"What's your fantasy?" Stella asks, and takes another sip of her beer. Flack looks at her in surprise.

"Fantasy?" he says. "What, you mean like the two girls in the hot tub who just have to have me right now? I don't do that kinda elaborate shit. Makes me feel silly."

"So, what then?" she says. "When you want to get off, you just..."

"I mean, I think about sex, don't get me wrong. I just don't bother with any detailed scenarios. I...you know, I think of something hot." He shrugs. "Whatever catches my fancy at the time."

"All right," she says. Actually, she's not surprised.

"How 'bout you, princess?" he asks.

"Well..." She studies her beer. "I guess I'm sort of the same way. Dreaming up anything too elaborate just makes me feel silly. It's not me." And these days, it also brings up too much regret, but she doesn't tell him that. This evening isn't supposed to be about dwelling on the past; instead, like all the evenings she's spent with Flack in the past couple of months, it's a giant fuck you to the idea of letting what's happened to them this year drag them down.

Stella spent almost the entire summer brooding in her locked apartment whenever she wasn't at work or taking out her aggression on the punching bag at the gym, and she'll be damned if she's going to lose the fall to doing the same.

Fortunately, when Flack came back to work, he seemed to feel the same, and they've spent a series of nights since then getting to know each other better. She settles her back more comfortably against the arm of the couch, glancing around Flack's surprisingly tidy living room as she tries to think how to rephrase her question. Flack just sits there, drinking his beer and smirking at her; she suspects that he knows exactly what she wants to ask, but is determined to take his own sweet time about answering.

"Okay," she says. "Let me put it another way: what are you kinky about?"

It's satisfying to watch Flack almost choke on his beer. Gotcha, she thinks, smiling, and waits for him to recover.

"Kinky?" he says. "What makes you think I'm kinky in the first place? I'm a total straight arrow."

Stella is glad that she's not taking a drink when he says this, because if she had been, it would be her turn to choke on her beer right now. As it is, it's a few seconds before she can form a coherent sentence, and Flack sits watching as she laughs, tapping his fingers against his leg and managing to look both pissed off and amused at the same time.

"Oh, please," she says at last. "You're completely bent, as I can testify from personal experience."

"Bullshit."

"Oh yeah?" She leans toward him. "What would you call your penchant for getting it on in the back of your squad car? Or the way your eyes light up when I grab your handcuffs?"

Flack shrugs. "That's just, you know, a thing."

"A thing?"

"Yeah, a thing."

"You have a total cop fetish."

"And what if I do?" He leans in close, stroking a hand along her leg. "Looks like I'm in the right profession, then. And it works out pretty nicely for you."

"I don't deny that." It has, too; she hasn't let him handcuff her yet - she hasn't been ready for that and he hasn't asked - but she'd been shocked at the depth of her own arousal the first time he'd shown her the cuffs and told her she could do what she wanted. Aroused, she thinks, remembering the sight of him stretched out in bed, looking up at her with parted lips, his wrists pinioned above his head, and then just as unexpectedly moved. He'd trusted her, and he'd helped her start to regain something that night: a sense of control that she'd been sorely lacking.

She doesn't know if that had been his conscious intention, but that was how it'd worked out, and it's only one of the reasons she's been accepting more and more of his invitations to spend the night with him.

"Anyway, big deal," she says to him now. "I could have guessed cop fetish from the first time I met you."

"Oh, could you now?" he asks. His hand moves along her calf.

"Sure." She sets her beer down on the coffee table. "I'm not talking about that now. I'm talking about the secret kinks you almost never tell anyone about. Not unless you think they'll go for it."

Something flickers in Flack's eyes, but he says, "I don't think I have anything like that."

Stella is about to protest, but he goes on. "Anyway, what are we talking about me for? Why don't we talk about all of your hidden kinks, Detective Bonasera?"

"All in good time," she says. "Right now it's about you."

"I don't know." His fingers circle her ankle lightly, pressing against her Achilles tendon.

