FIC: Bad Case of Loving You (1/2)

[fox1013]

Title: Bad Case of Loving You
Authors: Jane (pirateygoodness) and Amy (fox1013)
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Disclaimer: The show isn't ours. We know that.
Pairing: Alex/Cristina, Cristina/Izzie, George/Izzie, Izzie/Addison, Mark/Addison, Mark/Alex, Meredith/Addison, Meredith/Derek, etc.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: There's an epidemic going around Seattle Grace.
Notes: Title from the Robert Palmer song. lone_lilly and pearl_o for the beta win.
21,637 words. Yes, seriously.


When you're studying to be a doctor, you learn that sex is something clinical and natural. Sure, it's fun, but it's really just biological necessity. It's how we pass on our genes to the rest of the species. It's how we weed out the weak from the strong. That's why the males wrestle for dominance to impress the females. That's why bees know to take the pollen the flowers are giving out all across the world. It's all just nature.

And when we can't? We start to get a little... crazy. And that's why your dog won't stop humping the mailbox.

As humans, we don't really have that option. So we just have to kind of play it by ear.

*

The trick to working the pit, George has learned, is to figure out early on which people are likely to be surgical, and which ones are likely to be sweet old ladies with the flu who keep him downstairs for five straight hours showing him pictures of their cats. Because it isn't that George has anything against nice old ladies, in general. He likes them, even the ones who try to convince him to call their very nice granddaughters or grandsons the next time he has a night off. But every so often, it's nice to treat someone in a way that ends with his hands halfway into their chests.

So George has taught himself to register the signs. Coughing? Probably just a case of strep. Cursing at the doctors anytime they walk by? Usually just profound hypochondria. No, George's pit procedure has become extremely streamlined: listen for moaning, groaning, or any other noise that sounded like it shouldn't come from a human being under normal circumstances. Then follow that noise. Then (at some indeterminate future point) scrub in on a really, really cool surgery.

Which is all that he's aiming for right now. But when he pushes back the curtain to see his newest patient, he's greeted with the naked back and naked... more than back of a girl he's never met.

And she's rocking back and forth.

George clears his throat. Loudly.

Twice.

"Lil," the boy she's on top of says, "Stop a second, hmm?"

She mewls pitifully, but stops moving.

"Hi," the guy says politely. "Are you the doctor?"

"Yes," George says. "Are you the patient?" He's a doctor, so he doesn't fill in the next part, even though it's in his head: or were you just looking for a free bed?

"No, um, she is. Lil-"

She just mewls again.

"Okay," George says. "I need you to get off of him so we can talk."

"Sorry," she says, but doesn't move. In fact, she's grinding against him again, in a way that's a lot less medical documentary and a lot more Naughty Nurses.

"Oh, for god's sake," the guy says. He turns his head to George. "One second," he dictates, and then his hand moves off her hips, moves lower, and it takes George a minute to realize what they're doing, but when he does he ducks his head, a little bit disturbed.

That's not cool. You don't do that in front of your doctor. And especially not in the ER.

There's gasping, there's keening, and then the heavy panting-breathing slows down and George can look up, and her hands are on her (oh, god) bare breasts, practically, like, kneading them, but at least her skirt's covering her and making her look half-decent, but still, God.

This is not cool at all.

"Sorry," the girl- Lil- says. "Just couldn't- focus. You know. We were just so close, and-"

"Yeah," George says quickly. "I figured."

He wants to die. He wants to crawl in a hole and die. He wishes he were looking at pictures of cats. Or puppies or grandchildren. Anything but this girl's breasts. Because right now, they're not Medical Anatomy Breasts. They're Sex Breasts. And George is a surgeon. Surgeons don't have time for Sex Breasts.

At least, not their patients' Sex Breasts. It's just creepy. And sometimes it leads to LVAD wires being cut, and that's no one's friend.

"We were hiking," the guy says. "And Lily fell down this, like, this really steep hill?"

"I'm fine," she says. "Really, Scott's just being a baby about it."

"She fell, and she hit her head, and she says she's okay-"

"I'm better than okay," she says, and she manages to purr a little while saying that, which is kind of weird to George, but maybe that's because it's, like, his job to worry about concussions.

"I'm just worried," Scott says, "that she did something to her head. I keep telling her to try to avoid banging it against anything."

"That's why I'm on top," Lily explains.

"Thanks for that," George says. "Um, where did you fall?"

"I don't know," she says. "I don't remember. It's not important. We were hiking. I got back up, didn't I?"

"She doesn't remember anything about it," Scott says. "That's bad, right?"

"It's not bad." She rolls her eyes. "I'm not bad, Scott. I mean. Unless you want me to be."

"Oh my god," George says.

"Sorry," she says. "Forgot you were here for a second."

"Right," George mutters. He's able to pull a few answers out of her, her name and her age and her health care provider and when she got her last period, and if he ignores the way that she can't stop touching her boyfriend he's sure it's going well. "Look, I'm pretty sure you're going to be just fine, but I'm just going to have a couple of tests done just in case- Um. Could you not do that?"

He stops, and waits for a moment, because in the time that it's taken Scott to flip Lily over so that he's straddling her and smirking, George has completely lost both of their attention.

"Your eyes," Lily says. "They're huge."

"Just like you, baby," Scott says, and he leans down to kiss her again.

"Okay," George says, and then "Okay" again, and clearly it means nothing because they ignore him entirely, but he's a doctor, dammit. "Okay, you need to stop that."

"Aw, baby," Lily says. "Feeling left out?" And then- he has no idea how she does this, and George is pretty sure he'll be trying to figure it out forever- she rolls out from under Scott, gets right up there, and Lily Marshall, twenty-three, possible head trauma, kisses George.

Which is weird. And creepy. And weird.

Really, really weird.

And then her hand reaches around and kind of- okay, no, definitely- she definitely gropes his ass.

"So, I'm your doctor?" George says. "And I'm going to need you to not do that."

Lily makes a little whining noise. Scott does too. George is really, really, really not sure how a professional is supposed to deal with that.

"I will be back to see you shortly," he says after a moment.

Then he bolts.

*

Izzie's busy doing some catch-up work on charts for Doctor Burke, making sure that Mr. Dorian's records are all up to date before his surgery, when Alex thrusts a cardboard coffee cup at her. "I'm not dating you," she says without looking up.

"Just try it."

"Dating you?"

"The coffee, dumbass."

She raises an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Sloan says it's poisoned."

"Ew."

"There's nothing actually wrong with it," he says. "I watched them make it. Sloan just hates me."

"Everyone hates you." But she takes the coffee. "Did he say what was wrong with it?"

