A/N: Hi, everyone! Remember this story, aka "Addek Take Manhattan (And Each Other)? Well, it's back. I have a lot of stories to catch up on after my unplanned mini-hiatus, and I am going to catch up on all my WIPs, I promise. Some of them, like The Climbing Way, take time because I need to reread a lot before I can write, and they are twenty million pages long. But today is Thirsty Thursday, and I have a bunch of work to do, so why wouldn't I write like twelve thousand words of pure unadulterated Addek trash? And by trash, I do mean trash. Remember, this story is not for the faint of heart. Strong T for shameless sexual situations and adults who should know better. It is for the Revolution though, and I hope you enjoy it!
So, to set the scene, in the last chapter Addison and Derek had brunch at Savvy and Weiss's. In the context of discussing Savvy's reconstructive surgery, she and Addison let drop a new hint about their shared history. To be specific: "Spring Fling" and "Two for One Tuesdays at Margarita Joe's." Savvy and Addison disappeared into the bedroom so Savvy could show Addison her new assets, and Weiss and Derek really have no choice but to follow up...
Six Miles High, Part Six
If You Want Something Done Right...
The door to Savvy and Weiss's room is closed when they get there. Derek gives his friend a curious look when he just stands still, and extends his own hand toward the doorknob.
Weiss shakes his head, lifting his finger to his lips and then gesturing to the closed door.
Following the other man's lead, Derek leans closer to the door … close enough to hear both familiar, if slightly muffled, voices from inside the bedroom.
"The texture is incredible."
Addison's voice, clearly. Derek frowns.
"I know, right? Firm … but still soft," Savvy is saying thoughtfully. "You want to taste?"
Addison's laugh carries through the door. "I really shouldn't."
"Oh, you really should. You won't regret it."
"Fine, if you insist."
They hear shuffling sounds from inside the bedroom.
"Don't tell Weiss … "
That was Savvy.
"I won't, but don't you think he'll notice if the bed is all sticky?"
"Fine, if you want to miss out on something this good because you're worried about Weiss…"
And then … Addison moans.
Loudly.
"God, this is good."
Derek turns to Weiss with alarm.
"This is actually the best thing I've ever tasted," Addison says from inside the bedroom. "It's incredible."
They move as one through the door.
"Okay, that's enough – " Weiss stops talking once the door is open.
Addison and Savvy both look up, confused, when the two men burst in.
For a moment Derek and Weiss just stand there, confused at what they see:
Addison is sitting cross-legged on the bed, holding a peach in one hand with a few circles bitten out of it; Savvy is stretched out on the chaise longue a few feet away with another peach in hers.
"What do you mean, that's enough?" Addison asks, brow furrowed.
"Stone fruit. He means stone fruit," Derek says helpfully. "You should, uh, stop with one. Because, you know, we still haven't had dessert …"
"Weiss, are you calling me fat?" Addison asks, turning to their friend and raising one eyebrow delicately.
"No, of course not. Just – uh – sugar," he says, sounding far less articulate than usual and rather like he's hoping someone will rescue him.
Derek knows the feeling.
"Oh." Addison takes another bite of the peach and a little bead of juice gathers at the corner of her mouth. Derek swallows hard. "Well, thank you for looking out for me, Weiss. But I can handle a little sugar."
Weiss is looking pleadingly at Derek, who suddenly remembers who bailed them out of jail. "Why are you eating peaches?" he asks, trying to help.
"Because they're amazing." Savvy smiles at him. "They're from that basket the accountant sent."
"He's sweet on her," Weiss interjects.
"He is not sweet on me." Savvy frowns. "He just knows I'm from Georgia and that I miss it sometimes, so he sends …." Her voice trails off. "Addie, your accountant sends you things, doesn't he?"
"Our accountant is a she," Addison says, "and the only thing she sends is bills."
"Oh." Savvy pauses, glancing at the peach in her hand. "The point is, they're delicious."
"And sticky." Weiss frowns.
Addison and Savvy exchange a meaningful glance; this one Derek understands, having shared plenty of spaces with Savvy and Weiss over the years, including frequent weekends in the country. He's far too polite to call his old friend neurotic or anything along those lines, but Weiss was always the one sweeping the sand off the deck and hovering with bleach to wait for the chicken to finish marinating.
"I told you he wouldn't like this," Savvy sighs, then holds up her slightly bitten peach. "At least taste it now that you've burst in here."
Weiss looks torn. Addison looks amused, taking another bite of her peach and then offering it to Derek. It's jewel bright, glistening, perfect circle marks from her sharp teeth. He accepts a bite – it bursts with so much sweetness and flavor he has to close his eyes for a moment – and then without thinking leans in to clear the drop of peach juice still clinging to the corner of Addison's mouth.
With his own.
At the sound of a clearing throat, he pulls back immediately to see Weiss, arms folded, scowling at them.
"Was that fight before even real?" he demands. "Or were you just trying to trick us so we'd forget you're sex fiends?"
"It was real, and we're not sex fiends," Addison responds indignantly. When Weiss doesn't look convinced, she frowns. "Weiss … how are you billing your time yesterday?"
"Pro bono defense of alleged sex fiends," he recites.
"Alleged," Addison repeats. "That means it hasn't been proven."
"She has a point, honey," Savvy says.
Weiss turns to her. "Sav, do you want to see the police report?"
"I don't think that will be necessary," Addison cuts in hastily. "The point is …" She seems to flounder, turning to Derek for help. "The point is …"
"The point is, what happened at spring fling?"
"And Two for One Tuesdays at Margarita Joe's?" Weiss adds.
Addison looks like she regrets asking him for help.
"Never mind," Savvy says firmly.
"Oh, come on." Weiss turns to her. "You can't drop a line like that and not tell us."
"Sure we can."
Addison nods in agreement. "We just did."
"Very funny." Weiss frowns at both of them. "Addie, what happened to your gratitude for my legal counsel?"
"Do you charge all your clients in stories about girl-on-girl?" she asks innocently.
"Well … no," Weiss admits, with the good grace to blush a little, "but there are bar regulations about that."
Savvy gives a confirmatory nod when Addison glances at her.
"Okay, fine," Addison sighs. "But only because that lox was so good."
"Should we get Eli Zabar on the phone, then?" Weiss asks. "He really deserves the credit for the lox."
Savvy beams, apparently pleased with her husband's tendency to share credit where credit is due.
"I'll leave it up to you how much of this story you share with the Zabar family," Addison says, and Weiss seems satisfied.
"So," Derek prompts. "Spring Fling …."
"Right." Addison nods, glancing at Savvy. "You might as well get comfortable," she says, and Derek decides to sit down on the bed rather than wonder why she made that suggestion. Weiss joins Savvy on the chaise, looking equally curious and wary.
"Well," Addison starts. "It was Spring Fling, sophomore year. Which was basically an opportunity to take advantage of the one week of nice weather we'd get up there."
"In between the snow," Savvy cuts in.
"And the sleet," Addison adds.
"And the rain."
"And before the humidity and the heat and the summer thunderstorms," Addison finishes with a sigh. "And there was a concert, an outdoor concert – I don't remember who was playing," she muses.
"Don't try to remember," Savvy advises her, "it will just date us."
"Ooh, good point." Addison nods. "Anyway, it was a … concert, and the weather was beautiful. The green was full, all of us were all spread out on the grass with blankets and picnic baskets, and wine … it was really nice, actually."
Derek and Weiss exchange a glance. So far it does sound – well, nice. So obviously there's more.
There has to be.
Savvy takes over the story. "Addie and I were both dating that spring – oh come on," Savvy shakes her head, grinning. "You can't get jealous if you didn't know us yet."
"We can," Weiss says. "We just did."
Savvy frowns at him. "My point is, Addie was dating that rower from Exeter and I was dating –"
"Oh, I remember," Weiss interjects, scowling. "That airhead musclebound drone with the – weird chin thing."
