can you feel a pulse?

mmmmmm, yes. hot hot hot.

I love when a practitioner gets a little handsy.

hands wrapping around either side of the patients lithe waist, feeling how muscles have stopped fighting, stopped giving resistance against the LUCAS's efforts, stomach soft and unguarded. bulging. maybe he imagines his cock adding to the assault, imagines feeling his cock adding to that rhythmic pulsing of his stomachs. or maybe just the work of the LUCAS is enough.

little kisses pressed around. maybe the doctor is being particularly gentle after all the work he has forced on this beautiful body. fingers stroke back curls from half lidded eyes, and he shuts them with a kiss to the kids that refuse to stay fully shut. kisses to the pulse point that are still outside of mechanical effort. even his femoral, kissing along the cut of his illiac furrows, until his nose is all but buried in dark curls, before pulling back. kisses to the corner of the lips, beside the tube filling the boy's lungs with breath. going oh so gentle. giving this boy all the kisses he will otherwise miss out on.

he might run the ECHO again, if the machine is still in the room. just to see that pretty heart get pumped. it's such a beautiful oddity to him. it's such a beautiful heart. outside of the fact it refuses to pump, it looks pristine. the theory is that the arrest had to due with something electrical. no Joel's of reversal. so seeing that pretty heart is a joy.

when he stops the LUCAS, or more so, when he lets it run to death and then removes it. carefully letting down purpled and bruised wrists from the straps, kissing them oh so softly, before laying them on the bed. then he rubs that destroyed chest. it feels far too soft. it's been pulverized. he doesn't doubt that nearly every rib has been broken. the sternum shattered. it's bruised a myriad of swirling colors. not to mention how the greying of his skin has taken effect. his chest pulses with breaths still being given by the ventilator, the imitation of life still vaguely present. his belly is soft and still, slightly distended from all the efforts force onto his body, aid and fluid collected there over the course of hours.

his thumbs rub over soft nipples and his knuckles rub into that sternum one last time, as if to try and will the beauty from his eternal slumber, paired with some... extra stimulation... as his hand finds the soft cock between his legs. a Hail Mary... of sorts. that's what he calls it anyways.

he technically hasn't called time yet, so maybe he gives a few compressions of his own. just to know that he did. that he tried. that he felt that body breaking under him. that chest submit to him. the sternum sinks in far too deep. he's working on a corpse, but he doesn't stop he pumps away. he compresses over the breaths still entering his chest. the effort gets his hard, cock aching in his pants.

it's not helped when he slathers the boy's lurching chest with conductive gel— the glistening substance has always been more satisfying than those frankly ugly pads. and he's all alone with time to spare to fetch the bottle —using more the necessary. he watches the still monitor for a moment as he presses the paddle into the boy's chest. asystole still. that hadn't changed. he cranks the defib up to it's max settings. pressing the paddles even deeper, ensuring contact is never broken.

he shocks him once. the body spasms hard. his back arches. his hands squeeze shut and his arms pull up to his chest. his face flutters with a false expression of pain, throat spasming to buck the tube. he's so reactive. it's gorgeous. the doctor is even more disappointed they never managed to truly shock him. he would have reacted beautifully when there was still a whisp of life in him.

he shocks again and again, never lifting the paddles. they press into broken ribs relentlessly, sending shock after shock after shock into the dead little heart inside. frying it beyond saving. it never had been. but now he knows for a fact it is done. and watching the body beneath him pulse again and again, spasming violently, is worth it. he goes again and again until the defibrillator is spent and can't independently recharge. soaking up every second of this that he can.

he calls times when he himself is too exhausted and worked up to continue.

and then maybe add a little groping while they get all the gear off too. pulling IVs first, and gently kissing and bandaging each site. soft words cooed as a comfort to the still body. chest wiped of all that gel, a rough towel rubbed over that shattered, bruised chest, but left still glistening. the monitor shut off and leads removed, along with the BP cuff and clip.

finally the ET tube. first he disconnects the ventilator, shutting it off, and then he assesses the tube. it's full of fluid. edema. the gauze ties are cut and the cuff is deflated and it slides out without resistance, dripping, the patients throat gurgling slightly. a little pressure the chest has pink-tinged fluid spilling from his mouth and nose. his kindeys have beyond failed. all that fluid pooling in the lungs. maybe the doctor will spend some time on that, if he had the energy, working the patients chest and abdomen with his head to the side, to pump fluid out, before suctioning him dry. just to have an excuse to spend some extra time with him. groping and assaulting his soft chest and softer belly, working it all out of his patients chest, thrusting hands into him. he can imagine how nice it would feel to have his way with the still body.

with the tube out, maybe he gives some mouth to mouth, kissing the boy firmly, taking in the feeling of his cold, wet lips. of his warm breath entering cold lungs. his hands gently cradling that pretty face and head of curls.

and once he's done have most of his fun, he can formally assess him for death. he knows he is, but it is procedure after all. he looks at the patients chart, his name is Noah. beautiful name for a beautiful boy. he calls his name, rubbing his chest, first with the soft heel of his palm, then again, more firmly, calling them name louder, then a third time, pressing knuckles into the broken sternum, name all but shouted. nothing. no reaction to stimuli. the body remains still and limp. it's unnecessary, and is even frowned upon in other cases, but he does a final stimuli test, squeezing the soft brown, now grey-tinged, nipple of the boy, feeling them between his fingers. he squeezes hard with a twist. no reaction.

then he takes out his stethoscope and listens for a heartbeat. pressing the head of the stethoscope deep into the flesh at each auscultation point. there's nothing. he feels for a pulse in the femoral and carotid, fingers pressing to the latter and his whole hands groping his illiac for the former. he waits longer then he has to, enjoying the sensation as the skin rewarms beneath his hand. still nothing.

there's no effort of respiration, but he waits for that too, passing the moment he is supposed to watch by groping the still chest. listening with his stethoscope, hearing his the chest reacts to a compression, hearing fluid filled lungs gurgle. how the pressure changed causes a miniscule little breath in. and as with everything else. there's nothing. nothing of Noah's own accord anyways.

then it's pupils. he pulls open those grey kids to expose lifeless blue eyes. there's no reaction to the penlight. not a flicker. they don't even roll back. they just stare up at him.

he makes the necessary notes.

"all done beautiful"

he covers him in a sheet. not before giving him one last feel over. one last gentle caress to the face. fixing his curls one last time. covering up that gorgeous nude body. and wheeling him out. his hard cock is hidden where he presses against the bed. he just needs a moment in the morgue to handle himself, to send this beautiful boy off.

he can't risk cumming in him, he's sure to be autopsied due to the sudden and unexplained death. but the doctor will stand next to his bed, uncovering him the second they're alone and the door is "locked for maintenance", taking in that beautiful body, before jerking off over the boys sunken belly with hand hand and feeling his cock with the other. it takes only s few strokes to cum, getting it all over the boy's bruised chest and soft belly. he wishes he could get Noah off one last time, it would she only been fair, but no amount of tugging at his now-warm cock will achieve anything. but maybe he'll go at it just long enough with some cooed words to feel like he could have achieved something had the boy been alive. only then will he say farewell. laying his cock down. wiping his abdomen off. giving the final kisses. covering him up. and leaving.

Girlfriend performs lifesaving CPR