"He said it's got a hint of vanilla."

"Vanilla, not almond?"

"Why would it be almond?"

"Cyanide smells like almond. I learned that from Nancy Drew."

"There's no cyanide in there. It's just coffee."

Izzie sniffs the opening at the top daintily. "It doesn't smell like vanilla."

"Yeah, I know." He looks around, paranoid. "Have you seen the Nazi?"

"She was heading over to see Doctor Sloan."

"Shit. Shit." He runs a hand through his hair. "Shit." And he takes off.

"You forgot your coffee," Izzie calls after him.

"Keep it." It's almost an afterthought, tossed over his shoulder as he bolts. Izzie wrinkles her nose and sniffs at the coffee again.

Which is what she's doing when George shows up. He looks like he's run all the way from the pit.

"Okay, help. My patients won't stop having sex," he says, breathless.

"Try this," Izzie counters.

George sips the coffee. "Why am I trying this?" he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Will this make them stop having sex?"

"Alex said Sloan says it's poisoned."

George does something that looks an awful lot like a spit take.

"Gross," Izzie says.

"It's poisoned?"

"He said Sloan says it tastes like vanilla."

"So does arsenic!"

"No, that's cyanide," she says. "And it's almond."

"My patients are having sex, and now you're giving me poisoned coffee?" His voice is rising into this weird falsetto.

Izzie rolls her eyes. "Alex wouldn't get you sick."

"He gave me syphilis!" George explodes.

"Fine. He wouldn't do that to me."

"Well, have you tried the coffee?" George has a way of making that sound accusing, for some reason.

"Why would I try it? Sloan said it was poisoned."

"You're no longer my favorite," George says decisively.

"What? George!"

"Seriously," he says. "I'm going to get Cristina. You'll have to talk to Meredith all the time. I hope you're really interested in Doctor Shepherd's sex life, cause that's all you're getting now."

"I don't even get a choice?" Izzie asks. "I'm stuck with Meredith?"

"Who's stuck with me?" Meredith asks, showing up from out of nowhere. Of course she does. She's Meredith. That's what she does.

Izzie shoves the coffee cup in front of her. "Try this," she instructs.

Meredith raises an eyebrow. "Is this poisoned?"

"It's Sloan's," Izzie explains.

Meredith sips it hesitantly. "It's peppermint-y."

" Sloan said it tastes like vanilla," George tells her. "I just thought it tasted like coffee."

"What do you think?" Meredith asks Izzie.

"I didn't try it," she says.

"I bet it's poisoned," she tells George. "I bet Izzie poisoned it."

"Baby," Izzie mutters, and she takes a large gulp. "See?"

"What do you think?" George asks.

"Peppermint," Izzie says. "Definitely peppermint."

"Told you," Meredith says.

"And maybe a hint of almond."

"We're totally all going to die," George says.

Meredith opens her mouth to reply. Closes it. Frowns. "George, what's with your eyes?"

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"They're all..." Meredith gestures. "Big."

Izzie squints at him. "She's totally right. You look stoned."

"I'm not stoned," George says.

"Your pupils are like six times their normal size," Meredith says. "You look like a cartoon character."

"I'm not a cartoon character!"

Izzie stands up and pushes her chair towards him. "Maybe you should sit down."

George blinks, confused. Shakes his head a few times.

Then he kisses Izzie on the lips.

There's definitely tongue involved.

She jumps back almost immediately. "Ew!" she says. "Ew, George!" She runs the palm of her hand across her mouth furiously, which is either cleaning off the germs or hiding a smile. Or maybe both. "You have a girlfriend!"

Meredith smirks. "A girlfriend who could totally beat Izzie up," she agrees cheerfully.

"Whatever," Izzie says. "I could take her."

"My patients aren't going to stop having sex long enough for an MRI," George says. "And Callie's not coming in today until late. And my day's barely started."

"Maybe you'll be able to operate on people having sex!" Meredith offers helpfully.

Izzie doesn't say anything. She just goes back to working on charts. Because she's here to be focused on surgery.

Surgery.

Right.

But Izzie doesn't have a hell of a lot of time to focus on her charts, or anything else, because Bailey comes back, and Alex behind her, looking like his puppy just died. And then Cristina shows up, and if the gang's all here, of course Bailey's going to start on them, even if it's ten minutes before she normally would.

"O'Malley," she says. "How are things going?"

"I put in requests for tests, and Doctor Shepherd said that he'd-"

"Alright. You'll stay with Shepherd for the rest of the day."

George has a look of stark terror on his face. "Doctor Bailey, maybe someone else should take over that case."

She turns to him and speaks very, very clearly. "O'Malley, is there something about a routine head trauma case that you can't handle?"

His voice gets very, very quiet. "They won't stop having sex."

"Well, that'll look very interesting on your report, now won't it?" she asks. "Stevens?"

"I'm still working on Doctor Burke's files," Izzie says. She holds one up, just to prove it. Her stomach lurches a little, and her fingers are starting to feel kind of tingly, but she ignores it. If Meredith or George was sick and still shared the coffee, though, she's going to have to kick some ass.

"Good," Bailey says. "Grey."

"Yes." Meredith's eyes are a little bit unfocused too. It's probably George who gave it to both of them. She'll have to kill him later.

"Doctor Montgomery requested you, so."

Meredith seems to snap back to reality. "I don't really want to work with Doctor-"

"I'm sorry," Bailey says. "Was I asking you, or are you currently a surgeon whose only question should be how high?"

"Doctor Montgomery," Meredith says. "Got it." She smiles tightly, and then mutters "I'm going to need caffeine," mostly to herself. If Bailey heard it, she doesn't say anything.

Meredith looks distant again. Maybe it really is some type of sickness going around. God knows it won't be the first time.

"Cristina."

"Yes, Doctor Bailey."

"Doctor Sloan needs you upstairs for a reconstruction."

Alex clenches his jaw like Cristina's assignment is to kick him square in the junk. "Seriously? I spend weeks talking about how much I want to get into plastics, and you hand the reconstruction to Yang?"

"Doctor Karev. You're on pit."

He wraps his arms tight against his chest and scowls. "I'm just saying, I don't think it's fair, when this case is clearly -"

"Pit."

Cristina turns to Alex, raises an eyebrow. "What's the case?"

"It's a stripper," Alex says. "She fell off her pole and banged up her tit."

"And you weren't man enough to handle it."

"He got the wrong coffee," Izzie explains.

"Idiot," Cristina says.

"It wasn't wrong," Alex insists.

"Try it," Izzie tells her, nudging the coffee cup over.

