A/N: Alright, this is how this is gonna work. Here is one final hardcore T chapter (rated as such for language and sexual-ness). And it will be followed by an M chapter. I will try my hand at it. I make no promises that it'll be good. You've been warned.

Gillian couldn't control the wave of arousal that passed through her body as she watched Cal's face. His eyes were dark and his arousal was written all over his face and she could tell precisely what he was imagining. Which, in turn, made her imagine it, too, and she let the desire she felt slip into her eyes as she gazed at Cal, her lids slightly closed.

Suddenly, she let out a sexy laugh, and she reached for the wine bottle to refill her glass. Cal's arm snaked out and his hand closed around hers just as it closed around the wine bottle, "No, love," he said, his voice heavy, "allow me." Gillian stilled as she felt her pulse increase—she could hear her heart pounding in her ears as Cal lifted the bottle with her hand still wrapped around it and poured the liquid into her cup.

His eyes never left hers as he set the bottle back on the table and released her hand. Smiling, she brought the rim of the glass to her lips and drank, feeling the wine touch her tongue as she watched Cal look at her with what could only be classified as hunger.

She swallowed hard, and then spoke, "My turn." She said, her eyes casting down and to the right.

"So it is." He said, as he leaned back in his chair, a smile playing on his lips.

She readjusted herself so that her legs were now crossed in front of her on the sofa. "I've never…" she began, and then she leaned forward and rested her elbow on the top of her knee and her head on her hand, "Licked food off of someone's body—" Gillian paused, and then as an afterthought added, "during sex."

Cal momentarily wondered what made her add the clarification, but the thought was quickly overrun by the fact that he had just heard Gillian Foster's lovely lips form one of his favorite words: sex. He'd heard her say it before, certainly, but never in quite this same context. Never with half a bottle of wine warming her stomach and never with that sultry look in her eye. Cal replayed the word falling from her lips over again in his head, and he knew even if he were sober, it would sound just as good—he felt himself grow harder, and he shifted in his chair.

His eyes widened slightly, and he let his gaze slide up her long legs, and her delicious body before finally resting on her face. "Really?" He said, and she shook her head. "What makes you think I have?" He asked, feigning offense.

She giggled then, and let out a little noise that sounded like a scoff, "Please, Cal. You have…" she trailed off, trying to find the right word, "an obsession with food." She finished.

"Funny to put it like that, darling," He said, and he noticed how slowly his words slid out of his mouth, hazy with alcohol as they were, "But, yes, I suppose I do."

"So you have, then?" She asked, a smile on her face and something else that Cal couldn't quite read.

"Indeed—it's really rather sensual, actually." He said, connecting with a memory, and he watched as that nebulous emotion passed over Gillian's face again. He was certain that if he had been sober he could have placed it immediately, but alcohol slowed his reaction time slightly—"What was that?" he asked, pointing a finger to her face, even from his lazy position in the chair, "There."

Gillian's mouth formed a slight 'o,' and she shook her head.

"No," He said, his tongue moving to the roof of his mouth and making a noise, "I saw it. When I said that licking food off a lover's" he watched Gillian's face, "body could be very sensual." He emphasized the words to test his educated guess. He mentally patted himself on the back. Even tipsy he could read Gillian correctly.

She scrunched her nose up then, only for a second and Cal laughed outright before his voice became gentle, "Hey, no fair." He said, leaning his head forward.

"What's not?" She asked, confusion evident in her voice and face.

"Can't be jealous, love, if you've never given me the opportunity." Cal replied as he let his eyes lasciviously travel up and down the length of her body, pausing at his favorite parts.

Gillian felt her breath hitch in her throat as she watched Cal look at her. She had always found something incredibly erotic about watching a man watch her—and even more so when that man displayed the intense desire that Cal Lightman was currently in the process of displaying.

She cleared her throat then as she felt a rush of heat between her legs, and as if in response, Cal licked his lips, imagining all the various foods he could lick from Gillian's gorgeous form.

