(For Anne... part 2... :P)

For Lightwoman...May your day be filled with shininess and smut... Happy Birthday!

Sticks and Stones

The Lightman Group had grown silent in the creeping hours of the evening. Cal found himself eerily reminded of the empty rooms and hallways as his rubbered soles gripped to the squeaky clean, tiled floors.

He rubbed his eyes as his tired legs took him the distance needed to stand outside Gillian Foster's office door. He peered through the thick glass door and wrapped his hand around the handle, pulling on it abruptly. He poked his head inside and glanced around the darkening room.

"Foster?"

His voice greeted the empty room, was muffled as it bounced off empty furniture.

He cocked his head as her took a final glance around the room.

Her computer was turned off.

No coat.

He approached her desk, taking a moment to take in the framed photo that resided on the glass top. It caught his eye as something he had not seen before, and as he picked it up, held it in his hands, the smile spread through his features, raised his cheekbones in recognition.

With a drink in hand, a smile on each face, the relaxed features of he and Gillian looked back at him. His arm had wrapped around her so easily that night. He remembered how easily he had taken her in a dance. How innocently her flirtatious tone had lifted him, made it so he was putty in her hands.

Even though he had other things on his mind that night.

Even though the only thing he should have been concentrating on was how to get her home and out of that dress.

He placed the photo back on the desk, being careful to position it exactly as he had found it. He let his fingertips slide over the edge of the frame, felt its textured metal under his touch. He closed his eyes slightly and left the vivid memory of that evening behind.

He reached into his pocket and moved toward her bookcase. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and rifled through them until he found a small key. He lowered the key to a drawer in the bookcase and placed it into the lock. He opened the drawer quickly and looked inside to find it empty.

No purse.

Gillian Foster had left for the evening, without even saying goodbye.

This was a rare occurrence for the good doctor, Cal thought as he closed the drawer, locked it, returning the keys to his pocket.

Gillian Foster was the epitome of orderly, of the expected. She greeted him each morning. Waved goodbye each night, and with the flick of her wrist told him to go home, that "his Emily" was waiting for him. She had the same grande, skinny, triple shot, vanilla latte, every morning. She would bring him his tea.

He sighed and pushed on her door to exit into the hallway.

He thought back to her last encounter with him. The quickening of her movements as she left him standing in the lab with the surprised faces of Torres and Loker looking toward them. He hadn't heard from her the entire afternoon. Not so much as a single gesture was made toward his office.

He rubbed his eyes as he approached the front desk, and turned to a metal box which was on the wall beside the reception's computer. He flicked giant switches and the lights of The Lightman Group slowly turned off one by one.

The day's events and jet-lag were quickly starting to take their effect on him, and he longed for the stillness of his house, the comfortable sheets that awaited his relaxed form. Yes, he thought, for the first time in weeks he was looking forward to the comfort of home.

He left the sinking quiet of The Lightman Group behind him, and pushed through the heavy doors.

His key made a familiar clicking into the lock, and he heard the tumblers release as he pushed open the heavy wood door. The familiar smells of home greeted him merrily, along with a staleness of having gone too long without the opening of a window.

He threw his bag to the floor, not caring where it fell. Emily would not be returning for at least a few days, so he had what little time he had to make his own mess without reaping the wrath of a picky teen.

First, he would shower, he divulged to himself silently; then he would fix some food. He prayed silently that there was at least a can of baked beans in his nearly bare cupboard.

As he approached the stairs and climbed tiredly, he noticed something unfamiliar with his surroundings; something had changed in the air. He approached his door, softly padding his feet across the hall's strip of carpeting and listened carefully. His eyes grew wide in the darkness, and he let his sights adjust to the dim light that moved around his bedroom with each passing car.

Then he heard it. Softly, breathing resonated in a darkened corner. Certainly, he was not alone.

He moved inside the door and reached hesitantly for the light switch.

"The lights stay off," the husky voice of Gillian Foster commanded through the stillness.

"Aye, aye, love," Cal said removing his hand from the wall. "What have we here?" He moved again toward the switch.

"Maybe you didn't hear me?" she ordered, raising her voice slightly. "I said the lights stay off."

"Aye, aye." Cal repeated as something shook within his chest. He raised his hands as if she was holding him at gunpoint. He squinted toward her, tried to make out her form in the shadows of the room, but even as his eyes adjusted quickly, he still could not see her face, could not read her as she had sunk into the black.

And there it was, for only a moment; he heard the rustle of her clothing, the tightness he could only recognise as leather, and the crossing of her legs. The toe of a high-heeled, black boot caught a sliver of moonlight where it streamed through his window.

