Greg pulled away just enough to kiss Mozell's hand. "So, do we work the clubs for awhile, or do we go straight on tour?"

"I say we do a 'Greatest Hits' album while we're hot," she said cheerfully. "Greg, you hog, did you drink my Mai Tai?"

He held a finger to his lips, shushing her. "Please," he whispered, tipping his head toward their colleagues. "They specialize in murder investigations, but they have that pesky ethical thing about all kinds of crimes." He looked at the bemused group and said, very clearly and precisely, "I did not steal her drink. I merely borrowed it."

"Well, I'm not going to ask you for it back, that's for sure," she said. She pushed on his shoulder, urging him into a chair. "Sit, before you fall."

"I am not drunk," Greg said with great dignity. He hiccupped. "I am only inebriated."

"Sloshed."

"Bagged."

"Snookered."

"Three sheets."

"Pixilated."

"Shit faced," said Nick. Everyone looked at him. "What?"

Mozell shook her head. "I've seen shit faced, and he's not. He is, however, good and buzzed."

"That I am," agreed Greg. "For instance, I thought that I saw Grissom."

"You did," said Catherine.

Greg's head thumped down on the table. "Greg!" said Sara.

"He's not passed out," Mozell assured her. "I've seen this before. This is 'oh, my God, my boss saw me like this!' We don't have to worry unless he starts beating his head on the table steadily." She patted Greg's back. "It's your day off, sweetie, and you were doing nothing unethical, nor illegal, despite what some people think of karaoke."

Greg's voice was muffled. "I will never be allowed into the field again, not even if I die and am reincarnated, and get a job with CSI again."

"Greg, I think that performance made up for a whole lot of previous bad karma," said Warrick.

Greg tilted his head to look at him. "Really?"

"Sure. Think of all the people you've made happy."

Sara chimed in, "Yes, you've given them a story they'll be telling their grandchildren at family gatherings, every time they have a competition for 'the weirdest thing I ever saw'."

He thumped his head again. Mozell hugged him, her eyes narrowed at Sara. "Sidedish," she said softly, "Greg is too much of a gentleman to respond to you as you deserve. I, on the other hand, am not feeling particularly ladylike."

Warrick took Sara's elbow. "C'mon everyone--I'm springing for ribs and egg rolls next door." He steered her toward the door.

Catherine leaned down till she could peer into Greg's face. "Greg, please sell Mama Tiger not to disable Sara. The last thing we need is to be short handed."

Nick nodded. "And I'd feel weird having to work a scene involving one or more of my co-workers." They left.

"Are they gone?" mumbled Greg.

"Yep."

Greg started to sit up. Grissom, herding a still pasty faced, trembling witness, paused at the table, "Greg..." Greg's head hit the table again. Grissom blinked. "Okay, I see you're busy. I'll leave the vomit sample with the fill in crew, but I want you to give it another going over tomorrow, first thing." Greg made a mewling sound. Grissom looked at Mozell. "Is he sick?"

"Only emotionally, at the moment." She made a shooing motion at him. "Go. Do crime investigation stuff."

"We're going to have to have a talk soon."

She grinned. "I look forward to it."

He walked away, shaking his head. *I may regret that.*

Mozell petted Greg on the back. "Darlin', look--you didn't use any dirty words, you didn't threaten anyone, you didn't grab anything you weren't supposed to, and you remained clothed. You have nothing to worry about."

Greg sighed and sat up, rubbing his forehead. "Ow." She lifted slightly and kissed the slight red mark. "I've never done anything like this before. Well, not since that frat party freshman year, and I was getting pledged." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "You're a corrupting influence. Thank you."

"I do my best."

"I've had a great time, but I think that if I want to be marginally competent at work tomorrow, I ought to think about going home now."

"Considering the amount of liquid you've chugged, I think you should consider a pit stop before anything else."

"Oo, right! It's just about time to give back to Mother Nature."

He got up and staggered a little. "Are you going to be able to do that and stay out of the urinal?" She was following him toward the restrooms.

"Should."

