A Kiss Is Just a Kiss . . . Right?

"Addison! Wait! C'mon, wait! Addie! Please?"

She storms out of the break room, pretends like she didn't hear him at all as she power walks with each and every harsh, loud step down the corridor and scrapes at the nail bed of her thumb to keep herself from turning around and looking at him and ultimately falling into this dangerous pattern that she has managed to get herself so very lost in.

"Wait, Addison!"

There's sheer desperation creeping into his voice, pleading with her to just turn around and face him.

She can't. She can't anymore.

Well, she shouldn't, to be honest.

Maybe he wants her to press him against the wall again. To cover his mouth with hers, just like she did a few short moments ago. And she's considering it too - kissing him - anything, really, to make him stop saying her name the way that he is, because his voice isn't even remotely registering in her head, it's going straight down to her stomach and further south and she's not liking what she's feeling.

But it's not because she really really enjoyed kissing him.

Oh, it's definitely and certainly not that.

She's married. She can't and shouldn't enjoy anyone else other than her husband.

"Addison."

There's more force behind his voice now, more grit and stance - the A of her name adamant, the S sharp. He's getting bolder.

Damn!

She shouldn't even find it remotely sexy, but, god, she is.

He's determined not to be put off any longer, and she understands, but she cannot do this right now. Not today and absolutely not at the hospital, not when her husband's two stories down and definitely not after the spectacularly unreasonably jealous-filled nonsense she's just had with him.

Maybe not ever.

She's married for Christ's sake.

What the hell is she doing?

She can't just kiss her husband's best friend.

He's forbidden.

"Addie!"

He's raising his voice with no regard for their surroundings. And from the corner of her eyes, she can see doctors and gossip-fuelled nurses roaming about the lane turning to catch the scene they're making.

That's his ploy, she's sure of it; embarrass her by drawing attention to this ridiculous pursuit, to slow her down when she stops to silence him with a glare and a gesture. But no … No! She won't fall for it, won't fall for him – Whoa! Whoa! Where did that even come from?

She needs help, actually professional help, perhaps therapy or a life coach, because she can't - cannot in any circumstance, fall for Mark Sloan.

Mark freaking Sloan!

It's illegal. It shouldn't be legal to be thinking about Mark in a way that's beyond platonic and ... brotherly?

Picking up her pace again as she beelines for the stairwell, she breathes a relief when escape is finally within reach.

Why is she doing this to Derek?

Oh, he's going to be so so angry when she tells him.

Oh goodness!

Should she tell Derek?

A kiss is just a kiss, right?

The door crashes against the cinderblock wall with the force of her push and she disappears inside, her feet moving faster than is safe or sensible in her high heels, but she's desperate.

She needs to get as far as she can from him.

The clunking of her heels screams frustration and the resound is so irritatingly loud that she really thinks running barefoot downstairs is the only way out of this mess but she doesn't because she has to be quick so she could ... oh, she doesn't even know what she's doing or where she's running to.

Her office and patients are all upstairs.

All she knows is if he corners her now, she might not be able to deny him, and she can't allow that to happen.

Not again.

She curses (fuck!) when she hears him come through the door right behind her, and she's hot on her heels ... why can't he let her get away? Just this once?

But then again, when has he ever done that?

He always comes back, always seeks her out, always gets up in her space and her thoughts, always kisses her back, never stops her, never tells her no.

He wedged himself into her life until she can't ignore him anymore, and look where that has gotten them.

It's gotten them here.

No. No. Not here because it all started when she kissed him at her cousins' wedding, which was ... three and a half months ago.

All she wanted was to blame the champagne - the alcohol made her do it. She doesn't know what happened, because before tonight she never even had a slight thought or want. Never. So, the one to blame ought to be the champagne, but that's bullshit, total mockery and she knows it too.

She was angry, pissed off at Derek for booking an aneurysm clipping on the same day as her cousin's wedding, one that she's given him months prior notice, one that resulted in her having to take Mark instead because no one should have to attend weddings alone.

Well, at least, no Montgomery should ever and she can't be the first. And she really doesn't need Bizzy breathing down her neck about it the entire event.

Besides it was all Derek's bright idea.

"Take Mark with you. It's his day off too."

She'd had only two glasses, tops, only enough to make her a little loose and warm when she finally acquiesced to Mark's constant badgering for a dance, thinking -what could it hurt?

