First Night

(This chapter is probably M.)

Meredith and Derek are both exhausted; neither wants to get dressed and go out or even go downstairs. They have room service and a hot shower together and go to bed, curled up in their usual configuration. They always start the night this way, by morning they'll be tangled in a knot of arms and legs, if one needs to get up before the other, the early riser will take care to extricate his or her self slowly so as not to wake the sleeping one.

Derek falls asleep immediately but Meredith is restless, Derek seems to revert to Eastern Standard Time just by being in New York, but Meredith is still on Pacific Standard Time. When Derek turns to his other side she lies on her back, thinking. Why is he right for her? She'd known nothing about him the night they met at Joe's, both refugees from the interns' mixer, though they hadn't known that at the time, but something drew her to him. When she was in college she'd bring a boy home, or go home with a boy after a night of drinking too much tequila nearly every Friday or Saturday. Different night, different bar, different boy. She didn't know why she did it then; she really doesn't know now why she did it then. But the night she met Derek was different. She didn't want a man, she wanted Derek. Even if she did forget his name in the morning, it was him, and only him, that she wanted. The name was just the label for the man. The man was who she wanted. Not what, who. She didn't want sex, any sex, she wanted sex with Derek, because he was Derek.

Why?

At the bar Derek had to prod Meredith to talk, though he duly noted that she tried to ignore him. He was cocky, but honest as well. They talked, sparring and bantering, as a powerful chemistry built up between them. When she stood up to leave, he stood up as well. Maybe he was being polite in the old-fashioned way, but she leaned over to kiss him, intending to kiss his cheek, the New York way, politely. If he was being polite before, he lost his grip on etiquette when she leaned into him, and she met his mouth, his warm, muscular mouth. He took her hand and they left the bar together and stopped at his car. In her college days that first drunken kiss was a foregone conclusion, but this was different. She wasn't drunk and neither was he, she knew what she was doing, but she couldn't tell what he was thinking. He leaned a little, she leaned a little and they were like magnets, jerked together by electricity and magnetism, locked in an embrace and a kiss that might have spanned centuries or just seconds, but it changed something fundamental for Meredith.

What?

They both spoke incoherently, simultaneously and stopped. Meredith got a grip first, and said "I have to be at work early tomorrow, you know, but, well, you know, if you want to come home with me . . ." She was unable to finish the sentence, but he helped out. "I'll follow your car."

She halfway regretted her invitation while she watched his headlights in her rearview mirror, but he gave her little time for second thoughts; while she unlocked the door his hands grasped her waist lightly as he kissed the back of her neck. Once inside she fumbled about looking for lights, she'd been gone from this house for eight years and there were boxes stacked everywhere hiding the light switches. When she knocked over a lamp Derek propelled her toward the window where the night light streamed in, they collapsed on the couch, mouth to mouth, hands everywhere.

The couch was too small, so Derek knocked the all little cushions to the floor and stood, pulling Meredith with him. He drew the zipper down the back of her dress, her head fell back as he kissed her neck, her throat, her shoulders. He stroked her bare back gently, but she could feel the strength in his palms and the power he held in reserve excited her.

Meredith's dress fell to the ground and he knelt to move it aside as she lifted each foot. Her bare legs in her sandals were too beautiful to leave untouched, not just with his hands but also his mouth and his tongue. Her hands were tangled helplessly in his hair as he stroked her everywhere but the one spot that wanted him most. When he freed her feet from her sandals his hands swept up the inside of her legs to her waist, and he lifted his face to whisper "Come down to me." She knelt with him thigh to thigh, sharing the cushion beneath their knees. He held her to him at her waist, leaning forward over her, her back arching under him, kissing her mouth, her throat, the warm soft curves above her bra.

Her head rested on the couch when he paused to ensure that she bore none of his weight in so vulnerable a position before he loosened her bra and his mouth moved downward to tease her, toy with her and finally to ravish her while the grip of her hands tightened on his shoulders and with each breath she begged for him more and more urgently.

He lifted her body to him, leaning back a little to let her rest against his chest, her face buried in his neck as his fingers ran through her fine soft hair. Her hands moved to his shirt, her trembling fingers to the buttons. He laid her gently on the floor and stood to undress. She watched him in the night light, beautifully built with small, fine bones like hers. When he knelt between her legs she lifted her hips to meet him. He'd never thought to take her that way, but what she offered he would try, and it was good for both of them. When her voice reached a climax, he let himself explode inside her. She collapsed to the floor while he lowered himself to rest above her on his forearms.

Meredith opened her eyes to find him gazing intently into her face; whatever he searched for he seemed to find utterly gratifying. Her hands were free now to stroke the long muscles of his back, the round muscles of his shoulders, to trace the curve of his lips, open and smiling now, clearly hungry for more of her. She whispered, "Again, please, again." looking up into his dark eyes, and his face grew eager, excited, even happy. There was the short interruption for safety's sake until his body rested lightly on hers, his eyes focused in hers, growing harder and harder inside her. He barely had to move bring both of them to a peak of urgent need and satisfaction.

He rolled onto his back and reached for her, she came quickly to rest against his chest, one leg between his thighs, her face on his shoulder. The floor should have felt hard beneath them, but they were both at that stage of pleasure where the body feels no pain. She murmured something unintelligible, so he asked "Tell me again"? She lifted her head and said "You are so . . . " but she couldn't finish her words before his head lifted to hers and they kissed helplessly, breathlessly. When the storm passed and they lay back again, she said one more word before she fell asleep on his shoulder: ". . . satisfying."

He satisfied her, not just sexually, in every way. How?

("You are so satisfying" meant more to Derek then the usual superlatives - amazing, great, fantastic – he was used to, from the woman whose face and voice altered little during their lovemaking. That woman was gorgeous to look at, dressed to attract not just his notice but everyone's notice, but when they were in the bed they shared, his lovemaking seemed like a formality, a symbol of possession, a symbol that she possessed him. This woman, the woman he held in his arms, had not sought his notice, had even tried briefly to repel his interest, but once they were alone she let him excite and enthrall her, offering herself, responding eagerly to his touch with her voice and with her body. As eager and ardent as she was, he had satisfied her.)

Meredith sifted her memory of that night for clues, for reasons why she had wanted to bring him home, and though she had sent him away so roughly, why she had hoped he would seek her out again, soon.