Lightning Strikes Twice - Part 24B
Title: Lightning Strikes Twice
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Pairing: Duh. (Mer/Der)
Rating: M
Timeline: Post Time After Time.
Well, gee. I broke LJ with my 11000 words, it seems. Broke this part up, but it's all continuous.
~~~~~
"Derek, where the heck are you going?" she tried again as he turned another corner, navigating like he knew exactly where he was going. He carried her like she weighed nothing. And, as determined as he suddenly seemed, she probably did feel like nothing in his arms.
He just laughed, and suddenly, he was shoving the both of them through a door into darkness. He bumped the door shut behind him with his hip, and as her eyes adjusted, over his shoulder she saw two small cots lining the side of the windowless room. She didn't have more than a moment to absorb the scenery. The bolt lock clicked shut when he shifted and twisted it with his fingers. Then he pushed her flat against the door and kissed her, finally allowing her legs to fall from his grip. For a moment, all she could think was... he's kissing, kissing me. And her legs refused to support her. She slipped an inch, but he wrapped his arms around her, the falling stopped, and for a brief, nonsensical moment, she lived in the bliss.
When he pulled away from her for a moment, giving her time to have an actual thought that was part of an actual thought process, she hissed. "Derek, we can't do this here!"
He leaned down and ravished his way down her neck. "Why not?" he asked.
She blinked, trying to think, think thoughts. Where had they... Oooh. He licked her skin, sucked, and she couldn't help but tilt her head to give him more room to work with... Thoughts. What was? "We don't even work here," she said, gasping, trying to keep her mind in one piece, but failing, failing utterly. He was a freakin' god at the whole kissing thing. And...
Oooh. She moaned.
"I was on their payroll for consults at one point," he said, his voice rumbling into the underside of her chin as he dipped under and kissed her there, too, leaving no spot of her exposed skin untouched. "That counts."
"That..." She blinked, thunked her head back against the door, sighing as he drew another wave of bliss through her like thread through a needle. Thoughts. She had... "That does not count!"
"It does too count!"
"We can't, Derek," she said, even as her usually very negative inner voice was whining, we can, we can, we so, so can.
"Well, where else do you suggest?" he asked. "Kathy's Mercedes? I'm sure she'd love that."
"You can't even make it home?" she said, her exasperation draining away into a gasp as he pushed his hand up underneath her shirt and slid his palm along her skin. "You're like a teenager, I swear." Her fingers curled as he licked her lips, leaving a salty, evaporating trail of chill and heat that mixed and made her practically drunk on it. Her eyelids drooped with lusty desire. They really shouldn't. Do this. Here. But. But. But...
"I am not," he said, kissing her. "Ever." He kissed her again. "Doing another sex lecture." He kissed her one last time, deep, roaming, slick. "And I can't guarantee you'll be quiet."
"Can't guarantee I'll be quiet? What about you, Mr. Growly?"
"I know I won't be quiet," he said. He wrapped his arms around her and started shuffling backward, pulling her away from the door toward the waiting beds. It did seem kind of silly to have an on-call room so easily accessible and so empty... It was like the hospital was asking for it. Lusty doctors, have your hot, spontaneous, quickie sex here, right here, it seemed to be saying. And... And...
He kissed her again, and the last bit of protest bled out of her.
"This is so many levels of wrong," she said, but she pushed him down onto the bed anyway.
He laughed and pulled her down on top of him. "You'll have sex on a plane, but not in an on-call room?"
"I didn't say I wasn't going to have sex in an on-call room," she said, pushing up onto her knees and shifting so she straddled him at the waist.
"Oh?"
"Wrong is feeling kind of right, right now," she replied with a sly grin. "Besides, there's always tip number five."
He raised an eyebrow. "Why did you skip one and two?"
"I already use them," she said. She pulled her shirt off. Her bra went next.
"You do?"
"Two. Visual cues, to heighten your experience," she whispered as she leaned down, staying her lips millimeters from his own. "Like this," she purred. She kissed him, and then curled her body back in a slow arc. She splayed her palms against her lower abdomen, hooking her fingers briefly under the side straps of her panties before she drew her hands up slowly. She cupped her breasts, pushing them together into a mound of cleavage. "Or this," she added as she swept her hands back to her scrub cap, pulled it off, stroked her finger down against the band that held her ponytail in one piece, clawed it out, and let her hair fall loose in a slow tumble worthy of a shampoo commercial.
