IT'S ALL IN THE STICK
(an early Mike Logan/Casey Spenser story)
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. And if it gets any worse than it is, I'll have to eat my gun, Mike thought to himself as he gathered the balls together on the pool table.
The woman at the bar had been gazing in his direction most of the evening. Even if he'd been inclined to accept the unspoken invitation, an image of hazel eyes and hair the color of a summer sunset would have intruded.
He began racking the balls, setting up a new game, wanting nothing more than to go home. The haunted house as he began to call it lately. It had been cold and lonely, full of ghosts from the past seeking him out to terrorize him.
Shaking off the unpleasant memories, he slid the racked balls into place before lifting the rack slowly from them. He had better things to think about, such as how to get one red haired, hazel eyed federal agent out of his thoughts.
"Buck a ball. Your choice of games."
Logan stiffened, his fingers curling over the rack. Now he was hearing things. It had to be his imagination because there was no way that Casey Spenser was standing behind him, challenging him to a game of pool.
Turning slowly, he found her standing there with that ever present smirk on her face. She was wearing a black t-shirt and well-worn jeans. Her hair was pulled back from her face and held at the base of her neck with a clip. She looked so out of place in the cop bar. And he'd never seen anything more desirable in his life.
"What are you doing here?"
"I felt like a game of pool."
"You play in bars like this often?" he asked, indicating their surroundings.
"All the time. It gives me a humbling experience," she said. "Ya know, I'm something of a pool trout."
"Pool trout, huh?" Mike's eyes held a hint of laughter. "No kidding."
"You don't believe me," she said with an incredulous look. "You think I'm lying?"
"I didn't say that, Spenser."
"Are you going to play or do I have to find someone who isn't
afraid of me?" Casey tilted her head, giving him a challenging stare.
Nodding, he reached for his wallet. "Eight ball. Fifty a game."
Pushing back a stray lock of hair behind her ear, she smiled. "Fine with me. Can you give me one of those stick thingies?"
Stick thingies? Yeah, this was going to be a real challenge. He got a cue stick off the rack and chalked the end before handing it to her.
"Thanks," she said before taking a drink of her beer, then set it
beside his on the table.
"Do you want to break?" Mike asked trying to be polite.
"Not really. I have a hard time getting them apart."
Casey smiled at him causing him to turn away before he gave in
to the urge to do something stupid. Something such as kissing the federal agent in front of a room full of cops.
He aligned the cue ball and broke, scattering them across the table. The fifteen spun into the corner pocket, but he missed the next shot. He wasn't sure if he missed because of bad aim or because his mind was on the woman behind him.
"You got solids."
Eyeing the table with uncertainty, she pointed at them. "That's the ones with no white on 'em?"
"The ones with no white on 'em," he confirmed, biting his lower
lip to fight the urge to smile. Maybe her description was right when she called herself a pool trout. A fish might be better at the game than her.
Casey circled the table warily. When she finally settled on a shot, she edged up to the table and set her hand on the felt, balancing the stick on top of her fingers in a way that would end with a missed shot along with torn felt.
"There are easier ways to hold a stick," Mike said lowering his beer bottle.
"Really?" She straightened, turning to face him.
Setting his beer on the table, he took a step towards her. "I could show you."
She considered it for a moment, then nodded. "Okay."
It wasn't until Mike had put his hands on hers that it occurred
to him that teaching meant practically embracing her. With his right arm laid along hers, her back conformed against his chest as they leaned over the table.
"Put your hand like this," he told her trying not to notice her soft skin. "And hold the stick in your hand like this."
She smelled like wildflowers. It took everything he had not to turn his face into her hair.
"Like this?"
Turing her head to look at him, they were so close that it would take only a small movement to bring their mouths together. Mike's hands
tightened over hers, his arms drew her closer. Another heartbeat and he'd be able to taste the sweet warmth of her lips again. Those lips that he dreamed about at night.
"Like that," he said releasing her, stepping back. "Think you got it?"
"I guess."
"Good."
The first shot was so easy he felt no surprise that she made it. Casey seemed pleased when the ball hit the pocket. Mike raised his beer in salute.
The second shot was a little tougher, but not out of reach of beginner's luck. The third shot was different. This was his first clue that something wasn't right. Setting his beer down and leaning forward, he watched in disbelief as she sent the cue spinning off a bank into the four with an ease that would make even Briscoe envious. Her smile seemed less baby girl-ish this time.
She paused, taking a swallow of her beer as she walked around the table.
"I think I've been conned," Mike muttered.
She stared across the table, eyes of pure innocence. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."
Casey turned to the table without giving him time to respond. Mike watched as she ran the table, sending balls into pockets with ease.
"Eight ball, corner pocket," she said before sinking the ball into the reserved destination.
"I think I just bought the farm," Mike said, handing her the winnings.
Casey shrugged indifferently as she folded the bill in half and stuck it into his shirt pocket. "Well, here's your down payment back on the tractor."
"Not bad for a pool trout," he remarked blandly. Folding his arms across his chest he rested back against the table. "Shark may have been more appropriate."
"Shark. Trout. Same difference," she said finishing off her beer.
"Where'd you learn to shoot like that?"
"Aunt Josie." Putting her hands on her hips, she smiled. "I have to stand my ground against the Three Stooges."
He frowned at the remark that McCoy had said about the police department earlier that morning.
"I could always let you regain your bruised ego and let you beat me."
"I'm not going to show you how to hold your stick again," he warned.
Lowering her head, she lifted her eyes to lock onto his. "I don't need to be shown how to hold a stick, Logan."
