Disclaimer: I don't even own my surplus labour, let alone this.
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Mac's Apartment
Thursday, Two weeks later...
2032 Local
"Harm! That tickles."
"If you stopped moving," He said, clamping his hand around her ankle. "It wouldn't tickle. Now sit still."
Mac couldn't help her grin, or the amusement she was extracting from the turn her evening had taken. She'd known Harm would be late coming home from work, so she'd treated herself to a nice, long bath, and had buffed her feet in preparation for painting her toes. She'd been sitting on the couch with her feet propped up on the coffee table, all set to begin applying Harm's – and her – favourite colour, when he'd walked in the door.
The moment he'd laid eyes on her, sitting with nail polish in hand, his greeting smile had died on his lips. He'd instantly whipped off his coat and shoes, and pretty much ordered her to wait while he changed his clothes.
"Don't start. I'll be right back." He'd said, dashing to the bedroom.
"What? You want to watch?" She'd teased, confused by his behaviour. "Kinky."
Little had she known.
He'd emerged from her bedroom in her favourite sweatpants – her favourite because they hung deliciously low on his hips and were so incredibly soft – and a t-shirt. He'd proceeded to pick her up, deposit her on the coffee table, and take up her spot on the couch. She'd been too surprised by his moving her around like a piece of furniture to do anything but comply.
He'd grabbed her foot, placed it on his lap, and had taken the nail varnish out of her hand, looking for all the world like a kid in a candy shop. Or, for that matter, himself stepping off a helo onto the deck of a carrier.
So now she was sitting on the coffee table, her foot on his lap, while his head was bent in serious concentration as he painted her toenails. Would wonders never cease.
This was a first for her: having any man she was involved with, let alone Harm, painting her nails. She couldn't decide if it was amusing or arousing or just plain odd. He'd been rather clumsy at it initially, getting enough varnish on her skin to convince her she'd need to redo the job later that night, once he was asleep. But he'd insisted on starting over. Twice.
Luckily, she could be patient.
He moved his hand to adjust his grip on her foot, his fingers sliding over her instep. It really did tickle and she tried not to move, but her foot squirmed in his lap.
"Harm! That really tickles!" She exclaimed.
He looked up at her, shaking his head, wagging the nail polish brush at her. "Quit squirming." He berated her. "You move more than AJ does when he sits on my lap."
"I'm not sitting on your lap." She pointed out.
"And I won't let you again if you keep this up."
She laughed outright at that weak threat. "Ha! I'd outlast you and we both know it. You'd be begging me to come back." She squirmed her foot for effect.
He grinned, and with another shake of his head returned to his task.
She brought her elbow to her knee, resting her chin in the palm on her hand, and settled in to watch him. He was concentrating so hard. It was all very cute. She grinned. If anyone knew Harm wanted to paint her toenails ... No one would believe her.
With a final flourish, he pulled back to admire his work. She couldn't look away from the expression on his face as he softly blew over her nails to help them dry. Definitely arousing, she decided.
"I never would've pegged you for having a toe fetish." She commented, knowing she'd get a reaction out of him.
He raised his eyebrow, and looked at her with that patented expression he wore whenever she'd hit the mark with her teasing.
Jackpot, MacKenzie. She grinned smugly.
"I was just curious." He defended. "I do not have a toe fetish."
"Sure you don't." She made a point to look at her foot which was still in his lap, red toenails and all, and then at his hand which was still holding the nail varnish. Deliberately, she returned her attention to his face.
He rolled his eyes, and dropped his gaze to her toes, his hand caressing her calf.
"It's not a fetish." He repeated absently, more intent on tracing a path from her heel up to the back of her knee. "I was just curious. And they just look nice in this colour."
This was as endearing as it was strange. She took the nail varnish from his hand, and placed a kiss on his palm. She looked up at him as her lips pressed against his skin, and found him watching her in that way that made her heart skip beats. Before she could act on it he frowned, breaking the moment, and cocked his head slightly to the side.
"What about you?" He asked.
"What about me?" She mirrored his frown, not following.
He indicated her foot still on his lap.
"How about I return the favour?"