"He played lacrosse," Savvy tells Derek with dignity, not looking at her husband, "the weird chin thing was a cleft, and he actually wasn't an airhead. He's a federal prosecutor now."
"In Kansas," Weiss clarifies, "which doesn't really count."
Savvy continues to ignore him. "The point is, Addie and I both had boyfriends that spring, and our plan was to have a picnic – like a double date. Watch the music, wait for stars to come out, drink wine and eat cheese and grapes and … well, you get the drill."
Derek and Weiss exchange another look, wondering where this is going.
"What happened next?" Derek prompts, while Weiss rubs his thumb over his decidedly un-clefted chin.
"Nothing happened," Addison says glumly.
"They didn't show," Savvy explains.
"Who didn't show?"
"Our boyfriends," Savvy says patiently.
"The rower didn't show?" Derek asks Addison.
She shakes her head. "Nope."
"And the airhead didn't show either?" Weiss asks.
Savvy nods in confirmation, not correcting him this time.
"We got stood up," she says. "Double stood up."
"I found out later that the rower had hooked up with a Philosophy major with a nose ring," Addison adds.
"And the not-actually-an-airhead had read an article about how sex undermines academic performance and decided to dump me," Savvy says. "Without bothering to inform me, mind you."
"Jerks," Weiss says.
"Jerks," Derek agrees.
"Well, be glad they gave us up or we might not have been so available when we met the two of you," Savvy says reasonably. "But at the time – we were pretty upset."
Addison nods. "We both thought we were in serious relationships, and we'd planned this lovely picnic, and instead – we end up alone, just the two of us, on this huge blanket with wine and cheese and grapes … a whole romantic meal for four."
"So what did you do?"
"We drank wine," Savvy says.
"A lot of wine," Addison adds.
Derek and Weiss exchange a glance. They've both known Addison for a long time. A lot of wine, for her, is no joke.
"We were sad," Savvy reminds them.
"And all around us … were couples," Addison sighs. "Cuddling, and sharing drinks, and feeding each other grapes, and listening to the music – and there we were, just the two of us, with our hearts broken."
Weiss's eyes have softened now. "So you were sad."
"We were sad," Savvy confirms. She glances at Addison. "But at least we had each other."
Derek considers this. "Oh. So it was ... a comfort thing."
That's not really what he was expecting, but he can concede it's actually sort of sweet.
"Right," Savvy says, but her gaze seems fixed across the room on a spot on the wall.
Weiss's brows knit together. "Sav?"
"What?"
"You're a terrible liar," Weiss says bluntly.
"I never lie!" Savvy's blue eyes are wide and studiedly innocent.
"She's only good at lying in court," Weiss explains to Derek.
"Excuse me, I do not lie in court," Savvy says with dignity. "I occasionally … massage the truth, but that's different. And anyway, I have a poker face."
(She doesn't … Derek has played poker with her more than once.)
"Just tell us what happened," Derek suggests. "You were sad, you got dumped, so you cheered each other up with some friendly kissing?"
"Yes, exactly," Addison says, nodding vigorously.
A little too vigorously.
Weiss and Derek exchange another look.
"So that's what happened," Weiss says.
Both women nod.
"We believe you."
"You do?"
"Nope," Weiss says. "What actually happened?"
Savvy's mouth opens, then closes again. She glances at Addison.
"Well … it's the same basic idea," Savvy says hesitantly.
"We were sad," Addison reminds them.
"And lonely."
"And supporting each other."
"And we had run out of wine."
"And …?" Weiss prompts when they stop speaking.
"And … the guys on the next blanket offered us a bottle if we if we kissed each other," Addison admits.
Derek raises his eyebrows. "You kissed each other for wine?"
"We were sad," Addison reminds him.
"I bet those guys weren't sad," Weiss smirks.
"That's beside the point," Savvy says primly. "We needed wine, they had wine. It was simple. Strategic."
"And no one took pictures," Addison adds, apparently anticipating Weiss's next question. "Thank goodness it was nineteen-"
Savvy coughs politely to cover the rest of the date.
"You kissed for wine. It was a strategic transaction," Weiss summarizes, then pauses. "You just kissed, though, right?"
Savvy has become very interested in the embroidered pattern on the chaise longue.
"It was college," Addison says, her cheeks a little pink. "Everyone does things like that in college."
"No, they don't," Weiss and Derek chorus in unison.
Addison looks like she's trying not to laugh.
"Don't be mad," she says, "we really needed wine."
That does sound like solid Addison-style reasoning. Still …
"So you didn't enjoy it?" Weiss asks.
"Well, that's not really the point," Savvy says.
Weiss tilts his head, squinting.
"Stop trying to imagine it!" Savvy scolds.
Addison turns to Derek as if to praise him for not trying to imagine it, and then frowns at him.
"Okay, that's enough. Both of you, put your tongues back in your mouths."
"Maybe both of you should have taken your own advice back in nineteen-cough," Weiss suggests.
Now Savvy looks like she's trying not to laugh.
Derek turns to Addison. "You really needed that wine, huh?"
She leans in to give him a quick kiss. "I You know how I am with my wine."
"I do know that." He smiles at her in spite of himself and she smiles back.
Savvy beams at them. "I knew they'd make up. Right, Weiss? Didn't I tell you that they would – okay, stop that!" she cries hastily. "Can't you two just keep it together for one minute?"
"You just said you were glad we made up!"
"Yes. I'm glad you made up. That doesn't mean I want you making up all over my duvet. That's thousand count Egyptian cotton."
"It's beautiful," Addison says, stroking the fabric with one hand. "But it's surprisingly easy to clean, actually. One time –"
"Why am I not surprised that you know that?" Savvy shakes her head. "Okay, everyone out of the bedroom now that Addison has seen my – no, that came out wrong, but you know what I mean. Weiss, we have to keep these two away from beds."
"Why?" Weiss mutters. "That's their least favorite place to do it."
Addison's teeth are worrying her lower lip. She seems a little ashamed.
… to an outsider, maybe. Derek can tell she's trying not to laugh.
"Back out to the living room," Savvy commands, waving her hands airily and ushering them out the door. "We're having a nice civilized brunch. I'll go get some more coffee – Weiss, honey, sit between them, please," she adds, when they start to settle on the couch.
"Wait," Derek says, realizing they've only heard half the story. "What about Two for One Tuesdays at – "
He falls silent at Addison's elbow in his ribs.
Ouch.
..
Back in Savvy and Weiss's airy living room, Addison sighs. It's not that she doesn't want Savvy to be happy, but the brief moment on the bed when Derek was sitting close to her felt so good.
They've always been tactile people.
They fight, sure. They've always fought. But they also always made up, and admittedly they've always been better at apologizing with hands than they have with mouths.
Er – with words.
The point is, she'd like to sit next to him again.
But she's not sitting next to him. She's sitting next to Weiss, who has spread his arms and legs like an inconsiderate subway commuter so that Addison and Derek are forced to opposite ends of the couch.
So," Weiss says cheerfully. "What shall we talk about?"
"Something chaste," Savvy says, returning with coffee and setting it out on the table. "Something that's not sexy."
"Baseball," Weiss suggests. Derek shakes his head immediately.
"The two of them will just want to talk about Jeter," he explains.
When Savvy's eyes glaze over, Weiss seems to realize his friend is right.
"Fine. Uh … gangrene."
"Rats," Savvy suggests, shuddering a little. "Subway rats."
Addison and Derek are utterly unmoved.
"The problem with being friends with doctors," Weiss announces, "leaving aside the separate sex fiend issue with these two doctors in particular, is that you can't gross them out with anything … gross. They've seen and heard it all."
Savvy nods knowingly, while Derek considers whether to be offended.
He supposes that it's not wrong to say he and Addison are used to gore. It's not wrong that they've seen and heard it all, dissected a fair amount of it …
…and sometimes had sex right afterwards too, so Weiss has a point.
