A/N: Hee-hee, this story is so much fun. Thanks for all your great response guys it's very encouraging. I'm sure you could figure this out all on your own but I do not own "Sympathy for the Devil", it belongs to the great Mick Jagger, and the fantabulous Keith Richards. I don't profit from it in any way, shape or form, in fact I'm pretty sure it was written before I was even born.
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Chapter 3 – Sympathy for the Devil?
Sara muttered unintelligible noises as she slowly came out of a deep sleep. Surprised not to find Nick's firm, warm body snuggled up against her she reached over for him and came awake completely when she found he wasn't there. She opened one bleary eye. His spot in the bed was still warm so he must have only vacated it recently. Listening for a moment she could hear the water running and –
"Please allow me to introduce myself! I'm a man of wealth and taste! I've been around for a long, long year! Stole many a man's soul and faith!"
She groaned, sinking her head deeper into her pillow. Nick was in the shower. And he was singing. Loudly. She glanced at the digital clock on her nightstand to see that they really didn't need to be awake yet and idly wondered how on earth he could sound so hyper after all their... ahem, physical activities.
"Pleased to meet you! Hope you guess my name! Oh yeah! What's puzzling you is just the nature of my game! WHOO-WHOO! WHOO-WHOO!"
She sighed, knowing she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep now and reminded herself that if she killed him now she wouldn't be able to use him as her love slave again later. Untangling herself from the mass of covers she must have stolen from Nick as they slept, she got up and shuffled out to the bathroom. The door was open a bit, light and steam spilling through the crack into the darkened hallway. She pushed it open squinting at the sudden brightness, the clean spicy scent of his soap hitting her nostrils.
"So if you meet me have some courtesy, have some sympathy and some taste!" Nick crooned, humming the lyrics he couldn't remember and even making sounds to mimic Keith Richards' famous guitar riff. Over the steady drone of the shower and his own voice he hadn't heard her tiptoe into the room.
Sara almost lost it when he started singing in falsetto. Oh, Nicky.
"Tell me baby! What's my name? WHOO-WHOO! Tell me honey! Can you guess my name?"
She rolled her eyes and shook her head, biting her lip to hold back the laughter that wanted to escape. Walking over to the bathtub, discarding her t-shirt as she went, she slowly reached out and suddenly whipped the shower curtain open.
"WOO- WHAAAAAAAAA!" he yelled in surprise, the slippery bar of soap shooting from his hand. Realizing it was just Sara and not Norman Bates dressed as his mother and brandishing a butcher knife, he clutched his lathered chest and let out a deep breath. "Christ on a crutch, Sidle! You scared the hell outta me!"
"Serves you right for disturbing my slumber. Move over maestro," she grumbled, poking him in the side and stepping into the tub, pulling the curtain closed. He quickly rinsed himself off, Sara watching with more than a little bit of interest as the soapsuds were chased off his chiseled body.
"Cranky," he teased, wiping water out of his eyes and dropping a quick greeting kiss on her lips as he maneuvered around her carefully to let her get under the spray. "Someone hasn't had their coffee yet I see."
She gave him a look. "No shit, Sherlock."
"Keep digging, Watson," he countered with an amused smirk.
"'Sympathy for the Devil'?" she questioned, leaning her head back to wet her hair. "Really?"
"What, you don't like the Stones?" he asked distractedly, entranced by the water droplets running down over her breasts to her navel and beyond. Her arms crossed over her chest and she cleared her throat. With some effort he snapped his eyes back to hers, offering a sheepish expression.
"Sure I do," she replied, reaching past him for her shampoo. "When it's Mick singing," she added with a smug grin.
He gasped, feigning hurt. "Ouch baby. That hurts on the inside," he pouted poking himself in the chest over his heart.
She chuckled, rinsing her hair. "You'll find a way to carry on, I'm sure. Come here I took too much."
He ducked his head obediently as she massaged the excess shampoo into his hair. Her fingernails scratched his scalp and he brought his hand up to rapidly paw at his ear, mimicking a dog having his belly rubbed. He grinned when she laughed; he loved that sound and would do almost anything to hear it.
"It could have been worse you know," he kidded, dropping his hand. "I coulda been singin' Shania Twain."
A horrified look crossed her face and she shuddered. "Oh, perish the thought."
"Besides, I thought you said you liked my voice?" he queried cocking his head curiously to the side. They often sang together when they felt silly, in the car or in bed or while doing things like making dinner or reviewing cases.
"I do," she admitted, still working her fingers through the thick lather in his dark hair. "Maybe just not so much when it wakes me from my beauty sleep-"
"You're already beautiful," he interjected, turning on the charm with his heart-stopping Texan smile that made all the ladies (and some of the gentlemen, she was sure) swoon.
