Blue Shirts - Frankie Reed (CSI)/Matt Devlin (L&O|UK)
Title: Blue Shirts
Rating: Hard PG (language, suggestions of sexuality)
Pairing: Det. Frankie Red (CSI)/ DS Matt Devlin (L&O|UK)
Notes: This is a teeny tiny snippet of a much larger idea involving casino robberies and Interpol and tranatlantic romance and all sorts of silliness. For the moment though, this is sort of what prompted the whole thing, aside from two very attractive law enforcement officers portrayed by two very attractive actors with proven on-screen chemistry both with a propensity for wearing blue.
Detective Sergeant Devlin, Matt to his friends, woke with a smile on his face and no real urge to get out of bed for his usual pursuit of that vital first cup of tea. Rolling onto his side, he reached for the source of his unusual morning cheer. When his hand came up empty, he grudgingly opened his eyes, the smile erased by a perplexed frown. The other side of the bed was distressingly empty. He lifted his head and looked around his usually very tidy bedroom. Nearly distracted by the scatter of clothes laying wherever they'd landed in the rush to get undressed the night before, he refocused at the sound of someone knocking something off the sink in the lavatory and cursing in a distinctly American voice. The source of the voice, a redhead in slacks and a nude lace bra, wandered back into the bedroom.
"Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." Francesca Reed, Frankie to anyone who wanted to keep breathing, winced slightly when she saw him looking.
"You didn't. I was awake already and just starting to wonder where you'd got off to."
Frankie sat on the edge of the bed to tug her socks on after she'd collected them. The left one was tangled in the covers but the right one proved elusive until she spotted the heel peeking out from under Matt's boxers on the dresser top. She tossed the boxers to him and he fields them neatly one handed. "Figured I should get out nice and early. No weird emotional shit, right?" Once her socks were on, she went back to looking for her shirt.
Matt got up, tugging on the boxers, and followed her out to the living room. "Yeah, sure, no weird emotional shit, but why does that mean you can't even stay for breakfast? We're both going back to the station in a bit, might as well go together. Save on petrol." He tugged on his shirt from the previous day just as she did the same across the room.
They both stopped and stared at each other. She broke first by an instant, a smile spreading across her wide full mouth. He wasn't far behind and they plopped down at opposite ends of his couch laughing. Matt carefully peeled off the much too small pale blue dress shirt while Frankie shrugged out of the much larger one and held it out to him. Instead of grabbing his shirt though, he took her hand.
"Stay awhile. We'll go in to CID in a few hours, work on getting the case put away." He shifted closer. "Meantime, I promise not to get weird or emotional if you come back to bed." The arch of his eyebrow was all flirtatious invitation.
Frankie got up, pulling him by the hand. "I guess I can stay a little longer." She kicked out of her trousers on the way back to his bed. Somehow, as they discovered a couple hours later, her sock and his boxers ended up right back on top of his dresser.
Rating: Hard PG (language, suggestions of sexuality)
Pairing: Det. Frankie Red (CSI)/ DS Matt Devlin (L&O|UK)
Notes: This is a teeny tiny snippet of a much larger idea involving casino robberies and Interpol and tranatlantic romance and all sorts of silliness. For the moment though, this is sort of what prompted the whole thing, aside from two very attractive law enforcement officers portrayed by two very attractive actors with proven on-screen chemistry both with a propensity for wearing blue.
Detective Sergeant Devlin, Matt to his friends, woke with a smile on his face and no real urge to get out of bed for his usual pursuit of that vital first cup of tea. Rolling onto his side, he reached for the source of his unusual morning cheer. When his hand came up empty, he grudgingly opened his eyes, the smile erased by a perplexed frown. The other side of the bed was distressingly empty. He lifted his head and looked around his usually very tidy bedroom. Nearly distracted by the scatter of clothes laying wherever they'd landed in the rush to get undressed the night before, he refocused at the sound of someone knocking something off the sink in the lavatory and cursing in a distinctly American voice. The source of the voice, a redhead in slacks and a nude lace bra, wandered back into the bedroom.
"Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." Francesca Reed, Frankie to anyone who wanted to keep breathing, winced slightly when she saw him looking.
"You didn't. I was awake already and just starting to wonder where you'd got off to."
Frankie sat on the edge of the bed to tug her socks on after she'd collected them. The left one was tangled in the covers but the right one proved elusive until she spotted the heel peeking out from under Matt's boxers on the dresser top. She tossed the boxers to him and he fields them neatly one handed. "Figured I should get out nice and early. No weird emotional shit, right?" Once her socks were on, she went back to looking for her shirt.
Matt got up, tugging on the boxers, and followed her out to the living room. "Yeah, sure, no weird emotional shit, but why does that mean you can't even stay for breakfast? We're both going back to the station in a bit, might as well go together. Save on petrol." He tugged on his shirt from the previous day just as she did the same across the room.
They both stopped and stared at each other. She broke first by an instant, a smile spreading across her wide full mouth. He wasn't far behind and they plopped down at opposite ends of his couch laughing. Matt carefully peeled off the much too small pale blue dress shirt while Frankie shrugged out of the much larger one and held it out to him. Instead of grabbing his shirt though, he took her hand.
"Stay awhile. We'll go in to CID in a few hours, work on getting the case put away." He shifted closer. "Meantime, I promise not to get weird or emotional if you come back to bed." The arch of his eyebrow was all flirtatious invitation.
Frankie got up, pulling him by the hand. "I guess I can stay a little longer." She kicked out of her trousers on the way back to his bed. Somehow, as they discovered a couple hours later, her sock and his boxers ended up right back on top of his dresser.