Setting the scene: This is a follow up to 'What you Wish For,' a smutty little NYE one-shot I wrote exactly one year ago where Dick and Mac bump into each other in a bar, and end up having a little one night fling. Nothing really develops from it until you fast forward one year and they decide to meet up in the same bar, on purpose this time. I'm going to continue the same backstory Mac & Dick had in the first story, though for their besties, Logan & Veronica I'm borrowing elements from the movie and book, to set the timeline.
This will be a multi-chapter fic with sporadic "real time" updates. As always, they are the last people to realize just how much they mean to each other. If you haven't read 'What You Wish For' you can still follow along well enough, but it's a short read. As always, I owe a BIG thank you to my very patient beta cainc3! I'm anal but she puts up with me anyway!
This story is rated M on purpose. As is apparently my tendency, this story is humor with a dash of angst. Enjoy!
Obligatory Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything. I do enjoy playing in this world though. (Sorry for all the technical issues I've had tonight!)
Accidentally in Love
Chapter 1—Same Time, Same Place, Different Year
Mac took a big fortifying sip of her Cabernet Sauvignon and slammed it down on the bar, in front of her, louder than she meant to.
What the hell am I doing here, she asked herself for probably the hundredth time in the twenty minutes or so she'd been at the Neptune Corner Bar. It wasn't that she was hoping to see Dick Casablancas again, she sternly told herself.
That was a lie, a bold faced lie.
Dick Casablancas was the only reason she was having a drink in that seedy hellhole. They'd made tentative plans to meet up tonight, if they were both dateless. Well shit, that had become her default setting these days. She didn't know the Facebook relationship status of Neptune's Duke of Manwhore-dom though.
They'd made those "penciled in plans" last month when they bumped into each other in line at the Sack N Pack. She'd made an emergency beer run to make it through Thanksgiving dinner at the Sinclair's.
Hell, knowing Dick he'd already forgot about this meet-up. Medicinal brownies killed brain cells, right?!
Last year, she came here with the intent to hide out, to avoid the world, or at least people in her narrow orbit. Instead, she bumped into Dick, who was doing some New Years Eve hiding of his own. They started talking and had formed a connection. Well, a physical one, at any rate. It wasn't any deeper than the silk sheets that covered them as they made that connection of the carnal persuasion.
It was just world-rocking sex that was drawing her here.
Whatever happened, well, happened. She'd have a drink either way. If he showed fine; if not, at least she had a glass of wine, and a break from posting a fake smile on her face while making small talk with strangers she was blood related to. It wouldn't be a total loss. She could still afford a glass of wine these days. In a couple of weeks she'd be starting a new job and taking a major pay cut. She figured she might as well enjoy a few luxuries while there were still a few dollars left in her piggy bank. Though, on second thought, having a drink in this neighborhood bar probably didn't fall under the category of luxe.
Illusions? Yeah, she had a couple of those already; why not add another one to the growing list.
The biggest illusion she had working right now was the seamless blending of her two families—the Mackenzies who had raised her, and the Sinclairs, who had given her life. That happened all because of a snafu at Neptune Memorial, ground zero of Neptune's own personal Hellmouth. She and sworn enemy numero uno—Madison Sinclair—had gone home with the wrong families. They were now a full year into the new arrangement, the one where they had frequent parties and Sunday dinners playing the one big, happy, blended family charade.
It was anything but seamless, but that was a bridge she kept selling herself. Her entire 'happy' family was in on that façade too, operating on the 'fake it til you make it' philosophy.
Not everything in that charade was a total loss; something real had come out of this year of changes. She and Lauren Sinclair were forging some kind of label-less, but genuine relationship. It started slow, but now they were texting like old friends and they met for dinner a couple times a month without the rest of the family. Even things with Madison was less toxic, the death-glares she liked to gift Mac with weren't as heated as they once were. Her pointed barbs were less venomous.
Baby steps.
Mac made another furtive glance at the time displayed on her cell; it was only three minutes later than her last check in. Dick wasn't a poster boy for promptness, but it was almost thirty minutes past their suggested meeting time, he wasn't coming. She'd have to check the sky when she left, there must be a couple pigs that had grown wings. Dick—slut of Balboa County—Casablancas must have found true love. Well, kudos to him, there was hope for everyone, evidently.
