[grey's anatomy + private practice] crossover fic | Sh-boogie Bop
Title | Sh-boogie Bop
Fandom | Grey’s Anatomy + Private Practice
Characters/Pairings | Addison/Amelia/Jackson + Alex/Izzie + Cristina
Word Count | 970 [you have no idea how embarrassed I am about that!]
Rating | NC-17
Explanation | Because I really feel like ‘summary’ and ‘author’s note’ just aren’t gonna cut it for this! Basically, you should blame mrsfjl66 for the existence of this fic. If you can even call it a fic. It’s crack!porn!fic. And it takes place at the McBaby shower. That’s all you really need to know. Oh, also, there's pretty much no plot. Though it's not entirely plot free. I'm still me, after all!
When Izzie walks into the spare room to check on the progress of the party favour bags that are supposedly being put together there, she is expecting several things.
Amelia going down on Addison against the far wall is not one of those things.
She shrieks because, she thinks, that's probably what's expected, especially given the, uh, situation currently being played out against the embossed wallpaper. Also, the bags, which she'd hoped would be almost complete by now, are still in a thousand separate pieces and strewn chaotically across the white-sheeted expanse of the bed.
Which suggests the extracurricular activities happening not ten feet from where she stands, feigned outrage painted across her face, have probably been going on for quite some time.
Ahem.
"Hey," she hears, an indignant voice echoing from the cavernous ensuite attached to the room, "I can't believe you started without me!"
Jackson, wrapped in the tiniest of white towels and still shower-damp, steps out into the room, brings the smell of shampoo and soap with him, sweet and cloying and filling up the spaces in Izzie's head.
Until he drops the towel.
The spaces in her head empty out completely after that.
"Oh." Whispered; then, again: "Ohhh..."
Not that she needs to worry. She's not entirely convinced any of them are aware she's even standing there.
Jackson straddles Amelia. Lifts one leg casually over her head where she's still crouched between Addison's thighs, and slides his fingers through her ink-black hair. Izzie's eyes widen as Amelia brings one hand up to wrap it around Jackson's cock.
It's like watching a game of Twister.
Kind of.
If she squints.
Izzie's not sure how long she watches for. Just knows it's long enough that Addison's eyes open, briefly, and her smile, chin resting on the top of Jackson's head as his tongue does laps around her right nipple, widens, brows raised in something of an... invitation.
Maybe?
But there’s a hand on her shoulder then. And under different circumstances she’d probably jump a mile. Shout recriminations into the ether at the intruder in an attempt to quell her embarrassment at being caught out as the voyeur that she is.
Only her whole body is pretty much numb. Just, in a really electric kind of way.
So, actually, it’s probably the opposite of numb.
Maybe it’s only her brain cells that are currently off-line?
But the hand that had been on her shoulder drops suddenly, works its way into her underwear with the same tempo as the pounding blood rush that’s echoing between her ears.
So she stops trying to figure it out then.
She doesn’t need to turn around, doesn’t need to think, which, well… luckily… in order to ascertain that it’s Alex. She’d know that fing- no, wait… those three fingers anywhere.
She makes a noise then. But it’s not anything that can be written down. It’s not even something she thinks she could purposefully replicate. It’s little more than a bunch of sounds that start somewhere low in the back of her throat, tumbling around several times before they finally spill past her lips.
The metaphors make her want to roll her eyes. Hard. And she would. She absolutely would. If they weren’t slammed shut all of a sudden. Her knees, jelly-like. Her toes curling into the cut pile carpet beneath her feet.
Her hands have removed Alex’s jeans before she’s really given too much thought to what comes next. Though, let’s be honest, it’s not like what comes next requires all that much thought anyway.
It is little more than second nature by now.
She hears Jackson say nice, his tone laced through with something akin to admiration, and when she tilts her head in his direction she sees that he’s looking over his shoulder, his head twisted in their direction but still mostly with his ridiculously impressive back to them.
She feels Alex nod. She can only imagine how proud of themselves they must be. She’d snort back some quick witted retort if she could. If her mouth were free for sounding out words.
But it’s not. And so she doesn’t.
She makes a note to comment later.
Promptly forgets it again.
When Izzie next looks up, the threesome on the other side of the room has pulled the curtains askew in their enthusiasm. She’s shocked to discover that night has well and truly fallen when, not five minutes ago, it had still been early evening.
Five minutes…
Right?
She and Alex have worked their way further into the room, and with the doorframe no longer providing the support she’d needed to keep her upright, they’ve succumbed to the allure of the frivolous shag rug Meredith had picked out by herself.
Izzie thinks, absently, it’s almost like she’s right here in the room with them.
Which is kind of a weird thought to have about your best friend when you’re in the middle of sex with your ex-husband in the same room three other people are currently engaging in… she looks across at them, attempts to identify exactly what it is the other three are up to by now. Can’t. Quite. Fathom. It.
Not even with a severe tilt of her head to the left.
Gives up.
Figures it’s pretty much beside the point now anyway.
To be perfectly honest.
Especially when you consider they’re supposed to be organising a freaking baby shower.
Oh well, she rationalises, lowering her tongue back to the tip of Alex’s cock, just five more minutes won’t hurt…
“Holy crap! What the actual fuck…?”
And, Izzie thinks, re-emerging with a thud from her orgasm induced stupor, that is most definitely the sound of shocked Cristina.
“Now this is my kind of party… Where do I find the tequila? And are there any chairs in here? I think I’m gonna need a chair.”
