DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. 'NUFF SAID.
WARNING: I RATE THIS CHAPTER A MILD M. WHILE IT'S IN NO WAY EXPLICIT, JUST APPROACH IT WITH A BIT OF CAUTION. I DON'T WANT TO GET PINCHED BY THE SMUT POLICE. THIS CHAPTERS ALSO INCLUDES VERY MINOR SPOILERS OF THE LAST EPISODE
THIS IS A PAST CHAPTER. MY BROKEN HEART NEEDED TIME TO MEND SO I THOUGHT I'D SCATTER ALL THE SAD STUFF.
A/N: I THOUGHT I'D TOSS IN A LITTLE SHOUT OUT TO THE LATEST EPI. NO, IT'S NOT DL. SORRY. THERE WAS MORE TO THE EPISODE AND I COULDN'T RESIST USING WHAT I DID. I JUST THOUGHT, WHY THE HELL NOT? COOKIES TO WHOEVER IS THE FIRST TO PICK UP ON IT. TRUST ME, IT'S PRETTY SIMPLE BUT OF COURSE, DOES NOT INVOLVE ONE OF THE 'GUILTY' PARTIES FROM WEDNESDAY NIGHT. ENJOY!
WHILE WE'RE AT IT…LET'S PLAY NAME THAT EPI! THERE'S THREE MENTIONED! MORE COOKIES TO WHOEVER CAN PICK THEM OUT!
ALSO (THIS IS THE LAST ONE I SWEAR) I'VE GOT RENOVATIONS BEGINNING ON SATURDAY SO THE POSTINGS WILL SLOW DOWN FOR A BIT. HOPE YOU WILL ALL COME BACK WHEN I DO!
Now THIS is What I Call International Relations
"You're a song
Written by the hands of god
Don't get me wrong 'cause
This might sound to you a bit odd
But you own the place
Where all my thoughts go hiding
And right under your clothes
Is where I find them
Underneath Your Clothes
There's an endless story
There's the man I chose
There's my territory
And all the things I deserve
For being such a good girl honey."
-Underneath Your Clothes, Shakira
If the sight before him had been deliberately arranged in order to both entice him and reward him for the blood, sweat and tears he'd shed in the course of his lifetime, Don Flack vowed to be forever grateful.
After spending a double shift dealing with the dregs of society, and listening to every stupid, lame excuse in the book for why the slimy echelons of humanity did the things they did, walking into his bedroom and finding a nearly naked woman was one hell of a reward. On the way home, it had taken all of his will power to not fall asleep during the twenty minute subway trip from the station two blocks from the lab in mid-town Manhattan to his apartment on the lower east side. Even the extra large black coffee that he'd purchased from his favourite vendor on the way to catch the train hadn't been quite enough to keep his eyes from drifting close and his head from snapping forward on many occasions throughout the ride. It had been thoughts of the life that awaited him once he stepped through his front door that had kept him from falling asleep and missing his stop completely and ending up miles away from home.
It had been a month since who would prove to be his future in laws showed up unannounced and at a inconvenient, embarrassing time. A whole thirty-two days to be exact, since he'd made possibly the worst first impression on a girlfriend's mother in his entire life. She despised him the moment she'd laid eyes on him and the feeling was mutual. Unfortunately for her, Lynne Ross-Chambers had finally met her match. The new guy in her daughter's life was not the type to kiss anyone's ass, nor the type to allow anyone to walk all over him, or Sam. It was no skin off Flack's ass to tell her exactly what he thought of her. He wasn't afraid to call her on the snotty way she looked at him from across the breakfast table the morning after she'd arrived in New York City. He wasn't afraid to mouth back to her when he felt she was ever so gently sliding in a cheap shot at her daughter. And he damn well didn't take it when she talked to him in that condescending, my shit doesn't stink way she had about her. He was a grown man. And there was no goddamn way she was treating him like some snot nosed punk off the street. He didn't take that crap from the scum he dealt with every day, and he certainly wasn't taking it from someone who'd allowed her kids to be abused and tormented every single day of their childhoods.
