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You’d just recently finished your fourth year of medical school at County General Hospital, and match day was quickly approaching.
After being congratulated by most of the staff, like Dr. Lewis, Dr. Weaver, John Carter, Nurse Hathway, and of course Dr. Greene, you were ready to hit a bar and forget all about your upcoming placement decision. You decided you’d go alone, considering it would be pretty awkward to get drunk around your older colleagues. Although Carter was closer in age, you thought it might be a little strange for you to ask him to drinks, so solo it was.
Exiting the ER through the ambulance bay, you make your way home to change. You’d had to switch into scrubs earlier that day due to a very bloody trauma, so a pair of jeans, heels, and a light jacket over a tank felt like the nicest designer in the world. Grabbing your bag, you take a bus to a hole-in-the-wall kind of establishment you’d been reccomended by Carol.
You tuck yourself into a seat, knees drawn close together and purse firmly in your lap. It was only around 8:00 PM at this point, as Weaver had let you off early, but you were still hyper aware of every person around you. A side effect of your ER rotation you supposed, it made you study every person a little more closely.
For instance, the elderly man sitting towards the front of the bus had a wet cough and bloodshot eyes. The younger woman beside him, someone around your age, had dark circles, gaunt cheeks, and what looked like to be thinning hair. She slightly flinched every time the man coughed into his hand. The teen across from her had headphones on and his legs spread out, a pair of baggy jeans on that were wrinkled and covered in paint. He was practically taking up the whole aisle between the seats at the front, without a care in the world.
You sighed and checked your watch again. 8:32 PM, so not too late. You pull the chain, or rather, string, for your stop, and your heels clack as you step out onto the street.
Making your way into the bar, you notice it’s quite crowded. You’re not much of an avid drinker, so you don’t know if that’s usual for this time of night, but you suppose any place serving food on a Saturday would be pretty busy. So much so, there’s only one spot open at the counter, beside a dark-haired man, who looks to be at least 5 years older than you.
You saunter up to him, and flash him a smile.
“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”, you ask, putting on some extra charm. It couldn’t hurt, you reason with yourself.
The man takes the opportunity to look you up and down, raising his glass to take a sip. He sets it down, and nods.
“No, no, no one’s sitting there,” he says, in a gravelly sort of voice. You flash another closed-lip smile, sitting on the stool and waving down the bartender.
You place your order with the woman across the bar, and lean back slightly as you wait for her return. The low lighting makes your hair shine in just the right way, and the ambient noise of the drinkers around you allows for an almost cozy feeling. You catch the guy’s eye again, and decide to try and make conversation. You’d consider yourself to be at least half-decent with people, after all.
Putting your hands on the bar and turning your head towards your right-side neighbor, you begin. “So, stranger, what’s your name?”
He smiles, one that you find to be quite charming.
“Luka. And yours?”
Luka, you repeat in your head. You find yourself enjoying the way he pronounces it with his accent, which is one you struggle to place.
“I’m (Y/n), it’s nice to meet you,” you chime back with a small smile. You lean back in your bar chair again, just in time for your drink to be placed in front of you. You offer a smile to the bartender as she walks away.
“So, what’re you doing here? Drinking to celebrate, commiserate, or are you just an alcoholic?,” you tease.
He chuckles lightly, more like a breathy, laughing scoff.
“I’d hope I’m not an alcoholic,” he starts, pausing to take another sip of his drink, still smiling at you. Having taken a large swig of your own bev, you’re beginning to feel that tasty little buzz, and you smile your oh-so sweet smile at him again.
“What, you’re a regular here?,” you question, and he nods.
“God, I only came because a… well, she’s not really my coworker, per se, but a woman I work with recommended I come here. She said there are lots of attractive clientele…”
You let that sentence speak for itself, taking a slow sip out of your glass. He gives another disbelieving, humble laugh, shaking his head.
“She’s wrong. You’re the nicest thing that’s walked in here all night.”
Already finishing what’s in your cup, you give him a youthful, almost boyish grin.
“Careful, Luka, you’re already making a very convincing argument against me getting out of here alone,” you tease, ordering another drink. You’d at least like to be properly tipsy before you tried to throw yourself onto your poor, new companion.