Pleasure spread through his features quickly, but he blinked it away, unaware if she could see him from her vantage point. Yes, he thought devilishly; this was going to be fun.

"Have a seat," she instructed, and he watched as her toe flicked, as her heel came into view. The leather of her boots made another recognisable creaking sound as they rubbed against each other.

He moved toward the bed and she moved her legs again. The sound was causing the knot in his gut to tighten further and he smiled at the familiar insatiable feeling.

"No," she managed and he heard the hitch in her voice, the hesitation for only a second.

Would she stop this?

He heard her rise from the chair in the corner. He could make out her two feet as they were placed on the floor. Needle thin, stiletto heels dug into the carpeting of his room.

"Here," she said and he watched as a wooden chair moved from the darkness. She loomed over it, was slightly higher than him in her heels now; a height he was unfamiliar with. "Sit," she enforced.

She tossed the chair toward him and it shook on its legs, tilting backward, causing him to have to catch it and place it upright.

"What is this, Foster?" he asked as he slowly moved around to the front of the chair.

She lowered her voice. "I said sit!"

He sat.

"You will speak when spoken to. And only when spoken to."

"Aye, aye."

She emerged fully from the darkness and he saw her for the first time with the help of the moonlight. She was dressed in her knee-length black trench of earlier, and as his eyes trailed the length of her, he discovered that his guess of earlier had been correct. Gracing her legs, her calves as they protruded from beneath the tightly fitted trench, were long, laced-up, leather stiletto boots. She rotated a hip and the silver heel of one boot caught a glint of light.

A wry smile spread across his face and he lifted his head to read her eyes from within the soft curls that tumbled forward to shape her face. He searched and squinted, tried his best, but her once radiant blues were lined with heavy eyeliner and were now smoky, heavy, and dark.

"Now those aren't your typical office attire. Are they, Dr. Foster?"

The slap flew from his left and struck his cheek with enough force to push his head to the side. He had not expected it; was unfamiliar with the weight behind it. He looked up slowly behind heavy eyelids and raised a palm to his cheek.

She took a step forward and leant down to him as he held her eyes. "What did I just tell you?"

He managed a grin again, managed to show a few teeth as he licked his lips, careful not to reveal too much of his desire. "You'll have to do better than that, love."

Slowly, he watched as her lips tighten. Her eyes grew cold and disappeared behind dark, shadowed lids. She leant away from him and waited for him to take a breath.

"That so?" she asked, raising her brow.

"So," he reassured her. "Bit weak, if you ask me."

She was quicker this time and her fist made contact with his jaw, his lower lip. His head snapped and his eyes closed instantly. He rolled his lower jaw, tasted the familiar metallic taste on his tongue.

He looked up slowly as he drew a thumb to his lip and pulled it away to find the crimson liquid clinging to it.

"Better?" she retorted firmly.

He held up his thumb slightly in her direction; a trophy of sorts. "Well, you've got me leaking; if that's what you call better."

"You'll be doing a bit more than leaking once I get through with you."

"Promise."

The horse whip fell from her sleeve and she hit him square across the chest before he had time to blink.

"Oi!" he screamed out and his hands came to his chest to sooth the ache.

She paid no attention to him but placed the leather whip between her teeth and bit down. Her hands moved to the belt that wrapped around her waist, to the buttons that held her within the trench coat. If she was nervous, she showed no sign to him, and with dexterous fingertips, she released the trench to find Cal's mouth opening slightly.

Water pooled in his mouth.

She was standing before him, dressed in the leather corset, knee-high boots, and leather shorts that he had witnessed earlier. The only pieces missing were the long black wig and net stockings. But none of that mattered as his eyes found her breasts, pushed high and plump.

As his eyes traveled her tight curvy form, he was fully aware that the grainy film had not done her justice.

He gazed upon her and tongued his teeth slowly, licking his lips. He willed himself to swallow the hard lump that formed instantly in his throat; breath was proving hard to come by.

"Sweet baby Jesus," he said, releasing a moan as he took her in.

She removed the whip from her mouth. "Jesus Christ, most certainly, has nothing to do with this."

"You sure?" he choked. "Believe I'm due for penance after this one."

She ran the whip through her thumb and index finger, looked down at him as a smirk spread across her face. "That and more. I'm sure."

He shifted in his seat, completely aware of the rising heat in the room, the raging hard-on in his pants. He was struggling with the urge to leap forward, overpower her, knocking her to the floor.

But he would play her game; let her release any demons she felt she possessed. He knew she would eventually crack, break the character that she was presenting. If he had his way, she would crumble to his feet, ache to let him slide into her.

