Character: Sid Hammerback (Mentions of others)
Thanks to Beta Goddess Carol.
Summary: Sid's little "hobby."
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Sid’s heard all the jokes about Medical Examiners being ghouls. Why else would they choose to spend their time with the dead instead of the living? There must be something kinky going on when he’s alone with all those bodies. Very funny.
The fact is, Sid has the greatest respect for the dead and would never do anything the least bit improper with them. His co-workers are another matter.
During one of those lulls, where conversations could ramble for hours, he’d mentioned frottage. Hawkes had misheard, maybe deliberately, and assumed Sid was discussing cheese, in a reference to his previous life. Sid had let it slide, going on about Camembert for a few minutes rather than tipping his hand.
The close quarters of the morgue have always offered ample opportunity for the “accidental” touch as he points out something interesting on one of their subjects. Maybe that’s why Sheldon left. So far Peyton hasn’t seemed to notice, wrapped up as she is in her own drama.
It’s even better when the CSIs themselves come to see his handiwork. He’s mastered the technique of getting right behind Mac or Stella and making contact, as he shows them the specific indignities visited on their latest victims. Loose fitting scrubs make it easy to hide his arousal, unless he holds the position a fraction of a section too long, but he’s got the technique down to an art and that almost never happens unless he’s feeling especially reckless.
He’s got a whole scoring system in place. A single touch is good, staying close long enough to risk detection is better, and actually rubbing against any of the investigators or detectives with an erection is the jackpot. There’s a bonus for touching two people who’ve brought their own sexual tension into his realm. He scored a double-play off Mac and Peyton long before anybody else knew that they were involved. Danny is especially attentive to physical proximity, so the Danny/Lindsay two-fer remains elusive, but he still remembers the day he managed to get his right leg up against Flack’s left, while his hand rested ever so gently on Stella’s hip as they all leaned over a particularly gruesome corpse. Sid’s brain let him hold forth about stab wounds and contusions on auto-pilot while his dick stood at full attention, nearly demanding a salute.
Sid usually manages to store the sexual energy until he can get home to his wife, who appreciates the passion and doesn’t question where it comes from, but on special days, he waits to be alone in the cool of the morgue and loosens the drawstring of his scrubs, reaching in to relive the latest triumph.
Corpses may tell tales, but they never tell on him.