He seems nothing less than bemused, obviously enjoying your appearance and flirtation. The night goes on like this, so for another hour or two you both chat and down glasses, before he’s finally drunk and convinced enough to take you home.
. . .
Making your way into his apartment, you can barely keep your hands off of him. You’re groping at his bicep, leaning up to nip at his neck, while he unlocks the door. Once inside, you barely give him a moment to turn on a lamp in the entryway, before meeting his lips properly.
His stubble prickles against your face in a way that you can’t help but feel is utterly delightful, as you kick off your shoes and slide your jacket to the ground. It had been warm outside in the first place, thanks to Chicago weather, but it was even hotter now.
You’re thankful for his strong hands holding onto your waist, considering you’d gotten quite drunk and, even without the heels, you didnt feel like you could confidently stand without a wobble.
Eagerly running your hands through his hair, you part from his lips and let your kisses sit lower, pressing slow, well-intentioned osculates onto his neck and below the collar. You begin to unbutton the dark blue shirt he’s wearing, wanting to have a larger sandbox for your playing.
He begins to walk backwards, pulling you into his bedroom and groaning softly at your continued ministrations. By this point, your hands are spreading out over his broad chest and lovingly kneading his pecs. He catches your lips in a slow, almost captive kiss, turning you around and letting your back hit his bed.
You’re in the complete darkness, save for his open blinds, so you feel less self-concious as he climbs on top of you and begins to peel off your tank, having already shrugged his own shirt off. Landing kisses down your breasts and to your waistband, he stops when he encounters the fastening of your jeans.
You watch him, over the desperate rise and fall of your chest, as he unbuttons and unzips, eyes focused only and fully on that area. Suddenly shy, you demurely lift your hips so he can slide off the denim. Now left in your, very honestly, soaked panties, you cup his face in your hands, and force him to meet your eye.
You look akin to an owlish, ambushed deer. Your bright eyes are wide open, your eyebrows lifted just from the muscles that tugged at the thin skin of your eyelids. His are quite the opposite, half-closed, and daringly dark.
“Luka..”, you breathe, and pull his face back up to yours. He braces his hands on either side of your ribs, and his knees bracket your hips. You kiss him fervently, so deeply enamored of the fact he’d immediately begun to try and pleasure you first.
You part for a moment and kiss his cheek, still holding his face, and smile.
“Who knew you’d be so.. selfless, hm?,” you whisper to him, and kiss his nose. His eyes are still droopy and smoldering, making it obvious to you that he won’t give up that easily. You sigh as you lay back on the bed, and your hands drop from his face. He’s still watching you, intensely, eyes boring into you so deeply you feel pinned to his silky sheets.
Slowly, achingly, he keeps eye contact with you as you push up onto your elbows. The moonlight strikes his eyes in a way that makes them even more captivating, and he makes his way back down to the end of his bed. He places a few kisses near your bellybutton, before making his way to the black lace panties you’d carelessly thrown on before you’d left your house, hours before.
He lathes his tongue over the wettest part, and your lower back arches off the bed as you gasp softly. Seeming pleased with this, he gently pulls off the thin, elastic fabric, and tosses it gently over his shoulder. Making eye contact with you again, he presses more kisses to your very upper inner thighs, wanting to relax you a bit. He pushes apart your legs by placing his hands on your knees, and you have to very quickly get used to the sensation.
The numerous drinks you had earlier keep you quite warm, despite being almost totally naked. At least, that’s what you tell yourself, not wanting to admit some casual hookup you’d found was this compelling to you.
“Luka…,” you trail off, as he begins to give little kitty licks to your sensitivity. You try your hardest not to squirm, and you end up tipping your head back against his pillows as you lovingly sigh. He continues lapping at you, before plunging his tongue deeper in. This makes you shudder like a tin sheet in harsh wind, and your hand moves from holding the sheets to running through his hair.
“Fuck, Luka..,” you whimper, groaning as he sucks gently on your clit. He laughs quietly against you, and one of his hands leaves your knee. Gently, he slides in a finger, and you can’t help but buck your hips and groan again.
