Disclaimer: I don't own Grey's Anatomy, et al.
Author's Note: So Jules … you would love Sheila … really, you would … and thanks for reminding me it's Wed. … I suppose I will post on Wednesdays here too. Also, thank you to merderluvr and Saturnina Black for being kind enough to leave a comment (and for, you know, sticking with me despite the Richard/Adele sussy flashback), it means a lot!
I hope you really enjoy this part, I always loved the Mark/Callie pairing, it is also true (IMO) that ED acts best when he's opposite SR … I think she skillfully brings out something sexy and a little more mature in the actor who always seems to be a bit "wooden" to me. ENJOY!
Business Time – Part 2 – Mark Sloan
Mark Sloan zipped his leather bomber jacket up in defense against the damp nighttime air –relentless heavy, wet particles of the mist infiltrated the barrier – he shrugged his shoulders up in further defense. A fine layer of dew covered his handsome face like a mosquito net, damn it – almost seven years – he had lived in Seattle for almost seven years and he still wasn't used accustomed to the abundance of water, rain, heavy fog, cold mist, the smell of the salty organic bay … the rain, his bones should be porous by now.
He turned the corner and navigated his way down the empty streets, just two more turns and he would be home. Yes … the rain and its natural vacuum, humming vibration seemed to have become the soundtrack for the defining moments in his life as of late – it often kept him up at night, or washed away the debris of a bad day, the loss of life … cleansing him, protecting him, but mostly, it kept him up at night – well, for at least the last couple of months anyway when it seemed to transport him back to the not-so-distant past, back to a night when things became more intense between he and Callie … that night when he would come to admit (to more than just himself) the full extent of his burgeoning devotion to this woman.
###
It was pouring outside – coming down in sheets, hail, cold, harsh and unforgiving, the storm of the storm – and not even the dry warmth of his bed linens and the haphazard beat of said storm would lull Mark Sloan to sleep. Because something was missing … rather, someone was missing. There was a lull in the powerful beats from the rain for a moment – splattering lightly now against the large expansive windows like the string section of the orchestra – he closed his eyes and rolled over, waiting for the softer sound to take him away to that dark place called sleep. But the wind changed instead and tossed large buckets of water along the barrier – he sighed in frustration – no, sleep would not come easily tonight.
The wind changed directions and so did Mark; he rolled over, resting his cheek against the cool fabric of his pillow. Taking advantage of the lull, he closed his eyes on the misty sky in front of him – and there she was – Callie … the image of his – girl-lover-best friend-woman-better half – popped in his head again and there again he tried to fight her. He opened his eyes, heart racing, rolling over again now, he stared at the ceiling for answers – answers he had already found but didn't know how to come to terms with – thunder rumbled, sparring him with his quandary. He rolled over again, hugging his pillow for comfort, closing his eyes … only to find her right where he left her – etched in his mind's eye – just as she had been for weeks now.
Shrouded in a bright fluorescent halo of OR lights …
Surgical cap tight around her skull, framing her heart-shaped face, somehow taming her wild, dark tresses …
Surgical mask, camouflaging her flawless complexion, beyond beautiful smile and perfectly plump lips …
Full set of scrubs and surgical gowns – a perfunctory sea of blue and white – shielding and concealing her vivacious curves …
And last but not least…
Her eyes … her stunning eyes – deep, reflective pools of brilliance, always shining, always dark, all-seeing and sparkling – yes … one look into her eyes and Mark was a goner …
Because all he really needed was one moment in her eyes to know that his feelings for her had grown into … something else, something substantial. And it was on that admission that Mark effectively woke up and opened his eyes – yes, he was awake and missing Callie in his bed – coming to terms with, yet again, another admission: he hated the nights when she was on-call without him. With this last thought running a circuit in his head, Mark sat upright and found the glowing infra-red light of the clock – 1:24 AM – the rain rushed against the windows still, no sign of letting up. The hour was of no consequence now, for it was too early to go to the hospital, yet too late to try for some real, meaningful sleep. And then he had an idea.
