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A Rush of Bourbon to the Head - A Limlendez Fic

I am back. I am back with middle-aged ship smut fic. It’s like I never left. Tho this time it’s Lim/Melendez flavoured. And the way I see this ship is: Neil worships the ground that Audrey Lim walks upon and she permits him. Good shit. Continue reading for approxmiately 6.5k more words of that good shit.

Title: A Rush of Bourbon to the Head

Summary: Post 2x09. Neil and Audrey meet together for bourbon and start 2x10 waking up next to each other in bed. This bridges the gap.

A fic in which: -Audrey says the word 'fuck' a lot -Neil looks adoringly at Audrey -Bourbon is drunk -Fucking is done -Heart to hearts are had.

Teaser:

He smiled, then reached out and gently covered her hand with his own, “You’re a great surgeon, Audrey,” he said warmly, “And you would have made a great chief.”

“There is a lot of wisdom in this bourbon,” she teased, squinting down into it to avoid the burning intensity of his gaze.

“You found any, yet?”

“I might have,” she said, mouth a little dry, still not sure if what she was thinking right now was wisdom or insanity. Maybe a little of both.

Link: AO3

On days like today, heading in to Crowley’s bar felt more like coming home than her own place. There were few problems, she’d found, that couldn’t be improved upon by mulling them over with a glass of bourbon.

She didn’t bother looking for Neil, just wound her way through the familiar layout of tables and chairs with the same surgical precision she applied in the OR until she found him at their regular places.

Surgeons could be a surprisingly superstitious lot. She had never subscribed to much of it herself. But there were certain constants in the universe you just didn’t fuck with. Like the perfect spot in your favourite bar, deduced over years of careful experimentation and testing.

Collapsing into the chair beside him, she signalled for another two bourbons with some curt hand gestures, then shrugged off her leather jacket. It felt strange to wear it without her helmet in tow, or her Ducati, for that matter. But it had felt stranger not to wear it at all.

“I was never gonna confront Andrews,” she said bluntly, without so much as a ‘hello’ to warm things up first. She had been stewing since Andrews’ announcement, and had worked out exactly what she wanted to say to Neil. No point beating about the bush. “I was playing you. But damn if you didn’t actually make it work.”

She didn’t add what they both knew – that if she had confronted Andrews, it was unlikely he’d have reacted with anything other than resentment towards her for challenging him.

Neil shook his head. “It didn’t work for anybody,” he pointed out, flatly. “He played us both. He set us against each other.”

Audrey sighed, looking away from Neil. That was true enough. All those years of working, of grafting, of giving her blood, and sweat, and soul to this job, and that conceited bastard was just going to ‘retain his title’.

“I think you were right,” Neil continued, pulling her out of her bitter thoughts” She looked up and met his eyes again, sipping at her drink. The familiar burn was oddly soothing, purging some of her anger.

“Even if you were just bluffing,” he paused and she raised her eyebrows at him. He’d always had a penchant for the dramatic, even when they’d been residents together. And he’d never known how to just spit something out, he had to take his time, mull it over, let the moment build. “We need to stand together.” He nodded to himself.

“Where was that wisdom two days ago?” she demanded, unable to keep the distinct note of indignation from her voice.

If she was being fair, it probably wouldn’t have made any damned difference. There was no greater power in heaven or earth that could match Andrews’ sense of self-importance. But she wasn’t in the mood to be fair. Nothing else in life bothered, why the fuck should she?

Neil gave her a small half smile and raised his glass, “Still in the bottle.”

She huffed a soft laugh and they both sipped at what passed for wisdom these days.

People called Neil arrogant, but that only showed how little they knew him. He came across that way, and he could be an ass at times. But his heart was generally in the right place, and he had the rare ability to be able to back down and admit he’d fucked up. She appreciated that.

It made it hard to be mad at him. Since she wanted to be mad at something right now, she might still have ended up taking things out on him. But it had been a long day, and she knew that he was just as upset and angry as she was. Time to stand together, follow her own advice. Even if it had been mostly bullshit at the time.

