It was yet another gorgeous Tuesday afternoon in Chicago, Illinois.
The sun was out.
Kerry Weaver had just reprimanded a subordinate for having the audacity to breathe in her godly presence.
A patient was threatening to sue because he'd been charged 1200 for an ice pack and a CT.
And our very own Robert Romano had just taken a break from his administrative responsibilities to take a jaunt off to the vending machine.
He'd parted from his mountain of paperwork partially because he'd been craving some MM's, but mostly to keep his eyes from glazing over after his fourth or fifth hour of doing nothing BUT paperwork.
As administrator it was the cross he had to bear, he would often muse. He had supreme power over his hospital, he could do almost anything he wanted but had to sacrifice a few days out of the week to do all the boring stuff his job called for—like budgetary reports and writing memos, tedious crap like that. Not to mention whenever one of his staff gets into some deep shit, and possibly kills someone—take a wild guess as to who has to deal with that mess.
He popped another couple of MM's in his mouth as he returned to his office, noticing his door had been left slightly ajar. He thought nothing of it, though, and plopped down into the chair behind his desk, gaze fixed out his window as he procrastinated on resuming his activities.
He loved the administrative power with a passion, as well as the massive power move he'd made, becoming chief directly after his sexual harassment allegations. That kitten had drowned almost as soon as it'd been brought up, leaving him on top. Man, he was good. But often times he had to admit, he'd missed the early days, when his career had been made up of all surgery and a lot less paperwork.
Those were the good ol' days. His mind trailed back to when he'd been a surgery-hungry resident, able to function on nothing but 2 hours of sleep and 7 cups of coffee a day. He turned his swivel chair back to face his desk, eyeing the stack of paperwork on his desk with melancholy.
What'd he'd give to go back. The thrill he got from picking up his first scalpel, performing each procedure for the very first time, not to mention his first solo surgery...
"Fuck!" Robert jumped a mile as his gaze shifted below his desk, the bag of MM's in his hand falling to the floor. The rainbow colored candy scattered all over his floor as he gawked at him.
"You're a real creep, you know that?!" He yelled at the man crouched underneath his desk.
"I've been waiting for you, Dr. Romano." Benton purred, eyeing the short surgeon like he was a club sandwich. Romano shifted in his chair as the taller surgeon licked his lips with intent.
"Don't you have surgery? Or did you sneak away just to prowl into my office and hide under my desk like some sort of dateline predator!" He yapped, heart still pounding from Peter's little surprise.
"Just got out. Figured you could use some company in this big office of yours..." Benton said, his voice down to a sensual murmur as he moved his hands up to the man's clothed thighs, running them up and down in a teasing manner. Despite his rapidly developing excitement, Robert did his best to resist Benton's endeavors.
"Well Peter, it seems that we're just gonna have to hold off on another one of our little discussions, as I've got to clear this behemoth on my desk by 8 tonight. So why don't you wrestle up another surgery, or if you can't do that, run down to the cafeteria, get yourself something nice and—." He stopped abruptly, inhaling sharply as one of Peter's large hands came up between his thighs, rubbing his member through his slacks.
"I mean it! I've really got to get this done! And you've got no right to barge into my office, acting like a nutmeat...and don't you dare look at me like that!" He complained to the taller man who was continuing to stare at him like he was lunch, persistently trying to break him down.
"Oh come on, Dr. Romano. There's no reason why you can't take just a little break..." he murmured, tugging on the man's leather belt. "Besides, you've been working hard today."
"Peter..." Robert warned the tantalizing surgeon, who refused to back down. He pulled on his boss's zipper, then ran his hand up underneath the front of his shirt, brushing it across his stomach. "Peter! For the love of God!"
"Don't worry, Robbie. I'll make quick work of you..." Peter hummed, pulling down Romano's slacks, leaving his lower half bare save for his boxers, and his slacks, which were now around his ankles.
"Dr. Benton, I really don't have time for this..." he whined as Peter kissed the inside of his thighs, nipping the delicate skin there. A hand covering each knee, the man gently pushed Robert's legs open, then worked on pushing the fabric of his boxers up from his thighs, allowing him greater access.
"I'm serious Peter," he growled, his voice taking on a stern tone. He was determined, this time, not to let him win. "After hours, honest to God, I'm all yours, but if you don't let me go in 5 seconds, so help me, I'm going to—oh God!"
His death threat had been cut short by Peter having pulled out his length, now as hard as a rock in his hand. He rubbed it slowly yet gently, pausing in between each stroke to run his thumb along its sensitive pink tip.
"Shhh...just let me take care of you, Dr. Romano..." The bald surgeon threw his head back, staring at the ceiling as he lost himself yet again in the feeling of Peter's hands on his body, the skin on skin contact making him feel
a certain sense of ecstasy only he could inflict on him. As much as he wanted to shove him away, assert his dominance over his shameless subordinate, and get the fuck back to the bland drudgery of filling out and filing paperwork—he just...couldn't.