Callie, Callie, Callie
Hopefully she wasn't busy and if she wasn't, maybe he could slip into bed with her for the last couple hours of her shift. He smiled at the thought, knowing a couple of hours of sleep wrapped up in her warmth would be tantamount of a whole night's sleep. With a rush of something – relief, excitement, happiness – Mark tossed the covers back and rushed to get himself together.
###
A mere ten minutes later, the sleepless man stepped out from under the awning of his apartment building and into the rain, making a mad dash for the hospital – the tall building, a beacon of hope, shrouded in hazy fluorescent lights – calling to all, a safe haven for weary souls. Within minutes, he rushed through the automatic doors and into the deserted lobby – he took one big breath of the clinical, recycled air – and felt as though he was already home. Now all he needed was Callie. He ran his fingers along his soaked scalp and slipped inside a waiting elevator. He exited the on the fourth floor and headed to the OR Board and scanned it.
Torres, Torres, Torres
A satisfied smile spread across his face as he turned around.
"She's down there," Nurse Tyler offered from his spot at the Nurses' Station, a hint of knowing mischief in his eyes. Mark cocked his head. "Dr. Torres," he smiled. "On-call room, second on the right," he said with a raised brow.
"Right, thanks," Mark said with a smile of recognition as he turned away.
A smile – one of mutual understanding – because although he and Callie had been 'together' for years (albeit completely undefined and certainly without rules), neither one entertained the idea of perusing another lover. For it seemed Mark's natural predisposition for bachelorhood was a scapegoat for both of them, for she understood him and his inability to commit and that same inability eventually became a safety net for her – so vulnerable and gun shy of relationships after her failed marriage with George – which left them where they were – uniquely 'together' – except that somehow they evolved and became naturally exclusive to one another.
He stood outside the on-call room now, his fingers around the door handle. What were they? He dared to ask himself again, pausing for a beat, he decided they were undefined – and without another cohesive thought – Mark turned the handle and slipped inside the dark room. He sighed at the sight of her sleeping form on the bottom bunk; top bunk, thankfully empty. He locked the door, silence filled the room and then he heard her.
Sniffles. She was crying about something.
"Cal," he whispered, approaching the bed. He slipped his jacket off followed by his shoes.
"Mark," she breathed – her voice, muted, nasally and thick – she rolled over to find his eyes in the dark. She raised the flimsy sheet, inviting him in. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her eyes puffy and red-rimmed.
"Couldn't sleep," he answered, slipping into the meager bed with her – locking his eyes with hers for a beat – checking her over until she escaped from his gaze. The bed creaked under their weight. She instinctually rolled into him and he into her. Warmth. "My turn," he sighed, relaxing into her heat. "Why the tears?" he asked.
"You came here because you couldn't sleep?" her voice trembled. She ignored his question.
"I did, I came over here to sleep with you … ah, next to you … just to sleep … with you," he uncharacteristically rambled with a nervous chuckle, trying to soothe them both.
"Just to sleep?" she asked softly, raising herself up, she eyed him carefully. He chuckled, moving her hair away from her face.
"Yes," he confessed. "Now tell me why you're a leaky faucet," he ordered gently.
"Okay, but it's scary," she sighed heavily. "I can … tell you something scary, right Mark?" she asked, looking away from his shadowed face.
"Anything," he answered without missing a beat, moving her chin up. He found her worried eyes in the dark.
"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice rising already, her self-doubt, evident. "'Cause this is really scary, Mark," she sighed heavily. "I mean – so scary – life-altering scary! No matter what happens, no …matter … what," she breathed, trying to calm herself down, tears collected in her eyes.
"Hey," he said, trying to get her to look at him. "Spill it Torres," he laughed. "You're really starting to scare me," he chuckled. She took a deep breath.
"Well good, join the club … because … I'm pregnant," she breathed, trying to escape his gaze while he tried desperately to read her mind.
"You're right," he said, inching further into her warmth, trying to hold her in an effort to ground himself. "That's pretty damn scary," he agreed, his voice shaking, his mind moving a mile a minute – 'she's pregnant, she's pregnant' – he held on tighter still.
