Title: Only Your Fingerprints
Feedback address: email@example.com
Date in Calendar: 4 December 2007
Fandom: CSI: Miami
Word Count: 2833
Summary: When "Hey baby, process my crime scene?" turns into something more.
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Disclaimer: "CSI: Miami," the characters, and situations depicted are the property of Jerry Bruckheimer Television, Alliance Atlantis, Touchstone Television, The American Travelers, and CBS Productions. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "CSI: Miami," CBS, or any representatives of the actors.
Note: This was written for Spotty's birthday, after a conversation about the forensics kit being used for "other" purposes...
Only Your Fingerprints
I've rarely been so happy to be back at my cute little house in Miami. Quietly, I open the door and peek inside the unexpectedly darkened interior.
"Calleigh?" I call softly, knowing that she's home because of her car in the garage, but the lights are all off. Flicking the switch near the door floods this part of the house with illumination. Dried, slightly muddy footprints lead across the hardwood floors. Clearly, the storm raging outside caught her unawares.
Dropping my bags onto the couch, I strip off the sodden, lightweight coat and refrain from shaking out my damp hair like a dog. I've been in meetings all day in regards to the five day forensics conference at Quantico, passing along the information to my superiors. It's been a wearying day and the weather has ruined my best work clothes that I wore to impress the brass. Ah well, at least tomorrow I can get back to my usual routine. As tough as it had been to be away from Calleigh and my familiar surroundings, as the new kid on the team, I had jumped on the opportunity to go.
There's been no sound, so I'm assuming that Calleigh's in the shower or possibly sleeping, leaving me to follow the footprints leading towards the private areas of the house like any good CSI.
Still and quiet with sleep, Calleigh is sprawled boneless on the sheets, her naked skin glowing in the grey and orange light from the windows. The beauty of this unexpected lover never ceases to take my breath away. The breeze is still damp with the downpour and the rumbling thunder is counterpoint to my suddenly elevated heartbeat.
Late yesterday, I returned to Miami and a lovely reunion with my lover that included a fancy dinner and a wild night between the sheets. A naughty smile curls my lips as I stare at my lover's somnolent body. That reunion last night made the trip all worthwhile. There are still marks on her fair skin where I'd gotten a little… enthusiastic. She keeps the bruised proof of my lovemaking on her skin so easily, dusky rose and sometimes even faintly violet if I've really marked her well.
Inappropriately, I think of our mutual skills of investigation, when marks like the ones I’ve left on her are anything but positive. It cools my ardor, much to my annoyance and I growl silently to myself and creep into the bathroom to shower. The hot spray clears my head and I get to thinking. Is there a way to turn those skills into something positive?
Then it comes to me, like a really bad pick up line in a bar. I’d certainly heard enough of them in Washington DC at the conference. Hey baby, process my crime scene? Sure, it’s a cheesy line, but the idea certainly has merit. There are brand new, sterile supplies in the kit that were given to me at the conference and… oh, I like this idea.
Fired up now, I forgo the shower for now and slip away, leaving Calleigh to sleep for now. Fifteen minutes of puttering through my kit and some handy supplies in the kitchen has me ready to be adventurous.
The weight of the kit beside her knees doesn’t disturb my lover, but my body weight straddling her finally gets a sleepy stirring. "Hey lady," I purr lovingly. "MDPD. I’m afraid that you’re in my crime scene and I’ll have to process you as evidence."
"Nat?" Calleigh groans quietly, her lovely, soft accent thick, her beautiful eyes blurry and very, very green. "Crime scene?"
"Oh yes ma’am," I purr in an even more intimate tone. There can be no doubt in her mind that we are just playing. I won’t play with either of our emotions that way. "I’m afraid that we’ve gotten reports of a stolen heart and I need to process the scene."
Her sharp mind has started to catch up with my game and a slow, sexy smile curls her mouth. Batting her eyelashes like a movie star, Cal purrs, "I’m not in trouble am I, officer?"
Now that we’re on the same page, I sit back to lean over and click open the case and pull out the most omnipresent tool of our work in forensics. The latex stretches familiarly over the shape of my hands and I can almost feel the weight of Calleigh’s gaze. "Well, that depends, Missy. Your cooperation is your best defense. What I’m doing here will bring the truth to light."
"Then I guess that I best cooperate."
Stretching out full length, Calleigh puts her arms trustingly above her head and watches me with those bright bedroom eyes. It takes some effort for me to remember what I’ve started here, but I shake off the lust for this woman and return to my original plan.
"I’ll, uh, be dusting you for fingerprints and looking for other physical evidence in the immediate vicinity."