"Mere..." he whispered, and she could tell he was already her prisoner.
"As you can see, it was sort of a no-brainer. So was tip number one."
"One?"
"Foreplay..." she said. "Is essential." She leaned down, hooked his shirt with her fingers and slid back. He arced, helping her get rid of it in a smooth, practiced movement. She ran the back of her nail in a circle around his navel before trailing up to his pectorals. Leaning down like a swan plucking at the water with its beak, she licked the skin around his left nipple. A breath jerked through him.
"There seems to be a big gap in skill levels between the first two tips and the next two," he murmured.
"I think it all depends on what you do with the information," she said as she scooted back, wriggling intentionally against his groin as she slipped down to his thighs. She popped the first button of his jeans open. She loved that he loved button flies. They were so fun for... play. She twisted her finger under the second button, but didn't pop it open, just let him writhe for a moment.
Her pants were the simple zip kind with one button. When he gathered his senses from the scattered piles caused by her teasing, he managed to have said pants pooled around her knees in less than a breath. Her panties came down with a similar quickness. She leaned forward and let him draw them down until she could kick them off.
His pants were still on button two. She popped the second one, cupping him through his jeans. "Mere," he moaned as he swung his body up, trying to meet her, but he was trapped, and the word became a mewl of frustration. She leaned down flat against him and licked the underside of his chin before coming down on his lips in a desperate, heady kiss. He bucked into her as she swept her tongue down into him. "Mere," he moaned again, the word lost in his mouth, lost in her mouth, rumbling against the back of her throat in a mindless twist of sound. She popped button three.
His hands swept down over her back, down past her hips, and then underneath, roaming slowly, carefully from her inner thighs to her chest. He was cheating. He wasn't supposed to be-
She fell against him when he slipped a finger down between her thighs. She panted. "Derek, no fair," she whined, but he took her breath away again with a series of quick, curling motions that made her feel like she was his harp to pluck and... Spots flared. Caress and... A sharp fire laced through her, suddenly the world was tilting, and he was looking down at her, panting, raining kisses down on her in a torrent. Play. Strum. Whatever. Whatever he wanted.
She finally let him have buttons four and five. She slipped his jeans and boxers down, and they were both in an even state of undress. He was hard. He was ready. She pulled him down against her, not inside her, but on top, and pinned him. The gasp she tore from his lips was exquisite. She slipped her hands between and stroked him up the underside. She purred as his whole body jerked, and he moaned, twisting into her hand.
He started to rock against her, thrusting against her skin. He kissed her, kissed her, kissed her, and somewhere in the middle, slipped his finger down again, sent in the fireworks to make her forget about trying to hold him so close to where he desperately wanted to be, but so far. A streak of sensation sent her curling backward into the mattress. Her arms fell away from him as she forgot herself for just a moment, but it was all he needed. He laughed, low and throaty and seductive, and as she came down from her backward arc, he pushed inside her with a light grunt.
For a moment, all he did was hover, hover, resting, inside her to the hilt. She breathed, staring at him through a hooded gaze. He was inside her, thick, and hard, and hers, and it felt so right. She reached up and twisted her fingers through his hair, holding him there, staring, inches from her face. His soft, hot breaths laved her skin. His blue eyes sparkled in the darkness. Hers.
And she was the Queen of England.
He took a deep, deep breath, like he was preparing himself for... something. And in the sudden stillness, the calm before the storm, she wondered if this was necessarily a good idea if he was already so tired and worn from yesterday. For a moment, she did wonder, concerned, especially when he was taking so long to start, but then he ripped the thought away from her as he began to work his magic.
He dug his knees into the bed and shifted so he was almost kneeling, and then he swept under her thighs with his hands and pushed until she was curling back over herself. He grunted, hooking his arms around her legs. The backs of her knees fell against his shoulders, and each long, solid thrust made it look like he was trying to crawl up the backs of her legs to her feet. Each thrust, slow, deliberate, rough, scraped along the front wall of her. Each one nearly took her breath away, sent a kaleidoscope of spots in front of her vision, sparking, flaring, brilliant.