Even sure things—like hot monkey sex with Dick—weren't always sure.
Feeling dejected, with a dash of rejected, and not in the mood to dig too deeply into the why's, Mac took another sip of her wine.
~~~~~/~~~~~/~~~~~/~~~~~/~~~~/~~~~~/
Shit! Dick muttered to himself. He tapped his fingers' on the steering wheel. The digital clock on the dashboard of his shiny, new, black Chevy quadcab truck clicked over to 10:24. He was so fucking late to meet Mac at the Neptune Corner Bar.
He took quick advantage of being stuck at the world's slowest traffic light to fire off a quick text to what he hoped was still her number.
Dick: Stay put. On my way…
Logan had left his cell on the kitchen counter that morning while he took a quick shower to wash that Ronnie-smell out of his Military hair, and so Dick took full advantage of the opportunity fate granted him to scroll through his contacts. He text'd himself Mac's number. She was listed as "Tech-Mac." Hopefully the dude kept a current contact list, otherwise, she'd be long gone by the time the light switched to green and he found a parking space—no easy feat on the last day of 2014.
He had been at the office, his favorite mistress these days, his company, PLT Enterprises, catching up on some end of the year paperwork and lost track of the time.
PLT stood for Phoenix Land Trust, a shell company Cassidy had started. It had taken several years, but Dick had done what many had deemed impossible and legitimized it. The new name was an attempt to distance itself from it less than stellar beginning.
Other than PLT Enterprises, his only other love these days was those magic brownies.
Surfing and brownies on the weekends, and work during the week—those were the only things in his life that allowed him to keep a wire-thin tether on his sanity. With those distractions at hand he didn't have the time to focus on what a shit brother he had been to Cassidy, all the pain he caused to other people, what a waste-of-space he had been in his first 21 years or so on this planet, and other topics that kept his guilt-train running the tracks these days.
Some people—Logan!—said it wasn't much of a life, but it worked for him. Or it had been working, at least.
After their one night fling almost exactly one year ago, they both went their own way and he didn't lump her as the one that got away, or any clichéd shit like that.
Now, though, since Logan got off the boat and reconnected with Ronnie, it was only in retrospect that Dick even realized he'd been lonely.
Lonely! He hated that word; it conjured up images of dirty apartments littered with empty ice cream cartons and 50 cats smelling up the place.
The incessant honking of the horn of the car behind him brought him out of his headspace. The stoplight had finally turned green. After giving a one-finger salute in the rearview mirror, Dick took his foot off the brake and continued driving straight on Main Street. He went another three blocks before making a left on 7th Street. By some Parking God miracle he found a space just three doors down from his destination.
As he was about to exit the truck his attention was diverted to the ping of an incoming text on his cell. He glanced at it and smiled.
Mac: You have fifty seconds, starting now…
He figured it would take twenty of those allotted seconds to respond, and knowing her, she was probably tracking his time right now anyway. He shook his head, tucked his phone in his pocket and got out the vehicle, hitting the key fob to lock up.
~~~~~/~~~~~/~~~~~/~~~~~/~~~~/~~~~~/
Mac glanced at her cell again; making sure the text from Dick wasn't a mirage, a trick of her eye. She sighed, and then beckoned over the overworked and definitely underpaid bartender for a refill of wine, since it looked like she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. She asked to start a tab, too. Dick, barring a cold snap in hell, would probably be drinking his weight in beer tonight.
She fired off a quick response, and then took a sip of the wine that had just been placed in front her.
Less than a minute and a half after his deadline, the door chimed, announcing a new arrival.
Mac turned around and saw Dick enter the place, looking around. He found her and smiled, making his way to the bar tucked in the back of the narrow establishment.
He remembered last year when he'd tried to avoid her, but of course—fortunately!—that plan was an epic fail. She spotted him immediately and called him out on his intent to hide from her, and the rest of the world. She hadn't fit into his pity party plans, but it didn't take long for him to realize that what he'd really needed was a connection, to feel like he mattered to someone, even if it was just an illusion.
