She'd done it again. He couldn't believe she'd done it again. He warned her not only once, but three times, and yet she'd done it again. Sure, she could've inferred a joke within his words, but he knew the truth. It was no joke. He meant what he'd said. And now she'd gone and done it.

He trailed behind her on their way out of the courthouse, having just run through the evidence they'd collected on their latest closed case with the jury. The judge had then called a recess for two hours. His eyebrow quirked as he watched her tight skirt cling to her toned buttocks, his eyes then wandering down to her muscular calves... and those damn shoes. Recess, indeed... he thought.

"Gil!"

Her harsh tone of voice snapped him fully back into real time, and he quickly drew his eyes upward to meet her own... hoping like crazy she hadn't noticed his appreciative stare. "What?"

She had stopped in her tracks and was staring at him, eyes laced with ire, her hands planted on her curvaceous hips. "Did your surgery fall to crap or something?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I've been saying your name for the last minute and a half."

"Oh."

This seemed to anger her more. "Oh?! That's the most intelligent thing you can say? OH?! What the hell's the matter with you today?"

The answer, to him, was obvious. She didn't listen to him. Her and those damn shoes had been taunting him all day, THAT'S what the matter was. "Nothing's the matter," he opted to reply, knowing her ire was slowly ebbing into fury. Getting decked square in the jaw by Catherine Willows was definitely not on his to-do list for the day.

"Well you sure have been a space cadet today! You sounded utterly stupid in court, you know that?"

At this, he raised a finger in warning. "Watch it, Cath."

"No!" she childishly spat back at him, and began marching quickly across the street toward a small cafe, the heels of her stilettos making sharp clicks on the pavement. "You were a million miles away," she continued angrily, "And may have just compromised the case for the prosecution! What the hell, Gil?"

"It's not my fault, Catherine." He was desperately trying to remain calm, but the incessant clicking of her shoes against the pavement was just another reminder of her blatant disregard for his earlier warnings. She wore those damn things and had the audacity to be upset with him for zoning out.

At this, she snorted... a highly unfeminine sound, yet perfectly indicative of her frustration with him. "Oh it's not your fault, is it Gil? Then whose fault is it? Did your bugs lose another race and it's got you down?" They were inside the cafe now, Catherine striding quickly toward the restrooms in back while Grissom absently trailed behind her. "Is Sara pursuing you again and you can't figure out how to give her just a straight 'no' for once?"

Snap. That was it. He grabbed her wrist forcefully and yanked her around to meet his eyes. "Dammit, it's YOUR fault!"

Her jaw went slightly slack in an expression of indignance, and her forehead wrinkled with anger-wrought confusion. "MY fault?! How is your dopey demeanor MY fault?"

"Because, Catherine!" He hauled her into the men's bathroom without a second thought, shoving her against the tile wall forcefully, yet gently enough so as not to hurt her. He pinned her with his stare, stepping into her personal space, inches away from her body. Pointing angrily down at her shoes, he exclaimed, "If I told you once, I've told you a thousand times NOT to wear those damn things!"

"My stilettos? What is wrong with my stilettos?" she questioned, eyes flashing an iridescent blue at his caustic remark. "And just who the hell do you think you are telling me what NOT to wear?!"

"Dammit Catherine, I'm your supervisor! If I tell you not to do something, guess what? You DON'T DO IT! If I tell you not to wear stilettos at the office anymore, you don't! What I say GOES!"

"That's quite the power trip you're on, Gil," she shot back, leaning into his own personal space, challenging. "And here's a newsflash for you. We're not at the office today. We're *technically* off duty. So if I want to wear stilettos, guess what? I'm GOING TO WEAR THEM!"

He opened his mouth to retort, but she beat him to it. "And since we're *technically* off duty, that also means that you're TECHNICALLY not my supervisor right now!"

"Fine!" He grabbed her wrists then and with one hand pinned them both above her head. "Then since I'm TECHNICALLY not your supervisor right now, how about I tell you exactly why I hate the fact that you wear those things?"

She glared sharply, arching her back to struggle against his grasp. "Lay it on me," she bit back.

"You asked for it." He then leaned close, pinning her to the wall using the rest of his body now, his free hand gliding down her side, to the hemline of her tight skirt. "The reason why I hate those shoes, Catherine," he murmured, voice dropping to a husky baritone timbre, "Is because every time I see you in them, I lose my mind. I can't focus on anything happening beyond your body."

Her eyes widened at the flash of lust in his, and she gulped, arching against him slightly again... her motives a little different this time. His mouth opened slightly at the contact, but he forged on, inching ever closer. "Every time I see you in those *goddamned* shoes, Catherine," he intoned slowly; his voice then dropped into the bass register, his breath sending tingles shooting in every direction, "I want to fuck you senseless."

She gasped, both at the rare curse word that tumbled from his lips and the mere imagery his words produced, and pressed herself against him. "Then what are you waiting for? Technically, there's nothing stopping you."

