Fic: Seriously, How Can She Not Like Christmas?
Okay. So I realized it was the 23rd and I needed to get on this... Let me know!
Seriously, How Can She Not Like Christmas?
Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy.
Pairing: Meredith/Izzie.
Rating: R/NC-17.
Prompt: Learning about Christmas.
Disclaimer/Author’s Notes: Shonda Rhimes owns these pretty girls. This fic was written for sailorscully. And I broke my own rule - it’s R/NC-17-ish! XD. Merry Christmas.
- - - - - - -
“I hate Christmas.”
“Is this dark and twisty Meredith talking?”
“I think so.”
You pause to consider this. Bright and shiny Meredith is always preferable to dark and twisty Meredith, but you know she can’t help herself. You’re sure that if she could, she would always be bright and shiny Meredith. Although then again, sometimes you think she just enjoys the attention. It gets Dr. Shepherd - the male Dr. Shepherd - to give her that look he always does. The “poor Meredith, I want to be with you but I can’t” look.
“Well, you’ll just have to learn to like Christmas, then.”
“I’m going to bed.”
You frown. And then, an idea comes to your mind. “I’m coming with you.”
She only eyes you warily.
“You’re just tense from today.” You know she is. “You’ll like Christmas better after a back massage.” You know she will. She has to.
She doesn’t say a word; just heads for her room.
You follow her inside, and the next thing you know, you both are having some PG-13 fun. PG-13 that is quickly approaching R, you think to yourself.
Her skin is warm under your palms, and when she lets out a fluttery sigh of content, you smile and press your fingers harder into her back. This garners you a quiet moan, and it takes a lot of effort for you not to moan in response. You shift yourself gingerly, repositioning yourself on her back, your fingers digging into her skin again. She sighs again, and you can imagine her eyelids gently shutting as you work your way down her back, now making chopping motions.
She shifts under you, causing you to gasp, and suddenly you’re annoyed. You’re turned on, very much so, and she’s not helping matters - and something tells you that she knows this. You gently slap her on the back, not enough to cause any real hurt, but she protests with a loud, “Ow!” anyway. You roll your eyes, lips in a thin line, and say, “Keep still.” You roll her over so that she’s facing you, and you can tell she’s trying to follow your instructions but is having a hard time - you know because of the look of concentration, mixed with some impatience, on her face.
You trail your hands upwards, circle them around her breasts. You watch, fascinated and aroused, as she arches into your touch. A moan escapes from her lips, and you suddenly remember that she’s loud - she’s always been loud; you and George could always hear her at night. So you move so that your lips are covering hers, and there’s another moan - perhaps from you, or maybe her, or perhaps even both of you. You can feel her hands reaching for your breasts, but you push them away, shaking your head. You make your way down her body, and then up again, kissing her thighs, but stopping just as you reach where she needs it the most.
You look up at her.
“So, what was that about hating Christmas?”
She groans in frustration, but you don’t say anything. You just wait.
“Nothing,” Meredith finally manages, under her breath. “Nothing at all.”
“Seriously?”
A strained pause.
“Seriously.”
You dip your head, she gasps, and you smirk.
Maybe she won't really hate Christmas, after all.
- - - - - - -
Seriously, How Can She Not Like Christmas?
Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy.
Pairing: Meredith/Izzie.
Rating: R/NC-17.
Prompt: Learning about Christmas.
Disclaimer/Author’s Notes: Shonda Rhimes owns these pretty girls. This fic was written for sailorscully. And I broke my own rule - it’s R/NC-17-ish! XD. Merry Christmas.
- - - - - - -
“I hate Christmas.”
“Is this dark and twisty Meredith talking?”
“I think so.”
You pause to consider this. Bright and shiny Meredith is always preferable to dark and twisty Meredith, but you know she can’t help herself. You’re sure that if she could, she would always be bright and shiny Meredith. Although then again, sometimes you think she just enjoys the attention. It gets Dr. Shepherd - the male Dr. Shepherd - to give her that look he always does. The “poor Meredith, I want to be with you but I can’t” look.
“Well, you’ll just have to learn to like Christmas, then.”
“I’m going to bed.”
You frown. And then, an idea comes to your mind. “I’m coming with you.”
She only eyes you warily.
“You’re just tense from today.” You know she is. “You’ll like Christmas better after a back massage.” You know she will. She has to.
She doesn’t say a word; just heads for her room.
You follow her inside, and the next thing you know, you both are having some PG-13 fun. PG-13 that is quickly approaching R, you think to yourself.
Her skin is warm under your palms, and when she lets out a fluttery sigh of content, you smile and press your fingers harder into her back. This garners you a quiet moan, and it takes a lot of effort for you not to moan in response. You shift yourself gingerly, repositioning yourself on her back, your fingers digging into her skin again. She sighs again, and you can imagine her eyelids gently shutting as you work your way down her back, now making chopping motions.
She shifts under you, causing you to gasp, and suddenly you’re annoyed. You’re turned on, very much so, and she’s not helping matters - and something tells you that she knows this. You gently slap her on the back, not enough to cause any real hurt, but she protests with a loud, “Ow!” anyway. You roll your eyes, lips in a thin line, and say, “Keep still.” You roll her over so that she’s facing you, and you can tell she’s trying to follow your instructions but is having a hard time - you know because of the look of concentration, mixed with some impatience, on her face.
You trail your hands upwards, circle them around her breasts. You watch, fascinated and aroused, as she arches into your touch. A moan escapes from her lips, and you suddenly remember that she’s loud - she’s always been loud; you and George could always hear her at night. So you move so that your lips are covering hers, and there’s another moan - perhaps from you, or maybe her, or perhaps even both of you. You can feel her hands reaching for your breasts, but you push them away, shaking your head. You make your way down her body, and then up again, kissing her thighs, but stopping just as you reach where she needs it the most.
You look up at her.
“So, what was that about hating Christmas?”
She groans in frustration, but you don’t say anything. You just wait.
“Nothing,” Meredith finally manages, under her breath. “Nothing at all.”
“Seriously?”
A strained pause.
“Seriously.”
You dip your head, she gasps, and you smirk.
Maybe she won't really hate Christmas, after all.
- - - - - - -