Work Text:
Ianthe lounged on the examination table. One leg dangled off the side, while the other was bent, showing off a bit of thigh between the stockings and very short white dress of her nurse uniform. There was a red latex glove on her left hand — she'd destroyed three right hand gloves before giving up on that idea. She idly played with the stainless steel tray on the table beside her. She'd laid out needles, tongue depressors, pinwheels, a speculum, electrode pads, a few lengths of rubber tubing, and one of those tiny little hammers for hitting people's knees.
The door swung open. Ianthe grinned wickedly. "Well, hello there." She sat up and snapped her glove. "I hope you're ready for a very thorough examination."
Paul entered the room in a sexy French maid outfit. They swooned dramatically against the doorframe, one hand against their forehead.
"Oh Madame Infirmière, I 'ave ze carpal tunnel from too much ze dusting, but I am so so 'orny. You 'ave to give me, 'ow you say, ze blast du doigt?"
Ianthe's expression had gone from a cruel smirk, to shock, disappointment, and finally anger. "I already told you, you are not doing that accent."