Cycling 3/?
Title: Cycling
Author: darsfebruary
Rating: R for I'll leave it to your imagination.
Summary: Hahn takes a bath.
Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy and its characters and locations are the property of ABC and Shonda Rhimes. No copyright infringement intended.
Part 1 here:
http://community.livejournal.com/ga_fanfic/1196249.html#cutid1
Part 2 here:
http://community.livejournal.com/ga_fanfic/1203549.html#cutid1
Erica is taking a bath. It is very out of character. Baths are not efficient. You always end up filmed in suds and pruned and a little lightheaded. Or very lightheaded, if you have set your rather large glass of red wine beside the tub and are drinking that while you soak, against all common sense. But the water feels good. It has cooled into a tepid warm blanket kind of a thing, and don’t her long, pale toes look sort of cute way down there at the tap end. It’s an old bathtub, with cast iron fixtures and a plug on a chain, and battered feet, but it is Erica-sized, and even though she doesn’t take baths, Erica may have paid far too much for the tub because of that very feature.
But it was worth it, Erica thinks, as she slides her soapy hand across her belly, as she bends her knees a bit more and lets her back slide down. As her hair, the one thing about which she is unabashedly vain, billows out around her head and her ears submerge.
She listens to the muted vibrations of the blues CD she’s put on and feels the hum of her own body when she lifts her legs and soaps her sore calves, when she soaps her thighs and between her legs, when she lifts her bottom and pushes on her pelvis, and closes her eyes and lets the water still around her face.
She rests her hand there, below her belly, and plays with the clean little curls that feel so silky like this. Soft with shampoo. She thinks about the baby hairs around Callie’s ears, and how she brushed them with her thumb as she kissed her. She thinks about how Callie’s mouth tasted faintly of coffee, but not stale coffee, about how the other woman stopped breathing when their lips touched, but then started breathing again. About how she breathed in as Callie breathed out and then how Callie breathed in as she breathed out and leaned maybe imperceptibly into it, maybe just a little.
Her fingers are pushing in now slowly and her other hand is on her chest, pressing into the freckled skin above her heart. She can hear its beat in the water, faster now, more insistent. And then her fingers are two knuckles in, and out, in and out, leisurely, and her thumb is circling, not too much, she’s going to take her time. She matches the drum of her heart, the bass from the song in the water, the sound of her breathing amplified in her ears. She can’t make out the buzzing words, but they run through her mind because this is a song she knows.
…No you don’t know the one
Who dreams of you each night
And longs to kiss your lips
And longs to hold you tight
To you I’m just a friend
That’s all I’ve ever been
No you don’t know me
She can feel her body responding. She plants her feet on the floor of the tub, her toes are curling against the porcelain and the barely perceptible blonde hairs on her thighs are rising in the cold air above the water and making her skin goosebump.
I never knew the art of making love
Though my heart aches with love for you
The muscles of her thighs are chords under her skin, straining and releasing, straining and releasing. She studied those muscles in med school. She knows the paths that lead from her nerve ends to her spinal column to her brain, the chemicals that swim to their receptors that make her moan from the back of her throat like that, the feedback system that means she’s not in control of this, not really. She feels she is breathing out hot, condensing air. She curls her fingers more and adds another. Her knuckles cause her breath to hitch, and she knows she’s helpless to stop it now.
I’m afraid and shy
I let my chance go by
The chance that you might love me too...
Her back muscles are tightening, her hand has moved from her chest, she’s gripping the side of the tub, the once still water laps as she undulates, meeting her hand. She can’t keep her head down, the water’s getting in her open mouth, so she shifts up, she pushes her toes against the bottom of the tub. She’s one clenched muscle, and her body has wound itself up tighter than she believes, all of it clamped in the base of her gut. And she can’t stand it, she has to do something because it’s painful it’s so good. So she does. She pushes herself over with the fleshy pad of her thumb, the thumb that stroked Callie’s cheek. And she unreels, and unreels, and unreels, and hears her heart pounding louder than ever, though that can’t be, she’s not under the water anymore, she’s settling back into the tub. She leaves her fingers where they are, she feels the residual waves of her climax tense around her.
Slowly her mind refocuses, she can hear the words of the song now, and she was right, she knew them all.
Should she feel guilty? She doesn’t. She feels better. She feels like some of the chill Seattle mornings, some of the waking up alone, some of the cold kitchen tiles and long hours and silent phones have been pushed out of her. Erica Hahn, she tells herself, you are built for this. You are smart and strong and capable. You can make changes. And she knows how to do it. She’ll start with Callie Torres.
Sometime, maybe not tomorrow, but sometime soon, she would take her out. She would kiss her, properly. Not in an elevator. And she thought maybe Callie would lean in again just a little bit, just a little bit more.