“What other pearls of genius are in there?” she asked.

“That remains to be seen.”

“Well, I for one am curious to find out.”

She made to signal to the bartender to fill them both up again. Drowning one’s sorrows was a time honoured tradition, and she approved of tradition. Whenever there was bourbon involved, anyway.

Neil put a hand on her wrist, though, stopping her. “Aren’t you on shift tomorrow in the ER?” he asked lightly. There was no judgement in his voice, just practicality.

“I know my limits,” she replied, honestly. “If we’ve reached yours I can order you a water instead,” she offered sweetly.

He laughed, “Not even close.”

There. He still had a little spark of fire about him every now and then. She could see it sparking in his eyes, that light of challenge, of competition kindling there.

When they had been residents she’d had better things to do with her time than compete with Neil Melendez. She only had to prove herself better than she had been the day before. Once they had matured into surgeons at the same hospital, though…Well, a little friendly competition with a colleague had never done anyone any harm.

It had kept them both at the top of their game. It had pushed them, and driven them, and it was fun, dammit. He hadn’t been wrong when he’d called her out as an adrenaline junkie in the OR. She was.

She lived for those thrills – the wind tearing through her on her bike, nothing between it and her but leather and skill. The intensity of a difficult surgery, catching a life in your bare hands and snatching it back from the brink of death.

Sparring with Neil gave her the same high, the same rush, the same thrill. It kept life interesting. The only thing she’d ever truly feared was being bored, and he certainly prevented that. In a number of intoxicating ways.

“Good,” she said, grinning at him.

They both knew she could drink him under a table. And a second. And occasionally a third. That had stopped being a competition years ago. Now it was just the subject for gentle teasing.

“Although,” Neil added, as she made to catch the bartender’s eye again, “The residents are probably going to be here in about,” he checked his watch, “Twenty minutes, give or take.”

She groaned. “I will never forgive you for telling them about this place,” she growled at him.

“It’s a good bar,” he said defensively, with the gall to laugh a little as though anything about this was even remotely funny.

“It’s our bar,” she countered, “This place is more holy than my OR.”

“I was passing on our legacy!” he insisted.

“You were giving away our closely guarded secrets – that’s a capital offence. Ten years, Neil. Ten years we’ve been coming to this bar undisturbed by work and you just open the door and bow in our residents? What the fuck.”

“How about I get us a bottle to go and we head back to mine and find out what’s at the bottom?” he said with a soft smile.

“Nice deflection,” she admitted.

“Must be those great leadership skills shining through,” he said, grinning. She glowered darkly at him. He had the sense to raise his hands in a gesture of surrender. “It’ll be quiet, no residents, and I’ll even let you pick the background music.”

A very good offer. Damn him but he knew her too well sometimes.

“You’re on,” she said, raising a finger, “On the condition that you’re buying.” He raised his eyebrows at her, “On account of you being an apple,” she said, pointedly.

He laughed at that, “Deal.”

She waited outside while he settled and came out to meet her. His sharp eyes scanned the parking lot as they started to walk through it then he said, “I don’t see your chariot have death anywhere. Does this mean you’ve finally sent it to the scrapyard where it belongs?”

She scowled at him, “The Ducati is at home, thank you,” she replied in slightly clipped tones.

He raised his eyebrows at her. They both knew it was her pride and joy, and that she’d rather cut off her own hands than willingly scrap it.

She grimaced. He was going to find out anyway, but damn…

“Technically,” she grit out reluctantly, “My licence has been suspended.” She paused then amended firmly, “Temporarily suspended.”

He laughed at that, as though he was begging her to stab him, “What? What the hell did you do?” he asked, automatically assuming she must have done something to deserve this. The fact that she technically had didn’t make it any less galling. “No, wait, let me guess – you were going way too fast on your death machine in pursuit of an adrenaline high?”

