missingthekeep | (no subject)

With the way he's holding her, kissing her, part of her, all Meredith knows is that everything's so good here, everything can be good again. It can't be any other way, not when they feel so right; it has to be okay because they're the same perfect fit they've always been. It's the only thing she's known that is perfect, in spite of all their flaws. In spite of everyone else's. Overwhelmed, overdoing it, she can feel the throbbing ache in her side, already insistent, but it doesn't matter. It's no match for this incoherent satisfaction that just turns into more desire. She keeps her fingers locked with his just to keep him close, wanting every bit of him she can get as each stroke pushes her a little further, moaning and gasping, dizzy and dazed enough to half-believe she can make this last forever anyway if she really tries.

Sean couldn't relinquish his hold on her right now even if he wanted to, the way he can feel himself getting close making it all but a physical impossibility. He knows, in a vague sort of way, that she's still recovering, that they should be taking this as easy as they can, but having been denied for what now feels like forever, he wants to draw it out as long as he possibly can, wants to never be separate from her again. A quiet groan slips through his lips as he tries to reign himself in, tries to make himself last, but as his movements slow a bit, as he presses forward into her as far as he can before drawing back again, as he frantically whispers her name and gets distracted by the brilliant way her moans drown him out, he knows that there's only so much he can do.

All Meredith can do is hold on, all the more aware of every inch of him as he slows his pace. As she moves with him, lets him guide her, there's nothing but his breath on her skin, his voice in her ear, his body warm and strong and, for these perfect minutes, part of her own. In the midst of all this frantic need, the way she strains to feel him on her everywhere, there's a kind of peace in letting him be the one in charge, giving her a stretch of time where she doesn't have to try and fix anything or be ready for anything. She doesn't have to try to hold herself together here, she's encouraged to unravel. Her sole responsibility is to be here with him wrapped around her, driving her right to the edge, making her feel almost unbearably, wickedly electric, leaving his name woven almost incomprehensibly through her gasps.

It almost surprises Sean, the way no one thing suddenly pulls him over the edge. It's just the steady build brought on by the slide of their bodies, that tight heat enveloping him, the way she feels in his arms, all of it coming together so slowly that he doesn't even notice he's almost there until he is. It catches him off-guard when his muscles tense and he buries his face against her neck, the soft cry he makes almost unrecognizable to his ears. Alright, so maybe he still never wants this to end, but as the force of his own orgasm hits him like a freight train, it's a pretty fantastic alternative.

Inasmuch as Meredith's thinking anything at all, she thinks she loves that — being enough to undo him, to draw those too-rare, heartstopping sounds from him. She holds out as long as she can anyway, barely stopping a moment, though there's something about actually feeling him come inside her that means it isn't long at all before she follows, eyes opening wide for just a moment as she draws a deep breath which hits her almost as hard. She doesn't have time to care (if she can still feel like this, there's nothing wrong at all). Tensing, tightening her grip on him, she curls forward to press back against him, nothing soft about her own cries as it sweeps over her, wave after wave of almost too much pleasure leaving her shaking.

Sean wishes he could do more, coax her through it or watch her come apart, but he's still in that nebulous period of dazed bliss and he's really just along for the ride at this point. Remaining unmoving for as long as he's able once she starts to come down, he spends his few scraps of awareness on getting his breathing to go from ragged gasps to something a little steadier, still clutching her tightly.

"God, I needed that."

Meredith nods, still trying to catch her breath, to ignore the ache in her side. It doesn't matter, it's insignificant; she twists in his arms a little to kiss him and that's all that's important now. "So much," she murmurs, voice still a little frantic and rough as she pulls her hand free of his to cup his cheek. "Oh, I love you. Oh, god." She doesn't want to move any further than she has to so she can see him, kiss him, back still pressed flush against his chest. She doesn't want to leave this room ever again if she can help it. "Never waiting again."

Somewhere in between the sex and the alcohol fogging up his thoughts, Sean feels an unexpected surge of emotion at that, sharply struck by the way she says it or how she kisses him or something. That's what it always seems to come down to with them, isn't it? Waiting. For something to happen, for someone to be ready, they're always waiting for something. "I'd die without ye," he whispers, eyes closed once again, unsure as to where the words come from but meaning them all the same.

Meredith closes her eyes, shaking her head. "Don't say that," she murmurs, holding onto him a little tighter, less afraid that he'll vanish than that she'll be the one to go, if she doesn't cling to him for all she's worth, however much that is. It's only terrifying because, when he says it, she knows it's the same for her — if she loses him, what's the point now? Except it's not an if, it's a question of when, and the dull, throbbing pain in her ribs is a reminder of how close she came to leaving him. "You won't."

"It's the truth," Sean protests, eyes still shut tight to the world, the warm body in his arms being the only thing he knows for certain. He's sure the moment will pass in short order and he'll feel appropriately stupid for it when it does, but for now, this seems like the most important point there is. "If I lost ye, I... I'd be lost, too. I'd be gone."

The safety she always longs for is such a fragile thing. Meredith can feel it slipping away from her already, replaced by all the old fears, heartbeat picking up again for less desirable reasons as she turns to press her face against his shoulder. "Don't," she pleads, "Sean, don't." It would be so easy to write off back in Seattle or anywhere else, but it's just not something she can take lightly here, least of all with the way things have been lately. "You aren't going to lose me. I'm not leaving. I could never leave, I can't live without you. Nothing's taking me away."

Sean doesn't answer right away, just takes a few deep breaths now that they're coming a little steadier and tries to let her words sink in, tries to believe them. It isn't easy. "I wish I could," he murmurs, shifting a bit so she hopefully doesn't have to twist as much to lean against him. "That's all I want, to be able ta take ye away from this place an' ne'er look back."

