He kept his attention on Archie, but his eyes flicked once, too quick to be intentional, too slow to be accidental, over the cling of fabric at Aaron’s shoulders, the way his jeans were glued to him from hip to knee. He caught himself and refocused, but the spark had already landed. Another wheezing breath rattled through Archie’s chest. Aaron flinched, and that was enough to snap Mateo fully back into work mode. “Come on,” he said, lifting Archie gently from Aaron’s arms. “We’ll get him on oxygen.” Aaron followed down the hall, dripping water across the worn linoleum. Mateo didn’t look back at first. When he finally did, the glance lingered. Not on Aaron’s face. Not entirely on the dog. Something in-between. Despite the fear, despite the storm still beating against the building, Aaron felt heat move under his skin that had nothing to do with the rain. Mateo settled Archie onto the exam table and slipped the oxygen line into place. Aaron hovered too close, breath tight, shoulders locked. He didn’t realize how near he was until Mateo reached out and touched his wrist. “Easy,” Mateo said. The contact was gentle but certain, guiding Aaron a step back. His fingers were warm. Slow. Deliberate. “Give him space to breathe.” Aaron exhaled shakily. “Sorry. I’m usually better at this. Didn’t expect to fall apart in front of a stranger.” “Most men break down in here,” Mateo said with a quiet, unbothered smile. “You’re doing fine.” It shouldn’t have calmed him as much as it did. Mateo turned back to the oxygen regulator and bent slightly to adjust the dial. His scrub top rode up with the stretch, revealing a strip of golden skin and the dark trail of hair disappearing into the waistband of his underwear. Aaron inhaled sharply, catching the scent of Mateo’s soap, something clean and citrusy, undercut by the musk of warm skin. The air between them thickened, heavy with the storm and something else, something that made Aaron’s pulse kick hard behind his ribs. He forced his attention back to Mateo’s hands. Steady, practiced, and capable. The kind of hands that made everything feel under control. “I need you to fill out some intake forms while I check his lungs,” Mateo said, nodding toward the clipboard on the counter. “Name, age, any medical history. Sign at the bottom.” Paperwork. Of course. Nothing like bureaucracy to yank a man out of a moment. Aaron stepped over to the counter, water still dripping from his sleeves, shirt clinging tight to his back when he leaned forward. He wrote carefully, even with his pulse kicked high. Patient Name: Archimedes Val’Hala Smith. Mateo glanced up. “That’s one hell of a name.” Aaron huffed out a laugh. “Came with him. Didn’t have the heart to change it.” “Epic,” Mateo murmured. Aaron moved to the next field. Sex: His pen hovered. His brain chose violence. Not Archie’s sex. Not right away. No. It jumped straight to Mateo’s brief flash of skin and that glimpse of waistband. Yes, please, the thought whispered before he could stop it. He scolded himself silently and wrote M with unnecessary authority. Work the form. Not the tech. He handed the clipboard back. Mateo took it, their fingers brushing. Mateo didn’t rush the contact. “Perfect,” Mateo said, scanning the page. “Thanks.” It shouldn’t have mattered. It felt like it did. Mateo opened the cabinet beside the exam table and pulled out a digital thermometer. Aaron watched him snap a disposable sleeve over the probe, the soft click echoing in the small room. Then Mateo reached for the shelf above the table and grabbed a bottle of lubricant. Aaron’s brain short-circuited. Not because of the procedure. Not really. He’d taken Archie to enough clinics to know rectal temperatures were standard. Seeing Mateo’s fingers curl around the bottle, watching the gel catch the overhead light, did something unhelpful to the part of his mind he needed to keep under control. Focus on the dog. Not the man about to take Archie’s temperature. Not the way his scrubs fit. Not the way his hands moved. Mateo’s fingers curled around the bottle of lube, the snap of the cap loud in the quiet room. Aaron’s gaze locked onto the way the gel glistened on Mateo’s thumb as he slicked the thermometer, the motion precise and clinical. His own body reacted traitorously, heat pooling low in his gut. He shifted his weight, the wet denim of his jeans suddenly too tight, too aware of every seam and stitch. Aaron’s throat tightened, not from embarrassment but from how easily Mateo switched between competence and gentleness. “One hundred-three point four,” Mateo said, reading the display. “A little high, but not dangerous yet.” He checked Archie’s gums next, pressing a thumb to the pink flesh and watching the color return. “Capillary refill time looks okay,” he said. “Membranes are a little dusky, but not alarming.” Aaron nodded even though he didn’t trust his voice. Mateo noticed. He always seemed to notice. “You alright?” Mateo