(Hey guys! It's been a long time since I've gotten a story posted on here, but hopefully you'll enjoy this little one-shot. I've always thought these two have a lot of chemistry on the show, though I doubt I'll ever see the two of them together on there. Anyway, I guess that's about all, other than to say that I don't own CSI:NY, or any of the characters, or the Keith Urban song that gave me the idea and the story title.)

**Second Author's Note: This is a story I had posted on here once before, but I had to take it down. I'm re-posting it now, revised and better than ever (I hope)!

You Look Good in my Shirt

By: TutorGirlml

She let out a small hiss of pleasure as the stream of water hit her skin, easing her sore muscles, held tight throughout a double shift and three homicides' crime scenes. Steam rose all around her from the near-scalding temperature she'd turned the shower to. Tilting her head back and arching her long, graceful neck, she let the water saturate and wet down her chaotic spiral curls, running in rivulets down the line of her elegant spine. At least, for once, it was a good kind of pain, for besides the long hours in the field she'd put herself through, she was feeling the workout they'd given each other last night and early this morning.

Curious, she took a moment to glance around at the contents of his shower. There was shampoo and conditioner in one, a bar of soap, a razor, shaving cream, and not much else. 'Typical bare necessities male,' she thought with a smirk, picturing her own apartment's tub crowded with bath beads, bubble bath, loofahs, lotions, a razor, shower cap, scented oils, and all kinds of bottles and potions and cleansers that she had collected. A long, leisurely bath was the best way she had found to unwind and wash the horror and revulsion at the crimes she witnessed from both her body and her psyche. But obviously this man, whose shower contents she'd never even thought she would see until practically this moment, had some other method to stave off the madness – he obviously didn't spend more time in here than was necessary.

Humming to herself, she realized with surprise that she probably had him to thank for the pleasant, almost peppy, mood she was in this morning. It was a change from the way she usually rolled out of bed to face the day: snarling, grumpy, and almost as exhausted as if she'd never slept at all. Between the nightmares she often suffered and the worries she chewed over before finally finding slumber at all, she seriously felt she should be thanking her new bed buddy for pulling off a minor miracle – at least four or five hours' peaceful sleep.

She stepped out of the shower, wrapping a fluffy, dark green towel around herself while she pinned her hair haphazardly on top of her head with tendrils spiraling down here and there. Then, she stepped back out into the bedroom, smirking at the rumpled sheets and glancing around to find the rest of the room empty.

That was when she heard what sounded distinctly like singing. Stifling a snorting laugh, she could hear a radio out in his kitchen blaring Billy Joel's "Uptown Girl" and his deep, normally shiver-inducing voice belting out the words right along, if a little loudly and rather off-key. She wouldn't have figured him for either much of sing-alonger or a morning person, but then, the last twelve hours had proved him to be full of surprises.

A twinkle of mischief glittered in her eyes as she walked over to the bed, stepped out of the towel found his white dress shirt from the night before, and slid it over her bare skin, buttoning the top few buttons and letting it hang down to where it stopped just a little above mid-thigh. Then, as an after-thought, she grabbed his loud, ugly-patterned tie as well, and draped it around her neck before she tiptoed silently through the living room, around the kitchen counter, and right up behind him, without him hearing her.

Standing on tiptoe, when she reached where he stood at the stove scrambling eggs, she stretched up to cover his eyes, her voice carrying a hint of laughter and a lot of teasing as she attempted to whisper in his ear despite the height difference, "Guess who?"

She felt him pause, attempting to turn within the circle of her arms to look at her. But she pressed her body fully to his, rubbing seductively against his back, knowing she'd feel the tremor that ran along his body, but not expecting the corresponding shiver and then the rush of heat that went through her own in response. "Oh no, Detective, I don't think so. No peeking. Just who do you think has ahold of you?"

"Well," he drawled, his voice low, rumbling and crackly from sleep and his Yonkers accent more pronounced. "I don't know….Should I?" He was toying with her now, playing her game right back. His mouth quirked up at one side and he could feel the arousal running through his veins as he waited to see what she would do next.

When you walked up behind me and covered my eyes

and whispered in my ear "Guess who?"

I rattled off names like I really didn't know

But all along I knew it was you…

Her light green eyes narrowed playfully as she realized he was going to tease her just as much in return. "Don't make me get out my cuffs and remind you just who you're dealing with," she warned, her voice adding just a hint of steel to the purr that she had been employing.

"Bonasera? Is that you?" he asked, struggling to sound curious, like he really wasn't sure, and blindly grinning at her. "How'd you get in here?" It was all he could do not to laugh. Like he could be dense enough to forget that body, or that voice, or those hands… He still couldn't believe that last night he had finally reached what he had dreamed of having with her for months – or more like years, if he were honest with himself.

"Very funny," she growled, sounding like she might actually want to get her cuffs out and punish him now. 'Fine by me,' Flack startled himself by thinking.

Without warning, he spun quickly around, catching her wrists in his hands as he turned to face her and bend her over the countertop with a forceful, toe-curling kiss. Pulling away after a minute, but not releasing her from his grasp, he took in her appearance, now that he could get a look at her. Her hair was piled up; baring her graceful neck to him, her curls escaping to frame her face in a riotous way that was uniquely hers. She had a sated, happy, well-loved look on her face that he didn't think he had ever seen before, and he almost blushed with pride to think that he had put it there. Yet seeing her in nothing but his shirt and tie – and barely covered by them at that - was the real icing on the cake. He had never seen her look so amazingly hot and sexy. And that was saying something as he thought she looked pretty hot and sexy most of the time. It was probably something proprietary and said something disturbing about how much he desperately wanted her to be his, but at the moment he didn't really care. He wanted to make love to her again, while she was wearing his shirt, and she knew it. The way he was looking at her made her feel like she was melting into a puddle right there on the linoleum floor tiles. His voice was husky when he finally said, "I'd know you anywhere, Stell."