Once it became perfectly clear she wasn't going to be able to walk all over him and especially her daughter, the silent treatment became Lynne's weapon of choice. To Flack, it was nothing short of a blessing. He simply couldn't stand the woman, and the more she avoided him and stayed out of his way, the happier he was. Thankfully, once past the initial awkwardness of meeting Sarge while he was half naked and covered in war wounds inflicted on him by the man's precious step daughter, Flack found that the older man was extremely personable. Sarge had shown up at his desk twice, both times unannounced, and they'd gone for coffee together and discussed Flack's intentions. He'd been up front and honest. He was madly and crazily in love with her, but still tightly guarding his heart. There were times that her cold, defensive demeanour left him second guessing how she actually felt about him. Times where she pushed him away and shut him out and left him wondering how in the hell to get through to her. Even times where her behaviour had been enough to make him consider walking away. Only he knew, even when things got tough, that his life would be completely miserable without her in it. He knew that they both had what it took to survive the relationship game. To get past all the highs and lows and shove aside the personal baggage in order to have forever. And he was damn determined to make sure that that happened. Regardless of how many times she pushed him away.
Sarge had listened intently to his uncharacteristic rambling. Nodding slowly and taking in every word, every shred of body language. And when Flack had finally finished spilling his guts to a man he'd just met and was, in all honesty, terrified of, a heavy, almost uneasy silence had fallen between them. And he'd just been ready to come to the conclusion that he'd majorly fucked up with the future father in law and haul ass on out of that coffee shop, when Sarge had reached across the table, laid a strong hand on his forearm and looked him dead in the eye.
"That's all fine and dandy and I wish you luck son," he said in a stern, calm voice. "But let me make something clear to you. I get a sniff of you mistreatin' my lady bug and I will personally see to it that you never see the light of day again. Am I making myself clear?"
To which Flack had responded with a resounding, "Yes sir."
Since then, Sam's parents had agreed to take over the lease of her apartment and Flack found himself with a 'roomie'. One that cooked (occasionally), cleaned (once in a blue moon) and gave him the most incredible, intense sex he'd ever experienced in his life (all the time). And for the a guy who'd once been the type to skip town as soon as he got his clothes on after sex, he was enjoying those blissful afterglows and the lazy Sundays when they did little more than lounge in bed all day. He was loving having those quiet, after sex chats. The dreamy way in which they laughed and the languid way in which they touched and kissed. He loved feeling her moving against him in the middle of the night. The way she shared his pillow with him and he breathed in the intoxicating scent of her vanilla honey shampoo. The little sighs and murmurs she made in her sleep. Even the full out conversations she managed to conjure up.
Most of all, he simply loved having someone to come home to. Someone who was glad to see him and greeted him with a hug and a kiss and a smile that let him know she'd missed him.
Someone that loved him.
Currently, that someone was lying on her stomach in the middle of their rumbled bed. Enjoying the second morning of her two consecutive days off, eating a bowl of Lucky Charms cereal and flipping through a celebrity gossip magazine while Maury Povich relayed DNA results to arguing parties on the television across the room.
And doing all of that in nothing more than a matching white bra and panty set. On the back of the barely there underwear was written in bright yellow and green letters, KISS THIS IT'S IRISH.
I must have gone something amazingly good in my previous life, Flack thought, as he bit his lip and let his eyes wander the entire length of his girlfriend's body as he stood in the doorway. Visually feasting on her slender, well toned legs, creamy thighs and that ass that could give a run for her money.
"You know," Sam said, her eyes never leaving the television as she spooned cereal into her mouth. "If you take a picture it will last longer."
"Well now that I've been given an invitation," he teased, and pulled his cell phone out of the inside pocket of his suit coat. "Say cheese."
She rolled over onto her side and glared at him. "Don't even think about it Hugh Hefner."
"Come on…a couple of pictures between me and you won't hurt…something I can look at on the lonely nights," he chided. Good lord, he thought, when he noticed the same phrase was written on the FRONT of her panties as well. And green beaded shamrocks on the cups of her bra. I must have been really, really, really, really good.
"I'll buy you a subscription to Hustler," she said, and went back to lying on her stomach. "You worked a really long shift," she commented, as he approached the bed, shedding clothes as he did so.
"Too long," he sighed, and placing a hand on the bed, leaned over to kiss her softly as she turned her face up towards him.
"Did you have play well with the other boys and girls?" she asked. "Did you share your snack or trade your lunch? Did you manage to stay out of the principal's office?"
"Barely," he said with a grin as he plopped down on the foot of the bed. "Nearly got hauled into Whitmore's office. 'Cause I got into a thing with a perp."
