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Mouth He has quite the mouth on him. And I don't just mean the full, crimson lips that can pout so pitifully... though that is the best part. Standing in front of him. Tuning him out. Ignoring the words that continue to cascade from his lips. Staring at those lips. Those lips which have *always* caused distraction. Kept me from simply dismissing him. Kept me from pushing him away. I never really want him to stop... Not till I've had my fill. Least I've learnt how to silence him without earning a pout. Do those nimble lips taste better every day... *** Rump I've always been an ass man. Eyes, legs, chest--all of those are extras. It's the ass that will get me twisting, turning to catch a glimpse. Most people discount his ass. Don't notice it beneath his scrubs. But then they've never seen him in jeans. Or shimmying *out* of jeans. I grab both beautifully firm cheeks and squeeze. He arches and moans delightfully beneath me. Perfect fit. I pin my cock flat against his backside and slide it between those cheeks. Thrust. Linger. He teases, "Fucking me... or my ass?" "Both." And shift to bury myself in that ass. *** Silliness He's dancing. In the middle of the living room. In his apartment. With Turk. Some sort of odd, spastic mix of break dancing and funky chicken. While they both burst out into song together. "I love when you shake it like that!" "Hah ahh ahhhh!" "I see that you like it like that!" "Ah ah ahhh!" "You're makin' it hard for me!" Their love for random 90s music still astounds. And of course he would be back up singer to Turk. "How come they never did this *before*?" I cover my face. Carla shrugs. "You'll get used to it. Margarita?" *** Vex "Gloria, I didn't think you could still *be* so irresponsible, so reckless, so *stupid*, but you just had to go and prove me wrong, didn't you? What were you thinking? If you were thinking *at all*! You are a *doctor* now. You can't go pulling shit like this still. You are no longer just some doe-eyed intern! You are, in fact, a doe-eyed *doctor* who should've learnt to cover his back years ago! I can't *believe* you--" He interrupts my ranting with a deep, thorough kiss... before whispering, "I'm sorry." "Oh, *so* not done with you." And kiss him again. *** Pout "Dance with me." I blink at him. "Have you lost your damn mind, Gladys?" He instantly looks wounded. Oh for the love of... Did he *not* think that would be my reaction? He blushes and looks down at his hands. Plays with the sleeve of his tux. "You danced with Jordan at Turk's wedding..." I open my mouth to argue. You and I--we're different. But a genuine, crushed pout slides onto his lips. He turns away from me. Oh hell. I stand and pull him toward the intimate dance floor. ...only he can get me to do these things. *** Sugar "Melinda, what are you--" He cuts me off with a kiss. I blink and quickly jerk my head back at the sour taste that assaults me. I rub my tongue against the roof of my mouth, barking in annoyance, "Skittles?" "Sour Patch Kids," he says absently, turning to scribble on a notepad. He reaches into the paper bag beside him and pops something into his mouth. "Now to test Jelly Beans." "Newbie, you are seriously addicted--" He silences me with another kiss. Mmm, much more sweet than sour this time. He smiles as he pulls back. "--to sugary Perry kisses." *** Music I tilt my head as I step into the apartment. I can hear the radio blaring somewhere. And it's not the usual suffocating pop. I set my keys down and seek out the source. Then I realize he's singing along. "Ain't got nothin' but love, babe! Eight days a week!" My eyebrows raise as I step into the kitchen. He's bopping around in front of a clapping Jack. Is he singing into a sippy-cup? I can't help my chuckle, his head jerking up. "Beatles, Yoko?" He flashes a grin. "Oldie but goodie." "You'd better mean the song, Marsha." He smirks. *** Greedy "We need to go out. We never go out. Carla's been begging us for a double date. Yeah, I know, you don't wanna deal with Turk. But he'll behave himself, I swear. I mean, Carla will kill him if he doesn't, and that's worth the night out right there, isn't it? We could go to that one killer steak place you love. Or, *oh*, we could go *bowling*! Beer, fun, *and* I get to watch you flex. Or we could--" I interrupt him with a thorough kiss. He's right. We never go out. But I just never want to share... *** Patience "You don't have to say it." He curls up tighter against me on the bed, molding himself down my side. I close my eyes, brush fingertips lightly against his shoulders. "I know." He hooks an arm around my chest, a leg around mine. Buries his face against my neck. I used to growl at him and roll over whenever he did that... no spooning... no cuddling... but now... Then he whispers, so soft and patient, content, "You're always worth the wait, Perry." I swallow down the ache in my throat, in my chest. *So* damn patient with me. "Thank you..." *** Hug - 250 words Sometimes the days fly by. The patients are all smiles and thank you's. The codes are non-existent. Even Kelso and Lurch leave us respectively alone. But for every good day, every *great* day... there are days like today. Fucking hell, I mean, three crashes in one hour? All unexpected. All young, healthy, happy people. All tied to something that, in his mind anyway, he could've prevented if only he'd known about it. God *damn* it! This would fuck with even the most cold hearted of doctors... but shit... I stare at him hugging himself in front of me. He's refused all of my touches. He just keeps pacing back and forth in front of the breakroom couch, mumbling about one patient before jumping to the next, and the next, and back to the first. Truth is there was no way he could've prevented it. No way he could've known. With any of them. I should know. I should've spotted it too. But I didn't. God, I wish I had. His voice breaks in his manic ramblings and I can't take it any longer. I stand and grab hold of him before he can jerk out of my grasp again. I wrap my arms around him and pull him close, tight against my chest. And then he breaks. His arms cling to me, quickly wrapped around my chest, as he sobs. "It's not fucking fair," he shouts against my shoulder, face buried in the fabric. "I know..." But I'm here. *** Quiet I come home to find him asleep on the couch. The coffee table is littered with soda cans, candy wrappers, a half eaten bowl of popcorn. The television is still on, though muted. I'm late--very late getting home. It was going to be movie night. And my movies for a change. But that didn't happen... couldn't happen... not with a four lane pileup jamming the ICU. Once again work is disappointing those I love. Love... I bend down to kiss his forehead, whispering, "I'm sorry, JD." He mumbles, not quite asleep as I thought, "Missed you." "Missed you more." |
His Eleven Reasons Whyby Kipli |