"Derek," she said, panting, trying to remember if he'd ever tried this before. She didn't think he had, but then again, coherency? Not really happening right then. "Holy crap, Derek."
She clawed at his back as he filled her again, only to leave her, and fill her and leave her, and her thoughts were just. Gone. The friction building in her lower body felt like a slow-burn of frenzy, simmering, waiting. Every time he came back to her, she felt closer, closer, closer to the peak, inch by agonizing, luscious, thrilling inch. His pelvic bone grinding against her skin was his very own method of exquisite torture for her, and he slowly helped her climb from within and from without.
"So," he said, panting just as hard as she was. "I found your Cosmo... Educational."
"You what?" she gasped. "When?"
He didn't answer her. "This one was... new," he managed between ragged, tortured panting. "Though, you know... I was looking... at the pictures... Torrid Table-Top... Can we try... that one when we... get home? Home, home, not here... I'm not having sex... on my mother's table... That's a bit much... Even for me."
"You read my Cosmo?" she said, not quite with the situation as he entered her and sent the first, hinting shiver of release curling up her spine. Her voice fell away into a warbling, unhindered moan. Her eyes rolled back, her body started tensing, out of control. Her breathing wouldn't slow for any thought in the world.
He laughed as he pulled out and jammed up into her again. Deep, throaty grunts held each of his breaths in a vocalized vice. He was working, really working. His fingers gripped her thighs. Tight. "I didn't read the tips. I figured you'd want to surprise me."
"Derek," she moaned. "I'm... Oh." Her voice utterly left her.
The peak that had been threatening, it was there. He dipped out and in one more time, and she went flailing, falling, gasping. "Derek," she managed. "Crap, Derek. Crap, crap, crap." The throb of it rolled through her like a wave, and the aftershocks rolled through in quick echoes of the same, leaving her shuddering, little panting moans falling from her lips well after the ability to form real syllables left her. She shivered. Her brain stopped working. Sated. She was. Sated. And it was...
Perfect.
Derek pushed into her and let himself finish with a growl. He twitched inside of her, collapsing briefly against the backs of her quads as if they were the only things holding him up. They probably were. He pulled out of her and collapsed beside her as she let her legs fall to the mattress, unable to keep them up without his support. He was stuck in his own stupor, grinning, love-drunk, relaxed, sated.
He flopped his head down on her shoulder, breathing into her neck, but the rest of him, the rest of him wasn't moving one bit. Sort of like her. Just limp. Limp, and utterly done. There was going to be no second round today. A second round would probably kill them both.
The world dimmed. She didn't know how long she dozed, didn't know how long she let herself fall asleep for. It had been a long time since sex had knocked her out like that. She was doing the lazy after sex thing. She was. But she felt so freakin' good, she just didn't care.
She didn't know how long it had been, but when she came back to herself, she twitched, turned, and found him staring at her, his eyes hooded with a dark, deep, desirous thing. Love. Propped on his side, he breathed softly as he stroked his thumb in small movements against her shoulder. His skin was hot against her own, soaked with the frenzy of sex and lust and rushing blood. His Adam's apple bobbled down his throat as he swallowed once, twice. She rolled into his embrace and rested against him, staring lazily, not caring that they were in an on-call room of a strange hospital where they didn't work, not caring that there was a world outside the door, and from the look in his eyes, he didn't care either.
From the look in his eyes, there wasn't a world outside her body, let alone outside the door.
He lay there, silent, enthralled, and still. They rested for a long time, breathing. The moments brought clarity back to her in a slow, peaceful, barely-noticed crawl, until she was lying there not as an act of resting, but rather as an act of desire.
She wanted to stay there forever in his sanctuary, lounging against the rise and fall of his chest. His eyes glittered in the darkness, and the petting motion of his fingers on her shoulders slowed. He inhaled and let it go with a soft, whuffing sound that buffeted her cheek. She turned, faced him nose to nose, just a sliver of space between the end of her and the beginning of him. He inhaled once more, swallowed.
And then he spoke.
