A/N: This reason this "thing" exists is due to the encouragement of seattlecsifan and CSIGeekFan, two professional smut writers (I've read their stuff, and immediately forgotten my phone number — their stuff is that good). I told them I was incapable of writing smut, and they challenged me to write a smut comedy. This is the result. Some of lines come from experience. And some is crude. Please enjoy.
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"Oh please! I know fourth grade math that's harder than your dick!"
"Ah yes," thought Gil Grissom. "Some crime scenes are more interesting than others."
"Oh, that's brilliant, Noreen! Maybe I could get it up if your intelligence was greater than that of a fourth grader."
"This is the honeymoon suite, right?" Grissom thought as he tried to restrain Noreen Beck from her husband.
"Phil, you couldn't get it up with a bucket of Viagra!" Noreen struggled against Grissom's grasp, which wasn't too constraining but it effectively restrained Noreen. Grissom really wished he said he would interview the couple next door, so Sara would be the one restraining Noreen. The honeymooner's bunched-up, purple and yellow polka-dot negligee with the words "I won't leave you hanging" left little to the imagination. Except maybe "real" or "fake."
Captain Jim Brass was restraining Philip Beck, who was clad in a ripped t-shirt and a paid of red silky boxers with the words, "I like you from behind" written across his butt.
"Oh, a Viagra comment! How original," Philip said, curtly. "That's something coming from you, Noreen, seeing as your boobs sag lower than James Shields' ERA."
"That was a good one," Grissom thought, although Noreen was not at all impressed.
"What the hell does that even mean, you bonehead? Are you trying to impress these guys, because, let me tell you," Noreen said half-speaking, half-laughing, "I know things that will do anything but impress."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Philip said.
"Stories that have to do with certain body parts being as limp as Liberace's handshake! As a matter of fact, your handshake is pretty limp, you cold fish!"
"Oh, you want to go there? Fine! It's not like you are a virgin bloom, Noreen. I'd have a tighter experience if I jacked off in a plastic bag!"
"All right, all right, just shut up you two," Brass finally said. At that point, Noreen relaxed and Grissom felt comfortable enough to let her go. "Who are you guys? Hack writers for second-rate comics?"
"Actually, we're both ad executives with one of the most prominent advertising agencies in Tampa," Philip said.
"Yes, perhaps you've heard of Phil's latest beer campaign, which he took from personal experience: 'It's 3 in the morning, you're watching Internet porn involving a Brazilian hooker with flatulence, a well-hung midget and an albino belly dancer. IT'S MILLER TIME!"
"ONE TIME, NOREEN! I GO ONLINE ONE TIME!..."
"OK, alright" Brass said, trying to suppress both his laughter and his frustration. "Listen up. I want you," Brass said pointing to Noreen, "over there in that chair where I'll talk to you. And you," pointing to Philip in the opposite direction, "are going to wait WAY over there in that chair until I'm ready to talk to you. Got it?"
"We're not children, officer," Philip said, in a Jekyll and Hyde reversal of personalities.
"We are perfectly capable of holding a civil conversation with the police," Noreen said, armed crossed in front of her chest.
Brass looked at the couple and then at Grissom, who rolled his eyes and went to process the scene. Grissom wondered if everyone forgot about the dead body on the floor. Grissom examined the body of an elderly man who had a gun in his hand and a gunshot wound in his head. David had just strolled in to pronounce and see if there is any identification on the man.
"Hello Grissom," said David. "I was just downstairs at the other scene with Nick and Greg."
"Yeah, I had been there too," Grissom said about the crime scene four floors down. "Nick and Greg were more than capable of dealing with that scene, so when Brass called, Sara and I came up here. You see an ID?"
"Yup, Howard Hoffner. From his driver's license, he was 83," David said as he handed Grissom the wallet. "Looks like single gunshot to the head. Entrance wound under the chin, no exit wound. Likely the bullet fragmented against the skull, but we will know more at autopsy. You think suicide?"
