Author Devylish
Title Addiction
Fandom Grey's Anatomy
Pair Meredith/Alex
Rating NC17
Words 1949
Warning/Spoiler/Summary None. None. PrON with a bit of an angsty plot.
Disclaimer All publicly recognizable characters, settings, plot, etc. are the property of the creators of the TV show Grey's Anatomy. Any original characters, settings and plots are the property of devylish. devylish is in no way associated with the TV show Grey's Anatomy and no copyright infringement is intended. This work is an amateur fan effort and no profit is being made.
AN lines from one of Adele's songs used..

I've whispered we're done before.

I've kissed him goodbye before.

I've walked away before.

It's been said with fervor, flying out of my mouth like a slap. "You should know that you're just a temporary fix..., you're just the filler in a space that happened to be free."

It's all been said and done before.

And still I find myself at his door. Finding time... making excuses... to walk through that door... Just so I can feel his hands along my skin, his lips against mine, his whispers breathed into my body.

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It's all been said and done before.

And still, I find myself here, now, with his weight pressing me against the hard, abrasive surface of the wall. The drinks we'd been having – the ostensible purpose of our meeting in the first place – lay spilled on the table and I briefly wonder if the red wine I'd been drinking would stain the wood.

The thought is passing; a failed attempt at normalcy?

It fades to nothing as his hand slips under the edge of my shirt, fingers and palm skating across my skin slowly.

He makes my skin tingle; the nerve endings jump and spark as they come into contact with his hand. I don't want to feel this way, not with him. Not for him.

But I can't stop myself.

It seems I never can.

"Bedroom?" the question huffs out of his mouth between licks and nips at my neck.

He's asking me how I want him. How I want us. I think he'd prefer soft, giving, sharing... the bedroom. But I can't. Not today. Not when I'm so close to forgetting it all. Forgetting that it's Derek that I want; Derek and the perfect world that he wants to give me.

And I can't forget. I have to keep reminding myself of what's waiting for me back at my house.

So I shake my head. A murmured 'no' slipping out of my lips. "Here."

If I didn't know him so well, the stiffening of his shoulders, the slight pause in his touches, would have been altogether missed. But I do know him. Well. Too well. And I can tell, my refusal to give myself - all of me - to him, stings.

But I can't. I shouldn't even be here. I should be curled up in bed at my place, or at Derek's. Warm and safe, and empty.

Alex apparently accepts my caveat; my need for this to be... hard, selfish, meaningless. His hands move to the top of my t-shirt and he pulls at the thin material, tearing it open down the front. His hands edge under the cups of my bra, lifting it up so that it sits awkwardly above my tits.

His fingers ghost over my nipples once, twice, before he works his hands down to the button and zipper of my jeans.

I tilt my head to the side in anticipation, anxious for the thirst to be quenched.

He pulls at the jeans, dragging them down my body along with my black thongs – worn for him. He taps my calf, prompting me to lift my legs and step out of the clothes. When I've done so, he traces his hands up my legs, up my thighs, along my belly, back to my breasts; kissing one then the other.

Then the tenderness is done.

"Look at me."

I don't want to. I don't want to look at him. I should have chosen the bedroom, he would have been satisfied with touching me, softness..., letting him love me.

But now, instead, he was going to make me look at him. And I'd have to see it, in his eyes. See the desire, the hunger, the love. I'd see it all in his eyes.

I wonder what he'd see reflected in mine.

"Damnit Meredith, look at me."

I turn my head, and through the veil of my hair, we lock eyes.

My hands are on his arms as his fingers delve between my legs.

My insides tighten for just a second before releasing and granting him entrance.

On finger sliding inside of me, he lets his thumb search out and claim my clit, his eyes never leaving mine. I want to hide; close my eyes, pretend I don't know that it's him touching me, making my insides tingle. And then he makes it worse. He uses his free hand and brushes the hair away from my face, leaving me completely naked before his questing eyes.

At this moment, this very moment, I can't tell which of us I hate more Myself, for being here; for wanting to be here. Or him, for wanting me; for wanting me to want him.

I think – I know – he can read the flash of hate, but all he does is smirk. Smirk and add a second finger to his pleasurable assault.

His palm is flat against my body as he uses his curled fingers to massage my center; every nerve in my body jumping in response to his touch.

I'm amazed again at how easy it is for him to find my switches, those little things - and those bigger things - that make me weak.

The imp on my left shoulder pokes at me and asks, 'when was the last time that Derek hit your button... any of them?'

The imp is being truthful and unfair all at the same time. Derek could hit buttons, given the chance. I just hadn't given him the chance recently. And it had nothing to do with Alex Karev. Nothing at all.

