PART: 2 of ??
RATING: NC-17
(Explicit Heterosexual Sexual Activity, Pos. kink, Adult thematic material,
language, adult content)
PAIRING(s): S/C; incidental L/L and F/E
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CATEGORY: Romance, Drama
FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!
SETTING IN TIMELINE: Post-Show canon; takes place in 1978,
when everyone is roughly forty.
SPOILLER/SUMMARY: Carmine and Shirley try to pick up the
pieces of their failed romantic lives by returning to what they know best...
NOTES: We need some S/C in this house...
***
Carmine tried to make his jaw work but his body had been
temporarily possessed by the soul of Yarnell.
Shirley smiled blankly at him, he smiled blankly at her, and neither of
them moved for a few minutes.
Finally, she grimaced.
"Can I please come in? I
haven't worn heels since 1967."
Instantly, he gestured that she should. Crossing the room on her very sharp spikes,
Shirley walked like a svelte tigress over to the easy chair he'd set up before
the glass coffee table. With a wriggle
worthy of Roxy LaToure, she sat down in the chair and crossed her legs.
Shy as he hadn't been in a long time, Carmine watched her
make herself comfortable in his domain.
Before he could stop himself, he remarked, "you lost some
weight."
She grimaced slightly, and he berated himself for saying the
stupidest things. "It wasn't
intentional; I have to eat cheaply nowadays because I'm not making a lot of
money at the veterinary clinc. That's
only because it's a trainee position."
Shirley always did love animals. Feeling more in his element, Carmine picked
up one of the wine goblets and poured a half-glass for her. "Wow, they must have great vacation
pay..."
She shook her head.
"The job's in
The wine found its way onto the table and rug. Muttering a few curses beneath his breath, He
rushed over to the closet situated near the back of the motel room, opened it,
then grabbed a roll of paper towels and unspooled a small pile of them on the
stain, blotting at it with the tip of his shoe.
"Are you okay?" she worried slightly. Bending down to help him blot, she added,
"I've never seen you so ungraceful."
He gave himself permission to laugh. "I'm off my toes," he
explained.
"I didn't expect to see you." She dimpled at his words, and he took a good
look at her. She'd cut her hair a bit
shorter than the shag she'd sported when they'd last met at Christmas, and the
aforementioned weight she'd lost added a youthful appeal to her ivory
curves. While she'd spread slightly with
age, Shirley still had the winsomeness face and feminine form that had made him
pant from afar in junior high, and as a bonus, every inch of it had been poured
into the hostess pants and black silk top she sported. "Guess you could call it luck."
Carmine jumped out of his erotic revere. "There's too many kinds of luck. This is the first piece of the good kind I've
had in the past few months."
Shirley sat back on her heels, the wine-soaked paper towels
balled between her elegant hands.
"How is Julie?"
His features twisted sharply as she mentioned his latest
ex-wife, as if she'd accidentally punched him in the gut. "Far as I know, in the Rivera with
George Hamilton."
It was Shirley's turn to wince. "I didn't know you were on bad
terms." Her tone suggested to
Carmine that she didn't really regret their lack of communication. "Laverne told me about your
separation. I'm sorry it didn't work
out."
"I'm not.
Julie's my least-favorite ex-wife."
Shirley smiled.
"She seemed rather - sanguine - the first time I spoke to
her."
Carmine tried to remember introducing the two women, but
most of his time with Julie had been blurred to a fuzzy red haze by heavy
cocaine abuse, but he knew well the younger woman's personality. "Julie's never been sanguine about
anything her entire life."
The dimples returned.
"I was trying to put a nice face on things. I've always wanted to know how you fell in
love with a woman like that. She's
nothing like Serafina or Eve."
Carmine's features crumpled when she mentioned Evie's name, and she
seemed to remember why this was a sore spot.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to
bring her up..."
"It's okay. I
don't want you, of all people, to mince words around me."
Shirley twisted the rag until it made a purple-striped
whip. "Have you had any reports
from her doctors lately?"
Carmine's eyes stayed on the stain. "She's the same."
"I'm sorry."
He was too, but couldn't articulate it. Silence reigned as Shirley got up and dumped
the wine-covered paper towel into the trash.
Carmine stared at her back and was amazed that the usually-elegant woman
before him couldn't seem to come up with the right words, so she didn't say
anything as she walked into the bathroom and rinsed her hands. Carmine decided to leap forward into the gap.
"They ran in packs at Studio 54."
"What?" she called over the rushing water.
More loudly, he said, "I met Julie at Studio 54."
