Renaissance Affair (Mark/Addison/Derek)
Title: Renaissance Affair
Rating: R.
Pairing: Maddison, Addek.
Summary: You wanted to deconstruct the newest affair overheard from your perch on the second landing of the old oak stairwell as your mother and three friends gossiped about the girls at the country club they disdained over bridge and afternoon tea...
You grew up thinking affairs were organized, clockwork, arranged by hidden notes and smiles, nods and knowing looks. Meeting at upscale hotels after upscale dinners on the other side of town, coming home with hair slightly mussed after a day of purported shopping with a friend who never told your secret. Affairs were intriguing: the secrecy, the planning, the brilliant execution of the scheduled Wednesday lunch date in the room always held by the trusted front desk clerk.
You wanted to deconstruct the newest affair overheard from your perch on the second landing of the old oak stairwell as your mother and three friends gossiped about the girls at the country club they disdained over bridge and afternoon tea. How did it work, how did it start, why did it continue and how on earth did they get caught? You wanted to ask about such things but knew it wasn’t done, knew you would be chastised for thinking too much about silly things (again) and it would be strongly suggested that you review your homework once more before bed.
So it remained your guilty pleasure, the theory of affairs, but one you carefully never voiced during inebriated rounds of Truth or Dare.
Then one day, the fifteenth of March, an innocuous Thursday, your mother phoned to announce that your father had discovered her fifteen-year affair with his golfing partner but not to worry, they were going to work through it and stay together, she just thought you should know because, after all, rumor does travel fast in the old money circuit of New England even if you tried your hardest to leave it and hope someone filled your conspicuous space.
You hung up the phone and stared at it in confusion and surprise and almost called her back to ask how he learned about it. But you didn’t because someone walked through the door and asked you how your day was in a voice that used to make you shiver and you told him it was fine and turned away to make dinner and in that moment you became your mother.
--
You once moved in unison, rhythms perfectly matched, hot skin touching hot skin everywhere it could and still it wasn’t enough. You both moaned and gasped in pleasure, leaving scratches and bruises on each other and spending entire days in bed until you were too exhausted to remember to breathe. He made you feel like no one ever had, like a goddess and on fire. He knew your limits better than you and when you breathlessly told him you couldn’t take anymore he ignored you and pushed you just a little farther and the scream from your mouth didn’t sound like you but proved you wrong and you couldn’t move or speak for what felt like days.
He smiled at you and pushed your hair out of your face and told you he loved you, holding you until you could open your eyes and whisper it back. His arms were warm and safe around you, familiar and comforting. You never thought you’d want to leave and even when you went to sleep cold and alone you would wake up with his hands possessively on your back and your head tucked under his chin. Until there began to be nights when you fell asleep with him touching you and mornings when he wasn’t. Until the nights he was there joined the mornings he was gone and you considered pushing the bed against the wall and cuddling into a pile of pillows and pretending it was him.
--
Tangled sheets got in your way, the afternoon sun glinting off your brilliantly red hair, and instead of helping you he pinned you under him. His skin stuck to yours so strongly you sometimes thought you'd never come apart and his fingers left burning trails of sensitivity that lasted long into the night even after you were clothed. He never said much when you were like this, his mouth opened only to touch you. His eyes were too loud, sometimes deafening, and you rarely understood what they meant but agreed anyway.
You raised an eyebrow at him, both knowing you had to be leaving soon. Paranoia took over around this time, just when afternoon threatened to turn to early evening, a constant worry that he would find out if you came home after him. Eventually that anxiety became unfounded and changed to a concern that he might actually come home at all. You started to relax, loosen your rigid rules, and the two of you switched beds at whim as the possibility of being caught gradually approached zero.
--
You got sloppy. All of you, all three of you, you became too comfortable in your routine, so comfortable it no longer seemed wrong. You used to plan for emergencies and contingencies and just-in-cases but at some point you stopped, taking certain elements for granted, assuming life would stay on its wayward course without interruption.
Then one night, the fifteenth of March and no longer an innocuous date, a door opened and it all fell apart in ways not according to your plan.
