Reviews for Secret Love:
TommynLisa4eva – 2006-11-14 – Signed
uh, agent mcgregor isn't gay. he's in love with amy. i no its your story and your allowed to rite what you want, but i don't think thom e. gemcity would apreciate you making his characters gay wen they're not
AmySuttonIsHot – 2006-11-18 – Signed
This is obviously you just trying to live out your sexual fantasy with Agent McGregor. Lame. Aside from the fact that there is absolutely no plot and you didn't proofread this at all, Agent McGregor is NOT gay. In chapter ten of Deep Six he goes on a date with the girl who lives across the hall from him.
Gemcity'sGirl – 2006-11-19 – Signed
Hey, I think you've written some good stuff, but I just don't agree with you saying that McGregor is gay : / I know it's a matter of opinion and all, I just don't see how you could think he's gay. He's always flirting with Lisa.
Review Reply from McGregorLover:
Just because it isn't explicitely stated in the books that he's gay doesn't mean he isn't. My interpretation of the character is that he's secretly gay and that's how I wrote him. If you don't like the pairing or don't like slash, don't read my stuff because that's what I write.
The fact is I wanted to bash in their heads. How dare they imply that Agent McGregor isn't gay? Do they know him? Have they talked to him? No. But I have. They don't know it, but I see Agent McGregor every morning. I serve him coffee, hand him extra napkins, clean up his spills. I know him far better than any of them do, and I know that he's gay. More than that, I know that he's in love with me. They haven't seen the looks he's given me, the way his cheeks flush when I hand him his grande latte.
Unfortunately, I can't bash their heads in. I only know them over the internet and I'd never be able to find their homes. So I settle for sending them my reply, being as cordial as I possibly can. Besides, I'm the one who knows the real McGregor, so I've got the last laugh.
I return to my writing. I'm currently working on a one-shot fic in which he and I find ourselves stranded in a car on the side of the road on a stormy night. It's freezing outside and our cell phones are out, so we can only rely on each other for warmth and company until it either stops raining or someone comes along. Of course, I'm hoping for neither to happen, at least for the time being.
I put on a jazz record – I bought them after I found out that he listened to them – and pull up the document. I want to use a typewriter the way he does, but I realized I wouldn't be able to post my writing online unless I wrote with a computer. I read through what I've written already:
It was a freezing night when McGregor and I were driving down a strip of road in a deserted area. He was in the driver seat, trying to see through the sheets of rain that poured down. Jazz flowed from the car speakers and I snuggled down further in the seat, his trench coat wrapped around me as a make-shift blanket. "Cold?" he asked me.
"A bit," I admitted. His hand reaches out and rubs down my arm. I smile at his touch, leaning in to it. "Keep your hands on the wheel," I warn, even though I'm hoping his hand never leaves me.
"I can barely see through this rain," he grumbles. "We've still got a long way to go."
"Did you hear that?" I sat up. "I think the car is making a strange noise." The engine puttered and McGregor pulled off to the side of the road.
"We're stalled," he said, turning the engine off, "and I can't get a signal on my phone."
I pulled out my phone to check, but found nothing. "So we're stranded."
"Unless someone comes along, yes." I looked out the window, but I couldn't see any cars approaching.
"Did you want to hitchhike?" I asked.
He shook his head. "No, it's too cold. You'd freeze the second we stepped out of the car." He pulled his trench further around me, tucking it around my body. "We can stay in here for a while."
"Maybe you could give me some warmth?" I suggested, shivering slightly. "It would be a shame for either of us to freeze to death."
He smiled at me and unbuckled his seat belt. He leaned my seat back and climbed over on top of me so that his body covered mine and positioned his face right against my neck. I could feel him breathing on me and I enjoyed the warmth. "How is that?"
"It's nice," I murmured as his arms wrapped around my torso. I rested my chin atop his head, feeling his soft hair against my skin.
That is as far as I've gotten. Of course, the story will eventually lead to sex as I've often imagined this particular scenario would, but it's a question of getting to that point and a question of what happens after we have sex with each other. I'm all about happy endings, so there isn't a doubt in my mind that the story will end with us either getting the car to start or finding a ride back into town. Hm…maybe we happen upon Agent Tommy driving by and the three of us ride back into town, with some sexual occurrences in between. The sudden appearance of Agent Tommy, though, is too much of a coincidence and we all know how Tibbs feels about those.
I lean back in my chair, hands situated behind my head, as I brainstorm the scenario in which I've placed both myself and McGregor. I grin, imagining his body covering mine and his arms snaking around my body, pulling me in closer. Maybe a kiss should come next, or a trail of kisses that start at my cheek and go down along my neck. Maybe we should skip the snuggling and foreplay and he should simply pull my jeans off in the heat of the moment, then pull me into the back seat and wrap his mouth around it. Or maybe I should keep it sweet and tender for a moment, reveling in the warm and loving embrace he and I are sharing at the moment.
After long consideration, I decide that we'll stay there for at least a little while, talking about our feelings and about how much we care for each other. Then, as we begin to grow colder in the car, he'll gently push me down in the back and explore every crevice of my body. The story will end with us waking the next morning, wrapped in each others' arms, and flag down a car with an attractive young man inside and he will drive us home…maybe in exchange for some other services of a carnal nature.
As I type this up, finding the best words and best flow, writing it out so that the reader can imagine it perfectly in their mind, and arousing even myself in the process, I can't help but understand where McGregor is coming from. I see him sitting in the coffee shop day in and day out, with his note pad laying before him, blank, but with the promise of words and sentences that will bring the next part of his story to life. He may not realize how much I can empathize with him, but I see how one must work and suffer for their art, even if it will be met with ignorant criticism of people who don't really know the person as well as you do and who have no right to tell you the person's sexual orientation.
To them this is just a hobby, a game. You write silly little stories about these people without truly knowing them and you post them and let people hem and haw over it all. To me, though, this is of great importance. These aren't just silly stories; these are dreams, dreams that I hope to one day fulfill. This is my future, what I see panning out in my life. I know that McGregor will look up one day and realize that I'm there, waiting for him, and that I can give him things he can't get from anyone else. I know that things will work out for us just the way I've written for them to.
Like I said: I'm all about happy endings.
AN: I go the idea for this from a comment on the NFA boards and I just ran with it. Any misspellings in the reviews, the reply, and Landon's fic were intentional (thought I'd add an element of realism)