A/N: I wasn't going to even have one of these stupid things at the beginning of this chapter, but, oh well. This chapter is a very STRONG T for sexual...ness. I didn't intend that to happen, but I started writing and it happened and now IDGAF. Wanted this up before we got to see little miss Drunk!Gillian on the show, but that didn't happen either. Anyway, here's chapter 3.

Cal looked at Gillian with an air of appreciation that was, in fact, multi-layered. He always held appreciation for Gillian Foster—always had, always would. But he thoroughly enjoyed seeing a rarely visible side of her, and he was appreciative of the chance tonight had afforded him. There was nothing quite like seeing Gillian Foster let loose.

Gillian, for her part, looked at him with unbridled excitement. Cal smiled at her, laughing with his eyes at the way she sat forward slightly, ready to hear his answer.

"Why, yes, love, as a matter of fact, I have." He answered her silent question and watched as her eyes lit up.

"Really?" She asked, that excitement tingeing her voice, "When?"

Cal sat back in his chair and regarded her—he crossed his legs and smiled, "Last week." He deadpanned and then laughed at the expression that crossed her face in the interim. "Joking." He said and then raised an eyebrow at her, "Is that how this game works, then?" He questioned. At her confused look, he elaborated, "You don't simply have to say, 'I have,' and put a finger down—you have to explain your answers, do you?"

"Yes." Gillian lied.

He, of course, saw right through it. She was biting her lip and looking nervous and displaying at least five or six tells right off the bat. Gillian wasn't the best liar when she was sober—but add alcohol into the mix and any chance she had at concealing her emotions vanished completely. She was a terrible liar drunk. Smiling, Cal nodded. He'd accept her blatant lie, but it was a fake rule he didn't intend on letting her forget.

"It's rather boring, really—I was back in school and I was on the football team. I'd dislocated my shoulder one drunken night and so I couldn't play." He grinned, showing her all of his teeth; "Anyway, it was the championship game, right. And I was rather upset that I couldn't play—I was kept on the roster though, so we get down to overtime and we're tied, and we end up going to penalty kicks," Cal looked at Gillian to make sure she was understanding his story. "So, even though I'm injured, I get to take a shot—no risk of further injury, really, just kicking the ball. I'm up last and the guy before me from the other side shoots and misses—so, basically, it's all up to me. If I make it, we win; if I miss, we lose." Cal had leaned forward on his seat and he was amused to see that Gillian had done the same, her eyes wide and adorable as she listened intently to his story—she was, quite literally, on the edge of her seat. "So, I go up and I kick the ball," He demonstrates with his hands the trajectory of the ball, "Right into the top left corner. A beautiful shot. So," he shrugged, "My mates and I took our clothes off that night celebrating—ran around the street, there are pictures of it somewhere," He finished with a laugh.

Gillian laughed with him then, too, as the thought of a naked young Cal running around the streets came to her mind.

Then, she was overcome with images specific to naked Cal, and she felt goosebumps creep onto her arms at the thought of Cal naked.

Cal saw the shift in her emotions and he couldn't help but smile as she bit her lip, "My turn," Cal said through his smile. He exhaled and tapped his foot slightly, and then he grinned, "Never taken a bubble bath."

Gillian's face drew into an automatic pout when she responded, "Hey! No fair!" Her voice registering a slight whine that Cal would've found annoying on anyone else but that on her he found quite endearing.

"Darling," He said, humor evident in his voice, "You can't keep criticizing the way I play the game."

Gillian's eyes grew playful, and she mocked him, "Aw, don't like it when your skills are called into question?" She finished, her head lolling slightly forward.

Cal hadn't thought he was intoxicated in the slightest, but his actions said otherwise. At the very least, his inhibitions had been significantly lowered because his voice dropped and his eyes narrowed as he fixed her with what could only be classified as a seductive stare, while he said, "I can think of quite a few ways to clear up any questions or doubts you may have concerning my skills, Gillian…" He let his voice trail off then, his meaning clear even if indirect. He would have been shocked at himself if he hadn't been so intent on watching her reaction.

Gillian's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed as she leaned slightly back on the couch. She opened her mouth to speak, but she didn't—Cal had rendered her completely speechless.

Cal reveled for a moment in her reaction—she was clearly turned on and it was him who had done it. Chuckling, his eyes turned soft as he turned her attention back to the game, "Bubble bath?" He said, "I assume you have had one." His smile was smug as he leaned casually back in his chair.

She rolled her eyes, "Of course I have." Her voice was scratchy and her words were slow and deliberate because she had to concentrate on them, "Seriously, you've never had one?" Cal shook his head, "Not even with…" Gillian's voice trailed off and her eyes registered a specific look, "Company?" She said, the word coming out harsher than she'd intended.

Cal watched her reaction—Gillian had been about to say 'Zoe,' but had thought better of it. Cal could tell by the tone in her voice as well as the look in her eye—he'd only seen Gillian respond to one person that way, and that was his ex-wife.

