[IPS] [Het] [M] What You Need
Title: What You Need
Fandom: In Plain Sight
Genre: Het, sort of hurt/comfort
Pairing: Mary/Marshall, mentions of Mary/Raph, Brandi/Raph
Length: 2,660 words
Rating: M
Credits: Thanks to jennukes and pixie_on_acid for beta-reading.
Summary: Marshall always knows what Mary needs.
What You Need
I wore nice underwear, damnit.
Mary pounds on the steering wheel. Now that the crying is over, the anger has returned. She runs over it again in her mind.
----
Raph and Brandi walk up to his front door carrying brown bags full of groceries. Brandi thrusts hers at him and, as he struggles to balance them both, playfully reaches her hand into his front pocket and pulls out his keys. She laughs and he flashes her a sexy smile.
Mary stands at the end of the sidewalk, dumbstruck for a moment. But just a moment - the pieces snap into place, the hurt washes over her, and her sarcasm kicks in. Kicks into overdrive.
"Aren't you cute?" she calls, smiling ferociously as they turn towards her in suprise. "Going shopping together... probably cooking dinner together... what else are you two doing together? Hmm?"
"Mar, please." Brandi gets that look of wide-eyed innocence that Mary learned not to trust from the time her sister was eight years old. "It's not what you think."
"Oh, really?" Mary still smiles, but her words take on a harder edge. "You mean you're not an amoral little tramp who destroys everyone and everything around her? Imagine that."
Always the gentleman, Raph steps between them. "Enough, Mary. Enough."
"Oh, but I haven't even gotten to you yet."
Raph sets the bags down by the door and stalks toward her. Over his shoulder, Mary glimpses Brandi; she has turned toward the door and her shoulders are shaking. Mary can't feel an ounce of remorse about making her cry.
"This is not what you think, Mary. We are not sleeping together. We haven't even kissed." Raph is practically hissing. He's angry, but Mary couldn't care less. In fact, she welcomes it. She knows that now is the time to finish this once and for all.
"Exactly," she says, a hard calm settling over her. "Because it's not just sex with her, is it, Raph? Fine. Be with her. You were never more than a fuck to me."
She turns to walk away but he catches her arm. "Mary, don't do this. I proposed to you. I wanted to marry you."
"And I said no, so you moved on to the next best thing." She wrenches her arm from his grasp, and strides toward her car. As she opens the door, she gives one last look. Raph still stands where she left him on the sidewalk, and Brandi is looking out from the porch with puffy eyes. "But I've got to warn you, she'll make a lousy little homemaker. Maybe worse than me."
----
Mary sighs, resting her head on her hands where they grip the wheel, blocking out the busy parking lot in front of her. She's had a crappy couple of days. She really needed Raph tonight. But she can't deny that she created this situation. She held Raph at a distance. She used him, not really caring if he was getting what he wanted or needed, telling herself that sex should be enough for him if it was for her. And she was the one who pushed him together with Brandi, keeping him around during his injury when she knew she wouldn't be there to care for him. She just thought Brandi owed her that much. She should've known better. Really, it was Raph that was owed. He deserves someone who wants to be with him.
She knows she can deal with this. It stings her pride but not her heart. Unfortunately, the blow to her ego has done nothing to ease the problem she sought Raph out for in the first place. Three days of chasing down a fugitive that had put one of her clients in the hospital - three days of heat, adrenaline, and just being fucking pissed off - have left her keyed up and tense.
She needs stress relief, and for Mary that comes one of two ways - violence or sex. There's no one who particularly deserves an ass-kicking right now - at least, no one who isn't behind bars or a blood relative - so that leaves option number two. Unfortunately, she just drove her primary supplier right into the arms of her sister.
Lifting her head, Mary stares at the entrance to the bar. She's dressed the part - low-cut red blouse, tight jeans, leather boots, her nice underwear, for Chrissakes. She could drift into the bar and smile at the first guy she sees, and she's pretty damn sure she wouldn't have to walk out of there alone. But she has enough presence of mind to wonder how she'll feel about that in the morning. Now might not be the wisest time to be hooking up with random men in bars.
Mentally, she runs through a list. Thanks to her job, most of the men she knows are barely-rehabilitated slimebags, and bafflingly, many of those are married. She thinks about Dershowitz. He's kind of hot, and she thinks he'd be game, but she's already walking a fine line with him. She can't risk revealing anything to him, about herself or her work.