"But there is something."

He grins at her, but his eyes are nervous. "Sure there is."

"Is it illegal?"

"Not that I know of," he says.

"So are you going to tell me or what?" she says.

Flack looks away from her and keeps tracing little circles on her ankle. "You know, I really liked the shoes you were wearing yesterday," he says. "They were these little black boots, had this great heel on them, and you were swaggering along in them like you had the key to the city."

Stella frowns at him. "Well, that's one hell of a change of subject, Flack," she says. "If you - "

"Actually, it's really not."

" - don't want to talk about it, you could just say so, instead of - wait. What?" She stops talking as his most recent words begin to sink in.

"Really not a change of subject, Stella." He looks at her like he's waiting for her to get it.

"Since when do you notice my shoes, anyway?" She pauses, thinking, then says, "Oh."

"Took you long enough."

"You have a shoe fetish?" she says.

"Close," he says.

"A foot fetish?"

He nods. "Yeah. And so help me God, Bonasera, if you laugh at me, I'll - "

"Ease up already." She puts a hand on his arm. "I don't deny I'm a little surprised, but do you see me laughing?"

"No," he says.

"So. Foot fetish. That's a classic," she says. "I'm intrigued," and she realizes as she says it that she really is, that she's not just telling him this to protect his ego.

"You don't think it's sick?" he asks.

"Considering some of the shit we've seen, are you kidding?" she says. "A nice, harmless little foot fetish is like a walk in the park - get it?"

"Real fucking cute, Stella."

"I thought so." She stretches her legs out and settles her feet in his lap, watching how his gaze follows her movements. "So tell me more."

"What's to tell?" he says. "I just think a person's feet are - you know. Some guys are into tits or ass or legs. And I like all of those things, too. Just, when a woman's all barefoot, or in a good pair of heels..." His voice trails off.

"So you like to watch me walk in heels."

"Oh, yeah." She doesn't think Flack is aware of the way his face lights up. "Some women don't know how to walk in 'em, you know? But you just do it like you were born to it."

"It takes practice," she says with a smile.

"And your bare feet are fucking great to look at."

"You've noticed, then?"

"Sure I have."

She rubs her foot against his knee, and he bites his lip. "So how does a man indulge his foot fetish?"

"Well, it's not like I've taken a survey," he says. "But I could show you what I like."

"Sure." Her feet are clean, she thinks, and she even had a pedicure last weekend.

He kisses her first; kisses her and caresses her like he would on any other night. She kisses him back, and this is all easy and familiar and exciting, his big hands confident on her body. It's not until she's sitting on the edge of the couch in her bra and bikini briefs and Flack is kneeling in front of her in his undershirt and suit pants that he looks up at her and she sees anxiety in his eyes again.

"Don't look so worried," she says, and touches his cheek.

"Worried? I'm not fucking worried. Just...you'll tell me if it makes you uncomfortable, right?"

Stella feels her heart beat a little harder. "Of course I will," she says.

"Good." He draws in a breath. "All right then."

She's not sure what she was expecting - she hasn't had a chance to consider any of this in detail - but all Flack does at first is cup one of her feet between his hands, and then start to massage the instep, his thumb moving slowly over the curve.

"You know," she says after a few moments, "if this fetish of yours involves regular massages, I could definitely get into this."

Flack smiles. "I guess you could call that a side benefit," he says. His fingers press into the ball of her foot.

"So have you ever done this with anyone else from work?" she asks.

"No way," he says. "Have you ever seen Messer's feet? Not exactly fantasy material."

Stella laughs. "Good point," she says. Somehow she can't quite picture it.

Flack continues to massage her foot, working his way along the arch at a steady pace. He sits with his head bowed and so she can't see his face, but it's quiet in the room then, and she can hear him take an occasional sharp breath. It feels good, and she stops talking after that, letting herself concentrate on what he's doing, on the movement of his hands and the way his strokes get slower and slower, deeper as he presses his fingers into her.