"Fine," Savvy says. "Let me think."
Addison and Derek exchange a glance. While their friends are distracted, maybe they could move a little closer, and –
"Law!"
Addison stops inclining her foot toward her husband at Savvy's exclamation.
"Oh, I like that. Great idea." Weiss taps his chin thoughtfully. "Sav, I don't think I finished telling you what happened with the RFAs, did I?"
"No, I don't think so. Do tell." Savvy props her chin in her hand.
Weiss smiles, turning to their friends. "Derek. Addison." He stretches out his hands. "Have you ever considered the flexible standard for withdrawing deemed admissions after the time runs out to respond to a request?"
"What?" Addison looks confused.
"Ooh, good call," Savvy says approvingly.
"This is great." Weiss smiles with satisfaction. "Addie, Derek, You'll love this. So we get these requests for admission and my associate is working on …."
His words start to blur.
Because the story is long.
And detailed.
And Derek feels the excitement that started building up when he sat down next to this wife in the bedroom, the warm length of her thigh against his, start to recede.
… a lot.
Addison, for her part, is resting her chin in her hand. Derek can see that her eyes– while a lovely shade of not-blue-not-green-either – look, well … fine. They don't, however, look like she's trying to figure out the next opening for her to pounce.
(They don't look like she'd try to make a double entendre about the word "opening," either.)
In short, Weiss's story seems to be working.
The law is boring, apparently. Not at all like those episodes of Law and Order that would play in the residents' lounge on overnight call.
Derek is well aware that Savvy and Weiss are as likely to talk shop as he and Addison are, and many a double date dinner of the past has broken off into twosome debate or recollection of some moment or dilemma of their respective professions.
And the other two have just … tuned out.
But now he and Addison have no choice but to be tuned in.
"… subserve the presentation of the merits …"
Savvy seems engrossed by the story; Derek finds his eyes growing heavy.
" … prejudice needs to stem from reliance on the binding …"
Addison shifts restlessly – not the way she did on the plane, but like she wishes she could be somewhere else.
" … procedurally, the second prong of Rule 36 …"
But then Derek realizes something strange seems to be happening.
The more Weiss goes on with the seemingly endless story, the more of an effect it seems to be having on Savvy.
At first Derek thinks she's not feeling well.
Savvy is shifting in her seat; she looks rather flushed, and keeps tucking the same strands of long blonde hair behind her ears and then taking sips of coffee. Derek notices her hand is shaking a little when she sets the cup in the saucer.
"So then I redrafted the – "
"Stop!"
They all turn to Savvy, who is now fanning herself with one hand. "I can't take any more."
Addison smiles sympathetically – no offense to Weiss, because of course she supports his professional success, but she's not sure she can take much more of this tedious story either.
Derek also smiles sympathetically – better Savvy than him, in terms of not hurting his friend's feelings, but he's not sure he can take much more either.
But then Derek turns to his wife; she looks alarmed now, eyebrows shooting up toward her vivid hairline.
"What?" he mouths.
"I forgot what Weiss's courtroom stories do to Savvy," she whispers, leaning toward Derek, which is easy because Weiss has leaned forward to get closer to Savvy.
So forward, in fact, that he practically falls off the couch, Addison leaping out of their way before Savvy jumps to her feet and wraps her arms around her husband's neck.
"Tell me about the sanctions," she whispers. "Start from the – "
"I didn't realize how late it was!" Addison announces loudly, standing up and brushing her hands off on her slacks – there are no crumbs or even a speck of lint, she's Addison, after all, and then she gestures to Derek. "We should probably get going. Right, honey?" she adds pointedly when Derek doesn't respond.
"Oh, do you really have to go?" Savvy asks monotonously, her words muffled by Weiss's neck, from which she is apparently attempting to extract cobra venom.
"Thanks so much for having us," Addison says sweetly, gesturing with no small measure of panic to Derek; obediently, he stands up and ducks around the rather compromised clump of their good friends.
Savvy seems to realize they're leaving only as they head toward the door. Most of her limbs are now wrapped around Weiss and she's half dragged him down to the couch with her. "Addie – you're in town for a while – we can all get dinner or … ?"
"Of course. I'll, uh, I'll be in touch," Addison says, hustling Derek toward the front door as Savvy's shriek of something they don't need to examine too closely echoes across the apartment.
"Thanks for coming!" Savvy calls as the front door closes behind them.
Although, from the sound of it, it's not their coming that's really at issue anymore.
Addison and Derek manage to wait until the elevator. Once the ornate doors are closed, they take one look at each other and burst out laughing.
"The hypocrisy!" Addison has tears of laughter in her eyes. "The sheer hypocrisy! They act like we can't keep it together!"
"And there they are, acting like …"
Derek's voice trails off before he can say the word us.
"She's never been able to handle Weiss's legal victories," Addison sighs. "I guess I should have been prepared. But it's hard to figure out when a victory is coming, because frankly all his stories sound the same to me. Lots of words."
"Well, it seemed like the 'words' portion was over by the time we left."
Addison snickers in response. "Worse than us. Derek, they're worse than us," she says, sounding pleased with herself.
They both laugh again.
"Although … I guess they were in their own home," Derek says after a long moment of laughter, holding the elevator door open while Addison exits.
"Oh. Right." Addison looks somewhat sobered as they walk through the lobby. "But the point is, they're still insatiable too. They get it."
Derek considers the word too for a moment. Back in Manhattan, it's getting harder to remember what it was like in Seattle, before they boarded the jet that would take them across the country.
They're outside now, filmy early-spring sunshine scattered on the sidewalk, when they realize they're not sure where they're going.
"I guess we have some free time," Addison says tentatively.
"We could … do something," Derek responds, just as tentatively.
"Sure." Addison glances at her watch. "There's an exhibit at the Guggenheim I wouldn't mind seeing."
"That sounds great." Derek watches a yellow cab pass them by.
"We can take the train. I don't, uh, I don't have a metrocard, but I guess we can get some – Derek, what are you doing?" her voice rises.
"Sorry," he says hastily. "There was a hair on your jacket."
"A hair?"
"You know you hate when there's a hair on your jacket. Or anything you're wearing," he reminds her patiently.
She looks like she can't decide whether to be miffed or appreciative.
Then he realizes his hand is still resting on her shoulder. Carefully, he removes it.
"So, uh, did you want to go to the subway, or …." Derek's voice trails off because Addison is looking at him rather the way he saw her look at the plate of lox earlier this morning.
"Did you want to go to the subway?" she asks in response, repeating his words, her voice a little throaty.
"Yes. Sure." He nods. "Unless – "
"Hotel," Addison blurts suddenly, "we could go to the hotel. I mean, if you want to."
Derek is mesmerized by the color of her eyes – he's watching it change, it's more obvious here in the natural light. He moves a step closer.
"Excuse me," a man in a suit says impatiently, pushing between them.
"Where is he going?" Addison glares as the man speeds off. "It's Sunday. Doesn't he have any work-life balance?"
"He should be more like us," Derek suggests. "We're balanced."
A smile spreads across Addison's face. "We certainly are." She leans forward to kiss him, her movement so smooth it almost seems inevitable.
Her kiss is soft and quick – friendly even – but instinct curls his fingers around her waist and pulls her closer.
"Behave," Addison whispers, gesturing at their very public location, "if we get caught after all Weiss did for us, he's going to feel –"
"I doubt Weiss is feeling anything right about now," Derek smirks. "Especially about us."
"Fine, but if he has to leave Savvy to bail us out of jail again, he's definitely not going to be happy."
"Fair enough." Derek sighs. "So … back to the hotel?"
Addison nods.
It's easy. Or it should be, anyway.
They're just going to hail a cab. They walk toward the corner, but Addison – who has always believed traffic should stop for her, and is rarely proven wrong – starts to step out into the street against the light.