Smiling, then, he made a show of putting his finger down, "Don't know what you're missing, love." He said, waggling his eyebrows in a way that made her think (and think correctly) that he'd like to show her precisely what she was missing. Cal picked up his wine glass by the stem and swirled it around slightly, making a noise in the back of his throat as he considered a question—his eyes danced as he raised his glass to his lips—with his lips barely touching the wine glass he spoke, "I've never," he paused slightly as he tipped the glass drawing the wine closer to his mouth, "masturbated," he said quickly, as the liquid rushed into his mouth—he nearly sputtered at Gillian's reaction, but he swallowed fast and then brought the glass down from his mouth, "to a romance novel," he said, his smile returning full-force.

Gillian felt her entire body get hot then, and she cringed when she felt the blush rise up her body—it crawled up her chest and neck and settled on her cheeks, turning her a very deep shade of crimson.

"Ah," Cal said, setting his wine glass down, "So that's why they make you happy, is it?"

Cal hadn't thought it possible, but Gillian flushed even more, and Cal chuckled in response—"Shut up, Cal!" She said, taking a quick swig of her wine and then setting it down.

"Tell me about it—" He said, his voice gruff.

Gillian's eyes widened and she opened her mouth to speak but ended up stuttering instead. Shaking her head to try to regain her composure, she tried again, "You've had your fun."

"Mm," He agreed, laughing softly, "So have you, it seems." Cal tilted his head to the side and squinted at her, "Say it."

Gillian felt her breath catch, "Say what?"

"You know precisely what I want you to say." Cal said, tapping his foot.

Gillian rolled her eyes, and Cal could tell that gesture was absolutely contrary to everything she felt—which at that moment, Cal surmised, was a heady mix of lust and arousal—"Fine, Cal." She sighed, "You want me to say it, I'll say it. I touch myself when I read romance novels." She let him think that was the end of her sentence, and Cal smiled in triumph. As he glanced at his wine glass, though, he missed her rather sinister grin, "It's usually when I'm in bed—after I've just finished a luxurious bubble bath and I'll read a scene and I'll suddenly feel myself getting aroused," She said, and Cal's eyes snapped to hers and he felt his throat go completely dry, "So I'll slip my fingers down my body, pausing at my breasts, and then slide them down my stomach until they slip inside my underwear…" She said, her voice low.

Cal's mouth hung slightly open as he visualized the scene she had painted for him—he imagined her hair slightly wet from the bath as she laid on her back in the middle of her bed, one hand clutching a book, the other hand settled between her legs.

When the silence situated itself, Gillian rolled her head back and laughed, "What's the matter, Cal, cat got your tongue?" She asked.

"I bloody wish." His voice sounded scratchy, from being dry—but the entendre did not escape Gillian and she didn't have time to suppress the little moan that came to her throat.

The noise hung in the air between them, before Cal spoke again, his voice raspy and his words still wrapped in innuendo, "Put a finger down, then, Gillian." He said, and she smiled at his meaning.

"Gladly." She said, and tucked a finger away.

Cal closed his eyes and Gillian watched as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. She watched his nostrils flare as he attempted to control his breathing, and she chanced a glance at his jeans—and his arousal was completely evident. Cal opened his eyes, then, and caught her staring, "Like what you see, darling?" he asked.

Startled, but too tipsy to be embarrassed for having been caught staring at his crotch, she simply nodded, and then let her eyes meet his gaze—which, not at all surprisingly demonstrated his intense desire.

"My turn." She said, finally. Gillian wanted to forget about the game—but she was actually quite competitive and so she thought of another thing she was certain would get Cal—"I've never," She paused dramatically, "woken up to someone giving me head." She finished, and Cal let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

For what felt like the thousandth time that evening, Cal was plummeted into imagery overload—he imagined waking Gillian up in that particular way and he nearly groaned at the thought.

"Really?" He asked—but it was actually more of a growl. Gillian shook her head, and Cal considered her and then crossed his leg so that his ankle rested on his knee, "Alec never—" He trailed off with a wave of his hand.

Gillian bit her lip and shook her head, "No." She said, a little too quickly and a look passed over her face that made it clear to Cal that Alec had not only never woken her up in that fashion—but he'd scarcely done it at all, if ever.

Cal ran his palm over his face, "Bloody wanker." He sighed, "That ex of yours." Cal looked at her then, her eyes shining, her body loose as she tilted her head to the side and smiled at him. Cal considered biting his tongue—were it not for the alcohol, perhaps he would have, but he didn't—"If you ever allow me the absolute pleasure, Gillian, I swear to God I'll never want to stop licking you."