asked quietly. Aaron forced a breath. “Yeah. Just… watching everything.” “That’s good,” Mateo said. “Just don’t let your brain run too fast. Makes the room spin.” Mateo lifted Archie gently and slid open the door of the built-in oxygen cage below the table. The soft hum of concentrated oxygen filled the room as he settled the dog inside. Aaron stepped closer, hands tightening at his sides. “Your pacing is stressing him out more than me,” Mateo said, glancing up. Aaron blinked. “Didn’t realize I was having that effect on you.” The line slipped out before he could stop it. Mateo paused. His eyes flicked to Aaron’s for half a second. No smile, not right away, but something flickered across his face that wasn’t entirely professional. Then he masked it. “I meant the dog.” “Sure you did.” Mateo looked back at the oxygen readout, but the faint color rising in his cheeks wasn’t from the machine glow. “You can sit,” he said. “It’ll help.” “I’d rather stand.” Aaron stayed where he was, close enough that Mateo would feel the heat of him if he shifted even slightly. Mateo pretended not to notice, but his next words were quieter. “Just stay where I can see you.” The flirtation slid under the fear like a second pulse. Aaron wasn’t sure who it steadied more. Him or Mateo. Aaron rubbed his arms, trying to stop the shiver running through him. The soaked fabric clung to him so tightly it felt like another layer of skin. Mateo noticed before Aaron said a word. “You’re freezing,” Mateo murmured. He opened a cabinet and grabbed a clean clinic towel. Mateo’s fingers trembled as he handed over the towel. His voice was rougher than before. “Here. Warm up before you catch something.” Aaron hesitated but then hooked his fingers into the hem of his overshirt and peeled it off, the fabric clinging before releasing with a wet schlick. The t-shirt beneath was transparent, the damp cotton outlining the hard planes of his chest, the dark circles of his nipples. Mateo’s breath audibly caught. Aaron didn’t rush to cover himself. He let Mateo look, just for a second, before reaching for the towel. The air between them crackled, the kind of silence that hummed. Mateo turned back to the monitor, or pretended to. His eyes flicked once across Aaron’s chest again, too quick to be an accident. Aaron caught it. And he felt it. “Didn’t mean to give you a show,” he said, wrapping the towel loosely around his shoulders. “Hard to miss something right in front of me,” Mateo replied, voice low. He didn’t look up this time. Maybe he couldn’t. Aaron swallowed, heat stirring under the cold. His jeans were next. They were soaked past the knees, hugging every inch of him. He tugged at the waistband, but the denim resisted. When he pulled harder, the fabric slid down just enough to reveal a pale band of wet white briefs beneath. Mateo made a sound. Not a cough. Not a breath. Something in-between. Aaron froze, glancing up in time to see Mateo’s hand tighten briefly around the edge of the exam table. His eyes snapped away a beat too fast. “Sorry,” Aaron said, fingers still hooked in the denim. “These are… not cooperating.” Mateo cleared his throat, straightening with too much precision. “Let me get you a pair of spare scrubs from the back. We keep them for emergencies.” He took a step toward the doorway, talking faster than before. “You never know what’ll get on you here. Mud, blood, skunk spray, nervous dogs… or someone who walks in soaked to the bone.” His voice faltered on the last words. Aaron watched the back of his neck, saw the tension there, the way Mateo tried very hard not to look again. Aaron’s mind drifted, unhelpful, involuntary, to the glimpse he’d caught earlier of Mateo’s waistband when he bent to adjust the oxygen line. The thin trail of hair leading downward. The way the fabric had ridden just a little too low. He felt that image now like a warm pulse behind his ribs. Mateo paused at the doorway, almost as if he needed to steady himself before stepping through. Scrubs didn’t hide much. They also hid nothing important if a person looked close enough. Aaron wondered if Mateo was thinking the same thing. “Be right back,” Mateo said, voice tight but polite. Then he disappeared into the supply room. Aaron let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. The towel slipped slightly from his shoulder as he stood alone in the exam room, the quiet hum of the oxygen cage filling the space where Mateo’s fluster had just been. Whatever this was between them, it wasn’t one-sided. Not even a little. Mateo returned a minute later with folded navy scrubs in his hands. He set them gently on the counter, not looking directly at Aaron this time, as if eye contact alone might undo whatever composure he’d managed to rebuild. “Here,” he said. “Shirt and pants. They’ll be loose but dry.” Aaron nodded. “Thanks.” Mateo lingered for a second, then cleared his throat. “I’ll step out. Take your time.” It wasn’t