#phillipjohnclapp

“You know one of us better get a new job?” He stood, leg cocked in the door of the first aid tent. His yellow, blood stained shirt sitting awkwardly half-covering his toned torso.

“Knox. Why did I not bet money on the fact that you’d be the first person I’d see today.” You said, adjusting the seat by your examination table. He smiled, laughing at his converse. A small flutter in your stomach when his dimples were highlighted on his cheeks. “Take a seat hon.” You finished.

“Yes, Ma’am.” He said, folding his long and lean body down into the rather, comically and unpractically small chair.

You stifled a chuckle, before scalding him “Hey. What did I tell you about the ma’am stuff, huh? Makes me feel old.” You said,

“Sorry, sorry.” He retorted with a smirk, hands up in mock-surrender. He adjusted uncomfortably in the chair. The shirt that sat awkwardly, scrunched up at his ribs was covered in blood, some already beginning to oxidise.

There was damage to the entire surface of his back and the posterior surface of his elbows. His loose-fitting, lopsided dickies reveal a gash, slick with plasma on his left hip, that extended up his entire left side to his axilla.

Your mind drifted in thought of his lean and toned figure, the way he groaned while placing his hands over his hand. He pulled his eyes shut in pain, wincing around the chair until he found a semi-comfortable position. Which was difficult considering the damage he’d done.

He felt you eying him, and he felt watched under your gaze. Not in a judgemental sense, more pitied he would say. He watched you too, mostly in awe. You were scribbling away in your binder, pausing the check the time on your watch and continued scrawling your notes. He found you as a whole quite adorable. The only way his dumbass could think to flirt with you, outside you sewing him back together was using your head as an armrest or something else so pathetically school-yard and juvenile.

You guys were at that stage between acquaintances and friends. That semi-awkward phase in which the first few minutes of conversation is a little doughy before your both settle into each other’s company again.

But Knoxville always made conversation easy, his light-hearted, usually self-deprecating humour was one of the things you found more than charming about him. That and his southern drawl and the way he was so polite and charming even when he was bleeding all over you and your tent.

He would have to admit, some days when he was sent to the nurses tent and you weren’t there his stomach would drop with disappointment. He’d have to endure the man-handling of a questionable nurse who would frequently be low of painkillers he was meant to distribute to the cast.

You paused in thought before turning your eyes to meet his. He nearly jumped in his chair, having just been caught dreamily staring at you.

“What’s your birthday again Knox. March.. 11? 1970..?” Had he really been in your tent that much?

“One, doll.” He nodded. His stomach twisted in knots watching the very corner of of your mouth lift upward into a nervous smile, you shifted your stance and continued writing.

You forced your mindset back to the task-at-hand. “Okay. So, let me guess? You rode something strange and awful down the steepest and longest hill in LA?” You said, turning to collect your wound irrigation and dressing supplies.

“I rode roller skates made from belt sanders down a sidewalk and into a dumpster. But I ended up skating down it on my ass and falling into the dumpster like a sack of shit.” He said, his tone self-deprecating.

“Well, I can see that by the way your squirmin’ in my chair.” His chuckle was faint, because he really didn’t like the way he was looking at your ass in those scrubs, it made him feel dirty. But he really wanted to walk up behind you, whisper in your ear while pressing himself up against your perfect ass. He watched you on your tip toes, hand on the bench trying to reach your supplies from the top cupboard. He had to shake his head to clear those thoughts from his mind, he adjusted himself in his pants.

You continued, still trying to get that damn bottle of iodine that your finger tips were pushing back into the cubboard. Looking around briefly for your stool that people kept stealing, with no luck. You climbed onto the bench on your knees. Looking up you seen Johnny next to you, stifling a startled squeal, you placed a hand over your chest.

“God, you’re quiet on your feet.” You sighed.

Your eyes just now level with his, he pointed to the amber glass jar in the cupboard. “This what you were after?”

“Mhm.” You hummed, with a smile. He reached into the cupboard and placed it on the bench you were still kneeling on. He closed the cupboard and went offer you a hand down, realising after he had done so, that it was covered in slimy looking abrasions. He withdrew his hand with a chuckle.

Now able to finalise your sterile tray of gauzes, saline solution, antibiotic ointment and iodine. He flipped the chair around at sat on it backwards, allowing open access to his back.

