Fic: Way Through It All [CSI:NY, Stella/Mac]
Title: Way Through It All
Author: stellaluna_
Fandom: CSI:NY
Rating: NC-17 for explicit sex and language
Summary: Stella needs. Set sometime after "The Thing About Heroes." Stella/Mac
Disclaimer: None of these are mine. Characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS, and Alliance Atlantis.
Notes: Spoilers through "The Thing About Heroes."
Stella sinks deep into the couch, deeper into the music. The ice-cold mojito Mac fixed for her might be the wrong drink for a winter's night, but it's just what she wanted, the alcohol a sharp chill on her tongue and teeth, the mint a crisp, clean undertone that brings its own jolt, its own sense of clarity. Both of them together are a shock to her nerve endings, and she feels awake in a way that she hasn't in a long time.
Even though she's slumped on the couch and she doesn't think she's moved in a good half-hour, she feels very aware of the blood pounding in her veins, of the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. She's also aware of the music in the background, turned down low enough that the lyrics are just this side of inaudible. The singer sounds like she's mourning something, her voice a low, keening wail that goes on and on. Stella likes it.
She looks over at Mac, who's slumped on the opposite end of the couch, staring into space, his drink balanced on one knee. Stella thinks he's forgotten about it. He hasn't moved for a long time, either, and she tries to remember when either of them last said anything. She can't. They've been sitting here listening to music and drinking in silence, just like they have so many nights since Drew Bedford got carted off to jail to await trial and his brother went back to Chicago looking shell-shocked.
Eventually, Stella thinks, she'll find her shoes and go home, and leave Mac here to while away the long night hours however he can, while she does the same. While she tries not to think about what Drew Bedford had in mind if she'd been more willing to accept his advances. While she tries not to play this game where she superimposes his face over Frankie's in her mind, and pulls the trigger again and again. She can't help wondering what games Mac plays in private, what he fantasizes about in his secret heart of hearts.
She takes another drink, and the cold sparks through her body again, slides across her tongue and down the back of her throat, forms ice crystals all the way down to the pit of her stomach. It feels good, and she has to repress a shiver of pleasure. Nothing has felt so good in a long time. Her heart starts to beat harder in her chest, and that feels good, too.
If she turned to Mac now, if she pressed her cheek or the palm of her hand to his chest, she could feel his heartbeat, too, could time the in-and-out pulse of his blood until his breathing matched her own, until their hearts fell into sync. It would be so easy, and she wonders suddenly why she's denied herself this for so long, wonders why this question hasn't occurred to her before.
Mac would understand, she thinks, looking at his weary face in the low light, and the wail on the stereo has turned into a wordless moan. He would understand, and she knows that without them having to talk about it.
The moan builds and builds, and Stella lets it go through her the way the chill from the mojito is, lets it spread all down her body. Her breasts are tingling, a pins-and-needles prickling like feeling coming back into a limb that's fallen asleep, and there's a deeper throb between her legs.
This is desire, she thinks, and opens her eyes wide, just from thinking about touching and being touched, from letting herself drown in the music and the alcohol. It's been gone for so long, and she hasn't even regretted its absence until now. She hasn't wanted it, hasn't reached out for it, hasn't even caressed herself in longer than she can remember.
Now she wants it; now she feels wide awake again. Now she's remembering all the other things she wants, all the things she hasn't let herself want since Frankie. So much, she thinks, never mind want; so much she needs, and she hasn't dared to trust herself enough, or anyone else, either.
Mac, she thinks, and looks over at him again; Mac will understand this, too. It hasn't been as long for him, although she's sure he hasn't slept with anyone since he got back from London, but he'll understand anyway. He's in a similar state, and if there's anyone she can trust with what she needs, it's him.
And she's not the only one who needs. She's sure of that, too.
The music comes to an end, and the sudden silence almost makes Stella gasp out loud. Mac looks up, then glances back down at the glass still resting on his knee. He lifts it and shakes it so the ice rattles, then drains the last dregs of liquid from it. "I should change the CD," he says. "Any requests?"
More like that, Stella wants to say, but she shakes her head. "Whatever you're in the mood for," she says.
"All right." Mac looks at her, and for a moment she thinks he's going to say something more. She's seen this look on his face more than once in the last few weeks, a look that's halfway between curious and worried. Whatever he may be thinking when he looks like this, he's never tried to put it into words. Stella can understand that, too.