--
He stood in the doorway silent with a mix of shock and anger, surprise and dejection, interest and intrigue emanating from him, so thick you could tell even without seeing his face. You held your breath for a moment of panic, and in hindsight you wished you had breathed instead because suddenly he was kissing you hard and forceful and unbuttoning his shirt while climbing in bed next to the two of you. You still don’t know what happened, just that you were naked and they were naked and you were pleasantly sore for days.
--
Each wanted you for himself and you couldn’t choose, you wouldn’t choose, so the decision was brought that if the friend were involved the husband should be, too. It was only fair, after all, that the man you were married to get you for himself sometimes, though the man you were beginning to love was secretly hurt. You wanted to believe that this could work, that it would suffice, that the small scar on your shoulder from an urgent need and a shelf in the hallway was worth it. For months you woke up warm and comfortable and loved, held by both and greeted with smiles and soft kisses. Husband facing you and friend at your back, it seemed perfect.
--
You should have expected it. You began to wake up half-cold with only one set of arms around you, draped around your waist with fingers tangled through yours. With nighttime whispers of loyalty in your ear, you turned toward him, your back against the empty space next to you. It was all about to end and you knew you could stop it with one simple sentence but your silence belied your sensibilities and there was nothing you could do but watch worlds collide and explode.
--
You knew when it would happen, and the evening before you ripped out Act I, Scene II and set it on fire out in the street, an unspoken yet violently felt curse spreading across your face. He asked you what was wrong the next morning and you shook your head, not wanting to worry him and encourage him to pull away just when you needed him to stay. You needed this, you needed it to end and end like it would a few hours later. Reconstructing your life would be less painful than remaining still and stagnant with someone who had become absent, who had transformed into cold and unfeeling air.
--
The door opened once again just like you knew it would, just like you had planned it, casting a dark shadow over the two of you. A few seconds of confusion passed between all of you and confusion turned to understanding. He offered you a brief nod with downcast eyes and walked away, quietly shutting the door behind him, leaving you torn between relief and sadness. Instead of feeling, you looked up at the man above you and silenced his pending words with a searing kiss.
Rating: R.
Pairing: Maddison, Addek.
Summary: You wanted to deconstruct the newest affair overheard from your perch on the second landing of the old oak stairwell as your mother and three friends gossiped about the girls at the country club they disdained over bridge and afternoon tea...
You grew up thinking affairs were organized, clockwork, arranged by hidden notes and smiles, nods and knowing looks. Meeting at upscale hotels after upscale dinners on the other side of town, coming home with hair slightly mussed after a day of purported shopping with a friend who never told your secret. Affairs were intriguing: the secrecy, the planning, the brilliant execution of the scheduled Wednesday lunch date in the room always held by the trusted front desk clerk.
You wanted to deconstruct the newest affair overheard from your perch on the second landing of the old oak stairwell as your mother and three friends gossiped about the girls at the country club they disdained over bridge and afternoon tea. How did it work, how did it start, why did it continue and how on earth did they get caught? You wanted to ask about such things but knew it wasn’t done, knew you would be chastised for thinking too much about silly things (again) and it would be strongly suggested that you review your homework once more before bed.
So it remained your guilty pleasure, the theory of affairs, but one you carefully never voiced during inebriated rounds of Truth or Dare.
Then one day, the fifteenth of March, an innocuous Thursday, your mother phoned to announce that your father had discovered her fifteen-year affair with his golfing partner but not to worry, they were going to work through it and stay together, she just thought you should know because, after all, rumor does travel fast in the old money circuit of New England even if you tried your hardest to leave it and hope someone filled your conspicuous space.
You hung up the phone and stared at it in confusion and surprise and almost called her back to ask how he learned about it. But you didn’t because someone walked through the door and asked you how your day was in a voice that used to make you shiver and you told him it was fine and turned away to make dinner and in that moment you became your mother.