"Yeah," she muttered, resting her cheek along his chest. His arm around her back; his grip, confident and firm.
"Yeah," he repeated, staring at the underside of the bunk bed – 'she's pregnant, she's pregnant' – he chanted, moving his hand up and down her back.
"So …," she sighed.
"So …," he sighed, his voice level and calm. He was always calm in a crises – was this even a crises – he wondered quickly. "Do you wanna know the real reason I came over here tonight?" he found himself asking instead.
"Okay …," she replied, draping her leg over his thighs.
"I missed you," he confessed into the darkness – 'she's pregnant, she's pregnant' – his thoughts swirled again.
"You missed me?" she asked incredulously, perching her chin on his chest now, she found his glassy eyes.
"I did …I couldn't sleep without you," he said, moving his hands through her messy hair. "And I was scared to admit that to anyone but myself … until …," his voice trailed off as he got lost in the deep, dark pools of her eyes.
"Something changed …," she breathed (because something did).
"Well … you shared your scary thing with me, I had to share mine with you," he smiled, reaching for her. She leaned up and kissed him – tiny pulses – kiss, kiss, kiss, they were okay.
"Are you still scared?" she asked, resting her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder now.
"Not as much … no … and you?" he asked, pressing a kiss into her thick, dark hair.
"Not as much …no … we can sleep on it," she said softly, burrowing deeper into him.
"Sleep," he sighed.
"Sleep," she agreed, becoming heavier in his arms. "We can be scared together," she offered.
"Scared together sounds perfect," he said, feeling better and more complete than he had in a long time. "Perfectly … 'us'," he chuckled, closing his eyes.
"Perfectly ... 'us'," Callie sighed in agreement and then all was quiet.
###
'Us, us, us …us, us, us'
Mark thought as he walked through the double doors to the apartment building – the hospital lights glowing in the background – the place of their work, their savior and so much more … for it was their skyline, their backdrop for their life now that Callie had officially moved in with him. Stepping straight into an open elevator, he unzipped his jacket – creeping heat already smothering him after his brisk walk of determination in the cold – his skin pricked with heat, mostly in pure anticipation of the night to come. For it had been a long six weeks, for the both of them – Callie often expressing her frustration in being sexually frustrated – and of course her metamorphosis into 'this cliché of a pregnant woman' she couldn't stand bothered her too.
He exited the elevator and walked along the familiar corridor – almost home, home sweet home, home is where the heart is – almost home, he chanted silently with appreciation. Unlocking the door, he stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him. His eyes scanned the darkened room; only a small table lamp illuminated the space.
"Honey, I'm home," he called out, chuckling at his own lame joke.
Mark put his keys down on the table and slipped his jacket and shoes off, leaving them there. He read a small message on a post-it note in Callie's recognizable scroll – 'Recycling on Thursday' – reminding him, yet again of the change in the building's recycling procedures. He chuckled and raised his forearm up, inhaling a deep breath of air – his sweater smelled like cigars and old beer – a sure fire turn off for 'pregnant Callie'. He'd have to shower and with that thought he clicked the light off and made his way to find his pregnant and horny girlfriend. He padded down the hallway, following the path of dim light coming from the bedroom and smiled when he saw her – his woman, the mother of his child, his lover – his … 'sleeping beauty'!
He sighed and flipped the switch off, dim nighttime light cascaded across her beautifully relaxed face. Her complexion, rosy, her full, kissable lips, a perfect pouty heart … her arm draped low along her belly –a protective stance for their love-baby – her fingers disappearing just underneath her lavender tank top, the gray silk sheet, draped over her lace-covered hip bone. She was a vision of peace and Mark melted a little bit at this rare look at her sleeping form – and in that moment it was enough for him to see she was feeling better and he wouldn't have woken her up for anything … not even sex – he sighed and swiftly grabbed a fresh pair of boxers before he headed to take that proverbial cold shower.
