Disclaimer: Don't own them, didn't make them, don't profit from them.
Rating: Crank it.
A/N: Thank you for all of the reviews!
Jacinda: "I can think of better things to do in the backseat of a Denali." I'm not going to lie to you, it crossed my mind and then I was like: "In a drunken haze? Uh… no." Next time. I promise.
I Want George: Honey, I need a shorter name for you. That is long. Wow, am I ever lazy! Anywho, back to my original comment. All right, I am seriously thinking of writing a chapter story that basically has no plot, kind of like 'Quarantine', but there would be sex in every chapter. It would be just for you. Sex. Lots of it. Yes, I am in high school… grade 10 actually. Shocking? Everyone feign shock.
Dedicated to Julie: you asked about Yobling. Here it is.
Chapter Seventeen: Something More Than a Message
The lab had been rather quite the first couple of days that Nick and Sara had been gone. There was a visible tension in Grissom that all of the CSIs observed but did not dare comment on. Even Catherine had refrained from prodding into her boss's love life when she remembered that he had went on a date with the lovely Lady Heather. It was gnawing at her to ask but she pushed the urge aside and mulled over how desirable Warrick looked that particular evening in a tight t-shirt that hugged his arms and chest. The shirt was a nice contrast to his usual buttoned down dress shirts, not that she minded staring at his chest as he spoke.
There was an audible sigh made from Gil Grissom's general direction as he annoyingly tapped his fingers on the surface of the table, waiting for something. They had no cases to work, no one had decided to commit murder that night or randomly drop dead. It was definitely a very uneventful night and everyone in the lab was bored as hell.
"This is the slowest night ever," whined Greg, pouting into his mug as he sipped at its contents.
"There's no need to draw attention to it, Greggo," mumbled their boss, staring off distantly at the ground. "If nothing comes in within two hours, you're all free to leave. But be warned that you're on call until dayshift comes on."
Without another word said, Grissom stood quietly and left the break room.
"Either the date didn't go well or he's stressing about Nick and Sara," pointed out the lab tech, shattering the hovering silence that plagued them.
"I'd bet on Nick and Sara."
"You'd bet on anything," remarked Catherine, lifting her gaze from the red of her nails to the blue-green of his eyes.
"Only if I was sure on it."
"Just like you were sure about our coworkers?"
"Yes but I suppose I owe you now."
She smirked vixen-like while Greg's incredulous and questioning gaze flickered from the tall, handsome leaning against the counter to the smug woman in a chair at the table.
"Care to share?"
"Not really," she smiled.
There was a brief pause that clung to the air of the break room but none of the seemed to mind this time. Catherine sat comfortably in her chair as she gazed at her newly painted nails, nails that she was dying to rake down Warrick's toned back. And as she sat there lingering over her fingertips, Warrick watched her with hungry, predatory eyes. What he would give, or pay for that matter, to consume her whole and have her writhing underneath him in his bed. However Greg was completely oblivious to the entire exchange between the two coworkers. He stood there next to Warrick, staring up at the ceiling in thought, thinking about buying Marilyn Manson's new CD and what it would sound like blasting from the speakers of his CD player in the lab. Lost in memories, he smiled when he recalled the time he wore a latex glove on top of his head, a mask with sticker-mouth-of-fangs on it and danced in his chair to the music of Marilyn. A sigh filled the air as he smiled small at the recollection. Those were the days before he had been banned from doing such things ever again. It was a slow night, he thought. There was no work to be done. Who was really going to mind?
"I'll see you guys later," announced Greg, briskly departing in search for latex gloves and anything else that he could adorn on his face and head.
"So girl, when am I getting my massage?" inquired Warrick, folding his arms over his chest as he smirked longingly at her.
"Here I thought we agreed that you owed me a massage," she countered lightly, her painted lips in the form of a smile.
"How about we give each other a massage?"
"Simultaneously?" she questioned, her fine eyebrow raised.
"Now that is up to you."
"Think you can wait another," Catherine paused as she turned over his wrist to glance at the time, "hour and forty-seven minutes?"
"I've been waiting for a few years, Cath. I don't think an hour and a bit is gonna kill me," he replied smoothly.
"We've only had the bet for a few weeks," she stated, easing out of her chair, understanding completely what he was getting at. "Don't worry, Rick. I'm worth the wait."
He watched as her hips swayed in way that only a female could do when she was teasing a man.