"Stop it." Derek puts an arm out to block her, frowning. "You can wait three seconds for the light to change."
She looks annoyed but doesn't argue. He realizes his hand is still in front of her, blocking her, and she's pressed against his forearm. Her skin is warm through her light jacket.
Hurriedly, he yanks his arm down, but not before she smiles up at him. "Thanks for the save," she says.
He's not sure which one – blocking her from the cars that are still hurtling by, or moving his arm before its effect on both of them became obvious. So he hails a cab instead of figuring it out.
Derek holds the cab door open for Addison – as a gentleman should, as he has been taught firmly by his wife, since she's wearing slacks.
(Of course he gets in first when she's wearing a skirt, as she often is. He only had to make that mistake once.)
From his vantage point on the sidewalk, one hand resting on the taxi door, he watches Addison arrange herself daintily on the cracked leather seat. He can see her expression change – just slightly – the moment her flesh makes contact with the seat.
And he can also see her glance at him to make sure he saw.
Two words he has never associated with his wife: Not Dramatic.
"You can't still be sore from this morning," he frowns as he joins her in the back seat.
"Why can't I?" she asks, turning innocent eyes toward him.
"Because … well …"
"Where are you going?" the driver barks, apparently not interested in the science behind how long the sting of an open palm lingers on sensitive skin.
Derek recites the intersection of their hotel more slowly than usual, since Addison has apparently decided that this is a good time to …
He can't think of a word other than snuggle, though it sounds awfully innocent considering the woman involved. It's actually … here's another oddly innocent word: it's nice. It's nice to relax against the seat and feel the warmth of her curled against him, the window cracked to the light spring breeze.
It's nice.
Peaceful, even.
"Derek … Derek," she hisses, one of her sharp elbows digging into him, and he snaps to attention.
"What's wrong?"
She nods toward the front seat. "He's taking the Drive."
"So?" He finds his hands sliding down her back to pull her close again.
"So, at this hour we're going to end up – "
He kisses her – to shut her up, admittedly, which he recognizes doesn't sound very gentlemanly, but he's had practically two decades of experience with her commitment to backseat driving, and there's very little that can stop her once she gets going.
"Hey!" The driver raps on the plexiglass partition. "Get a room," he says, sounding more pleased with himself than he should.
Derek feels rather than sees Addison's lips part in preparation for what will no doubt be a scathing remark, and he moves his hand over her mouth to muffle it before they end up arrested again.
"Sorry," he calls toward the driver, hoping he sounds chastened … if not chaste.
"Ow!" He pulls his hand away at a sudden sharp pain. "Did you just – bite me?"
"Maybe." Addison scowls at him.
He shakes his sore hand, frowning at her. "That hurt."
"You started it," she protests.
"I'm going to finish it, too," he growls, pulling her close for an all-too-brief moment before he catches the driver glaring at them in the rearview mirror.
"Never mind," he says, releasing her with no small measure of reluctance. "Let's just … get back to the hotel. But I'll get you back later."
"Oh, good," Addison says, recrossing her legs and looking quite pleased. "I have just the thing for that."
..
To Derek's pleasant surprise, their room has already been discreetly and impeccably straightened, with vases of fresh flowers and a wire basket of brightly colored fruit.
(No peaches, thankfully)
His gaze lands on the newly made bed with its fluffy duvet. It's like a large, white magnet, pulling him, and he's pulling Addison –
"Wait," she says, resting a hand on his chest.
Wait?
Oh, that's right. With some effort, he summons their conversation from earlier.
"You want to talk," he says tentatively.
"I do? I mean, I do," Addison corrects herself hastily. "Just, maybe it can wait …"
"It can wait."
"… because we have plenty of time."
"Plenty," Derek echoes, his hands sliding down her waist again. Next time she asks if she should wear the white shirt, he's going to remember that he likes it.
(Okay, fine, he's going to forget and just nod and smile.)
"Wait," Addison says again.
Derek tilts his head, confused by the mixed messages.
"I want to give you something first."
He's certainly not going to say no to that.
"Not that kind of something," she corrects him, smiling. "A … present."
And she disappears briefly, returning with a sleek beribboned box.
"Another present?" he asks.
"It is your birthday trip," she reminds him.
"True." He slips the ribbon off – Addison is well known for her perfectly wrapped presents that seem elaborate but then practically fall open. It's one of the many little things she does so flawlessly, and makes seem so effortless, that he never really noticed it until she was gone.
Or he was gone.
The point is … they were gone.
And now they're not, and he's opening her present, and –
"Derek?" she prompts as he turns a silky black scarf over in his hands. "What's wrong?"
"Not to be ungrateful," he says quickly, "it's just a little … "
Girly.
"A little what?"
"Girly," he admits.
And it's not it, it's they, because he's realized that there are in fact two of them in the box, slithering coolly over each other like a pair of snakes.
She's silent, and he's worried he's offended her.
"I can try them," he says doubtfully, wondering if this is going to be like the Pocket Square Debacle of 1996. "Do I wear them around my neck, or – "
"They're not for you, Derek, they're for me!" Addison interrupts, looking faintly horrified.
"Oh!" He's relieved. "So they are girly."
He feels a little validated.
Addison sighs. "Not for me to wear."
"Then what do you –"
"They're for you."
"But you just said – "
"They're for me, but they're for you to use," she clarifies.
"Use for what?"
"Oh for god's sake, Derek, tie me up!"
"Oh." His eyes widen. "Oh. Well … why didn't you just say it?"
Addison massages her temples. "I just did."
Well.
Oh.
He gets it now.
She doesn't have to ask him twice … but a quick scan of the bed leaves him disappointed.
The sleek, modern hotel bedstead is low and opaque, smooth as glass, with no place to tie silk scarves. He frowns, surveying his options.
Hanging above the bed is a stark modern photograph – enormous, probably eight feet. It's too abstract for him to figure out what it is – flowers? A close up of – a seashell? Combined with the silk scarves in his hand, it's making him feel a little flushed.
Addison just smirks at him and then climbs up onto the bed. He's distracted by the view at first, and then confused when she uses both hands to lift down the oversized framed photograph.
"Careful," he warns her.
"It's not heavy," she assures him, and then when she's removed it he sees sticking out of the wall two good sized, very heavy looking – and previously hidden – brass loops.
"Addison …"
"Okay, so I planned ahead." She grins at him.
"You planned ahead," he repeats, impressed.
"I had to pay off the concierge, but I've been assured they're very sturdy … in addition to subtle."
Derek is fairly certain their matching court-issued desk appearance tickets with public indecency in black and white suggest subtlety isn't exactly their forte, but he can't exactly complain either.
..
There's a lot of laughing, reminding her of the early days of their relationship when they were still getting to know each other, their bodies and their likes and their dislikes. So far, the scarf extravaganza has been about half confusing attempts to determine the right position to use the brass loops, and half distracted fumblings when they can't quite wait to get started.
Maybe more like 60/40 in favor of the fumbling.
"The height isn't quite right," she offers, frowning.
It figures. She gave the concierge detailed information, but you really can't get anything done right unless you do it yourself.
"Addie…"
"What?" She turns around with as much dignity as she can muster.
He shakes his head. "You're thinking this is the concierge's fault, and you could have done it better yourself."
"I am not," she lies.
"What did you even tell him to get him to do this? No, wait." He holds up a hand. "I take it back. I don't want to know."
"Good," she says, because she doesn't particularly want to relive it. Primly, she holds her towel closed; she learned after the Handcuff Incident of 1998 that waiting too long to remove her bra results in scissors and shrieking at losing one of her favorite La Perla pieces and … well, suffice it to say lingerie and restraints don't always go well together.
(As for the towel, that's because Shepherds and patience don't go well together either, so keeping things covered for now is necessary.)
"See, it's too high," she shows him.
