Chp2 is M. And I mean M. Enjoy.


She was loving this. Absolutely loving it. She suddenly realised she had harboured some pretty deep desires of seeing just how he would react to a place like this. On one level, so very far from his comfort zone, but... something told her, on another level, maybe right up his street? Maybe? To a degree at least. Not the heavier stuff; not the stuff they generally came into contact with during working hours.

She looked up at the name above the door; both of them just stood on the not-quite-back-street-not-exactly-Fifth-Avenue sidewalk. She followed the length of the sign with her eyes, before bringing them to connect with Mac's, an irrepressible smirk tilting her lips.

He was amused at her enjoyment of this little venture they were on, but more than a little apprehensive about it going to this next level. But heaven forbid she saw that apprehension, he'd never hear the last of it.

"Ready?" She asked, barely keeping hold of the smirk; a full out grin threatening to explode across her features.

"Ladies first."

She licked her lips, a shake of her head hiding the bubble of laughter that escaped as she took hold of the door handle.

Cinnamon. Gentle tones of the spice filtered through the shop courtesy of incense sticks that they spotted smoking on shelves. Swathes of red and black fabric draped over the walls and blocked off a far section of the store. It was intimate, lush, sexy... everything a sex shop needed to be.

The products seemed to be arranged by experience. At the front of the shop - on the table directly in front of them - was a half-off sale on the beginner's kink: recognisable necessities and objects in various colours, flavours and speeds.

Then, a few steps further into the low-lit abyss, the 'Tried it before, liked the result, what else you got' section: items of curious shapes and more curious uses.

The lighting meant you couldn't necessarily see further in unless you dared to step, dared to experience. Lord knew what was behind the curtain.

They split up as they circled the table, looking for anything that may match the injuries on their vic.

Stella swiped a finger across the dark varnished wood of a shelf baring masquerade masks to blindfolds, costumes from Amazonian to Catholic Schoolgirl to Playboy Bunny to Wonder Woman. She couldn't deny the envy at some of the shoes on display; definitely not good for chasing a perp over roofs, but in her younger days, on a night out...

She looked over to Mac, a pair of black and silver fluffy handcuffs hanging from his finger. "I don't think these would be as effective as our own..." he announced, a smirk in his voice.

"Depends on what you had in mind."

"Touché," he laughed.

He took a step further, noting the bookshelves advertising titles from how-to's to who's who. He swirled a hand through a collection of whips stored in an umbrella stand; The handles ranging from the common riding crop to ornate, carved wood to what he thought to be ceramic, maybe marble.

"Welcome to Madame Vastra's Other World," a voice announced.

Mac and Stella looked over to see a woman stood between the threshold to the next level, her hands clasped in front of a protruding - yet contained - ample chest, sheathed into a purple velvet corset that gave her a mesmerising, almost impossible, hourglass figure.

"I'm Sasha. I don't believe we've seen you here before?" The woman asked, a welcoming smile on her face. One would assume an employee of a shop as such to be sullen, domineering, demanding... not this woman. Yes, she had pin-straight black hair with red stripes framing her face, a shining PVC knee-length skirt beneath the corset and the epitome of spiked heels, but she smiled and engaged them like it was Christmas and she was on commission; But with an effortless and natural friendliness.

"We're-" Mac began.

"-Wait! Let me guess. I like this part," she announced, bringing her clasped hands to ruby red pouted lips. She narrowed her eyes in contemplation, staring at Mac and Stella from head to toe. "You've been together a long time - I'm sensing a lot of trust. Which is good both for life and for sex."

Stella was biting her lip to keep control of her smirk, flashing a look over to Mac who was surprisingly letting the woman continue.

"You switch - neither is the identified dominant nor submissive... you both like the thrill, not necessarily just the control. No, it's more about the pleasure for the other."

"You," she gestured to Stella, "...You're adventurous. You're always on the move; you'll try anything for the experience. You like to be surprised...taken... but you also know what you like. You like tried and true... dependable just as much. It takes a lot to build up enough trust for you to open yourself up with a man, but when you do?" She smiled, knowingly. "You like to see how far you can take someone before they show their true colours."

"You," she turned to Mac, leaving Stella staring in her wake, self-assessing just how accurate she had been. "With you, I'm getting quiet... brooding... but, oh, when you want it, you've got a fire about you! Probably when you don't want it also; she knows how to push those buttons, get you all," she gave an exaggerated shudder, "riled up." She smiled, "You're a romantic too. She likes a surprise, so you surprise. You complement each other well. Oh!" she spun on her heel, about to disappear into the store, announcing, "I have the perfect thing for you guys!"

"Wait! Miss..." Mac called, his hand outstretched. Stella couldn't deny the disappointment at whatever she may have pulled out from God only knew where. "We're not here to buy," he pulled his badge from his belt and held it out, the gold glistening with a red tint from the coloured spotlights.