"Well, if you start to fall, just be careful what you grab for support. Remember, I'm your date."

Just before he went in, he gave her a flirtatious look. "Wanna come in and help?" He winced. "Damn! The internal censor went home early tonight. I was hoping for a second date."

She smiled. "You don't have to worry about that, Greg, but I'll pass on helping with the business at hand. Women can only get away with going into opposite sex bathrooms at very crowded arena sporting events." Greg wasn't long. When he exited, she said, "Did you wash your hands?"

He gave her an indignant look. "I always wash my hands."

"Good. If there's even the least chance of those landing on me, I want them clean."

He squinted at her. *I couldn't have heard that. The alcohol must be fogging me. Still...* "And I put down the seat, too."

"You are a jewel without price. Gimme your keys."

"Okay."

He handed them over. "Gotta love a co-operative drunk." She started leading him out. "You know, I took a course once for people who serve alcohol, about how to deal with the intoxicated--specifically keeping them from drinking and driving. They showed filmed examples. They had a manager getting one sober friend to snatch the keys from his drunk friend. Afterwards they asked for comments from the class. I said that these were the most reasonable drunks I'd ever seen, and if anyone tried that move on a Texas drunk, the guy would hit his friend, hit the manager, hit the waiters and waitresses, hit the cops who came to arrest him..."

They'd reached the parking lot behind the bar. "You're a very special woman, you know that?"

She leaned him against the car, and patted his cheek. "Yes, I do, but it's nice to be appreciated." She unlocked the door. "Crawl in, deary."

Greg did. He looked around, blinking. "This is the back seat. I want to be with you."

"You will." She climbed in after him, sitting on his lap, and shut the door.

"Oh. Uh, hello."

"Greetings." She put her arms around his neck and kissed him--with tongue. "You taste good."

"So do you," Greg murmured. He put his arms around her, and they kissed again. When they finally came up for air, both panting softly, he said, "But it's not the Mai Tais."

"You sweet thing." She ran a hand inside his shirt, stroking. "Oo, you're a little wooly bear, aren't you? I didn't expect that."

"I'll wax."

She laughed. "Don't do it for me, sweetheart. I'll like you smooth or fuzzy. I like all of you."

He sighed, a pleased smile curving his lips. "You know, that's a difficult quality to find in a woman--acceptance. Most of 'em have a mental list of things they're gonna change when they get with you, and that wasn't a very smart thing to say, was it?"

She shrugged. "Perhaps not entirely tactful, but very perceptive. I happen to agree with you, but if a woman goes into a relationship fixed on what she's going to make out of a man instead of the man himself, she's a damn fool. Of course you can slap that sauce on the gander as well as the goose." She held Greg's face between her palms, studying him. "With me, G.S., what you see is what you get."

"God, I hope so."

She glanced down. "Greg, do you realize that you left the barn door open?"

He glanced down. Sure enough, there was a hint of white boxers peeking through a gap in is fly zipper. "Oops. Well, that pretty much makes tonight's embarrassment complete."

"Let me help you." She reached down between them. *zzzz*

"Uh, you pulled down instead of up."

"So I did." *rustle*

Greg felt a warm hand slip through his comfort slit, and a finger trace along the length of his prick. He breathed out, head falling back. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Do you want me to stop?"

"Hell no."

"Yes, I want to. I could hardly get my hand in your fly by accident." She hooked her free arm around his neck and leaned down, lips against his ear, "I don't do this with everyone, Greg. Heck, I don't even date all that much. But you--you're special." She squeezed softly. "In so many ways other than physical, but the fact that you're..." another thoughtful squeeze, "obviously a BIG boy doesn't hurt."

"Bigger than Langley?"

She sat back suddenly, eyes wide, then laughed. "Oh, God, you men! I couldn't say, hon--I didn't have a ruler with me at the convention. Anyway, I don't think you've quite reached your best effort." She shifted to the side.

"Where ya going?" Greg asked mournfully.

"Just far enough to get a little room, precious." She was working on his belt.