It's a wedding.

At the very least, she figured, it would shut him up and then, they could finally make a quiet exit from what had turned out to be a surprisingly intimate and romantic event.

But the evening hadn't quite gone the way she had envisioned it. If she'd thought Mark's problem of undressing women with his eyes would embarrass her, she couldn't have been more wrong. Time and time again, his gaze kept wandering back to her, something soft and longing there, that she tried her damnedest to ignore. And she had, successfully. That is, until he pulled her onto the parquet dance floor and held her closer than a we're-just-friends should, his scent and the feel of his body pressed against hers lulling her into a trance where she temporarily forgot that she is Addison Shepherd - married and definitely not single.

For the length of a song, they were just Addison and Mark.

Addison and Mark.

His hands had been so warm, so gentle, one pressed to the small of her back while the other cradled her own, and he had smelled so damn good while they lazily swayed to the strains of "Someone to Watch Over Me". But in the end, what really broke her resolve was how he looked at her while he held her, like she was precious, a treasure to protect and cherish. And god help her, when he stared down at her with those sky blue eyes and a sweet smile gracing his lips, she leaned in and kissed him before she even knew what she was doing.

Yes, she kissed him.

Long and achingly slow, the kiss never progressed beyond the delicate smudging of their lips, but she had felt his breath catch at the exact moment hers did. It was electric, the touch of her flesh to his, and an insistent little voice in the back of her head warned her to regain control before they could get into any serious trouble. She finally willed herself away from his mouth, which was far harder than it should have been, tucking her face into the crook of his neck, unable to face him, unwilling to explain why she had kissed him or why she had stopped.

No one seemed to care or even notice and she checked, she actually peeked over his shoulders and no one was giving them the time of day.

It's a party filled with adulterers, a tiny peck on the lips is only common.

Right?

When the song ended, she murmured the briefest of goodnights, told him she'd take a cab back to the city and practically ran out the building like it was on fire. She knows she shouldn't have left him alone in a room full of strange Montgomeries, but she absolutely didn't trust herself around him at present, which was obvious when she crawled into bed that night next to Derek, cursing herself for almost screaming his name about a dozen times while she begged for her husband to relieve the tension in between her legs as images of his face, his body, his mouth lighted up her imagination and skin.

She's despicable. It's surprising - no, awful how well she managed to function so normally around Derek and pretend like she's not at all thinking about his best friend.

This can't end well.

Any dread she had about potential awkwardness during their next encounter was unfounded though; he behaved as though it was business as usual when he met her at the hospital the next day. Her own feelings betrayed her, her relief and frustration at his apparent indifference waging a war within her heart.

It happened again a few days later, when she was at the hospital's bathroom, frantically scrubbing Yasmine Bleeth's (her, apparently, very bipolar intern who had stopped medicating since she claimed to be cured.) blood and other matter from under her fingernails. Mark had come in looking for her after she'd gone missing for too long, refusing to listen to her half-hearted assertion that she was fine as her limbs shook and tears dripped from the tip of her nose.

She've seen people and babies die all the time, on a daily basis too, so she doesn't get why she's so emotional about this particular one.

He pulled her away from the flow of water, her skin red and tender, rubbed raw from her efforts, and he carefully dried her hands, the silence hanging between them, heavy and unmovable.

"Umm, I think I should get Derek."

If someone were to ask her why, at that moment, she chose to lift onto her toes and seal her lips to his, she'd be hard-pressed to give a sensible answer. But it had felt right at a time when it seemed like nothing in her life would ever feel right again.

A head had just exploded right before her eyes, blasted from a not-so innocent trigger.

And so, he let her take the lead, their lips moving slowly against each other's, until in an instance of boldness she tilted her head and deepened the kiss, her tongue sliding against his. And then there was no air between their bodies, their mouths fused and hungry, their hands reaching and groping. They spent a few stolen seconds like that, just taking whatever it was they needed from the other.

She didn't thought anything was wrong until something was. Until she saw the gun in her interns' hand and pleaded with her to hand it over to her. "Yasmine, please hand me the gun and we can talk about it. It's okay. I'm not mad at you. Just ..." She never in a million years would have thought she'd be staring straight at a nozzle.

