Disclaimer: All characters belong to Bruckheimer, CBS and the creators of CSI:NY.

A/N: WARNING. This is nothing like anything I have written before. Blame marialisa and sallyjetson. They dared me. And foxdvd, who wanted "something different" from me.

How different? Proceed at your own risk! And PLEASE pay attention to the rating!

The L-Word – New York Style

Lindsay concentrated on drawing the outline of her mouth with a deep, rich red, filling in the contours with slick shine. Her eyes were smoky with a glimmering of gold dusted under the brow, enhancing the sparkle in her deep brown eyes.

She stepped back and looked at herself carefully in the inadequate mirror the female detectives' washroom offered. Bronze satin clung to breast and hip, dipped low in back and was kept from slipping off slim shoulders by a gold chain across her shoulder blades. The short black skirt flared flirtatiously over slim legs, and she adjusted the straps on needlepoint heels with a mental grimace.

"How are you doing there, Linds?" Stella stepped into the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror and making a few minor touch-ups to the dramatic makeup that highlighted her sea-green eyes.

Lindsay turned to look at her boss and friend. Stella was wearing a dull blue-green that could have looked drab on someone else; on her it gave dramatic emphasis to porcelain skin and dark hair swept high. Never one to cover up her assets, Stella was carefully applying double-sided tape to skin and fabric in order to keep the one from parting too much company with the other. Two slim strips pleated from bare shoulders to her waist where they were intricately woven with gold to froth nearly to the floor, revealing glimpses of long, tanned legs.

Lindsay sighed enviously, "I could never wear anything like that, Stel. I have stumpy little legs. You look gorgeous."

Stella put a little more colour on her lips and laughed, "You look wonderful, and your legs definitely don't look stumpy in those heels. Flack is going to have to tie Danny to his seat in the van."

Lindsay pressed her shaking hands to her stomach for a minute. "I know I've done this before, sort of, but I am really nervous about going undercover. Last time I didn't have any time to prepare, so no time to get all worked up about it, you know?" She pushed a strand of hair off her forehead, checking her reflection one more time. "And I've never even been in a club like this."

Stella ran her hands down over her dress, making sure everything was going to stay in place. "It's no big deal, Linds. We'll go; we'll dance; we'll see if the tip is solid. If we can, we bust the owner for blackmailing young kids and then pimping them out."

When the two women strolled out of the bathroom, every man in the room had to close his eyes for a moment just to keep them in the appropriate eyesockets. Stella Bonasera was already familiar fantasy material for most of the single (and a few of the committed) men in the Crime Lab, but up until now, Danny thought grimly, Lindsay had been classified as more "cute" than drool-worthy. That had changed in an instant.

He elbowed Flack sharply in the stomach, and growled "Put your damn tongue back in your mouth, Flack."

Flack looked down at him, confused for a minute, then smirked, "Naw. Not the one I was staring at."

Danny turned his back on the women strolling towards then and muttered under his breath, "You should really tell her – ya' ain't in high school."

Flack shook his head, "Not going to happen, Danno." He stepped towards Stella and Lindsay and looked at them a little helplessly, "Detectives. Are you both wired up?"

He squeezed his eyes shut as they nodded solemnly, the teasing light in their eyes showing they knew how desperately he wanted to know where they had managed to hide the transceivers. Tiny though the equipment was, he couldn't imagine there was enough fabric between the two women's outfits to conceal much of anything.

"Let's go." Danny's voice was a bit harsh, and Lindsay shot him an apologetic look over one bared shoulder as she moved down the corridor. The battle they had fought over this assignment had been epic, and now she was a little sorry she had won her point. Her confidence began to grow as she ran the gauntlet of men's eyes, though; never one to put herself forward, she had only rarely experienced the heady sensation of turning men's heads.

Stella appeared oblivious to the heated stares of her co-workers as she walked through the station to the street and climbed into the van to receive her final instructions. Mac was already in place, face stern and closed off. This case was riding him hard; it was his newly found stepson Reed Garrett who had put him onto the game being run on underage girls in the club scene. But putting members of his team in danger did not sit well with him.

"Any last minute instructions, Mac?" Stella sat back and crossed her legs casually. The whisper of stockings shivered through the small space.

"Just keep an eye on what is happening. And keep each other safe. Are you both armed?"

The women nodded, and once again Flack and Danny exchanged incredulous looks. Where the hell were they hiding weapons?

"Don't worry, Mac. It's just another Saturday night in the city that never sleeps – a little dancing, a little wine, a little flirting … nothing we wouldn't be doing on a normal weekend, right Linds?" Stella rolled her eyes teasingly as Danny growled deep in his throat.

"Ya' better consider your answer carefully there, Montana."

Lindsay stood up and smoothed her hands down over her hips, sketching a little hip movement that had Danny biting his lip. "Nothing to see here, Messer – just a night on the town. Shall we, Stel?"

Arm in arm, the two women sashayed out of the van and took off down the street, leaving Mac staring knowingly at the two younger men.

"Put your ears on, gentlemen. Surveillance underway."

