Title: Touch Me

Author: fais2688/theeyedoesnotSEE

Rating: M

Universe: AU, Mark has a practice in New York

Summary: Lexie Grey schedules an appointment with a plastic surgeon. "My boyfriend would kill me if he were here now."

Author's Note: I know, I'm supposed to be working on the next chapter of Out of My Hands… But when I woke up this morning, this whole thing just popped into my head. I promise to return to my other AU asap!

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Dr. Mark Sloan sighed, running a hand through his hair as he walked out of the OR. He'd only just completed his second surgery of the day and already he was tired. He looked to his watch. It wasn't even ten o'clock yet. What was happening to him?

He took the file the receptionist handed to him, flipping through it quickly as she informed him what room the patient was in and what she was waiting for. Breast augmentation. He sighed. Well, at least this next half-hour would be routine. No scalpels, no anesthesia, just exchanging words with yet another insecure New Yorker. The city was filled with women—and men, too, for that matter—that felt just the same. No one was ever pleased with the way they looked.

He had been pleased with that trend, of course… At first. But now, it was clear things had begun to bore him. Things had become too routine. He had a handful of surgeries in the mornings, maybe seeing a patient or two just to talk like this one, and then break for lunch and return in the afternoon to do it all over again. But at least it was his own practice. At least he'd made a name for himself. As a boobs-and-butt guy. Great. Just what I wanted when I went to medical school.

Mark sighed, running a hand through his hand again and rubbing the side of his face tiredly. He tucked the patient's file under his arm as he reached for the door.

"My girlfriend wants breast implants," the man within announced, barely waiting for Mark to enter the room.

"Jackson," the woman he presumed to be his patient, Alexandra Grey, hissed unhappily.

"Ouch," he muttered after she'd poked him hard in the ribs, "What?" He demanded, rubbing his side. "It is what you want."

"I could've said it myself."

"Well, then why didn't you—"

"Excuse me," Mark interrupted. "But I think I need to speak to Alexandra alone."

"It's Lexie," the couple corrected automatically.

"Right," Mark replied. He looked to the man. "Your name?"

"Jackson Avery."

"Jackson, great. Mark Sloan." He held out his hand and the man shook it uneasily. "It was nice to meet you, but it's time for you leave now." He stared at the man, who seemed not to be able to comprehend what he was saying. "I have to talk to your girlfriend alone," he stressed.

Jackson Avery looked like he was about to protest, but soon enough, he turned away. He exchanged a couple words and a quick kiss with his girlfriend as Mark sat down in one of those surprisingly uncomfortable swivel chairs, and then he was gone. Mark rolled the chair towards where his patient sat on the exam table, studying her file.

"You're here to discuss breast augmentation?" He asked, finally lifting his head to his patient.

"Yes," she answered.

He studied her for a moment—taking a few extra seconds to look over her chest—and immediately deemed that the surgery wasn't necessary. Her breasts weren't huge—they wouldn't stop a guy in his tracks—but there was nothing wrong with them that he could see. In fact, they framed her body nicely. He liked the way her hair tumbled down just to the crest of them; it worked to accentuate what she already had.

"And you're sure you want to go through with it?" He asked.

His patient—Lexie, he remembered being corrected, not Alexandra—laughed, tossing her hair to the side. "A plastic surgeon's trying to talk me out of a procedure? Who would've thought..."

Mark ignored that. "Your boyfriend seems a little domineering," he replied, ignoring the outrage that passed over her features at his blunt assessment. "I'm here to make sure you're not going into this just because you want to please him."

The brunette jutted her chin out defiantly. "Who says I'm doing it for him? How do you know I'm not tired of having the rack of a twelve-year-old?"

Mark couldn't help but smile, though he ducked his head so she wouldn't see. "You don't have a twelve-year-old's rack," he replied seriously when he could.

"How do you know?" She muttered unhappily. "You haven't seen me naked."

"Want to change that?"

Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened so much that they looked two sizes too big for her face. "What the hell—"

"For the purposes of your surgical request," he replied, smiling faintly at her surprise, "I really do need to take a look at your chest without your clothes on. Just to see what we're dealing with here."

Her shock faded, and she set aside her purse. "It's not much," she murmured apologetically, reaching for her purple sweater.

Mark tried not to watch the way she stripped it off, followed quickly by her camisole, and the almost self-conscious way she shrugged out of her bra. He felt suddenly very jealous of that guy Jackson, who was no doubt standing only a few hundred yards away in the waiting room while Mark oogled his girlfriend's breasts... For medical purposes, of course. He tried not to frown. He got to look, but he got to have her.

Mark tried not to think of her in such concrete terms when he studied her breasts. He knew if he thought of her, really thought of her, he'd only end up being put in a miserably uncomfortable and turned-on position. Sometimes he hated his job. Here was this gorgeous woman sitting in front of him, baring her breasts to him… And he got to call it work. Most would call him lucky, but he found it to be incredibly frustrating. Especially when his patients happened to look like her.

"Aren't you… supposed to feel them?" Lexie wondered, sounding a bit confused.

Mark lifted his head, unable to smirk a bit at her request. "Not unless I deem it completely necessary. It might be silly of me, but I get the idea most women don't like to be felt up by their doctor."

Lexie snorted softly. "Yeah, maybe some doctors, but definitely not you." Her face flushed bright red a second after she finished speaking, as if she'd only just realized what she said. He held up a hand when she tried to stutter out an apology.

"Don't worry about it." He grinned. "I get that all time. Women always want my hands on their breasts."

Lexie—thank God—somehow managed to keep her mouth shut this time, and refrained from replying that she wouldn't mind it if he deemed it 'completely necessary' for him to fondle her tits. She would welcome his touch, in fact. She stared at him as he continued studying her breasts, and suddenly she just needed him to feel them. She needed him to know. She couldn't just sit here with him staring at her.

"Just—touch them!" She ordered, grabbing his hands and putting them on her chest. Too shocked by her sudden outburst to pull back, Dr. Mark Sloan found himself alone in a room with a half-naked patient who demanded he put his hands on her tits. And he had complied.

But the mood was obviously far from amorous; he could see pain waiting beneath the surface of her self-conscious expression. He half-expected her breasts to shrink in his hands, to grow small and tiny because of her discomfort with them, but the opposite happened. When she took a deep breath, her small breasts nearly filled his large hands.

"They're tiny," she muttered unhappily. "You can touch them—I mean, really touch them, hold them—and see." She grabbed one of his hands in hers and manipulated it to palm her breast and then squeeze it lightly. "Too small," she murmured, apparently unaware that she was giving her doctor a huge hard-on.

Telling himself he was following her instructions, he quietly mimicked the motions she'd had him carry out on one breast to the other. He took it upon himself to drag his fingers slowly over her nipples. He told himself it was for medical purposes, and that he should know the exact degree of response they elicit when touched so he could make sure they remained the same after the procedure.

She chuckled quietly when she felt her nipples harden immediately. "That's the only good thing about them," she confided with a smile. "Responsive as hell."

Mark couldn't stop staring at her. He struggled to swallow and look away, but her gaze held him.

"My boyfriend would kill me if he were here right now," she said softly.

Though he knew it was his cue to do so, Mark didn't remove his hands from her breasts. Instead, he rubbed his thumbs over her nipples again, just to feel how tight they were. He tried not to think of how long it had been since the last time he'd had sex.

"Good thing he isn't here now, then," he murmured. She stared down at him with something unreadable hidden in her dark eyes. He waited for her to speak, trying to puzzle out which polite—or not-so-polite—way she would order his hands off of her body. But she didn't say that at all.

She reached down and covered his hand with hers, guiding his thumb over her nipple once again. "They've never gotten that hard that fast before." Her voice was quiet, almost observational. Her matter-of-fact tone led him to wonder if she actually felt his touch at all. He was hard as hell, but for all he knew, she was dry as a bone.

