It was a lovely Tuesday afternoon in Chicago.

Specifically, Cook County General Hospital.

The sun was out.

The birds were chirping.

The patients were...patienting.

And, like any other Tuesday afternoon, our well-known surgical hero, Peter Benton, wanted to hit our OTHER well-known surgical hero, Robert Romano with his fucking car.

Having been on since 5 that morning and having absolutely none of whatever shit life, or more specifically, Dr. Romano, had to offer that day, he slammed open the door to Romano's office with reckless abandon.

"You slimey, arrogant little prick!" He roared at the man sitting behind the desk, clad in navy blue scrubs, working on a pretty sizeable stack of paperwork.

"Well good afternoon to you too Peter!" The other surgeon replied from behind the desk, faking pleasantries. "What brings you by on a nice day like this? Aren't there consults you should be making?"

"You had no right to go and take that damn case! I was on it from the moment he was rolled into the E.R.! You had better things to do than stealing that AAA and you know it!" Peter griped in his usual bitchy tone.

"Actually, Peter, that's where you're wrong. And I wouldn't call it stealing that AAA as much as I'd call it taking it off your hands. As Chief of Staff and Head of Surgery I in fact have every right to take any surgery off your hands, so why don't you just run along and see if little Carter needs your help diagnosing an appe." Romano said with a grin, remaining complacent. Peter was having none of it, as previously stated.

He shut the door from where he had slammed it open against the wall, then turned back to the man at the desk who looked at him with a mix of slight exhaustion and amusement. 'Oh boy, here we go...'

"You stole the case from me just to piss me off, you petty, horrid little bastard." Peter said in a low voice, staring the man down. Robert shifted slightly, uncomfortable with his intensity. 'What gives, it's just a AAA!'.

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. And if I did, it's certainly done it's job. Congratulations, Peter, you've got me all figured out! What do ya want, a freaking medal?" Romano said, getting up from behind the desk to stand in front of the taller man. To say that he wished he had an extra inch in this moment would be an understatement.

"He was my patient. You do this all the time, I'm sick of your shit! You ought to fetch your own damn cases once and a while instead of mooching off of what all the other end up with!" Peter snarled, getting closer to the man, still staring him down. Romano didn't back up.

"I don't know what's gotten up your ass today, but last I checked, I can pull rank on your ass at the drop of a hat. You keep talking to me like that and you'll be out on your ass. Get your panties out of their twist and get the fuck out of my office before you do something you're gonna regret." Robert said, his voice getting especially low on the last few words. Peter only stepped closer. They were only about 5 inches away from each other at this point.

"Stop riding my ass." Peter said simply, his voice toeing the line between whispering and speaking. Romano stepped closer this time.

"Get out of my face, before I call security in on this. Dr. Benton..." he said lowly, staring the other man right in the eye.

"Make me." The taller, darker surgeon said simply. The two were practically nose to nose.

What happened next is a bit of a blur. No one's sure who originated it, who reciprocated it, when, or even why. But it happened.

One thing led to another, and Romano ended up shoved against the wall of his office, kissing Peter like it'd be the only thing supplying air to his lungs and blood to his organs, his hands gripping the fabric of his scrub shirt like a life line. A hand on the back of the shorter man's bald head, another underneath his scrub shirt, feeling it's way up his abdomen, across his chest and back down again, Peter explored the terrain of his mouth feverishly, seeming to forget all about that damn AAA.

Hands wandered, gripping at clothing, as the two continued in this merry way. Not to break the fourth wall or anything, but like I said, this is just an ordinary Tuesday in Chicago.

One thing led to the next, and soon, our well-known surgical hero, Peter Benton, had our other well-known surgical hero, Robert Romano's scrub pants untied in a second, letting them fall around his ankles as he kissed from his ear down his strong jawline.

His mouth roamed down his neck, nipping at the surprisingly soft skin there. He then fell to his knees, pulling down the shorter man's boxers, letting them fall around his ankles as well.

