The Awakening (15/15)
Title: La fine di un sogno (or the Awakening), conclusion.
Author: Spooky85
Pairing: Erica/Callie
Rating: NC17
Summary: What happens when someone bursts your little bubble and you're left missing blonde hair?
Disclaimer: All characters are property of Shonda Rhimes and ABC. Not mine.
*Chapter 15*
Sex. And when you think about it, it really is all humans strive for. Study hard so you can get the job, get the job so you can get the big fat paycheck, get the money so you can get the car and the expensive date stuff, get the date stuff so you can get into the girl's pants.
That's how I've always seen this going, and I have to say, I've been disappointed but a few times.
Every single living breathing human being likes sex. It's the only real truth, only banner under which everybody will get under and march for and not fight about. Sex. Sex is the ultimate tool of peace, capable of bringing people together. Not politics nor ethics, not literature nor poetics.
Sex. Raw, naked, sweaty sex.
And I've always strived for peace.
Those who considered themselves my friends during my college years will tell you I probably lost my virginity barely more than a child. They drew their own conclusions and I never bothered telling them otherwise.
In fact I did all but let them believe it wasn't so. I spent my carefree adolescence years as the true spirit of rebellion. So naturally with the leather jackets and miniskirts and hanging out with bikers or musicians in the backstage of a rock concert, there came the sex and I accepted it gladly.
I had spent my childhood guarding myself from people so they would never really and truly see me, I had spent my early adolescence as a reject, both at school and at life. I'd be the one sitting in the back of my class eating my hair in fear and expectation of anybody ever sitting near me and actually talking to me, ridiculed by my classmates for my weird behavior and plump appearance.
As soon as I reached nineteen and ditched some of my baby fat, I started noticing something different in boy's eyes when they'd look in my direction. My body soon taught my crazy brains to take a hike and let it do all the talking and I started getting dates and offers and guys flocking around me. I started owning my body and feeling proud of my skin.
Sex was what they wanted and I gave it to them, without much thought or remorse. I was not by any stretch of the imagination a slut but I'm sure my mother would have run out of breath with all the praying to save my sinner's soul had she only imagined what I used to do in those nights I stayed out till dawn.
Then again, being asked even now, my mother would probably just kick your ass for even suggesting that her thirty year old little child did even know what sex was.
Then medicine changed everything for me. I fell in love and there was no place in my life for anything else aside from studying and daydreaming about the moment people would call me doctor. Guys lost their appeal to me with the same ease I lost the leather jacket and the attitude and enrolled.
Never gave it much thought till I met George and something inside me changed. For the first time with him I thought I could set aside my years having sex and could start our years making love together. George was good, not spectacular, but unexpectedly good and I remember the first time we made love I thanked him for making me experience something I thought I had felt for the first time.
When he left me to have sex with the trailer park model I felt crushed, as if I'd been teleported suddenly back to my high school back row desk, feeling awkward, unsure and fat.
And Mark helped me get through that. I knew him, knew his reputation, heard him being called a man-whore behind his back by half the staff of Seattle Grace. When I met him in the lobby of the Archfield I had so desperately taken refuge into, his perfect body and sly grin directed towards me, I had found my rocker in the backstage of a concert again, and I was back at using sex to get some sense of self.
And then I met Erica. I say that a lot, don't I. But it's true. Everything I could tell you about me, everything I thought I knew about my mind and body, every part of me changed when I met her.
Even sex.
She even changed sex with Mark for me. What had been my constant, my fix to calm my nerves and over working mind, was now a burning reminder of the things I wanted to sweat away. The teasing, the easy banter between the three of us, the allusions to sex and threesomes. Somehow that notion lodged itself in my brain and just wouldn't disappear.
The images he conjured up for me, and for himself I guess. Me and Erica. Me and naked Erica. Me and naked Erica and lips. And tongues. And breasts hands and thighs. Flashes of skin I couldn't elude not even in surgery. Not when her eyes stared intently at a monitor like his voice in my ears told me they would watch my naked body, not when her face was so close to mine as we entangled while working on a patient I could feel her open mouth breaths on my skin like his voice told me they would feel on me as I bury my fingers deep inside of her.
But that wasn't the only way in which she changed it for me.
The first time we actually did have sex, no Mark to dictate our moves, she changed it so much I couldn't even recognize it. I'd always been good at sex. Like surgery I used to get down to it, both hands, and rock it through to its glorious end. With her I was a failure. A part of me shifted back to my high school frame of mind and for the longest time never came back to me. So I was left fumbling and nervously looking at her perfect expecting skin, still feeling the buzz of the amazingness that had been her first time with my body, and I chocked. I couldn't do it. I couldn't be as good as her. I convinced myself I couldn't possibly conjure from her lips the same sighs and pleas she had extracted from mine so I didn't even try, I just lay there, feeling awkward and way too naked as she stroked my hair to restless sleep.
And then, as I made her try this again, as I made her break all of her rules, without regard for her fragile soul, as I ordered her in no uncertain terms to drop her pants and let me have another shot at it, and she complied, I was amazing too. Ok maybe not amazing, but it was the first time I'd felt her thighs tighten their hold on my face, her hand gripping my hair in frantic satisfaction.
For the all too brief time we were together, the amazing moments started outweighing the burden of that one big failure and I began feeling more complete and myself again when the next and final change she had done on my sex life took place. Our bed in my apartment the scene. Amazing mind blowing sex the morning after we had sworn to have a nice night in of simple cuddling the moment. And I stood there with the sticky proof of my amazingness on my face as she cried her newly discovered gayness to me. And I knew in that instant that things had changed and nobody had bothered to warn me. While I was having amazing sex with her that morning, she was making amazing love to me, and I felt out of place. Something else had entered the picture, something I wasn't yet prepared for. Love. Making love to her. Being in love with her.
So I ran and fretted and dwelled on it and tested stupid theories that never proved anything and managed to make her run away only to discover I had been prepared to make love to her all along, because the ache I felt inside my heart when I discovered she had abandoned me without even saying goodbye certainly felt like something had been ripped out from a place I didn't even know was holding it.
But I remember it. I remember the feel of her skin on mine, the touch of her lips, the whisper of her fingertips, breaking me down and making me whole once again. I remember them, like I remember my own skin. They're imprinted in me so that there's never gonna be another quite like her, no matter what.
And now as I kiss her, with my head and heart light and full of her, I remember and I smile at how her taste hasn't changed, how her eyes close the moment our lips come in contact still, how her hand moves to my face and caresses me through the kiss.
And I feel drunk, drunk on the feel of her, her scent, her taste, the golden of her hair I searched for and eluded for so long, the heat of her body that melts the last restrain around my heart. And I remember the feeling building up inside the depth of my stomach, rising through my lungs, choking me as it lodges in my throat, only now I can recognize it, I'm finally ready to call it with its name. For too long I've mistaken it for fear or second guessing or freaking out. For too long it's come between us leaving the bad after taste in my mouth that only a mistake can bring. And I thought the mistake was her, and now I know the mistake was on me. For thinking and not feeling, for holding back and not voicing out.