Ultimately, she managed to tear her lips away, a near impossible feat. Leaning her forehead against his collarbone, she listened to the mingling chorus of their gasping breaths and her galloping heart in her ears.

Oh god, she's setting a dangerous precedent here. She can't just go around kissing him anytime she is feeling scared and vulnerable; it isn't fair to him (and Derek too!) when she's so very much happily married. And obviously has no intentions of taking any of this any further.

Obviously.

Right?

She just … just needed that proof tonight, she reasoned. Proof of life, that at any given second, life, itself, could end. End forever, just like that and without any warning too.

That's all this is - affirmation.

"I'm so glad you're okay, Addie." he finally whispered against her forehead.

She nodded, doing all she can to avoid his eyes as she left the bathroom.

And again, no acknowledgement of the kiss ever passed between them.

The next time was a few weeks later, after Mark had been named one of the most eligible bachelors in New York City. While she knows she should not have any of ... of this confusingly stupid and unprecedented sudden flare burning in the pit of her stomach and should just care less about some silly title in page six (because, you know, she's married and all.), but the fact that every female (and male too, really.) at the hospital - be it a patient or staff could not stop drooling at his feet, had waged an internal war over the urge to be angry or, perhaps, thrilled about it.

But, oh, she has a handsome husband and has no grounds to be jealous about who and what he's sleeping with and so, she faked a smile and joked about it like everyone else and got along with her life.

And it was a Wednesday and Wednesdays are burgers and shakes at Bonnie's just the two of them because her husband dearest ... you know the drill.

This Wednesday was practically different, enticing even, because she had found herself excited with butterflies about their date night on that Monday and she planned her outfit that Tuesday evening, which she never ever did, and damn it all because on Wednesday, she had an absolute great time in spite of herself.

He walked her home after, like always, but then again, this time is nothing like all the other ones since he kept a respectful distance between them, all the while his hands were clasped behind his back. Her palm itched with the desire to slide her hand along his, lace their fingers and tug him into her side, absorbing his warmth and the scent of his aftershave.

But no, you can't, she admonished herself.

You're married.

It would send the wrong message.

Why doesn't he ever stop her, though?

But then why does it feel so right?

When they reached the steps of her brownstone, she turned in his direction, a sudden wave of awkward shyness overtaking her, because how does one say a simple goodnight to a friend - a friend that one makes out with from time to time?

God, this is a mess, and it's all her own doing.

She's married. She's married. She's married.

Listen to yourself, Addison!

But Mark surprised her, leaning forward and planting a slow, sweet kiss to her cheek, his breath warm against her skin when he murmured, "Goodnight, Red." And when he began to pull away, presumably to leave, she was the one who snapped, leaning in and claiming his mouth before he could go too far.

In that instant, she could feel it. This time ... this time was ... pleasantly different than the other two. This wasn't the shy, tentative touching of that first kiss on the dance floor at her cousin's wedding. It wasn't the frantic, life-affirming desperation of the second. No, this one was intentional, deliberate, and so completely fucking hot she feared she might spontaneously combust right there on he doorstep, taking him with her and igniting them both in the process.

Neither hesitated to deepen the kiss, their tongues sliding warm and wet into each other's mouth, and she could taste the lingering vanilla from his milkshake. She had teased him about choosing such a dull flavour, his retort of vanilla was that; 'It doesn't have to be boring, Addison' and his heated gaze caused butterflies to erupt in her belly.

No, his version of vanilla is anything but boring.

She was dizzy, burning up from the inside out, her hands boldly sliding under the fabric of his coat and coasting over his ribs, up his chest to clutch at his shirt and pull him closer. A gasp escaped her lips when he backed her into the frigid brick of the building, but, oh god, she can't - couldn't feel the chill anymore, not when he pressed the hard line of his body into her frame like that.

There was nothing else in that moment, nothing but his wicked, warm mouth and tongue, his clever fingers teasing along the edge of her blouse and then dipping beneath to slide along the exposed skin of her waist.

It was the jarring horn of a taxi driving down the street that finally broke her from her lust-induced stupor. She flattened her hands against the wrinkled fabric that had been trapped in her grip just seconds before and pushed, and Mark, ever the gentleman (oh, goodness, she's so confused! Mark? A gentleman?), responded immediately and stepped back, their mouths separating with a loud, wet pop.

