You Can Keep Your Lab Coat On

It was not the largest laboratory that Gordon Freeman had ever worked in. It was also not the tidiest. But, it was reasonably well-stocked, all things considered, and it had enough room to move around in. He’d popped in to check on a project he’d started the previous night and left to cure. He shrugged into one of the lab coats that were hung just inside the door and edged past Dr. Kleiner (cheerful as ever, even after the war against the Combine and the fallout from it) to get to the mold that he’d left.

“Good morning, Gordon!” Kleiner chirped, “Good to see you up and about at this hour. Early to bed, and early to rise, I say! What brings you here?”

“Good morning, Dr. Kleiner,” Gordon replied, “I came to see if one of my experiments was a success.” He ran a knife around the cured brick to loosen it.

“My goodness – I do hope that isn’t a brownie pan you’re using!”

“I washed it. And I’ll wash it again before I put it back.”

His curiosity piqued, Dr. Kleiner edged closer to see what Gordon was doing. “What is that you’re making?”

The brick fell out with a waxy CLUNK. “Something that I’m sure all the refugees will appreciate.” He held up the result. “Soap.”

Kleiner’s face lit up. “Ah – good thinking, Gordon! But… we already have soap, don’t we?”

Gordon grimaced. “Detergent. And some rough soaps – but I noticed that they seem to have too much lye in them – people’s hands are getting chapped. I’ve been tinkering with the proportions a bit and I think I’ve found a good balance.”

“And what with Barney finishing the last touches on a hot water heater,” Kleiner added, “Soon we’ll be back in the lap of luxury!”

“Hopefully. I want to test it out before I make more, though. If anyone’s going to get chapped skin from weird soap, I’d rather it be me.”

Kleiner patted Gordon on the arm. “Always so self-sacrificing. Well, let me know the results. If this works out, the people here will be overjoyed.”

“I will.” Gordon headed for one of four rooms set up with proper plumbing – and, by his memory, the first one to have access to the hot water heater as a trial. He’d almost reached the door when—

“Oh no you don’t!” Alyx Vance, daughter of the late and lauded Eli Vance and the woman Gordon loved, slammed her hand on the bathroom door a split second before he did. “I’ve got first dibs on the hot water, Gordon.”

Gordon looked at Alyx, then at the bathroom door, then at the bar of experimental soap in his hand.

Alyx inclined her head towards his cargo. “What do you got there?”

“An experiment I wanted to test out,” he said, adding, “Um, some soap. I’ve been fiddling with it for the past few days and I wanted to test it out—“

Her eyes lit up. “What – actual soap? Like bath soap? Not detergent?”

“Yeah, I, uh, found some old hand cream in a pantry and decided to toss it into the mix. It should keep it from drying things out…”

“Can I try it first? Please?” She gripped the lapels of his lab coat, her brown eyes wide and pleading. He recalled that it was probably at least a decade, maybe two, since modern luxuries had been widely available, let alone something simple like soap, and he got an idea.

“Maybe we can help each other out,” he said, “You want a hot bath, and I need this soap tested. Sooo…”

Alyx laughed. “You are the only man I know who could turn scientific inquiry into a pickup line.”

“What?” he asked, mock-innocently.

“It’s okay – we’re all friends here. Hell, you and I have shared a bed enough times.”

“For warmth,” he noted. He did not mention the pleasant side effects of having Alyx Vance cuddled close to him at night. Oh, the dreams…

“Yeah,” she returned, “But for the sake of scientific inquiry, I think you better supervise this experiment.”

Gordon swallowed hard. “I suppose.”

“Hey – as long as you keep that spiffy lab coat on, it’s still science, right?” Alyx grinned, before dragging him into the bathroom by the lapels of said lab coat. “There’s just one more thing I need to do…” She leaned out of the bathroom door. “Dog! Hey Dog! C’mere, boy!”

“Vweeep?” Dog, the ten-foot-tall hulk of a robot that was Alyx’s protector and friend, ambled, gorilla-like, up to the pair of them. It tilted its head at Gordon, then looked at Alyx expectantly. She reached up and stroked the robot’s headflaps.

