#I will properly add the hyperlinks momentarily | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

queenbirbs · 5 years ago

Text

threshold | Ethan Ramsey x MC

AN: A canon-divergent AU from chapter 15 and onward. Part three of the metaphor series, part 1 and part 2 are here. Title taken from The National’s Oblivions.

WC: 5,970 Rating: Explicit Warning(s): NSFW, some alcohol consumption

He isn’t even in the city when it happens.

Ethan is as far down and as far east as the Massachusetts state line will allow, holed up in a little seaside shack in Eastham, perched on an uncomfortable barstool, and drinking the finest liquor Josie’s Bar and Grill has to offer. Which isn’t really saying much, given the paltry choices and the unmistakable grime of seaspray that coats every glass.

Why Naveen came out here to die is a mystery to him.

His mentor sits to his left, facing the large windows that overlook Samoset Beach and, beyond that, Cape Cod Bay. Outside the minimal protection Josie’s split-shake walls offer, the waves are a noisy, angry mess. A late summer storm roils towards them from the west, turning that deep, coastal blue into an unsettling gray. Wind knocks at the tacky decorations nailed to the walls, the chipped fenders and plastic seahorses and rusted anchors clanking against the clapboard paneling.

There’s a television above the bar, where a looping clip of a home run plays next to a grinning news anchor.

Ethan chooses to watch the liquor in his glass as he swirls it, before picking it up and taking another sip. He’s lost count of how many he’s ordered, but the bartender hasn’t cut him off yet, so he must not be that drunk yet. Which is unfortunate, really -- because that would make this a hell of a lot easier.

“I still think--” he starts, but he’s quickly cut off.

“Oh, yes, I know. That is the root of all of your problems, I believe.” Naveen tilts his head to grin at him. “You think too much. Sometimes, it’s important to let your brain rest.”

“So, what -- you let yours rest and it somehow convinced you that giving up is the best option?” Ethan mutters. Tossing back the rest of his drink, he sets it down none-too-gently against the gritty bartop and motions for another.

Next to him, Naveen sighs, the line of his shoulders easing.

“This is where you and I part ways. I don’t see it as giving up. I see it as fate handing me the most ironic of cards to deal.”

Ethan shifts in his seat, uncomfortable with the dreamy tone to Naveen’s voice.

“I think it’s time to settle your tab.”

“I’m not intoxicated. My two beers don’t hold a candle to your eight rounds, anyway.” Before Ethan can object to the number (though the numb feeling in his lips tells him it’s likely an accurate count), Naveen continues. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my short time drunk. I want to see the world with clear eyes, take in the beauty it has to offer me.”

Twisting to glance over his shoulder, Ethan takes in the stormy scape that he’s watching and snorts.

“Doesn’t seem like much to me.”

“That’s because you’re viewing it with your eyes closed, my boy. You expect the worst, so you see nothing. Your pessimism has put a knife on the things that held you together, and you have fallen apart. There is beauty in everything, though -- the white petals of the waves, the rolling current, the sound the rain makes atop the water. You see a nuisance; I see a force of nature.”

Across from them, three of the bar’s seven patrons toss back shots of cheap tequila, their University of Delaware T-shirts a searing shade of yellow. The other two patrons are seated at the end of the horseshoe-shaped bar, picking at a plate of mozzarella sticks, disappointment visible in the turn of their frowns.

That Doctor Naveen Banerji, esteemed diagnostician and saver of thousands of lives, would choose such a locale to spend his last days on earth is so depressing a thought that Ethan tosses the fresh glass of scotch back and signals immediately for another one. “Oh, now, that’s a poor response to my waxing poetic to… oh, goodness.”

He looks up just as Naveen’s hand comes to settle on his wrist, squeezing it tightly as he stares just over Ethan’s right shoulder. Turning his head sharply, he searches for what’s brought such concern into Naveen’s gaze. It doesn’t take long to find it.

On the television, a reporter stands at the intersection of Nashua Street and Route 28, her eyes wide and face pale under the camera crew’s bright lights.

A growing horror paralyzes Ethan as he takes in the scene behind her, lit up by the emergency lights. Two subway cars lie on their sides, smashed into the pavement. A third car dangles over the side of the elevated track, clinging to a fourth car that’s crushed between a pillar and the station. Concrete slabs and metal sheeting litter the asphalt from where the cars broke through the station’s barrier. The taillights of two automobiles, their cabins crushed underneath the fallen train, reflect the incessant pulse of police lights. Blue tarpaulin sheets cover the windows of the subway cars, hiding the gruesome scenes inside from the public eye.

