A/N: This story is definitely not suitable for younger readers. It owes whatever merit it has to the support and encouragement of marialisa, sallyjetson, and elainhe, as well as my generous reviewers and readers.
One more time, please remember that I choose in my stories to ignore certain facts of life, like the dangers of unprotected sex. Unless you are a fictional character, you can't afford to be so naive. Love is not protection.
Disclaimer: No infringement of copyright is intended. All characters originated with CSI:NY.
Release
Stella slid out of the chair, fitting her body against Don's, hiding her face in the crook of his neck, her hands still stroking through his hair. He could feel her tears against his skin, soaking through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, could feel the sobs wracking her body.
He had made her cry. He had made Stella cry.
"No. Don't do that. Stella. Don't cry. I'm sorry, Stella, I didn't mean to…" his voice gave out in despair as he pushed her hair out of her face, trying to coax her to look at him.
She reached up and put a hand over his mouth, then whispered fiercely in his ear, "Don't apologize. Not ever. This was all me."
She sat back a little and looked into blue eyes blurred with pain and regret and a little fear. Placing her hands on either side of his face, she spoke slowly through the tears that ran down her cheeks. "I was so afraid, Don. I was so afraid to trust you – to trust myself with you."
She shook her head impatiently as he opened his mouth to speak. "You said you were like Frankie – worse than Frankie. You could never be like him. But if you feel like that, it's my fault. I pushed you away, tried to hold you in this small space in my life: friend, good for sex, nothing more." She laid her mouth softly on his head for a moment as he leaned against her, his eyes closed in misery.
"I was so wrong," she went on quietly. "You are so much more than just my friend, so much more than just sex. You are the fulcrum, Don."
He looked up, puzzled and wary. "The what?"
She smiled a little at the suspicion in his voice. "You know, the fulcrum. The thing that supports something? A revolving something?"
Don looked at her with one eyebrow lifted. "You been talking to Hammerback again?"
She snorted with laughter. "Yes, actually. It was his Word of the Day: fulcrum – the point or support around which something revolves or depends."
She brushed the hair out of his eyes tenderly. "That's you. When I read it, I saw you. I depend on you. And when I pushed you away, I broke loose." She closed her eyes for a breath. "When I was with Frankie, the job was my centre point, and he hated that. But when he … attacked me – when I killed him – you were the one I held on to, the only one who kept me steady."
She rested her forehead on his again. "You balance me. And I haven't had much experience with balance in my life." Her voice had dropped to a whisper again. "So I thought it was weakness because I couldn't stand alone. And I tried to take control," a sly smile stole over her face as he involuntarily shivered, "And I liked it for a while."
"So what went wrong? Tell me what I did wrong so I can stop, so I don't do it again," he pleaded.
"You loved me. And it wasn't wrong. It was the only right thing in my world. I just didn't know it. And I don't want you to stop. Not ever. I want you to love me as much as you can, as hard as you can. Don't stop loving me, Don, please don't."
She was crying again, tears that drowned green eyes until he could see himself in the depths. Tears that ran down the cheeks and over the lips he was kissing, murmuring soft nonsense words of love and forgiveness and passion. He could taste her sorrow and it made him hungry. He could taste her promise and it filled the place in his heart that had been achingly empty for so long.
He stood, lifting her as he did, moving towards the bedroom still kissing her. When they reached the bed, he let her down so she was standing wrapped in his arms. He buried his face in her hair and said softly, "I love you."
Her head on his shoulder, she laughed shakily, catching her breath on a sob. "I love you, too. Show me how much."
Don continued to rock her in his arms, slowly, and said again, "I love you." He waited a minute, then gave her a little shake. "Hey."
She looked up with a gleam in her eye. "Show me."
"Tell me."
"Why? Didn't you believe me the first time?"
"No. Say it again. Say it until I believe it."
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his mouth, "I love you."
She kissed his chin, "I love you."
She kissed his jaw, "I love you."
She kissed the pulse beating in his throat, "I love you."
