a/n (p1): i started this fic about two years ago and i think i am just now able to write it
a/n (p2): read anything by lynn ( sliceofperfection ) and you won't regret it; my personal fav is sick cycle carousal
They've been dancing around each other in a way that lingers everywhere either of them goes; he does everything he can not to accidentally brush against her, his fingertips tremble as he feels the warmth coming off of her skin, and she does everything she can not to say something that she'll regret. She's pretty sure he walks around shirtless just to see how much he gets to her, so she yanks his chain right back and conveniently forgets to put on pants. Their dance has been close to coming to a full stop, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of her t-shirt in the early mornings or late nights as he touches her hips, until Archer makes his presence known.
She welcomes the interruption that keeps them from falling into something that's familiar and Mark silently apologizes with a smirk. Their conversations are selective, limited to work and neutral territory, but that doesn't keep them from reading each other like they've been doing for the last 20 years. It hasn't even been a week, but everything between them seems off-kilter.
Mark continues to let Archer sleep in his room, not discussing whatever happened that sent him to the couch because some things are better left unsaid. Archer is still overbearing when calling Mark her boyfriend and Addison just takes it in strides because she knows Archer isn't stupid, he's just trying to get under her skin. Usually Archer succeeds, but Mark's side glance often sends her into a frenzy that makes her retreat to her bedroom. She welcomes the peace that she receives at the hospital.
When he sleeps at night, he pushes his back against the couch and hugs a pillow to his chest. He spends more time tossing and turning than he does actually sleeping. It's beginning to wear on him, darkened circles under his eyes and cheekbones hugging his jaw from lack of sleep, and he doesn't have a way to hide it.
What he doesn't know is that for the last 5 nights, Addison has been sleeping in the middle of her bed tossing and turning much like him. She can hear his slightly exasperated sighs from the living room as he punches his pillow in an attempt to fluff it, his groans of dissatisfaction as he stands up and stretches, and the way his feet pad against the wooden floor on the way to the bathroom. She feels bad for him, sometimes even peeking out into the hallway as he makes his way back to the couch just to be sure that he's really okay; the words catch in her throat and she isn't able to say anything to him.
They've done a fairly good job at avoiding each other, if she does say so herself, but the moments that they do stumble into each other's presence their silence is filled with lingering stares and words neither of them will say. She misses her friend, to say the least. She's doing her damnedest not to think of the moments that he was buried so deep inside of her, whispering her words of reassurance just like he always has.
Tears line her eyes because she misses her best friend and that's what compels her to get out of bed and tip toe out into the living room to be engulfed in the still darkness. The air is colder and the silence is more haunting, but she's well aware with where every piece of furniture lies and where the creaks are in the floorboards.
She sees the orbs of his eyes shine in the darkness, the reflection of the street lights sneaking in through the blinds. The room is illuminated with the clock on the microwave, the light for the ice maker on the refrigerator, and the television playing the sports highlights. His skin is a yellowish glow and his hand is balled into a fist, his knuckles all bone as his upper arm flexes naturally.
His eyes shift from the television to her, and she shivers beneath his gaze. The feel of his eyes on her warms her and chills her at the same time; it prompts her to hug herself, surrounded in a button up dress shirt that he'd left in her room over the past few months. The material is light and doesn't offer much of a warming effect, but it's merely the idea that counts.
He stares at her, eyes soft and gentle, but he doesn't say anything. He challenges her to break the silence, offer some kind of words of insight into her narrowed gaze and the chill skating up her spine. She refuses to be the one to break the silence, but is moved when he sits up to make room for her on the couch.
As if on autopilot, she sits down beside him. She reaches for his arm and hugs it to her chest, leaning against his side as he slides the blanket over to cover her. Her temple rests against his shoulder as she feels his fingers thread with hers, the webs between his fingers seemingly latching to hers as he squeezes her hand.
She swallows and turns her head so her chin rests on his shoulder, her eyes tracing his features. She knows him without looking at him. She knows his presence, the way he feels, the way he smells, and even the way that he tastes. She isn't sure she can keep going without him because just 5 days has felt like months. A lone tear slides down her cheek and collides with his bare shoulder.
