Disclaimer: I don't own Grey's Anatomy, et al.
Author's Note: Once again, thank you to those who are kind enough to give me a chance with this story … I know it's different, so I appreciate it. Just a reminder, historical facts through S5 … I hope those of you who are Crowen fans enjoy this part. Let me know what you think!
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Business Time – Part 5 – Owen Hunt
As the taxi driver pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic, Owen's mantra as of late was still running that contiguous loop in his head – 'ask her, ask her, ask her' – and for once all he could do was smile. Maybe Alex was right – maybe it was time to just get down to business and ask her – after all, his hesitation in asking her wasn't about fear of rejection, it was more out of wanting to find that perfect moment – except that the perfect moment hadn't materialized – and now he was just vacillating like the wind with a ring he wasn't sure she would want … and now he had to wonder why. For it was no secret that Owen Hunt had been infatuated with Cristina Yang (on some level) since the day he first met her.
He smiled.
Before that day – he'd been a mess – well, he was still a mess afterwards too, but in some way and without so much as a word, Cristina managed to balance him out and when he met her again and started working at Grace – she truly cancelled his pain with her own and made him feel better without even trying – a strange set of facts that had boggled Owen's mind for some time after they met. Until he masterfully learned to penetrate the veil of avoidance from which she resided under and then – then like a windfall, or a lottery, or a Godsend – it all of a sudden made sense – how she could do that for him, cancel his pain with hers – for her story was much like his… a tragic one.
Yes, from the moment they met Owen could tell Cristina was in pain (piercing icicle aside of course), she was in pain – for her eyes and her heart told him so – God, he remembered it almost hurt to look at her back then, with her unsettled eyes – she was very much a reflection of his own pain and suffering – two anomalies he had grown accustomed to avoiding. Avoidance … yeah, he was a pro at it and he remembered now once again how much is hurt to look into her small, dark and serious, yet completely captivating eyes. It pained him – he supposed it was the idea of shared pain that hurt the most – because somewhere in the deep recesses of their life experiences, they were connected via that pain and suffering and somehow it hurt to know or even suspect that Cristina felt their unfortunate connection too.
And it wasn't until later, much later, that Owen would finally connect the dots – that he would finally figure out their ill-fated alignment – and he remembered now that their connection didn't surprise him or shock him, rather he expected it and he forgave it and welcomed it with open arms even. Because those separate heartaches would become the impetus for their unique magnetism and he could never have turned his back on that force – the force of loss – and the helplessness that accompanied watching a loved one slowly succumb and surrender … their lives.
He was bleeding.
He was bleeding out.
He was bleeding to death.
No one to count on … she had no one.
No gifted surgeon on hand to fix the bleed … she would become one.
No, not even the prayers of a tenacious nine year-old girl could have saved … him.
Not enough surgeons to share the load … he was a lone warrior.
Not enough resources to save those who needed saving … he would become enough.
No, not even the prayers of a tenacious, dedicated army surgeon could have saved … them.
They were bleeding.
They were bleeding out.
They were bleeding to death.
So in the end, those they watched, those who – bled, bled out, bled to death – brought them together, they brought them to a new level of acceptance and understanding. And yes, those very intimate, personal and private moments of pure hell and helplessness somehow equated trust and from within that trust – they forged an unbreakable bond – and came to love and tolerate each other's pain and avoidance, which left them where they were presently – living and working together – and quite peacefully at that.
Owen took a deep breath and sighed, they had certainly come a long way. He smiled again, for he just couldn't help it, even within the tough material of their bond … he couldn't help but smile sometimes. The taxi driver navigated through the back streets, a neighborhood Owen had never been through before and he watched with interest now as they passed by the small houses – simple, well-maintained places – and in that moment he wondered if he and Cristina would ever end up in a house like that. And then he smiled yet again because he realized if he wanted to know the answer to that question, then he should definitely ask her … tonight.
"Rain," came the driver's gruff voice, effectively interrupting Owen's private reverie. "Perfectly nice night and then … rain," he said flatly, shaking his head.
"Must be good for business though," Owen offered, catching the driver's eyes in the rearview mirror. He smiled tightly.
"Yeah … business as usual," the driver smiled back, turning down another alleyway, although this one was vaguely familiar.
