grey's anatomy fanfiction, alex/addison - satan is a gluton for this kind of punishment
Satan Is A Glutton For This Kind Of Punishment
Author’s Notes: Basically, in this one Alex and Addison have angry sex. It would really be better not to ask. I’m slightly perverted. This is proof. On a slightly related note, I could totally see Addie as a dominatrix. Is that wrong?
This is NC-17 so smut warning, just in case.
Sometimes, Addison just wants to fight. She wants to have a petty disagreement about absolutely nothing at all, it doesn’t matter what, she just wants to be able to disagree vehemently, she wants to be able to be angry about something, and she wants to be able to yell and scream and cry if she damn well feels the need. It’s stupid, but she just thinks it would be a change. It would be change from all the pretending she does with Derek. She pretends to like the stupid trailer (sort of), she pretends not to care that he slept with Meredith on prom night, she even tries to pretend that he loves her. And really, she’s sick of it. She’s angry at him. She wants to be allowed to be angry at him, but if she argues with him, oh, then she’s the evil adulterous bitch. Satan. He called her Satan. Derek waltzes around with a halo on his head. Derek is allowed to be angry at her. She’s not allowed to fight with Derek.
Whatever.
She’s sick of it.
Right now, she’s so angry, she doesn’t really care if it’s Derek or fucking Santa Claus: she wants an argument. She’s wanted one since 6 o’clock this morning, when he turned on the kitchen tap when she was in the shower, and the water went cold and then he persisted in cooking his stupid damn trout so her hairdryer shorted out and then he flat out refused to trip the switch, which she couldn’t do herself because no way on God’s earth was she traipsing through the mud to the fuse box (which because they live in a freaking trailer is a mile from said residence) in her brand new Dolce and Gabbana pumps. She’s wanted a fight since they took separate cars, and he ignored her in the parking lot and she walked into the hospital to find him standing, waiting for the elevator, deep in discussion with Meredith.
So when Alex Karev is the unfortunate intern presenting to her a few minutes before nine, she can’t help but feel glad it’s not Meredith or Cristina or George. She likes working with Karev. They understand each other. They take opposing sides on an issue just because it’s downright exhilarating to yell about work. He insults her during surgery just because he loves to give her attitude when she tries to enforce her authority. She can be downright bitchy to him all day and he actually reacts. The other interns, they just cop it and talk about her behind her back. Karev gets pissed off, and actually calls her on it. She suspects it’s because like her, he’s got a lot of pent up rage that needs venting. For all she knows, his personal life might suck as much as hers, but she doubts it. She doesn’t really care. She just can’t wait for the argument.
And sure enough, just before lunch, she snaps at him about the lab results he forgot to check on, and he answers back accordingly. So she drags him into a vacated on-call room and launches into a tirade about the usual topics: respect, attitude, not doing his job.
“I’m tired of this stupid game,” he growls at her in response, stepping so close she almost can’t focus on his eyes, “You don’t really care about the labs. You just saunter in here every morning looking for an excuse to yell at someone, and usually, it’s me.”
She glares straight back at him, but is a little overwhelmed. When she doesn’t respond, he continues, “Hey, I get it, poor you, your husband is a fucking asshole but you’re not the only one with problems.”
And suddenly her ire overcomes her surprise, “Don’t presume to know anything about me Karev. This is not about me. It’s about you failing to run the tests that I asked you to organise, because we need to treat patients. We’re doctors, it’s what we do,” she says slowly, with as much venom as she can muster, because she hates it that he’s right.
“You’re a liar,” he accuses her simply, still glowering at her, daring her to look away, to step away.
She laughs bitterly, “Everyone’s a liar Karev. You’re a liar, even if it’s only by omission. Because you neglected to mention how much you love this, all your stupid smartass remarks, how you swagger around with the weight of the world on your shoulders, because some dumb blonde gave you the flick for not being able to keep it in your pants.”
She can see her words hit home when his eyes narrow even further and his jaw tenses as he clenches his teeth. So she continues, “I’ve been wondering a lot lately, and since you’re the expert, maybe you can tell me, why are men such idiots? Do you actually think with the penis? The sex just can’t be that good.”
And then he loses whatever tenuous control he still had, and she’s pretty much past the point of any kind of restraint too, so when he grabs her by the wrists, and clenches his fists around her arms, she shoves him back roughly, still whispering about cheating bastards and the stupidity of men.
He cuts her off in the middle of a sentence, whirling her around and pushing her against the door, “Fuck you.”
