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abvjTitle: When All Else Fades
Summary: I don't know anything about you, he'd said, and she'd made a trite comment about open books and well, here they are. At the end of the day, it's just him, her, and this.
Rating: pg-15
Author's Notes: 1,142 words. General Series Spoilers. Written for the 2x5 challenge; prompt: a bond with darkness. Con-crit is always accepted. All mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not. Enjoy.
Summary: I don't know anything about you, he'd said, and she'd made a trite comment about open books and well, here they are. At the end of the day, it's just him, her, and this.
Rating: pg-15
Author's Notes: 1,142 words. General Series Spoilers. Written for the 2x5 challenge; prompt: a bond with darkness. Con-crit is always accepted. All mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not. Enjoy.
“If I could have chosen,” Lexie starts, nearly stops herself, swallowing and letting out a breath of air that gets caught in her throat. “I would have chosen my father.”
She almost giggles, almost laughs, because who actually says these sorts of things aloud?
Instead she just looks up and away, a small smile full of mirth on her lips. Her heart hurts in a way she’s grown quite accustomed to; almost two years now and she’s not quite sure it’s one of those things you ever get used to.
Still, now, she’s trying to find her place in a world that doesn’t include her mother. Still, it’s proving to be a lot harder than she ever imagined and Lexie, well, she just doesn’t cope very well with failure.
“It’s okay,” Mark says like he means it, like he knows and she hates the way he does this, with his fingers dancing along her skin, over fabric and bone, his version of twenty-questions.
(I don’t know anything about you he’d said, and she’d sighed into his mouth and made a trite comment about open books and, well, here they are)
Lexie hates the way he knows these things, can understand in his own way some of the things she’s going through because he’s been through them in some sort of way himself. His life is a not-so-fairy-tale not unlike her own and Lexie thinks she hates most of all the way he knows her without even really trying.
“I hate my father, too,” he continues, voice quiet, and the palm of his hand flattens on her hip. Lexie moves into his touch, a reflex almost.
“I don’t even hate him,” she begins again, throat tight. “It’s just, I don’t know,” she lets out another sigh, and his fingers find their way under fabric and her skin tingles. “I needed him, too. I needed him.”
It’s not that her father’s alcoholism is a new addition to their ever-so finely tuned lives. It’s not. Truth be told, it’s always been there, lying dormant in the back of their minds, sneaking up on them at the oddest moments, but it has always been one of those non-existent things they all just chose to gloss over with their rose tinted glasses (their very own version of don’t ask, don’t tell).
Something she compartmentalized and filed away.
“It’ll get better,” he says, like she’s one of his patients and it’s his job to take care of her and it amazes her sometimes, the way he can do this, provide comfort in ways he doesn’t even realize. The way he can be so far from the man she met two years ago.
His eyes shift upwards and lock on hers and it’s one of those incredibly intimate moments she assumes different kinds of couples share, one of those moments in the midst of those tell me everything, take me as I am conversations.
Lexie can’t remember when they turned into those types of people. It almost makes her smile.
Fingers trailing up up up now, taking her shirt with it, and his breath fans out over her stomach in a bright, warm rush. Lexie thinks about being completely honest with him. Thinks about telling him that things were good once, happy, but the memories come and go, in and out in random bursts of color and she tries to pin-point one, hold on, but it fades and ebbs away, replaced by the ache in her chest.
She doesn’t.
“Do you miss your father?” she asks quietly instead, fingers tracing the letters of her name into the skin of his shoulder. His hands still, tighten, and she worries she’s gone too far, crossed a boundary he wasn’t ready to pull down, but just as soon as the thought enters her head, his fingers start tracing the edge of her panties, sliding under the elastic.
It’s something akin to being pulled a part at the seams, she thinks, what he’s doing to her, with gentle touches and feathery light kisses. Lexie breathes, but there’s a hitch in the back of her throat. She tries not to arch into his touch, but fails miserably.
“Sometimes, I think. Sure,” he says quietly, and he’s so close she can feel the vibration of his voice deep into her skin, seeping into her bones. Her palm frames his face, his stubble scratchy against her skin, a reminder. “He was never really my father though. He was just sort of there, so I’m not really sure what I’m missing.”
