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If he had a nickel for every time a conversation started with a woman saying, "You know what?!" and ended with him in a vacant hospital room with his scrubs around his ankles, well…let's just say he'd have enough to buy Sandra that fancy push-up bra he just knows she's always wanted.
It's different this time, though. See, he's used to those words having some bite. Whenever Jordan says them, she snaps the last part off so fast and hard that he can practically feel the sting. It's like a slap to the face. When Barbie says them, it's just… shrill. In fact, he's actually surprised that he managed to pick out the fact that she was using whole words over the sounds of all the glass in the hospital shattering from the pitch.
Of course, none of that explains the position that he's currently in. See, he doesn't like annoying. Annoying does nothing for him except, well, annoy him. So why, oh why, as he holds Barbie bent over the hospital bed, is he thinking about screwing her brains out instead of doing something more productive and beneficial to mankind as a whole, like, say, choking her?
It could be because she's somewhat (gasp) attractive now that she's stopped looking so much like the little baby intern he used to know (although he will never, ever, hee-ever admit that). Or the fact that his patients are doing so well that he's actually bored today.
But it probably has more to do with the fact that even though she's the one bent over a bed with her skirt pushed up around her hips and that ridiculous thong she insists on wearing to work to avoid something he's heard her refer to as "VPL" hanging off one ankle, she has the nerve to say this as he runs his hand over the top of her thigh:
"What, you're not going to feed me any sensitive liberal blather about equality and respect before you do that?"
Yeeeeah, that might have just a teensy, eensy weensy little bit to do with it, he thinks as he pushes two fingers into her. She jumps like it's a surprise that he does it, like she never made the connection between "naked from the waist down and trash talking" to "about to have rough sex." Or maybe she did make the connection (she's pushing back against his hand now, making these small little gasping noises) and Kelso was right when he said she was just too damn easy to startle. Either explanation works for him. He can't say he gives much of a damn.
Apparently, that whole not giving much of a damn thing does it for Barbie, though, because she is really, really wet in a way that he would be tempted to mock her for if he were a lesser man (or he might just be saving the mocking for later; it's so hard to tell). And she's tight. He didn't really expect that.
When he takes his hand away after a minute, she lets out this short, desperate squeak that makes him feel torn between cringing and laughing. Maybe he'd hold back and torture her a little if he weren't so damn hard already, but what can he say? Catty just does it for him. Always has, always will, and he's never been the type for impulse control.
He thrusts into her in one motion, not really caring much about the gentleness aspect (she might be fragile as hell emotionally, but he's pretty sure she can handle a little physical force). It feels good to be inside of her, all hot and slick and wanting. It feels really, ridiculously good, and he can't really resist throwing in a little verbal barb to make it all the sweeter.
"You know," he grunts as he pulls his hips back and arches them forward again. "The jackasses that you vote for would like nothing more than to make fine, wholesome activities like this completely illegal."
"Good thing," she pants as she raises her ass to meet him. "We totally should not be doing this." She pauses. "Oh, and shut up, ok?"
He raises his eyebrows (although he's a little disappointed that she can't actually see the mock shock he has all over his face) and reaches around in front of her. "That's funny there, Barbie, because you must have grown a pair of brass ones sometime between now and a few minutes ago, but I just cannot for the life of me find them. Care to give a guy a hand?"
"Oh my god, what about 'shut up' did you not get," she snaps as she reaches down to tangle her fingers with his. She guides his hand down further, presses it against her clit, and the moan she lets out when the pads of his fingers just barely brush over it is enough to make his cock throb inside of her.
He hates to admit it, but he's already getting close. Maybe it's the unfamiliar sight of long, blonde hair or the way she's keening all high and needy as he fucks her. Hell, maybe it's the fact that she's going up on her toes every time he pushes his hips against her ass and it's the sexiest damn thing he's seen in a long time.
Or maybe he just likes fucking someone he hates. Either way.
Luckily, he doesn't have to be too embarrassed because all it takes is a new angle and a few circles with his fingers, and she's coming for him. She stiffens and lets out this breathless gasp, and he can feel her muscles spasming, pulling him in. He gives himself over to it, lets himself come buried to the hilt inside of her.
It's a few minutes before they pull apart, and she can barely look at him while she smooths her skirt. It's like he's seeing the old version of her of all a sudden, the one he absolutely can't stand instead of just mostly can't stand. The confidence is all gone.
He sighs. "Look," he says to her, putting on his best 'everything will be fine' tone. "What do you say we never mention this to anyone, ok?" It's what she wants. He can tell.
The smile she gives him might even be genuine. "Sounds good." She pauses and then chuckles under her breath. "We really should not have done that."
"God no," he agrees.
There's an awkward silence, so he offers, "Forget it ever happened?"
"Deal." She pats her hair a few times and checks her reflection in a bedpan before heading for the door of the room. "Catch ya later, bleeding heart."
"Right then, money grubbing elitist."