They call her a cyborg.

When she first heard the name, Addison had thought she had misheard. There were few people to garner a nickname at Grey- Sloan Memorial, herself, Bailey, and the Chief being the only three to have theirs stick for any reputable length of time. That, and the name itself had genuinely piqued her interest, along with all the whispered rumors about their target.

It took two weeks for Addison to see her in action the first time, and the experience had been exhilarating.

She was more akin to a statue than a human, more interested in her monitors than in the conversation that filled the silence within the operating suite. She didn't so much as jitter, not a single motion out of place. She's attentive, meticulous, professional, and absolutely refuses to take breaks or step away from her patient.

Since then, she's seen six trauma codes and a switch to difficult and problematic intubation mid surgery. The authority and attitude when the woman so much as opens her mouth has Addison weak in the knees, thinking about too- long legs and dark hair and eyes.

At first glance, the name fits.

So when she gets that one case that's exceptional, she knows exactly who she wants in the room across from her.

The first time she fucks her, Addison doesn't even know her name.

It's because of the triplets, an extensive four- hour delivery and three hour surgery that's got her heart beating in her ears long after their nerves are separated and they're safely back in NICU. She goes to the anesthesia floor looking for her, and finds the very person occupying her thoughts crouched low to the floor, filling a tank of ketofol with narrowed eyes and long- fingered hands. Addison waits until the tank is passed off, and the woman stands, having a couple inches on her in height.

Addison's heard things about her, the same way she's heard whispers about herself traveling the halls, but there's no history here. There's no judgment when she grabs the woman's collar and pulls backward towards the nearest storage closet, mumbling about the case that's crossed her desk and how she wanted her on it as badly as she wants this. How they had watched one another for the entirety of it, each seemingly unfazed by the intensity of their respective environment only to be affected by it tenfold now. How the desire and absolutely carnal need is mutual, and inexplicable, and most importantly, reciprocated.

The shape of this floor of the hospital is one she's unfamiliar with, and she settles for a line of aluminum shelving that will leave a line of bruises across her back as she presses herself into it.

"We're not dating." She whispers, ducking her head against the other doctor's shoulder.

"Yet." One hand's under her dress, lifting her thigh beneath her own jacket as her free hand grips the shelves, forearm pushing into Addison's ribs.

"It's just sex."

"Mm." The hand slaps her thigh, and she hooks it over her hip, pressing her finger against the open mouth at her throat.

"Do not kiss me." Because Addison knows she'll fall for it. Because she always does, and she can already feel herself wanting it, at this moment. She's met with a sigh, long lashes blinking slowly over an almost smoldering gaze.

"Anything else, your majesty?" The tone's almost annoyed, but something about it is fake in being so, hips grinding against Addison's center and turning her brain momentarily to mush.

"Use a condom." Because she can feel it, every curve of anatomy, every truth behind the nurses' words that she hadn't quite believed. That she knows, beyond any shadow of doubt, she's going to be sore the rest of the day. Gloriously sore.

"Slave driver." She's almost prompted to apologize, saved by doing so when her thigh is gripped, her back crushed into the unit hard enough to leave a mark. "Sorry." Boxes clatter from the top shelf to the floor, and the woman's stretch upward only ends with a single brown box in her grip, dug from somewhere in the back. But Addison's forgotten how to speak, every inch of her neck and chest flushed from being absolutely crushed up against her, feeling every curve and crevice of upper and lower abdomen. She's forgotten about work, her patients, everything outside of this closet.

Because this woman is using her teeth to tear the wrap off a condom right in front of her, second hand busy groping her ass like a teenage boy. She adjusts, and Addison can feel a muscular thigh beneath her own, glancing down briefly.

"You're-"

"Pierced? Yea. University was wild." The doctor cuts her off, Addison's lips parting as fingers enter her from behind, her panties pulled to one side. Forehead rests against her chest, and Addison lets herself dissolve into the pleasure of every thrust, rocking her hips against hand.

She whimpers when she pulls out, her fingers having found their way into dark hair, and follows it with a soft moan the moment she feels the doctor's head enter her. Her breath catches at the first bar, pressing into her in exactly the right way, at precisely the right spot, fingertip pressing against the head of her clit even as she's trying to adjust. Her first orgasm takes her completely unaware, body taking over as her vision darkens, and she's crying out.

Addison has slept with women. She's also slept with men. Once or twice, in the past, she's slept with both at the same time. Doctor Reyes is in a class all her own. She's never cum just from… well, entry. She craves more.

"Harder." She whines, her head back, eyes closed.

"Patience." She gets cautioned, breath heating the space between her cleavage, forehead pressing against her clavicle, grounding her. Addison's not in control, and she whines out a curse that turns fervent when she finally feels skin press her clit, fingers disappearing from the sensitive nub in place of muscle. Her thighs quiver as she's stretched just a bit more, having not realized she hadn't quite taken all that was offered her yet. "Jesus fucking Chr-" Addison echoes the sentiment somewhere amidst the fog that has permeated her brain, digging her fingers into black hair at the base of her neck.

Her grip only tightens when the good doctor thrusts against her, and she momentarily forgets to breathe. She's hyper sensitive from her first orgasm, so much so she can't remember to be embarrassed it had happened, and with every thrust, she can feel everything. The metal in the anesthetist's cock is pushing her, hitting her in a way she's never had it before, and the hand connected to the arm beneath her thigh moves up her spine, lifting her, forcing every stroke to hit deeper.

"Harder." She finally begs again, only to feel her head pulled back by her hair, fingers bracing the back of her neck so she doesn't make contact with metal.

Addison's shaking, melting, the outside world ceasing to exist with every thrust, and the anesthetist just keeps going.

"Fuck." The word's lost in her cleavage, and Addison cries out as fingers tangle in her hair, wrenching her head back. Holding her there, floating in space in a world that's long gone to both of them.

Her second orgasm crashes over her like a wave, and she's almost ill- prepared for the intensity, hips moving of their own accord as she struggles against the grip at the base of her head. She's so lost in the moment, it takes her a few to realize the hands on her have become gentle, reassuring. Addison tucks her nose into ebony hair, inhaling as she combs her fingers through it. They're both taking a moment, until, with a drawn out sigh, Doctor Reyes pulls away from her, as gently as possible. Addison flushes, barely maintaining the composure necessary to keep from whimpering at being released, and instead turns to fix her skirt.

Just sex, she reminds herself dully. Just sex, just sex. She's resigned to repeat it to herself as many times as necessary to make it true.