"It's possible. I'll check the trajectory of the bullet and the presence of GSR," Grissom said.
As the two spoke, Sara's voice could be heard as she stood just outside the front door of the suite, some seven yards away. She was talking with the couple from the honeymoon suite next door. Sara's comments were heard two times — once in a normal tone, and then in a RAISED VOICE so the couple, both in their 80s, could hear what she was saying.
"Mrs. Peck, I just need you… I JUST NEED YOU TO ANSWER A FEW MORE QUESTIONS BEFORE WE GO IN THERE."
"OK, sweetheart, that's not a problem at all. Harvey and I don't have anything planned for today," said Rachel Peck, a demure, octogenarian newlywed. "I mean we have a few things planned, if you know what I mean."
"Yes, Mrs. Peck, I think I know what you mean," Sara said, desperately hoping she wouldn't continue.
"Because, you know dear, it is our honeymoon. We're hoping to consummate our nuptials with a big splash!" Mrs. Peck said, throwing her arms in the air. "There's a lovely large tub in the room."
Mrs. Peck's smile would have been the same if she had been talking about the wonderful cucumber sandwiches on the buffet table downstairs. Unfortunately, for Sara, Mrs. Peck's grin was reserved for more carnal pleasures, and Sara couldn't get that out of her head.
As Sara thought about the periodic table with a blank look on her face, Mrs. Peck thought the young woman probably needed more details, what being an investigator and all. "It's a heart-shaped tub."
"That's great, Mrs. Peck."
"With high powered jets in nifty places."
"OK. That's great. I'm just going…"
"Have you been here before with your gentleman, dear?"
At this, Sara really hoped no one was listening to this conversation. "Umm, no I haven't. But it sounds lovely. Now, if I could ask you a few questions."
"Certainly."
Brass had finished with his interviews with the Becks, who asked if they could go back into their bedroom to change. Brass agreed, since both their moods seemed to have mellowed, and there was no way they could exit the suite from the bedroom. He knelt down next to Grissom.
"You know, I never really believed in soul mates till I met the Becks," Brass said. "Lovely couple, huh?"
Grissom looked at him skeptically. "Are they are on their honeymoon?"
"Second honeymoon. I guess they didn't get it right the first time."
Grissom snorted, but they both said in unison. "Third time's the charm."
"OK, now what's the story with him? They claim they were exchanging bodily fluids loudly in the bedroom, and then they heard a gunshot. They said they've never seen this man before."
"Wait a minute, they were having sex when this guy died? But why were they fighting so much when we arrived?" Grissom asked.
"Apparently Mr. Beck wanted to continue their extra curricular activies despite the situation at hand," Brass said.
"And she thought it wasn't right?"
"Oh, no, she was still willing to participate, but apparently he starting doing things that she didn't appreciate."
Grissom made a confused face, but gestured for Brass to continue.
Brass looked at his notes. He wanted to get this right. "Something about 'I'm not a prepubescent cheerleader, Phil. Sorry but my freakin' legs won't split like a turkey wishbone.'"
"Wow," Grissom said. "That must be when he said something along the lines of, "Yeah, I realize you're not a cheerleader, you old hag?"
"Bingo, Sherlock," Brass said. "And the rest is just sad, sad history. So… think we have a viable suicide or should we look at Fred and Wilma here as suspects?"
"He's got GSR on his hand. The gun was right under his chin when he fired, I would say it's a suicide."
Brass glanced at the door where an officer stood with a young clerk. "Well, maybe the front desk clerk can shed some light on how this guy got in here."
Brass introduced himself to the young man, and asked him about the deceased.
"Yes, I remember him. He said he was locked out of his honeymoon suite."
"Did you ask for identification?" Brass said.
"We don't get many 80-year-old honeymooners, so I thought he was the old guy, Mr. Beck."
Grissom had heard Sara's conversation with the older couple. "You mean Mr. Peck?"