Owen looked straight ahead and saw – the familiar faint glow of the hospital lights now calling him 'home', he would know those lights from any direction, yellow, akin to jaundice, glowing like a misguided halo, those lights … they certainly called him 'home' – Joe's would be in the left at the end of the block. He retrieved his wallet and the driver pulled up in a quiet halt. Owen handed some bills to him.
"Keep the change, thanks for the lift," he said with a smile.
"Sure thing," the driver replied as Owen pulled on the door handle and stepped into the rain.
Once outside, Owen ducked down and made brief eye contact with the driver who gave him a mock-salute. Owen smiled again, watching now as the driver sped off and for some reason, keeping his eyes trained on the retreating taillights until they disappeared entirely.
He stood still in the light rain. Unable to move, he peered up and into the overcast sky for a beat. Rain. It pelted down, its own haphazard rhythm played along his shoulders – the weather had indeed changed in a heartbeat – Owen smiled, lots of things changed in a heartbeat, he mused quietly … things changed quite suddenly and out of the blue sometimes.
For one night maybe there would be freezing cold rain, then the ice would come – ice, icicles would take shape, harden, drip, drip, drip to a fine, razor sharp point – then the sun would come out perhaps, or the wind would change or some other force would jar those icicles quite suddenly and … they might fall and hit something … or someone.
He there again he found himself smiling.
With that, Owen shivered in the cold and turned toward the doorway, but stopped as a small group of people barreled through the dimly lit rectangle. He stepped inside and spotted Cristina perched on a barstool, and even though her back was facing him – his heart melted and he was defrosted from the cold all over again, the light fell across her shoulders like an angel's halo – just like the day they met. He glided across the floor, watching her now as she spoke animatedly on her cell phone. He sat down next to her – her sparkling and amused eyes flickered against the filtered light, she held his gaze – as she promptly leaned in and kissed him fully on the mouth without missing a beat of her phone call. She tasted of red wine and peanuts. She giggled and he smiled as she stayed inside their energy; he heard the distinct melody of Meredith's voice come through the line.
"Is that so?" Cristina laughed. "Well, enjoy it Mer, seriously … … a whole two nights without the rugrats …," she laughed, catching Owen's eyes with hers. "They'll be fine – for God sake's – you left them with Mother Earth incarnate!" she cackled at her reference to Derek's mother, lightly chastising her dear friend now. "Have fun – feed the beast or beasts or whatever – okay …yeah right … hmm, hmm … bye," she said with a mischievous glint to her eyes. She snapped her phone shut, her eyes falling on his again, she leaned into their heat.
"Hi," he said, kissing her sweet, drunk lips again.
"Hi," she echoed, her tone softened, she smiled. "Meredith was on the ferry," she offered, her voice low and reflective. She reached for her wine glass and handed it to him.
He smiled and took a sip. "Thank you," he said softly, appreciating the bittersweet flavor of the burgundy liquid. He inched closer and handed the glass back to her. He pressed a kiss to her neck. "Hmm – big thing for them – it's nice don't you think … what they're doing," he said, inching even closer, breathing her in, she giggled.
"It is," she agreed. She took another sip of her wine and handed the glass back to him.
He took another sip. God, she looked so beautiful, the way her eyes sparkled in the dim lights, she was stunning – and relaxed – it helped that she had already been off from work for hours. The wine funneled down his throat, burning his esophagus in the most delicious of ways.
"So…," he said, turning his bar stool towards hers as he positioned her knees in between his open thighs. He inched closer but lost his words … 'ask her, ask her, ask her', he dared himself again.
"This is cozy," she muttered. He could feel her heat. She pressed a chaste kiss to his neck, just above his jacket collar – one item of clothing he didn't plan on taking off – for suddenly he didn't plan for them to stay all that long.
"It is," he agreed. He locked his eyes on hers and smiled. She took a sip of their wine. He chuckled. "So …," he tried again, his mind reeling, he wanted to ask her – now, somehow, someway – he needed to know her answer.
"What?" she giggled, running her fingers along the groove of the smile plastered to his face … one he didn't have a care to release, ever.
