Picture it.
3 o'clock in the afternoon on Valentine's Day, and I get the sudden urge to write something short, sappy, and very very gay. So, here ya go. Didn't even bother proofreading it because I DIE LIKE A MAN.
Not really. Grammar errors and spelling mistakes annoy the living shit out of me.
Enjoy!
Robert growled as his hand cramped up unpleasantly for the third time that afternoon, tossing his ballpoint pen back down on his desk, irritated at the shitty Made-in-China writing utensil as if it were the very reason he was still doing paperwork after so long.
With the exception of a quick walk to the cafeteria, the grumpy, bald doctor had been cooped up in his office for a good 5 hours now signing off on this and making notes on that, approving things that shouldn't even require his godly approval in the first place—even having to do his part in cleaning up some horrible mess from a couple weeks back involving some Karen with a bug up her ass, threatening to sue, because God fucking forbid someone 'infringe on her God-given AMERICAN right' to bitch incessantly on her cellphone at her soon to be ex-husband in one of the trauma rooms. All the while her poor son screamed his head off, as one does when they've dislocated their fucking kneecap.
Man he hated this job sometimes.
In spite of his better judgement, Robert decided that now was a good a time as any to take another quick break, grabbing his little bottle of Perrier from its spot on his desk, leaning back in his desk chair as he took a few long sips.
Surveying what was yet another generously sized office in his possession with strained, dark eyes, the short, bald doctor soon concluded that things could be much, much worse. He could still be working under the late Dr. Weaver the Beaver Eater as Chief of the ER, watching degenerates smear their assorted bodily fluids on the Exam Room walls from time to time and taking shit from good for nothing residents who hardly knew their asses from their esophagi. All the while getting bitched at by the red-headed demon herself for every little 'problematic', 'unethical' thing he did down there in response to such a dreadful assignment.
Not to mention what happened straight after he walked out on that festering hellhole—because where else would a mechanical monstrosity weighing several fucking tons just so happen to malfunction and fall off a roof, killing multiple people in a horrible, fiery(very financially tolling to the hospital) explosion?
God he loved Northwestern.
9 times out of 10, he was able to break away from the administrative part of his job and get in on all the action; trauma cases, work-ups, the works. Compared to what he had back at County, his actual doctoring-to-paperwork day ratio had to be around 9:1—meaning he only had to put up with a full day of signing shit until his brain threatened to shut down once or twice a month, if that.
Today, though, was an anomaly. Somewhere between supervising surgeries and taking a few days off to spend some time with Peter and little Reese—who just insisted he come on his class trip to the aquarium on one of his work days—all that boring stuff that required his attention managed to pile up.
Romano was unable to fight the yawn that snuck up on him as those eyes settled back down on the stack of work on his desk, which shrank at a painfully slow pace with every little bit he sifted through. He stretched, attempting to rid himself of the tension building in his broad shoulders, already dreading the idea of returning to his fight to get rid of that damned pile before he was due home that night.
He scooted his black swivel chair up closer to his desk and picked that pen back up, less than ready to get back to work, anxiously looking forward to his clock striking 6 o'clock.
The bald doctor was about halfway through a budget report on band-aids and saline and whatnot when he heard a knock on his door.
"Enter!" An unexpected interruption, probably by one of the residents. Now that was something he didn't need right now.
Romano didn't look up, too engrossed in his current task to give a fuck about whatever his visitor wanted from him. And he was almost sure he knew who it was, anyway.
"For fuck's sake, Koracick! I've already told you 6 times!" He yapped, his trusty blue pen still scratching away against the extensive budget form on his desk. "Mr. Perry is NPO—I don't care how many times he's thrown his TV remote at you or threatened to contact his attorney. He can't have so much as a God damn apple slice unless he wants his operation moved up at least another 48 hours!"
The door closed nearly as quickly as it'd been opened, and Robert assumed that meant he was alone, once again, in his office. Blissfully, he continued to work, silently resolving that maybe after another 1/3 of his paper stack was cleared, he'd reward himself with another magical journey to the vending machine for a power bar, or some other thing that'd make this administrative prison just a little bit more bearable.
His desire for some lousy power bar had been dashed, instantly, as he looked up, his attention gently drawn away from that form by the soft sound of something being placed towards the front end of his desk, right behind where he kept all the little trinkets he'd accumulated over the years from thankful patients(and girlfriends, from long before the time frame of this fic).
"Well isn't this a lovely surprise," Robert noted with a goofy smirk as his coffee-stained eyes shifted from the enticingly-large box of chocolates that now sat on his desk, to the tall, handsome surgeon that stood in front of it, peering down at him through bright, sparkling eyes.
"Now, I know you specifically told anyone that would listen that you didn't want anybody to come barging in to distract you," Peter justified his intrusion, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his long, white lab coat. "But I just wanted to brighten up your Valentine's Day with...that."
He watched, shifting on his feet a little as Romano picked up the red, heart-shaped thing, inspecting it rather curiously, his dull, glassy eyes filled with just a bit more life now than they had been not a minute prior when he'd been so painfully focused on that damn budget report, scribbling away, dead to the rest of the world. The box wasn't so big it could be used to apologize for sleeping with your best friend's husband or some utterly dreadful love affair like that. But it certainly wasn't one you'd get for a measly 2 bucks at Walgreens, either.
"I know it's kind of cliché," the taller surgeon began again, looking just about ready to kick himself as Romano pulled gently against the silk ribbon holding the box closed, ends tied neatly together in the form of a bow at the center. "Chocolates in a heart-shaped box...they were kind of last-minute, too. You can just give 'em to Reese if you don't like them."