“They couldn’t prove shit,” she muttered darkly.

“Apparently they could,” Neil said, sounding entirely too amused by the entire situation.

“I’ll tell you what I can prove,” she snapped, rising to his bait even though she knew this was exactly what he was fishing for, “That judge was a power crazy bitch and when I’m through with her she will beg me to take her back in time so she can stop her former self from attending law school so she never has to deal with me.”

“Nice,” Neil said, grinning, “You talk to her like that, too?”

“Only after she kept me waiting at the back of her courtroom for six hours because I took one two minute phone call from Murphy and Reznick about a patient,” she snapped. “And I’ll have you know I was very polite,” she added.

“Oh I bet you were,” Neil said, insufferable smile widening as he let them into his building and held the door for her.

“Six hours, Neil. Six hours,” she said, stepping in before him and turning back to look at him, eyes flashing.

“You called her out in the middle of her courtroom and you’re surprised she threw the book at you?” he said, leaning past her to press the button for the lift. “What would you do if a patient called you out like that in the ER?”

“I don’t know, but I probably wouldn’t gouge their eye out and then lock them in a closet for spite, because I’m an adult,” she said, shaking her head.

“She put you in a holding cell, didn’t she?” he said, with the balls to sound amused as he locked himself into a confined space with her for the duration of their ride up to the top floor.

“For nine hours.” He snorted. “I saw things in there I can never un-see,” she said, leaning against the wall, Neil watching her, still smirking, “I learned things about humanity that almost made me quit medicine.”

He laughed at that, the sound bursting from him. He had a good laugh. Full, and genuine.

Another mistake people often made about him was assuming he was serious. He could be. And about some things her eighty three year old aunt had more levity. But he had a good sense of humour, mostly, and they’d always been able to talk about things like this without worrying about it coming back and biting them on the ass one day. They were competitive, but they weren’t bastards about it.

“It’s not funny!” she snapped, even though his laughter was infectious and it was taking all of her control not to crack a smile with him.

“It kinda is,” he said, his smile fond and affectionate, “Especially when I imagine you having to take cabs all over the city.”

She groaned and rolled her eyes, “They drive like old women!” she hissed at him, “I could walk faster!”

He laughed again and she whacked his chest and stalked out of the lift as the doors opened.

“Just get that damn door open and a glass of bourbon into my hand before I murder you,” she ordered.

“Yes ma’am.”

***

Twenty minutes later, with a glass of bourbon in hand, and her choice of music accompanying their evening as promised, Audrey was decidedly calmer, and was feeling reflective again.

“Did you mean what you said in Crowley’s?” she asked, turning her head to look at where Neil was sat next to her on the couch.

He was doing what passed for sprawling with him - legs extended out before him, shirt wrinkled, posture relaxed. She sat next to him with her legs curled up under her, shoes kicked off, comfortable here after all the time she’d spent with him over the years.

He raised his eyebrows at her, inviting clarification, “About us working together,” she said bluntly.

Neil considered for a moment, taking an exaggerated amount of time to sip at his drink. “I did,” he said, finally, “We’re better that way – better doctors.”

She nodded, thoughtful, “A little healthy competition between us has historically been a good thing, too,” she pointed out. “It pushes us. That also makes us better doctors.”

“True,” he agreed, “But only when it pushes us in the right direction. Pushing us apart, the way Andrews was doing, is not helpful.”

“Agreed,” she said, toasting those words with another drink.

They were quiet for a moment, Neil tracing the rim of his glass with the tip of a careful finger, “I didn’t mean what I said to you in the OR – about you being too much of an adrenaline junkie to handle the job.”

“You don’t think I’m an adrenaline junkie?” she teased lightly, too taken aback by the sudden sincerity, the light of genuine regret in his eyes as he looked at her, to think up a more serious reply.

“Oh I do,” he said, with a wry smile, “But I don’t think you would let it compromise you as chief. We all have our vices in this job – we need them to survive it. But you’ve never let them rule you. You’d have the board eating out of the palm of your hand in less than a month.” He drained his glass.

