Fic: Here After (for summer_bits)
Title: Here After
Author: stellaluna_
Fandom: CSI:NY
Rating: R for explicit sex and language
Summary: Lindsay has never been good with words. Stella/Lindsay.
Disclaimer: None of these are mine. Characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS, and Alliance Atlantis.
Notes: Written for the summer_bits ficathon. Thanks to scarletts_awry for talking me down.
She never sees it in time, Lindsay thinks, never has been good at that, and she clutches her empty margarita glass like it's a lifeline, shivering in the blast of cold from the air conditioner at her back as she looks into Stella's angry eyes.
"You can't just sit around and let things happen," Stella says, and the ragged, breaking edge of frustration in her voice makes the bottom drop out of Lindsay's stomach. "You act like all of this has nothing to do with you, like it doesn't affect you one way or the other, and you're just here because you have nothing better to do."
The air conditioner hums in the window. Lindsay can still taste Stella's kiss on her lips, a familiar combination of lip gloss and tequila. Up until a few minutes ago, she had thought they were having a nice evening: they'd had margaritas and cool air and a whole night ahead of them when neither of them were scheduled to be on shift. Then Stella had made a comment, leaning her back into the couch cushions and sliding one hand up under the hem of her shirt, about how she'd thought she was never going to see Lindsay again. "Sure you would," Lindsay had said, "you see me all the time at work," just a dismissive, joking comment like she's made plenty of times before, and somehow Stella had taken it all wrong.
"I don't know what you want from me," Lindsay tells her. She's not sure they should be having this conversation while they're drunk.
"I want to know that you want this," Stella says, and her voice cracks even more. She paces back and forth in front of the couch. "I want to know that you care, one way or the other, what happens between us."
"Of course I want it," Lindsay says. She sets her glass down and sits up straight. "Stella...of course I do. I wouldn't be here if I -- if I didn't." She wants to tell her that she wouldn't be here if it weren't for her, if she didn't feel the way she does every time she looks at Stella. But the words die in her throat the way they always do.
And that's the problem right there, of course: the same old problem, the same old frustration. Lindsay understands that. She just doesn't know what to do about it, and sometimes she thinks it's too much for anyone to ask of her, too unfair; people aren't meant to say everything they feel. Other times she thinks that she's being the unfair one, that what Stella is asking her for is only the bare minimum of what's to be expected, something small and simple that she deserves to hear.
"Stella..." Lindsay stands up and walks over to where Stella is, and puts a hand on her arm. "I want it. Really. You -- I wouldn't be here with just anyone. You're different."
"I am, huh?" Stella doesn't pull away, but she doesn't sound as if she's entirely ready to be convinced, either.
"Yes." Lindsay looks up at her. "I want you. What can I do to make you see that?"
"You really want to?"
"I really want to. I promise."
Stella pauses, running a hand through her hair. "Show me," she says at last.
"Sure," Lindsay says, nodding. "But how -- "
"Show me." Stella leans in suddenly and presses another tequila-soaked kiss to her mouth. "Show me," she says again, her voice a husky whisper. "Take off the rest of your clothes and show me that you really want me."
Lindsay pulls back a little. This could be an order, or some weird mind game, but Stella's eyes are wide and pleading, and her mouth is trembling a little. "You mean -- "
"I mean touch yourself. Talk to me." Stella takes a step away, holding up her hands. "Then we'll see."
"That's...wow." Lindsay takes a deep breath. She wants to refuse, wants to walk away and not deal with this, but she also feels a little tug of excitement, deep down in the pit of her stomach in spite of her misgivings.
Stella's mouth tightens. "Forget it," she says, and starts to turn away. "It was a stupid idea."
"No." Lindsay steps up close to her, and Stella doesn't resist when she slides an arm around her waist. "It's just...just a lot to process all at once. A lot to ask."
"Not so much, really." Stella runs a hand along her encircling arm. "Haven't you ever done it for someone before?"
"No," Lindsay says.
"I'm surprised."
