Title: Chemistry and Misery
Author: amazonqueenkate
Claim: Jacqui Franco
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Theme: (Set 2; #22, stop and think)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: This is how Sofia and Jacqui do.
Author's Notes: Written as a gift-fic for sheikah. Lightly editted since.

 This is how they do.

Sofia comes over for beer and Jacqui provides, because Sofia craves alcohol and Jacqui craves company. They drink two bottles apiece on the couch and then one of Jacqui's hands ends up somewhere on Sofia's anatomy it shouldn't be: her shoulder, her thigh, her stomach, her breast. It only takes a spark in Sofia's eyes before Jacqui's hands roam further, to buttons and zippers, never minding the lips that lean forward and touch hers.

Sofia always tastes like beer, but it never matters because so does Jacqui. Sofia's skin beneath the button-downs and dark dress pants is soft and smooth, and Jacqui doesn't hesitate to touch every inch of it. Every contour, really, from the slope of her hips to the tiny bit of weight she holds at her belly, because even the runner-detective is imperfect in some small way.

There are no words or whimpers, simply sighs, as Sofia tosses Jacqui's shirt to the floor and deposits her pants with them. Sometimes, if Sofia's feeling generous, she'll push Jacqui back against the couch cushions and drop to her knees first, but it is usually Jacqui - Jacqui, who brings those sighs to Sofia's thin lips and the redness to Sofia's neck and chest - who ends up on the carpet, her tongue tracing around Sofia's belly button before dipping lower, into pale blonde hair and plump, pink lips that are already wet. Sofia props her feet up on the coffee table and it's only then that she moans, breathless almost-sounds as Jacqui plunges her fingers deep and uses her tongue to find those places that Sofia likes best - dark, musky, and wonderful.

Whether Sofia comes first or Jacqui does, they end up sitting naked on the couch after, side by side. And every time, for some strange reason, Sofia reaches over and clasps Jacqui's hand, holding it tightly for a few moments. It's a silent gesture of something - solidarity, warmth, perhaps even fondness - and Jacqui always misses the touch when it disappears and Sofia reaches for her clothes.

Someday, Jacqui's sure, they'll have to talk about this. They'll have to come to grips with the chemistry and misery that pulls them together and lands them naked on the couch, hands clasped and fingers twined.

Someday isn't today, though, and when the doorbell rings Jacqui lets Sofia in before heading for the refrigerator. She's not going to force it, not when there's the other, more obvious option.

Not when this is how they do.