She scoffed, “Try less than a week,” she said, tone light and playful.

Neil laughed again, “And obviously your stunning humility would be a great asset, too,” he teased, leaning forward and lifting the bourbon from the table, refilling his glass.

She held hers out, and he wordlessly topped her up, too.

She idly studied the delicate tattoo on his neck that his movement had revealed. More idly still, she imagined tracing it with the tip of her finger, and had to fight a sudden mad impulse to do it right then and there.

Where did that come from?

There had been tension and attraction between them before. They were both attractive people, they could admit that. And they were close. They had flirted with the idea on more than one occasion.

But they’d always had other partners – or other priorities. The prospect was exciting, intoxicating. She’d be lying if she said she’d never considered what it would be like. She knew he had, too. The way he looked at her sometimes, as though he wanted nothing so much as to peel her out of her leathers and experiment with the delights of human anatomy on a far more intimate level than usual.

She started, jolting herself from those thoughts. Sometimes she could be an adrenaline junkie. Sometimes those impulses could even be dangerous. Maybe there wasn’t as much wisdom to be found in a bottle of bourbon as she’d assumed when they started this.

Leaning back into the couch away from him, she found herself saying, “I didn’t mean what I said, either.”

“You don’t really think I’m a shallow poser who’s just interested in a shiny new title?” he asked, eyes twinkling.

She groaned, covering her face with a hand. It sounded so much worse when he put it like that.

“No, I don’t,” she said, keeping her tone uncharacteristically gentle, taking care not to let his levity pull her away from the sincerity of her own guilt over that confrontation.

She reached out and laid a gentle hand on his arm. He looked down at her hand, at the contact, and only looked away when she spoke again.

“I know that you care,” she said, quietly, “I know that you want this for more than the title, and the advancement, and the prestige.” She gave his arm a squeeze. “You’re a good man, Neil, and I know you would make things better.”

Feeling a little awkward she withdrew her hand and took a large gulp of her bourbon. She wasn’t good at this shit. These gentle heart-to-hearts seemed to come so naturally to him, the sincere advice, the tender understanding. It felt sometimes he could draw that from a stone. Meanwhile she was the stone.

A lot of the staff, the nurses in particular, said that her brusqueness and aloofness were responses to the pressures of the job, that she couldn’t let herself be soft or she would collapse.

A lot of what the staff said in general was bullshit, but that particular nugget took the cake.

This was just who she was. It always had been. Straight-up, practical, composed and in control at all times. She didn’t know any other way to be.

She wasn’t a robot. She still felt, still hurt, still sought out these quieter moments even. She just...Had never been great about showing any of that.

Neil was watching her with such a kind, gentle look in his eyes that it made her want to rip his shirt off and kiss him breathless.

She controlled that impulse by toasting him with her glass and adding bluntly, “I stand by what I said about you being an asshat, though.”

He smiled, then reached out and gently covered her hand with his own, “You’re a great surgeon, Audrey,” he said warmly, “And you would have made a great chief.”

“There is a lot of wisdom in this bourbon,” she teased, squinting down into it to avoid the burning intensity of his gaze.

“You found any, yet?”

“I might have,” she said, mouth a little dry, still not sure if what she was thinking right now was wisdom or insanity. Maybe a little of both.

He raised his eyebrows invitingly.

“Are you fishing for compliments from me, Melendez?” she demanded, rather than offering up exactly what kind of wisdom the bourbon had imparted to her.

“You wound me,” he said dramatically.

“You are a great surgeon, too, Neil. You don’t need me to tell you that,” he looked expectantly at her. She rolled her eyes and added, “And yes, you would have made a great chief.” He smiled knowingly at her, waiting for the quip he knew was coming. She decided not to disappoint him, “Just as long as you always had me there to steal great ideas from.”

He laughed again, that full laugh of his, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You are never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope. It’s going to be in your eulogy,” she said, grinning..

