CSI: Miami
Horatio/oc
Disclaimer: I own nothing of CSI: Miami, I do not know anyone connected with the show or with CBS and they do not know me, all of which is a shame.
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Anna
"Hallo? Yes-s-s?"
"I'm sorry, I think I have the wrong number. Please, excuse the r—"
"You called the s-s-school of lahtin donce, did you not?"
The accent that Horatio Caine was hearing was not Latin by any stretch of the imagination nor was the pointed curiosity. "As a matter of fact, I did. My apologies if I sounded rude." Receiving only silence as a reply, he continued. "I'm getting rusty on my dance steps and was wondering if you had room in your schedule for some private lessons, advanced."
Two weeks later, the very German Anna, was wrapping a shapely leg around Horatio's hips, showing him the third part to a complicated Andalusian Tango step. "Now, you place your hand on my shoulder blade, yah, like so, so I can lay back onto it, like so." The material on her long sleeved blouse stretched across her shapely breasts as she arched back into his hand. "And you move me to the side… no! Not up! Straight across!" Even strained with her effort to maintain her balance, her voice sounded commanding. "Yah, you have me under the sway of your power and you want to keep me that way for a moment longer before you pull me up!" The direction to lift her was clear. "Yah! Good! And now you release me, but leave your hand in the air. You are dumping me, done with me, and you let me slide down, disdainful of my weakness."
Horatio felt her leg sliding down his rump, down the back of his left leg, felt her body hug his, sliding down his side. Her hands raked down the front and back of his body, her left hand carefully directed just around his groin, down the center of the front of his thigh, her right unabashedly working down the rise of his right butt cheek, down the back of his leg, as she descended sit gracefully on the floor. Though not his favorite dance style, he had to admit he was enjoying the erotic benefits.
Ten minutes later, writing out a check for the full amount for the next nine lessons he was listening to the answer to his query.
"As a child, my father moved to Uruguay, just before the war started. When he was grown, he returned to the homeland with my grandparents, bringing my mother with him. They still have a very successful school of Latin dance in Düsseldorf, have a house full of awards from winning dance contests all over Europe." She sounded almost bored with her own words; no doubt, she'd had to explain the dichotomy of cultures many times.
Although her blond, blue-eyed coloring defined her Teutonic roots, Horatio detected the Latin in the fullness of her cheeks and the slight cant to the shape of her eye that hinted at South American Indian ancestry mixed with Hispanic heritage. Beautiful as she was, he dismissed the attraction he was feeling as the sensual residue from the dance lesson.
Three weeks and six lessons later, he decided the dance had nothing at all to do with his feelings towards Anna, so he asked her out for coffee after the lesson.
"Nein, keinen kaffee! Herbal tea! We must replenish our fluids!" She'd admonished. "But, yah, you weren't asking me what I wanted to drink, were you?" She looked contrite. "You are asking me out! Yah? Yah, I would like that." Half an hour later, over steaming cups of a cinnamon and orange concoction at an Indian café she explained, "I forget, sometimes, how I sound to Americans. We Germans arrange our words so that, to you, sometimes we sound as if we give orders."
"No worries, Anna, I think I know the difference between an order and a correction." To still her nervous clasping at a small napkin, his hand covered hers, and he became aware of how much more intimate this simple gesture seemed compared to the three weeks of dance-form embraces they'd been sharing. From the look on her face, she, too, was aware. Without realizing it, Horatio's voice dropped seductively, "So, what do you do, when you aren't running a dance school, giving lessons?"
That night and then subsequently, he learned she practically led a double life. As if she were two people living in the same body, as sensuous as she was on the dance floor, as sexually outgoing as she was while performing the Lambada or any of the Tangos, so she was, personally, as retiring and sweetly gentle. When she wasn't dancing, she was writing the most delightful phantasmagorical stories he'd ever read, describing swamp sprites and lords of alligators and ending with whimsical and unexpected little twists that left him smiling. At other times, she confessed, she just liked to sit on her tiny balcony and watch the dark shadows of palm trees march in opposition to the sun as it burned its way across the sky.
Another time, she revealed, "Ah, but when I hear a Latin beat, I can't sit still! It's in my blood! A Mariachi Band comes strolling by and I am up and doing a fandango, whirling and stamping, clicking my fingers. I am shameless!"
