Mark Sloan x fem!reader 𓂃 explicit sexual content, dom/sub dynamics, semi-public sex, praise kink, light bondage, dirty talk, mark being mark but also surprisingly soft, 18+ only
You'd been avoiding him for three days.
Which, in a hospital the size of Seattle Grace, should've been easy. Should've been simple. Except Mark Sloan had a sixth sense for finding people who didn't want to be found, and you were starting to think he'd made it his personal mission to corner you in every supply closet, break room, and empty hallway in the building.
"You're being ridiculous," Cristina said, not looking up from her chart. "Just fuck him and get it over with."
"I'm not going to—" You lowered your voice, glancing around the nurses' station. "I'm not going to fuck him."
"Why not? Everyone else has."
You shot her a look. She shrugged.
"I'm just saying. McSteamy's got a reputation for a reason. Might as well find out if it's warranted."
The thing was, you already knew it was warranted. You'd heard the stories. The nurses who got weak-kneed when he smiled at them. The attendings who'd snuck off to on-call rooms with him. Mark Sloan was a walking, talking sex god, and he knew it.
Which was exactly why you'd been avoiding him.
Because three nights ago, at Joe's bar, after too many tequila shots and not enough common sense, you'd let him back you against the wall outside the bathroom. You'd let him kiss you like he was trying to consume you whole. You'd let his hands slide under your shirt, his thigh press between your legs, his mouth trail hot and wet down your neck while you gasped his name.
And then your pager had gone off, and you'd run like your ass was on fire.
You froze. That voice—low, smooth, with just a hint of amusement—made your stomach flip.
Cristina looked up, saw Mark standing behind you, and actually smirked. "I'll just... go check on that thing." She disappeared before you could murder her.
You turned slowly. Mark was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, looking unfairly good in his scrubs. His hair was slightly messed up, like he'd been running his hands through it, and there was a hint of stubble on his jaw that made you want to bite it.
"Dr. Sloan," you said, proud of how steady your voice sounded.
"You've been avoiding me."
"Bullshit." He pushed off the counter, moving closer. Not close enough to be inappropriate—Mark knew exactly where that line was—but close enough that you could smell his cologne. "You ran away from me at Joe's."
"Your pager didn't go off until after you were already halfway to the door." His eyes—those stupidly blue eyes—locked onto yours. "What are you scared of?"
"No?" He tilted his head, studying you. "Then why are you running?"
Because you knew—knew—that if you let yourself have him, it wouldn't be enough. One night wouldn't be enough. One kiss, one touch, one taste wouldn't be enough. Mark Sloan was the kind of addiction you couldn't afford.
"I'm not running," you said. "I'm being smart."
Something flickered in his expression. "Smart."
"You're Mark Sloan. You don't do relationships. You do one-night stands and casual hookups and—"
"And you think that's all I want from you?"
The question caught you off guard. "Isn't it?"
He stared at you for a long moment. Then he leaned in, his mouth close to your ear, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent shivers down your spine.
"On-call room. Fourth floor. Twenty minutes." He pulled back, his eyes dark. "If you're brave enough."
Then he walked away, leaving you standing there with your heart pounding and heat pooling low in your belly.
You told yourself you weren't going.
You told yourself this was a bad idea.
You told yourself that Mark Sloan was trouble wrapped in surgical scrubs and a cocky smile, and you should stay far, far away.
But twenty minutes later, you were standing outside the on-call room on the fourth floor, your hand on the doorknob, your pulse racing.
Mark was sitting on the bed, elbows on his knees, looking up when you entered. The door clicked shut behind you, and for a moment, neither of you moved.
"I'm going to regret this."
"Probably." He stood, crossing the small space between you in two strides. "But you're going to enjoy it first."
His mouth was on yours before you could respond, hot and demanding and perfect. You gasped against his lips, and he took advantage, his tongue sliding against yours as his hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him.
God, he was good at this. Too good. His hands knew exactly where to touch, how much pressure to apply, when to be gentle and when to be rough. He backed you against the door, his body pinning yours, and you could feel how hard he was already, pressing against your stomach.
"Mark," you breathed when he moved to your neck, sucking and biting in a way that would definitely leave marks.
"Tell me what you want," he murmured against your skin.
"I—" You couldn't think straight. His hands were sliding under your scrub top, fingers tracing patterns on your bare skin. "I don't know."
He pulled back, looking at you with those intense blue eyes. "Yes, you do. You've been thinking about it for three days. Tell me."
Your face heated. Because he was right. You had been thinking about it. About him. About all the things you wanted him to do to you.
"I want..." You swallowed hard. "I want you to take control."
Something dark and hungry flashed in his eyes. "Yeah?"
"I want you to take control," you repeated, your voice stronger now. "I want you to tell me what to do. I want—I want you to make me feel good."
"Fuck," he breathed. Then his mouth was on yours again, harder this time, more demanding. His hands slid down to your ass, lifting you, and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bed.
He laid you down, hovering over you, and the look in his eyes made your breath catch. "Ground rules," he said. "You say stop, we stop. You say slow down, we slow down. Got it?"
The praise sent a jolt of heat through you, and from the smirk on his face, he noticed. "Oh, you like that, don't you?"
You bit your lip, nodding.