Author: darsfebruary
Rating: R for I'll leave it to your imagination.
Summary: Hahn takes a bath.
Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy and its characters and locations are the property of ABC and Shonda Rhimes. No copyright infringement intended.
Part 1 here:
http://community.livejournal.com/ga_fanfic/1196249.html#cutid1
Part 2 here:
http://community.livejournal.com/ga_fanfic/1203549.html#cutid1
Erica is taking a bath. It is very out of character. Baths are not efficient. You always end up filmed in suds and pruned and a little lightheaded. Or very lightheaded, if you have set your rather large glass of red wine beside the tub and are drinking that while you soak, against all common sense. But the water feels good. It has cooled into a tepid warm blanket kind of a thing, and don’t her long, pale toes look sort of cute way down there at the tap end. It’s an old bathtub, with cast iron fixtures and a plug on a chain, and battered feet, but it is Erica-sized, and even though she doesn’t take baths, Erica may have paid far too much for the tub because of that very feature.
But it was worth it, Erica thinks, as she slides her soapy hand across her belly, as she bends her knees a bit more and lets her back slide down. As her hair, the one thing about which she is unabashedly vain, billows out around her head and her ears submerge.
She listens to the muted vibrations of the blues CD she’s put on and feels the hum of her own body when she lifts her legs and soaps her sore calves, when she soaps her thighs and between her legs, when she lifts her bottom and pushes on her pelvis, and closes her eyes and lets the water still around her face.
She rests her hand there, below her belly, and plays with the clean little curls that feel so silky like this. Soft with shampoo. She thinks about the baby hairs around Callie’s ears, and how she brushed them with her thumb as she kissed her. She thinks about how Callie’s mouth tasted faintly of coffee, but not stale coffee, about how the other woman stopped breathing when their lips touched, but then started breathing again. About how she breathed in as Callie breathed out and then how Callie breathed in as she breathed out and leaned maybe imperceptibly into it, maybe just a little.
Her fingers are pushing in now slowly and her other hand is on her chest, pressing into the freckled skin above her heart. She can hear its beat in the water, faster now, more insistent. And then her fingers are two knuckles in, and out, in and out, leisurely, and her thumb is circling, not too much, she’s going to take her time. She matches the drum of her heart, the bass from the song in the water, the sound of her breathing amplified in her ears. She can’t make out the buzzing words, but they run through her mind because this is a song she knows.
…No you don’t know the one
Who dreams of you each night
And longs to kiss your lips
And longs to hold you tight
To you I’m just a friend
That’s all I’ve ever been
No you don’t know me
She can feel her body responding. She plants her feet on the floor of the tub, her toes are curling against the porcelain and the barely perceptible blonde hairs on her thighs are rising in the cold air above the water and making her skin goosebump.
I never knew the art of making love
Though my heart aches with love for you
The muscles of her thighs are chords under her skin, straining and releasing, straining and releasing. She studied those muscles in med school. She knows the paths that lead from her nerve ends to her spinal column to her brain, the chemicals that swim to their receptors that make her moan from the back of her throat like that, the feedback system that means she’s not in control of this, not really. She feels she is breathing out hot, condensing air. She curls her fingers more and adds another. Her knuckles cause her breath to hitch, and she knows she’s helpless to stop it now.
I’m afraid and shy
I let my chance go by
The chance that you might love me too...
Her back muscles are tightening, her hand has moved from her chest, she’s gripping the side of the tub, the once still water laps as she undulates, meeting her hand. She can’t keep her head down, the water’s getting in her open mouth, so she shifts up, she pushes her toes against the bottom of the tub. She’s one clenched muscle, and her body has wound itself up tighter than she believes, all of it clamped in the base of her gut. And she can’t stand it, she has to do something because it’s painful it’s so good. So she does. She pushes herself over with the fleshy pad of her thumb, the thumb that stroked Callie’s cheek. And she unreels, and unreels, and unreels, and hears her heart pounding louder than ever, though that can’t be, she’s not under the water anymore, she’s settling back into the tub. She leaves her fingers where they are, she feels the residual waves of her climax tense around her.
Slowly her mind refocuses, she can hear the words of the song now, and she was right, she knew them all.
Should she feel guilty? She doesn’t. She feels better. She feels like some of the chill Seattle mornings, some of the waking up alone, some of the cold kitchen tiles and long hours and silent phones have been pushed out of her. Erica Hahn, she tells herself, you are built for this. You are smart and strong and capable. You can make changes. And she knows how to do it. She’ll start with Callie Torres.
Sometime, maybe not tomorrow, but sometime soon, she would take her out. She would kiss her, properly. Not in an elevator. And she thought maybe Callie would lean in again just a little bit, just a little bit more.