"Oh?" Her excited demeanour changed to that of worry and curiosity.

"We're from the crime lab," Stella explained, stepping forward. "Do you know this woman?"

Sasha took the proffered photograph, "That-that's Krista! Is she dead?" Her hand flew to her mouth, then to her stomach.

"How do you know her?"

"She used to work here, 'til a few months ago. The economy hasn't exactly helped a company like this - if people are struggling to buy food, they're not going to bother buying sex toys," she gestured around her with a shaking hand. "She got a job in some office building a few blocks down. What happened to her?"

"She was strangled," Mac said, his voice low and soft. "Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Krista?"

She gave a humourless laugh, handing the photograph back to Stella, "Hundreds. But none with malice in mind. You work in a place like this and people begin to assume things. Krista... she was lovely... good worker, but... there's an element of flirt that comes with the job, and she... she sometimes took things further. She didn't whore herself out or anything, but she may have given her number to some customers who I wouldn't have in a million years, y'know?"

"Do you know who these customers were?"

"Some of the items in here are a bit pricey, I bet I have credit card receipts in the back," she spun on her heel again and disappeared through a door behind the counter before either CSI could ask her to.

"So what, Krista paid a little too much attention to the men who liked behind the curtain?" Stella asked, flicking her head to the lush drapery hiding the highest level of merchandise.

"And it went wrong? Maybe we should bring Adam back a brochure, see what he can match the injuries too."

"I don't think he's ready for that life lesson, is he?"

He laughed, "Hey, you're the one who will 'try anything for the experience'..."

She pursed her lips with a smirk, "Yeah, I'm also the one who can push your buttons and get you all riled up. Don't test me, Taylor."

"You-" Mac began, only for Sasha to reappear with a shoe box of receipts. He switched back into professional mode, leaving Stella to swallow down her coquettish smirk.

"This is all of them," she pushed the box into Mac's hands. "I warned her about those men. She was too open, too trusting…"

"Is there anyone in particular you can think of?" Stella asked.

"I… I don't know."

"Sasha," Stella pulled out a small stack of photographs from her pocket. "Krista had some injuries that we believe were inflicted just prior to her death. Do you recognise any of them as something from your store, maybe?"

Stella flicked through the photographs, a variety of purpling bruises and dark blemishes pictured under Sid's UV light.

"Wait, can I see that one?" Sasha asked, her eyes glued to the photo. It showed a dark ligature mark around Krista's wrist. "Did she have the same mark around her ankles and thighs?"

Mac and Stella shot a look to each other, before Stella confirmed to Sasha. "Yes. Do you recognise these markings?"

Sasha stalked to the end of the store, Mac and Stella in tow. Stella marveled at how well Sasha walked in those heels, but she could only imagine Mac's gaze was a few feet higher, whether he wanted it to be or not. The black and red curtain against the wall was pushed aside and they entered a small enclosure. It was just like the rest of the store, but housed one item in particular that drew their attention.

A large reclining chair was in the middle of the floor; it was chrome with dark leather and the shape of a body, with grooves out to the side for arms and spaces for legs that held them open. To Mac and Stella, it looked like a cross between a dentist's chair and torture device.

Sasha stepped forward and pulled on thin, twisted leather ropes where the wrists would be held, with similar cords around the ankles and thighs. "These can be tightened, and because of how thin they are, if you strain against them they can cut into the skin. Some people like that, but it wasn't for me."

Stella held the picture against the ropes. "The twist in these threads could be consistent."

"How many of these have you sold?" Mac asked.

She gave a laugh, gesturing to the price tag. "Just one."

Stella's eyes bulged, calculating how many months' rent was involved for the one item. Sasha snatched the box of receipts from under Stella's arm and rifled through them, pulling out one that bore more digit's than either CSI could believe. "Him."

Mac took the receipt and said his thanks before pulling his cellphone from his belt and dialing for Flack. He walked back out to the street as Stella thanked Sasha again, falling into step with her as they followed Mac's path through the store.

"Please find who did this."

"We will," Stella promised.

Sasha nodded, taking a breath and composing herself to carry on. She smoothed a hand through over her hair, shimmied her body beneath the corset and puckered her lips.

"If you think of anything else," Stella said, passing her a business card. "Please call."

She slipped the card into her bust, "I will. And I meant what I said, you know?" She smiled as Stella stilled at the door, one hand on the handle. "Trust is good for life and especially sex."

Stella followed Sasha eye-line to Mac outside talking animatedly on his phone. She gave a coquettish smirk, "Thank you for your time, Sasha."

.,.,.,.,.,.

She dropped her coat and keys onto the couch and sat opposite him, pulling her tired feet up to rest on his desk. The day was blessedly over and the labs were empty, save – of course – for him. Taking the outstretched tumbler of whisky with a smile, she announced, "Documented, photographed and heading over to Rikers."

