Chapter Eight

Consummations

"What'd ya think, kid." Brass gestured to his handiwork. He had set up the card table he used for when Gil Grissom, Nick Stokes and his CSI friends came over for a night of poker but this time, there was a table cloth on the worn surface, flowers in a vase to the back of two place settings, complete with goblets for wine, candles and real silverware instead of plastic. "The whole works, just to impress you. I can be domestic when the occasion calls for it, evidently. Imagine my surprise."

Abigail Evers' mouth was agape, her eyes shining with delight. "Captain, it's lovely...really!" She was touched. "Did you do this all by yourself?"

"No, I gotta be honest here." The man teased, happy with her reaction, in truth. "Little fairies came in to grant me a wish...I blew it." He shook a woeful head. "I could have had a pot of gold, but I chose..." He waved a hand over the setting, his expression benign. "I'm a sap, right?"

"A pot of gold? Which would be...leprechauns, Captain." The woman held her amusement with difficulty. "Not fairies."

"They all look alike to me." Brass admitted cheerfully. "Ever see Key Largo?" He motioned to the big screen television, pulling up the music channel he needed...to set the mood. "We got some time yet before it starts."

"I have seen it." she confirmed. "And don' t shoot me but I like it better than 'To Have and Have Not.' Call me a purist."

"I've called you worse." He philosophized.

"And to my face." She nodded sagely. "I had a secret crush on one of the background guys in my early teens. Don't let it out. He was one of Edward G's cronies."

"You like the bad boys, hum." The news didn't seem to surprise him one bit. "Let me guess...Mark Lawrence who played 'Ziggy'."

She licked those yummy lips thoughtfully. "Tomas Gomez." She crinkled her nose. "He was such a fine dramatic actor, stole scenes, at least, in my humble opinion."

"You're kidding." Brass was thrown by that choice. "You're one weird person, Evers, anyone ever tell you?"

"It's part of my charm." She dimpled. "Can I help with anything?" She brought his attention back to the present setting.

"Grab the rolls." He motioned, walking into the kitchen, passing the smaller table where he usually ate his breakfast, if he didn't make a 'Starbucks' run. "I'll dish up the lasagna."

"Smells great." She breathed in. "I brought some wine, but it's not chilled." she glanced back at the bag sitting by her purse which she had placed on the table just inside his doorway.

"I made a pit-stop." He indicted the refrig. "Ever had wine in a box?"

She giggled, having opened the door, seeing a bottle inside. "I don't think Bogey would serve his Baby wine in a box." She brought the bottle along with the rolls to the table.

"Well, I'm not Bogart...Baby." He cut her a look.

"You're close enough." she flattered having liked the sound of 'baby' in that rough-hewn voice of his. "...You know, Bacall surprised everyone by taking on such a insignificant role. Claire Trevor got the accolades but even in the less than stellar wardrobe, I thought Lauren was a knock-out and she underplayed the role to perfection."

"Guess some women can just pull off the 'Dress Barn, Bargain Basement' look." The man sat the plates he had filled on the table with a dry grin.

"You were listening." She flushed with pleasure.

"I always listen, don't always hear." He stated wryly. His eyes traveled the curves and bulges of her body with masculine appreciation. "You look good in blue."

He noted the short blue and white striped skirt, the white cotton blouse. She had already lost the deck shoes which lay forgotten over by the front door.

"Thought it was 'red'." She narrowed suspicious eyes. "You mixing me up with someone else already? The evening isn't even underway."

"Yeah...come mere." He was, in reality, the one to step the small space separating them, enfolding the woman into his arms, his lips slowly descending.

Abigail lifted her mouth invitingly, the green eyes soulfully vulnerable, connecting with the confident, warm ones of Jim Brass.

His lips brushed the plump, sensual surface awaiting his exploration with a gentle, fleeting touch. Jim was planning to pull back, determined to keep things on an even keel for a goodly while yet but the woman leaned into his sphere, tip-toeing closer, those eyes robbing him of any and all good intentions.

Warmth melded to warmth, his palm spreading over the small of her back, pressing her body close as Brass deepened the kiss systematically.

Those responsive lips anxiously sought out his weak points, finding a few. The man's body responded instantly so he gently disengaged the moment, clearing his voice awkwardly for his cock had thickened and lengthened without his approval.

To cover his own short comings, he smiled down at the pretty face. "I've wanted to do that all damned day." His tone was low and soothing, his gaze warmly heated.

Which brought a flush of color to Abigail's cheeks. "You look good in candlelight." She didn't want to be out-done so early on, quipping to hide her reaction.