Mac sets his empty glass down on the coffee table and stands up, and she watches him cross the room. The lines of his body, after all these years, are perfectly familiar to her. She lets herself look, really look, at the straight lines of his back and shoulders, watches his hands move as he sorts through stacks of CDs.
She can count the number of times they've slept together on her fingers. It doesn't matter; it's never mattered. The two of them have always had a knack for knowing what the other person needs, and the only thing holding them back from acting on it now is Drew Bedford. Drew is why they sit around in silence, and why Mac hasn't touched her -- but, Stella has to admit, Drew is only part of the reason why she hasn't made a move to touch him, or encouraged him to touch her. One very small part, one very recent reason.
Goddamn him, Stella thinks, and her body is still singing with nerves, with need.
She gets to her feet.
The hardwood floor is cool under her toes. She's doing this. She is. She walks over to Mac, and he looks up with a smile. "Change your mind about requests?"
"No." She hasn't thought through how she's going to do this.
Mac holds up a CD. "I thought Nina Simone," he says. "What do you say?"
She nods. "Put it on."
Seconds later, the music fills the room, and Stella shivers. This song isn't a woman in mourning; it isn't someone singing a funeral dirge. This is someone who's felt the same way Stella feels now, who has felt her body throb with a series of small electric shocks. She shifts from foot to foot, and the need wells up inside her again.
Mac turns to face her, and neither of them move. They just look at each other. Stella knows she isn't fooling herself about the raw look she sees reflected in Mac's eyes. "Stella," he says. His voice doesn't rise, but she hears the question in it even so.
"Mac."
"I was thinking." He clears his throat. "I -- it's getting late. Maybe you should stay."
She looks into his face. "I think that would be a smart idea."
"Good," he says. "That's good." They've moved closer, but they're not touching yet. Stella's throat feels tight. "Stella -- "
"Mac," she says. "Just shut up already." She moves to him and reaches up, running her fingers across his cheek. He puts his hands on her waist, holding her, and she presses her mouth to his, and how could she have waited so long for this? How -- but it's too good to think, and she goes on kissing him.
Mac begins to work his fingers under the hem of her shirt, his touch warm against her bare skin. He kisses her slow and soft, slides one hand up towards the curve of her ribcage and moves his mouth away from hers, ducks his head so he can kiss her neck. Stella tilts her head back and opens her eyes. She sees, suddenly, how it's going to go. He wants her, as badly as she wants him, but he's going to hold back. He's going to be careful, and it'll be easy and slow and almost calm. And it'll be good; it'll be fine. But it won't be enough, not nearly enough to begin to soothe the raw places inside her.
"Mac." She clutches at his hair and pulls it, hard, hard enough to make him stop kissing her and look up. He looks startled, but he doesn't say anything. "Mac, I..." She tries to think how to say it.
"What?" he asks. His hands are still on her, still warm.
"Don't be gentle with me," she says at last. "I don't want that."
"Not gentle," he says after a pause.
"No." She's trying to read his expression, his reaction, but she can't. Not quite. She reminds herself that he's going to understand. That he has to.
"Tell me something," Mac says.
"What's that?"
"If we're not being gentle" -- his hands tighten suddenly on her, fingers digging in -- "how hard do you want it? Like this?"
"Like that. And like this." She tugs at his hair again, pulling his mouth closer to hers.
"Like this?" He brushes his mouth against hers, then nips at her lower lip instead of kissing her.
"Like that," Stella whispers, and runs her nails down the back of his neck. Mac kisses her hard and his hands slide up her back, pushing her shirt higher. The desire spikes and twists inside her as his fingers stroke her bare skin. It feels so good, even as her body is screaming more more more, even as she's thinking this still isn't enough. Not enough, nowhere near it, but it feels so good just to be touched and kissed after all this time.
"Mac," she says again, and clutches at his shirt, pulling him in for another hard kiss. She starts to work at his shirt buttons, and that's when he grabs her wrists. She opens her eyes and looks at him.
"More?" he asks.
She nods, twisting in his grip. His hands tighten and she feels her wrist bones grinding against each other. His face is still close to hers, and instead of kissing him she bites his lower lip until she feels the skin start to give beneath her teeth. Then she lets go and kisses him, very gently this time.
