Disclaimer: I don't own them, I do not profit from them, and I did not create them. The quote "particular brand of vodka" is from 'Ocean's Eleven.' They (I forget who) own that too.

Rating: PG/ PG-13?

A/N: Thank you to everyone who cleared up the whole Jorja-George mishap for me. I was confused for a very long time and I wondered what the hell everyone was talking about.

Ah yes, I am glad to see that everyone likes all the "steamy" parts. I try my best in writing something I have very little experience on/in. High school… what more can I say?

I apologize beforehand about making Sara drunk because I had how everyone makes her out to be a chronic drinker. I like to believe she isn't but one thing led to another in the chapter. Oh well!


Chapter Sixteen: Sex on the Beach (The Drink)

There couldn't have been a better excuse for Sara to be able to legally molest Nick in public and to do it to fairly decent music blasting in the background. There was alcohol coursing through her veins as she twisted and moved to the beat of the song. Her arms were above her head as she rolled her hips in a slow seductive pace that complied with the music and teased the hell out of Nick. He was practically dying behind her, his fingers gripping her hips possessively and keeping her tightly to his body. And when the song changed so did the beat along with shake of her behind. Back and forth her hips swayed, challenging the man to keep up with her. It was like sex on the dance floor but a little less voyeuristic and a little less satisfying.

That night there had been so much pent up energy in them both that they for once did not quench between the sheets or in the shower for that matter. It was a different kind of energy but just as sexual and just as lust-filled. They had decided over a light dinner that they should go out for once since they finally had the time. They could get crazy, get drunk, and not get fired. Nick was surprised when Sara had mentioned a club, not thinking her to be the type but he realized that lately she had evolved into a different person, one who was bolder and more confident but still the same old Sara Sidle. So they cleaned up and went their separate ways in preparation for going clubbing, Sara heading straight to the bedroom to gather her things while Nick got ready in the bathroom.

Once he had finished and she had stopped drooling at the sight of him in a black buttoned down shirt that would put even the infamous Warrick Brown to shame, topped off with blue jeans. His hair was slightly long but not in dire need of being trimmed and he had run his fingers through it with gel, tousling it. He looked damned fine, Sara decided after she headed out the door, trying not to fall down the steps as she stared at his backside in overtly tight jeans.

At her apartment, Nick had a longer wait and spent the near hour on the couch, looking bored as he watched a show on the Discovery Channel for the sixth time. Something about birds, Sara noted as she made the transition from bathroom to bedroom, something she didn't care about.

However the wait was worth it when he saw her finally leaning against the doorway of her bedroom, putting on a very pointy shoe known the world as "stilettos" but "sexy" to him. It didn't matter to him much that her feet would kill by the end of the night and apparently Sara was going to have to learn the hard way, having been a person to wear runners most of her life. Her long legs were smooth as silk beneath the dark, loose skirt that she wore. It came to a few inches above her knees and showcased her behind well but she was able to move easily in it and she was pleased that she did not feel like a tramp or like she was exposed. The top that she wore on the other hand was a little less conservative. It was a gold shimmering halter-top that displayed her flawless shoulders and back to everyone. Her hair had body and her lips had a clear gloss. The make-up on her face was tasteful but almost nonexistent.

Leaving her apartment and making it the Tahoe had been a record for Nick for restraint. Once inside the club however, he hadn't been able to take his hands off of her body, clearly not paying attention to the people around them.

At the transformation of the next song, Sara led them off of the crowded floor to the large bar where people sat chatting and drinking, the bartenders making drinks and conversation with ease.

Nick leaned over the bar and shouted to the bartender, "You make '57 T-Birds with Texas License Plates?"

"Honey, I'll make you whatever you like," she smiled flirtatious, already grabbing a shot glass to rest on the counter.

The underlying tone didn't go unnoticed by Sara but she chose to ignore it. She figured that it was her job to be overly friendly with people, get them to buy drinks, even if they were slightly invading territories.

Sara watched as the redhead skillfully poured the Sloe Gin into the little shot glass along with the Dark Rum and more ingredients. The pretty bartender had made enough for a few shots and she lined them up for him as Nick paid for not only his drinks but also Sara's.

"And what can I get you?" asked the other bartender working behind bar. Her eyes met pools of dark blue, such a bold contrast to the warm chestnut she was used to gazing in. His voice was like silk and deep enough to melt any girl into pure, unadulterated lust.

"A Screaming Orgasm," was her modest reply, her voice raised so he could hear her.

He grinned wolfishly at her, a look in his eyes that she was used to seeing in the man beside her and she blushed. It was her favorite drink though, she protested in her mind. Though one could never go wrong with different variations of Martinis.

Apparently, Nick immediately lost any interest that he had had briefly in the redhead when he heard the name of Sara's "particular brand of vodka" and saw the grin plastered across the man's face. Nick's hand possessively settled on her lower back before he knocked back the first of three shots.