"Everyone looks good in candlelight." He grinned for the wit shown. "It's why I chose it. And this is my best side so...you sit over there." He pulled a chair out for her.

She giggled, which ran along his spine like the tickle of a feather.

"You remind me of someone I knew when I first got to Vegas...a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away." He seated himself, taking the time to seek her out.

"Let me guess." She leaned an elbow on the table, fingers to temple. "This person was not all there in the head?"

"Let's just say, she looked at the world in a different way than most people." He rephrased tactfully for once. "A way I found refreshingly unique."

"Well, that's not me." She feigned confusion. "I'm cynical to the max. I think God made a mistake when he created humans."

"God doesn't make mistakes." He corrected. "The humans make the mistakes."

"If he hadn't created us, we wouldn't be here to make them." She counted.

"I'm going to move to the couch...and hope thunderbolts don't travel well." He glanced longingly to the spot. "But on the other hand... if he hadn't created humans...I never would have met...you."

She lowered her eyes, charmed by the statement. "This smells great."

"Then eat it." He motioned. "It's an old Italian family recipe passed down by my Irish Grandmother...es muy bueno, Si?"

"Ohh, a multi-lingual guy. Color me impressed." She tasted a small bite of the food, making a yummy sound afterwards which kinda reminded Brass of other sounds she might make if he stroked her just right.

"Spent some time in Canada so I'm pretty fluent in French." He bragged a bit. "I took some courses to learn Spanish for work...Gaelic was spoken in the home early on, so I could speak that before English which..." He grimaced. "I'm still working on most days."

She grinned over, sipping the wine he had just poured. "Can you talk dirty in any of those dialects?"

"When I talk 'dirty' and I plan to...I want you to be able to understand it." He quipped right back, never at a loss for long.

"Well, I can speak other languages too." She lifted a superior 'nose'. "I do a pretty good 'Valley Girl' and I'm fluent in Klingon."

"Who isn't." He dismissed with a roll of his eyes. "But, how's your Pig Latin?"

Her pretty face fell into doldrums. "That's just hard!" She defended herself.

He chuckled his amusement. "It's not your intellect which attracts me anyway." He made her feel better, his eyes holding a subdued 'interest' as they traveled her form.

"Oh, goodie." she breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought the evening might be taking a nose dive there for a second."

He chuckled again, tasting the lasagne absently.

"So who is this person I remind you of? It's not an ax murder is it? I'm trying to give that up, just saying." She earnestly inquired.

He laughed his delight, shaking a woeful head. She enjoyed the sound of that deep, sensual rumble so very much, she found, wishing to produce it as often as she was able.

"Mahalia Peterson." The name brought a smile of remembrance. "One of the most street-wise, intelligent people I have ever met. She was my first love here in Vegas."

The green eyes misted over cautiously. "Oh?"

"She used to call me..." Jim licked the center of his upper lip, his eyes twinkling for he sensed the girl was secretly jealous of anyone to hold such a title. "Lover Boy." His grin grew. "Worked the Strat district when it was the place to be."

"...Oh." She picked up on the reference but still held the anxious pose of polite attentiveness.

"Really."

"She gave me freebies cause she said, I was so...earnestly appreciative of the gesture."

Abigail was stumped, clearly.

"Abigail...do I seem like the type of man who would actually accept a freebie?" He wanted to know.

"...Eh..."

He laughed fully, allowing the chuckle to die a natural death, his stare a contemplative one afterwards. "How you paint me."

"...Well, a guy gets lonely, my brothers tell me." She shrugged. "At least that's how they explain away the affairs they've had to me. They don't explain it to their wives, of course." She put her index finger across her lips in a 'shhh' gesture, those green eyes wide with apprehension.

"They suck on the fidelity chart, let me tell ya."

He just sat, looking at her which made her uneasy. "...You really speak Gaelic? Is that Scottish or Irish? I've always been confused."

" what my grandmother spoke." He said. "There is the Scottish version, of course. Don't tell Grandmother though."

Abigail relaxed a tad.

"Ar mhaith leat gnéas a bheith agat anocht?" Brass asked innocently.

The woman's eyes narrowed instantly. "That was dirty talk, right?"

He smiled a slow, effortless smile, nothing more.

"As IF!" She twirled her hair dramatically, in that way a California teen might at any and all malls.

"Good answer." He approved. "It's something I should ascertain for myself at any rate." He shrugged any concern away.