"What kind of thing?" Sam inquired. "And what's up with the sunglasses indoors? Channelling our buddy Terrence or what?"
Flack sighed and removed the shades from his face. A smirk on his face as he showed off a nasty black eye and the three stitches at the corner of his eyebrow.
Sam's eyes widened and her hand came up to gently poke at his right eye. "What in the hell?" she asked.
"That guy we were after? One I told you about last night? Who knifed that old lady walking through Central Park and stole her purse? She keeled over from a heart attack she was so scared and all he got was fifteen bucks and her false teeth wrapped in a Kleenex?"
She nodded.
"Well we managed to ID him 'cause he lost his gum at the scene and Danny ran his DNA and got a hit in CODIS. Guy was already in the system for assault with a deadly weapon and petty larceny."
"Okay…"
"That's all good right? We snag the guy outside his apartment in Jackson Heights as he's going to grab a newspaper from the box on the corner. Only no one ever bothered to tell me that the deadly weapon he'd used to get his ass in the system were his fucking fists."
"Are you okay? Why didn't you call me?"
"What was I going to say? Babe, I just got my ass handed to me on the corner of Vine and Prospect. Can you bring an ice pack for my face? I didn't even get within half a foot of him and he nailed me. I didn't even see it coming for Christsakes. Luckily Danny did a Messer's Secret Weapon on him."
"Which is?" she asked.
"A head butt. Guy went down and we jumped on him and managed to cuff him. But not before I knocked his front teeth out," he replied, and held out his right hand to give her a look at his bruised and cut knuckles.
"Jesus, baby…" she breathed, and took his large, strong hand in both of hers. Her fingertips tenderly explored the damage done to his knuckles. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"I've been hit by bigger trucks," he said. "Dean Lessing nearly ripped all my insides out and he was miles away at the time. I think I'll survive a black eye and busted knuckles."
"Let's not make light of something like that," she said. "That's not something to joke about."
"It's my something and I'll joke about it all I want," he informed her, then pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "It was my insides Mac tied together with a dirty shoe lace."
She glared at him.
"Okay…okay…okay…my bad. I'll keep my sick and twisted, self deprecating humour to myself. What are you up to?"
"Breakfast in bed with Maury," she said, nodding at the television. Then gestured down at the magazine. "And that cracked up bitch Octomom."
"And what's the deal with the pig tails?" he asked, picking one of the thick braided sections of hair.
"I like them," she replied simply.
"At least you know what you can dress up for as Halloween," he commented.
She arched an eyebrow.
Grinning, Flack twisted the pig tail into a tight roll and held it close to her head. "Princess Leia," he said.
"You are such an ass," she laughed and yanked her hair out of his grasp. "I should have thought twice about getting involved with you when you made that damn Star Wars canteen crack at Club Random that night we went trolling for Suspect X. Damn Star Wars freak."
"You would have fit right in if you'd worn that Slutty Tinkerbell get up and your Princess Leia hair."
Frowning, she scooped up a spoonful of cereal, held his chin in her free hand and shoved the spoon into his mouth. "Go and take a shower before I blacken your other eye," she said, and kissed him.
"I'll go on one condition," he told her, standing up and yawning noisily.
"What's that?" she inquired.
"You let me find out just how lucky them shamrocks are."
"Get the hell out of here!" she cried and shoved him away.
"Come on, Sammie. You can't tell me you don't want to kiss the Blarney Stone."
"You are taking St Patrick's Day way too seriously," she laughed.
"Maybe," he said, and leaned down to kiss her softly. "Can I say one more thing to you?"
"Please nothing about travelling to the end of my rainbow and delving into my pot of gold," she pleaded.
He grinned. "Now that's good. I wish I'd thought of that."
She snorted and rolled her eyes.
Flack laughed and laid a hand on the back of her head and kissed her once again. "All I was going to say was Top of the Mornin' to ya, wee lass."
She grinned and allowed him to kiss her even longer.
"That being said, I wouldn't mind travelling to the end of your rainbow and diving right into your pot of gold."
She snagged her pillow from under her chest and tossed it in his direction as he headed for the washroom. He effortlessly caught the object tossed at him and disappeared into the bathroom. His laughter trickling into the room.
"Men," she said aloud. An enormous smile spreading from ear to ear.