"How tall did he think you were? Were you wearing heels?"
"On the phone?" she snaps, then shakes her head. "Look, we can't exactly move them, so do you want to tie me up or not?"
"When you ask like that…"
Addison tosses her hair. "All we have to do is make me a little taller, like … so." She kneels up and reaches for the rings, letting the towel drop onto the bed. Looking over her shoulder, she smiles at her husband. "See?"
Based on his glazed eyes, he does see.
Grinning, she turns around and pushes him down on the duvet, only to find herself sitting up again.
"Wait," he says.
"Now what?"
"We need a safe word."
"Oh, for Pete's sake," she snaps.
Except she doesn't say Pete.
"Excuse me for wanting to be safe," he retorts. "Or have you forgotten the night – "
"Derek, if you tell me the story of when we were intents and the guy came in with a light bulb in his – "
"Fine," he interrupts, "but the point is, safety is important."
"Whatever." She runs impatient fingers through her hair.
"So we need a safe word," Derek reminds her, "and it's supposed to be something you wouldn't ordinarily say."
She doesn't respond.
"Like I'm wrong," Derek suggests quietly.
"Or my husband has a normal amount of hair products," Addison counters.
"How about I trust other people to drive without my constant criticism?"
"Or I love living in a glorified shoebox," she snaps.
For a moment both of them are silent.
"You know what, the traffic light system is a classic for a reason," Derek says heartily, and Addison nods.
With verbal logistics out of the way, it's back to the physical, and confirming that with Addison's positional tweaks, they can make this work.
As it turns out … they can.
It's not without some good-natured argument (and some less good-natured), and a few cracks about backseat driving when Addison attempts to interject her knowledge of sailors' knots into Derek's process of tying her wrists to the brass loops.
"Round-turn and two half hitches?" Derek shakes his head. "That can't be a real knot. It sounds like a sexual position."
"Actually," Addison says brightly, "it can be both. Back when I was a lifeguard at the club, one time – ow!"
Derek shakes out his palm, looking quite satisfied with himself when she throws a dark look over her shoulder.
"Is that how it's going to go?" she asks.
"Unless you brought a third scarf," Derek mutters.
"A third – " she catches his meaning and glowers.
She tugs a little at the scarves and he takes pity on her, massaging the spot he just marked. She's planning to stay annoyed a little longer, but it's hard under the focused attention of his hands. Hers are useless, which is simultaneously frustrating and … well … frustrating.
The brass loops are sturdy under her hands while Derek's hands skim over her, lightly enough to make her shudder. Gently, he draws her hips back. The blank white wall blurs in front of her eyes as she realizes that the brass loops might just be in the perfect position after all.
She's going to be apologizing to the concierge.
Or not, because she only insulted him in her mind.
She's could leave a review on Thousand Count Sheets, her favorite hotel booking site. Except what could she say about this that wouldn't be, well, incriminating?
And it's hard to concentrate on reviews anyway; she's gripping the brass loops tightly, the silk rubbing her bound wrists and making her feel a little faint with sensation. The limited movement is threatening to drive her crazy – it feels like Derek is everywhere at once, the heat of his body behind her, inside her, one warm hand tangling in her hair and keeping her upright. She hisses, the sting in her scalp fading quickly to pleasure.
"Are you sure this is comfortable?" Derek asks, pausing.
She grits her teeth, willing him to continue. "Are you sure comfortable is what we're going for?" she pants when he doesn't.
He seems to accept this.
And then he stops talking; his lips are busy on the sensitive skin of her neck. With her limited vision she can't tell where he's landing next, her body shuddering in response. She arches against him, trying to control the overwhelming sensations, and he just shifts his grip.
"Derek…"
"Whose birthday is it?" he teases, one of his hands circling sensitive flesh, then withdrawing when she tries to press against it.
She says his name again and he laughs a little, tracing light patterns along her thighs and deftly avoiding her most sensitive spots even as she circles her hips with increasing desperation to try to shift his attention.
"Can't you be patient?" he asks, his lips against her ear, and he sucks one lobe into his mouth when she doesn't respond.
"No," she snaps, "do you know me at all?"
"I know you pretty well, actually." She can't see him, but he sounds like he's trying not to laugh.
All of the pressure suddenly withdraws from her and she's dangling from the brass loops, her skin tingling.
"Come back," she pleads before she can stop herself.
"What's the magic word?"
She tries a few unprintable ones before he takes pity on her.
"Hold on," he cautions her, tapping her hands where they're gripping the brass rings.
"What do you think I've been – " she stops talking abruptly when he sinks deeply inside her, sighing with pleasure as she adjusts to the sensation.
"What were you saying?" he asks, his tone light, his hips moving just slowly enough that at least she knows it's killing him a little too, even if he's enjoying tormenting her far too much.
"Never mind," she says, with as much dignity as she can muster while she's tied to the wall.
He stops moving.
"Derek, I swear – "
"What do you swear?"
His fingers are moving and she hisses with pleasure, her thighs snapping together to trap the hand he withdraws just in time.
"Easy there, Bond girl," he says, a frown in his voice. "That's a very valuable hand you almost broke in two."
"But do your patients know what you do with it?" Addison asks sweetly, flinching a little in anticipation of retaliation that doesn't come.
He doesn't seem concerned with her taunts, just smoothing his hands over her flesh in a rather proprietary way that's making her skin tingle. The feeling of being at his mercy is – okay, fine, it's hot, and she doesn't really appreciate being left to her own devices. She shifts deliberately, trying to bring friction to her aching flesh – only to feel his hands on her thighs, separating them and taking away any chance she had of scratching her own itch.
"Patience," he reminds her.
She tugs at the brass loops connected to her wrists. "Fine, if you're not going to do this, then untie me."
"How about I not do this, but also not untie you?" he asks pleasantly, and to her horror she feels him climbing off the bed.
"Derek!"
He doesn't answer.
She tugs on the brass loops again. "You had better not leave me here. Derek! Derek, where are you going?"
"I'm right here," he says, sounding amused. "You do know you can turn your head."
"Oh." She might have forgotten. She can't turn it much, but she does her best under the circumstances. He's standing just next to the bed, leaning against the wall, looking far too pleased with himself. She's just about to reach for him when she remembers her confinement.
"Untie me," she suggests.
"Why would I do that?"
"Because you could use a hand," she says casually, lowering her eyes toward the evidence.
He smiles. "You look good in black silk," he responds, ignoring her offer. He reaches toward her bound hands and rubs his fingers along the material of the scarves. She inclines her body toward the warmth of his.
"Derek."
"Yes?"
She has to choose her words carefully, since the pulse between her thighs is threatening to destroy her and she doesn't want to hand him any ammunition.
"…nothing," she says finally.
"Addison Shepherd, at a loss for words?" He sounds amused. "I don't think so."
She feels the bed dip as he climbs onto it.
Thank god.
And then she's thanking more than god because he's apparently remembered the whole point of the loops and the scarves and the whole trip; he's grabbed the loops too and he's pressed flush against her, filling her with heat. For a perfect few moments they're moving as one – the thrusts of his hips are calculated to leave her breathless; with her arms stretched up and bound she can't muffle the sounds that escape her lips. All she knows is that she's heading toward a crescendo that she needs now, right now, and then one of his hands isn't covering hers on the loop anymore. It's sliding down the front of her, pulling her back even closer to him and then skimming over the heartbeat between her thighs.
She flinches away from his fingers, aware that she's been begging him to touch her, but she's suddenly so sensitive she's not sure she can take it.
He backs off on her exhale, without her having to say anything, keeping his distance and keeping her on the edge all at the same time.
"Derek …"
He doesn't answer; it seems to be taking all his concentration to massage her close to the brink with one hand while he uses the brass ring with his other to leverage each thrust of his hips.