"Damn," he breathed out, admiring her ass in denim.
The word was quiet but she heard it just as she was through the doorway and flashed a sexy grin over her bare shoulder, holding his gaze for a moment then melting when he winked at her. It was tempting to run straight back into the break room and take him on the table but Catherine kept strutting her way to the ladies room, trying to waste some time by reapplying her make-up.
Once Catherine was done with her lipstick and everything else, she packed it all back into her black leather purse and made her way out of the bathroom, into the a dull hum of music that filled the hallway. She frowned and tried to make out the lyrics but could not. With a trained ear, she followed the music and it gradually increased in volume and coherency. It wasn't until she was three-quarters of the way to where Greg could always be found, that she realized he was playing Marilyn Manson again, and sparing no one of the pleasure of listening to lyrics.
A memorable time was one she had heard from Nick when the lab tech was in his swivel chair processing who knows what, with a latex glove atop his blonde head, a mask over his mouth and some sort of sticker fangs stuck on. As she rounded the corner, she was wondering what kind of story she would be telling Nick when he got back.
Sure enough there was one Greg Sanders doing an extremely back impression of an air guitar in the middle of the DNA lab, his arms free of hitting anything worth getting him fired over. The latex glove had returned but the mask was nowhere to be seen. Instead there was fluorescent orange "ear muffs" over his ear, clashing with the glove. She recognized the ear protectors as the ones they wore in the ballistics lab and Catherine wondered if Bobby D. would be looking for them soon.
She stood in the doorway, her arms folded over her chest and a smile of amusement across her face. It was entertaining to see him make such an idiot of himself yet that's what she liked so much about him. Over the music, she barely heard the chuckle from behind her. Instead, she felt the instant heat from a body behind her and the presence of someone towering over her. Warrick's hand rested on the small of her back in a friendly gesture. He must have done it a thousand times but somehow it sent her mind wandering, thinking of things that her secret, and sometimes not so secret, dirty mind conjured up.
"Think we should tell him to turn it down before Grissom comes?" Warrick asked in her ear, his warm breath blanketing her skin.
"Too late," she remarked, seeing Grissom through the glass rounding the corner.
The three of them stood there until Greg thought the song had ended but really it was his boss pressing the power button. In mid motion of strumming his "guitar", Greg glanced up and smiled innocently at the not so amused man before him.
"What did I tell you Greg?"
"To only use latex gloves for their proper use."
"And?"
"That Marilyn Manson and science having nothing in common so therefore he should not be in the lab."
"Exactly. And what don't you understand about that?"
"Come on, Boss. It's a slow night. Nobody's working!" Greg finally broke down a whined, the CSIs chuckling behind their boss at the young lab tech.
"Maybe the three of you aren't working but some of us have things to catch up on."
"Forensics Journals don't count!" Greg shouted at the back of Grissom, who was already halfway down the hall.
"Busted," said Warrick, grinning at the his friend.
"You could have warned me, you know."
"Like you didn't know what was going to happen," said Catherine, beginning to turn around.
When she did make a full spin on her heel, she was face to face with a very muscular chest. Her eyes eventually made their way up to Warrick's smiling face.
"Like what you see?" he murmured softly so only she could hear.
"I like what's underneath a whole lot more," she whispered.
"Our two hours are almost up," Warrick pointed out casually, stuffing his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. He was so close to her that his hands in his pockets were touching her hips softly.
"What are you saying, Warrick?"
"Lately I've been having this kink in my neck," he stated, arching his neck from side to side. "Not to mention I have this ache in my lower back."
"Are you sure it's not somewhere else?"
Catherine had said it so softly that she doubted he heard her but Warrick heard all right. Warrick heard and fell hard. He didn't believe her words even though he knew that she was not the modest type.
"Would you like to find out?" he finally stumbled out, his usually suave mind clever but at the moment it was working on overdrive with all of the images of Catherine. Ones that involved her nothing else but the skin she was born with or maybe a little lace outfit the left little to the imagination.
"Why don't you show me after shift's done?"
"Before or after my massage?" he grinned slightly, gazing down into her crystal blue eyes filled with lust.
"How about during?"
"Sounds good."
"Be a good boy in the meantime," she stated, patting his chest as she slipped past him.
Warrick wasn't quite sure what she meant by that last comment but he was definitely sure that he would be very bad once they were outside of the confining walls of the lab and inside his bed.