Relaxing even more into the softness of the bed, Calleigh kicks away the sheet tangled around her right leg and smiles seductively at me. The smile deepens when I pull out the plastic container from the kitchen, which I prepared just a few minutes ago. Real fingerprint powder is nasty stuff, fine like volcanic ash and sticks to everything. This is different. Sure, the material is still dusty and fine, and it still sticks to everything, but with far more pleasant results in this context!
Pausing to click on the bedside lamp, I retrieve one of the brushes, with its thick nap of fine, soft bristles. These sorts of tasks are not yet rote to me, new as I am to the front line of forensics. Well, except for the gloves; I’ve been wearing those since college. Tapping the plastic on the bedside table, I see that the powder has settled more, reducing the explosion of particulate that awaits me.
"Now, just give me a few minutes to photograph the scene. I’ll make this as quick as I can."
As the representative of the Miami-Dade Crime Lab, I was given quite a collection of fancy toys to take home in hopes of impressing my coworkers and the bean counters. One of my favorites I pull from the hard-sided kit to show her. Calleigh’s mouth curls in a faint smile at the compact digital camera.
"The resolution on this thing is unreal," I remark casually as I turn it on and raise it to my eye. "Every bit as good as something four times its size. Say cheese."
These photos will be a treasured memory; one locked behind a very sturdy firewall and password. The flash flares the room brighter than the lightning outside and the sensuality of my lover is captured in the name of fantasy. From crown to toes I photograph the canvas of Calleigh’s skin, hair and luminous eyes. She snerks in amusement as I pull out the photomacrographic scale and rest it on her torso as though measuring the small distances between her various body parts. Even in the tiny screen on the camera, some of the pictures are striking.
"Now, this shouldn’t take much longer," I reassure in my best ‘cop’ voice, allowing a thrum of warmth and desire beneath the professional tone.
"Whatever you say, officer," Calleigh purrs lustily, stretching like a cat while I switch tools. "I’m all yours."
Oh, she knows she’s teasing me, but it gives me incentive so see how far I can draw this out. Now is time for my mock fingerprint powder and the tickly soft fiberglass brush that I will never be able to use at a crime scene!
"Nat, wha…" Calleigh starts to say as I open the plastic container from the kitchen and carefully swirl the white brush across the surface of the powder inside.
"Shhh," I soothe, leaning over her once more. "Just go with it."
The powder is mostly chalk white, nearly invisible on the bristles, and speckled with tiny dark flecks that make it look very organic. Minute particles drift away from the brush, highlighted in the dim glare of the bedside lamp. There’s a technique to dusting for fingerprints without being sloppy or damaging the delicate evidence. Everything I’ve learned has come from watching the CSIs, particularly since becoming one of them. I watch everybody on the team as they go about their work in order to learn by example, but I take particular delight in observing my lover.
Only a few millimeters from Calleigh’s skin, just at the lower edge of the delicate ribcage, where her body slopes around to her back, I delicately twirl the brush. From the baby-fine bristles explodes a cloud of the powder, tickling my nose and tongue with the sweetness contained therein.
Breath sucks into the ribcage I study so closely, a faint note that hovers between pleasure and distress carried on the outrush of air. "Tickles?" I tease as just the fine tips of the bristles brush her skin.
"Mmm," Calleigh hums softly and a glance shows me that her eyes are closed and she’s biting her lower lip. The woman is so effortlessly sexy that I can barely breathe sometimes.
It’s a contest now to test our strength of will and how far our mutual libidos can hold out. While I might not be the one getting tickled and teased, just watching Calleigh’s reactions and hearing her little noises is enough to test a saint. With a delicate touch and a few choice words that sound vaguely like instructions or possibly demands, Calleigh settles with a growling murmur deep in her throat. Wrestling down my own need, I turn once more to the kit, noting that my hands are shaking slightly.
Turning back to Calleigh, I forget everything for a long moment, trailing my eyes over the magnificence of her arched body. She is tense, one knee raised up a bit, fingers clenched tightly into the sheets above her head. But it's the laser green burn that makes me stay still for that long, heavy moment.
"May…" her voice cracks alarmingly, making me smile despite myself. "…maybe this exam needs to be a bit more hands on, officer." Her voice sounds almost pained, the syllables a full octave below her normal, dulcet tones.
"Is there something I should be looking for?" I play along, setting the lifting tape rectangles on her belly as I lean over her body. "Even the smallest shred of evidence can make the difference, you know." Millimeters from my lover's skin, I breathe across the faint, dusty marks that the fake fingerprint powder left on her skin and just breathe. The humid breeze, hot on the exhale, cool on the inhale, makes Calleigh squirm.
"Oh Nat," she breathes hotly and I have to wonder what is running through her mind. It seems as though I've managed to tap into some part of her brain that obviously turns her on. This game is illicit and naughty in the way I've referenced so closely to our work lives and I'm very grateful that I've accomplished arousal and not discomfort.