She's ready – she's more than ready – but then his hand drifts. Annoyed, she wriggles closer, trying to get his hand back where she wants it; he moves it just enough to keep her on the edge. She rattles the brass loops with frustration as his hands slides over her not quite where she needs them.
"Derek, would you stop teasing me and just –"
All of a sudden, with a tremendous noise, the brass loops they've been clutching give way and with a rush of plaster and a loud tearing sound half the wall is falling with it.
They tumble to the bed in a spray of crumbled plaster and paint.
" … fuck me," Addison finishes in a small voice, her intended words taking on a different meaning now.
..
"Yes, I'm sure I'm okay. Because I know when I'm okay, Derek!" she adds at his doubtful look. He's brushing chunks of white plaster, dust, and some kind of insulation that she really hopes isn't asbestos, from her bare skin. "Would you please just untie me so I can try to cover up before – "
There's a loud knock on the door, concerned voices.
" – like I was saying," she continues, and he makes hasty work of the first black silk scarf, rubbing her freed wrist between his palms.
"Do the other, Derek. Quickly!"
"I'm trying." He pulls at the scarf.
"Try harder!" She rolls her eyes. "You couldn't listen to me about the sailor's knot."
He ignores her, fussing with the knot as she tries to help and he pushes her fingers away. It's loud and raucous outside the door, with shouts of concern and threats – offers? – to break it down.
"Hurry," she hisses.
Then the door bangs open, just as she shoves her still-bound hand under the covers, complete with brass ring and several hunks of wall attached.
"Doctor and Doctor Shepherd!" the concierge bleats, looking petrified. "Are you all right?"
Derek gets the sense from the uniformed man's mixed expression of confusion and horror that he's not the same concierge who installed the ill-fated brass rings on the wall. Either that, or he's a very good actor.
"We're fine," Derek says quickly. There are two firemen on either side of the concierge, and Derek sends up a brief prayer that Addison can control herself better than the time when they were residents and four burly firefighters needed treatment for smoke inhalation.
"Fine," Addison echoes.
All the men in the room survey them with some manner of doubt. Derek isn't sure why. It's rather insulting, actually.
Maybe it's their flushed skin – Addison's cheeks are glowing and although she's pulled the covers as high up as she could, the parts of her upper chest still showing are markedly rosy. And fine, they're breathing a little fast, but anyone would after having a wall crash down on them, no matter what they were doing beforehand.
Hopefully it's just down to the crumbled wall surrounding their bed, making it look as if a tornado hit.
Meanwhile, two more hotel employees show up while Addison looks like she'd like to disappear. They're arguing and fussing over the damage to the room all at once, the concierge falling over himself with apologies for their fright.
"You must have been so startled," one of the new hotel employees says sympathetically. This one is a woman, who seems to be taking the measure of them a little too suspiciously for Derek's taste. "For this to happen when you were in bed."
"We were sleeping," Derek says immediately.
"Sleeping," the woman echoes. Derek sees her glance at her watch, as if to remind herself that it's not even five o'clock yet.
"We were taking an afternoon nap," Addison says firmly, picking pieces of plaster out of her wildly snarled hair. Derek notices she's managed somehow to free her other hand.
She has talented fingers, his wife, but this is impressive even for her.
"Taking an afternoon nap," the concierge echoes.
Derek nods.
"We're sorry that this … happened," he says diplomatically, promising himself that if they can get out of this with what's left of their dignity intact, he'll pay for everything, "but if you could just find us another room – we were, uh, in the middle of something."
"I thought you were napping," the female hotelier says.
"Precisely," Addison responds with dignity, "we were in the middle of napping."
The firemen and the concierge exchange looks.
"Of course, madam," the concierge says. "We'll let you get dressed – I mean, get ready – and then I'll show you to a new room." He pauses. "We can have the hotel doctor come take a look at you."
"That won't be necessary," Addison says quickly, Derek nodding vigorously along with her. After their last interaction with the hotel doctor, he's not eager for another one.
Finally left to their own devices, they take one look at each other and start laughing helplessly.
"Red," Addison says after a moment, trying to catch her breath.
"Now you say it." Derek picks another piece of plaster out of her hair. "Let's go find a new room that has four walls."
..
Dressed (well, in robes) and somewhat dignified, they stumble along the halls with the concierge while two other bellmen carry their luggage. They offered to bring it later, but Addison quickly averted the potential disaster of another interruption.
Distracted, Addison barely glances at the first room; the concierge interprets it as a failure and ushers them to another, even larger, suite.
"Now this room – " the concierge begins.
Addison's eyes are glazing over. "We'll take it," she says quickly.
"Are you sure? You did request a VIP room, and we want you to be satisfied."
"Believe me, so do we – " she yelps a little when Derek pinches her.
"It's just that this suite has – "
"It's fine."
"Why don't I just show you – "
"Oh my god, don't show us another room," Addison blurts.
"This one is perfect," Derek says hastily when the concierge looks hurt.
"But it has – "
"That's fine," Addison says.
"It doesn't have – "
"I don't care," Addison snaps, apparently finally sexually frustrated enough to forget her manners whole hog. "Just leave us alone!"
"Addison." Derek frowns. "I'm so sorry," he tells the concierge. "When my wife is … awakened ... she can be grumpy."
"Ah. I understand. Some sleeping will revive her, then?"
"I hope so," Derek says sincerely. "Thank you so much for your time and – "
"Good night," Addison says pointedly, the door closing with a decisive click before anyone can point out that it's not exactly night.
..
"Ugh, I thought he would never leave." Addison drops her robe to the ground, then looks confused when Derek doesn't move.
"I said, I thought he would never – "
"I heard you."
"Well then why aren't you … ?" She gestures down her very naked body. Which, in fairness, is very distracting.
But.
He's seen so much of it since they left Seattle that it isn't as difficult to ignore it as it could have been, and worth it for how frustrated she's becoming, a rosy flush spreading from her cheeks down her long neck.
"Derek … what are you trying to pull?"
"Nothing," he says innocently, raising both hands – both because he knows it will get a rise out of her and because it will keep him from automatically placing those same hands on her body.
"I can't wait any longer!"
"Sure you can," he says casually.
Her eyebrows raise so high he thinks they might disappear altogether. "The last time you tried to make me wait we broke the hotel."
"True." Derek glances around the living room, which has several tempting but decorative-looking columns. "I'll stay away from load-bearing structures this time."
And he doesn't make a move to touch her.
"Fine, then I can just finish it myself," she snaps.
"Actually … you can't."
"What do you mean, I can't?"
"I mean … it's my birthday."
He walks toward her – she sighs audibly as he approaches and he can see her starting to melt; it's flattering, really, even though all he does when he gets there is turn her around and draw both long arms behind her back.
"Derek?" She turns to look at him over her shoulder. He points toward the opposite wall and, somewhat grudgingly, she turns back.
Then he pulls one of the silk scarves from his pocket. He rubs the skin on her wrists gently first, and when she pushes them closer to him he wraps them in the silk scarf, deciding on a festive bow to tie it – it is his birthday. He tugs her hands gently apart to confirm the strength of the knots. Addison is waiting patiently – well, somewhat patiently. She keeps shifting her weight from foot to foot in a way that suggests she's having trouble staying focused.
He busies himself checking the fabric of the scarf again, then runs his hands gently up her captured arms, coming to rest on her shoulders.
"Derek…"
"Shh," he tells her, staying far enough back that her body can't press into his. He can feel her frustration.
"Derek!"
"Addison. I thought the scarves were my present."
"They were, but …"
"…but you still wanted to be in charge?" He moves some of her sex-tousled hair off her neck so he can press a row of kisses to its long elegant lines. "Why am I not surprised?"
She doesn't deny it, but she doesn't protest either, just squirming lightly under his hands as he makes his slow, deliberate way along the side of her neck. He lifts handfuls of hair away from her nape to kiss that too, then lets his mouth drift to the other side of her neck. Slowly, deliberately, he starts the reflection of the previous journey.