She twists and struggles, trying to break his grip, digging her perfectly manicured fingernails into his arms, but refusing to respond to such an inferior retort.
“Fuck you,” he repeats, “You’re a fucking bitch Addison.”
So she kisses him. Because at this moment, she absolutely loathes him, and crushing his lips with her own, biting down on his lower lip until it bleeds, seems like the only way to express that hate, which is making her body tremble, and her hands clench into fists. Only he kisses her back with as much force, and it’s so God damn arousing that she almost moans into his mouth. And then his hands are in her hair, pulling so hard her neck twists backward, and he glares down at her, his breath ragged as he drags his teeth down her neck to her shoulder. She’s always liked this, angry lust, it’s always made her so wet she’s willing to lose an argument over it. Back when Derek cared enough to fight with her, they did this a lot. Now she figures if he’s sleeping with an intern, she might as well do it too. So she does allow herself to make a tiny whimpering noise against Alex Karev’s mouth when he kisses her once more. And then she pulls backward and leans against the door.
“You’re right,” she whispers, threading her fingers in his hair, and sliding a high-heel clad leg around his ankles, pulling his body closer to hers, “I’m a bitch.”
His eyes widen about an inch when she smiles, and she imagines it must be that lazy look predators give their prey on the Discovery Channel, before they strike. So she slides one of her hands down between them and lets it rest on his thigh. And then she fixes him with a stare and declares, “I’m a bitch, so fuck me.”
She hasn’t spoken like that since college, when in a horrible, misguided bout of alcoholism she discovered her ability to say absolutely disgusting things that made men eat out of palm. Or at least made them hard, which in those days, was practically the same thing.
Nowadays, even though she’s finding it difficult to keep her husband interested, she doesn’t appear to be having any difficulty with other members of the male species, because Alex responds pretty typically when she moves the hand from his thigh to the waistband of his scrubs.
“Whore,” he whispers vehemently, almost spitting at her.
She narrows her eyes, and wriggles her hand beneath his scrubs. He reacts by ripping her shirt open, scattering the buttons and unfastening her bra, making fists around her breasts and raking his fingers along her stomach. She slides her hand along his length and almost laughs at his groan.
“Whore,” she murmurs, closing her eyes when his thumb and forefinger ensnare her nipple.
As a retort, he covers her mouth with his own, scraping the skin around her upper lip with his teeth until it’s red and raw. She smiles. It infuriates him more, but before he can retaliate, she lets herself sink to the floor, and with a few twists of her shoulders, leaves her blouse hanging around his hand. She drags his scrubs down with her, and sits there, completely topless, mouth open, poised at the head of his cock, waiting for him to react. To her satisfaction, he thrusts forward, and she wraps her tongue around him, reaching up with one hand to drag her fingernails over his balls, so gently she’s barely touching him. He leans forward, against the door, bracing himself. And then he’s pulling at her hair again, tugging her mouth back and forward, so far forward that she can barely breathe but Satan? Satan is a glutton for this kind of punishment.
Finally, because she was beginning to think he might not do her the courtesy of actually acquiescing to her former request, he drags her into a standing position by her hair, and she sneers at him, as he reaches beneath her skirt, pulling down her stockings by the thighs, causing them to run down to her ankles. She slides her underwear down as he struggles with the pantyhose, and kicks them to the side, gripping at his shoulders in a way which demands, rather than suggests, that he stand up and get on with it.
So he does, by twisting her around so her back is against the wall and jerking her skirt up to her middle. It’s rough and fast and really, if she didn’t have this dirty part of her that loved hot, illicit, standing-up sex in hospitals, it would be rather uncomfortable. But that dirty part of her, that she’s never really found the time to properly explore with her husband, the part that’s a God damn control freak who enjoys being bruised and scratched in the quest for dominance, that part is causing her to make all these noises and she thinks that if she hadn’t made it to med school, she definitely could’ve been a porn star. He meets her eyes questioningly, when she presses her hand to her mouth after he sinks his teeth into her collarbone and thrusts his fingernail against her clit because damnit, he’s going to make her scream. She just glares a little and suggests he shut up and stop asking questions about her odd perversions. She’s going to have bruises that are going to be hard to explain if her husband asks, and she figures she’s sick. Because that thought nearly makes her scream again. Lucky for her, unlike Alex Karev, Derek probably won’t ask, because Derek probably won’t notice.