"Honey, what's wrong?" He asks, barely above a whisper.
She smiles under his gaze, glad that he's broken the silence and asked what's wrong; it lifts a weight off of her shoulders, making her feel like she can actually tell him, "I just miss you."
He offers her a small smile, takes his hand from hers and wraps his arm around her shoulders to pull her against him; "I told you that you won't lose me."
"The silence is killing me," she admits.
He presses his lips against her temple, his lips tugged upward into a smile against her skin. He rests his forehead against her, her fingertips sliding over his torso to wrap around his waist. He shivers as her cold hands press against his skin, the sharp breath that he inhales slicing over her neck.
"Me too," he finally says.
His nose slides over her jaw as his fingers tuck beneath her chin, the silence and the warmth leading her towards the need to feel him against her. His breath trickles over her skin as his mouth lowers to hers, their mouths meeting in the darkness as though it's second nature. His gray eyes close as her mouth opens beneath his and her tongue darts out to slide against his bottom lip.
Her fingers grasp at his sides, nails digging in to his ribs in a way that prompts him to push his chest in her direction. His fingers slide into her hair, the pads pressing into the nape of her neck as her silky smooth hair slides over the back of his hand. His tongue touches hers and nothing makes him pull back despite his best efforts.
A few moments of her lips bruising his and vice versa before she rips her lips from his and drags them down his neck, her mouth forming an 'o' at his Adam's Apple. She slides her tongue against his stubble, his 5 o'clock shadow scratching her tongue, and absently sucks on his skin. She needs him so much closer.
He releases a groan and his hands tug on her body, pulling her down in his direction as he pushes himself up to hover over her. His hips settle between her legs, the waistband of his boxers sliding against her inner thighs with the movement, and he buries his face into the crook of her neck. She feels his hands slip beneath her shirt and slide around her waist as he attempts to slip between her and the couch.
She feels erection press against the back of her leg but he isn't really doing anything to take care of it; "Mark, will you just - I don't want to miss you so much."
"I know," he replies. His hand presses into her stomach as he pulls her closer. He smiles and drops his mouth into the slightly exposed skin between her neck and shoulder. "I'm here though, Red."
The morning started with Mark's lips on hers, his hand snaking into the front of her pants despite the agreement between them that they probably shouldn't. Before it could get much further than it really should, luckily, her brother announced his presence. Scrambling to appear decent, she fumbled with the button of her dress shirt as Mark smirked.
However when she was getting dressed for the New Year's Eve party, she caught sight of a few marks that he left along her breasts and cleavage. Her base managed to cover them up, at least making her skin a little better to expose so she didn't have to find another dress to wear instead. She fixed herself and followed Mark and Archer out of the door to make an appearance at the hospital benefit that was being hosted - the special guests being the police force and the mayor.
It was a requirement that the hospital staff at least make an appearance. But now, she can feel Mark's eyes on her, watching her every move and drinking in the way her blue dress hugs her in all of the right ways. She can see on his face the way that she's driving him crazy, despite the fact that she isn't meaning to, and she offers him a slightly apologetic smile from across the room. Callie catches Mark by the arm and leads him onto the dance floor; Addison feels like she can breathe for the first time that evening because his eyes are forced somewhere else.
Archer comes up beside her and bumps his hip into hers, "the bartender needs a lesson."
"Did he not mix your martini properly?" She chastises.
"Something like that," Archer comments.
"At least you didn't pay for it," Addison counters, "it could be worse."
"Nothing is worse than cheap alcohol," he says as a reminder. He downs the rest of his glass and signals a waiter for another drink. He doesn't offer his sister a second glance until the waiter stops beside him. "Did you want another, Sis?"
"Absolutely," she replies with a tight smile, "please refrain from being embarrassing."
"It's my job to embarrass you. Loosen up," Archer adds.
She takes a sip of her drink, "I love you, Archie, but how much longer are you going to be here?"
