Fic - Our Wills Are Fading (Lexie, Mark/Lexie)
Title: Our Wills Are Fading
Summary: How far they’ve come, she muses, mind wandering back to the first night in the bar, with lingering glances and toothy grins when the subtle hint of something had begun to linger.
Rating: pg-15
Author's Notes: 545 words. General series spoilers. All mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not.
It’s a succession of sorts, tiny baby steps taken simultaneously in the same direction and suddenly it’s two, maybe three weeks later, Christmas and she’s sprawled out on his floor. Her feet are in his lap and Lexie’s mouth curls with laughter as his hands wrap around her slender ankle.
Mark’s raises an eyebrow. “You’re ticklish?”
“You’re surprised?”
He laughs full and heartily, the edges of his mouth twitching upwards and his eyes crease at the edges. It’s one of those rare moments the two of them have, fleeting and sparse when he lets her see a different side of him.
So far from the man she once knew only in passing, only through the harsh overtures of rumors and this is nothing at all like Lexie expected it to be. How far they’ve come, she muses, mind wandering back to the first night in the bar, with lingering glances and toothy grins when the subtle hint of something had begun to linger.
“No, I guess not.”
Lexie smiles in return, a flash of pearl white, and shifts her foot just slightly to graze against his jeans. She watches him swallow, smirk softly, and the grip on her ankle tightens. His hand on the other one now and he pulls her closer until he can lean forward and settle between her thighs, his breath softly skimming the skin of her neck.
There’s a kiss, lingering and deep and he tastes like scotch and wine, the dry ham room service sent up for dinner. Mark is methodical in the way he kisses her, slow and sure, and it’s a stark contrast from that first night, that first time when they came together a mess of tangled lips and sighs.
Something settles deep down in her belly and Lexie shifts her hips upwards on reflex.
Her phone beeps once, vibrating on the coffee table next to the wine and leftovers and she aptly ignores it, focusing instead on finding the hem of his shirt and pushing upwards, searching for skin. Palms flat against his back, she hooks a leg around his waist, searching for friction.
“Do you have to go?” he asks, lips settling on the skin of her collarbone. Fingers on her jeans, thumb against the button and the snap echoes throughout the room as Mark’s hand slips under the waistband.
It’s her father probably; drunk again or half-way there and she should be with him, she knows. The first Christmas without her mother, his first Christmas without his wife, but it’s a trial, always an upward battle and she is just so tired. Call it false hope, call it wishful thinking, but she reads Mark’s stay underneath his words, in the way his fingers find the skin of her stomach and hips and focuses instead on alternatives. Lexie chooses to focus on things that don’t feel so impossible anymore.
Legs bending at the knees, her lips find a home somewhere near his ear.
“I’m good here,” she says softly. His fingers between her thighs start drawing lazy circles and a gentle hum starts at the base of her spine and flows upwards, pulsating in her ears.
She closes her eyes but the gentle curve of his grin against the column of her throat is unmistakable.
Summary: How far they’ve come, she muses, mind wandering back to the first night in the bar, with lingering glances and toothy grins when the subtle hint of something had begun to linger.
Rating: pg-15
Author's Notes: 545 words. General series spoilers. All mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not.
It’s a succession of sorts, tiny baby steps taken simultaneously in the same direction and suddenly it’s two, maybe three weeks later, Christmas and she’s sprawled out on his floor. Her feet are in his lap and Lexie’s mouth curls with laughter as his hands wrap around her slender ankle.
Mark’s raises an eyebrow. “You’re ticklish?”
“You’re surprised?”
He laughs full and heartily, the edges of his mouth twitching upwards and his eyes crease at the edges. It’s one of those rare moments the two of them have, fleeting and sparse when he lets her see a different side of him.
So far from the man she once knew only in passing, only through the harsh overtures of rumors and this is nothing at all like Lexie expected it to be. How far they’ve come, she muses, mind wandering back to the first night in the bar, with lingering glances and toothy grins when the subtle hint of something had begun to linger.
“No, I guess not.”
Lexie smiles in return, a flash of pearl white, and shifts her foot just slightly to graze against his jeans. She watches him swallow, smirk softly, and the grip on her ankle tightens. His hand on the other one now and he pulls her closer until he can lean forward and settle between her thighs, his breath softly skimming the skin of her neck.
There’s a kiss, lingering and deep and he tastes like scotch and wine, the dry ham room service sent up for dinner. Mark is methodical in the way he kisses her, slow and sure, and it’s a stark contrast from that first night, that first time when they came together a mess of tangled lips and sighs.
Something settles deep down in her belly and Lexie shifts her hips upwards on reflex.
Her phone beeps once, vibrating on the coffee table next to the wine and leftovers and she aptly ignores it, focusing instead on finding the hem of his shirt and pushing upwards, searching for skin. Palms flat against his back, she hooks a leg around his waist, searching for friction.
“Do you have to go?” he asks, lips settling on the skin of her collarbone. Fingers on her jeans, thumb against the button and the snap echoes throughout the room as Mark’s hand slips under the waistband.
It’s her father probably; drunk again or half-way there and she should be with him, she knows. The first Christmas without her mother, his first Christmas without his wife, but it’s a trial, always an upward battle and she is just so tired. Call it false hope, call it wishful thinking, but she reads Mark’s stay underneath his words, in the way his fingers find the skin of her stomach and hips and focuses instead on alternatives. Lexie chooses to focus on things that don’t feel so impossible anymore.
Legs bending at the knees, her lips find a home somewhere near his ear.
“I’m good here,” she says softly. His fingers between her thighs start drawing lazy circles and a gentle hum starts at the base of her spine and flows upwards, pulsating in her ears.
She closes her eyes but the gentle curve of his grin against the column of her throat is unmistakable.