fic advent, december 20th for wintermachine
Title: Too Little Too Late
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Addison/Derek
Summary: Mascara tinted tears streak down her cheeks as the reality that Derek is leaving starts to settle in.
Addison sits on the side of her bed, wringing her hands. Mascara tinted tears streak down her cheeks as the reality that Derek is leaving starts to settle in. Her eyes remain fixed on the hardwood floor, unable to watch as he fills his suitcase.
“Where will you go?” She asks weakly.
“What do you care?”
His voice is cold. Not that she doesn’t deserve it. What she did…it was wrong. She knows that, she knew it going in, but it didn’t stop her. She desperately wishes that she could remember what made her do it in the first place, why she decided to sleep with Mark.
All she can think of is how she wants to take it back.
“Because I love you,” Addison says, looking up at him, “despite what you saw-“
“What I saw is you fucking my best friend on my favorite sheets. If you love me, you have a strange way of showing it,” He’s finally looking at her now, the first time he’s been able to since he’s come back to the house to get his things, “those were my goddamn sheets, Addison.”
“You’re upset about sheets?” She asks, her brows furrowing as she raises her eyes to his. Addison blames it on her upbringing, but she nearly offers to buy him new ones. Money was always the answer in her family but she knows that Derek’s forgiveness isn’t something she can buy.
Derek stares at her in disbelief, shakes his head for a moment and then a different kind of anger rushes through his veins. He rushes her, grabs her upper arms roughly and kisses her. It isn’t romantic or even desperate. It’s ruthless. It’s restaking his claim on his wife.
His wife. His sheets.
His best friend.
He pushes her down to the bed, tears the fabric of her shirt from her body, buttons flying and skidding across the floor. Everything he does is hard, emotionless. It’s not about love, it’s not about restoring their relationship. It’s about him making sure that he’s the last one that touches her, the last person to fuck her in their bed. On their sheets.
Addison tries her best to make it into something else, though. She kisses him passionately, murmurs his name against his ear just the way he loves to hear it as he tears her panties from her hips. Her leg slides up around his hip and she writhes against him while he’s still fully clothed.
Derek pauses long enough to undo the button of his jeans and unzip them, Addison leans forward to do the rest. She dips her hand inside his boxers and strokes his length firmly, which only lasts mere moments until he grabs her wrist and pins it to the bed. Her eyes darken slightly as she looks up at him, truly aroused for the first time. She struggles against him, because he’s Derek and he’s always enjoyed a fight.
That has never changed.
He pulls her legs apart and runs his fingers against her. She’s wet and he leans over, pressing into her as he does, “Are you thinking of him? Are you trying to remember what it felt like when he was fucking you?” he asks in a low voice.
“No,” she murmurs, “only you. I only want you.”
Addison cries out when he pulls her legs apart roughly, starts pushing roughly inside her. She scrapes at the back of his neck, whimpers with each harsh movement. As much as she wants to, she can’t deny the disconnect that’s there.
She tries to fight it though, reminding him in whispered hushes that she loves him, that she’s sorry. His answer is to move harder, to pull her hair, to bring tears to her eyes with the icy glare in his. When he comes, he rolls off of her almost immediately. He takes only a moment to catch his breath before he stands up and redresses, finishes packing his bed.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she wrings her hands, shirt open and mascara stained tears streaking down her cheeks. Derek isn’t leaving, he’s left.
It’s nobody’s fault but her own.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Addison/Derek
Summary: Mascara tinted tears streak down her cheeks as the reality that Derek is leaving starts to settle in.
Addison sits on the side of her bed, wringing her hands. Mascara tinted tears streak down her cheeks as the reality that Derek is leaving starts to settle in. Her eyes remain fixed on the hardwood floor, unable to watch as he fills his suitcase.
“Where will you go?” She asks weakly.
“What do you care?”
His voice is cold. Not that she doesn’t deserve it. What she did…it was wrong. She knows that, she knew it going in, but it didn’t stop her. She desperately wishes that she could remember what made her do it in the first place, why she decided to sleep with Mark.
All she can think of is how she wants to take it back.
“Because I love you,” Addison says, looking up at him, “despite what you saw-“
“What I saw is you fucking my best friend on my favorite sheets. If you love me, you have a strange way of showing it,” He’s finally looking at her now, the first time he’s been able to since he’s come back to the house to get his things, “those were my goddamn sheets, Addison.”
“You’re upset about sheets?” She asks, her brows furrowing as she raises her eyes to his. Addison blames it on her upbringing, but she nearly offers to buy him new ones. Money was always the answer in her family but she knows that Derek’s forgiveness isn’t something she can buy.
Derek stares at her in disbelief, shakes his head for a moment and then a different kind of anger rushes through his veins. He rushes her, grabs her upper arms roughly and kisses her. It isn’t romantic or even desperate. It’s ruthless. It’s restaking his claim on his wife.
His wife. His sheets.
His best friend.
He pushes her down to the bed, tears the fabric of her shirt from her body, buttons flying and skidding across the floor. Everything he does is hard, emotionless. It’s not about love, it’s not about restoring their relationship. It’s about him making sure that he’s the last one that touches her, the last person to fuck her in their bed. On their sheets.
Addison tries her best to make it into something else, though. She kisses him passionately, murmurs his name against his ear just the way he loves to hear it as he tears her panties from her hips. Her leg slides up around his hip and she writhes against him while he’s still fully clothed.
Derek pauses long enough to undo the button of his jeans and unzip them, Addison leans forward to do the rest. She dips her hand inside his boxers and strokes his length firmly, which only lasts mere moments until he grabs her wrist and pins it to the bed. Her eyes darken slightly as she looks up at him, truly aroused for the first time. She struggles against him, because he’s Derek and he’s always enjoyed a fight.
That has never changed.
He pulls her legs apart and runs his fingers against her. She’s wet and he leans over, pressing into her as he does, “Are you thinking of him? Are you trying to remember what it felt like when he was fucking you?” he asks in a low voice.
“No,” she murmurs, “only you. I only want you.”
Addison cries out when he pulls her legs apart roughly, starts pushing roughly inside her. She scrapes at the back of his neck, whimpers with each harsh movement. As much as she wants to, she can’t deny the disconnect that’s there.
She tries to fight it though, reminding him in whispered hushes that she loves him, that she’s sorry. His answer is to move harder, to pull her hair, to bring tears to her eyes with the icy glare in his. When he comes, he rolls off of her almost immediately. He takes only a moment to catch his breath before he stands up and redresses, finishes packing his bed.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she wrings her hands, shirt open and mascara stained tears streaking down her cheeks. Derek isn’t leaving, he’s left.
It’s nobody’s fault but her own.