Less than a half hour later, the pair burst through the doors of Cook County, together...through the patient entrance, of course.

Romano raced to the locker room, immediately changing out of the wrinkled suit he'd put on from the previous night, before his appearance could raise any questions. Peter dragged a very annoyed Reese off to the hospital daycare, who wanted nothing more than to go back home with his father and sit around watching SpongeBob with his weird new bald friend.

The next time they saw each other had been in the scrub room, accompanied by Drs. Elizabeth Corday and Donald Anspaugh.

As luck had fucked them all in that moment, a police helicopter had crashed a bit earlier that morning, leaving them up to their necks in trauma cases. They probably wouldn't be able to sit on their asses for at least another 8 hours, assuming no one died.

They were all concentrating hard on scrubbing when Anspaugh decided to look up briefly, giving Romano a good once over.

"Good God, Robert! What the hell happened to your neck?!" The man exclaimed with wide eyes, looking straight at the rather large, rather noticeable hickey Peter left behind from the night before.

Romano's cheeks grew red as he grappled for an excuse.

"Err...it's seems I've had a small infestation of spiders lately...in my house, I mean," he explained quickly, eyes glued to his hands and the white foam that covered them. "I get bit every now and then. Sons of bitches are really attracted to heat." He earned a look from Peter that made his knees weak and his cheeks threaten to grow even redder.

"Sounds dreadful. You might want to get that looked at. You sure they're not venomous?" He fret, genuinely concerned for the bald surgeon. Elizabeth merely shot Robert a knowing glance, looking like she was physically having to hold herself back from busting out laughing.

"Oh, no. If they were, I'd probably be dead by now. They're no problem!" He joked in attempt to cover up his humiliation.

"Whatever you say, Chief." Anspaugh retorted, backing into a scrub room, the entire occurrence going completely over his head.

"You do anything interesting with your Friday night...Chief?" Elizabeth asked him sweetly, eyeing the bruise on his neck.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Romano sneered as he finished scrubbing, turning to enter his respective OR.

As the bald man exited the room, Corday chuckled, giving Peter a wry smile. "I'd love to meet the lucky soul who got at it with that!"

Peter gave her a laugh of his own, shaking his head slightly. Oh, if only she knew!
H
His patient was a fucking train wreck.

He was stable and everything. But after the first 6 hours on his case, Romano was becoming quite tired of staring at his insides, cutting this with a ten blade, suturing that with at least a mile's worth of o silk, and cauterizing more bleeders than Bill Cosby's total number of sexual assault allegations.

Not much in the mood for conversation with the circulating nurses and anesthesiologist in the OR, and expecting that if he did start talking they'd eventually land on the subject of his "spider bite", which his heavy surgical gown failed to conceal, the bald man only had his classical music CD to keep him company, which played softly in the background as he worked.

Eventually, though, even his favorites by Mozart threatened to make him doze off.

As much as he'd been trying to shake the developing habit that'd threatened to form during most of his solo surgeries, Romano's weary brain began to drift back to thoughts of the certain tall, rather handsome surgeon he'd been with just that morning.

He felt as if he were 16 again, his mind constantly drifting to those lustful thoughts he'd been having ever since that fateful day in his office. They came to him whenever he got a free moment, but mostly when Donald threw one of his mind-numbing staff meetings about budget changes and respecting your colleagues, as well as...oh, God, who really cares?

Romano continued fixing his patient's battered pancreas, suddenly yearning for the next time he could see him again. Feel his gentle touch against his sensitive, bare skin, his strong arms holding him as he took the time to familiarize himself with his body, his fingers tracing and caressing every inch they could reach.

The bald surgeon began to feel a bit warm in the rather nippy, mechanically functioning OR, his thoughts so vivid he could practically feel Peter's hands stroking his chest, his lips warm and welcoming against his own. Arousal pooled from deep within him, making him feel even warmer.

His thoughts continued to escalate despite his attempts to quell them, imagining the way Peter would crash his mouth against his own, drawing him to open his mouth to the man as he'd ravaged him, his hands rubbing up and down his back, finding their way down to his hips, and lower...