"Marry me," he whispered, and her world froze in that moment.
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Pairing: Duh. (Mer/Der)
Rating: M
Timeline: Post Time After Time.
Well, gee. I broke LJ with my 11000 words, it seems. Broke this part up, but it's all continuous.
~~~~~
"Derek, where the heck are you going?" she tried again as he turned another corner, navigating like he knew exactly where he was going. He carried her like she weighed nothing. And, as determined as he suddenly seemed, she probably did feel like nothing in his arms.
He just laughed, and suddenly, he was shoving the both of them through a door into darkness. He bumped the door shut behind him with his hip, and as her eyes adjusted, over his shoulder she saw two small cots lining the side of the windowless room. She didn't have more than a moment to absorb the scenery. The bolt lock clicked shut when he shifted and twisted it with his fingers. Then he pushed her flat against the door and kissed her, finally allowing her legs to fall from his grip. For a moment, all she could think was... he's kissing, kissing me. And her legs refused to support her. She slipped an inch, but he wrapped his arms around her, the falling stopped, and for a brief, nonsensical moment, she lived in the bliss.
When he pulled away from her for a moment, giving her time to have an actual thought that was part of an actual thought process, she hissed. "Derek, we can't do this here!"
He leaned down and ravished his way down her neck. "Why not?" he asked.
She blinked, trying to think, think thoughts. Where had they... Oooh. He licked her skin, sucked, and she couldn't help but tilt her head to give him more room to work with... Thoughts. What was? "We don't even work here," she said, gasping, trying to keep her mind in one piece, but failing, failing utterly. He was a freakin' god at the whole kissing thing. And...
Oooh. She moaned.
"I was on their payroll for consults at one point," he said, his voice rumbling into the underside of her chin as he dipped under and kissed her there, too, leaving no spot of her exposed skin untouched. "That counts."
"That..." She blinked, thunked her head back against the door, sighing as he drew another wave of bliss through her like thread through a needle. Thoughts. She had... "That does not count!"
"It does too count!"
"We can't, Derek," she said, even as her usually very negative inner voice was whining, we can, we can, we so, so can.
"Well, where else do you suggest?" he asked. "Kathy's Mercedes? I'm sure she'd love that."
"You can't even make it home?" she said, her exasperation draining away into a gasp as he pushed his hand up underneath her shirt and slid his palm along her skin. "You're like a teenager, I swear." Her fingers curled as he licked her lips, leaving a salty, evaporating trail of chill and heat that mixed and made her practically drunk on it. Her eyelids drooped with lusty desire. They really shouldn't. Do this. Here. But. But. But...
"I am not," he said, kissing her. "Ever." He kissed her again. "Doing another sex lecture." He kissed her one last time, deep, roaming, slick. "And I can't guarantee you'll be quiet."
"Can't guarantee I'll be quiet? What about you, Mr. Growly?"
"I know I won't be quiet," he said. He wrapped his arms around her and started shuffling backward, pulling her away from the door toward the waiting beds. It did seem kind of silly to have an on-call room so easily accessible and so empty... It was like the hospital was asking for it. Lusty doctors, have your hot, spontaneous, quickie sex here, right here, it seemed to be saying. And... And...
He kissed her again, and the last bit of protest bled out of her.
"This is so many levels of wrong," she said, but she pushed him down onto the bed anyway.
He laughed and pulled her down on top of him. "You'll have sex on a plane, but not in an on-call room?"
"I didn't say I wasn't going to have sex in an on-call room," she said, pushing up onto her knees and shifting so she straddled him at the waist.
"Oh?"
"Wrong is feeling kind of right, right now," she replied with a sly grin. "Besides, there's always tip number five."
He raised an eyebrow. "Why did you skip one and two?"
"I already use them," she said. She pulled her shirt off. Her bra went next.
"You do?"
"Two. Visual cues, to heighten your experience," she whispered as she leaned down, staying her lips millimeters from his own. "Like this," she purred. She kissed him, and then curled her body back in a slow arc. She splayed her palms against her lower abdomen, hooking her fingers briefly under the side straps of her panties before she drew her hands up slowly. She cupped her breasts, pushing them together into a mound of cleavage. "Or this," she added as she swept her hands back to her scrub cap, pulled it off, stroked her finger down against the band that held her ponytail in one piece, clawed it out, and let her hair fall loose in a slow tumble worthy of a shampoo commercial.
