missingthekeep | Valentine's Day [for Meredith]

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Valentine's Day [for Meredith]

Two weeks. Two bloody weeks since that damned station fell out of the sky, he and Meredith on it, two weeks since their not-so-grand getaway, two weeks since Sean's been able to voice a simple thought. And it's been miserable, there's no denying it, worse even than the last time he found himself unable to speak, when things had been good and it had just been a whim of the island doing it instead of his own stupid mistakes, but he's trying. For Meredith, and maybe more importantly, for himself, he's trying. He gets up, he fills his days, he makes it from sunup to sundown, and then he does it all over again, because the alternative is giving up, and he can finally see that that's exactly what he'd been doing for months. It hadn't helped.

So he's trying. He still spends most of his time alone or with Meredith because it's simpler, he sneaks the odd drink when he can, but overall, he's being good. He's being good and he's trying because he has to have faith that this will get better. Faith in her, faith in himself, faith in what's left of the life he built for himself here, any of the above, all of the above, it doesn't matter. He can do this.

It's a seemingly unbearable situation, but he bears it anyway, because that's just what he does. He bears it and he keeps the faith that things will improve again. And if they don't, if something else breaks, then he'll weather that, too. Today, bearing it means not ignoring what day it is, no matter how silly a day it may be.

Waking early, he tears half a sheet of paper from the notepad on the nightstand that he's been relying on and scrawls a quick message, adding a small, lopsided heart for good measure before folding it in half and resting it gingerly on Meredith's chest.

Morning, beautiful.

Who says he needs to be able to speak to be cheesy?

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The feel of his lips, his tongue, anywhere on her is unexpected enough, it nearly undoes her. He's everywhere and Meredith can't quite breathe, dizzied by that and how close she is. She just wants to hold out, forever if at all possible, right on the edge with his breath on her skin. It's usually the idea, really, making it last, trying to hold onto whatever moments of pleasure they get, to lock them into a time and place that's just this, just them, but it's more so today, so theoretically it's a defeat when she can't quite manage that any longer. It doesn't feel anything like one, though, when she finally starts to tense around him, under him, the way she shakes punctuated with a soft cry.

Sean nearly freezes as he feels her tense, even his breath catching in his throat in his zeal to not miss a moment of this. Only his hand keeps moving, easing her through it as best he can, drawing it out. He presses another kiss to her thigh once she starts to come down, and then forces himself to move back toward the head of the bed, at once awed and kind of smug.

Meredith turns toward him, pressing her face to his shoulder, her lips to his skin. The initial movement is languid, easy, eyes half-lidded as she curls against him, though a moment later, her kisses trail higher. "Best way to start the day ever," she murmurs, smiling as she kisses him. In spite of how bad things have been for a while, she's struck by how lucky she is anyway, how perfect moments like this are.

Sean makes a motion that starts life as a vague 'well, I try' sort of shrug, but quickly degenerates into just leaning wantonly into her kiss. Far be it from him to disagree with the sentiment, since it had struck him as a pretty good one when he'd started, too.

There's one advantage to kissing, at least, in spite of her general aversion to stubble, which is that the fact he can't talk doesn't especially matter. It's not like they'd be talking now anyway, as Meredith deepens the kiss, hand finding the back of his neck.

As it stands, any time that Sean doesn't feel completely handicapped by his injuries counts as a victory, and when something as simple as kissing the woman he loves can bring that on, he sees no reason not to throw himself into it utterly and take his sweet time. Shifting a little, he rolls flat onto his back, not as mindful of his abdomen as he probably should and not particularly caring as he pulls her over him, not breaking the kiss.

"Careful," Meredith says, more habit than something she's thinking about, and then forgets to be, the word lost against his mouth anyway. She settles over him, careful about his injury as she can make herself remember to be, sighing contentedly.

Her warning, such as it is, goes all but ignored as Sean winds his arms around her, tangling his fingers in her hair with one hand. Even if he can't assure her that he'll be fine in the usual ways, hopefully he'll be able to make it abundantly clear with his hold on her, the slide of his tongue against hers, and all the other ways that really matter.

Meredith couldn't bring herself to protest even if she felt the need, hand at his cheek as she presses closer, a moan in her throat. While she has her concerns, they're tucked neatly away, easily forgotten when he's under her like this. If he's not up to this, he's doing a damn good job of hiding it.

Edited 2011-03-01 10:39 (UTC)

It isn't an easy thing to reconcile, all the pain and difficulty of the last few weeks with how perfect this is, the simple pleasure of how she feels as he arches up against her almost painfully, but in the end it only serves to make Sean want to make up for all that lost time. It doesn't have to be a waste if they make the most of it now. Which is why he decides to pull the ace out of his pocket, something he'd been saving for later but which suddenly doesn't seem like it can wait any longer. It's already been far too long. Breaking the kiss, he tips his head and guides hers so his lips are just brushing the shell of her ear so he can quietly, deliberately whisper "I love you."

It's as natural as it is unexpected to hear that. Drawing in a breath, Meredith turns her head so she can look at him, overcome with relief and affection. It's just a whisper, but it means everything. He'll be okay. They'll be okay, the way she always told herself they would be but sometimes forgot to believe. Hearing those words after all this time is overwhelming. "I love you," she echoes, kissing him again before she can say anything more. "Sean, you can talk. Is — is your voice back?"

