Title: After the Show
Fandom: CSI RPS
Summary: The morning after a certain performace of 'Hyenas'.
Eric woke up when George did, six am, rolling over to bury his head in the pillow as his boyfriend hauled up for a shower. Fifteen minutes later, he was reawoken by his duffle landing on his blanket covered feet.
"Hey, man, you left this in the living room last night."
Eric groaned and kicked it away, mumbling something akin to "Later". The bag tipped over, spilling his gel, this week's CSI script and a few other and sundry items onto the floor. George leaned over and scooped them up, depositing everything on the bed.
"What's this?" George held a white tee up, a puzzled look on his face. Eric squinted at it.
"It's a shirt."
George gave him a look. "Yeah, I got that. What's a fangirl?"
Eric grinned. "Some very nice girls came to the show tonight and one of them gave me that shirt. They came from all over the country and Canada, as she informed me."
"So, you were, uh, attacked by fangirls?"
Eric leaned back and folded his arms under his head with a satisfied smile. "Yep."
"They leave any marks?" George asked, still eyeing the tshirt.
"Wanna check?" Eric waggled his eyebrows, the sheet riding low on his stomach.
George groaned. "I've got to get to the studio; Jorja and I are spending the day in the lab and, frankly, I'd like to not be fired again."
Eric levered himself up and kissed George, who gave up rather quickly and dropped the t-shirt to slide both arms around Eric's bare torso and push them both back onto the bed, ending up between Eric's legs. Eric placed both hands on George's chest and pushed back gently.
"Work. Late. You."
George pulled back up reluctantly and stood, straightening his shirt and running a hand through his still damp hair. "Fine, I'll see you in a couple of hours." He leaned back down for a last kiss.
"Hey, where's my shirt?"
"With you leaving me, I need the love of my fangirls to keep me warm."
George tossed him the shirt. "Freak. I'll see you on set."
"Love you too," he called as George shut the front door. Setting the shirt on his nighttable, he reset the alarm clock and promptly rolled over and fell asleep again.