"Mere..." he whispered, and she could tell he was already her prisoner.
"As you can see, it was sort of a no-brainer. So was tip number one."
"One?"
"Foreplay..." she said. "Is essential." She leaned down, hooked his shirt with her fingers and slid back. He arced, helping her get rid of it in a smooth, practiced movement. She ran the back of her nail in a circle around his navel before trailing up to his pectorals. Leaning down like a swan plucking at the water with its beak, she licked the skin around his left nipple. A breath jerked through him.
"There seems to be a big gap in skill levels between the first two tips and the next two," he murmured.
"I think it all depends on what you do with the information," she said as she scooted back, wriggling intentionally against his groin as she slipped down to his thighs. She popped the first button of his jeans open. She loved that he loved button flies. They were so fun for... play. She twisted her finger under the second button, but didn't pop it open, just let him writhe for a moment.
Her pants were the simple zip kind with one button. When he gathered his senses from the scattered piles caused by her teasing, he managed to have said pants pooled around her knees in less than a breath. Her panties came down with a similar quickness. She leaned forward and let him draw them down until she could kick them off.
His pants were still on button two. She popped the second one, cupping him through his jeans. "Mere," he moaned as he swung his body up, trying to meet her, but he was trapped, and the word became a mewl of frustration. She leaned down flat against him and licked the underside of his chin before coming down on his lips in a desperate, heady kiss. He bucked into her as she swept her tongue down into him. "Mere," he moaned again, the word lost in his mouth, lost in her mouth, rumbling against the back of her throat in a mindless twist of sound. She popped button three.
His hands swept down over her back, down past her hips, and then underneath, roaming slowly, carefully from her inner thighs to her chest. He was cheating. He wasn't supposed to be-
She fell against him when he slipped a finger down between her thighs. She panted. "Derek, no fair," she whined, but he took her breath away again with a series of quick, curling motions that made her feel like she was his harp to pluck and... Spots flared. Caress and... A sharp fire laced through her, suddenly the world was tilting, and he was looking down at her, panting, raining kisses down on her in a torrent. Play. Strum. Whatever. Whatever he wanted.
She finally let him have buttons four and five. She slipped his jeans and boxers down, and they were both in an even state of undress. He was hard. He was ready. She pulled him down against her, not inside her, but on top, and pinned him. The gasp she tore from his lips was exquisite. She slipped her hands between and stroked him up the underside. She purred as his whole body jerked, and he moaned, twisting into her hand.
He started to rock against her, thrusting against her skin. He kissed her, kissed her, kissed her, and somewhere in the middle, slipped his finger down again, sent in the fireworks to make her forget about trying to hold him so close to where he desperately wanted to be, but so far. A streak of sensation sent her curling backward into the mattress. Her arms fell away from him as she forgot herself for just a moment, but it was all he needed. He laughed, low and throaty and seductive, and as she came down from her backward arc, he pushed inside her with a light grunt.
For a moment, all he did was hover, hover, resting, inside her to the hilt. She breathed, staring at him through a hooded gaze. He was inside her, thick, and hard, and hers, and it felt so right. She reached up and twisted her fingers through his hair, holding him there, staring, inches from her face. His soft, hot breaths laved her skin. His blue eyes sparkled in the darkness. Hers.
And she was the Queen of England.
He took a deep, deep breath, like he was preparing himself for... something. And in the sudden stillness, the calm before the storm, she wondered if this was necessarily a good idea if he was already so tired and worn from yesterday. For a moment, she did wonder, concerned, especially when he was taking so long to start, but then he ripped the thought away from her as he began to work his magic.
He dug his knees into the bed and shifted so he was almost kneeling, and then he swept under her thighs with his hands and pushed until she was curling back over herself. He grunted, hooking his arms around her legs. The backs of her knees fell against his shoulders, and each long, solid thrust made it look like he was trying to crawl up the backs of her legs to her feet. Each thrust, slow, deliberate, rough, scraped along the front wall of her. Each one nearly took her breath away, sent a kaleidoscope of spots in front of her vision, sparking, flaring, brilliant.