The shower came to life; Mark stripped his soiled clothing off, leaving it in a heap near the door. He brushed his teeth, steam clouded the small space and he slowly disappeared within the mirror in front of him. He bent down, rinsed his mouth and stepped into the scalding hot shower, taking a minute to lather both his hair and body before leaning back into the spray to wash away the debris – the smoke and booze and foul language and raucous laughter – the diminutive gentlemen's evening gone now, the perfunctory wash had effectively sobered him up. He turned the water off, grabbed a gray terrycloth towel from the rack above the tub and quickly dried his body while stepping from the tub. The cold air attacked his skin; he hung the towel on the hook behind the door, slipped his fresh boxers on, clicked the light off and stepped into the even cooler air of their bedroom. He walked around the bed to 'his side' and carefully slipped in between the sheets. He inched behind Callie, spooning her – his hand instinctually fell to her belly before he felt her push back and into him – burrowing deeper. She sighed in her sleep. He kissed her bare shoulder and closed his eyes.
###
Through the darkness of sleep, Mark felt that all too familiar stirring in his groin – his response was to wake up – but then he stopped himself because somewhere in his subconscious, he let go off that brainless idea in favor of staying right where he was – aroused and happy and dreaming of naked, horny Callie – who would want to wake up? Who could blame him? They hadn't been intimate in weeks and it was secretly killing him – he was a man with needs and he would take what he could get, even if it wasn't real – even if it was only a dream … conditions were perfect!
"Mark, let me wake you up …," came Callie's husky voice.
Oh yeah, wake me up baby, conditions are perfect!
He felt Callie's luscious lips tugging at his earlobe, her hot breath fanning his neck –in and out – her long tresses covering his neck like a net, he was caught … her hands on either side of his head, her breasts cutting across his chest, the warmth of 'her' was everywhere. The sensation of 'her' moved lower, her lips on his abdomen – the unadulterated heat of her core – straddled his thigh and it felt sinfully hot and delicious.
"Mark," he heard her groan in frustration – his cock twitched – the trigger-sound of her moan of his name from her lips could do that.
Oh yeah, it's business time, time for business!
Mark felt the sensation of her wet nips and kisses as she trailed a sinuous pathway down from his neck and shoulders, lower and lower, stopping briefly to pluck and suck on his tiny trillion nipples with her talented tongue and lips – flick, flick, flick – she went, relentless now in her endeavor.
"Hmm," came her soft moan – the heat of her breath – infiltrating his racing mind now, making it real.
Ahh yeah that's it, right there baby, oh yeah … right there …right there!
Jarred awake, Mark's hands found her skull and he opened his eyes to find the scene in front of him not completely unlike his dream. And in that moment his cock woke up and so did he, taking in the vision before him – it was Callie, in the flesh, flesh and blood and bones – not the dream of her … but her …this woman that had become his everything … his Callie …
His Callie … and the reality of her still straddled his thigh – her core warm and wet – her hands on his clavicle, her perfect bare ass rising higher in the air, her hot skin covering him everywhere, cloaking him like a blanket of want and need – no, this was unlike his dream – for this was his reality and it was beautiful. His cock twitched – his boxers tented, rising with his muscle now – her perfect nipples cut across the solid wall of his chest as her lips fell to his abdomen and her fingers slipped under the waistband of his boxers.
"Cal," he called for her, his voice stacked, his breathing irregular, more worked-up than he expected.
"You let me sleep," she muttered, looking up to him from her station. She smiled wickedly.
"I did," he sighed, reaching for her, weaving his fingertips through her hair.
"I wanted you – I want you – and you let me sleep!" she accused, her tone light and playful.
She pouted with mischief in her eyes now, dipping her fingers below his waistband, she pulled the fabric down, an inch, maybe two.
"You meant business," he stated gruffly, reaching for her again, pulling on her locks. He wanted her up there with him.
"I did," she kissed his navel, her hot breath scorching his skin. "I do," she amended, slipping the fabric down another inch, the flesh of his nerve center visible now. "It's business time," she whispered thickly, kissing his sensitive head before she pulled his boxers down, releasing his cock into her capable hands. She giggled with delight. "Do you want me?" she asked, batting her long lashes playfully, fire in her eyes now as she ran her tongue up and down his length – base to tip, tip to base – already lost in his essence. Mark's eyes closed on their own accord.