"We still going to Sullivan's tonight with the team?" Flack asked fifteen minutes later, as he sat in a t-shirt and a pair of sweats, his legs stretched out and his back resting against the headboard of the bed, while his girlfriend, munching on her second bowl of cereal, remained in her stomach down, head at the foot of the bed position.
"As long as you still want to," she replied. "I'm game if you are."
"I'm definitely in. I need to fill the tank with some of their famous green beer. You know what would really make my St. Patrick's day though? What would really get my green juices flowing?" Flack asked, as he gently laid his hand on the back of her knee and proceeded to walk his middle and index finger up her satiny skin.
"I'm scared to even ask."
"If you'd let me do exactly what your undies are begging for and then let me talk some dirty Gaelic to you while you whisper some naughty French in my ear."
Sam snorted and went back to her cereal.
"Come on now…" he leaned forward, a broad grin covering his face as he slipped his hand around to the inside of her thigh and allowed his fingers to travel a slow and teasing path further up her leg. Feeling the goose bumps that assailed her flesh as he used a fingertip to trace the lacy hem on her high cut panties. "Don't act like you don't like it. Don't be going all virginal on me and pretend that we've never talked dirty to each other before. Especially in foreign languages."
"You're disturbed," she declared. "I'm eating breakfast here."
"Yeah…and your Lucky Leprechaun cereal will still be there when we're through. Cut me some slack here. Let me play Lucky Leprechaun for ten minutes."
"You're going a little overboard with your Irish heritage," she said, then bit her bottom lip and tried, in vain, to disguise the shiver that wracked her body as his hand glided over her hip.
"Why are you giving me such a hard time this morning? What do you expect when I come in from night shift and find you lying in the middle of the bed in a get up like that?"
"They're just a bra and underwear, Don. In honour of St Patrick's day."
"Yeah? And my Irish is standing at attention here. Your panties are speaking to me loud and clear."
"Never mind a lucky leprechaun," Sam chided. "More like a lusty leprechaun."
"So then cut me some slack here," he said, and leaning over, placed a trail of warm, moist kisses up the back of her leg. The tip of his tongue easily finding the extremely sensitive spot at the back of her knee. He concentrated on the area, using his tongue and lips and teeth to drive her wild.
"Do you mind?" she asked, and attempted to yank her leg away.
"Not at all actually," he replied, and trailed the tip of his tongue tantalizingly up the back of her thigh. His strong, calloused hand blazed a feathery, illicit path up the side of her leg and over her hip, then around to the lightly caress her ass. "Don't even try telling me that you don't like it," he said arrogantly, then used a fingertip to tease the skin at the small of her back, just under the wait band of her panties. A victorious smile spreading across his face when he heard her sharp intake of breath and a loud clink as she dropped her spoon into her bowl.
Of course she liked it. There was never any question about whether or not he knew exactly what to say or do to drive her insane. But the longer their relationship went on, the more confidant she became in herself in and in her body. In what the latter would do to him, and for him. And she'd learned how to use that body to her utmost advantage. He'd never relegated himself to begging a woman when it came to intimate situations. He was confident in his abilities and had had his ego stroked on a regular basis by the driving them women to begging and demanding
She was the first one that had ever managed to bring him to his knees and resort him to a quivering, pleading mess. The only one he'd ever relinquished complete control to. On the rare occasions she'd desired that control that was. Usually she preferred to be the submissive party. But when she wanted to she could possess the most amazing will power and self restraint that he'd ever witnessed before. Times when she made him work for what he wanted. And that challenge only made him want her even more.
"It's not that I don't like it," she said. "It's just that…" she tightly fisted the sheets in her hands and allowed a tiny squeak escape her lips as she laid her forehead on the mattress. All words and rational thought alluding her as she felt his fingers slowly pull down the back of her underwear, exposing the tattoo that stretched hip to hip. A shiver of pleasure rocking her entire body as his tongue began to trace the entire outline of the art work that graced her body.
"It's just what?" he asked, manoeuvring his body so that his knees straddled her legs. He laid one hand on the bed, next to her head as the fingers of the other travelled the entire length of her body. Slowly, agonizingly. All the way from her tailbone to the nape of her neck and then back again. His chest heaving with ragged breaths as he wondered just who the teasing was getting the better of. Patience and self restraint, at least in this kind of situation, were not his strong suits. But this was one moment he was determined to have utter control of. No matter how hard she resisted. "You got a hot date or something?" he inquired, as he pressed kisses along her shoulders and down her spine to the middle of her back. "Is there somewhere more important you need to be?"