I close my eyes and tell the imp to shut up.

"Look at me."

His hand stops moving and my eyes shoot open as a moan of frustration leaps to my lips.

"Keep looking at me. Or I'll stop."

I should end this now; call him on his threat, loosen my fingernails from his arms, get dressed, and leave. I should.

But we both know I won't.

As a reminder of whose rules we're playing by at the moment, he leans forward and kisses me.

Kissing isn't something that we do. Not often. It's too... intimate. Too much like what a couple – people in a relationship – would do with one another. Kissing. Making love. Cuddling.

Things Alex and Meredith don't do.

We nip. We fuck. We go our separate ways.

But I've been bad, I closed my eyes, and now I have to pay the consequences. My hands creep, without my permission, upwards to caress the soft, close shorn hair at the back of his head and another moan escapes me, this time it's a moan of pure pleasure, and I feel my body melding against his.

It's the guilt, or the self-loathing, or... something, that finally gives me the strength to pull my mouth away from his; to reinforce the silent 'no kissing' rule.

His nostrils flare and his eyes spark, but he accepts the rule and returns to his assailment of my body. And within seconds I can feel that heat again; that damn, fluttery, climbing heat. I lift my leg, hooking my foot around his jean clad thigh, giving him better access to me and locking his body close to mine.

He's so good at reading me now that he realizes, almost before I do, just how close I am to cumming. Fingers still curled firmly inside of me, he twists his hand just a bit and using his thumb he taps my clit. It's just one tap. One short, forceful tap, but that's all it takes; that combined with his continued massaging of the sweet spot just beneath his fingers.

That's all it takes for me to fall apart, right beneath his gaze.

My body contracts around his gingers, my legs weaken, my eyes dilate, and a small whimper, sounding suspiciously like 'Alex', is torn out of me.

His digits continue to stroke in and out of me as I ride out the climax. And for a few seconds, maybe a minute, the only thing holding me up – keeping me from falling to the ground in satiated, nerveless, exhaustion – is his body.

Eventually, my pulse slows, and my legs remember their purpose, and I lower my foot so that I'm standing.

Alex takes a chance and leans in and kisses me again, and I don't have the desire strength to tell him no. Both of his hands cup my face and all of the words I won't let him say, all of the caresses I won't let him give, all of it, is in that kiss.

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I've showered, slipped back into my panties, bra, jeans. The t shirt I'd worn to his place is destroyed, so I pad barefoot into his bedroom and open the drawers of his dresser until I find the one containing shirts. I sift through them until I find one I want, a faded black one. It has a small hole on one arm and the writing on the front is cracked and washed-out, but it's the one I want.

I slip it on over my head, sniffing at the laundry detergent scent that clings to it. It smells like him.

I stare at the mirror above the dresser, running my hands through my hair, trying to bring it into some semblance of control.

Alex moved into the bedroom while I was showering, and now he's lying on the bed, making the sheets look sexy, and watching me.

And even from here, through the mirror, I can read his face. He wants me to -

"Stay." His hand drifts down to his midsection were a tent is definitely being built.

I tear my eyes away form his reflection and focus on straightening the t shirt. "I can't." Derek was coming over for dinner, I had to go to the grocery store..., cook.

He doesn't ask why I can't stay. I never stay. But he always asks. "Change your plans."

Any time I saw Alex, any time we did this... together... it was a change in my plans. "I can't."

He moves out of the bed, and comes to stand behind me, his head resting against mine. He wraps his arms around me. "Change your plans." His hands cup my breasts, his gaze captures mine in the mirror.

I stare at our reflection.

It's a pretty picture. Me, wide eyed and tempted, him, dark eyed and tempting. But more than being a 'pretty picture', it felt..., it felt...

I'd traveled lightly when I'd come to Alex's place. Keys, cellphone and a money clip my only belongings. The keys were in the living room lying next to the spilled wine, the clip and the phone, in my jean pockets.

I was already going to hell. For so many reasons. But definitely for this thing with Karev that I knew I needed to stop.

Unfortunately, knowing and doing are two different things. And knowing what to do and wanting to do it was another thing altogether.

I tore my eyes from his and slipped the phone out of my pocket. Almost blindly I hit the buttons, texting an excuse, some sort of excuse to my fiance.

I lay the phone down on the dresser, then look up to meet his eyes again.

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He makes my skin tingle; the nerve endings jump and spark as they come into contact with his hand. I don't want to feel this way, not with him. Not for him.

But I can't stop myself.

It seems I never can.