"I love you" and the stone in my throat becomes light and sweet as her smile and renewed kissing against my lips.
And suddenly it's not enough anymore, and suddenly I have to touch her, all of her, and truly feel her and be with her. Half lying here over her, fully clothed, on her couch is not enough, and how could it be?
I've been without her for far too long, I've been without her for all my life and I can't wait a minute more. So I plead.
"Erica... " and she knows. Maybe she feels it too. Maybe I'm not mistaken as I feel her tug on my hand as she leads me upstairs to a room I had sworn not to ever imagine, a little too impatiently. Maybe she really does breathe easier now.
And as I enter her bedroom I feel like I've been admitted to a sacred chamber inside her heart, for as we stand in front of her bed for a fraction of a second I feel her hesitating as if afraid I'll bolt out the door at her assumption of my plea's meaning.
Only I'm not gonna leave her doubting, never again. And I pull on her hand still firmly cradled in mine and I make her turn around and leave us both breathless with a kiss that pours all my emotions and feelings into her. For I know I'll never be able to completely tell her in words, so I'll have to make her feel it with my adoring kisses and pleading eyes.
A soft strangled moan, half born of surprise at my renewed and yet completely different passion towards her, escapes her and without a moment hesitation I can feel her hands pushing my jacket down to the floor and pulling the hem of my top high over my head.
I'm almost reluctant at this forced separation of our lips as my top joins the other garment already on the wooden floor, but my protest quickly dies in my throat as I see her taking her own sweatshirt off, leaving me with skin to explore.
I can feel the vibrations of her moan against my lips as I kiss a path up her neck and back to her mouth once again. Her tongue a messenger of her need in my mouth. And I meet its challenge with renewed strength as my hands start a journey of their own against the plane of her soft stomach and the valley between her breasts. It's a pilgrimage long and exhausting and yet so sacred I'm almost afraid to see its completion.
The soft skin of her breast under my left palm soon makes me forget every other thought as my brain gets sucked into the sensation of her hardened nipple proud against my flesh and the memory of how it felt rolling over my tongue.
And I want to do all at once, and I want to kiss her mouth and taste her breast and feel the naked expanse of her body against me, and I want to hear her moan and scream and whisper all at once and this longing is excruciating and I let out a strangled sigh of frustration. And she catches it on her tongue. And she stops kissing me to calm my rattled nerves.
"Shh.. it's ok.. calm down.. we have all the time in the world" and those simple words are like a cure for my hunger, like a remedy for my starving body. There is no need to rush this, no need to grasp every moment like it might be the last, for we have all the time in the world and it's all I ever wanted with her.
I close my eyes and breathe one long single breath and when I look at her again we smile and it's like a new beginning.
I move my head up to kiss her now, and she meets me halfway and it's slow and full and it soothes an ache I didn't even know I was feeling inside. Her hair run through my fingers like water, like molten golden, and I never thought I'd feel it again and I'm thankful to this woman for not letting my stupid fright win over us.
Her hand moves to the top button of my black tight jeans and I feel every vibration of the zipper as it's pulled down reverberate through my core. I smile inwardly at her as she cannot contain some urge of hers too as she moves her hands around me to grab a handful of my ass as she frees it from its jeans' prison. But it's only an instant and then they're moving over me once again, discarding my bra and making up for its absence on my breasts with a firm squeeze and a caress.
I marvel at the sight of her hands on my breasts for a moment. I remember sitting with Mark and Christina, watching her perform surgery like the good little cheerleaders that we were, holding somebody's life in her hands with a touch soft and strong at the same time. And then I shiver as I remember those same hands and the way they felt as they held my life in them, held me, from the inside out, the way they used to move inside that made me lose my mind. The loss of those same hands I spent long days mourning over. And now they're on me again, and they'll be on me from now on and I am mesmerized at the shape and feel of them, at the fact that those simple hands shouldn't have the power to make me soar or leave me broken. But they aren't simple hands, those are cardio-god hands and they are touching my skin.
And some of the urge of before comes back to me in a wave that starts at my brain and ends way lower, urging me to grab her neck and pull her towards me for an hungry kiss.
She chuckles against my lips, as she pinches my nipple, causing me to break away from my hold on her mouth to gasp, giving her way to drop it and gift its attention to my breast.
The first flick of her tongue over my over excited flesh and I'm sure I'll lose my mind before I even get my pants off. This thought snaps me back into motion and as I drop my head back at the way her teeth are grazing the underside of my breast just now, I move my hands to fumble with the buttons on her jeans and have her wriggling out of them in a minute or two.
She takes a step back to get away from the offending garment pooling at her feet and I take a moment to look at her, really look at her, almost naked in all her glory before me. The long expanse of her beautiful toned legs, the soft curve of her feminine hips, the inviting rosy tips of her breasts, the red kiss swollen lips, the sparkling blue eyes, the disheveled hair. She's magnificent. She's raw and real and mine. And the look of claim in my eyes must have spoken volumes to her because as I move towards her she doesn't hesitate to drop on the mattress behind her calves.
With her seated there I'm left with my dilemma for the night, to touch or taste. And I don't know how to choose. All I know is there's still a piece of clothing on her and I want it gone.
I grab hold of the waistband of her panties and she looks at me through half open eyes, burning with desire and anticipation and I cannot help but lick my lips, suddenly parched by her scorching gaze. She lifts her hips and I pull my fingers down, sliding off her body the last barrier to the treasure that is all of her.
I glide my right hand up the outside of her leg, feeling it part slightly as if under the spell of my touch. As I get to the knee I move towards the inside of her thigh all the while never leaving her eyes. Her breath hitches in her throat as I get to the wetness testifying to her need for me on the soft inside of her thighs. I don't move it. Never dropping my gaze, forever trapped into her blue orbs, I move my body towards her, between her thighs, as I lay open mouthed kisses over her neck, down her torso, along her abdomen and underbelly, down to the patch of neatly trimmed blonde curls.
A pause. A whimper. And I give in.
The first taste of her brings with it all the memories of all the times I've been here, only this time is different, and her almost reverent sighs tell me she gets it.
As I slowly move my tongue against her, as I feel her tremble and twitch beneath me, as I quench this thirst deep inside my soul, she gets it.
Her hand shots through my hair, first combing them then just holding on to make sure I don't stop, to make sure she won't get completely lost in the sensation, are the first rewards for the way my tongue is caressing her, body and soul, for the first time in so long and maybe the first time ever.