"Yes," you whispered. "I like it."
"I'm going to have so much fun with you." He kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, as his hands worked your scrub top up and over your head. Your bra followed quickly, and then his mouth was on your breast, tongue circling your nipple while his hand palmed the other.
You arched into him, gasping, and he hummed in approval. "So responsive," he murmured. "So perfect."
His mouth trailed lower, kissing and licking down your stomach, and your hands fisted in his hair. He looked up at you as he hooked his fingers in your scrub pants, asking silent permission. You lifted your hips in answer, and he pulled them off along with your underwear, leaving you completely bare beneath him.
"Gorgeous," he said, his hands running up your thighs. "Spread your legs for me, baby."
You did, feeling exposed and vulnerable and so turned on you could barely breathe.
Mark settled between your thighs, his breath hot against your core. "I'm going to make you come on my tongue," he said conversationally, like he was discussing a surgical procedure. "And you're going to be a good girl and stay quiet, because we're in a hospital and anyone could walk by. Understand?"
His grin was wicked. "Fast learner."
Then his mouth was on you, and you had to slap a hand over your mouth to keep from crying out. His tongue was everywhere—licking, sucking, circling your clit with just the right amount of pressure. He slid two fingers inside you, curling them perfectly, and you saw stars.
"That's it," he murmured against you. "So wet for me. So sweet."
You were already close, embarrassingly close, and when he sucked your clit while his fingers hit that spot inside you, you came apart, biting down on your hand to muffle your moan.
Mark worked you through it, only pulling back when you started to squirm from oversensitivity. He kissed his way back up your body, and when he reached your mouth, you could taste yourself on his lips.
"Good?" he asked, though the smug look on his face said he already knew the answer.
"Really good," you admitted.
"We're not done yet." He stood, stripping off his scrub top, and your mouth went dry. You'd seen him shirtless before—it was hard to avoid in a hospital—but never like this. Never with his eyes dark and hungry, never with his muscles flexing as he reached for his pants.
He pulled a condom from his wallet (of course he had one ready), and you watched as he rolled it on, your core clenching in anticipation.
"Turn over," he said. "Hands on the headboard."
You obeyed, positioning yourself on your hands and knees, gripping the metal headboard. You felt him move behind you, his hands running over your ass, squeezing appreciatively.
"So fucking beautiful," he murmured. Then he was pushing inside you, slow and steady, and you both groaned at the sensation.
He was big—bigger than you'd expected—and the stretch was almost too much. But he went slow, giving you time to adjust, his hands soothing on your hips.
"Okay?" he asked, his voice strained.
He did, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, setting a rhythm that had you gasping. One hand stayed on your hip, holding you steady, while the other slid up your back, into your hair, gripping gently.
"You feel so good," he groaned. "So tight. So perfect."
The praise made you clench around him, and he cursed, his hips snapping harder. "You like when I tell you how good you are, don't you?"
"Such a good girl. Taking me so well." His hand tightened in your hair, pulling your head back slightly, and the sensation sent pleasure-pain shooting through you. "You're going to come for me again, aren't you?"
"That's right." He shifted his angle slightly, hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. "Come on, baby. Let me feel it."
His other hand slid around to your clit, circling it with just the right pressure, and that was all it took. You came with a muffled cry, your whole body shaking, and Mark followed seconds later, groaning your name as he buried himself deep.
For a moment, neither of you moved, both breathing hard. Then Mark carefully pulled out, disposing of the condom before collapsing on the bed beside you. You turned to face him, suddenly feeling shy.
"That was..." you started.
"Yeah," he agreed, a lazy smile on his face. "It really was."
You expected him to get up, get dressed, make some excuse to leave. That's what guys like Mark Sloan did, right?
But instead, he pulled you against his chest, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your shoulder.
"For the record," he said quietly, "I don't want this to be a one-time thing."
You pulled back to look at him. "What?"
"I like you. Have for a while." He looked almost vulnerable, which was strange on Mark Sloan. "I know my reputation. I know what people say about me. But I'm not that guy anymore. Or at least, I don't want to be."
"You don't have to decide anything right now," he said quickly. "I just wanted you to know. This isn't just sex for me. You're not just another hookup."
You stared at him, searching his face for any sign of bullshit. But all you saw was sincerity.
"Okay," you said finally. "Let's see where this goes."
His smile was brilliant. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." You kissed him, soft and sweet. "But if you hurt me, I'm telling Callie, and she'll kick your ass."
He laughed. "Fair enough."
You stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, until your pagers inevitably went off. As you got dressed, Mark caught your hand, pulling you in for one more kiss.
"Dinner tonight?" he asked.
"Are you asking me on a date, Dr. Sloan?"
As you left the on-call room, trying to look professional and not like you'd just had the best sex of your life, you caught Cristina's eye across the hallway. She took one look at you, at your slightly messed-up hair and the hickey you definitely hadn't managed to hide, and shook her head.
You flipped her off, but you were smiling.
Maybe Mark Sloan was trouble. But maybe—just maybe—he was the kind of trouble worth having.
ivy chit chat ! - mark sloan has me in a chokehold and i'm not even sorry about it. the man could ruin my life and i'd say thank you. anyway, hope you enjoyed this! let me know if you want a part 2 because i have IDEAS.
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