Romano had to grip the wall to keep his knees from buckling as the other surgeon stroked his swollen member, taking all of him into his mouth. He moaned softly, bringing a hand down to run his fingers through Peter's short hair, praising his efforts. His hips rocked to their own accord as the taller surgeon sucked and licked up and down his length, and at the back of his mind, he wondered just how the fuck he found himself here.

Much to Robert's disappointment, Peter took his mouth away from his throbbing hardness and stood back up, kissing him hard. He turned around briefly, and for a beat, Romano thought he was going to leave, inform HR of what the fuck just happened, and give himself the last laugh.

But no. Instead, he pressed the lock on the door handle, turning his attention back to the bald surgeon behind him.

"I suppose this is the part where we have a heated, boss-to-subordinate discussion about discipline in the workplace?" Romano joked, giving Peter his usual smug grin.

The taller surgeon walked up to Romano, slow, almost threateningly. He looked into his eyes, detecting amusement mixed with desire.

"No more games, Dr. Romano. If you're smart, you'll stop..." he warned, his dark eyes boring into Robert's own coffee-colored orbs.

"I'll never stop, Dr. Benton..." he said, his expression mirroring Peter's intense gaze.

Peter crashed his mouth to his, pulling him close. Robert didn't stop him, even when he got backed against his own desk by the taller surgeon.

His hands found the tie to Peter's scrub pants, untying them, leaving them to fall around the other's ankles just like he'd done before.

Romano's hand brushed over the impressive bulge in his briefs, before reaching inside, stroking his length, mirroring his actions. As Peter's tongue brushed over the roof of his mouth, his hand sought out a small bottle of hand lotion in the corner of his boss's desk, pumping out a small dollop.

He pushed two slick fingers into the other man, drawing a desperate moan from him as he leaned against his desk, legs spread slightly as Peter slid them in and out of his entrance, slowly. With his free hand, Romano pulled at the neck of Peter's scrub shirt, wanting, no, needing him to do something else, something more.

Withdrawing his fingers, Peter pulled down his briefs, spreading the hand lotion evenly up and down his own length, before pushing Romano even closer to him against his desk, gathering his ass in his hands, his slick member lined up against him.

Slowly, painfully slowly, he pushed his hard member, inch by inch, into the man as he pulled him even closer, wrapping his legs around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders, mouth against the crook of his neck to keep himself from drawing too much attention to anyone who might be lurking outside his office. Not that anything out there, in this moment, mattered to him anyway. Right now, it felt like him and Peter were the only two men in the world. And he was fine with that.

Our well-known surgical hero, Peter Benton, began pounding into our other well-known surgical hero, Robert Romano again and again and again and again, making the desk rock and creak slightly, like it might just give way. Much like the man in Peter's arms, trembling with pleasure as his moans and groans of appreciation muffled against his neck.

As the two continued on in this lovely way, the slow, rhythmic movements of their hips against each other soon became faster and faster as they each got closer to oblivion.

Romano cried out, his spent rolling out of him and all over Peter's scrub top as he held on to him for dear life. The other man growled and sped up even more, his teeth sinking into the shorter man's neck.

Robert brought his head up slightly to whisper in the other's ear. "If you come inside of me I swear to God, you're fired..."

For once, he listened, pulling out of him roughly, his release getting all over Romano's thighs and belly, and even on his desk.

They neglected to move away from each other, still panting and flushed from their exertions.

Not a sound could be heard except for their labored breathing, and the soft ticking of a clock on Romano's wall.

"Point taken..." Robert finally said, gazing at Peter, smiling weakly.

And for the first time on that ordinary Tuesday in Chicago, Peter smiled back at him, shaking his head slightly.

"You're going to have to start stealing my surgeries more often." Peter said, humor lilting in his voice.

"Yes. I suppose I will have to start taking more surgeries off your hands, Dr. Benton. You're absolutely right." He stated daringly. Peter glared at him, humor still in his eyes.

Yup. Just an ordinary Tuesday afternoon. In Chicago.