Cristina takes a big gulp. "Peppermint?" she guesses.

Alex rolls his eyes. "Sloan said vanilla."

Cristina shrugs. "Sucks to be you."

Izzie shrugs also, and goes back to her paperwork. She knows better than to pick a fight with Alex over breasts.

Bailey turns to them. Her eyes are cold. "What are you waiting for?"

"Nothing," Cristina says quickly. "Ma'am."

Meredith grabs the coffee from in front of Izzie and downs it, all in one gulp. "Not that pepperminty," she proclaims, almost to herself. "Not really at all."

She's at the front of the pack as everyone disperses, and fast. Bailey nods, and walks off, looking like she's thinking.

Izzie looks back down at her chart. She kind of wishes someone had stayed.

She'd like someone to, you know. Talk to.

Or something.

*

Meredith's trying very, very hard to focus on what Doctor Montgomery is saying. It's surprisingly difficult, because she's pretty sure that the woman whose husband she stole is the kind of doctor who she should be extra-efficient with, but that's not working today at all. Because every time she thinks about that, she thinks about the husband she stole, and it takes no time at all for her brain to go from just the name, Derek, to a really elaborate fantasy where he's pressing her up against the operating table in OR 1 and kissing her, hard, and then she's hot and wet and mewling and he's not doing anything, just making her beg, which shouldn't be a turn-on but is somehow, and then-

"Grey."

Meredith swallows hard. "Yes?"

"I just asked you a question about Mrs. Kirby's condition."

"Yeah. Um. I don't know. The answer. To the question. I don't know."

Doctor Montgomery sighs, and kind of shakes her head, pushes her glasses up a little higher on her nose, and you know, Meredith is a serious doctor, so it definitely matters to her that she's just seriously disappointed an attending. But while she knows that, everything being said, words like responsibility and important and amniocentesis are kind of muted by the lips of the mouth that they're coming out of.

Because she's not Doctor Montgomery right now. She should be, because they're in the hospital, but she isn't. This is Addison, the person instead of the doctor, and looking at Addison's lips, Meredith totally gets why Derek and Addison were Addison-and-Derek. In fact, as much as Meredith wants to be picked (and chosen. and loved.), she really isn't sure what, exactly, she has that's even half as interesting as those lips. Those are really, really, really good lips.

"Doctor Grey," Addison says, and this time the tone is even more clipped and that's really, really, really not good. "Can I speak to you outside for a moment, in private?"

Meredith's pretty sure she should be feeling bad right now, because pissing off the attending is not exactly at the top of her to-do list, ever, but right now the idea of dealing with Addison one-on-one instead of in front of a patient and the patient's mother is pretty much the best idea she's ever heard. So instead of feeling guilty, she's just noticing that flippy feeling in her stomach, the one that she was pretty sure was only there for Derek. And Finn. Okay, maybe, and Mark too, if he's going to keep being stupidly charming and face-suturing all the time, but definitely not for Addison.

But it's flipping enough that she's willing to add another name to the list.

Addison pulls her into an empty room- Really Old Guy just died and no one new has moved in yet, which should make the room morbid and creepy but pretty much all Meredith's registering is empty- and that's when the lecture starts. You're supposed to be a doctor, you're supposed to be trying to learn something every minute you're in this hospital, this is supposed to be about the patient, and I'm well aware that this procedure isn't necessary, but if the great Doctor Grey can't trouble herself to help convince Mrs. Kirby-

And this is important, obviously. This is the kind of thing that can ruin careers, if you're not careful. But all that Meredith can think of is Addison's lips, and the way that her glasses are resting on her nose, and come on, Meredith's a doctor, but she's not blind.

"I'm sorry," Meredith says slowly. Her voice sounds low and gravely in her own ears, like she could be the kind of person who might growl or purr instead of just moan. "I haven't been paying attention at all. You're in charge, and I should be attentive, and clearly this requires... immediate... attention."

Addison doesn't look quite so angry as before. She looks kind of confused. But the effect is still the same, the white lab coat and the glasses and the red lipstick, and Meredith's scrubs suddenly feel paper-thin and transparent. Every time she moves, they brush against her, and the inside of her thigh feels so sensitive she's pretty sure she could get off on just walking places if it lasts long enough.

Today is a really, really good day, she thinks. She walks towards Addison slowly, and it's weird how Addison's the one who's supposed to be yelling at her, because right now Addison is the one who looks kind of freaked out. Which Meredith would normally think was because of the way she's backed her into a corner, and they're standing so close that she can feel the material of Addison's lab coat- which, by the way, feels awesome against the inside of her wrist, where it brushed against her when she placed an arm out against the wall to make sure Addison would listen to what she was saying.

But Addison doesn't really look angry anymore.

"Doctor Grey?" Addison says. It's like she's saying it in very, very, very slow motion, because Meredith's eyes are glued to her lips and every single adjustment of muscles is unconscionably hot. There should be, like, a law against Addison Montgomery-Shepherd's lips.

Addison probably had something she was going to finish with there, but she doesn't get to say anymore, because Meredith's kissing her. And it turns out Addison doesn't just have excellent lips. She also has an excellent tongue, and very nice teeth, and her gums aren't half-bad either. And Meredith is experiencing every one of them.

Seriously, just remembering that Derek chose her over kisses like this is giving Meredith a high. He must think she's absolutely amazing in bed.

Which she is. Obviously. And right now, when every inch of her is so hyper-sensitive that this kiss is turning her on more than hours with most guys she's met at Joe's, she bets she's even better.

And she's going to find out if Addison is too.

She moves back, just a little, just enough that she can peel off her shirt. Which sucks, because she can't kiss anyone while taking off her shirt. But the air feels really, really good on her back, and at least this way she can talk.

"I've been a very... very... bad intern," Meredith continues seriously, through her shirt. When it's over her head, she tosses it to a corner and turns back to Addison. "Maybe I should be punished for that."

Because, okay. Yes, she's with Derek. But she won't see him until lunch. That could be hours.

"You want... to be punished." Addison's eyebrows are about eight billion feet in the air. But she's not saying no.

"Maybe I should get a spanking." She smirks. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Because I would."

"Meredith," Addison breathes, "your pupils are huge."

"Well, I guess I'm happy to see you," Meredith says. She's in close now. There are all sorts of new sensations here, lab coat against the bare skin of her stomach and the upper parts of her breasts, and when she reaches for the glasses her hand brushes against Addison's hair and right now she's pretty sure that that's the hottest thing she's ever felt.

And she's about to kiss her again, but Addison moves away, and this time she does say no. And that's where that familiar word inappropriate comes in again.

