Solsbury Hill (Mark/Addison)
Title: Solsbury Hill
Rating: Oh, PG-13
Pairing: Mark/Addison
Summary: Fluff. Because really, I’m tired of angsty!baby fic.
A/N: I don't have a clue what the hell last line means. If you can explain it, please do.
He leaned against the wall just inside the nursery, right next to a large painting of Flopsy Bunny he didn’t notice. His eyes were on the redhead whispering softly to the baby in her arms, the infant slowly quieting down and falling fast asleep against her. She carefully returned the child to its crib, pausing a moment in case the crying started again and, at the silence, smiled to herself. He watched her tuck her hair securely behind her ears and turn toward the rocking chair in the corner of the room. It was ancient and couldn’t possibly be comfortable, but somehow it was always there and she was always curled in it, observing or reading or working.
He quietly cleared his throat, announcing his presence. She jumped a little and looked over her shoulder, hair falling halfway in her face the way he liked it and her eyes sparkled.
“Hey you,” she whispered, biting her lip in a shy smile.
He flashed her a smile in return and walked toward her. “I missed you,” he placed his hands gently on her shoulders and slowly turned her to face him. Before she could say anything he had trailed his fingers over her scrub top and up against her neck to finish with his palms cupped over her cheeks. Her eyelids fluttered closed at the brush of his thumb against her skin and, though she was waiting for it, sighed in content when his lips touched hers.
“I missed you too,” she curled her arms around him and stepped closer, resting her cheek on his chest, the feeling of his arms instinctively returning to their rightful place around her painfully exhilarating. They had been apart too long, too much time and too much space between them, too much necessary silence. But she had to try, she was obligated to give her best effort, to prove that she wasn’t the person others thought she was.
Combing his fingers through her long silky hair he smiled, feeling her melt against him, mold and lean her body until there was no space between them. “Are you back?” For good, he meant, though her response to his greeting had silently answered his question before he asked.
She nodded, comforted by the tightening of his embrace. Happy to be back but also sad to leave, she closed her eyes and surrendered to the familiarity and warmth of him. Here, here is where she belonged now and perhaps where she was always meant to be. Unspoken whispered words of love floated down to listening ears and she lifted her chin with a small smile and allowed him to softly kiss her again until they were out of breath and remembered where they were.
A shy giggle escaped her lips and prompted a low laugh from his. She moved to push her hair back but he covered her hand and did it for her. Lacing his fingers through hers, he squeezed them gently and brushed a kiss across her forehead before letting her go.
“I’ll see you tonight.” He smiled once more and walked away, fingers gradually disentangling when he stepped out of reach.
“Yeah,” she whispered toward the closing door, pulled out of her reverie by the child just beginning to cry again.
::
He loved her like this, loved her hair out of place and professional composure gone, lying in his bed with the streetlight shining off her delicate skin, tangled in and around the dark sheets, loved her smiling and laughing and free. Loved her curves, the perfection of her impossibly long legs, of the swell of her breasts under his hands, loved the beauty of her back and shoulders and arms. He loved her fingers drawing on his chest, the sparkle of her eyes, the way she opened her mouth in silent moans, loved her body and spirit and lips.
“You’re watching me,” she grinned softly, knowing it would embarrass him. She loved that about him, loved his honesty and charm, the way he moved with her, always with her, perfect motion like a liquid and never the same. His arms and muscles and protection, his hugs and his laughter.
Fingertips barely grazing the skin of her shoulder, he nodded. “I am.” He shifted his weight, lying on his side to watch and memorize her breathing and the tone in her arms when folded under her head.
“Why?” she asked with a quizzical smile.
“To see if you’ve changed.” He reached out a hand to caress her cheekbone and she turned into it, kissing the palm of his hand.
“Have I?” Simple question, many answers, many connotations.
He thought for a moment, the answer was both yes and no. She was the same as when she had left, same smile, same voice, same laugh, personality and desires. She was different, happier, freer, yet with a grain of sad knowledge he’d never seen before.
“I like you this way” he offered, neither confirming nor denying nor avoiding the question.
She absently swirled the sheets around with her foot, the clock behind his shoulder reading that awkward time between late night and early morning, neither of them tired, neither willing to sleep. They’d miss each other again if they dreamed.