"Have you?" Lindsay asks, and Stella laughs.
"Sure," she says.
"Really?"
"Of course, really." Stella turns to face her again. "You should know by now I don't make things up."
"I know, I just..." Lindsay looks at her hands. "Was it okay after? I mean, for you and whoever you did it for."
"It was more than okay." Stella takes her hand and pulls her close again, and slides her fingers under her camisole as she murmurs in Lindsay's ear. "I'll tell you a secret. I was nervous at first, too. But then I let myself get into it. I sat down in the armchair by the bed, and I just closed my eyes and let myself go."
"And you -- you talked while you did it?"
"Yeah. All about how good it felt, how much I wanted it. How much I wanted -- wanted the person who was watching me." Her hand slides higher, fingers brushing the underside of Lindsay's breast. Lindsay doesn't move.
"After a while I opened my eyes," Stella goes on. Her voice is dreamy now. "I opened my eyes and I saw the way he was looking at me, and I..." She shivers.
"You -- you came?" Lindsay feels herself blush as she says the words. She's starting to feel excited now, a pleasant, tingling ache between her legs that grows more intense as Stella strokes her.
"So hard." Stella's fingers find her nipple, and Lindsay clutches her wrist, pushing herself into the touch. "And when we fucked, it was amazing. You know what? I think it would be even more amazing with you."
Lindsay kisses the side of her neck. "And it wasn't -- I mean, it wasn't weird after?"
"Not at all. It was good." Stella presses her other hand flat to Lindsay's belly, teasing at the waistband of her jeans. "I'll tell you something: People can be very different when the door is locked than they are in public."
"That's not a bad thing."
"Not at all." Stella pushes her fingers lower, and Lindsay starts to arch against her, to rub into her caressing hands, and that's when Stella pulls away. Lindsay gasps.
"Think of it," Stella says. "It's so hot out there, but it's so nice and cool in here. Imagine being naked in that. Me sitting here watching you..."
Lindsay takes a deep breath. "And you'll be here after?" she asks. The words are one of the hardest things she's ever had to say.
"And I'll be here after." Stella smiles, and there's genuine warmth in it. "Don't worry about that. In fact, to make it more fair..."
She pulls her shirt over her head and unhooks her bra, then shimmies out of her pants and tosses them aside. "There," she says, and sits down naked on the edge of the couch.
Lindsay looks at her, at the curve of her breasts and the smooth muscles in her thighs, and the way her hair falls across her bare shoulders. She thinks of how they'd come here together after work, of Stella's warm hand in hers as they'd walked up the stairs together. She remembers the way they kissed earlier, and the hurt in Stella's eyes when Lindsay had said they could always see each other at work. She could hate herself for making Stella look like that, and she thinks of other times that she's made Stella look like that, as well as other times when Stella has stood by her.
She looks into Stella's eyes. There's no hurt there now, just excitement and anticipation, and, beyond that, Lindsay thinks she can see herself reflected. If Stella can look at her like that, then Lindsay can look back. She can do this.
"Okay," she says softly, and slides off her camisole, then unzips her jeans and kicks them off. She leaves on her bra and panties. "I'm going to do this my way, though," she goes on. "You have to wait a little while before you get the full show." She feels a smile curve her lips as she says it, and Stella laughs, eyes lighting up even more.
"That works," she says.
"It'd better." Lindsay reaches for her margarita and takes one last sip, then sets it back down. She licks salt away from the corner of her mouth, and, God, she already aches so much, already wants this so much. It's going to be so much easier than she could have imagined. She can't stop the fall, and she's no longer sure she wants to try.
She closes her eyes, concentrating on how the cool currents of air feel on her body. Hot outside, but cool in here, and Stella's body will be hot against hers later on. Her nipples are hard little points as she cups her breasts and as she imagines how Stella's hands and tongue will feel on her skin.
Lindsay slides a slow hand down her stomach. "See how you make me feel," she says, and she opens her eyes and looks into Stella's face.