"You said they were responsive."

"They are." She paused, finding his blue eyes with her dark ones. "When I'm with the right man."

"I get the feeling you make a habit of picking wrong men, then," he noted, "especially if you feel you've got to augment your breasts to please them."

"I told you it isn't for him."

"Then who's it for?" He wondered, still not removing his hands from her breasts. He'd decided the moment he touched them that he'd wait until she ordered him away before he let go. He let his fingers skim the undersides, and bit the inside of his lower lip to mask his shit-eating grin with a look of concentration. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this turned on by patient. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this turned on at all, and he was certainly no stranger to beautiful and alluring women.

"Al…right," Mark began, reluctantly removing her hands from his breasts just a few seconds later. He bit back an unhappy sigh as he did so—his hands already felt empty without her breasts to fill them—but he knew it was necessary. Though he would have loved to go on for hours just holding her tits like that, he knew that he couldn't keep it up without soon having to tear off the rest of her clothes and fuck her here and now like the promiscuous male lead in some daytime soap. "You can put your clothes back on." He turned away, busying himself with some paperwork as she dressed. He tried not to peek at her from the corner of his eyes, and he hoped she didn't noticed when he faltered. He took a breath before turning back to her once she was fully clothed. "You want to tell me what this is really about?" He asked.

"I told you—"

"You do not have the rack of a twelve-year-old," he informed her. "Actually," he continued matter-of-factly, "your breasts are perfectly suited to the size of your body." He paused. "That's usually how breasts work." He stifled a smile when she rolled her eyes. "Now," he began, "when women come to me looking for breast implants, the first question I ask is, Who are you doing this for?" He looked at her pointedly until she realized she was supposed to answer.

"I'm not—" She started to reply.

He cut of her off unceremoniously, "Interestingly enough, I didn't have to bother asking with you, since the answer was the one to demand the augmentation in the first place."

"He didn't demand anything," Lexie muttered. "He's just a straight-forward guy." But she looked down, and Mark could tell that though maybe her boyfriend hadn't used words, the intent was clear.

"You want to tell me why you're so ready to please him?"

Lexie sighed. It took her a minute, but eventually she replied. "You've seen him," she muttered. "Jackson looks…" She sighed, looking into his eyes dejectedly. "I'm just trying to keep up, is all. To match what he has."

"And breast implants is the way to go about doing that?"

She didn't reply.

"Have you talked to him about this, about how you don't feel like you're measuring up?"

She shook her head. "He wouldn't understand."

No shit he wouldn't understand, Mark thought to himself, but that's because it's not true. "Maybe you'll be surprised," he replied.

Her dark eyes flickered to his. "I'm sorry, are you a psychiatrist or a plastic surgeon?"

Mark smiled thinly. "Sometimes both." He paused. "I've seen a lot of women come in for breast implants... And more often than not, I've seen them return after the procedure because they're unhappy with what they got. Their boyfriend or husband or girlfriend likes them fine enough, but now they feel like a fake. A fraud. And big boobs aren't fixing the other problems in their relationship." He looked her in the eye. "Somehow, I don't have a hard time believing you'll be back once we send you on your way."

"If he's happy, I'm happy."

"Exactly," Mark replied, feeling himself get unnecessarily testy now. "But haven't you ever thought about being happy for yourself? Haven't you ever thought of doing something just for you?"

Lexie laughed quietly, looking down. "What are you, a motivational speaker on your days off?"

"I'm a surgeon," he replied. "So I don't get any days off. But like I said, being a psychiatrist is sometimes needed in this field. Being a motivational speaker is definitely needed, but more so for the other half of what people always assume is purely a cosmetic line of work."

She stared at him for a moment, thinking of what else a plastic surgeon might specialize in besides implants and nose jobs. "So what," she wondered, "you tell people that everything will be okay once you downsize their scars?"