"Thank you," she said with a faint blush and a grin. "Okay then, not so much when it wakes me well over an hour before I even have to get up for work and the night before was particularly... exhausting. How the hell are you even conscious by the way?" she demanded.
He grinned and shrugged, waggling his eyebrows. "I guess I just have good stamina."
She pursed her lips. "Mm, don't I know it."
"I'm sorry I woke you though darlin'," he said with a puppy-dog face, leaning down for a redeeming kiss. His hands rested lightly at her hips making seductive patters on her skin.
"You're forgiven. I'm sure you and your 'stamina' will find a way to redeem you," she said with a sly grin and kissed him again. "Oh, and I'm sorry too."
"Why, what for?" he asked, puzzled.
"'For scaring you."
"Oh," he said and cleared his throat, subconsciously standing a little straighter and puffing his broad chest out a bit in adorable nonchalance. "Well, you know, you didn't really scare me that bad..."
"Uh huh."
"You didn't," he insisted.
"Right babe, whatever you say," she said airily, cutting off his further protests with another kiss. She finally removed her hands from his head and stepped back to admire her handiwork. "There," she said triumphantly. He furrowed his brow questioningly when she started to giggle.
"What?" He reached up a tentative hand and discovered she had given him devil horns. "Oh, aren't we cute?" he said dryly, moving to get by her and rinse his hair.
She kept giggling and pressed her hands against his chest lightly, blocking his way. "Oh, no you don't, mister." She reached up and fixed the little horn he had bent, sticking it up straight again. "I like you just like that."
He shot her a look and Sara bent over at the waist from laughing so hard and wished more than anything that she had a camera. Nick was standing there, in all his naked male glory with his hands propped on his narrow hips, a crooked grin on his lips and shampoo devil horns in his hair.
"I bet you think you're pretty clever don't you?" he asked, arching an amused eyebrow and narrowing his eyes. She nodded unable to speak through her laughter, her hands clamped over her mouth. He shook his head and chuckled.
She regained some control of herself and stepped forward to wrap her arms around his neck planting a sweet open-mouthed kiss on his lips. He smiled as he returned her kiss, his large hands slowly stroking up and down her back. The sensation of her slick naked body sliding against his was doing wondrous things for him. He groaned when the tip of her tongue ran along his lips before slipping between them to seek out his own.
"How's your ass doing?" he asked between kisses, his soft voice taking on a deep gravelly quality that made Sara's pulse quicken.
"You tell me," she said huskily.
He grinned against her lips and slid his hands down to caress her butt. "Feels pretty damn good," he drawled, pulling her firmly against him.
Her arms tightened around his neck when his hands slipped further down to the backs of her thighs. He picked her up and she wrapped her long legs around his waist snugly as he moved to stand them under the showerhead, the warm spray pulsating against their skin. Sara pulled back enough to run her fingers through his hair to rinse all the shampoo away, careful not to get any of the soap in his eyes. When finished her hands held either side of his neck, her thumbs stroking his ears and she found his lips with hers and his tantalizing tongue again invaded her mouth. Nick held her closely against him, their bodies pressing together intimately, the cascading water further moistening their feverish kiss. He advanced again after a moment, pinning her against the wall. She gasped when her heated skin touched the tile and he broke away to look at her questioningly.
"Cold," she explained and he offered a crooked smile in apology. Wrapping his strong arms around her back he formed a protective barrier between her and the chilly wall.
"Better?" he asked leaning forward again and she nodded appreciatively. She claimed his mouth once more, their tongues rubbing together intimately and her hands slid down his back feeling the hard muscles flex under his skin.
He trailed warm kisses along her jaw to her earlobe, sucking it into his mouth briefly for a tender nibble. Continuing down to her throat and across her collarbone he drank in the sweet water droplets he encountered as he went, his day-old beard stubble rasping wonderfully against her skin. She whispered his name and gripped his broad shoulders, her fingernails digging deliciously into his flesh; she had been right earlier, he didn't mind that at all.
She softly kissed his ear before murmuring breathlessly. "My, my Nicky. Aren't you a horny little devil?"
He laughed deeply against her neck and kissed her again and again, losing himself in her completely.
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A/N: I really don't think I need to tell you this but I will anyway, my "Norman Bates" Psycho reference belongs to Alfred Hitchcock. Oh, and as a fellow Canadian I have nothing but respect and encouragement for Shania Twain even if her style of music is not a particular favorite of mine... us Canucks have to stick together ;)