Feedback is always appreciated.
Author: stellaluna_
Fandom: CSI:NY
Rating: R for explicit sex and language
Summary: Lindsay has never been good with words. Stella/Lindsay.
Disclaimer: None of these are mine. Characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS, and Alliance Atlantis.
Notes: Written for the summer_bits ficathon. Thanks to scarletts_awry for talking me down.
She never sees it in time, Lindsay thinks, never has been good at that, and she clutches her empty margarita glass like it's a lifeline, shivering in the blast of cold from the air conditioner at her back as she looks into Stella's angry eyes.
"You can't just sit around and let things happen," Stella says, and the ragged, breaking edge of frustration in her voice makes the bottom drop out of Lindsay's stomach. "You act like all of this has nothing to do with you, like it doesn't affect you one way or the other, and you're just here because you have nothing better to do."
The air conditioner hums in the window. Lindsay can still taste Stella's kiss on her lips, a familiar combination of lip gloss and tequila. Up until a few minutes ago, she had thought they were having a nice evening: they'd had margaritas and cool air and a whole night ahead of them when neither of them were scheduled to be on shift. Then Stella had made a comment, leaning her back into the couch cushions and sliding one hand up under the hem of her shirt, about how she'd thought she was never going to see Lindsay again. "Sure you would," Lindsay had said, "you see me all the time at work," just a dismissive, joking comment like she's made plenty of times before, and somehow Stella had taken it all wrong.
"I don't know what you want from me," Lindsay tells her. She's not sure they should be having this conversation while they're drunk.
"I want to know that you want this," Stella says, and her voice cracks even more. She paces back and forth in front of the couch. "I want to know that you care, one way or the other, what happens between us."
"Of course I want it," Lindsay says. She sets her glass down and sits up straight. "Stella...of course I do. I wouldn't be here if I -- if I didn't." She wants to tell her that she wouldn't be here if it weren't for her, if she didn't feel the way she does every time she looks at Stella. But the words die in her throat the way they always do.
And that's the problem right there, of course: the same old problem, the same old frustration. Lindsay understands that. She just doesn't know what to do about it, and sometimes she thinks it's too much for anyone to ask of her, too unfair; people aren't meant to say everything they feel. Other times she thinks that she's being the unfair one, that what Stella is asking her for is only the bare minimum of what's to be expected, something small and simple that she deserves to hear.
"Stella..." Lindsay stands up and walks over to where Stella is, and puts a hand on her arm. "I want it. Really. You -- I wouldn't be here with just anyone. You're different."
"I am, huh?" Stella doesn't pull away, but she doesn't sound as if she's entirely ready to be convinced, either.
"Yes." Lindsay looks up at her. "I want you. What can I do to make you see that?"
"You really want to?"
"I really want to. I promise."
Stella pauses, running a hand through her hair. "Show me," she says at last.
"Sure," Lindsay says, nodding. "But how -- "
"Show me." Stella leans in suddenly and presses another tequila-soaked kiss to her mouth. "Show me," she says again, her voice a husky whisper. "Take off the rest of your clothes and show me that you really want me."
Lindsay pulls back a little. This could be an order, or some weird mind game, but Stella's eyes are wide and pleading, and her mouth is trembling a little. "You mean -- "
"I mean touch yourself. Talk to me." Stella takes a step away, holding up her hands. "Then we'll see."
"That's...wow." Lindsay takes a deep breath. She wants to refuse, wants to walk away and not deal with this, but she also feels a little tug of excitement, deep down in the pit of her stomach in spite of her misgivings.
Stella's mouth tightens. "Forget it," she says, and starts to turn away. "It was a stupid idea."
"No." Lindsay steps up close to her, and Stella doesn't resist when she slides an arm around her waist. "It's just...just a lot to process all at once. A lot to ask."
"Not so much, really." Stella runs a hand along her encircling arm. "Haven't you ever done it for someone before?"
"No," Lindsay says.
"I'm surprised."
