Author's Note: Well, here it is: My first oneshot. It's kind of long but still, a oneshot. This idea has been lurking in my head for weeks and I hope it'll turn out okay. This is also my first posted CSI:NY fic so I'm excited and a bit nervous.

This is a SMacked fic (my OTP) and it will address the one problem I have with their relationship…they're not hooked up yet! God, they're the most obvious couple (other than D/L) on the show and TPTB have done very little with their chemistry! It's been six years for god's sake! Hopefully, next season, there will a little more progress. The kiss on the cheek in Pay Up was good as was the whole Greece thing so maybe, just maybe, the writers have gotten the hint and are working on it… or more than likely, they'll just draw it out (for ratings) and they'll be the next GSR (my other OTP) and any real kissing (or more) will happen on the very last episode because they suck.

*huffs and pouts like a 5 year old*

Okay, fangirlish rant over. It's story time and hopefully, I've managed to get their…dare I say it...connection right. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"

Approaching her from the couch, he grabbed her. Before she could even react, his lips were on hers, the wine she had served failing to mask the natural spicy sweetness this man had. Immediately, she returned his kiss, twining her tongue with his. Her soapy hands went to his short hair and her nails scratched lightly at the nape of his neck Large, gentle hands spanned her narrow waist and she moaned into his mouth as he squeezed possessively. He pulled away slowly, looking at her warily as if he were afraid of spooking her.

With a kittenish sound of annoyance, she yanked him back to her, eager to explore this new facet of their bond.

As she guided them back towards the French doors separating them from her bedroom, she thought about how this all came about…


Their latest case had been a trip: One dead frat boy, 150 drunken guests of the "party of the year", and an old fart of a dean with a major attitude breathing down their necks. Okay, Chelsea University did have a reputation to uphold but given that their CSI team showed up more often than most of the students had really undermined it in her mind. So, the case had been a frenzy of warrants, interviews, weird trace evidence, and an endearingly goofy drunk named Phil whose most generous donation had cracked the case.


"Drug test? Okay." the blonde Calvin Klein refugee slurred while staggering to his feet.

As they processed the house and interviewed, the surprisingly sober DJ mentioned a girl known only as Maxine that had given Troy Harrison and his buddy here beer, a girl that had been one of Troy's many conquests. Mr. Harrison had been a serial "love and leave 'em" man, something that Ms. Maxine didn't appreciate. There was motive. Also, autopsy results showed signs of poison. The suspect was a chemistry major, meaning that she'd know how to spike someone's brew with deadly accuracy. They wanted to see if Phil had been affected and just how much he had ingested.

Obviously, it was less than the vic's but the last thing anyone wanted was a second victim, hence them fishing him out of the bushes near the house ASAP.

Amazingly, he seemed to be one of the few nice drunken college students left in the world, eager (well, as eager as one could be while totally zonked) to help out "the smart 5-0", as he called them.

To her horrified amusement, the college boy whipped it out, ready to do it on the spot, but fortunately, he was stopped before it got completely out of hand.

"Detective Flack will escort you to the restroom. You don't have to do it here."

"Oh...okay. I didn't kill him but you guys can have my piss if you want. It's good to know that it'll be used for good, not evil!", Phil called cheerfully before running smack dab into the hall wall, a smirking Flack on his heels.

The door shut and she finally broke down into giggles, his small smile betraying his own amusement.

"You got to love this job." he quipped before walking out, leaving her to her mirth.


After the case had finally resolved itself (the classic scorned lover's revenge), Stella Bonasera found herself wanting some company, more specifically, the company of one Mac Taylor. It had been a while since they had hung out without a case involved or crazy and obsessive (or in his case cowardly and heartbreaking) exes interfering. Due to that, they had drifted apart. Not in a severe way but enough for someone who knew them to notice. She didn't like it. She missed talking to him, laughing with him, bickering with him…

In a nutshell, Stella missed her best friend and wanted him back.

Being the "grab the bull by the balls and squeeze" type of woman, she had decided to address the problem head on.


"Hey, Hawkes, have you seen Mac?"

"Locker room. Apparently, he got into a fight with a test melon and lost."

Shaking her head fondly at the image, she headed for the locker room. When she had entered, she found herself looking at her target… her very shirtless target. His back was to her and she could see the subtle play of muscles under the creamy flesh as he pulled on another dress shirt. Swallowing silently, she cleared her throat, making him turn.

The front view wasn't too bad either. He wasn't bulky but he was still toned. The scars were light and actually accented his physique, not marred it. An unbidden image of her tongue tracing the one on his chest made her blush a little.

Now, his throat cleared and she looked up into slyly shining baby blues.

"See something you like?" he flirted with his trademark half smile.

"Maybe.", she replied smartly. "Are you doing anything tonight?"

His eyes moved in his thinking way and then he shook his head negatively.

"How about I make you dinner?"

"You can cook?" he asked skeptically.

"Yes, I can cook! I can make a few simple dishes." she said with indignant pride.

"The last time you were in a kitchen, you burned a peanut butter and jelly sandwich." he reminded her with a shit eating smirk.

"That was your fault!" she huffed, her blush returning tenfold.

"My fault?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, your fault!" she confirmed." I was multitasking and you called me about some damn case and I left my flat iron on the counter, trying to answer your question! How was I supposed to know that peanut butter was flammable?"

He just looked at her in his Mac way and she squeaked, "Shut up!" sending him into quiet laughter.

"I will gladly join you for dinner. What should I bring?"

"Just you. And leave your smartasssery at the door." she grumbled as she left.


