Disclaimer: Don't own CSI...yeah, I guess that's it.

A/N: Hello all, Ashley here with more crap for you reading pleasure. This story is inspired by the wonderful Cath/War thread over at Talk CSI. Its a YoBlinger, (that was a duh, right?)and I think it might be a little out of character and not the greatest fictionbut I don't really care, and honestly, ya'll probably don't either. So anyway, read on if you dare. And don't say I didn't warn you!

Chapter One: Boondocks, USA

"Tell me again why we had to be the ones to pull this?" Catherine asked, dropping her bags on the hardwood floor and glancing around.

She was standing just inside the door of a cabin. An honest-to-God backwoods cabin, complete with tacky moose head hanging over a stone fireplace and bulky wooden furniture. A warn leather couch and bear skin rug was thrown in for good measure.

"Nick has zillion cases, Sara, as usual, maxed out on overtime and is banished from the field. Griss' got that convention thing and Greg, well, I don't think Griss wants Greg to far from the lab just yet," Warrick surmised

"Luck of the draw," she muttered.

"Yeah, I guess," he picked up her bags and carried them further inside, dropping them beside the couch. "You wanna unpack now or after we go see about this case?"

"Uh, after. We might as well get started on the case. The sooner we're done, the sooner we can get back to Vegas."

"What? You don't like this lovely secluded cabin?" he asked sarcastically.

"I've seen too many murders and rapes happen in out of the way places to like anything secluded. Especially not in Boondocks, USA."

"Boondocks, huh? Isn't that a country song?"

She shot him a look. "And you know this how?"

"Uh, Nick was uh, going on and on about this group and this song..."

Catherine smirked at him. "Right. Well, come on cowboy, let's ride."

Warrick rolled his eyes, "Cowboy?"

Catherine grinned but didn't reply. "So what did Tina have to say about you coming up here?"

"Uh, actually, she was pretty cool with it."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Tina Brown made her way down the hallway, stopping in front of apartment 609. She selected a key from her ring and unlocked the door. Stepping inside and closing the door she made her way toward a lamp on the far wall, it was dark but she knew her way around well and in a minute a soft glow filled the room.

She raised an eyebrow at the figure lying on the couch, fast asleep. She walked over and planted a soft kiss on his lips.

He stirred and opened his eyes. A grin spread over his face. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think?" she asked with a saucy grin.

"Well, I know why you're here, but-"

"I've been left all alone," she said with a playful pout.

"Ahhh..." David said with understanding. "How long?"

"Who cares?" she dropped her purse on the floor and began unbuttoning her blouse.

"I sure as hell don't," he said reaching up to 'help'.

"Didn't think so," she grinned, letting her top flutter to the floor.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Ugh," Catherine said as she re-entered the cabin a few hours later. Her face was scrunched up in a scowl. "Next time, you spend all the time with the decomp and I process the scene."

Warrick grinned. "I offered, remember?"

"Yes but you neglected to mention that our DB had been in that shed for three weeks. In the sun. In July."

Warrick's grin grew bigger and he shrugged. "I figured Griss had already told you the details."

"Hmph, I guess he forgot that part," she said saracastically. She sighed. "Where'd you put those lemons?"

"Already in the bathroom."

"Thanks," she said gratefully and headed straight for it. "If there's no hot water left then, well, too bad."

He laughed and stepped back as she walked past him. The smell really was quite terrible. "Use all the water you need."

She sent him a scathing look. "Shut up."

Warrick chuckled to himself as he watched her leave the room. He tossed himself on the couch, which, for all its hideousness, was really comfy. Mercifully, the cabin had a tv, with satellite, because otherwise they'd have nothing to do in this God forsaken place. He turned it on and started flipping channels.

He stopped on an old episode of Seinfeld, that show was always good for a laugh. And laugh he did. It was the episode where Jerry thought his dentists and hygienists were fooling around at his expense. Very funny stuff. Until they started talking about fantasies. That was definitely territory he didn't need to get into.

