monogamy and the common surgeon {ga - burke/cristina}
Title: Monogamy And The Common Surgeon
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Cristina. Burke/Cristina; implied Owen/Cristina.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,312
Author's Note: nursebadass wanted smut, specifically Burke/Cristina, and so I tried for that. Also, this isn't really a 'let's trash 'insert name here' fic either. Promise. Even with the cheating.
Summary: Future-fic or AU. Take your pick. Cristina's always been monogamous. It's less of a conscious choice and more of a time management problem. But, like with everything, there are exceptions to the rule.
Cristina’s always been monogamous.
It’s less of a conscious choice and more of a time management problem. She doesn’t have time to cheat. Certainly not the energy. Somehow the idea of forbidden fucking in the on-call room doesn’t quite trip her trigger as much as the idea of possibly holding a human heart in her hands does.
If you walk these halls though, that might as well be considered blasphemy.
(For the record, just because she’s best friends with Meredith - specifically just because she was best friends with Meredith when she was full-on dark and twisty, sleeping with random men at the bar and, you know, people like George - doesn’t mean that she subscribes to the same way of life).
She’s never been one to follow rules anyways.
She’s always been one to break them when it suits her.
“Did you lock the door?”
“Cristina.”
Her hands hit him square in the chest and he ends up several inches back from where he started. Her game, her rules, and after what she’s been through with him, with relationships in general as of late, he should know this. “You know, I still have to work here once you’ve skipped town again.”
“You mean you still have to play house with him.” Burke’s gotten bitter over the years. So has she. At least they’re evolving together; it’s more than she can say for the state of things by the time he tore off back to Alabama and left her in an empty apartment that reminded her both completely and not at all of him.
She tries to shove him again but his fingers wrap around her wrists and then he’s got her arms pinned to the wall as he crushes his mouth to hers. She gets his bottom lip between her teeth, bites down, and shifts her hips against his. He’s hard against her but her hands are otherwise occupied, his fingers biting into her skin, and she’s not feeling all that generous.
“Jealous?” Cristina half-asks, half-hisses at him, straining a little against his grasp. The black lace material of her bra (not red, nothing bold or out of the ordinary, because that would insinuate that she’d planned this; that would insinuate that she was trying to change some part of her for someone else and she’s all but done with that) presses against his bare chest as she pushes closer to him in the process. If he wants to move this along, and she has a feeling that he does, then he’s got to let go of her first.
“Hardly.” One hand drops from hers, running down the smooth skin of her stomach and then dipping beneath the waistband of her scrub bottoms. His fingers push aside her underwear, teasing, and she makes a one-armed attempt at getting her pants off seconds later, giving him more access. She’ll totally be the only naked one in this equation if it gets her what she wants.
Her pants and her underwear bunch around her ankles and, free from barriers, he slips two fingers inside of her, pushing her back on an angle and the cold metal shelf full of medical supplies next to her leaves marks in the backs of her thighs before she maneuvers them again, readjusts so there’s nothing but the wall behind her, solid and flat, and she’s trapped between that and him. Trapped is really too negative of a word here.
His fingers are insistent and her hips buck against him, the hand still pinned to the wall aching to grab onto him, to dig into his skin, but he shows no signs of letting go and so she bends her wrist, her nails digging into his where he holds her. There will be little half-moon marks afterwards and there’s a part of her that wants to make him bleed, leave a mark for him to see on the plane ride back.
This is what you’re leaving behind. This is what you gave up.
His thumb brushes her clit and he slips a third into her, not at all being gentle about it, and she’s definitely thinking about getting his pants off now, getting him inside of her. He picks up the pace and his lips find her neck, a combined sensation that keeps her tongue between her teeth to force the words back inside.
“Does he do this?” He murmurs into her ear, soft tones that are cut with something angry, something definitely jealous, and she won’t give him any satisfaction. She won’t give him anything about her life with Owen. When she doesn’t answer, he twists his fingers just right and pulls out too quick, the loss of sensation making her moan despite her best intentions. “Does he know what you like?”
“Shut up,” she grinds out, and he curls his fingers inside of her.
Three things happen in the next two seconds:
1) The doorknob turns.
2) Owen’s voice sounds, loud and clear. “Cristina, is that you?”
3) She comes around Burke’s fingers, her eyes focused on Owen’s for half a second before the close and her head falls back against the wall. It’s not something she can just stop in the middle of and so her hips arch up and her breathing quickens and she doesn’t do a damn thing to hide any of it.
There’s a tense moment where she’s still coming down and the two men are just staring at each other, Owen with his hand still wrapped around the doorknob, vice grip, and the door not quite closed, and Burke with his hand still between them, fingers still inside of her. There’s a thought that this might lead to fighting, actual knock-down, drag-out fighting, that she just doesn’t have the energy or the patience for.
First time she really bothers to cheat and of course it figures that she would get caught by the last person in the world she wanted to find out.
It couldn’t have been Meredith. Of course not.
“Cristina,” Owen starts, prompting, a ‘care to explain’ of sorts.
“Yes,” Burke says, looking at her now, intense and just as insistent as his fingers had been. She knows what he wants. She knows what both of them want; they want to come out the victor. “Cristina.”
She looks between the two of them, Mexican standoff time, and wonders at what point the tables turned on her. She wonders why she can never keep the upper hand.
