Title:  Toy

Author:  Harper

Email: Xfjnky2@yahoo.com

Rating: PG

Fandom:  CSI

Pairing:  Catherine/Sara

Archiving:  Itíll be at www.realmoftheshadow.com/harper.htm with the rest of my drivel.

Disclaimer:  Itís infringement, because they arenít mine.  But, I donít do it maliciously, and I donít make a profit.

A/N:  Itís a short bit of nothing, un-betaíd as usual.  If youíd like to comment, Iíd love to hear from you.  Iíll be at Xfjnky2@yahoo.com.

Sheís a tease.

Sheís beautiful and she knows it.  She looks at you out of hooded eyes, promising things you donít dare imagine.  Her lips curl on knowing smiles, each slowly upturned millimeter melting away any foolish lingering hint of resistance.

She revels in her power.  Youíre transparent before her, all want and desire and longing and near pathetic yearning.  You donít have the skill to hide it, not like she does.  She veils everything behind the sweep of long lashes, the artfully coquettish dip of a not quite sharp chin.  Your face reads like an open book.

You feel subjugated to her capriciousness, some part of you constantly wondering just when you managed to become so thoroughly ensnared.  Itís hard to remember, because now you canít envision a time when you didnít fall asleep with the memory of those full and deliciously lush lips teasing you.  Haunting you, actually, always out of reach, always on the edge of a lazy, self-indulgent smirk.  Always on the verge of laughing at you, a dizzying trill of satisfied possession.

You think itís probably not good that you indulge your new obsession.  Not healthy, says a voice in your head, the one that sounds suspiciously like your mother or your therapist or any number of people who imagine they know more about whatís good for you than you do.  You donít listen to it and you donít listen to them, content somehow with the masochistic self-torture of wanting what youíre fairly certain youíll never have.

Not something youíre sure youíll never have, because just when you feel yourself start to pull away, when you feel that first lingering trace of sanity, she senses it.  Senses it and bares razor sharp teeth in a smile that leaves you helpless and begging for mercy.

You think thereís no part of you she doesnít know.  Knows and uses to pull you back in to her sticky web, trapping you as effectively the fifth and fifteenth and fiftieth time as she did the firstÖ black widow to your willing prey.

You hope that maybe this time, sheíll devour you.

The End

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