And he would have his way.

"Sure you're up for it, love." He cocked his head to the side. "It's a smashing outfit and all-"

He had missed the tension growing in her face in the darkness; could not tell how quickly he was pressing her buttons.

"I've just about enough of you questioning my authority." Her voice boomed and she jumped forward, knocking him off guard, straddling the chair. She pushed him backward, and drew her whip to place it against his throat heavily.

The chair he was sitting on was now balanced on his two rear legs.

"Is that what this is, love? Payback?"

"You leave me for weeks. You leave me with nothing." Her voice squeaked as the truth spilled from her, but she covered her weakness with the slight clearing of her throat. "And why?" she hissed. "Because you don't trust me. Afraid I'd burn the place down?"

"You know that's not it." He gasped as she pressed the whip tighter against his throat. It was clearly his penalty for being allowed to speak. "You know I didn't want to leave you."

She breathed heavily and he saw the change in her eyes for a fleeting moment. They grew soft and caring in that stillness and he held onto it long enough to let it warm him. He knew she would hide it in an instant, and as she read his recognition, she quickly buried it behind a forceful glare.

"It's my business too." She pushed against him further, and leant to hover her lips by his ear. Her heaving chest was inches from his face. "That is my work, Cal Lightman. Don't forget that."

"But it's my sinking ship, love."

She met his eyes again, and she rolled her eyes dark and brooding over his features. "You've never trusted me. Admit it."

"I won't."

She released his throat and stepped back. He rocked forward on the four legs of the chair and inhaled quickly. It was just long enough to catch a bit of his breath before she pushed the side of his chair knocking him to the floor. He scrambled and turned, looked up to find nothing but black leather as she placed the sole of her boot to his throat.

"Admit it," she commanded.

"I won't."

"Admit it." She was slower with her words and pressed down on his throat until he fought for breath.

He had had enough, and he wrapped both hands tightly around her ankle and pulled, knocking her off balance, causing her come crashing down beside him.

She landed and turned, to find Cal drawing toward her with animalistic instinct. She was no match for his wrestling skills, and she quickly found herself with her back flat against the floor, her legs as her only weapons.

His hands caught hold of her boot as she pressed her heel into his chest. He felt the stiletto dig into his chest and instead of pushing her legs aside, he reached up to take hold of her calf and inched closer to her, digging the metal point further into his chest.

His fingertips inched forward and when they reached the end of the leather boot and made contact with the soft milky skin of her thigh, he felt her succumb slightly, long enough to relax her knee. He took hold of the opportunity allotted to him, and climbed above her as she squirmed for release.

He saw the flash of dark beside him and reached up to stop the whip before it had a chance to make contact again. He ripped it from her hand and threw it across the room.

"I've had just about enough of that," he confessed and took hold of her wrists. He lowered his weight onto her.

He looked down to her heaving chest, to the perfectly white, freckled skin that lined her neck and shoulders. She was beautiful in this weakness, and she had to be enticingly aware of the effect she was having over him; his growing erection pressed into her thigh.

He would have thought she would have given up her fight by now, but with her jaw clenched and her teeth which ground loudly, it was clear she was not giving into his efforts.

"Admit it," she spat. "Fucking admit it."

Now close to her face, he could see the tears of frustration formed in her eyes; could see the struggle within her to keep them from falling.

He loosened his grip on her slightly and allowed her to see his eyes softening.

"I can't, love." he sighed. "'Cause it's not true."

A single tear fell. She shook her head slightly.

"I'd be drowning if it wasn't for you, love. You keep me afloat. You keep me level." He watched as more tears fell from her face to the floor. "I'd be nothing without you. Dead in the water."

She breathed heavily, fought against the weight of him pressed against her body. He released her wrists and reached up to brush the back of his hand against her cheek.

Her eyes found his lips and she licked her own. "Kiss me," she urged.

"You think that's the best-"

"I said, 'Kiss me' damn it!"

So he fell forward, and took her lips gently, taking a few seconds to live within the moment. Her tongue snaked hungrily, was like a torrent within his mouth as she licked, and suckled, urged him forward to meet the speed of her movements. He picked up his pace and rolled from her to rest beside her.

Once free of his weight, her hands gripped to his shirt and she tugged upward, lifting them from the floor. He followed her instructions; the guidance of her tongue which danced with his.

She lifted his t-shirt and scraped her nails on his skin as she pulled it from his body. She kissed his chest hurriedly, traced the contours of his arms, his tattoos, with a single fingernail.

He shuddered under her touch, tried his best to hide it by taking her lips again. He found her chest, kissed and nipped at the curve of her breasts. He dipped his fingers within the leather corset, found her hardened nipples instantly. She gasped slightly, smiled under the pleasure he was causing.

