"What bugs you most?"
A CSI fan-fic story, started May 2003; WIP (and somewhat AU).
The usual disclaimers: none of the CBS or CSI characters belong to me, and I make no money doing this kind of thing. I am not affiliated with CBS or CSI in any way.
Spoilers: this is set sometime between Seasons 4 and 5 (so lots of water under the bridge since I started this fic). Greg Sanders is still in the lab.
Rating: T for adult themes and language; a mild pair of lemons in this one.
Pairings: Jim/Catherine; Bobby/OFC.
Chapter 12/??
"What's for dessert?"
Catherine let herself in from the hot July morning and couldn't help but smile at the sound of Tony Bennett dulcet tones coming from the stereo in Jim's living room. He knew she loved that CD because it got her in the mood.
"Hello?" she called out, still smiling to herself. She left her purse and small overnight bag on the table in the entry foyer.
"I'm in the kitchen, Catherine," came Jim's reply. She could hear him singing softly, trying to keep up with Bennett. Brass was fully aware that he couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, but that didn't stop him from singing when he was alone.
In the kitchen, she was greeted by a sweet scene: fresh flowers on the table set for two; a sizzling something that smelled delicious in the skillet; and, Jim, barefooted but still in his slacks and dress shirt from work. He had a blue-and-white striped towel thrown over one shoulder as he puttered about at the stove.
"Hey, you made it," he greeted, smiling as he came over to her. Jim leaned down to kiss her, and when she deepened the kiss, she tasted something vaguely familiar on his lips and tongue.
"Champagne for breakfast?" Catherine teased, glancing at the tall fluted glasses on the table.
Grinning almost sheepishly, Jim handed her one of the glasses. "Sure, mimosas. Here's yours." She put a hand up to his cheek, so he turned in to kiss her palm before returning to the stovetop.
"Oh, wow, that's nice," she told him after she took a tentative sip, the bubbles tickling her nose. "So, what are we celebrating, Jim?" She sighed tiredly as she sat at one of the set places and slipped out of her shoes, leaving them safely under the kitchen table.
Jim shrugged, serving two plates with omelets and sautéed potatoes and onions. "I dunno. What day is today? I can't keep track anymore…"
Catherine thought a moment. "Wednesday."
Chuckling, he brought over the plates and placed one in front of her at the table. "Then we'll celebrate that." He leaned over and kissed her again before sitting down himself. "What do you think?"
She raised her glass and waited for him to do the same. They touched champagne flutes with a gentle clink. "I love it. This is good," she enthused after tasting the western omelet. "I never knew you could cook like this, Brass."
Jim gave her a suggestive smirk. "Lots about me you don't know, baby." He raised an eyebrow at her but soon relented. "My, uh, cooking advisor thought you'd enjoy a nice romantic breakfast."
Catherine laughed, pleasantly surprised and her eyes twinkling with delight. "And where is the young Dr. Mickey this morning? I left work but I didn't see her in the lab anywhere upstairs." She held her glass for him to refill it from the chilled pitcher of mimosas. They ate and drank, enjoying the company and the conversation.
"Out with Bobby, having a nice romantic fishing trip after work."
"Really? That's great," she said sincerely. "They've been seeing a lot of each other, what, six weeks or so. Is it serious?"
Jim chewed thoughtfully. "Yeah, I think it is."
Catherine nodded her head, approving of the match. "Good for them, I'm glad." Now it was her turn to chew thoughtfully, and to pause for a sip of the champagne-orange juice mixture. "They are a good-looking couple, aren't they?" Jim didn't say anything, but she reached over to squeeze his hand at the tender look on his face.
"I think she needed to get out of Tallahassee for a while," he finally said, his deep baritone voice sounding very gentle just then. "And Mickey fits right in with the young Turks." Brass smiled fondly, thinking about how well his niece was getting along with Greg, Sara, Nick and Warrick. That and how happy she seemed to be spending the summer in Nevada; the heat didn't seem to phase her one bit. Of course, very happy too, to have met Bobby Dawson, the ballistics technician on the graveyard shift.
