"Will!" He heard her before he saw her, like it always seemed to happen. The door to his office flung open as a furious Mac bursted through, slamming the door shut right behind her. He kept behind his desk, the corners of his lips almost turning upwards in amusement. Almost. He liked that he could have this affect on her. Not that it was considered very hard to make Mackenzie lose her marbles. But he knew just how to do it. He always had. Except tonight, he hadn't done it completely on purpose. He stared at her, deciding he was not going to be the one to break the now onset silence. SHE was the one who had just bundled through his door like a bull in a china shop, after all. But as he stared, he couldn't help the...the... Fuck! He had stopped with the parades of women. The leggy blondes. The single nights of passion here and there that were helping him get through the weeks by keeping his manly desires at bay (almost), while succeeding in hurting her in the ways he just seemed to have been addicted to for payback. But he couldn't keep it going. He couldn't. Because of her! He even gave it a go with fucking Nina Howard, who he likes to accredit himself for almost civilizing. And then she talked him into going on the fucking morning show-which had been nothing short of disastrous, giving him the perfect excuse to end whatever it was that they had. And he had been looking for that for a while, if he had been honest. And it's just been so long. So fucking long. Masturbating is...satisfactory. Okay, less than satisfactory. And it's always her in his head. Always. But it's less than satisfactory. And he just NEEDS it. The real thing. The real fucking thing. And it plagues him. Almost as much as Mackenzie fucking McHale. And it's almost the same fucking thing in itself. But it's not. And fuck, he feels like he's a teenage boy again. He closes his eyes. He can't look at her flushed chest that he can see from the little expanse of skin her silk blouse shows, and then her rosy cheeks, and then her nostrils flaring with anger. She looks so sexy and her anger has always done things to him. No! Fuck her! Fuck what she does to him. Fuck what she did to him! Fuck her! God, he wants to fuck her. Not just fuck her. Make love to her. Kiss her. Kiss her until she stops talking. Until he makes her so dizzy she can't even form a word. Except for his name because it's as if she forgets her own, but she still remembers his.
"Are you even fucking listening to me?!" her shrill, desperate voice cuts through his reverie, jerking him back to her.
"No." he told her truthfully, to which he saw a blanket of red cover her face is response.
"I own you from 8-9, every night. Do not pull me from your ear again." she told him, her voice scarily calm and even. But it was Friday. He watched her make her way around his desk, her swiveling his chair so that it would face her, her now resting her hands on the armrests of his chair, her body towering over his sitting position. "Do you hear me?" she questioned, as he forced himself through sheer will power not to glance down in hopes of finding a bit of cleavage from the gaping neck her blouse now had from her stance. He tried to remain sat back in his chair, relaxed and cool. Keeping her eye contact. Because if she looked at his lap he'd be fucked. Or maybe quite the opposite. "I thought we were done with this bullshit, Billy." she told him almost sadly.
"It's Friday." he told her.
"What?" she asked in confusion.
"It's Friday. I own you." he reiterated.
"You don't own me, Will. You can fire me, but you down own me." she almost laughed, but fuck, she was still pissed. And then she felt him grasp her wrist that was supporting the hand that was leaning on his armchair. Her eyebrows narrowed, her body being forced back as he pushed her back, him standing up simultaneously. Now, he was towering over her, and she was being guided to the side of his desk.
"Billy," she tried to protest. Her use of his nickname was his final undoing. He spun her around rapidly, and without her even realizing what was happening, he bent her over his desk.
"Oh." she spoke, surprised, her hands grasping the side edges of his desk. Surprised was an understatement. She then shivered from his hand still on the small of her back. "You don't own-" she began to try to argue once more, for some fucking reason unbeknownst to Will that also made him smirk, until he purposefully brushed his concealed erection against her ass. "Oh!" she spoke once more. She smiled against the cold wood of his desk. Okay, maybe this wasn't the most romantic. But she was bent over his desk, and her chest was heaving still from anger, and fuck it, this was hot. She felt his leg between both of hers, his other on the outside of her left, his hand on her upper left thigh. She could hear him practically groan, knowing he was admiring her legs in her expensive black heels. Then she felt his hand move from her back down just a bit, stopping on what she felt to be her zipper. Hearing the teeth come undone, she gulped. This was happening. Her breathing increased tenfold. And then she felt her dress being pulled down her legs by its hem by HIM.