"Yes …," was all he could say, smartass remarks eluded him as his hips jerked up to meet the hot flesh of her mouth.
"Good," she replied before she took him fully into her mouth.
And as she worked him, up and down, lubricating his shaft, licking, sucking and swirling her beautiful tongue, Mark realized that while – her ferocious need and want of him was still evident – her mood and tempo seemed to be slower. His cock twitched – more, more, more – her lips pulsed around his shaft, holding him in place now as her fingers gently massaged his sack.
Callie lubricated him once more, focusing all of her attention on his head, moaning into his hole as she went, before she slipped her whole mouth over him and allowed him to systematically pulse up and into her depths while his heart rate went nuts with anticipation, orgasmic highs waited just around the next… pump … pulse … lick … flick … swirl … and siphon of her gorgeous mouth!
Damn, her mouth on him never felt this good, she never looked sexier either – with her eyes locked on his, her beautiful round ass wiggling in the air – she was hot and turned on and ready and he wanted her pussy, it was as simple as that!
Mark decided to allow her another minute of free play, but he wasn't going to give in – not that easily – not after the dry spell they just had … sure he needed her – he wanted her, he always wanted her – but he also wanted to take his time tonight – and so did she apparently – having slowed her siphoning pulses to a more sporadic beat, he could tell she craved longevity just like he did.
Waiting now to feel her rhythm, he held her skull in place with his hands as he gently forced his cock deeper into the warm caverns of her mouth and throat – deeper, deeper, slower, slower – it was all he ever wanted or needed. Except he really wanted more … he wanted her pussy – the taste of her sex on his tongue, the feeling of her muscles covering his rod – yes, he wanted more, more of her, more of them … oh so much more!
"Cal," he muttered into the thick night air, he opened his eyes; she was lost, too far-gone to hear him. He leaned forward and tugged on her shoulders – she stopped mid-stroke and pulled her mouth from his flesh – her hands remained around the base of his swollen rod. "Come to daddy," he husked; a wry grin covered his face.
Her giggle filled the air and she smiled for beat, her hot breath slamming into his muscle, teasing him now without even trying. She ignored his request and leaned down and over his cock instead, her ass perched high the air and all of a sudden her unique sexual essence was the air he breathed. She took him into her mouth one last time – savoring him, making it last, taking her time, one last taste, one last lick – making slow, ferocious love to his cock as if it were the last time she would feast on his flesh … for he was her king and she … she was his queen.
His balls tightened, constricting against his will …
His ass cheeks clenched, pumping up without his consent …
His hips rose off the bed, fucking her mouth, oh she felt so fucking good …
His heart rate went wild, he was about to blow, but he wouldn't have it, he wanted control …
And in a furious attempt to make it last, he somehow sat upright, pulled her amazing mouth from his cock and pinned her beneath him.
"You want me," he reminded her, his voice shaky – their breathing ragged – his wet hard cock nestled between his groin and hers. Moving her matted hair away from her flushed face, he stared down at her now, his heart pinched in his chest somewhere and he was quite certain he never wanted her as much as he did right at that moment.
"I do," she said breathlessly into the heat between them. She maintained her hold on his gaze, pulled his neck forward and closed the small distance between them, kissing him with her mouth, they moaned in unison.
Finally face to face …
Hungry lips feeding lips …
Body heat fueling body heat …
Wild eyes matching wild eyes …
Heaving chest to heaving chest …
Feet and legs tangled together …
Their perfect anatomical fit still evident … ready cock lined up to pulse into ready pussy …
Mark smiled and kissed her perfect lips – pumping once, twice – before he felt her mouth open to him with a gentle ferocity he hadn't felt before. She raised the knee of her free leg, Mark's hands roamed the familiar curves of her body – his fingertips dancing along her fuller, more sensitive breasts – her nipples as ripe and as large as raspberries. He pulled his mouth from hers and ducked down, gently taking the tasty flesh in his mouth. Her hands found his skull and she moaned into the air above them as he massaged her peaks with his tongue, taking care not to over-stimulate her nerves there.