She couldn't help herself. "You want me to paint your toes, Sailor?"
He laughed, and moved to grab her.
"Harm!" She put her arms out to stop him. "My nails! They're still not dry!"
He stopped moving, and glanced down at her toes. He then sat back on the couch smiling, and put a hand out for her.
"C'mere." He invited.
She took his hand, gingerly standing up mindful of her toes, and settled down on the couch between his legs. She propped her feet up on the coffee table and leaned back against him.
This was nice.
"So?" He whispered in her ear, putting his feet up on the table as well. "Any fetish you want to share?"
She smiled at the picture his large sock-clad feet made resting on either side of her naked ones, toenails bright red.
"I thought this wasn't a fetish?" She wiggled her toes for emphasis, and was rewarded with a low chuckle.
"C'mon, French fry." He kissed her ear. "There must be something."
"Nope." She shrugged. "Nothing comes to mind."
"I don't buy it." He challenged.
She turned her head on his shoulder to look up at him.
"Really." She insisted.
He eyed her for a moment. He shook his head. "No way. There must be something you've wanted to do, to experience."
She turned her attention back to their feet on the coffee table. She couldn't think of anything...
"I just like being with you." She shrugged again, her hand idly caressing his arm.
He tightened his hold on her, kissed her hair. "Me too."
He was silent for a heartbeat. "But there must be something."
She laughed at his persistence.
Well, there was one thing, though it wasn't really a fetish.
"I wear your clothes to sleep when you're out on assignment. Or when I am." She offered. Her face felt hot as soon as she spoke. She told herself it was not because she was blushing.
He didn't say anything at first.
"Are your toes dry yet?" He asked unexpectedly.
She frowned. "Almost. Why?"
She turned her head to look at him, and was met with his eyes, dark and full of promises. She bit her lip, suddenly aware of every part of him that was touching her. Ah, that's why.
"I didn't know you did that." He said, looking intently at her.
"I miss you when you're gone," She whispered. "Your clothes smell like you, like your bed sheets."
He made a sound, somewhere between a growl and a moan, his eyes falling shut. His reaction stirred tendrils of desire in her. She pushed herself up slightly and kissed his neck, her hand reacquainting itself with just how soft his sweatpants were.
"You're all I can think about those nights when you aren't with me." She murmured against his skin. "I always want you. So badly. To touch you," Her tongue darted out for a quick lick. "Taste you."
He stood up abruptly, bringing her with him. "Your nails are dry," He announced, his voice rough. He dragged her behind him to her bedroom at full march.
She was thoroughly enjoying the effect her words had on him and wondered at the possibilities this presented. But all such thoughts came to a sudden halt when, halfway to her bedroom, he dropped her hand and whipped his t-shirt over his head, mumbling something to her over his shoulder about not wasting time to get to the good stuff.
She could do nothing but nod in silent agreement, admiring the incredibly mouth-watering view of his back, his perfectly shaped torso giving way to those soft sweatpants that hung dangerously low. God, she loved him, but looking at him like this was something else altogether. She'd never been this physically attracted to a man before, hadn't thought it possible, the way love and want and a need so thick it clogged her lungs could all converge into a dull throbbing of anticipation every time she touched his bare skin, every time she looked at his naked form, smelled his scent on her.
She tugged on his hand, pulling him back. He turned, eyebrow raised in question but before he could say anything, she wound her arms around him, drawing him into her. Her mouth sought his in a kiss that conveyed just how much her entire body hummed when he was near, ached for him when he wasn't.
His hands were in her hair, on her back and then on her six, lifting her up against him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, while he turned them around, pinning her against the nearest wall.
She kissed his neck and jaw, one hand traveling over his chest, down his abdomen, following a line from his belly button beyond the waistband of his pants.
He buried his face in her neck. She heard him mumble something and did her best to listen when she so busy feeling.
"I think I found your..." He moaned, and she felt him tighten as her lips and her hand found its mark. "Oh God, Mac." He took a moment to savour her ministrations, and she couldn't think beyond the distance that separated her from him.
"I think," He continued between breaths, biting down lightly on her shoulder. "I think I found your fetish."