She's out of options. It's the bar or nowhere.
Mary decides on nowhere. But she can't go home.
----
He answers the door half-dressed, and Mary pushes past him into the apartment. "Can I crash on your couch?"
Marshall doesn't respond, and she turns to find him standing in the doorway, holding the door open. "Well, hello, Mary. What a pleasant surprise. Won't you come in?" he deadpans.
"Nevermind. Bad idea." She turns around and heads for the door. He quickly closes it.
"I asked you in, didn't I?"
Mary moves for the handle but Marshall dodges in front of her. She crosses her arms and glares. "I'm in no mood for games, Marshall. Either ask me to stay or get out of my way."
"Stay," he says, as though it's obvious.
"Tell me you've got booze."
He takes her by the arm and steers her towards the kitchen.
----
They are sitting on the couch, their bare feet on the coffee table. The news is on but Mary isn't listening. She chews an ice cube out of what remains of her second Jack-and-Coke. "Do you think there's something wrong with me?" she asks.
"Nope," Marshall says, never taking his eyes from News 13's weather report.
"I'm serious, numbnuts." Mary punches him in the arm to get his attention. "Do you think there's something wrong with me?"
Marshall turns toward her with an earnest expression. "Other than a vulgar vocabulary and a tendency to inflict pain on your closest friends? Not a thing."
"Thank you." Mary smiles and turns back to the TV.
"You're perfect," Marshall adds, turning back to the TV himself. Mary rests her head on his shoulder, her hand finding its way to his side.
----
Mary is not sure exactly when the hand she'd rested on Marshall's side began to roam. It was completely unconscious - just an instinctive reaction to bare skin. She only becomes aware of it when he stops breathing. She turns her eyes toward him and finds him staring at the opposite wall.
She sits up and gives him some space. “Sorry.”
"It's alright." His voice is tight and he still won't look at her. It gets under her skin.
"Why do you do that?" she asks, more sharply than she means to.
He glances at her, then turns back. "Do what?"
"You act like thinking of me in a sexual way is a crime, like it repulses you." She's getting more pissed by the second. He said there was nothing wrong with her. "You won't even look at me."
"That's not because I find you repulsive," he says wryly.
"Well, you make me feel repulsive, asshole." Mary grabs for her boots.
Marshall grabs her hand, stopping her. He looks her in the eye. "Why are you here?"
"What the hell does that matter? I'm leaving."
He is silent, waiting for an answer. He doesn’t let go of her hand.
"Let's see," Mary says, sarcasm and anger roaring back again. "After the joy and excitement of three days spent chasing an armed and dangerous felon through every bad neighborhood and dive bar in three counties, I came home to find that my boyfriend had left me for my sister. And for some reason I thought being with a friend would help."
She pulls her hand away, grabs her boots, and heads for the door.
----
He blindsides her in the hallway, knocking her against the wall and pinning her there with his body. His lips are soft but his kiss is forceful. Mary is totally taken off guard and instinctively kisses back. In a minute, she's seeing tiny stars and she doesn't know if it's the lack of oxygen or if she hit her head. She pushes hard against his chest and he stumbles back two steps before catching himself. "What the fuck, Marshall?" she gasps.
He raises an eyebrow infuriatingly, but doesn't answer her. He's breathing heavily and his skin is shining under the track lighting overhead. Mary notices that his abs are tense, and he reminds her of a snake poised to strike. She strikes first, throwing herself at him hard enough to knock him into the opposite wall.
----
They make it to the bedroom, but Mary will be amazed if neither of them has a concussion. She's not entirely sure whether they're fucking or fighting. All she knows is that she doesn't want it to stop. She pushes him back on the bed and practically pounces on top of him, stripping her shirt off in the process. He reaches for her and she arches toward him, only to growl when he flips them and pins her arms to the bed.
"Are you done?" Marshall drawls calmly, that eyebrow raised again.
Mary thrashes a bit, but he's really got her pinned. It's not that he's exceptionally strong, but he knows how to use his height against her. "How long has it been since you've done this? I think you might've forgotten a step or two."
"I meant done with the kicking-my-ass portion of the evening."
She stops struggling and blinks up at him. Marshall. She doesn't want to hurt him. "Yeah, that's done."
"Good." He nods slowly. "Feeling a little less crazy?"
Mary makes a show of thinking it over while she catches her breath. "Yup. A little. How are you?"
Marshall smiles crookedly down at her. "Horny. Thanks for asking."
