embedded | For Homer

"Sweetheart, I ain't even gotten started yet," he says, smirking, catching his weight on one hand, the other still between her legs, as he leans up to kiss her. He doesn't bother wiping his mouth.

Mac has never particularly minded the taste considering it's her and what happened before felt so damned good and she doesn't mind it now. She slides a hand up to cup the back of his head and bring him a little closer, deepening the kiss.

"You are actually going to kill me, then."

"It'd be a helluva way to go, darlin,'" he says, settling more neatly between her thighs. He's not ready to go again, not yet, but it's not going to be that long. "You want to know what I think?"

"Hmm? What's that?"

Mac's a lot less tightly wound than she'd been before because she's had an orgasm and a chance to just get to know him a little better (not that she didn't know him before - but being naked with someone is a whole other kettle of fish) and she's relaxed and calm.

"I think," he says, rolling his hips down against hers, shifting his weight, "That you liked when I told you what to do and you liked when I touched you like I did, and you ain't got no idea what to do with that."

"Well, of course I liked it. I screamed like a banshee a minute ago. I think I might have made myself go deaf." It's all deflection, because he's very much right. She has absolutely no idea what to do with any of that.

"I'm not...kinky or anything. I just like regular sex. I'm not into the whips and chains and corsets and all that nonsense. I don't want you to get the wrong idea."

"Screamed like a banshee," he echoes, laughing, bending his head to drop a kiss on her mouth. "And I ain't talkin' about any of that, darlin'. I'm just talkin' about the sort of things that might happen here, between a man and a woman. Like I said before - aren't any rules here."

"No, no rules. I abhor rules." It's nonsense because she is deflecting. She decides to be honest with him about this because it is somewhat important.

"I really, really liked it. But it makes me very nervous that I did?"

"Nervous?" he asks, propping himself up on his elbows so he can look down at her. He's not sure that anything about sex has ever made him nervous, not even the first time. "You got any idea why?"

"Because I'm not supposed to like being told what to do and giving head and having my hair pulled and all that. It's very anti-feminist."

Mac guesses what she likes in the privacy of her own bedroom shouldn't matter to anyone, just as he said, but she doesn't like feeling judged - even if she's the one doing the judging.

He thinks about that for a second, genuinely musing it over, can't help but think of Susan.

"If it don't sit with you, we can steer well clear," he says. "I'm at your beck and call, Ma'am."

"Maybe I'm not supposed to like it but I <i>do," Mac clarifies. "I like it a lot. So...if it's something you like and don't think I'm ridiculous for liking it, I'm...open to exploring it a little more?"

Jackson likes just about everything, but he doesn't necessarily see the point in explaining that.

"No whips, no chains, no corsets," he says, counting it off on his fingers. "But you liked when I pulled your hair while you had my cock in your mouth and you definitely liked what I did with my hand just then, right?"

"Well...corsets might be all right. That's what they wear back home for you, right? I could do that," Mac decides. But she's not going for any of the rest of it, not when she can have things she actually does like instead.

"Hair pulling and...whatever that thing you did was, yes. Absolutely. All the time."

"I know you've got a dirty mouth," he says, still musing, hand sliding down the length of her thigh. "And you definitely didn't mind following a few orders, did you?" He gives her thigh a light smack and rolls away from her. "C'mon. Get on top."

"My mouth is filthy. My parents sent me to boarding school in England," Mac explains, shifting so she can settle on top of him. "And you cannot possibly imagine what good little English girls get up to in boarding school."

It's probably not all that different from American girls but Mac thinks possibly some of the charm of her saying fuck all the time is that she has a deceptively-sweet voice.

"I've lived in England for three years. I can imagine what good little English girls get up to," he says, both hands sliding over her ass. "But you can feel free to tell me, anyhow."

"Drinking, smoking, fucking. The usual," Mac confirms, smiling down at him. "Do you want details?"

"I'd like details on the fucking," he says, grinning, still fondling her ass lazily. "I can imagine the rest."

"My first wasn't very good but I did have a memorable affair with a professor when I was young and impressionable."

Mac is aware it's been years since she was either of those things but it was all in good fun, right?

"Mmmmmm," he says, grinning, fingers brushing against her tailbone. "You like the idea of being a bad girl, huh?"

"A little," Mac concedes. She is well aware that she is probably on the opposite end of that spectrum.

"Are you into that?"

"I could be," he admits, letting his hands wander, getting more and more in a position to do something more to her. "What you got?"

Mac is embarrassed now she's on the spot and she can't think of anything to say. She flounders a bit, flustered, and shakes her head.

"I don't know. What do you like? I can be what you like."

"You don't have to be anything for me," he says, rubbing his fingers over that bone again, looking up at her. "Not unless it gets you hot."

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