Title: Need you

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

"I need to see you," he said quietly. Firmly.

Betty Francis gripped the pea green receiver of her rotary phone with both hands and after a long moment, asked:

"Don?"

She could hear his breathing. It was quick, rhythmic.

"I'm at the Hotel Chelsea. In Manhattan," he said finally.

Betty could feel her heart beating in her chest.

"Why on earth would you need to see me," she tried to sound aloof.

She looked up towards her wall clock. It was 8:30 pm on a Friday night. The clock ticked quietly as she waited for Don to respond.

"I'm getting married tomorrow," he said. He sounded edgy.

Betty closed her eyes and pressed her back against the wall.

"I know," she whispered.

"Are you coming?"

"To the wedding," she was aghast.

"No, Betty. To the hotel. Now."

"Don, I have no business being alone in a hotel with you. It isn't decent."

Her heart was hammering in her chest and she realized she was shaking.

"Bets, I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't important."

Betty's mind wandered. Henry was out of town on business. In fact, he had called thirty minutes before to say goodnight.

"Do you know how long it would take me to drive to Manhattan?"

"About an hour," he was almost pleading.

Betty frowned at her better judgment. Don Draper was her first love. And he crushed her spirit into pieces. If it wasn't for the children, she would have cut ties with him before the ink had dried on the divorce papers. She hated him. And yet…

"Okay," she heard herself say.

She surprised herself. But once the words were out of her mouth, she realized she had made her decision.

"I'll see you soon," she said softly.

She placed the receiver against the cradle and took a step back. She stared at the phone for a long moment. She then suddenly became very aware of her appearance. She patted her hair with her hands and walked upstairs. She slipped into a stark capped floral print dress and heels. And after calling her sitter for an emergency, she slipped into her car and drove towards Manhattan.

Don Draper stared at the phone for a long time after he'd hung up with Betty. His better judgment told him this was a mistake. But no. It couldn't be. He just needed her right now. He just needed her reassuring words, her calming blue eyes. He thought of Megan, sleeping several floors above his, excited on the eve of her wedding. He felt nothing but trepidation when he thought of her. He had rushed into this. Perhaps he had been on an emotional high in California. He wasn't sure. He also wasn't sure how he had let it get this far. He had had ample time to call off the engagement. But he made excuses and put it off another day. And another day. And now here he was, the night before his wedding. And he wasn't so sure that marrying Megan was the right thing to do. He poured himself a rather large glass of scotch as he scooted his chair by the window. He turned off the lights, watching the Manhattan traffic travel like shining jewels in the darkness.

Her knock startled him, waking him from his sleep. Don sighed and looked around, his empty glass laying on the carpet at his feet. He picked it up and set in on the window sill. He stood, smoothing his shirt and turned on a lamp that sat on a nearby dresser. He opened the door. Betty stood nervously in the hall.

Betty looked up at Don. Her first love. Her ex-husband. Her everything and her nothing. Don looked down at Betty. She looked so beautiful, so fragile. Her eyes bore into his and he could tell that she had been crying. And suddenly she was in his arms, her face downward and pressed against his chest. He held onto her tightly as if she'd disappear if he let go. He kissed her hair, pulling her back into the room and shutting the door behind them.

He kissed her temple and he could feel her lips press against his shoulder. Pressed against his collarbone. Pressed against his neck. Pressed against his cheek. Pressed against the corner of his mouth. They were both shaking, foreheads leaning against each other. And she was crying, mourning for their marriage of lies. And he was crying, mourning a marriage of lies that he'd created. And Betty lifted her lips upward and into Don's.

Her mouth was warm, inviting, and familiar. Don's hand spanned across the small of Betty's back as his other hand cupped her face. Her mouth tasted smoky, sweet.

She tasted the burnt, deep taste of scotch on his tongue as it swirled around hers. Everything felt hazy, like dreaming. She felt his knuckles graze against her skin as he pulled down the zipper of her dress and she shivered.

"Damnit, Don," she whispered, all resistance gone.

The dress pooled at her feet, flowers under her heels. She was wearing nothing underneath. Not a brassiere. Not a chemise. Not a pair of stockings. Nothing.

"Christ, Betty," Don gathered her in his arms, his fingers pressed into her skin. It had been so long since he had seen her like this. But he had every curve of hers memorized—emblazoned in his brain. Yet as she was standing here in front of him, her heart in her eyes, she looked even more beautiful than he had remembered.

He was hard for her already. She felt him straining through his pants, pressed against her pelvis as his mouth dipped to her neck. She rubbed against him causing him to hiss through his teeth. She unknotted his tie and yanked it away from his neck. Her fingers slid over the buttons of his shirt, quickly sliding it over and off his shoulders. And as she began to unbuckle his pants, her mouth captured his hungrily. Her hand dove passed the band of his boxers and her fingers slid around his hardness. He moaned into her kiss. Her hand slid back and forth with memory. And as she slid onto her knees, she pulled his pants and boxers down with her. Her tongue slid over him, blocking out the vows she had made to Henry. She took him inside her mouth, her hands sliding behind his thighs, pressing him into in between her lips as far as she could allow. Don's hand slid in Betty's hair. He watched his arousal move in and out of her beautiful mouth.