"Come on," she says.
Mac looks into her face. He holds her even tighter, then pushes her back hard against the wall. She slams into it and the shock of impact goes up her spine. In the same movement, he shoves one knee between her thighs and then presses into her, pinning her against the wall with the weight of his body.
He kisses her again then, her arms spread high and wide against the wall, kisses her deep and nasty, and when she can't breathe anymore, he tears his mouth away and stares down at her. He doesn't let her go.
There's a touch of something in his eyes that Stella might, under any other circumstances, term regret. She doesn't say anything, doesn't try to pull away.
Mac doesn't move. Finally, his grip on her slackens a little. "Stella..." he begins, and then she smiles at him. In a minute she's going to be laughing. She can't help it; it's rising inside her just like the want, the need, and it feels so good, so goddamn good. She arches up, rubs herself against his knee, and Mac's eyes go wide and a little glazed. He lets go of her wrists then, but pushes his leg higher.
"Just like that," Stella says, and he cups her face between his hands and presses his mouth to hers. She kisses him back, opens her mouth wide and kisses him in a sweet, wet tangle as she continues to rub herself against him, and it's all so good, so perfectly what she needs.
-
-
-
"Get on your hands and knees," Mac says into Stella's ear.
They're both naked now, still standing against the wall, and Stella is quivering with the cumulative effect of every touch, every kiss, of every bit of his skin she's worked with her tongue or teeth.
"Here?" she asks.
He rubs his thumb over her lower lip. "You heard me," he says.
Stella sinks to her knees in front of him, then reaches out and strokes one hand up his thigh. She looks up into his face while she does it; he stares at her, not blinking, and she smiles at him. She moves her hand past his thigh, up to his hip, and Mac's eyes squeeze shut. She strokes the hollow of his hip, and just as she's about to lean in and kiss his thigh, and start teasing him with what she could do once she gets her mouth around his cock, Mac catches her hand. He opens his eyes.
"I said get on your hands and knees," he says.
"Did you?"
"Yeah. I did."
Stella looks up into his face again, and decides to push him a little more. "Well," she says, "maybe I misunderstood. Or maybe..." She reaches out with her other hand and traces a slow circle on his thigh with the very tips of her fingers. "Maybe you'd prefer it this way after all."
Mac laughs a little. He lets go of her hand, then kneels down, facing her. He takes her hand again once he's kneeling, and kisses the back, then the palm. "Or maybe," he says, in a very quiet voice, "I'd prefer just what I told you."
"Is that right?" she asks.
"Yeah. That's right." Mac drops her hand and cups her face again. He pushes a curl back from her cheek, then slides his fingers into her hair. Stella leans in to kiss him, reaching for his erection as she does.
Mac's hand tightens on her hair and he pulls her head back, hard. "What I'd prefer," he says in the same soft voice, "is you on your hands and knees. Just like I said." He kisses the exposed line of her throat, and Stella shivers as he runs his tongue along a tendon. "Do it."
He lets go of her, and Stella lets herself fall forward, bracing herself on the palms of her hands. Her arms shake a little as she finds her center of balance, but she feels triumphant. Her nerve endings feel strung out to their limits, and her skin is burning. Beneath her fingertips, she thinks she can feel a slight vibration from the stereo, a low percussive thrum racing through her body. The notes of the song touch her, caress her, move up through the crown of her head and her breasts and clitoris, through her thighs and hips and ass, and she can feel herself open even more as she kneels.
Mac moves behind her, out of her line of sight, and as she waits for him to start fucking her, she thinks of the hard line of his cock between her fingers, of his hands on her thighs and his tongue on her nipple, of his mouth on hers and the lines around his eyes, and the way the old scars on his skin feel under her lips. She feels so raw now, and so ready. The pins-and-needles tingle is back, in her whole body now, and she can't wait.
Mac's hand touches her back. He presses his palm flat to the center of her spine, then starts to move it downward slowly. He caresses her spine, the small of her back, the curve of her ass. He doesn't say a word, doesn't even seem to be breathing hard. Stella closes her eyes and bites her lip and waits.