Licking at the sweet powdered sugar that mixes with the faint hint of cinnamon and cloves, I search for the flavor of her skin and sweat. This is a confection I could easily get addicted to and I ignore her quiet pleas and take my dear sweet time climbing her body with my exploring mouth. The faint groove bisecting her torso is traced, each erect nipple laved with love, the sharp thrust of her collarbones suckled, my mouth never ceasing its adoration.
She even keeps her hands to herself, allowing my 'examination' until I dip down and suckle roughly at her pulse point. The small sounds turn into a throaty cry, her hands suddenly fisted in my trailing hair. Like this, flushed and horny as hell, Calleigh is essentially incoherent, but I've learned to recognize my name in the gibberish.
One strong thigh coils around mine, dragging me down to lie fully atop her smaller body, remaining in a python's hold around me. The other does its best to insinuate itself between my thighs, her body already rocking against the cotton fabric of my pants. So, I move to kiss my lover deeply, relishing the feel and taste of her, the beloved press of her body to mine.
Leaning away, I whisper her name softly, calling her attention back to more than the burn in her body. At the same time, I reach out to tug the bedstand drawer open and pull out the squeeze tube of thick lube there. No need to have the latex catching at her skin unless I want her to feel that sensation. Even through the thin layer of rubber, I can feel the cool of it on my palm where my own heat will warm the dollop.
"If I used that lifting tape on your skin," I growl possessively, holding the gemstone eyes. "What would I find?"
"Only," Calleigh breathes, distracted by the knuckles I'm trailing down her torso. "Only your fingerprints, Nat. Only yours."
Levering my body off to the side, I use those same knuckles to press her hip back to the bed when she would follow me. More deep kisses swallow her faint note of distress at the teasing as I cup my hand over the heat at her groin. The slick, heated dollop of lube trickles down my fingers to seep among her silky pubes and into the nooks and crannies of her swollen sex. Not wanting to get bitten, I lever up onto my elbow to watch her face as my hand explores lower and deeper.
"Only yours," Calleigh murmurs deliriously over and over again and I suppose I should be thankful that I am not prone to egotism. The strangeness of fucking her with the latex glove on is allowing me to remain aloof from the action to ensure that her pleasure is my main focus. My own can wait for now. The sultry heat of her seems hotter somehow to my sweating skin, trapped in its waterproof sheath, drenched in sweat. Calleigh's voice runs to the top of her scale as I slide deep within, starting up the slow, even thrusts, my thumb on the hard shaft of her clit.
"My beautiful girl," I whisper, amazed by the raw, agonizing pleasure on her face, her body writhing, her hands punishing in my hair. "Come for me."
A third finger, my touch deep and sure, brings the game to noisy completion, the strength of her, body and soul, focused on the orgasm wracking her small body. As the heavy contractions around my hand slow, I try something, curling my fingers, curious to see if I can keep her high and open like this.
It works! Amazed at the strength in her curvaceous frame, I clamp my thighs tight around hers; press my shoulder into her chest as she seems determined to buck me off. Completely animalistic, high-pitched cries escape her in time to the clench of her body's grip on my hand. She might be louder if I'd give her a chance to catch her breath, but I don't want her calm just yet. Flushed rosy from hairline to hairline, wet with sweat, completely uninhibited, she's never been quite this open with me.
Now, I gentle, leaving two fingers in the clutch of her sex for her muscles to have something to grab for the time being, cupping the rest of my hand around the soft hair. The green eyes slowly flutter open as Calleigh's body begins to melt into the bedding. "Only yours," she whispers a final time, raw and completely exposed to me in these long moments. Tears gather at the trust she's given me.
Weakly, Calleigh tugs at my hair, still tangled around her fingers, and I fall willingly into her mouth for slow, melting kisses. When she abruptly yawns, I lean back once more, chuckling lovingly. Then I remove my hand, making my lover hiss and roll her eyes back for a long moment. "Strip me?" I tease gently, wiggling my wet fingers in invitation.
"Isn't that against some sort of procedure?" Calleigh sasses back with a lovely grin and I have to laugh. Her fingertips grasp the edge of the latex glove and it slides away easily, freeing my sodden skin. Gathering her body close, I roll us to our sides for a good cuddle. "That was amazing," she murmurs as I pull away the second glove behind her back to toss it carelessly away. "I never thought what we do could be sexy, but you sure showed me!"
We chuckle together, touching leisurely, my own need a low burn in my nerves and tissues. "I've been lugging that stuff around for days and wanted to make some better memories than that boring conference."
"I'm so glad that you're home."
"Me too, my love. Me too."