"So quit slouching and getting punched in the side," he says mildly, about digging around in organs, "and I won't be able to tell when you have a rib-head about to float out of your torso."

Real, or Bruce being a brat in his own way? A mystery. He does know an awful lot about the human body, and furthermore, an awful lot about a bunch of hippy-dippy shit like chakras and paths of energy, for a guy so science-minded. Meditation, extreme physical limits, roots and internal tides. When he focuses so closely, and when he has experience with the body he's focusing on, it's hard not to see things.

Beyond the osteopath vision, he also sees desire, and it mirrors his own. Obligingly, he pushes down his own trousers and underwear, also ninjaing off his shoes in the process. (Maybe HE had the Hello Kitty socks.)

"You never sound all that convincing."

Bruce slides a hand over the inside of John's thigh, and palms his cock, pressing it against his belly and rubbing the underside with his thumb.