Disclaimer: You know it's not mine.

Rating: PG I suppose

A/N: I'd write more, honestly, but it's a little late and I'm very tried. I'm surprised I even got this much out. Hope you enjoy : )


Work Out: Teasing

Nick would have been lying if he said he knew a thing about tennis because the truth was, he had never played it in his life let alone watched it on television. It had been on in the break room once when he'd wanted a cup of coffee. Hearing loud, almost obnoxious grunts and guttural cries from the T.V., Nick had turned his head to figure out what exactly Greg and Warrick were watching.

"Have you never seen women's tennis before?" had asked Greg, glancing over his shoulder at the curious CSI walking closer towards them.

"No, actually, I haven't."

"Man, you're missing out," Warrick had replied, his eyes glued to the screen.

"Who's the blonde? She's really going at it."

"She always does," Greg had grinned. "That's Anna Kournikova."

"She's not bad."

"She's losing," Warrick had remarked, though it was apparent that it didn't matter.

"Shh! It doesn't matter," had hissed Greg, waving Nick away.

The Texan figured it would be worth every bit of humiliation if meant that he got to see Sara in a little white skirt like the girls on the television had been wearing. There was always the possibility of Sara just wearing shorts since she didn't need to attract viewers like Anna.

Throwing his t-shirt into the bag along with his runners and shorts, Nick let out a final breath before slamming his locker shut and heading out the door. He was almost at his car in the middle of the parking lot since everyone else had beaten him there that shift, when Sara intercepted him.

"You ready?" she grinned up at him.

There had been words on the tip of his tongue until he realized what Sara was wearing. Her hair was up in a messy ponytail, a few strands of chestnut framing her face and on her wrists were white sweat bands. Beneath the white pleaded skirt were long, slightly pale legs with runners adorning her small feet. Lastly, Nick's eyes couldn't help but settle on her chest. Pink. Sara Sidle, renowned badass and tomboy, who punch any guy if she caught him staring at her wrong, was wearing pink. Not a pale pink or salmon color, but princess, straight out of grade three pink that looked like the gum under the tables of his high school cafeteria. Nick was in heaven staring at her. He wasn't even aware that she was wearing a sleeveless v-neck until he glanced up from her breasts to find creamy skin exposed to the desert heat.

"Nick," she said, her voice clearly expressing her unimpressed mood. "I'm up here."

"Sorry, I just couldn't help but –"

"Stare at my breasts for the past two minutes? It's okay. I'm used to it, but usually you're a little more covert," she teased, punching him in the arm. "Now are you done? Can we go?"

She was already off towards his car before he could reply. It was because this way he could gawk at her cute bum underneath the crisp white, loose fitting skirt that he was dying to hitch up around her legs. More than anything, he wanted to feel her fleshy bottom in his hands much like he had the other night in the sauna. He couldn't decide if he should have shot himself or congratulated himself for not having sex with her that night. Truly, she was the testament to his willpower and he wasn't sure how long it was going to last if she continued to tease him like she was between the sauna and the little skirt that bared her perfectly muscled legs.

He was thankful that Warrick had told her what gym he went to even though his friend knew that he hadn't gone there in several months. Her determination had paid off and Nick was salivating all over the product of it when they climbed into the front seat of his truck.

"Where to?" he asked, backing out of the parking stall.

When he looked over his shoulder, he noticed a black bag sitting at her feet in the shape of a tennis racket.

"Have you had that with you the entire time?" he wondered, following her direction to turn right out of the parking lot.

"I'll give you that it was behind my back when I first saw you," she answered, giving him a flirtatious grin before turning her attention to her window.

"I was just surprised, is all," he defended.

He gripped the steering wheel with two hands in a concentrated effort not to touch what he knew were smooth legs that her ridden-up skirt had bared. Swallowing hard, he frowned at the road and bit the inside of his cheek to stop the dirty thoughts that were running through his head.

"That I have breasts?"

Shocked and appearing offended, Nick retorted, "That you're wearing pink."

"Why?"

"I've never seen you wear pink before." He paused before adding, hoping that it didn't sound lame, "You look really good in it."

"Thank you," she said, smiling at him.

Reaching over, she patted his thigh softly before resting it there. "I was only teasing you, Nicky."

He wasn't sure if she heard the slight groan when she called him her pet name for him, but he hoped that she didn't. He didn't want to come across as some teenage boy who couldn't control himself. After all, he was a grown man – who happened to be at the complete mercy of a woman wearing a pleaded skirt. It was every male's wet dream come true. He just somehow needed to convince her that the backseat was better than tennis.

Her warm hand on his thigh sent heat straight to his loins, causing it to be increasingly more difficult for him to stifle the part of them was straining against the denim of his jeans.

"You're not wearing that, are you?" she mused aloud, looking him over thoroughly.

"No, I have my clothes my bag," he replied, nodding behind him to his leather bag on the backseat.

"How come you didn't get dressed at the lab?"

"Someone said we would be playing tennis at four," he reminded her, raising an eyebrow. "It's only eleven o'clock."

"I hope you didn't have plans," she smiled innocently. "I figured you would just go home a sleep or something otherwise."

"Yeah, overtime will do that to you."

"You can go home if you want, Nicky," she began. "It's all right. We can do this another time."

"I'll be fine." He grinned at her out to reassure her. "Besides, I'm excited to have my ass handed to me."

"I thought you said you were good at tennis," she stated confused.

"I lied."

"Why? You didn't have to agree to come if you didn't want to. We could have just done something else."

"We can something else later," he winked. "It'll be fun, Sara. You'll enjoy beating me thoroughly. Just next time, it's my turn to pick what we do."

"Okay."

Sara was practically beaming at the idea of them doing something again since she had doubts ever since the sauna incident.

"I wasn't going to bring it up again," Sara started, "but I just wanted to make sure that everything's all right since I think I offended you earlier."

"Sticks and stones, Sar. I can handle it."

"But I didn't mean to. I was just making assumptions, I guess, on things that I've heard."

"Not all of them are true," he reasoned.

The drive to the Sara's destination was a little longer than Nick expected but he didn't mind since he got to spend extra time with her that he usually didn't get. Sara patiently and respectfully waited outside of the SUV as Nick changed in the backseat, very thankful for the tinted windows that he had installed a few weeks before.

Stepping down onto the pavement with his racket in one hand and bottle of water in the other, he was surprised to see the couple walking towards him with grins on their faces.

"I hope you don't mind, but I invited Catherine and Warrick to come."

How could Nick have been upset when Sara had such a cute and innocent look on her face, a slight pout of her lips.

"I'm only here because I wouldn't miss Sara kicking your ass," remarked Warrick as a greeting, slapping his friend on the back.

"A true friend," Nick replied.

He couldn't help but grin as the four of them walked toward the entrance of the tennis court where Nick would likely lose any dignity and respect that he had before walking in.