I move my hand now, the one I have been so good at keeping still on her thigh and as I push my way inside of her I feel like I'm sliding home. Her heat is scorching me, her taste all I know, her voice all I can hear as she calls out my name softly then more urgently, the velvet against my fingers something I never thought I'd ever feel again.
And I keep on a minute longer, just touching and tasting, treasuring the sensation till I know her body will give in and I'll have to stop. A minute more of this pressure on my fingers as I move them, pushed deep inside of her, a minute more of this feeling her need for me hard and proud against my tongue, a minute more of this chanting of my name on her lips that feels like a prayer and a benediction. And then I feel it. Her fingers dig in my scalp, in the back of my neck as she curves her back, head thrown over her shoulders, the strangled scream of my name rising towards the ceiling for one last time. And her insides quiver against my fingers for one final spasm and then she's breathing heavily and grabbing hold of my hair to pull me up in one liberating urge to meld her body and mine.
We stay there for one long moment, her completely naked, seated on the edge of her bed, me kneeling in front of her, still half dressed and begging.
And I knew. I knew she was aware of all that was different now, all that made this new first time of us together feel so different. And as she opens her mouth to whisper to me, a single tear slides down her still flushed cheek.
"I love you too" and we hold on for dear life once again. And there is no other place I'd rather be right now. For I have her, and we love each other, and we'll have each other forever for we have all the time in the world.
And as I smile against her lips I realize that this thing we just experienced, this need and hunger and calm inside, this feeling of love, is true and real and ours, and I have never ever truly felt this before.
Because I just made love to her for the first time in my life.
*Epilogue*
Isn't it funny how there's always a moment, when you're barely awake, so much that you're not even sure if you really are, and your dreams mix with the reality around you? You open your eyes a split second ahead of your brain, that drags behind in your dreamscape. And for that single moment you can still live in your dream. Like if you dreamt you were a superhero, for that one moment, you'll look around for your cape and mask before the waking reality of your life dawns on you, and you flop back onto your bad, almost disappointed.
For the longest time, a time that seems like a life time ago, I used to dream about surgeries. About performing incredible rock star level surgeries, the tense muscles, the satisfaction, the glory. And then I'd wake up, beeper blaring off that my little intern help was needed putting up a in IV or doing mind numbing paperwork. I'd drop off my mattress on the floor of the hospital basement and I would drag my feet on the ground till another image would to pop inside my mind, one that was not made of dreams but of memories and excitement, of all the amazing stuff I'd already really done or would soon learn how to do, to make my dream a little more real with each passing day. And that image would sweep me off my feet and I would fly through the corridors and halls and bowels of that hospital that really was all my life.
There was even a time there in which I dreamt of happy marriages and kids and preschool and playgrounds, and Christmas dinner with a whole lot of family around me, and love. And then I'd wake up to see the cheating face of my real life husband, and couldn't help but feel let down by life, disappointed in me, for having left the basement to end up in the marriage from hell.
But life went on and so did my dreams. I'd dream of fun times. Naked fun times. Naked fun times with my best friend. Who was a girl. With real live breasts to prove it. And with amazing eyes, and incredible hands, and mesmerizing tongue peeking out of her lips when deep in thought. I used to wake up all hot and bothered, annoyed at my own treacherous body that kept up this fight even when my unguarded brain was out for the night.
And then my dreams changed. Went on the same pattern as my George dreams had, with kids and family pictures and life. And disastrous meeting of the parents and secretive lives and resentful fights. And I'd wake up annoyed this time at my own self destructive brain for keeping up the fight even when my body had let its guard down.
A single ray of sunlight fights its way through the blinds, and I'm awake. And uncertain.
A strange bed cradling my way through the night. Strange covers to hold me. Strange pillow under my confused mind.
For a moment I freeze, not really knowing if I'm awake or not, if this bed I'm into is one I'm supposed to run from or snuggle further against.
A slight burn on the muscles in my arms, the feeling in the pit of my stomach, however, those things tell me this is not a dream.
So I brave an open eyelid, and prepare myself to let reality bitch slap me into another numb day of pretending.
And then my eyes meet gold.
And I'm engulfed in an all-encompassing feeling of calm and agitation and love and awe and something else I cannot identify and don't really care to.
Erica is here. Still, sleeping. Beautifully resting her body right next to me.
A body that has been my craving, then my fear, than my secret, than my yearning.
And now my reality.
The covers reach her lower back, a naked path my eyes stumble over in their haste to cover its entirety.
Her head of messy blond tresses splayed on the pillow beside me. And for a moment I remember of that one morning in which I first woke up from restless dreams only to find her empty pillow glaring at me from across the bed. I caress her head now as I did her pillow then, softly and swiftly, so that I won't wake her. But I couldn't not touch her, I couldn't deny my hands the need to make sure there is a difference between then and now.
Her head turned towards the window, and I'm almost disappointed by the fact that I cannot watch her features softened by the restful sleep, I cannot burn the slope of her nose and the slight curve of her lips into my memory, like I always dreamt I would do and never really did when we were together back then.
But soon my disappointment is softened by the fact that her leg is now peeking from under the covers, an endless expanse of smooth perfect skin, a swift ankle, cute little fingers at the end of it.
I cannot contain the smile that spreads across my face right this very minute, and if I wasn't certain her light sleep would be disturbed by it, I'd do a happy dance right here and now.
But I really am in happy dance mood, and I really really cannot contain my urge to touch her any longer. A quick look at the clock tells me it's almost noon. The sound of her little sleeping sigh suggests that it's been a long and eventful night. The cute dimples that I know rest just above the curve of her bottom and that now tempt me at the edge of the covers order me that four hours of sleep are plenty enough.
I move my body towards her and let the trail of my kisses along her spine do all the talking.
She stirs, and unconsciously moves away from the disturbing lips, but soon her soft involuntary sigh brings her to wakefulness and she moves again, this time towards my touch. And I feel goose bumps on her delicate skin.
"Morning" she crokes out, grainy voice rendered even more so by the thick sleep. And it shots through my body like dope and I know I'm addicted.
"Morning" I whisper as my tongue cannot help itself as it peeks out to greet her skin also.
She rolls onto her back, facing my half upturned body, my head resting on my right elbow.
One of her legs slips between my calves and we smile at this newly rediscovered closeness of our bodies.
Her smile is dazzling as it reaches her eyes and my heart. "What time is it?"
"Noon. Why? You need to be at the hospital?" my perfect happiness disturbed by a thought.
"Later" I feel a pout coming on at this. Her right hand shots to my cheek caressing reassuringly as her body slides closer to mine still, till we're almost flush against one another.
"Much, much later" Her lips taste even sweeter than they did last night, or maybe it's because I no longer have that suffocating urge inside me.
With my left hand I caress her slowly and languidly, the curve of her side, the rise of her hip, the length of her upper thigh.
We break apart from a kiss so sweet it feels almost like a whisper. Then I hear it.