He felt normal when he was around Mac; he thought maybe, other than Logan of course, the last time he felt that way was back at Hearst with Chip and the other Pi Sigs. Hell, he hadn't thought of those losers for a long time.
"You're late," Mac announced before he could sit down on the stool beside her. She pointed to her cell for emphasis. It was her way of greeting him.
"Hey, long time, no see," Dick said, ignoring her proclamation. He smiled. "You look good. I like eager to please brunettes."
"Eager to please brunettes?" Mac echoed, but it was asked in the form of a question. She shook her head.
"You heard me, Mackenzie."
"You must have me confused with someone else."
"You were certainly eager to please last year," Dick clarified. He put up his index finger as the bartender looked his way, to signal he was ready to order. The guy nodded once in response.
"I don't think this is going to work," Mac said. She rummaged through her purse for some cash.
"This?"
"Whatever you thought this night was going to be about," Mac tried to explain.
"Look Mac, don't go. I'm sorry, I won't be myself, I promise."
She laughed at the earnest expression on his face. The tension was broken. "Is that what people told you when you were growing up, don't be yourself?"
"That is a small sampling of Mommy Dearest's famous pep talks," Dick said to her, before ordering a Guinness from the bartender standing in front of him.
"It's not all bad being yourself," Mac admitted. "You can be yourself, I guess. Well, somewhat yourself, at least. How about a less assholey version of yourself?"
"So, what was that about?" Dick asked, changing the subject.
She cocked her head at his non-sequitur.
"Don't pretend you don't know that I'm referring to your escape attempt."
"Oh yeah, that" Mac replied. She took a deep breath, "um…" Stalling, she took a sip of wine.
Dick waved his hand impatiently in a 'go on' gesture, but waited quietly for Mac to speak.
"I'm not looking for anything, I'm not saying that, but you made me feel like a whore, I guess, I don't know…we were starting to build a friendship of sorts."
"A naked friendship," Dick corrected, "but continue."
"Okay, naked friendship, but still a notch above acquaintance-ship."
"Why the hell would you assign me that much power, Mackenzie? You're a smart chick, and I was just joking. It's what I do. Can we start over?"
"There's no need to do that. We'll just move on. I overreacted." She left the as usual unsaid, but it hung there anyway.
"Done and done." Dick took a big drink from the beer the bartender had just placed in front of him. "For the record, I like naked friendships, they're the best kind."
"Are you trying to tell me that's what you have with Logan?"
"Gross!" Dick scowled at the thought. He gave an exaggerated shudder. "I love the dude, but, yeah, ewww. I meant I like having naked friendships with girls," he clarified.
"Women," Mac not so gently corrected.
"Chicks."
"Women."
"Ladies."
"Women," Mac repeated for what felt like the fifty-third time. She pushed back an errant strand of hair that had fallen in her face. Her short hairdo had grown out a bit in the past year, it was in that annoying mid-growth stage where it was still too short to wear in a ponytail but still long enough that it kept spilling in her eyes.
"What is wrong with the term ladies?"
"What's wrong with the term women?" Mac countered. "I keep suggesting my preferred terminology and you just will not budge."
"That's right," Dick said proudly, with a trademarked shit-eating grin. He watched as that same strand of blondish-brown hair once again plotted its escape and fell back in Mac's face. He reached over, and pushed it back behind her cute little ear. He hadn't planned to do that, but judging from the shy smile she gave him, she didn't mind at all.
"Stubborn."
"Back 'atcha babe," Dick said, and then upon noticing the glare that replaced her smile, backtracked a bit, "I mean, back 'atcha woman." He gave her a triumphant grin. "What? I used your preferred terminology this time and everything."
She huffed a sigh, and tried to bite back a smile, but it came through anyway.
It was 11:03 PST according to the television screen in front of them. A rebroadcast of CNN's New Year's Eve special was airing, and Kathy Griffin was pretending to pick something out of her cohost Anderson Cooper's hair just to get a rise out of him.
"Less than an hour left of 2014," Dick remarked. "Thank God."
"I'll drink to that," Mac replied, following through with a big gulp of wine. "Good riddance."
They clinked glasses in a toast to the end of 2014.
"I heard a rumor recently that you're coming back to our fair city."