"No…" she managed, her voice muffled as he face lay buried in the rumpled comforter underneath her.
"Then you just be quiet and let me do what I gotta do, alright? First…" he sat back on his heels and yanked her socks off of her feet and tossed them aside. "Let's get rid of those stupid things. No way I can get all dirty with you while you're wearing socks with hearts and teddy bears on them."
"Care Bears," she informed him, lifting her head off the mattress.
"You really gotta stop shopping in the Juniors department," Flack said. "I know you stopped growing before you left middle school, but you've definitely gotta get some clothes and socks without cartoon characters on them."
"If you're trying to talk yourself into my pants, you're going about it all the wrong way," she told him. "I mean, insulting me isn't the best course of action for you."
"And what do you think is the best course of action?" he asked, his fingers yanking at the green ribbons that rested on her hips. The tiny bows the only things holding those underwear on her body. One quick tug at each and they were open and his fingertips were lightly grazing across every inch of pale, smooth flesh that now lay below him. Christ, sexy was a word that didn't even come close to what she actually was. He didn't even think there was an appropriate word for her. Or for the way that she made him feel. The way he teetered on the edge of self destruction without her even doing a damn thing.
"I don't know…" she murmured. "Whatever it is that you're doing right now."
"You mean this?" he asked, licking at the small of her back as he skimmed the knuckles of both hands along her sides until they settled at against the curves of her breasts. "Or do you mean this?" he inquired, and dragged the tip of his tongue the entire length of his side. "Which did you mean?" he asked, his voice low as he leaned over her, his scruffy cheek pressed against her own smooth, unblemished one.
"Je ne sais pais," she said, a devilish smile on her face as she glanced over her shoulder at him. "Je veux just un petite mort, s'il vous plait."
A grin spread across his face. "You have no idea how sexy you are when you do that. I have no idea what you just said, but it totally does something to me. I mean, you could have just told me to go fuck myself for all I know."
She shook her head and managed to roll over onto her back. Curling her arms around his neck, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. Then to each eye. "Je tu veux," she said, tenderly kissing the space between his eyes. "J'ai besoin de vois," she pecked each corner of his mouth. "Je t' aime," she covered his lips with hers in a long, slow kiss. Then, breaking away, gazed adoringly into his eyes. "Et je ferai pour toujours."
He brushed strands of hair away from her face. "You going to tell me what you just said?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Mon petite secret," she replied. "Mais j'ai raiment besoin d'un orgasme."
"I think I understood that last word," Flack said with a smirk. "And baby, I'm your man."
She yanked his head down towards her and placed her lips against his ear. One of her hands sneaked between them and slipped down the front of his sweat. Eliciting a low, throaty groan from him as her warm, small hand enclosed around his throbbing erection. "Je veux tu lecher de la tete a l'orteil et tu faire venir."
"You going to tell me what THAT meant?" he asked, shuddering violently as she traced the outline of his ear with her tongue, then sucked the lobe before biting it gently.
"How about I show you?" she suggested, and easily pushed him over onto his back. She reached for the waist of his sweats, then paused, dropped one hand from his pants and used it to lift the bottom of his wife beater. Licking her bottom lip suggestively, she bent her head and licked around the outside of his navel, the inside before blowing lightly on the damp area.
Flack's back arched off the bed and his hands gripped the sheets below so tightly they threatened to tear. I am going to die before this morning is over, he thought, wincing as he felt her teeth nip at the top of his navel area. She's going to be the death of me. And I don't even care. At least I know I'll go with a smile on my face.
"Did you want me to show you?" she asked, her voice sultry, her eyes locked on his as both hands settled on his sweats on again.
"Oh absolutely," he replied quickly and without reservation.
She smiled, trailed kisses from his navel and along the right side of his stomach and back again. Then repeated her actions, only travelling to the left this time. Her lips and tongue pausing on the thick, jagged scar that he no longer felt embarrassed about. Every woman he'd been with since the bombing had always looked at his scars as if he was some kind of freak. As if they were the most hideous things they'd ever seen and would ever see. Sam had been the first one to show no expression whatsoever when she'd laid eyes on them.