And I drop my face on my pillow. And I want to bury myself. Deep under the ground, never to show my face again.
That was so embarrassing..
"Impressive, Torres." she chuckles under my hand.
"I'm sorry.." I offer..
"How long since you had a decent meal?" the worried doctor look on her face is adorable. She can look so intimidating, so cold and hard, but when you chip away at all of that ice and stone, there is a world of marshmallowy softness inside that makes you go awww.
I don't answer. Because it would mean having to tell her that I haven't properly eaten in a month, and that would mean bringing sadness and regrets and remorse into those beautiful pools of blue, and I know there'd be some guilt mixed in it too, and I can't have her feeling guilty over something that was entirely my fault and that we have sworn to put behind us only last night. So I opt for skirting around this treacherous ground.
"I skipped dinner last night" her look of mild annoyance at my non committal answer is swept away by another bout of chuckling as my stomach lets us loudly know once again that he's aware we're talking about him.
She moves to get up and I cling to her body, like a life line. I never intend to ever let even a moment pass in which some part of her is not under my direct touch. It's imperative. It's mandatory.
She stops for just one second to look at me, like she cannot believe I'm really here either, then she takes my hand and moves to get out of bed, dragging me behind her. We put on some long t-shirts that barely cover our legs and we make our way downstairs and into the kitchen.
Her house is impressive. I never really stopped to notice it last night, not without choking and feeling sick, that is. Now I move inside it, and I really look at it, not like it's the demon that kept her away from me anymore.
The living room is big, sparsely decorated, but that's Erica for you. Few and essential has always been her style. A white couch here, a ceiling high library there, few paintings, even fewer ornaments, a white wooden coffee table. With a picture on top of it. And some of the pain of last night resurfaces through my heart, and she senses it, and she pulls me a little bit closer.
"I'll talk to her" she tries to reassure, and the soft plea in her eyes tells me she means it as we exit this room towards the kitchen with a bit more haste than before.
I silently thank her.
The kitchen is definitely more lived in than the living room seems to be. Pots and pans, neat rows of little jars seated on shelves, a few cookbooks.
I perch myself against the isle in the middle of the room as she opens her fridge and looks at it pensively for a moment.
I take the time to sneak a peek at the back of her naked legs, the shape of her, the soft color of her skin.
And my stomach growls again, only this time it's a different kind of hunger.
At the sound she turns towards me, her worrying over me showing off on her half bitten bottom lip, and I grip the counter because it's the only thing that's stopping me from striding through this space between us and make her my lunch.
"So.. it appears I have milk and maybe some cookies to offer.." she mock smiles enticingly, as if presenting me the most sumptuous meal "or.. we could go to the little cafe at the end of the street and have something proper to eat there"
I mock ponder for a second
"Would that involve putting on clothes and getting out of the house?"
"I don't think they'd appreciate it if we show up in our underwear..."
I grin at her.
"Milk and cookies sound perfect" a wink letting her know I have no intention of letting her put clothes on, not for a while yet.
she grins back at me "excellent choice"
I bite into my fifth chocolate chip cookie as we lie once again on her bed, long emptied glasses of milk on her nightstand. This is heaven. The sunshine rays play with the leaves on her backyard trees, their shadows dancing on the wall in front of the bed. The soft sounds of traffic and life lived at a quick pace that come from the closed window, when compared to this moment of calm and quiet, make it even more precious. The warmth of the covers we lay under a comforting contrast to the cold of the December air we would have had to brave outside.
"This is good" I mumble against the chocolaty goodness in my mouth.
She moves a little bit closer to me, perched on both her elbows, half lying on her stomach, head just a few inches from mine.
"Yeah it is" she mumbles back as she steals a bite out of my lunch.
"Hey! Give it back!" I squeak pretending to be offended and angry
"Can't" she throws back, swallowing quickly and grinning like crazy.
"You meanie.. it was my piece of cookie"
"want payback?" she jokes, and an idea pops into my head
"Yeah, that sounds about right." I move towards her mouth, lightly licking at the outside of her cookie powder covered lips. She moans at the unexpected sensuality of my actions and I take the opportunity to steal the pack of cookies between her suddenly limp hands.
"Evil. Conniving little evil thief" she lets out with a soft smile
"Oh yeah?" my arched eyebrow and teasing features letting her know payback isn't over yet.
"Yeah" she rumbles against my lips before recapturing them and claiming them once again with hers.
I can feel her tongue moving against mine, her teeth biting at my bottom lip, her sweetness pouring inside of me, leaving me suddenly soaked and wanting more.
The shrill of my cell phone rudely interrupts the descent of my hand across her spine and we both groan. The second trill has me grumbling as I reach towards my pants still lying at the bottom of the bed.
"This better be important" I bark into it, and Erica chuckles. Her right hand is doing a little dance over my belly and an all too distracting tingle shots through me.
"I take it things went well?" I0d recognize that half pissed of half happy tone everywhere.
"Addie! God! I.. you weren't waiting up for me.. were you?" I cringe as I remember her saying she'd stay awake to bring me back home after the slaughter.
"Well I kind of got the message when it passed five in the morning and you still hadn't called"
"I'm so so so sorry! It completely slipped my mind. I'm sorry"
"You already said that Callie" her voice is now more happy for me than it is angry at me.
Erica's hand stops circling my bellybutton and starts on a downward path, that has my breath catching in my throat and my muscles tremble under her touch
"Is everything alright between you now?"
"You could say that.." I answer distractedly as I glare at Erica but cannot find the courage in me to still her hand
"Did you fight and make up like I said you would?"
"hu huh" I'm getting increasingly turned on as her index finger lightly scratches at the upper line of my curls.
"So I guess you have to thank me for making you dress to kill, right?"
"Sure.." I'm almost certain I'm not keeping up my part of this conversation but it's really hard when her fingers are driving me out of my freaking mind.
"Are.. are you having sex right now?!?!" this snaps me into action
"By Addie" and I turn off the phone and throw it somewhere on the floor in the room.
I grab Erica by the shoulders and pull her fully on top of me, and she smirks as her mouth finds mine once again and her finger finds a new game to play against my expecting flesh.
Talking will have to come later. Decisions about how we go on from here. Do I move to LA? Does se move back to Seattle? I still have about 6 months on my residency left, do we wait that long to be together? Do we try this over two thousand kilometers?
And there will also have to be the talk about what place this woman, who was in this bed instead of me, will hold in her life. What place do we hold in each other’s lives.
And a moment of anxiety flashes through my mind but the feel of her body against my skin, her lips against mine, her heart inside my chest, all this chases away any doubt I have left. For this is where I belong, and where I intend to stay. And I'll fight if I have to make this work, have to keep her, but I'll do it without holding back.
Because I'm never going to shut my eyes again and live in a lonely dream anymore, now that I've awakened to the beauty that is the two of us together.