"Mark," he heard her groan. His cock lengthened at the sound of his name falling from her lips.
Maintaining his oral hold on one nipple, he stealthily moved his free hand along the soft skin of her abdomen, stopping briefly to connect with their love-baby – heat to heat – before he slipped his fingers through her mound to his prize. He found her swollen clit with ease, bypassing the temptation to play with the fleshy nub in favor of feeling her walls around his fingers.
Skillfully, he slipped two of his long surgeon's fingers into her hot, soaking wet depths – her pussy was drenched – drenched with raw need and want for him and six-week sabbatical aside, she'd never wanted him more, he knew that much. His mouth watered, her sex intoxicated him – the spell was cast, the net was too … and he was caught – all points of fact, all created an animalistic desire to taste her. Without another thought, Mark released her nipple and trailed his tongue down her middle, moving between her legs – taking a moment to marvel at her beautiful essence, her pussy, the woman of her – resting his head on her thigh now, he slipped two fingers into her depths. He watched and felt her muscles constrict and react; her beautiful folds pulsed and swallowed his fingers whole.
He began to pulse his fingers against her flesh for a beat before he leaned down and captured her tasty clit in between his lips, swirling it around and around and around with his tongue, all the while lost in her warm sex and the call of his name over and over, her voice raspy, laden with pleasure-filled pain. Her hands flanked his skull like a vise and she kept him there – right where she wanted him to be – doing her best to wield control over the placement and strokes of his fat tongue along her folds and deep pussy and clit.
He feasted …
… and she let him.
For he had been deprived of this pleasure …
… and so had she.
"Mark," she called out once again, her voice strained, beautiful. "So close," she muttered, her whole body trembling.
Mark pulled his fingers from her depths and replaced them with his siphon-mouth – he covered her whole opening with his now – lost within her flesh, his tongue deep and stiff – pulsing deeper and deeper inside for a beat, anything to get her off now, before he pulled back and focused on her swollen nub with his mouth and thumb – flick, flick, flick, rub, rub, rub, swirl, swirl, swirl …nip … bite – and with that last ministration her hips flew off the bed, his tongue and fingers held in place by her delicate clenching muscles now as she cried out in appreciation.
"Oh God, yes, yes!" came her singsong voice.
Mark kept his mouth on her, drinking down the fruits of his labors, allowing Callie to come down from her blissful high while he breathed her in – French kissing her pussy – skillfully swirling his tongue around and around her tired, swollen flesh until he heard her voice.
"I need you," she declared. "Inside me," she elaborated in a harsh whisper.
He kissed her fleshy depths one more time before he raised his head – his eyes traveling up, up, up – where he spied her rosy flushed cheeks, the layer of hazy dew that lay along her aroused breasts and sex-ripened nipples, her hands above her head in submission. Mark sighed at her natural beauty and took his time moving his lips up to her heart-shaped face where he kissed her lips, plucking them once, twice. Callie's eyes opened and they connected in the dark.
"I need you too," he said, face to face with honesty, because it was true – he needed her, he didn't just want her, he'd fallen hard for her – and in that moment, he tenaciously fought the rising crescendo of emotions he hadn't expected.
He smiled weakly; her hand cupped his face, neither one moved for a beat.
Pushing himself up, he knelt in front of her. Callie's hands found his cock and she pumped his rod up and down as he leaned forward and pushed his fat, ready muscle against her hole. He lowered his body over hers, she opened her thighs wide to accept him – and she did just that, taking all of him, inch by inch – until their pelvises touched and they were joined in perfect harmony.
"Cal," he husked into her mouth, his tongue dipping into her mouth like his cock into her pussy.
"Hmm, so good," she replied, clenching down around him with her muscles, holding him, keeping him.