Horatio's face slowly broke into a smile at hearing this. They were sitting al fresco at a sidewalk café, he, leaning back, his long legs crossed, was listening to her revelations. He found himself wondering what Anna would be like, unleashed, without the constraints of teaching. Realizing the thought was doing a little more than bringing a smile to his face, he was glad he'd folded his hands on his lap. "We'll have to go out dancing, sometime." His quiet remark was rewarded with one of her sunniest smiles, which actually didn't help the matters in his lap one bit.
No one at Horatio's favorite dance club was surprised to see the familiar Señor Caine, although his companion as well as his mode of dress was new. Usually, he came alone to the Little Havana neighborhood club, wearing jeans and polo shirt, and spent the evening listening to the small combo play the variety of tunes from across South America. He'd sit at a table, nursing a single Mojito (Cuba's equivalent to the Southern Mint Julep), or sometimes just a cup of their excellent coffee, chat with the staff when they had time, or just spend the time in his own company. To see him with a woman was unusual, but with a woman with short, spiky hair, dressed in a gown slit up the side nearly to her hips and heels high enough to have her practically on the tips of her toes, was remarkable. To see him dressed in the dark, perfectly cut, Versace slacks, a loose, off white shirt, comfortably open down to the fourth button, and what could only properly be called black paten leather dance slippers was conversation stopping. Then, if anyone had thought nothing more could surprise them after this, they were dead wrong. Not only did the couple dominate the dance floor for the whole night with their quietly sensuous style, the wait staff, by the end of the evening, was also treated to what many referred to as, 'damned close to having sex right there on the floor! Can you imagine? The, oh, so quiet, stick-up-the-butt, Lieutenant Caine kissing that woman's tonsils and fondling her in places that you don't mention in public!' Each telling was followed by a rapid shaking of the hand and hissing intake of breath to indicate the rare impossibility of the event.
Horatio, unabashed by his arousal, was only glad Anna was responding in kind, kissing him back with the same ardor, pressing her body to his in all the right places in just the right way. After she'd admitted to readily being carried away with the sound of Latin dance music, he'd wondered just how far 'away' that might be, and had planned this evening just to find out. That she was great as a teacher and a delightful companion on dates was all very well, but he thought there might be more to her and he loved having a theory prove correct. That the proving method had backfired, that a red haze of desire had almost overwhelmed him during the last slow Tango, was more like a side benefit than a bad thing.
Two hours later, lying on his stomach while his brain was reassembling itself like a Tetris puzzle, he smiled quietly as she said, "I'm thinking you are surprised I'm so…" Anna lay naked, sprawled on her back, as Horatio idly played with her nipple. "…in German there's a word that means many things like being free, and sexually open and other things, 'experimentierfreudig'. You Americans think we Germans are very stiff. Yah? "
"To the contrary; I'm not surprised at your lack of repression, but I do wonder at your range of…knowledge." The next thing he knew, his chin had a gentle hand guiding his face to look into her cornflower blue eyes.
"I think it has to do with my mother. Mothers from Uruguay perhaps teach their daughters a little differently than American mothers. I don't think I know all that much, compared to my mother."
"Then, I think your father must be a very happy man, married to your mother."
"True. I was very lucky to learn her ways. My mother also taught me German ways. Mostly, she pointed out that one of the hallmarks of the Germans is persistence, and that women learn to take very good care of their men."
"And you," Horatio purred, "have most definitely taken very good care of me." He returned thoughtfully to his contemplation of the nipple that was nearly under his nose. Playful fingers again entwined his red-gold hair, as they had several times in the previous hour.
"Nein, schatz, you American men do not know what care is, especially not by the standards of a woman raised in Germany, with a mother from Uruguay. It will take time for me to learn how to give you complete care, but I assure you, I will. I am persistent."
"More than what you've done isn't necessary, Anna." Never had a first sexual encounter with a woman been so completely satisfying.
"Perhaps not necessary, but it is my nature. I will know, as my mother did, when you are properly cared for. Even my father, who expected care from a wife, had to have things explained to him. I remember that I once heard my mother whispering to my father when I was supposed to be in bed. I had crept close to their door, thinking I would ask for a glass of water. I only learned later what she meant when she said, 'Ah, but mi amor, I know you are not happy yet; you are still conscious'."