DISCLAIMER: I don't own Scrubs or any of the characters, nor do I own the dialog at the very beginning of the fic.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
SPOILERS: Season 1, "My Last Day"
Her Closet Encounter
By bank_farter
"Well, you're so full of it." The words tumble out of Elliot's mouth before she even realizes that she opened it. Frick!
Jordan takes a menacing step forward. "Listen, Stick, if you wanna wipe your nose and pretend that was a sneeze, I will play along..." Elliot tries to interject, but Jordan continues without pausing. "…But if you have something to say, say it."
Elliot closes her mouth. She's a little terrified of Jordan. Ok, maybe more than a little, but she's pretty much committed at this point. "Everybody knows you're still sleeping with Dr. Cox, and it can't be about making babies 'cause you'd probably just end up eating them, anyway. And as for revenge, I'm just not sure that driving to his apartment and pleasuring him while he watches sports on TV is hurting him as much as you might think. So I have to figure that you still care about him, whether you want to admit it or not. And, if you lay one finger on me, I'm blowing my rape whistle!"
Somehow, the fact that Elliot has the aforementioned rape whistle at the ready doesn't dissuade Jordan from moving closer to her, eyes dark with anger. The air between them is tense, and Elliot is so focused that she jumps a little when the elevator door beside her slides open.
The Todd. Great. Because what this situation really needed was more awkwardness.
It takes less than a second for Todd to both sense the tension and decide that it's definitely sexual in nature. "Kiss her," he pleads, right before Jordan shoots him a death glare that sends him frantically tapping the "Door Closed" button.
When Jordan turns back to her, though, Elliot begins to wonder if maybe she made a bit of a boo-boo in her reading of Jordan. Because now Jordan's hand is skimming along her chest and resting on her cheek, and Elliot is forced to consider the possibility that it wasn't just anger that she's seen in her eyes after all.
Elliot jerks back as Jordan leans closer to her, the rape whistle she forgot she still had between her lips sounding a short, shrill protest. Jordan just smirks as she flicks it away. And that's when Elliot knows she made a boo-boo because Jordan's mouth is suddenly on hers, and Jordan is pushing her back towards the supply closet even as her tongue slips between her lips.
Jordan fumbles with the closet's door, and some distant part of Elliot's mind drifts to the fact that she finds it a little comforting to see the perfectly composed Jordan Sullivan fumbling. The rest of her consciousness, though, is very much focused on the fact that Dr. Cox's shrew of an ex-wife—wife as in woman, and Dr. Cox as in the super mean supervisor who already hates her guts—is currently kissing her. In the middle of the hospital. In the middle of the day. Elliot decides then that it might be a good idea to help with the door. A year of hiding in said closet has made her familiar enough with the knob, and soon enough, she stumbles backwards into the closet.
She feels a wave of relief as the door closes behind them, but it only lasts for a moment before she realizes that Jordan is still kissing her, one hand at her waist and the other resting at the back of her neck. She gets her bearings enough to pull away.
"Jordan, what the hell?!" she shrieks, and Jordan casually steps back and cocks an eyebrow. "You don't…" Elliot isn't sure what to say, and she's too frantic to think much about it. "You don't even like me. You're mean to me. And, besides, I'm not…" Elliot takes a quick glance around before whispering, "a lesbian."
Jordan snorts derisively and crosses her arms. "I'm sure that's exactly what you told that girl from Art History class."
Elliot's eyes widen. Ok, there's no way she could possibly know about that. It was just a joke, so play it cool…
But Elliot isn't good at playing it cool, and Jordan scoffs again. "Holy crap, it is just eerie how much I can't stop being right about you!" She gets more serious. "Look, I'm going to level with you. I don't really like you. Who cares? I already told you that I can't have sex with people I like. Now can we get past the boring, whiny crap?"
"Oh," Elliot says. A beat. Then what Jordan actually said hits her and her voice gets unnaturally shrill. "Sex?"
Jordan rolls her eyes. "Yes, sex, Stick." Elliot just stares. "You know, sex?" Jordan demonstrates by shaping her hand into a circle and thrusting a finger from the other hand into it. "God, do I have to teach you everything?"