"Have you?" Lindsay asks, and Stella laughs.
"Sure," she says.
"Really?"
"Of course, really." Stella turns to face her again. "You should know by now I don't make things up."
"I know, I just..." Lindsay looks at her hands. "Was it okay after? I mean, for you and whoever you did it for."
"It was more than okay." Stella takes her hand and pulls her close again, and slides her fingers under her camisole as she murmurs in Lindsay's ear. "I'll tell you a secret. I was nervous at first, too. But then I let myself get into it. I sat down in the armchair by the bed, and I just closed my eyes and let myself go."
"And you -- you talked while you did it?"
"Yeah. All about how good it felt, how much I wanted it. How much I wanted -- wanted the person who was watching me." Her hand slides higher, fingers brushing the underside of Lindsay's breast. Lindsay doesn't move.
"After a while I opened my eyes," Stella goes on. Her voice is dreamy now. "I opened my eyes and I saw the way he was looking at me, and I..." She shivers.
"You -- you came?" Lindsay feels herself blush as she says the words. She's starting to feel excited now, a pleasant, tingling ache between her legs that grows more intense as Stella strokes her.
"So hard." Stella's fingers find her nipple, and Lindsay clutches her wrist, pushing herself into the touch. "And when we fucked, it was amazing. You know what? I think it would be even more amazing with you."
Lindsay kisses the side of her neck. "And it wasn't -- I mean, it wasn't weird after?"
"Not at all. It was good." Stella presses her other hand flat to Lindsay's belly, teasing at the waistband of her jeans. "I'll tell you something: People can be very different when the door is locked than they are in public."
"That's not a bad thing."
"Not at all." Stella pushes her fingers lower, and Lindsay starts to arch against her, to rub into her caressing hands, and that's when Stella pulls away. Lindsay gasps.
"Think of it," Stella says. "It's so hot out there, but it's so nice and cool in here. Imagine being naked in that. Me sitting here watching you..."
Lindsay takes a deep breath. "And you'll be here after?" she asks. The words are one of the hardest things she's ever had to say.
"And I'll be here after." Stella smiles, and there's genuine warmth in it. "Don't worry about that. In fact, to make it more fair..."
She pulls her shirt over her head and unhooks her bra, then shimmies out of her pants and tosses them aside. "There," she says, and sits down naked on the edge of the couch.
Lindsay looks at her, at the curve of her breasts and the smooth muscles in her thighs, and the way her hair falls across her bare shoulders. She thinks of how they'd come here together after work, of Stella's warm hand in hers as they'd walked up the stairs together. She remembers the way they kissed earlier, and the hurt in Stella's eyes when Lindsay had said they could always see each other at work. She could hate herself for making Stella look like that, and she thinks of other times that she's made Stella look like that, as well as other times when Stella has stood by her.
She looks into Stella's eyes. There's no hurt there now, just excitement and anticipation, and, beyond that, Lindsay thinks she can see herself reflected. If Stella can look at her like that, then Lindsay can look back. She can do this.
"Okay," she says softly, and slides off her camisole, then unzips her jeans and kicks them off. She leaves on her bra and panties. "I'm going to do this my way, though," she goes on. "You have to wait a little while before you get the full show." She feels a smile curve her lips as she says it, and Stella laughs, eyes lighting up even more.
"That works," she says.
"It'd better." Lindsay reaches for her margarita and takes one last sip, then sets it back down. She licks salt away from the corner of her mouth, and, God, she already aches so much, already wants this so much. It's going to be so much easier than she could have imagined. She can't stop the fall, and she's no longer sure she wants to try.
She closes her eyes, concentrating on how the cool currents of air feel on her body. Hot outside, but cool in here, and Stella's body will be hot against hers later on. Her nipples are hard little points as she cups her breasts and as she imagines how Stella's hands and tongue will feel on her skin.
Lindsay slides a slow hand down her stomach. "See how you make me feel," she says, and she opens her eyes and looks into Stella's face.
Feedback is always appreciated.