Shaking his head, he cleared his mind of sensing her double meaning to her words. "I think I'll pass."
Dropping her hands to her side, she sighed. "Just as well."
Taking a quick glance around the area, she risked it all. Casey grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him forward until their lips met.
Mike's mind went blank with surprise. He sucked in a breath as she
lowered one hand from his shirt and boldly cupped her fingers over the growing need covered by his jeans.
He forgot where he was. His hands slid down her back to draw her forward. His lips slanted over hers, his tongue plunging between her lips, taking possession of her mouth the same way he longed to take of her body.
The sound of glass shattering pulled them apart. Both stepped away from each other to reorientate themselves with their surroundings.
He held out his hand, Casey understanding his unspoken words handed him the keys to her jeep. Mike placed his hand on her back, giving her a gentle push towards the exit.
The drive to Casey's apartment was silent. Not a word or a glance. They may have been oblivious to each other's existence. That wasn't the case. The tension vibrated through them. There was only one way the evening would end.
Mike shut the engine off and opened his door without a word. Casey pushed open her door, but before she could slide out to the ground, he was there, his arms enclosing her waist. She had to lock her knees to prevent herself from crumpling to his feet as he easily lowered her to the ground. He slammed the door shut, crowding her back against the jeep.
"Do you know how bad I want you?" he whispered hoarsely.
Casey knew, she felt the same way. Caught between the cool surface of the vehicle and the heat of his body, she felt his arousal press against her abdomen.
"All I can think about everyday is how much I want you, to feel you close around me."
His hands slid up from her waist to cup the weight of her breasts, his thumbs brushing her nipples, bringing them to full arousal beneath the thin cotton of her shirt.
Temporarily satisfied with her response, he shifted his attention to her hair; his fingers disposing of the clip that held it confined. He buried his fingers in it, tugging it gently to tilt her head up until his mouth could find hers in a quick, hard kiss.
He bent suddenly, lifting her in his arms with a movement so full of urgency that Casey felt her breath stolen from her. They were barely inside the front door before Mike was letting her slide to her feet, his hands at her shirt even as his mouth closed over hers.
Passion spiraled between them at a dizzying speed. Her shirt and bra fell to the floor as he lifted her, arching her back over his arm. She caught her breath as his mouth closed over her as he sucked strongly at her nipple. The pressure deep inside her grew, a furnace in the pit of her stomach.
Her fingers wound in his dark hair, holding her to him as he switched his attention to the neglected twin. She twisted against him, seeking relief for the throbbing ache between her thighs.
By the time he at last allowed her to slide slowly the length of his body, she didn't have the strength to do more than cling to his shoulders. Easing her down, it wasn't until she felt the bed beneath her that she realized he had carried her to the bedroom.
Pulling off her jeans, he looked down at her. Her red hair fanned out across the bed. She ran the toes of one foot down his leg to snap him out of his sightless gaze.
"Is that a gun in your pocket, Detective Logan. Or are you happy to see me?"
"I'm VERY happy to see you, Special Agent Spenser," he answered in a husky voice.
Disposing of his clothes in record time, Mike popped several buttons from his shirt when they refused to yield to his trembling hands. Casey felt her body flush in anticipation as the last of his clothes hit the floor. Reaching her arms up to him, she needed to feel him against her.
At the sight of her reaching for him, Mike felt his pulse pounding in his temples, battling against all rational thought beyond the primal need to feel her beneath him, to feel her holding him.
His need was too great to allow time for dealing with removing the delicate satin panties she still wore. With a tug they tore. Casey didn't care, her need was as great as his.
Her fingers clung to his shoulders as he came down to her, his hips wedging her legs apart. He entered her with one smooth hard thrust. She cried out as the deep ache in her was at once eased and heightened. She lifted her legs to take him deeper, wanting – needing -- to feel him in every fiber of her being.
The feel of her long legs pressed against his hips made Mike groan. He surged heavily against her, feeling her nails dig into his shoulders as she met his every thrust.
It was too intense to last very long. Mike felt the tightening of her body around him. He struggled to hold off his own climax wanting it to last forever. But feeling Casey shudder beneath him, he felt himself dragged headlong into the vortex of her peak.
The crash of thunder of a promised storm drowned the cries of release produced by the electrical storm that converged in the confines of the bedroom.
"You realize that you are gonna cause me permanent physical damage," he said eventually dropping to her side. He slid his arm under her
shoulders and drew her closer, tangling his fingers in her hair.
"What did I do?" she asked running her finger lazily over his chest.
"Kissing me like that in the bar," he reproached her. "Especially when there's nothing I could do until we made it here or at my place."
"Well, I'll try to be a good little girl next time then," she joked.
"Things like that can cause serious physical damage," he said trying his best to sound serious as he turned to his side to look at her. Running his finger up her arm to her cheek, then across her lips. "I could have been hurt."
"I'm sorry, Logan," she said taking hold of her hand, gently sucking his finger in between her lips.
Closing his eyes, he felt the growing fire slowly begin to rage again. "I suppose I can forgive you."
Allowing him to remove his finger, he began to trail it down her chest to her abdomen. "You could?"
"Sure...but it's gonna take some persuasion," he warned.
Turning on her side to face him, she smiled. "How 'bout a trip to the moon?"
"I don't want to live on the moon, Spenser." He pulled her into his arms, drawing her closer. "I've come close enough to heaven right here."
Not giving her a chance to make another snide comment, he drew her in for another kiss. He wanted to see if there was a chance of lightning striking twice that night.