"Oh, quit your worrying, Petey! They're perfect," the bald man told him after enough of his rambling, already opening the gift and taking a bite out of a particularly promising-looking truffle, smiling a bit as he watched the worry melt away from his lover's face. "And so's your timing, too! All this backlog of charts and status reports has put me in desperate need of a sugar fix."
"I still feel kinda bad," Benton went on, watching as his favorite bald idiot finished that one truffle, his eyes already in search of another one worthy of his consumption.
"I've been so busy in the OR lately, hardly had any time to shop. It seems like they've always needed me the last couple weeks, between the train wreck a couple days ago, and then that pile up on the freeway..."
"Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Peter." Robert assured him once more as he hopped from his chair all of a sudden, walking around the large, oak wood desk with a bit of a spring in his step, despite how long he'd been sitting at the old thing.
He stood in front of Peter, giving him a long, rather self-indulgent once-over. The taller surgeon proved to be a sight for sore eyes, and Robert took his time admiring just how well the dark brown work slacks Peter had picked out for the day really fit him, and just how badly he wanted to chuck all that work out the window, and see those perfectly tailored slacks come off, right there in his office...
Robert forced himself to look back up. Then blushed, knowing full well Peter had caught him looking, telltale by the smirk that was now plastered to his face. He'd caught the way his eyes glazed over when his mind wandered off to all the ways he wanted Peter's little visit to end.
"Hell, you could've gotten us both an all-expense-paid trip to Fiji for all I care..." the shorter of the two purred, changing his demeanor as he reached out, toying with Benton's crimson, silk tie with long, nimble fingers.
His tone dropped down, soft and sultry. As smooth as a shot of espresso on a cold, busy morning when it was still too early to do much else apart from sleeping, waking up to piss, and being violently assaulted by your sleep paralysis demons.
"It still couldn't beat the early gift you gave me last night," he knotted the soft silk up in his hand, pulling Benton down to his level by his tie. "Wouldn't you agree?"
And that was enough to compel his dark-eyed lover to close the short distance between them, red lips meeting Robert's own in a kiss. The shorter man surrendered to him in a heartbeat, moaning softly as Peter kissed him deeper, tasting one of the truffles on him from just a few minutes before. It was something with cherries and sweet cream, and maybe just a touch of whiskey in its core, something he could hardly get enough of from his bald lover.
His hands moved up to clutch his head, deft surgeon's fingers tracing his ears as he drew Robert closer to him.
They broke away after another few beats, panting for air, still remaining close to each other, Peter's tie still caught in Robert's tight grip.
"I've gotta get back to work, Peter..." Robert told him breathlessly, despite the fact that he wanted nothing to do with that damn desk or anything on it unless it involved Peter.
"You won't spontaneously combust if you take just one little break. All that crap's still gonna be there for you when I'm finished with you..." Benton purred back, leaning forward to catch one of Romano's tender earlobes between his teeth, knowing it'd send shivers down his spine, dissolving any protest he'd been piecing together in his head to them carrying on in this merry little way for just a little bit longer.
"I just want something from you that'll tide me over until tonight. Then you can get right on back to your boring administrative work..."
Peter drew him back in with a hand on his jaw, into something sweeter and not as ravenous as before. Those invasive thoughts of returning to Medical Backlog Hell were soon driven away like a fox from a chicken coop as Robert lost himself, wrapping his arm around Peter's neck, losing track of time, and hospital costs, and how much suture kits cost nowadays and why he should give a shit about how many the docs downstairs are using up...
At that moment, the door burst open, hitting the wall as it went with a hard, horrible thwack.
A young, first-year surgical resident of Robert's—one who couldn't have been more than 25 years old had sought out his bald boss's office in a panic, looking awfully sweaty and disgusting. Like a 45-year-old white guy named Bob, who insisted on wearing his scandalous American flag-printed mankini to the beach with his family; a sight fit to make George Washington vomit and die, and Betsy Ross wish she'd chosen another God damn occupation.
He had a bruise on his forehead nearly the size of Romano's ego, and his owl eye glasses were out of place, right on the verge of falling off his head.
"Dr. Romano! I'm so sorry, I tried putting Mr. Perry in restraints but he broke free, and he stole at least 5 other patients' lunches! I was almost able to stop him when he hit me with—"
Koracick stopped, dead in his tracks, his blind panic wavering as he quickly realized just what kind of important meeting he'd just interrupted.
Romano fixed the poor kid with eyes as sharp and as cold as your beloved narrator's aching, arthritic joints, having pulled away from Peter soon after hearing the door open, but not soon enough to spare his young 'prodigy'.
"Ship him off to County," Romano told the youngest of the 3 now in his office, keeping his voice level, but also sounding almost as if it could raise from almost calm to reprimanding and intimidating in an instant. Like a volcano, set to erupt at any given second. "They know how to handle lunatics like him. Shut the door on your way out."
For a moment, the petrified resident's feet seemed too heavy for him to move. Like when you're caught in a nightmare and wanna run away from whatever monster or demon or violent pedophile is hunting you down, but you just can't, because it feels like your ankles are strapped with 15 lb weights. Then, shakily, he fled the room, taking at least 2 or 3 unsteady tries to shut the door entirely, securing the doorknob with shaking, unsteady little hands.
Once again, the two not-so-secret lovers were left alone in Romano's office, meeting each other's gaze as Koracick's hurried footsteps faded into the distance.
The bald man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shut his tired, dark eyes.
"God, I hate residents."
Benton scoffed, putting a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.
"Yeah, right. Try putting up with John Carter for a few years. Then come crying to me about those annoying little runts," he pressed a quick kiss to Robert's cheek, before making his way out the door.
"I'll see you at 6. Unless your shadow decides to interrupt that, too."
And with that, Peter left him alone with his stack of paper, and a good 3 more hours left of writing to do before they went home together and spent the rest of that beautiful(stupid) holiday together.
TBC