There's a long, long pause, where Meredith isn't sure what to do. She's slept with people from work before, plenty of times, but not sleeping with them? That's new. Because Addison's, like, her boss, but she's pretty sure this isn't what they mean by sexual harassment. If it were sexual harassment, she probably would have gotten off.

But that doesn't matter. Not when Meredith's aching for it, and Addison's eyes are full of that look that says "I almost slept with my ex-husband's girlfriend, and I would have really, really liked it", which Meredith had never seen before but now realizes is one of those things you just know when you see them.

"Maybe I should be transferred to Derek today," Meredith says quickly.

"Maybe you should."

*

George came to work with the flu once. He'd taken the day before off, and decided he didn't need any more time to recover. Bailey had put him on pit, rather than any complicated surgery, but he'd still found himself going through the day in a haze, unable to think about much besides how fuzzy everything was and how glassy his eyes were and how heavy his head felt.

Right now, it's kind of like that? Except instead of the pit, he's working with Doctor Shepherd on what could be exciting neurosurgery. And instead of things being fuzzy and glassy and heavy, he's just thinking of his penis.

That hasn't really happened to him before.

George is trying to not be that guy. He's not going to let his hormones get in the way of a surgery, god, a SURGERY. An awesome surgery, even! Neuro with Doctor Shepherd! On a mysterious case where the patient's symptoms don't quite match anything they should. And where she won't quite stop having sex. A lot of sex.

Which is kind of a weird way to deal with trauma, but hey, George won't knock it til he tries it.

Right now, sex- even as a potential brain injury patient- sounds really, really nice.

Which, you know, it probably shouldn't. Because he's a doctor, so he knows that brain injury is unfortunate, and traumatic, and not at all sexy or arousing or related to breasts. Yet somehow, he's thinking about breasts. And it might have something to do with the fact that Lily's are right in front of him, swaying gently while she rocks against Scott and George tries to check her pupils. But still, he's a doctor.

Besides, he wasn't anywhere near this distracted with Spontaneous Orgasm Girl, and Lily's not even coming yet.

"Doctor O'Malley."

Doctor Shepherd comes in, takes one look at Lily and Scott, and grabs George by the arm to give him a talking to. Which, first of all, he's really only moving so he can pull a curtain between them and the patients, and those curtains aren't exactly soundproof. But also, he's looking at George like not only is the patients having sex somehow because he's failed as a doctor, but probably also because he encouraged it, somehow. Medicine is so unfair.

"Doctor Shepherd! Hi. I mean, sir." He blinks, and shakes his head. "Yes, sir?"

"Why, exactly, are our patients having sex?"

"Um. Well, they're not both our patients. Just Lily Marshall, and then her boyfriend's here to keep her company."

George's head is still all fuzzy, in that way that makes him think he's pretty sure he shouldn't be phrasing it quite like this, or that he should maybe be apologizing for the sex instead of explaining it like it's normal, or something. And Doctor Shepherd's pretty much confirming that, from the way he's looking away and pinching the bridge of his nose like the way George practices medicine is giving him a migraine. But he can't seem to do anything about it, because thinking still sort of feels like the mental equivalent of swimming through Jello. Plus, Doctor Shepherd's already taking a deep breath to give him a lecture, so it's not like thinking is going to do a lot to make this better.

"So he's keeping our patient company by having sex with her. And you, as a doctor, didn't think this was a bad choice, considering the fact that she might have brain damage?"

"That's why she's on top."

Doctor Shepherd's making that exact face that he makes whenever Izzie corners him before work and demands he tell her if her hair looks better up or down today, because he should know. Which has only happened two or three times, because... of that face.

"You manage to get any blood samples?" he asks.

"Sure, between rounds," George says. "I mean, theirs. Not, like-"

"I get it," Shepherd replies. "Why don't you take that down to the lab?"

"I'm sure one of the nurses could-"

"No," Shepherd says. "I think it should probably be you."

Normally George might argue more, but he's just fuzzy enough that it seems like his best course of action when Shepherd's making hair-face and the only question that George can think to ask is whether he thinks they might need to call Callie in early for an emergency bone consult, because... man.

"I'll go do that," George says quickly, before he really has time to dwell on thinking about Callie, because the only thing worse than Shepherd looking at him like he's an idiot would be Shepherd looking at him like he's an idiot with an erection.

*

So, blood samples. He can do blood samples. He kind of even likes the idea of doing blood samples, because they're safe and quiet and don't have breasts, and he's almost positive even he can't get turned on by the idea of tiny tubes of A-negative. Even if they are a little phallic. Plus, blood samples come with paperwork, which is nice. Because if he's sitting there checking boxes to let the lab techs know which tests they should run, he can't glance up and accidentally catch an eyeful of somebody having sex.

Not that he thinks that's likely to happen, or anything. But he does work at Seattle Grace, where people give each other syphilis and have sex with nurses and seem to have love lives that are much, much more complicated than most people's. Besides, up until about an hour ago he didn't think it was really that likely for a patient to come in and refuse to stop having sex, either. So since today seems to be the day for proving George wrong, he doesn't want to take any chances.

But the problem with blood samples and paperwork is that at some point, they end. And then George has to get up and walk down to the lab, where he has to be in the same room as girls and probably talk to people, any one of whom could ask him to think about stuff while his brain is all cottony and filled with sex. So, there's that.

And then there's the part where he has to ring the bell and give the samples to the lab tech, while he talks to her in a way that doesn't make him seem either rude or somehow challenged, and seriously. How has he never noticed that the hematology lab tech is hot?

"Sure," she says. "No problem."

"H- how long should that take?" George is stuttering, but, well, he's George. People expect that.

"Tell you what," she says with a smile. "There's not a huge wait. Want me to go run these right now?"

"Really?"

"Sure, why not." She holds out a hand for the papers.

George is so happy right now, he could kiss her.

So... he does.

*

Meredith is going straight to hell. That's the only possible outcome of all of this.

Because she's the dirty, slutty (horny, a part of her adds, and that's not helpful) intern who slept with the married attending and then kissed his jilted (hot) ex-wife. And clearly, she needs to be working under Derek right now- except, not under Derek in the bent-over-a-table sense, just below him in a work sense- because if she's going to go kissing attendings with wild, slutty abandon, she might as well kiss the one she's dating.

"George," she says, catching up to him in the hallway outside his patients' room. "Have you seen Derek?"

"I have," George says, and there's something strangled in his voice, like he just got surprised in the middle of something.

"Are you okay?"

"Me? Me, I'm... fine. Totally fine, yeah."