That went without saying. The physical evidence was poking her thigh. "Yeah, me too."
His head drops and for a moment she thinks it's a sign of giving up - he's realized this is a bad idea and is about to pull away. Then his teeth connect with the tender skin behind her ear and she sucks in a gasp. "We're doing this, then?" she asks, her voice higher-pitched than she would've liked.
"No straight man is going to say 'no' to that question, Mary." He works his way down her neck with nips and kisses, releasing her wrists one at a time. "I'm afraid the choice is up to you."
There is only one logical choice. Marshall is her co-worker, her partner, her friend. Sleeping with him is a really bad idea.
Of course, Mary's never been known for her good judgment.
----
Her hand slips below the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back; Marshall's hips press against hers in response, then he slides away. He sheds his jeans, then reaches for the button on hers. Mary helps.
Standing over her, Marshall grins. "Nice underwear."
"Shut up." Mary grabs his hand and pulls him down on top of her.
----
"More," she demands, grinding her hips against his. "More."
"Un-uh," he murmurs against her throat. "You can boss me around everywhere else, but here I get a say."
"Marshall," she growls. "It's how I like it - hard and fast."
"'Hard and fast' is how you run from something." He kisses his way down her chest. "Slow is how you savor it."
"It's what I want," Mary insists.
He slides back up her body, hovering over her and looking in her eyes. "Trust me to give you what you need."
If it were anyone else, Mary would've rolled her eyes. But she does trust Marshall. He knows her better than she knows herself.
----
“There’s something to be said for slow,” Mary concedes breathlessly, as she takes a mental inventory of Marshall’s fine qualities. So far, everything about him is long - long legs, long arms, long tongue, long fingers…
Gloriously long, she thinks, as his fingers reach and stroke just so. He’s like Stretch fucking Armstrong, and what woman hasn’t had that fantasy? Why didn’t she notice this before? And how could she have missed that sexy voice?
He crawls up her body and hovers over her. Mary smiles. Time to find out what else she can add to the inventory.
----
They end up crosswise on the king-size bed, forming a panting, sweating, exhausted letter Y.
"What the hell did you do to me?" Mary asks incredulously. "I feel like jello."
Marshall props up on one elbow so he can see Mary's face, which is presently down by his hip. "Is that good or bad?"
"Well, I'm ambivalent towards the jello sensation, but what led to it was definitely good."
A smug look settles on Marshall's features. "You should trust me to take charge more often."
Mary smacks him on the stomach, mainly because that's as far as she can reach with boneless arms. "Don't go getting ideas."
He flops back on the bed. "The only idea I have right now is sleep."
----
She crawls out of bed as carefully and quietly as she can and starts the hunt for her clothes. Her underwear are on the nightstand. She pulls a pair of jeans from under the bed, but they turn out to be Marshall's. Crawling on the floor, she reaches under the bed to see if she can find hers, banging her shoulder in the process. She mutters a curse under her breath.
"They're on my side," Marshall mutters, his voice husky with sleep. "But you're not going anywhere."
"I need to go home," Mary says softly. "Clean up. We have work in the morning."
"And you have your ready bag in the trunk of your car," he rightly guesses. "Come back to bed."
Mary stands, undecided. This is weird and it's only going to get weirder if she stays.
Marshall rubs a hand over his hair and sits up. "Mary, there's no rush. You can start pretending this never happened in the morning."
----
Mary hits Marshall with the pillow. "Are you awake?"
Marshall rolls over and glares at her. "I am now."
"Why did you let this happen?"
"Why did I?"
"Don't avoid the question," Mary demands.
Marshall shrugs. "I don't know."
"You don’t know? Marshall, you always know."
Inching closer, Marshall reaches out and strokes her hair. "You just seemed to need an outlet. And I like to give you what you need."
"What I need," she says, turning towards him until they are practically nose-to-nose, "is my friend."
"That you'll always have." Marshall kisses her forehead and pulls her close. "But the killer sex was a one-time-only deal."
Mary snorts ungraciously. “Like you could refuse me anything.”
“Are you suggesting that I’ve unwittingly become your love slave?”
“Well, the job is open at the moment,” Mary says with a suggestive grin. “But I’d have to more thoroughly evaluate your qualifications before I let you fill the position.”
Marshall pulls back to look at her face, judging the level of seriousness beneath the humor. He grins back. “Trust me, you’ve yet to see my best work.”
Mary snakes an arm around his neck, tugging him down. “This I need to see.”
