![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kathierif_ficTitle: Like a prayer
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kathierif_fic
Fandom: CSI:NY
Pairing: Mac Taylor/Stella Bonasera
Rating: FRM
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit.
Warnings: het
Word Count: 1037
Summary: She could never get enough of the sight of him on his knees in front of her.
Author’s Notes: Written for![[community profile]](https://s.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kink_bingo, prompt: worship.
When Mac kneeled down next to the bed, between her outstretched legs, and looked up with an air of complete devotion lurking deep in his eyes, under the determination and the integrity that made out so much of his character, all Stella could do was swallow against the sudden dryness of her throat and nod wordlessly.
What was she supposed to tell him? Usually, she had no problem holding her own, but right now, she was at a loss for words. The expression on Mac's face was so open, so honest, and so much naked adoration that it literally took her breath away.
Mac's lips flickered into a brief smile - a smile that looked almost thankful, she thought while a shudder ran down her spine and made goose bumps rise on her arms. He was thanking her for letting him touch her, and it made her feel powerful and strong and in control of the situation, a mixture of emotions she'd grown to crave after Frankie.
After Drew.
She knew that it probably wasn't healthy, but in moments like this one, she could allow herself to be who she was and trust the man she was with. Mac wasn't like the others - he treated her with respect, and when they weren't working, he treated her with even more respect - it was almost devotion, she realized.
Mac was still on his knees, and a part of her wanted to reach out and tell him to get up, to get on the bed and take her in his strong arms, hold her and kiss her and let just the tips of his fingers stroke the nape of her neck, under the tangled mass of her curls, like he used to do when they were tangled together and just drifting to sleep, but another part of her enjoyed seeing him like that: on the blank hardwood floor, dressed in only his pants, his hands on her bare legs, slowly moving up her calves, as if he didn't dare moving faster - as if he feared she might pull away from his grasp if he was too forward, something that had to be avoided at all costs.
Mac pressed his lips against the side of her left knee. She felt the brush of his tongue, hot and slick, against her skin for a split second, and then he was moving again, slowly but surely, until his fingertips were brushing against the lace and silk of her panties.
Stella made an impatient sound at the back of her throat and arched her back, to press herself more fully against his touch and to make him continue, but Mac simply leaned over her and pressed his mouth against her panties. She could feel him breathe through the thin layer of fabric, warm and moist, and it made her arch her back again and reach down herself.
His hair was too short to really grip, and it wasn't really her intention to guide him. Despite his reverence, he knew what he was doing, once he actually got to it, and Stella never even remotely considered the option of breaking the trust between them - she trusted him not to hurt her, and he did the same, in a way.
It probably was the thing that set this relationship apart from any other she'd ever had - the mutual respect and love, grown from a friendship that had held for years.
Mac finally hooked his fingertips into her panties and tugged them down, inch by inch, and she didn't find it in her to be impatient by his slow progress since he pressed his lips against every spot of newly exposed skin. He was methodical, gentle, and still on her knees, and that alone was enough to make Stella shudder with arousal.
Finally, her panties were past her knees, and she shook them off, with his help, and leaned up on her elbows, to watch him watch her, his eyes drawn inevitably to the area between her spread legs. His throat moved as he swallowed thickly, and then his eyes flickered up to her face again and his lips moved, but no sound escaped.
She had a pretty good idea what it was he wanted to ask, and she nodded and relaxed back into the pillows while he gave her another look that was so incredibly grateful, and then, he slowly lowered his head between her legs.
She'd expected the slick touch of his tongue, but it still came as a shock. Arousal raced along her nerve endings like electricity, and her breath hitched. His tongue knew exactly how to drive her wild, with quick, short licks and slow, languid touches.
After a while, she lost awareness if he spelled out something with the tip of his tongue against her core. She was still very aware of every puff of breath against her flesh, of every little exhalation, of the sound of slick flesh on slick flesh, the touch of his tongue on her, but she was too aroused to concentrate. If he wanted to spell chemical compounds out, she wouldn't care, as long as he didn't stop pressing his tongue carefully against her, into her, while his hands were framing her hips and his thumbs gently stroking over the skin stretched across her hipbones. She was flying high; high and higher, her legs both trying to fall apart further to give him more room and to tighten around him, pulling him close and holding him against her, and when orgasm overwhelmed her, it came suddenly and with a force that surprised her and made her speechless.
He pulled back after a moment, when her white-knuckled grip on his shoulder eased and she relaxed back into the pillows after arching into his touch in her orgasm, every tense muscle and sinew slowly relaxing into the slow, languid haze of post-orgasm. She managed to lift her head and look at him - he was still on his knees, looking up at her, his eyes shining happily while he wiped his palm over his mouth, and she laughed and pulled him up with nothing more than the touch of her fingertips against his shoulder.