"Mm," She answered, more intent on wishing he'd stop talking and start taking off her clothes.
She felt him smile into her shoulder, amused no doubt by her current lack of interest in words. She swirled her tongue around the hollow of his throat, and felt his body pulse for her, each heavy tremor echoed by hers.
"You," He moved from her shoulder, up her neck and sucked her earlobe between his lips. She moaned with pleasure.
"You like it when I," His lips were back on her neck, his tongue hot and wet on her skin. "When I strip for you, French fry." He pressed her back against the wall, one hand wandering to the fly of her jeans. Then his lips found hers; he finally stopped talking and started getting to the good stuff.
Later...
"We didn't make it to the bedroom." She rested her forehead on his shoulder, where they sat outside her room, wondering if she'd ever be able to breathe normally again.
He grinned, also catching his breath. "Bedroom? I'm surprised I'm still alive, sweet thing." He tipped her chin up and leaned in for a deep, slow kiss before pulling away. "If I'd known that taking off my shirt would have you jumping me and doing ... this," He waved a hand between their naked bodies. "I would've stripped for you right there in the rose garden when we first met."
Mac leaned back slightly, her legs still wrapped around his waist, her arms around his shoulders, her six settled firmly on his lap. She was too content, too sated at the moment to be bothered by his teasing. Sex had been great in their relationship from the get-go, but what just happened was ... "I love you."
His smile was slow and sweet. He tapped her nose with his forefinger. "I love you, too."
She dropped her head against his shoulder once again.
"You okay?"
She nodded. "That was..." She trailed off, not really having the words to express this to him.
"I know," He whispered into her neck. "It was."
She lifted her head to look at him, liking how he looked sweat-slicked with his hair a complete mess. All because of her.
"Mac. Sarah." His use of her given name compelled her to pull back and focus on him fully. He looked so serious.
"Hmm?" She ran her fingers over the worried crease in his brow. "What is it?"
"I was thinking that maybe you and I..." He fumbled, searching her face nervously. "That is, we ... uh, we could ... or rather, we should, I mean if you want..."
She frowned. What had him so tied up in knots, and now, after a mind-blowing session against the wall outside her bedroom?
"What, Harm?"
He was quiet for a moment as he looked at her. He raised his hand, his fingers tracing a path along her cheek, over her lips.
She kissed his fingers, like she hadn't been able to do in times past when he'd touched her this way as only a friend.
"We should get off the floor." He said, a slight smile spreading. She sensed it wasn't what he'd wanted to say in the first place.
"Are you okay?" She was close to worrying.
His smile widened, looked more genuine.
"Yeah. Yeah." He kissed her again, and she was all ready to move on to round two in the bedroom. "Perfect."
She watched him as he set about untangling their limbs and clothes, wondering what that was about. There were times when he seemed so distracted, some thought holding him hostage ever since their return from his mother's. She thought it had to do with Frank, or maybe with this new layer to his relationship with both his mother and stepfather. He would talk about it in his own time, she reminded herself, and in the meanwhile she'd try and reinforce his deepened relationship with his parents as much as she could, and not worry about shadows she couldn't see the source of.
Especially not when things were so good between them. She smiled, unable to stop herself. She'd never been this happy in a relationship before. It was such a wonderful feeling. And so terrifying. She hoped it lasted. It had been six months, and they were so much closer, she loved him in ways she didn't know possible. And yet she didn't know if they would move beyond this. What did Harm see when he thought of a future for them? Did he see a future for them? She didn't know how to ask. And what did she see for them? She didn't even know, didn't dare allow herself to go there. It was easier not to think about it.
Harm was putting his clothes back on, so she gave herself the task of seeing if she could make him remove them once again. It was something to distract her from her thoughts.
"Harm?"
"Yeah?" His voice was muffled as he pulled on his t-shirt.
"Want to see if we can make it to the bedroom this time?" She raised an eyebrow in challenge.
"You're on." He immediately whipped off his t-shirt, and gave her his best grin.
She watched him strip off his boxers in rapt fascination. Okay, so maybe he had found her fetish. And as for the stuff she couldn't see: she wouldn't think about it.