"Interested in continuing to play house with your boyfriend?" He asks with a laugh.
"For the last time," she starts, eyes burning holes into him, "he is not my boyfriend."
Archer laughs, "please, he turns you into a school girl. You didn't even come home with hickeys when you were in high school."
"Guys weren't interested in me when I was in high school," she counters before she lowers her voice, "and do you have to say it so loud? Not everyone needs to know."
"Look at you," Archer says with a laugh, reaching out and touching her jaw, "you're like a lovesick teenager. You weren't even this way with Derek. It's cute, but not for you."
"Oh, get off your high horse," she retorts, hand smacking him in the chest.
Archer laughs in response, that shrill mocking laughter that reveals his amusement that's always annoyed her more than anything else. She thinks she gets so annoyed by it because he's always been the one person she's been able to count on to be on her side. She narrows his eyes in his direction as a warning but he doesn't even pay attention to it, just reaches out and catches her by the wrist.
"Have I hit a nerve?" Archer teases.
"Shut up," she replies warningly.
She catches Callie's eye in the distance and motions to her brother, silently pleading her friend for help. Callie laughs and shakes her head, tugging on Mark's sleeve as she steps out of his grasp to make her way towards the siblings. Addison releases a sigh of relief at the sight of them approaching her and she can only imagine the kind of torture that Callie will put Archer under.
Callie winks at Addison grabs Archer by the forearm, "come on, big boy, you're with me."
Archer follows her lead obligingly, leaving Addison alone with Mark for the first time since they walked in the door. Mark grins at her, taking her drink from her hand sipping from it. She drags a hand through her hair to busy her hands, to keep herself from reaching out to touch him.
"Your brother driving you crazy?" Mark asks teasingly.
"I don't think that even begins to describe it," she admits, "he's incessant."
"When is he leaving?"
She sighs, "I don't know yet. I bet you miss your bed."
"It is more comfortable than the couch," he says.
He steals her away to the dance floor and their metaphorical dance becomes an actual one as he leads her, something that he's always been able to do when Derek hasn't. She excuses herself to use the restroom and he lets her go, her steps quicker than his reaction. Her heels echo on the floor and he can still hear it through the music.
She bumps into someone as they leave the men's restroom and she tries to enter the women's, offering her sincerest apology. He smiles before he says anything, his eyes locking on hers for a longer period of time than she knows what to do with. She shuffles her feet beneath her, silently acknowledging that it would be rather rude of her to just walk away before he says anything.
"Oh," he finally says, "I'm sorry. I should watch where I'm going."
"No, no," she insists, "it's my fault."
He laughs and drops his gaze from hers, the skin beside his eyes crinkling with his smile, "my name is Kevin."
"Addison," she says, reaching out and taking his proffered hand, "I was actually just on my way to the restroom."
Mark's eyebrows furrow when he catches sight of Addison talking to someone at the open bar and he wonders what she could possibly be talking to the stranger about. He tries to read the lips from across the room at their table, but the skill he'd once had is failing him now. He squints a little more but is only able to make out the shape her mouth makes right before she laughs.
He glances at the amber liquid in his glass and decides that he needs a refill despite his glass being half full (or empty, depending on the person). He downs the remainder of his glass and pushes himself to his feet to make his way across the room for more scotch. He nods his head at Derek, his jaw tightened in question as he makes a quick motion in Addison's direction, and his best friend is able to detect their silent language from when they are kids.
Derek's gaze follows the direction in which Mark's eyes are trained and sees what Mark sees. Knowing what Mark is wondering, Derek slips away from his conversation on the other side of the room and heads towards the bar as well thinking that Mark might need some back up. Derek drops his nearly empty glass off on a random table.
Mark slides up to the bar behind Addison and motions to the bartender to refill his scotch; Derek's elbow hits Mark's as Derek squeezes in and gives him the two finger motion. Mark points his ear in the direction of Addison's conversation, overhearing a seemingly innocent conversation. He and Derek trade glances anyway.