That's about the time she catches a glimpse of something moving over George's shoulder. Something moving up and down, and it takes her a couple seconds of staring before she realizes that it's not just her feeling porny today, it's- "George."

She sees his head snap up out of the corner of her eye, and if she didn't know better she'd think she just caught him checking out her rack. "George, are your patients in there -"

"Yeah."

There's a long, heavy silence, where she tries to ignore the fact that George is starting to look manly and hot and making her think about kissing him and the way his hair would feel caught between her fingers. George, for his part, is sort of looking like a tiny baby deer caught by a hungry, attending-kissing wolf. And then he shakes his head, like he's just remembered that his patients having sex in the exam room is weird. "They won't stop."

"Did you try asking?"

George actually rolls his eyes. "Yes, I tried asking. So did your boyfriend, for the record."

Meredith is, quite frankly, about to lose it. Because George rolling his eyes just turned her on, and that's half making her skin crawl with weirdness, but half sending tentative sparks of arousal down her spine, and no. She's learned from experience that thoughts about kissing George are the kind of Meredith-impulsive things that lead to badness. (But she wants to do it anyway.) So when Derek rounds the corner and notices them both standing there, she's maybe a little enthusiastic in greeting him.

Maybe a lot enthusiastic in greeting him, but whatever. Lots of people kiss people they're dating in hallways.

Derek, for his part, is awfully unfazed by the whole thing. Which is either really, really nice of him or a sign that he's got a giant ego, but she kind of doesn't mind either way. Because one, she didn't kiss George, and two, she's around somebody she can kiss, if she needs to. Which, the way every single nerve in her body feels like it's standing on end, is nice to have. "Doctor Grey," he says, once she's down off her tiptoes and standing a professional distance away from him. "Doctor O'Malley. How's our patient?"

"They're, um -"

"You need to let me switch onto your case."

George and Derek both look at her like she's grown an extra head. But, well. He needs to let her switch onto this patient. He really, really does, and then she needs to drag him into the on call room so she can make him play that game where she blows him and he calls her "Doctor Grey" over and over, and she doesn't realize he's actually calling her that now until he puts a hand on her shoulder. "Meredith."

She looks up at him, and bites her lip. Which is maybe unsubtle and unprofessional and making her look like she deserves all those catty things people say behind her back, but she's only got so much self-control. And when Derek's hand on her shoulder is enough to almost make her bite back a moan, she figures holding herself back to pouting a little is freaking heroic at this point. "Please," she says, and even she's a little surprised when her voice is low and full of sex. "Let me be your intern?"

Derek looks torn. And normally, Meredith would feel bad about putting him in this kind of position, but at this point all she can worry about is how badly she wants him to pin her to the bed and hold her wrists above her head, making a game of all the ways he can not let her touch him.

"You know," George says, slowly backing away from the two of them. "I was sort of hoping Doctor Burke would let me in on the valve replacement he's doing later today? So I, uh, really don't mind going and doing... that. Instead."

Meredith's so relieved she could kiss him.

*

"I don't get it." Cristina is dead serious, and Alex looks like he recognizes all the words coming out of her mouth, but not necessarily in these patterns.

"What don't you get?" Alex asks. "You get to scrub in."

"I get to scrub in," she says, disgusted, "on a boring, sexist procedure so that she can make more money pole dancing. Literally. Who would want to learn how to pole dance?"

"I think you'd be a good stripper," Alex says. He somehow manages to sound consoling. Cristina gives him a look like the next surgery she'll need to do will be to reattach his face after she tears it off in a fit of rage.

She likes to think he wilts, just a little.

"I don't want to be a stripper," she says. "I just want a real surgery."

"This is a real surgery. Reconstruction and enhancement. We make the beautiful more beautiful. And far less scarred."

"How noble."

"You're handling breasts," Alex says. "Real, live breasts. You hold in your hands a woman's sexual prowess for the rest of her life. You are making a real difference for-"

"Candy."

"Candy, yeah."

"It's a boob job," Cristina says, rolling her eyes. "If I want to ogle excellent tits, I'll stand topless in front of a mirror."

"Then give it to me."

"Give it to you?"

"Yeah, give me the patient."

"I'm not giving it to you."

"Oh, you're giving it to me."

Which, clearly she's not. Even if Alex's lips are really, really nice. And really, really close, and suddenly it seems like a great idea to just lean in and- no. No. Because Alex is Alex, and probably also Patient Zero for the hospital-wide syph epidemic, and his lips almost touched hers, which, seriously. She needs to be somewhere else.

Alex looks at her, like he's not sure whether she was thinking about his lips or thinking about biting him. "Dude, did you just try to... did you almost kiss me?"

Oh, fuck this.

Besides, she was good enough in bed last night that she can probably get in on Burke's surgery just by batting her eyelashes.

"Fine. Candy and her amazing expanding rack are yours."

"You totally tried to kiss me."

Cristina just rolls her eyes and walks away. Even if she totally did.

*

"So, you want to go shadow Sloan and let me scrub in on Burke's surgery, right?"

Izzie doesn't even look up from the chart she's reading, grabs and walks into the doctors' lounge, because today is about focusing on charts. Surgery and charts, which are nothing like sex, and she doesn't have the patience to worry about remembering that and argue with Cristina at the same time.

Unfortunately, today for Cristina is all about getting onto a good surgery.

"Oh, come on, Izzie," she says, following her, and Izzie doesn't miss the way the door clicks shut behind them.

"Why do you want in on Burke's surgery, anyway? You've done tons of valve replacements before."

Cristina pauses for a moment to look away and purse her lips, and Izzie's definitely does not spend a half-second distracted by Cristina's mouth. "Alright, Alex may have stolen my spot in Sloan's surgery, but that's not the point."

Giggling is probably not going to help Izzie's moral high ground, or anything, but she can't help doing it anyway.

"The point is, that -"

"Alex stole Fake Boobs Girl?"

"Izzie," Cristina says, and moves far enough into Izzie's personal space that Izzie can notice that her hair sort of smells like she uses Meredith's brand of shampoo, "shut up. The point is, that -"

"You know, if you're trying to get on my good side to get me to do you a favor, telling me to shut up probably isn't the right way to go."

"Izzie."

Until now, it had honestly never occurred to Izzie that the on-edge, half-distracted feeling that's had her desperately wishing she was still sleeping with Alex was happening to anybody else. Of course, until now, Cristina hadn't been kissing her, but now that she is, Izzie's starting to think that maybe it's not just her. When Cristina pulls back, her breath is coming fast and she's so close Izzie can feel each one, hot against her lips. "Switch off Burke's surgery."