"If by our fair city, you mean iniquitous hellhole then you would be correct. Who would be the source of that intel?"
"Logan."
"Of course! Only one person—my future boss—was privy to that covert piece of gossip, so Logan must have got that gossip straight from the source."
"Ronnie always did have a big mouth," Dick said.
"Well, it's her news to share, technically. Though, since I haven't given notice to my current employer, yet, I wasn't planning on taking out a billboard on the PCH," Mac defended her friend.
"What would your billboard say?"
"Suck it Kane Software!"
"I like it. That might be the best way to quit that I heard yet. Though I did have one employee tweet I quit. That's an idea for you, less old-school than a billboard."
"That's right, you're a business owner," Mac said, hitting her head with her palm, her elbow made contact with her wine glass but didn't knock it over. Dick's hand moved toward it automatically, as though to prevent accidental spillage, but the crisis was averted as he was in transit.
"Watch it, klutz-o, you almost knocked your drink over in your shock over my employment status."
"But I didn't," she said, dismissively. "I don't know about shock, okay yeah, maybe shock," Mac admitted. "Why did the guy twitter-quit?"
"I like actually tried to make him work, and shit. So, why are you quitting Kane Software?"
"They tried to make me work, and shit," Mac parroted back. Then she added, "It's actually a subsidiary of Kane, Echo Bravo Security, up in San Diego. I was ready for a change." Mac said, frowning slightly. "That's the party line I'm telling people. Honestly, I have too much family shit going on right now, living a couple hours away isn't working any more. Veronica is back now and working for her dad. She offered me a job that pays about a fourth of the salary I was making running my own office, so you know, how could I say no to that?!" She let out a mirthless laugh, and took a big sip of her wine.
Dick let out a wolf's whistle. "That's an offer you can't refuse," he said in a Godfather voice over.
"Beats the alternative of cement loafers, I guess."
They shared a laugh, and then Dick grew pensive. "Define family shit."
Mac didn't say anything at first. She looked down at her glass like it was an oracle with wisdom to share. She traced the rim with her finger.
He noticed her frown. "Sorry, Mac. I understand if you don't want to talk about it, you might not know this, but I have experience myself with family shit." He put a hand on her shoulder.
It tingled.
"I have two families," Mac barely muttered.
"Your parents are divorced?" Dick said, incredulously. He leaned in closer.
"Nope!" Mac said quickly, before her voice got softer, "I have a biological family and the people that raised me."
"Oh, you're adopted. I didn't know that," he looked surprised.
"No and no," Mac said flatly. "Did you know that Hollywood didn't actually invent the whole baby-switching plotline to give the people at Lifetime fodder for made-for-TV movies?"
"You? That happened to you?" Dick sputtered out, his complexion wan, or so it appeared to Mac, but with the harsh overhead fluorescent lighting and the green and red neon from the beer signs festooning the walls she couldn't be certain. He shifted his position a little, enveloping her in a hug.
"Me, and someone else you know."
"Veronica?" He wasn't confident in his guess.
Mac just shook her head, and severed the embrace. "Not Veronica. It's one of your former bed mates."
Dick mentally ticked through the names of his former conquests.
"Need a hint?" Mac couldn't help the hint of a smirk playing on her lips.
"Just tell me."
"Okay, but only since I don't plan to be here all night," Mac gave in. "Madison Sinclair."
"No fucking way…" Dick looked like he wanted to argue.
"Yes fucking way," Mac snapped. "Get me a refill of wine, or, I don't know, the whole bottle and I'll tell you my life story." She picked up her wine glass and in what seemed to be one giant gulp finished the contents.
Dick waved the bartender over, and ordered a refill on both her wine and his beer.
He put his arm back around Mac to hug her again.
"You don't have to tell me any more details, if you don't want to," he murmured into her hair.
"I want to," Mac said, without hesitation. "I want to talk about it," she repeated, surprised.
The bartender came back with their drinks, and Mac pulled away from his embrace. She immediately picked her glass up and took a sip, before setting the glass back down, keeping one hand around the rim. She held it so tightly her knuckles turned white with the effort.