--
You once moved in unison, rhythms perfectly matched, hot skin touching hot skin everywhere it could and still it wasn’t enough. You both moaned and gasped in pleasure, leaving scratches and bruises on each other and spending entire days in bed until you were too exhausted to remember to breathe. He made you feel like no one ever had, like a goddess and on fire. He knew your limits better than you and when you breathlessly told him you couldn’t take anymore he ignored you and pushed you just a little farther and the scream from your mouth didn’t sound like you but proved you wrong and you couldn’t move or speak for what felt like days.
He smiled at you and pushed your hair out of your face and told you he loved you, holding you until you could open your eyes and whisper it back. His arms were warm and safe around you, familiar and comforting. You never thought you’d want to leave and even when you went to sleep cold and alone you would wake up with his hands possessively on your back and your head tucked under his chin. Until there began to be nights when you fell asleep with him touching you and mornings when he wasn’t. Until the nights he was there joined the mornings he was gone and you considered pushing the bed against the wall and cuddling into a pile of pillows and pretending it was him.
--
Tangled sheets got in your way, the afternoon sun glinting off your brilliantly red hair, and instead of helping you he pinned you under him. His skin stuck to yours so strongly you sometimes thought you'd never come apart and his fingers left burning trails of sensitivity that lasted long into the night even after you were clothed. He never said much when you were like this, his mouth opened only to touch you. His eyes were too loud, sometimes deafening, and you rarely understood what they meant but agreed anyway.
You raised an eyebrow at him, both knowing you had to be leaving soon. Paranoia took over around this time, just when afternoon threatened to turn to early evening, a constant worry that he would find out if you came home after him. Eventually that anxiety became unfounded and changed to a concern that he might actually come home at all. You started to relax, loosen your rigid rules, and the two of you switched beds at whim as the possibility of being caught gradually approached zero.
--
You got sloppy. All of you, all three of you, you became too comfortable in your routine, so comfortable it no longer seemed wrong. You used to plan for emergencies and contingencies and just-in-cases but at some point you stopped, taking certain elements for granted, assuming life would stay on its wayward course without interruption.
Then one night, the fifteenth of March and no longer an innocuous date, a door opened and it all fell apart in ways not according to your plan.
--
He stood in the doorway silent with a mix of shock and anger, surprise and dejection, interest and intrigue emanating from him, so thick you could tell even without seeing his face. You held your breath for a moment of panic, and in hindsight you wished you had breathed instead because suddenly he was kissing you hard and forceful and unbuttoning his shirt while climbing in bed next to the two of you. You still don’t know what happened, just that you were naked and they were naked and you were pleasantly sore for days.
--
Each wanted you for himself and you couldn’t choose, you wouldn’t choose, so the decision was brought that if the friend were involved the husband should be, too. It was only fair, after all, that the man you were married to get you for himself sometimes, though the man you were beginning to love was secretly hurt. You wanted to believe that this could work, that it would suffice, that the small scar on your shoulder from an urgent need and a shelf in the hallway was worth it. For months you woke up warm and comfortable and loved, held by both and greeted with smiles and soft kisses. Husband facing you and friend at your back, it seemed perfect.
--
You should have expected it. You began to wake up half-cold with only one set of arms around you, draped around your waist with fingers tangled through yours. With nighttime whispers of loyalty in your ear, you turned toward him, your back against the empty space next to you. It was all about to end and you knew you could stop it with one simple sentence but your silence belied your sensibilities and there was nothing you could do but watch worlds collide and explode.
--
You knew when it would happen, and the evening before you ripped out Act I, Scene II and set it on fire out in the street, an unspoken yet violently felt curse spreading across your face. He asked you what was wrong the next morning and you shook your head, not wanting to worry him and encourage him to pull away just when you needed him to stay. You needed this, you needed it to end and end like it would a few hours later. Reconstructing your life would be less painful than remaining still and stagnant with someone who had become absent, who had transformed into cold and unfeeling air.
--
The door opened once again just like you knew it would, just like you had planned it, casting a dark shadow over the two of you. A few seconds of confusion passed between all of you and confusion turned to understanding. He offered you a brief nod with downcast eyes and walked away, quietly shutting the door behind him, leaving you torn between relief and sadness. Instead of feeling, you looked up at the man above you and silenced his pending words with a searing kiss.