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bedlamsbard...I have just realized that one of the reasons Mac actually went (was pressured in) to this conference was because of his high school reunion. Which is going to be a wonderful disaster. As is the fact that the high school principal goes, "Oh, we have all these alumni that have grown up to be wonderful people! Let's have them talk to the students!"
It's a very good thing Stella's there. Unfortunately, I still feel like I need at least a little mystery. Maybe Mac's mysterious Uncle Jefferson Taylor should be brought in. Except for the fact he's dead. Taylor family secrets?
We're getting to the porn. I think we should go back to the trauma, because Mac was almost sane for a moment. Just a moment, mind.
“Stella,” he whispered, breath fluttering against her pulsepoint, and kissed his way up her jawline to her cheekbone. Stella squirmed at the need for touch, for his mouth on hers and – Jesus Christ, he was good with his mouth. She hadn’t seen that coming.
Mac’s hands tightened on her hips, and he was shaking slightly as he turned his head to kiss her. Carefully, Stella put her arms around his neck and kissed him back, almost surprised to feel his erection hard against her thigh. One of Mac’s hands wandered up her stomach to halt at the top of her rib cage, and then he brushed his thumb lightly across her breast.
Stella couldn’t help her gasp, and it must have been the right thing to do because he cupped her breast with more surety this time. She slid one stilettoed foot up the back of his calf, and Mac tipped her suddenly back onto the bed, burying his face against her breasts.
“Careful of the fucking dress,” Stella gasped, because the dress was expensive, damn it, and she liked it, although she’d probably end up remembering it from now on as the dress Mac Taylor fucked her in, whether he got it off or not.
Mac lifted his head from her chest, cheeks flushed red, and this was as disheveled as Stella had ever seen him. “Oh, Christ, Stella, I’m sorry, I –”
“’s’okay. Just that I like the dress.” Struck by some wild urge, she reached up to tug at his tie, try and push his jacket off his shoulders, and Mac helped by shrugging out of his suit jacket and letting her fumble at the knot. She got it off finally and tossed away.
“That’s –”
Stella kicked at her shoes, and oh thank you God, got them off. One went flying across the room, hit a wall and slid down. “A really expensive tie? Boo hoo, now you only have two million nine hundred ninety-nine thousand left. Cry about it, Mac. Christ, I hate those fucking shoes.”
Mac managed something like a smile and asked, almost seriously but for the amusement in his eyes, “Then why did you wear them?”
“Because I look hot in them,” Stella said, and squirmed a little under him. Mac arched into her hips more on instinct than anything else, and seemed surprised when he did.
Oh, thank you Lord, Stella thought, because it was her Mac again. Mac on one of his good days, not his worst day, and this was what she’d been looking for. What she’d been hoping to find and tease out of his happy little shell. She just hoped he’d stay that way.
Mac kissed her neck. “Is this – is this –”
All right he probably wanted to say, and Stella put her hands up against his chest and pushed at the buttons on his shirt until they popped free. So much for staying sane more than two minutes. “Yeah, this is okay.” She squirmed around to nibble at his ear. “So’s this.” Grabbed his hand with quick fingers, put it on her leg and slid it up her thigh, bunching the skirt of her dress up around her waist. “And this.”
Mac’s breath came in ragged gasps. He stroked her hips carefully, tiny, precise circles that made Stella shudder into his grip and arch upward seeking, blindly, for his hands and his skin. He rested his head againt her collarbone a moment, and Stella felt the old ache where the bone broke, but somehow it was comforting, not painful. It reminded her of home, and wasn’t that some kind of fucked up?
Mac’s hands weren’t enough, couldn’t be enough, and his mouth was better but she wanted more. Stella fixed her eyes on the crack tracing its way across the ceiling and shoved her hand down Mac’s dress slacks, wrapping her fingers around his dick. He jumped against her hand, but this was – not safe, so far off safe they might as well be in Greenland, but it was –
It was human. Instinct was what would save Mac from his upward spiral toward the clouds, or downward to the river Styx, and it was instinct he needed now. Not to think, but to act and react to purely physical stimuli, to forget and lose himself in a familiar, willing body. Stella was perfectly happy to be that body, because Mac with her was a better thought than Mac with a stranger, because there was no way that could end well. No way in heaven or hell, and she had the unhappy suspicion that whoever it was that unlucky stranger might have been would have been would be taking a oneway train to some point in the afterlife, because she knew Mac, and there was no way on earth he could process a one night stand.
In the years she’d known him that had happened once, and it had been a disaster for all involved. Stella hated to think she’d encouraged Mac towards that date, ignoring the nagging voice in the back of her mind that leered happily, This won’t end well. This is New York. Nothing here ends well.
Nothing here ends well.
But this wasn’t New York, and she’d make it end, if not well, then at least better.
