Basic Instinct
small note: Not for Fritz's eyes.
May 7, 2006 7:40 PM
Summary: Cristina Yang had always tended to think of her relationships as Basic Instinct. The sex, the comments, the emotional evasiveness...for someone so logical, she could be very impulsive.
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She had closed and locked the door to the on-call room, instinct being to get closer to him. His shirt was off, the drawstrings on his scrub pants didn't look like they'd take more than a gentle tug to undo. The way he'd grabbed at her was as if he hadn't even thought about it, not really, not conclusively, not the way he had slowly and deliberately made every other choice in his life. When Burke was with Cristina, it was just...instinct.
When the bomb had become known into the presence of Seattle Grace Hospital, Cristina had wanted to get in on the action. Not for Burke's initial reasons, that he thought she imagined it as just another cool surgery, but because the first thought she had had when she heard that there was an explosive in an OR was, "Oh God...Burke." She had fought as much as she could to stay in there with him, and when the paramedic Hannah had pulled her hand out and ran, her first reflex had been to get down on the floor, and when she had done that she didn't even realize until a second later that she had somehow gotten by Burke, protecting him with one arm around his back as she ducked her head. She had stood up quickly, averting her concentration to Meredith, not being able, under the severe stress her body was already in, to bear with the inevitable fact that protecting, that loving, Preston Burke was nothing but basic instinct.
Cristina Yang had always tended to think of her relationships as Basic Instinct. The sex was almost primal, savage in attack, and never went farther than it had too. The movements were instinct, the first spontaneous impulse ripped from the jarring way she worked things.
When Burke made love to her, every movement seemed planned out, every gentle touch seemed to be made a thousand times over in the way he touched her, caressed her, as if he had dreamed about it a thousand times and was just reenacting it for the sake of nostalgia, and he was one that knew the dream by heart, and could not wait to revisit it in the waking hours. Every move he made, sexual or just a stroll down the hallway in the hospital, the delicate twitch of a scalpel, the gentle slide of a cup of coffee on a counter, was smooth, elegant, maybe not as if he had planned it out, but more like it came to his body naturally, a bit like something planned out just by how well it worked, but it had to be considered that not all poetry needed to be tweaked, not all act of beauty needed to be perfected a second or third or millionth time. Burke achieved greatness in every movement he made for Cristina. He did not need to practice. It was just instinct.
When he awoke her in the on-call room the morning after he had lost his idol, Cristina had been mildly surprised, but not unwilling. She had been crashed on a top bunk, eyes closed, face tired, hair spread out on the pillow. She had been asleep when he entered the on-call room, and had not awoken until he had pulled himself up, brushing his lips with hers, and murmuring her name softly.
"Cristina." She opened her eyes slowly, lips still tingling from the kiss, and managed to smile at the familiar look in his eyes.
"Hey. Morning," she mumbled.
"I missed you at home. But thank you for calling," he said softly. Cristina smiled.
Burke had kissed her once again, deeper this time, and then pulled himself so he was on top of the top bunk, arms supporting him as he held his body over hers.
"Mmmm," she murmured, obviously exhausted. She opened her eyes, looking at him carefully.
"You okay?"
He had nodded, his nonverbal response seeming accurate. "Just needed to see you," he mumbled.
"That why you drove all the way down here? To 'see' me?" Her voice was hoarse with exhaustion, but her teasing smile lit up his eyes.
"Maybe a little more than that," he said, the familiar flash of gleaming white teeth causing her to toss the grin back at him. He bent his head to kiss her, taking off the shirt she had been wearing under her scrubs the day before. She let out another small moan as he unzipped her jeans, kissing her neck as he did so.
He didn't have to think when he made love to her. For this, he was a natural. With them, it was all instinct.
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A/n: That's all for now, this is supposed to be a one-shot. May be edited after the finale, if I can think of a nice way to put in my heartbreak. A lot of the BANG fans are forcing themselves to accept that there's going to be a horrible ending for Bang finale-wise, which will turn into a very Cruel summer. If I can rewrite what happened (happens) to make it happy, I most certainly will. If I have opted to commit suicide instead (omg, J/K, do not take me seriously, I'm being a melodramatic teenager), then this will most likely be it for this story. :P : ) :D