"I know," Meredith murmurs, taking in a slow, deep breath. "I know. I wish you could, too. I want that so much. To not have to worry so much anymore, to just... be sure." He's all she's sure of these days, really. Loving him feels like the only real certainty she has left sometimes. As much as she loves her friends, as much as she'd hate to abandon them, she'd do it in a heartbeat if it meant a lifetime together. "Just you and me."

Somehow, hearing Meredith validate his idiotic little wants and insecurities makes them somewhat easier to bear, and Sean finds himself relaxing again. It doesn't make any of it better by any stretch, but it's also nothing new. Besides, it isn't as if there's anywhere they could run that could magically make them immune to life; everyone leaves eventually and there's an infinite number of ways out there for it to happen. She's got the bruises to prove it. He's got Maeve.

"Someday," he says with a small nod, since it beats giving voice to the rest of it. "Someday it will be. Sorry 'bout all that."

Meredith shakes her head, relaxing again just a little. "No," she says, "no, don't be sorry. I told you I want you to talk to me and I meant it." If this is what happens, then she'll just have to deal with it; it's not like the sentiment's really anything they haven't felt a thousand times before, even if she'd rather have held onto that sense of security just a few minutes longer. He's still here with his arms around her, still warm and hers and perfect in all his imperfections, and in the face of the thought of losing him, it's security enough, if only just barely. She sighs and turns her head to look up at him, thumb running along his cheek. "Someday. We just have to keep believing that." Even if they sometimes have to take turns at it.

"This isnae talkin', it's..." Sean says, turning his head toward her touch but not actually looking at her. He can't seem to come up with the right word to finish the thought, though, so he leaves it be and just trails off with a sigh as his mind wanders. It's worthless, is what it is, and he has a feeling that she's going to have to do most of the believing for the both of them from here on out.

"It's something," Meredith says, leaning up to kiss him. Mostly it's just being unsatisfied with their lot, but she feels they're due a little of that with the way things are these days, even if, right now, when it's just the two of them, no matter how down they are, their lot isn't much to complain about. She pulls away enough to turn onto her other side, trying to ignore the way her ribs protest as she presses back against him. "It's bad, I know it is. Everything lately is just... but we're here. I'm here. And I know it's not perfect, but it's still pretty damn good."

"Right," Sean says with a slow nod, but he doesn't sound all too convinced of it. Nevertheless, he brushes a kiss across her forehead as she settles in again, doing his best to reconsider and mustering up the smallest of smiles as he does so. "We've ne'er been the problem."

"I know," Meredith murmurs, eyes falling shut again as she tries to savor every stray moment of feeling alright. Mostly she just sounds tired. All of this hurts in more ways than one, and that old sense of inadequacy always finds its way back in when she needs it least. "I know that. But I haven't made things better either. I've just made you worry all month and take care of me and I... I just wish I knew how to do the same. How to fix everything."

"No, no, no, no," Sean fervently mutters, leaning back and gingerly pulling her over him, his arms around her protectively. Everything's all muddled in his head right now, but the way he rebels at hearing her talk like that manages to cut through the clutter, even if he's not sure what point he's trying to make, his mouth running ahead of all his thoughts. "Ye make everything better. I'd be so lost without ye, it's jus', it's too much t'fix. That's nae yer fault, it's jus' me, I, I break things, but you... ye're still here. That's all that matters, all I c'n ask from ye."

"You don't," Meredith says slowly, shaking her head. "You don't break things. Not more than I do. Sean, you put me back together." She sighs, settling her head on his chest. She can say it however many times she likes, but he's enough like her for her to know it probably doesn't accomplish anything. No matter how badly he needs her, she still doesn't really see why or feel like she's doing anything at all. Still, as long as he believes it, in this case anyway, that really is what matters. "And I know there's nothing I can do. I just still wish there was."

Sean bites his lip as he stares blankly up at the ceiling, unsure how to reply. He understands that she means it and that it feels unspeakably good to hear, but beyond that, he's having trouble making a connection to her words, assigning any real meaning to them. "I know," he finally says, glossing over the more confusing parts. "But it's al-" he continues before cutting himself off. He can't bring himself to say that it's alright again. Not right now. "We'll get through't."

Meredith lets out a sigh, eyes closing. "We will," she says, quietly emphatic, hand moving slowly along his side. If there's anything she's sure of, at least today, it's that they'll survive this, whether or not anything else does. Dead wives and near murders, drownings and a thousand issues she's never known what to do with and all the rest — they've handled everything else about as well as anyone could be expected to. Anyway, they're still here, so it's close enough, and even if it weren't, it wouldn't matter. They're hopeless without each other. "And in the meanwhile," she continues after a moment, turning her head up to him with a little smile, "at least we know there are still some things we're good at."

Sean can't help but return her look, something in that smile always making him want to start right back up again, whether it's a physical possibility or not. No matter what else is said, no matter what he can come up with to kill the mood or set them back, she's right. "What, each other?" he asks with a chuckle, some of the desperation going out of his voice, though traces linger in his kiss. "When ye're right, ye're right. Speakin' of, how's yer side?"

The slight dimming of her expression is answer enough, but Meredith just shrugs. He doesn't need more weighing on him, some needless guilt for hurting her or whatever when she made her own choices here, and anyway, it's not wholly selfless. The more she says, the less likely it is this'll happen again as soon as she'd like. "A little sore," she admits. It's not quite the right word, but it'll do. "Not too bad. Definitely worth it."