She pondered that one for a beat. "I would like to meet your grandmother to ask what you just said to me but I didn't write it down, so..."

"She passed several years ago." Brass sobered somewhat.

"...You must have loved her very much." It was said. "I can still see the pain in your eyes."

Brass lowered those eyes. "She would have you for tea."

"I'm thinking that isn't good." The girl frowned her concern.

The man situated himself more comfortably in his chair, an old memory surfacing. "In Jersey, we lived in a pretty rough neighborhood. I had a job as a bartender in my college days. Which meant I had to leave my grandma home alone for most of the night, right?"

Abigail listened attentively, sipping her wine occasionally.

"Well, one night my worse fears materialized. Some bozo and his friend decided Fiona was ripe for the pickings." His brow furrowed darkly, the anger resurfacing as it often did when he related the tale. "You can't imagine how I felt when I pulled up to the house and there was all these cop cars with the lights on...an ambulance with the back doors ajar..." He swallowed hard. "I don't know how many people I ran over trying to get into that house."

Abigail's features empathized, clearly and she leaned closer to the man.

"I was horrified at what might be waiting inside..."

The silence came and stayed for a long beat as Jim relived the moment in his mind. "...I didn't have to worry though, come to find out." His grin came and stayed. "There was Fiona, sitting in her favorite rocker, watching Johnny Carson. The cop in charge told me the sordid story." His grin widened. "She had taken one out with her cast iron frying pan...the one she used to cook chicken for Sunday dinner. She beat the shit out of the other one with her cane."

Abigail dimpled, her hand coming to her mouth to hold her chuckles.

"I could have warned the asswipes about that cane." Brass nodded sagely. "I felt the brunt of it many a time on my backside growing up. Nana wasn't one to tolerate disrespect from any 'upstarts'." The man 'air-quoted'. "I didn't worry too much about her after that."

Abigail's laughter died down eventually. "Well, my grandmother is a fine, gentile Southern Lady who never raises her voice or even gets mad." She sighed lightly. "She can't phantom why I chose this vocation and prays over me when I visit."

"She's wise to pray over you." Brass advised.

"She wants me to be a Stewardess...that's what she calls flight attendants. She's very disappointed in me."

"Well, I'm not." Brass defended her staunchly. "And if you were my stewardess, I would probably be trying to convince you to give me a 'blow' in the john...just saying but there is no need to share that with your grandmother."

"Captain!" Abigail was mortified. "Please tell me you are already a certified member of the 'Mile High Club! Don't ruin my image of you, please."

"I'm gonna wisely let that one pass." He wisely did so. "But, I'm really interested in this 'guy that convinced you to drop your skivvies...in college, was it? Let's go ahead and clear the tabs on that 'incident'," he 'air-quoted' yet again. "Shall we?"

She flushed, clearing her throat gently. "I didn't mean to tell you about...that." She demurred.

"It was a rather crucial 'need-to-know' moment as I recall." His brow furrowed darkly. "Don't change the subject."

"You share your war stories. I'll share mine." She knew he was a very private individual, feeling safe in suggesting the ploy.

Brass sat back, sizing up his opponent. "...It was a very long time ago. In my Marine days." He hedged.

"So was college." she countered primly. "Shall we move forward?"

Brass' tongue flicked the inside of his mouth, as he debated the pros and cons of such a conversation. "...Don't know if it counts as a 'Mile High' thing." He shrugged. "But I made it with a Second lieutenant, of the female persuasion...in the back of a C-123 Provider over the Pacific, headed for Nam once."

That lovely pout of a mouth formed a shocked 'O'...the green eyes blinking their awe. "...That is so...hot!" She breathed out a whisper of a response, images coming at breakneck speed in her fertile little mind. She swallowed hard, his steady stare robbing her of any composure she had managed to retain up until this point. "I've always wanted to..."

"Have you now." His brows lifted inquiringly. "I'll file that information away for later use."

"No, I didn't m-mean..." But...she had. Both she and the man knew as much, so...Abigail shut the fuck up.

"Your turn." He prompted, cocking his head to the side.

"...Oh, well..." she dismissed airily. "It was just," she cringed deep down, shrugging. "One of those things, you know." She shook her head, the soft tendrils of hair swishing with the movement. "We were out one night...everything jelled. It was well past time I...stepped up to the plate. The guy was...okay. I had known him for a long time." She swallowed her misgivings about sharing something so very private but...the man had done so...so... "Liquor was involved." She brightened, for it seemed to take the guilt out of her hands. "It was...fine."