a question. It was self-preservation. He slipped out of the room, letting the door fall almost closed behind him. Aaron heard his footsteps retreat only a few paces before stopping, as if Mateo needed to remind himself not to listen too closely to any sound that followed. Aaron changed quickly, using the towel for modesty even though he was alone. The wet clothes landed in a small pile in the corner. His soaked white briefs, clinging and transparent, went on top. There was no saving them. He folded them once out of habit, cheeks warming at the thought of anyone seeing them like that. When he was dressed, he called softly, “It’s safe.” Mateo returned with careful professionalism layered over something thinner, something more brittle. He stepped inside, and his gaze snagged—just for half a second—on the small pile of wet clothes in the corner. The briefs were impossible to miss. He looked away immediately. Scrubs hide a lot. They also hide very little. Mateo reminded himself of that again before moving past Aaron to kneel in front of the oxygen cage, studying the soft fog gathering on the glass. Archie’s breathing had evened out, each inhale a little less strained than the last. Aaron sank onto the floor beside him. At first he just watched, shoulders tight, jaw locked. But as Archie’s breaths steadied, something in him loosened too fast. Too sharply. His eyes shined, not with panic anymore but with the release that comes after holding fear too long. He tried to blink it away. He didn’t succeed. Mateo noticed. He always did. Without saying anything, he reached out and rested his hand between Aaron’s shoulder blades. Not a rub. Not a pat. Just warm, steady pressure. The kind of touch meant to tell a person they weren’t falling alone. Aaron let out a breath that shook once on the way out. He didn’t pull away. He leaned into it, barely, enough that Mateo would feel it. The storm outside cracked against the metal awning. The oxygen unit hummed in front of them. Archie’s chest rose and fell in a slow, soft rhythm. Aaron spoke, voice low. “I haven’t had someone take care of me in a long time.” Mateo kept his hand where it was, thumb lifting just slightly as if to catch the next shiver before it formed. “Tonight, it’s not about you or me,” he said. “It’s about him.” Aaron nodded, breath uneven but steadier now. “Feels like you’re taking care of both of us.” The room felt warmer after that. Not from the heater. Not from the storm. From the simple truth that neither of them wanted to say out loud. Mateo pushed himself to his feet first, brushing his palms along his scrub pants as he leaned in to check the oxygen readout. Green numbers glowed steady on the display. “He’s responding,” he said. “Breathing’s easier. That’s a very good sign.” Aaron exhaled, head dropping forward for a moment. Relief loosened something in him so suddenly it almost hurt. Mateo held out a hand. “Come on. Up slow.” Aaron took it. His palm was warm in Mateo’s, the grip firm even if the rest of him wasn’t. Mateo pulled gently, steadying him as he rose from the floor. Halfway up, the room tilted. The adrenaline that had kept Aaron upright all evening bled out in one sharp rush, and his knees folded before he could stop them. Mateo caught him immediately, one arm sliding around Aaron’s back, the other gripping his forearm. Aaron’s weight fell into him fully, chest pressing into Mateo’s shoulder, breath hot against Mateo’s neck. “Easy,” Mateo said softly. “Don’t rush.” Aaron’s hands tightened around Mateo’s hips to keep himself balanced. Mateo wasn’t small, but he was softer than Aaron expected, solid enough to hold him up, warm enough that Aaron didn’t pull away quickly. “Sorry,” Aaron murmured, his voice low against Mateo’s skin. “Didn’t mean to fall on you.” Mateo didn’t let go. His hands stayed firm, fingers splayed across Aaron’s back and arm. “Good thing I was standing right here.” Aaron lifted his head, faces too close, breaths mixing. Mateo’s gaze flicked down Aaron’s frame for a brief moment at the broad chest under the borrowed scrub top and the damp hair clinging to his forehead before he forced himself to look back up. “Adrenaline,” Aaron said, trying to sound casual even as his grip stayed tight at Mateo’s waist. “It hit all at once.” “I’ve got you,” Mateo replied. It came out warm. Steady. Too steady. Aaron didn’t step back. Neither did Mateo. For a breath, they stood pressed together, Aaron’s muscled weight in Mateo’s hands, Mateo’s softer body firm and grounding against Aaron’s. The contact wasn’t accidental anymore. It was unavoidable. “You really don’t have to hold me this close,” Aaron said quietly. “That’s true,” Mateo answered, voice softer now. “But you’re not exactly letting go.” Aaron’s fingers curled a little more at Mateo’s hip. Mateo’s grip held just a moment too long. Neither of them pretended not to notice. Archie let out a small, muffled yip from inside the oxygen