Catherine leaned over, kissed him on the cheek and picked up his empty plate to carry to the kitchen counter. "Not that I think Gil, you or I are old, but sometimes I feel like a parental spectator watching a precocious bunch of kids at a science fair. Apart from the language, the baseball debates or the crossword puzzle bets, I mean. I don't think Vegas bookies bother with the science fair circuit." She chuckled at the exceptions she had just strung together.
He laughed in concurrence, thinking about the recent college football predictions that had already come out for the fall 2003 season: even Bobby Dawson had gotten involved when his UT-Austin "Longhorns" had entered the pre-season top 25 over Nick's Texas A&M "Aggies". "I know. Nobody gets any slack in that break room, that's for sure."
For the next several minutes, Willows busied herself with scraping their plates and rinsing them at the sink. Jim knew better than to protest (he learned quickly), so he just let her enjoy the task while he sipped his drink and enjoyed the view of the lithe, beautiful woman in his kitchen.
"So, are you okay with Mickey going out in the field now? Grissom told me she's a natural investigator," asked Catherine over one shoulder, referring to the recent trip, at his call, to the Pathways housing development.
"No, I'm not, not really," he admitted with a sigh. Jim finished his mimosa and left the glass beside her at the sink. "But what am I gonna do, forbid it? That wouldn't be smart or remotely possible. The Mouse is stubborn like her uncle. It runs in my family; believe me, one generation after the next, and all the way back to Ireland." He chuckled and shook his head.
"Take a deep breath and count to ten. Twice maybe," she advised, smiling. "It doesn't matter how old they get, we always worry, Jim. Lindsey is growing up so fast already that I want to keep her all to myself. Like you said, not smart and not possible." Catherine chuckled at the thought.
Jim came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. With her occupied hands wet and soapy at the moment, she couldn't really do anything but relax into him as he kissed her neck and her ear; she shivered as his tongue moved lightly, teasing along her exposed skin. It didn't take long for her to feel a warm, throbbing hardness in her lower back as he pressed against her.
"Yep, you got that right," he murmured into her hair, sighing as he breathed in the subtle fragrance of flowers. It didn't matter what she wore, Catherine Willows always smelled good to him. It was intoxicating, and addictive.
Catherine carefully dried her hands and she felt his palms come up her sides to caress her breasts through her blouse as she stood at the sink, causing her to gasp at the sensations he was arousing. She let him linger a bit longer before she turned in his arms and he pressed even closer, moving their hips gently to the music coming from the other room. He couldn't sing but he sure could dance when he wanted to. Jim kissed her deeply again and a soft groan of pleasure escaped them both.
"So, what's for dessert?" she asked when they paused to catch their breath. She realized that she was tingling all over, and didn't think it was just from the champagne they'd had at breakfast.
Jim leaned back slightly and gave her a smoldering look, taking both of her hands in his as he started walking backwards, leading her to his bedroom. "You are, baby." His blue eyes twinkled when he winked at her, making her start to tingle once more.
-/-/-/-/-/-
As the garage door was closing behind them, Mickey opened her side of the truck to let the dog out of the cab. "Come here, Beau. We all smell like fish," she said.
Bobby laughed. "He can head out back. Go on, dog. Get!"
The large, black Catahoula hound barked in cheerful reply and bounded off behind Mickey as she opened the door to the backyard for him. He went straight to his water bowl, well, bucket really, and began slurping noisily. Mickey giggled at the sights and sounds from Beau as she closed and locked the door.
"All that water at the lake, and he rushed home just like a kid to have his own stuff."
Bobby had just transferred the gallon-sized Ziploc bag of trout fillets to the upright freezer and left the small cooler to drain at the garage sink. "I never said he was too sharp, plus dat Beau's Engleesh, it ain't so good," he answered, letting his Cajun persona peek out a little. Dawson's father was from west Texas, but his mother was from the deep Cajun country in southern Louisiana.
Mickey smiled and shook her head at him. "Okay, Bobby Boucher. I'm hitting the shower," she told him, referring to one of his favorite movies ("The Waterboy"). She made sure that the rinsed fishing rods were hanging straight from their proper racks before she went in.