“I think,” she starts, thinking about him and Derek, her friends from Cambridge, all those people she left behind. “I think we build our own families, you know? I think those are the ones that matter,” she says, and thinks, maybe, just maybe that’s why Seattle was, is, such an adjustment for her.
Four thousand miles away from everything she’s known for years and it’s hard going through life without somebody to help hold you up.
Maybe, she muses, that’s why she clung so hard to George, why she tricked herself into believing in things that weren’t really there.
Mark turns his head into her palm, and kisses her skin lightly. There’s a moment where he smiles at her softly, the distinct feel of something shifting between them, but as soon as it begins it’s over, her hand falling to the bed beside her and his lips finding more skin to explore.
“Where’d you get this?” He asks in lieu of a distraction, a subtle end to that particular conversation, and his fingers trace the scar near the jut of her hipbone, back and forth over the tiny ridges of her skin.
“Mmm,” she hums in the back of her throat, a small smile spreading to her lips as his own find her skin. “Junior year. Car accident. Took twenty-five stitches to put me back together. I almost got a tattoo to cover it up in college, but I chickened out.”
A smile against her skin, and her left leg bends at the knee unconsciously. “I like it.”
“yeah?”
“Yeah.”
There’s a shift in the silence stretching between them, and his gaze floats towards the ceiling as his fingers push at the cotton of her panties, and she feels shy almost, her mouth turning upwards in a soft smirk, hands grabbing at his shoulders.
Face near hers now and he moans into her mouth as he kisses her. Lexie swallows it whole, adjusting herself to embrace the weight of him fully between her legs. Mark’s hand under her shirt again, his mouth sliding to her throat, over her collarbone. A soft moan, his, hers, who knows, but it gets swallowed too, lost between them, and her other hand finds his, fingers linking together on the pillow above their head.
She sighs something lovely into his mouth.
She almost giggles, almost laughs, because who actually says these sorts of things aloud?
Instead she just looks up and away, a small smile full of mirth on her lips. Her heart hurts in a way she’s grown quite accustomed to; almost two years now and she’s not quite sure it’s one of those things you ever get used to.
Still, now, she’s trying to find her place in a world that doesn’t include her mother. Still, it’s proving to be a lot harder than she ever imagined and Lexie, well, she just doesn’t cope very well with failure.
“It’s okay,” Mark says like he means it, like he knows and she hates the way he does this, with his fingers dancing along her skin, over fabric and bone, his version of twenty-questions.
(I don’t know anything about you he’d said, and she’d sighed into his mouth and made a trite comment about open books and, well, here they are)
Lexie hates the way he knows these things, can understand in his own way some of the things she’s going through because he’s been through them in some sort of way himself. His life is a not-so-fairy-tale not unlike her own and Lexie thinks she hates most of all the way he knows her without even really trying.
“I hate my father, too,” he continues, voice quiet, and the palm of his hand flattens on her hip. Lexie moves into his touch, a reflex almost.
“I don’t even hate him,” she begins again, throat tight. “It’s just, I don’t know,” she lets out another sigh, and his fingers find their way under fabric and her skin tingles. “I needed him, too. I needed him.”
It’s not that her father’s alcoholism is a new addition to their ever-so finely tuned lives. It’s not. Truth be told, it’s always been there, lying dormant in the back of their minds, sneaking up on them at the oddest moments, but it has always been one of those non-existent things they all just chose to gloss over with their rose tinted glasses (their very own version of don’t ask, don’t tell).
Something she compartmentalized and filed away.
“It’ll get better,” he says, like she’s one of his patients and it’s his job to take care of her and it amazes her sometimes, the way he can do this, provide comfort in ways he doesn’t even realize. The way he can be so far from the man she met two years ago.
His eyes shift upwards and lock on hers and it’s one of those incredibly intimate moments she assumes different kinds of couples share, one of those moments in the midst of those tell me everything, take me as I am conversations.
Lexie can’t remember when they turned into those types of people. It almost makes her smile.