Fandom | Grey’s Anatomy + Private Practice
Characters/Pairings | Addison/Amelia/Jackson + Alex/Izzie + Cristina
Word Count | 970 [you have no idea how embarrassed I am about that!]
Rating | NC-17
Explanation | Because I really feel like ‘summary’ and ‘author’s note’ just aren’t gonna cut it for this! Basically, you should blame mrsfjl66 for the existence of this fic. If you can even call it a fic. It’s crack!porn!fic. And it takes place at the McBaby shower. That’s all you really need to know. Oh, also, there's pretty much no plot. Though it's not entirely plot free. I'm still me, after all!
When Izzie walks into the spare room to check on the progress of the party favour bags that are supposedly being put together there, she is expecting several things.
Amelia going down on Addison against the far wall is not one of those things.
She shrieks because, she thinks, that's probably what's expected, especially given the, uh, situation currently being played out against the embossed wallpaper. Also, the bags, which she'd hoped would be almost complete by now, are still in a thousand separate pieces and strewn chaotically across the white-sheeted expanse of the bed.
Which suggests the extracurricular activities happening not ten feet from where she stands, feigned outrage painted across her face, have probably been going on for quite some time.
Ahem.
"Hey," she hears, an indignant voice echoing from the cavernous ensuite attached to the room, "I can't believe you started without me!"
Jackson, wrapped in the tiniest of white towels and still shower-damp, steps out into the room, brings the smell of shampoo and soap with him, sweet and cloying and filling up the spaces in Izzie's head.
Until he drops the towel.
The spaces in her head empty out completely after that.
"Oh." Whispered; then, again: "Ohhh..."
Not that she needs to worry. She's not entirely convinced any of them are aware she's even standing there.
Jackson straddles Amelia. Lifts one leg casually over her head where she's still crouched between Addison's thighs, and slides his fingers through her ink-black hair. Izzie's eyes widen as Amelia brings one hand up to wrap it around Jackson's cock.
It's like watching a game of Twister.
Kind of.
If she squints.
Izzie's not sure how long she watches for. Just knows it's long enough that Addison's eyes open, briefly, and her smile, chin resting on the top of Jackson's head as his tongue does laps around her right nipple, widens, brows raised in something of an... invitation.
Maybe?
But there’s a hand on her shoulder then. And under different circumstances she’d probably jump a mile. Shout recriminations into the ether at the intruder in an attempt to quell her embarrassment at being caught out as the voyeur that she is.
Only her whole body is pretty much numb. Just, in a really electric kind of way.
So, actually, it’s probably the opposite of numb.
Maybe it’s only her brain cells that are currently off-line?
But the hand that had been on her shoulder drops suddenly, works its way into her underwear with the same tempo as the pounding blood rush that’s echoing between her ears.
So she stops trying to figure it out then.
She doesn’t need to turn around, doesn’t need to think, which, well… luckily… in order to ascertain that it’s Alex. She’d know that fing- no, wait… those three fingers anywhere.
She makes a noise then. But it’s not anything that can be written down. It’s not even something she thinks she could purposefully replicate. It’s little more than a bunch of sounds that start somewhere low in the back of her throat, tumbling around several times before they finally spill past her lips.
The metaphors make her want to roll her eyes. Hard. And she would. She absolutely would. If they weren’t slammed shut all of a sudden. Her knees, jelly-like. Her toes curling into the cut pile carpet beneath her feet.
Her hands have removed Alex’s jeans before she’s really given too much thought to what comes next. Though, let’s be honest, it’s not like what comes next requires all that much thought anyway.
It is little more than second nature by now.
She hears Jackson say nice, his tone laced through with something akin to admiration, and when she tilts her head in his direction she sees that he’s looking over his shoulder, his head twisted in their direction but still mostly with his ridiculously impressive back to them.
She feels Alex nod. She can only imagine how proud of themselves they must be. She’d snort back some quick witted retort if she could. If her mouth were free for sounding out words.
But it’s not. And so she doesn’t.
She makes a note to comment later.
Promptly forgets it again.
When Izzie next looks up, the threesome on the other side of the room has pulled the curtains askew in their enthusiasm. She’s shocked to discover that night has well and truly fallen when, not five minutes ago, it had still been early evening.
Five minutes…
Right?
She and Alex have worked their way further into the room, and with the doorframe no longer providing the support she’d needed to keep her upright, they’ve succumbed to the allure of the frivolous shag rug Meredith had picked out by herself.
Izzie thinks, absently, it’s almost like she’s right here in the room with them.
Which is kind of a weird thought to have about your best friend when you’re in the middle of sex with your ex-husband in the same room three other people are currently engaging in… she looks across at them, attempts to identify exactly what it is the other three are up to by now. Can’t. Quite. Fathom. It.
Not even with a severe tilt of her head to the left.
Gives up.
Figures it’s pretty much beside the point now anyway.
To be perfectly honest.
Especially when you consider they’re supposed to be organising a freaking baby shower.
Oh well, she rationalises, lowering her tongue back to the tip of Alex’s cock, just five more minutes won’t hurt…
“Holy crap! What the actual fuck…?”
And, Izzie thinks, re-emerging with a thud from her orgasm induced stupor, that is most definitely the sound of shocked Cristina.
“Now this is my kind of party… Where do I find the tequila? And are there any chairs in here? I think I’m gonna need a chair.”