He feels Addison's hand reach out and touch his sleeve to get his attention, "this is my friend, Mark." Mark scowls for a moment before turning his attention to the pair, holding off on taking a long swig of his drink despite his desperate need for a distraction from the conversation. Mark forces a smile and extends his free hand, clasping his glass tighter with his left. "And this is Kevin. He's a police officer."
"Actually, we live together," Mark corrects, "have you ever been shot?"
Kevin laughs but Addison shoots him a warning glance. Mark shrugs absently as he takes a sip of his drink, knowing that later on he'll have to explain his actions and will probably end up blaming it on the alcohol. Derek nudges him in the back as he slides around him.
"I'm Derek. I'm the ex-husband," Derek adds, tossing a smirk towards Mark, "nice to meet you."
Addison's mouth drops open for just a moment before she forces a quick recovery. Mark leans in her direction, elbow stretching out to touch the countertop as his chest lightly touches her back just a bit. She slams her elbow into his sternum as he reaches forward, letting his fingertips trail over the exposed skin at the small of her back.
He gasps for air, muttering, "Jesus, Addison."
Derek furrows his eyebrows and turns his gaze towards Kevin, "what's your division? I'm a neurosurgeon. I might have helped save a few guys in your division."
"Oh, uh," Kevin starts.
"This guy," Mark interrupts, motioning towards Derek, "he always takes an opportunity to boast about all of his good doings in his profession. He's more than just a surgeon. He's world class."
"Good to know," Kevin acknowledges with a grin.
"Hey, Sis, what's going on here?" Archer asks as he leans against the counter behind Kevin. Addison rolls her eyes knowing that she won't get a word in now that her brother has appeared, not that she was getting anything in before he showed up. Archer's attention turns towards his glass as the bartender trades out his empty one for a full one before he sees Mark and smirks. "Your boyfriend doesn't look too happy."
"Wow," she says to Archer; she catches eyes with Kevin and mouths an apology that he catches while trying to tune in to everything that's being said. She shivers when the back of Mark's hand slides down her spine, her jaw tightening in her attempt to keep a straight face. She sighs and reaches behind her to smack Mark in the stomach but hits him a little lower; he groans and doubles over. "Oh my god, Mark, I am so sorry."
Mark tries to keep from hitting the floor, his glass nearly slipping from between his fingers; he offers her a tight smile, still unable to regulate his breathing, "I can't."
Her hand covers her mouth as she turns to tuck an arm around his waist to help keep him standing, the rest of the conversations going silent. Derek wraps his hand around Mark's elbow, helping him on the other side; they lead him to the nearest empty chair. He mutters incoherent words, his head feeling heavy on his shoulders.
She clearly hit him harder than she meant to.
"You okay, buddy?" Derek asks once Mark is sitting.
"Yeah," Mark replies hoarsely.
"I'm sorry, Mark."
"It's okay, Red," he replies, offering her a weak smile, "I guess we can say goodbye to that baby idea."
If she closes her eyes, she almost thinks that she's floating. At least that's what it feels like in the chilly air after excusing herself from the party and leaving all of the men from her past and present so they can't suffocate her anymore. Despite her guilt from hurting Mark, he offered her a tight smile and shooed her away insisting that he can take care of it. She's pretty sure he's beyond pissed and knows by now to give him his space when he is.
But when Kevin smiles it distracts her from the harsh reality she's created with her best friend by ultimately deciding to have sex. She wants nothing more than to become a mother but that dream will obviously have to be on hold since they've been trying for months without being successful. She misses Mark and they way their relationship was easy and natural with no thought put into it, they just were.
Now, they always get confused in the meaning and she doesn't want to be confused anymore.
Kevin's feet softly touch the ground with every step before he looks at her and smiles, "he isn't going to be mad, is he?"
"Who?" Addison asks, eyebrows furrowing in question.
"The guy you live with," Kevin vaguely elaborates.
She laughs a little, "the one that I hit on accident?"
"Yeah," he says, laughing a little too, "you know that's classified as assault if he wanted to press charges, right?"