Author: Spooky85
Pairing: Erica/Callie
Rating: NC17
Summary: What happens when someone bursts your little bubble and you're left missing blonde hair?
Disclaimer: All characters are property of Shonda Rhimes and ABC. Not mine.
*Chapter 15*
Sex. And when you think about it, it really is all humans strive for. Study hard so you can get the job, get the job so you can get the big fat paycheck, get the money so you can get the car and the expensive date stuff, get the date stuff so you can get into the girl's pants.
That's how I've always seen this going, and I have to say, I've been disappointed but a few times.
Every single living breathing human being likes sex. It's the only real truth, only banner under which everybody will get under and march for and not fight about. Sex. Sex is the ultimate tool of peace, capable of bringing people together. Not politics nor ethics, not literature nor poetics.
Sex. Raw, naked, sweaty sex.
And I've always strived for peace.
Those who considered themselves my friends during my college years will tell you I probably lost my virginity barely more than a child. They drew their own conclusions and I never bothered telling them otherwise.
In fact I did all but let them believe it wasn't so. I spent my carefree adolescence years as the true spirit of rebellion. So naturally with the leather jackets and miniskirts and hanging out with bikers or musicians in the backstage of a rock concert, there came the sex and I accepted it gladly.
I had spent my childhood guarding myself from people so they would never really and truly see me, I had spent my early adolescence as a reject, both at school and at life. I'd be the one sitting in the back of my class eating my hair in fear and expectation of anybody ever sitting near me and actually talking to me, ridiculed by my classmates for my weird behavior and plump appearance.
As soon as I reached nineteen and ditched some of my baby fat, I started noticing something different in boy's eyes when they'd look in my direction. My body soon taught my crazy brains to take a hike and let it do all the talking and I started getting dates and offers and guys flocking around me. I started owning my body and feeling proud of my skin.
Sex was what they wanted and I gave it to them, without much thought or remorse. I was not by any stretch of the imagination a slut but I'm sure my mother would have run out of breath with all the praying to save my sinner's soul had she only imagined what I used to do in those nights I stayed out till dawn.
Then again, being asked even now, my mother would probably just kick your ass for even suggesting that her thirty year old little child did even know what sex was.
Then medicine changed everything for me. I fell in love and there was no place in my life for anything else aside from studying and daydreaming about the moment people would call me doctor. Guys lost their appeal to me with the same ease I lost the leather jacket and the attitude and enrolled.
Never gave it much thought till I met George and something inside me changed. For the first time with him I thought I could set aside my years having sex and could start our years making love together. George was good, not spectacular, but unexpectedly good and I remember the first time we made love I thanked him for making me experience something I thought I had felt for the first time.
When he left me to have sex with the trailer park model I felt crushed, as if I'd been teleported suddenly back to my high school back row desk, feeling awkward, unsure and fat.
And Mark helped me get through that. I knew him, knew his reputation, heard him being called a man-whore behind his back by half the staff of Seattle Grace. When I met him in the lobby of the Archfield I had so desperately taken refuge into, his perfect body and sly grin directed towards me, I had found my rocker in the backstage of a concert again, and I was back at using sex to get some sense of self.
And then I met Erica. I say that a lot, don't I. But it's true. Everything I could tell you about me, everything I thought I knew about my mind and body, every part of me changed when I met her.
Even sex.
She even changed sex with Mark for me. What had been my constant, my fix to calm my nerves and over working mind, was now a burning reminder of the things I wanted to sweat away. The teasing, the easy banter between the three of us, the allusions to sex and threesomes. Somehow that notion lodged itself in my brain and just wouldn't disappear.
The images he conjured up for me, and for himself I guess. Me and Erica. Me and naked Erica. Me and naked Erica and lips. And tongues. And breasts hands and thighs. Flashes of skin I couldn't elude not even in surgery. Not when her eyes stared intently at a monitor like his voice in my ears told me they would watch my naked body, not when her face was so close to mine as we entangled while working on a patient I could feel her open mouth breaths on my skin like his voice told me they would feel on me as I bury my fingers deep inside of her.
But that wasn't the only way in which she changed it for me.
The first time we actually did have sex, no Mark to dictate our moves, she changed it so much I couldn't even recognize it. I'd always been good at sex. Like surgery I used to get down to it, both hands, and rock it through to its glorious end. With her I was a failure. A part of me shifted back to my high school frame of mind and for the longest time never came back to me. So I was left fumbling and nervously looking at her perfect expecting skin, still feeling the buzz of the amazingness that had been her first time with my body, and I chocked. I couldn't do it. I couldn't be as good as her. I convinced myself I couldn't possibly conjure from her lips the same sighs and pleas she had extracted from mine so I didn't even try, I just lay there, feeling awkward and way too naked as she stroked my hair to restless sleep.
And then, as I made her try this again, as I made her break all of her rules, without regard for her fragile soul, as I ordered her in no uncertain terms to drop her pants and let me have another shot at it, and she complied, I was amazing too. Ok maybe not amazing, but it was the first time I'd felt her thighs tighten their hold on my face, her hand gripping my hair in frantic satisfaction.
For the all too brief time we were together, the amazing moments started outweighing the burden of that one big failure and I began feeling more complete and myself again when the next and final change she had done on my sex life took place. Our bed in my apartment the scene. Amazing mind blowing sex the morning after we had sworn to have a nice night in of simple cuddling the moment. And I stood there with the sticky proof of my amazingness on my face as she cried her newly discovered gayness to me. And I knew in that instant that things had changed and nobody had bothered to warn me. While I was having amazing sex with her that morning, she was making amazing love to me, and I felt out of place. Something else had entered the picture, something I wasn't yet prepared for. Love. Making love to her. Being in love with her.
So I ran and fretted and dwelled on it and tested stupid theories that never proved anything and managed to make her run away only to discover I had been prepared to make love to her all along, because the ache I felt inside my heart when I discovered she had abandoned me without even saying goodbye certainly felt like something had been ripped out from a place I didn't even know was holding it.
But I remember it. I remember the feel of her skin on mine, the touch of her lips, the whisper of her fingertips, breaking me down and making me whole once again. I remember them, like I remember my own skin. They're imprinted in me so that there's never gonna be another quite like her, no matter what.
And now as I kiss her, with my head and heart light and full of her, I remember and I smile at how her taste hasn't changed, how her eyes close the moment our lips come in contact still, how her hand moves to my face and caresses me through the kiss.
And I feel drunk, drunk on the feel of her, her scent, her taste, the golden of her hair I searched for and eluded for so long, the heat of her body that melts the last restrain around my heart. And I remember the feeling building up inside the depth of my stomach, rising through my lungs, choking me as it lodges in my throat, only now I can recognize it, I'm finally ready to call it with its name. For too long I've mistaken it for fear or second guessing or freaking out. For too long it's come between us leaving the bad after taste in my mouth that only a mistake can bring. And I thought the mistake was her, and now I know the mistake was on me. For thinking and not feeling, for holding back and not voicing out.
