Forces Collide

Part of the Deconstruction Project

By Cappuccino Girl

Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not authorized by Bruckheimer, and the entire production company breathes a sigh of relief.




Gil has been watching the door for twenty-five minutes. He's standing in the corner making small talk with some rather uninteresting people from the accounting office of the Las Vegas Police Department, trying to find enjoyment in the bottom of a glass of scotch. These Christmas parties are dull every year, or so he's learned. If it weren't for the fact that he is the head of the night shift, he would be at home curled up with yesterday's copy of the Herald Tribune and a cup of herbal tea. Instead, he is dressed in a rented tux, watching the main entrance, waiting.

He takes a sip, looks up. She's standing there, wearing red and leaving very little to the imagination and when half of the heads in the room turn, she doesn't blush.

"Enjoying the party?" she beams, touching him on the arm. "You clean up rather well, you know."

"Enduring it."

She keeps on smiling. He can tell this is a moment she lives for, this day of getting dressed up, because she can't make men wild in a bar anymore. She taunts them one night a year in killer evening wear. It works.

Before slinking across the room, she touches the collar of his shirt, lets her fingers graze his neck. "See you around," she says over her shoulder and he watches her hair slide over the base of her neck while she turns.

"Sara," she calls.

Sara's quite good at parties although she'd never admit to it. She can drink with most of the technicians and not care whether she makes a fool of herself. She's an adequate dancer too, not that she ever tries.

Catherine grabs her by the wrist. "Come get a drink with me." And they walk together, red and shimmering black.

"I already have one."

"And my point is I don't and you can always do with another."

"One vodka cranberry and one-" Catherine inspects Sara's glass. "Martini?"

"Yes." Sara gazes over the other woman's shoulder to see Nick trying to bed some girl from criminal profiling. His body language screams desperate. "Look at Nick."

Catherine hands Sara a drink, and takes a sip of her own. "You've got to admire his enthusiasm."

"I guess." Sara leans against the bar and shoves a strand of lose hair behind her ear. "You seem quite tightly wound this evening. I thought you were the party girl."

Catherine blinks flirtatiously. "I am, hence the dress."

Sara wishes she had a suitable reply, but she doesn't so she downs her drink too quickly instead.

"It's been one of those days," Catherine sighs.

"How come?"

"Lindsey's going to spend Christmas with Eddie and his bimbo of the month instead of with me."

"I'm sorry."

"I'll probably pull shift on the 25th, and Lindsey and I will celebrate a day early."

"It's a compromise." Sara leans against the pillar beside her. "Grissom's worked the 25th since I've been here."

"And many years before that, but looking at him over there, it's not difficult to see why," Catherine says with a rather unsubtle gesture towards her boss. He's lost his company, and is now standing in the far corner of the room like a school boy at a bus stop.

"I'm proud to announce that I have never worked Christmas."

"I'm surprised."

"There are some things I won't do, even for this job, and that's one of them."

"What else won't you do?" Catherine asks, and Sara is acutely aware of blue eyes running up her leg which is peeking through the slit of her gown.


"Take bribes. Make the evidence fit."

"What about dating a colleague?" Catherine questions, tossing her head to the side as she does so.

"Oh God, no."

"What if it was more crass than that?"

"Excuse me?"

"Don't play innocent." Catherine traces circles on Sara's wrist.

"I don't think I-"

"Put your glass down."

"I'm sorry?"

Catherine grabs both glasses, drops them onto the table. "Walk beside me," she says, looking straight ahead. "You, although you're in denial, are positively gagging for it."

Catherine slips past two young lab techs, fixing the strap of her gown as she moves. "Warrick," she calls, gesturing towards him with well manicured finger.

Sara observes the spectacle. Catherine fixing her hair when she doesn't need to just so that she can show the back of her wrists, striding effortlessly across the room to Warrick who is talking with two handsome twenty year old men.

"Any Christmas plans?" she says. After taking a pause to study her company, she leans across to one of the men and whispers, "Can you get me another drink? Something that goes down easy." Beside her, Sara turns a brighter shade of scarlet. Catherine smiles, then blinks. "Plans, Warrick, or are you just going to watch the Discovery Channel like some of our esteemed colleagues?"

"I'm going up to my mom's place actually. She's happy with her new other half, and so long as that's the case, going to spend time with them is too good an offer to refuse." He gazes into his glass, unimpressed by Catherine's efforts.

"Sounds good. What about yourself Sara? Any plans?"

"No," Sara says quietly, trying not to stare at the woman in red beside her. She fails, and her eyes dart up, lingering for two seconds before observing her own shoes again. She fidgets slightly.

"That's a shame," But Catherine doesn't mean it, and they both know. "I actually… Let's get something to eat."

Taking Sara's hand, both women spin away from their company.

"Your drink?" Warrick asks, but no one hears.

"I've already had food," Sara explains, weaving between the guests as she makes her way towards the door.

"So have I."

"Then I don't-"

Catherine's hand touches the hollow just below Sara's collar bone, lets her finger rest for a moment. Their eyes lock. They don't talk. Turning towards the door, they glide out of the room in a haze of silk and perfume.

Catherine stumbles over her heels and they both fall into the restroom together, door clattering shut behind them. Sara locks it, pulls the door to be sure that it is locked. She yanks the handle hard because she has a reputation to uphold. Catherine pulls her around, kisses Sara hard. It's unforgiving, as though she's trying to knock the naiveté out of her. Legs between thighs and Sara's dress up by her waist, a pool of glittering black. Her breath is jagged, trying so hard to remain in control and failing. Catherine kisses Sara's collarbones, grazes the other woman's clit, shoves two fingers inside her. Rough. Dangerous. All the fancy dresses can't kill the dancer, the naked dancer. Sara comes hard and fast, and after littering Catherine with kisses she slides down onto the bathroom floor.

"People are going to wonder why the door's locked," she gasps.

"I think they can guess." And Catherine moves like a dream while she says this.

It's cheap, Sara thinks, cheap and dirty. Two women in evening gowns fucking in a restroom. It's the life she's never even tried to have, and here before her with smeared makeup and tousled hair is this dangerous woman, begging her to let her come.. Sara teases off Catherine's panties, slides them down her thighs. She's not used to this, but she's fairly good at faking and possibly drunk. Her tongue touches Catherine's thigh, moves closer to her center. Sara's hesitant, Catherine can tell, but desperation and Sara's touch cause her to lose herself in the sparkling rush hidden behind her eyes.

Sara's eyes are wide, an equal mix of awe and panic. She's stunning, her hair all out of place, lipstick long gone. Catherine pushes herself away, stands up without teetering in spite of her shoes. She straightens her gown, pulls it tight around her waist and looks at her reflection in the mirror. After having moistened a paper towel to remove the smeared mass of eyeliner and lipstick, she runs a hand through her hair, tilts her head to criticize the picture.

She fixes the strap of her dress, checks her necklace is in place before gazing down at Sara, who is still on the floor trying to compose herself.

With a flick of her hair, Catherine unlocks the door and strides out. From behind her, she hears Sara ask, "So is this Merry Christmas?"

"If you'd like to be."

~* the end *~


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Author's Notes: Part of the Deconstruction Project.

For TS and the cause of CSI: Lesbos. Infinite thanks to you for hand-holding and laughter. Also to Amber, my tiniest partner in crime.

feedback makes the world go round. please send it to cappuccinogirlie@hotmail.com

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