Silence reigned briefly as they stared at one another wide-eyed, before simultaneously diving toward each other. Lips crashed and bruised in a fiery kiss, pure unadulterated lust fusing their bodies together in a sinful tangle. With one hand, Gil reached out and locked the men's room door, then immediately reached down and grabbed Catherine by the thighs, hoisting her up against the wall.

"Gil," she growled, latching her lips onto the taut bronzed skin of his neck, locking her legs around his waist at the ankle.

"No talking, Cath," he commanded, and took hold of her lips once more, thrusting himself toward her heat.

She groaned, the sound echoing within his mouth, and twined her tongue around his, causing him to moan in response. She tasted of coffee and mints, a combination Gil found he was already becoming addicted to as he unbuttoned her fitted suit jacket, moving her away from the wall only long enough to pull the jacket off before thrusting her against the tile once more.

His lips strained for hers again as his trembling hands fumbled to undo the buttons on her shirt, and after a good minute or so of struggling, Catherine finally pulled away with a frustrated grunt. "Just rip the damn thing, Gil."

Doing as he was told, he tugged the shirt open, sending her buttons flying in every direction before his hands found their way to her heated skin, rubbing and cupping her breasts while his tongue danced across her collarbone. She threw her head back and moaned at the sensation, not even flinching when she smacked into the tile. The pleasure coursing through her overrode any amount of pain she could have felt.

His hands then made their way down her body, his pelvis keeping her pinned to the wall, and he fumbled once again upon finding the zipper on her skirt. Catherine pulled away with another groan. "Oh for God sakes, Gil."

She shoved him away and jumped down, reaching behind her to unzip her skirt, both watching as it immediately fell to a pool around her ankles. Before she could step completely out of it, he'd hauled her up against the wall once more, and she eagerly wrapped her legs around him again, the skirt still dangling around one stiletto-clad foot.

Her fingers twined through his graying curls as their tongues resumed their erotic dance, his hands making quick work of his belt, button, and zipper. She groaned at the sound of the zipper lowering and pulled him tighter to her as he shoved his boxers down.

"Gil..." she reached for him, but he moved her hand away, pinning her wrist above her head once more while he ravished her neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses.

"Patience," he whispered gruffly, rubbing her through the thin lace of her panties before shoving them roughly aside.

Before either knew what was happening, he thrust inside her, and the pleasure-pain was so overwhelming, stars collided behind Catherine's eyes.

"God, Cath, so... tight..." She heard him grunt, and she nodded emphatically. It had been awhile.

He pulled out slowly, and thrust in again, stopping with a groan once he was completely sheathed within her core. Then, with a moan of approval from Catherine, he began rocking his hips against hers in long, hard strokes, their earlier anger fueling the motion of their hips.

"Don't ever... wear those shoes... again," he grunted with each stroke.

"Don't... tell me... what to do," she breathed back, and leaned forward to latch her lips around his earlobe.

He gasped at the feel of her tongue tracing the outer rim of his ear, then groaned loudly when he felt her bite down on his earlobe. "Cath..."

"Fuck, Gil, I'm so close," she whimpered, her words strung together in a barely coherent babble.

"Me too," he managed to breathe, and slid one hand down the center of her body, thumb circling the tiny bundle of nerves at her center.

"Oh God! OH!" She cried out, eyes snapping shut as her head slammed against the tile, colors spinning and starbursting behind her closed eyes.

Gil groaned at the feel and sounds of her orgasm, and called her name as he followed her into the abyss. They slumped bonelessly against the wall still joined, arms wrapping around each other in a post-coital embrace. A satisfied silence this time filled the air, both waiting for their breathing to even out before releasing each other, Catherine sliding down the wall on shaky legs as they did. "Well, that was..."

Gil finished her sentence with a quirk of his eyebrow. "That was something I've never done in a public restroom."

She chuckled breathlessly. "Me too."

"And I've just remembered that we're due back in court in another ninety minutes, and your shirt has been compromised." He nodded at her torn button-down shirt, then cast a glance around the restroom, eyes searching out the discarded buttons.

"That's alright," she sighed, "It was sacrificed for a good cause."

"So..." He bent down and helped her retrieve her discarded jacket, assisting her with pulling her skirt back up as well. He smirked down at her while zipping up her skirt and resituating it on her hips, his eyes dancing. "You obviously don't want me to tell you what to do when it comes to your wardrobe, so is it alright if I *ask* you nicely not to wear those shoes around me again? They're very distracting."

She gave a Cheshire grin and reached up with one thumb to wipe at the lip gloss that had gotten smeared in every direction around his mouth. "So I noticed." She then unlocked the door to the restroom and gave him a smouldering look over her shoulder, a promise of things to come... before giving a toss of her hair and flouncing out the door, the sharp click of her stilettos echoing through the cafe.

~FINIS~