"Fine." Brass repeated, reaching for his wine to put the girl at ease. "You say."

"Yeah...fine." She tried to remember back but compared to the night she spent in this very house only hours ago... 'find' didn't seem so 'right' any longer. "But, in t he end, he wanted something I didn't and...we just drifted apart. End of story."

She smiled lamely, shrugging aimlessly. "He was a very nice guy."

Brass nodded slowly. "So this 'guy' was just...a 'guy." He pursed his lips. "But there has been no 'guy' since...that really caught your attention, am I getting the facts straight?"

"I've been busy trying to make some sort of life for myself, remember..." She reminded hastily. "And trying to get your attention?"

"Oh..right." He continued to nod minutely. "Actually...you had already done that. Been meaning to tell you."

A puzzled air became her, he noted. "I was pulled in on one of your Vice cases about six months back. The I-15 rape case that turned into the serial killer?"

Recognition dawned. "Oh, god! That was a bad one. We had to kick it up to the Feds in the end, right?"

"They took the credit for our collar." Brass corrected smoothly. "The bastards. We did the leg work, found the fucker then they swept in to the praise and media coverage."

"My Superior at the time was not a happy camper." She recalled fatalistically.

"He confronted the Head Fed...walked right up to the fucker after the cameras stopped rolling." Brass had liked the guy's style. "That was quite the confrontation." He grinned. "Especially when some snot-nosed Rookie stepped up to put her two cents in during the free-for-all."

Abigail gasped. "Oh geesh...I did do that, didn't I...that was me!"

Brass feigned surprise. "You were the one in that little number with the six inch stilettos? Just come off your shift, did you?"

She was pulling a blank.

"The silver lame skirt and fish net stockings?" He helped her memory out. "With the black lace teddy?...you were all shiny."

She closed her eyes. "Oh...lord. I'm not going to live this down, am I."

"I don't think so, Sugar Drawers." He didn't. Not if he had anything to say in the matter.

"I'll have you know, that outfit helped me get a commodation." she took umbrage.

"I would have given you one for the little it left to the imagination." Brass confided.

"We busted a prostitution ring coming out of Mexico using young, under-aged girls, Mister Big Shot Detective." She blustered.

"You should be proud of that." He held up the universal sign of 'peace'. "Just like you should be proud of how good your ass looked in that shiny little skirt."

She softened. "Is that your weakness, JimBrass?"

"I think you are my weakness, actually."

She offered over a demur glance. "It's that Irish bullshit." She realized. "Can't avoid it, hum."

"Okay." his gaze deepened. "I like your breasts...better?"

"You're good for a girl's ego." She approved. "I like you best when you're honest."

"Most women would slap my face."

"That's just because you don't know how to temper your enthusiasm most days." She giggled. "You're a 'say what you mean' kind of guy."

He stared at her, his eyes direct and searching. "Are we at that stage?"

"...Is the movie starting soon?" She evaded, unable to hold such a penetrating probe.

He let it go. "You know." He was curious. "You don't really have to watch an old black and white. It was just a ploy to get you into my web, as I'm sure you realized early on."

"I...wouldn't do that." She seemed hurt. "Pretend to like something...even for you."

"I'm sorry, it's just that," how to put it, "Well...look at you." His eyes swept the petite frame.

She clearly wasn't following, her eyes following a similar path coming up empty.

"Then..." he motioned to himself. "Look at me. I'm either the luckiest son-of-a-bitch to come down the Pike or, something in the Cosmos is 'off' somewhere." He had reasoned it out after speaking with Reddington. "My life doesn't usually go this good, let me tell ya."

"I don't...understand."

He lowered his head, his mood rising considerably because he believed her. "Let's sit on the couch and get comfortable. I'll bring some coffee."

"I'll help."

"No." He assisted her with the chair. "Go find a spot. I'll only be a moment."

She reluctantly did so with but one confused look his way. "We'll clean up afterwards?"

He laughed good-naturedly. Clean up? Hadn't even entered his mind. "Sure...later. Bogart is more important than the mundane."

He switched off the mood music for the mood seemed to be sitting itself.

Brass kept a running check on the woman from the kitchen as he prepared the cups. He knew she took two creams and one sugar. He found her fiddling with the remote upon his return. He took the object, finding the settings needed, sitting beside her.

"Get comfortable." He insisted for she sat, feet planted firmly on the floor, hands primly folded in her lap. "I've seen your desk at work. At least I think there's a desk under all that debris." He teased. "Put your feet up...act like it's your house, not mine."

"My grandmother would smack me for that."

