A/N I certainly don't own these characters. And I'm not doing anything particularly original with them, but I definitely had fun with it. Hope you enjoy this thoroughly plot-less bit of fantasy.
The purposeful tread, muffled by the office carpet, meant he'd thought of a solution.
For what seemed like hours, Della Street had listened to her employer pacing his office floor. Now she heard him stride into the law library and breathed a small sigh of relief.
When the footsteps eventually made the return trip, she opened a desk drawer, reaching inside for notebook and pencil even as she heard him call her name. He simply bellowed, rather than use the intercom.
'He must be on a roll,' she thought.
Upon entering the office, she found him leaning over the conference table, concentrating on the open books he'd strewn across its surface. Careful not to interrupt, she seated herself across the table from him and prepared to take dictation.
Minutes of near silence rolled past as the lawyer flipped through the pages of first one book, then another. Then, without warning, he began to speak. Abandoning the sketch of his necktie that was quickly filling the margin of her notebook, she recorded his words.
Her concentration matched his own as she followed the legal reasoning filling page after page of the notebook. Eventually a smile curled its way slowly across her features as she began to see the direction of his argument. True to form, his logic pierced the legal problem and he completed the dictation with a list of supporting citations.
As he finished, he looked directly at her for the first time since she'd entered the room. Noting her smile, he grinned in return. "Whadda ya think?" he asked, his voice losing the official timber and taking on a hint of boyish pride.
Della noted the end of the dictation with a flourish of the pencil. "Nicely done," she said. "The appellate court should be suitably impressed, as well, I'd say."
"We can only hope," he replied, collapsing in a chair and stretching his long legs out in front of him.
Della closed her notebook and got to her feet. She gathered the law books into her arms. "I'll get these put away and start on the typing," she said.
Perry Mason nodded, reaching up to rub his tired eyes. Della glanced over her shoulder at him as she crossed the threshold into the library. He was slumped deeply in the chair, eyes closed, head tilted to back to rest against the leather cushion.
"Why don't you go home and get some sleep, Chief? It won't take me long to type this. I'll close up on my own."
He didn't answer aloud, simply shook his head, his eyes still closed.
Della deposited the books back on the proper shelves then proceeded with her typing. It took longer than she'd originally estimated, thanks to an uncooperative ribbon that ran out halfway through. The new ribbon smudged the page, necessitating that she retype it. Eventually, she pulled the last sheet from her typewriter, separated the carbon copies and put them into a file folder to await Mason's signature.
As she slipped the cover back on the typewriter, she glanced at the clock. Late, but not too late. Perhaps she could convince Perry to wait until tomorrow to read through the brief. He needed a good dinner and a good night's sleep, rather than the tedium of more work.
The reception area was dark and Della didn't bother to turn on lights as she crossed the room to check the lock on the door. Satisfied that all was secure, she returned to her own office where she gathered her belongings in preparation for going home. She opened the door to Perry's private office and entered the room, surprised to find that he was not sitting in the desk chair or in the client's chair where he'd collapsed earlier.
A soft sound alerted her to his presence behind her. She turned and saw Perry Mason stretched out on the sofa, asleep. His suit coat was draped over the back of the couch. His open collar, freed by tie that now hung loosely around his neck, framed his face, the stiff material brushing his jaw line, its stark white contrasted with the lightly tanned skin of his face.
He lay on his back, one arm thrown back over his head, the other resting on his abdomen. The long legs were extended full length, and crossed at the ankles, feet resting against the opposite arm. The oversized sofa Della had always considered a bit too big for the space was barely large enough for him to relax on.
She stood motionless for a long moment, reveling in the chance to simply watch him. It was something she never tired of. Whether in the office, the courtroom, or out for a night on the town, he was always fascinating to her.
Immediately upon meeting him, she'd found him attractive. Tall, dark and handsome – every woman's ideal. She accepted as good fortune being able to work for someone who was pleasant to look at and to be with.
Slowly, almost stealthily, the attraction had changed. It deepened. But along with that deepening enchantment came other emotions. Sometimes he frightened her. She was afraid of falling in love with a man she could never have and afraid that the man would be taken from her. He took crazy chances and extraordinary risks. He could have landed in jail, or worse, dead. The thought of losing him, for whatever reason, filled her with dread.
Eventually her feelings changed again. Much to her delight, she discovered that the sentiment she felt for him was reciprocated. Despite this new-found closeness, he still scared her. He took too many risks and was too deeply involved in his client's problems for his own good. More than once she'd pleaded with him to just stay in his office and let the problems come to him, rather than dashing around the city, putting himself in danger. For his part, he'd begged her to trust him. He was a fighter and he couldn't fight from behind a desk.
She tried to trust him – to trust that his cunning mind, his skillful defenses, were more than enough to keep him out of real trouble. Unfortunately, trust was not something that came easily for Della Street.
Interrupting her reverie, he stirred, his brow furrowing slightly. Della knelt at his side; her cool fingertips brushed an unruly lock of hair from his forehead. "Perry," she said softly. He mumbled something, but didn't move. "Perry." She rested her hand on his chest. "Wake up – it's time to go home." She patted his chest lightly.