"I love you" and the stone in my throat becomes light and sweet as her smile and renewed kissing against my lips.
And suddenly it's not enough anymore, and suddenly I have to touch her, all of her, and truly feel her and be with her. Half lying here over her, fully clothed, on her couch is not enough, and how could it be?
I've been without her for far too long, I've been without her for all my life and I can't wait a minute more. So I plead.
"Erica... " and she knows. Maybe she feels it too. Maybe I'm not mistaken as I feel her tug on my hand as she leads me upstairs to a room I had sworn not to ever imagine, a little too impatiently. Maybe she really does breathe easier now.
And as I enter her bedroom I feel like I've been admitted to a sacred chamber inside her heart, for as we stand in front of her bed for a fraction of a second I feel her hesitating as if afraid I'll bolt out the door at her assumption of my plea's meaning.
Only I'm not gonna leave her doubting, never again. And I pull on her hand still firmly cradled in mine and I make her turn around and leave us both breathless with a kiss that pours all my emotions and feelings into her. For I know I'll never be able to completely tell her in words, so I'll have to make her feel it with my adoring kisses and pleading eyes.
A soft strangled moan, half born of surprise at my renewed and yet completely different passion towards her, escapes her and without a moment hesitation I can feel her hands pushing my jacket down to the floor and pulling the hem of my top high over my head.
I'm almost reluctant at this forced separation of our lips as my top joins the other garment already on the wooden floor, but my protest quickly dies in my throat as I see her taking her own sweatshirt off, leaving me with skin to explore.
I can feel the vibrations of her moan against my lips as I kiss a path up her neck and back to her mouth once again. Her tongue a messenger of her need in my mouth. And I meet its challenge with renewed strength as my hands start a journey of their own against the plane of her soft stomach and the valley between her breasts. It's a pilgrimage long and exhausting and yet so sacred I'm almost afraid to see its completion.
The soft skin of her breast under my left palm soon makes me forget every other thought as my brain gets sucked into the sensation of her hardened nipple proud against my flesh and the memory of how it felt rolling over my tongue.
And I want to do all at once, and I want to kiss her mouth and taste her breast and feel the naked expanse of her body against me, and I want to hear her moan and scream and whisper all at once and this longing is excruciating and I let out a strangled sigh of frustration. And she catches it on her tongue. And she stops kissing me to calm my rattled nerves.
"Shh.. it's ok.. calm down.. we have all the time in the world" and those simple words are like a cure for my hunger, like a remedy for my starving body. There is no need to rush this, no need to grasp every moment like it might be the last, for we have all the time in the world and it's all I ever wanted with her.
I close my eyes and breathe one long single breath and when I look at her again we smile and it's like a new beginning.
I move my head up to kiss her now, and she meets me halfway and it's slow and full and it soothes an ache I didn't even know I was feeling inside. Her hair run through my fingers like water, like molten golden, and I never thought I'd feel it again and I'm thankful to this woman for not letting my stupid fright win over us.
Her hand moves to the top button of my black tight jeans and I feel every vibration of the zipper as it's pulled down reverberate through my core. I smile inwardly at her as she cannot contain some urge of hers too as she moves her hands around me to grab a handful of my ass as she frees it from its jeans' prison. But it's only an instant and then they're moving over me once again, discarding my bra and making up for its absence on my breasts with a firm squeeze and a caress.
I marvel at the sight of her hands on my breasts for a moment. I remember sitting with Mark and Christina, watching her perform surgery like the good little cheerleaders that we were, holding somebody's life in her hands with a touch soft and strong at the same time. And then I shiver as I remember those same hands and the way they felt as they held my life in them, held me, from the inside out, the way they used to move inside that made me lose my mind. The loss of those same hands I spent long days mourning over. And now they're on me again, and they'll be on me from now on and I am mesmerized at the shape and feel of them, at the fact that those simple hands shouldn't have the power to make me soar or leave me broken. But they aren't simple hands, those are cardio-god hands and they are touching my skin.
And some of the urge of before comes back to me in a wave that starts at my brain and ends way lower, urging me to grab her neck and pull her towards me for an hungry kiss.
She chuckles against my lips, as she pinches my nipple, causing me to break away from my hold on her mouth to gasp, giving her way to drop it and gift its attention to my breast.
The first flick of her tongue over my over excited flesh and I'm sure I'll lose my mind before I even get my pants off. This thought snaps me back into motion and as I drop my head back at the way her teeth are grazing the underside of my breast just now, I move my hands to fumble with the buttons on her jeans and have her wriggling out of them in a minute or two.
She takes a step back to get away from the offending garment pooling at her feet and I take a moment to look at her, really look at her, almost naked in all her glory before me. The long expanse of her beautiful toned legs, the soft curve of her feminine hips, the inviting rosy tips of her breasts, the red kiss swollen lips, the sparkling blue eyes, the disheveled hair. She's magnificent. She's raw and real and mine. And the look of claim in my eyes must have spoken volumes to her because as I move towards her she doesn't hesitate to drop on the mattress behind her calves.
With her seated there I'm left with my dilemma for the night, to touch or taste. And I don't know how to choose. All I know is there's still a piece of clothing on her and I want it gone.
I grab hold of the waistband of her panties and she looks at me through half open eyes, burning with desire and anticipation and I cannot help but lick my lips, suddenly parched by her scorching gaze. She lifts her hips and I pull my fingers down, sliding off her body the last barrier to the treasure that is all of her.
I glide my right hand up the outside of her leg, feeling it part slightly as if under the spell of my touch. As I get to the knee I move towards the inside of her thigh all the while never leaving her eyes. Her breath hitches in her throat as I get to the wetness testifying to her need for me on the soft inside of her thighs. I don't move it. Never dropping my gaze, forever trapped into her blue orbs, I move my body towards her, between her thighs, as I lay open mouthed kisses over her neck, down her torso, along her abdomen and underbelly, down to the patch of neatly trimmed blonde curls.
A pause. A whimper. And I give in.
The first taste of her brings with it all the memories of all the times I've been here, only this time is different, and her almost reverent sighs tell me she gets it.
As I slowly move my tongue against her, as I feel her tremble and twitch beneath me, as I quench this thirst deep inside my soul, she gets it.
Her hand shots through my hair, first combing them then just holding on to make sure I don't stop, to make sure she won't get completely lost in the sensation, are the first rewards for the way my tongue is caressing her, body and soul, for the first time in so long and maybe the first time ever.
I move my hand now, the one I have been so good at keeping still on her thigh and as I push my way inside of her I feel like I'm sliding home. Her heat is scorching me, her taste all I know, her voice all I can hear as she calls out my name softly then more urgently, the velvet against my fingers something I never thought I'd ever feel again.