cage, as if sensing the shift in the room. Both men turned, the trance between them snapping like a thin thread. Mateo cleared his throat and eased Aaron upright, hands sliding away with visible restraint. “He’ll stay overnight so we can monitor him,” Mateo said. His voice was steady again, but the warmth underneath hadn’t gone anywhere. “We’ll keep him on oxygen and repeat vitals in a few hours.” Aaron nodded, still catching up to himself. “Right. Yeah. Whatever he needs.” Mateo handed him a clipboard. The discharge form rattled in Aaron’s hands. He tried to sign, but his fingers trembled enough to leave the signature slightly crooked. “Adrenaline still dropping,” Mateo murmured. “Feels like everything’s dropping,” Aaron said before thinking. Mateo’s smile said he heard every layer of meaning in the line. When Aaron handed the pen back, his fingers brushed Mateo’s on purpose. Not accidentally. Not shyly either. Just soft enough to make the moment count. Mateo felt it. His breath paused for half a second. “I’ll walk you out,” he said. The hallway felt quieter than before. The storm outside had softened to a steady patter that matched the thrum in Aaron’s pulse. They reached the lobby slowly, as if neither of them wanted the walk to end. Aaron stopped at the door hand hovering on the handle. “If he gets worse overnight, you’ll call, right?” “For your dog or for you?” Mateo asked. Aaron let the question settle between them. “Yes.” That single word changed the air. They stood closer than they needed to, closer than strangers should. Mateo’s gaze dropped to Aaron’s mouth before rising again. Aaron leaned in, close enough to feel the heat of Mateo’s breath against his lips. The scent of him filled Aaron’s senses, soap and something darker, something male. Mateo’s gaze dropped to his mouth, lingered. The space between them was a living thing, pulsing with the promise of contact. Then Archie yipped, and Mateo exhaled sharply, the sound shaky. “You should go,” he said, but his body didn’t move an inch. Another soft yip echoed down the hallway. Mateo blinked. Aaron swallowed. The moment snapped again, not broken but held back by the inch that mattered. “Go home,” Mateo said quietly. “Take a hot shower. Eat something. I’ve got him.” Aaron nodded, no real strength behind the motion. “You’ll… be here all night?” “I will.” The door chimed softly as Aaron pushed it open. Rain misted his face, cold against the warmth he was leaving behind. He looked back once. Mateo was still standing exactly where he’d been, watching him with a steadiness that felt almost like a promise. “Goodnight,” Aaron said. Mateo’s answer was low. “Not the last one, I hope.” Aaron stepped into the rain with a pulse that felt too loud for his own chest, the door closing behind him with a soft hydraulic hiss. Mateo watched him through the lobby glass. The overhead light caught the line of Aaron’s jaw and the rain sliding down his borrowed scrubs. Aaron paused under the awning, lifted his gaze, and gave a small, quiet nod. Mateo didn’t know what it meant yet. But he felt it anyway. He locked the front door and turned off the lobby lights. The clinic settled into its after-hours hush, the storm outside taking over the soundscape. Back in the exam room, Archie was curled in the corner of the oxygen cage, breathing in an easy rhythm. Mateo knelt to check the readout, then straightened and noticed the pile in the corner again. Aaron’s wet clothes. A towel draped over the top. The small puddle drying beneath them. His cheeks warmed, a slow rise of heat he didn’t bother fighting. A thin line of pressure traveled down his body, the kind that came from holding something in too long. He exhaled through it, steadying himself with one hand on the counter. Focus. Dog first. Everything else after. Mateo reached for Archie’s chart and flipped it open, but his eyes weren’t on the notes. They were on the empty space where Aaron had been. Before he could second-guess it, he pulled out his phone. He typed a message, hesitated for exactly one breath, and sent it. Mateo: Archie’s still doing well. Breathing steady. This is my personal number in case you need updates and can’t reach the clinic line. He stared at the screen for a second. It felt like too much. It also felt like not enough. Mateo’s thumb hovered over the send button. His other hand pressed flat against the counter, as if he needed the support. He added the last line before he could talk himself out of it. Mateo: Get home safe. I’d like to hear you made it okay. A sharp pulse moved through him, low and insistent, a reminder of what he really wanted to say. He hit send and exhaled, the sound unsteady. Outside, the rain drummed against the windows. Inside, Archie slept, the oxygen cage humming softly. Mateo leaned against the counter, the room dim around him. Aaron’s clothes sat in the corner, still drying. The look Aaron had left in the glass stayed even longer.