Cruel irony. The noble Chief of Staff and Head of Surgery and Ruler of All That is Medical had but one weakness; and that weakness is but a puny surgical attending, who'd still been a resident about a week ago. There was nothing else to it, either. No harsh blackmailing, no threats to his position or whatnot.
Just some tall, strong, intense, tantalizing—dare he say, sexy, fine specimen of a man who got him riled up one day, and with almost minimal effort, managed to steal his heart right from his chest.
Not to mention, his virginity.
"Stop, Peter, please..." Romano moaned softly, making no attempt to stop Peter from bringing his hands underneath his ass in his chair, squeezing his firm backside. He wheeled him closer to the desk, pulling him until his mouth could reach his erection, already slick with pre-come due to his irrepressible excitement, despite his words.
The taller surgeon brought him to his mouth, his tongue wiping away the salty beads of fluid from his arousal.
"P-Peter...please, we...we can't do this, I have work to do..." Romano spluttered, his resistance getting weaker as his desire for the sweet, euphoric release only he could draw from him. Despite his better judgment, as he'd been following it in weeks past, he just wanted Peter to take him right there in his office, do anything he wanted to him and wring him dry. He craved the certain sense of bliss only he had ever given him.
He bit his tongue hard to stifle the scream of pleasure threatening to pass his lips as Benton took him in his entirety into his hot, wet mouth, hitting his shank in a single stroke. He pulled the bald man even closer, bobbing his head as he sucked and licked up and down his arousal, pulling it in and out of his mouth at a fast, steady pace. He paused occasionally, allowing Romano's swollen length to reach the back of his throat, testing the man's ability to keep himself from throwing the idea of keeping quiet to the wind.
He reached his hands down to Peter's head, tracing his ears, gently scratching his scalp with his nails, caressing the sides of his face, anything to encourage his actions, to praise him for the fiery sensation that crept from between his legs all the way up to his pounding heart.
He moved his hips as best he could between the bottom of his chair and Peter's mouth, just barely able to get any leverage between the two.
The man stopped for a moment, pulling Romano's enlarged member, slick with saliva and pre-come oh so slowly out of his mouth. He traced Romano's thigh lazily with one hand, gazing up at him, his expression brimming with the satisfaction of having given the man such an agonizing sense of gratification.
"You still want me to leave, Dr. Romano?" Benton purred, licking the taste of him off of his lips. He observed the man, his face now flushed, perspiration evident on his forehead as he panted, wanting more. No matter what else he'd say in denial, the look on his face would give him away, his eyes full of an almost animalistic desire, practically begging for more.
"God no...not until you've put that mouth to some real good work..." Robert rasped as the other man brought his hand around to gently cup his balls, his fingers playing with the delicate pouch as his mouth moved back towards his turgid length with every intention of finishing what he'd started.
"Oh Dr. Benton. You bad, bad boy..." he whispered as the man continued on his merry way all over again. Romano could feel something building up, that he was getting close...
To his shock and absolute horror, a new sound echoed through what had been his quiet office, save for the sound of Peter's mouth against his wet length, and the soft little mewls bubbling from the back of Romano's throat as the man worked.
A fucking doorknob.
His fucking doorknob.
Unable to think of anything else, or at least something that'd keep him from quite literally being caught with his pants down, he grabbed his desk with both hands, pulling himself in his chair as close as he could get, concealing his appallingly indecent state from anyone in front of his desk. Peter hit his fat head on the underside of it as he was shoved forward, nearly choking on Robert's rocket on the way back.
At that moment, Donald FUCKING Anspaugh barged through his door like the fucking Koolaid man, clad in blood stained navy blue scrubs, looking as if he'd just returned from his 7th tour of Vietnam. His eyes were sunken in and dark-ringed from what had to have been hours upon HOURS of surgery. He looked like he could drop dead from exhaustion.
And right now, our beloved surgical hero Robert Romano wanted to race to post-op and personally thank every ragged, mangled patient that kept him so busy. Because it seemed that in his weary haze, Anspaugh failed to mention Romano's wide eyes and rose colored cheeks, sweat covering his forehead noticeably.
"I'm sorry to bother you Robert, but do you happen to have any idea where Dr. Edson is? He ran out mid-surgery, saying something about a date with a...Stacy Walker in pediatrics?" His voice was like nails on chalkboard compared to Peter's, and not exactly a sound for sore ears in his current...elated mental state, for the lack of a better word. 'Talk about a fucking turn off! The hell do I care if Edson bailed on an appendectomy for some rando half his age! That's what orderlies and nurses are for, jackoff!'
Almost as if on queue, Peter had decided to continue his gallant efforts with stealth, his tongue swirling around the head of Romano's member slowly, making the man squirm as Anspaugh droned on.
"I swear to God, residents these days. They aren't worth a damn! All they seem able to attend to is their swollen egos and their social life. You know back when I was Dale's age, I never had a girlfriend, and do you know why?" 'Because you're a complete and total bore?!'
