LadyBrócolis

“My office. End of shift.”

The words snarl off Robby’s tongue and you know you’re in for it – or, really, he’s in for it, because you’re ten times as stubborn on your best days. That’s what makes the two of you work as attendings on the same shift. You never take each other’s shit and, fuck, there's a lot to shovel between the two of you.

Today, though, it’s been so bad you’re making the residents shrink and the nurses exchange suspicious glances. It started with a normal disagreement over a course of treatment for someone who’d been in overnight and spiraled the whole day between stab wounds and fevers and car crashes.

And then you and Robby both crossed the line. The unspoken one between you that keeps your disagreements to the medicine (even though ‘the medicine’ often also includes his handwriting on charts [a literal chicken would do better work, Michael], your bedside manner [you don’t have to get every male patient to give you his number], his bedside manner [and you don’t have to show them why hospitals have HR departments], his clothes [you look like June in this year’s ’Lazy Assholes of Pittsburgh’ calendar], your clothes [y’know they make scrubs that don’t fit like spandex, right?], his teaching style [they won’t learn anything if you make them feel like shit], your teaching style [they won’t learn anything if you make them feel invincible]). And so on. And so forth. And on and on and on.

But today? Today went something like this.

MICHAEL: You know that you should’ve taken the exact opposite approach back there, right?

YOU: Funny; it looked an awful lot like he’s going to survive because of my approach. Don’t worry, though. If I wanted the patient dead, I would’ve assigned him to you instead.

MICHAEL: Sure, he'll live, but he’ll always-

YOU: What? Be able to run faster than you because I saved his leg when you would’ve sent it to be chopped off?

MICHAEL: Quality of care isn’t always about whether-

YOU: You just want everyone to be as miserable of a fuck as you are; god forbid I actually prioritize what’s best for my patients instead of-

MICHAEL: If you even finish that sentence, I swear I’ll-

YOU: Oh, I’ve gotta hear this! Go ahead, Robby, what’ll you do to another attending for disagreeing with your genius and making a good call when you were too much of a coward to take a risk? Bend me over your knee? You don’t get to question my approach just because you’ve been practicing medicine since the dark ages.

MICHAEL: And you don’t get to defy my direct orders just because-

YOU: Your orders? Are you fucking serious?

MICHAEL: Yes, I am! You can’t go around making decisions like you’re in charge just because you’ve got half the doctors in the hospital begging to screw you!

Your eyes finally dropped away from his. When they lifted back up, they were a storm. Anger, yes, but hurt, too. He’d never questioned your intelligence or your place as an attending before. Never weaponized your femininity. He knew right away that he’d pushed you further than you could take, past the point of bending.

So you push back, “How about my office right now? Because there’s absolutely no way you’re walking away from me when I need to strangle you.”

Robby huffs, “You know what? Fine. Might as well spare your students the embarrassment of listening to you talk out of your ass another second.”

You pin your lips in a straight line and storm past him toward the offices, where you and he have the pleasure of sharing a thin wall that doesn’t always stop you from arguing while you catch up on paperwork.

Robby slams the door behind himself – locks it – and you’re in his face right away, no meekness or hurt left in your expression anymore as you square up to him, posture totally straight so you can almost look him in the eyes. “You are such a fucking asshole, Robinavitch. How dare you talk to me like that?”

Robby rubs the back of his neck like he does when he knows he’s fucked up but isn’t ready to back off. “Look, I know that last comment was too far, and we both know I didn’t mean it, but that doesn’t change the principle that-”

“You’re just pissed off because you know you were wrong back there and you can’t deal with a woman being better than you.”

Robby takes a step closer to you at that; you can smell his sweat and his fading deodorant. “This has absolutely nothing to do with you being a woman. Don’t even imply that-”

“Like hell it doesn’t,” you scoff. “You’re mad because I made a better decision than you. Because I pissed all over your favorite fire hydrant. But if that had been Abbot or Shen, you would never have chewed them out like you’re trying to here.”

He shoves one hand on the side of your head now, pinning you against the wall without either of you realizing. “Maybe because the two of them have actually proven themselves in my ED.”

You roll your eyes so hard you think they might fall out. “Y’know what, Robinavitch? You need to ask yourself if your dick is really big enough for this kind of fucking macho attitude because I have a sneaking suspicion it isn’t.”

You go to move, to storm off, but Robby’s grabbing your wrist before you can. Your breath catches in your throat as your chest collides with his, your mouths nearly touching. Sure, yeah, several of your fights have turned into makeout sessions (whose haven’t?), but he’s never acted like this. Absolutely no apology in the mean, borderline cruel way his long fingers wrap around your arm and force your hand to his half-hard cock beneath his cargo pants. "What do you think? Big enough for you?"

All the air floods out of the room.

Fuck, it is big. Definitely big enough to back up any bullshit he spews. Big enough to make your mouth water and that’s not the only thing dripping at the thought of what he must look like fully hard. Hot everywhere all of a sudden, you go to yank your hand away but he grips it harder, grinding into your palm and refusing to drop eye contact.