"Excuse me, sir?"
Brass cut in. "This is the suite for the Becks. Next door is the suite for the Pecks. The Pecks are the 80-year-old honeymooners."
The color from the young man's face disappeared. "I got confused. I saw 'Beck' and… he didn't correct me."
"Don't worry about that right now, kid. Why don't you stick outside in the hallway, OK?"
"Yes, sir."
"So, an old man comes to the front desk and tells the guy he lost his key to the honeymoon suite,' Brass said. "The front desk clerk thinks nothing of it and sends him to the wrong suite."
"So, what was Mr. Hoffner doing with a gun possibly trying to get into the Pecks suite?" Grissom asked.
"That is the 64 question," Brass replied. "How's Sara doing with her interview?"
"I think she's learning a lot," Grissom said with a smile.
While Grissom went to process some more and take photos, Brass strolled over to Sara, whose couple was in the hallway. David had also returned with a gurney to prepare for transport. Sara was dusting the doorframe and knob and looking for signs of forced entry.
"Hey, I think the guy had a keycard," Brass said.
"Yeah, I heard," Sara said. "But we should be thorough."
Brass chuckled. "How are the Pecks doing? Are they talkative?"
"Him, no, but she… she likes to share," Sara said. "Apparently she had a former relationship with the deceased. She's anxious to see if she can identify the body."
"Great," Brass said. "Let's gently bring her in."
"Yeah, I don't think we'll gently have to do that," Sara retorted. "Mrs. Peck. MRS PECK!"
"Oh, yes honey. Is it time to come in?"
"Yes, ma'am," Sara said, allowing Mrs. Peck to take her arm. "Now, if you have a problem with anything, just let me know. We don't want to make you feel uncomfortable."
"Oh, well, thank you dear. That's sweet. Let's take a look at him!"
Mr. Hoffner was lying face down on the floor, and David was trying to position the face to get a profile that wasn't such a devastating site, but apparently Mrs. Peck recognized him just the way he was.
"Oh, sure, that's Howard," she said nonchalant.
"Umm, Mrs. Peck, how can you be sure if you can't see the face?" Sara asked.
"Oh, honey, Howard and I were married for seven years. And the number of times I saw him in that position, you remember," Mrs. Peck said.
Again, thoughts of inert gases worked to cleanse Sara's imagination. "But Mrs. Peck, you were married to him how long ago, I mean, people change."
"Oh, we just got divorced four months ago."
"OK, but perhaps if you could tell us of any markings that might identify him," Sara asked
"Oh, of course, he has a tattoo of a heart with my name, Rachel, on his upper right arm and he has these two dimples on each side where he butt splits."
Brass turned his head to contain his laugh.
"You see, dear, Howard loved to be in the nude. He would stroll around the house in nothing but the suit God gave him. Sashaying like we were the king and queen of the nudie parade," Mrs. Peck recalled with glee.
"Well, we'll be sure to write that down, Mrs. Peck. …"
"But you know dear, his passion for his nudity certainly did not translate to a passion in the bedroom," Mrs. Peck continued.
"Oh God, she's on a roll," Sara thought. "Stop her!" "Well, Mrs. Peck, perhaps we could move this outside… "
"Nope, just didn't translate. With Howard it was two pumps and a roll over," Mrs. Peck said. "Do you know what I mean dear?"
Sara's face was just sad. "Yes, yes I do, ma'am."
"Oh dear," Mrs. Peck's face turned to sympathy. "Are you involved with someone like that?"
Sara realized what her face must have looked like, and tried to back pedal. "Oh, no, I mean I…"
"Sweetie, it is important that you're in a relationship where he understands your needs necessitate more effort than a couple of booms and then its sleepy time, if you don't mind me saying."
"Mrs. Peck, really, I don't think. …"
"No, honey it's important. You do count every once in a while, right? You know, just to make sure the tables are equal."