Izzie holds Cristina's stare for a long moment, trying to focus on looking defiant instead of thinking about how much she wants sex, dammit, and the way Cristina's right in front of her smelling fantastic.

"Make me."

That's when she kisses Cristina back. Which, okay. Is maybe not how serious doctors should settle important professional debates, but that's what her internship is for. Learning. And also, apparently, letting Cristina walk them backwards until Izzie's ass is pressed against the table and Cristina's hips are grinding into hers. Except the angle is just this side of wrong, because Cristina's the right height to get leverage against Izzie's thigh but Izzie's got nothing, and even though Cristina's hands are tangled in her hair and she's a great kisser, it's not quite enough.

But then Izzie sits down on the table and wraps her legs around Cristina's waist, and that's better. That's just what she needs, and she might growl something to that effect into Cristina's shoulder when Cristina breaks the kiss to slide her hands under Izzie's shirt and cup her breasts. That, and the slip-bump of Cristina's hips against her own while Izzie fights to keep the angle where she can grind herself against Cristina and feel the tension between her legs ease just a little. And god, she had no idea how much she needed this until it started happening, but now that it is she wants to come so badly she's a little surprised at herself.

But clearly, it's not just her. Because instead of fighting Izzie over who gets to grind down on who, Cristina's pushing Izzie onto her back on the table, and kneeling to peel off Izzie's bottoms. And then she's kneeling in front of Izzie, helping her shimmy forward so that she's at the right angle for this and hooking one of Izzie's knees over her shoulder. There's a long pause, when Cristina's head is between her legs and she's so close Izzie can feel her breath, and she can barely believe how much the anticipation of Cristina's tongue just a few inches away is sending sparks down her spine and straight to her clit.

Of course, it's nothing compared to the way it feels when Cristina's tongue is actually on her clit, warm and sharp and everywhere she wants it, but with just the right amount of slippery to be not quite enough to push Izzie over the edge. Which, at this point, is driving Izzie up the wall, because she's so, so wet and close and she feels like she's been on the brink of orgasm for days. And maybe it's the way she's squirming a little as she tries not to full-on grind against Cristina's face. Maybe it's the way she's practically whimpering every time Cristina's tongue moves somewhere new. But somehow, Cristina gets the message, because she slips a hand up the inside of Izzie's thigh and slides three fingers into her.

Which is amazing, and she's so close- she whimpers something that might sound like "more," and Cristina adds a fourth- because the way Cristina's fingers are curling inside her is perfect. Cristina's tongue is still slip-sliding across her clit, but rough and forceful and god, just where she likes it, and there. There, and Izzie can't quite believe how loud she is when the feel of Cristina's fingers and her mouth is just too much and she comes.

By the time Izzie's done riding out the aftershocks, and come down enough to remember things like words and fine motor skills and what day it is, Cristina's got herself cleaned up and moved to sit on the table. Which is where she is now, drawing circles across the bare skin of Izzie's stomach where her shirt's been pushed up.

"You know," Cristina says, and her voice is calm but she's got the look on her face that she usually gives new patients when she's willing them to be surgical cases. "You really are pretty hot when you come like that."

Izzie laughs and sits up so she can slowly kiss Cristina. She leans into the kiss, shifting her weight unitil Cristina's on her back and raising her hips off the table to brush against nothing. At least, until Izzie straddles Cristina, pinning her hips to the table, and takes a moment to stare down at her. Her pupils are huge, and her hair's sort of slipped out of its ponytail to hang loose around her face. Izzie's sure she looks just as disheveled, but she figures that's probably a pretty small price to pay for incredibly athletic sex on top of the table in the doctors' lounge.

And maybe she really does just want to scrub in on Mr. Dorian's case this badly. But when Izzie slips her hand down Cristina's scrubs and into her panties, the way Cristina gasps like she's been waiting for this and the way she's warm and slippery against Izzie's hand say differently. And once Izzie's thumb finds her clit, Cristina's hands find her waist and keep her there.

Which, the way Cristina's eyes slip shut and she presses herself against Izzie's fingers, is hot enough that Izzie's pretty sure she could almost go for another round. Especially when she feels Cristina's thumb tracing patterns against her hip. "You have another tattoo?" she says, and Izzie realizes she's tracing the shape of it.

She makes a noise to the affirmative, and leans forward to slip two fingers into Cristina. "How did you not notice I had a tattoo when your face was down there ten minutes ago?"

"Shut up," Cristina starts, but it ends in a gasp when Izzie adds a third finger, then a fourth. And from the way Cristina's muscles are twitching against Izzie's hand, and the way she's too busy closing her eyes and tensing to say anything more than that, Izzie figures she must be pretty close. And just as Izzie's about to slide out to go down on Cristina she's there, making little noises in the back of her throat and flexing around Izzie's fingers until she's sweaty and finished, looking up at Izzie with half-closed eyes.

"So," she says after, when they're both dressed and Izzie's helping Cristina fix her hair so that she looks a little less like she just spent the last half hour having sex instead of practicing medicine. "You're giving me Burke."

"I am?"

"You are. I totally won that."

And there's a part of Izzie that wants to start something. That wants to refuse, and do something about the way that flare of disagreement in her belly is settling into something not unlike arousal. But at the same time, she's pretty sure Cristina's the kind of person who's determined enough to keep doing this until she wins, and she has better things to do than die of dehydration trying to beat Cristina at sex.

Besides, she heard one of the nurses say that Doctor Montgomery was looking for an intern.

*

The upside to dating an attending has always been the quick, easy grope that one could find... pretty much anywhere. There's no such thing as a specific time during the day that her boyfriend might be able to drop by; she just has to coordinate coffee breaks, and bam! instant make-out session that, frequently, leads to more. It's like being in high school, without a curfew and with better hair.

So working on a case with Derek? Well, it's pretty much the best thing ever. Because while their patients are distracted with moaning and whimpering and trying to touch each other everywhere, Meredith can get in as many nice, long kisses as she wants.

And unlike with Addison, there is nothing wrong with this. Nothing. Wrong. At all.

"I'm glad to see you too," Derek tells her, "but we are professionals, and we have a patient-"

"They don't look like they're foaming at the mouth waiting for treatment," Meredith says dryly. Their mouths, in fact, are currently attached to each other's, and she's pretty sure that, at this point, it would take some minor surgery just to separate them there.

"Yeah, well..." Derek trails off.

"George said they couldn't stop."

"He hadn't made it clear he was speaking literally."

Meredith shrugs. "Mine now."

"The case?"

"You."