Dozens injured in Green Line train derailment, the white text in the lower third reads.

The bar’s music is too loud for him to hear, but the closed captions across the bottom of the screen do little to alleviate his worries, especially when death toll remains unknown tickers across.

“That’s the station most of the employees use, correct?” Naveen asks. But his voice sounds as if he’s speaking through a wall. Ethan can only hear the distinct noise of his heartbeat in his ears that blocks everything else out.

“It is,” he chokes out, his hands immediately scrambling for the phone in his pocket.

It’s the station Sloane uses religiously, despite another being closer to the hospital, because she gets to enjoy a scenic walk down Thoreau Path. The same path she followed him down when he quit, demanding he stop and talk to her. Which he ignored and kept on walking, leaving her behind (and then leaving her in every other sense of the word and god, what an idiot he was for thinking that was for the best). Every ounce of injured pride and disappointment in himself as a doctor pales to the hot twist of nausea he feels as he looks over the accident scene.

Tapping her name, he brings the phone to his ear and waits with bated breath as it rings. There’s no relief, though, when the call rolls to her voicemail. Her cheery tone promises that she’ll return his call just as soon as she can.

“It’s Ethan,” he says after the beep. “I’m out of town with -- I, please call me back and let me know you’re alright. I saw the news about the subway accident and I just… I need you to call me back. Please.”

Naveen’s grip tightens on his arm. Behind them, the storm rages closer; the windows rattle in their panes, the rain pelts at the glass.

“She’s okay, don’t worry.”

Ethan shakes his head, dragging in a strangled breath as panic sinks its claws into him. Dialing the hospital next, he realizes by the sixth try that he’s not going to get through to anyone there -- the lines are too clogged with loved ones, demanding to know if their spouse or sibling or best friend has been admitted. When he tries to access the day’s shift schedule, his work email throws up an error message, notifying him that his account has been deactivated and to contact his network administrator for help.

Text me back. I need to know you’re okay, he sends her, staring at the screen in hopes the three little dots will appear.

No reply comes.

Unable to sit there and wait patiently, Ethan moves down his contact list, worry outweighing the awkwardness of texting colleagues that he left high and dry with his sudden departure. He sends a text to Zaid and Ines and even one to Harper, requesting for them to let him know if all staff are safe and accounted for.

It’s a pointless move, though, given that such a situation would call for an all-hands-on-deck in the ER. And when ten more minutes go by with no responses, he signals for another round.

“If I know our Doctor McTavish, she’s certainly too busy helping out to bother with the likes of you,” Naveen points out, a small smirk lifting the corner of his lips.

Ethan ruminates on his recent track record: losing Dolores, failing Naveen and letting him walk away from a possible cure (that he’s yet to find). It wouldn’t be such a leap to follow the pattern that his life has taken recently and assume the worst with Sloane.

“I want to share your optimism, but I -- I seem to carry bad luck around with me lately,” he mutters. His gaze is set firmly on the television screen, not daring himself to look away in the event they reveal any sort of clue. They wouldn’t announce casualties, not this soon and not without notifying family first. It’s the only solace he can take right now.

“No,” Naveen corrects, patting him gently, “you carry a bad attitude. There is a difference.”

Before he can start up a speech on looking at the bright side and other empty phrases of comfort, the power flickers once, then twice, before succumbing to the storm and winking out entirely. Darkness soaks the bar. Shouts of alarm from the college kids soon grow to rough peals of laughter as the bartender cracks a joke. The only light comes from what little evening sun makes it through the thick clouds, mottling the gray sky with a tinge of bruised yellow.

There’s a flurry of movement as staff search and retrieve candles, setting them on the bartop. Someone hauls out a Coleman lantern and a crank radio and the disappointed couple even joins in, offering to buy everyone a round. Raucous shouts of praise come from the college kids over the snappy vocals of Eddie Rabbitt, professing his love for a rainy night.

It’s the kind of scene that Sloane would insist on joining, would demand he get off his barstool and dance with her, would croon along to the song in that terrible singing voice of hers. The one Ethan only knows about because of the many mornings he’s driven the both of them to work, when it’s gotten too late for her to bother heading home after a night of research (among other things) at his place, when he acquiesces to her demands to play something other than the local classical station.

The thought of never hearing her off-key singing, or never experiencing the comfort of her giving into sleep and leaning against him on his couch, or never waking with her next to him -- it’s a little too much for him and his eleven rounds to handle.

