(no subject)
Title: This Is My Unhappy Anniversary
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Mark/Derek
Word Count: 627
Rating: R
Prompt: Mark/Derek, ten years for Porn Battle VI
Summary: Pre-series. He spends his tenth wedding anniversary with Mark of all people.
He spends his tenth wedding anniversary with Mark.
Addison’s at the hospital, running late, potentially not coming home at all.
(“I can’t control when babies want to be born, Derek,” she’d chastised, like he was being absolutely selfish - curiously the last time he’d tried that excuse, about aneurisms being inconvenient like that, he’d wound up sleeping on the couch.)
It’s just as well. He has a feeling they’d end up fighting anyways.
But Mark shows up, with a bottle of single-malt scotch and a smirk that somehow manages to be understanding, and it kind of feels like medical school, this one time where he and Addison broke up for a day and a half. Mark had been there too and he talked him right through it, until two mornings after that when he and Addison had determined they couldn’t live without each other.
Turns out they can, really, because he barely sees her, he sees more of Mark than her, hell she sees more of Mark than him.
He doesn’t want to be realizing this right now.
Ten years, he thinks, murmurs to Mark, head falling back against the couch, this couch that he doesn’t like but she picked out. Derek doesn’t see why it was her choice; he’s the one who ends up on it more often than not.
And Mark just nods and rests his hand on Derek’s knee, while he pours them another one.
Derek’s drunk in half an hour.
He’s still not so sure Mark ever got to that point. He doesn’t really ever show it when he is.
At some point Mark’s hand climbs higher than just his knee, his thigh now, and Derek doesn’t really mind - he’s warm and they’re friends, and, you know, he distantly remembers something similar happening a long, long time ago.
“Marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be anyway.” Mark says, low tones for no reason other than the quiet in the apartment. They aren’t going to disturb anyone. But it fits the atmosphere.
“How would you know?” Derek kind of slurs and it makes Mark smile. “You’ve never been married.”
“I’m smarter than that.”
“So you always say.”
“It’s the truth.”
And then Mark leans over and his lips just brush against Derek’s, half in askance, half because his aim is a little off (he may not be drunk - he is buzzed, definitely) and he’s a little unsteady. He waits for Derek’s lips to move against his, just a little, to press harder, to really go for it.
Mark tastes like scotch - probably exactly like Derek does. They’ve always been so alike in certain respects. It’s why their hands tangle, as Mark reaches for his belt, Derek trying to do it himself and Mark having none of it.
“Just like med school,” Mark sighs into his ear, and at least Derek isn’t going crazy, at least that’s an actual memory, not just misplaced familiar sensations from dreams and the like.
Right down to the cheating part. He’d been with Addison then, he’s with her now.
(He will feel bad, later, when he’s a hypocrite and they’ve both broken their vows.)
All he feels, now, right now, is Mark’s hands on him, on his cock, and things feel blurry and unsteady, and he’s suddenly really glad for this couch they’re half-sitting, half-laying on.
When he comes, he leans his head into the crook of Mark’s neck, against his shoulder, heavy breathing, and Mark’s free hand rests on the back of his neck, and he thinks, distantly, if there’s one person he’s ever been able to count on in all of this, in his life, it’s Mark.
(Months later and he never wants to speak to him again and that hurts worse than anything Addison’s ever done.)
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Title: It's Like I'm Giving Up Slowly
Fandom: Lost
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Claire
Word Count: 353
Rating: R
Prompt: Jack/Claire, addicted for Porn Battle VI
Spoilers: Vague ones for Season 4
Summary: He's never quite a recovering anything. He just simply moves from one addiction to another.
He’s never quite a recovering anything. He just simply moves from one addiction to another.
Alcohol, pills, going back, her.
They’re all damaging, all dangerous, all things he shouldn’t be doing.
At least he’s consistent.
He’s worn down by the time he gets to her. His sense of morals and values, right and wrong and everything in between has been absolutely trashed and by the time she shows up on his door he’s already waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“It’s okay,” she moans, into his ear, nipping at his neck, hands pressed into his chest.
But it’s not. It’s okay. He’s not okay. She’s not okay. They are far from okay.
Of course he’s not sure if he can really speak for her or not. This isn’t the same Claire from the island, not the one he left. This one is different. This one has been to hell and back, a summary term, simply because she won’t actually tell them anything.
It’s her right; her secret to keep (she should know he keeps secrets safe better than anyone).
She came back with knowledge too. Knowledge he found at a funeral. Knowledge that makes this act go against everything he (she) used to believe in.
They’ll do it anyways.
This Claire, slightly broken but stronger for it, gets on top of him, grinds against him, lets him slip her top off, down her shoulders, until it pools on the bed, soon to be kicked onto the floor. She lets him kiss her collarbone, shoulders, breasts, down lower, until she arches against his tongue.
This Claire lets him come inside (in the physical sense, which may not be the one he wants, but it’s the one he can have).
He can’t keep his hands off of her. No more than he could get off those pills or stop drinking or stop agonizing over maps and flights and uncharted territory.
She helps him refocus his attention. Something else to obsess over.
Jack waits for the what next, the thing he’ll move onto when his conscience gets the better of him.
That’s what worries him.