Fandom: In Plain Sight
Genre: Het, sort of hurt/comfort
Pairing: Mary/Marshall, mentions of Mary/Raph, Brandi/Raph
Length: 2,660 words
Rating: M
Credits: Thanks to jennukes and pixie_on_acid for beta-reading.
Summary: Marshall always knows what Mary needs.
What You Need
I wore nice underwear, damnit.
Mary pounds on the steering wheel. Now that the crying is over, the anger has returned. She runs over it again in her mind.
----
Raph and Brandi walk up to his front door carrying brown bags full of groceries. Brandi thrusts hers at him and, as he struggles to balance them both, playfully reaches her hand into his front pocket and pulls out his keys. She laughs and he flashes her a sexy smile.
Mary stands at the end of the sidewalk, dumbstruck for a moment. But just a moment - the pieces snap into place, the hurt washes over her, and her sarcasm kicks in. Kicks into overdrive.
"Aren't you cute?" she calls, smiling ferociously as they turn towards her in suprise. "Going shopping together... probably cooking dinner together... what else are you two doing together? Hmm?"
"Mar, please." Brandi gets that look of wide-eyed innocence that Mary learned not to trust from the time her sister was eight years old. "It's not what you think."
"Oh, really?" Mary still smiles, but her words take on a harder edge. "You mean you're not an amoral little tramp who destroys everyone and everything around her? Imagine that."
Always the gentleman, Raph steps between them. "Enough, Mary. Enough."
"Oh, but I haven't even gotten to you yet."
Raph sets the bags down by the door and stalks toward her. Over his shoulder, Mary glimpses Brandi; she has turned toward the door and her shoulders are shaking. Mary can't feel an ounce of remorse about making her cry.
"This is not what you think, Mary. We are not sleeping together. We haven't even kissed." Raph is practically hissing. He's angry, but Mary couldn't care less. In fact, she welcomes it. She knows that now is the time to finish this once and for all.
"Exactly," she says, a hard calm settling over her. "Because it's not just sex with her, is it, Raph? Fine. Be with her. You were never more than a fuck to me."
She turns to walk away but he catches her arm. "Mary, don't do this. I proposed to you. I wanted to marry you."
"And I said no, so you moved on to the next best thing." She wrenches her arm from his grasp, and strides toward her car. As she opens the door, she gives one last look. Raph still stands where she left him on the sidewalk, and Brandi is looking out from the porch with puffy eyes. "But I've got to warn you, she'll make a lousy little homemaker. Maybe worse than me."
----
Mary sighs, resting her head on her hands where they grip the wheel, blocking out the busy parking lot in front of her. She's had a crappy couple of days. She really needed Raph tonight. But she can't deny that she created this situation. She held Raph at a distance. She used him, not really caring if he was getting what he wanted or needed, telling herself that sex should be enough for him if it was for her. And she was the one who pushed him together with Brandi, keeping him around during his injury when she knew she wouldn't be there to care for him. She just thought Brandi owed her that much. She should've known better. Really, it was Raph that was owed. He deserves someone who wants to be with him.
She knows she can deal with this. It stings her pride but not her heart. Unfortunately, the blow to her ego has done nothing to ease the problem she sought Raph out for in the first place. Three days of chasing down a fugitive that had put one of her clients in the hospital - three days of heat, adrenaline, and just being fucking pissed off - have left her keyed up and tense.
She needs stress relief, and for Mary that comes one of two ways - violence or sex. There's no one who particularly deserves an ass-kicking right now - at least, no one who isn't behind bars or a blood relative - so that leaves option number two. Unfortunately, she just drove her primary supplier right into the arms of her sister.
Lifting her head, Mary stares at the entrance to the bar. She's dressed the part - low-cut red blouse, tight jeans, leather boots, her nice underwear, for Chrissakes. She could drift into the bar and smile at the first guy she sees, and she's pretty damn sure she wouldn't have to walk out of there alone. But she has enough presence of mind to wonder how she'll feel about that in the morning. Now might not be the wisest time to be hooking up with random men in bars.
Mentally, she runs through a list. Thanks to her job, most of the men she knows are barely-rehabilitated slimebags, and bafflingly, many of those are married. She thinks about Dershowitz. He's kind of hot, and she thinks he'd be game, but she's already walking a fine line with him. She can't risk revealing anything to him, about herself or her work.
She's out of options. It's the bar or nowhere.