His fingers edge lower, to the back of her thigh. He moves in close, until she can feel the heat of his body against hers. He touches the inside of her thigh, again and again, stroking and then lifting his hand away. She bites her lip harder, and finally, he touches the outside of her cunt. She lets out a soft gasp and tries to push back against him, tries to push herself onto his fingers. He moves his hand away and then moves it back, keeps going like that. Sometimes he goes back to stroking her ass or her back, and when he does that, now, she can feel her own wetness on his hand.
Stella is dazed, lost in the rhythm of it, and just when she's stopped thinking about anything else, Mac parts her thighs with both hands, and the next thing she feels is his tongue on her, pushing into her.
"Oh." It comes out in a harsh gasp, and he clutches at her and spreads her legs wider, thrusts his tongue in deeper and moves one hand between her legs so he can get at her clit. He licks her, opens her, shoves her down hard against the floor. Her hands slide along the hardwood and her head dips lower. He rubs her clit in rough circles and licks at her faster, and Stella manages to lift one hand to her breast so she can touch her nipple, so she can coax it into a hard peak as his tongue and fingers keep moving on her, in her. She can hear him letting out little moans now, too, little hitches of breath that flutter against her and make her shudder hard with pleasure. His free hand is resting on her hip, and he squeezes it hard, digs his fingers in as he keeps working her.
She rolls her nipple between her fingers and his fingers move on her clit, and he does something with his tongue that hits a spot that sends a shock through her body and makes her buck hard against him. She pushes back into his mouth and comes in a hard rush, comes so hard that she feels it in every part of her body, every muscle shaking helplessly as she groans and the spark of it, the shock of it, goes through her.
He doesn't give her a chance to recover from it, but lifts his head and presses himself to her back, then thrusts into her in one hard motion. It throws her balance off and she drops both hands to the floor again to support herself, and he wraps his arms around her waist and sits up, pulling her with him so he's kneeling and she's in his lap.
Stella leans her head back against his, and he presses his face into the side of her neck and sinks his teeth into her shoulder as he thrusts up hard into her, fast, and it feels so good to have him inside her. Mac keeps one arm wrapped around her waist and slips his other hand between her legs again. When he touches her clit again, she moans and then has to gulp in air; it's too much, too sensitive and she can feel the caress slipping fast towards pain, but she also doesn't want him to stop. She grabs at his thighs for balance and digs her nails into his skin.
His breath is hot on her neck, her shoulder, and their skin slaps together as he fucks her and she raises herself up as best she can, then pushes down against him. The pain in her clit is beginning to turn into something else now, and suddenly she's coming again as his fingers stroke her, little bursts that keep building and building. He lets out a little whine and his mouth falls open against her neck, tongue brushing her skin. The bursts are happening faster now, and she twists, groaning, then comes one more time, in one hard, sharp shock that goes through her like a knife.
Mac thrusts and moans and then goes still, and she feels him come, feels him pulsing hard and hot inside her as he shudders and trembles against her. Stella rides it with him, rides the aftershocks, both of them gasping now and grabbing at each other.
His hands go slack on her and Stella slides out of his lap, eases herself down onto the floor and then rolls over onto her back. Mac sinks down next to her and rests his head against her shoulder. She lies there, listening to the music, which still makes her think of that throb, that shiver of desire and need, breathing hard, absently stroking her belly and breasts. Her knees ache; her palms are scraped almost raw. She's going to have bruises on her hips and thighs in the morning.
She can't remember the last time she felt so good.
Her limbs are almost too heavy to move, but she turns to face Mac and reaches out for him, pushing his sweaty hair back from his forehead. "Hey," she says softly.
"Hey." He opens his eyes and looks at her. She smiles, and he laughs suddenly, then puts his arm around her and pulls her close. "Good?" he asks.
"Very good," she says.
"Not too much?"
"No. More like just what I needed," she says, and Mac nods.
"We should get off this floor," he says after a minute. "My back is killing me."
"You're going to be sore in the morning no matter what you do, you know," Stella says.
"You don't have to look so pleased about it," Mac says, but he's laughing again as he helps her to her feet.
In bed a few minutes later, she curls against him. "You know I'm going to return the favor," she says.
"I hope so," he says.
"You don't need to worry about that." She kisses him and he kisses her back, then reaches to turn out the light. Stella rests her head on his chest and listens as his breathing deepens, and she smiles to herself in the dark.
