Title:  Mark/Derek snippet                         (click here to go back to the Grey's Anatomy Fiction Homepage)
Author:  halfdutch
Fandom:  Grey's Anatomy
Pairing:  Mark/Derek
Rating:  R

Derek's hand still stings. He fractured a bone punching that jerk, Meredith tells him, mournfully looking over his X-rays before she's called to scrub in on a surgery. Not that he regrets it, but he won't be able to operate for god knows how long. He doesn't need a cast, just some Vicodin and some time off, probably. He's sitting alone in an empty room, seething about Mark's sudden, unwelcome appearance, when the door opens and the devil walks in.

"I heard you broke it."

Mark's face is only bruised, but Derek wishes he'd at least dislocated the bastard's jaw. "Yeah. Come to gloat?" He should be more annoyed but the Vicodin has wrapped him in a nice, warm glow. Even Mark can't bother him right now.

Mark takes a step closer. "I'm sorry, man. I should have told you I was coming."

"Stop flirting with my girlfriend."

"Didn't know she was." Mark crooks an eyebrow and smiles, like a smile excuses everything.

"Like that's ever stopped you." A small seed of annoyance creeps in, under the blanket indifference of the drug.

"Derek. I didn't come out here for her."

"Right." Derek turns and faces the wall. That would be Mark's cue to leave. Except he comes even closer, until he's right at Derek's bedside.

"Derek." Mark's voice is low and breathy and Derek knows what comes next. He turns, without wanting to, and Mark is looking at him with that "I've been a bad little boy," pout that Derek never could resist. He points towards the door with his injured hand but instead Mark leans forward, taking Derek's head in his heads. His kiss is slow and his lips are warm and Derek swears he can feel his heart stop. Mark climbs into the bed with him and Derek just lies there, staring into those painfully sincere eyes that speak of forgiveness and second chances.

"Let me at least make it up to you."

Derek opens his mouth but all that comes out is a groan as Mark slips his hand into his scrubs. Mark's hands, those hands take hold of him and his head falls back on the pillow. He's closing his eyes and the room is spinning and Mark is saying he's sorry and then he's coming much too fast. Mark's lips graze his forehead and when he pulls back, he's grinning like an idiot. "Gotta go," he says, like this makes everything okay.

Derek lies back, spent and warm and feeling altogether too good. Definitely the Vicodin's fault.