Spoilers.
This story takes place during the ferry disaster. Meredith is unresponsive. Dead or dying. Forced out into the hallway, Derek angsts.
Disclaimer: The characters you see here are not my own. They belong to the show Grey's Anatomy, namely the creator of the show Grey's Anatomy, whose name escapes me right now. I've made this story for fun. It's a timekiller, and there's no profit in it. Please, please don't have me sued. Thank you!
"Meredith,"
"Yeah."
"Meredith..."
"I know." Mark said, as usual, without knowing for sure that he really did. He touched his friend's shoulder. Thought it was a light enough gesture, but ended up drawing up short, as the dark-haired doctor had flinched before turning storm grey eyes to him.
"Do you?" he asked.
On the spot now. He opened his mouth. Closed it again.
Derek threw his head back, uttering a shaky laugh. "You don't. Of course not."
"Derek..."
Derek plowed wrecklessly on. "Because life is one big series of flings for Mark Sloan, M.D, Head of Plastic fucking Surgery..." he said, grinning in a way that was all wrong.
Mark closed his eyes; this wasn't going the way he had planned. He let the other man carry on for another couple of seconds, slowly steeling himself. And then he opened his eyes. He reached out, grasping Derek's jaw. Stroking the stubble there, he earned himself a confused pause and leaned in. "Shut up." he stated, eyeing his lips carefully. They formed a frown. And then they parted. No doubt a protest was about to spill out, but, he never gave it the chance, muffling it with a kiss.
"Huahnn -- " Derek groaned. His eyes had gone impossibly wide. Could he be blamed, honestly? His mouth was being probed by a rough, demanding, male tongue, and all he could do was sit there, pressed against the wall, staring.
He wished he would do something: it could be a punch to the face, at least he would be left feeling better than he did waiting for a reaction that, as the seconds lengthened, didn't seem likely to come. He did everything. He explored every corner of Derek's mouth. He tried teasing his tongue into action. He even broke the kiss to swipe his tongue over the edge of Derek's mouth: and that was something he had wanted to do for a long, long time. But he felt nothing.
Derek closed his eyes. "You have no idea..." he whispered. "...how much I wish I could be you."
"It's not so simple, Derek." Mark said, turning his head to study an interesting mark on the wall. Scratches, it looked like. "If I were in your shoes...if it were Addison lying on that table, instead of Meredith...believe it or not, I think I would be feeling the same way you are right now." He smiled, glancing sideways at Derek, who was moving for the first time, albeit slowly. He was raising shaking hands to cover his face. Mark hesitated, before finishing, "I'm shallow; I'm not lucky enough to be inhuman."
"...yeah..." Derek's voice was faint behind his hands.
"I know."