Rating: Oh, PG-13
Pairing: Mark/Addison
Summary: Fluff. Because really, I’m tired of angsty!baby fic.
A/N: I don't have a clue what the hell last line means. If you can explain it, please do.
He leaned against the wall just inside the nursery, right next to a large painting of Flopsy Bunny he didn’t notice. His eyes were on the redhead whispering softly to the baby in her arms, the infant slowly quieting down and falling fast asleep against her. She carefully returned the child to its crib, pausing a moment in case the crying started again and, at the silence, smiled to herself. He watched her tuck her hair securely behind her ears and turn toward the rocking chair in the corner of the room. It was ancient and couldn’t possibly be comfortable, but somehow it was always there and she was always curled in it, observing or reading or working.
He quietly cleared his throat, announcing his presence. She jumped a little and looked over her shoulder, hair falling halfway in her face the way he liked it and her eyes sparkled.
“Hey you,” she whispered, biting her lip in a shy smile.
He flashed her a smile in return and walked toward her. “I missed you,” he placed his hands gently on her shoulders and slowly turned her to face him. Before she could say anything he had trailed his fingers over her scrub top and up against her neck to finish with his palms cupped over her cheeks. Her eyelids fluttered closed at the brush of his thumb against her skin and, though she was waiting for it, sighed in content when his lips touched hers.
“I missed you too,” she curled her arms around him and stepped closer, resting her cheek on his chest, the feeling of his arms instinctively returning to their rightful place around her painfully exhilarating. They had been apart too long, too much time and too much space between them, too much necessary silence. But she had to try, she was obligated to give her best effort, to prove that she wasn’t the person others thought she was.
Combing his fingers through her long silky hair he smiled, feeling her melt against him, mold and lean her body until there was no space between them. “Are you back?” For good, he meant, though her response to his greeting had silently answered his question before he asked.
She nodded, comforted by the tightening of his embrace. Happy to be back but also sad to leave, she closed her eyes and surrendered to the familiarity and warmth of him. Here, here is where she belonged now and perhaps where she was always meant to be. Unspoken whispered words of love floated down to listening ears and she lifted her chin with a small smile and allowed him to softly kiss her again until they were out of breath and remembered where they were.
A shy giggle escaped her lips and prompted a low laugh from his. She moved to push her hair back but he covered her hand and did it for her. Lacing his fingers through hers, he squeezed them gently and brushed a kiss across her forehead before letting her go.
“I’ll see you tonight.” He smiled once more and walked away, fingers gradually disentangling when he stepped out of reach.
“Yeah,” she whispered toward the closing door, pulled out of her reverie by the child just beginning to cry again.
::
He loved her like this, loved her hair out of place and professional composure gone, lying in his bed with the streetlight shining off her delicate skin, tangled in and around the dark sheets, loved her smiling and laughing and free. Loved her curves, the perfection of her impossibly long legs, of the swell of her breasts under his hands, loved the beauty of her back and shoulders and arms. He loved her fingers drawing on his chest, the sparkle of her eyes, the way she opened her mouth in silent moans, loved her body and spirit and lips.
“You’re watching me,” she grinned softly, knowing it would embarrass him. She loved that about him, loved his honesty and charm, the way he moved with her, always with her, perfect motion like a liquid and never the same. His arms and muscles and protection, his hugs and his laughter.
Fingertips barely grazing the skin of her shoulder, he nodded. “I am.” He shifted his weight, lying on his side to watch and memorize her breathing and the tone in her arms when folded under her head.
“Why?” she asked with a quizzical smile.
“To see if you’ve changed.” He reached out a hand to caress her cheekbone and she turned into it, kissing the palm of his hand.
“Have I?” Simple question, many answers, many connotations.
He thought for a moment, the answer was both yes and no. She was the same as when she had left, same smile, same voice, same laugh, personality and desires. She was different, happier, freer, yet with a grain of sad knowledge he’d never seen before.
“I like you this way” he offered, neither confirming nor denying nor avoiding the question.
She absently swirled the sheets around with her foot, the clock behind his shoulder reading that awkward time between late night and early morning, neither of them tired, neither willing to sleep. They’d miss each other again if they dreamed.