"Your devotion to surgery, of course!" Romano answered back, feigning enthusiasm and a smile, despite his prized surgical attending still on his knees under his desk, running his tongue along the slit between the tip of his member and his foreskin. He gave a swat to the man's head from under his desk, careful not to move too suddenly as to draw attention to himself. Peter ignored him, giving his all into making Romano writhe and stutter in the other man's presence. All thanks to him.
"Right you are! See, you get it! Residents nowadays will just never be the same as they were in our day, and they'll just keep getting worse as generations pass!" 'Oh my fucking God get to the FUCKING POINT ALREADY.' His toes curled in his shoes as Benton decided to take him down to his base again. If only he'd locked that stupid fucking door!
"Ah, well. So, have you seen the little weasel around? Or am I going to have to put out an amber alert?" He questioned, smiling, once again suspecting jack shit. Oh Donny, when will you learn?
Peter took that particular moment to take his mouth away from his length to bring his hand back up to it, pinching the tip as hard as he could without hurting him. Romano's legs twitched as he struggled to answer.
"Well, as a matter of fact I haven't. In fact, I've been in here all afternoon doing paper work. But I'll let you know if he...if he stops by." He replied, speaking slower than necessary, terrified he'd lose his composure in front of the lout before him, staring him down with kind eyes.
"Well that's a shame. A real shame. You know, that man kind of reminds my of my own son, God rest his soul. Stubborn, prone to making these snide little comments but deep down, I know he's a good man. He really is." He ranted on, dreamily gazing at one of Romano's overstuffed leather arm chairs, petting the top of it gently it as if it were his son. The bald man behind the desk felt a pang of regret for the man having lost his son so early. To that wretched beast cancer, no less.
His internal lamenting was immediately stomped out by the sensation of Peter having slipped a wet finger inside of his hot, tight entrance, no doubt trying to get a rise out of him while his guard was down. Well, it worked.
Romano groaned loudly as the man's fingertip hit his prostate, rubbing it teasingly as he peppered kisses across his thighs. The bald man put his head in his hands, slamming his eyes shut. 'God strike me dead. I'm fucking READY.'
"Robert, are you all right?" The man quit petting the chair longingly, and squinted at Robert, taking a small step closer. "You're not looking so good. Should I get someone to take a look at you?"
"Come to think of it, Don, I have been having one hell of a migraine this whole damn day. I took some Advil earlier, but I think it'd just be better if I went home and pulled the covers over my head..." he moaned again, covering most of his face with his hands.
"You poor man. Well I suppose I could push your deadlines for all that till tomorrow. You're obviously not well." Anspaugh said matter-of-factly, gazing at the papers on his desk, then looking at poor Romano with empathy. Poor sick Romano, who just happened to have the migraine of his life.
And his name was Peter Benton. Surgical attending as of one week ago and conning conniving thief of his heart.
"Alright then. I'll leave you to it." Anspaugh said, finally, mercifully taking his grand exit, turning toward the man's door. "Feel better soon, Romano."
"Oh and Don, can you be a dear and lock the door on your way out?" Robert asked a bit more frantically that necessary. His voice had risen a few octaves as Peter had restored his attention to his arousal, still battering his prostate with one digit, picking up his pace.
Unsurprisingly, the man didn't listen, Romano's question falling on deaf ears.
Less than 5 seconds later, our beloved surgical hero and favorite Chief of Staff, Robert Romano, was crying out into the crook of his own elbow as he came, his seed spewing into Peter's mouth like hot lava from a volcano. The taller surgeon lapped up everything he had to offer, swallowing every last drop before rising from his spot, kissing Romano passionately.
The bald man kissed him back with equal enthusiasm, tasting his own spent on the man, receiving a strange sense of guilty pleasure from it.
"Bastard." Romano stated simply as soon as their lips had parted. Their eyes met in an intense gaze before their lips locked again, tongues matching hands in their eager movements, exploring one another, starving for each other.
"Oh, don't pretend you didn't love it," Peter said huskily once they'd broken up again. "Granted, Anspaugh wasn't not part of the plan in any given way."
"Rat bastard. You could've gotten us both fired and blackballed, you know." Romano said with narrowed eyes, half serious, but mostly wanting Peter to do it all over again...preferably without Anspaugh's Intervention, of course.
"But I didn't, now did I, Dr. Romano," Peter retorted, marveling at how the tables had turned. This time it was Robert who was worrying his pretty little head about being found out. "And that migraine thing was one hell of a save. Which reminds me..." he trailed off, toying with Romano's tie, which was printed with little wild birds on it.
"Just give me some time to pack up my shit and we can continue this little discussion elsewhere. Preferably behind a lock and key." The man said, pulling his slacks back on from where they lay at his ankles. Before he could even tighten his belt all the way, Peter already planted his lips back on him again.
Only when they were about a few seconds from losing brain cells from a lack of oxygen did they pull back away from each other, their breathing picking right back up from where it left off.
"I hope your prepared, Dr. Romano," Benton rasped into the shorter man's ear, his hot breath causing him to shiver.
"I'm going to make this discussion a rather memorable one."
Happy Tuesday Everybody :)
