His breath is hot against her neck. Heat itches between her thighs and an oh so familiar feeling builds in the pit of her stomach. His hands run down her back and settle on her hips before he almost violently pushes her against the wall and presses her there. This is wrong, she knows this is wrong.

This wasn't the first time this had happened, of course, and she promised herself each time that it would be the last. But all he had to do was stand just that little too close to her, or slowly run his fingertips down her neck, and she'd easily surrender. She hates that he can drive her completely crazy with just a touch, but hates more that he knows it, and constantly takes full advantage of it.

And here they are again, in the fucking clinic of all places. She'll never be able to mutter the words 'exam room one' the same again. He has her pinned against the wall with his body, while his hand slips under her blouse to stroke her already heated skin. Soon the garment is too much of a barrier and the buttons are almost ripped off the fabric as he eagerly tries to unfasten it. She is sure every nerve in her body comes alive when he presses his lips against her pulse point. His stubble roughly scratches her jaw as his teeth nip at her ivory skin. She can't comprehend that something this wrong could feel so damn good. She refuses to think of how bad this could end up, or how much trouble they could get it too if they're caught.

She gaps as his hand slides up her skirt. His nails drag along her thigh before his fingers curl around her underwear to pull them off. She leans her head back against the wall as he works on undoing his trousers. He pulls her thigh to wrap around his waist and supports himself on his leg, his good leg.

The rooms fills with the sounds of sex. His low groans ring in her ears, then its over almost as soon as it began. She buries her face in the curve of his neck to stop herself crying out as she reaches breaking point. His body shudders against hers, her name accidentally falling from his lips.

Lisa.

He can't move. His head drops onto her shoulder and her hand splays out on the back of his neck. She can hear his breathing slowly return to normal. Her arm wraps around his back to keep him close to her, but his body instantly tenses.

'Greg…?' her voice is a whisper and he has to strain to hear it, 'Greg, I'm sorry. I…". Her hands reach to cup his face. But he takes hold of her before she has a chance and steps away from her,

'Not now Cuddy, just not now.'

The use of her last same stings. She wants to speak, but can not summon up the words. She wants desperately to tell him everything she is feeling, but she can't - its clear he just doesn't want to know and it makes her heart ache.

He retrieves his cane before zipping up his trousers and leaving, slamming the door in his wake.

yeah, I don't know. I wrote alot of this at around 7am after not sleeping all night, and i've tried to re-write it to make it more interested, but it didn't work. this was written during a severe care of writers block, so please excuse the immense level of crap that it is. written for my best friend tim, and posted for him.

please, conc-crit is really appreciates.