“I’m about to help Gordon out with an experiment he’s working on, and I want you to guard this door. Don’t let anyone in, and don’t let anyone hang around outside. Got it?”

Dog glanced past Alyx at the bathroom, then at Gordon holding the bar of soap like a shield in front of him. The robot’s headflaps flared and the iris of its single red eye contracted, so that Gordon got the distinct impression he was being given a warning glare. He didn’t relax until the robot turned back to its mistress, folding its headflaps close again, and bobbed its head in agreement. “Vroooop.” Dog backed up into the hallway, then turned and stationed itself outside – a rather imposing guard dog, Gordon decided.

“There,” Alyx said, shutting the door, “Now hopefully we’ll have a bit of privacy.”

Gordon cleared his throat. “In that case, I’ll get the tub filled while you… um… yeah.” He set the bar of soap on a three-legged stool that served as a bath table, next to a worn square of sponge, one side of which was covered in a green scrub pad. He then crouched by the tub and turned on the water, letting it pour over his fingers until it grew warm. It didn’t take long – whatever skills Barney had learned about basic maintenance at Black Mesa certainly carried over here. He put the stopper in the drain and pensively watched the tub fill, hearing behind him the clump of boots being dropped to the floor, followed by the jingling of a belt buckle as she disrobed. There went the belt… and now her jacket. He heard her unzip the hoodie she wore under the bomber jacket and stoically resisted the temptation to take a peek. Instead, he closed his eyes and let his imagination do the work.

There would be the worn Black Mesa t-shirt she’d had ever since he met her, with her petite breasts pressing against the fabric from underneath. Her faded jeans being pushed down over the gentle swell of her hips, then down her runners’ legs —which were kickers as well, he had discovered when practicing his hand-to-hand combat against her. It was a common joke amongst some of the male Freedom Fighters that if it had nads, she would find them. But… yeah. She had nice legs. And an even nicer butt. Call it as unscientific as you like, but knowing Alyx had turned him into an ass man.

She’d grown… comfortable around him. While her first meetings with him had been filled with legends of the One Free Man and the resultant fangirl blushes, these days she trusted him with her life. She’d had to, at least once, in particular when the Hunter had nearly killed her. And after Eli had been killed by an Advisor, he’d silently vowed to protect her with his life.

“How’s the bath coming?” he heard Alyx say behind him. He glanced up – and couldn’t see a thing. His glasses had fogged in the steam from the bath. Dammit. He took his glasses off to clean them on the tail of his lab coat and saw a bronzed, Alyx-shaped blur beside him. She was already naked. Oh god. Granted, he’d just been imagining that very thing, but oh god all the same.

She leaned on his shoulder for balance as she reached past him to test the water temperature. He arched an eyebrow at her as he put his glasses back on, and saw that she still wore panties (tan, bikini cut), but not a stitch more. She turned back to him, caught his expression, and shyly covered her breasts with an arm (not that it helped), using her other hand to suppress a giggle.

“Sorry – was I staring?” Gordon asked. He knew damn well he was.

“You are blushing, Dr. Freeman,” she returned with a smile, touching his flushed cheek. He smiled; she only called him Dr. Freeman when she was teasing him. He averted his eyes as she slipped out of her panties, and he heard her step into the bathtub and turn off the water. She settled into the hot water with a sigh, resting her back against the end of the tub facing him. The surface of the water outlined the contours of her midriff, coming up just below the twin swells of her breasts; her hand still shielded her nipples from immediate view, a tease that he found more arousing than simple nudity would. She arched an expectant eyebrow at him, as if to say, Your move.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat again, “I’ll just make my observations, then…” He stood, pulled over a chair that that been sitting in the corner, and sat down facing her from a few feet away. “Just, uh, wash up as usual… and let me know if you experience any side effects like, you know, redness or irritation.”

Alyx snorted. “Coward.”

“Hey,” he said, arching an eyebrow, “I’m trying to keep this scientific.”

“And that means keeping your lab coat on, I know.” Alyx rolled her eyes, but picked up the sponge and bar of newly-made soap. She wet the sponge and soaped it, washing her arms and shoulders first. “So far, so good,” she said, “It’s been so long since I’ve had a nice hot bath with some real, honest-to-God soap.”