She pulled back, her hands on his chest, and looked up at him, "Do you believe me yet?"
He shook his head. "No," he said huskily, "Not yet. A few thousand more times might work."
He took her mouth with his, sliding his hands under the t-shirt she was wearing, letting his hands drift over her warm skin, cupping her breasts and licking the moan of pleasure off her lips. She pushed his worn t-shirt over his head, reveling in the play of muscles under her hands. The loose shorts he had pulled on earlier slid over lean hips, leaving him naked.
He reached over to open the window, letting the soft evening breeze in to play with Stella's hair and bring a welcome stir of air to the warm night. Stella pulled her t-shirt off, and stepped out of her shorts, her breath coming a little faster as she stood before him in the dark room, only the lights from the city outside outlining her body.
She shivered as he stepped forward, guiding her gently to the bed. He pushed back the covers and joined her in the centre, pulling her into his arms and then sighing in contentment, his cheek against her hair, her arm across his chest.
They lay in silence for several moments, hands idly stroking and exploring. "Don?" she said finally.
"Hmm?"
"What are we doing?"
"Hush. We're dreaming." His hand traced a line down her spine, and she could feel the chills flee across her body.
"What are we dreaming about?"
"You. Me. A life." He moved slowly, pushing her onto her back, his mouth tracing a complementary line from her throat to her stomach. This time heat swirled over her body, pooling deep in her belly.
"I love you," she gasped as his mouth returned to one breast, feasting on her hungrily.
He growled, "You sure?" The fingertips that had been trailing down one leg began a torturous journey back up to stop just before reaching the centre of her desire.
"I love you," she breathed out, then opened her eyes wide. "How many more times before you believe me?"
"Nine…teen…hundred…and ninety…four," he said huskily, sliding a finger into her enticing heat on each pause, then stroking her clit firmly with his thumb and grinning in satisfaction as she arched against his hand with a sharp cry.
"Keep doing that, and I'll tell you anything you want," she said, with a tight grin, eyes closed as she circled ecstasy.
He stilled and looked at her with doubt filling his blue eyes. Her eyes shot open, and she stared at him, not sure whether to smack him for being too sensitive or herself for not being sensitive enough.
She settled for running her hands behind his head, her thumbs caressing over the high cheekbones and temples of the face that lit up her dark nights, and brushing her lips over first one eye, then the other, murmuring endearments and passionate promises as she explored every feature with fingers and mouth, until he finally opened his lips under hers. She rolled him over, and began to trail her fingers down his throat and chest, following with her tongue and lips.
He moaned, and wrapped her hair around his hands, stopping her just before she reached his straining erection. "No."
She looked up, confused and a little worried. "No?"
He shook his head and pulled her back into his arms, sitting up, pulling her into his lap. "That's just sex. I want more." He covered her mouth with his again, kissing her until she melted against him.
"No more friends with benefits. I love you. I want us to be together."
She teased his mouth with her tongue, mimicking the thrust of sex, "No more of that?" she said as his eyes rolled back in his head.
"Do you love me?" His voice squeezed out through lungs paralysed with desire.
She waited until his eyes focused on hers, and nodded. There were no words big enough.
"Then we can still do that. But later!" Slowly, he laid her on the bed, covering her with his body, covering her body with kisses until she squirmed against him.
"Please, Don. Make love to me."
"With you."
Deep green eyes stared into darkened blue ones, and she nodded, "Make love with me, Don."
He took her mouth urgently, all the tenderness swept away by a wave of yearning, and slid slowly into her eager body as if he belonged there.
Stella gasped and arched sinuously against him, little breathy sighs catching in her throat. "I love you," she said when she could breathe.
He pushed deep into her, and stopped, holding most of his weight off her, propped on his elbows. She groaned with frustration. "I want it all, Stella." His voice rasped against her ear. "I want the white picket fence."
"In Queens? It'll be covered in graffiti in a week," she scoffed, trying to catch her breath.
He pulled out and eased back again, slowly enough to make her whimper. "I want the 3.2 kids and the station wagon and the dog."