She was neither horrified or filled with pity for him. And he would never forget how she'd tenderly explored them with her fingertips, her eyes never leaving his. That moment would live in his memory forever. Her feathery, loving touches solely responsible for teaching him how to love, and accept himself. As is. From the very first night they'd slept together, she been unfazed by the night terrors that often plagued him. And he'd been brought out of his episodes numerous times by her whispering softly and reassuring into his ear, both arms around his sweaty, trembling body. Her words and her embrace easily and effectively calming him and sending him off to a comfortable, undisturbed slumber.
She gently kissed her way across his scar and looked up at him. Smiling when she found him staring at her intently.
"Scars are sexy," she declared.
He broke out into a wide grin.
She giggled. "You've been a very patient boy, Don," she said, and running a finger along the expanse of his waist just under the top of his sweats, she took the fabric into her hands. "You certainly deserve everything you're going to get."
He was about to say, "Then quit screwing around and give it to me already", but all words escaped him as she yanked his pants down. He lifted his hips, allowing her to divest him of the sweats.
So much for having control, he thought, shuddering at the feel of her tongue drifting along his legs. From the top of his feet to the top of his thighs.
But thank Christ she's been such an amazing student.
Especially in high school and college French.
Flack was pretty sure he'd died and gone to heaven.
As beautiful and sultry as the last syllables she'd spoken to him in French had been, he hadn't been fully prepared for what those words had actually meant. How the hell was he suppose to know that she'd been telling him that she wanted to lick him from head to toe until he came? In English, the words seemed bland and boring. Kinky yes. What guy wouldn't be jumping on a girl offering to do THAT? But in French, it sounded so exotic and beautiful and made the whole experience a hundred times better. And he'd been more than pleasantly surprised when he'd realized what she had in mind for him, and he'd simply laid there like a submissive, willing participant and let her do her thing. It wasn't often that she even made an attempt to do anything of the sort, but when she was ready, willing and able…
Maybe relinquishing control WASN'T such a bad thing after all.
Once every couple of months, that was. He couldn't take the risk that she'd get used to possessing that kind of power or that she'd become hungry and anxious to be in charge. He was going to keep that little confession to himself and spring it on her at the last possible second. That way she wouldn't grow accustomed to it and expect it all the time. Because while he loved her…well there was no way he'd ever be able to hand over control TOTALLY.
But for now, he was comfortable and extremely satisfied in defeat. He had no complaints as he lay there, eyes closed, flat on his back, that warm cuddled in tightly to him. His arm around her, the fingertips of his battered right hand tracing slow, circles on her bare arm. Listening to her heart beat in unison with his and feeling her soft breath on his shoulder and her hand moving lazily up and down his body, her fingers combing lightly through the thick black hair that covered his chest.
Sleep was just on the horizon. Taking over his body effortlessly. Relaxing him starting at the tips of his toes and moving gradually at a steady upward pace. He felt her body move against his and her moist lips as they pressed against the spot just below his ear. He was aware of her fingertips tenderly exploring his face, lingering on the hideous black eye now coming into its full glory. The caresses were feathery and soothing. He'd never had a woman do things like that before. The quiet, gentle intimacy beyond the physical act of sex. Truth was, he'd never been into that kind of thing, even in the later relationships of his life. Devon had been all about pleasure. On both of their parts. Once that pleasure had reached it's peak and the job was done, she'd been almost anxious to get him out of there. Not once in their short relationship had he ever fallen asleep and woken up beside her hours later.
Jessica Angell had been the first one to come close to achieving that intimacy with. They'd spent many a night in at their respective apartments, and he'd woken up many a morning with her next to him in bed. But when he'd tried -legitimately tried to get close to her in an emotional way- she'd been the one to give him the cold shoulder. When he attempted the whole cuddling and pillow talk thing after the main act was all said and done, she'd been the one to kiss him chastely on the lips, say "Goodnight, Don," and simply roll over onto her opposite side and call it a night.
And now he had found the complete opposite. Not only was he all for the whole afterglow cuddling and silly pillow talk -not always silly, as more often than not they had some of their deepest, most heartfelt conversations after sex when emotions were still running high- but he actually looked forward to it. And he had a woman, who although prided herself on being fiercely independent and who vowed to never rely on a man for anything, actually wanted him to share in that intimacy with her. He had been able to, almost from the first day he'd met her, see right through that tough Brooklyn girl act she put on. He knew that the sarcasm and often dismissive behaviour were nothing more than a well orchestrated act of self preservation. She was protecting herself from being hurt. And while he didn't call her on that, he also didn't toss it up in her face when she actually let her guard down in front of him. Truth was, she needed him. She liked being taken care of and having someone that made her feel safe and secure. And it made him feel good to be able to say he was the man who would do all of that for her.