The thing is, this is all a game, and she’s going to win. Karev doesn’t know it yet, but she is. She forces the heel of her shoes into his back, hard. He whimpers a little, his mouth still buried in her neck. She drags the heel down very slowly, and almost laughs when he winces, because her heels are sharp and she’s probably dragging a whole heap of skin down his back with her feet. He lifts his head to stare at her, and she leans forward slowly, a little out of breath and clenching her eyes shut, but tugging at the skin on his neck with her teeth, until she’s returned the favour. He’ll have bruises too.
When he groans she leans back against the door and raises an eyebrow.
Oh yes, she is going to win.
And then she scratches down his neck with her fingernails, digging them into his back so hard that her hands shake and at the same time, she takes a mouthful of his ear, biting down so hard she’s almost worried it will draw blood. But it’s all worth it, because he comes and she thinks that maybe he’s angry, perverted and a glutton for punishment, just like she is. She reaches between them to finish herself, because she’s won the privilege and besides, he doesn’t seem to be capable of coherent thought, let alone co-ordinated bodily motion. She likes it, that he digs his hands into her ribs when she makes little gasping noises in his ear as she clenches herself around him.
They stand, pressed up against the door for several moments afterwards. She breathes heavily into his ear and whispers, “I’m a bitch. Derek calls me Satan.”
And he just grins, “I sure as hell hope not, because Yang calls me evil spawn. And that,” he shakes his head, “That would make this very very wrong.”
She flexes her fingernails, scratching at his shoulders and smiling wickedly, “Go and pick up my labs Karev.”
She continues smiling to herself as he dresses and rushes off, because clearly, this was an argument that she had won. Satan always knew there was a reason she liked working with this particular intern.
He brings her the labs, later in the day, and stands closer than is reasonably necessary to read over her shoulder, “So, how’s Satan doing?” he asks, casually, and she wonders if her husband ever intended the name to become some kind of code for ‘on-call room, now’.
“Satan isn’t wearing a shirt under this lab coat,” she whispers back, mostly because it’s true, and then proceeds to flick her tongue around her pen, manoeuvring it in and out of her mouth with her lower lip.
His eyes widen, just a little, and he reaches out to grab the chart from her hands, “I’ll wait for you,” he tells her, and she knows that to anyone watching, it must be so obvious what they’re discussing. She is surprised to find that she doesn’t care.
Yes, Addison thinks to herself as she follows him through the wards, she is a bitch.
Author’s Notes: Basically, in this one Alex and Addison have angry sex. It would really be better not to ask. I’m slightly perverted. This is proof. On a slightly related note, I could totally see Addie as a dominatrix. Is that wrong?
This is NC-17 so smut warning, just in case.
Sometimes, Addison just wants to fight. She wants to have a petty disagreement about absolutely nothing at all, it doesn’t matter what, she just wants to be able to disagree vehemently, she wants to be able to be angry about something, and she wants to be able to yell and scream and cry if she damn well feels the need. It’s stupid, but she just thinks it would be a change. It would be change from all the pretending she does with Derek. She pretends to like the stupid trailer (sort of), she pretends not to care that he slept with Meredith on prom night, she even tries to pretend that he loves her. And really, she’s sick of it. She’s angry at him. She wants to be allowed to be angry at him, but if she argues with him, oh, then she’s the evil adulterous bitch. Satan. He called her Satan. Derek waltzes around with a halo on his head. Derek is allowed to be angry at her. She’s not allowed to fight with Derek.
Whatever.
She’s sick of it.
Right now, she’s so angry, she doesn’t really care if it’s Derek or fucking Santa Claus: she wants an argument. She’s wanted one since 6 o’clock this morning, when he turned on the kitchen tap when she was in the shower, and the water went cold and then he persisted in cooking his stupid damn trout so her hairdryer shorted out and then he flat out refused to trip the switch, which she couldn’t do herself because no way on God’s earth was she traipsing through the mud to the fuse box (which because they live in a freaking trailer is a mile from said residence) in her brand new Dolce and Gabbana pumps. She’s wanted a fight since they took separate cars, and he ignored her in the parking lot and she walked into the hospital to find him standing, waiting for the elevator, deep in discussion with Meredith.
So when Alex Karev is the unfortunate intern presenting to her a few minutes before nine, she can’t help but feel glad it’s not Meredith or Cristina or George. She likes working with Karev. They understand each other. They take opposing sides on an issue just because it’s downright exhilarating to yell about work. He insults her during surgery just because he loves to give her attitude when she tries to enforce her authority. She can be downright bitchy to him all day and he actually reacts. The other interns, they just cop it and talk about her behind her back. Karev gets pissed off, and actually calls her on it. She suspects it’s because like her, he’s got a lot of pent up rage that needs venting. For all she knows, his personal life might suck as much as hers, but she doubts it. She doesn’t really care. She just can’t wait for the argument.
