Title: Mind on the Job

Prompt: #4, "Coffee/Tea" at the "20 First Kisses" LiveJournal community

Pairing: Horatio/Marisol

Rating: PG-13 for (mostly humorous) sexual content and the faintest taste of fancrack.

Disclaimer: CSI: Miami and all characters and situations thereof are the property of CBS, Bruckheimer Productions, etc.

A/N: Takes place sometime post-Driven. Probably describes a first lip-to-lip kiss, rather than a first kiss period. A quick piece written when I was feeling uninspired for Part 2 of Sixth-Date Rule (which is coming soon, I swear).

Hope you all enjoy.

Marisol sighed as she walked in the door. "Mall was terrible today," she remarked, dropping her shopping bags.

Horatio didn't respond. She peeked into the living room; he was on the couch, inspecting a set of photographs and clippings that were laid out on the coffee table. His coffee cup, half-empty, was on the end of the table.

"Doesn't make any sense," she heard him say.

"Hello to you too, Horatio."

He still didn't look up, instead picking up another photograph, turning it sideways, inspecting every inch of it. "Two dead in the same house, second victim's holding a gun, he's got blood spatter and GSR all over him, but the bullets…" he picked up another photo, "…the bullets Alexx extracted do not come from his gun."

"Are you supposed to take casefiles home with you?"

"This isn't a casefile. I made copies of the photographs. If someone else was the shooter, how did he get the blood and residue on him? It doesn't make any sense." Still no motion.

"You made copies." Marisol said, stunned. "You know, most people are done with work when they head home for the day."

"Most people do not have an open homicide investigation." He pulled up another photo, this one of two bullets lined up side-by-side. From what she could see from the other side of the room, they looked very much alike, although admittedly ballistics was not her specialty.

"Do you…have any suspects?" she said, by way of conversation.

"Not at the moment."

"Any leads? Any solid evidence as to who might have done it, for that matter?"

"Also, not at the moment."

"To the best of your knowledge, is there some kind of crazy psycho killer running loose in Miami?"

"Probably not, this looks more like a domestic incident of some kind – at least it would if those were his bullets – "

"That's…that's not really my point." She said, with a laugh. "They're photos. It's not like you can stare them down until they talk."

"I'm missing something." His gaze had still not moved from the evidence gallery. "I know I'm missing something. There has got to be an inconsistency somewhere…"

She stood and watched as he rifled though the photos, the diagrams, the floor plans of the house. He was impossible to talk to when he got like this. Drastic measures had to be taken.

"You know," she said casually, "if you weren't so busy with that, you might notice that I'm not wearing any clothes."

He froze for a moment – but only for a moment. After that, it was right back to the files. "You have clothes on, Marisol."

"How do you know? You're still not looking."

"Because you just walked in the door a few minutes ago, and I very much doubt that you went shopping naked." He kept his eyes on the photos, though by now it was more to make a point than anything else. "Mall security frowns on that."

"I could have undressed while we were talking."

"That fast?"

"Yes, that fast."

He shook his head. "Marisol, I'm sorry, but I have an open investigation with no leads, and if there was a third party involved, they are still out there. If there is anything else to find in this evidence, it may be the difference between catching a killer and letting him walk." He took a sip of his coffee.

"I know, I know," she said, walking his way. "Saving the world one crime scene at a time, right?"

She sat down beside him. And he stopped dead as he noticed that, in fact, she wasn't wearing any clothes.

She couldn't help but grin as he hastily put down the coffee and made quite a show of checking his watch. "That, um…that was fast."

"The faster I can change, the later I get to sleep in the morning." She shrugged innocently.

"I see." His voice was calm, but he was still recovering, looking everywhere but at her. She put a hand on his cheek, turned him to face her, and, very slowly for maximum effect, kissed him.

He didn't resist. Nor did he resist when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him close, nor when she let one hand trail down his back. In fact, by then she was quite certain he was reciprocating the kiss.

His eyes were closed when they separated. After a few seconds, he opened them, smiled, and said, very firmly, "No."

No surprises there. She sighed. "You really do need a break."

"And I'll take one. When I'm finished. Sweetheart, I really do need to get this investigation underway."

"You're at home," she protested as she stood up. "You're not even supposed to be working." With that, she turned on her heel, picked up her clothes, and strode upstairs (indignantly, she hoped).

He laughed and went back to the photographs, mostly to prevent himself from watching her leave.

Of course he'd already drank all the coffee in the coffeepot. Marisol wondered, idly, how long he'd been sitting there.

Humming to herself, a now-fully-dressed Marisol rummaged around the kitchen, looking for the coffee filters. She hadn't familiarized herself with Horatio's kitchen yet; thus far she'd relied on trial and error to find what she needed. The cabinets and drawers were mostly empty, and the appliances in them were infrequently used – the hallmarks of a bachelor.

"They're in the second cabinet on the left." Horatio had come in to the kitchen without her even noticing – some time ago, apparently, as he was now close enough to put a hand on her waist.

She slowly turned to face him, her arms folded in front of her. "I thought you had work to do," she said.

"I did." He replied; both hands were on her waist now. "I found what may be a lead in our bullet trajectories."

"Ah." She smiled. "You finally made them confess."

"That's what I do."

"Does that mean you're taking a break?"

"I think I'd like one, yes."

Her eyes opened wide, and suddenly she shook her head. "Oh no you don't," she said, pointing at him. "You had your chance, Horatio. And I seem to recall you being too busy."

"I don't get a second chance?" He asked. The smile was back.

"You certainly don't. How do you think I feel about being blown off for your – your bullet trajectories or whatever you said they were? I'm not happy about it, you know."

"Would it help if I apologized?" He had moved closer; they were inches apart now.

"It might."

She couldn't say she didn't see it coming when he kissed her. Considering how close he was, she would have been disappointed if he didn't.

But she hadn't expected him to kiss her quite like this – arm around her waist, hand behind her head, nothing separating them but a layer or two of fabric. She hadn't expected the kiss to send a shiver of delight up her spine. And she hadn't expected to be breathless when it ended (too soon, too soon).

She too kept her eyes closed for a moment after it was over, letting his taste linger on her lips. But it didn't take too long to regain her composure, and as she did she straightened up, smiled, and said, very definitely, "No."

It was his turn to laugh. "If you say so."

"I do." She gave him a playful shove. "Now get back to work, you. I thought you had a crime to solve. I'll let you know when the coffee's done."

Horatio nodded, and retreated from the kitchen. And it would have been much more dignified had Marisol not seen the joyous grin on his face as he walked away.