Derek/Meredith, "you didn't care to know/who else may have been you before"
Title: This is how it works. . .
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy.
Characters: Derek/Meredith.
Prompt: Derek/Meredith, "you didn't care to know/who else may have been you before".
Word Count: 600.
Rating: PG-13.
The night you met her, you watched her drink shot after shot of expensive tequila alone at the bar. You hadn't been with another woman in almost thirteen years and it took you half an hour to work up the gall to approach her. You weren't there looking for a girl. You weren't there looking for anything but a full night's sleep free of the images that had been haunting you the past few weeks.
But there was something about this girl that intrigued you. The way she never flinched after each shot, and how she never once glanced toward the door as if expecting someone to join her.
The night you met her, you leaned against the bar next to her and smiled at her when she asked if you wanted to buy her a drink. You flirted with her and it was weird because you weren't used to flirting with intent. You weren't even sure it was working until you made a joke about a surgeon you know and she laughed so hard she almost choked on her tequila.
After that it was easy. You kept buying her more alcohol and she kept buying your newly-resurrected bachelor act. You didn't think you'd even get her phone number and it surprised you when she leaned in, her hand pressed lightly against your thigh and whispered, "Take me for a ride?"
You helped her stumble out to your car, opening the door for her and pretending not to look as a long, pale leg peeked out from the split in her dress. She caught you watching anyhow and didn't bother to adjust her clothing.
"Where do you want to go?" you asked, when you'd settled into the driver's seat.
She tilted her head and smiled. "Anywhere?"
The night you met her, you hesitated only once. She leaned closer to you, her hand finding your thigh again, but this time you knew it wasn't to steady herself on a barstool, and she kissed you.
You paused, knowing this required thought, that this would change everything. But in that moment when her mouth pressed against yours, you thought of your wife who had cheated and your best friend who had betrayed you, and you choose this girl instead.
She giggled when you kissed her back and pressed herself closer when you threaded your fingers through the hair at the base of her neck.
"My house is good," she murmured when you released her, and you laughed as she tried to give you directions and you got lost twice on the way.
The night you met her, the two of you ended up on the floor of her mother's house and she made you feel young again. Alive, again. You touched her and she responded and you never once saw the glassy-eyed expression that meant your wife was thinking about a surgery while you fucked her.
You only saw the way she bit her lip and tossed her hair back, and felt the way the muscles rippled in her thighs underneath your hands, and heard the way she laughed in delight when you used your fingers to help her come.
When this girl touched you, you forgot your wife all together and the man who had called himself your best friend, and when she finally let you sleep, you forgot about everything else but the lingering scent of field flowers and alcohol.
The night you met her, she could have been any girl but she wasn't. She was the girl: the first girl and the last girl. And you didn't care to know who else may have been you before.
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy.
Characters: Derek/Meredith.
Prompt: Derek/Meredith, "you didn't care to know/who else may have been you before".
Word Count: 600.
Rating: PG-13.
The night you met her, you watched her drink shot after shot of expensive tequila alone at the bar. You hadn't been with another woman in almost thirteen years and it took you half an hour to work up the gall to approach her. You weren't there looking for a girl. You weren't there looking for anything but a full night's sleep free of the images that had been haunting you the past few weeks.
But there was something about this girl that intrigued you. The way she never flinched after each shot, and how she never once glanced toward the door as if expecting someone to join her.
The night you met her, you leaned against the bar next to her and smiled at her when she asked if you wanted to buy her a drink. You flirted with her and it was weird because you weren't used to flirting with intent. You weren't even sure it was working until you made a joke about a surgeon you know and she laughed so hard she almost choked on her tequila.
After that it was easy. You kept buying her more alcohol and she kept buying your newly-resurrected bachelor act. You didn't think you'd even get her phone number and it surprised you when she leaned in, her hand pressed lightly against your thigh and whispered, "Take me for a ride?"
You helped her stumble out to your car, opening the door for her and pretending not to look as a long, pale leg peeked out from the split in her dress. She caught you watching anyhow and didn't bother to adjust her clothing.
"Where do you want to go?" you asked, when you'd settled into the driver's seat.
She tilted her head and smiled. "Anywhere?"
The night you met her, you hesitated only once. She leaned closer to you, her hand finding your thigh again, but this time you knew it wasn't to steady herself on a barstool, and she kissed you.
You paused, knowing this required thought, that this would change everything. But in that moment when her mouth pressed against yours, you thought of your wife who had cheated and your best friend who had betrayed you, and you choose this girl instead.
She giggled when you kissed her back and pressed herself closer when you threaded your fingers through the hair at the base of her neck.
"My house is good," she murmured when you released her, and you laughed as she tried to give you directions and you got lost twice on the way.
The night you met her, the two of you ended up on the floor of her mother's house and she made you feel young again. Alive, again. You touched her and she responded and you never once saw the glassy-eyed expression that meant your wife was thinking about a surgery while you fucked her.
You only saw the way she bit her lip and tossed her hair back, and felt the way the muscles rippled in her thighs underneath your hands, and heard the way she laughed in delight when you used your fingers to help her come.
When this girl touched you, you forgot your wife all together and the man who had called himself your best friend, and when she finally let you sleep, you forgot about everything else but the lingering scent of field flowers and alcohol.
The night you met her, she could have been any girl but she wasn't. She was the girl: the first girl and the last girl. And you didn't care to know who else may have been you before.