Disclaimer: I make absolutely no claim to Desperate Housewives.

A/n: Welcome to my second round of requested fic! I forgot how much fun this is, especially with stories like this one that I'd probably never write on my own. If you have a request, please feel free to send me a message or leave it in a review; I'd love to do a few more of these.

This first one is actually a leftover from December. Roxyann asked for a Bree/Karl romance fic. This takes place during "Nice is Different than Good" at the very end, during Susan's wedding. I think this is only the second Bree/Karl fic I've done, so I hope it's satisfactory. I have another Bree/Karl request on the lineup already, so please let me know what you think!

-Ryeloza

March Madness

By Ryeloza

One: Imperfect People

Even from behind, Bree can tell that Karl's mind is not on the wedding but rather hours ahead fantasizing of the hotel room; of stripping her naked; of finally taking her in a way no man ever has. The idea gives her a twisted thrill that curls up her spine from a place she nearly forgot existed, and she's reminded of the first time she had sex: that enticing combination of exhilaration and fear; pleasure and pain. Despite how black and white Bree has tried to make her life over the years, some of the best things have come from the unavoidable shades of gray that she creates.

Or that others create for her.

She glances at Orson. He has his head cocked to the side and a slightly dopey grin on his face as though this ceremony is reaffirming every feeling of love he's ever had. As though Susan and Mike should be some sort of inspiration because their road has been so tumultuous, yet they always find their way back to one another. She wants to shake him because Susan and Mike are not an inspiration. In fact, she thinks it's charitable to say that they're nothing but dramatic fools who thrive on creating their own obstacles no matter whose hearts they may crush along the way. Susan, she's sure, must have read one too many romance novels as a teenager. The results of this distasteful habit are clear in Susan's every breath.

Perhaps she is being too critical—she wonders briefly what Alex would say on the subject and decides that maybe for once he would be on her side—but Katherine teeters on a perilous edge at the moment and Bree can't help but blame Susan and Mike. On the other hand, she'd known from the start that this would be the likely outcome; perhaps she should have warned Katherine more strenuously against trysting with Mike. Or maybe Katherine is to blame for being so naïve. Or perhaps this is one of those rare moments where no one is to blame.

"This reminds me of our wedding," Orson hisses into her ear without warning. "Do you remember how perfect it was?"

No, she decides, someone is always to blame.

"We can be that happy again."

In front of her, Karl's shoulders begin to shake with laughter. Horrified, she realizes that he can hear Orson, and her hand involuntarily clenches into a fist. "Not now!" she says, and for once Orson listens to her. At the same moment, though, Karl suddenly stands and abruptly starts to force his way past people to the aisle. Suddenly she wonders if she mistook Karl's laughter for something else—what if he simply can't stomach sitting here and watching Susan make vows to another man? Guilt rears its head again in the ugliest fashion; she can't begin to think what it says about her that she feels more like she's betraying Susan than Orson.

"I have to get some air," she whispers, standing and starting to make her way out of the pew as obnoxiously as Karl had a moment ago. Orson catches her hand for a moment, trying to hold her back, but she slips from his grasp and manages to escape. As surreptitiously as she can, she hurries up the aisle and out the doors of the church. For approximately three seconds, the blinding sun and thick smell of freshly cut grass overwhelm her, and then she hears Karl's voice and it's like the rest of the world might as well not have existed.

"You following me now, babe?"

No one in her life has ever called her "babe." It makes her feel like she should be wearing black leather and jumping on the back of a motorcycle. She won't (she would never), but the idea of being with Karl gives her the same naughty, almost dirty, feeling.

"I came outside to get some air. It's stifling in there."

"Yeah. I tend to find church kind of stifling myself."

"I didn't mean—"

"Trying to tell me to control my natural, wild, sinful impulses."

Karl steps closer to her, grasping her hips; her mouth is dry and her palms are sweaty, and for whatever stupid reason, she can't stop staring at Karl's lips. "We're out in public," she manages to sputter.

"Stop pretending that the reason we're doing this is something noble," says Karl. He seems genuinely annoyed, though she can't begin to figure out why.

"If this was noble, it wouldn't matter if we were in public."

Karl shakes his head, squeezing her hips a little tighter; it almost hurts. "I mean, we both know the reason we're doing this because we aren't supposed to. You're married. We're completely wrong for each other—"

"You're wrong for me. I certainly don't think I'm wrong—"

"You're an uptight Christian who never gives into her natural impulses. I gotta tell you, Bree, I've never even seen you laugh. Other than being damn hot, you're not really my type."

"So why—?"

Karl grins, leaning into her personal space and lightly kissing her right beneath her ear. "The same reason you are," he whispers. She's trembling head to toe just from the wisp of his breath against her neck. Desperately she wishes that they were already in that motel room together. "Because there's something thrilling about doing what you're not supposed to."

"That's not me."

"You might want to take a harder look at yourself. Stop pretending you're so perfect."

Gently, Bree pushes him away so she can see his eyes—he's staring at her like he wants to rip her clothes off right now, but she also sees just the slightest hint of fondness. She can only pray that she's not imagining it. Not reading her thoughts at all, Karl grins at her wolfishly.

"Imperfect people are so much better."

She doesn't agree. She doesn't tolerate anything less than perfection. That's what has driven her to Karl. But she doesn't say any of this—for the first time in her life, she bites her tongue, and let's Karl kiss her just once where the whole world can see their sin.