“You think you’re going to outlive me?” he said, eyebrows raised, “With your mechanical ticket to an early grave? Even on temporary suspension, it’s still going to get you before anything gets me.”

“Then in that case I’m sorry,” she said loftily.

“For what?” he said, still laughing.

“For your future self - bereft, and lonely, and oh so bored without me.”

He smiled, but sobered enough to say, with all that aching sincerity he had, “I would be.”

“Hmm, the bourbon’s talking again,” she said mildly.

“I think it’s still being wise,” he murmured.

She paused, swirling the last of hers in the bottom of her glass, considering, “That assessment is currently under review,” she said finally.

“Why’s that?”

She met his eyes. He was playing a dangerous game, teasing this out, leading them onwards. From the look on his face, he knew exactly what he was doing. Bastard.

“Because,” she said, voice measured, “It’s encouraging the adrenaline junkie and giving her terrible ideas.”

“Hmm,” he mused lightly, leaning in just a little, his shirt shifting and revealing the tattoo once more. She knew his sharp eyes didn’t miss the way hers darted down to it. “It’s making the shallow poser very interested in hearing them.”

She leaned in to him, drawn in, as she always had been, by that intensity, that single-minded focus that right now was fixed entirely upon her. “You sure about that?” she breathed, close enough to feel the heat of his breath on her lips, as welcome and inviting as the burn of their bourbon.

“Only one way to find out.”

She kissed him.

It started out as a gentle thing, hestiatant, testing, still half-convinced that they were talking about completely different things and he would pull away from her the second their lips met.

He didn’t. He parted his lips in invitation and she answered enthusiastically - enthusiastically and not at all gently. That had never been her style.

He smiled against her mouth, slid a gentle hand into her hair, coaxing her closer. He was always so damn tender. So careful, and precise.

She didn’t want careful and precise. She wanted hot and heavy like the bourbon she could taste on his tongue. She wanted him to want this, to need this as much as she did. She wanted him to lose that self-control for just a second, to stop being a doctor and start just being human, so painfully human with all of their raw vulnerabilities, and wants, and needs, and instincts.

Just when she started to feel his restraint slip, he drew back, breathing hard.

She met his eyes, still half-afraid she would find regret in them.

“Interesting,” he said, nothing but heat in his gaze, “I think it merits further testing to establish its full potential.”

Cautiously, he leaned in and kissed her back.

Maybe it had been too hasty to expect him to rip her clothes off at the first kiss. There was a lot of history between them, a lot of respect, a lot of trust. They had to be sure. Very sure. Lines were being crossed as she took his tongue in her mouth and sucked. Lines they hadn’t crossed in over a decade of knowing each other.

They broke apart again after their latest testing clash.

Sure. They had to be sure. They had to do this carefully, if they were going to do this at all. They should talk about it, firmly establish what was happening, plan this like they’d plan a surgery.

He looked up and she met his eyes and found such certainty in them that for a moment she forgot how to breathe. She had never thought that he would look at her like that, with so much raw lust it seared.

Fuck being careful. Fuck planning. Fuck lines and boundaries and history. Fuck thinking.

Before she had fully processed what she was doing, she had grabbed the glass of bourbon from his hand and shoved it towards the table along with her own. The glasses slid to the edge of the table, one nearly toppling.

Neil leaned forwards to fix it, but she was already crashing into him, momentum pushing him back against the couch cushions. She settled into his lap, straddling his hips and leaning down to kiss him again.

How had she gone so long without doing this? How had she survived ten years without ever knowing what it felt like to kiss him? How could she go another ten years without spending every second with his lips on hers, his body against hers, the heat of his skin scorching her.

Problems for another time, she decided, as he moaned softly into her mouth, and she gave up on having another coherent thought again that wasn’t solely focused on how to make him do that again.