Dropping his phone onto the bar, Ethan covers his face with his hands and tries to shove away the emotions that threaten to make their way to the surface. He pushes them down, stuffing them into the dented suitcase that is his heart and he’s too drunk for this, for thinking in metaphors, for thinking of Sloane behind those blue tarps, bloodied and bruised, far too injured for help, being passed over by paramedics when they realize the same thing, leaving her alone to--

“Oh, Ethan,” Naveen is saying, his palm moving in soothing circles against his back. “It’s going to be alright.”

There’s movement to his left, a pained grunt as Naveen moves to stand, his hand never leaving his back. The bartender comes over and the two talk in low tones about the tab, and then a taxi. Some undetermined amount of time passes, which Ethan spends thinking more terrible thoughts while Naveen murmurs placating words. Then he’s being hauled out of the bar and under the front awning, where a tremendous downpour and a yellow cab arrive simultaneously for them.

He spends the short ride with his eyes firmly shut, listening to Naveen’s soft conversation with someone named Ninut, who promises to call him back if they can find out if Sloane is on shift. Then there’s a tastefully-decorated coastal bungalow and a cream couch with entirely too many throw pillows, the latter of which Naveen leads him to and demands for him to lie down on. Given how hazy everything looks in the lamplight, Ethan follows his orders.

Disappearing around the corner, Naveen bangs about in the kitchen -- opening and closing cabinets, running water, knocking a spoon against glass -- before he shuffles back into the living room. He pushes a glass of water into Ethan’s hands.

“What’s in this?”

“A physician-certified hangover cure.”

He takes a sip, then another, but can taste nothing around the lump in his throat.

“It’s just water, isn’t it?”

“A physician never reveals his secrets.”

“We’re not magicians,” Ethan scoffs.

“No?” Naveen settles onto the couch and tips his head to the side, his eyes softening as he looks over his protégé. “I thought you believed yourself to be one, seeing as you’ve been trying to treat something incurable for the past two months.”

In lieu of a response, Ethan takes another drink of water. Across the room, sliding glass doors frame an image of the bay, where storm clouds still circle overhead. “Go to sleep. Things will be better in the morning.”

“I’m… not sure I want to,” Ethan admits, damning the weak state of his voice. “Things might be different when I wake up and I don’t… I’m not sure...”

Right now, he’s stuck in the metaphorical waiting room, waiting to hear if Sloane is alive, and he suddenly doesn’t want those double doors to open. If they do, it could be the Bad News. If they stay shut, if he never hears back from her, then he could exist here in this limbo, where he’s free to hope for the best outcome.

He thinks of her on that rooftop earlier this year, of how she’d told that man about how important it was to say goodbye. And now he may never get that chance.

This is all a simple overreaction, brought on by the distance between them (the literal and figurative -- both of which are his fault) and his own insecurities. There’s no proof she was on that train or that she was even working today. But he can’t trust being positive -- it’s a viewpoint that’s let him down too many times this past year. So, he considers the Worst Possible Thing and picks at it like a scab.

“When are you going to tell her?”

Ethan can’t help the dry chuckle that escapes him as he shakes his head at the question.

“I almost did, months ago. And now, with everything else... never.”

“That doesn’t seem fair -- to you, or to her. She deserves to know, and you deserve to tell her.”

“It probably isn’t that serious,” he says (lies). “It’s simply a release of dopamine and serotonin, an attachment formed over a high-stress field of work. It’s a normal reaction--”

“Frailty, thy name is Ethan,” Naveen mutters with a sigh. “This isn’t an NBIO class. This is your life.”

He’s too far gone to withhold the wince at Naveen’s words.

“A life I walked away from,” Ethan points out. “I left her, didn’t bother to return her calls, knowing she would eventually stop.”

“And did she?”

“No,” he admits, dragging in a breath at the admission. Staring up at the ceiling, he listens to the rain as it pounds against the back deck. “So why now… this time -- why hasn’t she called me back?”

The cushion next to him rustles as the older man stands, casting a look over him. Ethan resists the childish urge to tug the blanket up over his face when Naveen reaches down to pat his cheek, a fond grin on his face, embodying an optimism that Ethan can’t trust himself to feel.

“You wouldn’t have fallen in love with her if she were the type of doctor to shirk her duties, now, would you?” Before he can come up with a retort for that, Naveen continues. “Now, listen to your teacher. Go to sleep.”

With that, he moves to switch off the nearby lamp and continues on down to the hall. Ethan can hear the muffled noise of him getting ready for bed, and then nothing but the rain. It never slows, instead continuing its steady beat against the house. Eventually, the warmth of the liquor in his stomach and the white noise of the rainfall pulls him into a reluctant sleep.

