Chapter 4: Positive Side Effects

Chapter 4: Positive Side Effects

The bi-weekly "treatments" became the new rhythm of Leo’s life, two unwavering anchor points in a sea of newfound vitality. The transformation was nothing short of miraculous. The persistent, wearying fog that had clouded his mind for months had been burned away, leaving behind a sky of brilliant, crystalline blue. He woke up before his alarm, energised and clear-headed. The logo for the artisanal honey brand was finished in a single, inspired afternoon—a symphony of cheerful pastels and whimsical bees that his client adored. His creative wellspring, once a dry, cracked riverbed, was now overflowing.

He attributed it all, every ounce of renewed vigour and joy, to Dr. Thorne’s miracle cure. The man was a genius, a saviour in a well-fitted Henley. The intense, overwhelming sessions in the quiet, after-hours clinic were the potent medicine his body had been craving. The memory of the doctor’s skilled, professional hands and the subsequent, earth-shattering releases were proof that the Induced Vascular Engorgement Therapy was working just as he’d promised. The "positive side effects" were, quite simply, life-changing.

A simple thank you felt wholly inadequate. The muffins and brownies he brought to their sessions were a start, but his gratitude demanded a grander stage. He wanted Dr. Thorne to understand the depth of the change he had wrought.

On a bright Tuesday morning, two days after their last session, Leo found himself outside his oven, pulling out a rustic apple tart. The crust was perfectly golden, latticed with care, and the scent of cinnamon and baked apples filled his small cottage. He hadn't baked this one out of nervous habit, but from a place of pure, unadulterated joy. He boxed it up, not for their next appointment, but for now.

He walked into the clinic during peak hours, the waiting room buzzing with the low murmur of sniffles and gossip. The receptionist, a woman with a formidable perm named Brenda, gave him a curious look.

“I don’t think you have an appointment today, Leo,” she said, her voice laced with the proprietary tone of someone who knew everyone’s business.

“Oh, no, I’m just dropping something off for Dr. Thorne,” Leo said, his smile as bright as the morning sun outside. He held up the box. “It’s a thank-you.”

Brenda’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she buzzed the doctor’s office. A moment later, Julian appeared at the door to his inner sanctum. Seeing Leo standing there, in the middle of his chaotic workday, sent a jolt of something dangerously close to panic through him. This was a breach of protocol. Their arrangement existed in the sterile, controlled environment of the evening, a secret world of their own making. This—Leo, shining with health and holding a pastry in the middle of a Tuesday—was a variable he hadn’t accounted for.

“Mr. Vance,” Julian said, his voice a low, warning rumble. He stepped into the hallway, subtly blocking the view from the waiting room.

“Hi, Doctor!” Leo beamed, undeterred by the cool reception. “I just wanted to drop this off. I had so much energy today, I just had to bake. It’s an apple tart.” He pushed the box into Julian’s hands. “As another thank you. For everything.”

Julian stared at the warm box, then at Leo’s guileless, expectant face. The sincerity was a physical force, disarming his carefully constructed defenses. He should have been annoyed. He should have reprimanded Leo for the unprofessional intrusion. Instead, he felt a strange, unfamiliar warmth spread through his chest.

“That is… unnecessary,” Julian managed, though the words lacked their usual bite. “But thank you.”

“No problem! Have a great day, Doctor!” Leo said with a cheerful wave, turning and practically bouncing out of the clinic, leaving Julian standing in the hallway holding a tart, the scent of cinnamon warring with the smell of antiseptic.

Later, in the privacy of his office between patients, Julian ate a slice. He had intended to throw it away, to reject the offering and reinforce the boundary. But he couldn’t. The crust was flaky, the apples perfectly sweet and tart. It was, annoyingly, the best thing he had tasted in years. It tasted of sunshine and sincerity, a world away from his own jaded existence. And he found, to his profound disturbance, that he wanted more.