Heading home, she had immediately gotten to work. She'd show him that she had not graduated from the Culinary School of Gumby. Instead of burnt PB&J, Stella had managed to put together a chicken and noodle dish with white sauce, along with a salad. The only evidence of a slip up was the shiny band aid on her left index finger (tomatoes really were a bitch to chop). Tying up her hair, she had put on a white top and her black sweats (it was only Mac, after all) and got out the wine.

As soon as she got the plates set, her buzzer went off.

When she answered, she could hear the smile in his voice.

"I'm here and bereft of smartasssery…which, for the record, is not a word."

That had set the tone for the evening, playful and comfortable. It was like they had never been separated by a series of unfortunate events. They talked about everything and nothing until they lapsed into a comfortable silence. She had collected the dishes and told him to go sit down on the couch, rejecting his offer of help. After all, she explained, he was a guest and the first welcome male guest she had in her place.

After that, the silence had returned but was heavier. As she washed the dishes, Stella found herself stealing glances at him. Mac had forgone his usual suit and had actually shown up in a pair of jeans, something that Stella didn't know he owned. His body language was still intense but it was a softer kind, one that she remembered seeing with Claire.

Distantly, she wondered if he was thinking of her during the domestic scene and then she quickly decided that she didn't want to know. If he was, then it was his prerogative.

Looking at him again, she was surprised to see his gaze level with hers. They still said nothing but she could see an internal debate inside his baby blues. Looking away first, she decided to let him figure it out before breaching the silence.

Of course, due to his actions, breaching the silence became completely unnecessary...


His back made contact with the doors, opening them enough for them to lose their balance. The impact forced their lips apart but Stella had no intention of getting off of him anytime soon. Getting off with him, however…

"Stella, what are we doing?"

She met his gaze firmly, showing that she meant business with this, that it was not a drunken mistake or a causal fling.

"Something that we should've done years ago."

Mac being Mac, he could pick up on all the subtext in that simple (and slightly clichéd) statement. The man could read her like a comic book, something she now found endearing instead of creepy.

His gaze sharpened and darkened to cobalt as she gently moved her hips against his. She could feel a burning heat through their clothes and his interest was straining against the denim of his jeans. He wanted her. He wanted her bad. Good. Leaning down to capture his lips again, she was surprised that he held her off.


"We are not doing this on the floor. Not the first time." he told her firmly.

"What about the second time?" she teased.

His half smile was his only reply.


She was going to die.

Her heart felt like it was going to burst and she was burning alive. Was spontaneous combustion really a myth? Before she could dwell on that, another orgasm slammed into her, causing all air to leave her lungs in an impressive scream of his name.

She could feel him smirk against her jugular but she was too far gone to care. In the last 3 hours, Mac had taken her in ways that no man had even bothered to and she couldn't believe it. Mac Taylor, her quiet and reserved Mac, was a bona fide sex god. Somehow, it fit him. After all, with all the control he maintained in his life, he had to let loose somehow.

Stella whimpered as his long fingers found her aching nub and began stimulating it to his rhythm, making yet another climax begin to build.

"Mac, please…Mac, I can't...I…I…" she begged helplessly.

"You can and you will!" he hissed, his commanding tone moistening her further.

God, no wonder he was such a good leader. One couldn't help but listen to him.

Her body obeyed him eagerly, shattering her mind and blinding her to only flashes of bright lights. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. Distantly, she could hear herself wailing, her lamp crashing to the floor, and the pounding of her next door neighbor on the wall, vainly trying to get her to "shut up!" Suddenly, a new sound entered her haze, a long, loud shout of release.

Her vision restored, she watched Mac in his bliss, tenderly stroking his back as he emptied into her in thick, hot streams. Eventually, his body calmed and he collapsed on top of her, his face pillowed between her breasts. Stella let out a quiet moan as he slowly withdrew from her core and she wrapped her arms and legs around him possessively.

"I'm not going anywhere, Stell. Even I wanted to, I couldn't."


"Can't feel my legs." he mumbled matter of factly as he nuzzled up to her throat.

She laughed softly and quipped, "Well, that's what you get for being such a sex god."

As she spoke, she slid a possessive hand to his ass and squeezed fondly, surprising and pleasing him.

"Sex god, huh?" he asked smugly.

She rolled her celery eyes and nodded in confirmation.

"If you mention it to anyone, I'm going to plead the fifth." she warned him.

"While we're on the subject, what are we going to do about telling people?" he inquired.

"The only person that I can think of having a problem with us is Sinclair but since you've saved his job more times than he can count, he better not say a goddamned thing.", Stella said darkly.

"Or you'll hurt him."

"Your words, not mine."

Mac snorted and rolled them so that she rested on top of him.

Giving into her earlier impulse, she pressed a kiss to the jagged scar on his sternum and then traced it with her tongue, tasting his sweat and hers on his flesh. It was a pleasant taste. His hand went to her tangled mane of curls and she purred as he played with the strands.

It amazed her how well he knew her body already.

Of course, years of frustrated desire and an analytical mind could work as a map.

God knew it worked for her.

As her mouth began to explore him further, she could feel telltale stirrings against her thigh, surprising and delighting her.

Apparently, that Marine stamina didn't stop on the battlefield.

"I thought you couldn't feel your legs?" she teased as she wrapped a hand around his arousal.

A startled yelp turned into a joyous laugh as she found herself back beneath him with the speed of a snake strike.

The shit eating smirk from earlier had returned in all its glory.

"Sex god, remember?" he growled as his mouth descended to her nipples.

Oh, she wouldn't be forgetting anytime soon.