He watched her. "You know, I'm so drunk that I KNOW I should be worried about making out in a car behind a bar, but somehow I just can't be. I think that having a woman's hand on my dick clouds my judgment."

"It's nature's way."

"Yup, I can see you as a force of nature."

"Greg, honey, you don't need to flatter me. You're about to get some anyway."

"Sounds good to me. Shouldn't your panties be decorating my floorboard right about now?"

"Not this time." She popped her head up long enough to look around quickly. "The coast is clear now, but this sort of thing can be covered up a lot quicker than standard intercourse."

"What sort of thing?"

"This."

Greg, groaned loudly as he felt a soft, damp swipe against his cockhead. "I love you."

"One proverb that isn't listed anywhere, but should be--Never take as gospel the words of a man about to receive oral sex. Just relax."

"Easy for you to say," he panted. "You aren't being driven insane."

"Wanna bet? And if you keep talking to me, I'll have to respond to be polite, and if I'm busy talking, I can't..."

"Shutting up now."

"Good boy." She bent back down.

As he was enclosed by moist heat, Greg thought dazedly, *Either I am the luckiest man in the world, or I was testing some hallucinogenic, and wasn't as careful as I should have been.* He listened to the soft, wet sounds, felt the pleasure spiraling through him, and thought, *If it's the drugs, I wonder where I can get more of them?*

In a little while he was hooking his arms around the woman who was giving him so much pleasure, stroking her back in silent thanks. He didn't think it was possible, as drunk as he was, he had a hard-on like a bull. In a few minutes he tensed. "Mozell, pull off! I'm almost... almost..."

She rose, snatching a handkerchief out of her pant's pocket and wrapping it where it would do the most good as she kissed him again. Greg tried not to, but he grunted, and let go. Her kiss softened as his hips jerked, and he whimpered. When he dropped back against the cushions she nipped his lips gently. "Oo, you're so considerate. You didn't pull my hair, you didn't try to choke me, you warned in time, and you didn't get your feelings hurt because I wouldn't swallow."

He smiled at her, as he regained his breath. "I'd ask if I could use you as a reference, but since I can't imagine wanting to have sex with anyone other than you for a long time to come, I won't."

"You are without a doubt a silver tongued devil."

He wiggled his eyebrows. "Want a more practical demonstration?"

She chuckled, "In the future, definitely, but not now. Make no mistake, you have me horny as hell right now, you little stud puppy, but..." She craned her head, "we're about to be invaded by the Well Meaning Wet Blankets. Warrick and Catherine at three o'clock. Put it away and zip it unless you really want to blush every time you see them for the next couple of months."

"Eep!" Greg hastily made adjustments to his clothing.

"Didn't catch anything important, did you?"

"Don't even say that."

As they approached Greg's car, Warrick said, "If they've found a way to drive with both of them in the back, I want to know about it. Maybe we ought to rethink this."

Catherine shook her head. "The only way to stop Sara rattling her trap was to agree to make sure that Greg made it home safely. Am I mistaken, or was Greg just, um, adjusting something in his lap?"

"I refuse to answer on the grounds that I, too, am male and we don't willingly squeal on each other." They were at the car now, and bent down to peer in. "Hi, guys. Sara was worried that Greg wouldn't get home safely."

"I bet she was," drawled Mozell. She was playing with the hair at the nape of Greg's neck. He was squeezing his eyes in a blissful expression that looked almost feline. "But since you're here, maybe one of you could drive him home?"

Catherine said, "Sure. Warrick, you follow, and I'll drive him home, then you can bring me back to my car."

"That would be just terribly, terribly nice of you," said Mozell sweetly. "But please do make sure that the dear boy gets to bed safely." Greg had slumped, and was snoring softly. "God bless 'im, out like a light. I'm pretty sure that it's the alcohol. He strikes me as the kind who'd want to cuddle and talk after..." she glanced up at them. They stared back. "After a good bout of karaoke."

She kissed Greg's forehead, petted his hair, and got out, shutting the door gently. "If you'll excuse me, people, I need to get home and do some creative writing." She grinned. "I'm feeling inspired."