More and more, their nights began and ended with dinner on a balcony, or, in colder cities, the hotel restaurant, then to the room for meandering conversation about everything and nothing, waiting to see who fell asleep first, waking in a tangled heap of limbs and kisses and half-shed clothing in the morning. Joe meant what he said; Meg deserved to be known, not just tossed onto a mattress and pounded through it. Not to mention, he wanted her to initiate that particular event. 'After everything she went through...I want her to know she's ready, not just going along with what I want. I can wait as long as I need to wait.'
Which, as it turned out, wasn't as long as Joe thought it would be.
Meg, having returned to a more normal pattern of eating, not-smoking, and sleeping, felt infinitely better than she had in weeks prior. Good enough, in fact, to suggest an actual date-night to Joe, who was only too happy to indulge her – on her terms, of course.
"Casual, please? Or...low-key? I don't want you being mobbed by people, neither one of us should have to dress up, it doesn't have to be fancy or special or-"
Joe kissed her into silence. "Anything you want. Or don't want." Her want turned into a corner pub in an out-of-the-way neighborhood after a show. Not too far from the hotel but not too close to downtown, easily walkable in the pleasantly cool weather. It also served as a lovely excuse to stop for coffee and cookies on the way back, which slowed their walk and allowed Meg to kiss away his crumbs after every bite.
"Can I treat us to something from room service when we get back? You always get things for me, I want to do something nice for you."
"Meg..." Joe bristled at the idea; she lived off her intern's stipend. "We split everything tonight as it is, you really don't have to do anything else."
"Please?" She bounced in front of him, skipping backwards to block his steps. "I kinda had something picked out already anyway…"
Joe groaned, but had the damnedest time telling her no. "Baby...if it makes you happy...but I reserve the right to pay for it if it's overboard."
She swatted him. "You better not. I'm warning you." After a second's contemplation, she added, "Besides, part of it you can't send back." Joe raised an eyebrow and let his mind wander around the garden of possibilities.
The surprise, as it turned out, was that she knew the sommelier at the hotel, who comped her an amazing selection of wine, already delivered to their room when they returned.
"This is not room service, this is liquid insanity. Meg, you're ridiculous!" Joe was stunned; some of the bottles were unbelievably expensive. "Hon, there's no way I'm going to-"
"Says the guy who bought a two-grand bottle of tequila as an apology?" Meg held up her hand dismissively. "Come on. I know the sommelier, and she did it as a favor. I asked for some passes for her family and she's coming to the next taping of Raw. You might have to give her a hug, though. Just a warning." Meg winked and smiled as she worked a cork slowly out of a bottle of zinfandel, wanting to give it time to breathe. "We can start with the white wines; she left them on ice and they don't need to breathe as much as the reds do, plus we just had dessert, so they'll go better with...what? What're you looking at?"
Joe had turned to look at her, really look at her, and for the millionth time felt a creeping warmth spread across him. She bent over backwards for her friend so that she could bend over backwards for him, wanting to surprise him, make him feel special – when had this happened?
"You, babygirl," He spoke through a smile, shrugging his shoulders in disbelief. "Just you. Pour for us? I don't know what I'm doing with wine."
"Me either, so this will be fun. Pinot grigiot to start." Meg swirled the glass, sipped, and giggled at herself. "Oh, look at me. All rough edges, and here I am with a wine glass like I'm something important. Here, try this." Joe couldn't help the grin on his face. Meg, his Meg, full of surprises. No doubt her friend was someone she met getting her LPN, or traveling; she drew people to her like moths to a flame. Sipping, it was floral, light, dry – not like bourbon, not at all – but delicious in its own right, and the flowery tones were so close to her rose scent it made him ache. "Good?"
"Not as good as you."
Meg blushed, hard. "Mmph. No sappy compliments." She opened the sliding glass door and walked out onto the balcony. "How many nights have started like this?" She gestured out over the downtown skyline, scanning bridges and brake lights.
"Quite a few, babygirl. Quite a few. Why, you bored?"
"Never. But I do have one more surprise for you. After this bottle of wine. Or maybe two. We'll see when you earn it." Meg winked devilishly at Joe, her words weighted with something indescribably lustful.
"You know I love a challenge."
"Oh, so that's why you took me on?" Meg feigned hurt. "And here I thought it was just for my winning personality and good looks."
"Well, you are gorgeous. Personality...you take after Randy. You sure you're not actually related?" Meg elbowed him gently, tiptoeing upward to kiss his shoulder, and Joe's rich laugh echoed out into the night.
They worked their way through bottle after bottle, wine going down like nectar, until Meg remembered she forgot her surprise. Popping up with a quick kiss, she trotted back into their room, making Joe swear to wait outside. 'Now or not at all, Meg. Either he wants it or he doesn't.' She slipped into the bathroom, stepped into the halter babydoll, and smoothed it over her stomach, fretting over imaginary wrinkles. Scrunching her nose at her reflection in the mirror, Meg moved a few unopened bottles, two glasses, and a corkscrew to the nightstand next to the bed, picked up her wineglass, and crept back to the balcony. Joe was lost in the view of the city, clearly expecting her jaunt indoors to take much longer than it did.