Gordon shrugged. “I aim to please.”

“In that case,” she smiled, “You can scrub my back.”

He raised an eyebrow as she offered him the sponge and soap. He scooted the chair closer so he could properly reach, then rolled up the sleeves of his lab coat and took the items, both still dripping with suds. She leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees, presenting her back to him for washing. She closed her eyes as he rubbed the soapy sponge across her shoulders, drizzling foam in its wake. He paid special attention to the thin white scars that crisscrossed her arms and shoulders, and particularly the two dark marks left on her back from the Hunter, as if his miracle soap could wash away twenty years of war, of death, of bad memories.

“Gordon?” she asked after a bit, opening her eyes.

“Yes?”

“I want to thank you.”

“For washing your back?”

She smiled. “For everything. For showing up when you did. For helping the Resistance. For being there… especially after Dad died.” Her smile faded pensively. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, Gordon.”

“All things considered,” he said, “I’m glad I was there, too.” He rinsed out the sponge, squeezing clean water from it over her back to wash off the soap.

Alyx sat up partway, putting a wet arm around his neck and drawing him close. He tipped her chin up with two soapy fingers and kissed her, lightly, tenderly, on the lips. He felt her lean into the kiss, deepening it, and he felt a warmth in his body that had nothing to do with the steamy bath he leaned over. She slid the fingers of her other hand over his stubbly face (he considered detachedly that he probably need to trim his goatee at some point), twining them into his hair in that way that she knew for a fact drove him mad. He nibbled lightly at her lower lip, and then felt her tongue questing at his teeth. He allowed her in, but didn’t let her remain unchallenged. His own tongue pushed at hers, sliding over it in a miniature battle that left him breathless in ways that hand-to-hand combat simply didn’t. His fingertips traced their way down the side of her throat, leaving a slick trail of soap in their wake – and judging by the pulse he felt in her throat, she was getting just as turned on as she was.

He felt her hand sliding over his chest, seeking out the buttons on his lab coat.

“I thought we agreed the lab coat would stay on,” he murmured lightly against her lips.

“Hey, you started this,” she replied with a grin, “Besides, I’d like to see how much we get done with it still on.” Her fingers worked quickly at the buttons, nimbly unfastening them. His fingers reached the firm orb of her left breast in their downward journey, and he cupped it gently, flicking a soapy thumb across her nipple. She gasped, then sighed at the sensation, and he felt the soft peak hardening under his fingers.

“Is this still scientific inquiry?” she asked against his mouth.

“Absolutely,” he replied, without hesitation, before kissing her again.

“What discipline is it, then?” She nipped at his lower lip.

“Applied anatomical studies,” he grinned.

He switched the sponge to his other hand and started slowly lathering her breasts, circling the sponge around the chocolate-dark skin of her nipples. She chuckled, a deep sensuous sound originating low in her throat, so that it carried more arousal than mirth. Gordon’s heart started to pound, and he hesitated, watching raptly as she reached up and started massaging her soapy breasts. His groin was starting to ache.

“Don’t stop now, big guy,” she purred, “There’s still lots more of me to wash.”

Indeed there was. She shifted position so she knelt upright in the water, which was now hip-deep on her. She guided the hand wielding the sponge to her abdomen, working it in slow circles over the toned muscles. He stood up to reach her better, and then bent to rinse out the sponge, leaning close as he did so that he could smell her heat rising. He squeezed the water out over her breasts, watching the rivulets chasing the suds down over her torso. Her full lips parted slightly, letting a sigh escape. She reminded him of a mermaid just then – no, that wasn’t right. She was a siren, all beauty and cunning, doing her best to seduce him – and you know what? It was working. Damn skippy it was. He was the hero of the Resistance, but he was no monk.