"Did he say anything?"

"'The Devil made me do it.'"

"So he's going for an insanity plea then…" Mac shook head, sipping his drink. "It's been a while since we had a nice, clean confession. Everyone wants to shift the blame now."

"Maybe we'll get one tomorrow."

He gave her an incredulous look, not buying her optimism for one second.

They sat in silence for a while; her with both feet propped on the desk and the tumbler on her lap, him with one leg elevated and an eye out to the skyline beyond the window. They mulled over their day; the autopsy results coming in from Sid, the evidence of sex immediately prior to death, finally an identification and then being able to trace her work history back to Madame Vastra's.

Stella couldn't help the smirk that grew across her lips at the thought of the sex shop. The memory of Sasha's face dropping at the knowledge of her friend's death sobered her briefly, but the woman's words about trust and her descriptions of her and Mac… Were they really that in tune? So in tune that they were wasting potentially incredible sex for a good friendship?

She wouldn't lie and say she hadn't thought of him; of it. Of them together, of sweaty moonlit nights writhing in each other's arms, whispering the other's name as they climb higher, their muscles quivering in anticipation for a toe-curling crescendo.

She swallowed down a suddenly dry throat, shaking the images from her mind and bringing the glass to her lips. She looked over to him, sat in still contemplation. He may not have the physique that he once had - the muscle definition immortialised in the photographs on his wall - but it wasn't long forgotten. His neck, his shoulders, his arms, it was still there. On the few occasions when he wore his gym gear, the tighter dark tee shirt and the sweat pants… well, she'd sneaked an appreciative glance once or twice.

That wasn't just why she'd thought of him, however. It was just a small part of it – it was his mind too. His intellect, his compassion, his drive. The loyalty to his city, his department, his friends. His trust in her when her own was lagging.

Trust.

He watched her through the glass, her reflection betraying her stolen glimpses towards him.

He wasn't blind, of course he could see she was beautiful. Beyond compare. He saw the glances and advances of the other men, he saw that flattered smirk spread across her lips, he saw the bounce in her step afterwards.

Sometimes, not often, he'd forget his place and stare too long until he was caught.

Sometimes, not often, she'd ask how she looked before a date and he'd be rendered speechless. His mind spinning for ways to tell her how incredible she looked without sounding like a love-struck teenager. But, in the gaps between speech she'd know and she'd smirk and she'd kick her hip out and drum her fingers across the material of whatever she was wearing and relish in the flush that rose upon his skin.

She saw everything.

God, he wished she didn't see what went on in his mind sometimes. Imagining his hands roaming her body, his mouth following suit, sounds he'd never heard before escaping her lips.

He didn't sleep a lot, so his mind tortured him with images.

No. Enough. Stop it.

He forced himself to stop thinking about her in that store; her coquettish smirk as she sassed him about the handcuffs, the way she looked perfectly at home rifling through the costumes, the way Sasha could see straight through him.

Enough!

He tore his mind away, bringing the whisky to his mouth and taking a large gulp, punishing himself with the searing burn down his throat.

His computer delivered a tone signalling an email. His eyes shot to the device, thankful for the distraction as he dropped his leg to the floor and sat up straight.

"I don't believe it."

"What?" Stella asked.

"Email from the Chief. They've reneged on the funding for the new Mass Specs," sudden anger flared in his belly, warmed by the alcohol bubbling along with it.

Stella circled the desk and read the message as Mac stood from his chair. His hands fell to his hips as he stared out to the flickering skyline. "Well, no, of course I believe it!"

She turned to him, perching herself on the edge of his desk, "Ours still work, Mac. And it's like he said, training is more important…"

He spun to her, his jaw tight and set before he began, "Adam's machine is literally held together with duct tape and super glue! What good is training going to be if the lab is getting contaminated results? Completely false results? It's only time before the lab screws up on a case and it's my head in the ringer! Is that what he's waiting for? He's wanted me out for years…! Why do you find this funny?"

She bit her lip. "This," she gestured to the computer, "is not funny and he's going to be hearing me just as loud as you come tomorrow morning." She watched as his features fell from displaying anger to that of confusion. "I'm laughing because Sasha was right, I really do know which buttons to press to get you all riled up…" she gave an exaggerated shudder like Sasha had done, her smirk growing into a full blown grin. "But seriously, the GCMS in Trace needs rebooting before every test, that-"

Suddenly her pointed finger was digging into Mac's chest as he stepped towards her and she was cut off by Mac's lips attaching to hers.

His hands cupped her face, his lips moving against hers with every ounce of pressure and passion he could muster in that split second decision. She was stunned and still at first, before he felt a tug on his jacket as her hands fisted the material at his sides and her body rose flush against his.

He moved away from her lips, placing a trail of kisses from her jaw to her ear, whispering in a deep husky tone that surprised even him. "You know the buttons, I know when to surprise."