Addison is very still underneath his hands and lips – but only on the outside. He can feel the faint vibrations under her skin, the way her muscles clench as he brushes sensitive flesh. He's still only touched her neck and shoulders but the breaths leaving her mouth are uneven already.
"Derek." She turns around to face him. "I don't mean to be unadventurous … but should we check out the bedroom?"
"We can check out the bedroom," he says agreeably, "but I'm pretty sure we took this suite no-backsies."
"No-backsies." She sounds amused. "Is that the legal term?"
"You'd have to ask Weiss and Savvy."
At the names of their friends they both fall silent for a moment, a little ruefully, wondering what their favorite lawyers might make of their latest debacle.
"We'll pay for the damage," Addison says finally, her tone bright.
And that's that.
"Bedroom?" she prompts.
He lets her walk first, enjoying the view, although she needs him to open the knob.
The vast bedroom is far more than they need, with an enormous plank of a bed low to the ground and covered in white. He takes quick note of the sleek table and chairs under the window, the desk, a closet almost large enough to satisfy his wife, and thick carpeting under his feet.
"Derek …"
Addison's eyes are beseeching. She doesn't even complain about her bound hands; impressed, he leads her over to the bed, pausing at its edge to capture her lips with his. Gently, he pushes her down to sit.
And with a shriek, she falls off.
"Addison!"
He's kneeling over her on the ground, pulling her to a seated position, guilt flooding him. She must have been off-balance with her wrists tied. This is his fault. His hands skim over her, assuring him she's not injured.
"I'm so sorry – "
Her shoulders are shaking – it's not like her to cry over something like this, but he knows emotions are high from their earlier activities. "Addie?" He brushes some of her tousled hair away from her face.
"It's a waterbed," she bleats, and he sees that it's laughter shaking her body, not tears. "Derek, that's what the concierge was trying to say. He was trying to tell us it's a waterbed."
"A waterbed?" He reaches over to touch the mattress – only to be bounced back up like he's trying to press on a bowl of jell-o. "What is this, 1985?"
"Maybe it's retro," she says faintly. "Or ironic. I don't know. I just know it's – "
– not going to stand up to what they want to do with it.
Resolute, he stands up and then lifts her to her feet. "You sure you're okay?"
She nods.
"Good." He reaches for the sleek white telephone on the desk.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting us a bed we won't drown in," he says simply.
..
Preserving their dignity for the second room switch is something of a challenge – thankfully the bow on Addison's wrists was easy to untie this time.
Explaining to the weary concierge that they both have bad backs, Derek carefully assesses the mattress before they agree to the next room.
"It's not a suite," the concierge says apologetically.
We really only need the bedroom anyway.
"That's fine," Addison assures him; perhaps sensitive to his concern for them, she praises the floor to ceiling windows in the large room and he looks a little happier.
And then, finally, he's gone.
Addison sighs when the door clicks shut.
"Well, it's been a long day," she says. "I think I need to sleep."
"Oh." Derek hides his disappointment as best he can. "Of course. Why don't you lie down, and – "
Addison can't seem to keep a straight face. "Derek, I was kidding."
"Well, it wasn't funny." He pulls her toward him by the waist strap of her robe.
"It was a little funny," she counters as he makes short work of the strap and pushes the robe off her shoulders, and she does the same to his. He pulls her close for a moment, enjoying the feel of her, then pauses.
"I think I left the scarf in the other room," he says.
Addison produces a handful of black silk from the pocket of her robe.
He smiles; then, when she pushes her robe to the floor and turns away from him, dangling the black silk over her shoulder for him to grab, his smile turns to something else entirely.
"Are you sure you're not too tired?" he asks, picking up one of her wrists and rubbing the skin gently.
"Just do it," she says.
"A true romantic," he pronounces sarcastically. He pulls her flush against him for a moment, waiting until she wriggles impatiently to release her.
And then he pulls her wrists behind her for his best sailor's knot.
She turns to face him, looking very pleased. "I love do-overs," she says, and he draws her into his arms – even if the waterbed caused her fall in the other room, he doesn't want to take a chance with her losing her balance in this one.
They exchange a few slow, sweet kisses; he brushes her hair away from her face, palming one of her cheeks, and she smiles up at him. He's holding her close, his hands gentle on her sensitive skin, and she sighs a little against his neck before she pulls back to look at him again.
"Derek?"
"Yes, Addison?"
"… if I wanted sweet, I wouldn't have asked you to tie me up."
He raises his eyebrows. "I'm sorry, whose birthday is it?"
"Your birthday was on the plane."
"And yet, you gave me the scarves." He holds her away by the shoulders, shaking his head with mock disappointment.
"Derek – "
Her protest dies on her lips because he's dropped to his knees for a fairly decent imitation of her performance in their first hotel room this morning. He has to support all her weight to keep her from falling, but her reaction is rewarding enough to make up for it.
Rewarding, and then outraged when he stops.
"What?" he asks innocently when he's back to his full height, enjoying her glazed eyes and flushed cheeks.
"I would never leave you hanging," she pouts.
"You're a better person than I am," he says simply, watching as she tugs experimentally on the scarf binding her hands, perhaps wondering how difficult it would be to seek relief herself. She inclines her body toward his; he turns her around, sliding his hands down the curves of her side and scattering kisses on her shoulders.
She makes appreciative noises, but continues straining for more of his touch; he moves deftly out of the way when she does, never taking his hands off her but never letting her have the full body contact she's seeking either.
"Derek," she pleads finally, and her eyes are dark with need when she looks over her shoulder.
They've always enjoyed teasing each other, but the request she whispers is enough for him to lead her toward the mercifully sturdy bed in response.
She's only too happy when he encourages her to lie face-down, and then disappointed, it seems, when he lifts her all the way onto the bed instead of succumbing to her obvious invitation hanging half off it.
"Derek …"
Her voice is slightly muffled by the duvet.
"Don't say just do it," he warns her. He's palming the soft skin of her back, her hips, her hamstrings, in steady slow strokes. She doesn't – not with words, but her faintly vibrating muscles are begging for it loudly all the same.
He ignores her unspoken demands, taking his time and enjoying the sensations; she's wriggling against the mattress, apparently still convinced she can find enough friction to finish the job herself.
Turning her over seems like a shame when the view from this angle is so spectacular, but he has plans so he carefully flips her onto her back, making sure there's not too much pressure on her bound wrists.
He could untie and retie them, he thinks, so that she doesn't have to lie on her arms. But this position adds an extra arch to her back, tilting her head and neck and he decides it's worth it. He can see in the flex of her muscles the exact moment she goes to link her arms around his neck – muscle memory – and pull him down on top of her.
She can't, of course, since her wrists are bound underneath her. Leaning close, he whispers in her ear: "Want me to untie you?"
It's an unfair question, maybe, since one of his hands is skimming up her thigh in time with his words.
"Don't you dare," she retorts, arching against him.
"I was hoping you'd say that," he admits, and swallows her response with his lips.
She's so sensitive to his touch by this point that keeping her on the edge of the cliff is extraordinarily difficult. It's not that he wants to deny her pleasure – and if he can believe her body's obvious tells, she's certainly no stranger to pleasure right now. He has to steel himself against her pleas, reminding himself that although Addison and delayed gratification are not two concepts he'd normally associate, it's his job to make her see the light.
And he takes his job seriously.
"Derek … are you trying to kill me?" she asks at one point, words as staccato as her breaths, but he just smiles down at her, returning his lips to the sensitive skin of her neck and pinning her desperately flexing hips to the mattress.
The third time she orders him to touch her, he waves his hand in front of her flushed face and reminds her that she bit him in the cab.
"So bite me back!" she snaps, and he has to press his face to the soft swell of her breasts to muffle a laugh.