And sure enough, just before lunch, she snaps at him about the lab results he forgot to check on, and he answers back accordingly. So she drags him into a vacated on-call room and launches into a tirade about the usual topics: respect, attitude, not doing his job.
“I’m tired of this stupid game,” he growls at her in response, stepping so close she almost can’t focus on his eyes, “You don’t really care about the labs. You just saunter in here every morning looking for an excuse to yell at someone, and usually, it’s me.”
She glares straight back at him, but is a little overwhelmed. When she doesn’t respond, he continues, “Hey, I get it, poor you, your husband is a fucking asshole but you’re not the only one with problems.”
And suddenly her ire overcomes her surprise, “Don’t presume to know anything about me Karev. This is not about me. It’s about you failing to run the tests that I asked you to organise, because we need to treat patients. We’re doctors, it’s what we do,” she says slowly, with as much venom as she can muster, because she hates it that he’s right.
“You’re a liar,” he accuses her simply, still glowering at her, daring her to look away, to step away.
She laughs bitterly, “Everyone’s a liar Karev. You’re a liar, even if it’s only by omission. Because you neglected to mention how much you love this, all your stupid smartass remarks, how you swagger around with the weight of the world on your shoulders, because some dumb blonde gave you the flick for not being able to keep it in your pants.”
She can see her words hit home when his eyes narrow even further and his jaw tenses as he clenches his teeth. So she continues, “I’ve been wondering a lot lately, and since you’re the expert, maybe you can tell me, why are men such idiots? Do you actually think with the penis? The sex just can’t be that good.”
And then he loses whatever tenuous control he still had, and she’s pretty much past the point of any kind of restraint too, so when he grabs her by the wrists, and clenches his fists around her arms, she shoves him back roughly, still whispering about cheating bastards and the stupidity of men.
He cuts her off in the middle of a sentence, whirling her around and pushing her against the door, “Fuck you.”
She twists and struggles, trying to break his grip, digging her perfectly manicured fingernails into his arms, but refusing to respond to such an inferior retort.
“Fuck you,” he repeats, “You’re a fucking bitch Addison.”
So she kisses him. Because at this moment, she absolutely loathes him, and crushing his lips with her own, biting down on his lower lip until it bleeds, seems like the only way to express that hate, which is making her body tremble, and her hands clench into fists. Only he kisses her back with as much force, and it’s so God damn arousing that she almost moans into his mouth. And then his hands are in her hair, pulling so hard her neck twists backward, and he glares down at her, his breath ragged as he drags his teeth down her neck to her shoulder. She’s always liked this, angry lust, it’s always made her so wet she’s willing to lose an argument over it. Back when Derek cared enough to fight with her, they did this a lot. Now she figures if he’s sleeping with an intern, she might as well do it too. So she does allow herself to make a tiny whimpering noise against Alex Karev’s mouth when he kisses her once more. And then she pulls backward and leans against the door.
“You’re right,” she whispers, threading her fingers in his hair, and sliding a high-heel clad leg around his ankles, pulling his body closer to hers, “I’m a bitch.”
His eyes widen about an inch when she smiles, and she imagines it must be that lazy look predators give their prey on the Discovery Channel, before they strike. So she slides one of her hands down between them and lets it rest on his thigh. And then she fixes him with a stare and declares, “I’m a bitch, so fuck me.”
She hasn’t spoken like that since college, when in a horrible, misguided bout of alcoholism she discovered her ability to say absolutely disgusting things that made men eat out of palm. Or at least made them hard, which in those days, was practically the same thing.
Nowadays, even though she’s finding it difficult to keep her husband interested, she doesn’t appear to be having any difficulty with other members of the male species, because Alex responds pretty typically when she moves the hand from his thigh to the waistband of his scrubs.
“Whore,” he whispers vehemently, almost spitting at her.
She narrows her eyes, and wriggles her hand beneath his scrubs. He reacts by ripping her shirt open, scattering the buttons and unfastening her bra, making fists around her breasts and raking his fingers along her stomach. She slides her hand along his length and almost laughs at his groan.
“Whore,” she murmurs, closing her eyes when his thumb and forefinger ensnare her nipple.