He drew back a second later and she growled faintly in displeasure. Then she forgave him as his lips found her neck and set to exploring until he found a spot that made her arch into him. Once he found it, she slid her fingers into his hair, holding him in place. He took the hint and kissed there until she tugged sharply on his hair, cutting him off with a gasp.

“I don’t intend to be gentle with you,” she warned him, breathing heavily.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

She smiled and dipped back down to kiss him. Contrary to what she’d just said to him, she was gentle. She knew what she wanted from a partner in bed, and emotionally investing in a fuck wasn’t exactly her style.

But this was a little different. This was Neil. She figured after a decade of history, he was entitled to a little bit of special treatment from her. But only a little.

Neil lifted her from the couch without warning and she broke the kiss, startling, legs tightening around his waist, frowning down at him in disapproval even as he put a hand on her back to steady her.

“You good?” he asked, pausing and suddenly looking concerned.

She huffed irritably, blowing hair from her eyes, “A little warning would be nice,” she grumbled.

He smirked at her, leaning in and kissing that spot on her neck he’d identified earlier, “I thought you liked living on the edge,” he teased.

She growled and squirmed slightly in his arms, “Get on with it, Neil,” she growled.

“You’re very bossy, you know,” he observed.

“I warned you.”

“I’m not complaining,” he said, evenly.

A lot of men did. She found it...Intriguing that he was so seemingly comfortable with all of this.

She draped her arms around his shoulders and leaned in, kissing her way up his neck, following the line of his jaw until she reached his ear. She dragged his earlobe between her teeth until he groaned then hissed in his ear, “Bedroom. Now.”

He laughed bt obliged, managing to kick the door shut behind them as she began unpicking the button’s on his shirt. A surgeon’s delicacy came in handy in all sorts of other places in life, she’d found.

She studied him with an appraising gaze, eyes lingering on the tattoo on his neck and chest, fingers tracing delicately over it as she’d fantasised about previously. Then she found herself pressed up against the nearest wall, his lips on hers, earning a soft, approving growl in the back of her throat.

“Was that too-” he began, drawing away a second.

“I don’t want to be made love to, Neil,” she hissed, sliding her knee between his thighs and pressing herself against him, “I want to be fucked.”

He shivered slightly, and she revelled in that, pulling him against her. Cocking an eyebrow she started slowly picking apart the buttons on her own shirt, wondering how long it would take him to intervene and speed up the process. She was wagering by four buttons. He made it two.

His fingers were deft and practiced as he slid her shirt off of her shoulders and dropped it onto the floor at their feet to pool beside his own. He took his own time studying her, eyes trailing up and down her body, a look in his eyes that suggested he was planning something filthy to do with every inch of it.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured absently.

She startled him by laughing, “We’re not in high school, Neil, you don’t have to butter me up with empty compliments.”

“I meant it,” he breathed, with such sincerity that she shivered.

He was so earnest, so genuine, so eager to please. She was going to wreck him.

“Then prove it,” she breathed.

He put his hands underneath her and lifted her into his arms again but hesitated briefly, “You good?” he asked again, but there was a slight note of teasing in his voice.

“I’d be a lot better if you got on with it,” she said pointedly.

He carried her towards the bed, but she stopped him, suddenly frowning slightly. “Are you?”

A broad smile spread across his face before he covered it with another kiss, “Never better.”

He lowered her down gently onto the bed and then moved over her. He dipped down to kiss her again but she stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“I don’t intend to work under you here, either,” she said pointedly.

He smiled and nodded before relaxing and rolling obligingly onto his back. Damn, if she’d known he was going to be this eager to please she’d have fucked him years ago. And kept on fucking him for that matter.

She straddled him and ran her hands down his chest, stopping at the waistband of his trousers and starting to work them open, but he caught her wrists gently in his fingers, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t I get to have a little fun with you first before we dive in to you fucking me senseless?”

Well, at least he was prepared.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

In answer he coaxed her out of her trousers, leaving her in nothing but her underwear then tugged her further up the bed towards the headboard. She settled in front of him and watched him idly run his fingers over the front of her underwear, brushing suggestively over her in a way that made a muscle feather in her jaw.