You start to give him some breathy moans as he pumps one finger in and out, watching you for your reaction. He adds another, and you swear you’re seeing stars. Instead of stroking his hair, you tug on it as he continues to kiss at your clit.
“Holy shit..!,” you whine, “mm, Luka, I think I’m gonna..,” your voice just trails off in an airy sigh. Luka anticipates your orgasm, and gives you a few long strokes before you finally cum. Your now-sweaty back leaves the bed, and you moan loudly. He continues to kiss around your thighs for a moment, before rising to stand and remove his pants.
Your eyes are pinched shut for a moment, and you prop yourself back onto your elbows. Obce your eyes are open again, he’s fully undressed. You take the opportunity to scan him, and are quickly reminded of your bra. A little embarrassed, you sit up to unhook it, and toss it somewhere off the bed. Luka seems pleased by this, as he crawls over you again. He’s so hard that the thought crosses your mind to be a little scared he’ll skewer you when he pushes in his blush pink tip, but you decide not to care. You lace your arms around his neck, and pull him down to kiss him again.
He parts from you for a moment to grab a condom from the left bedsude table drawer, and you watch as he slides it on, biting your kiss-bitten lip. You spread your legs for him, and he holds onto your hips. Slowly, carefully, he slides into you, his head leaned back in pleasure. Your hands grip his forearms, your chin digging in above your collarbones as you take in the stretch. Very honestly, you’re quite inexperienced, so any thing entering you would solicit a similar reaction.
After bottoming out, he sits still for a moment, watching your breasts as your chest heaves.
“You alright?,” he asks, voice scratchy and deep.
You nod, finally fixing your face and relaxing.
“I haven’t…,” you laugh and shake your head, “uhm, done anything, in a while,” you say, a little embarrassed. You’re admitting to the guy who has his dick in you that you have no game?? Great going…
“God, sorry, thats like, so embarrassing-“
He cuts you off by kissing you, gently at first. You feel as he begins to pull out, and slowly thrust back in. You moan against his lips, grateful for the distraction. Letting out soft sounds at every skillful thrust, he releases similar groans, speeding up.
You bury your face right near his collarbone, wishing this moment could last forever.
. . .
You’re awoken again by sunlight hitting your eyes. You can feel the seltzers, and several shots, pounding in your skull. Groaning, you push your tangled hair out of your face, checking for a clock. Due to your excessive inebriation, you didn’t remember too many details of the night before, really just that it was steamy.
You try not to wake the sleeping man beside you as you gently pull his arm from around your waist. It’s quite cold for March, but you suppose it’s just Chicago weather. You hold your arms around yourself as you search for your clothes. (And maybe a bathroom? You’re not sure how much time you’ll have until Luka wakes up, and you kind of want to get out of there before he does).
Slipping on your very much soiled black lace panties you found beside the bed, and clipping on your bra, you find both a clock and an ensuite bathroom.
“Shit..,” you breathe as you read the electric clock, “5:36…”
Despite match day being, quite literally, tomorrow, you were still required in the ER this morning at 6:30AM, and not a minute later if you didn’t want Weaver to hound your ass.
Quickly, you shut the door and take a piss, trying to be quiet, but by the time you flush you can tell you’ve woken up your one night stand by the sound of rustling sheets.
After washing your hands, you emerge, in only your undergarments. You were thankful you’d found them beside the bed easily enough. You couldn’t imagine the embarrassment fueled pounding of your heart you’d experience otherwise.
You blush a little, only now taking on a shy, innocent demeanor. You tiptoe gently to the door, but stop before exiting, feeling his eyes on you. You smile, that gorgeous smile, and feign surprise when you see he’s awake.
“Oh, uhm… hi,” you breathe, watching as he sits up and rubs a hand over his face.
You point your thumb over your shoulder, gesturing towards the door.
“I uh, I’ve gotta go. They, my boss, uhm, she needs me at the hospital. So.”
“Oh, okay,” he says, sleepily, pretty carelessly nodding at your excuse. He begins to prop himself onto his elbow, and your already dry mouth somehow loses more moisture.