"You've been to Studio 54?!" Shirley's girlish
delight made him grin, reminding him of his starry-eyed girlfriend who had
dragged him to every tourist trap in
"Yeah," Carmine said. "But the scene there's too wild. I can't go and stay sober."
"Oh. So it's
really as bad as they say it is?"
The mixture of curiosity and embarrassment in her voice made
Carmine grin. In that moment, she was
the Shirley who had blushingly asked him to kiss her 'there' on those rare
nights they had her apartment to themselves.
Wrong memory, he chastised
himself, quickly sitting down and crossing his legs in the hope that his pants
would hide his sudden erection.
"Yeah - one time I saw a girl..." he bit his tongue - the rest
of the story wasn't meant to be shared with a girl like Shirley.
Shirley emerged, wiping her hands on one of the hotel's
plush towels. She quickly disposed of it
in a laundry bin. "What?"
"Never mind."
She frowned.
"Oh." Sitting back down
across from him, she said, "do you have anything to put on the
stain?"
"I'll let a maid take care of it." Before she
could take him to task for suggesting something like that, he asked, "do
you wish you'd've stuck with Lenny and Laverne back in the Valley?"
She shook her head.
"I've been depending on them for too long," she admitted. "They have a new baby now, so they
needed the spare room. It was time for
me to leave, anyway, and I've found it's nice to be independent."
They both knew she'd never truly been on her own in her
entire life. "Are you okay with
that?"
"There's something to said for being on one's own. It's been a five years since Walter
passed..."
Carmine had forgotten how long it had been since he'd
attended the good doctor's funeral - high, to his everlasting regret. The only thing he really recalled was
Shirley's sobbing.
"...And after I lost the baby I just needed to get on
with life," she explained. "I
couldn't stay at the housing McCord had provided for us, and I just collapsed
in on myself. Thank God Laverne was
there when I needed her."
"She's always there when you need her," Carmine
pointed out, admitting silently that Laverne was the best and most honest
friend he'd had in his entire life.
Shirley nodded thoughtfully.
"So...you wanna stay?
Dinner's already here. I got some
great take out from this little French place."
Shirley's smile became a real grin. "As long as we don't have to split it
Dutch-treat."
He winced - God, was that what the majority of their dates
had been like to her? But she down on
her hands and knees, and helped him dole out the food.
****
Dinner was brief and flavorful, eaten Japanese-style on the
floor - and, though she would never know it, mercifully cheap. When it was over and he dumped the
fake-crystal plastic plates into the trash, he wondered what he should say to
her next.
When Carmine turned around, she sat at the edge of his bed.
They stared each other down.
"Single white
male, fortyish, br hair br eyes, good build, seeks petite brunette woman,
18-45, for good times. I won't lay a trip
on you if you won't lay a trip on me. Be
d/d free." She quoted from the ad.
"Shirley." He had to say her name in that moment.
"We don't have to if you don't want to," she
said. "But I've been in emotional
isolation for months now," she held out both hands. "It would be wonderful to feel your
hands on me."
He had no idea what to say.
Instead, he sat beside her.
In a minute, his arms surrounded her and Carmine buried his
face against the side of her neck; the innocent sent of Jean Nate and baby
powder tingling his nostrils, intoxicating him and sending him emotionally to
the days of petal pushers and
He pulled away from her.
"Are you sure?" he
rasped.
Shirley nodded her head.
She drew both of his hands to her zipper and with expertise he tugged it
down.
The top and hostess pants gave way easily beneath his hands,
to reveal a black lace shelf bra and high-wasted black lace panties. She kicked them off and they puddled beside
his bed, but he was too stunned by her choice of underwear to notice.
"Carmine," she said softly. They locked eyes and she blushed.
"I like," he said jocularly. "I never pictured you as the black bra
type, Shirl."
Her hands went to the front of his shirt and began to
unbutton it. "Laverne gave them to
me at my wedding shower." Before
the mood could be broken, she added, "I've never worn them before tonight
- Walter wasn't much of a black underwear man."
He nodded. Walter
didn't seem like the kind of guy who liked surprises.
His shirt finally came unbuttoned, and she slipped it down
his shoulders, caressing his skin and gasping softly as she enjoyed its
texture. He wrapped his now-bare arms
around her and lifted her small body up, until she sat in his lap, facing
him. They kissed, the desperation in
their contact becoming more and more obvious.
Unconsciously, she mewed into his mouth, rubbing her silky bottom
against the bulge in his pants.
He broke the kiss and rolled her over, onto her back. She arched beneath him, reached around and
began to work on the clasp. Carmine felt
an intense anticipatory thrill - he'd seen plenty of bare breasts in his forty
years on the planet, but Shirley Feeney-Meaney's breasts had been a forbidden
territory to him.