"I'll be right behind you, cherie." Bobby watched her then literally had to shake himself to pay attention to what he was doing. He could feel a hunger for her building in him, so much so that he couldn't wait to be naked with her. He'd been thinking about it all morning in the boat. Humming softly, Bobby put away the rest of the fishing gear before he too went inside.
The bathroom mirror was already well steamed by the time he joined Mickey in the shower. "Got room for me?" he asked as he opened the glass door, standing stark naked on the bath mat. She was leaning back into the running water, eyes closed and rinsing shampoo out of her hair. Bobby felt another strong stirring in his groin as he enjoyed the view.
She wiped her eyes carefully and opened them with a look of invitation for him. "Absolutely." She stepped aside, grabbing the washcloth and liquid soap for herself. Bobby stepped in, stealing a kiss before he got under the water.
The waterproof radio was on, and they spent several enjoyable minutes as Mickey soaped her body and Bobby shampooed his hair. From time to time, they accidentally (on purpose) bumped into one another in the shower stall.
"Here, turn around," she suggested when she'd finished soaping up. Adding a little dab more of fresh shower gel to the cloth, she massaged it into Bobby's back and bottom. Hands braced, he leaned into the tiled wall, rinsing his face and hair under the warm stream of water, and murmuring sounds of pleasure at her gentle touch.
"Merci, bebe," he said. "Hey, where you goin' with that?" Bobby squirmed a little as she reached around his hip with her other hand to caress him. A soft groan escaped his lips when she fondled his erection with soapy fingers.
"Who me? I'm not doing anything," she chuckled into his shoulder, pressing her wet breasts into his warm back, and continuing to stroke him gently. Bobby was actually feeling a bit dizzy from the sensations, and thoroughly enjoying it too.
With an effort, he turned around and took the washcloth from her hand. "Your turn, Mickey-darlin'." Kissing her neck, he faced her away from him and rubbed the lightly-scented lather onto her back then reached around to her stomach with both hands, managing to drop the washcloth to the shower floor. Now it was her turn to squirm and moan a little as he massaged her breasts with one hand, reaching down to stroke between her legs with the other.
"Oh, cherie, you feel so good," he breathed into her ear. The water was still warm and relaxing when she turned back around to him. Lifting one leg up to the recessed shower seat, Mickey reached down and guided him inside her. They both groaned as he pressed fully in.
"Yeah, you feel pretty good yourself," she drawled in a husky voice before kissing him deeply, tasting his lips and tongue. She held onto his shoulders as he pressed her back against the wall and began to slowly thrust into her. With one hand grasping her buttocks, and his other holding on to the vertical bar for leverage as he picked up the pace, she could feel his chest and shoulder muscles flexing under his skin, and she reveled in the gentle strength of his slim, attractive body.
They were both glad for the non-slip surface that he'd installed because their legs grew shaky from effort. How long they carried on like this was anyone's guess, but when she reached her peak of pleasure and gasped his name, Bobby wasn't far behind. Still kissing tenderly, they carefully disengaged and went on caressing each other's backs. Just as they were pulling apart to rinse off again, the hot water ran out on them.
"Shoot, doggies," Bobby exclaimed, flinching with surprise as the cold water hit him first. "Man, that's cold!"
Mickey drew in a sharp breath against the icy water but rinsed herself quickly and stepped out to dry off. She laughed as she heard him quietly complaining to the showerhead. "Last one to bed is a rotten egg!"
Bobby started to protest but grabbed the towel she held just out of his reach, and he started laughing too, nearly falling over on the padded bath mat. She wrapped another towel around her body and dashed into his bedroom. "Uh uh, cheater…" he called after her.
Mickey was already shivering under the covers when he joined her there. Still in a playful mood, he slipped under the blankets and got on top of her, resting his weight on his knees and elbows, and started kissing her face and breasts. "You win, you win. What do I have to do for your prize, little darlin'?" He chuckled at her impishly thoughtful expression.
Without speaking, Mickey wrapped herself completely around him, and started kissing him back. It wasn't long before the chill from the shower was totally forgotten as they generated plenty of body heat.
They'd worry about sleep later.
TBC