Disclaimer: All right, I'm Capitan Obvious and I'm here to share some important information for your everyday life. I do not own the television show CSI or the characters and premises there of. I occasionally like to borrow them and make them dance a merry jig to my own demented tune. I usually return them relatively unscathed. I don't make a profit from this whole CSI obsession, so there is no point in suing... We all clear? Oh Goody.

Rated M for Mature: Sexual Themes... Not for the innocent, if you catch my drift here.

Warning: This fic portrays both heterosexual and homosexual adult relations. Specifically there are scenes of femeslash. If this isn't your cup of tea, go find another coffee house, please.

Author's Note: This was one of those ideas that came to me somewhere between this world and the realm of dreams. It's a bit strange, but come on, we've all seen stranger things. Each chapter represents a new dream. Italics represents the dream sequence and Bold are the chapter titles. Okay, I'll admit it...this is pretty much PWP...but after all the angst I've written, I think I've more then earned the right to be a little whimsical and seductive-like. The moral of the story here is excessive amounts of highly caffeinated coffee and an inhumane lack of sleep makes for strange strange stories.

Sweet Dreams

A Collection of CSI Fantasies

By RebelByrdie

Chapter I

Grease and Fingerprint Powder

She had a smear of grease on her cheek. The black stood out like a beacon on her pale skin. She was wearing one of the department's blue jumpsuits. It was also covered in grease and dust, but even the dirty unisex blue jumper could not hide her lithe planes and soft curves. Even sweaty, exhausted and filthy, she was a beautiful woman. She was bent over, dusting for prints in the interior of a Chevy S-10 pickup truck. She was singing under her breathe, her foot tapping along to music that could only be heard in her head.

How could he resist her? Despite his mind firmly reminding them that they were at work, in the very public garage, his body moved forward. She drew him like a moth to the flame. She was wrapped up in her work, so she didn't hear him. She jumped when his arms snaked around her waist, sending black finger print dust all over the truck's dash and her already dirty face. She whirled around and gave him a big gap-toothed grin. "We're at work." He shrugged one shoulder and wiped the smudge off of her face. "Got a smudge there, Sunshine." She playfully punched his arm, "I hate it when you call me that." He couldn't help but grin. He leaned in, invading her personal space completely, pinning her willing body up against the metal of the truck. "You know you like it." He pressed his lips against hers and her arms wrapped around his neck. For the moment, all work, all reality ceased to be in the minds of Sara Sidle and Nick Stokes.

Gil Grissom bolted up in his chair, the paperwork that had been negligently piled on his desk flew everywhere. His glasses, which had been pushed up on to his head, clattered to the desk's surface. He scrubbed his hands down his face, trying desperately to erase the carnal images out of his mind. The image of Sara Sidle and the young Texas cowboy Nick Stokes...together. Gil Grissom sighed and gazed at one of his pet spiders in it's cage, his mind flickering the left over images from the dream.