"I'll smack you if you don't."

She smiled, tucking her legs to the side, finding a pillow to lean on as the credits rolled. "Oh...I forgot Tonto was in this."

He smiled. "Must be his ancestor."

She cut him a look but remained transfixed as Bogart's name loomed large on the screen.

"How can I look down your blouse if you're way over there?" He put his arm along the back of the divan, having made himself more comfortable as well.

She happily scooted close, leaning into his side. "Better?"

"Lay your head right here." He offered over a shoulder. "And lose a few buttons."

She giggled. "Am I even going to get to watch this movie?"

"You watch the movie...I'll watch you." He suggested quietly.

"I don't trust you." Abigail narrowed her eyes. "Well, that's not true, I do trust you with certain things, like my life, say." She allowed. "But...not my nether regions."

"Have I ever harmed those regions?" He asked innocently.

"Harmed, no." the woman was befuddled, clearly. "Stop talking, you're confusing the issue."

Brass licked his lips absently. "Look...Bogey on a boat. He's in his element."

A small gasp escaped the soft, white throat, although there were definite shades of a tan line here and there that enthralled the man, were he honest with himself.

Those green eyes were now glued to the set, just as he wished. Create a diversion. Step number one in his master plan for the night.

Brass shifted his own eyes to the gentle curve of the woman's hip, his hand coming to rest on the warm surface. "Just getting comfortable here." He scooted closer and down a bit, with fit the delectable body much better to his form.

She ignored him altogether, nodding absently. "Oh, my god...look at that water! So blue and clear. We should go there some day." She realized her faux pas, shifting a vacant stare. "I m-mean...I...I should go there some day."

"What." The man scowled slightly. "I'm not invited?"

"Do you want to be invited?" She held her breath.

"Yeah."

"Oh..." She breathed out her relief. "Then...sure. We might could go, right? At some later date, say? Not anytime soon, probably...right?"

Brass grinned, letting it go. "You smell good."

"Oh." She blinked innocent eyes, still concentrated on the other subject, he knew. "Okay."

She returned to the movie slowly but surely, a disappointed pout on that pretty face even though he wasn't aware of it.

Brass slipped his palm lower, the huge span covering her upper thigh, directly across from the spot where her leg melded with those nether regions they had discussed earlier.

Emerald eyes shot to the action. Abigail held her breath but Brass was too astute to be so obvious. When she checked, which she did, he was amused to note...his attention was focused on the television screen.

The movie progress and soon, Bogart had taken Brass' woman's attention again.

"Oh! Isn't she gorgeous? A natural born beauty if ever there was one." The delight was apparent on Abigail's face. "I don't even think she is wearing make-up! And that voice!"

Brass nodded minutely, watching Bacall's first on-screen shot as well. "Very lovely woman."

"You bet the shit she is!" Abigail hit his shoulder meaningfully. "That's all you got?"

The man shrugged slightly. "She's got great tits."

Abigail rolled her eyes, hastily seeking out the movie. "I hate you."

Brass dropped his eyes to his true interest, his thumb moving up and under the light weight fabric of that short skirt, gently massaging the heated flesh of her thigh lovingly...a negligible back and forth sweep that slowly heated the woman's blood.

Abigail swallowed hard, her gaze shifting to his antics post haste. "...W-What are you doing?"

She whispered breathlessly.

"...This." Brass' thumb spread over and down, hooking into the rim of her panties, that same thumb rubbing the clean-shaven mound he discovered more than suggestively.

Abigail's breathing was coming in shorter intervals, her body tense and...receptive suddenly.

Brass moved his efforts to a more intimate spot, the tip of his index finger circling the tiny swollen clit with light, delicate strokes.

"That's nice..." He nuzzled her neckline, his breath on her flesh delighting her senses. "It's all nice and wet...I would love to...taste it. Don't want to disturb your concentration, though...your call."

Abigail was speechless and turned on like she had never been turned on before. She stifled a gasp of reaction. "T-Taste...it?"

"Yeah." Brass sucked her lope into the warmth of his mouth, his lips teasing the tiny shell. "...Like...this." His tongue curled to the gentle slope hungrily, his breath hot and heavy suddenly at the thought.

Abigail closed her eyes, mewing indecisively. "You...s-should probably not do...that."

"Why?" He asked politely, his forefinger sinking slowly into the depths of the hot, steamy little hole it had been teasing so mercilessly for some few moments now. "I could just...do this, if you prefer but," he made a sound in his throat. "I'm really thinking...it would be so good to...do the other for you."