He moved his hand and curled his fingers over hers. "Don't want to," he mumbled, eyes still closed.
Della couldn't help but smile. "Fine. You stay here and I'll see you in the morning." She leaned in and swept her lips across his. As she started to stand, he gripped her hand more tightly. "You stay too," he said. The traces of sleep had fallen from his voice, even though his eyes remained shut.
"There's barely room for you on that couch. Where would I sleep?"
His lips curled into a grin and he opened one eye. "On top."
She laughed and he sat up, swinging his feet down to the floor.
"Come on, you," she said. "You need a meal and some real sleep. In a real bed. Let's get out of here."
He stood slowly. Della moved towards his desk to retrieve her purse.
"Food, sleep, shelter… You've covered all but one of man's basic needs," he said.
She turned to face him and leaned back, hips resting on the edge of his desk, palms flattened on the surface. "Hmm…" she pretended to look thoughtful. "Which one am I forgetting?" Her eyes sparkled with amusement. And something more.
"Sex," he replied.
"I think food and rest might be more important." She placed a restraining hand on his chest as he advanced towards her.
"I don't," he replied, taking hold of her hand and pulling her towards him. He stifled her laughter with a kiss – hard, passionate. She drew a deep breath when he finally released her. Perry grasped her chin and held her face up to his, his thumb caressing her lower lip. "Suddenly I don't feel tired at all," he said softly.
"What about hungry?"
His smile took on a decidedly wolfish quality. "Oh, I'm hungry. Definitely hungry."
"Well, then, maybe you should take me home, Mr. Mason, and we'll see if we can't find some way of satisfying your 'hunger'." She grinned at him.
He matched her grin and shook his head. "I don't intend to wait that long."
"Oh, really?" She arched an eyebrow at him, suddenly unsure.
"I think there is plenty of satisfaction to be had right here." He leaned in close as he spoke, his voice going a step deeper and his intention written plainly in his eyes.
She laughed, a little nervously. "You are incorrigible!" She started to step around him, but he grabbed hold of her arms, pulling her body into his.
"You locked the doors, didn't you?"
"It's late. There's no one else around. And I want you." As he spoke the last part, he bent low, tasting the skin of her neck. He knew her weaknesses and shamelessly exploited them.
"We can't…ohh…" She grabbed hold of his arms, holding herself up as he continued his attentions to her neck, her earlobe, her jaw, and finally her lips.
The touch of his mouth on hers was like fire. His kiss was fierce and possessive. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the rational, sensible part of her was screaming for this to stop.
With only a kiss he could completely consume her and burn her to ashes. His possessive nature was one of the things she feared most. Or perhaps it was her reaction to him – her willingness to let him take control. There were no limits when they came together like this – he owned her body and soul.
How could she let any man have such power over her?
Even as these thoughts raged in her mind, her body abandoned any pretense of resistance. She pressed against him, arms on his shoulders, fingers twisted into his hair. She clung to him, pulling their bodies closer together.
The kisses seemed to go on and on, kiss melting into kiss, each new one more passionate than the last. He ravished her mouth and took her breath. Finally he pulled away and she managed a gasping breath. Her body went limp; she leaned against him for support. His arms circled her waist.
Happy in the cocoon of his embrace, Della relaxed further against him, waiting for the beating of their hearts to subside from their furious pounding. His hands felt hot on her back, even through the fabric of her jacket and blouse. As soon as she could speak she would suggest they go straight to the car so they could get home and continue this most delicious interlude.
She took a deep breath just as his hands moved.
He smoothed them over the firm curve of her hips and bent his knees slightly. He grasped her body and lifted her easily, taking a step forward and setting her on the edge of his desk.
Della made a slight exclamation of surprise. Then she smiled and reached up, cupping his cheek with her hand. "What do you say we get out of here so we can continue this somewhere more private?" Her voice had the sultry quality of a fine cognac.
He leaned in close, his lips almost touching hers and whispered, "No."
"No?" His reply so startled her that she didn't realize what he was doing until she heard the phone hit the floor, followed by the pen set and desk calendar. He'd reached around her and swept everything off his desk and onto the floor.
Apprehension colored her features as realization dawned. "You can't be serious!" she exclaimed. His only reply was an arched eyebrow, followed by another searing kiss. Della felt her defensive walls crumble at the demands of his body. Just as she gave herself over fully to the kiss, falling deeper in to the well of desire, he backed away from her.
She opened her eyes in time to catch the last of his knowing smile before the expression changed to some thing more intense. His kiss had been so distracting, she hadn't realized he'd unbuttoned her jacket and now he pushed it from her shoulders, pulled it free of her arms and dropped it into a chair.
Della leaned back slightly and he again attacked the soft skin of her neck, teasing, tasting, tantalizing her with his mouth. At the same time, his nimble fingers worked at the buttons of her blouse and soon it too was falling from her shoulders.
