A/N: Let's see where the muse carries this one, shall we? All I can tell you right now is that we're heading straight into M territory. By the way, I didn't ask their legal owners permission to play with them so keep this as hushed as possible, will ya? Thanks!
A/N2: You know the drill. Repeat after me: "These characters are fictional, therefore in no risk whatsoever if they don't practice safe sex (read: use condoms). I, on the other hand, am not fictional; therefore, I take care of myself when indulging in sexual activities".
X x x x x x x x x x x x x x X
They both scrambled to turn off the shower, but not before they were completely drenched. If Flack had thought it had been hard dealing with a slippery-when-wet Stella, he soon learned it was virtually impossible with a "soapy-slippery-and-wet" one. The end result of the mad dash to stop the water assault was catastrophic.
On second thought…
By the time they were done struggling, twisting and slipping, their bodies had changed the way they had been originally aligned. Stella was, for lack of a better word, straddling him. And Flack had, instinctually I guess, placed his foot on each side of the door to stop their sliding out of the stall. Given his height and the available room inside the stall, his legs were flexed, thus effectively stopping Stella from getting washed out of there…
Which would have been great, except that now Stella was sitting right on top of his erection, and there was no way in Hell she didn't know what, exactly, was underneath her. And if that wasn't enough, Flack's hands were splayed all over her ass, thus keeping her securely stationed… there.
But what closed the deal, as they say, was the fact that her breasts were now straining in front of his face, giving Flack a first-hand view of her nipples, puckered and hardened due to the temperature changes. He was close enough to be able to see the tiny veins tingeing her flesh… and that's when he realized that the lights were back on.
He slowly lifted his head until his eyes met hers. Stella was still hanging from the water fixtures, which she had grabbed in an attempt to avoid further injury. But after the "danger" had passed, she realized where the real danger lay. Stella was certain that, if she let go of the faucets, she'd be, for all practical matters, dry humping Flack.
Although, given the circumstances, "dry" wasn't that accurate. But you and her both got the idea, so she kept hanging for dear life, desperately trying to figure out a way to get up ASAP with minimum exposure , which, given the circumstances, was as possible as George Clooney dropping by for some threesome action.
All her thinking, however, evaporated as soon as Flack made eye contact with her. There was something highly erotic about watching those deep blue-green eyes glancing at her from between her breasts, probably because she could picture them looking at her from between her legs, and she had to bite her lower lip to suppress a moan. But not before Flack saw the look of pure lust on her face.
Later, much later, if they felt like rationalizing the whole thing, they would both agree that it was a series of… fortunate? unfortunate? events that were responsible for the whole thing. Flack looking up set Stella's imagination running. In order to control her imagination, she bit her lips and closed her eyes. Watching Stella biting her lip was one of the sexiest sights Flack had seen. And since he didn't want to think of Stella "that way", he averted his gaze. Averting his gaze brought his attention back to her nipples.
And that's when all got shot to Hell.
If asked under oath, Don Flack Jr. was willing to swear he opened his mouth to say her name. But Stella shifted her hips, oh-so-very-slightly, just then. And that, your Honor, is the reason why my mouth latched itself around her nipple. Not only latched, but sucked on, nibbled, licked… and when I was done with the right one, I subjected the left one to the same treatment…
Stella's lip biting proved to be insufficient to suppress her moans. She let go of the faucets and placed her hands on his shoulders as he continued to feast on her breasts. She allowed her body to rest fully on top of his, enjoying the contact of his erection against her, and it wasn't long before she decided that clothing between them both was not an option anymore.
Great minds think alike, and Flack had reached the same conclusion at about the same time. Mentally telling Stella's breasts that he'll be back later, as they still had plenty of things to "talk about", he removed his hands (regretfully as well) from their current location and wrapped his arms them around her. Once he felt he had secured her, he pushed himself upward, to a sitting position.
Flack cut her question short by crushing his lips to hers. The voice of his conscience, his Jiminy Cricket so to speak, had been adamant he kept proper manners. Where had he learned that you first got acquainted with your lady's chest and THEN you met her mouth? Flack could swear that somewhere inside his head he could hear his mother tsk-tsking, but since his mother's voice was the last thing he had wanted to hear just then, he quickly proceeded to make amends. Thus, he began kissing Stella in hopes she wouldn't mind the change in style.