He struggled to catch his breath, gazing at her with darkened eyes and undisguised desire, but something deeper and far scarier lurked behind the pure want and it was enough to send her running into her house, a hastily whisper something in the lines of thank-you-for-walking-me-home and thank-you-for-dinner thrown over her shoulder before the door slammed shut behind her.

She leaned on the door, just gasping for air with her entire being quivering with adrenaline. Her forehead pressed against the cool paneling of the wood as she attempted to gather her wits and stop shaking long enough to get herself upstairs for a very cold cold shower.

This was bad. It is so bad, but she had initiated every damn kiss they had shared.

What would that say about her?

How had this spun so completely out of control?

She's married. She's married. She's married.

Drawing a deep, steadying breath, she dragged herself up the stairs and decided that that was the last time.

And it was ...

... until the next time it happened.

There was that time she kissed him in the break room when conveniently no one was around. Of course! She had been talking to him about going to polo tournaments with her granddad as a child, sitting in the bleachers, eating popcorn and basking in the sunshine in the Hamptons, and he hung on her every word, and she just ... leaned over and kissed him. Just like that.

It was sweet and short, and he smiled at her like she had just hung the stars and the moon. Then, she sauntered away from him with a swing in her hips and a matching smile on her lips, and only felt slightly disappointed when he didn't chase after her and kiss her again.

And with every peck to his lips, the fact that she's married to his best friend drifted into the clouds.

Then, it happened again another time at the break room because she so impulsively pounced and pressed her lips to his, her tongue darting out to briefly taste his.

And she pulled away quickly, just in time to prevent being caught by her husband and Dr. Green when they spontaneously waltzed into the room for coffee. She could have kicked herself for behaving so carelessly.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Derek gave her the usual kiss on the cheek and told her that he might not make it home that night.

"Okay." was all she said and nodded as she walked away.

She couldn't look him properly in the eye from then on and she feels absolutely horrendous and guilty since she knows that she have been oozing distance and space around him lately and she knows that he have noticed that and she knows that he thinks it's because he has been spending more nights than he should at the hospital.

Goodness!

It isn't. If anything, it's more a relief since she can't risk Derek prying the truth out of her. Because if he asks why she's been so difficult, she might just tell him that she's been kissing his best friend.

What have she done?

But the absolute worst was when he was staying at their (her husband and her) brownstone since the water pipes at his prewar studio apartment burst, which led to a flooding.

She knew it would be dangerous - sharing the same living space with him - but Derek, being the ever-caring man, insisted and basically left him no other choice than to say yes to staying at their guest room.

And she, she couldn't just say no, even if she wanted to.

Of course, she couldn't. Thiugh, she so desperately wanted to - say no, that is.

But it's Mark. That, itself, is all the explanation there is.

He's family.

On his first night there, she wandered down to the kitchen, her mind too tormented to sleep, stretched to its limits by the magnitude of this situation she had caused for herself and the possible events of the preceding days and the what-if-Derek-finds-out.

It was the anxiety that was keeping her up and making her stomach churn so painfully.

So, she padded quietly down the stairs with the peace of mind that he should be and ought to be in his room since it was very much late, only to find him already sitting on one of the barstools in the dimly lit kitchen, nursing a tumbler of whiskey.

He hadn't heard her approach, and his unguarded expression stopped her dead in her tracks. He looked sleep-deprived and tormented, darks circles under his eyes and his hair sticking out in at odd angles, probably from running his fingers through it over and over. His obvious misery made an irrational concern for him well in her chest.

"Hey."

He startled when her hand slid over his shoulder and he looked at her with such relief, like he was glad for another concrete reminder that she was here.

"Addie." He shifted on the stool and pulled her into the vee of his legs, wrapping her up tight in his embrace and she couldn't turn down his need to hold her, assuring him softly over and over, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Mark."

She is so sorry because she is the one who started this. She made them confused. They were good as friends; just friends. She did this to what was their friendship.

She loves Derek. But she thinks she might love him too.

When he finally released her just far enough to look into her eyes, she knew what was coming before he even set it into motion.

She could have run back to Derek, which she should have. But she didn't want to.

As she gazed into the crisp blue being overtaken by shadowy darkness, his hand raising to cup her cheek tenderly and his breath warm when it skated over her skin.

He gave her plenty of opportunity to pull away, to stop him, to say no.