"I've known him since we were in college. He had it coming," she challenges teasingly. Her eyes catch Kevin's for a brief moment before she feels her lips slide upward and has to look away. There's something about the way he looks at her that makes her want to trust him. She knows better than to think that her and Mark were really going anywhere, the way his eyes lingered on every woman with exposed cleavage made her feel cheap in the first place. "Why would he be mad?"
"Because you're here with me."
She lightly shakes her head, "contrary to what my brother said, it isn't like that between us. He's my roommate, my ex-husband's best friend, my friend. The only thing he might be mad at me about is hitting him there."
"It doesn't feel good," Kevin absently agrees. He shoves his cold hand deeper into his pockets, glances ahead. He takes a wide step as they proceed forward. "I just, it seemed like it was more than that for him."
"We had this idea that we were going to have a baby together and we've been trying for months, it just hasn't happened. I'm ready to stop trying because it's killing me but he doesn't want to give up," she explains.
"Maybe he has something with not giving up," Kevin says, much to her surprise.
She blinks hard, twisting her hands in her coat pockets; "if I have a baby, who would want me? He isn't obligated to be with me and I'd just be this single mother, with a kid who is close friends with the father. What guy would want to be involved in that?"
"I don't know, I mean, some guys wouldn't mind," Kevin corrects. He offers her a smile that makes her feet shuffle beneath her and she starts lose her balance. He reaches out and catches her before she falls, his grasp firm on her elbow. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, thanks," she mutters.
"You're welcome," he says. She can feel his breath trail over her lips and the warmth creates a rush deep into the pits of her stomach, a familiar feeling that only happens with firsts and new people. She never had that with Mark - maybe it's because everything between them has always been comfortable and different than with anyone else. "Is it too late to change your mind about having a baby with him?"
"Not yet," she admits; she sighs and drags a hand througb her hair, "I think it's after midnight."
"Yeah," he replies breathlessly.
She closes the space between them and her mouth touches his, her hands shaking from the cold or her nerves. She isn't really sure, doesn't know what to blame her actions on. She sighs against his mouth, his fingers digging into her arm as his grasp tightens. She pulls back with a smile, hoping that it maybe isn't the last time.
Mark absently groans as he shifts the bag of ice on his crotch and finds an area that isn't numbed with the cold. After Addison left, Callie and Archer insisted that he go home and made sure he got there softly. He blinked a few times, saw stars, and when he opened his eyes again Archer was gone and Callie was standing there with a bag of ice.
He took it with a tired sigh and held it to his crotch while grasping the remote with his other hand. After moments of silence, he hears the front door open and those familiar heels step over the threshold. He tosses a non-committal glance over his shoulder as she peels off her coat and drops her purse onto the island counter.
"Hey, how are your balls feeling?" She asks, a bit of a tease laced in her voice.
He forces a laugh, "I think they'll make it."
"Did I really hit you that hard?" She feigns disbelief.
"Trust me, it's a lot easier to hurt a man when he has an erection," he counters, a light shake of his head. He watches her lean against the arm of the couch, the soles of her shoes still stuck with snow. He wonders how long she was walking out there, hopes she wasn't alone despite his twinge of jealousy. He offers her a slight smile, "I'll make a full recovery. Don't you worry about me."
"You deserved it, you know? You acted like an asshole to come over there and make me look like that in front of this guy that I just met," she says.
"What does that mean?"
She sighs, "it means that I was talking with this guy who was genuinely interested and interesting but you all nearly made me look like an idiot."
"I made you look like an idiot?" He asks with a laugh, "I'm pretty sure it's the other way around. I wasn't the one openly flirting with someone else while you watched on."
"Oh, please, Mark. You act like anything real between us would work with your wandering eyes," she scoffs.
He shakes his head, "it was real for me, Addison. I don't know what you thought I meant when I told you I love you, but you mean a lot to me. You always have."
"Maybe I'll mean more to you if we aren't fucking. Maybe I'll mean more to you if you're just my friend," she challenges.
"Maybe."