Not that Stella was complaining, mind you. Quite the opposite, actually.
Stella Bonasera was no stranger to passion. Or sex. Or lust. And although love wasn't that common on her list, she had managed to meet it once or twice in the past. But nothing she'd lived so far had prepared her for the turmoil of feelings Don Flack's kisses were provoking inside her. Oh, but the man could kiss! For a fleeting second, she was filled with jealousy. Who had taught him to do that twirly thing his tongue was doing just now?
Stella had always been a very visual person, and she had never found it difficult to picture in her mind how a murder was committed, or how had a victim reacted. Same thing happened when it came to sex. If she saw a man she fancied she had no problem picturing him with her in bed: if he was dancing, she could imagine his hips moving as he thrusts into her; if he was eating, she would imagine how his mouth would work its way around her body.
What she's having trouble with now is remembering how to breathe: her mind had no problem at all picturing the twirling tongue inside her mouth doing exactly the same thing on her clit… and the visuals are enough to push her to the point of no return. She needs to feel him inside her, she needs to feel him NOW, and Stella Bonasera is not a patient woman when it came to orgasms when she was worked up this badly.
Of course, there were myriad things she wanted to do to Don Flack Jr., and in myriad places far more comfortable than a shower stall badly illuminated by an emergency generator. But right now there was only one thing she wanted. Him. Inside of her.
Her hands left his shoulders and began working on his trousers. Two wrist flicks and the belt buckle was undone, a third one and the button was open. After that, sliding the zipper down was child's play, and once that was done, her hand was inside his boxers, stroking, tempting, cajoling…
Not that Flack needed any of the abovementioned. He had been aroused since his libido had been kind enough to point out the fact that Stella was naked in the dark. And as Stella was visual, he was oral, and all the attention his mouth had been paying to her thus far had him almost fully erect.
"Lift yourself a bit", he growled against her ear, and she was quick to comply.
As soon as he felt Stella rise up, he lifted his hips, grabbed both trousers and boxers, and pulled them down to his knees. He toed up his shoes and wiggled the rest of the clothing off. It took him left than a minute to be as naked as Stella, and it took her less than 10 seconds to impale herself on him once his hips were back on the ground.
"My thoughts, precisely..."
And that was the extent of their verbal communication. Their bodies, however, had plenty of things to say and were constantly figuring out new ways to tell them. His hands, mouth and teeth were busy working their magic on her neck, shoulders and nipples. Her nails were adamant on leaving permanent reminders of the things he was making her feel all over his shoulders, his back, his chest…
Their hips were tangled in a dance that, albeit not perfect as they still had to learn each other's ebbs and flows, was synchronized enough to make the need for each other and for release almost turn into a living thing in its own.
The coupling was messy, rushed and lacked all sorts of finesse. It responded more to need than to love, but, fortunately for them both, they were both beyond the age of romantic notions regarding first-time lovemaking. The tenderness, the painstaking discovery of every inch of skin, of every pulse, of every nerve ending… that was put on hold for a later date. For the time being, they were both satisfied with the melding of mouths, the clumsy groping and the uneven thrusting.
But it worked. Flack felt the telltale signs of his impeding orgasm, and although he tried his best to delay it, he knew his best in this case wouldn't be enough to allow Stella to catch up with him. He silently cursed his libido for getting the best of him and prepared for the unavoidable, wondering how he'd ever make it up to Stella. She was going to think he was some inexperienced geek, a perennial horny teen… Don Flack might not be the biggest Casanova in the force, but he had been around enough to know that if there was something women hated with a passion was to be left hanging, all worked up, and not getting any sort of release.