Forty minutes later, tucked between his fingers, his phone vibrates steadily against his chest once before the battery gives out and the screen goes black.

He wakes to coffee.

Not the smell of it, but a white container of it, the green mermaid coyly smiling up at him from the wicker coffee table. In black marker, Evan is scrawled across the negative space, the boxes all marked correctly.

Sitting up, he takes a sip and tries to will away the immediate throbbing in his head. Outside, the morning is bright. The only evidence of the night’s storm is the color of the deck, still damp and colored a deep burgundy. He makes his way over to the doors to pull the blinds across when a bright spot against the deck catches his attention. It’s a pair of sneakers, a teal-blue, save for the little pink check marks on the side.

Shoving the door across its track, Ethan stumbles out and looks right -- where Sloane looks up from the view she’s enjoying, her own coffee poised at her lips. She’s sprawled in one of the Adirondack chairs, a towel between her and the wet wood.

“Good morning,” she greets.

“What the hell are you doing here?” The words are out of his mouth before he can consider them.

For her part, Sloane simply raises an eyebrow at the rough tone.

“Wow, all right, Naveen was right. Hungover Ethan is not a morning person.” She pushes up from the chair and makes her way over to him as she talks. “I got your text -- and your twenty-eight missed calls -- once my shift ended. I tried calling you back, but it went straight to voicemail.”

He retrieves the phone from his pocket, palming the black screen that refuses to wake at his touch. The phone he forgot to put on charge, given how inebriated he was. “So,” she continues, “I called Naveen, who sent a car for me this morning. He’s gone, by the way -- he left shortly after I arrived, said he was heading for warmer waters in Fort Lauderdale. He instructed me, and by extension you, I presume, to enjoy the house for the remainder of the weekend.”

When he says nothing in return and continues to watch her with that same bewildered expression on his face, Sloane shifts her stance, then shifts again. “I’ve been suspended, for what happened with Mrs. Martinez, and I don’t know if I’ll have a job come Monday, and after yesterday -- or last night, or whatever,” she waves a hand in the air, still foggy after catching five hours of sleep, with one of those being in the car ride across the bay. “And even though I wasn’t sure where we stood exactly, you were the only person I wanted to see after… all of that.”

She stops talking, giving him an opening.

And still, nothing.

Down at the water’s edge, seagulls call out to one another, bobbing up and down on the waves. To the north, the shore curls back towards them, the shadowed land a deep blue. Boxes of white and gray and blue sit atop the sand. Strips of high grass create a frame for the beach homes, the green fronds rippling in the wind coming off the water. Puffy clouds loom to the southwest, a promise of more rain.

“I thought you died.”

The sudden admission from him brings her up short.

“I was working triage for eleven hours. You expect me to pull out my phone and keep up with snap streaks at a time like that?”

His brows furrow at the term he can’t place.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“I know. It’s probably one of those weird things I like about you, but it still doesn’t--” she pauses when Ethan steps closer. He grasps her shoulder, his other hand tipping her chin up to meet her gaze.

“What I meant was that I thought I’d lost you before… anything could really begin.”

Sloane brings her hand up to cover his where he cradles her cheek, gently shaking her head.

“We already had something. And then you quit. You left.” She bites at her lip, silencing the rest of what she wants to say, but they both hear the addition she doesn’t voice: you left me. “And then when I hear from you again, it’s a slew of voicemails of you drunkenly demanding to assure you that I’m alive. Which I understand, but I was hoping you would want to talk to me about what happened. That you would want to talk with me because you wanted to, not to make sure I hadn’t been crushed to death in a subway accident.”

Her harsh phrasing causes him to wince, bringing forth smudged memories of last night’s dreams, of his hands covered in her blood, of her begging him to just hold her hand because there was nothing else that could be done for her.

Unable to stop himself, he leans down and drops a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, trying to convey so much into such paltry words. “I am. I was selfish. I walked away from Edenbrook because I don’t deserve to call myself a physician, but I… I shouldn’t have walked away from the most important thing: us.”

Stretching up on her toes, Sloane presses her lips against his cheek. His eyes flutter closed at the familiar touch, cursing himself for what an idiot he was to walk away from this woman.

“I still don’t agree with your reason for quitting, but I can’t claim that I wouldn’t have done the same thing in your position, given your history with Naveen.”

“He’s taught me everything I know.” Ethan sighs, tipping his head down to rest against hers. Her arms encircle him, pulling him into an embrace. “The most important of which is that not everything is under my control. Applying and understanding that notion, however, is the real problem.”

He feels her sigh against him, the sound of it a balm to his nerves. How he could’ve ever blamed the love he feels for her on nothing more than neurochemicals causes a bolt of shame to course through him.