"Shit, maybe I should have fixed my hair or put some lipstick on. Looks like you're bored and I've got time, anyway." A sly smile played at Meg's face, and she made an exaggerated motion to turn back into the room, looking over her shoulder as she slowly spun.
Joe was briefly stunned into stillness; Meg was beautiful even on her worst of days, but in cerulean silk smoothed by the cool night air, she was ethereal. The lingerie highlighted the length of her legs, and she had kept the rest of herself deliciously uncomplicated. No makeup, simple, soft hair loose around her shoulders, and delicate rose perfume, exactly as he remembered from the night he first touched her.
"You look..." Joe trailed off, reaching for her and gently pulling her back to the balcony, "You're unreal." His arms closed around her, trapping her backwards against his chest. Meg used the position to her advantage, downing the last of her wine and moving the glass out of harm's way.
"I promise, I'm real. You feel me, don't you?" Her hands slid across his arms, pressing them tighter around her, using his grip as an excuse to undulate against him. "Don't you?" She turned in his arms, trying to read the expression on his face.
"I want to."
It was the sole encouragement Meg needed. She closed her eyes and leaned up into a kiss that was tentative at first, then eager, then desperate, her hands capturing his face, tangled in his hair, refusing to let him go. Joe was only too happy to be trapped, lifting Meg up around him, groaning into her mouth as he felt her legs close around his waist. He carried her into their room, kneeling at the foot of the bed, placing her on the edge, finally breaking their kiss. She was breathless, fingers tracing his cheekbones, jawline, finding the buttons of his shirt and freeing them one by one.
"Meg, tell me you want this."
"I always wanted this." She finished his buttons, pushed his shirt back and off of him, and kissed a trail down the front of his chest to the top edge of his pants. "And you're overdressed." Before she could reach for him, Joe caught her hands in his and pressed them to the bed.
"So are you, babygirl." His smile was gentle as he slid his hands away from hers and up her thighs, feeling for the strings of her panties, tugging at them til she lifted her hips. With one less piece of clothing between them, Joe felt his breath catch in his throat. He eased Meg back onto the bed, gently laying her down, watching the edge of the silk lingerie creep further upward across her legs. Kneeling, tentative, he nipped at Meg's inner thighs, watching her hands clutch the sheets on the bed as he moved further up.
"Joe, don't tease. I want to feel you." Meg snaked a leg over his shoulder, urging him forward. His tongue touched her, and she nearly unraveled underneath him, trying to arch forward, pulling him into her, riding each flick and hum, not noticing his hands climbing up to her hips until it was too late – he held her still with one while the other joined his mouth, fingers probing, circling, until she broke, calling his name like churchsong, not caring who heard.
Meg reached for him, vision still starry, shivering as she felt his hands under her lingerie, lifting it as he rose over her. She backpedalled up the bed, eyes, begging him to follow her. "You...still have too much on," she panted, "Come here." Joe crawled over her, leaning down to kiss her before allowing her to push him over, feeling the entirety of her skin against his chest before she sat back on her knees, affording him a complete view of her body, cream-blue in the moonlight. Meg leaned back, watching Joe slide his pants lower, until they were off and she was able to push his hands down to the bed. "My turn," Meg whispered, and without warning, she was on him, her tongue teasing and swirling as she knelt between his legs.
Gasping, Joe tried to reach for Meg, tried to arch off the bed, felt his fingers draw trails in the bedsheets and then in her hair, willing himself to breathe and hold out, to wait, hurtling toward the center of a brightly burning star. She locked eyes with him, changing tempo, first fast, then slow, hands blurring with tongue blurring with wave after wave of sensation building in knots across his stomach, then his thighs, then the bottom of his spine falling out from under him until Meg slowed and backed away, sitting up, panting, smiling, eyes glazed, stopping just before Joe couldn't stop himself.
"More?" Her question was a whisper, tender, "I want you to feel the way you make me feel."
"How?"
"Everything. Like the world is ending and it's beautiful."
Joe reached up for her, his hands sliding across her stomach, breasts, arms, up her neck, cheekbones, around her hips, tracing the contours of her collarbones, reaching around her to fingertip-dance across the spiderweb of small scars between her shoulderblades and linger. It was then Meg shuddered slightly, closing her eyes, tensed and waiting for...what, she didn't know. It was Joe's voice that grounded her, brought her back to their bed, anchored them to each other in their ocean.
"You told me your name that night, Magdalena. You trusted me then. Do you trust me now?"
The word came to her without pause. "Always."
Joe tensed his fingers over her shoulders, pressing firmly into her, then pulled her down on top of him. Wordlessly, he lifted her up to his lips, kissing as he went, first down her jawline, then her neck, stopping between her breasts and gently guiding her upright. "Then do this with me," he whispered, "Be with me."