“Okay, I’m gonna help you take your shirt off so I can get a better look at the damage you’ve done to yourself and get started alright?” You asked setting the tray down in the table. You moved to stand behind him and help him remove his shirt, limiting its contact with his broken and tender skin. He hissed in pain as the hem of the shirt nicked a protruding piece of broken glass. “Sorry.” You said, placing the shirt down.

“Damn.” He breathed, “That sucked.” He finished with a laugh.

“I hate to break it to you, hon. But it ain’t about to get any better. There’s still lots of debris in these abrasions, but good news. No stitches, this time.” You said, as you moved to the basin to wash your hands again, you gloved up to begin irrigation.

You tucked a towel into the waistband of Johnny’s dickies and he squirmed and laughed. “Hey hey. By me dinner first, before you go snooping around back there.” You chuckled to yourself, rolling your eyes.

“Sorry.” You offered, pulling up your own chair behind him, you snapped the seal of the saline bottles and picked up your tweezers with your still sterile hand. You paused, hovering over his bloodied back. “Ready Knox?” You said, your tone soft.

“Mhm.” He mumbled, resting his head on is balled up fists. His feet shifted uncomfortably underneath him in anticipation.

You squeezed the tubes and the clear liquid ran down his back, he hissed and leant forward. Moaning a distressed “Fuck.” Into his fists. The towel in his waistband caught the yellow liquid at the bottom. He writhed tensely in the chair, highlighting every muscle on his exposed body.

You scooted your chair toward him, so close you could feel the heat from his back. You leant in with the tweezers and began to remove the gravel and glass from his back, dropping them into the silver tray next to you. You left the most lodged fragment of glass till last. You had to scoot right around, ditching your rolling chair you knelt down beside him. He rested his head in the crook of his elbow and his face now inches from yours.

“Okay. This one is the last one. But it’s right in there.” Your sweet eyes looked up into his, a crease of worry between your brows. You sighed looking at the brown glass in his skin once more.

He watched you bite your bottom lip, bringing your tweezers closer, he pulled his eyes shut and buried his head in his elbow. Gritting his teeth he felt the relief of the glass being removed and heard the ‘tink’ of you dropping in the tray. He breathed a sigh of relief and wiggled out his tense muscles.

“Okay.” You sighed, placing your un-gloved hand on your hip. “We’re, gettin’ there. Won’t be long until we have you cleaned up and on your way.” You said with a nod, moving to change your gloves.

“Gettin’ rid of me so soon?”

“Never.” You offered back.

“No I get it, ol’ Knoxville is too much for Y/N to handle.” He craned back, with that shit-eating smirk plastered on his face.

“Please.” You scoffed, “I’m not the one scared of a little pair of tweezers.” You felt a weird buzz from the low pit of your stomach, you weren’t much of a flirt considering in your usual line of work it was never okay to flirt with patients. But on the set of jackass, anything goes.

“Turns out you’re into masochism as much as I thought?” You said with everything last ounce of confidence you had managed to boil within you.

“You’d be surprised what I’m into, babydoll.” His tone was low and steady. Very different from his usual. He kept his gaze forward and jaw set.

You inhaled sharply, though it was not on purpose merely out of nerves and shock. But he had heard you, which is why you could see the smile lines of the satisfied smirk creep up his cheek.

“So what have y’all got in store for me next week? Can I assume we’re all done with the ridiculous raccoon skit.” Now wishing you had kept your mouth shut, you felt slightly in over your head. The air in the room felt sticky on your skin.

“I mean I’ve seen nearly everyone of the cast come in here with broken noses, fractured zygomatic arches. Have you at least been able to scrape together some decent takes?” You continued, now dabbing iodine over his back.

“I’m up next, on Friday.” He said it almost proudly.

“Well. There goes my early mark for the weekend.” You joked, capping the bottle.

“Oh, sorry Doll. Will I be keeping you from your knitting?” He said, as you slinked down in front of him to tend to his hip.

Using slightly more pressure than required you wiped the abrasion. You took the antibiotic ointment from the back of your gloved hand and with your thumb wiped it over his hip, this time with entirely too much pressure.

“Found someone to throw the punch?” You said, rising to your full height in front of him. Craning your neck slightly to make eye contact with Johnny. You removed your gloves and tossed them on the tray behind you.

“Hope Daddy taught you good.” He looked down from your eyes to your lips, the thoughts of all the things the two of you would do to each other floated in the forefront of his mind.

“I didn’t need Daddy to teach me to throw a punch.” Your eyes fell to his lips. The distance between you closing.

“Oh really?” Johnny said, softly.