Time goes by, and she almost forgets that there has to be more to this than just one of the best foot massages she's ever gotten in her life; she's really not thinking about anything much except the way it feels when Flack raises his head again and flashes her one of his dangerous smiles. His eyes are wide and dark. "Okay?" he asks.

"Very okay," she says.

"Good." He's still cupping her foot in one hand when he bends down and kisses the instep. She gasps a little but doesn't move, and then he's pressing a series of soft kisses all along her instep and arch and the ball of her foot, soft quick kisses that take her completely by surprise, as much because it's a new sensation as because she always manages to forget how gentle he really is, how gentle he can be. His mouth is cool and dry, and his fingers dig into her a little where he's holding her, like he's trying to continue the massage even as he kisses her. His breath is hot against her skin, and there's no regular pattern to the way it falls against her, no in-and-out metronome of breath; it comes raggedly, like he's breathing harder now, maybe on the verge of gasping.

Stella isn't sure how she feels about this: it doesn't bother her at all, and the massage is nice; so are the kisses. But she has a feeling that she's not getting something out of it the way Flack is. She doesn't feel the same spark of desire she felt when they were kissing before, or when he was taking off her clothes, running his hands over her breasts and belly and thighs.

That's okay, she decides. It's his fantasy, after all, his little twist, and that he's enjoying it is what counts right now. She had expected it would be wilder, somehow, more erotic or at least a little less...safe-feeling, that's all.

But she's willing to go where he leads with this, and just as she's thinking that, Flack's tongue slips across her toes, and her eyes go wide.

It's a new sensation, even more than his kisses were, and after the initial moment of surprise fades, she gives herself over to it, trying to concentrate both on how it feels and how it's making her feel. His tongue is wet and slippery-hot, and his mouth moves over her foot as he continues to massage her heel. He's sucking on her, and now his fingers slide up her instep again, no longer pressing, but stroking. The suction tugs at something deep inside her, little nerves fluttering to life between her legs and in the pit of her stomach, and she hears herself make a soft little sound in the back of her throat without quite meaning to.

Flack stops what he's doing and sits back when he hears that, and he looks up at her. "I don't - " he starts to say. His eyes are glassy now, face flushed.

"You don't need to stop," she says, and puts a hand on his hair.

He looks surprised for just a moment, but then smiles and bends his head. Stella finds herself scooting closer to Flack so that she's halfway leaning over him, trying to get closer without actually falling off the edge of the couch. She puts her other foot on the floor for balance, anchoring it between his spread knees, and as she does she looks down. She can see the outline of his erection clearly against his pants, and his tongue slips along the arch of her foot. His teeth scrape at her instep.

Oh yes, she thinks, and realizes that she's going to have to get him to stop in order to do what she has in mind now, because otherwise she really is going to fall off the goddamn couch. "Flack," she says, and then, "Don," and he looks up at that at last. She wants to moan again at the sudden loss of sensation, but she holds back.

"What?" he says, looking worried.

"Just stay there," she says, and he looks puzzled - then moans when she slides her foot up his leg.

"Jesus."

"Good?" she asks, and puts one hand on his shoulder for balance, just to be sure.

"Yes." He's watching her closely, she thinks, and she edges her foot along his thigh. He's still holding her other foot in his hand, and his grip tightens on her.

He moans out loud when her foot touches his erection, and she can feel him getting even harder as he presses into her. "Oh Jesus," he says again. "Stella..."

She's caught some of his excitement vicariously, or the unexpected sensation of his tongue on her foot has done it for her; more likely it's some combination of the two, and she can hear her own ragged breaths as she sits there and as he rubs himself shamelessly against her. His fingers tighten on her again and she clutches at his shoulder, leaving little half-moons of red everywhere her fingernails dig into him.