She didn't. She didn't do all that.

Their lips met in an achingly soft, slow dance, their mouths moving in perfect sync, neither attempting to deepen the kiss right away. It was so desperately sweet, full of yearning and the need for solace, and for long moments they simply reveled in the touch and the taste of each other.

And then the energy shifted wordlessly, ratcheted up to new heights, each of them opening to the other as the kiss intensified and spun out of control, their hands roaming and sliding and grasping, pulling the other closer and closer. They were ravenous for each other, devouring and exploring with abandon, and she knew they were on the brink of crossing a line, of taking a step that could not be ignored nor undone, and she just didn't care. She wanted him, badly.

The sound of a door closing upstairs had her staggering backwards quickly and putting an acceptable distance between them.

"Shit." she cursed, and the fact that her husband was just upstairs as she was doing all that ran over her like a freight train. "Shit. Shit."

She ran shaky fingers through her hair at the realisation that she've officially become her father.

She's an adulterous bitch.

She's been passed down the Montgomery trait.

Shit!

They simply stared at each other as footsteps descended, panting and unable to look away, longing and fear etched into both of their expressions until she finally managed to excuse herself and stumble back upstairs, ignoring whatever Derek had wanted to say to her, and she hid in the bathroom and prayed for her weakness for him to go away.

Their desire was spiraling out of control, more and more with each passing day, and she knew they'd be ripping each other's clothes off if he didn't find a new place to stay in a hurry.

She can't ask him to leave, because that wouldn't be right, so she found herself a temporary fix by doing what Derek does - using patients as a reason to sleeping at the hospital.

But that only grew suspicions on his part and as he confronted her about it all at his office that afternoon, she denied such and all allegations that she was avoiding him. But then, he pushed her up against his desk and left her breathless and aching for their lips to love and then, he left.

No, he literally actually left her and she didn't see him for another week, not until he came back from a surgery in Chicago.

Was she hurt that he didn't tell her that he was leaving for a few days?

Perhaps. But she needed that distance, needed the perspective it would allow her, needed to focus on her marriage. Whatever this thing was between them, she had hoped the time away would cool things off, take everything down a notch.

And actually, his return came and went with little ado, and it had left her with the hope that they were back on track to normalcy, or at least, their offbeat version of it.

She couldn't have been more wrong.

It started all over again as a nurse from peds draped herself all over him at the break room. Addison glanced and curled her lips a smile and managed to keep her cool as she made herself a cup of coffee whilst listening to all the inappropriate they were whispering to each other, but deep inside, her blood boiled scorching hot as a blue-eyed monster roared to life within her chest, setting her ablaze.

She squashed her jealousy in a hurry though, reasoning that she is married and Mark is single and entitled to spend time with whomever he wished, as was she.

It didn't matter.

They don't matter.

They aren't a couple and he owed her nothing.

She's not angry.

She don't even care.

Now if only she could make herself believe that.

Next week turned out to be normal and they began to delve as per usual, the chemistry flowing between them as naturally as ever.

That is, until his phone rang.

It was the peds nurse, hoping to dinner with him and she could tell he was tempted to accept the invitation, even as his eyes continued to dart to her face and away again. Whether he was uncomfortable about accepting it in front of her or perhaps awaiting her reaction, she wasn't sure, but either way, she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her face crumple in disappointment.

So, she excused herself to the break room under the guise of needing more coffee before he could wrap up the call. He obviously wanted privacy to flirt with that, to say yes to whatever she was offering, and it would be a cold day in hell before she stood in the way of Mark's love life. She braced her hands against the counter and leaned into it, taking deep breaths, in and out, in and out, schooling her expression into a mask of cool indifference.

Whatever had happened between them was a thing of the past; it was time to move on.

That was how he found her a few minutes later, staring off into space, no fresh coffee in her hands.

"Hey, Red. Sorry about that." He had paused then, looking her up and down, taking in her posture and the far-off look in her eyes. "Are you okay? Do you want me to make you a cup?"

Her gaze snapped up to his face, sharp and unforgiving, and she felt her emotions bubble up and overflow, unable to staunch the flow from her mouth. "Don't worry about it, Mark. Besides, don't you have a date with the peds to get to? Wouldn't want to keep you."