She tasted like honey. She smelled like strawberries. And as his hands grazed over her leather, he relished at every opportunity to touch her skin; to feel the smoothness of her under his fingertips.

His hands fumbled at the back of her corset. His fingers struggled to loop within the tight leather straps binding her within the garment.

"What is this thing?" Cal questioned through his panting. "Fort Knox?"

She covered his mouth with hers and ground her teeth against his lower lip. She drew blood instantly, and he fought back against her as she pushed him onto the bed.

"Ouch!" he cried as he tumbled backward to rest his head on soft feather pillows.

"I've had just about enough of you being a baby, Cal." She grappled on top of him and pounced forward to place a whip against his throat. She toyed with the leather wrapped stick at his throat, ran it carefully over his Adam's Apple, pressing in slightly.

Cal. She had used his name for the first time. The elements of her game were quickly unwinding.

His hands shot up and he wrapped his long, strong fingers around her delicate wrists. She seemed fragile under his touch, yet strong and needy above him.

"Blimey." He gasped under the weight of her force.

"I always carry a backup."

He sighed, caught his breath as she hovered above him. "I thought we were done with the game, the characters, love."

"And what if I'm not?" She leant forward to kiss him again. She licked over his bottom lip, tasted the blood that clung to it.

"I only want Gillian," he confessed.

He felt the whip release from his throat

"What if that isn't what I want?"

"Then what is it that you want?"

She lowered herself to his ear again. He groaned as she adjusted and pushed her body against him. "I want you to fuck me," she divulged and her voice vibrated through her core, shook him gently under her. Her breath was hot and ragged by his ear. "I want my release."

She sat up and lowered her hands down his body, digging in as she trailed his flesh. She found the belt of his jeans and ground her hips against him. He throbbed beneath her, and with the rapid movements rubbing against the thickness of his jeans, she was sending shockwaves to his core.

As she rocked, he lifted her, and rolled her over to rest on her back. Her tousled curls fell around her face, and she gasped as he took hold of her calves.

"You'll get your release, Dr. Foster," he growled, rolling his hands forward to touch the skin of her upper thighs. "As long as we have one ground rule."

She pushed the hair from her face and cocked her head against the pillows. "And what's that?"

He lowered himself to press his lips against her upper thigh, followed his movement by grazing her flesh with his teeth. "These boots stay on."

"Deal."

He released her legs, lowered his hands to his belt and removed it in a single motion, tossing it to the floor. He lowered his jeans, and hopped and wiggled from them.

She bit her lower lip as she watched him, the hunger thick on his face as he slinked toward her and lowered his face to her leg again.

He continued trailing her soft skin and with each nipping of her flesh, he felt her shift and lift her middle as she instructed him onward.

He stopped to look up at her and trailed his hands over the leather shorts, over the corset tied front, and sighed. "How...?"

She reached down, gripped each side of the shorts, and lowered two zippers. Cal watched in amazement as the shorts gave way easily. She released the zippers and removed her hands from Cal's work.

He pressed his lips to her stomach, smiled as she fought for breath above him. Her anticipation was urging him forward to gently lower the leather, making way for new milky skin; more soft, unexplored territory. Her body quivered with each shaky breath, and she gasped as his fingers pushed aside her folds, as he dove into her with a firm tongue and hungry lips.

He was enticingly aware of her desire as he felt the automatic rocking of her hips toward him. She guided him forward as his tongue flicked, as her scent grew intoxicating, and as he suckled, her juices began to flow between his lips.

She writhed against the ache, the hunger, the burning within her, and dipped her heels into the waist band of his boxers. Her thighs tightened with each convulsion, until she burned, spilled over the top.

She cried out his name and reached for his hair to grip it in her fingertips. He panted as he lifted his head from her folds, and he kissed the muscles that quivered at her pelvis.

"Christ. You're fucking delicious." He licked his lips.

She exhaled and released his hair. He heard the smile that spread to her lips. "I thought we agreed to leave Jesus Christ out of this."

He smiled and pressed his cheek to her pelvis, lingered there for a moment taking her in. "Aye, aye. You were calling out my name, if I do so recall."

She was fighting against the heaviness in her legs but they eventually gave out, and she fell limp under his touch. She was weak; had given up all fight.

He rolled his head to look up at her, watched as her eyes closed. He sank his teeth into her, suckled the flesh he had pulled into his mouth.

She squirmed again and saw him looking up at her, watched as he inched forward tracing the lines of her bound body.

"I'm 'bout ready to devour you." He looked down at her corset. "All of you."