"Cristina …," he sighed, moving her wild, dark hair away from her face, he heard her catch her breath. "Would you ever want to do something like that?" he asked softly, suddenly feeling like he could use something a whole lot stronger than wine.
"What … take a staycation?" she asked pointedly. He smiled and raised his brow. "We practically live across the street from The Archfield," she surmised gently.
Owen chuckled. "Not there … but somewhere, you know …," he breathed, 'go away with me, marry me', he chanted softly, finding comfort in their private energy. He pressed his lips together; 'just ask her', he chided himself. He sighed and took a deep breath.
"Owen ... what?" she asked softly, her curiosity evident.
He chuckled and shook his head; then he found her eyes and spoke. "Outside of Meredith and Derek's wedding – the real one – we've never gone anywhere together …," he reflected, his eyes never leaving hers.
"We work all the time," she agreed without hesitation. Owen moved his hand down from her shoulder to her forearm, anything to maintain some kind of physical connection.
"So … then … what do you say?" he asked softly, hopefully, as if the rest of his life depended on her answer … and in many ways, it did.
"What do I say about what?" she asked – her dark eyes flickering with some amount of recognition – a flash of something deep coursed through her entire being and with that she –became her softer self right in front of his eyes, that small soft part of herself she saved just for him – yeah … she was here too. "What are you asking me?" she persisted; her voice so quiet, he knew her question was just for him too.
And in that moment before Owen spoke another word, he felt certain the world stopped spinning – it was like a movie set all of a sudden – with the sound stage and the faux action of the scene (Joe's and all of the other nameless and faceless patrons, their clinking glasses and hushed conversations and the light music … all of it, gone now) as it bled out and away and into the background until all that was left was … the energy of them.
He sighed and smiled – his heart raced inside of his chest – it sounded like raging bulls to him … raging fucking bulls!
He leaned in, resting his large hands on her thighs, making any attempt to steady himself.
He kissed her for a beat – tasting her sweet and salty mouth – she giggled against his lips before pulling back.
It was now or never – it was the moment, that perfect moment … and it couldn't have been more perfect – he smiled confidently.
"Do you want to go on a trip … like that … with me?" he asked, watching now as her eyes flickered … she blinked hard and found his unwavering gaze again. She leaned into their energy.
"A Bahamas wedding style trip?" she breathed her question, her eyes became glassy.
"And …," he sighed, leaning into her heat. "A honeymoon trip," he whispered thickly into her ear, his damp, hot breath ricocheted back into his face as his words hung in the miniscule space between them. He found her eyes; she smiled.
She giggled. "Are you seriously asking me … now … here?" she asked playfully, her dark eyes scanning his now.
"Yes," he muttered, pulling on her thighs, moving her even closer to his heat. He stood in between her knees now. He moved his hand up and ran his fingertips along the smooth plane of her cheek. He smiled weakly. "Look … I keep trying to find that perfect moment …," he sighed. "You're the perfect woman for me … and I know it's not really your thing … but I have … I have this perfect, perfect ring …for you," he smiled, trying to get a read on her reaction and find himself in the glassy reflection of her eyes, his heart beating a million miles a second.
"You have … a ring," Cristina mused softly. "And life … life's not perfect," she offered. "And we're always working …," she sighed, trying to calm him without words, she rested her hands on top of his.
"We are … we do … it's what we do …," he reflected. "It's how we … operate," he chuckled at his bad pun. "How we survive – we work – even before we met, it's what we did," he said softly.
"We do … we did," she breathed, her voice catching again. Rare tears pooled in her eyes, he watched old pains try to resurface now until she quickly smiled them away. "But then one day an icicle fell … and then it melted, didn't it … Owen?" she asked, her eyes shining in dull light.
"It did … it really did Cristina," he agreed, leaning forward her took her lips in his mouth and kissed her senseless. She moaned slightly, the vibration traveled up and down their collective bodies. "Lets go …," he urged desperately against her lips, he saw the surprise in her eyes. "So … I can ask you properly," he whispered before he kissed her again.
She smiled. "By properly, you mean at home and in bed, right?" she teased, her dark eyes all of a sudden wild with happiness and amusement … a hint of mischief was there too.