She wants to see him break; he needs it as much as she does.
Feedback is always appreciated.
Author: stellaluna_
Fandom: CSI:NY
Rating: NC-17 for explicit sex and language
Summary: Stella needs. Set sometime after "The Thing About Heroes." Stella/Mac
Disclaimer: None of these are mine. Characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS, and Alliance Atlantis.
Notes: Spoilers through "The Thing About Heroes."
Stella sinks deep into the couch, deeper into the music. The ice-cold mojito Mac fixed for her might be the wrong drink for a winter's night, but it's just what she wanted, the alcohol a sharp chill on her tongue and teeth, the mint a crisp, clean undertone that brings its own jolt, its own sense of clarity. Both of them together are a shock to her nerve endings, and she feels awake in a way that she hasn't in a long time.
Even though she's slumped on the couch and she doesn't think she's moved in a good half-hour, she feels very aware of the blood pounding in her veins, of the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. She's also aware of the music in the background, turned down low enough that the lyrics are just this side of inaudible. The singer sounds like she's mourning something, her voice a low, keening wail that goes on and on. Stella likes it.
She looks over at Mac, who's slumped on the opposite end of the couch, staring into space, his drink balanced on one knee. Stella thinks he's forgotten about it. He hasn't moved for a long time, either, and she tries to remember when either of them last said anything. She can't. They've been sitting here listening to music and drinking in silence, just like they have so many nights since Drew Bedford got carted off to jail to await trial and his brother went back to Chicago looking shell-shocked.
Eventually, Stella thinks, she'll find her shoes and go home, and leave Mac here to while away the long night hours however he can, while she does the same. While she tries not to think about what Drew Bedford had in mind if she'd been more willing to accept his advances. While she tries not to play this game where she superimposes his face over Frankie's in her mind, and pulls the trigger again and again. She can't help wondering what games Mac plays in private, what he fantasizes about in his secret heart of hearts.
She takes another drink, and the cold sparks through her body again, slides across her tongue and down the back of her throat, forms ice crystals all the way down to the pit of her stomach. It feels good, and she has to repress a shiver of pleasure. Nothing has felt so good in a long time. Her heart starts to beat harder in her chest, and that feels good, too.
If she turned to Mac now, if she pressed her cheek or the palm of her hand to his chest, she could feel his heartbeat, too, could time the in-and-out pulse of his blood until his breathing matched her own, until their hearts fell into sync. It would be so easy, and she wonders suddenly why she's denied herself this for so long, wonders why this question hasn't occurred to her before.
Mac would understand, she thinks, looking at his weary face in the low light, and the wail on the stereo has turned into a wordless moan. He would understand, and she knows that without them having to talk about it.
The moan builds and builds, and Stella lets it go through her the way the chill from the mojito is, lets it spread all down her body. Her breasts are tingling, a pins-and-needles prickling like feeling coming back into a limb that's fallen asleep, and there's a deeper throb between her legs.
This is desire, she thinks, and opens her eyes wide, just from thinking about touching and being touched, from letting herself drown in the music and the alcohol. It's been gone for so long, and she hasn't even regretted its absence until now. She hasn't wanted it, hasn't reached out for it, hasn't even caressed herself in longer than she can remember.
Now she wants it; now she feels wide awake again. Now she's remembering all the other things she wants, all the things she hasn't let herself want since Frankie. So much, she thinks, never mind want; so much she needs, and she hasn't dared to trust herself enough, or anyone else, either.
Mac, she thinks, and looks over at him again; Mac will understand this, too. It hasn't been as long for him, although she's sure he hasn't slept with anyone since he got back from London, but he'll understand anyway. He's in a similar state, and if there's anyone she can trust with what she needs, it's him.
And she's not the only one who needs. She's sure of that, too.
The music comes to an end, and the sudden silence almost makes Stella gasp out loud. Mac looks up, then glances back down at the glass still resting on his knee. He lifts it and shakes it so the ice rattles, then drains the last dregs of liquid from it. "I should change the CD," he says. "Any requests?"
More like that, Stella wants to say, but she shakes her head. "Whatever you're in the mood for," she says.
"All right." Mac looks at her, and for a moment she thinks he's going to say something more. She's seen this look on his face more than once in the last few weeks, a look that's halfway between curious and worried. Whatever he may be thinking when he looks like this, he's never tried to put it into words. Stella can understand that, too.