Mark picked up the pace, pulsing, pulsing, pulsing, there was no end to the deliciousness of her muscles wrapped around his cock – her arousal, her juice everywhere, their sex permeated the air – as he gently pounded into her and she accepted him without holding back – fitting around him like a hand-tailored glove – flesh on flesh, nerve against nerve … they went together – there was no question, no quandary – no one else for either of them.
"Slow," he muttered, his heart pounding against his chest cavity, his eyes closed, completely lost within her.
"Slow," she repeated, grasping for his shoulders then moving to his face where she held him steady and found his eyes. "Slow," she repeated again and he obliged, nose to nose now as he pumped into her endless depths.
They kissed then, slowly making sweet love to one another like never before – nothing but their love-baby between them – both savoring their reunion and this new level of 'them' now as she rocked her hips up and back and took all he had and so much more … slow and easy, easy and slow. Mark pulsed down, down, down for several beats more ducking his head down to feast on her beautifully puckered nipples while he reached back and pulled her knee up, pushing it under his forearm to raise her hips up and back, a position offering the deeper penetration they both craved.
With his rod long and deep now, Callie snaked her hand down and gently massaged his sack, applying pressure to his sex, testing his readiness, his sack warm and almost ready to pop! She moved her hand away while Mark hovered over her for a beat – as he pressed tiny strikes into her pussy now with just his fat, sensitive head – her pussy grasping for his cock with tenacity on every downward pulse.
He looked down and found Callie watching his cock disappear into her depths, playing with her clit, her fingers moving rapidly – swirl, flick, swirl – smothering her nub now as she found his watchful eyes before he lowered himself deeper into her once more, pushing his pelvic muscles against hers, adding the desired pressure to her mound and clit, she raised her hips up and back, strike, strike, strike!
Mark felt his blood literally boil, his head went cloudy, sound mind and body comingled and created a hazy fog of lust and love as Callie's muscles systematically clenched around him now as he dropped lower – skin against skin – her lips and tongue meeting his once again in a slow, yet furious attempt to get one another off, to 'come' together, to mate, to own … to connect.
"Mark," came her desperate call. "Deep," she ordered.
He wasted no time and slammed into her one last time, and as he did, his sack ricocheted against her perineum, thereby releasing his hot seed with a force and energy he never felt before. Callie rocked her hips up and back and back and up in an effort to deepen the penetration of his twitching cock, creating pressure against her clit as they both tried to desperately hold onto that blissful orgasmic high. Their breathing labored, her muscles still pulsing, working, milking him where she kept him, savored him, held him inside of her with the intent of never letting go … and that was just fine by him.
And in those first moments where they became one to each other …
The essence of 'them' became the air they breathed …
Wild heartbeats slowed down …
Glassy eyes became focused …
Erratic breathing became regular …
Tensed muscles relaxed …
And when Mark finally slipped from Callie's hold everything changed … because cognitively their souls remained connected … and it was a beautiful thing.
###
Callie spoke first and Mark held on tight, still wrapped around her – his lover, somehow his everything – his mind, utterly foggy with a heavy range of emotions swirling around through the haze.
"When did we start doing that?" she breathed into their damp heat.
"What?" he asked. Which part of 'that' was she talking about?
Mark kissed her shoulder, shifting slightly over her, although still unwilling to let go. He reached down and pulled the gray silk sheet up to their hips.
"Slowing down, taking our time," she whispered; her voice raspy and low.
"We've evolved," Mark answered, draping his thigh over hers. He kissed her temple.
"We have," Callie agreed, leaning into his sweat-soaked abdomen.
"We're …," he said, losing his words as he dipped his head down and plucked her nipple – it was taunting him, begging for attention – he just had to latch on. She giggled.
"Us …," she breathed through her chosen word.
"Us …," he agreed, his mouth closing over her whole nipple now, breathing her in, her hands in his hair.
"Hmm …," she hummed, rolling further into him as she moved his skull up and brought his lips and tongue up to hers where they kissed for a beat before he rested his head on the pillow right next to hers.
