Chapter Text
You shouldn't have let her buy you drinks at Joe's, and you really shouldn't have let her drive you home, even if she's right and you barely have the money to eat, much less pay for a taxi. You most definitely shouldn't have invited her in, regardless of how much your conversation called for her to be significantly more drunk.
Addison is on the couch in your living room, and your hand is under her shirt.
See, you're all trying to be friends now, and you knew that was a bad idea. Possibly the worst idea ever. Actually this is the Worst Idea Ever, but you're liking the taste of Addison's collarbone more than you thought you would, so for the moment, that's a detail you're willing to overlook.
You wonder if this counts as cheating, for her, and if it will set back all the progress she is making with Derek, and strangely, you get no pleasure from the thought. Which is when it strikes you, that maybe you really do want to be friends with Addison. She takes care of Doc, and she takes care of Izzie, and tonight after that fiasco with your sister she's trying to take care of you, and that strikes you as fairly admirable, even if it's turned into her blouse hanging limply off the coffee table because you've somehow managed to confuse caring and sex just like you always do.
But Addison, for all that she's nearly as plastered as you, is deft and tantalizing, her fingers burning tracks on your skin before they hook on your belt, and the muscles of your stomach jumping under her lips as they slide past your navel, and you're starting to get why Mark might have crossed the country chasing after this woman, so you're pretty sure there will be no crying this time around, although there might be some screaming, which could be a problem since you're pretty damn sure Izzie's somewhere upstairs.
You don't think you could explain this to her because you're pretty sure you can't begin to explain it to yourself. Women aren't your thing, for a start, but at this point you're beginning to think they might be Addison's, because her breath is warm between your thighs and she is really good at what she's doing. The thought that maybe that's why she went into gyno flits through your mind, followed by the realization that that's an incredibly stupid thing to think, and that if you said something like that out loud Christina would give you hell, and then you think that you'll never, ever be able to do this for her...
And then you don't think anything at all, because you're shuddering and grabbing her shoulders and falling right through the couch, pleasure roaring up your spine and wiping out all scent and sight and sound.
When you start to come back to yourself her smile is smug, and drunk, and you roll your leg off her shoulder and pull her to your mouth, your only thought that you have to kiss her hard and now. Her hair tangles against your skin and you wrap your fingers in it, cradle the side of her face as you breathe again, finally come all the way down.
She pulls back a little, and the look on her face is almost tender, and she says, "I get it now."
"Is that what this is about?" you ask, hand still on her cheek, one finger gently tracing the line of her bra. It strikes you as slightly unfair that all you have left is your shirt and that's the only thing she's taken off. She smiles against your palm, kisses your wrist, and you realize that Addison doesn't really know what this is about any more than you do, that it's Derek and loneliness and frustration and alcohol in unknowable amounts, and it's the fact that you really want to see her glow right now. You dance your hand lightly down her ribcage and find a snap.
Addison presses her lips against yours, and you grin into the kiss as your fingertips brush soft down. This, at least, is one thing you're pretty sure you can figure out.
-)(-
Much later, after you've both showered, you offer George's bed to Addison, who is still probably too drunk to drive back home. Nothing feels as awkward here as it probably should, although you can probably put that down to your blood alcohol levels at this point. The fallout when you're both sober again may be another story.
Speaking of which. You lean against the doorframe, watching her look gorgeous and out-of-place with damp curls and a borrowed robe, and can't stop yourself from asking. "What are you going to tell Doctor Shepherd?" You drag the "d" out, switching over from "Derek" at the last second, but she doesn't seem to notice.
"I don't know," she says. "Maybe the truth." She stops pressing the towel to her hair and her eyes meet yours. "Would that bother you?"
"Maybe. ... Probably." You sigh against the doorframe. "I'd get over it." You think for a moment about Derek in the trailer, alone all night, his wife's car parked outside someone else's house. Where it will still be in the morning. "Shit. What am I going to tell Izzie?"
Addison looks at you for a moment, then says, "Well, you only said you were giving up men, right? So technically you haven't broken your vow."
You award this with the full-body eyeroll it deserves, but even though you close her door and yours, you can still hear her laughing for quite a while after you escort yourself out.