Bodycount- Tell me something bad

He sat on the edge of Mac's bed watching the partly open door waver slightly in the differing air pressures.

It was the first time he had been inside her house and it was twisting his insides all around.

She normally just came to his house. It was mostly un-chaperoned, larger and marginally closer to school. He wondered, as he waited in the empty room, if she let him have home court advantage because she thought he needed it. Maybe she just liked the idea of not being bothered by parental questions about his intentions.

The idea that they could do whatever she wanted without the fear of interruption. No father sitting him down and looking at him like he was trying to peel back the facade and look at the intentions below.

His intentions... He was glad no one but Dick had bothered to ask him. Although he had always been an excellent liar anyway, it wasn't like he was in this just to get in her pants. No, not at all, he just figured buying her an island and stealing her away wouldn't go over very well either since now that his trust fund was unlocked and Kendall was on the payroll, it wasn't just some romantic pipe dream.

The door is kicked open lightly;, Mac is standing in the doorway, a couple bottles of coke in one hand and her laptop in the other.

"So what exactly do you need me to do?" She asks as he gets up quickly to take the bottles from her.

"I need you to make a website for me..." He tells her, opening the bottles and setting them on the shelf closest to him. She's sitting on her bed when he turns back to her and he has to pause for a second because she's sitting on the bed like its nothing.

Her parents aren't home...

They could...

Focus.

This is about more important things than trying to figure out if you can make it all the way to actually having sex with her before her parents and brother come back from parent teacher meetings.

He looks at the time, he probably could, but she hadn't done anything even remotely bad recently other than help Mars with some case or other. He wanted her, yes, but it was a softer less urgent feeling than when she had admitted to siphoning funds from his father, emphasis on softer.

"Cassidy?" She waves her hand in front of him and he blinks rapidly handing her a bottle, "what kind of website, space cadet?" She asks sliding back on the bed to allow room for him.

Sitting down on the bed next to her, he details exactly what he needs in order to get his 'business' really going.

"You want me to do your homework for you?" She asks raising an eyebrow.

"I can pay you, if you want?" He shrugs and loves the fact that she just rolls her eyes at him, "It's for the FBLA and I just..." He smiles nervously, she isn't buying it for a second and he both loves and hates it.

Things would be so much easier for him if she were as gullible as everyone else.

"If this was really for your rich boy class Veronica would have already begged me to help her."

"So you won't do it?"

She sets the bottle of coke on her nightstand and flips open her laptop.

"I didn't say that..." Her fingers flit across the keyboard doing whatever it is that she needs to do in order to accommodate his needs, "exactly how much trouble would I be in if this was traced back to me?" She asks her eyes looking up at him past a curtain of dark brown and blood red.

He shrugs. He has contingency plans if everything goes sideways.

"I'd take care of it." He tells her and he means to laugh it off so that she won't be worried but it comes out serious, and God what he wouldn't give for Dick's stupid easy charm.

She doesn't look up at him but her fingers stop on the keyboard.

"You could tell me what you're doing... I mean even if it was illegal I wouldn't... I'm not going to...narc on you or anything... I mean as long as you're careful and clean..."

Clean. Ha.

He is now.

But God how cute is she.

"White collar crime only, I swear." He reaches out and, with his fingers, crosses her heart.

The heat of her skin pulsates out at him from beneath her shirt. He's not sure if he's feeling the thump of her heartbeat or his own.

Her hand wraps around his fingers and it pulls his attention up towards her face, the red and brown hair still hanging loose around her face but her eyes are a darker, deeper, blue than he remembered and her face flushed ever so slightly.

He leans forward into her and presses his mouth against the side of her mouth, her jaw line, her neck. He can feel her pulse and the fingers of her free hand grip his side, sliding under his shirt to run hot against his skin.

He leans forward into her and presses his mouth against the side of her mouth, her jawline, her neck. He can feel her pulse and the fingers of her free hand grip his side, sliding under his shirt to run hot against him.

