A/N: This is another kind-of sequel to 'Oliver vs. Channing' and 'Kung POW.' I probably wrote Luke quite a bit out of character, but for the sake of me wanted to see Luke and Reid jump each other on the show, I took some liberties. Rated M for some strong language/sexuality.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. No infringement intended.
Luke rolled over onto his back, out of breath, sweaty, and trembling with intensity. He felt as though a firecracker had been lit off in his brain, sending his nerves every which way with no time to think or even process what had just happened. And still, he smiled widely.
"Wow," he breathed.
Dr. Oliver—Reid—lay next to him on the floor of the office, equally as spent from their . . . no, lovemaking was too romantic a word. Wild fuck.
Yeah.
Luke had no other way to describe it. One minute he was being pushed up against the wall, teasing the doctor over a pair of chopsticks for their Chinese takeout, and suddenly they were kissing and groping and falling to the floor and ripping each others clothes off and—
"You can say that again," Reid said, looking up at the ceiling as he caught his breath. His skin glistened with sweat, hair matted to his forehead.
Luke rolled his head to the side and scanned his eyes over the doctor's body. He was thin, maybe even a little wiry, but his hard abdomen and strong arms more than made up for anything he might have been lacking. Which wasn't much.
"You really are good at everything, aren't you?" Luke said with a smile.
Reid looked at him, a cocky grin on his face. "I keep telling you, Mr. Snyder. I'm a perfectionist."
Then again, maybe he was lacking in a bit of modesty.
"I think you can start calling me 'Luke' now."
Reid chuckled. It was a sound Luke knew he could get used to hearing.
Just when both men had completely come down off their high, a knock sounded on the door. Reid and Luke looked at each other. Petrified.
"Excuse me?" a voice called on the other side of the door.
"Son of a bitch!" Reid hissed through his teeth.
Instantly, the men clamored off the floor to retrieve their clothes. Their shirts and pants and underwear were tossed around the room like confetti.
"What time is it?" Luke whispered, struggling to get his jeans on.
"I don't know," Reid said, looking around the room as he pulled his button-down shirt around his shoulders.
Another knock sounded. "Excuse me, anyone in here? It's the janitor."
Luke slapped a hand over his mouth and snorted a laugh. Reid waved him off with his hand as he pulled on his pants. "Shut up!"
"Where's my shirt?" Luke asked, looking around the floor.
"Anyone in here?" the janitor called. "I have to clean—"
"Hold your horses!" Reid snapped, frantically buttoning his shirt. He whipped around and made a motion for Luke to somehow disappear. "Hide!" he mouthed.
Luke ducked behind the desk and crawled in the interior. Reid tucked his shirt in, ran a hand through his hair, and opened the door. An elderly man with a thick moustache stared back, startled.
"Oh, hello," the old janitor said. "I wasn't sure if anyone was in here. Sorry to bother you, I just—"
"Yeah, whatever. We're still working in here."
"Is someone else in there with you?"
Reid looked over his shoulder, then back at the janitor. "No. What? I-I meant me, I'm still working, there's no one—" He huffed out a stressed sigh. "I was just leaving."
The janitor stared back, mystified as his mouth hung open. "Okay then. Just leave the light on for me when you leave, please."
"Fine." Reid slammed the door in the old man's face and rubbed his temples as he turned.
"Found my shirt," Luke said, holding it up from below the desk like a striped flag of surrender.
Reid began gathering papers together and stuffed them in his messenger bag by the door. "We gotta get out of here before Jed Clampett comes back."
Luke raised himself from the floor and pulled his shirt on over his head. "What about all the stuff we still have to go over?"
"The meeting's not until three," Reid said, stuffing more papers in his knapsack. "We can look it over in the morning." He looked up at Luke. "Unless you've got a high-society tea to attend, Mr. Snyder?"
Luke shrugged and shook his head. His good humor faded, the intensity and passion of their love—no, wild fuck—having disappeared as soon as the janitor had knocked. He was Mr. Snyder again, and Reid was Dr. Snarky-Comment back in full force.