"No," Cal said, his voice gentle, "Not even with company."

Even not entirely sober, Gillian could tell that Cal had caught her meaning and she looked a little embarrassed. She had never considered her feelings concerning Zoe as being rational—so every time she put them on display she couldn't help but feel a bit awkward.

Cal read her embarrassment and broke the silence, "But, you have, so put a finger down."

Gillian turned her attention to her hands, "Right." She said as she put her pinky finger down.

"Now, as per the rules of this game," Cal said, "would you care to elaborate about your bubble bath experiences?" He said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

He watched as Gillian's eyes flickered and her breath became slightly shallow. Cal's pulse quickened and his breath followed suit as he realized that Gillian had, in fact, just elaborated on her bubble bath experiences. Bathing wasn't the only thing she did in the tub, and Cal had to stifle a groan at the mental images this knowledge conjured.

Seeing Cal's reaction, Gillian grinned. It had been unintentional, but she had bested him this time. His plan to make her uncomfortable had actually backfired and she laughed slightly before she leaned her head back on the couch and made a sound that indicated she was thinking of her next "never."

"Let's see," she said, her eyes on the ceiling. Cal's eyes were on her throat, and his arousal was still milling from thinking about her in the bathtub, so he shut his eyes tightly and tried to think of anything but Gillian Foster in a sexual scenario—he failed miserably when she finally spoke, "I've never been in handcuffs."

At her words, Cal's head snapped to look at her. Gillian was smirking at him, and Cal knew that her tone was not accidental.

Immediately, Cal's mind was flooded of images from several of the fantasies he'd had since a particular case they'd had when she had let it slip that she'd always had a bondage fantasy. Cal swallowed hard, and his voice had a light tremor that to anyone else but Gillian Foster, voice expert extraordinaire, would have been indistinguishable, "Now who's not playing fair?" He asked.

Gillian laughed lightly, but Cal registered it as a particularly sexy sound—"Fair's fair, Cal," she said, as though that explained everything and made perfect sense.

Cal looked at her in confusion and then his gaze darkened, "You never have been—but you want to be." He said—his tone indicated a question had been posed, one that he was answering.

Gillian didn't even try to hide the look of arousal that passed over her face, and Cal found himself stunned by the openness of it all. Silently, he put one of his fingers down and then looked at her again, letting her see a bit of his desire. The rest he kept bubbling right under the surface.

Gillian nearly shivered as she watched Cal's eyes darken—she knew what he was imagining—her, handcuffed—partially or fully clothed and she closed her eyes tightly as she felt the stirrings of a very deep and intricate arousal beginning as she imagined the same.

Cal's voice was extra rough when he spoke next, "My turn, love." He said, and Gillian opened her eyes to look at him—his gaze held a hunger that she sometimes saw within him, and he smirked at her in an almost predatory fashion, "I've…" He began, not entirely certain of his next move, "never given a blowjob."

Cal paid special attention to her features, and he was intrigued to notice that Gillian's first response was not surprise or shock—instead, it was a lovely combination of desire, arousal and amusement.

She licked her lips, and Cal tried to control his imagination, which was busy skipping leisurely down the path his question had manufactured—

Gillian chuckled softly, she didn't use her words to tease him about the absurdity of his statement, her eyes were doing enough of that. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered that they were treading none too lightly on dangerous territory. It wasn't the alcohol, though, that made her want to explore that foreign territory—she'd been wanting to do that for some time. The alcohol simply gave her the means to do it.

Gillian dropped her gaze so that she was looking at him through her lashes when she said, "Well, I certainly have."

Cal felt a shiver go through his body at her sultry tone and his eyes held bemusement and arousal. He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand. His eyes traveled over Gillian's face, as they were prone to do when he was reading someone. He took in her dilated pupils, the slight contraction of her muscles and he felt what seemed like all the blood in his body change directions completely, "And how was it?" He asked—

She chuckled, "For me or for them?"

Cal tilted his head slightly, "For them, love—I can see all over your face how it was for you. How was it for them?" Cal should've felt awkward asking her that question, but he didn't. He felt incredibly turned on, instead.

Cal watched as Gillian's chin jutted out a little bit, "Wouldn't you like to know?" She said, her voice adopting a singsong like quality as she tossed him a rather smug smile.

Cal nearly groaned as his mind ran wild—yes, I bloody well would—he barely kept that thought to himself. Instead, he made a show of analyzing her face, "That good, huh?" He concluded.

She smiled devilishly at him then, and Cal was immediately aware of where his blood had gone when it decided to change courses—"Maybe someday you won't have to ask," She said finally, her lids heavy and her voice dripping with innuendo.

Cal couldn't control the groan then, and on the heels of the noise came a gravelly, "Christ, Gillian." As his mind was inundated with one particular image: Gillian Foster on her knees in front of him—answering the hell out of his question.

To Be Continued

One more chapter left, I believe. You go ahead and you click that button down there. You know which one I mean.