"Um, … you know, Mrs. Peck, we have to clear this scene so we can examine the body, so I'm going to ask for you and your husband to get back into your suite," Sara said in the sweetest voice possible, hoping the shade of magenta on her face will fade away. At least Brass had turned away before he could hear Mrs. Peck's last few comments.
"Oh, of course, dear," she said, allowing Sara to lead her away by the arm. "I know what you're thinking, that an old woman has no place offering this type of advice, but you would be surprised how some things never change."
"Yes ma'am," Sara said, hoping this interview would end.
"Because men and their needs never change," Mrs. Peck said, adding with a wink and a pinch on Sara's arm. "And neither do women's."
Helium, neon, argon, krypton, xenon, radon…
The police and CSIs processed the scene in due time with little more fanfare. It was determined that Hoffner hoped to get into the Peck's suite to win his woman back. Apparently he went into the wrong suite, heard the enthusiastic callings from the Becks' lovemaking and decided he didn't have a chance in the world and end it right there.
Grissom and Sara left the scene together in relative silence. They entered the elevator together and each gave out a sigh, as they were now alone.
"That was a different," Grissom said.
"Yes, it was," Sara said, wondering how much Grissom had heard. "So what did you think about the Pecks?"
"The Pecks or the Becks?"
"Either one."
Knowing the elevator doors would soon open, Grissom situated his arm around Sara's waist. "Well, I think you missed out on the Beck's conversation. Let's just say, they took couples communication to a whole new level."
"But what did you think about the Pecks?"
"I don't know if I heard a lot of that. What did they talk about?"
"They?" Sara said innocently. "They didn't say much. You mean you didn't hear any of the conversation?"
"I wasn't listening," Grissom said. "But I thought I saw the wife talk a lot?"
"Um, yeah, but nothing interesting," Sara said. If he didn't hear, she wasn't going to tell.
The doors opened and Grissom gently nudged the back of Sara's back as they exited. They walked together to the parking lot and climbed into Grissom's Denali.
"So, are you going to work some more at the office?" Sara asked Grissom, coyly.
"I should," Grissom said looking straight ahead as he started the ignition, but then stared at Sara. "But you know, I feel like going home."
"You should go home. You probably need the rest," Sara said with a smile.
"Meet you there?" Grissom asked, with a smile.
"Absolutely."
Sara opted to take a shower at the lab, and took the time to dry her hair. She relished the idea of coming home to Grissom, who left when they reached the lab. Neither one had mentioned anything about running errands or eating breakfast, so Sara had an idea of what Grissom had in mind.
She entered their home to see that Hank had already been fed and was enjoying his meal in the kitchen. After taking off her jacket, Sara took the time to scratch Hank's ears and play a little tug of war before letting the pooch outside. It was mommy and daddy time.
By the time she closed the sliding glass door, Grissom had grabbed her in an embrace and kissed her with the passion that caused the rest of the world disappear. And what made it more amazing was he was already naked when he did it. He smelled of his soap and shampoo, and his hair was still wet as she felt his curls between her fingers.
His erection was thick and hard against her thigh, and he broke apart their kiss to speak breathlessly in her ear.
"I need to feel you," he said biting her bottom lip and then assaulting her neck with his mouth before returning to her ear. "I need to feel all of you."
He began to remove her clothing recklessly. Sara was glad she put on an old tank top and jeans, because in his haste he ripped her shirt open, only to reveal her exposed breasts.
"You walked out of the lab like that?" Grissom questioned, his fingers already cupping and teasing her breasts and nipples.
"I had my jacket on," Sara said, her voice catching as Grissom continued to massage and then take her into his mouth. "I took it off when I got into the house."
Grissom merely mumbled against her breast and then raised his head to kiss her mouth. Their tongues ravaged one another. Grissom moved Sara towards the bedroom, but stopped at a wall in the hallway. She still wore her jeans, but her button was already undone and her zipper unzipped, so he simply pushed himself further and further down Sara's body, taking her jeans and panties with him.