~end.
Author:
kathierif_ficFandom: CSI:NY
Pairing: Mac Taylor/Stella Bonasera
Rating: FRM
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit.
Warnings: het
Word Count: 1037
Summary: She could never get enough of the sight of him on his knees in front of her.
Author’s Notes: Written for
kink_bingo, prompt: worship. When Mac kneeled down next to the bed, between her outstretched legs, and looked up with an air of complete devotion lurking deep in his eyes, under the determination and the integrity that made out so much of his character, all Stella could do was swallow against the sudden dryness of her throat and nod wordlessly.
What was she supposed to tell him? Usually, she had no problem holding her own, but right now, she was at a loss for words. The expression on Mac's face was so open, so honest, and so much naked adoration that it literally took her breath away.
Mac's lips flickered into a brief smile - a smile that looked almost thankful, she thought while a shudder ran down her spine and made goose bumps rise on her arms. He was thanking her for letting him touch her, and it made her feel powerful and strong and in control of the situation, a mixture of emotions she'd grown to crave after Frankie.
After Drew.
She knew that it probably wasn't healthy, but in moments like this one, she could allow herself to be who she was and trust the man she was with. Mac wasn't like the others - he treated her with respect, and when they weren't working, he treated her with even more respect - it was almost devotion, she realized.
Mac was still on his knees, and a part of her wanted to reach out and tell him to get up, to get on the bed and take her in his strong arms, hold her and kiss her and let just the tips of his fingers stroke the nape of her neck, under the tangled mass of her curls, like he used to do when they were tangled together and just drifting to sleep, but another part of her enjoyed seeing him like that: on the blank hardwood floor, dressed in only his pants, his hands on her bare legs, slowly moving up her calves, as if he didn't dare moving faster - as if he feared she might pull away from his grasp if he was too forward, something that had to be avoided at all costs.
Mac pressed his lips against the side of her left knee. She felt the brush of his tongue, hot and slick, against her skin for a split second, and then he was moving again, slowly but surely, until his fingertips were brushing against the lace and silk of her panties.
Stella made an impatient sound at the back of her throat and arched her back, to press herself more fully against his touch and to make him continue, but Mac simply leaned over her and pressed his mouth against her panties. She could feel him breathe through the thin layer of fabric, warm and moist, and it made her arch her back again and reach down herself.
His hair was too short to really grip, and it wasn't really her intention to guide him. Despite his reverence, he knew what he was doing, once he actually got to it, and Stella never even remotely considered the option of breaking the trust between them - she trusted him not to hurt her, and he did the same, in a way.
It probably was the thing that set this relationship apart from any other she'd ever had - the mutual respect and love, grown from a friendship that had held for years.
Mac finally hooked his fingertips into her panties and tugged them down, inch by inch, and she didn't find it in her to be impatient by his slow progress since he pressed his lips against every spot of newly exposed skin. He was methodical, gentle, and still on her knees, and that alone was enough to make Stella shudder with arousal.
Finally, her panties were past her knees, and she shook them off, with his help, and leaned up on her elbows, to watch him watch her, his eyes drawn inevitably to the area between her spread legs. His throat moved as he swallowed thickly, and then his eyes flickered up to her face again and his lips moved, but no sound escaped.
She had a pretty good idea what it was he wanted to ask, and she nodded and relaxed back into the pillows while he gave her another look that was so incredibly grateful, and then, he slowly lowered his head between her legs.
She'd expected the slick touch of his tongue, but it still came as a shock. Arousal raced along her nerve endings like electricity, and her breath hitched. His tongue knew exactly how to drive her wild, with quick, short licks and slow, languid touches.
After a while, she lost awareness if he spelled out something with the tip of his tongue against her core. She was still very aware of every puff of breath against her flesh, of every little exhalation, of the sound of slick flesh on slick flesh, the touch of his tongue on her, but she was too aroused to concentrate. If he wanted to spell chemical compounds out, she wouldn't care, as long as he didn't stop pressing his tongue carefully against her, into her, while his hands were framing her hips and his thumbs gently stroking over the skin stretched across her hipbones. She was flying high; high and higher, her legs both trying to fall apart further to give him more room and to tighten around him, pulling him close and holding him against her, and when orgasm overwhelmed her, it came suddenly and with a force that surprised her and made her speechless.
He pulled back after a moment, when her white-knuckled grip on his shoulder eased and she relaxed back into the pillows after arching into his touch in her orgasm, every tense muscle and sinew slowly relaxing into the slow, languid haze of post-orgasm. She managed to lift her head and look at him - he was still on his knees, looking up at her, his eyes shining happily while he wiped his palm over his mouth, and she laughed and pulled him up with nothing more than the touch of her fingertips against his shoulder.
~end.