"Are you sure you don't want to be a Bond villain with me?" He asks his lips brushing her skin as he spoke and something in what he was doing was doing it for her because her nails scratched his skin and he could feel her legs moving against his own.

A soft low moan is her answer as his fingers catch on the lace of her bra.

"You'd be very good at it." He continues nipping her skin.

He pushes her backward onto the bed and she falls into the old quilt easily. Pulling him down onto her, he shifts up onto his arms to take the weight off of her.

"I don't know... I'm not sure I could pull off any of that super villain skintight costume shit." She tells him quietly, her eyes focused on his mouth.

Sliding his knees between her legs he shakes his head in disagreement, his mouth on her skin again and every bite is rewarded with the clench of her fingers on his skin and a soft little sound.

"You could wear as much or as little as you want as long as you'd be bad with me." He barely recognizes his own voice, this dark breathy thing that causes her to arch up into him.

God does she like it when he's bad too? They would be the most ineffectual villains in history; they'd be bad for a second, plotting, planning, and he'd spend the rest of the time fucking her. An image of her in a Baroness skintight black and red thing on a desk in front of him, a utility knife in his hand to do away with the outfit... Her chest heaving, eyes dark, mouth wet...

"Cassidy..." His name, breathless in her mouth pulls him rushing back to the present.

She's lying beneath him, a leg up and slung over his hip so that the heat of her is pulsating against the increasing strained denim.

He presses himself against her and God he can remember how tight she had been around his fingers. She's so willing because she arches up into the movement pressing into him, her nails scrapping across his skin.

"Tell me something bad..." His tongue runs up her neck and he can feel her shudder beneath him, "be bad for me." He whispers darkly against her ear and loves the hitch in her breath.

"Last year I broke into the Sinclair's house and stole a first edition from their library." She confessed and he pulled up to look at her properly to judge if she was lying or not.

Her eyes were a dark deep blue and almost indignant, like she dares him to doubt her.

He hadn't been expecting that. He had expected some level of computer deviance but an honest to God B&E?

Using her leg she forced him down to rub roughly against her.

Her name is rough and deep and barely recognizable, his hand moves quickly to her pants and he curses softly as he fumbles with the button zipper combo keeping him away.

Her hands drop from him and push his hand away to rid them of the obstruction.

"Okay maybe you were right about skirts..." She grumbles and the sentence freezes him as he looks down at her.

She's gorgeous, of course, he's fairly certain that there was nothing she could do to make him think otherwise, but her eyes are deep and dark and far away, her hair scattered across the pale pink of the quilt made no doubt with love by a grandmother and she's breathless and he wants her.

Badly.

So so badly because she's been bad and it sets him on fire, but there is no time to do this right.

Not that he really knows how you do this right. He just wouldn't allow Mac to have that same horrible first time story that he did. Okay, there was no way she'd have that, but he didn't want her to have the same first time story that so many girls did; a terrible too quick regretted thing.

He loves her and maybe Dick is right about it not being the same as treating her well, but, damn it, he wasn't going to let Dick be right.

Not about Cindy and him.

"What's the matter?" She asks, her chest moving quickly against his and he can't believe he's doing this, but he rolls off of her.

"It's not right..."

"Did I do som-"

"God, of course not." He cuts her off turning to look at her. How can she even think that? She looks so strangely fragile and it's such a stark difference from the indignant defiance that had been on fire in her dark eyes moments ago that it almost cuts.

She is amazing and too smart and funny and usually so confident, but she is still a teenage girl. According to Dick their natural state was self deprecating.

Okay so he had just said that all girls, no matter how pretty or smart, all think they're stupid and ugly.

You tell the pretty ones they're smart and the smart ones they're pretty.

But yeah.

He reaches out across what feels like a million freezing miles now and tucks a piece of her hair back.

"I just don't want you looking back on this like a Meatloaf song." He reminds her and a soft smile pushes onto her face, "how about some of those video games I promised?"