A/N: No infringement intended on CSI, CBS, or anything related (so please don't sue!). Just exercising my creative muscles with my favorite non-couple.
Chapter 2
He actually felt awkward. Awkwardly sitting on her russet couch with a vivid mélange of earth tones dancing along the throw pillows, awkwardly holding a Yale coffee mug that one of her friends had apparently sent her as a gag gift in her college years filled almost to the brim with steaming coffee that looked as if it were boiling in his sweltering grasp, awkwardly looking into it while suppressing the urge to loosen his collar in the sauna that was her apartment.
Things weren't supposed to be this way. Things weren't awkward with her. Things were designed to be either completely casual and relaxed with each other or utterly tense and apprehensive, but never awkward. He cleared his throat.
She looked up from the depths of her tea and straight into his eyes. Immediately he felt more comfortable and the space was actually a living room as opposed to a steam room. He couldn't remember why he had come up to her apartment in the first place.
She couldn't remember why she had invited him up to her apartment in the first place. It didn't matter; he was here now, and she had to deal with it one way or another. He spoke first.
"You stopped shivering."
"I did." She was mildly shocked that he had noticed.
"You sure you aren't sick?"
She shrugged. "I could be, but then I'd be saying that my doctor was wrong and all of my thermometers are broken."
A corner of his mouth lifted and he snorted lightly.
"What?"
"What is the world coming to when all the thermometers in reach don't work?"
She smiled, and the way his eyes sparkled at her—just for her, she liked to dream—invited a warm tingle to settle on her toes. She didn't notice him rise and go to the counter to refill his mug.
"Here, I'll do that for you." She quickly followed him and outstretched her arm for the pot.
His hand was already on the handle, and their triceps touched. Neither pulled away.
She started to feel her blood circulate again; she had forgotten that blood wasn't supposed to be solid ice and she jumped at the sensation.
Her arm felt like a chilly blast of air from an air-conditioned store on a scorching summer day, and goose bumps rose where it made contact with his skin.
He shot a sideways glance her way. "You all right over there?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" She turned her eyes to him with a hint of a challenge on her face. He was reminded of chocolate ice cream.
She was startled at his calm expression. His eyes made her think of a tranquil ocean right before the vicious storm, and she gave an involuntary shiver. She didn't have it in her to argue with him anymore.
His face didn't change as he leaned in towards her. In fact, he cocked his head a little and let his eyes wander over her face.
She waited.
He parted his lips.
They both inhaled.
"Stick out your tongue."
She raised an eyebrow at his strange request but did what she was told, eyes never leaving his.
He raised his index finger, wet it on her tongue, and ever so briefly touched it to her cheek, all the while never changing his expression.
Her tongue and face were ice and it felt pleasantly relieving.
His finger warmed her to her core.
He held up a finger with an eyelash on it.
"Blow."
Boy, if I had a nickel for every time I heard that, she mused. She made a wish and did what he asked.
He caught her amused expression and raised an eyebrow of his own after he recovered from the tingling sensation he got from the icy blast of air on his finger. They made eye contact, and he suddenly forgot the sarcastic remark on his lips. Her eyes sparkled with humor and a hint of challenge, as if she was daring him to comment.
But there was something else.
He had completely forgotten about their coffee mugs until he spilled hers by setting his hand on the counter. He felt like an idiot.
She now had her eyes focused on something on the counter behind him, and muttered something about paper towels. He reached back to grab them and tore off a couple of sheets, all the while getting more and more embarrassed with himself. He just wanted to get out of there.
She ripped some paper towels off the roll for herself and bent down to mop up what had dripped onto the floor. The coffee was still hot and should have burned her fingers, but the spot where her arm had made contact with his still tingled a little.
As he finished wiping the liquid on the counter, he casually glanced downward. It looked like she was looking for some new and exciting piece of evidence until her eyes turned up to him and made contact. How did she know…?
Her hand that was holding the paper towel froze in mid-wipe as she vaguely recognized the look in his eye. He wasn't holding anything back; granted, he looked surprised, but there was something else that warmed her up, too.
She recognized it because she had felt that way too. Often.
He didn't move as she slowly straightened up to put her used towels on the counter. That age-old fight-or-flight adrenaline hormone was kicking in and he seriously contemplated just walking away, home to a cold shower that would cool him down in more ways than one.
He also debated a slightly more dangerous move that would definitely not be a cold shower.
But what if it's too late? He wondered with sudden alarm. Her voice rang loud and clear in his mind: by the time you figure it out…
Then again, she wasn't moving either. She looked quite busy collecting all of the used paper towels. Boy, she certainly spent a lot of time gathering used paper towels.
He wanted to talk to her. To explain why his head was so far up his ass—or in the microscope, as one of his coworkers had once put it.
But she was finishing up with the spill on the counter and the paper towels.
Screw it, he told himself. And with that, he reached out and gently grabbed her chin, turning it towards him.
The look in her eyes spoke volumes. Confusion was certainly the most predominant, but he also noticed exhaustion, vulnerability, defeat, what he liked to believe was lust—or, dare he think it, love?—as well as sorrow. And sheer terror.
And what he saw scared him.
"Why are you doing this?" The feeble voice belonged to the now-shivering woman in front of him. His heart sank. Before he could think, he grazed his lips over hers and observed her reaction.
She looked like a deer in headlights. A deer in headlights with a little more of the lust showing in her eyes. He pulled her closer and kissed her more passionately this time, noting that she wasn't pulling away. She was pulling him ever closer and seemed to be enjoying herself immensely from what she was doing to his mouth. Her body was freezing, and he enveloped as much of it as he could for as long as he could. She felt good, absorbing all of his excess heat and replacing it with a cool, solid comfort. He dimly wondered what his pulse was at the moment, but he realized that he really didn't care, not as long as he had this breathtaking woman in his arms.
He was warm. Oh God, was he warm. She tried to get as close to him as she could as her body returned to its normal temperature, slowly but steadily. He seemed to be pouring heat into her from his kisses, and she couldn't get enough of it. It was liquid, running down her spine and into her arms and legs. Right down to her toes, chasing the ice water away. She hazily speculated where the paper towels had ended up once she had dropped them, but forgot all about the damp pages of disposable cloth when his tongue swept at her lips and entered her mouth.
The paper towels could wait.
Fin