“Neil,” she growled.

He laughed again, “So impatient,” he teased, “You’re a surgeon, Aud, you’re supposed to be able to maintain your focus and control even under the most testing of circumstances,” his fingers deftly nudged her underwear aside, pressing against hot, slick flesh and she hissed sharply.

“We’re not in the OR right now,” she reminded him, “But if you want I’ll go get a scalpel.”

“I want you out of these,” he breathed, tugging suggestively at the scrap of fabric between them, “And in my mouth.”

She actually groaned softly at that prospect. Lifting herself up she helped him tug off the last of her clothes then hovered over him, one hand braced on the wall behind him for leverage.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, a little breathless.

In answer, he pulled her down onto his tongue.

She gasped softly, anchoring herself with one hand on the sturdy wooden headboard. At this rate, they were going to find out exactly how sturdy it was.

She let her eyes slip closed and rocked her hips against his mouth. He had definitely done this before, and she was glad she’d let him. She hadn’t needed it, not with ten years of friction and anticipation along with their rather intense session on the couch. But she wasn’t going to dissuade him from focusing all of his attention on her if that was what he wanted. It would’ve been rude.

With a soft hiss, she threaded her fingers through his hair and tugged gently, guiding him to exactly where she needed him. He was good, but he was unfamiliar with her body. Anyway, she liked steering.

She caught his eye as she shifted him into a better position and didn’t miss the twinkle of amusement in them that clearly said: You’re bossy.

She raised her eyebrows in a challenge and he smirked against her, giving her exactly what she needed.

His eager obedience said enough: I like it.

Her back arched as he finally found the right rhythm and she gave his hair a short, sharp tug of approval which earned her a faint groan. If he was expecting shrieks of delight and repeated exclamations of his greatness in return he was going to be disappointed.

She was rarely vocal in bed - unless it was to give instruction, but he seemed to be doing just fine with the little guidance she’d already provided.

Neil didn’t seem to have expected anything else, and read her reactions eagerly in the changes of her breathing. Once she was panting, rocking into every movement of his mouth, nails scraping at his scalp, he knew she was close, and he didn’t disappoint.

“Don’t stop,” she snarled, holding him in place, even as she felt herself coming against his mouth. “Don’t stop.”

Mercifully he did as he was told, licking and sucking at her through her orgasm, tipping her into a second which finally coaxed a soft, hoarse, “Fuck,” from her.

Trembling, eyes still closed, she allowed Neil to place his hands on either side of her waist and help lower her back down over him, straddling his waist again.

Once she had control of her body again she dipped down and kissed him, tasting herself on his tongue.

“Not bad,” she said, grinning and breathing heavily.

He smirked back, one hand behind his head, the other rubbing slowly up and down her spine, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

She leaned down and kissed him again, “You have too many clothes on,” she grunted, pushing the last of his clothes from between them.

He didn’t object, and settled back down comfortably in place beneath her, eyes drinking her in like she was a particularly fine bottle of bourbon.

“Do you have-” she began.

“Top drawer.”

She leaned over, feeling him brace his hands instinctively on either side of her waist to stop her tumbling from the bed. She came up victorious, condom in hand, and tore the wrapper off with her teeth before easing it down onto him, enjoying the soft, hissing intake of breath it prompted.

“I hope you have as much self-control in bed as you do in the OR,” she purred lightly, sinking down onto him and enjoying the way he arched into her before she pushed him back down onto his bed. “Because I’m not nearly done with you yet.”

“I think I can manage,” he said, his muscles tight, but his expression composed. For now. “Can you?”

She grinned at him, “Just try to keep up.”

He did. Mostly. He held onto her hips so hard she felt sure she’d have bruises, and gasped her name so often it started to sound like a prayer. But she came again, after dragging his hand in between her legs with a short, brusque command, and allowed him to follow just behind.

