A/N: So, my ankle is busted, I can't sleep because there's a mouse running around my house and I can hear it, but my muse is having great fun in spite of (or perhaps because of) all of this. The latest result of said fun is this fluffy little Fiesta one-shot; I've placed this in early season five (after episode 1 but before the Flack/Angell kiss). Please read, enjoy and review!

"They're talking about me again," Stella Bonasera grumbled in annoyance as she and Don Flack walked past a group of younger officers on their way out of the apartment that was their latest crime scene.

"Just let it go, Stel," Don suggested.

"It's my life," Stella said. "If I'm going on a date, I don't need the whole of the department knowing about it and taking bets on it, Don."

"Oh, come on, you know they're just…" Don began.

"Donald Flack, I swear to God if I find out that you've been betting on my dates too…" Stella threatened, whirling around to face him.

"Hey, not me," Don said defensively. "I got more class than that, Bonasera. I thought you knew that."

"Just checking," Stella said, still glancing at him warily. "It's different for you, when you go on dates, you get to brag about it and then move on to the next one, and everyone thinks you're a hero. When I go on a date, the whole precinct starts betting on when it's all going to go to hell, and how."

"I don't know, the firefighter don't seem half bad," Don shrugged noncommittally.

"Well, that sounds like a ringing endorsement," Stella said sarcastically.

"I don't know the guy, I can't really say if he's trouble or not," Don said. "I'm just sayin', the way I see it, you only got two choices here."

"And what exactly are my choices?" Stella asked, pausing as she placed her evidence kit in the back of her SUV and turned to face Don again.

"Well, first choice is you stop dating entirely," Don said. "You'd become an old spinster, sure, but it would shut the gossip machine down real fast."

"Doesn't sound too appealing to me, I'm afraid," Stella disagreed. "What's the other choice?"

"Just get over it," Don said. "You gotta accept that people are gonna talk and no matter what you do or say, you can't control what they're gonna talk about."

"That's not entirely true," Stella said skeptically.

"Sure it is," Don said. "If people wanna talk about your date with this Walsh guy, Stella, nothin' you do is gonna get 'em talkin' about anything else."

"I disagree," Stella said.

"Do you now?" Don asked. "And just how strong do you feel about that?"

"What do you mean?" Stella asked in confusion.

"Twenty bucks says nothin' you do today can stop the precinct from talkin' about your big date," Don suggested.

Stella paused for a moment, a slight smirk crossing her lips as an idea occurred to her.

"Make it fifty," she countered confidently.

"It's a deal, then," Don said, sticking out his hand to shake on it. "I think I'm gonna get me a steak tonight with that fifty bucks."

"I wouldn't count on it," Stella said. "You headed back to the precinct?"

"Yup," Flack nodded. "Call me when you got somethin'…and good luck, Bonasera, you're gonna need it."

Stella paused inside the entryway to the bullpen, nervously fingering the hem of her halter top. Part of her thought – no, was certain – that this plan was a bad one, full of unforeseen consequences and complications. The other part of her, the bigger part, knew that she would never back out. If there was one thing Stella Bonasera took great pride in, it was the fact that she was no quitter, and it was going to take something bigger than some stupid fifty dollar bet for Don Flack to beat her.

Taking a final breath to steady herself, she pulled back her shoulders, pushed open the door and confidently strode into the bullpen, making a beeline for the desk where Don was hunched over a case report.

"Interesting reading, Flack?" Stella asked, carefully positioning herself so that she was leaning against the edge of his desk, just to the right of his chair.

"Come to…" Don's voice trailed off as he glanced up, catching sight of Stella for the first time that evening. Her hair was swept back away from her face, a few soft tendrils hanging loose to frame her face. Her jeans hugged at her hips in all the right places, seemingly tailor-made to accentuate her curves – not that the red halter top and black heels that completed the outfit were doing her any disservice either.

"Problem, Flack?" Stella asked with a knowing smirk.

"Wha…no, no problem," Don stammered slightly. "You, uh, you look real good tonight, Stel."

"Thank you," Stella said. "You probably haven't heard, but I have a date with this great firefighter in about half an hour."

"Mighta heard something to that effect, yeah," Don said. "So, day's practically over. You come to pay up?"

"No, I came to collect," Stella said.

"Hate to break it to ya, Bonasera, but they're still talkin'," Don said.

"For now," Stella said. "But I won't collect for another…oh, thirty seconds or so, maybe forty-five."

"How's…" Don began, his questioning protest instantly silenced as Stella's hands found their way to his shoulders, pushing him back against his chair as she leaned over and pressed her lips firmly against his. Don's first instinct was to press away, but as Stella's tongue played against his lips, fighting for entry, he felt reason fast slipping away and carnal instinct kicking in.

Wrapping an arm tightly around her waist, Don pulled her closer to him, practically into his lap, as his other hand found its way to the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her curls. When he finally parted his lips and Stella's tongue glided gently across his teeth, he recognized the utter inappropriateness of thinking of God at that moment, but sent up a silent prayer that the feeling would never end anyway.

Breathlessly pulling back, her arms still firmly planted on his shoulders, both Stella and Don stared at each other for a moment, their breath coming in ragged spurts as they both struggled to reintroduce oxygen to their lungs.

"Well," Stella muttered, leaning back and straightening her top, carefully extracting herself from Don's lap. "That…that should do it, I guess."

"Wha…?" Don asked, his mind still racing a mile a minute to try to catch up with what had happened.

"I think I'll collect in the morning, Detective," Stella said, grabbing her purse from the side of his desk and turning to walk away from Don, leaving him staring open-mouthed at her retreating form.

The door hadn't even fully closed behind her when it started – hurried, excited voices whispered to one another; cell phones flew from pockets and anxious fingers typed out frantic text messages to friends and colleagues; people darted out of the room to find the nearest random stranger they could share the news with.

Just as Stella had predicted, by the time she was standing on the curb, hailing a cab to take her to her date, Brendon Walsh was the furthest thing from anyone's mind.

She just hadn't expected that that would include her own.