Sean gives a slight shrug, not wanting to oversell a whisper, but not wholly dismissive, either. It's barely anything, really, especially considering how hard he's been working whenever he's alone just to do it, but it isn't silence, and that's what matters. It's not much, but it's a start, and it's as if those three little words that are nothing new to them have lifted the weight of the damn world off of his soldiers, his vague expression of accomplishment spreading into a grin.

Nuzzling against him, Meredith smiles, shifting to lean her face against his neck. It's a start — not a guarantee his voice will ever be what it was before or that it won't be a long time before it's back to normal, but it's a big deal, just hearing him again. She huffs out a laugh born of relief and kisses his shoulder. While she wants to caution him not to overdo it, she can't bring herself to issue warnings against something that makes her so ridiculously pleased.

It's her reaction more than anything that makes Sean feels inordinately pleased with himself, and it's such a rare feeling for him that he can't help but want to hang onto it for as long as he can. Still, he resists the urge to say more just to garner more attention, knowing that pushing things is only going to get her on his case for it. He glances up and to the side to try and spot the notepad, but he's not about to dislodge her to reach for it, so he just kisses her hair and twines a few strands around his fingers as he repeats it's a start over and over to himself like a mantra.

Turning her head toward his hand, Meredith closes her eyes, startlingly content. It's not like she wishes it could always be like this — eventually even being blissfully happy in bed with him would have to get boring if it were a constant — but she still hopes things stay this way, victories registering with as much weight as losses for a change. Pressing kisses to his jaw, she runs the backs of her fingers over his cheek as she finds his mouth again, slow and soft.

It's hard not to push for more, but Sean likes this pace too much, appreciates the easy intimacy of it enough to keep the sense of urgency she always inspires in him at bay. He eyes slide shut as he kisses her back, along for the ride and loving every second of it, wrapping a leg around hers under the covers. For once, he's actually able to take it for granted that things can be this good, and not being surprised about that fact somehow manages to make it that much sweeter.

Meredith shifts closer, weight on one arm as she leans into the kiss. As much as she loves everything else, there's something to be said for this, too, the simple feel of his skin against hers, his mouth on her mouth, his tongue against hers, everything slow and easy. There's no rush, no hurry, nothing to think about or even escape from. She almost asks how they got this lucky; in light of everything else, it seems absurd. Instead she rolls onto her side, pulling him with her.

Sean makes a soft, startled noise in the back of his throat at that, and it's almost a relief that it hurts more than the tug at his side as he eagerly moves with her. It's certainly easier to put out of his mind, anyway, and he doesn't break the kiss for anything beyond pulling in the odd breath of air.

Meredith laughs and keeps kissing him, a hand traveling carefully down his side to his back. When she finally pulls away, it's just enough to rest her forehead against his, content just to lie still for a moment. There are times when she's worried all the time they've had only means it'll run out soon, but today it just seems right. Why shouldn't they get a second Valentine's when they've put up with so much, nearly had Christmas ruined? Why shouldn't things go their way, just for a little while?

Sean finds himself torn between the urge to fill the silence (since that's one thing he's long since grown tired of appreciating) and not wanting to interrupt the quiet electricity of the moment. Eyes closed, he runs his hand slowly along her arm and just mouths her name, lets the word ring through his head over and over, keeping the silence at bay without actually breaking it.

It's perfect.

In the quiet, she can almost hear it in the way he exhales. Having those three be the last words he said to her now, being able to replace that other, darker memory with something like this, is gratifying and, nudging closer, Meredith kisses him, sucking at his lip. She strokes her hand down over his leg, fingers brushing up again over his hip bone.

His momentary neuroses beaten for now, Sean gives himself over to her completely, letting her take the lead as he sighs against her mouth, his body straining into her touch. As he does, he keeps running his hand, feather-light, along her arm, his fingertips still itching for every point of contact he can make with her skin, however fleeting.

Dipping briefly lower, Meredith's fingers move higher instead, skating over his side, careful to avoid those places he's still injured. If she can help it, she won't be the cause of more hurt, not when this much is already on her, whatever he's said to the contrary. She pulls slowly away to kiss his shoulder instead, propping herself up to turn her head, trace the line of his collarbone with her tongue.

Sighing again, Sean tips his head back, eyes shut tighter now at the sweep of her tongue. It's strange, how being unable to speak properly makes him want to do it that much more, even when that's the sort of thing he's always been perfectly content to leave out of the bedroom. He's no talker, but right now, he feels like he could be, a thousand different things that he wants to say to her flitting through his thoughts, stuck there. It's aggravating, to be sure, but God, she makes it difficult to care.

Though Meredith had every intention of continuing on down, the way he bends his head back, exposes his throat, draws her back up again to suck at his skin, careful in a not altogether conscious way. She isn't much thinking about whether or not it's a good idea, only about how she wants to take advantage of the moment, taste him, drawing her teeth lightly down the line of his neck. This is one time the silence doesn't bother her, accustomed as she is to his being quieter in bed than she is, to hearing on his breath and her own soft sigh.

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