Mary decides on nowhere. But she can't go home.
----
He answers the door half-dressed, and Mary pushes past him into the apartment. "Can I crash on your couch?"
Marshall doesn't respond, and she turns to find him standing in the doorway, holding the door open. "Well, hello, Mary. What a pleasant surprise. Won't you come in?" he deadpans.
"Nevermind. Bad idea." She turns around and heads for the door. He quickly closes it.
"I asked you in, didn't I?"
Mary moves for the handle but Marshall dodges in front of her. She crosses her arms and glares. "I'm in no mood for games, Marshall. Either ask me to stay or get out of my way."
"Stay," he says, as though it's obvious.
"Tell me you've got booze."
He takes her by the arm and steers her towards the kitchen.
----
They are sitting on the couch, their bare feet on the coffee table. The news is on but Mary isn't listening. She chews an ice cube out of what remains of her second Jack-and-Coke. "Do you think there's something wrong with me?" she asks.
"Nope," Marshall says, never taking his eyes from News 13's weather report.
"I'm serious, numbnuts." Mary punches him in the arm to get his attention. "Do you think there's something wrong with me?"
Marshall turns toward her with an earnest expression. "Other than a vulgar vocabulary and a tendency to inflict pain on your closest friends? Not a thing."
"Thank you." Mary smiles and turns back to the TV.
"You're perfect," Marshall adds, turning back to the TV himself. Mary rests her head on his shoulder, her hand finding its way to his side.
----
Mary is not sure exactly when the hand she'd rested on Marshall's side began to roam. It was completely unconscious - just an instinctive reaction to bare skin. She only becomes aware of it when he stops breathing. She turns her eyes toward him and finds him staring at the opposite wall.
She sits up and gives him some space. “Sorry.”
"It's alright." His voice is tight and he still won't look at her. It gets under her skin.
"Why do you do that?" she asks, more sharply than she means to.
He glances at her, then turns back. "Do what?"
"You act like thinking of me in a sexual way is a crime, like it repulses you." She's getting more pissed by the second. He said there was nothing wrong with her. "You won't even look at me."
"That's not because I find you repulsive," he says wryly.
"Well, you make me feel repulsive, asshole." Mary grabs for her boots.
Marshall grabs her hand, stopping her. He looks her in the eye. "Why are you here?"
"What the hell does that matter? I'm leaving."
He is silent, waiting for an answer. He doesn’t let go of her hand.
"Let's see," Mary says, sarcasm and anger roaring back again. "After the joy and excitement of three days spent chasing an armed and dangerous felon through every bad neighborhood and dive bar in three counties, I came home to find that my boyfriend had left me for my sister. And for some reason I thought being with a friend would help."
She pulls her hand away, grabs her boots, and heads for the door.
----
He blindsides her in the hallway, knocking her against the wall and pinning her there with his body. His lips are soft but his kiss is forceful. Mary is totally taken off guard and instinctively kisses back. In a minute, she's seeing tiny stars and she doesn't know if it's the lack of oxygen or if she hit her head. She pushes hard against his chest and he stumbles back two steps before catching himself. "What the fuck, Marshall?" she gasps.
He raises an eyebrow infuriatingly, but doesn't answer her. He's breathing heavily and his skin is shining under the track lighting overhead. Mary notices that his abs are tense, and he reminds her of a snake poised to strike. She strikes first, throwing herself at him hard enough to knock him into the opposite wall.
----
They make it to the bedroom, but Mary will be amazed if neither of them has a concussion. She's not entirely sure whether they're fucking or fighting. All she knows is that she doesn't want it to stop. She pushes him back on the bed and practically pounces on top of him, stripping her shirt off in the process. He reaches for her and she arches toward him, only to growl when he flips them and pins her arms to the bed.
"Are you done?" Marshall drawls calmly, that eyebrow raised again.
Mary thrashes a bit, but he's really got her pinned. It's not that he's exceptionally strong, but he knows how to use his height against her. "How long has it been since you've done this? I think you might've forgotten a step or two."
"I meant done with the kicking-my-ass portion of the evening."
She stops struggling and blinks up at him. Marshall. She doesn't want to hurt him. "Yeah, that's done."
"Good." He nods slowly. "Feeling a little less crazy?"
Mary makes a show of thinking it over while she catches her breath. "Yup. A little. How are you?"
Marshall smiles crookedly down at her. "Horny. Thanks for asking."