Fingers trailing up up up now, taking her shirt with it, and his breath fans out over her stomach in a bright, warm rush. Lexie thinks about being completely honest with him. Thinks about telling him that things were good once, happy, but the memories come and go, in and out in random bursts of color and she tries to pin-point one, hold on, but it fades and ebbs away, replaced by the ache in her chest.
She doesn’t.
“Do you miss your father?” she asks quietly instead, fingers tracing the letters of her name into the skin of his shoulder. His hands still, tighten, and she worries she’s gone too far, crossed a boundary he wasn’t ready to pull down, but just as soon as the thought enters her head, his fingers start tracing the edge of her panties, sliding under the elastic.
It’s something akin to being pulled a part at the seams, she thinks, what he’s doing to her, with gentle touches and feathery light kisses. Lexie breathes, but there’s a hitch in the back of her throat. She tries not to arch into his touch, but fails miserably.
“Sometimes, I think. Sure,” he says quietly, and he’s so close she can feel the vibration of his voice deep into her skin, seeping into her bones. Her palm frames his face, his stubble scratchy against her skin, a reminder. “He was never really my father though. He was just sort of there, so I’m not really sure what I’m missing.”
“I think,” she starts, thinking about him and Derek, her friends from Cambridge, all those people she left behind. “I think we build our own families, you know? I think those are the ones that matter,” she says, and thinks, maybe, just maybe that’s why Seattle was, is, such an adjustment for her.
Four thousand miles away from everything she’s known for years and it’s hard going through life without somebody to help hold you up.
Maybe, she muses, that’s why she clung so hard to George, why she tricked herself into believing in things that weren’t really there.
Mark turns his head into her palm, and kisses her skin lightly. There’s a moment where he smiles at her softly, the distinct feel of something shifting between them, but as soon as it begins it’s over, her hand falling to the bed beside her and his lips finding more skin to explore.
“Where’d you get this?” He asks in lieu of a distraction, a subtle end to that particular conversation, and his fingers trace the scar near the jut of her hipbone, back and forth over the tiny ridges of her skin.
“Mmm,” she hums in the back of her throat, a small smile spreading to her lips as his own find her skin. “Junior year. Car accident. Took twenty-five stitches to put me back together. I almost got a tattoo to cover it up in college, but I chickened out.”
A smile against her skin, and her left leg bends at the knee unconsciously. “I like it.”
“yeah?”
“Yeah.”
There’s a shift in the silence stretching between them, and his gaze floats towards the ceiling as his fingers push at the cotton of her panties, and she feels shy almost, her mouth turning upwards in a soft smirk, hands grabbing at his shoulders.
Face near hers now and he moans into her mouth as he kisses her. Lexie swallows it whole, adjusting herself to embrace the weight of him fully between her legs. Mark’s hand under her shirt again, his mouth sliding to her throat, over her collarbone. A soft moan, his, hers, who knows, but it gets swallowed too, lost between them, and her other hand finds his, fingers linking together on the pillow above their head.
She sighs something lovely into his mouth.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-16 10:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-17 12:37 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-17 07:05 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-16 09:38 pm (UTC)I kind of love the opening line, because it isn't something you say but it is something you think quietly to yourself and I love that you went there with her -- with them. The part about her scar, too, was excellent.
Fantastic work!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-17 12:39 am (UTC)Anyway, thanks for reading! I'm glad you liked it.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-16 10:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-17 12:39 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-17 02:04 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-17 03:43 am (UTC)Thanks for reading!
(Your icon is so cute, btw.)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-17 02:26 am (UTC)Excellent job! Thank you so much!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-17 03:44 am (UTC)Thanks for reading!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-17 03:35 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-17 03:44 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-17 11:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-17 04:41 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-26 12:00 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-26 12:02 am (UTC)Thanks for reading!
Fic - When All Else Fades (Lexie, Mark/Lexie)
Date: 2009-03-18 05:48 am (UTC)Re: Fic - When All Else Fades (Lexie, Mark/Lexie)
Date: 2009-03-23 04:03 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-23 08:27 pm (UTC)