There was something about Lexie Grey.
Maybe the texture of her hair.
Or, possibly, the way she babbled like a five year old caught in a lie when asked anything remotely beyond what could be construed as a 'simple question'.
It could be the intern iv club she had started, or the appendectomy that she had led unsupervised, with the aid of a textbook.
It could have been the way that she looked at him- it could have been her eyes.
Mark had never encountered eyes quite like hers.
Addison's eyes has been sharp; sexually calculating and alluring, but too sharp.
Callie's eyes were too smoky. They had too much sex appeal, and not enough depth to them.
But Lexie Grey's eyes were just the right combination of sharpness, sexiness, and emotion. When he looked into her eyes, it was like he was looking straight at her soul.
The interesting thing about Lexie's hair, and her eyes, and her clothes, for that matter, was that she did nothing to stand out. There was no three hundred dollar hair cut in which each lock was strategically cut to entice a man. Her hair hung almost all the same length, just above her shoulders, was not a naturally questionable color, and had no excessive amount of shine.
Her eyes were not dolled up with darker colors and combinations that were designed to bring a man to his knees. Lexie preferred light pinks, and peaches, and preferred bubble gum lip gloss to any Chanel lipstick.
She wore comfortable shoes and threw her hair in haphazard, messy, or boringly neat ponytails, which never required a second, or third, or fourth glance.
So why did Mark give her glances 2 through 4, let alone 1?
She'd barged into his hotel room, high on the rush of a spectacular surgery, and bursting with respect and admiration for him for giving her that rush. Her cheeks had been red with spirit, her chest expanding and contracting with the force of her energy, and it was as if she wasn't so much trying to convince Mark as she was emerging from her own thoughts.
"Teach me."
Teach her what? About sex? About surgery? About the arts of both and how to separate love for one from love for the other?
It all amounted to the same thing, really, but despite Lexie's pleading for him to fuck her –because really, that was all he could associate with it at that particular moment – and how much he truly did want to cooperate, he wanted to teach her something else.
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her not to believe. To not trust the feelings she had coursing through her at that moment; of bravery and awe and inspiration. Not to rely on the exhilaration of what he had done- to give a woman back her ability to speak- and instead to walk away from the addicting feelings that were false securities.
That's all it was, really.
Interns were like new addicts, trying it for the same time. They felt it so deep because they hadn't ever experienced it. Hungry to cut, hungry for blood and surgery, hungry to feel the heady sensation that surgery could produce.
They became residents, and their taste's specified. It wasn't about the general rush anymore. Being in surgery wasn't enough. It was that surgery. The elusive one that would begin the rest of their careers.
As attendings, the rush had the effect of any drug a person partook in for long enough. It was always the same high. The same feeling of accomplishment- just another surgery without complications.
Unless, once in a while, you did something like giving a woman back her voice.
That should have been the exhilaration. Mark should have found his high from watching that woman talk, from the knowledge that he was practically a god of surgery.
It wasn't.
The rush came from performing that miracle under the watchful eyes of one Lexie Grey.
In the OR, he'd been standing there, working with vessels and blood and attempting to give the woman on the table a modern miracle, and all he could feel was the intense warmth coursing through his body every time he looked up and saw her sitting there, in the gallery.
Mark should have told her all that, but suddenly she was in her bra, and all rational thought fled his mind.
Because what was the point of telling her all that, when the real problem was that she had replaced the rush?
Of course, nothing could totally replace the surgery buzz. But lately, Mark had been getting dangerously close to feeling things along those lines every time he got near Lexie. It was the intensity of the moment; what would happen? He wanted to remain strong and keep his promise, but he still longed for the contact. For the banter and the looks and the smiles she gave him.
Her smiles. When Lexie Grey smiled at him, it was like he was the only thing in her entire universe, and such an adrenaline rush that he often had to give his head a shake to clear it, once she'd gone on her way to do whatever it was that interns do…
When they weren't involved in intern IV club or cutting each other open, that was.
Which, come to speak of it, was another reason that had endured Lexie to Mark. Yes, it had been stupid; remarkably stupid. But also a little awesome. She had guts. And courage, when it didn't apply to relationships – this being the clear exception.
So, instead of saying all those things he should have- telling her how bad he was for her, how they wouldn't work, how much older he was (and that one was a blow to the ego just to think), he kissed her.
Kissed her, and took her to bed.
Which was an experience so wholly different than any other one he'd had, he didn't know what to do with himself afterwards.
Sex with Lexie was different. It was generous, which was the biggest change. Lexie gave as good as she got- and, not to be arrogant, but Mark gave a lot. Before he'd gone to bed with Lexie, his mission had always been to give a woman great sex. For him, sex had always been about his partner's experience. Knowing he gave a woman pleasure was what did it for him.
It was why all the nurses were so happy to jump into his bed. They just didn't like the consequences the morning afterwards, when he wasn't prepared to give anything else.
In that way, having Lexie in bed began the same way. Mark had wanted to give her mind numbing pleasure and as many orgasms as possible. More than any other woman he'd ever been with, he wanted to push her to the brink of insanity with sexual tension over and over, until she couldn't do anything but pant his name and limply attempt to hold onto something as he fucked her.
Lexie, however, had a different idea.
Sure, she was up for the orgasms and the multiple rounds of sex and the tension, but she wanted to do for him just as much as he'd wanted to do for her. They almost got in each other's way because they were trying their damndest to outdo the other with pleasure. It had become a trade off, eventually, somewhere after their second round. She was as generous with her body (with him) as she was with her good nature. Lexie was up for anything, he'd found out- any position or surface or speed, and he wanted to oblige her till his body couldn't physically function. He'd done so, but the immediate moments afterwards were what changed everything.
Spent and exhausted, physically still inside her, and recovering from a climax so intensely powerful that he knew he wouldn't be able to go again for a while (it was close to two am, and they'd been at it for the better part of four hours, trading orgasms), he'd allowed all of his weight to rest on her, absolutely unable to hold himself up. Lexie was the same way, shaking and almost delirious from intense pleasure he'd given her. She had wrapped her arm around his head, which was buried into her neck just under her ear. Both of them sweaty and panting, not able to catch their breaths, she had begun to stroke his head with one hand, and ran her other hand up and down his opposite side as one of his arms was heavy on her shoulder, and curved around her head.
"Mark…"
"I know."
His head had fallen even further into her neck and the pillow, and he unthinkingly pressed lips to the juncture between her neck and shoulder. His mind was going so fast, he couldn't keep up with the thoughts.
Eventually, he withdrew and rolled onto his back, simultaneously pulling her into his side. He head naturally fell onto his shoulder, her arm over his chest, and one leg over his. She fit around him so perfectly, it was like she was made to be there.
Unsurprisingly, she passed out. As he looked down at her, knowing she must be exhausted from the surgery high followed by the sexual rush, he felt the weight of his thoughts penetrate his already tired conscience. Derek would kill him.
He couldn't find the energy to care. Not as he slowly ran his fingers through her hair repeatedly, straight and boringly cut as it was, or traced her arm with his knuckles.
Yes, there was definitely something about Lexie Grey.