"Oh, fuck, Mackenzie." his gruff voice spoke behind her, taking in the more and more of her legs he was revealing. She almost laughed, almost, thinking about just how different Will McAvoy is from every other man because she knew his groaning wasn't in appreciation to her ass, not saying it didn't look amazing in her little black thong, but he was a leg man first and foremost. And her legs are what his groans were for. He then slid down to his knees to the floor along with her skirt. She gasped, feeling his hands then grab her left ankle, lifting her foot up and out of the pool of cloth that was now her skirt. He repeated his ministrations on her other foot, and fuck her that even his fingertips brushing against her ankles felt sinfully good. She sighed, feeling his fingers on her calf, his free hand grabbing her skirt and throwing it over his shoulder.
"Mmmm." he moaned, before she then felt the unmistakable feeling of his lips pressing a kiss to the inside of her calf. Her knees weakened and just almost gave out. How fitting it was that the first kiss he would give her after years would be on her leg, the part he seemed to most worship. And then he lingered. Realizing what he just did. He kissed her. Sure, just on the calf, but he KISSED her. And he craved more, so much more. He then began planting kiss after kiss on her right leg, inching up and up. No, centimetering up and up, while trailing his left hand up her other leg. And god help her, she could not hold in the sighs and moans that seemed to just escape her one after the other. His lips were getting higher and higher and higher, and fuck that they were now on her inner thigh, and fuck that she was already soaking wet, and this was barely even foreplay. God, he was going to tease her. Afterwards, probably, when he'd take her into his arms-but maybe this time would be different. What if this was just a fuck? Nothing after. What if they never did this again, either? Oh, god. She'd cross that bridge when it came to it. But it didn't look good. Her bent over, her face in his desk, probably the least intimate position, but it was better than nothing. And oh, his lips were high, and her knees were practically quaking.
"Kenzie." he sighed, stopping his lips and now, instead, brushing his fingertips against the back of her quaking knees. "Turn over." he whispered, barely inaudible. It took a moment for it to register with her, but when it finally did, he was repeating himself. "Turn over, Mac." he spoke softly. She couldn't help her smile. It ached her face as she turned over, feeling his hands move to her thighs as she resituated herself on the edge of his desk. It's where the only space was. Until he then climbed half onto this desk, too, reaching over with a strong arm to knock whatever and everything that was in their way off the desk-papers, pens, a fucking laptop. She smiled again. Hard. Giggling as he then wasted no time in starting his work on her violet blouse. Button by button he revealed more and more of her silky skin-silkier than any blouse. His hands were electric pushing the material off her shoulders and then down her arms, throwing the shirt like he had the skirt. He stepped back, admiring her. He needed to remember every moment for Dr. Habib's sake. NO. For his sake. For his wet dreams. For the next time he needed to take matters into his own hands, literally, because God knows this was fucked up now, and God knows when they would work up the courage to finally do this again. It had been years leading up to this. "Fuck, Mac." If it was possible she looked even better than she had those years and years ago. The lace black bra that could barely encase her beautiful tits, which were far too perfect and far too unfair for her to have considering her fabulous legs and ass, too. Her ass. Fuck. He never got a chance to admire it. He would later. No matter what happened. His eyes scanned down, that beautiful scar, then home. Maybe his favorite place over all. And then his heart wrenched. The scar. It seemed like it almost belonged there. He almost didn't give it a second look. No, the angry scar didn't belong there. He just hadn't wanted to pay attention, because all it reminded him of was the hurt and the pain and the reason why she ran away to Afghanistan in the first place. She watched him, mesmerized. It had almost hurt her herself watching how he had skimmed over the second most tragic thing that had happened to her (the first being what she had done to him). But he had gone back. Because he's Will McAvoy. Because he cares about her. He truly does. She sought out one of his hands, giving him a reassuring squeeze. That's what he needed. This moment wasn't about why she went to Afghanistan, no. It was about her. And her pain. And what she went through.
"You can touch it." she told him. "It's okay." she tried to muster a weak smile when he glanced up, briefly as possible. She held her breath, feeling him brush a fingertip along the length of the scar, so light she just felt his touch. No. This wouldn't be the last. The look he now had in his eyes-no, it couldn't be. But he was unpredictable. And his next move spoke volumes to that. His lips were on her scar. So, so soft and gentle.
"I'm sorry." he spoke, meaning every letter.
"I'm fine." she replied. And she was. Because she was half naked under him again. And him on top of her was all she needed to be fine. He squeezed her hand back and then he moved on, for the sanity of them both. And well, because he was a man, and his erection was aching. And right now, he wanted to make love to her. But he couldn't. First, they needed to fuck. For so many reason from them needing to get the anger out, to him being in no form that he could actually hold back from coming long enough to really make love to her.
"Make me go insane." Were his next words to her.