She knew it was a mistake the instant the words left her mouth. Mark's expression cycled through a myriad of reactions in five seconds flat, morphing from shocked to wounded to comprehension to pleasantly surprised. Oh shit, he knows. He knew she cared in a way she had never intended to let on. What a disaster.

"Why Addison, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're jealous." A small, crooked smile accompanied his accusation, but it was more happy than it was smug, and that aggravated her even more. This thing between them ... it wasn't supposed to evolve, wasn't supposed to become serious, wasn't supposed to evoke any real feelings. It should have never happened in the first place, but she had no one to blame but herself. She started this.

And here she is now, feeling pissed off and possessive and so completely turned on, and before she could stop herself, she had stalked across the room, pushed him up against the wall, and was kissing him like her life depended on it. Mark, for his part, didn't hesitate to dive in, his tongue parting her lips only to be met by her own, and she was drowning in his taste, in the heat of his body pressed against her, his hands roaming her back, shamelessly drifting south to cup her ass and pull her into him.

She moaned into his mouth, the feeling of his arousal pressed tight against her hip shooting sparks through her bloodstream, the spring of desire coiling painfully tight in her belly and, oh god, she wanted him, she knew she did. But it was at that moment she realised that she didn't just want his body, she wanted it all, his heart and his mind too, and the thought had her tearing herself from his lips with a noisy smack, her body already missing the enticing warmth of his.

What the hell is happening to her?

How had she lost control and her mind so completely?

She was out of breath, at a loss for words, her eyes darting back and forth between his darkened eyes and his red, kiss-swollen mouth, and all she could think about was pouncing on him again and not stopping this time.

So she did the first thing that came to mind; she ran.

And that's how and why she finds herself in this situation, running down the stairs at dangerous, breakneck speeds, like a grade-school girl fleeing her playground crush who's in hot pursuit.

"God damn it Addie! Please stop!"

The plaintive tone of his voice, the obvious pleading and desperation made her steps stutter and her balance go awry, but before she can pitch head first down the next flight of stairs, Mark is there at her back, pulling her away from the precipice with a steadying arm around her waist. Then, he tugs her backward onto the landing between floors and everything goes still, their panting breaths deafening in the deserted stairwell, reverberating off the cinderblock walls.

It takes her a handful of seconds and several deep, head-clearing breaths to come back to herself, the adrenaline rush from her near fall making her shaky and weak. Initially, she's grateful for Mark's steadying presence, but before long, she becomes hyperaware of his breath against her neck and the solid feel of his body against her back. His arm is still wrapped around her waist, gripping at her hip.

She doesn't want him to let go (perhaps ever.) but she needs some distance between them if she's ever going to hear her head on straight.

"Mark, you can let go of me now."

He doesn't move to release her, only tilting his forehead into the back of her head instead.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. Fine. Thank you, but I can stand on my own two feet."

He huffs out a laugh against her neck and it sends an involuntary shiver through her frame.

"Of that, I have no doubt." She thinks he's going to move away then, but he turns serious and adds, "Promise you're not going to run away."

She closed her eyes against the emotions surfacing within her: excitement, terror, arousal, fear, all-consuming want. She wants to run, all right, but whether it's away from him or straight into his arms she can't decide. However, he did just save her from knocking her front teeth out (and maybe worse.); the least she can do is face him and have a civilised conversation, hopefully sweeping the last ten minutes under the rug and allowing her to escape with a modicum of her dignity intact.

She lets out a long, bracing breath before she replies, "Fine. No running. I promise."

"Okay. Because we saw what almost happened the last time you made a break for it." He withdraws his arm, mercifully taking a few steps back and giving her a little room in which to gather herself.

When she turns, she has every intention of laughing this off, of downplaying her reaction to the nurse's phone call and the passionate clinch they just shared and her irrational need to run and hide from him afterward. But one look at him makes her already-weak rationalisations crumble to bitter ash on her tongue. There's no trace of smugness in his expression, no triumph in kissing and catching her. He's more ... hopeful. Sweet and sincere.

God damn it, who is this man?

Certainly not the slick, sarcastic womanizer she once took him for. She doesn't know what the hell to think or what to say, and it's easier to just stare at the bland concrete floor when he looks so damn earnest, but she needs to start somewhere.

"Listen, Mark ..."

"I said no."

She looks up, puzzled. "What?"