She kisses him again, and then focuses on his neck, which smells wonderful and Derek-y and perfect. She's kind of latching on when he pulls her back, like a kitten. "Later," he says.

"One of these days," Meredith says, "that's going to be way too late."

"Well, we have an MRI to orchestrate first," Derek says.

"Then sex?"

"Sure," he says. "Then sex."

His pupils are starting to dilate. She knows he's getting turned on.

So she might sway her hips just a little as she walks away from him and over to the patient's bedside, because, well. If he's going to try to make her wait for sex, she's damn well going to remind him why he doesn't want to do that. Of course, once she actually gets over to Lily's bed, she's not sure quite what to do. Because Lily doesn't really seem like she's got brain damage at all. Or maybe she does, but it's the kind of brain damage that makes her really bendy, and eager to kiss her way down her boyfriend's chest like she's going to go down on him, and well. If Meredith doesn't get sex, neither does her stupid patient. Her patient. Right.

"Lily?"

She tries again. "Lily?"

Clearly, she's not listening. Which, well. If Derek had his hands in her hair like that, and she was grinding her hips into him like that, Meredith probably wouldn't be paying attention either. So she moves her hand out to tap Lily on the shoulder, because that's how doctors professionally and impartially get their patients' attention. Except, it sort of comes out as more of a caress, and Lily sort of purrs and leans into her touch, and that's not quite what she meant to do.

Across the room, she can hear Derek make this weird choking noise.

"Mmm, doctor. What can I do for you?"

"Um." Meredith is definitely not thinking of about seven things Lily can do for her that aren't related to medicine at all. "Um, Doctor Shepherd and I need to take you downstairs for an MRI. It's nothing to be worried about, just a test that lets us take a look at your brain so we can see if you hurt anything when you fell."

Lily sort of pouts, and leans back so her hips are angled forward against Scott and her hair falls forward around her face. "But I'm not done yet."

"Yes, but, um. It's really important that we get you in now, so that we can catch any damage early."

Because it is. She's positive that an MRI is important. She just can't quite remember why, anymore, since Lily does look fine and she's not done. Meredith's sure there's a reason why sex is not a totally legitimate excuse for postponing an MRI, but it's not really coming to mind. And then Derek comes up behind her, and brushes his fingertips against her arm. "Doctor Grey."

All she can feel is his hand and the warm flutters of arousal settling between her legs. "Mmm?"

"She's not done."

"Yeah, but- oh."

Oh.

So she lets him sort of lead her away from Lily's bed, and there's a tiny part of her brain that registers the fact that the two of them are right back at it again. But it's sort of paling in comparison to the other part of her brain, which is really, really concerned with the fact that Derek's pulling her close against him to kiss her, and she can feel him pressing into her through his scrubs. "I thought you said we couldn't have sex until later?"

"It's later," Derek says, and he's using that voice, the one that he uses sometimes that is completely cheating and turns her muscles all liquid-y. Not that she'd be arguing about having sex - because seriously, right now, her brain? Pretty much a Petri dish of sensations that feel really, really nice- but it's cheating anyway, because this was supposed to be her game and now it's his.

But the nice thing about this is that it can be both of their games. Because she has ways to take her part in the game too. She pushes his coat back off his shoulders, because that makes it a lot easier to push aside his scrubs and get at skin that she hasn't been able to get at for- oh, a bunch of hours, now. They've been at work for a while, she's sure. Although the amount of time is not really coming to her, because math is one thing but bare skin is another, and naked is going to win over numbers every time.

Especially when she feels like her entire body is a network of nerves, and hey, he's a neurosurgeon, his entire job is all about taking care of nerves.

And he's good at it, too. His hands come up under her shirt, and she'd take it off, but it's somehow hotter this way, his palms sneaking up towards her breasts in such a way that the heavy metal of his watch brushes against her stomach and makes her squirm.

She's gasping in that way that would normally make her feel like a dirty mistress, but it's not like anyone in the room isn't having sex, and this is the kind of day where good sex is worth ignoring all principles you've ever pretended to have.

"Talk to me," she murmurs.

"Like, talk... dirty?" His eyes dart over to the patients for a minute.

Meredith's back is to them, and really, they could be her mother and the Chief and she wouldn't care. Actually, given today, if it were her mother and the Chief, they'd probably be sleeping together too. "I don't care," she says. "Just want to hear your voice."

"Well," Derek starts, "the MRI will let us see if the fall was enough to-"

She cuts him off with a kiss. It's a good kiss, too, the kind that makes Derek pick her up and walk them over to the table in the corner, so she can sit down and he can lean against her, warm and Derek and fuck, hard through his scrubs against her.

"I thought you said you wanted me to talk."

"Mmm," she says, and leans forward so she can shimmy off her scrubs and panties. "I do."

"Yeah?"

"Mmm, yeah. Tell me what you're thinking about."

And Derek's sliding his own scrubs off his hips, leaning forward so that his mouth is right next to her ear and she can feel what he's saying as well as hear it. "I'm thinking about you. I'm thinking about how much I want to be inside you. I'm thinking about the way you look, all half-naked and flushed and sexy, and how I want to make you come. So. Hard."

Okay. Meredith has to admit, she's sort of getting off on the fact that Derek's talking into her ear and making sex all about her. But not as much as she's getting off on the way Derek finishes talking and slides into her, because she sort of flexes around him instinctively and he groans right into her ear in that way that makes her all shivery and needy.

And then shivery and needy turns into shuddering and moaning, because she's not there yet but she's close, and Derek's hand is moving from her hips to the space between them, so he can press the side of his thumb against her clit just so. Which is good, it's dragging her nails across Derek's back so hard he hisses and thrusts faster good, and Meredith can definitely handle that. Because then Derek's other hand digs into her hips hard, and the fact that she knows he's close is kind of turning her on even more, in that way that makes her rock her hips against Derek to match his thrusts, and suddenly he's coming with a moan that Meredith can feel against the side of her neck. Which just makes the hand he's got between them press harder against her clit, drawing rough little circles while he kisses her neck and he's still inside her, and yes. Meredith's coming too, hard and embarrassingly loud and arching her back so far she hits her head against the wall behind them.

She's kind of shaking, that really good aftershock kind of shaking where her muscles don't want to stop contracting and that's nice because she doesn't really want them to stop either. And it's like she's in this bubble, this really comfortable bubble where she just feels happy and loved and kind of soft.

And Derek. She totally feels Derek. That part's good, too.

But even as she's soothing down she's kind of turning up, too, at the same time. She suddenly wants to tell him everything she wants to do to him. She wants to use words like suck and fuck and maybe even long, hot, strong man meat, which she found in one of Izzie's romance novels and which she thought was over the top until right now, when long hot strong man meat sounds like it's an understatement.