“It’ll take time,” Sloane says. “I may understand the reason behind your sudden… departure, but it doesn’t excuse how you went about it. I get the need to burrow into yourself and have some time alone to figure things out, but you can’t shut me out completely in the process. I’ll be right here to help you, but only if you let me.”

Swallowing around the tight feeling in his throat, he murmurs another apology and kisses the crown of her head, ruffling her hair with his next question.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” she assures, humming contentedly as she tips her head up to meet him for a proper kiss.

It’s a catalyst, a spark to the overwhelming need in the both of them. Ethan moves; his fingers card through her hair, hanging onto her for dear life as he backs her up against the door, his lips only parting from hers when his lungs demand it. Taking the detour that the curve of her throat offers, he nips at the skin there, pleased when it flushes pink from his attention. That base, human need to have curls up in his belly and spreads outward, warming his limbs and singing in his blood.

Sloane whimpers under the warm swipe of his tongue as he soothes the rosy skin he’s bitten. Her hands aren’t idle, though; she moves up between them to unbutton his shirt, her deft fingers making quick work of it.

Inside his head, he’s telling her how much he needs her, how much he wants this, wants her, wants them for as long as the foreseeable future allows (and forever beyond that, if that’s something she wants, too). What he says instead is her name, rasping it out when she takes control and pivots them, forcing him up against the house. The shingles dig into his back but he can’t bring himself to care as Sloane makes her own path down his chest, shoving his shirt panels aside and rounding on his nipple. The sudden warm heat of her mouth against the chill morning air is enough to remind him of where exactly they’re trying to have each other.

“Wait,” he croaks out, reaching for her as she pulls away, “not here. Someone… the neighbors, they might see.”

A slow smile spreads across her face, her eyes sparkling as she holds out a hand and wiggles her fingers.

“Come with me, then.”

He takes her hand and lets her lead him through the living room and down the hall, where he teases her that she doesn’t know where she’s going, which she proceeds to prove when she opens the closet door and then the guest bathroom.

They eventually make it to an actual bedroom, where he closes the door while she wanders over to the patio doors. Throwing open the white curtains, she lets natural light fill the space. Outside, the hazy blur of rain has moved closer, hovering just off shore. The clouds mute the harsh light of the sun, softening the lines of the room, lengthening the shadows that play across the hardwood.

Drawn to her, Ethan slides his arms around her waist and tugs her into his chest, enjoying the little hitch in her breath. Her fingers dig into his arm, keeping him there (as if he’d go anywhere else).

Dipping his head down, he trails lazy kisses down her neck. The flimsy cardigan she wears falls away easily, slipping off her shoulders. A ragged breath from her urges him on. His lips explore her newly-exposed skin, where clusters of freckles form constellations along the curve of her shoulder. His hands move underneath the blouse she wears, his fingers grazing the warm skin of her hips. She reaches up towards the ceiling, letting him pull the shirt up and off.

And, as always, she’s five steps ahead of him and already wiggling out of her jeans before he can work those off her.

“I’ve waited two weeks -- I’m not really interested in taking things slow this time,” she admits, glancing back at him with that smug look of hers.

He can’t help but mirror her grin as he unhooks her bra.

Frustrated with his slow teasing, Sloane tosses the garment to the floor and starts to turn around when he stops her with a firm grip on her hips, holding her in place. Keeping his movements slow, he gathers her hair and sweeps it over her shoulder. Planting a hand on the arch of her spine, he nudges her forward until she’s forced against the door. She hisses as her chest presses up against the cool glass. Her palms flatten across the smooth surface, her nails trying to dig in for purchase. Starting at the base of her neck, he moves down her vertebral column, his teeth skimming along her skin. More freckles rest along the stretch of her back, fading as they drift towards her spine. Ethan follows their path with his mouth, pleased when he feels her shiver, when he sees the goosebumps that appear in the wake of his wet kisses.

Leaning back, he takes a moment to admire the view she presents, flushed and arched and waiting. For him, he reminds himself as he presses the heel of his hand against his groin, desperate for friction.

Sloane grumbles his name, glaring at him over her shoulder, those pupils of hers blown wide. Her hips do an impatient little wiggle. He strikes, gripping them tight and holding her fast against him. Tracing the edge of her underwear, he slides his fingertips down the lacy fabric, pleased when he finds it damp. This time, his name comes as a groan as Sloane spreads her legs to give him better access.