He also knew what he could (should?) do in such cases, but he was also weary of trying it out. He had learned the hard way that not every woman liked this kind of help, so he debated a couple of nano-seconds. In the end, he decided to give it a shot. Knowing Stella, the worst that could happen would be trying to live down the embarrassment of her chiding him for doing it. Having made up his mind, Flack allowed his hands to slide downwards…
Maybe it was her scream in his ear. Maybe it was the fact that after deafening him for the rest of the week, she bit down on his shoulder… hard. Maybe it was the way she went feral on him and clawed his sides until he bled. Or maybe it was the way her inner muscles had clamped down on him like a vice. Maybe it was all of the above. Whatever the reason, Flack was sure they had both experienced one hell of an orgasm, worthy of registering on the Richter Scale, one his battered and bruised body (head bump included, as his head had smacked against the wall in the throes of passion) was more than eager to repeat on a regular basis.
It took all of Stella's strength not to slump down on him afterwards. She was more than used to having a couple of orgasm whenever she indulged in sex (more often by herself than when in company, but she wasn't one to keep score), but she could not recall having TWO almost simultaneously. As soon as her mind was back to working order, she made up her mind about a couple of things. For starters, she was officially jealous beyond reason of every other woman who had been in Flack's life. Secondly, there was no way in hell she was NOT going to have a second serving of whatever it was Flack had done to her. And a third. And a … hell, she wanted the recipe AND the cook kept in her own safe under triple lock and 15 laser beams. And lastly… she didn't want to think of the last one, but she knew it wouldn't be long before someone came looking for them, and as much as she cherished the idea, it wouldn't do either their jobs any good to be found naked and still high on sex.
"We have to…"
"Get dressed, I know. I'll go get us something."
By the time he returned with them, he was dressed in sweats and was handing her some as well. Flack left the bathroom and Stella was thankful for allowing her some modesty after what had happened and felt something akin to a warm spot in the vicinity of her heart.
The warm spot, however, soon turned to cold dread, as she realized he had left the floor altogether without waiting for her. The rest of the day was spent re-telling her ordeal (the PG version of it) and listening to everybody else's experiences in the dark. She kept an eye on Flack, but he was doing a great job at keeping as far away as possible. Stella managed to get a few moments to herself in the office, and hid her face in her hands, all the whilst berating herself for allowing something like this happen. "It was a stupid thing to do. Stupid! Now everything is fucked up…"
The rest of the shift dragged on and by the time she was ready to go home, sorrow had found a nice niche inside of her heart. As she walked towards her car in the nearly deserted parking lot she took out her cell phone and debated whether or not to call him. Would it be best to try and clear the air and salvage whatever possible from their friendship and their work relationship? Or would it be better to sweep the whole thing under the rug and never ever bring it up again?
The whole HIV ordeal had taught her something she hadn't known about herself: she didn't handle wondering very well. Maybe it was middle age settling in, maybe it was that she was more aware of her own mortality, or maybe it was all a load of bullshit, but Stella didn't have the patience to deal with uncertainty anymore. She opened her cell and hit speed dial 3. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a phone go off barely 2 feet behind her. Swiftly turning around, she found herself staring right into Flack's face. Her heart missed a beat at the memories those eyes of his evoked, and her mouth went dry when she saw the determined look in his face, his jaw set, his hands clenched…
Before Stella had a chance to speak, she was back in his arms again, her face covered in kissed, her hair getting messed by his hands tangling here and there. After what seemed a joyous eternity, he allowed her some breathing room.
"I can't" he stated simply.
Stella panicked. "C-can't?" she stammered.
"I can't stay away. I can't get you out of my head. I can't get enough of your kisses. I can't deny what I feel for you anymore. I can't stand your not being in my arms. I can't stand not being inside of you a moment longer. I can't stand not knowing if you're going to want me in your bed forever or if you want me out of your life for good. Take your pick. And if you don't like any of those, there's a whole lot more where those came from…"
Stella took a step back and carefully studied the man in front of her. It was madness what he was proposing, but she'd rather be mad next to him than live sane without him. Right there in his eyes, those eyes that had driven her crazy, there was the answer she had been looking for, and she wondered why it had taken her so long to reach it. And now that she'd made up her mind, everything just felt so… right.
"Flack… I think you need a shower… at my place…"
A/N: Well, the muse certainly decided to take a walk right out of my usual stuff. Hope you enjoyed it!