On his knees he held Sara's legs. She could feel his breathe on her mound and at that moment, her arousal seeped. Grissom quickly shot up and brought his hands to her face.
"I need to taste you," he said breathlessly. "All of you."
And with that, he returned to his position at his knees, only this time he tasted the arousal that sprung from her. Her scent and taste filled him. Sara's body became tense and relaxed at the same time. She gyrated to his movements. And when he took her by the legs and spun her to face the wall, she did so.
"Oh God!" Sara exclaimed, and then she muttered those words, again. Only this time, in a decidedly different tone.
"Oh... God. These walls are filthy."
At that moment, Grissom was relishing the feel of Sara's ass in his face. Did he hear her right?
"What did you say?" he asked, continuing to caress, nip and kiss her buttocks. "Something about filthy." Sara could feel his smile on her rear, and laughed.
"The walls. Ahhh! …," Sara tried to explain her thoughts but Grissom had spread apart her legs so he could take his tongue from the edge of her mound to the top of her split. The moan from Sara caused him to make his way back up her so that he erection rested within her buttocks.
"What were you saying?" He asked breathlessly in her ear.
"Nothing… I was just thinking we," she tried to speak but needed to catch her breath. "… We really should change the vent filters, hon."
Grissom stopped nibbling on her eye, and turned her around.
"You're thinking about that now?"
"No, it's just… I never noticed till now. It's not like I've been this close to the wall, and the dust bunnies are very noticeable," Sara said, red faced. She was rambling and she caught herself doing it. She shook her head. "Why are we talking about this now?"
"Well, you brought up air filters while I was molesting you orally," Grissom teased with a devilish grin. "It makes me think you're distracted."
Sara shook her head again. But Grissom didn't believe her.
"Are you thinking about the case at the hotel?"
"NO! God no!" Sara said, rolling her eyes. "You have no idea. I am definitely not thinking about that."
"Sure?"
"Babe, seriously. Last thing on my mind. Ever."
Sara regained her composure. She loved this man, and now was not the time to think about dust bunnies. With passion in her eyes, she kissed Grissom reminded him to continue where he left off. Their kisses rekindled their lust.
Sara grabbed Grissom into the bedroom to get him on the bed. Before she could push him upon the bed, he looked at her with that devilish grin and pushed her so he could be on top of her. Sara's hands groped every inch of Grissom's body. She grabbed his buttocks, her fingers doing much of the same thing that his tongue performed for her. They took some time exploring one another, letting their passion build, until Sara could take it no longer.
"I want you inside me," she said.
"Oh, my love," Grissom said. And with that, he thrust deeply inside Sara, relishing the feel of her heat and her walls.
He then thrust again, equally savoring the feeling.
And then he rolled off of her.
Sara stayed still on the bed. Her eyes were at the ceiling and she could feel her own shock registering on her face. She looked over to see Grissom with his left arm behind his head and an astonishing large grin on his face.
Sara looked at him with utter disbelief and then suddenly made a face.
She then smacked him against his chest, causing him to chuckle.
"You shit!" she said, playfully batting him again. "I knew you heard that conversation!"
Two pumps and a roll over.
Grissom couldn't contain his laughter. "So, were you going to count? Or have you already done that?"
"I wasn't even thinking about it," Sara said, resorting to tickling and smacking together. "But if this is the starting point, you have a lot to do to pick up your average."
The two continued to laugh and tease one another. They did get back to the task at hand, especially since Grissom's erection was as big as the smile on his face. Fortunately, Sara sported a big grin too, which made the tables equal.
END
A/N: I dedicate this piece to my friend Rosemary, whose line about her ex-husband gave birth to this story. (And no, she is no where near octogenarian age). It's a hilarious line that I hope I did it justice.
A/N2: James Shields is a starting pitcher with the Tampa Bay Rays. His ERA at the time of this post is 2.54. For those Sox fans out there, one word to you: SWEEP!