Taking a deep, cleansing breath, Mac closed her eyes and began to speak. "Madison was supposed to be a Mackenzie; I was born a Sinclair. The geniuses at Neptune Memorial got confused I guess, the error wasn't discovered until 1992. Veronica found out for me our junior year at Neptune…" Mac let her voice trail off for a beat. She released her iron grip on the glass.
"The weird thing is that I think, on some deep down level, I knew the truth the whole time. I always felt like I'd just been dropped on my parents' doorstep or something like that. I never belonged, and it went beyond the fact that we look nothing alike, my parents and I." She stopped right there and clinched her eyes shut as though to stop the tears threatening to escape, but one renegade drop leaked out anyway. She turned away to covertly cover up the evidence.
Dick noticed anyway and firmly, but tenderly, turned her head so she was looking at him. He reached up and wiped another tear away.
"Thanks," she murmured, reluctantly pulling back a little bit. "Anyway, last year, on my 25th birthday in fact, my parents' came clean, Madison's parents did the same thing. I'd never told mom that I knew the truth, too chickenshit, I guess."
"That's not chickenshit, Mac. It wasn't your job to mention it. None of what happened was your fault." Dick said firmly, but in a caring tone.
Mac looked up, surprised. She once again grabbed her glass, and took another sip.
"None of it," Dick echoed. "They chose to keep it from you, with good intentions, I'm sure." he hastened to add. "I wouldn't even begin to guess how you'd bring up that conversation."
"Yeah, I never figured that one out, either, obviously." A half smile peaked out. "We've been one big blended family this entire year. It gets complicated. I'm overflowing with family these days." Mac said still smiling, until her brain caught up with her mouth. She blushed, clapped the hand not holding her wineglass over her mouth, and then muttered, "Oh shit, Dick. I'm sorry. What a stupid thing to say." She mentally berated herself for bitching about having too much family to someone that didn't have any at all.
He shoulder checked her. "Mac, calm down there. It's okay. That's not a stupid thing to say. Trust me; I'm an expert on saying stupid things."
"Touché," Mac said. "You could probably get a Master's in it."
"Doctorate," he corrected. "What do you think of Lauren? I always thought she was the nicer Sinclair."
"She's great," Mac gushed. "We've really connected in the past year."
The uptick of noise from the other patrons of the bar started to intrude in the little cocoon Mac and Dick had built around themselves as she bared her Gothic secret.
Life was funny. Even two years ago she wouldn't have guessed Dick would have been one of a handful of people she let in on such a painful, bruise of a subject.
They looked up at the screen and saw it was now 11:57 PM.
It was starting to sound like a party; other patrons were laughing and starting to sing Auld Lang Syne in drunken, off key voices.
"Do they hand out complimentary ear plugs with the champagne?" Mac asked.
"If you need earplugs, then that just means you aren't drunk enough yet, Ghostworld?"
"Ghostworld?" Mac repeated, raising her eyebrows. "Let's just put that nickname on ice."
"Let it swim with the fishes?" Dick brought out his Mafioso voice again.
"I'll make you swim with the fishes," Mac tried to sound threatening.
"You're cute when you're menacing."
"Yeah, because that's what I was going for…" Mac snarked.
Their banter was put on pause when the bartender turned up the volume on the television.
11:59.
They watched the numbers on the screen begin counting down…
10…9…8
Dick watched as Mac wet her lips.
7…6…5
Mac watched Dick roll his broad—sexy—shoulders. His foot made contact with hers.
4…3…2
The ball dropped, and a sign came up proclaiming it to be 2015.
Their eyes met, then their lips. Mac leaned in closer, draping her arms around his shoulders.
Dick placed a hand on her leg for purchase. Their Happy New Years kiss deepened. He plunged his tongue in her mouth; she opened wider, allowing his tongue to explore her teeth terrain.
Reluctantly they broke apart, Mac glanced down briefly and saw Dick's hardened state.
He bit his lip at the predatory look in her face. It only made him harder, something he hadn't thought possible.
"Check, please!" They said in tandem to the bartender right in front of them.
After settling the tab and leaving a generous tip, they gathered their things and made their way to the door. Spilling out into the cool night, they walked less than a block down 7th Street before coming upon a cab that was out trawling for drunks.