Mac sets his empty glass down on the coffee table and stands up, and she watches him cross the room. The lines of his body, after all these years, are perfectly familiar to her. She lets herself look, really look, at the straight lines of his back and shoulders, watches his hands move as he sorts through stacks of CDs.
She can count the number of times they've slept together on her fingers. It doesn't matter; it's never mattered. The two of them have always had a knack for knowing what the other person needs, and the only thing holding them back from acting on it now is Drew Bedford. Drew is why they sit around in silence, and why Mac hasn't touched her -- but, Stella has to admit, Drew is only part of the reason why she hasn't made a move to touch him, or encouraged him to touch her. One very small part, one very recent reason.
Goddamn him, Stella thinks, and her body is still singing with nerves, with need.
She gets to her feet.
The hardwood floor is cool under her toes. She's doing this. She is. She walks over to Mac, and he looks up with a smile. "Change your mind about requests?"
"No." She hasn't thought through how she's going to do this.
Mac holds up a CD. "I thought Nina Simone," he says. "What do you say?"
She nods. "Put it on."
Seconds later, the music fills the room, and Stella shivers. This song isn't a woman in mourning; it isn't someone singing a funeral dirge. This is someone who's felt the same way Stella feels now, who has felt her body throb with a series of small electric shocks. She shifts from foot to foot, and the need wells up inside her again.
Mac turns to face her, and neither of them move. They just look at each other. Stella knows she isn't fooling herself about the raw look she sees reflected in Mac's eyes. "Stella," he says. His voice doesn't rise, but she hears the question in it even so.
"Mac."
"I was thinking." He clears his throat. "I -- it's getting late. Maybe you should stay."
She looks into his face. "I think that would be a smart idea."
"Good," he says. "That's good." They've moved closer, but they're not touching yet. Stella's throat feels tight. "Stella -- "
"Mac," she says. "Just shut up already." She moves to him and reaches up, running her fingers across his cheek. He puts his hands on her waist, holding her, and she presses her mouth to his, and how could she have waited so long for this? How -- but it's too good to think, and she goes on kissing him.
Mac begins to work his fingers under the hem of her shirt, his touch warm against her bare skin. He kisses her slow and soft, slides one hand up towards the curve of her ribcage and moves his mouth away from hers, ducks his head so he can kiss her neck. Stella tilts her head back and opens her eyes. She sees, suddenly, how it's going to go. He wants her, as badly as she wants him, but he's going to hold back. He's going to be careful, and it'll be easy and slow and almost calm. And it'll be good; it'll be fine. But it won't be enough, not nearly enough to begin to soothe the raw places inside her.
"Mac." She clutches at his hair and pulls it, hard, hard enough to make him stop kissing her and look up. He looks startled, but he doesn't say anything. "Mac, I..." She tries to think how to say it.
"What?" he asks. His hands are still on her, still warm.
"Don't be gentle with me," she says at last. "I don't want that."
"Not gentle," he says after a pause.
"No." She's trying to read his expression, his reaction, but she can't. Not quite. She reminds herself that he's going to understand. That he has to.
"Tell me something," Mac says.
"What's that?"
"If we're not being gentle" -- his hands tighten suddenly on her, fingers digging in -- "how hard do you want it? Like this?"
"Like that. And like this." She tugs at his hair again, pulling his mouth closer to hers.
"Like this?" He brushes his mouth against hers, then nips at her lower lip instead of kissing her.
"Like that," Stella whispers, and runs her nails down the back of his neck. Mac kisses her hard and his hands slide up her back, pushing her shirt higher. The desire spikes and twists inside her as his fingers stroke her bare skin. It feels so good, even as her body is screaming more more more, even as she's thinking this still isn't enough. Not enough, nowhere near it, but it feels so good just to be touched and kissed after all this time.
"Mac," she says again, and clutches at his shirt, pulling him in for another hard kiss. She starts to work at his shirt buttons, and that's when he grabs her wrists. She opens her eyes and looks at him.
"More?" he asks.
She nods, twisting in his grip. His hands tighten and she feels her wrist bones grinding against each other. His face is still close to hers, and instead of kissing him she bites his lower lip until she feels the skin start to give beneath her teeth. Then she lets go and kisses him, very gently this time.