Meg's face was suddenly peaceful, and she pressed her hands deeply against the broad plane of his chest. "Make me feel safe." Wordlessly, Joe rolled her under him, feeling himself settle heavily between her legs. Meg's breath hitched in her throat, waiting for him, bracing herself, suddenly and strangely tense.
"Babygirl, relax," Joe stroked the side of her face, brushing her hair back, murmuring into her neck, "It's me."
Meg closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, feeling his weight above her, breathed in deeply, and pressed her hands along his back, feeling every muscle and ridge as he flexed and twitched under her, pausing as she neared the upward curve of his hips. 'Now or not at all, Meg. You want this, he wants this, you love him, you...what?' Before her thoughts raced further afield, Meg dug her fingers into the hollows of his back, pushing and pulling, Joe suddenly centered before either of them was fully aware of what was happening, both snapping face-forward into each other, muffling moaned epithets and wild howls, neither sure how to set a rhythm, both trying to settle into a pace that would satisfy the other.
"Meg...I..." Joe's words were torn and ragged, "I'm not going to…"
"I want to feel you, Joe. I want to feel you here. I need this." Her words were a plea, moaned, she was begging him, and he was desperate to rise to meet her pace. He wanted the moment to last, he wanted to finish now and hold her, he wanted to claim her over and over, and then he felt her hands steadying him, icy fingers wrapping around his face, forcing him to look at her.
"Joe...I'm here as long as you want me. As many times as you want me. I want to feel you."
He lifted her from the bed as he settled back on his knees, never separating from her, the soft gasping sounds from Meg telling him this was right, so right, even though he wasn't laying over her anymore, he still held her, protected her, pulling her upright and farther onto him, feeling something almost fluorescent coming over them both when she crawled her hands up his chest, to his shoulders, finally wrapping them around the back of his neck and drawing him to her mouth, and then her mouth to anything she could kiss, her hands to anything she could caress.
Meg felt something in her give way, finally make sense, that he wouldn't go any further without her taking them both there, that he was waiting as much as she was – 'And for what?' - but once she knew, she finally forced back whatever was still holding her. She braced one knee into the bed and wrapped her other as much around him as she could, riding him slowly at first, watching for some glimpse of understanding on his face, feeling his lips on hers for some hint that he wanted her to keep going, do more, move differently, and then a moan that seemed to start months ago boiled up out of him.
After the first roll of Meg's hips, Joe had to force himself to keep breathing, and then she didn't stop moving and he finally believed, knew beyond his body, he could feel everything she said about needing him – he needed her the same.
There was nothing left for Joe to do beyond cede control to Meg, hold her and let her ride out her storm, tell her how beautiful she was, that she felt like heaven, rise up to meet her when he could and find small curves and angles to grasp and tease when she eased away enough for his fingers to find temporary hold on her sweat-slick skin. Joe could feel the world tighten around him, hear Meg's breath coming in shorter and shorter gasps, and he knew he was right behind her near the edge of their precipice. Nagging at the back of his mind was his dream – always, that dream – but not the violent end, the beginning, where it was caramel-sweet and rose-snow, just as she was now, where she had asked him to wait, to come with her, to be together.
"Baby, we," His words were on the verge of incoherence, "I want," Joe felt a familiar pulling lightness begin somewhere in the bottom of his stomach and begged himself to wait, "I…"
"I know," Meg breathed, "I know." She gently trailed her fingernails up his thighs, his stomach, pressed her palms into his chest – Joe inhaled sharply, felt how icy her hands were as they moved from his chest to his neck one last time – and then Meg suddenly, deliciously, slowed from what was a galloping, urgent pace to one as rich as velvet, thick as honey, and after one kiss, then two, three slides of her hips, he felt everything and nothing at all. Their names were call-and-response song to each other in the moment, and Joe lost himself as the room melted away. He dug his fingers into her, afraid she might slip from his grasp the way the walls appeared to slip from the foundation of the building.
After a moment, an hour – Joe didn't know which – he could feel Meg's small frame curl in his lap, her face pressed to the crook of his neck, singing quietly to herself, again playing with the damp ends of his hair, tracing the lines of his tattoo absentmindedly, rocking an occasional lazy figure eight with her hips and smiling at the feeling of him. The air in the room had chilled considerably – 'That's just like us, leave the balcony open,' – and he watched gooseflesh rise and fall on Meg's back as he breathed down her spine.
"Lay with me, babygirl?" Joe was already reaching behind him for the edge of the blanket with one hand, refusing to let go of Meg with the other.
"If you promise we can do that again." Meg's smile was sly as she leaned back with him, letting him roll over her, adjusting her blankets and arranging the pillows.
"As many times as you want," Joe murmured as he leaned down, "But I won't promise they'll all be like that." He punctuated his thoughts with a kiss. "The rest will all be better."