Private Practice Fic: to the almost
to the almost
Second glass maybe, he grins and says something like, “I really hate coffee” because this is the extent of any conversation that he evolves in his head.
private practice. cooper. addison.
1x07. 640 words, pg.
Second glass maybe, he grins and says something like, “I really hate coffee” because this is the extent of any conversation that he evolves in his head.
Addison is quiet, the turn of her mouth somewhere between self-pity and self-indulgence, and he really just wants to say something along the lines of trust me and toss in a variation on understanding. But it’s not like that, you know, and he’s exhausted, hides in amusement, and prefers some dip away from his total admission of stupidity. It works in his head.
“How long?”
He’s surprised when she asks, turning on the couch to watch her. He scratches against the cushions, wincing with the press of his mouth, and she remains in red, silk or whatever, and it’s not say he’s curious with the soft peek of skin that he does see, the curves of her breasts. But he shouldn’t be curious, if anything, there’s too much complication as it is.
But he answers, “Since -” a sigh and he folds, “I don’t even remember. It just - I am, I guess. It’s one of those things.”
Addison tips her glass to him.
”At least, you’re sure.”
So Cooper expects it. The speech, the drop into he was that guy as she turns and stands up; the pizza’s been here for an hour now, he hasn’t touched it and she said something about changing and then eating it. But he watches, instead, the robe drop from her shoulders and disappear to another chair. He ducks, then, wringing his hands together over his lap.
“I should change,” she calls.
“You look great,” he says.
There goes another glass, he thinks, and the wine remains to be bittersweet or maybe it’s just him, like always, just him. It kind pushes him back into that whole sense of self-deprecation, what he’s good at, but old habits remain to die hard.
Addison returns in sweats and wrapped in a blanket, muttering something about fat pants and trying to laugh. It’s a moment, he thinks, and then guesses that it shouldn’t be with him as his shouldn’t be with hers; the semantics, you know, and he takes what’s dealt to him because it’s better than turning back. She stays somewhere else with a gaze, her mouth pressing together as drops next to him again. He shifts and she looks up at him and he hopes, hopes that there is going to be no push to do something stupid because this is a something stupid moment. A big something stupid moment.
“Naomi says I should forget about it.” A soft sudden slur writes across her mouth, her tongue brushing against her lip. “Do you think I should?”
He flushes because he watched and shrugs and maybe, maybe they’ve had more to drink than he remembers - it’s the same, see, first glass to second glass, maybe a third. He used to have a tolerance level, well, among other things.
Cooper presses his eyes close for a moment, tight, and he takes the jump to steady himself. Breathe, in and out, and over and over again; Violet as his subconscious, fuck you. He drops it then, “I will if you will,” and is too used to promises of solidarity. But it makes her smile, her mouth curling with a shake of her head. She leans forward and her mouth to his mouth, to his corner of his mouth makes him stop, blink, and try to say.
She lingers though and, wait, she’s lingering and if this is the string of opportunities, he should take it and -
“Pizza,” he mutters.
His fingers slip against her knee, too quick, too incidental, and he pulls back, turning to the corner to rest. Just don’t, he thinks and presses nothing more in his head.
He tries a slow smile. Addison starts looking for the remote.
-
Second glass maybe, he grins and says something like, “I really hate coffee” because this is the extent of any conversation that he evolves in his head.
private practice. cooper. addison.
1x07. 640 words, pg.
Second glass maybe, he grins and says something like, “I really hate coffee” because this is the extent of any conversation that he evolves in his head.
Addison is quiet, the turn of her mouth somewhere between self-pity and self-indulgence, and he really just wants to say something along the lines of trust me and toss in a variation on understanding. But it’s not like that, you know, and he’s exhausted, hides in amusement, and prefers some dip away from his total admission of stupidity. It works in his head.
“How long?”
He’s surprised when she asks, turning on the couch to watch her. He scratches against the cushions, wincing with the press of his mouth, and she remains in red, silk or whatever, and it’s not say he’s curious with the soft peek of skin that he does see, the curves of her breasts. But he shouldn’t be curious, if anything, there’s too much complication as it is.
But he answers, “Since -” a sigh and he folds, “I don’t even remember. It just - I am, I guess. It’s one of those things.”
Addison tips her glass to him.
”At least, you’re sure.”
So Cooper expects it. The speech, the drop into he was that guy as she turns and stands up; the pizza’s been here for an hour now, he hasn’t touched it and she said something about changing and then eating it. But he watches, instead, the robe drop from her shoulders and disappear to another chair. He ducks, then, wringing his hands together over his lap.
“I should change,” she calls.
“You look great,” he says.
There goes another glass, he thinks, and the wine remains to be bittersweet or maybe it’s just him, like always, just him. It kind pushes him back into that whole sense of self-deprecation, what he’s good at, but old habits remain to die hard.
Addison returns in sweats and wrapped in a blanket, muttering something about fat pants and trying to laugh. It’s a moment, he thinks, and then guesses that it shouldn’t be with him as his shouldn’t be with hers; the semantics, you know, and he takes what’s dealt to him because it’s better than turning back. She stays somewhere else with a gaze, her mouth pressing together as drops next to him again. He shifts and she looks up at him and he hopes, hopes that there is going to be no push to do something stupid because this is a something stupid moment. A big something stupid moment.
“Naomi says I should forget about it.” A soft sudden slur writes across her mouth, her tongue brushing against her lip. “Do you think I should?”
He flushes because he watched and shrugs and maybe, maybe they’ve had more to drink than he remembers - it’s the same, see, first glass to second glass, maybe a third. He used to have a tolerance level, well, among other things.
Cooper presses his eyes close for a moment, tight, and he takes the jump to steady himself. Breathe, in and out, and over and over again; Violet as his subconscious, fuck you. He drops it then, “I will if you will,” and is too used to promises of solidarity. But it makes her smile, her mouth curling with a shake of her head. She leans forward and her mouth to his mouth, to his corner of his mouth makes him stop, blink, and try to say.
She lingers though and, wait, she’s lingering and if this is the string of opportunities, he should take it and -
“Pizza,” he mutters.
His fingers slip against her knee, too quick, too incidental, and he pulls back, turning to the corner to rest. Just don’t, he thinks and presses nothing more in his head.
He tries a slow smile. Addison starts looking for the remote.
-