A/N: I actually find it kind of funny that myself and singingstarrynights would do a story about the same thing. I really do recommend downloading the song "Build God, Then We'll Talk" really good song and really makes you think.

I do warn you this is going to get very religious and religious bashing, so if you are bothered by anything to do with church and god, dont read. Cause it does get twisted. You have been warned, thats why the high rating.

Just off the beaten path, a few miles from town stood a hotel.

The neon vacancy sign often flickered during the night, when you could see it. The TV's gave no than a few channels and even then it depended on the weather and the wind blew just the right way.

The bathroom had seen better days; the tubs had rust stains on the tap and drain, from having not been replaced since Kennedy had been in office decades before. No water pressure was to be had and lucky if the water ran at all.

The rooms smelled like mothballs, and rotting corpses no matter how many air fresheners were placed around the room, the musky smell lingered.

If that didn't bother you the manager would, missing most of his teeth and what were left were rotting, the smell of his breath had you wincing away and standing off to the side of where he was just so you wouldn't smell his breath but the odor that oozed off of him wasn't much better, it could be worse given the day or the shirt he was wearing. His hair, what little he had left of it was limp and greasy, dandruff so bad you couldn't see his scalp and one eye that followed you everywhere. And the other looked right through you sending chills down your spine, making you think that you needed to cross yourselves before you entering.

This didn't bother the two occupants in room's number three and four. Around the corner, not to be disturbed. Or heard if you screamed.

Room number three held a self-acclaimed lawyer, who graduated at the top of his class from Yale. Married by the time he was 25, and partner in the biggest law firm in Vegas by the time he was 30. Now at 45 law bored him, women fascinated especially the one beside him, she would be knocking on his door any moment now, he would be ready. This was a night she wouldn't forget, this would be the night she start her climb up the corporate ladder.

In room four, Vanessa paced back and forth, her rosary clutched in her hands, praying for help on what to do, she wanted the job, just didn't like how she was getting the job, trading sexual favors for a job that paid just above minimum wage, but what other choice did she have, she no money, no skills and fresh out of the orphanage having just turned eighteen the night before. If only Sister Mary Jean could see her now. She crossed herself and kissed her rosary as she placed it back where it had been, mixed in with her undergarments and picked up the flimsy lingerie she had purchased with the hundred dollars she had been given by the church.

Virginal white, at least she could remain pure with this on, without she became what she had only read about, cheap whores who slept their way to the top. Only once, she mentally scolded only this one time and she would her way up to the top floor, no sleeping around. She was raised better than that.

This was a night that she would never forget.

Sara stood, body pressed against him as her hands held his face so she could kiss him, and he wouldn't move. His hands were running up and down her back, burning her skin and the need for her bra to come off overwhelmed her but she fought back.

He backed off needing much needed air, the dimness of room filled with candles just made out her silhouette and a very lovely silhouette it was, and for the moment all his. She moaned into his ear as he bit her earlobe and tilted her head back, his hands expertly undoing the clasps of her bra from behind. He liked the black lace very much, but it needed to go. And it too found its way to the floor with both their shirts. He knew her red jeans, the one he loved when she wore it cause they were too tight to wear regular panties and he knew she wore a thong, just thinking about it made him harder.

Her fingers skimmed the top of his jeans, a small brush of fabric, and his button was undone. Metal against metal and his zipper was undone. Not fair at all. He would only be glad in very tight boxers when she would still be dressed from the waist down. No not fair in deed.

Kissing her lips, making sure she was distracted, his hand found there way lower to the button and fly of her jeans, but he didn't pull them off. His hand went lower in between her legs stroking her through the layers of fabric, the moan that was soft before changed and became higher and longer against his lips. She caught on to what he was doing and her hand slipped below the waistband of his ever-snug boxers and stroked him, all of him.

His groan at the sudden touch encouraged her as she moved faster. He had to calm down or he would blow his chance of making her come first. Like in his dreams.

In his dreams the phone didn't ring interrupting what they were doing. In his dreams he would have ignored the phone if it had. But this wasn't his dreams and the phone did ring and she answered it, and off they were going to a job that never-ended as long as people lived and breathed.

Detective Jim Brass stood at the doorway of room number four, watching as David checked for signs of how long the occupant had been dead. This never got easier; he would worry when it did.

Gil Grissom squatted at room three's door, after something of a peculiar colour caught his eye. A purple thread stuck in on the side of the door, to the common eye, anyone could have missed but his years in the trade told him to look closer and deeper into everything, including people.

Tonight was a busy night, even so for Vegas, all his night shiftemployees were at scenes and the two off had been called in, he would have to leave soon, knowing that it was just the first hour into the shift and as the thought crossed his mind, his pager beeped, securing the fiber he studied the pager, another scene, another body. This was going to be one hell of a night.