Perry surveyed his handiwork through eyes heavy-lidded with desire. Della's chest rose and fell as she drew in air. She closed her eyes and heard Perry's dark growl of anticipation as he watched the soft flush creeping across her chest to her neck.
Her mind was reeling. She wanted him. And he was going to have her. They shouldn't do this - not here. He was beyond stopping. She loved him. Too much – loved him too much. She had to be careful.
Desire battled with resistance.
Della took hold of his tie and pulled it from his neck. Her fingers struggled with the small buttons of his dress shirt. Finally she got it unbuttoned and pulled it free of his trousers. Her hands ran across the soft cotton of his undershirt, eliciting a moan from him. The muscles rippled and tightened as her fingers fluttered across the thin barrier. She grasped the sides of the shirt and tugged it free. Her hands delved under the edge of the material and slid across his bare skin as she pushed the fabric up his torso and finally over his head.
The hard planes of his chest, naked except for the small gold chain that glinted in the dim light, captured her attention. The clothes he wore flattered the cut of his body, but hid the definition of the physique beneath. Della touched him, caressing him with light touches and soft kisses.
Perry leaned forward, placing a hand on either side of her body, supporting himself on the desk. His breathing was ragged as he fought for control. His chin rested on her shoulder and she turned her head, kissing and nibbling the skin of his neck.
His breathing began to slow, even as the sounds that escaped his lips confirmed the pleasurable power of her kiss. He stood, slowly, allowing her lips to travel back down his throat to his chest.
Della wrapped her arms around his torso and pulled him to her, nipping and licking the nipples that hardened perceptibly at her touch. He gripped her tightly, then worked his fingers up her back to the clasp of her bra. With practiced touch he flicked it open. First one strap, then the other, slid down over her shoulders. He gave her room to remove the garment while his eyes feasted on her body.
Arching her back slightly, Della leaned back, palms on the desk, fingers splayed apart. Perry took each breast in his hands, almost reverently, and let them fill his palms. He bent low over her body, worshiping her with his mouth. Della arched her back further, craving his touch, demanding more.
After long, intense minutes, Perry returned his attention to Della's mouth. He kissed her slowly, deeply. As the kiss intensified, he leaned forward pushing her down onto her back atop the desk. As she lay back, he took hold of her hands and drew her arms up over her head. One hand holding her wrists, he pulled back, drinking in the view this posture afforded him.
His hands traveled down her sides, careful to keep his touch just firm enough, over her hips and down her thighs. He grasped the hem of her skirt and began to work it up her legs.
Della breathed in deeply, then pushed herself up on her elbows. Perry kissed her again, once, briefly. She reached out and grasped his belt. As he moved her skirt she unbuckled the belt.
Once she pulled it free, she worked at loosening the rest of his clothing, before becoming completely distracted by the way his hands roamed her body.
"Perry…" she breathed.
"I love you," he whispered.
His mouth took possession of hers, taking her breath away once again. The world began to shrink until it was only the two of them, lost in a dance of pure, uninhibited passion. The tension twisted tighter and tighter until their bodies exploded in unrestrained release.
Breathing deeply, Perry Mason leaned back against the cool leather upholstering the client chair across from his desk. His posture was slumped and his head dropped back to rest against the chair, but his gaze remained hotly intense. His eyes were fixed on his desk where Della Street was buttoning her blouse. His shirt and tie still lay on the floor.
Della swung her legs off the edge of the desk. She eyed him critically. "Not that I'm complaining, but you're missing part of your attire." She smiled and hooked the collar of his shirt with her foot and flipped it towards the chair.
He caught the garment but made no move to put it on. Instead he sat staring, his eyes intent on her features, but his expression clouded, as if deep in thought. The intensity of his gaze became almost uncomfortable.
"What are you thinking?" she finally asked, a hint of exasperation in her voice.
At first he seemed not to have heard her, but then a slow, sensual smiled dawned on his features. "I am thinking that you have no idea how much I love you."
Della's eyebrows rose. "I think you've given me a few clues."
Mason shook his head, still smiling, and got to his feet. "A few, maybe."
He reached down and picked up the shoes that had fallen unheeded next to the desk. Kneeling in front of her, he took each foot in turn, sliding it into the shoe. Still on one knee, he slid his hands up her legs, over her calves until his fingers tickled the backs of her knees. She squirmed and laughed. "Stop! That tickles!"
Smiling mischievously, he retrieved his shirt and slid his arms into the sleeves. "Ticklish knees - I'll add that to my list."
"What list?" she asked, sliding off the desk.
"My list of things I adore about you." His expression softened.
"Oh." She searched his eyes and he brushed his fingers lightly across her cheek. The silence stretched out between them, unasked questions lingering in the air.
"C'mon," he said, taking hold of her elbow. "I want dinner."
"Dinner? You're still hungry?" she teased as he crossed the room to retrieve his jacket from the back of the couch.
"Yes," he said, flinging a mischievous glance in her direction, "but I can wait until after we eat."
The sound of their laughter echoed down the empty corridor as they left the building.