Elliot can feel her mouth opening and closing as she struggles to come up with some kind of response. Ok, Elliot, get a grip here. This isn't the first time you've been in this situation with a girl. Granted, last time it was because you got drunk and flirted—which, by the way, is why you will never ever enjoy the delicious tang of a lemon drop EVER again—but you can handle this. You just need to calmly explain that you're just not into it and that this will not happen. "Jordan, I—"
"Shut up," comes the reply, and the older woman's mouth is on Elliot's again before she can protest. And, as Jordan draws Elliot's lip between her teeth and drags her nails down her back, Elliot is forced to acknowledge a new possibility: she might not want to protest. Or, at least, certain parts of her body don't seem to want her to. There's a familiar jolt in her stomach when Jordan lowers her head and flicks her tongue over Elliot's pulse point, and she can't stifle the moan that rises from deep within her throat when Jordan's hands find their way to her breasts.
Elliot can't see Jordan's face, but she can feel her triumphant smirk against her neck. "That a girl," Jordan says as she runs a hand down Elliot's stomach. Elliot feels her toying with the drawstring on her pants, and she wonders vaguely if Jordan is telegraphing her intentions to avoid a freak out when she eventually does slip her hand into Elliot's scrubs. Fat chance. Jordan's not that nice. No, she's teasing her, nipping her earlobe and chuckling low when Elliot lets out a groan.
Jordan's hand finally moves under her waistband, and Elliot bites her lip and clutches Jordan's shirt when she feels her fingers skimming lightly over the fabric of her panties. Elliot is dimly aware that Jordan is making some snide comment about how the heat coming off of her does not bode well for her assertions of heterosexuality, but she's too far gone to care much. She pushes herself into Jordan's fingers, silently pleading for more contact.
"Ah, ah. Say please."
Elliot thinks she should probably refuse or at least act a little indignant, but she doesn't. "Please," she begs, and, just like that, Jordan pushes the fabric aside and thrusts two fingers inside her, her other hand toying with Elliot's nipple.
Jordan is not gentle. That does not surprise Elliot. What does surprise Elliot is how much she enjoys not gentle, if the fast-paced string of expletives that slip from her lips as Jordan fucks her with two, then three, then four fingers is any indication. The supply shelf that Jordan has forced her against is digging painfully into her back, and Jordan is sucking at her pulse point hard enough that it burns, but none of that matters. Jordan is whispering dirty things in her ear and curving her fingers so that they hit that spot with every thrust, and Jordan's thumb is brushing her clit. Elliot's eyes are screwed shut so tightly that she is starting to see bright bursts against the back of her eyelids, and she is so close…
"Come for me." Jordan whispers as her lips brush Elliot's ear, and that's all it takes. She moans Jordan's name as her walls clamp down around her fingers, and Jordan let's her ride it out before she eases out of the younger doctor.
"Good girl," she says, but not quite as sarcastically as Elliot expects. Maybe not as sarcastically as Jordan expects either, because Elliot notices the mildly alarmed look that flashes across her face before it's replaced by a smirk just as quickly.
"Bravo for standing up for yourself there, Blondie." Jordan wipes her fingers on the underside of Elliot's scrub shirt. "Just a tip for the future, though? People tend to take you a little more seriously when you don't let them fuck you in janitor's closets and then come on command." Then Jordan pinches her cheek condescendingly and heads for the door.
Elliot tries to do something other than stand there dumbfounded (she's been doing too much of that today) or, worse, look wounded, but she can't.
Jordan rolls her eyes. "I'll leave you alone to cry now. Toodles."
She's gone before Elliot can even open her mouth, but it's probably for the best. Elliot doesn't know what she would have said anyway, so she settles for slumping down to the floor and waiting until she can walk again. When she can, she composes herself, leaves the closet, and goes about her day like nothing happened. It's surprisingly easy to do, mostly because nothing has sunk in yet.
It's not until later, when things are quiet and she's sitting by the bed of one of her coma patients, that it all hits her. And then, she says the only thing she can think to say: "Frick."
The End