He shifted slightly on his feet as he worked, walking up closer to the operating table in the hopes that it'd cover his now bulging erection from the view of his coworkers. Despite the fact that he was sweating underneath it at his wild thought process, he was now thankful for the thickness of his surgical gown. 'Well THAT was a fucking wake up call...'

He continued putting some more sutures into the anesthetized man on the table, trying to veer his thoughts towards the topic of Kerry Weaver, or the bowel disimpaction he'd done as a lowly med student, anything to take his mind away from his swollen manhood...not to mention, Peter. Peter Fucking Benton and his broad chest, his silky smooth skin, his well-defined abs, the v-line at his hips, leading down to his thick, substantially large member, standing up like a king sized Snickers bar...his king sized Snickers bar, weeping at the tip, just aching for his touch...

Just then, someone burst through the doors of the OR, clad in a surgical gown and mask, stepping in front of the charge nurses to be gloved.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Romano."

'Speak of the fucking devil...'

"Dr. Benton," Robert greeted, his eyes glued to the pancreas he was still repairing, feeling his cheeks flush at the man's voice. "To what do we owe the pleasure on this fine Autumn day?"

"Well, both of my patients made it to post-op about an hour ago. Heard you'd been in here since noon with this guy and figured I could lend a helping hand." He explained, taking his place on the other side of the bald man. He didn't dare look up from his work, afraid he'd lose every last fuck he had left and pull him into a passionate kiss, right over their patient.

"Appreciate the help." Romano replied, his eyes cast downward as Peter began to work alongside him. The butterflies in his stomach made it difficult to concentrate, but lord did he try.

"You feeling okay, Dr. Romano? You look a little flushed." Benton asked innocently. Against his better judgement, Robert looked up, only to find the other surgeon looking back, concern in his masked face. His heart skipped a beat when he looked into his eyes, fleetingly, before he turned his head back to the task at hand, determined not to let Peter get to him.

"Now that you mention it, I am feeling a little bit warm. Shirley, can we get the a/c going?"

"It's October, Dr. Romano." Shirley said matter-of-factly, shooting him a confused look. "The room temp is already 63 degrees. What's gotten into you?"

"Peter." He retorted without thinking. All eyes in the OR went on him in a heartbeat.

Quickly, he recognized his mistake. His skin felt like it was boiling. What was he, some kind of blushing school girl, freaking out when the head of the football team got picked as her lab partner?!

"Uh...Peter! You mind helping me visualize this section, please?" He asked frantically, looking up at the man. He could tell from the way his eyes were crinkled that he was grinning at him from behind the mask.

Benton moved to help him with the task, knowing full well that he didn't even need him in the first place. He went along with his excuse anyway. "For you, Dr. Romano, anything."

Romano swallowed hard, wishing that the floor would just swallow him whole.

They worked in agreeable silence for a time, suturing, finalizing Romano's previous efforts, and running through the open cavity, leaving no organ unchecked, working almost as one.

As Benton finished up with their patient's liver, his gloved hand brushed Romano's, causing the man to flinch slightly as if he'd been electrocuted by his touch. Benton looked up, noticing the almost ever present coloring on his cheeks peeking out from behind his mask, the tips of his ears pink as it spread. He noticed his pupils were dilated amidst his coffee colored eyes, and Benton could have sworn his normally steady surgeon's hand was shaking ever so slightly. Any untrained eye could draw the conclusion that he was operating on cocaine.

The taller surgeon relished in the effect he had on Robert, watching him writhe, his cool slowly breaking down in his very presence. In all his years in surgery nothing, not a patient nor any other surgeon had ever managed to make him shake. He wanted nothing more than to ease his shaking by pulling him into his arms, holding him close as he kissed him ravenously, consuming his very being.

The tables had turned a bit then, with Benton losing his focus on the task at hand. They were only about 15 or 20 minutes from being able to close the guy and go home, and having to remain civil around one another, keeping their strong feelings at bay seemed to make that amount of time multiple by a hundred.

And despite the dizzying feeling Romano got every time his hand even came within an inch of Peter's, he got by.

One stitch at a time.