There was no wince in her face when she downed the first shot and slammed it back down on the bar. She smiled at Nick beside her and ignored the bartenders before them.

"A Screaming Orgasm?" he wondered, a raising his eyebrow at her.

"It's good."

"I think it's a little better than "good" darlin', if that's its name."

The second shot glass was held between three fingers as she smiled at him before it was slammed back down on the bar top.

"Your turn."

Compliance.

The finished a few minutes later at the bar before moving their way back into the throng of people grinding with each other to the beat of the song blaring from speakers lost in the darkness above. The air reeked of alcohol and sweat, and it was saturated with energy and excitement that could not be found anywhere else.

By the end of the night, Sara and Nick had switched from their usual drinks to shots, rotating from dancing to drinking then dancing again. They didn't leave until the club closed at some godforsaken hour in the early morning and when they did finally stumble out into the parking lot, arms linked and limbs heavy, they knew that neither of them could drive. Sara drunkenly searched for a payphone and the only one she had found, she couldn't use because it was coincidently out of order.

"Nick!" Sara whined, gradually making her way over to him.

"What?" He was leaning against the grill of the navy blue Tahoe with his eyes closed and his arms folded over his chest.

"It doesn't work."

"What doesn't?"

"The payphone," she replied, slurring her words.

It was undeniable that she had consumed more than Nick but not because he was a lightweight, because he wasn't, but because it was her way of forcing herself to forget about work, Grissom, and the world in general.

"Get in," he muttered, rounding the front of the Tahoe to the driver's side.

"You can't drive!"

"I'm not going to."

Reluctantly, she got in the passenger's seat and waited for him to say something or do something. He seemed fine to her, through the slight haze of her vision but what her eyes saw and what was actuality were two different things.

He ungracefully crawled into the backseat of the Tahoe and then plopped down with an unceremonious "oomph."

"What are you doing?" she wondered, turning around to face him.

"I'm going to go to sleep."

"In the backseat?"

"Where else?"

Sara unsuccessfully tried to get in the backseat with him. She ended up tripping over her own feet and landing straight on top of him, arms flying.

"Damn Sidle," he groaned, rubbing the side of his head where her fist had hit him.

"I'm sorry!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said as she scooted down so then when she lay on top of him her heat rested on his chest.

His fingers ran through her hair, twirling the ends in between his fingertips and she fell asleep to the gentle sound of his breathing and the feeling of a warm man beneath her.

The sound of a jackhammer across the street woke her up along with the internal pounding of her head. She slowly sat up, realizing that she was a straddling a practically unconscious Nick, and rubbed her temples with two fingers. Why did there have to be a construction site across from the parking lot of the bar? she wondered. Sara was surprised that she had remembered where she was. Yes, she was in the backseat of the Tahoe with Nick after too many shots and now head one of the biggest hangovers in her life.

All she wanted to do was to get home and wash herself. She felt dirty and the truck smelt like smoke and booze from the club. The make-up that she had put so little on was smeared and her hair was a mess on top of her head. Sleeping in a truck was definitely not a good place to sleep, she noted, adjusting her shirt after noticing that she was practically falling out of it.

A few minutes later, Nick finally woke up when moving dump trucks followed the jackhammer and the dryness of his throat burned. He swallowed painfully and attempted to sit up before feeling a rush to pain straight to his head that caused him to clutch it and moan as he lay back down.

"Hangover," murmured Sara though her voice sounded louder in her ears, a like her voice was sandpaper.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"We should get home, Nick."

There was a moment's pause as he gradually opened his eyes several times before adjusting to the light. She was still perched on top of him, wearing clothes from yesterday and looking like she was about to drop dead from sleep deprivation.

"Sar, do you think you can drive?"

"Yeah. Gimme your keys."

"I don't know where they are."

Sara reached in between her thighs and found one of Nick's pockets. She slipped her hand in but didn't feel cool metal until she reached into the next. Carefully, she pulled out his keys and then gently stroked the side of his face with her free hand, loving the feel of rough stubble beneath her fingertips.

"Sleep. I'll tell you when we get home."

As she cautiously climbed into the front seat of the car, she contemplated whether she should go to Nick's or her house. Nick had clothes that she could wear and products that she could use at his place but Sara barely had anything for him.

She reached for the sunglasses above her that she knew Nick kept there and put them on her face, grateful for the shield against the menacing rays of the sun.

By the time Sara finally pulled in front of his place, Nick was sitting up and already berating himself for drinking too much. He hadn't had a hangover in years, many years, and was ultimately glad that he didn't have to go to work. He was out of the truck before Sara to help her to his front door. They could both walk fine and the pounding their heads was slowly beginning to fade as she turned the key in the lock of the front door and let them in.

The lights were forsaken once the door was closed and locked. His bedroom was dark, hidden from the light of day, and they collapsed onto his bed in a desperate attempt to be eluded by sleep and to get rid of the numbing pain in their heads.

A/N: - blank facial expression-