She slumped forwards, panting, head braced on his heaving chest, back bowed, eyes closed, breathing in the scents of sweat and sex that mingled in the air. Her body trembled, and she made a soft sound of pleasure in the back of her throat as he gently dragged his fingers up and down her spine.

Finally, she pushed herself off of him and collapsed down onto the sheets next to him, breathing hard, pushing her sweaty hair from her eyes.

She glanced to her right and found him watching her, eyes twinkling.

“Did we really just do that?” she said, staring up at the ceiling, pleasure still quivering through her.

“I think we did,” he said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.

She’d have whacked that smug smile off his face with a pillow, but she felt too boneless and satisfied to expend that much effort right now.

“God we are such a cliche right now,” she said, shaking her head in mock-disgust, “Friends for a decade, then we get drunk and screw each other. We’re setting a terrible standard that men and women can’t just be friends with each other.”

“I’m going to be honest with you, I’m not that bothered right now,” he said.

She laughed a little breathlessly, “No, me neither,” she admitted, still grinning like an idiot.

“Besides,” he said, reaching over and stroking her shoulder, “We’ve always been more than friends.”

“Coworkers?” she ventured slyly, knowing damn well that wasn’t what he meant.

“Family,” he said sincerely, then grimaced as he clocked the look on her face.

“Nice sentiment,” she said, managing to prop herself up on an elbow to face him, “Terrible word choice under the circumstances.”

He shut her up with another kiss, which she melted into, still smirking. “You know what I meant,” he said as he drew away.

She drew in a deep breath and nodded, “Sure did.” She cocked her head slightly, smiling, “Are you this corny with all the people you fuck, or do you reserve it for family?” she said, laying a mocking emphasis on the last word that caused him to throw a pillow at her face in retribution.

She tossed it back at him, laughing. Then hauled herself up into a more dignified sitting position. “Are you good?” she asked, frowning slightly as she peered down at him, “I know I can be a little-”

He took her hand and squeezed, quieting her, “I’m good,” he reassured her, that sincere warmth in his voice again, “We’re good.”

“Good,” she said, nodding slightly. Then she took a deep breath and said, “I guess I should get going then.”

“What?” he said, looking taken aback, “Audrey, we’re not in college - I’m not kicking you out two minutes after we come,” he said, looking at her as though she’d gone mad.

“You sure?” she said, not wanting him to build up any false expectations here, “I’m not exactly the ‘stay over and eat breakfast together in the morning’ kind of woman.”

“Did I fuck your brains out so much you’ve forgotten how long I’ve known you?” he demanded, causing her to roll her eyes.

“Cute.”

“I just mean,” he said, smiling and reaching for her hand, threading their fingers together to stop her pulling away, “That I’ve known you a while, and I figure I know what kind of woman you are by now.” She stared down at him and he smiled gently and said, “Stay. And sleep. That’s it. If for no other reason than to avoid taking another cab.”

“You do know me,” she grumbled, flopping back down beside him and pressing a lazy kiss to his lips. “Fine,” she said at last, “But I’m not spooning you.” He snorted with laughter. “And I sleep on this side of the bed,” she added firmly.

“Okay. Is that all? Or do you have a full terms and conditions package you need me to sign first?”

She threw her pillow at him and he wisely let it hit the stupidly large, smug grin on his face.

“Yes, I do,” she said, tartly, “It says ‘stop being an asshole’.”

He laughed again as she prised herself reluctantly from the inviting warmth and softness of the bed.

“Where are you going?” he demanded, pushing himself into a sitting position.

“For a shower, relax,” she replied, snatching up his shirt and draping it around her shoulders as she padded for the door.

She had just opened it when she heard him shift behind her, as she knew he would.

“Would you like an assist?” he asked quietly, stepping up behind her and sliding his arms around her waist, nuzzling gently at her neck.

“I would never say no to a second pair of hands.”

He grinned and she slipped her hand into his and tugged him out after her.

*************************************