"Come on," she says.
Mac looks into her face. He holds her even tighter, then pushes her back hard against the wall. She slams into it and the shock of impact goes up her spine. In the same movement, he shoves one knee between her thighs and then presses into her, pinning her against the wall with the weight of his body.
He kisses her again then, her arms spread high and wide against the wall, kisses her deep and nasty, and when she can't breathe anymore, he tears his mouth away and stares down at her. He doesn't let her go.
There's a touch of something in his eyes that Stella might, under any other circumstances, term regret. She doesn't say anything, doesn't try to pull away.
Mac doesn't move. Finally, his grip on her slackens a little. "Stella..." he begins, and then she smiles at him. In a minute she's going to be laughing. She can't help it; it's rising inside her just like the want, the need, and it feels so good, so goddamn good. She arches up, rubs herself against his knee, and Mac's eyes go wide and a little glazed. He lets go of her wrists then, but pushes his leg higher.
"Just like that," Stella says, and he cups her face between his hands and presses his mouth to hers. She kisses him back, opens her mouth wide and kisses him in a sweet, wet tangle as she continues to rub herself against him, and it's all so good, so perfectly what she needs.
-
-
-
"Get on your hands and knees," Mac says into Stella's ear.
They're both naked now, still standing against the wall, and Stella is quivering with the cumulative effect of every touch, every kiss, of every bit of his skin she's worked with her tongue or teeth.
"Here?" she asks.
He rubs his thumb over her lower lip. "You heard me," he says.
Stella sinks to her knees in front of him, then reaches out and strokes one hand up his thigh. She looks up into his face while she does it; he stares at her, not blinking, and she smiles at him. She moves her hand past his thigh, up to his hip, and Mac's eyes squeeze shut. She strokes the hollow of his hip, and just as she's about to lean in and kiss his thigh, and start teasing him with what she could do once she gets her mouth around his cock, Mac catches her hand. He opens his eyes.
"I said get on your hands and knees," he says.
"Did you?"
"Yeah. I did."
Stella looks up into his face again, and decides to push him a little more. "Well," she says, "maybe I misunderstood. Or maybe..." She reaches out with her other hand and traces a slow circle on his thigh with the very tips of her fingers. "Maybe you'd prefer it this way after all."
Mac laughs a little. He lets go of her hand, then kneels down, facing her. He takes her hand again once he's kneeling, and kisses the back, then the palm. "Or maybe," he says, in a very quiet voice, "I'd prefer just what I told you."
"Is that right?" she asks.
"Yeah. That's right." Mac drops her hand and cups her face again. He pushes a curl back from her cheek, then slides his fingers into her hair. Stella leans in to kiss him, reaching for his erection as she does.
Mac's hand tightens on her hair and he pulls her head back, hard. "What I'd prefer," he says in the same soft voice, "is you on your hands and knees. Just like I said." He kisses the exposed line of her throat, and Stella shivers as he runs his tongue along a tendon. "Do it."
He lets go of her, and Stella lets herself fall forward, bracing herself on the palms of her hands. Her arms shake a little as she finds her center of balance, but she feels triumphant. Her nerve endings feel strung out to their limits, and her skin is burning. Beneath her fingertips, she thinks she can feel a slight vibration from the stereo, a low percussive thrum racing through her body. The notes of the song touch her, caress her, move up through the crown of her head and her breasts and clitoris, through her thighs and hips and ass, and she can feel herself open even more as she kneels.
Mac moves behind her, out of her line of sight, and as she waits for him to start fucking her, she thinks of the hard line of his cock between her fingers, of his hands on her thighs and his tongue on her nipple, of his mouth on hers and the lines around his eyes, and the way the old scars on his skin feel under her lips. She feels so raw now, and so ready. The pins-and-needles tingle is back, in her whole body now, and she can't wait.
Mac's hand touches her back. He presses his palm flat to the center of her spine, then starts to move it downward slowly. He caresses her spine, the small of her back, the curve of her ass. He doesn't say a word, doesn't even seem to be breathing hard. Stella closes her eyes and bites her lip and waits.