"Derek," she said, panting, trying to remember if he'd ever tried this before. She didn't think he had, but then again, coherency? Not really happening right then. "Holy crap, Derek."
She clawed at his back as he filled her again, only to leave her, and fill her and leave her, and her thoughts were just. Gone. The friction building in her lower body felt like a slow-burn of frenzy, simmering, waiting. Every time he came back to her, she felt closer, closer, closer to the peak, inch by agonizing, luscious, thrilling inch. His pelvic bone grinding against her skin was his very own method of exquisite torture for her, and he slowly helped her climb from within and from without.
"So," he said, panting just as hard as she was. "I found your Cosmo... Educational."
"You what?" she gasped. "When?"
He didn't answer her. "This one was... new," he managed between ragged, tortured panting. "Though, you know... I was looking... at the pictures... Torrid Table-Top... Can we try... that one when we... get home? Home, home, not here... I'm not having sex... on my mother's table... That's a bit much... Even for me."
"You read my Cosmo?" she said, not quite with the situation as he entered her and sent the first, hinting shiver of release curling up her spine. Her voice fell away into a warbling, unhindered moan. Her eyes rolled back, her body started tensing, out of control. Her breathing wouldn't slow for any thought in the world.
He laughed as he pulled out and jammed up into her again. Deep, throaty grunts held each of his breaths in a vocalized vice. He was working, really working. His fingers gripped her thighs. Tight. "I didn't read the tips. I figured you'd want to surprise me."
"Derek," she moaned. "I'm... Oh." Her voice utterly left her.
The peak that had been threatening, it was there. He dipped out and in one more time, and she went flailing, falling, gasping. "Derek," she managed. "Crap, Derek. Crap, crap, crap." The throb of it rolled through her like a wave, and the aftershocks rolled through in quick echoes of the same, leaving her shuddering, little panting moans falling from her lips well after the ability to form real syllables left her. She shivered. Her brain stopped working. Sated. She was. Sated. And it was...
Perfect.
Derek pushed into her and let himself finish with a growl. He twitched inside of her, collapsing briefly against the backs of her quads as if they were the only things holding him up. They probably were. He pulled out of her and collapsed beside her as she let her legs fall to the mattress, unable to keep them up without his support. He was stuck in his own stupor, grinning, love-drunk, relaxed, sated.
He flopped his head down on her shoulder, breathing into her neck, but the rest of him, the rest of him wasn't moving one bit. Sort of like her. Just limp. Limp, and utterly done. There was going to be no second round today. A second round would probably kill them both.
The world dimmed. She didn't know how long she dozed, didn't know how long she let herself fall asleep for. It had been a long time since sex had knocked her out like that. She was doing the lazy after sex thing. She was. But she felt so freakin' good, she just didn't care.
She didn't know how long it had been, but when she came back to herself, she twitched, turned, and found him staring at her, his eyes hooded with a dark, deep, desirous thing. Love. Propped on his side, he breathed softly as he stroked his thumb in small movements against her shoulder. His skin was hot against her own, soaked with the frenzy of sex and lust and rushing blood. His Adam's apple bobbled down his throat as he swallowed once, twice. She rolled into his embrace and rested against him, staring lazily, not caring that they were in an on-call room of a strange hospital where they didn't work, not caring that there was a world outside the door, and from the look in his eyes, he didn't care either.
From the look in his eyes, there wasn't a world outside her body, let alone outside the door.
He lay there, silent, enthralled, and still. They rested for a long time, breathing. The moments brought clarity back to her in a slow, peaceful, barely-noticed crawl, until she was lying there not as an act of resting, but rather as an act of desire.
She wanted to stay there forever in his sanctuary, lounging against the rise and fall of his chest. His eyes glittered in the darkness, and the petting motion of his fingers on her shoulders slowed. He inhaled and let it go with a soft, whuffing sound that buffeted her cheek. She turned, faced him nose to nose, just a sliver of space between the end of her and the beginning of him. He inhaled once more, swallowed.
And then he spoke.
"Marry me," he whispered, and her world froze in that moment.