And with that, you leave, gathering your jeans from the bedroom doorway (they’d been in a rumpled pile, no doubt from being tossed over his shoulder), and your tank was still in his foyer. You grab your heels, hoisting your purse over your shoulder, preparing for the run of shame you’ll have to do if you want to make it on time.
You quickly locate an El station, getting on the next train. You try to put your messy hair into a bun, thanking yourself for keeping extra hairties in your purse. You rub at your eyes, trying to do anything to look less like the disaster you knew you were. Sighing and crossing your legs, you lean back in your seat and wait for your stop.
Once you’re back home, you immediately strip again and take the fastest shower possible, applying some light makeup to your dark under eyes, in an attempt to make yourself look less sleepless. Donning a turtleneck and slacks, you’re running out the door again. Back to the train station, and to County.
. . .
You thank whatever benevolent ghost presided over you that morning, reaching the admit desk at a cool 6:28AM. Dr. Weaver is already there, but she’s on the phone, shouting at some resident for their having to miss a shift. You take this as your opportunity to stash your things in the lounge, but she stops you quickly.
“(Y/n), don’t be so quick to leave! I’ll need you in a second!,” she barks, before going back on her tirade. You sigh, pushing back your wet hair in its ponytail, and leaning against the admit desk. It sounds like she’s calling in a long-term temporary, some Kovac? You just hope they’re good at their job.
Pursing your lips, you begin to recount last night’s events. In this, you realize quickly that you’d neglected to pick up your jacket on the way out of your merry making partner’s apartment.
“Shit!,” you curse under your breath, almost in disbelief of your own stupidity.
“(Y/n),” Weaver begins again, causing you to whip around to face her.
“I just wanted to let you know with match day coming up, that I am proud of your work as a medical student in this ER, and that I would be happy to have you become a resident here at County.”
You open your mouth to thank her, completely caught off guard by her kindness, but you’re quickly cut off by Dr. Carter walking in and asking to the general staff,
“Hey, who’s the new guy?”, pointing to…
Oh my god, is that Luka?!
Your eyes widen immediately, panic overtaking you as you see your drunken hookup walking in through the ambulance bay. What the fuck!? What is he doing here, is he a doctor too?? Shit!
Seeing your burning red face, Carter addresses you.
“What, you know this guy?”
Your now-huge eyes swivel in their sockets to make contact with John’s deep browns, and you nod like a bobblehead set below an ac vent, before putting your hand to his ear to whisper.
“I, ahem.. may have met him at a bar last night…”
Carter’s eyebrows shoot up, just in time for Kovac to reach the admit desk. You quickly turn away from him, bracing your back against the edge of the long counter. John gets an absolutely appalled look on his face, and you know that there must be some deviousness making itself up in his head.
“We’re gonna be talking about this later,” he says to you lowly, pointing his finger and wagging it a little, before walking to the lounge. You decide to follow suit, really trying to not have Kovac see you. You seem to be doing alright in this endeavor, for the time being.
. . .
Despite your raging hangover, the rest of your final med student shift goes well. It’s an uneventful day, but you get paitents that require you to be in the room for a while, meaning your chances of “meeting” Kovac are slim. You present your cases to Dr. Weaver, and talk to Carter for most of your shift. The latter teases you relentlessly, but you’re grateful that he hasn’t told the rest of the staff. Yet.
Only in the last hour are you confronted with your bedmate, in the lounge. You’re grabbing chapstick from your purse, and he’s doing some charting.
Noticing you, Luka clears his throat.
“Hello. I didn’t know you worked here,” he says, almost apologetically.
You fidget with your chapstick, not turning around to face him, not wanting him to see your burning cheeks.
“Well, I uh.. don’t really work here. I’m just a um.. just a med student. Until tomorrow, I guess.”
God, that makes it even more taboo!! You grimace, putting the plastic tube away and slamming your locker shut, before dashing out of the lounge. Luka seems a little surprised, but not all that shocked at your reaction. He just sighs, and gets back to writing.
You only realize once you’re on the train home that you’d forgotten to ask for your jacket back.
Fuck!