Gillian closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, as she stifled what would have been a rather loud moan. "Put a finger down, Cal," she said.

"You're bloody right, I will." Cal responded, and before Gillian could react, he was on the couch next to her, his hand touching her face. She closed her eyes and nestled into his palm—it felt warm against her skin even though her skin was warm from the alcohol.

Suddenly, she opened her eyes, "Who's winning?" She asked.

"Who cares?" He asked, as he leaned in closer to her face.

She looked at him and her eyes squinted slightly, "I might." She said, her tone playful.

"You win, Gillian," He said, rubbing his thumb across her face, "You fucking win," and with that, he dipped his head to taste her for the first time.

She opened her mouth to him and pulled him closer to her—Cal's tongue smoothed over Gillian's as her hand clutched his hair. When she moaned against his mouth, Cal returned the sound with a groan and their touching became more and more desperate—exploring each other's bodies with their hands as they explored each other's mouths. Gillian ran her tongue over Cal's teeth, and Cal lightly bit her lip when she was done, and then returned to kissing her.

Gillian smiled against his lips before she ran her tongue along his bottom lip and then deepened their kiss. She reached for Cal's shirt, intent on dragging it over his head—Cal stopped her hands with his own, and he paused in kissing her to speak against her lips, "Gillian, no—" He said, and he didn't have time to explain before Gillian's eyes registered hurt, and she began to pull away from him. Responding quickly, Cal held her hands tightly, tugging her toward him—then he took one hand and placed it on the back of her head, "No, I don't mean that. Jesus Christ, I don't mean that." She looked at him, her eyes searching, deciding whether or not to believe them, "I want that—I want this—us—this," He said, hoping he was being clear, "But not like this, Gillian."

She looked at him, and her voice was quiet when she asked, "What do you mean?"

"For as many times as I've thought of this, Gillian, I need to be sure—damn sure that it's what you want."

"You mean it's not what you want," she said, her stubbornness exemplified by the alcohol.

"No." He said sternly, "I mean I need to be sure it's what you want. I've wanted it for a long time." Sighing, he curled his fingers in her hair, "I've wanted you for a long time. Drunk, sober, even in some other woman's bed, I've wanted you." He said, and Gillian winced at his words—the image of Cal in another woman's bed was perhaps chief among her least favorite images—"But you're drunk, Gillian. I need to know you want this sober, too. I need to know you'll still want this tomorrow."

"I'll want this tomorrow," She said, her head nodding slightly—her brain was swimming, but she was certain she'd want Cal tomorrow, "I've wanted this for a long time, too."

"You don't know how long I've wanted to hear you say that."

"Mmm," She said, and her eyes looked up and to the left, "About as long as you've wanted to fuck me?" She said, her voice adopting an innocent tone that was in absolute contradiction to her query.

Cal groaned then, and pulled her head toward him, his breath hot on her ear, "And then some." He ran his tongue along the curve of her ear and she gasped.

She smiled and reached her hand out to feel him through his pants, at the contact, he hissed, his tongue pausing its ministrations momentarily, "Not going to make this easy for me, are you love?"

She squeezed, "Not a chance—I prefer it hard." She said, giggling.

"That makes two of us, darling." He said, as he pulled her into a kiss.

They kissed for a moment before Gillian pulled away, "Cal," She said, and his eyes fell to her swollen mouth, "I'll want this tomorrow."

He grinned, "Then we'll start tomorrow."

She rolled her eyes, "You pick tonight to be chivalrous."

Cal shrugged, "It's too important." he said simply—and he watched as her eyes widened and then her gaze softened.

"You'll stay the night?" She asked tentatively.

He nodded, "Of course I will."

Gillian smiled and leaned into Cal for another kiss, "Good," She said as her tongue traced his lips—she sucked on his bottom lip lightly and he moaned and pressed his tongue inside her mouth. They kissed for a long while, each exploring what the other responded most to, before Cal broke the kiss—"And if you do want this tomorrow," He began—

Gillian interrupted, "I will."

Cal grinned at her, and traced his index finger over her collar bone, making Gillian shudder at the contact, "Then we'll have to begin some serious work on your nevers, darling."

The End-

Almost.

"Go ahead, make my day." (That's not Clint Eastwood, that's Lindsay from The Practice. And you know exactly what it means.)