Even as undeniable lust crawls into your chest and cheeks, you scoff, unable to let him get the upper hand. With your meanest sneer, you cut back. “You’re hard from me yelling at you? Got a shame kink or something?”

“More like I’m looking forward to fucking that attitude out of you,” he growls, one hand wrapping around your throat and shoving you against the wall. You’re not scared. It’s Robby. Of course you’re not scared. You fucking hate each other and you spend an hour laughing with him on FaceTime before bed most nights because you both can't stand being alone and only the other understands. But your heart still drops into your stomach at the darkness in his eyes.

When he puts his hands on your shoulders and pushes you down, onto your knees, something hungry inside of you can’t help but let him.

Robby shoves two fingers into your mouth and coos sarcastically when you instinctively wrap your lips around them, “There you go. Useless brat until she’s got something in her mouth.”

You go to pull off so you can snark something back at him, but he grabs the back of your head with his free hand and gags you on his fingers instead. The gesture goes straight to your cunt, hot shame and arousal pooling in your underwear.

“Oh no you don’t,” he tuts. Then he lets go just long enough to let you catch your breath, tugging his cargos down barely enough to fish his cock out of his boxers. When you once again open your mouth to piss him off, he shakes his head and presses the head of his cock to those pretty lips of yours. “Don’t back down now, princess, I’m sure that big mouth of yours can take it.”

A bead of his precum clings to your lower lip and your tongue flicks out to taste it without your consent. The slightly salty, clean taste lights you on fire. So you open your mouth wider and let him slide his cock over your tongue, secretly savoring that rapturous expression he’s trying to suppress. Then, when you can tell you’ve got the power again, you rake your teeth ever so lightly down his shaft and he looses a pathetic, shaky keen so loud he smacks his hand over his mouth in the middle of it.

He glares down at you and hisses, “Seriously?”

When your eyes twinkle back and you hum in amusement, he looks at you with murder in his eyes, grips his fingers into your hair, and fucks your mouth the way you deserve. The way you were trying to provoke him to. His fat, leaking head slams against the back of your throat and you gag around him as your eyes water as his sharp zipper stings against your chin. But you can take it. That’s what he loves about you. You’ll always take whatever he can throw at you and then give it back just as hard.

Robby watches with a sadistic glee as you settle your weight over your ankles, tilt your head slightly, and give him even better access. As his thrusts pick up speed, barely letting you breathe, he pants, “See? Is this so goddamn hard? Shutting up and letting me take charge for five minutes?”

He expects you to grunt some sort of annoyed disapproval, but you don’t. He notices your expression going calm and placid. Lids heavy, jaw completely limp, body calm. He swallows hard and whispers, half a mean chuckle and half a desperate kind of prayer, “Fuck, you’re really getting off on this, aren’t you?”

You’re too far gone to give any response but a satisfied moan that rockets up his spine. Your drool seeps down his balls and onto your scrub top and he’s never seen anything so gorgeous as this. Then he shoves his booted foot between your legs, the leather creating friction against your inner seam right on your clit, and you whimper. The sound is wet and pathetic and needy with his dick stopping you from being able to express anything coherent. When you start to unthinkingly rub your clothed pussy over his shoe, Robby’s cock pulses.

At the sight of you being so goddamn pretty and submissive instead of driving him insane for once, Robby slows his pace, edging himself over your tongue, and murmurs, “Knew you were a good girl under all that attitude.”

You nod greedily, mind quiet for the first time today as you chase that perfect friction and let him control you. It silences everything that had been pissing you off. With his pleasure tightening up, Robby bites back calling you perfect, baby, just right, so good, angel, fuck. He can’t do that when he’s still simmering from today’s fighting. But he does cup your cheek and brush a tear away with his thumb, the gesture so tender it’s out of place.

And when you gaze up at him through watery lashes, he knows he’s done for.

Not just now. Not just this.

Robby doesn’t ask before he cums in your mouth. You didn’t want him to. You want him to demand everything. His bitterness floods your tongue, pump after pump of it, and you dutifully swallow. There’s so much that some of it dribbles down your chin. Once he’s fully soft, Robby kneels down and, while guiding you back to your feet, licks his own cum from your skin. Then he kisses it back into your mouth, his tongue taking dominance over yours, refusing to let you miss out on even a drop of him.

As your brain turns back on, Robby shakes his head, lets out a sharp breath, and tucks himself back into his pants. He looks at your dreamy expression for a second and chuckles. Then, with a gentle kiss to your cheek, he says, “There we go. I can work with this.”

Your familiar anger climbs back up when he moves even a fraction of a step toward the office door.

“Nope, absolutely the fuck not,” you bite at him. Blocking his exit, you point at the carpet. “Get on your back on the floor. We aren’t done here, Michael.”

When he realizes what you’re asking for – demanding, expecting – his knees weaken. Butting heads be damned, he’s definitely thought about those thighs smothering him before, especially when you put another doctor in their place instead of him. So, with wide, blown-black eyes, he lays back obediently, the anticipation making his soft cock twitch, debating how long it needs to come back to life.