But all that comes out is a growl. It's the kind of sound she's pretty sure she can't even make during normal circumstances, but right now it feels perfect in her throat.

Derek laughs, but not the kind of laugh that's making fun of her. It's the kind of laugh where it sounds like he's trying to figure out if he'd rather fuck her again or go down on her. Both of which, for the record, seem like great ideas, and the growl moderates itself to a purr.

"Dude, that was hot."

The patients have stopped having sex, finally, but they're sort of looking at Meredith and Derek like that's only because they're seriously considering joining in. Lily looks at Derek, eyes wide. "Make her do that again."

"Will you guys hold still for an MRI, first?"

*

So Addison kissed Meredith Grey.

Which is weirdly closure-y, in a way. In the kind of way where the last leg of that dead triangle sealed itself and now she realizes that, if she'd played her cards right, the whole threesome thing could have been more than a throwaway joke. The kind of way where, right now, it's buzzing through her head and won't stop, insistently but soothingly humming, until it sounds like a vibrator you fell asleep using and only register the noise when the battery finally gives up and dramatically dies and you wake up and remember that, no, your husband still left you and you're considering shacking up with his ex-best friend.

You know. Hypothetically.

In any case, Meredith's running through her head like a vibrator, and thoughts like that can only lead to one place.

Which explains how she's managed to corner Mark, ascertain that he's not working with Alex Karev anymore, and therefore not feel at all bad dragging him into a closet, reaching into his scrubs, and digging around for buried treasure.

She kisses him, hard, not because she really wants to (although she does, maybe, a little), but because the other option is listening to him talk, and if she hears one more round of "You want me, you want me bad" she's going to find the nearest scalpel and start performing invasive un-anaesthetized surgery.

It's better when he doesn't talk. When he doesn't talk, Addison really kind of likes this.

Because the buzzing really isn't stopping, and Mark knows how to make it build just the way she likes it, which isn't as well-paying a skill as the whole plastics thing, but is just as valuable, if not more so. She sucks the questions out of him, and it goes straight to her clit.

But somehow, because he's Mark Sloan and he always manages to weasel his way out of doing things the way she wants him to, the questions come out anyway. And it has nothing to do with the fact that his hands move up her shirt to flick the catch on her bra and palm her breasts.

"Who are you thinking about?"

Addison smiles, because Mark's got her pressed up against the wall and her leg's around his waist and she can get away with saying the first name that pops into her head. "Meredith Grey."

"Really," Mark says. Then he brushes his thumb against her through her panties.

And Addison is not the type of girl who whimpers for Mark Sloan. Except she sort of just did, because apparently Seattle Grace turns her into the kind of unprofessional person who kisses interns and makes little encouraging noises into Mark's shoulder whenever his fingers brush against her just so.

"Who are you thinking about?"

Mark's got his fingers underneath the waistband of her panties, and he's just hovering there, waiting for an answer. Jackass. "Derek."

He pulls her shirt up past her breasts and takes one nipple into his mouth, to bite down hard. And she realizes he thinks he's punishing her, because it's harder than she usually likes it, but right now it's just enough to make the buzzing cut out for a half-second and then start right back up again, louder than before.

"Who are you thinking about?"

She slips her hands down into his boxers, encircles him with her thumb and forefinger, and smiles at him innocently over the tops of her glasses. "Alex Karev."

He growls, then, actually growls at her, and if Addison didn't know better she'd be a little intimidated. But he is, after all, just Mark, so when he moves to hike up her skirt and slip off her panties, it's not so much intimidating as it is a bit of a relief. Not relief in the sense that she's actually feeling any less worked up, because she's honestly never been hornier in her life, but now Mark is right there, fingers digging into her thigh so she's right up against the wall. His cock is pressing against her but not quite slipping inside, and if she didn't still have Meredith Grey's lips in her head and the rest of her practically humming with sex, she'd call him out on being such a tease. "Who are you thinking about?"

And even though she hates losing, even though she's Addison Forbes Montgomery and always wins at everything, right now she needs sex more than she needs to remind Mark that she doesn't pine over him when he's not around. "You."

She's barely finished speaking before he's inside her.

And it's just what she needed, because the buzzing inside her is sort of like a vibrator but this is the real thing, this is warm and hard and full, when she wraps her legs around Mark's waist and lets him fuck her. She's so far gone, at this point, she's not even embarrassed about the way she's mewling every time he thrusts up into her. But. While Mark is good, he's not magic, and even he can't fuck her and hold her up against the wall and put enough pressure on her clit to get her off at the same time. So she dips one hand between her legs, and does it herself.

There's a half-moment of slippery fumbling, while she tries to match the rhythm of her hand with the rhythm of Mark's thrusts, but they figure it out. And then it's even better, because Mark is good at fucking her but she's amazing at getting herself off, and he's too focused on being turned on by the fact that she's touching herself to focus on the fact that she's probably not thinking about him anymore. Instead, she's thinking about the hum of her own arousal, and how close she is, and the way Meredith Grey's hair looks spilling over her shoulders when she leans down to write on a patient's chart.

Addison comes with a jolt, flexing around Mark so hard he actually shouts, and then he's shuddering against her and bracing himself against the wall so that he doesn't drop the both of them.

That's about when there's a knock on the door, and someone walks in.

"Doctor Montgomery? I- oh. Oh god." Of course it's Izzie Stevens. Of course it's now, when she's still got one leg half-around Mark and he's busy cleaning himself up and fixing his scrubs. "I just, um, I heard your name? And I was wondering if you still needed an intern for the procedure you had scheduled for this afternoon."

Addison is nothing if not professional. So instead of noticing the way that Stevens is flushed and her pupils are dilated, or the way she's clutching a chart so tightly her knuckles are white, she pulls on her panties and fixes her skirt. "I'm trying to convince her she doesn't need the surgery."

"Oh," Stevens says. "I just- Oh. Sorry. I can-"

"I didn't say I don't need an intern." Addison looks up at her and makes eye contact. "If you're interested despite there being a good chance you won't get to scrub in."

"I'm interested," Izzie says, and Addison's pretty sure she's just barely holding back from gasping now. "I'm definitely interested."

Addison takes a moment to smile at Mark before walking off, as dignified as she could possibly be expected to be. "Hope you can find a way to entertain yourself for the rest of the afternoon," she tosses over her shoulder. "I have to go show my intern my patient's files."

And she guides Izzie over to the nearest empty room.

[ continue on to part two]