Flack sits back suddenly, breathing hard. "I can't wait any longer - I'm gonna - " He stops abruptly and stands up, then catches her around the waist, pulling her up against him. He kisses her deeply and she lets her mouth fall open under his, and he sucks her tongue to his as he nuzzles at her lips. "I gotta..." He fumbles with the back of her bra, and she shoves it off, reaches for his undershirt and then lets him toss it aside.

She's working at the zipper of his pants when she hears her bikini briefs tear, the little strings that go across her hips popping under Flack's eager fingers. It doesn't matter at all, one less barrier between the two of them. He sheds his pants in one movement along with his boxers, and then she reaches for him, fondling his cock between both of her hands, let her fingers slip the length of his shaft. He's hard, tense, the skin there as hot as his tongue was on her foot a little while ago. He moans again and then breaks off their kiss, bending his head to suck at one of her nipples for just a moment before he pushes her down to the couch and then kneels over her.

"So fucking good," he whispers, and flicks his tongue across the cup of her navel before spreading her legs.

"Come on," she whispers, and slides her foot up the back of his calf, and he gasps and jolts against her, then nudges her thighs farther apart, and she wraps one leg around his waist.

He's already close when he thrusts into her, but so is she, and when he brings a hand down between their bodies to stroke her clitoris, she arches up into him with a moan. The orgasm hits her like a bullet and she lifts her hips off the couch, pushing herself into his body, up into his hand, her fingers digging into his back as she tries to pull him deeper into her. Then it's over and she's still gasping as she watches him come, watches his mouth fall open and his head go back, tendons standing out on his neck as he groans.

He moves inside her, gradually slowing to a stop, and lets his head fall to her collarbone, breathing hard. Stella wraps her arms around him and holds on. Her thighs are still shaking.

"Thank you," Flack whispers after awhile, and kisses the curve of her breast. When she doesn't say anything, he raises his head. "I mean it. Thank you. That was..."

She smiles. "No need to thank me. It was fun."

A little of the nervousness is back in his eyes. "So you'd do it again?"

"Yeah." Now she knows a new way to make him crazy, she thinks, or at least a way to distract the hell out of him. She'll have to wear her highest heels to work one day soon, and make sure he notices.

Flack grins. "Looks like I'm gonna have to return the favor, then."

"What did you have in mind?" she asks.

"Oh..." He shifts his weight off her, stretching. "Later on I'm just gonna have to lick you 'till you can't think straight. That kinda thing."

"Really," she says, trying to match his casual tone.

"Yeah." He leans down until his lips are just barely brushing hers. "Get my tongue inside you where you're all nice and wet. Sound good?"

God bless NYPD men and their oral fixations. "Not bad," she says.

"In the meantime, though, we've got some other things to take care of."

"We do?" Stella asks.

Flack twines his fingers through her hair. "Yeah. You still need to show me exactly where your libido is kinked, Detective Bonasera."

Stella hesitates. Can she stand to expose herself like that? Cuffs are nothing compared to what he's asking her, and she tries to anticipate what he might say or do. She looks up into Flack's face, and he's watching her closely: not, she realizes, with possessiveness or a predatory air, but with desire and curiosity, and not a little concern.

Flack. She remembers him kneeling in front of her earlier, and then she remembers him embracing her in the hospital last spring, the warmth of his lips on her cheek. He'd been a friend to her when she badly needed one; she'll never regret that, and even so she wonders if the cost wasn't too much for both of them.

Right now, if she turned her head just a little, she'd be able to see the scar on his stomach. He'd done a self-conscious striptease the first time they'd gone to bed together, and she'd stroked his chest and said Does it hurt? before she let her hand drift lower. Flack had shaken his head and then moaned when she touched the raised, uneven ridges of the scar, but then had pressed his fingers over hers and kept her hand there until she'd bowed her head and let her lips touch it, too, and he'd quivered under her mouth.

He'd kissed the tips of her fingers until she could think of that first, could think of Flack with his mouth on her hands when she looked at them, instead of razor blades.

Stella reaches up and cups Flack's face in one hand. "Let's go to the bedroom," she says, and pulls him down into a kiss.