"I thought I do that enough?" she said in her British brogue, her eyes twinkling at the double meaning in her words. And the playful banter was back. So she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him hard against his desk. Yep, that did it. His hands were back on her, one on her hips, the other daringly dipping between them, touching her most intimate part through the panel of lace, brushing his finger lightly. She moaned, probably louder than she should have.
"I mean it." her raspy voice spoke out of the blue, suddenly remembering why she even was even in his office in the first place.
"What?" he asked her, confused.
"Don't take me out of your ear a-fucking-gain." she told him, deathly serious.
"I had to, Mac." he spoke seriously.
"What?" It was her turn to be confused.
"All the demands and orders and heavy breathing and you. In my ear." he told her.
"I don't breathe heavy," she countered back, not really knowing exactly what he meant by his words.
"You do right when we're about to get back from commercial break. And when a situation gets particularly stressful. And when-" And then it dawned on her.
"You were turned on?" she spat out, cutting in, her eyes laughing at him. Until he brushed his hand over the material of her thong again for payback, strictly.
"And couldn't concentrate anymore. On anything, but-" She grabbed his tie, yanking him down to her. And she kissed him. Hard. "You're so goddamned charming." she somehow managed to mutter against his lips.
"Shut up, Mac." he countered back. And she did, because his tongue was now in her mouth. And he was kissing her. KISSING HER. After all the torture and the time and fuck, his teeth were nibbling on her lips and she couldn't help from hooking her thumb in his belt loops, attempting to pull him towards herself. Apparently he got the hint as he climbed onto the desk with her, his lips never leaving hers.
"Will, please." she suddenly gasped, her head thrown back, after his lower half bumped too hard against hers. He, too, couldn't take anymore. He unbuckled his pants, unbuttoned, unzipped, and dropped along with his boxers. She moaned loudly at the sight of him, about to reach when she felt his hands back on her hips. He quickly yanked her panties down and off, without her noticing really, and soon her bra joined it, too. He'd always been better at getting her naked than she was him. Fuck, he wanted to suck her nipples. But there was no time. He'd have to do that later. Yes, later. And then he looked down at her, naked, spread, wanting him-fucking glistening for him. And without further warning, he grabbed her hips bruisingly hard, and slammed into her.
"UGH!" she cried, loudly. Finally. Fucking finally. Will thanked god that there was undoubtedly no one left in the office. His hands were braced on either side of her, but she didn't want that. No. She needed him on top of her. She needed to feel his weight. She yanked his tie, hard, making him fall on top of her. And then her lips latched onto his Adams apple, ensuring he wouldn't even try to leave. She wrapped her legs tight around him for good measure, digging her heels into his ass.
"Yes, Billy! Yes!" she screamed, unlatching her lips from him, unable to keep quiet anymore. Fuck, she needed to feel more of his skin than just his wonderful cock. She somehow managed to yank his tie off with trembling hands, taking the material of his dress shirt in both hands, and fuck Armani or whatever name brand it was and pulled, popping off a few of the top buttons. Enough to get her hand in. Fuck, fuck, fuck! She was so close, but she wanted-needed this to last forever. And his big hands were smothering her hips and his pubic bone was rubbing against her clit and her pussy just felt like it was back in heaven because he was in her, furiously in her, gliding in and out. Her free hand wiped the sweat off his brow as she listened to the sweet sound of his grunts and her hand grasped onto the little bit of his manly chest she had revealed. Oh god, she was gonna come. So embarrassingly quick. But this was Billy. Her Billy. She was with her Billy and when she was with him everything was okay.
"I love you." she told him. Oh fuck. Had he heard her? His blue eyes shot open. Of course, he did. Half expecting him to stop, she shut her own eyes. He couldn't now. She was too fucking close. "Billy, I'm-" His lips covered hers as her hands flew to his biceps, squeezing as she began moaning even louder, shouting his name, her eyes filling with tears from the strength of her orgasm was knocking even more of her breath out of her. And then he groaned her name. Loudly. And a warmness filled her. And wow, she missed this. She felt full again. Whole. Happy. Happy she was with him. Happy she was in love with him. It didn't matter if he loved her back. She loved him, and she wouldn't let him get away. Losing him once was too much. Yes, he needed to forgive her. But this, THIS, wouldn't have happened if he wasn't close.
"I love you, Mac." his weak voice spoke, him still buried inside of her, on his desk, in the newsroom. How fitting it seemed. She bit her lip, the most beautiful smile he had seen in a long time showing through. The tears were flowing from her eyes, his were cloudy too. This man was hers again. They had a lot to work through, but he was hers. Not just from 8 to 9. And if anyone could work through this mess, it was them, together. She kissed him, their hearts beating, her in his arms. This wouldn't be the last time.