Their fragile, unspoken friendship began to bloom in these small, stolen moments. A few days later, Leo spotted Julian’s sleek, dark sedan parked outside the town’s only bookstore. On a whim, Leo went in, feigning interest in a new thriller. He found Julian in the history section, running a long finger over the spines of leather-bound books.

“Dr. Thorne! Fancy seeing you here,” Leo said, his feigned surprise sounding utterly genuine.

Julian looked up, startled. His first instinct was to retreat, to offer a curt nod and move away. But looking at Leo, who was practically vibrating with cheerful energy, he found himself rooted to the spot.

“Vance,” he acknowledged, his voice gruff.

“I never pegged you for a history buff,” Leo said, gesturing to the dusty tomes.

“It’s a hobby,” Julian replied, his tone clipped. “Antiquated medical texts, mostly. You learn that most of modern medicine is just a refinement of old, brutal ideas.”

The cynicism was reflexive, a shield he’d carried for years. But Leo didn’t flinch. He just tilted his head, his hazel eyes full of genuine curiosity. “That’s fascinating. Like, you can see where we came from to know where we are?”

“Something like that,” Julian conceded, surprised by the simple, insightful summary.

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the scent of old paper and leather surrounding them. Julian found himself pointing out a particularly gruesome 19th-century surgical manual, and Leo listened with rapt attention, his boyish fascination a startlingly pleasant counterpoint to Julian’s jaded commentary. The encounter lasted no more than ten minutes, but as Julian drove away, the brief, normal conversation lingered in his mind far longer than it should have. He was starting to enjoy Leo’s presence, the uncomplicated brightness he brought with him. The lines were blurring, and the calculated deception was becoming tangled with something dangerously close to real affection.

That night’s session felt different. The clinical pretense, at least in Julian’s mind, was gossamer-thin. As Leo undressed and settled onto the table, the routine was familiar, but the energy in the room had shifted. It was charged with the memory of their afternoon encounter.

“My design work has been going so well,” Leo said from his position on the table, his voice muffled by the paper covering. “I feel like my brain is finally plugged back in.”

“The re-establishment of the systemic hormonal cascade can have profound cognitive benefits,” Julian recited, the medical jargon feeling hollow and false on his own tongue. He applied the lubricant, his touch as steady as ever, but his mind was in turmoil. This was Leo. Not ‘the patient,’ not ‘Vance.’ Leo, who baked apple tarts and had an earnest, infectious curiosity about the world.

As the ‘treatment’ began, Julian’s focus was split. Part of him was lost in the raw, physical act, the control he wielded, the intoxicating power of bringing this beautiful man to a shattering release. But another part of him was acutely, achingly aware of the person beneath his hands. He noticed the spray of pale freckles across Leo’s shoulder blades, the way his breath hitched not just with pleasure, but with a deep, trusting sigh. The act, once a simple gratification of a dark impulse, was now laden with a terrifying intimacy. He was no longer just satisfying his lust; he was touching a man he was beginning to genuinely, inexplicably, like.

When Leo’s inevitable, breathtaking climax arrived, shaking the frame of the examination table, Julian felt the usual surge of possessive triumph, but this time it was poisoned by a new, sharper pang of guilt. He wasn’t just lying to a gullible patient anymore. He was deceiving someone who was quickly becoming a friend.

Afterward, as Leo slowly sat up, flushed and dazed with euphoria, he turned and gave Julian a look of such profound, unadulterated trust that it felt like a physical blow.

“I really don’t know what I would have done without you, Doctor,” Leo said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve… you’ve given me my life back.”

Julian stood frozen, the latex glove he’d just stripped off feeling slick and unclean in his hand. The words, meant as the highest compliment, landed like a conviction. He had wanted a plaything, a diversion from his exile. What he had now was Leo’s complete and total faith, a fragile, precious thing he was actively, methodically desecrating with every touch, with every lie. And the most terrifying part was, he wasn’t sure he could ever bear to give it up.