All at once, the snap came free - she smiled triumphantly as
she tugged down both straps at once and placed it beside them on the mattress.
Silently, he looked down at her - at breasts that were
delicately formed and pink-crested, a testament to her strong femininity. Time and failure had robbed them of their
youthful appeal; they bore nearly-invisible white stretch marks, having swelled
twice with milk that had never fed a baby and shrunken back; but there they
were, the breasts he had dreamed of for almost twenty years. He fell to stroking them with his tongue,
switching back and forth with gentle eagerness.
He could feel her arousal building - first her breath
catching slightly on each intake, then her hands tangling in his hair. Her head rustled the sheets as it tossed from
side-to-side and her palms suddenly tensed against his skull; the feminine
sighs were turning into gut-deep moans. Time to move on, he thought to
himself. His hands went eagerly to the
black lace panties and pulled them down jiggly thighs.
Carmine stared at what was revealed. Unsurprisingly, the soft thicket between
Shirley's thighs had never seen the sharp edge of a razor blade or the snip of
a pair of trimmers, as Julie's had - damn it, he was NOT going to think about
Julie tonight. His eyes rested on
Shirley's face as with two fingers he parted her and stared at the delicacy of
her cunny.
Her hips bucked against his touch, eyes flying temporarily
open before shutting tight again. The
moans were turning into purrs. His
fingers made easy progress inside of her; moisture coating him and encouraging
his every gesture. He pressed his thumb
to her clit and began to rotate his fingers within her.
It was an old trick he'd been using on girls for years, and
it worked just as well on Shirley.
"Carmine," she mumbled.
"Carmine, do it now..." Her dazed blue eyes flew open. "CARMINE, DO IT NOW." She reached
for and pressing her hand against the bulge in his pants.
A quick shock of pleasure tingled his nuts. Shit, he was ready to come now just from the
touch of her fingers. He flung himself
away from her and slipped out of sneakers, socks, pants and boxer shorts. "You sure you're ready?"
"I've been dreaming about this for years. Do you think you're the only one who ever had
to take a cold shower?"
He turned back toward her, a little surprised by that
admission. The sight of his cock made
her thighs fall apart even further.
"Do I need a rubber?" he used his last functioning
brain cells to ask.
"No, I'm on the pill," she blushed. He crawled back onto the bed and she moaned
and reached for him with both arms, and Carmine sunk down and into her in one
easy, unbroken movement.
The fit was comfortable; Shirley was so petite that he was
afraid that even his compact form might somehow tear her. But his entrance was met by a welcoming moan,
and Shirley's legs wrapped themselves
around his buttocks. Her hips shifted
from side-to-side in an inviting way, and he couldn't remain still.
He forced himself to go slowly, but soon her writhing
demanded a faster pace. They rocked the
bed, filled the room with their groaning, grabbed and held each other by
handfuls of overheated flesh. Soon he
couldn't bear the tease of it any more and his hand reached between them,
rubbing on rhythm to his thrusting. Her
climax was abrupt, expressed daintily as a squeak and a loud gasp; his rolled
over him and left him blank-eyed, staring at her wonderful breasts and gigantic
blue eyes as he filled her with a thirty-year store of frustration, loneliness,
desire.
Carmine's body became boneless as it flopped down against
hers. She embraced him - arms, legs,
pussy - and held on until the repletion he'd experienced sent him deep into la
la land.
***
When he woke up, he was alone under the covers and she was
naked and sitting cross-legged at the foot of his bed, flipping through a large
coffee-table book of Pre-Raphaelites he kept on hand to class up the
joint. She was innocent and beautiful in
her complete nudity.
With the same stealth she'd shown earlier, he crept up
behind her. A soft gasp echoed as the
book hit the floor.
"You were asleep," she murmured, turning toward
him, as if trying to prevent his prying eyes from looking at her naked body.
"You wore me out," he responded playfully.
"I understand.
I've never been able to sleep...after," she blushed. "Whenever Walter - "
"It's okay, you can talk about him."
She smiled.
"When Walter and I would...finish...I would knit for hours
afterwards. Something about..."
"Sex?"
"Yes...makes my insides run like an over wound
clock," she tucked her chin against his shoulder. She noticed the readout of his alarm clock
over on the counter. "I really need
to go. My shift starts at six..."
A small quiver went through him. "Can you stay?"
She paused. "Are
you sure you want me to?"
"Yeah," he smiled.
"I'm really sure."
His bed was a warm, small slice of heaven, and as he cradled
her naked body around his he convinced himself that they both needed this oasis
from the storms their lives had become.
As he drifted to sleep, he reasoned to himself that at least
with Shirley he knew the score.