She opened her eyes wide and squeaked, "3.2? Average is 2.1!"
He slid out even more slowly, waiting a moment until she shook with wanting, then thrust back faster, harder, filling her, taking her scream into his mouth. "Do I seem average to you?" He smirked at her rolled eyes, and groaned when she laughed, causing her to contract around him.
She struggled to make him move again, to drive that burning pleasure through her again. But he braced himself, and leisurely lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her so thoroughly she could feel her head spin from lack of oxygen.
He said softly, gloatingly, "Stella Bonasera, I'm going to give you a family!"
She growled, "What you are going to give me is a heart attack."
He considered that for a moment, and then nodded his head decisively. "I suppose that is possible. But what a way to go!"
He moved deeper into her, then stilled again as the bliss ran through her veins. He whispered in her ear, "How about I give you an orgasm first," he rocked inside her, "then a family," he rocked a little harder, striking her clit, "and we put off the heart attack for say … fifty years or so?"
"Damn you, move. Don, make me come." She arched against him.
He stopped again, resting his head lightly on hers. "Not yet. You haven't agreed yet."
"I definitely agree about the orgasm." She bit her lip, desperate to let go of the tension now built unbearably high.
"What about the rest?" His eyes were glowing as he looked down at her flushed face, licking the sheen of sweat off her temples with a delicate tongue.
She wasn't a trained dancer for nothing. She grinned, then slowly, deliberately tensed the muscles which were already gripping his cock deep inside her body. His eyes widened and he growled in feral arousal.
"I'm working on the orgasm first," she purred, clenching the muscles harder this time, "And maybe the white picket fence." She drew an agonized sigh from him, and grinned in triumph. Concentrating only on the sensation of his hard length buried deep in her, she contracted the muscles rhythmically, milking him until he stopped breathing. "The children, though," she started pumping, bringing herself to the edge of coming, "Are still up for negotiation."
He started to move then, rocking against her until she was writhing, then he pulled back and began to thrust to a rhythm that finally shot her into a shuddering climax. Her wild bucking against him was too much and he drove into her, losing himself as they spasmed together.
He lay shaking, his muscles nearly too drained to hold his weight off her, but unwilling to pull out of her yet. "Oh God," he breathed out in blasphemous wonder, "You are fucking amazing."
She hummed in mutual wonder, causing vibrations to run through her body and surround him. He jerked in surprise and could feel a final tremor ripple through them both.
When he finally had the strength to move, he rolled no further than he had to, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her head to his shoulder again. She lay with one thigh over his legs, smelling of sex and satisfaction. He ran his hands through her curls, content.
"Don?"
"Hmmm?"
"Happy Anniversary."
His eyes shot open, and she could feel his heartbeat, which had been slowing for the past several minutes under her cheek, speed up again.
She sighed, "I'd say let's forget the last year, and pretend that this is the same night."
"But?" he prompted quietly, dread creeping back into his voice.
She moved so she could look into his face. "We could forget all the hurt and bad times that way. But it wouldn't be real, would it? The bad times have to count for something, don't they?"
She waited until he nodded cautiously before going on. "So I don't want to wipe out the last year. I want to remember it. I want to learn from it."
Tears had filled her eyes again, and Don reached out a tentative hand to wipe them away. She grabbed his hand and kissed it.
He rolled onto his side so he was eye to eye with her. "Give me a lever and a place to stand, and I can move the world," he said.
"Archimedes." Stella nodded.
"Really? Some dead old Greek guy, right?" Don grinned as Stella laughed. She knew his 'high school drop-out' act was just that; he had a voracious appetite for strange facts and esoteric knowledge.
"Anyway," he continued, his voice dropping as he turned serious again, "You said I was your fulcrum, right?"
She nodded.
"Then you are my place to stand. And we can move the world, Stella."
She smiled temptingly, and ran her tongue over her lower lip, "If you work that fulcrum just right, you can move the world for me any time you want."
And on a wave of love and laughter, the universe re-ordered itself.