By
"Brat, you act as if it's no big deal, but it was one of those things that was driving me out of my mind for a while. You're my friend, for crying out loud! You don't go fantasizing constantly about your friends!" MacGyver in Primitive
Mind and body, body and mind, usually in sync, working together to stay alive. MacGyver knew better than anyone how closely the mind and body worked. A problem for the brain, and action for the muscles was kept James and Ellen's grown boy going for another day, and held life on an even keel.
At the moment, however, Mac sensed his body was trying to tell him something, and it wasn't something he looked forward to dealing with. For years it hadn't been a problem since there were always women in his life, either drifting out or drifting in--and to his shame, sometimes it was a matter of convenience over emotion. But for the past few years, it did matter. Which meant since there was no one but himself now, it would be another solitary night. Not that he hadn't had practice--he'd gone through puberty and young adulthood this way; it was natural and realistic and certainly the safest sex to practice--albeit the loneliest.
"Everyone ready?" Pete asked. The group of Foundation Employees nodded, some grinning, some just looking around nervously. The main lobby was beautifully decorated, and a huge banner on the wall read: Welcome, Collier Group. A table with badges stood at the main door. Pete checked his watch.
"Alright. Rose, you're translating for the two visitors from the Ukraine. Sandra, the coffee and dessert tray should be ready to go in the boardroom. Louise, Dan--make sure the digital screen's up and running. Mac, you wait for me here so we can both meet Carl and his board, all right?"
"Gotcha," Mac muttered laconically. Rose shot him a slightly sarcastic, slightly affectionate look.
"Oh is that you, MacGyver? In a tie? Someone, get a camera!"
"Funny--I didn't know we'd hired a clown for the party too--" he shot back mildly. She grinned at him, but Pete rolled his eyes.
"Not tonight, kids--we have to make a good impression, so let's pretend we can play nice, shall we?" Saying this, Pete hurried away as Rose and Mac headed for the front doors.
"Like the dress," Mac told her. Rose smoothed her hands down her hips and pinkened.
"Thanks--I got back so late from my dive I barely had time to change--" she confessed. Mac snuck a glance at her legs. They were nice, he admitted to himself, long and curved, sheathed in pale stockings and white high heels. The dress itself was deep green and short, with a flared skirt and a scooped neckline. Tonight Rose had her auburn hair up in a long twist, pinned with something pearly.
"Ramon coming?" he asked abruptly. Rose shook her head and Mac relaxed a little. The general consensus was that Ramon was jerk, and what Rose saw in him was beyond anyone who knew her, Mac included.
"No--he's in Brazil right now," they reached the spiral staircase by the front doors. Rose glanced at her watch as Dan hurried by them, heading outside.
"I might have *just* enough time to put on some lipstick--if my gentlemen get here before I'm back down will you stay with them, please Mac?"
"Sure--" he told her with a shrug. Rose mounted the stairs, her heels clicking as she started up. The lobby doors opened as Dan left, and a gust blew in from off the street. Mac shifted, turning away from the wind. He glanced up.
In a slow long moment of unexpected intensity, MacGyver was stunned by the soft erotic vision of Rose a mere foot above him. Brushed by the breeze, her dress flared up, revealing the lacy white tops of her stockings and the delicate lace garter belt that held them up. The slim long line of her thighs parted to reveal a dark shadow of glossy fur between them in a teasing flash every few seconds as she climbed higher. Then the dress hem fluttered back down, and Rose reached the landing. Mac drew in a burning lungful of air and slumped heavily against the central pole of the staircase.
He closed his eyes, blushing furiously, the radiant heat rising off of him like a volcano, and helplessly watched Rose again in his mind's eye. His body responded, urgently, enthusiastically to the vision, and even now, Mac shifted in wretched embarrassment and annoyance, refusing to acknowledge what his body had been straining to tell him all along.
"Not now, not *now*!" he muttered to himself angrily. In desperation, he thrust his tongue between his back molars and bit it hard, using the pain as a distraction. It didn't quite work; the hurt only heightened his response. In frustration, Mac turned and deliberately bounced his forehead off the center pole of the stairs.
"Mac, what the heck are you doing?" came Pete's exasperated call.
"Nothing--" came the annoyed reply. Mac kept his body turned away from his boss, and studied the floor intently.
"Well come do nothing over here, will ya? Our corporate sponsors are about to come through the front doors. Have you seen Rose?" Pete demanded.