...I have just discovered that one of my friends from school has an LJ, and now feel really voyeuristic. And a little nervous, because she knows I have one, but I didn't tell her my username, because, well, ya' know, CSI: NY porn.
It's a very good thing Stella's there. Unfortunately, I still feel like I need at least a little mystery. Maybe Mac's mysterious Uncle Jefferson Taylor should be brought in. Except for the fact he's dead. Taylor family secrets?
We're getting to the porn. I think we should go back to the trauma, because Mac was almost sane for a moment. Just a moment, mind.
“Stella,” he whispered, breath fluttering against her pulsepoint, and kissed his way up her jawline to her cheekbone. Stella squirmed at the need for touch, for his mouth on hers and – Jesus Christ, he was good with his mouth. She hadn’t seen that coming.
Mac’s hands tightened on her hips, and he was shaking slightly as he turned his head to kiss her. Carefully, Stella put her arms around his neck and kissed him back, almost surprised to feel his erection hard against her thigh. One of Mac’s hands wandered up her stomach to halt at the top of her rib cage, and then he brushed his thumb lightly across her breast.
Stella couldn’t help her gasp, and it must have been the right thing to do because he cupped her breast with more surety this time. She slid one stilettoed foot up the back of his calf, and Mac tipped her suddenly back onto the bed, burying his face against her breasts.
“Careful of the fucking dress,” Stella gasped, because the dress was expensive, damn it, and she liked it, although she’d probably end up remembering it from now on as the dress Mac Taylor fucked her in, whether he got it off or not.
Mac lifted his head from her chest, cheeks flushed red, and this was as disheveled as Stella had ever seen him. “Oh, Christ, Stella, I’m sorry, I –”
“’s’okay. Just that I like the dress.” Struck by some wild urge, she reached up to tug at his tie, try and push his jacket off his shoulders, and Mac helped by shrugging out of his suit jacket and letting her fumble at the knot. She got it off finally and tossed away.
“That’s –”
Stella kicked at her shoes, and oh thank you God, got them off. One went flying across the room, hit a wall and slid down. “A really expensive tie? Boo hoo, now you only have two million nine hundred ninety-nine thousand left. Cry about it, Mac. Christ, I hate those fucking shoes.”
Mac managed something like a smile and asked, almost seriously but for the amusement in his eyes, “Then why did you wear them?”
“Because I look hot in them,” Stella said, and squirmed a little under him. Mac arched into her hips more on instinct than anything else, and seemed surprised when he did.
Oh, thank you Lord, Stella thought, because it was her Mac again. Mac on one of his good days, not his worst day, and this was what she’d been looking for. What she’d been hoping to find and tease out of his happy little shell. She just hoped he’d stay that way.
Mac kissed her neck. “Is this – is this –”
All right he probably wanted to say, and Stella put her hands up against his chest and pushed at the buttons on his shirt until they popped free. So much for staying sane more than two minutes. “Yeah, this is okay.” She squirmed around to nibble at his ear. “So’s this.” Grabbed his hand with quick fingers, put it on her leg and slid it up her thigh, bunching the skirt of her dress up around her waist. “And this.”
Mac’s breath came in ragged gasps. He stroked her hips carefully, tiny, precise circles that made Stella shudder into his grip and arch upward seeking, blindly, for his hands and his skin. He rested his head againt her collarbone a moment, and Stella felt the old ache where the bone broke, but somehow it was comforting, not painful. It reminded her of home, and wasn’t that some kind of fucked up?
Mac’s hands weren’t enough, couldn’t be enough, and his mouth was better but she wanted more. Stella fixed her eyes on the crack tracing its way across the ceiling and shoved her hand down Mac’s dress slacks, wrapping her fingers around his dick. He jumped against her hand, but this was – not safe, so far off safe they might as well be in Greenland, but it was –
It was human. Instinct was what would save Mac from his upward spiral toward the clouds, or downward to the river Styx, and it was instinct he needed now. Not to think, but to act and react to purely physical stimuli, to forget and lose himself in a familiar, willing body. Stella was perfectly happy to be that body, because Mac with her was a better thought than Mac with a stranger, because there was no way that could end well. No way in heaven or hell, and she had the unhappy suspicion that whoever it was that unlucky stranger might have been would have been would be taking a oneway train to some point in the afterlife, because she knew Mac, and there was no way on earth he could process a one night stand.
In the years she’d known him that had happened once, and it had been a disaster for all involved. Stella hated to think she’d encouraged Mac towards that date, ignoring the nagging voice in the back of her mind that leered happily, This won’t end well. This is New York. Nothing here ends well.
Nothing here ends well.
But this wasn’t New York, and she’d make it end, if not well, then at least better.
...I have just discovered that one of my friends from school has an LJ, and now feel really voyeuristic. And a little nervous, because she knows I have one, but I didn't tell her my username, because, well, ya' know, CSI: NY porn.