No matter how damn emotionally painful it was to deal with her sometimes.
Right now however, he was enjoying that softer side to her. The way she combed her fingers through his hair and pressed tender kisses to his forehead and under his eyes. Down the bridge of his nose and over his top lip and along his jaw line. Her lips warm and delicate against his chin and across his bottom lip. He kept his eyes closed and his fingertips skimming up and down her spine. Until he felt her hand drift across his chest and she covered his lips with hers in a long, tender parting kiss before pressing her lips to his shoulder and moving away from him.
"Where you going?" Flack asked, feeling the warmth of her body leave his side. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her bare back as she sat on the edge of their bed facing away from him.
"I told you last night on the phone that I had some errands I needed to run today," she replied, yawning noisily as she reached for the t-shirt she'd yanked aggressively off of his body less than an hour before.
"Fuck the errands," he said. "Just come back to bed."
"I have a doctor's appointment," she reminded him. "You know…the whole birth control issue we've been talking about for the past month."
"To use it or not to use it," he mused. "That is the question."
She smirked as she slipped into the t-shirt. "You're being very corny this morning."
"Too much work and not enough play," Flack reasoned. "It's starting to catch up to me."
"You're starting to grow up you mean," she teased, and kneeling on the bed, covered his mouth with hers in a languid, delicious kiss. "I'm also going apartment accessories shopping," she added, as she climbed off of the bed and pulled her pigtails out of the back of her t-shirt.
"We don't even have an apartment yet," he pointed out.
"What do you call this?"
"I mean a new apartment. Wasn't the whole deal that we were going to find a new apartment and then you were going to go to town and buy stuff? Within reason."
"Well I didn't say I was going to buy anything big," she argued. "I mean, a few things here and there won't hurt, right? Some curtains, some throw cushions, some new dishes and silverware and glasses. I can leave the whole furniture thing until we actually find a new place."
He cracked his eyes open. "Within reason," he repeated. "Within reason does not include you buying new furniture."
"Hey, in case you haven't noticed, this bed is a little…what's the word?"
"Ratty?" he tossed out. "Old? Noisy?"
"I was going to say well used," she said.
"Hey…the only DNA gracing the sheets is mine and yours," he said with a chuckle.
"I meant that the springs are sticking out all over the place and the damn thing shakes if you even roll over onto your side," she told him. "I wasn't talking about the little pieces of ex girlfriends that may be lying all over the place."
"Fine…fine…fine…" he sighed. "Buy what you want. Within reason."
"Your two favourite words," she mused. "I'm going to go and take a shower while you catch up on your beauty sleep," she said, and headed for the bathroom.
"I forgot to tell you!" Flack called to her.
She paused in the doorway as he rolled over onto his side to face her.
"Remember Bernie Benton?" he inquired.
"The ex bank robber we went to talk to at his bar about the armoured car heist?" she asked. "The one that called me doll face over and over again and you rolled up your sleeves and played darts with him?"
Flack nodded.
"His daughter used that whole Satan's Ring get up he passed down to her to pull off the job? And she's still on the lam?" Sam sat down on the edge of the bed. "What about him?" she asked.
"I got a call from the warden at Rikers just before I left today. I guess Bernie had put my name down as one of the people to contact if the shit ever hit the fan while he was inside or he got word on where his little girl was."
"What happened to him? Some inmate knock him around or something?"
"Or something," Flack told her. "I guess the cancer really took it's hold on him once he got inside and he'd spent the last two months in the infirmary. Nurse went to change his diaper this morning and he was dead."
Sam gave a small frown and nodded slowly. "That's too bad," she said sincerely. "As far as perps go…I don't know. I had kind of a soft spot for that guy. I didn't buy a word of what he was saying, but I guess I just felt sorry for him that his life was ending the way it was. He was very…sweet. It's the first time I've ever been sympathetic towards a criminal."
"That's because he flirted with you," Flack teased her.
She rolled her eyes. "He wasn't a bad guy," she said with a shrug. "He was just…misguided."
"He was a crook," Flack concluded. "Once a wackadoo, always a wackadoo."
"So jaded," she said with a sigh and kissed him softly.
