Taxi
By Dimgwrthien
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: NY or affiliates.
You stare out the window of the taxi, letting the lights leave an imprint in your eyes. They seem out of focus, but you don't mind. Your mind isn't anywhere near them at all. The buildings don't matter and the lights even less so.
She touches her hand to yours, letting her fingers hit yours. You can feel each line and crevice in her fingerprint in that hypersensitive moment you share. Feel her breath even when she's sitting a foot away from you. Smell the perfume on her that's long faded away from the night you shared. You smile and wrap your fingers loosely around hers. You don't want to be reminded of it, not now, but it makes you think of a long walk you shared with Claire, your arms wrapped around the other's, taking slow steps to make that short mile seem so much longer.
"Thanks," she mouths, and you can't kept but watch her eyes when she talks. If Stella hadn't been born with a mouth, you'd still be able to read every thought she had from the green depths. They crinkle at the edges, though the bright green iris never seems any smaller.
You merely nod, unsure of how to respond. It's funny how different a person seems to you outside of work, the one environment where you are safe and you are in charge. She's not Detective Bonasera anymore, not even the strange Detective Bonasera who once entered your office in a low-cut, black dress that made you regret the fact it wasn't for you.
Stella leans closer to you, so close that the heightened awareness you've come to associate with women is blasting, overwhelming. Her breath is on your lips for just a moment before you can feel her on you, feel the slow movement of her lips as she kisses you. You kiss back, matching her slow and steady movements exactly. Somehow, you manage to ignore the driver, who you can see from the corner of your eye as he watches the two of you.
You have to pull back first, though you can tell that she's as out of breath as you are. She smiles again, and her eyes smile with her mouth more than ever. Her hand is still around yours, warm but not moist. You squeeze her hand, and she squeezes back.
When the driver pulls over, turning around to give the two of you a look, you reach into your pocket and pull out a wallet. You don't bother to count out the right change - it's too dark to see, even inside the car. "Keep the change," you mutter, getting out to open her door for her. Stella lets you, and when she's out of the car with you, she leans close to you. Its starting to feel like a normal routine, but you can't help but notice the little things. Her mouth tastes like wine rather than her dinner. She cups your face in her hands while you take her shoulders lightly. You can feel her bare shoulders that peek out from her thin-sleeved dress.
"Upstairs?" she asks as the cab pulls away. You nod and smile, and she takes your hand in her warm one.
When the two of you are upstairs, you pull out your keys and move to open the door, but she already has her arms wrapped around your chest, taking you into a soft, backwards hug. You can't help but smile as you manage to unlock the door and push it open. Stella remains against you, her cheek on your shoulder and her hair lightly brushes your ear.
You pull her inside and hear the door click shut after you. She already has enough of a grip on you to turn you around and place a hard kiss on your lips, which you return. You love your days off just for this - the times the two of you can be together, not have to wake early for work. You can spend the evening and night with her, laying gentle kisses along her lips.
Neither of you realize where you are, where you're headed, but you soon feel the back of your knees hit the frame of the bed. You turn, letting her fall onto the bed.
(Taxi)
The reflection of the cars and their headlights beams itself out over your ceiling once more, as it has every night. You let your eyes watch one of the narrow strips of light zoom above your eyes, then turn back to Stella. She's asleep, her eyes closely closed and her face expressionless. Your eyes never leave her face.
She stretches a little in her sleep, holding your arm closer to her and trying to move into your body, as though she wants to be a part of you. You bend your wrist enough to touch her hair, stroke it calmly, and look back at the lights.
There have been times where you wondered if you like this Stella, the Stella who has seen you naked and has kissed you hard enough to leave bruises on both your lips. The long, thin scratches in your back from nights together seem to answer you, but you would never voice it. Stella in her back dress that seems to fall off too easily, the Stella who climbs into your bed and makes you glad it's dark because you don't know if you like that look in her eyes.
Sometimes, the Stella who can't remember what you look like without a tie, who always wears dark pants and a jacket, who never seems to say anything unrelated to a case seems more comforting.
You lay a kiss on her forehead and quietly get out of bed. You leave behind a note that says to meet you in the lab because you think you thought of a new lead (though it's really because you can't think right now) that makes you feel horrible.
When the guilt starts to become painful, you pick up the note and tear it to shreds. Her unconscious arms seem to welcome you back, as they will for night after night.