Diversion
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Geekfiction has the Trick or Treat Fic-A-Thon going on right now, and I am posting this story based upon the prompt of Trick:"It rubs the lotion on it's skin or else it gets the hose again." The Silence of the Lambs and a bag of Snickers.
Splatters of reds, blues, and greens brightened the table, which was thankfully covered with a newspaper shell, preventing the pigments from damaging the wood surface. Paper plates lay abandoned, only their depth serving to distinguish them from the camouflage of the newspaper. Across the room, the resultant masterpiece rested on the floor, propped against the wall, with its own accompanying newspaper. What could be more aptly termed a barrage of color, the dappled surface had somewhat satisfied an uncharacteristic urge in its artist; its abhorrent peculiarity at least incurring some sort of purpose. That's what she told herself, anyway.
The disgruntled artist slumped in a dining room chair, her ankles crossed and resting against an adjacent one. As much paint on her clothes as other afflicted surfaces, she decided to dig into her previously procured bag of chocolates before attending to her mess. She certainly deserved a break after that disaster. Plus, she did need time to decide what to do with the thing. She chuckled. What did one do with something like...that? Its inferiority didn't even warrant further distinction.
Following sulking for half an hour and indulging in several chocolates, she started picking up after her colorful creation. The newspaper was folded in on itself, the plates engulfed with it. Already cleaned brushes were returned to their protective sheaths and the paints were lined up in their cardboard box, both items then placed together and returned to the top shelf in the closet – to stay - for the second time. Finally reducing the mess to the painting itself, she retired to the bathroom to work at cleansing the technicolor from herself.
Having already blow-dried her hair after exiting the shower, Sara glanced at her watch while brushing her teeth. Wanting to be in bed, waiting for Grissom, when he got home, she finished brushing her teeth, took one last glance in the mirror, and dragged her robed body out to the bed. She retrieved her lotion from the dresser and began massaging it into her skin, relishing in the comfort of the slick, light pressure against her tired body.
Stepping into their townhouse, Grissom immediately recognized the chemical scent of acrylics. Eyes searching the room for its source, they rested on a painting. Could he call it that? Paint was involved, so, certainly. But there wasn't any room on the walls to suitably house it - he hoped.
Walking into the kitchen, he refrigerated the sandwich half that was left from his lunch and closed and shelved a bag of chocolates that Sara must have left on the counter. Pleased that the few tasks were complete and there didn't appear to be any more, he ensured that all of the lights on the first floor were turned off and then ascended the stairs to the second floor and, hopefully, Sara.
"It rubs the lotion on its skin..." Grissom whispered, crossing the room and sliding across the bed to brush a kiss over the juncture of her neck and shoulder.
Sara lightly chuckled and brought her lotion-oiled hands away from her calf so she could turn and return his kiss. "You're home," she spoke, settling for the obvious. "Adventurous night?"
"If you count the Halloween-inspired miscreants and Greg's antics."
"Bad?"
"No, just...Greg."
She cocked an eyebrow at him, silently challenging him to relay some details of the evening. Even Grissom couldn't contain his small smirk. "His face, spray adhesive, and fingerprint powder."
"Sounds...colorful."
"That's one way to put it."
Squeezing her shoulder, Grissom stood from the bed and headed for the bathroom. "What did you do all night?" he asked while undressing.
Satisfied that the lotion was thoroughly rubbed in, Sara removed her robe, slid under the covers, and turned toward the cracked door. "Worked on some paperwork, read the new Science."
He hummed in response and began brushing his teeth. When finished with his preparations for sleep, he rejoined Sara in the bedroom, his skin kissing up to hers as he settled in behind her. Winding his arms around her waist and caressing her shower-softened skin, he decidedly inhaled her light scent - mingling cinnamon and almond - and couldn't resist nuzzling her neck. Sara sighed and pushed back against him, wanting his hold to tighten. "I tried painting again," she murmured, "as you saw from the mess in the living room."
Having learned, Grissom spoke heartily, "Is that what prompted the chocolate on the counter?"
"Yeah; when I gave up, I sat and snickered," she replied, cheekily.
His groan reverberated throughout his chest and permeated the room. She poked his side in her defense and waved her fingers over his skin in a light tickle. "I don't know what to do with it," she stated plainly.
"The Museum of Modern Art will want it, of course," he teased.
He was rewarded with a chuckle. "Yeah, they'll put it right next to a Monet."
"You should give it to Greg; it'd match his face."
"It was that mottled?"
"Yes. Except his was more fluorescent."
"So that's what one does with something like that – gives it to Greg."
"The colorful explosion will suit him well."
She agreed and they lay in silence for a few minutes. Though she thought the discussion had passed, he spoke again. "Remember that talk we had about finding a diversion?"
She turned in his arms and stared at him skeptically. "Find a different one."
Unleashing a tickle assault, Sara attacked him repeatedly, Grissom responding with a playful one of his own as they reflexively rolled around in the bed. Yes, he was a spectacular diversion, indeed.
The End