"I figured you'd want to know," he said, rolling over onto his back. "About Bernie. Considering you two were crushing on each other and all."
"Oh yeah…" she laughed. "Me and old Bernie were carrying on this illicit affair while he was behind bars. I just kept the x rated letters and pictures well hidden from you."
"You're disturbed," he chuckled and laid his hand on her back.
"Admit it, Donnie," she said, as she leaned over him and pecked his forehead. "A little part of you actually liked Bernie Benton. I saw the way you dealt with him. You were just so laid back and casual about the whole thing. I'd never seen you handle a battle of the wits like that before. I guess I just saw a part of you that actually felt sorry for someone."
"I did feel sorry for him. I still do. I mean, he didn't deserve to waste away like that. No one deserves that kind of death."
"See…" she said, and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. "There is this incredible sensitive and compassionate and wonderful soul hiding behind that gruff, sarcastic demeanour."
Grinning, he reached up, grabbed a hold of her and flipped her onto her back in the middle of the mattress.
"How about we keep that just between you and me?" he suggested, his hands sneaking up the front of her t-shirt and teasing her bare skin.
"There's no time for this," she informed him, attempting, albeit poorly, to push him away.
"There's always time for this," he declared and nuzzled her neck. Tickling her with his nose and his scruffy cheeks until she was a giggling, writhing mess beneath him. He pulled back and looked down at her, easily losing himself in those sparkling golden brown eyes. He ran his knuckles softly along her cheek bone and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Je t' aime," he said, his voice tender as his eyes stared deep into her very soul. "Au soleil et les etoilles et la lune et au-dela de."
She blinked. Surprised by both the fact he'd spoken in French, and at the simple beauty of his words. A smile quickly took over her face and she lifted her head off the mattress to kiss him. "How'd you…"
"There was the rare occasion I didn't fall asleep in grade ten French class," he joked. Then turned serious once again. "You know them crazy computerized translators the department has? The one you first talked dirty into?"
"It wasn't exactly dirty," she giggled. "But yeah…"
"I had one of the uniforms who I know speaks French, say that into it and then I thieved the translator, brought it home and memorized it."
Flack was slightly embarrassed by his admission. He was self admittedly a tool when it came to romance. And the fact that that was his one grand romantic gesture to date…just a little humiliating.
But her smile quickly erased any self doubt he was feeling. "Baby that's beautiful," she said. "Thank you. That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me."
He smiled and kissed her. Long and soft and deep.
"By the way," she said, lightly scraping her fingernail along the bottom of his chin. "Did I ever tell you how sexy I thought it was when you rolled up your sleeves that day in the bar and played darts with our boy Bernie?"
"Sexy, huh? No…you never mentioned that."
"I found it very, very, very sexy," she said.
"How about you show me how sexy?" he suggested.
She flipped him over onto his back. "Let me guess," she quickly straddled his chest. "Show and tell was your favourite part of school?" she asked.
He grinned broadly and ran his hands up her thighs and over her hips and along her sides.
"Oui," he replied.
Okay, now I am French Canadian and the dialect is a bit different from Parisian French. And to be quite honest, I'm a bit rusty as no one else in my house speaks any language other than English. So please forgive me if things got a little muddled in translation. Let's blame it on the online translator I used for some of this and the fact that the dialects are a tad different.
"Je ne sais pais" (I don't know)
"Je veux just un petite mort, s'il vous plait." (I really want an orgasm, please)
"Je tu veux," (I want you) "J'ai besoin de vois," (I need you) "Je t' aime," (I love you) "Et je ferai pour toujours." (And I will forever)
"Mon petite secret," (My little secret) "Mais j'ai raiment besoin d'un orgasme." (But I really do need an orgasm) Petite mort and orgasme can both be used.
"Je veux tu lecher de la tete a l'orteil et tu faire venir." (I want to lick you from head to toe and make you come)
"Je t' aime," (I love you) "Au soleil et les etoilles et la lune et au-dela de." (to the sun and the stars and the moon and beyond)
Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! And thanks to the lurkers too! I appreciate each and every one of you and I thoroughly enjoy writing this story for all of you! Please R and R folks.
Special thanks to:
Hope4sall
Laurzz
Afrozenheart412
HighQueenReicheru
Madison Bellows
Soccer-bitch
uscrocks
madhatterette
GregRox
Delko's Girl88
xsamiliciousx
Wolfeylady
Forest Angel