The sight of her is almost too much. Attempting to expel the need to have her right then and there, he detours -- nipping at her shoulder before stroking her through the lace. A whine escapes her as she tips her head up and all that auburn hair falls like a wave down her back. It brushes his chest and the flowery scent of it combined with the salty taste of her skin is more potent than any tumbler of top shelf liquor.

He works his fingers against her, fast, and then faster, circling her clit. Her hips make aborted little thrusts; her breath fogs the glass in short, heady pants. She’s so wet against his hand, which he can’t help but whisper against her ear, grinning at the shiver that runs through her, knowing that she’s close.

Then he drops his hand and steps back. Before she can voice the words of protest he sees building in her eyes, he spins her around and crowds her up against the glass.

“You’re such an ass.” Her lips brush his as he kisses her once, then again, so he can feel the smile on her face as she says it. His nerves hum with anticipation as she runs both hands up his chest and across his shoulders, grabbing two handfuls of his shirt and stripping it from him.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promises. Before she can ask just how he plans on doing so, Ethan drops to his knees.

Sloane cards a hand through his hair, humming at the sight of him. Leaning forward, he mouths at the lacy edge of her underwear; it tickles his tongue as he presses a lazy, wet kiss against her through the fabric. Peeling her underwear off, Ethan drapes her left leg over his shoulder and rubs his stubble along her inner thigh. Like a Pavlovian response, she tilts her hips upwards, silently begging for his touch.

Having mercy on her, he caves, licking a long stripe across her folds. Arousal pools low in his belly at the taste of her, at the clench of her grip in his hair as she guides him to where she needs him most. His gentle grazes along her sex quickly give way to a full-on assault; his fingers part her wider and his tongue flattens against her clit, increasing the pressure as she voices her need for it.

Their gazes lock and he’s overcome with the image of her above him, backlit by the milky light of morning, her skin flushed, her lips parted; his Epione, a Greek goddess come to life.

“Oh, fuck,” Sloane groans, her breath stuttering as she ascends to her peak. The glass squeals under her sweaty palm as she tries her best to keep upright, her other hand holding him steady so he can continue fucking her with his tongue. “Ethan, please, I--”

Cresting, she breaks apart, shuddering as an orgasm floods through her. He guides her down from her high with gentle kisses across her thigh and then up, trailing along the curve of her hip bone. Following the lines of her body up with his hands, Ethan gets to his feet. Where he’s quickly pulled into a messy kiss, the low thrum of his arousal swelling when her tongue peeks out for a taste of herself on his lips.

“I want to fuck you here.” His cock strains against the confines of his clothing. Nipping at the flushed skin of her throat, he groans when she reaches down to cup him through his pants. “Is that okay?”

“More than okay,” she tells him, using that medically-trained efficiency of hers to strip him of his remaining garments. Dancing her fingers up his length, she circles a thumb across the head.

Against his neck, Ethan can feel the bloom of her grin as he bucks up into her touch. His hands wrap around her thighs and lift her until she’s pinned between him and the glass. Here, he considers as Sloane tightens her legs around his waist, as she swipes her tongue at his bottom lip, encouraging him to open up to her for a deeper kiss -- here is where he should say those three little words, stitch them all together into a coherent phrase. Not a half-assed admission after watching her nearly be pulled to her death, or a terrified mantra in a nightmare as her eyes dull and her hand loosens in his.

But now -- now she’s biting at his lip and writhing against him, her breath hot on his skin and it’s all too much to consider anything else but having her. Gripping his cock, he lines himself up at her entrance and drives into her. His hips roll up into hers, pleasure coursing through him as she meets his thrusts, her sweat-slicked thighs clenching around him.

In all his dreams, he’s forced to let go -- he holds on for dear life, now -- now that she’s here and real and begging him to fuck her.

Just beyond the door, they can hear the rain. It draws closer; that soft, gentle hiss drumming against the sand and then the deck and then the glass. The steady noise of it acts as a buffer between them and the rest of the world. The beach and the bay, their worries and their responsibilities -- all of it dulls to a distant blur, leaving only the two of them.

“Sloane,” he calls out her name with a groan.

“I’m here,” she tells him, without him ever realizing it was a question he needed answered until then. “Oh, god, Ethan -- I’m…”

“Come for me,” he hisses, meeting her for another bruising kiss.

Her breathing stutters for a moment, then -- fireworks, explosions, an entire galactic collapse plays out in her heavy-lidded eyes. The feeling of her is too much -- she’s a cocktail of pleasure and adrenaline straight to his heart, leaving him breathless and dizzy as he follows her over the edge.