He soaped the contours of her back that were now revealed, making sure to go slow so that he could savor this experience, but apparently she had other ideas. She slipped a wet hand up under the T-shirt he wore underneath, and he took a deep, shuddering breath, his abdominal muscles quivering at her touch. Oh, she was totally doing this on purpose…

He rinsed off her back, watching the way the soapy water flowed over and between her taut buttocks. He decided at this point to, ahem, misplace the sponge, letting it fall in the water as he caressed the twin globes of her wet ass with his bare hand. He continued downwards into the water, sliding his fingers between her legs, feeling the tender skin of her inner thighs as his hand made its patient way down to her knees. As she shifted again, spreading her legs as her eyes slid closed, his hand made his way back up to the wet tangle of soft curls at their juncture. He considered (in that detached part of his mind not focused exclusively on the business at hand) that her thighs were his second favorite part of her. They came with the runner’s build, after all, and it was hard to have a great ass without the thighs to go with it. It just stood to reason. Even in the water he could feel the intimate fluids coursing from her most secret place; that, coupled with the way she arched her back at his touch, indicated that she was every bit at turned on as he was.

He felt her hand beneath his shirt, traveling down his stomach… over the waistband of his sweatpants… to brush over his clothed manhood. He closed his eyes and let out a groan, biting his lip as he felt her outline him with the tips of her fingers, making her way from base to tip, and himself hardening in response.

“I’d like to offer my own hypothesis for your experiment,” Alyx gasped, her fingers still idly tracing what was rapidly becoming a raging hard-on.

“…Yes?” he managed to choke out.

“Things are about to get very dirty in here.” Her voice was a tigress’ growl, wild and untamable. With that, she pulled down the waistband of his sweatpants, together with his shorts, until his naked erection sprang free. She wrapped her slender fingers around it, and his breath caught.

“I wholeheartedly concur,” he groaned as she started stroking him.

In response, he slipped a fingertip between her soft folds, finding and stroking the swollen nub of her clit. She threw her head back, as her breath came in hitching gasps. Her hand did not hesitate in the slightest, though – if anything, it increased its tempo, sending jolts of pleasure into his loins and driving strangled grunts from between his clenched teeth. Her hips bucked against his busy fingers, and he was almost sure they would both climax from manual stimulation alone (and he didn’t much savor the idea of either cleaning up his own spilled seed from the floor or explaining it to someone else), when she stopped stroking him, halted his fingers with her own and said three words that, together with the context, her passion-flushed face, and their breathless tone, would cement themselves in his brain as easily the sexiest phrase in the known universe.

“Fuck me, Gordon.”

As he forced his brain to comprehend the instruction it had just received, she stood in the bathtub, water dripping down her legs. He had always (privately) maintained his opinion that she possessed the greatest ass in the entire colony – and if challenged, he would defend this assertion to the death. There she stood, glistening and naked, like some goddess of sex and killing aliens; her back was to him but she peered expectantly over her shoulder at him. And there he stood, pants around his ankles, fully erect, and feeling vaguely like the dork he’d always been in high school, presented with the holy grail of the head cheerleader. But his lab coat was still on, dammit, and that made this part of his scientific research.

Well. Might as well get to it as long as he was there.

He placed his hands on her hips and stepped close to her, teasing her entrance a bit with the head of his erection before pushing forward into her with a groan. She was decently tight around him, but he held no illusions about her virginity. When civilization has ended, one finds comfort where one can. They soon fell into a rhythm together as she moved her hips back to meet his forward thrusts, her breathless gasps forming the perfect counterpoint to his own grunts of passion. Before long, her gasps grew louder, her cries of pleasure echoing in the primitive bathroom as the two of them barreled towards orgasm, faster and faster.

Almost without warning, he felt her inner walls suddenly clamp tight around him as she let out one final strangled yelp, a sensation that drove him over the edge to his own climax, shooting his seed deep into her. The two of them stood there for a few moments more, breathless and gasping in the afterglow (traditionally, Gordon had hated that rather pretty term in the context of the sweaty, breathless moments immediately following sex, but here it seemed to fit), before he stepped back and out of her to collapse, rubber-legged, into the nearby chair. He watched wordlessly as she settled back into the lukewarm bath water.

“So,” he gasped, “What’s the verdict on the soap?”

She smiled. “Seems to work well. No chafing or irritation, and I definitely feel cleaner, but… more research may be in order.”

He raised a sly eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Definitely. But this time, you get to test it out.”

“I can live with that,” he nodded, “Same time tomorrow?”

“Only if I get to wear the lab coat.”

“Well, of course – otherwise we can’t call this research,” Gordon grinned.

---

End.