Title:A Confined Catastrophe
Pairings: GSR
Rating: G...stupid fluff.
Disclaimer: I only own one character in this fic. TPTB, as fond as they seem to be of mixing up and firing the cast of CSI, have yet to give any of them to me.Oh well, there's always my birthday.
Summary: The Grissom men cause a bit of a splash, and make Mom a little angry!
A/N: God this is stupid. It's terrible writing, a dumb plot, Brain-rotting mind candy, and totally OOC...but it made me laugh. Read On!
Grissom froze suddenly; the growl was soft, but dangerous, and coming from below his waist. After amoment, he glanced down, bemused. "Did you just growl at me?" The only response he received was another low growl.
A considering silence fell over the scene. Finally, Grissom sighed. "You know, growling at me isn't going to stop me from giving you a bath." To this he got an especially vicious snarl.
Wide, protesting blue eyes looked up at him from under a mop of dark brown curls, the soft, chubby face pulled into an angry pout. Grissom fought a chuckle as another growl erupted from the child before him. "Michael, behaving like an animal isn't going to get you anywhere." Obviously, from where Michael sat in glorious nudity on the fluffy white bath rug, things did not appear the same.
Rolling his eyes, Grissom grinned and bodily lifted the little boy off the floor, plopping him unceremoniously down into the waiting warm water. An indignant shriek of protest rang through the room, one fat lower lip trembling dangerously as Michael stared up at him from the bathtub. "Look, buddy, you're in there now, so you might as well just stick it out. Come on, let's get this done. I'm sure it wont take long." Confidently, Grissom rolled up his shirt sleeves and grabbed the shampoo.
Every once in a while throughout the course of his life, Grissom had been known to be wrong. This was one of those times. Fifteen minutes and half a shampoo bottle later, he stared down in disgust at the little boy's amazingly sud-free head, ignoring the water dripping from his beard. "How does your mother manage this?" He only got a gleeful little giggle in reply as the little boy skillfully flicked water in his face. "Michael Aaron Grissom, cut that out!" The giggle sounded again again.
Giving up on the shampoo for the time being, Grissom pulled the washcloth off the side of the tub, and began lathering it with soap. When he was done, he cautiously brought it towards the grinning terror sitting in the lukewarm water.
The instant Michael's gaze fell on the soapy cloth, Grissom knew a disaster was impending. The trembling lip and tearful angry eyes spoke of a storm soon to be unleashed. Both 'men' stared at one another for a long, calculating moment, trying to determine the best move. Eventually, a decision was reached.
With a mighty wail from his little lungs, Michael brought two ferocious fists slamming down into the water filled with shampoo bubbles. The splash cascaded over everything, a large dose heading with deadly accuracy straight for Grissom's face. Startled and spluttering, he blinked and shifted, trying to regain his bearings as Michael continued to scream his raging battle cry. Which was when the rug beneath him slid on the wet tile.
In a spectacular moment, Grissom's crouched body twisted in the air, flailing as a short sharp yelp left him before he landed hard on his rear...squarely in the tub beside the little boy.
The resulting splash spattered the walls and covered the floor in sudsy water. The washcloth quietly floated to the door, tranquilly flowing with most almost all of the water that had once been in the tub. Soaked and affronted, Grissom looked left at a magnificently soap-free Michael, who let out a happy shriek of burbling laughter.
Before either of the men could even think of doing anything about their current predicament, or consider the wrath they knew they were about to face, the bathroom door burst open, and a new voice let out an enraged shriek.
Sara Grissom stood speechless, taking in the bedraggled state of the bathroom, her eyes falling on her husband and son, both sitting in the bathtub with looks of dread on their faces. Everything was covered in soap and water, with the possible exception of Michael himself. Well, she certainly wouldn't be repeating this experiment again anytime soon. Gaping like a stranded fish, she let out another furious roar.
"GIL GRISSOM!"
He winced, smearing droplets of water off his glasses with a finger. He smiled weakly up at her, shooting Michael a deadly glare when he let out another gleeful giggle. "H-hey, honey." His smile wavered under her gaze.
Sara looked around once more, before shaking her head angrily at the two hopeless males of the household. She let out an exasperated sigh, looking down on her husband in reluctant amusement, who offered up another watery smile from the depths of his dripping, soapy beard, his blue eyes twinkling with suppressed laughter. This was certainly going to take some explaining. She rolled her eyes at him as Michael cheerfully grabbed a fistful of his sopping wet shirt, babbling contentedly. "How did this happen?"
Heehee...hope you liked. Thanks for Reading!