He grabbed her by her shoulders suddenly and pushed her back into the carpet. He kicked off his trousers and boxers from his ankles and slid over Betty. His teeth tugged at her earlobe and his tongue slid over her throat. He grabbed her by her chin suddenly, snapping her face to his. And in that moment, his other hand spread her legs and thrust himself inside of her. He watched her eyes darken, her features tense with pleasure. Her head fell back as he pressed himself deep inside of her and then withdrew and repeating it over again. Betty raised her hips to meet him, her cries of passion growing louder. Her nails dug into his back and he drove himself into her, harder. It was animalistic, it was instinct. The carpet began to burn into her back with friction. They were heavy with emotion and Don could barely handle how amazing he felt inside of Betty. She felt so tight, so warm, so wet. And it was for him. His hand was anchored to her hip, while his other held her foot as it lay over his shoulder. He kissed her ankle and slid his hand over Betty's breasts.

"Don," she rasped, "I'm close…"

He knew what she meant. What she always meant. His hand moved downward to their joined bodies. His thumb slid back and forth over her clit as his pace quickened. He felt her thighs began to shake. And the way that she shut her eyes and bit down on her lip—the way that she looked on the crest of orgasm was enough to unhinge him. She cried out his name and to God, her body instinctively tightening around him. And Don lost all semblance of control. Wave after wave of gratification racked through his body. He tensed, calling out to Betty as his hand cupped her face and as her mouth found his fingers. He collapsed onto her, breathing heavily into her ear.

The regret was instant. Betty shut her eyes, her arms resting at her sides as Don kissed her neck. Her heart was beating in her throat and ears. Her body was throbbing with residual shocks of pleasure. She allowed Don to carry her into the bed, his strong arms around her as she rested her head against his shoulder. She let her vision un-focus and she tried to imagine that they were still married and this was their bed in their house. But she blinked and saw that they were still in this hotel room. She was still an adulteress. And he was still engaged. She suddenly she felt very foolish. So this is what it felt like to be the "other woman."

Don kissed Betty's forehead and felt her body tense.

"What's wrong?"

Betty sighed softly and sat in bed, moving her legs over the edge. She stood suddenly and grabbed her clothes.

"Where are you going," Don asked, sitting up in bed.

"Home," she slid on her dress.

Don left the bed and walked towards Betty, grabbing her hands.

"Bets…"

Betty looked up at Don.

"Can you get my zipper," she motioned behind her.

"No," Don looked offended.

"What do you want me to do, Don? Keep you from your wedding? I can't do it. I'm married to Henry. Zip me."

Don stared at Betty, his eyes searching hers.

"Please," she said firmly.

Don's shoulders squared and he grabbed Betty's shoulder and turned her roughly around.

Betty gasped and shut her eyes.

He pressed himself against her back, circling his arms around her.

"Do you want me to beg," he asked softly.

Betty bowed her head.

"I don't know what I want, Don."

"Yes you do. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here."

His mouth dipped to her neck. His lips grazed across her skin before his teeth took hold of her earlobe. A shiver slid pleasantly up and down Betty's spine and she sighed.

"Tell me what you want, Bets," he whispered. "Say it."

Betty could feel him growing hard, again, against her. She shook her head suddenly and pulled herself away.

"I have to go," she said quickly. She bent her arm behind her back and pulled her zipper up as far as she could without assistance.

Don moved towards her but she lifted her hand, motioning him to stop.

"I wish you and your bride the best of luck on your marriage," she said, her tone robotic.

"Betty…!"

"I was never here. This never occurred. Goodbye, Don."

She grabbed her purse, clutching it with an iron grip, and walked out before Don had a chance to react. As soon as she shut the door behind her, her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes began to water. She nearly ran to the elevator but stopped short. Her dress. Her hair. She was so unkempt. She diverted towards the stairwell. She paused for a moment. She could still feel the imprint of his mouth on hers. She could still smell the scent of his English Leather Cologne.

Oh, Don…

She pushed through the door and didn't look back.

Don sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixated on the carpet where he and Betty had just made love.

Oh, Betty…

He sighed and stood, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He turned around, glancing at his back. The scratches on his back from Betty's nails were just starting to fade. They'd be gone by morning. Just like this never happened. Just like he had never held Betty in his arms and yearned for everything they had. Just like he'd never kissed her. Just like he'd never been inside of her and felt like he was home.

He walked back to his bed and slid under the covers. He stared up at the ceiling, his arm bent behind his neck. He could really use a cigarette.

Tomorrow he was getting married.