Disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me.
Title: Another Number
Author's Note: A sequel to 69, which was fun but could have been better.
Summary: Cath has a new number?
Rating: R
Spoiler(s): None
Catherine turned the thermostat down a couple of degrees on her way to the kitchen. The air conditioning kicked on about the time she stopped in front of the refrigerator to get a bottle of cool water. She stood in front of the vent, allowing the cool air to dry the sweat from her naked body. She retrieved the bottle of water, sipped some; but then, the imp of mischief took over so she rummaged through the cabinet to find a plastic cup. She filled it with crushed ice from the icemaker and made her way back up the stairs.
She stopped just inside the bedroom door. Gil Grissom was lying on her bed, the sheet covering one leg to about halfway up his thigh. The rest of him was bare as the day he was born and laid out for the world to see. It amused her that he seemed to have no compunction about nudity. Given his normal dress and demeanor, she would have thought he would run away screaming bloody murder at the mere thought of being naked in another's view. It was a revelation to her; just like the fact that he turned out to be an ardent, inventive lover. She had always thought her emotionally constipated friend would be sexually repressed to the nth degree. "Girl, were you wrong or what?" She thought.
"Gil?" She questioned softly.
"Umm." He drowsily replied.
"I think we need 'another number', 69 doesn't seem to be working out." She stated.
"Whatever you think." He mumbled, nearly asleep.
"Okay." She said, a wicked little grin forming as she put her plan in motion. "How about, 1." She dropped a piece of ice on his neck. "2." She dropped a piece of ice on his chest. "3." She dropped a piece of ice on his stomach. "4!" She dropped the remainder of her handful of ice on his privates then jumped back.
"Oh, my god!" He exclaimed, as he erupted from the comfort of her bed. "What did I do to warrant that?" Pieces of ice fell around his feet as he clutched his recently cooled genitals.
"The devil made me do it." She giggled.
"Right." He smirked, advancing toward her.
"Gil, No!" She cried as he stalked her around the bed.
"Too late for that, My Dear." He whispered in her ear as he caught both her wrists in one hand and removed the cup of ice from her hand. "Turn about is fair play, wouldn't you agree?" He pinned her to the bed and shook the cup to find exactly the right piece of ice. Once he had found it, he held it between his teeth for a second before applying it to one nipple then the other, interspersing seconds of warm tongue to each. He released her hands, eliciting a series of gasps and moans, as he chased the small chunk of ice down her torso with his tongue until only a sliver remained which he deftly rolled into her naval.
"What's wrong with 69?" He inquired, shaking more ice into his mouth. He disappointed her by crunching on it instead of continuing his icy torture session.
"Umm, we never seem to finish it." She replied.
"I wasn't aware of that rule." He said as he raised up to peer at her.
"Huh? What rule?" She looked at him, definitely confused.
"The one that says you have to finish in the same position as you started. Apparently, I've been doing this all wrong." He mused.
"There is no such rule." She informed him.
"You implied..." He began.
"I did not." She interrupted.
"You did. Besides, we've only tried it twice, and I, did not enjoy 1234." He stated matter-of-factly, as he flopped over on his back.
She giggled at him for calling it twelve, thirty-four. Her mischievous imp whispered that she should file that one away for future use. She could picture how red his ears would turn if she archly inquired "Is it a 1234?" in front of, maybe, Brass.
"Well, that was a little mean since you were almost asleep, but I bet I could teach you to like 1234." She whispered seductively in his ear. "I mean you are a bomb pops fan now, right?"
"Umm, bomb pops are good. Even if they are, ah, sticky." He agreed. "However, 'Mr. Happy' is already frostbitten, so you'll forgive me if nothing else cold is allowed in the vicinity."
"Did those pinpricks appear evenly spaced, uh, uniform?" He asked, switching gears.
"Yes, but they weren't the same spacing, line per line." She answered.
"I have an Architect's Rule somewhere in my office, maybe we can figure something out about your thief." He theorized.
"What's an Architect's Rule?" She asked.
"That three-sided ruler I have. It has different scales per side. You've used it." He replied.
"Oh, I didn't know it had name. How come you didn't mention it earlier?" She asked.
"I got distracted, My Dear, with 69's." He answered and planted a kiss on her forehead.