"Would you now?" she queried, trying not to gulp in air as she suddenly forgot how to breathe.

"Oh, you know it." He licked his lips, and the gaze he directed at her was ravenous. Then he was kissing her again, lifting her easily off the floor as she wrapped her legs around his lean, wiry torso and he impatiently swept the silverware, napkins, and everything else off the counter to lay her down there, ravishing her like she was going to be the main course of breakfast instead of the food he'd been preparing.

"Don," she moaned, her voice breathy and light, more feminine than he had ever even imagined it while working with her all these years. He was nibbling down her neck and undoing buttons as he went lower, and he chuckled as she shuddered when he licked between the valley of her breasts. Her nails were scratching at his shoulders, and he thought randomly that he didn't care a bit if she marked him as hers, and her legs locked tighter around him, pulling him even closer to her, leaving no doubt what she was asking for.

He stood up for just a moment, having to drink in the way she looked just then, wondering if he'd slipped into a very lengthy dream last night and had yet to wake up from it. "Wow, Stella," he said appreciatively, giving her a wolfish smile and winking at her. "You look really good in my shirt. I think you'll have to wear that from now on."

"Very professional, Detective," she chided, annoyed with him and squirming as she tried to get him back to the task at hand. Not willing to wait for him any longer, she arched up, pulling the tie off and wrapping it around him to pull him back down to her. "Now come back here and finish what you started…"

And maybe it's a little too early to know if this is gonna work All I know is You're sure looking Good in my shirt…

Much later, curled up on the couch together, clothed in nothing but the same blanket they'd grabbed off the back of a chair, they were both worn out and half-drowsily near sleep, but Don still had one arm cushioning her head and wrapped around her, holding her close. Stella absently ran her fingers lightly along the skin of his forearm, stroking back and forth lovingly.

Finally, she spoke up, glad he held her against him the way he did, so she didn't have to look him in the eye when she asked her question. "How, Don?" she murmured, her voice low, realizing it probably sounded like this was coming out of nowhere; her eyes serious even if they weren't meeting his, as focused and intense as if she were studying a piece of evidence. "How would you know it's me? You said you'd know me anywhere…How?"

He was taken aback by her question, wondering that she didn't see the answer right in front of her. He knew she had suffered a lot in her life, but he'd always seen her as being more strong and confident for it. Understandably she had her demons and her reservations when it came to men and relationships, but he couldn't bring himself to believe the uncertainty – the insecurity – that flickered across what he could see of her face before she covered it again. Did she honestly not know how utterly amazing and unforgettable she was? There were moments like this when he irrationally wished he could bring Frankie back from the dead to kill him with his own two hands. What he had done to Stella she would carry with her the rest of her life. And Don Flack knew he wouldn't stop there; if he ever got hold of Drew Bedford, or the parents who had given her up, or anyone who had ever made her feel unwanted or unworthy or unloved, he would make them all sorry they had ever dared hurt the incredible woman he'd fallen for.

He tried to shove that swell of unpleasant emotion down and answer calmly, in the best way he knew how to explain the way her presence captivated him. "That's easy, Stell," he smiled at her as she rolled over slightly to look up at him, his mouth quirking up and eyes gazing back into hers, hoping they radiated his honesty and admiration fully. "It's like I breathe you when you get anywhere near me. The air feels different – exciting, electric – like nothing else I've ever felt. I know when you're around just because I suddenly feel it in my veins, like I'm ten times more awake or alive than I ever am otherwise. It's this sense that you're setting me on fire, or sometimes holding me together when I'm falling apart, but either way it's something no one else has ever made me feel. No one's ever going to touch me like that but you, Stella. I would know you anywhere. You're just going to have to believe me. I know," he added, when her expression turned disbelieving as he talked, but he caught her chin in his hand and made her keep looking at him, "I know it sounds sappy and ridiculous, especially coming from a lug like me, but it's true and you deserve to know it. Especially since you don't seem to see how special you are."

She startled him once again when she had to wipe a lone tear away, and he just barely heard a sniffle escape her. He didn't comment, knowing that as tough as she normally appeared she couldn't like that she was showing this moment of fragility to anyone, even after the intimacy of the past few hours they'd shared. Instead, he simply leaned forward to lightly kiss the top of her head and breathe in the scent of her hair as he did. "So, the real question is, do you believe me?"

She ran her hands up his bare biceps, letting them rest on his shoulders for just a moment, deliciously loving that despite how defined the muscles were, she didn't feel the least bit threatened by his strength or physical presence. He was one of the few people she felt completely safe with and knew that the power coiled within him would only ever be used to love her and defend her. Quirking a half-smile back up into his expectant face, she whispered as she pulled him down into her arms, "I don't know if I deserve all that, but I think I do believe you. Stick around and keep saying it…I could certainly get used to being adored."

Maybe it's a little too early to know if this is going to work… …Oh, but what I'm seeing, I'd sure love seeing every morning from now on…