The equipment in the van was tapping into the club's highly sophisticated and surprisingly extensive security system, affording the watchers both a visual and aural feed. They watched as Lindsay and Stella coaxed their way to the head of the line by claiming acquaintance with the man on the door: Officer Santiago, looking cool and dangerous in an Italian suit and Oakleys. He made them play the game, twirling his finger as if asking them to give him a little demo of their style.

Flack sucked in a breath as Stella easily wrapped an arm around the younger woman's shoulders and kissed her lingeringly. He didn't dare look at Danny, whose nervous leg movements increased exponentially.

"You're in," the gruff voice resounded through the headphones.

"Thanks, darling," Stella purred. "You might want to stay alert for the midnight showing." She winked as she brushed past Santiago.

"You're a little too good at this, Stel," Lindsay whispered just loud enough for the mikes to pick up. "Something you've not told me?"

"Two years on Vice Squad," Stella murmured back on her breath. "Some moves you never lose."

She let her hand slide down Lindsay's arm, intertwining cold fingers, squeezing comfortingly. "Put your game face on, Linds. Time to play."

Lindsay nodded and pasted a bright smile on her face as they plunged into the swirling mass of female flesh, dressed in a stunning variety of colour and texture. Her eyes widened at the uninhibited movements of the club members. The music was pulsing loud, lights were strobing in time, and Lindsay and Stella were quickly swallowed up.

"I can't see them. No visual contact." Danny's voice was tight.

"There they are – see?" Flack's eyes were glued to the screen. "Damn, she's got some moves."

Danny growled again.

Mac rolled his eyes. "Can we at least attempt to maintain some professionalism here?"

Flack shrugged, unrepentant. Danny slouched in his chair and stared at the screen on which his girlfriend was enthusiastically making out with his boss.

Wrong. Just wrong on so many levels.

But hot.

And that was wrong too.

The night wore on with Stella and Lindsay dancing, drinking, and getting progressively more involved with each other while the men in the van attempted to remain professional. The little touches, the smouldering looks, the dancing which quickly moved from line dance to lap dance had the watching team members all squirming in their seats.

When Stella went to the washroom, where there were no cameras, Lindsay was hit on by at least three women in short succession, a fact she giggled over with Stella a few minutes later while sharing out the drinks she had been plied with. When Lindsay took her turn in the facilities, and incidentally to check in with the watchers, Stella was nearly overwhelmed with offers, women scattering like a flock of exotic birds only when Lindsay returned to drape an arm around her 'partner' and receive an eager kiss of welcome.

The two detectives worked the room expertly, talking to the women who were regulars, the women who were experimenting, the young women who were carrying suspiciously aged ID. By the end of the evening, Lindsay's feet felt like they were bleeding, Stella's ears were aching, and they were both feeling more than a little buzzed from the unaccustomed party atmosphere.

But they had enough evidence to put the club under Vice's careful watch: Reed's information had been to some extent corroborated, and Stella knew Mac would feel vindicated for having pushed this investigation through the channels.

They were supposed to debrief as soon as they made it to the van, but Stella firmly vetoed that plan. "Too much noise, too much alcohol, too much … just too much," she said in a tone everyone knew better than to argue with. Lindsay, her eyes a little too bright and her smile a little too wild, agreed.

With a sigh, Mac released the team until the next day. "And get some sleep, all of you. We need a clear report for Vice first thing in the morning, or this investigation loses priority," he warned sternly.

They all nodded with varying degrees of subdued relief.

Lindsay grabbed Danny's hand and pulled him down the street out of sight of the officers on duty. The first dark alley they got too, though, she was in his arms, squirming and begging him to be inside her. Desperate himself, he obliged, slamming her against a wall and groaning out loud when he realized that under that provocative short skirt was virtually nothing but smooth damp skin. When he slid into her slick heat, whispering her name in a ragged voice, she had to muffle her scream against his shoulder, leaving bite marks that took a week to fade. She exploded like a star a moment later, and he followed almost before she could catch her breath.

Stella had watched the younger couple's exit with a speculative smile, which turned predatory when she turned to Flack and said, "Could you give me a ride, Flack?"

They made it all the way to the parking lot of her building ten blocks away before her hand on his thigh moved up to his aching cock. He pulled into a spot in a dark corner and she was in his lap before the engine had stuttered to a halt, grinding against him. With a curse, he fumbled with the seat, pushing it as far back as it would go, and she fumbled with his fly, licking her lips in anticipation when she released him from his confinement. Then there were no words, just the melding of mouths and bodies into one towering pillar of heat. It was brutally fast and her scream when he hit his rhythm and her sweet spot resounded in the car and in his ears for days afterwards.

The next day, Danny and Flack had identical smirks and signs of less sleep than Mac might think optimum. They didn't quite catch each other's eyes, though; neither was positive enough that the banging he had experienced the night before was solely due to his personal appeal. They shared an unvoiced suspicion that most of the foreplay had happened long before either of them had laid a finger on their women.

Flack thought it might be the hottest experience he had ever had.

Danny wasn't sure he would ever get the sight of Stella's hands on Lindsay's ass out of his head.

The woman never spoke about the incident except in completely professional terms.