Rising, he pushes until she squawks and slides forwards in the extra-deep executive chair she bullied out of requisitions. She thinks she bullied it, anyway; John has no intention of saying he put in a quiet word, and for exactly this reason. He doesn't think about that now, though, or that he's glad that he's so skinny from the hips down.
He just slides in behind her, legs straddling her ass until her warmth burns into him from knee to shoulder, drawing her back with arms wrapped tightly around her waist, her shoulder, tucking her head against the hollow of his own neck.
Time goes hazy for a while.
Her heartbeat is always erratic, less the arrhythmia the doctors confirm and far more a function of Meredith's crazy drive. It slows, though, gradually reducing from something that's better suited to a tiny bird and more an adult woman who is too exhausted to push herself as much as she does. Her breathing slows too, damp and humid against his throat, then replaced by the cool, heavy glide of hair as she nestles in more deeply and, incidentally, eases the strain on her neck.
"I'm not tired," she whispers, sulky as a child up past her bedtime.
"I didn't say you were, did I?"
"Not with words," she accusses. "I could still hear you, though. You were thinking it."
"Yeah," John says, clasping his hands tightly around his wife, listening to both of them breath. "You got me. New telepathy machine?"
She makes an outraged noise that no one else understands is mostly laughter, sighing again.
John thinks of it as thank you and I love you all tangled together like yarn, not one color or another but somehow still both.
It makes his chest feel tight and sometimes his eyes go blurry with something he doesn't dare name. So he holds her tighter and maybe they rock together a little bit, swaying to a sound only the two of them can hear.
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momijizukamori
no subject
Date: 2009-06-09 06:59 pm (UTC)He just slides in behind her, legs straddling her ass until her warmth burns into him from knee to shoulder, drawing her back with arms wrapped tightly around her waist, her shoulder, tucking her head against the hollow of his own neck.
Time goes hazy for a while.
Her heartbeat is always erratic, less the arrhythmia the doctors confirm and far more a function of Meredith's crazy drive. It slows, though, gradually reducing from something that's better suited to a tiny bird and more an adult woman who is too exhausted to push herself as much as she does. Her breathing slows too, damp and humid against his throat, then replaced by the cool, heavy glide of hair as she nestles in more deeply and, incidentally, eases the strain on her neck.
"I'm not tired," she whispers, sulky as a child up past her bedtime.
"I didn't say you were, did I?"
"Not with words," she accusses. "I could still hear you, though. You were thinking it."
"Yeah," John says, clasping his hands tightly around his wife, listening to both of them breath. "You got me. New telepathy machine?"
She makes an outraged noise that no one else understands is mostly laughter, sighing again.
John thinks of it as thank you and I love you all tangled together like yarn, not one color or another but somehow still both.
It makes his chest feel tight and sometimes his eyes go blurry with something he doesn't dare name. So he holds her tighter and maybe they rock together a little bit, swaying to a sound only the two of them can hear.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-10 07:00 pm (UTC)