I Want to Come Over 1/1
I Want to Come Over 1/1
Title: I Want to Come Over
Pairings: Callie/Addison, Callie/George implied
Rating: R (maybe)
Disclaimer: They belong to Shonda, although she oft forgets that they have more potential then just being plot devices, but whatever.
Summary: I’ve been in a 90’s mood lately, and I saw the video for this song and I was like hey! I might write another one. Don’t know yet. So, enjoy.
Sitting out in her car, poking at the delicate leather of the steering wheel was not something women like Addison did. Staring up at one particular window, starting the car, then shutting the engine off after deciding not to leave. Nope. No self respected, grown woman would put herself through the humility of said acts. Not Addison. Yet, there she was. Sitting in her car. Biting her nails, fresh tears of confused frustration threatening to fall over her cheeks.
She absentmindedly pulled at the hem of her skirt and she found herself emptily looking at her locked knees. Her hand fell from her lips and quickly pushed the door open--then froze. She could feel her heartin her stomach and she cursed as she pulled the door shut again.
She punched the steering wheel and winced at the pain in her knuckles, “Shit!” She cursed again, arching her neckand closing her eyes, then slowly slouching as she slid slightly down the leather seat, “What are you doing, Addison? What are you DOING!” She shouted at herself, “You’re a woman. A GROWN wom--you’re not a twenty year old girl. Go. Just start the car and GO.” She started the car up again and sat up straight.
She froze again.
Her fingers gripped the ignition. She breathed heavily now, crying again as she shut the engine off and groaned, sitting back again. She lifted her knees up to her chest, pressing her nose against the pale, smooth skin there and her mind wondered off to the one night that had her glued to that spot at that moment. Not the only night, of course, but it was the night that was supposed to be the last. Her last night with Callie Torres. Callie O’Malley. Callie Torres-O’Malley. Whatever. They had said their goodbyes over dinner. Addison was leaving and she had made peace with that. With leaving Seattle. Not anyone in particular. Addison had made peace with leaving. Except she had not.
So, they had decided to go to Addison’s room after dinner. For old times sake.
She had memorized everything. Callie’s hands on her heated skin. Her breath on her neck as her fingers made their own memories of those scandalous curves. She made sure to remember what it felt like to kiss those full, pouty lips--and the way their fingers intertwined as Addison’s orgasm clouded her vision and her hearing.
At that moment, sitting in the car, listing her memories, Addison wished she had stopped her reeling head in that instant when her mind was blindsided, and she stopped seeing and hearing, to listen to whatever silly sweet-nothings Callie was whispering in her ear. She didn’t remember any of it. Couldn’t make out the words, but she remembered the cadence of her breathing on her cheek--that right there. THAT memory alone of Callie whispering chocolate covered words in her ear, had brought Addison back to The Archfield. Had her sitting outside, in her car for nearly forty minutes now--parked in a spot just outside the luxury hotel, across the street, with a bird’s eye view of the Omalleys’ room.
But what was she supposed to do? She didn’t know. She had packed her bags, stuffed it into the trunk, and without knowing, only drove around the block and parked.
She pushed her hair back with both hands, unceremoniously, and sniffled, scratching the side of her nose with her index finger. It was a nervous habit.
She gripped the wheel with both hands, the leather making a sound against her palms as she gripped it even tighter, then took a deep breath before glancing at herself in the rearview mirror. She brushed the tears away, combed her hair with her fingers, making it as presentable as possible. She reached in the back seat, grabbed her coat and slipped it on before stepping out of the car. Without thinking. Without questioning herself, she stalked across the road and walked through the glass doors of the hotel. She could hear her own breathing. Could hear her heartbeat in her ears.
She froze.
She stood a few feet away from the elevator, an d when the doors open, she developed a cold sweat and her palms got clammy. It was resolution time. “Either open the can of worms, or drop it--” She said to herself, and when the elevator doors opened, she took a deep breath and walked the longest six steps she had ever walked.
FINIS