"No," he replied patiently, "I tell people everything will be okay even when two-thirds of their body's covered in third-degree burns. I tell people everything will be okay even when they can't hear me because they're delirious with pain and screaming their head off." Her face had grown markedly pale—if from embarrassment or frightened surprise, he couldn't be sure—so he tried to smile when he told her, "Breast and butt implants aren't all I do."

She smiled faintly. "That's… good to know. If I ever get covered in third-degree burns."

Mark's lips twitched before he glanced at his watch. He realized it was probably time to wrap this up, so he got to his feet. He carefully positioned her file in front of her waist to hide his still-simmering erection. Internally, he seethed. What the hell was he going to do about that? He had surgery in forty-five minutes! There was no way he could walk through the halls with a file clutched against his waist—it would take all of two second's for the practice's staff to realize just what was going on. He was suddenly very angry with this Lexie woman, not only for looking like she did, but for going out of her way to do nothing but tease him.

The rational part of him knew it wasn't her fault. He knew it was unintentional. She saw herself as below average physically, and she longed for someone to tell her different. She was desperate for attention, something that translated very easily into blatantly sexual terms. He bit back a sigh. If only she didn't have a boyfriend. If she'd come here alone, he wouldn't have hesitated on hitting on her. It would have been out of line and over the top, but he'd found in his experience that women liked that. Everyone craved a bit of danger, a bit of intrigue, and women always loved to be at the center of it all.

He cleared his throat and marshaled his thoughts. "You'll probably want to make an appointment with the receptionist," he informed her, watching as she gathered her purse and slipped off the table. She was just a few inches shorter than him, he noticed. "We'll have to have a series of sessions before the actual surgery—if you do decide to go through with it, that is. I—"

"If I decide to go through with it?" She turned just as they were reaching the door. "What are you talking about?"

He gave her a quick smile. "Lexie, I've been a plastic surgeon for almost a decade. Trust me when I say that I know my patients—and many who come in for their first session don't always come back."

"I'll be back," she replied hotly.

He held up his hands with a smile. "You have nothing to prove to me, Lexie. This is about you, not me…" He let his hands fall while he looked her in the eye. "And this is definitely not about your boyfriend."

"Well, seeing as he'll be the one touching them, I think this is—" she mocked his emphasis "—definitely about him too."

Mark shrugged. "Hey, I touched them too," he smirked. He wondered in the back of his head when that would come back to bite him in the ass. He assumed revenge would come in the form of an incensed Jackson Avery, though that thought in itself was a bit comical. "I see no reason for you need to upgrade."

"Then you didn't touch them properly," she replied, clearly annoyed now. "If you had, you would've realized that they don't fit."

Mark sighed, not bothering to hide his exasperation. "They fit perfectly well, Lexie."

She threw her hands up angrily, turning away. "I am sick of men lying to me," she growled, reaching for the door.

Mark Sloan didn't know why he did what he did next. He knew it was wrong. On so many levels, it was wrong. He was her doctor, her caregiver, the one she was trusting with her well-being. And it wasn't as if she was single—she had a boyfriend, waiting just a couple hundred yards away, for Christ's sake. He knew it went against every rule in the book—written and unwritten. It was immoral, unethical, unsavory. It would get him into trouble, and deep trouble at that.

But he did it anyway.

He grabbed her arm, whirled her around, and pressed his lips so hard against hers that her back hit the door with an audible thud. Her purse dropped to the floor a moment later, with a matching thud, and was quickly accompanied by his chart, which flew open on impact and scattered papers all over the floor. Neither pretended to care about the mess, or even stopped to think about what they were doing. Her arms reached up to wind around his neck while his hefted her up against the door without a second thought. Their mouths never parted.

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Author's Note: So… Yeah. This was the first thing that popped into my mind when I woke up this morning. I think I have a problem. Anyway—I would love to hear what you guys thought of this. Please leave me a review below!