Gathering her close, Ethan carries her over to the bed and crawls in to rest beside her. She rolls to lay against his chest, one leg draped over his. His breath hitches when Sloane drops a kiss to his chest, right over where his heart pounds.

He opens his mouth to tell her.

“Sloane, I--”

“Oh, shit,” she says suddenly, lifting off his chest to turn her concerned gaze to the patio door. “I left my coffee out there.”

It’s the unexpectedness of it (and the fact that she cut off his admission of love to her to bemoan the loss of her beverage) that draws a chuckle out of him that she joins in on.

“I’ll buy you another when we go into town later for lunch.” He seals the deal with a kiss. “Much, much later,” he amends as he cups her bare bottom. Sloane works herself closer to deepen their kiss.

“What were you going to say, before I interrupted?”

Ethan drags in a breath and swallows back every insecurity-laced deflection that his brain immediately concocts.

“That I love you.”

“Oh.” This time, he gets to see that smile of hers bloom across her face. “I love you, too.”

And outside, the rain beats steadily on.

#ethan ramsey x mc #dr ethan ramsey x mc #choices open heart #open heart #choices #f: the metaphor series #Kaila writes things #please enjoy this very extended sex scene that's probably entirely too long #also hoping this actually shows up in the tag this time #I will properly add the hyperlinks momentarily

123 notes · View notes

swollengumaroundtooth-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Swollen Gum Around Tooth

The Real Reason Why Your Gums are Receding It's perhaps not what you presume.

Concerned regarding your smile?

If you possess receding gums, it is actually often credited to just brushing also hard, or it could be an indicator of gum disease. Also known as gingivitis, gum disease is an infection that triggers swelling along your gums. It creates when cavity enducing plaque builds up as well as roughens into tartar, triggering the gum tissue to pull away coming from the teeth. Depending on to the Canadian Dental Association, 70 per-cent of Canadians will build gum disease at time in their lifestyles. However Gum disease absolutely isn't the only source of receding gums.

Swollen Gums Around Tooth

Everything comes back to anxiety

You can not regularly see it, but stress and anxiety possesses a significant effect on your oral health. Does your mouth or mandible ever before feel sore by the end of a long, difficult time? You're probably tense and keeping stress there. "When you clench your jaw as well as grind your teeth, it influences your gums as well as might cause recession," states Dr. Janet Tamo, a dental specialist and Crest as well as Oral-B Smile Council Member. For more, visit us: One Swollen Gum

Connected: Don't ignore these 5 signs you need to observe your dentist, ASAP.

Lasting, you might also be actually wearing off the polish on your teeth. If you only grind your teeth during the night, as is the case along with many people, you most likely do not even discover you're doing it till your dentist notices a problem. Unexplained jaw discomfort or regular frustrations could likewise be actually an indicator you're grinding your teeth. If at all possible, make an effort to eliminate a few of the anxiety in your lifestyle. A meditation method (try one of these mindfulness apps to start) or even frequent exercise schedule can easily aid you de-stress. In the meantime, inquire your dentist concerning a mouth protection to guard your teeth and gums, and also try these other ideas to safeguard your oral health. Acquire a training on brushing

Brushing your teeth: It seems to be basic sufficient. However there is definitely a wrong way to clean your teeth. "It is actually important to receive effective direction on brushing for your mouth," mentions Dr. Tamo. She recommends receiving a quick course coming from your Dental hygiene.

Swollen Gum Around One Tooth

Soft as well as gentle suffices

DOCTOR Tamo cautions against utilizing a tool- or even hard-bristled tooth brush. "I do not also know why they're stocked," she mentions. "Always utilize smooth." An aggressive brushing type, blended with a hard-bristled toothbrush may actually induce the gum tissue to split from your teeth, bring about bleeding, inflammation as well as receding gums. Get some (electric) support

PHYSICIAN Tamo likewise highly recommends an electricity tooth brush over a hands-on one. She recommends the Oral-B Genius 8000 Rechargeable Electric Toothbrush ($ 270 at mass stores), which is molded like a dentist's resource with a round head as well as will definitely make your mouth believe as clean as a full dental cleansing will, she points out. When joined the Oral-B cell phone application, you'll even get time mentoring to see to it you're brushing for the advised two mins. A special pressure alarm will definitely also alert you as well as help safeguard your gums if you begin to mindlessly comb a little bit of too hard.

Related: Chronic completely dry mouth? Acquire some relief with these recommendations. Floss. Every. Solitary. Time.

" Flossing is the best mouthwash," points out Dr. Tamo. Certainly not only will normal flossing maintain plaque from building up around your gums, however it is actually likewise the very best way to preserve fresh breathing. And also's all anybody really wishes, right?