Title: Another Number
Author's Note: A sequel to 69, which was fun but could have been better.
Summary: Cath has a new number?
Rating: R
Spoiler(s): None
Catherine turned the thermostat down a couple of degrees on her way to the kitchen. The air conditioning kicked on about the time she stopped in front of the refrigerator to get a bottle of cool water. She stood in front of the vent, allowing the cool air to dry the sweat from her naked body. She retrieved the bottle of water, sipped some; but then, the imp of mischief took over so she rummaged through the cabinet to find a plastic cup. She filled it with crushed ice from the icemaker and made her way back up the stairs.
She stopped just inside the bedroom door. Gil Grissom was lying on her bed, the sheet covering one leg to about halfway up his thigh. The rest of him was bare as the day he was born and laid out for the world to see. It amused her that he seemed to have no compunction about nudity. Given his normal dress and demeanor, she would have thought he would run away screaming bloody murder at the mere thought of being naked in another's view. It was a revelation to her; just like the fact that he turned out to be an ardent, inventive lover. She had always thought her emotionally constipated friend would be sexually repressed to the nth degree. "Girl, were you wrong or what?" She thought.
"Gil?" She questioned softly.
"Umm." He drowsily replied.
"I think we need 'another number', 69 doesn't seem to be working out." She stated.
"Whatever you think." He mumbled, nearly asleep.
"Okay." She said, a wicked little grin forming as she put her plan in motion. "How about, 1." She dropped a piece of ice on his neck. "2." She dropped a piece of ice on his chest. "3." She dropped a piece of ice on his stomach. "4!" She dropped the remainder of her handful of ice on his privates then jumped back.
"Oh, my god!" He exclaimed, as he erupted from the comfort of her bed. "What did I do to warrant that?" Pieces of ice fell around his feet as he clutched his recently cooled genitals.
"The devil made me do it." She giggled.
"Right." He smirked, advancing toward her.
"Gil, No!" She cried as he stalked her around the bed.
"Too late for that, My Dear." He whispered in her ear as he caught both her wrists in one hand and removed the cup of ice from her hand. "Turn about is fair play, wouldn't you agree?" He pinned her to the bed and shook the cup to find exactly the right piece of ice. Once he had found it, he held it between his teeth for a second before applying it to one nipple then the other, interspersing seconds of warm tongue to each. He released her hands, eliciting a series of gasps and moans, as he chased the small chunk of ice down her torso with his tongue until only a sliver remained which he deftly rolled into her naval.
"What's wrong with 69?" He inquired, shaking more ice into his mouth. He disappointed her by crunching on it instead of continuing his icy torture session.
"Umm, we never seem to finish it." She replied.
"I wasn't aware of that rule." He said as he raised up to peer at her.
"Huh? What rule?" She looked at him, definitely confused.
"The one that says you have to finish in the same position as you started. Apparently, I've been doing this all wrong." He mused.
"There is no such rule." She informed him.
"You implied..." He began.
"I did not." She interrupted.
"You did. Besides, we've only tried it twice, and I, did not enjoy 1234." He stated matter-of-factly, as he flopped over on his back.
She giggled at him for calling it twelve, thirty-four. Her mischievous imp whispered that she should file that one away for future use. She could picture how red his ears would turn if she archly inquired "Is it a 1234?" in front of, maybe, Brass.
"Well, that was a little mean since you were almost asleep, but I bet I could teach you to like 1234." She whispered seductively in his ear. "I mean you are a bomb pops fan now, right?"
"Umm, bomb pops are good. Even if they are, ah, sticky." He agreed. "However, 'Mr. Happy' is already frostbitten, so you'll forgive me if nothing else cold is allowed in the vicinity."
"Did those pinpricks appear evenly spaced, uh, uniform?" He asked, switching gears.
"Yes, but they weren't the same spacing, line per line." She answered.
"I have an Architect's Rule somewhere in my office, maybe we can figure something out about your thief." He theorized.
"What's an Architect's Rule?" She asked.
"That three-sided ruler I have. It has different scales per side. You've used it." He replied.
"Oh, I didn't know it had name. How come you didn't mention it earlier?" She asked.
"I got distracted, My Dear, with 69's." He answered and planted a kiss on her forehead.