Owen smirked and in a flurry of movement and without a single word, the couple made to leave. He tossed some bills down on the bar – waving ceremoniously to Joe – who dutifully waved back. Cristina slipped her coat on, Owen pulled his stool back to let her hop off of hers and within less than a minute they were crossing over the threshold, stepping out together into the cold nighttime rain.
Cristina shrugged in defense of the cold, Owen draped his arm around her small frame before he laced his fingers through hers, tugging now, he urged her to walk out with him – or run rather – except that she was frozen … stuck in her same spot just outside the doorway where he stood just a bit ago watching the taxicab tail lights disappear.
"Don't ask me again," she blurted out, her face wet from the rain, the green neon from the overhead sign, casting an eerie glow along her head and shoulders.
His heart flipped inside of his chest.
"Don't …," he stated, afraid to ask for the clarity he wasn't sure he wanted.
"No … I mean," she whispered, looking up and found his eyes where she cradled his wet face in her hands for a beat, holding him there, steadying his mind and heart. "I mean, the icicle melted … it's raining Owen … it's raining," she laughed, holding his skull. "Don't ask me again … just yes – yes – my answer is already yes," she whispered above the rain, leaning up she pressed her wet lips over his.
"Oh," he chuckled against her lips. "Oh … thank God," he muttered breathlessly.
His eyes locked on hers before his mouth descended up on hers where they kissed each other senseless, suddenly no more than teenagers making out upon swells of hormone surges. The sky opened up and the cold rain pelted down all around them now with no sign of letting up and in that rain, Owen only held Cristina – for the rain was theirs, nothing more than melted ice, icicles melted – and so he held on tight as they once again were reborn for one another … yeah, he held on tight with the intention of never letting her go.
Hands were everywhere, groping, caressing, loving before they found their more permanent places – his hands on the damp skin of her neck, hers holding on to his jacket collar – both lost and completely found at the same time.
Nothing but raindrops between them now as Cristina leaned up and into him with more fervor – lapping, nipping, sucking and biting now – as if she had been deprived of a drink from his well. She moaned and Owen felt her heat rise under his lips and only then did he come to his senses … they needed to move and now!
"I want you," he muttered, finally pulling himself away, barely away from her beautiful kisses.
"Me too … home … home, now …," she said into his mouth.
And with that the lovers pulled far enough away from one another and started to run across the street to their apartment – the yellow glow of the hospital lights, their beacon of hope the backdrop for this defining moment – as they ran as fast as their damp and tired and happy muscles would carry them.
Panting, Owen pulled the heavy glass door of their apartment building open and ushered Cristina inside. They headed straight for the elevators – soaked to the bone, arms around one another, their damp heat following them like a whiff of passing energy now – water dripping down, down, down from their crowns to their feet, leaving small puddle foot prints on the marble floors as they stepped over the elevator threshold.
The doors closed behind them and Owen wasted no time before he seized the private moment – making it theirs as he gently backed Cristina up – pressing her between his towering presence and the back wall of the steel box. He held her there, pressing his hungry lips over her open mouth – pumping furiously, suddenly starving for her – perhaps more now than ever before. And so it was with their lips still fused, that the couple began to undress one another – textures of damp wool and leather and silk grazed their fingertips – while humidity and fever-pricked passionate heat grazed their hearts and spirits.
The elevator doors opened, the chime announced their arrival, two events barely noticed by the couple as they stumbled from the confines of their temporary enclave and into the deserted hallway, once again in favor of moving on and forward. Without missing a beat, Cristina snaked her hand inside Owen's jacket pocket, grabbing his keys she turned out of his embrace to focus on the front door lock. His lips found the damp skin of her neck, while his nimble fingers found the buttons of her silk blouse before his hands fell to her hips where they stayed for a beat … he was unable to resist pressing his iron-hard cock into her backside.
Cristina stifled a frustrated cry before she finally opened the door where they retreated inside with the heavy door closing behind them – and suddenly all was quiet and dark and damp – their ragged breathing was all that could be heard over their raging hearts now as Owen wasted no time before he pinned her to the wall in the foyer, finally pushing her coat from her shoulders. Cristina pushed his damp leather jacket down – it fell to the ground with a soaking wet thud, completely lost within one another, neither one made a move to retrieve it – leaving it be, Owen stepped out of his shoes, Cristina's went flying and they moved … once again, they moved on and forward, down the darkened hallway to their safe-haven, nothing but a trail of damp clothing left in their wake.