She smiled as he lifted his head to meet her eyes again, and her lip trembled as she released the words he wanted to hear. "It has a zipper too, you know."

He took her lips, and their tongues mingled with her musk; sweet and tangy. He followed blindly as she began to unzip the tight garment. He trailed behind, felt her sticky flesh as the leather pulled from her skin. She welcomed the cool air on her hot flesh. The zipper released and she was set free. His mouth instantly moved from her mouth to her hardened nipples.

He kneaded and gripped hungrily at her breasts; covered all he could with quickened kisses, and a warm, wet tongue. His pace was burning strong and he rocked against her, driving his hips downward. He took hold of her and lifted her torso to pull the corset from around her. He tossed it to the floor to pool with their previously discarded clothing. He lowered her back onto the bed and she sank heavily, allowed him to take control.

He merely wanted to take the time to feel her body aligned with his, but the urgency of her passion was causing her fingernails to scrape his skin, her teeth to take hold of his earlobe. She was quickly regaining her power with each heated breath that encased his ear.

She dug her heels into his hips again and slipped into the waist band of his boxers. He was silent while she meticulously, skillfully, lowered them down his legs.

It was his turn to take her earlobe within his teeth, and he suckled, and breathed heavy against her neck. He pressed against her, felt her arch her back in a response to her desire.

"Jesus. Fuck."

"Oi," he cried out sadly, lifting his face from her lobe. "No Jesus."

She smiled and playfully hit his cheek. He turned his head, and quickly turned back to her and beamed devilishly.

"Again," he commanded.

So she hit him again.

"Harder."

She felt him edging toward her now. He rotated his hips, toyed at her opening. She smiled.

The slap was louder this time; the force shook the bed.

He turned back to her and growled, dipped his head to sink his teeth in the soft flesh of her neck. She screamed out, and felt him push slightly into her. His hips fell silent suddenly. His tongue licked where he had bitten her. His lips soothed.

She held her breath and waited but he didn't move any further.

"Fuck you," she spat hurtfully and moved her head away from his tender kisses.

He lifted his head as his brow stitched together. He read the torture on her face. Her eyes darkened; were lined with worry and regret. "Fuck me?"

"It's what I've been trying to do."

He leered at her and dipped his head again, gripped her body tight as she threatened to wriggle away from him. He bit her neck again, and drove into her quickly, paused as she wrapped around him; wet and hot.

She gasped and pushed against his chest. She fought for breath and watched as he lifted his head from her neck to meet her eyes. They waited together while her muscles contracted to accommodate him. He scanned her face, pushed within her until her moans began to keep time with the fluidity of his motions.

The ease of his thrusts quickened; their breath began to unify as sticky bellies began to slap together. He lifted himself to take hold of her legs and wrapped his strong hands around her calves. He licked the leather in a long swipe of his tongue and he caught her satisfied smile from the corner of his eye.

He tightened her legs around him and lifted her slightly to drive deeper within her. The air was now thick with their gasps, her moans, his grunts and the slapping of thighs and hips. He quickened his pace and then slowed it, watched as the lines formed on her features and gave him instruction.

She tightened around him and screamed his name, and he watched the steady motion of her breasts as they rocked with each heavy thrust. He released the tightening he was gripping to and with a few final beats, spilled into her heatedly.

He slowed his rhythm as the ecstasy fell from his face, and he tumbled forward, covering her.

She took delight in his weight blanketing her body, in the stickiness of their skin melded together.

He sighed above her and when he spoke his voice rattled against her chest. "You get your release, darling?"

"Mmmm..." she cooed. "Once or twice."

His fingertips twirled over her breast, played with her sensitive nipple. The pang shot through her, caused her to grimace slightly as the pleasure gripped her middle again.

"You finally getting good use for those boots?"

"How do you know I hadn't planned this from the start?" She ran her nails over his back, along his muscular shoulders. "That this whole thing wasn't just for you."

He suckled her nipple, kissed it tenderly. "You tease me."

She raised her hands from his body. "Guilty as charged."

He lifted himself, pulling their flesh apart. She released a heavy breath as he inched toward her face. He lifted his head to take her lips. It felt natural and he was humbled in the moment. He gripped to it tightly, afraid to let go. Afraid he'd wake up from this fervid dream; alone.

"How 'bout we move this to the shower, love?" He dipped forward to kiss the tip of her nose. "I'm having a hell of a time trying to find my Gillian under all that shadow."

She smiled and leant forward, slowly kissed his lips. "First things first."

"Yes, love."

"Get me out of these boots," she cried; her face contorting. "My feet are killing me."