"The scarves were your idea," he reminds her, "so stop backseat driving."
"It's just one scarf now," she corrects him, hissing a little at his probing fingers.
Grinning at her, he leaves the bed long enough to grab his discarded robe and reach into the pocket.
"You had the other one all along!" She tries, and fails, to sit up, looking somewhere between annoyed and impressed. "What are you going to do with it?" she asks warily as he approaches.
"That depends," he says, pausing. "How much birthday do I have left?"
..
"Derek, if you make me recite the traffic signals again, I'm getting a chastity belt," Addison snaps finally, as his hands hover near her face.
"Fine," he says grouchily, and at the eager inclination of her neck, he slips the black scarf around her eyes and ties it neatly at the bright back of her head before lowering it back down to the bed.
Leaning over her, he pulls the front of his hair low, like the ill-advised bangs he had the first year of medical school. She's never been able to see that without commenting, and when she's silent, he knows the blindfold worked.
"Derek?" she asks, sounding a little uncertain.
"I'm right here." He brushes some of her long hair away from her face. It's damp with perspiration; even for them, it's been a long night.
(And it's not even night yet.)
He strokes her hair, studying her flushed face, a little worried it's too much for her. Teasing her for this long is work for both of them; her trembling thighs must be exhausted, not to mention the pressure on her bound arms. She probably needs a break.
"Addie," he starts gently. "Why don't we – "
"Green, damn it, before my birthday," she snaps impatiently, and his worries melt away.
She's a pretty amazing woman.
He tells her this as he stretches out alongside her; she mutters something about show, don't tell, and he gets back to work obediently.
Blindfolded, she can't see or anticipate his movements, and after her first sigh of pleasure when he starts touching her again, he can see the frustration start building.
He varies his grip and his speed, watching her body's visible response every time he changes course. Her hips rise impressively to meet the barest of kisses he's scattering on her upper thighs – he supposes that Pilates is to thank for that one.
Slowly, he increases the pressure, enjoying the way she moves against his hand, desperately seeking more contact. Her hips are pleading along with her lips but again and again, he strokes her almost to the edge and then withdraws.
He knows she's frustrated, cursing each time he disappoints her – which earns her a pinch or a slap now, making her hiss with what he knows is pleasure. It's been a while since he's had the time – and, admittedly, the inclination – to work her into a frenzy like this. The blindfold is only adding to it and watching her thrash within the confines of her bound arms is making him worry he's not going to last long enough to give in to her. His hands are millimeters over her pleading flesh and he knows she can tell even though she can't see, arching further off the bed with longing. Her hands are bound but her legs are free, and when she tries to trap him with her powerful thighs, to draw him close enough that their bodies can join, he resists and pushes her flat to the bed again.
"Damn it, Derek, are you going to leave me like this all night?"
He considers it.
Without question, there's something powerful about having her at his mercy like this, thighs splayed invitingly, tangled hair spread out on rumpled blankets, flushed with arousal. With her expressive eyes covered, he has to read the rest of her face, her quivering lips and the beseeching set of her jaw.
He could finish this right now. She's been so close, each time, begging him – it wouldn't take much to send her over the edge – and what an edge it would be.
And then he could untie her wrists, massage the marks away and, based on how he feels right now, take another millisecond to join her and then they could find blissful sleep in the disarray of white sheets.
He closes his eyes for a moment, debating with himself. When he opens them, he sees her smiling at him – even with her eyes covered, he can tell they're smiling too. That's how recognizable her smile is.
A very Addison smile.
A smile of victory.
She thinks she's won.
She's so easy to read that he's filled with a sudden rush of affection, so he stops to plant a kiss on her lips to soothe her disappointment before abandoning her lower body altogether.
"Derek …?"
The uncertainty in her voice amuses him.
"What?" he asks, feigning confusion.
He sees her shift her splayed thighs, no longer seeming certain he's about to satisfy her. When his hands come to rest on them – enjoying the silky skin covering straining muscle – she sighs a little in anticipation.
He holds her open for one tantalizing moment and then slides down the bed; her cry of disappointment turns into one of surprise as he kneels on the carpet, holding her on the edge of the bed.
She's very quiet for a moment, during which he hefts her long legs over his shoulders and then puts lips and tongue to good work, alternating handfuls and mouthfuls of soft flesh. She moans in response, shifting as much as she can in her restrained position and whimpering a little when he bares the faintest hint of his teeth.
He's careful, knowing how sensitive she is. She tends to direct him in this position, to knot her fingers into his hair to guide his lips and control the pressure. The loss of that opportunity isn't lost on either of them. He grips her legs firmly – it takes all of his strength to keep her from sealing his ears shut, and he needs to be able to hear her to monitor her responses. She's frustrated and finally he pins her to the mattress with his forearms, muscling her down sufficiently to preserve what's left of his hearing.
Any protest dies on her lips when gets back to work. She has little room to move under him but he feels her undulating anyway, pulling back when her breathing changes to check on her.
"You okay?"
He can see from the folds of the silk scarf how tightly her eyes are squeezed shut, her lower lip caught between her teeth. The arched position she's in has tipped her head back in an imitation of ecstasy and he doesn't want to look too hard in case he's the one who loses control next.
"Addie."
"I'm fine," she hisses. "Derek, please…"
Her long white body spread out on whiter sheets – he maps all its recognizable dips and curves, bones and muscle. It's a canvas of their adventures since they left Seattle: the bruise on her shin from the airplane bathroom and on her back from the ferryboat railing …
"Please," she whispers again.
With a last kiss on the inside of one quivering thigh, he lifts her back onto the bed and joins her, untying the blindfold. She blinks into the relative brightness.
He slides the black silk scarf down her body, massaging her lightly, and then tosses it onto the mattress.
"Derek…"
She's looking up at him from under her lashes, her eyes huge, and he's not sure how much longer he can hold out.
He takes one of her smooth calves in his hand and props her leg on his shoulder, readying himself over her. "Happy birthday to me," he says, entering welcoming warmth at the angle he knows from experience will push her over the edge and letting her explosive finish carry him with her.
..
Time melts into nothing other than staggered breathing and pure, unadulterated release.
For a long time, neither of them moves.
When they do, finally, it's in small shaky doses, just enough for Derek to free Addison's bound wrists and hoist both of them far enough up the bed to collapse. His body is screaming for sleep, but he forces enough energy to massage the muscles of her shoulders and upper arms, strained from being tied underneath her. She purrs with relief at his ministrations, and it's worth it.
Then she curls into him like a cat, and he drops a kiss on the top of her head.
"You okay?" He strokes the familiar long curve of her back, resting his palm on the closest hipbone.
"Um … I don't think I'm going to be able to walk tomorrow."
He's starting to slide into sleep, his face pillowed on softness, one of his hands now lazily tracing circles on her soft skin.
Addison doesn't sound particularly bothered by her prediction, just matter-of-fact.
But he knows her. She'll recover.
"I know what you're thinking," she murmurs against his neck; her body feels warm and loose after his massage.
"Oh, really?" He's a little more awake now. "What am I thinking?"
"You're thinking I'll recover."
… okay, fine, she knows what he's thinking.
"I just know you, that's all," he says with dignity.
"Yeah, you do." She tilts her head to smile up at him, her eyes soft and tired, and he's almost positive she's actually asleep before her head hits his shoulder again.
The thing is … he does know her.
He's fairly certain she'll recover.
But if she doesn't? Well … he's also fairly certain they're both creative enough to figure something out.
After all, they're Derek and Addison.
And they don't quit.
Sorry not sorry, guys. I remain convinced Addek has it in 'em. Remember: "We used to be really good at this!" So ... pretty please review and tell me you're as shameless an Addek lover as I am. You can also tell me which Addek you'd most like to see updated next, but don't forget to throw some love on this story too. I need reviews like Addison and Derek need a cold shower and a good night's sleep. xoxo