"I . . . guess I'll see you tomorrow," Luke said, gathering the last of the papers from the desk.
"Yeah, sure," Reid said. He took Luke's leftover Kung Pao and threw it in the trash.
For some strange reason, the dull thud of the cardboard slamming into the small bin made Luke's heart sink. It was so careless. So quick. Reid had tossed it out without a second glance.
When the room reached some semblance of the way it was before, Dr. Oliver opened the door and turned his head to Luke. "Are you coming, Mr. Snyder?"
Luke blinked from his thoughts of lonely Kung Pao chicken and nodded. "Yeah, I'm coming." He went to the door, but was stopped in the frame by the doctor. Maybe this was it, maybe the hard-edged man was finally going to acknowledge what happened between them—
"I would appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about this," Reid said.
The firecracker in Luke's brain fizzled out, leaving him cold and empty inside. He nodded again. "Sure, whatever."
"Good."
With that, the doctor turned away, leaving Luke in a cold wind. He leaned against the doorframe and looked into the office where, just fifteen or so minutes ago, he and Reid had had sex.
And that's all it was.
Sex.
Luke sighed, closed the door, and followed Reid down the corridor to the elevator.
0000000
Reid's day started early with an emergency surgery for a hemorrhagic stroke victim. He was bleary-eyed and restless, having spent all night tossing and turning and seeing that stupid Snyder man's naked torso every time he closed his eyes. When Jacob woke his mother, Katie, for a three a.m. feeding, Reid knew he was in trouble.
Dr. Oliver blinked the sweat from his eyes. If he didn't remove this mass of blood that had built up around Mr. Monroe's brain, the man could die. Reid couldn't have that—he wouldn't have that on his operating table today.
"Doctor?"
Reid nearly jumped at the sound of his assistant from over his shoulder. "What is it, Jean?" he said through his operating mask.
"Do you need me to—"
"I'm fine," Reid snapped. "Gimme some room to breathe."
But he wasn't fine. Not since last night when he had ignored every rational fiber in his body and kissed Lu—Mr. Snyder. He had ignored his better judgment and allowed himself to let go, to give himself to a man he should have hated.
Stupid Snyder and his stupid sexy lips.
Then again—
"Suction, please," Reid said to his other assistant.
Then again, it was a pretty good lay, probably the best he had had in a while. Mr. Snyder may have been a spoiled rich kid, but he knew how to handle his hands and his tongue and his . . . southern region. It had lasted maybe all of twenty minutes, but it was the most satisfying twenty minutes Reid had spent in Oakdale so far.
Dr. Oliver tried not to think about Luke's tongue or lips or the way he moaned when Reid licked and nuzzled his neck—
"Dr. Oliver, the incision is too narrow."
Reid snapped out of his daydream and blinked away more sweat. Get a grip, get a grip, get a grip. "Wipe, please, Jean."
His assistant took a sterilized cloth and wiped Reid's brow as he delved back into his work. Cut now, daydream later.
Stupid Snyder and his stupid distracting body.
0000000
After the surgery, Reid cleaned himself up and got his chart for rounds. It was almost nine, but he still had time to look over the last few blueprints and proposals during lunch. Reid went about his rounds in an even grumpier mood than usual. His lack of sleep bogged him down, made him sluggish and impatient. Though the surgery was a success and Mr. Monroe would live to see grandchildren graduate from college, Reid saw the procedure as a letdown.
Sure, he had gotten the job done. But he was sloppy. Sloppy and distracted. His assistants judge him—he knew it by the way they looked at him and the way they talked in hushed tones to one another.
And it was all Luke Snyder's fault.
Reid looked up from his chart and stopped. The man in question was rounding the corner with a stack of papers under his arm.
Dr. Oliver glared. This was the last time Mr. Snyder was going to make him sloppy in the operating room. He set his chart in the nook where all the other doctors got their orders for rounds and made a b-line for Luke, a frown etching itself on his face. The more he thought about Mr. Snyder's lips and biceps and chest, the angrier he got.
