DISCLAIMER: CSI is the property of CBS and Jerry Bruckheimer.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: An answer to the Parody challenge on the Sassy lj community.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
THANKS: To flying_peanuts for the beta.

Pole to Pole
By ralst


Sara shuffled into the smoky room, the garish lights momentarily blinding her to the spectacle currently on the stage. Catherine's gyrations were eliciting wolf whistles and the odd tossed coin, but it was obvious from the bared teeth and heavy breathing that she wasn't finding her impromptu pole-dance as easy as she used to.

Somewhat dismayed, Sara took a seat as far from the action as possible, before signalling the waitress for a beer. She'd had a sneaking suspicion that Greg's birthday bash would be a little on the wild side, but seeing Catherine thrusting her thong adorned backside into Warrick's face was a little more than she'd imagined.

"Twenty bucks says she throws out a hip," Sofia whispered. Sliding into the seat nearest the brunette, Sofia passed Sara the beer she'd ordered, her own glass nearly empty.

"That's cruel."

A loud cheer erupted from the group nearest the stage, as Catherine's sequin-encrusted bra was thrown into their midst, a pink feather boa protecting her modesty.

"You didn't hear the creaking noise every time she tried doing splits."

Sara chuckled. "The guys don't seem to mind."

Warrick had joined Catherine on the stage, his shirt unbuttoned and hips swaying to the music, a tiny drizzle of baby oil working its way down his chest while Greg's eager face was turning from one gyrating co-worker to the other in a futile attempt to see beyond their remaining clothing.

Sofia moved a little closer. "I doubt Grissom's even noticed."

Gil was ensconced in the corner furthest from the stage. A tall glass of orange juice and two pretzels before him on the table; Sofia squinted into the murky darkness but couldn't see what exactly he was doing, or what had Nick mesmerised in the seat beside him.

"I saw him drop two flies into the juice," Sara explained. "It's one of his party tricks."

"Dead flies?"

Sara shook her head. "They have to be alive or they can't swim toward the pretzels when he throws them in."

Sofia looked at her in total confusion.

"He's re-enacting the end of Titanic."

A panicked gesture caught their waitress' attention and Sofia quickly ordered more drinks.

"Graveyard certainly knows how to host a party."

Sara felt the need to defend her fellow CSIs but Nick and Grissom's sudden recreation of the 'top of the world' scene from Titanic, using nothing more than twelve dozen beer mats and an imaginary rail, left her with little room for manoeuvring. Until, that is, her eyes fell on Brass.

"And the boys in PD certainly know how to enjoy themselves."

Sofia followed Sara's gaze.

"I never took Jim for a sequined bra kind of guy."

Brass had apparently rescued Catherine's discarded wardrobe and was currently modelling the more eye catching pieces for an enraptured Ecklie.

Sofia smiled, her second beer little more than a memory. "But he does look good in those heels."

Sara nodded her agreement.

As the music changed, Catherine hobbled from the stage, the feather boa wrapped around her in a strangle hold, and her thong having disappeared into parts unknown. Warrick remained, the majority of his clothing having vanished into a sea of eager hands, the better to show off his toned thighs and impressive pecs.

"I hope his wife never hears about this," Sara whispered; her breath tickled Sofia's skin and caused the stoic detective to let forth a rather feminine giggle.

Sofia motioned toward the stage. "So, is it your turn next?"

Sara straightened in her seat, her arms crossed defensively. "I don't put on public displays."

"How about private ones?"

Sara gave out a tiny squeak as she felt Sofia's hand settle on her thigh. The warming touch moved increasingly higher as the blonde waited for an answer.

"Your pole or mine?"

The End

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