Mac's entire anatomy was screaming a passionate 'yes!' to that innocent question, but with a shrug, he mumbled,
"Upstairs getting dolled up I think. She'll be back down--"
Pete rolled his eyes.
"Women!"
"Yeah--" Mac muttered in agreement.
*** *** ***
The rest of the evening was a roller coaster of torment, both physical and mental. Mac made the logical choice to avoid proximity to Rose--it seemed the most prudent, pragmatic course of action. Mentally eluding her however seemed to be nearly impossible. Mac's body was determined to make its desires known in the most persistent way possible. Consequently MacGyver found himself either sitting down or briskly pacing for most of the Collier Group visit. Not for the first time in his life, MacGyver wished he could reason with his libido, thrust it back into the darker recesses of his consciousness to deal with in later, at home in the dark. Most of the time he could, but every now and then sheer raw need was stronger than his resolve. Tonight it was mocking him and his Boy Scout morality by sending surges through his flesh every time he looked in Rose's direction.
A breath of fresh air would do him good--he headed out for the balcony, determined to think of things that would stop the taunting of his carnal appetite. Dead kittens. Vomit. Jack Dalton in drag--
He was concentrating so hard he didn't pay much attention to his direction, and found himself slamming into part of the rail around the balcony. His thigh stung, and he bit back a curse as someone laughed.
"Mac!"
No--oh no--
A few feet away, Rose looked up from her charges and hurried to him.
"Oh man, that must smart--" She reached down to his thigh, and he nearly slapped her hand in his desperation.
"I'm *fine*, really," he barked. Rose looked at his face, confused and a little hurt. MacGyver managed to scrape up a small grin to defuse the moment.
"Just a stupid move on my part--" he choked out. Her hand touched his leg; he could feel the heat of her fingers through the cloth and once again, an onslaught of desire flooded through him. He spun away from her sympathetic touch and ground his teeth.
"Well okay--but you might want to put some ice on that--it's going to swell you know--"
"Yeah--" he grunted as his libido laughed nastily.
He dropped his head and drew in a deep breath, even as he could see the proper definition on the page of his mind. It's just vasco-congestion, MacGyver told himself grimly. A common physical condition occurring as the result of repeated and unfulfilled sexual arousal. Nothing abnormal about it, just painful. Easily remedied through orgasm through intercourse or masturbation . . . Mac weighed his options against his discomfort, and made a choice.
With grim determination, he made his way through the building doing his best not be noticed. Passing through the Mongolian barbeque area, he discreetly managed to snag one of the little lidded cups of sesame oil and pocket it. He took the elevator up to the third floor and stepped out, heading for the men's room.
Farthest stall. Step in, lock the door. Deep breath and unzip, push everything down to mid-thigh, no point in being any more uncomfortable that you are already--MacGyver shook his head in resigned disbelief as he pulled the oil out of his jacket pocket and popped the lid off. Moving efficiently, he poured a mere tablespoon into the palm of his right hand and braced his left forearm against the cold tile wall in front of him. He closed his eyes, feeling his pulse through his temples. Relief, think relief, he lied to himself as he leaned forward.
One stroke to coat--unbidden, the mental image of Rose's thighs appeared, blackly exciting. Ah the old familiar grip, slick and stiff all in one thrusting rub. A tiny groan rumbled deep in his throat and Mac tightened his lips as his hand began to pump, finding a well-remembered rhythm. The soft focus of fantasy tightened his grip as he concentrated. Rose, the swell of her breasts, soft scent of her vanilla perfume, Rose, her sweet round bottom, barely covered in a bikini as she tugged on her mermaid costume-- His stroking intensified as his flesh responded gratefully. MacGyver gritted his teeth, barely able to keep his moans choked back. Rose on his bed, bare thighs parted for him, crying his name, Rose caressing him, kneeling naked before him with slick pink lips . . .
With a low sob of wretched release, Mac felt himself spurt furiously, the bubbling gobs of semen spilling over in the air to fall away into the bowl below. His knees buckled for a second, and he pressed his forehead to the cool tile as he took in a deep breath, grateful that he'd braced himself against the wall.
Cold clammy reality hit as MacGyver opened his eyes again, but only his body felt better. Disgusted with himself, he reached for the tissue, swabbed himself clean and flushed the traces away as shame burned his cheeks. At the sink, he splashed water on his face, refusing to meet his own gaze in the mirror, biting back the urge to lie to himself. Just another fantasy; Mac longed to believe it, but--
Before stepping out again, he wiped his eyes.
END