He closed his eyes, moving his hand down, he placed it low along her abdomen – heat to heat again – connecting with their love-baby once more, 'I love you, I love you', he found himself telepathing. Callie's hand went there too and they melted into one another and became real to each other, yet again.
"I love you, Callie – I mean – I'm in love with you," he sighed, emotion clogged deep in his throat. He raised himself up on his elbow and found her wide glassy eyes, although bright and happy too. He kept his free hand on her belly. "And this baby …," he smiled weakly.
"Mark," she sighed, doing her best not to look away.
"I am, Cal – I am – please don't fight me on this, things have changed … for me," he confessed, lost within her deep gateways. He shook his head. "I know … I know how you feel about marriage … but …," he sighed, knowing she had lost her faith in the sanctity of it all (she made that quite clear after he asked her to marry him once before) … except that since then, he found himself wishing she would reconsider.
"But …," she sighed, finding his eyes and really looking at him. "Things have changed," she elaborated.
"They have … for you too …," he said hesitantly. "I felt that tonight," he added.
"And it's not just about us and the taking our time thing," she said firmly, moving her hand up to the angle of his cheek. It's how I feel about us … 'us'," she breathed, shaking her head with wonder.
"How do you feel?" he asked, dipping his head down, he pressed a chaste kiss to her swollen lips.
"Like I won the lottery," she smiled, big and bright as tiny tears popped from her eyes.
"Me too," he said softly, resting his head down again, pressing kisses to her shoulder and neck and earlobe before he relaxed for a beat. He closed his eyes, finally right where he should be.
"Mark …," Callie sighed. "Somehow … somehow I fell in love with you too," she confessed.
Mark raised himself up once again and stared down at his lover in amazement. He leaned down and kissed her before he pulled back and focused on her pupils for a beat. He smiled. She loved him, he could tell – she was sure, so sure she would never turn back – he shook his head as she smiled brilliantly in the dark. Now was the time, it was time for business … propositions.
"Can I ask you again?" he asked, his heart racing. "Make this idea of 'us' even scarier?" he teased.
"Yes," she said, cocking her head against the pillow, her smile still wide and confident.
"And will 'yes' be your answer?" he asked sheepishly. She slapped his forearm, tears gathered.
"Yes," she relented with a wry grin.
He rolled over and opened his bedside table and pulled a small black velvet box from within. He smiled brilliantly as he watched her face falter with confusion … no, he didn't have one of these last time he did this. He placed the box in the palm of her hand. She sat up, leaning against the headboard.
"It's a box …," she stuttered, looking down. "You bought a box … it's the box," she rambled nervously.
"It is …," he said, coming to sit Indian style in front of her. Full of truth and honesty, naked as the day he was born. He opened the box for her and removed the simple, yet flawlessly elegant diamond ring.
"Oh Lord, Mark …," she sighed.
He smiled, shit, he knew she could take or leave jewels – he knew that – but this ring … when he saw it … well, it was truly a spectacle of simple beauty just like her. It was now or never … and Mark chose now without looking back.
"Calliope Euphegenia Torres," he sighed, having long ago perfected the pronunciation of her name. "Will you marry me and raise this baby with me … I promise … Cal …," he muttered, watching her tough exterior crumble. "To really, truly try to make you believe in the sanctity … the sanctity of 'us' forever and ever …," he finished softly as he watched her nod in assent.
Mark leaned into her emotional energy, making it theirs as he slipped the ring on her finger. And with one fluid movement, he pulled her onto his lap, her legs reflexively went around his waist and he held her in the moment and she held him – their baby nestled between them – as they kissed each other and basked in the love and sanctity of them, lulling and rocking, rocking and lulling each other for now and forever. Nose to nose, chest to chest, her hands flanking his skull – eyes locked tight on one another – he blinked and she was still there. It was finally true, she wasn't going anywhere.
"You heard my answer right?" she asked, her desperate lips against his … holding on tight, swaying in harmony with him.
"Loud and clear," he answered without missing a beat … holding on tight, swaying in harmony with her.
Business Time – Part 3 – George O'Malley to follow.