They were almost naked now; almost free from the confines of useless clothing – Owen in his boxer briefs, Cristina in a lavender tank top and matching panties – they were nothing but turned on. Once over the one of the last thresholds of the evening, Cristina backed Owen up, step by step, kiss by kiss until they reached their bed – he sat down, she stepped in between his open thighs – his lips already pressed against her taut abdomen muscles, kissing, sucking and nipping, already breathing her in, already relentless in his pursuit to taste her skin.
He ran his warm hands upwards along her ribcage and slipped her tank top over her head before he attacked her breasts – covering her perfect trillion nipples with his mouth – tasting her sensitive flesh … suck, nip, flick, suck, nip, flick, flick … flick. Damn she tasted so good, he would surely never tire of the taste and feel of her puckered aroused flesh, he needed more … he would always need more!
All the while, her hands found his skull where she held on tight; guiding him – moving his mouth where she wanted him or needed him most – feeling her tremble as he brushed her silk-covered clit with his thumb, she fell into him, her breathing labored now as he massaged her powerful bundle of nerves, around and around and around he went – before he moved the thin piece of fabric aside to gain full access her tight pussy he loved so fucking much – instinctually he slipped his middle finger deep into her molten hole. God, she was so fucking wet, so turned on! He felt his cock lengthen in anticipation of what was sure to come.
His mouth still massaging hers – he added another finger, pulsing now – Cristina rotated her hips over his fingers, gasping for air as he pulsed them to a beat of his own making while he lapped his tongue at her engorged peaks, latching his mouth over her whole breast, he took the flesh in his mouth, distracting her for a beat where he slipped her drenched panties down and away from his prize. Once free, Cristina took his wordless cue, kissed him hard and pushed him back against the mattress.
Keeping her eyes locked on his, she pulled his boxers down, releasing his rock hard cock. He watched his rod bob in the air – searching, sensing, searching for her warmth – Cristina leaned forward, positioning herself in between his knees now as she began to massage his cock and sack before she bent all the way down and took his sensitive head in her delicious mouth and sucked and licked and flicked and fucked his cock, fueling his fire, melting his core like no other woman before her!
Owen's muscle jumped in reaction, pulsing deeper into her throat for a beat before she released her oral hold, crawled up his legs and straddled him. With her eyes locked on his, she swept his ready cock along her soaking wet seam, swirling his head over her clit several times in rapid succession, her hips bucking at her own ministrations before anchored her perfect pussy over his ready cock, stretching herself to take all he had now as he pulsed upwards and into her endless depths where they met somewhere in the middle.
"Oh … God … you feel so good," she muttered, leaning forward, her thighs against his, where she held him tight. She found his eyes. "Just like the first time … I'm … melting for you," she sighed breathlessly into his damp neck. Growling, he pulsed upwards, giving her more of what she wanted while she grabbed his cock with her muscles with each passing pulse. They matched each other with want and desire … tenfold.
"Cris …," he husked, his hands found the flawless muscles of her backside where he held her down, still pulsing upwards with short, meaningful pulses – carefully allowing the head of his cock slip outside of her barrier – only to sink deep into her warmth again and again and again.
Cristina bucked her hips, leaning down and into his body – she rode him like a wild stallion – trying desperately to tame him with her perfect pussy. She pressed her hips down, her muscles covering him … down, down, down, she held him in the moment with her like there was no tomorrow. "Deeper," she pleaded in a tortured cry.
On those words, he rolled her over, pinning her to the mattress, wasting no time before he gave her what she wanted … all of him and so much more. She opened her thighs and pussy wide to accept him until she – the very essence of her – was all that remained, she was all he could breathe, she was all he would ever want!
"Deeper," he agreed thickly as he gently pounded into her where his eyes found her sparkling orbs – glowing in the dark like she had a secret, white hot, passion-filled gateways – damn, she never looked more beautiful or flushed from their love-making. Never before had she looked so …intense and in the moment.
Her hands flanked his skull now as she stared at him in the dark. She licked her dry, hot lips again before he kissed her mouth, stealing her breath with every strike of his tongue against hers, all the while he fucked her senseless without mercy.
