"That was... good?" Jackson frowns and swallows a sigh to catch his breath, his arms flopping to his sides as she rolls off of him, "Great?"
April nods with a smile, running a hand through her hair, "Great." She softly giggles, pulling the covers up to cover her chest and turning on her side to face him. "So?" She bites her lip anxiously and lets a hand drop to his chest, tracing the muscles beneath his skin.
"That, uh- I- I am really wishing that I'd done that sooner." He informs her with a gentle laugh as he turns his face to meet hers, his gaze focused on her lips.
She grins and leans over, pressing a quick but sweet kiss to his lips, "Are you happy that we did that?" She asks against his mouth, pushing into his body again when he slips a hand across her waist and down her back to find her backside.
"Oh, you have no idea."
He's surprised to say that he was no longer a virgin, no longer that shockingly-innocent incredibly-fuckable jock-with-a-side-of-dork man that he was an hour ago.
He'd done it, he'd had sex. With her, none the less; with April Kepner, with his best friend.
He knows that people found it weird, ridiculous even, that he was still a virgin at his age, and with his face, and with his name, but he'd always ignored anybody who judged him.
He wasn't waiting for the right person (he refuses to admit his belief in soulmates), he just simply wanted it to be at the right time, in the right place, with somebody that mattered (and he refuses to admit that he was waiting until marriage like his mother had always told him to; no, he's not a momma's boy, he argues).
He's had his fair share of opportunities, of moments of weakness with women who wanted him (all of him), but he'd never gone past a quick fondle and a handjob on their behalf.
But, suddenly he's taking his Medical Boards and they're getting into a heated argument with some idiot, and she's kissing him, and he can't seem to fight the inevitable anymore.
And here he was; lay naked and warm with his best friend who wasn't all that experienced either.
She'd had her first time when she was sixteen, and she tells him that it never meant anything because the guy was a douche and he'd dumped her straight away, but he'd disagree because she sometimes talks as though she may have even loved the guy at some point.
The only other time she'd done it had been with a boyfriend a few years ago; they'd been moving quite fast and apparently sex had ruined their relationship. Safe to say that, since then, she'd kept her legs shut and her panties on.
"It was good, right? I wasn't imagining it?" Jackson asks.
She softly laughs and places a hand against the side of his face, her thumb sweeping over his cheekbone, "You were perfect." She grins as she swings a leg over his lap and straddles his waist, her palms coming to rest against his abdomen. "In fact,"
He smirks and grabs the backs of her knees to pull her flush against him, his fingertips tracing the insides of her thighs.
"Yeah?"
She nods and licks her lips, her eyes closing when he gently cups her chin between his fingers and drags her down to meet his lips.
She moans against his lips then, her hands pressing tighter to his body and his hands move to dig into her hips, pulling her higher up his body so she settles above his erection, her thighs pushing against his own.
Her fingernails mark his skin and the noises slipping from her lips enchant him as he slowly enters her for the second time that night, unable to stop himself from wanting to connect with her again.
She's addictive, and captivating, and so sirenic that he forgets who she was a couple of hours ago. She's no longer just his best friend, his confidant, his potential soulmate (he still refuses to believe in those, despite his head telling him that she may be it for him); she's her.
She's April now. She's the beautiful redhead with the perky attitude and the high-pitched voice. She's the woman who cries like an angel when she climaxes, when she reaches ecstasy with him. She's the woman he gave himself to, she's who he would never regret.
He may not be afforded the pleasure of spending eternity with her, or lying with her night after night, but for now it's enough.
He can settle for this. He can move on and forget about her, without actually leaving his memories of her behind. He can find someone who might one day mean the world to him (if it's even possible to find somebody that he can care more about than the women in his arms).
He can live life and rejoice in the fact that he gave himself away to his friend, to his lover, to his soulmate (because maybe he's starting to come around to the idea).
When their time is up, and they move too far from each other and end up on different sides of the country, he won't wallow in his misery and curse himself for being such a fool, for letting the potential love of his life slip away (because with every moan and every time their bodies collide, he's thinking that she may indeed be the one his mother once talked about).
He loves her, he knows that much.
He loves her in his own special way (he argues with himself that he's not falling into some undying devotion for his best friend), and he wants to hold her for as long as he can before they fall apart and let go with an over-emotional goodbye (which he thinks will be the death of him).
As her lips find his chest and his fingers move across her pale skin, he basks in the fact that she's it for him, she's his soulmate (and he's finally accepted it).
He won't move, he knows, so he'll just wait for her to go first because he won't ever be able to leave her behind.
He can't go home to Seattle and say his goodbyes to her for good, for eternity; she's his soulmate, his other half.
And though he'll deny it if anybody asks, he now understands what his mother was talking about.
He had waited, for her.
Because she was it for him.