Author: The Atomic Cafe PM
MacStella. Post Officer Blue. Some ways of making up are a bit unorthodox.Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance - Words: 809 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 8 - Follows: 1 - Published: 06-03-06 - Status: Complete - id: 2971087
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to CSI:NY or affiliates.
We could never learn to be brave and patient, if there were only joy in the world.
- Helen Keller
Stella twirled the blue replica of a bullet in his fingers, examining it from every angle. Though she hated to admit it to Mac at the moment, she was impressed by the machine and method Mac used to save the horse.
Instead, she said, "I can't believe you waited for the horse."
Mac didn't respond.
The two crime scene investigators and long-time friends sat on one of the creaky benches in Central Park, trying their best to ignore the children who had just gotten out of school as they threw footballs and ran. Stella and Mac both held half-eaten hotdogs in their hands from a street vendor. Mac always insisted that they didn't quite come to Chicago standards, but he could stand them. Stella assumed that he was trying his best to 'improve them to Chicago', what with the tomato, pickle, and relish over his.
It took only a few hours to resolve their fight over the damned horse. Stella sat on the bed, legs twisted together at the knee, hands clamped over her bare legs. Even the small touch of her hands seemed to creep between her thighs, waiting, expecting.
"I'm not angry," Stella told Mac, glancing at him. He still didn't say a word.
Mac leaned over her, hands on the thin sheets of his bed as Stella arched back, slowly, enjoying the way her muscles supported her. Once he was completely over her, in charge of her, taking care of her, his head bent low as though to ask for permission. She didn't say a word, didn't make a move, but let him lay a soft kiss against her jaw. Even if she tried, she couldn't stop her neck from arching back, even at such a simple touch.
Stella playfully pushed at Mac's thigh, smiling. "We solved the case, right?"
Mac's leg jumped slightly, but he didn't move away from her.
"I suppose," he answered.
Stella didn't know what Mac was wearing. She felt only the slightest touch from his leg, which felt bare against her own legs, and felt his arms close to her. It was too dark, too dark to see the man above her, too dark to want to let any of her emotions show to him about him.
None of the blood seemed to reach her head. She felt empty-headed, dead but so alive, caught in the moment. Mac bent backwards, touching his nose to her stomach, running his mouth up her until he came to her bra, which remained black and closed before him.
"Then what's wrong?" Stella asked. One of the kid's soccer balls came near, and she kicked it off in his direction.
"Don't you ever feel like there's something more to say?"
Stella understood him perfectly.
Stella pulled at the front clasp, letting the supported sides of the bra fall to the side of the bed. Mac slowly pulled the straps from her arms, unchaining her, never letting his mouth stop against her.
She couldn't think of a better feeling in the world.
"About last night?" she asked, feeling a bit of the blood hit her head.
Mac made a slight gesture, almost guilty and animal-like in its own right.
Mac slowly dipped forward, landing between Stella's thighs, slipping into her, relaxing her and rushing her making her feel so good and how lucky could she possibly be it's so wonderful to be here with you.
Stella patted his arm for a moment before taking the last bite from her hotdog. "Sometimes actions say everything," she told him, but the words came out muffled. "You don't get a second chance with them. With words, you get to say, 'Whoops, I meant to say blah.'"
"Forgiveness is always welcome," Mac said in a low voice. However, he gave Stella a small, tight smile.
"And so are chances," Stella replied.
Stella appreciated the slowness and tenderness that Mac acted with. She led her hands over his back and chest, memorizing every part of him in the dark. That's how she wanted to remember Mac Taylor, just as the loving man he was, with a soft touch and no words. He brought one hands up over hers, taking the blanket with it, wrapping them both up.
That's the Mac Taylor I remember, Stella thought. He'll learn how to go back to it someday.
One of these days.