Dick gave the driver his address. She wasn't certain, but she thought maybe this was the same driver they had last year. How many cab drivers did Neptune have, she idly wondered as the scenery sped by and Dick studied her out of the corner of his eye. He thought he was being sly about it. It was cute.
She was finding way too many things about him cute.
Sex, Mackenzie, she silently reminded herself. Mind blowing New Year's Eve sex, nothing more.
Dick's thoughts aligned pretty closely with hers. He watched her bite her lip and play with her hair as the driver sped through the quiet streets of Neptune.
He remembered how she looked last year, as she moaned underneath him. Her hair was shorter, and it had been streaked red instead of blond, but otherwise she looked the same sitting beside him in the present as she had exactly 365 days ago.
Finally the driver pulled up to his condo, he gave the guy a twenty.
Dick grabbed her hand and led her through the lower level of his condo not even stopping as he pointed out the kitchen, powder room, and living room. She noted it looked vaguely like how she remembered it as they raced up the stairs to his bedroom.
Mac flopped down onto the bed, with Dick rolling her over onto her belly. He set to work removing her blouse, up and over her head, as she shimmied out of her jeans. Soon she was just in red satin panties and a matching bra.
"More color coordinating, you vixen," Dick said, ending with a growl. He liked how her under garments matched his walls. Last year was coincidence, this year he suspected it was by design.
She purred as his hands kneaded and worked their way up her back.
Dick straddled her legs, being careful to distribute his weight to his knees so as not to squash her. He traced circles. "Is this too hard?"
"Perfection," she sighed, arching into his skillful manipulation.
Continuing the massage, Dick leaned over kissing a trail up her spine. She felt the heat building within, as he pressed his penis against her as he leaned in to relieve the tension in her neck.
"Now," she groaned, digging her short nails into the bed. "I need you inside of me…Now." Her need made her demanding.
"Someone is eager," he leered, "See, you really are an eager to please brunette." He waited a beat, before adding, "Oh, I'm sorry. Does that offend you? Do you need to leave now?"
"Alright, you made your point," Mac acquiesced, but she muttered asshole under her breath.
"I may be an ass, but I'm an ass that knows what he's doing in bed."
"You have years of practice," Mac reminded him.
"When you love what you do, it shows. I take pride in my work." He deftly rolled Mac onto her back, leaning down to kiss her. His tongue explored her mouth, his hands gently kneading her full breasts.
The urge to burrow inside her was reaching a crescendo. Reluctantly Dick pulled away, but just long enough to grab a condom from the drawer of his bedside table.
"Aren't you a regular Boy Scout, prepared for every contingency," Mac said in a breathless tone. "A very slutty Boy Scout," she qualified, helping him put the sheath over his enlarged penis. Turned out her memory hadn't exaggerated the size of it.
"Now, where were we?"
"Let me show you," Mac said, doing just that.
She guided his hand back to her right breast, as he positioned her legs to make a clear path to her vagina.
He stretched out on his stomach, feet dangling over the edge of the bed frame. As he licked her outer lips, he watched her arch her chest and moan. She shifted forward so his tongue made direct contact with her clit.
Mac ran her fingers through his hair, as electric pulses resonated through his circuits. Her taste filled his senses.
Dick's tongue continued its exploration, picking up speed. Mac moaned and writhed underneath, her hands mussing his hair. He felt her quaking upon climax. The feeling broke over her, causing her to emit a primal scream.
Mac snaked a hand down to softly massage Dick's penis, making sure it was still hard…It was. He shifted up a little bit in preparation. She arched her back again as he braced his hands and plunged deeper inside.
He groaned in ecstasy, she was so tight.
He thrust deeper inside.
Mac gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his back.
Dick bit his lip as he was drug under by the shimmering orgasm. Seconds later Mac joined him, letting out another brief scream before sinking into him in relief.
"Happy New Year's Mac," he whispered in her ear.
"Happy 2015, Dick," she murmured.
Exhausted, they fell asleep curled up around each other, dreaming of the New Year and all the promises it held.
TBC…
Happy 2015! Have a safe & happy New Year!
***Love it? Hate it? M'eh? Reviews are always appreciated***