And I keep on a minute longer, just touching and tasting, treasuring the sensation till I know her body will give in and I'll have to stop. A minute more of this pressure on my fingers as I move them, pushed deep inside of her, a minute more of this feeling her need for me hard and proud against my tongue, a minute more of this chanting of my name on her lips that feels like a prayer and a benediction. And then I feel it. Her fingers dig in my scalp, in the back of my neck as she curves her back, head thrown over her shoulders, the strangled scream of my name rising towards the ceiling for one last time. And her insides quiver against my fingers for one final spasm and then she's breathing heavily and grabbing hold of my hair to pull me up in one liberating urge to meld her body and mine.
We stay there for one long moment, her completely naked, seated on the edge of her bed, me kneeling in front of her, still half dressed and begging.
And I knew. I knew she was aware of all that was different now, all that made this new first time of us together feel so different. And as she opens her mouth to whisper to me, a single tear slides down her still flushed cheek.
"I love you too" and we hold on for dear life once again. And there is no other place I'd rather be right now. For I have her, and we love each other, and we'll have each other forever for we have all the time in the world.
And as I smile against her lips I realize that this thing we just experienced, this need and hunger and calm inside, this feeling of love, is true and real and ours, and I have never ever truly felt this before.
Because I just made love to her for the first time in my life.
*Epilogue*
Isn't it funny how there's always a moment, when you're barely awake, so much that you're not even sure if you really are, and your dreams mix with the reality around you? You open your eyes a split second ahead of your brain, that drags behind in your dreamscape. And for that single moment you can still live in your dream. Like if you dreamt you were a superhero, for that one moment, you'll look around for your cape and mask before the waking reality of your life dawns on you, and you flop back onto your bad, almost disappointed.
For the longest time, a time that seems like a life time ago, I used to dream about surgeries. About performing incredible rock star level surgeries, the tense muscles, the satisfaction, the glory. And then I'd wake up, beeper blaring off that my little intern help was needed putting up a in IV or doing mind numbing paperwork. I'd drop off my mattress on the floor of the hospital basement and I would drag my feet on the ground till another image would to pop inside my mind, one that was not made of dreams but of memories and excitement, of all the amazing stuff I'd already really done or would soon learn how to do, to make my dream a little more real with each passing day. And that image would sweep me off my feet and I would fly through the corridors and halls and bowels of that hospital that really was all my life.
There was even a time there in which I dreamt of happy marriages and kids and preschool and playgrounds, and Christmas dinner with a whole lot of family around me, and love. And then I'd wake up to see the cheating face of my real life husband, and couldn't help but feel let down by life, disappointed in me, for having left the basement to end up in the marriage from hell.
But life went on and so did my dreams. I'd dream of fun times. Naked fun times. Naked fun times with my best friend. Who was a girl. With real live breasts to prove it. And with amazing eyes, and incredible hands, and mesmerizing tongue peeking out of her lips when deep in thought. I used to wake up all hot and bothered, annoyed at my own treacherous body that kept up this fight even when my unguarded brain was out for the night.
And then my dreams changed. Went on the same pattern as my George dreams had, with kids and family pictures and life. And disastrous meeting of the parents and secretive lives and resentful fights. And I'd wake up annoyed this time at my own self destructive brain for keeping up the fight even when my body had let its guard down.
A single ray of sunlight fights its way through the blinds, and I'm awake. And uncertain.
A strange bed cradling my way through the night. Strange covers to hold me. Strange pillow under my confused mind.
For a moment I freeze, not really knowing if I'm awake or not, if this bed I'm into is one I'm supposed to run from or snuggle further against.
A slight burn on the muscles in my arms, the feeling in the pit of my stomach, however, those things tell me this is not a dream.
So I brave an open eyelid, and prepare myself to let reality bitch slap me into another numb day of pretending.
And then my eyes meet gold.
And I'm engulfed in an all-encompassing feeling of calm and agitation and love and awe and something else I cannot identify and don't really care to.
Erica is here. Still, sleeping. Beautifully resting her body right next to me.
A body that has been my craving, then my fear, than my secret, than my yearning.
And now my reality.
The covers reach her lower back, a naked path my eyes stumble over in their haste to cover its entirety.
Her head of messy blond tresses splayed on the pillow beside me. And for a moment I remember of that one morning in which I first woke up from restless dreams only to find her empty pillow glaring at me from across the bed. I caress her head now as I did her pillow then, softly and swiftly, so that I won't wake her. But I couldn't not touch her, I couldn't deny my hands the need to make sure there is a difference between then and now.
Her head turned towards the window, and I'm almost disappointed by the fact that I cannot watch her features softened by the restful sleep, I cannot burn the slope of her nose and the slight curve of her lips into my memory, like I always dreamt I would do and never really did when we were together back then.
But soon my disappointment is softened by the fact that her leg is now peeking from under the covers, an endless expanse of smooth perfect skin, a swift ankle, cute little fingers at the end of it.
I cannot contain the smile that spreads across my face right this very minute, and if I wasn't certain her light sleep would be disturbed by it, I'd do a happy dance right here and now.
But I really am in happy dance mood, and I really really cannot contain my urge to touch her any longer. A quick look at the clock tells me it's almost noon. The sound of her little sleeping sigh suggests that it's been a long and eventful night. The cute dimples that I know rest just above the curve of her bottom and that now tempt me at the edge of the covers order me that four hours of sleep are plenty enough.
I move my body towards her and let the trail of my kisses along her spine do all the talking.
She stirs, and unconsciously moves away from the disturbing lips, but soon her soft involuntary sigh brings her to wakefulness and she moves again, this time towards my touch. And I feel goose bumps on her delicate skin.
"Morning" she crokes out, grainy voice rendered even more so by the thick sleep. And it shots through my body like dope and I know I'm addicted.
"Morning" I whisper as my tongue cannot help itself as it peeks out to greet her skin also.
She rolls onto her back, facing my half upturned body, my head resting on my right elbow.
One of her legs slips between my calves and we smile at this newly rediscovered closeness of our bodies.
Her smile is dazzling as it reaches her eyes and my heart. "What time is it?"
"Noon. Why? You need to be at the hospital?" my perfect happiness disturbed by a thought.
"Later" I feel a pout coming on at this. Her right hand shots to my cheek caressing reassuringly as her body slides closer to mine still, till we're almost flush against one another.
"Much, much later" Her lips taste even sweeter than they did last night, or maybe it's because I no longer have that suffocating urge inside me.
With my left hand I caress her slowly and languidly, the curve of her side, the rise of her hip, the length of her upper thigh.
We break apart from a kiss so sweet it feels almost like a whisper. Then I hear it.