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Cristina. Burke/Cristina; implied Owen/Cristina.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,312
Author's Note: nursebadass wanted smut, specifically Burke/Cristina, and so I tried for that. Also, this isn't really a 'let's trash 'insert name here' fic either. Promise. Even with the cheating.
Summary: Future-fic or AU. Take your pick. Cristina's always been monogamous. It's less of a conscious choice and more of a time management problem. But, like with everything, there are exceptions to the rule.
Cristina’s always been monogamous.
It’s less of a conscious choice and more of a time management problem. She doesn’t have time to cheat. Certainly not the energy. Somehow the idea of forbidden fucking in the on-call room doesn’t quite trip her trigger as much as the idea of possibly holding a human heart in her hands does.
If you walk these halls though, that might as well be considered blasphemy.
(For the record, just because she’s best friends with Meredith - specifically just because she was best friends with Meredith when she was full-on dark and twisty, sleeping with random men at the bar and, you know, people like George - doesn’t mean that she subscribes to the same way of life).
She’s never been one to follow rules anyways.
She’s always been one to break them when it suits her.
“Did you lock the door?”
“Cristina.”
Her hands hit him square in the chest and he ends up several inches back from where he started. Her game, her rules, and after what she’s been through with him, with relationships in general as of late, he should know this. “You know, I still have to work here once you’ve skipped town again.”
“You mean you still have to play house with him.” Burke’s gotten bitter over the years. So has she. At least they’re evolving together; it’s more than she can say for the state of things by the time he tore off back to Alabama and left her in an empty apartment that reminded her both completely and not at all of him.
She tries to shove him again but his fingers wrap around her wrists and then he’s got her arms pinned to the wall as he crushes his mouth to hers. She gets his bottom lip between her teeth, bites down, and shifts her hips against his. He’s hard against her but her hands are otherwise occupied, his fingers biting into her skin, and she’s not feeling all that generous.
“Jealous?” Cristina half-asks, half-hisses at him, straining a little against his grasp. The black lace material of her bra (not red, nothing bold or out of the ordinary, because that would insinuate that she’d planned this; that would insinuate that she was trying to change some part of her for someone else and she’s all but done with that) presses against his bare chest as she pushes closer to him in the process. If he wants to move this along, and she has a feeling that he does, then he’s got to let go of her first.
“Hardly.” One hand drops from hers, running down the smooth skin of her stomach and then dipping beneath the waistband of her scrub bottoms. His fingers push aside her underwear, teasing, and she makes a one-armed attempt at getting her pants off seconds later, giving him more access. She’ll totally be the only naked one in this equation if it gets her what she wants.
Her pants and her underwear bunch around her ankles and, free from barriers, he slips two fingers inside of her, pushing her back on an angle and the cold metal shelf full of medical supplies next to her leaves marks in the backs of her thighs before she maneuvers them again, readjusts so there’s nothing but the wall behind her, solid and flat, and she’s trapped between that and him. Trapped is really too negative of a word here.
His fingers are insistent and her hips buck against him, the hand still pinned to the wall aching to grab onto him, to dig into his skin, but he shows no signs of letting go and so she bends her wrist, her nails digging into his where he holds her. There will be little half-moon marks afterwards and there’s a part of her that wants to make him bleed, leave a mark for him to see on the plane ride back.
This is what you’re leaving behind. This is what you gave up.
His thumb brushes her clit and he slips a third into her, not at all being gentle about it, and she’s definitely thinking about getting his pants off now, getting him inside of her. He picks up the pace and his lips find her neck, a combined sensation that keeps her tongue between her teeth to force the words back inside.
“Does he do this?” He murmurs into her ear, soft tones that are cut with something angry, something definitely jealous, and she won’t give him any satisfaction. She won’t give him anything about her life with Owen. When she doesn’t answer, he twists his fingers just right and pulls out too quick, the loss of sensation making her moan despite her best intentions. “Does he know what you like?”
“Shut up,” she grinds out, and he curls his fingers inside of her.
Three things happen in the next two seconds:
1) The doorknob turns.
2) Owen’s voice sounds, loud and clear. “Cristina, is that you?”
3) She comes around Burke’s fingers, her eyes focused on Owen’s for half a second before the close and her head falls back against the wall. It’s not something she can just stop in the middle of and so her hips arch up and her breathing quickens and she doesn’t do a damn thing to hide any of it.
There’s a tense moment where she’s still coming down and the two men are just staring at each other, Owen with his hand still wrapped around the doorknob, vice grip, and the door not quite closed, and Burke with his hand still between them, fingers still inside of her. There’s a thought that this might lead to fighting, actual knock-down, drag-out fighting, that she just doesn’t have the energy or the patience for.
First time she really bothers to cheat and of course it figures that she would get caught by the last person in the world she wanted to find out.
It couldn’t have been Meredith. Of course not.
“Cristina,” Owen starts, prompting, a ‘care to explain’ of sorts.
“Yes,” Burke says, looking at her now, intense and just as insistent as his fingers had been. She knows what he wants. She knows what both of them want; they want to come out the victor. “Cristina.”
She looks between the two of them, Mexican standoff time, and wonders at what point the tables turned on her. She wonders why she can never keep the upper hand.