Keeping his eyes trained on hers, he felt her legs encircle his waist, drawing him closer – deeper, deeper, deeper – her feet clasped tightly around his lower back just above his ass now as she bucked her hips up and back to meet each of his pulses. Up and back she went – trying her best to press her hooded clit against his pelvic bone now – trying to add pressure, trying to cum into him, she was close … and so was he.
Acknowledging her need for pressure, Owen leaned on one forearm – pulse, pulse, pulse – went his hips now as he snaked his free hand down to massage her hot, needy nub. Her vaginal walls wet nuts, cloaking him, savoring him, keeping him right where she wanted him for now and forever.
"Hmm … so close … harder," she muttered into the damp skin of his neck. He pressed his lips against clavicle, anchoring himself there, pulsing and pumping his rod into her flesh, swirling his thumb around her clit – flick, flick – she grabbed him with her muscles again, the friction alone … it leveled him every single time.
"I'm …," his voice trailed off, literally dying in the air as the veins in his neck felt like they were gonna blow apart just like his cock, his body really wanted to let it all go – but he really wanted to avoid cumming for a beat longer – so he forced himself to stay in the moment … to stay with Cristina.
For they never broke their gaze, not in intense moments such as these, it was like some unwritten rule – it was true, they were emotionally unavailable at times, they were … in other aspects of their lives – but never here … never whilst embedded in one another, there just wasn't room for avoidance here, for they learned that early on.
Owen's cock tightened and so did his sack, all of which provoked Cristina to roll her hips up until he pulsed deeper, deeper, deeper, bumping now against her cervix as he began to feel that all-too-familiar burst of animalistic energy as it ripped up his spine – relentless now in his struggle to control his faculties, he pounded into her still – long and hard, nice and deep, slip, slip, slip, in, out, in, out … in … and … out – until he had no choice but to relinquish control and succumb to the untamed power Cristina had over him.
The lovers growled in unison now as they came, nothing more than a guttural reminder of their connectivity, of their lack of avoidance and total and compete adoration of one another, a tribute of their cumming into one another – she drenched and clenched around him with her perfect pussy, while he filled her up with his seeds, twitching, giving, pulsing as he did – their sex wafted up and into the air all around them … yet another reminder that they had indeed 'melted' into their passion for one another… and that they were alive and well.
And that's where they stayed for a long while, muttering words of adoration and fulfillment and praise – surrounded by reminders of their passionate love for one another – soaking it in, 'melting' into one another …
Long after Owen's cock slipped from her core ...
Long after their ragged breathing normalized …
Long after their skin cooled down …
Yes, there they remained – with their minds on the future, their hearts aligned and their spirits flying high above them – they had truly become one … they had 'melted' into one another in every way: mind, body and spirit.
Owen closed his eyes and brought Cristina flush up against his dewy flesh. "I love you," he whispered, emotion still lodged deep within his throat. He wanted to say more, but those words alone were … enough.
"I love you … I … do," Cristina sighed heavily, finally falling into his heat.
And then all was quiet and dark – their hearts and minds now too – as they relaxed into one another and set themselves free to dream of the future – The Good Drs. Hunt, Dr. Cristina Yang-Hunt, Cristina … Cristina Hunt ... Cristina Yang – Owen smiled and took a deep breath of their arousal. Cristina sighed. And just as darkness was bleeding the day away … just before he crossed over to that very last threshold of the day, Owen heard his angel's melodic voice one last time, it was her soft voice – the voice of her softer self – yeah, she was still here.
"Owen," she sighed, her voice quiet.
"Hmm," he muttered into her heat.
"Can I have my ring? I think I'd like to wear it," she whispered softly.
Owen smiled and then opened his eyes, finding her in the dark briefly before he pulled on the drawer to his bedside table. He rolled back over and handed the box to her – she smiled and pressed her lips together – she rolled into him and burrowed deeper, he found her eyes again, noticing now that they were still sparkling, even in the dark
She hadn't even opened the box – and yet, her eyes were sparkling like she had a deep secret – sparkling now … like she had fallen in love and somewhere along the line … he knew she really did … 'melt' on the inside …just like he did.
Business Time – Part 6 – Derek Shepherd to follow.