The thing about the human brain though, is that when it gets hold of a thought, especially one that shouldn't be there, its almost impossible to let go of.

Which left him thinking about Cath's confession. Just what kind of fantasy–no, no, no! Do not go there, he told himself. But...well, he was curious. Who wouldn't be? This was Catherine. And she was having fantasies about him. Curiosity was normal.

Having his own little fantasies on the other hand...well, that might not be such a good thing. Especially, when they were happening more and more frequently.

Like now.

He was acutely of aware of the water running from her shower and the images that were plaguing him were definitely ones that should not be there. At that very moment his mind was teasing him with an image of her and half a lemon and-

"For the love of God, man, stop!" he hissed at himself.

But the images didn't stop. It was like a Chinese finger trap of the mind. The harder he tried to stop, the more vivid the images. He was almost glad Cath would probably use up all the hot water. Cold would suit his needs so much better.

He was about to give up when the sounds of running water stopped. A few seconds later he heard a short scream and a thump. That was a quick cure for his fantasies and, thinking the worst, he rushed to the bathroom.

Not so crazy as to just burst in, after all if nothing was wrong, she'd kill him for sure, he knocked once on the door. "Cath? Is everything ok?"

There was no reply for a few seconds and he was about to just go in when the door swung open.

"Can I help you?" Catherine asked giving him a strange look. She was wrapped in a towel. A short towel that showed off lots of cleavage and leg, both of which were glimmering with water droplets

"Uh...I...you screamed and I thought something was wrong..." Now that he knew she was alright it was kinda hard to not notice the overall dewiness of her.

Her eyebrow rose a couple more centimeters. "And you were coming to save me? How very knight in shining armor of you Rick, but I'm fine."

Yes you are. "Uh, yeah. It was just...What happened?"

"There was a snake. It scared me, I killed it," she gestured toward the toilet.

He leaned in to look and sure enough a small snake was dead beside the commode, the weapon of its demise, a plunger, still lay on top of it. Even as he processed all this, it only took up a small amount of his brain power. The rest was occupied with her, their closeness, the heaving cleavage and the fact that she smelled like lemons and some other fruit. Strawberries, maybe?

"Oh." He didn't think he could say anything else.

"Uh, Rick, are you ok?"

"Yeah," he nodded.

She crossed her arms under her chest, pushing the twins up even further. "You sure? Because you don't look ok."

His gaze alighted on the exposed flesh before quickly darting away to the safeness of a wall. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine," he said, thinking that if he could blush he'd be crimson by now.

Catherine had noticed the little dance his eyes had done and both eyebrows shot up. She couldn't help but grin. "Rick, am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No," he lied.

"You seem uncomfortable."

"Nope," another lie.

"Well, why won't you look me in the face?"

Warrick considered his options. The face seemed like safe territory and he looked at her.

This was a very bad choice.

Her skin was damp and pink from the hot shower, as well as what had probably been a vigorous scrubbing session. Her eyes were twinkling with obvious enjoyment and a droplet of water clung to her lower lip. Her hair was damp and mussed and overall she looked like a woman who had been well and thoroughly sexed.

Talk about a fantasy. Standing in front of him was what classified as most red-blooded males, and some red-blooded females, dream come true. People would kill for this. He knew. He'd been to the crime scenes. It was just too much.

Which is why he could not be blamed for his actions.

A/N: Considering how much I hate to read cliffhangers you think I wouldn't do that to you guys, wouldn't you? But I never said I was fair (shrugs). However I will give you this little bit of chapter two: One minute he was leaning over her staring at a dead snake, the next second she was pinned between him and the wall. His brain devoid of all thoughts except of him, her and that strip of cloth that stood between him and her skin. Hmm, I wonder where this is heading...Oh wait I already know, I wrote it, and even though I'm sure you have an idea review anyway and I promiseYoBang s'mores for xmas...Use your imagination people!