Luke saw the doctor coming towards him and froze. The man looked hell-bent on killing him, or at least making him the next victim on the operating table after he had bashed his brains in. Reid grabbed Luke's arm and pulled him down the corridor.
"What're you doing? Ow!"
"We have to talk," Reid muttered. He pushed Luke into a secluded medicine closet and closed the door.
"What the hell are you doing?" Luke asked, stunned.
"What're you doing at the hospital?"
Luke stared for a moment, completely taken off guard. "I was dropping off some of the proposals I read last night. I thought you might want to take a look at them—"
"Do you have any idea what a pain in my neck you are?"
A cheeky grin crossed Luke's face. "Well, I think we established that a long time ago, Dr. Oliver."
Reid pointed at the man. "Stop that."
"Stop what?"
"That! That cutesy, aw-golly thing you do—with the smile and the shrug and the eyes. You're like a puppy dog spewing cupcakes."
Luke chuckled. "Wow, I didn't think I had that much of an effect on you, Dr. Oliver."
"The only effect you have on me, Mr. Snyder, is my vomiting reflex."
Luke got in Reid's face, close enough to whisper, "Then why did you kiss me last night?"
"I wasn't thinking."
"Then why did we have sex?"
"I wasn't—" Reid paused. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words were gone. All he could focus on were Luke's pouty lips and that barely-there cut he had tasted with his tongue. He raised his eyes to Luke's. "Do you have any idea what a distraction you are to me?"
Again Luke smiled, coyly. "Why, Dr. Oliver," he whispered, "that's probably the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
Reid sighed, drawing out the breath slowly. His blood boiled, his fingertips tingled like shocks of electricity. It was happening again, that urge to smother his brain with a pillow when all it did was scream at him to step away.
"Damn it."
Dr. Oliver crashed his lips to Luke's, pushing him backwards. The impact knocked Luke back until he was pushed against the steel shelves full of medicine. He dropped the papers he had been carrying, scattering them to the floor. Their tongues danced together, hands gripping each other. Dr. Oliver grasped Luke's head in his hands, pulling at his hair, urging him deeper with his tongue and teeth. Luke moaned and Reid pulled away, out of breath.
"Why the hell does this keep happening?" he panted.
"I don't know," Luke said, shaking his head. "But I like it. And I think you do, too."
"God, I hate you."
Again Reid fused their mouths together, teeth climbing and lips parting for more, always more. His groin throbbed and he realized he wanted—no, needed—to see Luke naked again, sweating and shivering under his touch like last night. It was an urge as primal as the need to eat.
Reid came up for air as he felt his beeper go off in his lab coat. He pushed himself away from Luke and checked the number. Surgery again. This time someone needed his assistance on an ependymoma. Non-malignant tumor. Dr. Oliver looked at Luke and the man stared, lips parted, catching his breath. He ran a hand through his hair and dropped on one knee to pick up the papers he had dropped. Reid got on his haunches and helped him gather the documents. He handed Luke a paper and their fingers touched.
They looked at one another, the air buzzing with energy.
Reid clenched his jaw as Mr. Snyder looked at him. It was a gentle sort of expression, patient with just an undertone of lust. It scared Reid a bit, knowing the man felt something other than hatred or even desire for him. Luke's eyes said what his perfect lips could not—"this means something."
Reid pulled away. "This doesn't mean anything," he said. He stood, looking down at Luke. "I'll, uh . . . I'll contact you later about the rest of those documents."
Luke stood. His expression changed from tender and wanting to something else, something darker. He frowned and pushed the papers into Reid's arms. "Fine," Luke said. He turned sharply and exited the closet.
Reid stood in place, papers clutched to his chest, staring at the door as if it could tell him why Mr. Snyder was in such an awful mood. His pager beeped again, snapping him back to reality. He would have to deal with Luke later—right now, he had another life to save.