You hastily kick out of your scrub bottoms and panties, toss them aside, and jokingly shove the center of his chest as you drop down into his lap. “Now who’s pathetic? On my disgusting office floor waiting to be used like a sex toy.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Robby tries with an eye roll, not convincing at all, “I could get right up and leave you-”

You shove his chest hard this time. So he falls flat on his back. You watch his pupils dilate and his lips part as red crawls into the apples of his cheeks. “That’s more like it. Big bad Doctor Robinabitch just needs to be manhandled.”

All he can do is nod and mutter, “yeah, maybe,” eyes locked to your juicy thighs as you crawl over him. You settle your knees on either side of his head and memorize the borderline pleading expression on his face when he sees your swollen cunt. You’re absolutely glistening because of him. You don’t even pretend you’re worried about breaking his nose or crushing him or whatever you’re ‘supposed’ to do before climbing on a man’s face and riding him like a bronco.

You just demand, “open up,” and drop your weight down onto his waiting mouth. His bear scratches your sensitive inner thighs and his nose nudges the hood of your clit back and- Fuck. Fuck, this isn’t going to take long. Of course Robby’s good with his tongue. He’s so unfairly good at everything. For a second, he takes charge of the moment, wrapping his arms around your hips and eating you out the way he’s dreamed of more times than he’d care to admit. Fuck him for thinking he can just get you off and call it a day. No, you’re taking this.

Without saying anything, you wrench his hands from your waist, pin them above his head, and mount his tongue like you mean it. You keep one hand on his wrists, pushing them hard into the floor, and grab his hair with the other so you cna keep his head tilted at just the right angle. His eyes roll back as he loses the ability to breathe at a regular pace, forced to gasp in air only when you ease up. It’s bliss.

Once you have him where you need him, you find exactly the rhythm you need in no time. Your fingers tighten into his hair, pain zinging from his scalp and down his back harsh enough to make his hips buck. You huff and grunt, “Shut up and take it, you big baby.”

Robby can’t help moaning, which only makes you worse. You rut your clit down on his tongue hard enough that you feel the texture of his tastebuds creating enough roughness to send you to the border of overstimulation right before you cum. You slow your pace ever so slightly when you feel your walls clamping down, working the orgasm out of yourself, so lost in the sensation that you don’t even hear how Robby moans and begs for you to use him to finish. It’s the ridge of his nose and the softness of his lips and the firmness of his tongue and you’re breaking open all over him. You feel your wetness coating his beard as a fresh flood of it comes, thinner and milder and sweeter. Robby groans through your whole orgasm, lapping up your juices until he’s positively drunk.

As you ease off him to sit on his lap, your thighs shake and your chest heaves. Satisfaction weighs heavy in your limbs and you know he feels the same way – spent and placated.

You both stay there, panting, looking at each other, for a few minutes.

There’s the silent understanding that things are different now.

Robby’s eyes soften.

So do yours.

You stand on shaky legs and tug your bottoms back on. He follows right behind.

Then Robby pulls you into a hug. Tight, warm, earnest. You nestle into his chest and breathe him in as he kisses the top of your head. Neither of you speak. What else is there to say?

As he pulls back slightly, arms still around you, Robby cuts you a borderline sheepish gaze. “You know it’s because I respect you, right? The arguing, I mean.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut the fuck up, Michael.” 

“I’m being serious.”

“Of course I know that.” You flatten your lips into a line, cross your arms over his chest, and stare him down. “I know that you respect me. You wouldn’t even entertain my arguments if you didn’t. But what you said today was still over the line. You can’t talk to me like that in front of my students. You can’t let them think I get advantages because I have great tits.”

“You’re right.” His eyes flick down to your breasts, wishing he’d had the forethought to get you to take them out during…whatever the hell this was. “On both fronts.”

You give him a little self-satisfied smirk and tell him with your hand on the doorknob, “You can apologize by buying me dinner tonight. I like that new place on seventh.”

He gives a shit-eating grin and raises his eyebrows. “Pretty expensive spot.”

You nod and reply, “You owe me a pretty big apology.”

“Deal.” He leans in, places a downright sweet kiss on your lips, and murmurs, “Can I eat you for dessert?”

You waggle your eyebrows playfully. “Want seconds already?” 

He tugs you close by the waist and kisses you hard. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“So greedy,” you tease against his lips. When he goes to kiss you again, you dodge him, eyeing him with so much tease in your expression he can hardly stand it. “Say ‘please, doctor.’”

“You fucking brat.” But he can still taste the champagne of your orgasm on his lips and he needs more, plain and simple. He’ll get hungover without another taste. So he puts on a pouty face and does as you ask in a gentle, small voice: “Please, doctor.”

“Now that’s a good boy.” You pat his face affectionately, halfway to a slap. “I’ll wait by that ugly car of yours after handoff.”

He balks. “That ‘ugly car’ is a Bentley.”

You stand on your toes and kiss his forehead “And the fact that you spent six figures on it only makes you look dumber. I’ll see you soon.”

He groans, “Can’t wait.”