"I said no, to Sandra. I told her I was busy, that I couldn't go out with her tonight, but the truth is …" he trails off as he shakes his head, and he's the one who looks away now, his expression turning sheepish.

"What? The truth is what?" she urges, even though she suspects she already knows where he's going with this, and her heart flutters against her ribs, tickling her insides.

He shrugs, and this sudden shyness is so endearing, she finds herself drifting toward him again. When she's standing before him, he finally lifts his eyes to meet hers.

"I don't want to go out with her. I don't want her at all. I just want you, Addie."

Her name has barely left her mouth before her lips are on his again, and he doesn't hesitate to fold her into his arms as he kisses her slowly, thoroughly. She clings to him, her fingers grasping the short, silky hairs at the nape of his neck as she explores his mouth, absorbing the taste of him, allowing him to do the same to her.

When they finally part, it's only far enough to lean their foreheads together, their bodies still wrapped around each other's. Mark's eyes remain closed, his tongue darting out to capture the lingering flavour of her on his lips, and it takes every ounce of her strength not to chase it, to lay claim to his mouth again. But they need to talk before this goes any further. They've proven to be excellent at the kissing part; communicating, not so much.

"What are we doing, Mark?" she whispers against his cheek, and it spurs him to open his eyes again, so impossibly blue even in the subdued lighting of the stairwell. There's so much in his gaze, and she can't even begin to tease apart the threads of what it all means.

"Well, we're talking. And a moment ago, we were kissing." The corners of his mouth quirk up at that, and she responds in kind, relieved that the awkwardness has dissipated.

"No, I mean, what's happening here, with us? We're friends. And I'm ma-"

He doesn't want to hear the M word, doesn't let her say it, doesn't need the reminder of it.

He knows. Oh, he knows and he feels awful for both because of that and the fact that he's betraying his best friend.

"Friends who kiss?" he interjects, his smile growing, and he's not wrong.

Yes, they're friends, but they're more, and they have been for months, in spite of her denials. Their relationship has been evolving and growing deeper, and she's been trying to ignore that fact, but that option is no longer tenable. It's time to face this thing.

"Friends who kiss," she murmurs, nodding in assent. "And I won't lie, I've enjoyed the kissing."

"Me too."

She slaps his chest in response his cheekiness. "I noticed." she says slyly, shaking her head in the hopes that the motion will knock the right words loose. "But, are we ... just friends to you?"

With the benefit of her heels, they're almost eye-to-eye, and he seems almost startled at that question. The seconds draw out as he looks at her, looks into her, the intensity of his gaze daring her to look away but she resists. No more running.

"Addie, you are my friend, but you haven't been just a friend to me for a long time now ..."

She swallows hard at his confession, her throat constricted tight and stifling any response, but she's saved from having to speak as he continues.

"I've wanted more for a while, long before you even kissed me, actually," he starts out smiling, but as he continues to speak, his features give way to something else entirely, his expression serious and heartfelt. "But I haven't said anything because you're married ... to my best friend, nonetheless. So I just took what you were willing to give me. And I shouldn't have. Because you're not mine to kiss. I should've stopped it the first time. I should've stopped us all along ... truth be told, I would've regretted it if I did. But I should've. I should have."

He just never wanted to. And Derek is his brother. Though not blood, he loves him like one.

Okay. Okay. Okay.

She doesn't know what to say. And she doesn't want to run, though she thinks she should because whatever is going on here sounds so scary and real.

"What am I suppose to do, then?"

She loves Derek. She does. Oh, she adores her husband. He's her best friend forever and ... and then, there's Mark, who she thinks she might love too.

He laces his arms around her waist to draw her close, his mouth hovering just over hers. "I think you know."

Their lips meet in the middle once more, and what better way to seal their parting than with a kiss? They've already proven themselves excellent at it, and when he nudges her backward until her back meets the wall and he has the leverage to press his body into hers, she responds by deepening the kiss and wrapping one leg around his thigh.

But as she melts into his kiss and feels just how completely right they are together, she realises how absurd they are to believe they could ever be just friends.

They're friends who kiss - no, kissed.

This will be it.

"Addison."

The voice of her name ricochets in her head, until she finds herself wishing it to be Mark's.

Oh, but with her luck ...

A little Maddison oneshot. Hope you enjoyed. Let me know what you think. REVIEW!