And I drop my face on my pillow. And I want to bury myself. Deep under the ground, never to show my face again.
That was so embarrassing..
"Impressive, Torres." she chuckles under my hand.
"I'm sorry.." I offer..
"How long since you had a decent meal?" the worried doctor look on her face is adorable. She can look so intimidating, so cold and hard, but when you chip away at all of that ice and stone, there is a world of marshmallowy softness inside that makes you go awww.
I don't answer. Because it would mean having to tell her that I haven't properly eaten in a month, and that would mean bringing sadness and regrets and remorse into those beautiful pools of blue, and I know there'd be some guilt mixed in it too, and I can't have her feeling guilty over something that was entirely my fault and that we have sworn to put behind us only last night. So I opt for skirting around this treacherous ground.
"I skipped dinner last night" her look of mild annoyance at my non committal answer is swept away by another bout of chuckling as my stomach lets us loudly know once again that he's aware we're talking about him.
She moves to get up and I cling to her body, like a life line. I never intend to ever let even a moment pass in which some part of her is not under my direct touch. It's imperative. It's mandatory.
She stops for just one second to look at me, like she cannot believe I'm really here either, then she takes my hand and moves to get out of bed, dragging me behind her. We put on some long t-shirts that barely cover our legs and we make our way downstairs and into the kitchen.
Her house is impressive. I never really stopped to notice it last night, not without choking and feeling sick, that is. Now I move inside it, and I really look at it, not like it's the demon that kept her away from me anymore.
The living room is big, sparsely decorated, but that's Erica for you. Few and essential has always been her style. A white couch here, a ceiling high library there, few paintings, even fewer ornaments, a white wooden coffee table. With a picture on top of it. And some of the pain of last night resurfaces through my heart, and she senses it, and she pulls me a little bit closer.
"I'll talk to her" she tries to reassure, and the soft plea in her eyes tells me she means it as we exit this room towards the kitchen with a bit more haste than before.
I silently thank her.
The kitchen is definitely more lived in than the living room seems to be. Pots and pans, neat rows of little jars seated on shelves, a few cookbooks.
I perch myself against the isle in the middle of the room as she opens her fridge and looks at it pensively for a moment.
I take the time to sneak a peek at the back of her naked legs, the shape of her, the soft color of her skin.
And my stomach growls again, only this time it's a different kind of hunger.
At the sound she turns towards me, her worrying over me showing off on her half bitten bottom lip, and I grip the counter because it's the only thing that's stopping me from striding through this space between us and make her my lunch.
"So.. it appears I have milk and maybe some cookies to offer.." she mock smiles enticingly, as if presenting me the most sumptuous meal "or.. we could go to the little cafe at the end of the street and have something proper to eat there"
I mock ponder for a second
"Would that involve putting on clothes and getting out of the house?"
"I don't think they'd appreciate it if we show up in our underwear..."
I grin at her.
"Milk and cookies sound perfect" a wink letting her know I have no intention of letting her put clothes on, not for a while yet.
she grins back at me "excellent choice"
I bite into my fifth chocolate chip cookie as we lie once again on her bed, long emptied glasses of milk on her nightstand. This is heaven. The sunshine rays play with the leaves on her backyard trees, their shadows dancing on the wall in front of the bed. The soft sounds of traffic and life lived at a quick pace that come from the closed window, when compared to this moment of calm and quiet, make it even more precious. The warmth of the covers we lay under a comforting contrast to the cold of the December air we would have had to brave outside.
"This is good" I mumble against the chocolaty goodness in my mouth.
She moves a little bit closer to me, perched on both her elbows, half lying on her stomach, head just a few inches from mine.
"Yeah it is" she mumbles back as she steals a bite out of my lunch.
"Hey! Give it back!" I squeak pretending to be offended and angry
"Can't" she throws back, swallowing quickly and grinning like crazy.
"You meanie.. it was my piece of cookie"
"want payback?" she jokes, and an idea pops into my head
"Yeah, that sounds about right." I move towards her mouth, lightly licking at the outside of her cookie powder covered lips. She moans at the unexpected sensuality of my actions and I take the opportunity to steal the pack of cookies between her suddenly limp hands.
"Evil. Conniving little evil thief" she lets out with a soft smile
"Oh yeah?" my arched eyebrow and teasing features letting her know payback isn't over yet.
"Yeah" she rumbles against my lips before recapturing them and claiming them once again with hers.
I can feel her tongue moving against mine, her teeth biting at my bottom lip, her sweetness pouring inside of me, leaving me suddenly soaked and wanting more.
The shrill of my cell phone rudely interrupts the descent of my hand across her spine and we both groan. The second trill has me grumbling as I reach towards my pants still lying at the bottom of the bed.
"This better be important" I bark into it, and Erica chuckles. Her right hand is doing a little dance over my belly and an all too distracting tingle shots through me.
"I take it things went well?" I0d recognize that half pissed of half happy tone everywhere.
"Addie! God! I.. you weren't waiting up for me.. were you?" I cringe as I remember her saying she'd stay awake to bring me back home after the slaughter.
"Well I kind of got the message when it passed five in the morning and you still hadn't called"
"I'm so so so sorry! It completely slipped my mind. I'm sorry"
"You already said that Callie" her voice is now more happy for me than it is angry at me.
Erica's hand stops circling my bellybutton and starts on a downward path, that has my breath catching in my throat and my muscles tremble under her touch
"Is everything alright between you now?"
"You could say that.." I answer distractedly as I glare at Erica but cannot find the courage in me to still her hand
"Did you fight and make up like I said you would?"
"hu huh" I'm getting increasingly turned on as her index finger lightly scratches at the upper line of my curls.
"So I guess you have to thank me for making you dress to kill, right?"
"Sure.." I'm almost certain I'm not keeping up my part of this conversation but it's really hard when her fingers are driving me out of my freaking mind.
"Are.. are you having sex right now?!?!" this snaps me into action
"By Addie" and I turn off the phone and throw it somewhere on the floor in the room.
I grab Erica by the shoulders and pull her fully on top of me, and she smirks as her mouth finds mine once again and her finger finds a new game to play against my expecting flesh.
Talking will have to come later. Decisions about how we go on from here. Do I move to LA? Does se move back to Seattle? I still have about 6 months on my residency left, do we wait that long to be together? Do we try this over two thousand kilometers?
And there will also have to be the talk about what place this woman, who was in this bed instead of me, will hold in her life. What place do we hold in each other’s lives.
And a moment of anxiety flashes through my mind but the feel of her body against my skin, her lips against mine, her heart inside my chest, all this chases away any doubt I have left. For this is where I belong, and where I intend to stay. And I'll fight if I have to make this work, have to keep her, but I'll do it without holding back.
Because I'm never going to shut my eyes again and live in a lonely dream anymore, now that I've awakened to the beauty that is the two of us together.