His fingers edge lower, to the back of her thigh. He moves in close, until she can feel the heat of his body against hers. He touches the inside of her thigh, again and again, stroking and then lifting his hand away. She bites her lip harder, and finally, he touches the outside of her cunt. She lets out a soft gasp and tries to push back against him, tries to push herself onto his fingers. He moves his hand away and then moves it back, keeps going like that. Sometimes he goes back to stroking her ass or her back, and when he does that, now, she can feel her own wetness on his hand.
Stella is dazed, lost in the rhythm of it, and just when she's stopped thinking about anything else, Mac parts her thighs with both hands, and the next thing she feels is his tongue on her, pushing into her.
"Oh." It comes out in a harsh gasp, and he clutches at her and spreads her legs wider, thrusts his tongue in deeper and moves one hand between her legs so he can get at her clit. He licks her, opens her, shoves her down hard against the floor. Her hands slide along the hardwood and her head dips lower. He rubs her clit in rough circles and licks at her faster, and Stella manages to lift one hand to her breast so she can touch her nipple, so she can coax it into a hard peak as his tongue and fingers keep moving on her, in her. She can hear him letting out little moans now, too, little hitches of breath that flutter against her and make her shudder hard with pleasure. His free hand is resting on her hip, and he squeezes it hard, digs his fingers in as he keeps working her.
She rolls her nipple between her fingers and his fingers move on her clit, and he does something with his tongue that hits a spot that sends a shock through her body and makes her buck hard against him. She pushes back into his mouth and comes in a hard rush, comes so hard that she feels it in every part of her body, every muscle shaking helplessly as she groans and the spark of it, the shock of it, goes through her.
He doesn't give her a chance to recover from it, but lifts his head and presses himself to her back, then thrusts into her in one hard motion. It throws her balance off and she drops both hands to the floor again to support herself, and he wraps his arms around her waist and sits up, pulling her with him so he's kneeling and she's in his lap.
Stella leans her head back against his, and he presses his face into the side of her neck and sinks his teeth into her shoulder as he thrusts up hard into her, fast, and it feels so good to have him inside her. Mac keeps one arm wrapped around her waist and slips his other hand between her legs again. When he touches her clit again, she moans and then has to gulp in air; it's too much, too sensitive and she can feel the caress slipping fast towards pain, but she also doesn't want him to stop. She grabs at his thighs for balance and digs her nails into his skin.
His breath is hot on her neck, her shoulder, and their skin slaps together as he fucks her and she raises herself up as best she can, then pushes down against him. The pain in her clit is beginning to turn into something else now, and suddenly she's coming again as his fingers stroke her, little bursts that keep building and building. He lets out a little whine and his mouth falls open against her neck, tongue brushing her skin. The bursts are happening faster now, and she twists, groaning, then comes one more time, in one hard, sharp shock that goes through her like a knife.
Mac thrusts and moans and then goes still, and she feels him come, feels him pulsing hard and hot inside her as he shudders and trembles against her. Stella rides it with him, rides the aftershocks, both of them gasping now and grabbing at each other.
His hands go slack on her and Stella slides out of his lap, eases herself down onto the floor and then rolls over onto her back. Mac sinks down next to her and rests his head against her shoulder. She lies there, listening to the music, which still makes her think of that throb, that shiver of desire and need, breathing hard, absently stroking her belly and breasts. Her knees ache; her palms are scraped almost raw. She's going to have bruises on her hips and thighs in the morning.
She can't remember the last time she felt so good.
Her limbs are almost too heavy to move, but she turns to face Mac and reaches out for him, pushing his sweaty hair back from his forehead. "Hey," she says softly.
"Hey." He opens his eyes and looks at her. She smiles, and he laughs suddenly, then puts his arm around her and pulls her close. "Good?" he asks.
"Very good," she says.
"Not too much?"
"No. More like just what I needed," she says, and Mac nods.
"We should get off this floor," he says after a minute. "My back is killing me."
"You're going to be sore in the morning no matter what you do, you know," Stella says.
"You don't have to look so pleased about it," Mac says, but he's laughing again as he helps her to her feet.
In bed a few minutes later, she curls against him. "You know I'm going to return the favor," she says.
"I hope so," he says.
"You don't need to worry about that." She kisses him and he kisses her back, then reaches to turn out the light. Stella rests her head on his chest and listens as his breathing deepens, and she smiles to herself in the dark.
She wants to see him break; he needs it as much as she does.
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