That went without saying. The physical evidence was poking her thigh. "Yeah, me too."
His head drops and for a moment she thinks it's a sign of giving up - he's realized this is a bad idea and is about to pull away. Then his teeth connect with the tender skin behind her ear and she sucks in a gasp. "We're doing this, then?" she asks, her voice higher-pitched than she would've liked.
"No straight man is going to say 'no' to that question, Mary." He works his way down her neck with nips and kisses, releasing her wrists one at a time. "I'm afraid the choice is up to you."
There is only one logical choice. Marshall is her co-worker, her partner, her friend. Sleeping with him is a really bad idea.
Of course, Mary's never been known for her good judgment.
----
Her hand slips below the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back; Marshall's hips press against hers in response, then he slides away. He sheds his jeans, then reaches for the button on hers. Mary helps.
Standing over her, Marshall grins. "Nice underwear."
"Shut up." Mary grabs his hand and pulls him down on top of her.
----
"More," she demands, grinding her hips against his. "More."
"Un-uh," he murmurs against her throat. "You can boss me around everywhere else, but here I get a say."
"Marshall," she growls. "It's how I like it - hard and fast."
"'Hard and fast' is how you run from something." He kisses his way down her chest. "Slow is how you savor it."
"It's what I want," Mary insists.
He slides back up her body, hovering over her and looking in her eyes. "Trust me to give you what you need."
If it were anyone else, Mary would've rolled her eyes. But she does trust Marshall. He knows her better than she knows herself.
----
“There’s something to be said for slow,” Mary concedes breathlessly, as she takes a mental inventory of Marshall’s fine qualities. So far, everything about him is long - long legs, long arms, long tongue, long fingers…
Gloriously long, she thinks, as his fingers reach and stroke just so. He’s like Stretch fucking Armstrong, and what woman hasn’t had that fantasy? Why didn’t she notice this before? And how could she have missed that sexy voice?
He crawls up her body and hovers over her. Mary smiles. Time to find out what else she can add to the inventory.
----
They end up crosswise on the king-size bed, forming a panting, sweating, exhausted letter Y.
"What the hell did you do to me?" Mary asks incredulously. "I feel like jello."
Marshall props up on one elbow so he can see Mary's face, which is presently down by his hip. "Is that good or bad?"
"Well, I'm ambivalent towards the jello sensation, but what led to it was definitely good."
A smug look settles on Marshall's features. "You should trust me to take charge more often."
Mary smacks him on the stomach, mainly because that's as far as she can reach with boneless arms. "Don't go getting ideas."
He flops back on the bed. "The only idea I have right now is sleep."
----
She crawls out of bed as carefully and quietly as she can and starts the hunt for her clothes. Her underwear are on the nightstand. She pulls a pair of jeans from under the bed, but they turn out to be Marshall's. Crawling on the floor, she reaches under the bed to see if she can find hers, banging her shoulder in the process. She mutters a curse under her breath.
"They're on my side," Marshall mutters, his voice husky with sleep. "But you're not going anywhere."
"I need to go home," Mary says softly. "Clean up. We have work in the morning."
"And you have your ready bag in the trunk of your car," he rightly guesses. "Come back to bed."
Mary stands, undecided. This is weird and it's only going to get weirder if she stays.
Marshall rubs a hand over his hair and sits up. "Mary, there's no rush. You can start pretending this never happened in the morning."
----
Mary hits Marshall with the pillow. "Are you awake?"
Marshall rolls over and glares at her. "I am now."
"Why did you let this happen?"
"Why did I?"
"Don't avoid the question," Mary demands.
Marshall shrugs. "I don't know."
"You don’t know? Marshall, you always know."
Inching closer, Marshall reaches out and strokes her hair. "You just seemed to need an outlet. And I like to give you what you need."
"What I need," she says, turning towards him until they are practically nose-to-nose, "is my friend."
"That you'll always have." Marshall kisses her forehead and pulls her close. "But the killer sex was a one-time-only deal."
Mary snorts ungraciously. “Like you could refuse me anything.”
“Are you suggesting that I’ve unwittingly become your love slave?”
“Well, the job is open at the moment,” Mary says with a suggestive grin. “But I’d have to more thoroughly evaluate your qualifications before I let you fill the position.”
Marshall pulls back to look at her face, judging the level of seriousness beneath the humor. He grins back. “Trust me, you’ve yet to see my best work.”
Mary snakes an arm around his neck, tugging him down. “This I need to see.”