6 Myths About Mouthwash That Might Be Actually Hurting Your Health

Mouth wash may aid maintain your gums and teeth well-balanced yet merely if you utilize them properly. We've obtained professional tips on increasing the perks of mouth rinses

Gum Swollen Around One Tooth

Rinse, gargle, spit

Lots of Canadians gargle, or mouth rinses, as component of their oral cleanliness routine. Yet just how much do you find out about this rinsing out agent, besides the simple fact that it can be found in tons of colours? Look at these six mouthwash myths and also see exactly how your rinse know-how matches up. Fallacy 1: All mouthwashes are actually made equal

" The gain from using a mouthwash rely largely on the type of product used," says Dr. Euan Swan, supervisor of dental plans at the Canadian Dental Association in Ottawa. Mouth wash may be identified as cosmetic or even healing. Rinsing with a cosmetic mouth wash will definitely break up little bits of food from your teeth, minimize bacteria in your mouth, momentarily decrease foul-smelling breath as well as leave behind an energizing flavor in your mouth. Yet these items can't make any greater case than that.

Curative rinses contain extra active elements including vital oils, chlorhexidine, cetylpyridinium chloride and also fluoride, which have been confirmed to decrease plaque or battle cavities. They may possess a tape of awareness coming from the Canadian Dental Association.

Belief 2: Mouthwash is actually harmless

Lots of mouth washes have a higher amount of booze. This can easily trigger a dry mouth, which ironically is actually a reason for halitosis, and also irritate oral tissues. "In some people, the alcoholic drinks can easily trigger level of sensitivity to the root surfaces of the teeth," adds Dr. Lewis West, a Toronto dentist. There have actually additionally been research studies recommending a hyperlink in between alcohol-containing mouthwash and oral cancer cells, yet the research is minimal and many pros claims there's insufficient documentation to draw this conclusion.

Swollen Gums Around One Tooth

Alcohol-free mouth washes are offered. Yet various other ingredients can easily create side effects, too. Numerous can discolor your teeth or cause a burning sensation. Necessary oils might have an annoyingly sharp taste. Chlorhexidine may momentarily modify your sense of taste, and also isn't highly recommended for long-term use. Mouth wash is not suggested to be eaten, so it might cause issues if inadvertently ingested. It's certainly not typically advised for little ones.

Misconception 3: Mouthwash treatments foul-smelling breath

Mouthwash may temporarily curtail odiferous breathing spell, yet it's certainly not a permanent fix. Smelly substances from your garlicky lunch time, as an example, are really originating from your bronchis as you breathe out, so refreshing your mouth won't assist for long. Your spit can easily work against you also. Saliva waters down mouthwash. In some cases, the proteins in saliva may decrease the performance of mouthwash components.

Myth 4: Mouthwash can change brushing

Mouth wash can easily reduce the level of micro-organisms in your mouth. "But it is actually not the sort of factor that would certainly last throughout the day," points out Dr. West. "You still need to do your cleaning and brushing." Frequent flossing and also brushing with a soft-bristled tooth brush will definitely do a so much more successful job of getting rid of cavity enducing plaque and particles than mouth wash alone.

Sore Gum Around One Tooth

Study presents that incorporating a rinse along with mouth wash to your oral treatment program can in fact enhance the general cleanliness of your mouth and support always keep gum inflammation at bay. However mouth wash is actually generally thought about an add-on, certainly not a replacement for brushing and also flossing.

In special scenarios, like after dental surgery, your healthcare provider might route you to utilize a mouth wash instead of brushing. This are going to be brief, and very soon you'll be back to your usual mouth care.

Misconception 5: A little bit of swish'll do ya

Do you gargle or wash for a few fast seconds, then spit? Most mouthwashes go to their most efficient when touching your mouth cells for 30 seconds per make use of. But despite finest purposes, some folks say mouthwash is actually so tough or even hurts a lot that it is actually complicated to utilize for that lengthy. (There's also a Facebook team for folks that fail to keep mouthwash in their mouth for half a moment).

Still, it is actually worth sticking it out if you prefer the best end results. "Mouthwash must be actually used as routed by the maker," claims Dr. Swan.

Belief 6: Mouthwash is merely for your mouth.

Mouthwash doesn't consistently need to go in your mouth to be practical. It is actually a really good cleaning item for mouth protectors, for instance.

Some people likewise stand by alcohol-based mouthwash for dandruff command, injury treatment, bathroom bowl anti-fungal and also also underarm refinery.

You will not find these make uses of on the item label, however, so apply all of them at your own risk!

1 note · View note