As a retort, he covers her mouth with his own, scraping the skin around her upper lip with his teeth until it’s red and raw. She smiles. It infuriates him more, but before he can retaliate, she lets herself sink to the floor, and with a few twists of her shoulders, leaves her blouse hanging around his hand. She drags his scrubs down with her, and sits there, completely topless, mouth open, poised at the head of his cock, waiting for him to react. To her satisfaction, he thrusts forward, and she wraps her tongue around him, reaching up with one hand to drag her fingernails over his balls, so gently she’s barely touching him. He leans forward, against the door, bracing himself. And then he’s pulling at her hair again, tugging her mouth back and forward, so far forward that she can barely breathe but Satan? Satan is a glutton for this kind of punishment.
Finally, because she was beginning to think he might not do her the courtesy of actually acquiescing to her former request, he drags her into a standing position by her hair, and she sneers at him, as he reaches beneath her skirt, pulling down her stockings by the thighs, causing them to run down to her ankles. She slides her underwear down as he struggles with the pantyhose, and kicks them to the side, gripping at his shoulders in a way which demands, rather than suggests, that he stand up and get on with it.
So he does, by twisting her around so her back is against the wall and jerking her skirt up to her middle. It’s rough and fast and really, if she didn’t have this dirty part of her that loved hot, illicit, standing-up sex in hospitals, it would be rather uncomfortable. But that dirty part of her, that she’s never really found the time to properly explore with her husband, the part that’s a God damn control freak who enjoys being bruised and scratched in the quest for dominance, that part is causing her to make all these noises and she thinks that if she hadn’t made it to med school, she definitely could’ve been a porn star. He meets her eyes questioningly, when she presses her hand to her mouth after he sinks his teeth into her collarbone and thrusts his fingernail against her clit because damnit, he’s going to make her scream. She just glares a little and suggests he shut up and stop asking questions about her odd perversions. She’s going to have bruises that are going to be hard to explain if her husband asks, and she figures she’s sick. Because that thought nearly makes her scream again. Lucky for her, unlike Alex Karev, Derek probably won’t ask, because Derek probably won’t notice.
The thing is, this is all a game, and she’s going to win. Karev doesn’t know it yet, but she is. She forces the heel of her shoes into his back, hard. He whimpers a little, his mouth still buried in her neck. She drags the heel down very slowly, and almost laughs when he winces, because her heels are sharp and she’s probably dragging a whole heap of skin down his back with her feet. He lifts his head to stare at her, and she leans forward slowly, a little out of breath and clenching her eyes shut, but tugging at the skin on his neck with her teeth, until she’s returned the favour. He’ll have bruises too.
When he groans she leans back against the door and raises an eyebrow.
Oh yes, she is going to win.
And then she scratches down his neck with her fingernails, digging them into his back so hard that her hands shake and at the same time, she takes a mouthful of his ear, biting down so hard she’s almost worried it will draw blood. But it’s all worth it, because he comes and she thinks that maybe he’s angry, perverted and a glutton for punishment, just like she is. She reaches between them to finish herself, because she’s won the privilege and besides, he doesn’t seem to be capable of coherent thought, let alone co-ordinated bodily motion. She likes it, that he digs his hands into her ribs when she makes little gasping noises in his ear as she clenches herself around him.
They stand, pressed up against the door for several moments afterwards. She breathes heavily into his ear and whispers, “I’m a bitch. Derek calls me Satan.”
And he just grins, “I sure as hell hope not, because Yang calls me evil spawn. And that,” he shakes his head, “That would make this very very wrong.”
She flexes her fingernails, scratching at his shoulders and smiling wickedly, “Go and pick up my labs Karev.”
She continues smiling to herself as he dresses and rushes off, because clearly, this was an argument that she had won. Satan always knew there was a reason she liked working with this particular intern.
He brings her the labs, later in the day, and stands closer than is reasonably necessary to read over her shoulder, “So, how’s Satan doing?” he asks, casually, and she wonders if her husband ever intended the name to become some kind of code for ‘on-call room, now’.
“Satan isn’t wearing a shirt under this lab coat,” she whispers back, mostly because it’s true, and then proceeds to flick her tongue around her pen, manoeuvring it in and out of her mouth with her lower lip.
His eyes widen, just a little, and he reaches out to grab the chart from her hands, “I’ll wait for you,” he tells her, and she knows that to anyone watching, it must be so obvious what they’re discussing. She is surprised to find that she doesn’t care.
Yes, Addison thinks to herself as she follows him through the wards, she is a bitch.